LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 i^ap. inpj|rJ55i !f o. 
 
 Shelf. ..^./^.<>~d 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
"Windfalls Gathered 
 
 ONLY FOR Friends" 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY / 
 
 Mary Chace Peckham 
 
 MEMORIAL EDITION 
 
 ^(j'l^i^ 
 
 - "7 
 
 > 
 
 BUFFALO 
 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
 1894 
 
 K- 
 

 Copyright, 1894, 
 By MARY C. PECKHAM. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 CHARLES WELLS MOULTON, 
 Buffalo, N. Y. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 'THROUGH the poems in this little volume, a 
 deeply religious nature gave expression to 
 spiritual and ethical aspiration. It therefore makes 
 no appeal to the frivolous. The poems in the first 
 part were arranged by their author, in the order in 
 which they are printed, in the week preceeding 
 her death. The title was also given by her as here 
 printed. With the self-depriciation that was her 
 characteristic, she said these verse had come to 
 her in hours of inspiration and had never assumed 
 the importance of a task. While to her they were 
 very precious, as marking often the stepping stones 
 to wider experiences of life, she could not assume 
 that others could find in them any such value. She 
 therefore gave them to her friends, " as mere wind- 
 falls from the tree of life." 
 
 She made the list, however, from memory. When 
 the material that she left was further examined it 
 was thought best to add to those she had selected 
 the second part, under the conviction that many, if 
 not all of the poems therein, are in many respects 
 of equal value with those to which her own criti- 
 cism assigned a higher order of merit, 
 
 S. F. P. 
 
 Ann Arbor, Michigan, 
 June ist, 1894. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 '^WINDFALLS GATHERED ONLY FOR 
 FRIENDS." 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Vale et Aplaudite 13 
 
 Illusion 15 
 
 Finding God 20 
 
 Guidance 22 
 
 Outre Mer 24 
 
 The Poet and the Nightingale .... 27 
 
 Sunset 30 
 
 Coming 31 
 
 Two Tides 33 
 
 The Pole Star 35 
 
 The Logger's Wife 37 
 
 Unevangelical 39 
 
 Some Katydids 41 
 
 A Lesson in Smiling 43 
 
 Bobolink's Reply 45 
 
 Desire 47 
 
 Easter Lilies 48 
 
 " To Those Who are Beyond the River." 53 
 
 My Baby 56 
 
 Why ? , 58 
 
 Elfrida 60 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Buttercup Wooing 62 
 
 Love's Inventory 63 
 
 An Ended Quest 65 
 
 Love's Art 67 
 
 Lines with a Balsam Pillow 68 
 
 Coquettish Helen 69 
 
 Calabrian Songs 71 
 
 A Christmas Garland 76 
 
 Brother Angelo 78 
 
 Renunciation 80 
 
 The Poet's Law 82 
 
 From Myth to Materialism 84 
 
 The Wood Thrush at Sunset 86 
 
 To the Wood Anemone 88 
 
 Where's Hylas ? 90 
 
 FOUR TYPES OF WOMANHOOD: 
 
 Athene 92 
 
 Phryne 92 
 
 Magdalene 93 
 
 The New Athene 94 
 
 Happiness 95 
 
 Edelweis 96 
 
 euthanasy 97 
 
 Milkweed 98 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PART II. 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 EARLY POEMS: 
 
 A Crocus loi 
 
 Mirage 102 
 
 The Dreamer 103 
 
 Amphion 105 
 
 The True Creed 107 
 
 L'Envoi 109 
 
 '* AND IN Prison no 
 
 Benedicite 112 
 
 Bright Stars 113 
 
 The Daisy 114 
 
 CHRISTMAS POEMS: 
 
 The Christmas Star 115 
 
 Christmas, 1863 117 
 
 Christmas at Eisenach 1489-93. ... 119 
 
 Christmas in Merry England 138S-1888 121 
 
 1388 121 
 
 1588 122 
 
 1688 122 
 
 1888 123 
 
 To MY Mother, 1890 124 
 
 CHILDREN'S POEMS: 
 
 Popped Corn 127 
 
 Bunny 130 
 
 The Cricket's Court 132 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Mabel 135 
 
 The Sandpiper 137 
 
 WOMAN SUFFRAGE POEMS: 
 
 The Ship of State 139 
 
 Felicia 141 
 
 POEMS OF SENTIMENT: 
 
 Song 147 
 
 On a Batchelor's Button 149 
 
 The Platter Poem 151 
 
 Prophecy 156 
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS: 
 
 The Dying Teacher to his Wife . , 158 
 
 The Problem 160 
 
 Two Looks Ahead 161 
 
 The Godward Tide 162 
 
 The Heart's Excuse 164 
 
 My Father's House 166 
 
 Magdalen 168 
 
 A Blade of Grass 170 
 
 Communion 171 
 
 To Margaret 172 
 
 Song 173 
 
''Windfalls Gathered 
 
 ONLY FOR Friends; 
 
"VALE ET APPLAUDITE." 
 
 Ah! me, my mates, why need the poet sing 
 When life and death make poets of us all ? 
 
 Beside our babies beds immortal Love 
 Chants through our lips her early matin call; 
 Her lulling even song we hear above 
 
 Our answering hearts, when all our journeying 
 
 Has brought us to a half remembered shore, — 
 A half remembered harmony whose stress 
 The poet's harp doth only half confess 
 
 And whose refrain is "ever" and "no more." 
 
 Forever have we known remorseless Fate 
 
 And ever too that time shall be no more 
 And that the heart is stung with stings of fire 
 
 From whence the meanest of us all do pour 
 Passion and pain, and hatred and desire, 
 The epic of the soul; or soon or late. 
 As enter some weird bard in Celtic hall 
 
 Trembling with prophecy, enwrapt, away 
 
 Lets run the magic of his fiery lay 
 Of tragic battle, or the liegman's call. 
 
 Then, if I sing, or haply I forbear. 
 Still will ye know, my mates, the haunting chord, 
 
 Whither triumphant manhood swell the tone 
 Or on the sweetness of its first accord. 
 
 Soon fallen, the plaintive minor makes its moan. 
 
14 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Still will ye feel delight, the lift from care, 
 The dancing Hours will pipe you if / fail. 
 
 For some. Young Loves will hymn the marriage 
 
 morn; 
 For some, the reapers sing amid the corn, 
 For some, the war song swell its loud "All hail! " 
 Mary Chace Peckham. 
 Obit. March 20th, 1892. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 15 
 
 ILLUSION. 
 
 For what is Maya, the mother of Indian Christs, but a name 
 to signify the passion of the soul after the eternal beauty, and 
 the meaning of that name is — illusion. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the thatch 
 Half-witted Eddie sits and dreams 
 ; Unmindful of the fisher's catch. 
 His whole world is the garden patch, 
 His idleness his mood beseams 
 For all his trade is— wishing. 
 
 The fisher-folk are simple, too, 
 
 Down on the borders of Cape Ann. 
 Quoth one, " If half its good you knew. 
 The sea were church and school for you." 
 Quoth they, "You must be crazy, man, 
 The sea is good for — fishing." 
 
 So while they call him " witless Ned," 
 
 And leave him in the sun to wish, 
 He takes, with thanks, the better bread 
 They leave to souls "unfacultied " 
 
 And can not see because oi fish, 
 The bread of Nature's giving. 
 
 The honeybees their gains rehearse 
 
 What time he holds to woo their wings. 
 The hollyhock's pink hearted purse, 
 
i6 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Whose golden coins never curse. 
 He fellowships with everything 
 That can not get a living. 
 
 And night or day he can not rest 
 For wishing for the purple hills 
 That stretch along the distant west 
 Unknown, unsought and unpossessed; 
 While all their mystic beauty thrills 
 His soul past all reposing. 
 
 "'Tis there," he says, "the rainbow ends, 
 
 'Tis there the evening star anew 
 Each twilight, when the mist ascends, 
 Her burning forehead bathes, and lends 
 A backward pathway for the dew. 
 The road to Heaven disclosing." 
 
 In vain the loungers by the fence 
 Interpret for the witless child; 
 
 " 'Tis but a vagary of sense, 
 
 Other horizons widen thence." 
 
 He shakes his head, still unbeguiled 
 Of all the sweet illusion. 
 
 The skipper looks with envious eyes 
 On other skipper's stalwart sons; 
 
 The mother bakes and brews and sighs, 
 
 Until a stranger, counted wise 
 Among those simple hearted ones, 
 Seeks shelter and seclusion. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 17 
 
 He reads the riddle with a look. 
 
 " Your son is not a witless fool, 
 But one whom kindly Nature took 
 For foster-child, when ye forsook. 
 
 And God, Himself, has put to school 
 To get a poet's training." 
 
 " Good luck! a poet! now, indeed, 
 
 A fool were better for my trade! 
 A fisherman is what I need 
 And not a gentleman to feed." 
 
 So spoke the skipper half dismayed 
 And half at Heaven repining. 
 
 But mother-love the murmur stills: 
 
 "What can we do his wits to win ? " 
 " Go! take him to the purple hills, 
 What time their tops God's glory fills. 
 And no horizon shuts them in, 
 And tell the boy that Duty 
 
 " Is man's horizon here below 
 
 And they who cross its mystic line 
 Must forfeit all the purple glow 
 Which makes it shine and succor so; 
 
 Do this, or else the boy will pine 
 And die for lack of beauty." 
 
 But fish were dear and whims must wait; 
 
 They hid his counsel in their heart, 
 Sometime before it was too late, 
 
i8 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 When fishing gains were not so great, 
 Half-witted Eddie should depart 
 To find his Heaven a fable. 
 
 And so the year wore on apace, 
 
 And fishing smacks came home for good; 
 The garden lost its summer face; 
 Old skippers by the fire-place 
 
 Discussed their pipes and life was rude 
 By bed, and hearth and table. 
 
 And Eddie saw the purple glow 
 Fade off" upon the distant hills; 
 
 He saw it fade, and longed to know 
 
 That other country down below. 
 Where winter never brings its chills; 
 And no one told him duly 
 
 Of that great summer of the soul 
 
 Which makes the golden year of love; 
 Of that sweet service and control 
 Which makes the year one perfect whole, 
 In sun or frost, for those who are 
 Christ's knights and liegemen truly. 
 
 And idle lay the fisher's hand. 
 As idle as the dreamer's brain; 
 
 Oh! Christ, that in Thy happy land 
 
 So few they be that understand! 
 The singer pauses in the strain 
 And lingers at the story. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 19 
 
 How witless Eddie stole away, 
 
 And in the autumn's later chills 
 They found his dory where it lay 
 Awreck, — but those who loved him say 
 
 That from the mystic purple hills 
 The boy stepped into glory. 
 Bristol, R. I., October, 1884. 
 
20 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 FINDING GOD. 
 
 I LEFT my father's house at dawn 
 To read the great world's mystery; 
 
 Life wore the colors of the morn, 
 And earth looked beautiful to me. 
 
 I said, ' ' Why brood for days and days 
 In childish quiet in the nest ? " 
 
 The hero goes — the coward stays. 
 The wise know Life and God the best. 
 
 And so I bartered faith for sight, 
 And questioned earth and air and sea, 
 
 To find and answer if I might 
 The hieroglyph of Deity. 
 
 I found His name on eveiything; 
 
 It glowed in sunset's crimson line, 
 It veined the smallest insect's wing; 
 
 All Nature bore His manual -sign. 
 
 I saw Him where the violet grew 
 Among an old oak's sturdy roots; 
 
 But neither tree nor flower knew 
 His essence or His attributes. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS, 21 
 
 Then said I, *' Violet, humble worth 
 
 Sees deeper than the flesh or sod, 
 Look up thro' Heaven, look down thro' Earth, 
 
 And tell me what and where is God ? " 
 
 "Ask," she replied, " the birds and bees, 
 
 They sing it always in their tune; 
 But you are not as wise as these, 
 
 Because you left the nest too soon. 
 
 " Lie down like us and sun yourself, 
 He broods upon the earth-nest still; 
 
 Who closest creep and warmest lie, 
 Are they who best fulfil His will." 
 
 So I lay down,— and grass o'ertopped. 
 And gave me brother's kiss of grace; 
 
 And sister violet softly dropped 
 Her perfume on my happy face. 
 
 Still Nature's subtile chemistry 
 
 The odors and the dew distills, 
 And water turns to wine for me 
 
 In purple grape-cups on the hills. 
 
 My heart confesses it is sweet 
 
 After the cold, the loss the storm. 
 Simply to feel His great Heart beat, 
 
 Simply to feel the nest is warm. 
 Orono, Me., 1870. 
 
11 GATHERED WINDFALLS, 
 
 GUIDANCE. 
 
 " Your daemon shall not choose you, but you will choose your 
 daemon." — Plato. • 
 
 Deem not that race of God forgot 
 Who, searching Time's great cycles through 
 
 Dreamed that they chose their earthly lot, 
 And choosing, chose a genius too. 
 
 Eternal thirst, eternal quest 
 That named the Soul's ideal thus. 
 
 Still is the " inner light " our guest 
 And still the choice remains for us. 
 
 Greater than Elusinian rite 
 
 The Soul's initiation is. 
 Man's union with the Infinite, 
 
 The mystery of mysteries. 
 
 A formless cloud, He broods about 
 The soul, and gives the guide we will; 
 
 Our young ideal leads us out 
 Upon His green immortal hill. 
 
 The dawn flings back her curtained door 
 Beflecked with rose and amethyst; 
 
 The morning stars that stud her floor 
 Sing out again the song we list, 
 
OATIiEkED WINDFALLS. 23 
 
 But once, when like the earth's, the dew 
 
 Of our creative morn undried 
 Betokens that the world is new. 
 
 And youth's high hope, unsatisfied. 
 
 But nearer than the starry strain 
 
 The genius in our heart of fire 
 Takes up for us their high refrain 
 
 And softly sings " Aspire! Aspire! " 
 
 Ah! happy who obey the hest 
 
 Nor brush the early dew away! 
 Thrice happy in whose ag^d breast 
 
 The young ideal deigns to stay! 
 
 Nor like a guest, long dispossessed, 
 
 Returneth a reproachful shade, 
 As in the mummy's shrunken breast 
 
 The image of its soul is laid. 
 
 The semblance of a winged thing 
 Waiting with pionion wide unfurled. 
 
 The while the soul is wandering 
 In darkness of the under world. 
 
 Oh! soul, come up and front the light, 
 And catch the morning's lusty breath! 
 
 Thy genius will not bide the night. 
 Nor thy ideal walk with death. 
 Bristol, Nov. 19, 1884. 
 
24 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 OUTRE MER. 
 
 In an island of the sea, 
 
 Like a pearl within a shell, 
 Once a soul, by God's decree, 
 
 Found a home, and loved it well. 
 
 There repose eternal palms, 
 
 Circling a palace wall; 
 And the great sea stretched its arms, 
 
 Like a giant, round them all. 
 
 So God willed him to abide, 
 
 Innocent of mortal stain, 
 Angel browed and holy-eyed, 
 
 With no blight of sin or pain. 
 
 Till the human instinct wrought 
 Knowledge of diviner things; 
 
 And the "Unknown God" he sought 
 Through great nature's whisperings. 
 
 First the palms stretched out their hands, 
 
 Pointing to the mystic blue; 
 Then the sea crept up the sands 
 With a language strange and new. 
 
 Argosies of snowy sails 
 
 Bore strange crews to distant shore; 
 But no breeze, no favoring gales, 
 
 Brought them back forevermore. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 25 
 
 Then deep dread and heavy fears 
 
 Seemed to All the charmed air; 
 Dimmed his sunny eyes with tears, 
 
 Marked his brow with human care. 
 
 Passion seared his angel heart; 
 
 Strong temptations, dreadful sin. 
 Lured him by their subtle art, 
 
 Flesh without and sense within. 
 
 Flesh without, but God above. 
 For one day the Father smiled; 
 
 And in pity sent a dove 
 To his weary-hearted child. 
 
 Close it nestled in his breast. 
 
 Folding down its snowy wings; 
 Then it told of love and rest, 
 
 And of deep, immortal things, 
 
 Till the soul, with fierce desire. 
 
 Tore away its spotted vest; 
 Learned to worship and aspire. 
 
 And attained eternal rest. 
 
 O my soul, the lesson scan! 
 
 Sure, this island is the world; 
 And the tempted soul is man, 
 
 On the rocks of passion hurled! 
 
26 GATHERED WINDFALLS, 
 
 Life, thy island, fast recedes, 
 Washed by death's encroaching sea; 
 
 Who will answer all thy needs 
 Save the God that calleth thee ? 
 
 Hold thy Dove, my soul, my soul; 
 
 Holy Spirit, stay Thy wings. 
 Nearer, while the billows roll, 
 
 Thou shalt teach diviner things. 
 1883. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 27 
 
 THE POET AND THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Of old when men with human needs 
 Were fenced from God by musty creeds, 
 In classic Arno's cypress vale 
 A poet loved a nightingale. 
 
 He shunned the lore of monkish books 
 To study Nature's loving looks; 
 She let him lift her inmost veil, 
 But best he loved his nightingale. 
 
 He sang of love and human right 
 Till souls long starved wept in delight, 
 And envious priests cried out to know 
 How he could charm the people so. 
 
 "Nay, 'tis not I," he answered then, 
 " To sing the song of Heaven to men; 
 My sweetest harmonies would fail, 
 I learned it of the nightingale." 
 
 Then cried the bigots, " 'Tis the guise 
 
 Of satan to deceive the wise. 
 
 Adjure the bird! Conjuro te! " 
 
 They cried, "the fiend come out of thee! " 
 
28 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 But unabashed the nightingale 
 Perched boldly on their altar rail 
 And drank, as 'twere his common wont, 
 The holy water from the font. 
 
 At last, condemned for heresy, 
 They led the poet out to die; 
 But hatred could not quite prevail — 
 One friend was true — the nightingale. 
 
 Above the stake it hung alone; 
 The priests cried, " Satan waits his own! " 
 *' Nay," and the poet bowed his head, 
 " My God has sent a priest," he said. 
 
 " Thank God the prophet can not die! " 
 So passed with that exulting cry. 
 To Him whose mercies can not fail 
 The martyr and the nightingale. 
 
 Lo! from the smoking sacrifice 
 A spotless dove was seen to rise 
 Where the brown nightingale of late 
 Had seemed to share the poet's fate. 
 
 Then some said, who had been his friends, 
 That the white soul, whose pureness lends 
 A grace to even common things, 
 Had cast a glory in its wings. 
 
 But others knew the Heavenly Guest 
 And filled with awe and shame, confessed 
 In the white dove that upward flew 
 The Christ they crucified anew. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 29 
 
 Howe'er that be, in this I read 
 
 A lesson suited to my need; 
 
 That all things, great and small, afford 
 
 A dwelling for the bless6d Lord. 
 
 In creed and text a meaning lurks 
 Made vital in His living works; 
 Love, sown like gold, the Gospel through 
 Is sown in flower and star-script too. 
 
 From small things, that confound the wise, 
 When sage and priest with sealed eyes 
 Saw only death and hell erewhiles 
 The Father's face looks out and smiles. 
 1869. 
 
30 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 SUNSET. 
 
 The children gather at the fence 
 
 (The gate swings outward to the west), 
 And watch the purple hills from whence 
 
 The father comes with food and rest. 
 Their lengthened shadows fall behind, 
 
 Their faces glow the while they wait, 
 To bid him welcome when they find 
 
 That father's coming to the gate. 
 
 We turn away, when sunset fills 
 
 Our valleys with a glory sweet, 
 And on the green immortal hills, 
 
 We catch the sound of coming feet. 
 Our lengthened shadows fall before; 
 
 Our faces darken as we wait; 
 Ah! foolish children, who deplore 
 
 The Father's coming at the gate. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 COMING. I 
 
 All my life I keep an inn, 
 
 And for guests, I harbor there 
 
 Faith and Charity and Prayer- 
 Servants of a mighty King. 
 
 All my life I wait for Him; 
 
 Set my doors and windows wide 
 
 That when all is purified, 
 He, the King, may enter in. 
 
 For, so well He loves His own. 
 That when perfect beauty waits. 
 Straight He enters at her gates 
 
 With acceptance most divine. 
 
 Royally I spread my board; 
 
 Bread a beggar's breath has warmed; 
 
 Wine expressed from hearts that mourned. 
 Fed and comforted by me. 
 
 At my door the Magdalen 
 Suns with love her outstretched palms 
 That the King may grant her alms 
 
 When He comes to feed us all. 
 
32 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Then my door shall open wide, 
 When His footsteps touch the sill; 
 Spread and open out until 
 
 Clayey beam and lintel falls. 
 
 Then no more an humble inn, 
 Where His servants sit at meat; 
 When the King Himself shall eat, 
 
 Deign to sit and sup with me. 
 
 All the heaven of heavens shall stand 
 Underneath my honored roof, 
 And the sun shall keep aloof 
 
 For the glory that shall be. 
 
 I shall gird myself and serve, 
 With a garment white as snow, 
 Hiding whiter wings below, 
 
 And a star shall lighten me. 
 
 All my days I look for Him; 
 But till that time come to me, 
 Faith and Hope and Charity 
 
 Make my heart their hostelry. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 33 
 
 TWO TIDES. 2 
 
 To-day the tide came in once more, 
 (God's solemn tides that come and go 
 For death or birth with ebb and flow) 
 
 And left a baby at our door. 
 
 A thing that might not lisp its past, 
 Whose rose-leaf hands with close shut palms 
 Might seem to tell of endless calms, 
 
 But keep their folded secret fast. 
 
 Down drifted from some sphere of day, 
 
 Or struck from matter uncreate, 
 
 Like earth in its primeval state, 
 A soul of fire encased in clay. 
 
 We know not what thou may'st have been, 
 Or if, above the soul He made, 
 "Let there be light," the Father said, 
 
 We only know — the tide came in. 
 
 But at the last we will not doubt; 
 
 We will not say when life for thee 
 
 Ebbs to the great eternity. 
 We only know the tide goes out. 
 
34 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 If truth shall lighten in thy wake, 
 If deed and dream, so long at war, 
 Round in thy life to perfect law, 
 
 And manhood broaden for thy sake. 
 
 Eternity is light about 
 
 The feet that on His errands go; 
 
 Such, God's diviner undertow 
 Sweeps heavenward when the tides go out. 
 
 1873- 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS, 35 
 
 THE POLE STAR. 
 
 " The inequalities of our atmosphere are supposed to cause 
 the twinkling of the stars." 
 
 God set a star beneath His feet, 
 When fair creation's work was done, 
 
 Love's final period to complete 
 The perfect sentence Love begun. 
 
 It lit their happy feet who pace 
 
 The azure fields above our ken; 
 Its inward eye beheld God's face, 
 
 The outward looked on sinful men. 
 
 It hung above the ocean's breast 
 When sailors dared the stormy main, 
 
 Till one more loving than the rest 
 Beheld its hidden meaning plain. 
 
 Nay, what am I, from heaven so far, 
 Untipped by fire my sluggish pen. 
 
 To tell the story of a star 
 That loved and pittied mortal men. 
 
 I only know its inward eye 
 
 Looked calm on Heaven's unaltered years; 
 The outward, saw our misery 
 
 And trembled with a thousand tears. 
 
36 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 I know that if our common air 
 Were pure as Heaven's atmosphere, 
 
 The star that shines so calmly there 
 Would never seem to tremble here. 
 
 I only know another star, 
 
 The Pole of Faith's unchanging sky, 
 That gleams like Eden's guardian Lar 
 
 To point the homesick soul on high. 
 
 It glimmers feebly through the mist 
 Of all the faithless prayers we pray, 
 
 And will not pilot eyes unkissed 
 By touch of love's diviner ray; 
 
 But sweeps away the mists between. 
 The atmosphere of love restore; 
 
 And through that heavenly medium seen, 
 That star will never tremble more. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 37 
 
 THE LOGGER'S WIFE. 
 
 You and I, my love, nestled down 
 
 Close by the willows where all is still, 
 Watch the loggers go swirling by 
 
 Through the boom (3) to the old saw-mill. 
 Hard working Felix, with blouse of red. 
 
 Standing with pike pole half poised in air, 
 Throws off a kiss to his bonny wife 
 
 Over the river, with baby Claire. 
 
 Sturdy Felix! with time to spare, 
 
 Spite of toiling, for kisses sweet, 
 Any moment his luck may turn, 
 
 Like the log that's beneath his feet. 
 Yet can he laugh to the laughing sky, 
 
 Yet can the bonny wife answer back. 
 God holds the largess of love to them; 
 
 His purse is great, and they feel no lack. 
 
 You and I, my love, tired to death, 
 
 Vexed by numberless petty cares, 
 Let the blossoms and bliss of youth 
 
 Slip away from us unawares. 
 Puzzled by questions of faith and fate, 
 
 Pulling to pieces the rose of life, 
 Talking of "freedom of will " and yet 
 
 Never as free as the logger's wife. 
 
38 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Free to love as a flower to bloom, 
 
 Free to wonder as children may, 
 Sure the while that the loving God 
 
 Keeps the world in His hand alway. 
 Glad to be breathing His common air, 
 
 Glad in His sunshine as if He smiled, 
 Sure of the future by present good. 
 
 And safe by virtue of being His child. 
 Orono, Me., 1871. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 39 
 
 UNEVANGELICAL. 
 
 Kiss me, wife! the lips are colder, 
 But the soul no whit the older 
 
 Than the day, all days above. 
 When in pledge of truth new-plighted, 
 Looking into eyes faith-lighted, 
 
 We-4kissed warm and close for love! 
 
 Love! oh, word of saint and seer! 
 'Tis the soul's completed sphere; 
 
 'Tis the "all things "joined in one; 
 *Tis a star whose gravitation 
 Carries all our " lost creation " 
 
 Round the Lord who is its sun. 
 
 ** Lost," oh, Oversoul of Fire! 
 Unto whom our first desire 
 
 Rises like the candle flame! 
 Shall a pariah defend thee ? 
 Can the cloaks of creed they lend thefe 
 
 Price thy loss or save thy fame ? 
 
 Oh, to see thy lilies growing! 
 Oh, to mark thy roses blowing, 
 
 Yet believe that thou canst be 
 Maker of a human creature, 
 Born with no redeeming feature, 
 
 What! what's this but — heresy ? 
 
40 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Kiss me, wife! an angel warder 
 Waits for me beyond the border! 
 
 Death! who called thee stern and grim? 
 Oh, Key bearer, end my durance! 
 Let the full heart sate assurance 
 
 With the promised sight of Him. 
 
 With a trust that can not falter, 
 With a love death can not alter. 
 
 With my Father's hand in mine 
 Let me pass the dreaded portal. 
 Lose the mortal in immortal, 
 
 Sealed by Death — his manual sign. 
 
 But enough! I loved my brothers! 
 If some pitying hand uncovers 
 
 This poor face they hated here, 
 Say, this was a happy sinner 
 Who spelled Love as a beginner, 
 
 In God's book he now reads clear. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 41 
 
 SOME KATYDIDS. 
 
 BEFORE. 
 
 The Katydids are out to-night 
 
 Their daily question to discuss, 
 And which are wrong, and which are right 
 
 Remains a question still with us, 
 My little five year Kate and me, 
 
 " Now mother, what did Katie do ? " 
 " She tried to do her best, may be, 
 
 And loved her mother just like you." 
 
 Down dropped the brown eyes at the word 
 
 As if the morning's fault she knew; 
 " Oh! mother, play I was a bird 
 
 And you asked me if I loved you! " 
 "And did my Katie love me then ? " 
 
 Like some shy creature fondly chid. 
 She dropped her bashful eyes again 
 
 And softly whispered: "Katydid." 
 
 AFTER. 
 
 The Katydids are out to-night, 
 And I proposed their question too. 
 
 " Does angel Katy love me quite 
 As sweet child Katy used to do ?" 
 
42 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Ah! peace awhile! the night were well 
 Of their discordant clamor rid! 
 
 They quarrel so I can not tell 
 If Katy didn't or she did. 
 
 Across the street, a step or so, 
 
 The nursery lamps are brightly lit; 
 And on the curtain to and fro, 
 
 I see the mother's shadow flit. 
 Oh, empty arms that vainly yearn! 
 
 Oh. empty crib too smooth and white! 
 Oh, nursery lamp, that would not burn! 
 
 My darling sleeps in Heaven to-night! 
 
 Above my head, a step or so 
 
 Beyond the evening's chilly damps, 
 With starry radiance all aglow, 
 
 All night He burns His nursery lamps 
 And on the curtain of the sky 
 
 I see His cloudy shadow run, 
 And hear His wind-sung lullaby 
 
 The while He tends my little one. 
 
 But still the hungry heart will yearn, 
 
 And still the empty arms will grope, 
 And Heaven may hardly serve their turn 
 
 Who ask for love, and not for hope! 
 So Katy, if you love me there 
 
 Your happy, happy days amid, 
 Step lightly down the golden stair 
 
 And softly whisper: " Katy did." 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 43 
 
 A LESSON IN SMILING. 
 
 Once when Life and I fell out, 
 Thro' infirmity of doubt, 
 And I longed to be put out 
 
 Like a candle at mid-day; 
 Sudden in my darkened room, 
 Stood an angel in the gloom, 
 Like the one that lit the tomb 
 
 Where the risen Jesus lay. 
 
 Spake he not a word, but smiled 
 Like a mother when her child 
 Sorely needs to be beguiled 
 
 From some petty misery; 
 And his smile was like the sun 
 In the lily's heart at noon. 
 As if soul and smile were one; 
 
 So it was, or seemed to be. 
 
 Spake he not but smiled instead. 
 "Last years nests are full," I said, 
 "Fields snow-white are clover- red, 
 
 All but souls renew their green; 
 Tho' earth spin a million years. 
 Still her weaving will be tears. 
 And beyond, no good appears 
 
 Judging unseen things by seen." 
 
44 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Soft he smiled from brow to chin; 
 
 "If a mortal look within 
 
 How shall Heaven's fair beauty win 
 
 To his soul a fresher grace ? 
 Not an angel's self would be 
 Bright with immortality 
 Save he earned it steadfastly 
 
 Gazing on the Father's face. 
 
 " Tho' my place in Heaven be meek,' 
 (Soft he smiled on lip and cheek), 
 " If some mightier angel speak 
 
 I say — 'Glory' — in the pause, 
 Knowing not his great design, 
 Happy, if His face may shine 
 By reflected light in mine, 
 
 In the beauty of His laws. 
 
 " When an angel smiles above 
 On the patient tears that prove 
 How a broken heart can love, 
 
 Men say ' Lo! a rainbow shone! ' 
 When a mortal smiles below, 
 Trusting God thro' joy or woe, 
 All the fields of Heaven glow, 
 
 And a rainbow spans the throne." 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 45 
 
 BOBOLINK'S REPLY. 
 
 If. I had a pair of wings, 
 
 Little bird, like you, 
 I'd not stoop to common things, 
 
 As you often do, 
 But make haste to sun myself 
 
 In the upper blue. 
 
 If I had a song of praise, 
 
 I would never wait, 
 Wasting it for days and days, 
 
 Singing to my mate, 
 But rise up and carol it, 
 
 Close to heaven's gate. 
 
 " Bobolink," the bird replied, 
 
 "If Ihadaiott/, 
 I'd not yield it up to pride 
 
 And the world's control; 
 But for God and humankind 
 
 I would keep it whole. 
 
 "If I had an angel's wings 
 
 Waiting me, like you, 
 I'd not soil with sinful things 
 
 Their angelic hue. 
 But take care to keep them pure. 
 
 As the angels do. 
 
46 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 '• If I had a song to sing 
 
 In an angel choir, 
 Every deed should be a string 
 
 For that heavenly lyre, 
 Till the angels, missing it, 
 
 Whispered 'Come up higher.' " 
 1872. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 47 
 
 DESIRE. 
 
 Love me, Lord, with heat and hght, 
 
 'Till I grow as violets do, 
 A sweet savor in thy sight; 
 To my lowly mission true 
 As thy chiefest angel is. 
 Teaching Heaven's high verities. 
 
 Love me as the all-wise can 
 
 Love the soul Himself bestows. 
 Love me as the husbandman 
 
 Loves the small brown seed he sows 
 For the future's priceless meed 
 In the soul as in the seed. 
 
 Speak, oh, Lord, my angel name! 
 
 Call it soft as Gabriel's, 
 Till, drawn upward like a flame, 
 All my soul in Heaven dwells; 
 Lapsing, from excess of bliss, 
 Into that world out of this. 
 [872. 
 
48 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 EASTER LILIES. 
 
 Anon the sun arose, whose kiss of fire 
 
 The cheek of earth, his mistress, turns to rosy red; 
 
 The flowers that wept his loss with fond desire 
 Looked up that he might drink their tears unshed, 
 
 And virgin lilies owned their lord's control, 
 
 And blushed like Undine when she found her soul. 
 
 For me, down lying in the reedy sedge, 
 I dreamed of love as pure as lilies know, 
 
 When, tripping lightly to the the water's edge, 
 I saw a group of village maidens go 
 
 Wading adown the stream like water-elves 
 
 To gather flowers no fairer than themselves. 
 
 Seven eager girls whose cheeks might owe their 
 blush, 
 
 As erst the lilies did, to lover's kiss; 
 A rosy Pleiades in youth's first flush — 
 
 And one was lost like that fair star we miss. 
 Lost, for she clasped a babe, a tiny thing, 
 And yet her finger showed no wedding ring. 
 
 Uncrowned she stood, she had dissolved her pearl 
 In wine of worthless love, and could not wear 
 
 Her glowing jewel like a happier girl; 
 That dread libation left her forehead bare 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 49 
 
 And pale, as God had touched her brow and Hps 
 And whitened all her life into eclipse. 
 
 I pray you pity her, good souls and true. 
 
 The ringing laugh came mocking to her ear; 
 She hugged her baby closer, for she knew 
 
 Some words they said were not for her to hear 
 About true loves, and how the lilies white 
 Would just be blown for Amy's bridal night. 
 
 ** He says they're only fit for virgin heads," 
 The maiden faltered with a happy blush, 
 
 "And he would like to see the girl he weds 
 Crowned with their peerless purity; but hush! 
 
 Here comes poor Mary; what a dreadful thing! 
 
 A child, and yet no lover, and no ring! " 
 
 ** Nay," and her voice rang through them like a call, 
 "I have a lover and a wedding ring! 
 
 A lover true as any of you all, 
 Whose golden pledge is not as frail a thing 
 
 As the love it stands for; though my hand be bare. 
 
 My lover's pledge and surety is there." 
 
 "Now out upon thee for a shameless jade! " 
 One answered: " who can pity thee who dare 
 
 To boast the lawless conquests thou hast made ? 
 What thinkest thou another man will care 
 
 For thy despoiled roses when the hedgerow shows 
 
 A score ungathered ? " But she said: " He knows 
 
50 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 My shameful story, yet He loves me well! 
 
 Ah! sweeter fruit no other love-bough bears! 
 'Twas on an Easter morning this befell; 
 
 The lads and you, my mates, were at your prayers. 
 I, only, in the churchyard, all alone, 
 Sat nursing my poor baby on a stone. 
 
 " It was as if the whole round world were stone, 
 And I, outside of it, were in its shade 
 
 Alone with God — and yet not all alone, 
 For like a God in radiant youth arrayed 
 
 One came near by and touched the nursing child, 
 
 Whereat the little one looked up and smiled. 
 
 "I thought the grass was greener where He stood; 
 
 I thought the sun must make His shadow light, 
 Like a new Adam whom his God called 'good.' 
 
 He smiled till even my cold stone was bright. 
 'And Mary,' said He, ' why disconsolate 
 When all the rest the Lord's appearing wait? ' 
 
 " 'Not Mary now,* I said, 'but Magdalen! 
 
 The world wags ill, and Christ is far away, 
 And Heaven's as cruel as yon praying men. 
 
 What love or hope have I this Easter day ? ' 
 ' Wilt have my love, ' He said, but I said, ' Nay, 
 Thou knowest not the cost — the world's they say. 
 
 " 'This boy unfathered, and his mother lost. 
 And all their wagging tongues that cut like whips. 
 
 Nay, but we two alone will pay the cost! 
 He draws the pain out with his pretty lips. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 51 
 
 The black blood turns to milk at my heart's core, 
 What shall I do when he shall draw no more? ' 
 
 "'Mary,' He said, and my heart warmed again, 
 Like spring-kissed buds that open and are glad; 
 
 * I love thee, and in love forget thy stain. 
 Come, I'll be father to the little lad. 
 
 Electing him to heir my fair estate. 
 
 And none shall call him illegitimate! ' 
 
 '• Then I fell straightway at His sandalled feet; 
 
 'Oh, sweetest lover! most beloved friend! 
 Go, crown some better woman, I entreat! 
 
 I can bear on alone until the end, 
 For what am I to fill a good man's thought, 
 Or drag him down to share my shameful lot ? * 
 
 " Whereat He looked on me; oh, sweetest eyes! 
 
 * Mary, ' He said, and then I understood, 
 And as a wounded bird to cover flies 
 
 To die within the shadow of the wood, 
 I crept into the arms He opened wide. 
 And sobbed for joy, for I was satisfied. 
 
 " He held me close— I could not feel the cold. 
 He smiled, and I forgot the smile of scorn; 
 
 My body seemed a garment worn and old, 
 And all my happy soul was newly born. 
 
 And open like a beggar's hand to hold 
 
 The King's fair largess — love's uncounted gold." 
 
52 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 She looked up meekly, and a golden ray 
 Shone on her forehead through the chestnut trees. 
 
 "Tell us his name," the awe-struck maidens say, 
 Whereat she gazed aloft, like one who sees 
 
 The vision of his saint, long time adored; 
 
 " I will," she said, " His name is Christ, the Lord!" 
 Minneapolis, Minn., 1875. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 53 
 
 TO THOSE THAT ARE BEYOND 
 THE RIVER— PEACE. 
 
 When Death had closed your eyes, sweet friend, 
 
 and neighbors came to borrow 
 Some argument from speechless clay to prove 
 
 Heaven's bright to morrow. 
 They scanned awhile your noble face, and marked 
 
 each wasted feature, 
 And then one said, with bated breath: "She's 
 
 better off, poor creature. 
 
 "She had no gift for common life; she wove her 
 whims around it, 
 
 Nor was content to take the world exactly as she 
 found it. 
 
 On man's depravity she tried to graft the grace of 
 Heaven, 
 
 But all her wit could not avail to make odd num- 
 bers even. 
 
 "She had no call to storm the world with her 
 
 ideals of beauty, 
 Or break her soul upon the wheel to serve her 
 
 sense of duty. 
 She saw too straight for happiness, she told the 
 
 truth too plainly. 
 So here she spilled the lees of life, and loved and 
 
 suffered vainly." 
 
54 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 •*Oh, fools and blind! " of old He said, Oh, fools 
 and blind, to barter 
 
 The inner light for policy, and make the truth a 
 martyr! 
 
 I count her wasted virtue more than fraud's suc- 
 cessful glazing, 
 
 And her more honored in your blame than in your 
 meager praising. 
 
 She bent no knee to hoary sin of circumstance or 
 
 fashion. 
 Her eyes too level with the stars to see the lights of 
 
 passion; 
 She dwelt apart from dwarfish souls who called 
 
 themselves her betters, 
 To break His bread to fainting hearts, and make 
 
 the poor her debtors. 
 
 She deemed that lust defrauded love; that wedded 
 
 love was purer 
 Than even maiden innocence; that judgment 
 
 waited surer 
 For him who dared to marriage rite a filthy heart to 
 
 carry, 
 Than for the wretch who merely robs a priestly 
 
 sanctuary. 
 
 She walked upright, as if that way her brow to 
 
 Heaven was nearer; 
 She lifted honest eyes to God as if to see Him 
 
 clearer; 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 55 
 
 So, when our desert manna here no more sufficed 
 to feed her, 
 
 God breathed upon her upturned face, and beck- 
 oned home the pleader. 
 
 He sets His stars above your reach; they will not 
 quit their shining, 
 
 His truth eternally abides, despite your undermin- 
 ing. 
 
 Then leave the shallow plummet here, you brought 
 to gauge your sister, 
 
 Nor breathe reproach upon the brow where late 
 the angels kissed her! 
 
56 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 MY BABY. (4) 
 
 My little one, whose being sweet 
 Makes our two married lives complete, 
 
 And fills me with an awesome fear, 
 O baby-soul! O baby-heart! 
 Be still, and tell me what thou art, 
 
 And wherefore thou art coming here. 
 
 This world and we are too defiled 
 For such as thee, thou sinless child, 
 
 So loving and so innocent. 
 Art thou from some bright isle afar. 
 Ensphered in a crystal star 
 
 And bounded by a calm, content ? 
 
 Then wherefore art thou seeking so 
 The burden of our earthly woe, 
 
 The garment of our human pain ? 
 To seek and lose and question why; 
 To love like gods, like clay to die. 
 
 Sure this for thee were little gain! 
 
 My child, will not thy little face 
 Be earnest of forgiving grace 
 
 To her whose life thy own controls ? 
 No higher gift his love bestows, 
 And earth no nobler mission knows. 
 
 Than motherhood to deathless souls. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 57 
 
 Then come, dear heart! come, little feet! 
 God make thy pathway very sweet 
 
 With lily, rose and blossom white, 
 And make the soul He gave thee shine 
 With glory sacred and divine. 
 
 Like that the Christ-child wears in light. 
 
 Come, Baby-hands! Come, Baby-lips, 
 As in some rapt apocalypse, 
 
 I see my little angel stand. 
 Like some white dove the Lord has lent. 
 With oil and balm of Gilead sent. 
 
 To travelers in a weary land! 
 
 He views me with his father's eyes, 
 Full of all loving sympathies; 
 
 He puts me at fny Father's feet, 
 With spotless hands so late from heaven; 
 He prays his mother's sins forgiven, 
 
 And makes us three in God complete. 
 1866. 
 
58 GATHERED WINDFALLS, 
 
 WHY? 
 
 Oh! Violet, in the meadow-grass, 
 
 Why are thy eyes so full of tears ? 
 No clouds in thy blue heaven pass, 
 
 Thou hast no thought of human years, 
 The sun that warms thee loves thee well. 
 The blue above thee paints thy bell, 
 Then wherefore weep and sorrow thus ? 
 Go to! and leave the tears to us. 
 
 Oh! Willow! wherefore bend and weep. 
 
 And vaunt thy grief before our face ? 
 Thou hast no woes to sob to sleep, 
 
 Or need to mourn departed grace; 
 Thy green branch o'er our losses waves, 
 Thy tassels drop upon our graves. 
 Then wherefore weep and weary thus ? 
 Go to! and leave the grief to us. 
 
 Oh! Brooklet! sing us something gay; 
 
 The sparkles in thy ripples shine; 
 The small birds sip and trill a lay 
 
 That asks more blithe reply than thine. 
 Thou art not running to our sea. 
 The Sea of Life's Eternity, 
 Then wherefore croon and murmur thus ? 
 Go to! and leave the dirge to us. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 59 
 
 Oh! Flower and Tree and bonny Brook! 
 
 I trow a deeper need have ye 
 For tear and plaint and drooping look 
 
 Than careless eyes at first may see. 
 Immortal hopes ye may not know 
 Who share no human joy or woe, 
 Then wherefore should I blame you thus 
 Who leave eternal bliss to us ? 
 1865. 
 
6o GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 ELFRIDA. 
 
 The rows of corn like plumM knights 
 Stood up to guard the farmer's daughter, 
 
 And shook and rustled mockingly 
 The while that love and I besought her. 
 
 "Ah, love! " I cried, "your heavenly eyes, 
 Your golden hair, my sweet Elfrida, 
 
 Have set a snare to catch my heart, 
 And brought me here a special pleader. 
 
 " Now how much love have you to spare ? " 
 She laughed a laugh like running water; 
 
 "Say, how much for the eyes and hair. 
 And how much for the farmer's daughter ? " 
 
 Her voice rang out so eerily. 
 She tripped away so feat and airy, 
 
 I said: " Now did they name you right. 
 And are you half an elf or fairy ? ' ' 
 
 " In sooth," she laughed, "we're all akin. 
 
 The squirrel is my younger brother; 
 The bird and bee make love to me 
 
 So well, I laugh at any other. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 6i 
 
 •'Go! take a lesson of the brook 
 That woos the tree-top to embrace it; 
 
 Go! ask the robin on his nest 
 How he persuades his mate to grace it. 
 
 ^^They do not bungle, like a man, 
 They know a thousand sweet love-phrases: 
 
 But you, you laud her eyes and hair 
 And woo a maiden with cheap praises. 
 
 " Go! study how to win a soul! 
 
 The art will well repay your learning." 
 She turned and through the corn rows sped, 
 
 My longing vision scarce discerning, 
 
 Which were her curls of golden floss 
 And which the corn-stalks yellow tassels; 
 
 I only know they held her safe 
 From touch of mine, like trusty vassals. 
 
62 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 BUTTERCUP WOOING. 
 
 She plucked a flower beside the brook, 
 A yellow flower among the hay; 
 
 She bent above me with a look 
 
 Half child, half woman — " Tell me pray 
 Do you love butter ? ' ' 
 
 " This buttercup shall be the sign." 
 She held it just below my chin, 
 
 And close she bent her cheek to mine, 
 The cheek that had the dimple in — 
 
 * * Do you love butter ? ' ' 
 
 Nay, love, it is a human flower 
 That casts its glow upon my life. 
 
 Others may woo her for an hour 
 But I, I woo her for a wife. 
 
 And I love but her. 
 
 Ah! more than yellow buttercup, 
 
 Love's crimson roses dyed her cheek. 
 
 Sweetheart! your lover says look up 
 And read the vow he can not speak 
 To aye love but her! 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 63 
 
 LOVE'S INVENTORY. 
 
 'TWAS when the farmer's hope was young, 
 
 And all the fields were rarely green, 
 And in the grass the violets sprung 
 With modest innocence between, 
 
 When Madge and I 
 All in the sunny, bright, May weather, 
 
 Love and I 
 Took account of stock together. 
 
 But silver threads were in her head. 
 
 Dim was her once love-lighted eye, 
 She seemed beside the girl I wed 
 An old moon fading in the sky. 
 
 Could this be why 
 All in the sunny, sweet, May weather, 
 
 Love and I 
 Could not walk in peace together ? 
 
 Of treasure at the rainbow's end 
 
 Our silent partner, Love, had told; 
 So short we made our bow extend 
 We found full soon the pot of gold. 
 
 But all the glow, 
 Joy and cheer for rainy weather, 
 
 No, ah! no, 
 These were not in stock together. 
 
64 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 But if we owned a songless nest, 
 
 And if our love we'd sold away, 
 We only to the birds confessed; 
 Ah, woe is me! Ah, well a day! 
 
 What boots it now. 
 Lapped in delight, Love's own May weather, 
 
 Tell the vow 
 We took the day we walked together. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 65 
 
 AN ENDED QUEST. 
 
 Sometimes I pause to ponder 
 
 The story quaint and old, 
 How bees for honey eager 
 
 Swarmed Pindar's lips of gold; 
 And then that other legend 
 
 By old Anacreon told, 
 How bees stung winged Cupid, 
 
 Their rival overbold. 
 
 'Twas song and love, my darling. 
 
 The sweetest flowers earth -blown; 
 But Song was aye unguarded 
 
 While Cupid watched his own; 
 If lips like those, my darling, 
 
 The jealous bees had known. 
 And ever found untended 
 
 The bards had fared alone. 
 
 Fairer is love than learning. 
 
 Sweeter its honies be; 
 With more than wild bees yearning 
 
 I sought my fate of thee; 
 When thou that love returning 
 
 Lisped back a vow to me 
 The world were well forgetting 
 
 All meaner melody. 
 
66 GATHERED WINDFALLS, 
 
 Let art try all her strophes 
 
 Her many bards possess; 
 Poor bees! earth's sweetest honey 
 
 Distilled in Mary's "yes." 
 Leave Hybla and Hymettus, 
 
 They know no love like ours; 
 Their bees were only wild bees, 
 
 And only fed on flowers. 
 
 Oh! little woodland brothers, 
 
 Blythe bees that love your store. 
 If honied sweets ye covet, 
 
 Go roam the earth no more; 
 Together we'll discover 
 
 The sweetness at its core. 
 For who has ever uttered 
 
 Such golden words before ? 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 67 
 
 LOVE'S ART. 
 
 If lilies told their secrets 
 
 And roses sold their red, 
 rd haply know what charmed me so 
 
 The day that we were wed. 
 
 If mignonette grew anywhere 
 
 But on its lowly stalk, 
 rd think she stole its fragrant soul 
 
 To sweeten all her walk. 
 
 But since no roses in the world 
 
 Nor lilies are so sweet, 
 I know her art's the loving heart 
 
 That makes my life complete. 
 
68 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 LINES TO E. F. G. 
 
 WITH A BALSAM PILLOW. 
 
 Mountain balm beguile her, 
 By a sweet dream wile her, 
 The slumber islands — 
 Fast by fairy highlands, 
 There, Titania, woo her 
 Lest care still undo her. 
 Let the bee, loved hummer, 
 Sing of endless summer; 
 While the elves eschewing 
 All their freakish doing 
 Slumber draughts are brewing. 
 Then oh! softly wake her 
 Lest the wee folk take her, 
 And our loss discover 
 How all creatures love her. 
 
 1890. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 69 
 
 COQUETTISH HELEN. 
 
 Invite the sun to leave the sky 
 
 And tarry in our garden-close 
 That, for our sole behoof, thereby 
 
 Fuller may bloom Love's royal rose; 
 And it were vain! 
 And Helen, she whose light was born 
 
 And died with his in fables past, 
 Sweet name that signifies the Dawn, 
 
 If Love should hold the maiden fast 
 Could she remain ? 
 
 She wears her veils like morning mist. 
 
 Her cloud-like shawls of rosy hue. 
 And never lover's lip had kissed 
 
 Her cheek, save only sun and dew, 
 She is so coy. 
 They call her hoyden and coquette. 
 
 Her royal largess is so free; 
 Poor souls! their pains make them forget 
 
 If one could win the rest would be 
 Bereft of joy. 
 
 For thousand hearts their strength renew, 
 Each in the glory of her smile; 
 
 She has her own sweet work to do. 
 And can not wait for love the while, 
 
70 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 How'er we sigh. 
 The longing sunflower loves the sun 
 
 And follows with adoring face, 
 But if he asked to be the one 
 Only beloved in every place, 
 It would deny 
 
 Thousands of buttercups the gold 
 
 For which they wait with open purse; 
 And if her love to one she told 
 
 Many a heart would ache the worse 
 For loss and ruth. 
 So God who made the planets roll 
 
 Like golden flowers in steadfast ring, 
 He made her for a central soul 
 
 And us for sunflowers worshiping 
 Her glorious youth. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 71 
 
 CALABRIAN SONGS. (5) 
 
 MATIN SONG. 
 
 What shall we bring to our Lord's blessed mother ? 
 
 What shall we sing to the blessed of the Lord ? 
 Bring her the gift of the heart, and no other, 
 Sing the wild carols our mountains afford: 
 Easing her burden. 
 This be our guerdon, 
 Songs of Calabria, loved of the Lord! 
 
 Sing how the summer her robe puts upon her, 
 Making the wine in the grape's purple heart; 
 Tell how the mountaineer drinks in her honor, 
 Loth from her beauty at vintage to part, 
 Pressing her sweetness 
 Into song's meetness, 
 Song meet as wine is for winter's sad heart! 
 
 Bagpipe and tabor are better than sabre, 
 
 God send the carol the angels once sang: 
 Peace on the earth and good will to the neighbor. 
 Shepherds like us know of old how it rang. 
 Sound it oh, tabor! 
 Pipe it oh, neighbor! 
 Sing, shepherds, sing! as the angels once sang! 
 
72 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 EVEN SONG. 
 
 Oh, shepherds! leave your flocks awhile 
 
 And all their downy folds forget; 
 The evening star begins to smile, 
 
 But Christ's is not arisen yet; 
 Our Lady longs with empty arms 
 
 And Earth her round attentive spins, 
 For Heaven will sing its sweetest psalms 
 
 When His "good will to men" begins. 
 
 Sweet mother! fear not, though of old 
 The earth and sky were not so cold! 
 And is it true the story told 
 When Christ was born, our Savior dear. 
 The silver streamlet ceased to sing, 
 The bird hung poised upon the wing, 
 The almond blushed in blossoming 
 For joy to know their Lord so near 
 Though it, in sooth, be glad, nor fear 
 The snow that decks our wintry year, 
 For earth itself has blossomed here 
 In one fair flower of white to cheer 
 
 Thy trial hour; 
 Better than almonds is the blush 
 Of budding souls in holy hush 
 
 Who own His power 
 And humbly wait till He appear. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 73 
 
 Oh! if there be a pine that stands 
 
 The tallest on our mountain head, 
 Whereon the moon with priestly hands 
 
 A golden blessing oft has shed, 
 Deck with its green our Lady's shrine, 
 
 Dusk with its shade our wonted sins; 
 Then let the star of Christmas shine 
 
 When His "good will to men " begins! 
 
 EVEN SONG. 
 
 Mary, Mother! now the sun 
 
 Dies our watching hills upon. 
 
 So may sins departing fire 
 
 While we wait our Lord expire. 
 
 Lest the angel choir be long 
 
 Here we bring our even song 
 
 Like a child whose light drawn breath 
 
 Yet his mother comforteth; 
 
 Sweetest songs thy sorrows move, 
 
 Mother of Immortal Love! 
 
 Mary, mother! wait serene, 
 
 All thy shrines are dressed with green 
 
 Mountain pine that touched the sky 
 
 Nearest where God's angels fly. 
 
 Hither, too, we bring the meed 
 
 Of the poor whose bitter need 
 
 Spares a cake thy heart to cheer; 
 
 Now thy trial hour is near 
 
74 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 Fear it not, for mortal pain 
 Cometh not with Christly gain. 
 
 Ave Mary' ever blessed, 
 
 Think of that divinest guest! 
 
 Soon will come the Christmas morn, 
 
 Soon thy little child be born; 
 
 Then, for fitly mothering Him, 
 
 Thou, amidst the cherubim 
 
 Ever more shalt hear us say 
 
 Ave Mary! when we pray 
 
 Never more may any be 
 
 Motherless because of thee. 
 
 Mary, mother! fear thou not 
 Though the stables be thy lot! 
 When the manger, freshly spread, 
 Lightens round the Holy Head 
 And the cattle, dumb no more. 
 Kneel before Him on the floor. 
 Praising with the heavenly host, 
 Oh! remember then the most. 
 Not the warm, unfriendly inn, 
 But a cold world dumb with sin. 
 
 Rest thee then, and courage take. 
 Shepherds all around thee wake. 
 All our flocks are folded near, 
 Waiting till the star appear; 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 75 
 
 Then our herds a gift shall hold 
 When the wise men bring their gold, 
 Manna, honey, oil and wine, 
 Mary, shall be His and thine. 
 All the poor man's hoarded store, 
 Mother Heart, what would'st thou more? 
 
76 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GARLAND. 
 
 If the lilies purer were, 
 Each a cool white cloister, 
 There would I Thy Manger set, 
 Holy Child, who lov'st us yet; 
 And with gifts of spice and myrrh, 
 Bought by King and sorcerer, 
 I would have Thy star lead down 
 Little Kings who need no crown. 
 Richly laden, rank on rank, 
 To that fragment lily bank. 
 Most thou lov'st with them to be. 
 Oh! then, make a child of me. 
 If the door 
 In Heaven's floor 
 Be no higher than innocence. 
 Since a child Thou earnest thence. 
 Let my Christmas stature take 
 Thy sweet measure for Love's sake. 
 
 Since of old a princely stranger 
 Made His hostelry a manger. 
 Pilgrim stranger, oh! let me 
 Fall in love with poverty. 
 Poor in spirit. 
 Oh! inhabit. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 77 
 
 Jesu, all my lowly dwelling, 
 Richly poor beyond the telling 
 With angelic galaxies, 
 For its faded tapestries. 
 And the lilies of Thy grace, 
 Sweetly scenting all the place. 
 So did'st Thou Thy stable old 
 Deck with more than cloth of gold. 
 Christmas hut, or Christmas hall, 
 Nothing matters tho' a stall. 
 If we house the Lord of all. 
 
 They asked no more. 
 Those Kings of yore. 
 Than just to worship and adore; 
 
 Oh, Child! new born 
 
 Each Christmas morn, 
 We need Thy grace as ne'er before. 
 
 To-day our kings 
 
 Are sordid things; 
 
 Far gleams the star, the angel wings. 
 
 Our own hands hold 
 
 The bribe of gold 
 While happy near a siren sings. 
 
 Oh, Jesu! take 
 
 For Love's sweet sake 
 
 Our hearts, and these Thy kingdom make! 
 
 No changing creeds 
 
 Or modern needs 
 Shall e'er Thy gentle sceptre break. 
 
78 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 BROTHER ANGELO. 
 
 At Florence, where the faithful love to show 
 
 The pictured glories of Angelico, 
 
 Dwelt Brother Angelo of holy life: 
 
 White was his soul, and blameless, save for strife 
 
 Of windy doctrines for the church's weal; 
 
 A good Dominican, he could but feel 
 
 How passing evil were Franciscan ways; 
 
 And every day he plead that for His praise 
 
 God would vouchsafe to him some work to do 
 
 That should reveal His will to men anew. 
 
 One day as on the stone his knees he bent, 
 
 Through all the cell a rushing murmur went, 
 
 As of a thousand wings of cherubim, 
 
 And voices silver-ton^d said to him: 
 
 " Angelo, God would have thee paint anon 
 
 A missal, fairest ever looked upon, 
 
 And all around the text, below, above. 
 
 Would have thee tint the color of His love." 
 
 "Well said," thought Angelo, "for sure we know 
 
 The circling seraphim that, row on row. 
 
 Surround the throne the nearest Him, are red; 
 
 It is love's color limners aye have said." 
 
 But though he wrought, no sign by day or night 
 
 Proclaimed that he had read God's will aright. 
 
 As through the meadows forth one day he fared» 
 
 He saw a lily lone, which sweetly shared 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 79 
 
 Its noisome pool with many a noxious weed, 
 Yet on its head a glory shone, indeed, 
 And on its leaf a legend seemed to run — 
 " Hast thou found love, oh! proud Dominican ? " 
 Angelo quaked, but pondered— might it be 
 That love was white ? this flower a mystery 
 Like that which Gabriel unto Mary brought 
 When Heaven's love its greatest wonder wrought ? 
 Angelo knelt — "Oh! God! our heart has shown 
 The angels red and blue about thy throne; 
 But thou, oh, God! thou art the central light 
 So clear the seraphs veil them from the sight — 
 Who paints thy Love ? I leave my pages white." 
 
 Reader, an age that hardly knew to spell, 
 Of brotherhood, the first few letters well. 
 Missed the full secret of a ray of light 
 W^hich to the common eye appeareth white. 
 Perchance the painter's early dream was true 
 That love was red, and contemplation blue, 
 Passing the prism of God's service through. 
 But perfect love like perfect light must be, — 
 All tints of faith and hope and charity, — 
 Made white in Him who is their unity. 
 Then let a rainbow arch thy loving breast 
 O'er one white heart which carries all the rest. 
 
8o GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 RENUNCIATION. 
 
 Old Canute, whose foot was wet, 
 (" Foolish King " they call him yet), 
 Challenging the rising sea — 
 Fool or no 
 Truth will show 
 He has goodly company. 
 
 For another sea beside 
 Rolls its moonless mystic tide 
 Up and down the shores of Fate. 
 Solemn Sea 
 Of Destiny, 
 On whose verge we sit and wait. 
 
 And though every sobbing wave 
 Is of human loss a grave. 
 We stretch out our sceptered hand 
 In a great 
 Royal state, 
 "Come no farther," we command. 
 
 Love goes with us to the brink, 
 Time and tide will wait we think; 
 When the marriage myrtle blows 
 Round his head, 
 Garlanded, 
 Who would drown its mate the rose ? 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 8i 
 
 " Back! " we cry, " or ever yet 
 Beauty's sandalled foot be wet! 
 Yield her from the foamy wave 
 Venus-like, 
 Woman-like, 
 Lest the bath should be her grave." 
 
 Ah! wet sandal, wave- washed zone! 
 Bride of Lethe, or our own ? 
 How it creepeth — how it nears 
 Beauty's breast. 
 Love's fond rest. 
 Till its salt is salt of tears! 
 
 Come away as mourners should. 
 Sorrow's tide is at its flood; 
 
 Beauty's dead, and Love is mute, 
 While the surge 
 Chants their dirge 
 Who may mock at old Canute ? 
 
 Once by far Hellenic seas 
 Neptune's shipwrecked votaries 
 Hung their garments in his fane; 
 Trophies torn 
 By the scorn 
 Of a God they might not chain. 
 
 So to thee, engulfing Fate, 
 We resign our purple state, 
 Love and Beauty's royal suits. 
 Myrtle crown. 
 Tear washed gown. 
 Hang them up with old Canute s. 
 
82 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 THE POET'S LAW. 
 
 " Great care is taken," says Goethe, " that the tall trees do 
 not grow into the sky." 
 
 The scholar laid his book aside, 
 An apple dropped above his head; 
 
 " So is thy doctrine verified, 
 Oh master of the law! " he said. 
 
 "Newton, of all our scholar-guild 
 
 Favored the primal law to see. 
 Thou hast but conquered half the field, 
 
 A deeper truth is in the tree. 
 
 " What gives the sap its upward flow 
 That mocked thy law since time began ? 
 
 What instinct stirs within it so, 
 Like worship in the heart of man ? " 
 
 The poet-scholar went his way, 
 The wind-swept meadow walking down; 
 
 A softened glory seemed to play 
 Around his path to Cambridge town. 
 
 For he who lights the page we read 
 With glimpse of higher laws than sense, 
 
 Though science may deny his creed, 
 He is a priest of Providence. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS, 83 
 
 Earth's mighty forces hold the tree, 
 The apple drops and tastes of death; 
 
 But heaven watches jealously, 
 Or so the German seer saith, 
 
 Lest overmuch the sap may own 
 
 The gravitation of the sky; 
 Or lest the dryad may have known, 
 
 Like us, its immortality. 
 
 For half immortal, mortal half, 
 The dryad shared our milk and wine, 
 
 Doomed half our bitter cup to quaff 
 And half of Hebe's cup divine. 
 
 Beguiled in earth's compelling lap 
 When heaven is distant but a span. 
 
 It seems half ichor is the sap. 
 Half godlike is the blood of man. 
 
 The poet only knoweth why 
 
 The law of gravity was given; 
 Lest trees too early reach the sky 
 And men too soon return to heaven. 
 1885. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 FROM MYTH TO MATERIALISM. 
 
 I THOUGHT of the lore of sages, 
 
 All that their wisdom saith 
 Of the folly of human endeavor, 
 
 And the shortness of human breath, 
 And of how the long procession 
 
 Has gone o'er the hills of death. 
 
 Some to the dim Nirvana, 
 
 Some to Elysian Fields, 
 Some to the fierce Valhalla 
 
 Borne on their dripping shields. 
 And some to the Christian's heaven 
 
 That the tree of healing yields; 
 
 And I said, "Oh! God of our fathers. 
 What fables Thy children tell 
 
 At last, as in ancient Jewry, 
 The Sadducee befell. 
 
 So now, in the name of Science, 
 We have learned his lesson well. 
 
 Out of primeval firemist. 
 
 Or the protoplasmic cell, 
 These creatures of thine have fashioned 
 
 Another heaven and hell; 
 A drearier Nirvana 
 
 Than the ancient bards fortell. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 85 
 
 For numberless gravitations 
 These vanishing earth-worms draw, 
 
 Our Living and Dying and Loving, 
 All bound by remorseless law, 
 
 A great necessity, sterner 
 Than the vision Plato saw. 
 
 Not truer is the instinct 
 
 Of the needle to the pole, 
 Than we to our place in nature, 
 
 The dead to their destined goal. 
 And who may decide if matter 
 
 Have as yet evolved a soul ? 
 
 The engineer who elected 
 
 To die to save his train, 
 The priest among his lepers 
 
 Disdainful of death and pain. 
 Oh! spirit that ever derideth, 
 
 Answer your riddle again. (6) 
 
86 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 THE WOOD-THRUSH AT SUNSET. 
 
 Lover of solitude, 
 Poet and priest of nature's mysteries, 
 
 If but a step intrude, 
 Thy oracle is mute, thy music dies. 
 
 Oft have I lightly wooed 
 Sweet Poesy to give me pause of pain, 
 
 Oft in her singing mood 
 Sought to surprise her haunt, and sought in vain. 
 
 And thou art shy as she. 
 But mortal, or I had not found thy shrine 
 
 To listen breathlessly 
 If I may make thy hoarded secret mine. 
 
 Thy tender mottled breast, 
 Dappled the color of our primal sod. 
 
 Now quick and song-possessed. 
 Doth seem to hold the very joy of God. 
 
 Joy hid from mortal quest 
 Of bosky loves on silver-mooned eves. 
 
 And the high-headed best 
 That swells thy throat with joy among the leaves. 
 
 Like the Muezzin's call 
 From some high minaret when day is done, 
 
 Among the beeches tall 
 Thy voice proclaims, ' ' There is no God but one. ' 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 87 
 
 And but one Beauty, too, 
 Of whose sweet synthesis we ever fail; 
 
 She flies if we pursue, 
 Like thy swift wing down some dim intervale, 
 
 For thou art lightly gone, 
 Gone is the flute-like note, the yearning strain, 
 
 And all the air forlorn 
 Is breathless till it hear thy voice again. 
 
 But thou wilt not return; 
 Thou hast the secret of thy joy to keep. 
 
 And other hearts must learn 
 Thy tuneful message ere the world may sleep. 
 
 Sleep lulled by many a dream 
 Of sylvan sounds that woo the ear in vain. 
 
 While still thy numbers seem 
 To voice the pain of bliss, the bliss of pain. 
 
88 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 TO THE WOOD ANEMONE. 
 
 " Her tears to the wind-flower, 
 His blood to the rose." 
 
 BlON. 
 
 When bereaved Cytherea 
 
 Saw Adonis on his bier, 
 
 Where the rose that was his blood 
 
 Wasted fast its fragrant flood, 
 
 Straight the tears came, dropping slowly 
 
 Love's fond tears, celestial, holy; 
 
 Woman like, the goddess spouse 
 
 Mourned, as in a stricken house 
 
 Mourn the mortal for their dead; 
 
 While the bitter tears she shed 
 
 (So benign the heavenly powers. 
 
 So unlike their grief to ours) 
 
 Blossomed into vernal flowers. 
 
 Thou pale darling, Cypris' tear 
 Art to every mourner dear. 
 Thou, the type of life to be, 
 Heavenly eyed anemone! 
 Underneath thy snowy whitness 
 Lingers, like a blush, the brightness 
 Of that purple wound of death, 
 Fading in the spring's warm breath — 
 Fading till thy cup is white 
 As the saints that walk in light; 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 89 
 
 Ah! let not a trace remain! 
 
 For when thou hast lost thy stain 
 
 Love and I may smile again. 
 
 Little firstling of the year, 
 Risen spirit of a tear, 
 I have found thee where the snow 
 Scarce made room for thee to grow: 
 In New England's forest reaches 
 Where no fabled Love beseeches 
 With her bleeding foot forlorn 
 Waiting for thy birthday morn. 
 Shall I pity thee for this ? 
 Warm thy coldness with a kiss ? 
 Whisper that if far away, 
 Redder 'neath the Orient day, 
 Love would claim thee hers for aye ? 
 
 Nay, thou darling of the soul, 
 Keep thy western lineage whole! 
 I will dream this New World soil 
 Is the heaven for which we toil; 
 And that in thy tender greeting 
 I my own lost dead am meeting. 
 Not a tale the poets tell 
 Of the Elysian asphodel, 
 Or the mystic doffodil, 
 Leaning over Enna's rill, 
 Brings immortal bliss so near 
 As thy small, white blossoms here. 
 Half a hope and half a tear. 
 
90 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 WHERE'S HYLAS? 
 
 A god can not be hidden from a god." — Greek Legend. 
 
 This is the place, a mountain lake, 
 
 Whose lights the glimmering shadows break; 
 
 'Twas here I lost him quite. 
 His hair with flowers she braided in, 
 He touched a tinkling mandolin. 
 
 She drew him from my sight — 
 
 My hero, lover, knight. 
 Where's Hylas ? 
 
 The myrtle on his brow was wet, 
 He had not time to half forget 
 
 The kiss I half forbid. 
 When lo! I lost him! Is it true 
 From those who love as high gods do, 
 
 A god can not be hid 
 
 The meaner mass amid ? 
 Where's Hylas ? 
 
 He left me 'twixt two silences 
 Where soul or sense the mightiest is. 
 
 Was he the god or I ? 
 He put all heavens between us two — 
 All hells. The Lamia trail he drew 
 
 Across my soul's pure eye; 
 
 I saw my fair god die. 
 
 Where's Hylas ? 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 91 
 
 "Oh, Echo! magnify my loss," 
 I cried, and sent my wail across 
 
 That bitter summer sea. 
 My loss ? The whole world knew the pain, 
 Myriad voices back again 
 My selfish question gave 
 From many an idol's grave. 
 Where's Hylas ! 
 1892. 
 
92 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 FOUR TYPES OF WOMANHOOD. 
 
 " And I cried! 
 Oh! Paris, give it to Pallas." 
 
 Tennyson's ^nonk. 
 
 ATHENE. 
 
 How shall we choose thee, goddess chaste and calm? 
 
 It is not Paris but the woman race 
 
 Will ask thy worth and judge thee face to face. 
 Above the city, violet-crowned, thy arm 
 Sheltered the Greek, and dropped ambrosial balm 
 On sage and poet, but thou had'st no grace 
 For wife or daughter in the enchanted place: 
 
 The gynecaeum sealed with Learning's charm, 
 Only the courtezan might dare and know. 
 ^But womanhood and these were not akin; 
 When mad Orestes sought thee in his woe 
 
 Thou did'st deny thy mother, and his sin. 
 Change thou! or ere we change the old decree 
 Oh! come again and bring a heart with thee. (7) 
 
 1888. 
 
 PHRYNE. 
 
 She stood before her judges, rosy, fair. 
 Like Aphrodite, sure of Paris's eye. 
 No girdle bound her waist, just symmetry; 
 
 Her sunny tresses on her shoulders bare 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 93 
 
 She laughing shook (the fragrant rippling hair 
 Crowned with the golden grasshopper), for why 
 Should "earth-born" men such beauteous grace 
 
 deny 
 Or measure justice when she choose to snare? 
 Ah! beauty-loving Greek, to whom the curve 
 
 Of rosy flesh itself was all divine! 
 The impious one thy justice may not swerve 
 
 For Zeus shall punish and the doom assign. 
 She saw — her bosom's veil aside she swept, 
 Showed the white breast , and outraged justice slept. 
 
 1888. 
 
 MAGDALENE. 
 
 Sad-browed! thou art the old world's exponent, 
 For thou wast Pallas in her high estate, 
 And thou art Phryne! Lo! the night is late 
 
 And a new sun flushes the firmament. 
 
 Say, did'st thou hear what time thy brows were bent 
 Prone to His cross, that awful cry elate 
 Sound o'er Hellenic seas the doom of Fate 
 
 "Great Pan is dead," and how the echo sent 
 
 A thunder through Olympus ? 'Twas the hour 
 When " Elovi," he cried, and hung between 
 
 Two shuddering worlds, wrapped in the mystic power 
 That waits between the unseen and the seen. 
 
 He plucked a flower of hope in that far place 
 
 And dropped it on thy head for healing grace. 
 1888. 
 
94 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 THE NEW ATHENE. 
 
 The world is old, and all the gods are old, 
 
 And all their myth and oracle are sought 
 
 Only to trace the genesis of thought. 
 And thou thyself art as a tale that's told, 
 Peerless Athene! Yet thine ideal holds 
 
 The fruitful seed of all the ages taught. 
 
 Knowledge aud power and purity are bought 
 Not when the human mind is basely sold. 
 Yet, yet shall man and woman be redeemed, 
 
 And thy chaste bridals heaven and earth shall hold 
 When the old dreaming world at last has dreamed, 
 
 Its ideals level with Time's age of gold. 
 Love shall attend thee then, Love unenslaved, 
 And the fair city of the soul be saved. 
 
 1888. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 95 
 
 HAPPINESS. 
 
 TO E. F. P. ON HER MARRIAGE. 
 
 If Happiness would sit at Love's dear feet, 
 A steady guest, nor ever change her sky, 
 Then I would wish that Happiness for aye 
 
 Might stay with thee, nor ever leave her seat. 
 
 But they who count the most her presence sweet, 
 They lose her most, — the plea she passes by 
 To join her sister Blessedness, whose eye 
 
 Watches the souls beset who hard entreat. 
 
 Work then, nor ask if happiness be thine; 
 Endure as strong men in a race endure. 
 
 Drink any cup that comes of Life's red wine 
 So only that thy heart and lips be pure. 
 
 Then call on Blessedness with one full cry, 
 
 And Happiness shall answer: " here am I." 
 1888. 
 
96 GATHERED WINDFALLS. 
 
 EDELWEISS. 
 
 TO C. I. P. AND M. F. ON THEIR MARRIAGE. 
 
 I LEAVE, dear wife, a flower upon thy breast 
 
 When, warderless, I lay me down to sleep; 
 
 My soul in thee safe sanctuary keeps, 
 Nor fears a foe hard by a shrine so blest. 
 Daily I climb Life's rugged Alpine crest 
 
 Amid a thousand snares and pitfalls deep; 
 
 I only pluck one flower along the steep, 
 The little sky-kissed flower thou lovest best. 
 As fares the laborer home to sleep's embrace, 
 
 Yet halts to lay an offering shyly down 
 Before some wayside Virgin's hallowed face. 
 
 With this white flower thy equal shrine I crown 
 To tell thee, sweet, how high his path must be, 
 How white his life, who is beloved by thee. 
 
 1884. 
 
GATHERED WINDFALLS. 97 
 
 EUTHANASY. 
 
 If sleep held half the blessedness of Death, 
 We would not wake when bleak to-morrow morns 
 Hang haggard on the skirts of yesterdays, 
 
 But keep the even pulse, the measured breath; 
 For so do they whom Death hath coaxed to sleep 
 
 (A stern-faced nurse, with fingers strangely soft) 
 The secret of their bliss in silence keep. 
 
 Nor wake to tell it, though we urge them oft. 
 
 Spellbound before Eternity's surprise. 
 Their bodies like enchanted princes lie. 
 What time their souls renew the Eden quest, 
 
 To know like gods, nor fear to be too wise. 
 The penalty of speech we can not tell. 
 
 Who'd bar their pathway to eternal day? 
 One word — a look perchance might break the spell, 
 
 The freed soul loves its wings, and dare not stay. 
 
98 GATHERED WINDFALLS, 
 
 MILKWEED. 
 
 Along New England hedges, when at first 
 
 The redding sumach signals coming snow, 
 
 Half broken-hearted, with a breezy woe, 
 A milkweed army from their tents have burst. 
 Thro' miles of browning lanes they fly dispersed 
 
 In silvery legions scouting to and fro. 
 
 The children take them captive as they go 
 Like eerie soldiers, fairy born and nursed. 
 Even so, when frosty winter nears their heart. 
 
 Released from camps of care, a white-haired band 
 Plant in our homes the winged seeds that start 
 
 To childish love, and reverence on each hand. 
 Half of the earth they seem, yet half apart. 
 
 Keep, kindly God, the grandmas of our land! 
 
Miscellaneous Poems 
 
A CROCUS. 
 
 In gray heroic days, in ages olden, 
 E'er iron Progress blew her note of steam, 
 
 Man used to see in flowers blue and golden 
 Some bright ideal or some fairy dream. 
 
 Those were the olden days, the blissful season 
 When Faith was bright and Hope was always 
 young. 
 
 And men forgot sometimes the rule of reason 
 To hear the song that Love or Fancy sung. 
 
 That day's last flush has left the Grecian mountains, 
 No muse or goddess haunts the fabled hill; 
 
 But still around us flow Castalian fountains, 
 The sotil of Poetry breathes round us still. 
 
 A nobler song than lives in Homer's pages, 
 Springs from a crocus if we will but hear; 
 
 'Tis God's handwriting, thus through all the ages 
 His hand has scattered poems far and near. 
 
 But when with old time superstition sated 
 
 We still may seek the flowers, and think how 
 long 
 
 Our God has sent them to us fresh created 
 Preachers of light, and liberty, and song. 
 
I02 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MIRAGE. 
 
 A FOUNTAIN in the desert burst, 
 
 And weary travelers stopped to drink. 
 Though all the ground about was cursed, 
 
 Yet flowers grew upon its brink. 
 Faint heart and weary feet it blest 
 
 With promptings of the coming goal; 
 And travelers called it ** Pilgrim's Rest," 
 
 A refuge for a weary soul. 
 
 I was in desert worse than this, 
 
 I was a traveler, pilgrim shod, 
 Life's bright mirage, its faded bliss 
 
 Had left me but the waste and God. 
 When lo! a fountain sprang from Christ, 
 
 A blessing for my weary days. 
 I named the spot the " Pilgrim's Rest," 
 
 And marked the place with prayer and praise. 
 
 Selfish rogue, did Psyche dream 
 When her lamp she held above him, 
 
 How the oil would downward stream, 
 Wake the rogue and make her love him ? 
 
EARLY POEMS, 103 
 
 THE DREAMER. 
 
 In my youth's gay, sunny morning, 
 Ere my dreamland passed away, 
 
 Or the rose-flush of the dawning 
 Melted in the riper day, 
 
 Built I many an airy castle 
 Where my soul should dwell for aye. 
 
 Towers of stone and doors of iron 
 Wrought I for its strong defense. 
 
 ** I am mightier than Time is; 
 These shall flourish ages hence." 
 
 Thus I boasted in my weakness 
 With no thoughts of Providence. 
 
 I had vassals, I had banners 
 'Broidered with a mystic sign, 
 
 Cattle browsing on the hillsides 
 In the sunlight, all were mine; 
 
 And my barns were overflowing 
 With their stores of corn and wine. 
 
 '* Drink," I said, "O soul, be merry! 
 
 Eat, to-day may be thy last; 
 Seize the present time and pleasure 
 
 This is all the life thou hast. 
 
I04 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " Not for thankless Duty's mission, 
 Shall my soul her ease resign; 
 
 And the rugged path of duty, 
 Is for stouter feet than mine." 
 
 So I turned me to my revel, 
 
 Bade the harpers sing once more, 
 
 And the light feet of the dancer 
 Trip upon the oaken floor. 
 
 But my soul was heavy, Conscience 
 Stood and pleaded at my door. 
 
 Slowly crumbled the foundations 
 I had built so strong of late, 
 
 Round me an o'ermastering presence 
 Brooded like the wing of Fate, 
 
 For I heard the voice of Wisdom 
 Thundering at my Castle gate. 
 
 Wisdom calls. My fabrics vanish. 
 
 "Turn ye — turn at my reproof — 
 Lo! my spirit shall be with you; 
 
 Leave thy follies with thy youth. 
 Be no more the idle dreamer 
 
 But a Champion of Truth." 
 
 Now the wassail bowl is broken. 
 And the harpers harp no more; 
 
 Rusty hangs the ancient armor, 
 Mould defiles the oaken floor, 
 
 And my soul wears better armor 
 Than the Knightly steel of yore. 
 1858. 
 
EARLY POEMS. 105 
 
 AMPHION. 
 
 Once, 'tis said, the poet Amphion, 
 
 Filled with high poetic fire, 
 Raised the walls of Thebes fair city 
 
 By the music of his lyre. 
 
 So our lives should flow harmonious 
 Like some songster's pleasing rhyme, 
 
 Should be grand and solemn poems 
 Chanted by the minstrel Time. 
 
 So should we a power inherit 
 
 Which should raise and make us strong, 
 And build up within the spirit 
 
 Bulwarks aganist sin and wrong. 
 
 Labor is this mighty lever 
 
 Which should raise and make us free; 
 Earnest, noble, strong endevor 
 
 Links us with the Deity. 
 
 Are your hands too white for soiling, 
 Of the "Common herd " afraid? 
 
 God's right hand is with the toiling, 
 All an equal He hath made. 
 
 Human pride, it leaves its traces 
 Wherso'er its shade is thrown; 
 
 Like the fabled Gorgon's; faces 
 Turning human hearts to stone. 
 
io6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 But for mCy let not the dollar 
 And the stamp of noble birth 
 
 Be the standard that I follow, 
 And my highest test of worth. 
 
 He whose hands embrowned by labor, 
 Worketh well, and worketh sure, 
 
 He who scorneth not his neighbor, 
 He whose heart and life are pure. 
 
 Rise and work ! Will idle dreaming 
 Win the shore by angel's trod ? 
 
 Earthly things are only seeming. 
 There is nothing true but God. 
 
 Onward press ! the weeds of pleasure 
 Flourish not in heavenly soil. 
 
 Oh ! compute by higher measure. 
 Learn to win a heaven by toil. 
 
 Courage ! in the weak beginning 
 Turn thy face toward the light, 
 
 And thou shalt not fail of winning, 
 God is ever with the right. 
 1858 
 
EARLY POEMS, 107 
 
 THE TRUE CREED. 
 
 Pilgrims at the well of life, 
 Lo ! we come by doubt opprest; 
 
 On our brows the fever strife, 
 In our hearts a vague unrest. 
 
 Let the waters overflow 
 Weary heart and aching sense, 
 
 So perchance our souls may know 
 More of christian confidence. 
 
 Oh ! for light and Oh ! for grace, 
 Like the living light which broke 
 
 From the mountain's sacret place 
 When the Lord with Moses spoke. 
 
 Now the Church's iron hand 
 Shapes the substance of our hope. 
 
 And we view the Promised land 
 Through a creed's kaleidoscope. 
 
 Lord ! how long for empty pride 
 Shall thy truth be sacrificed ? 
 
 And a doctrines* shadow hide 
 All the loving face of Christ ? 
 
 Vivat Deus! through the strife 
 Of the old creeds and the new, 
 
 Glimpses of a higher life 
 And a deeper faith shines through. 
 
io8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Sometimes on our darkness falls 
 Glimses of that central thought 
 
 That the earnest-hearted Paul 
 Or the mystic Plato taught, 
 
 How in spite of sect or creed 
 God's sweet mercy reigns above, 
 
 And the only creed we need 
 Is the doctrine " God is Love. " 
 
 So along Ufe's dreary road 
 
 Through our shadowland we creep 
 
 Till to His divine abode 
 
 God recalls His wandering sheep. 
 
 Then the shadow backward cast 
 Shall reveal the perfect good, 
 
 And the soul may grasp at last 
 All it blindly understood. 
 
 As the great earth eastward heaves 
 
 On its axis daily spun, 
 Yet approaches by degrees 
 
 Nearer to the crentral sun — 
 
 So through rounds of weary years 
 Must our upward progress be, 
 
 Till our doubtings and our fears 
 Blend in Love's Infinity. 
 1859 
 
EARLY POEMS. 109 
 
 L' ENVOI. 
 
 The burden of another day, 
 The record of its sins and prayers, 
 
 Lord Jesus, at Thy feet I lay 
 A mingled sheaf of wheat and tares. 
 
 I mowed them thus with feeble hand, 
 Regard them, Lord, with pitying look 
 
 And let the good fruit waiting stand 
 But blot the evil from Thy book. 
 
 Oh! in Thy vineyard let me be 
 A laborer worthy of his hire, 
 
 Remembering that 'tis love of Thee, 
 And not the penny I desire. 
 i860. 
 
no MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " AND IN PRISON." 
 
 Bound by sin, a heavy fetter, 
 Lord, I lie Thy endless debtor; 
 Lo! look down with eyes of pity 
 From Thy golden gated city, 
 Sick and weary and in prison 
 Let me hear Thee say — forgiven. 
 
 Like all other yokes the lightest, 
 Hope all other hopes the brightest, 
 Let me bow my head and bear them, 
 Thou, my Lord, hast deigned to share them. 
 What can hide the sin of years ? 
 Let me pay my debt with tears. 
 
 Oh! that I might once like Mary 
 Bathe those feet for me, so weary; 
 Or, like John, might know the blessing 
 Of the Saviour's near caressing; 
 Lord, may I then love, inherit. 
 Gift me with the self-same spirit. 
 
 By the all-forgiving power, 
 By that last and bitter hour. 
 By that love so mild and tender, 
 Lord! Thy longing child remember; 
 Take me from my gloomy prison, 
 Let me rise as Thou hast risen. 
 
EARLY POEMS, iii 
 
 For Thy loving-kindness yearning, 
 Like a prodigal returning, 
 Father, let Thine arms enfold me, 
 In Thy safe, sure mercy hold me; 
 So from out my gloomy prison 
 I s/ia// rise as He has risen. 
 1861. 
 
 Sweetheart, if Fortune (balky jade) 
 
 Refuse your gold to carry 
 She can not throw you for you know 
 
 'Tis not for gold you marry. 
 There's an old fashioned dowry dear, 
 
 A heart, they used to call it, 
 Let fools go by who fain would try 
 
 To match it with a wallet. 
 
 " I could not love thee, dear, so much 
 
 Loved I not honor dearer," 
 So early thought the Huguenot, 
 
 I bring the lesson nearer, 
 Be truth to self and truth to God 
 
 The wealth you bring your lover. 
 And every year Love gives you here 
 
 Shall heavenly love discover. 
 
112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 BENEDICITE. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR G. E. R. ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR 
 WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE, 1861. 
 
 God bless thee, Brother! I were weak indeed 
 To weigh the Right with my own puny loss: 
 
 God strengthen every hand, and make our flag 
 A fitting back-ground for our holy cross. 
 
 God bless thee, Brother! Make that sacred cross 
 Light, Law, King, Leader in the coming strife. 
 
 Christ's benediction falls with healing breath, 
 "Who loses for my sake shall find his life." 
 
 God bless thee, Brother! Oh! Thou dear, dear 
 Christ, 
 
 We fight Thy battles, bless and save Thine Own. 
 Flame Thou before us! Light the whole world up 
 
 Until world-wide Thy cross-flag waves alone. 
 
EARLY POEMS. 113 
 
 BRIGHT STARS. 
 
 When sunlight paints the glowing west 
 
 With tints of crimson and of gold, 
 Night hides the jewels in her breast 
 
 And leaves the twilight gray and cold, 
 And when we mourn the daring theft, 
 
 We see the bright stars shine above 
 With eyes of every look bereft 
 
 Except their one expression — Love. 
 
 So when the morning hues of life 
 
 Fade early in a western sky, 
 Through all the gloom and fever strife 
 
 We see the stars of peace on high. 
 Mild harbingers of God's repose 
 
 Instruct us in your quiet ways; 
 Like yours, be ours the heavenly race, 
 
 Like yours, be ours the song of praise. 
 1862. 
 
114 MISCELLANEObS POEMS. 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 God's smile had called the angels home 
 From realms of earthly shade, 
 
 When with his brothers around the throne 
 Love bowed his head and prayed, 
 
 " Father in heaven, I pray that sin 
 May leave these earthly bowers. 
 
 For evil spirits walk within 
 The paths that once were ours. 
 
 ** Evil and crime and woe long years 
 Earth's sunny groves have trod, 
 
 And angel eyes grow dim with tears 
 For man forgets his God. 
 
 "Send down I pray Thee from on high 
 
 Some flower fair to see, 
 Which pointing ever to the sky 
 
 Shall teach him faith in thee." 
 
 And so the Father sent to earth 
 
 The little daisy fair. 
 Behold! a plant of heavenly birth, 
 
 It springs up everywhere. 
 
 An emblem of God's holy truth, 
 
 The Daisy points above, 
 And in the ear of careless youth 
 
 Still whispers faith and love. 
 1863. 
 
CHRISTMAS POEMS. 115 
 
 CHRISTMAS POEMS. 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS STAR. 
 
 There is a story told that once a year, 
 
 At Christmas, when the star shines bright and 
 
 clear, 
 Its gates are opened and with song and strain 
 The holy Christ-child comes to earth again. 
 And some have said that those whose hearts are 
 
 right 
 Can see the angels standing in the light. 
 And if their eyes are pure enough can see 
 Within the star a happy company. 
 With harps of gold and knots of rosy flowers 
 And lilies whiter than the best of ours, 
 Those are the children that the Savior's love 
 Has won from earth to brighten homes above. 
 His little lambs safe folded in His breast 
 No harm can reach them in that holy rest. 
 And here they wait for us, and ev'ry year 
 They send their pleasant gifts to children here, 
 White lily-buds for children undefiled. 
 And healing leaves on which our Lord has smiled, 
 These are the holy gifts, sweet flowers that grew 
 In Heaven's garden sent by Christ to you. 
 
ii6 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 So, children, when the Christmas time is come 
 And all the stars come twinkling one by one 
 Perhaps, if all your hearts are kind and true, 
 You'll see a garland in the star for you, 
 And Ckrist may lead you by His own soft hand 
 Into His star. His blessed morning land. 
 Christmas, 1861. 
 
CHRISTMAS POEMS. 117 
 
 CHRISTMAS— 1863. 
 
 'TwAS down in the vales of Judea, and there 
 
 The hill-tops lay fair 
 Embosomed in mist in the hush of the air. 
 
 At dawning of day, 
 The labor-worn shepherds in weariness lay 
 
 Asleep on the plain, 
 While angels sang loudly the first Christmas lay 
 
 In choral acclaim. 
 
 God's glory they sang in the clear breaking morn, 
 
 That heavenly dawn. 
 To you, oh! ye peoples, a Savior is born, 
 
 A Prince and a King. 
 Glad tidings of wonderful goodness we bring, 
 
 Peace, Mercy and Love; 
 The merits of Christ our Redeemer we sing, 
 
 The Lamb and the Dove. 
 
 No shepherds with flocks, and no angels with palms 
 
 Or heavenly psalms; 
 But the red eye of Battle and soldiers in arms 
 
 Are watching to-night 
 To see the star rise with its halo of light, 
 
 The Christ star of old. 
 The camp fires burn dimly, the tents glisten white 
 
 As the story is told. 
 
ii8 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Jehovah, our God, is the strength of His flock 
 
 Their help and their Rock. 
 He shall save them from fear in the battle's rude 
 shock. 
 
 The might of His arm 
 Shall guard them and shield them and keep them 
 from harm 
 
 When danger impends 
 No foe shall pursue and no fear shall alarm 
 
 When Jesus defends. 
 
 Ho! soldiers of Jesus! be strong in the fight 
 
 For God and the Right. 
 There's a city whose gates are not shut in the night. 
 
 That city is yours. 
 There's a Star and a Christmas on whose happy 
 shore 
 
 Shall never more cease 
 Where the Shepherd shall gather His people once 
 more 
 
 In pastures of peace. 
 
CHRISTMAS POEMS. 119 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT EISENACH. 
 
 1489-93. 
 
 " Despise me not the fellows who say ' panem propter Deum' 
 before the doors, and sing the bread-song.(8) I too, have been 
 one of these fellows, and have received bread at the houses 
 especially at Eisenach. ... I have been a beggar at the 
 doors of the rich."— Martin Luther. 
 
 Above the Wartburg's gloomy tower 
 
 The morning star just pricks the dark 
 And children carol in the hour 
 
 When Christmas comes to Eisenach. 
 Oh! little town! the scholar's gown 
 
 Hung loose on childhood long ago 
 When hunger toned the bread-song down 
 
 And Luther sang amid the snow! 
 
 It is a childish voice that sings, 
 
 A mighty child that sings of Heaven! 
 Thy chorister, Oh! King of kings, 
 
 That lisps the note of sin forgiven. 
 Oh! burghers! all your coins pour 
 
 For largess, ere the children go. 
 The Future begs before your door 
 
 For Luther sings amid the snow. 
 
120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 They carol on the snowy sod 
 
 " To us this day a child is born," 
 "A mighty fortress is our God," 
 
 Rings out his voice a later morn. 
 Oh land so proud — so song-endowed! 
 
 The sweetest song of thine to know. 
 Thy childish scholars caroled loud 
 
 With Luther in the Christmas snow. 
 1868. 
 
CHRISTMAS POEMS. 121 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN MERRY ENGLAND. 
 
 1388— 1888. 
 CHRISTEMASSE, 1388. 
 
 When Bethlehem shepe were fast aslepe 
 And yeomen slept withouten care, 
 
 In oxen stall the Lord of alle 
 Yborne was of virgin faire. 
 
 Oure Christes herte hadde mickle room 
 
 For cattle foddered in the broom, 
 For bestes gret, and fowles smale, 
 And godly folk: — He mad us alle, 
 Ne from His mercie may we falle. 
 
 For gentilesse, — may God us blesse — 
 No other scheweth such renown; 
 
 The richest kings their precious things 
 Must come and lay them all adown, 
 
 He of oure sinnes has maked an ende 
 
 Unto His service we woll wende. 
 He daigneth low to our degre 
 Swete Mary's Son, oure Saviour He, 
 Ne may we fall from His mercie. 
 
122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 CHRISTMAS, 1588. 
 
 Our Good Queen Bess is none the less 
 
 A maiden huswife jolly! 
 She gives each wight, for Christmas night, 
 
 Good beef decked out with holly, 
 Of cakes and ale there shall not fail 
 
 Good store for every creature. 
 While this is soe, who cares to know 
 
 If preist bless all or preacher ? 
 
 The waifs they bring their caroling, 
 
 The murmers dance the lighter; 
 Lord of Misrule, — we play the foole 
 
 With Kingly crowne and mitre! 
 While this is soe dull care may goe 
 
 Though clerkes may clack the harder, 
 While Yule-tide meanes old games and greens 
 
 And plenty in the larder. 
 
 CHRISTMAS, 1688. 
 
 The Lord our God is God indeed. 
 He makes His face to shine. 
 
 In Zion here He plants a seed — 
 A new and goodly vine. 
 
 The man of sin has fled, 
 
 His idols all are dead, 
 Give God the praise and glory. 
 
 I 
 
CHRISTMAS POEMS. 123 
 
 For Yule and Pasch we deck our hearts 
 
 Instead of hearth and hall, 
 No mummeries nor wanton arts 
 
 Shall cause our faith to fall, 
 Go! feast with Christ within! 
 Nor heap too high thy bin! 
 
 And keep thy Yule-tide holy. 
 
 CHRISTMAS, 1888. 
 
 Christmas wreaths our door with holly, 
 Laughs the old world into folly. 
 
 Christmas comes but once a year. 
 Oh! spin lighter, earth, to meet it! 
 Oh! beat truer, heart, to greet it! 
 
 Tarry, Time, for Love's good cheer! 
 
 Brother Christ, of sin the Saviour, 
 Grant to us Love's good behaviour, 
 
 Light Thy Yule-fire in the heart! 
 May Thy mass be said forever 
 In our hearts sincere endeavor 
 
 Till we see Thee where Thou art. 
 
124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO MY MOTHER. 
 
 Mother: to all who know the mother's pain 
 
 The Christmas season is not wholly vain. 
 
 Not vainly did the ancient nations guess 
 
 The mighty human cost of rigteousness. 
 
 Out of the womb of evil and of pain 
 
 Cometh forever man's eternal gain. 
 
 The Son of Man they called Him when He came, 
 
 Mother of Sorrow so they called her name 
 
 Who in the stress of poverty and woe 
 
 Gave to the dying world a Saviour so. 
 
 Oh! mighty symbol of the mother's heart 
 
 Of every child of her's a living part! 
 
 Hope of the race, and comforter of men, 
 
 No wonder they adored the Virgin then! 
 
 Oh! Mother, when the Christmas season brings 
 
 Its heavenly hopes, its earthly offerings; 
 
 Down at thy feet, whose face is next to His, 
 
 I lay my heart, its joys and miseries. 
 
 The mother only knows the cost of life, 
 
 And when love seems a loser in the strife, 
 
 Back to us all the primal instinct comes — 
 
 We take our hope, our heart and bring it home 
 
 To her dear bosom, sure to find in her 
 
 Of God's dear love the best interpreter. 
 
 Nor yet to-day 
 With all our art, can we do more than stay 
 
CHRISTMAS POEMS. 125 
 
 By all the old ideals of the past; 
 
 Our blood, our myths all other things outlast. 
 
 Our Christmas still is Pagan at the core, 
 
 "A living Sacrifice,^^ and nothing more! 
 
 But through it all the mighty meaning runs 
 
 Through Pagan years or rounds of Christians suns — 
 
 Eternal Beauty, Joy and Peace is lent 
 
 To those who strive for human betterment, 
 
 And His transcendent life, which shone so wide 
 
 ( His own disciples deemed Him deified), 
 
 Because for us, the symbol of our hope, 
 
 God and the angels cast His horoscope. 
 
 His star is not the one of Bethlehem, — 
 
 His star is in the inmost souls of men, 
 
 Rising upon a night no eye can see — 
 
 The murky night of state satiety. 
 
 So, when the Roman loathed his bed of flowers. 
 
 The love of Christ became his hope and ours. 
 
 " Great Pan is dead," a voice came o'er the sea 
 
 They said when Christ expired on Calvary. 
 
 The Roman and the Greek the voice confest, 
 
 The temple owned the Christians new found Guest. 
 
 So when the ancient fire was waxing pale, 
 
 The Christian knights pursued the Holy Grail 
 
 Sure, if the sacred cup He drank of last 
 
 Could but be found, the world's dark days were past. 
 
 We keep His day — 
 His Christmas birth so many years away. 
 Because the world has never found it yet. 
 That Holy Cup, on which their hearts were set. 
 
126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Ever the great Ideal flies on before, 
 The perfect Righteousness they sought of yore! 
 Never till every soul that drinks the cup 
 Of common life, drinks consecration up, 
 Will that pure cup, or gold or common earth 
 Be found, and common men know holy worth. 
 The cup, it lies forever at our door! 
 We use it every time we try to pour 
 Some Eucharistic draft for others ills, 
 The light of it our common dwelling fills. 
 We keep His Christmas till He come again 
 In brotherhood in all the hearts of men. 
 Oh! mother, when the Christmas season brings 
 Its heavenly hopes, its earthly offerings, 
 Silver and gold I will not offer thee 
 Who like the Virgin suffered much for me. 
 But like the penitent before her shrine 
 Oh! take my heart and all I have for thine. 
 Like Him I put the mother just between 
 The Ideal Christ and God, unknown, unseen. 
 1 know His love by what thine is to me, 
 Assured what e'er His love is or can be 
 I know it best by what thou art to me. 
 December 25TH, 1890. 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS. 127 
 
 CHILDREN'S POEMS. 
 
 POPPED CORN. 
 
 One Christmas Eve the fire was red 
 And all the young folks snug in bed, 
 Except the cat and little Fred. 
 
 He sat with blue eyes open wide 
 Watching the embers as they died, 
 And Kitty gravely watched beside. 
 
 "Now Kitty, " little Fred began, 
 "You're but a cat, do all you can, 
 While I shall one day be a man. 
 
 ** But still I think you'll like to know 
 Kriss Kringle's coming o'er the snow. 
 With sleigh-bells ringing soft and low. 
 
 " And when the chimneys smoke at dawn 
 He'll be here with his wonder horn 
 Filled up with candy, nuts and corn. " 
 
 Miss Kitty never winked nor stirred 
 But gravely pondered all she heard 
 And answered not a single word. 
 
128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But bye and bye Miss Kitty spied 
 An ear of pop-corn winter dried 
 And rolled it to her masters' side. 
 
 Soon Freddy's nimble fingers drop 
 
 The golden kernels in to pop 
 
 And then they watch to see them hop. 
 
 One touched the ceiling as it rose 
 And one came pat on Freddy's toes 
 And one hit Kitty on the nose. 
 
 '• Look Kitty," little Freddy said, 
 You see those kernels, white and red, 
 These are the men my father led — 
 
 "With soft plumes glancing in the light 
 And banners waving red and white 
 Over the soldiers in the fight. 
 
 •' And that large white one over there 
 Looks like the plume he used to wear, 
 Of long white fathers soft and fair." 
 
 The fire still burned, the hearth was red, 
 But Kitty hung her sleepy head. 
 And Freddy dosed away to bed. 
 
 A soldier sat that Christmas night 
 Beside the camp-fire's dying light 
 Thinking of home-hearth warm and bright. 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS, 129 
 
 Some grains of corn dropped carelessly 
 
 Lay in the ashes silently 
 
 Then snapped and burst right merrily. 
 
 "Those pearly grains," the soldier said, 
 " Look like my darling little Fred 
 When he's undressed to go to bed. 
 
 " I well remember him to-night, 
 
 How fresh he looks, how purely bright 
 
 In his long night-gown clean and white. 
 
 "Ah ! well, 'tis many a weary day 
 Since I have heard my darling say 
 * Papa, I have been good to-day.' 
 
 " God bless them all with Christmas cheer 
 And grant me faith and patience here. 
 Until we meet another year. " 
 
 The camp fire still was gleaming red, 
 But the old soldier bowed his head 
 And breathed a prayer for little Fred. 
 [864 
 
I30 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 BUNNY. 
 
 I KNEW a merry little elf 
 
 That lives among the walnut tops, 
 And all day long he rocks himself 
 
 And listens as the brown nut drops. 
 
 He wears a seamless coat of gray 
 Without a button or a stitch; 
 
 And earns his living every day, 
 And yet a king is not so rich. 
 
 By trade he is a husbandman; 
 
 He finds the stoutest nuts that grow 
 And slyly drops them one by one 
 
 Down in his little barn below. 
 
 Yet, tho' so plentiful his fare, 
 
 He is a selfish little elf — 
 He will not let the children share, 
 
 But wants to keep the whole himself. 
 
 He scolds them if they come for nuts, 
 And chatters if they shake the tree, 
 
 And his barn door he safely shuts 
 And hides the key where they cant see. 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS. 131 
 
 "Fie ! Bunny fie ! come down and dine 
 
 Under the golden walnut trees ! 
 And here's a sip of Adam's wine, 
 
 And there's a bit of bread and cheese. 
 
 "We'll welcome you with right good cheer, 
 From toad-stool plate and acorn cup. 
 
 And you shall sit beside us here 
 And help us eat our dinner up." 
 
 Wise Bunny softly gnawed his nut, 
 Whisk went his tail of dapple gray, 
 
 He's safely in ! The door is shut ! 
 Did anybody see the way ? 
 
132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE CRICKET'S COURT. 
 
 Truant Eddie on the grass 
 Watched to see the shadows pass, 
 
 And the little folks at play 
 In the fields the livelong day : 
 
 Grasshopper, that sits and sings, 
 Honey-bee, with dusty wings, 
 
 Cricket too, who makes the leaves 
 Serve him for his cottage eaves. 
 
 So upon the meadow hay 
 Stretched in drowsy ease he lay, 
 
 Till upon the fragrant heap 
 Cricket found him fast asleep. 
 
 " Ho ! " quoth Cricket, looking black, 
 " Here's a thief upon his back : 
 
 "At my court he shall apper, 
 I am Lord, High-sheriff here !" 
 
 First, at Cricket's chirping call. 
 Came a toad beside the wall ; 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS. 133 
 
 Then, a frog, in robe of green, 
 With a water-rat between, 
 
 And, like jurors grave and slow, 
 Twelve black ants came in a row ; 
 
 All the wee folks trooping by, 
 Took their places silently 
 
 Round the idler they had found 
 Sleeping on forbidden ground. 
 
 "This young rascal," Cricket said, 
 " Goes to sleep in our bed. 
 
 " And just now I heard him say, 
 ' Life is only fit for play' ; 
 
 " 'I'll not work while birds and bees 
 Only play and take their ease.' " 
 
 " Well-a-day," says Mistress Wren, 
 " Birds must work as well as men ! 
 
 " If I did not dig for food, 
 
 Who would feed my little brood ? " 
 
 "Who'd make honey," said the bee 
 " If I failed in industry ? " 
 
 " None can harder work than I," 
 Said the Ant to neighbor Fly. 
 
134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 So judge Cricket tried the case. 
 And, at last, witii solemn face. 
 
 Found him guilty more or less 
 Of the crime of idleness ; 
 
 "And I sentence him," said he, 
 " To a sharp bite from the Bee ; 
 
 " And lest that should not suffice, 
 We'll all bite him in a trice, 
 
 "Till he learns to pass the day 
 Better than in idle play." 
 
 Little Eddie cried in pain, 
 But he sought his foes in vain, 
 
 For, beneath the heap of hay, 
 They had safely hid away. 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS. 135 
 
 MABEL. 
 
 " Hush! Mabel!" the lady answered, 
 
 ** I'm busy just now, you see, 
 Yes, fifteen dollars from Patrick Dunn 
 
 And eight are twenty-three. 
 
 "And there's Sam Nevins the baker, 
 
 He owes me ninety-two, 
 I mean to see, this year at least, 
 
 I'm paid when the bills are due." 
 
 "But grandmother, couldn't he do it? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," she at last replies. 
 While the hungry wolf of avarice 
 
 Looked out of her faded eyes. 
 
 " Yes, yes, she has three months warning. 
 
 She must stiver sick or not! " 
 "Oh! grandmother, grandmother," quoth the child, 
 
 " What great big eyes you've got! " 
 
 "Grandmother," the child nestled closer 
 
 ' 'Are you certain — certain sure 
 That wolves don't come to rich folks' doors 
 
 As well as those of the poor ? 
 
136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 " There's no wood latch on the hall-door 
 That lifts with a hempen string 
 
 But couldn't he take the bell in his mouth 
 And pull till he made it ring ? " 
 
 And she shrank from the stately lady 
 
 With a nameless cry of fear, 
 As if the spell would work betimes 
 
 And the dreaded wolf appear. 
 
 Like the soul of a snow-flake the maiden 
 
 Crept out of the dusky room 
 Where a lady reckoned her bank account, 
 
 And her rents in the growing gloom. 
 
 Oh! ye women of princely fortune, 
 Frail owners of God's good ground, 
 
 Take care that under your velvet capes 
 No wolfish heart be found. 
 
 For they pay no rent in Heaven, 
 And the land's not bought nor sold, 
 
 And the trusting love of a little child 
 Is worth a ton of gold. 
 
CHILDREN'S POEMS. 137 
 
 THE SANDPIPER. (9) 
 
 'Tis true that those who care to look 
 Find Nature like an open book 
 
 With lessons writ for all, 
 And wisdom sows her choicest seeds 
 Just on the border of our needs, 
 
 In common things and small. 
 
 A rotten stump now fruitful grown, 
 A colony beneath a stone. 
 
 The spider's magic art. 
 Teach us with skill that can not err, 
 And even a little sandpiper 
 
 May shame a faithless heart. 
 
 *Twas in that fair and sunny land 
 Where ocean laves a golden sand 
 
 And skies are always blue, 
 I walked beside the sea one day 
 And saw the sandpipers at play 
 
 Where reed and seamoss grew. 
 
 The sandy beach was like a floor 
 
 And when the waves had swept the shore 
 
 Far down the beach they sped, 
 Intent like those of human kind, 
 Their daily bread to seek and find 
 
 From ocean's stormy bed. 
 
138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Then when the waves came rolling back, 
 They nimbly hopped before its track, 
 
 Just on the billow's verge, 
 Or, if it caught some luckless wight 
 He spread his brownish wings for flight 
 
 And soared above the surge. 
 
 So, Lord, thy little servants teach 
 The crumbs of heavenly grace to reach 
 
 Unmocked by error's sea, 
 Unvexed by all the storm and loss, 
 While the rude billows strive and toss 
 
 They shall be kept by Thee. 
 
WOMAN SUFFRAGE POEMS. 139 
 
 WOMAN SUFFRAGE POEMS. 
 
 THE SHIP OF STATE. 
 
 In ages gone by after Constantine great 
 
 Joined hands with the church for the good of the 
 
 state, 
 They painted a picture, a ship out at sea, 
 The first ship of state ever painted may be. 
 The deck with grave prelates was filled to a cram, 
 While all round the vessel the Commoners swam 
 And not even kings had a ghost of a hope 
 Unless some good churchman would throw him a 
 
 rope. 
 
 At last a few nobles by tumult and din 
 Obliged a cross monarch to pull them all in 
 With famed Magna Charta, a rope strong and true. 
 And they let it hang over to tow a choice few. 
 The water was swarming with women and men 
 But they talked about freedom and rights even then, 
 Though never a soul had a ghost of a hope 
 Unless aristocracy threw him a rope. 
 
 The poets swam here and the poets swam there 
 And gave these fine sailors full many a scare. 
 Bold Reynard the Fox sang songs to them well 
 And Dante put popes with their heels up in hell. 
 
I40 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But neighbors, you know how it all came about 
 That the men all got in while the women stayed 
 
 out, 
 'Twas because when Democracy cherished a hope, 
 The poets forgot us and hauled in the rope. 
 
 Now Longfellow sings of a good Ship of State 
 That breathless humanity hangs on its fate. 
 And this is quite certain for after the strife, 
 'Tis only the women are swimming for life. 
 Oh! men of Rhode Island who long with the rest 
 Have sought a near route to the rule of the best 
 As we round our political Cape of Good Hope, 
 Remember us, brothers, and throw us a rope. 
 
WOMAN SUFFRAGE POEMS. 141 
 
 FELICIA. 
 
 A MEDIEVAL LEGEND. 
 
 The Baron's lands were broad and fair, 
 And long forgot the Saxon's pain; 
 
 He had a child, though not an heir, 
 So all the castle rang amain 
 
 With clanging bells, whose happy jar 
 
 Said o'er and o'er — " Felicia! " 
 
 The wrinkled midwife crossed her brow, 
 The cowled monk an ** ave " said, 
 
 ** Is there not grief and care enow 
 And want of hope and want of bread? 
 
 Why tempt the blessed saints too far? 
 
 Why name the child, Felicia ? " 
 
 That night, ah! cold, ah! wintry chill, 
 A frost destroyed the yeoman's hope; 
 
 The little wind-flower on the hill 
 
 Hung nipped adown the grassy slope; 
 
 And shepherds heard a voice afar 
 
 Fall mocking like a falling star 
 "Felicia! Felicia! " 
 
 A spell was in the name I wis. 
 It bound her by its cruel stress 
 
 Ever to seek for human bliss. 
 And aye to long for happiness, 
 
142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The little maiden hardly spoke 
 Before the hidden thirst awoke. 
 
 They taught her from a Latin book, 
 (For many a dame was learned then) 
 
 And all her soul was in her look 
 
 As meek she said, " I fain would ken 
 
 More of the world, of Latin less, 
 
 I want to learn of happiness." 
 
 The goodly chaplain shook his head 
 
 And felt his trusty amulet, 
 "St. Anthony defend! " he said 
 
 •' For pleasure is the devil's net, 
 And happiness can never be 
 Since Eve hath done so wickedly." 
 
 But whiles a minstrel played a tune 
 
 Of Chivalrie and gentilesse; 
 His heart was like a rose in June 
 
 So warm it glowed for tenderness; 
 And loud he laughed, the while they read, 
 To hear the monkish lesson said. 
 
 He laughed and touched his lute the while 
 With many an air of gay Provence; 
 
 The little maiden gan to smile 
 In such a blessedness of sense, 
 
 As if her soul had newly woke, 
 
 Or as a tender flower had spoke. 
 
WOMAN SUFFRAGE POEMS. 143 
 
 But as he sang of knight and dame, 
 And many a deed of high emprise, 
 
 A little cloud of trouble came 
 Into the maiden's wistful eyes; 
 
 " I pray thee then, in soothfastness 
 
 If this indeed, be happiness ? " 
 
 "My lady dear, and who may wis ? 
 
 The minstrel is the church's ban. 
 But still I count it happiness 
 
 To own one's self, and succor man: 
 And this I sing, though I may take 
 No bread or wine for Jesu's sake. (10) 
 
 The little maid she grew apace. 
 
 She sought her birthright as she grew; 
 
 The child's became the woman's face, 
 Her secret bird and flower knew. 
 
 The birds laughed out upon the tree 
 
 "Ah! happy, happy, happy she 
 
 Who dreams of love and liberty! " 
 
 She studied Froissart's pictured page 
 
 Petrarch and gay Boccaccio; 
 She sat an umpire mid the rage 
 
 Of learned doctors long ago, (11) 
 But all their lore she counted less 
 Than happiness, sweet happiness! 
 
 She heard of Magna Charta great 
 Where womanhood might not appeal, (12) 
 
 She marked her sister's low estate 
 Beneath the churchman's iron heel, 
 
144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 And still through all the legend ran 
 "To own one's self, and succor man! ' 
 
 She wept Griselda's patient gain 
 Where womanhood itself was lost; 
 
 She felt Godiva's shrinking pain 
 At all her charity must cost; 
 
 Or shared St. Lisabeth's alarms 
 
 Who needs must lie to do an alms. 
 
 "Ah! well-a-day! if this may be 
 What womanhood and wifehood mean, 
 
 Then welcome love and chivalry, 
 For marriage vows are all unclean 
 
 As holy church hath ever said. 
 
 In sooth. I never will be wed. 
 
 " But take a pilgrim scrip and staff, 
 
 A little lute to comfort me. 
 The bonny birds they shall not laugh 
 
 When I have found my liberty! 
 So will I fare and haply find 
 Largess and grace for womankind." 
 
 The little birds they laughed enow. 
 
 For who may change the threads of Fate ? 
 
 The fire bird for the greenwood bough, 
 A lady fair for pomp and state! 
 
 Ah! summon now thy guardian Lar 
 
 For thou art lost Felicia! 
 
WOMAN SUFFRAGE POEMS. 145 
 
 The dream, it was a rope of sand, 
 The king he claimed an ancient right 
 
 To give his vassal's daughter's hand 
 Unto a poor but fav'rite knight. 
 
 Coarse was he, though a belted Earl, 
 
 Unlettered as a Saxon churl. 
 
 Oh! and uprose the lady then, 
 Her face it was as white as snow. 
 
 The little birds they laughed again 
 To see a happy sinner so. 
 
 Her violet robe of silken sheen 
 
 She took, and dressed her like a queen. 
 
 She stepped adown the castle stair, 
 — Her face was as the sheeted dead — 
 
 The convent bells they rang for prayer, 
 They might have rung for death instead! 
 
 The tapers on the altar shook 
 
 To see the lady's awful look. 
 
 The half-sung ** gloria " seemed to freeze 
 As down she knelt before the shrine, 
 
 She clasped the holy prior's knees, 
 "Oh! thou whose office is divine, 
 
 Whose privilege it is to bless. 
 
 Oh! give me back my happiness! " 
 
 The prior loved the baron's land. 
 The prior loved the baron's gold. 
 
 What though a lady's helpless hand. 
 What though a woman's heart be sold! 
 
 He stooped and said beneath his breath 
 
 "Thou shalt be happy after death." 
 
146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 'Tis ages past, and now she lies 
 A carven woman on a tomb; 
 
 Dust gathers in her stony eyes, 
 Her hands are Hfted in the gloom 
 
 With finger tips together pressed 
 
 Praying above a stony breast. 
 
 But oh! her heart, it is not stone. 
 Her heart it is a lambent flame! 
 She left it throbbing here alone, 
 
 Forevermore it longs the same! 
 Still hoary old tradition saith 
 "Thou shalt be happy after death." 
 And still a mocking voice afar 
 Falls as it were a falling star 
 "Felicia! Felicia!" 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 147 
 
 POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 
 
 SONG. (13) 
 
 TUNE "the old granite STATE.' 
 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes 
 From the transcendental state. 
 And the sunflower is our token, 
 And our faith will ne'er be broken 
 To the extacies ne'er spoken 
 In that trandscendental state. 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes 
 From the transcendental state. 
 
 We believe in tall bulrushes. 
 And in lots of old gold plushes, 
 And extatic too— too gushes 
 Of a transcendental kind. 
 And we like ceramic crazes. 
 And we swear by art like blazes. 
 And we join in Oscar's praises, 
 And we gape and go it blind. 
 
148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes 
 From the transcendental state. 
 
 We are Oscar Wilde's disciples, 
 And we live on airy trifles, 
 And our nat'ral man we stifles 
 In the transcendental state. 
 We're " too utterly too utter " 
 For to eat plain bread and butter, 
 And with much aesthetic clatter 
 Serve a lily on a plate. 
 We're a band of aesthetes, 
 We're a band of aesthetes. 
 We're a band of aesthetes 
 From the transcendental state. 
 1881. 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 149 
 
 ON A BACHELOR'S BUTTON. 
 
 There is a flower, a sweet blue flower, 
 That blooms amid the ripening corn 
 
 When Europe's grain fields wave aloft 
 To greet the happy harvest morn. 
 
 They call it corn-flower, and they love 
 Its cheerful face amid the stalks: 
 
 But here it buttons bachelors 
 And blooms along the garden walks. 
 
 Now ever since the Mayflower sailed, 
 New England lovers sauntering late 
 
 Have loved to haunt the garden paths 
 And kiss just o'er the garden gate. 
 
 The Bouncing Bets and Four O 'clocks 
 And Ragged Sailors, Widow's Tears, 
 
 And Bachelor's Buttons hear the kiss 
 But not one mentions what he hears. 
 
 But when gray haired and ill at ease 
 
 A bachelor belated woos, 
 The sweet blue flower takes its right 
 
 And tells all passers by the news- 
 How many a night this awkard elf 
 
 Has hung above the garden fence, 
 And blue and modest like itself 
 
 Unpopped, unanswered gone from thence. 
 
ISO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Oh! cousin mine, no malice bear! 
 
 But seek some thrifty country yard 
 And pick the sweet blue flower to wear 
 
 When Hymen ties you good and hard — 
 
 And when you bring your good wife home 
 And softly button down the latch, 
 
 Button your heart with equity 
 And love shall dwell beneath your thatch. 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 151 
 
 THE PLATTER POEM. (14) 
 
 Across the many miles that interv^ene 
 Betwixt New England and Ann Arbor, green, 
 A coaxing voice comes on the wings of spring: 
 " Oh Heavenly Muse! my bran new platter sing! " 
 Not such as served the gods when round their board 
 Hebe the platter bore, the nectar poured. 
 But Haviland's, whose arts the high gods tire 
 Since old Prometheus stole the hidden fire. 
 'Twas that which made the god-like Jove so mad; 
 He knew that fire on earth would make a dish 
 Finer than any god could dream or wish: 
 For, though in old Olympus they could dine 
 On rainbow dishes made of mist-wreaths fine, 
 They could not use that perfect clay that seems 
 So like a bubble white as maiden's dreams; 
 It was impossible for, don't you see, 
 'T would be against the laws of gravity. 
 And, let me in parenthesis here state, 
 I never blamed old Zeus, his anger great, 
 For since that time where'er his lightnings roll 
 Men catch them on a telegraphic pole. 
 Or botde them in funny Leyden jars 
 And laugh at Father Jove among his stars. 
 So Haviland (which should be Have-I-clay) 
 Knew how to make this platter here to-day. 
 'Twas all because Prometheus found him napping 
 That Yankee fire to-day Greek fire is capping. 
 
152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 If you go far enough to plain perceive all 
 
 You'll find that everything is thus primeval. 
 
 Sing, Heavenly Muse, the Platter! Shall 1 tell 
 
 Of Odin's warriors when they fought and fell ? 
 
 How in Valhalla's halls the platter passed 
 
 With boar immortal, warranted to last ? 
 
 Or shall I tell of potentates unmythical, 
 
 Of olden housekeepers' stories, wherewith I gull 
 
 Your too-believing souls, and say they ate 
 
 Forgotten dainties from a pewter plate ? 
 
 Comfits and cates, pasties and candied tarts 
 
 And kept their platters cleaner than their hearts ? 
 
 Or Christmas pudding on abrandied platter 
 
 Brought in afire, amid a mighty clatter. 
 
 The prettiest woman holding it aloft 
 
 While all the knights their plumed helmets doffed ? 
 
 'Twas almost equal to the muss they fell in 
 
 When long ago Paris selected Helen — 
 
 And, if we put the self-same vote to-day. 
 
 This company would vote no other way! (15) 
 
 But nearer home I sing the shining dresser 
 
 Of sweet Priscilla Alden, (heaven bless her)! 
 
 When John sat down to eat his little dinner 
 
 That pewter platter shone — the little sinner — 
 
 I haven't any doubt that it was so 
 
 Although she never used Sapolio. 
 
 Sing, Heavenly Muse! New England's dressers clean 
 
 With pewter plates and Holland delf between! 
 
 Not all that modern art with wealth supplies 
 
 Can hide its beauties from our misty eyes; 
 
 The shining rows, the sanded floor above. 
 
 The homely mess dished up with lots of love, 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 153 
 
 "A good boiled dish," they called it long ago; 
 A hunk of meat the shining platters show 
 Garnished with vegetables, on the verge. 
 Whose savory smells the healthy diners urge. 
 New England! oh! my country ne'er forgot! 
 If in thy sacred realm there be a spot 
 Dearer than any other, 'tis the one 
 We call the kitchen, where the work's all done! 
 I love thy shining tins, thy platters fair! 
 But Oh! I want a maid of all work there! 
 The law of Evolution has its due 
 In platters and in protoplasm too; 
 Look at the platter, object of my rhyme, 
 A platter foremost in the files of time! 
 All other platters but led up to this — 
 And how appropriate its legend is! 
 A clam-shell, emblem of that little state, 
 Old Massachusetts never luould call great, 
 Because her emblematic cod-fish ball 
 Beside the clam was just nowhere at all! 
 'Twas Daniel Webster that was heard to say, 
 As once he fished in Narragansett bay. 
 Holding for bait the bivalve, with a sigh, 
 " Rhode Island, de profundis clam have I! " (16) 
 An artist fair, to leave no more to wish, 
 Traced finest bivalve on the finest dish, 
 And Fate, that proper things should be allied, 
 Sent it to honor a Rhode Island bride. 
 It makes me think of one old story told 
 By Dr. Lord of Rome's great age of gold. 
 When round the feast reclined and crowned with 
 flowers, 
 
154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Their day of luxury resembled ours. 
 Long since forgot their old ceramic arts, 
 But still one miracle delights our hearts— 
 Their mammoth platters, large enough to hold 
 The whole round feast upon their surface bold. 
 Pictured upon the edge was every sign 
 Of the old Zodiac, each in proper line; 
 Aries the ram, Taurus the bull, and so 
 Gemini, Cancer, — you know how they go- 
 Leo and all the rest, and Pisces last, 
 Around the edge in bright procession passed. 
 On every sign they placed the proper food — 
 Mutton on Aries, beef on Taurus stood! 
 And all the rest as Fancy might direct — 
 Some little twins of beast or bird elect. 
 Or baby lion, haply made of paste. 
 Or virgin deer in honey dew encased. 
 So does j<9/^r platter make^e think of that 
 Round which the haughty, mighty Roman sat, 
 Because you have two of these Zodiac signs 
 Among this platters most unique designs; 
 Pisces the fish, and shell fish are the best — 
 Although Rhode Island clams no Roman guest, 
 Then (shall I say it) in their modest grace, 
 As if they blushed to figure on its face, 
 Upon the platters back five virgins show 
 Their wise initials, in a vestal row. 
 Pisces and Virgo, all that time has left 
 To us poor moderns of their art bereft! 
 Yet who, if they nmst choose from all the rest 
 Would not be satisfied that these are best — 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT. 155 
 
 Rhode Island clams and fair Rhode Island girls ? 
 Oh! Dr. Lord, amid life's weary whirls, 
 I would that I could show your Roman soul 
 How our Rhode Island platter caps the whole! 
 1890. 
 
156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 PROPHECY. 
 
 When bosky woods are pink with May, 
 The oriole trills his hearty lay 
 
 I love to hear it. 
 So like a thing of air he'll float, 
 So gladsome is his mellow note 
 That ever from his orange throat, 
 
 Pipes ** cheer it! cheer it! " 
 
 Oh, fire-bird! ease my lover's pains. 
 Thou whom all passion redly stains, 
 
 Thou fiery spirit, 
 Say, what will lovely Mary do 
 With my fond heart, so leal and true ? 
 The oriole piped as if he knew 
 
 She'll " cheer it! cheer it! " 
 
 Thou lovest round her door to flit, 
 Or on the elm tree swinging sit. 
 
 And hover near it, 
 What will she do when I shall make 
 A little home-nest for her sake ? 
 The oriole piped without mistake 
 
 She'll "cheer it! cheer it! " 
 
 If sorrow wrap me like a shroud 
 
 And Hope's bright face behind the cloud 
 
POEMS OF SENTIMENT 157 
 
 Should fail to clear it, 
 If storms should come, and frosts should blight 
 How would she bear the rayless night ? 
 
 She'd "cheer it! cheer it! " 
 
 Oh, prophet bird! be thou as blest! 
 Wherever swings thy pensile nest 
 
 May love endear it. 
 And may thy mate as bonny be 
 As thou hast made my love for me. 
 Blessing thy home, and helping thee 
 
 To " cheer it! cheer it! " 
 
158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 RELIGIOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE DYING TEACHER TO HIS WIFE- 
 
 The dying teacher waited, 
 
 His faithful wife beside; 
 To take the long, long journey 
 
 On the river deep and wide. 
 Sweetheart I hear a tolling, 
 
 I thought the school was done 
 But sweet, I must be going, 
 
 The school is just begun. 
 Sweetheart 
 
 The school is just begun. 
 
 Nay, love, it is no tolling, 
 
 Your erring ear allures; 
 It is the sheep-bell's tinkle 
 
 That dies along the moors. 
 Nay, then, I must be going 
 
 For we are shepherds too 
 And if the shepherds linger 
 
 What will the sheepfold do ? 
 Sweetheart, 
 
 What will the sheepfold do ? 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. 159 
 
 The faithful wife she faltered, 
 
 The tears ran down like rain. 
 Sweetheart, the school is over, 
 
 It will never keep again. 
 Nay, but it seems a tolling. 
 
 Though it grows as dark as night. 
 But I'll wait until the morning, 
 
 I'll wait until its light. 
 Sweetheart, 
 
 I'll wait until its light. 
 
 * * * -X- -Jfr 
 
 Dear Love as I was dreaming, 
 
 The boys were answering "here," 
 I thought a great voice called me 
 
 And I answered full and clear. 
 Sweetheart, I hear a'tolling 
 
 You said the school was done. 
 But sweet, I must be going 
 
 For school is just begun. 
 Sweetheart, 
 
 For school is just begun. 
 
i6o MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE PROBLEM. 
 
 My heart is larger than this meagre age, 
 
 My subtrahend is a soul that will not bend 
 To selfish lust, nor sell her heritage. 
 
 Not like the world's self-seeking minuend. 
 I will not trade like these at mammon's mart. 
 
 Nor let my bonded word belie my act. 
 
 I can not solve life's problem — to subtract 
 One fair, pure soul, although it be but part, 
 
 From million false ones, though they be the 
 whole; 
 
 Wherefore must we sit still and wait, my soul. 
 
 Whereat a voice, " O, vain and foolish youth. 
 To deem life's actual shames God's possible! 
 
 Borrow ten units of His love and truth, 
 His treasury of good is always full, 
 
 And make thine age larger than thine ideal. 
 The future shall repay the debt of grace, 
 If not to thee, then to the coming race, 
 
 Whose deeds shall make thy dreams and longings 
 real. 
 God is not poor, though bankrupt man may doubt, 
 Borrow of Him and work thy problem out." 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. i6i 
 
 ''TWO LOOKS AHEAD." 
 
 What wisdom is in common speech, 
 
 Or else it seemeth so. 
 I asked when I the town would reach, 
 
 And was it far to go ? 
 
 In rustic phrase she answered me 
 (As country born and bred): 
 
 *' 'Tis twice as far as you can see, 
 'Tis just two looks ahead." 
 
 Oh! City! sought of saint and seer, 
 By prophet bards discerned: 
 
 How apt the heavenly lesson clear, 
 My heart within me burned. 
 
 One look, till earth's horizon line 
 
 Reveals the blest abode. 
 Ah! shame! if faith alone were mine 
 
 To walk the meaner road. 
 
i62 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE GODWARD TIDE. 
 
 The brook runs singing to the sea, 
 
 Dear Lord! 
 Unmindful if the passage be 
 Through barren moor or daisied lea; 
 Bent but to broaden till the ocean's breast 
 Receives it like a mother into rest. 
 
 But I, my Father, what am I 
 
 Dear God! 
 No singing stream, a fretful soul 
 Petitioning to know the whole 
 While yet unbroadened for Thy Being's sea 
 I run and run, yet have not come to Thee. 
 
 A stream that chafes at every stone. 
 
 Dear Lord! 
 And mourns the nightshade that has grown 
 Along its brink where might have blown 
 The wilding rose, the lily and the vine 
 That grace the bank of happier streams than mine. 
 
 Yet I sweep onward not the less. 
 
 My God! 
 To meet Thy Spirit, when the stress 
 Of Thy eternal tenderness. 
 Deep-tided, shall compel my quicker flow 
 Till I, too, sing and broaden as I go. 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. 163 
 
 I can not keep myself from Thee, 
 
 My God! 
 Albeit I fret at Thy decree, 
 Or halt when Thou art calling me. 
 I do but rob my soul of Thy deep calms 
 And the felt touch of Thy eternal arms. 
 
 But not forever! nay, not so, 
 
 My God! 
 Though for a space I murmur slow 
 Through barren moors where nightshades grow; 
 Not the less sure Thy love shall quicken me 
 And mine shall broaden till I come to Thee. 
 
i64 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 THE HEART'S EXCUSE. (17) 
 
 O MY angel, sitting wliite, 
 Looking in my Father's face, 
 
 Stoop a little from your height, 
 Listen from your happy place, 
 
 Till I tell you what to say 
 
 To our blessed Lord to-day. 
 
 You who patiently and long, 
 Have beheld His face for me, 
 
 Do you think it very wrong 
 I should bring a lesser plea 
 
 Than repentant prayer, to win 
 
 Pard'ning grace and peace within ? 
 
 Nay, I think your earnest eyes 
 
 Scanned too long the Father's brow, 
 
 Conning Love's deep mysteries, 
 Huma7i love to disallow, 
 
 Though no heartbreak comes to you 
 
 Safe within His happy blue. 
 
 Speak! and tell Him all my need, 
 How the litde child He sent. 
 
 All my hungry heart to feed. 
 Fills me with supreme content! 
 
 How they blame the fond excess 
 
 Of my mother-tenderness. 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. 165 
 
 "Love," they say, and sigh the while, 
 
 "Jealous is the Lord our God. 
 Let no idol here beguile 
 
 All your heart, and tempt His rod; 
 Love the child not overmuch, 
 Lest it wither at His touch." 
 
 Is it so ? Then plead for me. 
 
 Tell Him that I love Him more 
 Since the baby on my knee 
 
 Set me down so near His door. 
 Can our loves His glory dim. 
 Since by love we honor Him? 
 
 Tell Him I am not afraid. 
 
 His is but the shepherd's rod. 
 Never He at strife has made 
 
 Mother-love and love of God. 
 Only through the child I know 
 All His love would fain bestow! 
 
 Keep, meanwhile, the pearly gate 
 
 Just ajar, that I may see. 
 This small hand the while I wait 
 
 Covers all of heaven for me. 
 And these fingers hold the keys 
 Of its sweetest destinies. 
 1875. 
 
i66 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 MY FATHER'S HOUSE. 
 
 "A house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." 
 
 Home of my God! I bless the loving hand 
 That built thy arch so fair, so high, so grand; 
 Up from my daily toil, my wearing strife, 
 I gaze, rebuked for all my narrow life. 
 Rebuked like Peter, when, betrayed by me, 
 My injured Lord looks down reproachfully. 
 And just beyond, removed a little space, 
 My pitying Father hides His tender face. 
 
 Home of my God! I lift my fevered brow, 
 
 And almost y<?<?/ the heavenly blessing now. 
 
 As when a child I lay amid the grass, 
 
 With eyes upraised to see the shadows pass. 
 
 And dreamed that, where the sunlight glimmered 
 
 through, 
 'Twas God's eye watching all we think or do. 
 And so, untutored, in my childish way 
 Would lift my serious eyes, and softly pray. 
 
 Home of my God! That blessed day is past: 
 My womanhood in other paths is cast, 
 Too often in the thorns and dust of sin 
 Where good departs, and evil enters in. 
 And yet I lift my eyes and dare to pray, 
 I dare to ask His blessing on my way; 
 
RELIGIOUS POEBIS. 167 
 
 For I was once untempted, undefiled, 
 
 And, e'en though sinning, I am still His child. 
 
 Home of my God! Blue arch divinely fair. 
 That spans aUke our cursing or our prayer! 
 The whole earth drops away; I seem to stand 
 At thy pearl gates, and in thy blessed land; 
 No strife or curse obscures my vision now; 
 The thorny crown drops from my aching brow. 
 My waiting soul the promised '* peace " receives; 
 And Jesus crowns my head with healing leaves. 
 
 My Father's house! Ah! come that happy day 
 When from my soul the flesh shall drop away! 
 And I shall stand, safe from all storms or calms, 
 In the dear shelter of my Father's arms. 
 Roll back, blue sky! Open your door of light! 
 Another angel comes in robes of white. 
 Break, yoke of sin! Ye heavy burdens, fall! 
 My soul leaps up to meet the homeward call. 
 1861. 
 
i68 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 MAGDALEN. 
 
 The Sacrament was spread, 
 
 The mystic wine was poured; 
 And to my lips I raised the bread, — 
 
 The body of the Lord, — 
 When to the chancel rail 
 
 A sinful woman came, 
 Whose furrowed features told the tale 
 
 Of misery and shame. 
 
 Passed I the sacred cup ? 
 
 Or offered I the bread ? 
 Oh, no! I drew my garments up, 
 
 And shrank away instead. 
 I said: Why should she come 
 
 Between my Lord and me ? 
 This woman, filthy and undone, 
 
 To break my ecstasy ? 
 
 O Lord, the hand was Thine 
 
 That offered her the bread. 
 \felt the tenderness divine, 
 
 I knew the voice which said: 
 *'Lo! my exeeding grace 
 
 Sufficient is for thee " ; 
 And, oh! the look upon Thy face 
 
 Will never pass from me. 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. 169 
 
 That look of love intense 
 
 Outran eternal years. 
 It marked my sister's penitence, 
 
 It counted all her tears. 
 It seemed to glow and burn, 
 
 As if my Lord would prove 
 My faithless soul that dared to spurn 
 
 Where He had deigned to love. 
 
 O Christ! as once of old, 
 
 In Simon's banquet hall, 
 The sinful one her story told, 
 
 And was forgiven all, 
 So be my soul as fair, 
 
 So be my vows as sweet, 
 As hers who made her flowing hair 
 
 A towel for Thy feet. 
 
 No more may I deride 
 
 Where Thou hast once forgiven; 
 Or seek to read with impious pride, 
 
 The heraldry of heaven. 
 Nor first nor last shall be 
 
 Where thou dost equal make; 
 All one in grateful love to Thee, 
 
 All brothers for Thy sake. 
 1872. 
 
170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 A BLADE OF GRASS. 
 
 If you could tell me, little blade of grass, 
 How God has fed you in this barren mold, 
 
 And made your life a joy to all that pass, 
 I'd wiser be than wisest men of old. 
 
 Content to grow in this old hovel's shade, 
 Where wearing toil and pinching hunger are; 
 
 And yet He paints with equal care your blade 
 And tones the sparkle of the farthest star. 
 
 If you could tell me why He chose this place 
 For you to cheer His poor with vernal green, 
 
 I'd fathom more of spiritual grace 
 Than sainted F^nelon or Augustine. 
 
 Sometimes I question, in the dark of doubt. 
 What is the link between your life and mine, 
 
 Assured, if I could find your being out, 
 I'd fathom all His infinite design. 
 
 Here for a little space on you I tread, 
 Then in a little while o'er me you creep, 
 
 As if to say, " Hush, child, your doubt and dread! 
 Leave all the rest to God, and go to sleep." 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. 171 
 
 COMMUNION. 
 
 In all the dignity of Godhead there 
 
 The Saviour stood. The chosen ones, whose feet 
 
 He washed of worldly dust, sat now at meat 
 And Jesus took the cup and offered prayer. 
 What glory crowned that heavenly brow with light 
 
 As in communion with the one great soul 
 
 His clay bound Spirit spurned its weak control, 
 Losing the finite in the Infinite. 
 Perchance a vision of that deeper cup 
 
 Of mortal death arose before Him then. 
 The son of man must needs be lifted up, 
 
 Propitiation for the sins of men. 
 Oh, holy love! the Prince of Salem dies. 
 That m his resurrection we may rise. 
 
 1858. 
 
172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 TO MARGARET 
 
 I PLUCKED a Marguerite along the road, 
 A wayside daisy, smiling in my face, 
 To cheer the heartbreak of a weary place 
 
 Where poor men toiled and had their mean abode. 
 
 And then I thought of thee whom God bestowed 
 To be to many hearts a means of grace; 
 For like thy namesake flower there was no trace 
 
 Of dark or night, where'er thy '^ day's eye'' glowed. 
 
 Thou lovd'st light and cheer, and cheerd'st thy kind; 
 So here I lay this little tribute down — 
 
 Oh! kindly soul, may'st thou the brightness find 
 Thine eye desired, in an immortal crown. 
 
 And may the daisies spring above thy rest 
 
 To tell of Heaven, and our unending quest. 
 
RELIGIOUS POEMS. 173 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The graves rise green along our path, 
 A haunting presence fills the air, 
 
 A shadowy thought, a hint of wings — 
 The dead are everywhere. 
 
 Then, like Ulysses on the shore, 
 
 We pour libations here: 
 As then the ghosts of those no more 
 
 Shall drink — for they are near. 
 
 A host of witnesses around, 
 
 We almost see each shadowy head, 
 There is no word that's ever heard 
 
 So meaningless as "dead." 
 
 Then, like Ulysses on the shore. 
 
 We pour libations here: 
 As then the ghosts of those no more 
 
 Shall drink — for they are near. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 1. Read at her funeral services. 
 
 2. Written at the birth of her eldest daughter. 
 
 3. A string of logs joined together by chains, 
 through which the logs pass down the river safely. 
 
 4. Written on board the steamer Orizaba, between 
 Santa Barbara and San Francisco, January 12th, 
 1866, in anticipation of the birth of her first child, 
 who was born in San Francisco, April 2nd, 1866, 
 and died in Orono, Me., January 31st, 1871. 
 
 5. "How charming is that ancient and tender 
 custom of the Calabrian peasants who, in the 
 days just before Christmas, go down from their 
 mountains to visit the shrines of the Mother of 
 Christ, and cheer with their mid strains of song 
 till such time as the Holy Babe is born! Surely 
 the winds of Christmas morning might bring us, 
 if not the echo of that music itself, yet some 
 whisper of its spirit — a somewhat sweeter spirit 
 it may be, than that of the revelry which goes on 
 under mistletoe boughs and before the blaze of 
 yule logs." 
 
 6. The myth says that Zeus swallowed his wife 
 Metis (or Intelligence) lest the child should be 
 more intelligent than the father. 
 
NOTES, 175 
 
 7. This last stanza was her last, composed only a 
 few days before she died. 
 
 8. Sung before Ursula Cotta's home. In common 
 use by Luther's schoolfellows. The refrain was 
 "panem propter Deum," so it was called the 
 bread-song. 
 
 9. Suggested by seeing the sandpipers run to and 
 fro before the waves of the Pacific Ocean as they 
 broke on the beach, along which we rode between 
 San Buena Ventura and Santa Barbara, Cal., 
 January 9th, 1866. 
 
 10. Many of the minstrels were denied the Com- 
 munion. 
 
 n. During the disputes of the schoolmen, women 
 sat as umpires after the fashion of the tourna- 
 ments. 
 
 12. Save for the death of husbands. 
 
 13. This song was composed when the Oscar Wilde 
 craze was at its height, and was sung by a choir 
 of cousins at a birthday festival of one of her 
 uncles. The choir were dressed in white robes 
 with a sunflower as large as a dinner plate at- 
 tached to the left breast of of each gown. The 
 author acted as chorister, and trained her " band 
 of aesthetes " with an enthusiasm eti rapport with 
 the occasion. 
 
 14. Several friends of a Providence lady joined on 
 the occasion of her marriage in presenting her 
 with a platter, which was decorated with clams 
 
176 NOTES. 
 
 and sea weeds. Mrs. Peckham was set down for 
 some verses, to which she responded as follows: 
 "To-day I have jingled a rhyme, thoroughly im- 
 promptu I assure you, and hope it is not too 
 egregious to do you service. When anybody 
 wants to be funny they can't be, you know. I 
 hope it will arrive in time for your spread. Don't 
 you think I ought to be there to read it ? I am 
 sure I wish I were to be there. Let my ghost sit 
 among you, not like Banquo's, but like one of 
 those invisible Brownies who blessed the farmer's 
 store and kept his milk from souring. It shall be 
 the milk of human kindness in this case." 
 
 15. The lady's name is Helen. 
 
 16. " De profundis clamavi." 
 
 17. Read at her funeral services, and written soon 
 after the birth of her youngest daughter as a pro- 
 test against Calvanistic doctrine.