THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES VERSES BY GEORGE O. HOLBROOKE BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 835 BROADWAY, MANHATTAN Copyright, 1905, GEORGE 0. HOLBROOKE. All Rights Reserved. 847 CONTENTS. PAGE Monday Morning 1 Pulvis et Umbra 2 Leyden 4 Dabunt Malum 6 Their Appointed Time 7 Trinity Chimes 8 Asphalt 9 The Cataloguer 11 Trinity Church 13 Scandinavian Gospel 14 Torre Quemada (The Burnt Tower) 15 St. Patrick's Day 15 Ivan the Terrible 16 Brooklyn Bridge 18 Islam 19 The Cathedral of Peter and Paul 20 Raking the Leaves 22 Royal Wine 22 Grape Gathering 24 Mainz 25 PeTe La Chaise 26 I Piombi 27 Bielo Ozero 28 Cheap 29 The Whip-Saw 29 Silence 31 "A Virtuous Woman" 33 Antwerp 34 Dusty 35 The Laws of the Game 37 St. Malo 39 IT CONTENTS. PAOE The White Plume 40 The Shell Koad .- 42 Psyche 45 Pilate 40 Indian Summer 48 " T & din? anfr^p 1 '. 50 The Brain 54 Sleep Song 55 Where ? 57 Santa Lucia 58 Louis Quinze 59 Ranz des Vaches 60 The Name of the Tune 61 Portage 62 Garlands 63 Rest 64 Voices of the Nii-'ht 65 Central Park 66 The Bowery 68 The Breeze 69 Fistula Americana 71 Sleep and Death 72 The Song of the Saw 72 Fortune's Wheel 73 An Evening Party 75 The Corn 77 The Clinic 79 The Eve of Salamis 81 The Pillar of Fire 85 The Old School Days 87 Western Athens 8!) Perfume 91 Michael Angelo 93 Hotel Dieu 95 Allegro Ma Xon Troppo 96 Yankee Doodle 99 The Symphony Concert 100 The River 102 Gazel of Hafiz 103 Poplar Down 104 Lafayette 105 Antigone and Ismene 108 CONTENTS. v PAGE Ferns 110 Queenstown 112 The Haunted Castle 113 Cold Storage 115 O Fons Bandusle 117 The Fire 117 The Bath 119 The Music Box , 121 M. M. H 127 E. M. 127 J. M. R 128 H. B 128 All Saints 129 S'heshrquin 129 Sunt Lacrymae Kerum 131 Webster 13,3 Treasure of the Xiglit 135 Tsarskoe Selo 130 Breeze and Calm 137 Isaac Marshall 139 Abner Crafts .141 MONDAY MORNING. morning sun is shining along the gilded street, The pavement is reechoing a thousand busy feet; And not a sorrow lingers where shadows gather brown, For all the boys and girls who work are coming into town. The office-buildings shoulder out the houses, in the row Where Knickerbockers lived in peace some eighty years ago; With tier on tier of eager life they surge on either hand, : And piles of boxes block the way where coaches used to stand. There, where a house is coming down, you still can see the trace Of all the rooms and parlors that used to fill the place 'Twas here the parson blessed the pair, and there a mother cried, And there the sister knelt in prayer beside the saint who died. 2 VERSES. A pile of granite palaces is rising in their stead, And all the eyes that used to shine are numbered with the dead. The city's stream of myriad life pours on with tragic flow, And brings new hearts and souls instead of those we used to know. But in the east St. Saviour's stands, and lifts its hand on high, And casts upon the sweeping crowd a blessing from the sky A patriarchal blessing, though office-buildings frown, For all the girls and boys who work are coming into town. PULVIS ET UMBRA. We met before the tenement; A gleam was on her lashes, And down the street the breezes sent The gleaning of our ashes. I see her still the stately form, The bit of faded shawl; Behind her rose the gathering storm And shook its threatening pall. A marble brow, dilated eyes Of clear celestial blue, As when the rainbow orbs the skies With depths of heavenly dew. V E E S E S . I know the wolf of gaunt despair, The sullen stare of shame, The glint of hate, the glaze of care, And woes that have no name; I know the violets that dye The love-lorn maiden's cheeks But, oh, the power of the eye That wakes through weary weeks. I saw the stranger, clearer light, And knew that he was dead: "About the turning of the night, And all alone," she said. We sought again the naked stair, Each with an empty hod, And felt a presence with us there, A messenger of God. Oh. harvests of forsaken lives, Ghosts of forgotten fires : Faith in the infinite survives Where bleeding hope expires. Blow, winter winds, to cool that soul, And heal the reddened gashes: Powers of eternity control The fate of dust and ashes. V E K S E S . LEYDEN. The towers of Leyden rise Against the lurid skies Like a company of melancholy ghosts, And the cursed Spanish heel Has drawn its line of steel Around them, with its banners and its hosts. Every citizen you meet On the bleak, deserted street Is so hungerbit, it's pitiful to tell; And the women there, who cower In each cellar and each tower, Dread the Spanish as they dread the beasts of hell. Every watchman there, who calls To his fellow, on the walls, Has a voice that sounds like funeral bells that ring; For the dragon coiled below Is a very cunning foe, And is setting all his talons for a spring. Every foot of Holland soil Has been reddened by the toil Of the heading-axe that hacks its holy sod; Every foot is black with coals That have sent the tortured souls A-shrieking from the fire up to God. The only Dutchmen now Are the men who man the bow Of the ships that come a-floating on the tide; VERSES. 6 And every dyke that breaks Is the spring the lover makes, As he leaps across the fire to his bride. But every dyke is lined By the hosts they have combined With the gold that's sweated out of Cuban slaves; The martial Genoeses / And the bitter Portugueses, Who are beating back the ocean and its waves. They've a long account to square With the herring-boaters there, The fisher laddies, hungry and forlorn The people from the isles Where nature never smile?, And where they talk of Egmont and of Horn. There are men from western Flanders, And a fleet of the Ostranders, And the Frieslanders are tacking down the shore; There are Sturtevanters there, To steer the wind, I swear, There are Roosevelts and Stuyvesants galore. There'll be a storm, to-night, That will make the surges white, And there never is a dyke that will abide; For the gulls are flying low, In the faces of the foe, And God Almighty's stirring up the tide. V E E S E S . DABUNT MALUM. "Very clever, so they say, Very bright and very clever; Poet Naevius' latest lay Kings as lustily as ever. "Verses flashing down the street, Clinking in the plashing fountain Where the charcoal-sellers meet, Coming from the Sabine mountain. "All the baker's boys repeat them, And the lentil-seller's daughter Lifts her pretty hands and beats them Chanting, as she draws the water. "Brightly flitting, off they fly, Like the idle winter's swallows, Seeking the Surrentine skies Over the Campagna's fallows." "Mischief-making, bitter words, Idly railing at his betters, Cutting sharp like whetted swords, Clanking shrill like brazen fetters, "Mocking at our ancient fame, Waxen masks and annals hoary. Will he seek to dim the name Of the clan in Roman story? VERSES. "Weary, wandering, far away, Empty pouch and empty belly, We shall hear what he will say, When he thinks of the Metelli. "Metaphors return to roost, Haunting like forgotten curses. We shall hear old Naevius boast, When he reads Metellic verses. THEIR APPOINTED TIME. Lengthening still, the arms of night Fold around our northern world; Summer's radiant robe of light To the southern pole is whirled. Keener raptures fill the air, Anthems through the forest peal; Heaven's archers now prepare. Swifter shafts of bluer steel. Seek, birds, a milder clime; Seek your bowers of winter bliss; Swift the changeful summer-time On revolving globes like this. Some of you can still remember Crystal joys as keen as these, When the pulses of September Thrilled the sobbing chestnut-trees; VERSES. And a clearer voice than reason Fills each eager callow breast : "Rise, and greet the appointed season; Rise ; this world is not your rest. "Rise upon the ether's surges, While the shortening sunbeams smile; Nature's mildest mandate urges, Seek the blooming tropic isle." TRINITY CHIMES. Old Trinity was striking one, And darkness ruled the street Which flashes in the morning sun, When man and mammon meet. The office-buildings soared on high, The shadows slept below, Save where the strip of star-lit sky Watched the electric glow. A lonely figure wandered there And knocked at every door. Still turning, with a fruitless care, Each corner to explore. A puzzled eye, a flushing cheek, A doublet yes, in sooth, 'Twas Knickerbocker, come to seek The comrades of his vouth. VERSES. And strange Dutch words and gestures told The depth of his despair. "Where is the wijnkoep, where they sold The draughts of Rhenish rare? "Where is the stoep of Rip van Dam, Where cronies met together, To hear the news from Amsterdam And ask the price of leather? "The wall is gone, the Indians fled, The fort has passed away. Are Hendrick, Jans and Joris dead? Their children where are they?" And up he looked, and then looked down: "The Kat'skills have moved into townl" ASPHALT. The smoke of seething asphalt is on the street to-day, As if a new Gomorrah were blazing on Broadway, And sooty forms, like demons, with blazing irons stalk, To make the roadway smoother for women's feet to walk. The smoke of burning grasses is on the Asian plain, But behind it come the wagon-tops of all the Aryan train ; 10 VERSES. In front the thorn-bush crackles and the thistle's flag is furled, But behind it spread the pastures that feed a hun gry world. The fagots on the Plaza have been sweetened up with oil, For blessed Torquemada has got some Jews to broil. There are thousands more to follow, while the southern heavens smile, To wear the robe of torture and to climb the bitter pile. But there's pitch and tar in Cadiz that will burn with louder roar When England fires the signal and Drake comes down the shore; There are bolts in heaven's arsenal and blasts upon the seas To drive the great armada beyond the Hebrides. The stakes are set by Balliol and crowds block up the road, For Latimer and Ridley shall burn, to-day, for God, And all of Oxford's bells must toll, and all the organs ring, To tell the prudent righteousness of England's Spanish king. But a beacon lias been lighted, and a whirlwind is begun, That will bear the spark of British thought be yond the setting sun ; V E K S E S . 11 For all the darkness of men's hearts and all that they desire, Must be tested by the furnace and be salted by the fire. There are flames that scorch and blacken, there are flames that guide and bless, The pillar leads the Hebrew host through all the wilderness, And Gideon's smoking torches, in earthen vessels stored, Shall flash upon the midnight sky the glory of the Lord. THE CATALOGUER. Poor pen your life's short race is run As far as I can task it; In recompense for service done I'll throw you in the basket. Good pen at first you were a queen- As tough, and bright, and limber As rushes green-, and sweet sixteen, And ten-year hickory timber. You waded through the weary mire Of longest pagination; Imprint and foot-note could not tire Your personal equation. 12 VERSES. You took to Greek, and would not squeak At Swedish, Dutch or Latin, But made the title-pages speak In words as soft as satin. Ink, black and blue! the same to you. Whate'er my hand was seeking, Until you tried the copying brew, And then you took to creaking. You'll meet the end good pens desire Beyond this room's disaster, And, purged by a renewing fire, May find a better master. Poor body you were lissome, too, So merry and so willing, You'd play and frisk, as young folks do, Although the pace was killing. But now the prison of rheumatism Has stopped your sport and caper, And tired eyes must have a prism To see the print on paper. Soon you'll be pressed on earth's soft breast, And, if it's fair to ask it, I hope you'll find a quiet rest Beyond earth's emptied basket. V E K S E S . 13 TRINITY CHURCH. Some one threw telegraphic waste From windows in the night, And Trinity's grave elms were laced, Next day, with strips of white. Each sparrow took its shares of stocks To line a downy nest, Love messages, like fairies' locks, Fell on each dead man's breast. The church bore tidings to the town Upon its fingers taper, And old John Watts's metal gown Bloomed out afresh in paper. But where's the rest? What tide of space Has borne the grave, the tender, The hopeful thoughts which lightnings trace To speed them for the sender? Toll out, great chimes of deathless doom, Above the Sunday street, For human prayer there still is room, Where man and heaven meet. Though many a faint, despairing thought Upon the tombstones lie, The rest by airy hands are caught, And wafted to the sky. 14 VERSES. SCANDINAVIAN GOSPEL. The old Norwegians wondered how The pillars of the earth could bow; They asked what tides through heaven run ; What spell commands the midnight sun; And so they told how Thor went out To spy the universe about. He left the land of sun and flowers, And, armed with his creative powers, He took the hammer in his hand, And wandered into Chaos land. He found what giant forms there are, Whose roof -tree is the polar star; He felt fierce Hecla's scathing breath; Like men he felt the hug of death ; When Outer-Darkness showed its eyes, He gripped the monster like a vise. Then the great orbing planet swerved, The whole ecliptic bent and curved, The frozen hosts of horror fled, And midnight hid its vanquished head. Men's heroes, with the spoils they've won, Newton, and Watt, and Edison Have lion hearts and eye of lynx, To conquer nature's subtle sphinx, And force tin- powers of earth to give The bread and hope by which we live. Plain, common men, like you and me, Have something still to do and see. We'll love our work, and rest, and play; We'll face the sunrise day by day, And when we've drained earth's mingled cup, We'll take the midgard serpent up. V E K S E S . 15 TORRE QUEMADA. (The Burnt Tower.) See the Moorish torches leap! Hear the shrieking ladies' bower 1 Spanish curses, fierce and deep, Echo from the burning tower. Long the blackened ruin stood, Name and emblem of a race Torquemada, word of blood, Branded on a nation's face. Heritage of deathless hate. Fierce revenge, religious strife, Worm that gnawed Castilian state At the heart of Spanish life. Let no watchword such as this, No such memories be ours; May the dews of heaven kiss Mosses on our ruined towers. ST. PATRICK'S DAY. True to the heart of the saint who had tasted Bitterest dregs in the cup of the slave ; Following fast in his steps as he hasted, Seeking the perishing over the wave; Sons of St. Patrick, a glorious nation, Winning their heritage under the sun, Bear in their bosom the hope of creation, Bear on their banner the cross that he won; 16 VERSES. Fighting the battles of freedom and honor, Building the railroad and sailing the ship, True to old Ireland, blessings upon her! A glint in the eye and a song on the lip. Sarsfit'Ms still true to the lilies that shield them, Sheridans bearing the stars of the west, Sabres that flash in the hands that can wield them, Hearts of the lightest and souls of the best. Hark ! it's the voice of sweet Goldsmith that's sing ing; Hark ! it's the magic Moore's melody flings ; Hark ! it's the voice of a Burke that is ringing Prophets of righteousness, liberty's kings. Hail to the sons of the saint who still guides them, Seeking the triumph of Christendom's right ! Here in the west a new Erin abides them, Crowning the earth with its kingdom of light. IVAX THE TERRIBLE. The frozen sky is cobalt-blue, The clouds float sadly off, The Moscow men stand, grim and gray, Before the towers of Pskoff, And Ivan bites his withered lip To-day shall surely bring The eagle of his fell revenge, With blood upon its wing. "Xo quarter" is the given word; In this fraternal strife Whoever saves a soul in Pskoff Shall surely lose his life, VERSES. 17 A black cowl towers above the crowd, The household troops bow low To Nicholas, the hermit monk, Who never feared a foe; Unshod he treads the cutting ice, Nor feeds on mortal fare The fiercest saint who trusts his God, And breathes the Russian air. "Hail, father, hail !" "All hail, my liege ! Hail, comrades from the east! I bring my blessing to your board, My tribute to your feast." "What, father, flesh? Raw, bleeding flesh? What ! flesh in holy Lent ? Such food shall never pass my lips, Pollute my royal tent !" "Meet meat for thee, thou devil's son ! Let kings remember well That he who eats the hearts of men Shall keep his Lent in hell." The monarch's beard falls on his breast, The monarch's brow bends low He sees the site of Novgorod A waste of trackless snow. He sees the tortured, stiffened forms, That in the snow-drifts rest The mother by her blackened hearth, The baby at her breast ; And ghosts of horrors yet to be Before his conscience run, He sees his blood-stained staff of steel That slays his only son. The boyars clutch their heavy swords, And watch, with bated breath, 18 V E E S E S . The sweat upon that wrinkled brow Doomed to an evil death. The monarch's word sounds hoarse and low, The roofs of Pskoff are free; The tidings sweep across the land, They greet the frozen sea ; And still, in huts of blackened fir Beneath the polar star, Men praise the mighty monk of old Who tamed the awful Czar. BROOKLYN" BEIDGE. Like flashing eyes the torches glow, Where land and water meet, And lamps in bright procession flow Through each untrodden street. Shadows of pinnacle and tower Fall where the city broods, Alley and sullen courtyard cower, Like dells in deepest woods. The sea of roofs extends, the same, O'er many a happy home, O'er dens of shame that bear no name And halls where angels roam. Tn silence far, each white-robed star Its deathless vigil keeps. And spirits bear to heaven's bar The harvest heaven reaps, VERSES. 19 Is it a rose that stains the sky, Or a dying sinners blood? The swift reply to earth's keen cry, Or the day-spring's healing flood? The incense of the mist-cloud soars To meet the quickening ray ; The world's dark soul bows and adores, And waits the perfect day. ISLAM. See the mighty Haj proceeding From the fair Damascus gate, With the Pasha's camel leading "Allah akbar ! God is great I" Past each palm and fairy garden, Past the mosque's protecting walls, Where the note of heaven's pardon In the muezzin's summons falls. "Lebanon is far above us, Eobed in folds of virgin snow; God is near to help and love us, Guide, protect us as we go. "Southward far the prophet calls us, Here our loved ones pray and wait; Life, nor death, nor hell appals us; Allah akbar I God is great I" 20 VERSES. Still the great procession's wending, Underneath a crystal - North and south are sands unending, Fire on earth and fire on high. "Let him rest where he is sleeping, Where no giaour's foot has trod, In the desert's holy keeping; He has made his Peace with God. "Xot a jackal to molest him, Xot a vulture in the sky; In his sacred robe invest him, Thus may each believer die. "Here the choir of angels calms him, Chanting their eternal lay: Here the wild simoon embalms him, Drifting till the Judgment Day. "Onward still the Prophet calls us, Bearing each his solemn fate; Life, nor death, nor hell appals us; Allah akbar! God is great!" THE CATHEDRAL OF PETER AXD PAUL. Fair Nature chose her brightest hour, Her clearest sight, serenest power, The noblest Russian blood that ran Wrought them, and said : "Behold, a man !" Xo age nor ages could repeat her Great "work. Men claimed their king in Fetor, VERSES. 21 of Asian darkness fled At his command; swift, swifter sped The hands of Time's resounding clock, Freed from the brazen clogs that mock Our human efforts; like a dream Bright Science rose by Neva's stream, While, with his mighty fingers, he Traced realms and worlds that were to be. A mother's tragic will behind A father's narrow, darkened mind. Earth paused in all its toil to ask: "What is this ghastly, bodeful mask?" Phantoms of grim disaster dance Beside his path, and at his glance Wife, children shudder; subjects fall In abject terror. Such was Paul. At last the world rebelled; a blow From desperate vassals laid him low. He sleeps beside fhe flooding river, Where frozen ages wait and shiver, Beneath the heaven-piercing spire, With murdress mother, murdered sire. Petropaulovsk ! the chosen fane Of Time's hereditary reign, At whose command and with whose sigh, The strongest, weakest, live and die. Rise, holy Russia ! with thy view, Cleared by sweet tears of heaven's dew; Place human conscience, reason, fate, On mighty Peter's throne of state. 23 VERSES. RAKING THE LEAVES. The leaves are falling from the trees, Dead as forgotten sins, And still, to sound of autumn breeze, Sweet Nature sings and spins. She spins the thread unchanging That saddened memory weaves, While the sun's bright shuttle, ranging, Wakens Australian leaves. The tenderest hopes that met the dawn Where April's shadows lay, The gems of light that lit the lawn Beneath the eye of May, The brooding love of summer bowers That watched the ripening fruit Are mingled in the russet showers, Beside the ancient root. Yet Nature fills her deathless bowl, Nor e'er, despairing, grieves, And unborn summers cheer the soul Of those who rake the leaves. ROYAL WINE. Charles the Fifth has sailed from Cadiz Over the Atlantic tide, Noble knights and lovely ladies Besting at his gracious side. V E K S E S . 23 Castanets and lute Castilian Teach the notes that lovers learn, While the blue and gold pavillion Flutters on the lofty stern. See! the monarch's eyes have rested On the hideous forward bench Where the slaves, in toil detested, Row in the eternal stench. Never kindly face to see them Underneath that brazen sky, Only death and hell to free them, Sharks to eat them when they die. Stripped and shaven, tanned and branded, Starting eyes that stare and shine "Give them," so the king commanded, "Royal draughts of royal wine I" Golden wine in golden beakers Flows to cheer the demon crew; Wine, at last, has made them speakers, How they shout, Great Charles, for you! On the shores by legend haunted, On the Andalusian waves, Mariners for ages chanted How the emperor treated slaves. Toilers in the modern city, Sweat-shop toilers, stripped and peeled, Find no cup of earthly pity, Find no draught that love has healed 24 V E E S E S . Till the sea sends up its chalice, Winds of bliss that never tire, Fresh from Ocean's beryl palace, Cooling every brow of fire. Sleep and comfort, food and pleasure, In the magic draught combine; When the billows grant their treasure, And the heaven pours out its wine. GRAPE GATHERING. The garden trellis raises Its vine-clad hands on high, With meed of balmy praises For the gifts of the summer sky. The mold that shrines a million leaves, The fragrant breath of dawn, The bowers that radiant summer weaves, The gems by autumn worn, The eye of heaven, serene and kind, The sphere's eternal shape Are mirrored in the downy rind That clasps the perfect grape. The burning lip of the evening sky, This purple Concord kissed With the starry sapphire's gleaming dye, And the light of the amethyst. V E E S E S . 25 Amber Niagaras show the dew The star of morning brings; Catawbas mock each rainbow hue On the flying storm-clouds' wings. Delicious air, that filPst the lip Of the mountains' violet bowl, The nectar that the spirits sip, The world's transparent soul Still make our hearts rejoice and shine, When winter's winds are drear, And let the glow of Nature's wine Live on from year to year. MAINZ. Against the dewy sky the sunset's fingers Array the vine-clad hills in darkening lines. A royal cloud of purple radiance lingers Above the crowning towers of stately Mainz. Calm is the glow, the step of night is steady, The lamps begin to gleam with mystic shine, The might of Alpine snows, forever ready, Is flooding swift along the noble Rhine. The minster's chimes, in full, mysterious numbers, Float o'er the city, from the cloisters wide Where many a knight in stony armor slumbers With hosts of great companions at his side. Fair Nature's hand with freshest turf is dressing The mound above their heads ; her tapers burn To soothe their sleep, until, with morning blessing, Her feathered choristers in peace return. 26 V E E S E S . On yonder moorland, where the ash tree towers, Where ancient spirits sternly, sadly roam, The dying Prusus summoned all his powers To hail Tiberius, speeding swift from Rome. Too late, too late, for one to greet the other! The heart- beats slacken and the pulses chill, But still the memory of the noble brother Rests dark and solemn on the stately hill. Souls of the past, the glorious world protecting, From distant ages on our memories shine, The thoughts of love and duty still reflecting On the eternal current of the Rhine. Still shall our hearts dream of the former glory, Still hail the heroes with their deeds of gold. While the great river chants its solemn story And hastens to the ocean as of old. PiLRE LA CHAISE. The summer sun, so loth to set, Has lengthened out the best of days, And glances over La Roquette To fall on peaceful Pere La Chaise. The heart of mighty Paris broods A giant, murmuring in his sleep, Still dreaming of these holy woods, Where urns their marble vigils keep God's great Westminster out-of-doors, The hero's and the sage's tomb, Where every leaf its incense pours Through long arcades of fragrant bloom. VERSES. 27 The ivy twines its garlands green, The cypress lifts its hands in prayer, The myrtle murmurs of Racine, The laurel whispers of Moliere. The echoes of a thousand Junes Ring over Gretry's tuneful rest, And linnets keep their sweetest tunes To calm Rossini's troubled breast. The twilight folds its dewy wings And watches Hugo's solemn cell; The evening star exults, and sings Of Arago, who knew it well. Then, when bright Hesperus has led, Zephyr returns through all the shades, And mystic foot-falls of the dead Come rustling down the darkening glades. While memory lingers in her shrine, I'll ne'er forget that violet haze I'll see the star of evening shine, The sentinel of Pere La Chaise. I PIOMBI. 0, the heat of the roof! 0, the stench of the cage! The blackness, the madness, the torment, the rage ! By day there is horror, at night there is dread, For God never comes to live under the lead. 28 V E E S E S . There's a crucifix high in the torture-room low To mock every groan and to count every blow, There's a priest there to spy every word that is said; But God never comes to live under the lead. Outside there's the sun, and the stars, and the moon, And the boats that ride free on the distant lagoon, And the noondays are blue and the evenings are red; But God never comes to live under the lead. BIELO OZEEO. White fire on the horizon burns, The forest glooms afar, The orbing world in silence turns To adore the Morning Star. He reins his heavenly steeds on high Their eager thirst to slake, And all the glory of the sky Flames in the peaceful lake. His flashing torch, inverted, beams Upon the water's breast; The lingering old moon sadly dreams And fills the purpling west. Dear Memory, cease thy sweetest grief, And teach us, from afar, Quickening beneath the dawn's relief To reflect the Morning Star. VERSES, 29 CHEAP. "He's only two and sixpence, sir, A rare good linnet for his age The mornings, I can hardly stir Before he's piping in the cage. "He only wants his bite of seed, A pinch of cress, and room to grow; He's never pining to be freed, Because he's blinded, sir, you know." Poor creature ! Milton's feathered mate, Instinct with the celestial spark, Beguiling days of hopeless fate With suns that shone before the dark. Poor souls ! in many a cheerless room, Toiling for that which others waste, Cheering their comrades in the gloom With dreams of joy they never taste. Poor spirits of mankind ! who wait Where gleams through starry windows flow, Nor beat their wings at heaven's gate, Because they're blinded, here, you know. THE WHIP-SAW. Sweet October's voice is calling, Sweet October's heart is red, Gay October's leaves are falling From the branches overhead. 30 VERSES. Where the mighty logs are lying On their couch of damasked gold, Cheerily the saw is flying And the fate of logs is told; Double hands to call and answer, Teeth of steel that bite and cry, While the saw, a merry dancer, Flashes sunbeams from the sky. v ll%, saga, Segen. VERSES. 31 . SILENCE. The silence of the meadow ! when the sun has risen high And the clouds are floating languidly across a per fect sky, When the birds have ceased their morning pipe, and the morning hreeze is still, When no poplar whitens in the vale or flashes on the hill, When the murmur of the mill-wheel scarce moves the moody sense And the monologue of insects makes the silence more intense, And through your closing eyelids you see some boys at play Who lived a hundred years ago, a thousand miles aw r ay ! The silence of the city ! when the window is ajar, And the rattle of a thousand wheels sounds like the sea afar, When the organ man is playing on such a distant street That his tune becomes a melody that sirens might repeat, And the movements of a million lives so close around you seem Like the half-forgotten fancy of a half-forgotten dream. The silence of the mountain ! when the earth is all at rest, And heaven folds the icy peaks upon its icy breast, 32 V E K S E S . When the eagles circle far away above the plains below, And the winter of the ages sleeps on the perfect snow, And there's not a sound to tell you of the great world's restless pain But the throbbing of old Adam's blood that's thud ding in your brain. The silence of the sick room ! when the lamp is burning low, And you hear the ticking of the watch, and the mice that come and go, And the sharp staccato breathing of the one you love the best, And you think it's growing easier, and brings the needed rest, And you grudge the creaking of a board, and the watch-dog's distant bay, And you wish the night were longer, and dread the noisy day. The silence of the church-yard ! when the clock has struck night's noon, And the owls have ceased their hooting in the full ness of the moon, And the dew is beading on the graves in drops that glitter fair, And the silent stars are setting in the gulfs of crystal air, And there's not an ear to hearken, and not an eye to see, And the nearest hearts are those that rest in the world that is to be. V E K S E S . 33 "A VIRTUOUS WOMAN." The poet's girls are perfect, and it don't do to be rash, But the best of all the girls to me is the lady who takes the cash; She's *-good, and then she's sensible, her face is like the sun, And she has a thought for every soul except for number one. She's firm, though she's good-natured; she's wise, although she's kind; The clerks must keep to business, and the cash- girls have to mind, But when the figures wont come out, as sometimes will befall, They take them up to Lizzie, and she sets them right for all. She always keeps a level head, and most so when she's pressed The other girls will talk and fool, but she's not like the rest, Her hand must hold the pencil, and it can't be white as snow, But she's much like Solomon's lady that he praised so long ago. It's best of all for Lizzie when she goes home at night, And the boys will run from their work and fun to hail her footstep light: 34 VERSES. It's "Lizzie !" here, and "Lizzie !" there, and, when they all have kissed her, Whoever has a joy or care must tell it to his sister. She isn't proud, but they're proud of her, and, whatever folks m-ay say, The one is best for whom the rest are watching all the day; .\nd when she has children of her own, and this world is growing cold, They'll rise and call her blessed, as Solomon did of old. ANTWERP. As the silver fountain leaps Above the myrtle bower, So the heart of Antwerp sweeps In the glory of its tower To meet the blessed sky that beckons fair; The day spring's golden wages And the tempest's noble rages Are the dower of the daughter of the air. When the evening silence falls As sweet as love divine, And the muffled organ calls. And the glory of the shrine Comes flashing out through every jewelled pane, Then the emperor's ancient bells Ring out the note that tells Of the passing of earth's splendors as they wane. VERSES. 35 Every word of rapture spoken In the Antwerp of the past, The sobs of spirits broken By joys too keen to last, Have been garnered in the treasury of love; The dreams of saints and sages And the longings of the ages Come pealing in an anthern from above. Each quaintly gabled street Has its note of long ago, The roof-trees must repeat All the echoes that they know, There's a spell that rings from every darkened door; And the heart of all the city Beats with tenderness and pity When the vesper music summons it once more. The heavenly power has bound you With its wings, behind, before, Beneath you, and around you, Like the waves upon the shore, Like the wind that sways the forest in the night, And in vain you wander, seeking For the awful voice that's speaking, For the hand that clasps your spirit with its might. Thus, in our earthly city, There is breath of friend and foe, Of the wise, the strong, the witty, Of the ages as they flow, 36 V E E S E S . Of the forces of the desert and the sky ; And we pass our life-time groping, Waiting, turning, watching, hoping For the voice that calls us softly from on high. There are spirits in the air Who are listening, and yearn To answer back the prayer Of the lonely hearts that burn, Of the eyes that seek in vain to pierce the night; And we just can hear them singing On their way, as they come winging Through earth's shadow from the universe of light. DUSTY. The August street was dusty and the crowd was moving fast, For the cloud that filled the western sky had grown too black to last, But just as twilight deepened there came a quiver ing flash, And all the chords of Nature's harp seemed burst ing in the crash. When the stormwind poised its surging wings and the silver stars looked down Silence and blackness held their feast in the de serted town ; The very midnight held its breath, for it feared the stones would tell The legends of old Chaos, which the stones re member well. V E E S E S . 37 But where the crimson lamp-light fell on drip ping walks below They flashed it back as clouds of rain flash back the deathless bow ; Each flagstone turned to jasper, and had a ruby gleam, As if it stood in bonding gold beside a crystal stream, And tne dark, polluted surface became the radiant floor Where feet of men can walk in peace, and saints have walked before. When the paths of life are dusty, and the hands of time move slow, And the wheels are growing rusty with the hours that come and go, There's a power in the darkness to shed life's choic est wine ; It sometimes takes a flush of tears to make the pavements shine. THE LAWS OF THE GAME. The pike in the river, the hawk in the sky, The moth that is drawn to the flame, The eagle that loses the glint of its eye, Must die, by the laws of the game. In ocean and eyrie, in forest and wave, The rule is forever the same, The beast that will live and the beast that will save Must submit to the laws of the game. 38 V E K S E S . Though deep he may dive and though high he may soar, Though perfect the poise and the aim, The moment recurs, and existence is o'er By the laws of the terrible game. And what of the man whose existence is free, With treasures of reason and will, Has he force to encounter, and wisdom to see, And might to surmount and fulfil? Heredity dogs us, and blemishes balk, We err, and we stumble, and fail, And tragical figures of destiny stalk In the gloom of the terrible vale. Though wisdom may guide us, and friendship at tend, Though fortune may favor the brave, There's a power unseen has appointed the end Of the king, and the sage, and the slave. There is only one force that is greater than fate, One power that inspires our breath The devotion that watches the home and the state, The love that is stronger than death. The joy of the martyr, the bliss of the cross, The faith that despise? the shame, The hope that survives disappointment and loss, Are the prize of the infinite game. V E K S E S . 39 ST. MALO. Tides of spring with power are swelling, Gray the sky, the clouds fly low, Out upon the dawn are knelling All the bells of St. Malo. Down along the wharves a column Of the fisher people glides, Where the steamer, black and solemn, On the flickering water rides. Stern they march with movement steady, Prayerful lips and sober ranks, Leaving blessed France, and ready For Newfoundland's fatal banks. Youthful eyes and maiden graces Gaze from countenance forlorn ; Wrinkled cares have marked the faces Of the mothers, sorrow-worn. Forth the pilgrim host are led, Seeking food across the wave, Winter fires and right to wed. Faithful hands and spirits brave I Long the toilful summer's hours To the women left behind; Land to till with feeble powers, Fruit to garner, sheaves to bind. 40 V E E S E S . Life's rewards are scant and few Flickering hearth and humble shed, Labor in the morning's dew, Breton cider, barley bread ; Silent prayers in twilight muttered, Quiet foot-falls at the shrine, Apprehensions, seldom uttered, When the sullen evenings shine; Practiced eyes that watch the dawnings, Watch the drifting clouds in motion; Patient hearts that count the mornings, Longing o'er the endless ocean. Loftier than the dreams of magic Lingering at the artist's gate Are the souls serene and tragic, Doomed to silence, trained to wait. May your gloomy northern ocean Catch the gleam of heaven's bow; Pressed be your stern devotion, Fisherfolk of St. Malo! THE WHITE PLUME. There wore plumes of white to wave O'er the helmet of the brave When the pre?= of bnttle ringed him in the fray, And his noble steed arose Against the v/all of foes AB spirited and terrible as they. V E K S E S . 41 There are plumes of white that glance O'er the beauty in the dance, When her merry eye is flashing in the light, And the echoing air is sweet With the rhythm of happy feet, And music fills the watches of the night. There are plumes of silver steam In the steady morning gleam Over railroad, and power-house, and mill, And the dingy brick- work reels With the motion of the wheels, And the dingy forms inside are never still. They are sweating in the heat, The machine oil isn't sweet, And the cinders not poetical at all, But the world is vastly brighter For the patient furnace lighter Than for battle, or for tournament, or ball. There are loaves for those who need them, And books for those who heed them, (For the school-house bell is ringing on the street) ; There are comforts for the old, And fuel for the cold, And leather for the restless children's feet. The farmers all around Bring more buckwheat to be ground, And the cattle are increasing on the hill, And the list of advertising Shows that real estate is rising, And that carpenters are working with a will. 42 V E E S E S . There's romance and there's devotion In the ceaseless, steady motion Of the piston, and the belting, and the fly, And the steam of the condenser Is the incense of a censer To bear the prayers of workingmen on high. Long live the plume of steam, With its steady silver gleam, As radiant and useful as the day; May the morning's roses meet it, And the blue of heaven greet it, And the air of freedom speed it on its way. THE SHELL ROAD. Gaily ring the horses' feet On the roadway's shining reaches, While the ocean's pulses beat Softly on the southern beaches. Tall palmetto, fragrant bay, Myrtles, oaks and oleanders; Onward still the winding way Past the bluff? and copses wanders. Shells, by countless millions, shells L T nclerneath the horses' feet, Once the myriad rounded cells Of existence strange and sweet. VERSES. 43 Mussel, coral, conch, and pearl, Nautilus and star-fish gay, Purple volute, radiant whorl Carved in patient Nature's way. 'Souls by countless millions souls In their endless ^nt-rations; Souls which built the road which rolls All the thought of rising nations. Cave-man savage strange and old, With his glimmering intuitions ; Stone age, bronze age, fierce and bold, Joys and passions and ambitions. Kings before great Agamemnon, Heroes, chiefs, inventors, sages, Ere the power of poet or penman Came to echo down the ages. Fierce Egyptian, thoughtful Jew, Arab sheikhs and Tyrian traders, Homer's Greeks, and Trojans too, Patriots, prophets, priests, invaders. Sappho's lute, Anacreon's lyre Ringing in the ocean breeze; Pindar's words that burn like fire, Thunders of Demosthenes. Roman, noblest soul of all, Eye of hawk and hand of steel; Mystic Druid, ardent Gaul, Chanting from his chariot wheel. 44 VERSES. Franks and Friesians, Saxons, Danes, Angrivarians, Ampsivarians, Folk-moot, hosting, jarls and thanes; Fiercest, wisest of barbarians. Blood that in our bosom surges, Thought that all our spirit fills. See, the bark of Hengist urges : Hark, the shout of victory thrills. Churls who faced the Norman foe, Scots who under Wallace bled, Lord and vassal, high and low, Country born and city bred. 0, the threads of countless lives Braided in this life of ours:- Sturdy squires and saintly wives From the shade of minster towers. Pressing to our western land. Puritan and pioneer. Stern and honored forms they stand At the forge of history here. Gaily ring the horses' feet On the road-way's shining reaches, While the ocean's pulses beat Softly on the southern beaches. .VERSES. 45 PSYCHE. Perfect hush in all the air; JSfot a whisper in the trees; Summer in his treasure ne'er Garners brighter hours than these. Lowering lurid, o'er the hill, Masses deep of livid cloud Quiver with the bolts that thrill In the tempest's threatening shroud. Soaring, in the airy space, Two gay, golden butterflies, Floating with a heavenly grace, Still in hovering spirals rise. Flashing on the indigo, Like two sparks of living fire, Eising from the world below, Higher yet they press and higher. Titan masses pile above, Pregnant with the lightning's breath; See them there, like dreams of love Deathless at the gates of death. Eyes celestial watch their forms Through the trackless ether whirled, Guarded, on the patli of storms, By the hand that rules the world. 46 V E E S E S . PILATE. Power is real ; wealth is real ; See the iron legion stand; Nothing there of the ideal; Now it stirs at my command. Power to set a world in motion From the rising of the sun; Lo, the galley'? on the ocean Ere the summons is begun. Power to curb a haughty nation, Power to make the people wait ; See the priest forsake his station, Bowing humbly at my gate. Wealth commands refining pleasure, Days to roam the land and sea, Hours of sweet reflective leisure, Hours of high philosophy. Art Athenian, art Ephesian, Alabaster, emerald, gold, Myron's dearest, dearest vision, Grace of Zeuxis, still untold. Luxury that no barbarian Dares to dream of shall be mine, Gate of bronze and roof of Parian On the stately Aventine. VERSES. 47 Eight to face a n;it ion's sag Eight to seive a nation's gods; Eising o'er the hurrying ages Jove above his altar i. Vain your dream of eastern magic; Your philanthropy sublime Only earns a torture tragic, Burden of a traitor's crime. Vain your backward turning vision, Dreams of David on his throne; See, the rabbins howl derision ; He who dies must die alone. What your guerdon, I implore you? Dying, wretched as a dog, With a sky of brass before you, Xailed against the cursed log. Will you force the will of Caesar? Break the peace of sea and land? With a lion roaring, he's a Daring man who lifts a hand. Youth, with eyes of eastern languor, Sweet compassion, noble fire, Free from bitterness and anger, Seeking heaven with pure desire, Lo, you stir a Eoman's pity. Quick ; your idle dream forsake. I'll remove you from the city To your bright Tiberian lake. 48 VERSES. There the azure billow slumbers Where the roses shed their balm, Plashing in melodious numbers Underneath the mystic palm. What can be your strange ambition? What the goal of your desire? Lo, your nation in contrition, Writhing in the temple's fire. Listen to a Eoman's reason. Learn compassion, wisdom, ruth; Cease the mischief of your treason. Galilean, what is truth? INDIAN SUMMER. The autumn suns are southering fast, But sunny is the weather, And Nature and the human heart Draw closer still together A pair acquaint with better days And thankful for the blessing, Content to see the world disrobed, And welcome next year's dressing. The woods are full of sweetest sounds For those who pause to listen; The streams, unshaded by the leaves, Itt brighter silver glisten. VERSES. 49 The squirrel has laid in his hoard And stops to frisk and chatter, While winter wads, his silken robe, And makes him look the fatter. The gentian lifts its eye of blue To meet the blue above it The sweetest flower of all the year To those who know and love it. The oak trees sun their purple robes And shield their humbler vassals; Witch hazel haunts the sylvan paths And shakes its golden tassels. A dandelion on the bank Its silken leaves is showing, As if the winter storms were past And April breezes blowing. We better read the signs, and know How soon the clouds will darkle, And icicles upon the bough In silver tissue sparkle. Like dials still we court the sun And count the sunny hours, Nor waste our tears for autumn's sweets And summer's brighter flowers. What we have lost is memory's food; What we possess is treasure ; And still we garner sights and sounds For corning winter's pleasure, 50 VERSES. When nights are long and days are dim It's pleasant to remember Our latest ramble in the woods The gift of bleak November. air divine, whose magic The vistas of the distant hills, Where faintest blue and violet-gray Upon the dreaming summits play, And clouds, in long procession, glide Above the mountain's purple side! The shadowing air, that fills the glade Beneath the forest's proud arcade, Where beechen pillars, gleaming white, Support the arch of verdant night, And golden sunbeams, piercing keen, Reveal the beauty of the scene. The solemn firs their music lend, The winds in diapason blend, And feathered choristers beguile The silence of the fretted aisle. The mighty air, whose pulses fling A cushion for the sea-gull's wing, Where leaping breakers vainly roar Upon the fatal granite shore, Or bursting billows backward glide, In torrents, from the iceberg's side. Again, the wreathing hands of foam Beckon a solemn welcome home VERSES. 51 Where royal rainbows radiant Ho On clouds A that face a clearing sky, Or myriad dancing dimples smile, At sunset, round the tropic isle. The mystic air, whose magic throws A pearly gleam on Alpine snows, Where doming masse? proudly rear Their outlines in the ether clear. At noon, the sharp-cut shadows mark The dazzling drifts with sapphire dark; At eve, the dying sun bestows A dower of burning, blushing rose, And midnight moons, in mercy given, Salute the destined bride of heaven. The radiant air, whose colors play On Volscian ranges, far away. The Angelus, at evening, falls In blessing from the convent walls; The softened chime of silver bells The joy of blessed Mary tells ; Declining rays of sunlight paint The pathway of the coming saint, Where beetling limestone cliffs ascend And melting pinks and lilacs blend The mountain bares its sacred breast, And lets the sunbeams do the rest. The glorious air, serene and free, On Ischia's violet-turquoise sea Where light, arising through the wave, Transfigures Capri's azure cave. Oh, is it water, is it air That melts in silver radiance there? Combining powers of Xature kiss, To bathe the soul in sapphire bliss. 52 V E E S E S . The thoughtful air, whose pinions roam Around San Marco's ancient dome, Where oriental glories pour Their treasure on the Adrian shore. A score of generations rise In varied pageant to the eyes ; In jewelled pomp mosaics smile Along the quaint Byzantine aisle, And evening incense softly glows Beneath the window's mystic rose. The magic air that painters love That bore the wings of Raphael's dove Where heaven's choicest radiance falls Around Perugia's castled walls, And rays of vernal beauty shine Above Assisi's distant shrine. The air which clasped in crystal sphere Great Titian's glory, sweet and clear, And bade Murillo's spirit soar To regions never known before. It pours its light of amber keen On Veronese's noble scene, And gladly seek? the savage cell Where proud Salvator loved to dwell. The tragic air, whose shadows haunt The darkened visions of Eembrandt, And lays the crown of victory sweet At Angelo's triumphant feet. The air that eases Turner's pain, That calms the heart of Claude Lorraine And frames the upward gazing soul Of Giotto in an aureole. The tender air, whose pensive glow Loves the perspectives of Corot, V E E S E S . 63 Where poplar dell and willow isle Beneath the Norman heavens smile, Or myrtle sweet and ilex shade Darken the turf of Nemrs glade. The Dryad girls forsake their haunts Beside the classic lake to dance, And spring, once more returning, thrills The ancient heart of Alhan hills. The sacred air, whose rising power Grew conscious in a nobler hour, When Galilean fishers come To seek the holy upper room, Where solemn silence breathless trod Before the very face of God. Hark, how, at once, the bursting gale Sounds like the tempest in the sail, Or mountain storms that fiercely sweep At midnight through the forest deep. Bright tongues of lucent fire fall Beneath the eye that watches all, And burning rapture, once again, Rests on the brow of sinful men. Above, the earthly roofs dissolve, The distant crystal spheres revolve; Deepening abysses ever shine. Clearer than licrht, sweeter than wine. Air divine ! Air divine ! 54 V E K S E S . THE BRAIN. There are regions no plummet can sound In the depths of the pitiless sea, Where sunlight forever is bound And terror alone can be free; Where, under the roots of the mountains Despair and Eternity kiss, And Xature grows pale at the fountains Which fill the remorseless abyss. There are realms of unthinkable space Above the bright vault of the skies Where Infinity veils her dark face And Eeason in hopelessness dies; Where Creation sits mute by her urn, And the Morning Stars echo the chime Which Archangels sing, who return From the domes that are guiltless of time. And yet all the spirits declare That no chasms of existence remain So unknown to the hosts of the air As the depths of the marvellous brain; The brain, with its stress and its strain, Its weariness, madness, and pain ; The power to bear all the weight of despair Which is found in the depths of the brain. The ocean of consciousness sparkles With light on the crest of each wave, While beneath it an impotence darkles To see, and to know, and to save; VERSES. 55 In the caverns of memory deep The visions roam wild at their will Which only the waters that steep The poppies of Lethe can still. There's a dungeon of pitiless Fate Where Life waxes pallid and wan And Ignorance closes the gate On the hopeless condition of man. Oh, the brain with its stress and its strain, Its weariness, madness, and pain Only God from above with his might and his love Can enlighten the depths of the brain. SLEEP SONG. For those who are suffering and sore, For those who are weary and weep, A guest from the infinite shore Comes the spirit of cradling sleep. With visions of beauty that bring Their balm from the isles of the blest, Where angels in ministry sing The souls of the tortured to rest ; Where those we have loved and have lost Await us in fields of delight, Till the tides of the ether are crossed And hope has been quickened to sight; 56 VERSES. Where the stars of the morning rejoice In the brightening breast of the skies, Where the cherubim utter their voice, The antiphonal seraph replies. As fresh as the zephyrs that bear The bird on the winnowing wing To the limitless regions of air Where mountains in majesty spring; As strong as the billows that roll The form in their beryl abyss, Where currents of ocean control And powers of eternity kiss; As bright as the radiant pearl That comforts the murmuring shell, As white as the wings that unfurl From the wandering nautilus shell; As soft as the gentle monsoon That breathes on the Indian isle, As silent as rays of the moon On the bowers of Paradise smile; As fragrant as clouds of perfume That waft from the altar of gold, As pure as the joys that consume The soul with their rapture untold ; As sweet as the dew of the morn That lights on the lip of the rose, As clear as the eye of the fawn Comes the power of perfect respose. V E E S E S . 57 For those who are suffering and sore, For those who are weary and weep, A guest from the infinite shore Comes the spirit of pillowing sleep. WHERE ? Vivid, vital domes on high, Quivering founts of heavenly light, Flashing meteors of the sky Tell the watches of the night. Choirs of tuneful stars above In their robes of diamond dressed, With the moon, the silver dove, Circle to the peaceful west. Still, we know what forces speed Underneath our silent feet, How the powers of Nature lead Where the dawn and darkness meet. Night's arising curtain shows Morning's still recurring feast; All our orbing planet glows Swift, to seek the fatal east. Plummets cast by mortal hands Never reach creation's bars; Vain our human compass stands In the whirl of reeling stars. 58 VERSES. Up and down, behind, before, All are lost in gulfs profound; All the dooms of human law Faint where chimes immortal sound. On the road of wheeling spheres, On the track by thunders trod, Still we press with doubts and fears To the judgment throne of God. SANTA LUCIA. O'er Ischia far a silver star, Its radiant blessing signing, As peaceful guest upon the breast Of every wave is shining. Across the bay the purple ray Of sunset's rose is gleaming; With fires oppressed, in mighty breast, Vesuvius is dreaming. The vapors rise against the skies Where evening's glories linger; The stately column, erect and solemn, Is like a spirit's finger. Upon the porch before the church The fisher-folk are kneeling, While silver-bell with sacred knell Across the sea is pealing. V E E S E S . 59 Each lip repeats the hymn that beats In cadence clear and ringing: "Ye Powers above, respect our love, And hear our spirits singing. "Oh, shield each life, so dear to wife, To sister, child, and mother, And bring again, through moons that wane, The husband, son and brother. "Deliver still from every ill Where powers of darkness gather; Protect from harm and night's alarm The lover and the father. "Before the shrine, with light divine, Our taper shall be burning, To greet our brave across the wave, At break of day returning." LOUIS QUINZE. "What a glorious edition Like a dandy at a dance Or a pink of erudition At the court of Louis Quinze. "Red morocco ! what a binding ! Perfect paper, supple, thin ! Take a look and you'll be finding Splendid copper-plates within. 60 VERSES. "Perfect gilding, perfect tooling, Triumph of the bookman's art !" "Turn it over, stop your fooling; Let us see the creature's heart. "Grammont? rather sultry reading; You may keep the painted runyon; You are welcome to the heading; Give me half a pound of Bunyan !" Down he threw the gilded treasure, And the pages, turning over, Showed where book- worms, for their pleasure, Gnawed it through to either cover. Heartless stuff, befouled, bepuddled; Like a gay gallant who sails Velvet coated, powdered, fuddled, Down the terrace at Versailles. RANZ DES VACHES. On high, facing the sky, Afar, facing the star, Stand? the mountain, The fountain broods o'er waters that leap, From the fatal steep. Dimly seen, gathering sheen. Keen and white, pregnant with light, Glows the morning : The east still dreams of visions that rest In the peaceful west. VERSES. Cl Founts of love stream from above, Feasts of light flame with delight Ever burning, The day-spring chants of powers that kisa In the vast abyss. Fierce the strife, darkness and life, While the world onward is whirled, Swift and fatal. The hour is hailed by spirits that sing On their rainbow wing. THE NAME OF THE TUNE. Brightly shines the mistletoe On the tavern's ancient rafter; Lads and lasses all aglow, Gaily rings the pealing laughter. Merry flies the rigadoon Down the sides and up the middle, Following the plaintive tune Of the gray-beard's rosined fiddle. "Father," says the Colleen Bawn, Pausing by his tired shoulder, "Why at Christmas so forlorn?" "You will know when you are older." Softer, now, the gentle flame Of the eyes with beauty glancing: "Father, tell us, what's the name Of the tune that keeps us dancing?" 63 V E K S E S . In the faded eye a dew, On the withered lip a quiver: "Heart of gold and flowers of bluc- Underneath the snow forever/' PORTAGE. The sun hovers low in the west, The snow mist is over the vale, The smooth flowing waters arrest The light with a radiance pale. They mirror in silver the hills That round them in ermine arise, And echo the rapture that thrills The answering heart of the skies. They linger in visions of hliss, Aware of the currents that urge Their flow to the Powers that kiss The foam-frozen lips of the gorge. One instant of beryl and pearl, One instant of emerald gleam, And the nymphs of the forest unfurl Their shroud o'er the fall of the stream. The hemlocks, encrusted in snow, Are muttering under their breath, And bend o'er the terrors below Where the river encounters its death. V E E S E S . 63 A gap in the forest reveals The waters that whirl to the sea, Ere the gloom of the chasm conceals The fate of the bright Genesee. GAKLANDS. Who comes under the trees, seeking my quiet gate, Bright as murmur of bees where the sweet roses wait ? Pardon. Enter my garden. Flowers are blooming for you to-day. Garlands hang in the door, garlands are on the wall; Bright mosaic the floor, where the soft fountains fall. Shining ivy is twining, Gay as myrtle in merry May. Bring your cheerfullest lute strung with the Grecian chord, I've my pleasantest flute where the sweet notes are stored. Waters clear as the daughters Of the nymphs will repeat the lay. Swiftly moments will fly under the vine above, Till eve flushes the sky, soft as a Lesbian dove. Gleaming clouds will be beaming, Stars will welcome the close of day. 64 VERSES. Eastern incense is sweet, crowning the flickering fire, Gay the tact of the feet, ringing with sweet desire. Dancing is most entrancing Where the echoing music whirls. Short the day at the best, night will descend too soon, Then we'll quietly rest, watching the rising moon. Einging echoes the singing Raised by voices of merry girls. REST. When silent dusk succeeds the eager sun, Notes of sweet comfort fall from dewy trees To show that kindly Nature is at ease, Her labors ended and her banquet done, The grateful guests departing, one by one, To nest in leafy covert ; and one sees The gentle current of the evening breeze Rock the light cradles of repose begun. In the vast temple of the sombre night They feel no lightest fear or touch of care, Assured that heavenly watchmen, waiting there, Will trim the guardian lamps of starry light. Oh, that each weary heart, to-night, could rest Its weary thought in so composed a nest. .V E R S E S , 65 VOICES OF THE NIGHT. Still is the gloaming, Silent the room; Sparrows are homing Where cornices loom. Newsboys are calling, Shadows are brown, Evening is falling Over the town. Gaslight is glancing Under the trees, Branches are dancing Soft in the breeze. Voices are laiighing Out in the park, People are chaffing There, in the dark. Kindly hand? playing Over the way, On the keys straying With thoughts of to-day. Footsteps belated Sauntering by, Young people, mated, Watching the sky. 66 VERSES. Stars, that are gleaming Softly above, Set the world dreaming Of nonsense or love. Old people thinking Thoughts of the past, Evermore linking This world with the last Fears that arc banished, Joys that have flown, Lives that are vanished Out of their own. Thousands of hearts Dream of to-morrow, Conning their parts Of pleasure or sorrow. Footsteps of gladness, Eyes of delight, Memories of sadness, Voices of night. CENTRAL PARK. Where'er my wandering feet are led Her gentle form will glide, As faithful as the blessed dead, Forever at my side. VERSES. 67 I hail each dear, familiar seat, Our shelter in the noon ; The vista where our eyes would meet The rising of the moon. This spot among the ancient trees Is where we stopped to hear The moaning of the sobbing breeze* The birds that triumphed clear. Each nook recalls some word she said, Some smile, some bit of verse, Our musings when the clouds were red, The stories we'd rehearse. We talked of May dews, pattering cool; Of robins, as they slake Their thirst in the refreshing pool; Of lights that lit the lake; Lilncs, wistarias in May, Heaven's bounty to us all ; The steady hand that cleared away The withered leaves in fall; The boulder, with its mystery; The sheep, with patient bleat; The child, with budding history And eager, hopeful feet. Dear park, with lawns and cool arcades, How many a memory weaves Its brightest hours, its darkest shades Among your murmuring leaves ! 68 V E E S E S . Full many a troth is plighted here, And many a friend must part, And many a story, bright or drear, Lurks in your silent heart. Ten generations hence you still Will smile as fair as now, Returning birds will seek your hill And starlight crown your brow. THE BOWERY. The Bouwerie! the Bouwerie! In Stuyvesant's time was fair to see. The old Dutch poplars were on the road, And black hens cackled and roosters crowed, And the windmills turned, and they made the hay, And milked the cows in the Holland way. And when Sunday came the Holland girls With bows on their caps and flaxen curls CM me walking out from New Amsterdam With Jan, and Hendrick, and Dirck, and Ram, And all the world loved it because, you see, It was Pieter Stuyvesant's bouwerie. Xow the cable-car rushes behind your back, And the "L" train thunders along its track, And shops about you are always bright, With sun by day or electric light, And all thr world of the great east side Ts pouring in with its restless tide, And never ceases because, you see, There are things to buy on the Bowery. VERSES. 69 There are Germans, Roumanians not i few, The thoughtful Russian, the bright-eyed Jew, The Chinaman with his sluinling feet, Italians from Elizabeth street, The working girl with her gentle grace, The haggard walker with painted face, The confidence man, who smiles just the same, The bloated drunkard with eyes of flame, The cunning sharper, the bruiser wild, The tired mother who tends the child, The workman who staggers beneath his load While the gambler shoves him from the road A pity it is ; but then, you see, There's many another Bowery. The Bowery, the Bowery ! There are Hebrew theatres there to see, For wherever Abraham's sons are whirled Their mind still turns to the old, old world; There is noble David, and Solomon wise, And Esther dear, with her dove-like eyes, And people love them; because, you see, There are thoughts of Cod on the Bowery. THE BREEZE, The breeze that sways the poplar trees, and sets them all in motion. With ruffs of white that make the leaves more radiantly green; That sets the silver clouds adrift upon the azure ocean With pearl and sapphire harmonies where angel wings are seen. 70 VERSES. The breeze that makes the ripples laugh upon the rapid river, Where all the moths are wonderful and butter flies are gay, Where dragon-flies in armor-plate of blue and pur ple quiver, And speckled trout are leaping where the golden shadows play. The breeze that rocks the downy nests where robin hearts are dreaming Of rapture which can never fill the anxious hearts of men, When all the world is symphony, and all the ether's gleaming Because the summer comes to cheer the dreary earth again. The breeze that blows the bees about among the sunny flowers When basking blossoms bloom their best beneath the skies of June, When lily heads are nodding light to greet the sunny hours, And all the garden's walks repeat the fountain's silvery tune. The breeze that cools my lady's cheek and sets the dimples dancing. That wafts the ruffles of her throat, the ripples of her hair; The cunning breeze that knows the trick of art fully enhancing The loveliest of lovely things in all the realms of air. V E K S E S . 71 FISTULA AMERICANA. Sicilian Muses blessed the shade Of many a spirit-haunted glade Where shepherds, on the mountain side, Saw the swift, silver streamlets glide, Or paused, amid their labors sweet, To view the plains beneath their feet. No sylvan reed, no oaten pipe Sounds, where our harvests beckon ripe, As once where /Etna's runnels ran; Yet every true American Takes music's wine in thoughtful sips With wary, rarely opened, lips. The workman plies his morning chisel And wakes the shop with cheerful whistle, Or falls into a minor strain To test his edge and set his plane. The mower, straightening from his task, Echoes the note when blue birds ask The riddle which our mother Nature Puts to each reasoning human creature, Where engines thunder far below The grimy stokers whistling go; The whistle cheers the mighty sons Of war beside their thundering guns, And mingles with the bounding breeze Which bears the sailor o'er the seas. The weary mourner, pacing slow, Repeats the tune she used to know, Or wakens, in the morning calm, To dream the half-forgotten psalm. And when the farmer, in the night, Returning, sees his window-light, 72 VERSES. Thinks of the steps that haste to meet him Of the dear eyes that shine to greet him No softer note was ever played For Amaryllis in the shade. SLEEP AND DEATH. Dear brother Sleep, I pray thee lie Close at my side; thy quiet eye Shall cool my lids; thy hand shall rest Like magic on my troubled breast. And harken, if our brother Death Shall pass this way, as Sibyl saith, Call softly to him; let him fling The shadow of his purple wing Across me. Thus, without a sigh, 'Twere sweet in Death's own arms to die. THE SONG OF THE SAW. There's heft, and there's temper, and such, Which come when the instrument's made; Set the teeth not too little or much. And don't bear your weight on the blade. Oak lumber is different from pine, And sap-wood is softer than dry; Look out for the knots and the line, And measure the lengths with your eye. V E E S E S , 73 It isn't in sweating and hurry, It isn't in bother and pain, For reason is better than worry As sunshine is better than rain. You may hack till your temples will throb, And you're nothing but smew and bone It takes reason to wind up the job, And leave you some time of your own. I think that the parson has said, (And the weight of the sermon I'll own), That faith without works is but dead, And that works will not kindle alone. You never can run all creation; The shay isn't eyes for the hoss ; Keep up with the sense of the nation, But don't try to bully the boss. Leave heaven to care for the sinner, And mercy to temper the law; Do the best of your work before dinner, And don't leave the rust on your saw. FORTUNE'S WHEEL. The sun had passed behind a cloud, A gentle air was breathing, A cat bird warbled clear and loud Where clematis was wreathing. 74 V E E S E S . There came a little puff of sound, A sort of gentle frisking, As if a bird were hovering round Or pretty mice were frisking. And then a glimpse too fair to last; For, ere the eye could steal A second glance, she flitted past Miss Fortune on her wheel. Misfortune's no cognomen, though, For such a lovely vision; 'Twere treason, sure, to use it so At very least misprision. Loyal to Nature we must be, Our ever kindly teacher, With dear rewards for those who see Her work in every creature And most of all in her who came To crown the life of Adam; If Xature is our gentle Dame, Then Eve was surely Madam. But this Miss Fortune was a Miss, And nothing could resist her A gleam, a flower, a joy, a bliss, A woman and a sister. A pretty foot, a little hand, A whiff of subtle fragrance, A boon to those who roam the land As ramblers and as vagrants. VERSES. 75 Music will wake where'er she goes (For music must delight her) To pluck the thorn from every ro?e And make some home the brighter. A memory of delight she seems Each woe on earth to heal. To-night she'll mingle in my dreams Sweet Fortune, on her wheel. AN EVENING PARTY. Was ever ghost so blest as I? In shades of twilight stalking, Two cheerful nymphs came tripping by And took me off a-walking. Was it my star's enchanting bands? Was it some fairy giver? They took me by their merry hands, And led me o'er the river. And one was dark, and one was brown, And both of them were laughing, And so we wandered from the town With just a little chaffing. Was there a bridge? I cannot tell; I did not watch the going. The sunset I remember well, And that a breeze was blowing. V E E S E S . But nyrnphs, you know, have rainbow wings, And ghosts, though gray and dismal, Sometimes go off on frisks and swings Through depths of air abysmal. The sky was full of sunset clouds In sunset glory radiant, Which made us think of jolly crowds Invited to a pageant. A sort of general carnival 'Neath solar chandeliers, To trip it lightly at the ball With music of the spheres. Their cloaks were made of satin gray With crimson velvet lining; They hurried to the gates of day With faces bright and shining. The water mirrored all the show In crystal fair and beaming, Which made another heaven below, As if the earth were dreaming. And there upon the western sky A silver star was glowing, To cheer us with its kindly eye A look of peace bestowing. It promised it would watch by night And welcome us to-morrow, When dawn returned with rosy light To make an end of sorrow. V E K S E S . 77 If any ghost is glum, and limps, And feels inclined to shiver, He'd better find a pair of nymphs To guide him o'er the river. THE CORN. 'Twas my third year of wedded life, And yonder, on the hill, I sojourned with my child and wife, Where \ve are farming still. We lived as plain as we could live And rose before the light, But somehow, nothing seemed to give The profit that was right. I'd mortgage interest to keep down, And other bills to meet, Until I'd hate to come to town And see folks on the street. I'd fifteen acres laid to corn- I own it was a risk ; I tried it as a hope forlorn To make the payments brisk. I had to sell my choicest cow, Although we needed milk; I loved the beast, I will allow, With coat as smooth as silk. 78 V E K S E S . And then the weather turned to dry, Without a drop of rain; I'd watch that yellow western ,sky Again, and still again. At last the babe began to pine, And Eachel answered mild, The Lord might take the corn and wine, But let her keep the child. The mossy stones were red as rust, No water in the ditch, As Scripture says, 'twas brimstone dust, And all the streams were pitch. One morning, leaning on the hoe, I saw some water clear Shining upon the corn below; Maybe it was a tear. Just then the stalks began to nod And rustle; I'll be sworn, I thought it was the breath of God A -stirring in the corn. The air was fresh upon my face And sweet upon my mouth, And then the wind began to race, Like horses, from the south. I looked ; the sky was growing white And softening above, Like Eachel's eye of patient light, A melting down in love. V E E S E S . 79 At noon the rain began to fall, And lasted through the night. You might have seen the corn grow tall Before your very sight. The drops came down as straight as lead And not in gusts and showers, And everv hill of corn was fed Through all the blessed hours. And in the cooling evening air The babe was sleeping sweet, And Rachel, she would smooth his hair And tuck his little feet. So, when the dawn came, bright and clear, And sweet with morning showers, There never was a house so dear As that old place of ours. I've hauled full many a load of care And sorrow, since that morn, But, somehow, God was always there, A-rustling in the corn. THE CLINIC. As snowy as the sea-washed shell, As polished as the perfect fane Of bright Diana's inmost cell The walls of porcelain shine again. 80 VERSES. A hidden source of fervent heat Distributes warmth to every part, As vital as the drops that beat In pulses from a maiden's heart. The chastened daylight in a flood Pour? through the lofty windows fair, As if the very eye of Cod Were resting on the table there. Around, in endless order, stand The treasures of Invention high, More subtle than thf softest hand And keener than the clearest eye. Oh. not, for torture, not for pain, The probe, the saw, the lance, the knife, To test the pulse of every vein, And fathom all the springs of life. In robes of white the doctors wait As priests that watch a sacred shrine, Attending the decrees of fate And ministers of love divine. For these are hands well fit to hold The brush, the chisel, and the pen, Whose every stroke draws pounds of gold Or stirs the rapturous thought of men. Duty and science never shirk, When nature faints and need is sore; These men are doing butcher work For one they never knew before, VERSES. 81 The leper's woe* belong to God, And they are toiling now. as He Who once the path of sorrow trod With fisher-folk by Galilee. Blest anaesthesia's work is o'er, The elevator's ropes arise, And on the tranquil upper floor The corpus vile safely lies. The latest rays of evening blend, A hush of peace is on the place, And kerchiefed maidens meekly bend To wipe the negro's ashen face. Sharper than the two-edged sword, To pierce the hidden depths of sin, The mystic power of the Word Explores the thought of man within. Oh, when the woes of life are o'er, And when we lift our darkened eyes, May we behold the blessed shore, Where saints await in paradise. THE EVE OF SALAMIS. Salamis, Salami's, the island fair and free, The very joy of heaven and earth, the jewel of the sea ; The shores the Nereids love to grace with their be witching charms, 82 VERSES. The cliffs the awful Tritons reared aloft with mighty arms; The little isle that dared the foe with all his bar barous odds And sheltered on her sacred soil our fathers and our gods ; The refuge of the wanderer, the hope of the op pressed, Who clasped the mother and the child on her pro tecting breast May great Poseidon shield thee well and bid thy sorrows cease, To crown thy walls with victory, thy palaces with peace. Attica, Attica, our mother country dear, Which all the months conspire to bless through out the circling year, The land that dear Athene shields beneath her azure dome, Where every hero found of old his most familiar home; The land Apollo loves to bless with all his radiance fair, Where every temple stands revealed in most pel lucid air, Where Xaiads seek the shady dells and speed the crystal streams, Whore cloudlets float across the sky like raptures in our dreams, Where sweetest echoes haunt the rocks, where fra grance fills the vale, Where ring-doves nest in balmy woods and call the nightingale. VERSES. 83 Where bright cascades from mossy cliffs descend in radiant rills, To water glowing hyacinths and golden daffodils, Where mountains melt in rainbow hues and lure the sunset down, Where sister summits link the land within a violet crown, Where every hill-side shields the graves of fathers brave and free And the great ghosts of Marathon watch by the sounding sea May Zeus almighty hear our cry, and bend in pity ing ruth To shower on thy wasted shores the treasures of thy youth ! Two thousand thousand myrmidons, the crudest of foes, Have trampled into bloody mire the lily and the rose; Where once the altar's fire was seen, where once the harvest smiled, Grim famine gnaws his withered lip and glares on ruin wild. No sculptured architrave is seen, no marble columns stand Where once a hundred palaces adorned a gracious land. The smoke of burning cities floats, a melancholy pall, Above the happy fields which gave our life, our love, our all. 84 V E E S E S . The satrap spreads his gilded tent, the plumed as sassin roves Where once Athene's shrine appeared in Erech- thcan groves, And wisdom fair has left her home among the olive trees, To find a shelter in the brow of great Theniisto- cles. monstrous mass of barbarous ships! portent vast and fell, The spawn of every eastern wharf, the harbingers of hell ! Where Moloch's death-fires light the mast, where Baal's prophets ban, Where Isis and Osiris blast the thought of free- born man, Where horrid ensigns flaunt the skies and threaten hideous strife, Where bloody tvranny defies the hope of Grecian life- May heaven and earth accept the gnge and rise in all their might To hurl the demon hack again in deepest shades of night; May storm and tempest speed our barks, may flash ing bolts be hurled, May victory crown Themistocles and save the dark ened world ! VERSES. 85 THE PILLAR OF FIRE. The radiance of the western sun fell in a crimson flood, And Sinai's sandstone masses glowed like sacri ficial blood Each crag and pinnacle revealed against the vio let sky, As if no cloud had ever hid that crest from human eye. A solemn silence filled the air a silence that was heard ; Xo palm tree fanned its weary frond, no blade of grass was stirred, The desert broom was still as death upon the heated sand, The presence of an awful power was brooding o'er the land. Above the altar rose the smoke upon the ether calm, As soars the cypress o'er the spot where roses shed their balm. All hearts were hushed, all lips were stilled, and, each beside his tent, The hosts of mighty Israel in adoration bent. The darkness fell. The mystic cloud above the holy shrine Revealed a heart of fire and glowed with radiance divine, Then, like a fount of light it rose above the shad owed earth, As angels, from their mission, seek the heaven of their birth. 86 V E K S E S . Swift as an eagle's cry the trumps alarmed the silent air; No time there was for doubt or fear, and scarce a time for prayer. Each Levite seeks his sacred task, the golden col umns fall, The pictured veil enfolds the ark in emblematic pall. No sound of tumult stirs the camp, but, moved by power divine, Each household strikes its tent, each tribe is found in solemn line, Jehovah's presence leads the way, and towards the appointed north, The marshalled nation's bannered hosts pour like a river forth. God calls the muster of the stars, unknown to mor tal ears, And, at the summons, every orb upon his post appears, Each starry spirit trims his lamp, each knows his ancient name, And on the darkening breast of night is seen the very same; Arcturus rears his sceptre high, and, clad in robes of day, A million suns in order stand along the milky way. Thus, every Hebrew feels the thrill of Moses' guid ing rod, And in the pillared splendor sees the very hand of God. VERSES. 87 The calm of age, the zeal of youth advance with even pace, And light eternal seals the hope on each uplifted face. "Farewell to Sinai, whence the Law pealed forth with power sublime, The voice which calls us now shall ring through all the vaults of time, Farewell to freedom's early days, farewell the des ert sand, The light that guides our ransomed feet shall lead from land to land.