Class Book .R.li rPfc COPYRIGHT DEPOSm ^0 ICI.A.5 1 1551 Copyright, 1918, by Bernjce Margaret Bradfcmi!). :EB 13 1919 THE TRAIL OF THE YELLOWSTONE. Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone, he treads a devious way, Where the waters tumble and toss and moan ^hru darksome night and thru day ; They tumble and toss o'er the precipice to the gloomy depths below. Where never a ray of sunlight gleams on the wave- tips white as snow. Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone, he treads a wondrous way. For the Canyon walls form a picture grand in the sunlight's dying ray ; And over the fall, thru the cloud of spray, there shines God's beautiful bow. With gorgeous purples and greens and reds, and yellows that brightly glow. Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone, he treads a dangerous way ; Under the sad and whispering pines where the grizzly stands at bay ; For the silver tip is lord of the land along the Yel- lowstone trail. And he deals a blow with his mighty paw that would shatter a coat of mail. Who follows the trail of the Yellowstone will come at last to the day Where the waters cease their dreary moan and flow in peace away; They flow in quiet loveliness with never a spray oh their crest, Until at length they reach their home in the broad Missouri's breast. S THE END OF THE TRAIL. A wild and wayward woodsy trail runs over the hill away Up thru the dark and whispering pines, whither I cannot say; But I shall follow this wanton trail wherever it may lead ; Whether across the mountain high, or thru the flowery mead. On and on past the bubbling spring, where myriad wild flowers grow ; On and on round the foot of the hill, where the waves of the river show. And all along this wandering trail bloom flowers on either hand; The yellow snapdragon and blue lupine, and the gentian cover the land. The purple monk's hood, straight and tall, glows in some darksome spot. And on the bank of a babbling brook blooms the forget-me-not. The Indian paint brush brightly gleams in a sunny forest glade. And in its glowing scarlet seems the brightest flower e'er made. Then up the hill winds the little trail under the whispering pines; Up and up to the very top where the hack-ma-tack berry shines; Here I have come to the end of the trail ; I pause on the very brink Of a dark and gloomy mountain tarn where wild beasts come to drink. 6 And I find that the woodsy, wayward trail that I have followed so dizzily, Mayhap was made by the timid deer, mayhap by the savage grizzly. And I must go back the way that I came, back to the haunts of men ; But deep in my heart of heart, I know I shall find my trail again. ♦ * ♦ THE BLUEBIRD. A flash of blue flame at my window-pane ; A flutter of wings, and a merry note From a cerulean feathered throat; My friend the bluebird is here again. Where have you been, friend bluebird, These long, long months since I saw you last? Thru what climes have your fleet wings passed? What unknown melodies have you heard? But 0, I care not, my little friend, Since once again you are with me here ; After the long, cold winter drear. To linger till the summer's end. Flutter and flirt at my window-pane, Singing your song of joyous glee. Bringing a piece of the sky to me, Thru summer sunshine or autumn rain. KNOCK ON WOOD. Eons since, in the golden days, When the forests thronged with fauns and fays, Whenever a nymph was in danger she could Find comfort and rest in the heart of the wood. Qnce in that time long since agone, A fay was closely pursued by a faun ; All breathless beside an oak she stood, And softly began to knock on wood. happy thought ! a door sv/ung side, And soon the fay was safe inside. And thankfully she understood, 'Tv/as because she happened to knock on wood. NoAv since that time, long years are flown, And faun and fay alike are gone ; But if we would have our fortune good. We must not forget to knock on wood. The years are fled, The fauns are dead. That followed the fays with flying feet; But the list'ning ear Can almost hear Their voices still in some green retreat. And now there stands Built up by hands, A lown where the home of the wood-nymphs »tood ; Still voices call Through bower and hall ; "Always remember to knock on wood." 8 BEAR LAKE, THE BEAUTIFUL O beautiful Lake of the Bear Nestled midst hills of green, Your waters so blue and so fair To me are the dearest e'er seen. For when the joyous spring has come, And crickets chirp and wild bees hum, The tamarack droops her plumy sprays Throughout the shining golden days. Above you water lilies grow Nature's purest, sweetest child. With rubbery stems and bloom of snow Sprung from the mud yet undefiled. The tall spikes of the cardinal flower Gleam from the marshland's emerald bower. The lady's-slipper, orchid rare, Fox-glove and Indian pipe are there. But when October dims the sky The aster shows her purple rays And flocks of geese go honking by Sumac and maple redly blaze. Then winter comes with icy breath And dooms your flowers to sudden death. But even in your shroud you're fair, For O, I love you, Lake of the Bear! ♦•♦ •;» »> IN MICHIGAN. 'Tis blowing time in Michigan ; The cherry blooms are white ; The peach tree blushes overhead; The apple boughs are widely spread ; They thrill me with delight. 9 Tis growing time in Michigan f The trees are bending down With purple plum and apple red ; The luscious pear hangs overhead ; The fields are turning brown. 'Tis snowing time in Michigan! The roads are drifted deep; While buried far beneath the snow The seeds and blossoms down below Lie locked in dreamless sleep. snowing, growing, blowing time, 1 love you one and all! The bright and lovely blow time. The white and shining snow time, The red and glowing fall! But blowing, growing, snowing time,. I know not which is best! The first is but the promise fair; The second is the fruitage rare; The last, the time of rest! ♦ ♦ * BIRDS IN SUMMER. THE ORIOLE. On the topmost twig of the tall elm tree, The oriole sits and flutters and sings ; His little heart bubbles over in glee, And far and wide through the welkin rings The liquid melody of his note, And these the words he is singing sweet, "Peter, peter, peter, pete." 10 THE SCARLET TANAGER. A dart of flame beneath the sky; A whir of wings as he dashes by ; A flood of notes from the telepnone wire; The red-bird's song like his coat, a fire. THE SWALLOW. Swallow, swallow, flying low, Whither dost thou swallow go? Through the twilight pale and wan, Whither has the swallow gone? To the chimney deep and wide, Where the baby swallows hide. From its cavern dark and deep, Comes their cheerful "Cheep ! cheep ! cheep !'^ ♦ ♦ ♦ A THOUGHT OF YOU. There's ever a song somewhere, dear, Under the morning skies, Ever a note of bird-cheer To greet the glad sunrise. There's ever a song somewhere, dear, Under the skies of blue, Ever a thought in my heart, dear, A thought of you. Then let us hark for the song, dear, Whether skies "be blue or gray; The night that seems so long, dear, May break in glorious day. So look for the rift in the cloud, dear, That shows the bonny blue. And I'll keep the thought in my heart, dear, The thought of you. 11 THE VOICE OF SPRING. I am coming! I am coming! Don't you hear the voice of spring? Don't you hear the wild bees humming? Don't you see the flowers I bring? I am coming down the mountain With my light and joyous feet; I am hast'ning to the fountain Where the winds and waters meet. Don't you smell the breath of orchards On the incense-laden breeze? Don't you get the scent of honey From the homeward going bees? Don't you see the rivulets swirling Down the distant mountain side? Don't you see their foam-skirts whirling Like a maiden's in her pride? Don't you see the fresh growth swelling On the twiglets of the pine? And the bluebird pick his dwellmg In this forest haunt of mine ? Don't you see the red-bud glowing On the distant eastern plain? And the robin's red coat showing By the mighty inland main ? Don't you hear the oriole calling From the tallest orchard tree? Don't you see the blossoms falling In white showers o'er the lea? 12 Don't you see the flowers I bring? Don't you hear the insects hum? Don't you hear glad voices ring — "Spring is coming ! Spring is come !" •> ••• <• WEARY FOR THE SIGHT OF YOU. I am weary, love, I'm weary, weary for the sight of you ; The world is dreary, dreary, missing the light rf you. For I miss you, dear, I miss you, from twilight till the dawn. And in my dreams I kiss you, then I wake and find you gone. I am weeping, love, I'm weeping, weeping just because you're gone; And the hours go slowly creeping from the twi- light till the dawn. Yes the hours creep so slowly from the dawn unt^l the night, And I miss your presence holy, in the dark as i i the light. ♦ ♦ ♦ DAY. There's a light in the sky. And a breath in the air ; God's all-seeing eye Is present everywhere. There is dew on the grass ; There is frost on the com ; The sky gleams like brass ; A new day is born. 13 THE WIND IN THE PINES. The wind is blowing through the pines That stand like sentinels of God ; It sounds like distant cnapel chimes In a church by man untrod. wind in the pines, you wring my heart With a feeling of exquisite pain ! 1 hear you sigh as in days gone by, And I long for the pines again. The pines are standing straight and tall With spires that touch the sky ; And deep in my heart I shrine them al! With a love that will not die. f n fancy I see what I saw as a child — A forest of pines on fire ; The wind is blowing fierce and wild ; It roars like an organ choir. The red flames leap to the very crest ; They crackle and roar in glee; They fill v/ith fright the adult breast, But they bring no fear to me. They stand like flaming swords of light 'Gainst a black and inky sky; The stars grow dim and hide their light, And the wind goes rushing by. But the One who watches over all, Brings us safely to our goal ; Though the flames leap high and the great pines fall, They harm not a human soul. 14 wind in the pines you bring me dreams Of the pale blue April days; Of the shy sweet mayflower's gentle beaifts; Of the cardinal flower ablaze. Of asters blue and golden-rod, And October's purple haze, As I sit and dream of the Michigan pines In the autumn of my days. wind in the pines, blow on! blow on! I love your mournful tones As I love the sound of Michigan's waves, Lapping over the stones. Blow on! blow on! wind in the pines! May your murmurs never cease ! The thought of the pines in my memory shines. Like a vision of lasting peace. ♦ ♦ ♦ MY LAKE. When the blue of the lake meets the blue of the nky And the white sea-gulls go whirling by. And Michigan's waves in white foam break, 'Tis then that I love my own dear lake. When the white gulls cry, and the surf rolls Mgh, And thundering breaks on the rocky shore; When foam-flakes flash, and surges crash, I long for the lake land more and more. But when the sun sinks in the West, 'Tis then I love my lake the best ; For all the hues in heaven that glow, Are mirrored in my lake below. 15 BLACKBERRY BLOOMS. O the scent of the blackberry blooms ! Sweeter than breezes from Araby! It comes to my senses wherever I roam Through the sun-kissed regions of Arcady 1 Under the spreading forest trees, Gaily I jaunt in my one-horse shay, Sniffing the incense laden breeze, Sweeter far than breath of May. Violets yellow and white and blue, Sprinkle the forest sod, ■ Sweetest flower that ever grew. In regions still untrod. But 0, the sweet white blackberry flowers That bloom in the Michigan woods ! Naught could replace this friend of ours In the forest solitudes. ♦ ♦ ♦ OH TO BE IN MICHIGAN. Oh to be in Michigan, now that May is here! .Whan the shrilling note of the robin is the earliest sound v/e hear, And orchard-blossoms like the snow, are billowing far and near ! Oh to be in Michigan in the glad days of July ! Whm. the crickets chirp, and grasshoppers whir oiider a cloudless sky ; And the sweet white blackberry blossoms in the \srtMwood meet the eye ! 16 Oh to be in Michigan in October's purple haze ! With wild geese honking northward through all the blue, bright days ; When beech-leaves all are turning brown and maples redly blaze ! Oh to be in Michigan in joyous winter time! When diamond sparks are on the snow and merry sleighbells chime ; And voices sweetly mingle in the current of the rime! Oh to be in Michigan at any time of year ! In bloomy May or hot July, October bright, No- vember sere Or in the gladsome winter time ! No other land'e so dear ! ♦ ♦ ♦ MY HEART' IN THE NORTHLAND! My heart's in the Northland, my heart's far away ! My heart's in the Northland by night and by day ; No matter how lonely, no matter how drear. My heart's in the Northland, my heart is not here. I love its deep ravines, I love its high hills, With love for the Northland my heart ever thrills ; Wherever I wander, wherever I go. My heart's with the Northland, its ice and its snow. Farewell to the Northland, Fate calls me afar; The doorway to fortune seems standing ajar; Bui whatever the lessons in life I may learn, My heart to the Northland shall ever return. 17 O BLUE SKY OF MONTANA! 0. blue sky of Montana, you are not blue to me, For I have seen a bluer above a far blue sea, Where the great waves toss and tumble as they dash upon the shore, Then wildly scurry backward to break in spray once more, Vpiere the white gulls scream in chorus As they dart through the crests of snow, \Yith the blue sky arching o'er us, And the blue, blue lake below. But great state of Montana, I love you just the same: I love your noble forest touched with the autumn's flame; I love your mighty rivers that madly rush and foam, Each swiftly hast'ning downward to its distant ocean home; I love your snow-clad mountains with peaks that kiss the sky ; Your canyons and your fountains, and the white clouds floating by. But blue sky of Montana, you are not blue to me, For I have seen a bluer above an inland sea — My ovvn dear blue Lake Michigan with white and pebbly shore — And 0, I wish and wish again to see my lake once more. 18 WITH RADIANT GRIEF TOO DEEP FOR TEARS. With radiant grief too deep for tears I see the boys go marching by, Their banners flaunting toward the sky. And glad faith triumphs over fears. Columbia hears the cry of France ! She grasps the sword with steady hand ! She waves aloft her battle brand ! The shrilling bugles call: " Advance!" The writing is upon the walls That tells the Hun of coming doom ; On earth there is for him no room; His throne is tottering toward its fall. Then Belgium's grsss shall greenly spring Fed by the blood of friend and foe, And grain shall v/ave and flowers blow, " And happy birds shall fly and sing. And Serbia's child once more shall smile, Her woman's face be glad again; Like sunshine breaking through the rain That has endured this weary while. Then Poland, too, shall rise in light To a free place in a free world ; Her conquered flags that long were furled Shall proudly wave, unsoiled and bright. The Hun shall from his throne be hurled ; All downcast nations free shall breathe ; Her sword Columbia shall sheathe; Democracy shall rule the world. 19 IN ARCADY. Once I dwelt in Arcady ; All the land was fair to see ; Blue-eyed maid lived there with me, In the land of Arcady. O the land of Arcady ! Nevermore I shall it see! Half my heart lies there with thee, Fairest maid in Arcady. Arcady was passing fair ; Birds sang gaily through the air ; Orchard blossoms like the sea. In the land of Arcady. 0, thou land of Arcady, Nevermore I'll look on thee ! All my heart lies there in thee. With the maid of Arcady. A A A JUST TO SEE MY LOVE AGAIN. When the sparkle's on the snow and the frost is on the pane, To my Northland home I'll go just to see my love again. Just to look into her eyes, with their lashes softly brown, Just to see her sweet surprise ere she casts them gently down. When the frost is on the pane and the sparkle's on the snow, Just to see my love again to my Northland home rii go. 20 When the sleigh-hells softly jingle underneath the silver moon, And our voices sweetly mingle in the current of the tune; Then I'll tell her that I love her, and I'll claim her for my own, While the stars shine bright above her, and the snow's with diamonds sown. While the stars shine bright above her, and the snow's with diamonds sown. Then I'll tell her that I love her, and I'll claim her for my own. THE RAIN CALL OF THE ROBIN. The rain call of the robin falls on my list'ning ear, Par over field and forest resounding sweet and clear, A joyful promise bringing to the meadows parched and sere. With earliest dawn awaking and calling swift and soon, Through all the sultry morning and the drowsy afternoon, And now at falling twilight, he is singing to the moon. Sweet over brooding forest and o'er the listening plain, Sweet over shaded pathway, and o'er the waving grain. Sweet to the heart of the weary comes the robin's call for rain. 21 TO ANN ARBOR. I stood at the top of the Boulevarde And gazed at the valley below. I saw the tall spires of the city And the slow-moving Huron. Aloft, on the opposite hill I beheld the domes and the towers Of the great University That first of all the States Upheld the lamp of learning To the vast Middle West. Then in memory I saw the grand old man Who gave her her fine reputation — Dr. Angell, our beloved President, Who for thirty years there lived and ruled, I thought of the men and women Who had sat beneath his teaching Then gone forth to fill their places in a world of men, Lawyers and teachers and preachers. And that large group of fine mettle Who laid dov/n their lives in foreign lands To save the souls of the heathen. I thought of the men who answered Columbia's call When civil war threatened to rend her asunder. Their memory clings round the cannon. Then suffering Cuba called for aid, And America sprang to arms, And Michigan stood in the fore-front, In the noblest war, until now, ever waged. Not with a hope for sehisn gain But from pure love of humanity. And Cuba free, Cuba lihre, 22 Feels her heart throb with gratitude. And to-day, in this mightiest conflict Since ever the world began Dries with a single voice : "Take my money, my men, my all, And use them as yours To make the world safe for Democracy." And Michigan's sons have gone out In the pride of their lusty manhood To oirer them selves as a wall of men Betwixt the world and the Hun. To fight, percnance to fall ! If so, what then ? Better by far is a glorious death Than a coward's life of dishonor. O Michigan, mother of State Universities ! Thou art beloved of my soul. As thou art of the souls Of all thy myriad sons and daughters ; Long may you live and flourish And stand, in the time to come, As you stood in the days that are gone. Ever in the front of the battle. ♦ ♦ ♦ TRAILING ARBUTUS. Daintiest flower of Northern spring, When the sun shines and the robins sing Overhead in the pines ; Like a star in the night-time Heralding the bright time, Your pink flower shines. 23 Clad in your dress of waxen green^ Of fairest hue and of glossy sheen, You show your face; When the dead leaves are removed. All your sweetness then is proved, And lovely grace. ♦> ♦I* ♦!♦ WHERE THE MANISTEE IS FLOWING. Where the Manistee is flowing, Gently flowing to the Lake. Past its forests greenly growing And its meadows fringed with brake. There my heart is longing ever, Ever longing there to be. By the gently flowing river. By the lovely Manistee. Where the Manistee goes winding Past the hillsides fair and green. Sure no dearer spot I'm finding, 'Tis the fairest ever seen : For the hills are clad with forest And the forest filled with flowers. And the birds are ever singing In the leafy woodland bowers. Whether in the radiant June-time When the air is sweet with rose. Or in the blue October When the sumac brightly glows. my heart is longing ever. Ever longing there to be. By the gently flowing river. By the winding Manistee. 24 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 517 3