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 21 
 
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 Book.ub..l.xi-(o.. 
 
 I<&13 
 
 Author . 
 
 Title 
 
 Imprint. 
 
 16—17372-1 SPO 
 
ONGS /1DRIFT 
 
 VI 
 
 OK. 
 
 GEMS FROM AN OLD SCRAP BOOK 
 
 A HOLIDAY OFFERING, 
 
 'Unconsidered Trifles.' 
 
 P H I T. A D E r. P H I A : 
 
 C. A. MECASKEY & CO 
 No. 908 Chestnut Street. 
 
 18 7 3. 
 
■ 
 
 

 v A 
 
 COMPLIMENTS OF 
 
 C. A. MECASKEY & CO. 
 
 908 Chestnut Street, 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT." 
 
 It is surprising how many really good and stirring poems go float- 
 ing up and down the currents of the great sea of literature, with never 
 an author to claim them, and never a publisher to gather them into a 
 volume. They take their start in a corner of a weekly paper, or deep 
 in the recesses of a magazine, are scissored from one paper to another, 
 and at last find quiet resting places in somebody's scrap-book. They 
 are usually the one or two heart -stirring songs of a poet who is never 
 able to match them afterwards, and who, in despair, abandons them to 
 their fate ; but sometimes they are the isolated ones which the world se- 
 lects to remember, while the volume containing their duller companions 
 slumbers unread on a forgotten shelf; and sometimes they are the only 
 songs which some master-mind of prose has permitted itself to sing; 
 but in any case, they have no home, no associations, no harbor of 
 refuge— literary waifs on a sea which has shipwrecked their companions 
 by thousands, they belong to the finder; and even the king can scarcely 
 hope to apply to them the law of flotsam and jetsam. 
 
SONGS ADItlFT. 
 
 Mainly of this sort are the scraps collected in this little volume. 
 A few of them are by well-known authors, a few more by rising ones, 
 but the majority are to be credited to that convenient authority, "Mr; 
 Anonymous." So far as we know, none of them— or but one or two, at 
 most— are contained in a published edition of their author's works; 
 and as we could name the writers of so few, we have deemed it best to 
 withhold the author's name, even where it was known. 
 
 The Poems are from a scrap-book, and are given here as they stood 
 there, without order or arrangement, but just as the periodical currents 
 drifted them in. Like the emotions they express, they will be found 
 to relate to almost every phase of life and life's experience. Somebody 
 will be grateful for each one of them; and to that somebody the one 
 he or she likes best- and to all our friends the volume in general— is 
 respectfully dedicated by 
 
 Their Obedient Servants, 
 
 C. A. M. & Co. 
 
mz 
 
 l-Oy-G 
 
 M'O. 
 
 II ! a wonderful stream is the river of Time, 
 As it runs through the realms of tears, 
 With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, 
 And a broader sweep, and a surge sublime, 
 And blends with the ocean of years. 
 
 How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow, 
 
 And the summers like buds between, 
 And the year in the sheaf— so they come and they go, 
 On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow, 
 As it glides in the shadow and sheen. 
 
 There's a magical isle up the river of Time, 
 
 Where the softest of airs are playing; 
 There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, 
 And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, 
 
 And the Junes with the roses are straying. 
 
 And the name of this isle is the Long Ago, 
 
 And we bury our treasures there ; 
 There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow, 
 There are heaps of dust, but we loved them so ! 
 There are trinkets and tresses of hair. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT. 
 
 There are fragments of song that nobody sings, 
 
 And a part of an infant's prayer; 
 There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings, 
 There are broken vows and pieces of rings, 
 
 And the garments that she used to wear. 
 
 There are hands that are waved when the fairy shore 
 
 By the mirage is lifted in air; 
 And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, 
 Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, 
 
 When the wind down the river is fair. 
 
 Oh ! remembered for aye be that blessed isle, 
 
 All the days of life until night, 
 When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, 
 And our eyes are closing in slumber awhile. 
 
 May that "Greenwood" of soul be in sight. 
 
SON OS ADRIFT 
 
 On the jBanks of llje ^Beautiful T{ivc 
 
 'V . 
 
 3 IKE a foundling in slumber the summer-day lay, 
 
 On the crimsoning threshold of Even, 
 ^ And I thought that the glow from the "azure-arched"' 
 way, 
 Was a glimpse of the coming of heaven. 
 There together we sat by the beautiful stream ; 
 We had nothing to do but to love and to dream 
 
 In the days that have gone on before. 
 These are not the same days, though they bear the 
 same name 
 With the ones I shall welcome no more! 
 
 Rut it may be the angels are calling them o'er, 
 
 For a Sabbath and summer forever, 
 When the years shall forget the Decembers they wore, 
 
 And the shroud shall be woven, no, never! 
 In a twilight like that, Jenny June for a bride, 
 Oh, what more of the world could one wish for beside? 
 
 As we gazed on the river enrolled, 
 Till we heard, or we fancied, its musical tide, 
 
 As it flowed through the gate-way of gold. 
 
 2* 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 "Jenny June," then I said, "let us linger no more 
 
 On the banks of the beautiful river ; 
 Let. the boat be unmoored, and be muffled the oar, 
 
 And we'll steal into Heaven together. 
 If the angel on duty our coming descries, 
 You have nothing to do but throw off the disguise 
 
 That you wore when you wandered with me, 
 And the sentry shall say, ' Welcome back to the skies, 
 We have long been a-waiting for thee.' " 
 
 Oh, how sweetly she spoke ere she uttered a word, 
 
 With that blush partly hers, partly Even's ; 
 And that tone like the dream of a song we once heard, 
 
 As she whispered, "that way is not Heaven's; 
 For the river that runs by the realms of the blest 
 Has no song in its ripple, no star on its breast — 
 
 Oh, that river is nothing like this ! 
 For it glides on in shadow, beyond the world's west, 
 
 Till it breaks into beauty and bliss ! " 
 
 I am lingering yet, but I linger alone, 
 
 On the banks of the beautiful river; 
 'Tis the twin of that day, but the wave where it shone, 
 
 Bears the willow-tree's shadow forever! 
 
SONUS ADRIFT 
 
 :iiijEo:id> 'C^woe 
 
 ej l fj, i 
 
 | HERE the rocks arc gray and the shore is strip, 
 And the waters below look dark and deep, 
 
 | Where the rugged pine in its gl ny pride 
 
 p Leans gloomily over the murky tide, 
 C O Where the reeds and the rushes are tall and 
 
 rank, 
 
 > -i J \ ^\) 
 - J ^^o/o) JJ And the weeds grow thick on the winding" 
 
 V^C^b bank - 
 
 Where the shadow is heavy the whole day 
 Q) through, 
 
 Lies at its moorings the old canoe. 
 
 The useless paddles are idly dropped, 
 
 Like a sea bird's wings that the storm hath lopped, 
 
 And crossed on the railing one o'er one, 
 
 Like folded hands when the work is done ; 
 
 While busily back and forth between 
 
 The spider stretches his silvery screen, 
 
 And the solemn owl, with his dull "too-hoo," 
 
 Nestles down on the side of the old canoe. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 The stern half sunk in the slimy wave, 
 
 Rots slowly away in its living grave, 
 
 And the green moss creeps o'er its dull decay, 
 
 Hiding the mouldering dust away, 
 
 Like the hand that plants o'er the tomb a flower, 
 
 Or the ivy that mantles a fallen tower ; 
 
 While many a blossom of liveliest hue 
 
 Springs up o'er the stern of the old canoe. 
 
 The currentless waters are dead and still ; 
 But the light winds play with the boat at will, 
 And lazily in and out again, 
 It floats the length of its rusty chain, 
 Like the weary march of the hands of time, 
 That meet and part at the noontide chime ; 
 And the shore is kissed at each turn anew 
 By the dripping bow of the old canoe. 
 
 Oh, many a time with a careless hand 
 I have pushed it away from the pebbly strand, 
 And paddled it down where the stream ran quick — 
 Where the whirls were wild and the foam was thick 
 And laughed as I leaned o'er the rocking side, 
 And looked below in the broken tide, 
 To see that the faces and boats were two, 
 That were mirrored back from the old canoe. 
 
SONGS ADIMVT 
 
 But now, as I lean o'er the crumbling side, 
 
 And look below in the sluggish tide, 
 
 The face that I see is graver grown, 
 
 And the laugh that I hear has a sober tone, 
 
 And the hands that lent, to the light skiff wings 
 
 Have grown familiar with sterner things ; 
 
 Hut I love to think of the hours that flew 
 
 As I rocked where the whirls their wild spray threw, 
 
 Ere the blossoms waved or the green grass grew 
 
 O'er the mouldering stern of the old canoe. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 mz piv$ '%%$ mzGiijiY 
 
 Y the flow of the inland river, 
 
 Whence the fleets of iron have fled, 
 Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
 Asleep are the ranks of the dead : 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Under the one, the Blue ; 
 
 Under the other, the Gray. 
 
 These in the robings of glory, 
 
 Those in the gloom of defeat, 
 All with the battle-blood gory, 
 In the dusk of eternity meet : 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Under the laurel, the Blue ; 
 Under the willow, the Gray. 
 
SON<;S ADRIFT 
 
 From the silence of sorrowful hours 
 
 The desolate mourners go, 
 Lovingly laden with flowers 
 
 Alike for the friend and the foe : 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Tinder the roses, the Blue ; 
 Under the lilies, the Gray. 
 
 So with au equal splendor 
 
 The morning sun-rays fall, 
 With a touch impartially tender, 
 
 On the hlossoms blooming for all: 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Broidered with gold, the Blue ; 
 Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 
 
 So when the Summer calleth, 
 
 On forest and field of grain, 
 With an equal murmur falleth 
 The cooling drip of the rain : 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
 Wet with the rain, the Gray. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 
 
 The generous deed was done ; 
 In the storms of the years that are fading 
 No braver battle was won : 
 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Under the blossoms, the Blue ; 
 Under the garlands, the Gray. 
 
 No more shall the war-cry sever, 
 
 Or the winding rivers be red ; 
 They banish our anger forever 
 
 When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the judgment-day ; 
 Love and tears for the Blue ; 
 Tears and love for the Gray. 
 
 <*> 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 IIO shall judge a man from manners? 
 Who shall know him by his dress? 
 
 Paupers may be fit for princes, 
 Princes fit for something less. 
 
 Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket 
 May beclothe the golden ore 
 
 Of the humblest thoughts and feelings- 
 Satin vests -would do no more. 
 
 There are springs of crystal nectar 
 
 Ever welling out of stone ; 
 There are purple buds and golden, 
 
 Hidden, crushed and overthrown ; 
 God who counts by souls, not dresses, 
 
 Loves and prospers you and me, 
 While he values thrones the highest, 
 
 But as pebbles in the sea. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Man, upraised above his fellows, 
 
 Oft forgets his fellows then ; 
 Masters, rulers, lords, remember 
 
 That your meanest hands are men — 
 Men by labor, men by feeling, 
 
 Men by thought, and men by fame, 
 Claiming equal rights to sunshine, 
 
 In man's ennobling name. 
 
 There are foam-embroidered oceans, 
 
 There are little reed-clad rills, 
 There are feeble, inch-high saplings, 
 
 There are cedars on the hills ; 
 God, who counts by souls, not stations, 
 
 Loves and prospers you and me ; 
 For to him, all vain distinctions 
 
 Are as pebbles in the sea. 
 
 Toiling hands alone are builders 
 
 Of a nation's wealth or fame ; 
 Titled laziness is pensioned, 
 
 Fed and fattened on the same; 
 By the sweat of others' foreheads, 
 
 Living only to rejoice, 
 While the poor man's outraged freedom 
 
 Vainly lifteth up its voice. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Truth and justice are eternal, 
 
 Born with loveliness and light. 
 Secret, wrongs shall never prosper, 
 
 While there is a sunny right ; 
 God, whose world-heard voice is singing 
 
 Boundless love to you and me, 
 Sinks oppression with its titles, 
 
 As the pebbles of the sea. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 QUESTIONS ■OF TME MOUIi. 
 
 [Marian, Six Years Old ] 
 
 O angels wear white dresses, say, 
 
 Always, or only in the summer? Do 
 
 Their birthdays have to come like mine, in May? 
 Do they have scarlet sashes then, or blue? 
 
 " When little Jessie died last night, 
 
 How could she walk to heaven — it is so far? 
 
 How did she find the way without a ligbt? 
 There wasn't even any moon or star. 
 
 "Will she have red or golden wings? 
 
 Then will she have to be a bird, and fly? 
 Do they take men like presidents and kings 
 
 In hearses with black plumes clear to the sky ? 
 
 " How old is God ? Has he gray hair? 
 
 Can he see yet ? Where did he have to stay 
 Before— you know — he had made— Anywhere? 
 
 Who does He pray to — when he has to pray ? 
 
SONGS ADKll'T 
 
 "How many drops are in the sea? 
 
 How many .stars.'— well, then, you ought to know 
 How many dowers are on an apple-tree? 
 
 How does the wind look when it doesn't blow ? 
 
 " Where does the rainbow end ? And why 
 
 Did — Captain Kidd — bury the gold there? When 
 
 Will this world burn ? And will the firemen try 
 To put the fire out with the engines then ? 
 
 " If you should ever die, may we 
 
 Have pumpkins growing in the garden, so 
 My fairy godmother can come for me, 
 
 When there's a prince's ball, and let me go ? 
 
 " Read Cinderella just once more 
 
 What makes — men's other wives — so mean ? " I know 
 That I was tired, it may be cross, before 
 I shut the painted book for her to go. 
 
 Hours later, from a child's white bed 
 
 I heard the timid, last queer question start : — 
 
 " Mamma, are you — my stepmother ? " it said. 
 The innocent reproof crept to my heart. 
 
SONGS ADKIFT 
 
 p.i^Yi^ff :rx vomTim. 
 
 ET'S play at courting, little wife — 
 \ Forget these boys and girls, 
 
 Ignore tlie 'wrinkles on our brows, 
 The gray hairs 'mid our curls. 
 
 " Me, John, across the field you see, 
 With Sunday-suit bedight ; 
 
 You at the glass push back your hair, 
 And smooth your apron white. 
 
 " You hum above your work, while loud 
 And quick your heart beats on ; 
 
 And yet unconscious look, as if 
 There never was a John. 
 
 " Well, I am there : I dare not kiss 
 • The little hand I touch ; 
 It seems, just sitting by your side, 
 Almost one joy too much. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 " And, as your shining needles move, 
 
 'Tis bliss enough to see 
 The downcast lashes sometimes lift, 
 
 To steal a glance at me. 
 
 " The neighbors shy look in sometimes— 
 
 I do not call then* here ; 
 I'd rather not, to tell the truth, 
 
 Have anybody near. 
 
 " The old folks bid a pleased good-night, 
 
 And leave us two together — 
 To think, and blush, and nothing say, 
 
 Except, "Tis pleasant weather.' 
 
 "But some way, by-and-by (how is't? 
 
 I never could define.) 
 My hand gets snuggling round your waist, 
 
 And yours get clasped in mine. 
 
 " And some way, stranger still, your cheek 
 
 Comes very near my own ; 
 For thus I bend my head, to hear 
 
 That bashful, whispering tone — 
 
 " And then " — wife nudged me — Close behind, 
 
 Eyes opened wide to see, 
 Our eldest stood — she's just the age 
 
 Her mother married me. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 rm xz#g r# vis ;bi^vix 
 
 H ! to be over yonder, 
 
 In that land of wonder, 
 Where the angel voices mingle and the angel 
 harpers ring, 
 To be free from pain and sorrow, 
 And the anxious dread to-morrow, 
 To rest in light and sunshine in the presence of 
 the King. 
 
 Oh ! to be over yonder ! 
 
 My yearning heart grows fonder 
 Of looking to the east, to see the day-star bring 
 
 Some tidings of the waking, 
 
 The cloudless, pure day breaking. 
 My heart is yearning— yearning for the coming of the King. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Oh ! to be over yonder, 
 
 Alas ! I sigh and wonder, 
 Why clings my poor weak heart to any earthly thing'.' 
 
 Each tie ol earth must sever, 
 
 And pass away forever ; 
 Hut there's no more separation in the presence of the King. 
 
 Oh I to be over yonder, 
 
 The longing groweth stronger ; 
 When I see the wild doves cleave the air on rapid wing, 
 
 I long for their fleet pinions, 
 
 To reach my Lord's dominions, 
 And rest my weary spirit in the presence of the King. 
 
 Oh ! to be t)ver yonder, 
 
 In that land of wonder, 
 Where life, and light, and sunshine, beam fair on everything 
 
 Where the day-beam is unshaded, 
 
 As pure as He who made it, — 
 The land of cloudless sunshine, where Jesus is the King. 
 
 Oh ! when shall I be dwelling 
 
 Where the angel voices swelling 
 In triumphant hallelujahs, make the vaulted heavens ring ; 
 
 Where the pearly gates are gleaming, 
 
 And the morning star is beaming ; 
 Oh ! when shall I be yonder in the presence of the King? 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Oh ! when shall I be yonder ? 
 
 The longing groweth stronger 
 To join in all the praises the redeemed ones do sing, 
 
 Within these heavenly places, 
 
 Where the angels veil their faces, 
 In awe and adoration in the presence of the King. 
 
 Oh ! soon, soon I'll be yonder, 
 
 All lonely as I wander ; 
 Yearning for the welcome summer— longing for the Lord's fleet wing 
 
 The midnight may be dreary, 
 
 And the heart be worn and weary, 
 But there's no more sliadow yonder iti the presence of the King. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 WEET is the voice that calls 
 
 From babbling water-falls, 
 In meadows where the downy seeds are flying 
 
 And soft the breezes blow, 
 
 And eddying come and go, 
 In faded gardens where the rose is dying. 
 
 Among the stnbbled corn 
 S)\ The blithe quail pipes at morn, 
 
 / The merry partridge drums in hidden places. 
 And glittering insects gleam 
 Above the reedy stream 
 Where busy spiders spin their filmy laces. 
 
 At eve cool shadows fall 
 
 Across the garden wall, 
 And on the clustered grapes to purple turning; 
 
 And pearly vapors lie 
 
 Along the eastern sky 
 Where the broad harvest-moon is redly burning. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Ah, soon ou field and hill 
 
 The winds shall whistle chill, 
 And patriarch swallows call their flocks together 
 
 To fly from frost and snow, 
 
 And seek for lands where blow 
 The fairer blossoms of a balmier weather. 
 
 The pollen-dusted bees 
 
 Search for the honey-lees 
 That linger in the last flowers of September ; 
 
 While plaintive, mourning doves 
 
 Coo sadly to their loves 
 Of the dead summer they so well remember. 
 
 The cricket chirps all day, 
 
 " O, fairest summer, stay ! " 
 The squirrel eyes askance the chestnuts browning 
 
 The wild-fowl fly afar 
 
 Above the foamy bar, 
 And hasten southward ere the skies are frowning 
 
 Now comes a fragrant breeze 
 
 Through the dark cedar trees, 
 And round about my temples fondly lingers 
 
 In gentle playfulness, 
 
 Like to the soft caress 
 Bestowed in happier days by loving fingers. 
 
SON G S ADItI F T 
 
 Yet, though a sense of grief 
 
 Conies with the falling leaf, 
 And memory makes the summer doubly pleasant, 
 
 In all my autumn dreams 
 
 A future summer gleams, 
 Passing the fairest glories of the present! 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 F all the bonny buds that blow 
 In bright or cloudy weather, 
 
 Of all the flowers that come and go 
 The whole twelve moons together, 
 
 This little purple pansy brings 
 
 Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest things. 
 
 I had a little lover once, 
 
 Who used to give me posies : 
 
 His eyes were blue as hyacinths, 
 His lips as red as roses, 
 
 And everybody loved to praise 
 
 His pretty looks and winsome ways. 
 
 The girls that went to school with me 
 Made little jealous speeches, 
 
 Because he brought me royally 
 His biggest plums and peaches, 
 
 And always at the door would wait 
 
 To carry home my books and slate- 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 "They couldn't see"— with pout and (ling- 
 
 " The mighty fascination 
 About that little snub-nosed thing 
 
 To win such admiration ; 
 As if there weren't a dozen girls 
 With nicer eyes and longer curls ! " 
 
 And this I knew as well as they, 
 
 And never could see clearly 
 Why more than Marion or May 
 
 I should be loved so dearly. 
 So once I asked him, why was this ? 
 He only answered with a kiss. 
 
 Until I teased him—' 1 Tell me why — 
 I want to know the reason ; " 
 
 When from the garden-bed close by, 
 (The pansies were in season) 
 
 He plucked and gave a flower to me, 
 
 With sweet and simple gravity. 
 
 "The garden is in bloom," be said, 
 " With lilies pale and slender, 
 
 With roses and verbenas red, 
 
 And fuchias' purple splendor; 
 
 But over and above the rest, 
 
 This little heartsease suits me best." 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 "Am I your little heartsease, then ? " 
 I asked with blushing pleasure : 
 He answered yes ! and yes again - 
 
 Heartsease, and dearest treasure ; 
 That the round world and all the sea 
 Held nothing half so sweet as me '. 
 
 I listened with a proud delight 
 
 Too rare for words to capture, 
 Kor ever dreamed what sudden blight 
 
 Would come to chill my rapture, 
 Could I forsee the tender bloom 
 Of pansies round a little tomb. 
 
 Life holds some stern experience, 
 
 As most of us discover, 
 And I've had other losses since 
 
 I lost my little lover ; 
 But still this purple pansy brings 
 
 Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 SULIFTIX-G 
 
 Y soul to-day 
 
 Is far away, 
 Sailing the Vesuvian Bay ; 
 
 My winged boat, 
 
 A bird afloat, 
 Swims round the purple peaks remote. 
 
 Round purple peaks 
 
 It sails, and seeks 
 Blue inlets in their crystal creeks, 
 
 "Where high rocks throw 
 
 Through deeps below 
 A duplicated golden glow. 
 
 Far, vague, and dim, 
 
 The mountains swim ; 
 While on Vesuvius' misty rim, 
 
 With outstretched hands, 
 
 The grey smoke stands, 
 O'erlooking the volcanic lands. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Here Ischia smiles 
 
 O'er liquid miles ; 
 And yonder, bluest of the isles, 
 
 Calm Capri waits, 
 
 Her sapphire gates, 
 Beguiling to her bright estates. 
 
 I heed not, if 
 
 My rippling skiff 
 Floats swift or slow from cliff to cliff ; 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Under the walls of Paradise. 
 
 Under the walls, 
 
 Where swells and falls 
 The Bay's deep breast at intervals, 
 
 At peace I lie 
 
 Blown softly by, 
 A cloud upon this liquid sky. 
 
 The day so mild, 
 
 Is Heaven's own child, 
 With Earth and Ocean reconciled ; 
 
 The airs I feel 
 
 Around me steal 
 Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. 
 
SONUS ADRIFT 
 
 Over the rail 
 
 My hand I trail 
 Within the shadow of the sail, 
 
 A joy intense, 
 
 A cooling sense 
 ( Hides down my drowsy indolence. 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Where summer sings and never dies, 
 
 O'erveiled with vines, 
 
 She glows and shines 
 Among her future oil and wines. 
 
 Her children hid 
 
 The cliffs amid, 
 Are gamboling with the gamboling kid, 
 
 Or down the walls 
 
 AVith tipsy calls, 
 Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. 
 
 The fisher's child, 
 
 W r ith tresses wild, 
 Unto the smooth, white sands beguiled, 
 
 With glowing lips 
 
 Sings as she skips, 
 Or gazes at the far-off ships. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Yon deep barque goes 
 
 Where traffic blows 
 From lands of sun to lands of snows ; 
 
 This happier one 
 
 Its course is run 
 From lands of snow to lands of sun. 
 
 Oh, happy ship, 
 
 To rise'and dip, 
 With the blue crystal at your lip ! 
 
 Oh, happy crew, 
 
 My heart with you 
 Sails and sails, and sings anew ! 
 
 No nioi'e, no more, 
 
 The worldly shore 
 Upbraids me with its wild uproar ! 
 
 With dreamful eyes 
 
 My spirit lies 
 Under the walls of Paradise ! 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 TMJE -G^'OIfD. 
 
 A Tail op Long Ago. 
 
 Q^^O 
 
 ITH a biscuit in my pocket and a hammer in 
 
 my hand, 
 Chipping bits from off the strata that were 
 
 "cropping" o'er the land, 
 Wearied out, at length I rested by a fracture 
 
 fresh and new, 
 And gazed in languid humor at the thing it 
 
 brought to view ; 
 I had found an ancient casket that Agassiz 
 
 e'en would hail, 
 
 When he saw beneath its cover that a ganoid 
 curled his tail. 
 
 It was lying half imbedded in its matrix in the stone, 
 
 And scintillating round it, bright micaceous fragments shone ; 
 
 And I thought of all the weary, sad, and slow-revolving years 
 
 Since the earth commenced her circling search for light among the 
 
 spheres, 
 And the huge ichthyosaurus must have felt his courage fail 
 In the turbulence around him when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 When from out the turbid ocean seethed an atmosphere of steam, 
 And the waves refused in darkness to reflect a single beam, 
 And barren rocks, that dimly rose, like spectres, from the waste, 
 Glared grimly for a little while, and disappeared in haste ; 
 Melted down with heat and horror— even gneiss could not prevail 
 In those liquidating eras when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
 Check the onward march of Nature, and reverse the wheels of Time, 
 From the morn when Eden blossomed in its freshness and its prime ; 
 Roll it backward, roll it backward— backward still, and backward more 
 Through cycles till the effort strains the mind till it is sore, 
 Still a nebula beyond you, down within the Past's dim vale, 
 Are those years uuchronologic when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
 And I thought of all the struggles that we make with such ado 
 To preserve our names from sinking for a century or two ; 
 How the deeds of warrior, poet, stern philosopher or sage, 
 Are writ in brilliant letters on the Past's historic page ; 
 And yet the years the best have won are but a fabric frail 
 By the grand unnumbered eras when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
 You're satisfied with glory, and you think the thing is done — 
 
 If you perish in the conflict— when a marble bust is won. 
 
 Here's a rival — look upon-him — he is not a carved ideal, 
 
 For a lime infusion keeps him still original and real. 
 
 The antiseptic properties of Fame would prove but frail 
 
 Had you done your deeds of wonder when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
S O K G S ADRIFT 
 
 Perhaps in scaly armor, up and down those ancient seas, 
 
 Roamed lie, with a restless appetite that nothing could appease, 
 Crushing shoals and hosts of heings, every one of which that ran 
 Would, in course of time and season, have "developed" up to man : 
 But " Fata sic Profulgent," and we only may bewail 
 Our dear relations slaughtered when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
 But it is a sad reflection — sad and stern enough for tears. 
 To know that blood and carnage trail along the track of years ; 
 That Love, and Peace, and Mercy had not even then began 
 To sow the seeds of quiet for the future coming man, 
 And the cries of God's first creatures were a universal wail, 
 Of fierce and brutal conflict when this ganoid curled his tail. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 TWE ZXXTZS PjMPJLjE. 
 
 dreary place would be this earth 
 "Were there no little people in it ; 
 
 The song of life would lose its mirth, 
 Were there no children to begin it. 
 
 No little forms like buds to grow, 
 
 And make the admiring heart surrender; 
 No little hands on breast and brow, 
 
 To keep the thrilling love-chords tender. 
 
 No babe within our arms to leap, 
 
 No little feet toward slumber tending ; 
 
 No little knee in prayer to bend, 
 
 Our lips to theirs the sweet words lending. 
 
 What would the ladies do for work, 
 
 Were there no pants or jackets tearing; 
 
 No tiny dresses to embroider ; 
 
 No cradle for their watchful caring ? 
 
SONfIS ADRIFT 41 
 
 No rosy boys at wintry-morn, 
 
 With satchel to the school-house hasting ; 
 No merry shouts as home they rush ; 
 
 No precious morsel for their tasting. 
 
 Tall, grave, grown people at the door, 
 
 Tall, grave, grown people at the table ; 
 
 The men on business all intent, 
 
 The dames lugubrious as they're able. 
 
 The sterner souls would get more stern, 
 Unfeeling natures more inhuman ; 
 
 And men to stoic coldness turn, 
 
 And woman would be less than woman. 
 
 Life's song indeed would lose its charm, 
 Were there no babies to begin it ; 
 
 A doleful place this world would be, 
 Were there no little people in it. 
 
 6* 
 
_ 
 
 SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 #0T li^owiw. 
 
 know not what will befall me ! God hangs a mist o'er 
 
 f:y C©2] "JUl 11 my eyes ' 
 
 And o'er each step of my onward path he makes new 
 scenes to rise; 
 '-y Ni And every joy he sends me comes as a sweet and glad 
 ■■■( (/ surprise. 
 
 (p) i, I see not a step before me as I tread the days of the 
 year; 
 But the Past is still in God's keeping ; the Future 
 
 his mercy shall clear ; 
 And what looks dark in the distance may brighten 
 as I draw near. 
 
 For perhaps the dreaded Future has less bitterness than I think ; 
 The Lord may sweeten the water before I stoop to drink ; 
 Or, if Marah must be Marah, he will stand beside its brink. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 It may be there is waiting for the coming of my feet, 
 
 Some gift of B'uch rare blessedness, some joy so strangely sweet, 
 
 That my lips can only tremble with the thanks I cannot, speak. 
 
 restful, blissful Ignorance ! 'Tis blessed not to know ! 
 It keeps me quiet in those arms which will not let me go, 
 And hushes my soul to rest on the bosom which loves me so. 
 
 So I go on, not knowing! I would not if I might ; 
 
 1 would rather walk in the dark with God, than go alone in the light ; 
 I would rather walk with him by faith than walk alone hy sight. 
 
 My heart shrinks back from trials which the Future may disclose, 
 
 Yet, I never had a sorrow but what the dear Lord chose ; 
 
 So I send the coming. tears back with the whispered words, " He knows. 1 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 ^ $0#G 'OF £ $JEST. 
 
 HERE was once a nest in a hollow- 
 Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed- 
 
 Soft and warm, and full to the brim ; 
 
 Vetches leaned over it, purple and dim, 
 With butter-cup buds to follow. 
 
 I pray you, hear my song of a nest, 
 
 For it is not long; 
 You shall never light in a sunnier quest 
 
 The bushes among— 
 Shall never light on a prouder sitter— 
 
 A fairer nestful— nor ever know 
 
 A softer sound than their tender twitter, 
 
 That, wind-like, did come and go. 
 
 I had a nestful, once, of my own— 
 
 Ah ! happy, happy I ! 
 Right dearly I loved them ; but when they were grown, 
 
 They spread out their wings to fly. 
 
SONGS A DEI FT 
 
 ! one after one they flew away, 
 
 Far up in the heavenly blue — 
 
 To the better country, the upper day, 
 
 And — I wish I was going, too ! 
 
 1 pray you, what is the nest to me — 
 
 My empty nest? 
 And what is the shore where I stood to see 
 
 My boat sail down to the West ? 
 Can I call that home where I anchor yet, 
 
 Though my good man has sailed ? 
 Can 1 call that home where my nest was set, 
 Now all its hopes have failed ? 
 
 Nay ! but the port where my sailor went, 
 And the land where my nestlings be — 
 
 There is the home where my thoughts are sent- 
 The only home for me. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Xeaves if) at are ^Fairest. 
 
 Q^^§b) 
 
 EAVES that are fairest 
 
 Soonest decay, 
 Loved ones the rarest 
 
 Soon pass away; 
 Smiles that are brightest 
 
 Soonest grow cold, 
 Tales that are lightest 
 
 Soonest are told. 
 
 But the leaf and the tale give us joy while they last, 
 And the smile of a friend makes a joy of the past; 
 For memory preserves in its tender embrace 
 The sunbeams of life as they flashed on his face. 
 
 Fortunes the proudest 
 Fly with the years, 
 
 Laughter the loudest 
 Softens to tears. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 Joys the completest 
 
 Last but an hour, 
 Perfumes the sweetest 
 
 Die with the flower. 
 
 But why should we sigh for the joys that have fled, 
 Or mourn the fond hopes that are lost with the dead? 
 Fresh hopes and new joys coming seasons will bring, 
 As perfumes will return with the roses of Spring. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 •G-OOV-'PY. 
 
 5 OD be with you ! through my losing 
 And my grieving, shall I say ? 
 Through my smiling and my hoping- 
 God be with you, friends, to-day ! 
 
 Somewhere, on a shore of silver, 
 (God be with you on the way !) 
 
 In a sunlight sifted richly 
 
 From a thousand skies of May. 
 
 In the meanings of the sunrise, 
 In the soul of summer rain, 
 
 In the heart of purple hazes, 
 
 We will not say Good-by again. 
 
 But the tears dash through my dreaming, 
 And the thing I fain would say, 
 
 Falters into this — this only ; 
 
 God be with you till that day! 
 
S I ) N t ■ S A I) R I F T 
 
 n-ow snuwE- 
 
 OW strange it will be, love, how strange, when we 
 two 
 Shall be what all lovers become, 
 You, frigid and faithless, I cold and untrue, 
 You thoughtless of me, and I careless of you, 
 Our pet names grown rusty with nothing to do, 
 Love's bright web unravelled, and rent, and worn 
 through, 
 And life's loom left empty— ah, hum ! 
 Ah, me, 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
 How strange it will be when the witchery goes, 
 
 Which makes me seem lovely to-day ; 
 When your thought of me loses its couleuk de rose, 
 When every day serves some new fault to disclose, 
 When you find I've cold eyes and an every day nose, 
 And wonder you could for a moment suppose 
 I was out of the commonplace way ; 
 Ah, me, 
 How strange it will be. 
 
SONGS ADRIFT 
 
 How strange it will be, love — how strange when we meet, 
 
 With just a chill touch of the hand ! 
 When my pulses no longer delightedly beat 
 At the thought of your coming, the sound of your feet, 
 When I watch not your going, far down the long street, 
 When your dear, loving voice, now so thrillingly sweet, 
 Grows harsh in reproach or command ; 
 Ah, me, 
 How strange it will be. 
 
 How strange it will be when we willingly stay 
 
 Divided the weary day through ! 
 Or, getting remotely apart as we may, 
 Sit .chilly and silent, with nothing to say, 
 Or cooly converse on the news of the day 
 In a wearisome, old married folks sort of way ! 
 I shrink from the picture ; don't you ? 
 Ah, me, 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
 Dear love, if our hearts do grow torpid and old, 
 
 As so many others have done ; 
 If we let our love perish with hunger and cold, 
 If we dim all life's diamonds and tarnish its gold, 
 Jf we choose to live wretched and die unconsoled, 
 'Twill be strangest of all things that ever were told 
 As happening under the sun ! 
 Ah, me, 
 How strange it will be ! 
 
SONUS ADRIFT 
 
 One cf the Sweet 'Old 'Chapter, 
 
 NE of the sweet old chapters, 
 
 After a day like this ; 
 The day brought tears and trouble, 
 The evening brings no kiss. 
 
 No rest in the arms I long for — 
 Rest and refuge and home ; 
 
 Grieved, and lonely, and weary, 
 Unto the Book I come. 
 
 One of the sweet old chapters, 
 
 The love that blossoms through 
 
 His care of the birds and lilies, 
 Out in the meadow dew. 
 
 His evening lies soft around them 
 Their faith is simply to be. 
 
 O, hushed by the tender lesson, 
 My God, let me rest in thee ! 
 
c. A. Mecaskey W. li. Sheafee il. C. Sheafer 
 
 C. A. MECASKEY & CO. 
 
 Goldsmiths and Manufacturing Jewelers, 
 
 No. 90S Chestnut Street? 
 
 (SECOND FLOOR) 
 
 PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 A R E NOW OFFERING E L E G A N T 
 
 HOLIDAY aOODS 
 
 OF THEIR OWN MAKE, 
 
 C^A T R E T A I L-^> 
 
 As we manufacture our own goods, ive are able to dispense with 
 the profits of the Jobber and the Retailer, and thus sell at prices 
 lower than good work can be procured anywhere else in the City. 
 Our stock of Chains of all kinds, Ladies Sets, Rings, Bracelets, Locket's, 
 Watches, Pins, Diamond Work, and everv description of Fine Jewelry, 
 is large and in the latest style. 
 
 c^i^ORDER WORK A SPECIALTY v~0