Class i?S 3X44— 
 Tiqiyiiglitr ^ 01 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 And Other Poems 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 
 And Other Poems 
 
 By 
 
 William Linn Keese 
 
 Edwin W. Dayton 
 
 Bookseller and Publisher 
 
 763 Fifth Avenue 
 
 New York 
 
THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 CONGRESS, 
 Two Copiiis Received 
 
 MAY. 24 1902 
 
 Copyright entry 
 
 CLASS^ XXc. No. 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 
 Copyright, 190a, by 
 William Linn Keese 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Siamese Twins 3 
 
 Newton's Blast 13 
 
 Farrington's Feat 20 
 
 After the Wedding 24 
 
 Sic Transit 28 
 
 A Modern Enchanter 32 
 
 On the Avon 37 
 
 Captain Joe 40 
 
 The King of the Road 42 
 
 At the Lake 
 
 44 
 
 A Tough Customer 47 
 
 Name and Fame 50 
 
 Captain Costentenus 52 
 
 A Summer Idyl rr 
 
 Lake Otsego rg 
 
 A Memory 61 
 
 The Author of "Rudder Grange" in a New Role . 63 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Ascertain Your Weight 66 
 
 Apple Blossoms 69 
 
 Inspiration 70 
 
 Captain Calm 73 
 
 An Olden Echo "](> 
 
 Thistle and Volunteer 78 
 
 My Flower 80 
 
 The March to Canton 81 
 
 To E. F 83 
 
 George Eliot 85 
 
 A Ribbon 86 
 
 My Study 89 
 
 The Game of Love 92 
 
 True to Principle 93 
 
 To Edmund Clarence Stedman 94 
 
 Ballade of an Ass 95 
 
 Instinct or Reason 97 
 
 gueen and Woman loi 
 
 James William Wallack 105 
 
 Lester Wallack 106 
 
 James H. Hackett 107 
 
 Dion Boucicault 108 
 
Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Edward A. Sothern 109 
 
 John T. Raymond .,...«.....iio 
 
 Charles Fechter ill 
 
 J. S. Clarke iiz 
 
 Mary Anderson 113 
 
 Joseph Jefferson . 115 
 
 Acknowledgments are due Messrs, Harper & Bros, for kind permission to print 
 
 the poem "Ascertain Your Weight," and to Ladies' Home Journal for 
 
 like permission to print the poem "The King of the Road." 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 And Other Poems 
 
THE SIAMESE TWINS 
 
 A CHAPTER OF BIOGRAPHY 
 
 'ryy IS common to speak of things in pairs : 
 
 X A pair of eyes or a pair of stairs ; 
 And a pair of legs the stairs may cHmb, 
 With a pair of trousers for sake of rhyme ; 
 A pair of gloves, and a pair of shoes, 
 The hands and feet to match if you choose ; 
 A pair of scissors ; a pair of bellows ; 
 A pair of capital jolly fellows; 
 A pair of pigeons, a pair of wings — 
 And pairs of numerous other things ; 
 But the pair with which my lay begins 
 
 Is that singular dual, 
 
 Original plural, 
 Known round the world as the Siamese Twins. 
 
 From far Siam came my heroes hight, 
 (The land where the elephant bleaches white,) 
 Whence Siamese; and if ease they ever 
 Enjoyed, it must have been there, for never, 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 When in this country they cast their lots, 
 Did they heed the teachings of Doctor Watts. 
 Their names were respectively Eng and Chang, 
 Their surname Bunker, which has a twang 
 Of that Island, you know, just off Cape Cod, 
 Nantucket yclept; and it 's rather odd 
 That a name so calmly unsentimental 
 Should be borne by a native Oriental. 
 Conceive yourself saying "Mr. Bunker!" 
 To either festive Siamese younker — 
 Bunker, avaunt! thou hast no claim 
 To Chang and Eng's united fame. 
 
 Their names grew out of a family hitch, 
 
 How best to label t'other from which ; 
 
 And we gather from this domestic plight 
 
 That Chang meant "left" and Eng meant "right" — 
 
 Suggesting that choice American game. 
 
 Which, had Chang and Eng ever played the same. 
 
 They certainly would have won off-hand. 
 
 For both held the "bowers," you understand. 
 
 As regards their boyhood we 're in the dark. 
 
 For only at manhood they made their mark. 
 
 No doubt it was much the same as others; 
 
 Of Music probably they were lovers; 
 
 And if they were the Muse discovers 
 Their favorite song — "We 're A Band of Brothers !" 
 
 4 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 
 The first that we knew 
 
 Of this famous Two, 
 Was when they were brought to public view 
 
 By Barnum the Great, 
 
 Who then was in state 
 On the comer so near St. Paul's ; 
 And then within those famous walls 
 Were Thomas Thumb and the Woolly Horse, 
 By which we were gently fleeced of course ; 
 The Bearded Lady one there might see. 
 With her chaste moustache and mild goatee ; 
 (And whate'er may be said of Barnum's taste. 
 This humbug, at least, was not bare-faced;) 
 The Quaker Giant was popular then, 
 A colossal edition of William Penn ; 
 And the Feejee Mermaid held crowds in awe 
 With her scaly tail and her open jaw. 
 But everything dwarfed (including Thumb), 
 And the Happy Family, even, grew glum, 
 When Barnum produced his greatest wonder- 
 Two Men that never could live asunder! 
 
 The people flowed in like Croton water. 
 Paying, each one, an American quarter; 
 For these were the days before the War, 
 When Grant was a tanner and gold was at par. 
 
 5 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Little dreamed he of being the hero 
 
 To wield the sword and to pen the veto. 
 
 The fame of the Twins grew, at once, apace; 
 
 And this seems quite an apposite place 
 
 To succinctly paint 
 
 Their appearance quaint ; 
 
 To endeavor to fix, 
 
 Without being prolix. 
 The aspect strange of these specimen bricks. 
 
 VI 
 
 And in the beginning we must admit 
 Their beauty would never have made a hit 
 
 In court or in bower : 
 
 The fact is, their dower 
 Was something better than beauty or wit, 
 Stature or strength, or grace of action — 
 A thing which reminds one of Shakespeare's Jew, 
 At the time Antonio looked so blue — 
 A bond of flesh was their great attraction. 
 This band extended from breast to breast, 
 And Chang & Eng was the firm expressed. 
 The business they did was a joint affair. 
 Like other copartnerships, each had share; 
 The only thing they could not divorce 
 Was the gristle that Nature held in force. 
 Not even in easy Indiana 
 Could the tie be severed in any manner. 
 6 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 
 What shall be said of this state of things, 
 
 Prolific of many imaginings? 
 
 Suppose, for a moment, Chang were ill, 
 
 And felt like remaining perfectly still, 
 
 And Eng felt splendidly, ait contraire, 
 
 And of all things wanted to take the air — 
 
 How would they fix it ! Why Eng, of course. 
 
 Must stick to his brother's side, perforce, 
 
 And hear him fret and murmur and groan. 
 
 And see pills and powders down him thrown — 
 
 Be dragged off finally, willy-nilly, 
 
 To bed at an hour absurdly silly. 
 
 And lie there, trying to sleep in vain, 
 
 With thoughts that were certainly most profane. 
 
 Or suppose some fell, contagious thing, 
 
 Small-pox, for instance, had captured Eng. 
 
 Unhappy Chang would be sure to catch it, 
 
 And then how inconceivably wretched 
 
 The situation, — for brother and brother 
 
 Would then be pitted against each other! 
 
 Or, fancy that Eng was to church inclined. 
 
 And Chang preferred to remain behind — 
 
 Either Eng must relinquish his pious path, 
 
 Or Chang go with him in holy wrath! 
 
 Ah, how hard the fate 
 
 That makes one await 
 The whim of another without debate ! — 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And thus with Chang — for Chang was weak, 
 And Eng had only his wish to speak; 
 
 And if Chang demurred, 
 
 Then, without a word, 
 Eng punched him for being so absurd! 
 
 Some folks there are 
 
 Who quote Hudibras, 
 And say, that he who runs away 
 May live to fight another day. 
 But here there could be no such thing, 
 For how could Chang run off from Eng? 
 
 VIII 
 
 Such were their lively domestic wars, 
 
 But never, of course, at exhibition; 
 The public saw nothing of family jars 
 
 When they paid the twenty -five-cent admission. 
 All they saw was a singular freak 
 
 Of nature, — aforetime seen by no man, 
 And was of luck a lucrative streak. 
 
 To the blandly-smiling, complacent showman. 
 Every day brought a curious crowd. 
 And wonder was vented long and loud, 
 As the Twins stood up with band between, 
 To be duly gaped at, and felt, and seen. 
 By the baby-in-arms and the horrid boy; 
 The gay gallant and the maiden coy; 
 The husband young and his blushing bride; 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 
 The family man and his smiling dame; 
 Aunts and mothers-in-law beside; 
 
 People in all the paths of fame, 
 Of every profession and every grade; 
 Arts, manufactures, commerce and trade; 
 
 Of every nation and every name; 
 Nay, even the deaf and dumb and lame; — 
 And the "deaf and dumb" of course give rise 
 To the rather matter-of-fact surmise. 
 That they probably gazed in mute surprise, — 
 All these to the halls of Bamum came, 
 Till even the sidewalk, 
 Although quite a wide walk, 
 Was filled with a jostling crowd of the same. 
 
 IX 
 
 And now it was that many M. D.'s, 
 Physicians of high and low degrees, 
 Began to be rather interested. 
 And wanted to have the question tested — 
 If surgical skill could the Twins divide, 
 And Nature's whim be with knife defied? 
 Far and near the excitement spread; 
 It bothered each ^sculapian head : 
 They thought of it lying awake in bed ; 
 Thousands of works were bought and read- 
 But the end of it all was simply this : 
 They felt less likely to hit than miss. 
 
 9 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And so the conundrum — can human art 
 Take these two-volumes-in-one apart? — 
 Was given up, and the Twins went on 
 Attracting their fish with a hook of brawn. 
 
 And much of the lucre they laid away 
 
 For that axiomatic "rainy day," 
 
 Which means in spirit, if not in letter, 
 
 If you have an umbrella you won't get wetter ; 
 
 And the Twins resolved in their sunny hours 
 
 To be prepared for possible showers. 
 
 For, now that I think of it, then, you know. 
 
 The Bureau of Weather did n't show, 
 
 And quite important were such utilities 
 
 In the absence of daily "Probabilities." 
 
 However, the fact was as I 've said it — 
 
 Their Balance of Cash was a chronic credit. 
 
 In mercantile phrase, their Stock Account 
 
 Was good for a very healthy amount. 
 
 So, weary grown of being admired. 
 
 Their contract, too, having just expired. 
 
 From public life Chang and Eng retired. 
 
 It is n't recorded in any book. 
 How each the digit of Barnum shook ; 
 How the Quaker Giant returned their bow, 
 And called one Thee and the other Thou; 
 
The Siamese Twins 
 
 How a gallant and fond adieu they waved 
 To the hirsute Lady who never shaved ; 
 
 And with mournful face 
 
 Passed by the case 
 Containing the Mermaid of Feejee race; 
 And a last and lingering sad look cast 
 On the Happy Family, now all aghast; 
 And in silence pressed, for grief made them dumb, 
 The pigmy fingers of Thomas Thumb — 
 And so they forever left the scene — 
 
 Those undivided Two, 
 And with the band of flesh between 
 
 Marched forth to pastures new. 
 
 We cannot those "pastures new" explore; 
 
 They open a matrimonial door, 
 
 A door, on the whole, we decline to enter. 
 
 And here the Muse must, perforce, content her. 
 
 We may, perhaps, mention that damsels two 
 
 Enamored became, — chacun a son gout! — 
 
 Sailed gleefully over the ocean blue; 
 
 And the quartette finding it awkward to woo, 
 
 And out of the question to bill and coo. 
 
 Were married without the slightest ado. 
 
 And whether the parson had double fee 
 
 For making these couples glad, 
 We cannot tell ; but we '11 all agree 
 
 That he certainly should have had. 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 But, alas, the Twins are now no more! 
 
 They died in Eighteen Seventy-four; 
 
 And their wives and children, where'er they be. 
 
 No part in this chronicle may see. 
 
 Only a backward glance to throw 
 
 On what was of interest years ago — 
 
 As our fathers often delight to talk 
 
 Of landmarks and features of Old New York — 
 
 Is our story's aim — except to pay, 
 
 In a sort of bio-graphical way, 
 
 A tribute, albeit of little worth. 
 
 To the famous Brothers of Siamese birth. 
 
 And when they died, it was good to know 
 
 That one fear of old was at once decided; 
 They had lived very much together, and so 
 
 In death they were not divided. 
 
NEWTON'S BLAST 
 
 The famous engineering exploit of General Newton, celebrated in the following 
 
 Soem, was consummated, it will be remembered, by the destruction of Hallett's 
 l.eef, at Hell Gate, on the afternoon of September 24, 1876. 
 
 NOW list to a tale of blast galore, 
 That happened September twenty and four, 
 In Ei-ghteen hundred and seventy-six. 
 The reason I 'm careful the date to fix 
 
 Is because the mind, 
 
 As we often find. 
 As time rolls on seems rather inclined 
 To forget than remember a certain date, 
 That held an event or affair of weight. 
 Be the same of science, or church, or state. 
 How many are often sore perplexed 
 When asked the place of a Bible text. 
 And as likely refer you to Jeremiah 
 For a verse that is only in Obadiah. 
 And is n't it always an awful task 
 To answer the questions one might ask 
 Relating to facts of general history? 
 The facts we know, but the dates are mystery ! 
 For instance, can any one name the day 
 When Andre was stopped on the King's highway, 
 When Arnold was trying his country to barter? 
 And can you conveniently tell me, pray. 
 The date of the signing of Magna Charta? 
 
 13 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 What year immortalized William Harvey? 
 When did Jenner with milkmaid parley? 
 Is any one just at this moment able 
 To say when was laid the Atlantic Cable? 
 You have n't forgotten, at least, I hope, 
 When Farrington crossed on the wire rope, 
 From tower to tower, not long ago? — 
 You have? — Well, did n't I tell you so! 
 
 So you see I 'm right, if I am prolix. 
 In making my mind up the date to fix 
 Of that stupendous and awful event, 
 To see which thousands of people went; — 
 
 Which is, to wit. 
 
 The Blast that split. 
 And knocked into smithereens every bit 
 Of that horrible rock called Hallett's Reef, 
 Where many a ship has come to grief; 
 
 But never more 
 
 Shall the rocky jaw 
 Of Charybdis stand open to glut its maw, 
 And devour its victims, hull and spar. 
 For there came a time when its doom was cast, 
 And now the terrible crisis is past ; 
 The cavernous monster is crushed at last 
 By the dynamite thunder of Newton's Blast! 
 
 In Eighteen hundred and sixty-nine, 
 I think it was — but of that no matter — 
 14 
 
Newton's Blast 
 
 The man who conceived the grand design 
 
 Of making this rockery somewhat flatter, 
 
 Came down to look at the place infernal, 
 
 And his name was Newton, Lieutenant-Colonel. 
 
 He came by Federal invitation, 
 
 Armed with a fat appropriation. 
 
 And his object was to destroy forever 
 
 This stumbling block of the flowing river, 
 
 And make it decent for navigation. 
 
 For since the day that Van Kortlandt's ship 
 
 Sailed thither with Oloffe and Hendrick Kip, 
 
 The place had been growing worse and worse, 
 
 And constantly made the captains curse. 
 
 When their vessels holes in their bottoms got. 
 
 Or, as frequently happened, went to Pot! 
 
 So the Colonel came and surveyed the scene; 
 
 His heart was strong and his eye was keen ; 
 
 He saw where the water boiled and hissed 
 
 Above and around the rocky lair. 
 
 And whether he hit or whether he missed. 
 
 He would go for the demon then and there. 
 
 And never whisper the word despair. 
 
 But soon he was given to understand 
 
 That only by taking it underhand 
 
 Could he conquer his foe in wonder-land. 
 
 Behold him then on that famous shore. 
 
 Beginning his work 
 
 With never a shirk, 
 With an iron will and an iron bore. 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And for seven long years he bored away, 
 Forgetting the world and all around him; 
 Winter and summer, night and day. 
 In his subterranean burrow found him. 
 
 Boring and drilling, 
 
 With dynamite filling 
 
 The holes, and when loaded 
 
 The same were exploded, 
 
 And masses of rock 
 
 Tumbled down with a shock. 
 
 And then were dragged out 
 
 And piled all about, 
 Till a mountain arose at the Government station 
 Of the debris that came from the Reef's excavation. 
 And now was seen the Newtonian plan : — 
 From the shaft leading down beneath the wave 
 A series of tunnels, suggesting a fan, 
 Ran into the reef and formed a cave; 
 And others transversely cut those through. 
 Till the heart of the rock a wonder grew 
 Of columns and arches not a few; 
 But hardly a grotto for nymph or siren — 
 It resembled, to take a poetic view. 
 The dungeon of Chillon described by Byron. 
 These columns sustained, now bear in mind. 
 The superincumbent mass of stone. 
 And, of course, if Newton were so inclined. 
 They would stand forever if left alone; 
 But he, not having the slightest feeling, 
 Would blast the columns and drop the ceiling! 
 i6 
 
Newton's Blast 
 
 Holes in the pillars he 'd calmly drill, 
 Those same holes with dynamite fill ; 
 A wire would pass through every charge 
 Connecting with several wires at large; 
 Those wires at large would then be led 
 To a battery under a bomb-proof shed, 
 With a jolly torpedo overhead, 
 And another wire from that, you see, 
 To the firing point and electric key. 
 Now press the key — at the lightning's call 
 The jolly torpedo is seen to fall 
 Plump on the battery, not to hurt it, 
 Only to make the electric circuit. 
 Darts the spark to the gathered wires. 
 That spark that never delays nor tires, 
 And in a jiffy the whole thing fires! 
 And Newton thinks the effect of that 
 Will be that Hallett will tumble flat. 
 Thus waxed prophetic the Engineer, — 
 And now the appointed day is here! 
 
 Day broke with a very unusual stir, 
 And it broke all cloudy and rainy too; 
 But that did not in the least deter 
 A crowd from flocking to points of view; 
 And every available spot was black 
 With the constantly gathering human pack. 
 And those remaining at home were fain 
 To sit and play with a time-piece chain — 
 
 17 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And whenever a clock 
 
 Around the block, 
 
 Or the City Hall, 
 
 Or Trinity tall, 
 Rang out the hour, with each vibration 
 They pulled out their watches for regulation; 
 Till it came to pass, at Two forty-five, 
 That stoops and windows were all alive 
 With people who waited all day to see 
 What Newton meant by 
 
 TEN MINUTES TO THREE ! 
 
 For that was the last official warning 
 
 In the New York papers on Sunday morning. 
 
 Newton stands at the firing point ; 
 Close at his hand the electric key, 
 A touch of which will the rock disjoint, 
 And give to Science the mastery. 
 Whose hand shall press that ivory knob, 
 And awaken the lightning's awful throb? 
 Lo! the hand of a child! for now appears 
 A little maiden of tender years. 
 Her hand shall send the electric spark 
 To the flooded rock 'neath the waters dark. 
 The General receives this potent fairy. 
 His daughter she is, and her name is Mary. 
 And now full swiftly the minutes pass — 
 But one remains! and the smiling lass 
 In her father's arms looks sweet delight, 
 While all are thinking of Dynamite! 
 i8 
 
Newton's Blast 
 
 The moment has come! Ten minutes to Three! 
 
 And a baby has set the lightning free ! 
 
 Drops the torpedo, and then a Boom, 
 
 Which makes one think of the crack of doom, 
 
 And a column of water rises there, 
 
 Returning with terrible crash and slam, 
 
 And wildly seeking the upper air 
 
 Go the sad remains of the coffer-dam ! 
 
 A moment's convulsion, and all is still ; 
 
 But Newton and Science have had their will. 
 
 And when we sail, as hereafter we may, 
 Where no longer we need to be wary, 
 Let us never fail this tribute to pay — 
 Three Cheers for Newton who won the day, 
 And a "tiger" for Little Mary ! 
 
FARRIXGTOX'S FEAT ^ 
 
 ALL hail immortal Farrington! 
 l\. The dauntless Engineer, 
 Who hath the crown of glon,- won 
 In this Centennial year. 
 
 On August twentj'-sixth, this man, 
 
 Like some colossal midge, 
 Was seen to flit across the span 
 
 Of our stupendous Bridge. 
 
 To celebrate this hero's flight, 
 
 O Muse, my pen inspire. 
 That I in numbers may relate 
 
 How he traversed the wire. 
 
 They talk of Tell's historic lad. 
 
 When it was hit or miss; 
 A narrow escape indeed he had — 
 
 A narrower one was this ! 
 
 And what was Israel Putnam's ride. 
 
 Or Dan 0"Lear\-'s walk, 
 To this bold leap across the tide 
 
 Twixt Brookl}Ti and New York? 
 
 1 Farrington was the first man to cross the span of the 
 
 Brookl\-n Bridge. 
 
 20 
 
Farrington's Feat 
 
 The only being who essayed 
 
 Achievement like this thing, 
 Was Paganini, he who played 
 
 The fiddle on one string! 
 
 There stretched the wires at dizzy height 
 
 Above the flow and ebb, 
 So high, they seemed to human sight 
 
 Titanic spiders' web ! 
 
 Now is it true that mortal can 
 
 That thread of iron ride? 
 You might as well expect a man 
 
 A kite-string to astride! 
 
 But ah, what mean the deafening cheers? 
 
 And what the skyward stare? — 
 Lo! "buggy" 't is that now appears, 
 
 Suspended in mid air. 
 
 And when I say a "buggy," mind 
 
 I do not mean, of course, 
 A creature of the insect kind, 
 
 Or wagon for a horse — 
 
 A "buggy" is a cage, in fact, 
 
 Composed of iron straps. 
 And not unlike — to be exact — 
 
 A hoop-skirt in collapse. 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 But what is that behind the bars? 
 
 And echo answers — what? 
 So far from earth, so near the stars, 
 
 It seemeth but a dot. 
 
 (A dot! — now what a chance this is 
 
 To make a fearful pun. 
 I '11 do it in parenthesis — 
 
 A dot, and carry one!) 
 
 A dot, and well it carries one 
 
 Above the briny deep — 
 The dauntless eyes of Farrington 
 
 From out the buggy peep. 
 
 And now is heard the engine's toil. 
 And, slowly o'er the grooves, 
 
 Yet smoothly, as tho' led through oil, 
 The wire "traveler" moves. 
 
 And, with its precious human freight. 
 
 It bears the buggy on, 
 While far below the conquered strait 
 
 Owns its dominion gone. 
 
 And now, at last — triumphant hour! 
 
 The traveler's course is sped. 
 And Farrington, from yonder tower. 
 
 Proclaims two cities wed ! 
 
Farrington's Feat 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Farrington ! 
 
 And let the cannon roar, 
 Until the echo of each gun 
 
 Resound from shore to shore. 
 
 Ten thousand eyes beheld thy deed 
 On that immortal day — 
 
 And may the same glad optics read 
 This unpretending lay. 
 
 23 
 
AFTER THE WEDDING 
 
 ALL alone in my room at last! 
 XX I wonder how far they have traveled now? 
 They '11 be very far when the night is past; 
 
 And so would I, if I knew but how. 
 How lovely she looked in her wreath and dress, 
 
 She is queenlier far than the village girls ; 
 Those were roses, too, in the wreath, I guess — 
 
 'T was they made the crimson among the curls. 
 
 She is good as beautiful, too, they say; 
 
 Her heart is as gentle as any dove's ; 
 She '11 be all that she can to him, alway — 
 
 Dear! I am tearing my new white gloves. 
 How calm she is, with her saint-like face! 
 
 Her eyes are violet — mine are blue : 
 How careless I am with my mother's lace! 
 
 Her hands are whiter and softer, too. 
 
 They 've gone to the city beyond the hill ; 
 
 They must never come back to this place again 
 I 'm almost afraid to be here so still — 
 
 I wish it would thunder and lighten and rain ! 
 Oh no ! for some may not be abed ; 
 
 Some few, perhaps, may be out to-night; 
 I hope that the moon will come instead, 
 
 And heaven be starry and earth all light. 
 24 
 
After the Wedding 
 
 'T is only a summer that she 's been here — 
 
 It 's been my home for seventeen years ! 
 But her name is a testament far and near, 
 
 And the poor have embalmed it in priceless tears. 
 I remember the day when another came — 
 
 There, at last I 've tied my hair ; 
 Her curls and mine were nearly the same. 
 
 But hers are longer, and mine less fair. 
 
 They 're going across the sea, I know : 
 
 Across the ocean — will that be far? — 
 Did I have my comb a moment ago ! 
 
 I seem to forget where my things all are. 
 When ships are wrecked, do the people drown? 
 
 Is there never a boat to save the crew ? 
 Poor ships ! If ever my ship goes down, 
 
 I '11 want a grave in the ocean, too. 
 
 Good-night! good-night! it is striking one; 
 
 Good-night to bride and good-night to groom ! 
 The light of my candle is almost done ; 
 
 I wish my bed was in mother's room ! 
 How calm it looks in the midnight shade! 
 
 Those curtains were hung there clean to-day ; 
 They 're all too white for me, I 'm afraid : 
 
 Perhaps I may soon be as white as they. 
 
 Dark, all dark! for the light is dead. 
 Father in heaven, may I have rest? 
 25 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 One hour of sleep for my weary head, 
 
 For this breaking heart in my poor, poor breast. 
 For his sweet sake, do I kneel and pray ; 
 
 Oh God, protect him from change and ill; 
 And render her worthier every way, 
 
 The older, the purer, the lovelier still. 
 
 There, I knew I was going to cry ; 
 
 I have kept the tears in my soul too long: 
 Oh let me say it, or I shall die! 
 
 As heaven is witness, I mean no wrong. 
 He never shall hear from this secret room; 
 
 He never shall know, in the after years, 
 How seventeen summers of happy bloom 
 
 Fell dead one night in a moment of tears! 
 
 I loved him more than she understands ; 
 
 For him I loaded my soul with truth; 
 For him I am kneeling with lifted hands. 
 
 To lay at his feet my shattered youth ! 
 I love, I adore him still the same ! 
 
 More than father and mother and life! 
 My hope of hopes was to bear his name. 
 
 My heaven of heavens to be his wife ! 
 
 His wife! Oh name which the angels breathe, 
 Let it not crimson my cheek, for shame! 
 
 'T is her great glory, her word to wreathe 
 
 In the princely heart from whose blood it came. 
 26 
 
After the Wedding 
 
 Oh hush! again I behold them stand, 
 
 As they stood to-night, by the chancel wall ; 
 
 I see him holding her white-gloved hand; 
 I hear his voice in a whisper fall. 
 
 I see the minister's silver hair; 
 
 I see him kneel at the altar-stone ; 
 I see him rise when the prayer is o'er : 
 
 He has taken their hands and made them one. 
 The fathers and mothers are standing near; 
 
 The friends are pressing to kiss the bride; 
 One of those kisses had birth-place here, 
 
 The dew of her lips has not yet dried. 
 
 His lips have touched hers before to-night; 
 
 Then I have a grain of his to keep ! 
 This midnight blackness is flecked with light; 
 
 Some angel is singing my soul to sleep. 
 He knows full well why many a knave 
 
 So close to his lady's lips should swim : 
 God only knows that the kiss I gave 
 
 Was set in her mouth to give to him. 
 
 27 
 
SIC TRANSIT 
 
 A SONG OF THE SEA 
 
 NOW falls Upon the tympanum 
 A note of preparation; 
 A sort of loud-ascending hum 
 
 That lingers in vibration. 
 I know it! — 't is that vast unrest 
 
 Of eager human beings, 
 Who mean to cross Atlantic's breast 
 To go Old World sight-seeings. 
 
 Alas, I see but one result 
 
 This exodus to follow : 
 It may be deemed a thing occult — 
 
 Viewed grimly, it is hollow. 
 I try a living tongue in vain. 
 
 But must express it one way : 
 "To Europe" bears the sad refrain, 
 
 "Sic transit gloria inundi." 
 
 They gather on the promenade; 
 
 The hearts of all how light are; 
 There 's not a single soul afraid 
 
 On Cunard or on White Star. 
 28 
 
Sic Transit 
 
 They pass the Hook and Southwest Spit, 
 Then skirt the Bay of Fundy, 
 
 And do not mind the sea a bit — 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 The steamer cleaves the heaving brine, 
 
 In fact, "she walks the water" — 
 I must employ Lord Byron's line, 
 
 It makes description shorter. 
 Now wake the watchers of the sky, 
 
 Where erst the dying sun lay ; 
 But slyly winks each starry eye — 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 Two lovers, in communion sweet. 
 
 Against the rail are leaning; 
 Their looks occasionally meet, 
 
 Exchanging tender meaning. 
 They talk about "this splendid trip" 
 
 In words that fall like honey. 
 But never quote, "There 's many a slip"- 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 Yon youthful wife and husband pace 
 The deck in happy measure, 
 
 And on the dim horizon trace 
 Their bridal tour of pleasure. 
 
 "To-morrow brings another day. 
 How far will then our run be ?" 
 29 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 They know not what to-morrow may — 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 Behold the man of dauntless cheek, 
 
 Superior to emotion; 
 He turns impregnable physique 
 
 Upon the crested ocean. 
 He saunters where the sailors are — 
 
 Perhaps a yarn may spun be — 
 Unconscious of intestine war — 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 The ship 's a thousand miles from home, 
 
 May all the Saints defend her ! 
 And once again the heavenly dome 
 
 Reveals its starry splendor. 
 But where are youth and maiden sweet? 
 
 Where bride and groom so sunny? 
 And vanished, too, has the athlete — 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 That matchless punster, Thomas Hood, 
 
 Imagined a specific. 
 Which if invented surely would 
 
 Make sea-trips beatific. 
 He did not entertain a doubt 
 
 'T would be discovered one day, 
 And wondered how it would turn out — 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 30 
 
Sic Transit 
 
 "Roll on, thou dark blue ocean, roll !" 
 
 Thy motion is prophetic: 
 Within thy depths, from Pole to Pole, 
 
 Flows fathomless emetic! 
 Ask of the mariner its name, 
 
 Interrogate Jack Bunsby; 
 He '11 tell you that they call the same. 
 
 Sic transit gloria miindi. 
 
 Farewell, enthusiastic souls. 
 
 To Neptune we confide you; 
 May all the ills the god controls 
 
 Be only those inside you. 
 Blow, Triton, kissing winds alone 
 
 To cheeks of Mrs. Grundy; 
 But chuckle in an undertone, 
 
 Sic transit gloria mundi. 
 
 31 
 
A MODERN ENCHANTER 
 
 '^T^ IS a room lying under the roof 
 
 X Of a house which is proud of the name; 
 The rich from the door keep aloof, 
 
 To the poor it is always the same. 
 'T is in an unfrequented street, 
 
 Where a sovereign quietude reigns ; 
 'T is a wretched yet peaceful retreat 
 
 For one who has nothing but brains. 
 
 Depressing and bare are the walls 
 
 To him who peers in at the door, 
 And the shadow of poverty falls 
 
 Long and lank on the carpetless floor. 
 The hearth-stone lies sleeping in mould ; 
 
 The chimney-piece begs for repair — 
 None hears the complaint save the cold, 
 
 For the wind is a reveler there. 
 
 Ay, it steals through the crannies and chinks, 
 'Neath the door, thro' the pitiless panes, 
 
 And it reaches the lodger who thinks. 
 With his eyes on the moon as she wanes; 
 
 But who heeds not the touch or the chill. 
 As he sits in his garret forlorn ; 
 32 
 
A Modern Enchanter 
 
 Let the wind work its own wicked will; 
 'T is his habit to laugh it to scorn. 
 
 Some say he 's an alchemist rare; 
 
 Some say he 's a sorcerer grand; 
 That he sits through the midnight up there 
 
 Looking out on a magical land. 
 But the bold inquisition of day, 
 
 When it opened the mystical door, 
 Turned with crestfallen visage away, 
 
 For it nothing but poverty saw. 
 
 Not for them the enchantment so dear ; 
 
 The starry hosts only can tell 
 How the garret and all disappear 
 
 By the Sorcerer's magical spell ; 
 How he stands in his splendid attire, 
 
 Supreme in imperial reign, 
 And waves his hand, crested with fire. 
 
 In the air of his royal domain. 
 
 He stands in a palace of Croesus ; 
 
 Transformed are the crumbling walls; 
 And he fears not the thread of Lachesis 
 
 As he sweeps through his glittering halls. 
 'Neath the arches of gem-studded ceiling 
 
 He walks on a porphyry floor, 
 The arrows of lustre revealing 
 
 The robes Elagabalus wore. 
 
 33 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Through a vista forever extending, 
 
 With the glories of sunset o'erthrown, 
 Through air sweet with odors ascending 
 
 From flowers that Eden hath grown, 
 Gleams a luminous river of amber 
 
 From lamps hung o'er fountains in flow, 
 Where jeweled streams ceaselessly clamber 
 
 From the star-brimming basins below. 
 
 A volume of exquisite cadence 
 
 Floats through on invisible wing, 
 From a choir of garlanded maidens, 
 
 With uplifted gaze while they sing. 
 Now the melody rises in rapture, 
 
 Like the song of the lark to the sky, 
 Now sinks till the ear cannot capture 
 
 The notes as they falter and die. 
 
 Now shapes in ethereal vesture 
 
 Come thronging the long, lighted aisles, 
 A grace, not of earth, in each gesture, 
 
 A joy, not of earth, in their smiles. 
 They come in the gladness of meeting, 
 
 And rapt is the Sorcerer now, 
 His arms stretched in welcome and greeting. 
 
 The flush of delight on his brow. 
 
 And this is the wonderful story 
 The starry hosts only can tell — 
 34 
 
A Modern Enchanter 
 
 Let us leave him alone in his glory, 
 With the loveliness born of his spell : 
 
 With the fountains still ceaselessly springing; 
 With the fragrance, the bloom, and the light 
 
 With the garlanded maidens still singing; 
 With the shapes in their vesture of white. 
 
 Day breaks on a populous town. 
 
 And it gilds an unfrequented street; 
 It discovers a garret forlorn. 
 
 And looks in on a lonely retreat. 
 We remember the walls and the mould. 
 
 The hearth-stone, the carpetless floor; 
 'T is the room of the wizard so bold — 
 
 But where are the robes that he wore ? 
 
 Hark! something has startled his ear — 
 
 What is it ? a step on the stair : 
 The wizard bends forward to hear. 
 
 Pushing back the long locks of his hair. 
 With a steady, monotonous tread 
 
 Come the feet of the fearless unknown, 
 Like a watchman, when midnight is dead. 
 
 Pacing slow on his limit of stone. 
 
 There 's a sudden, significant pause, 
 And a groping of fingers outside. 
 
 Then that most uninviting of doors 
 Is swung from its fastening wide, 
 
 35 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And a sombre, lugubrious mortal, 
 
 In clerkly habiliments dressed. 
 Steps in through the Sorcerer's portal 
 
 To the room which has never known guest. 
 
 Down, down with the curtain! for never 
 
 Shall those who his magic revere 
 Turn away from its beauty forever. 
 
 Turn to laughter the smile and the tear. 
 The reverse of the Sorcerer's vision. 
 
 Not mine be the hand to present ; 
 It would only be viewed with derision — 
 
 Think! A poet is paying his rent! 
 
 36 
 
ON THE AVON 
 
 JULY 9, 1886 
 
 I SHALL not soon forget that July night 
 When, standing on the bridge in Stratford town, 
 The Avon flowed before my eager sight. 
 
 And I upon its dark'ning breast looked down — 
 The goal was won, and fate now held no frown! 
 My dream of dreams, for many waiting years. 
 
 Received at last fulfilment's golden crown. 
 I stood and gazed thro' mist of happy tears, 
 The while the wand'ring wind sang music to my 
 ears. 
 
 "This is the stream, the home of Shakespeare's love. 
 
 Many a time on nights as sweet as this 
 Did he yon meadow-path enraptured rove. 
 
 Perchance returning from Anne Hathaway's kiss. 
 
 And in his heart the roseate dawn of bliss. 
 The grassy slopes, the trees, the flowing wave, 
 
 To him were beautiful ; he could not miss 
 One touch of loveliness that Nature gave ; 
 And now this perfect scene encompasses his grave." 
 
 So ran my thought. And then I looked afar 
 Where rose the spire lit by the early moon ; 
 
 37 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 The river beckoned, and the gleam of star 
 Ran in a golden line upon its breast, 
 Vanishing where the shadows lay at rest. 
 
 There lay my way along that guiding gleam. 
 
 night so sweet ! to me forever blest ! 
 For now my boat is gliding on the stream, 
 
 And nearer draws the spire touched by the silver 
 beam. 
 
 Within its shadow, resting on my oars, 
 
 1 sat in reverie while time's pulses beat; 
 I heard the river's kiss upon the shores, 
 
 The leaves' low dalliance with the night wind 
 
 sweet ; 
 No other sound broke in on my retreat; 
 And, resting so, the scene a picture grew 
 
 Heart-framed in memory coming years to meet; 
 The churchyard and the lime-tree avenue. 
 The stream, the shade, the spire above the grave I 
 knew. 
 
 Lo, as I mused, amid the foliage 
 
 Methought I saw shapes moving to and fro — 
 The hoary locks of Lear, tossed high in rage; 
 
 Othello torn with doubt ; the Dane with woe ; 
 
 Miranda at the feet of Prospero; 
 The face of Rosalind in rosy glee ; 
 
 Macbeth recoiling from prophetic foe; — 
 They pass me on the shores of fantasy. 
 Beside the sacred dust of him that set them free. 
 38 
 
On the Avon 
 
 The world has grown since thou, long centuries gone, 
 In yonder timbered cottage drew thy breath; 
 
 Speech, customs, manners, have been all outworn ; 
 Victoria reigns and not Elizabeth; — 
 But thou still reigneth in despite of death. 
 
 What tho' o'er ocean's chasm lightnings flow. 
 And science shall new miracles bequeath — 
 
 The vernal freshness of thy lips we know 
 
 As when they spoke thy thought three hundred 
 years ago. 
 
 O Grave, where is thy victory, since he 
 
 Reposes thus upon the heart of man ? 
 Life gathers to itself his legacy, 
 
 Exhaustless, tho' life spend it how it can ; 
 
 A fuller spring than when it first began. 
 O think what elements and powers were driven 
 
 In the brief running of his mortal span — 
 If such the might quick years to earth have given. 
 What then the eternal life his spirit found in heaven ! 
 
 39 
 
CAPTAIN JOE 
 
 A TRUE STORY 
 
 I AGREE in the main to what you say, 
 That a sailor's tongue runs glibly to evil; 
 But I guess you never knew Cape Cod Joe, 
 And the way he chose to euchre the Devil. 
 I was passenger once along with him, 
 
 When the fish was plenty off Brunswick shore ; 
 But the limit was fixed, and whoever transgressed. 
 Ran the nose of his vessel against the law. 
 
 Yet Joe and his brother skippers tossed up — 
 
 The head was for law, and the tail to go in ; 
 And as often happens when brimstone 's around, 
 
 The Devil decided his tail should win. 
 So the captains all went in on the lay. 
 
 And netted a million without much noise; 
 And the fok'sals chuckled that night to think 
 
 How smartly they 'd weathered the Canada boys. 
 
 But next morning, as soon as the sun was up, 
 A party hailed from a Government craft; 
 
 And we guessed that suspicions had been afloat. 
 And it 's very certain that nobody laughed. 
 
 The Dominion colors were soon alongside, 
 And the officers boarded us, every smack; 
 40 
 
Captain Joe 
 
 And whatever they may have surmised, you bet, 
 When they looked in the holds, they were taken 
 aback. 
 
 Well, the skippers were questioned one by one, 
 
 And solemnly each on the Bible swore, 
 "The fish that you see, however the luck. 
 
 Was taken at least three mile off shore." 
 But when they got round to Captain Joe, 
 
 He spoke out thus to the law's demand : 
 "Masters, the fish you see in my hold. 
 
 Was there" — and he pointed a bowshot from land. 
 
 The captain turned and walked to the fore, 
 
 But soon was the centre of all the rest; 
 "Serve yer right for a cursed fool ! 
 
 Yer schooner 's a goner; which way was best?" 
 Captain Joe was leaning against the rail; 
 
 He rolled on the circle unquailing eye — 
 "D' yer think the loss of a d d old schooner 
 
 Is enough to make Joe Baxter lie?" 
 
 It 's many a year since that ugly day; 
 
 I 've never laid eyes on the captain since ; 
 But whenever the Devil has tripped me up 
 
 I 've always felt something within me wince. 
 And somehow I think that to every man 
 
 There 's a little of angel reminder given — 
 Whether sailing the sea or walking the land. 
 
 There 's a saving rope hanging down from heaven. 
 41 
 
THE KING OF THE ROAD 
 
 " Knights to his arms did yield, and ladies to his face." — Du ValV s Epitaph. 
 
 Via was the year sixteen hundred and sixty and 
 
 JL eight ; 
 Hounslovv Heath was the place, and the hour was 
 
 late: 
 The horsemen were waiting and list'ning — when 
 
 "Hark!" 
 Spoke the Leader's clear voice — "I hear wheels in 
 
 the dark." 
 
 Then up rolled the Coach with its booty of gold, 
 With the Knight and his Lady, so fair and so bold, 
 And the Maid, apprehensive of what might befall. 
 Should it chance they were stopped by that daring 
 Du Vail. 
 
 Ah! What are those moving mysterious shapes? 
 They 're horsemen — they whisper — they throw back 
 
 their capes — 
 They form in half circle at word of command, 
 While the Leader rides forward and bids the coach 
 
 "Stand !" 
 
 42 
 
The King of the Road 
 
 Then the scream of the Maid drowned the oath of the 
 
 Knight ; 
 But the Lady, unruffled, sat calm in the plight ; 
 Nay, rather than show that she felt the least fear. 
 She played on her flageolet loudly and clear. 
 
 Then up rode the Leader, on hearing the tone. 
 And in answer played deftly on pipe of his own ; 
 Then, dismounting, he bowed like a gallant of 
 
 France, 
 And begged for the Lady's fair hand in a dance. 
 
 "On the Heath here with me one coranto, I pray; 
 I am sure that you dance quite as well as you play." 
 The Lady stepped out with a smile on her face. 
 And they danced the coranto with infinite grace. 
 
 What a scene 1 the Maid fainting ; the Knight with 
 
 hands bound; 
 The gay courtly measure; the horsemen grouped 
 
 round ; — 
 There was everything there to be picturesque with, 
 And it all lives again on the canvas of Frith. 
 
 T was the year sixteen hundred and sixty and eight ; 
 The Monarch was merry who ruled at that date; 
 Charles the Festive was King of Court, Bower and 
 
 Hall, 
 But the King of the Road was the daring Du Vail. 
 
 43 
 
AT THE LAKE 
 
 ALONE on the winter-shrunk shore! 
 XjL The Lake, like a crystalline floor, 
 Stretches on to the base of the wrinkle-browed hill. 
 Cold, heavy, and white is the sheet 
 That covers the emerald feet 
 Of the waves that are sleeping so deeply, so still. 
 
 Proud Night in her glory is here ; 
 
 Heaven's high palpitations appear 
 Li the passionate stars that the angels have set ; 
 
 And the light of each diamond face 
 
 Comes, cleaving the infinite space, 
 To fall on the world which they never forget. 
 
 And Winter is king of the scene — 
 
 He hath crumbled the yellow and green, 
 He hath clasped his stern fingers round Autumn' 
 ripe throat; 
 
 The forest is stripped by his breath; 
 
 Its skeletons whisper of death. 
 And the snow-bird alone dares to utter a note. 
 
 I shiver — but 't is not with cold ; 
 I tremble — yet, still I am bold; 
 44 
 
At the Lake 
 
 I hearken — ^but not that I listen with fear — 
 It comes from the sepulchred lake; 
 It murmurs and moans for my sake; 
 
 It breaks its ice-prison because I am here! 
 
 O hark! how afar it awakes, 
 
 And trembles, then hollowly breaks 
 In a wide-stretching moan to the uttermost shore. 
 
 The soul of a poet would leap, 
 
 This vigil with Nature to keep; 
 But mine cries aloud, and entreateth, No more! 
 
 A Summer comes back to my eyes : — 
 I bound beneath pure arching skies 
 
 O'er the billowy life of a wind-haunted stream. 
 There is glow in each pulse of its breast, 
 There is joy in each high-tossing crest, — 
 
 There is love, there is hope, in my youth's daring 
 dream. 
 
 There 's a cry — but it is not a bird, 
 
 Nor was it wind only I heard : — 
 There 's a boat plunging wild on a tempest-struck 
 wave; 
 
 Her sail, like a hawk shot in air, 
 
 Flutters madly, her form to upbear — 
 She is sinking in death with no power to save! 
 
 45 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 There 's a pallid, wet face at my feet, 
 
 So tender, so pure, and so sweet. 
 That I cannot believe the soul's farewell is there ! 
 
 Lost! lost! and forever, that face — 
 
 And I stand in this desolate place, 
 With the moan of the Lake breaking full on the air I 
 
 46 
 
A TOUGH CUSTOMER 
 
 ET me tell you a tale that was once told to me, 
 And although it was told me in prose at the 
 time 
 I will give it a metrical dressing, and see 
 If the story will lose any reason by rhyme. 
 
 There came to the store in a village one day 
 
 A long and lank stranger in homespun arrayed ; 
 
 And "Good mornin' " said he in a diffident way, 
 "I 've jes' come up to town for a bit of a trade." 
 
 The proprietor nodded and cheerily spoke : 
 
 "Well, what can I do for you, neighbor, and how ?" 
 
 "Wal, one of wife's knittin' needles ez broke, 
 
 An' she wants me to git one — how much be they 
 now?" 
 
 "They 're two cents apiece." "Wal, say. Mister, look 
 here; 
 "I 've got a fresh egg, an' my wife sez to me, 
 'Swap the egg for the needle' — it seems a bit queer, 
 But the thing 's about even — it 's a big un, yer 
 see." 
 
 47 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Said the storekeeper presently, "Well, I don't 
 mind" — 
 
 He laid down the needle and put the egg by — 
 When the countryman blurted out, "Ain't yer inclined 
 
 To treat a new customer? — fact is, I 'm dry." 
 
 Though staggered a little, it must be confessed, 
 By the "customer" coming it rather too free ; 
 
 Yet smilingly granting the modest request, 
 
 The dealer responded, "Well, what shall it be?" 
 
 "Wal, a drop of Madairy I reckon 'ul pass ; 
 
 I 've bin used ter thet, see, ever since I was born." 
 The storekeeper handed a bottle and glass. 
 
 And his customer poured out a generous horn. 
 
 For a moment he eyed the gratuitous dram 
 
 With the air of a man who must something resign. 
 
 Then blandly remarked, "Do yer know that I am 
 Very partial to mixing an egg in my wine?" 
 
 "Oh, well, let us finish this matter, I beg; 
 
 You 're very particular, though, I must say" — 
 The storekeeper muttered and handed an egg — ■ 
 
 The identical one he had taken in pay. 
 
 On the rim of the tumbler the man broke the shell — 
 "It 's cert'inly handsome the way yer treat folk:" 
 48 
 
A Tough Customer 
 
 He opened it deftly, and plumply it fell 
 
 With a splash, and no wonder — it held double yolk 1 
 
 The customer saw and a long breath he drew — 
 "Look, Mister, that egg has two yolks, I declare ! 
 
 Instead of one needle I 've paid yer for two — 
 So hand me another an' then we '11 be square!" 
 
 49 
 
NAME AND FAME 
 
 I STOOD where the billows of ocean 
 Foamed up on the shining strand, 
 And at every billow's recession 
 
 I traced my name on the sand; 
 And as often the wave returning 
 Swept o'er it with eager haste, 
 And the sand alone would be left me 
 Of the name that my hand had traced. 
 
 And a lesson it seemed to symbol : 
 
 That the world will as careless be 
 Of the fame you crave, as of your name 
 
 Is the sweep of the mighty sea. 
 You grasp at the coveted laurel, 
 
 To wreathe in a chaplet fair; 
 But you gather only the cypress 
 
 For the crown you had hoped to wear. 
 
 Then I thought of the poet of England, 
 Who the lyre of promise awoke; 
 
 Whose strain Hyperion summoned. 
 And Endymion's slumber broke: — 
 
 Who died in youth's rich, sweet graces, 
 Like a blossom before its bloom — 
 
 5° 
 
Name and Fame 
 
 "One whose name was writ in water," 
 We read on his Roman tomb. 
 
 Is the world, then, so unrelenting? 
 
 And may not the poet live 
 To launch his heart on the tide of song, 
 
 Nor ask that the world forgive? 
 Has it only concern for trembling thrones, 
 
 And nations in grim decease? — 
 An eye alone for the sword of war, 
 
 And none for the pen of peace? 
 
 Not so; for love is immortal; 
 
 And so long as yon vaulted sky 
 O'erarches earth and its sorrows. 
 
 The poet may still stand by, — 
 Stand by with his lyre of heart-strings. 
 
 Breathing song that sustains and cheers- 
 And his name may be writ in water; 
 
 But the water be human tears! 
 
CAPTAIN COSTENTENUS 
 
 Captain Costentenus is an Albanian who was tattooed from head to foot by 
 order of the King of Chinese Tartary, as a punishment for engaging in a rebel- 
 hon, decapitation being the alternative. On the body are reproduced 388 fig- 
 ures of birds, beasts, fishes, serpents, fabulous monsters, and hieroglyphics, pro- 
 nounced by prominent medical men in this country and Europe as the most 
 perfect specimen of tattooing ever seen. He was on his way to exhibit at the 
 Centennial when secured by Mr. Barnum. 
 
 "T TNDER the sun there is nothing new," 
 U A familiar quotation is and Biblical ; 
 But Barnum does n't believe it is true, 
 For he now exhibits to public view 
 A curious thing in the form of tattoo, 
 Uncommon and hieroglyphical. 
 
 Have you seen this remarkable creature ? 
 This wonderful tattooed Albanian ; 
 Whose each individual feature 
 Seems to have every prismatic stain in ! 
 
 His name in a rhyme is unreachable, 
 And because he engaged in a riot, 
 A Tartar King deemed him impeachable, 
 And determined to make him keep quiet. 
 
 Then this sovereign made him an offer 
 Which to some may benevolent seem; 
 But the fact is, the potentate's proffer 
 Was a sample of Tartar — the cream ! 
 
 52 
 
Captain Costentenus 
 
 For the King said : "Now which would you rather, 
 Be beheaded, or tattooed all over?" 
 And the Captain, of course, replied, "Bother ! 
 Let me live, though it won't be in clover." 
 
 Then he was translated to nudity — 
 
 And, that I may not wax prosaic, 
 
 At the end of three months to the view did he 
 
 Loom up an incarnate mosaic. 
 
 From the crown of his head to his feet 
 To aptly describe him I tried a trope ; 
 But to turn him around is a treat — 
 The effect is a human kaleidoscope ! 
 
 Three hundred and eighty-eight forms 
 Of quadrupeds, bipeds, and fishes, 
 On the Captain's legs, body, and arms. 
 May be counted if any one wishes. 
 
 To mention a few would be suitable : 
 It has cost me an infinite trial; 
 For those who embellished his cuticle 
 Must have drawn from the pages of Lyell. 
 
 On his back is a plesiosaurus ; 
 On each leg an iguanodon tractile ; 
 On his breast is an ichthyosaurus ; 
 On his stomach a gay pterodactyl. 
 
 53 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And the fishes with wonder will strike 
 E'en an ichthyological learner ; 
 If you want to know what they are like, 
 Go and study the "Slave Ship," by Turner. 
 
 Then birds that one never could guess. 
 And of every conceivable paint; 
 But I really feel bound to confess 
 They 'd make Wilson or Audubon faint. 
 
 Then things that no being can name. 
 Crowd and fill every crevice and cranny. 
 Every angle and space of his frame, 
 In a way at once weird and uncanny. 
 
 In short, this tattooing is such, 
 That there is n't a ghost of a spot 
 That the tip of your finger can touch 
 Where a figure of some kind is not. 
 
 And this is the prize of the Showman, 
 Great Barnum was early in time for it; 
 And I '11 venture a wager that no man 
 Will fail to see Captain — no rhyme for it! 
 
 54 
 
A SUMMER IDYL 
 
 >^nr> WAS the close of the season, together they stood 
 X Where the path leaves the meadow and enters 
 the wood. 
 She was going home now, and had flirted away 
 The long summer days, with a youth at Cape May. 
 
 She was lovely and rich, he was handsome and poor ; 
 She a belle of New York, he a farmer obscure; 
 But the beaux had been scarce and the hotel was 
 
 dull- 
 Then what could she do when her heart was so full ? 
 
 He was sunburnt and broad, and his hands they were 
 
 brown. 
 But his eyes had a freshness unknown to the town; 
 And his hair which in chestnut curls clustering grew. 
 Never owned a Macassar save sunshine and dew. 
 
 He had sailed in his boat with her form by his side. 
 He had held her light foot when it pleased her to 
 
 ride; 
 Like the Knight of Aslauga, he lived to obey, 
 Yet, alas! he knew nothing of waltz and croquet. 
 
 55 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 But he knew every haunt where the wild flowers 
 
 grew, 
 And the path leading up to the loveliest view ; 
 And tho' he 'd have deemed Mr, Wordsworth a bore, 
 A primrose to him was a primrose — and more. 
 
 "Well, Richard, good-bye! I am going to-day; 
 Papa came last night and will take me away. 
 I thank you so much for your kindness and all ! 
 I could not have stayed here without you at all." 
 
 He silently stood as her parting words came. 
 
 His eyes were cast down, for his face was aflame; 
 
 Her hand for an instant was laid in his own. 
 
 She turned, gave a sigh, flung a kiss — and was gone ! 
 
 Then a cloud floated under and darkened the sun; 
 The voice of the brook ceased in music to run ; 
 The note of the robin grew suddenly still. 
 And a lengthening shadow crept down from the hill. 
 
 It was only a sigh, and the kiss was but air, 
 
 Yet a sweetness remained as if still she were there. 
 
 Oh, to stand so forever and dream life away 
 
 In the spell whose soft magic is broken to-day ! 
 
 Then, as if in a vision, his farm he beheld. 
 The fields he had sown and the tree he had felled; 
 And the hand that so long had forgotten the plow 
 Must again wipe the sweat from the laborer's brow. 
 56 
 
A Summer Idyl 
 
 And the maiden returned to the city's delights, 
 Where perhaps it is one of the opera nights; 
 And she sits in a box with some gay cavaHer, 
 While the music of Verdi entrances her ear. 
 
 And it may be she hears in one murmuring strain 
 The pulse of the sea's everlasting refrain; 
 And she feels once again in her face the salt spray 
 Of the billows that foam on the shore at Cape May. 
 
 While another remembers the path to the wood, 
 On that day when the air was so sweet where he 
 
 stood ; 
 And tho' now the wild winds of December rush by, 
 He can hear in them only a kiss and a sigh ! 
 
 57 
 
LAKE OTSEGO 
 
 Written after a visit to Cooperstown, New York. 
 
 I STAND at Edgewater ^ — and there forget 
 That life for me hath ever held a tear ; 
 For never hath a picture risen yet 
 At fancy's call, more beautiful, more dear, 
 Than that which now lies all-entrancing here. 
 And limned in memory ever will remain. 
 The graybeard, Time, will prick each fleeting year ; 
 Yet to my heart, as sweet as summer rain. 
 Will come October and the "Glimmerglass" again. 
 
 Their lie the hills, as quiet as when first 
 Their calm repose the painted Indian saw ; 
 Or when the form of Natty Bumppo burst 
 The forest through, and on the wave-kissed shore 
 Paused breathless at the new, wide-open door, 
 Where Nature waited in her witching guise. 
 No marvel that his welling heart ran o'er 
 With all the eloquence of glad surprise. 
 When this fresh gift of Heaven lay bare before his 
 eyes! 
 
 Yet, now those graceful slopes are lovelier far 
 Than when in June they wore their robe of green ; 
 
 1 The residence of G. Pomeroy Keese, Cooperstown, New York. 
 58 
 
Lake Otsego 
 
 For Autumn's panorama now they are, 
 And she hath stinted not her blood, I ween. 
 In her divine translation of the scene. 
 There lies along the lake her gorgeous train. 
 Like myriad tips of flame the pines between. 
 To where "Mount Wellington" o'erlooks the 
 plain — 
 The lion of the hills, with gems upon his mane. 
 
 But not enough to fill the mellowing air 
 With glowing radiance and odor sweet ; 
 Otsego's breast would fain the beauty share, 
 And in those crystal depths the shores repeat 
 The loveliness they wear, and at my feet 
 The range of jeweled hills inverted lies. 
 No more we need to make the scene complete — 
 Still, let us upward turn our grateful eyes. 
 And find the fitting crown in yon all-perfect skies. 
 
 The hour is mine, and I am lost in dream : 
 Methinks I see Tom Hutter's floating ark; 
 I see the laughing face of Judith gleam 
 From out the tinted foliage — and hark 1 
 The startling loon-cry breaks upon the dark. 
 Still night — and there, erect amid the gloom, 
 Listens the Deerslayer in his birchen bark. 
 I hear the shot that speaks his foeman's doom — 
 I see the "Indian Rock" — the Delaware's eagle 
 plume ! 
 
 59 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 But he who casts those shadows Hves no more; 
 His dust of this historic soil is part ; 
 No more will pictures of the lake and shore 
 Flash in romance by the magician's art; — 
 Forever stilled is that deep human heart! 
 Yet while these hills remain, these ripples play, 
 His name and memory never can depart ; 
 The air he breathed shall cold oblivion slay — 
 The giant pines he loved shall sentinel his clay. 
 
 The golden sun sinks slowly to the west, 
 While still the scene holds my enamoured eyes — 
 And now the rose and amber flushes rest 
 Upon the lake, caught from the changing skies — 
 Alas ! not long, and all this beauty dies ! 
 A little time, and from his icy lair. 
 Deep in the north, grim Winter will arise; 
 His ruthless breath will blow the hillsides bare, 
 And bind the murmuring wave in adamantine there. 
 
 Yet not forever will the change endure; 
 
 For God's sweet resurrection of the Spring 
 
 Will come at last, and summer days as pure 
 
 Another year will just as surely bring; 
 
 The flowers will bloom and Nature's minstrels 
 
 sing— 
 The "Glimmerglass" again in sunset glow; 
 October will descend on tinted wing; 
 Her artist-hand will paint the mountain's brow — 
 And I this scene behold as I behold it now. 
 60 
 
A MEMORY 
 
 On receiving a sprig of trailing arbutus from Cooperstown, New York. 
 
 THRICE welcome, rosy child of spring, 
 Tho' but a flower alone; 
 To me, in city life, you bring 
 A sweetness all your own. 
 The homely prose that writes my day 
 
 Before my eyes grows dim. 
 And, lying in the lap of May, 
 I read your forest hymn. 
 
 It tells of the awakening flowers ; 
 
 The lake's unfettered flow ; 
 The resurrection of the hours 
 
 That died before the snow. 
 And once again the tree-tops bud, 
 
 The blue-bird plumes his wing. 
 And scented winds blow thro' the wood 
 
 The kisses of the spring. 
 
 I think now of the spot that gave 
 This flower of mine its birth — 
 
 Where sentinel pines guard Cooper's grave 
 It burst its shell of earth; 
 6i 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 And trailing from its sylvan cave, 
 
 All silently it grew, 
 To bloom beside Otsego's wave, 
 
 That old Tom Hutter knew. 
 
 I yield to fancy's haunting power — 
 
 For in that distant land, 
 I see the same sweet wild-wood flower 
 
 Plucked by a maiden's hand. 
 O say not that 't is all in vain 
 
 To dream that I 'm possessed 
 Of flower whose kindred may have lain 
 
 On Judith Hutter's breast! 
 
 62 
 
THE AUTHOR OF "RUDDER 
 GRANGE" IN A NEW ROLE 
 
 STOCKTON'S HALF-HOURS OF READING 
 
 Frank R. Stockton at one time suffered much pain in his eyes and was forbidden 
 to read. The first day that the doctor granted him half an hour with a book his 
 friends were curious to know what book he would select. " Give me some adver- 
 tisements," he demanded, and explained, as a shout was raised : " Yes, I am pin- 
 ing for advertisements. My wife has read everything else aloud to me, but I 
 had n't the heart to ask her to read the advertisements." For several days he de- 
 voted the whole of that precious half-hour to advertisements. — The Epoch. 
 
 HE sat within his easy chair, 
 Expectantly quiescent; 
 The ocuHst had just been there, 
 
 And cheered the convalescent; 
 'T grant you half an hour each day 
 To read what you 've a mind to; 
 No more, or else you '11 have to pay 
 The cost of being blind, too." 
 
 Ah, precious boon to one whose eyes 
 
 Have been as simply locked ones. 
 What daily half-hours' rich reprise 
 
 Will now be Mr. Stockton's. 
 But what will be the chosen book 
 
 For minutes sweet tho' fleeting? 
 Let 's in upon the reader look. 
 
 And note the page he 's greeting. 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Is it the Bard of Avon's song, 
 
 Or Donnelly's slice of Bacon ? 
 The Count of Monte Cristo's wrong, 
 
 Or Colton's antique "Lacon"? 
 Is it the fun of Mark Twain's page. 
 
 Or Wordsworth's numbers solemn. 
 Or Rider Haggard's latest rage. 
 
 Or Howells' monthly column ? 
 
 Not much. He reads the glowing lines 
 
 That tell Castoria's mission; 
 He reads how Sozodont inclines 
 
 The teeth for exhibition; 
 He reads how Holman's Liver Pad 
 
 Defies the ague hateful. 
 And how Epps' Cocoa is not bad, 
 
 But comforting and grateful. 
 
 Of good St. Jacob's potent oil 
 
 He reads the unctuous measure; 
 He reads that washing once was toil, 
 
 But with Pears' Soap 't is pleasure ; 
 He reads how all the crushing woes 
 
 That make housekeeping tragic 
 Are banished by Sapolio's 
 
 Obliterating magic. 
 
 He reads that Little Liver Pills 
 And Horsford's Acid Phosphate 
 64 
 
The Author of "Rudder Grange' 
 
 Will save from nervousness and chills, 
 And possibly a worse state ; 
 
 That if impurity of blood 
 
 Is ill with which you 're ailing 
 
 Then Sarsaparilla made by Hood 
 Is remedy unfailing. 
 
 And so he reads and never stops; 
 
 Each day his eyes begin it, 
 The legend of Pike's Toothache Drops 
 
 That cure in half a minute, 
 The fine romance of Closing Sale 
 
 And Situations Wanted, 
 And House to Let — a moving tale — 
 
 He reads them all undaunted. 
 
 We 've had Half -hours with the Best 
 
 Of Famous Authors many; 
 Now let this simple lay suggest 
 
 A work as good as any. 
 Let Mr. Stockton's mental pith 
 
 Produce some more surprises — 
 Who would not buy Half-hours with 
 
 The Best of Advertisers ! 
 
 65 
 
ASCERTAIN YOUR WEIGHT 
 
 A TOPICAL REFRAIN 
 
 IN public places nowadays there stands a handsome 
 scale. 
 Without proprietor or clerk to tell its simple tale ; 
 But passers-by may read the words engraved upon a 
 
 plate, 
 To "Drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain your 
 weight." 
 
 A moral 's here, good people, if you '11 take a mo- 
 ment's thought, 
 
 A lesson for life 's guidance 't is and most succinctly 
 taught ; 
 
 For if it be the part of man to have a bout with fate, 
 
 It surely is the thing to do to "ascertain your 
 weight." 
 
 So, if you think that politics affords you widest scope. 
 If to pull the wires deftly is your purpose and your 
 
 hope. 
 If you fancy that your destiny 's to glorify the state. 
 Just drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain your 
 
 weight. 
 
 66 
 
Ascertain Your Weight 
 
 If you dream that you 're an actor, and imagine 
 
 you 're endowed 
 With graces and with gifts to win the plaudits of the 
 
 crowd, 
 If sock and buskin visions fill your soul with joy 
 
 elate, 
 Just drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain your 
 
 weight. 
 
 If you feel that you 're a poet, and by right divine 
 
 belong 
 To those whose wings have borne them to Parnassian 
 
 heights of song. 
 If ballades, rondeaus, triolets, you long to incubate, 
 Just drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain your 
 
 weight. 
 
 If you deem your forte the story, and you only ask 
 
 the chance 
 To run a tilt with Haggard in the regions of 
 
 romance. 
 If another Robert Elsmere you are eager to create. 
 Just drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain your 
 
 weight. 
 
 If you see yourself a lawyer, or a doctor, or a beau. 
 If you think that as a lover you could make a touch- 
 ing show, 
 
 67 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 If you deem society the field you ought to cultivate, 
 Just drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain your 
 weight. 
 
 In short, whate'er the path to which ambition points 
 
 the way, 
 Repeat this legend to yourself ere yet you make 
 
 essay. 
 For it is well that modesty, before it is too late, 
 Should drop a nickel in the slot and ascertain its 
 
 weight. 
 
 68 
 
APPLE BLOSSOMS 
 
 MY study windows look upon 
 An orchard fair to see, 
 Where early birds have just begun 
 
 Their jocund revelry; 
 And May's sweet breath has lingered there 
 
 Among the trees, I ween; 
 For in the blossoms that they bear 
 Her rosy lips are seen. 
 
 O, apple blossoms, passing sweet, 
 
 Ye whisper of a spring. 
 When, lying at my darling's feet, 
 
 I watched your clustering. 
 The May was lovely then as now, 
 
 As blithely sang the birds ; 
 The wind that kissed us, murmuring low. 
 
 Was softer than our words. 
 
 O, apple blossoms, she is dead ! 
 
 And I am here alone. 
 Come ye to be my love instead. 
 
 In beauty all your own? 
 Come, fair and fragrant as ye may, 
 
 And whiten every tree — ■ 
 The withered ones she wore that day 
 
 Are sweeter far to me. 
 69 
 
INSPIRATION 
 
 WHAT shall a poet do 
 When he tries the Muse to woo, 
 And cannot get a view 
 
 Of the maid? 
 Shall he give the whole thing up 
 Just because there 's not a sup 
 Of inspiration's cup 
 For his trade? 
 
 Is the Muse the only thing 
 That can make a fellow sing, 
 And lift his fancy's wing 
 
 In the air? 
 When I say "the Muse," I mean 
 That coy goddess, Hippocrene, 
 For she 's the only Queen, 
 
 We declare. 
 
 But is it so in truth ? 
 I think not so, forsooth, 
 And I mean to risk the ruth 
 That may flow; 
 70 
 
Inspiration 
 
 I mean to make a break, 
 And for inspiration's sake 
 Some familiar creatures take, 
 Don't you know. 
 
 First a horse — ^the neighing steed, 
 Perhaps pure Arabian breed. 
 He 's a Pegasus indeed, 
 
 As is fit; 
 Though a neighing steed, I say. 
 If to him for help you pray, 
 Do you think he '11 say you nay ? 
 
 Not a bit. 
 
 Then a dog — if ere your verse 
 Would love's constancy rehearse, 
 Here you have it fond and terse, 
 
 I remark; 
 Or if you wish to glide 
 Down life's sweet ripphng tide 
 With affection at your side. 
 
 Here 's your bark ! 
 
 And the cat — ah, yes, I know 
 All the curses you bestow. 
 And how the bootjacks go 
 With a "scat !" 
 
 71 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 But if you pussy choose 
 (Though, of course, it is n't news), 
 You '11 be sure to have the mews, 
 Think of that! 
 
 Last the hen, and on my ear 
 Falls the note of chanticleer, 
 And the distant hills appear. 
 
 Touched with day; 
 And the hen lifts up her voice, 
 And I feel my heart rejoice, 
 For the fact is I 've made choice 
 
 Of a lay! 
 
 72 
 
CAPTAIN CALM 
 
 The American schooner Maggie Bailing was lost off the Alaskan coast on Janu- 
 ary lo, 1887. She was commanded and sailed by the daughter of the late Captain 
 McDonald, a girl of seventeen, who bore the singular name of Calm. She was 
 born on the schooner, and the shores of Behring Sea constituted her world. On 
 the night in question she stood at the wheel when the schooner was blown on a 
 reef. The mainmast went overboard, carrying the only sailor with it, the fore- 
 mast following, which fell astern. A rescuing party found the almost lifeless form 
 of the girl captain hanging over the wheel, where she had been crushed by the 
 falling spar. The "Tribune" despatch, from which these particulars are taken, 
 states that she is now dying from exposure, having braved the sea and cold for 
 thirty-si.K hours. 
 
 SHE held the wheel on that awful night 
 When the nearest port was death ; 
 Her schooner from stem to stern was white 
 
 With the winter's frozen breath, 
 A maiden of seventeen years was she, 
 
 At her father's side she grew, 
 Her cradle was rocked on Behring Sea, 
 And that was the world she knew. 
 
 Her father died and the girl was left, 
 
 "Calm" was her given name; 
 The schooner was now of skipper bereft. 
 
 But the daughter was made of flame. 
 She took command of her father's craft 
 
 With a title that none could harm, 
 And never a seal-hunter stared or laughed 
 
 At the sex of Captain Calm. 
 
 73 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Thus it was that on this awful night 
 
 She stood at the schooner's wheel ; 
 Her hand was a woman's, soft and white. 
 
 Her heart was a heart of steel. 
 She watched the pulse of the freezing gale 
 
 As it swept over Behring Sea, 
 And never once did her spirit quail 
 
 From the doom that there might be. 
 
 Then a mighty wind blew the schooner sheer 
 
 On a reef with a deadly face, 
 The mainmast fell with all its gear 
 
 And a sailor in its embrace. 
 The foremast followed with backward reel — 
 
 O, why did it fall so far 1 
 For the soft, white hand still held the wheel 
 
 In the path of the plunging spar. 
 
 The sailor lived till he told the tale, 
 
 Then sank in his early grave — 
 Next morn a crew pulled bravely through 
 
 The gallant lass to save. 
 They found her living, helpless, bent 
 
 'Neath the lash of winds and flood. 
 For the foremast in its cruel descent 
 
 Had crushed her where she stood. 
 
 And whether she lives or dies, that wreck 
 Will in memory pictured be; 
 74 
 
Captain Calm 
 
 We shall see her standing upon the deck 
 'Mid the billows of Behring Sea. 
 
 We shall dream of the desolate Polar shore, 
 Of the midnight and the blast, 
 
 The hand on the wheel, and the heart of steel 
 That broke on the reef at last. 
 
 75 
 
AN OLDEN ECHO 
 
 I SAW her to-day in the crowded street, 
 On the arm of a man of gold; 
 The image of beauty and grace complete, 
 
 As she was in the days of old. 
 Yet fashion swept brilliantly by, unseen; 
 
 The exquisite ogled in vain; 
 The glance of the courted and splendid queen 
 Was loaded with cold disdain. 
 
 A change has come over the lady, then : 
 
 She is tired of titled names; 
 She is sick of homage from brainless men, 
 
 And the gossip of soulless dames. 
 Is the change a something that Time has sown 
 
 In the dew of regretful tears ? 
 A something that into her heart has grown 
 
 From the dust of returnless years? 
 
 She lives in the house of a millionaire ; 
 
 In parlors with luxury glossed; 
 There are diamond pins that she may wear, 
 
 There are dresses of royal cost. 
 Rich revels will rise at her sweet command, 
 
 For her lord will never say nay — 
 Yet she seems not proud of the golden hand 
 
 She has sworn to love and obey. 
 76 
 
C'- 
 
 An Olden Echo 
 
 Perhaps she remembers the vanished years, 
 
 When her home was poorer than now, 
 When smiles were her portion instead of tears. 
 
 Undreamed of jewels and show. 
 When the early light of the eastern skies 
 
 Was a kiss on her waiting face, 
 Instead of a blaze in her weary eyes. 
 
 And a glare on her gown of lace. 
 
 Perhaps she remembers the robin's song, 
 
 Instead of the opera-stall ; 
 Or the brook, where she sat so oft and long. 
 
 To list to its silver fall. 
 Perhaps she remembers the dance in May, 
 
 Instead of the midnight waltz, 
 And a hand in which hers a moment lay — 
 
 A hand that was bold — not false! 
 
 She may have a thought of a night so fleet, 
 
 When she lingered, a maiden free — 
 A thought of the man who knelt at her feet 
 
 'Neath the shade of the trysting-tree. 
 A thought of a promise that heaven believed 
 
 Would never know time nor change — 
 Of another promise the earth received. 
 
 But O, to heaven how strange! 
 
 77 
 
THISTLE AND VOLUNTEER 
 
 THISTLE came across the sea, 
 Volunteer ! 
 Sure of winning as could be, 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 She had walked away with ease 
 From the fleet on English seas, 
 And she longed our cup to seize. 
 Volunteer ! 
 
 So she anchored in the bay, 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 And looked forward to the day, 
 
 Volunteer 1 
 When her snowy wings should sweep 
 Like a wonder o'er the deep, 
 And the lead defiant keep, 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 
 And the day came on apace, 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 And they signaled for the race. 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 78 
 
Thistle and Volunteer 
 
 But, alack, the canny Scot 
 At the finish first was not, 
 And the Cup he has not got, 
 Volunteer ! 
 
 They must come and try again. 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 They are gallant sailor men; 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 But they reckoned without rue. 
 Without Paine and Burgess, too; 
 Faith, they reckoned without you, 
 
 Volunteer ! 
 
 79 
 
MY FLOWER 
 
 Suggested by the popular feeling in favor of maintaining the Gold Standard. 
 
 WHAT flower shall the nation wear? 
 I hear a whisper say — 
 What symbol shall the patriot bear 
 
 Upon his breast this day? 
 The rose is passing sweet, we know, 
 
 The lily fair to see ; 
 But, O, of all the flowers that grow, 
 The golden rod for me. 
 The golden rod for me. 
 The golden rod for me; 
 It seems to plead for honesty; 
 The golden rod for me. 
 
 The hedge rows mellow in its light; 
 
 Its plumes the children share; 
 Each yellow tress the winds caress ; 
 
 It warms the autumn air — 
 But more than nature's raiment fine, 
 
 Or flower that gilds the lea, 
 I take it for a living sign. 
 The golden rod for me. 
 The golden rod for me. 
 The golden rod for me ; 
 Our land's fair fame lies in the name; 
 The golden rod for me! 
 80 
 
THE MARCH TO CANTON 
 
 Suggested by the frequent visits of the people to the home of William McKinley 
 during his first campaign. 
 
 WHEN all the workers of our land 
 Make pilgrimage to Canton, 
 
 And crowd to clasp the statesman's hand 
 With freedom's fine abandon; 
 
 When farm and bench and forge and mill 
 Pour forth each day and minute, 
 
 This army means the people's will — 
 There must be something in it. 
 Be sure there 's something in it — 
 I hear again the march of men, 
 Be sure there 's something in it. 
 
 Not for a whim this human drift. 
 
 This gulf-stream of emotion; 
 Another cause these hearts uplift 
 
 And bear with deep devotion. 
 'T is not the man love deifies — 
 
 Not he alone could win it — 
 But what he stands for in their eyes, 
 
 Is what it is that 's in it. 
 
 Be sure there 's something in it — 
 
 He stands confessed to all that 's best. 
 
 Be sure there 's something in it. 
 8i 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 That "something" is the Nation's name 
 
 As Washington bequeathed it; 
 The lasting glory of its fame 
 
 As honor's crown has wreathed it. 
 So let the Silver Bubble burst, 
 
 And Bryan's trumpet rant on, 
 But we will save the country first. 
 
 And still march on to Canton. 
 
 Be sure there 's something in it — 
 
 Ah, never fear, whate'er you hear, 
 
 Be sure McKinley 's "in it" ! 
 
 82 
 
TO E. F. 
 
 ON HER SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY 
 
 I AM thinking as I sit 
 Of the years that onward flit, 
 And I like it not a bit. 
 
 For they mean 
 Not only that my hair 
 Is silvered here and there. 
 But that Ethel, I 'm aware, 
 Is Sixteen ! 
 
 Is it possible ? I say — 
 Why it seems but yesterday 
 That she came her love to pay 
 
 At my door : 
 Sweet vision of a girl. 
 With her golden hair in curl. 
 And her feet in merry whirl 
 
 On the floor. 
 
 She is still of joyous mold. 
 Still her hair is floating gold, 
 And she enters, as of old. 
 With a song; 
 
 83 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 But she enters not so pert, 
 And her feet are less alert, 
 And I notice that her skirt 
 Has grown long. 
 
 Ah me, 't is Nature's will; 
 There are pulses yet to thrill; 
 Would I keep her standing still 
 
 All for me? 
 Would I have her back to ten? 
 No, truly, no — but then 
 She will never sit again 
 
 On my knee! 
 
 But then her maiden grace, 
 
 And the thought that in her face 
 
 Has come to take the place 
 
 Of the elf. 
 So be sure that Nature's view 
 Is the best for her and you. 
 And then remember too 
 
 She 's herself. 
 
 One thing is mine to claim — 
 Her love is still the same 
 As when it early came 
 
 Ne'er to cease; 
 So untroubled be my breast, 
 May her natal day be blest, 
 And may blessings ever rest 
 
 On my Niece! 
 84 
 
GEORGE ELIOT 
 
 SHE lies in that fair land where violets spring, 
 And on her grave may sweetest flowers have 
 birth ! 
 The future pilgrims to that hallowed earth 
 Will wonder not that they are listening, 
 As in a dream, to voices whispering 
 
 The well-known words of wisdom, hope, or mirth. 
 That lifted life to shining heights of worth — 
 Now sighing in their ears from Memory's string. 
 
 The wind comes journeying from Avon's springs; 
 
 Lingers a moment where memorials tell 
 
 The name of him who left us "Christabel" ; 
 Then with the gathered sweetness of its wings 
 
 It murmurs on and now a vigil keeps 
 
 Beside the grave where Shakespeare's sister sleeps. 
 
 85 
 
A RIBBON 
 
 THIS is the place where I bring my flowers. 
 Here she was buried five years ago; 
 Once a year in the summer hours, 
 
 I come to see how the roses grow. 
 The youths and maidens have seen me come, 
 
 Their hps are busy when I am gone ; 
 
 They cannot guess why I leave my home 
 
 To set in crimson this marble stone. 
 
 Six summers ago I sought this place, 
 
 For simple love of the country skies ; 
 I could not boast of a single face 
 
 To meet my coming with friendly eyes. 
 But a farmer's daughter was more than kind. 
 
 When I stopped that day at a welcome well ; 
 And she shone in the glance of my city mind 
 
 With a nature as golden as words could tell. 
 
 She daintily lifted her dimpled arm 
 And gave me the cup with native grace ; 
 
 I knew it was best to be grave and calm — 
 Yet there was the wistful and pretty face ! 
 86 
 
A Ribbon 
 
 And so it chanced that I often came 
 To the shaded well and the eyes of blue ; 
 
 But I swear, for the sake of her name and fame, 
 I never did aught that my soul shall rue. 
 
 The day I left at the well she sat ; 
 
 I asked her to give me a parting cup, 
 Then loosing the ribbon that bound my hat, 
 
 I playfully tied her ringlets up. 
 "This will remind you not to forget," 
 
 I said, as I fastened her shining hair — 
 Six are the vanished years, and yet 
 
 I see her this moment standing there. 
 
 Autumn and winter went by apace. 
 
 And springtime followed with winged feet 
 Again I was seeking a country place. 
 
 Where summer hours were calm and sweet. 
 I never knew anything half so still 
 
 As the little village I seemed to know ; 
 And I felt in my heart a memory thrill 
 
 Of a voice that was music a year ago. 
 
 I came to the church — on either hand, 
 Under the trees, in the shade of the wall, 
 
 I saw the carriages clustered stand, 
 
 Then I heard the notes of an anthem fall. 
 87 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 "It is not Sunday — some neighbor 's dead," 
 
 I thought, as I looked towards the open door — 
 
 Yet why should I enter with careful tread 
 'Mid faces I never had seen before? 
 
 The funeral service was said and done; 
 
 A solemn pause, and the friends made way, 
 To look their last on the silent one 
 
 Who, cold and white, in the coffin lay. 
 I saw the eyes that for love were wet ; 
 
 I saw the flowers that love had brought; 
 I saw faith's lesson lingering yet 
 
 On the lips of the pastor who spoke and taught. 
 
 A stranger moved through the tearful throng, 
 
 And a moment stood by the narrow bed ; 
 A start, and his eyes were riveted long 
 
 On the face of the shrouded, unconscious dead. 
 To gaze on a beautiful girl he stands, 
 
 Forever locked in her marble rest; 
 To gaze on a ribbon beneath her hands. 
 
 And lovingly folded against her breast. 
 
 88 
 
MY STUDY 
 
 I WAS only a poet and lived by my wits, 
 And very poor living it was, I 've been told, 
 When death, who unheralded fortune remits, 
 A legacy left me in gold. 
 
 And now I will build me a study, I thought ; 
 
 A room I have dreamed of for poet like me ; 
 Not like this, where so long I have labored and 
 wrought ; 
 
 But a thing to inspire it shall be. 
 
 So I found an abode that just suited my case, 
 And I frescoed the ceiling with classic design ; 
 
 And the gold-papered walls showed me many a face 
 Looking down with regard upon mine. 
 
 Of curious woods was the floor of my room, 
 No stretches of carpet invited the tread ; 
 
 But luxurious rugs from an Orient loom 
 Lay over the spaces instead. 
 
 My windows with curtains were hung rich and rare, 
 Descending from shining bars, fold upon fold; 
 
 My doorways were each a superb portiere 
 Of velvet embroidered with gold. 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 On bracket and shelf there was choice bric-a-brac, 
 And treasures of art the interior graced, 
 
 Here a bust and a vase, there a bronze and a plaque, 
 A blending of beauty and taste. 
 
 Then of pictures, of course, my walls were not bare ; 
 
 Not many, indeed, but my favorite few — 
 Gerome, Leighton, Millais, Cabanel were all there; 
 
 And a gem of Meissonier's, too. 
 
 But my exquisite desk was the all perfect sum 
 
 Of my joy — it was something unique and com- 
 plete— 
 
 I fancied poems rising like incense therefrom, 
 As I sank in the soft-cushioned seat. 
 
 And now all was done and my future was framed. 
 The past I regarded with pitying scorn — 
 
 "Let me harness my Pegasus quick!" I exclaimed, 
 *Tn the trappings he never hath worn." 
 
 With my paper before me and glittering pen, 
 
 I lifted my eyes to the wealth that was mine — 
 
 I gazed round my study again and again — 
 But my paper received not a line. 
 
 As I looked round my room with an air of surprise 
 That no answering muse met my beckoning call, 
 
 An old print in a corner arrested my eyes 
 That had no right to be there at all. 
 90 
 
My Study 
 
 I remembered it well, but how came it there ? 
 
 It hung there, I 'm sure, by no order of mine. 
 My eyes became fixed in a petrified stare 
 
 At this relic of old lang syne. 
 
 I remembered it well — 't was a thing of my choosing 
 In days when such pictures my attic was bold 
 with — 
 
 Doctor Johnson The Vicar of Wakefield perusing 
 In the lodging of Oliver Goldsmith ! 
 
 I awoke — all my splendor had melted to air; 
 
 Not a vestige remained of the glory and gleam ; — 
 And I sit in my attic, which boasts but one chair. 
 
 With the pen that has written a dream. 
 
 91 
 
THE GAME OF LOVE 
 
 THE sweet Miranda sat with Ferdinand 
 While Ariel's melody trembled on the air ; 
 The Isle was peaceful beneath Prospero's wand, 
 
 And naught disturbed the lovers sitting there. 
 The board with pieces set lay them between, 
 
 And all was quiet in the blest recess ; 
 But they thought not of contest then, I ween — 
 Another game they fain would play than chess. 
 
 And thus they were discovered when the hour 
 Was ripe for their unveiling; and the pair 
 
 Looked with amaze from the secluded bower 
 On those who promised each a father's care. 
 
 So Shakespeare's chess-board bore the happy fate, 
 That each without a check would find a mate! 
 
 92 
 
TRUE TO PRINCIPLE 
 
 IT was a printer, bold and warm, 
 Who wooed a gentle maid; 
 He was a type and she a form. 
 That could not be gainsaid. 
 They met, as such are wont to meet. 
 
 In park and shady grove, 
 And there in close communion sweet 
 Compared their proofs of love. 
 
 One night he softly stole an arm 
 
 Around her slender waist; 
 She trembled with a vague alarm, 
 
 Then whispered he in haste : 
 "Forgive me, dear — fear nothing, love. 
 
 But let me here profess 
 How strongly I 'm in favor of 
 
 The freedom of the press." 
 
 93 
 
TO EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN 
 
 One Thursday in November, 1889, Edmund Clarence Stedman sent to the Authors 
 Club a bunch of chrysanthemums, and as each member entered he received from 
 Arthur Stedman a boutonniere of the same. This gift suggested the following 
 
 THE Authors Club last Thursday night 
 Was Flora's hour, I ween, 
 Chrysanthemums amid the light 
 Flashed color o'er the scene ; 
 For every one who entered there, 
 
 Or stood within the room. 
 Received your Arthur's boutonniere — 
 A memory and a bloom. 
 
 A memory — yes, for he whose will 
 
 Evoked the floral charm 
 Was absent, yet in spirit still 
 
 Was with us bright and warm. 
 And so your gift of flowers we wore, 
 
 Responsive to love's claim. 
 And each upon his bosom bore 
 
 The fragrance of your name. 
 
 94 
 
BALLADE OF AN ASS 
 
 I KNOW not if ancestral strain 
 Has been my fateful legacy, 
 Or whether 't is a lengthened train 
 
 Of follies acting potently : 
 But all my intimates agree 
 
 That when I look into the glass 
 The person mirrored there I see 
 Is always sure to be an ass. 
 
 In social circles I would fain 
 
 Be noted for my bonhomie, 
 And yet a play of wit in vain 
 
 I spring upon the company; 
 They gaze upon me squelchingly : 
 
 And when I later homeward pass, 
 I 'm confident that I am he 
 
 Who 's always sure to be an ass. 
 
 Sometimes I give my fancy vein 
 And pen a verse of poesie, 
 
 I send it to the fair Elaine, 
 And wait the issue joyously 
 
 95 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 (Surely not unimpressed is she). 
 
 I never hear a word, alas, 
 Of all my rhymes that end in "thee," — 
 
 I 'm always sure to be an ass. 
 
 ENVOY 
 
 O Aesop, thou who wrote with glee 
 The fables of the long-eared class, 
 
 Write still another upon me — 
 I 'm always sure to be an ass. 
 
 96 
 
INSTINCT OR REASON 
 
 THE original draft of this tale was in prose, 
 But I thought very likely there might exist 
 those 
 Who would have no objection to offer to verse — 
 So in that way I purpose the same to rehearse. 
 
 In Boston — that city of infinite wit, 
 
 Where intellect somehow each week makes a hit; 
 
 Whose cognomen "hub" is so wildly admired, 
 
 That one in pronouncing it never gets tired. 
 
 In Boston, where everything must be discussed, 
 
 Be the subject indifferent, or be it august. 
 
 From the depth of a spree to the height of a bust, 
 
 How a name should be carved, how a fowl should be 
 
 trussed ; 
 How a theatre builded, a tragedy acted. 
 Whether Hamlet is lucid, or whether distracted : 
 How a lady should waltz, how manage the german. 
 Should the ballot forthwith to woman be given, 
 How a text be selected, how written a sermon. 
 Not to mention the manner of getting to Heaven — 
 Well, digression aside — in this wonderful city 
 A party once met whom I thank for this ditty. 
 They had aired their opinions on churches and priests, 
 
 97 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Births, weddings, divorces, interments and feasts, 
 And were now deeply plunged in the Instinct of 
 
 Beasts. 
 And some were contending, with spirit and force, 
 That Instinct was Reason — for instance, a horse — 
 Take a horse — what miraculous powers of mind 
 Are shown by this wonderful slave of mankind! — 
 Or a dog — can you find a sagacity, pray. 
 That looks more like reason than that of poor Tray ? 
 Or the monkey — but stay, we must not get so far in 
 Our list as to seem the disciples of Darwin — 
 The horse and the dog are enough to decide 
 That Instinct and Reason are closely allied. 
 Then others arose holding opposite views. 
 And with infinite learning made haste to infuse 
 Such facts as they happened to know and were bold 
 
 with, 
 And instances principally borrowed from Gold- 
 smith — 
 And said that beast-reason was all a pretense. 
 There was no such thing really as animal sense — 
 Unless, indeed, pole-cats had animal scents — 
 (This pungent remark gave prodigious oft'ense). 
 And so each debated and argued his cause. 
 Until, in the midst of a general pause, 
 A member arose, who desired to mention 
 A circumstance worthy respectful attention. 
 The years of this gentleman seemed to be more 
 Than any of those who had spoken before. 
 And his face an expression of saintliness wore — 
 
Instinct or Reason 
 
 An expression akin, as it seemeth to me, 
 In its blandness, to that of the Heathen Chinee. 
 Yet Sorrow her fingers had pressed on his brow, 
 And he spoke in a voice that was solemn and slow. 
 
 "As a preface, my friends, I wish to premise 
 That my story is strange, and will cause some sur- 
 prise ; 
 But of being believed I 'm religiously fond. 
 And my word, if you please, is as good as my bond. 
 You know my friend Simmons, the geometrician, 
 Who in figures, indeed, is a perfect magician. 
 Whose problems and theorems out-pascal Pascal, 
 Who styles even Euclid an ignorant rascal — 
 Well, Simmons, like other great men I could name. 
 Who have risen like him to the turrets of fame. 
 Will often get drunk, to his blame and his shame. 
 Last Summer, in June, he was staying with me. 
 And came home one night from a terrible spree. 
 He 's an obstinate man when on one of his tares, 
 And my strength was nigh gone when I got him up- 
 stairs ; 
 But, do what I might, he would not go to bed, 
 So he lay in his shirt on the carpet instead. 
 My house is an old one, and plenty of rats 
 Scamper freely about notwithstanding the cats ; 
 I don't mind 'em myself, but I thought Simmons 
 
 might, 
 Lying stretched where he did — a temptation to bite. 
 
 LofC. 99 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 So I stooped, the poor fellow to lift from the floor, 
 But just then my ears drank his thunderous snore. 
 And I thought to myself — he 's all right, for no rat 
 Would encounter, unnerved, a bass viol like that! 
 Yet still, in one hole whence they came, as I guessed, 
 I took the precaution of stuffing my vest — 
 Then tumbled in bed and forgot all the rest. 
 Next morning, the moment my eyelids unclosed, 
 I jumped up to see how poor Simmons reposed. 
 There he lay, gently touched by the dawn's early 
 
 streaks. 
 With the hue of the wine cup still flushing his 
 
 cheeks — 
 But Heavens and Earth ! what a sight was his shirt ! 
 Could it possibly be, and the man be unhurt? 
 I turned to the waistcoat-stuffed hole in the wall. 
 The hole met my gaze, gaping wide, that was all 1 
 They had come through the vest, no rats could be 
 
 bolder. 
 And had eaten Sim's sleeves from the wrist to the 
 
 shoulder. 
 But by all the Saints ! those rats knew so well 
 The mind of the man on whose linen they fell, 
 That Simmons's shirt had been gnawed through and 
 
 through 
 In right angles, triangles, and parallels, too!" 
 
 The meeting adjourned, to announce in due season 
 That Instinct is Siamese-brother to Reason. 
 
QUEEN AND WOMAN 
 
 On the death of President Garfield the following despatch came to Mrs. Garfield 
 from Queen Victoria : " Words cannot express the deep sympathy I feel with you 
 at this terrible moment. May God support and comfort you, as He alone can." 
 
 GOD'S blessing rest on England's Queen, 
 Whose heart the message sped; 
 She saw, tho' ocean rolled between, 
 
 The wife beside the dead. 
 A Sovereign not from sorrow free, 
 
 She knew but love's command, 
 And o'er a thousand leagues of sea 
 Stretched forth a Woman's hand. 
 
 O gracious Lady of the Isles, 
 
 Think not that time shall dim, 
 W^hat memory else his flight beguiles. 
 
 Thy thought of her and him. 
 To-day and ever at thy throne 
 
 A nation bends its knee 
 In willing chains and dares to own 
 
 The love it bears to thee. 
 
 "Kind hearts are more than coronets," 
 
 Thy Poet-Laureate sings. 
 And death the seal of sorrow sets 
 
 On peasants and on kings. 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Once more where Avon's water breaks 
 We hear thy Shakespeare say — 
 
 One touch of nature surely makes 
 The whole world kin for aye! 
 
Dramatic Portraits 
 
This series of Dramatic Portraits, with few exceptions, was written during 
 the lifetime of the subjects. 
 
JAMES WILLIAM WALLACK 
 
 NOW Wallack rises on the backward gaze, 
 The city's pride in still-remembered days. 
 The honored head of an illustrious line, 
 His part it was the Drama to refine. 
 He left the arms of Nature richly graced, 
 And wooed his art with spirit and with taste. 
 Stage heroes gained from him an added light. 
 And Shakespeare's Benedick was his by right. 
 These in his prime; in later life he knew 
 Erasmus Bookworm and the vengeful Jew. 
 But not his art alone the public moved. 
 The man as well as actor was beloved; 
 And Wallack's name is truly one of those 
 That well deserves the best that fame bestows. 
 
 105 
 
LESTER WALLACK 
 
 THE "Mr. Lester" of the long ago 
 Is prince of light comedians even now. 
 Albeit years will do what they are bid, 
 Time writes no wrinkle — that may not be hid. 
 And so there still survive the handsome face, 
 The voice of music and the step of grace; 
 The play of wit ; the gesture eloquent ; 
 The charm of blended mirth and sentiment; 
 The speech refined, the easy elegance, 
 The fine resource, the swift intelligence, — 
 All those remain, as salient as of old. 
 And long in stage tradition will be told. 
 Tho' Percy Ardent now is lost to sight. 
 And Harry Domton is forgotten quite. 
 Those youthful heroes live and breathe to-day 
 In Captain Absolute and Elliot Gray. 
 Never can lag superfluous on the stage 
 This famous son of honored lineage. 
 Long be the day when Time his debt shall claim. 
 And Lester Wallack leave to lasting fame. 
 
 1 06 
 
JAMES H. HACKETT 
 
 AS Yankee, Hackett first appealed to fame; 
 l\. Then Gallic parts essayed, till Dromio came. 
 The last was symptom of another birth. 
 Which found development in Falstaff's girth. 
 He could no further go — the rage of Lear, 
 The darkly frowning Richard, vanished here. 
 Lost in the fat Knight's humorous embrace. 
 The tragic mask forgot to show its face ; 
 And when hereafter Hackett's name we call, 
 *T will be as Falstaff, first and best of all. 
 
 107 
 
DION BOUCICAULT 
 
 PROLIFIC BoLicicault! what verse may scan 
 The merits of this many-sided man? 
 A stage upholsterer of old renown 
 Is what an enemy would write him down. 
 But let the enemy remember still 
 How much we owe to Dion's cunning quill. 
 What tho' in many of his plays, perchance, 
 There may be hints of foraging in France! 
 Let us be mindful of the genius shown 
 In those as well as others all his own. 
 There is a land the playwright has made sweet, 
 And found a laurel in the bog and peat. 
 Not yet have audiences joy out-worn 
 To see the "Shaughraun" and the "Colleen Bawn' 
 And Dazzle may no longer fill the scene, 
 While enter Conn and Myles na Coppaleen. 
 
 io8 
 
EDWARD A. SOTHERN 
 
 SOTHERN we miss — and who shall take his place ? 
 Nature and art consorted in his race. 
 Nature must e'en another mind produce, 
 And art beguile it into cunning use. 
 No easy task to be at once inane, 
 And irresistibly absurd though sane! 
 No more 't is ours to sit with parted lip. 
 Watching for Lord Dundreary's glare and skip ; 
 No more that portrait of a master hand ; 
 The lisping speech, the nonsense wisely planned ; 
 The word and action held at wit's command. 
 Farewell, Dundreary! and in losing you 
 We lost your Sam and Crushed Tragedian, too. 
 
 [09 
 
JOHN T. RAYMOND 
 
 THERE 'S millions in it!" — words devoid of wit: 
 But loud the laugh from gallery and pit 
 When Raymond gives them speculative tone, 
 And clothes them with a humor all his own. 
 As drawn by Clemens in the "Gilded Age," 
 Sellers gleams faintly on the printed page. 
 But dominates, in Raymond, all the stage. 
 Long may we live to see before us stand 
 That humorous figure with uplifted hand ! 
 
CHARLES FECHTER 
 
 ROMANTIC Fechter ! thou who made us feel 
 The depth of Armand's love for poor Camille ; 
 Who victor stood o'er Pauline's startled heart 
 E'en while her pride received the galHng dart; — 
 For thee, fond memory pauses in the race 
 Of quick events, to mark thy glowing face. 
 Lover par excellence, and debonair. 
 What Ruy Bias like thine or Lagadere? 
 The warmth of Italy, the grace of France, 
 Combined to make thee hero of romance. 
 
J. S. CLARKE 
 
 METHOD with Clarke has ever been prime factor, 
 And method made him an artistic actor. 
 Gifted with skill to seize and to portray, 
 He gives his fine mimetic power full sway. 
 Thus finished pictures from his art arise, 
 Which lure the mind as they have lured the eyes. 
 A low comedian of that better school, 
 That does not think a laugh bespeaks a fool. 
 
MARY ANDERSON 
 
 IN THE "winter's TALE." 
 
 I SEE thee as becomes Sicilia's Queen, 
 Ere yet the flame has caught Leontes' breast : 
 I see thee, beautiful, with gracious mien. 
 Persuade Polixenes, the honored guest — 
 Ah, stainless wife, the sweetest and the best ! 
 I see thee stand before the accusing King, 
 Lit still by chastity's "clear-pointed flame" ; 
 I hear thy voice in the tribunal ring 
 In last appeal to great Apollo's name, 
 Whose sacred oracle makes white thy fame. 
 
 I see thee in the bloom of maidenhood 
 
 Make glad Bohemia with thy happy face ; 
 
 Thou seemst a spirit of the glade and wood, 
 
 A dream of loveliness and sylvan grace, 
 
 Yet on thy brow the stamp of royal race. 
 
 I hear thy voice of music telling o'er 
 
 The names and story of thy gathered flowers ; 
 
 I see thy glancing feet upon the floor 
 
 In dance that wings with light the fleeting hours- 
 
 And all the joys that Shakespeare gives is ours ! 
 
 113 
 
The Siamese Twins and Other Poems 
 
 Sweet is the memory of these pictures twain ; 
 
 Sweet is the thought that they are wholly thine 
 
 The fruitage of thy blended heart and brain 
 
 Glows in thy native air a thing divine. 
 
 Thou only art interpreter, I ween, 
 
 Of high-born shepherdess and peerless queen. 
 
 114 
 
JOSEPH JEFFERSON 
 
 NO need to chronicle the triumphs won 
 By our incomparable Jefferson ! 
 Long may the old-time sweetness of his speech 
 Dwell in our ears when he shall cease to teach; 
 Long will the memory hold his witching art, 
 As imaged in each finely ordered part, 
 Where laughing wit lay close to throbbing heart- 
 The strut of Acres with his paper frills. 
 And Rip's deep slumber 'mid the storied hills. 
 
VlAY 2 6 i.^' 
 
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