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Ui8RARrof'oON«fiE33| 
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 JUN 26 1^08 
 
 
 11 
 
 o8 
 
 Copyright. 1908. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH HELENE FRESTON 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. GEORGE WELLINGTON BUTTS 
 
 To you, the friend of girlhood's happy day 
 I bring this offspring of maturer years. 
 Together oft we danced the hours away, 
 Together wept our April showers of tears. 
 
 New friends are good and golden promise give, 
 But old friends are gold promises made true, 
 If they are ever loyal, steadfast, kind, 
 In stress and storm as when the skies are blue. 
 
COITTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 The Unwritten Page i 
 
 The Human Heart 3 
 
 The Golden Wedding 5 
 
 Unrepentent 9 
 
 Temptation 11 
 
 The Argument 14 
 
 Memories 20 
 
 A Sonnet of Negation 22 
 
 In Bohemia 23 
 
 The Old Refrain 29 
 
 My Dream 31 
 
 The Magic Kiss 33 
 
 My Bridge 35 
 
 A Perfect Day ^6 
 
 If Your Hand Lead 38 
 
 Mistress Charity 39 
 
 Love's Plea 41 
 
ii Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Yearning 43 
 
 Mizpah 45 
 
 A Broken Promise 48 
 
 You Will Remember 50 
 
 Drifting Together 52 
 
 The Rose of the Southlands 54 
 
 A Song of Home 56 
 
 To the Poet 58 
 
 Deserted 60 
 
 Uncle Sam's Revery 62 
 
 In the Country 65 
 
 Good-Bye, Old Year 66 
 
 Lil Cullud Angel Chile 69 
 
 The Hero's Mother 70 
 
 A Conversation Heard in Hades ^X) 
 
 In Memoriam TJ 
 
 The Promise 80 
 
 A Magdalen's Prayer 83 
 
 Hudson's Tide 85 
 
 A Reply 87 
 
 A Soul's Cry , 89 
 
 Unrequited 91 
 
 Lullaby. 93 
 
 Her Picture 95 
 
Contents. iii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Letter loo 
 
 Christmas Eve 107 
 
 The Hebrew Mother 109 
 
 The Motor Feminine 114 
 
 Italia's Fornarina 126 
 
 Three of Us 143 
 
THE UNWRITTEN PAGE 
 
 Thou pure, white page. 
 There is no friend like thee! 
 
 For patience rare, 
 And kindly sympathy. 
 
 Thou dost not check nor chill 
 The ready flow 
 
 Of thoughts that leave 
 The human heart aglow. 
 
 No lover thou, 
 To silence, with a kiss, 
 
 The lips that urge 
 Some burning thought amiss. 
 
 No friend to look askance 
 At words too bold. 
 
 Or frown, because we find 
 The world so cold. 
 
poems 
 
 No fear with thee 
 To reach too far or wide,— » 
 
 To spread the wings 
 That heaven doth provide. 
 So do I come to thee in joy, and fain 
 Over thy whiteness would I pour my pain. 
 
Jfre0tott 
 
 iTHE HUMAN HEART 
 
 I do not sing of birds or flowers. 
 Of sobbing winds or zephyr's sigh; 
 Of starry spheres, of sunlit bowers, 
 Nor of the shades of sea or sky. 
 
 I fain would sweep the vibrant chords. 
 That string the pulsing human heart. 
 And from their passion and their pain, 
 Would sound the melodies of art. 
 
 A Milton may lift up his voice. 
 And tell of God's angelic host. 
 But I am human, and to sound 
 The human heart is all my boast. 
 
 That I would know in all its hues, — • 
 Its highest heaven, its lowest hell, — • 
 Its soaring wings and leaden welghts,- 
 AU that the poet's pen may tell. 
 
Jpoem^ 
 
 If I can touch one aching chord 
 And hush its moaning, — drive away 
 The vultures from some dying hope, 
 And show to shattered dreams a ray 
 
 Of something fairer than the dream,— 
 A courage that shall triumph yet, — ^ 
 For this dear gift of poesy 
 I surely shall have paid my debt. 
 
 Let others sing of birds and flowers, 
 Of sunsets fair in rose and gold, 
 But I would sing the human heart. 
 And all the wonders it can hold. 
 
ffxmon 
 
 THE GOLDEN WEDDING 
 
 (To the guests.) 
 
 In a land of beauty and old romance, 
 
 Many miles across the sea, 
 
 I once met a lassie, saucy and bold, 
 
 Who stole my heart from me. 
 
 Her eyes were the color of heaven's own blue 
 
 And her cheeks had the rose's glow; 
 
 They were flushed by a heart that beat healthy 
 
 and true. 
 Full fifty years ago. 
 
 As I gladly look about me here 
 On this goodly company. 
 
 There is none of them all that can even com- 
 pare 
 With the girl that she used to be. 
 The girl that flew over the Connaught hills 
 With a step as light as a doe, — 
 She needed no paint nor powder nor frills 
 Just fifty years ago. 
 
6 Poem0 
 
 She was ready to laugh at the hearts that were 
 
 caught 
 In the strands of her chestnut curls, 
 And I smile even yet at the pranks she played, 
 For she was the wildest of girls. 
 She led me a dance that I'll not forget. 
 But at last I'd a chance to "crow," 
 For I outstripped all rivals and won the prize 
 Just fifty years ago. 
 
 (To the mother.) 
 
 And many the gifts that God sent us, wife, 
 
 For daughters and sons followed fast, 
 
 And each little hand drew the cords of love 
 
 Closer 'round each heart to the last. 
 
 And I often prayed that my boys might choose, — 
 
 As I watched them to manhood grow, — 
 
 A wife as true as their father won 
 
 Just fifty years ago. 
 
 Many a worry has jarred our life. 
 
 And many a cross word said. 
 
 But 'twas never the fault of the heart, dear 
 
 wife, 
 'Twas always the fault of the head; 
 And those things slipped into the little graves 
 And were covered up with the woe, 
 
Jfre0tott 7 
 
 That shadowed our hearthstone many a time, 
 Since fifty years ago. 
 
 But there never was yet a cloud so dark 
 
 But some simHght sifted through, 
 
 For you had ever my faithful love 
 
 And I ever the thought of you. 
 
 So hand clasped in hand we bravely met 
 
 And battled with every woe, — 
 
 With the strength that is known to united 
 
 hearts, — 
 Since fifty years ago. 
 
 The years rolled on, with their sunshine and 
 
 shade, 
 And your laugh was not quite so gay, 
 And the sun-kissed tresses began to fade, 
 As your youth was slipping away. 
 The blue of your eyes has dimmed, dear wife, 
 And age gave his crown of snow. 
 But you're fairer and dearer to me to-day 
 Than fifty years ago. 
 
 We have wandered many a weary mile 
 
 And oft were our eyelids wet, 
 
 But in spite of the sorrows that checked our 
 
 smile 
 We never once knew regret; 
 
8 Poem0 
 
 For I know that your heart never wished unsaid 
 The vows that you whispered low, 
 As we bound our Hves at the ahar's foot 
 Just fifty years ago. 
 
 The journey is almost over, wife. 
 
 We shall soon be nearing the goal. 
 
 But we've left many mile-stones to mark our 
 
 way. 
 That will still bear the stamp of each soul; 
 And many a fireside we never may see. 
 Shall hear memories oft spoken low. 
 Of you and of me, who were bride and groom, 
 Just fifty years ago. 
 
 (To the guests.) 
 
 Now fill your glasses and drink a toast 
 
 To all that I mean to name, — 
 
 To the girls and the boys that have blessed our 
 
 home. 
 And the children that to them came. 
 To the alien branches grafted on 
 This good old family tree! 
 And oh ! my native land to-day, 
 We'll drink a toast to thee ! 
 But the fullest bumper of all, I say, 
 You'll drain before you go, 
 To the bonny bride your father won 
 Just fifty years ago. 
 
jfre0ton 
 
 UNREPENTENT 
 
 Of all the fates that crossed my own, — • 
 Of all the men that I have known, 
 'Tis strange that thou shouldst be 
 The one to hold the torch of fire 
 That set aflame my heart's desire, 
 And made it burn for thee. 
 
 I ask not if a love as strong 
 Meets mine, nor if your heart, as long 
 As mine, may faithful stay! 
 With open hands, I give my gold 
 To the last grain, — nothing withhold, 
 Nor haggle for my pay. 
 
 That heart is poor and weak and small. 
 
 That counts each heart throb, — numbers all 
 
 The pulsings of its pain. 
 
 And, "so much have I given!" say, 
 
 "So much on such and such a day. 
 
 You must return the same." 
 
10 Poem0 
 
 You gave me rapture, and I give 
 
 Body and heart and soul, and live 
 
 Vassal alone to thee. 
 
 Love me as long as love is joy, 
 
 Nor let one troubled thought annoy. 
 
 Nor fear reproach from me. 
 
 The world will say that I am wrong, 
 
 And often from the soulless throng 
 
 Will hiss the word, "Disgrace!" 
 
 But when I stand before God's throne, — 
 
 Either with you, or quite alone, — 
 
 I'll meet Him face to face ! 
 
 For He must know the soul He made 
 Was dowered too richly for mere trade 
 In dull Convention's mart ; 
 Too strong to wear the bonds of creeds. 
 Too brave to whine o'er perished deeds. 
 Too true to sell the heart. 
 
 "Those who aspire and they who love !'* 
 A poet's pen once strove to prove 
 The rest are lower down; 
 And I, who love and who aspire, — 
 Reach for and snatch Prometheus's fire, — 
 Smile at each pygmy's frown. 
 
jFre0ton " 
 
 TEMPTATION 
 
 Yes, it is hard to walk this way, 
 That's called the "path of duty," 
 
 And never let the glances stray 
 
 Towards Wrong's seductive beauty. 
 
 I look before me as I go 
 
 And see no star to lure me, — 
 
 No sunny spot, that of an hour 
 Of joy can yet assure me. 
 
 Sorrow and empty-hearted pain 
 Walk by my side in sadness 
 
 And keep afar the merry spright 
 That scatters flowers of gladness. 
 
 I look again and feel each pulse 
 Grow quicker at the beauty 
 
 Of that fair vista of a love, 
 That leads away from duty. 
 
12 Poem0 
 
 There Cupid, with arch, laughing face, 
 
 Beckons me on to follow ; 
 There Sympathy holds forth a hand 
 
 With promise for to-morrow. 
 
 There Fame sits in the sunlight fair, 
 Bright laurel leaves entwining, 
 
 While on a tender bed of bloom, 
 Joy's soft limbs are reclining. 
 
 And o'er it and above it all, 
 Thy tender eyes still call me. 
 
 And oh ! I yearn to follow them. 
 Whatever fate befall ! 
 
 I am too blind to see the blight 
 "Upon the rose-leaves falling; — 
 
 Too blind to see the trail that's left 
 By serpents o'er their crawling; 
 
 Too fond am I of that fair sight. 
 To look beyond its glowing. 
 
 And mark the crouching, dark Despair, 
 Toward Desolation going. 
 
 Oh, could we side by side, 
 
 Have walked this rugged way together, 
 Then, oh, my love ! we had no need 
 
 To ever question "Whither?" 
 
JFre0ton 13 
 
 But ties are bound about thy life, 
 
 Thy manhood cannot sever, 
 Nor my poor woman's heart forget. 
 
 Though we are parted ever. 
 
 Still oft I turn my longing eyes 
 Back o'er Love's way and beauty, 
 
 While yet, with slow and weary step, 
 I walk the way of duty. 
 
14 poems 
 
 "THE ARGUMENT' 
 
 My lovely cousin, sweet Elizabeth, 
 
 Came, when the roses come to bloom for us 
 
 And shed the fragrance of bright health and 
 
 youth 
 And merry presence by my Helen's side. 
 My Helen, — my best treasure, my dear wife! — 
 Had been her school-mate ere she came to me, 
 To crown my life and make it all complete 
 With that best gift, a noble woman's love. 
 
 A very Princess Royal in her soul 
 
 And in her look is young Elizabeth, 
 
 While my dear love is gentle, with soft eyes, 
 
 But strong and brave and altogether true. 
 
 The day was bright and warm, — a perfect day. 
 
 With fleecy clouds floating through realms of 
 
 blue. 
 W^ith book in hand, I sought the pleasant shade 
 Afforded by a summer-house near by. 
 O'er which the woodbine climbed luxuriantly 
 And into which the roses shyly peeped. 
 
There I ensconsed myself and read my book, — 
 'Twas on the Social Question — till the sound 
 Of voices broke the hush that brooded o'er 
 The quiet spot. I laid my book aside 
 And listened, without shame, to all they said. 
 My cousin's voice first reached me, the rich tone 
 Holding a something almost petulant. 
 
 "What can a woman do?" "Why sympathize," 
 My Helen answered with a tender smile, 
 "Cheer on the lagging spirit up life's road, 
 And light the pathway by ambition trod ! 
 Pluck from life's roses all the cruel thorns" — 
 "And have them pierce and make her own 
 hand bleed!" — 
 
 The restless voice of proud Elizabeth 
 Broke in upon the other's calmer tone. 
 "E'en so," she answered, "but the wounds will 
 
 heal 
 While smoothing pillows for an aching head. 
 Or soothing chafed and weary hearts to rest. 
 Her lot in life is to be sentinel, — 
 To weep, to watch, to pray" — 
 
 "I grant all that ! 
 All that is well and truly woman's work. 
 
i6 Poem0 
 
 For men have greater things than those to 
 
 do!" 
 My cousin answered with a lofty scorn. 
 "To weep is woman's share, to watch and pray 
 Are also hcr's! What good is in all that?" 
 ''To weep is good, for see how Nature's tears 
 Bring forth the bloom, and make earth beauti- 
 ful. 
 To watch and conquer in the strife with sin 
 And crush the serpent's head! is it not well? 
 To pray ! ah, surely cousin you must own 
 The angels bend from heaven to hear us pray!" 
 "They bend too far!" She answered scorn- 
 fully, 
 "They see our every flaw and every sin 
 They write down carefully, — let nothing pass, 
 And we are made to suffer for them all. 
 While man goes free, — the froward, favored 
 child!" 
 
 "Now, cousin, you're unjust!" my wife replied. 
 " 'Thou shalt not sin,' was meant for all of us, 
 But many things are hidden from our sight 
 That's clear to God's, and it may even be 
 Men find it harder to be good than we. 
 For, cousin, God is always truly just." 
 
 "Why 'tis but just tliat he should love the most 
 
jFre0ton 17 
 
 That which comes nearest to his image, man! 
 What poet said 'We get no Christ from you?' 
 And she meant women, 'tis the sex no doubt 
 God does not love us as He loves His own." 
 
 *'No Christ from us ! ah, no !" my Helen said, — 
 Her voice was softly thrilling in its tone, — 
 "Because, in all those many, many years. 
 There has been but one Christ and He a God ; 
 But from the maidens of Judea fair, 
 He chose His help-mate to redeem the world." 
 
 "And faithfully she did obey His will. 
 And patiently she suffered for His sake. 
 It is what mothers oft since then have done. 
 For suffering, as you say, is woman's forte. 
 But, oh, the power! the liberty of man! 
 
 To stand among his fellows, lord of them! 
 To carve a name upon the ages' breast 
 As lasting as the ages! That were life! 
 The brain is sexless, also is the soul. 
 Why can not they soar to the highest heaven 
 And bring back treasures for the good of all? 
 But thought and soul in woman's form are weak 
 And puny, made no doubt to match her arms." 
 
i8 poems 
 
 "A noble thing indeed is liberty, 
 And yet," my Helen answered, laughing low, 
 "Oft held in check by feeble woman's hands. 
 When Shakespeare leaned against his casement 
 
 pane 
 And listened to the voices of the stars 
 And heard the strong pulse-beats of Nature's 
 
 heart. 
 Or grieved with Juliet in her dreary tomb. 
 Has not Miranda's fairy isle or Juliet's woe 
 
 Fled from the harsh voice of Anne Hathaway, 
 As she commanded her infatuate spouse 
 To 'close the casement 'gainst the chill night air 
 And cut the kindling for to-morrow's fire?' 
 Whenever some great deed of some great man 
 Strikes at the world and makes it pulses thrill, 
 A woman's hand has guided on the blow, — 
 Is it not woman who plants in the boy's 
 Young, fertile heart the seed of noble thought? 
 And from the noble thought spring noble deeds ! 
 
 Ah, love, you wear your royal robes too light. 
 That glorious womanhood hath clothed you in. 
 If you can fail to see how great you are ! 
 What matter though our tasks be little ones ? 
 What matter that we miss the world's applause? 
 The fruit is good and by it God will judge, 
 
jFre0ton 19 
 
 We brighten poverty and make a home 
 About us, even in the wilderness. 
 We love unswervingly unto the end 
 And suffer silently for those we love" — 
 
 "Why that is but to be a willing slave, 
 To fetch, to carry and to kneel in thanks 
 If but our masters nod a curt "Well done!" 
 
 "We love our bondage dear Elizabeth 
 And would not change it for your liberty. 
 You, too, will bow that haughty head of yours 
 When your heart thrills beneath a Master's 
 eyes." 
 
 "Not I ! I There's the dinner bell and I 
 
 Have still to change my gown ! Let's run for it !** 
 A rustle of quick-moving silken skirts, 
 A patter of small feet and once again 
 The peaceful quiet brooded o'er the scene. 
 
20 Poem0 
 
 MEMORIES 
 
 The fires of anger hotly, fiercely flame 
 
 For you ! for you ! 
 No longer in my prayers I speak your name, 
 And from my heart rings out a cry of blame! — 
 
 "Untrue! Untrue!" 
 
 Hate stands on guard beside the yearning heart, 
 
 That troubles me, 
 To keep all weak relentings far apart. 
 And stir the waning embers with his art 
 
 Of cruelty. 
 
 Reason, too, points to cheek still burning red, 
 
 You struck one day; 
 And Justice comes, with calm and stately tread. 
 To say, with sober mien and lifted head. 
 
 He shall repay! 
 
 But from the past, a picture will arise. 
 
 To me, how fair! 
 Lithe lips, — whose every smile was once a 
 
 prize, — 
 Clear-sighted, deep and black-lashed, keen gray 
 eyes. 
 
 And raven hair. 
 
jfteston 
 
 21 
 
 Together we! away from all on earth! 
 
 On a lone star! 
 And for that flight, — how worth — how wildly 
 
 worth 
 The broken wing ! Despair's unholy birth. 
 And every scar! 
 
 Again I hear the tender voice of old, 
 
 Saying "Why Girl! 
 I would not cause you pain for untold gold ! 
 Beyond all treasure, sweetheart, so I hold 
 
 Your smallest curl!" 
 
 Through bold, rebellious strands of ebon hair 
 
 My fingers stray. 
 I close the flashing eyes with kisses rare, 
 And feel the touch of lips so warm, so fair, — 
 
 Alas! That day! 
 
 Love wakes and moans, then cries aloud for 
 thee. 
 
 With yearning cry ! 
 Pride smites him on the mouth and bids him be 
 Hushed! So the strife goes on, while still with 
 me 
 
 Love will not die ! 
 
22 Poem0 
 
 A SONNET OF NEGATION 
 
 Nay, dear, no question such as Proteus* love, — • 
 Fair Juliet, asked him shall be framed by me. 
 I have no fear of being despised by thee 
 Because the power of love I dared to prove. 
 If thou'st said truly, then to Eden's grove 
 My hand has guided, — all its joys to see, — 
 Past Seraphs' flaming swords. Should it not be 
 A cause of praise to thee, though God reprove? 
 And if the hand that turned aside the blade 
 Be burned and scarred, 'tis thine to kiss the 
 
 wound, — 
 'Twas for thy sake. Upon thy heart be laid 
 The burden of all wrong; and to the sound 
 Of God's accusing voice I'll say "Thou'st made 
 The heart strings that Love strung to Passion's 
 
 song." 
 
Jfresfton v> 
 
 IN BOHEMIA 
 
 We have salads and cock-tails and sweet mono- 
 poles 
 
 And an evening of pleasure before us; 
 
 Soft, rose-tinted lights to aid eloquences' flow, 
 
 And two men who declare they adore us. 
 
 But, alas! the curled rose-leaf that always pro- 
 claims 
 
 That something must mar every pleasure, 
 
 Is the fact of your absence, — if you were but 
 here, 
 
 Then joy would be ours in full measure. 
 
 My friend sits and stares, open-eyed with sur- 
 prise, 
 
 As though she believed me demented. 
 
 Having near me a brace of such dear, charming 
 boys. 
 
 To confess myself still discontented; 
 
 But somebody's absence leaves a blank hard to 
 fill, 
 
 No matter how good the remaining. 
 
24 Paem0 
 
 And if I should say I do not miss you still, 
 
 I should certainly be only feigning. 
 
 Our friend of the palette and brush now looks 
 
 grave; 
 He is planning, I know, illustrations, 
 To win first of all, your approval and smile. 
 And then win the praise of the nations. 
 Eladio has been for an hour holding forth, — • 
 As often in past times of leisure, — 
 He claims that the truest philosophy still, 
 Is the search of that phantom called Pleasure. 
 
 Oh, sip the sweetness of to-day 1 
 
 Why think of a to-morrow? 
 Drink deep the draught of love and joyl 
 
 A truce to care and sorrow I 
 
 If Psyche dies with the first kiss, 
 Why, drop the brittle creature! 
 
 And chase anew those winged flowers, — 
 The butterflies of nature. 
 
 What path so sweet, as on through life, 
 
 Fate forces us to advance. 
 As that fair way the poets call 
 
 The "Primrose path of dalliance." 
 
jFce0ton ^ 
 
 But if I thus poach on Elaciio's ground, 
 
 I fear he will not think me charming, 
 
 A danger, my friend, I'd not risk for the 
 
 world, — 
 The thought of it is quite alarming! 
 I wonder what fate will the years bring to us,— 
 The four that are here and one wanted — 
 For some of us now, though unknown, I am 
 
 sure, 
 Shall the paen of praise yet be chanted. 
 
 When you, the great actor, unspoiled by the 
 
 praise, 
 And the blame that will come in full measure, 
 Shall look back on these old Bohemian days, 
 With a sense of regret yet of pleasure. 
 And wonder if this lifeless wreath of green bays, 
 That rests on the hair now grown grayer, 
 Was worth all the struggle or one of those days, 
 When love was free gift, and Hfe gayer. 
 
 And he, the young artist, whose nimble brush 
 
 now 
 Depicts most of all ballet ladies. 
 With skirts very short and with kicks very tall — 
 The last one I named modest Madies — 
 Will never let Italy's skies of fair blue. 
 Nor his pictures in Paris salon, 
 
26 poems 
 
 Blot out the dear memory of friends leal and 
 
 true, 
 Nor those merry old days that are gone. 
 
 And, Laddie, — as Senor Eladio, I know 
 
 I shall see him, a crowned prince of song, 
 
 Bow low to the thousand who hang on his voice, 
 
 And smile at the rapturous throng. 
 
 The feted of many, the worshiped of all, 
 
 Still his heart will turn back I am sure. 
 
 To the days of the studio, — dear vanished days, 
 
 When we all were so rich, although poor. 
 
 And she, my girl friend, with the tender brown 
 
 eyes. 
 What future does Fate hold in store? 
 A wife and a mother, a life wisely planned. 
 What woman could ask any more? 
 I can fancy her saying to girl number four, 
 "I'm surprised at you Maud and ashamed, 
 That a daughter of mine should have smoked 
 
 cigarettes. 
 And a cock-tail should never be named 
 By a well-bred young lady whose mother aspires 
 To win yet a title for you. 
 
 So leave those low tastes to the artists and such, 
 They know nothing better ! pray do !" 
 
jFre^ton 27 
 
 But way down in her heart a small traitor voice 
 
 Will remind her of happier hours, 
 
 That are folded away like some sweet, withered 
 
 buds, 
 That were plucked in Bohemian bowers. 
 And I, when these rhymes that now trouble my 
 
 brain, 
 And sadly upset all my duties. 
 Out of chaos take form, and materialize, 
 In the shape of sweet rhythmical beauties, 
 And these dreams that I dream, when my soul 
 
 takes its flight. 
 
 From the every day world all around me, 
 
 Will shyly come forth, like the stars of the 
 
 night, — 
 Or my child that was lost and has found me ! 
 When critics shall blame me or censure or praise, 
 And publishers' gold fill my coffers. 
 And I rear my head high, proudly decked with 
 
 its bays. 
 And receive and decline many offers I 
 
 When I hold my salon, where the pride of the 
 
 town, — 
 The genius, the wit, and the learning, — • 
 Will each one his gift at Art's altar lay down, 
 And a welcome receive for the earning! 
 
28 Poem0 
 
 Ah, well! let the future bring what e'er it will, 
 The present is sunny as May, 
 And were you but with us I fain would desire, 
 This hour not to hurry away. 
 
jfre0tott 29 
 
 THE OLD REFRAIN 
 
 In my firelit room I sit alone, 
 
 Touching my loved guitar, 
 While memory brings me the tender tone 
 Of a song oft heard in days agone 
 'Neath the silvery light of a Southern moon, 
 
 In a mystic land afar. 
 And I float o'er the rippling waves again. 
 While my heart beats time to the old refrain. 
 
 So, hand in hand, together we go, never to part, 
 
 ah no, ah no ! 
 Forever together sweetheart, sweetheart, never 
 
 to part, never to part! 
 
 And I float again in the realm of bliss. 
 
 That was mine, all mine, in the olden time, 
 
 When I ruled as a queen o'er a heart, a heart I 
 
 When joy and I went hand in hand. 
 
 With wings unfurled o'er a sunlit world, 
 And were never an hour apart. 
 
 But it does not stay — ^joy does not stay I 
 
30 poems! 
 
 Like the firelight, it flashes and fades away, 
 And I tenderly touch the strings again, 
 
 While my heart beats time to the old refrain. 
 
 Forever together, sweetheart, sweetheart ! Never 
 
 to part, never to part ! 
 Never to part 1 ah no ! ah no I 
 
ifte0ton 31 
 
 MY DREAM 
 
 I dreamed last night you loved me, 
 Your dear voice told me so, — 
 The story strangely moved me, 
 In its cadence soft and low; 
 The waves went rippling gladly, 
 In the moonlight's silvery gleam, 
 And my heart was dancing madly, 
 In the rapture of my dream. 
 
 Oh! sweetheart, if you love me. 
 Why don't you tell me so? 
 My heart will hush its beating 
 To hear that whisper low. 
 The power that rules its dreaming 
 Has long been love of you; 
 Oh, tell me that you love me ! 
 And make my dream come true. 
 Oh, tell me that you love me! 
 And make my dream come true t 
 
 I dreamed last night you loved! 
 And, glad to be so blessed. 
 
32 Poem0 
 
 I laid, with all its burdens, 
 My tired head on your breast. 
 I felt your arms enfold me; 
 All doubts were swept away; 
 Oh, darling, if you love me. 
 Bid that bright dream to stay. 
 
 Oh, sweetheart, if you love me. 
 Why don't you tell me so? 
 My heart is listening, listening, 
 To hear the whisper low ; 
 All love and hope and longing 
 It holds has turned to you. 
 Oh, tell me that you love me. 
 And make my dream come true! 
 Oh, tell me that you love me. 
 And make my dream come true I 
 
jfrestott 33 
 
 THE MAGIC KISS 
 
 If only my kiss could hold to-night 
 The power of the old Chaldean's art, 
 I'd weave the spell on my lips' warm curve. 
 And kiss you beloved upon the heart. 
 So close it to every grace and charm 
 Of all other women that you may know, 
 To keep every tender throb for me, 
 And all of its faith upon me bestow. 
 
 Then, dear, I'd kiss you upon the eyes. 
 
 And blind them to every beauty there 
 
 May be in all other faces soon, 
 
 'Though some may be very, very fair. 
 
 And then on your brow my lips I'd lay, 
 
 And all sweet thoughts should awaken and 
 
 spring 
 Into life at my touch, and each coming day 
 Some memory of me should caress and cling. 
 
34 Poem0 
 
 And last on your lips, — oh, my own sweetheart 1 
 The wine of life would I give — and take, — 
 But here I should ask no Chaldean's art, 
 But for Love's sweet sake I But for Love's 
 sweet sake. 
 
Stmon 35 
 
 MY BRIDGE 
 
 I am building a bridge of Fancy's light, 
 To span the distance that lies between 
 My heart and the heart of my love to-night, 
 That can only by angels' eyes be seen. 
 
 LOVE is the master-workman grand, 
 Who calls to his aid Faith and Memory, 
 And holds them ready at his command 
 To build a bridge that can reach to thee. 
 
 The pillars are wrought of the gold of truth, 
 And Fancy's wings are its strongest stay ; 
 The spiles are made of the dreams of youth, 
 And Hope's bright stars light the whole glad 
 way. 
 
 And over my bridge when it's all complete. 
 My spirit shall wend itself for this, — 
 To tenderly bend o'er my cherished one, 
 And leave on his forehead my good night kiss. 
 
36 poems 
 
 A PERFECT DAY 
 
 It was the very sweetest day ! 
 *'And why?" you say? 
 ''Did the sun shine?" I do not know. 
 My dearest friend, I'll own to you, 
 I knew not if the sky was blue. 
 Or if it rained, or if the snow 
 Floated, small wonders, to and fro. 
 But oh ! it was a perfect day ! 
 
 It was a day that memory shrines. 
 "And why?" It shines 
 Out from all others, like the star 
 Three wise men followed, till it drew 
 Them to a manger, there to view 
 A baby Christ. And from afar 
 I watch and love my guiding star ; 
 And yes, it, too, was Christmas Day. 
 
 But it was more than other days ! 
 
 "And why this praise? 
 
 Was it a gift that you hold dear?'' 
 
Jfte0tOft 37 
 
 Yes, friend, the richest gift I own. 
 The sweetest I have ever known, — 
 Four Httle words breathed in mine ear, — 
 Only four words, — "I love you dear," 
 But oh, they glorified the day ! 
 
38 Poem0 
 
 IF YOUR HAND LEAD 
 
 Into the dim, uncertain light, 
 
 The future casts, I wend my way; 
 
 And, if to my poor dazzled sight. 
 
 The firefly shines, like Hope's bright ray, — 
 
 Of this my heart shall take no heed, 
 
 If your hand lead. 
 
 If in my path the roses fade 
 
 And rue springs forth, and chill winds blow ; 
 
 Not for smooth ways was courage made. 
 
 Will prove a truth my heart shall know : 
 
 And Love will hush all other need, 
 
 If your hand lead. 
 
 If, from the clouds of doubt and fear, 
 Faith stands, — a glorious vision, — forth, 
 And strews the world, both far and near. 
 With blossoms fair, of heavenly birth. 
 What beauty may spring from the seed, 
 If your hand lead. 
 
jFre0tott 39 
 
 MISTRESS CHARITY 
 
 TO JANE STEWART IN YE EARLY TROUBLE 
 
 Dainty Mistress Charity, 
 Fair and beauteous rarity ! 
 Maiden with the heart of gold that leaves no 
 
 heart unmoved, 
 Nature, in a happy mood, showered all her best 
 
 gifts on thee. 
 Then on a sunbeam sent thee to the earth just 
 to be loved. 
 Cold hearts grow warm 
 And old hearts young 
 And young hearts thrill and tremble, 
 When they feel the tender magic of each merry 
 
 look and tone, 
 And lips unused to praying often murmur 
 
 ^'Heaven bless her." 
 As you bend in gentle greeting with a sweet 
 grace all your own. 
 What wonder that we love thee, 
 Dainty Mistress Charity! 
 
40 Poem0 
 
 Dainty Mistress Charity! 
 Fair and beauteous rarity! 
 Cupid shoots his arrows from each tender dusky 
 
 tress, 
 From thy glances they fly straight into each 
 
 heart that's left unguarded, 
 And even from the soft folds of thy dainty satin 
 dress. 
 Thy dancing feet trip lightly 
 And thy blue eyes sparkle brightly, 
 And laughter lurks, half hidden, in the soft 
 
 curves of thy mouth. 
 Thy brow is white and even, with that look that 
 
 is God-given, 
 And thy voice holds more of music than the song 
 birds of the South. 
 What wonder that I love thee! 
 Winsome, gracious Charity! 
 
iFre0ton 41 
 
 LOVE'S PLEA 
 
 Darling, come back to me ! My spirit tires, 
 Thus winging its swift flight o'er land and sea, 
 Weighted with all the heart's and soul's desires 
 To be with thee, my loved one, only thee ! 
 
 Slowly, how slowly drag the leaden hours ! — 
 Old Time has grown so old with thee away, — 
 But like a swallow's flight o'er paths of flow- 
 ers, — 
 Wert thou but here, — would pass each happy 
 day. 
 
 Darling, come back to me! In all the world 
 There beats one heart alone whose love I prize. 
 My richest melodies are thy sweet words, 
 My star of hope, the light in thy dear eyes. 
 
 Sweetheart, I miss thee so ! In every crowd, 
 
 Like bird that mourns a mate, I am alone ; 
 
 And hushed the song my heart sang, glad and 
 
 proud, 
 To know thy love-song mingled with my own. 
 
42 Poem0 
 
 Darling, come back to me ! When others came 
 And whispered love-words in my listening ear, 
 Fair Constancy breathed to my heart thy 
 
 name, 
 And that dear sound was all that I could hear 1 
 
 Darling, come back to me ! my spirit tires. 
 Sending across the distance love's wild plea. 
 Freighted with all the heart's and soul's desires, 
 To be with thee, my loved one, only thee ! 
 
JFre0ton 43 
 
 "YEARNING" 
 
 The guests have all departed, 
 And the hour is very late, 
 Still I sit here, sadly wondering 
 Why so joyless was the fete. 
 
 Wondering, said I? Nay not wondering, 
 
 For I know the reason why 
 
 My sad heart, instead of pleasure, 
 
 Felt the burden of a sigh. 
 
 'Twas because thy place was vacant, 
 'Twas because thou wert not here 
 That the laughter held no music 
 And the evening seemed so drear. 
 
 There are many fairer, nobler 
 Holding forth true hands to me, 
 Why must I thus turn me ever 
 From all the world save thee? 
 
44 Poem0 
 
 Ah, I know not, but I love thee ! 
 And thy face to me, my own. 
 Is the dearest, and there's music 
 For me in thy Hghtest tone. 
 
 There are nobler? yes, perhaps so, 
 But my heart bows down to thee, 
 And although thy faults were legion 
 Thou art still the best to me. 
 
 Did the others also miss thee? 
 Did they feel thine absence pain? 
 Did they dream that with thy coming 
 Would return the light again? 
 
 I know not ! but to my own heart 
 The slow hours passed, one by one. 
 Like these flowers I fling by because 
 Their sweetness all is flown. 
 
 Why is it that the gift most prized 
 Fate always doth deny? 
 Why is it that the sweetest thought 
 Is followed by a sigh. 
 
 O Sovereign power of loving! 
 The hearts most worthy thee. 
 Are those that feel most keenly 
 Thy pitiless decree. 
 
Salmon 45 
 
 MIZPAH 
 
 "God watch between us when we parted are!'' 
 So, parting from me once, you softly prayed. 
 How long ago that tender low-toned prayer 
 Caught in the meshes of my heart and stayed. 
 Hearts beat the same in every race and clime, — 
 Touch the same chords and the same tune is 
 
 played ; 
 In fair Judea in the olden time, 
 The Hebrew youth, parting with Hebrew maid, 
 Prayed the same prayer, "Mizpah! God watch 
 
 between. 
 When we are parted! Keep thee in His love!" 
 The rustling leaves murmured their sympathy. 
 The stars shone forth more brilliantly above. 
 
 God was unheeding, — had too much to do 
 To watch between us all that long, sad time ! 
 And so he sent us guardian angels two, 
 To guard from evil thought your heart and 
 
 mine. 
 But we — we drove them from us, bade them go ! 
 
46 Poem0 
 
 And welcomed in their stead the black-winged 
 
 brood 
 Of evil birds that bring their gifts of woe, — 
 The jealous thought, the doubt of all things 
 
 good. 
 The bitter mockery of each cherished dream, 
 The beauty of things gone beyond recall. 
 The loss of faith, when faith should stand su- 
 preme. 
 The loss of love, when love was all in all. 
 They cast their shadow twixt the sun and me, 
 The beauty of the world they darkened o'er. 
 The whiteness of the clouds I could not see, 
 The bird's song held no music as of yore. 
 The wave, in dancing, dimpling, ripples played. 
 The flowers gave bloom and perfume all in vain; 
 Nature with lavish hand her sweets displayed 
 And smiled her gratitude for sun and rain. 
 And my dear guardian angel drooped his wing, 
 And waited patiently alone, apart, 
 Until my wish should grant him leave to fling 
 Those birds of evil council from my heart. 
 
 "God, watch between us when we parted are !" — 
 Are we not parted, more than if the world. 
 With all its mountains, prairies, stretching far, 
 Its rolling ocean, in whose heart lies furled 
 The secrets of the ages, lies between? 
 
jFre0ton 47 
 
 No parting great as that of heart from heart! 
 Though I have clasped your hand and may again, 
 We still are more than all the world apart. 
 I fain would reach across that space to-day, 
 With outstretched hands, and lips that cry in 
 
 vain 
 For the dear gift of love, Fate stole away, 
 Leaving me desolate a prey to pain! 
 
 God watch between us! when the gates of 
 
 Death 
 Swing back to let this weary soul pass through, 
 ril ask but for the blessed boon, of Faith, 
 To watch with Hope beside that gate for you. 
 If it be dark, and drear, and desolate. 
 To find your groping hand enfold my own, 
 To face the terrors of the Infinite 
 And seek our way together to God's throne. 
 
48 Poem0 
 
 A BROKEN PROMISE 
 
 See what you've clone, mon cher ami! 
 This porcelain, fine and rare, 
 You have shattered into fragments, 
 Heedless that it was fair. 
 
 Can you e'er collect the pieces 
 Again, and fit them true? 
 Never! though countless ages 
 Were given unto you. 
 
 No chemist, no, nor alchemist, 
 That bent alembic o'er, 
 Hath ever found a cement sure 
 To make it as before. 
 
 This precious vase of promise 
 With the wine of faith was filled, 
 And when you broke it, oh, my friend! 
 That wine was rudely spilled. 
 
jFtc0ton 49 
 
 A little thing ? Ah, true indeed ! 
 
 A trifle dropped by Fate ! 
 But life's small things are its sweet things, 
 
 And their power is often great. 
 
 They are stars to light the firmament 
 Of Hope, when night is near, 
 
 They are flowers to brighten pathways 
 That would otherwise be drear. 
 
50 Poem0 
 
 YOU WILL REMEMBER 
 
 You will remember, 
 In soft June days or chill December, 
 Will memory haunt you with a vague regret. 
 You'll not forget, you'll not forget. 
 We loved and laughed together, you and I, 
 And dreamed our dreams in those old days gone 
 
 by; 
 I saw my heaven in your eyes of blue, — 
 
 I deemed so true, — 
 And I was more than all the world to you, 
 Then since such memories cling to my heart yet. 
 Can you forget? Can you forget? 
 
 You will remember. 
 In soft June days and chill December, 
 Though you may strive to stifle all regret. 
 
 You'll not forget! you'll not forget! 
 Fate came and brought you her fair gift of gold, 
 That like the Fays, may turn to leaves and 
 
 mould ; 
 And for the gold you scorned the golden heart,— 
 Oh, trusting heart, — 
 
S^tmon 51 
 
 And so we part, and so we part. 
 Oh, do not dream that you can purchase joy, 
 Or that your gold will be without alloy; 
 You'll hunger, though the feast be fair and free, 
 And yearn for me, and yearn for me. 
 
52 Poemis; 
 
 DRIFTING TOGETHER 
 
 Under the stars of a summer night, 
 In a land of dreams, in the long ago, 
 We floated away in a shallop, white 
 As the robe she wore in the silvery glow. 
 And over her lips, with their dainty curve, 
 A sweet song rippled, of days gone by, — 
 Of a brave true knight, who had sworn to serve 
 His Lady, by deeds of purpose high. 
 A rose that seemed but a sleeping star, 
 Was caught in the mesh of her waving hair; 
 And naught in the picture was there to mar. 
 For oh ! my lady was wond'rous fair, 
 As idly we drifted together. 
 
 'Twas a fairy stream, and the god of love 
 Guided our boat, with his hand on the helm ; 
 And the echoes laughed from the hills above. 
 As we floated on to his rosy realm. 
 And over my heart, as I watched her there, 
 Came thoughts of the great deeds yet to do. 
 If only the hand of my lady fair 
 Would rest in mine, and so keep me true. 
 
Jfte0ton 53 
 
 And swiftly the sweet, warm words were said, 
 
 That won from her lips a tender tale ; 
 
 For Cupid's shaft had so safely sped, 
 
 That she promised a love that should never fail 
 
 As we'd drift o'er life's waters together. 
 
 But the stars look down on a little mound. 
 
 Far, far away from my quiet room; 
 
 For her are the rest, and the tender sound 
 
 Of the night-bird's song, but for me all gloom. 
 
 So I turn away from the things that are, 
 
 And welcome the dreams that will come and 
 
 go — 
 Of the fairy stream, and the mystic star, 
 And the dear dream-land of the long ago. 
 Where love sat merrily at the helm. 
 And guided our bark in his own sweet way ; 
 But my Lady has gone to a happier realm. 
 Though I prayed to the Father to let us, that 
 
 day. 
 Drift away on Death's river together. 
 
54 poem0 
 
 THE ROSE OF THE SOUTHLANDS 
 
 TO MINNA 
 
 Youth brought thee her violets, dewy and sweet, 
 
 And Friendship her treasures laid low at thy 
 feet, 
 
 And Love, for thy sake, from his rose plucked 
 each thorn. 
 
 And the gods brought all gifts to thy shrine to 
 adorn ; 
 
 But sad are the hearts where the magnolia 
 blows. 
 
 For our rose of the southlands, our fair South- 
 ern rose. 
 
 Our bonny white rose ! our true-hearted rose ! 
 
 We yearn for the voice of our fair. Southern 
 rose. 
 
 Thou hast bloomed in the Southlands, a bud tall 
 
 and fair, 
 And the sunbeams were caught in the strands of 
 
 thy hair; 
 
jrte0tott 55 
 
 The zephyrs low murmured to soothe thee to 
 rest, 
 
 And the birds sang thy praise from each leaf- 
 shadowed nest. 
 
 Thou hast left all their bloom for the North and 
 its snows, 
 
 And the Southlands cry "Come!" to our fair 
 Southern rose. 
 
 Our bonny white rose! our true-hearted rose! 
 
 And the Southlands cry "Come!" to our fair 
 Southern rose. 
 
56 Poems? 
 
 A SONG OF HOME 
 
 I am far from my home, from my home in the 
 
 West, 
 And here in cold England my heart knows no 
 
 rest, 
 And my soul wings its flight o'er the ocean's 
 
 wild foam, 
 To greet thee to-night oh, my home! oh, my 
 
 home! 
 I have found in this land many friends leal and 
 
 true. 
 And the banner they'd die for, — I honor it, too, 
 But no flag e'er unfurled is as fair unto me 
 As thy stars and thy bars oh, thou land of the 
 
 free! 
 
 The voice of my mother comes soft on mine 
 
 ear; 
 The voice of another, in tones scarce less dear, 
 Is calling me sadly, — Oh, why did I roam, 
 From friends and from kindred and thee, oh, 
 
 my home! 
 I pine for thy rivers, thy mountains and hills, 
 
jFre0ton 57 
 
 Thy mad, rushing waters and soft-tinkUng rills; 
 The warm glowing sunshine, that pours in its 
 
 glee, 
 On the land that God loves, the dear land of the 
 
 free. 
 
 Back, back, o'er the billows, my yearning 
 thoughts fly, 
 
 To thy wide spreading plains and thy moun- 
 tains so high; 
 
 To each flower-gemmed valley, and bird- 
 haunted tree. 
 
 And the true, loving hearts that are waiting for 
 me. 
 
 So I long to return, oh, my country, to thee, 
 
 To follow my thoughts o'er the wide, trackless 
 sea; 
 
 Though far I may wander and long I may roam, 
 
 My heart yearns for thee, oh, my home ! oh, my 
 home! 
 
58 Poems 
 
 TO THE POET 
 
 If I could reach above the clouds at even 
 And pluck the stars that gem the arch of heaven, 
 I'd weave a garland of those twinkling flowers, 
 To deck the brows that hold poetic powers. 
 But no ! I must stoop low to earth for these. 
 The very simplest little flowers, the breeze 
 Will kiss in passing, bear their perfume by, 
 To mingle with the lark's song in the sky. 
 But still this humble offering I bring 
 The poet who is greater than a king. 
 
 He who in fancy roamed the world of flowers 
 And dreamed his dreams in the enchanted bow- 
 ers 
 Of fairy lore, and tender old romance, 
 Will view, I know, with kindly loving glance, 
 Each petal's tint, so delicately rare. 
 That but a God's smile could have made so fair, 
 No royal flower of beauty offer I, — 
 The rose blooms not within my reach, nor shy. 
 Sweet violet that is famed in song; 
 
jFte0tott 59 
 
 But these small flowerets I have tended long, 
 And watched them turn from bud to blossom 
 
 fair, 
 And offer perfumes for my faithful care. 
 
 They freely give the world their utmost store, 
 Smiling, and grieve not that it is not more. 
 What matter to them that God's tender love 
 Has decked the rose more richly. From above 
 They, too, have fallen from His lavish hand. 
 To gladden earth and smile at His command. 
 I love these little Pinks ! Each sunset tone 
 Some petal's edge has captured for its own. 
 Some opal-tinted cloud has left a trace 
 Upon eacxi upturned, coaxing, tender face, 
 Some lazy zephyr, from the golden South, 
 Has kissed, with spicy breath, each loving mouth. 
 All the best elements of earth and air 
 Combine to make this little flower so fair. 
 And so this offering I can dare to bring 
 The poet, who is greatef than a king. 
 
6o Paem0 
 
 DESERTED 
 
 It did not come upon her unawares, 
 But crept up slowly, slowly coming near. 
 Sending its couriers of troubled cares, 
 Of dark suspicion and of breathless "fear. 
 
 Deserted! silent in her quiet room. 
 
 She bravely faces the dark truth, at last. 
 
 Too strong for tears, she mutely meets her 
 
 doom. 
 While memory brings her visions of the past. 
 
 And he for whose dear sake she swandered all 
 That life had given, — love and fame and name 
 And innocence, — had gone beyond her call 
 And never more would come as once he came, 
 
 With eyes of glowing eagerness, to light 
 The darkness into which she followed him. 
 With love-words, kisses and such coin, — so 
 
 bright 
 In woman's eyes she will give all for them. 
 
jrre0ton 6i 
 
 Across the board a pair of laughing lips 
 Smile back in answer to his merry glance. 
 They laugh the old year out, the new year in, 
 With clink of glasses, music and the dance. 
 
 Does any memory come of that small room, 
 To mar the music for him, as they sing ? 
 Where sits, in silent woe, that one for whom 
 All hope is dead, and life a worthless thing. 
 
 For her no new love blossoms on life's tree, 
 Her future glooms out starless and forlorn ; 
 He laughs with joy the New Year's face to see, — 
 For the deserted, no new year is born. 
 
63 poem0 
 
 UNCLE SAM'S REVERY 
 
 OCT., 1900 
 
 I used to reckon, long ago, 
 
 I was a decent sort o' chap, 
 I looked the hull world in the face, 
 
 And durn it! didn't give a rap 
 Fur emprors, sultans and such truck, 
 
 I held ma own head purty high, 
 But now, b' gosh ! I'm in hard luck ! 
 
 And I guess I ain't so mighty fly ! 
 
 For now with all this 'lection noise. 
 
 And throwin' dirt, and sneerin' down, 
 I hardly know where I am at, 
 
 Such things are said of me in town! 
 Why, TEDDY,— my own TEDDY !— swears 
 
 That as a Democrat, I'm wus 
 Than any Dago dodger's mule, 
 
 And always tryin' to raise a fuss 
 With Philipinoes, — like a fool. 
 
Jfte0ton 63 
 
 He says I am an "Anarchist !" 
 
 And gosh! that makes me want to swear I 
 Why, if some foreign chap said half 
 
 That TEDDY says I'd pull his hair! 
 And that boy BRYAN, too, has hurt 
 
 My feelin's in their tendrest spotl 
 He says that as Republican, 
 
 I surely am a common lot ! 
 
 I fear ma shadow in the sun, — 
 
 I'm such a coward, — and I plant 
 ]\Ia hoof upon the poor man's neck, 
 
 And squirm from under that he can't! 
 Besides I'm "Plutocrat," he says, 
 
 And every gosh-darn thing that's base ! 
 Why, if I was as mean as that, 
 
 I wouldn't look men in the face! 
 
 I*m gettin' mad ! I won't be sassed ! 
 
 Even by two of my best boys ! 
 I raised them ! praised them ! helped them up ! 
 
 Joined in their sorrows and their joys ! 
 TEDDY was always a good boy ! 
 
 Though fond of gab he had his charm, 
 But thoi gh he ran up San Juan Hill 
 
 He ain't agoin' to run my farml 
 
64 ppem0 
 
 Nor BRYAN nuther ! I've been good 
 
 To that air boy, and proud of him! 
 But if he sasses me Hke that, 
 
 I'll lay the rod on with vim ! 
 And I'll just make him understand 
 
 That GOLD is none too good for me! 
 SILVER may suit some other land, — 
 
 For this ! — the best its got to be ! 
 
 They talk as if we're bound to cjme 
 
 To sure destruction with a smash! 
 I guess they think I'm not to hum, 
 
 Nor near enough to hear the crash ! 
 And after all is said and done, 
 
 I kinder think we needn't fear 
 That them Imperial bugs will come 
 
 And spoil our crops, while I am here. 
 
jFte0ton 65 
 
 IN THE COUNTRY 
 
 The grass is green and the sun is warm, 
 And each little bud has a tale to tell; 
 
 Spring is here with her wonderful charm. 
 But — I sigh for the sound of the telephone 
 bell. 
 
 The buzz and burr that thrills to the heart, 
 With a promise of something indefinite, — 
 gay,— 
 
 A luncheon at Sherry's, a drive in the park. 
 Or just a dear message is coming my way. 
 
 In town, if lonely, I wave this wand, 
 And fill with interest the longest day; 
 
 But flowers and trees are such silent friends, 
 And the telephone more than five miles away. 
 
 Blessed be his name for all time, who brought 
 
 To our grateful land this magic spell ! 
 That can shatter the distance 'tween heart and 
 heart ! 
 Oh, I long for the sound of my telephone 
 bell! 
 
66 Poemg 
 
 GOOD-BYE, OLD YEAR 
 
 Old year, to you I'll say 'good-bye/ 
 
 Without regret, without a sigh! 
 
 You brought me gifts in lavish store, 
 
 But oh ! you brought me sorrows more 1 
 
 You came on tip-toe to- my bed, 
 
 And kissed my sleeping eyes, and fed 
 
 My soul on promises of gold. 
 
 That now are tarnished, dim and old. 
 
 I laughed with joy to find you there. 
 With violets fresh and love words fair,— 
 The violets were of somber hue, 
 The love words false, — as false as you! 
 I gather all your gifts to-night, — 
 The loss of love, ambition's blight, 
 The death of faith in one held dear, — 
 The waxen face upon the bier. 
 
 The silence in an aching heart 
 
 Of prattling tongues, — life's sweetest part, 
 
 The struggle and the pain and wrong, 
 
jFte0ton ^7 
 
 The grave mistake, poor Folly's song; 
 The laughter that but checked the tear, 
 The gentle word that hid the sneer ; — ► 
 The nettle-sting of so-called friends, 
 The poisoned dart that, well aimed, sends 
 
 Back o'er the heart a surge of pain, 
 Though one may smile and smile again. 
 ('Twas not your gift old year, — the cure, — 
 This boundless courage to endure ! 
 To meet Fate's shafts with smiling eye. 
 Give blow for blow, or pass them by.) 
 All this the meed of one short year, — 
 To-night ril rake together here, 
 
 And on your back the burden lay. 
 
 And let you bear it far av/ay. 
 
 I'll have no memories dim the cheer 
 
 With which I greet the glad New Year. 
 
 But hold! There is one gift you gave. 
 
 Out of them all I fain would save ! 
 
 The memory of a tender heart, 
 
 That drew from mine pain's keenest dart,— 
 
 A few bright hours I still would hold. 
 Deep in my soul, enshrined in gold. 
 A vision of dear eyes of blue, 
 A glint of curls of golden hue, 
 
68 poem0 
 
 A sunny smile I'll ne'er forget, 
 
 And for that gift I thank you yet! 
 
 But memories that the spirit mar, 
 
 And every gift a heart can scar, 
 
 Out of my life to-night I'll fling, 
 
 And clean-souled greet the new born king! 
 
jFre0ton 69 
 
 LIL' CULLUD ANGEL CHILE 
 
 Go to sleep, ma lil' cullud angel chile ; 
 
 Snuggle down yo' head on mammy's bres\ 
 
 An' she'll hush her lil' chile to res', 
 
 Fo' dar ain't no use fo' to tarry in des place, 
 
 Whar de dus' ob de worl' hab got into yo' face, 
 
 An' wher ebery kinkle kink dat is dar, 
 
 In des wicked ole worl', hab got into yo' har, 
 
 So go to sleep, ma lil' cullud angel chile. 
 
 Go to sleep, ma lil' cullud angel chile, 
 
 Fo' mammy'll done watch fo' you. 
 
 Go to sleep, ma lil' cullud angel chile, 
 
 Fo' yo'll be as white as de driben snow, 
 
 In de Ian' ob dreams, whar you'se gwine to go, 
 
 An' yo'll war a robe o' shinin' white. 
 
 And flap yo' wings and crow wif delight. 
 
 An' de angels' whispers'll be as mile. 
 
 As ef yo' was jes' a lil' white chile. 
 
 So go to sleep, ma lil' cullud angel chile, 
 
 Go to sleep, ma lil' cullud angel chile, 
 
 Fo' mammy'll done watch fo' you. 
 
70 Poem0 
 
 THE HERO'S MOTHER 
 
 Let other women kneel before 
 
 The shrine of martial glory, 
 And blazon forth the hero's deeds 
 
 In thrilling song or story ! 
 The task of wearing laurel wreaths 
 
 I'll gladly leave to others ; 
 For me, I'd rather sing my song 
 
 About the heroes' mothers. 
 
 The soldier dashes in the fray, 
 
 With love and fame before him. 
 While she is left alone to pray, 
 
 That angels may watch o'er him. 
 His courage feels the spur of pride. 
 
 Cheered on by friend and brother. 
 Grander is hers, though undescried, — 
 
 The courage of the mother. 
 
 The mother's hand, whate'er It be, — » 
 Soft, smooth, toil-stained, or horny,- 
 
jFte^ton 71 
 
 Has led the way to liberty, 
 
 Through pathways rough and thorny. 
 She has bound on the trusty sword, 
 
 While striving sobs to smother, — 
 Let others beg the hero's kiss, 
 
 I'd rather kiss his mother. 
 
 If he had failed and won no crown. 
 
 If fame had passed him over, 
 If on the scroll of names renowned. 
 
 The stars and stripes float over, 
 He found no place but gave his life 
 
 For right like many another, 
 He still had been a hero bright, 
 
 In the sad heart of his mother. 
 
 How brief the time since that wild cry 
 
 Of War! set pulses thrilling, 
 And yet, how many daring deeds 
 
 Are history's pages filling! 
 Now all the world stands still to gaze, 
 
 On this young country's glory; 
 No brutal deed has dimmed its blaze. 
 
 No traitor marred its story, 
 
 And lo ! beyond the murky haze, 
 
 Of suffering, death and sorrow, 
 Sweet Peace uplifts her starry gaze, 
 
72 Poem0 
 
 And Hope points to the morrow. 
 And when our boys come home again, 
 
 To greet the ocean rovers, 
 Will gather, full of love and joy, 
 
 The sweethearts, wives and mothers. 
 
 But, oh! the dear un famous ones, 
 
 Asleep at Santiago ! 
 They'll hear nor heed the shouts of joy 
 
 That greet their comrades ! Ah no ! 
 When home again the 71st, 
 
 And Teddy's boys and others, 
 Come for their due, before we cheer. 
 
 Think of the mourning mothers. 
 
JFre0ton 73 
 
 A CONVERSATION HEARD IN HADES 
 
 DURING THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR 
 
 There's a very sultry country 
 
 That some scholar has named Hades, — 
 
 Why or wherefore I am frank enough 
 
 To own I cannot tell, 
 Perhaps 'twas the objections 
 That were raised by all the ladies 
 To the more prosaic, less refined 
 
 And stronger name of — Well, 
 
 I'd rather not pronounce it 
 But you all know its location, 
 And many are acquainted 
 
 With the ruler of the same. 
 And you doubtless have learned something 
 Of the gentleman's vocation, 
 But for that much-needed knowledge. 
 
 You are surely not to blame. 
 
74 Poem0 
 
 Well, some time ago his fireman, 
 Wanting to get more directions 
 About the sifted cinders that 
 
 He wished to send to Spain, 
 Found him seated in his red room 
 Reading from a mighty volume, — 
 Then a conversation followed 
 
 That expressed his grief and pain. 
 
 "Sire, the cinders wait your orders, 
 And most surely does Spain need them, 
 She has found that ships cannot be sailed 
 
 By boasts and empty breath. 
 And if something is not shortly done 
 Your most obedient children 
 Will meet those horrid Yankees, 
 
 And be quickly put to death." 
 
 "Yes," sighed Satan, "I must help them, 
 For Americans displease me ! 
 They're a stubborn lot of fellows 
 
 And not subject to my will, 
 And I fear my dear and cherished Spain 
 Is really in great danger. 
 For the Yankee guns are aiming. 
 
 And they always shoot to kill. 
 
jFte0ton 75 
 
 To have that land wiped off the map 
 That knew so well to torture, 
 The land of trickery and pride, 
 
 That always has been mine, 
 Where helpless babes and women, 
 Were driven to the slaughter; 
 Where they always practiced pleasantries, 
 
 Directly in my line. 
 
 So, you see, I'm reading Spanish, 
 So that when the Dons assemble 
 Round my peaceful little fireside, 
 
 My tones will be less gruff; 
 I've been reading German lately 
 And their grunts and groans and gutterals 
 Tax the vocal cords so greatly 
 
 That I fear my voice is rough. 
 
 But learn Spanish friend, learn Spanish! 
 'Tis the language of the future, — 
 Here at least, although some people say 
 
 'Twill soon die out above, 
 Ah!" he groaned in mental anguish, 
 **To lose so fair a country, 
 That bred the Inquisition, 
 
 In the name of God and Love. 
 
7^ poems 
 
 So give them all the aid we can, 
 
 They certainly have earned it, 
 
 And the warmest place we'll keep for Spain, 
 
 When Yankees send her here." 
 And he heaved a sulphurous sigh again 
 And turned back to his reading, 
 While the listning sprite flew upward, 
 
 For a breath of freshed air. 
 
jFre0tott 11 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 CARDINAL MANNING AND PRINCE VICTOR 
 
 So, he has left us ! may he sweetly sleep, 
 While for his sake unnumbered thousands weep. 
 O'er all the world the clouds of sorrow lower, 
 For this strong, tender shepherd of the poor. 
 Two princes now are lying cold and dead, 
 Struck by the same dark hand. The head 
 Of one, bearing the finger-marks of fate 
 In human weakness, and the promised weight 
 Of England's crown, with gems by far too bright 
 For blood to dim, or long ago they might 
 Have lost their lustre, for 'twas freely shed, 
 To keep them safely in their golden bed. 
 
 The other Prince ! Upon his brow of might 
 
 Rested a coronet, whose gems of light 
 
 Were deeds of love, were thoughts sublimely 
 
 fair. 
 And God's own Kingly hand had placed it 
 
 there, 
 
78 Poem0 
 
 And from its rays, a light flashed o'er the 
 
 earth, 
 To 'waken charity, give justice birth. 
 To rouse the darkened heart to thoughts of God, 
 And leave more bright the paths his feet have 
 
 trod. 
 With hands outspread in blessing, o'er the 
 
 throng. 
 And heart rejoicing in the angels' song. 
 He walked life's pathway from the first to close, 
 As his God willed, and left a light for those 
 Who fain would follow on his stainless way, 
 And not by lust of power be led astray. 
 
 There is no victory in this blow for death ! 
 The central jewel in the crown of faith 
 Has warming rays, that will all time endure, 
 To light the rugged pathways of the poor. 
 He was their hope, their guide, the beacon fire 
 They watched through storms of woe and dark- 
 ness dire. 
 '*A commoner !" and yet a royal road he trod, 
 Prince of a royal house, — the house of God. 
 Oh, to have known him! or that hand to have 
 
 pressed 
 That, raised in benediction, truly blessed! 
 Idle his sceptre, his throne vacant now; 
 Can one be found to grace it ? or a brow 
 
jFte0ton 79 
 
 With breadth enough to fill the empty crown, 
 That at death's stern command he now lays 
 down ? 
 
 The world has grown much poorer now through 
 
 • death, 
 Although he gave to him but fleeting breath, 
 For every pulsing heart his name doth fill ; — 
 Onward he goes, God's standard bearer still! 
 
8o poems 
 
 THE PROMISE 
 
 Oh, thou who art guarding my baby for me, — 
 In an unknown land, o'er a mystic sea, — 
 Bear my treasure over the dangerous tide, 
 And lay it safely my heart beside. 
 I shall thank the messenger for such gain. 
 Though he come to me on the wings of pain; 
 For with yearning heart at the golden gate, 
 Of my life's best promise, I wait, I wait. 
 
 I await the promised joy to see, 
 When a little child shall be given to me ; 
 When, against this yearning mother-breast, 
 A little head shall nestle and rest; 
 When out of the highest court of heaven, 
 A new, white soul to my guidance is given. 
 So with love and awe at the outer gate, 
 Of this wonderful hope, I wait, I wait. 
 
 Shall your eyes be dark? or a starlit grey? 
 Or the blue of my loved one's far away? 
 Shall your hair be brown ? or the ruddy gold 
 
jFre0ton ^i 
 
 That the rippling waves of your fathers hold? 
 
 No matter the color, you're sure to be 
 
 The fairest of all on earth to me! 
 
 So with eager heart at the golden gate 
 
 Of a wonderful hope, I wait, I wait. 
 
 Shall a son be given unto my arms, 
 
 To meet the clash of the world's alarms? 
 
 If so, 'tis well, for he yet shall be. 
 
 The honored of all, from sea to sea; 
 
 And his strength and power shall bring to his 
 
 hand, 
 The fairest gift in his native land ! — 
 So I dream for my man-child, early and late, 
 While for thee, my baby, I wait, I wait. 
 
 Shall a daughter be given unto my heart. 
 
 To nestle within it and never depart ? 
 
 Shall I find in a girl's young heart all room. 
 
 For the birds sweet song and the buds perfume? 
 
 The wonderful summer sun's warm light. 
 
 And the mystic spell of a starlit night? 
 
 Oh, the fairest gift in the hand of fate. 
 
 Is a baby girl, so for thee I wait 
 
 To set thee above and beyond and apart 
 From all the world in the mother-heart. 
 For thee to garner the golden grain. 
 
82 poems 
 
 To guard and guide and to save from pain; 
 To cherish the hope and the faith supreme 
 And the tender Hght of a young maid's dream. 
 Oh, with shriven heart, at the golden gate 
 Of this sweetest promise, I wait, I waitl 
 
jfre^ton 83 
 
 A MAGDALEN'S PRAYER 
 
 I am so tired to-night, dear God ! so tired ! 
 Hope's star seems lost in sky of darkest night! 
 My soul goes up to Thee in one great cry, 
 Help me, O Lord, to find somewhere the light ! 
 
 My life is empty, lonely, profitless, 
 
 Made up of such poor, tarnished, worthless 
 
 things, 
 I try to rise, but what storm-beaten bird 
 Has ever soared to heights on broken wings? 
 
 I thought fulfilled ambition, fame, the goal 
 Of earthly strivings, all my strivings prove 
 All gifts are to a woman's heart and soul 
 As Sodomy's apples, if she has not love. 
 
 I want some shelter from the storms of life. 
 The beauteous garment of an honest name! 
 The tender glances of protecting eyes, 
 That 'waken love, and not regret and shame. 
 
84 Poem0 
 
 And most of all the touch of baby hands, 
 To pluck the thorns of sin and pain away, — 
 To fill my life with faith and hope and prayer, 
 And keep this shadow, — dark despair, at bay. 
 
 Oh, crown me with this fairest woman's crown! 
 And fill the empty chambers of my life 
 With pattering baby feet, and let renown 
 Pass by me, and this futile, wearying strife! 
 
 With black and crimson sins my soul is stained. 
 Oh, let Thy healing waters wash me pure! 
 The cup of pleasure to the dregs I've drained, 
 And they are deadly, but Thy love can cure! 
 
 Stretch out Thy hand and lead me to the light! 
 
 I am too blind to find the way alone ! 
 
 I should stand fully shriven in Thy sight, 
 
 If suffering can for my sins atone! 
 
 If my poor prayers You heed not, nor reply, — ■ 
 If all is darkness, as it seems to be, — 
 Dear angel Death from out that darkness fly, 
 And fold thy wings about my prayers and me ! 
 
jfte^ton 85 
 
 HUDSON'S TIDE 
 
 The German's toast their castled Rhine, 
 France always names her Seine with pride 
 The Thames is still fair England's boast, 
 But we have beauteous Hudson's Tide. 
 
 I've wandered over many lands. 
 
 And watched their waters ebb and flow; 
 
 But never yet have found as fair 
 
 A river as the one I know. 
 
 I know each dimpling, sun-kissed wave, 
 I know her restless, throbbing heart, 
 Her frowns and smiles, her angry rage. 
 The fish that through her waters dart. 
 
 I love them all ! Her deep green hills, 
 Her rugged rocks, her nestling towns, 
 The laughter of her rushing rills, — 
 The darkness of her gloomy frowns. 
 
86 Poem0 
 
 The Bay of Naples' tender blue, 
 The sombre brown of Thames' dull tide, 
 The green that lurks in ocean's hue, — 
 They all are here and more beside. 
 
 When sunbeams flash their parting light, 
 My river runs a molten gold ; 
 Beneath the cold moon's softer light, 
 A silvery sheen her v^avelets hold. 
 
 When morning greets the waiting world. 
 With blessings from the smile of God, 
 She's robed in amethyst and rose, — 
 A path where angels' feet have trod. 
 
 And when the twilight shadows come, 
 A soft sweet nun, in raiment gray, 
 She seems, demure, serene, with all 
 Her gayer garments laid away. 
 
 Her storied hills smile on my sight, 
 And Valor calls from every vale ; 
 A voice comes from her waters bright. 
 And love-words echo on each gale. 
 
 My heart shall feel her beauty still, 
 Though I may wander far and wide; 
 Methinks I'll sleep more peacefully, 
 If left to rest by Hudson's Tide. 
 
jfre^ton 
 
 A REPLY 
 
 SAYS SHAKESPEARE AND HOLY WRIT 
 
 '*Now is the time," says Avon's bard, 
 
 In reference to loving, 
 And claims the present as the hour 
 For all love's pleasures proving. 
 
 But to my more prosaic mind, 
 
 The sentiment seems stupid. 
 As though one could arrange a plan. 
 Or make a date for Cupid. 
 
 He scatters sunbeams o'er the world, 
 
 That enter hearts at random ; 
 Can we with Reason harness him. 
 And drive them a la tandem? 
 
 No, we should greet him when he comes. 
 
 As lord of all the nations, 
 But if he tarry, surely we, 
 Can wait his will with patience. 
 
poemis 
 
 "Now is the time says 'Holy Writ/ 
 
 Is it to love by thy brethren? 
 I do forget, — or to renounce 
 The world, flesh and — the other? 
 
 Yes, I forget! of Holy Writ, 
 
 I never was a student, 
 Although to frankly own the fact 
 Perhaps is qtiite imprudent. 
 
 The bell has rung, 
 
 Adieu my friend. 
 The bill-of-fare awaits me; 
 I find alas ! 'tis but a step 
 From poesy to pastry. 
 
jTrejston 89 
 
 A SOUL'S CRY 
 
 O, to be free ! For one brief hour 
 To cast aside the bonds that bind 
 My soul in their compelHng power, — 
 My spirit-wings again to find! 
 
 O, to be free ! To feel the soul 
 Spring upward, lightened of this day; 
 To chase the clouds, that outward roll. 
 And face the everlasting day. 
 
 O, to be free! a spirit light, 
 
 To float beyond the realms of space, — • 
 
 To soar into the infinite. 
 
 And meet its wonders, face to face. 
 
 O, to be free ! to turn mine eyes 
 Back o'er the path in life I trod, 
 But soaring ever upward, rise 
 Until I reach Thee O, My God ! 
 
90 Poem0 
 
 O, to be free ! To brave the flame 
 That circles round Thy presence sweet, 
 To know Thy love is more than name, — 
 To pour my worship at Thy feet ! 
 
 O, to be free ! My God I pray 
 
 Thee for this boon, for one short hour I 
 
 Strike off my fetters, that I may 
 
 Let my freed soul once try her power ! 
 
\ 
 
 jFre0tott \ 91 
 
 UNREQUITED 
 
 I feel to-day that I am growing old, 
 
 Around my heart slow creeps the chilling cold 
 
 Of unrequited love. 
 Back from the ark, Youth launched upon Life's 
 
 sea, 
 No bird flies with its olive branch to me, — 
 No tender white winged dove. 
 
 The age that creeps upon me is not years, 
 But shattered faith, and unavailing tears, 
 
 And loneliness supreme. 
 The sight of Aspiration's broken wing, 
 The constant presence of this mocking thing, — 
 This spectre of a dream. 
 
 Stern conscience gravely points to tasks undone, 
 Brood-browed Ambition proudly urges on. 
 
 But, tired in heart and soul, 
 I heed them not, I can no farther go, 
 But sit here by dead Hope, for well I know 
 Love waits not at the goal. 
 
92 Poem0 
 
 Kind friends will tell me that new hopes may 
 
 rise, 
 New loves may come, and under other skies 
 
 I'll find the joys now fled, 
 Vain thought! nor would I wish to have it so, — 
 I'd rather guard, in loneliness and woe, 
 The old love lying dead. 
 
ifte0ton 93 
 
 LULLABY 
 
 TO JANET 
 
 Droop thy snowy eyelids down, 
 
 O'er thine eyes of Heaven's own bkie! 
 
 Listen baby to the tone 
 
 Of angels whispering now to you; 
 
 Leaning o'er thy cradle bed, 
 
 They fold white wings above thy head. 
 
 And call thy fluttering soul away 
 
 To angelland to rest and play. 
 
 Sleep, my darling, sleep and rest, 
 Golden head on mother's breast, 
 Of all the gems in life's fair crown, 
 She holds thee richest, — oh, my own. 
 Sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
 Soft limbs cease thy restless play, 
 Prattling tongue be quiet now. 
 Hush thee, as this kiss I lay. 
 Like benediction, on thy brow. 
 
94 Poem0 
 
 Haste thee baby, haste away, 
 Where dream angels for thee stay, 
 'Twas such a Httle while ago 
 You left them for my love I know, 
 
 They are calling, haste away, 
 To angelland to rest and play; 
 But do not thy return delay. 
 Mother wants thee more than they. 
 Sleep, my baby, sleep. 
 
jFte0ton 95 
 
 HER PICTURE 
 
 He was an artist, — Leopold his name, — 
 Painting with slcilful hand his way to fame; 
 She was a girl, from whose quick, ready pen. 
 Bright fancies flowed of angels, flowers and 
 
 men. 
 He worshiped at the shrine of Angelo, 
 The name of Raphael made his pale cheek glow; 
 He wished to stand one day in fame with them, 
 While she, the poet, worshiped only him. 
 He wanted all the world his power to own ; 
 She humbly prayed to win his praise alone. 
 
 "Let me be sure he loves me, and I know 
 
 I'll do Thy work so well! Let me but go 
 
 Through life beside him, and Thy gracious gift, 
 
 In gratitude, I'll ever use to lift 
 
 Up to Thy feet the fallen, solace bring 
 
 To hearts grown bitter through much suffering. 
 
 Grant me this happiness ! For his dear sake, 
 
 I'd give up life and hope and all save Thee ! 
 
96 Poeni0 
 
 Still for his love my yearning heart doth ache, — ■ 
 Father of Heaven, I pray grant it to me!" 
 
 And what says he, v^^hen from his swelling 
 
 heart, 
 A wish springs upward on the wings of prayer? 
 "Oh, grant me name and fame, dear God, I pray. 
 For nothing else of all Thy gifts I care! 
 Oh, life is very short to work my will. 
 And hard the task, — hoiv hard, — to win a name! 
 Take gold, take youth, take love, ambition, 
 
 friends ! 
 I prize them not, I only ask for fame !" 
 
 And she would, listening, silent press a hand 
 Above the tender heart his words made bleed, 
 Then kneel beside him like a faithful dog. 
 Who knows, through sympathy, his master's 
 need. 
 
 One day, within the studio, 
 
 . They laughed and sang, in merry mood, 
 And, "Dear," he said, "in this sweet hour, 
 I think I could paint something good. 
 
 Be thine the thought, — from thy sweet soul 
 Let it spring forth, a part of thee. 
 
jfte$ton 97 
 
 And I will use my highest art, 
 To give it immortality." 
 
 "Oh, may I choose the subject, dear?" 
 
 Her eyes looked grave while her lips smiled. 
 
 'A moment let me think it out. 
 
 Then you may greet my spirit's child. 
 
 A long, low window toward the West, 
 
 Viewed from the inner side; 
 A crimson curtain's shimmering folds 
 
 Drawn loosely to one side. 
 
 The casement open to the breeze. 
 
 Showing a blue, blue sky, 
 O'er which one tiny, fleecy cloud 
 
 Goes softly floating by. 
 
 Outside the window grows a tree, 
 
 A small branch seen within, 
 Its leaves just quivering with life 
 
 And love of the sweet spring. 
 
 And on the dark stone window ledge 
 
 Lies one rich, full-blown rose, 
 Plucked from its stem by some dear friend, — 
 
 Or lover, no one knows, — 
 
98 Poem0 
 
 And where the silken curtain folds 
 
 A shadow from the light, 
 A laurel wreath is lying, 
 
 Tied with ribbons, blue and white. 
 
 But the wreath lies in the shadow 
 While the sunbeams kiss the rose, 
 
 As though they really loved it, 
 And everybody knows 
 
 They are always called 'God's messengers/ 
 
 Now do you think that you 
 Can truly paint my picture? 
 
 And give the moral, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, he said, "I see it all ! 
 
 Quick, I i3.ce the canvas here ! 
 I must not lose a single shade, 
 
 And now it is so clear." 
 
 And he painted well the picture. 
 
 And she clapped her hands and cried, 
 
 "It is perfect! It is perfect! 
 But the moral ?" and she sighed. 
 
 "Dear, I read it while I painted, 
 
 And I hold the lesson true. 
 For I see it all, — my folly, — 
 
 As it must appear to you. 
 
Jfre0ton 99 
 
 Laurel leaves are always shadowed, — 
 E'en though tied with white and blue, — 
 
 Purity and constant effort, — 
 If fame only holds the view. 
 
 We should do the work God gives us 
 For the work's sake, — ^to His will 
 
 Bending hand and heart obedient. 
 That we may His wish fulfill. 
 
 I shall struggle upward ever, — 
 For I must, — but dark and drear 
 
 Were the way, if rose and sunshine 
 From my pathway disappear. 
 
 So stay with me always, cherished 
 By the heart your truth has won, 
 
 And ril strive to keep your love rose 
 Ever blooming in the sun. 
 
 See how dark would be this picture 
 
 With but laurels on the red, 
 And the rose and sunlight covered?" 
 
 **And it wouldn't sell!" she said. 
 
100 Poem0 
 
 A LETTER 
 
 My dear and cherished friend: 
 
 To you 
 A letter, serious, sad, but true 
 I have to write to-day. 
 I pray that you will lay aside 
 All sense of anger, scorn and pride 
 And hear what I must say. 
 
 Castor and Pollux held their sway 
 In heaven upon your natal day, 
 And gave their gifts two-fold; 
 The first, a loyal tender soul, 
 Quick to defend, quick to console. 
 Merry and brave and bold. 
 
 Winning the love and praise of all, 
 
 As easily as toss a ball, 
 
 Beauty and genius, too ; 
 
 A certain gracious deference, 
 
 A power to win all confidence, 
 
 Were Castor's gifts to you. 
 
jfre0ton loi 
 
 The other? Ah! what shall I say? 
 His gift is closer hidden away 
 And covered up from view. 
 I know not really what it is, 
 I only know the truth of this, 
 To me 'tis strange and new. 
 
 And every instinct of my heart 
 Shrinks from it with a deadly start. 
 Whene'er it is set free; 
 And all those fluttering wings of light. 
 That guard the spirit's inner sight. 
 Surround and bid me flee. 
 
 My dear, when you were just my friend. 
 
 And nothing more, could I the end 
 
 Of this sad chapter see? 
 
 I only saw your nobler side, 
 
 And promised to become your bride, 
 
 Led on by sympathy. 
 
 No, Dear, there was no love for you. 
 My heart was empty. It is true 
 Your presence brought content ; 
 And I believed you loved me well, 
 And wished your sorrow to dispel. 
 And so — I gave consent. 
 
102 poem0 
 
 I felt that easy it must be 
 
 To love the one who so loved me, — 
 
 You seemed so worthy love; 
 
 But, Oh! I felt my heart grow cold, 
 
 Before my troth was one hour old. 
 
 My folly but to prove. 
 
 I seemed to give so much to you, 
 You took as your right and due, — 
 A gift not much, indeed, 
 Had I not promised, for your sake 
 To live my life? from your hand take 
 The book of Fate to read? 
 
 If the page turned at joy or pain. 
 
 Sorrow or sickness, loss or gain. 
 
 To read it firmly through. 
 
 You see the promise I had given, 
 
 I fancied had been heard in heaven,-— 
 
 It was not so with you. 
 
 And then I knew this heart of mine 
 Would never wake at touch of thine 
 To all its fuller power; 
 And I have learned that I but dreamed, — 
 Your love was never what it seemed 
 To me, — not for an hour. 
 
jFre0ton 103 
 
 It was a careless, selfish thing, 
 
 That at the slightest touch took wing 
 
 And left but sneers behind. 
 
 It could be blind to tender deeds, 
 
 Blind to love's little daily needs, 
 
 Keen-eyed a fault to find. 
 
 I have been patient, borne much pain 
 Before I ask to rend in twain 
 The bonds myself have bound. 
 I love you not, you love not me, 
 Therefore I ask you, set me free, 
 And state upon what ground. 
 
 We owe unto ourselves and God 
 
 A duty first, — the way He trod, 
 
 Is wide enough for all; — 
 
 To keep our souls and actions clean. 
 
 To choose no friends who can demean, 
 
 To keep vice beyond call. 
 
 The duty next is to that one. 
 
 Your heart has chosen and has won ; 
 
 For her sake you must try 
 
 To walk uprightly, honor prize, 
 
 Shame not her choice in the world's eyes, 
 
 Nor lower her standard high. 
 
I04 PDem0 
 
 You loved my purity of thought, 
 
 Yet to my unstained ears you brought 
 
 Your tales of vice untold. 
 
 You opened wide the gates to. me 
 
 Of unknown worlds, — what I could see 
 
 Made me shrink back appalled. 
 
 You told me selfishness was all 
 The force that kept me from the call 
 Of Satan's wily tongue. 
 A strange creed surely ! Is that soul 
 The nobler when she pays the toll 
 Where Evil's gates are swung? 
 
 Or is she better, when her own 
 
 White radiance lets her walk alone, 
 
 With fearless step and free. 
 
 Straight in the midst of unclean things? 
 
 Since from the fluttering of her spirit wings, 
 
 They hide their heads and flee. > 
 
 You laughed my "silly" faith to scorn, — 
 You wondered where I had been born, 
 When I said ''men were true !" 
 'The aptest hypocrite" you claimed, 
 Was he who never could be blamed 
 For crimes exposed to view. 
 
Jfte0ton 105 
 
 Thank God ! my father still stands forth, 
 
 A man of stainless, noble worth, 
 
 To give your words the lie ! 
 
 As long as memories of him last, 
 
 So long I'll hold my faith still fast, 
 
 And "Alen are worthy," cry. 
 
 And yet when all this wrong I learned, 
 It seemed life's sunshine had been turned 
 To gloom, for me at least. 
 For this had Christ been crucified, 
 For this upon the cross He died ! — 
 Still spreads the devil's feast. 
 
 But ah! methinks, if Lucifer 
 
 Had ever borne the lights afar 
 
 In that dear Heaven above. 
 
 He must, in loathing and disgust, 
 
 Turn from those sinful haunts of lust, 
 
 And weep for God and love. 
 
 I know that if I married you, 
 
 I should be to myself untrue, — 
 
 No union could it be; 
 
 For I would walk the heights alone, 
 
 And when your daily tasks were done, 
 
 Perhaps, you'd call to me, 
 
io6 Poem0 
 
 And I would fold my spirit wings, — 
 
 To come down to your common things, — 
 
 About my higher part; 
 
 And listening to your tenderness, 
 
 Be happy for a little space, 
 
 And nestle in your heart. 
 
 But oh ! my fancies ! how they'd crowd. 
 And for more space would cry aloud, 
 Close locked away from you ! 
 Your arms would be but prison bars, 
 To keep me from the clouds and stars 
 And darken Heaven's blue. 
 
 These words will grieve you sore, I fear. 
 Let us be the kind friends and dear, 
 We were, before the pain 
 Of this unhappy love, to mar 
 Our friendship, and to rudely jar 
 Our peace, had come. 
 
 Helene. 
 
jfre^ton 107 
 
 CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 Alone, I said, this Christmas Eve! 
 
 Ah, never less alone! 
 
 For round me here, in countless throng, 
 
 Joys laugh and sorrows moan ; 
 
 And Memory, from her mystic realm, 
 
 Leads forth her willing train. 
 
 And fancies group about my chair 
 
 To gladden or to pain. 
 
 And faces loved and faces dead 
 
 And ones I ne'er may see. 
 
 Come round me here to-night, and keep 
 
 This Christmas Eve with me. 
 
 Oh, thou dear face ! 'tis not alone 
 
 To-night thou art with me! 
 
 For in my heart is ever still 
 
 The deathless thought of thee! 
 
 But thou'rt far away in being, 
 Farther still in soul and heart. 
 And my voice is heard but dimly 
 
io8 Poem0 
 
 Through the noises of life's Mart. 
 But to-morrow, — when the curtain 
 Of Creation, shall be furled, 
 To show the Heart of Divine Love 
 That beats for all the world, 
 
 And we learn the holy meaning- 
 Of that first glad Christmas Morn, 
 When Peace embodied, Hope and Faith, 
 In Bethlehem were born, — 
 Shall you send across the distance, — 
 Over mountain, vale and sea, — 
 Like a swift-winged bird of summer, 
 A kindly thought to me ? 
 
iFre0tott 109 
 
 THE HEBREW MOTHER 
 
 TO R. B. 
 
 Thou art dead, my mother, they tell me, — dead, 
 And thy peaceful form on its bier is laid; 
 And the brow I kiss in my boundless woe, 
 Is as cold as stone 'neath its crown of snow. 
 But now as I bend o'er thee, mother dear, 
 I know that thy spirit is hovering near, — 
 Near in my sorrow as oft in my joy, 
 To comfort and bless me, — thy lonely "boy." 
 
 The years slip away in this quiet room. 
 
 And are wafted off on the flower's perfume. 
 
 And I am no longer the man of to-day. 
 
 Whose temple-locks Time has dusted with gray, 
 
 But a little boy at my mother's knee, — 
 
 The young merry mother who once was thee ; 
 
 Who cradled me safe in her arm's warm fold, 
 
 And sprinkled the world with her fairy gold. 
 
no poemsJ 
 
 So rich in sweet kisses and wisdom's store ! 
 And the wondrous gifts of her fairy lore! 
 What matter that often our feet went bare! 
 What matter that oft there was scanty fare! 
 With that dear hand holding the rudder straight, 
 Faith sailed life's bark, and we laughed at Fate. 
 Oh ! I did not know, till the years were sped, 
 How hard was the task, dear, to keep us fed! 
 
 Nor how bruised by labor that hand was oft, 
 That had seemed to our tender needs so soft. 
 Nor how much of sacrifice, work and pain. 
 Fill the life of the mother that thou hast been. 
 Oh ! Memory comes, with her velvet tread, 
 And laying soft hands on my bending head. 
 She draws aside this dark curtain of woe. 
 To show the sweet pictures of long ago. 
 
 Nay, my mother dear, though for thee the bell 
 
 Is tolling its message of sad farewell. 
 
 Thou art still alive in the beating heart 
 
 Of thy loved one, reft, and shall ne'er depart. 
 
 For of all the gifts with which God has blessed 
 
 His children, a brave, true mother is best; 
 
 And of all the mothers I ever knew, 
 
 To me thou wert bravest, to me most true. 
 
jFre0ton 
 
 III 
 
 Many loves have come, as the years sHpped by, 
 With jest and laughter and sometimes a sigh, 
 But what heart e'er thrilled at a kiss of mine, 
 As the touch of thy first-born son thrilled thine! 
 Ah, those memories sweet have the undertone 
 Of a sorrow's cry, and a spirit's moan! 
 For though in my heart thou shalt ever be. 
 To-morrow no mother will wait for me, 
 
 To hear all the news of the day's refrain, 
 To counsel, and comfort and save from pain ; 
 To grieve in my grief, and to joy in my joy. 
 For years counted not, I was still thy "boy." 
 Age had long given his halo of snow, 
 And thy face was lined and thy step was slow. 
 But thy heart was young, with the spirit's youth, 
 And thy furrowed cheek was still bright with 
 truth. 
 
 And if each kind deed that thy life has given. 
 Had plucked a star from the vault of heaven. 
 To illume thy soul on its homeward way, 
 'Twould be bright indeed, with each silvery ray. 
 For none came in sorrow or none in need, 
 Thou hast failed to comfort, or failed to feed ; 
 And the poor shall bless when they hear thy 
 
 name. 
 Though it ne'er shall shine in the halls of fame, 
 
112 Poem0 
 
 For of all good gifts with which God has blessed 
 His children, a good, true woman is best; 
 And a better woman, nor one more true 
 Than thou wert, my mother, I never knew. 
 Thou hast entered at last the wide domain, 
 Where the riddle of life is now made plain. 
 Thou wert ever true to thy people's creed. 
 And wert never deaf to thy people's need. 
 
 The God of the Christian! the God of the Jew! 
 Has He told thee the True faith is just to be 
 
 true ? 
 True to thine own creed, — whate'er it may be, — 
 True to thy people, in bondage or free ; 
 True to thy God and the gifts He bestowed ; — 
 Love lights the faithful along Death's dim road. 
 Thy tasks are accomplished, — thy life's work all 
 
 done. 
 Thy calm smile now tells me thy rest is begun. 
 
 No more of the fret, the fume and the tears, 
 That crowded thy life in its earlier years. 
 No more of the pleasures, the hopes and the joys, 
 And the dreams that have filled thy dear heart 
 
 for thy ''boys !" 
 But no heaven shall tempt thee, dear mother, to 
 
 Beyond call of their voices in sorrow and woe. 
 
To-morrow thy form shall be taken away 
 And midst flowers, tears and prayers, shall be 
 laid in the clay. 
 
 So to-night I shall tender the heart's sad ca- 
 ress, 
 
 On the lips that but parted thy loved ones to 
 bless. 
 
 Farewell to thee, mother! dear comrade and 
 friend ! 
 
 Farewell till I find thee again at life's end. 
 
 For of all the dear mothers that ever I knew, 
 
 To me thou wert bravest, to me the most true. 
 
114 poems 
 
 THE MOTOR FEMININE 
 
 With a whiz and a whir and a merry "honk," 
 The motor car whirled up to the door, 
 To carry away, on pleasure bent, 
 In motor array, a party of four. 
 'Twas a summer day in the end of June, 
 When green fields beckoned us from afar, - 
 And we turned from the city's sultry noon. 
 To the air-swept dash of the willing car. 
 
 The girl in the crimson motor cap. 
 Leaned tenderly over the dark green side, 
 And said, as she patted the panting thing, — 
 In a voice as soft as a loving bride, — 
 "Now, REO, be a good girl to-day. 
 And save your moods for another time ! 
 If you carry us safely on our way. 
 We'll sing your praises in prose and rhyme; 
 
 And give you nice gasoline to drink. 
 
 And in every way treat you as best we can ! 
 
 So be a good girl!" A saucy "Honk!" 
 
jFre0ton 115 
 
 A whiz and a whirl and away she ran. 
 In and out through the city streets. 
 Over the river and far away, — 
 Into the country's Wonderland, — 
 'Neath the cloudless sky of a summer day! 
 
 Merriment perched on the steering bar, 
 And care was left at the starting post; 
 And our REO ran on so valiantly, 
 That her owner chauffeur began to boast 
 About all the wonders she yet would do, 
 'Neath the master touch of his guiding hand, — 
 The races she'd run and the trips she would take 
 And the record she'd make were all quickly 
 planned. 
 
 The fields of daisies and waving corn 
 And cattle grazing in pastures green, — • 
 Lifting grave eyes and bending horn, — 
 Flashed by ere the picture was fairly seen. 
 Past quiet hamlets and groups of trees, 
 Through the sun and shade of a perfect day, 
 With hearts as light as the summer breeze. 
 That fanned our faces, we sped away. 
 
 The winding, ribbon-like, red-brown road, — 
 Men's hands flung down to meet man's need, — 
 Seemed to our fancy to flow behind, 
 
ii6 poemsf 
 
 With a mountain torrent reckless speed. 
 
 It ran to meet us over the hill, 
 
 Directly out of the cloudless sky, 
 
 Till we reached the summit, then valleys fair, 
 
 In all their beauty went flashing by. 
 
 I think 'twas the girl with the crimson cap, 
 And white veil floating upon the air, — 
 Breathing a sigh of supreme content, — 
 Expressed her behef that heaven was fair ; 
 But with such a dutiful motor car. 
 And the one she loved as acting chauffeur, 
 A run o'er the beautiful Jersey lands, 
 Was quite enough of heaven for her. 
 
 A sudden curve in the winding road, 
 And we turned away from the west, to run 
 Where the musical Raritan river flowed, — 
 Its wavelets kissed by the setting sun. 
 Rippling and dimpling and dancing along, 
 Between the verdure of shore and shore, 
 She murmured softly sweet Nature's song, 
 As we ran by her side for a mile or more. 
 
 The sun went down in its crimson and gold, 
 That faded slowly and drifted away, 
 As the twilight hour, with her manifold 
 Fancies, shook out her mantle of gray. 
 
jFte0tott 1^7 
 
 The moon crept up, — a red, red moon ! 
 Over the tops of the distant trees 
 She slowly peeped from behind their shade, 
 As they gently swayed in the evening breeze. 
 
 As she came in view, 'twas a strange, weird 
 
 scene, — 
 A blood-red moon on a lead-blue sky, — 
 We laughed that Dame Nature's color scheme 
 Was enough to make any artist cry. 
 Said our hostess dear, with a pretty pout, 
 "If / had painted a scene so quaint, 
 They'd tell me I'd better go J)ack to school. 
 And stay there until I had learned to paint.'* 
 
 But another sweep of her magic brush. 
 
 And the crudeness turned into harmony, 
 
 And the silvery night to each heart said "Hush! 
 
 And welcome the joy I shall bring to thee !" 
 
 The stars crept out of the Far Away, 
 
 Where they dwell in a land of mystery. 
 
 "And they say that heaven is fair," I said, 
 
 "But this world has beauty enough for me." 
 
 We looked for the man in the moon and found 
 Not him alone, but his sweetheart, too, 
 Kissing him on the lips ! Is there aught 
 In the world that fancy, — unchained, — can't do? 
 
ii8 Poem0 
 
 The night had come and we owned with a sigh 
 Of regret, that a flawless day was passed; 
 For we knew by the odors of laurel and pine, 
 That our halting place — Lakewood — was reached 
 at last. 
 
 Hungry and thirsty and happily tired, 
 
 We daintily dined at the Burnett Inn, 
 
 And slept the sweet dreamless sleep of those 
 
 Whose hearts are not burdened with sorrow or 
 
 sin. 
 The morning dawned with a face so fair, 
 That she promised another perfect day; 
 So out through the dew-washed, sunlit air. 
 As gay as the morning, we started away. 
 
 But when we came to the Laurel and Pine, 
 We stopped for a time to admire the view. 
 And, after admiring, we fain would go on, 
 But, alas ! 'twas for REO to say what she'd do ! 
 And she did a number of wonderful things, — 
 She kicked and snorted and tried to go 
 Every way but the way we wanted her to, 
 So back to the garage she had to go. 
 
 For two long hours at the lake we sat, 
 
 And watched and waited our host to see ; 
 
 We grew tired of picking the flowers, and I own 
 
jFrc0ton 119 
 
 The beauty of scenery palled on me. 
 At last came the sound of a distant horn, 
 And we hailed with rapture the smiling face, 
 Of our charming host, as the chastened car 
 Came whirling up to our resting place. 
 
 " 'Twas a bolt that had gotten on upside down." 
 "Oh, was that all ?" "It was quite enough. 
 When it took two hours to find it out !" 
 "That machinician must be a muff!" 
 Then away through the sunlit, summery weather ! 
 While merriment perched on the steering bar ; 
 Four care-free hearts all beating together 
 To the chug, chug, chug of the motor car! 
 
 We filled the car with the laurel blossoms, 
 
 And sat ensconced in a nest of bloom. 
 
 And stopped to gather them here and there, — 
 
 For one more bunch there was always room. 
 
 Twas bounteous nature over again, 
 
 With variations of yesterday; 
 
 But as we came near the Jersey Coast, 
 
 We could smell the breath of the salt sea spray. 
 
 We almost shouted aloud with joy. 
 
 When we whirled in sight of the ocean gray, 
 
 And as we flew along by her side. 
 
 We laughed at the tumbling breakers' play. 
 
120 Poem0 
 
 Of a sudden the sky grew dark and grim, 
 And the thunder muttered from far away, 
 And the Hghtning flashed with a wrathful gleam, 
 And changed indeed was the face of day. 
 
 "We must race the storm," said our host, "for we 
 Have promised to lunch at Pleasure Bay. 
 'Twill come in a perfect downpour, I know, 
 And a shelter is many miles away. 
 So hold your breath for a dash," he laughed, 
 "And say your prayers, if you fear to die! 
 For if anything happens from here to there, 
 We'll — simply wake in eternity." 
 
 The lightning flashed and the thunder roared. 
 And daylight was turned to ominous gray; 
 And through the uproar of sea and sky, 
 With the rush of an eagle we sped away. 
 I felt as I might when the hounds give cry, 
 And I, on a sturdy hunter's back. 
 Not knowing the dangers that lie in my way. 
 Rush recklessly after the baying pack. 
 
 Oh, the blood was stirred, and the heart beat 
 
 high! 
 And the breath came quick in that headlong race 1 
 Who cared if Death should be standing by? 
 We'd fling him a jest and laugh in his facel 
 
Jfre0ton 121 
 
 Too soon 'twas o'er and the shelter gained, 
 Just as the rain came pouring do^vn ; 
 And a happier, merrier, hungrier four, 
 Ne'er smiled in the shadow of Nature's frown. 
 
 Out on the porch was the table set. 
 With the best the larder could furnish there, 
 And the clatter of dishes and clink of glass, 
 Faintly echoed the riot aloft in the air. 
 But a bolt shot forth from the grim, dun sky, 
 And burst in our midst, with a grand acclaim, 
 As it tore the limbs from a tree near by. 
 And set a bit of the roof aflame. 
 
 When my sight and my wits came creeping 
 
 back. 
 From the land of danger and wild alarm. 
 The girl with the crimson motor cap. 
 Was solemnly rubbing one darkened arm. 
 And said she was struck right there, but soon 
 Some water washed all the black away : 
 The men gathered round her, fearing she'd 
 
 swoon, 
 All ready to kneel at her feet and pray. 
 
 The storm soon passed and we started home. 
 
 With glowing praise for our motor car ; 
 
 But like many a feminine, flattered too much, 
 
122 poem0 
 
 She proved her perversity ere we'd gone far. 
 In a nice, big mud puddle, soft and wet, 
 Our REO sat down to admire the view ; 
 She was just Hke a naughty child in a pet, 
 And would do not a thing that we wished her 
 to do. 
 
 Her good, patient master circled about, 
 
 With a glance inside and a magic pat 
 
 Here and there, then a moment of troubled 
 doubt. 
 
 And now it was this tool and now it was that. 
 
 Then some gasoline was poured somewhere in- 
 side. 
 
 And a bolt unscrewed and a great noise made, 
 
 And some dark blue grease was — somewhere 
 applied. 
 
 And some coaxing more, but she still delayed. 
 
 It was raining hard, and our handsome host, — 
 So pick and span at the starting hour, 
 That indeed we had been inclined to boast 
 Of the style of our millionaire chauffeur, — 
 Was a sight to behold ! his cap flung by 
 And his hair, all rumpled and wet with rain, 
 Hung in straight, blond strands over either eye. 
 And his hands ! — would they ever be clean again ? 
 
jFre^ton ^ 
 
 His stunning, cream linen motor coat, — 
 
 All streaked with grease and all muddy and 
 
 murk, — 
 Had its long, limp tails tied up in a knot, 
 And he looked like a tramp who was made to 
 
 work. 
 "There should be an apron on here," he said, 
 'The automobile objects to the wet." 
 Then somebody almost bit off his head. 
 For being so heedless as to forget. 
 
 "U I should ever come out again. 
 
 Though every one else in the world forgets, 
 
 I'll remind you to bring an apron along,— 
 
 A petticoat, too, and perhaps pantalets." 
 
 I watched a little brooklet of rain 
 
 Drop down on the seat by the Golden Haired, 
 
 And soon she began to softly complain. 
 
 And wonder how far toward home we had fared. 
 
 "I am wet and tired and I want to go home ! 
 Cant you do something to make her go? 
 I don't see why people care so much^ 
 For automobiling! / don't I know." 
 Everyone scolded and frowned and fumed, 
 But the one who had all the hard work to do ; 
 I am sure he earned a halo and wings! 
 When he gets to heaven he'll have them, too. 
 
124 poems 
 
 Well we'd go awhile, when somethmg inside 
 Would stoop to the puddle and take a drink, 
 Then suddenly come to a halt again, 
 While REO sat down in the mud to think. 
 Once, while her mood was a pleasant one, 
 And she was moving along at her best. 
 We saw on the top of a telegraph pole, 
 The wonderful sight of an eagle's nest. 
 
 He was a widower bird I guess, 
 For we saw not another feather move ; 
 Frail, fickle mankind might learn of him, 
 For the eagle is knov/n to have only one love. 
 With head aside, o'er the nest's soft edge 
 He viewed the world from his place on high. 
 We shouted and called till with wings outflung, 
 He sailed away toward the frowning sky. 
 
 Oh, wonder of birds! his long gray wings, 
 With their graceful sweep, flinging back the air. 
 Appeared like the rymic flutterings 
 Of a sail boat flying o'er sea as fair. 
 Ah, well ! why dwell on that homeward trip ? — 
 Though REO dwelt more than we liked to see,-— 
 She did everything bad a motor could do, — 
 She even attempted to climb a tree. 
 
JFre0ton 125 
 
 Within three niles of Plainfield town, 
 • She took a notion to burst a tire ; 
 We all helped in any way we could, 
 Standing around in the rain and mire. 
 We crawled through the city's lighted streets, 
 And reached, with delight, the glad garage ; 
 And turned her over, with sighs of relief. 
 To the man who takes such things in charge. 
 
 'Twas long past the hour when people dine. 
 
 And we looked in vain for a table d'hote. 
 
 We dined on coffee of wonderful make, 
 
 And sandwiches old enough to vote. 
 
 Then hie for the train and old New York ! 
 
 With resolutions many and strong 
 
 To never again ! — but never mind ! 
 
 We were tired just then, and the way was long. 
 
 Oh, home at last! Oh, sweet, sweet home! — - 
 As the midnight bells tolled off the hours. 
 With perished gloves and veils and hats. 
 And tempers soured and some faded flowers. 
 But the girl in the crimson cap and I 
 Compared our notes over de jeuner 
 And decided the pleasure of motoring 
 Was worth any price one had to pay. 
 
126 Poem0 
 
 ITALIA'S FORNARINA. 
 
 Wouldst hear from me a tale of love and woe? 
 Then listen to one read long years ago. 
 I have forgotten much, so fancy may 
 Fill in the portions time has swept away. 
 
 It was one night, when the Raphael was young, 
 And with the artist's praises nations rung; 
 The place, — a theatre in mighty Rome, 
 Where beauty, pomp, and power were wont to 
 
 come, — 
 But hold! too long have I this preface spun; 
 Ring up the curtain, for my tale's begun ! 
 
 Each wandering eye within this Roman hall, 
 Turn toward the stage; and Music — friend ot 
 
 all- 
 Soon shall a dearer cadence than thy strain 
 Steal to each heart, with freight of joy, or pain; 
 It soars aloft, e'en to the height of thought, — 
 Before whose chime thy richest notes are naught. 
 
jFte0ton 127 
 
 Hush thy sweet clamor! To the foot-Hghts now 
 Is gliding one, to whom all hearts must bow 
 In homage to true genius; by wide gates 
 Of song, La Bella Fornarina waits. 
 
 She seems a being far beyond our ken, — 
 Too pure to tread the common world of men; — 
 And yet, too human for God's sunlit bow'rs, 
 Though her white hands have gathered Eden- 
 
 flow'rs. 
 And so, 'twixt heaven and earth, she stands 
 
 sublime, 
 Calm and unmoved as saint of olden time ; 
 Spreads her white wings of genius o'er the 
 
 throng, 
 And lifts her head, — to Hst the angel's song, — 
 Rouses the sleeping soul to dreams of love, 
 And wings the thoughts, to soar this earth above. 
 
 What is it to her that a thousand eyes 
 
 Gaze on her beauty with a mute surprise ? 
 
 What is it to her that a thousand hung 
 
 On the first accents of her inspired tongue? 
 
 All petty hopes and fears to her are naught, — 
 
 God-crowned young empress of the realm of 
 
 thought ! 
 Her hair, in dusky splendor, ripples down; 
 Her brow is circled by a diamond crown ; 
 
12^ 
 
 Poem0 
 
 And her robe's glittering white, gem-decked, and 
 
 fair, — 
 A raiment meet, — leaves arms and shoulders 
 
 bare. 
 
 She stands a moment's .space, — in silence 
 
 stands, — 
 With eyes uplifted, clasped and drooping 
 
 hands, 
 As one might idly watch a flight of birds; — 
 And then, quick-rushing, comes a flood of words. 
 Glory the theme her rainbow fancy weaves 
 Into thoughts, varied as the Autumn leaves. 
 A subtle something, from that poet soul, 
 To every hushed and waiting spirit stole; — 
 Like wafted fragrance on the summer air, 
 Or dream of waters in a desert bare. 
 
 Why heaves that breast in such mad tumult 
 
 now? 
 Why glides the lily hand across the brow, — 
 As though her brain were clouded, and she fain 
 Would clear it of a spell that brought but pain; 
 Why does that voice — erstwhile so silvery clear, 
 Bearing sweet music to each listening ear, — 
 Touching the heart, as but true genius may, — • 
 Break, falter, and in silence die away? 
 A woman, — a mere woman ! there she stands. 
 
jFre0ton 129 
 
 While o'er her heart are pressed her trembling 
 
 hands ; 
 Her heart, now quivering, thrilling, pulsing wild, 
 This moment — tameless as a savage child 1 
 
 A woman, — a mere woman ! in that hall 
 None weaker, owning thus Love's mighty thrall. 
 For, as her dark eyes wander o'er the throng. 
 They meet the eyes of Raphael, who for long 
 Has gazed with rapt, strange wonder, on her 
 
 face, — 
 As though he strove, but all in vain, to trace 
 The sweet, familiar look that stirred his heart, — 
 Causing dim memories from their graves to start 
 In shapeless forms, that mocked him as they 
 
 came, 
 Whisp'ring of years long past, — and one dear 
 
 name. 
 They brought fair visions of his childhood day. 
 And Fornarina, — his young friend in play. 
 
 Now, as she meets those deep eyes' earnest 
 
 look, — 
 That, in a sudden fear, she scarce can brook, — 
 Back o'er her heart receding love-waves roll, 
 And sweep away the poet's self-control; 
 Her royal robes of state have been flung down, — 
 Down at his feet, her sceptre and her crown 
 
130 Poem0 
 
 Have fallen, in that moment of deep pain, 
 When, after years of silence, once again 
 She stands before the only love she knew, — 
 Knowing him false to vows she still held true. 
 
 A moment — a brief moment stands she there, 
 Of God's best gifts, the fairest and most fair; 
 Then draws about her royal soul again 
 Her robe of state, and stands, once more a queen; 
 Lifts, from the lowly place where they were 
 
 thrown, 
 Her talents' golden sceptre, and rich crown; 
 Encircles once again her brow of might. 
 With deep soul's calm, and intellect's soft light. 
 When she resumes, her theme is swept away, 
 And LOVE is now the burden of her lay. 
 
 She speaks of fair Urbino, and you see 
 The opening flowers, and hear the humming bee ; 
 You hear the song-bird calling to his mate, — 
 The lowing kine beside the still-closed gate ; 
 The ripples glancing on the water's sheen, — 
 The blithe, young feet that dance upon the green ; 
 You breathe the fragrance in the summer air. 
 And feel that youth, and hope, and joy, are there ; 
 You see God's sunshine pouring o'er it all, — 
 Fair as was Eden's bower before the fall. 
 
And she, — the peasant girl, whose dark glad eyes 
 Turn with dehght toward birds, and flowers and 
 
 skies ; 
 Flashing and swift to draw into the heart 
 All nature's charm, of which she is a part; — • 
 You see her wander, guided by her will. 
 But mostly through the vineyards on the hill, — * 
 Flying along, with wind-blown, dusky hair 
 Floating upon the breeze, and brown feet bare ; 
 And ever by her side is found the Boy, — 
 Her slave, her guide, her comrade, and her joy. 
 
 She tells of the glad vintage-time, when all 
 Go mad with song; and the quick, rhymic fall 
 Of purple fruit to baskets brimming o'er, — 
 The revel, till the vines hold nothing more. 
 And ever by her side is found the Boy, 
 To do her bidding, and to share her joy; — 
 To gaily romp with her upon the lea, — 
 When tired, to rest his head upon her knee ; 
 To pour his heart out at her careless feet, — 
 To tell her all his dreams, — the visions sweet 
 Of fairy realms, where he shall rule as king, 
 When the gift comes, that Fate is sure to bring. 
 
 He longs for something that he cannot name ; — • 
 Some call it Power, and others call it Fame • — 
 Again he sits, with dreamy, brooding eyes, 
 
132 Poem0 
 
 Wishing to be the bird that upward flies ; 
 He feels the fluttering genius in his soul, 
 Striving to spread its wings, and break control; 
 And still the two go hand in hand along 
 The sunlight way of youth, — with dance, — with 
 song. 
 
 The years go by; and to their souls has come, — • 
 Deep as the ocean, airy as its foam, — 
 LOVE, the magician; and each heart, before 
 This welcome guest, throws open every door. 
 They know that he will tarry with them long. 
 And greet his presence sweet with flowers and 
 
 song ; — 
 And ever by her side is found the Boy, — 
 Her pride, her wonder, master, and her joy. 
 
 (You feel it all ; — a pulse throbs in each v^ord ; 
 'Tis not a tale, but heart-beats you have heard. 
 Age sheds his years, and youth's breast thrills to 
 
 know, 
 Down to its utmost depths, this wild love's 
 
 glow. ) 
 
 Then comes a change. His soul has learned to 
 
 know 
 The thing it pines for ; and he soon shall go 
 Far, far away from this, his lowly home. 
 
Jfte^tott 133 
 
 To seek the portals of almighty Rome, — 
 There to win wealth, and power, and write his 
 
 name 
 Among the great ones, on the scroll of Fame; 
 And then, when laurel-leaves are fairly won, 
 To come, the truest knight beneath the sun, 
 For her, his lady fair; and far away 
 To bear her, to those realms of childhood's day, 
 Where he'll be king, and she, — the fairest queen 
 That e'er in fairy kingdom yet was seen. 
 
 And so they parted ; and each lonely day, 
 She prayed for him, who struggled far away. 
 And words, and tender messages would come, 
 To soothe the loneliness, from distant Rome ; 
 With heart shut, dreaming, through a world of 
 
 joy. 
 
 She walks unheeding, longing for the Boy. 
 
 And now, the words are colder when they come. 
 The message shorter ; and the way to Rome 
 Seems endless ; and she speaks his name no more ; 
 While each long silence leaves her true heart 
 sore. 
 
 She walks as in a shadow, dark with fear; 
 But still the star of hope shines, bright and 
 clear, — 
 
134 Poems 
 
 The while the earth grows colder, and the chill 
 
 Has even reached the vineyard on the hill. 
 
 At last hope's light went out, — then silence 
 
 came, — 
 Save when she heard the whispers of his fame; 
 And in the darkened world she sits alone 
 With love, — by her dead faith, — without a moan. 
 But oh; the hungry heart's wild, longing cry, — 
 To hear his voice beloved once more, — and die! 
 
 To touch his hand ! to know that he is near ! 
 To kiss the straying feet, — still dear, — so dear ! 
 The longing grew, and grew, till it became 
 A passion, filling all the world with flame, 
 That burned up every feeling, save that one, — 
 To see him ! see him ! then let life be done ! 
 At last, in pity, on the bursting heart 
 God lays his hand, and wisely draws apart 
 The jarring chords ; and sets the spirit free, 
 To pour the pain out in sweet melody. 
 
 The tale is ended; and the loud acclaim 
 
 Rings through the hall, and thousands shout her 
 
 name. 
 Men high in power, — princess of church and 
 
 state, 
 To do her homage, on her fancy wait; — 
 Meanwhile Raphael still sits in silent pride, 
 
Jfte0ton 135 
 
 Beside Corinne, his fair, and promised bride; — 
 The favored niece of the great Cardinal, — 
 A queen of power, who loves the artist well. 
 The lady Corinne keenly marks the play 
 Of features, that she dreamed not, till to-day, 
 Could hold so much emotion ; and her eyes 
 Grow dark and deep with agonized surprise. 
 
 "Raphael, look up; what is this maid to thee? 
 Nay, — touch me not, 'till thou hast answered 
 
 me!" 
 "Grieve not, sweetheart, if I seem strange and 
 
 cold, — 
 I am the traitor of the tale she told." 
 "Traitor, perhaps, but never in thy heart ! 
 Love did but slumber there ; — nay, do not start ! 
 Not for one moment did it wake for me ; 
 And so — in spite of pain — I set thee free! 
 The foolish people call me 'Star of Rome;' — , 
 Of all life's gifts I prized thy heart alone! 
 Go to thy love ; nor let one thought of me ; 
 Shadow thy joy. Raphaello, thou art free." 
 
 The little Nina seeks her mistress' side 
 To whisper, with a smile of girHsh pride, 
 How many great ones wait for just one word 
 With her Signora. "May they not be heard ? 
 And there is one who swears on bended knee, — ■ 
 
136 Poem0 
 
 He'd give his life for just one word with thee 
 
 Alone. His name is Raphael, and they say 
 
 He is the greatest painter of the day ; 
 
 And oh ! so handsome, — with such pleading eyes ! 
 
 If you refuse, I'm sure the Signor dies ! 
 
 Say yes ; and let me with the message go !" 
 
 White are the lips that firmly answer "No." 
 
 "The lady Corinne waits among the rest, 
 
 And says, to speak with thee will make her blest." 
 
 After a moment's pause, as to demur, — 
 
 "The lady Corinne, — I will speak with her." 
 
 The lady Corinne watched her as she came, — 
 
 While in her heart blazed up a jealous flame; 
 
 And suddenly, within that soul was born. 
 
 For her who stood before her, hate, and scorn; — 
 
 This lowly peasant-girl, who dared to hold 
 
 The heart she could not win, — with name, and 
 
 gold! 
 Then came the better thought ; God surely laid 
 A heavy hand on this true heart He made, — 
 Had struck the straining chords to sharpest 
 
 pain, — 
 And lo ! they answered back — In sweetest strain. 
 
 "Thou Wonder!" said she, with extended hand, 
 And proudly-smiling lips. "In this fair land, 
 Where people call me queen, is there one thing 
 
jFre0ton 137 
 
 The song-bird wishes, ere she spreads her wing? 
 Speak ! Let me know the joy in store for me, 
 When thou hast said what I may do for thee." 
 
 "Lady, you offer favors hke a queen ; 
 And Hke a queen, I answer you as fair; — 
 In all your broad possessions, you hold naught 
 Can add more lustre to the crown I wear. 
 ^ItaHa's queen,' they call you, — 'Star of Rome,' — ■ 
 To do you homage, courtiers bow the knee; — 
 My realm is greater, — I am 'queen of Song.' 
 The King of kings gave this dear crown to me. 
 To powers of earth, allegiance give I none; 
 But hearts whose chords vibrate at touch of mine 
 Are still my subjects, bend the knee to me, — 
 Swear me allegiance, — and I here claim thine." 
 
 Blue eyes met black, in steadfast look, and 
 
 proud ; — 
 The blue eyes falter, and the head is bowed, — 
 Bowed — lower still, — and there, for all to see. 
 The lady Corinne humbly bends the knee. 
 La Fornarina laid her hand, so fair, 
 LTpon the lady Corinne's golden hair; 
 And in a voice, where pow'r and sweetness 
 
 blend,-^ 
 With just a little quiver at the end, — 
 She speaks, as one who soon goes far away, 
 
138 poemie; 
 
 And heeds not who may hear what she will say. 
 
 "The 'song-bird' shakes earth-gifts from spread- 
 ing wing, 
 But, from my heart — that does not always sing — 
 A prayer goes up to Heaven's gate for thee ; — 
 Dear God from Sorrow's fetters leave her free." 
 She turns away, without a look or smile, 
 To that hushed crowd, that waited all the while; 
 A flash of gems beyond a closing door, — 
 And they shall never — never see her more. 
 
 "Nina, attend ! Fly to the outer gate, 
 
 Where Guido, with his fellows, for me wait, — 
 
 Bid him come here, and haste !" The maiden flew 
 
 To do the bidding, wisely as she knew. 
 
 Idly the lady stood, till Guido came ; 
 
 Then, blushed, and paled, but gave him Raphael's 
 
 name. 
 Bade him go forth, and learn, as best he may, 
 The place where he abides ; also the way 
 He turns to reach it, when, his good-nights o'er, 
 He leaves the palace-gate for his own door. 
 
 "Not many paces from the Cardinal's, 
 An archway, o'er a gate where no one dwells, — 
 I marked, as I this morning passed that way ; 
 Within that archway I can safely stay 
 
jFte0ton 139 
 
 Until you come; and Nina there with me 
 Will wait in shadow, till we hear from thee." 
 
 Guido has gone, and the small maid has thrown 
 A long, black mantle o'er the glittering gown. 
 Fleet, and light-footed as two does, they seek 
 The archway's somber shadow, ere they speak. 
 
 They crouch within, and to the wondering cry 
 
 Of "O, Signora!" comes a sad reply. 
 
 "Nay, wonder not; this Raphael, little dove, 
 
 Is my heart's first, and best, and only love ; 
 
 To see him once again, — I'd gladly die ! 
 
 So I shall watch where he must pass me by, — 
 
 When Guido comes to tell us. Hark! What 
 
 sound 
 Is that I hear? Ah! footsteps this way bound! 
 Oh, holy Mother ! give me strength to pray ! 
 Hush, beating heart! — 'tis Raphael comes this 
 
 way!" 
 
 With head bent down, — with lagging step, and 
 
 slow, 
 The painter, Raphael, walks, within the glow 
 Of a bright light, that shines, not far away, 
 And makes the place about him almost day. 
 The little Nina falls upon her knee. 
 Clutching her mistress' gown. "Signora, — see! 
 
140 Poem0 
 
 Oh, holy Virgin Mother! Spare him! — 
 
 Spare !" — 
 He needs such prayers, — the assassin's knife is 
 
 bare, 
 Seeking his heart ! A rival in love, or fame, — 
 For Corinne's favor, or the artist's name, — 
 Slips from the shelter of a doorway near, 
 And follows in his wake, — a shade of fear. 
 
 And as he steps within the shadow, thrown 
 Across his way by the dark archway's stone, — - 
 The weapon flashed ; but ere it reached his heart, 
 A woman's piercing scream has rent apart 
 And broken up the silence ; and a form, — 
 Black-robed and lithe, — lies drooping on his arm ! 
 Footsteps are coming, — yes, and going too ! — 
 Does he but dream, — or is it really true 
 That some one sought his life? — and this true 
 
 friend 
 Has bared her own sweet bosom to defend? 
 He lays her down, — the mantle draws aside, — 
 And finds a woman, robed as might a bride. 
 
 "Raphael," she whispered in a tender tone, 
 *T die, — as I have lived, — for thee alone I" 
 Then from his heart went up a bitter cry, — 
 A cry so anguished, it must pierce the sky ; 
 And tears of pity there in Heaven would flow. 
 
jfre^ton 141 
 
 As rose such sorrow in a heart below. 
 
 He clasped her to his breast, and gently bore 
 
 Her to the light ; and then she speaks once more. 
 
 ^'Grieve not, my friend ; it is not hard to — die ; 
 For — God is good, and takes me — painlessly. 
 But I would suffer all that death may give, 
 To die — thus — in your arms; — and know you 
 
 live, — 
 And love me; — and shall come, when Hfe is o'er, 
 To clasp my hand, — upon that other shore, — 
 Where love is — all in all ; where thou and I 
 Shall — part no more! but, for a time — good- 
 bye!" 
 
 "O, stay, love ! do not leave me all alone I 
 What joy in life, when thy dear soul has flown? 
 Live! — and be mine! I'll crown this brow with 
 
 fame, 
 And all the world shall wonder at thy name !" 
 The glazing eyes look up reproachfully; — 
 ''The same old dream!" she whispers gaspingly. 
 
 "Ever the dross is hoarded, day by day, — 
 And the pure gold of life — is flung away ; 
 The sun's true, living warmth, — that lights — the 
 
 noon, 
 Is — bartered for — the candle — in the gloom! 
 
142 Poem0 
 
 Fame is an empty — word ! The praise — of all, 
 Is as — the leaves that flutter — in the fall, — 
 Soon — but the clay, and mold that — they drift 
 
 o'er, — 
 But love, — is — royal LOVE — forevermore !" 
 
 "Thou'rt mine, — as I am thine, — the seal was set 
 Upon our souls — in Heaven — long ere we met — 
 On this sad earth, — where thou — hast gone 
 
 astray, — 
 And in the maze of pleasure — lost thy way; — ■ 
 Raphael, — I go ; but, ever by the — gate 
 Of Heaven — until you come — my soul shall wait! 
 Pass you the foolish loves ! — life is — soon o'er, — 
 Thou'rt mine, — as I am thine, — forevermore!'* 
 
 She raised her drooping head, stretched forth 
 
 her hand. 
 And strongly said, — ''Raphael, a better land 
 Awaits thy coming ! There I'll wait — fo^ thee, — ■ 
 Do thy work nobly, — and — be true — to me !" 
 
 A fluttering of the spreading wings, and she, — 
 
 The "Song-bird," — flies into eternity ; 
 
 While they, who watch her on her homeward 
 
 way, 
 Bare their bowed heads, and, sobbing, kneel to 
 
 pray. 
 
jFre0tott 143 
 
 THREE OF US 
 
 AN IDYLL OF THE PARK, JUNE I, I908. 
 
 Where laughter, Hght and music 
 Flashed across the summer night, 
 And drowned the voice of Nature, — 
 Dulled the splendor of the stars. 
 We three quaffed the sparkling Moselle 
 And enjoyed the merry sight 
 Of the pleasure-seekers coming 
 In their whirling motor cars. 
 
 We talked the sort of nonsense 
 That the wine and place inspire, 
 And we were three good comrades 
 And true friends, Til wager well. 
 But back of all the laughter, 
 With a fairy thread of fire, 
 Love was weaving golden stories 
 For some future day to tell. 
 
lUN 26 1 908