EMS AND VERSES ;j .1. :JW SARAH B. EARLE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS AND VERSES POEMS AND VERSES BY SARAH B. EARLE CAMBRIDGE: PRIVATELY PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS, 1905 A-n SARAH B. EARLE was born in East Baldwin, Maine, October 22, 1835, at the place called Valley Lodge, which had been the home of her forefathers, the Browns, for many years. Leaving home at the age of fifteen, she lived for a few years at Lynn and Salem, and afterwards at Wilmington, Delaware. In the year 1865, on the seventh of February, she was married to Oliver K. Earle, of Worcester, Massachusetts. After the death of her husband in 1868, she continued to reside in Worcester until 1897. In that year she finally moved to California, where she had at intervals previously spent several winters, and settled at Pasadena. Here she continued, in full health and with undiminished capacity for en joying Nature and the society of her friends, until her death, February 28, 1904. 485187 ENGLISH INTRODUCTION THE writer of the verses now for the first time appearing in this volume was never willing to col lect and revise, much less to publish, what she felt to be her best work. Her voluminous early efforts, carefully stored in copy-books, are in no way re markable. But for the last forty of her seventy years of life, nearly all her occasional poems, scat tered on flyleaves, often in rude finish, among her friends, sounded an individual note of character and compelled attention. Marking, as they do, family reunions, the birthdays of kindred or of friends, or the festivals of the Christian year, her verses claim as a rule to be nothing more than evi dences of fond affection or the envoys of gifts. Perhaps this very withdrawing into outwardly con ventional forms and times of expression serves by contrast to throw out into stronger relief the ner vous energy and full-blooded character of her verse. Her own personality, strongly marked, assertive, at times even commanding, in works of benevo lence and reform, retained, in the world of the affections, a certain maidenly shyness, save for the occasional burst of poetic appeal. And these ap- Viii INTRODUCTION peals, what effacement of self goes with them, what longing for the peace of the affections, out of a life of inner unrest, what abiding consciousness that not in her life itself, nobly active though it was, but rather in these fragmentary rhythmical utterances of her storm-stressed nature, did the best that was in her come to light ! This it is that makes these poems in a certain sense more intimate than biography. She herself would have preferred to be known to those into whose hands this little book may fall by these alone, and her friends feel impelled to respect this unex pressed wish. But for those who knew of her manifold activi ties, there is still enough in the following pages to bring her image more vividly before them than any brief sketch of her life could do. In education, prison reform, civic amelioration, temperance, she loved to work, valiantly, manfully, at the side of men. This militant phase of her character is mir rored for instance in the impassioned call entitled " Work," and notably in her religious verses, al though for the latter class it may be claimed that as true hymnic poems, they transcend sex and per sonality and become the language of the believer and of the church. In one other respect also, the experiences mir rored in the following pages pass beyond the interest INTRODUCTION IX attaching to a single life, and suggest comparison with a rapidly passing American type. It will be observed that reunions, celebrated here as taking place in California, point back to a town in Maine, as the cradle of the family, to that Baldwin, a small and scattered hamlet, but nevertheless the home of many names of honorable sound. This history of her family was exactly repeated in the life of the writer herself. She was born and reared in the old mansion at Valley Lodge, which she has described in an intimate family poem, not here included, as the place where, even in her girl hood : "The spinning wheel's hum, when the fire burned low, Kept time to the love-ditties sung ; For wheels were our grandmas' pianos, you know, \Vhere musical changes were rung." Yet the last seven years of her life were spent in her cottage at Pasadena, California, where it was her habit, as self-appointed almsenier in the wake of a noted physician, to relieve the wants of those pathetic banished existences, families of culture from the East, which, though valiant in spirit, had faltered by the way failing to keep time physi cally with the unrelenting quickstep of the new age. Her own ' stepping Westward,' both literally and also in the meaning of Wordsworth's poem, had been of a far different character. Not for natures X INTRODUCTION like hers the vague surmises and incomplete frui tions of the lines, "Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on ? " She had sought and found for herself the "spiritual right To travel through that region bright," if not always into larger scenes and experiences, yet into a land of more limitless inner horizons. In this lies a certain evolutionary, typically Ameri can element of her character. To the American youth of either sex in the early part of the last century, life on the old soil lit up sunsets of bright possibilities, but admitted few real opportunities for achievement in any art of express ing the Beautiful in correct or pleasing forms. To this more or less vague longing in the better en dowed natures were added, in the subject of our sketch, love of color, ability to model, and, in gen eral, a temperament teeming with the demand for expression through artistic work of hands and brain. The result, amounting as it did to more than amateur success with the brush and the modeling stick, was even more remarkable in the brave rush of endeavor, consistently though inter mittently recurrent through many years, than in INTRODUCTION XI the performance. It was a typical American evolu tion, not indeed into the glorious regions of pure art, but, through the search for the same, an emer gence into successive stages of conflict, of ever growing delight in the spirit of beauty, of willing resignation, and, finally, of clarified wisdom of character, with a certain portion superadded of habit and craftmanship in the art of expression in verse. Changed conditions and a new century have brought some degree of opportunity to every corner of our vast country, where hidden talent may be struggling towards the light. But brave disciples of the art of living, with their immense avidity, their resourcefulness, with their hopefulness and cheer, with the will to work out some method of adequate expression for inborn promptings of soul and life, even under the most adverse circumstances, are not so plentiful among us as to render vanishing exam ples of the type from the former age unattractive or valueless for the present. The writer of the verses presented in this vol ume will live in the memory of devoted friends in the lustre of her character and excellent virtues. But to her friends also, as well as to the limited public which this book is intended to reach, her poetry will suggest a certain bloom and fragrance of American life, as imponderable, yet nevertheless Xll INTRODUCTION as precious, as the faint scent of the garden rose mary, celebrated in her verses. And some, especially of New England stock, whether still on the old soil, or scattered in new homes from Maine to California, will recognize a rare example of the kindred type, and will be glad to acknowledge the relationship. HENRY WOOD. BALTIMORE, 1905. POEMS AND VERSES WITCH HAZEL N a mid-November morning, By a lake shore that you knew, In our friendship's early dawning, This slight twig I picked for you From the Hazel where it grew. To my soul the sweetest story Of true love was softly told j How it blooms in golden glory When the summer time "it, old And life's autumn growing cold. CHANGED DELICATE vase had been given to me, Which held in its heart all the colors of light, In rich iridescence I thought I could see An image of love float in luminous white. Anon it was robed in the faintest of blue, Again it was folded in daintiest green, Then changing to rose, it was wrapped in the hue That deep in the heart of the opal is seen. These tintings were fused in an ether so clear, That all the fleet dancing of color was plain : One unlucky moment, made blind by a tear, I dimmed this translucent delight with a stain. And so my fair vision, my image of love, That floated in light and illumined my heart, Withdrew in a cloud, as on wings of a dove, And vanished. 'T was thus that we drifted apart. THE BUTTERFLIES' BALL HANDSOME great butterfly, just from the fold, In lusterless velvet was clad, While on his black vestments bright buttons of gold But hinted the riches he had. He summoned his queen with a right royal grace To dress in her white satin gown, To frill all the edges with delicate lace, And soften the neck ruff with down. For Princess Carlina will journey to-day To fair Castle Goughwood near by. We '11 signal her passing with lithesome display And sue for a glance of her eye. My Lady is great, and my Lady is wise, And she lifts a wee gold-pointed wand, When lo ! a great thrill of delighted surprise Is felt through the lore-loving land. They called on their courtiers and every Queen's maid, And all from the land of Cocoon, 6 THE BUTTERFLIES BALL To come in their holiday garments arrayed, And meet on the green at high noon. The great Cocoon Kingdom was roused by the call, 'T was after their season of Lent ; Their gay little figures just freed from their thrall With joy in their Easter clothes went. Soft orchestral breezes swept over the grass And played a melodious strain, That when the fair Lady Carlina should pass She 'd hear it, and listen again. And so as she journeyed along the hot way, In glare of the white scorching sand, She met this procession of butterflies gay With a gossamer fan in each hand. They bowed and they courtesied in brisk pantomime " All hail to my Lady, all hail ! We give you warm welcome this sweet summer time, In picturesque Butterfly Vale." They fluttered in rose, and they flitted in blues, And soared in the shadings of red, And purple, and yellow and violet hues, With gay little plumes for the head. THE BUTTERFLIES BALL 7 The brown satin gowns and the velvet brocades Swept over the flower-covered way, And soft shining gauzes in tenderest shades Made festive this great holiday. They whirled in wild waltzes and mazy quadrilles And scarcely touched toe to the ground ; They varied the changes at all their sweet wills And merrily swung all hands round. They gracefully balanced on Golden Rod spray, Turned corners and partners by turns, Then sipped from the juices of milkweed the whey, And fanned their hot faces with ferns. The grand right and left, and the brisk lady's chain Took shape in their fanciful flight ; They waltzed down the center, chassezed back again, For " all promenade to the right." Gold buttercups yielded good measure of dew Their ravenous thirst to allay ; Sweet nectar from clover top goblets they drew, And columbines close by the way. Stout elderly matrons alighted to brew In cups of white catnip their teas, 8 THE BUTTERFLIES' BALL But ice cream and sherbet were sheltered from view In caves under evergreen trees. The fete was thus ended, and each Butterfly, In passing my Lady, bowed low ; They caught a quick glance of her beautiful eye And lingered, unwilling to go. Then spoke sweet Carlina, and waved her white hand, Her spirit astir with the sight, Soft words understood by this fluttering band Who nodded their heads with delight. FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY JHREE precious jewels may be won, As on my Heavenly way I go, And while life's day is wearing on More lustrous, pure and bright may grow. Ah, if upon my brow they shine, When I arrive at Heaven's gate, No other passport need be mine, They 're known to those who watch and wait. My way lies up a rugged steep, On bended knees I often grope, Or, wading through the waters deep, I sometimes lose my jewel, Hope ; Then, blinded by my doubts and fears, The beacon light grows almost dim, Till, reaching after God, with tears I cast my every care on Him. And when I know that He is near To heal my bruised and bleeding heart, To wipe away each bitter tear, I say " Sweet Christ " and bear the smart. 10 FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY I know my Father loves me more Than I can love an earthly one, And so I whisper, o'er and o'er, " Thy will be done," " Thy will be done." The work that He would have me do Needs all my heart, needs all my love, E'en though to bear the journey through, May be the work He will approve, And when the jewel, Faith is set Gleaming above my upturned face, Hope, smiling through the glittering drops, Regains its wonted, rightful place. When I can veil the unmeant wrong That ignorance and weakness do, Knowing the Tempter's wiles are strong And that God's eye, not mine, sees through, When I can lend the helpful hand And raise the sad, despairing heart, Can teach the fallen one to stand And how to choose the better part ; And when, with patient steps, I tread The path my God marks out for me, Willing in meekness to be led To duty through humility ; FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY II When like a loving, faithful child, I lift my cross and bear my woe With gentle mien and judgment mild, The jewel, Charity, will glow. Faith lights the darkest, roughest way, Hope glows, the weary heart to bless, And Charity illumes the day With glimpses of God's gladliness ; And if these on my brow shall shine, When I arrive at Heaven's gate, No other passport need be mine, They 're known to those who watch and wait. WORK E whose idle hands lie folded, In luxurious laps of ease, Soft and white, and finely moulded, Fancy's fickle will to please ; Listen to the Master's calling ! He has work for you to do ; Golden harvest-sheaves are falling, Mould'ring in the evening dew. Ye whose idols have been taken Home to blessedness and rest, Sitting by your hearth forsaken, Gazing at your empty nest j God's strong arm your dead enfolding, Shields them from your earthly care, Trust them to his tender folding ; To his harvest field repair. Ye whose homes are yet unbroken, Blest with loved ones true and pure, Your kind word if fitly spoken, May keep others' pathways sure. WORK 13 There are woes of guiltless sorrow, Ye may wisely strive to heal, From your smile crushed hearts may borrow Hope to cheer, and grace to feel. Ye may keep the weak from falling; Guide the wandering, groping, blind, Out, where dangers stalk appalling, Paths of loveliness to find. Heedless sin and thoughtless straying Need the check of your firm hand, With temptation's flash-lights playing, Teach the wavering how to stand. By the drunkard's frenzied raving, Sin-wrung souls wherever found, Vicious lust its license craving, Life-wrecks strewn our pathway round, By the railing of the scoffer, And the wailing of despair, Be ye roused to come and offer Saving work, availing prayer. A LOVE KNOT TOOK a wee remnant of ribbon so blue And tied this mysterious knot, The color to symbol the hearts that are true In keeping what can't be forgot. A secret was born to our souls in that hour, As sweet and delicious perfume Is born of the fragrant and beautiful flower, When crushed in its glorious bloom. 'T was only a dream of a moment or two, As dreamlanders measure their time, Its history is bound in this ribbon of blue And wrapped in the tissue of rhyme. I send thee the ribbon I 've knotted, my dear, The hallowed remembrance is thine, One drop of devout consecration, a tear, Has made it forever divine. LIGHT AND SHADE IM shadows gather round the door, They flutter from the waving pine, And nestle neath the porch's vine, Where sunbeams danced an hour before. And plaintive memory drifting low Across the heart in silence steals, Its solemn sacred thought reveals Where laughter glanced an hour ago. So shade and sun will dim and glow : Life's tide now ebb, now flowing stream, And hope's glad ray will brightly gleam Where sorrows lay an hour ago. THE INCREASE PLANTED a seed in the ground, A mite in its cradle of clay, And there, all alone in its mound, Forgotten it lay. A shower fell gently one night, The soft earth was jeweled with dew, The sun shone in warm floods of light, The tiny plant grew. At length the most wonderful bloom Came forth to enrapture our gaze ; It lent a delicious perfume, Like incense of praise. A kind word was spoken one day, Where tenderness seldom had come; Tired feet that had wandered away, Were turned toward home. The seed was forgotten next day, And numbered with things that are not, But One marked the place where it lay And never forgot. THE INCREASE IJ His showers of grace fell around ; He shed the warm rays of his love ; And quickened the seed underground Into blooming above. The feet that had long gone astray Trod boldly along in the light ; They are showing blind sinners the way Into fullness of sight. LONELINESS HE Autumn sun with glory crowns These golden days; The trees put on their brightest gowns For festal praise ; And every woodland haunt resounds With birdling lays. Great yellow streamers stripe the lawn This afternoon, The maple trees were tipped at dawn With bright maroon, And evening's rosy veil is drawn For this young moon. The low south sunlight wanders by Thy folded door, And comes in mellow drifts to lie Across my floor, As if to mutely question why Thou com'st no more. I hear the soft wind ask the trees In whispered tone, LONELINESS 19 And every hurrying, bustling breeze Takes up the moan, And in the storm king's track one sees Swift queries strown. And I sit listening for a sound I know so well, A quick sharp footfall on the ground By which I tell The corning of a friend I 've found Who holds Love's spell. And though all else is bright and fair That I can see, The sweetest bird songs fill the air With melody, The joys of golden day I share, But have not thee ! Thy footfall sounds not on the way To greet my ear, Though wait I, listening, all the day Thy step to hear, There comes the sad, sad truth alway, Thou art not here ! But hope, fond hope, that maid of cheer, Comes with sweet power, 2O LONELINESS And bids me trust without a fear To Love's sure dower, And then I know thy step I '11 hear Some blessed hour. OUR MEETING HE came to me a very queen With sudden, sweet surprise;, For royalty was in her mien And love-power in her eyes. She spake the words that women use, But with angelic sound, I could have taken off my shoes As if on holy ground. For every mellow tone and word Like drifting music fell ; My soul, with adoration stirred, Was hushed beneath the spell. Dimly it seemed she must be mine. A treasure, hither tossed From some obscure ancestral line, I once had known and lost, ROSES AND MEMORIES OME drooping, pale pink roses lie In fading beauty by my side. The leaves are crisp, the petals dry, Their dewy freshness all gone by, They 're simply roses dried. But when I lift the withered spray A wondrous fragrance fills the air. Delicious odors float away, And in their drifting sweetness say In memory still I 'm fair. And so the pleasures that are past May seem to fade in Time's swift flight, Until some loving hand has clasped The withered roses when at last Comes back the old delight. CLOUD SHADOWS WATCHED in deep rapture a great mountain range To see a procession in shadow go by, And lifting my eyes from the pageant so strange, Saw only soft cloudlets afloat in the sky. Like great drifts of thistledown gleaming in light, Which migrating fairies might hoist for a sail, They traversed the sky in their billowy flight, Serene in the calm and secure in the gale. All brightness above, and all shadow below ! A mere passing vapor athwart the sun's ray ! A moment, and all the dark mountain will glow In ruddier splendor, with brighter display. And then I bethought me, how blindly we grope When shadows of mystery darken our way, When flutter of death's wing extinguishes hope, And stricken faith falters, too prostrate to pray. Oh, could we, oh, would we look up through our tears And know by believing God's own hand is there, 24 CLOUD SHADOWS Our souls so bewildered would break through their fears And burst into love-light through gateways of prayer. We 'd know that the shadow which crosses our path Is only a cloud-mist obscuring the sight, And sombre-clad spectres that brood by our hearth Would change into visions of trustful delight. FIREBRANDS ILLIE and I have been strangers For many and many a day, But, sitting alone, while the embers Are wasting and fading away Somehow they seem to be shaping The faces of old friends to-day. 'T was only the way a brand tumbled And burst into ruddier glow, That brought the dear fellow before me As plainly as long years ago, When together we drove o'er the mountains, Or dashed through the crisp crusted snow. How two score of busy years change us ! They 've made an old woman of me With wrinkles and angles and gray hair, And children grown tall by my knee. I wonder just how many changes In fair blue-eyed Willie I 'd see ? We never have met since that evening That moonlighted night long ago, 26 FIREBRANDS We drove by the murmuring seatide And felt the grand musical flow Of ocean's great pulse beating loudly That thrilled and enraptured us so. The other great seaside he 'd chosen For work and for home and for life, To battle with fortune and favor, To risk all in pioneer strife ; I never had dreamed in all dreaming Will's playmate could e'er be his wife. I thought 't was the worshipful spirit That made his voice tender and low, And so I was startled from dreaming, When Willie said, " Dear, will you go ? " I 'd planned a long, great work before me, And sadly I answered " Ah, no ! " And so we drove silently homeward In stillness and sorrow and pain, The murmuring sea growing fainter, Our separate paths growing plain, We spoke our farewell at the doorstep j I never saw Willie again. The swift years brought blessing and gladness In love's sweet, harmonious tone, FIREBRANDS 2J And husband and babes marked their passing, Those milestones of bliss all my own ; While Will counts his treasure by millions But counts up his millions alone. ONE ROSE NE drop of water will suffice To symbolize all sin forgiven, One Saviour bore God's great device To raise a fallen world to Heaven. One ray of light embodies all The tints that color this broad earth, The one word " Come " includes the call For all humanity's new birth. And one fair rose of rare perfume Brings the same message to my heart That all the garden's gathered bloom With laden sweetness could impart. A TEAR HE rose held a drop of dew, A crystal spray : When the morning sun flashed through It faded away. One day, on thy cheek, fair maid, I saw a tear; Then through it love's warm light played And I kissed it, dear. TO M. E. W. KNOW the way seems very long, From sunrise surf to sunset foam. But Love can tune his tender song To that low key we knew at home, And we can hear, With Fancy's ear, In accents clear, The greeting message come. It scales Sierra's lofty height, Floats on, across the desert sand, Ascends the Rockies, gleaming white, Soars o'er the prairie land ; Through ether blue, With instinct true, As birds pursue Their course, toward Buzzard's strand. This flight my fond thought dares to take, In sweetest trust from sea to sea On tireless wings : for Love's own sake It speeds across to thee, And evermore Gains as of yore Thy open door Where welcome waits for me. A PRAYER ESUS, Saviour, pilot me, Over life's tempestuous sea ; Unknown waves before me roll, Hiding rocks and treacherous shoal. Chart and compass come from Thee, Jesus, Saviour, pilot me. As a mother stills her child, Thou canst hush the ocean wild ; Boisterous waves obey thy will, When thou say'st to them " Be still." Wondrous Sovereign of the sea, Jesus, Saviour, pilot me. When at last I near the shore And the fearful breakers roar 'Twixt me and the peaceful rest, Then while leaning on thy breast, May I hear Thee say to me, Fear not, I will pilot thee. TO A FRIEND [HERE 'S a love that knows no mea sure welling in thy quiet eye, And in mystic depths the treasure loves like hidden pearls to lie. Now we see it brightly sparkling, wakened by some tender tone, Then in shadowed silence darkling, hushed by some sad sorrowing moan. Ever from its fountain flowing, into many a heart it steals, All unheeding, all unknowing, half the wounds and woes it heals. Here the earth-worn spirit dreary comes to dip its drooping wing, And I, dust-dimmed pilgrim weary, lave me in love's gushing spring. Sweet heart home ! 'T is here I '11 enter where un changing radiance shines, Where love's clustering flow'rets centre, and where clinging friendship twines; Where the plants thy hand doth cherish, feel thy tenderness and care, And the lowliest never perish from neglect's chill wintry air. BIRTHDAY LINES TO J. M. R. S Father Time marched round the world In his accustomed way, Quite recklessly his scythe he twirled As though just out for play. He dealt the mildest little blows ; Touched favored heads with gray : Put spectacles across the nose ; Gave slender waists " a bay." Led story-tellers to repeat, Caused needful things to stray, Hung little weights about the feet, Gave naps at noon each day. But when he came to our dear John, And met his trusting smile, His heart was touched ; he just passed on, And bade him wait awhile. And now John has this fateful dread So perfectly controlled, Wherever else Time's feet may tread, He never can grow old. PASADENA, March n, 1899. TO THE SAME COMFORTING story was long ago told With aspect of credible truth, Of a valley whose denizens never grew old; They drank of the well-spring of youth. Some sought it, some shunned it, some scorned to believe 'T was aught but an old witch's song ; They said a romancer had tried to deceive, And, doubting, they journeyed along. We know the dear friend whom we honor to-day Accepted this fable for truth ; He tents by this fountain, he basks in its spray, And breathes in the ether of youth. This wonderful spring gushes up from his heart, It sparkles, like spray in the sun, Good cheer, and sweet trusting, abound from the start, They ripple and gurgle with fun. TO THE SAME 37 And yet there are waters that run deep and low, Where love and strong faith can abide j Where falls a cool shade ; where alone he may go, And whisper, and rest, and abide. In whatever key Time's chimes may be rung, What changes the fleeting years bring, The dear friend we honor will ever be young While he drinks from this magical spring. PASADENA, March n, 1900. TO M. E. W. HOU knowest dear heart, I'd gladly bring The gift to make thee glad, My love would seek the choicest thing Her storehouse ever had, And costly robes and jewels fair Should crown the day's surprise, While I the greater joy would share, In seeing thy fond eyes. But such alas, I cannot wring From fortune's clasp to-day, * And so, sweet heart, I can but sing The same old-fashioned lay. And my dear love is all my theme ; The oft repeated strain, The burden of my nightly dream, The dawning day's refrain. I turn back leaves of long ago And search for songs of yore, I find the things we used to know And sing them o'er and o'er. TO M. E. W. 39 I try the soft and tuneful lays, That recollections bring; The lullaby of baby days That crooning mothers sing, And I forget, yes, I forget That child to maid has grown; I see my gold-haired sprite, and yet I know that youth has flown. Still thirty years have rolled along And brought their meed of pain, And yet to-day no other song Can wake those chords again. And so dear heart, I bring to thee The same old-fashioned lay : The love that flows so full and free It knows no other way. March 31, 1895. TO THE SAME OW short it seems, The little year just flown ! A few bright dreams Into experience grown. A few more flowers Than ever bloomed before Adorn the bowers That shade our open door. A few old loves, Matured to greater strength, A few lone doves Found waiting mates at length. A few sad plaints, Turned into praises new, A few pure saints Have vanished from our view. A few sharp blows Have softened stubborn pride; For near each rose A cruel thorn may hide. TO THE SAME 4! And plans we made And followed many years Have seemed to fade And leave no trace, but tears. Yet sweet fond trust Has never, never failed ! In doubt's foul dust That banner has not trailed. But bright and clear The standard lifted high Through all the year It floats athwart life's sky. March 31, 1901. TO THE SAME SONGBIRD perches on the high roof tree, I say : " My band is playing tunes for thee." Each tender love note he recalls to sing, And marks the pauses with a flash of wing. This mocking-bird rehearses all his trills, While, high in air, he shows his white-edged frills, Then softly, gently, tenderly will he His repertoire repeat, and all for thee ! The livelong day he '11 chant a roundelay Because he knows it is thy natal day. Trailing the fence, gleams snowy Cherokee, I say : " To-day the roses bloom for thee." The breaths of Ottar o'er the senses steal As blooms the darkly crimson Old Castile. The Gold of Ophir flaunts her glory free ; And still I say: "'Tis blossoming for thee." TOTHESAME 43 The Lady Banksea, lavish, generous rose, A million sprays of dainty petals shows. The white LeMarque climbs high the trellised way, Bursts into bloom, to celebrate the day. And lowly sheltered neath the loquat tree The white and purple iris speaks to thee. And countless garden tokens, fair and sweet, Make offering, this blessed day to greet. March 31, 1901 . TO THE SAME NE little year more Glides away as before, To mark the quick flash of Time's wings. Days vanish so soon, Just a morning and noon And the hush that departing day brings. We take up our task Each morning, nor ask If the burden be heavy or light. So the days fly away Checked with labor and play And the rest and repose of the night. The mocking-bird's song He 's chanted so long Each Spring comes with freshness and cheer, While the linnet sits by With his red kerchief tie And carols the tunes of last year. The song sparrow sings The same tender things, TOTHESAME 45 Love ditties that won us of old. They charm us no less Though plainly we guess The tale has been many years told. Always old, always new, The canary song too Is repeating the threadbare old lay. Each time it is heard Fresh rapture is stirred Though the same notes are warbled for aye. Above the doorway The same rose vines stray, That welcomed with blossoms last year. Next season they '11 bloom With the same rare perfume That brightens to-day with good cheer. So gladly I say For this natal day The same thing I 've said till it 's old, The sweetest and best, Though never expressed, Are wishes no words can unfold. May each fleeting year Grow more and more dear, 46 TOTHESAME With life at its truest and best. While love, gracious love, Shall descend like a dove With home's sweet content for its nest. March 31, 1903. TO W. T. B. ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY 'M thinking of that olden time, The long ago, When we old folks were in our prime, Or thought us so : When all the world appeared sublime In youth's warm glow. The future held, clasped in her arms, Fair Fortune's prize : And we walked forth to grasp her charms Without disguise, Nor dreamed disaster, or alarms, Could wake surprise. But then we were so very young And youth is gay Our harps were new and lightly strung, Not tuned to play The heavier chords that must be sung At set of day. Long years rolled on, and brought our share Of work and play, 48 TO W. T. B. While strength and will to do and dare Have crowned each day, And love and blessing everywhere Have smoothed the way. Now, sweet content sits calmly by With folded hands ; She bravely lifts her trusting eye Toward better lands, But bears with patience, lovingly, Her earth-linked bands. For life is sweet and love is true, And friends are dear, There 's blessed work for all to do, To comfort, cheer. So we can tread the pathway through Without a fear. We '11 pluck fresh roses, as they bloom By winding ways. We '11 revel in their sweet perfume Through sunlit days, In evening glow, at midnight gloom, And starlight rays. We '11 welcome joy at every place With songs of praise ; TO W. T. B. 49 And smiles shall lighten each loved face That meets our gaze. And kindest words and deeds shall grace Our roughest ways. Then joys of age may prove as rare As life's young dream. The cloudless sky as richly fair And bright may seem As those old castles in the air We thought supreme. TO M. E. E climb along an untried track, No wonted way, Peering ahead, or glancing back In close survey. The Spring-time flood or Autumn rain Alike we meet, We gather wayside tufts of grain And flowers sweet. But evermore we push our way Toward that fair goal, That dream of rest, whose beacon ray Inspires the soul. November 19, 1888. TO THE SAME OFT odors fill the sun-sweet air ; Fair blossoms crown the wealth of vine, Just sifting through, I catch the rare And fragrant breath of Eglantine, That faintest, finest and divinest, Sweetest, fleetest yet completest Brier-breath of Eglantine. Then Rosemary, with daintiest scent, Comes drifting on the balmy breeze, And spreads her subtle blandishment Like gracious Heaven's own Heartsease. Oh, rarest, faintest Rosemary ! I hold thee dearest, place thee nearest To Heaven's breath Sweet Rosemary. November 19, 1902. TO C. C. E. ACCOMPANYING A GIFT OF A BALSAM PILLOW UR natal star on falling leaves In placid calm is shining, The waiting, fragrant earth receives The waifs, without repining; With silent, frugal care, she weaves Her winter cloak's warm lining. Crisp winds snatch others as they fly From maple, pine, and willow. They whirl and toss and roll them by Like bright caps on the billow, Then sweep them into windrows high, A giant's fragrant pillow. Could we but catch the odors sweet From mountain gum-trees sifting, Could moor the aromatic fleet All through the balsams drifting, 'T would be a priceless boon, complete, For weary souls' uplifting. To capture just the faintest puff, Through fir and spruce tops dancing, TO c. c. E. 53 Of wild, unconscious woodsy stuff That makes the pines entrancing, Would fill the soul with joy enough, Our true heartsease enhancing. To give surcease, to banish rue, Some fleeting good to borrow, We 've stored these pine-leaves fresh and new To bring thee joy to-morrow, A talismanic presence true, To guard thy dreams from sorrow. October 14, 1885. VERSES FOR SPECIAL OCCASIONS AN ANNIVERSARY TRIED last night to write a song Of gladsome joy to bring to-day : The midnight herald stole along And still my muse refused to play Aught but this same sad, sorrowing lay. 'T is in my heart to wish you joy In fitting measure for this day : 'T is pleasant to make time a toy, With which to sport along our way ; It keeps the life so fresh and gay. But always there comes back to me The glory which has gone before j And when your brightning lives I see, My shadow darkens more and more. In all this world's close busy crowd I stand apart, aside, alone, And wrap my spirit in the shroud Of cherished hopes forever flown. I try to say that I rejoice That God has been so good to you, 58 AN ANNIVERSARY That he has blessed you with the choice Of life with love and duty too. I pray for faith so broad and deep, That I may look the vista through, And, climbing upward, always keep The light beyond me clear in view. I smile because you smile on me, I love you, for your hearts are mine, I fight life's battles to be free, And crush its grapes to taste its wine. The wine is tasted, and I laugh ; 'T is bitter-sweet down to the lees ; And I in gayety's livery quaff Sad memories of my lost heartsease. And I am free in this world's strife ! But O ! how gladly would I give Each victory that crowns my life For one for whom 't was life to live. I have my three for daily care, They bless my life at every hour ; For them my work is one great prayer, My love, a strong sustaining power. AN ANNIVERSARY 59 I fold them to my mother heart, Bestow the mother's fond caress And try to heal that other smart By gentle loving tenderness. Yet never can a single kiss Stamp on their lips its loving glow, But I 'd fain sanctify its bliss By cold, pale lips beneath the snow. And baby forms that might have blessed Come back and nestle in my arms. Ah ! in my dreams the household nest Is never emptied of its charms. I need your love, and every thought That carries kindness on its wing, For more and more each day I 'm taught To value love's sweet chastening. Because I laugh I am not gay, Because I sing I am not glad, So much of life is but a play, Where laughter more than tears is sad. Because I 'm brave I am not strong ; Fear for myself has made me bold. 6O AN ANNIVERSARY With trusting, fainting heart I long To cross the tide to streets of gold. It won't be long and I can wait. I know the door is left ajar, And just beyond the pearly gate Beams softly bright my guiding star. EASTER MORNING WO angels lingered at the tomb Where late our risen Lord had been ; Their whiteness scattered all the gloom And let the heavenly light shine in. I like to think these angels white Were Love and Peace in mercy given, To be a sure and constant light, To guide our earth-bound feet to heaven. So on this blessed Easter morn, We '11 take each angel by the hand, And Love and Peace shall journey on With us to find our promised land. "PEACE BE UNTO YOU" JOHN xx. 19. HESE words our precious Saviour spoke The day he rose. In that first evening, when he broke The tomb's repose. My wish for thee can be no less Than this to-day, Sweet peace that shall forever bless And bide alway. That peace which lifts the soul above Earth's loss and pain, That yields in everlasting love A heavenly gain. That holds us in our sorrowing woes Secure from harm, And bids the wildest storm that blows Be still and calm. To thee, in our dear Lord's own way Be this peace given, That eventide may hold each day The glow of heaven. EASTER MORNING | HIS day, oh let my soul arise, Spurn every worldly aim ! Tear off the veil that blinds my eyes, Look up, aspiring, to the skies, Burn with the enkindling flame ! 'T is Easter day ! As Jesus rose And left the narrow tomb, So let me leave my earth-bound woes, My sins and ills behind, and close The shrouded door of gloom. The burdens my faint heart appall, I 'd bravely fling away, And let each cherished idol fall. From heavenly heights small things seem small, I 'd climb those heights to-day. April 14, 1895. I MUST KEEP CLOSE TO THE HAND THAT FEEDS ME" 1 LOSE to the Hand that feeds me, Dear Lord, I fain would stay. Close to the Love that leads me I 'd follow, day by day. Close to the Truths that guide me, My lingering thought would cling, And Peace should walk beside me, Her sweet Good Will to sing. Close to the Arms that hold me, When weak or faint, I fail; When darksome clouds enfold me And daylight seems to pale. Close to the Strength uplifting I 'd fondly strive to keep, To save my bark from drifting Out o'er a misty deep ; Close to the Lamp that 's burning By paths I never trod : 1 Set to music by G. W. Marston. Published by Arthur P. Schmidt. IMUSTKEEPCLOSE 65 To keep my steps from turning Away from Light and God. In Thy dear love abiding Sweet Christ, keep close to me, Thy way be my deciding, Till self is lost in Thee. December 25, 1894. TO C. E. TRUST thou 'It find it better far Than any bauble gay, The joy I lend, The love I send From my fond heart to-day. December, 25, 1895. TO MY VALENTINE HAT joy, dear heart, it was to know, By precious Violet's dainty sign, That whether I may come or go Thy love, thy constant love, is mine, That thy sweet gift could tell me so, Rejoiced thy faithful Valentine. A VALENTINE VER the way, Just over the way, Dwells a shy maiden Who will not say nay. If you incline To say " Wilt be mine ? " She softly will whisper : " Your own Valentine." FOR THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF REUBEN AND ANNIS BROWN JANUARY 25, 1825-1875 IFE'S lengthened web has been un rolled, As yard by yard you daily wove ; And now I trace a thread of gold, D ' That, running through the fabric's fold, Reveals the lines of figures bold, Still glittering, though the cloth is old. Full fifty years ago and more, The warp for this great web was laid, And Reuben looked the pattern o'er Calmly, as did his sire before ; A fair, brave youth, well versed in lore, Proud of the homespun that he wore. He said : " It surely would work ill To weave this mighty web alone ; To black-eyed Annis, o'er the hill, I '11 go, and ask to help me fill The woof, likewise to spin and quill." And Annis sweetly said, " I will." 7O THE GOLDEN WEDDING Here in the web, a dash of gold Has glistened bright for fifty years. And confidentially I'm told, The right to weave it is controlled By a small boy-god, blind, of old, Who can be neither bought nor sold. And so the pattern winds its way, With sunshine here, and shadow there ; The laugh and song of childhood's play, Go rippling o'er the ground-work gray. Youth, doing battle in its day, Then passing silently away. Some pictures of the past, I trace So closely I would draw them here : When rains had swelled the crossing place, Orestes, with strong, kindly grace, Would lift me high, with droll grimace, And take me o'er in safe embrace. Troilus too, in winter's snow, Would guard me on my way to school, And when my feet were cold, below The frosted point that tingles so, In stocking foot-race we would go, Till my chilled toes were all aglow. f D THE GOLDEN WEDDING 71 Electra, a tall, graceful maid, " Kept school " when I was but a child, And as through pasture paths we strayed, The walk a lesson-book was made. If miles we missed, the while we played, Our childish faults were lightly weighed. So you 've been weaving, year by year, The pattern of the lifework done ; And to us all have grown so dear We 're glad to add our mite of cheer To light the festive picture here, A friendship for all time sincere. And when the old loom shall be still, The shuttle passing through no more, When there 's no longer warp to fill, Nor any woof to spin or quill, Ten Cyrus children, down the hill, Will cherish still the weaver's skill. MAINE IN CALIFORNIA WRITTEN FOR THE MEETING OF THE STATE OF MAINE ASSOCIATION OF CALIFORNIA, MAY 15, 1886 (CROSS our land from east to west, From sea to coast, from coast to sea, Fair Norumbega's sons have pressed Industriously, And anchored, with determined will, Their chosen mission to fulfill. Their warm hearts beat with loyal pride For home or fame, for gold or friends, And while 't is true that distance wide Enchantment lends, Old scenes and loves are held most dear, And native land seems very near. How proudly, gladly, does our thought To that dear rock-bound region turn ; Our memories are deftly wrought With thoughts that burn, And on these free red-letter days, We look back through a golden haze. MAINE IN CALIFORNIA 73 We smell the old-time damask rose Just close beside the garden gate ; No petted favorite that grows Can reach a state So perfect in its shape and hue, Fresh morning bloom, bedashed with dew ! Those peonies again we see, Great globes of crimson in the grass, The housewife's pride, and ecstasy Of all who pass ; With garden border, gay in frills Of gorgeous yellow daffodils And lilacs arched the porchway o'er, That grand old purple lilac, too, Its fragrance sifted through the door, The rooms all through ; 'T was not of fashion's fickle art, But true love, rooted in the heart. Still closer to our choice will creep Through all the wealth of bloom we know, The arbutus, which wakes to peep Through melting snow. Its dainty perfume stirs the heart, And oceans seem less far apart. The may-flower blooms when hills are bare ; Her sweetness with spring's chill wind plays ; 74 MAINE IN CALIFORNIA But golden rods and asters flare In autumn blaze ; They frolic in as brilliant dyes As poppies and blue baby eyes. We turn with joy to leafy June, When blooming apple hues are gay, And bees keep up their droning tune The long, sweet day ; Such fragrance floods the eventide We scarce believe the country wide. Soft memories of the hot July Come floating back from new-mown hay The whetting scythe's sharp note drifts by The meadow way. How well we old Maine people know The drying swath, and sweet windrow. The music of that harvest-time, Like mountain echoes, hidden dwells, Till, like a soft-toned, distant chime Of pealing bells, It softly floods the air of noon, And scythe and cradle play in tune. And wild bird songs make evening thrill With vesper chants in mellow strain ; MAINE IN CALIFORNIA 75 The shy song sparrow's gentle trill We hear again. While listening to the low, sad lay, We feel but half as far away. These pictures, very sweet and fair, Come sometimes to a tear-dimmed eye, And visions that are thin as air Pass silently ; For there are paths we all must tread With unshod feet, uncovered head. We name them not, but every heart Its sorrow holds its hallowed shrine Of life's most treasured gift a part, And most divine. How close to us these lost loves stay Let silent eloquence portray. The rosy dreams of long ago Can never surely all come true ; Young hopes that to completeness grow Are sadly few. As far apart as strand from strand Lies what we are from what we planned. Against the adverse winds of fate, That over young ambitions blow, 76 MAINE IN CALIFORNIA Strong scions from the Pine Tree State Stand fast and grow. True Pilgrim stock, though gnarled and old, Bears grafting in a land of gold. And while they seem to toss about, As wild misfortunes o'er them sweep, They 're making fibre tough and stout, And rooting deep, Till history's unbiased pen Shall register Maine's honored men. They 're ready with a helping hand, And have been since the time of old, When Plymouth's struggling Pilgrim band, Hungered and cold, From Pemaquid met friendly aid In charity's sweet spirit paid. They started at the first alarm Of Revolution's bugle trill ; Maine soldiers stood with lifted arm At Bunker Hill ! They did not loiter by the way And lose their chance in that great day. And when our latest peril came, The first cry struck Maine's listening ear; MAINE IN CALIFORNIA 77 She felt that quick, heroic flame, And answered, " Here" No word of praise, or lauded name Can add new lustre to her fame. But how her truest, noblest braves Met that fierce conflict, and how well, Let five and twenty thousand graves Of patriots tell ! "Maine's quota's full" is heard again, When numbering the hosts of slain. We like to turn the pages back, Read primer life in slow review, Climb the old straight and rigid track, Unlike the new, Which winds and circles round our creeds, To fit our mazy, shifting needs. Our stern, cold winters, crisp and rough, Deep-drifted snow and ice-bound rills, Found boys and girls with grit enough To slide down hills, And test geometry's device On Saco or Sebago ice, Or find, where maple orchards grow, Rude sugar camps in early spring, 78 MAINE IN CALIFORNIA Where rustic pairs o'er crusted snow, While sleigh-bells ring Soft, chiming bells declare their loves, And seal their fate in sugar groves. Hard times but made the children brave To clear rough obstacles away ; And " nothing venture, nothing have," Is true to-day ! The power to stem an adverse tide Has made Maine men our boast and pride. When down-East urchins found their world Half buried in new-fallen snow, In pathless hills and valleys whirled, And miles to go The thought of staying home from school Was far too much against the rule. Ox-teams and wood-sleds breaking way, Bore precious loads of eager youth. Faith, pluck, and shovels won the day In search of truth. A rosy, hooded, mittened band Went forth, warm wrapped by mother hand. It was so in the long ago ; I hope the custom lingers yet. MAINE IN CALIFORNIA 79 A privilege in worth will grow, When hard to get; A day at school was worth the while Of shoveling drifts a good long mile. Before a blazing fire of oak Our sides in turn its warmth would feel, While Latin verbs and Greek roots woke Our classic zeal ; And so the boys sought Bowdoin's shade; The girls true Yankee schoolma'ams made. Schoolma'ams in Maine ! the name implies A brave, self-educating band, In training stern for mothers wise In this new land. When our boys came new homes to find They did not leave their girls behind. They bear their full and equal share In building home and church and school, Where woman's counsel, love, and care May help to rule, And on the rocking ship of State Become the pilot's trusted mate. . If Maine is to her motto true, And, daring all things, bravely leads, 8O MAINE IN CALIFORNIA With eagle vision should she view Her highest needs, Nor give her soaring pinions rest Till she has found and won the best. Till better than a mine of gold, Or pinnacle of tottering fame Shall prove the title she should hold In her fair name, Unsullied honor should she gain, And wear her crest without a stain. DEDICATION HYMN TUNE : HAMBURG E bless thee for the guiding hand That brings us to this gladsome day, When journeying toward the promised land We pause to consecrate the way. To Thee our prayers of faith ascend, To Thee our songs of praise are given ; Here let our tuneful voices blend, And waft their incense up to Heaven. Our pilgrim feet shall hither stray ; Our weary spirits here find rest; Wayfarers learn the better way, And enter paths by Thy love blest. Through all the tide of coming years, This sacred pile shall grow more dear, As faith's glad joy and sorrow's tears, Find peace and balm and refuge here. EAST BALDWIN, MAINE, Jnne 13, 1877. AN APPRECIATION MRS. EARLE was a passionate lover of flowers. Their exquisiteness of form and color, and their graceful profusion, touched her keen sense of beauty: but, more than that, their needs, their power of growth, their responsiveness to good con ditions, appealed to her great, motherly heart. In her garden she found a little world of which she was the arbiter; a world whose denizens, while responding to all her care, never intruded upon her with too curious a sympathy. It was the place where she wrought out all her sorrows in forms of beauty, delving with her own hands, tending every plant according to its nature with love and under standing, sometimes even watering the soil with her tears. Wherever she lived she had flowers as a running accompaniment to all the movement of life. Spring time excursions from Washington, recorded in her letters, are draped and overhung with the glory of blossoming shrubs, and the splendor of the spring forests. Whether she wrote from Worcester, or from her later home at Pasadena, there was always a record of the floral as well as of the human com- 86 AN APPRECIATION pany that she drew about her. Pages glow with color as she describes the profusion of blossoms in her California home : the roses that climb to the rooftree, the lilies that grow in platoons, the bor dering plants and the creepers, even the vegetable leaves, beautiful as the acanthus, each comes in for a word. Often her racing pen had only time to dash down a list of the blossoms, but each one must be mentioned, each color touch added, to complete the picture of her happy day. And she was not satisfied to have all this beauty outside her home. She must bring the blossoms in doors, filling great vases with them, and setting them close about her; to be moved when friends came if the rooms were too small, but always to be at hand ready to bear her company. As we look back on it all, we can see in her flower world at once the ideal and the reflection of that world of human interests which always cen tred about her, as she drew every needy, suffering soul that crossed her path into the circle of her radiant sympathy. HELEN BIGELOW MERRIMAN. BOSTON, 1905. A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER MANY of the letters of Mrs. Earle are filled with allusions to her garden. They express what is so often indicated in her verses the unceasing love for her flowers. One letter, selected almost at random from so many, is printed here with her poems : PASADENA, CAL. Sat. Morn. Aug. 4, 1900. MY DEAR, This morning I have thought if thee could only see the glory of the morning-glories! They run up onto the roof of the house. They climb the tall trees in the adjoining lot. They travel down the fence to the next neighbor. They cover the driveway, if I do not keep cutting the runners. They go up the Le Marque rose-trellis and bloom in bright deep blue with the clusters of white roses. They travel over the plumbago, which is now in full blossoming, and mix their dark with its sky blue. I tarried to cut roses, while the cool fog is over us. The roses are resting now, but I have on the table before me cut Jack, Archduke Charles, La France, Paul Neyron, Hermosa, Pink, Rambler, Vick's Caprice, Countess Riza du Pare, 88 A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER Safrano, and Bon Silene. There are beauties away up beyond my reach on the trellis, of Marie Hennette. I picked all because the hot sun later will spoil them. I am in a constant struggle to keep things alive, during the long summer, and some days are very hot. I pray for rains next winter. I have begun to water violets, which have been left dry, and these little blossoms I enclose came out this morning. A beautiful border of bloom begins close to the house and runs to the sidewalk. I dug it up where the grass died out with the drought at the edge of the lawn next to the driveway. Here are bloom ing Mesembryanthemum which I picked up from a gutter and planted, a honeysuckle I brought from Owen Brown's cabin at Las Casitas, a lemon verbena tree which I set, a tiny slip, when I first came, now a tree to my shoulder and all over lavender blossoms ; a Nephitos rose, a slip from Miss Wotkyns ; Lavender in bloom, from the Clarkes' white double stock ; an hibiscus tree, with fine gorgeous blossoms, which will soon be feet high ; Lady Washington geranium, a slip from the Bishop's garden ; Archduke Charles rose, full of bloom, I set last year ; an English wall flower like Aunt Ann's ; mourning brides scattered all along between things ; two roses of Castile the variety cultivated for ottar of rose, both of which I have A CHARACTERISTIC LETTER 89 set and are higher than my head, always in bloom ; Carnations at intervals, which have just finished and are now cut back ; great spikes of flowering pent- stemon dark red and pink ever blooming ; clumps of umbrella plant set from a house plant too big for its pot ; two La France roses ; a great red and orange Lantana, which grow trees here ; plumbago, the beautiful pale blue : verbenas white, and red and pur ple ; Drummond phlox and a nutmeg and rose ge ranium all scattered along. It is a lovely border of mixed things. Nasturtiums and morning-glories creep in. Slips are rooting in the shade of these things, which I can keep watered. It is a great joy, but endless work. You cannot neglect them a single hot day. I have now ripe white figs and apples. Oranges and grape fruit are green. The peach trees are suffering from the recent dry winters. The mock ing-birds and linnets are cracking their little throats with song. Callas are in beautiful profusion, Mar guerites at their best, all sorts of little things in bloom. I have all the flowers I want, but never one too many. Thine most affectionately, MOTHER. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below Form L-!i 2om-lO,'44(2tf'l) PS _Earle_- E13A17 Poems and verses. PS 1567 E13A17 UBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000035807 NIDI Poems and Verses, by Sarah B. Earle, p. p. 89. (Cambridge). 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