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VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 PATRICK MARTIN KING 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 1890 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Herewith are printed, for some friends, a few of 
 the trifles which, from time to time, I have sent to the 
 newspapers, with others that have not yet appeared 
 in print. To them are added those that I have sent 
 to Her Gracious and Imperial Majesty, The Queen 
 of England. 
 
 That my poor thoughts are not more artistically 
 sent forth is cause for regret, but that they are honest, 
 that they come from the heart, I trust none will 
 doubt. (l ffaud facile enter gunt quorum virtutibus 
 obstat res angusta domi " is a truism recognized to-day 
 as fully by every man having any pretensions to literary 
 attainments, as it was by him from whom I quote. 
 
 With these few remarks I launch my little skiff and 
 hope that she may bring "good luck " to all she may 
 
 reach. 
 
 Frail nautilus, I fling thee 
 
 On ocean smooth and clear. 
 May gentle zephyrs wing thee 
 To all that I hold dear. 
 
 P. M. K. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, May, 1890. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 PREFACE TO THE POEMS 3 
 
 CONTENTS 5 
 
 A CALIFORNIA FERN-LEAF 9 
 
 A WISH 12 
 
 Two LIPS AND ROSES 14 
 
 To THE SOUL 16 
 
 NATURE S NOBLEMAN 18 
 
 A VALENTINE 20 
 
 THE CHRISTIAN POET 23 
 
 THE GENIAL POET 25 
 
 NATURE S POET 27 
 
 SONG : Cleveland and Thtirman 31 
 
 A THANKSGIVING ODE 35 
 
 INDEPENDENCE DAY 38 
 
 A REGRET 42 
 
 A REMEMBRANCE 45 
 
 RETRO SATANAS 47 
 
ONLY A POET 50 
 
 PARK LYRICS: 
 
 Irish Eyes 53 
 
 Bright Chataine 55 
 
 Twilight Sunlight Flowers Women . . 57 
 
 A SKETCH : The Real and the Ideal 59 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH 61 
 
 To HER 62 
 
 A HEALTH TO HER 64 
 
 To MESDAMES S AND T 66 
 
 A STAVE FOR IRELAND 68 
 
 AN ODE OF THANKSGIVING 70 
 
 A MONODY 72 
 
 AN INTROSPECTIVE MUSING 74 
 
 To " A" (in reply to her request) 77 
 
 LE JOUR DE L AN 80 
 
 PEN PORTRAITS : 
 
 Archbishop Riordan . 84 
 
 Vicar -General Father Prendergast .... 84 
 
 The Chancellor, Father Montgomery .... 85 
 
 A SERENADE 86 
 
 HEALTH TO SUE 88 
 
( vii ) 
 
 BACCHANALIAN . . 91 
 
 A RECOLLECTION OF THE YOSEMITE 92 
 
 A VALENTINE 94 
 
 MUSING 97 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL . . . -. 99 
 
 A PARK CAROL 101 
 
 NOTES TO IRISH RECOLLECTIONS 103 
 
 IRISH RECOLLECTIONS : 
 
 Martin Toole 105 
 
 Father James . 108 
 
OF 
 
 
 A CALIFORNIA FERN -LEAF: 
 
 CULLED FOR THE QUEEN. 
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 ) 
 
 8Cfj< Prince of QJH&zlcs. 
 
 A health to England s Empress-Queen 
 The best, the truest, that has been 
 Since monarchy first graced the scene 
 
 From this fair land is sent ; 
 This land that now would be her own, 
 Had George the Third when on the throne 
 But listened to his people s tone, 
 
 And grandly to it bent. 
 
 Live, Mistress fair of lands and seas 
 In torrid zones and climes that freeze, 
 Greater than ever Rome in these 
 Thou art thy nation s choice ; 
 
And on this day in every land, 
 On every sea, on every strand 
 Where English-speaking people band, 
 They hail thee with glad voice. 
 
 And I have seen thee years ago, 
 
 When in my veins youth s blood did flow, 
 
 Not then as now so calmly slow 
 
 It was in my sad sireland ; 
 The brightest jewel in thy crown, 
 Above the " Kohinoor s" renown, 
 Oh ! smile on her and never frown, 
 
 She is thine own, brave Ireland. 
 
 And if I now a fancy weave, 
 
 Tis not to flatter or deceive, 
 
 Nor would I say aught that might grieve 
 
 On this thy natal day ; 
 But I have found in other times 
 That good has come from humble rhymes, 
 Though inartistic be the chimes, 
 
 And so, accept my lay. 
 
( II ) 
 
 O Queen, long may you live to see 
 That justice best controls the free, 
 And in it power shall ever be 
 
 To stamp out hate and treason ; 
 But, Empress great, with justice blend 
 Mercy to all, and so defend 
 Your own good name unto the end 
 
 By linking love with reason. 
 
 And when the earthly crown is gone, 
 
 Descending to thy loyal son, 
 
 The Sovereign Lord shall say Well done 
 
 And in the realms above 
 Give thee a crown that cannot die, 
 A crown beyond the azure sky 
 That all destruction shall defy, 
 
 In token of His love. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, 
 
 MAY 24, 1889. (The Queen s Birthday.) 
 
A WISH: 
 
 LINES ON THE MARRIAGE OF THE PRINCESS LOUISE. 
 
 Ring out, ye joy bells, ring, 
 And to this Princess sing 
 The homage that ye bring 
 
 With loud and joyous voice. 
 She of the regal line, 
 Victoria, is thine ; 
 In her thy virtues shine 
 
 Let Englishmen rejoice. 
 
 Rejoice, and to Him pray 
 That His protection may 
 To her extend alway 
 
 A kind almighty friend ; 
 That her career be bright, 
 She guided by His light, 
 And walking in His sight, 
 
 With Fife s love to defend. 
 
( 13 ) 
 
 Strew flowers neath her feet ; 
 Let cheers her presence meet ; 
 With language loud yet sweet 
 
 Be loyalty expressed. 
 This day let anthems rise 
 Melodious to the skies ; 
 With feeling that ne er dies 
 
 Be sympathy confessed. 
 
 O, may her days be long, 
 While history and song 
 The Good and True among 
 
 Her name shall wreathe. 
 This from a distant clime, 
 With harp ill kept in time, 
 But in well meaning chime, 
 
 The wish I breathe. 
 
TWO LIPS AND ROSES: 
 
 A RECOLLECTION. 
 
 Once neath Cathedral dome, 
 Not Peter s shrine in Rome 
 But Mary s here at home, 
 
 I saw a gentle girl 
 With roses in her hand 
 That followed love s command, 
 Nor could the spell withstand 
 
 Of sweetening this pearl. 
 
 The girl ! When she looked down 
 
 The roses couldn t frown, 
 
 But held their leaves, though brown, 
 
 As craving for Love s sips ; 
 The brown leaves turned to green 
 More verdant in love s sheen 
 Than they had ever been, 
 
 While drinking from her lips. 
 
( 15 ) 
 
 Ah, me ! that day how I 
 Would give my life and die 
 And forfeit earth and sky, 
 
 Could I but be that rose ! 
 For one fond hour to lie 
 Upon her breast and sigh 
 Out life in love, then die, 
 
 Such death is sweet repose. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, 
 
 December 28, 1889. 
 
TO THE SOUL. 
 
 Spirit of mine, look on ! 
 Thou rt surely best alone, 
 Thy destiny undone, 
 
 Than with the vulgar throng. 
 If lust for many things 
 Possession some time brings, 
 Remorse yet subtly stings 
 
 God placed thee on thy throne. 
 
 Sorrow may stress and try, 
 Fondest of hopes may die, 
 Love may but leave a sigh, 
 
 Yet kills not, though it mars. 
 Sorrow is helpless ire, 
 Ambition, vain desire, 
 Love, a malingering fire 
 
 Over the clouds are stars. 
 
( 17 ) 
 
 Then, O my soul, we d crave 
 Of Him, who to us gave 
 The thoughts the heart to lave 
 
 To upward look for ever ; 
 And, if it be, that now 
 Grief must weigh down the brow, 
 We ll hold on to the plow, 
 
 And leave the furrow never. 
 
NATURE S NOBLEMAN : 
 
 SUGGESTED ON READING OF THE DUKE S REFUSAL 
 OF THE ROYAL DOWRY. 
 
 O lordly Fife, well done, 
 
 Thou hast Wales Princess won, 
 
 And gold thou touchest none, 
 
 All honor unto thee. 
 Rejecting " Royal Grants," 
 Accepting but love s thanks, 
 You elevate the ranks 
 
 Of modern chivalry. 
 
 \ 
 
 True chip, from old Macduff, 
 Thou criest, * Hold, enough, 
 We are not of the stuff 
 
 That pawns the heart for gold, 
 Though living in this age 
 Of mercenary rage 
 Our honor you must gauge 
 
 As in the days of old." 
 
( 19) 
 
 Thus, I, in dreamy rhyme 
 Of past and present time, 
 Hail thee on height sublime, 
 
 Front in manhood s peerage ; 
 And, as my lot is cast 
 With those before the mast, 
 I offer homage last 
 
 Coming from the steerage. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, 
 
 October 5, 1889. 
 
A VALENTINE. 
 
 Away from Kentucky s green mountains, 
 Away from its bright skies of blue, 
 
 Away from its dancing clear fountains 
 I hasten to gaze upon you! 
 
 Those landscapes so fair are behind me! 
 
 Now torrents and gorges before 
 I care not. All things but remind me 
 
 To hasten and see you once more. 
 
 I am come. Do not turn you so coldly, 
 Nor scorn my poor frivolous lay; 
 
 It may be "the last" though thus boldly 
 I hail you on Valentine s Day! 
 
 I hail you, my dearest, so youthful ; 
 
 I hail the fresh bloom on your cheek ; 
 I hail you in verse that is truthful ; 
 
 In words now forbidden to speak. 
 
( 21 ) 
 
 And you, O Saint Valentine clever, 
 I hail and pay homage, your Grace ; 
 
 I 11 pray at your altar forever, 
 
 For through you I look in her face. 
 
 Let the day and occasion excuse me, 
 
 And the weary long many a mile 
 I have traveled you cannot refuse me 
 
 What I d barter my soul for one smile. 
 
 And that smile though to cold paper given, 
 
 And that paper and I far apart ; 
 Though from you and from heaven I m riven 
 
 That smile shall come on to my heart. 
 
 And if I would ask one more favor 
 
 How cheap with my life-blood twere bought 
 
 One smile you will give to this paper, 
 And keep for the writer one thought. 
 
 And that thought when in moments of gladness 
 You list to the voices of love, 
 
( 22 ) 
 
 Shall come over his soul in its sadness, 
 As dew comes from heaven above. 
 
 That smile and that thought linked together, 
 Concession from beauty to pain, 
 
 Will tell him in fair or foul weather 
 His life has not all been in vain. 
 
THE CHRISTIAN POET. 
 
 With his own soul alone he talks 
 In crowded streets or quiet walks, 
 Nor careth for the many balks 
 
 That may beset his ways ; 
 For trusting in his God on high 
 The God of earth and sea and sky 
 Who unto him is ever nigh 
 
 He gives his thoughts in lays. 
 
 In lays betimes of dreamy mood 
 All written for the people s good, 
 And by them little understood 
 
 Whilst with them here he stays 
 But when He shall His servant call 
 To leave the scene of man s first fall 
 Nor further drain life s bitter gall 
 
 Then they may read his lays. 
 
And, yet perchance, it may come out 
 They know not what they are about 
 When echoing forth their rabble shout : 
 
 " We ll give him now a stone ! " 
 For when the noble man is dead 
 And needs no more his daily bread ; 
 They ll place a marble o er his head 
 
 And think they thus atone. 
 
THE GENIAL POET. 
 
 He cares not for the titled " Noddy," 
 
 He scoffs and scorns the upstart "Shoddy," 
 
 Though smilingly he ll try a toddy, 
 
 As every good man may ; 
 And with true men from night til morn 
 He ll sip the juice of grape or corn, 
 And smoke away all thought forlorn 
 
 In true Bohemian way. 
 
 And then he s glad to hear you talk 
 
 In rushing ride or sober walk, 
 
 And his good jokes you cannot balk 
 
 For he will have his say ; 
 And when in humor he has got 
 He ll give you back each well-bred shot 
 With not a touch of vulgar "rot " 
 
 Until the break of day. 
 
( 26 ) 
 
 And thus his days and nights along 
 He d spend in wit and wine and song 
 His tried and trusty friends among 
 
 Young though they be or mellow ; 
 And when at last his soul has fled 
 To seek the regions of the dead, 
 Of him it may be truly said, 
 
 He was n t a bad fellow. 
 
NATURE S POET. 
 
 In Fancy s land he lives and loves, 
 
 And midst her fields he freely roves 
 
 With flowers of thought culled from her groves 
 
 Which he would share with you ; 
 Nor sect, nor creed he will revere 
 On this or any other sphere, 
 At home, abroad or anywhere 
 
 Save what is good and true. 
 
 Your jargon oft he will forsake 
 
 " For moonbeams glassed upon the lake," 
 
 Or sunlight glinting through the brake 
 
 As it may suit his whim ; 
 " His words are idle oft times mad," 
 If in his moods he s aught but sad 
 Say on ! If it but makes you glad 
 
 It is the same to him. 
 
( 28 ) 
 
 He flies from you he hates you not, 
 Nor are your sorrows e er forgot, 
 Though seeming happy be your lot 
 
 He knows you are not so ; 
 He knows that in each human breast 
 There is a foe to human rest 
 Call it you may the worst, or best 
 
 The heritage of woe. 
 
 Then he will leave you oft awhile 
 To bask in Nature s bonnie smile, 
 Adown life drifting mile on mile 
 
 Led onward by her voice. 
 Anon he hears the twittering birds 
 To his true soul, melodious words, 
 All touching transcendental chords 
 
 Nor with dull selfish choice. 
 
 He lists the murmuring of brooks ; 
 The stones he treads to him are books ; 
 The flowers that bloom in brakes or nooks 
 Are mirror d in his soul. 
 
He looks up to the stars on high, 
 Illumining night s velvet sky, 
 To whom his spirit would draw nigh 
 Thought-free, from Pole to Pole. 
 
 He views the hoary mountains old 
 Now bleak and gray and barren cold, 
 But soon all framed in burnished gold 
 
 As day begins to die, 
 When Sun-god mad with wrath and ire 
 Leaves fading world to darkness dire, 
 And steeps the western marge in fire, 
 
 In roseate tints the sky. 
 
 He wanders on each flower he sees, 
 Each tiny shoot the aged trees, 
 And tenderly with all of these 
 
 He w r ould communion hold. 
 He d ask of them, when he was young, 
 If from their parentage he sprung ; 
 If he like them first had no tongue 
 
 If he was e er so cold. 
 
( 30 ) 
 
 Of streams soft voice or oceans roar 
 He d ask what of his state before, 
 Or what may be when nevermore 
 
 His eyes look on this scene. 
 He longs and thirsts for knowledge all 
 From the beginning" to the "fall," 
 And since. But to his earnest call 
 
 No answer yet has been. 
 
 He stands upon earth s vernal sod, 
 
 Yet scorns the beaten paths to plod ; 
 
 He d tread those heights that ne er were trod 
 
 In all the ages long. 
 His spirit droops, his reason reels, 
 As o er his soul the dire thought steals 
 That feeling all, he naught reveals, 
 
 And leaves unsung his song. 
 
A CAMPAIGN SONG. 
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 
 $li:$, CleOclanO 
 
 (WIFE OF THE PRESIDENT.) 
 
 Men of our great and glorious land, 
 
 Men who ve come here from foreign strand, 
 
 Now muster in fraternal band 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ; 
 For they are battling for the right, 
 And waging here the people s fight ; 
 Therefore, come on in all your might 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Men. who have loved your country so, 
 Men who will shout "Chinese must go," 
 Now let your votes right loyal flow 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ; 
 
(32) 
 
 For they will sure your country purge, 
 And drive right out the heathen scourge ; 
 Therefore, let each the other urge 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Men crushed to earth with taxes high, 
 Men holding thoughts not born to die, 
 Now let your voices reach yon sky 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ; 
 For they this tariff so accurst, 
 Will in all equity adjust ; 
 Therefore, freemen, march on you must 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Men who will think and men who toil, 
 Men of the workshop and the soil, 
 Go straight ahead there s no recoil 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ; 
 
(33) 
 
 For they will sure your needs supply, 
 And foreign influence defy ; 
 Therefore, go forward in full cry 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Men oft by Grant to victory led, 
 
 Men who with Lee have fought and bled, 
 
 Now march, this time, in tranquil tread 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ; 
 They ne er in thought and act will cease, 
 Nor will their efforts e er decrease, 
 Till Gray and Blue be blent in peace 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Men free and brave from every strand, 
 Now voters here in freedom s land, 
 With Right and Justice take your stand 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ; 
 
(34) 
 
 And be but loyal each true son, 
 
 The fight s your own the battle s won, 
 
 And we shall land in Washington 
 
 For Cleveland and for Thurman ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We 11 march right on for Cleveland and for 
 
 Thurman, 
 
 We ll march right on nor loiter by the way, 
 We 11 march right on for Cleveland and for 
 
 Thurman, 
 
 We ll march right on, we re ready for the 
 fray ! 
 
R A 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 A THANKSGIVING ODE. 
 
 DEDICATED TO 
 
 flton. Efjos. jf. 33agartr, 
 Sans peur et sans reproclte. 
 
 We thank you, Cleveland, for this call 
 To render our Thanksgivings all, 
 For many blessings, great and small, 
 
 By which we are surrounded. 
 And all you Deities on high, 
 Who wield your sceptres in the sky, 
 To you just now we d fain draw nigh 
 
 In faith, howe er unfounded. 
 
 And yet amidst your varied crew 
 Of whimsical, or false, or true, 
 Amidst your lot I choose but two 
 Ceres and jolly Bacchus ; 
 
(36) 
 
 For sure, without their timely aid 
 I must confess I am afraid, 
 And honestly it must be said 
 Venus would not attack us. 
 
 And without Venus what were earth ! 
 A wretched, soulless, barren berth, 
 Of hope and life and joy the dearth 
 
 Of sons and wife and pater, 
 No more we d find down here below ; 
 Our age a blank where er we d go, 
 Weeds tempest-tossed all to and fro, 
 
 Without thee, Venus Mater. 
 
 But since we have you, Venus, dear, 
 With Ceres and with Bacchus near, 
 That tis our duty is quite clear 
 
 To live whilst life is living ; 
 And so I fill the wine-cup high, 
 And drink to those throned in the sky, 
 And unto Cleveland, far more nigh, 
 
 In thanks for his * Thanksgiving. 
 
(37 ) 
 
 Then let us here the goblet fill, 
 And pledge to all men of good will 
 Whose hearts to virtue ever thrill 
 
 With constancy full blended ; 
 And with them I include the true, 
 The ever-faithful gallant crew 
 That manned the ship well sailed by you, 
 
 Whose voyage now is ended. 
 
 And still once more the cup I 11 drain, 
 Unto you, Cleveland. Yes, again, 
 And this, for aye, is my refrain, 
 
 Truth, Loyalty and Honor ; 
 And confusion to all those 
 False-hearted knaves, not straight-out foes, 
 Who have prolonged a nation s woes 
 
 By battening upon her. 
 
INDEPENDENCE DAY: 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY READING A PESSIMIS 
 TIC ARTICLE IN A LOCAL 
 HEBDOMADAL. 
 
 Come, muse of mine, in Freedom s cause 
 We 11 touch the lyre, nor fear the laws 
 Of pedagogues in our see-saws 
 
 As we may canter on ; 
 We sing not here of Marathon, 
 Of wars by Greeks or Persians won, 
 Nor shall we bask in Roman sun 
 
 They re past though never gone. 
 
 This day we choose a modern theme 
 That to our souls would almost seem 
 Fulfilment of the poet s dream 
 Nor sigh for aught beside ; 
 
(39) 
 
 We sing the present, our own times, 
 Albeit in unworthy rhymes, 
 And mayhap in discordant chimes 
 Which critics may deride. 
 
 We sing of our own race and kin ; 
 Of those of old who did begin 
 A manly war on thraldom s sin ; 
 
 To those who in their might 
 Still later asked and were refused, 
 And asked again and were ill-used ; 
 Then, nobly fought and blood diffused 
 
 And conquered for the right. 
 
 We hail this English-speaking man 
 Whose fight for Freedom once began 
 With Magna Charta, and thence ran 
 
 O er every sea and strand, 
 Uplifting man wherever found 
 From slavery, however bound, 
 His course the entire world around 
 
 To settle in this land. 
 
( 40) 
 
 O wholesome land of liberty ! 
 
 True glowing sprout from olden tree 
 
 Still may thy mission onward be 
 
 For Truth to ever fight ; 
 And with thy parent hand in hand 
 On every sea, on every strand, 
 United be in filial band 
 
 For Freedom and for Right. 
 
 And on that day this world shall see 
 
 Man s universal jubilee, 
 
 With watchword, ever, Liberty!" 
 
 From every port and bay ; 
 When Flag of England is combined 
 With Stars and Stripes upon the wind- 
 Then, despots shall a lesson find, 
 
 Nor dare to court the fray. 
 
 So, long live "Independence Day" 
 The griefs of Freedom to allay, 
 And in men s thought remain alway 
 Unto far distant time. 
 
( 41 ) 
 
 Thus sixty millions this day cry 
 Whilst rockets screech unto the sky, 
 As cannons thunder far and nigh, 
 And with them goes my rhyme. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, 
 
 July 4, 1889. (Independence Day.) 
 
 
A REGRET. 
 
 " Farewell to the White House," cried Cleve 
 land, its master, 
 
 Just after the recent election disaster. 
 
 " Farewell, to the dreams of advancing in glory 
 
 This great country s fame and my own name in 
 story ! 
 
 Farewell to the hopes, to the joys, and some tears 
 
 That I ve borne so calmly now over four years ! 
 
 Farewell, you tired days and you days all too 
 pleasant ! 
 
 Farewell to the White House! I say for the 
 present. 
 
 Farewell to them all ! I m still loyal and true 
 
 And can bid all good-bye to live now for you." 
 
 "Farewell to the White House!" sighed the 
 
 fairest of women 
 Whose beauty e er thralled the hearts of all 
 
 freemen. 
 
( 43 ) 
 
 Farewell ! she sighs sadly, though outwardly 
 
 seeming 
 To this change unconscious, she s inwardly 
 
 dreaming. 
 Her dreams are the dreams of the Pure and the 
 
 Truthful, 
 The Cultured, the Well-bred, the Winsome and 
 
 Youthful. 
 
 "Farewell to the White House !" cried Bayard, 
 
 a man 
 
 Without fear or reproach or dishonest plan. 
 "I have done my duty fore God and true men ; 
 And if I ve done wrong I would do it again. 
 I ve loved this great country, its land and its sea, 
 And no party e er served it less selfish than we. 
 Whate er may betide me let fate not o erwhelm, 
 I m ready when called to again take the helm. 
 If rough days I ve had, I have also had pleasant ; 
 And say with my chieftain, "Farewell for the 
 
 present ! 
 
(44) 
 
 " Farewell to the White House!" cry the 
 
 loyal and true 
 That well sailed the ship with her captain all 
 
 through ; 
 
 And I at this distance say, * Fare-ze/^// to those 
 And ill may it fare to all dishonest foes ! 
 
A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 I think of thee as morning breaks 
 
 To chase the mist of night, 
 And vapors rise from distant lakes 
 
 To the Sun s all-cheering light. 
 
 I think of thee as noontime warm 
 Comes o er the earth so still, 
 
 And zephyrs dance in cooling charm 
 On crests of highest hill. 
 
 I think of thee as evening calm 
 
 Mourns for the dying day, 
 And flowers breathe a fragrant balm, 
 
 For, oh, they cannot stay. 
 
 I think of thee as twilight hour 
 
 Steals o er us from above, 
 And human hearts have lost their power 
 
 In longing thirst of love. 
 
( 46 ) 
 
 I think of thee as night goes on 
 When stars above are brightest, 
 
 But I must join the inane throng 
 With heart as of the lightest. 
 
 I think of thee as midnight hour 
 Forsakes the day that s gone, 
 
 And nought is heard in hall or tower 
 Save crannying winds alone. 
 
 I think of thee the next day then 
 
 As on the day before, 
 And long for happy future when 
 
 I ll clasp thy hand once more. 
 
RETRO SATANAS. 
 
 Dreams of my boyhood ! Why rise you just now 
 With grief in my heart and care on my brow ? 
 Back, back to your caves ! Your wings closely 
 
 furled ; 
 
 For know you the fact we are now in the world ! 
 Away with your notions of Caesar and Brutus, 
 There is but one god here, and his name is 
 
 Plutus ; 
 
 That great healer, he, of all earthly ills, 
 They melt into air when he wipes out your bills ! 
 
 Then, Master of Riches, tis you I ll adore, 
 When trouble assails me tis you I ll implore. 
 If sickness o ertakes me, the doctor you ll pay, 
 And if I court honors why, you ll pave the 
 
 way; 
 
 And that one ambition, all others above, 
 You can purchase for me a true woman s love ! 
 
(48) 
 
 Foul fiend, thou liest ! Do all that you can 
 
 With fallen, degraded, irresolute man ; 
 
 But know you, false tempter, there s one thing 
 
 at least 
 
 In this wretched age that is not of the beast ; 
 It is this priceless jewel from heaven above 
 Still pure and unsullied a good woman s love. 
 
 Then dreams of my boyhood, of innocent youth, 
 Let us dream as of yore of the Right and the 
 
 Truth ! 
 
 Let us rock on the ocean, and sail on the lake, 
 Let us climb the high mountain, and rest in the 
 
 brake ; 
 Let us bask in the sunshine, and cool in the 
 
 shade, 
 Let us drink in the beauties of woodland and 
 
 glade ! 
 
 Let us look to the stars, and list to the streams, 
 Let us roam in the moonlight and follow its 
 
 beams ; 
 
(49) 
 
 Let us, O God, in Thy mercy, gaze high, 
 Let us turn from the earth and look to the sky ; 
 Let us fly from this world, with its pitfalls, its sin, 
 Let us dream the old dreams, our own world 
 within ! 
 
 
ONLY A POET. 
 
 Only a poet" O, that night so rare ! 
 
 The stars were glistening in God s dome 
 
 o erhead, 
 And I stood with the girl that I loved there, 
 
 Listening to what the trembling ocean said. 
 
 1 Only a poet And the soft winds blow, 
 
 And I am lying loving at her feet, 
 Her breathings reach me quick and sweet and 
 
 low, 
 And loose my soul I dare not nor retreat. 
 
 Only a poet Yet who fain would sing 
 
 His song of Truth and Hope and Light and 
 
 Love; 
 
 Who far would soar on sweep of angels wing, 
 Nor stop until he reached God s throne 
 above. 
 
"Only a poet" With a poet s soul, 
 
 And love for all things holy, pure and bright ; 
 Oft sunk in reverie past will s control, 
 
 He cannot speak a single thought to-night. 
 
 " Only a poet" With the poet s scorn 
 
 For aught that vile or vulgar is or low ; 
 Who yet can weep with suffering gently born 
 And laugh at tinsel shine on shoddy s brow. 
 
 Only a poet Bowed down to earth 
 
 Beneath the weight of man s primeval curse ; 
 Though his face be fanned with heaven s own 
 
 breath, 
 Tis hell he carries in his empty purse. 
 
 Only a poet Glorious, welcome taunt 
 
 So oft applied by scorners empty-brained, 
 Whose only wealth, whose single blatant 
 
 vaunt 
 Is but the filthy lucre they have gained. 
 
( 52) 
 
 " Only a poet" Wishing that he were, 
 
 For then he d sing you songs both clear 
 
 and bright 
 Songs that would banish far both grief and 
 
 care, 
 
 "And lift the soul to God and Truth and 
 Right. 
 
 Only a poet " T was whispered soft, 
 As I knelt bewitched and loth to go, 
 With zephyrs sighing tremulous and oft 
 And moonbeams kissing silvery waves below. 
 
 Only a poet " And who then is this 
 Booby, Noodle or perhaps some other 
 
 Whose presence mars this hour of double bliss ? 
 Tis neither one confound it tis her 
 brother. 
 
PARK LYRICS. 
 IRISH EYES. 
 
 I dream, I dream, of Irish eyes 
 That gazed in mine with shy surprise ; 
 Two Irish eyes of honest gray 
 Soft as a soft autumnal day. 
 
 They are not gray! I see them blue 
 Those windows to a heart so true. 
 
 I see them now! They are jet black 
 As thunder cloud upon the wrack, 
 Ere to the lightning it gives birth 
 And tearful meltings fall to earth. 
 
 Slanderer, avaunt! They are not jet 
 But of the loveliest violet 
 Those long-loved, long-lost violet eyes 
 That looked in mine with glad surprise. 
 
( 54) 
 
 I ve quaffed Love s draught on many a strand, 
 Neath many a sky, in many a land ; 
 I ve seen fair dames on many a shore 
 Beautiful as the loved of yore ; 
 I ve seen them, and I see them now 
 With culture stamped on classic brow 
 As musing thus, their looks I mark 
 Whilst strolling in your * Golden Park. 
 
 Yes, many a fair one I descry 
 With instep arched and roguish eye, 
 And many a Hebe. Sometimes a Juno, 
 Surpassed in grace by none that you know, 
 Whose handsome hands, whose shapely feet 
 The backward flowers spring to meet. 
 
 There are grand dames beneath these skies 
 But, ah ! I dream of Irish eyes. 
 
( 55 ) 
 
 BRIGHT CHATAINE. 
 
 Last week we sang of Irish eyes 
 Which we had seen neath murky skies 
 In that old land the land of Pat, 
 Of Priests, Coercion, and all that. 
 
 To-day we sing a brighter theme 
 With spirits free from Irish dream, 
 And hope to show you as they pass 
 Some charming girls as in a glass, 
 Where each may see just as she goes 
 Her lovely self from head to toes. 
 
 Immortal Gods, behold that girl 
 Her ruby lips, her teeth of pearl ! 
 Observe her smile now hear her talk ! 
 And oh, well mark that gliding walk! 
 Darling! Thou rt all ethereal 
 With just enough of good material. 
 I swear tis true, I do not scoff, 
 One turn this way By Jove! she s off. 
 
( 56) 
 
 Until we chance to meet again, 
 
 My soul goes with you, bright Chataine. 
 
 But "Hold," my editor now cries, 
 1 Make me a verse on ladies eyes, 
 And ladies looks and ladies smiles, 
 And of their dress that most beguiles." 
 
 My dearest Sir, I say you this : 
 Of glowing Dame or budding Miss 
 I may, perhaps, descant in rhyme 
 Wanting in tune and out of time ; 
 But when you bid me sing of clothes 
 Ah well, Cd c est bien autre chose. 
 This I say not as a railer 
 But truth to tell, I m not a tailor. 
 
( 57 ) 
 
 TWILIGHT SUNLIGHT FLOWERS WOMEN. 
 
 Sweet, indeed, is the twilight hour, 
 As all must own who ve felt its power 
 That hour so soft, so gently stealing 
 Around the soul, Love s thought revealing. 
 
 Of this have sung in dreamy mood 
 Poets ere Byron or Tom Hood. 
 
 But ah ! Give me this noonday sun 
 With scenes as oft I ve gazed upon. 
 A landscape here there shady bowers 
 Where one might rest midst fragrant flowers ; 
 Nor care, nor think, of aught beside, 
 The universe his blushing bride. 
 Flowers! I love you most in nature 
 But can t o ercome your nomenclature. 
 
 And now for women that is, ladies 
 Ever our charmers! E en in Hades 
 
( 58 ) 
 
 I could adore and worship you 
 As I do here, nor mind the rue. 
 
 Skies and flowers and women, all 
 Our best sensations you enthrall ; 
 That is, we worship, though afar, 
 Each one his own ethereal star. 
 How bright, how beautiful, how true 
 To live forever here with you ; 
 Leaving to creeds their full transmission 
 To heaven hereafter, or perdition. 
 
 But hold! I must not moralize, 
 Nor treat of things beyond our skies ; 
 But leave unto each holy father 
 To damn or save us as he d rather. 
 For me, enough that here I am 
 " Ne sutor ultra crepidam" 
 
A SKETCH. 
 
 THE REAL AND THE IDEAL. 
 
 * Divinely tall and so divinely fair 
 
 This "daughter of the gods" with golden hair 
 
 Is now no frenzy of the poet s eye 
 
 She s here; in flesh and blood her I descry 
 
 As spurred and booted on she prances, 
 
 Casting broadcast her timid (?) glances. 
 
 Here, O poet, your ideal I find 
 
 In ample habit and waist confined, 
 
 Well trimmed with laces, satins and so forth 
 
 With all the fripperies now put on by Worth. 
 
 Fringes and fripperies all combined 
 
 To improve for you the form of womankind. 
 
 O worthy Worth ! How you make up the shape ! 
 And whether short or tall, a nymph you make. 
 A nymph! Ye fools, hand-made for such as you 
 Whose souls are inane as her leathern shoe! 
 
(6o) 
 
 For me, for me, avaunt thou painted vision ! 
 I ve nought to give thee but my soul s derision 
 Ah, yes, I have; though tis not wise nor witty, 
 I tender thee a true man s honest pity. 
 
 I turn me from this Fiction to the True, 
 
 I turn, my own ideal, I turn to you! 
 
 I turn to something that my sight won t grieve 
 
 To something of the old Miltonian Eve. 
 
 Then grant me, Venus, Heavenly Queen of Love, 
 Thou who still reigneth from thy throne above; 
 Grant me, O Queen, that I may live to see 
 Some breathing woman as my soul sees thee. 
 Some form of Egypt or of classic Rome, 
 Some one with whom my restless heart s at home; 
 Some one, dear Goddess, I no more may leave, 
 Some one with less of Worth but more of Eve; 
 Some one like this, O Goddess, deign to give, 
 And I thy votary shall ever live; 
 Nor other fancy e er my heart shall stir, 
 For kneeling at thy shrine I 11 love but her. 
 
A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 
 Dear J , to-day you re twenty-four! 
 
 May your years reach to four-score more 
 
 And happiness abound! 
 And when, at length, the Master calls 
 You hence from earthly routs and balls, 
 
 May you be worthy found! 
 
 And midst the pure and Heavenly host 
 Find, and rejoin, the Loved and Lost 
 
 Whom we are mourning here! 
 And I, when my poor life is done, 
 And all my sins are cleansed and gone, 
 
 May I, too, join you there! 
 
TO HER. 
 
 To her a gentle one 
 Whom I have worshiped long 
 I dedicate this song. 
 
 I love her, though she knows it not, 
 For words of love I have not spoken; 
 
 But yet my soul has not forgot 
 To send to her its truthful token. 
 
 Has sent it from mine eyes to hers 
 
 Whilst seeing her waste on idiot lispers 
 
 The glances that are only Love s, 
 
 When Love speaks in softest whispers. 
 
 I love her, though she knows it not, 
 Ah, yes, she does, for where s the woman 
 
 That ever yet the art forgot 
 
 To read us first, we poor males human. 
 
 I love her gray blue eyes so bright, 
 My soul flits lovingly about em, 
 
( 63 ) 
 
 The stars above show no such light, 
 This world to me is dark without em. 
 
 I love her winsome honest smile 
 Showing to me her teeth of pearl, 
 
 That all my sorrows could beguile, 
 I do so love this gentle girl. 
 
 I love her quiet high-bred air, 
 
 Her handsome hands, her shapely ankle, 
 Oh, I could gaze for ever there, 
 
 Nor care nor grief my soul would rankle. 
 
 I love her lips her lips I love, 
 
 Those lips so chaste yet so enticing, 
 
 The saints would leave their thrones above 
 Could they but touch them on alighting. 
 
 I love her yes, ye gods, I do, 
 
 And roundly swear by every sonnet 
 
 I worship her from hat to shoe, 
 
 Yes, from her shoe up to her bonnet. 
 
A HEALTH TO HER. 
 
 Byron would pledge the health of Moore, 
 
 In water pure and clear 
 A draught all fit for Friendship sure, 
 
 When nothing better s near. 
 
 But I, who am no poet, nor 
 
 Can boast me much of brain 
 Would pledge the girl that this is for 
 
 In bumpers of champagne. 
 
 Here in our sanctum snug and trim, 
 
 All selfish thoughts above, 
 Fill, sirs, your glasses to the brim 
 
 I give "The girl I love." 
 
 What is her name ? Pray who is she ? 
 
 Now, we ll have no excuse. 
 Where does she live ? Now tell it me ? 
 
 I m sure you won t refuse." 
 
My friends, I will not give her name 
 Though here I do not boast, 
 
 So if to you tis all the same 
 We ll now drink deep my toast. 
 
 Here s to her azure eyes so bright, 
 Here s to her modest carriage! 
 
 And here s to her by day and night, 
 Both now and after marriage ! 
 
 And here s to her with all my heart, 
 For she could never pall it ! 
 
 Here s to each artless artful art 
 By which she can enthrall it ! 
 
 And here s to her! But let me see 
 
 Why this poetic feeling ? 
 I know not if she cares for me 
 
 Whilst unto her I m kneeling. 
 
TO MESDAMES S AND T . 
 
 By sad sea waves and mountains grand 
 They tell me you are now residing. 
 
 May wave and zephyr blend on strand 
 To bring you joy whilst there abiding. 
 
 And may each drive or ride or walk 
 By mountain side or calm seashore, 
 
 Be such as in the soul s mute talk 
 Bring mem ries sweet for evermore. 
 
 This much from one who ne er beguiles, 
 Whose nature s cold as it may be ; 
 
 Whose heart is proof gainst woman s wiles, 
 But not, against her sympathy. 
 
 Sweet sympathy that precious gift ! 
 
 To your dear sex seems to be given 
 To strengthen man his hopes to lift, 
 
 And bring him back when lost to Heaven. 
 
( 67 ) 
 
 For, dreaming wearily of things, 
 Dead to this world and all its strife, 
 
 Your visit still in my soul rings 
 And leads me back again to life. 
 
 Dear ladies, this you freely gave 
 Your gentle nature s sympathy ; 
 
 When I lay soulless as the wave 
 That frets and dies on yonder sea. 
 
 Then may fsend in simple verse 
 Greetings to you from this sick-bed, 
 
 In words not either wise nor terse 
 
 Straight from the heart, not from the head. 
 SAN FRANCISCO, June 16, 1888. 
 
A STAVE FOR IRELAND. 
 
 Sing, O my muse ! 
 You can t refuse 
 To give one stave for Ireland ; 
 For there amidst her streams and brooks, 
 Her mountains high and pleasant nooks, 
 We drew our thoughts out Nature s books 
 Of Love and Truth and Ireland. 
 
 In times gone by 
 Neath that soft sky, 
 We dreamed of Love and Ireland ; 
 And now though far from her we roam, 
 She s still to us our own heart s home, 
 The dearest spot beneath God s dome 
 Our own, our native Ireland. 
 
 There first we sung 
 When days were young 
 Of Love and Truth and Ireland ; 
 
( 69 ) 
 
 And here to-night, though somewhat old, 
 With heart and spirits growing cold, 
 We d draw one thought from ancient mould 
 Of Love and Truth and Ireland. 
 
 Then let us sing, 
 And try to bring 
 One thought to-night for Ireland. 
 It is the hope her spns may be 
 United all fraternally 
 That is the thought to pledge with me 
 
 For Love and Truth and Ireland. 
 
 And on that day 
 O er land and bay 
 In every home in Ireland, 
 Peace and Contentment full shall reign 
 And Justice rule o er land and main, 
 Whilst from each hearth comes one refrain 
 For Love and Truth and Ireland. 
 
ODE OF THANKSGIVING. 
 
 WRITTEN AT REQUEST OF A CATHOLIC LADY, A MEMBER OF ST. 
 MARY S CATHEDRAL. 
 
 Father of all, enthroned on high, 
 Lord of the sea and earth and sky, 
 We tender Thee a joyful cry 
 
 On this auspicious day; 
 For Thou has brought from o er the main, 
 Our Bishop safely home again, 
 For life, with us, here to remain 
 
 And strengthened for the fray. 
 
 O Lord, Thy people s thanks receive, 
 For all their needs Thou dost relieve, 
 Nor let those for Thy favors grieve 
 
 Who place their trust in Thee, 
 Let us, O Lord, Thy mercies praise ; 
 With love and truth our hearts now raise, 
 That on Thy presence we may gaze 
 
 In all humility. 
 
And now, your Grace, we welcome you 
 
 From Tiber old and Danube blue, 
 
 And thank our God with hearts still true 
 
 We have you here at home. 
 Be yours, my lord, our souls to guide ; 
 Remain, kind Guardian, at our side ; 
 Be ours, from you, not once to glide 
 
 Nor with false teachers roam. 
 
 And when, at last, our race is run, 
 And eyes shall close on earthly sun, 
 May He, to us, then say, Well done"; 
 
 And, in the realms above, 
 May we behold thee, mitered there ! 
 Prince, of our Church, in heaven s own sphere 
 Our spirits blended everywhere 
 
 In God s own link of love. 
 
A MONODY: 
 
 WITH REGRETFUL REFERENCE TO THE DEATH OF A 
 DEAR FRIEND. 
 
 O muse of mine, must we again 
 So soon take up a mournful strain, 
 And grief, for aye, be our refrain 
 
 Whilst lingering here below ? 
 If this be so, then let us bend 
 Our hearts, our souls, unto the end 
 That He to us may also send 
 
 Strength to accept each blow. 
 
 O Lord, Thou, in Thy wisdom, hast 
 From me estranged in the past 
 Those I have loved, and this the last 
 
 Thou hast now also taken. 
 Thy will, O Lord, on earth be done 
 From rising unto setting sun, 
 And when life s petty battle s won 
 
 Let me not be forsaken ; 
 
( 73 ) 
 
 But in Thy realms, where heart meets heart, 
 Cemented never more to part, 
 Midst Mankind from Creation s start 
 
 Of every creed and clime 
 May I, O God, in mercy find 
 Those I have sought in soul and mind 
 Our intercourse there unconfined, 
 
 Blended unto all time. 
 
 SAX FRANCISCO, 
 
 April 10, 1889. 
 
AN INTROSPECTIVE MUSING. 
 
 I look within, and there I see 
 Thoughts madly struggling- to be free 
 With which I am in sympathy; 
 
 But yet, I with Montaigne 
 Do think that if inside my hand 
 All human truths I could command, 
 I d better give it to the brand 
 
 Than open it amain. 
 
 And, so I think and thus I dream 
 
 That most things are not what they seem, 
 
 Nor dare we let the sunlight beam 
 
 Upon some thoughts of ours; 
 For this our world is still but young 
 And some things must be left unsung, 
 Although the withers may be wrung 
 
 While Darkness overpowers. 
 
( 75) 
 
 Yes, Frenchman wise, you were quite right 
 In courting not an earthy fight 
 Where all is wrong that is not might; 
 
 As it so stands to-day 
 In every land beneath the sun 
 Where nought is lost, but all is won 
 By those who ve got the mightiest gun 
 
 And bring it into play. 
 
 Then, dreams of mine, we ll dream no more, 
 Or if we do, t is not before 
 We study well the cannon s bore 
 
 And know how it will suit us; 
 And then in cause of human kind 
 We ll battle both with gun and mind, 
 Confronting tyrants who shall find 
 
 They cannot thus refute us. 
 
 So, thoughts of mine, back to your caves, 
 Nor surge you thus in maddening waves, 
 But rest you still as sleeping babes 
 Until your time shall come; 
 
( 76 ) 
 
 Then, nor with weak nor tuneless tongue, 
 The Good and Wise and Brave among-. 
 Speak you the truth to old and young 
 With voice of loudest drum. 
 
TO "A." 
 
 (IN REPLY TO HER REQUEST.) 
 
 My dearest girl, you ask of me 
 To write one verse on * Vanity. 
 If I comply, then let us see 
 
 What may in truth be said. 
 That vanity is sinful doth 
 Go without saying, and of sloth 
 Or indolence is born, or both 
 
 My heart thinks with my head. 
 
 Dear little girl, if e er you feel 
 Your gentle soul toward it steal 
 Curb it right then for your own weal 
 
 Nor place therein your trust, 
 For vanity, when it begins, 
 Forerunner is of other sins 
 And man s respect it never wins 
 
 But rather his disgust. 
 
( 78) 
 
 Be never vain, but be thou proud/ 
 In solitude or midst the crowd 
 Let conscience ever speak aloud, 
 
 And God will do the rest ; 
 Bearing thee with humility 
 That all may see thee as He d see, 
 And He will kindly foster thee 
 
 And guide thee for the best. 
 
 Be ever truthful, never vain ! 
 
 So on your soul shall be no stain, 
 
 And blessings on you He will rain 
 
 Unto the end of life ; 
 Raise your heart ever up to Him, 
 Nor be the slave of passion s whim ; 
 And youth s deep cup full to the brim 
 
 With gladness shall be rife. 
 
 This, little girl, is what I d say 
 From my retreat across the bay, 
 Here, dreaming on this Holy day, 
 Far from the city s throng. 
 
(79) 
 
 So wishing you a happy year 
 With heart and conscience ever clear, 
 And praying He may hold you dear, 
 I send my friendly song. 
 
 SAUCELITO, 
 
 Palm Sunday, 89. 
 
 
LE JOUR DE L AN. 
 
 IS IT A DREAM? 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE KNIGHTS OF ST. PATRICK, AND RECITED AT 
 
 THEIR BANQUET ON THE I7TH OF MARCH, 1886. 
 
 This day brings us glorious weather, 
 Clouds have vanished, skies are clear, 
 
 For now we stand on native heather 
 On this our one day of the year. 
 
 Nor sects nor creeds to-day shall blind us, 
 
 Except it be the creed of love ; 
 "Thus may the world forever find us," 
 Is Erin s prayer to heaven above. 
 
 Brethren all to-day united, 
 
 By St. Patrick from above ; 
 Each content, there s no one slighted, 
 
 All are linked in bonds of love. 
 
 To-day there s neither Boyne nor Shannon 
 Liffy, nor yet old rebel Lee ; 
 
( 8i ) 
 
 Nor siege of Derry, nor Dungannon ; 
 Ribbon, nor Orange can I see. 
 
 Orange and Green are one forever ; 
 
 Sworn to one country and one cause, 
 They to be disunited never 
 
 For now we have Home Rule Home Laws ! 
 
 To-day we stand one band of brothers, 
 
 Doing to all as all require 
 True to our ourselves, friendly to others, 
 
 A spectacle the gods inspire. 
 
 To-day, one only thought is spoken, 
 As brother clasps a brother s hand ; 
 
 Each one wearing Ireland s token, 
 The Shamrock of our Native Land. 
 
 Other lands may have their flowers, 
 
 Rose or Thistle, as they may ; 
 But thou, dear emblem, still art ours 
 
 To bring us close on Patrick s Day. 
 
( 82 ) 
 
 Then here s to thee our own lov d Erin ! 
 
 Here s to each Irish heart so true 
 That near or far this day is wearing 
 
 The shamrock green for love of you ! 
 
 Confusion then to traitors all, 
 
 That e er in thought or word or deed 
 
 Have sought to compass Ireland s fall, 
 Or would deny her in her need ! 
 
 Such thoughts avaunt ! Here is no treason, 
 That fatal curse has pass d away. 
 
 We re loyal men with right and reason, 
 In Friendship met on Patrick s Day. 
 
 Then fill the bowl, each Irish brother. 
 
 This is a day of joy I deem. 
 -Let s drown the Shamrock, now another ! 
 Is this all real, or do I dream ? 
 
 This is no dream ! I see before me ! 
 My country s woes are past and dead. 
 
( 83 ) 
 
 This is no phrenzy that comes o er me, 
 I only see some years ahead. 
 
 Then pledge we fresh each Irish brother, 
 Our day of joy has come twould seem. 
 
 Let s drown the Shamrock now one other ! 
 We ll make this real and not a dream. 
 
PEN PORTRAITS. 
 ARCHBISHOP RIORDAN. 
 
 Tall and erect alone he stands, 
 This chosen chief of chosen bands 
 From varied climes and far-off lands, 
 
 With power on his face ; 
 From altar or from pulpit he 
 Discourses with simplicity, 
 With eloquence with dignity 
 
 My friends, behold his Grace. 
 
 THE VICAR-GENERAL, FATHER PRENDERGAST. 
 
 With native ease and subtle grace, 
 With intellect that all can trace 
 In every line upon his face, 
 
 With kind yet searching ken, 
 True scholar ; yet, without pretense ; 
 Giving advice without offense, 
 As priest or man in truest sense 
 
 This is good Father " Pren." 
 
THE CHANCELLOR, FATHER MONTGOMERY. 
 
 Nervous and quick in act and thought, 
 Yet never seeming overwrought, 
 Spontaneous wisdom never sought 
 
 Nor offered charily. 
 Urbane and scholarly you ll find 
 This restless man with quiet mind; 
 Calm centre of a whirling wind - 
 
 Our Pere Montgomery. 
 
A SERENADE. 
 
 Wake ! Lady mine, the moon is beaming 
 
 And stars above now dimly shine, 
 Whilst here am I, so lonely, dreaming 
 
 Ever of thee, O lady mine ! 
 
 Rise ! Lady mine, the heavens greet thee, 
 Trembling high in the midnight hue, 
 
 Whilst my fond heart shall joyful meet thee, 
 Ever mine own, both fond and true ! 
 
 Come forth, come forth! my craving heart s love, 
 Come forth and view this night so clear ! 
 
 Come forth, come forth! my thirsting soul s love, 
 Cease all doubting, tis I am here. 
 
 Come forth, come forth! now O mine only love, 
 Come forth and show the stars their queen! 
 
 Come forth, come forth! now O mine only love, 
 To-night we ll wander far unseen. 
 
To-night we ll roam where sleeping flowerlets, 
 love, 
 
 Lead us a-straying with their perfume sweet, 
 And lingering lost in their leafy bowerlets, love, 
 
 We ll list in silence to our own hearts beat. 
 
HEALTH TO SUE. 
 
 Once on a time a poet grand, 
 Awhile his boat was on the strand, 
 
 His barque upon the sea, 
 Could take a stoup of water cool, 
 (Would I could drink from out that pool 
 
 Though not so deep as he.) 
 
 That pool has long since dried and gone, 
 And we are left to plod alone 
 
 As weakly mortals may; 
 So I must take a stronger drink, 
 And let my deep aversion sink 
 
 Upon this festal day. 
 
 Then give me rich and glowing wine, 
 And let me see your bright eyes shine 
 
 As ne er they shone before; 
 And I shall call upon the muse. 
 (Slow jade, she will not now refuse 
 
 But answer as of yore. ) 
 
( 9 ) 
 
 In vain, alas, in vain I call, 
 There is not here within this hall 
 
 To whom my muse will cater. 
 For she is a capricious elf 
 And flies betimes e en from myself, 
 
 And so do not berate her. 
 
 But there is one were she now here 
 To whom the muse would warble clear 
 
 In notes of true devotion; 
 Then we would canter right along, 
 And breathe our music into song 
 
 Of which you have no notion. 
 
 Still yet, old nag", now ere we part 
 You re crusty though not ill of heart 
 
 This once you won t refuse? 
 Come ! let us show these people we 
 Are lacking not in courtesy 
 
 Though cat ring to the muse. 
 
(90) 
 
 Tis well! my friends, the muse relents. 
 If wrongs she here has said repents, 
 
 And this is her adieu. 
 Come drain your glasses right away, 
 And damned in Beauty s eyes be they 
 
 Who drink not unto Sue! 
 
BACCHANALIAN. 
 
 Set me a stoup of the red, red wine ! 
 The glowing, gleaming, red, red wine ! 
 And you, my girl, with the face divine, 
 Now pledge me deep in the red, red wine ! 
 
 The glowing, gleaming, red, red wine ! 
 
 The drowsy, dreaming, red, red wine ! 
 
 Your lips, my fair, were made for mine ; 
 Deep in your eyes love s longings shine ; 
 Around my soul your raptures twine ! 
 Come, pledge again in the red, red wine ! 
 
 This rosy, reeking, red, red wine ! 
 
 This shimmering, shining, red, red wine ! 
 
 We ll laugh and quaff till daylight s shine, 
 (Nor balk that crafty Boy s design), 
 And memory, grief, and all repine 
 Are drowned deep, deep, in the guilty wine ! 
 
 The maddening, murderous, red, red wine ! 
 
 The gory, guilty, red, red wine ! 
 
A RECOLLECTION OF THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 O, that moonlight and that valley! 
 
 Before me them I see! 
 O, that moonlight and that valley! 
 
 Of the Yosemite! 
 
 And, oh, to me that dearest time 
 
 When at her feet I lay! 
 Would I could here produce in rhyme 
 
 All that I thought that day! 
 
 The moon creeps o er the mountain 
 Leaving one-half in shade, 
 
 The rippling of the fountain 
 Blends with the loud cascade. 
 
 And the night winds sighing round us 
 And earth s great dome above, 
 
 And the kindly eyes that found us 
 Lost, in our dream of love. 
 
( 93 ) 
 
 And the words that were unspoken 
 And thoughts left unexpressed, 
 
 And the promises unbroken 
 That never were confessed. 
 
 And the silence and the parting 
 As there we said "good night," 
 
 And the murmuring and the starting 
 Of one good friend s affright. 
 
 And since that night, the years have gone 
 
 Aye, I believe, a score. 
 Of all that throng I see not one 
 
 Nor may for evermore. 
 
 The memory of that lovely night 
 
 And of its moonlight clear 
 In my fond soul shall e er be bright 
 
 With all that I hold dear. 
 
A VALENTINE. 
 
 From St. Valentine s Court I hail afar! 
 
 Kentucky late was my home, 
 And guided now by Love s own star 
 
 On a mission of Love I roam. 
 
 I hail from a Land of Southern sun; 
 
 I ve travel d many a mile; 
 O er mountains and gorges wild I ve come 
 
 To gather from thee one smile. 
 
 I have left behind me a glowing land- 
 Its softest and brightest of skies 
 
 To me was a desert, cold and bland, 
 For it lacked the light of your eyes. 
 
 I have said adieu to its flowers so fair; 
 
 To its waters where sunbeams dance, 
 I reach this city s dusty glare 
 
 To crave from thee one glance ! 
 
( 95 ) 
 
 I ve heard of your beauty. It warmed my heart ; 
 
 I ve heard of it many a time; 
 I ve read of it often, nay do not start, 
 
 I ve read it in very poor rhyme! 
 
 I am come, I knock at your true heart s gate, 
 - I m come without fear or sin; 
 Oh, say not I m tardy; say not too late, 
 But bid me to hasten in. 
 
 I enter; I bless you; I lie at your feet; 
 
 Forgetting each weary mile, 
 As you take me up with a welcome sweet 
 
 And yield what I asked one smile! 
 
 That winsome smile! To me now given 
 
 Illumines a heart all true; 
 And nestles there as a beam from Heaven 
 
 Sent into a soul through you. 
 
 You look me over. Oh, read me once more! 
 You ponder. Is it only a chance? 
 
(96 ) 
 
 You put me away, but t is not before 
 
 You have giv n what I crav d one glance! 
 
 That one fleeting glance! O, paper cold, 
 
 Think not it can stay with thee! 
 No, no, in the ways of some fairy bold, 
 
 It hastens to stay with me. 
 
 That smile and glance in my life shall live 
 So long as the bright stars shine. 
 
 My love and my rhyme, sweet girl, forgive 
 I am only a valentine. 
 
MUSING. 
 
 Valentine s Day has come and gone, 
 And I ve writ missives more than one 
 
 To suit each fair one s notion; 
 But one dear girl o er all I ve seen 
 Whose quiet grace and noble mien 
 
 Absorb my heart s devotion. 
 
 And yet to her I have not writ, 
 Nor sent of token e er a bit 
 
 That in the least might move her; 
 For she has gold whilst none have I, 
 And so in silence must I sigh, 
 
 Nor speak how much I love her. 
 
 Let Fate or Chance this lot reverse, 
 Then love s own story I 11 rehearse 
 
 And tell her, O how boldly, 
 All that this heart of mine has felt 
 Since first mine eyes upon her dwelt, 
 
 Though trying to look coldly. 
 
( 98) 
 
 Shall I now seek me other eyes 
 
 And gaze in them with feigned surprise, 
 
 To try me to forget her? 
 Twere all in vain, each word and look 
 Of hers are stamp d in my life s book, 
 
 And were since first I met her. 
 
 I can t bring back a by-gone age 
 When pelfless wight might act the page- 
 Such ways no longer suit us ; 
 So I shall do as others do, 
 And since I can t wed her, I 11 woo 
 And worship thee, O Plutus! 
 
 Then, god of riches, grant thou me 
 Some trifle of the wealth I see 
 
 Thou show rst so on asses, 
 That I may speak outside of song, 
 And love and cherish my life long 
 
 This fairest of fair lassies. 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 O, Christmas bells loud ring, 
 And unto my soul bring 
 Thoughts that I would sing, 
 
 In not unworthy rhyme! 
 For on this day was born 
 Of wealth and pomp though shorn 
 In stable all forlorn 
 
 Peace unto all time. 
 
 For ages long before 
 
 The weight of crime man bore, 
 
 Nor could he clear the score 
 
 Of mortal sins anent him; 
 But on this blessed day 
 Unto Time s distant sway 
 O er every land and bay 
 
 Is forgiveness sent him. 
 
Then, O, you Christians all 
 
 Of station low or tall 
 
 In every home, though small, 
 
 Your enmities now cease. 
 And let a kindly love 
 Thus sanctioned from above 
 In peaceful spirit rove 
 
 From Heav n-born Babe of Peace. 
 
A PARK CAROL: 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED UPON READING ARCHBISHOP 
 RIORDAN S PROPOSITION OF RAISING ONE 
 HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS FOR PARK 
 IMPROVEMENTS AND TO GIVE WORK TO THE 
 NEEDY UNEMPLOYED. 
 
 Now, purse-proud city by the sea, 
 A song of praise I sing to thee, 
 
 And to thy true men all 
 Who ve cast aside turmoils and broils, 
 And filthy lust for filthy spoils 
 
 To hear the laborers call. 
 
 And you, Archbishop, bold and grand, 
 Who now would lead this noble band 
 
 My homage at thy door, 
 For thou dost well the Master s will 
 His kind behests thou dost fulfill 
 
 In caring for His poor. 
 
( 102 ) 
 
 And I have crossed through "Golden Gate," 
 By dawn s soft light and evening late, 
 
 Nor lark, thrush, linnet found, 
 But each wee bird that I met there 
 Twittered thy praises everywhere 
 
 From perches near the ground. 
 
 Go on, good Bishop, in thy way 
 Nor trouble what false men may say. 
 
 Go, ramble, through the Park, 
 And there the flowers shall smile on you 
 And trees and ferns give welcome, too 
 
 Of Nature s love a mark. 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, 
 March 6, 1890. 
 
NOTES TO IRISH RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 "Hooker" is a vessel with one mast, of from twenty to 
 eighty tons burden, and is manned by a crew of two. The 
 " Nanny s" capacity was about fifty tons. She usually made 
 monthly return trips from Roundstone, in Connemarra, to 
 Galway, the capital of Connaught, a distance of forty miles, 
 and was owned and sailed by Martin Toole, assisted by 
 the "Commodore," as he was called, an excellent seaman, 
 though deaf as a post. It has been the good fortune of the 
 writer to have had many a sail in the hooker along that bold 
 Coast; and, although he has since seen much of this world, 
 he can still look back to those innocent recreations with 
 pleasurable feelings, and can honestly state that in all his 
 wanderings he has seen no marine scenes to equal those 
 which then met his youthful gaze. 
 
 "Errisbeg" is the name of a mountain in the neighbor 
 hood of Roundstone, in the County of Galway. It is the 
 most forward of the range on that coast, and from its isola 
 tion and position appeals to the imagination as the advanced 
 guard or picket on duty of the hoary ramparts behind it, 
 protecting old Ireland from an invasion of the Atlantic. Sir 
 Walter Scott said the finest view in Ireland was from Tore 
 
104 
 
 mountain in Killarney. No doubt the view from Tore is 
 very beautiful. But had the great novelist stood on the 
 summit of Errisbeg, I do not think he would yield the palm 
 to Tore quite so readily ; for standing on Errisbeg magnifi 
 cent views present themselves on all sides. On his right he 
 would see a vast plain intersected with many lakes, dotted 
 with small islands, stretching away towards Clifden, the 
 capital of Connemarra. On his left the island of Ennislaken 
 (almost at his feet), the bay of Roundstone and Moyross with 
 its strongly indented coasts; in front of him the magnificent 
 Atlantic in its billowy undulations rolling off to this great 
 Republic; while at his back lie the "Twelve Pens," lazily 
 sleeping in their Alpine repose. The writer, though not 
 born there, spent years of early childhood and boyhood in 
 that neighborhood, and on leaving Ireland called to have a 
 farewell look at the old hill. He spent the day with his kind, 
 hospitable friend, Father James. They had an early four 
 o clock dinner in his cosy cottage at the foot of Letterdiffe, 
 after which they strolled up towards "Errisbeg." Their 
 parting was as described. 
 
IRISH RECOLLECTIONS. 
 MARTIN TOOLE. 
 
 What though he s but a boatman- 
 
 An honest man is he 
 As ever sailed afloat, man, 
 
 On calm or stormy sea. 
 
 And his good ship the Nanny 
 Or hooker I should say, 
 
 He plies so bold and canny 
 Upon old Galway s bay. 
 
 It s many a pleasant sailing 
 We ve had along that shore, 
 
 With none to hear our railing 
 But the deaf old Commodore. 
 
 What if of pigs and other stock 
 He often had a cargo 
 
 Think you his humor it did block 
 Or cause the least embargo ? 
 
( io6 ) 
 
 No, for the pigs and ladies 
 He did the best he could, 
 
 As also for the babies 
 
 Who were not in the wood. 
 
 Oft on the wild rude ocean 
 A-tossing on the deep, 
 
 Each wave with huge commotion 
 Kept rocking them from sleep. 
 
 Since then I ve had some sailing 
 With sail full to the rim, 
 
 But not the pleasant railing 
 That I have had with him. 
 
 And, if I now sing this boatman 
 Think not the worse of me, 
 
 I ve said he was as true a man 
 As sails upon the sea. 
 
 And sure in this, as other things, 
 No matter how it turns, 
 
( 107 ) 
 
 Or how the trump of fame now rings, 
 I think wi Bobby Burns. 
 
 I think with Scotland s poet tramp 
 In lines both terse and pat, 
 
 "The rank is but the guinea s stamp," 
 The head is not the hat. 
 
 Here s to you, jolly boatman, 
 
 One of the olden school 
 With you I d be afloat, man 
 
 Here s to you, Martin Toole. 
 
io8 
 
 FATHER JAMES. 
 
 The eve was calm, all earth lay still, 
 We sat beneath Errisbeg hill 
 That ancient hill that o er the strand 
 Towers to Olympus, lone and grand ; 
 Proud and erect alone it stands, 
 An ancient guard o er ancient lands ; 
 Holding in check Atlantic s waves, 
 It sends them backward to their caves. 
 
 O, dear old hill, to my fond youth 
 How fair you seemed, and yet, in sooth, 
 Seeing earth s mountains grand and tall 
 Thou art still dearest of them all! 
 My memory backward hurries now, 
 Ere care was written on my brow, 
 Those happy days so long gone by 
 When sporting like each butterfly 
 That up and down thy old side gleamed 
 And dancing as the bright sun beamed 
 
When I as bright and pure as they 
 Could revel in the full noon day, 
 Nor thought nor dreamt that one blast might 
 Plunge my bright day to darkest night. 
 
 Beneath this hill there sat that night 
 
 As loath to leave while waning light 
 
 Sufficed for conversation slight; 
 
 Two friends who talked how neath the sun 
 
 This world has often been undone 
 
 By tricks of knaves or woman s fun ; 
 
 Of Ireland s wrongs if e er they d right 
 
 By "moral force" or battle s might. 
 
 One of these two, a layman, was 
 Depressed this night with grievous cause ; 
 For he was leaving sad and lone 
 The place which long had been his home 
 To wander forth strange scenes to meet, 
 And ne er perchance his own land greet 
 That land to him the first on earth 
 Home of his heart land of his birth ! 
 
( no ) 
 
 The other, priest of that old faith 
 Which time nor chains nor whilom death 
 Could shake from out that country s breath, 
 One of those guides in whom you scan 
 The pious priest and honest man. 
 
 Nor beads nor gown this eve behold, 
 But by the light of burnished gold 
 The sun is shedding o er the mountain, 
 Ere he forsakes each dale and fountain 
 To play the part of love s recluse 
 Hid from all eyes except the muse ; 
 And in soft dreams Thetis beside 
 Forget our world with his ocean bride, 
 And by the light of one bright star 
 That now is coming from afar, 
 Instead of rosary might be seen 
 A tiny flask of clear poteen 
 Spirit so pure to see it now 
 The Turk might drink, nor break his vow. 
 
( III ) 
 
 " I pledge you true," the good priest said, 
 As swift his heart flew to his head. 
 "I pledge you true," twas urged with grief, 
 Take it, my friend, twill give relief. 
 
 Now once again, and then good-night 
 
 God bless you, may your days be bright." 
 
 And since that night I ve wandered far 
 
 On ocean life, a drifting spar, 
 
 Now sometimes up and sometimes down, 
 
 Sometimes a smile, again a frown, 
 
 As if my life had been but made 
 
 A plaything for the Fickle Jade. 
 
 Hopes bright and dark mayhap betimes, 
 
 As I would show in some weak rhymes, 
 
 Have chased each other o er my soul 
 
 Nor yet have found a resting goal. 
 
 As light and shadow may be seen 
 
 Flitting across a village green, 
 
 Or coming down the steepest hill 
 
 To seek for refuge in a rill ; 
 
( H2 ) 
 
 Anon to leave the gentle river 
 Again to chase each other ever. 
 Such is our life such most men are 
 Each but the plaything of his star. 
 
 For me, where er my lot be cast, 
 In summer s calm or winter s blast, 
 Remember thee? Aye, to the last! 
 Whilst yet to Love or Friendship s flames 
 My heart may throb, dear Father James, 
 Whate er may come to sooth or fret 
 That land and thee I ll ne er forget. 
 
 But ah, my pen, hold on, no more! 
 For thou, dear friend, art gone before 
 Gone to those Realms where we are taught 
 Honor and Truth need not be sought 
 Gone in thy prime sans earthly dross, 
 Whilst I am left to mourn thy loss. 
 Left alone in this world of sin, 
 One only thought still left therein, 
 The hope the dream to meet again 
 Thy spirit pure, amen, amen ! 
 

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