UNIYRSiTY Of CALlfORNIA LIBRARY MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN - i 44 virginibus puerisque canto" HORACE. 11 Made for madrigals and catches" DOBSON. NEW YORK WHITE, STOKES, & ALLEN MDCCCLXXXVII COPYRIGHT, 1887, BY FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN. TO MY FATHER. Madrigals and catches caught In the cage of Happy-thought Are these amatory rhymes ; Reveries of olden times When my heart was ever bent After some new sentiment, Veering like a ship at sea With the tides of melody, Trembling like the stars above With each last-discovered love. These are songs for gladsome youth , Half in jest and half in truth ; Lyrics light as gales that toss Leaves the orchard jloor across, Lyrics gay as carols sung Blossom-laden vines among ; All pitched in a major key Catch and madrigal and glee : Songs whose inspiration came In the constant leaping flame Of my love for Her whose eyes Look on us from Paradise, And my love for you whose heart Gave Love's mariner the chart That he might find only joy Only joy for me, your boy. 395738 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. CONTENTS. DEDICATION. PAGE Fancy I Morning Mist 3 Dawn and Dusk 4 Summer 6 Indian Summer 8 The Ice-Prisoner 9 February n The March Wind 12 An April Carol 14 Idyllic 16 A Glow-Worm 17 In an Old Garden 19 With a Rose 21 To a Daisy 22 On Some Buttercups . . 23 To a Dandelion 24 CONTENTS. PAGE Apple Blossoms 26 A Rose Lyric 27 " Pansies for Thoughts " 29 Nobility 30 A Bunch of Quatrains 31 A Quatrain. A Red Rose. April. Bacchus 32 A Lyric 34 A Catch 35 A Snare 37 A Madrigal 39 A Betrothal 41 A Persian Dancing Girl 42 A Madrigal .44 Child Fancies : In the Meadow 47 In the Orchard 49 Wizard Frost .... 50 The Book-Hunter 51 At the Door 54 CONTENTS. xi PAGE A Reminiscence . .56 Love's Seasons . 58 An Avowal . v 61 In Parenthesis 64 To My Message 66 A Cigar 68 A Bundle of Letters 71 A Rhyme for Priscilla 75 A Persian Nocturne 79 Her Guitar 81 The Muse 84 For Saynte Valentyne, His Daye 87 To Cupid, February I4th 89 Engaged 91 A Lyric 95 An Untutored Mind 97 The Village School 99 A Colonial Missive 103 Good-Night 107 Sonnets 109 Breezes of Morning in A Pacific Dawn . 112 CONTENTS. A Butterfly in Wall Street 113 The Dancing Gypsy 114 Strategy 115 Re-awakening 116 Miss Thomas's " A New Year's Masque " 117 French Follies 119 Come, Pan, and Pipe 121 When Twilight Comes 122 An Old Rondo 123 Behind Her Fan 124 Her China Cup 125 To Cupid 126 11 Awake, Awake 1" 127 To My Love 128 Valentine to an Anonymous Miss . . . 130 A Coquette 132 A Swell 134 Of Rhyme 136 To Austin Dobson 138 FANCY. T I FT the oars and let us go Whither listless winds may blow,- Drifting idly with the tide, Kissing grasses either side, Skimming deeps that lie between Bending willow-branches green : On, and on, and on we'll float With no pilot for our boat Save the zephyr, cool and bland, Lisping from the launching-land, Guided by no stars above, Only lucent eyes of love. ' ; ; , JTADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Sailing, we at last shall reach Silver sands of island beach, Where a seaward-blown perfume Hints of orchard fruit and bloom. In this golden ocean-isle Let us wander for a while, Plucking from its treasure-trees Apples of Hesperides. MORNING MIST. A CROSS the level meadow-land There hangs a veil of vapor white, Like some forgotten robe of night Held in the morning's rosy hand. Along the grass the wind-waves run, And wake the witches' weird refrain : " Behold the ghost of last night's rain ! And lo, it melts before the sun. Then comes a rustle in the wood, As if upon the leaves were cast A sudden spell, the ghost has passed Into their shadowed solitude ! DAWN AND DUSK. I. OLENDER strips of crimson sky Near the dim horizon lie, Shot across with golden bars Reaching to the fading stars ; Soft the balmy west wind blows Wide the portals of the rose ; Smell of dewy pine and fir, Lisping leaves and vines astir ; On the borders of the dark Gayly sings the meadow-lark, Bidding all the birds assemble, Hark, the welkin seems to tremble ! Suddenly the sunny gleams Break the poppy-fettered dreams, Dreams of Pan, with two feet cloven, Piping to the nymph and faun, Who, with wreaths of ivy woven, Nimbly dance to greet the dawn. DAWN AND DUSK. II. Shifting shadows indistinct ; Leaves and branches, crossed and linked, Cling like children, and embrace, Frightened at the moon's pale face. In the gloomy wood begins Noise of insect violins ; Swarms of fireflies flash their lamps In their atmospheric camps, And the sad-voiced whip-poor-will Echoes back from hill to hill, Liquid clear above the crickets Chirping in the thorny thickets. Weary eyelids, eyes that weep, Wait the magic touch of sleep ; While the dew, in silence falling, Fills the air with scent of musk, And this lonely night-bird, calling, Drops a note down through the dusk. SUMMER. TV /TEADOWS lost in clouds of mist ; Grass whose lips the dew has kissed ; Buds whose fragrant breath is drawn Through the freshness of the dawn ; Vines in whose slight pulses flows Life-blood of the crimson rose ; Flocks of happy-hearted birds Talking in melodious words ; Brooks, unfettered by the Spring, Through the pastures murmuring, Children prattling in their glee Chasing to the mother sea ; Soft south-breezes, gentle rain, Rival wooers of the plain ; SUMMER, Here and there beside the path Flowers emerging from their bath ; Waving forest-floods of green, Leaves with blossoms white between . Ah ! the bud is open now, Hints of fruit hang on the bough, And the velvet rose is born At the coming of the morn : There's a gladness in the sun Speaks of something new begun, Of a work mysterious Nature has performed for us. Hark, the honey-bee's low hum Tells us that the summer's come ! INDIAN SUMMER. A CROSS the billowy meadow grasses The Summer passes with languid tread, And where she journeys the path is burning, And leaves are turning to brown and red. She goes in silence across the valley Where low winds rally around her track And touch her garment and murmur, " Maiden, With roses laden, come back, come back !" She does not heed them, she does not listen ; Her soft eyes glisten with welling tears ; Her heart grows heavy for not replying To verdure dying, to prayers she hears. But once, in sorrow, she turns and lingers To kiss the fingers fast growing cold, And all the Earth for a moment's pleasure Yields up her treasure of yellow gold. THE ICE-PRISONER. A BOVE, a dome of gray ; below, The landscape carpeted with snow : No bird so warmly clad or bold Who dares to brave the bitter cold. I find within the silent wood A solitude of solitude. Through leafless trees no breeze is blown To hint that I am not alone, No echo cracks the crystal air : The world about me seems to wear A look of peaceful loneliness, Remembering the soft caress Of summer winds that robbed the flowers, And music measuring the hours. MA DRIGA LS A ND CA TCHES. Throughout the land the hush of death : I breathe, and, lo, the ghost of breath ! The crisp snow crunches 'neath my tread Like fallen twigs and branches dead. But hark ! Along the frozen ground I catch a muffled liquid sound, A voice that sings of Paradise, Low murmuring in walls of ice, - A melody that seems to run To find again the truant sun. I hear the fettered pulses stir Of winter's happy prisoner Whose merry song and laughter bring A thought of the returning spring, Of buds and grass with warm rain wet, And April's early violet. FEBRUARY. T IKE mimic meteors the snow In silence out of heaven sifts, And wanton winds that wake and blow Pile high their monumental drifts. And looking through the window-panes I see, 'mid loops and angles crossed, The dainty geometric skeins Drawn by the fingers of the Frost. 'Tis here at dawn where comes his Love, All eager and with smile benign, A golden Sunbeam from above, To read the Frost's gay valentine. THE MARCH WIND. 1T)LOW, wind of March, and sing Your songs unto the timid buds and grass ; Unclasp the fetters of the woodland spring Hushed in its house of glass. Blow, wind of March, and thrill The languid pulses of the barren trees, Until their empty hands with blossoms fill And tempt the honey-bees. Blow, wind of March, and wake The sleeping violets with gentle words ; Spread your green canopy of leaves and make A shelter for the birds. THE MARCH WIND. Blow, sturdy wind of March, And burst the winter's frosty prison-bars ; Blow all the clouds from heaven's azure arch And stud it with white stars. Blow, wind of March, ay, blow, Until the orchards heed your voice, and bloom ; Then whisper softly where the wild flowers grow About the winter's tomb. AN APRIL CAROL. A PRIL ! Robin, sing to greet her ; Down the meadow dart to meet her ! See, she brings the leaf and flower, Fickle sun and fickle shower, Gives the day another hour, Makes the breezes sweeter. April ! Maidens, lend your faces Dimpled smiles and gentle graces ! See, she brings the blue-bells' chimes, Tardy lovers with their rhymes, Steals her days from warmer climes, Nights from dewy places. AN APRIL CAROL. April ! Song, be blithe and tender ; Music, sound with double splendor ! See, she brings the warbling birds, Troops of bees and dappled herds, Teaches love mysterious words, Bids the heart surrender. IDYLLIC. r "T*O lie beneath a cloudless sky On moss beside a shallow brook Where smells of wild-flowers in the dells Make me forgetful of my book, To dream of shepherd with his crook, Of sheep on grassy slopes asleep, To catch a visionary look Of shepherdess, and hear her step Fall like a whisper on the ground, To watch her sunny smiles, and see Her dainty garments, soft and snowy, Fold gracefully her form around, 'Tis like a day in Sicily With Daphnis and his sweetheart Chloe. A GLOW-WORM. /"^LOSE by the margin tufts of grass Weighed down with dew and damp, I found you as I chanced to pass, Your trimmed and shining lamp Illumining with greenish light The dusty road in dusky night : A velvet ring set round with gems That softly shone below The pale blue chiccory's tall stems, As if the path to show To some belated beetle who Went stumbling homeward in the dew : i8 MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. A phosphorescent beacon there, A solitary guide For insect ships that sail the air On breaths of fragrant tide ; Or were you from some realm on high- A star dropped from the summer sky ? IN AN OLD GARDEN. fir-trees reach their arms To shade this quiet garden plot, And here and there a fragrant knot Of roses tempts the buzzing swarms. Amid a host of alien weeds Spring faces of familiar blooms Which, Breathing stories in perfumes, Seem ghosts of some forgotten seeds. The creeping vine, its tendrils round The crooked rows of untrimmed box, Forsaken now, methinks it knocks To gain admittance to the ground. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. All, all is waste and desolate, The blowing firs are full of grief, The blue-bird hidden by a leaf Sings sorrowfully to his mate. The scattered flowers alone are gay ; Their fragrance fills the gentle wind, And I, grown drowsy, dream and find The long forgotten yesterday. WITH A ROSE. A TINY fire within this rose Lends to the leaves a crimson flush Like that soft tint which comes and goes And weaves a modest maiden's blush. So to my Sweet this censer bloom Swung by Love's little acolyte I send, that all its fine perfume May float around her through the night. Go, Rose, unto my heart's desire, Perchance her love for you may frame A dream of Cupids in a choir All chanting lyrics to her name. And when the dream shall end at last, A priceless gift shall be your fee, To feel her kisses falling fast Upon your lips for love of me. TO A DAISY. "IT TEE, little rimless wheel of Fate, With silver spokes and hub of yellow, What gentle girl, in accents mellow, Has sought your aid to find a mate ? Who snapt your slender spokes apart, Each one some dear acquaintance naming ? And who was he the loved one, claiming The choicest chamber in her heart ? O tiny hub of golden hue, Kissed by her fingers' tender pressing, Still yet, methinks, she's vainly guessing If what you prophesied were true. You died between her finger-tips, Sweet gypsy maid of wisdom magic ; Pray, is it worth a death so tragic To hear the music of her lips ? ON SOME BUTTERCUPS. A LITTLE way below her chin, Caught in her bosom's snowy hem, Some buttercups are fastened in, Ah, how I envy them ! They do not miss their meadow place, Nor are they conscious that their skies Are not the heavens, but her face, Her hair, and mild blue eyes. There, in the downy meshes pinned, Such sweet illusions haunt their rest ; They think her breath the fragrant wind, And tremble on her breast ; As if, close to her heart, they heard A captive secret slip its cell, And with desire were sudden stirred To find a voice and tell ! TO A DANDELION. T ITTLE mimic of the sun, Hiding in the fragrant grass, Have you any kisses won From the pretty maids who pass ? When the sun slips down the west Some fair girl shall come in quest Of the secret which you lock In your tiny golden breast : You shall hear an airy knock, And a question : What o'clock ? ***** Ah, you dainty, snowy ghost, See what bliss your wisdom brings ! Tell me, pray, what angels boast Such a zephyr for their wings ? TO A DANDELION. 25 Just because the hour you tell, She repays your magic well, Wafts you off to paradise ; Sounds for you a gentle knell ; Lights your journey with her eyes : Would that I were half so wise ! APPLE BLOSSOMS. * "'HE soft wind whispered secrets to the apple tree, Caressed her in his arms and would not let her go Until the rosy blossoms came triumphantly To tell the one sweet message that he wished to know. A timid maiden with her lover lingered there In silence, clasping hands amid the leaves that fell, Till one bold blossom drifting down the per- fumed air Just touched her rounded cheek, and bade the blushes tell. A ROSE LYRIC. T3 OSE in the garden-close, Why, when the light wind blows, Why do you bend your head ? Why do your cheeks grow red ? Rose, my sweet, rose at my feet, Tell me ! What does the soft gale say Whispering low all day, Kissing your lips a-bloom, Answering back perfume ? Rose, my sweet, rose at my feet, Tell me ! MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. Tell me that I may woo Her as the wind wooes you ; What a/e the words that start Blushes from your sweet heart ? Rose, my sweet, rose at my feet, Tell me ! Rose, of all roses, queen, Budding at seventeen, Place the flower near your lip, Then if the secret slip, Rose, my Sweet, Rose, at your feet, Tell me ! " PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS." T?OR you these tiny flowers are cut, These slender-stemmed, rich purple pansies A thousand thoughts and tender fancies Within their little hearts are shut. Sweet memories of happy hours We spent together, dear romances, Like love in one of Cupid's glances, Hide in the fragrance of these flowers. NOBILITY. nPHE sturdy wind that fills the ship's white sail And turns the mighty mill-wheel when it blows, Once breathed the love-song of the nightingale, And wafted him the perfume of the rose. Let him who seeks a god-like man to find Think of the wind, and seek its counterpart : The tempest's strength, matched by a noble mind, The zephyr by a pure and gentle heart ! A BUNCH OF QUATRAINS. A QUATRAIN. T TARK at the lips of this pink whorl of shell And you shall hear the ocean's surge and roar ; So in the quatrain's measure, written well, A thousand lines shall all be sung in four ! A RED ROSE. Once, long ago, in some sweet garden's hush, A lover gave you, snow-white, to his love ; And, lifted to her lips, you saw her blush And blushed to match her damask cheek above. APRIL. As any child, this baby of the year's Made glad with toys, forgets imagined woes : Thus comes young April smiling through her tears, Her toys the flowers, her grief the vanished snows. BACCHUS. T ISTEN to the tawny thief, Hid behind the waxen leaf, Growling at his fairy host, Bidding her with angry boast Fill his cup with wine distilled From the dew the dawn has spilled ; Stored away in golden casks Is the precious draught he asks. Who, who makes this mimic din In this mimic meadow inn, Sings in such a drowsy note, Wears a golden belted coat ; Loiters in the dainty room Of this tavern of perfume ; Dares to linger at the cup Till the yellow sun is up ? BACCHUS. Bacchus, 'tis, come back again To the busy haunts of men ; Garlanded and gayly dressed, Bands of gold about his breast ; Straying from his paradise, Having pinions angel-wise, 'Tis the honey-bee, who goes Reveling within a rose ! A LYRIC. A LYRIC is a tiny bird, Gay lover of the garden blooms, - Whose little heart is ever stirred By colors and perfumes. Its flights are near the lowly things, Not to the eagle-epic's skies : It is content to flash its wings Beneath my loved one's eyes. Go then, my song, you have the chart To guide you to a gentle clime, Go build your nest, and thrill her hear' With flutterings of rhyme ! A CATCH. TF any grace To me belong, In song, Know then your face Has been to me A key ; For pitched in this Delicious tone, I've known I could not miss What music slips Your lips. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. If faults be found In any line Of mine, To mar the sound Of notes that try To vie With yours, my Sweet, Then, always true, Do you The words repeat, And make sublime My rhyme ! A SNARE. T OVE I locked upon a time In the fetters of my rhyme, Bound his feet and fixed his hands Firm in fancy-forged bands, Fastened with a dainty twist Couplet-gyves around his wrist, Sealed his lips and left him, dumb, Prisoner till She should come. Then I said unto my Heart : 14 By this magic, by this art You shall learn if She be kind To your constancy, or blind : Like the rhyme your chains are stout : Captive in the dungeon Doubt, There you languish at the door Praying freedom evermore. 38 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. If she pity Love's distress, If, with maiden tenderness, She his bands and fetters slip, Murmuring with trembling lip Linked music of my song, Be of cheer ; for then, ere long, At your bars her face you'll see,- Then the lock shall feel the key Turn its rusty round, and then, Love know liberty again !" A MADRIGAL. A LL the world is bright, All my heart is merry, Violets and roses red, Sparkling in the dew : Brow the lily's white ; Lip the crimson berry ; Hark, I hear a lightsome tread, Ah, my love, 'tis you ! Wing to me, birds, and sing to me ; None so happy as I ! Only the merriest melodies bring to me When my beloved is by. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. All the air is sweet, All my heart is quiet, Fleecy clouds on breezes warm Floating far above : Eye where soft lights meet ; Cheek where roses riot ; Look, I see a gracious form, Ah, 'tis you, my love ! Wing to her, birds, and sing to her ; None so happy as she ! Only the merriest melodies bring to her,- Only this message from me ! A BETROTHAL. " T LOVE you," he whispered low, In joy, for a moment bold ; And suddenly, white as snow, The warm little hand grew cold. " I love you," again he said, And touched the soft finger-tips ; But shyly she bent her head, To hide the two trembling lips. . " I love you," she turned her face. His heart overfilled with fear ; When lo, on her cheek the trace Of one tiny passion-tear ! " I love you," he gently spoke, And kissed her, sweet, tearful-eyed ; The rose-blossom fetters broke : " I love you, too," they replied. A PERSIAN DANCING GIRL. JASMINES tangled in her hair- Ebon hair that loosely hangs, Looped with silver serpent fangs, Swaying in the scented air. Silken sandals on her feet Tiny feet that trip in time To the tambourine, and rhyme With the tinkling music sweet. On her olive-tinted breast, Turquoise trinkets, jewels, rings Lovers' tokens gifts from kings, Jingle gayly, never rest. Now she gives a dizzy twirl To the measure of the dance Quicker than a stolen glance, Glides the dainty, graceful girl. A PERSIAN DANCING GIRL. Just beyond the eager throng Lazily her lover smokes With his rivals, telling jokes Spiced with strains of Persian song. Idly waiting well he knows How they hate him, every one. In the garden of the Sun He has picked the fairest rose. A MADRIGAL. OWEETHEART, the year is young, And 'neath the heavens blue The fresh wild-flowers have hung Their cups to catch the dew. And love like a bird carols one soft word, Sweetheart, to the sapphire skies ; And floating aloft comes an echo soft " Sweetheart" your eyes ! Sweetheart, the year is sweet With fragrance of the rose That bends before your feet As to the gale that blows. A MADRIGAL. 45 And love like a bird quavers one low word, Sweetheart, to the garden place ; And across the glow comes an echo low " Sweetheart" your face ! Sweetheart, the year grows old ; Upon the meadows brown And forests, waving gold, The stars look, trembling, down. And love like a bird whispers one pure word, Sweetheart, to the cooling air ; And the breezes sure waft an echo pure " Sweetheart" your hair ! Sweetheart, the year wanes fast ; The summer birds have flown From winter's spiteful blast Unto a sun-bound zone. And love like a bird warbles one clear word, Sweetheart, to the balmy south ; And back to my ear comes an echo clear " Sweetheart" your mouth ! MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Sweetheart, the year is gone ; Lean closer to my heart ! Time only weighs upon The loves that dwell apart. And love like a bird with his whole soul stirred, Sweetheart, shall carol his glee ; And to you I'll cling while the echoes ring " Sweetheart" for me ! CHILD-FANCIES. IN THE MEADOW. *T*HE meadow is a battle-field Where Summer's army comes, Each soldier with a clover shield, The honey-bees with drums. Boom, rat-ta ! they march, and pass The captain tree who stands Saluting with a sword of grass And giving them commands. 'Tis only when the breezes blow Across the woody hills, They shoulder arms, and, to and fro, March in their full-dress drills. Boom, rat-ta ! they wheel in line And wave their gleaming spears ; ''Charge !" cries the captain, giving sign, And every soldier cheers. 48 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. But when the day is growing dim They gather in their camps And sing a good thanksgiving hymn Around the fire-fly lamps. Rat-tat-ta ! the bugle-notes Call "good-night" to the sky : I hope they all have overcoats To keep them warm and dry. IN THE ORCHARD. 49 IN THE ORCHARD. /^~\ ROBIN in the cherry tree I hear you carolling your glee : The platform where you lightly tread Is lighted up with cherries red, And there you sing among the boughs Like Patti at the opera-house. Who is the hero in your play To whom you sing in such a way ? And why are you so gayly dressed With scarlet ribbons on your breast ? And is your lover good and true ? And does he always sing to you ? Your orchestra are winds that blow Their blossom-notes to me below ; And all the trembling leaves are throngs Of people clapping for your songs. I wonder if you like it when I clap for you to sing again. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. WIZARD FROST. 'I T 7ONDROUS things have come to pass On my square of window-glass. Looking in it I have seen Grass no longer painted green, Trees whose branches never stir, Skies without a cloud to blur, Birds below them sailing high, Chuich-spires pointing to the sky, And a funny little town Where the people, up and down Streets of silver, to me seem Like the people in a dream, Dressed in finest kinds of lace : Tis a picture, on a space Scarcely larger than the hand, Of a tiny Switzerland, Which the wizard Frost has drawn 'Twixt the nightfall and the dawn. Quick and see what he has done Ere 'tis stolen by the Sun. THE BOOK-HUNTER. A CUP of coffee, eggs, and rolls Sustain him on his morning strolls : Unconscious of the passers-by, He trudges on with downcast eye ; He wears a queer old hat and coat, Suggestive of a style remote ; His manner is preoccupied, A shambling gait, from side to side. For him the sleek, bright-windowed shop Is all in vain, he does not stop. His thoughts are fixed on dusty shelves Where musty volumes hide themselves, Rare prints of poetry and prose, And quaintly lettered folios, Perchance a parchment manuscript, In some forgotten corner slipped, MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Or monk-illumined missal bound In vellum with brass clasps around ; These are the pictured things that throng His mind the while he walks along. A dingy street, a cellar dim, With book-lined walls, suffices him. The dust is white upon his sleeves ; He turns the yellow, dog-eared leaves With just the same religious look That priests give to the Holy Book. He does not heed the stifling air If so he find a treasure there. He knows rare books, like precious wines Are hidden where the sun ne'er shines ; For him delicious flavors dwell In books as in old Muscatel ; He finds in features of the type A clew to prove the grape was ripe. THE BOOK-HUNTER. 53 And when he leaves this dismal place, Behold, a smile lights up his face ! Upon his cheeks a genial glow, Within his hand Boccaccio, A first edition worn with age, " Firenze " on the title-page. AT THE DOOR. T T THAT time the night-bird to the rose Sings of his love, I seek her garden-plot where grows A blossom-laden vine that throws Its arms above, And scales the weary stretch of stone, Until at length It clasps her lattice open thrown, And sees the sweet face of my own And finds new strength. How often I have strived to climb Love's barrier wall Upon the ladder of my rhyme : A little way, yet, time on time, I faint and fall. AT THE DOOR. 55 Methinks if once I could but rise Up to the bars, And gather courage from those eyes To speak so close unto the skies Unto the stars Alas, my fancy goes no more ! Perhaps 'twould be As if, with weary feet and sore, I came to Heaven's closed door Without a key. A REMINISCENCE. r I ^HERE was a time, fond girl, when you Were partial to caresses ; Before your graceful figure grew Too tall for ankle-dresses ; When " Keys and Pillows," and the rest Of sentimental pastimes, Were thought to be the very best Amusement out of class-times. You wore your nut-brown hair in curls That reached beyond your bodice, Quite in the style of other girls, But you I thought a goddess ! I wrote you letters, long and short, How many there's no telling ! A REMINISCENCE. Imagination was my forte : I can't say that of spelling ! We shared our sticks of chewing-gum, Our precious bits of candy ; Together solved the knotty sum, And learned the ars armandi : Whene'er you wept, a woful lump Stuck in my throat, delayed there ! My sympathetic heart would jump : I wondered how it stayed there ! We meet to-day, we meet, alas ! With salutation formal ; I'm in the college senior class, You study at the Normal ; And as we part I think again, And sadly wonder whether You wish, as I, we loved as when We sat at school together ! LOVE'S SEASONS. WAS spring when I first found it out ; Twas autumn when I told it ; The gloomy winter made me doubt, And summer scarce could hold it : " She loves," the mating robins sang In sweet, delicious trebles, And through the brooks the echo rang In music o'er the pebbles. The fresh air, filled with fragrant scent Of blossoms, softly hinted The self-same song ; where'er I went I found the message printed On bud and leaf, on earth and sky, Through sun and rain it glistened, LOVERS SEASONS. 59 And though I never reasoned why, I always read or listened. The summer dawned, and still the birds Sang in their tree-top glory, And something seemed to make their words A sequel to my story : " You love," they twittered in the trees ; Whene'er the light wind stirred them, Distracting words ! on every breeze They fluttered, and I heard them. At last the mellow autumn came, And all the leaves were turning, The fields and forests were aflame In golden sunlight burning ; The parting birds sang out again A sentimental message : " Go tell her," whispered they, and then I thought 'twas love's first presage. 60 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. O timid-hearted twenty-four, To faint and lose your courage, Or half-reluctantly implore A pretty girl at her age ! For when I stammered what they'd sung, And all their secrets told her, She said the birds were right, and hung Her head upon my shoulder. AN AVOWAL. 'T'HERE'S a word in my heart, dare I tell it ? A dangerous, wonderful word : It calls, and I hush it and quell it ; It flutters and calls like a bird Made captive from out its dark prison, And begs for a glimmer of light ; Up, up to my throat it is risen, And poises for flight. Her eyes are like stars softly shining, Each one has a sparkle within ; And radiant roses are twining In cheeks where my kisses have been. But something of sadness and sorrow, A shadowy emblem of doom, 62 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Seems whispering, "Wait for the morrow !" And leaves me in gloom. One touch of her exquisite fingers, One pressure of velvety tips, In memory's mazes still lingers ; One kiss is still fresh on my lips. But down in my heart in a flutter A bird dwells to tenderly sing The song that my lips dare not utter, The song of a ring, A ring wrought of gold, with a jewel Imbedded within it that tries To flash back the soft or the cruel Light locked in her beautiful eyes. Will she wear it, I wonder, a token Of all that my heart holds so fast That the fetters remain yet unbroken And firm to the last ? AN AVOWAL. 63 There it comes ! What a ghost of a shiver Just ran through my stammering tongue ! And down in -my heart there's a quiver Of something that ought to be sung. One word ah, my darling, you know it ; The long captive songster has flown ! Love love is the burden ; the poet Loves you you alone ! IN PARENTHESIS. T READ the verses from my copy, A bunch of fancies culled from Keats, A rhyme of rose and drowsy poppy, Of maiden, song, and other sweets : The lines so patiently I penned them, Without one sable blot or blur I knew had music to commend them And all their secret thoughts to her. She heard the rhythmical romanza, And made a comment there and here ; I read on to the final stanza, Where timid love had made me fear. IN PARENTHESIS. 65 A long parenthesis ; the metre Went lamely on without a foot, Because the sentiment was sweeter Than love emboldened me to put. Alas, I tried to fill the bracket ; The truant thought refused to come ! The point, to think the rhyme should lack it ! My wakeful conscience struck me dumb. She took the little leaf a minute, Ah, what a happy time was this ! The bracket soon had something in it, I kissed her in parenthesis. TO MY MESSAGE. ~\ T 7"HEN in her lap you lie, Little note, Look upward to your sky A tender, mild blue eye, A round, rose-colored throat, An exquisite white chin With one star-dimple in : Look upward from her lap's Soft pillow, and perhaps You may see Her think of me. And if by happy chance, Letter mine, You see her blue eyes glance Across your smooth expanse, Or fixed upon the line TO MY MESSAGE. 67 Which rhymes with all the love Reflected there above, Grieve not that you are dumb ; But think that I shall come Once again, Your spokesman then. Ah me ! would I, like you, Missive slight, Might watch those clear eyes blue, That throat and white chin, too, And read them all aright, Might feel the red lips touch My own, I'd give how much ! Just once to take your place, My paradise her face And a part Of her dear heart. A CIGAR. A LONE I puff soft wreaths of blue That frame a most delightful view ;- A little library with two Together sitting : A youth and girl. Upon her knees A novel with a hero ; he's A ghostly circumstance to these Quaint wraps she's knitting. The lover holds the worsted, and Just touches one fair pinky hand : How well her bright eyes understand ! For soon, unbidden, Two scarlet lips begin to move A conversation in that groove A CIGAR. 69 Where chosen words quite clearly prove The subject hidden. And then the knitting's laid aside ; The needle's dropped ; and some sweet guide Leads both his hands to haply hide Two others whiter. I listen, and a mellow note Slips through the rosy, rounded throat : I hear the happy lover quote The novel's writer. The writer, ah, what kind fates come To keep harsh criticism from His little book : perhaps 'tis some Such situation ; A picture similar to this, Portraying a brief spell of bliss. And punctuated with a kiss- Interrogation. 70 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. I see the faces slowly meet, And shy, uncertain glances greet : The knitting's fallen to her feet ; And on his shoulder Her head in golden glory lies, While, fathoming her lovely eyes, He reads the tenderest replies, Love growing bolder. But, while I dream in idleness, And wonder whether she will bless His hearing with a whispered " yes, 1 With drooping lashes ; The picture fades from sight afar As pales at morn a silver star ; I seek the light of my cigar, And find but ashes. A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. OTRANGE how much sentiment Clings like a fragrant scent To these love-letters pent In their pink covers : Day after day they came Feeding love's fickle flame ; Now, she has changed her name, Then, we were lovers. Loosen the silken band Round the square bundle, and See what a dainty hand Scribbled to fill it Full of facetious chat ; Fancy how long she sat Moulding the bullets that Came with each billet ! MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Ah, I remember still Time that I used to kill Waiting the postman's shrill, Heart-stirring whistle, Calling vague doubts to mind, Whether or no I'd find That he had left behind One sweet epistle. Seconds become an age At this exciting stage ; Two eager eyes the page Scan for a minute ; Then, with true lover's art. Study it part by part, Until they know by heart Everything in it. What is it all about ? Dashes for words left out, A BUNDLE OF LETTERS. Pronouns beyond a doubt ! Very devoted. Howells she's just begun ; Dobson her heart has won ; Locker and Tennyson Frequently quoted. Criss-cross the reading goes, Rapturous rhyme and prose, Words which I don't suppose Look very large in Books on the " ologies" ; Then there's a tiny frieze Full of sweets in a squeeze, Worked on the margin. Lastly, don't pause to laugh ! That is her autograph Signing this truce for half Her heart's surrender ; MADKIGALS AlvD CATCHES. Post-scriptum, one and two, Desserts, the dinner's through !- Linking the " I " and " You" In longings tender. Such is the type of all Save one, and let me call Brief notice to this small Note neatly written : Tis but a card, you see, Gently informing me That it can never be ! This is the mitten ! A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA. "TAEAR Priscilla, quaint, and very Like a modern Puritan, Is a modest, literary, Merry young American : Horace she has read, and Bion Is her favorite in Greek ; Shakspere is a mighty lion In whose den she dares but peek ; Him she leaves to some sage Daniel, Since of lions she's afraid, She prefers a playful spaniel, Such as Herrick or as Praed ; And it's not a bit satiric To confess her fancy goes From the epic to a lyric On a rose. 76 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Wise Priscilla, dilettante, With a sentimental mind, Doesn't deign to dip in Dante, And to Milton isn't kind ; L'Allegro, II Penseroso, Have some merits she will grant, All the rest is only so-so, Enter Paradise she can't ! She might make a charming angel (And she will if she is good, But it's doubtful if the change'll Make the Epic understood) : Honey-Suckling, like a bee she Goes and pillages his sweets, And it's plain enough to see she Worships Keats. Gay Priscilla, just the person For the Locker whom she loves ; A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA. What a captivating verse on Her neat-fitting gowns or gloves He could write in catching measure, Setting all the heart astir ! And to Aldrich what a pleasure It would be to sing of her, He, whose perfect songs have won her Lips to quote them day by day. She repeats the rhymes of Bunner In a fascinating way, And you'll often find her lost in She has reveries at times Some delightful one of Austin Dobson's rhymes. O Priscilla, sweet Priscilla, Writing of you makes me think, As I burn my brown Manila And immortalize my ink, 78 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. How well satisfied these poets Ought to be with what they do, When, especially, they know it's Read by such a girl as you : I who sing of you would marry Just the kind of girl you are, One who doesn't care to carry Her poetic taste too far, One whose fancy is a bright one. Who is fond of poems fine, And appreciates a light one Such as mine. A PERSIAN NOCTURNE. S~\ NIGHTINGALE among the leaves Who singest to the blushing rose, Thy liquid, mellow music cleaves The garden's fragrance where it goes ! Who taught thy feathered slender throat This strange, delicious, limpid note, Which soaring skyward through the dark In swift, melodious pursuit, Tempts all the trembling stars to hark, And all the rustling leaves be mute ? Teach me thy song, O happy bird, That, 'neath the window of my love, My lips may speak some honeyed word With wings to waft it up above ; 8o MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. And when she comjs her starry eyes Shall shame their rivals in the skies ; Her cheeks shall mock the rose ; and thou, Beholding what thou thinkest thine, Perched lightly on the lofty bough, Shalt leave thy rose, and sing to mine ! HER GUITAR. "D Y the fire that loves to tint her Cheeks the color of a rose, While the wanton winds of winter Lose the landscape in the snows, While the air grows keen and bitter, And the clean-cut silver stars Tremble in the cold and glitter Through the twilight's dusky bars, In a cozy room where lingers Happy Time on folded wings, I am watching five white fingers Float across six slender strings Of an old guitar, held lightly, Captivated while she sets, MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. Here and there, five others tightly On the frets. Lost in loving contemplation Of the fair, shy, girlish face Conscious of no admiration, Posed with such a charming grace O'er this instrument some Spanish Serenader used to keep Hidden till the Sun would vanish And the birds were fast asleep ; Who, below his loved-one's casement : With the mellow Southern moon Through a leafy interlacement Shining softly, thrummed a tune : Did she answer it I wonder ? Did she frame a sweet reply ? Did she grant the wish made under Such a sky ? HER GUITAR. 85 This I know, if she had listened To the melody I've heard, Mute confessions must have glistened In her eyes at every word ; And the very stars above her Must have whispered, one by one, Something sentimental of her When the serenade was done. For this music has but ended, And I leave my dreams to find With the notes are somehow blended Like confessions of my mind ; And the gentle girl who guesses What these broken secrets are, Is the one whose arm caresses This guitar. THE MUSE. Tj^OR months I had suffered derision, A siege of poetical blues ; The fair mythological vision Familiarly known as the muse Had vanished and left me deserted, The frozen rhyme-rills wouldn't run While she, Miss Calliope, flirted With some other son. The ink which I penned every word of Once put upon paper, it froze ; Presto ! transformation unheard of The poetry turned into prose. 'Twas clear that the rhymes were not running In pairs simultaneous then, THE MUSE. 'Twas clear that my hand had lost cunning, And likewise my pen. I conquered some mental depression In this philosophical grief : The muse may repent her transgression, I reasoned, and turn a new leaf, And some happy day, unexpected, Return and do penance a time By having her manners corrected In trivial rhyme. Alas for the " rhyme" with the 4< reason," Those two incompatible words ! I had as well dreamed of a season Of snow with its roses and birds. Calliope, I'd had enough of, Here Shakspere's remark came to aid My brain with a trope : She's the stuff of Which visions are made. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Then sudden, with never a warning, A voice at my side bade me write, As if out of darkness the morning Had flooded the landscape with light ; The rhymes came again like the verdure Which lifts to the heavens above, Ah, Sweetheart, 'twas then that I heard your Lips murmuring love ! FOR SAYNTE VALENTYNE, HIS DAYE. E, little Rhyme, & greete Her, Goe, tel Her y ft I thinke Things infinitely sweeter Y n I maie putt in Inke : Y e Musick of y e metre Shal linger on y e Aire Y fl whiles She turns y e Leaves & learns Y e Secrett hidden there. Flye, little Leafe of Paper, Flye, merrie-hearted Bird, & lett your Fancie shape Her Some dear & simple Word 88 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Soe sweete it sha'n't escape Her, & if a Blushe you see Steale upp & chase across Her face, Return & counsell me. Haste, little God ! I send Her, Bye You, y MS, W ch hopefull Love has penned Her Withe quill in Honie dipt ; Haste ; bidd Her Heart be tender Unto y e lightesome Line Where I in maske have come to aske To be Her Valentyne ! TO CUPID, FEBRUARY I4th. , goe to Her in haste, Saye my Hearte is hopefull ; Of y e Songes y* She has graced, Here 's an Envelope full. Kiss Her once y 8 be your Fee ; Kiss her twice for mine ! Kiss Her thrice & three times three, Telle Her you have come to be Her Valentyne ! Cupid, goe in haste to Her, Saye my Hearte is lonely ; Hasten, prettie Messenger, Bring Her to me only 90 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Kiss Her once y 8 be your Fee ; Kiss Her twice for mine ! I shall kiss her three times three, When you bring Her back to be My Valentyne. ENGAGED. TV TUTE the music of the fiddle When we wandered to the door ; Must have been about the middle Of the night, or may be more. Every poising of her face let Loose the rhapsodies of love ; Every movement of her bracelet, Or her glove. After each adieu was bidden, Leisurely we took our leave ; One white hand was half-way hidden In a corner of my sleeve. Foolishly my fancy lingers ! Still, what can a captive do ? ga MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Just the pressure of her fingers Thrilled me through. Spoke we of the pleasant dances, Costumes, supper, and the wine ; Gossiped of the stolen glances ; Guessed engagements, mentioned mine. Some old sorrow to her eye lent Tears that trickled while we talked, And I found her growing silent As we walked. My engagement ? Queer, why stupid People peddle little lies ! Here, beside us, cunning Cupid Shot his arrows from her eyes ; In my heart a twinge and flutter Followed fast each dart he dealt, And my tongue tried hard to utter What I felt. ENGA GED. 93 Standing near the polished newel, With the gas turned very low, Conscience seemed to whisper, "Cruel, Tell the truth before you go." So my courage, getting firmer, Set her doublings all aright ; Tiny hands came with the murmur, " Now, good-night !" Twas the same delicious lisp heard At the dance a merry strain ! True the voice now softly whispered, True she let her hands remain In my own, as if in token Of some wish in sweet eclipse, Cherished lovingly, unspoken By her lips. Long-lashed eyelids gently drooping, Face suffused with scarlet flush, 94 MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. Told the secret, as I, stooping, Kissed the rose-leaf of her blush : Like some happy, sunny island In a sea of joy was I ; Quick she turned her face to smile, and Said " Good-by !" When we met the morning after, Blithe as any bird was she ; Music mingled with her laughter, Every word was love to me. So the genial Mrs. Grundy, Seeing how our hearts are caged, Tells the truth at church next Sunday " They're engaged !" A LYRIC. T ADY, at your lattice I Launch this lyric to the sky- On the fragrant tides of musk Dewy blooms exhale at dusk ; Love its pilot, only Love Left to haven it above, Left to guide it through the bars Of the twilight to the stars ; And these sentinels who keep Careful vigils o'er your sleep Shall to your soft slumber bring This love lyric which I sing ; 96 MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. Thus throughout the summer night Melody shall make delight Mingle with your dreams and be Love's petitioners for me, Till the East shall hint of day, And the stars shall sail away Making music-billows break On your lids and whisper : Wake ! Till I see your curtain drawn And your rosy face the Dawn ! AN UNTUTORED MIND. T T THEN I was but a lad of eight, And Dorothy was turning seven, My life seemed spent close by the gate Of what I had imagined Heaven ; So sweet was Dorothy, and mild, To every fault of mine so tender, I grew to love her as a child Accustomed always to befriend her. Through school hours I observed her dress,- Plain calico to me was satin ; The habit often cost recess And many weary lines of Latin. 98 MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. She very seldom turned her face, Replete with roses, fair and ruddy ; She seemed to think the school a place For strict deportment and for study. In all the classes she was first ; She graduated, went to college, Returned most wonderfully versed In every branch and twig of knowledge. Alas ! I wear no savant's cap ; My brain is not a book-condenser ! No doubt she'll marry that young chap I hear her call " Dear Herbert Spencer /" THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. *TILL on the corner stands the school Where my first steps were taken, The butt of public ridicule, Deserted and forsaken ; The belfry no more boasts the bell Whose tumult used to measure My boyhood's hours and ring the knell To every prank and pleasure. The town has shifted foot by foot As tempora mutantur, And wisdom's wine to-day is put Into a new decanter Whose bright exterior seems to hold A vital essence cheery, Yet just this morning I was told 'Twas dull within and dreary. MA DRIGA LS AND CA TCHES. The boy is father of the man : He lives and thinks as I did When, in short trousers, I began To have my joys divided. He took me back to this old place So with my youth connected, And looking in the youngster's face This picture was reflected. Out from the pages of my book, Too pictureless for study, I sometimes used to steal a look At one face, round and ruddy : 'Twas wrong I knew, 'twas very wrong, And cost me much derision When I was laboring with Long O, very Long Division ! My copy-book with faultless lines Of precept for each letter THE VILLAGE SCHOOL. Was scribbled over with " Be mine" s, A phrase which I wrote better Than any admonition there : It somehow seemed to nourish My jaded heart to read it where I'd penned it with a flourish. No matter how I strived to learn, No matter how I studied, Once give my head the proper turn And then my eyes were flooded ; For there across the room sat she Who balked my brain's endeavor : Thought I, one day I'll whisper " Be" And she'll be mine forever. Old school among the summer morns' And afternoons' long dozes Those hours of mingled mental thorns You put some minute-roses ; MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. One one you put, to me the best, The sweet face of my story, Who budded, bloomed, then, like the rest, Died in her fullest glory. Ah me, the children you have known, The girl with bird-like laughter, The boy whose penitential moan Pierced to your topmost rafter, Who hears to-day the voice of mirth Or sorrow's peal, I wonder ! How many yet are on the earth? Alas, how many under ! Fit emblem of the change of time Minerva's palace-ruin, Take this, a pupil's idle rhyme With love and me and you in ; And may the boy whose school-hours seem To-day so dull and gloomy, Grown up, inherit such a dream As you have pictured to me. A COLONIAL MISSIVE. "D Y Dorothy in Cambridge town This letter quaint was written To some young chap in cap and gown Whose happy heart was smitten, Long years ago when stately dames Were puffed and powdered Madams, And these were frequent college names,- Ware, Eliot, and Adams. The college yard was larger then, The roll of students only Could muster up a hundred men, Think, now-a-days, how lonely ! MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. Yet almost every one of those Who won an A. B. honor Has left a name whose glory throws The laurels thick upon her. Dear Harvard ! It is hard to sing Of this un- Annexed maiden Without forgetting everything Save you. My mind is laden With memories of by-gone days When I was wont to travel To lectures and the triumph blaze Across the paths of gravel. Just how this lad and lassie looked, Or what was his or her name Her easy running quill ne'er crooked The semblance of a surname, It matters not. I like to think I see her in the creamy A COLONIAL MISSIVE. 105 Old paper 'twixt the lines of ink, A face refined and dreamy. I picture her in homespun dress, Each small foot in a sandal, Her features full of tenderness Illumined by a candle, Her quill a feather slim and white Above the square of paper, The hand that guides it left or right Small, and the fingers taper. Those were the days of waxen seals And " f"-ish-looking " s"-es, Of high-heeled boots and spinning-wheels On which they spun their dresses ; And in this missive one may find Such candor in a sentence 'Twould bring, if one were half inclined, A sinner to repentance. MADRIGALS AND CA TCHES. 'Tis faded somewhat since it felt Her fingers smooth its features, And with it Father Time has dealt As with us human creatures . A wrinkle wreathes its inky smile And hides the comma-dimple, And makes it seem severe in style Which is severely simple. Ah, Cambridge Dorothy, I know As long as you were living A rose-face framed in locks of snow, His love had no misgiving ; And this love-letter which you penned, Fast deepening to yellow, Seems thus to whisper : Like me, Friend, Let love make thy life mellow ! GOOD-NIGHT. HpHE white stars blossom in the skies, Like daisies strewn in azure aisles ; I miss but two, the gentle eyes That greet me with your smiles. Love's small astronomy is mine Who missing these miss all the rest : I hate these rival lights that shine To mock my lonely quest. Good-night, and may the angels keep Their faithful watches o'er each lid, Behind whose fringes, bathed in sleep, A turquoise sky is hid. SONNETS. BREEZES OF MORNING. when the doors of night were open thrown I saw the pink-robed Dawn, as one who sees A rose-bud opening by slow degrees, Step from the Orient, a golden zone About her waist : then, sudden, softly blown On fragile blossom-bugles by the breeze, I heard the fragrant roll-call of the bees And saw them troop responsive to the tone. And as I watched them drain their cups of dew, And saw them dart and flash their saffron stripes In all the opal radiance of dawn, The mythic age seemed merged into the new, And Pan once more upon his slender pipes Called to the dance the nimble nymph and faun. A PACIFIC DAWN. T T 7HEN pale Selene in her crescent boat Sails down unto the margin of the West Through shoals of stars that twinkle in unrest, In fancy's bark I follow her, and float O'er sapphire seas to dreamy realms remote, And at my side there goes a feathered guest Who sings to cheer me, and the air is blest With melody responsive to his note. On, on I journey in the starry wake, And all about me is the purple dark Whence blow the winds by which my bark is borne ; And suddenly the poppy fetters break, The moon is gone, and in the field a lark Pays tribute to the faint Pacific morn. A BUTTERFLY IN WALL STREET. TT TINGED wanderer from clover meadows sweet, Where all day long beneath a smiling sky You drained the wild-flowers' cups of honey dry And heard the drowsy winds their loves repeat, What idle zephyr whispering deceit Has won your heart and tempted you to fly Unto this noisy town and vainly pry Into the secrets of this busy street? To me your unexpected presence brings A thought of fragrant pastures, buds and flowers, And sleepy brooks, and cattle in the fold ; Or, watching as you soar on trembling wings, I think for those who toil through weary hours You are a type of their uncertain gold. THE DANCING GYPSY. T TPON a mottled, tawny leopard-skin Spread in the sunshine on the dusty ground, Stood she, a gypsy girl ; and, circled round, Sat dusky youths who made a merry din With wild, barbaric drums, while she, within, A graceful figure, by no garments bound, Danced to the tambourine's discordant sound, And mocked the instrument's delirious spin. Outside the ring were grouped some Arab boys, Who chattered glibly in the golden sun, And sang weird strains of song by fits and starts ; They seemed unconscious of the swelling noise, Yet he alone was so, her chosen one : For all the rest, she danced upon their hearts ! STRATEGY. TV /TUSE, grant me some new simile to sing Her matchless grace and loveliness, and tell What words shall fit the lyric's measure well, What metre smooth unto her lips to bring : Then shall my song be like an antique ring In whose small circlet precious jewels dwell, Each line a gem to bribe the sentinel That guards her heart against Love's eager king. Then as she lends her eyes to read my song Perchance her heart its portals wide will throw And give admittance to Love's messenger, Who, summoning his king's impatient throng, Shall capture it, and come to let me know How easily he won a truce from her. RE-AWAKENING. "\ T 7ITHIN a spot where slept the silent dead, I wandered once when spring had kissed the earth, And set around its breast an emerald girth Of grass, entangling roses white and red ; Among the leafy branches overhead The mating robins twittered in their mirth, All nature seemed rejoicing in new birth Beneath the canopy the blue skies spread : And as I sat beside one mossy stone Kissed by a hundred suns of summer skies, A sudden joy came to my heart, alone Among those graves, to think the dead shall rise In God's eternal spring when sounds are blown On angels' instruments in Paradise ! MISS THOMAS'S "A NEW YEAR'S MASQUE." OHE finds companionship in field and wood, A friendly face in every path and nook ; The skies for her wear no uncertain look ; She comprehends the mystery and mood Of winds and waves and Heaven's starry brood ; She knows the message of the bird and brook ; For her all Nature is an open book, And solitary means not solitude. With this small volume as your talisman, When all the world is shrouded in the snows, Sit down and read these music-making words : And winter's blasts shall seem the winds that fan Your face in June sweet with the breath of rose, And tremulous with twitterings of birds ! FRENCH FOLLIES. COME, PAN, AND PIPE. /^OME, Pan, and pipe upon the reed, And make the mellow music bleed, As once it did in days of yore, Along the brook's leaf-tangled shore, Through sylvan shade and fragrant mead. On Hybla honey come and feed, To tempt the Fauns in dance to lead The Dryads on the mossy floor, Come, Pan, and pipe ! To-day the ghosts Gold, Gain, and Greed, The world pursues with savage speed : Forgotten is your magic lore. Oh, bring it back to us once more ! For simple, rustic song we plead : Come, Pan, and pipe ! WHEN TWILIGHT COMES. "\ T 7HEN twilight comes and nature stills The hum that haunts the dales and hills, Dim shadows deepen and combine, And Heaven with its crystal wine' The cups of thirsty roses fills. Blithe birds with music-burdened bills Hush for a space their tender trills, And seek their homes in tree and vine t When twilight comes. Soft melody the silence thrills, Played by the nymphs along the rills ; And where the dew-kist grasses twine, The toads and crickets tattoo fine Drums to the fife of whip-poor-wills, When twilight comes. AN OLD RONDO. TTER scuttle Hatt is wondrous wide, All furrie, too, on every side, Soe out She trippeth daintylie, To lett y e Youth full well to see, How fay re y* mayde is for y e Bryde. A lyttle puffed, may be, bye Pryde, She yet soe lovely e is that I'd A Shillynge give to tye, perdie, Her scuttle Hatt. Y e Coales into y e Scuttle slide, Soe in her Hatt wolde I, and hide To steale some Kisses two or three ; But synce She never asketh me, Y e scornful Cynick doth deride Her scuttle Hatt ! BEHIND HER FAN. T3EHIND her fan of downy fluff, Sewed on soft saffron satin stuff, With peacock feathers, purple-eyed, Caught daintily on either side, The gay coquette displays a puff : Two blue eyes peep above the buff : Two pinky pouting lips, . . . enough ! That cough means surely come and hide Behind her fan. The barque of Hope is trim and tough, So out I venture on the rough, Uncertain sea of girlish pride. A breeze ! I tack against the tide, Capture a kiss and catch a cuff, Behind her fan. H 1 HER CHINA CUP. [ER china cup is white and thin ; A thousand times her heart has been Made merry at its scalloped brink ; And in the bottom, painted pink, A dragon greets her with a grin. The brim her kisses loves to win ; The handle is a manikin, Who spies the foes that chip or chink Her china cup. Muse, tell me if it be a sin : I watch her lift it past her chin Up to the scarlet lips and drink The Oolong draught. Somehow I think I'd like to be the dragon in Her china cup. TO CUPID. /^UPID, tell me how to twine Words like roses in a line, Fit my lady's eyes to greet, For her red lips to repeat That her heart may fathom mine. How to make each sentence shine Love with modest speech combine How to set her heart a-beat Cupid, tell me ! Tell me, may I dare to sign All the love and fancies fine All the thoughts and secrets sweet, That I lay before her feet ? Does she love her Valentine ? Cupid, tell me ! " AWAKE, AWAKE!" A WAKE, awake, O gracious heart, There's some one knocking at the door ! The chilling breezes make him smart ; His little feet are tired and sore. Arise, and welcome him before Adown his cheeks the big tears start : Awake, awake, O gracious heart, There's some one knocking at the door ! 'Tis Cupid come with loving art To honor, worship, and implore ; And lest, unwelcomed, he depart With all his wise, mysterious lore, Awake, awake, O gracious heart, There's some one knocking at the door ! TO MY LOVE. ^VUTSIDE, the blasts of winter blow v Across the city clad in white ; Each flake of madly driven snow A demon seems, with teeth that bite ; The windows rattle as with fright, And winds the chimney whistle through : Alone with memory, to-night, I'm happy, thinking, love, of you. Within, I watch the embers glow ; The slender flames in sudden flight Leap from the crackling logs, and throw Around the room a golden light ; . TO MY LOVE. Romantic tales their tongues recite, And mellow songs, as if they knew, Alone with memory, to-night, I'm happy, thinking, love, of you. From Dreamland all my fancies flow ; My friendly books, with faces bright, Return my listless gaze, and show No sign of sorrow at the slight. Hark ! from the steeple's dizzy height The bells the air with echoes strew : " Alone with memory, to-night, I'm happy, thinking, love, of you." ENVOY. Love, let this song of mine invite Your sweeter voice to echo, too : "Alone with memory, to-night, I'm happy, thinking, love, of you." VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS. /~^OLDEN locks in cunning curl ; Eyes like jewels set in rings ; Teeth, a row of polished pearl ; Lips, two rosy blossomings : Spryly to my side he springs : Pray, who is this fairy fine ? At my feet he coyly flings " Will you be my Valentine ?" Ah, my brain is in a whirl, Thinking on such dainty things ! Tis young Cupid ; see him furl At his back two tiny wings ! VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS. 131 Just between, a quiver swings, Dipt in love's delicious wine, To each dart the flavor clings " Will you be my Valentine?" Watching, I shall see him hurl Recklessly these sugared stings ; Shaped like lips of some sweet girl Is the bow his shoulder slings Silken hair twined for the strings. Snap ! What ails this heart of mine, Clamoring with questionings ? " Will you be my Valentine ?'* ENVOY. Muse, unto the maid who sings For my ears this teasing line, This reply the echo brings : be my Valentine ?" A COQUETTE. OHE wears a most bewitching bang,- Gold curls made captive in a net ; Her dresses with precision hang ; Her hat observes the stylish set ; She has a poodle for a pet, And drives a dashing drag and pony : I know it, though we've never met, I've seen her picture by Sarony. Her phrases all are fraught with slang, The very latest she can get ; She sings the songs that Patience sang, Can whistle airs from "Olivette," A COQUETTE, And, in the waltz, perhaps, might let You squeeze her hand, with gems all stony : I know it, though we've never met, I've seen her picture by Sarony. Her heart has never felt love's pang, Nor known a momentary fret ; Want never wounds her with his fang ; She likes to run Papa in debt ; She'll smoke a slender cigarette Sub rosa with a favored crony : I know it, though we've never met, I've seen her picture by Sarony. ENVOY. Princes, beware this gay coquette ! She has no thoughts of matrimony : I know it, though we've never met, I've seen her picture by Sarony. A SWELL. T TIS forehead he fringes and decks With carefully cut Montagues ; He angles his arms semi-X, And dresses in delicate hues ; His haunts are the rich avenues ; Staccato is somewhat his gait ; It takes but a wink to amuse His sadly impoverished pate. His costumes are covered with checks ; He travels in taper-toed shoes Through Vanity Fair, there to vex The silly young heart that he wooes ; A SWELL. i35 He's clever with cards and with cues, And banters with Fortune and Fate : Alas, that the lad cannot lose His sadly impoverished pate ! He's fond of the frivolous sex ; His light conversation he strews With "toffy," aught else would perplex The topic his fancy pursues ; The cud of contentment he chews, While women and wealth on him wait ; And nature with nothing endues His sadly impoverished pate. Fair princesses, all who peruse This ballad, beware ere too late, Lest Opulence hear you abuse His sadly impoverished pate ! OF RHYME. "\ T 7HEN blossoms born of balmy spring Breathe fragrance in the pleasant shade Of branches where the blue-birds sing, Their hearts with music overweighed ; When brooks go babbling through the glade, And over rocks the grasses climb To greet the sunshine, half-afraid, How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! When invitations are a-wing For gay Terpsichore's parade ; When dreamy waltzes stir the string And jewels flash on rich brocade, OF RHYME. Where Paris dresses are displayed, And slippered feet keep careful time ; In winter, when the roses fade, How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! When by your side, with graceful swing, Some fair-faced, gentle girl has strayed, Willing and glad to have you bring Your claims for love and get them paid In kisses, smiles, and words that aid The bells of bliss to better chime ; When Cupid's rules are first obeyed, How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! ENVOY. Reader, forgive me, man or maid, Against Calliope this crime ; And let this brief ballade persuade How easy 'tis to write a rhyme ! TO AUSTIN DOBSON. T^ROM the sunny climes of France, Flying to the west, Came a flock of birds by chance, There to sing and rest : Of some secrets deep in quest, Justice for their wrongs, Seeking one to shield their breast, One to write their songs. Melodies of old romance, Joy and gentle jest, Notes that made the dull heart dance With a merry zest ; TO AUSTIN DOBSON. 139 Maids in matchless beauty drest, Youths in happy throngs ; These they sang to tempt and test One to write their songs. In old London's wide expanse Built each feathered guest, Man's small pleasure to enhance, Singing him to rest, Came, and tenderly confessed, Perched on leafy prongs, Life were sweet if they possessed One to write their songs. Austin, it was you they blest : Fame to you belongs ! Time has proven you're the best One to write their songs UNIFORM IN STYLE AND PRICE, IN WHITE, STOKES, & ALLEN'S NEW SERIES OF VOLUMES OF AMERICAN VERSE. POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS. By George A. Baker, author of *' The Bad Habits of Good Society " ik Mrs. Hephces- tus" etc. CAP AND BELLS. By Samuel Minturn Peck. MADRIGALS AND CATCHES. By Frank Dempster Sherman. THISTLE-DRIFT. By John Vance Cheney. (Other volumes in preparation.') Sparkling verses, many of which have appeared in THE CENTURY and other well-known publications. Each, one volume, Elzevir i6mo, from new plates, on very fine laid paper. Each, olive-green, vellum cloth, bevelled boards, gilt top, neat ornamentation in gold, $1.00. Parchment paper covers, with design of Pan and Dancing Cupids (by S. W. van Schaick), stamped in gold at top, and with lettering and vignette printed in color below, each vol., $1.00. Half calf, gilt top, each vol $2 oo Limp calf, red under gold edges. In box, each 3 oo Tree calf, gilt edges. In box, each ... 3 5 Any of the above books can be had of your bookseller, or will be sent to any address, at publishers' expense, on receipt of adver- tised price. New catalogue sent free to any address. Contains full descrip- tions of many new publications. WHITE, STOKES, & ALLEN, Publishers, 182 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK CITY. THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. NOV 11 1932 SEP 20 395738 " UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY