FATHER TABB 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 His Life and Work 
 
 The Poet-Priest of Virginia 
 
 1845-1909 
 This man s life made him worthy of a monument. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 His Life and Work 
 
 A Memorial By 
 HIS NEICE 
 
 JENNIE MASTERS TABB 
 
 Introduction By 
 DR. CHARLES ALPHONSO SMITH 
 
 Naval Academy, Annapolis, Maryland 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 1922 
 
 THE STRATFORD COMPANY, Publishers 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
 
Copyright, 1922 
 
 Boston, Mass. 
 
 The STRATFORD CO., Publishers 
 
 The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 
 
To THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER 
 WILLIAM BARKSDALE TABB 
 
 The Elder Brother, under whose inspiration, 
 
 guidance and instruction 
 
 JOHN BANNISTER TABB 
 
 Began his Literary Career 
 
Introduction 
 
 That Father Tabb has made a permanent contri 
 bution to poetic thought hardly admits of question. 
 A few months ago the Oxford University Press added 
 to its well known Oxford Garland Series a volume 
 called Epigrams. Only two Americans were admitted, 
 Emerson and Father Tabb. More than these two 
 might well, I think have been included ; but the omis 
 sion of the others may serve to remind us that just as 
 American novelists have created few characters that 
 may be called world citizens, so American poets have 
 contributed but sparingly to the treasure-house of 
 English epigram. The reason is in both cases the 
 same : it is not so much a lack of leisure as inability to 
 use leisure. 
 
 Father Tabb had the leisure and the ability to use 
 it constructively. He had also a concentric lyric 
 genius without parallel in American literature. His 
 thought does not move forward in leaps ; it turns in 
 on itself and seeks truth at the centre rather than on 
 the circumference. It is circular rather than linear. 
 Scientists have found a new sphere of activity in the 
 attempt to isolate the germ" of threatening diseases. 
 To isolate is to conquer. Father Tabb s laboratory 
 was poetical, not scientific. To it came moods and 
 fancies, hints and shadows, joys and pains, hopes and 
 high resolves. To get at the heart of each, to isolate 
 
 491090 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 the germ, was the special task and the unique privi 
 lege of his life. 
 
 His work has been called that of a lapidary, but 
 there is a difference. The products of the lapidary s 
 skill have a certain hard finality. Their boundary and 
 content are fixed and unyielding. The lapidary s 
 work, like the multiplication table, means the same to 
 you and to me, to this age and to coming ages. But 
 Father Tabb s best quatrains are not mere quests for 
 the mot juste, the one inevitable word or set of words. 
 The boundaries that he puts about his thoughts are 
 definite but elastic. His quatrains are emancipations 
 rather than confinements of thought. They are 
 achievements not merely in condensation but in con 
 densation plus illumination. There is an aureole of 
 suggestiveness about them that we do not find, for 
 example, in the lines of Pope, though in the accepted 
 sense Pope was the greatest master of epigram that 
 the English race has produced. 
 
 Ring one of Pope s coins on the table and compare 
 its resonance with that of these lines : 
 
 "0 little bird, I d be 
 A poet like to thee; 
 Singing my native song, 
 Short to the ear, but long 
 To love and memory." 
 
 There is perfection of phrasing here but no funereal 
 finality. The thought receives a certain urge and e"lan 
 
 ii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 in the very moment of its embodiment. Father Tabb s 
 appeal, therefore, evinces its distinctive excellence in 
 its varying challenge to varying personalities. The 
 lines called Discrepancy 
 
 "One dream the bird and blossoms dreamed 
 
 Of Love, the whole night long ; 
 Yet twain its revelation seemed, 
 In fragrance and in song" 
 
 will appeal differently to the scientist, the sociologist, 
 the literateur, the historian; but, however varying, 
 the compression and glow of the thought are such 
 that the appeal will be none the less vital, direct, 
 and inescapable. 
 
 Browning enters Father Tabb s realm when he 
 writes : 
 
 "All the breath and the bloom of the year in 
 
 the bag of one bee : 
 All the wonder and wealth of the mine in 
 
 the heart of one gem: 
 In the core of one pearl all the shade 
 
 and the shine of the sea." 
 
 These great lines form a sort of text to Father 
 Tabb s life work. They mark out his goal. But what 
 the English poet has announced as a principle the 
 American poet has developed and illustrated in 
 stanzas of unexampled beauty and fidelity. 
 
 The present volume will, I am sure, add appreciably 
 to the range of Father Tabb s service, for it is in a 
 
 iii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 very real sense the biography of his mind. It will not 
 only multiply the number of his readers but deepen 
 in them the conviction that the holiness of beauty and 
 the beauty of holiness find fitting exemplars in the 
 lines and in the life of the poet-priest of Virginia. 
 
 C. ALPHONZO SMITH 
 University of Virginia, June 2, 1916 
 
 iv 
 
Foreword 
 
 In the planning of this volume a two-fold object 
 was borne in mind that of doing honor to one 
 whom Virginia is proud to call her son, and that of 
 bringing to his many friends and admirers those little 
 personal touches which will make him live again in 
 their hearts. 
 
 So many-sided was his genius Poet, Priest, Mu 
 sician, Artist, Teacher, Friend so filled was he with 
 the spirit of mirth and with profound sympathy, with 
 the joy of childhood and the sorrows of old age, that 
 he ran the gamut of human emotions, and while our 
 hearts are touched by the deep pathos of his "songs 
 from the dark" and our own eyes become dim with 
 tears, those same tears ere they fall will catch a sun 
 beam from his mirth in some sparkling quatrain. 
 
 The sources of my information concerning Father 
 Tabb have been varied :his brother-priests, his friends, 
 his pupils, his relatives, his own works, all have con 
 tributed to this little volume. Of his letters I have 
 published none. He was known as the "poet of short 
 metre" and might also have been called the cor 
 respondent of telegraphic brevity. He confined him 
 self largely to limericks and quatrains on post cards, 
 and short squib of notes; and disliked the thought 
 that any of his personal letters should be given to the 
 public. Therefore, I offer nothing from his pen except 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 such of his published works as will give an insight 
 into what his biographer, Dr. William Hand Browne, 
 calls "his sweet and delicate nature." 
 
 It is hard to portray a character so varied, hard not 
 to emphasize one trait to the neglect of another of 
 equal importance, but the readers of this tribute who 
 knew him will realize the complexity of the task, and 
 those who did not know him are urged to find him 
 in his works to see in his writings the delicacy, 
 sweetness, charm, strength and lovableness of the 
 man. 
 
 JENNIE MASTERS TABB 
 Farmville, Virginia, 1920 
 
 Ti 
 
Acknowledgment 
 
 I beg to make grateful acknowledgment of the 
 invaluable assistance rendered me by many friends, 
 chief among the number being: Mr. James M. Grainger 
 of the State Normal School, Farmville ; Dr. Charles 
 Alphonso Smith of the Naval Academy, Annapolis, 
 Md. ; Dr. J. C. Metcalf of the University of Virginia ; 
 Right Reverend D. J. O Connell, Bishop of Richmond; 
 His Eminence, Cardinal Gibbons; F. Jos. Magri, D.D., 
 of St. Paul s Church, Portsmouth; President M. F. 
 Dinneen, D.D., of St. Charles College, Catonsville, 
 Md.; Rev. Lucien Johnston of St. Thomas Church, 
 Baltimore ; Rev. Thomas A. Rankin of Charlottesville ; 
 Mr. Edwin Litchfield Turnbull of Baltimore ; Rev. T. 
 E. McGuigan of St. Patrick s Church, Washington; 
 Dr. Thomas McCarthy of the Catholic University, 
 Washington ; Mr. James H. Harvie and the late 
 James C. Martin of Richmond ; Miss Estelle Smithey 
 of the State Normal School, Farmville; Mrs. Mary 
 Day Lanier of Greenwich, Conn.; and Sister Mary 
 Paulina (M. S. Pine) of the Georgetown Visitation 
 Convent, Washington. 
 
 I also acknowledge with much gratitude the kindly 
 permission granted me by Messrs. Small, Maynard 
 and Company of Boston; John Lane Company of 
 New York; and Mitchell Kennerley of New York 
 (Father Tabb s publishers) to quote from his works. 
 
 vii 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 The help received from the above mentioned 
 sources cannot be measured ; not the facts in the life 
 of Father Tabb which they have given me, not kindly 
 assistance in referring me to others who could give 
 the information I sought, have been the great help 
 in the preparation of this little volume but the 
 genuine sympathy in the work, the enthusiastic 
 interest that has been shown, the kind encouragement 
 which I have received from all sides, have made 
 it a pleasure indeed. 
 
 Vlll 
 
List of Illustrations 
 
 Frontispiece, Portrait of Father Tabb. 
 
 John B. Tabb at the age of ten. 
 
 "The Melody from Sidney Lanier s Flute. 7 
 
 His Eminence, Cardinal Gibbons, who, in one day, 
 baptized and confirmed Father Tabb and later 
 admitted him to Holy Orders. 
 
 St. Peter s Church, Richmond, Va. 
 
 Interior of St. Peter s Church, Richmond, Va. 
 
 Cartoon autograph likeness of Father Tabb. 
 
 Facsimile of autograph verse written by Father Tabb 
 for the Westmoreland Club of Richmond, Va. 
 
 The Old St. Charles College, burned in 1911. 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I Genealogy 1 
 
 n Childhood and Early Life ... 7 
 
 m The Young Soldier 14 
 
 iv Early Manhood and Conversion to the 
 
 Catholic Faith 22 
 
 v The Teacher 26 
 
 vi Outside the Class-room .... 40 
 
 vn The Musician 52 
 
 vm The Writer of Child Verse ... 58 
 
 ix Tabb and Lanier 66 
 
 x The Poet 73 
 
 xi The Priest 123 
 
 xn Twilight ,139 
 
 xm The End . 145 
 
CHAPTER I 
 GENEALOGY 
 
 Since the days of Adam the history of man has 
 begun with a statement of his genealogy. In these 
 modern times of advanced thought the vision of men 
 and of women is forward rather than backward, the 
 prime thought is for the future of the race, the de 
 scendant overshadows the ancestor, and the slogan of 
 the age is Develop the Individual. In this day it 
 is strange that anyone should care for a family tree 
 or a coat of arms, yet family trees are as deep-rooted 
 and as wide-branched as ever and coats of arms adorn 
 American walls and are pointed out with pride. 
 
 In this age men make a living by hunting out an 
 cestors who have been allowed to sink into oblivion 
 and whose descendants have kept alive no family 
 traditions; the only value attached to these an 
 cestors when discovered and indubitably established 
 as forbears direct is that their names act as an "open 
 sesame" to some coveted membership in an or 
 ganization almost as old as the country itself. 
 
 Although the above conditions do exist in our day 
 and are (justly) the target for many an arrow of 
 wit and of sarcasm, there are many of the "old 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 families who can not only produce a grandfather 
 on this side, but who have the family line unbroken 
 from the parent-stock in Old England or in Bonny 
 Scotland. Of such a line was the poet-priest, John 
 Bannister Tabb. 
 
 In the dawn of our Colonial life, when the early 
 rays of the sun of civilization were just beginning 
 to tinge the eastern shores of our Old Dominion, 
 there set sail from a port of England one Humphrey 
 Tabb and his wife Joanna. Arriving in the new 
 country with its virgin soil, its unbroken forests and 
 trackless plains, they made their home on a tract 
 of fifty acres of land on Harris Creek in Elizabeth 
 City County. In 1652 Humphrey Tabb was Burgess 
 of Elizabeth City County. He died about ten years 
 after that date, leaving to his only child, Thomas, 
 about two thousand acres of land in Elizabeth City 
 and Northumberland Counties. 
 
 Humphrey Tabb was succeeded by his son Thomas, 
 and he in turn by his son John. 
 
 The first of the name found in Amelia County is 
 the great-grandson of Humphrey and Joanna Tabb, 
 Colonel Thomas Tabb of Clayhill, who was rated 
 as one of the richest merchants in Virginia. An in 
 teresting item in his will, dated December 28, 1769, is 
 a legacy of sixty pounds to one Nancy Booker to be 
 laid out in the purchase of a negro girl, and fifteen 
 pounds to buy mourning. 
 
GENEALOGY 
 
 John Tabb of Amelia, son of Colonel Thomas Tabb, 
 was Burgess, member of the Committee of Safety, 
 etc., and was married, February 17, 1770, to Frances 
 Peyton of Gloucester County. 
 
 A decade or so after the arrival in this country 
 of Humphrey and Joanna Tabb, Major Robert 
 Peyton of Rougham, County Norfolk, England, son of 
 Thomas and Elizabeth (Yelverton) Peyton (daughter 
 of Sir William Yelverton of Rougham, County Nor 
 folk, and his wife, Ursula, daughter of Thomas, 
 Lord Richardson) came to Virginia. He named his 
 estate "Iselham" for the Peyton estate in Cam 
 bridgeshire, England. He was an attorney by pro 
 fession but in 1680 was appointed major of the 
 Gloucester County militia. 
 
 Among the manuscripts in the College of Arms, 
 London, are notes that Robert Peyton was living in 
 Virginia as late as 1693 and these reports show him 
 as "sine posteritate" his children were born in 
 Virginia and not reported in England. 
 
 Thomas Peyton, eldest son of Sir Robert Peyton, 
 born in Virginia in 1675, married in 1700, Frances 
 Tabb, daughter of John Tabb, "Church Warden of 
 North River Parish." 
 
 From the time of this first marriage of a Peyton 
 and a Tabb down to the present day the families have 
 so intermarried that it is almost impossible to trace 
 them separately. 
 
 Upon the death of Sir John Peyton of Iselham, 
 Cambridgeshire, England, in 1721, John, the son of 
 
 [3] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Thomas and Frances (Tabb) Peyton, became the 
 lawful heir to the baronetcy. In the Kingston 
 Parish Kegister his children are recorded from Eliza 
 beth, born in 1756, to Henry Yelvertori, Born in 1770, 
 as 1 1 Children of Sir John and Frances Peyton. 
 
 His claim to the title was also recognized in Vir 
 ginia. In the old Church Register it is noted that 
 "Sir John Peyton and Thomas Smith, Jr., Gent., 
 were appointed deputies to meet clergymen and ves 
 tries in convention to regulate all the religious con 
 cerns of the Protestant Episcopal Church its doc 
 trines, worship, etc." Sir John Peyton was lieu 
 tenant-colonel of Gloucester County from 1775 to 
 1782. 
 
 The second daughter of Sir John Peyton was Fran 
 ces, who married John Tabb of * Clayhill in Amelia 
 County, a notice of whose death appeared as follows 
 in the Richmond Enquirer of April 25, 1828 : 
 
 "Died, at Clayhill/ her seat in Amelia County, 
 Virginia, on the 12th of April, 1828, Mrs. Frances 
 Tabb, relict of the late John Tabb, a daughter of the 
 late Sir John Peyton of Iselham in the County of 
 Gloucester, baronet, lineally descended from the 
 Peytons of Iselham in Cambridgeshire, England. By 
 the death of his son John Peyton (a younger brother 
 of Mrs. Tabb) this ancient baronetcy became ex 
 tinct. As he never assumed the title after his father s 
 death, it was claimed and held by persons in England 
 not entitled to it under a false allegation in Debrett s 
 Baronetage that Sir John Peyton who emigrated 
 
 [4] 
 
GENEALOGY 
 
 to Virginia during the civil wars in England left no 
 male heirs."* 
 
 This notice in The Enquirer was taken from an 
 obituary of Mrs. Tabb written by the celebrated 
 John Randolph of Roanoke, an intimate friend of 
 the family. 
 
 John Tabb died about 1798, his personal estate 
 being reckoned at 31,879, 4s, 3%d. His children 
 
 *The rest of the obituary is as follows: 
 
 "Beautiful in person, affable, graceful and accom 
 plished in manner, endowed with wealth unexampled 
 in that quarter of the country, with a strength of 
 character beyond her sex, no woman ever fulfilled the 
 duties of wife, mother, or mistress of a family with 
 more fidelity and zeal than Mrs. Tabb. Her munifi 
 cence was princely, rather than that of a private per 
 son in our country. Her virtues were strictly do 
 mestic. Intent on promoting the welfare of others, 
 utterly regardless of self, she was found occupied in 
 some household labor or some work of love, minis 
 tering to the sick, whether among her descendants, 
 her guests, her neighbors, or her slaves. Her hospi 
 tality was boundless, her benevolence without a 
 parallel. The generosity of her character has never 
 been exceeded, her fortitude and presence of mind 
 never surpassed. 
 
 "This is no vulgar eulogium of a descendant of a 
 legatee, it is the unbiased and unbought offering of 
 one who was long honored with her friendship, to 
 whom for more than forty years she was an object of 
 respect approaching to reverence, who loved her liv 
 ing and laments her dead. 
 
 "The following anecdote will serve to show that 
 the writer has not been drawing on his imagination 
 for these traits of character. Between midnight and 
 dawn Mrs. Tabb was aroused by a tremendous noise 
 in her dining room. Instead of indulging in female 
 terrors, she rose from her bed, took a candle in her 
 hand and proceeded along to the room from whence 
 the noise came. She found the whole plastering of 
 the ceiling had tumbled to the floor. She told the 
 writer of these lines that she thought it was some 
 thief or thieves, whose object was to break into the 
 large pantry adjoining, where liquors, plate, etc., 
 were kept, and was sure, she said, that as soon as 
 they saw me they would run. Yet there was nothing 
 masculine in her person or manners. No fine lady 
 could be more delicate than this fine woman." 
 
 Written April,1828, by John Randolph of Roanoke. 
 
 [5] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 were as follows: Martha Peyton who married, in 
 1797, William B. Giles, U. S. Senator and afterwards 
 Governor of Virginia; Frances Cook who married 
 in 1801, Dr. John R. Archer; Mary, who married 
 Bathurst Randolph; Thomas and John Yelverton 
 (both students at William and Mary College) ; 
 Signiora, who married Theodorick Bland Ban 
 nister; Harriet (died in infancy); Mary Ann who 
 married, in 1815, William I. Barksdale of Richmond 
 their daughter Harried married Hon. John Y. 
 Mason. 
 
 John Yelverton Tabb had only two children: 
 Harriet who married Robert C. Jones of Gloucester 
 County ; and Thomas Yelverton Tabb. 
 
 Thomas Yelverton Tabb married his first cousin, 
 Marianna Bertrand Archer (daughter of Dr. John 
 R. Archer) and had the following children: Harriet 
 Peyton, William Barksdale, John Bannister (after 
 wards the poet-priest) and Thomas Yelverton Tabb. 
 
 [6] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 CHILDHOOD AND EARLY LIFE 
 
 John Bannister Tabb was born March 22, 1845, 
 at "The Forest," in Amelia County, Virginia, about 
 thirty miles from the capital city of Richmond. This 
 was the home of his maternal grandfather, Dr. Archer. 
 Not long after his birth his father moved to the 
 adjoining plantation "Cassels" where the family 
 resided until the death of Dr. Archer. They then 
 returned to "The Forest." 
 
 John Tabb s early years were passed under the 
 spell of the Old Virginia regime. His life was that 
 of the Southern child on the plantation: in the com 
 panionship of his sister and brothers; in the loving 
 care of a father who had ample time to devote to 
 the development and welfare of his children; under 
 the gentle influence of a mother "strong, tender, 
 and beautiful in character, an honor to the sunny 
 Southland which has given to our country such noble 
 types of womanhood." His second volume of Lyrics 
 is dedicated 
 
 To the Memory of My Mother 
 
 THE COWSLIP 
 
 It brings my mother back to me, 
 Thy frail, familiar form to see, 
 
 [7] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Which was her homely joy; 
 And strange that one so weak as thou 
 Shouldst lift the veil that sunders now 
 
 The mother amd her boy/ 
 
 And among the influences surrounding his child 
 hood, not the least was that of a doting negro Mammy 
 who instilled into her "white chillun" the song and 
 story and simple faith of her race. Father Tabb 
 used to tell with delight that his Mammy proudly 
 exhibited him as "the ugliest baby ever born in 
 Virginia." And only a few months before his death 
 he refers to her in one of the pathetic little poems 
 written in his blindness: 
 
 "MAMMY" 
 
 "I love her countenance whereon 
 
 Despite the longest day, 
 The tenderness of visions gone 
 
 In shadows seemed to stay. 
 And now, when faithless sight is fled 
 
 Beyond my waking gaze, 
 Of darkness I am not afraid 
 
 It is my Mammy s face." 
 
 At the time of her death he wrote on the fly-leaf 
 of one of his own volumes : 
 
 "To Jinny, whose faithful service to our house 
 hold ended only with her life : 
 
 To her, Tenderness Divine, 
 Be Thou, as she to me and mine!" 
 
 [8] 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY LIFE 
 
 Reared in the atmosphere of luxury and ease of 
 the Old South, with his own servants from his baby 
 hood, he came under all the gentle influences of a 
 home sheltered from contact with anything but the 
 grace and chivalry of the best of his race. He was 
 proud of the fact that he learned to read and write 
 at his mother s knee, where he learned his prayers. 
 Later, his education was in the hands of a tutor, a 
 Mr. Thomas Hood, who was for years an inmate of 
 the Tabb home where he taught the children of this 
 and several other families of the neighborhood. 
 
 An eminent writer of the day, in a biographical 
 sketch of Father Tabb, says: "His boyhood, I 
 think, .must have been spent with nature and with 
 his own thoughts beautiful hidden dreams and 
 longings which no one, perhaps not even his mother, 
 suspected." How different from this picture of 
 the child-dreamer is the reality ! 
 
 Mr. James B. Harvie of Richmond, Virginia, a 
 cousin, gives an interesting sketch of the home life 
 and early years of the poet ; in a recent letter to the 
 writer he says : 
 
 "The first school I ever attended was "Cassels" 
 (adjoining "The Forest") your dear grandfather s 
 and grandmother s lovely home, rendered particu 
 larly attractive by their charming personality; we 
 boys were especially attracted to them by daily kind- 
 
 [9] 
 
FATHER TABS 
 
 nesses. Your father, Colonel William B. Tabb, was 
 at that time a cadet at the Virginia Military Insti 
 tute. While at that school he came home on a fur 
 lough and I remember how straight he was and what 
 a graceful figure he had we boys thought him the 
 handsomest fellow we had ever seen. I never saw 
 him very often after that time as he not long after 
 wards entered the army and was soon made Colonel 
 of the fifty-ninth Regiment. I have heard Colonel 
 Fortune Mosby, the Major of that Regiment, say that 
 Colonel Tabb was a most gallant man and one of the 
 best officers of his rank in our army. 
 
 "Your uncle, Johnny/ as we called him, was one 
 of the most joyous, rollicking, loving, and trifling 
 boys I ever went to school with. I don t think he 
 ever studied his lessons a minute, and consequently, 
 Mr. Hood had to chastise him frequently. At that 
 period every one of us hated Mr. Hood because he was 
 a Yankee and talked through his nose, and we wor 
 ried him sadly on many occasions but he was 
 really a noble man and we all (especially Johnny) 
 admired him very much when he enlisted in our army 
 and died a soldier s death. 
 
 "I have seen Mr. Hood whip your uncle Yelverton 
 and he never whimpered but when Johnny was 
 whipped, Yelverton yelled louder than he did; he 
 said it did not hurt him like it did to see his brother 
 punished. 
 
 "Your uncle John was by far the most popular 
 boy in the school as well as in the county always 
 
 [10] 
 
JOHN BAXXISTER TABB AT THE AGE OF TEX 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY LIFE 
 
 making fun for the boys and girls and for the older 
 people as well. He was especially gifted as a car 
 toonist, and in a minute could draw a ludicrous 
 likeness of any one, especially of my dear father, 
 Dr. Harvie, who was one of his special cronies. I 
 have heard Father threaten to box his ears for his 
 impudence he would get mad as a hornet, and the 
 next minute be convulsed when Johnny would show 
 him a caricature of some other valued friend. 
 
 John Tabb was a punster from his cradle: when 
 he and his brother Yelverton were about twelve a nd 
 ten years old, Yelverton wrote a love letter to one 
 of his little schoolmates and (for safe keeping until 
 it could be delivered) hid it in Johnny s book of 
 piano exercises. Of course Johnny found it, read it, 
 and being an inveterate tease, told of it in Yelver 
 ton s presence. When the latter angrily denounced 
 him for reading a note not intended for him, Johnny 
 smilingly replied : "I have a right to read any note 
 found in my exercise book!" 
 
 The accompanying likeness of John Tabb in his 
 tenth year was the work of a traveling artist who 
 stopped at "The Forest;" the old daguerreotype was 
 taken, not with any idea of preserving the childish 
 features of the future poet-priest, but to get a pic 
 ture of old Carlo, William Tabb s favorite hunting 
 dog. 
 
 When the photograph was to be taken little 
 Johnny requested that he be allowed to hold Carlo. 
 He was particularly devoted to his brother William 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 and felt all a small boy s pride and interest in any 
 thing that concerned him, and so intent was he on 
 getting a good picture of the dog that an excellent 
 likeness of both dog and boy was obtained. 
 
 Very early in his boyhood John Tabb showed great 
 musical and artistic talent and it is strange to note 
 that his genius as a writer was much later in its de 
 velopment ; not until after he had passed his twenty- 
 fifth year did he begin to give any indication of the 
 marvelous powers he possessed. His vivid imagina 
 tion, his passionate love of the beautiful in nature, 
 in art and in music, his keen wit and sparkling 
 humor were universally acknowledged by his friends 
 and associates, but his desire to give the public the 
 benefit of his visions and his unique interpretations, 
 lay dormant through his youthful years. In the 
 early days of his literary career his brother William 
 was his editor as well as his inspiration and his 
 guide; this brother was noted for the beauty and 
 purity of his English it was said that he was the 
 only member of the Charleston, West Virginia, bar 
 whose extempore speeches could be printed verbatim. 
 
 When John Tabb was but a little child, so great 
 was his love for music and so unusual his talent in 
 this direction that it was expected he would make 
 it his life-work. A great deal of his early instruction 
 he received from Mrs. Judith Blair of Lexington, 
 Virginia, who (although not a relative) was af 
 fectionately known as "Aunt Judith. " When only 
 a boy he spent from six to eight hours daily in 
 
 [12] 
 
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY LIFE 
 
 piano practice and even in the evening of life, 
 when his light was turned to darkness, this gift re 
 mained with him. At the time of his death, in his 
 sixty-fifth year, a friend spoke of him as follows: 
 "A brilliant performer on the piano, his taste in 
 clined much to minor chords and musical reverie 
 that caused the listening students to first pay 
 breathless attention and then to steal noiselessly away, 
 leaving the old musician alone with his melody and 
 his memories/ 
 
 [13] 
 
CHAPTER III 
 THE YOUNG SOLDIER 
 
 Young Tabb was only sixteen years old at the be 
 ginning of the War between the States the three 
 brothers responded to their country s call: the eldest, 
 William, was, at the age of twenty-two, Colonel 
 of the Fifty-ninth Virginia Infantry with young Yel- 
 verton, only fourteen years old, a private in his 
 Regiment; and it may be noted here that the boy 
 served for the four long years of the struggle with 
 out a furlough. 
 
 From childhood John Tabb was troubled with 
 weak eyes; in his twelfth year an oculist examined 
 them and found a defect which science could not 
 remedy, and for several years his tutor did most of his 
 reading for him. On account of defective sight he was 
 debarred from military service, so he entered the navy 
 as Captain s Clerk on the Confederate States Steamer, 
 "Robert E. Lee" which, under the command of his 
 cousin, the gallant Captain John Wilkinson, ran the 
 blocade at Wilmington, North Carolina, twenty-one 
 times. 
 
 On the first voyage a Major Price died of yellow 
 fever and his body lay on deck as the "Robert E. 
 
 [ 4] 
 
THE YOUNG SOLDIER 
 
 Lee" drew near San Salvador. Years later Father 
 Tabb referred to the incident in the poem 
 
 "OFF SAN SALVADOR " 
 
 "It lay to westward as of old 
 An emerald bar across the gold 
 Of sunset, where a vision grand 
 First beckoned to the stranger s land. 
 And on our deck, uncoffined, lay 
 A child, whose spirit far away 
 The wafture of an angel hand 
 Late welcomed to a stranger land." 
 
 In speaking of this incident to a friend, Keverend 
 Joseph A. Perrig, Father Tabb explained that the 
 "uncoffined child" referred to was the late Major 
 Price and that as he saw the beautiful sunset off 
 San Salvador, he could not help imagining the dead 
 man as seeing the light of Our Saviour. Father 
 Perrig said: "When he read his poem to me I 
 asked Were you a poet then? i. e., did you write 
 poetry? No, he said, the poetry I felt indeed, but 
 could not give expression to it!" 
 
 Another incident in his life as blockade runner on 
 the "Robert E. Lee" is commemorated in the poem: 
 
 "THE LOST ANCHOR" 
 
 Ah, sweet it was to feel the strain, 
 What time, unseen, the ship above 
 
 [ 5] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Stood steadfast to the storm that strove 
 To rend our kindred cords atwain; 
 
 To feel, as feel the roots that grow 
 In darkness, when the stately tree 
 Resists the tempest, that in me 
 High Hope was planted far below ! 
 
 But now, as when a mother s breast 
 Misses the babe, my prisoned power 
 Deep-yearning, heart-like, hour by hour, 
 Unquiet aches in cankering rest. 
 
 To use Father Tabb s words: "That anchor liked 
 to break my heart. The ship was caught in a heavy 
 storm off Cape Fear River in North Carolina. The 
 night was very dark, lowering clouds covered the 
 skies and no ray from the hidden moon pierced the 
 blackness that surrounded them. They were obliged 
 to drop anchor, but did not know what their posi 
 tion was. When dawn broke they were shocked to 
 find that they were within the blockading line, and 
 that seventeen Union ships were in sight. Not hav 
 ing time to draw up the anchor, they cut the cable 
 and made their escape mid a storm of shot and shell. 
 
 While in the service John Tabb also visited Ha 
 vana, St. Thomas Island, London, Dover, Calais, Paris, 
 Bologne, and Glasgow. Twenty engravers who 
 were to make the Confederate money, and two young 
 professors (Mr. Blair and Mr. Thomas Price) were 
 
 [16] 
 
THE YOUNG SOLDIER 
 
 passengers on the return voyage. In after years 
 Dr. Price succeeded Dr. Gildersleeve in the Faculty 
 of the University of Virginia and published the first 
 essay on Father Tabb s poems. 
 
 The "Robert E. Lee" was captured in 1864 by 
 the United States steamer "Keystone" and young 
 Tabb, with other prisoners, was sent to Point Look 
 out, Maryland, where they were confined for eight 
 months. Although these months of imprisonment 
 with their suffering and inactivity were a sore trial 
 to the young heart, they were the source of one of 
 the deepest and tenderest friendships of his life, for 
 among his fellow prisoners was his brother-poet, Sid 
 ney Lanier, who shared with him the gift of music 
 as well as of verse. 
 
 Never robust, John Tabb s health was much im 
 paired by the confinement and hardships of prison 
 life the memories of which were deeply burned 
 into his heart. One day, while lying ill with fever, 
 there were borne to him the silvery tones of a dis 
 tant flute so faint, so delicate as to be scarcely 
 distinguishable; at first he thought it but a figment 
 of his fevered brain but upon inquiry he found that 
 the music was a reality and the player Lanier, whom 
 he met a few days later. Many were the heavy hours 
 of prison life that were lightened by the music of 
 this flute, which Father Tabb says was his greatest 
 consolation at that time, and which remained with 
 him always, among so many painful recollections, 
 "a thing of beauty a joy forever. " 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 There was one melody, an improvisation, that 
 Lanier played over and over. It was so beautiful 
 and had such a haunting note of sadness that few 
 of his fellow prisoners could hear it without tears. 
 Mr. Edwin Litchfield Turnbull of Baltimore has 
 harmonized and published this melody. In writing 
 of it Mr. Turnbull says : 
 
 "This quaint bit of music was breathed from the 
 silvery-toned flute of that master of song and music, 
 Sidney Lanier, whose memory is especially dear to 
 the citizens of Baltimore among whom the Southern 
 poet resided many years and where, in a quiet grave 
 in Greenmont, he sleeps. A gallant Confederate 
 soldier in the Civil War, he was captured and con 
 fined in Point Lookout Prison; but he managed to 
 slip by the guard with his beloved flute the com 
 panion of many a weary march smuggled up his 
 sleeve. Thereafter he cheered his fellow-prisoners 
 with soulful music. The fragment of melody which 
 I have here presented was given me by Lanier s 
 comrade in prison, the Baltimore Poet-Priest, Father 
 Tabb, who many years after yet vividly recalled the 
 haunting melody from the poet s flute. He sang it 
 to me one day and I have tried to give it an appro 
 priate setting. " 
 
 Father Tabb refers to Lanier s music as follows: 
 
 " LANIER S FLUTE" 
 "When palsied at the pool of thought 
 The poet s words were found, 
 Thy voice the healing angel brought 
 To touch them into sound. " 
 [18] 
 
A Melody from Lanier s Flute. 
 
 Amnftd *nd Ha/mHted by 
 Edwin Litchfield Turnbull. 
 
 Piaao. 
 
 Copyright by Breltkopf & Hirtel. New York and l.eipzir 
 
 The "Melody from Lanier s Flute," as arranged by Mr. Turnbull, has 
 charmed many audiences. Under the direction of Mr. Turnbull it has been 
 played many times by the United States Marine Band at the Capitol, at the 
 White House, at the Marine Barracks, and on their annual concert tours; it has 
 also been rendered by an orchestra of twenty-one Boston Symphony musicians at 
 Bar Harbor, Maine, and by a sextette of Peabody musicians at the Johns Hop 
 kins exercises; when the Sidney Lanier Memorial Exercises were held March 1, 
 1914, at the First Unitarian Church, Baltimore Mr. Frederick G. Gottlieb who 
 was a friend of Lanier and sat next him in the old Peabody Orchestra, played 
 "The Melody" as a flute solo. Mr Gottlieb was the soloist at the Johng Hop 
 kins exercises also. "The Melody" was played at the North Congregational 
 Church at Cambridge, Massachusetts, in December, 1914. with Arthur Brooke, 
 second flute of the Boston Symphony, as soloist, and during the same year Mr. 
 J. Fred Wolle. director of the Bach Festival at Bethlehem Pennsylvania, played 
 "The Melody" at several of his organ recitals, giving also the history of the 
 composition. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 The intimacy between the two young men grew 
 and ripened and lasted until the death of Lanier. 
 And even in death the bond was unbroken: Lanier 
 is often mentioned in Father Tabb s poems, and 
 always with a yearning tenderness which bespeaks 
 the depth of the feeling between them. 
 
 When the young soldeirs were released in Feb 
 ruary 1865 and stepped once more into God s free 
 air and sunshine, young Tabb (not quite twenty 
 years old) said: "I felt that I was in the Kingdom 
 of Heaven!" But in reality he was facing a ruined 
 and desolate country. Where once the broad acres 
 of his father s plantation smiled with plenty and 
 where rang the happy melody of the old plantation 
 melodies, sung by the incomparable voices of the 
 negroes, all was waste; a little later in the spring 
 these fields, once showing the emerald of the tender 
 blade of grass or grain, would blossom with the 
 four-years growth of poverty : sassafras and the 
 trailing vine of the dewberry. 
 
 Young Tabb s county of Amelia had given her all 
 to her beloved South : her sons, her stores, her treas 
 ured family silver. The brass andirons and fenders 
 (the pride of many a "Mammy" who kept them like 
 burnished gold) went for the manufacture of cannon, 
 and the linen from many a family chest found its 
 way to the hospitals in neat rolls of bandage and 
 packages of lint scraped by the loving hands of the 
 women at home. 
 
 The desolation around him, however, did not 
 
 [20] 
 
THE YOUNG SOLDIER 
 
 dampen the ardour of the young patriot s spirit nor 
 lessen the buoyancy of his outlook upon life. 
 
 To the last day of his life he was as devoted a 
 Confederate as Father Ryan; and never could be in 
 duced to go north of Mason and Dixon s line. One 
 of his students at St. Charles College, Mr. Barrett, 
 lived in Lincoln, Nebraska, and was exceedingly 
 anxious for Father Tabb to visit him in his home. 
 But the invitation was declined with the following 
 lines : 
 
 "Who would think on 
 A Rebel with Lincoln ? 
 Or venture to ask a 
 Friend to Nebraska! 
 Another might dare it, 
 But I cannot, Barrett, 
 Though truly to thee 
 A friend. J. B. T." 
 
 As ardent a Virginian as he was a Confederate, he 
 cultivated the friendship of many Virginians who 
 lived in the vicinity of the College. Upon one oc 
 casion, when asked if he had called upon some family 
 in the neighborhood, he laughingly replied: "0 no! 
 I only go to see Virginians! 1 
 
 [21] 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 EARLY MANHOOD AND CONVERSION TO THE 
 CATHOLIC FAITH 
 
 While serving on the "Robert E. Lee," John Tabb 
 had won the friendship and affection of Major Ficklin 
 who, recognizing his remarkable musical talent, 
 and realizing that the boy was now thrown on his 
 own resources, induced him to come to Baltimore 
 under his patronage to resume the study of music. 
 For a year he devoted his entire time to this work 
 under Professor Roemer, but at the end of the year 
 the Ficklin fortune collapsed and he was forced to 
 give up his course. 
 
 Thus, at the age of twenty-one we find him a 
 teacher in St. Paul s Protestant Episcopal School in 
 Baltimore. 
 
 John Tabb was baptized in infancy and confirmed 
 in his boyhood in the Episcopal faith the faith of 
 his forbears for many generations back. The old 
 Colonial Church, known as the "Grub Hill Church," 
 still stands in Amelia County, the guardian of the 
 Tabbs from the time of their first settlement in the 
 County. Here their children were christened, con 
 firmed and married and around its sacred walls 
 many members of the family now sleep, among them 
 
EARLY MANHOOD AND CONVERSION 
 
 the brother of Father Tabb. In his young manhood 
 he, himself, was a Lay-Reader in the old Church 
 under the Reverend Parke Farley Berkeley who was 
 for fifty-two years the spiritual father of that con 
 gregation. 
 
 St. Paul s School in Baltimore was attached to Mt. 
 Calvary Church, under the pastorate of Rev. Alfred 
 Curtis " whose face was already turned towards 
 Rome." Mt. Calvary was "High Church" to the 
 extent that its Rector "said Mass," preached de 
 votion to the Blessed Virgin Mary and called himself 
 a priest, wearing cassock and biretta. A strong 
 friendship grew up between him and the young 
 teacher who soon fell under his spiritual influence 
 and accepted him as his guide. And this influence 
 was in no way diminished when John Tabb left St. 
 Paul s in 1870 to accept a better position in another 
 Episcopal institution, Racine College, Wisconsin. 
 
 After a year of service at Racine he resigned the 
 chair he held, to follow the bidding of a voice within 
 which led him to a higher service, and entered the 
 Episcopal Theological Seminary at Alexandria, Vir 
 ginia. 
 
 Just about the time the young teacher began his 
 course at Alexandria, the Rev. Mr. Curtis reached 
 his decision in a matter which he had for a long time 
 had under consideration; he resigned his pastorate 
 and very soon left the Anglican Communion, pre 
 paratory to going into that of the Roman Catholic 
 faith. He went to Oxford to consult Dr. Newman 
 
 [23] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 and made his final decision in May 1872, when he was 
 baptized into the church of his adoption. 
 
 This radical change on the part of Mr. Curtis had 
 a strong influence on the mind and heart of his young 
 disciple who followed his course with the most in 
 tense interest, and when Mr. Curtis, soon after his 
 return from Europe, entered St. Mary s Seminary 
 to prepare for the priesthood, John Tabb (who had 
 also been prayerfully studying and considering the 
 same step) soon followed his example and in less 
 than a year identified, himself with the Catholic 
 Church. 
 
 On the day of Father Curtis ordination (December 
 19, 1874) he heard his first confession, and the 
 penitent was his old friend and disciple, John Tabb. 
 
 The biographer of Bishop Curtis speaks thus of 
 their relations: "They had been the closest of 
 friends; and years after, when Father Curtis became 
 Bishop of Wilmington, he regularly visited his 
 friend, often walking the five miles from the rail 
 road station to St. Charles College. Bishop Curtis 
 was his consoling angel in the hour of his greatest 
 trial and darkness, when threatened with the loss 
 of sight. Together they took long walks through 
 the country, recreating each other and exchanging 
 reminiscenses, one submitting to the criticism of his 
 friend his latest verses, while the other cheered him 
 by his encouragement. He sent the poet kind and 
 loving messages from his deathbed and bequeathed 
 
 [24] 
 
HIS EMINENCE, CARDINAL GIBBONS 
 
EARLY MANHOOD AND CONVERSION 
 
 to him his chalice. Bishop Curtis died July 11, 1908, 
 only sixteen months before his friend." 
 
 In 1874 John Tabb entered St. Charles College to 
 take up his preparation for the priesthood. Upon 
 the completion of his classical course he was given 
 the chair of English in that institution and remained 
 there until his death in 1909. 
 
 He took his theological course while a member of 
 the Faculty and was not ordained to the priesthood 
 until 1884. His Eminence, Cardinal Gibbons, was 
 a close friend of the young teacher and had the 
 rather unique privilege of administering to him in 
 one day, at old St. Peter s Cathedral in Richmond, 
 Virginia, the four sacraments: Baptism, Confession, 
 Confirmation and the Holy Communion. Later his 
 Eminence also gave him Holy Orders. 
 
 Many years after, in playful mood, he asked the 
 Cardinal for further spiritual honors his sight was 
 almost gone at the time and his old friend Bishop 
 Curtis in taking leave of him asked if he could take 
 any message to Cardinal Gibbons. Father Tabb 
 promptly replied: "Yes, ask him to give me a new 
 See ". 
 
 The above incident was related to the writer by 
 His Eminence himself. 
 
 [25] 
 
CHAPTER V 
 THE TEACHER 
 
 John Bannister Tabb was a born teacher and con 
 sequently rejoiced in his work which was truly "a 
 labor of love." He was an unusually fine Greek 
 scholar and delighted in teaching special classes in 
 this language ; he had a wonderful memory and often 
 recited for his pupils long passages from the Greek 
 poets. His preference, however, was for English 
 and his class hour was eagerly awaited by his students. 
 One of these, Rev. F. Jos. Magri, M. A., D. D., formerly 
 of Richmond, Virginia, now pastor of St. Paul s 
 Church, Portsmouth, Virginia, gives the following 
 interesting sketch of him at St. Charles College : 
 
 "The reminiscenses which follow are intended to 
 picture Father Tabb as he appeared to the writer 
 during a close friendship of twenty-one years, con 
 tinuing to the time of the poet-priest s death. An 
 effort will be made to portray characteristic incidents 
 in his life both within the college walls, where he 
 spent a great portion of his days, as well as in the 
 outside world during his vacations, passed principally 
 under the bright skies of his dear Old Virginia. 
 
 "In order completely to depict Father Tabb in his 
 wellrounded life at St. Charles College let us view him 
 
 [26] 
 
THE TEACHEE 
 
 (1) in the classroom and study hall, (2) at his recre 
 ation and (3) in his priestly devotions/ 
 
 These different phases of his life we will follow- 
 quoting Dr. Magri as each is touched upon. 
 
 "That Father Tabb was a born teacher, gifted with 
 the essential trait of being able to impart easily his 
 knowledge to others, is vouched for by all who had 
 the good fortune to come under his kindly tutelage. 
 His "Bone Rules of English Grammar" are, to say 
 the least, unique, and form a solid groundwork on 
 which to firmly rear the superstructure of the 
 English language. His method of arousing the atten 
 tion of his students was striking; in order to impart 
 with effect some important truth, he would often pre 
 face his teaching by the narration of some comic story 
 or witty saying. A roar of laughter emanating from 
 Father Tabb s classroom would indicate to the stu 
 dents of other classes that he had just effectively nar 
 rated some amusing experience or illustration; his 
 peculiar gestures and grimaces, while giving vent to 
 his witty sayings, would often provoke as much 
 laughter as the sayings themselves. Often his jokes 
 were so deep that the students did not immediately 
 see the point aimed at, yet a spontaneous burst of mer 
 riment would greet the narration, followed by a second 
 peal when the telling point would be discovered. As a 
 sample of his wit, the following is given as heard from 
 Father TabVs lips on the day of the writer s arrival 
 at college: "In a certain family wherein was an old 
 negro Mammy, were little twin girls so much alike that 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 it was difficult to distinguish them apart. The 
 Mammy, however, was very partial to one of them 
 and, when visitors would remark that the little girls 
 were exactly alike, Mammy, placing her hand on the 
 head of her favorite, would add: "An especially 
 dis one. 
 
 "While Father Tabb would enlighten and enter 
 tain his pupils by frequent readings from the poets, 
 and occasional selections from prose, he would never 
 consent to teach poetry as such. One day when asked 
 why he refused to teach the class in poetry, he replied : 
 "Did I teach poetry I would feel like a surgeon who 
 might try to dissect himself." 
 
 This refusal, however, did not apply to his giving 
 his pupils for study and analysis specimens from the 
 poets of his choice, the principal being Shakespeare, 
 Poe, Keats, Shelly, Coleridge, and Tennyson. He 
 would each year recite to his class from memory, Poe s 
 "Raven" from beginning to end. His love for the 
 weird and strange is shown by his frequent references 
 to Coleridge s "Rime of the Ancient Mariner." His 
 favorite prose author was Cardinal Newman. Poe, he 
 regarded as the originator and greatest master of the 
 short story." 
 
 But the work of his class was not all so enter 
 taining ; half of each recitation period was given up 
 to drill, and his wonderful gift for illustration was 
 often brought into play in his blackboard work. 
 
 He was a strong disciplinarian and brooked no show 
 
 [28] 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 of inattention or lack of interest in the work in hand. 
 Sometimes, too, he gave way to a just indignation at 
 such an attitude in a pupil. A prominent priest of 
 Virginia states that on one occasion he had painful 
 proof of the fact that Father Tabb demanded the full 
 attention of the boys in his classes. He says : * The 
 fact that I was a Virginian gave the priest a special 
 interest in my welfare but on one occasion this inter 
 est was manifested in a way that left an indelible 
 impression on my mind and almost as strong an 
 impression on my cranium. It happened that I became 
 absorbed in " David Copperfield" and took it to 
 Father Tabb s class in order to read a few pages. It 
 was not long before I was discovered, the book 
 satched from my hand and brought down on my head 
 in no gentle fashion and the lecture then and there, 
 supplemented by a heart to heart talk after class, 
 entirely cured me of any inclination to distractions in 
 class." 
 
 Father Tabb s "Bone Rules, or the Skeleton of 
 English Grammar" was first published in 1897 and 
 clearly demonstrates his method of teaching. The 
 dedication of the volume is as follows : 
 
 "Inscribed to my Pupils, Active and Passive, Per 
 fect and Imperfect, Past, Present and Future, by their 
 loving Father Tabb." 
 
 In a presentation copy he added to the above: "In 
 whatever Mood they may be," and wrote beneath 
 the dedication: 
 
FATHER TABS 
 "EPITAPH SUGGESTED BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 Here lies the old fool 
 Who erstwhile taught school 
 And wrote the Bone Rule: 
 God, keep him cool I " 
 
 A critic says of this volume: "The brevity and 
 clearness which mark every page, the pithy explana 
 tory notes, the copious quotations from the masters of 
 English literature, and even the comic procession of 
 Sentences to be Corrected, many of them Father 
 Tabb s own creation, render Bone Rules an easy 
 and helpful manner of studying grammar." 
 
 Some of the parenthetical remarks in this volume 
 are most amusing; for instance, after his treatment 
 of "Verbs" he adds as a footnote: "Remark: Any 
 word may be used as a verb; as, it out-herods 
 Herod. " 
 
 "You head the list; 
 I hand the quill ; 
 And toe the mark, 
 And foot the bill." 
 
 He had a unique way of impressing facts by means 
 of rhymes: at the end of the chapters on Adjectives 
 and Adverbs he gives the following : 
 
 To bodies, color, shape and size 
 And weight the adjective supplies ; 
 
 [30] 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 And gives to things we cannot see 
 Their rank, and worth, and quality." 
 
 and again 
 
 "The time, the place, or whither, whence; 
 The manner how, the reason why: 
 The purpose, cause, and consequence 
 The adverb can alone supply. " 
 
 Reference has been made to Father Tabb s "comic 
 procession of sentences to be corrected. Among the 
 best of the original ones are : 
 
 "Them that was foremost in making the fuss 
 Is as old, and a hundred times meaner than us. 
 
 He said if I seen you before it was took, 
 To tell you the physic had ought to be shook. 
 
 My friend is as old and more abler than me, 
 And if he lives longer, a bishop he ll be. 
 
 The child had laid so long in bed, 
 
 Expecting to get stronger, 
 That ere I seen him he had grew 
 
 Most fifteen inches longer. 
 
 Him and me being about the same height, 
 
 Is often mistook for each other at night, 
 
 But the sun having rose, on our features to shine, 
 
 You can see that his eyes is some littler than mine. 
 
FATHER TABS 
 
 "Lay still, " his mother often said 
 When Washington had went to bed. 
 But little Georgie would reply : 
 1 1 set up, but I cannot lie! " 
 
 The drill work, the technical part of the lesson, 
 having been disposed of, Father Tabb, much to the 
 delight of his classes, turned to the poets, and many 
 charming hours were spent with Shakespeare, Shelley, 
 Keats and Poe the latter being, perhaps, the 
 favorite. 
 
 Mr. S. D. Duggan, a gifted student of the poet, 
 writes : We ran with him through the gamut of c The 
 Bells, from the riotous roar to the softest tintinabula- 
 tions. And even the most apathetic was forced to 
 wipe away a tear at realizing the full sadness of the 
 untimely taking off of that rare and radiant maiden 
 whom the angels name Lenore. Toward the end of 
 one session the teacher went to one corner of the class 
 room, crouched, and began to recite The Skylark/ 
 The students were transfixed. When he had finished, 
 he was on tiptoe at the opposite corner of the room, 
 breathless, as if eager to follow the bird in its flight. 
 Instinctively the class broke into tumultuous applause. 
 He modestly repressed our enthusiasm with the re 
 mark : Gentlemen, did you see that skylark soar ? did 
 you hear him sing? If there is a single boy in this 
 class who did not see that bird and hear him, I forbid 
 him ever again to open a book of poetry, for it would 
 be sheer waste of time. 
 
 [32] 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 "Need it be said that most of those present saw 
 the bird and heard him sing?" 
 
 Father T abb s love for Poe, Keats and Shelly is 
 best exemplified, I think, by the following beautiful 
 tributes from his pen : 
 
 POE 
 
 Sad spirit, swathed in brief mortality, 
 
 Of Fate and fervid fantasies the prey, 
 
 Till the remorseless demon of dismay 
 
 erwhelmed thee lo ! thy doleful destiny 
 
 Is chanted in the requiem of the sea 
 
 And shadowed in the crumbling ruins grey 
 
 That beetle o er the tarn. Here all the day 
 
 The Raven broods on solitude and thee ; 
 
 Here gloats the moon at midnight, while The Bells 
 
 Tremble, but speak not, lest thy Ulalume 
 
 Should startle from her slumbers, or Lenore 
 
 Harken the love-forbidden tone that tells 
 
 The shrouded legend of thy early doom 
 
 And blast the bliss of heaven for evermore. 
 
 AT KEATS GRAVE 
 
 "I feel the flowers growing over me." 
 Prophetic thought! Behold, no cypress gloom 
 Portrays in dim memorial the doom 
 That quenched the ray of starlike destiny ! 
 E en Death itself deals tenderly with thee: 
 For here, the livelong year, the violets bloom 
 
 [33] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 And swing their fragrant censers till the tomb 
 Forgets the legend of mortality. 
 Nay : when the pilgrim periods of time 
 Alternate song and holy requiem sing, 
 As through the circling centuries sublime 
 They scatter frost, or genial sunshine bring, 
 With gathered sweets of every varying clime, 
 They weave around thee one perpetual Spring! 
 
 SHELLEY 
 
 Shelley, the ceaseless music of thy soul 
 Breathes in the Cloud and in the Skylark s song, 
 
 That float as an embodied dream along 
 The dewy lids of morning. In the dole 
 
 That haunts the West Wind, in the joyous roll 
 Of Arethusan fountains, or among 
 
 The wastes where Ozymandias the strong 
 Lies in colossal ruin, thy control 
 
 Speaks in the wedded rhyme. Thy spirit gave 
 A fragrance to all nature, and a tone 
 
 To inexpressive silence. Each apart 
 Earth, Air and Ocean claims thee as its own ; 
 
 The twain that bred thee and the panting wave 
 That clasped thee, like an overflowing heart. 
 
 TO SHELLEY 
 
 At Shelley s birth, 
 
 The Lark, dawn-spirit, with an anthem loud, 
 Hose from the dusky earth 
 
 [34] 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 To tell it to the Cloud, 
 That, like a flower night-folded in the gloom 
 Burst into morning bloom. 
 
 At Shelley s death 
 The Sea, that deemed him an immortal, saw 
 
 A god s extinguished breath, 
 
 And landward, as in awe, 
 Upbore him to the altar whence he came, 
 
 And the rekindling flame. 
 
 KEATS 
 
 Upon thy tomb tis graven, Here lies one 
 Whose name is writ in water." Could there be 
 
 A flight of fancy fitlier framed for thee, 
 A fairer motto for her favorite son? 
 
 For, as the waves, thy varying numbers run 
 Now crested proud in tidal majesty, 
 
 Now tranquil as the twilight revery 
 Of some dim lake the white moon looks upon 
 
 While teems the world with silence. Even there 
 In each Protean rainbow tint that stains 
 
 The breathing canvas of the atmosphere, 
 We read an exhalation of thy strains. 
 
 Thus, on the scroll of Nature, everywhere, 
 Thy name, a deathless syllable, remains. 
 
 POE-CHOPIN 
 O er each the soul of Beauty flung 
 
 A shadow, mingled with the breath 
 Of music that the Sirens sung, 
 
 Whose utterance is death. 
 
 [35] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 KEATS-SAPPHO 
 
 Methinks when first the nightingale 
 Was mated to thy deathless song, 
 
 That Sappho, with emotion pale, 
 Amid the Olympian throng, 
 
 Stood listening with lips apart, 
 To hear in thy melodious love 
 
 The pantings of her heart. 
 
 POE S CRITICS 
 
 A certain tyrant, to disgrace 
 The more a rebel s resting place, 
 Compelled the people, every one, 
 To hurl, in passing there, a stone ; 
 Which done, the rugged pile became 
 A sepulcher, to keep the name. 
 And thus it is with Edgar Poe: 
 Each passing critic has his throw, 
 Nor sees, defeating his intent, 
 How lofty grows the monument ! 
 
 Father Tabb s own critics were sometimes favored 
 (?) with the same kind of attention and so clever 
 were some of these hits that when "Quips and 
 Quiddits" appeared in 1907, the publishers, Small, 
 Maynard & Company, of Boston, collected a number 
 
 [36] 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 of them and inserted them with the following note as 
 preface : 
 
 l A few verses by way of introduction, in which the 
 author gets even with his critics, his publishers, and 
 those who trifle with his name from which latter 
 failing he himself does not seem exempt." 
 
 Among the best of these verses are the following : 
 
 "ON THE COVER OF JOHN B. TABB S LATE 
 LONDON VOLUME 
 
 His eyes are dim; 
 
 And so for him, 
 
 They thought in London twas enough 
 To bind his book in blind-man s buff!" 
 
 TO MR. ANDREW LANG, WHO SPELLED MY 
 NAME TAB 
 
 why should Old Lang Sign 
 A compliment to me, 
 (If it indeed be mine) 
 And filch my final b? 
 
 To him as to the Dane 
 In his soliloquy, 
 This question comes again, 
 
 2bornot2b? " 
 
 Father Tabb always impressed strongly upon his 
 students a love for the doctrines and discipline of the 
 
 [37] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Church, but once he remarked in class that if he 
 should die before his ordination he would like his 
 epitaph to read: " Sacred to the memory of John B. 
 Tabb, D. D." When reminded by a member of the 
 class that he was not yet a Doctor of Divinity, he 
 replied : D. D. will not mean Doctor of Divinity on 
 my tombstone, it will mean Died of Dogma. " 
 
 He had a great distaste for mathematics and would 
 never admit that he could even add. The following 
 he says, is "the only geometrical thought I ever had 
 and it shows all I know of the science of angles: 
 
 Suspended o er Geometry 
 I am a fisher-woman, dangling 
 A creature too obtuse to know 
 What is acute in angling/ 
 
 One of his critics says: "He had the faculty of 
 genius in calling out latent talent in his students, 
 which he fostered with generous and unremitting care. 
 Indeed, he was ever at their service, in class or out of 
 class. " 
 
 Another says: "He possessed rare ability, both to 
 fix the attention of his students and to rivet in in 
 dividual minds the facts he wished to impress. His 
 methods of teaching were original and the means used 
 were indifferent to him if in the end the fact was 
 indelibly impressed upon the student s memory; a 
 comic story, a limerick, a pun, a humorous illustration 
 on the blackboard for the priest was gifted with 
 
 [38] 
 
THE TEACHER 
 
 pencil as with pen all were quickly utilized as a 
 means to a desired end. No lesson was ever presented 
 twice in the same way, and there was nothing in 
 which he delighted more than in grounding the young 
 student in the elements, or as he termed them the 
 bones of English grammar. It would be difficult 
 to find an instructor better fitted for the task, and it 
 was a dull student indeed who did not make rapid pro 
 gress under his inspiring instruction. Boys/ he 
 once remarked in the calssroom, I don t care how 
 ridiculous a thing is if by it I can teach you some 
 thing you ought to know. 
 
 "Thoroughly familiar with the classics, scarcely a 
 day passed that the instructor did not devote some 
 portion of it to Greek and Latin authors especially 
 the poets. Often he read one of these ancient master 
 pieces to his class, and new significance and beauty 
 were evoked by the strength and intelligence of his 
 interpretation. After Shakespeare, his favorite 
 English authors were Tennyson, Keats and Shelley. 
 He had a fondness also for Coleridge, whose Rime 
 of the Ancient Mariner he frequently read to hia 
 students with a dramatic effect difficult to surpass. 
 His appreciation of Poe was deep and sincere, and the 
 words of the poets he loved were close to him as his 
 own thoughts. Often he quoted from the English 
 poets at great length without any reference to the 
 text." 
 
 [39] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 Returning to Father Magri s sketch we shall next 
 see Father Tabb pictured in the study hall and at his 
 recreation. 
 
 "During certain hours he presided in place of the 
 prefect of discipline. It was his invariable custom 
 while keeping study to walk up and down the 
 centre aisle with a small book in his hand, on which 
 rested a sheet of paper whereon he would from time to 
 time jot down some poetic thought, or draw a cartoon 
 of some well known individual, which latter he would 
 show to different students as he passed along beside 
 their desks. Sometimes the drawing would be of so 
 comical a nature that the student, on beholding it, 
 would disturb the whole study hall by his irrepressible 
 laughter; after which Father Tabb would, with mock 
 solemnity, place a finger on his lips in token of silence 
 and, in affected majesty, continue his walk up and 
 down the room. This assumed manner, so unnatural 
 to him, would often provoke more laughter, until he 
 signalled with his hand that he wished the spirit of 
 mirth to end. 
 
 Rev. T. A. Rankin of Charlottesville, Virginia, 
 relates that: "Father Tabb was habitually making 
 
 [40] 
 
OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 puns, some rather far-fetched, on every conceivable 
 subject. Nearly every thing he said evoked a smile. 
 A classmate of mine, I remember, always greeted these 
 witticisms with a hearty laugh whether he under 
 stood the point or not. One evening while Father 
 Tabb was in charge of the study hall and was going 
 along the aisles, stopping occasionally to speak a word 
 of encouragement or to spring a pun that had just 
 occurred to his fertile mind, he stopped at the afore 
 said student s desk and asked him a serious question 
 in a low tone of voice. The young man, thinking it 
 was a joke and that he was expected to laugh, broke 
 out in a loud ha-ha, much to Father Tabb s disgust. 
 Never again was he favored with a bon mot." 
 
 While walking back and forth along the aisles of 
 the study hall, lost in thought or dreaming his poet 
 dreams, it was the priest s frequent custom to pause 
 at the west windows of the room and stand gazing 
 out. The trees at various seasons, the alluring tints 
 of the clouds, the placid bosom of the lake, the flowers 
 that were visible from this point of vantage all at 
 tracted his attention. A number of his poems were 
 written during these study hours and others were 
 inspired by some object that caught his eye as he 
 paused at the windows of the hall. 
 
 THE LAKE 
 
 I am a lonely woodland lake. 
 The trees that round me grow, 
 
FATHER TABS 
 
 The glimpse of heaven above me, make 
 The sum of all I know. 
 
 The mirror of their dreams to be 
 
 Alike in shade and shine, 
 To clasp in Love s captivity, 
 
 And keep them one is mine. 
 
 This refers to a lake in the college grounds which 
 was excavated by a member of the Faculty, Father 
 Vuibert, Vice-President of the College. This lake 
 was in plain view from the study hall windows and 
 Father Tabb delighted to watch, especially at the 
 twilight time, the changing surface of the waters and 
 the play of light and shade upon them. 
 
 Other gems jotted down at this time are: " Indian 
 Summer," which was suggested to the poet by the 
 gorgeous tints of a red gum tree outside the window ; 
 "Winter Twilight," "Joy," and the widely known 
 1 Fern Song probably the most frequently quoted 
 of all his poems. The little fern that inspired this 
 beautiful thought stood in the window of the study 
 hall and while gazing out, on a dark, rainy day, the 
 priest noticed the rhythmical, dancing motion of the 
 little leaves and gave to the world this charming ex 
 ponent of his own bright optimism, which always led 
 him to look for a lesson of cheer in any circumstance, 
 however dark. While bearing to us a message straight 
 from his nature-loving heart, the little song is so 
 dainty and has such charm in its rhythm that it grips 
 
 [42] 
 
OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 the mind and heart and sings itself over and over to 
 all who read it the very embodiment of cheerfulness. 
 
 FERN SONG 
 
 Dance to the beat of the rain, little fern, 
 And spread out your palms again, 
 
 And say, "Tho the sun 
 
 Hath my vesture spun, 
 He had labored, alas, in vain 
 
 But for the shade 
 
 That the cloud hath made, 
 And the gift of the dew and the rain/ 
 
 Then laugh and upturn 
 
 All your fronds, little fern, 
 And rejoice in the beat of the rain. 
 
 Father Tabb loved to be with the students, and 
 when he appeared on the campus they hailed him with 
 delight, and he was always made the central figure in 
 a group of joyous youngsters who idolized him . . . 
 recognizing and realizing the deep and lasting affection 
 that he felt for them. It is said at the school that 
 those who knew him best were unable to tell which" 
 was greater, his heart or his genius both seemed 
 boundless. 
 
 An inveterate punster, many of his boys claimed 
 that he arose each morning with an entirely new set 
 of witticisms, and his progress through the college 
 refectory at breakfast was enlivened by his humorous 
 oddities which left peals of laughter in his wake. His 
 
 [43] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 fun was without tinge of bitterness or irony and his 
 brilliant flashes left neither cut nor sting. The mer 
 riment which he aroused was as the sunshine pure 
 and sweet ; and those who eagerly crowded round him 
 were secure from any fear that his shafts would cause 
 a heartache or leave a wound, however slight. 
 
 He often joined the students in their walks, when 
 he would at times express himself with the artlessness 
 of a child; then he would burst forth in a torrent of 
 witty sayings that marked the man and the thinker. 
 
 Naturally shy and reserved, he avoided whenever 
 possible any public gatherings or meetings with 
 strangers; and this shyness increased rather than 
 diminished with his ripening years. He used to say 
 that there was nobody in the world that he hadn t 
 seen that he wanted to see. That he did not want to 
 meet any more people than he knew already. 
 
 When illustrious dignitaries came to the college to 
 celebrate some feast day or other event, * Father Tabb 
 would steal off to the hills and the dales, to hold sweet 
 converse with nature and to gather material for his 
 immortal verse; as has been said of other great 
 men he was never so little alone as when alone. " 
 
 On the eve of the Feast of St. Charles he could 
 always be seen trudging the six miles down the pike 
 to Ellicott City in order to escape the swarm of 
 visitors who always descended upon the college on 
 that occasion. 
 
 I am indebted to M. S. Pine (Sister Mary Paulina) 
 for the following anecdotes: "One day Father Tabb 
 
 [44] 
 
OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 was particularly requested to be on hand to help en 
 tertain four bishops who were hourly expected. The 
 smile on his face could not be misinterpreted. He was 
 soon out of sight in his beloved haunts in the woods, 
 where he spent the day. As the whistle told him late 
 in the afternoon that the guests had departed, he 
 sauntered back to the College. On the way one of the 
 Faculty met him and asked: Why didn t you stay 
 and see the Bishops? I didn t want to meet my 
 forefathers, (four Fathers) was the witty rejoinder. 
 "In the same spirit of distaste for great functions, 
 he later declined an invitation of the Reverend Father 
 (now Monsignor) Mackin of Washington, to be pres 
 ent at the laying of the corner-stone of St. Paul s 
 Church, of which Father Mackin was Pastor. Here 
 are Father Tabb s regrets : 
 
 St. Peter is the corner-stone, 
 And if you build on Paul, 
 
 I greatly fear 
 
 Ere many a year 
 Your Church is doomed to fall. 
 
 So pray excuse 
 
 If I refuse 
 To heed your invitation, 
 
 Or have no heart 
 
 To take a part 
 In such a Mackin-ation. 
 
 Bishop O Connell of Richmond, Virginia, relates 
 the following incident : When Bishop Foley of Michi- 
 
 [45] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 gan was the guest of His Eminence, Cardinal Gibbons, 
 the two were invited to dine at St. Charles College. 
 Father Tabb was asked to write the invitation, which 
 he did, thus: 
 
 "Dear Cardinal Gibbons: 
 With all your red ribbons, 
 Pray lend us the light of your face ; 
 
 And bring with you Holy 
 
 John Michigan Foley 
 
 (Who hopes some day to be in your place )." 
 
 In his younger days Father Tabb attended the 
 funeral of an old gentleman who was known to have 
 led rather a wild life ; this was before the use of the 
 padded top to the casket, and to avoid the hollow 
 sound of the clods falling into the open grave, a 
 quantity of shavings were placed upon the top of the 
 case. Someone standing behind him leaned over his 
 shoulder and whispered: "Mr. Tabb, what s all that 
 they re putting in ? " Without an instant s hesitation 
 or the least change of expression, he replied: " Kin 
 dling I" 
 
 Upon an other occasion he was visiting a friend in 
 a hospital. A patient was to be operated upon but was 
 anxious to see a priest before being taken to the 
 operating room. Knowing that Father Tabb was in 
 the house, one of the physicians asked if he would 
 be willing to see the lady. He said that certainly he 
 would do whatever he could and that he thought it 
 
 [46] 
 
K . 
 
OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 most fitting "that the old lady be opened with 
 prayer. 
 
 In appearance Father Tabb was slender of figure, 
 slightly above medium height, homely of face, with 
 strong, prominent features. On one occasion, passing 
 a stranger on the streets of Baltimore he stopped, held 
 out his hand and said, with a twinkle in his eye : * * How 
 do you do, friend ; until I met you I thought I was the 
 ugliest man alive !" Needless to say that the other 
 took no offense. 
 
 The autograph cartoon of himself, given to the 
 writer by Sister Mary Paulina of the Georgetown Con 
 vent of the Visitation, he sent to a friend whom he 
 had never seen, but who was a great admirer of his 
 genius as a writer. He said : "To disabuse your no 
 tion of the poet, I sent you a matter-of-fact present 
 ment of the man who is aways, dear , Your 
 
 Servant in Christ, John B. Tabb. Below the cartoon 
 was written: 
 
 This is the Catholic Priest 
 
 Who in piety never increased. 
 
 With the world and the devil 
 
 He kept on a level, 
 
 But from flesh he was wholly released ! 
 
 At one time when in great poverty, Father Tabb 
 sold a poem "The Cloud" to Harper s Magazine for 
 the sum of fifteen dollars; with this amount he pur 
 chased a pair of shoes and other necessities and then 
 wrote the following: 
 
 [47] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 One day with feet upon the ground 
 
 I stood among the crowd: 
 The next, with sole renewed, I found 
 
 A footing on "The Cloud!" 
 
 "The Cloud " was later published in his poems 
 which came out in 1894 and is one of his longest pro 
 ductions, containing eight four-line stanzas. 
 
 At the time of Father Tabb s death a writer in the 
 Baltimore Sun said of him : In manner he was cor 
 dially responsive or shy and reserved, according to his 
 degree of intimacy with those with whom he was asso 
 ciated. About Ellicott City his face and figure were 
 familiar to the entire community. Not only the boys 
 of St. Charles College but those of Rock Hill College 
 and those of Ellicott City were his ardent admirers 
 and close friends. A resident of that town speaking 
 of him says : " A boy, a genuine boy was Father Tabb ! 
 And the stories he could tell! There was never any 
 trouble in finding a stable boy to drive Father Tabb 
 out to the college!" This same gentleman also cited 
 many instances of the priest s goodness and gener 
 osity telling of cases where he had helped needy 
 boys, of many a pair of shoes that found their way in 
 secret to barefoot lads, and of clothes smuggled to 
 those in need of them. 
 
 "Half way between Ellicott City and St. Charles 
 College resided some Virginia friends of Father Tabb 
 and their home was for many years an almost daily in 
 terlude in the priest s long walks about the country. 
 
 [48] 
 
OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 Here, and in the homes of a few other families, the 
 poet came and went as the mood impelled him. Al 
 ways a welcome guest, he here cast aside reserve and 
 was frankly interested in the affairs of the day, ready 
 to discuss with boyish enthusiasm topics light or 
 serious, the last novel, the last drama for he now 
 and again attended a good play an inspiring con 
 cert, or the affairs of the nation. But from strangers, 
 denizens of the outer world, Father Tabb fled as does 
 the wild deer, to the forests. Social gatherings always 
 found him like Bill Nye s ghost, of an unsociable dis 
 position and always going the other way. 
 
 Dr. Magri says : He loved his friends with all the 
 ardour and intensity of his generous soul. To him 
 friendship was something eternal; this may explain 
 why he would never bid goodbye to his friends and 
 why he would almost feel offended did one of them say 
 goodbye to him even though in body absent, his 
 friends were in spirit constantly with him, then why 
 goodbye? It has been said (and likely with truth) 
 that no one ever saw him departing from the college 
 for his summer vacation ; several days before the an 
 nual commencement his room would be found vacant 
 the bird had flown with no goodbye, no sad part 
 ing." 
 
 Another peculiarity exhibited by Father Tabb along 
 the same line was his aversion to ever seeing again a 
 young man whom he had loved as a youth. A lawyer 
 in Washington who, when at St. Charles, was very in 
 timate with Father Tabb, asked him to come and pay 
 
 [49] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 him a visit, but no Father Tabb wished to remember 
 him as the boy he had loved, and not to know him as 
 the successful lawyer. In response to the invitation 
 the priest sent the following : 
 
 ALTER IDEM 
 
 "Tis what thou wast not what thou art, 
 
 Which I no longer know 
 That made thee sovereign of my heart, 
 
 And serves to keep thee so. 
 
 And coulds t thou, coming to the throne, 
 Thy Self, unaltered, see, 
 Thou mightst the occupant disown 
 And scout his sovereignty! 
 
 "At the beginning and end of each summer vaca 
 tion, quoting again from Dr. Magri, * it was the cus 
 tom of Father Tabb to spend several days with the 
 Bishop and with the priests at St. Peter s old Cathe 
 dral Rectory (Richmond, Virginia). We priests 
 looked eagerly for his coming, which had the effect of 
 a refreshing breeze. We all felt spiritually invigor 
 ated by personal contact with a man so truly great, 
 who endeavored to hide his greatness under the cloak 
 of simplicity and even drollery. Arriving at a house, 
 after having earnestly inquired after the health of 
 each one, Father Tabb would proceed forthwith to 
 what he regarded as a prime duty to his friends, that 
 of putting them or keeping them in a good humor by 
 
 [50] 
 
OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM 
 
 the narration of a series of jokes so original, so apt and 
 so pointed, as to convulse his auditors with laughter 
 and, at the same time, excite their wonder. His 
 friends, especially in Baltimore, Richmond and other 
 parts of Maryland and Virginia, were numerous. 
 These heartily welcomed him to their homes and 
 looked for his visits with the keenest and most pleas 
 urable anticipation." 
 
 When passing through Richmond Father Tabb 
 always visited the old Westmoreland Club that 
 haunt, since ante-bellum days, of many of the most 
 prominent sons of the Old Dominion. Upon one occa 
 sion someone spoke of "taking a smile" the poet- 
 priest immediately wrote the following: 
 
 "A MAN MAY SMILE AND SMILE AND BE A 
 VILLAIN" 
 
 How far the lip below the nose 
 
 Tis difficult to say, 
 But every indication shows 
 It smiles, it smiles away! 
 With my compliments to the Westmoreland Club. 
 
 This little verse, ornamented with a cartoon likeness 
 of the author, still hangs in the Club; the accom 
 pany facsimile was secured through the kindness of 
 the late James C. Martin of Richmond. 
 
 [si] 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 THE MUSICIAN 
 
 Reference has already been made to Father Tabb s 
 great talent and love for music it had been al 
 most an obsession with him since childhood. He had 
 quite a reputation as a pianist, especially in Balti 
 more where, when released from his college duties, 
 he would often perform for his friends. 
 
 It was his custom on bright holy days when the 
 students were out of doors, to slip unobserved to the 
 grand piano in the large recreation hall and play 
 to his heart s content usually some wierd strain. 
 Here he was lost to the world around him, wholly ab 
 sorbed in the wonderful melodies which he evoked. 
 The students would often, at such times, watch him 
 from a distance; as he appeared to lose all knowl 
 edge of his surroundings, with his fingers (modeled 
 after those of Liszt) running rapidly over the keys, 
 his long, gaunt body swaying with the melody. We 
 may imagine that it was on such occasions as these, 
 when repeating over and over again some soul-stir 
 ring strain, that there came to him his brightest 
 poetic fancies. And often in the dusk of evening he 
 would steal to the college music room where for hours 
 he would fill the darkness with melody. 
 
 [52] 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 But his music was not all within the college walls ; 
 the ripple and charming lightness of his piano play 
 ing may be heard in many of his poems, and in others 
 there is the full, tender minor strain so dear to his 
 heart. At times he selected for some literary gem 
 a musical theme and in his vivid imagination heard 
 melodies that no common ear could discern. 
 
 Mr. Edwin Litchfield Turnbull who has made 
 famous the "Melody from Lanier s Flute," also set 
 to music several songs written by Father Tabb. In 
 a letter dated November 24, 1915, he gave me a 
 gem from the poet s pen, "Somewhere," that has 
 never been published. The original was sent to Mr. 
 Turnbull who still has it in his possession. In writ 
 ing of his friendship for Father Tabb, he says: 
 
 "Some time in 1887, as a small boy editor of a 
 tiny amateur journal called The Acorn, I first 
 made the acquaintance of that rare and sunny nature 
 in whose heart there was always a particular soft spot 
 for boys. 
 
 "At the time Father Tabb was engaged in coax 
 ing Latin Grammar into boys at St. Charles College, 
 in Ellicott City. Would that it had been my privi 
 lege to study Latin under such auspices and to hear 
 some of those lessons, sparkling with a quaint whim 
 sical humor for which the poet-priest was famous. 
 
 "His first contribution to The Acorn was an ex 
 quisite little poem The Reaper, for which I later 
 composed a musical setting; and then began 
 
 [53] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 a delightful friendship, lasting over many years. I 
 tried my hand at other verses of his, One April 
 Morn and Lullaby Town, and always looked for 
 ward with keen delight to visits from the author. 
 Whenever the slim, shy figure in priestly garb ap 
 peared in my office doorway I knew that a rare 
 treat was in store for me, and business was speedily 
 forgotten while Father Tabb talked of our songs, or 
 his Latin Grammar, or Sidney Lanier; his sprightly 
 conversation interspersed with inimitable jokes, which 
 I often begged him to send to comic papers. He 
 could have made a fortune writing for Life or 
 Tuck/ 
 
 "It was on the occasion of one of these visits to 
 my office that he spoke of the quaint melody which 
 Lanier played in prison, and which through the many 
 years since had haunted his memory. I almost had 
 to drag him to a nearby music store, where I got a 
 piano and took down the air as Father Tabb gave it 
 to me from memory, long years after those prison 
 days which Lanier s velvet-toned flute had cheered 
 and softened. 
 
 " Sometimes I had a characteristic note from him 
 like this: 
 
 St. Charles College, 
 Ellicot City, Md. 
 December 9, 1899. 
 
 Dear Edwin: 
 
 I herewith send you the promised lines, which I 
 [54] 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 hope yon may wed to some eligible air, if you find 
 them worth using. Ever yours, 
 
 Lovingly, 
 
 JOHN B. TABB. 
 Here followed the lines : 
 
 " SOMEWHERE 
 
 Somewhere beneath the blinding snows - 
 A smouldering senser, burns my rose; 
 But Love alone the secret knows 
 Till Spring appear. 
 
 Somewhere in unimagined deeps, 
 My star, a radiant dreamer, sleeps; 
 But Love alone the secret knows, 
 Till Night is near." 
 
 "And on another visit he handed me a faded, yel 
 low MS bearing the title Genevieve, saying it had 
 lain for a score of years in a drawer in his desk, 
 and that I might have it put to music. I have 
 often wondered since if Genevieve were a ro 
 mantic chapter out of the poet s own life, or does 
 it refer to Coleridge s famous poem of that name? 
 
 "That Father Tabb s beautiful soul was brimming 
 over with music must be evident to all who read the 
 exquisite lyric gems he has left behind. There is 
 music in every line of verse that he wrote. I am 
 
 [55] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 more grateful than I can say, for the rich privilege 
 accorded me of his friendship. I can appreciate now 
 much more than I did in those days of boyish en 
 thusiasm how much the friendship has meant to me. 
 
 May Father Tabb s influence for the nobler things 
 of life grow sweeter as the years pass. 
 
 In speaking of his great love for music, one of 
 Father Tabb s pupils says that if on the weekly holi 
 day he did not go to Baltimore one would be sure 
 to find him at the piano in the Recreation Hall in- 
 dulging his passion for classical music. His favorite 
 song was The Earl King, which he even attempted 
 to sing in his thin piping voice. When seated at the 
 piano he completely lost himself in rapture and fre 
 quently declared that no musical instrument could 
 excel the human voice, and that his greatest pleasure 
 was grand opera well rendered. 
 
 He abhorred the modern rag-time and would leave 
 the room if any one began to play this class of music. 
 Soon after the pianola was invented the Pastor of a 
 neighboring parish gave a musicale at the college. 
 In deference to Father Tabb, he began with a class 
 ical selection played in a most mechanical way ; 
 but the piece was hardly begun when the old priest 
 sprang to his feet, rushed to the pianola, and ordered 
 him to stop. "You are butchering it," he cried, 
 "let me beat the time for you!" He began to indi 
 cate the time, waving his arm, but the operator was 
 utterly unable to follow him and after a few meas 
 ures Father Tabb left the hall in disgust, vow- 
 
 [56] 
 
THE MUSICIAN 
 
 ing that it it were in his power he would break up 
 every such instrument that robbed music of its very 
 soul. 
 
 1 The Reaper" which was set to music by Mr. 
 Turnbull was very popular as a song and was par 
 ticularly admired by Dr. Garnett of the British 
 Museum in London. 
 
 THE REAPER 
 
 Tell me whither, Maiden June, 
 Down the dusky slope of noon 
 With thy sickle of a moon, 
 Goest thou to reap? 
 
 Fields of Fancy by the stream 
 Of Night, in silvery silence gleam, 
 To heap with many a harvest-dream 
 The Granary of Sleep. 
 
 [57] 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 THE WRITER OF CHILD VERSE 
 
 Father Tabb was a great lover of children and on 
 his trips through Richmond always made an effort 
 to be there on Sunday morning for the children s 
 Mass at nine o clock. He never seemed happier than 
 when addressing them, and he had the rare faculty 
 of viewing the subjects handled on such occasions 
 from the child s standpoint. When in the presence 
 of children he seemed literally to become one of them ; 
 his unaffected simplicity of character made one feel 
 that he must have been dear to the heart of Him 
 who said: " Unless ye be converted and become as 
 little children ye shall not enter into the Kingdom 
 of Heaven." 
 
 His volume of Child-Verse, published in 1900, teems 
 with wit and humor and sets a-peal the merry bells 
 of childish laughter; some of his fancies are unique 
 indeed and he makes capital of the most unusual 
 material, but through all of the little poems shines 
 the kindly light of his sunny nature. I give below 
 some of the most widely known. 
 
 THE BLUEBIRD 
 
 When God had made a host of them, 
 One little flower still lacked a stem 
 
 [58] 
 
THE WRITER OF CHILD VERSE 
 
 To bear its blossom blue ; 
 So into it he breathed a song 
 And suddenly, with petals strong 
 
 As wings, away it flew ! 
 
 THE TAX-GATHERER 
 
 "And pray, who are you?" 
 Said the violet blue 
 To the Bee, with surprise 
 At his wonderful size 
 In her eye-glass of dew. 
 
 "I, madam, " quoth he, 
 "Am a publican Bee, 
 
 Collecting the tax 
 
 Of honey and wax. 
 
 Have you nothing for me ? " 
 
 A LEGACY 
 
 Do you remember, little cloud, 
 This morning when you lay : 
 A mist along the river 
 What the waters had to say? 
 
 And how the many-colored flowers 
 That on the margin grew, 
 All promised when the day was done 
 To leave their tints to you? 
 
 [59] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 AMID THE ROSES 
 
 There was laughter mid the roses 
 For it was their natal day ; 
 And the children in the garden were 
 As light of heart as they. 
 
 There were sighs amid the roses, 
 
 For the night was coming on; 
 
 And the children weary now of play 
 
 Were ready to be gone. 
 
 There are tears amid the roses, 
 For the children are asleep ; 
 And the silence of the garden makes 
 The lonely blossoms weep. 
 
 BICYCLES! TRICYCLES! 
 
 Bicycles ! Tricycles ! Nay, to shun laughter, 
 Tricycles first, and Bicycles after ; 
 For surely the buyer deserves but the worst 
 Who would buy cycles, failing to try cycles first ! 
 
 HIGH AND LOW 
 
 A Boot and a Shoe and a Slipper 
 
 Once lived in a Cobbler s Row: 
 
 But the Boot and the Shoe 
 
 Would have nothing to do 
 
 With the Slipper, because she was low. 
 
 [60] 
 
THE WRITER OF CHILD VERSE 
 
 But the King and the Queen and their Daughter 
 
 On the Cobbler chanced to call : 
 
 And as neither the Boot 
 
 Nor the Shoe would suit, 
 
 The Slipper went off to the ball. 
 
 FROG-MAKING 
 
 Said Frog Papa to Frog Mama, 
 "Where is our little daughter ?" 
 Said Frog Mama to Frog Papa, 
 "She s underneath the water." 
 
 Then down the anxious father went, 
 And there, indeed, he found her, 
 A-tickling tadpoles, till they kicked 
 Their tails off all around her ! 
 
 THE TRYST 
 
 Potato was deep in the dark underground, 
 
 Tomato above in the light. 
 
 The little tomato was ruddy and round, 
 
 The little potato was white. 
 
 And redder and redder she rounded above, 
 
 And paler and paler he grew, 
 
 And neither suspected a mutual love 
 
 Till they met in a Brunswick Stew! 
 
 [61] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 THE END OF IT 
 
 A whole-tail dog and a half-tail dog, 
 And a dog without any tail, 
 Went all three out on an autumn day 
 To follow a red-fox trail. 
 
 But the dogs that carried their tails along 
 Fell out, it is said, by the way; 
 And the loss of a tail and a half at the end 
 Of the dogs, put an end to the fray. 
 
 When each, as a morsel sweet, gulped down 
 What had late been a neighbor s pride, 
 You ve kept your tails, laughed the no-tail dog, 
 "But you wear them now inside!" 
 
 A SPY 
 
 Sighed the languid Moon to the Morning Star: 
 "0 little Maid, how late you are!" 
 "I couldn t rise from my couch," quoth she, 
 "While the Man-in-the-Moon was looking at me." 
 
 A LAMENT 
 
 "0 Lady Cloud, why are you weeping?" I said. 
 "Because," she made answer, "my rain-beau is 
 dead." 
 
 [62] 
 
THE WRITER OF CHILD VERSE 
 FOOT-SOLDIERS 
 
 Tis all the way to Toe-Town, 
 Beyond the Knee-high hill, 
 That Baby has to travel down 
 To see the soldiers drill. 
 
 One, two, three, four, five, a-row 
 A captain and his men 
 And on the other side, you know, 
 Are six, seven, eight, nine, ten. 
 
 THE TIME-BROOD 
 I wonder how the Mother-Hour 
 Can feed each hungry Minute, 
 And see that every one of them 
 Gets sixty seconds in it; 
 
 And whether, when she goes abroad, 
 She knows which ones attend her; 
 For all of them are just alike 
 In age and size and gender. 
 
 PAINS-TAKING 
 
 "Take pains," growled the Tooth to the Dentist; 
 "The same," said the Dentist, "to you." 
 
 Then he added, "No doubt, 
 
 Before you are out 
 You ll have taken most pains of the two." 
 
 [63] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Father Tabb s feeling for all children was deep 
 and tender, but the purity and innocence of infancy 
 drew forth some of his rarest gems of verse: Sister 
 Mary Paulina says: "Judging from the alluring 
 loveliness with which Babyhood sits enthroned in 
 Father Tabb s poetic bower, crowned and circled by 
 the rosebud vines of his delicate fancy and tender 
 affection, I am inclined to believe that the poet-priest 
 has found a part of his beautitude in the divine 
 nurseries surely the Babe Niva must have 
 welcomed him there: 
 
 Niva, child of innocence, 
 
 Dust to dust we go : 
 
 Thou, when Winter wooed thee hence, 
 
 Wentest snow to snow." 
 
 Other strikingly beautiful thoughts from his col 
 lection of poems on Babyhood are: 
 
 AN IDOLATER 
 
 The Baby has no skies 
 
 But Mother s eyes, 
 Nor any God above 
 
 But Mother s love. 
 His angel sees the Father s face, 
 But he, the Mother s, full of grace; 
 And yet the heavenly kingdom is 
 
 Of such as this. 
 
 [64] 
 
THE WRITER OF CHILD VERSE 
 BABY 
 
 Baby in her slumber smiling, 
 
 Doth a captive take: 
 Whispers Love: "From dreams beguiling, 
 
 May she never wake ! 
 
 When the lids, like mist retreating, 
 
 Flee the azure deep, 
 Wakes the new-born Joy, repeating : 
 
 * May she never sleep ! 
 
 A BUNCH OF ROSES 
 
 The rosy mouth and rosy toe 
 
 Of little baby brother, 
 Until about a month ago 
 
 Had never met each other; 
 But nowadays the neighbors sweet, 
 
 In every sort of weather, 
 Half way with rosy fingers meet, 
 
 To kiss and play together. 
 
 [65] 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 TABB AND LANIER 
 
 We have mentioned in a preceding chapter the close 
 intimacy which grew out of Father Tabb s early asso 
 ciation with Sidney Lanier; they were twin-souls 
 both musicians of a high order, both ranked among 
 the foremost poets of the Southland, both teachers 
 of English. The correspondence of the two poets is 
 a literary treasure denied the world of letters. When 
 Professor Edwin Mims published his life of Lanier 
 he asked permission to use the correspondence, but it 
 was the express wish of Father Tabb that he should 
 not ; afterward in the burning of St. Charles College, 
 on March 16, 1911, all of Father Tabb s papers were 
 destroyed. 
 
 He was not often in the Lanier home. During the 
 lifetime of his friend, as in his later years, he seldom 
 left the scene of his labors. Mrs. Mary Day Lanier, 
 wife of the poet, writes as follows from her home in 
 Greenwich, Conn., under date of March 15, 1915 : 
 
 Father Tabb was so voiceless about himself ! And 
 he was not much with us. When he was, poetry, 
 music, the children, his friend his David were 
 his themes. His brief letters to me from 1882 to his 
 
 [66] 
 
TABB AND LANIER 
 
 failing of vision more often than not enclosed an 
 unpublished poem: sometimes craved my impression 
 of it. 
 
 "I always loved these children of his fancy but 
 often could not shape a thought in response to his 
 tender need for lack of nerve power/ 
 
 In speaking of a little collection of Father Tabb s 
 poems in her possession, she says: "These were 
 bequeathed to me by my closest friend also Mr. 
 Lanier s Miss Sarah Farley of Pennsylvania. She 
 never met your uncle, she was a confirmed invalid, 
 but through their common love for us and for all 
 things sacred, a deep regard and tenderness grew up 
 between them in a limited correspondence. Com 
 passion for her suffering and solitariness also drew 
 his warm heart towards her. She was a great soul 
 and he leaned upon her in a certain way. Last June 
 she was released at the age of seventy-six. You see 
 how readily I could talk on to you of our common 
 interest. Believe me 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 MARY DAY LANIER. " 
 
 M. S. Pine (Sister Mary Paulina) in her beautiful 
 critique on Father Tabb s poems thus contrasts his 
 work and Sidney Lanier s: 
 
 "Their poetic styles are in remarkable contrast. 
 Rich, magnificent, diffuse, Lanier rolls out his verse 
 in great waves of song, and, while they are pervaded 
 
 [67] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 with a highly sensuous beauty and overflowing with 
 human sympathies, here and there you encounter 
 lofty conceptions of the greatness of God which 
 bring you to your knees in worship and make mani 
 fest the secret of the bond that so welded Father 
 Tabb s soul to his. But Father Tabb moves and 
 breathes in the heavenly atmosphere he would 
 have everything in nature, in art, in life, bring us 
 into closer relations with the Creator, with the Re 
 deemer, with Heaven; he would sow a seed in our 
 heart of faith heroic, of hope unfading, of love un 
 utterable/ 
 
 An English critic says: "It is interesting to con 
 trast the long, voluminous, rushing flow of Lanier 
 with the minute, delicately carved work of his 
 countryman. Which is the greater poet, let those who 
 like giving marks decide; but Father Tabb, working 
 within the limits which the nature of his art invar 
 iably determines, piping, so to speak, upon his flute, 
 can do things which Lanier s great four-manual organ 
 could never accomplish." 
 
 Many of Father Tabb s poems refer to Sidney 
 Lanier, and his first volume is dedicated thus : 
 
 AVE : SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 Ere Time s horizon line was set, 
 Somewhere in space our spirits met, 
 Then o er the starry parapet 
 Came wandering here. 
 
 [68] 
 
TABB AND LANIER 
 
 And now that thou art gone again 
 Beyond the verge, I haste amain 
 (Lost echo of a loftier strain) 
 To greet thee there. 
 
 The following gems of thought also bear reference 
 to this beloved friend. For this we have Father Tabb s 
 own statement, preserved for us by Father Perrig- 
 of whom more anon. 
 
 MYSTAE 
 
 Since that the dewdrop holds the star 
 
 The long night through, 
 Perchance the satellite afar 
 
 Reflects the dew. 
 And while thine image in my heart 
 
 Doth constant shine, 
 There, haply, in thy heaven apart, 
 
 Thou keepest mine. 
 
 LOVE S HYBLA 
 
 My thoughts fly to thee as the bees 
 To find their favorite flower; 
 Then home, with honeyed memories 
 Of many a fragrant hour: 
 
 For with thee is the place apart, 
 Where sunshine ever dwells ; 
 The Hybla, whence my hoarding heart 
 Would fill its wintry cells. 
 
 [69] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 TO SIDNEY LANIER 
 
 The dewdrop holds the heaven above 
 Wherein the lark, unseen, 
 Outpours a rhapsody of love 
 That fills the space between. 
 
 My heart a dewdrop is, and thou, 
 Dawn-spirit, far away, 
 Fillest the void between us now 
 With an immortal lay. 
 
 ON THE FORTHCOMING VOLUME OF 
 LANIER S POEMS 
 
 Snow ! Snow ! Snow ! 
 Do thy worst, Winter, but know, but know, 
 That when the Spring cometh a blossom shall blow 
 From the heart of the poet, that sleeps below. 
 And his name to the ends of the earth shall go, 
 
 In spite of the snow ! 
 
 IN TOUCH 
 
 (Published from the MS by Dr. Browne) 
 
 How slight so e er the motion be, 
 
 With palpitating hand, 
 The greatest breaker of the sea 
 
 Betrays it to the land. 
 And though a vaster mystery 
 
 [70] 
 
TABB AND LANIER 
 
 Hath, set our souls apart, 
 Each wafture from eternity 
 Betrays thee to my heart. 
 
 The poem "Robin" is generally supposed te have 
 been inscribed to the little red-breast friend of 
 Father Tabb, but not so it was written and sent 
 to Sidney Lanier s youngest son, Robin Lanier. 
 
 ROBIN 
 
 Come to me, Robin, the daylight is dying! 
 
 Come to me now! 
 
 Come, ere the cypress-tree over me sighing, 
 Dark with the shadow-tide circle my brow ; 
 Come, ere oblivion speed to me, flying 
 
 Swifter than thou ! 
 
 Come to me, Robin, the far echoes waken 
 
 Cold to my cry ! 
 
 ! with the swallow- wing, love overtaken, 
 Hence to the Echo-land, homeward, to fly! 
 Thou art my life, Robin, Oh ! love-forsaken, 
 
 How can I die? 
 
 AT LANIER S GRAVE 
 
 I stand beneath the native tree 
 That guards the spot where thou art laid : 
 For since thy light is lost to me 
 I loiter in the shade. 
 
 [71] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 I lean upon the rugged stone 
 As on the breast from which I came, 
 To learn tis not my heart alone 
 That bears thy sacred name. 
 
 This beautiful tribute to his beloved Lanier was 
 not published. It was taken by Father Perrig from 
 the manuscript, and from his notes we learn that 
 Lanier s favorite among Father T abb s poems was 
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 Shadow, in thy fleeing form I see 
 The friend of fortune who once clung to me. 
 In flattering light thy constancy is shown ; 
 In darkness, thou wilt leave me all alone. 
 
 [72] 
 
CHAPTER X 
 THE POET 
 
 Poetry is the blossoming and fragrance of all hu 
 man knowledge, human thought, passions, emotions, 
 language. Coleridge. 
 
 Shelley defines poetry as "the record of the best and 
 happiest moments of the happiest and best minds," 
 and Longfellow says: "Beautiful are all the forms 
 of nature when transfigured by the miraculous power 
 of poetry." 
 
 Any one of the above definitions is a true exposition 
 of the poems of Father Tabb in them our human 
 emotions blossom into rarest beauty and the com 
 monest forms of nature are glorified by his genius un 
 til we stand transfixed with wonder at his God-given 
 gift of interpretation. 
 
 Nothing, to him, is * common or unclean ; the low 
 liest weed that bends under the dust of the roadside, 
 the tiny blossom of the wild flower, furnish an in 
 spiration which brings forth such strains of melody, 
 such richness of thought as pass our understanding. 
 To the ordinary man the goldenrod is but a common 
 wild flower which brightens for a time the dullness of 
 the fading autumn fields, but transformed by his mar 
 velous imagination we see it through his eyes : 
 
 [73] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 GOLDEN-ROD 
 
 As Israel, in days of old, 
 
 Beneath the prophet s rod, 
 Amid the waters, backward rolled, 
 
 A path triumphant trod ; 
 So, while thy lifted staff appears 
 
 Her pilgrim steps to guide 
 The Autumn journeys on, nor fears 
 
 The Winter s threatening tide. 
 
 All things are transformed by the Midas touch of 
 his genius and so clear, so simple, so powerful is the 
 presentation that we scarcely realize the marvel of it 
 all ; his beautiful, brilliant ideas are given to the world 
 with all the simplicity of his unassuming child-heart 
 and until we stop to think, to try to analyze, we do 
 not really appreciate the greatness of his genius. He 
 is so simple, so lovable in his verse that we simply 
 enjoy, as we revel in the unanalyzed beauties of a 
 spring day. 
 
 "In the literary world," says an unknown writer 
 in the Baltimore Sun, "there is no name associated 
 with St. Charles College that has reflected greater 
 glory to the alma mater than that of Father Tabb, 
 whose rare gifts as a poet are recognized on both sides 
 of the Atlantic. A prominent British critic some 
 years ago placed Father Tabb in the front rank of 
 living American poets, and a writer in the London 
 Spectator did not hesitate to say that Reverend John 
 
 [74] 
 
THE POET 
 
 B. Tabb was one of the greatest living poets in the 
 English language. 
 
 "Father Tabb was the author of several small 
 volumes of exquisite verse poems, lyrics, quatrains 
 that suggest the beauty of Keats, the imagination 
 and spirituality of Shelley and the love of nature 
 which is the distinguishing charm of Wordsworth. 
 The poems are characterized by a delicate fancy 
 scarcely surpassed by any poetry in our language and 
 a depth of tenderness as rare as it is beautiful. An 
 appreciative critic says of him: The many poems 
 concerning silence, including the fine sonnet, seem the 
 expression of a hushed awe of such a mind in presence 
 of a continual and universal mystery. Life is a 
 moment of sound between two silences. Yet there 
 is no austerity, other than artistic, no renunciation 
 or neglect of the beautiful things of common life in 
 view of the ultimate attainment of the ideal. It is 
 rather that through this asociation with the eternal, 
 the things of this life gain a dignity and sweetness. : 
 
 Thus he writes of death : 
 
 TO DEATH 
 
 So sweet to tired mortality the night 
 
 Of life s laborious day, 
 That God Himself, o erwearied of the light, 
 
 Within its shadow lay. 
 
 In certainty of the future could faith be more ex 
 quisitely expressed than in this poemf 
 
 [75] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 EVOLUTION 
 
 Out of the dusk a shadow, 
 
 Then a spark; 
 Out of the cloud a silence, 
 
 Then a lark ; 
 Out of the heart a rapture, 
 
 Then a pain; 
 Out of the dead, cold ashes, 
 
 Life again! 
 
 Beneath this Father Perrig wrote: "He sums up 
 our nineteenth century philosophy" Price, 
 
 Nazareth, N. C. 
 
 The "Price" here quoted is Father Price, a friend 
 of Father Tabb. 
 
 The poems of Father Tabb are never long. Someone 
 has likened them to flute-notes clear and sweet, as com 
 pared to the rich, deep organ-tones of Sidney Lanier s 
 verse. There are quatrains that like a dewdrop reflect 
 the whole of heaven. Gems of thought they most truly 
 are, and in lyric quality unexcelled. 
 
 They interpret the human heart with unerring 
 sympathy and love, and nature with a peculiarly deli 
 cate fancy and striking imagery; yet he retains, 
 withal, the beautiful simplicity which ever marks his 
 life, his genius, his faith. What airy imagining is 
 here: 
 
 [76] 
 
THE POET 
 
 PHANTOMS 
 
 Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves, 
 
 flakes of snow, 
 For which, through naked limbs, the winds 
 
 A-mourning go ? 
 Or are ye angels, bearing home 
 
 The host unseen 
 Of truant spirits to be clad 
 
 Again in green ? 
 
 One of the most valuable sources of information re 
 garding the more intimate side of Father Tabb s 
 writings is a collection of notes made by the late 
 Reverend Joseph M. Perrig. It is seldom that a 
 biographer has access to material such as this; these 
 notes were made in Father Tabb s volumes, and made 
 with no thought but to throw light on some point 
 which, without explanation from the author, lost a 
 great deal of its force or beauty. This is truly first 
 hand information, the poet s own interpretation of his 
 work. 
 
 Father Perrig was a native of Switzerland who 
 came to Virgina when a boy and, after teaching in 
 Richmond for several years, entered St. Charles Col 
 lege. He was older than the average student, being 
 in his twenty-fourth year when he began his course. 
 He was gentle, unselfish and lovable in disposition and 
 (partly owing to the fact that he was from Virginia) 
 he enjoyed a close friendship with the poet-priest. 
 
 [77] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 His more mature mind appreciated the great value of 
 the explanations which Father Tabb gave many of 
 his poems and he jotted them down in the proper 
 place, i. e., under the poem discussed by Father Tabb. 
 
 Father Perrig s ministry covered a period of only 
 eleven years; at his death, in December, 1913, he be 
 queathed his books to Reverend Thomas Rankin and 
 among them were the two annotated volumes of Father 
 Tabb s poems, the only authentic record extant, I dare 
 say, of the priest s own expressions regarding hia 
 works. Treasures indeed are these little volumes! 
 Through them we gain an insight into the heart and 
 mind of the poet which but for his student s keen 
 discernment of their great value would have been for 
 ever lost to the world. 
 
 Many of Father Tabb s friends and admirers tell 
 of the magic quickness of his mind, of the brilliant 
 epigram or the witty pun uttered on the inspiration 
 of the moment, but from Father Perrig alone we 
 learn that he spent years of thought and labor on some 
 of his verses. For instance : 
 
 DEUS ABSCONDITUS 
 
 My God has hid himself from me 
 Behind whatever else I see : 
 Myself the nearest mystery 
 As far beyond my grasp as He. 
 
 And yet, in darkest night, I know 
 While lives a doubt-discerning glow 
 
THE POET 
 
 That larger lights above it throw 
 These shadows on the vale below. 
 
 The first four lines were written in 1892; Father 
 Tabb then worked on the other four lines until 
 March, 1896. 
 
 "His longest poem, Ruin, " says Father Perrig, 
 "not yet printed and which he read to me on June 10, 
 1897, is the fruit of seventeen years of his thoughts 
 and works. 
 
 "Ruin" was not included in any of Father Tabb s 
 published works and, so far as I have been able to 
 discover, was never given to the world. 
 
 These annotations also give an insight into the poet s 
 attitude towards his work: under the poem 
 
 THE SECRET 
 
 Tis not what I am fain to hide 
 That doth in deepest darkness dwell, 
 But what my tongue hath often tried 
 Alas, in vain, to tell 
 
 we find the following: "Father Tabb s favorite! He 
 says if we are sad we do not feel like talking. We are 
 not able to give expression to our thoughts of pleasure 
 or sadness, for as soon as we begin to talk we break the 
 thread of thought." 
 
 [79] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 Another favorite of his is 
 
 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 
 The sculptor in the marble found 
 Her hidden from the world around, 
 
 As in a donjon keep : 
 With gentle hand he took away 
 The coverlet that o er her lay, 
 
 But left her fast asleep. 
 
 And still she slumbers; e en as he 
 Who saw in far futurity 
 
 What now before us lies 
 The fairest vision that the stream 
 Of night, subsiding, leaves agleam 
 
 Beneath the noonday skies. 
 
 The day after the death of his ward, Edward J. 
 Carroll, on October 24, 1902, Father Tabb wrote the 
 following which was never published: 
 
 UNITED 
 
 Here buried side by side 
 We long have waited with between us two 
 A place for you. 
 
 The Powers of Darkness tried 
 To chill our hearts to ashes; but behold 
 They grew not cold. 
 
 [80] 
 
THE POET 1 
 
 You journey far and wide; 
 Our eyes were on you till they turned your way 
 To where we lay. 
 
 Henceforth, all fate defied, 
 Our kindred dust commingling, three in one 
 We slumber, son. 
 
 The best of my work, according to my judgment, : 
 
 LIMITATION 
 
 Beneath, above me, or below ; 
 Never can st thou farther go 
 Than the spirit s octave-span, 
 Harmonizing God and Man. 
 
 Thus within the iris-bound, 
 Light, a prisoner, is found ; 
 Thus within my soul I see 
 Life in Time s captivity. " 
 
 One of the professors at St. Charles College, Father 
 Charles Judge, wrote a life of his brother, Father W. 
 Judge, S. J., an Alaskan Missionary. The dedication 
 of the volume was written by Father Tabb : 
 
 HIS MISSION 
 
 Twas not for gain of glittering gold he trod 
 Alaska s frozen loin; 
 
 [81] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Nay, but the superscription of their God 
 On colder hearts to coin ! 
 
 One of the poet s favorite haunts was a beautiful 
 lane in the College grounds, known as the Rose Walk ; 
 on a Spring day, while loitering here he wrote on a 
 scrap of paper 
 
 THE DANDELION 
 
 With locks of gold today, 
 Tomorrow silver-gray; 
 Then blossom-bald. Behold, 
 Man, thy fortune told! 
 
 Just opposite the College stood "The Manor/ a 
 magnificent place, the home of Charles Carroll of 
 Carrollton, now occupied by his descendants. Father 
 Tabb often spent hours in The Manor woods and upon 
 one of these rambles wrote : 
 
 TO A WOOD-ROBIN 
 
 Lo, where the blossoming woodland wakes 
 
 From wintry slumbers long, 
 Thy heart, a bud of silence, breaks 
 
 To ecstasy of song. 
 
 Since all truly great natures retain the simplicity 
 and heart of childhood along with the attainments of 
 manhood, so Father Tabb, like Eugene Field and 
 
 [82] 
 
THE POET 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, rejoiced in a whimsical, merry 
 and frolicsome side of his nature. This is exemplified 
 in his volume of Child Verse and in * Quips and 
 Quiddits," published in 1907. 
 
 His views on the woman question were stated with 
 finality when he wrote, as far back as 1897 : 
 
 WOMAN 
 
 Shall she come down, and on our level stand? 
 Nay, God forbid it! May a Mother s eyes 
 Love s earliest home, the heaven of babyland 
 Still bend above us as we rise ! 
 
 Father Perrig has the following written just be 
 neath this verse : 
 
 Every woman ought to learn this by heart and re 
 flect on it deeply imagine a woman mayor or 
 sheriff!" 
 
 Some of Father Tabb s best poems and some of his 
 most brilliant sallies were written in his post-card 
 correspondence with his literary associates and 
 friends. One of the cleverest and most timely of these 
 "hits" was the verse written when there was a ques 
 tion raised as to Poe s right to a place in the hall of 
 fame: 
 
 EXCLUDED 
 
 Into the charnel hall of fame 
 The dead alone should go. 
 Then write not there the living name 
 Of Edgar Allen Poe. 
 
 [83] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 About this same time he expressed his opinion of 
 the members of the Senate who rendered the decision 
 against Poe: 
 
 If Harry Thurston Peck at Poe, 
 His Peck-ability to show, 
 Tis well for him that such a foe 
 No longer can return the blow. 
 
 And upon the occasion of the Poe Centenary he re 
 vised the above so that it read: 
 
 His Peck-ability to show 
 
 Let Harry Thurston Peck at Poe, 
 
 And thank his stars like Matthews, Brander, 
 
 That Poe is silent now to slander, 
 
 Or by the scourge with which they score him, 
 
 He d make them bite the dust before him. 
 
 In the Poe Room at the University of Virginia is the 
 framed autograph copy of the following : 
 
 TO EDGAR ALLEN POE 
 On the Fiftieth Anniversary of His Death. 
 
 Dead fifty years? Not so, 
 Nay, fifty years ago 
 Death, obloquy and spite, 
 To curse his ashes came. 
 But lo, the living light 
 Beneath the breath of shame 
 Indignant, spurned the night, 
 And withered them in flame. 
 
 [84] 
 
THE POET 
 
 Father Tabb, although a good deal of a recluse, was 
 a keen observer of current events and took a great 
 interest in the affairs of the world in general. He was 
 keenly alive to political situations and occasionally 
 gave vent to his feelings on the subject in such pro 
 ductions as 
 
 THE UNITED STATES TO THE FILIPINOS 
 
 We ve come to give you Liberty 
 To do what er we choose ; 
 Or clean extermination, 
 If you venture to refuse. 
 
 or in what he facetiously called "a sneeze," in which 
 he did not hesitate to criticise any person, party or 
 country if he saw fit. 
 
 Upon the occasion of the lynching of a negro which 
 took place in Delaware, he wrote the following re 
 markable play upon words: 
 
 Were Harriet Beecher well-aware 
 Of what was done in Delaware, 
 Of that unwholesome smell-aware, 
 She d make all heaven and hell-aware; 
 And ask John Brown to tell-her-where 
 Henceforth she best might sell-her-ware ! 
 
 An editorial in one of the Richmond, Virginia, pa 
 pers at the time of the poet s death spoke of him as 
 follows: " Father John Bannister Tabb was a very 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 remarkable person. He was a born man of the world, 
 good fellow, poet and philosopher, consistently and 
 sincerely consecrated to religious service. 
 
 "No sweeter or more genial character than his ever 
 gladdened a wide circle of friends. He loved laughter 
 and fun and was a born humorist, but he knew when 
 to be serious, and deep and tender sympathy and 
 beautiful sentiment lay close beneath the surface of his 
 humor. He did not know how to be coarse or harsh. 
 He loved the pleasures of life while its pain stirred 
 the very depths of his being to affectionate and helpful 
 response. 
 
 He was a man of brilliant talent. Under date of 
 November 22, 1896, Edmund C. Stedman wrote 
 Professor Thomas R. Price acknowledging receipt of 
 what he called "the exquisitely printed, feelingly 
 written appreciation of Virginia s flawless lyrist, 
 Father Tabb," as follows: 
 
 "I know of no other modern songster who puts so 
 much spontaneous feeling into the brief carols, of 
 which the art is as unobtrusive as it is perfect; for 
 they have the brevity and unity of the antique and the 
 soul of Christendom." 
 
 This, most appropriately and comprehensively de 
 scribes much of Father Tabb s poetry. He often said 
 that many so-called poems of great length contain 
 much that is not true poetry. "It is almost impos 
 sible, he would say, l ordinarily speaking, to keep up 
 the true poetic vein throughout a long poem. * 
 
 Many think that amongst the English poets Father 
 
 [86] 
 
THE POET 
 
 Tabb has not been surpassed in his power of con 
 densing "multum in parvo." His conception of the 
 true poet is set forth in his oft-quoted lines : 
 
 TO A SONGSTER 
 
 little bird, I d be 
 A poet like to thee; 
 Singing my native song, 
 Short to the ear, but long 
 To love and memory. 
 
 Allusion has been made to Father Tabb s poems on 
 silence : a masterly critic in the London Times remarks 
 of the poem "To Silence:" "Grandeur can not be 
 achieved in six lines by grandiloquence. In the im 
 mensity of what it suggests, the vast silence out of 
 which it wakes and into which it fades, that poem is 
 undeniably grand. " 
 
 Dr. William Hand Browne in his sketch of Father 
 Tabb in the Library of Southern Literature thus char 
 acterizes him as a poet : 
 
 "Father Tabb s poems are all short, few extending 
 beyond the limits of a sonnet, while many are still 
 briefer, a favorite form being the quatrain. 
 
 "Many poets when they seize a thought are apt to 
 expand and develop it as a musician develops a theme : 
 Tabb condenses it, many of his poems consisting of a 
 single simile or metaphor expressed in perfect phrase. 
 Critics have aptly called them "cameos" the most 
 delicate art in the smallest compass. Bounded and 
 
 [87] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 complete, they are like dewdrops on the jewel- weed, 
 each perfect and each distinct. In their tenderness 
 and simplicity they remind one of Simonides or Mel- 
 eager; but the faith of the Christian gives a depth 
 which the pagan could not attain. For the Greek poet 
 there was nothing beyond no symbolism of a life 
 beyond the veil. Tender memories remained, but the 
 threads of sympathy broke off at the grave. 
 
 "Father Tabb, like Wordsworth, is a poet of nature, 
 but he does not lose himself in the vision. Lovely in 
 themselves, to him the aspects of nature are far more 
 lovely as symbols. To him, as to Berkeley, nature is 
 a language in which God speaks to man, the poet being 
 the interpreter. And the nature which is ever present 
 to his memory is that of his native Virginia its 
 gentle hills, wild expanses and "smooth-sliding 
 streams; its trees and flowers and birds. Who that 
 has ever heard the unforgettable call of the killdee at 
 twilight, or the liquid fluting of the wood-robin, will 
 not feel his heart swell as the poet brings them back to 
 memory? So intimate are they that one doubts 
 whether any reader can feel the full beauty of these 
 nature-touches who does not know the land that in 
 spired them." 
 
 On one occasion at the Virginia Hot Springs, 
 Father Tabb met a grandson of Mr. Garland Talia- 
 ferro whom he had known years before in his native 
 county. He sent him, through his grandson, the auto 
 graph copy of the following : 
 
 [88] 
 
THE POET 
 
 TO A VIRGINIAN AT THE HOT SPRINGS 
 
 Nurtured upon my Mother s knee, 
 
 From this, her mountain breast, apart; 
 Here nearer heaven I seem to be, 
 
 And closer to her heart. 
 "With my compliments to my old Amelia neighbor, 
 
 Garland Taliaferro." 
 
 But beautiful as is the symbol to Father Tabb, it 
 is not the symbol but the suggested thought that is 
 the poem. For instance : 
 
 DEEP UNTO DEEP 
 
 Where limpid waters lie between 
 There only heaven to heaven is seen; 
 Where flows the tide of mutual tears, 
 There only heart to heart appears. 
 
 The poet is not one, however, who simply seizes a 
 delicate fancy and clothes it with beautiful imagery; 
 his little poems seem, in a way, detached, but through 
 them all runs a subtle but profound philosophy, a 
 philosophy felt, not formulated. St. Francis claims 
 brotherhood with the birds and beasts and inanimate 
 objects of nature Father Tabb likewise felt a kin 
 ship with all things, the wood-robin and the tender 
 violet are not simply objects to be perceived through 
 the senses; they are, like ourselves, children of the 
 Divine Father and dear to His heart. 
 
 Just as Father Tabb shunned all that was harsh or 
 
 [89] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 coarse so he delighted in all that was cheery, tender 
 and gentle his optimism was beautiful and his ten 
 derness enveloped and softened pain and sorrow. 
 One of the best known of his poems (printed in every 
 American anthology) is the exquisitely tender and 
 comforting one sent to a bereaved mother: 
 
 CONFIDED 
 
 Another lamb, Lamb of God, behold, 
 
 Within this quiet fold, 
 
 Among Thy Father s sheep, 
 
 I lay to sleep ! 
 
 A heart that never for a night did rest 
 
 Beyond its mother s breast. 
 
 Lord, keep it close to Thee, 
 
 Lest waking, it should bleat and pine for me ! 
 
 What Father Tabb wrote came from a heart that 
 knew and felt the deeper things of life, but his songs 
 did not express the whole of what he felt ; only now 
 and then through a verse, or even through a single 
 line, the deeper nature freed itself and the melody 
 grew luminous with feeling and with undreamed of 
 depths of understanding and meaning. 
 
 "The lapidary among song-makers" someone once 
 called him he was willing to heed Wordsworth s ad 
 vice to shine in his place and be content. He found 
 his themes in the birds and flowers around him, in the 
 loves and joys and sorrows of those with whom he 
 
 [90] 
 
THE POET 
 
 associated, and above all in his deep devotion to all 
 things sacred. "He saw the spiritual in the natural 
 and naturally voiced the spiritual." 
 
 To a friend he once confided that the poetic vision 
 descended upon him like a direct gift from God at a 
 moment when, following the war, he did not know 
 where to turn. He portrays his idea of poetry as 
 
 A gleam of heaven ; the passion of a star 
 Held captive in the clasp of harmony; 
 
 A silence, shell like, breathing from afar, 
 The rapture of the deep, eternity. 
 
 He felt a close kinship with all the manifestations 
 of nature, he loved them for their purity, for their 
 delicate beauty which invariably appealed to his ar 
 tist s eye, for the lessons they taught; the emotions 
 they aroused, the enthusiasms they inspired and their 
 symbolism of all things innocent and pure. 
 
 The lark, the wood-robin, the rose, the lily, the 
 humble dandelion and blackberry vine, the pink clover 
 and the white jessamine had each its message for him 
 and through him to all lovers of nature. One of the 
 most attractive, strong and original of his verses is 
 
 WOOD GRAIN 
 
 This is the way that the sap-river ran 
 From the root to the top of the tree 
 
 Silent and dark 
 
 Under the bark, 
 
 [91] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Working a wonderful plan 
 That the leaves never know 
 And the branches that grow 
 On the brink of the tide never see. 
 
 In speaking of his poem "The Young Tenor/ 
 Father Tabb said: "this came to me while spending 
 a night at the Brothers Home in Richmond. I was 
 asleep, when I was awakened by a beautiful tenor 
 voice singing in the house opposite. He stopped as I 
 awoke but his voice rang in my ears for years. One 
 night I stayed at a friend s house near Sixth and 
 Leigh Streets in Richmond, when I heard another 
 singer who, in moving along, sang. It was magnifi 
 cent. I was enabled to give expression to my long 
 confined thought. When asked in this connection if 
 it was hard for him to get a thought, Father Tabb 
 replied: "No, it is harder to get rid of a thought 
 when it comes!" 
 
 THE YOUNG TENOR 
 
 I woke ; the harbored melody 
 
 Had crossed the slumber bar, 
 
 And out upon the open sea 
 
 Of consciousness, afar 
 
 Swept onward with a fainter strain 
 
 As echoing the dream again. 
 
 So soft the silver sound, and clear 
 
 Outpoured upon the night, 
 
 [92] 
 
THE POET 
 
 That Silence seemed a listener 
 erleaning with delight 
 The slender moon, a finger-tip 
 Upon the portal of her lip. 
 
 Another interesting explanation, given by Father 
 Tabb to Father Perrig in his student days is that of 
 the poem 
 
 GIULIO 
 
 Father ! " the trembling voice betrayed 
 
 The troubled heart; "Be not afraid," 
 
 I softly answered "Woe is me!" 
 
 Dead unto all but misery! 
 
 And yet, a child of innocence 
 
 Is mine a son, unknowing whence 
 
 His origin whom, unaware 
 
 As with an angel s watchful care, 
 
 Thy gentle hand hath guided. Now 
 
 He waits the consecrating vow 
 
 Of priesthood, and to-morrow stands 
 
 A Levite, with uplifted hands 
 
 To bless thee. May a mother dare 
 
 To look upon that face, and share, 
 
 Unseen, the blessing of her son? 
 
 Deny me not. So be it done 
 
 To thee in thy last agony 
 
 As thou now doest unto me ! " 
 
 [93] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 She had her will. Secluded there 
 Within the cloistered place of prayer 
 She saw, and wept ; then, all unknown, 
 Shrunk back into the world, alone. 
 
 Days passed. A winter s cheerless morn 
 With summons came. A soul forlorn 
 Craved help in danger imminent ; 
 And, Christlike, on his mission went 
 The new annointed. 
 
 " Strange/ he said 
 "The gleams, like inspiration, shed 
 Upon the dying! There she lay, 
 Poor reprobate! life s stormy day 
 In clouds departing. Suddenly, 
 As from a trance, beholding me, 
 Giulio! hast thou come? she cried, 
 And with her arms about me, died." 
 
 He wondered ; and I turned away, 
 Lest tears my secret should betray. 
 
 A fallen woman, on her deathbed, recognizes in the 
 priest her son only a supposition on the part of the 
 poet. 
 
 The reprobate here mentioned was a young woman 
 from Richmond, Virginia, who lost her husband soon 
 after the birth of her son and fell deeper and deeper. 
 The child never knew his mother but was educated by 
 his paternal uncle, the Protestant Bishop of Kentucky. 
 
 [94] 
 
THE POET 
 
 The boy was not a Catholic, but the poet fancies him 
 to have become a priest, or rather that he might have 
 become had the uncle been a Catholic Bishop. 
 "Father Tabb assured me," said Father Perrig, "that 
 the parents of this child were the most beautiful 
 couple he ever saw." 
 
 In speaking of his floral lyrics, Sister Mary Paulina 
 says: "It is hard to restrain the temptation to cull 
 more of the poet s dainty Flora, for it is a royal 
 garden in which Father Tabb s muse disports, and 
 she has a loving glance and a lyric for all the rain 
 bow children of the sun, yea, even for the Wild 
 Flowers that strew the woods beyond the crystal 
 gate." 
 
 Dr. William Hand Browne gives several poems 
 which were not included in the published volumes of 
 the priest among those taken directly from the 
 manuscript are the following: 
 
 DEPRECIATION 
 
 Now, I listen in my grave 
 For a silence soon to be, 
 When, a slow-receding wave 
 
 Hushed is memory. 
 Now the falling of a tear, 
 Or the breathing, half-suppressed, 
 Of a sigh, re-echoed here, 
 
 Holds me from my rest. 
 ye breakers of the past, 
 
 [95] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 From the never-resting deep 
 On the coast of Silence cast, 
 Cease, and let me sleep ! 
 
 BEYOND 
 
 The Eiver to the Sea, 
 
 In language of the Land, 
 
 Interpreter would be 
 
 Of life beyond the strand. 
 
 Of billowy heights that never fall 
 
 When Winds have gone their way, 
 
 Of waving forests, dark and tall, 
 
 Of flocks, and herds, and fertile vales, 
 
 Of warbling birds and blossom-spray 
 
 That scents the wandering gales. 
 
 Alas ! tis all a mystery ! 
 
 She does not understand. 
 
 DUSK 
 
 Alone I am, but lonelier 
 
 The Twilight seems to be ; 
 The lengthening Shadows leading her 
 
 To human sympathy. 
 
 No word, but a mysterious clue 
 
 To feelings deeper far, 
 She fashions in the trembling dew, 
 
 And in the steadfast star. 
 
 [96] 
 
THE POET 
 
 MATINS 
 Still sing the Morning Stars remote 
 
 With echoes now unheard, 
 Save in the scintillating note 
 
 Of some dawn-wakened bird. 
 
 Whose heart a fountain in the light 
 
 Prolongs the limpid strain 
 Till on the borderland of Night, 
 
 The Stars begin again. 
 
 A TRYSTING PLACE 
 
 As stars amid the darkness seen, 
 When flows the deepening dawn between 
 
 To cover them from sight, 
 O erleap the spaces of the dark, 
 And, spark to quickening sister-spark, 
 
 Commingle in the light; 
 
 E en so a solitary way 
 
 Do we, Beloved, day by day, 
 
 In weariness and pain, 
 Climb desolate from steep to steep, 
 Till in the shadowy Yale of Sleep 
 
 Our spirits blend again. 
 
 The work left by Father Tabb, taken as a whole, 
 forms a wonderful kaleidoscope : along with the bright 
 tints of his humor and gentle satire there blend the 
 
 [97] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 soft colors of his thoughts as expressed concerning the 
 birds, the flowers, the children ; the sombre tones of his 
 more grave and stately themes, his sonnets; and the 
 pure radiance of his religious and spiritual songs. 
 
 No poet of his age is so varied as to the style and 
 subject of his verse and yet each and every gem bears 
 plainly stamped upon it the image and superscription 
 of his wonderful, magnetic personality. His love, his 
 sympathy, his joyousness, and his deep reverence for 
 all things sacred are the heritage he has left to the 
 lovers of pure song. The power possessed by the poet- 
 priest to bring out the beauty of the small and gen 
 erally considered insignificant things of nature is well 
 known. His fame is steadily on the increase and for 
 many years he has been as widely read and as deeply 
 appreciated in England and on the Continent as in 
 America. 
 
 Dr. Browne says: "Poetry of this kind demands a 
 very refined and delicate technique, and that of 
 Father Tabb, within his self-imposed limits, seems 
 absolutely perfect. He attempts no innovations or 
 audacities ; his measures and rhythms are simple and 
 familiar. The phrase is always the right phrase, which 
 can not be bettered; the diction is pure, direct and 
 noble. 
 
 The poet Herrick, whose best work in delicacy and 
 felicity of phrase is not unlike Father Tabb s, was 
 also threatened with loss of sight, and cheerfully al 
 ludes to his failing vision: 
 
 [98]. 
 
THE POET 
 
 1 I begin to wane in sight 
 Shortly I shall bid good-night; 
 Then no gazing more about, 
 When the tapers all are out." 
 
 * * Father Tabb bears his privation with equal seren 
 ity, but with graver thought, as shown by the quatrain 
 called 
 
 A PRAYER IN DARKNESS 
 
 The day is nearer unto night 
 
 Than to another day; 
 If closer to Thee, Lord of Light, 
 
 In darkness let me stay. 
 
 It has been said that trying to make selections from 
 Father Tabb s poems is like culling a posy from a 
 patch of wood- violets those we leave always seem 
 bluer than those we have taken. But I think the fol 
 lowing may be regarded as representative in char 
 acter : 
 
 THE RING 
 
 Hold the trinket near thine eye 
 And it circles earth and sky; 
 Place it further and, behold, 
 But a fingers-breadth of gold. 
 
 Tis thus our lives, Beloved, lie 
 Ringed in love s fair boundary; 
 
 [99] 
 
FATHER TABS 
 
 Place it further and its sphere 
 Measures but a falling tear. 
 
 In speaking of his little song, "The Half-Ring 
 Moon, * Father Tabb laughingly said that it was * ten 
 years a-coming ! 
 
 THE HALF-RING MOON 
 
 Over the sea, over the sea, 
 My love he is gone to a far countrie; 
 But he brake a golden ring with me, 
 
 A pledge of his love to be. 
 
 Over the sea, over the sea, 
 He comes no more from the far countrie; 
 But where the young moon used to be, 
 
 There hangs the half of a ring for me. 
 
 The priest heard that a young girl had died in a 
 house near Ellicott City on a certain night. As he 
 passed the place in his walk the next evening he saw 
 a jessamine creeping up the walls, which suggested 
 the following poem. He wrote it then and there on a 
 piece of loose paper, his foot on a rock, the paper on 
 his knee and an umbrella over him as it was rain 
 ing hard. 
 
 THE WHITE JESSAMINE 
 
 I knew she lay above me, 
 Where the casement all the night 
 
 [100] 
 
THE FOET 
 
 Shone, softened with a phosper glow 
 
 Of sympathetic light, 
 And that her fledgling spirit pure 
 
 Was pluming fast for flight. 
 
 Each tendril throbbed and quickened 
 
 As I nightly climbed apace, 
 
 And could scare restrain the blossoms 
 
 When, anear the destined place, 
 Her gentle whisper thrilled me, 
 
 Ere I gazed upon her face. 
 
 I waited, darkling, till the dawn 
 Should touch me into bloom, 
 While all my being panted 
 To outpour its first perfume, 
 When lo ! a paler flower than mine 
 Had blossomed in the gloom ! 
 
 INTIMATIONS 
 
 I knew the flowers had dreamed of you, 
 And hailed the morning with regret ; 
 
 For all their faces with the dew 
 Of vanished joy were wet. 
 
 I knew the winds had passed your way, 
 Though not a sound the truth betrayed ; 
 
 About their pinions all the day 
 A summer fragrance stayed. 
 
 [101] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 And so, awaking or asleep, 
 
 A memory of lost delight, 
 By day the sightless breezes keep, 
 
 And silent flowers by night. 
 
 MY PHOTOGRAPH 
 
 My sister Sunshine smiled on me, 
 
 And of my visage wrought a shade. 
 Behold," she cried, "the mystery 
 Of which thou art afraid ! 
 
 "For Death is but a tenderness, 
 
 A shadow, that unclouded Love 
 Hath fashioned in its own excess 
 
 Of radiance from above." 
 
 RECOGNITION 
 
 At twilight, on the open sea, 
 
 We passed, with breath of melody 
 
 A song, to each familiar, sung 
 
 In accents of an alien tongue. 
 
 We could not see each other s face, 
 Nor through the glowing darkness trace 
 Our destinies ; but brimming eyes 
 Betrayed unworded sympathies. 
 
 A Protestant gentleman once said to Father Tabb 
 that he could not see the use of the contemplative 
 
 [102] 
 
THE POET 
 
 sisterhoods of the Catholic Church, while he admired 
 the active orders. The following is Father Tabb s 
 answer : 
 
 THE SISTERS 
 
 The waves forever move ; 
 
 The hills forever rest: 
 
 Yet each alike the heavens approve 
 
 And Love alike hath blessed 
 
 A Martha s household care, 
 
 A Mary s cloistered prayer. 
 
 THE DAYSPRING 
 
 What hand with spear of light 
 Hath cleft the side of Night, 
 And from the red wound wide 
 Fashioned the Dawn, his bride ? 
 
 Was it the deed of Death? 
 Nay, but of Love, that saith, 
 "Henceforth be Shade and Sun, 
 In bonds of Beauty, one." 
 
 PHOTOGRAPHED 
 
 For years, an ever-shifting shade 
 The sunshine of thy visage made ; 
 Then, spider-like, the captive caught 
 In meshes of immortal thought. 
 
 [103] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Wen so, with half-averted eye, 
 Day after day I passed thee by, 
 Till suddenly a subtler art 
 Enshrined thee in my heart of heart. 
 
 In speaking of the above, Father Tabb said: "Es 
 pecially true in the case of Reb! " "Reb" was 
 the nickname of a member of the Class of 95 at St. 
 Charles College, a young man from Georgia. 
 
 THE CHORD 
 
 In this narrow cloister bound 
 Dwells a Sisterhood of Sound, 
 Far from alien voices rude 
 And in secret solitude. 
 Unisons, that yearned apart, 
 Here, in harmony of heart, 
 Blend divided sympathies, 
 And in choral strength arise, 
 Like the cloven tongues of fire, 
 One in heavenly desire. 
 
 COMPENSATION 
 
 How many an acorn falls to die 
 For one that makes a tree ! 
 How many a heart must pass me by 
 For one that cleaves to me! 
 
 [104] 
 
THE POET 
 
 How many a suppliant wave of sound 
 Must still unheeded roll, 
 For one low utterance that found 
 An echo in my soul ! 
 
 TO THE SUMMER WIND 
 
 Art thou the selfsame wind that blew 
 
 When I was but a boy? 
 Thy voice is like the voice I knew, 
 
 And yet the thrill of joy 
 Has softened to a sadder tone ; 
 
 Perchance the echo of my own. 
 
 Beside a sea of memories 
 
 In solitude I dwell; 
 Upon the shore forsaken lies 
 
 Alas! no murmuring shell! 
 Are all the voices lost to me 
 Still wandering the world with thee ? 
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 Old Sorrow I shall meet again, 
 And Joy, perchance but never, never, 
 Happy Childhood, shall we twain 
 See each other s face forever ! 
 
 Yet I would not call thee back, 
 Dear Childhood, lest the sight of me, 
 Thine old companion, on the rack 
 Of Age, should sadden even thee. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 THE STRANGER 
 
 He entered; but the mask he wore 
 Concealed his face from me. 
 Still, something I had seen before 
 He brought to memory. 
 
 Who art thou ? What thy rank, thy name ? 
 I questioned, with surprise. 
 "Thyself!" the laughing answer came, 
 "As seen of others eyes!" 
 
 KILLDEE 
 
 Killdee ! Killdee ! far o er the lea 
 
 At twilight comes the cry. 
 Killdee; a marsh-mate answereth 
 Across the shallow sky. 
 
 Killdee ! Killdee ! thrills over me 
 
 A rhapsody of light, 
 And star to star gives utterance 
 
 Between the day and night. 
 
 Killdee! Killdee! Memory, 
 The twin birds, Joy and Pain, 
 
 Like shadows parted by the sun, 
 At twilight meet again ! 
 
 THE PLAINT OF THE ROSE 
 
 Said the budding Rose, All night 
 Have I dreamed of the joyous Light : 
 
 [106] 
 
THE POET 
 
 How long doth my Lord delay ! 
 Coine, Dawn, and kiss from mine eyes away 
 The dewdrops cold and the shadows gray, 
 That hide thee from my sight ! 
 
 Said the full-blown Rose, "0 Light! 
 (So fair to the dreamer s sight!) 
 How long doth the Dew delay ! 
 Come back, sweet sister shadows gray, 
 And lead me from the world away, 
 
 To the calm of the cloister Night ! 
 
 INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 Tis said, in death, upon the face 
 
 Of Age, a momentary trace 
 Of Infancy s returning grace 
 
 Forestalls decay; 
 
 And here, in Autumn s dusky reign, 
 A birth of blossoms seems again 
 
 To flush the woodland s fading train 
 With dreams of May. 
 
 A PHONOGRAPH 
 
 Hark! What his fellow-warblers heard 
 
 And uttered in the light, 
 Their phonograph, the mocking-bird, 
 
 Repeats to them at night. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 "FOR THE RAIN IT RAINETH EVERY DAY 
 
 Ay, every day some rain doth fall, 
 
 And every day doth rise ; 
 Tis thus the heavens incessant call, 
 
 And thus the earth replies. 
 
 PREJUDICE 
 
 A leaf may hide the largest star 
 
 From Love s uplifted eye; 
 A mote of prejudice outbar 
 
 A world of Charity. 
 
 DISCREPANCY 
 
 One dream the bird and blossom dreamed 
 
 Of Love, the whole night long; 
 Yet twain its revelation seemed, 
 
 In fragrance and in song. 
 
 SAP 
 
 Strong as the sea and silent as the grave, 
 
 It ebbs and flows unseen ; 
 Flooding the earth a fragrant tidal wave 
 
 With mist of deepening green. 
 
 ALTER EGO 
 
 Thou art to me as is the sea 
 
 Unto the shell; 
 A life whereof I breathe, a love 
 
 Wherein I dwell. 
 
 [108] 
 
 > ? 
 
THE POET 
 
 MOMENTS 
 
 Like the manna, mute as snow, 
 Swift the moments come and go, 
 Each sufficient for the needs 
 Of the multitude it feeds ; 
 
 One to all, and all to one, 
 Superfluity to none, 
 Ever dying but to give 
 Life whereon alone we live. 
 
 LOSS 
 
 For one extinguished light 
 Of Love, all heaven is night ; 
 For one frail flower the less, 
 The world a wilderness. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 to be with thee sinking to thy rest, 
 
 Thy journey done ; 
 The world thou leavest blessing thee and blest, 
 
 setting sun; 
 The clouds, that ne er the morning joys forget, 
 
 Again aglow, 
 And leaf and flower with tears of twilight wet 
 
 To see thee go. 
 
 [109] 
 
FATHER TABS 
 
 THE OLD YEAR S BLESSING 
 
 Like Simeon of old, 
 The new-born babe I hold 
 
 Upon my heart : 
 According to Thy word, 
 Let now Thy servant, Lord, 
 In peace depart. 
 
 THE DIAL 
 
 A dreamer in the dark, I grow 
 Prophetic in the morning glow; 
 Thereon a slender shade I throw 
 A sign in Babylon to say 
 1 Thou rt in the balance weighed, Day, 
 Found wanting, and shalt waste away, 
 And now in Night s pavilion, all 
 The stars are writing on the wall, 
 "Behold, thy kingdom too must fall!" 
 
 MORNING AND NIGHT BLOOM 
 
 A star and a rosebud white, 
 In the morning twilight gray, 
 The latest blossom of the night, 
 
 The earliest of the day; 
 The star to vanish in the night, 
 
 The rose to stay. 
 
 A star and a rosebud white, 
 In the evening twilight gray; 
 
 [no] 
 
THE 
 
 The earliest blossom of the night, 
 
 The latest of the day; 
 The one in darkness finding light, 
 
 One, lost for aye. 
 
 FRATERNITY 
 
 I know not but in every leaf 
 That sprang to life along with me, 
 Were written all the joy and grief 
 Thenceforth my fate to be. 
 
 The wind that whispered to the earth, 
 The bird that sang its earliest lay, 
 The flower that blossomed at my birth 
 My kinsmen all were they. 
 
 Aye, but for fellowship with these 
 I had not been nay, might not be; 
 Nor they but vagrant melodies 
 Till harmonized to me. 
 
 THE SEED 
 
 Bearing a life unseen, 
 Thou lingerest between 
 
 A flower withdrawn, 
 And what thou ne er shalt see 
 A blossom yet to be 
 
 When thou art gone. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Unto the feast of Spring 
 Thy broken heart shall bring 
 
 What most it craved, 
 To find, like Magdalen 
 In tears, a life again - 
 
 Love-lost and saved! 
 
 The following was suggested by the tree tops wav 
 ing outside Father Tabb s classroom window: 
 
 AGAINST THE SKY 
 
 See, where the foliage fronts the sky, 
 How many a meaning we descry 
 That else had never to the eye 
 A signal shown! 
 
 So we, on life s horizon-line, 
 To watchers waiting for a sign, 
 Perchance interpret Love s design, 
 To us unknown! 
 
 A SIGH OF THE SEA 
 
 "Why is it," once the Ocean asked, 
 
 As on a summer s day, 
 Basking beneath a cloudless sky, 
 
 In musing rest he lay, 
 
 "Why is it that, unruffled still, 
 The Welkin s brow I see, 
 
 [112] 
 
THE POET 
 
 While mine, with racking wind and tide, 
 Deep-furrowed oft must be? 
 
 "Her richest gems, by night displayed, 
 
 Man s filching grasp defy; 
 But safety for my treasures, none, 
 
 Though buried deep they lie. 
 
 The hands that from her diadem 
 
 In reverence recoil, 
 Are bold my depths to penetrate 
 
 And of their wealth despoil. 
 
 "A thousand ships with cruel keel 
 
 My writhing waves divide, 
 But mariner hath never steered 
 
 Athwart her tranquil tide. 
 
 "Why is it thus, that rest to her 
 
 And toil to me is given? 
 That she the blessing ever meets, 
 
 And I, the curse of heaven?" 
 
 The Ether heard. Through all her depths 
 
 A deeper azure spread, 
 And to the murmuring Ocean thus 
 
 With radiant smile, she said: 
 
 "Who cleaveth to the earth, as thou, 
 
 Ne er knows tranquillity; 
 Naught pulses in my bosom wide 
 But God, whose own am I." 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 ALL IN ALL 
 
 One heaven above ; 
 
 But many a heaven below 
 
 The dewdrops show 
 God s tenderness 
 Subdued in every teardrop, to express 
 
 The whole of Love. 
 
 TO A BLIND BABE, SLEEPING 
 
 Are thy dreams dark ? Or is the light 
 Alone denied thy waking sight, 
 While softer stars their vigils keep 
 Within thy hemisphere of sleep? 
 
 Yes: haply, as noon-blinded beams 
 Awake in darkness, o er thy dreams 
 The pity that begets our tears, 
 A kindling radiance appears. 
 
 SECURITY 
 
 The noonday smiles to hear 
 
 The oft-repeated tale 
 Of shadows lurking near 
 Her sunbeams to assail. 
 
 Nor heeds the placid Night 
 The prophesy of doom 
 
 To drown her stars in light 
 As fathomless as gloom. 
 
THE POET 
 INDIAN SUMMER 
 
 No more the battle or the chase 
 
 The phantom tribes pursue, 
 But each in its accustomed place 
 
 The Autumn hails anew: 
 And still from solemn councils set 
 
 On every hill and plain, 
 The smoke of many a calumet 
 
 Ascends to heaven again. 
 
 A RUBRIC 
 
 The aster puts its purple on 
 When flowers begin to fall, 
 
 To suit the solemn antiphon 
 Of Autumn s ritual. 
 
 And deigns, unwearied, to stand 
 
 In robes pontifical, 
 Till Indian Summer leaves the land, 
 
 And Winter spreads the pall. 
 
 RELEASE 
 
 So long I am a prisoner 
 As Time and Thought surround me here : 
 When Time is dead, and Memory 
 Deserts the ramparts, I am free. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 SILENCE 
 
 A sea wherein the rivers of all sound 
 
 Their streams incessant pour, 
 But whence no tide returning e er hath found 
 
 An echo on the shore. 
 
 TO A WOOD-VIOLET 
 
 In this secluded shrine, 
 
 miracle of grace, 
 No mortal eye but mine 
 
 Hath looked upon thy face. 
 
 No shadow but mine own 
 
 Hath screened thee from the sight 
 
 Of heaven, whose love alone 
 Hath led me to thy light. 
 
 Whereof as shade to shade 
 
 Is wedded in the sun 
 A moment s glance hath made 
 
 Our souls forever one. 
 
 IN ABSENCE 
 
 All that thou art not, makes not up the sum 
 Of what thou art, Beloved, unto me: 
 
 All other voices, wanting thine, are dumb ; 
 All vision, in thine absence, vacancy. 
 
 [116] 
 
THE POEJ 
 
 IDEALS 
 
 Could Day demand a gift of Night, 
 And Night the boon bestow, 
 Twould be that heaven of star-delight 
 Where dreams departed go. 
 
 Could Night the gift demand, and Day 
 The benefit confer; 
 Twould be, upon his twilight way 
 A lengthened hour with her. 
 
 BARGAINS 
 
 "What have you in your basket?" 
 I questioned Mother Sleep. 
 
 "Ah, many a golden casket 
 Of jewel-dreams I keep 
 At pastime prices for the friend 
 Who s half-an-hour or more to spend. 3 
 
 THE RAINPOOL 
 
 I am too small for winds to mar 
 My surface ; but I hold a Star 
 That teaches me, though low my lot, 
 That highest Heaven forgets me not. 
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 A crowing, cuddling little Babe was he, 
 A child for little children far or near. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 When lie stood and crowed upon his mother s knee. 
 The morning echoed, " Welcome, Chanticleer!" 
 He was a crowing, cuddling little Babe ! 
 
 When his mother wore, alas, her life away, 
 He was wonder-wide to see the children weep, 
 But he crowed, and cuddled close enough to lay 
 His head upon her heart, and went to sleep : 
 He was a cuddling, crowing little Babe! 
 
 God Himself was tender to him ; for behold, 
 An Angel in a dream (the children said) 
 Came and kissed him till his little cheek was cold ; 
 So he never saw the tears the twilight shed. 
 He was a crowing, cuddling little Babe ! 
 
 WINTER TREES 
 
 Like champions of old, 
 Their garments at their feet, 
 
 Defiant of the cold 
 The wrestling winds they meet: 
 Anon, if victors found, 
 
 With vernal trophies crowned. 
 
 FATHER T ABB S POETRY 
 
 (From "The New Century") 
 
 Not a great while ago critics were asserting that 
 the vogue of poetry had passed. They pointed to 
 
THE POET 
 
 the fact that the decay in appreciation of poetry 
 was evident. This showed a tendency to misread facts : 
 it also indicated that the critics are largely domi 
 nated by the publishers and fashions. It was asked: 
 "Is it possible to re-vitalize a form of thought that 
 seemed, at least, to have gone with the poetic child 
 hood of the race 1 The little singers, perhaps of an 
 empty day, of course, were piping in the gloom. 
 Austin and Dobson were singing tender, pretty 
 little songs. Others were devoting both thought and 
 talent to ambitious efforts in the form consecrated 
 by time, and they were producing too, works which, 
 despite many beauties of detail, failed to flower into 
 a splendor that recalls the middle Victorian era. 
 
 Those who were gleaning in the wornout furrows 
 at last made a "find." The Athenaeum eagerly 
 hailed it. The poet was John B. Tabb. He was a 
 real poet ; there could be no mistaking that fact. He 
 was strangely similar to Shelley, with a hint of Poe 
 at his best, with, of course, his spectral parapher 
 nalia omitted. Even the critics grew lyrical in their 
 praise at the exquisite glimpses of lyric beauty. Few 
 knew that the author, John B. Tabb, was "Father 
 Tabb," and that he was a professor at St. Charles 
 College, Ellicott City, Md. The note that Father 
 Tabb struck was frankly lyrical. He is, in our 
 opinion, one of the most notable exemplifications in 
 modern art of the lyrical spirit, confined only by 
 rigorous canons. 
 
 ["9] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 So much has been written of romanticism and 
 realism that it is rather a mark of distinction in criti 
 cism to ignore the terms and cherish the essence of 
 each. We have been told that we coiild not have 
 strayed farther from the truth when we classed Father 
 Tabb as a realist. And yet we were not altogether 
 sure that in the elemental sense in which we are 
 using the term he is not realistic, for his art, notwith 
 standing its lyric aloofness, is most directly and in 
 timately associated with life, and invariably he com 
 poses with his "eye on the object." 
 
 As a lyrist he is supreme. He is concerned with 
 impressions rather than with documents, with the 
 imaginative expression of the emotions rather than 
 with photographic literalness; the truth is there but 
 the truth made beautiful because seen by the eye of a 
 poet. Father Tabb is fundamentally, absorbingly a 
 poet; the gift of the magical word has been miracu 
 lously vouchsafed him. He has been elected to utter 
 the truth in terms of fervor and beauty. At his 
 best in such things as "Poe-Chopin," "Shelley," 
 Eternity " he has touched heights and depths 
 unknown to the mass of his contemporaries. 
 
 "The White Jessamine" is an expression that was 
 unknown before the Victorian era unless it has 
 been foreshadowed in some of the Elizabethan and 
 Jacobean love songs. There are touches of Tenny 
 son s "Maud" in it; it is simple; yet the truth in 
 it is so general that all can feel it. It has the vision 
 
 [120] 
 
THE POET 
 
 piercing, intolerable of Shelley, the verity of 
 Tennyson, and the overflowing melody of Poe. 
 Another exquisite poem, full of color, altogether magi 
 cal in mood and temperament, is "Ave: Sidney 
 Lanier." 
 
 Father Tabb is in direct line of literary descent 
 from the greatest of the English poets. Still there 
 is little in his poetry, in its accent or movement, to 
 remind one of the past. Again and again in his 
 poetry Father Tabb strikes that "sheer, inimitable 
 Celtic note" which Matthew Arnold has taught us 
 so readily to recognize. We certainly do not go be 
 yond the truth when we affirm that in such a splen 
 did phantasy as "To a Wood-Robin" and in such 
 exquisite expressions as "Transfigured," "The Sis 
 ters," "My Messmate," there is an inevitable felicity, 
 a graphic nearness and splendor, a lyric fervor which 
 are as rare as the Greek Kalends in English poetry. 
 
 His work, piercing in tenderness, reticent and tech 
 nically finished, is the work of an exquisite artist in 
 words, an admirable psychologist, a religious soul. 
 He is one of the most vital forces in contemporary 
 letters he carries the credentials of genius." 
 
 The above masterly criticism of the work of Father 
 Tabb was found in the annotated volumes of his 
 poems, preserved by Father Perrig. The clipping 
 was from "The New Century," as before stated, but 
 
 [121] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 bore no date, neither was the name of the writer given, 
 It seems, however, a most fitting ending for the chap 
 ter devoted to the poetic side of the Poet-Priest. 
 
 [122] 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 THE PRIEST 
 
 To quote once more from Reverend F. Joseph 
 Magri: "As great as is Father Tabb the poet, he 
 is greater still as the priest of God. So profound 
 was his humility that, after his ordination to the 
 diaconate, he wished to go no further but to remain 
 a deacon and thus teach at St. Charles College. His 
 superiors insisted that his was an undoubted priestly 
 calling and so, at their bidding, he was soon privi 
 leged to stand at the Altar of God and offer to Him 
 the infinite sacrifice of the Mass. 
 
 "Each morning before beginning his college 
 duties he would fervently pray and meditate; the 
 servers who in turn would assist him at his daily 
 Mass all testify to the deep and touching devotion 
 with which Father Tabb offered to God the first fruits 
 of the day." 
 
 One of the servers referred to says: "It was my 
 privilege to serve Father Tabb s Mass for several 
 years, taking my turn with another of the students; 
 he prepared for this sublime religious act by daily 
 meditation. How much time he devoted to medita 
 tion no one knows. He began his Mass at five o clock 
 A. M. and one morning I went to the Chapel by 
 
 [123] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 mistake at four o clock and Father Tabb was there 
 engaged in meditation. I was not greatly surprised 
 at this for it was rumored that he could be found at 
 all hours of the night in the gallery overlooking the 
 Chapel/ 
 
 It was at the Altar of God that he attained that 
 radiance of spirit that shone through his whole be 
 ing and even when that saddest of afflictions 
 blindness came upon him, he was still possessed 
 of the peace and joy which spring from things not 
 temporal but eternal. 
 
 Reverend Lucian Johnston of St. Thomas Church, 
 Baltimore, gives a delightful sketch of Father Tabb 
 as he knew him and paints for us a most vivid picture 
 of his celebration of the Christmas Mass. Father 
 Johnston says: 
 
 I first knew Father Tabb somewhere in the sev 
 enties when I was a little barefoot boy playing 
 around my father s home at Waverly, near here. 
 The home was then quite a rendezvous for many old 
 Confederate and literary friends of my father s. 
 Vice-President Stephens, General Toombs, Sidney 
 Lanier, and others were often visitors and among 
 them frequently was Father Tabb. I distinctly re 
 member how at first I was extremely timid with him ; 
 and that was because as a mere boy I did not ap 
 preciate the exquisite tenderness of his nature. 
 
 Then, when I went to St. Charles, I have the next 
 vivid recollection of his first Mass; I think it was 
 at midnight of a Christmas. I do not now remember 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 what he said but I do still remember that his few 
 words delivered in his peculiarly sensitive tones im 
 pressed me profoundly. They came like the flash of 
 the angelic light before the shepherds and then, as 
 quickly, the brilliance faded. I was then only four 
 teen but it all seemed very sweet, something rich 
 and strange, unlike anything I had hitherto known. 
 It is curious how that Mass-scene is today so vivid 
 and its vividness is due to his strangely beautiful 
 exquisiteness. 
 
 "From then on I knew him, of course, like the 
 other students, except that I saw a great deal more 
 of him in vacation time. His nature ever impressed 
 me as peculiarly delicate, in spite of his biting wit 
 and almost boyish love of joke. Were a fairy sun 
 beam to become imprisoned in a human body that 
 about conveys my idea. He was meant for all things 
 delicate, strangely delicate in spite of the fact that 
 nature had not endowed him with a good physique. 
 
 "I suppose his poetry is the best reflection of his 
 delicacy timidly sweet, like an elf looking from a 
 moonlit rosebush, yet mischievous a child somewhat 
 after the manner of Francis Thompson without the 
 latter s moodiness. And it seems to me that he him 
 self was so excessively shy just because of this fairy 
 delicacy which shrank from the noise and roughness 
 of workday life. 
 
 "Like a good many who survived the horrors of 
 the ancient regime of the South, he never quite got 
 used to modern ways. My own father was equally 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 helpless in that fashion. But all those men had that 
 peculiar delicacy of soul which seems now to be rarer 
 and rarer. Sometimes I think they were wiser than 
 we wise with the wisdom of the lilies of the field, 
 even though War s scythe did mow them down so 
 mercilessly. 
 
 Can it be that the midnight Mass which so vividly 
 impressed the boy that it remains with him to this 
 day, is the one mentioned in M. S. Pine s biography 
 as the first Mass celebrated by the young priest? It 
 would seem from what she says of this Mass that it 
 must be identical with the one described by Father 
 Johnston: "Holy Orders were conferred upon him 
 during the Ember Week of Advent, December 20, 
 by Archbishop Gibbons in the Cathedral of the As 
 sumption in Baltimore. It was in the College Chapel, 
 at the midnight Mass of Christmas that he had the 
 privilege of offering the Divine Victim to His Eternal 
 Father for the first time; and so deeply affected was 
 he by the greatness and sacredness of the act that he 
 would celebrate only one Mass although the Church 
 allowed her priests to say three at the solemn Feast 
 of the Nativity of Christ. At the close of the Gospel 
 he turned and addressed his audience in brief but 
 impressive tones, referring with affectionate grati 
 tude to the beautiful chalice he had just used, it 
 being a testimonial of the love and appreciation of 
 his pupils. His love overflowed in thanksgiving to 
 Almighty God who permitted him to celebrate his 
 first Mass in the Chapel so dear to him; and he ex- 
 
 [126] 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 pressed an ardent desire that after a life consecrated 
 to his beloved pupils, he might offer the sacrifice for 
 the last time within its holy walls." 
 
 God heard his prayer and granted it in fullness, 
 for from that day until the day of his death the 
 gifted poet-priest was a part of the College. Toward 
 the end of his life, when his sight became very dim, 
 he practically said Mass from memory. The students 
 who acted as his servers were instructed to be ready 
 to prompt him but so complete was his attention and 
 so wonderfully retentive was his memory that never 
 in the two years of his blindness did he falter. 
 
 He gave to the College the service of his whole be 
 ing; and the angels alone could measure the height 
 of moral, spiritual and literary influence which he 
 exerted, not only on those who came directly under 
 the gentle influence of his personality in the class 
 room, but on hosts of friends and strangers alike 
 through his letters and through his published works. 
 
 Father Tabb s religious poems have been char 
 acterized as "gems of the sanctuary" and an emi 
 nent critic says of them: "the more purely devo 
 tional poems, dealing with the mysterious and sacred 
 things of his faith, are not within the province of 
 mere literary criticism. But, as we might expect, 
 it is the tenderer and more human aspect of things 
 divine that appeal to him most strongly: the Holy 
 Babe as the type of infant innocence and His Mother 
 as the type of motherhood. Many of these poems treat 
 of children and of childhood, and always with 
 
 [127] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 an ineffable tenderness and almost reverence as if 
 some light from the Manger at Bethlehem shone 
 about each baby head." 
 
 AT THE MANGER 
 
 When first her Christmas watch to keep, 
 
 When down the silent angel, Sleep, 
 With snowy sandals shod, 
 Beholding what His Mother s hands 
 Had wrought, with softer swaddling bands 
 She swathed the Son of God. 
 
 Then skilled in mysteries of night, 
 
 With tender visions of delight 
 She wreathed His resting-place; 
 Till, wakened by a warmer glow 
 Than heaven itself had yet to show, 
 
 He saw His Mother s face! 
 
 In the last three lines he achieves the sublime ! 
 The little Christmas poem Out of Bounds" has 
 been called Father Tabb s Missionary Sermon : 
 
 OUT OF BOUNDS 
 
 A little Boy of heavenly birth, 
 
 But far from home today, 
 
 Comes down to find His Ball, the Earth, 
 
 That Sin has cast away. 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 Comrades, let us one and all 
 Join in to get Him back His Ball ! 
 
 Other noted Christmas poems from the pen of the 
 gifted priest are: 
 
 The Christmas Babe generally thought to bear 
 reference to the Christ Child but in reality referring 
 to a little friend of Father Tabb s who was born at 
 the time of the celebration of the High Mass on 
 Christmas Night: 
 
 So small that lesser lowliness 
 Must bow to worship or caress ; 
 So great that heaven itself, to know 
 Love s majesty, must look below. 
 
 THE EXPECTED OF NATIONS 
 
 While Shepherd Stars their nightly vigil keep 
 
 Above the clouds of Sleep. 
 Long prophesied, behold the manchild, Morn, 
 
 Again is born. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CRADLE 
 
 Let my heart the cradle be 
 Of Thy bleak nativity! 
 Tossed by wintry tempests wild, 
 If it rock Thee, Holy Child, 
 Then as grows the outer din, 
 Greater peace shall reign within. 
 
 [129] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 THE LIGHT OF BETHLEHEM 
 
 Tis Christmas night! the snow, 
 
 A flock unnumered lies! 
 The old Judean stars aglow, 
 
 Keep watch within the skies. 
 
 An icy stillness holds 
 
 The pulses of the night: 
 A deeper mystery enfolds 
 
 The wondering Hosts of Light. 
 
 Till, lo, with reverence pale 
 
 That dims each diadem, 
 The lordliest, earthward blending, hail 
 
 The Light of Bethlehem ! 
 
 MISTLETOE 
 
 To the cradle-bough of a naked tree, 
 Benumbed with ice and snow, 
 
 A Christmas dream brought suddenly 
 A birth of mistletoe. 
 
 The shephred stars from their fleecy cloud 
 Strode out on the night to see; 
 
 The Herod north-wind blustered loud 
 To rend it from the tree. 
 
 But the Old Year took it for a sign, 
 And blessed it in his heart: 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 "With prophesy of peace divine, 
 Let now my soul depart." 
 
 THE LAMB-CHILD 
 
 When Christ the Babe was born, 
 Full many a little lamb 
 
 Uppn the wintry hills forlorn 
 Was nestled near its dam; 
 
 And, waking or asleep, 
 Upon His Mother s breast, 
 
 For love of her, each mother-sheep 
 And baby-lamb, He blessed. 
 
 THE ANGEL S CHRISTMAS QUEST 
 
 "Where have ye laid my Lord? 
 
 Behold, I find Him not ! 
 Hath He, in heaven adored, 
 
 His home forgot? 
 Give me, sons of men, 
 
 My truant God again!" 
 
 A voice from sphere to sphere 
 A faltering murmur ran- 
 
 "Behold, He is not here! 
 Perchance with Man, 
 
 The lowlier made than we, 
 He hides His majesty!" 
 
 [131] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Then hushed in wondering awe, 
 The spirit held his breath, 
 
 And bowed: for, lo, he saw 
 ershadowing Death, 
 
 A mother s hands above, 
 
 Swathing the limbs of Love! 
 
 GLORIA IN EXCELSIS 
 
 Tis Christmas Night! Again 
 But not from heaven to earth 
 Rings forth the old refrain 
 "A Saviour s Birth!" 
 
 Nay, listen: tis below! 
 A song that soars above, 
 From human hearts aglow 
 With heavenly love! 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHIME 
 
 At Christmas time from clime to clime 
 Each star to star doth sweetly chime, 
 Till all the heavens are ringed with rhyme. 
 
 Then loosed above, a note thereof 
 Floats downward like a wandering dove, 
 And all the world is ringed with Love! 
 
 The above is not included in any of Father Tabb s 
 volumes of poems but was a stray bit, published on 
 an illustrated page in a Christmas magazine. 
 
 [132] 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 THE ARGONAUTS 
 
 To Bethlehem ! To Bethlehem ! 
 The Magi move and we with them, 
 
 Along the selfsame road; 
 Still following the Star of Peace, 
 To find at last the Golden Fleece 
 The Spotless Lamb of God! 
 
 Many of the religious poems of the priest bear on 
 the Man of Sorrows and the shadow of Gethsemane 
 and Calvary, and many of them reflect the joys of 
 the Easter Season what more beautiful idea than 
 the fragrant witnesses of the Resurrection depicted 
 in 
 
 EASTER FLOWERS 
 
 We are His witnesses : out of the dim 
 
 Dark region of Death we have risen with Him. 
 
 Back from our sepulchre rolleth the stone, 
 
 And Spring, the bright angel, sits smiling thereon. 
 
 We are His witnesses: see, where we lay, 
 The snow, that late bound us, is folded away; 
 And April, fair Magdalen, weeping anon, 
 Stands flooded with light of the new-risen Sun. 
 
 Again his Easter joy peals forth triumphantly in 
 the following unique definition : 
 
 [^33] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 EASTER 
 
 Like a meteor, large and bright, 
 
 Pell a seed of golden light 
 
 On the field of Christmas night 
 
 When the Babe was born ; 
 Then, twas sepulchered in gloom 
 Till above His holy tomb 
 Flashed its everlasting bloom 
 
 Flower of Easter Morn! 
 
 EASTER LILIES 
 
 Though long in wintry sleep ye lay, 
 The powers of darkness could not stay 
 Your coming at the call of day, 
 Proclaiming Spring. 
 
 Nay: like the faithful virgins wise, 
 With lamps replenished ye arise, 
 Ere dawn the death-anointed eyes 
 Of Christ, the King. 
 
 Many of Father Tabb s poems seem rather obscure 
 until illumined by his explanation of the circum 
 stances under which they were written. For instance : 
 
 THE CRUCIFIX 
 
 Day after day the spear of Morning bright 
 Pierces again the ever-wounded side, 
 
 [134] 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 Pointing at once the birthspring of the Light, 
 And where for Love the Light Eternal died. 
 
 "This came to me," said Father Tabb, "when I 
 was present at the Confirmation of Philip Carrol at 
 the Manor Church, when the sun shining through the 
 window, fell upon the Crucifix upon the Altar. " 
 
 On August 15, 1893, Father Tabb preached upon 
 the Assumption at old St. Peter s Church in Rich 
 mond. He summed up his entire sermon in four 
 lines : 
 
 THE ASSUMPTION 
 
 Nor Bethlehem nor Nazareth, 
 Apart from Mary s care ; 
 Nor Heaven itself a home for Him 
 Were not His Mother there! 
 
 "The New- Year Babe"- the first stanza of which 
 is as follows : 
 
 Two together, Babe and Year, 
 At the midnight chime, 
 Through the darkness drifted here 
 To the coast of time 
 
 was written for a little nephew of President Dinneen 
 of St. Charles College. The poet spoke of the New 
 Year as "twin-brother to Father Dinneen s nephew." 
 The entire poem comprises six stanzas. 
 
 [i35] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Father Tabb once explained to his class that since 
 Easter was regulated by the Spring moon, it was 
 full moon during the agony in Gethsemane, and full 
 moon every Eve of Good Friday. Hence the poem 
 
 THE PASCHAL MOON 
 
 Thy face is whitened with remembered woe ; 
 For thou alone, pale satellite, didst see 
 Amidst the shadows of Gethsemane, 
 The mingled cup of sacrifice o reflow; 
 Nor hadst the power of utterance to show 
 The wasting wound of silent sympathy, 
 Till sudden tides, obedient to thee, 
 Sobbed, desolate in weltering anguish, low. 
 
 The Holy Night returneth year by year; 
 And, while the mystic vapors from thy rim 
 Distil the dews, as from the Victim there 
 The red drops tickled in the twilight dim, 
 The Ocean s changeless threnody we hear, 
 And gaze upon thee, as thou didst on Him. 
 
 Father Tabb meditated on this in the moonlight 
 on every Holy Thursday night. 
 
 The first book of poems published by the poet- 
 priest appeared in 1884, published privately; and for 
 the next ten years he gave the public nothing from 
 his pen save through the magazines in this country 
 and in England. Then in 1894 Small, Maynard and 
 
 [136] 
 
THE PRIEST 
 
 Company of Boston brought out his second volume, 
 "Poems," and so great was the popularity of the 
 collection that although the first edition appeared in 
 December 1894 a second was called for in January 
 1895 and before the end of that year, a third and a 
 fourth ; this little volume has now run through fifteen 
 editions. 
 
 Just before the publication of Poems, Father 
 Tabb gave the world the gem of his religious verse 
 in An Octave to Mary/ a de luxe edition in white 
 and gold, having as a frontispiece the Burne-Jones 
 Annunciation, and ten years later came The 
 Rosary in Verse which was dedicated to Bishop 
 Curtis and limited to three hundred and fifty copies. 
 This was the most elaborate of Father Tabb s works, 
 having fifteen full page decorative drawings and 
 initial letters by Thomas B. Meteyard. 
 
 But not alone in these volumes do we find his sacred 
 poems they run like a thread of gold through all 
 his works. M. S. Pine says: "Father Tabb s pas 
 sionate love of the Dogmas of the Church has found 
 ardent utterance in his poems, as one is forced to 
 confess: indeed I dare say they form his chief mes 
 sage. The priest chants in high, worthy and 
 persuasive verse the Eeternal Truths, and deep mys 
 teries of the Faith: God, the All in All, Immortality, 
 the Creation, the Fall and Redemption, the supreme 
 love of God and of the neighbor, Heaven, Hell (with 
 shuddering beauty defending God s justice) and 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Purgatory, the Sacraments and the Virtues, the 
 glories of the Priesthood and the Religious State. 
 In truth the harvest of heavenly wisdom garnered in 
 these little sheaves of poesy is incalculable, the Sov- 
 erign Truth to whom they are consecrated, as was the 
 whole life of the poet, has shed into them the per 
 fumed essence of heavenly grace, that unction we 
 find so often in the writings of saints and holy men. 
 To him the very arrangement of the liturgical year 
 is a suggested epic, based as it is on a deep parallel 
 between the evolution of the seasons and that of the 
 Christian soul of the human race." 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 TWILIGHT 
 
 For four or five years before his death Father 
 Tabb s sight was growing dimmer and for two years 
 he was in total darkness the heaviest possible afflic 
 tion to one whose eyes were accustomed to feast on 
 every aspect of nature and whose powers of obser 
 vation were acute and well trained. 
 
 When his sight was so impaired as to make it im 
 possible for him to fill his position longer, he gave this 
 notice to the press: "My sight nearly gone, I remain 
 where I am not as the Faculty would generously 
 have me, a pensioner of the college but paying as 
 long as I am able, full board. It is only to keep me 
 from seeking some asylum that the Faculty consents 
 to my having my own way the greatest kindness it 
 can do me." 
 
 An editorial in a Richmond, Virginia, paper made 
 the following comment about this time: "The an 
 nouncement of the failing eye-sight of the gifted poet- 
 priest, Rev. John Bannister Tabb of St. Charles Col 
 lege, Howard County, Maryland, is received with a 
 sense of personal sorrow not only by those honored 
 by the poet s friendship, but by many others to whom 
 the distinguished author is unknown except through 
 the inspiration and keen pleasure derived from the 
 
 [ 39] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 spirituality, the aesthetic beauty, the perfect rhythm 
 found in his verse. To Homer and Milton came the 
 affliction of loss of sight, although this great physical 
 deprivation seemed but to unfold to them the vision 
 splendid of the soul. To no poet of recent years are 
 the lyrics of Father Tabb more closely allied than to 
 those of Philip Bourke Marston, who, almost totally 
 blind from youth, was yet one of the truest, choicest 
 poets of his time. To both Marston and Tabb was 
 given almost ethereal delicacy of fancy and the same 
 unerring sense of exquisite beauty of the simplest 
 works of nature. 
 
 "For many years an able instructor in English 
 Literature, the author has no more ardent admirers 
 than the students, past and present, of St. Charles 
 College those who have been privileged to enter into 
 a fuller appreciation and closer communion with 
 master minds through the vivid interpretation of their 
 instructor. The inspired lines of Shakespeare, Tenny 
 son, Keats and Shelley are at the tongue s end of this 
 humble, earnest priest and it is a consolation to his 
 friends to know that in the twilight of dimmed sight 
 many of the greatest thoughts of the greatest minds 
 will bear him company. 
 
 "To the imagination of the dreamer Father Tabb 
 adds the courage of the soldier and the Christian. He 
 enters upon a period of earthly trial not with a spirit 
 of vain repining but of hopeful strength. Fortified 
 by the mental resources of a lifetime, and surrounded 
 by helpful appreciation, Father Tabb s inspiration as 
 
 [140] 
 
TWILIGHT 
 
 a poet can still go on. His vigor of mind will be a 
 constant incentive to further poetical work, and al 
 though surrounded by the shadows of twilight, he can 
 still say in the words of the Prophet Zechariah that 
 at evening time there shall be light. 
 
 This prediction was more fully realized than anyone 
 at the time of its writing could have imagined. 
 Father Tabb retained his bright cheerfulness to the 
 end no one shunned or pitied him because of his 
 affliction and with his mind s eye he continued to see 
 the beauties of nature and his sunny optimism even 
 led him to make light of what to another would have 
 been a burden almost past the bearing. 
 
 In greeting, an old friend said to him one day when 
 his sight was almost entirely gone: "Well, Johnny, 
 how are you?" "0," he replied, "this blindness is 
 not as black as it s painted ! And reference has al 
 ready been made to his humorous request to Cardinal 
 Gibbons that he give him a new "See." 
 
 His loss of sight came just at the time when the in 
 vention of the aeroplane was attracting the attention 
 of the world and when the achievements of the Wright 
 brothers were the theme of greatest interest. Father 
 Tabb gave the following limerick to the public: 
 
 There once were two brothers named Wright 
 
 Who went up in aerial flight; 
 
 But a poet I know 
 
 Who much higher did go, 
 
 For he soared until "clean out of sight!" 
 
 [Mi] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 One of the first intimations that his friends outside 
 the college walls had of his threatened loss of sight 
 was the publication, in the Atlantic Monthly, of 
 
 GOING BLIND 
 
 Back to the primal gloom 
 Where life began, 
 As to my mother s womb 
 Must I, a man, 
 
 Return : 
 
 Not to be born again, 
 But to remain; 
 
 And in the School of Darkness learn 
 What mean 
 
 "The things unseen. " 
 
 He jested at misfortune and in response to condo 
 lences sent quips which made smile and tear spring 
 together. But what the affliction really meant to him, 
 despite his cheery attitude, the deep pathos of his con 
 dition and his pitiable suffering and deprivation are 
 shown in 
 
 FIAT LUX 
 
 "Give us this day our daily bread, " and light: 
 For more to me, Lord, than food, is sight : 
 And I at noon have been 
 
TWILIGHT 
 
 In twilight, where my fellow-men were seen 
 1 As trees, that walked before me. E en today 
 From time to time there falls upon my way 
 A feather of the darkness. But again 
 It passes ; and amid the falling rain 
 Of tears, I lift, Lord, mine eyes to Thee, 
 For, Lo I see! 
 
 And his beautiful resignation is set forth in one of 
 his last poems : 
 
 THE SMITER 
 
 They bound Thine eyes, and questioned, Tell us now 
 Who smote Thee." Thou wast silent. When today 
 Mine eyes are holden, and again they say 
 1 Who smote thee ? Lord, I tell them it is Thou ! 
 
 Ten of these songs from the dark he left us pub 
 lished in the posthumous volume of "Later Poems" 
 which appeared in 1910. 
 
 In his days of darkness one great solace of his lone 
 liness was the gift of music which remained to him to 
 the last, and he would often spend hours at a time in 
 the College Chapel, seated at the great organ, "alone 
 with his memories and his melodies." 
 
 Father Tabb s blindness did not take from him the 
 privilege of celebrating the Mass and it was a pathetic 
 sight to see a man who had always been so active, so 
 
 [143] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 devoted to outdoor life, growing more feeble as the 
 days passed, and helpless to a great extent throwing 
 his old-time spiritual vigor into the service so dear to 
 his heart. 
 
 It has been said that he made his affliction a diadem 
 upon his priestly brow. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 THE END 
 
 From the time of his loss of sight the poet s health 
 had been gradually declining and in the fall of 1909, 
 when very feeble, he became the prey of a serious 
 bronchial trouble and no hope of his recovery was 
 entertained, yet his death came as a decided shock 
 when on the night of November 19th, he had a sudden 
 sinking spell from which he never rallied but passed 
 peacefully into the long sleep "so sweet to tired mor 
 tality." 
 
 The remains of the poet priest lay in state at St. 
 Charles College; the students asked the privilege of 
 standing as a guard of honor abut the bier of their 
 beloved companion and instructor, and on November 
 21st the funeral services were held at the College, after 
 which the body was taken to Richmond, Virginia, and 
 laid to rest in beautiful old Hollywood Cemetery. 
 
 The funeral sermon at St. Charles was preached 
 by Rev. D. J. Connor of Scranton, Pennsylvania. 
 Through the kindness of President Dinneen (of St. 
 Charles College) I am enabled to give here the beauti 
 ful tribute paid to the poet-priest by his gifted pupil 
 and friend : 
 
 How powerless does death seem in a case like this 
 to win a real victory. It was surely no violent transi- 
 
 [145] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 tion by which the soul of Father Tabb passed from the 
 temporal to the eternal. As an exiled spirit he seemed 
 to tread the rough paths of earth, where most of us are 
 content to find a home. It was never more than the 
 thinnest veil that separated him from the invisible 
 world, and hid from him the full meaning of those 
 intimations from beyond, which he made the subject 
 of his meditation and his song. All nature was to him 
 an apocalypse a partial revelation of the beauty 
 that is eternal, 
 
 My God has hid Himself from me 
 Behind whatever else I see, 
 
 he said, and in these words it is not only the poet that 
 speaks but the man as we all knew him ; and now by 
 his death we do not feel that a life has been rudely 
 interrupted, as in most cases we involuntarily do, but 
 that rather it has been emancipated and intensified. 
 The world of spirit which was as vivid to him as the 
 world of sense, is surely no strange element for that 
 ardent soul, which used material things not as realities 
 but as shadows and symbols. The light of faith which 
 was a lamp to him has guided him safely through the 
 darkness, and his own beautiful words 
 
 The beam 
 
 Of everlasting morning wakes upon 
 His dazzled gaze, revealing one by one 
 His visions grown immortal in the gleam." 
 
THE END 
 
 But yet Father Tabb s death is an occasion of more 
 than ordinary sorrow. In him the literary world has 
 lost a great genius, our Alma Mater has lost its chief 
 ornament and we have lost more than all a true 
 friend. As to the value to be attached to Father 
 Tabb s contributions to literature, only the most dis 
 criminating critics have as yet discovered and 
 ungrudgingly allowed him the place he is destined to 
 occupy among his contemporaries. The field of his art 
 was a limited one, his muse having never aspired to 
 anything more pretentious than the lyric, the song 
 that is 
 
 "Short to the ear, but long 
 To love and memory." 
 
 but in his own province it is doubtful if he has ever 
 been surpassed. His work, however, was absolutely 
 devoid of that garishness and boisterousness which 
 will win quick applause. 
 
 The noonday never knows, he said 
 "What names immortal are." 
 
 "Like that other Catholic poet, Francis Thompson, 
 who died a year ago, his name was the property of 
 the few who were able to discern genius when it comes 
 unheralded, and as in his case the world will no doubt 
 be aroused to a sense of its loss by the announcement 
 of his death. 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 " Tis night alone that shows 
 How star surpasseth star. * 
 
 " Nature endowed him abundantly with the gifts 
 which make the poet. He was possessed first of all 
 with a rare faculty of intuition, upon which, much 
 more than upon reasoning, he depended as a guide, not 
 only in detecting aesthetic values, but also in judging 
 the characters and situations of everyday life. And 
 well he might for it was well nigh infallible. This 
 keenness of perception enabled him to seize those more 
 illusive phases of beauty, which are like revelations of 
 our hidden selves, that only the true poet can make 
 known to us. Then the exquisite music of his verse 
 which is almost suggestive of some set melody, the 
 sureness and felicity of his expression, the purity of 
 his language, the masculinity of his thought, the utter 
 artlessness, if I may say so, of his art these qualities 
 constitute his unassailable patent of nobility in the 
 world of letters. 
 
 "But Father Tabb as he will always linger in our 
 memory, was essentially a worshipper. His art was 
 not an end but a means. Poetry was, for him, not a 
 substitution for religion, but an inspiration that made 
 religion the more necessary. 
 
 Although he worshipped at a thousand shrines it 
 was not the God of Pantheism, but the God of Faith, 
 the God of Revelation. Child of a generation content 
 with the worship of nature, he rose above the limita 
 tions of their poetic creed, and true and responsive as 
 
 [148] 
 
THE END 
 
 he was in the art tendencies of his day, he was not a 
 man to rest satisfied with tendencies but went straight 
 for the conclusion towards which they converged. 
 Like St. Augustine in a former Age his soul could 
 never be contented with the vague mysticism with 
 which literature is too often satisfied to rest as if 
 there were no higher philosophy. He craved for per 
 sonal and daily intercourse with his Maker and 
 Saviour. He found a strong practical Christianity 
 the fulfillment of these aspirations, which it is one of 
 the highest charms of poetry of the past century to 
 express, and like another Augustine he could say to 
 the intellects of his day, who made their religion 
 consist of a kind of romantic but interminable and 
 impractical quest of the Holy Grail : Quaerite quod 
 quaeritis. Sed ibi non est ubi quaeritis." His imag 
 ination could, it is true, detect God s dwelling in the 
 light of setting suns, but his faith found a more real 
 presence in the light of the sanctuary lamp. His 
 religion was not a sentiment, but a service. It found 
 its best expression not in beautiful verse, but in its 
 heroic Christian Patience his touching self-denial, 
 his absolute and unreserved resignation to the will of 
 God. 
 
 "As to that one event of his life, which meant so 
 much to him, and to which most of us here owe the 
 opportunity of knowing Father Tabb at all, his con 
 version to the Catholic Church, I feel utterly at a loss 
 to speak. No one who has not himself taken the step, 
 can tell either the cost or the gain. Cost him it did 
 
FATHER TABS 
 
 without doubt. Like so many illustrious converts of 
 the last century, and in obedience to the same intel 
 lectual impulse, Father Tabb unhesitatingly left com 
 panionships and associations from which one of his 
 affectionate nature and strong attachments must have 
 found it doubly hard to sever, and sought a home in 
 the midst of strangers strangers not only to him, 
 but often to his tastes and sentiments and ideas. Yet 
 no one can say that he did not find what he sought. 
 He was content to lose his life but we are all witnesses 
 of how abundantly he gained life by the sacrifices. If 
 any one ever found a home in the Church Father 
 Tabb certainly found one. Always a man of great 
 spirituality, of deep religious earnestness, of strong 
 faith and tender piety, he saw in Catholicity what 
 his soul had longed for. Man was there treated as a 
 supernatural being. Grace had its regular means of 
 operation side by side with nature in a visible and 
 imposing dispensation of Providence, that seemed to 
 be conducted in defiance of all laws of history, but 
 yet was willing to have its claim judged by the strictest 
 historical canons. The great truths of revelation were 
 treated not as something transcendental, from which 
 the human reason could not trust itself to draw con 
 clusions, but as matters on which not only the reason 
 but the emotions might take hold, as naturally as the 
 child loves its mother, and as safely as a friend can 
 put confidence in a friend. Not only was there belief 
 in the Real Presence, but that belief used the same 
 matter-of-fact logic which we exercise in everyday 
 
 [ISO] 
 
THE END 
 
 affairs. Catholics, he saw, not only defended the 
 dogma on principle, but paid visits to the Blessed 
 Sacrament. They not only believed in the Com 
 munion of Saints, but they believed so genuinely, so 
 frankly, as to ask the Saints for their intercession 
 with God, and to pray for the souls of their departed 
 friends. 
 
 "What these Catholic devotions became to Father 
 Tabb most of us well know, and those of us who did 
 not know, knew their friend only partially. He was 
 a Catholic to his heart s core. As he himself expressed 
 to a priest only a few weeks since, when asked the 
 circumstance of his conversion, "I was always a 
 Catholic born a Catholic. Whenever any doctrine 
 of the Church was spoken of, I knew it was true as 
 soon as I heard it. I would have been a member of 
 the Church before I was, if I had learned what the 
 Catholic doctrines were, and had known that they 
 were taught and practised in the Catholic Church. " 
 When at last he did believe, he believed with all his 
 strength and all his mind, and there is many a Catho 
 lic today among those who were taught their religion 
 at their mother s knee, for whom Christ s presence on 
 the altar, Mary s influence and authority in heaven as 
 the Mother of Jesus, the duty of assisting the souls of 
 Purgatory, took on a new meaning after they had met 
 this amiable man of God, this gentle yet irresistible 
 witness to the unseen. 
 
 * What is more gratifying, however, for us to recall 
 today as we stand round the mortal remains of our 
 
 t Si] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 friend, is not what he got from religion, but what 
 he gave in return. Christianity is beautiful but it is 
 austere. The shadow of Calvary will obstinately 
 throw its shadow over the happiness of every Thabor. 
 Human life is hard to idealize. Christianity alone has 
 succeeded in doing it, and she has done it not by 
 escaping from the stern facts of mortal existence or 
 forgetting them, but by recognizing and embracing 
 them with a well-tempered spirit. Dispose thyself to 
 patience rather than to consolation," says the Fol 
 lowing of Christ, and to carry the cross rather than 
 to gladness," and it is the only philosophy that has 
 stood the test successfully. The world is full of 
 quixotic plans for a millennium, and they would all 
 begin by changing conditions. The Saints, on the con 
 trary, ended by changing conditions about them but 
 they began by meeting them, by bowing to them as the 
 inscrutable dispensations of an All-Holy Will, that 
 needs not our genius or our talent, but only our 
 obedience and our docility, to accomplish its belated 
 purpose as infallibly on earth as in heaven. 
 
 "Few men have been more deeply impressed with 
 the reality of Divine Providence than Father Tabb, 
 or have paid it a more sincere or more genuine homage 
 by their lives. The presence of God was to him the 
 most luminous of truths. The will of God was the 
 medium through which he looked at whatever befell 
 him, and the thought that reconciled him to all the 
 asperities of his lot, and enabled him to bear them 
 
THE END 
 
 with a cheerfulness and patience that will ever be a 
 precious memory to the friends that witnessed them. 
 His resignation under that last great affliction which 
 darkened his declining days among us was the forti 
 tude of perfect Christian faith. "I have seen Saint 
 Paul in chains!" was the exclamation of Ignatius 
 friends after visiting him in his prison at Salmanaca. 
 It was also my sentiment a few months ago, when I 
 came to St. Charles after having heard of Father 
 Tabb s total and irreparable loss of eyesight. In reply 
 to my inquiries, he answered that he was never happier 
 in all his life. Not a doubt now remained in his mind 
 of what God wished of him, and, he added, if the 
 Almighty came to me and said: John Tabb, you can 
 have your eyesight back by asking for it, I would not 
 ask. I would be afraid of proving unfaithful to re 
 sponsibilities of which I might not be fully aware. 
 Now I know perfectly what is God s will and I am 
 resigned to it. 
 
 "I have said that Father Tabb s religion consisted 
 not in sentiment but in service. The same was char 
 acteristic of his friendship. He considered no sac 
 rifice too great, no demand upon his time or his means 
 too large, no personal concern or disappointment or 
 aspiration too trivial, no necessities of sickness too 
 repulsive, when it was a question of his friends. His 
 loyalty resembled more the unselfishness and disinter 
 estedness of a woman s devotion than any quality we 
 are accustomed to find in man s love for man. 
 
 [ 53] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 If my grief His guerdon be, 
 My dark His light, 
 I count each loss felicity, 
 And bless the night. 
 
 was the deliberate and unexaggerated expression of 
 the affection he bestowed on those he loved. 
 
 One word more. It is a great privilege to stand 
 here as spokesman for Father Tabb s friends on this 
 occasion and give utterance to these few thoughts 
 which are not my sentiments only, but the feelings, I 
 am sure, of all who knew him well ; and I wish to use 
 it for the one purpose of asking those prayers which 
 we owe to the deceased as friend, teacher, and, above 
 all, as the gentle influence that entered into the spring 
 time of our lives like a benediction from heaven and 
 moulded our sentiments and characters more than we 
 were aware. Father Tabb s friendship did not cease 
 at the brink of the grave Death but gave him a 
 fuller opportunity of proving its steadfastness and 
 devotion. One of the greatest consolations of his 
 priesthood was the power it gave him of offering the 
 Holy Sacrifice for his departed dear ones. And 
 though his modesty would deprecate every other ex 
 pression, to which I have given expression, this one, 
 I know, of his own lips would utter were they not de 
 prived of the power : Have pity upon me at least you, 
 my friends, for the hand of the Lord has touched 
 
 [154] 
 
THE END 
 
 The Richmond, Virginia, News-Leader of November 
 23, 1909, contained the following account of the fun 
 eral services held at St. Peter s Church. 
 
 "As if in poetic tribute to the memory of the poet 
 who drew from her the inspiration for so much of * the 
 good, the true and the beautiful, Nature wept over 
 the bier of John Bannister Tabb today. The blue was 
 veiled by a cumbrous grey mist that darkened the day 
 and Heaven s tears fell from the sombre-vaulted skies 
 upon the casket as the body of the poet-priest was 
 lowered to its last resting place in Hollywood 
 Cemetery. 
 
 "The funeral of Father Tabb took place from St. 
 Peter s Church at ten o clock this morning. Requiem 
 High Mass was sung, the celebrant being Rev. Father 
 J. J. Bowler. The Rev. Father De Gryse served as 
 deacon and the Rev. Father Perrig of Fredericksburg 
 as sub-deacon. 
 
 Within the sanctuary, flanked by lines of surpliced 
 acolytes who sat at the altar rail, were the Right 
 Reverend Augustus Van De Vyver, Bishop of Rich 
 mond, and a dozen priests from out-of-town parishes 
 of this diocese. 
 
 * The ceremonies in the Church the old Cathedral 
 where Father Tabb as a theological student, when he 
 taught the pupils of the parish school of St. Peter s 
 a quarter of a century ago, served at the Mass were 
 beautiful, impressive and edifying. 
 
 "In the large assemblage that occupied the pews 
 were former pupils of Father Tabb. There were pres- 
 
 [155] 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 ent, too, many of the parishioners who knew and loved 
 the brilliant Tabb in his student days: there were 
 among the score of priests in the Church seated in the 
 sanctuary probably a dozen who were his classmates 
 at St. Charles College, where he read philosophy and 
 theology and whence he was graduated into the 
 priesthood of the faith of his adoption, for Father 
 Tabb was a convert of Catholicism in his early youth. 
 There were among those who mourned at the bier 
 others who loved and admired him, Confederate 
 veterans who knew him as a sailor lad when he re 
 sponded to the first call for volunteers in the days 
 that tried men s souls and went forth to do battle for 
 the Southland he loved so well. 
 
 "The funeral sermon was preached by the Rever 
 end Dr. Joseph Magri of St. Peter s. It was the 
 touching tribute of one whose intimate association 
 with Father Tabb extended through a long term of 
 years. Dr. Magri made an affecting reference at the 
 opening of his panegyric to the circumstance that he 
 stood in the presence of five of the preceptors of his 
 student days at St. Charles College, Ellicott City, Md. 
 But from one the spirit had fled. 
 
 He reviewed briefly the distinguished career of the 
 gifted Father Tabb, discussed the great moral in 
 fluence of the life and works of the priest, and 
 recounting his varied accomplishments, predicted im 
 mortality for the poems that have made the name of 
 John B. Tabb famous in the world of literature. 
 
 1 Dr. Magri s sermon was an able and scholarly dis- 
 
THE END 
 
 course, tenderly affecting and deeply touching at 
 times. He paid tribute to Father Tabb the philos 
 opher, the moralist, the theologian, and the poet, but 
 placed above all these John Bannister Tabb, the priest 
 of the Roman Catholic Church. 
 
 "While sombre vested priests officiated at the sac 
 rifice of the Mass, offered for the repose of the soul 
 of the brilliant Father Tabb, a male choir intoned the 
 Gregorian Requiem Chant. Following the obsequies 
 in the Church, a brief service was held at the grave. " 
 
 Attending the services in the Church were delegates 
 from the Knights of Columbus, McGill Catholic 
 Union, Confederate Memorial Literary Society, 
 Daughters of the Confederacy, R. E. Lee Camp of 
 Confederate Veterans, Hollywood Memorial Associa 
 tion, Confederate Home for Women, Virginia State 
 Library, Virginia Historical Society, and the press 
 of Richmond. 
 
 The pall-bearers were : Active Dr. Lewis H. Tay 
 lor, Gordon Blair, Llewellyn McVeigh, John C. 
 Hagan, James Creamer, John Chaffin, Clayton Tor- 
 rence, and P. H. Donahoe. 
 
 Honorary Governor Claude A. Swanson, Major 
 William A. Anderson, Colonel Morton Maryre, Dr. 
 George Ben Johnston, Dr. Armistead Taylor, J. 
 Stewart Bryan, Alfred B. Williams, Dr. Daniel Cole- 
 man, R. Travers Daniel, and James B. Harvie. 
 
 The poet was laid to rest in the section belonging to 
 his friend Mr. Gordon Blair it was his wish and 
 request that he be allowed to lie in this beautiful 
 
FATHER TABB 
 
 Southern Cemetery. And there he sleeps, one of the 
 many great men of the old Commonwealth, and around 
 his lowly bed a loving hand has planted the flowers 
 mentioned in his poems there may be found the 
 lily and the rose, the violet and jessamine and their 
 humbler sisters of the wildwood so dear to the poet s 
 heart, and above him the silent stars keep watch. 
 
 IN AETERNUM 
 
 If Life and Death be things that seem, 
 If Death be sleep, and Life a dream, 
 May not the everlasting sleep 
 The dream of Life eternal keep? 
 
 Father Tabb was a faithful priest, a gifted teacher, 
 an earnest patriot, a gentleman of the old school, a 
 brilliant writer, and a charming friend. 
 
 When suffering and trouble came upon him, he bore 
 them with manly and Christian fortitude and softened 
 them with his own quaint philosophy. His intimacies 
 and his friendship knew no lines he loved man 
 kind. He had the quick sympathies and child-heart of 
 Stevenson and Eugene Field and was known far and 
 wide, not as the Reverend John Bannister Tabb, M. A., 
 but by the homelier and more loving title of Father 
 Tabb/ 
 
 And as his sympathies and his friendships were re 
 gardless of beliefs and forms and opinions, so the sor 
 row for his death and the loving reverence for his 
 memory are universal. 
 
POEMS OF FATHER TABS 
 
 QUOTED 
 
 Index of Titles 
 
 
 Against the Sky .... 
 
 . 112 
 
 All in All . . 
 
 . 114 
 
 Alter Ego 
 
 . 108 
 
 Alter Idem 
 
 . 50 
 
 Amid the Roses .... 
 
 . 60 
 
 Angel s Christmas Quest, The 
 
 . 131 
 
 Argonauts, The .... 
 
 . 133 
 
 Assumption, The . . ... 
 
 . 135 
 
 At Keat s Grave . . . . 
 
 . 33 
 
 At Lanier s Grave .... 
 
 . 71 
 
 At the Manger .... 
 
 . 128 
 
 Ave: Sidney Lanier 
 
 . 68 
 
 Babe Niva The 
 
 . 64 
 
 Baby 
 
 . 65 
 
 Bargains 
 
 . 117 
 
 Beyond 
 
 . 96 
 
 Bicycles! Trycycles! . 
 
 . 60 
 
 Bluebird, The .... 
 
 . 58 
 
 Bunch of Roses, A . 
 
 . 65 
 
 Chanticleer 
 
 . 117 
 
 Childhood 
 
 . 105 
 
 Chord, The 
 
 . 104 
 
 Christmas Babe. The 
 
 . 129 
 
 [16!] 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Christmas Chime, A 132 
 
 Christmas Cradle, A 129 
 
 Compensation 104 
 
 Confided 90 
 
 Cowslip, The 7 
 
 Crucifix, The 134 
 
 Dandelion, The 82 
 
 Dayspring, The 103 
 
 Dear Cardinal Gibbons 46 
 
 Deep Unto Deep 89 
 
 Deprecation 95 
 
 Deus Absconditus 78 
 
 Dial, The 110 
 
 Discrepancy 108 
 
 Dusk 96 
 
 Easter 134 
 
 Easter Flowers 133 
 
 Easter Lilies 134 
 
 End of It, The 62 
 
 Evolution 76 
 
 Excluded 83 
 
 Expected of Nations, The 129 
 
 Fern Song 43 
 
 Fiat Lux 142 
 
 Finis 109 
 
 Foot-Soldiers 63 
 
 For the Rain it Raineth Every Day . . .108 
 
 [162] 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Fraternity m 
 
 Frog-Making .61 
 
 Giulio 93 
 
 Gloria in Excelsis 132 
 
 Going Blind 142 
 
 Goldenrod 74 
 
 Half-Ring Moon, The 100 
 
 High and Low 60 
 
 High Flyers 141 
 
 His Mission . 81 
 
 Ideals 117 
 
 Idolater, An 64 
 
 In Absence 116 
 
 In Aeternum 158 
 
 Indian Summer 107 
 
 Indian Summer 115 
 
 Intimations 101 
 
 In Touch 70 
 
 Keats 35 
 
 Keats-Sappho 36 
 
 Killdee 106 
 
 Lake, The 41 
 
 Lamb-Child, The 131 
 
 Lament, A 62 
 
 Lanier s Flute 18 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Legacy, A . 59 
 
 Light of Bethlehem, The 130 
 
 Limitations 81 
 
 Loss 109 
 
 Lost Anchor, The 15 
 
 Love s Hybla 69 
 
 Mammy 8 
 
 Matins 97 
 
 Mistletoe 130 
 
 Moments 109 
 
 Morning and Night Bloom 110 
 
 My Photograph 102 
 
 My Secret 79 
 
 My Star 69 
 
 New- Year Babe, The 135 
 
 Off San Salvador 15 
 
 Old Year s Blessing, The 110 
 
 On Cover of John B. Tabb s Late London Volume 37 
 On Lanier s Poems ...... 70 
 
 On Fiftieth Anniversary of Poe s Death . . 84 
 Out of Bounds 128 
 
 Pains-Taking 63 
 
 Paschal Moon, The 136 
 
 Phantoms 77 
 
 Phonograph, A 107 
 
 Photographed 103 
 
 Plaint of the Rose, The 106 
 
 [164] 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Poe 33 
 
 Poe-Chopin 35 
 
 Poe s Critics 36 
 
 Poetry 91 
 
 Prayer in Darkness, A 99 
 
 Prejudice 108 
 
 Rainpool, The 117 
 
 Reaper, The 57 
 
 Recognition . 102 
 
 Regrets, To Father Mackin 45 
 
 Release 115 
 
 Ring, The . 99 
 
 Robin 71 
 
 Rubric, A 115 
 
 Sap 108 
 
 Security . 114 
 
 Seed, The Ill 
 
 Shadow, The 72 
 
 Shelley 34 
 
 Sigh of the Sea, A 112 
 
 Silence / .- . .116 
 
 Sisters, The . . .103 
 
 Sleeping Beauty, The . . . . . .80 
 
 Smiter, The 143 
 
 Somewhere 55 
 
 Spy, The 62 
 
 Stranger, The 106 
 
 [165] 
 
INDEX OF TITLES 
 
 Tax Gatherer, The 59 
 
 This is the Catholic Priest 47 
 
 Time-Brood, The 63 
 
 To a Blind Babe, Sleeping 114 
 
 To a Songster 87 
 
 To a Wood-Robin .82 
 
 To a Wood-Violet 116 
 
 To Death 75 
 
 To Jinny 8 
 
 To Mr. Andrew Lang 37 
 
 To Shelley ... . . 34 
 
 To Sidney Lanier . . . . .70 
 
 To the Summer Wind 105 
 
 Tryst, The 61 
 
 Trysting Place, A 97 
 
 United .... -80 
 
 Virginian at the Hot Springs, A . 
 
 White Jessamine, The .... .100 
 
 Winter Trees -118 
 
 Woman 83 
 
 Wood-Grain .... . . 91 
 
 Young Tenor, The 92 
 
 [166] 
 
POEMS OF FATHER TABB QUOTED IN 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 Index of First Lanes 
 
 A boot and a shoe and a slipper 60 
 
 A certain tyrant, to disgrace 36 
 
 A crowing, cuddling little babe was he 117 
 
 A dreamer in the dark, I grow 110 
 
 A gleam of heaven, the passion of a star 91 
 
 Ah, sweet it was to feel the strain 15 
 
 A leaf may hide the largest star 108 
 
 A little Boy of Heavenly birth 128 
 
 All that thou art not makes not up the sum 116 
 
 Alone I am, but lonelier 96 
 
 And, pray, who are you ? 59 
 
 Another lamb, Lamb of God, behold 90 
 
 Are thy dreams dark ? Or is the light 114 
 
 Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves ? 77 
 
 Art thou the selfsame wind that blew ? 105 
 
 A sea wherein the rivers of all sound 116 
 
 As Israel in days of old 74 
 
 As stars amid the darkness seen 97 
 
 A star and a rosebud white 110 
 
 At Christmas time from clime to clime 132 
 
 At Shelley s birth 34 
 
 At twilight on the open sea 102 
 
 A whole-tail dog and a half-tail dog 62 
 
 Ay, every day the rain doth fall 108 
 
 [169] 
 
INDEX OF FIEST LINES 
 
 Baby in her slumber smiling 65 
 
 Back to the primal gloom 142 
 
 Bearing a life unseen HI 
 
 Beneath, above me, or below 81 
 
 Bicycles ! Tricycles ! Nay, to shun laughter ... 60 
 
 Come to me, Robin, The daylight is dying 71 
 
 Could Day demand a gift of Night 117 
 
 Dance to the beat of the rain, little fern 43 
 
 Day after day the spear of morning bright 134 
 
 Dead fifty years 1 Not so 84 
 
 Dear Cardinal Gibbons 46 
 
 Do you remember, little Cloud 59 
 
 Ere Time s horizon line was set 68 
 
 * Father I " The trembling voice betrayed 93 
 
 For one extinguished light 109 
 
 For years, an ever-shifting shade 103 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread, and light . . 142 
 
 Hark ! What his f ellow-warbkrs heard 107 
 
 He entered ; but the mask he wore 106 
 
 Here buried side by side 80 
 
 His eyes are dim 37 
 
 Hold the trinket near thine eye 99 
 
 How many an acorn falls to die 104 
 
 How slight soe er the motion be 70 
 
 [170] 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 I am a lonely woodland lake 41 
 
 I am too small for winds to mar 117 
 
 I feel the flowers growing over me * 33 
 
 If Life and Death be things that seem 158 
 
 I knew she lay above me 100 
 
 I knew the flowers had dreamed of you 101 
 
 I know not but in every leaf Ill 
 
 I love her countenance whereon 8 
 
 In this narrow cloister bound 104 
 
 In this secluded shrine 116 
 
 Into the charnel hall of fame 83 
 
 I stand beneath the native tree 71 
 
 It brings my mother back to me 7 
 
 It lay to westward, as of old 15 
 
 I woke : the harboured melody 92 
 
 I wonder how the Mother-Hour . 63 
 
 Killdee ! Killdee ; Far o er the lea 106 
 
 Let my heart the cradle be 129 
 
 Like a meteor, large and bright 134 
 
 Like champions of old 118 
 
 Like manna, mute as snow 109 
 
 Like Simeon of old 110 
 
 Lo, where the blossoming woodland wakes 82 
 
 Methinks, when first the nightingale 36 
 
 My God has hid Himself from me 146 
 
 [-71] 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 My thoughts fly to thee, as the bees 69 
 
 My Sister Sunshine smiled on me 102 
 
 Niva, child of innocence 64 
 
 No more the battle or the chase 115 
 
 Not Bethlehem nor Nazareth 135 
 
 Now, I listen in my grave 95 
 
 Nurtured upon my Mother s knee 89 
 
 Lady Cloud, why are you weeping 62 
 
 er each the soul of Beauty flung 35 
 
 Old Sorrow I shall meet again 105 
 
 little bird, I d be 87 
 
 One day with feet upon the ground 48 
 
 One dream the bird and blossom dreamed 108 
 
 One heaven above 114 
 
 Shadow, in thy fleeting form I see 72 
 
 to be with thee, sinking to thy rest 109 
 
 Out of the dusk a shadow 76 
 
 Over the sea, over the sea 100 
 
 why should Old Lang Sign 37 
 
 Potato was deep in the dark under ground 61 
 
 Sad Spirit, swathed in brief mortality 33 
 
 Said Frog Papa to Frog Mama 61 
 
 Saint Peter is the corner-stone 45 
 
 Said the budding rose, "All night . . " 106 
 
 See, where the foliage fronts the sky 112 
 
 Shall she come down and on our level stand 1 . . 83 
 
 [172] 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 Shelley, the ceaseless music of thy soul 34 
 
 Sighed the languid Moon to the Morning Star ... 62 
 
 Since that the dewdrop holds the star 69 
 
 Snow ! Snow ! Snow ! 70 
 
 So long I am a prisoner 115 
 
 Somewhere beneath the blinding snows 55 
 
 So small that lesser lowliness 129 
 
 So sweet to tired mortality the night 75 
 
 Still sing the morning stars remote 97 
 
 Strong as the sea and silent as the grave 108 
 
 Suspended o er Geometry 38 
 
 Take pains, growled the tooth to the dentist .... 63 
 
 Tell me whither, Maiden June 57 
 
 The aster puts its purple on 115 
 
 The Baby has no skies 64 
 
 The day is nearer unto night 99 
 
 The dewdrop holds the heaven above 70 
 
 The noonday smiles to hear 114 
 
 There once were two brothers named Wright .... 141 
 
 There was laughter mid the roses 60 
 
 The River to the Sea 96 
 
 The rosy mouth and rosy toe 65 
 
 The sculptor in the marble found 80 
 
 The waves forever move 103 
 
 They bound Thine eyes and questioned : Tell us 
 
 now" 143 
 
 This is the Catholic priest 47 
 
 This is the way that the sap-river ran 91 
 
 Tho long in wintry sleep ye lay 134 
 
 [-73] 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 Thou art to me as is the sea 108 
 
 Thy face is whitened with remembered woe 136 
 
 Tis all the way to Toe town 63 
 
 Tis Christmas night, again 132 
 
 Tis Christmas night ! The snow 130 
 
 Tis not what I am fain to hide 79 
 
 Tis said, in death upon the face 107 
 
 Tis what thou wast, not what thou art 50 
 
 To Bethlehem ! To Bethlehem ! 133 
 
 To her, tenderness Divine 9 
 
 To the cradle-bough of a naked tree 130 
 
 Two together, Babe and Year 135 
 
 Twas not for gain of glittering gold he trod .... 81 
 
 Upon thy tomb tis graven, * Here lies one 35 
 
 We are His witnesses ! Out of the dim 133 
 
 We ve come to give you Liberty 85 
 
 What hand with spear of light 103 
 
 What have you in your basket ? 117 
 
 When Christ the Babe was born 131 
 
 When first her Christmas watch to keep 128 
 
 When God had made a host of them 58 
 
 When palsied at the pool of Thought 18 
 
 Where have ye laid my Lord ? 131 
 
 Where limpid waters lie between 89 
 
 While Shepherd Stars their nightly vigil keep . . . 129 
 
 "Why is it" once the Ocean asked 112 
 
 With locks of gold today 82 
 
 [174] 
 
FOURTEEN DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 9Aug 55WS 
 
 i .-\OIVl a T ; 58BB 
 
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 RPC D LD 
 
 
 APR 1 1953 
 
 
 
 REC 1 D LIT 
 
 
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 LD 21-100m-2, 55 
 (B139s22)476 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
491090 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY