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20010531

Chuckles, this idiocy

Alden, John Carver

chucklesthisidio00alde_djvu.txt

%. C HrJUT. IfcM this ^cp^(se^(se BY J-C-ALDEN DRAWINGS BY B • C • HILLIAM Glass P S 2l£j1) Book ■ L.i 3 .3 ( . 5 fiqwightfl I HZ 6 C.OfYR(GHT DEPOSIT Qh u c hje s "Fine Words Butter No Parsnips 3 Hi'M«'«w JUN 17 1920 Qhuc kje s THIS IDIOCY BY JOHN CARVER ALDEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY B. C HILLIAM BOSTON MARSHALL JONES COMPANY MDCCCCXX COPYRIGHT- I920-BY MARSHALL JONES COMPANY TBI PLIMPTON PRESS* NORWOOD •MASS'U* S 'A ©CU570399 FORE LINES FORE LINES While "The Odyssey" of Homer is unquestion- ably fine, It may not be compared with this Idiocy of mine. Comparisons are odious; my verse is different, quite, From that of Mr. Homer's, which is far more erudite. [7] CHUCKLES A PLEA FOR NONSENSE In moments of anguish how often we find Some frivolous thought is engrossing the mind. 'Tis Nature's relief for the overwrought brain, That, otherwise, might not have withstood the strain. Quite possible that, if taken in season, This nonsense may save some tottering reason. [8] COUPLETS AND QUATRAINS [9] ? B. C. *\\\,* x»> COUPLETS AND QUATRAINS AN APOLOGY With lovely themes my brain fair teems, When I am far from pen and ink. But what I cannot understand Is why — with pen and ink at hand — My stupid mind seems on the blink. TRUE DEMOCRACY "Mah friend," said Col. Moseby Yards (Towards games of chance the Col. leans), "We recognize, when slipping cyards, The right divine of Kings and Queens." MENS SANA On shaking my furnace (a figure for mind) In its refuse of ashes and clinkers, This one feeble spark I happened to find — That musicians are always sound thinkers. COUPLETS AND QUATRAINS AN EPITAPH Until her blest abode this gossip gained, In ignorance of much, the Lord remained. A FIGHTING CHANCE O, would I were an Eskimo, A-drift upon an Arctic floe: For there, 'twere possible to quell The spirit of the H. C. L. PEERAGE IN THE ANIMAL KINGDOM Were knighthood known to that "low-class," A belted earl would be the Ass. The Zebra with its many a stripe, Were still the Ass's prototype. TO A CROCUS Of all the shameless birds I know, The meanest is the thieving Crow. And why in him do I find flaws'? A woman's reason — just be-caws! [13] CHUCKLES A SMOKE WREATH To sing thy praise, beloved pipe. I smite the Poet's lyre. And pay, while Muse hath fervid gripe, This homage to my briar. AFTER DINNER COFFEE The diffrence 'twixt this cup and Flub, Said Snodkins — dining at his club — The cup is just a demi-tasse, While Flub's a most consummate Ass. A VEXED QUESTION SETTLED {From Log Found in the Ark Hives) Noah was the founder of the A. P. (i) A-ry. Later, we find Hamlet in a quan-d-ary. 'Twould seem as if the fact his mind quite failed to seize — Else, why raise the question concerning those two bees? [14] CHUCKLES SALINITY For being too fresh, Mrs. Lot was turned into A pillar of salt. Be it known to those kin to The lady here named, i.e., the o'er curious, That over-much salt is highly injurious. PRESENTATION AT COURT "Well, what is the charge*?" (The Sergeant seemed huffy.) 'Twas the cop's first arrest; he'd dragged in two men. "Begorra," quoth Pat, "yez naden't git shtuffy, It's chape at foive dollars. Oi'd orter git ten." [16] CHUCKLES A TOAST Let whoever will name the Father of Waters — He also may christen the sons and the daughters. As she rolls to the Gulf in toggery drippy, I give you — the Mother — our own Mrs. Sippi. ADVANTAGES OF THE ABLATIVE The Ass hath speech ! For proof of it See statement made in Holy Writ. While many asses at this day Profess to speak, they do but bray. LAMENTABLE (A Parody) Of all sad words of tongue or quill, The saddest are these: "Please pay this bill!" [18] B . C. WAV «»*\ , CHUCKLES REVISION DOWNWARD Time was when we could well afford To pay our tithes unto the Lord. But since high prices have the call, The Devil seems to get it all. DREAM STUFF There was an old lady named Weymss, Who used to have horrible dreymss. Kept her neighbors awake By the bedlam she'd make Emitting her ear-splitting screymss. [20] CHUCKLES A MODERN NARCISSUS He stands in garb nocturnal dressed Ere turning off the light, With lips against the mirror pressed, To kiss himself "Good-night." IN FRIENDSHIP'S NAME In friendship's name how many use us, And then most shame- fully abuse us. THE PHILOSOPHER'S CREED 'Tis dusty when it's dry; 'Tis muddy when it rains. But what's the odds, say I, An we remove the stains'? [22] &. ^< Wil* CHUCKLES INTESTATE That Spifkins left no will seemed odd. "Not so" — a wit denied. " 'Twas broken by his wife, ecod ! Long years before he died !" LEGENDARY The changes wrought by Fashion's whims Extend, 'twould seem, to nether limbs. Once, fair maids would fain conceal 'em. Now, so dress as to reveal 'em. [24] LIMERICKS [27] LIMERICKS OWED TO THE LIMERICK When minus a venomous sting, The Limerick's a mighty good thing. For in it, you know, One can let himself go, And shoot, as it were, on the wing. AN ALLEGORY There was a gay Widow in Leeds, Who planted her Garden with Seeds. But she found to her Cost, That her Labor was lost, For nothing would grow there but Weeds. AN INVOLUNTARY TARRY A Dealer in Coffees in Havre, Long since to buy Goods, went to Java. Convulsions volcanic Disturbed Things organic. He's there to this Day in the Lava. [29] CHUCKLES NEEDS SIFTING There's anthracite Coal and bituminous; Their Prices, however, are ruinous. In their Beds let them lie, As in mine so shall I. The Reason I think's fairly luminous. PEEVED There was a young Woman in Dexter, Whose Parents said something that vexed her. To a Jelly she beat them, And proceeded to eat them. Which same, you'll admit, quite unsexed her. A BLUE STREAK He stood at the end of the Quay, While watching a Ship put to Suay. It -was through a blue Haze He dkected his gaze, When stung on the Nose by a buay. l3of CHUCKLES AN AMAZING TALE An Englishman, home from Hong-Kong, Determined, it seems, to go wrong. For he entered a Maze, Where he ended his Days. Requiescat in Pace. Ding-Dong ! A CELESTIAL TALE t» There was an old Chink in Shang-hai, Who said to some Friends: ''See me fly! Tied his Kite to his Queue, And sailed into the blue, The Watchers all yelling: "Ki-yi!" DEATH IN THE POT Said the Chef to a Turtle one day : "Come into my Kitchen, I pray." But the Turtle replied: "Thanks; I'll stay here outside." Some Impulses one should obey. [32] CHUCKLES SOME ALTITUDE I met up with a Chap from Fayal. Who was 9 Feet and 12 Inches tall. Had he been any higher. You'd have called me a Liar. Still, he may have grown some since last Fall, A FAR CRY A Spinster, one Caroline Kent. Whose Life had been sadly miss-spent. Cried: "Long have I tarried; I want to get married. Kind Heaven! Please send me a Gent!" A SUCCESSFUL ALIBI A bestial Celestial. Lam Chop, Was done to his Death by a Cop. Facts Jury derided — Said Chop suey-cided, And there let the whole Matter drop. [34] ** CHUCKLES JUST CAUSE A Woman who lived in Chicago Incessantly played Haendel's Largo. Her Husband, a coarse Brute, Just won his Divorce Suit By going no farther than Fargo. THE WAY TO THE HEART Said a Dog-fish — "I frankly will own That I'm sick of this living alone. If one's to be had, I'll marry a shad, Then I'll always be sure of a Bone." A TRUE SPORT A Sportsman who lived in Bombay, For Work, stalked the Tiger by Day. But his greatest Delight Was to buck him by Night — For this he considered mere Play. [36] ft. r.*V« V%*H CHUCKLES A SCANT OCTAVE A Basso, who lived in Toledo, Tried singing the Scale a la Guido. Sang do — re — mi — fa, Sometimes sol — seldom la; Quite out of his reach, though, were ti — do. AN IRASCIBLE SEAMAN A Sailor, who shipped 'fore the Mast, Cried: "Ahoy! Belay there! Avast!" When he found the Ship's Tonnage Wouldn't hold all his Dunnage, And then went ashore hard and fast. [38] CHUCKLES THE POWER OF MUSIC Said His Grace unto Leopold de Meyer, Who had played with great Vigor and Fire, "I will pledge you my Word, Of all Players Fve heard, There's not one that with you can perspire." A SUPERSTITIOUS BUYER A Mule was shipped on from Brazil. Consignee would not pay the Bill — Not a Cent would he pay, Till he heard the brute bray. Said: "I'll not buy a Mule that brays ill." [40] K - AN ART STUDY An Ait st, Ke Painting was crude. Would pr n depicting the nu. W - sad, T^as not even bad. -'- V • INDIVIDUAL SALTS [451 4nl*»%u— . INDIVIDUAL SALTS "SAL ATTICUM" An ex-Sailor, Ex-haler of Malt, Which his Wife seemed to think was a Fault For his Language emphatic, She shipped to the Attic, Deeming that the best Place for her Salt. "CUM GRANO SALIS" The Husband of one, Arabella, Had stoked on a twin-screw Propeller. I have recently learned She has had him interned, And now keeps her Salt in the Cellar. SHAKEN BEFORE TAKEN A Physician there was who took ill. He prescribed for himself — took a Pill. Then he took to his Bed, Where they found him stone dead. In his Hand, madly clutched, was his Bill. — — CHUCKLES AVOIDING FRICTION There was an old, ugly Curmudgeon, Who once, in a State of high Dudgeon, Seized two little Boys, Who were making a Noise, And smeared them all over with Gudgeon. A PHILOSOPHICAL ANGLER A Sportsman went fishing in Maine. From biting, the Fish did abstain. Still, he caught a small Eel, Which he said made him feel As though he'd not labored in vain. A DISGRUNTLED NIMROD A Sportsman went hunting in Maine. He looked for big Game, but in vain. At last saw a Rabbit; Exclaimed then: "O, dab it! To shoot that blamed Thing I'll not deign." [48] CHUCKLES A BAD SPELL A Tourist, on reaching Cadiz, Had a Dentist extract all his Tiz. I have heard that he said, Without these in the haid, The Language one spoke with more Eiz. TURNED DOWN A dissolute Person from Lynn — Long Years had he wallowed in Synn. Time came for St. Peter To read the Man's Meter — You've guessed that he didn't get ynn. TAME SPORT There was an old Woman in Wales, Whose Pastime was hunting for Snails. Had a singular Way Of bagging her Prey — She speared them with ten-penny Nails. [50] SEMI-QUAVERS [5i] m SEMI-QUAVERS MARTYRDOM Martyrs, in the early days, Were put to death in various ways. Some, fast bound by neck and heel, Were broken on the cruel wheel. And there are those, who, even yet, Go broke upon the wheel Roulette. FISHERMAN'S LUCK When Jonah went aboard the ship, To make that record fishing trip, He little thought that he would be The one to gain celebrity. He was, no doubt, thrown overboard Because the crew was over-bored. We all know what became of Jonah, But what of ship, ship's crew, and owner? [53? CHUCKLES BEADLE, BEAGLE, AND DEEDLE Mr. Deedle owned a beagle, Keeping which was quite illegal, For he never paid a license on the hound : So one day a Beadle haughty, Said to Deedle: "This is naughty, And I cannot let your dog run loose around." Then this Beadle, mien quite regal, Took away from D. his beagle. The philosophy of which is clearly sound. While a V. from Mr. Deedle, The authorities did wheedle, As it takes about that sum to make a pound. AN ABSCONDER There was a crooked man, and he ran a crooked mile To throw pursuing sleuth hounds off the scent. He carried off the swag in one enormous bag, And no one, to this day, knows where he went. [54] SEMI-QUAVERS ERUDITION vs. OSTENTATIOUS WEALTH Of scholars I have known, not any Were in the class with Dr. Penny. The wisdom which this man possessed Exceeded that of all the rest; The foolishness of Caleb Pound In inverse ratio — as profound. If judged by canons of the mart, To gain vast wealth were life's chief part. The insignificance of pence Compared with pounds is evidence Mere learning has but little chance Wherever Mammon leads the dance. A RAKE-OFF Though deep the snow, I came one day Upon Maud Muller, raking hay. The fact were passing strange, I'll own, Had this same hay but been new mown. But Maud, to feed the horse and cow, Was raking it from off the mow. [55] CHUCKLES O, PSHAW A NEAR NUDE Now, if George Bernard Shaw Wished to pose in the raw, As he sat in his tub For that now famous scrub, While as Art 'twas not fine — That his look-out, not mine. As a pose for the nude It was certainly crude ; For 'twas nothing but just His head, shoulders and bust. THE KEY-NOTE Without a doubt A flat's the key In which to do "My Rosary." Note notes chromatically changed, As in key's signature arranged. To all musicians this must seem An interesting color scheme. [56] B. C Hiili ah. SEMI-QUAVERS THE PERFECTLY OBVIOUS "I'se Mary Anna Lamb," she cried — This maid of ebon hue. "No need to ask, then," I replied "Whose little lamb are ewe." "Your father was, 'tis plain to see, The black sheep of his family." This fine conceit so touched my tickle, I forthwith gave the child a nickel. AN UNINTENTIONAL HOMICIDE I bought a little monkey To send my little niece. Seems funny that her nunky Thus caused her sad demise. Lead poison was what killed her — The paint was daubed so thick On monkey I way-billed her. You see 'twas on a stick. [59? CoeeoiA* \ ; u/« SEMI-OUAVERS OBEDIAH ?" "Now, Obediah, you come straight here! The voice rings out both shrill and clear. But Obediah respondeth not, For Obediah is wise, I wot. "Guess I kin tell," said Obediah, "Whenever fat is in the fire." [61] CHUCKLES CAUSE FOR THANKFULNESS "Sad, indeed," moaned the Mole, As he dug for his hole, "It is to be blind." "True; yet sadder" Said the sensible Bat, "If added to that, You and I were as deaf as the Adder." IN THE GRAND CANYON AN ALLEGED RONDEAU Standing near that awful chasm, Little Ellen had a spasm. Little Ellen often has 'em. When Little Ellen had this spasm, She stood a bit too near the chasm. Now Little Ellen never has 'em. [62] SEMI-QUAVERS LETTERED There was a man — his name was p.p. And he was very y.y. He knew enough to cross his t.t. And also dot his i.i. One thing to do, though, he'd ref-u.u. He would not mind his p.p. and q.q. Who ever made our a.b.c.c. He, too, was very y.y. Suppose we had to dot our t.t. And always cross our i.i.? I know that sailors cross the c.c. And they may do so if they plea-e.e. [63] THE SUBTLETY OF MOTHER GOOSE [65] SUBTLETY OF MOTHER GOOSE No. i LITTLE MISS MUFFET If Little Miss Muffet, Who sat on a tuffet, Had not at the spider demurred — Instead of retreating Had kept right on eating, I wonder what would have oc-curd. No. 2 SIMPLE SIMON Had Simple Simon met the Pieman Coming from the Fair, S. Simon ne'er had said to Pieman : "Let me taste your ware." The Pieman then, not having any, Would not have asked to see the penny. [In these examples one may see The working out of Destiny. ~\ — CHUCKLES No. 3 AN EXCERPT The sportive bovine of M. Goose, That leapt through space and cleared the Moon, Must know that e'en the most obtuse Now treats the tale but as a rune. From Camouflage we take our cue ; To Camouflage we make our bow. It may have been the Moon was blue ; It may have been a purple cow. [68] SKETCHES AND TALES [69] SKETCHES AND TALES WHEN I WENT WEST My Aunt Jane, married name Driscoe, Lives out West in San Francisco. Ma took sick — nothing serious — Her ill turns always weary us — Said I made an awful racket. Father vowed he'd warm my jacket. But Ma thought she might stand the strain If I was sent to stay with Jane. So off I went, and that's how is it I came to make Aunt Jane that visit. Was gone from home some three months, maybe. When I got back I found a baby. And Ma she 'fessed, she rather guessed What would happen, when I went West. [71] CHUCKLES AT THE MUSEUM (O.B.C.T.) Attracted by thy bulk, each day Behold me here my court to pay. To be exact, I'd state, fair maid, This courtship has to be prepaid. For ev'ry solitary time The management demands a dime Ere entrance to thy court I gain. 'Tis on my purse a heavy drain. Mountain of female loveliness, Upon thy weight I lay great stress. Of all the "Stars," my load thou art; While of them thou art still a-part. Unlike the vulgar horde who gape And marvel at thy uncouth shape, Transfixed, I try, with modest gaze, To estimate thy win some weighs. What poet was it, by the by, Who wrote the line: "Give sigh for sigh'"? In this affair I'd put him wise, [72] SKETCHES AND TALES And substitute "Give sighs for size." Some day I'll come, but you'll have flown. A figurative phrase I'll own: 'Twere more appropriate to say That you'd departed — gone a weigh To hold, elsewhere, your so v' reign sway. Most fitting cadence for this lay. THE ACID TEST I met a man some time ago, Whom I had much desired to know. His gracious mien, and winning smile — In him you'd swear there was no guile. Ef tsoon he asked me would I cash His cheque. Compliance seemed most rash. My Bank account was running low, And yet I could not say him No. Nine persons out of ten of those Who read this will, of course, suppose The cheque was worthless — as did I; The fact I'll not attempt deny. But for their benefit I'll say The Bank declared the same O.K. [73? CHUCKLES AN UNFILIAL SON To call him vicious, who, at nine, Could kill his Pa, and not repine, Would be, at least, arraignment mild. Yet, that he did, this wayward child. While subsequent events all prove He knew naught of the verb "to love." An ancient Aunt he also sent The same way that his Father went. Then nearly all his rel-a-tives Gave up, in turn, their precious lives. Almost superfluous to add That, when grown up, he turned out bad. Such acts as these would tend, at least, To prove this pachyderm a beast, — (Appropriately named Avernus.) His future deeds need not concern us, As they would only serve to irk us. He, later, travelled with a Circus. [74] SKETCHES AND TALES A PELAGIC TRAGEDY I walked on the beach, within easy reach Of a beautiful moonlit bay. And the Sun beat down on my poor bald crown — 'Twas a fearsome mid-August day. As I strolled along I trolled a song, In sundry and various keys. But never a word from my lips was heard, For as fast as they came they would freeze. At the turn of the tide were a groom and a bride Enjoying their brief honeymoon. Forgive me, I pray, for neglecting to say That the Month of the Year was June. And many a stare at that radiant pair Gave I from under my hat. Try hard as I dared, I never once shared A breath of their soulful chat. [75] CHUCKLES It happened so quick, and the tears fall thick, E'en now as I picture the scene. A monstrous big wave dashed them both to one grave — Old Ocean that grave will keep green. The sea claimed its own, while I, turned to stone, Made a wild, demoniacal grab. Alas ! 'Twas too late — both had gone to their fate. The jelly-fish and the poor crab. A TALE OF THE ROAD I walked a lonely country road, And sat me down to rest. The Sun was sinking a la mode Adown the Crimson West. "[76] SKETCHES AND TALES The day and I were both far spent. My feet were very sore. Since sun-up they at least had went Some thirty miles or more. My grammar here is badly spliced? True poets ne'er lack nerve. Though sense itself be sacrificed, The rhyme they will preserve. The day had been intensely hot — But one of many such — The Earth was like a melting pot. Sol had her in his clutch. [77] CHUCKLES As I was taking of mine ease, The sound of wheels drew nigh. I raised myself upon my knees, And cocked my weather eye. When tramping on the road, care-free, To dangers I'm not blind; So keep things well in front of me, Nor leaving much behind. And then, as if at my behest, Although of course 'twas not, The carriage, when it came abreast, Stopped short right on the spot. T78] SKETCHES AND TALES 8 I said : now then to find the cause : No sooner said than done. Right in the teeth of all known laws, The source and mouth were one. The horse, a sorry beast at best, A skeleton, almost, Laid down, and, as you may have guessed, Just yielded up the ghost. 10 A couple in the carriage sat, And they were face to face. Nor seemed to know where they were at. An aggravated case. [79] CHUCKLES 11 Perforce the labial contact showed Ignition at some head, But not enough to move the load. The spark-plug had gone dead. THE SAD TALE OF TENDER-HEARTED PETER B. I sing the tale as told to me Of tender-hearted Peter B. At sight of blood he'd turn quite faint, As some will do at smell of paint. The strangest thing about it is To find him in the butcher biz. He did not kill the steers and such, Fo [80] For that were asking over-much. SKETCHES AND TALES The patient kine might chew the cud Till crack o'doom, e'er he'd shed blood. 'Tis easy for the active mind Convenient loop-holes though to find. He hired a man to do that job, And paid him weekly fifteen bob. Most business men proclaim their line O'er door of shop on gilded sign. No sign of sign his shop did grace, One simply had to know the place. For Peter could not bear to see His name on letters bold and free. For at the sight he'd throw a fit. You deem this foolish 4 ? Wait a bit! He might as well have tried to kill, As try receipt a single bill. [81] CHUCKLES So, for this reason, you can see His terms were strictly C.O.D. At last things came to such a pass, He could not use a looking glass. To see himself reflected there Would cause to stand on end each hair — Or would, had he not worn a wig, Which proved him something of a prig. Now comes the part my halting verse Had really rather not rehearse. Biographers may have no choice; Their subject's lives they have to voice. If one has ever tried to shave, He knows, if he his face would save, He has to stand before a glass, And watch most carefully each pass SKETCHES AND TALES Of razor over cheek and jowl, An even then he'll sometimes howl. In forceful language he'll express His state of mind, with some excess. So Peter now, with savage oath, Tries hard to scrape a three week's growth. Eschewing mirrors, fails to see His precious physiognomy. There are some scenes my feeble pen May not depict. Consider then The distance — not so very far — From one's own chin to jugular. Twelve tried and true, with Thomas Baines As Foreman, sat on his remains. And from the inquest 'twould appear, His throat was cut from ear to ear. [83] CHUCKLES ADDENDUM Let those who have the time to spare These leger lines peruse with care. Of light they should let in a flood. His name in full was Peter Blood. [84] AT LAST IN CONCLUSION To say I think my verse is great, I'll frankly own Yd hesitate. Still, Vm content if in this chaff The Reader finds e'en half a laugh, [85] liiiilii J 018 604 433 2 I

10001669

Songs of hope,

Alden, Lucy Chaffee

songsofhope00alde_djvu.txt

Class .55_3^0i Book V U34^ <^ COHfRIGHT DEPOSm LUCY CHAFFEE ALDEN Bon^B of i^tipt ICitrtr (Eliafc Mhm ^ubltaljpft bn i^tt ^nenhtt ^iamp^rtt. Mass. 1909 3Uu0trattntt0 3. Jpautifttr iKrtralf Horttiamtitott ^5°' COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY J. J. METCALF ©CI. A 2535S6 o Or) a ^ ti <5 You sang me a song in the spirit A gentle and generous song ; And played me a tune on the pen-point Whose echo is lingering long. 3art-Waxh These verses have been printed in the Spring- field Republican, Zion's Herald, The World's Crisis, Our Hope, All Nations Monthly, Berean Quarterly, Messiah's Advocate, and in a few other places. Grateful to my many friends for their kindly interest, I am glad to speak to them again. I thank Miss Metcalf and Rev. Charles B. Bliss, pastor of the Congregational church in Hampden. LUCY CHAFFEE ALDEN. Hampden, Mass., Dec. 21, 1909. (HontrtttH Fore Word To a Poet-Frieud Invocation THE vSTORY OF JESUS The Story of Jesus His Word The Carpenter's Son Judas of Kerioth His Homeland Suffering and Glory Fishers of Men THE MACEDONIAN CRY The Mactdonian Cry The Missionary The Evangel-Bearer Our Servants A Day-Dream Harvest "I WILL COME AGAIN" " I will Come Again " Psalm XCI God Save the King " I Change Not " Mount Zion The Golden Bells Home HAMPDEN Hampden Common- Wealth Our Homeland A Day in July Snow-Flakes The Wooden Wedding The Golden Wedding The Gambrel Roof A MORNING SUNSET A Morning vSunset Our Mother vSunday School The Teacher To Henry W. Longfellow Carefulness Freedom SHORE-WARD Shore- Ward Rest Joy in the Morning By-and-By " Neither Any More Pain " Jerusalem Wine of the Kingdom (§ 3lmi0ratto« RISEN Christ ! E'er since that cloud of heaven Received Thee out of sight at Bethany, The pledge of Thy return, by angels given, Has kept Thy lovers brave to wait for Thee. O priestly Christ, behind the vail departed. And sprinkling on the mercy-seat Thy blood ! To watch for Thee thine Israel, eager-hearted, Adown the temple courts for long have stood. O kingly Christ, for endless years anointed, God's chosen Prince for Zion's holy hill ! The world-kings reign until the time appointed. When earth, as heaven, shall do God's blessed will. O living Christ ! Could he who calls it fiction. That promise sure of Thine epiphany. But share Thy Spirit's witness and conviction. How would his conquered heart keep faith in Thee ! I ®V *lorg of StBtxB "SCANTUCK'S BANKS UNTROn" — Page 35 (HI)? 0ttirg of Jrfiua ^HE story of Jesus, the centuries through, xJ Has over and over been told. To far generations, the old and the new. To nations, the new and the old. The story has softened and sweetened the tone Of motherhood's low lullaby, And lightened the scepter of fatherhood's throne With influence sent from on high. And often in childhood the teachable heart Has grown the more gentle and mild, And wiser to carry its own little part. Through knowledge of Bethlehem's Child. It may be the lad, with his hearty good cheer. And soul full of spirits and joy, Grows kinder and braver and truer each year By hearing of Nazareth's Boy. Grief's tender Acquaintance and sorrow's schooled Man In spirit still comforts the sad. Till God in His season accomplish His plan, And make the earth's wilderness glad. fta Waxh More blest to give than to receive ? Can that be true ? Yet Jesus told it for a truth. And Jesus knew. He knew the joy of sacrifice At any cost ; Of giving service, self, and life, To save the lost. And some have left their own sweet way To walk in His ; Have proven well the sacred text, / And know the bliss. Qllir (Unrpmtn^si Bon ^[^N Joseph's shop at Nazareth ^ A youthful workman stands, Plying the hammer, saw, and plane With deft and willing hands. He smells the breath of fragrant woods> Whose clippings strew the floor. Of cedar sweet from Lebanon, Or fir, or sycamore. He splits the sturdy grain apart — Perhaps a Bashan oak — And shapes the bow, and shaves the pir?^ To make the ox a yoke. I seem to find him thinking then, Of his approaching quest For weary souls, to bid them come And take his yoke of rest. And while he measures beam and board,, Or hews the heavy sill. To frame the boat, or build the house, I ween he thinketh still About the wise man's rock-held home That stood unmoved for long, Though rains had beaten, winds had blown. And floods been high and strong. Our daily toil is Heaven-blest; To plow and pen and broom, And every useful industry, The Father giveth room. lO Jitbaa at ICrrtotlj '^' Forgive them, Father," Jesus prayed. And will his prayer avail ? Or was it only sentiment. Spasmodic, fruitless, frail ? "'Thou always hearest me," he said. Then how shall answer fail ? Forgive them? Whom? His careless friends:? 0, no, his foes, instead ; Among them Judas, first of all By greed of money led, But first of all to penitence And self -renouncement sped. But Jesus called him Devil ? Yes. Called Peter Satan, too ; And Paul's sharp pen took pains to let The same Greek wording show, That now and then some deacon's wife Might be a devil too. Condoning not this traitor's crime, A sin so great and plain, 'Tis fair to ask if he alone Has traded love for gain ; If he alone has sold his Lord And bought a world's disdain ? How few so full confession make» As Judas made that day ! ' I've sold the blood of innocence. And thrown the price away." Was not his broken heart a plea For grace and mercy ?— Say ? II TIDING David's pleasant pastoral lands 35V Revived their ancient fame, When into Bethlehem's little world The child of Mary came. New charm to all the lovely slopes Of Nazareth was lent, When mid its homes there came to be One holy childhood spent. On Capernaum by the sea Shone light from heaven then. When Jesus trod its busy shore And dwelt among its men. The Jordan wave, the Hermon dew. The strand of Galilee, The restful stone of Jacob's well. The soil of Bethany, Though senseless all, did they not feel With almost human sense The hallowing touch of holy flesh That moved Omnipotence ? And chief of all, Jerusalem On princely Judah's heights — Jerusalem of privilege And rare inalien rights. The home where gathered all the tribes From every far off land — Saw Jesus come with royal grace And bounty in his hand. 12 But ah ! her wicked citizens Ignored their Blessed One ; And shut their eyes on God's best gift, Their own King David's Son. that with penitential tears Those eyes had first been wet. Before his own had wept for them Upon Mount Olivet ! Sweet Olivet ! what fuller scene Than meets its westward look, Adown its softly sloping sides. And o'er the Kidron brook, Has ever wrought on human heart Or burst on mortal eye — Jerusalem, so folded once. So scattered by and by ? Long home of prophets, priests, and kings. Its every fallen gate Has proved that word of prophecy, That dreadful "desolate!" E'en so, the Conqueror's banner now Must wider be unfurled — Not only Jews' Messiah he. But Savior of the world. E'en yet Jerusalem shall join The general acclaim, And shout with gladness, " Blest is he Who comes in Heaven's name !" 13 w N the cross the Roman soldiers Laid the Lord ; Not resisting, not returning, Look or word. Hands and feet they spiked and fastened To the tree, While from every wound the blood-drops Trickled free. Ready arms the wood supporting Lifted it. Till with drop and thud it settled In its pit. Thus we see the Man of sorrows Lifted up. Not for tears nor three-fold praying Stays the cup. How three lingering hours in anguish Jesus hung, Pens have written, tongues have witnessed, Lips have sung. But no script, nor song, nor sermon. E'er may say What the World's alone Redeemer Bore that day — Thorny crown, abuse, reviling, Taste of gall, Taunt of soldiery and priesthood. And the call, "God ! My God 1" until the latest, Loudest cry Told the story, that for sinners Christ must die. 14 Lo ! Three days away, by Heaven's Kind decree, From his tomb the risen Master Went out free ! Now, where far beyond the veiling Glory pours, Priest with God, He waits with mercy Near the doors. Would we at His grand returning Share his chrism? We must meekly share with patience His baptism. Fuller not than His, of suffering, Our estate. Hardly less than His the rapture Which we wait. ^^ **JtBljpra of li^tt" The great blue sea of life is full Of souls astray from God, Of whom how many a precious draught Waits but for net and rod ! And He who loved the seashore so Stands calling once again. Come, follow me, and I will make You fishermen of men." 15 II (Slu Mncthamm Org 2Ii)^ iUar^bnman (Ury ♦^jriS night at Troas. Dipt beneath the sea, ^J'The westward, isleful, sea, the sun has set Upon the tired pulse of toil and care. Against the east Mt. Ida lays her brow, And lets it bathe itself in evening dew, The while the slowly-northering Xanthus seeks The sea, beyond the old near-lying site Of ancient Troy, whose noble gates — (so ran The verse of Grecia's olden poet, were It dream or were it very history) — Twelve times a hundred years before, withstood For forty lingering seasons, patiently, A siege of Javan's bravest, princeliest, men, Until their fatal gift, the towering horse. Built many a cubit high, and secretly Intestined with a band of s worded men, Sprung fast its awful snare of blood and fire On that devoted city. Now 'tis night At Troas. Paul in vision hears from far That strong, historic, Macedonian cry, Which echoes long. And so to Europe's lands His gospel flies. Philippi hears the prayers And songs of prisoned men at midnight hour. And Salonica sees a goodly band Of noble converts rise. Bereans, too, Grow nobler still. Great heathen Athens learns Of God the Father and his risen Son, And Corinth is "exalted unto heaven." 19 When, by and by, from Caesar's capital This bonded, faithful, man shall think to write To those beloved Philippians, will it be With fettered words? No, no. But love and faith Shall guide his pen to grandest utterances, Which many a toiling child of grace, away Along the multiplying years, shall read And love, and then thank God for courage new, But o'er a greater Troy still hangs the night — And sounds the world-wide Macedonian cry. 'TlTOR gold sometimes a man will leave his home, ^J^ His friends, his all, and brave a hundred ills, Till, face to face with death, he sets on gold No whit of value. So, for love of men, The good bondservant of the Lord will go Away from home and all its bliss, to tread The paths of strangers. Braver heart than his Ne'er ran the risk of water, fire, or sword, Or deadly pestilence. Nor keener mind Than that which draws the labyrinthine plan Of gospel mission-work has ever graced Earth's gallery of intellect. What strife With loneliness, privation, climate, care. And language, tries each patient soul, that threads Such maze of idioms and moods of men ! But this man's strife is for the higher prize, The prize of souls. And so, when face to face With death, his heart is full of trust and hope Of happy resurrection from the dead, When he shall say with joy, " Here, Loid, am I, And here are those whom Thou hast given me." 20 ®1|0 Stiati00l-learer TjCOW beautiful upon the heights 1*^ The feet of him who brings Good tidings from the Lord of lights, Glad tidings of good things ! As if with telescopic eye He sees all tribes as one, And hears with ultra ear the cry From every Macedon. God speed his way from tropic plains To where the ices lie ; From conquered lands and prison chains To realms of liberty ; From Indian bloom and shrine and priest To banks of polar snow ; From countless China in the East To western Mexico ; From far-famed Britain's ancient soils To sunset states and young ; From waters where the sailor toils To sands o'er deserts flung; From pomp and pride of stately church, And rule of churchly state, To nooks which almost baffle search. And souls outside the gate. God speed him till the times begin, When surely, as foretold. The King shall bring His kingdom in, And set His street of gold. 21 That day the Lamb shall take his bride, The Shepherd fold his sheep, The Father with his sons abide. And saints their Sabbath keep. Full fifteen hundred millions strong Now crowd our mother earth. But none may count the blood-washed throng Redeemed in second birth. ^•^ Dear tired toilers in far lands, How ought we, every one. To stay not, but stay up, your hands Till set of harvest sun ! How strengthens He the loving heart That dares its all divide. And spend for love the larger part And then be spent beside ! How guideth He the hands and feet That strive so patiently To bear the burden and the heat Of all the busy day ! Ah, ye who sow in earthly tears Shall reap in heavenly joy. And spend the grand eternal years In high and sweet employ ! 22 A 3au-Brpam jfj WALK in spirit far away cll On India's "coral strands," And tread the valley where they say Our faithful mission stands. I take the Christian captain's hand, Give each dear helper mine. And note how God has sped the band On mission so divine. I hear the Word, the hymn, the prayer, Discern the witness given, Apply the text, " The Lord is there," And in my heart thank heaven. ^^ l^arupfit How white for harvest everywhere The whole earth's acres wait^! What pity. Lord, Thy men are few. With all the growth so great ! Who, who will go and work to-day. Or who the Reaper send To save the grain ere harvest pass, Or golden summer end ? 2X Ill 31 »U (Eom^ Again ** "a ci-oih) rs ON TiiKiR SKY " — Pag-e 47 '*il HiUl (Homf Agattt" fES, once for all, the Christ will come ; He said he would. This same green earth shall be his home, That drank his blood. While nineteen hundred Christian years Their marches tread. His members wait in toil and tears Their sacred Head. And " some fair morn with rosy light" The night shall crown ; Some soft sweet hour of starlit night " Bring Jesus down. Paalm X0I3I The "secret place of the Most High " Is where I long to dwell, From clashing arms of nations free, And rising hosts of hell. How very near that dreadful day Of world-wide strife may be, Is known to Him in heaven above But not on earth to me. Meanwhile in closet of my home", Or closet of my heart. With Him who sees in secret still, I find a place apart. As Mercy sang on Bunyan's page, " Let Him, if 't be His will," Well shepherd me till dawns His day For folding Israel. 27 " (gnii #atip % King" ♦ * A KING shall reign in righteousness" — <^V My king, your king, our strong redress, A whole world's king, that world to bless. " God save the King!" Baptizing in the ritual grave John saw the Holy Spirit lave The royal Man at Jordan's wave. " God save the King !" And yet to death th' Anointed came, To cross and pain and blood and shame, Asserting still his kingly claim. "God save the King!" He rose. And now, till time restores, He waits where heavenly glory pours, Beyond "the everlasting doors." "God save the King!" When David's race accepts the things His re-built tabernacle brings. Thrice welcome back, thou King of kings ! " God save the King!" "diail]attgp Not" In God's eternal cycle great. Lie paths of times untold. Incalculable aeons wait The world His hands uphold. A thousand years tho' He abide, 'Tis but a day's abode. Our life, which wearying hours divide, Is not the life of God. How good to know He changes not, Though ages change apace. And ne'er shall fail in one small jot The promise of His grace ! 28 m OUNT ZION of David, magnificent hill ! What hopes and what memories gather thereon ! High-priestly Melchisedek's Salem is still The goal of God's people and throne of His Son. Dear Mount of Jehovah, His chosen of heights. Bestowed on His nation, His chosen of men ; The place of His rest, and the page where He writes His marvelous Name with the centuries' pen. Though " plowed as a field," and though desolate long, Though shorn of its dwellers, the great and the small, There yet shall be gathered with joy and with song God's Judah and Joseph and Benjamin, all. To Zion right soon the Redeemer will come. And turn from His people ungodliness then. The wastes will be plenished, the scattered come home, And Salem be " joy of the whole earth" again. The tent of Jehovah shall stand on its crest, And Jesus Messiah shall govern it well. There Israel's children, brought back to their rest, And children of children forever shall dwell. 29 NTO the high and holy place, On gracious work intent, Long, long ago, our great High-priest Beyond the veiling went. And then the tinkling of his bells — His sound of entrance in — Was heard, when fell the power that saved Three thousand souls from sin. Still on the right of heaven's throne, Where radiant glory pours. He holds for us His ministries Behind the heavenly doors. ' Behold he cometh out !" The cry Is heard afar to-day. And hark — His sound — the music sweet Of bells not far away 1 30 J 1| Are we almost there ? Are we nearing home ? Are those the lights of the Father's house ? Are these the tones of his harps that come On the evening air at the journey's close? Do the waymarks wane on the thoroughfare ? Do the last ones point to the promised end ? Have they, who the way of the Lord prepare, Made straight His paths for the homeward trend ? The four-realmed form of the monarch's dream Takes shape apace ; and the mountain stone Waits near to smite with its might extreme The way for a heavenly Monarch's throne. The robe, the ring, and the fatted calf. The ample floor where the music calls. And kiss compassionate, tell not half That waits for sons in the Father's halls. 31 IV IjaEAR town that carriest well thy part 2t* In Massachusetts fair, Thy history is in the heart, Thine influence on the air. Eight times a score of years have passed Since first the trail of man Was broken in the forest vast, Where fox and rabbit ran. Thy wooded hills stood grandly then. And Scantuck's banks untrod, And restless breast unbridged by men. Dreamed not of net and rod. While gray and green of hills at play. And mottle of the glen, Threw all their tint and grace away On brute and insect ken. A settler came with wife and child. And others followed fast, Until their dwellings in the wild To rank of village passed. In course of time the meeting-house Upon the common rose. Where saddled horses pawed the browse Ere second sermon's close. 35 The seats were slabs, as was the wont. With bark still on the wood ; A clapboard crowned the pulpit's front And held the book of God. The people grew. Their households free Bore their full mete of men. Without its generations three Where stood the dwelling then ? Judge Bliss could represent the shire, And Parson Warren pray, And Burt Esquire, and Sessions " Squire" Deal justice in their day. And there were Newell, Isham, Cone, Shaw, Goodwill, Turner, Day, Flynt, Stacy, Adams, Eggleston, King, Russell, and McCray. Burt, Chapin, Morris, West and Lord, Hunt, Stebbins, Chaffee, Pease, Root, Langdon, Burleigh, Beebe, Wood And Smith — and more than these. The village grew, and mills upsprung As men came in to stay ; And belfries rose, till seven bells rung On Independence Day. The church and school took each its part The truth and light to spread. And hardly less than pastor's heart Was held the teacher's head. The sterling rule of fatherhood And sweet maternal cheer Have here combined their powers for good And fashioned character. 36 a o < < ■ Thy books recall the natal date Of doctor, lawyer, clerk, Historian, preacher, magistrate, And more, of worth and work. Men of the cloth, the pen, the pill, The safe, the sword, the sea, The bar, the bench, the chair, the mill. The rail — have hailed from thee. In eighteen hundred seventy-eight A break from Wilbraham Left thee to rule thine own estate And choose another name. Though there are Hampdens everywhere Among the wide earth's towns, Yet few men's names have fame more fair Than England's honored John's. But let no fortune hide the faults Which break the law within. For that which God to Heaven exalts Must answer for its sin. Live long, dear town. Thy strength renew. For lovelier soil than thine Dame Nature gives to townships few This side the storied Rhine. As mountains guard som.e city's wall, See how thine own guard thee. And point, as if from earthly thrall, To Heaven that maketh free. 37 A thousand links there are that hold All men in common weal, Whose kindly ministries untold To every soul appeal. The same warm sun that blesses me, Awoke earth's primal flowers. The same white moon that glints my tree Once glinted Eden's bowers. I see the same Orion rise That rose on Uz and Ur, And lured to study of the skies Each great astronomer. The very bow Jehovah set His covenant to speak Is bending, when the hills are wet, Above my valley meek. The hues that crown my sunset sky The same have ever been. O'er lake and plain Messiah's eye Took all their glory in. (iur ^om?-ICattb Though Orient shores the sunrise greet. And South lands count their spoil ; Though soft Levantine fields are sweet With vines and wines and oil; To us there is no dearer seat Than our Columbian soil. We sit in pleasant places here. Between the mighty seas. A goodly heritage we share. Whose blessings still increase, A heritage of love and prayer, A heritage of peace. 38 A ia^ tit July 'JI^EHIND the ridgy eastern hills the sun 1^ Is coming up. Across his great red face Two pictured oaks are gliding down like views Upon a showman's canvas. Up and up He rides, and leaves them standing dim and still, With only sky for background. All along The fields the widening sunlight eastward creeps And creeps, till all the little world that lies Within our whole horizon smiles. The air Is full of song and sweetness. Fasting cows Eye wistfully the tempting pasture blades That nod outside the barnyard wall, until The noisy milkers drop the clattering bars And give them freedom. Bustling matrons ply Between their stores and stoves and tables, while Great fragrant promises of breakfast float Away from open doors, and barefoot boys. As yet unjacketed, go brushing dew Or paddling in the pools of recent rain. Beside the winding fences and the brook The supple mowers swing the gleaming scythe, And round and round the ponderous machine Goes clanking through the stately waving grass. The sun is hot and high. Within the shade. The cooling brookside shade, the sated cows Stand lazily. The butcher's tired horse, Returning from his daily round is glad. Slow stepping up the hill. The kitchen glows; But willing hands have spread the noonday meal. That past, the rested men assault again The half made hay that patiently awaits The turning. Lo ! What thing of life is this, That pulls and kicks and tosses right and left 39 Th' astonished hay so fast and spitefully, Till all the stretching acres find themselves Turned upside down? 0, labor-saving steel ! 0, cunning hand of man ! While early sons Of young New England plied their ample hands, How little did their farthest thought forecast The revelation of such mystic strength And skill ! See how the maddening tedder's wrath Has surely praised the maker ! Now the men May rest awhile. Beneath the elm the cup, The sweetened, gingered (only gingered) cup With homely wit goes round. Lunch past, the rakes Come on. The windrows grow. The tumbles pile. The cart comes lumbering up and pitchforks play, 'Till load on load is safely in the barn. The sun is low. The cows come slowly home. And played-out children eat their bread and milk. How still the clean-swept empty meadow lies! Upon the crown of yonder western hill The woodman's axe has left one kingly pine. And there, just there, the sun is going down, A picture fair — the green-robed monarch set In gold — but fleeting, for no living man May bid again the sun stand still. So down He sinks, to wake the world beyond, and leave Our worn and tired one to rest and peace. 40 DECEMBER Up in the height of the heaven blue — No, it is gray to-day — And all the realms of the low air through, The feathery snowflakes play. Over the trodden and plundered bed Of earth with its autumn stains And faded patchwork of fields, they spread The fairest of counterpanes. Whitest of things in the world is snow, Stillest of sounds its sigh ; Lightest of touches on cheek and brow Its kisses of greeting die. Type of the purity known above. And type of the covering tide Of paschal grace that was spread in love, The stain of our sin to hide ! MARCH Ah ! But the sight was a fleeting thing! For the conquered snowflakes feel The warm, soft, breath of the waking spring. And what does their flight reveal ? The same old face of the ground once more, All stripped of its veil, appears With its worn out features furrowed o'er With the wrinkling lines of years. There, in the track of the vanished snow, 'Mid the grasses flat and brown, Great sorry mosaics of rubbish now On the northering sunshine frown. O, Lamb of Calvary, bare not so My soul in Thy spring, I pray; But over it still thine atonement throw In the great revelation day. 41 OIl)r Blnubfit litiiiiing W But she asked in a twinkling, and left me betimes, Before I could think it and utter it too, That poets write poems, and rhymers make rhymes. What sort of a verse would she like ? Let me see. Blank verse is my forte, for it's easy to write — The blanker the better — and blank should this be ; But the subject in hand is not grave enough quite. A wedding ! A wooden one ! More than my match Will be "firstly " and "thirdly" and so forth, I'm sure. For I've wondered and pondered and scratched the gray thatch Above my top story for half of an hour. For something to prime with. But, spite of it all, Not the thinnest old ghost of a " firstly " will rise. So I've climbed lower down, where I lovingly call On the tenderest depths of my heart for supplies. To tell the whole truth, five years don't inspire Very much of a flourish of pencil or ink. If the five were a fifty, my flight might be higher. (I hope the good couple won't hark while I think. ) I'll ask them to let me, this once, be excused. They're sure to be gracious — 'tis one of their ways. I'll promise their mercy shall not be abused. And give them my uttermost thanks all the days. 42 The years are full of first wedding days, The altars of bridal gifts. On a day unmarked by some marriage-vow No curtain of morning lifts. But when the years from the plighting time Have woven the lives of men Into half the web of a century, Ah ! Where are the pledgers then ? For the ritual words, "Till death do part," Are surely a prophecy; Nor bond, nor honor, nor strength of love Can put the fulfilment by. So a rare good gift at the hand of Heaven Is your golden wedding day — A table-land toward the mountain top, A glade toward the twilight gray. Be the day to you, who for fifty years Together have smiled and wept, A happier one than the marriage-time. So long in memory kept. Sweet rest beyond 1 May it wait for each. Whatever in life betide. And raiment white, when the shining Christ Shall take to himself his Bride. 43 m HERE maples wave o'er the sunny tiers Of a dear New England hill, A gambrel roof of a hundred years Makes home for a household still. Colonial sway had spent its tide, And federal rule begun, When the stalwart builder led his bride And christened his hearth of stone. In time all round the ancestral tree Six pairs of pattering feet Improved their skill and their liberty, While life and its loves grew sweet. But the birdlings, all but one, outgrew The scope of the sacred nest. And spread their wings to the wider blue Of the north, the south, the west. And the gray haired lord and lady rare Lay down in the dreamless sleep, And left the pastures and gardens fair To the later lord to keep. Then over again the wedded lives. The patter, the flight, the pall, While the great perpetual roof survives For the latest lord of all. 44 V . A iHorntng ^utta^t ^yOO long ere we could dream the night would come, V!/ " This child of fond affection" fell asleep. Too long ere noon this cloud enwrapped the home, And draped its sacred walls with darkness deep. The hope, the ardor, and the fair intent, Which marked his busy preparation-day. How soon is all their inspiration spent. And all the prize they promised snatched away ! Since our first father fell, no household band Is ever made so strong it does not break. The law of death still bears relentless hand. Suspending never yet for love's sweet sake. But then, the early dead are they who die Beset by loving care and tenderness. And so, since death must be, would you or I Call back the dead to live till love is less ? But none the less a cloud is on their sky. Who miss so suddenly the step, the look. The voice, the word, the touch, the smile, the eye, Of him so long the lambkin of the flock. Yet memory's lights can pierce the cloud to-day: One falls on scenery where a young heart bows To Jesus' grace, and finds the only way To reach the Father and the Father's house. The things unseen, the life and world to come. Are dearer now — more strong to bend the will And guide the feet along the path to Home ; For life and light and Heaven are kindly still. "Because I live, so ye shall live," He said, Who died, was buried, rose, and went on high. And He who brought from death our conquering Head, Will bring His members with Him, by and by. « 47 m (§m Matbn E loved you, Mother ! Ere our tender feet Could hardly climb our father's threshold low, Our hearts had caught a draft of love so sweet From out your lips that we can taste it now. The goosequill and the old blue spelling-book. With which our opening powers began to bore The awful mine of lore and language, took Their only charm for us from out your store Of smiles and kind encouragement. And when Sometimes the rock-bound ore so baffling lay That tools gave place to tears, how deftly then You made the granite yield us victory ! We loved you, Mother ! All along the years Of life's strange discipline of joy and pain. Beneath your mmistries of smiles and tears. The joy was sure to wax, the grief to wane. We loved you. Mother ! So, how strange and sad, How very sad and how surpassing strange, We rarely told you so, to make you glad, With tones and touches meet for love's exchange. O careless world of women and of men, Beset by love's sweet service while we live, To leave, till love's sweet heart has passed our ken, The answering ministry we meant to give ! 48 Blessed the day Calling away The weary from labor and children fronfi play. Beautiful bell, With echo and swell. Ringing the hour of God's worship to tell. Light the young feet. On many a street, Hastening on in the schoolroom to meet. Happy the throng Raising the song Of praise and thanksgiving to God that belong. Cheerful the place, And welcome each face. And precious each lesson of wisdom and grace. But a holier spell Than of lesson or bell Is the spirit of Jesus within us to dwell. The way may be long And the battle be strong, Which ends in "Sweet Home " and the conqueror's song, And snares may befall, — But what of them all, If God's be the service, and God's be the call ? Is she queen of the schoolroom ? Yes, O yes ! Its floor is her throne to-day. A child leans forward to touch her dress And another to say his "A." She smiles, and guides with a patience meet The growth of the young idea. Whose fruit, please Heaven, shall ripen sweet In the sun of some far-off year. 49 cUit ^mr^ M, iCottgfftlUmt Dear busy hand, so wont so long The fair white page to trace In gentle ministry and strong. Dispensing generous wealth of song And verse of power and grace ; To grasp thee once would be delight Because we claim thee kin By sympathy, in daring spite Of will of thine, or mile or height. Or social line between. Dear busy brain, whose patient play Has wrought us pleasure so In opening for us far away Enchanted galleries of to-day And of the long ago ; Whose sceneries, rich with cottage, tower, Sea, mountain, stream, and lake, Have held our eyes for many an hour ; We feel thine artful, artless, power, And glad confession make. Dear heart, whose faith and hope and love Have made cold words so warm, And found for doubt, the floods above. Always some olive-leaf to prove The passage of the storm. We court the friendships thou hast wrought With charms thy love can lend, 'Till many a figure which thy thought Has into mystic being brought, Seems like a household friend. 50 Of one "dead lamb," one "open door," One "solemn voice and slow," Of many a shape that comes once more With noiseless footsteps on the floor, — Ah, yes ! We know — we know. At " Children's hour" we've seen them glide Softly, for siege prepared — Then, victor-victims, fast inside The tender-hearted "dungeon" hide, "Grave," "laughing," "golden-haired." What rhythm, witching to our ears, In Plymouth story rings, And follows far through hopes and fears Patient Evangeline for years. And her sad victory sings. War's ' ' Miserere " on the air, Christ's "Peace" and God's "Good-will;" The low- voiced reading after care, The clock's "Forever" on the stair. Are sounds that echo still. With "God o'erhead and heart within," Dear singing soul, sing on, 'Till thou shalt reach that " Wayside Inn " Where toil shall cease and rest begin. When sets thy westering sun. Beyond this strangely changing lot. Beyond these pictures dim. Be thine the life where death comes not. Thine ' ' Ultima ' ' of this forgot In that life's perfect hymn. 51 (EarpfuhtcBH g^TEP lightly, child, ^^ The baby sleeps. Speak kindly, child, Thy mother weeps. Be gentle, man, Thy neighbor grieves. Be honest, man, God counteth sheaves. Have mercy, friend. Sore heart needs ease. Be faithful, friend, The Master sees. Write plainly, scribe, In words that burn. Nor let one bribe Thy sentence turn. Preach boldly, Paul, Mayhap with tears. Pray always, all. The Father hears. Walk straitly, saint, 'Tis one strait way. But love's restraint Is liberty. 52 Dare, dare, to count before you build The cost of all your tower. Lest, ere its stories half be filled, Your purse exhaust its power. Dare, dare, to try each spirit bright, That comes with offering free. And bid it rise to face the light, Whate'er its gift may be. Dare, dare, to test the very friend Of all your sunny years, And prove how far his graces tend, When days are dark with tears. Dare, dare, to doubt the times and laws Of power unjust and proud ; To trace afar each hidden cause, And tell the truth aloud. And even dare to probe the Book Which bears God's word from heaven ; For it itself doth bid us look For proof of all things given. Although alone you keep your post. Yet many an upper room Recruits today a growing host Who claim their freedom come. For not alone to fight the fight Will Heaven leave him long, Who dares to wage a war of right Against whatever wrong. 53 VI My bark may plow the deepest seas Or strike on sanded bars, Or icy bergfs at far degrees Beneath the polar stars. But I am sure One guides the helm. And guards each beam and joint. Who lets no tempest overwhelm, And holds the needle's point. I'll soon descry the palmy shore And towers of Salem see. Where waits, when sailing all is o'er. Eternal rest for me. In the sleep of the silent night There is rest for the weary frame. And throbbing pulses which all day long Have answered to labor's claim. In the valley of penitence There is rest for the sorry soul With feet that have strayed on the hills of sin And hands that have spurned control. In the faith of the wounded Lamb There is rest for the broken heart, In which Jehovah is pledged to dwell, From the troubling world apart. In the halls of the Father's House There is rest for each faithful son, When "sorrow and sighing shall flee away," And the Father's good will be done. 57 log ttt tfif Morning 'Tis midnight hour, and the night is dark' And the way beset with gloom, While the pilgrim's lamp gives feeble spark. 0, when will the morning come ? 'Tis three o'clock, the heaviest hour. The hour men oftenest die. And fear and doubt on the spirit lower.. 0, when will the night go by ? Tis four o'clock, and the tardy light Delays in the eastern skies, Till the pilgrim's faith sore longs for sight™ O, when will the day-star rise ? Ah, light steals on, and the night is past,. And the day is breaking. See ! Earth's signs are on, and her armies vast Are training to set her free. IHg-attli-ISQ To one remorseless river-bed All paths of mortals tend. A cradle rocks where each begins, A grave awaits the end. By man came sin ; by sin came death ; And death has passed on all ; For they who share his life and death Share also Adam's fall. But on the other shore there lies Another path of life. Which the Anointed One has found After a mortal strife. Some day this pilgrimage will end. And Jordan cease to be. And dying life give blessed place To immortality. 58 God grant we may, through mercy great, Be gathered by and by *' To Canaan's fair and happy land, Where our possessions lie." ^^ "Nn%r Atty Mar^ fain" What ! Not any more ? Say, not any more That maddening thing that o'er and o'er Has followed so closely the primal fall. And pierced the heart of creation all ? Ah ! Not any more shall the pulses beat. And the muscles grind with the nameless heat That cuts, like a warrior's weapon sharp. The sentient strings of the human harp ? No more, no more, of the weakening wave That sweeps on a mortal as if a grave Were opening wide like a gate of hell. To take him down where the dead ones dwell ? But God has promised his dead shall rise ; 0, yes ! In the word what a comfort lies ! Shall rise undying and glorified. When falls on the age its eventide. In the by-and-by, on the other shore, Aye, then and there will be pain no more. , For God has promised it shall not be, In His own new earth with its healing tree. 59 3lFnt0alpm Whene'er I read the words that bring To my enraptured view The city of the one great King, Jerusalem, the New," At once sweet memory recalls The words and tones of old, " When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold ?" And back again the echoes come. Across the years to me, "Jerusalem, my glorious home. Thy joys when shall I see ?" i»^ Wxm of ll|p iKtngiinm The lands of the olive and vineyard red That smile on thy southern sea, beautiful Europe, I may not tread. Nor taste of their luxury. But the royal wine of the " Land ahead " Will sparkle, I hope, for me. 60 E WAY MAY BE LONG " — Page 49 HJe'lO ::i <d

18001369

Bits o' verse,

Alden, Margaret Hamilton

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Tho' distance sever, thought all space o'er leaping, its loving watch with you, dear heart, is keeping. Words are so feeble, thoughts so deep and tender — Love is so strong, and human hearts so weak; And I who fain a greeting fit would send her, (my Star of Hope), can find no words to speak; Perhaps the pansies may my message hold — in royal purple clad, with hearts of gold. HOLLY Of all Dame Nature's treasures, that bloom through out the year In wealth she never measures — the Chief is surely here. For e'en the Rose's splendor, that blooms in leafy June, Holds not the mem'ries tender, to set our hearts in tune That 'round the Holly lingers; and every Christmas-tide 'Tis as tho' fairy fingers had scattered far and wide Its cheery sprays, to brighten our lives where'er we roam. And all our cares to lighten, with thoughts of Home, sweet Home. A PROMISE A wee bird sat on a frosted bough With ruffled plumage and drooping wing, And I watched it—and thought "Its forgotten how It used to sing When the bough was pink, that is frosted now." And I said " 'twould be strange if a tiny bird Should remember the blossoms of long ago, Now the winter is here." T]ien the wee thing stirred. And soft and low Came the notes of a song, as tho' it heard. And it seemed to say — "Tho the frost is here And I sit in the cold with folded wing, And the air is bleak and the winter drear, Yet still the Spring Shall come again, and the skies be clear." And I sat rebuked that a little bird Should teach a lesson I ought to have known; And deep in my heart once more Faith stirred, (I thought Her flown) And my springtime came as its song I heard. THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR In Bethlehem's Manger — long ago — a tiny Baby lay, While in the sky a Star, aglow, made clear to ^1 the Way To find Him on His natal day. So long ago — that Baby's birth within the Manger low: And yet, each year, (o'er all the earth) the Star is still aglow And shows each soul the Way to go. O'er barren wastes, by night and day, the Wise men traveled far. They found the Baby where He lay (they who had crossed the desert's bar) By trustful following of the Star. Each year the Star shines out anew to gxiide us and to bless. Each year there comes to me and you — garbed in familiar dress — The only guide to Happiness- 'Twas "Peace on earth. Good-will to Men." how long ago and far! And yet the Way lies clear as when the Three crossed o'er the desert bar — With patience following the Star. strife, and greed, and bitter hate I when will ye cease to mar The pilgrim's way to Heaven's gate, where Peace and Love Incarnate wait The Following of the Star? CA5TLE5 IN THE AIR •'Castles in the Air" — who has not owned them? (Fashioned with a grace beyond compare) WTio, within his heart has not enthroned them, Visionary Castles in the Air? There we keep our soul's most precious treasures Free from sordid worldly strife and care; Dreams no narrow earthly limit measures — Safe within our Castles in the Air. All the Hopes that came not to fruition Here below, fulfill each promise there; And no vain, unrealized ambition Mocks us in our Castles in the Air. There — ^the idols whom our hearts would cherish (And whose loss we never learned to bear) Wait, with beauty that shall never perish, Shrined within our Castles in the Air. When the world shall fade upon our \'ision With its iron walls of grim despair — We may find in emerald fields elysian All our vanished Castles in the Air. Azure skies starred o'er with gold, above us, With a radiance earth scenes never wear; Hearts we thought estranged once more shall love us When we reach our Castles in the Air. Then, perchance, we'll find what seemed ideal, (Noble thoughts, and deeds we fain would dare Aims and hopes that mocked us here) are real In our glorious Castles in the Air, While the life within our earthly prison Was a hideous dream of sin and care. From which we at last have waked, and risen To our Own — our Castles in the Air. OUR MOTTO-M. W. P. A. ''Let us put down self — and work for a Cause!" How glibly we talk of our "motto" — and say "How wondrous its meaning" — and then do we pause Resolving to put it in practice today? To put down self — and work for a cause Unmindful of critics, of praise or of blame, Determined to follow the Spirit, whose laws Mean more than the letter, far more than the Name, Do we do it? or do we go on feeling quite Content of the letter we seem to respect? Ignoring the spirit? if so, by what right Do we claim for our standard that which we reject? Of course it costs something to work for a cause. Costs comfort, costs prestige, costs sometimes a life; Brings heartache and sorrow, finds error and flaws In those whom we trusted, brings trouble and strife; But, those who have added to progress and worth. Who have guided the world — nor found time to pause For praise or for censure — the great ones of earth — Have lived not for self, but have "worked for a Cause." TEDDY Just a little Laddie, with a head of sunny curls, Eyes alight with mischief, teeth like rows of pearls; Full of life and vigor, with a brain that never tires Of inventing somie new method of obtaining his desires — That's Teddy. Just a wondering Baby — trying hard to understand What the grown folk are meaning (stranger in a foreign land)! He's only four, and that is not an age of wisdom keen, His eyes have yet to open on mvsteries unseen; Poor Teddv! Little feet that still must journey many a weary mile; Little face one day to lose its trusting baby smile ; What are we, who long have trodden this old earth's rugged way Doing to make smooth the road and straight the path today For Teddy? How are we — who many times have conned our lessons o'er — Helping to interpret life's strange and mystic lore For the eager little Learners who have only just begun To enter on the journey leading towards the setting sun Like Teddy? Are we offering but a stone when they cry for bread? De we, (all unheeding) forget His words who said (As long ago He walked beside the Lake of Galilee) "Forbid them not, the Little Ones, from coming unto Me" As Teddy? Are we not keeping them from Him when we fold our hands. Forgetting that each little soul who on life's threshold stands Is waiting for the guidance which only they can give Who have learned from hard experience just what it means to live? And Teddy. How shall Teddy judge us, when to man's stature grown He measures up the "might have been" — the things he should have known — If we, who held the keys that would have opened wide the door To Knowledge and to Liberty, had done our duty more By Teddy? And when we stand at the last day before the Judge of all Who knows us, (as we are) and heeds the weakest sparrow's fall, What shall we, who had the power to make straight the crooked way For all Christ's "little ones" on earth — what shall we find to say To Teddy? WHEN I'M A MAN "When I'm a Man," he said, and his eyes of deepest blue Would glow with fervor true, and he'd shake his golden head; "I'll do such things for you, when I'm a Man" — my wee boy said. "When I'm a Man," he said, "You'll have such heaps of gold More than your hands can hold; and it's you I'm going to wed, And you shall not grow old, when I'm a Man" — my wee boy said. "When I'm a Man," he said — How short a time it seems! And now the sunlight gleams on my darling's lowly bed, And I only hear in dreams how "When I'm a Man," he said. "When I'm a Man," he said, "You'll have such heaps of gold!" Now all my poor hands hold is the tress from his sunny head; And my heart has grown old — he is not here who said — "When I'm a Man." TRANSITION I was hopeless and despairing — and life looked dark indeed — And my heart felt heavy in my breast As I mused upon the selfishness, the treachery, and greed By which my fellow creatures seem possessed; And not a gleam of brightness my weary soul beguiled. The earth seemed filled with darkness and despair; When a Baby, passing by, looked into my face and smiled, While its silvery laugh rang out upon the air. Just a Baby's smile! but it changed the world for me, And my heart grew lighter in my breast; For in those laughing eyes I once more seemed to see Those other eyes (closed long ago, in rest) Which I had loved so dearly when the world was bright and fair. And all my fellow men were good and true, The eyes of my own Baby, who is safe from sin and care, In God's unknown land beyond the Blue. Then — in the Light reflected from that Baby's cheery smile My heart that had so long been hard and cold Reproved me, for condemning my fellowmen — ^tha while I, too, was striving hard for gain and gold; And the clear eyes of my Baby — full of innocence and trust — Looked at me, from the stranger Baby face, And the little hands that long ago had crumbled into dust Seemed to beckon from their old familiar place; And the skies were not so clouded, and life looked not so dark, And my lonely heart was filled again with peace, As the sweet voice of my Baby — like the warble of a lark — Seemed to bid all wrath and bitterness to cease; While, as of old, my fellowmen again were good and true. As my soul to nobler feeling was beguiled By the Message sent to me, from Him who reigns above the Blue, Through the smile of a little stranger child. MOTHER'S WORLD Eyes of blue and hair of gold. Cheeks all brown with summer tan. Lips that much of laughter hold, That is Mother's Little Man! Shining curls like chestnut's brown, Long-lashed eyes, demure and staid, Sweetest face in all the town. That is Mother's Little Maid! Dainty room with snow-white beds, Where (like flowers with petals curled,) Rest in peace two dreaming heads, That is Mother's Little World. THE BABY'S ANSWER Dear little lad with the bonny eyes And sunny golden hair, Sweet and winsome and wondrous wise (For all your baby air) Why did God send you down to earth From the land so far above? What was the Thought that gave you birth? The baby answers, — "Love." Dear little lad with the eyes of brown And hair of deepest gold, When first you came from Heaven down, What did your wee hands hold? What was the Gift you brought to earth From your home in the skies above, When you came to this, your latest birth? The Baby answers, "Love." Dear little lad with hair of gold And shining eyes of brown, What is your Work in this world so old? Why did God send you down? What will you do when you grow a man, (Tiny spark from the Life above) How will you meet your Maker's plan? The Baby answers, "Love." THE BABY IN MY ARMS When the world seems full of trouble and life looks hard and cold, And my courage is at ebb-tide and I fear I'm growing old. And life's daily grind and hurry sometimes make me forget That the purest joys are found apart from all its jar and fret; Then I sit down in the silence, and I banish all alarms With the touch of tiny fingers of the Baby in my arms; The clasping, clinging fingers of the Baby in my arms. He's just a dimpled darling with eyes of deepest blue, And his cheeks are like the roses that are fragrant with the dew, And his laugh is like the music that filters thro' the air When they say the benediction that follows after prayer; And I feel there is no danger but will flee before the charms Of the sweet and silvery laughter of the Baby in my arms; The clear and joyous laughter of the Baby in my arms. You may talk of fame and glory, of wealth and pomp and power! I would not give my Baby for any earthly dower. And money has no brightness that ever can compare With the pure and shining beauty of my darling's golden hair; And I'd wield no monarch's sceptre, nor share in his alarms, For I'm Master of my Kingdom with my Baby in my arms; The whole of Heaven is compassed by the Baby in my arms. TWO MOTHERS Is it mourning that ye are, dear, because safe in His keeping The Good Lord has your baby, (and your heart is sair with grief?) O dry your tears, and thank His love that your little lad is sleeping Tonight within His tender care, and his stay on earth was brief ! He was little when God called him, and his baby lips were clinging To your breast, the day he left you to aswer to the call ; But you have the sweet remembrance of that joy, and time is bringing You each day just so much nearer to the Home that waits us all. He was little when he left you — and he had not time for sinning; He was pure, and sweet, and little, and your arms could hold him fast; And the Life he's living Yonder is only the beginning Of the time you'll be together, when your journey here is past. He was little when he left you, and your arms are aching for him, But he knows not sin nor sorrow — and for that your heart should joy; And to think that up in Heaven God's angels have charge o'er him! ! it's thankful you should be dear, not to lose your little boy. He was little when he left you — had he stayed (ah, cease your weeping) You might know the bitter longing that comes tonight to one Whose Mother-heart is burdened with a cry that, never sleeping, Asks where her boy is biding at the setting of the sun. MOTHERS' DAY Alone in the gathering gloom they sit. While thru Memory's halls wee forms still flit, (Two Mothers old and gray;) And over each wrinked face there glows A color faint as the palest rose, And listen to what they say: "0, but he was bonny that lad o' mine, Like the blue o' the sea did his clear eyes shine, And where is he today?" "And sweet as a flower was my Lassie too, But the eyes o' her were brown, not blue, And she too, is far away; Too far to remember her Mother here, Her Mother who lived for her, year by year, Who never left her alone"; And the faded eyes fill with a blur of tears As down the passage of by-gone years Are Memory's pictures shown. "My Lad's a man — ^but he's far away — And of course is too busy to send today A word to let me know That he's thinking o' me, who never forgot To bend at night above his cot"; (And the old voice falters slow). "Well — ^that's what Mothers are for, I ween, But, 0, if the green grass grew between Us, and the place where they lay. We'd not be so lone, nor our hearts so sair As we are on this May day, bright and fair. That they tell us is Mother's Day." GOD^S GIFT Dear Heart — you "wonder" why I "love you so"? What does it matter if we never know The reason for our friendship and our love? What does it matter where we met or how What means so much to us just here and now Came to us? that its birthplace was above This earth we know; for all of grace or good That strengthens us (if we but understood) We could trace clearly to that one true Source; Just let us take the Blessing — and be glad! I like to think when days look dark and sad Of YOU — and say — "why God sent Her, of course." WHAT A LETTER WILL DO It's wonderful what a letter will do, If it's from someone you love, and who also loves you ; It carries the blackest storm-clouds away, (The kind that come on at the end of the day, When you're tired and lonely, and homesick and blue— And feel that the world holds no corner for you) ; Then in comes the mail — with a letter from one Whom you thought had forgotten; perhaps it's a son, Or maybe a daughter, or friend true and tried, And the world is no longer so terribly wide. — it's wonderful what a letter will bring Of sunshine and gladness — like flowers in Spring, If it comes from someone you love, who loves you, There's no end to the good that a Letter can do. COMPARISON Are you down in the mouth — and your luck is bad — And you haven't a cent to your name, And you're hungry and cold, and tired and sad — And life seems a losing game? Just take this comfort home to your heart — (Youll find it perfectly true — ) However sharp misfortune's dart There are others worse off than you. There's never a fate but it might be worse However hard to bear; And sorrow is oft the kindly nurse Who weans us from despair; And tho' your lot seems bitterly sad From your own small point of view — Remember — in spite of the trouble you've had — There are others worse off than you. There's never a day but the night shall come, Nor a night but there follows the day; And it matters not where the wind is from If it carry the clouds away; And could you have an enchanted steed And wander the wide world through, You'd find — however sore your need — There are others worse off than you. So try and make the best of your lot (However hard it may seem) There's none so poor but a resting spot Is his when done life's dream; And tho' it may seem you're sore beset And your blessings are far and few — Be thankful still — and never forget There are others worse off than you. THE ROBIN'5 MESSAGE The morn was chill, and my heart was weary. For Faith was shattered and Hope had fled, And life, at best, looked dark and dreary. And the Love I had valued lay cold and dead; Then outside my window, a song so cheery That, in spite of myself, I listened — said ^^ "Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up, dearie; dearie, cheer up, cheer up, it said. It seemed like mocking my heart so saddened — (When the love I had trusted had proved untrue And the eyes whose light so long had gladdened My heart, were no longer the eyes I knew) , And my soul with bitter distrust was maddened; But still there came, from out the blue — "Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up, dearie; cheer up, dearie," and then I knew; Knew that the pain and grief were only. Passing shadows from out the skies, Knew that the reason my heart was lonely Was because of unfaith in the Truth that lies Ever around us, if we but only hold to the Good that we say we prize, And the Song of the Bird — "O, cheer up, dearie, cheer up, dearie," unsealed my eyes; For it told me that out in the world was ringing Brightness and cheer, and gladness yet. And the gloom and sorrow my mood was bringing Twere better far I should soon forget. And the Message that down thru the air came singing (Dispelling sadness and vain regret) Said "To cheer up, cheer up, cheer up, dearie" is nearer the Truth than to mope and fret. THE HOUSE UPON THE HILL In the City — where the people live in dwellings near the sky — AndtHaught but brick and mortar meet the weary, home-sick eye. They Know nothing of the beauty that my heart with joy would fill Could I find myself, tomorrow, in the House upon the Hill. It is just a little dwelling, but the skies arch everywhere In a way the City knows not, with its crowded thoroughfare; And the katydids and crickets are never, never still. You hear them till you slumber, in the House upon the Hill. If I had a Wishing Carpet, (like we used to read about In our childhood days of dreaming that was never tinged with doubt) , I would say — "Please take me quickly to the place where pulses thrill With the glory of the sunsets near the House upon the Hill." And there's trees and vines, and bushes, and the air is keen and fine, ( better tonic surely, than medicine or wine) ; And my heart is sick with longing that will not be cured until I am once more with my loved ones, in the House upon the Hill. VALUE5 What does it matter who did the deed, So long as the deed was done? What does it matter who ran the race So long as the race was run? What does it matter who sang the song If only the song is sung? And why should the winner be proud of himself Be he old in years or young? The one who ran — and did not win — Did he not do his best? If he ran to the measure of his strength What matters all the rest? If the song was sweet and helped a soul What matters the singer's name? The worth was in the Song itself — And not in the world's acclaim. O Heart bowed down with «HMfM» of loss. Because ye did not win — If you did your best (I say your best) You, too, have "entered in"; The Song — the Race — ^the Deed are one — If all be done for Love — Love of the Work (not love of self) And the score is kept Above. SONNET If you could read my heart — friend of my soul — « And know the depth of Love I feel for you, (Than which no love could be more pure and true. For in it passion has no sense control. But it is quiet, sane, and strong and whole,) You would not doubt aught I might say or do. For did you read my heart, the Power that drew Us to each other, would unfold the scroll Of Truth ; and lettered there, your spirit's eyes Would see, (all unobscured by earthborn pride), The story of the wealth of love that lies There, waiting for your smile, though oft denied The solace of your faith; (the sacrifice Which self must make, would it in love abide). SUNSHINE What's the use of crying over milk that's spilled? What's the use of grieving over blossoms killed By the frost of winter? As the seasons flit, Take fresh courage, brother — Smile a little bit. More milk for the asking, Spring will come again, And the blossoms withered, after healing rain. Will return to cheer you, if your heart be lit With the flame of Sunshine — so Smile a little bit. If there were no rainstorms, flowers could not grow. And they seem the brighter after winter's snow; But the thing that makes them with God's glory lit, Is His blessed Sunshine — so Smile a little bit. When a Baby smiling, looks into your eyes. Don't you feel a Glory straight from Heaven's skies Chase away the shadows where you sometimes sit When you're in the doldrums? — Smile a Kttle bit. Answer Baby's message," the spirit sent; You will find a blessing tears have never lent To your life's unfoldment if your heart is fit For a Baby's friendship — so Smile a little bit. Smiles are the reflection of the Soul within — Are the "touch of nature" that makes the whole world 'kin When by bitter sorrow you are sharply hit Take fresh courage, brother — Smile a little bit. Worry will not help you to make good your loss; Into every earth, life shadows of the Cross Must fall slanting sometimes, just to make us fit To help with others burdens, so Smile a little bit. It will pay to cultivate smiling in your soul. And the art is always within your own control; Just a little practice soon will make you fit To take a course in Sunshine — Smile a little bit. Smiling at the shadows will chase away the gloom — As the glorious Sunshine brightens every room When the windows opened, all the house is lit With a breath of Heaven — so Smile a little bit. A BIRTHDAY WISH I would I could write for you something that's new ! (A wish for your birthday none other has said) ; That should voice what I feel in language that's true, In words that when written are worth being read; But I find that my pen will not answer my thought In lines that are graceful, or phrase that is new, And so I just send you the wish that, unsought, Comes always to mind when I'm thinking of you. Be life what it may, skies golden or gray, God bless you on this, and on every day! TO H. H. A. If all thy kindly deeds and helpful words Were given life, like sweet-voiced singing birds Their music should around thy pathway rise. They live in many a heart, and who shall say That when for thee shall dawn the eternal Day, They shall not bear thee into Paradise? LOVE They prate of "love," who never felt its power; And call the sickly passion of an hour By God's pure name of Love. Love is the guerdon of the Soul's desire; Love is a spark of the Celestial fire Sent down from Heaven above; Love is the gift bestowed on men by Him Who never meant its radiance to grow dim Thro' unbelief or sin; The Light which each may give his fellow-man. Which shone on earth since e'er the world began. And ever is within Each human soul, to help it on the way Which leads at last to the Eternal Day. And when we find our place in Heaven above We'll know its meaning there, for "GOD is LOVE." WHAT IS A FRIEND A friend — ^what is a friend? A friend is one who cares If we are sad or glad ; who dares Contumely for our sake, and shares Alike, through good or ill report, our fortunes to the end. A friend — ^what is a friend? A friend is one who understands When others fail; who holds our hands, And keeps from slipping on Life's sands Our weary feet, that still must journey on till life shall end. A friend — what is a friend? A friend is one whose love Is for ourselves — our faults above; who clings To us no matter what Fate brings — And despite failure sees in us the things Alone which won his love; and whom no storm of life can bend. THE 5IGN OF THF CR055 Oh ! for the days that we spent in the wild-wood Plucking the blossoms which grew at our feet; Oh ! for the Faith, the clear Faith of our Childhood, Simple, and pure, and surpassingly sweet; Oh! for the innocent Love, and the hoping That all which we dreamed of was surely to be; Then were the days when our souls were not groping After strange gods, whom we vainly would see. Then were the days when our spirits were leaping Onward to meet what we felt to be true. Then were the days when our young hearts were keeping Tryst with the Faith which was all that we knew. Never a shadow to darken its splendor. Never a thought of our profit or loss, Love was our anchor, and Joy our defender. And the Light that we steered for, the Sign of the Cross. Never a doubt then to mar our believing, Never a yearning for knowledge and pain! Always a Solace to quiet our grieving. Oh ! for the days that shall come not again. False are the mists that our vision are blinding, False are the voices that bid us to roam; Upward and onward the Road is still winding, And the Sign of the Cross marks the pathway to Home. Gone are the innocent days of our childhood, Simple and pure, and surpassingly sweet. But still there is left us a path in the wild-wood, Still are the flowers a-bloom at our feet; Still there is Love to be had for the taking. Still shines the Light that shall save us from loss If Faith be our Guide, and the shadows are breaking For see: in the Harbor — the Sign of the Cross! A GOLDEN WEDDING A Golden Wedding! and a Golden Day Has come, to greet those travelers on Life's way Who have, for fifty years, together trod Its pathway, which was sometimes rough and steep, But never yet so hard that it could keep Them back from that straight Road that leads to God. A Golden Wedding: ay, and Golden Years Are those which lie behind, in spite of tears And pain and sorrow, (which must come to all;) And Golden is the Way which lies before And leads from earth to that Eternal shore Where all is Light, and never shadows fall. Light divine ! the wondrous Light which brings A Glory to the least of earthly things; When we shall reach that Home of Peace above Then shall we find the sun which makes our day Is but the Power that kept our earthly way; The Golden Light of God's transfiguring Love! THE RAINBOW'S END I've been thinking of a story That we loved in childhood's days. When the world was full of glory And our hearts were full of praise, And we never tired of hearing (And the tale grew never old) Of the rainbow's disappearing. And the wondrous pot of gold. Then we'd look with eager longing Toward the far and golden West, While such visions came a-thronging As would thrill each childish breast When our fancy tried to measure To the goal our hopes had set. For we knew we'd find the treasure Where the earth and heaven met. So we journeyed oft, aspiring Just to find the rainbow's end, Till our childish strength o'ertiring, Weary steps we'd homeward bend; But in spite of all endeavor, Bitter tears and vain regret, Tried we e'er so hard, we never Reached where earth and heaven met. Then, as childhood's days receding Brought us soon to man's estate, Felt we sure we now were speeding Fast toward Fortune's golden gate; So with all the old-time ardor Pushed we on the quest, and yet Found each day the journey harder To where earth and heaven met. So the treasure, disappearing, Still beyond the rainbow lies, But our journey, now, is nearing To its end beyond the skies Where our vanished youth shall find us, And shall guide our weary feet Till we close the gate behind us Where the earth and heaven meet. FLOWER5 When God had willed the world to be, Had set the seasons and the hours; Well pleased His goodly work to see He smiled, and lo! there bloomed the Flowers! ARBUTUS With a tinge of the Rose, and the joy of the morning, Fragrant and pure as the breath of the dawn, Torn fromi the earth, where its beauty adorning Made sweetness and light, to the City it's gone Carrying with it a song and a story; A Song of the Springtime — a story of Life — Bearing a glimpse of the wonderful glory Of Nature, its message with promise is rife. Someway its fragrance reminds we of you, dear, (Hiding its sweetness under the moss;) You with a heart so tender and true, dear, Smiling, in spite of sorrow and loss; Like the Arbutus, you hide all your sweetness, (Waiting till someone shall find out your worth,) Ah! in a world of sad incompleteness 'Tis good that Arbutus inhabits the earth! VIOLETS Violets blue as the summer sky, (Yet with a tint that is all thine own,) How came ye here on the earth to lie — Ye who must once have in Heaven shone? "Up from the mold we have pushed our way To gladden the heart of a little Child ; God sent us here, and bade us say To all who search in the woodland wild, "See what belongs to my children dear, Foretaste of Heaven, with joys untold": Violets blue have come to cheer The heart of the World, after winter's cold. THE PANSY Who said O Flower so wondrous fair: That fragrance is not thine? A subtle perfume fills the air. That seems to banish grief and care And Love and Faith combine. I think thy sweetness comes from this. That thou of Thought the emblem art, And Faith and Love we shall not miss, (Perhaps shall taste of Heaven's bliss,) If thoughts like thee dwell in each heart. GOLDEN ROD Shining from the hedge-rows, gleaming from the grass- Making all the landscape brighter as we pass — Cheering all who see it, like a smile of God — Summer's Benediction — beauteous Golden-Rod! THE WATER LILY Up from the depths of the river-bed Groweth the water-lily white, Ever lifting its lovely head. Its petals of snow and heart of gold (That a glimpse of God's sunlight seems to hold) Up to the light. The lily grows through the river-mould With spotless petals, pure and white, And no stain is there on its heart of gold; Thou, too, O Soul, if thou wilt, may grow To the heights above (from the depths below) Up to The Light. MY NATIVE LAND My Native Land! when e'er I hear a kindly word in praise of Thee 'Tis music to my heart more dear than earth's most raptured melody. My heart leaps over time and space, and once again I seem to stand Back in mine own familiar place — my life's true home — My Native Land. My Native Land! what raptures swell my heart, when of thy children dear I, doomed apart from Thee to dwell, their praises sung may often hear. What matter tho' afar I roam, a stranger on an alien strand? Within my Soul thy name spells "Home! mine ain countree," My Native Land. For neither time nor space can break the ties that bind me fast to Thee— That, if I sleep, or when I wake, are bonds from which I would not free My heart, while Memory can give the purest joys I understand. I would not longer care to live — could I forget My Native Land! WINGS A flash of wings against a sun-lit sky! A burst of music from a wood near by ! And in a weary human heart, a cry For better things. "0 birds that fly above in heaven's blue. What know ye of life's bitterness and rue? We too might sing along our way like you If we had wings." No answer from the thicket save a song! But in the heart a Voice — "O, soul be strong To do thy part; to thy way doth belong Earth's lowlier things; The birds that fly above thee have their place. Canst thou not tread thy path with equal grace, And daily offer up thy thankful praise Without the wings?" CANADA'S EMBLEM O, Scotland has her Thistle — and England has the Rose — (Tis for the Queen of Nations the Queen of flowers blows) And Ireland owns the Shamrock green — like her own fair Isle of emerald sheen. , And Canada — whose children claim kinship with them all — Is loyal to the Nation whom each their "Mother" call; But she has chosen for her own an emblem fit for her alone. And here the crimson splendor of the Royal Rose is seen, Blent with the Shamrock's emerald, and the Thistle's silvery sheen; And, not content all these to hold, she adds a touch of purest gold. The Shamrock, Rose and Thistle each in its Land is chief. But Canada holds dearest her own bright Maple Leaf; For frosts that would their glory blight, but make its beauty gleam more bright. And as the triple colors she blends with touch of gold, So for the Mother Country Canadian hearts aye hold A Three-fold Love that naught can chill, but frosts of Time make brighter still. And hardy as the Thistle — and glowing as the Rose — And ever-living as the green of Ireland's Shamrock shows — The Maple- Leaf its own shall hold in Loyal hearts of purest Gold. A WOMAN OF THE STREET '7s it nothing to you — all Ye who Pass by?'^ "She's just a woman of the street" you coldly say; And why is she a "woman of the street," I pray? How many of YOU — (happy and protected wives). Have ever left your sheltered, comfortable lives, To make, from day to day, a safer, surer way For her, the alien "woman of the street?" And you O man! whose brother's sin has laid the blame The suffering, and unequal share of bitter shame Upon her shadowed life, have YOU no bill to meet? No debt that you should pay, no right to clear the way For her, your outcast sister "of the street?" For that she is your sister — you cannot deny. And, when at last, you both shall stand on high Before that "Perfect Man," (whom ye shall surely meet) What think you He will say? what price ask you to pay Because there are so many "Women of the street?" TO C. H. J. A hand of steel in a velvet glove (when the battle's for the Right) . A great heart filled with Mother-love and a keen and true insight. A Queenly presence fit for one on a Heaven-born Mission sent. God grant her strength till the race is run — God grant her peace when her work is done — God Bless our President! THE FACES IN A CROWD When you're noticing the glory of the coming of the Spring, And the beauty of the colors of the Blue-bird on the wing, And the green of trees and bushes — and the Robin singing loud — Do you never stop to wonder at the Faces in a Crowd? Nature is a marvelous pageant to the man with seeing eyes, Viewing through his Spirit's windows all the magic of the skies, All the tints on field and meadow, as he stands with Faith avowed In his Maker, but if he will watch the Faces in a Crowd He will find a scene more wondrous, as his seeing eyes behold All the grades of Light and Shadow which will gradually unfold To his vision, when his heart in humble fellowship is bowed, And he reads between the lines of the Faces in a Crowd. For the faces are a picture of what each has taken in — Kept — or passed on — or rejected — and the virtue and the sin Of each Life is there recorded, as with inner sight endowed He, whose Soul has been awakened, sees the Faces in a Crowd. O the grades of Light and Darkness ! O the Gold and coarsest dross ! O, the striving after power — and the bearing of the Cross! All are there for our instruction, as with reverence heads are bowed And we each behold our likeness in the Faces in a Crowd. IN MEMORIAM When those we love are dead, we treasure e'en the garments that they wore, (The outgrown garments they will need no more) And tell with tender thought the words they said, When the pale, silent lips are cold and chill, And never more 'neath our caress shall thrill — And that we called "our own" lies still and dead. Had we but told in life the things we say In our heart-breaking grief above the clay That heeds us not, nor answers to our cry; How the tired heart had thrilled against our own. And the dear eyes with love and joy had shone. Because we set a star in life's dark sky ! Why need we wait until the door is shut, and night Descends upon us, e'er we speak or write The words, that said, would make life one glad song? O, tell it now, the love thou keepest hid ! Save not thy roses for the coffin lid, But give them now; do not delay too long. Life is so short at best, a feeble spark Alight for a brief while, and then the dark Comes down ! Yet, is there always time to say The words that mean more than we ever know, The words that make the flowers of joy to grow Upon the weary road of life's highway. O, do not wait until the day is o'er. Until the Unseen Hand has shut the door Between thee and the ones thou boldest dear! Say what is in thine heart, and say it soon; So shall Life's winter be as golden June, And Heaven shall not be far away, but near. MEMORIAL DAY I write in memory of one who died not on the tented field. Who bore no arms of sword or gun — wore no protecting shield; And yet no warrior in the strife could be more deeply scarred than he. He battled on the Field of Life — and won the victory. Pride — greed — injustice — falsehood — ^wrong — these enemies he oft had slain. And how to suffer, and be strong, he had not learned in vain. He fought fpr Justice and for Right (no thought of self e'er came between,; And now he sleeps where falls the Light, in quiet field of green. And while we deck those heroes' graves who, for their country's honor gave Their lives — ^then, too, the banner waves above my father's grave. AT EVENTIDE Oh, the day had been dark, but at eventide The sun broke through the gloom, And its light transformed and glorified My humble cottage room. And forgot were the clouds that had dimmed the day When the evening light rolled the mists away. Has life's day been dark, have the clouds hung low, And strength and courage failed? Take comfort, heart ! 'Twere better so Than the evening light had paled. What matter tho' life be unglorified If the Light be thine at eventide? WHY? Why, when death enters our portals, ending the pain and the strife. The sins and the sorrows of mortals, and all that makes what we call "Life," Why shrink we aghast as from danger — ^from something that's new and unknown? Why call we kind Death "a harsh stranger, who robs us of what was our own?" Know we not, from the lessons of ages, that nothing we have is our own? That Life is a Book, and its pages are turned by its Maker alone? That Life is a Stage — and the curtain is dropped at the time that He saith? And the one thing of which we are certain is the Mystery mortals call "Death"? MY NEIGHBOR'S WINDOW-PANE As I sat beside my casement, One cheery Autumn day, I glanced across at the windows Of my neighbor over the way; And, although the sun was shining, I thought them strangely dim — It seemed that my neighbor's windows Were blurred, and dark and grim; So I passed a hasty judgment As I saw each spot and stain Offending my eye so sorely On my Neighbor's window pane. Then I thought with calm complaisance Of my 0W71 untarnished glass, And closer bent to scan it. When a strange thing came to pass ; For now my nearer vision Found many an ugly stain. But they rested on MY window — And not on my neighbor's pane. And when MY glass was brightened How my neighbor's windows shone When the sunlight danced upon them As well as on my own ; While my heart took home the lesson. That was sent not all in vain If I look but through glass that is spotless At my Neighbor's window pane. IT 15 NOT FAR There is no "death" — 'tis but a little way — it is not far Unto that land of perfect Day, where our Beloved are; And He who came to earth to show us how to reach it thru His birth, Is waiting for us now. And with Him stand Our Own in gannents white. To their full stature grown in radiant Light. There is no death — 'tis but a little way — it is not far Unto that land of perfect Day — where our Beloved are. We lay us down at night to sleep in quiet rest; Shall He who watches o'er us here, fail there to keep those we love best? Because our earthly vision does not see each well-loved face Transfigured into beauty, more than we know how to trace, It does not prove that they are gone away so ver^ far; There is NO death — no night — just Life and Day Where our Beloved are. LINES FOR A BLOTTER Blot out the evil, let the good remain ; Keep but the joy, and blot out all the pain The days gone by have brought. Be every loving thought And kindly deed, remembered not in vain. Blot out all mem'ry of untruth or wrong; Keep only that which serves to make thee strong; Let grieving have no place ; To gird thee for life's race No note discordant e'er should mar thy song. Blot out all failures, but keep each success To help thee on the road to Happiness. Life needs not idle tears; Let Hope thro' all the years Be e'er thy beacon light, to guide and bless. Blot out all bitterness that may prevent Thy soul from harboring a sweet content; So each unspoken thought With Love and Faith inwrought, Shall, written, prove a word from Heaven sent. C. p. T. One heart the less in this old world to love us — One life the less to help our own ; One heart the more in the True Life above us — One soul the more to its real stature grown. When we shall pass beyond earth's narrow portal And find that Home is after all, not far, Our Brother will be waiting there — immortal. To welcome us, when we shall cross the Bar. He does not need the printed page to praise him, The deeds he did shall be his eulogy; No monument that we could ever raise him Would such a true and lasting record be. He is not "dead," nor is he only sleeping, But where stand ever wide the Golden Gates, He, with the rest, his watch and ward is keeping, In God's own land our Brother — LIVING — waits. 3477-1 b:* I<ot 74 f :;:-VS\u r» \--' '^r, > m^- J- "^, .._i ^^/ f^\ ""-^^' -'^'. "--/ :i }.°-n^ <- o V <?* \ <^ ^. ^^ .-J.L% ^^ G^ o " o a « o .^ f '^J^ -^'^ ^- .V ^ ^-^' ■'- ^?'^ <-i^ -(^ .^-./r >" .^ vV^. ^' >'^%^' <• ^Ao^ « .u-l <=<> ,r:»" 7 ^ "^ v^:- .V o > V v .V .^* > •*t-o< juw "^s K>i <*U. V^ .^^ ' ■ ^^ V^ :^ %.^ «- o . o ^ ^V^ ^O ^>. ..s^-^^. ^"-U p kT .^^

tmp96008091

Consolatio. Ode in memory of those members of the class of nineteen hundred and three of Stanford University who died during the month of their graduation.

Alden, Raymond Macdonald

consolatioodeinm00alde_djvu.txt

pa 330\ .JL37C6 1905 ^^^2e^^^ /' C''iryi<2'<*'CtZ--C<^ Glass Book :-—- 1 COl^'RIGHT DEPOSIT. f^". ^m^i 7 V 4^CONSOLATIO A MEMORIAL ODE i/ ^|piillM|MI f ii ii ivi I ii 1 1:5 C ONSOL ATIO Ode in memory of those members of the Class of Nineteen Hundred and Three of ^tanfoi;d University who died during the month of their graduation Raymond Macdonald Alden Vir sapiens laetus ex his tenebris in lucem illam excesserit .... Quo cum venerimus, turn denique vivemus. -CICERO. Paul Elder and Company Publishers, San Francisco Copyright, 1903 by Paul Elder and Company The Tomoy< Presa San Francisco This Ode was read at the Annual Commencement of the University, May 25, 1903, and is published at the request of certain of the graduates and their friends. ^H£ vernal hills bend close, in friendly mass, And Nature warmly smiles Where golden poppies glow among the wheat. And broadcast blossoms mark the advancing feet Of Summer's dauntless legions, as they pass The valley's welcoming miles. The earth keeps holiday. And they that lean to listen hear her say: All who are young, rejoice today with me I Break forth in singing, each in his degree I But chiefly you for whom. While all the world makes room, Your Mother lifts her gates in high solemnity. 11. UT ah, she waits; and why Is sober youth's reply Delayed, while doubts op- press His natural eagerness? Why does the pageant, at the gate Where myriad hopes and longings wait. Pause, as though stricken by some shatter- ing fate? While some, in mute distress. Look to and fro, as for a comrade's face, When none is marching in his vacant place. III. I E saw the fair young Mother of the throng Standing to bless them, and to hear their song Of tender parting, ere they broke away, With mingled tearful smiles and smiling tears Greeting their free new day; — It was but yestermorn, men say. And yet to her already it seemeth years. For while she waited, smiling, in her hand The keys of the tomorrows, which she gave Her children, bidding them through all the land Go forth, and open, conquer, and be brave,— There came a shadowing wing That rose from out the underworld of Death, The taint of nightshade on its hated breath. And swept the withered leaves of Autumn into Spring. And when its presence passed, Lo, of her children there were some whose place Was empty, and the smile upon her face Was frozen in the winter of that blast. IV. |0 stands she, pale and still, With the mist yet o*er her eyes, And the tremulous surprise Of her grief having its will With the drifting of her hair. Young, loving, tender, fair. Now will she take her other children home Closer to the warm beating of her heart; Yet from the folded flock her yearnings roam To them who go for evermore apart. NE sacred place, the central shrine of all Her joys and sorrows, now at length hath grown Complete, since under its wall Her thousand sons and daughters, at her call And that of Death, have come to mourn as one, — One heart that common griefs and fears have made. Here they had sung and prayed, Here worshiped, in the shade Of cloistered aisle and roof of storied stone; Here rolled the organ's solemn voice, — Now whispered "Hush!"— now cried "Re- joice!" Here youth and love had plighted troth, While seraphs leaned and smiled on both; Here crimson-tinted sunlight, reverent, kissed The altar of the holy Eucharist. But one thing still was missed,— Sorrow, to fully consecrate the shrine Of love and pity and of hope divine. Now, in the mystic presence of our dead, It hath been perfected. VL UT they ! O they were young, and hoped so much! The brow of youth was bright With dew that shimmered in the morning light Of promises and prophecies, e'en such As none had dared to dream in earlier day. And in this time of May, One looking in the deeps of their young eyes Caught embryo glimpses of their coming strength— Shadows of great emprise, And ghostly continents they should explore; New^ Darien peaks w^hereon to stand at length. Masters of untold lore. And softer lights foretold the dreams Of the sweet pangs of love, that sometimes seems The dearest hope which all this weary world redeems. O heart of heaven I must now this bourgeon bloom. Blotting its happy future from our sight, Out from the Spring's illimitable light, Fade in the dateless empire of the tomb ? VII. lO! saith our heart; ah, no! Their life fadeth not so. Here on the brink they stood Of all that is great and good; They lived for the coming hope: Their future hath caught them up. Love and the world before them— Infinite kingdoms o*er them— They sooner found than we the path To that their coming empire hath, Borne from us all in love and not in wrath. The continents that swam before their eyes In the young conqueror's vision. Unfold in realms elysian. And peerless unsealed peaks rise ever in their skies. Dropping our humbler keys. They open great tomorrows of the spirit. And evermore magnificently inherit The golden doors of nobler mysteries. Through vaulted cloisters of new wisdom led By masters such as freer creatures merit (Great souls of ages dead). Their life and lore increase, which here have vanished. VIII. jOj^while our Mother spreads her gates apart For those who enter bound- less life today, She cries "All hail!" to speed them on their way, " All hail! "and then— ic^V^^W "Farewell!" And in the secret chambers of her heart There echoes low the same farewell and hail For those who in the life immortal dwell. She bids them forward go,— Limitless lands explore, — Calls sweetly to them: "Still my children, though I see your upturned faces here no more!" And unto us: "Be strong! God's years are sure and long. There is time enough and room enough for all The work and all the sorrow 'neath the sun ; Do well today: today is never done: If one world fail, another answereth your call." T,.a»«._M«p£g .- 1999 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS lllllllilliiiilL 015 988 354 1 ^

13001659

The palace made by music,

Alden, Raymond Macdonald

palacemadebymusi00alde_djvu.txt

rh-i^ TZ-^^6 l Book. L^jT "^ CoipghtM?. /?/0 CfiE«?IGlCT DEPOSIT. THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC Copyright 1910 The Bobbs-Merrill Company 75 3^4 ,q|6 THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC ANY hundreds of years ago there was a king- dom in a distant country, ruled by a good king who was known everywhere to be rich and THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC M powerful and great. But although the capital was a large and beautiful city, and the king was surrounded by nobles and princes almost as rich and powerful as he, there was one very strange thing noticed by every one who came into the kingdom: the king had no palace. He lived in a plain house near the edge of the city, not half so large or fine looking as many of those belong- ing to his subjects. And he had lived there for a THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC good many years. Of course there was a reason why the kingdom had no palace. It had not always been so. Years before, in the reign of the present king's father, there had stood in the midst of the capital city perhaps the most beautiful palace in the world. It was a very old building — so old that no one knew when it had been built; and it was so large that, although people often tried to count the number of // THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC ^^^'i'v^.^-^^!^SSat^!^>i;^^aiS^ . rooms it contained, they always grew tired before they had finished. The walls were of white marble, with splen- did columns on all four sides and, behind the columns, in spaces cut into THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC the marble walls, were pictures in bright colors that people came from distant countries to see. No one knew who had built the palace, or painted the THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC pictures on its walls; for it had been the treasure of the kings and people of the kingdom for a longer time than their history told anything about. Then, when the present king was but a little child, the palace had been destroyed. On a festival day, when the royal family and the greater part of the citizens were marching in a procession outside the city, there had come a great earthquake. All over the kingdom the people heard the rumbling THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC and felt the ground shaking around them, but they had no idea what a terrible thing had happened, until they came to the city. Then they found that the earth had opened and swal- lowed up the pal- ace in one great crash. Not so much as a single block of the marble remained. The crumbled earth fell into the opening, covering THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC the ruins out of sight, and leaving a great rough piece of ground like that in a desert, instead of the beau- tiful spot that had always been there in the center of the city. Every one felt thankful, first of all, that the king and all his family had been outside the building w^hen the earthquake came, but in spite of this they could not help mourning deeply over the loss of the palace. The king himself was so saddened by it that he grew old much sooner tnan he would otherwise have done, and died not THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC many years later. It seemed useless to try to build another palace that would satisfy those who had seen the splendor of the old one, and no one tried. When the young prince became king, al- though he could not remember how the palace looked in which he had been born, yet he had heard so much of its beauty that he mourned over its loss as deeply as his father, and would not allow any of his nobles or coun- selors to propose such a thing as the building of a new one. So he con- tinned to live house near the city, never go- great empty center of the this was how he only king in out a palace. in the plain outskirts of the ing near the space in the capital. And came to be the the world with- But although every one agreed that it was useless to THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC try to build a new palace in the way in which other buildings were made, there were always some who hoped for a new one which should be no less splendid than the old. The reason for this was a strange legend that was written in the oldest books of the kingdom. This legend related that the beautiful old palace had been made in a single day, not having been built at all, but having been raised up by the sound of music. In those early days, it was said, there was music far more wonderful than any now known. Men had forgotten about it, little by little, as they grew more interested in other things. Indeed, every one believed THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC yo-. ■//- -^ mi ■^U^:■^ that there had been a time when, by the sound of music, men could tame wild beasts and make flowers bloom in desert places, and mov^e heavy stones and trees. But whether it was really true that the great palace had been made in this way — this was not so certain. There were some, however, who believed the legend with all their hearts, and they had hopes that a new palace might be made as beautiful as the one destroyed by the earthquake. For, they said, THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC what has been done can be done again. If it is really true that a great musician made the old palace, it may be that some day we shall find a musician who can make another. The musicians, of course, were especially interested in the old legend, and many a one of them made up his mind to try to equal the music of the earlier time. Often you might pass by the edge of the THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC waste place where the old palace had stood, and see some musician playing there. He had, perhaps, been working for years on a tune which he hoped would be beautiful enough to raise a new palace from the ruins of the old. In those days men played on lyres or harps, or on flutes and pipes made of reeds that grew by the water-side; there were no organs, no orchestras, and no choirs. So the musicians came alone, one by one, and played their loveliest music, not minding that those who passed by often laughed at them for believing that anything would come of it; for they did not mind being laughed at when they had hope of such great glory as the maker of a palace THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC would surely win. This went on year by year, until the young king grew to be almost as old as his father had been when he died, but no musician as great as those of the earlier time was found. Now there lived in the city a boy named Agathon, who wished to be a musician. He had played on the lyre ever since he was old enough to carry it, and there was no boy in the king- dom who could make sweeter music. Agathon had also a friend named Philo, who was as fond as he of play- ing on the lyre. They used often to talk together of the days when they should learn to play so well that they would dare to go, like the other THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC musicians, and try to raise a new palace. *'I am sure it will be you who will finally do it," Philo would say to Agathon. ''No," the other would answer, "I shall try, but by that time I am sure you will play a great deal better than I. And if it is one of us, we -V5»^^3 THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC are such good friends that it will not mat- ter which." One day the two boys made a discov- ery. It happened that ;5^: Agathon was playing on his lyre, when Philo, coming in to see him, heard the tune, and was so delighted with it that he cried, ''I must try to play it, too." So he ran for his own lyre, and presently began to play before Agathon had finished. He did not strike the same notes that Agathon did, but other notes a little lower in the scale; and instead of making discord, the different notes THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC sounded so sweedy together that both the boys looked up in surprise. ''This is a new kind of music," said Agathon, ''and I think it is better than when either you or I play alone." So they tried to play in this way a number of different tunes. When they had done this for a time they had another thought. "If two different notes played together are more beautiful than one," said Philo, "why may not three be more beautiful than two?" THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC (( Sure enough!" said Agathon. "And THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC what is more, it may be that in this way people could make music as fine as that by which the palace was made." Having once formed this idea, the two boys were eager that it should be tried. So they went at once to one of the chief musicians of the city, with whom they were acquainted, and told him what they had discovered by play- ing their two instruments together. Then they suggested that he should take a friend with him — or perhaps even two friends — to the place where the palace had stood, and try what could be done by the new music. The musician was interested in what they said, but he shook his head. THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC "It would be of no use," he said. "There is no musician who has not tried already, and it is foolish to think that two or three of us could play together better than we can separately. Besides, each of us wants the glory of making the new palace for himself, and if we did it together no one would be satisfied." "Would it not be enough," asked THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC Agathon, "to have the pleasure of making it for the king, even if no one knew w^ho had done it at all?" "No," said the musician, "if I do it I w^ant to do it by myself and have the glory of it." And when the boys spoke to other musicians, they said very much the same thing. But THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC M Agathon and Philo were not discouraged. First of all they looked for still another player; and when they heard of a crippled boy who lived not far away, and who was said to be very fond of music, they asked him to join them. He was very much surprised when they told him that they wanted him to learn to play his lyre at the same time that they played theirs, and yet not to play the same notes. But presently he 1/ THEiPALACE MADE BY MUSIC learned to do it, striking notes a little lower in the scale than either Agathon or Philo; and when all three made music together, they were sure it was the most beautiful sound they had ever heard. ''Let us go and play at the place of the palace ! ' ' said Philo. ''It will do no harm to try.'' As the next day was a holiday, and they had planned nothing else to do, it was agreed. They rose very early in the THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC morning, before any of the crowds of the city would be on the streets, took their lyres under their arms, and made their way toward the place of the old palace, helping the crippled boy as they walked. When they were near the place, they met a sad-looking man coming away. He, too, was evidently a musician, for he had a lyre under his arm. But he seemed to be a stranger in the city, and the boys stopped to ask him why he was so sad. "I have come a long way," he said, "because I wanted to try the skill of my lyre with the musicians of your city, and see whether I could not prove THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC myself as great a master as the one who made your lost palace. But I have tried, and have done no better than any of the rest." ''Do not be sad about it, then," said Agathon, "but turn about and ,Ty once more with us. For you have a larger lyre, with heavy strings, and have thought that if we could add to our three kinds of notes another still farther down the scale, the music would sound more beautiful than ever. Come with us, and listen when we play; then perhaps you will see how to join in and help us." So the stranger turned about and went with the three boys to the place of the Now the supposed palace, boys had that, as it was so early in the morning, they would be the only ones there. But it happened that a great many musicians^ had felt, like them, that the morning of the holiday would be a very good time to make another trial of their instruments, and had also thought, like com ing would that by early they not be interrupted by the crowds. So when the three boys and the stranger came to the street that looked into the place of the palace, they found it almost filled with musicians, some carrying lyres, like themselves, and some with harps or flutes or other instruments. THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC It was all very quiet, however, since no one cared to try his skill at playing before all the rest; for every musician was jealous of the others. After they had looked about for a few minutes, and had seen why it was that so many were there and yet that there was no music, Philo said: ''Let us begin to play, Agathon. It can do no harm, and perhaps we can really show these musicians how much better music can be made by playing together, than by each one playing for himself. ' ' THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC ''Very well," said Agathon. "Let us begin." So they took up their lyres and began to play them to- gether as they had learned to do; and presently the stranger, whom they had brought with them, touched the strings of his lyre very softly, to see if he could find deep notes that would sound sweetly with those of the boys. It was not long before he did so, and when he began really to play with them, and the four lyres sounded in concert, it seemed to Agathon that he THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC heard for the first time the music of which he had been dreaming all his life. Now the other musicians who were standing by in silence were listening with the greatest surprise, for they had never heard any music like this in all their lives. After a little time, one and another of them, seeing that it was possible to play at the same time with others, took up his instrument and began to join the tune that the four were playing, for the tune itself was known to all of them, being the chief national song of the kingdom. So there spread from one musician to another the desire to take a part in THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC this strange new music, until hardly any were left who could keep from taking up their instruments and joining in one part or another of what the others were playing. And there went up a great mingled sound that swept over the whole part of the city where they stood, and seemed to fill all the air with music. Playing in this way, all the musicians together, it happened at last that, as they grew more and more joyful with the sound, they struck a great chord, so much more beautiful than any thing they had ever heard before, that they held it for a long time, not wishing to change this sound fo" any other, and looking at one another with eyes full of wonder and happiness. And as they did so, there THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC came into the volume of music the sound of great shouting, for men who had gathered in the streets to listen to the players were calling — "Look, look! The palace! the palace!" And when all the people turned their eyes to the great empty space which had lain waste for so long, they saw a wonderful sight. The earth was breaking away, almost as though another earthquake were pushing it, and out of the midst of it were rising great walls of white marble, that lifted themselves higher and higher, until there stood in the morning sunshine a new palace of as perfect beauty as men had ever dreamed of in the old one. All these years it THE PALACE MADE BY MUSIC had waited for that great chord of music to lift it out of the earth, and at last it had come. This, as I have heard the story, is the way in which men learned to make music together, instead of playing and singing each for himself. And this is the way in which the new palace was made for the king who had been so long without one. But no one quite knew who had done it, so the musicians forgot their jealousies of one another, and all the people rejoiced together. And if there has not been another earthquake, I suppose the new palace must be standing yet. m 9 1913 t' 7 fillllimUUIBHI lUIIIIIUim LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 6044368Jfc

16011975

Flashlights,

Aldis, Mary

flashlights00aldi_djvu.txt

HiIhH i i P H «BB«JH warn «:.;* »i il ■ '.IB I I ^ ■1 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 00002T03313 ■ 1 H mm 1 ■■ fi'lll; <r v »T_ o ^q. ><*, '•• <P\ t\ V :mbk. \.<? /JKv V# .*}£«&-. ^ V^ 1 '0v<? ^ t y ++# fry 3* .!ZnL'* V 'jSXkV- %a ,<j* Y* - • c> ***** FLASHLIGHTS FLASHLIGHTS % B Y MARY ALDIS AUTHOR OF "the princess jack" AND "plays for small stages" NEW YORK DUFFIELD & COMPANY 1916 *& Copyright, 1916, by Mary Alms //. &i> MAY 20 1916 ©CI.A431144 The author desires to make acknowledgement for permis- sion to reprint to Poetry, The Little Review, The Masses, Others, The Trimmed Lamp, The Survey, The Los Angeles Graphic, The Chicago Herald and The Chicago Evening Post. CONTENTS I. CITY SKETCHES n. PAGE The Barber Shop 3 Love in the Loop 8 Converse 12 Window-wishing 16 A Little Old Woman 20 Design 27 The World Cry 28 Brown Sands 29 Seeking 30 May 11, 1915 31 Watchers 32 To Maurice Browne 35 Prayers 37 My Boat and I 39 Pictures 42 PAGE Forward, Singing! .44 Barberries 46 Two Paths 48 When You Come 50 Rest 52 Moriturus Te Saluto 54 Flashlights 56 Floodgates .63 Chloroform 69 The Beginning of the Journey 75 m. STORIES IN METRE The Prisoner 81 Ellie 86 The Park Bench 92 The Sisters 105 Reason 110 Her Secret 115 A Little Girl 117 I CITY SKETCHES Go forth now, moods and metres, Sing your song and tell your story; You have companioned me Through hours grave and gay, What will you say To him whose curious hand Shall turn these pages? Soon all my joy in setting forth My vagrant thoughts Shall pass Into the silence; Soon I shall be One with the mystery. My book upon some quiet shelf Beneath your touch Shall wake, perhaps, And speak again My wonder, my delight, My questioning before the night — And as you read Somewhere afar I shall be singing, singing. THE BARBER SHOP I spend my life in a warren of worried men. In and out and to and fro And up and down in electric elevators They rush about and speak each other, Hurrying on to finish the deal, Hurrying home to wash and eat and sleep, Hurrying to love a little maybe Between the dark and dawn Or cuddle a tired child Who blinks to see his father. I hurry too but with a sense That Life is hurrying faster And will catch up with me. Right in the middle of our furious activity Two soft-voiced barbers in a little room, White-tiled and fresh and smelling deliciously, Flourish their glittering tools And smile and barb And talk about the war and stocks and the Honolulu earth- quake With equal impartiality. 3 I like to go there. Time seems slow and patient While they tuck me up in white And hover over me. The room gives north and west and the sunset sky Lights the grey river to a ribbon of glory Where silhouetted tugs Like tooting beetles fuss about their smoky businesses; Besides, in that high place No curious passer-by Can see my ignominious bald spot treated with a tonic, Nor can a lady stop and bow to me, my chin in lather, As happened once; So I go there often And even take a book. There's another person all in white Who comes and goes and manicures your nails On application. One can read with one hand while she does the other. Because I feel that Life is hurrying me along With horrid haste Soon to desert me utterly, I used to take my Inferno in my pocket And reflect on what might happen Were I among the usurers. One day a low-pitched voice broke in. I listened vaguely, What was the woman saying? "Please listen for a moment, Mister Brown, I've done your nails for almost half a year; You've never looked at me." I looked at that, And sure enough the girl was young and round and sweet. She coloured as I turned to her And looked away. I waited silently, enjoying her confusion. The words had been shot out at me And now apparently she wished them back. "What do you want?" I said. Again a silence while she rubbed away. I opened my Inferno with an ironic glance Towards Paradiso waiting just beyond. "Well, rub away, my girl," I thought, "You opened up, go on." The book provoked her. "I'm straight," she said. "I never talked like this before. The fellows that come round — Good Lord! Showin' me two pink ticket corners Stickin' out the pocket of their vest, 'Say, kid, — tonight, — you know,' Thinkin' I'll tumble For a ticket to a show! They make me sick, they do, Boobs like that; 5 You're different. I want to know What's in that book you read. I want to hear you talk. Oh, Mister, I'm so lonesome! But I'm straight, I tell you. I read, too, every evening in my room, But I can't ever find The books you have. I expect you think I'm horrid To talk like this — but — I got some things by an Englishman From the Public Library. Say, they were queer! He thinks a woman has a right To say out if she likes a man; He thinks they do the looking Because they want — Oh, Mister, I'm so terribly ashamed I'll die when I get home, An' yet I had to speak — I'd be awful, awful good to you, if only, Please, please, don't think I'm like — Don't think I'm one o' them! Whatever you say, don't, don't think that!' She stopped, and turned to hide her crying. I looked at her again, Looked at her young wet eyes, At her abashed bent head, 6 Looked at her sweet, deft hands Busy with mine . . . But— Not for nothing Were my grandfather and four of my uncles Elders in the Sixth Presbyterian Church Situated on the Avenue. Oh not for nothing Was I led To squirm on those green rep seats One day in seven. And now, The white-tiled, sweetly-smelling barber shop Is lost to me. What a pity! LOVE IN THE LOOP They sat by the fountain at a table for two, The traditional couple — An awkward, ill-dressed girl, With a lovely skin and a country smile, And the man who was paying for her dinner. There they were — Exploiter and Exploited. I could see only his back, clad in grey tweed. His neck rolled over his collar In a thick red fold, And his hands, which he waved about, Were fat and white with shiny nails And diamond rings. I wondered if he was offering her better clothes For the girl looked troubled. Her shirt-waist wasn't fresh, Her skirt was draggled, And her feet, curled up under the chair, Shifted themselves uneasily, seeking cover For most lamentable shoes; But oh, her skin! 8 Soft rose and the delicate white of summer mist. Her hair was the brown of hazelnuts after a frost, Glinting to saffron as she turned her head Quickly from side to side Like an enquiring dove. Soon oysters came; She eyed them with distrust, Then ate one thoughtfully and made a face. He seemed concerned And beckoned the waiter to remove the dish, Asking if she'd rather have a "country sausage." She showed her baby teeth in a happy smile And sausages were brought. She ate them all while he watched her enviously, Putting a little white pellet in some water For his second course. Champagne was set before them and he filled her gh While he turned his bottom side up. She sipped, and made another face, and choked, Then tried again and laughed. "I do believe it's good," she said, And finished the glass, Holding it out for more. "You'd best look out," I heard him say As he slid his hand along the table-cloth. She cringed away. "Oh, please, please don't!" she said; But he hitched his chair softly around the table. 9 I watched it all, Wondering miserably if it was my duty To warn the girl, And whether she would prove clinging if I did. Finally to secure her hands he turned himself. My God, what a mug! His beady eyes over his glistening cheeks Blinked like a hurrying pig's: His protuberent lips wiggled themselves In amourous expectancy While little beads of ecstasy bedewed his brow. I turned my chair around and raised my paper. Suddenly I heard her cry, "Oh, Mister! That fuzzy stuff you made me drink — my head!" And she grabbed her coat and slithered along the floor To the front door, calling over her shoulder. "Don't come. I want some air, I'll be back in a minute or two." After a startled forward step He settled back and called the waiter, Who hurried to busy himself expectantly With the inevitable reckoning. By the time it was ready, Mr. Amourous-One Was deep in the stock reports and dead to the world. The waiter stood on one foot and then on the other, Finally wandering off. 10 After some twenty minutes of troubled scrutiny The paper was laid down, And Mr. Amourous Looked at his watch and jumped, Then turned the bill and burrowed in his pocket, Pulling out change. Next came a leather wallet — And then what a bellowing rent the astonished air! "Eight hundred dollars gone!" he yelled. "Hi! get that girl, I tell you, get that girl!" But nobody stirred. Exploiter and Exploited — 11 CONVERSE They were two disembodied heads on bath cabinets, Just like "Une tete de femme" by Rodin, in a show, Save that each head was topped By a ruffled rubber cap, One rose-lined grey, one brown. They were two female heads, And yet they were not pretty, At least not then. They fixed their level-fronting eyes on a sanitary wall In front of them And waited. The Bath Attendant turned a crank, Consulted a thermometer, and vanished. Time draggled warmly by. Finally one head heaved a heavy sigh and turned itself And looked at the other head, Which bit its lip and frowned. Since names seem meaningless When souls converse, 12 Let us call these souls quite simply Grey and Brown. The one that heaved and turned itself was Brown; The one that bit its lip was Grey. "Are you pretending that you didn't see me?'* Queried Brown. "Oh no!" said Grey. "I've been meaning to have a talk with you," said Brown. "And why not now?" "And why not now?" said Grey. "You may as well understand," continued Brown, "You've got to give him up." "Him up?" said Grey. "That's what I said," said Brown. "You very well know His duty is to me. I bear his name, I've given him seven children and a step, All likely boys. He's very fond of them, you know." "I know," said Grey. "Well, what have you got to say?" Brown trembled on. "Why don't you speak?" Grey murmured softly, "Isn't it hot in these?" Brown looked at her and laughed. "You're pretty cool," she said, 13 "But I'd like to tell you here and straight and now, I'm tired of nonsense, Tired of worrying, And very, very tired of him and you." "Of him and me," said Grey. "I've cried and then I've laughed And said I didn't care," Said whimpering Brown. "I've dressed myself up beautifully And then again I'd slump," Said sniffling Brown. "But nothing mattered. If he came home bright and gay, of course I'd know He'd been with you, And if he came home different, then I'd know He wished he were, So gradually it didn't matter much Which way he was. And then I thought I'd try and keep The boys from knowing, So I'd make up lies and plan; With seven and the step It took considerable planning, But luckily the little ones don't notice. And now I've got you here, I'm going to have my say!" "Your say," said Grey. "I'm going to get your promise here and now To give him up for good, 14 Do you understand?" "For good," said Grey. "Oh yes, I understand." "Or else," and beetling Brown Grew dark and terrible, "You'll be the co-respondent in a suit!" "A suit," said Grey. "I said a suit," said Brown, "I mean a suit. Moreover, as you haven't said a word I'll bring it soon." "It soon," said Grey. And then the Attendant came, Looked at the clock and then the thermometer, Got sheets and led them out. "Unless — " said Brown. "Oh yes, unless — " said Grey. 15 WINDOW-WISHING Oh yes, we get off regular By half past six, And six on Saturdays. Sister an' I go marketing on Saturday nights, Everything's down. Besides there's Sunday comin'; You can sleep, Oh my, how you can sleep! No mother shakin' you To "get up now," No coffee smell Hurryin' you while you dress, No Beauty Shop to get to on the tick of the minute Or pony up a fine. Sister an' I go window-wishin' Sunday afternoon, all over the Loop. It's lots of fun. First she'll choose what she thinks is the prettiest Then my turn comes. You mustn't ever choose a thing The other's lookin' at, And when a window's done The one that beats 16 Can choose the first time when we start the next. The hats are hardest 'Specially when they're turnin' round and round. But window- wishin's great! Then there's the pictures, Bully ones sometimes, Sometimes they're queer. Sister an' I go in 'most every Sunday. We took Mother 'long last week, But she didn't like 'em any too well. Mother's old, you know, We have to kinda humour her. Next day she couldn't remember a single thing But the lions on the steps. You know what happened the other night? Sister and I didn't know just what to do, — A gentleman came to see us. He said Jim asked him to Sometime when he was near. Jim's my brother, you know. He lives down state. We have to send him part of our wages regular, Sister an' I; He doesn't seem to get a steady place, And Mother likes us to. She's dotty on Jim. Sometimes I get real nasty — A great big man like that! 17 Anyway his friend came walkin' in And said Jim sent his love. Sister an' I didn't exactly know what to do, And Mother looked so queer! Her dress was awful dirty. He said he was livin' in Chicago, And Sister said she hoped He had a place he liked. He only stayed a little while, Till half past eight, And then he took his hat From under the chair he was sittin' on And went away. I said just now it happened the other night, But it was seven weeks ago last Friday evening. He said he'd come again. I dunno as he will, Sister an' I keep wonderin'. We dressed up «every night for quite a while And stayed in Sundays. Yesterday we thought We'd go down window-wishin' And what do you think? Just as she'd picked a lovely silver dress Sister jerked my arm, Then all of a sudden there she was Cryin' and snifflin' in her handkerchief Standin' there on the sidewalk, And what do you think she said? "I'd like to kill the woman that wears that gown!" 18 I tell you I was scared, She looked so queer, But she's all right today. Oh thank you, two o'clock next Saturday the tenth? I'll put it down, A shampoo and a wave, you said? I'll keep the time, Good-morning. 19 A LITTLE OLD WOMAN There's a twinkling little old woman Brings me sandwiches after my Turkish bath. Her cheeks are brown and pink, And her eyes, behind her gold-bowed spectacles, Smile in a curious fashion as if to say "I know you're worried about that letter in the pocket of your dress, Hanging out there, but I'll take care of it." She sets the tray down on a chair beside my couch And trots away to another languid lady in a sheet, And as I fall asleep she says to me "Don't worry honey, I'll take care of it." Perhaps it's only in my dreams she says it, But anyway she's there. Once after she had hooked me up She raised her sober dress To show me that she too could wear a lace-trimmed petticoat; And a dainty thing it was, with tiny rosebuds Festooned all around. She dropped her skirt and laughed. "I've got one . . . too," she said. This was uncanny, so I said Good-day. 20 Next time I went I met him at the door With a market basket! It seems he brought the dainties every day She made up into sandwiches for us who lolled about. I took a look at him, — A delicate, chiselled face with soft blue eyes, Under his chin from ear to ear a fringe of yellow down, Around a bald spot, curls of whity-gold; He blinked a little as she gave him charges Then wandered thoughtfully away Clutching his basket. He wore a black frock coat too big for him, And on his head, a round black hat like a French Cure's. So that was why she wore the petticoat And smiled so knowingly — But how she worked! I wouldn't work like that. Perhaps she kept that little thing for pleasuring. Well, this is a woman's world, why not, If so be that he pleased her? The steamy, scented atmosphere that day Seemed teeming with intrigue; I looked at the strapping, bare-legged wench Who brought my sheet Enquiring mutely, "Have you got a lover?" And when a person next me roused herself To ask the time, I thought, "Ah-ha! He's waiting!" 21 It chanced when sandwiches were brought I found myself alone With her of the spectacles and petticoat. I wanted to go to sleep, But I wanted more to find out how She got a lover, And how she kept him. After some skirmishing I asked straight out, "Was that your husband with the market basket?' "My husband's dead," she said, and grinned And took a chair beside my couch. "Who is he, then?" I said. "He's mine," she answered. "Mine! I paid for him five hundred dollars cool, And now he likes me!" I sat up at that. "You paid for him?" I gulped. "Why yes, he lived up-stairs, you know. His heart is bad; he hadn't any cash; He got hauled up on a breach-of -promise suit; I paid it for him. Now he lives with me!" She emphasized her "me" triumphantly. I looked her over. Certainly there was something there of vividness, Of quick vitality. He and his funny hat and goldy curls — 22 Well, anything may be. "Are you happy now?" I asked. She smiled and bridled. "The business pays," she said. "You ladies pay good prices for your food And then the tips besides. He gets the things for me and brings 'em fresh, Then what do you suppose he does the rest of the time? (His heart is bad, you know) Writes verses all day long for the Sunday papers; Mostly they don't get in, But every now and then he gets two dollars. I bought him an Underwood last week. He was so pleased, Only the punctuation isn't right. It isn't a second-hand; cost me a hundred and twenty-five; I saved it up — " The bell rang and she rose. "Say! please don't tell them anything about — About — my husband." And she vanished. 23 II DESIGN If all the world's a stage, why do we know Naught of the drama we the actors play? Are we but puppets, we who come and go Mumbling our parts through life's quick-passing day? What if some master hand design the show Planning a spacious pattern cunningly! Time, color, drifting human shapes all go Into a great discordant harmony: Let this one's part be cast in delicate grey, Let this a heavy purple shadow be, Here let there come one clear, cold, bluish ray And here — but hold! one actor suddenly In desperate rebellion cries his part — A scarlet tumult from his own hot heart. 27 TEE WORLD CRY Joy, light, and love I crave And shall discover — Life's wild adventure opening to my will: High thought and brave, The rapture of a lover, The Vision gleaming from yon western hill. Beyond my present sight There lies some sweet allure, Some crested glory waiting to be won; Shimmering in light, Beautiful and sure, Beckoning bright hands that call me on. I know not where it lies, Nor whither I go, nor how The way is paved — with pleasure or with pain; But the search is in my eyes, And the dust upon my brow Shall turn to aureoled gold when I attain. Oh, old old hope — Unfulfilled desire! 28 Pitiful the faith, Beautiful the fire! Know, soul who criest, Thy gleaming from afar, Thy quest of wild adventure, Thy sweet far star Shall be the bitter path To a high stern goal; So bow thy head To thine own soul. BROWN SANDS My stallion impatiently Stamps at my side, Into the desert far We two shall ride. Brown sands around us fly 5 Winds whistle free, The desert is sharing Gladness with me. The madness of motion Is mine again. Forgotten forever Sorrow and pain. Into the desert far Swiftly we flee, Knowing the passionate Joy of the free. SEEKING Swift like the lark Out of the dark One cometh, singing; Silent in flight Out of the night Answer is winging. Forth to the dawn Leaps like a fawn A cry of high greeting, Into the sun Two that have run Seeking, are meeting. 30 MAY 11, 1915 A prayer is forming on my tightened lips — Lord grant that I may keep my soul from hate! I have known love, I have been pitiful, Lord, I would keep my grief compassionate! Pain-maddened cries I hear from out the sea, Upstaring at me, faces of the dead; Those silent bodies seem to call aloud, Those silent souls are still and comforted. And we are here to bear the weight of pain — Oh, keep the poison from its awful task! Lord, let me be as they are ere I hate, Let me love on! this, this is what I ask! However long the way, there is a turning, Somewhere beyond the storm there lies a land Where Peace abides, where love shall live again, And men shall greet with friendly outstretched hand While little children laugh, and women weep With happiness — Oh, Lord, until that hour Keep Thou my hope, keep Thou my tenderness, Keep Thou my trust in Thy far-seeing power! 31 WATCHERS I watch the Eastern sky For a sign of dawn Long delayed. Such stillness is around That every separate sense Is twice-attuned, twice-powerful, And loneliness enwraps me like a sea Into whose unplumbed depths I must go down: A sea unsatisfied Where drifting shapes, wan-eyed, Reach forth wan arms Towards them who pause to look at their own souls Mirrored upon the sea. Somewhere a loon Sends forth its weary cry across the dark. Oh, wailing bird, I know, I know! I think tonight the soul of the world is desolate And you and I its watchers. Yet cease! oh cease! The night air quivers and resounds To bear your cry across the sleeping lake, 32 And I would have your silence While I make My own complaint. For I would ask why we who have so little space To live and love and wonder Must go down into eternal mystery Alone : And I would know Why, since that awful loneliness must be, We go about as strangers here on earth And meet and laugh and mock and part again With never a look into each others' eyes, With never a question of each others' pain. So, even as I hear your melancholy plaint Across the sleeping lake, I send my questing cry across the world — And as I watch and listen, Through the stillness There comes to me an echoing and a far reverberation Of the many who have gone Into the limitless mystery, And thus they speak — "We too have known your questing, We too have stretched our arms forth to the night And clasped its nothingness, We too have lived and loved and wondered For a little space 33 And then gone onward, And we seek across the silence To send our voices Out, out, across the dark." Is it your voice I hear, oh far, strange bird, Or is it theirs — Theirs who have gone onward Alone and unafraid? Is there an answer I may sometime find, Or is it that our lips are dumb, Our eyes are blind, When love would come? Now faint light comes upon the shadowy sky, The East is waking and the day begins. You send your cry across the quivering lake, I send my question out across the world, We watch, we two, Alone. 34 TO MAURICE BROWNE (On his creation of Capulckard in Cloyd Head's "Grotesques") Shadows are round me as the dawn breaks, Shadows with long white swaying arms And anguished faces. I see them meet and touch and part Crying their desire, While a bitter figure moulds them In a shifting decoration Which enchants, eludes and maddens, Imprisoning my dreams. Now they plead and droop and cower, Holding wan hands To whatever gods there be, Praying intercession From the malign enchantment Of their decorative doom Whence they weep their silent tears. Oh, Draughtsman terrible Who puts out the moon and stars, Who smiles and waves a hand 35 And puppet hearts are broken, Let them love! Only a moment in a theater, Only a moment under the stars, All there may be before the end- Let them love! The show is over. The swaying puppets of a little longer hour Go forth and cry out their desire To a Master of Decoration, — Their God unseen, And He, like you, smiles, puts forth a hand And t)lots the moon and stars And tears the glory from the earth and sky And cries: "Back to your places, fools! You shall not love!" 36 PRAYERS Day by day I tread my appointed way Greeting the sun with dutiful intent, Seeing his slow decline into the West, Watching draw near my night of quietude. Each day I see fade slowly back to join Those other days, unlived, unloved, unmourned, That have passed by in grave processional With never a golden one to mark their passing. Sometimes at night I ask the friendly stars "Tell me, what do I here? Why have I breath And this fair body in a world of shadows? Why do I live?" But the stars shine silently And make no answer. Sometimes I ask of God, "Dear Lord, I love Thee well But Thou art far away — Couldst Thou not send to me Someone on earth to love? 37 So should I love Thee more." But God sends no one. Sometimes I ask the far tumultuous sea, "Oh Sea, give me of your great beating heart! Let me be swept on the whirlwind, Let me be lulled and rocked, Let me be storm-tossed, made mad, Then — let me perish!" But the Sea roars on unheeding. So day by day I tread my appointed way Greeting the sun with dutiful intent, Seeing his slow decline into the West, Watching draw near my night of quietude. 38 MY BOAT AND I My staunch little boat is tugging at its moorings Eager to be free, Eager to slip out on the great waters Beyond the returning tides, Out to the unknown sea. My staunch little boat, unwilling prisoner, Frets and pulls at the anchor chain While the wind calls, "Come! come! I will bear you Out to the unknown sea!" Long time my boat and I have plied the harbour On little busy journeyings intent, Long time with wistful gazing I have listened to the calling — The winds with buffeting caress, The waves with ceaseless urge — Calling "Rest, rest, rest, Rest on an unknown sea.'* And now we are away Into the mystery. 4 39 Quietly the swaying waters Rock and beguile and soothe us That we may not know We are so far away. Along the shore Are hands stretched out. What would you with me now, Oh pleading hands? I come not to you any more, I have set my sail Out to the unknown sea, Would you have me stay adventuring? Would you have me come again To be amidst you With alien eyes and a heart unquiet? Oh cease your crying! I come not back. Long time my little boat and I Have fretted at the mooring, Long time we have looked out beyond the bar With a great questioning, and a great wonder, And then, an hour came which held the parting And we slipped Out, out, to the unknown sea. The hands stretched out have faded from my sight, The shore is dim, 40 The mountains fade into the limitless blue, Only the wind and the sea companion me, Singing "Rest, rest, rest, Rest on an unknown sea." 41 PICTURES I saw a little boy go hurrying Towards an old man nodding in the sun. He tweaked him by the sleeve And gazed at him with insistent frowning eyes Asking his question. The old man blinked and muttered And the child let go his sleeve And drooped and turned away. I saw a mother counselling her daughter About her lover, and the girl was sullen, Looking from out averted eyes For means to go to him; And the mother bowed her head And turned away. I saw two lovers meet with hungry arms, And kiss and speak and kiss again — Then speak with challenging tones and fall apart. I saw them turn with tightened lips made dumb 42 And eyes quick-quenched and dark. Slowly they went their ways. I saw a woman kneeling in a church, Her head was bent upon worn hands Clasped tightly. Her dress was black and poor. After a time she rose and shook her head, Then beat her fist upon the rail And clattered noisily down the aisle. At the door she paused, Narrowed her eyes at the holy water And passed on. 43 FORWARD, SINGING! Listen, girl, stand there near me, Give me your two fluttering hands, Then listen. Little hurrying human beings Are important and significant Only in so far as they can stand alone. Most of them stand sideways, Propping themselves Against this brother or that brother Or this sister or that sister, Leaving each prop Only to carom swiftly to the next. Now shall not every one of these Sometime discover If his prop fall down He falls as well? Listen, beautiful child, I would carve my destiny alone! As a keen-eyed captain steers his ship By the light of the far north star Awake, alert, alone. 44 So, laughing girl Whom I call to my side, Hear! I stand by myself. I can love, aye, with a fierce flame, But I love none so much, no man, no woman, That his passing or his forgetfulness Shall undo me. I and my soul Stand beyond the need of comforting. None has power to make me Helpless, incomplete, beholden. Now, bright child, golden girl, Warm woman with the fluttering hands Whom desire has brought, Will you come to my arms? I will give you love, No other lover can give you love like mine, Come! Ah, that is well: Quick, your mouth, And then forward, singing! But, — if you had not come, Laughing girl, I would have gone forward singing Alone! 45 BARBERRIES You say I touch the barberries As a lover his mistress? What a curious fancy! One must be delicate, you know, They have bitter thorns. You say my hand is hurt? Oh no, it was my breast, It was crushed and pressed — I mean — why yes, of course, of course — There is a bright drop, isn't there? Right on my finger, Just the color of a barberry, But it comes from my heart. Do you love barberries? In the autumn When the sun's desire Touches them to a glory of crimson and gold? I love them best then. There is something splendid about them; They are not afraid Of being warm and glad and bold, They flush joyously Like a cheek under a lover's kiss, They bleed cruelly Like a dagger wound in the breast, They flame up madly for their little hour, Knowing they must die — Do you love barberries? 47 TWO PATHS Today it seemed God bent to me and said, "Pilgrim, you are weary, are you unaware You have two paths?" And I answered, wondering, "Tell me of them that I may choose." And God said "You have set your face towards a far goal, To be attained Only with heartbreak of endeavor. It is written should you choose this path Many times you shall faint and falter, Raising yourself with bruised hands And bewildered eyes, And when at last You see the ending of the journey, Before eternal silence comes, You shall hear A little clamouring and tinkling of men's voices: But you will smile quietly And turn away." "And the other path?" I asked. In a different voice God said, 48 "The other path is short, It ends but a little way ahead, There is no attainment, no acclaim; Only darkness, quiet, Rest from desire, And memory In the heart of the beloved/* And I answered, "I have chosen." WHEN YOU COME ("There was a girl with him for a time. She took him to her room when he was desolate and warmed him and took care of him. One day he could not find her. For many weeks he walked constantly in that locality in search of her." — From Life of Francis Thompson.) When you come tonight To our small room You will look and listen — I shall not be there. You will cry out your dismay To the unheeding gods; You will wait and look and listen — I shall not be there. There is a part of you I love More than your hands in mine at rest; There is a part of you I love More than your lips upon my breast. There is a part of you I wound Even in my caress; There is a part of you withheld I may not possess. 50 There is a part of you I hate Your need of me When you would be alone, Alone and free. When you come tonight To our small room You will look and listen — I shall not be there. 51 REST Often I have listened curiously To the sound of a simple word All seemed to know, And wondered why I could not find Its meaning. Often I have dreamed Of that great Nothingness, That Silence which shall come, And asked if that Were rest. To the unquiet sea I have gone down Seeking companionship, Calling out to the beating waves "Do you too ask for rest?" Of the wind and the rain Singing their requiem Over dead summer I have asked, "You will be quiet soon; Where do you find rest?" 52 To the white moon Sailing serenely I have said, "You are dim and old and cold; Have you found rest?" To the eternal sun Uprising solemnly I have cried out, "And this new day you bring, Will it hold my rest?" Once to my heart tumultuous There came a gleaming, A far prophecy that like a fairy benison descending Gave answer to my questioning — Strange message lit with wonderment — "Deep in the city's labyrinthine heart There shall be moonlight for us and white song." So ran the words, And like a diapason of sweet sound Across the stillness, Echoing, profound, There crept the promise, — rest. And then — you came. I turned to find your hand, your arms, your breast. Deep in the city's labyrinthine heart You held me close, at rest. 53 MORITURUS TE SALUTO When one goes hence By his own hand alone We look aside. In a hushed tone We say — "What pain has gone before The sudden end?" But I shall go Because I know No longer can the earth Hold any other joy for me Like this. One night we had together, Only one. In all the years For all my tears The gods have given me Only one night, And it is over. Now I am glad to go Into the Silence. 54 I have breathed the heights. I should but kuow The level ways and paths Of little valleys, I will not, this should be. So, Beloved, Remember It is because of happiness, Not sorrow, That I go. From the far coolness Of eternity I shall look out To the grave stars, Singing. 55 FLASHLIGHTS The winter dusk creeps up the Avenue With biting cold. Behind bright window panes In gauzy garments Waxen ladies smile As shirt-sleeved men Hustle them off their pedestals for the night. Along the Avenue A girl comes hurrying, Holding her shawl. She stops to look in at the window. "Oh Gee!" she says, "look at the chiffon muff!' A whimpering dog Falters up to cringe against her skirt. 56 A man in his shirt sleeves lolls against a tree, His feet stick out, His hands lie on the grass, palms up. He stares ahead. Now and again he turns himself As from the enshrouding darkness forms emerge Dragging their feet, arms interlocked, Wan faces raised to the flare of light. Sometimes these kiss, Scream in brief laughter, or throw their bodies Prone on the welcoming earth. The man watches them, then turns his head, Gets himself upon his feet And walks away. 57 Candles toppling sideways in tomato cans Sputter and sizzle at head and foot. The gaudy patterns of a patch-work quilt Lie smooth and straight Save where upswelling over a silent shape. A man in high boots stirs something on a rusty stove Round and round and round, As a new cry like a bleating lamb's Pierces his brain. After a time the man busies himself With hammer and nails and rough-hewn lumber But fears to strike a blow. Outside the moonlight sleeps white upon the plain And the bark of a coyote shrills across the night. 58 A woman rocking, rocking, rocking, A small hand waving, nestling: Outside, lights blurred to starriness And summer rain. Little waves slap softly and monotonously Against the pier: A triangle of geese honk by; On the darkening sand Fresh lines traced with a stick — "I am sorry, Forgive," And a little oblong mound with a cross of twigs. Near by a girl's hat and dainty scarf. 59 A smell of musk Comes to him pungently through the darkness. On the screen Scenes from foreign lands Released by the censor Shimmer in cool black and white Historic information. He shifts his seat sideways, sideways — A seeking hand creeps to another hand, And a leaping flame Illuminates the historic information. 60 Within the room, sounds of weeping Low and hushed: Without, a man, beautiful with the beauty Of young strength, Holds pitifully to the handle of the door. He hiccoughs and turns away While a hand organ plays "The hours I spend with thee, dear heart.' 61 A pink feather atop of a greying white straw hat, A peek-a-boo waist and skirt showing a line of stocking Above white shoes, Stand in front of a judge Who leans over a desk of golden oak And summons forward a sulky, slouching boy. "You are required by this Court," says the judge, "To pay over to this woman One-third of your weekly wage For the support of your innocent child." And the clerk of the court calls out "Next on the docket?" FLOODGATES The Man Dear, try to understand. I wish that you could see, Now I am free Of all the fret and torment, The little daily miseries of love, That I can take you in my arms at night With a quick tenderness, With a new delight, Yet go my way untroubled if I do not find you, Forgetting in my zest for many things There is a you. I wonder if you can ever understand? Do you not know That I would go Forth now to meet life's great adventuring Alone? I would be unloosed from why and wherefore, I would not be stayed By sorrowing or rejoicing, 63 Even the enchantment of your nearness, Or your touch at night Is powerless any more To come between my loneliness and me. They say that prisoners grow to love their chains, So now, after long years of bitter reaching out, Of crying to the winds And clasping only shadows of my dreaming, I love my torment. We are such old companions, Loneliness and I! We have learned to ask but little of each other; There is no longer any turning away With hurt, averted eyes; So, Beloved, Let me keep my loneliness for friend, The only friend I trust. When you and I first met And looked to each other's eyes Our swift desire, I gave with reckless hands My life into your keeping. Upon your eyes, your words, your body's grace I hung, poor fool, a-tremble; For you had power To blot the brightening day, To irradiate the night, 64 With your sweet hands To lift me to the mountains where the spirits danced Or drag me through a hell of furious pain. And you would like to have that power again In your two hands? Oh no, my little one, No, my pretty one, Henceforward For all your sighing You shall but have my sudden, strong caresses, My tenderness, my love, But know That out, out, out I go Into the sun Alone. The Woman So, Man of mine! I may henceforward ask Only your strong caresses? I am your little one, I am your pretty one, Even your Beloved, now that you are free Of little fret and torment. I may give you pleasuring, But no more pain. Is that your meaning? I would be clear at last. Oh Man of mine, 65 We are standing face to face, Now let there shine The search-light of our speech Across the night of silence. Before us two There lie dim years for traversing, Behind, a mist Through which we long time groped With futile hands, And now, today, we meet. Dear, do I not know That there were gleams across the darkness- Swift lightenings Towards which we onward pressed As, for an instant, Seeing our far quest Within our grasp? Perhaps these were your beckoning hands, Your dancing spirits on the mountain peaks, But not for long we saw them. And now today it seems That I must find What shall be done When you go out alone Into the sun. I have so often watched your silent face, Your quiet mouth, Your smooth, white brow, 66 And longed for speech! I have so often wished to tell Of pent-up treasures in my breast You could not find! I would have given you such golden wealth Had you but come! Had you but said "I want your all." But you were dumb. You went your ways silently And never asked my gift. Dear, day by day I lifted to your lips A chalice brimming with rich wine, And you but sipped a little and turned away, And the wine was spilled. The years have passed: There may not be upgathering Of wasted days, As seasons flushed and waned We have sown and reaped and harvested. Now, what shall come? I cannot go forth As you, into the Sun Alone, I cannot take My loneliness by the hand For chosen friend, as you. I am a woman and I want Not tenderness, 67 Not strong caresses only, But the soul of you, My Man. The Man Dear, give me your hands, Look into my eyes and tell me If you can find the soul of me. I think it has gone questing. Call it back! Recapture the winged thing, And I will give it gladly Into your keeping. But, dear heart, be fearful — Souls are delicate. What if mine died long since, What time it gave up seeking To find your own? Your eyes are wet, forgive! Let there be no more hurting, Joy there has been in our meeting. I would banish weeping. Let the still waters wash away pain Into the sea of forgetting. Still may we look into each other's eyes, Still answer to the senses' quick demand, But as the years have marked us in their passing So must we go onward — Hand in hand still, Yet alone. CHLOROFORM (Written in collaboration with Arihur Davison FicJce.) A sickening odour, treacherously sweet, Steals through my sense heavily. Above me leans an ominous shape, Fearful, white-robed, hooded and masked in white. The pits of his eyes Peer like the portholes of an armoured ship, Merciless, keen, inhuman, dark. The hands alone are of my kindred; Their slender strength, that soon shall press the knife Silver and red, now lingers slowly above me, The last links with my human world . . . . . . The living daylight Clouds and thickens. Flashes of sudden clearness stream before me, — and then A menacing wave of darkness Swallows the glow with floods of vast and indeterminate grey. But in the flashes I see the white form towering, Dim, ominous, Like some apostate monk whose will unholy Has renounced God; and now In this most awful secret laboratory Would wring from matter Its stark and appalling answer. At the gates of a bitter hell he stands, to wrest with eager fierceness More of that dark forbidden knowledge Wherefrom his soul draws fervor to deny. The clouds have grown thicker; they sway around me Dizzying, terrible, gigantic; pressing in upon me Like a thousand monsters of the deep with formless arms. I cannot push them back, I cannot! From far, far off, a voice I knew long ago Sounds faintly thin and clear. Suddenly in a desperate rebellion I strive to answer, — I strive to call aloud, — But darkness chokes and overcomes me: None may hear my soundless cry. A depth abysmal opens, Receives, enfolds, engulfs me, — Wherein to sink at last seems blissful Even though to deeper pain. . . . respite and peace of deliverance! The silence Lies over me like a benediction. As in the earth's first pale creation-morn Among winds and waters holy 1 am borne as I longed to be borne. 70 I ain adrift in the depths of an ocean grey Like seaweed, desiring solely To drift with the winds and waters; I sway Into their vast slow movements; all the shores Of being are laved by my tides. I am drawn out toward spaces wonderful and holy Where peace abides, And into golden aeons far away. But over me Where I swing slowly, Bodiless in the bodiless sea, Very far, Oh very far away, Glimmeringly Hangs a ghostly star Toward whose pure beam I must flow resistlessly. Well do I know its ray! It is the light beyond the worlds of space, By groping, sorrowing man yet never known — The goal where all men's blind and yearning desire Has vainly longed to go And has not gone: — Where Eternity has its blue-walled dwelling-place, And the crystal ether opens endlessly To all the recessed corners of the world, Like liquid fire Pouring a flood through the dimness revealingly; Where my soul shall behold, and in lightness of wonder rise higher 6 71 Out of the shadow that long ago Around me with mortality was furled. I rise where have winds Of the night never flown; Shaken with rapture Is the vault of desire. The weakness that binds Like a shadow is gone. The bonds of my capture Are sundered with fire! This is the hour When the wonders open! The lightning-winged spaces Through winch I fly Accept me, a power Whose prisons are broken — . . . But the wonder wavers — The light goes out. I am in the void no more; changes are imminent. Time with a million beating wings Deafens the air in migratory flight Like the roar of seas — and is gone . . . And a silence Lasts deafeningly. In darkness and perfect silence I wander groping in my agony, 72 Far from the light lost in the upper ether — Unknown, unknowable, so nearly mine. And the ages pass by me, Thousands each instant, yet I feel them all To the last second of their dragging time. Thus have I striven always Since the world began. And when it dies I still must struggle . . » The voice I knew so long ago, like a muffled echo under the sea Is coming nearer. Strong hands Grip mine. And words whose tones are warm with some forgotten consolation, Some unintelligible hope, Drag me upward in horrible mercy; And the cold once-familiar daylight glares into my eyes. He stands there, The white apostate monk, Speaking low lying words to soothe me. And I lift my voice out of its vales of agony And laugh in his face, Mocking him with astonishment of wonder. For he has denied; And I have come so near, so near to knowing. . . . 73 Then as his hand touches me gently, I am drawn up from the lonely abysses, And suffer him to lead me back into the green valleys of the living. 74 TEE BEGINNING OF THE JOURNEY Where are you, Dear? What is it that I hold— A shape, a phantom, who will not ease my pain? O Beloved! My beloved! What is it comes between our seeking arms? Lip to lip we press And breast to breast, Straining to overleap the barrier, And all the while we know We are apart. We know tomorrow we shall be More horribly Alone. Do you remember When we first cried out each to each? How the valleys rang with laughter and gay words And eager promises? Do you remember how we told each other Pain was over, That nothing now could come We could not still with kisses? Do you remember those first days 75 When the world was lost in a dream and a forgetting And eternity was ours? Then, as the years followed, Do you remember how we found That pain must be? How, heavy-hearted, we gazed bewildered Into each other's eyes, Asking, why? One night you would not speak, And when I pressed you for your cause of silence You said "I tried to tell you once My heart's dim heaviness, But you are a man, you can never understand." And then I saw That we were far away from one another, For I had thought the same. And after In a quick ache of sympathy We kissed and clung, And then you slept. I heard the little sobbing breaths Like a hurt child's Of a loneliness I had no power to soothe. We asked so much! We looked to each other as some look to God, And when God came not 76 And our lifted hands were empty We cried out that love was dead. We have grown patient since And pitifully wise, We see how little may be given, And we are thankful Lest there be nothing. Yet even when I lay my wearied head Upon your knees and fall asleep To waken with your hand on my hot brow, Then, when I thank God, if there be a God, For you — We are apart. Yesterday I watched you Protect the child against the winter cold. Warmly you wrapped him While his baby face laughed back at you From its frame of softest fur: I think a great hand comes and wraps us so, Each in his loneliness as in an enfolding garment, That we shall be ready To make our last great journeying Alone. As the years go onward Little by little we turn And draw away from love's dominion, Little by little we loose the clinging hands 77 That hinder from adventuring, Oftener and more often We go apart To ask ourselves The inevitable question. The friends we seek are questioners Who strive, like us, to cross with thoughts The illimitable void: Therefore, Dear, give over Trying to comfort, Give over the wish to yield me All I need — Once long ago I lost myself in you, Once long ago I was but part of you, Bereft without you, Mad for lack of you, Now I am I, Preparing to go onward When the end shall come Alone. 78 Ill STORIES IN METRE TEE PRISONER "We had a prisoner once," the Warden said, "Who was no common man. I could not say To make it clear, where lay the difference, And yet, and yet. — something was there I know." "Tell me of him," I said, drawing a chair, Knowing that in the old man's heart there lay Many a story. "Willingly," he answered, "Yet when all's said, you'll know no more than I Why his words puzzle me; why, when I pass His cell, I always think that I can see His eyes, his following eyes, that seemed to ask Over and over again, some kind of question." He thought a moment, then began his story As if by careful measuring of his words He tried to make me see what he found dim. "You know the row of cells," he said, "they built To make the fourth row 'round the hollow square? They front the East, and so I put him there. 81 I'd hardly like to say what was the reason, — It seems so foolish; but, the day he came, Just as the big door opened, I had seen Him turn his head, and this is what he said: 'And it is I, — I, who have loved the Dawn!' A queer thing, wasn't it? I suppose he thought That he would never see it any more. "It's strange how little things come back to you! I can remember when he saw his cell He bent his head, making a kind of greeting, Then quickly stepped across and glanced around: 'And this is what I have to call my home' Was what he thought, I guess. It always seems To sicken me somehow, to show 'em in, The hopeful ones the most, I know so well How soon the eager look will disappear!" "But tell me what he was in prison for?" I said, and met the old man's quick "What for? Oh well, there wasn't room enough outside. Why do you want to know? What does it matter? He was no common man. You'd think by now I'd stop my foolish bothering. I'm used Enough, God knows, to tangled human threads — Oh what's the use to try and tell it now? I'm such a fool! I can't go by his cell Without the wondering clutching at me here!" He laid his hand upon his breast; I thought His mind had dwelt too long with pain, and now 82 His fancies troubled him. "Mad then, perhaps?" I asked, and saw my blundering words had been Salt to a wound. He turned away and said "No, no, he was not that, not mad," and stepped Beside a shelf of little useless things Fumbling among them. Presently he turned And placed within my hands a woman's picture. I took it silently, afraid to comment. "Think what you please," he said, "for I don't know, As no one came to take away his things I kept the picture. It was dear to him." A gentle woman's face looked up at me; A tender face, lips parted, young grave eyes. I seemed to see within their depths a question, And turned to meet the old man's twisted smile. Nodding, he murmured, "So, you see it too?" Then took the picture from me and began Again, though haltingly, his troubled tale. "At first he read and spoke and ate his food As if he thought he would not be here long And must be patient. Often he would ask What time it was, or if it rained or shone, Begging for outside news, and when I brought Letters or papers, seized them greedily And strained his eyes to get the contents quickly. Sometimes he'd hail me as I passed along 83 With such a flow of eager questioning talk, I wondered anyone so rich in words Could bear his solitude and not go mad With silence; but — our prison rules are stern. I shot the bolts that dulled that silver voice, And now I hear it echoing down the years." The old man rose and made a little pretence To put the picture back upon the shelf. "Well, time went on," seating himself, he said, "And as I made my rounds each day I thought The prisoner seemed to draw himself away. Not rudely; more as if he could not break The current of his thoughts, and up and down He'd walk; they all do that, but he as if He had some light inside his mind. Don't think I'm crazy, but, — it's hard to put in words. Sometimes I'd have my little try to break Across the distance. With a sudden smile He'd lay his hand upon me — 'Yes, I know, I know/ and so would push me to the door. I feared to go to him, and yet I loved The man as if he'd been my son. I knew The end was coming soon. My heart was sore, But I was powerless. "One thing alone Could wean him from his strange expectancy, A little written word that came half-yearly. 84 I knew that it was due, and when it came I beat upon his door; I had the letter — Slowly he turned to meet me and I stopped, Seeing it was too late. "Then from my hands He took the letter, lifting it silently, The way a priest lifts up the sacrament, Then gave it slowly back to me and said, 'Why bring me bread? So little, little bread? Why eke my life along so grudgingly? Take back the letter, I am far away, Keep back the bread and I shall sooner know.' And followed by his eyes, I left the cell And soon he died. "No no, he was not mad, But only one to whom the Dawn was real." 85 ELLIE She came to do my nails. Came in my door and stood before me waiting, A great big lummox of a girl — A continent. Her dress was rusty black And scant, Her hat, a melancholy jumble of basement counter bargains. Her sullen eyes, Like a whipped animal's, Shone out between her silly bulging cheeks and puffy forehead. She dropped her coat upon a chair And waited; Then, at a word, busied herself With riles and delicate scissors, Sweet-smelling oils and my ten finger-tips. She proved so deft and silent I bade her come again; And twice a week While summer dawned and flushed and waned She used me in her parasitic trade. 86 The dress grew rustier, The hat more melancholy, And Ellie fatter. Each time she came I wondered as she worked If thought lay anywhere Behind that queer uncouthness. She had a trick of seizing with her eyes Each passing thing, An insatiate greediness for something out of reach; And yet she seemed enwrapped In a kind of solemn patience, Large, aloof and waiting. We hardly ever spoke — I could not think of anything worth saying; One does not chatter with a continent. Finally it was homing time; The seashore town was raw and desolate And idlers flitted. The last day Ellie came Her calm was gone, she had been crying. Fat people never ought to cry; It's awful. . . . The hot drops fell upon my hand While Ellie dropped the scissors suddenly And sniffed and blew and sobbed In disconcerting and unreserved abandonment. I said the usual things; I would have patted her but for the grease, But Ellie was not comforted. 7 87 Not until the storm was spent And only little catching breaths were left I got the reason. "I'm so fat," she gulped, "so awful, awful fat The boys won't look at me." And then it came, the stammered, passionate cry: Could I not help? Could I not find a medicine? We talked and talked And when at dusk she went, a teary smile Hovered a moment on her mouth And in those sullen, swollen eyes A little hope perhaps; I did not know. The city and its interests soon engulfed me. A letter or two, A doctor's vague advice to bant and exercise, And Ellie and her woes passed from my mind Until, as summer dawned again, I heard that she was dead. A curious letter written stiffly, From Ellie's mother, Told me I was invited to the funeral "By wish of the Deceased." Wondering I travelled to the little town Where the sea beat and groaned And sorrowed endlessly, And made my way down the steep street 88 To Ellic's door. Her mother met me in the hall And motioned, "She wanted you to see her," Then ushered me into an awful place, the parlor- A place of emerald plush and golden oak Set round with pride and symmetry, And in the midst A black and silver coffin — Ellie's coffin. Raising the lid she pointed and I looked. Somewhere in Florence Mino da Fiesole Has made a tomb Where deathless beauty lies with upturned face. Two gentle hands, palms meeting, Touch with their pointed forefingers A delicate chin, and over the vibrant body Clings a white robe Enshrouding chastely Warm curving lines of adolescent grace. No sleeper this, — The figure glows, alert, awake, aware, As if some sudden ecstacy had stolen life And held imprisoned there The moment of attainment Rapt, imperishable and fair. Even so lay Ellie, And when from somewhere far I heard 89 The mother's voice I listened vacantly. The woman chattered on, "The dress you know, white chiffon, like a wedding dress — I never knew she had it, She must 'a made it by herself. It's queer it fitted perfectly An' her all thin like that — She must 'a thought — " Then black-robed relatives came streaming in To look at Ellie. I watched them start And glance around for explanation. The mother pinched my arm: "Don't ask me anything now," she whispered; "Come back tonight." Then old, old words were sung and prayed and droned, While everybody dutifully cried, And when the village parson Rhythmically proclaimed, And this mortal shall put on immortality, — With a great welcoming And a great lightening I knew at last the ancient affirmation. When evening came I found the mother Sitting amidst her golden oak and plush 90 In a kind of isolated stateliness. She led me in. " 'Twas the stuff she took that did it," She began; "I never knew till after she was dead. The bottles in the woodshed, hundreds of 'em All labelled 'Caldwell's Great Obesity Cure Warranted Safe and Rapid.' Oh ain't it awful?" and she fell to crying miserably; "But wasn't she real pretty in her coffin?" And then she cried again And clung to me. 91 TEE PARK BENCH A Stranger, a Man, a Woman The pallid night wind touched their burning cheeks With fetid breath, whispered a dim distress And flickered out; while whirling insects danced Their crazy steps with death around the light. The Stranger The night is hot and the crowds intolerable, May I sit here between you on tins bench? The Man I s'pose the bench is free to anybody. The Stranger I've been walking up and down and wondering If I should speak. You sat here silently, You two. I could not tell what troubled you. The Woman I guess I was thinkin', Mister. I didn't know There was any other person anywhere near. 92 The Man I don't know who she is. She's nothin' to me. She's got a kid there in her shawl, maybe Her trouble's there. The Stranger It's hard to keep up courage; The heat is sickening, it weighs you down. I'd like to see the child; may I see its face? The Woman He's two weeks old today. The Stranger A sturdy youngster! What do you call him? What's his name, I mean? Don't turn away. I meant no harm, you know. The Man Didn't I tell you? Something's wrong, I guess. Maybe He's deserted, with another comin' on. Ask her again; likely she's needin' help. The Stranger You seem unhappy. Can't you tell me why? I'd like to help you if I can, because — 93 Well, once I had a little son like that. Come! what have you got to tell? Out with the story. See there, the boy is stretching out a hand, He knows a friend is somewhere 'round, eh, Sonny? The Woman You'd like to know what I have got to tell? I guess you don't know what you're askin', Mister. You see that big house over there? You see This baby blinkin' here? Well, that's the house His father lives in. I just found it out, Found where it was, I mean, then I come here — Oh, what's the sense o' tellin' any more? That's all there is, I guess. The Stranger I'd like the story; Sometimes the pain is eased by speaking out. The Woman I don't know why you want to know about me, It's no concern of yours, but if you'll promise You'll let him be, I'll tell you all there is. The Stranger You have my promise. 94 The Woman More'n a year ago It was, I seen him first, an' 'twasn't long Before I thought a lot and so did he. He said he'd take a flat and furnish it And we'd keep house together all alone. He said he had to travel, but he'd corne As often as he could, and stay as long. I'd worked, you know; I never had a place I liked to live in, an' he let me buy A lot of things I wanted; then he'd laugh And say I liked the flat so much, perhaps He'd better stay away and not muss up The tidies on the chairs. He always had A lot of money. When he gave me some He'd never say how much it was, but just, "Here's more to buy the tidies with," and laugh. It wasn't long — that little time. I like To think about it, but it seems so far! Just like another city or a place That wasn't any more; I don't know why, I guess the flat's there still, if I should go — Hush, honey, hush — don't you be cryin' now. I s'pose I'd ought to tell you that he said I mustn't have the kid. I didn't care; I didn't want it, neither. When I knew, I had to tell, because I got so sick. He didn't say a word to make me cry, 95 Not much of anything. He put a lot Of money in the drawer and went away — I never seen him since, until — today. Until — today — over there, this afternoon I seen him laughin' with another kid, And mine right here, right here, do you understand? The Stranger I think I understand, but please go on. The Woman I told you he'd put money in the drawer; I hated takin' it; but o' course it lasted For quite a while, — until I had to go And be took care of at a hospital. At first I tried to find him, but I knew He didn't want me to. I thought perhaps When I could take the kid, he'd like it then. When I was packin' up I found a paper, A bill, I guess, all rumpled, in a coat He left. It had a name I didn't know. At first I didn't think, but lyin' there All quiet in the hospital I saw It was his name, his truly name, and where He lived and all. This afternoon my time Was up — by rights I'd oughta left the ward Four days ago. They gave me this, for the food, Directions how to fix it right, you know, And told me I could go, and so I came. I thought he'd surely want to see me now, When I was well again, just like I was. I waited in the park and watched the house, It looked so big I couldn't ring the bell. Maybe 'twas six o'clock I saw him come; Just by the steps a baby carriage turned And waited for him comin' up the street. The woman wheelin' it called out "Look there! There's Daddy! Can't you throw a kiss to him?" I saw him lift the baby 'way up high, And carry it in the house. Then I come here. The Stranger I see. And that is all you plan to do? I mean, you won't go back? The Woman What can I do? You see, he doesn't want me any more. I'd like to die, but here's the kid! I guess I can't leave him. An' anyway I'm 'fraid To die alone. I don' know what I'll do. The Man I wish that I could think of anything To say that maybe'd help a little bit. May I just — shake your hand? — Excuse me, Mister. 97 The Woman I didn't know as you was listenin' too. The Man Perhaps you'd like to hear what's happened to me. You'll see that somebody has known the like Of what you're feelin', maybe it will help. The Stranger Ah! I was right then? Both of you are troubled? The night has brought us three together here; We must be friends. It's queer how loneliness Makes one reach one, as I have reached, to you. I think each one of us needs both the others. The Man Well, Mister, you don't look as if you'd need Our help, but maybe you do, maybe, who knows? I'll tell you what's been happening to me. I'm sick of thoughts goin' round and round and round, I wonder if anybody '11 ever know, I mean to understand, what I've been thinkin'. The Stranger Why don't you start? We'll try to understand. 98 The Man I'll tell you first that I'm a drinking man, And that's a thing that causes lots of trouble. She's not to blame, she stood it for a while. She had the children, there are two, you know, But I was pretty bad. I hated it, But there it was, and every day a fight, And oftener and oftener I'd lose. One day she went away and took the children. They served some papers on me; I was drunk And didn't care; but pretty soon I knew That she had gone for good. A lawyer came And talked to me, after she'd talked to him. And afterwards I saw her in the Court. The Judge said I must leave our house, and if, For two years, I could cut the liquor out She'd let me back. And so I got a room About two blocks away where I could see The children as they passed along to school. Sometimes I'd walk a little way with them, But when I couldn't answer all their questions I'd think I'd better let 'em be, and so I'd only watch 'em from behind the blind. Well, Ma'am, I tried my best; I made a calendar To mark the days. I got a good promotion. The time went by, and all the while I thought Two years are only seven hundred days 99 And thirty over! I can stick it out! And then one day I'll dress myself up clean And meet the children and we'll go back home. I'd marked the calendar six hundred off And eighty-six, and forty-four were left. The heat came on and took the starch all out Of everything. I didn't care what happened. I thought she didn't mean to keep her promise — A week ago — oh, well, you know the rest. I don't know where I've been. I'd like to die, Only I've been so lonesome in that room. I seem to be afraid to die alone! The Woman I'm awful sorry, Mister, awful sorry. Seems like tonight most everybody's luck Has all gone back on 'em. Thank you for tellin'! The Stranger There's no use sitting here in silence, is there? We've got to find some way to help you both. I'd like to if I can, but anyhow, We've helped each other just by speaking out. If you'll wait here I'll get a cab and take You and the baby to the Sisters' Home. Perhaps you'll come to my office in the morning; I'd like to talk to you; I'm sure we'll find There's something we can plan. Here is the address. 100 I sha'n't be long, keep talking so's to cheer her, It was a kindly thought of yours to tell Your story after hers. We'll find some way. The Woman What 'ud he mean? About the Sisters' Home? The Man Some place where you an' the kid can go, I s'pose. The W t oman It's queer how everj'body's good to you 'Ceptin' the only one you want to be. The Man He said it wasn't any use to sit Here silent; that you'd better speak it out; It always helped. He said he'd find a way. Do you believe there's anything ahead For you or me? I wonder if there is. The Woman I'm done with wonderin' long ago, I know! I want to die! God, how I want to die! But here's the kid, he didn't ask to come, And he's so little, what 'ud become of him? 101 The Man Do you believe there's anything — over there? The Woman There's rest. The Man I know there's rest, but when I've sat All by myself there in that little room Thinking things out, sometimes it seemed there must Be something more. I'd mighty well like to know. The Woman If I could find someone to take the kid I'd like to rest, just rest, I wouldn't want Much of anything more. There isn't anything. I wish I wasn't scared to die alone. The Man You said that once before. Do you mean it, really? The Woman What are you thinkin' about? Say it out, say it out! 102 The Man What if we went together, you and I? There ain't any use of livin' any more. We'd find out something, anyhow. The Woman You mean — The Man I mean I'm sick o' livin', so are you. Put the kid down there by the evergreens. He'll come and find it — he said he'd get a cab; He'll take it to the Sisters. Oh, I'm crazy! Don't put it there! Take it up again, I say! A little kid like that! Don't listen to me. The Woman He's sleeping now; he'll never know what's happened. The Man You're goin' to? Well, come along then fast Or he'll come back. We're both of us crazy now, But what's the sense of livin' any more? Maybe there's something better — over there. 8 103 The Woman Wait till I fix him comfortable. Say, Mister, I was lookin' at the river, by the pier, Only I was afraid. Will you stay beside me? The Man Yes, that's the place, come quickly, 'twon't take long. The Woman Maybe we could find a piece of iron Or something heavy, so's they wouldn't find us; There's lots around the pier. The Man I'll tell you what: I'll tie our hands together to the iron So the waves won't — 104 THE SISTERS We four Live here together My three old sisters and I In a white cottage With flowers on each side of the path up to the door. It is here we eat together, At eight, one, and seven, All the year round, It is here we sew together On garments for the Church sewing society Here, — behind our fresh white dimity curtains That I'll soon have to do up and darn again. It is this cottage we mean When we use the word Home. Is it not here we lie down and sleep Each night all near together? We never meet My three old sisters and I. We never look into each others' eyes We never look into each others' souls, Or if we do for a moment We quickly begin to talk about the jam 105 How much sugar to put in and when. We run away and hide, like mice before the light; We are afraid to look into each others' souls So we keep on sewing, sewing. My three old sisters are old Very old. It is not such a great while since they were born Yet they are old. I think it is because they will not look and see. I am not old But pretty soon I will be. I was thinking of that when I went to him Where he was waiting. My sisters had been talking together all the long afternoon While I sat sewing and silent, Clacking, clacking away while the lilac scent came in at the window And the branches beckoned and sighed. This is what they said — "How did that paper come into our house?" "Fit to be burnt, don't you think?" Then the third, "It's a shameless sheet To print such a sensual thing." The paper lay on the table there, between my three sisters With my poem in it, — My little happy poem without any name. I had been with him when I wrote it and I wanted him again. The words arose in my heart clamouring for birth — 106 And there they were, between my three sisters. Each read it in turn Holding the paper far off with the tips of her fingers. Then they hustled it into the fire Giving it an extra poke with the tongs, a vicious poke. Then each sister settled back to her sewing With a satisfied air. I looked at them and I wondered. I looked at each one, And I went to him that night — Where he was waiting. My three old sisters are dying Though they do not know it. They are not dying serenely After life is over, They are just getting dryer and dryer And sharper and sharper; Soon there will not be any more of them at all. I am not like them I cannot be For I have a reason for living. While they were picking their little pale odourless blossoms I gathered my great red flower And oh I am glad, glad, For now when the time comes I can die serenely, I can die after living. 107 But first what is to come? I am going to give my three old sisters a shock Then what a rumpus there will be! They will upbraid and reproach And then they will whisper to each other, nodding slowly and sadly Telling each other it is not theirs to judge. So they will become kind and pitiful Affirming that I am their sister And that they will stick by and see me through. But underneath they will be touching me with the lifted tips of their fingers. They would like to hustle me into the fire With an extra poke of the tongs. Perhaps I will pretend to hang my head, Perhaps I will to please them, I am very obliging — But in my heart I shall be laughing with a great laughter, A great exaltation. Yes they will upbraid and reproach In grave and sisterly accents And mourn over me, One who has fallen; Yet I suspect As each one goes to her cold little room, Deep in her breast she will envy With a terrible envy The child that is mine 108 And the night The incredible night When the sun and the moon and the stars Bent down And gave me their secrets. 109 REASON Doctor! Doctor! I want you to come in. Doctor! Don't you hear me? Don't go by! That's right, come in here now and shut the door. Sit down there in that chair And listen. Don't sit there with that silly smile all over you. I'm going to make you listen. You know when I first came they wanted me to talk. I could see them trying, with little tricks and questions. Well, now I will, — I'll tell you if you'll let me out. Will you, Doctor? Will you? Those bars there at the window make me sick, And the screaming all around. You have to holler too, to keep from hearing! The nurse said I'd be in the padded room If I kept on — Say, Doctor, will you let me out After I've told you everything there is? Will you? Will you? Will you? Oh very well, You can open the door then now. 110 I don't want you any more; I'll never tell — Say, Doctor, don't go yet awhile; Turn round, don't go, I want to talk to you. There, please sit down again, I'll promise not to holler. I'll tell you all about it and then you'll see — You'll let me go, I know you will. I tell you I've got to go and find 'em, Find 'em all — Father and Grandfather, All that made me go back home, That made me do it — But you don't know, I'll have to find some place to start at. The first night that he tried to get at me, and he like that, I cried, Soon as he saw me crying he went off And got a quilt And made a bed out in the sitting-room. He got up early so I didn't see him. I thought all day, And I kissed him when he came at supper time. That night he seemed just like he was at first, I mean when we were married first, I thought he wouldn't do it ever again — Say, Doctor, don't you tell, But somebody came when I was out And fixed his food up so's he'd want the stuff, I know who it was, but I won't tell, Not till I'm out of here. Ill She did it out of spite, I know, I know — Doctor, who is that hollerin'? Make her stop — I guess you'd think it "mattered" some If you heard it all the time — Well, finally I couldn't keep him in the sitting-room, I had to let him in, he hammered so, And then — Oh, Doctor, stop her please! I don't see what she's hollerin' for, Nobody got in her bed reeling drunk — I couldn't help him coming — I couldn't, an' I tried! Next day I went around and did the dishes up, And cooked the dinner ready, and all the time I thought "Supposing it's happened — what'll the child be then? What'll I have to bring into the world? Supposing it's happened — " Perhaps it was nearly supper time, I don't know clearly, But I couldn't stay, I couldn't! I left a letter for him and went home. I walked around the corner of the house and there they were Sitting at supper, Father and Grandfather And Ma and little Ben. I stood and looked at them. It seemed such a little while since I was sitting there Not thinkin' anything, Finally I went in and said "I've come home, — I've come away from Jim, I mean. 112 Don't everybody look at me like that — I tell you I've come home." Then Ma got up and took me in her room And fixed the bed for me She said we'd talk it over in the morning. I stayed pretty near two months at home, And all the while Father and Grandfather And even little Ben Were at me to go back, Father kept saying all he wanted was my happiness. And then they got the clergyman And he talked just the same. And then Jim came. They all were nice to him and Jim was dreadfully sorry. He hadn't had a drop, he said, and if I'd come He'd never touch a single thing again — Oh, Doctor, make her stop! Go make her stop, I say, what's she got to holler for? Don't forget you promised if I'd tell You'd let me out — Do you want to hear the rest? I'm telling you straight enough, more'n I told the family — I never told them anything, I mean what I thought might happen, And nobody ever had the sense to guess What I was afraid of, Nobody but Ma, 113 And after the first she didn't do anything but cry And say Father knew best. The second time Jim came, I said I'd go, I was so tired of everybody talkin' at me — Oh I don't want to tell you any more — I'm crazy with her hollerin'. You know the rest — I squeezed his eyes out — 'Cause he was lookin' at me When I let him in — after his hammerin' — Then they brought me here — Doctor, I've told you everything. Doctor, let me out! Let me out! Let me out! Let me out! 114 HER SECRET My secret and I stand here in front of the glass. We are bedecking ourselves for an evening of gayety. We look down and make our lips smile — We look up and make ourselves laugh, And then we turn and look into the glass again To see if others will believe that our eyes are smiling too. How long will it last, the evening? It will be three hours at least, maybe four. There will be music and bright dresses and clinking and chattering And everybody will laugh; there will be a great deal of laughter. Everybody will go about with smiling lips, But if you stop and look You will see that everybody's eyes are hungry. None of them shall know my secret No one knows that — Not any one in all the world. There was one other knew But he is dead. I heard that he was dead just now — 115 A little while ago — Just a few minutes ago by the clock. I was putting on my beautiful dress When I heard a list read out from the paper, many names, A long, long list. I went on fastening my embroidered slippers While they read and read — It came while I was buttoning my gloves, my long gloves; There are a number of buttons. No one shall guess my secret. There is a woman somewhere, I do not know where she is; But all her friends are hastening, Coming from all about To surround her with their melancholy faces. Soon they will get for her a black dress and a long black veil. They will lead her faltering to a church, Her two wondering children held to her side, one by each hand. She will be very important. They will say beautiful things about him — Beautiful sad things — And all the time, hid by her long black veil, Her eyes will be smiling — smiling. And what have I of him? What shall I take with me to the party? Only the memory of that last dawn When I gave him all and bade him go. 116 A LITTLE GIRL I see a little girl sitting bent over On a white stone door-step. In the street are other children running about; The shadows of the waving trees flicker on their white dresses. Some one opens the door of the house And speaks to the child on the steps. She looks up and asks an eager question. The figure shakes her head and shuts the door. The child covers up her face To hide her tears. 117 II Three children are playing in a garden — Two boys and an awe-struck little girl; They have plastered the summer-house with clay, Making it an unlovely object. A grown-up person comes along the path. The little girl runs to her and stops, Asking the same question — "Where is my Mother?" The grown-up person does not make any answer. She looks at the summer-house and passes along the path. The little girl goes slowly into the house And climbs the stairs. 118 Ill The little girl is alone in the garden. A white-haired lady of whom she is afraid Comes to find her and tell her a joyful thing. The little girl runs to the nursery. The young nurse is doing her hair in front of the glass. The little girl sees how white her neck is And her uplifted arms. Tomorrow they will be gone — they will not be here — They are going to find — Her. The young nurse turns and smiles And takes the little girl in her arms. 119 IV The little girl is travelling on a railway train, Everything rushes by very fast, — Houses, and children in front of them, Children who are just staying at home. The train cannot go fast enough, The little girl is saying over and over again, "My Mother— My onliest Mother— I am coming to you, coming very fast." 120 The little girl looks up at a great red building With a great doorway. It opens and the little girl is led in, Looking all about her. A Lady in a white dress and white cap comes. After a long time A man in a black coat comes in. He says "She is not well enough, I am afraid. The little girl is led away. She always remembers the words The man in the black coat said. 121 VI The little girl is waiting in the big hallway, In the house of the white-haired lady. At the end of the path she can see the summer-house With its queer grey cover. The hall clock ticks very slowly. The hands must go all around again Before the mother will come. Now it is night. The little girl is lying in her bed. There is a piano going somewhere downstairs. She is telling herself a story and waiting. Soon She will come in at the door. There will be a swift shaft of light Across the floor. And She will come in with a rustling sound. She will lie down on the bed And the little girl will stroke her dress and crinkle it To make the sound again. Pretty soon the mother will step slowly and softly to the door, 122 And quietly turn the handle. The little girl will speak and stop her, Asking something she has asked many times before, — "My Father?" But the mother has never anything to answer. 123 VII The mother and the little girl are sitting together sewing. Outside there is snow. A woman with a big white apron Comes to the door of the room and speaks. The mother drops her work on the floor And runs down the stairs. The little girl stands at the head of the stairs And cries out "My Father!" but no one hears. They pass along the hall — The little girl creeps down the stairs, But the door is closed. 124 VIII The little girl is held and rocked, Held so tightly it hurts her. She moves herself free. Then quickly she puts her face up close, And there is a taste of salt on her tongue. 125 IX In a bed in an upper chamber, A bed with high curtains, A woman sits bowed over. Her hair streams over her shoulders, Her arms are about two children. The older one is trying to say comforting things, The little girl wants to slip away, — There are so many people at the foot of the bed- Out of the window, across the yellow river There are houses climbing up the hillside. The little girl wonders if anything like this Is happening in any of those houses. 126 Many children and grown-up people Are standing behind their chairs around a bright table Waiting for the youngest child to say grace. It is very troublesome for the youngest child To get the big words out properly. The little girl interrupts and says the grace quickly. The white-haired lady of whom the little girl is afraid Is angry. The little girl breaks away and runs To the room of the bed with the high curtains. She rushes in — The room is empty. She comes back to the table, But she does not dare to ask the question. She remembers the great red building With the great doorway. 127 XI The little girl is trying to read a fairy story. There is nobody in the garden. There is nobody in the house but the white-haired lady. Someone comes to tell her her father is there — She does not want to see him, She is afraid. 128 XII The front door is open. There is rain, leaves are whirling about. A carriage with two horses And a coachman high up, holding a long whip, Stands waiting in front of the door. The little girl is holding onto the banisters. They take away her hands from the banisters And lead her to the carriage in front of the door. Someone gets in behind her, The carriage door is shut, The little girl draws herself to the far corner. They drive away. The little girl looks back out of the window. 129 XIII The little girl is in a strange house Where there are young men called uncles Who talk to her and laugh. A large lady sits by the table and knits and smiles, In her basket are different coloured balls of wool, Pretty colours, but not enough to make a pattern. There is a curly soft little black dog That hides under the table. The uncles pull him out, And he tries to hold onto the carpet with his claws. The little girl laughs — But at the sound she turns away And goes up to her room and shuts the door. Pretty soon the large lady comes to her And takes her on her lap and rocks and sings. 130 XIV The little girl has grown taller, She is fair and sweet and ready for love, But over her is a great fear As she remembers her mother's weeping. THE END W 13 * *#i * * a9 ^q> * * ^^^o * a*v c Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. k£s^ ■v ^.0 % • **-v \ * • o Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide ^ V * * ^ ^ * , Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 tl *lll3ll : t* -^MM^' PreservationTechnologies fv 0>. y «£> o %/ggV§T * ■.$? ^Jfv. 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12001256

An epic of the South west,

Aldrich, G. A. (George Albert)

epicofsouthwest00aldr_djvu.txt

mm;m'^:-n 350\ IC— 47372-2 Ae Epk of tlie )Oiuitlh West o o By RICH. GAALD j^^^^^-A, (^)CI,A299172 COPYRIGHT 1911 By G. A. ALDRICH NIL DESPERANDUM Methought I had the Muse encaged In tinted realms of soul; Where many-colored wars are waged To find purposeless goal. I seemed secure in poesie; In roseate land of mind : Perfumed of scented bath rosey; The enervating kind. n. Methought I knew the sainted path Of ruddy-fingered dream; Of imagery, also, that hath The potency of stream. I felt I mastered rhyme divine ; Heaven ; infinitude ; And every rhythmic verbal sign, Poetic desuetude. III. Hold! See, I have these virtues still! This-fancy crowning art. Like sun-burst in the bosom, will Inspire to the part. Haste, haste, the pen, pigment and brush, Parchment inspirited. With silence of poetic hush To speak when merited! FOREWORD Tlie public is pitifully unaware of a certain inter- esting discovery made meliiy yeat-s Ago by out most eminent scientists resultant itpon their cheiiiistry researches ; and meagerly published to the world. Distilled or very pure water, such as snow or rain, possesses stronger affinity for extraneous matter than the lesser pure product. A certain prominent American professor of chemis- try has proven conclusively that distilled water will absorb lead from conducting pip,es. Obviously it is hot lacking in pertinency to presume upon inevitable contamination of impounded waters in the scoured regions of the high Sierras. Waters of the lower regions are brought into contact with salt-bearing soils. These aid very materially in preserving them. There can be no objections, we think, to the flowing waters of the higher regions. THE AUTHOR. AN EPIC OF THE SOUTH WEST. We sing soft strains of fairy lands; Of occidental Earth, We sing sweet songs, ethereal bands Of Muses once gave birth In far-away wild Cathay realm, This side Pacific wave; Where no Odysseus held the helm, No Aeneas wandered brave. Where naught but hoary mountain height, Green-capped in forestry. Disputed daylight with deep night; Grim Nature's chivalry. Where boundless wilderness of sands. Dust-ravaged, wind oppressed. Stretched forth their gaunt be-fingered hands. In sunburn gravely dressed. Where cacti and coyote breathed Defiance to the God; When, in sharp thorns or fur-skin- sheathed, They kissed the rattle-pod. Where monster saurian out-bleached Its rivalling reptile-horde: Horrific caudal-fixture stretched Prone forth upon the sod. Where Myriad noxious atomae, Too, vitiated all Pertinent with our true botany. Aye, Earth before, the Fall! Where thirsty thirst, presuming, durst Inveigle life away; Entrancing the righteous and cursed, Return them clay to clay. Where sweaty heat its thousand feet Creeping, o'er-crawl and pierce Animal flesh, with singeing heat, Like fiery furnace fierce. Where hillock and deep depression; Arroj^o, and ravine; Dishevelling plane-possession, Lend romance to the scene. Where neither man nor deity Care ever to sojourn: To change from things much more pretty; Forswear them but to yearn. Where clouds, and winds, and starry skies Are scarce of Paradise: Rotting flesh's akin to flies; And gangrened men are lice. Here, here we steer, with tremblous fear. Our craft of fancy-flight: Here, here we linger: what place queer More truly horrid, quite? On pinnacle of porphyry. Sprung sheer from out the sand. Silhouetted against the sky. Two human figures stand. Two human figures clad in health; Bronze-tinted with the sun. Limber-muscled; with tread of stealth. Like reptile man doth shun. Tall, straight they, both; of proper weight; Grim featured; hard as stone: One aged quite twenty years and eight; The other thirty-one. Like in stature; and like in strength; Like in their mental poise: Like in their depth of soul, life-length, Sonorousness of voice. Americans two, these are; true To ideal savagery. Taught to do as wild Indians, too, Devoid of imagery. But rough and rugged, romantic Soul, just beneath the burn. Unbent through custom pedantic. Can scarce escape this turn. Americans two, these are; true To ideal savagery. Taught to think as wild Indians, too, Devoid of imagery. They stand and gaze, one quite amazed; The other silent, glum: They stand and gaze, with face upraised, In stillness of the tomb. They seem to peer into the queer Depths of an airy haze : One trembling slightly, as with fear; The other firm of gaze. They seem to peer into the queer Unfathomable mist. Enshrouding all the desert near; Heat all a-quiver, twist. Yea, at the edge of some mirage, Intangible fay-glen. They think they see another age; Another race of men. And myriad marvels consonant With grotesque-fevered mind; And fancy-tangled brain hard-bent Such figured things to find. For here, depicted in the air, Are forms in featured art; Setting forth a romance most fair; , An historical chart. Strange stories told of things of old: Of path-finding grandees. Conqnistadores after gold; Or (emptiness) for praise. And trips of ships with shredded strips Of storm-torn stained sails: Of caballeros on whose lips Played Castille's langorous tales; Yea, trips of ships with shredded strips Of wind-torn o'er- worked sails: Gowned friars fresh from their choirs; Or disciplining flails. Bold feats of arms; freaks of charms; Of manliness and men. Of glancing eyes: of maidens' sighs; Marvels of sword and pen. For here depicted in the air, Are forms in featured art: Setting forth a romance most fair; An historical chart. What tune they gaze, steadfast, amazed Upon the wondrous scene; Warm, and o'er-pressed, with tense heat glazed, Mirage d-miracled screen. What time they stood, in soberest mood. Contemplative, and still! Now, then, imagine, if one could. The heart-felt human will, That filled the then of these two men, Discovered of the now: That filled these bronzed persons, when 10 They saw beneath a brow Of umber-colorecl tumulus, Wandering hitherward. What certainly seemed a monstrous Serpent, horrid, untoward. Seemed to them hyperbolean, A giant metaphor. Obscuring all else, puny, mean; Devouring all before. And miles, and miles, sinuous miles, , This object manifest Upon the sun-burnt desert tiles. Did permanently rest. Sparkling bright in the brilliant light, A gTU'gling liquid stream. Dazzling e'en the accustomed sight. Startling all peace of dream, A ravishing river, ever a-shimmer. Pellucid watei' welcome, Lost in perspective, dimmer and dimmer. From distance seemed to come. Wonder, wonder! God of Thunder! It Avas the work of Man. Else super-natural blunder; Some freak of fairy-glen. "Great Tutochanullah, father. Worthy American : Tissaak, noblest Indian mother. Tell us of why and when This freak, this streak of liquid leak, This artifice of man Is create? Oh, Great Father speak: Enlighten if you can* 11 "Tell us if thy mighty spirit Hath sanctioned all this art; This work, this craft? Dost know of HI Does it please thy great heart? "Tell us why, our Mother Nature Distort, must yield to plan. Where every lovable feature Rent, must be now by man?" Thus spake he, the elder bronzed son With hair just turning gray; And bent he toward the other one Gazing far, far away. Then a reply, with long-drawn sigh, The younger native vouched; And pointing toward the Northern sky. Lustrous, divinely touched, Spake this: "Oh hear, my brother brave. White man's v/ork is for naught. Know yonder mountains' rocky cave. Where this strange water's caught Is where lie the great Gods entrapped. Yosemite close by. Walled in by country rough, frost-capped ; O'er- topped with meager sky. Is where lie the great Gods entrapped; Thinkst thou they're not aware Of how these men have map out-mapped All Earth, except the air. And even it, the atmosphere. Must yield to White Man's way. Exploited by airships most queer. That dip, and "stoy" and "stay." 12 ''Aye, brave the Gods; and mighty too"; Responded he of age: '5 But shrewd is man; ah, shrewd most true; Yet hogs they, on rampage, Runting, rooting, hunting, shooting; The world must fall before ; Wise they, as owls, always hooting, Braggards they, ever-more. Beat they will, these shrewd swine in swill ; Attainment is the end. Push until they have gained their will : E'en too, the Gods must bend." "Not so, not so, the scheme below Must ignominiously Go where all certain failures go: Willy, nilly nilly. Know ye brother yon widening bow; Nestling amid the hills. It is a lakelet which the snow A-melt, plenteously fills. See, the waters clear as crystal Stagnate in the wide pool. Browned, deep-hued, here make they tryst, till Consumed by human fool. Tell me can new snotv-water pure; (Or rain-storm deftly caught;) Impounded, many days endure Fresh as tvhen first Hwas sought f Know ye famed Mirror Lake, so-called f (White Man thus nameth it) Purest of water once; but galled; Fever so shameth it. Determine, then, the victory. Shrewd Man yearns now to cry. Shouting his valedictory 13 To artificial sky. Vain, vain the brain of civic-stain, Against wisest thunder. Behold it is uniquely plain, This aqueduct's blunder? Then look, ye. East and West and South To purify the sight. Gaze not upon this work forsooth; This artifice of night. It ill-becomes the giant tomes Of printed science neat. To teach diseases for the homes Where civilized men meet." ****** A gust of wind, and swirl of sand; Obscuring clouds of dust; Obliterating all where stand Those wise men, bronzed to rust; A whirl, a puff, and then out-snuff Our figures quaint of dream: The Gods had spoken quite enough ; The rest shall speak the stream. ****** But, 'midst the mists, there still exists A wholesome sentiment. The world shall love, preserve in lists V7ith all toward honor bent Logical use, and not abuse Of what our God has given. Not wanton waste, by every ruse. Of that for which we've striven. In lines catchy, write Hetch Hetchy With all we would cherish. Contemned for e'er let the wretch be, Desirous they perish. The argument above would seem to suggest alteration in the Los Angeles aqueduct design. Why not discard the reservoir and other catchments ? THE AUTHOR. Refrain, refrain thou fertile brain Ambitious to impound Tuohunne, swirling toward the plain With troubled angry sound. Desist, desist. Cease now thy jest, Obviously thy fun: Let Uncle Sam enjoy the rest; And deem thy work well done. Take the swirling waters plenty; Pipe each pellucid drop. But don't impound all that sent He: A crystal skj^-born crop. Oh wondrous feat ! Thou waters sweet Logical, though odd. O 'er-bubbling, thou in rhythmic feet Areas wide of sod. Gathering of salts; shedding of faults: Conserving all its worth. Good as when from High Heaven's vaults; More consonant with Earth. Branding on itself Spring Valley: Proud to go in cool flow : Gathering, with gushing rally, Just what it, too, ought to. This the water. Nature's daughter Purity, must envy. Truly never Nature sought a Conservation like Thee. Rich. Gaald. 1911. 15

15004608

Sonnets and nuggets,

Aldrich, G. A. (George Albert)

sonnetsnuggets00aldr_djvu.txt

m> .'!■;.:. --■■!' 3301 Li(.,Di\-lit I o P- ! .: COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE AUTHOR. SONNETS AN^NUGGETS RICH. GALD jeu^f^ SAN FRANCISCO; JOHN R MCNICOLL PRINTING CO.. 215 LEIDESDORFF STREET 1915 COPYRIGHT 1915 BY G. A. ALDRICH FEB 20 1315 FOREWORD We launch onr newest grouping of verse upon a merciful public not without misgivings lest we should again fail to impress the particularly discriminating angel of censorship with the purity of an invaluable merit. Abandoned on a sea of preference, let us cry our OAvn wares ! Just a little, please ! Why cannot, ever, an obtuse and cruelly insoluble Avorld stand upon its just claim to award? Is every- thing desirable on earth to suffer abusive repudiation; because it may not always seem pertinent with the ambition of jealous minutiae surrounding one? THE AUTHOR. SONNETS I. How transient is that miracle called peace '? How— swift— it flits full-fleetly bye ? Old Time May scarce, will scarce it dare. Nor rhythm, rhyme Can paint its wonders, quite, of sure release From wondrous enmity in strife 's increase : From maAvkish dignity, all joke sublime: From odd things else, concentric with great crime : From freak-minutiae; with ne'er surcease. Oh, pump your pompoms ponderously forth Fierce Jove : but they in vain ; resulting not In profit evermore, transcendent, pure. But strive in fact; and strive for all you're worth: And heat your strife 'till luminously hot. Your pumping, and your striving may, you, cure. II. THE ADVANCING SEASON An eschatological thrill awakes Our dormant pious selves apochrj^hal. With supernatural assistance, all Our inward knowledge of the soul oe'rtakes Us sleeping soundly, slumbering; and shakes, As might eternity at Adam's fall. Our dulled conscience, pervert to each call, Which would not yield to cosmic force ; to 'quakes. The psychic powers of transcendent self Conspiring, are enticing to a cusp Of life, in indolence resolved to naught : Where must as at one's Zion, saucy elf. One 's cupid captive render, with a wisp Of fragrant straw, if love be pastoral-taught. h A\ ft\ A\ ft\ rt^ ff% f K fh if\ .f^ rt> fK ff% if^ A\ ff\ fft f fi 1^ |J %|J IJ# %IJ M# %1S M# %i# 41# ^M#_iJ#.M# %m£ %I»- %k- %l^ ^'M** %1# %Lf % III. The Muse now calls forth memories divine ; That, wrapt in soulful pasts, hath graced our song ; And languished in a listless time-worn throng Of figures mythical; high Heaven's sign Of poesy transcendent, winged of line. The Muse now murmurs, soft, her ditties strong; That, vibrant, pulsate where they best l^elong; Their melody Thalia-born with wine. Then pump thy folk-lore paeans proudly forth. Oh organ! Our symphonic pulse, our beat Affinitive with heart-song, bids thee joy. Then peal thy folk-songs out for all they're worth : And trip thy trills, in truest tuneful treat, Inspiring every girl; and, too, each boy. 'T% '5'T 1 1 re jj ji '§ f f I yf I «' 1 % f T f «' ai i # iP w w UJ w w ''Rffl.TF *\\ii.-^ *^iH**^ ^A-'* H^A^ ^.J % f^'% /r«< ^% ^'% / IV. CASTLE CRAG Thou castellated mount of lawless mould: Obtrusive, shapeless crag of dolomite : Thy jagged peaks, sky-piercing to great height, Enbosom tales of storm- winds, yet untold: Of light 'ning-flash, and thunder-peal, loud-rolled. Thou cosmic error, thus uptossed on sight, A plaything of cold snows ; and of the light : Thou sentry ! Guard the pass, thou guardian bold ! If but thou could 'st remould thine heart of stone; And make it flesh and blood, full-warmed with love ; A throbbing human- thing of doubts and fears ; Would 'st covet, then, thy tempests icy-blown; Nor sacrifice the eaglet for the dove ! Be human-friend, profuse of sky-born tears ! 10 V. Y\fe chant of obsolesence, rife of Earth : And, too, of obscuration, wondrous thing, That, coupled with autumnal j^ears will bring Oblivion transcendent of all birth In Nature mothered, well, of honest worth. Of these most strange phenomena we sing : Oh, with our harmony sweet concord ring ; That should entwine us with fantastic girth. Grim obsolescence, griffin of the night : Foul curtain dense, all dank and dismal damn : Thou noisome controvert, untoward conceit : Impossible creation lost to sight ; Thy cousin obscuration we contemn As insult heaped on insult, foully meet ! uitpil/wi ^t% y^'T^ /Tf'^f if fi if^ rf^ ifi^ rt^^ ^f tii 4^ rfl 1^^ VI. Now chant bereavement's paeans filled with dole: In welling tones peal forth the dull, sad honr Oh Time ! The burdened sky doth thi'eaten, lower ; And master tearfully responding soul. Nay, call ye not Thine horrid stygian roll, To devastate Earth's most attractive bower, Eternally of misery a shower ; Thus constitute of hopelessness our goal. But wrap us up in choicest mental robes ; Forgetting, lest forgotten we should be : And dry our tears with soft, responding sobs, To work just easement for our trouble-plea : Else, sacrificed we are to woe, which robs Transcending worlds of potent ideals free. ♦ Composed, upon the decease of a sister, November 3rd, 1913. 12 ^cpcpQicpcp^^l^f^ ?c0^c!f^W^^ w VII. How signifieth spots upon tliee, Sun? Why doth thy purity pollute thus, be : Hot master of our sky ; our earth ; our sea ? Consuming firmament, thou burning one Personified Helios; helion A baser substance than mere light sets free : Nor yet parhelia, parsilenae. Thou spewest speculation; new thought. Sun! How signifieth, then, thy troubled mien : Th. y freckled front of froward demon-frown? Thy countenance should be e'er clean and chaste; Demeanor purest, of sky-blue serene : Nor with prognostication scarred ; and thrown Abroad on our conception of good taste. 13 VIII. The curve of life a livid line of love : Or love compounded soft of yieldy ooze ; E 'er fashioning itself as men might choose ? Or war : which booming cannons thundrous strove, Regardless of the biblical peace-dove, From time forgotten dignified of muse, To stamp upon our Earth a peace-born ruse : Or vacuous transcendent hope above ? 'Tis strange we cannot count without some link : Some bridge; some brutish jointure with the past; That killeth peace, and every gentle hope : Our every safe-guard at the awful brink. Where life is unto the eternal cast From off this Earth; with other World's to cope. ^ M-'*' M*'* 'ri-** '^l^^ w' ^i^ ^4-^ ^--M 'm'^ ^iK SK '^1-'^ S''i*^ ''■kr "n'^ ^h w v « ^ I NUGGETS EARLIER - FAULTY - EFFORTS K ff% ff\ ff\ ^ fj% ff% ff\ n'% f% ff\ ff 13 % '3 %1# m# ^'»(k- %iLf \I,j^ m# %i*- %!# m# %iL I. Superior ideals, pure thoughts of love, Are best deep-draughted in poet's sonnet. Thrills of true heart, now hot Cupid's won it, With sentimental journej^s up above. All soft-robed in white down of Peace's dove AVeft in technique, with poesy the woof. Should constitute the poet's realm — his roof — His mansion in the skies: whence he may rove Forth, into worlds of matter, grave, of fact: Where most of romance reeketh in foulled sweet; And sure release is governed by one's tact: Where Heaven sitteth limned in bread and meat. Yet, what more true, convincing; than the fact That opulence, sound wealth, is Heaven's seat. ^IIA^^^^III&^^^lll^A^^ II. We lisp in numbers our sweet songs of love: We find in rhyme record of our fond dreams: We 3^earn to soar, above these noisy streams, To seek something better : for this we rove. We wing on nothingness through thought above We cleave impenetrable mists of soul; Ever attaining impossible goal; For which we've generations — eons — strove. We wander into realms of poesy, Where meandering streams of idea flow: Evading all horrific, plain, prosy; Just where fine fancy may elect to go. Yet, yet oh Muse, come tell of wealth cozy : Fountain of youth, it but will make us grow. I^W^^f^^^f^f^^^^ III. Tliey told me thou wert beautiful, sweet, mine: That all the soul of Nature dwelt in thee : That thou wert lithesome, young, and fair and free : That something infinite gleamed from thine eyne : That transcendental grace enveloped thine In roseate mists of fancy's fair thought, (Far, far above ethereal worlds sought) Where acts of purity unite, combine. All exquisite conception there excelled! All human f anc}^ mastered, there, by love ! Where all that's commonplace, Appollo's felled With mastering, conquering sword, above ! Yet opulence's there, in beauty held: Great Providence's wonder, mercy, love. \ rK ^i \ f f \ f\% e%% f\% f t\ ^\ m f\% f fh f f % #'t^ f K ij% IV. Sweet musical notes, wafted liitlierward, Exploit now all heart's deeper sentiment: Affording new sensations quite our bent. So bound we over waves breezy, seaward; Away from all dull city ways froward. Oh, Muse, now grant us surcease of labour; Release from importuning dull neighbor. Our happiness, our love, too, now increase; (Specious rest to commune with Heaven) Thus find a place for wearied soul above. We yearn now for this desired leaven. It is a pact for which we 've ever sought ; But can't forget that for which we've striven. Let opulence, then, be just what it ought. y i '^^ i|,^ \|i i|j ^j '41 i|i KiJ \^j M 22 V. We'll not despair of song, oh sweet soul mine. We'll not languish in void for thought rhythmic, We've not but one couplet: we're plethoric. Full store, full store of rh3mie is ours; and thine. Come Muse, about worthy brow now entwine Us laurel long deserved ; yet long forgot. Sepulchre us in some much hallowed spot : Where violets true blow; mayhap pea-vine. Soften our quiet recalcitrant crude selves With fragrance waft from fields elysian. Guide us to realms in which idea most delves. Enwrap us, too, in mists Arcadian. Yet gather for us, busy little elves. Opulence mightier than sword or pen. 23 VI. Discovering in realms of sunny space: Journeying too, through incandescent night; (Couplets the sole comrades of fancy-flight) Through nebulous new worlds, we creep a-pace. Hope, hope, thou poet of a prosaic race, Personified in .justice to base earth! (World most flat, wert not for thine august birth!) Guide us to Mercy's goal in this sweet race. Yet beauiy cannot blush without the pulse That burning gold makes, coursing through its veins. Beauty cannot fair-feast upon food else : And it will truly hold the guiding reins. Providence ! How virtuous wealth still tells ! A panacea for o 'er-tired brains ! A A. VII. Reverberating sounds now burst on ear : Industry transported through harmony. The world has joined in concert — symphony. We move, we move in some vacuous sphere. Discovery! The poesy of fear! Onward, on airy flight, we aviate Through realms where no one, nowhere hath e'er sate. We stoy; and then drink Death as cup to cheer: But righting, pass the fatal pall-clad tomb; And kiss the sun: and call it love, sweet love. (True love! Just such as comes from Nature's womb!) Then gather opulence: that it may prove Our bridge of life, our main-stay our a-plomh; Perhaps our ship to bear us up above. ^^f^f^lp^ll|ftjf!ppQf^^}S| VIII. Cureall virtue, in a correct couplet, Exceeds the prayer of professional-man. Lisp in poesy sweet, then, if you can. Call on the Muse to tonic breast upset. Then let the heart take a fimi rhythmic set. Oh gray, cold sea, thou 'st worried wearied pen : Thou'st robbed it of fair sentiment: and then Thou'st tossed idea, upon wandering wet, To let it languish in unfathomed void. Atomized spray dashed on unwelcome shore. Pulsating there, it cries itself annoyed ; To return unto its self nevermore. Ah, had we but remained on land; and toyed With all-prevailing wealth; though meagre store. IX. We yearn for vistas of those fern-clad realms; Where youth joyful, lusty, was wont to dwell: Where blossomed grasses, tall, the meadows swell ; And perfumed flowers wild, our brain o 'erwhelms. For bye-gone ships of hope, faith-guided helms, That steer into lands of glorious gain. Through many a leafy m^^stic crook 'd lane. Such shades our fathers loved o'ertopped with elms. But gold, gold, burning, all-conquering gold! Thou'rt veritably commander of heart! Our thoughts of odorous dells mRj grow old. No longer may have flowers wholesome part. We yearn for wealth in quantities untold. Ultima Thule! This is fact; not art. 27 Disappointment in life's near-sanctified. (Indeed, and veritably it must be.) We're lost, at times, in gray melancholy. Then, gone is all for which we've life-long tried. All hope, like love (vain love) has flown ; has died. And yet the sunny advent of next morn Hath generate new fortune ; new wealth born. Ah, Providence! Thy virtues long we've cried! Great good abundance, hast thou an equal? King opulence, hast ever been deposed? Once more the warming hearth; and hearts cheerful ! Dormant celestial joy long hath dozed. Avaunt horrid fancies morbid, fearful: Corpus of poverty thus diagnosed. 28 \| J \^J i|./ %|> %^J y i|.,^ \Ji / i|/ i|,# i|.l l|i %^^^ 'y 'i|| til 111 i] XI. The mellow morn cloth miss the songful bird. Here on a boimdless wilderness of sea. No cricket chirps; no restive honey-bee; No dragon-fly, nor squirrel overheard. No crow of cock, nor low of grazing herd. Nor yet sweet flowers grace environment. Forever lost now to all prosaic cant. We are at sea ! Lost, lost ! Yea, lost the word ! The past material is naught but mist : A blotch upon a soiled memory. Sweet hope of future we have, hungry, kist. Let bosom heave response, then, cheerily. Oh gold! Oh wealth! Thou'rt sacred! Thou art blest! Panacea ! Earth moving wearily. 29 XII. 'Mid brine-soaked arcliipelegos of thought, Our craft of fancy bears us, buoyantly Through translucent seas, mounted gallantly: On, on to the goal long we've bravely sought. And yet, and yet hov: dearly these dreams bought ; More beautiful, perhaps, because they're dear; More coveted eccentric to career. Oh just to gather what we really ought ! Oh just to harvest what w^e've fancied best! Then wrap ourselves in morphic ever-sleep ! Thus gain desirous e'er-coveted rest; Away from prosaic worlds of weep-and-weep, To wdiich poetic-soul hath long attest. Yet opulence should limn our slumbers deep. 30 f^fMfip^^flS^f^J^f^QK{ICpl^ XIII. The dull warm day hath scorned the mast 'ring sun : The sea hath turned face from beauteous sk}^ : Y\^ith shadow darkened, turned its face awry ; As though its duty to fair art were done. Effects, theatrical, have now quite gone ; And sombre melancholy rules the scene. But this sad daughter of our joy we wean; And look for smiles of warmth; or coming morn. Yet what is happiness without great weal ! Here in this world prosaic; this world severe! Here vanishes all vanity, we feel. To covet sense we banish all that's queer. The thought of gold makes man's future real; Then toward this consummation let us steer. XIV. We half discover self in sentiment; Developing new realms of real love, From which we soar to larger worlds above; Eternally lift, out of false content. Through deep regard for fine poetic bent. (True sense of our universal beauty; Proper regard for each human duty.) Yet do not relinquish all He hath sent. Art, art, thou cans't not obliterate self; Obscuring, thus, a sound poetic pulse! Art, art, thou e 'erprovoking wicked elf; Ever master of all things keenly false! Stay! what beautifuller victor, o'er gulf. Than purse of gold ! Obviously what else ! 32 Cpi|f^f^SI|lC|Mpf|}CJ 'il ■'''■, .vff\ /n, iJ\ /f lj f f% /ii\ f f% ffii #f ^ 4i% ^1% fl\ f% ff\ ^fT% f% fri fJ\ ff\ > XV. Oh, faithless soul! Why not accept merit "? Why quail and trenlble at the unjust sneer? Must World yield up its all to powers queer; Because precedents can scarcely bear it? Must we lose the crown while others wear it ; And sacrifice fair truth to vulgar wit ! Ah, truth! To make common-place thing of it! Providence ! Art thou so low to fear it ! We strive for gain! Is't not obvious, plain! Our vanity does, illy, obscure it. Our lives are sanctified, nor doth bold stain By science ministered abjure it. We strive for gold ! Then let us have our gain ! Restored of faith! The future shall show it. 33 XVI. We have attained the multipeopled shore ; And softly bundled all onr love and hopes. We've left our corded fancy, fay-like ropes, With other tackle of soul-ship of yore ; And stept into another realm. A store Of imag'ry awaits tired fancy. We'll win, though it be by necromancy. Oh beauteous peace; anthithesis, war! Yfe'll win through peace poetic, through wisdom. We'll win through fancy's pen; couplet plenty. In rhythm sympathetic let bliss come. We once dreamt golden course; then, swift bent we. We've mounted swells of mind; and soul-storm some. Graciousnes of love and patience rent we ! • m m m fn fh ff% fT% m ff% m m >m m m m m ^ XVII. The fruitful weather challenges to write: My muse, methinks, assumes poetic pen : Fair simile abounds: fine fancy, then. It promises to be an ideal night : The garrish world is, long since, lost to sight ; All fragrant herbage hath closed leafy eye : All fauna has retired, too. The sky, The universe, seems closed up sheer from fright; And quite retired in the faded past. We durst not call upon eternal All : Yet fain would judge the night severely just. Oh soul, what else must to old Earth bef al ; Before our youthful bones undamaged rust: Before we're lost in earnest to our call? 35 hi XVIII. We'll not surrender, oh perplexed we, Obscuring all the beauty of our sky; Capitulating without reason why; Hypothecating all that should not be, To chasten well a best of fancy free. Transcending self, we'll but expostulate With thee. With patience then, we can but wait. Thou, Muse, art everything for rhyme to me. Then hail, once more, a lithesom^e flippant joy; And sing of happiness in great success ! Ah Cupid, incomprehensible bo;f. Our future worth we're fated yet to guess. Bring thou abundance, and without alloy, Of gold: and it in splendour, bright, of dress. 36 ^p 'i|> \^j i|^ i| J i|> \|i ip 'i|i i|/ i|,# w ip' ip i.p ip kyf ip' w fnfT%i XIX. Oh noisy nodule, in the curve of time. That characterizes an era new: Oh rough and raucus rump, why terror strew? Devoid of churching, sanctimony, chime Or melody ; or true poetic rhyme : Evaporate; and give fair place to love, (Most pertinent with present Peace's dove.) To make more room for better things sublime. But gold; but gold: a truest warmth; a flesh Inanimate ; approach to the divine ! Sweet opulence, entangle in thy mesh (Thou welcome net; modernity's best sign!) A sighing soul ; a hopeful self ; and flush With prospect. We have naught to do ; but pine. 37 fllflplp^f^S^P^f^f^fl^^t^ Come Muse of Mountain-top; come wind-tossed sprite, Collaborating wonders, all, of Earth. Come, tell about a newest art's new birtli: With purest touch rejuvenate our sight. Be thou the poet-soul; be thou poetic light. Then, rugged peaks, thy potent voices speak ; And thunder response, to petition weak, To create new enlightenment from night. But gold, but gold! A truth! A constant, true! A finest friend in plenty as in want: Be-shower us with frequency. Ah, do ! To vanquish all of scoff; and, too, of taunt. Come opulence' unconquered sovereignty; And lead us to abundance', certain haunt. XXI. Love listless, of a fair-born Liclyan muse, Appropriate to passion great for wealth. A store of blessing, of plenty, of health ; An antidote for weaker sorts of ruse. With sombre life, certain, of the recluse, We deem better than worlds dark, Libyan : Enlightened more than silent minds Lyddan Of Palestine, where Man had know abuse. Then sing sonorously thy song. Success; And let it swell above the welkin — ring. Instruct the sober World in truest dress ; And teach it of the rightest things to sing : Of gold ; warm gold, like each Minervan tress Of hair, the blue-eyed goddess once did bring. 39 XXII. Ah, victim of well-bred discoiirteoiisness : Ah, siiff'ring soul a-sighing for a friend; A relict of faint hope, with early end, Symbolic of conjecture and of guess. Thy disappointment may not mean distress. Thy life, new-born, ma}^ soon seize on new love : And, if for dazzling wealth thou well hast strove ; And cherish, too, the garrish world you bless ; , Thou may'st soar sure to strands of sunny mind; Where transcendental fancy governs all ; And potence true, its best of friends doth find In that for which the World does risk a fall, Great gain: thus opulence, too, close behind. 40 ..iif^l XXIII. Now turbiilency, dictate thought sublime ; If thou but cans't: if thou but mays't: but nay! These rough and roaring breakers bid thee stay Thy stirring hand! Oh boist'rous goddess, rhyme Of soft repose; for very pity, time Thy slumber, now, to some rift wavelet's foam: Some deep sub-marinal moist muse's home. To sleep in sinuously pulsing prime ! But gold ; but gold ! An inspiration true : A sort of smile, celestial, borne to earth : A best of good things, where such may accrue : A pure conception of a god's new birth: Yet attribute to Christ's divinest blue Of universal love : a heaven-born girth. 41 XXIV. Fugacity appeals to me, oh Muse ; And it of life. This transiency blue, A universe, prosaic, of much ado. Is built of truth : but often it abstruse. Then let us find, in love, a newer ruse To justify vacuous life's faint course; Evading all we would determine dross : Our aim in life to deprecate abuse. But gold ; but gold ! A staff of poet 's life : A mainstay ! Just man's monster mental-self ! A brother — sister — to Success : its wife ! An ingenue of fortune : bizarre elf. Thou art desired! Secret of our strife, For thee, e'en Purity is prone to delve. iR ;rf% #T^''' cfn^ # |i % $ fy ?• F'& 5 T% 'jf '?i S [% Wf% Wf% ^\ '/r% !fr% #1; § S'T^ f^ ^'..yf '>vJ^.^ %,^-^ \:j[J' VA* 'i*-^ "vj^o? •<h^.^' '.>4/ vA,? '.-4^ 'r.:h^ '•h'[.# %.y^ %^-0 'h.yf %^ XXV. WAR Oil, poetry of distance, now appeal ! Enchantment true ! We want not tliundrous war : We would not dwell 'neath doom's mephitic star: Nor see and bleed : nor groan at cruel steel. To stagger at the blow : to cringe : to reel : (Great Jove's relentless m.ockery of God!) Preferring bloody dust-bathed earth ill-trod With vengeance, lust, rapine ; the voidal meal ! We yearn for prolegomena, for truth. That something which, if worlds were justly made, Would govern savage man in days of youth ; And consummate all plans as they were laid. Here strife's incarnate, vain, reptilic tooth Sunk deep of human flesh, must die or fade. 43 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 863 804 6

17006526

Washington, and other sonnets,

Aldrich, G. A. (George Albert)

washingtonothers00aldr_djvu.txt

35cii .L38VI3 v/ WASHINGTON AND OTHER 50NNLT5 BY GEORGE ALBERT ALDRICH [RICH. OALDJ Class P3^S0 I Book L.'^Z tfV^ Copyright rl?.. 1^/4 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm WASHINGTON AKD OTHER SONNETS ^*The Thinker'' WASHINGTON AND OTHER SONNETS BY GEORGE ALBERT ALDRICH [RICH. GALD] SAN FRANCISCO A. M. ROBERTSON MDCCCCXVI COPYRIGHT I 916 BY GEORGE ALBERT ALDRICH CCPYftlQHT OFFICe SEP 18 1916 PHILOPOLIS PRESS SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA DESIROUS, EVER, OF BECOMING PERTINENCE WITH ALL THINGS OF THE MOMENT, AND FEARFUL LEST A BENIGHTED SONNET-WORLD SHOULD LANGUISH, AND FADE INTO THE OBSCURITY OF A POSSIBLE NEW-ERA APATHY, WE ONCE AGAIN ESSAY UPON A GENEROUS AND CONSIDERATE PUBLIC; REQUESTING, HUMBLY, WE MAY BE AT LEAST READ. The "Washington" sonnet appeared in the San Bernardino^ California ^^ Index'\ on the twenty-second of February y nineteen-sixteen. 'The ^^ War'' sonnet has been republished from a for- mer edition^ circulated in nineteen-fifteen, The "Charm of Scene" sonnet was composed at the Berkeley Campus-theatre^ Berkeley ^ California^ while patiently awaiting the beginning of a certain afternoon performance. The Author. CONTENTS Washington War Sonnet . A Summer Day Rodin's "Thinker'* Hope Ephemeral This Charm of Scene Interpolate Thy Will Agony . Page 9 lO II 12 13 15 16 17 WASHINGTON. This welcome peneplain of sunshine days : These fields Elysian of beauteous peace : This wonder-warmth, a wealth without surcease; This innocence of woe and warlike craze, Where 's naught of cannon-roar or watch-fire blaze This life poetic, distant far from Greece : This pasture green, of lambkin and of fleece. Hath need of Washington's redeeming ways. Then, clang ye forth ye cymbals, and ye drum ; And twang the bow-string or melodious lute. Then, sound the trumpet-blast (or banjo strum). The soft oboe, or e*en the woody flute : But, bear in mind you love your country some ; And hate all ways of war-gods, too astute. [9] WAR. Oh ! poetry of distance now appeal ! Enchantment true ! •!• 5^ 5|» Sj* rf» *J» rj» rjC We want not thundrous war : We would not dwell 'neath doom's mephitic star : Nor see and bleed ; nor groan at cruel steel. To stagger at the blow ; to cringe, to reel, [Great Jove's relentless mockery of God!] Preferring bloody dust-bathed Earth, ill-trod With vengeance, lust, rapine ; the voidal meal ! We yearn for prolegomena ; for truth : That something which, if worlds were justly made. Would govern savage man in days of youth ; And consummate all plans as they were laid. Here, strife's incarnate, vain, reptilic tooth Sunk deep of human flesh, must die or fade. [lo] SONNET. To while away a Lincoln Day once more ! Again to dwell in mem'ry of the past : And then to taste its nedar, while 'twould last, As honey-bees the rose e'en to its core ! To dip and sip: to sip and dip its store Of precious produ6t dissipative fast : [E'er vidim of the frost or wintry blast] And waft to some Elysian, mystic shore ! To while away a Lincoln Day again : To mingle with the ghosts of master-mind ; And patriotic hearts which pulsed in pain, When Christ's bright standard fell so far behind ; And made man's real purpose here too plain. Too evident, ah me, too sadly blind ! ["] A SUMMER DAY. Now chant we gratitude to all the gods : In rhythmic measure, too, our thanks pour forth : And inward, turn to love's undoubted worth ; Equating ends, with produd of Earth's odds. To study smaller thoughts — of herbs and pods. A newer brighter sun is now gi'en birth ; And doubtless, too, the blessings crowning Earth Divine its yields from mellow soils and sods. Dissolving, let us fuse in summery heat ; And deem it opportunity well sought. But, being sought, the acme of heart's beat : The something seldom gotten, rarely bought : Our Deity's sublimest weather-treat : For which the soul hath, eons, yearned and fought [11] RODIN'S "THINKER". AN APOSTROPHE. "This hunched; this crook'd and knotted manly self; All gauched in corporeal muscle-screw ; Thigh-elbowed on the left, in ^mental-stew', Would think. But paucity of thought, thou elf. Secreted 'neath this gruesome, sombred pelf, Rejeds e'en help its primal gods would brew; And calls gray melancholy, chill, its due; Encuddling poverty, that bitter wolf! Yet, still it hath the keenest truth at heart: Bones steeped in liquored progress of the world : And brachycephalous, fair brow, whose part Unnumbered thoughts, to light, have long unfurled. It knoweth man's still man, as at the start: That he hath loved this stature knit and knurled." [13] HOPE EPHEMERAL. Now hope, ephemeral, doth us possess ; And jflowered Nature smiles, once more, upon A half-lost bosom, wretched, quite forlorn : And, with poetic touch, our rust-pens dress. To lift us up to skies of painted guess. Instructing all the gods we're poet-born; And dwell in harmony of song in rosy morn, 'Till night its murky curtain hath o'erpressed. Then, let us live, again, in golden strain ; And, crying forth the memories ot old. Recall in rhyme our fathers' best refrain; When they saw poesy in burning-gold: And found a Parthenon in each bold brain: Eternal song in tales of wealth untold. [H] THIS CHARM OF SCENE. This charm of scene should justify, oh Muse, Another essay of poetic pen ; And thou, our eidolon, shall signal when To realize surcease of gross abuse ; Release from homeliness of life obtuse And substitute thy love for hate of men ; Injecting sunshine to man's prosaic den; And understanding of himself abstruse. Then sing again the song of mellow gold. And laugh once more with all the happy pasts, To glorify romantic tales of old. And save our souls, while method ancient lasts. Rejuvenating memories untold. To shape our fate devoid of War's crude blasts. [15] INTERPOLATE THY WILL AS LOVE, Interpolate thy will, oh Muse, as love ; And let us find in peace a breathing space ; That we may win, at length, the noisy race ; To soar in immortality above. Light-winged on righteousness, as does the dove Of Christ's best choice. Ambitious life apace. Ill-doomed to many ever of the chase. Hath found the gods impossible to prove ! Then (having love as guide), once more our song Of gold, refulgent as the dawn of joy ; And cast away all noisome bent to wrong ; And give us opulence to be our toy ; Our heart's desire envied of the throng ; Our ultima thule without alloy. [1 6] AGONY. Thrice-wrinkled brow, with fevered face ; And stoop enow to curb one's pace ; Thrice- crook'd of spine ; and bleared of eye ; Habitually doomed to sigh ; To groan and moan ; a soul alone, A pitiless heart, long turned to stone. And now a scream ; mayhap a dream, As life seems floating down the stream ; And then a screech ! God may but reach The anguish it is meant to teach ! Agony ! LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 012 227 803 7 ^

16019644

Weatherton as a Cortez, and "Yah Taggy"

Aldrich, G. A. (George Albert)

weathertonascort00aldr_djvu.txt

PS 3501 .L38W4 1916 .. **^'.3^\/ \'^''\°^ V'^H^\/ "o.- «•' %.<>* .'«;°» \>/ .•'"'^^'•- %.*^ -''"■■■% -= •?'- . _ <? ri> o V 0^ ,0' WEATHERTON AS A CORTEZ YAH TAGGY" RICH. GALD SECOND EDITION WEATHERTON AS A CORTEZ AND 44 YAH TAGGY" GEORGE ALBERT ALDRICH I' [RICH GALD] SECOND EDITION /.o\ COPYRIGHT BY GEORGE ALBERT ALDRICH / ^UG 21 19/6 ^CI.A4y7287 ''I am a financier, Jones. There are two promi- nent gods in the business-world. Reason and Love. I hope I remain agreeahle to hoth.^' Weatherton. WEATHERTON POSES AS A CORTEZ. jTj EAR reader, you have experienced of the iy flesh-pots of down-town eating-house life? ^ You have imbibed in mines of wines whose gaudy signs are significant of plenteousness in that particular much which seemeth needful to the ever-indolent and always hungry? You have been flushed with surfeit at those tables of bounty characteristic of the restauranted portion of a wide and populous city, filled with the always wanting. And you have fled perspiringly home- ward with, oh such an a])undance of gratitude illuminating your unmitigated greed, even as we. Gliding up-street 'neath the glimmering arc- lamps of industrious but penny wise contract crea- tion, you pirouette at a corner half faltering to change your mind and determined programme for the evening; you pirouette, we suggest, to quite about-face; and encounter a familiar personage sauntering immediately at you, and in absurdly a diametrically opposite direction. ''Weatherton!" you exclaim, again as we, "De- lighted!" "My dear friend Jones, Happy, happy indeed happy!" comes an unaffectedly sincere response. "Of all on earth the very person I desired most to see. You are well versed in things Mexican, I understand ? ' ' "U. S. Consul at Acapulco nine years, at your service" we reply. "Quite right; and are willing to talk a little re the present bellicose outlook?" "Perfectly" we answer. 4 Weathertox Poses as a Coetez. "Then kindly drop into the St. Francis with me and enjoy a cigar" pnrsnesthe other man. "To shorten matters, I wish yon wonld pernse this document I have with me: one very formid- able of external appearance isn't it? I assure you it is quite as forbiddingly superior of content. Al- low me?" We take the proffered paper, and read: — Suggestions for Congress re Mexican Difficulty. Present a memorial to the Mexican Government, stimulating it to appreciation of the fact that the Peace necessary to proper conduct of trade, and its dej^endencies, has poignantly appealed to these U. S. as a crying necessit}^ That, therefore, we the American people briefly and resi^ectfully request our sister government to the South to adopt procedure (without more evasion or delay) calculated to protect aforesaid commercial interests, and the persons fathering them. That, pertinent with such procedure, the Mexi- can Government accept a loan from the U. S. of $10,000,000.00 for seven years at 10 per cent. That said Mexican Government convey certain provinces (name them) to said U. S. in trust for a period of seven years. That said provinces shall be deemed security for said money loaned; and may be so treated by the IT. S. That, consonant with said trust, the U. S. shall Weatherton Poses as a Cortez. 5 be permitted to police, manage, govern, control and occnpy said provinces for said seven vears. That, at the end of said seven-year term, the Mexican Government shall consider reasonable offer for the conveyance of said provinces to the United States. That pertinent with this option for the sale of said provinces the Mexican Government shall file a bond of $1,000,000 as an earnest of faith in the matter of said sale said bond to be forfeited npon the failure of the Mexican Government to con- summate said sale. That the foregoing contract shall become mean- ingful and effective on (Date). Signed Countersigned. ''Well?" we inquire, half inclined to yawn. AVe are not a little bored. "So very very thread- bare a subject, Mexico. What next, to be sure! Japan — but cease, cease. In pity's name, cease. Another romance of yours, I presume?" "My dear friend Jones, does it read so to you?" explodes our odd acquaintance from the South Seas. "An exceedingly dull attempt, I should say. Do 3'ou ever rise out of the prosaic and ordinary, Weatherton?" This we venture a little mischiev- ously. "You mean I am so very pragmatic of view, ever, I seem to the shallow observer over flat or dull?" "Precisely. I mean your attempts at romance jar one, at the start, much as would the sawing, with buck-saw, of a stick of stove-wood. They 6 Weathertox Poses as a Coetez. quite rasp me. Now here, for instance, what a jolly lot of poetry in a $10,000,000 loan, with, inci- dentally, security in trust; occupation, policing, etc., etc., all to be capped prosaicly with so much earnest-money, a transaction you sincerely hope- won't, after all, prove inducement to wisely drawn conclusion on the part of the Mexican Govern- ment. Again you are so very incompetent of per- sonnel. Why not ladies? Where, ever, are your* ladies? Do you live, Weatherton, in a distinc- tively selfish world of matters, ungallant? AVhy not an heroine; or, sa,y, an ingenue or perhaps a female marplot to fill in your over-much barreness of effect? Now, really, Weatherton, why not?" ''Jones, you are testing my humour purely for the vulgar fun of it; I know you are. I feel it stealing o'er my conscience as you proceed. Mar- velous keenness of perception we flatter ourselves sometimes in possession of. I so judge myself now. Keen of perception. I grasped you ; I read 3^our meaning lucidh" even as you sweat it out between jowt several words. My dear critically concerned Ex-consul, I am not attempting ro- mance. I am scheming, sc/ienting, SCHEMING! Sir, I am a financier; and you have dubbed me a romancer! I commit you to thirty minutes con- course now and forthwith; and in atonement for attempted offense. Are you at my service?" "I am. Fire away," we reply amusedly. "Ycni know the Mexican moods and methods you say. Then sincerely, how do you feel they will take to my solution of the problem?" "My dear sir, first let me comprehend your plans. Are you going to forge this document and Weatheeton Poses as a Cortez. 7 mail it to Mexico as a geimiue Act of Congress, duly considered and passed upon? Or have you some wild and over ing'enuous advertising plan in process of incubation ; the which you intend hatch- ing upon the neighboring fences or illuminated signs ? ' ' "Ah, forgive me, Jones. I will ex]3lain directly I light another cigar? Try one of mine?" "Mexican?" "Precisely. Got them at the International Bank in Montgomery Street this very post meridian. Met an acquaintance there loaded with cheap silver (Mexican) and tobacco. Held tightly to one. Gave the other away ruthlessly." "Thank you." "You see," proceeded Weatherton, "I intend forwarding this document you have just been kind enough to read, to Washington, D. C, and to our representative there. Consonant with my wishes in the matter (I feel certain I am right) he will introduce it as an emergency bill. Upon Mexico's acceptance of this proposal, I shall be among the first informed. I hope to profit forthwith." ' ■ "How; just how?" "Simple enough. Upon our occupation of, say, Sonora, many of the old drastic law^s and regula- tions will become void and null. Among those cancelled, I feel certain the customs will predomi- nate : for they are most unpopular with us. ' ' "Well?" "Are you aware, I have no doubt, on second consideration, you arc, there is now in force an export tax on gold and silver bullion?" 8 Weathertox Poses as a Cortez. ''Yes." "I propose crossing the line the minute tlie Mexican Government accepts the American pro- posal — my proposal as passed by Congress — and buying iip^.hufjiiig up, BUYING UP all the silver coin the land possesses." ''What then?" "My dear friend, picture me with a half-dozen twenty-mule teams of Mexican silver coin trek- king to the frontier. Fancy me upon arrival at the American border-line. Cannot you actually hear the tinkle of those several tons of coin as the}^ tumble through the tail-boards of my gigantic wagons. And no duty to pay sir; absolutely none ! ' ' "What then?" "Jones, guess me. Must I review market- values, express charges, government sensibilities (Ijlemished government credit), popular prejudice, unlooked for competition and the biased gods of profitable venture ? ' ' "I am dull, Wcatherton. Help me." "The Mexican export-tax has been the only obstacle to profitable coin-exchange for some time past. Your Spanish dollar is worth so much in bullion value. It is selling in the states for 45 cents. It is worth 58 cents, the London price of one silver ounce, less cost of coinage. Let us dis- regard the seigniorage. I determine the dollar worth 50 cents, after I have manipulated it." "I glean, I glean! How much do you intend investing?" "Three millions, American gold. Will issue Weatheeton Poses as a Cortez. 9 preferred stuck within the week. AVill you take a few shares?" * * -;5- * * * * «- * "The Simpkins Bill for adjustment of Mexican affairs has failed of passage by less than a dozen votes. Never in the history of Congress has a so- called emergency-measure met with such patience- defying indiif erence ; or such obdurately pig- headed opposition as the same proposed act de- signed in tiuly Christian spirit, as it certainly may have been; and therefore calculated to ac- complish all that was to be desired in the way of ultimate quietude in; and shapefulness out of chaotic conditions to the south of us. It had been suggested in Committee that the Simpkins source of the measure failed of justification as one simon- pure. The walls of the committee-room, it is maintained, reverberated with the much repeated word, 'lobby.' The name of one astute individual residing in the West was particularl}^ given to frequency of mention. A person styled Weather- ton identified, formerly, with the South Pacific had, it seems, been the real author of the bill. This individual, we are informed, while much given to sabl)atarianism, is pleased to interpret the moral qualification of peoples from an abnormally gro- tesque standpoint. The Weatherton-man of righteous bent must have been twice christened on the same day at tlie same hour and minute. Of course this is only possil3le at the dividing-line of the earth — the 180th parallel — where two days meet. It appears this remarkable character, now resident of San Francisco, is preparing to exploit Mexico by making pertinent use of Uncle Sam's 30 Weathertox Poses as a Coetez, inevitable concern. Deprecating this sort of thing, Ave join with the administration in jnstly timed repudiation. ' ' We tossed the co].)y of the Washington telegram wearily aside; and, donning our over-wear, trudged over to the St. Francis. Weatherton was there ; and probably expecting us. "Morning," he greeted us with. "Good morning, Weatherton, read the news from Washington ? ' ' "I have.' "What think of if?" "Not alarmed. Precisely what I anticipated would result." "Then you're not beaten?" "No." "Please explain." "My dear friend, I always carry my loss items to the resource column. Don't you?" "Yes — that is — if I happen to have sufficient inventory. ' ' "Apth^ responded to. I see joii are an account- ant. If you happen to have sufficient inventory. My friend I am never short of that. ]My column of loss items gravitates toward resource. My in- ventories are written-in in red, red Sir." "Well, but—" "We are going to pass that bill through Con- gress, I too am to be the first man across the border and into Mexico. These two features of my laboriously drawn up plans are to materialize. This I sincerely promise you." "Weatherton, I have discounted my stock in the enterprise. AVill a^ou buy it back?" Weatherton Poses as a Cortez. 11 "Jones, if you were to offer me your interest for one per cent of what you paid. I would not touch it. AVhy? Because I conscientiously feel 3^ou would greatly regret having parted with your shares. You are going to win, if you will only hold on. I am a man of my word; and you have purchased $10,000 worth at par. In three months time you may sell your 100 shares at a premium of fifty dollars. You are to be the certain pos- sessor of $5,000 in net profits." "What guarantee can you give me for flattering results, Weatherton ? ' ' "Jones, you know my history. You have heard whence I came ; and what sort of a man I was bred to be while there. Look at these biceps. Showed them last to Southby. He was pleasantly and I want to add, profitably impressed. Had you heard, my friend was making money? Fact, I assure you. Sold a block of stock for me; and in- vested the proceeds. Bought — let me see — was it Spring Valley? Hetch-Hetchy troubles, you know, had forced the water-stock down to almost ab- surdity. My report regarding the impractibility of popularizing impounded snow-waters sent it up again like late-sown wheat. Jones, I was christened twice on the same day, in the same hour, and at the same minute." "Still I get you but vaguely," we reply. "I am framing a budget, a pork-barrel appro- priation measure which I shall likewise forward to Senator Simpkins." "Now, do you find me?" "And your Mexican scheme then" we hasten to assist, "is to be introduced as a Ways-and-Means 12 Weathertox Poses as a Cortez. measure in the form of rider to the appropriation bill." "Bravo, Jones, clear now, isn't it? You see, no thought for expense had been given. The pacify- ing and re-shaping of Mexico, however so deftly you undertake it, cannot accrue without consider- able expenditure. Our first attempt with Congress was raw, raw sir in the flagrant greenness of its incompetency. We failed absolutely of inevitable exj)enditure mention. We shall win this time. If not, Jones, friend, have another look at these biceps. I shall single-handed defy the U. S. Gov- ernment to thwart me. In other words, I shall present myself; and dazzle its representatives sheer by the refulgent superiority of m}^ per- sonality. Have faith in me, man, I am possessed of purpose ; and not to be beaten. Get me ^ ' ' We rolled our cigar leisurely over to the oppo- site side, and puffed silently. After some minutes of silence we growled forth. "Weatherton give me two dollars and take my stock back." "Ha, ha, ha, man! I shall note an apj)oint- ment for a ride to the park in your new $4,000 motor-car three months from date. Then, too, Jones, we will introduce the opposite sex. You suggested my romances were ungallant in this particular. We shall hear from the ladies and extravagantly, too. Bye-the-way remember me to Mrs. Jones and suggest she order a carload of bonnets from New York without further delay. They should arrive none too soon. In two weeks you may anticipate your fortune on the market, Sir, on the market. I will guarantee finding men Weatherton Poses as a Coktez. 13 to take your notes on hypotliecatecl security. Be- lieve me, I am right. ' ' "Weatlierton, you are a veritable god of reason; but—" "I am a financier, Jones. There are two promi- nent gods in the business-world : Reason and Love. I hope I remain agreeable to both. My friend, I courted twice on the same day, at the same hour and minute. I was, likewise, married twice after the same code of procedure. There were two hone}aTioons ; and twins were the blessedly w^elcome result. Had my wife l^een a characteristically twin-bearing person, I should have become the father — well, let us digress. Buy some more of my stock. Take it provisionally. If favorable results don't accrue in three months, I will con- tract to refund at a nominal discount." "Specifically, what discount?" "Say two per cent on par value." "Then let me have fifty shares below par. Mark it down to 98." "Good. That determines you finally just what I suspected you were, a shrewdly accurate stock- dealer; and modern promoter of precision. Ha, ha, ha ! Again I recall the exact scientist. Jones, where did you matriculate'?" "Where liability inventory is kept tacked up before one's eyes most of the time. But after all I retain faith in your enterprise spite of threat- ened periodical relapse. I'll try them. Weather- ton. I'll take fifty more. Good evening." "Evening, Jones. W^ill call on you to-morrow." Then, ruminating, aside. "Singularly rapid change of mind. Ten minutes ago he offered me 14 Weathertox Poses as a Cortez. his shares for two dollars. Now, — ah, I have it. Flattered! Weatherton, my boy, haven't you grasped the oddities of human nature sufficiently to comprehend the situation? Flattered the man out of his wits, when I remarked his knowledge of scientific accounting! One of a thousand; one of a thousand!" CONCERNING THE YAH TAGGY"; AND HER EXPLOITATION. [E PEN those remarkable notes, clear reader, while r()ustal)()uting at the aeroplane trans- bay ferrv-landing, Embarcadero and Mission Street, San Francisco, Calif. A wonderously fair day! We assure you the weather was fine; the I)rimest of the primer-sort peculiar to our promis- ing weather-queen of states. Local prophets, too many to enumerate, had been gracious enough to instruct us Spring rains were to come. Suffice it to say they had; and abundantly. This of itself, was a condition of- absolute assurance for the best. Such is hope, faith and charity to the average San Franciscan. We were of the average sort. Rains had come, we repeat ; and settled the per- niciously irritating water-front dust. Rains were to come, too; and again settle the same aggravat- ingly disturl)ed condition of the surface cosmic, which immediately marks the contour of our pros- perous settlement. No. 8 on the country's list of commercial possibilities. The dust had been con- quered; and thoroughly so: or we never would have appeared upon the scene. Armed, as we were, with a pair of field-glasses, and a meager quantity of enthusiasm, our wharf-dust, of more ordinary occasion, might have obscured us unto total annihilation. But here we were, comfortable and delighted, on this, the 24th day of May, 1914: and squatted astride the huge stringer of twelve- by-twelve yellow pine usuall}^ fastened to the 16 The '^Yah Taggy" bumping-edge of our admirable wbarves, making notes. The aeroplane ferry-boat "Aermaide" rested on her landing-stage unmediately in front and be- neath us. This was the first and trial-week of her installation. She had made several successful trips over the bay and back — some ten miles — carrying a passenger on each occasion, and boasting a speed of something approaching a mile a minute. Crowds of eager on-lookers were pressing us from behind. Our perch on the edge of the dock was a select one; and greatly to be coveted. The king's box at Ascot never had been the more so ; nor his stalls at the pretty little theater in the Ha3Tiiarket, he so much effects, etc., etc. The "Aermaide" had glided out of its berth; and over the small expanse of water enclosed be- tween neighboring piers, well on its way across the harbor. We were all stretching our necks; and straining our eyes in trembling anticipation of highly probable mishap. No accident attended her rapid, splashy departure. She was soon lost to view. Our glasses failed of her location. At last accounts she had veered slightly to the northward. She was circling about some point on the farther side. No; we were mistaken. Her progress was still due east. But she had gotten over. Everybody was satisfied. Many were turning to leave. So very, very quick of accomplishment! It had all happened in five minutes ! The many cumbersome old ferry-boats, of the various railways and trans- portation companies, Avere crossing back-and-forth, too. They had required from twelve to twenty-five minutes. Trulv we had witnessed a wondei'ful The ''Yah Taggy" 17 consummation; another startling exemplification of what the French term Pneu Era marvel. Some- one tapped us on the shoulder. "The 'Yah Taggy' is to be sold at auction. Ad's in this afternoon's paper. Give me a posi- tion on her?" The "Yah Taggy," we ruminated, virtually repeating our accoster's words, was to be sold at auction. Give — position on her — "Why?" we re- sponded at length, slowing bending our gaze up- ward, and upon the newcomer. "You don't really mean it? Sold? When and where?" "Merchants' Exchange, next Monday at 10 a. m. Going to buy? Rather thought you would." "Certainly shall bid in for her. What ought she to be worth?" "Can't guess. No mean sum, though. She's a fine boat. Of course vou are aAvare of that." Thursday afternoon, dear reader. Ball room — the Red — Palace Hotel. Occasion, auction sale — l)iggest on record — of certain real properties more or less prominently in the public understanding. Fifteen hundred people in attendance. Over one hundred million dollars represented in the per- sonnel of the gathering. Greatest event in realty circles for man}^ moons! A fine large hotel to go. Likewise a very select site for another on our most prominent thoroughfare. Downtown and uptown lots too numerous to list. Terms 10 per cent; mortgages may remain. Such and such a lot car- rying a debt of $10,000. Sold for $12,500; mort- 18 The ''Yah Taggy" gage to stand. ''Opportunity to make a fortune for only $2500. Never niind 8 per cent per annum on $10,000, 3^ou've got $2500 now, haven't you; well, take it; and settle down to inevitable pros- perity. Can't fail! You've heard of the young woman whom sought advice on the subject of matrimony? Shall I marry now; or shan't I? She inquired, etc., etc. Truly a clever chance. Seize it: grasp it: hold it! What am I bid for this valuable warehouse-site at Clark's Point? Give me $9000. Nine thousand, nine thousand! Gentlemen, make it five hundred more. What, you want time to consider? AVell, take it. Nine thousand, nine thousand! Ask the man whom owns it, if it isn't worth all of that; and more, too! Who'll make it $9500? Gentlemen, you really can't have determined upon going to sleep! Come now ! Voice from a particularly opulent corner : "A trifle like $9500 is mean enough to give any- one cold feet. Make it nine millions, somebody." "Well said, neighbor! Ha, ha, ha!" laughs the auctioneer. "Weatherton!" A person of that name has just dropped into a chair in front of us. We have touched him on the shoulder, forthwith. "Well!" responds that individual pleasantly, "Glad to meet you here. Buying lots?" "Not to-day. By the way, the 'Yah Taggy' is to be sold — " "Not now. She's mine. Just bought her. Pri- vate sale. Want to go in with me? Great, I assure you! What I style the greatest moral The "Yah Taggy" 19 enterprise of modern times. My boy I'm going to reform the ultra-progressive world, and how do you suppose I 'm to go about it. By improving the appetites, and health, of our downtown busy- bodies." "And that is why you've bought the 'Taggy'l" "Yes." "Ha, ha, ha! Can't guess though, how you're to go about it." "Dine with me to-day; and I'll elucidate upon that point," ' ' Very well ; what hour ? " "Seven. St. Francis." "Good. I'll come. Doing anything here?" "Just purchased a lot at Baker's Beach. (Toing to put up a sanitarium. Also intend having an anchorage and wharf. Catch ? ' ' "Ah ha! I grasp. And the 'Taggy' is to be adjunct to the sanitarium." "Correct. Want to talk it over with you." ***** Seven p. m. St. Francis Hotel grill-room. Small "Turkish" and potted-cheese. Cigars. Silence, always a necessary attribute to voracious- ness, has ruled for some minutes past. Weather- ton fires first shot. "Transferred your Union Oil for foreign 6 'si" "Yes.'' "What! And dare you look the eagle in the eye, now?" "Why not?" "My dear sir, iDcrtinent with one of nw pere- grinations through the banking district, I encoun- tered a gold fifty-dollar-piece of 1852. It was 20 The "Yah Taggy" octagonal in shape, sir. Had eight flat sides. AVhat do you suppose it had been so designed for?" "So it wouldn't roll," we replied. "Precisely. You might have added 'out of the country.' " "Why not 'off the earth'?" "That would be absurd. Allow me. We are not dealing with absurdities. That coin was flattened at its edge so it wouldn't roll out of the United States." "Well our money of to-day is not so minted." "Again you are correct. Why trifle with if?" "Can't see that I have." "You have oiled the circular peripheries of our coinage with a foreign product. Your twenties will roll like greased lightning! Grant I'm right. Friend, sell your European preferred shares ; and join me in the 'Yah Taggy' enterprise. Let me interpret the name. It means 'Golden Eagle.' I mean figuratively. ' ' "But you haven't instructed me as to how 3^ou intend 'making good' with the 'Taggy.' Certainly not by founding a sanitarium, a sort of gold-cure institution for tired businessmen?" "My dear sir, what are your j^olitics?" "Republican." "And you haven't become lost to 'Bull Moose' theories of necessary ultra-progress?" "No." "Then you can't fail of comprehension." "You intend outdoing the aeroplane Avith the 'Yah Taggy," an old-time fore-and-aft, wind-pro- The "Yah Taggy" 21 pelled vessel, with a speed record not to exceed fourteen knots ! ' ' "Exactly so." "Weatlierton. This does not sound like you. Let me suggest " "You want I should discuss the money-end of things, ever. Characteristic, you maintain. Well, I'm coming to that consummation. You have parted with your Union stocks' "I have."^ "Murder. No, flagrante delicto! Listen to this prospectus. I have here advanced sheets, only. Conclusively, they are subject to correction." A NEW AGE MIRACLE. An Organization to Rejuvenate Tired Business INIen ; and Resurrect Their Possessions. By Re-newing the Man, We Are to Revive His Property. Better the Downtown Appetite; and, Thereby, Revivify His Worldly Goods. What Are Dying Stocks? Possessions of Expiring ]\Ian. Renewal of the INIan, Means Re-birth of His Shares. Capital, $500,000. 5000 shares at $100. Sub-divided as follows : 2500 shares preferred as to non-assessment ; first lien on profits, etc. 2500 shares common. To be listed with the Board. NAILEM, NOOLITTLE & CO., Brokers, Bond Street, N. Y., are selling the issue. All inquiries re- specting should be made of this firm. "Friend," continued Weatherton, "what is the carrying capacity of the 'Taggy"? I mean her cargo-capacity ? ' ' 22. The "Yah Taggy" ''You really dou't intend to make a cargo-boat of her?" "Believe I shall. Ought to get fifteen tons per trip aboard. AYhat think ? ' ' "Possibl.y. But why?" "Man, my new sanitarium at Baker's Beach is to be fitted with an immense fire-proof vault; and " "And you are going to collect all the under- lying, and lax, shares in town. You want the 'Taggy,' among other uses, to transport these shares to your vaults." "Perspicacity, thou certainly art attribute of proper business acumen." "But what do you intend doing with the owners of these properties?" we venture again. "Turn the 'Taggy,' noble schooner that she is, into an excursion-boat for tired ones." "And charge." "Anything from two to fifty dollars. See here." Daily Excursion on the Bay. Schooner "Yah Taggy" Will Leave ]\Iission Street Wharf at 2 p. m. Fare, ."1^2. Sail-power only. No noise. No smells. No tiresome ma- chinery. THE poetry of motion. Old-fashioned methods the best. Strictly temperate. No gambling. Three hours on the water. Light luncheon, gratis. "Weatherton, I don't grasp. The scheme seems incompetent to me. How, for instance, are you to get possession of these peoples' stocks and bonds? By lurid representation, with added promises in- defeqtible!" ' ' Our sanitarium is to be a Trust Company. We are to deposit $200,000 with the State; and so in- The "Yah Taggy" 23 corporate. One of the provisions of the compact with individual patrons is that they shall reside with us; and bring their worldly goods accord- ingly." "Humph! Are you to supei intend, Mv. Weath- erton?" "Well, no. I contemplate laying the matter ])e- fore Southby — you kiiow^ Southby. He may ap- point whomsoever he may see fit." "Then you are to be-^?" "A share-holder and director." "I'm not clear as to what part the 'Yah Taggy' is to play." "Magnet! Lure, if you care to put it that w^ay. I circulate notices, downtowm, in which I dwx'U suasively upon the virtue of short work-hours ; and more fresh air. Then, too, the excitement of a sail on the waters of our romantic bay. Plenty of good cigars; and an almndance of ginger ale!" "Imported ginger ale?" "No. Certainly not. We will undertake to re- vivify our domestic bottled goods, too. Take a few shares?" "Can't do it. Haven't faith in jouy enterprise." "My dear sir. I know^ no such word as fail. You are familiar with my history and personal equation ? ' ' "Not especially so," we respond. "I," continued Weatherton a little irritably, perhaps, "w^is born in the Pacific Islands, on the ISOtli parallel. / was christened twice on the same day ; at the same hour and minute. In the brilliant lexicon of my existence failui'e is not to be found. Let me expatiate upon the momentary needs of 24 The "Yah Taggy" our kinetically predominant business existence. I have studied the sul:>ject, sir, from a philosophical conception of the intinitesimal to a twentieth-cen- tury understanding of the infinite. What do we urgently require to properly balance our commer- cial entity? Formerly, we were patronizingly the vantage-ground of international welfare. Before our latter day unit of doubtfully representative people at Washington became commensurably manifest, Europe supported our government. I haven't figures at hand; but tell me, is there any doubt, whatsoever, that Uncle Sam's Custom House constituted his main source of revenue? And now! The income-tax! Sir, the American people are now pajdng for what, formerly, was charged to Europe. Ah, you disagree! Foreign in-vestors also pay income-tax. Very true; but qualification of, doesn't prove an entity. An ex- ception never proves a fact." "Weatherton, you're quite a speech-maker. But, again how unusual of you to think more of philan- thropy, and less of money-matters! The 'Yah Taggy' is an elegant boat; and will prove expen- sive of maintenance; and then 3^our quarters at Baker's Bay!" "Man, by acquiring stewardship over the town's treasure, a large portion of which I certainly shall gain, I take possession of its owners' hearts. One- third of downtown will clamor, sir, for its daily sail around the ba}^ Where one's treasure is, so is his heart. You've heard that aphorism before! You see I get the trusteeship of their underlying and dying securities. These I lay awa}^ in my vaults; and otherwise wisely care for." The "Yah Taggy" 25 ''Your intention, originally, was to rejuvenate o,ur faded securities. Just how did joii plan to do this?" we continue. "B}^ storing them awa}^ lest they evaporate by diffusion or transfer. By holding them at home, and secure from change of identity. I plant them in the soil at Baker's Beach. Thence they re- sprout;, and start forth anew." "Don't fully grasp, yet!" "Well, were these properties to be exchanged for foreign securities the,y must, of a certainty, fade from existence. That is plain!" "Yes, in name: but not value." "M}^ dear sir, a large fraction of Uncle Sam's wealth is embodied in name. Take, for instance, his dollar. The American silver dollar-piece is 50 per cent good name. Absolutely nothing else ! Are you going to repudiate it; and trust in some for- eign flag's covenant to good faith I" "No." "Then tell them, downtown, the 'Yah Taggy' is to sail daily at 2 p. m. ; and all are welcome. Let us rejuvenate our appetites; and Avith them our old love of prudence." ' "Telegram for Mr. AYeatherton! Mr. Weather- ton!" ' ' Here, boy ! What 's this ? ' ' "Your newly acquired schooner 'Yah Taggy' has col- lided with the aeroplane-ferry 'Aermaide'; and awkwardly jibing in the confusion, is hopelessly sinking. 'Aermaide' safe; anti proceeding across bay." "Zounds, boy! Where did you get this dis- patch?" 26 The "Yah Taggy" ''Hotel office/sir!" "Hotel office be tut-tut! You — a — I say clerk, are your wires: — a — Whom has paid for this libel ? Libel, sir! An hyperbolically improbable piece of embryonic blackguardism! I mean to investigate, sir. I mean to probe this heartless triviality to its core ; and — and — arrest the boy — no, no, bother the brat ! Let him go ! What conlirmation is there to this remarkable report? Any*?" "Animatoscope man on ferry-boat took a quar- ter-mile of photos, sir. Shall I send for him"?" "Bring me my brandy, boy. I'm going to re- tire! Friend," turning to us, "beg to be excused from further effort. Will talk with you to-morrow about the lot at Baker's Beach. If present owner will confirm the sale, we shall be O. K. without the boat. The place was sold to me subject to confinn- ation hij owner. I got it cheap — dirt cheap ! Good- day!" 3477-1^3 -/ Lot 74 ' 0^ .'■' -^i ,.<■ &' 1^ . < o > ^0 9- 1 C .^^ ^ ^/^ ;»^ V^ ^^^ >' .„. ^^ 4 O ■a? v^ '^_ o . * ' A ^0^ -Jy- L^ .r iV^. «> ^^^ <v%\>^/ >^ •^"<^ -'* .^"^ ^^. ■ o. ^^.^ ^?^ "■• ^r ^^ A 'V c :^ * «? »}>•, o^ 'or •^o^ 'oV * .-.^fe.', •*'*,^/ ,^, ^^^^^ ■O^ '*eTo' ^0' V, •'•.^* ^^

10012757

Sonnets for choice,

Aldrich, Margaret Chanler

sonnetsforchoice00aldr_djvu.txt

Class _J&MO/ Book tl«1-S6 GopyrigM - _____ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. SONNETS FOR CHOICE SONNETS FOR CHOICE BY MARGARET CHANLER ALDRICH NEW YORK MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 1910 Copyright, igio, by MARGARET CHANLER ALDRICH All Rights Reserved THE QUINN & BODEN 00. PRE8S RAHWAr, N. J. ©GLA2652" . TO MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE Elder serene, within whose heart of grace Wide kindred build an altar to our race, Now, through the vaulted splendours of thy mind, My fledgling verse a halting way would wind. Rokeby, 1910 CONTENTS PAGE The Poet 3 January 4 In February 5 March 6 Spring 7 My Neighbour's Windmill 8 The Horse-Chestnut 9 In July io Haying n On a Picnic 12 The Moon 13 In Penobscot Bay 14 Hospitality 15 A Yellow Autumn 16 In October 17 In Winter 18 The Mystics 19 Faith 20 I Am 21 The Lambs 22 - Forgiveness 23 Authority 24 In the Mamertine 25 vii CONTENTS yAGE On the Palatine 26 Agatha 27 worldliness 2& Achievement 29 Pasteur 30 To Milton, Teacher * ... 31 Shelley 32 The Perfect Man 33 The Sea to Alexander Agassiz . . . . ' . .34 The East 35 Nik-ko: I 36 Nik-ko: II -37 Nik-ko: III 38 Venice 39 Love 40 Love's Masque 41 Love's Test 42 After Dreaming 43 " He Also Wearing Flowers of Sicily " 44 To an Improvisatore 45 At a Concert 4*> Inspiration 47 On too Small an Anthology .48 Language 49 Anticipation 5© Astronomy A.D. 1907 5* Silence 52 Vlll SONNETS FOR CHOICE SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE POET XO dwell with wisdom at each hidden source Till hastiest speech bears a divine impress, To raise an image breathing loveliness From words long levelled to a common course : This is to fathom the abiding force Within the numbered seas of sound, to express For nature, not for art, the varied stress By which her heart hath pulsed forth intercourse. All thought, all feeling, can be traced in sound By him who hearkens yielding to the spell And meekly echoing what he hath heard. But let him not within his verse be found, Lest the song grow confused, as when a shell Is moaning dumbly ocean's mighty word. SONNETS FOR CHOICE JANUARY ALONG the cross-roads drifted snow lies deep; No nearer traveller than the moon has tried To gain the turnpike from the windward side, And over buried fences she can sweep Unbroken shadows. In warm cedars creep The ruffled snowbirds, happy to abide 'Mid clustered berries blue and orange pied; Out from old knotholes wary squirrels peep. No sound, no step, until a cutter turns With bells and laughter plunging through the drifts; Two lovers, tempted by the silent space, Break their first track together. Patient lifts Their horse his feet before them pace by pace, And, looking back, each with the omen burns. SONNETS FOR CHOICE IN FEBRUARY AGAIN departing Winter hastens Spring; Her lengthened days are here with softened air, Her flashing twigs, and birds who brave the glare Of suns not veiled by leafy sheltering. I catch new rhythm from out the shattering Of icy banks, from heaving meadows bare, From sappy droppings to the quickened mere, From oozing hurried into murmuring. Not yet her stores, her miracles unmask; Only by all she loosens and sets free Can we remember what Spring holds for earth. Before she bears the year 'tis hers to ask Much to depart, aye, and that joyously, Tuned to the pulses of approaching birth. SONNETS FOR CHOICE MARCH THIS is the month of bareness; washed and swept The hillsides glisten and the hollows lie In upturned barrenness. The sun, with high And eager winds, through rockbound woods has leapt, Searching snow caches which have quickly wept Away before him. Should the young shoots try To clothe the fields of March, they too must die. This is the fast when emptiness is kept. So is it in our lives when light and air Parch and disperse what they have warmed and cooled. So is it when our hearts, left stark and bare For a strange season of unfruitfulness, Show bravely in their unsought nakedness The furrow which an absent hand hath ruled. SONNETS FOR CHOICE SPRING WHEN shad-tree blossoms flutter on the air Caught in a breeze as fragile as are they, When liverwort hath starred the stoniest way, The poetry of Spring is everywhere. It dances up the hillside furrow's stair, It beckons thrushes to the topmost spray; Even the turtle sees 'twixt night and day, And in a pond'rous metre leaves his lair. For motion is the poetry of Spring. To other seasons rest and fruitfulness. Now every pulse beneath a dart of light Moves and is glad. Now through the smallest thing Is life transmitted with a radiant stress. The smile of Spring is motion infinite. SONNETS FOR CHOICE MY NEIGHBOUR'S WINDMILL XHE river washes past the marshy brake; Beneath the isle of meadows streams have found A way to meet with rocky springs and slake Primaeval tangles. Moisture to the ground Gives bubbling loams; softly smooth pastures quake; The waving cinctures, made by vines unbound, About the groves their breezy pleasures take, While reeds and water ply melodious sound. Green, all is green for centuries, then lush The lilies rise, fair plangent colours blow, And fragrance sweet. The watery acres flush A garden riotous, and in the glow, Stemming the tide, a young magician stands, — The winds from Shattamuck his airy wands. SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE HORSE-CHESTNUT THE flowering chestnut whitens into bloom, And to and fro a ministry of bees Moves heavily, embossing pageantries Of golden life upon a bridal loom. Up to no other forest tree they come; Honey of fruit their pirate argosies Amerce, and all sweet garden industries Equip where their rich wings are pressed for room. What tincture brings them to the chestnut's gall ? When orchards ripen, and the graceless burrs In unattended forests offer food To man and beast, from these a stone must fall. Let blending science, like a warm bee, brood, And say what nurture at her calling stirs. SONNETS FOR CHOICE IN JULY ALL day the wind has reached us from the South, An inshore breeze advancing like a tide, And like a tide covering the country-side With its own nature. From the river's mouth Come salty levels where the hot corn's drouth Laps at their dampness, and the meadows dried Before the haying softly breathe. There cried A wood-dove : " Rain, rain cometh from the South.' O cloud, desired by all whom thou didst pass, Are we thy goal? Thy wayward tent of gloom Hath drifted up o'er many aching farms. Are we to catch the fire of thine alarms? Thou answer'st me with thunder's shatt'ring boom And sheeted water beating thirsty grass. 10 SONNETS FOR CHOICE HAYING LONG fragrant lines beneath the reapers sway And fall as though in gentle sacrifice To suns beneficent. The wafted spice Rises until high heaven is in the hay, Till distant townsmen on their pavement say : " Now the wide mow is laden with the price Of all our scheming, still the fond device Of Nature feeds the world in the old way." And on the fields where cradles have descried The order of her progress, where the cocks, Like hives of sweetness, for her coming wait, Passes the mighty wain of Harvest's state. Now all hands sweep the last load to her side, Which up to beam and roof-tree proudly rocks. ii SONNETS FOR CHOICE ON A PICNIC READ from a page where rhymes at leisure lie; Let neither sound nor meaning harness verse To animation sped by the rhythms terse Of battle numbers. With slow measure ply Th' unwinding of our musing's treasure. By This still, cool river all our minds immerse In pastorals, to energy averse, Whose wistful maids and shepherds " Pleasure " cry. Led by the piping passionate of these Far-off musicians, we drift into years Whose heat, whether from sun or temperament, Is long accomplished. Late above the trees The moon in greater magic softly steers, Closing our dreams, our day, with wonderment. 12 SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE MOON EVEN the wind which stirs our fragrant air Drifts toward the sovereign coming of the moon. Thou dawning-of-men's-dreams art rising soon This summer night when love is everywhere. All men await thee : some on fragile stair, Struck between saplings, some where shallows croon. Over the oceans which thy light hath strewn The dreamers of adventure broadly fare. Why art thou sovereign to the human heart? What life, what death, falls to us in thy beam? Why do our spirits to thy heights remove? It is because thou canst not wake, but art The world of sleep, and so, oh Moon! of love, Which is to man a sweet, effulgent dream. 13 SONNETS FOR CHOICE IN PENOBSCOT BAY SAILS on the sea, and on the meadow sails. Bright butterflies, a mimic fleet and swift, Above ripe salty grasses dip and drift To vanish in the balsam-scented trails. More slowly, where the dim horizon veils Her flapping canvas, comes through clinging mist A lazy Indiaman, who all the year can lift Her wings to palm-fringed ports whence spice exhales. She brings our summer hint of rest unknown From islands where the sun unheeded streams, To us who husband every blossom blown. She moves in gliding ease through sunset clouds; Upon her decks are phantoms and day-dreams; When she departs our youths are in her shrouds. 14 SONNETS FOR CHOICE HOSPITALITY A BIRD of passage flutters through the corn; Unwonted is its note and flashing breast, A stranger to the branching groves where nest The ministries familiar. Wert thou borne From flocks migrating this September morn By wayward winds on mountains in the West? Here must thou, in a balmier air opprest, Fly sadly, crying softly, and forlorn? Hither to die thou cam'st; fatality Of death approaching made thy warbling yearn. Bereft of flight and song, unto my mind Enhanced by thy dependence, fallen, I find Thee beautiful and still upon a fern, — A handful claiming hospitality. 15 SONNETS FOR CHOICE A YELLOW AUTUMN A SUMMER'S green has fired into fine gold. Each lambent tree gives light unto the sky. Though smooth gray mists around the forest lie„ Within, effulgence gleams on ev'ry mould. Beneath coined leaves all avenues are stoled; Down patterns many a birchen treasury With the crisp brilliance of the hickory, And here an oak has loosed his sterner hold. Bright, shadowy, or burnished like strong ore r Pale with long shining, never two the same, The trees this gleaming curtain raise between Summer and winter. Their content they pour In a last pageant, when across the scene Steps hunter man, afoot for feathered game. 16 SONNETS FOR CHOICE IN OCTOBER THE sunbeam of an early autumn eve Strikes past my eye and hovers on the shelves Tooled with a dimmer gold, then lower delves An instant in the children's curls, to leave The last light there. Soon we are dark. Reprieve Touches our hands and eyes. The restless elves, Dropping their games, have softly ranged themselves For such a story as the hour conceives. This is th' unseeing time when all the blind Commune with us an instant. Eyeless things Meet with our sightlessness. Afar the mind Together leads us, quickened by a breath Which fears not tales of darkness or of death. Now clear, now soft, a rapt piano sings. 17 SONNETS FOR CHOICE IN WINTER A VISION of the Spring delights mine eyes. Above, in nearer sequence to the sun, I see unfrosted lands, quick rivers run Rippling with light and warm with ecstasies. Look up! Within this garden of the skies Taste the soft airs and gather, one by one, Bright flowers blown where Winter hath not spun An icy mesh, where no white snowflake dies. Thou didst not know that in the sun's wide wake Such gardens hung, enchanted and serene, Uncalendared upon this seasoned earth? Look up ! as children watch a bubble's birth ; For many a glittering paradise is seen By one on whom a fleeting light doth break. 18 SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE MYSTICS THEIR love distils the mind of God. They trace His presence throughout earth's dissolving airs, Weaving what whosoever follows, shares, — The faithful outline of His vast embrace. No sound too faint for them to interlace The voice of light. The rune of ancient prayers, To such inspiring confidence, declares In filmy clues the wisdom of our race. From their tried hands raised in devotion's wreath The fires of life descend on all beneath, And men enclosed within the truth revealed, Although they neither see nor feel the light, Are of some blinding torment softly healed, While unawares the Mystic prays for might. 19 SONNETS FOR CHOICE FAITH FAITH, with discerning eyes and answering heart, Stands steadfast in our midst, prophet upright Of the Invisible. We watch her smite The closing clouds asunder. " Yea, thou art And naught shall longer intervene, as part To part must draw I wait thee." Slow in sight To those who listen gazing, cohorts bright Approach, and lo ! earth's altar fires start. But when great spirits pass within our ken, Or truths are written large which Faith first spelled, By them towards the Unknown beyond impelled, Further her arc of vision rests again. One God; lives sweet with love, Faith hath beheld; Even now she hales us peace and deathless men. 20 SONNETS FOR CHOICE I AM SOMEWHERE within him each man born hath heard The voice of God saying: " Behold, I AM." Whether to us the great assurance came Or we have caught the echo of a word Vouchsafed another, always there is stirred *Desire to be, and each repeats, " I AM." Then even from him floats forth his Maker's name, Who in self-love the Maker's image blurred. O cry of being, mighty antiphone! Since Moses, clothed in meekness, from the flame On Horeb turned to lead his nation, thou Hast never ceased to thunder unison 'Twixt God unseen and man, crying to know Who sends him forth : who but the great I AM ? 21 SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE LAMBS THE altars of retreating worlds you blenched. Long years are white with multitudes of flocks Passing to sacrifice. Your legend locks Itself in every tongue of man. Intrenched In deepest tenderness, gold has not wrenched The palm of preciousness. Each yearling knocks A fresh advent of Spring. Naming you rocks A child to dreams wherein her tears are quenched. Children, the Spring, tenderness, purity, The lambs wind upward past obscurity Of earthly emblems till celestial light Shepherds their pasture. In their fold has trod The living Christ: down from supremest height Comes our command, Behold the Lamb of God. 22 SONNETS FOR CHOICE FORGIVENESS I SAW Christ waiting where a sin had stood, Made manifest in answer to the prayer Of one who wished all consequence to bear Arising from his acts which were not good. And this, the Truth, I dimly understood. None can forgive himself, we must declare Each other free. Forgiveness is the stair By which to climb from hate to brotherhood. When men whom I have injured still resent, And so perpetuate my wickedness, Christ, to whom all relations are revealed, Can take their place toward me, if I repent, Until they learn that all forgivings bless The world in evil consequence repealed. 23 SONNETS FOR CHOICE AUTHORITY JV1 ISTRESS of all within the heart enthroned, To God or sin thou art obedient, Being thyself the meek embodiment Of each man's passion, honored or disowned. Where power claims thee patient faith is stoned And helplessness defrauded. Well content, The guilty seek Authority's consent By their reflection to themselves condoned. Then let us husband generous holiness, Worshipping goodness, since we must appeal Unto our own most cherished quality. The best God has made clear we may reveal, His law emerging through our earthliness Until we image his Authority. 24 SONNETS FOR CHOICE IN THE MAMERTINE W^HILE blood and fire, entering through the eyes, Remain to steep and burn remotest dreams, The violence which with creation teems Accomplishes what its intent denies, To faith and love essential victories. All you will know of me when these drawn streams Are dry, is that I worship Christ : so gleams His Name through me among your memories. 'Tis thus we conquer, silent and dispersed, One human mind invaded by each death Embraced for Christ. The murderer witnesseth The prayers invoked for him by severing hands, Which, stranger than a Caesar's crass commands, Persist among the voices which have cursed. 25 SONNETS FOR CHOICE ON THE PALATINE A GHOSTLY ministrant, this martyr rives My consciousness. His words left me content, I cared not what his resurrection meant. But now its startling- import slowly drives Through recollection, and my heart conceives Gladly the hope that past and present, blent, Are only parted by the dark descent Of death. So every Christian slave believes. , By bringing resurrection unto mind These martyrs best disclose the mean domains Of dissolution. What a grave contains Is earth's or mine : but whose this winged seed Which past destruction makes desire to speed Toward worlds where each is happy with his kind ? 26 SONNETS FOR CHOICE AGATHA HER chiselled mind holds niches of high thought Veiled like her eyes, as though the spirit host, Not man, purveys their light. An outer post Of heaven her selfless life; a balmy port For many to whom God and heaven are naught, Who see not Christ, in whom her sins are lost. Safe from impoverishment she tenders most To these, too starved in soul to bring her aught. Beyond the stars her mind and soul commune; But her sweet heart hath fluttered in the hand Of every sorrow, every joyous boon. Careless of all but love, she doth frequent The gates of life: Alas! these open stand, She may pass through them on some mercy bent. 27 SONNETS FOR CHOICE WORLDLINESS YOU move alone, lovely beyond belief, But lives are in your train with vast arrears. Now you have greeted me and gone, appears How spectral is your splendour, and how brief; For admiration with a shining sheaf Of conquests, gleaned from hoarse applauding years, Is shadowed by wronged love whose urn of tears Waters with with'ring salt each filched leaf. Strange exiled woman, powerless to hold Yourself from calculation, — to its low And sordid pulse your blood is running slow. What is your beauty, where perfection's part, If thus consenting you through life can go Without the sanctuary of a heart? 28 SONNETS FOR CHOICE ACHIEVEMENT SWEET are the hours, and of unearthly might, Lying betwixt two great activities. Here Nature stores the rare capacities Of rest and compensation. Here insight Is first vouchsafed of an impending height Whose outline in the subtle shadow lies Cast by Achievement. " Thither " the soul cries, And toward undreamed of sequence bends her flight. Gladly she ceased from toil, thinking to know Conclusion's respite. Purpose, far beneath, Flashing immensities, strikes THEN on NOW. Quickly delivered from the little death Of holding aught as finished, hours like these Dawn on endurance in the clasp of ease. 29 SONNETS FOR CHOICE PASTEUR DEATH enters through the infinitely small. The unseen and the disregarded hold Her charnel secrets in a fertile mould, Until the infinitely patient call Them forth with faith which magnifieth all. Patience descries how Death is waxed bold, How Life herself, by Ignorance controlled, Worketh the widening of destruction's thrall. Chief son of patience stands Pasteur, the good, So vowed to life that under hideous forms He knew her beauty and proclaimed its norms. He drew the sting from fang of maddened brute, Gave purple vintage to the paling fruit, And rest, safe rest, to fevered motherhood. 30 SONNETS FOR CHOICE TO MILTON, TEACHER LEARNED in the mind of Greece, and with a soul Mettled to lead men far against their creeds, How school thy will to meet the pettish deeds Of youths who falter careless of the goal? Thou taughtest nephews orphaned, when the whole Of Europe was to tremble 'neath thy screeds. Thou hadst the eye compassionate when feeds The sparrow, though it mark the planets' roll. Day after day small theorems to scan, False quantities in tongues thy stately art Could bend to living speech, nor was this all : What if thou wakedst, having been with Pan? The lyric of the morn must wait or fall Into the text of a school-master's part. 31 SONNETS FOR CHOICE SHELLEY A MORTAL singer, thou alone hast played Supernal themes with so resolved a stroke, The wind through echoing them to praise awoke, And many lived who were no more afraid. The challenge of thy piercing fancy made The heart of Nature thine, but thy sweet yoke Of hon'ring song a brooding worship spoke Which Beauty safe from desecration laid. Less man to thee than flying shapes untaught, And least rapt Virtue, her abounding shrine Where homeliest things are steeped in sacred wine, Ignored defiance. Now her children read Thee victim of a piety which thought God further from His works than from their creed. 32 SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE PERFECT MAN SPRING forth, O perfect man, into the light! Long wooed by poets and by faith descried, Why in the realm of words dost thou abide, Why phantomlike elude life's checkered span? Oft has it seemed thy tide toward us ran, When with us briefly dwelt our loftiest pride, A beauteous child who, scarcely sickening, died, As though maturity exhaled a ban. Thine is the earth, not ours ; we, seizing part, Do hurt the whole. Perfection, wishing all, May all possess. Perchance thine hour is here ; Wilt thou come singly, as a god draws near, Or is the Perfect Man a nation's heart? Where rides an army will thy bugles call? 33 SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE SEA TO ALEXANDER AGASSIZ UPON my breast the Faithful cast their sin, Yet plunge their children in my healing tide. I purge the past because all futures glide Toward the land when waves and ships come in. From filmy motes, which idly shine and spin, To caverned whales with offspring at their side, The lives of earth are mine; light kingdoms ride Palm-crested where my coral workers win. Once in solution did I hold the earth, And slowly have I let the islands go, And slowly will I take them back once more. I have receded until man should know He, too, is of the waters in his birth And doth stand upright on an ocean's floor. 34 SONNETS FOR CHOICE THE EAST A CHILD sat by me who would find the East, Upon a little map, and learn its tale. Before my task knowledge and surmise fail: Where and of what confinement is the East? An ounce of fragrance from her mystic yeast Gave many a populace a martyr's grail. Most potent was her essence to entail Renown on magus, chirurgeon or priest. While in the scholar's universe one thought Embalmed by Eastern tongues, though it pay toll In twenty Western minds, is never less; While fragments speak her an intrinsic whole; While every man who prays the East has taught, Conquest and chart her bourne cannot confess. 35' SONNETS FOR CHOICE NIK-KO: I WHAT noble trees ? what vast and stately groves Are these which with solemnity prevail Until it dwells at Nik-ko? It behooves The pilgrim, moving shrouded in your veil Of deep and reverence-compelling shade, O gentle cryptomerias, to own The balmy charity which your dim aid A cloak upon his weariness has thrown. Toil-marked and travel-stained, slowly to pace Between your rows whose ancientness Makes nothing of one life — in such a place All is renewed to calm and quietness. Nik-ko! Your groves no traveller leaves behind, They shade the distance of each grateful mind. 36 SONNETS FOR CHOICE NIK-KO: II HERE not an acre, but a mountain-side To Holiness and Peace are dedicate: The waterfalls, the river's rushing tide, A valley and its hills all consecrate. Would you see Nik-ko? 'Tis a holy land, Meet for long sojourn. Like the saints of old, Who thought strong walls of paradise did stand In every sunset cloud, so we are told That Nik-ko is not common earth, but lies In its rare beauty for the Buddhists' good. From far they come and feast their faithful eyes With its nobility. When one hath stood Upon Chuzenze's mountain, he hath been Nearer to heaven than the dead have seen. 37 SONNETS FOR CHOICE NIK-KO: III UPON the hillside long majestic stairs Lead us to courts where princes have been laid To rest. Here bells and gongs with sombre airs Announce the holy doors. Strange feet are stayed Upon the threshold, but your eyes may see The molten glory of the inner space, The soaring dragons on a golden sea, The carven lotus blooming with the grace Of living fragrance. To successive fanes The guardian leading, here and there the tone Of priest, for pilgrim praying, sounds the strains Of earthly weakness; but o'er all is thrown So great a beauty supernatural The stars in heav'n could worship and not fall. 38 SONNETS FOR CHOICE VENICE NOW thundering an advent on my walls, Now pleading - as a prisoner for release, Now sibilant of travel and surcease, The tide of my dominion sweeps and falls. Vacant the silent splendour of my halls; Shrouded in dreams of conquest and increase The dead Venetians lie, sealed unto peace From which no rival resurrection calls. But these my populations wide and free, These night-long voices sounding my desires, These leaping mirrors to the sun's bright fires, Unwearied in their passing to and fro, Bearing the unseen winds they come and go : The ceaseless, countless footsteps of the sea. 39 SONNETS FOR CHOICE LOVE AROUND our world is drawn the cord of love; From whence or wherefore none do understand, Nor can men weave the palpitating strand, Since none have found an end or break thereof. Sometimes in arching starry loops above, Sometimes coiled close, a life-destroying band, Most dear when shut within a small child's hand, Love takes or leaves us as it finds a groove. Love hath both depth and height; we have seen those Who writhe forever in consuming throes, And we have seen the Blessed stand in flame Which, entering them, shot forth a beauteous light, Making the world of shadows gleaming white. These last it is who give all love one name. 40 SONNETS FOR CHOICE LOVE'S MASQUE DANCING it overwhelmed my youth and out Again, with melody and rhythm, then fled, I dancing on, content. The years have sped, Off'ring to all men the same blinding rout. An hundred quick'ning measures twine about The hearts which shadow mine. Over the dead Sweet songs of mindfulness are nightly said, And to high chorals the young, marching, shout. Who are the mystic train? Whose feet, what song, Through time unchallenged every sense may move To hallow service? What the measure breathed Which like a smile upon our lives is wreathed? " Behold," they said, " we are all those whom Love Hath need of : he hath marked your cadence long." 4i SONNETS FOR CHOICE LOVE'S TEST MY song is briefer than a summer's day, Clipped at both ends by your not hearing it. Each stave, disjointed as a blind man's way, Halts before sense and stumbles over wit. I fondly echo strains which you have heard, So doth your soul inform monotony. Within your name I find a cryptic word Which to my life is strangest alchemy. Oft have I loved, but never have I been As now, a moon to one high, moving star Whose satellite by her is never seen, While in her light he travels long and far. Yet, more than worship, give I mortal love, Since to myself this star I would remove. 42 SONNETS FOR CHOICE AFTER DREAMING XHOU hast been with me once again in dreams, Those fastnesses unsealed by Time or Death, Those treasuries where night depositeth The coin which our day-time loss redeems. Such brief presentment of existence seems Half torture when the loved one vanisheth, But wholly joy when back he wander eth, With voice and smile where recognition gleams. Thou hast been with me once again; from whence Our hearts, our minds approached, we cannot tell. Perchance to every dream a different road, Else should we make of one a sweet abode. I wake, and we have been together : hence Flies spectred Separation to his hell. 43 SONNETS FOR CHOICE " HE ALSO WEARING FLOWERS OF SICILY " WHAT crowns thee best in hours of fond acclaim? I see soft-scented chaplets at thy feet Fall till each step is wreathed. Some vineyard sweet Hath stripped the vintage of its shade. Whence came These petals, if no garden is aflame With thy report? What mellow herbs discreet Have crushed their leaves of healing, to repeat Upon the air thy life-potential name? Aloof thy spirit from the praise confused, Unclaimed thy ghost by all this day can bring; But on thy heart a book, and pressed between The words, which were our friends when men abused, Rest violets we gathered wandering Long before nations had discerned thy mien. 44 SONNETS FOR CHOICE TO AN IMPROVISATORE LET me hear music when thy soft voice breathes A poem on the breathless summer's night. Our minds below th' horizon with the light Perchance toil yet; but here the spirit sheathes Itself in rest, and round the spirit wreathes Music, such dreams as make stern thought take fright. Call golden numbers down; beneath their flight The plodding heart with youthful rapture seethes. The Kings have spices poured from many a jar Which, in their falling, oft reminded me Of noble, learned poems, filling far Both ear and air with riches. But one rose Makes countless slaves by perfume each man knows. A rose, Enchantress, let thy poem be. 45 SONNETS FOR CHOICE AT A CONCERT PLAY to us, for the heart of music stirs Similitude which, like possession, bears The fruit of earthly joy. In her wake fares Man's spirit, singing what his soul avers : That she is his, and he supremely hers. Play to us lofty, superhuman shares Of concrete sound, and clustering pliant airs From space where filmy life with life concurs. Make us enduring harmonies receive, Lead us to arches of the universe, Spans undisturbed which traverse human brains As light cleaves water, leaving it alive. Mind, heart and sense in melody immerse, Until through them high heavenly order reigns. 46 SONNETS FOR CHOICE INSPIRATION I KNOW not what my eager hand should write ; To an unspoken will I feel it curve, A servant greater than my thoughts deserve. Through me unbidden crowd the lines to-night. Are there, then, unlaid dead who stoop to trite And godless jargon? Or must I preserve Some fragmentary memories which swerve Aside from Truth, mere shadows of her might? Not knowing what I am, how can I tell To which veiled power a strange sentinel, Words by my tongue and fingers come to be. Only by what is written can I guess When I have echoed wandering emptiness, And when the passing of life's mastery. 47 SONNETS FOR CHOICE ON TOO SMALL AN ANTHOLOGY HOW can we name the poems we love best? How bind within one little volume's lore Those gleaming treasures which do move us more Than garnered lives to heav'n's reward addressed? Wide lights which show us ages stretched at rest, Strong music which the poets ever pour Into the hours of silence, — can we store Their perfect singing between east and west? How ill they fare together, clipped and seamed Into a tiny sheaf, which should have teemed With one great name and all he said to earth. Three verses out of Omar: this is mirth, And 'tis his laughter answers, " Let him be Whose measure is a trite anthology." 48 SONNETS FOR CHOICE LANGUAGE WE cannot tell what word will catch the light And hold it as warm amber holds the sea. From hand to hand we pass the sleeping sprite Not knowing which a brooding nurse could be ; Through sound and number we pursue the flight Of thought and image, till our senses drown In medleys beauteous of songs and sight. But all we seize is to confusion grown, Timid and chill. We wake with alien night. Yet words there are seeking their master hand, Live things with gaits responsive to his might, Moving with him a clear, spontaneous band. To these men listen, wishing they were words To whom a poet could bring blest accords. 49 SONNETS FOR CHOICE ANTICIPATION IF I could share the vision of the stars And gaze down endless shafts of vivid light, I would not look on earth's insensate wars, While the surrounding heavens in peace are bright. Searching for life among the spinning moons, Or for its source in their controlling suns, Man's isolation and the petty boons His heart demands ring idle as his guns. The splendid darkness of the Universe, Those worlds which met extinction in their course To hang obedient without futile curse, Leave human systems ignorant of force. Sublimity around us shines and dies; When shall we compass her profundities ? 50 SONNETS FOR CHOICE ASTRONOMY A.D. 1907 YET owing nothing to the human will Do you remain : no trembling star hath known Obedience to mortal mind. Alone Amid created hosts you, Sovereigns still, Arise and perish without man. While ill, And good life, death, flame, cloud, wind, wave, and stone The earth-born mind hath harnessed, soft have shone Unnumbered worlds remote from fault or skill. If swiftly now caught up by light we run, If through the portals of inflamed Mars Gaze on the measure of each tireless stride Across immensity, what spirit need deride The dream of man's dominion over stars, His coming to the dayspring of his sun? 51 SONNETS FOR CHOICE SILENCE SOME thoughts are clear to us, although estranged From the familiar channels of our speech. No haunting phrases their deep meaning teach, The vaster orbit of their light is ranged Beyond the nether air we have deranged With clam'rous voiges. When their swift rays reach Our world of sound and shadows, they impeach Its unrealities and leave them changed. Too far such thoughts, too cold for you and me? Nay, through a child's true mind, the deepest well God gives our thirst, we watch their progress free. And oftentimes a poet's minstrelsy Within a limpid mirror can compel, Untold, the Image of Infinity. ^ 52 r MAY 28 1910 One copy del. to Cat. Div. ■

22018283

Echoes from the green hills

Aldrich, Myrtie Anna

echoesfromgreenh00aldr_djvu.txt

9Cfi't^jimsins99swammmmBBKfrB\'i^vk^ii-3^sx9',^mvM PS 3501 IC-HOES ikOM 'T'HE ,^., ■:";l£EN hillS «:M' jE^5t' ^j^jllggi^r 1 Myrtie a |L f ■t^ 1) Class _Bxl:^s:d_i_ Book ,\ a ^\%^ ?> COFKRIGHT DEPOSCr. j^^^^^^3^( I I (I ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS I I Myrtle Anna AldricK t Echoes From The Green Hills MYRTIE ANNA ALDRICH '7 Illu^rations By EARL ALLEN TITUS If thou art worn and hard 'beset With sorrows that thou w&iUdst forget. If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will Tceep Thy heart from fainting and thy soul frow, sleep, Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears. Longfellow TKc Tuttlc Comfwny l^nbliaifttB Rutland, Vermont Copyright, 1922 By Myrtie a. Aldrich SEP 20 1922 ©CI.A68i86l DEDICATION To the dear friends, whose belief in me, and my work, has ever been an inspiration, and an incentive to greater and better effort; whose friendship, tried and true, has been like a strong anchor, amid the storms of life; and whose many deeds of thoughtful kindness have blossomed along my pathway like rare and beautiful flowers, making brighter the dark places, and filling them with the fragrance of love and sympathy, this little volume is affectionately dedicated. THE AUTHOR, Myrtie a. Aldrich FOREWORD It is a real pleasure to introduce to a wider circle of readers and admirers the choice col- lection of poems by Miss Myrtie A. Aldrich that are contained in this little volume. Handicapped by the loss of her eyesight in her early childhood by a fall while at play, for nearly fifty years she has overcome all obstacles and exhibited a rare spirit of optimism in a life of ceaseless activity. She has always lived with her mother in the home in West Burke, Vt., where she was born June 28, 1872. The record of her life commands the ad- miration of all her friends. After a common school education she entered in 1884 the Perkins Institute at South Boston, where she remained seven years. While there she became acquainted with Laura Bridgemaii and Helen Keller, as well as a noted coterie of Boston literati, including Julia Ward Howe, Edward Everett Hale and Hezekiah Butterworth. She also had the oppor- tunity of hearing all the famous musicians of the day and enjoying the finest concerts given at that time in Boston. Entering Montpelier Sem- inary as a junior in 1893 she was graduated with first honors in 1895, also winning the second prize in the senior prize-speaking contest. For the next ten years she gave dramatic recitals through northern New England and Canada. Since 19C5 she has been the day operator of the West Burke telephone exchange, doing her work with won- derful accuracy and promptness. Miss Aldrich began writing poetry when 18 years old, her poems having appeared in the Si. Nicholas, the Zeigler Magazine for the Blind, Boston dailies and many Vermont papers. Her greeting-card sentiments have also a wide repu- tation. ARTHUR F. STONE. St. Johnsbury, Vt. July 10, 1922. CONTENTS Vermont 15 My Waking Garden 17 A Call to Spring 18 A Brave Young Lover 20 The Coquette 21 An April Day 22 Spring O' the Year 22 I Want to Play with Spring 23 Longing 24 May 25 Lilacs 26 When Summer Wedded Spring 28 Children of the Wood 29 Nature's Call 30 God's Gardens 31 The Voice of the Forest 32 The Heart of Youth 34 The Season's Queen 35 A Mid-Summer Fete 36 God's Gift 38 A Summer Day 39 Maiden-Hair Ferns 40 Beauty 42 Dreaming 44 A Sunbeam, a Song, and a Smile 45 Twilight on Lake Willoughby 46 A Picture 47 The Last Song 48 A Day in Late October 50 The Song of the Wind 52 Patience 53 Twilight 53 Welcome Old Winter 54 Crows in Winter 55 The Love of Country First 56 Peace on Earth Again 58 The Stay-at-Home 60 Back Home 62 October Reflections 63 To-Morrow 64 Behind and Before 65 Broken Promises 66 Mine to Keep 67 God Knows the Way 68 My Garden 68 Friendship 69 Wayside Lights •. 70 Questionings 71 The Better Way 72 A Cure 73 An Old Man's Complaint 74 Tenderness 77 An Invitation 78 An Ideal Home 80 My Resolve 81 Contentment 82 My Quiet Valley 84 The Reason Why 86 Little Voices 88 Stepping-Stones to Happiness 90 Alone at Night 91 At the Close of Day 92 Two Points of View 94 Glimpses 95 A Thought of Me 96 If I Should Die Before I Wake 97 If We Could Know 98 Hope 100 Weaving 101 Whither 102 Our Friend 103 Encouragement ^ 104 Mother's Eventide 105 When I Grow Old 106 When the Joy Bells Ring 107 The Lamp of Contentment 108 A Message of Peace 110 Kchoes From ine Green xiiUs VERMONT We love her when her mountain peaks Are crowned with sparkling snow, When mighty rushing winter winds Down through her valleys blow. And when the gleaming ice is thick On lake and pond and stream; When all her fields are white and still, And all her forests dream. We love her when the days grow long, And Mother Nature lifts The blanket from the sleeping earth, And melts the wayside drifts. When brooks and rills laugh out for joy, And bluebirds softly call, Then, old Vermont grows young again, And has a smile for all. We love her when the barefoot boy, Brings berries to our door; When buttercups with daisies dance. Upon the earth's green floor; And newmown hay pervades the air, — What more could mortal want Than just to wander o'er the hills And fields of fair Vermont. 15 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS We love her when the year grows old, And harvest time is near, When ripened grain, and apples red. And goldenrod appear. When through the purple haze, we see Rich colors softly glow. And spicy odors from the woods Like dreams, drift to and fro. Fair land of mountains, lakes and streams. Of vales and hills of green. Of men and women, brave and true As e'er the world has seen; We love her for her history. The deeds, that made her great; For all her beauty, and her charm, Our dear Green Mountain State. 16 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS MY WAKING GARDEN All winter long my garden has been dead, No blade of grass, no leaf on bush or tree; But now, a song of life to earth hath sped. And lo! spring brings my garden back to me. Out there, a cosy nest the blue-birds build, While crocuses are climbing toward the light; The robin's breast with rapture sweet is thrilled, And Flora weaves new petals, soft and bright. A pansy woke this morning with a smile, The daffodils are breaking through the sod; The flower folk, in just a littie while, Will offer up their hymn of praise to God. The bobolinks and orioles will come, And lilacs will be blooming down the lane; The honeysuckle bush with bees will hum, And I shall have my garden back again! 17 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A CALL TO SPRING The brooks are bound with icy chains, The fields are wrapped in blankets white, The roots and buds are fast asleep, O yes, it's winter still, all right. I've looked for Spring for days and days, In skies above, on earth below; But all I felt, was bitter wind. And all I saw, was ice, and snow. Tve listened for the robin's song. It's time that he was here, you know; But what I heard, was not his voice, And what 1 saw, was just a crow. Spring is a lassie shy, we know, A beauty-loving little maid. Perhaps, the world is so mixed up. She's worried and a bit afraid. Some places where she strews her flowers Are scenes of carnage, and of strife; To see the change would sadden her. She loves to give, not squander life. 18 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS So, maybe, that's the reason why The winds are cold, the streams are dumb, Dear Spring, we know just how you feel, But you must face the thing, so come! We need your laughter and your smiles, Your bird songs, and your warmth and light; The world is cold, and dark with pain. Come, Spring! and make all places bright — 19 A BRAVE YOUNG LOVER A brave young lover went wooing one day, In a suit of sober brown. With a crimson vest, And a tiny crest Of feathers, as soft as down. .i 4iijj^^ He went from a country blooming and fair, To a land where snow drifts lay; Nothing green was there, All the trees were bare, And the Spring seemed far away. But the hopeful young lover's heart was light, He cared naught for ice and snow; His glad tender voice ^\/ Made seedlings rejoice, And the buds began to grow. And then, bye and bye, all the snow was gone, t Nature spread her carpets green; \ [Shy violets blue, 1 Cherry blossoms too, » Smiled up at the sky serene. 20 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS And the happy young lover's heart was glad. As he trilled the earth above; For the blossoms bright Heard with deep delight His sweet yearning notes of love. And he sang for joy, for sure was he, As he flew from limb to limb. All that fresh sweet bloom ] Had burst from its tomb Just to greet, and welcome him. THE COQUETTE Twas April, yet Spring seemed far away, And the hand of Winter chill Held fast the keys that locked the brooks, And somber skies with sullen looks Hung low o'er field and hill. Twas April, the air was soft and mild. And the sky was blue above; The robins piped, '"Tis Spring, 'tis Spring!" And all the world with joy did sing The old sweet song of love. 21 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS AN APRIL DAY Young Spring is lost among the drifts, The fierce North Wind has driv'n her out; The song-birds shiver in the trees, And wonder what it's all about. Old Winter laughs a hollow laugh, That clogs the brooks, and chills the sap, And all the flowers change their minds And cuddle for another nap. SPRING 0' THE YEAR Pussy willers noddin' on the bough, Brooks an' breezes laughin' sweet and clear; Green things soon will be a-sproutin' now, Don't yer heart grow warm this time o' year? Ice an' snow a meltin' all around, Robins comin' back to build an' sing, April spillin' flowers on the ground. Hearts a growin' young, because it's Spring. 22 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS I WANT TO PLAY WITH SPRING When Spring comes smiling down the road, I'll go to meet her, you just bet; I'll help her through the last big drifts, And keep her feet from getting wet. I'll ask her please to show me where The first arbutus may be found; And where the velvet mosses be. That make green carpets on the ground. Together, we will find the place Where pussy-willows always grow; And she will show me baby ferns, That have been sleeping 'neath the snow. I'll take her to the crocus bed, That's waiting to be kissed to life, And ask her, when she's going to send For Mr. Robin and his wife. The winds and brooks will join to make Glad music, for our dancing feet; We'll smell the breath of growing things. And hear new bird notes, soft and sweet. 23 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS We'll play together all day long, For she is young you see, like me; And loves to dance, and laugh, and sing. And make folks happy as can be. So, when 1 think it's time for her, I'll watch, and listen, till quite clear I hear her calling me to come, — And then, I'll run, — and bring her here! LONGING to be out 'neath the soft Spring sky, To be free, to welcome each happy new-comer! O just to hear blithesome winds go by. Singing of joy, and love, and Summer! to recline by a laughing stream, To drink in the fragrance of blossoms un- numbered ! O just to lie mid green things, and dream, Close to the heart where Spring has slumbered! 24 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS MAY I found her in a woodsy dell Asleep, upon a mossy bed, Anemones were keeping watch, And sunbeams played about her head. Her hands were full of violets. As blue and tender as the skies; Her dress of green was 'broidered o'er With daffodils and butterflies. Beside her was a crystal vase, A thing of beauty, frail and rare, Brim full of perfumes of the Spring That rose like incense on the air. A bobolink, upon a bough Awoke her, in his own glad way; And then I knew I'd guessed aright. The lovely maiden's name was May. 25 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS LILACS Sweet and clear the dewy morning, Glad with songs of many birds, Chirping, flitting, 'mong the treetops, Trilling forth their strange sweet words. Down the garden path I wandered. Past the pansies, just awake; And I saw the sunbeams coming, Each his morning kiss to take. Then, I caught a subtle fragrance. And I whispered "Can it be? Have the dear old lilacs blossomed. Are they calling now, to me?" O'er the short wet grass I hastened. In the sunshines's golden light; Past the daffodils and tulips. And the waxen lilies white; Till I reached the western corner. Where in childhood days I played. And lo! there among the green leaves Plumes of white and purple swayed. 26 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS That was long ago, dear lilacs. But your perfume on the air Calls to mind that far-off morning. In that quaint old garden fair. O the memories you waken, O the thoughts that throng my brain When you call to me, dear lilacs. When I see your plumes again! 27 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WHEN SUMMER WEDDED SPRING Spring and Summer had a wedding, On a bright and sunny day; And the dainty winsome bridesmaids Were the sisters, June and May. Parson Jack stood in his pulpit. Orange clad, and quite unique; And they say, performed the service. Though I never heard him speak. Choirs of birds made wondrous music. All the brooks and streams were there; And the year brought choicest blossoms, Which were scattered everywhere. How the trees their new gowns rustled, Feeling strangely young, and gay! Just the four Winds were the ushers, Nature gave the bride away. And the whole affair was perfect. As all weddings ought to be; And the fragrance of the flowers Still comes back in dreams to me. When the Winter snows are falling. And the cold winds bite and sting; I shall think of that glad morning, When young Summer wedded Spring. 28 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS CHILDREN OF THE WOOD In the warm damp places, Sheltered by the trees. Kissed by wandering sunbeams, Fanned by every breeze, Live the sweet wood children,. With the birds that sing, Weaving soft bright carpets For the feet of Spring, Some are gay and friendly, When we chance to meet. Others, shy and modest. Breathing perfume sweet; Some are bright and graceful. Touched with beauty rare. Some are dressed like Quakers, All are wondrous fair. Happy little blossoms. When the warm rains fall, Waking from their slumbers At the bluebird's call; Lifting dainty faces - To the sun, and dew; Little wild-wood children. We thank God for you. 29 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS NATURE'S CALL When it's cherry-blossom time, And I hear the liquid chime That the bobolink hides somewhere 'neath his wings, Something stirs within my heart, Bidding care and age depart. And the youth that will not die, within me sings. When the leaves are young and new, And the sky is May's own blue. And the oriole is piping silver-clear; I would love to lie and dream, By some little dancing stream. With unfolding ferns and mosses growing near. When the waxen lilies white Fill my senses with delight, And the fragrant purple lilacs nod and sway; When a thousand odors blent. From God's wide-spread gardens sent, Make each breath a sudden joy, through all the day. Then my spirit soars and sings, Hope revives, and spreads its wings, And 1 long to be a Gypsy, glad and free; Just to spend those golden hours Out among the birds and flowers. Where the woods, and fields and meadows talk to me. .30 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS GOD'S GARDENS I love the man-made gardens, Where all in rows and beds The jonquils and the tulips In Spring lift up their heads. Where golden-hearted lilies. And pansies, fresh and fair, And mignonette, and roses, Breathe perfume every where. Where sweet-peas dance to music Of birds, and winds, and streams; And drowsy silken poppies Fill all the air with dreams. But when young Spring is calling, I needs must wander far; Through budding woods, and meadows, Where Nature's gardens are. To feel the fragrant silence Beneath the forest trees. See blossom-sprinkled hillsides. And mossy banks, and leas Where violets nod, and beckon, And cowslips star the sod, They weave a spell about me. These gardens, made by God! 31 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE VOICE OF THE FOREST Away to the cool dim forest I wandered, one bright spring day, And I heard the brooks laugh gaily, Glad again to be at play. Above me the sky was cloudless. All the air was fresh and sweet; And mosses and dainty blossoms Made a carpet for my feet. Up among the tender leaflets That rustled and danced with glee, I could see the saucy squirrels Peeping slyly down at me. And 1 heard sweet bits of love songs. From the busy feathered band. Who are building pretty nest homes, In the trees, on every hand. Then I found a rare white blossom, So wondrously sweet and fair, Methought the hand of an angel Must have blessed, and placed it there. 32 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS And I said "Why should such beauty In the shadows hidden be? Where none save the birds and breezes, And the twinkling stars can see?" Then, a voice from out the branches That nodded above my head, A voice like a chord of music, Called to me, and softly said, "In the world's most wretched places, Where sorrow and sin abound, The greatest souls, and the purest hearts Again and again are found. The harmonies, grand and tender, That linger, and thrill the heart, Sang first in the souls of masters. Who were poor, save for their art." And so, mid the forest shadows, Doth blossom this flower fair. And the world is richer, sweeter, Because God hath placed it there. 33 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE HEART OF YOUTH Tis a dew-splashed, sun-kissed garden, Where sweet wild fancies play; Where happy dreams, And laughter streams. Make music all the day. There the tree of aspiration Is fair, and straight, and tall. And love's red rose In beauty grows Beside the garden wall. There are long sweet thoughts that whisper Mid blossoms fresh and fair; And tender things With shining wings, Sing softly, here, and there. There are birds of hope and courage. Of faith, and joy and truth; And where they sing Tis always Spring, They make the heart of youth. 34 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE SEASONS QUEEN Fair Summer, with thy blossom-dotted fields, And cool green aisles, where many perfumes blend in fragrance sweet; And all thy dewy dawnings, when the birds In chorus join, and soft and clear their morning prayers repeat. Bright Summer, when the sweetest roses bloom, And beauty sleeps in every blade of grass and common flower; When, just to be alive, and feel it all, Doth lift us toward the good, the grand, the true, each glad, sweet hour. Sweet Summer, with thy dancing swaying leaves, That clothe the forest, and the wayside trees in robes of green; With all thy mirth, and happy, joyous sounds. Thou art methinks, of all the seasons, fittest to be queen. 35 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A MID-SUMMER FETE The fairies had a party One night, and all the stars Sent down a shower of twinkles, Except the lordly Mars Who gave a shining sword of light, The elfin king to wear; And Venus sent a jewel bright To deck the queen's fair hair. Their ball-room was a flower. That's known as Queen Anne's lace. As dainty, and as lovely As any palace place. It swayed with every passing breeze. Sweet perfumes filled the air; And sleepy birds high in the trees Chirped softly, here and there. The wee folk danced to music From meadow lily bells, And drank sweet draughts of nectar From tiny dewdrop wells. To usher in belated guests The insects clashed their gongs And, in the grass, the Summer winds Sang tender whisper songs. 36 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS At last, when they grew weary Of their gay fancy ball, The flower made a cradle. With room enough for all The tiny elves to nestle close, Among its laces white. And then, old Mother Moon smiled down, And kissed them all, good-night. 37 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS GOD'S GIFT God made a chain of perfect days, And gave it to young June to wear; She took it with a joyous smile. And thanked Him, with a silent prayer Of beauty, and of fragrance rare. God trained a choir of happy birds To sing for June their sweetest lays. She listened, with her face alight. And thanked Him in a hundred ways For all those wondrous songs of praise. God gives to us His lovely June, And bids us seek her friendship rare. We take the gift, but do we heed The songs of praise that fill the air? And understand her silent prayer? 38 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A SUMMER DAY I love the breath of every rose that Summer brings. The clover's perfume, and the hum of bees; The rippling sound of every little brook that sings. The whisper of the winds among the trees. I love the dewy mornings, radiant and sweet, When joy pervades the very air we breathe; The calm of noontide, with its drowsiness and heat, The tender twilight, when strange fancies wreathe Themselves about me, like the ghosts of by-gone flowers. And I walk softly down the path of years; Past golden da>'s of youth, and happy care-free hours, With here and there, a shadowed pool of tears. And, when the Summer moon is queen of earth and sky, And starry lamps shine softly in the blue, My thoughts like homing birds, take wing, and swiftly fly Across the night, across the years, to you. 39 m God writes His poems for us to read, Upon the leaves of Nature's book; Sometimes it is a common weed, Sometimes a little hillside brook. Sometimes a field of daisies white, And then, a wonder of a tree; Sometimes a bird, with plumage bright, Sometimes a stretch of sun-kissed sea. Along a quiet country way 1 found a spot of beauty rare; A place where cool dim shadows lay, A bank of dainty maiden-hair. The wood nymphs might have fashioned them, Those fragile things of tender green; Each feathered frond, each slender stem, The fairest I had ever seen. 40 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS They seemed like dream things waiting there, For those to see, who passed them by; Sweet bits of beauty fresh and fair, Beneath the peaceful August sky. And when cold Winter locks the streams. And summer-time seems far away; Again I'll see them in my dreams, Those fairy ferns, I saw that day. 41 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS BEAUTY In the fair blue sky she dwelleth, From the rosy blushing dawn Till the sun in glory fadeth, And the glad bright day is gone. From the flowers' little faces, And the grasses on the leas; From the plumage of the wild birds, And the green-clad forest trees, Beauty smiles a happy greeting To the thoughtful passer-by Who doth feel her gentle presence, And doth know when she is nigh. In the twilight calm she lingers. Like a strain of music sweet; Touching hearts with magic fingers, Moving swift, with noiseless feet. And, when evening shadows gather, She is still a royal queen; Clad in robes of tender moonlight, Glist'ning with a starry sheen. 42 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS Beauty lives in human faces, In a look, a word, a deed; In a smile that giveth sunshine, Hope, and cheer, where there is need. But, methinks, mayhap to angels In that country bright above. That the highest form of beauty Is earth's sweetest blossom, love. 43 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS DREAMING I wandered away into dreamland, Just as twilight softly fell, And over the fields where the daisies slept Came stealing the voice of a lone church bell. I could hear faint, and far, the lullaby songs The mother birds sang to their young; And the breezes call To the waterfall, As they wandered the trees among. And 1 thought of the life that might have been. As the moonbeams spun their gold; And God in the infinite realms above His star-spangled curtain of light unrolled. I could hear sweet, and low, the dear words of love That someone once whispered to me; Then, the night was o'er, It was morn once more. And my dreams floated out to sea. 44 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A SUNBEAM, A SONG, AND A SMILE I woke to find a sunbeam bright Within my quiet room, Twas but a bit of golden light, But it dispelled the gloom. Twas just a bird song, clear and sweet, That fell upon my ear; Yet, all my soul went out to meet That sound, to me so dear. Twas but a sunny, gladsome smile, That greeted me that day; Yet, I was happy, for a while, Because it glanced my way. 45 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS TWILIGHT ON LAKE WILLOUGHBY The sky was blue as Summer skies can be, The lake, a fair child dreaming, lay asleep. It pictured in its mirror, rock and tree. And showed us secrets, hidden in the deep. We heard the thrushes call from shore to shore. Their notes like vesper bells rang all about; And, in the west, gray Twilight held the door, While that fair Summer Day passed slowly out. We breathed the mountain air with keen delight. Fresh from the spicy woods, and heights untrod; We watched the afterglow grow soft and bright. And breathed a wordless prayer of thanks to God. 46 ULl < ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A PICTURE Just a hazy, lazy day, Warmth and beauty everywhere. Sun-kissed apples 'neath the trees, Spicy odors in the air. Bird folk bidding us good-bye. Till they come again next year; Insects humming drowsily, Waters lying calm and clear. Gold and crimson streamers hung From dame Nature's leafy walls; Tender, brooding silences. In the dim, cool forest halls. Scarlet berries, glowing bright. Milkweed all in white array; One fair page from Nature's book, Just a picture of a day. 47 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE LAST SONG I stood alone beside a bubbling spring, And watched the glory That like some rich eastern robe About September's regal form did cling. The woods were all aglow with colors bright, And there, around me Goldenrod and asters lent Their sweet fresh beauty to the lovely sight. The air was mild, and full of spicy smells. That with the breezes Wandered to and fro, and found At last a resting place, in quiet dells. The brooks that laughed and sang in June were still, Cloudless was the sky. And blue as violet's eyes. That ope in May, beside the dancing rill. The sun-steeped orchards seemed to me asleep. So still and peaceful Lay they in the mellow light That hovered o'er them, with a splendor deep. 48 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS The ripened fruit among the green leaves hung All gold and crimson, While from clinging vines the grapes In luscious purple clusters lightly swung. And 'neath the trees, where warm the sunshine lay. Great heaps of apples Waited for the children dear, Who, to and fro, from school would pass that way. At length, a sound the happy silence broke, First soft, then louder. Clear and sweet, it rose a song That in my heart strange tender memories woke. Dear bird, who, ere he to the southland flew Sang one last sweet song. That through all the quiet wood Lingered in after days, as perfumes do. So may it be, when summer-time is o'er. And at my gateway Autumn stands, may all be like That calm September day, I ask no more. And may I leave a blessing and a smile When I go yonder, That will make some few hearts glad That I have lived, and worked, a little while. 49 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A DAY IN LATE OCTOBER The wind in some far valley slept that day, The earth was bathed in floods of yellow light; The spicy air was soft, and warm as May, And Silence 'neath the tree sat, robed in white. The Summer tempests then were all forgot, And dreary days, when clouds and rain held sway, I only saw the marvel they had wrought. That wonder of the year, that golden day. A tender, brooding spirit seemed abroad. That whispered low of rest, and sweet repose, Methinks it may have been the peace of God, That through the world like fragrance comes, and goes. 'Twas not like June, when all the world was new. When hope is young, and Love is strong and bold; I saw the signs of many storms passed through, 'Twas like the face of age, that's not grown old. 50 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A face where Sorrow's hand has left its seal, And yet, with lips that smile, and eyes that shine With that clear light, that ever doth reveal The soul within, that spark of life divine. And so that day, though void of Springtime's charm. Was full of quiet gladness, and content; And gave to all alike its strange sweet calm, Twas Nature's benediction, ere she went To join the silent white-veiled-sisterhood. Who dwell apart, within the convents dim. That Winter builds in every quiet wood. And sometimes on the hilltops, cold and grim. peaceful hours amid life's joy and pain. Thy memory will live within my breast; golden day, that ne'er can come again. Thou wert to me a dream of perfect rest. 51 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE SONG OF THE WIND Over the fields and woods I go, Tossing in drifts the glist'ning snow, Making the naked branches groan. And the sombre pines to sigh and moan, As I rock them to and fro. Over the fields and woods I fly. Blossoming trees and hedges by. Tiny new leaflets dance and play. And bright happy voices seem to say, "O that Spring would last for aye!" Over the fields and woods I glide. Rustling corn and wheat beside; Over the dusted heated street. Into the bowers fragrant and sweet. Where the shy wild blossoms hide. Over the fields and the woods I roam. When birds have sought their southern home; When dead leaves on the damp earth lie. And tear drops fall from the dull gray sky. And Autumn's sad days have come. 52 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS PATIENCE When pain makes dark and dreary What before was bright, When brain and heart are weary, And hope is out of sight; When Sorrow, pale and sad-eyed. Doth take thee by the hand. And lead thee through the shadows Toward some dim, untried land; Look outward, and not inward, Look upward and not down; Be patient 'neath thy burden, His cross shall win thy crown. TWILIGHT Beyond the golden rim of day She came, a lady all in grey. With tender eyes, alight with dreams, And hair, that held stray sunset gleams. Her voice was music in my ears, Her smile was strangely mixed with tears; And round her, floated on the breeze The fragrance of old memories. 53 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WELCOME OLD WINTER There are no song-birds left in the woodland bowers, No blossoms in meadow or lea; No delicate perfumes afloat on the breezes, No laughter of brooks, glad and free. The fair gentle Spring and the beautiful Summer Have told their sweet story once more; Sad Autumn is waning, the North wind is sighing, And old Winter knocks at the door. Let's give him a welcome, the jolly old traveler. Who comes with a rush and a roar; With jingle of sleighbells, and bright hints of Christmas, Come children, let's fling wide the door! 54 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS CROWS IN WINTER When your corn is nicely planted In the mellow, fertile ground. You don't feel exactly friendly To the crows, when they come round With their everlasting chatter. And their appetite for corn; Then, they seem to you a nuisance. And you wish they'd not been born. But, when Winter spreads his blankets Over valley, field and hill, When the wild birds' nests are empty, And their happy songs are still; On some bright and sunny morning. When the ice begins to thaw. If you chance to hear from somewhere A familiar, friendly, "Caw!" You will feel a thrill of gladness. And your heart will leap, and sing; And you'll shout, "A crow, d'you hear him? Say, now don't that sound like Spring?" 55 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE LOVE OF COUNTRY FIRST In this hour of stress and strain When the soul, and heart, and brain Reel and stagger, while we wait, Trembling, for the nation's fate; When we cannot see the way Growing rougher day by day, And our land by war is cursed, — Keep the love of country first. Set aside all selfish aims. Treasure in your hearts the names Of the men who bled and died For this land, "the pilgrims' pride,'* In the ranks your places take. Fight, for blessed freedom's sake. And, though foes may do their worst, — Keep the love of country first. Give no place to hate or greed, Serve your nation in her need, Patriotism is the word. Let its voice be often heard; Answer quickly, to its call. There is work enough for all. Do not wait to be coerced, — Keep the love of country first. 56 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS God is on the side of right, Though our feeble human sight Cannot penetrate the gloom Woven by yon skillful loom, Manned by jealousy and hate; We must trust, and work, and wait, Hoping we have seen the worst, — Keeping love of country first. Oh, be loyal, brave and true. Come what may, your duty do. Look beyond these trying years With their heartbreak, and their tears, To the time when wars shall cease. And the world will be at peace. See glad freedom's fetters burst Keep the love of country first. April, 1917. 57 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS PEACE ON EARTH AGAIN I hear the tramp of marching feet, I see the strong, the brave, the true; Who "over there" across the seas, Are fighting for the right, and you. For liberty and all the world. For freedom's reign in every land; And, while they strive, let us at home Be quick to lend a helping hand. I hear the bugle call to arms. From training camps, both far and near. Where mothers' boys, and fathers' sons And lovers true, and husbands dear, Are learning all the art of war, That they may speed the happy day When men shall lay their weapons down, And fmd another, better way. I hear the groans of wounded men, I see their faces, stern and white; I hear the prayers of those at home, O God, where is thy hand of might? Have we not had enough of war? Wilt thou not strike a final blow? Have we not learned a lesson yet. That thou wouldst have thy children know? 58 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS I see the dawning of the day For which we all have prayed so long; And, in the distance I can hear The notes of love's triumphant song. O purge the world of hate and greed, And guide the wayward feet of men; Write thou thy law upon our hearts, And give us peace on earth, again. November, 1917. 59 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE STAY-AT-HOME He wanted to go with the colors, To fight for the red, white, and blue; He wanted to join the great army Of boys, who were loyal and true. He longed to avenge little children. With others, he wanted his chance To fight for the right, and his country, A soldier lad, somewhere in France. He wanted to strive for new freedom. To answer his country's clear call ; But, doctors said, he couldn't stand it. That there, he'd be no use at all. So, folding his dreams in the colors. He laid them away, on the shelf; And said, "I will work for my country, I'll do all I can by myself." The duty he did, that was nearest. Put into the work his best skill; He scattered good cheer, hope and courage, And managed some grumbles to still. 60 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS None praised him, or called him a hero; Few saw what his life really meant; He just stayed at home with the colors, And sowed the good seed of content. But someday his name will be mentioned, As one who stood bravely the test; For those who stayed home with the colors, Were soldiers, as well as the rest. 61 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS BACK HOME Back in the woods, where the clear brooks run, Flowers are blossoming, one by one, All is as fair as it used to be, — Canst see, soldier laddie, across the sea. Across the sea? Back in the fields, where the daisies grow. Clover-bloom fragrance the soft winds blow. Voices sweet call to me, and to thee; Canst hear, soldier laddie, across the sea. Across the sea? Back in the home, where the love-fires burn. Back in the place, where the fond hearts yearn. Mother is there and she prays for thee. Dost know, soldier laddie, across the sea. Across the sea? March, 1918. 62 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS OCTOBER REFLECTIONS Slowly, sadly, the leaves are falling Over the graves of the sleeping flowers; Softly, sweetly, the birds are calling, From their retreats in the woodland bowers. Warm and tender, the great sun lingers, Bathing the earth in his golden light; Swiftly changing with magic fingers Sober green robes into garments bright. Sobbing, sighing, the North wind rushes Over the pasturelands, brown and bare; Nature to sleep her children hushes. Covering each with a mother's care. 63 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS TO-MORROW The world looks toward America, And wonders what she's going to do, If she will prove herself to be A land of people brave and free, A nation great, and strong, and true. Will she up-root the poison weeds From out her garden sweet and fair, And in their place plant love and truth. And keep them ever growing there? God looks upon America, And wonders why she does not wake; Why, after all the weary years, The sacrifice, the bitter tears. The struggle, and the long heartache; She does not cast her fetters off. And rise, to meet the great new day, That reaches eager arms to her, And bids her haste, and not delay. God wants, we want America To lift and keep her standards high; To strive each day for better things, To soar each year on stronger wings. To work, and hope, and pray, and try To be the land for which they died. Who gave their future, and are gone; That we, who stayed at home in peace, Might live to see To-morrow dawn. 64 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS BEHIND AND BEFORE Behind, are the lights that now burn dim. The dreams that have not come true; The shattered hopes, and the wasted days, The things that we meant to do. Before, is the chance to try again, The gleam of a clear bright star; That shines alway, though the night be dark, And points where the best things are. Behind, is the shock and pain of war. The roar, and the din of strife; The bitter tears, and the broken hearts, The cost, and the toll of life. Before, is the dawn of brotherhood. The time when all wars shall cease; When men at last will have climbed the hill That leads to the realm of peace. 65 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS BROKEN PROMISES The morning may break resplendent But a cloud of sombre grey May quite hide the sky From the human eye, • And darken the whole glad day. There may be a bud of beauty, That somebody tends with care; But a gale at night May ruin it quite. And end all its promise fair. There may be a young life given, A face, with a winsome smile; But the voice so sweet. And the tiny feet. May grow silent, ere a while. And I said, "Why these beginnings, That can never have an end? Who will pay the cost Of the beauty lost. And the broken hopes will mend?" "No beauty is ever wasted," Came the answer clear and strong; "All the broken bits The master refits. Till the whole becomes a song." 66 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS MINE TO KEEP Mine to keep, within my memory's halls, The music of the robin, as he sings in May; The low, sweet murmur of the waterfalls, As o'er the rocks and pebbles joyously they play. Mine to keep, the perfume of the flowers, The glory of the fields, and distant wooded hills; The sweet wild beauty of the forest bowers. The blithesome happy laugh of dancing sun- kissed rills. Mine to keep, the wondrous blue of sky, The gold and crimson of the clouds, ere twi- light falls; The gleam of sails, that out at sea float by. The birds, that make the air resound with low, sweet calls. Mine to keep, the springtime in my heart, When age, like winter, comes, with ice and drifting snow; The blossoms fair of faith, and love and hope, That I the needy world may bless, where'er I go. 67 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS GOD KNOWS THE WAY Why look upon the darker side of life? Why seek for clouds, or watch for storm ? Why go to meet thy troubles, why fear strife? Why anxious be, lest harm should come To thee, or someone whom thy love holds dear? Learn how to live from day to day; One step, the hand that guides thee maketh clear. Canst thou not trust? God knows the way. MY GARDEN I have a beautiful garden, With many a treasure filled, Where the years make slow sweet music. And the rush of life is stilled. The winds of the past sweep o'er it. From the fields of long ago; And all through its beds and borders, The flowers of memory grow. 68 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS FRIENDSHIP There is a flower as pure and white as snow, That once in bloom, fades not through passing years ; But, cared for tenderly, will fairer grow, Till there are flowers few, men call its peers. This blossom yields a perfume sweet and rare, A fragrance, which surrounds the lives of those Who train this gift of God with loving care, As some fond gardener prunes a cherished rose. Within the human heart its roots are fed, The waters it most needs from kindness spring; The sunshine that it craves by love is shed, And hope and faith like birds about it sing. Its rich full beauty here we may not see, But friendship in the life beyond will perfect be. 69 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WAYSIDE LIGHTS Every little helps a little, Every sunbeam, every smile, Every common wayside flower, Growing by the fence or stile. Greets us with a breath of sweetness, And a beauty, all its own; We were made to help each other, Nothing lives for self alone. Every good deed is a sunbeam, Making someone's path more bright, Every little self-denial, Is a star in some dark night; Every bit of honest effort, Every cheerful service given, Lights a candle in some window On the road that leads to Heaven. 70 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS QUESTIONINGS What is there beyond life's smiling and weeping. Its sunshine and shadows, its joys and pain? What will it be like, that endless forever, When Time shall have ceased to reign? Is Heaven to be a beautiful city. Filled with a glory of wonderful light? Will there be a throne, a long shining river? And streets all golden and bright? Or, is it perhaps, but just a fair country. With mountains and valleys beside the sea, Where choirs of birds are constantly singing, And brooks are happy and free? Shall we be like those the masters have painted? Those angels, in shimmering robes of white. Shall we sing, and sing, adown through the ages? And will there be no more night? Think you, we shall know, and be known, out yonder. When the stars grow dim, and the dawn shines through? Think you, we shall love, and be loved, in Heaven? Ah me! if we only knew! 71 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE BETTER WAY Some people there are with a little load Of trouble, or care, or pain; Who fret every step of the weary road. And oft rebel and complain. They tell those they meet that life is unjust. And mourn o'er their dreary lot; They reach after bread, and get but the crust. Then sigh for what they have not. While others, whose loads are heavier far The future with courage face; They drop cheering words wherever they are, And bear with wonderful grace The prick of the thorns that grow by the way. The hardships they needs must meet; They think not of self, but try every day To smile, keep patient, and sweet. They find after all, that life's not so bad. For flowers bloom by the way; There are always things for which to be glad, No matter what some folks say. So let's trudge along, though the road be steep. And the sky be overcast; If we do our best, and a brave heart keep. We shall reach the goal at last. 72 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A CURE When things get all kinder criscross, And you're feelin' sorter blue; Jes get chummy with the sunshine. Let it warm you, through and through. When the world looks dark with trouble, And things seem to go all wrong; Take a mornin' walk, and listen To the wild birds' happy song. Get in tune with Mother Nature, She will straighten out the quirks; Then, go back, and do your duty, — Try it, and you'll fmd it works. 73 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS AN OLD MAN'S COMPLAINT When I was young, an' wanted fer To take a little ride, I jest hitched up the brown mare Bess, I bought uv Deacon Clyde. An' down the hill we'd jog along. On naught but pleasure bent; But when we reached a level stretch, — Geemimy! how we went! I'd kinder hold up on the lines, An' whistle, soft an* low; An' then, a flyin' through the town In fustrate style we'd go. Sometimes Janet was by my side, An' then, I'd drive more slow; There wan't no use a hurryin', In them old days, you know. We saw the sunset glory fade, An' die out, in the west, An' then, we watched the moon shine forth, An' that time we liked best. 'Twas all so still, and peaceful like, An' fair as fair could be; It seemed as if the world was made Fer jest Janet, an' me. 74 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS But now-a-days, when young folks ride. They needs must have a car, A noisy, hurly-burly thing. That travels fast, and far. It has a horn attachment too, That blows a fearsome blast. To warn slow folks to clear the way. While it goes whizzin' past. The songs uv birds, an' brooks, an' winds. Don't have no kinder show; But automobiles cover space, An' that's what counts, you know. They leave an awful smell behind. An' more'n a peck uv dust; But that can't stop the present age, Go autoin', it must. The dear old days uv loiterin' Are ancient hist'ry now. High pressure is the battle cry, Get there, no matter how. Each day, some take their last long ride, Their autos gone to smash; While others, crushed an' bleedin' lie. Beneath some sudden crash. 75 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS But still the pageant sweeps along, The thing is in the air; The automobile has the road, An' horse-flesh must beware. We slow old folks must step aside, An' let the things go by; We can't keep up with this ere gait. An' 'tain't no use to try. 76 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS TENDERNESS I've heard its voice in music sweet, IVe seen it in the twilight skies; I've felt it in a loved one's touch, I've seen it in a mother's eyes. I've heard it in a child's sweet voice, I've felt it in the summer breeze; I've seen it in the pansy's smile, I've heard it whisper in the trees. I've felt it in the sun's warm rays, I've seen it in the stars above; It breathes in all God's universe, The tenderness that's born of love. 77 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS AN INVITATION I have a little garden plot, Where happy fancies grow; Where voices greet me from the past, And faces come and go. Where fragments of forgotten days Bring back a word, a smile; And dear ones, who have wandered far. Seem near me, for a while. And there I spend a quiet hour Sometimes, when day is done; And watch the years go drifting by, And vanish, one by one. And, all alone with memory Find peace, and strange sweet rest; Then, wander safely back again. Refreshed, renewed, and blest. And I would have you share the joy I find within its walls. And see what I have planted there. And hear the soft footfalls 78 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS Of those who make my garden fair. And keep it fresh and sweet; So enter, friend, and spend an hour Of rest, in my retreat. Then you will see the olden days, The friends, that used to be; As hand in hand, you walk and talk Alone, with memory. 79 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS AN IDEAL HOME A place where sunny smiles and kind words thrive, Where patience blooms, and love holds gentle sway; Where sympathy is ever kept alive, And faith and trust keep watch from day to day. Where childish voices make glad music sweet. And in each room dear tender mem'ries throng; Where oft are heard the sounds of tiny feet. Of joyous laughter, and of happy song. It may be in a mansion grand and fair. Or, in a cottage, weather-stained and old; It matters not, the place, if love is there. For kindly deeds are dearer far than gold. So, let us build our habitations right. And bring to them our best, as on we roam ; Make each a sort of steady beacon light, A place to live and grow in, "home sweet home." 80 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS MY RESOLVE I must grow old, but I'm going to keep young. And smile while I can, and sing; Though snows of age o'er my head may be flung, I'll keep in my heart the spring. My feet may lag down the long western slope. But my soul shall be light, and free; I'll guide my steps by the beacon of hope, The torch that has beckoned me. Though years may bring to me shadows, or sun, My heart, it must not grow cold; And when, at last, all my journey is done. My soul shall be young, not old. 81 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS CONTENTMENT I take a sight o' comfort, Jes livin' day by day, And pickin' up the sunbeams I find along the way That leads from Childhood Valley To Old Age, by the sea ; And all along the journey There's joy enough for me. Somehow 1 never tire Of hearin' robins sing; And smellin' all the sweetness That comes along with Spring. I love the wildwood blossoms, The laughin' brooks, so free; And if I jes keep smilin'. There's joy enough for me. Of course there's broken bridges, And bits of sandy road; There's long and lonely marshes. By sorrow overflowed. But there are wildrose hedges, And green fields, fair to see; And if I jes keep hopin*. There's joy enough for me. 82 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS I like to meet a comrade, And stop, and talk awhile; To feel a friendly hand clasp. And catch a kindly smile. To sort o' sense the friendship And love, I cannot see; For they all make the journey A pleasant way for me. I love the quiet places, Where 1 may pause, to think, I love the cool sweet fountains Of life, where I may drink; But best of all, the knowledge, That where I cannot see, The Master of the Ages Will safely pilot me. 83 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS MY QUIET VALLEY There's a quiet little valley. Where no cold wind ever blows; Where the sunset and the sunrise Leave their tints of gold and rose. Where sometimes the rarest music Comes in strains divinely sweet; As 1 rest my weary spirit Where the soft gray shadows meet. It is hidden 'twixt the hilltops Of To-morrow and To-day, There my anxious thoughts untangle, And my troubles fade away. Gentle Faith stands at its portal. With her bright-faced sister, Hope; And the rich red flowers of courage Grow upon its western slope. Happy thoughts are ever present, Sometimes singing, sometimes still; And the air is always fragrant With the perfume of good will. 84 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS Very precious are the moments That I find to linger there. For a bit of quiet thinking, Or a softly murmured prayer; For they give me strength, and patience. For the path my feet must tread; And a smile, to meet the morning Of the day that's just ahead. 85 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS THE REASON WHY Somehow, in spite of all the things That go to make life fair, The music of the dancin' streams, The bird songs in the air; The sky, with all its changin' scenes, The sunshine, warm and bright; It's sometimes hard to balance up, And make the books look right. Some people hafter go afoot, While others, drive a team; Some drink skim milk from wooden bowls. And others, live on cream. Some eat the crusts and husks of life. And some, have cake, and pie. And mighty mixin' business 'tis To find the reason why. There's those who hear life's harmonies All full, and rich, and sweet; And those who listen to one tune Ground out with measured beat, Till heart and brain get on a strike. And things go sorter wrong; Jest 'cause they're got all tired out, A hearing that one song. 86 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS It's awful kinder puzzlin', And hard to cipher out Why things get tangled as they do. And criscrossed all about. Why those who have, should have still more. While others, have still less; Why some, should drink life's choicest wine. And some, its bitterness. Of course it's hard to understand, But 'tain't no use to doubt; I reckon God is on His throne. And knows what He's about. The universe's a big concern. Too much for you and me; But there is One, who knows the plan. And though we can't quite see Jest how it's all acomin' out. We each can do our part; Can keep a smilin' countenance, A song, within the heart. And some day, all the clouds will fade From out our troubled sky; And we shall look beyond the veil, — Shall know, the reason why. 87 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS LITTLE VOICES Happy little voices, hull ot childish glee; Shouting, laughing, singing. In the sunshine free. Joining in the chorus That the glad birds sing In the morning hours Of the fair young Spring. Cheery little voices. In the noon-tide calm; When the streams are chanting Low, their mid-day psalm. From about my door-way I can hear them call; Precious little voices, How 1 love them all! Sleepy little voices. When the sun has set; And with dewy kisses All the grass is wet. In the hush of evening, Asking for God's care; Floating up to Heaven, On the still night air. 88 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS Tis the sweetest music I shall ever hear, Trusting baby voices, Lisping words of prayer. Till in God's own country. By the crystal sea; Sweetly, white-robed angels Sing, to welcome me. 89 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS STEPPING-STONES TO HAPPINESS If you have a pleasure, share it. If you have a burden, bear it. If you have a smile, why, wear it. Or a grin; If you have a dream, pursue it, If you have a duty, do it. If you have a task, go to it. And you'll win. If the road seems rough in places. Beauty will have left its traces. And there'll be cool pleasant places, Rest to lend; Help your comrades to be whiter. Try to make some burden lighter. And the world a little brighter, — Be a friend. 90 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS ALONE AT NIGHT Bright stars, that shine so far above me, Are ye the lamps the angels bear. As o'er the darkened world of sleep They watch with tender loving care? Sweet dewy blossoms all about me. Are ye a part of Eden's bliss, Designed by God, to bless and brighten A world as full of tears as this? Oh, heart of mine, that knows the beauty Of earth, and sky, and pale moonlight; Be still, — and feel it all around thee, The strange, sweet mystery of night. 91 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS AT THE CLOSE OF DAY To a Patient Invalid Softly fall the evening shadows. Toward the west the sun doth creep; And the little birds are singing All earth's tired ones to sleep. Sweetly falls the clear sweet music On the quiet Summer air; And a hush broods over all things, As if nature were at prayer. Then the stars peep shyly earthward, While sweet dewy kisses fall On the blossom's upturned faces. And among the tree-tops tall. Moonbeams dance with swaying leaflets, While the cool wind softly sighs; And each tiny feathered songster To his happy home-nest flies. 92 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS So, when life's long day is ended. Softly may'st thou fall asleep; While the birds sing evening vespers. And the long gray shadows creep O'er the azure veil of Heaven, Shutting out the sunlit west; After years of pain and weakness, May'st thou find a grateful rest. 93 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS TWO POINTS OF VIEW "There's no use, I know I can't," Sighed a pessimistic ant, "Nothing counts that I can do, Can you wonder that I'm blue?" "You are out of tune, I see," Chirped a cheerful busy bee; "Try, and see what you can do. There's no sense in being blue. Just brace up, and come along, Listen to that robin's song Nothing changes his gay mood, And he does a world of good. Life is what we make of it, Whining doesn't help a bit. So cheer up, and do your part, You'll get there, but you must start. 94 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS GLIMPSES Tve seen it in the pansy's upturned face, In dew-drops bright, that gem the common sod; I've seen it in a young child's winsome grace, The radiant hope-giving smile of God. I've heard it in the ocean's rythmic song, On Summer morns, when Beauty walks abroad; In choirs of music, tender, sweet and strong, The wonderful, compelling voice of God. I may not know where God and Heaven are, I am content to live, and learn, and grow; Convinced that whether they be near, or far, It matters not, since some day, I shall know. 95 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A THOUGHT OF ME When the happy sunbeams wake thee, And the morning greets thine eyes, When the world seems full of music Floating up to God's blue skies; When the fresh winds fan the daisies, And bright dew drops gem the lea; When the little brooks are gladdest, Hast thou then, a thought of me? When the great Sun takes the fair Earth In his arms to hold and kiss, And the waters 'neath his glances Silent grow, for very bliss; When the little birds chirp softly, As they flit from tree to tree. In the splendor of the noon-tide. Hast thou then, a thought of me? When the moon is high in Heaven, And the starry lamps are lit, When the air is sweet with incense, And the night-moths slowly flit To and fro among the blossoms, What does evening say to thee? When the south winds woo the roses, Hast thou then, a thought of me? 96 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS "IF I SHOULD DIE BEFORE I WAKE" I'd like to feel my task well done, That 1 no word had spoken That might give pain to anyone, That I no law had broken. To know that 1 had done my best, Had made some pathway brighter; That I some heart had cheered and blessed, Had made some burden lighter. And then I'd lay me down to sleep. And would no trouble borrow; I'd "pray the Lord my soul to keep," And trust Him for to-morrow. 97 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS IF WE COULD KNOW If we could know the silent joy that thrills the earth When sleeping Nature feels the first warm kiss of Spring; If we could comprehend that wonderful new birth That causes buds to bloom, and happy birds to sing. If we could know the bitter tears that have been shed, If we could see the broken shattered dreams of youth; If we could hear the pleading prayers that have been said, If we could know how many search in vain, for truth. If we could trust mid clouds, that God would send the sun, And feel that what He sends, for us, is right and best; If we could tell which path to choose, and which to shun, If we could know the way that leads to peace, and rest. 98 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS If we could know the thoughts that dwell in other hearts, How much of weary pain and sorrow might be stayed ; If we, like God, could see the whole, and not its parts, How bright and glad for some souls might the world be made. 99 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS HOPE Deary, have thy toys been broken? Art thou weary of thy play? Has some quiet "no" been spoken, That has kept thee from thy way? Does to-day seem full of sadness, Canst thou not with trials cope? Morn will bring thee hours of gladness. Patient be, my child, and hope. Pilgrim, have thy hopes been shattered? Art thou weary of the strife? Have thy golden dreams been scattered, O'er the storm-tossed sea of life? Does to-day seem full of sorrow? Dost thou in thick darkness grope? After night will come to-morrow. Patient be till then, and hope. 100 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WEAVING We stand upon the river shore, And backward look, across the years; Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we grieve, Sometimes we smile, through mist of tears. For life is like a woven web. Of quiet gray, of dark and light; With strong rich threads of love and hope, To keep it firm, and make it bright. As one by one the years drift by. Each, with its warp and woof of life; Let us sort out the tangled skeins Of discord, discontent, and strife. And only use the better threads, That make our fabric fair and strong; Weave now and then a flower of hope. With here a smile, and there a song. 101 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WHITHER When life with all its varied scenes is at an end And toward the sanded shores of time my footsteps tend, When all that I have learned so well to love and know I leave behind, O, tell me, whither shall I go? Beyond this starlit veil of blue, what myst'ry lies? Is there a Heaven and place of rest, beyond the skies? Is there somewhere a God, whose great and mighty love Will some day draw all men to him above? Be still, heart of mine, and be at rest, The little bird sleeps peacefully within his nest, The flowers bud and bloom, and never question Why; They do their part the world to bless, and so will I, Trusting that He, who gives to each wild-bird his song. Who trims the stars' bright lamps through endless ages long, Vv ho guides the little rill, and rules the mighty sea, To some fair port at last will safely pilot me. 102 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS OUR FRIEND She lived her best, from day to day, Was ever faithful, ever true; Such cheering words she used to say. Kind deeds she loved to do. She scattered smiles where'er she went. Before her zeal great tasks grew small; In her rare qualities were blent. That made her dear to all. Our friend we never can forget. Within our hearts enshrined is she; Her presence lingers with us yet, A fragrant memory. 103 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS ENCOURAGEMENT Just around the corner There's another, brighter day; Joy is waiting for you. Up the hill, a little way. Clouds may lower above you. And some days it's sure to rain; But there will be a rainbow. And the sun will shine again. Just beyond to-morrow There's a dream that's coming true; Somewhere, in the future. There is work for you to do. Keep your faith untarnished. Do your best, from day to day. And you will find the rainbow, Just ahead, a little way. 104 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS MOTHER'S EVENTIDE She sits beside the quiet sea, And waits her turn to go; Around her, flowers of memory In fragrant beauty grow. With gentle dignity and grace She waits and watches there; The sunset light upon her face. And on her snow-white hair. The years have brought her toil, and care. Her share of good and ill; From each, she gathered riches rare. Her eventide to fill. And now, with loved ones ever near. With friends, and books, at hand; She dwells in peace, our pilgrim dear, Upon the border land. The twilight shadows gently fall, Sweet thoughts pervade the air; The birds of evening softly call, Frail moonbeams kiss her hair. And so, she sits beside the sea. Content to wait a while; Upon her face tranquillity. And in her eyes, a smile. 105 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WHEN I GROW OLD When I have gathered all the fresh sweet bloom of youth, And stand upon life's hilltop, looking back; When I have sounded deeps of clear unfettered truth, Have left some hopes, some dreams, along my track; May Peace her cloak of white about me fold. And Love hold fast my hand as I grow old. When down the western slope of time I take my way, And leaves of Autumn rustle 'neath my feet; May I recall with quiet joy life's glad young May, When dreams were real, and days were long, and sweet. Keep me O God, from growing hard and cold, For, Oh! I would be young, when I grow old. 106 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS WHEN THE JOY BELLS RING O fair white moon, when Christmas draweth near Bid all thy starry children bright to shine; Fill Heaven and earth with glory from on high, In honor of the Infant Child, Divine. O Winter wind, when angels chant above Of peace on earth, go gently on thy way; And whisper low the message far and wide, That Christ, the Lord, was born on Christmas day. O hearts of men, grow kind, and full of love. When carols sweet, the happy children sing. Forgive all wrongs, and make some brother glad, When o'er the land the Christmas joy bells ring. 107 THE LAMP OF CONTENTMENT As o'er the earth the Christmas peace is stealing, And on the air the glad sweet bells are pealing, I bring to thee a little gift of love, Which, if thou'lt guard with care, will ever prove A beacon bright, though dark and drear the day, A guiding star, upon life's rocky way. Like birds that come and go, are hours of pleasure. True happiness is rare, — a priceless treasure; But when thou'st learned to be content with life. To gather up its joys, to shun its strife, Thou wilt not murmur at what God may send. But smile, and trust, because He sees the end. When thou art wounded by the thorns of sorrow, When cares and trials wait thee on the morrow, This little lamp of thine will show to thee Hope's fragrant roses, though they hidden be By weeds of doubt and fear, and thou shalt know That all is well, because God wills it so. 108 ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS Along life's road are cool and pleasant places, Where linger Faith and Love, with all their graces; And there, soothed by their beauty, thou shalt rest, Content to know thy Father's way is best. And though that way thou canst not understand, Keep bravely on, thy beacon in thy hand. What though the way be long, and sometimes dreary. Though oft thy heart may faint, thy feet grow weary, Hold fast thy little light, and patient be, And soon the sun will shine again for thee. Hope thou in Him, who knoweth all thy needs, And be content to follow, where He leads. ECHOES FROM THE GREEN HILLS A MESSAGE OF PEACE Where is the peace of which the angels sang When that one guiding star shone clear and bright? Where is the joy that filled the shepherds' hearts, And made a strange white glory in the night? 'Tis scattered far and wide, throughout the world, And blossoms here and there, in hearts of men; Its fragrance sweetens life where'er it goes. And bids the bells of hope ring out again. The world is out of tune, but we can hear Great chords of harmon}^ amid the strife; And know, that soon or late, there will appear To us a vision of a better life. And so, upon this coming Christmas day. May those who know real peace their blessing share; And fling it broadcast, through the needy world, That it may grow and blossom everywhere. Until the deadly wrongs that shame our day. The selfishness, and greed, the lust for gain, Be over-ruled by Christian brotherhood. And God's own peace shall fill the earth again. December, 1919. 110 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 799 315 A ' ^^9il^ jwm^( \ :^f||ip|AVt:i Jtk 'M%'. '^^^Q^^^^^^^^^^^^^H kir:-^, > IM -^I^^^^H ^ ^^■^Mmim^KBiU ^'^ilMflip ^^^^^^nJAlr V A. 1 Bx - ' .. ^j^HBGLli'. 1 111. 1 «^m"' Shk

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Homely philosophy,

Alexander, Arthur Reed

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♦ O > '*. .A^^ 0^ ;V:" '" ':^o< o<^^_ ^ .0- ^o^ >i^-- nf>^ * X ° .''J' •\°' •^-t. % L- ,><; >--' * ■ft? ^ik • ^ -♦', .„■ .A' %^ ^^ 0^ ° '^- <?5 °^ ..<: ^ V ^^ *'..«* A ■\ • " aY ■J. •• • A ■ J I <*. 0^ '""''' "^ "^ ^0 "-^ ^,k''^' .•i^'.v .-^^ ,V '^i A' iiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiuMiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii^ I pjjilosiopfjp I = WRITTEN BY THE WAYSIDE I ?llililllllllilllililllillllllilllllllllllllliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiillllllllliir ontelp WRITTEN BY THE WAYSIDE ARTHUR REED ALEXANDER 1922 SEATTLE, WASHINGTON Copyrighted /^ Copyrighted ©CI.A677217 M / 9/922 PREFACE Original Bonmots. Epigrammatic Thoughts and What Nots As favors before, at and after dinner affairs, Both large and small. We make them to order, To fit them all. Whatever the occasion may be. Perhaps a man of renown is to visit your town, Is to sit at your board, and you wish to entertain him With apt little thoughts that he never has heard. Should he be a statesman, make him relax. Spring something new that won't overtax, Our bomb Bonmots, made to order, are much in favor. Oft save the day and then there's little to pay, By the dozen or score, two to one shots cost more. TOAST TO MISS SEATTLE I would drink to thine eyes with a good home brew. But not the kind you've been accustomed to. The kind that's meant is of different brand. And the heart that's true will understand. Whether in a miss or as man to man. So here's to the miss — and you. Of the many country scenes that I have wandered through Give me the foothills of the mountains, With their ever-changing views. Man has greater vision where azure skies are blue. WITH GLADIOLI Blended perfume from all the flowers. Lend themselves to my lady's bower. From Thanksgiving and Christmas down through Lent Meeting spring and summer with good intent, Are always welcome where e'er they're sent. Here in Seattle we live by the Sound, And the sight is grand the whole year round, Our report to the East Is but a faint echo of the real sound. And the views of mountains both east and west, Including Mount Rainier, which is the best. Come and settle down upon our shores. And you will wonder why you hadn't long before. Knew Hector when he was a pup, Scarce realizes he's grown up, Except when he dogs my steps. Let's strive to be frank. But engagingly so. That all in contact may know That we're deeply interested In human woe. THE WAYFARER In 1921 We are but travelers. Who are on our way. The road, at times, May be straight and narrow, Today and on the morrow. But with the signs upon the parallel ways He who hath God-given sight Need not go far astray. In 1922 The wayfarer again flares forth Broadcasted to nations. Food for thought is often lacking in metre. If you would continue to deliver the goods You must keep them attractive. IN TUNE WITH THE RADIO Oft in the dark and stillness of night Adjusting our Radio we soon are receiving delight From Music afar, And feel on good terms with Radio stars. UNAPPRECIATED HONORS Honors which the world confers Oft become empty things, Unworthy to be borne. If we upon being favored With our bit of parchment, Receive it with folded arms And cold and cynical sneer And turn our backs upon humanity, Forget them all. Then Why should not they, in turn, Turn our picture to the wall. FIRST CATCH THEM African explorers claim that gorillas Oft attain a weight of three hundred and sixty pounds. Such heavy weights, known to be unusually strong, Should be put to some useful heavy work, Like breaking stone or crushing bone. But not the human kind. What is man but a pigmy, Without that magnetic lifting power That takes him out of self And lifts him higher? Then with holy zeal He's filled with new desires. To help lift others like himself From out the mire. Amundsen plans to cap the Pole, Outfitted complete to reach the goal, Where it's minus much of heat But very cold. The plenty they'll have to eat Will banish cold and supply the heat. And Radio will furnish music. With Northern Lights for pastime, That, sparkling, flashing, bold and dashing Aurora Borealis. I would that we establish A new school of poetic fancy, Sticking closer to facts Less given to necromancy. SPEED GETS THEM Yes, it gets many a man on his goat, For it takes its toll and smites you Tooth and nail, neck and jowl. And leaves you cold, and The world looks on another victim. Oft the result of not tooting a horn. Dr. Brown was always a sleuth hound For getting dope when he looked around the town Between whiles he sharpened our teeth And bridged the gaps, and when we lost our nerve He stopped our 5'ap with a little semi-narcotic pap. Now that he is in the ma3'0ralty chair I now serve him notice I'll be there for a hearing. Haroun Ben Dey is at outs with his harem, He insists that they play The harp in the old-fashioned way, While they have in mind a different lay The up-to-date jazz of today. Upon going to press, they were still Wrangling and jangling away With slight prospects of his having his wa\'. A rolling stone gathers no moss, they say, And when too swift has been the pace Remorse oft stares them in the face. If we should tell all the favorable Things that could be said About the month of June, There wouldn't be space enough here To voice the other kind. That of neglect may be one of the lesser evils, Ear wigglers thrive and grow fat on these hot days. If you've neglecated to put out the bait Do not longer hesitate. "DIFFERENT ANGLES" Many a man claiming to be morally right Has no hesitation about attending a dog or cock fight. And often telling his wife. He won't be home till late at night. Little she knows how he was spending his night. "JUST FOLLIES" There were Follies of 1920, The same in 1922, The makeup for the same Always remain in you. Springtime has lighter ones, Then summer solstice brings ; There's reactions in the fall,— Some come late in winter When the snow begins to fall. The follies of the Winter, Spring, Autumn, Fall. Ever on your guard. Guard against them all. TREATING THEM ROUGH The Landlady blithely sang, "Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep," In a voice so soft and sweet and low, It almost made me weep. Later, on a tempestuous sea. She sang a different tune, — "Once is more than enough for me ; Please put me on shore again soon!" Sounds like the patter of feet Came from the window pane, 'Twas but the tempo of music In the midsummer night's rain. WHISPERINGS Take the murmurs of the Sea, How they entreat me, But their mystery I cannot fathom. They are too deep for me. Who, in their roll and swell. Can tell what therein dwells. ON DE CABIN FLO' W^ent into a cabin, Down by de sho', Doan know who been livin' there bcfo,. But man, they sure been livin' scrumptious! How do I know? Chicken bones on de table And rabbit's foot on de fio'. AT THE BAZAAR For sweet charity's sake We often eat dill pickles and heavy pound cake. Redeeming the day with Angel's food. Quite an expense, when you have a large brood. Man often takes the odium, The ridicule and laugh. When employed by a paper And be a member of their staff. Being ever loyal When the enemy throws the gaff. When a man's Ego Is greater than his intake, It must from necessity Be combined with vapor. Or hot air — or both. June is the month of roses and brides. Some of the roses are prim-roses. But few of the brides. These are the days When the fragrance of flowers Is at its best, and All Nature attests Its benevolence. While many of the human kind Are somewhat blind To the many beautiful things we find. It's rather complimentary When competitors grab And try to crab our acts. Oft times their productions Resemble Jim-cracks Compared with ours. So let them copy And we'll continue to set the pace. 'Twas ever thus, with the human race. A Scotch mist never misses anything. How refreshing to meet a Freshman In the first few months of his career. And a few months later What a chastened, sad and wiser man is he. 8 In the spring, when a young man's fancy Turns to Black Eyed Susans and tulips, The more prosaic things like spuds and turnips Go rutabegging. Foolish wives, encouraged by irresponsible men, Still continue to furnish our annual crop of has-beens. Some will reply to this by saying, I'd rather be a good has-been than a never-waser. This scene is laid in new Nassau, The old has passed away. The modern jazz was in full swing. And in the center, and making the. welkin ring, Was one of the clan. Ban McGraw. Another disputed his title And Ban was raw. And listening to the siren's song Prodding him on. He was in no mood for trifles. So he took him on. The jazz was stopped, all but the old bass horn. And the battle raged until the poor bassoon. Was laid away cold until the following day, And Ban wasn't the one that was laid away. There comes a time in the lives of men When they're called upon to scale the top. Then it rests with them To surmount it without a flop. With the hardening of the h( arteries) There comes a lessening of the tension of the spring. From hard and stony faces there is less of joyous laughter, Seldom does the welkin ring. "CORN STARCH" What a prominent part in our lives it plays. We have it in our soup, (I am thankful it is not in our tea.) You'll find it in your custard pie, Also in the cake. Please recommend to me something in which it is not baked, Or stewed, or filtered through. The money that it once took to make the mare go Doesn't carry you far with a flivver, While the old gray mare oft went on a tare, Kicked her heels in the air And sometimes broke the fender, Which didn't take much of the legal tender To mend either her or the fender. SON, WATCH YOUR STEP You may have your fling, my son. But beware lest it be too far flung, For you cannot recall all the deeds you have done, Even though you're forgiven. There's the scars that's left, And you're not quite like your former self. There may be a girl come into your life, A likely one that you might take for wife. So guard your step and watch it well, For there's a bottomless pit in the depths of hell. Since the World War's ending Have you not felt at times That the atmosphere was surcharged With some momentous thing impending? While I'm not prepared to say what it means. It may be to usher in a new regime. A man who won't look out for his own interest Isn't safe with your coupons. A well known preacher of the Northwest Received, a short time ago, a letter From a colored member of the cloth, Saying, "Brother, being six feet four inches tall, I think that I could wear your suits, Even though I wouldn't be entirely Able to fill them with credit." He received several, forthwith, And now, like Solomon of old, he goes forth Arraj^ed in all his glory. And preaches to his flock A better and more uplifting story. The world seems to be getting safer for Democracy But rather uncertain for some of the Aristocracy. 10 INFLUENCES We have but to read of the life Of the late Lillian Russell, To realize the great possibilities Of individual life. When, having Normal parents, their offspring is Indellibly stamped by pre-natal influence The mother has but to hold To the thought of all that she holds dear In future son or daughter, Letting no trivial thing Crowd out the thought. 'Tis but a prayer For good, when once it's understood. No doubt most of the talented ones of the past, You can thus account for, first and last. Twinkle, twinkle, little star As you shine on a new Ford car. Can you tell by your blinking eye, What it really is from up so high? We spend our substance in a day, Then fret and fume At the slower process, The reannealing of the clay. CLAMS VERSUS MAN Clams are restricted in their range of vision, They see through a water glass darkly; Man, having a larger vision, Doesn't necessarily have to stay in a rut. It depends a great deal on the will. Though the Humming Bird does not sing, There's harmony in the vibration of his wings. So well attuned are they to nature, Of which he is a part. You scarce note the difference. When he makes a sudden dart, In leaving a smaller flower, For the larger one in the bower. His is not an idle life. Oft times he has a wife and fledglings, Nestling behind the tendrils in the hedge. Although he sips the honey on the wing, If disturbed, he, unlike the bee, leaves no stino-. 11 While Chastity bends and reels to the tune of Jazz, There's lack of harmony in the air, That rises to meet the vibrations from the stars. Many who would dodge the sun Are not so anxious to avoid the moonshine. She laughed to get fat. Now she'd like to be thin, But the germ once inside Refuses to come out again. Another stunt she'll have to try. Rolling on the floor and kicking sky-high. The Lake Union Fleet having rested long. And had its nap, will now be scrapped. 'Twas an empty honor, being admiral to that fleet, No need of holy-stoning decks While it slept, or splicing the main brace Of which Uncle Sam does not approve. Except they're three miles off shore. We are living in age of irreverency. And there is much misdirected energy Among the youth, and a tendency Not to take much of any responsibility. Believing it better to "Let George do it," and He has his limitations, He is catering to too many already-yet. A presidential Bee has lodged in Many an aspiring man's bonnet And when it left him cold He still was mad as a hornet. Today you can play well your part. With an unbiased mind and an open heart It becomes a simple art. 12 Three bricklayers were continually losing time, It had been three weeks since the sun did shine, And how their board bill did climb. And to make it worse, the rain had slacked the lime, And they were yet beating time And using winter's scanty hoard To pay their board. But love is ever blind — Women continue to marry bricklayers — In the good old summer time. NEW ERA CLUB We are entering a new era, and partial disarmament finds the world more anxious for a uniform creed. It's all embraced in the Golden Rule, whose code of ethics ever holds true. Never demanding more of me than you. Within the great Sargasso Sea Many derelicts are floating round, Even here on Puget Sound Many may be found. Miss Seattle, backed by Eastern and Western Washington, Faces the East, calm in her loyalty. Loud in her praise of lakes, rivers and Sound, And farther away where mountains abound. Bounteous crops never fail us. Either in fruits or grain ; We are never the losers, we always have gained. Then you of the East come to the feast — We'll make you a cobbler, both juicy and sweet, The under crust of our good whole wheat. We often read of a continental flight That's about to be made. The next we hear. They have started on the first leg. Followed by a report that something has gone wrong. And they haven't a leg left to stand on. 13 As we go up and down the vale, Looking for the trail, We often meet old Baal With stock for sale, As he gushingly tells us Of his flowing well. We can't help but think That he wants our kale. No matter what they say of you. And more or less of that be true, Be forgiving, cnange your mode of living. Then they'll have that much less to say of you. Love is often passive in the valley. When it feels no pain ; With the passing of the sunshine And the coming of the rain. Firm hearts meet the storms Without a thought of pain. Some receive their vision in the mountains Or beside the sea; Others get their vision while beneath the trees, While the few visualize all three. The Village Blacksmith is still a valiant man, But Fords and autos have shooed the horse away; And when he hangs a whiffletree He hangs it on a tree. Men of the past generation Were taught to champion the rights of women; Women now seem able to stand for their own rights. Many a man when caught with the goods. Makes a wry face and a poor mouth When brought before the judge. And some get away with it. SAID SHE W^hile we can no longer agree, Let us feel that through Adam We still have the same genealogical tree. 14^ AND THEY WERE About the time the March zephyrs First began to blow, Some pussy-willows, advance agents, Of Spring's varied floral shows. Poked their soft furry noses. Out into the cold and snow. And rested while it blew. Babylon rose to social heights, But not to that o^ glory; Had she trod a different path. History would have chronicled a different story. THE HOUSE THAT'S IVY CLAD The house that's ivy clad When diffused by the morning sun. Appears to be glad. Although a pearl gray tear Sparkles here and there. There's no need to despair — They'll be absorbed In the sunlit air. A widowed mother, having but one. And that a daughter. She had lost her son, (He'd eloped.) She was kept busy shooing suitors away. She was successful with all but one. And he the most determined man under the sun. He wouldn't be shooed, and she hadn't a gun. And remembering the last act of her son. She let the daughter go by the run. And when in their own little home they had come You couldn't drive her away. She settled down. Claiming they needed her the worst way. There she stays to this day. THE RAINBOW The vivid, livid colors in the spectrum That are thrown across the skies. Revive in me a hope — A hope that never dies. 15 ECHOES OF THE PAST The murmuring which you hear Coming from the depths of Puget Sound Are but faint echoes of the undertow, Of ships that left here long ago. Were last reported in dire straits, Entering into an unknown sea, As yet uncharted by you and me. Truth ever living in the open And above board, Has no need of an excuse Or subterfuge. THE RABBIT'S FOOT We claim no relationship with the evil one, But we carry this fetich Within the right hip pocket And sometimes there's another kind Within the other pocket. It takes courage while paying for a dead horse To have a live one eating his head off, And nothing for him to do To help you through. He was only a soldier, like one of the many. But it fell to his lot to be left behind In storming the battlements that encased the Rhine. His was a noble end. When the last trump is called He, arising in his place, will answer, "All is well ! I gave my blood, I did my best, To break the hold That the devil had wrest, But couldn't hold When put to the test." With the setting of the sun He's gone West. In going East why should we mourn? 16 Millions have lived upon this plane, V/ho have not left a name Emblazoned in the Hall of Fame, But above, in the Hall of Justice, They are immortalized with Peace Through Love. A chimpanzee may not have much refinement of feeling Within his being, But he can play on a tin pan to beat the band, Can a chimpanzee. This world is very much in need Not of a new creed, But a better application of the old. Whose code of ethics ever holds true. Never demanding more of me Than it exacts of you. But often giving and receiving In larger measure than before. Since the World War's ending This message is being rejuvenated. In fact it's in travail of a new birth. Why not pass it on — Let it be far flung To the teeming millions of earth. Whether beneath the tropic moon Or under the shadows of the Midnight Sun, It matters not their color But depends upon the need. Having Radio and knowing how sound and light waves travel, We, ere long, may know more of the mysteries of the ether zones. Enforced stay-at-homes now hear much of truth That's lost to those that roam. Making their abiding place The more like home. We're living in a time When people like to spring And break their fetters, Going their neighbors one better. 17 IN POSSUM LAND No better Possum in de land than In Georgia. They shoot both Possum and Craps In Georgia. And sometimes a coon Is caught in the trap, In the scrap. In Georgia. RADIATING RADIOS What are the Radio waves a-saying? The best way is to listen in at home Over your own receiving line, Whose business end's a phone. It's the same old story, You'll often hear the world buttin' in. Would take an aviator to get 'em off the line, And that would be too much waste of time. Many of us would be less given to seeing red If we kept better hours and went to bed at ten. Instead of borrowing from the next day Before we finally hit the hay. HOSIERY For length and breadth and height And variegated hues, A man having good sight Need never have the blues. Seattle played well the host To Marshals Joffre and Ferdinand Foch, One born on the border of France and Spain, They've not been idle, or lived in vain. For these are names that will endure. Stars emblazoned upon Time's Historic page When all is said and done What does man really amount to Unless he asserts himself, And shows that he possesses a backbone And is not a spineless worm? Peggy, my girl, beware You still have many leagues to go, And only one pair of feet. So conserve your strength And watch your step. We know it's natural for you To have lots of pep. There are slippery places in the walks, you know, So, now again we say, Watch you step. To those who awaken at break of day And hear the robin pipe his lay, And sing it in such a peculiar way That only he knows how to say, At that critical moment when night gives way to day. Feel well repaid, thankful That they'd not overlaid. Some men are naturally retiring, Others claim to be, As some clothing firms we see Who made that statement years ago, Are still in the game, and show No intentions of retiring out of sight, Of closing doors and saying good-night. Retiring Mayor Caldwell and Mayor-elect Brown Tripped to Skagit town And standing shoulder to shoulder And looking up the gorge. Both realized with one accord The vast potentialities Of that wonderful power. Now ye taxpayers of this fair city. Pay heed. This project when complete And conducted by competent men, will eventually Pay off our city carline bonds and some left In the exchequer. The infinite mind takes care of the tatters, No matter how battered they be. Even calms tempestuous seas That are ever welling in you and me. 19 RUTH Yes, that's her name. She came into my life, And having the right alloy, Association with her did not annoy We're married now, yes, it's a boy. We've named him Roy. We have settled by the fire. Joy, bring daddy's slippers. At-a-boy. A seeker of truth having faith. Was guided by understanding. To the stage of life, Whereby wise counsel and exaltations. Were made to feel That only through being humble, Could he best serve his fellow man. Down through the ages There have been songs of praises. Now let the welkin ring. With hozannas to our Guide and King. BILLICUM Living on Yesler Way Is the original Billicum. He is nine or ten, I should say. Met him one rainy day. Had on a fisherman's suit, including the boots. Hoot mon, he'd make you laugh, This original Billicum boy. While within the adolescent age, Children should be allowed Both to romp and play, Rolling, bowling and sometimes strolling, But not out upon the great highway. Where Lizzies flit and sometimes hit. Let them play within their yard. And all formalities discard. If they're under proper care. Some roll them low. Some roll them high. High or low They catch papa's eye 20 Though we buckle on the armor Morning, noon and night, Often when corrected We're inclined to start a fight. In the U. S. A. we are in a state of ferment, They've been raising it Until they've got a bead on it, But many of Uncle Sam's sleuth hounds Have a line on only a small part of it. BOUNTEOUS GIVING There's bounteous returns To those who are giving. It's a fine art, this better mode of living. Where it comes from the humble heart. Constantly giving, yet having more. It's God's decree, that having given Apparently all of your store, In the wellsprings of life There's so very much more. That you and I can never lessen the store. HUSBANDS, ATTENTION! Seattle housewives are ever on the scent Not always for money boned, or lent; But for saving, where it's spent. With the average woman it's the natural bent. Man doesn't have it to the same extent. He earns it while Mollie caulks the seams and lessens rent. And having a saving wife, it don't always pay to ask Where it went. Sometimes taking it for granted And be content. FEAST OF NATIONS Nations will feast in larger measure Only as they increase in wisdom and understanding Realizing that one is as good as another In the sight of God. If they've but the faith Of their fathers, and larger vision Of the Mother of us all, whose heart goes out to us Since Adam's fall. 21 'Tis not enough When we have planted seed on fallow ground, For our potatoes we must scratch and dig, And make and keep mellow ground. And see that water goes the round, But not too damp, For that would cause Both scale and rot. Then without a crop Many would cry and wail But that would not avail, None to eat and less for sale. THE CURSE OF TODAY Our day of grace, In which we've faced The problems of 1922, Are nearly through. Now it rests with you and me. Since we've agreed on a working plan That will protect our fellow man In his fight against the narcotic foe, That insidious thing Controlled by the devil's ring. That carries with it such a viper's sting. Befogs the mind and dims the vision. Shrinks the heart and warps the soul, That was in quest of a better goal. Now, any man who would sell such stuff Outside of urgent use, Should be kept in durance vile And all the while be served With bitter aloes and wormwood tea, A quite insufficient penalty. You'll with me agree. BETWEEN THE LINES Altho a faded and withered rose My resting place a bed of prose. While my spirit dwells in the heart of the Muse Where the mystic rythm does not confuse. ?? THE PILGRIM ON THE WAY Tho dyed in the wool, A wisp of gray This animated bit of clay Was scarce noticed Upon the great highway. But a sparrow cannot fall Without the Master knowing all. As the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb So is it to the Pilgrim on the road Whose back is strengthened To carry the load, As he faithfully struggles on. What cares he for scorn, Being unafraid, he takes the grade That the uninitiated could not have made. THE TRAFFIC COP Within the center of the congested street. Is the small confine of the traffic man's beat, As he swings his sign to and fro. Pointedly telling you to "Stop" or "Go." Do not ignore the traffic cop When he tells you to go or stop. Violators oft go to the shop for repairs. Whether in autos, or jaywalking across the square. THE BEACON OF LIGHT Dark though the night. There's a radiant glow Diffusing spiritual light Where e'er you go. Roll high the shade; Then into your heart Come's the Soul's Beacon of Light, Communion by day, guiding at night. As we exercise and fertilize the mind. Let it not be at the expense of the spine. I've been living in the valley, AVhen there came depression I upward looked and lived. Where there's a vision of the hills, 23 Music has charms to soothe The savage in our breasts, And calm our minds, When under great duress. DOGS How they romp and love to play, When we have a pleasant day. Have you noticed them upon the lawn? One stood as a sentinel by the way, While the other with his ears laid back. Made of the lawn a circular track, As he surged around him front and back. And then they both tore up the track, And tired out, they soon came back. And lying prone upon the ground, With lolling tongue they made faint sound, So much like tired romping children. We fill our lives with nonessentials, And when called upon to deliver the goods. We haven't the credentials. Have you been depressed. When rocked in the cradle of the deep, And had scarce the strength The vigil to keep? Then with the parting of the waves. You beheld the silver lining. Then your hopes and aspirations, W^ent soaring and a-climbing. The spring of perpetual youth Rests in the heart of man. While the fountain's head is higher up. There's always sufficient for you to sup ; So drink to your fill. And impart the good will. That others may live and enjoy the product That wise nature distilled. There are some phases of human woe Not fully given man to know. The loss to a mother of her only son Who but glanced the horizon of Life, Then left this sphere with all its strife. 24 The fate of nations hangs in the balance, They are nearing the precipice. There's an urgent need of a counterbalance. Civilization is seeing red, While going through the crucible. It will emerge After being purged Of its tinsel and dross And baser metals Into a more refined product, An amalgamation Trued, as steel. That will better measure up To the Golden Rule. Strange vibrations in the air, Spooks are on a tare. What an intangible thing is a ghost, You fail to grasp him When you'd like to most. He's never sociable to his host. While Seattle has the right Spirit, She hasn't it all ; Tacoma has some of that dope herself. And more brewing. When pulse is weak and the eye grows dim. What is that to her or him. Where the mind and heart are attuned To a higher plane. Though the sun may scorch And there comes wind and rain, What care they? 'Tis but the price they owe To the one who paid. SPRING TONICS Twas easy for me to take pennyroyal and wormwood tea when a boy, But when called upon to take harlem p.nd castor oil. Then was the battle roval. Artists are born, not made. He who has not the temperament. Had better learn a trade. 25 Toda)' came an awakening, To her who had been but a pawn. While he had played the game, And time went on, And no longer interesting to him is her song, So he travels on. Some folks say when a man's forty He can't come back. Often all that's needed Is getting on another track. And ripped things up the back. A change of tide may bring a favorable breeze. Making your competitors wheeze. A little bird sang to me, With quiet and mellowed thrill. I felt I'd received a blessing Through his good will. A she bear lay wounded in her lair, And she had little strength to spare; But her cubs were there, So she gave to them The little she had to share. ONLY A WEEK Unsullied by the world, He returned from his week's vacation. It might have been different Had it been of longer duration. THE BLUEBIRD You're a belated harbinger of Spring. Nevertheless, you make the welkin ring. As you sing your lays today — A lift for work and a lilt for play — Joyous melody through ail the day. Tractors as universal plowshares will soon be in vogue They are taking the boss — but leaving the dogue. Even when Genius but occasionally flashes in the pan Let's give credit to our fellow man. 26 THE SEATTLE SPIRIT The Seattle Spirit would be truer to form If it lived more in the light in which it was born. Born in the faith that will never say die, Are axioms for you and I. I oft drink to thine eyes, But it is to the heart I would speak. A responsive appeal would cause mine to blink. Oft the drink that's brewed today, Turns to bitterness in the cup. When later we would sup and drive dull care away. A church on the hill near Yesler Way has a cross. And a few days ago a yellow-hammer was there drilling away. You could hear him for blocks around. You'd have thought him a riveter by the sound. He probably was sharpening his drill, For he looked too wise a bird To expect to find worms in a cross, That is placed en the roof of a church on the hill. Beauty and the beast attend a feast. He being indisposed. She advises a cake of yeast. Later when called upon to give a toast, He responded with wit and vim. Vitamines were working with him. Taking the bull by the horns Is easier said than done. A novice who tried it, Thought a catapult had sprung. When the finality has come And all has been said and dene worth while, A smile and a waft of the hand Lingers long in the mind and heart Of man or child. A man may be filled with malice and guile, But there are few among them. That would break faith When once he'd pledged himself with a child. 27 For she'd accepted you, With all the sincerity of youth, And that is why you've kept your word With her, your little ward. In the heart of a mart of trade A slim and petite maiden Sold me a roast of beef. And in the same day a block away, A short and beefy girl Sold me clinging chiffons and lace, Neither one had found her place. THE SEATTLE SPIRIT Is it hard to define? No, if you'll but get through the rind ; Then cut to the quick, There at the heart of the core, You'll find A spirit existing. That never says die. Born of that spirit, are you and I. Having a reprobate mind Is due to the liver ; If not cured in the vale. There's faint hope beyond the river. The impression we make on the world Depends to a great extent On pre-natal influences. Unless you recognize and Overcome the handicap Today you can play well your part. With an unbiased mind and an open heart, It becomes a simple art. WOMEN One mere man says: "She's a lemon sour." He evidently has received a punch. Another, more complimentary, says: "She's a man's safety valve." He's probably inclined to tank up. 28 Many carp about the social warp and filling, Then they jazz instead of getting in and drilling. I ate an egg that came from storage, Judging from the taste of it, It long had paid demurrage. AND SPEAKING OF EGGS In the local market we have a wide variety to choose from, They range from local to bifocal. You'll more readily understand me when I'm through, There's the large brown and white eggs, And the nondescript which include pullets, pewees, And last and least, weewees. Otherwise known as bifocals. It's hard to locate the source of supply, Although there are many pigeon lofts close by. They seem to be here to stay your stomach. Provided you eat enough of them. They who the golden rule would seek. Need more humility and less of cheek. We jazz and swing. And have our fling. Like Babylon of old, We surely pay the piper. When the Irish become amenable to reason. And can meet on common ground, Plant and raise their spuds without friction. And community pigs meet on the square ; Without bristles standing in air. Then the Millennium will be near at hand To greet the Irish Super Man. 29 THE SUNLIT FLOWER Had I the power to create a flower, I'd combine them all as one, With the fragrance of May and June. Then, having sprinkled well with dew, Would lift the shade And let the sun shine through, Presenting it to you. 3477-1 3 jf^^^* lot 74 <v % '^""' ^^ \. "' .<y %^ ' o . . - ^0 "^9-, * o « ' -^ .v^. .,^' «\4?:?';^ ' .r^ ,.„ % ' r,^ X- V\^' ° cV' 1 v •>* % '^^. V / * <^^ o * ' ^^'AJ'. > ^-JnC^T; "^ JVH S 8 i"^'" -V.

10002979

Odes on the generations of man,

Alexander, Hartley Burr

odesongeneration00alex_djvu.txt

(toss ~PS35~Q / Book .1 ,418 (EH Copyright^ L__ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. ODES ON THE GENERATIONS OF MAN ODES ON THE GENERATIONS OF MAN BY HARTLEY BURR ALEXANDER AUTHOR OF "Poetry and The Individual" and " The Mid-Earth Life." NEW YORK THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY MCMX Wo Copyright, 1910, by THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY Published, January, 1910 THE PREMIER PRESS NEW YORK (gGLA256 TO HUBERT GRIGGS ALEXANDER BORN DECEMBER 8, 1909, HIS FATHER INSCRIBES THESE ODES PUBLISHERS' NOTE The publishers beg to acknowledge the courtesy of Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons for permission to reprint the lines from "Tiamat" to be found on page 107, and also of Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co. for permission to re- print the lines on page no from Gilbert Murray's translation of " The Choral Prayer " from Euripides. OF THE POEM: A poem, like a musical composition, is sus- ceptible of varying interpretations according to the tempo and expression in which it is ren- dered. For the more regular poetic structures the rendering that answers to the author's mood may be expected to be obvious; but for a complex and varied poem, especially the ode in irregular strophes, the effective reading is often to be obtained only as a result of study. It has seemed, therefore, worth while (follow- ing worthy precedent) to aid the interpretation of the present composition by giving, for each division, indications of tempo and expression such as are customary in music. Of the poem's nine divisions the first and the last are Prelude and Postlude, — the purpose of the former being to establish the perspective of the composition, of the latter to return to this perspective with the enhanced insight gained from the intervening themes. The Odes fall into three groups, broken by two Interludes. [9] OF THE POEM In the first group, the Prelude leads into Ode I, which, moving with a marked crescendo to an abrupt retard, is an interpretation of man's evolutional genesis, while Ode II, slow and poignant, interprets his ideal evolution. The Interlude which follows is an antiphony of voices, with a certain skyey note, as it were on a plane above, less moved and more reflective than the Odes and having something of the broad perspective of the Prelude. In the sec- ond group, Ode III resumes the material devel- opment of man, sinking, through three changes, from the rapid history of the inaugural almost to quiescence in the final theme, — a quiescence preparing for the slowest movement of all, the vision of Ode IV. On the pause that should follow, the Dithyrambic Interlude breaks im- petuously with a sharp iteration of the ideal values of life, and again as from a plane re- moved. The third group is formed of the last of the Odes, deliberate, reflective, and for the most part elegiac in tone, gathering reminis- cently broken motifs of the preceding divisions, but in its final strophe prophetic of the en- hanced insight of the immediate Postlude. SYNOPSIS I Prelude : Largo Earth! 'Twixt sky and sky wide spun. II Ode I: Andante fiorito In strange tropic forests he awoke. Ill Ode II: Adagio pugnente Strange prayers ascending up to God. IV Antiphonal Interlude: Allegretto misterioso O'er quiet prairies swept tumultuous winds. V Ode III: Andante maestoso Of blood and dreams are built the towns of men. [13] SYNOPSIS VI Ode IV: Grave I had a vision of the King of Pain. VII Dithyrambic Interlude I Allegro appassionato Awake! For the white-pillared porches Of dawn are flung open to day! VIII Ode V: Adagio elegiaco There comes a kind of quieting with years. IX Postlude : Largo Earth ! Thou wert his Mother. [14] PRELUDE Earth! 'Twixt sky and sky wide spun I Largo Earth! 'Twixt sky and sky wide spun, The blue sky of the sun, The black abyss Of night and silence blent Where to their slow extinguishment Fall fated stars and the still years miss All measurement : Earth! Ancient of our days, Our life's great mother and of our mortal ways High matriarch, What destiny shall be Beyond thy bournes — or visionry Glad in phantasmic splendors or a stark And wakeless rest Sconced in thy stony breast, — What dooming makes or mars [17] ODES Beyond mortality, Is given us to see But as we read aright Writ in our mid-earth life the mighty geste Of Nature, but as we guess the plan That wrought the mind of man And gave him sight Potent to gauge the pathways of the stars! [18] ODE I In strange tropic forests he awoke II Andante fiorito In strange tropic forests he awoke From the long brute dream : In strange tropic forests that did teem With golden insects and bright-plumaged birds, With gliding serpents and the myriad herds Of eldritch things that crawl within the dusk: All odorous the air of myrrh and musk, And cloying honeys, camphors, fennels dense, Prickle and pungence mingling with incense Of opiate decay: While all the throbbing day The warm forestways did thrill With singing sound — with murmurous hum Of bees, and buzz and drone and drum Of slim metallic wings insatiate, Flutings of locusts and soft-throated trill Of slow reptilians calling mate to mate: Aloft, scarce quivered by the torpid breeze, [21] ODES Swung leafy banners, and mightily the trees Were girt with climbing seekers of the sun : Below, the speckling shadows spun Their lazy meshes, and drowsily did play O'er a sleek panther crouched to stalk the prey That timorously advanced that fatal way. In strange tropic forests, he, the Brute, Dreaming became the Dreamer. . . From their ease He stirred his mighty limbs, roused him from rest, Reared upright in his leafy crest, And long and mute He gazed afar where his troubled vision caught Glint of the wide sea luring through the trees. Was it a touch unseen Of the Moulder's hand that swift and keen Struck to the misty depths of his forming mind Vague premonition of a human kind To spring from his being? Growth [22] ODES In its pang of promise rousing him from sloth Of brute life? Sudden thrill Of an age-old blood working its final will? From his lips there broke A man-like cry. The startled echo sought New answer and new answer spoke; And all the myriad listeners in their lairs Stood guard, and their myriad pairs Of gleaming eyes kept vigil, while bodingly The high heart beat with a fear untaught. Then the swift wings brushed Through sibilant leafage, and with sudden stir From reedy depths rose angry hiss and burr, And far and near began A hasting of the forest-dwellers' clan And rustling flight, as if portentous word The hidden hosts impulsively had stirred With direful message ominous of Man. [23] ODES The strutting cock drooped low his spreading plumes And babbled plaintive warning to his mate; The parrakeets slunk silent where the glooms Of tropic fronds might hide their burnished state ; The chattering monkeys scampered far aloft Swinging in panic huddle tree to tree, And demonlike from out his hidden croft The vampire dashed in blinded errancy; White-bearded lemurs, furtive in their nests, Betrayed their spectral faces to the day; And sluggish serpents reared their glittering crests Up from the humid mold with sinuous sway — Hiss reechoing hiss as all their evil kind Startled to dim forewarning of its foe Fanged fierce defiance to the conquering Mind, God-demon to the beasts that crawl below. God-demon to the beasts from whence he sprung [2 4 ] ODES Into the life of Dreamer dreaming free Out of the Old the New — bright worlds to be From every world created, deep among The farther stars yet farther burning clear, High sun outshining sun in every sky, — Till glamour flashes glamour on his eye, And summons rouses summons in his ear, And purpose waking purpose breeds the skill To find the ways of Nature and to bend Her laws to his design, to his her end, And Destinies are humbled to his Will! He swung Balanced with muscled ease — Courser of the spaceways of the trees — Tawn against the sky, insouciant To all his nether realm's monstrosity Of nutrient decay and fruitful leprosy: Fat livid growths and starvelings gaunt Mingling the breath Of noisome life with murk of death [25] ODES In the black loins of forest, — whence upflung The great sun-seeking pillars of his world! Huge girths, with writhing parasites encurled, And heavy hung With bearded mosses, whilst pale orchis-ghosts, Clinging with desperate tendrils to their hosts, Glimmered like stars the dusky fronds among. So he swung Midway 'twixt Earth and Heaven, mute, His straining eyes Smitten with visioned destinies: With vague surmise Of glories yet to spring In some dim way from his disquieting, Of mighty beings that should make their own The snowy splendors of the peaks that shone Beyond the luring seas — Races Titanic and the battling broods Of Northern giants for whose monstrous toil Flame should be servant and the granite earth [26] ODES A plastic minister, — till the full spoil At length be won to some high birth, Conqueror and King Of those far-shining altitudes! And the dreaming Brute Dimly foredreamt the plan And image of Divinity; and at last Were far desire and aspiration vast Wakened to living spirit; and in Man Creation was at fruit. [27] ODE II Strange prayers ascending up to God Ill Adagio pugnente Strange prayers ascending up to God Through all the aching aeons, year on year; Strange tongues uplifting from the sod The old antiphony of hope and fear: Strange if He should not hear! There was the primal hunter, where he stood Manlike, not man, lone in the darkening wood When fell the storm: From hill to hill it leaped, snuffed light and form, Licked up the wild, And him — lost hunter! — him left isled Mid desolation. Bogey-wise Down the tempestuous trail Gaunt Terrors sprang with shrill wolfish wail And windy Deaths flew by with peering eyes . . . Then in the dread and dark To the dumb trembler staring stark, [3i] ODES Just for the moment, beaconlike there came The Ineffable, the Name ! . . . Oh, wildered was the dull brain's grope With anguish of a desperate dear hope Escaping ! . . . 'Twas a Name Not his to frame Whose clouded eye, tongue inarticulate, Thought's measure and thought's music yet await : Not his the Name. . .but such the hunter's cry As souls do utter, that must die ! There was the bronze-hued youth who knelt in awe Within a shrine of cypress and of fern Dewed with baptismal spray From the granite urn Of the down-plunging cataract, giant-wrought. Night and day With yearning eyes he sought The vision that the waters' sprite should give [32] ODES To be his totem, — signing his right to live And die the warrior, soul secure That with him stood The invisible brood Of valiant powers peopling his solitude. Against the gleaming blue From the bald crag there flew The Eagle of his dreams, and far and clear Above the choric waters, to his ear: " I am the Wakan of the Middle Sky, 1 " Dwelling the Shining Quiet nigh, — "Come follow, follow, follow! Glory is on high!" Oh, light to endure Is ache of fast and vigil, be the cure This right with eagle gaze deep worlds to span ! So strode he to his tribesmen a warrior and a man. There was the savage mother : she who gave Her child, her first-born, wailing into the hand [33] ODES Of the black priest, upright at the prow. . . The glistening bodies rhythmicly did bow, And from the rushy strand Broad paddles drave The sacrificial craft with gauds bedecked. He held it high — With mummery and mow The fetish priest held high The offering, — then stilled its cry Beneath the torpid wave. . . Sudden the pool was flecked With scaly muzzle, yellow saurian eye, And here a fount of crimson bubbling nigh ! . . . Shout came answering shout From all the horde That round about Waited the sign of fetish god adored, Waited the sign with lust of blood implored ! . . .' But she — the mother, — in her eyes there shone A dazzle of calm waters, and her heart's flood Was dried, and bone of her bone [34] ODES Burned in her, and she stood Like to an image terrible in stone. Aye, men have prayed Strangely to God: Through thousand ages, under thousand skies, Unto His thousand strange theophanies, Men have prayed. . . With rite fantastic and with sacrifice Of human treasure, scourged with the heavy rod Of their own souls' torment, men have prayed Strangely to God. . . East, North, South, West, The quartered Globe, Like a prone and naked suppliant whose breast A myriad stinging memories improbe — Hurt of old faiths, And the living scars Of dead men's anguish, slow-dissolvent wraiths Of long-gone yearnings, and delirious dream Of sacrificial pomp and pageant stream: [35] ODES Gods of the nations and their avatars ! — ■ East, North, South, West, The suppliant Globe Abides the judgment of the changeless stars, — Abides the judgment and the answering aid Of Heaven to the prayers that men have prayed Strangely to God. . . Out of the living Past, Children of the dragon's teeth, they spring Full-panoplied — the idols vast That man has wrought of man's imagining For man's salvation . . . Isle and continent, continent and isle, Lifting grim forms unto his adoration In tireless variation Of style uncouth with style, Until the bulky girth Of the round zoned Earth Is blazoned o'er As with a zodiac of monsters, each dread lore [36] ODES In turn begetting dreadful lore. The gods of Aztlan : 2 Huitzil, gorge agape, His threatening barb Uplifted, body girt chain upon chain With jewels in the shape Of human hearts, — Huitzil, and he, The lord of winged winds and the lord of rain, Quetzal, gorgeous in his garb Of tropic plumage ; and a deity Than these more awful — the subtile one Whose form to sight is glass and to the touch Is thinnest air, — Tezcatlipoca, joying to make his couch Deep in the thoughts of men, and there, Behind the screen of sense, Invisible, impalpable, immense, Begetting wrathful war. . . Stair after wretched stair The captive mounts the teocalli's height, Where wait the ministers of the bloody rite [37] ODES Mid murk of smoking altars. Scarce the prayer Escapes his parched lips, ere the throbbing heart Is raised to Tonatiuh, to the Sun, — And blare of conches and the shrill upstart Of pipes proclaim the blood-bought benison : How God at last with man is wholly one Beneath the burning mansions of the Sun ! They arise From the dark burials of the nations : From plain and mountain, from desert and from field, Like ghostly monarchs from a tomb long sealed, They arise — These living dead, mid echoing sound Of olden supplications: Isis, and her lord Osiris bound In mummying cerements; Thoth, of the hawklike head, Bearing the mystic Book that read [38] ODES Unto the living the secrets of the dead; And out of the Orient, the azure queen, Astarte of the Skies, serene Above her horned altars, with the sweet Of myrrh and frankincense And the multitudinous bleat Of bullocks honored ; she of Ind, Kali, the black, passing like a wind With blight and pestilence; And the giant ape, red Hanuman, her mate In might immortal and immortal hate; Ormazd and Ahriman warring light with night ; 3 And Mithras, the Conqueror, who gave The blood baptism of the cave Men's souls to save; And nigh these, the lordly ones and bright Who in their godly right Of beauty ruled and feasted on Olympus' height. [39] ODES From the dark burials of the nations Mid echoing supplications They arise . . . Mid echoing supplications: Prayers and cries Of men in strait of battle, ecstasies Of saints, and the deep-toned call Of prophets prophesying over all The devastation of a kingdom's fall . . . The ruins of the temple still resound With women weeping Tammuz' yearly wound; And still from out the vale Do ghostly voices lift the ancient wail Of those who gashed their bodies, crying "Baal! Baal!" When Baal was gone ahunting. Still Mahound Leads desert hordes to battle: " Allah ! Ya Allah ! Ya Allah ilah Allah ! " And Paradise is found In arch of flashing cimetars. Still go In nightly revelry through field and town [40] ODES Curete, Bacchant and wild Corybant, 4 Rapt Maenad by the god intoxicant, And the swift-dancing rout Of frenzied Galli raising olden shout To Attis and to Cybele : " Io Hymenaee Hymen Io ! " Io Hymen Hymenaee! "... While adown The vanished centuries endure The chanting of dead Incas: " Make me pure, " O Vira Cocha, make me ever pure ! " . . . — There, in the blackness of Gethseman's grove, One anguisht night He strove Mightily with God. . . Hour by hour there passed Athwart the gloom A huge ensanguined image, like a shadow cast By outstretched arms, and overspread The living and the dead Throughout the wide worlds room. . ., [41] ODES And so His prayer was said, And answered. Oh, up to God Through all the aching aeons, year on year, Men's prayers ascend, In hope and fear Striving to bend His pity and His wrath forefend. . . Strange if He should not hear! [42] ANTIPHONAL INTERLUDE O'er quiet prairies swept tumultuous winds IV 'First voice: O'er quiet prairies swept tumultuous winds Through the wide-pasturing skies their bil- lowy flocks aherding; While poised on the marge of day the lingering sun The circle of the earth with zones of flame was girding. . . And, oh, the heart of man beat high with hope past wording! Second voice: Summons of the western sea, Lure of the sunset gold, Tales of the things to be By the mighty ones of old, Into his spirit borne with a poignancy untold. [45] ODES First voice: From the mummying East he came, a wanderer, At last the tropic thrall of her lotos-dream outstriven, From her whispering embraces at last re- leased, — As into an alien world from their sweet Eden driven, In mournful quest of peace wander souls un- shriven. Second voice: Forth of the ancient East Into the glowing West, (Dream of a richer feast Filling his aching breast With an ever new desire, with an ever old unrest. [46] ODES First voice: Oh, far it is to the hills whose climbing peaks Ensentinel the plain like armored wardens shining; And far it is where the stars their watches keep, Above the dark abyss in spacious courses twining. . . And far to the final haven foreseen of the heart's divining. Second voice: Out of the level plain, Into the silent skies, Rises the glittering chain Like a coast of Paradise, And the spirit of man is big with yearning of high emprize. [47] ODES First voice: The spirit of man ever burns for the things unseen, When strong in moody will the valiant soul rejoices, — But only the Sages of Pain can reckon the toil, And only the Choosers can tell the cost and the gain of their choices. . . Far down the aisles of Time echo their ring- ing voices: Second voice: 1 Who conquereth through pain, His be the eagle's share! He shall ride the hurricane, He shall nest in the thunder's lair, And the solitudes of Heaven by the might of his pinions dare! " [48] ODES First voice: Men walk in ways untrod, seeking the goal In mystic oracles by the archons of life fore- spoken, And the pace is ever slow and the step is halt, And many there be are lost, and many there be are broken, And whoso is strong in the race his brow bears a terrible token. Second voice: Token it is of thought That hath easelessly inbled, Sight that his eyes have caught — > Like a seeing by the dead — Of the far alluring plains his feet may never tread. [49] ODES First voice: From the ancient East he came into the West In the dawn of his human life, in the days of his soul's unbinding, And out of the West to the East with the cir- cling years, And out of a blinded Past into a Future blinding. . . For the course of his star is set to ways be- yond his finding. [50] ODE III Of blood and dreams are built the towns of men Andante maestoso Of blood and dreams are built the towns of men: Of bitter blood and lustful dreams of power, And of men's black endeavor and the tears Of pallid women weeping through the years. The slow-unwinding scroll Measures the centuries . . . and at her hour, Answering the summons, comes Each city, — as after battle, to the roll March broken regiments With throb of sullen drums . . . Each city comes, rising avast From out sepulchral cerements, And then, Like a dissolvent spectre, sinks again Into her buried past. [53] ODES Memphis is gone And Thebes of an hundred gates, — But still the Sphinx unblinkingly awaits The reader of her riddle, and still With each recurrent dawn The disked sun Smites singing Memnon. Where now, where now, are those Whose pageantries did fill The cities of the living? They are led In bonds, with veiled head, Into still chambers — and the light and laughter Of their feasts hath followed after . . . Oh, wiselier skilled, The dark twy-crowned Pharaohs Wiselier did build Their desert cities of the dead! Whose burning granite sears Their kingly names into the passing years. [54] ODES As in a dream I saw the aching myriads Toiling the toil Stupendous of the pyramids. . . Athwart the soil They dragged the monolithic stones, And far and near did flash The whipster's ruddy lash : I heard the groans Of men that labored dying, And I heard the sound Of little children crying. . .crying. . . Then my dream vanished; and I saw instead A silent desert, and mound with mound The crumbling habitations of the dead. Memphis and Thebes are gone, And mighty Babylon! She that league on league was girt With brazen-gated walls, whilst the spires Of her thousand temples shone with the fires Of a thousand altars: Babylon! [55] ODES Doughty to keep or hurt, Mightiest thou wert In all the plain of Shinar! — Wide Shinar, where anciently was sung In Accad's perished tongue, The war of Light and Chaos: 5 how, flashing leven, Lordly Marduk strave With cloudy Tiamat, and from her body clave Earth and high Heaven. . . While jubilant The dancing stars their morning joy did chant. E'en from the voiceless days Of man's beginnings, within her ample halls, The powerful and the wise have held their state : Priest-kings that sate In judgment by the temple gate; Monarchs loud in the praise Of long-forgotten gods; the patient seers [56] ODES Who through uncounted years Charted the nightly heavens; conquerors In unrecorded wars ; And contrite builders, paying holy debt Of symbol'd towers, that yet Were but memorials of memorials. Wise Hammurabi, he who set On graven tables men's first laws; Sargon, with bonds of stubborn clay Binding the free Euphrates; and that queen, Glorious in strength, terrible in spleen, Whose name still awes The centuries, — Semiramis! Yea, And after these, the form — Shadowy and colossal as the desert Jinn — Of him who like a whirling storm On Judah fell, And for her impious sin Carried her wailing to captivity, — Nebuchadrezzar, mighty under Bel ! . . . [57] ODES And Cyrus came, and the Great King Darius, and o'er Asia furled The Persian wing. And after, out of Macedon came he, The splendid Greek, who won Domain of the level world, And died in Babylon. So she that was the Seat of Life, She is become a mound Of sunken ruin, compassed round With silence. Her palaces begot In the emulous strife Of dynasties, her temples crowned Each with its golden ziggurat — Labor of captive nations long ago, Whose final course was run Beneath a pestilential sun For kingly pleasure and for kingly show,- They are become but heaps Of rotting bricks, where stealthily creeps [58] ODES Down the forgotten stair The gaunt cat of the desert to his lair. Who reckoneth the roll Of perished cities?. . . Lost Nineveh O'erwrit with boast of carnage, and the strewn Boulders of Persepolis, and far Pasargadae, — Oh, big in pomp and pride were they, And lean in pities!. . . And Petra, from the living rock strange-hewn; And athwart the desert way, Palmyra of the Pillars taking toll Of laden caravans; gray Sidon by the Sea, And siege-strong Tyre; Sardis rich in gold And in lust richer ; and Priam's town, Ilion, of old For war high-armed ! Yea, and lovely in abandonment As a charmed princess in a castle charmed, The marble tent of Mogul Akbar 6 . . . [59] ODES And the great exemplar, She that was ground unremittingly Betwixt the upper and the nether mill, — In dreadful alternation bent Beneath the supple claws Of the lithe Egyptian, or stricken down By the muscled bull, Assyria, — Zion, builded on a hill ! . . . And last, giver of their laws Unto the nations, Imperial Rome, — Like some vast volcanic dome That falling into ashes stars The waste with lurid splendors. They pass Like dreams of glory, and their names Become as sounding brass, And their lordly vaunt Is in men's mouths a byword and a taunt As cities shall pass, — or in the flames Of swift disaster, or in the rust [60] ODES Of years, — each to its due extinguishment Under the sun . . . Until to the lingering one — Some far broad-domed Bokhara falling into dust — The planet stays her nutrient yield, And the desert gates are sealed On the last oasis of a dying continent. Ah, shall there be ere then The Perfect City?... The city wistfully forethought By men whom men count wise: As in a stately dream To Plato came in marble Academe His vision of the City of the Blest — i A vision in her dim unrest By the imagination pearled To harmonize an inharmonic world, — A place of marvel, more to the soul's emprize Than Cibola's golden seven, 7 — Utopia, wrought Of strength and beauty ! . . . [61] ODES Her spacious plan Is broad to house the nations, her citizen Is such a Man As was designed By the Archetypal Mind When in shadowy seas began the strife Of life begetting and destroying life — A Man destined to reign High Overlord of Fear And King of Nature, holding as his domain The charted sphere ! . . . Ah, shall there yet be This Earthly (Paradise? This habitation of felicity Foretokening the City of the Skies? This seat of mortal bliss Whose image renders Unto the spiritual eye Forevision of that vast metropolis Of the immortals, [62] ODES Which to the soul lays ope Eternal portals?. . . Altitude o'er altitude lifting high Its emulous splendors — Whereof the culmen is the Cosmic Hope ! . . . To-day the cities that we build Possess a monstrous beauty, — as if material Dug in some quarry of old thought, Some castle ruinous of mind, some burial Of dead desire, Mossed block by mossed block were drawn And carven to an airy vision caught From the large magnificence of the mellow dawn . . . Till with dome and pinnacle and spire Each in its own resplendancy afire Appears the City, many-hilled And glorious, — summoning on and on In iterance majestical Like ringing prophecies long unfulfilled. [63] ODES Oh, we have heard The summoning of the City from afar ! Calling with a blurred And multitudinous voice, like the voice resolvent Of the waves upon a distant bar; And her echoing word, Sovereign and solvent, Has drawn us as a spell Living and irresistible: "I am the City. . . " The secret thing ye seek " My lips, my lips, my myriad lips alone " Are wise to speak: "I am the City. . . " The life that ye would live " My life, my life, my manifold life alone " Is strong to give: "lam the City..." We have heard, — and for a day, As in some dusty caravanserai Cosmopolite with pilgrims, we have sate [64] ODES Within her gates, disconsolate For the still and starry zone Of night and the sea's resurgent monotone. From the low flood, murky as the Styx, That soughs and licks Along her massy and tenebrous base With* changeful treachery of calm and race, The city's skyline rises, jagged, black, Against the lightening east, — funnel and stack Each with its waft of sullen fume Outwavering, like a fetid plume Flaunted in the face Of morning purity, — Until the city seems to be Some grim volcanic chain Upheaved athwart the sombre plain, Yet dully quaking, Of a continent in the making. And she is the house of life And the palace of desire, [6 5 ] ODES And all her ways are thronged with hurrying feet, And all her stately edifice is rife With seekers for a hidden sweet. . . And she is the house of death And a charnel of perished hope, And all her dark foundations are bestead Mid bones of men that for her hire Inbreathed her pestilent breath . . . And in her noisome alleys grope Wan mothers grieving for their tiny dead. . . She hath twain souls: Whereof the one Is metal'd o'er with armor, plate on plate Of gold and shining silver conflagrate And steel of curious enginry, Till like the molten sun He is — Mammon, who takes his tolls Of women's love and of the strength of men, And of youth's hot blood and aching visionry, [66] ODES Eking a senile and decrepit joy From the ranger fancy of the boy Caught by the glitter of his shrewd decoy. . . Mammon is the one. His mate Is nameless, a spirit sovereign And dark, whose stern far-seeing gaze Searches the hidden ways Of life, and reads the regnant fate That measures weal to come Against her present hecatomb. High on a swinging beam — The collar of a tower, taut With steely rib and tendon, building nigher To heaven than e'en Babel did aspire, — Stood forth the Man, the Maker, caught Up into the skies . . . He gazed below Into the street — a microscopic show Aswarm with skurrying atomies; Then raised his eyes [671 ODES O'er plain and river and far-shimmering seas, Unto the quiet blue. . . And his spirit grew Glad in eternal majesties, And the works of men did seem But frail and wind-blown tenements Marking the slow ascents Unto the splendors of his ancient dream. Of blood and dreams are built the towns of men: Of bitter blood and lustful dreams of power, And dreams of beauty. . . Throughout the years Meted by men's endeavor and women's tears, Like regiments to duty, They come, answering the roll — City on city and nation after nation . . . And throughout the years On far horizons aye appears The City of the Spirit, biding the hour [68] ODES Of advent and of consecration . . . Yea, throughout the years Man's aspiration finds its changeless goal In aspiration. [69] ODE IV / had a vision of the King of Pain VI Grave I had a vision of the King of Pain In awful crucifixion high enthroned Within the hollow of a universe Emptied of light and substance: there was night inimitably deep, whose galaxies Were shrunk to puny and ineffectual stars And brought to naught mid spacious desolation. I saw a ghostly glamour spun afar Athwart the surface of the black abyss In nebulous perturbation, and I heard A sound like to a smothered turbulence Of distant and distressful multitudes Whose myriad voices were molten to one cry As metals in a furnace to one heat. [73] ODES They were the souls of human agonies, The countless spirits of the hurts that men Have suffered for the making of the world: Harsh pangs of birth and grievings for the dead And smarts of passion, and strain of them that strove Till broken on the rack of their endeavor, And the wound of them that sought with sight- less eyes. Out of the nether night, a spectral train, They came, mounting her gloomy altitudes In a huge crescendic flame of living torments ; And they bore faces, faces fixed and terrible Like to the faces of men dead in anguish ; And they uplifted pleading arms— yea, myriads Of pleading arms they raised emptily on high. They were the souls of human agonies Caught up into a vast and eddying throe [74] ODES Of wraths and woes and tears, and far outspun By the great whorl of changeless destinies; They were the souls of human agonies Offered upon the altar of the world In expiation of the cosmic sin. Out of the night they came tumultuously Upsurging through the void until they rose Unto the awful station of the Throne Of suffering, whereof th' ensanguined light— Like to the searching rays with which the sun Metes out the millions of the comet's miles — O'er that dread train shot sanguine revelation. And all their clamorous and woeful cry Was blended to a deep threnodic prayer For pity, that did beat, as shattered waves Upon a rock, desirous and despairing, High on the cosmic Calvary, where his Rood Did mightily upbear the thorn-crowned King Above the abysmic center of the world. [75] ODES I had a^vision of the King of Pain Uplifted o'er the souls of human hurts In terrible Atonement; and his eyes, Anguisht and compassionate, were on them turned Everlastingly, and everlastingly His palms, nail-riven to the Cross, were spread In awful benediction o'er their woe. Yea, I beheld the Lordship of the World Midmost of the circling universe enthroned In high and kingly beauty; and I knew The sovereign cost of life, and again I knew The sovereign redemption; and I saw How through the aching aeons still is paid The price of beauty in a price of pain. [76] DITHYRAMBIC INTERLUDE Awake! For the white-pillared porches Of dawn are flung open to day! VII Allegro appassionato Awake! For the white-pillared porches Of dawn are flung open to day! And the jubilant voices of morning With laughter and boisterous warning On, on through the azuring arches Summon away! Awake! They are dead who are sleeping! Awake ! They who drowse are unborn ! 'Tis the voice of the summoning spirit, And they who delay when they hear it Are the lame and the halt and the creeping Creatures of scorn! [79] ODES 'Tis a radiant damsel arraying Her beauties with ruby and pearl, — Tis the scarlet and gold and the glamour Where mid clashing of arms and mid clamor Of trumpets and war-horses neighing Banners outfurl, — 'Tis the leap and the swing of the dancers, Where the torches are circling on high, Who call on strange gods in their madness To stay them, to stay them of gladness, — 'Tis the pitiless charge of the lancers That smite hip and thigh, — 'Tis the rush of the blood in its prisons, 'Tis the beat of the blood in the ears, 'Tis the shock of the heart and the shiver Of the soul when the red living river Is let and the strength of man wizens Under white fears! [80] ODES Oh, swifter than the wings of the eagle And stronger than he is Desire — And she grippeth the soul unreleasing, And she troubleth the soul without ceasing, And she fareth afar on her regal Pinions of fire. And nearer than sight is or hearing, And keener than pain is or bliss, Are her light and her sound and her passion Where she patiently layeth her lash on And striketh the soul with endearing And terrible kiss : And deeper than sleep is or death is, And shrewder than life is or love Are the surge and the sweep of endeavor, Like a turbulent wind, like the fever Of a burning tornado whose breath is Whirled from above: [81] ODES Oh, the glittering things ye call real things, And the glittering thoughts ye call truth, They are trinkets and baubles and apings For children and impotent shapings Of the cowardly hearts that conceal things Burdened with ruth. They are weaves out of dream and illusion, They are fabricks of mockery and cheat, And their show is but shamming of graces, And they stead ye in ruinous places, And their work is a work of confusion Compact in deceit. Yea, the glittering things ye call real things, They are bauble and toy, they are dream,- But the world that is real is another Than this where we swelter and smother And in tawdry and tinsel conceal things Meant to redeem. [82] ODES And the heart of the man that is fearless, And the vision of him that is wise, They are strong unto Nature's revealing, And he bursteth the seals of her sealing, And layeth her beauteous and peerless Prone to his eyes. Till the edge of the world is upblazing With pillars of thunderous flame, And the breadth of the world is resplendant With scintillant glories ascendant From nadir to zenith upraising Tempestuous brame. Oh, nearer than seeing or touch is, And keener than bliss is or pain, Are the quiver and thrill of her haunting And the tug of her Tantalus taunting, Till the life that we nourish and clutch is A thing of disdain. [83] ODES Awake! For as dead are the sleeping! Awake ! As unborn he who nods ! But the summoning voice of the spirit, It shall rouse, it shall rouse them that hear it From the ranks of the lame and the creeping Up to the conquering gods! [84] ODE V There comes a kind of quieting with years VIII Adagio elegiac o There comes a kind of quieting with years Which soothes our griefs and stills the turbu- lent fears That threat and sting the youth Of man, — whose heritage is ruth Of ancient deed, and flicker of old thought Deep smouldering, and dead love's heavy dole, And taunt of buried passions in the soul, — The saintliness and sin of sires forgot. Yes, there is quiet as our elder days Give us in thrall to the accustomed ways Which our tamed wearied feet Impassively repeat. . . A quiet and a peace Sabbatical and solemn, Like to the still and sunny mood [87] ODES That falls to bless With strange and delicate loveliness Some antique column Standing amid its solitude Of vine and ruin, — until the smart Of olden passion fain would heal, And a cool and balmy ease Suffuses the tired limbs, and reveries steal With ministering gentleness Upon the stilling heart. There comes a quieting, and the strength to view With even contemplation The full narration Of men's ways, and to sever false from true. And the high court of the ages Marshals her witnessing years and sits In patient judgment, while her graybeard sages With thoughtful and compassionate eyes Decipher the dark writs Of human deed. . . [88] ODES Outmeasuring life's meed Of joy against its costly sacrifice, And laying bare Unto the foolish and the wise The ways that men must fare. Across the glass of time Darkling as in a shadowy mime Slow flit the images of those Who blindly sought and chose With zealous blindness, — each Unto the led multitude Striving to teach His vision of the good. Came he who walked with feet unshod The burning wilderness, content to eat Locusts and wild honey for his meat And brother with the beasts that slink In silence to their brackish nightly drink, So he might find his solitary God: [89] ODES And he who taught In flowing vestments with rich broidery wrought, Mid pleasant gardens voluptuous with the sweet Of roses, joying in the lissome line Of maiden youth, and finding the divine In gracious flagons of empurpled wine : And he who sat Beneath the spreading tree Of contemplation, impassively To Arhat and to Bodhisat 8 Pointing the Fourfold Way unto surcease Of human ill and ire In the nerveless soul's release From soul's desire: He in whose trumpeted tones resound The thunderings of battle, Calling his crescent squadrons, — till in red pall [9o] ODES Of flame and blood the sickened world is wound, And wide around Is shrieking and shouting and the grisly rattle Of death at the throats of men, and crash Of hurtling charges, where the nations flee and fall Like driven cattle Under the blizzard's lash: And He who gave . . . gave all The sweetness of His life to piteous pain That men might gain A strange and distant and redeeming grace Which in the Kingdom's day should fall Like a sacred halo o'er the face Of the anguisht Universe, Healing its hidden curse. Yea, these be they Whom men have followed. . . But who shall say, [9i] ODES Who then shall say what life is wise?. . . There were ten virgins, and of them five Were foolish virgins, walking in sorrow, Nor light nor wisdom might they borrow, Nor might they wistfully arrive To greet the bridegrom, save by aid Of their own groping hands and blinded eyes So to their folly was their love betrayed. Through all the years Of human laughter and of human tears Sages and jesters, turn by turn Essay the riddle . . . And the teachers learn And the learners teach While the slow centuries slow upreach Where the world's elusive Wisdom broods In cloudy majesty o'er hidden altitudes. . . There comes a kind of quieting with years And with the years there comes A high and eerie peace, — [92] ODES As the homing spirit nears The sought release From her too mortal sense. . ., And as in a swound Supernal she is enwound Within a pulse of melody, and in her ear, Nearer than sound is near, A suave voice hums A sky-born music, and all the world is tense With loveliness. . . And the leaven Of beauty within the spirit burning Summons her ever higher, — Yea, as the stars inspire The plangent waves that leap with ceaseless yearning Sonorously to heaven. [93] POSTLUDE Earth! Thou wert his Mother IX Largo Earth! Thou wert his Mother, Who was conceived within thy fiery womb Ere time began And by the laboring years brought forth Unto the stalwart stature of a Man, — Thou wert his body's Mother, As thou shalt be his dread And desert tomb When all thy myriad life is gone, And on and on Thou still dost keep An even pace, an even pace, though dead, With thy far-shining sisters of the Deep: Earth! Thou wert his Mother, But his high sire — [97] ODES First of the deathless gods — was of another And a lordlier line: Eros, of the glowing wings, 9 Eros, dartler of desire, Bright son of Beauty, in whose blood divine There is immortal fever And such a quickening fire As glorifieth aye the tears of things And fresheneth Love forever. [98] NOTES NOTES A theme of the scope of that here undertaken must naturally be supported by a body of allusions drawn from diverse sources and representing diverse cultures. It is inevitable, in such case, that the thinking of any one man will light upon illustrations of unequal general familiarity. Doubtless all of the allusions in the pres- ent work will be familiar to many readers ; but it seems much to expect that all will be familiar to all readers. Accordingly the author deems it worth while to add the following notes explanatory of those passages which refer to facts that, upon reflection, seem most accidental to our general store of knowledge. 1 The Wakan of the Middle Sky: Wakan, or Wakanda, is the Siouan term for the powers that control and animate Nature. With the Plains Indians generally the heavens were regarded as comprising more than one region, the upper heaven, the Shining Quiet, the abode of the Great Father Spirit, and the Middle Region occupied by the medi- ators between the Deity above and Man below; among these mediators the Eagle was naturally prominent. The strophe deals with the widely prevalent Indian custom of sending a youth, on the verge of manhood, [IOI] ODES to fast and keep vigil in the wilderness until the spiritual powers of Nature reveal to him the tutelary who is to be his guide and guardian in the career of life. 2 The Gods of Aztlan: Aztlan was the traditional home, in the far North- west, whence the Aztec nation set forth, under the guidance of its gods, on the march of conquest which was to make it the dominant power of pre-Spanish Mexico. " A less lovely set of Olympians than the Aztec gods it is difficult to conceive," says Andrew Lang, and the briefest perusal of Fray Bernardino de Sahagun's description of this pantheon of monsters will amply confirm Lang's judgment. Foremost, at least in monstrosity, stands the great warrior deity, Huitzih- pochtli. Prescott describes his image as the Spaniards first beheld it: " His countenance was distorted into hideous lineaments of symbolical import. In his right hand he wielded a bow, and in his left a bunch of golden arrows, which a mystic legend had connected with the victories of his people. The huge folds of a serpent, consisting of pearls and precious stones, were coiled round his waist, and the same rich materials were profusely sprinkled over his person. On his left foot were the delicate feathers of the humming-bird, which, singularly enough, gave its name to the dread deity. The most conspicuous ornament was a chain of gold and silver hearts alternate, suspended round his [ 102] ODES neck, emblematical of the sacrifice in which he most delighted. A more unequivocal evidence of this was afforded by three human hearts smoking and almost palpitating, as if recently torn from the victims, and now lying on the altar before him ! " An incredible tradition had it that more than seventy thousand victims were sacrificed at the dedication of his great teocalli (temple pyramid) in the Aztec capital. Less repulsive is the god Quetzalcoatl, who seems to have been supreme among the Toltec predecessors of the Aztecs. It was his, says Fray Bernardino, to dust the roads for the rain spirits, because " before the un- chaining of the waters come great winds and clouds of dust." The beautiful green tail feathers of the quetzal bird (Pharomacrus mocinno) formed the panache of this divinity. The mythic foeman of Quetzalcoatl was Tezcatli- poca ("the gleaming mirror"), regarded, according to the Fray, as " a god true and invisible, who pene- trates all places in heaven and earth and hell." As he wanders about the earth he raises wars, enmities, dis- sensions, turning man against man, until he earns the epithet " Sower of Discord." Tezcatlipoca is the ruler of the world, whose " sight and hearing penetrate wood and stone " and from whose whim, for good or for ill, is no escape. " Lord of Battles, Emperor of all, invisible and impalpable/' he is addressed; and in the world-weary mood of the Aztec suppliant, " We men, [ 103] ODES we are but a spectacle before you, your theatre serving for your laughter and diversion." 3 Ormazd and Ahriman warring light with night; And Mithras, the Conqueror, who gave The blood baptism of the cave: The Persian god Mithras was the mythic incarna- tion of the conquering light of heaven which puts to flight the powers of darkness, led by the evil Ahriman. Symbolically he is the god of courage and righteousness and wisdom and honor, and again he is intercessor for man with Ormazd and the lesser spirits of heaven. The worship of Mithras passed into the Western world, with many other Oriental cults, in the declin- ing days of paganism, and before it was finally van- quished became the chief rival of Christianity. Its rites were celebrated in underground chapels ; and con- spicuous among these rites was the taurobolium, the sacrifice of the bull — symbolic of the cosmic bull con- quered by the god — whose blood was allowed to drip upon the naked mystic in a crypt beneath the latticed place of sacrifice. This baptism of blood, says Cumont, was regarded as a renovation of the human soul. Mithraism was to a great extent the religion of the Roman legionaries, by whom it was carried all over the Empire, and who, naturally enough, stressed the mili- tary virtues and prowess of their divinity, his oft-ap- [ 104] ODES plied epithets being Invictus, Insuperabilis: he was the Conquering Light, through courage and prowess and through his sympathy for suffering humanity, a Saviour of Men. 4 Curete, Bacchant and wild Corybant, Rapt Maenad by the god intoxicant, And the swift-dancing rout Of frenzied Galli raising olden shout To Attis and to Cybele: The orgiastic religions, taking their rise mainly in Asia Minor, which from time to time swept the Classic peoples with passions of intemperance, centered their appeal in the personalities of two great Nature deities, — the Mothering Earth and her ever-dying and ever- reviving lover, the divine spirit of vegetation. Charac- teristic of the worship was the rout of wild torch-bear- ing dancers attendant upon the mother Goddess. Such were the Curetes of Crete, such the Corybants of Phrygia. The typical form of the goddess was Cybele, " the Great Mother of the Gods," whose worship, with that of her lover-god Attis, was introduced into Rome about 200 b. c. Her priests were the emasculate Galli, who celebrated the union of the goddess and her lover with wild cries to Hymen, god of marriage: " Io Hymen Hymenaee ! " Very similar, and perhaps of a like origin, were the revelries in honor of Dionysus, [105] ODES spirit of wine, — Bacchant and Maenad following their deity in a delirium of intoxication which seemed to them veritable possession by the spirit of divinity. The Semitic parallel to Cybele and Attis came to the Classic peoples in the myth of " Venus and Adonis/' Adonis being the Phoenician form of the vegetation god else- where in the Semitic world known as Tammuz. It is the lamentation for this yearly-dying deity that is men- tioned in Ezekiel 8, 14: "Then he brought me to the door of the gate of the Lord's house which was toward the north ; and, behold, there sat women weep- ing for Tammuz." 5 The War of Light and Chaos: In the well-nigh universal Cosmogonic myth, varied as its details may be, primeval Chaos, conceived as a gloom-loving monster, is overcome by a hero-god of light, who fashions the orderly universe from the body of the slain monster. Perhaps the oldest version we possess of this myth is that given in the " Creation Epic " of the Babylonians, itself based upon more ancient Accadian sources. In this poem Tiamat, the Raging Deep, personates Chaos and leads the hosts of Darkness against the gods of Light. The hero-god is the great sun-tutelary of Babylon, Bel-Marduk, who proceeds against the monsters with lightning in front of him and his body filled with living fire. So terrible is he that of all the nether demons only Tiamat ven- [106] ODES tures to withstand his attack. The combat is thus de- scribed (following Professor Jastrow's translation) : Tiamat shrieked with piercing cries, She trembled and shook to her very foundations. She pronounced an incantation, she uttered her spell, And the gods of the battle took to their weapons. Then Tiamat and Marduk, the leader of the gods, stood up, They advanced to the fray, drew nigh to the fight. The lord spread out his net and caught her, The evil wind behind him he let loose in her face. As Tiamat opened her mouth to its full extent, He drove in the evil wind before she closed her lips. The mighty winds filled her stomach, Her heart failed her, and she opened wide her mouth; He seized the spear and pierced her stomach, He cut through her organs and slit open her heart. He bound her and cut off her life. He cast down her carcass and stood upon it. As one cuts " a flattened fish " Bel-Marduk shears into halves the body of Tiamat, fashioning from one of the halves " the dam of Heaven " which protects the uni- verse beneath from the all-enveloping cosmic waters. Herein he sets the stations of the stars and the heavenly bodies, while below he fashions " the mountain of Earth " as the habitation of man. 6 The marble tent of Mogul Akbar: Futtehpore Sikhri was founded by Akbar, the great- [107] ODES est and wisest of the Mogul rulers of India and one of the greatest men of human history, about 1570. It was adorned by its builder with structures which rank among the architectural masterpieces of all time, and the town as a whole is doubtless the most beautiful creation of the Oriental builders' art. Within a gen- eration of Akbar's death, however, it was abandoned, probably because of scarcity of water; and it has since been maintained by the rulers of India rather as a monument than as a place of residence. 7 Cibola s golden seven: The " Seven Golden Cities of Cibola " were the ob- ject of Spanish quests north from Mexico in the Seventeenth Century, the notable expedition being that of 1640, led by Coronado, which penetrated probably as far north as the valley of the Platte. The seven cities are presumed to have been the pueblos of the In- dians of New Mexico and Arizona, the fable of their riches being the color which Spanish desire gave to vague accounts of Indian cities in the far North. 8 To Arhat and to Bodhisat Pointing the Four-fold Way: Arhat and Bodhisat are the names, in Southern and Northern Buddhism, for one who has acquired the highest degree of saintship and may expect in the next [108] ODES incarnation to appear as a buddha. Gautama Buddha is traditionally said to have taught beneath the sacred bo tree at Buddh Gaya in Bengal, where the light of revelation first came to him. Fundamental in his teaching is the doctrine that Nirvana, the blessed state of those freed from the fateful chain of incarnate lives, is to be won through knowledge of the " Four Truths," — that life is sorrow, that reincarnation comes of desire, that escape is through annihilation of desire, and that the way to this escape is righteousness in belief and resolve, in word and deed, in life and endeavor, in thought and meditation. 9 Eros, of the glowing wings: Perhaps the most penetrating conception which Greek religious thought has given us is that of the role of Love, the god Eros, in the creation of the world. In the very substance of primeval Chaos is Love, a procreant essence; Love is first of the Immortals to assume form, and throughout the cosmic course Love is the lording spirit in the body of Being. So already with Hesiod : " First Chaos was, and then broad- bosomed Earth, and after, Love, most beautiful of the deathless gods." And the Eleatic Parmenides tells how Hestia, the central fire of the Universe, " fore- most of the gods, yea, foremost of all the gods, gave birth to Love." More poetically Aristophanes: From the cosmic egg in the bosom of Erebos, sprang forth [ 109] ODES " Eros, the longed-for," the wind-swift Eros, " gleam- ing with golden wings." With a touch of mystic pantheism, Plato makes Love the spirit of communion between god and man ; while a keener feeling both for its mortal poignancy and its immortal promise is in Euripides' wonderful choral prayer, so finely trans- lated by Gilbert Murray: Eros, Eros, who blindest, tear by tear, Men's eyes with hunger; thou swift Foe that pliest Deep in our hearts joy like an edged spear; Come not to me with Evil haunting near, Wrath on the wind, nor jarring of the clear Wing's music as thou fliest! There is no shaft that burneth, not in fire, Not in wild stars, far off and flinging fear, As in thine hands the shaft of All Desire, Eros, Child of the Highest! [no] JAN 31 5910 One copy del. to Cat. Div. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 799 327 6 III

10021050

Foot prints on the sands of time, and other pieces,

Alexander, James B. (James Bradun)

footprintsonsand00alex_djvu.txt

* ^^ 0^ o«V* 6^ oO-"- "ono^ .^ «. ..« ' .>%^a"» '-^.^^ c** .*/Slfeii*. «^ A* .*j<\^^l'" \ J' ■*^^'^' V"'.v.' \/ :^M% ^.a" /Ma^ V.^** /^ife- ^.a" 'j.'i- A^'^vr, -• ^'^'^ ^' v^^ '. '*«.o< =\ A- >, -'•Vo" <?>^ o^ *'i^- ^0 V ♦•To' ••••• A .*' . %.^* •«: %.^* :»*: "W" :'«\ -V/ 3> '^''>i^'"-^- ^°-^<.°- ./.:«J^'\ c-^ • >. •••»' .* ''•* %.^" "oV 'Ao^ ^^■^-J- y <* 'i^tfi j5°^ I*' -oK -^^x. Or c " " ° t '^ .V ^^.* >•<; . / % "oK •^0' FOOT PRINTS ON THE SANDS OF TIME AND OTHER PIECES BY JAMES B. ALEXANDER Author of "Dynamic Theory," "Soul And Its gearings," etc. 1910 t ^'i ' TS 3roi U ^ Fc if/^ COPYRIGHT 1910 BY JAMES B ALEXANDER ©C!.A<!7 1770 N ^ ^ ^ Contents Chapter Page I. Foot-Prints .1 II. What to do with the Men 25 III. A London Ballad 20 IV. Tit for Tat 31 V. Cupid 60 VI. Pasko's Clock 68 VII. Strate's Chair 75 VIII. Odbert's Clock 78 IX. Clarence and His Clock 80 X. Hymn to Ashtoreth 82 XI. Solomon's Gods 8-1 XII. Welsome to Belkis 88 XIII. The Golden Age 93 IVX. Zibia's Song 101 XV. God or Nature .....v. 103 XVI. Finis 126 Preface AH the pieces in this collection are original with me except the piece entitled *'A London Bal- lad". This piece essays to make fun of the Evolu- tion Theory. In the piece following which I have named ''Tit for Tat" I have held up the old Theory that was invented by Moses and Ezra, defending the evolution Theory by the same weapon of ridi- cule with which the London poet attacks it. The fact is the theological cult has no argument to op- pose to science and is equally destitute of argu- ment with which to support the grotesque cosmo- gony of Genesis. Not having legitimate resources for either attack or defense they have fallen back on ridicule as the only thing they have left. Where- fore we often find the funny side of evolution held up to ridicule but never any longer to logic — by the tribe of Moses and Ezra. It would not be safe from their point of view. It seems to me that much of the sober story of Moses and Esra, might in the first instance have been attributed to an ungodly jester. No fiction can be more absurd than Moses and Ezra's alleged facts. In answering Preface. ridicule in kind, care must be had that pique run not into malice. Good humor is the very pith and heart of legitimate ridicule. As for the rest little or nothing need be said. Good naturedly or otherwise, the contest just be- gun is bound to go forward, and reach a termina- tion as to the most vital points in the controversy before many of the contestants are ready for it. J. B. A. Footprints on the Sands of Time. A TALE OF A MISSING LINK. Once on a time a famous poet wrote, The classic words that I'm about to quote, Of people making tracks upon the sand, Down on the shore where ocean meets the land. Or rather as I recollect the rhyme. Of leaving foot-prints on the sands of time; To be there after we are dead and gone; AVhere men to come can find them later on. And finding, take heart in the bracing thought That others too as well as they have fought And won their victories often dearly bought. Or seen their painful labors come to nought. What means these ''Sands of Time?" The Hu- man Race, From out the dark and dim mysterious land That represents the past, with fateful pace Swarms on across this yielding stretch of sand; 2 Foot Prints And plunging in for ever, ever more, In ocean, dark, profound, without a shore, Except the shore they leave, they sink! sink! sink! Does any tie remain or any link? Elastic, strong to bind them to the past? Did ever friendly wave or pitying blast A single soul in kindness shoreward cast With message of the fate to fall at last? No! From eternity can none compel One v7ord of future life or heaven or hell, He leaves us still to blunder, grope and guess With what small wit and wisdom we possess. Baffled and stunned, to desperation driven. The problem o'er and o'er we turn in vain; With absolutely no conditions given, What answer can we ever hope to gain? Let everlasting Doom his secrets keep ! Turn we to other problems not so deep. What of the ''Sands of Time" upon the shore Of doom? Wliat of the foot-prints scattered o'er. Behold these paths criss-crossed or parallel, Diverging, meeting — What have these to tell? Innumerable feet have trod these ways; They tell us tales of men of other days. Foot Prints A narrow path is here, a wider there, While further on a broad highway shows where Some tribe or nation populous and great Pressed forward to its predetermined fate. Upon these narrow trails small sects or clans Or parties traversed their allotted spans, And when their vestiges were duly cast Oblivions waves submerged them all at last. Yet here no single foot-prints can be seen, All is smoothed down to one monotonous mean ; Though many may have been at first impressed. Each is obliterated by the rest. For individual foot-prints we must look; Between the paths in unfrequented nook; Where traveling is difficult and rough; While he who travels there is made of stuff; Unlike the castings of the common mould; Impatient of restraint, unfearing, bold. With small regard for artificial rules Or hackneyed wit of unprogressive schools. Drawing from nature undisguised by art His inspiration for an untried part In life's great drama true to faith and fact Mayhap the opening lines of some new act. 4 Foot Prints Observe the foot-prints left where he has trod, Well printed tracks impressed by feet unshod; His own peculiar tracks — so does he choose, Shall be the prints of feet not boots and shoes. That they their natural features may disclose, The heel, sole, arch — particularly those Significant, fantastic, tell-tale toes — 'V\niat sort of tale have they to tell? Who knows? You'd scarcely think if you should look me o'er. That I would care to leave upon the shore. The prints of my small feet, these number sevens, Amongst the giant tracks of tens and 'levens. Unprepossessing, shy and old, and bent. Why should not such a one be well content. To shuffle by the easy way, along The easy route by which the mighty throng. Plods on with just as little thought of how Or where or when as may suffice them now — Thought? No, they scarcely think, they only feel Uneasy feelings — these alone are real. Real maladies, and men by every act They ever do assert and prove the fact, 'Tis certainly the business of our lives. To kill our feelings — rather each one strives. Foot Prints To kill itself and dying re-appear, In other form, a gesture, groan or tear. Or step to bear the weary pilgrim soul One more degree toward its destined goal. Lethean ocean waits with smacking lips And lapping tongues, each coming soul that dips But hand or foot beneath the wave, or sips A drowsy draught; forthwith that soul it strips. Of memories and thoughts and hopes and pains, And thus at once the soul at length attains The end of feelings all as it had done Piecemeal before by strangling one by one. Thus, living, yet continuously we die. The life we prize involves the death we mourn ; We ne'er can reach the rest that seems so nigh, While to the soul new feelings still are bom. Now every common feeling of our lives, We know is coming ere it well arrives. And meeting it with antidote and cure, We make its ending or abortion sure. 6 Foot Prints These chronic hungers come alike to all For shelter, rest and sleep, food, drink and clothes, And even on each other we may call For help to overthrow these common foes. But hardly are these maladies subdued Than forth there comes another clamorous brood, True daughters of the horse leech crying *'Give! Give! What is life if we no more than live?" Thus feeling killed is like a river dammed, YvThose onward rush but for a moment calmed, It forth resumes its undiminished sweep Of waters dark tumultuous and deep. With timorous eddies clinging to the shore Irresolute retreating then once more Advancing under protest; while the flood Unhalting hurries on its load of mud. To be upon the future delta cast The pregnant contribution of the past; And plotting whirlpools, treacherous and false, Death masquerading in their dizzy waltz. Foot Prints And rippling rivulets that laugh alone, And solemn pools with secrets all their own. And spray, ascending spirit of the fall, And mist, mysterious coverlet of all. The meaning of this allegory's plain. The river stands for feelings in the main; The common feelings rising day by day, We murder these while trudging on the way. While all the accessorial forms, of rill And rivulet and pool, and mist and spray Are rarer feelings difficult to kill Or even diagnose in common way. Queer and unusual maladies are these, Not to be cured by common remedies, But as I said if they are let alone They mostly cure themselves by ways their own. Because these feelings end themselves 'tis clear, In giving rise to actions just as queer. For as indignant feelings make one fight Just so "furor scribendi" makes him write. Most every one feels in his secret breast Encysted there an unobtrusive wish To be remembered in his long, long rest. And not forgotten like a beast or fish. 8 Foot Prints But oft some vagrant germ of discontent Inoculating wish creates desire; Which growing stronger by development Becomes an inflammation fierce as fire. When one is liable to such attacks, Scarce anything will cure him short of tracks; A trail of tracks that he may leave behind, For others coming after him to find. He never counts at all rest, comfort, ease, He never can be cured by such as these, Real work he realizes must be done. He cannot try or wish to shirk or shun. If work is done outside the common grooves Society most likely disapproves; Folks gravely shake their heads at each new plan, And hinder and defeat it if they can. How know the folks by what appellatives The ones who seek to thwart our patient's ends? His enemies, his jealous relatives. His envious neighbors, his officious friends. They ridicule and lecture him and scold, And mock and hector him and cut him cold, And coax and wheedle him and preach and pray And talk behind his back and thus they say: Foot Prints 9 "Absurd to go without his shoes and sox We must not let him get the best of us, And flout our ways all strictly orthodox; But make him imitate the rest of us. "Even if tracks must be made they're far more neat When made by stylish shoes, than naked feet; Bare feet! How very coarse and unrefined — Indeed he must wear shoes and wear our kind. Should he establish his presumptuous views Against the rules of those who think for us. The makers of our fashionable shoes — 'Twould be a bitter draught to drink for us. So if bare-footed he will traipse about Ashamed to see his tracks we'll rub them out, And institute if he don't walk just so An inquirendum de lunatico. "Why wa'nt his ailment such as we have got! For then we'd tell him what to do for it; An odd, eccentric obstinate old lot To put us all in such a stew for it." They'll "rub them out" aye that's the rub. In sand The best made prints will hardly ever stand The wear and tear that common weather sends, Much less the vicious jabs of hostile friends. 10 Foot Prints The Geologians tell us they have found In strata raised from far beneath the ground Foot-prints of reptiles easy to be known, And tracks of birds too, pressed there in the stone. And even drops of rain once left their prints In unmistakable and slanting dints, A hasty shower from the south south-west. Long, long ago, its date can scarce be guessed. These prints made on a softened beach and dried; The beach of some old, Mesozoic sea, Were buried by the slow returning tide With mud spread gently but effectively. Which hardening into rock and sinking down, A thousand fathoms more of rock and clay Were piled on top and then again this crown Of rock was swept away and light of day. Shown on those old, old signatures once more, A thousand, thousand ages had passed o'er. Gone was the ancient ocean and the shore, While they were fresh as e'er they'd been before. Can we not take a gentle hint from this? Why need our foot-prints always fall amiss? If buried rightly it may be inferred They'll last as long as those of frog or bird. Foot Prints 11 Sky his daring aim, mud his place of birth; Man is a reptile and a bird in one; Now groveling in the slimy pools of earth, Now winged and soaring to the dazzling sun. Man is of his mean origin ashamed To be with brutes by science classed and named, Ashamed to share with them a common blood, Ashamed to make his tracks in common mud. But let him soar and soar however high, Like birds, his homing back to earth must be, He cannot stamp his foot-prints on the sky. Nor there, in air, Avork out his destiny. Each one should choose the method of his tracks Best suited to his own peculiar case, Since one has qualities another lacks; No more are folks alike in feet than face. And now I think so far as I'm concerned, My form of tracks will be a modest book. Not very thick, nor very deep nor learned, I'll bury this where none will likely look; To find it in the next ten thousand years In some library vast and full of nooks And shelves, the tombs of poets, prophets, seers, Dry, dusty, musty catacombs for books. 12 Foot Prints So eager to be buried is a book! The usual form it seems to overlook Of dying first — Indeed it does not die; It only sleeps and may be said to lie; Or stand in comatose and dreamless doze And yet it has no secrets it can keep. If questioned it will tell you all it knows, Incontinently talking in its sleep. Most any little book might well be proud, To doze away the years with such a crowd, Illustrious with learning art and wit — Not all alas does this description fit. Oft mediocrity an calf or sheep Flouts merit clad in buckram plain and cheap; So, envious, little book, thou shouldst not be, There, there now, go to sleep and R. I. P. Ten million years have gone! Well, let them go! No more than ten are they to one asleep, What boots it — long or short or ^ast or slow Without the tally which the feelings keep? The year ten million eighteen thirty one! How strange the folks of this late age appear! John Smith! behold your strictly lineal son With neither tooth nor toe nor hair nor ear! Foot Prints 13 With spindle shanks and archless clubby feet, Not strong nor agile nor to my taste, neat; But my! his head! what room for mental stores! 'Twill hold at least John thrice as much as yours. Here come a group like steeples on their points, Top-heavy slim macrocephalous folks. Not very supple in their limbs and joints, But full of mots, and repartees, and jokes. Quite civilized though mostly young I guess; But one is older and of different dress; They call him ''Prof;" this is his class, I see. Ah yes; their study is geology. For see their outfit strapped upon their backs, A spade, a pick some hammers and an ax To smite the rocks and open up the cracks; Let's see! Wa'nt it near this we left our tracks, 'Way back in eighteen thirty one? so changed Is this whole place ! A solitude 'tis now. Where once a mighty nation thronged and ranged ; There is the ragged shore with beetling brow. 14 Foot Prints Raised high as if by some seismic force, And at its base the sloping beach of sand; Now turned to rock with every path and course, And foot-print buried with the ancient strand. But where 's the Lethean Sea that washed this beach? And stretched away in endless, endless reach, And has it found a bottom and a shore? And are its secrets, secrets nevermore? Upon the Lethean shore Time bares his brow And bids defiance to Eternity; They battle in the ever moving Now And Time, the victor always seems to be. The waves retreat before aggressive Time, And he like some Cyclopean giant strides Resistless, self-reliant, proud, sublime, And thus his foe he hectors and derides. "We often credit wisdom to the dumb Who'd but expose their folly could they speak It seems so very knowing to be mum. But in thy stolid face we vainly seek; *'To find intelligence for not a gleam Rewards our scrutiny nor does it seem That thou wilt e'er thy buried secrets yield; In vain to thee the helpless have appealed. Foot Prints 15 In vain to thee the sorrowing have kneeled; Thine ears as well as lips are surely sealed, And surely thou art deaf as well a dumb. But finally thou surely must succumb. Behold the empire I have wrenched from thee Torn from thy nerveless grasp, Eternity! Canst thou forever such reprisals standi Thy wat'ry waste — I'll turn it all to land. And plant with my young vigor — make it breed, And bring forth life-perpetuating seed; See what I've done 'tis naught to what I'll do. And when I've finished what is left for you." Eternity is silent as the sphinx But list! Those smacking lips and tongues methinks So softly lapping Times 's late conquered sand, Are whispering something, could we under- stand. "Dost thou boast thy youth? Youth means change, and growth And age; and age implies decay and death; I am not young, I never was, nor doth Decay breathe over me his mouldy breath. 16 Foot Prints 1 never change I am not bound by laws; I ail' not old nor will I ever be; In the past I am, in the future, was — Past, present, future only one to me. All thou hast seized is not a beetles pinch; And, strangely? All thy valor, greed and skill Plave not reduced my domain by an inch And take whate'er thou wilt they never will. I swallow up thy creatures and their works. Thy secrets soon or late all fall to me. Thy boasted wisdom, taunts and witty quirks; And boaster last of all I'll swallow thee. Traceless forever shall thy foot-prints be ; As furrow plowed by ship across the sea ; As serpent's trail on rock swept clean and bare; As flight of eagle cleft through thinnest air."* ♦Proverbs, 30-19. And so contend the Titan's on the shore; Men by the hypnotizing danger lured, "With nervous haste press to the very fore, Sure unrest can by un-rest ne'er be cured. But Time engrossed with his stern enterprise Unheed's the mangled crowds beneath his feet As he his fatal mace with vigor plies. Against the sullen waves in measured beat; Foot Prints 17 Still other crowds are swept at every blow, The risk is theirs, Time stays not cannot stay ; And thus mankind forever come and go. His to create at first, at last to slay. And others still press on ahead of Time, In dalliance with the dark narcotic waves, And multitudes still in their youth or prime, Find only prematurely there their graves. To whom howe'er the end may come at last, All to the same forgetfulness are passed. Each wave recoiling from Time's fateful blow; Drags victims in the treacherous undertow . And thus the staggering shore of Now retreats; And men drag forward their uneasy seats; Each life a tragic comedy completes; And history in endless rote repeats. * * * "Eureka! Prof! Come see what I have found. Here just beneath the surface of this mound, A curious specimen to say the least; What is it? Mollusk, reptile, fish or beast?" Nay, nay, my lad give your opinion first, To show us what proficiency you've made, How well by Alma Mater you've been nursed; Assign your fossil to its proper grade; 18 Foot Prints Its species, genus, family and race; Then give a name, the privilege due your skill, Perhaps your own as frequently the case, ''MoUuskus Jonesii" or what you will. Well then Professor, I am free to say I think it is a mollusk. I am led, A Cephalopod to judge it by the way That tentacles sprout forth around its head. Ju?5t five of these projecting out in front, But where its tail should be, 'tis round and blunt ; Since tails are mostly pointed it must be This creature is of some new family." **Your explication is ingenious, quite, But I regret to say is far from right; This fossil is remarkable and rare; None found in fifty years that I'm aware. "But now observe this is no fossil fish; Or animal at all of any kind. It is a foot-print plain as one could wish; They go in pairs — these prints, and you will find. ''Three feet ahead, one to the right, no doubt, A mate to this for they are lefts and rights, So on; three feet apart or thereabout, Dig up some more; twill help your appetites. Foot Prints 19 ''Now some of you may tell us if you please What sort of creature made such tracks as these. ' ' '^ Should I professor one more venture dare I feel quite sure it must have been a bear. *'A bear makes foot-prints plantigrade like these, In fact they are as much alike as peas; Heels on the ground; and, furthemore because What I called tentacles are plainly claws." Quite clever lad, but quite mistaken yet. To controvert your views I much regret; No, these are not the foot-prints of a bear, But of an animal beyond compare. "Superior in all respects; in fine. Feet features of the human form divine." "Why good Professor! sure you cannot mean That these are human tracks; 'tis easily seen. "We could not make such brutish tracks as these, And are we not called human — if you please?" "True, true, your point is taken well. No doubt This creature was (I should have said) about "Half human, though from such as he we trace The lineage of our present Human Eace. Our old ancestral ape had on his feet Five digits good as fingers quite complete. 20 Foot Prints "Prehensile hold-fast handy organs, these; Call them claws or fingers as you please; This fossil track, these former digits shows, Reduced to useless stumps — they called them toes. ''We luckily are rid of them for good, (Excepting for a brief prenatal term) They never had for aught but mischief stood With troublous nails and corns to shoot and squirm. ''Observe again the arching of the sole, Quite useful to the ape in climbing trees — The bottom of the foot shaped round the bole; This feature was inherited by these, "Our ancestors who made these tracks, but we, Have scarcely any of it left you see And other points they had which we have not. And think we're better off by quite a lot. "Our knowledge of these folks is not confined To tracks alone, for they have left behind, Inscriptions, sculptures, monuments and books That tell their works and forms and ways and looks. Foot Prints 21 ''Long ages anteceding history's birth Men fought with beasts for mastery of earth Terrific monsters swarmed from den and lair; Or crawled from swamps or darted through the air. ''All armed with knife-like teeth in vise-like-jaws, And ponderous members wielding deadly claws, Each one the foe of all the rest, and man; And he his own — each clan at feud with clan. "When man from out this bloody contest came Victorious over beast and Lord of Earth — Of all except himself — peace seemed too tame To launch this victory of greatest worth. "For in those times our now united race Was split in factions — nations, tribes and clans ; When these were foes, as commonly the case. They strained their energies with treacherous plans. To rob each other, maim, destroy and kill With brute ferocity and human skill The carnage thus went on and human blood Still soaked the thirsty earth — a crimson flood. 22 Foot Prints And we the peace and safety we enjoy To these sad, sanguinary struggles owe. These are the brutal means the fates employ To prove the strong, the weak, the swift the slow. ^Tis heartless force not love that doth decree Survival of the fittest, 'tis not hate. Directs the fate o'erwhelming you and me When in the race we lag, too weak, too late. Fair smiling Peace is born from murderous strife, Death only clears the way for larger life ; Be slow to blame these Fathers of our Race, Our all back to their martyrdom we trace. ''This ancient man possessed a little wing Stuck on each side his head — 'twas called an ear, A gristly, moveless, useless homely, thing. No help at all to either fly or hear. ''It was the law in very ancient times To crop these ears in punishment for crimes, But why 'twas punishment well rid to be Of hideous things like these it puzzles me. Likewise he had upon his face and head Hirsute appendages in black and red, A savage crop of bristles, whiskers, hair. For fierceness rivalling the boar and bear. Foot Prints 23 **A laboratory was this ancient man A dozen chemic factories in one, His armored jaws the grist mill of the plap Ground up the food by which the rest were run. The stomach next to mix the mess for all And to each part its portion duly pass, Each brewing vat and factory for gall. And vinegar and sugar, soap and gas. ''Thus for himself did each his food digest. With complex organs seldom sure of rest From jumping toothache, peritonitis. Piles, gripes, colic or appendicitis. We may congratulate ourselves indeed, From these uncanny insides we are freed, No more like beasts the beastly load to tote. Nor scavengers in periodic rote. We have their products better formed abroad, As coats and hats are made or timber sawed, What nature put on each one at the start, A few now do for all the rest by art. ''And so by his anatomy and shape The manner of his living, food and drink. This man was half way twixt us and the ape— And more — A deeply interesting link! 24 Foot Prints "My lads these foot-prints mark and ponder well The story they so eloquently tell Of progress striding at a mighty pace; Then courage, take; fresh courage for the race. By evolution, from the ancient ruts, With vast expansion of the brain and soul, At cheap expense of muscle, teeth and guts, We see it lifted towards a glorious goal. **A lesson too in duty let us learn As taught by this unprepossessing man, That we our place in nature may discern. And like him make our mark as best we can; And mold our foot-prints shapely, sharp and trim, And give to our posterity the chance, To write us up in science and romance. And talk of us as we have talked of him. Reward? Done duty brings its own reward, To shirk or slight we can but ill afford. Besides how great the pleasure just to think, Oneself discovered as a Missng Link!" IVhat the New Woman will do with the Men. A SONG OF THE TWENTIETH CENTURY. Prelude and Chorus. 'Tis a puzzle, *tis a puzzle-uzzle-uzzle, To know what to do with the men, For things have gone kerflop, and the woman is on top, And the rooster has surrendered to the hen. * ♦ * Our mothers knew no better than to let their Hub- bies rule; But we've been educated in a very different school. It never was designed that we should take the second place, 'Tis not agreeable to us, nor better for the race. We have responsibilities we never ought to shirk; The church to run, the laws to make and other weighty work; The girls and boys to educate, the ship of state to steer; And Man to watch and regulate and keep within his sphere. 26 What To Do With The Men Just how we are to deal with man we're not at all agreed, Some say we'd beter take him in, while others say that he'd As well be quietly ignored. But it appears to us, AYe ought to do the best we can to utilize the cuss. That man has ingenuity we may as well confess, His works, his assiduity and cleverness express, His locomotives on the land, his ships upon the sea, Do indicate mechanical superioritee. He's good at cultivating land and feeding herds and flocks; And building railw^ays and canals and watering their stocks; He knows the art of tunneling and mining under ground, And where the silver, diamonds, gold, and pre- cious stones are found. He spans great rivers wide and deep with bridges vast and high. Of stout steel beams and rods criss-crossed — steel "cobwebs in the sky." He builds our factories and stores, our churches, dwellings, schools; And does al sorts of monkey work with funny looking tools. What To Do With The Men 27 He makes machines for writing, sewing, darning socks and knitting; For threshing grain and weaving cloth and saw- ing rocks and splitting; And instruments of music too; for thrumming, drumming, tooting; And other things for killing folks by blowing up and shooting; And great machines that go by steam that books and papers print; And stamps for pounding money out of metals at the mint; And ielgraphs and telephones and microphones and such Contrivances in multitudes enough to beat the Dutch. Now we by proper management can handle him with ease. And reap the profits of his work, and there's no doubt that he's, A necessary evil — we are very sure of that; And saying we've no use for him, is talking through a hat. With sturdy bones and muscles strong rejoicing in their might. And braAvny back for burdens and a head-piece fairly bright, 28 What To Do With The Men And fingers trained to labor and some more good points of his, We'll find him very handy; we can use him in our biz. And when in merry-making mood, diversion we would seek, A smile or nod will fetch him quick, obsequious and meek, With mild flirtation, dance or sport, as we may set the pace; Still heeding that he ne'er becomes forgetful of his place. And when grim-visaged war appears and foes invade the land. And there shall be for soldiers an imperative demand ; To meet the gory sacrifice, inevitable then, We'll send our cheapest citizens. Of course that means the men. But now 'tis plain, our burden is, to make all wars to cease; To cast the devil out of man and start the Age of Peace; To yank him from the brutal stage and plant him on the Human — Good gracious! what a job we've got, to evolute the New-Man, Dr. Darwin; A London Ballad Anonymous. Oh, Doctor Darwin he's the man To tell us how the world began You may believe him if you can, Sing ho for Doctor Darwin. Now Peers to Herald's College throng To learn to whom they all belong For all their quarterings are wrong According to Doctor Darwin. Hokey, pokey, monkey, fun, Wonders never will have done, Huxley and Lubbock and every one, Supporting Doctor Darwin. Some trace their pedigree so far With Garter, Coronet and Star, Yet no one knows how old they are According to Doctor Darwin. The Howards and Gowers and all that lot Were born to be I know not what But whence they came at last we've got According to Doctor Darwin. 30 Tit For Tat It's true that these Aristocrats ]\Iay bill and coo like ava-de-vats, And yet they came from water rats According to Doctor Darwin. The fish in shore and out at sea Eelatod are to you and me Think of that when you've shrimps for tea, According to Doctor Darwin. To think a baby that has gone Through every phase before it was born, Should end in becoming the Marquis of Lome According to Doctor Darwin. Hokey, pokey, monkey, fun, Wonders never will have done, Huxley and Lubbock and every one, Supporting Doctor Darwin. If ever since the world began We rise by preconcerted plan — Why call it the descent of man, According to Doctor Darwin. And as the races intermix You can't be certain about the chicks What can't you graft on briar sticks? According to Doctor Darwin. Tit For Tat 31 If marriage be arranged above, And crow be wedded to a dove, It shows how we get crossed in love, According to Doctor Darwin. Moses and Ezra 's Version, Tit for Tat. ByJ.B. About six thousand years ago, The gods from lying rather low, Roused up to build a world or so. According to Moses and Ezra. Strange they had lain so long and still ! They had the power, but lacked the will. There was no doubt about their skill, According to Moses and Ezra. Well, they commenced one Sunday morn, In muggy weather dark and lorn To figure how a world is born, According to Moses and Ezra. And first of all they called for light, For everything was out of sight. Could not distinguish black and white. According to Moses and Ezra. So one of them produced a match And turned to find the place to scratch* And light there was in quick dispatch. According to Moses and Ezra. ♦See Ex. 33-23. 32 Tit For Tat This light they struck when they begun Illuminating what was done, They needed to see in building the sun, According to Moses and Ezra. They should have made the sun at first, And then if worse should come to worst. Or anything mayhap should burst, According to Moses and Ezra; Or, if the wind had blown it out And left them groping all about. His shine would help beyond a doubt, According to Moses and Ezra. This Sunday work, 'tis very true. Is not permitted me or you. But Great Jehovah was a Jew, According to Moses and Ezra. Blue Monday next — the day was spent In working on a firmament, Whate'r that was or where it went. According to Moses and Ezra. This firmament was thin as air Or other very light affair Through which the lightnings rip and swear. According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 33 And when it rains the waters pour Through gates they open in the floor Above the stars where eagles soar, According to Moses and Ezra. Some say it was a lid of glass, Or shield — and partly made of brass, A notion rather queer and crass, According to Moses and Ezra. At any rate it can't be found; They've searched the sky and searched the ground, And each suspicious dint and mound, According to Moses and Ezra; If peradventure some great smash. Had pulverized it into hash. In sparks that fly when meteors crash, According to Moses and Ezra. And so they lost a precious day Or half at least as I should say AVithout the means to make it stay According to Moses and Ezra. And then forgot the milky way Or thought it baby stars at play Or refuse chaos thrown away, According to Moses and Ezra. 34 Tit For Tat Tuesday's work we must commend As means adapted to an end, Dry land and vegetation blend, According to Moses and Ezra. But stop ! the rain had been forgot And everything was dry and hot And business hindered quite a lot. According to Moses and Ezra. ]<^or while it was so awful dry For raising pumpkins, corn and rye 'Twas hardly worth their while to try According to Moses and Ezra. For it is plain as it can be Tf weather makers can't agree To make the sun dish up the sea. According to Moses and Ezra. And sprinkle it upon the soil Our work is unrequited toil If drouth our garden sass should spoil According to Moses and Ezra. As yet the sun had not been made And plants were wilting in the shade And languishing in bloom and blade According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 35 How long forsooth could this endure? Not many days we may be sure, Unless they haste the solar cure, According to Moses and Ezra. The church despite ungodly jeers Has wrenched the day so it appears And spun it out a thousand years. According to Moses and Ezra. And yet I think I hear you say Work to the Gods is merely play, They'd do it all in half a day, According to Moses and Ezra. On Wednesday stars and moon and sun Their brightening glory just begun. Receive their orders how to run. According to Moses and Ezra. And how to stand and shed their light, The sun by day and moon by night Suspended at the proper height. According to Moses and Ezra. And so the stars were safely swung, As from the firmament they hung. With chickens roosting all among, According to Moses and Ezra. 36 Tit For Tat Thursday was the busiest yet; Feathers and wings and tails to get; The birds to hatch and hens to set, According to Moses and Ezra. 'Twas hard to make them fit, poor things; Just hear that linnet while he sings — I cannot fly please fix my wings, According to Moses and Ezra. They formed the fishes too that day And learned how water softens clay To dissipate and float away. In spite of Moses and Ezra. And when they put them in to swim However shapely, neat and trim, Their tails soaked off and lost their vim. In spite of Moses and Ezra. At last they raised them from the eggs. And mostly destitute of legs. But some were born with crooked pegs, According to Moses and E;:ra The most of these were seals and whales With flipper fins and fishy tails That smote the brine like thresher's flails, According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 37 A serious bull they made right here Though bulls are mammals, that is clear, And in the class with bear and deer, In spite of Moses and Ezra. When they were got to suit their wish They taught these mammals how to fish, And thus provide a Friday dish According to Moses and Ezra. That made them swim and fight and dive To snatch their booty while alive, And let the active fit survive, According to Moses and Ezra. And so this wonder came about How by the evolution route All creatures change inside and out, In spite of Moses and Ezra. Friday came with skip of dawn ^The workers stretch themselves and yawn, 'Tis clear they're fagged in brain and brawn, According to Moses and Ezra. Yes thoy are tired that's confessed. They've worked with rather too much zest. But Saturday's a coming rest. According to Moses and Ezra. 38 Tit For Tat When they can snooze beneath the trees, Enjoy the cool, refreshing breeze, And eke repent they'd made the fleas, According to Moses and Ezra. This Friday sure must see them through. Despite the odds and ends to do, Enough to keep them all estew According to Moses and Ezra. Some mammals made the day before Were changed (as mentioned) on the shore. But now they wanted many more. According to Moses and Ezra. The elephant, skunk and wanderoo, Giraffe and sheep and pig and gnu. And rats and gophers not a few, According to Moses and Ezra. What day it was the snakes were made Cannot with certainty be said. But they were hatched from eggs they laid. According to Moses and Ezra. That Friday morn as it appears The rain was still in sad arrears, Three days or else three thousand years, According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 39 Perhaps it was the wrong of the moon, But showers came that afternoon t'or corn and cabbage none too soon, According to Moses and Ezra. Man They said now let us make a man Constructed on a general plan, To look like us as near as we can. According to Moses and Ezra. And so they found some extra clay, That can't be picked up every day. And fine enough to form a fay, According to Moses and Ezra. So man was made in the image of grace. Alike in hands and feet and face. With yet of the monkey a visible trace. According to Moses and Ezra. They next contrived a fine resort. Of name and fame and wide report, Where every one could feast and sport. According to Moses and Ezra. 40 Tit For Tat Profusion too of fruits and flowers, Of running l>rooks and dreamy bowers And all delights for passing hours, According to Moses and Ezra. So Eden, that delightful place, The cradle of the human race. Had every necessary grace, According to Moses and P]zra. And everything was made to please, Except one U'ca) amid the trees. Put there tlirougli pi(iue or just to tease. According to Moses and Ezra. The tree of knowledge Avas its name, To cat thereof was deemed the same. As arrant sacrilege and shame, According to Moses and Ezra. The man was to the garden led. To view the goodies all aspread, Nuts, haws and berries — black and red, According to Moses and Ezra. He spied this fine forbidden fruit. Denied to man and fowl and brute. To render gods alone astute. According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 41 Desirable to make one wise Delightful to the longing eyes, And ah, what dreams of apple pies! According to Moses and Ezra. They lay there scattered all around. And loaded branches swept the ground, None such the gods themselves had found. According to Moses and Ezra. But Yahweh charged the man he made, ''This knowledge-fruit you see displayed Is for us gods — not you," he said. According to Moses and Ezra. "For you 'tis only made to spy, The day you eat, that day you die," The serpent whispered; ''What a fib," According to Moses and Ezra. This man was such a rustic clown, Unwashed his feet, unkempt his crown, His hairy hide a tawny brown, According to Moses and Ezra. They said they'd look him up a spouse. To help him gather haws and browse, His mettle and ambition rouse, According to Moses and Ezra. 42 Tit For Tat They thought perhaps one might be found, By looking carefully around, Or one they might with care impound, According to Moses and Ezra. And so they made a grand parade. Of all the beasts the gods had made. The man reviewing in the shade. According to Moses and Ezra. And names he gave to all that crew, 'Twas quite a job for one so new. Perhaps the snake helped out some too. According to Moses and Ezra. They searched the herd of animals through, Of many a form and temper too But found not one they thought would do. According to Moses and Ezra. They clear forgot the chimpanzee. Though like to Adam as a bee Is like a drone. Demure was she, According to Moses and Ezra. Her lodging was the family tree She was of uppish family, And of the longest pedigree, According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 43 At last perhaps that's what he got The rib tale sure is clumsy rot Put up CO doubt to hide what's what. According to Moses and Ezra. But possibly they failed to spy The chimpanzee when perched on high Among the leaves; the crowd passed by. According to Moses and Ezra. They said at least to camp alone 'Twould never do but we, 'tis known Can make a lady from a bone, According to Moses and Ezra, To be for him a likely wife To last the tenure of his life And share and share his strenuous strife. According to Moses and Ezra. They then threw Adam in a doze With anesthetics up his nose, Just introduced as I suppose, According to Moses and Ezra. Then cut him open — ! I declare ! And found a rib he had to spare, Then sewed him up again with care, According to Moses and Ezra. 44 Tit For Tat The great Jehovah seized this bone, And started for the woods alone, Just how he did was never known. According to Moses and Ezra. But from this bone a girl was made, And brought to Adam in the shade, Just following the grand parade, According to Moses and Ezra. How could a little bone become A damsel blooming like a plum, Of years mature for chewing gum!! According to Moses and Ezra. Is this a stratagem we see. To give the man the best that be, A gentle lady Chimpanzee? According to Moses and Ezra. And so they gave her to the man, And ever since the world began They've followed out this same old plan, According to Moses and Ezra. But tune our song a different lay The man it is, that's given away, The woman is mostly all the play, According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 45 How craftily the weaker rules Without the tutoring of schools! Finesse and art her winning tools, According to Moses and Ezra. The men are managed — so tis said By stomach culture — not the head, When full they follow where they're led, According to Moses and Ezra. They only have to make them eat Of goody-goodies tart and sweet And generous wines and royal meat, According to Moses and Ezra. * * * Dear hubby said this artful spouse, The grub this management allows Is hardly fit for pigs and cows, According to Moses and Ezra. Bullberries, nuts and haws and hips — Whene'er they pass my hungry lips, Most always give a spell of grips, According to Moses and Ezra. Says Adam what now — tiresome tease — W^e don't find johnny-cakes on trees. And honey brings the stings of bees, According to Moses and Ezra. 46 Tit For Tat Says she, I know 'tis muchly so, But where did all this wisdom grow? Don't juice from Jahveh's apples flow? According to Moses and Ezra. Said Adam, not for me, nay, nay. I would not dare to disobey, The curse declares, you die that day! According to Moses and Ezra. All that is very well she said. But where does Jahveh plant his dead? That fruit but makes us smart instead. According to Moses and Ezra. Says she this story's all a fake, The fruit is fine to eat or bake, I've sampled it likewise the snake. According to Moses and Ezra. These mysteries and bogy rules Are only made to manage fools. And twist them into easy tools. According to Moses and Ezra. Said he you keep that snake too near, He whispers mischief in your ear, Fve watched the rascal's cunning leer, According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 47 And yet I half believe it's true, The things the fellow says of you — That yarn about the rib won't do, According to Moses and Ezra. I never had a rib to spare, Just feel, you'll find my ribs all there — Nor never slept like that I swear. According to Moses and Ezra. He says your grandpa lived in trees And spent his time in catching fleas Like all the other Chimpanzees, According to Moses and Ezra. Your name is Lilith so they say You sport with dragons in their play, With Satyrs dance the nights away, According to Moses and Ezra. Boo-hoo cried she 'tis mean of you. To 'blieve them tales that is'nt true, That snake has been too thick with you. According to Moses and Ezra. When Adam found he'd made her cry, No charge of cruelty could lie. His sorrow shone in lip and eye. According to Moses and Ezra. 48 Tit For Tat ''Tut-tut my sweetheart, never mind, I did not mean to be unkind To all your faults I'll be stone blind," According to Moses and Ezra. One may of beasts suppress his fears, Nor care for jesters and their jeers. But none can stand a woman's tears. According to Moses and Ezra. 'Tis clear enough he meant no wrong, ('Tis here I think such things belong) They hugged and kissed as in the song. According to Moses and Ezra. Quoth he, henceforth thy name is Eve, Mother of all the living, live ! And in their lives all things achieve. According to Moses and Ezra. The victory declared to her, She grinds her ax with many a purr, And strokes the right way of the fur. According to Moses and Ezra. Said she, ''A rule of etiquet. Round which our tribal ethics set. Makes man his sphere our food to get. According to Moses and Ezra, Tit F'or Tat 49 Now Adam dear, don't lag behind, But lead with your superior mind, I'll show you something you can find." According to Moses and Ezra. Then she made haste to fetch some fruit And held it to her hubby's snoot, ''Such food is worth a God's pursuit." According to Moses and Ezra. And as he munched and crammed, he cried, "I'm sure 'twas not the snake that lirrij" Such glorious food I ne'er have tried.' According to Moses and Ezra. But scarcely were these praises said. He felt a swelling in his head. And legs bewildered in their spread. According to Moses and Ezra. And then cried he too much I see, 'Tis double you and double me And two of every bush and tree. According to Moses and Ezra. For every thing I saw before, I now see two or even more, The cause of that, I can't explore. According to Moses and Ezra. 50 Tit For Tat Of course said she, that's what I said, When on this knowledge-fruit you've fed, Fresh learning always swells your head. According to Moses and Ezra. My, my, cried Adam, You're a sight. How came you in this sorry plight, Without a stitch on, black or white, According to Moses and Ezra. Said she I'm just like you I'm sure, A naked beau must one endure. If one in clothes one can't procure. According to Moses and Ezra. Am I in that fix too? cried he. Then looked to see what he could see, "By George, 'tis so, I must agree. According to Moses and Ezra. You've got us in a pretty scrape. If we but had a shawl or cape, Or anything our backs to drape ! According to Moses and Ezra. The rest are all well fixed for clothes, On every one some garment grows, Put there at first as I suppose. According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 51 Now Yahwehs work was done for good, At least that's what he understood, He thought he'd done the best he could, According to Moses and Ezra. But ah, the best laid schemes of men, And mice and gods fail often, when Just where they're at they little ken, According to Moses and Ezra. Jehovah, glad his work is done. Starts for a little sacred fun, About a half an ''hour by sun," According to Moses and Ezra. For it is cool that time of day. And work knocks off and workmen play. Recruiting for the morrow's day. According to Moses and Ezra. Our parents heard his shout and song, The hills the echoing peals prolong, They couldn't imagine what was wrong, According to Moses and Ezra. And so they hid behind a tree. Where great Jehovah could not see, How destitute of duds they be. According to Moses and Ezra. 52 Tit For Tat Here's fruit Jehovah cried, *'ad lib," I surely hope my little fib. Scared off that hobo and his rib, According to Moses and Ezra. Whew! Fm sure, I smell that snake. Some one has made a grave mistake. Who let him in the truth to break, According to Moses and Ezra. About the tree of which I spake That keeps a person wide awake, And makes him sit and notice take?" According to Moses and Ezra. Go put that man and woman out, No telling what they've been about, They've spoiled my plans I have no doubt, According to Moses and Ezra. But hold 'tis only just and fair, To hear what say this measly pair, How they found out their backs were bare. According to Moses and Ezra. Jehovah called the bashful pair. He shrewdly guessed right where they were, Says he, I said 'twas only fair, According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 53 To hear what you have got to say, Why did you try to run away, Now tell us all without delay, According to Moses and Ezra. Says Adam, you see we 'd nothing to wear. And none of our friends a clout to spare, A mare with foal we'd surely scare, According to Moses and Ezra. Said Yahweh, that is doubtless so, You'd do quite well to scare a crow. But how came you all this to know? According to Moses and Ezra. By this 1 clearly understand, You've eaten fruit that's contraband. Against my most express command. According to Moses and Ezra. *'That wife you gave to help me eat, Smirk, buxom, artful and discreet. Prehensile toes and graceful feet, According to Moses and Ezra. A witchingly, seductive mate, She made me taste the tempting bait, She picked the fruit — I merely ate." According to Moses and Ezra. 54 Tit For Tat "Now mistress what have you to say? Is woman's tongue in every fray? Does every failure start that way? " According to Moses and Ezra. Said she " the snake gave me to eat, He seemed a gentleman complete, He's naught but intrigue and deceit, According to Moses and Ezra. With dangerous charms to hypnotize, And spells that flash from glittering eyes, And helpless victims paralyze. According to Moses and Ezra. Wlio made the serpent anyhow?" Says Yahweh "we cannot allow. Such foolish questions — not just now. According to Moses and Ezra. The wife is not supposed to roam But primp herself with brush and comb. And ask her man when he comes home. According to Moses and Ezra. We shall in man all wit install, To answer questions great and small — (As soon as he completes his fall.") According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat 55 Says Yahweh softly, ''Curse that snake, How came I such a beast to make, AVe'll have to have a burning lake, According to Moses and Ezra. Not elsewhere in the book of fate, Are gods required to integrate, A beast so insubordinate." According to Moses and Ezra. Adam! for this I'll make thee sweat. These premises are now ''to let," And other quarters thou must get. According to Moses and Ezra. And in thy going go at once. And own thyself an arrant dunce, To trade thine ease for sweating stunts. According to Moses and Ezra. Yea, thou shalt till the stingy soil. To wrench thy living by thy toil, With blistered hands and brains abroil. According to Moses and Ezra. Dust thou art, to dust return. Addressed to whom it may concern. Proclaims a fiat all must learn, ' According to Moses and Ezra. 56 • Tit For Tat Yea, that was spoken of the whole, The language don't exempt the soul. You're made of mud from heel to poll. According to Moses and Ezra. Hokey, pokey, monkey, fun, Wonders have but just begun, The pope and bishops and every one. Supporting Moses and Ezra. And to the woman Yahweh said, ''Poor thing thou hast but little head. Brains can't be made of bones or bread. According to Moses and Ezra. The cunning serpent slily steals, To bruise thy childrens naked heels. His head they'll smash neath auto wheels, According to Moses and Ezra. No longer shall he upright stand But drag his belly in the sand Nor shall he talk— 'tis our command," According to Moses and Ezra. They made them skirts of leaves of figs. All smartly stitched with laurel sprigs. And these they fancied dandy rigs, According to Moses and Ezra. TH For Tat 57 But great Jehovah fashioned coats, With skins he peeled from sheep and goats, The serpent slily taking notes. According to Moses and Ezra. They guaranteed the best effects. Most strictly as the style directs, And tailor made in all respects, According to Moses and Ezra. The Gods then drove that couple out, And put the bars up crank and stout. With cherubim to guard the route. According to Moses and Ezra. All armed to keep the tree of life, From simple Adam and his wife. With blazing sword and butcher knife. According to Moses and Ezra. And loaded them with burdens sore, And strange — ne'er heard of them before, Tithes, taxes, rents and bills galore. According to Moses and Ezra. Come drop a tear for hearts that break. Compelled their sorrowing way to take. And leave their Eden to the snake. According to Moses and Ezra. 58 Tit For Tat. Great Yahweh ! do you call it fair The way you used that hapless pair, And made them hapless as they were? According to Moses and Ezra. Poor things had never been to school, Of learning never learned a rule, Just such as any one might fool, According to Moses and Ezra. Angel, devil, priest or snake, Could steer them any way to take, To hunt a job with hoe and rake, According to Moses and Ezra. They drifted aimless east and west, They little knew nor even guessed, The craft to which they fell possessed, According to Moses and Ezra. Likewise a tear for Yahweh 's sake Commend his well meant aim; to make Delights of which all might partake, According to Moses and Ezra. And dream for aye and never wake, Choused by that slick, deceitful rake. His plans all ruined — hy a snahe. According to Moses and Ezra. Tit For Tat. 59 Donkey, flunkie, monkey, morn, So that's the way the world was born? Straight as a string I dare be sworn! According to Moses and Ezra. And this is what they sit and tell. If you believe not, go to hell. How safe this doctrine ; likewise swell, According to Moses and Ezra. His work — he called it very good When fate humiliating; rude Butts in to make things understood. According to Moses and Ezra. And Yahveh took his last adieu, **0h Earth, with thy distracted crew, How Heaven was mistook in you!" According to Moses and Ezra. No priest e'er clutched his crafty graft Extorted from the duped and daft. But slily hid his face and laughed. The same as Moses and Ezra. Cupid. There was a Goddess of the Ancient Myth Whose husband lame and grimy was a smith Who kept his forge within Mount Aetna's peak Where ^mid the frightful din and flame and reek His jours, the Cyclops, forged the thunderbolt; That Jove who loved our stupid race to jolt; Kept safe in stock high in the upper world On Mount Olympus ready to be hurled. This blacksmith's name was Vulcan and his spouse The Goddess Venus; whom the myth allows The lovliest of her sex. She had a child; Cupid by name, in outward semblance mild, And smirk and gentle as a cooing dove Yclept and pictured as the god of Love. But, scandalous! ! It blushes me to state This infant god was illegitimate. His father was the god of war; bold Mars, Of aspect fierce and gashed with battle scars, So Cupid taking on his warlike arts, Is represented armed with bow and darts, A torch he bears to show wild passion's flame This he inherits from his mother's side. He makes of perforated hearts his game, Gathering multitudes from far and wide His malice gloating o'er their pricks and stings, And as for clothes he's nothing on but wings. Cupid. 61 The poets teach us by this mythic lore, IIow very close akin are love and war. Y/hen Cupid speeds his arrows on their flight, They course in pairs by two divergent ways One doth a maidens tender heart ignite. The other fires her swains more fetching blaze, 'Tis often seen how hearts have been mismated, And fancy deems the gods have been unkind 'Tis all because some wretched fate has fated To make this double-dealing god-ship blind, Not seldom Cupid blindly shoots amiss, A miss they say is equal to a mile. Quite often so — a well aimed shot means bliss. While but an inch or two away, 'tis bile. Make no mistake, be sure that Cupid's dart The straightest and the sharpest in the quiver, Has sped directly to the pulsing heart, And not the solar plexus or the liver. Sometimes when conscious of an odd comotion. Its symptoms misinterpreted by all. We fain, assign to love a vagrant notion — - Of what is but an overflow of gall. So, oft when troubled with these inner ills Tis not a case for parson but for pills. 62 Cupid. How many picturesque old Gods have died; Whose tales I fear the prosy facts belied — Apollo Pluto, Neptune, Jove and Mars — Some of them do duty yet as stars, But Cupid I affirm is still on hand And ''doing business at the same old stand." I'd think his ancient armor rather lame, Surprising how he gets there just the same. If he could see and had a modern gun, AYho would be safe in all the land, not one ! Just note the ravages this god has made Among our Engineers* this last decade. Bert Emery first he forced to set the pace. With Frank in time to follow right along, A really rather aggravated case, Two in one family — 'tis coming strong. There's Harvey Kuhns ('tis saying none too much A worthy scion of the sturdy Dutch A well-tipped arrow launched with startling whizz. Pierced through that pericardium of his And reached the spot sought by the marksman's Skill, He's not recovered yet and never will. Civil Engineers of C, M. & St. P. Ky. Cupid. 63 Next wilful Cupid wildly pointing high, His fatal arrow cleft the vaulted sky, And brought down Schoen — of high and mighty frame, A genial Scandian with a High-Dutch name. George Pasko next he pinked — how did he know Blind god — that this time he must fire low? George is no slouch himself to shoot a gun, But in his match with Cupid, Cupid won. And now Paul Gunstad must not be forgot, At any rate by Cupid he was not, A most efficient Scandian is Paul What if he is, that Cupid captures all. With groping aim he struck our sunny Hughes 'Twas murderous; Hughes never tried to fly. He took his fate, 'twer folly to refuse, When one is slain, can one refuse to die? The wisest bird they say is Mr. CroAV, With coat of genteel black and cleric airs. And commonly we judge another so — As by his style and by the clothes he wears. Crows have but scant respect for human laws, But judged by moral standards they have raised, A loyal crow is no doubt loudly praised. They seldom croak without sufficient caws. 64 Cupid. There's none more loyal than our Billy Crow, As bachelor, particularly so. But he escaped the taunt of being stupid, By yielding at the first attack of Cupid. And now from Clarence Prescott word has come; I feared the state of things beneath his vest. Gene Odbert too — odd if he don't succumb, And duly come to time like all the rest. Of course. And likewise at a recent daia.. The very same thing happened Tommy Strate. Yet cautious wisdom peering round might see. Oft reason why 'twere v/ell to bide a wee. Hard duties wedlock hides behind it's joys, How Cupid's craft the glittering bait employs! * * * We take whate'er it suits the gods to give. They name the terms on v/hich the race,shall live, Such terms as they have named! Upon my word! Did anything e'er strike you more absurd? Of course they could have made the human race. With wings as well as hands and feet and face, Left out their costly stomachs and their hearts, Their liver, kidnej^s lungs — uncanny parts. Cupid, ^ 66 Made them immortal indestructible and tough, Full grown at first, no more than just enough, To fill a world in comfort just this size, That none must fall to let some other rise. Nor where mankind must strive for all they're worth For room — or, crowd each other off the earth. The gods might well have spared our hapless race, The misery of government by pain. Twere better, feeling from our souls erase. And hold us straight if need by force amain. They could have saved us all the wretched ills. And maladies of childhood's callow years. Removed their curse from off the ground he tills, Abated manhood's sweat and woman's tears. (I can but think how better it would be Had they subm.itted all their plans to me. Regrets are vain for things we can't forestall. It could not be, they thought they knew it all) They did in short devise the brilliant plan Of marriage 'twixt a woman and a man, Two dowered specs infinitesimal In figured speech, a splinter and a spawl; These figurative scraps of wood and stone. Fused into one develop flesh and bone. 66 Cupid. And blood impelled through artery and vein, And nerves the common carriers of pain, To put the muscles on defensive strain, And dash untamed sensations in the brain. An organism made to be attacked On every side at once and mauled and whacked, With pain and malady and torture racked; Small v^^onder 'tis so often cranium-cracked, 'Tis passing strange that one should last a week. Indeed of nature; man's the topside freak. In howling comedy he's spewed on earth, A puling bundle of humanity, An age it takes to settle what he's worth, Or pass upon his doubtful sanity. A screaming farce he plays in miidle life. Humbug, greed, pretense and piety. And hollow, insincere, fantastic strife. Sham reformation of ''Sassiety!" And when his life has reached its topmost crest, And down the hill the tottering footsteps trend, And disappointed hopes his soul invest In tragedy he meets his final (nd. Cupid. 67 We often ridicule the tasks we do, To make light of the load, we have to carry, E'en vent our mirth on solemn things and true. To love or worship, die, be born or marry; On friend or king, divinity, or wife. So laugh it down — the serious side of life. We sport no end of merry gibe and joke, Anent the funny matrimonial yoke. As something merely to amuse or vex. Then sheepishly we cinch it round our necks. Then call the neighbors in, a merry rout, To feast and dance and push the bowl about. Old saws and jokes to dig up and discuss. And ne'er perceive the biggest joke's on us. ''Increase and multiply so says the text. This means that one must get himself annexed. And this involves the trouble with the heart, And introduces Cupid and his dart. So Cupid raging like a blistering bee, Counts up so many youthful hearts to flay, As if his duty called on him to see The race replenished in the ancient way. Ah well 'tis thus the sovereign Fates prescribe For every mammal, bird and human tribe. The dower of the most remotest past, Endowment of the very latest last. Paskp's Clock* George, here's a bit of simple rhyme — 'Twas found outside this box, Som6 harmless platitudes on time And talk concerning clocks. It must have blown in from the west, A waif just run at large, "With blizzards cyclones and the rest Here goes; we make no charge. * * * When longer by himself to flock A bachelor abjures At first a wife and then a clock He commonly secures. Of course he'll need some other things- A frying pan and ladle. Some spoons and forks and muffin rings And pretty soon a cradle. But stay of that we've had enough It is not my intention To make a list of household stuff And every item mention. Paskos Clock, 69 But I would say a word on clocks And things with which they're mated They're not like common sticks and stocks, But seem to us related. A smart, aristocratic clock Is conscious of her station. She shows a proud, aggresive stock, An air, and animation. She coyly hides behind her hands Her well enameled face And when she goes yet eke she stands No matter what the pace. Don't run up debts when buying sox, Or boots or hats or cloaks, To go on tick may do for clocks But isn*t good for folks. (I fancy that's been said before, I can't tell where or when — Surviving scrap of old-time lore, A bit of what has been.) How singularly queer it feels, Or I imagine so. To have one's stomach full of wheels A whirring as you go. 70 Pasko's Clock. Yet what's the odds, howe'er it came, It truly must be said. Men are afflicted much the same, But have theirs in their head. She's independent in her way. Up she'll serenely bob And strike a dozen times a day And never lose her job. She has her spells of running down, Wind tenderly and meekly, Don't be impatient fret or frown, Remember she is weekly. And sometimes when you make a date, Say, sharply ten o'clock; Tliough meaning well you still are late, Delay your stumbling block, (You won't be always on the dot You'll sometimes miss your deal) 'Twould be ungallant would it not However sore you feel; However grinning Fate may mock, By luck however cursed, To lose your head and strike the clock, Because the clock struck first. PasTco's Clock. 71 The clock's a female all agree; With Time confederated — Of course a masculine is he — But oft they seem mismated. He's always on a steady go, His scythe across his shoulder, While she is often fast or slow He's many times the older. No man is jealous of his clock Though intimate they be, 'Tis the only plural wed-lock Where the parties can agree. 'Tis said, long since Time lost his locks All but the one before 'Twas worry over giddy clocks, I'm sure 'twas nothing more. Time keeper she is oft ycleped As if she held him under But la! he never can be kept He's slippery as thunder. And when her race with Time's begun She'll have but little leisure. All she can do while on the run Is try to take his measure. 72 Pasho's Clock. In winning smile and fetching gown, It might be thought perhaps, Like other girls she'd hold him down By sitting on his lapse. Time can't be kept that way not he, The lesson should be heeded, Although 'tis tried quite frequently It never yet succeeded. Uneasy, restless night and day, Like something on his mind, Whate'er attracts Time slips away And leaves his lapse behind. As Time strides on both clock and man Are growing old apace, They press no longer to the van, And furrows crease the face. With shaky joints and rattled wheels And limbs no longer supple While languor o'er their senses steals — Yes they're an ageing couple. And youths with patronizing air And lore and wit repleted(?) Advise, "retire superfluous pair, And in the rear be seated. '* PasWs Clock. , 73 Amid confusing din and rout We hear both sobs and laughter, This generation slipping out, The next one skipping after. Thus running on year after year. They've grown a bit unsteady, And Charon doth at last appear Announcing; **Boat is ready!" Charon, may I take my clock? How lonesome I shall be When gruesome phantoms round me flock In dark eternity. For when I lie awake of nights Slie ticks till dawning day. Till with the goblins and the sprites, **The shadows flee away.'' And in the night she strikes so loud Her boldness reassures me. The ghosts retreat, a frightened crowd Of nervousness she cures me. **Will you never end your prate, Time! Time! You hear that bell? Time and tide for no man wait; Time I Time ! It is the knell. 74 Pasho's Clock. The boat is lying at the dock, The tide is ebbing fast, Farewell forever to the clock, The end of time at last! For this is strictly orthodox That never-nevermore Will men find any use for clocks Upon yon timeless shore. Have I neglected all this while, Midst jest and sigh and laugh. The homage due with bow and smile, Toward man's better half — Those lovely things that live in frocks? 'Tis true — dear bless their lives, well; whate'er Ive said of clocks Just duplicate for wives. They're very much alike we know, Uncertain which is master. For though the woman isn't slow. The clock is mostly faster. Here in the lottery of life 'Tis everybody's play,- Ah! lucky George, to draw a wife And clock the self same day. Strates Chair. Ah Tommy Strate what's this we hear, Sweetly sounding full and clear, As on the breeze it sinks and swells? The music of the Marriage Bells! Our gratulation's due for two, Your lovely mate as well as you; For sure we may congratulate The girl that takes our Tommy Strate. The boys to show their hearty will, And eke a common want to fill Have all chipped in and bought a chair, A springy thing all stuffed with hair. Or moss, to make it soft and warm; 'Tis rather broad for Tommy's form, A wider man might sit with ease, But yet for two 'twere quite a squeeze. Agreeable enough perhaps; But easier in each other's laps. They'll sit for many happy moons. Spoon fashion; as they say of spoons, 76 Straie's Chair, And often, there, he'll sit alone, With vagrant musings round him strown, And waking dreams anticipate A rosy life for Tommy Strate, Amen! Amen! So mote it be May all the lucky fates agree And grant a long and happy life, With health and fortune, love and wife, Time flies! We cast prophetic eye — A few short years! My! How they fly! We see some kids — one, two, three, four, I've lost the count — how many more? Count on, count on — ^five, six, seven, eight, (That makes a happy rhyme with Strate.) They make a rush for papa's chair. Each strives to be the first one there. A mass of curly heads go bump! 'Tis nothing to the foot-ball thump They'll run against years later on. Their college education's crown. We look again — this rout is gone But other broods come trooping on These scramble now for Grandpa's chair. With often Grandpa sitting there. But oft alone the old man sits While busy memory halts and flits; Strate*s Chair. 77 And sometimes in bewildered doubt He asks ''What was it all about?" We're born and grow and reproduce, And suck of life's corrosive juice; A mixture of a bitter sweet; That's all — we die when life's complete, And to our children leave our seats. And endless History repeats. Minneapolis, Dec, 1904. Odbert's Clock. When after work, down in his easy chair, The harried man of family is sitting The restless fingers of the clock, point where The mortal moments are forever flitting. Have we not got an ownership in these. These fleeting moments dying while we sit. Shall saying this our consciences appease — "What can we do to stop them? let them flit!'' The clock in every tick proclaims a time, A time to labor and a time to rest, E'en criminals will find it for a crime. And boys for play, will work like all possessed. There is a time to court, a time to marry — Congratulations Gene, you found that time — And many times there be when schemes miscarry, And splash us o'er with disappointments slime. Select your times — tis largely we that take, For e'en the Gods we partially direct, The gist of life is often our own make, Infected virus we ourselves inject. Odhert's Clock. 79 And last of all there is a time to die. But say, just put that off — be firmly steady Shut up within your will the powers lie, That say to death ''Wait till I'm good and ready." So Gene, accept this clock and hearty will And seize the moments you select for yours Large ones that only raining joys may fill And prove the mot, ' ' Whene 'er it rains it pours. ' ' Her faithful movements do not read amiss, How delftly every finger fills its fitting, The lesson of the clock is plainly this — 'Tend thoroughly and strictly to your knitting. But hark! 'tis eight! 'tis shop and office times, High time to make an ending of these rhymes. Clarence and His ClocJ^. Twas said we'd duly heard from Clarence Pres- cott 'Twas something out of fix beneath his waist- coat, It seems he'd made his mind to come to Time, They met him half the way with clock and rhyme. Tis nothing strange sometimes for clocks to stop In trembling age, the loosened minutes drop. For feeble clocks Time has but scant regard. No sentiment when usefulness is barred. Proud time strides off with elevated nose, Important in his pride where'er he goes, 'Twas condescending much the way to block. In gossip on the merits of a clock. In friendly gossip, Time might stop a clock. We often meet him coming with a vim, As busy as a merchant ** taking stock". But never yet has any clock stopped him. Work is of life the only wholesome way. Thoughtless is he whose only thought is play. Clarence and His ClocTc. 81 The same of him who makes of play a labor, And in some wondrous (?) game defeats his neighbor. The chief end of the human race is work. The clock be-times officiates as clerk, And marks the surplus wealth in swelling store, And each consignment out makes room for more. So with your clock be on the best of terms, Don't disagree on partnership concerns, Consult her meekly— what she has to say. Be very sure, at last, she'll have her way. Hymn to Ashtoreth. Ashtoreth! Great Queen of Heaven! Spouse of Elyon, Queen of Love; Mistress of the Planets Seven; Marking out their paths above. Thine be the fruits by Nature given, Thine the sacred gentle Dove. When thy Star becomes ascendant, Joy streams forth from all her rays, Then her glory shines resplendent. Then all hail with songs of praise, Thou dost not cause a guiltless one, For sinners faults to feel thy rod; Nor lay on unoffending son. The father's sins against his God. Nor righteousness dost thou impute, Where sin unblushing stalks abroad, Nor on the head of guiltless brute, Pretend to lay the sinners load. Blood ne'er stains thine altar pure, Blood for sin cannot atone; Hymn to Ashtoreth. 83 Love for evil is the cure, Love can heal, and Love alone. 'Tis Love that Life perpetuates, Transmitting it from age to age, Its faults and wrongs alleviates, And moves, all sorrows to assuage. Love from the eyes wipes every tear. It quencheth envy, malice, hate; From timorous heart it casteth fear. And doth the sin of pride abate. The widest bounds of Land and Sea, Shall not restrain kind Charity, Her loving rays shall pierce as far As thy bright b^ams, sweet evening Star. Solomon's Invoice of His Gods, Chorus : Take your choice ! Take your choice ! Gods there are in plenty. You can take the whole invoice, Or one or two or twenty. Take your choice! What's the odds? They come in great variety, With such a multitude of Gods; There's danger of satiety. * ♦ * Ashdod has presented me, With one whose name is Da-gon! He's built to navigate the sea. And so he has no leg-on. I have but little use for him, As seldom I go out to swim. But when I send my tars abroad, They always take him for their God. Egypt sends us quite a crew, Osiris, Isis, Apis; Chiun, Pan and Ammon too, And Typhon and Serapis. Solomon's Gods. 85 I do not care at all for these, But set them up, my wife to please. For surely every man should be Indulgent in his family. Ammon sends a demon rare, The name of whom is Milcom. A fiend I loathe beyond compare. Who wants him? he is welcome. Moloch, is his other name, But he's a devil all the same. He dotes on babes and does not care, Or if they be well done or rare. From Assyria, come Tartak, And Nibhaz, and Anammelech, And Nergal, Merodach. Benoth, and Adrammelech. The Sun-god everywhere is Baal, Whose rays o'er all the earth prevail, From orient Assyria, To the far west, in Iberia. Our fathers, Jahveh owned as God, And Teraphim, and Elim, (With thummim, urim and ephod. And Pillars, and Elohim. 86 Solomon's Oods. The Brazen Serpent, Moses gave, From bites of other snakes to save, Coiled upon a lofty pole. Still performs his ancient role. Chemosh is a Moabite, And great conceit has he. With Jahveh he did often fight, And claim the victory. But I'm resolved on one sure thing: — They'll keep the peace while I am king. It always plays the very deuce, When on the war-path Gods break loose. Ashtoreth and Elyon, Have come to us from Sidon. With Nebo from Babylon ; These can be relied on. To this confession I am free; I'm partial to this Trinity, Because in answer to my yearning. They promise Power, Love and Learning. The Host of Heaven, is in our plan. And Ashima from Syria, And Tammuz, — he's a Lady's man, And gives them all hysteria. Solomon's Gods. iS7 We don't do anything by halves, — Here^s Rimmon, from Damascus, Gad, Meni, Satyrs, Bulls and Calves; What further can you ask us? Ye all are free to feed these Gods, Most every one's a glutton. Pancakes for Ashtoreth, For Chemosh, beef and mutton. But often something good to smell. Will serve the purpose very well. And v^^ine they are supposed to drink, When poured down Priestly throat to sink. Chorus : Take your choice! Take your choice! Gods there are in plenty. You can take the whole invoice. Or one or two or twenty. Take your choice! What's the odds? They come in great variety, With such a multitude of Gods, There's danger of satiety. Welcome to Reikis, Queen of Sheba. Queen of the South-land thy journey is ended; Tedious and dusty and long was the way. Now let recreation with resting be blended; To fill thee wth pleasure and gladden thy stay. We give thee a kindly and cordial good greeting; We pledge thee with bumpers in flagon and bowl; With plenty of good things for drinking and eatng ; With feasting of reason and flowing of soul. Thy presents have filled us with wonder and pleasure ; Ther value prodigious, a limitless treasure; Variety endless, almost beyond measure; For a help in our labor a cheer in our leisure. There's beautiful sandal- wood yellow and white And black and red ebony, polished and bright; And rich alabaster-cups, boxes and vases; And burnished bright mirrors, reflecting our faces ; Welcome to Belkis. 89 And peacocks most gorgeous in red, green and blue, And all combinations of color and hue; With voice loud and screaming and tail spreading wide Proclaiming abroad their importance and pride; And mimicking monkeys all action and grace, And apes with a human expression of face Constructed like counterfeit copies of men. To show what our ancestral forms must have been; And parrots instructed with infinite pains. To show how a tongue may be run without brains : Some featherless bipeds it shames us to tell; In this regard copy the parrots too well:) And African darkies with unctuous skins; And legs lean and lanky and prominent shins; Reliable skull and a wool-covered head; And nostrils and feet with a lateral spread; Condemned to be servants to every one; The fault of their grandfather Ham to atone: (That same; it appears like a rather grim joke: — To asses retribution on innocent folk:) 90 Welcome to Belkis. And myrrh and frankincense, gum, cinnamon, rice; And ointments and perfumes and cassia and spice ; And silver and ivory and diamonds and gold; And rubies and emeralds, — the half is not told. And when toward thy Sheba Queen Belkis thou turnest, We beg thee to laden the whole of thy train With the things of this land ,as a token and earnest Of good-by and welcome again and again. Load camels and horses and asses and mules, With corn, oil and honey and wine for a nip; With saddles and harness, tin, copper and tools; And al you can take home, or use on the trip. Take sirup and sugar and jelly and jam; And pickles and chow-chow and ketchup and ham; And doughnuts and sausage and crackers and bread ; And all that you need for a number one spread. Take hammers, saws, axes and chisels and awls, And skillets and spiders and ovens and pans; Welcome to Belhis. 91 And sandals and turbans and dresses and shawls; And hair-pins and brushes and feathers and fans; And carpets and curtains and linen and hose, And purple and laces and ribbons and bows; And spoons, forks and dishes and platters and knives, And everything else that is useful to wives. For music, be sure that you do not forget, The shawm and the sackbut and clarionet. And pipe, horn and trumpet and cornet and flute, And instruments like these that go with a toot; And cymbal and timbrel and tambour and drum. And others like them that are played with a thrum, And harp, lute and viol and such other things. Whose music we come at by twanging their strings. Take spears, bows and arrows, shields, armor and swords. To settle what cannot be settled by words, For Ishmael's sons keep a watch night and day. As they dog you for mischief or lurk by the way. 92 Welcome to Belhis. And during thy visit, far off may its end be, Our palaces, gardens and every such thing, Our wine-vaults and orchards, we gladly will lend thee, Ourselves and our servants, our Gods and our King. Long life and good health be your Majesty's part. Thy subjects, kind, loving and loyal at heart, Thy neighbors all friendly, thine enemies none; And happiness everywhere, "under the sun.*' And may the descendants of thy royal race, Inherit thy beauty of Figure and Face; And also, ('twere highly becoming and fit,) Inherit King Solomon's Wisdom and Wit. The Golden Age Before the Fall Prelude. To every Dog belongs a day: At least that's what the sages say. With some 'tis early, others late, AcQording to the whim of Fate. Of all the ages down and up. The one we deem the ''Day'" of Man. Commenced while he was yet a pup, Directly after he began. With living high and faring well, The lucky dog then had his day. But long ago, — the Pundits tell How accidentally he fell. And saw his Golden Age decay. Chorus :- Oh! how happy we should be, If we only could recall. The glorious Golden Age they had. Before the Fall. The Golden Age Before the Fall In Ancient times our Ancestors resided in the trees, And they were free and jolly and as happy as you please. Their toes were made like fingers and their feet were like their hands, Which, truly they were beauties, but they an- swered all demands. Their teeth were made for business and they scratched with long sharp nails, And swung by strong gigantic arms and held fast by their tails. They'd scamper back and forth upon the branches of a tree, To show their strength of muscle and superb agilitee. Across the boughs they laid some sticks to repre- sent a floor, But there was nary roof, nor sides, nor fireplace, nor door. In rain they raised their hands to shed the wet from off their crown, That's why he hairs upon our arms point up in- stead of down. The Golden Age. 95 To keep the house it was indeed a very simple thing ; No pies to bake, no pots to boil, no fires, no wood to bring, A lot of leaves laid on the floor served for their feather beds; And here they slept coiled up like hoops, with joining heels and heads. Their toilet was a scarcely more elaborate affair; And chiefly 'twas devoted to the culture of the hair. Their fingers served for comb and brush and part- ing it with care; Sharp eyes in mutual quest discerned whate'er was crawling there. And when they went a visiting, the busy gossips sat, And cracking jokes each other searched for dainties fair and fat. According to the proverb then as framed by an- cient wit; ''Poetic justice' was achieved and "many a biter bit." The hair they wore down front and back, was safely all their own. False bangs and wigs they never saw nor was the misery known 96 The Golden Age. Of buttons, buckles, belts and pins, and hooks and eyes and strings, To come undone, and liberate their petticoats and things, They used no rouge, nor powders white, nor washes for the face; Sun-made complexions do not need cosmetics* saving grace. Nor was there need, on artificial odors to rely, They had enough that Nature gave; in fact, a strong supply. They never went a shopping then for groceries and goods; The hubbies got their provender by prowling through the woods. And home they brought great quantities of Durian fruit and haws. And figs and nuts and other truck with which to stuff their maws. They had no patent leather boots, they surely never wore Plug hats, boiled shirts, or overcoats, ''all but- toned down before." Those things wer not in fashion yet, 'twas long before the times The Golden Age. 97 Of that old gent we read about, I mean, **01d Father Grimes." The fashions never troubled them, they had no use for duds, They never had to scrub or wash, or dabble in the suds. They monkeyed not with whiskey slings, nor beer, nor cigarettes; And taxes never worried them, nor plumber's bills, nor debts, They always ''aped their betters" then, it was ''good form" you see; In fact their forms, for aping, were adapted to a tee. And yet, 'twould much belittle them, to class them with our dudes, And none would likely e'er mistake their worthy dames for prudes. They flirted in the tall tree tops, and courted in the groves; The gorgeous tropic foliage was witness to their loves, The dowry of the bride in truth was all her husband's goods Clear title by possession, coextensive with the woods, The mammas fondled, hugged and kissed, and spanked their impish kids. 98 The Golden Age. And bade them hear the music of the frogs anfd katydids, To sleep they rocked them on the boughs, and hushed their childish fears, And mourned and soothed their serious ills, with soft maternal tears. The papa ever ready was, the family to protect. With ponderous jaws, and vise-like paws, and threatening crest erect, And roaring, terror-striking voice; and not a sin- gle beast That prowls the woods, a fight with him would relish in the least. Ah those were happy, happy times, and everything was gay; No slavish work; few ills; no pills; no doctor bills to pay. They never were exposed to being swindled, rob- bed and tricked, There were no thieves to steal their swag, no pockets to be picked. But finally their quarters in the trees appeared confined. They needed room for *' progress," and ''expan- sion of the mind." So, after many ages, they descended to the ground, The Golden Age. 99 And there the greater latitude of life they sought was found, And this is what the framers of the Evolution plan, Mean, when they talk to us about ^*the great Descent of Man.'^ But theologians make it out, by some old books they scan, 'Twas owing to an accident and 'twas the ''Fall of Man." On terra firma only could the human race be run; And just as soon as they came down, progression was begun. And but for this descent, (or fall, if that is what it was,) There never could have been a rise, of that I'm very poz. But ah! their luck in coming down, is doubtful more and more: They never yet have risen to the state they had before. And certainly their noses will forever plow the ground ; While Trusts and boodling Aldermen, and Hum- bugs still abound. 100 The Golden Age, Chorus : Oh! how happy we should be, If we only could recall, The glorious Golden Age they had, Before tJie Fall. •1^* I've Developed Since That. Zibia's Song. Wise Solomon thinks the development plan, Beginning with Monkey and rising through Ape, Attains to its great culmination in Man; And it seems, from his logic, there is no escape. Sanchoniathon too; — in reality he Was the first to invent and reduce it to shape, And announce to the Pundits the true theory. Of the way that mankind was evolved from the Ape. Men-kind includes woman, and so it must be ; (For the scheme covers all things as you will agree That if man has developed so also may she. And 'tis easy to point an example in me. When I was a hoiden I oft ran away. To roam through the fields without bonnet or hat. To wade in the brooklets and o'er the hills stray; I've developed since that, I've developed since thae. 102 Fve Developed Since That, But the sun and the wind when they looked on my face Spread o'er it a mask of a deep dusky hue, That hid from my brothers' dull optics the grace, And the beauty that only to sunshine are due. The charge of the vineyards they laid upon me; And oft in the morning while other folk slept, Tho' I rose with the linnet and wro't like the bee, Myself was neglected; my vineyard not kept. Of all my fond lovers I think of but one, And he like myself, is a child of the sun. We 're sister and brother ; a family of three : El made for each other, Sun, Lover, and Me. King Solomon's suit was in vain; — 'twas too late, My heart was no longer mine own to bestow, 'Twas yielded long since by the fiat of Fate, That metes out their portion to all, high and low. With wonder my brothers perceive where I'm at. And how very much I've developed "since that," And here is a moral, 'tis worth while to know, While brothers ar'nt looking the sisters will grow ! God? or Nature? Lines on McKinley's death. Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee; E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me.'* These words became a dismal dirge to roll, Borne on a wave of grief from sea to sea, The day McKinley yielded up his soul, The day the nation, plunged in deepest gloom, Bore his martyred body to the tomb. Nearer for awhile to thee, nearer to thee; I fain would set myself to see Why should we nearer, nearer be, Nearer, God, to thee. The victim sinks before the fatal gun. Murmuring, ' ' 'Tis God ^s way, his will be done. Is it, indeed, God's double-dealing way. To gain confiding trust and then betray? By treacherous brutal violence to slay? Can this indeed be God — his way? Wast thou in league with Czolgosz, And others such as he? These brutes do we mistakenly condemn? 104 God or Nature. Can we, forsooth, draw nigher unto thee By shaking hands with them? Did God then know the villain's plot, Particeps eriminis, was he not? We count accessories before the fact As criminal as he who does the act. Did he not hear them plot this dastard deed, Then hold his peace and let the crime succeed? Is not all done according to his wall? If not, can he be God and sovereign still? Stand back, my soul; go not too near, I pray — I am in doubt of his uncertain Avay. Behind his smirking providence I know not what may lurk; His harmless looking vesture May conceal some murderous dirk. A little further back! not quite so near, My precious soul! indulge a wholesome fear; Go not so very near, I pray, While I investigate his way. His weak confederates in crime we thoroughly ab- hor. And shall we still on bended knees the principal adore ? He giveth stern command to love him still, God or Nature. 105 With all our heart and soul and strength and will; On his compulsion must we act a hypocritic part And brutally suppress the tender instincts of the heart ? How can we love in any God, upon his mere be- hest, The awful crimes that in all other beings we de^ test? He doth chasten whom he loveth — so saith his book; Who loveth him he chasteneth most — so doth it look. What startling fantasy is this That shocks all sense of righteousness? What are his strange, insane, fantastic ends? Men scourge their enemies, but he his friends. Just in play? Is that his way? Him who elects to wear his yoke Doth he select to point his joke? • ♦ * And thou, O Theodoras, ''Gift of God'^— Gift with a string — beware his chastening rod Whose love is cruel, whose caress a thwack, Who like an Indian gives, then takes it back. Be doubly ware if signs in him you see Of growing partiality for thee. 106 God or Nature. To men before as good and great as thou ('Tis saying none too much, you must allow) His Judas, Brutus, Czolgosz, Booth, Guiteau, He sent the fatal golden stairs to show. And point the way to his cold world from this With murderous pistol, dirk, or lying kiss. • * * If, Lord, I wrong thee, set me right, I pray; Perhaps thou wast asleep, or gone away, Upon that critical and fatal day. In direst need do all Gods fail, Like Jahweh's ancient rival Baal, According to Elijah's tale? Had we no faithful friend in heaven that day, With power to strike the foul assassin dead, Or turn his weapon far enough astray To miss his mark or shoot himself instead? Yes! Jesus Christ — but where, oh, where was he? Not at his post where he should ever be, Espousing our disreputable cause Of dodging penalties of broken laws? Did he not hear our agonizing cry When God's tool Czolgosz fired the fatal ball? Could he not move him then his purpose to recall Or did he try? His business is, the Bible says, to stand Our tireless advocate at God's right hand. His boiling wrath to mollify God or Nature. 107 And our shortcomings qualify, All moral sense to mystify And sin for his sake justify. Where was the Church, Christ's chosen bride. For whom a cruel death he died — To whom he saith, **What'er thou bind on earth is bound in heaven, What'er thou ask in faith is surely given." Bowed to the dust She prayed as ne'er before; The storm of prayer it surely must Have swept within the heavenly door. Prone on the earth in agony, she cried, **0 save McKinley's life," and yet he died! Can nothing jar her trust? The Church bowed to the dust And soiled her faded tire, And trailed her draggled skirts In superstition's mire, And ashes scattered o'er her bridal robes. Her aching heart concealed its cruel hurts. Where was her recreant Lord? Gone far to other globes? With newer brides sought fresher bliss, And '* recompense of great reward" In greater worlds than this? 108 God or Nature. How oft, alas! a sated, saturated spouse Wearies of his too obsequious mate Grown stale and sere, Forgets his early, ardent, too effusive vows, Seeks to fresher loves And bowers in greener groves, While she, with broken heart, Still juggling her departiig art To ward her looming fate With many a pang of grief and fear. With many a piteous sigh and tear, Protests and pleads too late! credulous and foolish Church, Left so sadly in the lurch, Was e'er a faithful, trusting bride So cruelly and so sorely tried? Can you believe you e'er shall see him more? Your Lord said he was merely gone before, To build you mansions fine and gay, Then at the very earliest day Return, for evermore to stay. He charged you thus: ''Mark what I say: 1 may return at any day; Be ye ready, watch and pray.'^ He never has been heard from since — Oh, where, where is your vanished prince? Nineteen hundred years have flown. God or Nature. 109 One hundred generations gone; Such stolid faith the world has never known As thine — against all reason hoping on. AVhere is the shepherd of these sheep? Where is the promise of his coming — where? "For since the fathers fell asleep All things continue as they were.'' Alas ! he must be dead ! he surely is, Or else these solemn promises of his, On which the church doth so serenel build, Would doubtless long ago have been fulfilled. No bride, but only widow hast thou been Through all these bitter years Of persecution, misery, and sin, Strife, ignorance, and tears. ''De mortuis nil nisi bonum," So the ancient Romans said; Only good things as we've known 'em Must be spoken of the dead. If he be dead we do forgive The idle threats and gauzy promises he made, As he said God forgives our debts And foolish things we may have said; But if he lives where death can ne'er befall, This absolution we hereby recall. 110 God or Nature. Somewhere I've read a mournful tale About a brave sea-faring man, Who kissed his new made bride good-bye, Then to the breezes spread his sail. And put to sea. It was his plan Just this one voyage more to try. His youth ''knew no such word as fail." He told his bride that, granting health, Soon he'd return with ample wealth. Then settle down and make his home And hers a paradise on earth. "Without a home, condemned to roam. How small the worth or happiness of life — Or happiness of home without my wife ! ' ' Then from her blooming cheeks He kissed the teardrops coursing down; "Cheer up, my love; not many weeks Shall pass, before your sailor, brown With sun and brine, shall come again; Let trusting hope your fears restrain." Then through her tears, with many a sigh And parting kiss, she said good-by. So on the shore they tore themselves apart, He hopeful, steering for his distant mart, She turning back with straining heart To count the tale of tedious hours God or Nature. Ill Swelling into endless days That grew to still more endless weeks — A fearful strain on Nature's powers, Trying all the mental stays, Striping auburn locks with streaks. Now at the end of endless weeks. His time gone by fourfold, Why came he not? 'Twas iever told. What dire calamity befell? God knew — why did he never tell? If this be true or not, yet all the same The sailor came not then — nor ever came. Now she, poor thing, her mental balance gone, Dried up the fountain of her bitter tears, [While time apace, untaled, still hurried on — All blank to her the weeks, the months, the years. But still mechanically, every night. Upon a window sill she placed a light. And every day she wandered to the beach. And on the spot where last they kissed good-by With shaded eyes she strained their utmost reach If peradventure they might yet descry The lines that marked his old familiar craft. The neighbors as they passed, with eyes scarce dry 112 God or Nature. Glanced sadly, whispering, ''Poor thing, she is daft/' For thirty years this sad pathetic quest, Till death in mercy brought eternal rest. How like that bride, the Church with weary wait And watch, that, hypnotized by cleric craft, Has kept her fruitless vigil far too late. How pitifully sad: "Poor thing, she's daft." And yet it seems we dimly may discern Some hopeful signs of sanity's return ^Tien ghosts dismissed, with all their kin and kith, Her Jew traditions and her Christian myth. She seeks for facts. 'Twill still not be too late To wed true Science for her second mate. Were we in God's own image made, as saith his book? Nay, rather was he made in ours, "With our small faculties and powers. Long, long it took. With Evolution's aidful art. To drift us and our God apart, And lose his incult image that we boasted at the start. God or Nature. 113 Why was it thus, Lord? Why was it thus? We cannot clearly see Why evolution should develop us And not develop thee. '*An honest God's the noblest work of man;" So once a witty poet wrote ; In parody upon a line of Pope ; And true 'tis noble that we do the best we can And true a God reliable and just Is nobler than a God we cannot trust. But still those ancient artisans of hammer, trowel, and hod — Whatever could they know about the building of a God? They built their narrow selves in him with all their human arts, Their intellect — a feeble glim — their body, passions parts. But here a strange condition doth appear, A circumstance quite singular and queer. While at this job, unusual and rare, With doubtful taste it seems they made a pair. One was called the devil, and by some mistake, or whim. They put what little honesty they had on hand in him. |Were they unskillful bunglers, unacquainted with their trade, 114 God or Nature, Or was honesty no virtue in the days when Gods were made? 'Tis not that I'm uncivil, should my preference seem odd — Give me an honest devil before a treacherous God. But ah! they builded worser than they knew; Their God became a tyrant, hard and grim, And exercised on them without ado The character they first devised for him. He made one-tenth of men stark beasts of prey; Who greedily snatched everything of worth, And arrogantly forced all things their way And by alleged divine right seized the earth. The rest, despoiled of everything they made. Saddled, bridled, toiling beasts of burden. Fain satisfied when by their masters paid With costless promise of a heavenly guerdon. He set them by the ears o'er forms and creeds And theologic strife 'twixt faith and deeds. The more absurd their creed — the more unprov- able — The more their stupid faith became immovable. He armed and egged the worst against the best, best. Sowed hate in every creed for all the rest. He introduced the fagot and the stake God or Nature. 115 To illustrate his hell and burning lake, That all the faithful might anticipate The chance and promise of their future state. Free air no longer breathed their stifled lungs; Free spech no longer spoke their palsied tongues; Around their willing limbs hung slavery's chains And bands of superstition crushed their brains. We lay our listening ears close to the ground, And faintly catch a dull and muffled sound Like falling cadences in rhythmic beat. The firm and measured tread of marching feet. It is the coming ages marching on — Search down the file! some one shall succor bring To tear from us the grip of ages gone, And from our venomed creeds extract their sting. To heathen in their blindness, That bow to wood and stone, We show in Christian kindness A God of flesh and bone. But no, 'tis but his icon, An image that we show, A something that we liken To God as best we know. 116 God or Nature. By picture, sign, and token, Sharp images we fain — By written words and spoken — Would cast within the brain. If truth we do no garble, What worser do we find, A thought expressed in marble, Than images in mind? The case we plainly see, then — 'Tis prejudice that blinds; We worship, like the heathen, The thoughts of our own minds. Our brain we have that made us, Our brawny hand that delves; Our home-made gods can't aid us — We only help ourselves. God seemeth not so near As in the bygone days: Our faith is on the wane, 'tis clear, And so are prayer and praise. His hold on us appears to slip. Surely he doth lose his grip. Is he about to disappear, And, relegated to the rear, God or Nature. 117 Will he like other gods succumb and die, And with his fathers and his brothers lie? Safe, then, more near to be; Safe, then, draw nigher we Upon his tumulus to cast a clod In thoughtful mem'ry of one more dead god. When money talks with all its weight It is no light affair. But hear our bloated dollars prate And mark what they declare. They're made one half of metal. But the larger half of air, The ratio's hard to settle, They're a fluctuating pair. With this combined variety Small wonder if they swell With counterfeited piety, Mock honesty as well. These dollars, destitute of common grace, To nurse their piety in proper place Have blazoned it across their hardened face, And ever in the public eye they thrust This Pharisaic gush — **In God we trust." 118 God or Nature. O thou Almighty dollar! sanctimonious fraud! In thee we put our liveliest trust; Especially our upper crust, And dost thou trust in God? We trace the root of evil to the lust That men, filthy lucre, bear for thee. Amidst thy bacillus-infected dust And underneath thy microbe-tainted rust Shall we learn ethics and theology Canst thou in godliness enlighten us? In homilies on cleanliness discuss? Doth good proceed from evil? Report thee to the devil! Naught can thy lying motto mend, Naught thy foul corruption end, Short of crucible and fire Thou impudent and ostentatious liar! When measured by the dull, pedantic rules Of obsolete and antiquated schools. The wise seem to the witless always fools. The witless, marking time in tracks their fathers trod. Start not till stung by fools with facts in pungent prod — God or Nature. 119 Wise fools, who in their hearts perceive "There is no God.'' * ♦ * My countrymen! how strange it seems, That ye will rather be The slaves of baseless dreams Than masters of reality. All demons, gods, and ghosts Are works of crass imagination, And purgatory, heaven, and hell, And grace and reprobation. Abjectly in the dust we seek Impossible salvation, And more abjectly still we dread Impossible damnation. Why must we carry still the galling load Of ghostly trumpery our fathers bore — Dry, withered figments strewn along the road, Cast where their fathers mired long before? Why have we tolerated, all these years, A priestly class to stride our supple backs. And trade upon our superstitious fears. And on our substance lay their cheeky tax? 120 God or Nature. Of unfictitious trouble there's enough: To fight our way with Nature, grim and tough, Unfeeling, stingy, prodigal, and rough, And coarse and vulgar, truculent, and gruff. To our fathers, simple minded. By their superstitions blinded. She seemed both good and evil — This virago fierce and odd; They feared her as the Devil And they worhsiped her as God. A worker of enormous force, She builds forever night and day. And equally, without remorse, Deals death, destruction, and decay. Remaining all unconscious she, Of proper female dignity, The same to her or work or play, To gather up or cast away. No heed she takes whate'er befall, She knows no odds 'twixt great and small, Or difference 'twixt near and far, Sublime, gross, or ridiculous; As easily she'll build a star As fashion a pediculus. Look round, and everywhere we see Of her tremendous energy God or Nature. 121 The marks in every plant and tree, In every river, mountain, plain. In frost and sunshine, storm, and rain. By slow-evolving, complicated plan She lends her rarest skill to form a man; Then all the same, philosopher or lout, In wanton whim, she turns and snuffs him out. Behold her dashing up tRe slanting sky! As lashing forth her snorting, unbroke steeds. The blizzard, cyclone, flood, and lightning storm. And mark the startling antics they perform. As o'er her wild and wayward way she leads. Stand not too near while she is whirling by, But nimbly mount behind and seize the reins. Resisting first, perhaps with sullen squirms, Insisting, too, on certain forms and terms. At last she owns the mastership of brains. Success depends on skill and knowing how; When duly broke she's docile as a cow. Twere nobler that we harness Nature's forces and her laws. And make them work for us, And take the lead, Than have a Christ to plead a quibbling cause, And shirk for us, 122 Ood or Nature. Or even bleed. 'Twere better far to make them smooth the way for us Than hire a thousand unwashed saints to pray for us. * • * What rasping note above the screaming blast? *Tis Nature's yawp, high in the gamut cast In storm; in peace and sunshine, mild and tame; Proclaiming always, everywhere the same. "My lightnings flash, My waters fall, Tornadoes crash and storms appall ! My sun warms up the earth and makes it breed; All things are here for all who have the need, For all who have the courage and the greed, But they alone who have success succeed. Ye ask for bread, I give you stones; Go delve, ye '11 find it there — If not, why should I care? Be men! Get off your marrow bones! Whate'er you want, go take! Nought you get from me by prayer For Christ's or anybody's sake. No! You cannot beg your way; You must either work or pay; God or Nature. 123 Learn a proverb, this is it: Ex nihilo nihil fit. 'Twas not by predetermined will of mine I brought ye forth, my human brats, Not all the graceful virtues in you shine; I love you not, yet neither do I hate. No more than bats are ye to me — or rats. You, too, as well as them I leave to fate, I reck not happy or disconsolate. No paltering covenants I make; No siren promises I sing. Your choice ! I care not which ye take. Here is the honey, here's the sting. I have my methods and my ways, And if they suit, then well and good; But not for sentiment or praise Or love, well be it understood, Can anything be got from me. Or any law be changed, Or weakened any energy, Or any course deranged. I'm business — can't you plainly see? No puling sentiment for me! To me there is no good, there is no bad; These qualities belong to you to find. You call that object good which makes you glad, The evil thing is that which makes you sad. 124 God or Nature. To all outside your narrow selves how blind; I made your evil — ergo, I'm unkind! Yea, I made all things — that is very true; But not a thing with reference to you. I am all things that be, All things are I and mine, Stars, comets, land and sea, Air and winds, time and tides. All, all belong to me — There's nothing else besides. I am the Dynamis — Eternal Force; I hurl the stars each on its several course, I bind them all with gravitations tether. And lash the scattered universe together. I change and reappear in endless forms, In shivering light, electric waves and storms, In undulating heat and pulsing sound. In meteor's fall and vapor's upward bound; In chemic transformations nervous flow. In coursing blood and blush's ruddy glow, In muscle's sturdy pull and pounding heart, In hate, repulsion, thrusting part from part. Mysterious magnetism's subtle strain. Mysterious consciousness of quivering brain, God or Nature. 125 Affinity and love, like steel to bind; In growth, sense, feeling, reason, life, and mind. Each one by his environment is pressed. Coerced, transformed, and fashioned by the rest, With wondrous art, in atom, mass, and mole — The creature of an uncreated whole. I am environment and creature, too. Forever dying, shooting forth anew, Changing endlessly in form and feature. Endlessly repeating. I am Nature! I am Alpha and Omega, first and last. The total of the present and the product of the past. Of all my endless energies the sum. The fashioner of all things far and near. The promise and the potency of all that is to come. I am the Ancient of Days. I am the Devil whom ye ignorantly fear; I am the Godhead vv^hom ye ignorantly praise." * ♦ * Energy and substance — these two in one comprise All things that are, or were, or ever can arise. They form the absolute and comprehensive whole. In every atom, every mass, behold the two com- bined. All matter is the universal body, brain, and soul. All motion is the universal mind. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date* FEB 1999 QBKKEEPER V^ PRESERVATION TECHNOLCX3IES, LP. 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 * o <0 ^ '^ • » K- <ci ^ °.-^%^/ ■?►*■ --^ %««aB*»* J''^\. °»^y** 4.^^^^. ''.B ^•^ .!k*i:./^. v\.i:;^..'^c^ y.-v-."^ v^r.' %.^^ ' °<. -.To' ,0 •*^^<>' A^"-, •nt ° S^"-'*^ V '^V'^^'^-m'^^^^^^^^ "-^0 o. '♦

16024836

The flag of peace, and other poems,

Alexander, Julius Myron

flagofpeaceother00alex_djvu.txt

Zhc jflao of Ipeace an^ ®tber poems ybv Julius 5llf ron lAUxareier Copyright 1916 by J. M. Alexander Published by THE AUTHOR - HEALDSBURG, CALIFORNIA 1916 I DEC -8 1916 4:> ^* Better than gold or stiver chmn — methinks Is truest friendship — ivith its ■welded links. k "2)e6icat(ii> io m? 'yrie.nbi Five THE FLAG OF PEACE O Nations of Karlii ! IMake a baimer of Peace, All ein])leiii to wave wlieii carnage shall cease, i^Vom ocean to ocean forever unfurled, A love-gift of Heaven illuming the world ; Not for glory of gold, for nations or cast, !>iit to float o'er all people in Peace at last. Pracr to the land now red from the battle. Peace to the cannon and canister's rattle. Furled be the flag of the conflict on ocean. Stilled be the waters from wars bloody potion: As quiet of ene, when the sun falls asleep, A soft song of peace o'er the land and the deep. In the flag we exalt, weave threads of love, As pure deep and true as the heavens above; Let every fold that the winds may lift. Proclaim the sweet, wonderful, world-wide gift; By the breezes kissed, let it ever wave As Life new-born, to the Free and the Slave. Over North and South, over East and West, Over valley and plain and mountain's white crest, ^Vllere great cities lie, a tumult of toil. Where laborers harrow the sodden soil, Float there the Flag, 'tis the Century's right, The breaking of day from the shades of night. This be the waiting, the long years' reward. Prayers that are answered for those 'neath the sward; Tho' folded in death be the warrior's hands. Victory theirs in the Peace of the lands; The sorrows of Mothers, the flaming of Mars, Quenched in the light of the rising stars O Nations of Earth! Make a Flag of forgiving. Make a Flag of glory in loving and living; Crush not our hearts u.u'th burdens of sorrow, End the brief day with a Peace for the morrow. A Peace to the land now red from the battle, A Peace to the cannon and canister's rattle. Seven PREPAREDNESS Let there be Peace — Not that, that would forget in waiting ease, Nor that of .sleep and wanton idle dream. Then waking, see the birth of breaking morn. And hear those songs of childish lulla-by. Those songs that drift and rift and then they go As songs to prattling child, thcd it may sleep. Let there he Peace — But wake and know that there outside, beyond. The giant whirlwinds blow their killing breath. And there the earth shall tremble and the peaks Of mountains, they in red shall break and flow As God hath made, in torrent tumult wild And left us, that we fight to live or die. Let there be Peace — And too, let there be all of pleading prayers, And like that Nun, who prays, in garments white. That Nun who knew the stealth of mocking world, Who knew the fruit of evil, lu.st and spoil. And knowing, there where builded walls protect She prays that all the world prepare for Peace. Eight TROUBLES IN A TOY SHOP 'Twas Cliristnias week in a toy shop, there Was a Tecldj^ bear, and a doll so fair, And a curly dog, and a woolly sheep, And a soldier boy, who ne'er fell asleep, And a little wee mouse with eyes so black, And a funny old man like a jumping jack. Up there was an owl that had eyes so big, All ready to squeal was a little brown pig, A crocodile ran if wound up tight, And a wolf with teeth was ready to bite, On a shelf there sat a big black crow, And an Indian boy with arrows and bow. Tlien the toy man left, with a light all bright. That lighted the shop, as he slept that night. 'Twas the crow first spoke, and flopped his wings And he said to the owl some very harsh things. The soldier boy put a load in his gun To shoot the bear if he started to run. . The Indian man a long arrow drew And shot the big crocodile almost through- The jumping jack swung each arm for a slam. And hit the big wolf and little white lamb. Then the mouse and the dog, they ran so fast That they frightened the doll as they ran past. They made such a noise, they made such a clatter That Santa Glaus came to inquire the matter; He called up his court and he tried them all From the wise old owl and the mouse so small, To the soldier boy there, with loaded gun, And the big black crow that laughed at the fun. With strings very strong he bound them tight, And sentenced them each that very night. The lamb and the dog and the doll so fair. The mouse and the owl and all that were there, To be hanged high up on a Christmas tree That all of the people might come and see. Nine GET ON THE MERRY-GO-'ROUND Perhaps you're having a tough time through life, Unless you've married a very rich wife — Or Pa or Ma cut you out a big slice, And left you free from the turn of the dice, Perhaps that your crops won't pay you to pick, And you're feeling blue and you're half way sick;. Perhaps you're hungry and your purse looks thin — But you've tried as hard as you could to win; Don't worry, but stick on top of the ground. And get in with the bunch on the Merry-go-round, If waters rise high and your house floats away, Or fires grow hot and it burns to the clay. If the road is rough and covered with rock. Or your boat floats in and wrecks at the dock — If the sun shines hot or the wind blows cold, Or you lose your cash by a robber bold; If you're doing the best you possibly can. But the good and gold seem never to pan. Just tighten your belt and go with a bound — And get in with the bunch on the Merry-go-round. If neighbors all talk, and say you're played out. And give you a shove that's down, without doubt — If your friends from you turn and on you sit. And there's naught but talk and the ice cold mit; If there's clouds in the sky, and frost on land And your path is rough and deep in the sand; If your way looks straight to the poor house door- Just pull down your hat and go some more, Brush off all the dust and make a glad sound And get in with the bunch on the Merry-go-round. If you can't sleep nights and worry all day. When the collector comes you find you can't pay; If the light goes out like the end of the world. And your ships go down with sails unfurled; If the doctor comes and says you will die. And there's nothing to eat but dried apple pie; If you're sure you've been doing the best you could, And you've battled for good as every man should. Don't dream that you died or wish you were drowned. But get in with the bunch on the Merry-go-round. Ten BIRTH OF A POPPY Out from the earth a poppy sprang, Born as a Queen; Over her birth an Oriole sang. In the Springtime green; A leaf, as a feather, from earth so mellow^ Stately and proud; A bud, as a cup, with gold all yellow, 'Neath a silvery cloud. There's naught of the land with colors bright And fashioned with cai'e As the poppy — ^born to kiss of the light — With her golden hair. The woods and the hills were happy then, For they loved her so; The meadows too, and the brooks and the glen. With her sunset glow; The West is her kingdom, all her own, This beautiful Queen; She rules aright, as a ruler alone, In her golden sheen. Eleven MORNING AND EVENING There was no boat, only the restless River And reeds, and damp and tangled rushes; There was no light, only the clinging darkness^ And far away the hov'ring mists of shore, He knew, for him, 'twas coming even time — A flick 'ring wick and pausing pulsing heart. The setting sun of wayward, waiting life — Beyond a cloud, but naught of glist'ning sheen Or silver gleam — only the folding dark; There were no tears, only the reaching out, The quickened grasping and the impetuous longing For light, and for the dash of coming oar. The morn and with it came the break of day, And there a ray of light which lead to him As by a silver cord, the birth of I;Ove, Faith and Hope — there by window waited; 'Twas then he heard the dip of coming oars, And light of that new morn gleamed out ahead. Twelve LITTLE SHOE STRINGS 'Twas down Broadway in the glare of iiglit, Her hat and feather and shoes all white; We walked so gay 'midst the changing throng While those of the way passed each along. Happy my heart with the beautiful girl, Dainty and fair as a delicate pearl; Walking so light by the broad paved way, Talking of all that lovers might say — "My shoe-string's untied; wont you tie it, pleas-cr' The little white bow I tied with ease. Along- by the sea where the waves crept in, The white winged gulls and the roar and din; On sand so smooth by the restless sea, Two little tracks as dainty could be. W(^ watched the waves and the tiying spray And looked far out at the sliijis all gray; Beyond was the sun just setting in gold, The blue of sky not a cloud did hold — "My shoe-strin<>-'s untied; Won't you tie it, please?' "Pardon," I said, by the soft sea breeze. Out in the fields on the May daj^ fair, Again the tracks — 'twas just a pair; The great oak trees and the meadow land. The soft brown glove and the little white hand. 'Twas a linnet's song in the leafy bovrer And a butterr-up bloom, the spring-time flower; The brook to the river ran whisp'ring down. Over the rocks both silver and brown — "My shoe-string's untied; Won't you tie it, please'?' "Sure," I said, 'neath the green meadow trees. The moonlight was silver, the starlight dim, The cricket just sang its ev'ning hymn; Away o'erhead was the ether, blue, The wind from the South was soft and true. Thirteen Two little tracks in dust of the way, No one could see, 'less light of the day; Over the sand and over the hill. Two little tracks in the night so still — "My shoe-string's untied; Won t you tie it, please?" '* Forgive me," I said, as I knelt on my knees. Years have fled since the bright street scene, 'Twas long ago in the fields so green; The waves of the sea still kiss the sand. And the moonlight, too, creeps o'er the land. There are more little tracks along the way. Barefooted, some, in the soft brown clay; Little white shoes, and some are brown. By trundle bed there, of feathers and down — Now, half of my time along life's way, Is tying shoe-string all of the day. FATE I built me a castle of brown stone walls, With wond'rous beauty in all its halls; 'Twas there I would live in a dreamy way, And there with content for every day. I painted a picture with colors rare. The bright and the shade I made with care ; I made for it then a golden frame, A "Beautiful Dream", I gave it name. I made me a home in shaded bowers, About it a garden of rarest flowers; The sunlight land of beautiful clime. With love there to live, till ending time, Alone was the way that was granted me, — Not a castle or home, nor shading tree ; For me it was locked, my dream-land gate, I never knew why — perhaps it was "Fate". Fourteen THE WHITE SOUL Tell me, Clay, of that White Soul within your keeping — The Soul that wakened you from your first night oi sleeping; That gave unto the mortal, the God Immortal breath; That clave you from the Shape whose end shall be of death That made of you its earthly home, a part to be Imprisoned, with its keeper death to hold the key; You as Master — amongst those things of earth so dumb; Your Soul enslaved, awaiting for release to come. Then tell me of the Soul so White, that came to you — Nourished in the Garden of your God it grew. He fashioned you, and then the Soul He plucked and sent Through Vale of Mysteries and through the heavens rent, And bade of you to hold, till He again should call And closing your dim eyes to light of world and all, Take back the Soul He gave to you, unto His own Burdened with all that you for earth and self hath sown. Unnumbered years and long centuries of time. The peopled earth, its hunger and red fields of crime; Its Kings, its Lords and Masters, opulent in wealth; The deep heart-cry of sickness, the joyous song of health — In all the Soul, as faultless pearl within the shell. Bound until the end, till tolling of the bell. Within the charnel house of Life, Immortal food. As white as snow, it came to man and multitud.o. That Soul his God loaned unto him, to be returned As it went forth? Or shall it go seared and burned By all of Life's hot passions, driven from its home. To cry for pity to the blue of arched dome? And, kneeling there outside the great Eternal Gate, Cry back to earth, and say: "Oh Clay! Too late! Too late! The golden key to heaven you held within your hand; You lived for self — and left me in the desert lan-d" Then tell to me, Mortal form! Wlien shadows creep; And when the Wolf of Gray shall come in breathing deep Your answer for the keeping of the Soul so White ? What shall your reck'ning be for each of day and night? What of the cruel scar and of the heavy blow? And did you care as friend or did you crush as foe? It pleads with you ere the last dark hour shall come — Then to thy Soul give heed and be not dumb. Fifteen THE FOLLY Stand up and go, 'tis time to die! You are but slave, so ask not why, You are but flesh — a king calls thee, It matters not, for land or sea. The mountain bird hath cleaving wings, But thou art made as sordid things- Child — not thy mother's boy. But chess to play — a kingly toy; Go forth and leave on field thy clay, A Tsar demands thy life this day. The smoke and shot and cannon roar — A life — he cannot ask for more. Stalwart, strong, of rounded limb, Thy flashing eyes for death to dim; It is but war, ask not the cause, Nor question he who made the laws; Then pray thy God, ere thou art slain. And pour thy blood on sodden plain. Thou shalt not know — perchance retreat, For thee 'twill only be defeat. God gave to thee a living soul, Its home man claims, go pay the toll! Go out and die on lands or seas. While Kings shall feast and Follies ploase. Sixteen < MICKEY'S CHRISTMAS What do we care— its Christmas day! Cold and storm and the wind, you sayf What do we care — how deep the snow! Hold on! There's Mickey, go slow! Go slow! What do we care— a tear and tangled curl! Who cares for tears! She's not our gin! Shiver and cold and bare little toes, Just Mickey's girl— with her tattered clothes- AVhat do we care — a Christmas tree. Furs and coats as warm as can be; Horses and sleighs and laughter and song, Gingle the bells and hurry along. What do we care — a table spread! Turkey and pies and cranberries red; Clink the glasses and drink a toast! Listen! There's Mickey! Oh no its his gnostl What do we care for nobody's boys, Drive over them now with your load of toys! Get out of the way— its Mickey there, His little girl too, with her tangled hair! What do we care— tomorrow you say^ Oh well— tomorrow— that's far away! What's that out there— a little white mound? It's only the snow piled high on the ground! What do we care— just a little white stone One was for Mickey— the cold wmd's moan; The little girl too, with her tangled hair, 'Twas a snow white slab, told sne was there. Who cares for Mickey, when snow falls deep? Or for rags and tags where the shadows creep' Two little slabs, two mounds out there. Tatters and Mickey— in God's safe care. HOLDING ME Tile perfume of flowers all sparkling with dew^ The sunshine of Heaven from sky so l)lLie. A song from the brook, and the nver 's gleam ; The moonlight, the starlight, as Angel 's- dream^ The murmur of voice from shading tree, Like cords of love are holding — Holding me. Away over there is the cold and the snow, And there are the plains where the dust winds blovv ., The long, long way in the glare of the sun. And the heated fields where no waters run; Parched and dry for the toil of man. Is the far away land of gray and tan. The Gates of Gold are locked by the sea^ My heart, my life they Ve holding — Holding me. 0, Golden West! my life and my love, So close to the doors of Heaven above. Here will I live till my last long sleep. Midst gardens of flowers so soft and deep. Twining my heart from the land and the sea. Sweet threads of love are holding — Holding me. Eighteen KATHLEEh^ Blue was the sky of the land so fair, ^oft were the songs on the balmy air; 8ongs of the birds of the brooks and breeze, Kissing the hills were the bending trees; Wild grew the flowers, all tangled and brigi.c, Sunshine of day and starlight of night: This was the vale of brown and of green, This was the home of sweet Kamleen. Winding the river ran down to the sea, Meadows and hills and brooks of the lea; Cottages here with arbutus and rose, Happy tli(' liome where the great oak grows; A Spring time of blossoms, of twining vines^ An Autumn of fruitage of purple wines; The kiss of the sun as a silver sheen; These were the love of sweet Kathleen. Out in the West where the sun falls asleep^ Where floating clouds are silvered deep. Where buttercups grow by poppies of gold, And thistles nod in the wind, so bold. Where the Oriole swings in its cradle high, And the Robin touches the blue of sky. There too was her heart, midst all this scene. The Bose of the Vale, sweet Katuleen. Sunset and starlight, flowers and birds. Songs the sweetest that ever were heard; Brooks and rivers winding and deep, Hills and trees and soft winds asleep; The picture all painted of colors bright, God made them each of sunshine and light; The best of all, and she was their Queen, Was the heart and the love of sweet Kathleen. Nineteen PORTALS OF THE PAST Tlirougli Portals of the Past come go today, with me, A winding path 'neath trees and o'er the meadow lea; Let's turn the backward path, through gates unlocked today That we rnay wander all along the old time way Where life began for us, in childhoods sunny smile, In ripple of a laughter, and sunshine all the while. 'Tis not so long ago, the road we'd travel back, 'Tis there well see the print of wand 'ring little tracks; We'll see the golden roses and hear the the birds of song. The days were all too short and time was never long; For we were love and laughter, from morn till evening fail. Childhood! Shall we gol Oh don't you hear the call? We'll gather truant posies, along that flowered way — And there ^s that little gate — 'twas sure the month of May, A rainbow over there! Oh please forget the tears-. For tears should never mingle with memories of the years And now, hold tight my hand! Oh don^t you want to go Through Portals of the Past? What makes you walk so slov; I Let's close the gate and turn the old lock fast — The little path we wfend'rd in days that now are past Looks; Oh! so lonely, for there are none along the road — Not one of those we loved to lighten up the load. Let's open wide the gates, those Gates we sometimes dread. Don't be afraid, God's hand will lead us through the Gate.i ahead. Twenty A REVERY B}' the fireiiglit glow, at close oi' day, Weaving the colors of red and gray; Alone she sat, and the silken thread Wove in and out, as her fingers lead. One was a rose of deep red hne, Forget-me-not with its color blue; The silken floss and the needle bright, She laid them down in the fading light. For the one she loved, the brightest thread, She wove in the rose of deepest red; Why the blue she made with silken spray, Her heart ne'er told, no one could say. Just touching them both, each tangled floss, As the dew would kiss the clinging moss, A tear on the rose was woven true, A tear there too, on the flower of blue. THE TWO SHADOWS One shadow came down from the green leafed tree To shelter a child at play; The song of birds and the breeze from the sea, The world was so happy that day. One shadow came down from a cloud of gray — A little white coffin its bed; Tears came down with the shadow that day, For the little child tnere was dead. Twenty one THE MOON CHILDREN AND THE TIDE The children came down from the moon one night, To play with the tides of the sea; Each child was a beam of silvery light, And they danced on the sand in glee. Tiien the tide brought out from its deep sea home, its playthings of amber and green; A boat load it brought through the snow white t'oarn, To the sands with their starlit sheen. There were shells of pearl and crimson shells — That were painted by Mermaid brides — There were mosses green from the rock deep (lei's, For the play of the moon and tides. A pearly shell brought a song from the deep, 'Twas filled with the sound of the waves; Sometimes it was gay, sometimes it would weep. As it sang of the deep sea waves. Fishes of silver and fishes of gold. Peeped out from the waters blue; llie children played on 'till the night was old. By the sea where the green moss grew. Away in the deep was the Ocean's roar, Like a tumult of battle wild; The wind came in and a message it bore To the sand and the midnight child. A battered spar with a clinging hand, Came in with the sea weeds of gray; 'Twas the only ghost of the silver sand, And it drifted out with the day. When the sun came out of the starry night, There was naught of the play-ground there. Twentytwo For the tide took back its toys so bright, And the sands of the sea swept bare. We are the children of earth and sky, As moonbeams that play with the tide; We are born of the earth to live and die, As the ships o'er the deep sea ride^ Our toys are Hope and Ambition and 1^'ame, They are painted in silver and gold; We think if we only can make a name, It is all that there is to hold. There is something better than only play. Than a dance by side of the sea, There are hearts that are waiting night and day, For a love from you and from me. There are ghosts come in with the toys of life, So a smile or maybe a tear Are treasures to give in this world of strife — As we play with each passing year. SOMETIMES 'Twas just a rose, so very white; She came and toucned it, 'neath the stars of night. Then bending, kissed the rose, all dewy there; And with her hand she broke the stem with care, Tlie bloom she placed so close her neart Till of herself it seemed a living part. The rose so fair, it clung as if in fear, Upon its leaf as glistening dew — a tear — Oh well! The rose, of course, it never knew; Sometimes I wish I were a rose, don 't you ? Twentytliree THE FALLEN MONARCH A iviug sleeps there! Proud Monarch of the forest great, j Upon his bier of clay, as ruler lies in state; His comrade earth, a pillow made of mellow clod, And sent its twining vine from banks of fern and sod To weave in living green about its soft clay bed A wreath, as people weave their garlands for the dead; From off the sea, the drifting fog in silence crept A shroud of white, to fold the Monarch as he slept; And then, from out the clouds, each borne by whisp'niii^ breeze The raindrops fell, and hung upon the living trees; These were the tears that came from out the weeping sky As sorrow hovers o'er the tomb where loved ones lie; The streaming light of sun, through leaves of yellow Fall Made shadows dark, these were for it a funeral pall; From far away, the wind — it came in murmurs low, A mournful dirge from off the hills where pine trees grovv; And then as solemn echoes of a requiem bell O'er land, the moan of ocean came its grief to tell; The voice of hills was hushed as broken chord of song, And somber leaves of death, in piles they drifted long; The startled deer looked on, as child would stop from play, Nor feathered throat of Oriole gave song of day. Time came and there it left its moss of bearded gray, And then the Age and gave the Redwood back to clay; As mortal of the earth the Monarch lived and died, And there above its grave the voice of Nature cried. Twentyfour FORGETTING Blow walking by the path of every day, » A rosebud gathered growing by the way; Beneath the morning sun it opened wide With sunlight's silv'ry beauty, crimson dyed, And touched with every shade and white and red, And too, with bits of gold its heart was fed, Like sunbeams falling soft on purling stream— A kiss of love upon the water's gleam; On rosebud leaf a wanton dewdrop lay — 'Twas love's caress at dawning of the day. There by the path I met created man, To hold both life and soul— 'twas God's great plan. Perfection's type, yet, stumbling as he trod. Forgetting that his Maker was his God; He looked ahead and walked with heavy tread. By thoughts of gain his very soul was fed. To him I gave the rose from heaven above. For in its heart had breathed the God of love. He crushed it in his long and bony hand. He flung it down upon the dusty land. Oh God! For man, why make these beauteous things, The blue of vaulted heaven, the bird that sings, The rosebud and the pearl, the moon and stars, The dawn and eve with streaks of golden bars? He turns from them in all o! deepest scorn, And looks upon the earth where he was born A sordid spot, for only gain and greed, As one that's bom of low and uncouth breed, Forgetting that some day, beneath the dust and clay His only friend may be— the rosebud by the way. Twentyfive THE TWO VOICES They are calling, ever calling, Silent whispers of the day; As the autumn leaves in falling. As the brightest flowers of May, Shadows one, in all our going. Heavy, as the hand of night; As the oars that dip in rowing, Or as clouds that shade the light. Heavy as a sorrow lending, As the waters deep and dank; As the willows, weeping, bending O'er the rushes of the bank. Sunshine one, 'tis ever telling Of a Fairy land of song; All its gladsome notes are welling. As we journey life along. Peace and joy to heart so weary, Telling it so soft and sweet; Banish all of thoughts so dreary, Strewing flowers at our feet. One of shadows tears and sorroAv, Taking life its heavy toll; One, to brighten every mcrrow, Angel whisperings to the soul. Twent5''six PA AND ME When pa and me were boys together, quite many years ago; (My pa, of course, was older 'n me, but then I didn't know;> We used to have a lot of fun, just us two boys alone. You see we lived upon a hill, like kings upon a throne, A little cottage hid away, b^' roses red and white, And little squares for window panes, let in the morning lighl; 'Twas there, the green and climbing vines, most hid each tiny door, And some of them got clear inside and trailed along the floor; Of course a mother too, I had, and sisters, yes and brothers. But yet it seemed like pa and me had more fun than others; My pa was very good to me, I guess he loved me lots, But every pa should have a love for all his little tots ; Sometimes for me when shadows creep, along the weary way. And when the nights seem dark and long and lonely is the day, 'Tis then I wish, so very much, my pa could come to me. That we might play, as long ago, so happy and so free. YESTERDAY A little white hand, 'twas yesterday. An Angel held and led by the way; The sunlight of morn made a path for the child; Unlocked was the gate and the Angel smiled. A silken veil and a satin gown, 'Twas yesterday roses, and orange bloom crown; A heart and a hand and love lead the way. Of life — 'twas the gladsome month of May. White as the snow of Wint'ry clime. An Angel turned the Key of Time ; 'Twas Yesterday wove the garment of years, 'Twas Yesterday covered the shroud with tears. Twentyseven LITTLE WHISPERS There's a whisper of the roses, they whisper soft to yon^ As they nod and kiss each other in sparkling jets of dew; Would you know their soft sweet story, of what then whispers say There close against your heart, they'll tell you all the day. There's a whisper of the sea shell, the Mermaids story tel's Of hide and seek in mosses, of pearls in cavern dells ; Then listen to the story the sea shells whisper you, Perhaps they'll tell you something, about some one that'e* true. There's a whisper of the waters as they murmur to the sen, The waving leaves they whisper upon the Maple tree ; We love to hear the story as told in other years, Of angels and their whispers, of smiles and maybe tears. We almost hear the stars in shadow of the nigm. And fleecy clouds they whisper of storms or sunshine bright, The world is full of whispers and the 're most always true. Please love this little whisper I'm sending now to you. Twentyeight MY WISH I wish that I were a boy today, Out there on the sand and gravel gray; Out there where the willows bend so low. And Alders are waving too and fro, Where lizards and little striped snakes Crawl 'er the ground to the cool of brakes ; I'd roll up my pants and wade in deep 'Till up to my knees the water would creep. I'd throw some stones at the blue jay high. And whistle back to the brown bird's cry; I'd make me a sling of leather and string, And across the field a stone I would fling; Out of a willow a whistle I'd make, And blow 'till my cheeks would nearly break; I'd sharpen my knife on a piece of Done, And carve my name in the soft sand-stone. With a piece of string and a crooked pin, A tadpole or minnow I'd sure bring in, I'd build me a dam of sand and clay, And wait for the water to wash it away; I'd whittle a boat from ai. old dry board, And watch it wreck on the ripple ford; I'd skate a rock on the waters still. And with some sand I'd build a hill. There all day long I would play around, Where softly the sunshine falls on the ground : 'Tis then I'd turn from my happy day To my dream-lajid cot, 'neath the gable gray; Perhaps she'd come — my Mother to me. As an Angel would come from over the sea, To tuck me away — the boy that played All day long in the sunshine and shade. Twentynine THE END OF HIS TRAIL A King came down from the North last week, A king from the frozen sea; He came with the wind from cloua-capped peak, To the land of meadow lea; He bared his throat to the freezing storm, And crept from his ice-bound home; He floated away as a ghost-like form, From the frozen sea of Nome. He burdened his back with a bag of foam. As white as an Eagle's breast; As cold as the frost from ice-berg's dome. In the land of sunset rest. He waited his time, this King in white, For the blow of the Northern gale; He rode the way in the dark of night, By the frosted, frozen trail. Golden the fruit of the orange grove. And green was the meadow land; ^Y\li\e over the hills the shepherds drove Their peaceful waiting band; The palms of the South with bended leaves Made shadows soft and deep; The sparrow chirped from their sheltered eaves As the daylight fell asleep. A curtain blue was the sun-lit sky. All over this land of love; The violets bloomed for the passer by. And the roses bent above. A beautiful picture framed in gold, 'Neath the Western setting sun; The way of the streams to ocean bold. As the crystal waters run. The King came down by his frozen way, "Unloosing his heavy load; He covered the earth in white that day, And every tree and road; Thirty The orange gold and the violet blue, He shrouded them deep in snow, But the heart of man was ever true, And laughed at his ghost-like show. They caught him there on his throne of white, They brought him down to earth ; They bound him tight with cords that night, And laughed in their gleeful mirth, That ride was his doom, for they built him a tomb Of the snow he brought with the gale; They covered him o'er with the roses' bloom, For that was the end of his trail. THE LILY OF EASTER As white as a flake of the falling snow, As pure as the crystal waters flow. The Lily of Easter, blooming alone, As if for a world of sin to atone; Stainless at dawn, on the Easter morn, As out from the earth a life was born. Only a kiss of the morning dew, An Angel's tear for me and for you; From the earth it bloomed, to earth again. As an humble life, not lived in vain; From our God a gift that all might know The infinite love He would bestow. The morn, the day, then the vesper bells And lilies, gathered from gardens and dells; O'er chancel and aisle and the altar's rail, A symbol of love that ne'er shall fail; A prayer unspoken, to God, in appeal. While tears from the heart in sorrow steal. A broken gate and an empty tomb. That the Easter Lily again may bloom. Thirtyone THE TWO 'Tis here the beauty and there the dregs, Roses a-bloom, and riotous weeds; The songs of the rich — a cry that begs, For which will you give from your gift of deeds f The stars of the sky, the clods of earth, A crown of gold and the dross of clay; The way of Wisdom— a path of mirth, For which will you pray when your prayers you sayf A ship afloat — a wreck on the reef, The gift of life — a murderous deed, A shout of joy and a sob of grief, For which will you preach when you preach your creed f Valor and glory and crimes of nignt, Freedom of thought and a bond of tnongs, The way of truth — forgetting the right. Of which will you sing when you sing your songs' So close to the rose, the weed that grows, And grain that bears in a field of tares, A beautiful bloom by thistle blows, Tliey're all of this world, our world of cares. Of the life we live, are all a part. As courage may walk with trembling fears ; Tlie beating pulse, a sob of the heart. Somehow they're mingled— all mingled with tears. Thirtytwo THE SONG OF THE STREAM I'll go me away to the waters flow, The stream with its rocks and its ferns that grow; All day and all night, 'tis the water's way, To sing as it goes to the Ocean grey. 'Tis louder it sings when the dark cloud brings Its shadows and storms, and its dismal things; Softer the song when the silver of light Shall come from the sun, and the stars of night, I will wait me there by its shaded bank. By its willow and weed and grasses rank; I'll say to my Soul, 'tis a song for thee. As its waters go to the deep of sea. I'll say to my life of shadows and tears, Tliat's mingled with grief and its clinging fears. The song that comes from the way of the stream, A lesson for all shall be of its theme. Though clouds and storms, and the rocks and the rifts, Singing it goes o'er the clay and the cliffs; In eddy and pool, 'tis only a wait For the rider ahead, to open the gate. Then hark to the song the stream ever brings, 'Tis only of joy that it always sings; Still on to the sea forever it goes. To the tide-swept shore with song it flows. Then sit me down on the bank of the stream, And mingle my thoughts with life and its dream; Shall it be songs as the stream to the sea, Or shall it be tears to Eternity. Thirtythree TOMORROW Tomorrow I shall die, Today I look to blue of sky, And out upon the fields of green^ Out there upon the living scene ; Today I hear the soft winds sigh^ Tomorrow I shall die. Today a wreath of May, Tomorrow will be harvest day ; The waters running down to spray Turn never backward on their way; The seconds tick, the minutes go, A leaf upon the snow. Today the sun is low, A prayer for golden after glow; Along the path the shadows creep, The Thrush of song hath gone to sleep; You'll live, perhaps, to say ''Good-bye"; Tomorrow I shall die. A little speck of breath, A day between a birth and death. Forget me when I'm wnite and cold, Forget me as a story told; Tomorrow at the close of day, I'll go upon my way. Thirtyfour THE OLD OX SHOE They dug from the earth a rusted shoe, A symbol betwixt the Old and tiie New; For the rusted shoe was worn on the hoof Of a laboring ox, on the earth's clay roof; Deep in the soil where the city stands, It had rusted for years 'neath clinging sands. A crack of the whip and "Who haw gee"! The dusty road and a madrono tree, A creaking yoke and a wobbly wheel From an oak, as strong as pounded steel; Booted and brown with his hair grown long, The driver as tough as a buckskin thong. Cushioned as soft as a couch of down. Polished and smooth as a silken gown, A lever, a clutch and the springing wheels Scarce touching the ground, as velvet feels; Gloved and soft were the hands to guide, Over the road with the wind to ride. Of hardship and toil the ox shoe told, Of men who came to the "West for gold; Rugged and wild was the life they led. Men of that kind for the wilderness bred; The mountain, the forest and rushing stream. But the city that grew was only a dream . The Old and New in the city met, On the crowded street of daily fret, The setting sun of Memory days, And the morning dawn of golden rays; The "Who haw gee" and the rusted shoe. Over their graves came the polished New. Thirtyfive TWO IN A BOAT *Tis zig-zag then where the waters run low^ And straight ahead in the depth of the flow^ A tangle of willows sweeping down all rank^ And close are the sands to the River bank. Sweethearts or friends or lovers or wed, A boat for two, in the glow of the red, in the starlight dim or the moonlight bright^ A splash of the oars or a song of night. There's no one to hear, there ^s no one to see^ But the hooting owl in the big oak tree. Or the frog in the pool with deep bass call, And the night hawk far in the alders tall. So we drift along, 'tis yon and 'tis I, ... With a lovers kiss and a lover's sigh, By the river banks and the willow's shade, Till the songs of the night in sleep shall fade. 'Tis a dream of life for youth and for love, On the waters still, 'neath the stars above. The splash of the oars and a boat for two— ~ 'Tis the river at night for lovers true- Thirty six LABOR AND WEALTH Labor! Look to thy home, thy land, 8tay the wikl tumult! Peace to thy hand; See the fierce carnage, the grind pnd the (U^atii, Hear the deep moan, feel the hot breath; Pause by the road-way, shadow thine eyes, 'Tis the sound of a tempest, the dark of the sIvht: O Wealth in your greed, remember thy God! Kemember the Man who bends 'neath uie rod; Life is but short, but measured by years. The clod and the clay, the grind and the tears; Stay thy strong hand from thorns and the scourgci Greed and oppression — a toll and a dirge. Freedom! Freedom, hear the loud cry, Thy Flag is the stars, thy blue is the sky; From Ocean to Ocean, o'er city and field, A peace, a harvest, a fruitage to yield; Born from a struggle, protection each fold, A Nation, a people, from lust of gold. cormorant Wealth! From thy gluttonous feast Turn to the Man thou wouldst make as a beast; From thy palace go out and eat of his crust, Tread his long pathway of toil and dust; Be but the Man for the stretch of a day. Justice thy scale, weigh fair thy pay. Make not of Law a mockery cheap, Purchased by price— scorning its keep; Honor! 'Tis greater than Lord or King, Dishonor but death, as the Serpent's sting. The car with the wheel in its journey unite, If broken, a wreck, and shorn of its might- Thirtyseven Each 'tis a part, by welding, a strength, Twisted the rope, no flaw in its length; Driven apart and each in its way, A tangle of death at the close of day. A grasp of the hand a lever may hold. In that grasp, let the hand, a Soul enfold. Save ! That the turn of a haughty heel May never be met by the flash of a steel. Fly the white flag of Labor and Wealth, Meet in the open, win notby stealth; Pray to thy God — He ruleth for Peace; From strife and from war bid the conflict to cease. MARGUERITE Marguerite, I loved you — As you came with the rosebud in your hair, A touch of the sunbeam, a spray of the heather; As sweet as the violets, as the lily fair. As love and a dream, soft mingled together — For you were my love Marguerite. Marguerite, I loved you — You stole my heart as you came in the sunlight, A sprite from the mount, from the dell of the birds. The moon and the stars shone brighter at night, And the chime of the bells I softer heard — For you were my Queen Marguerite. Marguerite, I loved you — Close to the home twines the flower of passion, 'Neath its petals a cross — the lintel it kisses. The shadows of life the sunshine doth fashion; The gold of the rainbow, the child ever misses — For you were my life. Marguerite. But you were for them Marguerite — For the mountains high with its birds and its bowers. From the stars to you sweet kisses fell; And the breath from the perfume of flowers. Left only for me was the toll of the bell — For the warm earth loved you too. Marguerite. Thirtyeight A MAIDEN'S WAY Two lovers went out for a walk one day, And each held a hand as they wended their way, 'Till they came to the shade of a green oak tree. Where tlie}^ paused by the path so wild and free; The youth was bashful, the maid was so shy That sometimes they seemed most ready to cry. A robin there sat on the green bough above, He saw at a glance 'twas a case of true love, , He looked for some time at the shy lass and lad, And he thought to himself, *'To bad, too bad". So he sang this song with hardly a stir, * ' Tell her you love her, how dearly you love her. ' ' With a blush and a tremble the Miss and the Man, Back to the path they almost ran; Down to the glen where the lilies blow. They stopped by a stream with its ripple flow, They chatted and talked — and the robin forgot. Of sensible things, they said not a lot. Not far awaj^ perched a quail on a post. Watching his family of ten was his boast; The lovers he spied as they sat by the stream. And said to himself "I'll give them a theme", He swelled up his throat this whistle to pipe, "Get on to yourselves, for cherries are ripe". Then they moved to a tree where an Oriole swung, To his mate as a lover many songs he had sung; He knew the bold way of courtship in air. And felt deep chagrin for the bashful pair; So this was the song that he sang to them there, "If you love her then kiss her, she never will care." They walked to their homes and scarce said a word, As they thought of the birds and the songs they'd heard She was so sad for she wished he'd said more, And he ne'er said aught but good bye at the door; She loved him so much she was ready to cry. He loved her too, but was awfully shy. The moral to this, if happy you'd be. In cottage of home or under a tree, If you'd win the sweet lass right tnere by your side, Be bold as a King if you'd make her your bride. The birds told you how the sure way to win. Then hug her and kiss her for that is no sin. rhirtynine KNUCKLE DOWN In days when you were but a boy, Those days for you of greatest joy — 'Twas. when you played all kinds of games, With boys of different kind and names ; With marbles round both blue and brown, Remember how you used to knuckle down. There was a great big ring so round, 'Twas like the world you later found; Outside the line, with all your might, You'd shoot your "Taw" at bunch in sight; If in the ring you chanced to stick. You had to ' ' knuckle down ' ' that was the trick. The boys would call to "knuckle tight", If you should "fudge" there 'd be a fight; Down on the dust you'd hold you;- hand, And aim all straight a prize to land; To hit it square, you'd try in vain. Then "knuckle down," you'd have to shoot again. But now, as years, did manhood bring. You've found the world a great big ring; 'Tis sometimes hard to land a prize, For worlds are round and great big size; 'Tis sure you're in the line for life. Don't "fudge" but "knuckle down" and win the strife. • Forty SOME DAY ^Vliat shall it be some day — a smile or tears; Some day when the heart may be heavy with fears 1 We are waiting and counting — the steps are not long, Some of them st^ep and some with n song ; But that matters not, there's an ending some day, When clouds shall gaiher and dim is the w-ay. What shall we do when the Master shall come. Firm shall we stand, or fear as the dumb ! When curtains are drawn and the lights are bedimmedv Shall our candle be burning, or dark and untrimmed ; Shall we look Just ahead to the hour that ends, And smile as we whisper ^'Goodbye*' to our friends 1 sphere's a sob of the wind, that tells of the Fall, t)f the strewing of leaves, for death and its call; "There's a cloud for the storm — the hiding of light, And the setting of sun foreshadov.s the night; The foam and the moan for the shipwreck at sea. And the white of the snow is a shroud for the lea. Wbo knows when the Master may call for the Soul, "When the gate shall swing open to take of its toll 1 The laughter and song and trip of the dance, Shall be hushed with life at a thrust of the Lance. What shall we do and what shall we say — Some day — when the Master shall call to this clay. Fortyone THE CITY BEAUTIFUL Over the City Beautiful, a spider's web was spun, Over the City Beautiful, the silver threads were run; A picture of the city 'twas hung in frame of gilt, A painting of the city in beauty that was built; Its waving trees 'neath sunlight, its homes and flowers and lawn Were colored into beauty as clouds of morning dawn ; As Garden of sweet Eden, rehearsed in songs of old. The painting told the story, in frame of gilt and gold. One almost heard the song-bird, almost felt tue sunlignt; Could see, the blue of ether, where stars pinned back the night ; The soft wind from the South-land that kissed each tree of green And perfume of the flowers, and violets there between; Could hear the children 's laughter and river 's murmuring song; 'Twas May-day of the Springtime and days were never long All these were in the picture, in colors bright and bold, The picture that was painted, in frame of gilt and gold. A spider found the picture and wove its web across — Across each door and lintel it spun its silken floss From trees to all the flowers and then across the street, By windows and by gateways, each little thread would meet Across each busy highway it wove its silver bars, And tangled up the city, a city 'neath the stars. But this was on the picture, the spider spun its breath — Only on the picture — it wove its web of death. Fortytwo HULLO JIM! Out there on the hill — a Springtime day, The marble and granite of white and gray; Blossoms of gold and myrtle of blue, Beneath them the green of mosses grew; One was my friend, I stopped by the mound Where flowers of Spring were thick on the ground; My boyhood chum and I called him "Jim", We lived and loved 'till the Reaper grim Called for him, on a night so dark — With sails unfurled was the waiting bark Just out of the door — they took him away With 'naugnt of time "Goodbye" to say. So yesterday bright, I was thinking of him And thought I would say just "Hullo Jim"! Out there where he was sleeping so still 'Neath shadows brown, that crept o'er the hill; There I talked to him of long ago. Of youth when life was all aglow; Of streams where fishes came to hook, Of the antler 'd deer of shaded nook. Of lights of day of shadows of night, Of the tufted quail so swift in its flight. Of over the hills, through forests deep. Where paths and roads were rough and steep; 'Twas a dreamy day and sure I could see A Spirit that came o'er the hill to me. A forget-me-not I left on his grave. Only one flower, 'twas all that I gave; Then I said "Goodbye" to Jim again. As I walked the way of Life's long lane. Maybe sometime we will meet out there. When the Master shall come and take of His fare, He '11 meet me there when I call to him. Then again I'll say "Hullo" to Jim. Fortythree MY DREAM TOWfSf ^Twas once, back there, in my Dream Towr/,, I happy lived — not long ago, Its houses all were castles brown, Some gabled high and some were low. in my Dreaim: Town, white loctist grew, And deep their sliiidWs crossed each walk: Wlien Autumn came, their leaves all flew, And evening songs, were Cricket's talk., I'he birds, they sang, in my Dream Town,, The roses- all were colored fair; The birds were decked in feathers browm And flowery perfume filled the air. O'er my Dream Town the silvery moon Looked very big and round and white; And too, the sun, at brightest noon, Sent down its beams of mellow light. In my Dream Town I had a home, By Maple trees all shaded deep; Above me was the sky's blue dome, And little streams srnig me to sleep. Now my Dream Town, it's almost gone, And fading fast is all the light; 'Twas way back there just at the dawn^ But now for me 'tis nearly night. Fortyfoui SUNSET ON RUBIDOUX Soft was the glow on the mountain's crest, Gleaming as gold, from out of the West; AVinding the road to the cross of gray, Shadows all deep at the close of day. Hushed was the cry of the mountain bird, Stilled from its throat, no song was heard; Away in the valley, the orange groves deep As fields of yellow, just kissing to sleep. A city of lights, as stars of the night, Uncurtained each gleam, in silvery white; "Good night" to the Cross, away on the hill. From the beautiful city in valley so still. Soft was the whisper of evening breeze, As an echo song, was the hush o'er the trees; Floating a cloud, by the hills away, A curtain, God sent for the closing day. Out from the south o 'er desert sand. Plodding the way of the sunburned land ; As priest and teacher in days of old. The saving of souls was more than gold. A long weary path of brambles and stone, The chant of a priest as he stood alone; Only the mountain, the rocks and wild. Cut from the cliffs, then rugged piled. Today, from the century's early morn. The cross on the hill without its thorn; Mellow in twilight, the Angels came. In memory carved a father's name. Goodnight, Oh cross, on the mountain high, 'Neath the blue and peace of the western sky; The sunset shall paint thee a golden crown, And starlight shall weave thee a silver gown. Fortyfive LITTLE BLUE BELLS In her cradle she slept, little Bluebells unkept, Breaming of Fairies that baby thought carries; Little tear stains like dew-drops of rain, On curls that were tangled, as golden threads spangled. 'Twas just over there, a white face fair. Sobbing a breath, awaiting for death; 'Neath a coverlet white, in still of the night, A mother's heart broken, all silent, unspoken. In dark of the night, swept the storm in its fright, Hidden the stars and the red light of Mars; Bright gleaming moon was shadowed in gloom, A darkness so drear, in a kingdom of fear. A crash in the storm, a mangled dark lorm, Borne on the way, where death is the pay; A father asleep, where the sea mosses creep, Asleep from the crash of the wild waves dash. One shadow came down for the man that was drowned, And one for the soul of a mother — its toll ; They took him away from the white foam and spray, The other — all wound in a white shroud was found. Smiling from dreaming, the sunlight came streaming, The sunlight for Bluebells, for meadows and aells; It kissed the wild flowers, the sun-gleams in showers And mellowed each note from the song birds throat. Alone little Blue-bells, alone, all it tells, The foam of the sea and the sod of the lea. Wrapped soft in their hold, held close in their fold. The love of a mother, the kiss of the other. O world full of life; world in its strife! world of heart throbs, and world of child sobs, They are woven together, are mingled like heather With thorns that are hidden, and sorrows unbidden. O Angel of Pity! In God's golden city, Watch over the child, of a desolate wild, Fortysix "Where man in liiy greed, forgets of kind deeds, And the little white hand in this golden land. The child of today, alone on its way — They are ours from birth, a part of this earth. They know not of love, save from God al)ove ; Then give from your heart, sweet (..'harity 's part. AWAY FROM THE CITY I might live my life in the city — Where houses of marble are buiided. Where its walks and its ways are gilded. Where its streets and its lights are a-gleaming. And its rush all the day goes a-streaming. I might live my life in a city — But somehow there's something out here, With the ferns and fragrance of fir, The stories from whisp'ring breeze, And the wooing of flowers and trees. I might live my life in a city — But there's something out here that's calling As soft as the Autumn leaves falling; And close to their love I am waiting, As the birds of Springtime in mating. I might live my life in a city — But somehow the peaks and the mountains. The streams as gushing of fountains. Where sunshine is hung by the way, And paths lead to flowers of May. I might live my life in a city — But somehow the earth and the sod, I am sure are closer to God And the Gate, that softly shall swing For the Hope, to which you and I cling. Forty seven BLOWING THE BUBBLES Blowing the bubbles, Only childhood troubles; Eainbow bubbles, floating in air, Sunshine bubbles of colors rare; One, two, three, floating away, Falling again as specks of spray; Everywhere, nowhere, falling to ground, Wingless Fairies all around. Blowing the bubbles, Youth's little troubles; Spring time and May day, then comes June, Flowers and songs, life's all atune; Marj^ and Mildred, John and Frank, Cupid and roses thin the rank; Bubbles with pictures of love each day, Bubbles with wings that fly away. Blowing the bubbles, Bending with troubles; Colorless bubbles on the white snow, One, two, three, how dim they grow; Toward Heaven they're floating, away in air, Away to the sky, away up tJiere, Coming back as Angels all in white, Beautiful bubbles, for a soul in flight. Fortyeight MOTHER LOVE A perfect rose of sweet perfume, Woven bright in Heaven's loom, Sunlight threads and Angel's hands, White and red and golden bands; Ood made the rose, a morning fair. And in His garden placed with care. At noon, a soul, God gave to earth, For human clay, 'twas given birth. His breath. His life — He made the Man, Through eyerj vein His semblance ran; Beauty and strength to him He gave. For conflict then. He made him brave, ,A Mother's love God made at eve — Shadows, tears, and heart to grieve; The folding arms and waiting way. The longing night and weary day; An Angel came and held her hand, She whispered love o 'er all the land. The petaled rose — at noon it fell. The Soul went out at tolling bell ; For Mother's love, there was no death, All else. He garnered, with a breath. Portynine THE DANCE OF THE LEAVES Down to the dell the North wind crept, Where the leaves of Autumn softly slept ;^ The oak, the maple, the ash and the beech All mingled their leaves, 'twas away for each. Sing Hi! Sing Ho! To the dance we'll go. To the meadow, the meadow, away in a blow! They were lovers those leaves and each of a kind To nestle so close as they entwined j A whirl and a swirl, the North wind's song, By the light of the moon the whole night long. Sing Hi ! Sing Ho ! As they rode away To dance on the meadow, to dance and play. The swing of the trees, 'twas fiddle and bow, As the wind did blow, both too and fro; The moon and the stars their soft light shed For the leaves all dressed in brown and red. Sing Hi ! Sing Ho ! And swing them around. For the dance of the leaves, to the meadow bound. MY VALENTINE A stolen kiss, a stolen love, a stolen heart, If to return to you in whole or only part. Should mean, of stealing more, then just between us two— The punishment — I sure would leave it all to you- If I, imprisoned, and you the keeper with the key. Then fully satisfied, I'm sure that I would be; If bars were made of only sunshine, I'd not care. Nor if the gate were locked by silken thread of hair; 'Tis then that I would steal the Keeper, 'twould be best, Beturn the kiss and — well I'd keep the rest. Fifty MOUNT SAINT HELENA Uncoffined the great mount lies iii death, A massive form, bereft of Nature's breath; The hills beside and at its base do meet As soldiers sleeping, when their last drum beat Shall have sounded and left them waiting there Beside their tow 'ring King, unmasi?:ed and bare 8ave as the mould of gray, about each mound That clings like cerements close around: The mountain — it their high born lordly King, To ether peaks, where wild of winds shall sing. A page from out Earth's master book, so high The great mount stands, embossed against the sky; The white of sun and red of streaming Mars Upon the cover there, of blue and stars; There writ upon its sides, in letters scarred — Time's words — all cut and heavy barred With gapping seam, and crevice dark and deep; While Centuries in everlasting sweep Piled into longer time — of decades, 'Till Mind's Eternal thought in grasping, fades. There the story told of Ocean storm, The dim line of shell's decaying form; Lashing against steep sides, banked and beating, But marks of living life, e're its retreating; Seamed again between its ridges narrow Canyons, deep cut to very mountain's marrow By rushing waters, strewing the plain below With chips from master block — ages ago; And there the cleft of rocks cut sharp and tall. Against the Western wind, a deadened wall. 'Twas there the lightning's gleaming path, deep burned As zigzag on its way it ever turned; Above, the lone peak touches blue of sky, And deadened cone lies hollowed, banking high Its sides, where tumult, once, of heat and fire Poured out in reddened wave upon its pyre; And then the sweep of cold in icy breath Kissed the giant to its frozen death ; There, Time, measured into ages passed This dead Thing sleeping left, on bed deep grassed, As playing child would leave a pile of sand When soft of shadow eve led by the hand. Fiftyone GOOD-BYE €rood-bye is a tear from the throbbing hear% A footstep on roads that drift apart; A clond that comes o 'er the sunlit day, The night that weeps by the pulseless Clay. Spoken today, all thoughtless, perchance, 'Tis never again a word or a glance; The great wide world, its sorrows and sighs,- But saddest of all the last good-byes. Oh hearts that have loved as side by side, And hands that have touched all true and tried; 'Tis some time, 'tis some day, somewhere ahead^ "Good-bye^' the last word that may be said. Speak softly. Oh soul, that would go thy way No one may know, no one may say; Sorrow and hope and the homeless sigh May all be there in the last Good-bye, PLEASE In the garden are flowers and scarlet weeds. In the world are the good and sinful deeds; We tell of them both in our words and song, What is right for you, and for me is wrong; Each man from his neighbor shall differ in way, Please judge me kindly of what I. may say. Fiftytwo MY DOCTOR FRIEND Whirling around he goes, Wonderfnl men these doctors of ills, In auto with grip and box of pills, Over the roads so dusty and dry, Skirting the hills 'neath the sumiiier sl':y; Out so early and then so late To hold back souls from the Pearly gate. Whirling around he goes- To the little brown house in roses deep, To the cradle there with its babe asleep, <.'rooning aloud a sweet lullaby. When the babe awakes with it piteous cry, Telling the mother the child shall live, Sleeking the balm of life to give. Whirling around he goes- Up on the hill where the old man waits. Sitting so close by the fireside grate, Silvered and bowed, with trembling hand He is reading about the promised land; Closing the door against all noise, lilach telling the story of when they were 1)0}'S. Whirling around he goes- Mother and child and father and son. To see each one ere the day's work is done, Smoothing the pillow, telling of hope, With all kinds of ills endeavor to cope, Holding each hand as life ebbs low, Counting each pulse of heart beats slow. Whirling around he goes- Man and minister,, teacher and priest, Hungry today and then at a feast, Storms of winter and summer's heat, Down each alley, and up each street, Fiftythree Hurrying, skurrying a life to save, A doctor with his heart so brave. Whirling around he goes- Bye and bye the ranks shall close, Then touching the doctor the cold wind blows, His bottles all empty, and rusty his knife. His trembling hands have felt the strife, Then the Pearly gates shall open wide, And through it the doctor his auto shall ride, Straight into heaven. WHY? Five times each day upon the burning sands He knelt and raised in prayer his sunburned hands; Five times each day he thanked his Allah great For life, for freedom, on his desert State. The hot simoon, the drifting scorching gray, The camel's footprints winding each its way; An Arab he, we call of heathen birth. He thanked his God for that his home on earth. The bright sunshine and breath of dewy morn. The fruitage fields and tasselled, waving corn; Colored deep in flowers and beauty everywhere, A garden on this earth without a thought of care. Five times and more, along his path each day He cursed his God and turned from Him away; The one of Christian name, in Christian land ; The one an Arab of Sahara's burning sand. NEVER TOO SMALL A mouse and a chip and a chicka-dee. Are three little things very small to see; Good food for the cat is the mouse so small, A chip makes a home for the cricket's call, A bug does the chicka-dee eat for food; To the small of earth you should not be rude. To the mouse and chip or the cnicka-dee. For God made them each some use to be. Fiftyfour SNIP AND SNARL Snip and Snarl, were my two dogs, When I was a boy by the fire-place logs ; Snip was white and about as tall As the potted fern that grew in the hall; Snarl was big and grizzled and gray, And always ready for a fight or a fray. Not very good dogs for a beauty prize. For they differed so much m looks and size; Snarl would bite if a stranger came, But Snip was usually very lame; They were my dogs and I did not care. For the^^'d fight for me at the slightest dare. All day long they would play with me. Out in the sun or shade of the tree; The rabbits and rats and mice and moles, For them they'd run and dig in their holes; In the running creek if I'd throw a stick. They'd bring it back, 'twas a simple trick. "Good Morning Snarl", and he'd never fail To give me his paw and wag his tail; "Roll over Snip" if you want some bread, His answer would show he knew what I said; I could hear them bark from far away, And could almost tell just what they'd say. "Whether you're young or whether your 're old, If you want a friend as good as gold To follow you close, the life long trail. No matter what happens, he'll never fail. For your faithful dog will fight for you If you'r rich or poor or happy or blue; Like Snip and Snarl were good to me, 'Till I buried them there 'neath an apple tree. Fiftyfive RETRIBUTION A spicier spun its silver thread In corner, dark and grim; A corner square of rough hewn stones, Marked rude with skull and bones; A spider black with beady eyes, And legs of thread like size. A ray of light through iron bars, The sunshine from the sun; The sunshine made a crimson red, Upon the silver web; 'Twas all the color in the cell, As dark as ebon Hell. The spider toiled and wove its life In each and every thread; Each thread cut from its measured span, As want takes life from man; But God sent in one ray of light, To paint the web of night. A heavy breath, a murmured curse. The world was all outside; Outside the world of freedom air Where laughter banished care; The rose that grows beside the way, Grows thorns for every day. A hand that never knew of toil. As cold as icy chill; With icy chill as cold as death. It crushed the spider's breath. It tore its web of silver gleam, And cursed the sunlight stream. Naught else of life behind the bars — Only the one alone ; Alone behind the bars so cold, A craven soul was sold; Out in the world of freedom air. Crushed hearts like spider's hair. Fiftysix BURNING BRAMBLES The Spring was best for clearing time, when me anci pn were boys, Before I'd go to bed at night and put away my toys, Pa'd say to me: "Tomorrow, son, some brambles we must burn ; "A little field way down the road, of thorns and thick with fern, ' ' When morning came I ate my mush and fed the dog and cat, And then from ma some matches got and found my okle^ hat; We started out to work that day for me and pa worked hard. He'd say to me: "Come on, my boy", as if I were his pard; I found a piece of old rail fence and whittled shavings thin. While pa piled up some brush and weeds, much higher than his chin; I took a match from off the bunch, that ma had given me, I scratched it then upon my pants, right there upon my knee ; Gee whiz! The flames and smoke and sparks, they went a curling high, And then some smoke got in my eyes and almost made me cry; You ought to see the rats and mice and little rabbits gray, They climbed amongst the w^eeds and brush and some ran far away; A lot of sparks lit on my hat and some lit on my dog. But Towser only wagged his tail, and barked behind a log; I used to like to brambles burn and see the fire run, With little boys that kind of Avork is always half way fun. While we were going home that night, my pa, to me he said. "You'll find the world of brambles full, and many thorns ahead ; "You'd better keep along the road, where brambles neves^- grow, "If you of honor care to reap, you must of good deeds sow." Fiftyseven THE WEEK 'Tis Sunday morning, don't you hurry, For naught this day of fuss or flurry; So wear good clothes and comb your hair, And go to church and say a prayer. And then come home, of chicken eat, And take a walk way down the street. When darkness comes then sing a song. And go to sleep for all night long. 'Tis Monday morn and you feel blue. You've got to work for bills are due; If selling goods or digging spuds. Or cooking food or washing duds, You've got to work from mom 'till night, To exercise your muscles right. Don't grow cross at friend or foe. Then very quick will Monday go. 'Tis Tuesday morning — settle down And don 't be cross and do not frown. For work is good, you're in the swim, So closely stick, with zest and vim; For all the day 'tis but a game, So don't break down or don't go lame; Wlien night shall come you'll be ahead, Then give of thanks for daily bread. You've pulled through fine for Wednesday morn, Then be so glad that you were born And grind the corn and make some meal, 'Tis doing things — ^how good you feel; Then laugh and smile and happy be. You've swam half way across the sea. The clock has ticked the hours away. And you have won the fight that day. A Thursday morn has come to you, 'Tis strange how fast the hours flew; Then tie your shoe strings good and tight. That they may hold until the night; Fiftyeig-ht Roll up your sleeves if hard the toil, Don't be afraid your hands will soil; When night shall come, then you'll go home, 'Tis better than the world to roam. 'Tis Friday morn the day for fish, 'Twill make a very savory dish. They'll give you strength and help your brain, So every day you'll courage gain. So fast the week is going by, But hard you've worked, so do not cry; Unlucky, some the day may term, But luck's with you if you stand firm. The week has sped to Saturday, You've worked right hard to win the fray; 'Tis sure you never will regret The cares and troubles you have met; In winning them you've honor gained. As soldiers for a fight have trained. So close the week and close it fair. For you 'twill be an answered prayer. Each day the week, to you may bring, Shall be as pearls upon a string; So live them right, for after dawn They come and go — forever gone. They're part of sorrow part of joys. But worry not o'er broken toys. The week days each for you are made. So do vour best — ^be not afraid. THE BIRTH OF THE DAY A day from the night, on the peak was born; A cradle of clouds was the gift of morn. Away over there was a shadow gray , God brushed its away for the coming day; Then He took from the sun its radient beams, And He fashioned a brush of silvery gleams; Then He painted the trees in glistening white, For birth of day, that was born of the night. Fiftynine A HAPPY NEW YEAR To you, from friend, away out West, A "New Year" greeting, of the best. For you, for every day of year, A "Heart" that knows not aught of fear; A "Home", that sweetest place of earth, Of "Plenty" may there be no dearth; May "Love" that binds, be good and true. And "Joy" and "Peace" each share with you; May all of "Good" that Heaven can give Be yours, through every day you live. A harvest from the seed you sow, And "Peace" on you a Crown bestow, A blessing from all creeds and caste, And God reward you at the last. Sixty THE END There's always an end to everything, Except God's word and a golden ring; Maybe there's more of which I can't think, As an endless chain with many a link. There's an end of thougth and an end of life, An end of worry and an end of strife; If there wasn't an end 'twould bo a long time. To live in this world of stormy clime. It isn't so long from beginning to end, And in every life there's many a bend; Sometimes it breaks or the bend is wrong. Or a string may snap in the midst of a song. Sometimes we wish, forever we'd live. That God more time to us would give; But it matters not if long or short. Life's tangled threads we'd never sort. Perhaps at the end there may be gold — Or a silver plate with letters bold; We'll find, just the same, when our sands have run, There's many a flaw in the shroud we've spun. Let's say ''Goodnight" when our sun shall set, Let's say ''Goodbye" to worry and fret; Let's say "Hullo" if we meet again At the farther end of a twisted lane. Sixtyane 3477-1^2 Lot 69 Contents THE FLAG OF PEACE Page 7 Preparedness 8 Troubles in a Toy Shop 9 Get on The Merry-Go-'Round 10 Birth of the Poppy -._ II Morning and Evening 12 Little Shoe Strings 1 13 Fate 14 The White Soul 15 The Folly 16 Mickey's Christmas 17 Holding Me 18 Kathleen 19 Portals of the Past 20 A Revery 21 The Two Shadows 21 The Moon Children and the Tide 22 Sometimes 23 The Fallen Monarch 24 Forgetting 25 The Two Voices 26 Pa and Me 27 Yesterday 27 Little Whispers 28 My Wish 29 The End of His Trail 30 The Lily of Blaster 31 The Two 32 The Song of The Streani 33 Tomorrow 34 TheOIdOxShoe . 35 Two in a Boat 36 Labor and Wealth 37 Marguerite 38 A Maidens Way 39 Knuckle Down 40 Some Day 4 I The City Beautiful 42 Hullo JimI 43 My Dream Town 44 Sunset on Rubidoux 45 Little Blue Bells 46 A w^ay From the City 47 Blowing the Bubbles 48 A Mother's Love 49 The Dance of the Leaves 50 Mount Saint Helena 51 Good-Bye 52 Please 52 My Doctor Friend 53 Why? 54 Snip and Snarl . 55 Retribution 56 Burning Brambles _ 57 The Week 58 The Birth of the Day '.. 56 A Happy New Year 60 The End 61 h. -^^0^ o V "-^0 o > f^ >> "^ ^^^ ^^0^ o .«^ 9^ "oTo' .0-' '^'^ ". ■0^

12013269

The inverted torch : and other poems

Alexander, Samuel John

invertedtorchoth00alex_djvu.txt

Copyright }J^_ COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/invertedtorchothOOalex The Inverted Torch AND OTHER POEMS The Inverted Torch AND OTHER POEMS BY SAMUEL JOHN ALEXANDER SAN FRANCISCO A. M. ROBERTSON 1912 Copyright 1912 By SAMUEL JOHN ALEXANDER THE ARGONAUT PRESS §GIA316026 v> The publishers of the Century, Sunset, Out West, and the Smart Set have kindly permitted the author to include in this volume several of his poems that had appeared in these magazines, and their courtesy is here gratefully acknowledged. in CONTENTS PAGE DEDICATION 9 THE INVERTED TORCH 11 OUR LADY OF SORROWS (To San Francisco) 13 OUR LADY OF VICTORIES (To Loyal San Fran- ciscans wherever they may dwell) 17 THE HALLS OF FANCY 20 THE WEAVER 22 THE PAGAN'S PLEA 24 THE DENIED CHRIST 25 CLOTH OF GOLD 27 VIRGINIA'S GIFT 28 THE OLD SOUTH TO THE MEMORY OF LINCOLN 29 THE ANGRY RED STAR (To Ambrose Bierce) 31 THE CRY OF THE HUMAN 33 "THESE CHRISTS THAT DIE UPON THE BARRI- CADES"— 1871 36 MARIE ANTOINETTE 43 THE SONG OF RUPERT'S MEN 45 TO THE MEMORY OF ALFRED TENNYSON (This Dedication of the "Divine Message" — An Un- finished Poem) 47 GOD SAVE THE KING (To Mother England) 62 THE KING'S TRYST 64 THE MOTHER CALL 66 SONNET (To Cromwell) 68 ELIZABETH, THE QUEEN 69 V PAGE THE GOLDEN ROSE (To' H. R. H. the Princess Henry of Battenberg) , IZ TO RUDYARD KIPLING le A DREAM OF ITALY 78 HENRY V OF FRANCE 80 THE GHOST OF ITYS 82 A HEALTH TO THE KING (Of Portugal) 83 FRANCIS I AT PAVIA 85 AT THE TOURNAMENT 87 AVE ATQUE VALE 88 SONNET 89 THE RED ROSE OF EARTH 90 OUR LADY OF THE GATE (To San Francisco) 91 THE GOD ON HORSEBACK 92 SONNET 93 FEET OF CLAY 94 TO ONE WHO KNOWS 96 TO SAN FRANCISCO 97 CHI-CA-GO! CHI-CA-GO! (At San Francisco, April 18, 1906) 99 OUR LADY OF THE DOME 101 THE ROSE OF PEACE (To a Child dead at the foot of Seventh Street, San Francisco) 103 THE TRYST OF FATE 105 TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 107 THE DIVORCE lo9 TO AMBROSE BIERCE Ill "AH, GIVE US BUT YESTERDAY!" 112 A LETTER TO A GHOST 113 THE TOUCH OF THE HUMAN (April, 1906) 117 THE SILENT HOUSE 121 THE BROTHERS 123 TO JOAQUIN MILLER 125 vi PAGE THE WAR SHIPS OF THE SKIES -. . 126 GLOWING EMBERS 127 THE LEPER 130 MY LITTLE GHOST 131 GOD'S HILL AT BELMONT 133 SONNET 134 THE HILLS OF OCEAN VIEW 135 DEAD JOY 138 TO SING LEE (At Millbrae, April 18, 1906) 139 THE CALIFORNIA POPPY 141 IN NOVEMBER 142 THE KING IN DARIEN 143 TO THE NEMOPHILA ("Baby Blue Eyes") 145 THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTERS 146 THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER 147 ELECTRA 148 THE BRIDAL 149 THE CHOICE 151 SONNET (To the Dear People) 152 "MYSELF AM HELL" 153 WHOLESALE ONLY 155 SONNET (To Life) 157 TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN KEATS 158 OUR LADY OF WELCOME 159 SONNET (Prescribed for Poets and Inscribed to Editors) 160 THE THEFT OF WINTER (In California) 161 THE PHILISTINE . 163 SONNET ("Dead, Dead, Dead") 164 THE WHITE ROSE AT BERESFORD (To E. W.) . . . . 165 TO LINCOLN (The Old South and the New) 167 THE SEEKERS (San Francisco, April 18) 169 HER BIRTHDAY. APRIL 18 (To San Francisco) 172 SONNET (To the Columbine) 173 vii PAGE THE IMPREGNABLE CASTLE 174 THE THREE AT STANFORD 175 TO MRS. N. C. P 176 "THE REGIONS WHICH ARE HOLY LAND" (W. T. P.) 177 THE HOUSE OF SPLENDID VISIONS 201 THE WILL OF GOD (Inscribed, Without Permission, to the "Presidents" of the Central American "Re- publics") 203 THE SHADOW BEFORE— AT NEW YEAR'S 205 TO THE WOMAN (Writer of the Battle Hymn) 208 GOD AND THE POET 209 THE PASSING OF JOY 211 GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT 213 THE GOLDEN CUPS OF GOD (Inscribed, Without Per-. mission, to Theodore Roosevelt) 215 THE CALL TO ARMS 219 "THE GIFT TO DIE" (To My Lady Fortune) 221 THE GOLDEN SPURS OF GOD 225 THE GIFT OF THE SOUTH TO LINCOLN 233 MISERERE DOMINE (October 10, 1911) 235 THE PRAYER OF THE WEST (Judge Thou Between Them) . -. 237 THE CRY OF THE EAST (Judge Thou Between Them) 240 THE POET'S PROTOTYPE 243 THE MUSE TO A MERCENARY POET 244 Vlll DEDICATION Welcome, my masters ! Ye be come to buy At market prices, and with due regard To your own interest, lest ye should award For such commodity a price too high, A Soul. Then, marry, such to sell have I. Yet, as 'tis somewhat time and passion marred, God wot, ye shall not find my dealing hard ; For sell I must, so will it please ye try? Here be strange wares, intangible and frail; Some tarnished tinsel from some Cloth of Gold; A bursted bubble from a fairy tale; Some bitter memories of a birthright sold; A talent buried deep beyond avail; An ancient promise, unfulfilled from old. THE INVERTED TORCH I have paused at Thy Shrine in the porch Where the acolytes kneel and adore, But I went from their midst, who am more To the Innermost Holies that scorch With the flame of Thy Torch. Yea, My Lord, I have held them apart From the red dripping fingers of Life I have held them above in the strife, And I vow Thee my soul and my heart In the shrine where Thou art. I have lifted my soul to the vow. And my heart rises up nothing loath Though Thou claimest the vow and the oath, By the splendour of God on my brow Though Thou claimest them now. Shall I fear Thee, My Lord? Shall I fear? When the torrent of life is repressed, By Thy hand on my brow and my breast, Thou, visibly, audibly near To the eye and the ear. I have served where the light was withdrawn, I have sowed for a harvest of wrath, And the whirlwind hath reaped in my path 11 But Thy Torch was a splendour thereon And the Promise of Dawn. Though the Sun God belated shall twine In the rue for my forehead, a leaf Of His laurel, to mock at my grief I will turn to the Torch in Thy shrine And its splendour divine. 12 OUR LADY OF SORROWS TO SAN FRANCISCO. She stood in Her tattered purple, and called to them each by name; And Her words swept out on the winds and girdled the earth with a flame. Oh, the North and the South were quickened; the East and the West were stirred; And the blood flushed up in their cheeks; their souls flashed up to Her word. And they came from lands far sundered, that a world away divides, And the deserts rose against them and the Gods of the winds and tides; But they swept above and beyond them and came to the Golden Gate Of the House of a Thousand Pillars, where Our Lady of Sorrows sate; And of old from its halls of banquet a myriad shining lights Streamed through the purple shadows, from a score of star-crowned heights. But the walls were fallen asunder, and the pillars lay overthrown ; And thrice a Queen for Her sorrows. She sate on a fallen stone ; For Her court was held in the open; Her throne was set on the Way 13 That stretches its breadth of splendour from Twin Peaks down to the bay;' And Her robes were soiled and tattered, their purple dimmed with the smoke, But they knelt in the ashes around Her, and kissed the hem as She spoke. And She said: "I am She who was set at the marches of sea and of land. With the crowns of the world on my brow, and girt with the sword of command; And the many come to my doorways; they enter, abide and pass Like shadows on wind-driven waters, or seeds from the wind-shaken grass. Though the Gods play at quoits with my hills, though Titans creep up to the lure, Yet I watch unafraid from my heights in the centre of things that endure. Ye are lords in your far lying lands and great in your lordships, yet still, Ye are tools of the Gods to my hands to hew to the lines of My Will; From nethermost deeps I have called; ye have followed the path of the sun; Ye are four where your rule is supreme; but to serve and obey me but one. Yet with rending and riving of earth the old order passes away; Ye were liegemen on yesterday's heights, but brothers in deeps of today. 14 And as sister to brother I charge ye, go forth from me now to your lands, That ye dazzle the eyes of the Gods with the gifts of your brotherly hands; That the sails, like a white-crested torrent, stream out on the limitless blue, With the gifts that shall top and exceed and better the best that I knew ; That my house, reestablished, shall rise four square to the corners of earth, With Honour to circle the walls, and with Beauty to shine at the hearth; That the pillars befluted and carved like a forest of marble arise, And the domes like a rainbow of bubbles float over them into the skies. As the flick of a whip on the cheek, that brings the red flush through the tan, I adjure ye to this by the all that may quicken the pulse of the Man ; By the bond of the human between us; by Honour, the rock that abides In the turbulent ocean of life, midst the shifting of sands and of tides ; By the Day when our souls shall be weighed in the bal- ance, unclothed and unshod. By the Spirit Divine in the man, and the Absolute Splen- dour of God." She spoke and they heard Her in silence ; but sudden their faces went white. 15 They were dumb from a stress of emotion, and pale from excesses of light. And they spoke no word to Her speaking, but bowed with their heads in the dust, With a promise, a prayer and a vow to compass the heights of Her trust. So they went from Her presence and parted, and hastened each one to his land, That their tribute, thrice trebled, might thunder a torrent of gold to Her hand. 16 OUR LADY OF VICTORIES TO LOYAL SAN FRANCISCANS WHEREVER THEY MAY DWELL. Flung from off our Mother's Bosom, we have wandered from Her side, The hills rise up between us and long level leagues divide. But wherever we may roam Yet our hearts are still at Home, And She holds them in Her Keeping, where the gaunt and shattered Dome Wraps the ocean mists about it, in its hurt and angry pride. We have built our household altars on the Padres' Royal Way That dallies with the shining hills, that loiters with the bay, Where the spendthrift Morning spills Floods of light upon the hills From his brimming golden flagons, that the patient Night refills. On the Alameda hills that guard the gateways of the Day. God, with loving purpose lingered o'er the primal solitude. Smiled content upon His handiwork and "Saw that it was good." And the radiance of His Smile Lingers o'er each shining mile Of the green and lustrous valley, and the redwoods clois- tered aisle, 17 Over marshland and o'er meadow, over mountain and o'er wood. But Her children claim their Birthright; they have written large their claim In the Sybil's book of Destiny, escaping from the flame. By our claim of Birth and Blood, By Her claim of Motherhood, We shall claim our Right inherent, long withheld and long withstood, To the deep sky-filling thunder of Her great, historic Name. A whisper on the Belmont hills; the Redwood plains were stirred ; The Woodside mountains bent their crests of lofty pride, and heard; And a sudden splendour broke O'er the San Mateo oak. And it tossed its arms on high to grasp a rainbow, as She spoke, With the Promise of Her Coming, long desired and long deferred. By the shadow of Her Midnight, writ aforetime on Her brow, By the radiance of Her Morning, shining full upon Her now, By red dripping Spear and Rod, By the Pathway that He trod 18 When the hills were rent asunder by the dying cry of God, She hath pledged Her Soul on high in recognition of Her vow. By all things that man holds holy, She shall surely come to them, In Her robes of Royal purple, with Her Regal diadem, And the haughty light that lies In the depths of those dark eyes Shall grow mellow as the moonlight in the dusk of tropic skies, As Her children kneel about Her, clutching at Her gar- ment's hem. Majestically moving from the reestablished throne, Her feet efface the painted lie upon the boundary stone ; For Her Faith and Love abide To Her Own, that scattered wide. See Her myriad watch fires flicker from the quiet country side. She comes across the alien fields to claim again her OWN. 19 THE HALLS OF FANCY These are the lofty and far-reaching halls Whose light and airy walls Are built of stuff of dreams; With ever-changing, iridescent gleams Of sunlight and star shining and moonbeams; And lit from that far height That lies beyond the tides of day and night. These are the charmed pinnacles that rise, Piercing enchanted skies; Up from the glamour thrown By seven-hued rainbows of the corner stone; Up through the purple silences, star sown. To the far Central Throne Of Him, Who Reigns All Knowing and Unknown. Put off thy shoes from thee and veil thy face ; This is His Holies Place. Let but the Levite stand With reverent face, and touch with hallowed hand The Ark that bears the Covenant of the land ; That seals our right to rise Above the brute, with seraphs of the skies. Oh, thou, my soul, awake to a new birth. Put off thy robes of earth. Stand naked and unshod Within these Holy Halls, where late hath trod 20 The Visible Presence of the Soul of God. Cleanse thou thyself, that pure, Thou mayst contain the Infinite, yet endure. Build thyself shining ladders of Heartbreak, My Soul, whereby to take Yon heaven-distant star. That beckons thee with smiling face from far, To the High Halls where the Immortals are. Let yon remotest sun Weave thee a path to the Ineffable One. 21 THE WEAVER The Weaver, weaving in a silent room The iridescent web of Fancy's loom, That opaline and changing Cloth of Gold, For his soul's ransom, with his soul's sweat told; With reverent awe, with foaming of the lips He drew his dream forms from the black eclipse Of primal voids. He saw his work unroll. Compelled and guided by the Oversoul. He fed the loom thread after shining thread. His flying hand a Hand diviner led. Exulting colors, ecstasies of light Reft from some God on his forbidden height; All lights, all shadows and all melodies; All discords trumpeted by winds and seas. All evanescent odors that are met Within the faded chaplet of Regret; A devil's prayer, that blistered where it fell And hell smut drifted on the smoke of hell ; A drop of sunlight from a dewy lawn. Spilled from the golden flagon of the dawn; A saint's desire, more white than shining wool; The Scarlet Soul of the Sin Beautiful; Flotsam and jetsam drifted to his hand. Wreckage of all men's souls, from no man's land. And good or ill, his fingers wove it in. The God compelled; it ever must have been. He leaned his soul to listen; not to miss God's whisper, speaking in the serpent's hiss; 22 He heard His trumpet from a far off height When the red lightning stabbed the heart of night; His soul's ear heard; he trembled and rejoiced In varying tones of God, the Many Voiced. A deeper silence on the silence falls; A deeper shadow on the shadowed walls; God and the Weaver and a silent loom, And shadows dripping blackness on the gloom Above his finished work; and over all God's Shadow thrown above him as a pall, Starlit, sun flaming, with its glooms unfurled Between him and the shadow of the world. And his work blossoms purple, gold and red, And the white face above it of the dead. The Weaver's web is woven; let him keep Between the eve and dawn his tryst with sleep. 23 THE PAGAN'S PLEA Thou Knowest ! Oh, Thou Knowest ! Thou ! Jehovah, Buddha, Jove, or Lord, To Whom all men with one accord, At diverse altars pay their vow, Thou Knowest! Oh, Thou sad-browed Christ, Or be Thou God, or be Thou Man, How I with bleeding feet outran Thy Faith, which not my soul sufficed. My soul, attuned to Arcadie, Drank discord in the city street; I dreamed of Latmos — and my feet Were bloody upon Calvary. I, also bruised with bloody rods, Turned unto These, Incarnate Joy. Gods with the light heart of a boy, And Beauty in the guise of Gods. 24 THE DENIED CHRIST Oh, Face Divinely Human, grave and tender. Deep-lined whereon I trace Sad thoughts, that mar the else ineffable splendour We might not dare to face; Why comest Thou at night, when dews of healing Should visit my sad eyes, Thy robes ungirt, half hiding, half revealing The wounds of sacrifice. Lord, Lord, I see the beauty of Thy Being, And of Thy Words that shine Star-like across dim ages; but the seeing May never make me Thine. The solemn, sacred service of Thy Preaching Lies patent to mine eyes. Yet what my soul might gather of Thy Teaching My Pagan heart denies. I, also, from a Calvary exceeding, I, scourged with bloody rods. Turn from Thy Passion and Thy Brother Pleading To my remembered Gods. For I am Greek of Star-Crowned Hellas, lying An emerald, sun kissed 25 Beneath her skies of sapphire, vainly vying With seas of amethyst. Still must I hear in western woodlands ringing The Syrinx pipes of Pan; Striking old chords of recollection, bringing My vales Arcadian. Still must some Pagan Almond Flower of Beauty To which my heart shall cling Bloom from the barren Aaron's rod of duty In perfect blossoming. 26 CLOTH OF GOLD. God, the Giver, wove the gracious Cloth of old. Maculate, perchance, and sullied, but His Royal Cloth of Gold. And He wove it to the flashing Of His lightnings, and the crashing Of His thunders, splitting open the impenetrable gloom. His Divine Foreordination Lit the path of tribe and nation Flashing from His flying shuttles and the thunder of His loom. God hath willed it from the primal dawn, and still All the ages sweat their blood and tears in furtherance of His Will. He hath Willed that heights supernal Rise above the plains; eternal. Lest the Star of Splendour pale its fires, and Glory pass away; That the soul of man might quicken ; Lest the soul of man should sicken In the stagnant lower levels and a monotone of gray. God hath given ! Woe to him whose hands profane The Inviolable Cloth of Gold Where His Anointed reign. For His Cloth of Gold before them, Flung about them, rising o'er them, Is the canopy of Princes and a carpet to His Feet. Where He comes with light unfailing. Comes with comfort and availing. Where the King of Kings above them and His earthly Regents meet. VIRGINIA'S GIFT • Two! Two of her sons and yet one had sufficed; O'er topping the height of the nation's behest; Two first born and noblest. Bear witness, oh, Christ, Of the sons that she suckled in pride at her breast She gives us the best. Lo, these are her jewels; the Virgin of Wars Hath set them above in the heavens for a sign, For a Promise and Portent of Peace midst the stars, Of hatred and discord grown dimmer, that shine From south of the Line. Let the virgins go forth with the lamps in their hand; With the gifts of the times let the wise men adore. As a God in her giving, she proffers the land The Star Shining Most of the opulent More Of sons that she bore. 28 THE OLD SOUTH TO THE MEMORY OF LINCOLN Full reverently, and with contrite heart, Of that great Whole, we come to claim a part. The land's Great Tribune, faithful to his trust. All Merciful, All Patient, and All Just. Time, the great alchemist, hath thrown within His crucible, some portion of our sin. His solvent, the all comprehending touch Of Human in This Man, availeth much To melt the baser metals, hate and scorn, Corroding envy and a pride outworn; Touched with a Christ-like tenderness, behold, He gives them back to us refined gold. Which gold of Love, perchance, may serve to pay Our tithes, too long withheld from him, today. Content yourself, not lightly do we change; And changed to him, yet we do not estrange Ourselves from that we are, and shall remain, Though all the future plead to us in vain. The high and haughty humor of the blood We drew from Mother England, stands us good. In rock-ribbed stubbornness, we hold our place Within the old traditions of our race. Our fathers served the King across the sea; We, for the same Lost Cause, drew swords with Lee. We stand, and still shall stand as we have stood, The heirs and guardians of the Ancient Blood. The purple shadows of our past are thrown About his light, and still the light is shown. 29 The clearer for the shadows, we must yield To him, the last fruits of an outworn field. The half-unwilling homage, wrenched apart And crowned, above the passions of our heart. We may not follow in his steps of light ; But we may watch and worship in the night. I think that the All Human in This Man, Lest that the All Divine should mar His plan With a too high perfection, over bright. Too fiercely blinding for our mortal sight. Still draws him to us, nearer and more near. More perfect, were too perfect, and less dear. We love him for himself, and for the flaw That sets his steps with ours in Nature's law. Flawed with the old familiar flaw from birth. The fond, sweet Birthmark of our Mother Earth. South of the South, within our veins there runs Mixed with our blood, the blood of Southern suns. We give not lightly; giving, give our whole, The undivided all of heart and soul. Now, in his full-leafed coronet of praise We come to lay, among the palms and bays. Our Southern Olive, the most dearest trust. That time may lay above his sacred dust. Late won, our Love goes with it, and if late, He, who hath won Eternity, may wait. 30 THE ANGRY RED STAR TO AMBROSE BIERCE. Up from the West I saw it rise; I watched and worshipped from afar; Not Peace on earth proclaimed the Star, The Angry Red Star of the skies. In darkened skies it set its rule. They fled before the fiery sign; It pierced with influence malign The triple armor of the fool. War, war, a just and righteous war! Its flaming lances in and out Flashed their ensanguined lights about The altars where the false priests are; Whose shrines the ancient shrines supplant; Who kneeling, bind about their face Phylacteries of the Commonplace, Wherewith to seek the Great God Cant. That cold, inclement breast of Art I touched, and found it but the sheath , To hide in deeper depths beneath Thy warmly red and human heart; 31 Which bade a doubting heart maintain Its birthright of celestial fire; And bade an ancient height aspire Above the levels of the plain. Through all my paths of unsuccess, In the black dungeons of my night, Thy Words v^ere still the dawning light Escaping from the dark's duress ; That shining on my height unwon A beacon fire of Promise burned, To which I held, to which I turned, As Parsees to the risen sun. Oh, if my soul may hope to rise In some new light of some new dawn, Round after broken round upon My Jacob's ladder to the skies, I, though upon its topmost round, Will pause and give my thanks at length To thy strong soul which gave me strength, And set my feet above the ground. I thank the Gods, who gave me grace To link my lesser name with thine; With thy reflected light to shine. Although but for a moment's space. 32 THE CRY OF THE HUMAN We were near to each other a moment, and nearer we were that I saw The touch of the Human upon you, and loved you for stain and for flaw. We were dear to each other a moment, but now you have grown from me far, And bright as the lance of the Sun God, and clean as the light of a star. The sound of your name has grown holy ; I falter it under my breath. Can you hearken that cry of the Human, flung back through the gateways of death? Though I add to my stature a cubit, though I clasp to the breast for my own The belt of yon hunter in heaven, could I reach you to where you have grown? Though out of the depths I approach you, and draw^ down your soul to my touch. Can I bid it be you as I knew you, and hold it and love it as such? Shall I seek you, who held you the dearest, where the lilies blow cold and white On margins of motionless waters, in the perfect and pas- sionless light. Where the hymns rise up heavy like incense, and the harps and the viols are strung? I want you again as I knew you, with the earth stain on heart and on tongue. 33 I want you again as I saw you, when booted and spurred and astride, You sat with your knee on the pommel, a-flush from the heat of the ride. You rode through the gates of the morning, and a breeze of the dawn, as you came, Breathed on life's smoldering embers, and stirred the wan ashes to flame. You came as the breaking of daylight, through the branches of blossoming trees. And the desert of life became vocal with the voices of birds and of bees. And the hands of the spring, in their weaving, had woven you garments of joy, And your wine of the summer ran over from the jeweled gold cup of the boy. Oh, stranger, in Strangerland yonder, new god, with the old feet of clay, Were dearer the roses that faded, and the loves that went out with the day? Do you weary of harp and of viol and the droning of pas- sionless tunes. And the heavy, barbaric splendour, through the heavy, unchanging noons? 'Tis noon in the courtyards of Heaven, unbegot of the kiss of the sun, And the souls pass up without shadow, for the noon and the night are as one. There is light in the ultimate heavens, fathomless, blinding and white. 34 Oh, boy that I loved in the foretime, engulfed in abysses of light, Do you shrink from the pitiless splendour, and clutch at the jewel lit bars, And sigh your soul into the distance to the best beloved star of the stars? 35 "THESE CHRISTS THAT DIE UPON THE BARRICADES"— 1871 In the days when the brimming cup of guilt That France replenished, ran o'er and spilt Turbulent torrents of bloody waves, Bearing her sons to nameless graves. And the insolent ghost of Ninety-Three Walked in the open for all to see, In the faithless city strange things were done. That man might flee from and devils shun. And Paris arose, half God, half beast, And the beast sprang up, the God decreased; And she went forth in the night and stood With the jungle taint hot in her blood; With the frantic eyes of one who knew Ninety-Three and Bartholomew; With soul of a devil, flawed and scarred, Diamond bright and diamond hard; And the Leash of God but scarce repressed The tiger's heart in her human breast. And the devil beat his loud rappel For recruits from San Antoine — and hell. And the grim old saint threw off his gray. And stood like a galliard gallant, gay In insolent colour, vibrantly red. Like a Gabriel's trumpet over the dead.^ And the soul of the devil flashed hell warm And hell red over the hell black storm, . And answered the hell shriek of the cry, 36 "On to the Barricades ! Kill and Die !" Oh, Christ of Cavalry ! Ghost of God ! Red with the wound of nail and rod, Was it for This Thy Sweat and Tears Swept like a river adown the years. Gulfed and lost in the black abyss And crimson flood of a day like this. Yet if demons, devil released from hell, They fought like Gods; like Gods they fell; And the Splendid Madness of their cause Flashed up star high above human laws; Guilt with a crown of light, star sown, Murder Majestic upon a throne. Pushed from their foothold inch by inch, They fell in their tracks, but did not flinch ; Did not flinch when the cannon came Vomiting death from throats aflame; They died like heroes, and knew not why; And who shall question man's right to die? And ever above, their flags flashed red, A hell flame menace o'er quick and dead. And the men who threw the dice with God Stood in the last red ditch, red shod, With red hands raised for the final throw Of loaded dice that must turn up low. Their soul's strength propped the broken wall Of the Barricade, crumbling to its fall ; They stood like a rock, and felt it reel, Swept by a tidal wave of steel ; Stood in a phalanx, strong but thin 37 When the wall broke down, the storm rushed in; Breasts full front to the flood that came A spray of steel on a wave of flame, They sank submerged, but did not yield To the torrent sweeping across the field. And then, as a ray of light divides The sullen torment of tortured tides. Came from their midst a boy, who stood In that horror haunted welter of blood As breath and dew of the Dawn that fell Like balm on that gaping wound of hell. Hand to his brow he stood at salute. All blood bespattered, a fair young shoot Of the Tree of Treason, from bitter root. A gypsy blossoming wildly sweet. Grown in the garden O'f slum and street. And a dozen years on his brow grew scant. And a trebled measure of woe and want. And he claimed, with the light heart of his race, From the hands of Death a moment's grace; A reef of Time, wherefrom to see The ocean of All Eternity ; Leave to go to his home near by, To go with Life, to return to die. And the leader smiled from eyes heart-warm At the boyish face and slender form; He was well content that the boy should draw The one white lot from the outraged law; And with tender gruffness he bade him on, *'Go to the devil and keep thee gone." 38 And the boy's eyes flashed and his cheek flushed red In his wounded pride, as he turned and said : "Pardon, my captain, you jest; but I Will surely return in time to die." And grimly and gladly the captain drew The lots of Fate for the captured few; And Death laughed loud as he held the sack The lots were drawn from, for all were black. For these were the lots of Fate for all, To stand together against a wall, To stand for a time — for all time to fall ; Riddled with shot, and thrown to drench With the blood of traitors, a shallow trench. Brutal, blood-stained, braggart, but Brave ! They carried their valour unto the grave. And flung a jest with their dying breath To ruffle the majesty of Death. And suddenly rose above the noise In silver treble, a boyish voice, Thin and clear and distinct and sweet Over the riot upon the street; The cry of Honour from heights of Pride, The cry of Humanity, Deified. "A moment, my captain, 'tis only I, Back again just in time to die." And the tumult ceased, and the silence fell Of God's Truce over that seething hell; And captor and captive, with dim eyes Bent to a vision from o'er the skies. And over life's flaw beheld it pass. 39 Walls of jasper and seas of glass, Palms of Victory, Lilies worn On Mary's Bosom when Christ was born, What man loves best, and holds most high Were met in the boy returned to die; Glowing, triumphant, and out of breath, The Royal Guest at this feast of Death. As a poet priest, or a painter paints The glorified images of saints. Where the sodden gray of life is told In glowing colours and words of gold, So the barefoot boy grew up August As a King's Son, guarding his Gallant Trust; Prince, above Prince of an ancient line. Royal in tatters — by Right Divine; Clothed in his Spirit Radiance, Highest and Noblest, First Born of France. So he stood with the men against the wall. Brave as a man, and half as tall; A thief, peradventure, but if a thief. One who was brave beyond belief ; If a thief, a thief who titanic grew On heights of the spirit into the blue; If a thief, a thief to whom Honour came With the God's Gift hidden in smoke and flame. And Death for a moment stayed his hand Ere he waved them forth to the unknown land; And stood still, tranced for a moment's space. Blinded by Splendour flung in his face ; Never before such light was drawn 40 From the founts of God beyond the dawn To fall on the ways of San Antoine. And never before a boy hath trod Such Royal Purple through Death to God. And the savage voice of Duty spoke, And the rifles answered through flame and smoke. Or bronze, or brass, or marble bleeds With words red dripping from gallant deeds, Deeds of heroes with sword and lance, Heroes of History and Romance Who fought for Honour, and fell for France. And the brass might laugh in exultant joy. Writ with the God's deed of the Boy, And the marble soften like wax to claim The indelible impress of his name. Now, the leash of Order, tighter drawn, Strangles the soul of San Antoine; And the tree with madness at its root, That bore for a day such golden fruit. Withered and dead and lopped away Lets in the bare, bleak light of day. And the Barricades no more are built By Radiant Madness and Splendid Guilt. But in San Antoine is Holy Ground, And here comes Honour, by Glory crowned. Where he threw his boy's all into the strife. His tattered and trampled Toy of Life. Ah, little Hero, with soul of flame. Where is the daybreak of thy Name To be largely written above by Fame; 41 To light the pathway of sun and star, To light our sordid earth from afar; The Torch of God, with its light intense, Overshining Magnificence. And the world forgets it; but I suppose Some One, Somewhere, Remembering Knows. 42 MARIE ANTOINETTE Hastens Night o'er star-sown summits, but her palHcl brows are drawn Tense in lines of frightened anguish; and her feet tread hard upon Feet reluctant, halt and trembling, the unwilling feet of Dawn. In that hour of august anguish when a God hung on the tree All the cosmic forces trembled; so they tremble now to see The accursed hour in birth pangs of this woman's Calvary. Where is God? Oh, where is He Who set this woman's feet upon Cloth of purple, golden blazoned, and the footsteps of a throne, That the splendour of her form might faintly figure forth His own. Where is God and where His Anger, that apocalyptic ire Sweeping o'er His fields of harvest, when the wings of Mercy tire; While the guilty stubble shrivels in its seven-times-heated fire? France has fiefed enfranchised Freedom, and the sovereign people claim 43 Royal blood to drench the altar they have builded in her name. Name of God invoked by devils, may it scorch them with its flame ! Hark! the jackals of the sewers hasten onward to their prey; Faggots from the devil's burning, spurned from hell, and gone astray; And the harlot, drunk with blood, shall drink of dearer blood today. Nothing doubt their brutish souls were filled with anger and surprise At the haughty pride that slumbered in the depths of those sad eyes. When the victim went a victor to the place of sacrifice. For the costly vase is shattered, and the sacred blood is spilt ; And the last black stone is set upon the house their hands have built; And the crimson knot is woven in the altar cloth of Guilt. Open wide, ye gates of darkness, where the damned in tor- ments dwell Shut to Hope with triple portals, when the son of Morning fell. That all hell rise up to meet them, when their souls go down to hell. 44 THE SONG OF RUPERT'S MEN There is blood on the grass, And a flame on the wind That leaps as we pass And follows behind; There's a ragged red spot On faces grown white, And eyes that see not Though they stare at the night. Let the Puritans wince At the gifts that we bring, Who follow the Prince For God and the King. From the mount where He trod When the Tables came down. The finger of God Points the rights of the Crown. Now God with Our Cause For Our Cause is His Own, For the King and the Laws, For the Church and the Throne. Then out with our swords ! Let the universe ring And reecho our words For God and the King. And here's to Another With glasses brimmed high, 45 The friend and the brother Who gives us to die. If Life shall betray With a sycophant's breath, Then huzza for the day Of Honour and Death. Come he soon, come he late, We care not, who fling Our defiance to fate For God and the King! 46 TO THE MEMORY OF ALFRED TENNYSON THIS DEDICATION OF THE ''dIVINE MESSAGE/' An UnHnished Poem. Strong Soul, that human and divine, With radiance ineffable Controlled my being with a spell, And bade a lesser light to shine. In one whose grief was overmuch Bound to base uses. One who saw Of his own soul the blot, the flaw, Yet felt upon his brow the touch, The seal of some diviner lips. The fiery and the cleansing pain. That draws the franchised soul again From the black caverns of eclipse. Yea, felt his soul a harp, whose strings Some God with careless fingers swept. Who half revealing, wholly kept His secret of eternal things. And in strange moods of thought unfurled. Past all the subtlest laws of art. Felt Universal Nature's heart Throb through the pulses of the world. 47 Forgive me, who have dared to lift My faltering voice in praise of Thee. For that it is, and can not be. Forgive the giver and the gift. Forgive me, that I strive to sound The strings which late your hands let fall. Forgive me, that I tread withal, Though softly, on this holy ground. For not with careless feet I stepped Across the grave, where long ago Went forth the strains of love and woe That make the name of Hallam wept. But with full reverence I trod, As one who at the altar kneels Awe-stricken, while the priest reveals The Body and the Blood of God. Here hast thou set the farthest bound Of Sorrow's wide and waste domains; Past which her writ no more obtains Where Silent, purple robed and crowned, She broods above the throngs that meet — From all the patient lands that cry To the inexorable sky — To lay their homage at her feet. 48 Within her sacred temple's porch, They come to pray or weep awhile. Or wait his coming with a smile, Who comes with his inverted torch. But few within her holies' place Shall stand to draw her veil away; Or see the fiery splendours play, Or the compassion of her face. Ah well for them, their brows forbear The guerdon of her glorious gain; Her fiery signet seal of pain, Her clinging chaplet of despair. 'Tis well for them, they may not know That anguish, human and divine. Which set, an altar in a shrine. Thy apotheosis of woe. Dear Master, for whose reverend brow We wrought our wreath of palms or bays, To whom we brought such meed of praise, As merely mortals might avow. They were, who watchers of the night Beheld the Star rise in the east. They were, who bidden to the feast, Went forth with lamps trimmed and alight. 49 They were, whose hands with gladness told, To thee a shining rosary. Of gifts befitting them and thee, Their myrrh and frankincense and gold. But woe to me, whose soul too late Hath owned the influence of the star, And brought my laggards gifts from far To lay beside the folded gate. Yet should I stand on English ground, Methinks I scarce should think it strange To see thee standing, without change, Within thy star-encircled round. So hast thou stood within my sight. What time the patient stars came out, And kept long watch and ward about The sacred temples of the night. Nay, didst thou stand before my face Tonight in spirit, with thy soul Purged of the body's gross control. And fetterless of Time and Space, Impalpable unto my touch. But all the human shining through, The All Divine that veiled my view, I would not wonder overmuch. 50 Nay, scarce to see thy face beside A Face all tender and all grave, His Face, in Whom no part I have. The Face of Him I have denied. For so thy being's strength compelled My weakness. All my first and best, By thy diviner soul possessed, By thy diviner soul upheld, Grew from me farther and more far. Grew from me clearer and more clear, Grew to thee nearer and more near. The glow worm shining to the star. Dear are the claims of blood and birth; I claim thee by a dearer claim. From thee my soul derives the flame. Which surely is not all of earth. And if in these poor verses be, Mixed with much dross, some thought divine, The light with which it shines is thine, 'Tis thine and hath its source from thee. Nor thy deserts, nor my desires. Have set my little best so low, Which should from higher heights bestow, The light bestowed of heavenly fires. 51 For I have burst the golden bars, The portals of the dawn, and pressed. Like him of old, unto my breast The death-keen lances of the stars. Might I a moment's space compel The God, whose fiery pulses roll In stormy tides about my soul. Half audible, half visible, Methinks my soul is not so base That thou wouldst scorn the song I bring, Nor pass, an unregarded thing. My leaf amidst your palms and bays. Of what avail, of what avail, From out the night no answers come. The voice of all the Gods is dumb; Old signs of hope and promise fail. For lapped among the dews and balms In lotos-eating bliss they lie. Or drunk with slumber's wine deny My song their laurel and their palms. Now thrice the English May hath strewn The hawthorn's snow upon the breeze. And thrice in England over seas The poppy's golden cup hath blown. 52 And thrice in Britain, east or west, Or old, or new, or where the day Steals from the night's embrace away. Or where the Sun God veils his crest, The holy bells of Christmas rang The angels' anthem back again; Their peace on earth, good will to men Since he hath gone from us who sang; The song that all our soul sufficed, The human song, the song divine, Drawn from deep founts of light that shine With splendour of the Risen Christ. He sang of love; and lo, the breast Of lovers, trembling in the bliss Of glorious insufficiencies, A higher, holier love confessed. He sang of woe; and we who trod In darkened ways, knelt to avow The august shadow on our brow, The shadow of the Soul of God. He sang of God; the conscious sky Grew quickened; and the light that not Of suns' and earths' embrace was got. The visible soul of the Most High 53 Went forth from its abiding place. The stars paled in that radiant dawn, And Mercy drew her veil upon Th' ineffable light we might not face. Alas for us, our souls are less That part of the harmonious whole, The soul compelling Over Soul Hath left its temples tenantless. White sheets of moonlight drifting by The sails of seas that lie beyond. The Light of England, waned and wanned. That some new star might shine on high. Dust unto dust. There comes a guest A lordly guest, who gives to keep The sacred burden of his sleep, To his own England's gentle breast. Sleep thou thy England's soil beneath; And Thou, whose generous bosom bore. Thou high and haughty heritor Of this divinest trust of Death; Oh, Britain, round whose brows are met The triple crowns; the trinity Of three in one, and one of three. Thy hundred warrior princes set. 54 Oh, England, England, his and mine ! Oh thou whose footsteps not in vain Divide the vexed and vexing main, Majestic Mother of a line In patience and in strength who pressed The steps of Freedom mounting higher, And fanned to flame the flickering fire Of sacred fury, in her breast ! Thy gracious claim of Motherhood; Our love that as a rock abides The shifting of the sands and tides. The righteous claim of Saxon blood. All cry for peace. Oh, not in vain. Though alien hands would rend apart The god-laid burthen on our heart, Our heritage of love and pain. To Saxon hearts where e'er they be. Who heart to heart, and soul to soul. Would keep our Saxon empire whole, Peace and good will across the sea. Stand thou with us, as we with thee. So shall we standing side by side. The realm of either world divide, From pole to pole, from sea to sea. 55 Oh, splendid dream! A God's desire, Drawn from deep draughts of heavenly springs, And soaring on exalted wings. Might set its radiant bounds no higher. An ancient right that we who trod The vintage of His wrath from yore, Who armed with strength and patience bore The delegated Will of God. While still a festering ill prolongs Its rule, and bankrupt justice fails. Should throw our swords into the scales That balance nations' rights and wrongs. The factor of divine events, 'Tis ours to loose in peace or war. The crimson tangled knots that mar The web of His Divine Intents. Oh, might we bind the scattered rays Of Britain's glory into one; Her world wide lands, which not the sun Forsakes in all his circling ways; Then peace on earth, good will to men. Were not an idle shibboleth. Blown through the dusty lips of death. And drenched with Abel's blood again. 56 Nor Justice then a prince's fool, Nor Truth a servile lackey kept; But prince and people should accept God's Truth and Justice in our rule. Then should our will to judgment bring A princely war lord, grown o'er bold, Or bid a fretful people hold The tryst of ages with their King. Then on our all protecting shield Where frowned on gules the Gorgon's head, Should Truth and Justice rule instead. With Mercy on an argent field. So should our gracious influence draw The quickened nations in our track. And each to each should answer back In common speech and righteous law. Our lands are many, star on star. We called them from the purple shades, Through desert paths and forest glades. We set our ancient boundaries far. We gave our banners to the breeze, The seas divided and we passed; Our Flag from many a haughty mast Flung crimson lights on unknown seas. 57 We built in patience to endure. Against the years' corroding length We set the pillars of our strength, As pillars of the earth are sure. Oh, shall we shrink in craven fears At the long shadows lengthening fast, Of this our greatness grown so vast. And waxing with th' increasing years ! And we, shall we whose promise seemed The Covenant of God with man, Whose splendid purpose still outran The all that priest or poet dreamed ; Who led the foremost van that led The armies of the risen day, Turn from the gates of dawn away To walk with ghouls among the dead ? And bid the evil seeds that fell From hands forgotten — ashes — dust, Spring up a crop of hate and lust To glut the hungry maws of hell? Then are we lost. The moment nears. The serpent's subtle soul hath wound Its coils about the sky, and bound The kindly influence of the spheres. 58 For this were madness. This to tell The litany of devils taught. Oh, this were madness, hell begot, And spurned from out the gates of hell. That gives to alien hands to reap The gain of our ancestral field. That each may win, let either yield, And either give, that both may keep. Scourged with the angry Master's rod Be they who throng the venal mart And in His temple rend apart The veritable PEACE OF GOD. May ceaseless travail still bestead Their path, and of the mingled flood Of sweat upon their brow, may blood Commingle with their bitter bread. May still the pillars of Thy wrath. The blackening cloud of smoke by day. The nightly fire's consuming ray, With flame and blackness hedge their path. And weltering in a guilty flood Of dreams, that watch with them through night, May wild-eyed murder meet their sight, Bespattered with a kinsman's blood. 59 And mingling ever with' the groans And shrieks of battle, may they hear Throb through the ringing in their ear, With shrill, insistent monotones, A spirit whisper, keen and thin. Stabbed to the sense of heart and brain. And crying ever, *Thou art Cain, And none shall slay thee for thy sin." Set Thou their bed of death where none Shall close the faded orbs of sight. But stabbed with fiery pangs of light. And brazen lances of the sun. Wrench Thou the guilty soul away. That the death tainted body draw The jackals, striving tooth and claw With vultures, for th' accursed clay. Oh, Thou, to Whom our prayers were poured In every age, to Whom was spilt The Guiltless Blood, to purge our guilt, To Thee, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord, To Thee we cry. Oh, hear us. Thou, Let not th' Unpardonable Sin Sprung from the gates of hell within Set her red mark upon our brow. 60 Nor madness stretching forth her hands, And groping for the Hght through dark, Set hands upon the hallowed ark That bears the Covenant of our lands. May rather chaos come again, And death and darkness through the spheres, Engulf their ancient barriers. The little lives of Gods and men. 61 GOD SAVE THE KING TO MOTHER ENGLAND. Mother of many men, Monarch in many lands, Mistress on many seas, Come now Thy sons again Proffering to Thy hands Mightier gifts than these. These be but leaves of rhyme, Fragile and faded leaves, Formless and incomplete. Never the hand of Time Binding them into sheaves Lays them before Thy feet. Comes with my less, a More; Comes with my least, a Most ; Comes with my part, a Whole. Comes to Thine ancient shore Gifts from a far-off coast. Gifts from a Nation's Soul.' Grief, with Thy Grief to rise ; Tears, with Thy Tears to fall ; Hope, with Thy Hope to spring Into the mourning skies Over the dead King's pall, Crying, GOD SAVE THE KING. 62 Hark I From an ancient height, Jubilant, clear and high, Shrilly the trumpets ring Ring for an Ancient Right, With an old battle cry Crying, GOD SAVE THE KING. 63 THE KING'S TRYST The Tryst of Widowed Lands The Wider Britain keeps. With faltering steps She stands On Her exulting steeps; She flings Her mourning bands Across Her subject deeps. The August Mother calls Her children o'er the tide; High are the ocean walls, The ocean walls are wide, But yet, what e'er befalls They hasten to Her side. At Britain's high behest From North and South they come; They come from East and West Swift foot across the foam; They gather to Her breast When Britain calls them Home. They come with flying feet, And eyes with tears grown dim ; From East and West they meet Upon the world's far rim; They pass with footsteps fleet To keep their tryst with Him. 64 Gifts for the Royal Dead From all the lands that lie Where Britain's Zone of Red Is bounded by the sky. Peace that may still bestead, And Love that shall not die. Peace ! Peace be with the Kin| Let jangling faction cease. Above His ashes fling The Flower of Civic Peace. So from His grave shall spring The Star of Christ's Increase. 65 THE MOTHER CALL Today a sudden splendour falls On castle, cot and dome. The little Island Empire calls Her wandering children home. The voice swept through the northern wold, The southern vales were stirred. Her thousand echoing hills retold The splendour and the word. The touch, divinely tender, filled The awed, expectant land, And alien heartstrings throbbed and thrilled Swept by the Master hand. The peaceful garden islands know The crowded camp's alarms. The trumpets' call, the watchfircs' glow, The clashing of the arms. But high, and clear and sweet, above The rattling of the guns. With Mother faith, with Mother love. The Mother calls her sons. "The ocean walls are strong and wide. And strong and wide the sea. And thrice a thousand leagues divide My absent sons from me. 66 "Come, Children of the Wandering Feet, Where e'er your footsteps roam. From alien field, from stranger street, Your Mother calls ye home. "I call ye from a stranger's land, To send ye forth again. I give ye with a Mother's hand To exile and to pain. *T set for ye a banquet board Where graves are dug beneath. Whereat from sanguine cups is poured The wild, sweet wine of death." The vintage of the Lord of Hosts Grows ripe on hill and plain. Reap thou his multitude of ghosts, His hecatombs of slain. Go forth, to make thy purpose good. Land of the Rising Sun. Of alien faith, of alien blood, Our will with thine is one. For valour, faith and mercy move Beneath the tawny skin. And kindred thoughts and actions prove How close we are akin. 67 Young Britain of the farther east, Thy golden spurs but won; Set thee triumphant o'er thy Feast Thy Risen Rising Sun. SONNET TO CROMWELL. Cromwell, the deep damnation of your name Outblackens Satan's in his subject land, Where doubly damned above himself you stand On inaccessible mountain peaks of shame Crowned with all final infamies of fame, Upon your brow the ineffaceable brand Of Cain thrice trebled, by an Angry Hand Scorched in immortal agonies of flame. Methinks my Lord of Darkness shall not love Your overlordly shadow near him thrown. Will you not call your parliament to prove. Oh Prince of Regicides, his right your own, And reign above your saints as once above Crowned, Damned and Hated, on your usurped throne? 68 ELIZABETH, THE QUEEN I, bastard born of that new royal blood That God hath set a space upon the throne Of Norman William; he, himself, like me, A bastard, born of the most basest blood That ever smirched the scutcheon of a King With the bar-sinister unspeakable. A tanner's daughter she, Arlotta hight That so her name might match the what she was. So doth that hell-smut blotch the blazoned shield Of this Leander of the narrow seas, Bearing his fame and infamy to clip His England, all unwilling, to his breast. I, too, would woo and win, and winning, wear My England on my bosom. Gifts I bring Perchance not all unworthy her and me. I wis my soul, man-statured, might aspire To tread the circles of the titan souls Of the great Edwards, heaping crown on crown To scale the summit of a God's desire. Mine is the people's voice, impetuous To crown a King or crucify a God. All rights are mine, save that Diviner Right Through which Kings hold their fiefs from God, and reign. Oh, this may not be mine ! I shall not hear The rustle of the Dove within the Tree With healing for the nations in its leaves. Oh, this may not be mine ! I shall not see The Shadow of the Soul of God that shines 69 Outshining lightnings, over and beyond My doubtful right, that shines upon the brow Of Wrong Undoubted; like the gems of paste That light the tangles of a strumpet's hair. Yet who should wear the crown? Not she of Scots! My younger cousin, with her Elder Right; That White Rose, shining from a thousand thorns That prick me to the bosom where a heart Should throb in the mere woman. I, the Queen, Th' Incarnate Soul of England, wear no heart To trip the nimble leaping of my brain. Myself am My Own Right, wherein I see The utmost present and the ultimate most Of good that is, and good that is to be To all this realm of England. Oh, My Land, Oh, My Dear England, Mother, Spouse, and Child, So help me the Most High, Who hears my vow, Myself am consecrate and set apart A vestal virgin to the sacred fire That burns upon the altar of my heart ! My strength shall gird thy weakness with a sword; My love shall light a pathway to thy feet; The purple of my robes shall cover thee To the last verge of thy extremest isle That stands a Maid of Honor to the Dawn, Or clasps the dying Sun God to her breast. Lo, I am I, the Queen, and with this ring, The shining symbol of Eternity, I wed thee on this night and in this place Where Death hath snapped the weaker links apart 70 That bound my sister to thee for her day. She hath loved much ; pray God that He forgive Her love that sowed the seeds of hate afar On wanton winds, the which ourselves shall reap That follow after. She hath made, in truth, Our England lackey in the halls of Spain, Serf to a tyrant master. By God's Death, We shall amend the master and the man To our complete contentment. We shall light A thousand candles, burning at the shrine Of Saint Elizabeth, the English Queen, Shall light our path across with-holden seas To Western Gardens, and their Fruit of Gold. The night steals on apace, the heavy night, For she hath watched and waited. The wan night Her face is pallid from a stress of awe; For she hath seen strange shadows rise and fall. And a great Shape that entered in the doors. And lordly strode through all these lordly halls Of England's Kings. The courtiers doffed their caps And louted low, as though the Queen did pass To that Majestic Presence, heralded By his two white-faced heralds, Pain and Fear. A Shadow bearing a Great Gift of Light To her who doffed the crown and passed with it Out from the radiance of the palace lights, The purple pomps, the gilded gauds of time, Into the gray and melancholy wastes. To reign, perhaps to serve, in those far lands That lie beyond the sun's light and the stars. 71 Oh, wert thou Tudor ? • Wert Plantagenet ? Wert of our House of Atreus, drenched with blood Of brother brother slain, who liest white Grown very meek and very patient now; Aye, patient to my presence, who wert wont To love not well my crescent shadow thrown Between thee and thine own decrescent light. But this is in the night, and of the night. And I am of the Dawn and Fiefed of Dawn With a Great Fief. I look in mine own soul As in a mirror, and therein I see Nan Boleyn's base-born daughter and The Queen Who shall leave England greater than she found. n THE GOLDEX ROSE TO H. R. II. THE PRINCESS HENRY OF BATTENBEKG. White Marvel of the Rose of God, The Rose of Certain Peace. It blew As Aaron's almond blossom grew In beauty from the barren rod. From death the miracle of birth ; The Hand that strikes us down, uplifts; The Giver gives His Radiant Gifts To these, His Chosen of the earth. And thou hast sought and found it far Where tropic jungles circle black In serpent coils about the track Of God's and Britain's righteous war. 'Tis well that thou whose soul hath known A little while, no more should know The fretful ages' flux and flow That sap the pillars of a throne. Though Faction flap her fiery wings Where loyal Faith no more abides, Though Treason's bloody hand divides The purple raiment of her Kings, n- Thou wilt not know. Thy all complete, The leaf, the blossom and the gold Of harvest sheaves at noonday told Untimely, fall at Britain's feet. And she whose feet are steadfast in The paths of empire, she shall keep A moment tryst with Death, to weep The Warrior Prince that might have been. High Princess ! Princess yesterday; Today a Widow, come too late To kneel beside the folded gate Whence none may roll the stone away. Lo ! Thou art Royal ; dust indeed. But Royal Dust; the laboring earth In stronger travail gave thee birth; And Higher Light informed thy need. For thou art of the stately stem That lifts its lofty branches high ; The earth, their heritage; the sky, A royal canopy to them. Now art thou near to us; the Touch, The Christ-like Touch upon thy brow Absolves the subjects' straightened vow To one who loves and sorrows much. 74 And we, whose father's fathers bled For thine, may bring our offerings Of sorrow to the hall of Kings, And mourn with thee beside thy dead. Oh, we were brutish, misbegot, Nor in our veins the loyal flood Of unforgetting Saxon blood That makes us one, had we forgot The Good Queen's gracious deed, that gave — The Signet Seal of Christ's Increase The Certain Knot of Love and Peace — The wreath for Martyred Garfield's grave. Take, Madame, then from o'er the sea These frail and faded leaves of rhymes; Though they were trebled twenty times Alike unworthy Thine and Thee. Yet haply may they serve to tell. If blown by ocean winds they fall Within thy ancient castle's wall. That Saxon love remembers well. God's Grace go with thee to ensure The splendid sorrows of thy lot, His Patience and His Strength. "Break not. For thou art Royal, but endure." 75 TO RUDYARD KIPLING With a battle axe for pen Flashed above the heads of men, With thy soul's poetic passion to a Berserk fury growing, Sir, thy words are rough hewn Facts, Stamping on the yielding wax Of our memory, thy rubric tangled in its crimson glowing. Nothing doubt our envious bays Fall before thee on thy ways. We, man milliners of Art, who prink and prank and prune and polish At our fragile flowers of rhyme. Sown upon the shores of Time, That tomorrow's sun shall wither, and tomorrow's waves demolish. Yet my soul may stand with thine On the heights we deem divine. And, grown up to equal stature, may reach out and call thee Brother; Equal by the gracious laws Of the kindred blood that draws Thee and me in adoration to the Great Majestic Mother. We're for England ! Thou and I ; We're for England ! Throned high ; We're for England ! In Her ancient robes and with Her antique Honour; 7(i We're for England ! At Her hearth ; We're for England ! Round the earth ; We're for England ! With Her Triple Crowns and All Her Crowns upon Her. Here's to England ! Glasses brimmed. Here's to England ! With eyes dimmed By the stormy waves that break against the heights of our emotion. Here's to England ! Brother, drink, Standing each upon the brink h'^arther East and farthest Westward of Her tributary ocean. 77 A DREAM OF ITALY Peace on the earth, and on the waters Peace; In yonder cloudless heavens above us, Peace ; And Peace with him who slumbers at my side, The boy companion of my lonely way To this untaken fortress of the hills That guards Balboa's ocean. Lo, he lies In that dim border and debatable land That owns the equal sway of those great lords Whom men call Life and Death. Above him now The shadow of their cognizance is thrown Or roses white, or roses red, that pale Or flush above the olive of his face. So doth he lie, a dream within a dream, A charmed prince in an enchanted land. From which myself might draw him to my side — The devious ways by which he went made straight For his returning feet — did I but place My hand upon his brow, become august With the compelling dignities of Sleep. And he would wake and smile, and smiling speak In those soft sibilant accents that I love; In hearing which my soul perchance would see The God-blown Bubble of the Lordly Dome That floats above the Tiber, o'er the dust That once was Rome — and still is Italy. I am not alien to this land that lies A wedge of emerald thrust between her walls Of sapphire seas. Myself am native here; 78 I leap the Rubicon of alien blood Too shallow to divide myself from Her, My Soul and Spirit Mother. Oh, Beloved! Oh, Well Beloved ! Oh, Best Beloved Thou ! What shall I bring Thee from my human love That wanders lost upon the soaring heights Of a God's adoration? Naught but these? Naught but these flawed futilities of Art? This rainbow's ladder, broken at the base In seven-hued toppled steps I may not climb. Naught but these airy capitals that fell From broken columns of my hall of dreams Wherein my soul may never hope to dwell. Naught but these minor melodies of song That shall not reach thine ears of royalty Attuned to statelier measures. Naught but these? To lay beside the gifts the Magi bring From all the wider east where God is born Incarnate in each new-born Poet's breast. ''9 HENRY V OF FRANCE King upon whose sacred brow Ne'er the sacred oil was spilt, In High Houses God hath built Over Prince and people, thou Standest God Anointed now. King ! A nation's cornerstone That the builders threw aside, Crovv^ning guilty Regicide ; Claimest thou on high thine own, Reigning on a spirit throne. Thou, too, on thy Lupercal, With a more than Caesar's frown Flung aside the people's crown, Unsubservient to their call For a crowned and sceptred thrall. Not the franchise of the base. Not the scarlet suffrage drawn From the sin of San' Antoine Soiled the glory and the grace Of the last flower of thy race. Clothe thee in Thy Right anew ; Crushed by Time — and Royal still ; Treason trampled — but God's V/ill ; And thy Royal White that grew Over rebel red and blue. 80 Standing in the sight of God Render back His Gift August, Stainless held by thee in trust; Steps unto a throne untrod But thy feet by Honour shod. Bear to Henry, Great and Good, Thou, too, Henry Good and Great, Held above the reach of Fate Thy unswerving rectitude. And thy stainless Kinglihood. King! Rejected and denied; King! Rejecting and denying; King ! Defeated and defying. Casting a base crown aside. Placing Honour above pride. Unto thee we bring our vows, Pledging ancient faith anew; God is with His Chosen Few, We who come to bend our brows To the King Crowned in God's House. 81 THE GHOST OF ITYS Hark! 'Tis the nightingale. What floods of wailing, What storms of grief assail The heavens, scaling A God's despair, or fail Sadder in failing. Seest thou incarnate song And soul of grieving. That horror haunted wrong Beyond retrieving. Shall not the ages long Soothe thy bereaving? Seest thou in this fair wood That hears thy singing, The Thracian halls that stood With terrors ringing. And to thy solitude The Furies winging? Still, in thy forest green. Lies Itys dying. Still o'er the charmed scene His ghost is flying. Still, rose and thee between. His soul is sighing. 82 A HEALTH TO THE KING OF PORTUGAL. A health to the King, A health to the Boy, Though boyish he fling His Crown as a toy, With his sceptre and ring On the bosom of Joy. Shall no blossom of May, And no breath of the Spring, And no dawn of the Day, And no flash of Love's wing Be flung on the way Of the Boy — grown a King? For the King is but man That Her bosom that bore Shall resume in a span; But the Kingship is more, And the Top of God's plan From His days of Before. Go forth in God's Might, For His trumpets are blown, And the land is alight With the fires He hath sown. In His Might and Thy Right Enter in to Thine Own. 83 Crush down with thy heel The traitors who trod With the flashing of steel And feet bloody shod, O'er the faithful who kneel At the altars of God. A health to the King, The King by God's Grace. May His Providence bring The King to his Place, New splendour to fling On the past of his race. 84 FRANCIS I AT PAVIA All day upon that fatal day, the stroke of sword and lance Fell thickest, where, through smoke and flame, flamed, ever in advance. The lilies on his breast before the lily flag of France. His arms above the arms of France, upon his breast were crossed. The victor's banners flaunting free, above the King were tossed, The King, who left that fatal field, with all but honor lost. Came one who stood before the King, reluctantly who came. Of equal lofty majesty, his cognizance the same. And King's blood struggled in his cheek, against a flush of shame. De Bourbon bowed his haughty head; he faltered where he stood, Before that flower of chivalry, that crov/n of Kinglihood ; That star upon the brow of France and kinsman of his blood. The King and traitor face to face ! A moment as of old. Distilled from poisoned depths of hate, the monarch's words were told. De Bourbon drank the bitter draught and shivered with its cold. 85 "Fair fall thee, gentle cousin, as thou fairly com'st to bring Upon the field where fortune fails, the double offering Of love unto thy kinsman's heart, and homage to thy King. "Nay, cousin, lift that lofty head that bends so low to me. Thy haughty heart and victor hand absolve thy subject knee. Enfiefed by fickle fortune thou, the King must bend to thee." He turned in scorn and gave his sword to one obscure, unknown. Who on his bended knee received and gave the King his own. To whom the King, with Kingly grace, and unforbidding tone, "Now, by the crown I lose this day, and by my father's land. When traitors kneel, it well becomes thy honesty to stand." He bent with princely courtesy and raised him by the hand. 86 AT THE TOURNAMENT Comes now My Lord of Death, his pennon flying; Sans cognizance Upon his sable armour; loud defying With sword and lance My Lord of Life, with enmity undying, And a I'outrance. Comes forth My Lord of Life, his armour gleaming. But over light; In all the galliard grace of youth, beseeming A gallant knight. The legend of his house above him streaming, "Mine Ancient Right." They meet, as meet two rival bolts of thunder In a black sky. As the red flash that tears the skies asunder, Their swords flash high. They fall. Alas ! My Lord of Life falls under. So fair to die. 'Tis o'er. The final coup de grace is given. Let the bells toll; Let lighted candles show him way to heaven, While priests make dole ; His guilty soul hath passed away unshriven. God rest his soul ! 87 AVE ATQUE VALE The autumn is dead, And the year Hes a-dying, Where yellow and red The sere leaves are flying. They cover him up as-a pall, while the winds of the winter are sighing. They have made him a bed; They have pranked it with holly ; With berries of red To slay Melancholy. Ye fools ! She will rise from her grave, though you bury her deep in your folly. He came to the crown In the midst of our cheering ; To death he goes down With O'ur wailing or jeering; The Boy King we set on the throne of his sires with caresses endearing. A health to the King Who comes on the morrow, From flagons that fling Defiance to sorrow. The wine of the present is ours, and the wine o-f the future we borrow. A health to the King From glasses of gladness. His coming shall bring Surcease to our sadness. Let us eat of the fruit of Desire and be drunk with the wine of our madness. SONNET Oh, might I fling my heart beneath thy feet Shod with the radiant gladness of the dawn, Despoiled from eastern hill and dewy lawn. Thrice happy dawn ! Thrice happy earth to greet Thy footsteps, with new flowers springing fleet. Thrice happier I, from barren heights withdrawn, To give my heart for thee to tread upon. Ah, it were sweet ! Ah, it were passing sweet ! Natheless. my soul above me weighs aright Thy lesser soul, that stinted, starved and doled. Strives with its farthing rush-light in the night. I, set above thee, crowned with light from old. Stoop down adoring from an ancient height To clip, and crown thee with my Shower of Gold. 89 THE RED ROSE OF EARTH God's Benison upon the Boy With boyish grace who came An apotheosis of Joy That scorched me as with flame. A wave of sorrow swept my soul, My eyes with tears grew dim. Oh God ! What seas of silence roll Between myself and him. The morning blossoms in his eyes. Shall not, beneath his feet The purple hyacinth arise The Sun God's eyes to meet? Myself am franchised in the stars; My fingers free upon The key to loose the morning's bars And usher in the dawn. Yet, though I draw him to me close With pressure of the hand, And match my Star with his Red Rose, He would not understand. I watch from alien heights afar My kindly Halls of Birth ; And I would give my farthest Star For his Red Rose of Earth. 90 OUR LADY OF THE GATE TO SAN FRANCISCO. While still the pillars of the earth endure The deep foundations of Her house are sure. Though the red flag of cosmic hate unfurled Flash through the caverns of the underworld; Though Titans struggling in the primal deeps Fling hill on hill, to gain Her sun-crowned steeps, Still shall She reign, Our Lady of the Gate, Where all things enter, come they soon or late. Still North and South, still East and West shall meet To lay their vassal homage at Her feet. Still Time, Her handmaid, gather to Her hands The sea-flung tribute of Her subject lands. Oh Thou, beloved ! Mother of many men, Strong sons, who build Thy broken walls again, Who with enduring labor set the base Of all Thy Future in its ancient place. Temples to Hermes shall they build, to meet The needs that spring beneath his winged feet. Yet at those altars, where the God receives The tangled vows of traders and of thieves, Yea, even there, diviner, drifted down From higher heights, a higher light may crown. Oh, may that Flower of Beauty that was Greece, That Star of Splendour that was Rome, increase. And bloom familiar round Thy wonted ways. And shine above Thee with serener rays. So shalt Thou hear, the while Thy walls aspire. The throbbing music of the Sun God's lyre. THE GOD ON HORSEBACK A wind grows out of the breeze And lashes the frightened trees, Till they cry out loud in their pain, Till they cry tO' the wind in vain; And the wind complains to the seas. And the notes of an old refrain Rise clear above wind and rain. And the pulse of my soul is stirred By a melody long unheard, That calls to me not in vain. And I see him once more, as when I saw him before me then, When he touched for a moment's space My life with his strength and grace, And rode from my life again. A gallant and boyish form, In the breath of the south wind warm That toyed with his tumbled hair ; That kissed him and found him fair, As he spurred in front of the storm. He leaned from his seat, and cast A smile at me as he passed. And the lust of Life and the pride Of the Boy God, spurred and astride. Thrilled like a clarion's blast. 92 Ah, little Ghost, when we stand With the ghosts, in No Man's Land, Will yon come with boyish grace, With the old smile on your face, And greet me, and understand ? SONNET Have at you, sir, again ! Your walls are high. I, disinherited and dispossessed, Unwelcome suitor and unbidden guest, The jest of some mad Boy God in the sky. Yet shall I enter in; I, even L I, set apart by some supreme behest. By all the Splendid Madness in my breast. To win your walls, and higher walls, or die. Scorn not to meet me. No unknightly lance Of border foray seeks this stricken field; Forged on the ringing anvil of Romance, In the hot furnaces of Grief annealed. With it I seek My Own, which lies, perchance, In yonder frowning castle keep concealed. 93 FEET OF CLAY I said, "I will fashion a god, And worship it in a shrine. I am weary of staff and rod And the touch of the All Divine. I have clutched at the morning's bars When the gates were flung apart. I have drawn the light of the stars Like lances, unto my heart. I am weary, and now, meseems, I should live my life while I may." And I fashioned it in my dreams. And the feet of the idol were clay. And beautiful to behold The glorious image grew. And the hair was brown or gold, And the eyes were brown or blue. And it was absolute good As deep as my eyes could see. And truer than truth it stood For that it was truth to me. And the work of my hands was sweet, I worshipped it night and day. And I flung my soul at its feet, And the feet of the idol were clay. And they mocked the work of my soul As faulty and incomplete. 94 With the human part of the whole, And the stain of earth on the feet. And I said to them, "Misbegot ! Beggars in brain and in soul ! I love it for what it is not, And not as a perfect whole." And I said, "I will have my will. Pharisees, go your way. I will love and worship it still," And the feet of the idol were clay. 95 TO ONE WHO KNOWS I thank thee, dear, for coming in the night To him who loved thee in remembered days Beyond thy comprehension or desire. Yea, I did know in that vast loneHness That crowds my steps upon the barren heights, Where Absolute Sorrow, purple-robed and crowned. Broods o'er the crowding throngs that pay their tithes Of sweat and tears at all her wayside shrines. That thou wouldst come; that thou wouldst surely seek Him who might seek thee not. And I rejoice That not the august music of the spheres That rolls its surges on the farthest shores Of space illimitable, taught thine ear. With its diviner thunder to forget The minor mellow melodies of earth. Blew not some breeze across some charmed land. Through some enchanted gates of long ago, Through which our lingering feet, with morning shod, Our foreheads garlanded with dews and balms. Passed through the gates of dawn, to where a bow Spanned all our heavens, and lit our path on earth That thus I saw thee, as in truth I saw. Thou, all thyself, thou, all and only mine. Thou, as I knew thee, flawed with the sweet flaw, The gracious birth bark of our Mother Earth, That sets the jewel nearer and more dear. 96 TO SAN FRANCISCO If we dreamed that we loved Her aforetime, 'twas the ghost of a dream; for I vow By the splendour of God in the highest, we never have loved Her till now. When Love bears the trumpet of Honour, oh, highest and clearest he calls, With the light of the flaming of towers, and the sound of the rending of walls. When Love wears the purple of Sorrow, and kneels at the altar of Grief, Of the flowers that spring in his footsteps, the white flower of Service is chief. As a flower on the snow of Her bosom, as a star in the night of Her hair, We bring to our Mother such token as the time and the elements spare. If we dreamed that we loved Her aforetime, adoring we kneel to Ller now. When the golden fruit of the ages falls, swept by the wind from the bough. The beautiful dv/elling is shattered, wherein, as a queen at the feast, In gems of the barbaric tropics and silks of the ultimate East, Our Mother sat throned and triumphant, v/ith the wise and the great in their day. They were captains, and princes, and rulers ; but She, She was greater than they. 97 We are sprung from the builders of nations; by the souls of our fathers we swear, By the depths of the deeps that surround Her, by the height of the heights She may dare. Though the Twelve league in compact against Her, though the sea gods cry out in their wrath. Though the earth gods, grown drunk of their fury, fling the hilltops abroad in Her path. Our Mother of masterful children shall sit on Her throne as of yore, With Her old robes of purple about Her, and crowned with the crowns that She wore. She shall sit at the gates of the world, where the nations shall gather and meet, And the Ea"st and the West at Her bidding shall lie in a leash at Her feet. 98 CHI-CA-GO! CHI-CA-GO! AT SAN FRANCISCO^ APRIL 18, 1906. When the long appointed Morning from the primal deeps awoke ; When the Guilty Hour of God released the Moment and the Stroke, Then the human ant hill stirred, And it trembled as it heard O'er the wreck and wrack of matter, the deep thunder of God's Word In reverberating echoes, o'er a hell of flame and smoke. Here was touchstone for the Human. Fear and Terror unconfined From the soul's supreme dominion and the leashes of the mind, Drove them forth and backward, drove Them in broken waves, that strove In the vortex of a whirlpool, neath the flaming skies above. But serene, clear-eyed and steadfast, there was one re- mained behind. And the shattered walls about him groaned and trembled as he bent In apocalyptic vision o'er the shining instrument; While he strove, with vain essay To control the rebel ray, To Chi-ca-go, Chi-ca-go, two thousand miles away. And the trembling wires refused to take the message that he sent. 99 Oh, he wrought with steadfast fingers, and a soul uncon- quered still. While the tempest stormed the lowland and swept onward to the hill. While the flame of dot and dash Answered to a redder flash From the flaming towers and steeples, punctuated by a crash. And the rebel lightning flickered, unsubservient to his will. Then Pity's eyes grew dim with tears, and Mercy's heart was stirred; And the Soul of God grew troubled at the lightning- tangled word; At the Human cry that came Up to Him on wings of flame, Crying out, "Help, Help !" to Brothers, in the Great All Father's Name. And that cry of August Sorrow, with its solemn meaning blurred. And He spoke unto the lightning and it hastened to obey; And the letters formed like soldiers, in an orderly array; And they hastened by God's Grace O'er the lands of conquered Space, And the world fell back behind them, in the fury of the race To the gates of Human Brotherhood, two thousand miles away. loa OUR LADY OF THE DOME The God has spoken ! Be it so. Let not the shrines of Hermes fail Of all we hold most dear, although We give our honour with this sale. Are loyal faith and honour more, Are they as much as fallen leaves From last year's wind storm, cast before The god of traders — and of thieves. Despoiled of all that once we were; Of all that once was ours bereft; The' all of all our past was there. This crown upon our brows was left. Unmoved before the shock that sapped The pillars of the earth, she stood. And watched the flood of flame that lapped Her sky-aspiring altitude. With patient and with steadfast eyes, Through murky day and fire-sown night, She saw the star of hope arise, And dark delivered of the light. And now, from her abiding place Cast down, and thrown as so much dirt To traders in the market place ! Oh, high and over Gods avert 101 The shorter shrift of ruffian hand, The captive queen to traders cast. The Future withers of that land That sells the altars of its Past. Oh, were there men, among the men Who grasp with mailed hand the Now, Would rather purchase of the Then Her laureled franchise for their brow ! Ah, that indeed a gracious gift. And that in truth the fairies' gold, Crowned, throned, and sceptred, to uplift Our Lady to her place of old. Or, on supremer heights to stand O'er the new altars of our home. From frozen heart and ruffian hand God Save Our Lady of the Dome. 102 THE ROSE OF PEACE TO A CHILD DEAD AT THE FOOT OF SEVENTH STREET^ SAN FRANCISCO. From some fair heavens the sudden splendour fell, Some gracious fingers wove the hidden spell, Wrought some compassionate god this miracle. Whence camest thou? What gardens of delight Gave thee to earth, to grow up tall and white. Bear bud and blossom in a single night? Doubt not thy life was drawn of heavenly dew, Down filmy web of rainbows, falling through On this old Rose of Peace, forever new. Here, where the foul and noxious vapours creep, Like poisonous serpents, from the ooze and seep That sap the city's rotting refuse heap; Here, the great Master molds His crudest clay. His wheels revolving swiftly, night and day, Turn out His image, grim and gaunt, and gray. Yet here was holy ground; a moment's space So gracious and so hallowed was the place. That I, the lonely passer, veiled my face. And faltered, lest I tread too hard upon His noiseless steps, whose fingers thin and wan Unbar to us the gateways of the dawn. 103 Strange that my memories linger 'round the spot, Which doubtless she who bore him hath forgot, While I, who knew him not, forget him not. And still I wonder, as I wondered then, To feel the gush of sudden tears again, Th' unwonted and unwilling tears of men. Oh, little ghost, that flitted wan and white Between the purple curtains of the night. Oh, younger brother, with my elder right; Oh, child, whose widely wandering footsteps cease To tread the path where days and years increase. Clasp the white marvel of your Rose of Peace. But I, whom not the toys of time beguiled, God help me that I envied this dead child, Passing from all defilement, undefiled. Oh, Thou, divine, serene, compassionate, I may not seek Thee, but I watch and wait To see Thee beckon from the eternal gate. Not long. I see the bow of promise shine; My certain covenant with the Soul Divine ; What God I know not, but the Gift is mine. 104 THE TRYST OF FATE ' "I have never seen you do aught hut laugh. Play day love^ could you laugh ziith me If ive stopped the doing of things by half— Play day comrade, awake from sleep, There is work to do, and a tryst to keep. We must be far when morning spills His cup of light on the eastern hills. Thou and I until we stand Free and fiefed in no man's land. Wake ! There is one who stands beside Thy bed, who may not be denied. Though thou set thy soul upon the chance Of the loaded dice of circumstance. Still it must be, as it was before, Thou the lesser, and I the more. So all our yesterdays have proved Me the lover, and thee the loved. Bend thy soul to my stronger will. Thou wert mine of old, and I claim thee still. Mine in body and soul and breath. In our yesterdays of life and death. And ever through cycles of the sky Still thou wert thou, and I was I. And boy and boy, or man and maid. Our souls stood naked and unafraid. And our myriad lives clasped hands, I wis, To lead our steps to a night like this. 105 Gently, gently, lest we -awake Eyes to weep, and hearts to break; Lest their woman's weeping and woman's prayers Clutch at my purpose unawares. And the splendid madness of our dream Burst like bubbles upon the stream. 'Tis bravely done. Your careless stride Keeps us together, side by side, To the boat that struggles on the tide. That flutters a bird with a broken wing; That strains at its leash, a living thing. There in the mirk of the fading town, The lights of the well-lost world go down. And the rags of life that we flung behind Flaunt their littleness down the wind. And the tattered banners of the storm Flaunt in front of the south wind warm And the waves in their white-lipped anguish cry To an angry God in an angry sky. And ever we settle as we drift For the sea flows in through flaw and rift. And the wine of Being disappears From the broken cup of your twenty years. Scarce have you pressed your lips of flame To its splendid sin and sorrow and shame. Now night draws down and the lights burn low, Play day love, it is time to go. A swirl of waters, a gasp for breath. And the wide, free liberty of death. 106 TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES The master of a double art, He bore the gifts to make man whole; His tears and laughter for the soul, A potion for the body's smart. If not the highest, yet so high. So clear and sweet his message rang, If not a priest or prophet sang Yet the whole world was more thereby. And the sad age forgot awhile Her sweat and tears, and stopped to quaff The mellow music of his laugh. And answered to it with a smile. And yet, methinks, he might have built Those Statelier Mansions for his art, Whereon the sweat of soul and heart About the corner stone are spilt. He, fiefed in yonder blue serene ; He, free beyond the morning bars ; He, franchised in the farther stars. And the wide spaces in betw^een. Here had he with firm footstep trod. Here had he swept the so'unding lyre. Whose waves of thunder and of fire Surge upwards to the feet of God; 107 But that he chose of his" own will To heal the grievous wounds of man; To walk the Good Samaritan, And gentle healer of the ill; To pour the balsam of his mirth, Free flowing from the lesser fount Sprung midways on the sacred mount, Upon the tired heart of earth. Perchance, he chose the better part. And ye, who knew and loved him, bring The first arbutus of the spring To lay above his gentle heart. 108 THE DIVORCE "Mr. Death, you're a lawyer of well-known repute, Your practice extensive. I bring you my suit. I had sought you so long that my hopes had grown dull, When I saw on your doorways the crossbones and skull. My name is, or rather, my husband's is, Life. And I am, or rather, I have been his wife. 'Twas a match that I sought not. My parents, in truth, Limed the bird, set the trap, forged the chains for my youth. What I want? Oh, 'tis only the old tale, of course, I am tired of my husband, and seek a divorce." "I well know your husband. In truth, I may say That I own his estates. As you know, he's quite gay. They are heavily mortgaged ; his assets are nil If I chose to foreclose, as I possibly will." "In the meanwhile, I hope — may I hope? — you will choose To press my case for me. You will not refuse? For the fee " "Oh, I charge a high price, to be sure. But the game's worth the candle. I'm certain to cure. In fact, I may say, without any restraint. When I'm done with a client he ne'er makes complaint. For the cause of your action — I ask, though I know, Incompatible — each of you — mutually so." "Oh, you've told it yourself. He's too florid, too gay. Too gaudy of night, and too tawdry of day. Our union was cursed with the curse of the Lord. I shrink from his bed, and I starve at his board." "What ! he starves you ?" "Ay, starves me — that is, on the whole 109 He feeds up my body, and starves down my soul. He serves me three courses — fear, pain and despair, Washed down with a draught of the black wine of care. But the dew on the blossom, the sun on the dew. The blue of the sky, and a star in the blue, The gold-spangled dust on the butterflies' wings. The grace of all gracious, intangible things. These fail from his menu. In truth, he don't know. Is the fault his or mine? God hath fashioned him so." "Your case is a sad one, but old as the earth. It clutched at your soul through the gateways of birth; It followed your footsteps wherever you trod; The ghost of yourself, and the Shadow of God. Have patience a moment, and know that the doors Of my office swing wide, to such cases as yours. I will draw up your papers, and seal with my seal That bars change O'f venue, admits no appeal ; That no court can annul, when the sentence is spoke ; Nor the juggling of lawyers rescind, nor revoke. Tomorrow we seek His Superior Court, The last high tribunal of Human resort. But the Judge, though a just One, is known as severe. And I fear that you " "No, friend, fear not that I fear. With his ring did he wed me, who holds me with chains ; He won me as bride; as a slave he retains. Break the chains! Set me free, and my soul will rejoice In His lightning of eye and His thunder of voice. If His justice avails not. His charity fails, I will throw my despair 'gainst His wrath in the scales." "Till we meet then, adieu." "Au revoir, not adieu. Since I seek on the morrow His courtroom with you." 110 TO AMBROSE BIERCE For that I came to you a guest, Where guest unbid might haply meet Small place whereon to set his feet, And scanty furtherance of his quest; For that to one ill used to sue. Who deemed his suit, perchance, o'er bold From high and kindly heart you told Largesse of praise beyond his due. I thank you ; were my thoughts but deeds, Or might I cancel deed with thought, Then of my thanks to you were wrought The full contentment of your needs. 'Tis well. I will not make my Art The jester in the people's court; Nor bid the Goddess born resort A harlot to the public mart. God wot, I enter not the race For large success and honour scant, The apotheosis of Cant, The Triumph of the Commonplace, Methinks, such race were well unrun. The God may vanish whence He came. And I, I quit the losing game, Scarce worth the winning — if I won. Ill "AH, GIVE US BUT YESTERDAY!' The night has fled before him ; And the victor sun is borne, Robed and crowned in royal splendour, Through the gateways of the morn; With his cloth of gold before me. Yet my sad heart turns away Wounded by the golden lances Of the sun of Yesterday. The morning light is gleaming, And the morning dew impearled On the golden roses clinging Round the roof-tree of the world. But I turn in heart-sick longing To the blossom on the spray. And the dew upon the blossom. In the dawn of Yesterday. 112 A LETTER TO A GHOST Walter, do you remember yet, Across the clanging barriers. Fast growing wider, of five years, The April morning when we met? You may, but I shall not forget. April, the name is melody; The Spirit of the Spring that weaves White blossoms in amidst green leaves, And flings them to the bird and bee, From daisied turf and orchard tree. But now with angry step she came, Her feet ascending up the path Of hatred, to the heights of wrath, Wherefrom the Tithes of God to claim In an apocalypse of flame. I was — n'importe — you were seventeen, A fair, slim stripling in his May; How might I match my brown and gray With your young springtime's gold and green? God and all time rose up between. You knew — or did you know? — how fond I was of your fresh morning dew. And all the boyish flame of you. 113 For me, my friendship never wanned ; Though you have surely grown beyond. How should you know? I never told My thoughts, but laid them by to stir My soul with scents of lavender, With legends from a page of gold, To warm my heart by, when I'm old. We shall not see their like again. Those passionate, heroic days. At which the world stood still to gaze; Ah me ! In those days men were men, And brothers to each other then. And heaven high they piled their vows To see Our Mother stand again Grown fairer in the sight of men. With Her old crown upon Her brows In Her new builded Golden House. And I, I felt my pulses stir — Though exiled from her side I stood- With Her imperious claim of Blood; And brought the body's sweat to Her As gold and frankincense and myrrh. Our Sacred Mother, from whose brow Her crowns were fallen in the dust; Dethroned, unsceptred and — August, 114 Thrice more august and dearer now Than sceptred, robed and crowned, I vow. Ah, Walter, you had laughed to know How I, who toiled among the brick. Slave to the genii of the pick. Rose up on Spirit Heights, to throw My soul's vast pity o'er Her woe. How I in all that vast profound Of ruin, felt the All divine Approach me in the Human Shrine, Where I, adoring, knelt and bound My Love Her bleeding wounds around. Yet had I pride, that none had dared Save she, to tread such deeps of woe; Or light so red a torches' glow ; So high its sullen splendour flared The Gods upon Olympus stared. And that apo-calypse of dole. That sorrow sown across the land By some Divine and Wanton hand. Was the strong fortress and the goal To which I strove to lift my soul. Ah, Memory is Sorrow's crown, Wherefrom, amidst the thorns arise The Jewels of Remembered Eyes ; 115 And blue eyes call to me, or brown, From all the widely ruined town. From all Her avenues that led From nowhere, through all gaunt distress. To waste and empty nothingness, Ghosts of the quick and of the dead Gather at midnight round my bed. And, Walter, since a ghost you are, — Nay, laugh not; join me in the toast, "A health to my remembered ghost," — I seek your ghostly light from far, As the Night cries out to the Star. And so I weave for you this net, Whose fragile threads are wet and stained From the gold chalice, ceaseless drained. Of the heart's blood and the soul's sweat. On the black altars of Regret. And now I come to seek you far, Who know me not, nor seek to know ; I, also ghost of long ago. Cry: "God be with you where you are; . Adieu. Or is it au revoir?" 116 THE TOUCH OF THE HUMAN APRIL^ 1906. In the days when the Gods came near to men, And the souls of men were wanned and thinned, As a Great Voice rose and fell again In sullen thunder above the wind; Then our souls crouched down in the dust to hear And to shrink away from them as they came; And their visible presence swept so near That we shrank and shriveled within the flame. And we lay supine, and with shattered will, While they came and Spoke, and went rough shod O'er the frightened earth, that shivered still At the awful imminence of the God. And they passed; and we rose again and crept To stare in a stupid wonderment At the wonderful ruins, tempest swept. In the visible footsteps where they went. Then we rose again, to our feet, and Stood ; And Man had come to his own again; We were heirs of an old historic blood. Sons of our Mother, masterful men. And we raised the glove that the Fates threw down. With an angry smile and stuck it, mayhap, 117 In a last year's hat with tattered crown, Or beside our pipe, in a ragged cap. And we swore a great oath to set the base Of a greater future upon our past, And Our Mother's House in its ancient place, In despite of the Fates — while time should last. And we went like brothers, and sought our place, Gentle and simple, churl and clown, Lofty and noble, mean and base. In the broken halls of the bankrupt town. And I came as became me to come ; withal I wrote my name in a cynic mood. In a cynically loyal scrawl In the League of Human Brotherhood. And I stood for a moment glad, but dazed, At the sudden thrill of the Human Touch, To the soul that fed on itself and gazed In an introspection overmuch. They were gallant days when the shining steel, Spade and hatchet, shovel and pick, Flashed in the cause of the Commonweal, Round twisted girder and broken brick. Steel that flashed as in battle's van ; Dust that rose as a battle cloud; 118 While the Crowned and Bleeding Heart of Man Flashed from our flags a defiance proud. And the gates of Honour were closed to none ; But each might walk with his bosom starred With the Order of Service himself had won, And the Cross of Merit, a God's award. And we, who were heirs of the ancient blood, And Sons of Our Mother, felt the stir Of her pulses throbbed to our hearts, and stood Less for ourselves, and more for Her. And as for myself, I vow I served In a half adoring thankfulness ; And held as an honour not all deserved, The right to succor Her in distress. They were gracious days ; and they touch today With a gracious hand; and the ghosts are thick That smiled and spoke me, and went their way, As I toiled in the ruins with spade and pick. And I thank the Gods for the saving grace Of the Human Touch, that I knew ye all, And that Sorrow linked our names for a space. On a tear-stained page, in a blood-red scrawl. Fair ghost of the boy with golden hair, Sad ghost of the man with hair of gray, 119 I am but ghost, and but ghosts ye are, Blown out on the winds of Yesterday. Let us tarry a moment before we go. Dissonant ghosts, to clutch and hold In the turbulent age's ebb and flow Our phantom measures of fame or gold. Tarry a little, and hear me vow By the dearest oath that my soul may swear, By the higher light on my wider brow. And the leaf of Laurel that is not there, I would serve again for the Commonweal, In the ranks of the men grown Titan tall, Shoulder to shoulder against the wheel. And All for One, and One for All. I am vowed to the marble breast of Art; The banns are spoke that I can not stay; And my soul consents, but I found my heart In that liaison of an April day. And my soul may thrive; but my heart is loath For the grip of flesh in the halls that rang, To the man's deep drum roll of Saxon oath, And the silver bugle of boyish slang. Let us begone, for Our Mother calls From Her higher heights, and we may not stay In the beautiful, broken, ruined halls, And the golden glamour of Yesterday. 120 THE SILENT HOUSE Knock ! Knock ! The door is barred. Ye are true in watch and ward Bolt and bar and lock, so witness these, my fingers, bruised and scarred. Yet I know they would not feel Though they beat on triple steel. While I wrench the dreadful secret from its black and broken seal. Oh, the dark, forbidding house Frowns from black and angry brows, Like a violated temple, brooding o'er its broken vows. Surely, Something, silent shod, In the middle night hath trod In the inner holies, riving at the handiwork of God. Speak ! Speak ! He will not speak Though I cry out with a shriek; Though the coward blood runs backward from the pallor of my cheek; Though I cry out "It is I !" Comes no answer to my cry Save an echo, beaten backward from the adamantine sky. Bring the axe and bring the bar; Let us throw the door ajar On the guilty Something, hiding where the trembling shadows are; 121 Something rending with its claw; Dripping ravin from its jaw; Springing up to tear asunder, crouching down again to gnaw. Nay, what ecstasy of fear. Nothing ! There is nothing here But the empty casket, rifled of the gem I held most dear. He hath gone, and gone with him Something vast and Something dim, Something filling all the heavens to the far horizon's rim. Not as wild beasts tear their prey Death divorces soul from clay, But he bears it on white wings above a flawed and futile day. Let us leave him with his light Bleakly, mystically white. Let us wrap the shadows round us and go forth into the night. 122 THE BROTHERS I am My Lord of Life, I sit in the crowded ways, My feet are red with the strife Of the myriad yesterdays. I sit in the market place Where souls are bought and sold. With a smile on my false face At the thirty pieces told. And whenever the stakes run high Forever my skill avails To throw with the loaded die, And juggle the lying scales. But they fawn about my feet ; They bend the supple knee ; With loyal love they greet My rags of royalty. Till, at closing of the day. Broken, bankrupt and banned. They pass from me away And seek my brother's land. I am My Lord of Death, I sit from the throng apart, Li my palace of Hushed Breath, In the land of Quiet Heart. 123 And my palace walls frown black When the evening light hath gone; But they flush and answer back The light of Another Dawn. With my brother, Life, I keep A tarnished truce of fate. But my fair twin brother. Sleep, Is the keeper of my gate. His face is fair to see; His feet are shod with wool; And he holds the golden key Of my Palace Beautiful. I am My Lord of Death, I am My Lord of Peace, In my palace of Hushed Breath, In the valleys of Heartsease. 124 TO JOAQUIN MILLER To thee upon a purple height, Lit by an evening star, I, dweller in the halls of night, And v/here the shadows are. Lifted my brows unto the light, And sought thee from afar. And I rejoice, that in my days One Day hath blossoms more; Serenely o'er the crowded ways Of all my days before; As a white lily in its grace, To kneel to and adore. From an unbounding unsuccess. From him who nothing hath. From the sad captive in duress And circled round with wrath, How shall he, from his littleness, Fling gifts upon thy path ? That thou, perchance, from gracious heart. With kindly hand shall raise The scentless, pale, wild flower of Art, That blooms upon thy ways, And half contemptuous set apart From thy full crown of bays. 125 THE WAR SHIPS OF THE SKIES In the vast spaces of yon blue profound, Yon silent sea, yon world without a sound, Comes now a voice to waken — and to wound. Alas, alas, shall yonder stainless blue Wrapped in red flames, distill a crimson dew, Staining, defiling, dripping, ghastly through, On the child's forehead, on the sad-browed Christ In yonder shrine. Whose Passion unsufficed To staunch the blood, whereat His Blood is priced. Shall twenty ages of the Pririce of Peace Not still the war drums, bid the trumpets cease. Drive man's red rapine from His upper seas? And Man ! Shall Nature's first and final cause The polished purport of Her savage laws, Shoot forth red talons with his wild beast claws; Quarter his shadow on this shield of light. Set up his finite with the infinite, His war tents in these Halls of Day and Night? 126 GLOWING EMBERS Oh, boy's thin features, cold and white, I knew you warmly human ; Whence comes that superhuman light To any born of woman? The King hath loved him ; by that grace, Kinglike, he doth inherit Majestically in this place The Kingdom of the Spirit. The doors are shut ; the shutters drawn ; Nor coming now, nor going; The King hath set His seals upon The house of His bestowing. Its master gone, the King's writ strips The dark, deserted dwelling. Oh, boy, beneath those close shut lips What secrets worth the telling ! But yesterday, a careless boy He took his boyish inning At the old game — with pagan joy — Of living and of sinning. Dawn set her jeweled steps of light A pathway to his going; The inner chambers of the night Held secrets for his knowing. Do they whose footsteps with him fared His springtime paths of pleasure, 127 Who from his cup of summer shared The boy's unstinted measure, Who sinned with him his boyish sin, Who halved his boyish folly. Kneel at the august shrine, wherein His broken toys grow holy? I call the name I loved, in vain; Nor answer nor replying; Only the winter wind and rain Antiphonally crying. Bertie, to yonder heights of death That boyish name endearing ! I falter it beneath my breath. And tremble in the hearing. Ah, dear, for thou wert passing dear ; Perchance for this the dearer That one short moment set thee near, One white-winged instant, nearer. Still, flawed with folly as we are, The jewel of our choosing Shines ever brighter from afar. And dearer for the losing. Ah, Friend, whose boyish footsteps stray Past sunrise and' sunsetting, No dawn shall light the eastern way To day of my forgetting. A light illumes my pathway yet 128 From those old glowing embers. And thou above wilt not forget Him who on earth remembers. Kneels Memory in her holy shrine, Where purple, rose and golden. Through windows of the spirit shine Old joys — lost or withholden. Here, kneeling in a secret place. She veils her face and falters. Seeing thy once familiar face At her familiar altars. 129 THE LEPER Nay, come not near me. I am he Who bruised and bleeding from her rods, Whom mortals call Necessity, Burned incense to the alien gods. I set the fool's cap on my head ; I bent the knee where Momus rules ; I kissed the hand I scorned ; and led The courtiers, in his court of fools. The silver bells rang high and shrill Above the gibing and the jeers. I pledged my soul to drink my fill. Myself the maddest of my peers. It was a pleasant jest; but now 'Tis fire of hell. No god averts The ominous circle from my brow. Whereon it clings and stains and hurts. ^t3' Nay, touch me not, and come not nigh. Stand not my sin and me between. Let my soul cleanse it with its cry, The leper's cry, "Unclean ! Unclean 130 MY LITTLE GHOST Little Ghost, whose footsteps fleet Passed me in the crowded street Where the torrents of the people in the frowning canons meet ; Little Ghost of flame and dew, Now I keep my tryst with you, And the morrow after Death, my soul shall pledge you faith anew. Little Ghost of mine, your glance Pierced my bosom like a lance Couched for God and Love and Honour, in the old days of Romance. Nor affirming, nor denying. Neither question nor replying ; For we passed like ships in ocean, with no signal flags a-flying. But I saw your hair was spun In the chambers of the Sun, By the happy Hours awaiting till his shining race was won. Soft as silken eider-down. Hair of gold, or hair of brown, This I know not; but I know you w'ore it like a monarch's crowai. Bluest blue, or grayest gray. Eyes of thine I may not say; 131 But I know they led the Morning, and it blossomed into Day. And the captive day was drawn By their light from budding dawn On diviner heights, till night assumed her crown of stars thereon. Vanish, little Ghost of Gladness, Vision of a Poet's madness; Foam and sparkle of Delight upon my purple wine of sad- ness; Lest my long, black shadow grown Longer, blacker, shall be thrown On the path before your footsteps, and be added to your own. 132 GOD'S HILL AT BELMONT West of Belmont on a lonely hill are a few crumbling stones, bearing the date of the early 'fifties. The jungle has swept over them, and if remembered of God, they are quite forgotten of man. Where the torrent of the hills Pours its emerald flood, and spills Overtopping waves of verdure, to the green waves of the sea, They have laid them down to rest. With the green turf o'er their breast. They have reached through time, and taken seizin of Eternity. They are dust, who once were men; Earth has claimed her own again; 'Tis the final law of nature, once they were and now are not. Creeps o'er them the chaparral. Over them the dead leaves fall, Man forsaken, man forgotten, in this all-forgotten spot. Never footstep of the dawn Enters here, to tread upon The encircling shadows, guarding the enchanted solitude. Hesitant, and half afraid. Lingers noon, without the shade. And the flying night flies faster, o'er the black and haunted wood. 133 When the mask of night is drawn From the face of the last dawn, When before the last great moment, heaven and earth are hushed and still, When the final trumpet thrills To the stout heart of the hills, Will the lonely dead awaken, on this lost and lonely hill? SONNET Bring us nor roses white, nor roses red To crown the brows of love, for on them be The garden's sweat, the blood of Calvary. And we, alas ! whose erring feet mislead To new and stranger faiths, no longer tread The once familiar paths of Arcady. Mayhaps, our souls have gained Eternity, But all the sweeter ways of life are dead. Ah, sweeter these, than rose of mortal knowing. Beside the enchanted waters flowing deep Into the unknown land, the poppies blowing. Red, sullen torches of oblivion glowing. But our sad gods their one last guerdon keep, Their scarlet poppies of eternal sleep. 134 THE HILLS OF OCEAN VIEW Spring is regnant in the valleys; Spring is throned upon the mountains ; She hath sent her royal summons forth ; her vassal lands are fain To attend their Sovereign Lady in the place of pleasant fountains That have spilled themselves before her in a shower of golden rain. She hath summoned with her magic wand her chosen maids of honour ; They have set their jeweled footprints o'er the threshold of the dawn ; They robe her in her purple gown, they serve and wait upon her; They tire and dress her royal head and set her crown thereon. I am captive to the city streets, but still my heart goes straying; She hath touched me with her sceptre, and the broken fetters fall ; Go forth, my heart, and guide my feet and we will go a-Maying, For Spring hath thrown her gentle chains about a willing thrall. Let us leave the stony highways and the tangle of the alleys, 135 The false and fleeting mirage of the street and avenue, Let us seek the shaded canyons and the flower-enameled valleys, And the hills I knew in boyhood rising over Ocean View. Oh, my heart, from gloomy dungeons let us sally to recapture The elusive Something vanished, where the scent of lilac brings In a sudden flash of memory the evanescent rapture, And the more enduring heart-break of a score of buried springs. We will wander o'er the meadows with a flame of poppies glowing — Stirring bugle blasts of color — where the Sun God's coursers stood; We will kneel in woodland temples, where the pallid blossoms blowing Guard the chaste untaken altars, Vestal Virgins of the wood. • We will seek in rugged canyons rising upwards from the valleys, Like a Titan's heaven-flung stairway with its higher steps untrod, For the trillium's vase of ivory, like a sacrificial chalice, With its triune leaves to bring to mind the Trinity of God. 136 Oh, My Hills of God behind me, ever purple in the dis- tance, Drenched with flying ocean vapors, beaten by the bitter wind, The feet of flesh forsake ye, but the soul with high insistence Hath burst her prison cells of clay and lingers on behind. I have sought and found the jewel of the Poet's crowned passion In the Labyrinths of God, whereof my fingers hold the clew, But I drop the Shining Spirit Thread to kneel in adoration To the ghosts of my dead springtimes on the Hills of Ocean View. 137 DEAD JOY Fair as the Prince of Troy, Hidden away Lieth what is of Joy Fairest of clay. Though we cry out to the boy Naught will he say. Now that he lieth there Patient and meek, Smoothing his shining hair Kissing his cheek. Speak ! In your wild despair Bid him to speak ! Nay, he will answer not Nor yea nor nay. He was but earth begot; Now he is clay. Come from the haunted spot, Hasten away. 138 TO SING LEE AT MILLBRAE,, APRIL 18, 1906, We were East born and West born, and alien in color, in creed and in birth, But the East and the West flung together, clasped hands in the trembling of earth. What struggles of Titans imprisoned in nethermost deeps of the prime. And matching their Ossas and Pelions 'gainst the sun- circled ramparts of Time; What memories stirred in her bosom, what passionate pangs of unrest, What taint in her blood from of olden, thus curdled the milk in her breast, That she turned in her maniac fury, her love of aforetime forsworn. With her features contorted and trembling in hate of the sons she had borne. For flung from the All Mother's bosom, swept out by the flame of her wrath. We fled from her presence, and stumbled in the pits that she digged in our path. And the house strained hard at its moorings, and battered and wracked out of form, Caught up in the whirlwind of Cosmos, heaved high like a ship in a storm. A moment, a cycle, an aeon, we strove in abysses of death. In the quicksands that swallowed our footsteps, the whirl- pool that dragged us beneath. 139 Till clasped by the hand of Existence, though bleeding and struck to the floor, We gathered Our Own from her wreckage, and fought out a way to the door. To the dew on the face of the blossom, to sun upon blos- som and thorn. To breezes from Orient hill-tops that blew through the gateways of morn, To the promise of God in the sky, that circled the blue without end. And wrapped us about from His Wrath, as we looked in the face of a Friend. Sprung from the Esau of nations, the first born and last in the race. In the adamant Arch of Degree he was set as a stone at the base. And doomed by the souls of his fathers to serve with his soul in the mire For the husks and the lees of Possession, doled down from the heights of Desire. So he stood in the April morning, unlovely in face and in frame ; But Pity had touched the gaunt features and Mercy shone out as a flame. For the mask of the Orient fell from his face, in the shock that released His Soul to shine forth for a moment from inscrutable eyes of the East. And it answered the Soul of the West, and united in Kin- ship they ran 140 From the anger of God in the heavens, to clutch at the Human in Man. So he stood in our doorway unclaiming the kinship of Blood and of Birth, And the aid that he tendered a neighbor had come from the ends of the earth. THE CALIFORNIA POPPY With large and liberal largesse behold. The gilded guerdon of a thousand rains. The hills grow rich, and opulent the plains. The fond, sweet miracle that Eden told, To Universal Mother Earth of old, A mellow melody of minor strains, That runs with Springtime madness in her veins, And blossoms from her breast in fairy gold. Still the old miracle, forever new With each new spring the golden cups are set. To hold their brimming fill of morning dew, And speak to man of God, lest he forget The lights of Eden, and the tree that grew Within the walls, where the four rivers met. 141 IN NOVEMBER Oh, Roses, Red Roses, the winds are a-wailing; In the halls of November the year is a-f ailing; The summer is dead and the autumn lies ailing. Ye came with the spring, when her fingers were spinning The green robes of May; now the leaves are a-thinning. Why woo ye the winter? Why wait on his winning? Oh, Bride of the Summer, list not to his suing. Turn not your red lips to his white-lipped undoing. 'Tis death, not a bridal ; a rape, not a wooing. The lost and the lovely who loved ye, are sleeping. The dead leaves in torrents above them are sweeping. Go doff your red robes, and go down to them weeping. ]^2 THE KING IN DARIEN Man hath clothed him with the lightning, he hath shod his feet with thunder; Past the dream of Priest or Poet still his steadfast steps outran ; And he stands upon the mountains and the heights are trodden under In a shining Way of Triumph, for the Royalty of Man. He hath clipped the heavens with his wings, and in his winged leaping Drags a tributary ocean in a leash of either hand; Till he loose them from their tether with resistless current sweeping, But with measured, man-made impulse o'er the subju- gated land. Past the purple tropic headlands, between jeweled tropic islands, From the lands beyond the dawn, the lands behind the night, they come; And the tropic jungles echo upward to the tropic high- lands. With the thrilling of the bugle and the throbbing of the drum. They will enter in the gateway like a splendid vision, weaving On a field of stainless blue their changing, iridescent gleams ; 143 In a Poet's Dream of Beauty never went such fair de- ceiving From the shining loom of Fancy, through the Ivory Gate of Dreams. When the nations' navies enter, with their silken banners streaming, One, the blue-eyed English boy, shall enter first, and go before In his Poet Bucentaur and bear the golden circle gleaming, For the bridal of the waters, as the warrior princes bore. As the scattered stars of heaven and the clustered con- stellations Wan and wither, pale and vanish, at the coming of the sun. He shall shine serenely o'er ye ; in your pathway for the nations. Ye have cleft the hills asunder, in a Royal Road for One. For we tell you, we, who Know, to ye, perchance, that shall not know it, That the Master of the spot hath entered here from lands afar; Hath aforetime scrawled above ye the Crowned Rubric of the Poet, — Taken seizin of his Kingdom — and hath sealed it with a star. 144 In his Elder Right of Royalty, he enters to inherit, Crowned beyond the grosser vision of the purblind eyes of men. O'er your tributary earthly realms, the Kingdom of the Spirit, Reigning as a Poet King, "Upon a Peak in Darien." TO THE NEMOPHILA . ""baby blue eyes""" What bird across the walls of Eden flew Above thee in the alien land, and threw O'er thee his shadow of celestial blue? Or else from bluer skies than ours, was drawn — From azure meadows, where the feet of Dawn Walked golden shod in the dim ages gone — The evanescent azure of thine eyes. That man might dream a fairer paradise, With all thy blue reflected in its skies. 145 THE PRODIGAL DAUGHTERS Why, Mono and Inyo ! The news has surprised me ! You are blood of my blood, you are flesh of my flesh. Yet your message has come, and its words have apprised me That two of my daughters have turned out "Secesh." I have loved you sincerely, although you're not comely Like dear Santa Clara, the flower of you all. But my dwelling is large, there's a home for the homely. With bed in the chamber and board in the hall. Think not that the fires of your mother's affection Are quenched by the flaws of your face or your frame. For your angular features and sallow complexion Believe me, my dears, cut no ice in its flame. If my daughters are many, my bosom is ample, And in it for each of you, mother love thrills. With a strength that avails to its need, for example It crosses wide deserts and overtops hills. Stuff and nonsense ! Let's hear no more talk of eloping With the silver mine owner from over the way. A truce to your folly ! An end to your hoping ! Return to your duty, untrounced, while you may. And, besides, I am really quite sure that you miscount His fortune, for know, silly girls that you are. The Silver he brags of is largely at discount. And Mr. Nevada, himself, below par. 146 Your friend, whom I. also know well, Mrs. Austin, Who loves yoii quite dearly, and well knows your needs, I've not heard from her yet, but I'm sure she's quite lost in Amazement, to hear of your frolicsome deeds. And now, my dear girls, no vexatious beseeching, Return to your mother who loves you, and know Let you reach where you will, yet my will is o'er reaching. No go, naughty daughters ! No go, you can't go ! THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER Kind Lord, a boon we crave, To Thee an easy task. It is not much we have, Nor is it much we ask. Grant us some pleasant spot (So may we hope to thrive) Where that which is, is not. And two and two make five. This will suffice our need. Nor do we ask for more. We never can succeed Where two and two make four. 147 ELECTRA Alas, alas, Electra! Grown less fair; With thy disheveled hair. Ghastly and livid white, Writhing in tangled agonies of light Upon the startled bosom of the night. Thou, of the Sisters Seven Who shone the fairest in the halls of heaven. To thee what bitter memories remain Of the old Dardan plain; Of thy ecstatic joy, Thy amorous dalliance with the princely boy Within the walls of heaven builded Troy. Thou, exiled from thy place, Amidst the awful heights and depths of space. Whence comest thou to vex our sight, and why? From what remoter sky Immeasurably far Beyond the circle of the Sun God's car. Beyond the light of alien sun and star, Comest thou to us again Presaging evil to the sons of men. The fall of empires, and the death of kings Ever thy presence brings. From thy remotest yore. Now, NOW, what bringest thou from that dim shore To crown thy evil most, with yet a more. Perchance, the cosmic fire To loose the burden of thy Titan sire. THE BRIDAL Fill up his cup each guest Let it brim over. Ready both bride and feast. Tarries the lover. Why is my lord so late? Why does he tarry? Here in my halls I wait Whom he would marry. Long, life and I were wed, Long have I proved him, Shared with him board and bed. Never I loved him. Life is a sorry jest All the world over. He I wed now is best, Faithfulest lover. Hasten, my lord, I pray. Hasten yet faster. This is our wedding day. Lord, Friend and Master. Narrow the bridal bed; Satin its pillows; Satin all white its spread; White lace in billows. Comes my lord's tiring maid Softly a-creeping. Soft are her fingers laid On the bride sleeping. 149 Up from the bed and flee !' The rite's unnerving. Let mortal eyes not see His servant's serving. Up ! away from the shock Ghastly, inhuman. Lest, maddened, we mock Christ, born of woman. Still bride of a day. Soft lie your cover. My Lord Death, away ! The bridal is over. 150 THE CHOICE To me came Phoebus, ere the night was drawn From purple pomps and pageantries, upon The car that leads the triumph of the dawn. Yea, all the purple chambers of the night Blossomed as silver lilies. In my sight The dark conceived, and bore a Star of light. The radiant robes of his divinity Enveloped and effaced me; unto me He spoke, and said: 'T give a gift to thee. No perfect gift I give, but thou shalt lift Thy soul above, and see through flaw and rift The giver's soul enshrined within the gift." Of old in Hellas and in Rome adored The Sun God spoke, and at my feet were poured His treasures in his ancient chambers stored ; Torrents of gems, from which myself might choose. Dulling the rainbow with their myriad hues; Mine, one to take, and many to refuse. And last, might overleap a god's desire, A single string from his immortal" lyre, Throbbing and trembling with unearthly fire. 151 My soul flashed up to that exalted hour. I, mortal, chose of all his Golden Shower A God's apocalypse of pain and power. "Lord, cast Thy shadow o'er my shadowed ways; Nor peace I ask, nor joy, nor length of days; Give me the Gift wherewith to sound Thy Praise." SONNET TO THE DEAR PEOPLE. Good Friends, Sweet Voices, if indeed ye be Sweet voices, or good friends, I pray ye hear. Lend me the large circumference of your ear. Though I approach your regnant sovereignty With head erect, and with unbended knee. Doubt not that your endearing charms are dear To me; for what but love should bring me near? Pray ye, believe me of your charity. How much I love ye, do ye seek to know. To the full height of your most high desire. (How high is that, if your desires be low?) Sooner my heart, than love for ye shall tire. ('Tis tired now, is but my love so so.) So help me Hermes ! God and Thief and Liar. 152 "MYSELF AM HELL" I said, "From deeper deeps, my plaint Cries to an empty shrine. So I to ease my grief will paint A deeper grief than mine." I might not find a grief more deep On earth ; so it befell I, mortal, sought the forlorn steep Whence souls go down to hell. The gates which swing not back again I freely entered in. For, lo ! the countersign was Pain ; The key thereof was Sin. The wrath of God, in wanton strength, O'er all the murky skies. Outstretched eternity in length Ere yet hell knew sunrise. I saw the seas of fire that seethe With waves of flame, that tossed From white hot molten deeps beneath The spirits of the lost. And one, from out that weltering storm, Who came my steps to meet; Flame dripped like water from his form. And ran about his feet. 153 He placed his fingers on my brow; They scorched me to the bone. Oh, Hell's Red Dripping Crown ! I vow Those fingers were my own. I, that sad ghost of fiery seas, In whom mine eyes might trace Myself, in all the agonies Of that distorted face. Mine, mine, the God imploring eyes ; Mine, cracked and bleeding lips; Mine, hands that tore at empty skies With flaming finger tips. Oh, Christ, the Pitiful ! But then Some ray of morning broke From my remembered skies again ; It touched me, and I woke. Yet still, when dawn proclaimed her rule, Livid upon my face That Mark, not all the winds can cool. Nor all the seas erase. Still on my brow that monstrous birth Begot of Pain and Sin. A dream? Why, so, perchance, the earth, The heavens, and all therein. 154 WHOLESALE ONLY Three Ancient Ladies, with a stock complete, Have flung their sign out in a modern street; The which, "All orders filled in time to catch The Lozver Roads, with neatness and dispatch." Their windows blossom with a long array Of toys to please a sunlit holiday; With shining folds of silver paper bound, With golden tinsel and red ribbon wound ; In homeopathic portions made to spill The smaller purses in their gaping till; All duly labeled; "Joy" and "Love" and "Peace," "Honour" and "Wealth" and "Leisure" and "Heartsease." "Open for business !" But so grim and gaunt I shrank to proffer them my retail want. Obsequious, I sought her listening ear The least severest of the all severe. "Though lean my purse, God wot, no woman L The man who comes to price, remains to buy. Joy comes too high, but give me, if you please, An ounce of Leisure, and some small Heartsease. On that high shelf, the smallest of the lot. Tied with red ribbon in a shining knot." Thus I to her. A smile a moment's space Crackled the ancient parchment of her face. And surely. No ! But surely. Yes ! I think. Just the remote suggestion of a wink Half lit the brooding shadows of her eye Like a red flash across an angry sky. 155 She clapped her hands; the shop boy came in haste; "Life/' mortals call him. I, with grim distaste And black disfavor, met the smirking smile With which he oiled his creaking tones the while. He marshaled forth his words in flying ranks "Regrets" tripped up the nimble heel of "Thanks." His "Thanks" light fingered, spread deceiving nets To tangle the lame feet of his "Regrets." These marked down bargains, temptingly displayed, Were naught but the "blank cartridges of trade" ; A shining emptiness, to catch the eye Of the chance bargain hunter, passing by. "Sold out of gauds like these, we show with pride Our Wholesale Warehouse on the other side. These puncheons hold our Black Wine of Despair, An ancient vintage. Read the trade-mark there Scorched with a Flaming Sword: 'Adam and Son, The Eden Vineyards, Anno Mundi One.' For this black cloth we have a great demand A staple 'tis in every age and land. Our Grief A No. 1, our special pride. Is warranted all wool and a yard wide. And this is our perennial brand of Soap, For Bubble Blowing none compares with Hope. Our stock is large, the favorite of our toys. Beloved by all the larger girls and boys." His long, lean finger pointing here and there. With eager gestures stabbed the wounded air. And he so wheedled me and hypnotized, I pawned my soul to him I most despised. 156 In short, the rogue so cozened me, I bought The things I wanted least, and least had sought, A plague on him and all his wares ! I vow I hold no further commerce with him now. SONNET TO LIFE. What God so cursed me that I took to wife — For surely some mad Boy God aimed the jest That laid the ancient wanton on my breast — His cast-ofif concubine, that men call Life? Five hath she borne me — Fear, Despair and Strife To loot my scanty stores of peace and rest; And black-browed Hate and Scorn, to bring as guest Pain, and the pang of his red dripping knife. One hell-bestowed, and five myself begot; Five and their dam, to hang with foul embrace And poisoned lips that stain, a scarlet blot Or livid blotch on my reluctant face. I am hag-ridden up steep heights, God wot. And imp-spurred downward, in a devil's race. 157 TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN KEATS Lost Pleiad of serener skies Drawn from thy milder spheres, What evil influence bid thee rise In our remoter years? The radiant light of those proud eyes — The echo of the Dawn — They should have waked when Grecian skies Lit the young Parthenon. They should have waked on charmed ground, In some enchanted night. The light that lit them drifted round From some diviner height. Those passionate lips should have possessed Artemis' haughty mouth; And taught to love that virgin breast Thirsty of too long drought. Thy name, "in water writ," shall live While living waters run. And while the gates of morning give A pathway to the sun. Earth claims again her earth-born earth. The lesser souls flit by. This faded Rose of Life gave birth To some new Star on High. 158 OUR LADY OF WELCOME Where the Earth is swept backward, defeated by the rush of the sea on the sands, Our Lady of Welcome sits throned on the uttermost verge of the lands; She cries out aloud to the Nations, and beckons with wel- coming hands. She has walked in the valley of shadows ; She has stood in the tumult of war Of the elements, rebel against Her; Her children were scattered afar; But the Day held a torch to Her travail, and the Night lit defeat with a star. She has trod down defeat in Her pathway; She has entered again to Her Own; Her children, re-gathered, establish the far-lying rule of Her throne; And the winds shout the echoes to heaven of Her trumpets of victory blown. By the splendour of great deeds accomplished, by the pulses of pride in Her breast, She has summoned the world to Her Presence; She has bidden the East as a guest ; And the North and the South are made welcome in the halls of the Queen of the West. 159 By the sea, led in leash o'er the mountains to serve as man's slave between walls, By the miracle working of God through the hand of the Human, She calls; Let the lands rise in haste at Her bidding, and follow the sun to Her Halls. SONNET PRESCRIBED FOR POETS AND INSCRIBED TO EDITORS. Of withered platitudes, take "quantum suff," On barren plains, by stagnant marshes seen; (Beware of Fancies poisoned Evergreen;) Of commonplace and cant, throw in enough; Ten parts of ''rot" and twenty drachms of "puff.'* This mixed, and shaken well in your machine, Comes out the "poetry," called "magazine." And take it? Heaven forbid! Go sell the stuff. Yea, go and sell it; ye shall win thereby Your thirty silver pieces. Though to win Ye pawn some shreds of honour; though on high The frightened Muses fly before your sin; Though Phoebus winks a tear from either eye, And hides his pain his ancient halls within. 160 THE THEFT OF WINTER IN CALIFORNIA. A lusty boy, not here grown old, His shining hair was spun Of the fine raveled cloth of gold, Gift of our Lord, the Sun. But, lo, what madness fills his veins, For he hath drunken full Of brimming flagons of the rains In the House Beautiful. And he hath sought the fields where May Had lain her down to rest; And he hath reft and borne away The green robe from her breast. Her robe of state ! The impish elf ! With gold flowers overlaid, Wherein to prank his thievish self For his mad masquerade; Wherein, through all his sunlit way His boyish limbs are swift; Wherein he brings the gift of May, And shining April's gift. A golden deed. A gracious thing. A jeweled gift, to draw 161 The gilded largesse of the Spring From Nature's broken law. But, Mother Nature ill bestead With impotent surprise, Tears the gray tresses of her head And rubs her startled eyes. The wise old lady ! Let her change The course of sun and star That the Greek Kalends' hands arrange Our winter's calendar. 162 THE PHILISTINE Aye, tear the ancient titles down ; let nothing more remain That caught a gleam of Splendour from the Red and Gold of Spain. Leave not a rag of old Romance to clothe our souls there- with. Let Jones Street run its Saxon course, and intersect with Smith, That of the meeting may be born, to gild the name anew, A brand new street for philistines, called Smytheson Avenue. Why weeps the gentle philistine? Why doth the jingo rage At glowing ecstasies of light upon our earlier page? Spain stamped deep impress on our soil. With iron hand she pressed Her rubric writ in blood and tears and Splendour on our breast. Comes now the modern philistine and says it doesn't suit; We'll "pluck it from our bosoms though our hearts be at the root." So, out upon the impious rogue that scouts the Gradgrind rule Of cabbage for the wise man's pot but roses for the fool. Oh, brothers of the Holy League, the Trust is ours, to pull About our heads the golden dome of the House Beautiful. 'Tis ours to clip the Graces' robes to match our wit, and bind The Sun God's Soul in leaden chains of our Boeotian mind. 163 Let Eancy fold her shining wings, and veil her face before The sacred soul-compelling law that two and two make four. Let Beauty hunted from the earth, shine on us from afar, Not as the light of hearth and hall, but as an alien star. And I, among the least of these, am come to lay my axe To Fancy's laurels, grown above the underbrush of Facts. SONNET "dead, dead^ dead'' Light in the Night and on the purple crest Of her exceeding and extremest height. Night, and he only watching with the Night; And One who came and touched him on the breast. And whispered, "Peace"; the countersign was "Rest." The which he heard, and spoke, with face grown white, In the strong stress of that compelling light That lit the footsteps of the God confessed. Was it not strange? Oh, it was passing strange. Was it not sweet? Oh, it was passing sweet. Oh, passing strange and sweet that sudden change. Life's broken fetters fell from hands and feet Fiefed in the far off lands and free to range Through the wide spaces of the All Complete. 164 THE WHITE ROSE AT BERESFORD TO E. W. Came up the long, straight avenue Our Dread and Sovereign Lord; His fingers bore the Hidden Clew Beside the Naked Sword. How found My Lord of Death the way To where the Morning spills His waves in rose and saffron spray Upon the Beresford hills ? For, oh, the skies above were blue; The hills about were green; And Spring on snowy pinions flew The blue and green between. He came and lo, his commg cast A shadow on the sky; And the trees shivered when he passed As though a wind went by. To one alone he bore the Rose, Who took with face grown white. And eyes that drew the eyelids close On that compelling light. The years above his brow decreased; The thin lips boyish smiled; 165 And the torn Mask of Life released The features of a child. So, childlike to Her Mighty Heart From whence a child he came, He rendered back to Her a part Of childhood's dew and flame. Blow white, oh Perfect Rose of Peace He wears upon his breast, Through the sweet valleys of Heartsease And opened gates of Rest. 166 TO LINCOLN THE OLD SOUTH With unrepentant pride, we laid The Flag away, to stir Some holy memories in us, with its scent of lavender. And rent, and racked, and robbed by war, with Southern pride we cast Above our present nakedness, the purple of our Past. We shut the temples' clanging gates, ourselves had flung apart To welcome franchised Peace, we built an altar in our heart. Peace scorned of devils ! Hell begot, that hell might spit upon, And spurn with loathing from her gates, to vex the gates of dawn. We higher held, and loved the more, the soldier with his sword. Than traders, parting in His name, the raiment of the Lord. Peace came to us the drab of War; the outraged land appealed From jugglers in the market-place, to Caesars of the field. AND THE NEW Peace! Peace! Above the jangling worlds, the years of Christ increase With twice a thousand silver tongues, they cry to us for Peace. The sacred blood was sprinkled on the lintel of our door 167 That bids the Angel of the Sword to vex the land no more. We make our ancient wrongs the steps whereon our souls shall climb To where his crowned Eternity looks loving down on Time. Co-equal in our Trinity, our High and Holy Three, We set Our Lincoln in a shrine, with Washington and Lee. And by the Beauty of that Life, the Glory of that Name, That born with us, arose with you, that each a share might claim. And as he hears us overhead ! We pledge you Peace again. A righteous Peace, a brother's Peace, the Peace of equal men. 168 THE SEEKERS SAN FRANCISCO, APRIL 18. The grist for the mills of the Gods, that is gathered from near and from far, With rending and riving of atoms, with clashing of sun and of star, We clutched it with desperate hands from the Fates and the Furies who came With the sound of the rending of gates in torrents of wind-driven flame. Though the earth fled away from our feet in trembling and loathing, yet still. Our souls from the depths of our need flashed up to the heights of our will. We wrought in a passionate fury; with hands that were bleeding we wrought. Though our souls sweat blood in the seeking, we sought, and we found what we sought. We strained at the stone over-weighty, we wrenched at the girder, and still Our fingers all torn and defenseless grew mailed in the armor of will. The pulse of our heart rang alarm at the sound of a sigh or a moan; We followed a veining of scarlet that trickled o'er mortar and stone. We drew them from tangles of wreckage, from pits of the dark where they lay, 169 From nethermost valleys of shadows we carried them into the day. The old and the young lay together; together the dying and dead; The white hair was smirched with the earth-stain; the gold hair bedabbled with red. To one came the King in his wrath, and the dead man stared up in affright, Struck full in the face with the blow, and buffeted into the night. To one came the King in his love, and the fingers of healing were laid On the heart and the brain over-wrought, and he smiled in his sleep, unafraid. And one clinched his fist in his anger ; and one clasped the Cross to her breast; And one raised his hand as adjuring; and one was more fair than the rest; He lay with his face on his arm, in the strong, careless grace of the boy, Struck out by the Gods in their pastime, and broke in their wrath as a toy; My soul, to his soul that was passing, by the Name that the lips may not speak Adjured him with august compelling, that brought the faint flush to his cheek; And he tarried a space at my bidding on the brink of the Great Divide, And he looked in my face, and his eyes smiled into my eyes, and he died. 170 There was never the time for a tear, nor ever the time for a sigh, But my face grew white in the light of his soul as it passed me by. And the hand of a God had lingered on the finer clay and the soul, But we laid him the one, with the many, and a part of the broken whole. And Fear held the torch to our seeking; we sought in morasses of dread For the bond of the Human between us, the quick, the dying and dead. And nearer from ultimate reaches, the wings of the tempest were drawn, And leading the vanguard of rapine, the Fates and the Furies swept on. 171 HER BIRTHDAY. APRIL 18 TO SAN FRANCISCO. Bring we to the Most High our palms of praise; Comes now the Day of days When from the flame and smoke Round that proud head, that bent not to the stroke, The radiance of the wider morning broke; The High and Holy Day When Her old earth and heavens passed away. From that Medea's Caldron, where she cast The all of all Her past. The Sacred Mother drew In splendour trebled twenty times that grew The golden recompense of all things new. To sit Her throne again Crowned, robed and sceptred in the sight of men. Seek through the fields of that titanic war Scarce shall ye find a scar, Though struggling Titans hurled From the dim caverns of the underworld Hill upon trembling hill top; and unfurled Upon her broken towers The flaming flag of the infernal powers. Blow the shrill bugle ; let the drum unroll Its thunder of the soul. 172 Let all our banners wave Our thanks to Him Who took away and gave. She, who was dead, hath risen from the grave; The stone is rolled away; Risen, she greets the light of the new day. SONNET TO THE COLUMBINE. Lo, I today have broken holy bread; My trembling lips have tasted hallowed wine; I, mortal, compassed by the All Divine With higher light, in higher ways was led To where the awful Sacrament was spread; God and I only, in a hidden shrine Wherein, like swinging lamps, the columbine Lit all the shadows with its flowers of red. I, heritor of bud and flower and leaf, I, free and fiefed in His enchanted wood, Knelt to receive His accolade of Grief; Bestowed on purple peaks of Solitude; Wherewith the Poet holds from God his fief. Whereof God's seal proclaims his title good. 173 THE IMPREGNABLE CASTLE In yonder frowning walls tonight The knights their revels keep. Between me and the giddy height, The castle moat is deep. And who am I, a wandering knight, To dare that haughty steep? From mine own castle of Romance I, disinherited, Despoiled of all but sword and lance, In alien ways am led, Till, of mine own inheritance, The times be brought to bed. No silken gage of love is bound About my sable crest. But antique loyalty hath found A dwelling in my breast. I couch my lance for Gods discrowned, And princes dispossessed. God wot, my arm is not less strong, My lance is not less bright Than theirs, the fortune-favored throng. That feasts within tonight, Where I among my peers belong Of mine own knightly right. 174 THE THREE AT STANFORD Tread ye with reverent feet, for Here is God; Here, where The Three have trod, Father, Mother, and Son. Doubt not that to This Three, the Three in One Gave the enduring palms of victory won; In the high heavens to wave, But deeply rooted in an earthly grave. Here where their earthly shadows unsufficed In very truth is Christ. Through their Gethsemane, Up the steep summits of their Calvary, One, Who had passed before them, led The Three. His Strength Divine sustained His Human Brothers, tear and travel-stained. This is His High and Holy House that stands Not built alone with hands; Divinely Human Love Laid the deep stone and reared the arch above, Man's Immortality of Love to prove. Within this Holy Shrine The Human reaches to the All Divine. Oh, Childless Givers of the Gift, to ye What shall our giving be? Be this the gift we bring To reach them in the heavens on swift wing : As the lark soaring, as the lark to sing, Cry we with eyes grown dim Mother or Father unto Her or Him. TO MRS. N. C P. Thou, who from old with gentle fingers drew Our All within thy touch, Thou, chosen One^ of all our chosen Few, So few, but, oh, so Much ! Of all we were, of all we are, a part, Distance may not divide; Within the fairy circle of the Heart Thou standest at our side. Thou hast shone on us with a light so clear The years may not erase; Nay, rather doth each swift recurring year Make dearer still thy face. With thee, on golden heights of long ago, Our gold of Life was spent; Be thou beside us in the deeps we go, As on the heights we went. 176 "THE REGIONS WHICH ARE HOLY LAND" w. Friend whom God loved, I bear in mind What time we left the world behind, The little noisy world we trod. For the Deep Silences of God, And all the gracious strength that fills The circle of the gracious hills. The silvery veil was rent in two That hides the face of Ocean View, Pierced by the spears of Day, and flung On rock and roof and tree it hung; And wider waxed and greater grew The great gold jewel in the blue; To thee a weighed and measured sun. But unto me the Radiant One. Oh, was it thine, and was it mine, That wildly sweet, delirious wine That thou and I a moment quaffed, And pledged each other in, and laughed, Laughed that the world should be so fair To the last peaks of Everywhere; Laughed that our footsteps trod upon The gold fringed-curtains of the Dawn; Laughed, that we held within our hands The key of our enchanted lands, The gold clew to the golden maze Of our unwonted holidays. 177 And high above our heads unfurled On the blue heights above the world, Yon Heavens Highway Spirit trod The White Flag of the Truce of God. A Truce ! A Truce ! God's hour of Peace, That bids the lesser jangling cease. That with the Silence of His Voice Stills the earth's tumult and her noise ; That flings a royal canopy Above the serf, and sets him free. And all the blue of all the skies, And all the tender green that lies Upon the bosom of the May, And all the golden halls of Day, And all the silver lamps that shine In Night's blue dome, were thine and mine. The larger air, the fuller breath, Were free as life, were free as death. And we were free; oh, we were free, If lost in God's immensity. Not from a miser's fingers doled. But bounteous double hands of gold, So Youth and Hope together spent Their largesse on the way we went. Old for our land; a hundred years Has flowed the tide of hopes and fears, The tide of joy and grief has flowed And ebbed along the Mission Road, That thin gold thread, on which is strung, Unknown, imhonoured and unsung, 178 The jewels of futurity, Seed pearls of cities yet to be. Strange, is it not, that thou shouldst keep Thy Heaven guarded Halls of Sleep, Where Silence broods with brows august, And lips that speak not o'er her Trust. Where Sorrow, sad-browed sentinel. Cries with unwilling voice, "All's Well," Where thou and I upon a day inimitably far away, Rode full tilt in the laughing strife Across the captured walls of Life. Strange, is it not? Perchance, we trod Upon that unclaimed field of God, Where now the wise in grief may see The seed bed of Eternity, — Wet with a rain of tears — that yields The flowers for th' Elysian fields. The robes of Night are closer drawn About the breast of Cypress Lawn, And Day, with halting step, invades The sacred silence of the shades That the tall gum trees rise to make Wider and deeper, for thy sake. For thee, whose boyish fingers drew A patch of green, a strip of blue, Wherewith to cover up thy breast In the dim chambers of thy rest. But in our wise unwisdom, we Passed heedless o'er the graves to be. 179 Thanks to the kindly hand that locks Foreknowledge in Pandora's box. I thank my Gods that I may find Them in free spaces, unconfined, Not clipped within a man-made house Ascends the homage of my vows, To rise on futile wings and fall With broken heart against a wall. I thank Them that my prayers may rise On lesser wings, to nearer skies, Confined by yonder shining dome About the altar fires of Home; Nor lost in yonder vast profound Of blackness, flame encircled round, That Ancient Void, wherein we poured To some Jehovah, Jove, or Lord, Measures of ecstasies and dole. First fruits of body and of sotil. I thank my Gods that they are Here About me, imminently near. A God to vivify and fill The mountain and the mountain rill ; To ride upon the south wind warm. To loose or leash the thunder storm; To light and trim the altar fires Of Night on her perpetual pyres; To brush the envious clouds away That bar the access of the day; To stoop from plentitude of power. To paint or pluck a wayside flower. 180 Ah ! Friend of mine, thou couldst not hear The music patent to my ear, The Cosmic music, wild and sweet, Above the horses' ringing feet. Thine was the morning's radiant wine, The rainbow o'er our path was thine. These burnt out Fires of God were mine. 'Tis dear to me, the way we went, For Grief and Joy aHke have spent Their substance on it ; every mile Is bounded by a tear or smile; A shining and a Sacred Way From the blue waters of the bay. To the white walls of San Jose. We passed through all the gracious green, Flawed with white villages between, And came where San Mateo stood A Dryad in a charmed wood; Unvexed by the woodsman's strokes, Her presence haunts her native oaks. She turns toward the west and calls The Oread of the mountain walls. And sees dim-eyed, as in a dream, The Naiad of her vanished stream. Ah, here where Dignity and Ease May rest care free beneath the trees. Ah, here should Beauty unconfined Reign over heart and soul and mind. An Attic Princess exiled far, 'Tis here should rest her wandering car; 181 Here fiefed again, and repossessed Of her old East, in our new West. We passed and came where Belmont keeps Her halls upon her wooded steeps^ That rise, advance, divide, or meet. And fling their green waves at her feet. Or on some higher hill tossed high Break in green spray against the sky. I thank the Gracious Hand that spills The shining torrent of the hills. Not David with desire above Mine own, encompassed them with love. My feet have ever brushed them nigh. Mine eyes shall see them though I die. Hark ! From the distance Beresford calls To Belmont, o'er the mountain walls. And the wind hears the call, and weaves The answering whisper of green leaves; Earth's sweet and sacred melodies Sung on the hill tops by the trees, And echoed by the birds and bees. And I rejoice that I may reach These thin high subtleties of speech Of the Great Mother, reconciled In so far, to her wayward child. I, set within such straitened round. By such strong links of habit bound, The golden daily links, that close About a moonbeam, or a rose. Forbid by all my past to roam 182 Beyond the Covenant of Home, Whose hands have stayed the sacred Ark Deep graven with my finger's mark. All this, about me and mine own, I set above me on a throne. And kneel before, and throw above My royal canopy of Love. Our shadows withered by the sun Marked his increasing summits won. They scorched and shriveled in his flame, And vanished from us as we came Where Redwood tells the future gains Of her wide heritage of plains; As the seas level, as the seas Swept into ripples by the breeze, And archipelagoed by trees. Majestic spreading oaks, that rise Like island walls against the skies. To him, whose soul is tuned aright, What melodies of sound — and sight ; What fairy tapestries are wove Of the moonbeams in yonder grove. What white limbs flash when Dryads fling From them their leafy covering. All this so beautiful, alas ! All These so beautiful, must pass When Vesta lights her altar fires To be their sacrificial pyres, And stronger Lares of the hearth Cast out the Gods of outer earth. 183 Slowly the Sun God's chariot wheeled Down the long, westward sloping field; We followed in his steps and came Where Beauty rises, as a flame Flung round th' Unutterable Name. So shines her soul where Woodside fills A green nook, riven from the hills. From whence a shining valley keeps Step with its guardian mountain steeps. Men call it Portola; to me It is my fields of Arcadie. Ah, here were dignity and peace ; The larger statured soul's increase; Surcease from sordid loss and gain That leave a scar, or leave a stain. Here Life, with cleaner hands, might bring To Death a nobler offering. Here might my soul's abiding place Arise in antique Attic grace Of ivory moonbeams, and thereon A rose carved by the hands of Dawn. A pillar from the purple halls Of Night, torn from the higher walls. Whose lonely summits catch from far The silver gleaming O'f the star, A block from his triumphal way Gold glowing from the feet of Day. A window free to all the stars, A door latched by the morning's bars. And shining pinnacles above 184 The seven-hued web that Iris wove. A pathway to the Star of Hope, Long alien to my horoscope. Ah, here indeed, if I am I, As I was I in years gone by, I, who with boyish folly shod, Yet held the Shining Clew of God, Here drifting down serener streams Of time, upon my bark of dreams. Whose purple sails and ivory prow Flashed from the tumult of my brow. Here I unhappy, even I, Might proffer These above the sky; Above the sky, but not above My antique loyalty and love, Lustrous and held above the strife My Iridescent Pearl of Life. We came to where the cross roads meet And part beside the mountain's feet. And one road in contentment yields Its life to bound the level fields. And from their lesser summit gains The lesser guerdon of the plains. And one with higher purpose thrills To curb the hot pride of the hills, And sets its patient, stubborn length Against th' imperious mountain's strength. Here is a spot of Holy Ground; The roads encompass it around, Three pine trees from its bosom rise 185 To search the secrets of the skies ; They speak in whispers when the wind Cuts through the trees, and leaves are thinned, To two majestic oaks, that stand Across the road on either hand. And here of old a willow stood, An alien in the native wood. Oh, Heart ! Of all supreme desire, Oh, Soul ! With white wings in the mire, Oh God ! The Many Voiced, Who spoke A Threat and promise when I woke. If dearer be, where all is dear. With love exceeding, it is Here. The inner Holies, wherein stands The Altar of the Holy Lands, Wherefrom I shall not take again The Sacrament of Joy or Pain. Though here again my steps drew nigh, Not I, but the sad ghost of I ; Ghost of a shadow, wanned and thinned, And whipped upon the wanton wind. Would throw itself before, and clutch The Past with a despairing touch. Light laughter dashed its sparkling foam Towards the august purple dome That bent above, and seemed to chide With its solemnity star eyed. This spray upon the- waves of speech That rippled on our rainbowed beach. Which, we unknowing, was the shore 186 That guards the shrine of Nevermore. From hearts flung open wide, we spoke, Our words fantastic as the smoke That from the fading fires beneath Ascended in a wind tossed wreath. Light fancies, as might please the ear Of Faun or Oread Hstening near; Flotsam and jetsam, wayward flung. From Pagan heart and lawless tongue. I, Pagan of a type antique, And thou half savage and half Greek ; Drunk with Delight and crowned with Joy, In the divine right of the boy. It pleased me well to win such grace, Though but a white-winged moment's space, To mix my deeper soul's allay With the bright heart's gold of the boy; And drawn from my forbidden heights. To warm my heart at the twin lights That flashed and sparkled from the sheath Of the brown velvet underneath. Oh, burnt out marvel of the eyes That watched with me — in Paradise, Through the white glamour of a night Drenched in star shining and moonlight; In what fair heavens was relumed The splendour that the God resumed. The light which might not pass away, ■ Though thou art dust beneath the clay. Sleep laid his finger on thy lips ; 187 Sleep touched thy brown eyes to eclipse; And that which was in essence Thou Vanished from lip and eye and brow, And left me lonely in the night, God and myself and my soul's light. And a wind whispered to the trees The secret of old melodies. The silence of the forest stirred My soul with a forgotten word. That fluttered on elusive wing, That circled round my brow, to bring Increasing memories, dim but vast. Of us in our remoter past. And in this place and on this night I won of my withheld birthright Some little part, a golden page Torn glowing from a Golden Age. The hill slopes eastward, that the Sun May linger ere his heights be won. And lingering, turn adoringly To the best sight his eyes may see, The Perfect Pearl of Attic Art, God's soul and Man's in equal part. Man dreamed a pearl, the pearl he wrought With All the Gods behind the thought. So fair ! Its counterpart might rise On their Olympus o'er the skies. Wherein the Sun God and the Nine 188 Might claim, with jealousy divine, A portion of Athene's shrine. And thou and I, upon the rim Of that green hill top, stood with Him ; And saw, perchance with eyes grown dim, The rosy lipped caress of Dawn Adoringly and slow withdrawn. Pressed on the new-born Parthenon. We stood upon a turf inlaid With tangled breadths of light and shade. And we were Greek, and Greece was Greece In her fair prime and prime's increase. The vision vanished from my eyes Left staring at the midnight skies. I watched the patient stars grow dim And pass beyond the heaven's rim; They hung a moment on the crest Of the black mountains in the west. Upon the redwoods branches tossed They signaled to me, and were lost. The forest stirred with vague unrest. And an old memory in my breast. I hushed my heart beneath the shade To hear the wood Gods in the glade ; I leaned my soul with listening ear An antique melody to hear I heard of yore where rivers ran Through reedy vales Arcadian, 189 The wild sweet syrinx pipes of Pan. And at the old remembered chords My thoughts flashed from me into words ; Slipped from the mind's leash, and outran Beyond the measure of my plan, A PRAYER UNTO THE GREAT GOD PAN. Oh, where art Thou, on yonder charmed mountains, From whence enchanted fountains Slip through the tangled brake, 'Neath the tall redwoods' plumed heads to slake Their deeper thirst at yonder shining lake — Here dost thou sit and call To the white Naiad of the waterfall? Clothed in the meshes of her golden hair Is she not passing fair, And wonderfully white. Seen in the ebon chambers of the night? Beats not thy God's heart quicker at the sight Of that fair body, seen A gleam of white amidst the living green? Or dost thou rather sit alone, and brood In some far solitude, Of all thy lands that lie In field and forest marsh and mountain high Far flung to the far edges of the sky ? 190 Here dost thou think of Her While the soft sighing winds of memory stir? Still dost thou see within thy fierce embrace That fair and frightened face, Still do thine arms enfold The roses and the ivory and gold Of that fair form within thy wanton hold, That left thee but a reed To serve the heights and depths of a God's need? Yet doth her immortality of gain Rise o'er the loss and pain ; Her weak and woman's heart Become th' immortal instrument of Art, Of the wide Universe of Sound a part Throbs on thy mountains, lingers 'neath thy trees, So'ul-stirring and heart-breaking melodies. Star shining and moonlight upon thy brow, Art thou not near us now, Now while the earth receives Artemis' golden-feathered shafts, and weaves Them with the benediction of green leaves; A tapestry to fall In green and gold upon thy palace wall? Lo ! thou art near to me, for I am Greek, Moulded in lines antique; Greek, when the perfect flower 191 Of Greece blew whitest in a golden hour, Whereof the scent remains to us for dower; Crushed 'neath the ages' feet, But still immortally and wildly sweet. And here is Greece, and here is Arcadie, Now, here, about us three. Thou and the boy and I, We, who lie here, and thou, who standest by. So near that thou mightst touch us where we lie. Now, while the forest grieves With an old secret whispered by the leaves. Now hath he pledged and given awhile to keep His boyish soul to Sleep; He lies with his fair face Upon his arm, in strong, unconscious grace. I may not seek his soul's abiding place. Who have no clew to keep Step with him in his labyrinths of sleep. Thou, wert thou Heracles, then he to thee Should the young Hylas be ; Wert thou the God of Light, Thou shouldst stoop down from an adoring height To bear him past the jealous West Wind's might. Lest Hyacinthus slain Repurple earth with his sweet flowers of pain. Now he is far from me, and thou art near, A God whom not I fear; 192 I, too, am earth of Earth, Earth born, I seek the fond, famihar hearth, In the wide halls of her who gave me birth ; And love thee not the less For thy goats' hoofs and thy limbs' shagginess. Sweet, sweet, oh, passing sweet, it were to hear, Though but with my soul's ear, Thy pipes, oh. Great God Pan, In wild, delirious melodies that ran Like wild fire through the vales Arcadian. Oh, sound them for my sake That I may scale the heavens of heart break. Oh, Pan, if from the mountain or the forest, Come when our need is sorest; Stride o'er the shadowed page With thy goats' hoofs and crush with a God's rage The false ideals of an iron age; Teach us the golden lore Of all the golden pages of before. — So ran my fancies while I kept My vigils o'er the boy who slept; So near, he slumbered at my side ; So far, the shoreless seas are wide And deep that rose between us twain ; He, like young Hyacinthus, slain By a God's Love; for Sleep awhile 193 Had slain his soul, whose boyish smile Flashed on white wings across the grace Of his serene, untroubled face; And I, who reached out from the Night Above her darkness and her light, To struggle with the Infinite, Now Dawn, in rose and saffron shod. Stepped through the gateways of the God, With rosy-lipped persuasion won Night's summits to the Radiant One ; On the broad shield his blazoned bars Displaced her coronet of stars; Despoiled of all her gems, she fled With one pale star upon her head. And the old miracle, retold In rose, in saffron, and in gold, Threw wide the folded gates, that keep Their ward upon the eyes of sleep. And that the mountain still was strong That man had girdled with his thong, And that its heart but half confessed His leash across its haughty breast; We rose when Dawn proclaimed the Day, And went with him our westward way. A hundred heights impetuo'us cast Their shadow o'er us as we passed. And every gracious moment drew The curtain from some fairer view. We scaled its crest, and stood at length Above the mountain's conquered strength. 194 And East and West on either hand, The Poet's Land, The Holy Land, A stainless vision without flaw Flashed up beneath us, and we saw, Saw in the distance Stanford's lift A mortal love's Liimortal Gift; A gracious and a Godlike fruit Of Human and of bitter root; A priceless wine, whose grapes were trod And crushed beneath the feet of God; Hers is the Large Writ Scroll, to prove Man's Immortality of Love; And all the great and gracious dower From Sorrow golden-linked to Power. So sharp the mountain walls divide The alien worlds of either side. The red hearts of the East and West Throbbed with full pulses through the breast That lay on either side confessed. Lay East th' illumined scroll of God, But half effaced where man had trod; A shining palimpsest, unrolled In green and azure, lit with gold, God's chosen colours, scattered free, Green Time's fair handmaid, Blue to be. The warden of Eternity. And fairly written, strong and sure. Here Man had scrawled his signature On field and forest, stamping down The deeper impress of a town, 195 White, between blue and green, to stand His seals upon the goodly land. The goodly land of corn and wine, Of reddening tree, and purpling vine ; The summer suns, the winter rains, Run in sweet madness through her veins ; And the kind, ordered madness yields The trebled tithes of fertile fields. The lesser forehead of the plain Is wrinkled o'er with loss and gain; But still the Sacred West shall be Free mountains, bounded by the free, No man's dominion of the sea. Here man hath set no stain and flaw Of his forged seal on Nature's law. When the young stars for gladness sang These heights and deeps with echoes rang; And still the Poet's vision sees In all the multitudinous trees, The branches that the fair young Earth Set for the Mayday round her hearth, In the first springtime of her birth. Whereo'f today La Honda weaves Herself a coronet of leaves. Queen of the twilight lands, that pay No homage to the God of Day ; His golden arrows blunted fall Against her haughty forest wall. A woodland princess, in her eyes Is more of sunset than sunrise. 196 She sees the white tents of her folk Encircled by the camp fire's smoke, Between her and the ruddy glow The barefoot boys pass to and fro ; Their careless fingers clutch the wealth Of stainless and untainted health; They learn the lore of Nature's books, The woods, the mountains, and the brooks, The shining Words of God, that teach The soul the Universal Speech. Day fled, defeated and discrowned, Night's sable garments swept us round. So near ! Our souls together crept, Huddled away from Her who swept In all the dreadful pageantry That Jove unveiled to Semele, Wherefrom man hides his eyes, lest sight Be blasted by excess of light. So hid our souls from Her; but soon Upon the heights a silver moon, The top and crown of all I dreamed. Flashed through the purple void, and seemed. Seen through the branches of the trees, A shining sail on unknown seas. And the fair Sister of the Day Brushed with her light our fears away; The younger, kindlier God dispelled That August A\vfulness of Eld. Full soon thy captive spirit wore The chains of the kind conqueror, 197 The gentle and the golden chains Wherein the loser tells his gains. It is an awful thing to keep Long vigils in the shrine of Sleep; To stare deep-eyed upon the eyes From which no answering light replies; To question lips that may not reach The shattered golden strings of speech; To seek the soul whose wings are furled On unknown heights of some new world. An awful — and a holy thing, I bid My Mother Night to bring From Her high heights, that holiest are. Where the star whispers to the star, Through tjie awed skies the Cosmic Spell That links the Heavens, Earth and Hell With secrets that they may not tell; Hence let her bring again, although My heart shall break anew to know AH the vast blackness and the light That burnt the blackness of the night; And the tall redwoods boughs unfurled Whose topmost branches roofed the world, Where my unquiet spirit stood Between thee and the solitude Of God, the mountains and the wood. Ah, Friend, the Human overmuch Drew me from some Diviner Touch; Else had I, watching in the bright And perfect beauty of that night, 198 Bridged with my soul the deep abyss Where yonder Upper Silence is; Had won the subtle spell that taught The Whence, the Where, the Why ; had caught Some secret of Eternal things ; Had drunk deep draughts of heavenly springs ; Had ate of that forbidden fruit Whose flower was madness, and whose root Crept through waste spaces of the years To underflowing streams of tears. Friend of an Unforgotten Day, What light shall fall upon my way Save that heart-breaking splendour, cast Through the stained windows of the Past, That grim, gaunt shrine where Memory is; Stabbed with forbidden ecstasies, Sharp pangs of old-time Joy and Pain Flung from their ruthless hands, to stain With sullen and with dreadful red Her white lips pressed against her Dead. Oh, My Dear Lands ! My Radiant Lands ! Where Pleasure gave me both her hands. Where Hope her gilded bauble set Whereof no hue remaineth yet ; Now only black-robed Memory broods Above her barren solitudes. One hope remains of old desires; One glowing coal of faded fires; That in their green and gentle breast I rest who knew not, shall find rest. 199 Aye, soft shall fall o'er heart and brow. Unquiet, but grown quiet now, Though careless flung by stranger hands The earth of My Remembered Lands. 200 THE HOUSE OF SPLExNDID VISIONS Prince of Desolation, God to whom no gracious odors rise Of the flowers upon the altar, or the meats of sacrifice. There are dearer, richer offerings that find favor in thine eyes. Thine, the subtle odors rising from the garlands of regret; Thine, the tears that scorch in falling; thine, the soul's corroding sweat, Poured from brimming cups of anger, when The Twelve are secret met. I shall know thee when thou comest, thou whose livid brows are crowned With a wreath of scarlet poppies, plucked upon the ghostly ground Where the sullen waters wander, demon haunted, without sound. I shall know thee not to fear thee; thou and I have often met In the jousting at the tourney, where the lists of Life are set; We have met, and thou wert victor ; but the end was never yet. Shall I know and shall I wonder, in the dawn of some new day, 201 At the House of Splendid Visions, tenantless and in decay, And the halls a God hath dwelt in, mingling with the common clay? Shall I wake to fear and loathing when the earth-worm nearer crawls. Creeping through the open doorways, creeping o'er the crumbling walls, Rioting with rites unholy through the dark, deserted halls? Were it all of life to live, and were it all of death to die. But the ages bear in travail, and the new-born babe is I, Whipped in fiery circles onward through the cycles of the sky. Though the perfect Pearl of "Memory, cast in death's cor- roding wine. Lose its lustre, pale and vanish from its old, familiar shrine, Yet shall "I" be lord and master in the halls of Thine and Mine. *T," the redly glowing centre of a black circumference ; *T," the verb to be and suffer, in an ever present tense ; *T," a shadow, dragged a captive, in the triumph of events. I am I through all the ages of a surety; yet am I But a dream of angry devils, whipped with curses from on high. Or the jest of some Mad Boy God, drunk with nectar in the sky? 202 THE WILL OF GOD INSCRIBED, WITHOUT PERMISSION, TO THE "PKESIDENTS" OF THE CENTRAL AMERICAN '^REPUBLICS/' God said, ''I have waited long, For the years are Mine to wait, With a patience over-strong And a mercy over-great. "But now I weary at length Of My heavy wrath long stored; And I bare My arm of strength And the lightning of My sword. "Let My chosen one go forth With the message of My mouth; And My armies of the North To war on the rebel South. "For the land is wan and vexed That a double rule divides; And the people sore perplexed When the law shifts with the tides. "And My ways are not the ways Of the sons of men, and still From out of its tangled maze Shines the gold- clew of My Will; 203 "That the sword of Justice bring. The shelter of Mercy's shield, And that Peace and Order spring From the chaos of the Field. 'T have watched and waited long. And I come to count My sheaves ; But the tares are high and strong And with naught thereon but leaves. "I will sweep them from My path; They shall wither as a gourd In the furnace of My wrath. I have sworn it, I, the Lord." 204 THE SHADOW BEFORE— AT NEW YEAR'S Blew bugles from a far off height; The bells rang sweet and clear; Wild music in the frosty night ; The Birthnight of the Year, From Christmas revels lagged behind Still stood upon the floor The Lighted Tree that brought to mind That Other Babe of yore. To welcome him we drew the latch ; The Boy was passing fair, With eyes of cloudless blue, to match The sunshine of his hair. And, oh, they cried, our steps shall keep Step with the Boy who goes Through springtime daisies drifted deep, And jungles of the rose. Our Golden Rosary of Days In shining sequence told, A bead for Summer's orchard ways. And Autumn's sheaves of gold. And when again returns The Birth, Our wonted All shall reach Half circled round the wonted hearth, And each clasp hands with each. 205 But one, whose sad, prophetic soul Strange marks of torture bore, Saw from the Boy's white hands unroll The Shadow Cast Before. Ere Time with blighting hand shall touch The Boy's gold hair with gray, Of these, much loved, and loving much. One shall have passed away. One grown All Patient, He or She, With white and folded hands Shall drift out on the unknown sea To undiscovered lands. Peace ! Peace ! With Him or Her be Peace. But woe to those bereft. No truce with braggart peace from these Whom He or She hath left. But these shall draw themselves apart And sit with eyes grown dim; Hands clutched above the breaking heart That breaks for Her or Him. Shall hear with old remembered pain THAT voice, distinct, but thinned. Rise o'er the falling of the rain. And struggle with the wind. 206 And they shall tremble at the sound. Oh, Nature's Broken Trust ! How wind and rain are tossed around Above that Sacred Dust. Dust ! Dust ! Ah, Dust were passing well If Nature's kindlier law. Oh, Seven Times Heated Fires of Hell ! H Dust were all they saw ! But THIS ! This ghoulish feast of Death, His grim and ghastly spoils, From which, with terror gasping breath. The heart of man recoils. Drown Memory in the black abyss. Heap high the earth above. Oh, Christ, the pitiful! Is THIS That which we used to love? 20; TO THE WOMAN WRITER OF THE BATTLE HYMN. What make you, weak and Woman's hand With these sharp tools of Art? Or seek within the Poet's Land Where Woman hath no part? The fiefs are many in the Land That owns our Lord, the Sun; The Star Crowned Kings abo'Ut him stand, The vassal Queens were none. Who bade thee rise above the height Of Nature's niggard plan. To crown thy Woman's brows with light And overtop the Man? Who gave into Thy Woman's hand The Lightning of the Lord, And bade thee spill upon the land His Cup of Wrath long stored? Who bade thy Woman's gentle voice The Trump of God to roll. And rise above the battle's noise The Thunder of the Soul ? Thy words the dying soldier found The thunder and its light. He wrapped him in the light and sound And went into the Night. 208 GOD AND THE POET God and the Poet and Night, And the Night stood still upon The top of her topmost height Midway between dusk and dawn. Night, and a light in the night That lit itself and illumed ; Wonderful, mystical, white, That burned and was unconsumed. And the night was tranced to a hush ; And sudden the winds grew still. And God from the Burning Bush Spoke to the Poet His Will. God said to the Poet, "Thou Art royal. I give thee to wear A crown of thorns for thy brow ; But thyself shall fashion it fair. "Thou shalt fashion it in My Sight; Strength do I give thee to keep; I give thee light in the night ; Watch thou, while thy brothers sleep. "On the altar of sacrifice Thou shalt lay at My feet thy heart. Thou shalt buy thy soul with a price Since soul of My Soul thou art." 209 And the Poet stood upright And named the Wonderful Name And his soul in that fierce light Stood naked and without shame. While ever within his sight The splendours rose and fell That veil th' intolerable light Of the Presence made visible. 210 THE PASSING OF JOY What doth young Hyacinthus here, or is it he of Troy, Or loved of Goddess or of God, but each the fairest boy That ever set a warld at arms, or bade a God employ His shining soul in servile deeds to win a favor coy. Or is it that fair Spartan lad, forever beautiful. So passing fair the water nymphs raised their white arms to pull Him down amidst the pleasant shades of waters dim and cool. For whom the great Alcides crowns his hero brows with wool. Or hath the young Antinous arisen from the wave. And burst the leaden chains of death, the dungeons of the grave, Who led a vassal to his will, his crowned and sceptred slave ; The Master of the Roman world — and impotent to save. Nay, it is none of these dead boys, so beautiful of yore. Who wave their wan, white hands to us, from their dim, ghostly shore. But He, my Well Beloved Joy, is fairer than the four, Though each was fairest of the fair that all the ages bore. His brows are wonderfully white; his lips are coral red; Upon his cheeks the rose of York and Tudor rose are wed; 211 And when he opens his blue eyes, the erring dawn shall tread On stranger ways of unknown heights, bewildered and misled. Alack ! Alack ! What ails the boy ? He hath gone far to seek In some dim, undiscovered land, that patience pale and meek, That dulls the azure of his eyes, the roses of his cheek. Thrice Beautiful and Best Beloved ! Speak to me when I speak ! Dead ! Dead ! And shall such Beauty die, such Glory pass away, Such Splendour leave its native heavens to hide its light in clay? Joy dead ! Then let the shining dawn forsake the gates of day; That heaven and earth alike may wear a monotone of gray. 212 GOD DEFEND THE RIGHT Lord of Hosts, God of Battles, arm the Right ! When the little Island Empire goes like David to the fight. Be Thou then the shield before her, Be the wing to hover o'er her, Be her cloud of smoke by day, and be her cloud of fire by night. Let the justice of her pleading With Thy Spirit interceding, Rise above the noise of battle and find favor in Thy sight. Lord of Hosts, God of Justice, shield the Just ! Be a mighty fortress to her, though in Thee is not her trust. For her cause is high and human. For our Brothers born of woman. Twice two hundred squalid millions, cowering abject in the dust. With her strength may she uplift them, Save them from themselves, and gift them. Dower them with the gift of ransom from the brutal Cossack's lust. Lord of Hosts, God of Mercy, know Thine own ! For Thy harvest fields stand ready where the seeds of wrath were sown. When Thy sickles are a-reaping. When Thy sheaves of grain are heaping. 213 When Thy harvesters are vanished, and Thy harvest fields all mown, Comes the hour of Thy awarding, Thy condemning, Thy rewarding, Sift their motives out, and judge them at the footstep of Thy throne. Lord of Hosts, God of Vengeance, lift Thy hand ! For a long black shadow lies athwart, and blights an ancient land. Serpent-subtile in its creeping, Tiger-cruel in its leaping, Let it wither as a gourd before the fire of Thy command. God of Vengeance, when Thy thunder Parts the plunderer from his plunder. Cursed be he who moves the landmarks and the metes from where they stand. 214 THE GOLDEN CUPS OF GOD INSCRIBED^ WITHOUT PERMISSION^ TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT Pray you, sir, content your Highness with the tribute clue to Ciesar. Touch not THESE ! The Golden Vessels bear the Covenant of our lands. Touch them not, or touch them lightly, with your soldier's hands, for these, sir, THESE, the Levites of the Temple scarce may touch with reverent hands. Break your adamant of purpose, rash, impetuous and unswerving; Bare your feet ! 'Tis holy ground whereon the Poet's feet have trod. Holy, holy to the Lord, whereon his priestly hands in serving, Poured the sacrificial wine from out the Golden Cups of God. They wxre wrought by cunning workmen, in the cot and in the castle. Haughty hand of Norman noble, humble hand of Saxon thrall, Shaped the English metal deftly, midst the weeping or the wassail, By the turf fires, at the ingle nook, the torches in the hall. 215 Cleanly souls of Northern stature climbed their Jacob's stairs of serving. And the cognizance of princes lights the path of him who serves. Did the graver slip within their hands ? Then it may be in the swerving That the golden lines grew tangled in a knot of gracious curves. So the goodly cups were fashioned; and the splendour of their gleaming Lit the mediaeval shadows, as they passed from mouth to mouth ; And His Spirit touched the Poet's lips and the Poet in his dreaming Set the Northern gold a-sparkle with the jewels of the South. Purple gems from Grecian quarfies, solemn monotones of colour; Pearls despoiled from Eastern peoples; Latin gems of cosmic flame; Jewish jewels from the Temple, higher, holier and duller With their smouldering depths a-tremble with the radiance of the NAME. High and holy hands have held them; and the splendour of the Human Threw diviner lights upon the antique vessels in their hands. 216 Standing upright in the Presence, unafraid, though born of woman, Heaping to a jealous God the First Fruits of our EngHsh lands. Shakespeare, with his arms colossal circling all the lands and ages ; Keats, whose boyish hands essayed to guide the coursers of the sun; Milton, soiling his high office with his treason's hell-got wages ; Tennyson, the golden throated, from the purple heights he won. These have served the Sacred Vessels that have bound the kindred nations ; Linked and leashed in laws of loving by their golden arabesque. They have served to pour our father's God the wine of our oblations. Though your Highness' haughty humor hold the antique lines grotesque. Servant, masterful in serving; Master, to your servants loyal; Hotspur in the van of Progress; final apex of His plan; High born Tribune of the people, wearing lightly the Blood Royal, Long descended, high ascended, to the red heart of the MAN. 217 Undefiled and undiminished, give us back our ancient letters ! Moses smote the desert rock, the thirsty people drank their fill; Of the Courtesy we crave you, we, your clients, are your debtors, Greater that it flows reluctant from the granite of your will. Master mind O'f many moods, your mood may make, but may not alter; Lead the armies of the Morning, and we follow where you lead. Handle not to their misuse the Sacred Vessels on the altar. By the Splendour of the Soul of God, they still shall serve our need ! 218 THE CALL TO ARMS Children of the Rising Sun, return ! For new Hghts are glowing where the ancient watch fires burn. Come from lowlands and from highlands, And a thousand tropic islands, Tangled in a knot of emeralds in the amethystine blue. To the mother-land that bore ye, With the Sun Flag floating o'er ye, And the old familiar pathways that your wandering foot- steps knew. Children of the Rising Sun, come home ! From the far-off western land across the foam. Drop the mattock and the spade, And the tools of toil and trade ; There are nobler tools a-forging in the furnace of events. There's the land for your assistance, There's the foe for your resistance. With his vast and brutish body sprawled across two conti- nents. Children of the Rising Sun, go forth ! For your Mother sets a banquet for the vultures in the north. There'll be service at the feast For the greatest and the least, For each son of the old empire, old two thousand years ago. 219 While the crimson tide is flowing, And the banquet lights are glowing, And the vultures gorge their greedy fill upon the spread of snow. Children of the Rising Sun, arise ! For the fiery skeins of lightning are tangled in the skies. There's the roll and crash of thunder As the old worlds fall asunder; But the strong young eastern Britain from the storm and stress shall spring; With the glamour of old splendour, New ideals to defend her. And with shelter for the peoples of the Orient 'neath her wing. 220 "THE GIFT TO DIE" TO MY LADY FORTUNE. Out on you, harlot ! Gorged with gold, Giving your all to churl and clown ; Drab of a play day, bought and sold. Body and soul and scarlet gown. Flung as a plaything to the base, Tossed as a toy from man to man. Where each may win you and wear a space, And he may have you and hold — who can. And so you have come for a moment's stay. I may clip and kiss you and claim my right. And who was it won you yesterday? And who shall win you tomorrow night? Yet yesterday to have won your kiss. The Judas kiss from your lips that fell. Why, I would have given my all for this, Body and soul to burn in hell. Now, Patience, a beggar, sits outworn ; The gates of Reserve are flung apart; And I write my name in the Book of Scorn With the last black drops of a breaking heart. I had not cared that my life should hold In a red and rabble rout of noise, 221 Nor fame, nor power,- nor love, nor gold. The overgrown children's outworn toys. They were naught to a soul like mine ; for so I had been content had the path I trod Borne the Red Flower of the Poet's woe. And the Bitter Fruit of the Tree of God. Oh, he who is born to the Purple, Knous. And God be my Judge ! I knew it well, While thrice a decade of wants and woes I served my time at the gates of hell. But who that passed me by should see Beneath the cloak of hodden gray. The purple and gold of Royalty Sparkle and flash and burn away? And up from desperate depths of me And down from despairing heights, my eye Flung them with mocking courtesy The Poet's arrogant I Am I. I had but a soul, and I threw my all, A pearl of price, in an Esau's pot. I clinched the chain on, sorrow's thrall, And little reward I won, God wot. I bent my soul to the body's need, And wrought at a starved and stubborn soil. 222 Apples of Sodom were my meed, And the jester's cap to crown my toil. I chose perforce the worser part. And the pangs of an impotent desire Stabbed in and seared against my heart Cut like a sword and burn like fire. Roses grow by the garden walk ; Roses grow on the garden wall ; They are dear to me, flower and stalk, Heart's blood, soul's sweat drenched them all. A star in a midnight tempest tossed ; A gleam of light upon wintry seas; And so — the battle was fought and lost, And my soul was priced at toys like these. And my soul against its prison bars Beat in its impotent despair, For the clean white spaces of the stars And the blue serene of the upper air; For the cool green silence of the wood ; For the white-lipped voices of the sea ; For the purple hills of solitude, And the golden paths of liberty. But if for a moment, in idle whim, Or patient passion, I tried to slip 223 The gyves from bruised and bleeding limb, Duty, the master, cracked his whip. Out on you, now, you two-faced jade! Your fickle favors are dearly bought. Come if you will and ply your trade. But come as you will, you will come unsought. Though you gave as a God might give, and not From a miser's fingers, scrimped and doled, As a God might give to a God, God wot, Of his myrrh and frankincense and gold, I would pass them by with heedless eyes; I would not see, or I would not care; I would give them all for the pearl of price That you can not give and I can not wear; For the soul that answered the wood bird's note, Or spread its wings and adventured far, For the heart that under the ragged coat Throbbed to the pulse of sun and star. Though you flung your glittering jewels high Till they spilled from the golden cup again, I would choose from all but "The Gift to Die," And to cleanse my soul from the souls of men. 224 THE GOLDEN SPURS OF GOD Leave me here, I pray, a little. Thou art Thou and I am L Thou and I rise up between us, and the mad Gods in the sky. Thou art cloth of gold of morning, lit with iridescent gleams ; I am purple stuff of midnight, pierced with opal light of dreams ; Thou art soft and shining, painted pink and white, a pretty toy. Dandled on the lap of Nature, fondled in the arms of Joy ; I, the ghost of some lost God, who wander on from age to age. Through the endless cycles, seeking my withholden heritage. I am immortelles of graveyards; thou art roses drenched in dew; Who shall bind the twain together? What shall be be- tween us two? Leave me now, again I pray thee, for the sentry stars are drawn All about night's ancient temples, midway between dusk and dawn. Playday friend, await our play-days. I alone would win and wear In my soul a deeper secret than the heart of man may bear. Raised upon despairing heights and plunged in guilty deeps again. Wrenching from the churlish warders Whence and Where and Why and When. 225 'Tis the place as once I knew it. I, the ghost of him who knew, Free to walk the earth till cock-crow, seek my olden paths anew ; Ocean View, that from the distance overlooks the shifting sands Flung from roaring ocean caverns on her wan and wasted lands. Here of old, a boy I wandered where the ocean mists are . curled Round the hilltops sloping westward to the edges of the world. In a labyrinth of shadows, dreaming some old dream anew. Clutching with a boyish ardor broken sword and tangled clew. Many a night from yonder casement did I watch Orion rise With his jeweled girdle striding with wide steps across the skies; Many a night I watched the Pleiads with their patient eyes grown dim Seek beloved and lost Electra strayed beyond the heaven's rim; Many a night when night was flying did I see a pallid Dawn Shrink reluctant from her chambers with a pall of mist o'er drawn; Saw the sentry stars retreating, driven from the heavenly field, And the golden bars of morning flaunt above night's sable shield. 226 All the pageantry of Nature fed the altar fires of Art, Twin and equal royal sisters, regnant ever in my heart. And I walked in rhythmic madness and in airy fetters bound, Captive to a dream of Beauty and a melody of sound. Hark ! What God compelling thunder splits the earth from pole to pole, What divine abysses open, driving lightnings round my soul ! Hark ! What ecstasies of battle and what clash of Gods at strife, 'Tis the Blind Old Beggar calls me, thundering at the gates of life. Homer, dead, but ever Deathless; Homer, the All Seeing blind; Homer, begging bitter bread, and King of all the Kings of mind. Falls a gleam of Antique Splendour on the jacket of the boy; NOW, the Golden Age about him, HERE, before the walls of Troy. Dawn above beleaguered Ilium and the Greek encampment hums With the voice of many peoples, for divine Achilles comes. Pallas, cold and Tudor hearted, with the lightning of her glance Flashed from frozen deeps of azure, leads the van of Greek advance. Phoebus, standing from the rabble of the lesser Gods apart, 227 Guards the sacred walls that rose responsive to his Poet - Art. Oh, the splendour of the madness; oh, the glory of the dream Flashing through the gates of ivory, with All Beauty for its theme. Fancy, brought to bed of Sorrow, in his shower of golden rain Feels the throbbing of Her First Born, with an old remem- bered pain. Fancy, fleeing Time's duress on wings of wide aspiring, spills Antique gems from Eastern quarries on a slope of Western hills. While the boy, as Ganymede, caught in upper space and whirled On titanic wings of light above the shadow of the world, Ate in trembling of the spirit and with gasping of the breath That forbidden Fruit of Life in those forgotten halls of death. Homer's magic and the boy ! Ah, here was wild and bitter work Brewed in some Medea's caldron in a haunted midnight mirk. Woe to him whose boyish fingers pluck the dragon-guarded fruit That hath sorrow for its blossom and black madness for its root, I am free and franchised yonder on the heights beyond the stars, 228 Free to guide the Sun God's coursers through the morn- ing's shining bars. But a crownless prince I wander, and in royal rags I stand, Stranger to my mother age and alien in my father's land. And my eyes grow dull and heavy, wounded by exceeding light, And my ears are vexed with voices crying ceaseless in the night. Life, a drab in outworn tatters, hastens to her sullen close In a masque of Fates and Furies and a mire of Wants and Woes. Better I were lying yonder, where the golden poppies, spun From his raveled cloth of satin, rise to greet Our Lord, the Sun. Where nemophila lies weeping tears of dew from her blue eyes For her deeper deeps of azure in the walls of paradise. Nay, but Nature hath her vengeance; banned and barred and broken, still As a God, exacts her incense; as a woman, works her will. Angry Nature smears her tablets and the straight lines of her plan ; And the heavens gain a Poet — but the world hath lost a Man. Man is one as God unchanging; but the Poet still is three, Man and boy and woman, mingled in a changing trinity. And the boy within my bosom, starved and stinted, still shall claim 229 Dew of morning to my noonday, though it shrink in that fierce flame. I, the dreamer, in my dreaming dreamed a deeper, truer truth In the silver bubbles floating in the golden halls of youth ; Found in his fantastic follies the fulfilling of the law, Beauty in the blackened blot and all perfection in the flaw. Oh, to throw from off my soul the purple pall of mournful rhyme ! Oh, to wrench one hour of morning from the niggard hand of Time ! Oh, to see the years behind me swiftly lessening down the night. All the world untrod before me at the breaking of the light ! Oh, to see, a careless boy, the gilded bark of morning float Through the rosy seas of ether and through purple hills remote ! This were more than Poet's poem; this were more than singer's song; Though the ages swept them starwards on increasing currents strong. Fool ! Tf Fancy lead thy footsteps, let her lead them to thy gain. Get thyself largesse from Sorrow and a guerdon out of Pain. Shall the boy's v^^eak fingers, clutching his mirage of earthly things Hold thy wild, exulting sorrow, soaring on exalted wings ? Wilt thou lead the ages captive in a fickle chain of joy 230 Of the evanescent roses from the forehead of the boy? Drown thy soul in azure deeps of his serene, untroubled eyes ; Jove-like, set his shining hair a constellation in the skies. This were folly past the folly that a folly's wage beseems ; This were folly crowned by madness at the ivory gate of dreams. There be braver banners flying than the banner of the boy. With its field of gold and azure and its crimson rose of joy. Throw thy all within the balance ; weigh thy more against his less; Thou art captive — Crowned and Sceptred — murmur not at thy duress. Ate lights the torch of fancy and the Furies fly behind ; He shall pawn his heart who wears the costly jewels of the mind. Let thy almond flower of Beauty bloom upon the barren rod; And thy scattered Rose of Passion strew the path that leads to God. Gather thee thy little all, and bring the undiminished whole To the Lord in many regions and the Captain of the Soul. Oh, the stars in heaven are many ; but the Sun is crowned and One, And his star-crowned vassals render homage to Our Lord, the Sun. Keats, untimely slain in battle: Shelley, dead beside the sea; Tennvson, the flawless mirror to reflect all chivalrv; 231 Homer's shining antique spear and Shakespeare's mediaeval lance ; These have rifled all the castles in the kingdom of Romance. And the golden halls stand empty, and the shining land lies bare, And the lesser knights but gather crumbs of Honour for their share. Wilt thou at the laureled altar break the Bread of Life with these. Drink the sacrificial chalice to its black and bitter lees; Waiting in the inner holies, spirit naked and unshod, For the Accolade of Phoebus, and the Golden Spurs of God? 232 THE GIFT OF THE SOUTH TO LINCOLN As Florence drew about her breast the Hlies of her scorn, And sent an exile from her heart, her First and Eldest born. The flawless gem, the flashing star, the fair, imperial flower, Which might, diminished twenty times, have been a nation's dower ; So we, exalted o'er the lands, to whom the Babe was born, Received him with our lamps unfilled, and laughed the Gift to scorn. The river of our ancient blood, a river deep and wide, Encircled with its sullen waves our purple peaks of pride. The crowned phantoms of our race, their ghostly voices cast Into His balances, that weigh the future with the past. Our voice annulled the voice of God, we trod the blossom down; Ourselves, with ruthless hands, despoiled the Jewel from our Crown. Our Morning Star, by night forbid to give its light, went forth ; Our Wandering Pleiad rose afar, the Pole Star of the North. And as the faithless city yearns in pangs of mother pain. And stretches forth her empty hands to claim her own again. 233 Our earth-born voices cry to him across the voiceless void; We strive to warm our hearts before the fire ourselves destroyed. And still the Thought ! That fadeless lamp on altars of regret. Might Time approach Eternity to pay so dear a debt ! To us remains, with hands made clean, with contrite hearts to bring Such gifts as Love may lay before a Prophet, Priest and King. We give a gift, a gracious gift, a gift of gifts, to shine More dear than frankincense, or myrrh, or gold before his shrine. We give the purple of our pride, the scarlet of our sin, Wherewith to weave a snow-white pall for him who lies within. Doubt not he knows ! Doubt not to him, the Just and Merciful, Our purple is as cloth of gold, our scarlet white as wool. 234 MISERERE DOMINE OCTOBER 10, 1911. Thou dost not know, My Well Beloved, Within her bosom sleeping, With what mad steps the earth hath moved That holds thee in her keeping. Thou shalt not know; and I rejoice That These, at least, are holy; God's Silence o'er the people's voice. And Death above life's folly. The people greet their queen today, Their new crowned Progress hailing. Oh, God ! If this their mirth, I pray Let me not hear their wailing. From spirit heights I see beyond. Oh, discord of tomorrow ! Oh, glad, exultant voices wanned And beaten thin by Sorrow ! Oh, Christ ! In yonder Human shrine ; Oh, God ! Above its steeple ; Oh, Mystic Trinity Divine, Pity this frenzied people. Thy rods to heal their sin, oh. Lord, With gracious balms of Sadness ; Draw not the lightning of Thy Sword To slay them in their Madness. 235 I kneel within a falling shrine, Before a broken altar; An outworn creed I hold divine, With loyal lips I falter. Between me and a sacred flame Her scarlet robes are flaunting; Between me and the Holy Name Her sacrilegious vaunting. Upon exceeding mountain heights Her Guilty World is tendered. But I retain mine ancient rights, Serenely unsurrendered. She shall not claim my sacred wine, The Sacrament of Sorrow; The Bitter Bread of God is mine, And mine is Death's Tomorrow. Dear Dead ! The feet of Death are clean From all her crimson welter. Thou liest on yon slope of green With yon green hills for shelter. And that I loathe Life's stain and flaw, And also that I love thee, I, too, would rest by thee, and draw Yon gracious green above me. 236 THE PRAYER OF THE WEST Judge Thou Between Them We thank Thee, oh, God of our fathers, for the gift of the sword and the clew ; For the strength to drive nations before us, for the patience to build them anew ; For Thy Light to Thy servants restricted, and Thy Promise reserved to the few. We thank Thee, oh, God, that Thy Wisdom hath made us Thy shepherds, to keep With the sword of the flesh and the spirit, the steps of Thy wandering sheep. That hath showed us the fields of Thy harvest, and the sickle wherewith we shall reap. We have set forth our lamps on the mountains, that the nations might see them from far; O'er deserts and seas and morasses, we have followed the course of Thy Star, That Thy Light might be got of the shadows, and Thy Peace of the travail of war. Thou art mighty, oh, God, Thou art just. And we zvho are dust of the dust. We cry to Thy Justice to witness how well we have served in our trust. 237 We have sought out the festering places; we have swept them with fire and with sword; In the dungeons of heathenish darkness, we have let in the light of Thy Word. The paths and the highways are garnished, and made clean for the steps of the Lord. We have hunted their priests from the altars, where the blasphemous wonders were shown; And their heathenish temples lie shattered, or standing deserted and lone. Shut silence and shadows to worship, the impotent idols o'erthrown. We have broken their tyrants, and lifted the serf to the heights of a man; In the race to the swift and the strong, we were foremost, but still, as we ran We paused in the sweating and tumult, and hewed to the lines of Thy Plan. Thou art mighty, oh, God, Thou art good. If our hands he not guiltless of blood. Yet we cry to Thy Goodness to witness how we have with- held and withstood. Comes Esau, the seller of birthrights, to clutch at a birth- right forsworn; Come princes of paganish peoples ; come peoples decadent, outworn; 238 And the walls of Thy citadel crumble, blown down by the blast of their horn. We are thrown as a prey to the spoiler; they compass our way with their wrath ; We sink in their whirlpools of envy, that are set as a pit in O'ur path ; We are flung from the rocks of their hatred, and pierced by the lances of Gath. Oh, God of our fathers from olden. Destroyer and Builder, we claim Thy Promise, delivered in thunders, and circled by curses of flame. And Thy visible aid, as the sanction of the deeds we have done in Thy Name. Thou art mighty, Lord Christ, who wert human. And we, who are compassed with foeman. We cry to Thy throne for assistance, in the lifting of man born of uoman. 239 THE CRY OF THE' EAST Judge Thou Between Them We were great of aforetime; our fathers, from their seat on the roof of the world, Looked down on the valleys beneath them, where the smoke of their camp fires upended, And their trumpets rolled thunders before them, and their strength on the valleys was hurled. Their lightnings flashed down from the mountains; they girdled the earth with a flame; They pressed to the lips of the nations the red cup of trembling and shame; And the lands fled away from their coming, and the desert sprang up when they came. As a ghost brushed aside by the morning, is the tale of our victories told. As shadows trod down by the noonday, with our blood grown more wise, or more cold, We would sit in the sun in our fashion and worship our Gods as of old. Art Thou mighty, oh, God, art Thou just? Then we, who are trod in the dust, IV e cry to Thy justice to witness how ill these have served in their trust. 240 The halls of the Orient echo to the footstep of soldier and priest ; As vermin they cling to her garments; as locusts flock down to the feast; As vultures sink claws in her bosom to tear at the throat of the East. The beautiful temples are shattered and the glorious images broke ; And the holy signs and the wonders, at the shrines where the oracles spoke Have vanished, like shadows at noonday, or columns of wind-driven smoke. They have broken and banished our princes; the base and unclean they set high ; The rights of our fathers are juggled, and set on the cast of a die, From the tangle of red in the centre, to the uttermost edge of the sky. Art Thou mighty, oh, God, art Thou good? Then these torrents of innocent Hood Shall sweep o'er its shedders accusing, to the steps of Thy throne in its Hood. Lo, the round table feast of the brothers, and Esau sits down to the feast ; Lo, the weighing of lands in the balance, and the greatest sprung forth from the least; 241 Lo, the Hour, brought' to bed of the Nation, to strike for the rights of the East. And the trump of the Gods on the mountains, that calls to the peoples from far. That they rise in the mirk of the midnight, and watch for the light of the Star, Begot at the barbaric bridals, and borne in the travail of war. Such "faith," to the faithless we proffer, as lies in the lie of our word; Such "brotherhood," bastard-begotten; such "peace" as the wars may afford; Such "rights" as are spat from the rifles, and caught on the point of the sword. To the Gods of our race in the distance, We cry, zvith pathetic persistence. With the cry of the younger begot, for we claim but the ■ right to existence. 242 THE POET'S PROTOTYPE I envy not the God of Light His dalHance with the Dawn; I envy not the Queen of Night To young Endymion, Nor Zeus his compelHng might; I am Bellerophon. Men call me mad for that I keep A tryst beyond their ken ; A light above yon upper deep Beckons to me again; I mount my winged steed and sweep Beyond the sight of men. A Splendid Passion is my guest Who bars the door to Sleep, Who in the dungeons of my breast Bids captive Reason weep, Who drives the wounded feet of Rest Up yonder starry steep. We mount the path of stars that shine Beyond the earth's eclipse; From fountains of the Soul Divine A Radiant Madness drips; Gasping, I drink the Hallowed Wine With foaming of the lips. 243 THE MUSE TO A MERCENARY "POET" Lackey and scullion ! Dost thou seek for hire To trail the white robes of the God in mire? Think'st thou to fill the bounds of thy base need With a King's Ransom, or a Poet's Meed? Or wilt thou set the holiest Muse of Art A common drab upon the public mart? Soul hunger shalt thou know and not be fed ; Though thy gross bod}' find its fill of bread. Soul thirst shall parch thee with an arid heat; Though pleasant waters sparkle at thy feet. Pleasure shall seek and woo thee as a bride; Thou shalt arise — filled and unsatisfied. A Voice shall cry to thee and thou shalt hear Faint through the earth born ringing in thy ear; A Light shall shine for thee and thou shalt see With clouded vision, dim and fitfully; Voice and Light beckon to thee, but never again Through all thy dolorous days of joy or pain Shalt thou the Sword, or the Lost Clew regain. Dust of the earth ! Clay of the common clay ! Go down to shadows with thy little day. But till thy night fall, my revenge I wreak, The Agony of Lips that may not Speak. 244 MAY 29 1512 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111 CONGRESS LIBRARY OF COJ mmmi ^ 015 799 330 6 m

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An Egyptian scarabræus ...

Alkazin, Salim Y[ousif]

egyptianscarabr00alka_djvu.txt

i.f„-rnraba£:US Hn ]£Gi?ptian Scarabaeue OR "H %CQcni> of tbe IRilc" BY SALIM Y. ALKAZIN AND Adelbert Clark % ^ PUBLISHED BY E. G, BAKEf LACONIA. N, H. •uiBRARY or GONGrttSS two Copies rieceivcu JUN 13 i^^^ Gouvrijfrii ctury ULASS CU XAfc No: COPY B. COPYRIGHT 1905 ADELBERT CLARK. The E§:yptian Scarabaeos. ^^ HE first word that forces its way through a ^^' visitor's moutli stauding iu front of an Egyptian rnin, no matter how small or insioniticant it might be, is the word "Grand," and then follows "Magnificent.'' lint it is not this feel- ing that roots your feet to the spot, and wide opens your eyes and fixes your sight, as if attracted by an overwhelming magnetic power, and soars up with your senses to an unknown world. There is some- thing mysterious around the ruins. Probably the s}>irits of those wise and knowing priests that still hover around the, ruins murmuring dirges or the mystic precepts of the old doctrines. Thus it is with the small scarabaeus that marks the seal of this book, and which is mentioned in the leading poem. This scarabaeus was found by a wandering Arab during the Spring of 1902. In the heart of a poor and lonely tomb on an unknown spot of the south-eastern border of the Lybian desert. The scarab or scarabaeus, is a tropical dung- beetle found particularly in Egy])t. The old Egyp- tians regarded it as a symbol of the god Kheper and as an emblem of the revivication of the body and the immortality of the soul. The funeral scarabs were put on the fingers or heart of the dead, and, in the latter case they were covered with powerful names and magical emblems, thought to be a protection to the dead. Historical scarabs are those that contain some historical text or data. Ornamental scarabs were adopted by the living and on them were inscribed the name of the reigning-king or some national hero, and they were used as seals or set in rings. As the influence of Egypt extended to the East, the Phoenicians borrowed the design and used it. Afterwards, it was used by the Greeks and others. Sai.im Y. Alkazin. m" {For TranslafAon see next page.) A Songf of the Nik* My waters have buried within your sands, O fair Egypt, secrets which you have been slow at dis- covering. Had it been given me to flow like ink on paper, I would disclose them to you one after the other. I am Egypt! I reflect its riches, its age, its mystery, its doctrine and the beauty of its maidens, and the might and wisdom of its men. I am great Osiris. I am fair Isis. Yes! and many an Isis (given as an offering for a heavy flood) did my arms fold to my breast of whom you were more, worthy. If the daily reappearance of the great Ra is not a satisfactory proof of the immortality of the soul and the revivification of the body, then my annual visit must be an undoubted proof. S. Y. Al>KAZIN. AUTHOR'S NOTE:— Space would not permit the trans- lation of the song in verse form, so I have endeavored to write it in prose and still retain its musical theme. Hn Eg^ptfan Scaraba^us or ''B XegenD ot tbc IWlle'' Last iiight I woke from out a dream For I had wandered far Into a strange and ancient land, Led by a silver star. I dreamt I stood on Soudan's soil, High, on a mountain crest; A dusky maid with silken curls Was leaning on my breast. "Where yonder river wends its way Through fertile fields below, A desert stretched its leafless plain, Three thousand years ago. No trace of beauty graced the earth Save in the Pharaoh's pride; He built rich palaces and tombs His honored crimes to hide. "Green vines and cypress trees grew near Within the garden close, And rarest lilies rich and sweet Were blooming with the rose. Within the carven corridors Where musk j^erfumed the air. Fair statuary graced the walls. With hangings rich and rare. "Twelve mistresses had walked its halls And shared the Pharaoh's bed; Twelve mistresses were cast aside And numbered with the dead. One day a ])riest of Osiris Had gained the palace walls; I met him in a frightened mood Half-crouching in the halls. "He caught my arm, 'Queen Semuta, 'Tis time for thee to fly. For Pharaoh brings another bride. And thou art doomed to die. Hark ! thou canst hear tlie marriage-guests Already on the stair.' He caught my fainting form and cried, 'There is no time for pray'r!' "Down through a secret way we went To 'void the mocking throng; Yet in my half-unconscious state I heard the Pharaoh's song. I paused within the arbor's shade And brushed aside a tear. The good priest fanned my aching brow And tried to soothe my fear. "The roses hinted as we passed With their delicious breath, The utter lonliness before; The gloomy wings of Death. I thought of loved-ones far away Beyond the barren i)lain ; I thought of him, of whom I loved, But ne'er could see again. " 'Dear child, Osiris will not leave You to a cruel fate, But he will lead your feeble feet Close to the open Gate. An alternative waits for thee But it is cast in gloom. One, is the desert for escape. The other is the tomb.' "And so I chose the desert plain And journeyed long and far; My guide by day — the rising sun ; By night — the evening star. But thirst and hunger brought me low, Though hunger was the least. For in my wild deliriums I dreamt of many a feast. "I saw rich gardens sweet with flow'rs. And vainly did I call ; I heard the babbling of a brook, I saw the fountain's fall. And even in my dreams I plead, 'Osiris hear my cry; One goblet of that sparkling rill; Just one, before I die!' "But mercy was not meant for me, And so my life swept on, Into a fairer, brijy liter realm — In Paradise 'twas born. But from my bed, a river sprang And laughing danced along, With snowy ripples on its breast; Its shallows full of song. "It grew and grew, a mighty stream Beneath the azure skies. And in this ancient land, it proved A blessing in disguise. This scarabaeus you wore, dear friend. Was placed upon my breast. And shows Osiris can give The weary, peace and rest. "It shows a bit of history Of a once noble race. But like a 'brand' it marks the shame Upon its Pharaoh's face. And could your eye decipher it, (Though 'tis not worth the while), You'd find half-hidden in the clay, This legend of the Nile." Ois, the PearL Once, 'twas said that Cleopatra Had a rival fair as she. Dwelling in a rose-wreathed palace Close beside the surging sea. Never had the dainty seashells Strewn upon Egyptian shore, Or the Pharaoh's fragrant lotus Such a marvelous beauty bore. From the sea, rare pearls were given, (Treasures from deep mines afar,) And they gleamed upon her bosom Like the twinkling of a star. Sweet rose-blossoms, stately lilies, Opened for her by the way; Princely lovers, sons of Egypt, Sought to woo her night and day. ]3ut a magic pow'r enchanted Held her in a drowsy spell. While the sea's white foaming billows Seemed to sound her funeral knell. All day long a voice was calling, "Ois, come and 'bide with me; Thou shall be the queen of Pearlland; Thou shall rule the mighty sea! "There's a city built of coral ; Pearl shall be thy judgment throne, And the submarines shall worship. And shall serve but thee alone. Nevermore shall pain or sorrow Touch thee with its frightful wing. Wilt thou fill my heart with glory ?" Said the strange but handsome king. '•No!" cried Ois, stepping backward. Lest the waves her form embrace, "Thou mayst be the king of Pearlland, But a mask is on thy face I Mine, shall be the throne of Egypt ! Mine, shall be a Pharaoh's love! Mine, shall be a star of beauty, Like the stars that shine above!" Once again the hand of magic Wove its fine and subtle spell ; Once again, the seething billows Bang more loud her funeral knell, While a hand and voice persuading Caught and bound Love's snowy wings, So once more the maid was captured By the bright and dazzling things. "Foolish child," said Cleopatra, "Why not wear his signet ring? He, the ruler of the ocean; He, the young and handsome king! He would give thee priceless jewels; Countless strings of milky i)earls; He would deck thee with their beauty; They would don thy silken curls." Charmed and dazed with all the s])lendor, Woven by a king and queen, Ois did not see the serpent Just before her, dark and green. Fearlessly with Love she ventured To the angry wave's embrace; Only once, she paused a moment, As the salt spray touched her face. But 'twas said when Cleopatra Gazed upon the spotless bier, At the waxen lily, Ois, In her eyes there gleamed a tear. And 'twas said that half her beauty Melted as she stood that hour. Grazing at the broken lily, That was once a perfect flower. A Legend of the Blue Lotus. One morniDg as the sunbeams kissed The sands on Pharaoh's shore, The pale blue lotus blossomed forth As in the days of yore. Sweet strains of music filled my ears As if from worlds afar, Beyond the .Sflory of the sun ; Beyond the evening star. It might have been I dreamt it all; But lo ! I saw her there In clinging robes of pale blue gauze; A form divinely fair. Her slender arms and shoulders bare Were like the lotus sweet; And like rare jewels of the past, Her tiny sandaled feet. A wealth of midnight silken curls Caressed her dusky cheek; Her lips were like a budding rose That wild-bees love to seek. But when again I looked to see The lovely spirit there, I only saw upon the tide, A lotus pure and fair. When morning dawned again, I called My young guide to my side. And pointed to the shadowy form Out on the sluggish tide. He fell upon the sand and cried, " 'Tis Ulmana, the queen. She lives within the lotus-buds. Among the rushes green. "Two thousand years ago," he said, "They laid her down to rest; One spotless flow'r white as snow Was lain upon her breast. They placed her in a granite tomb. Where sweet and soft and low. The river floweth to the sea — Two thousand years ago. "Since then, the river changed its court Until it swex)t away, The costly sepulcher of stone. Just at the dawn of day. But from the spot a lotus sprang In i)alest shades of blue. And in its depths of lovliness, • The queen was born anew." And still when morning lifts its veil O'er Pharaoh's shining shore, And lotus blossoms rich and rare Spreads beauty all aglore, The spirit of the Pharaoh's bride Is ever lingering there; She wears a star upon her breast, A lotus in her hair. Queen Ulmana's Turquoise* Like a bit of the glory of heaven, Or a leaf of the violet's blue When the morning has lent her bright jewels. Of the purest crystalline dew. Is the beautiful breastplate of turquoise That was worn by Ulmana, the queen. As she road through the streets of the city In her chariot of gold and green. Long ago in the dust of the ages. The queen to her fair "god" went In a chariot of pearl and white lilies. When the reign of her earth-life was si)ent. But still, in a palace at Cairo, Her turquoise reflects back the sky. And with these and the marks of her scar abacus, Her greatness will never die I A Story of the Sphinx. Last uight I gazed on the dusky Sphinx And the Pyramids tow'ring high ; I heard the song of the nightingale, And the night-winds mournful sigh. The crescent moon through the dusky haze Was a scarlet bow of tire, And I strolled out from my snowy tent. As it mounted high'r and high'r. But soon it changed to a somber gold And spread forth a veil of light. But the Sphinx spread out a jet-black veil, Black as the darkest night. Then soon, as if, by some magic si)ell. The nightingale hushed its song, And at the foot of the ancient "god" I saw a gathering throng. Sweet strains of music — perfume of fiow'rs Were borne on the wings of night. And led me into a blackest shade, And filled me with strange delight. I saw the pride and pomp of years; Rich gems and rare cloths of gold; And sweetest flowers the land could yield Were brought and strewn fold on fold. A handsome queen on a marble throne Was seated, and quite at ease. She wore a crown of coral and pearls That came from the distant seas. Her snowy gown was of rarest silk And was held by milky pearls. And o'er lier brow was a brilliant star, Agleam, in her raven curls. I stood apart from the mighty throng. That ever seemed to be Surging about for a better view, Like waves of the briny sea. I was charmed by the volts of splendor From the things I'd seen and heard, 'Till my heart was filled with raptured bliss And gay as the fleetest bird. But ah, alas! for the scene soon changed; The musical theme grew still. The queen arose from the judgment-seat With a cold and irony will. "Where are the people that dared to bow Save at the foot of he ?" (Pointing up to the great stone face Gazing out in majesty.) Four men arose from the mighty throng, And the light in their jet-black eyes, Were brighter far, than the silver stars That blaze in the vaulted skies. "Ye dogs," she cried with a serpent's hiss, "The asp shall mete out thy Death." She stepped forward to a golden urn, — They waited with bated breath. She quietly raised the golden lid. Then horrors, of horror came The poisonous reptiles of dark-green hue. With eyes of the rubies flame. With lightning speed they mounted the steps And sprang at the frightened queen. And buried their fangs in her snowy breast-- I trembled to hear her scream. Women fell and fainted nigh; The rumbling of thunder crashed and rolled; Lightning flashed through the cloudless sky The queen 'rose in pain and madness, and Gasi)ed for a breath of air ; She uttered forth a piercing scream, and Fell dead on the judgment-stair. Once more I stood in the golden ray Of the crescent moon above; Once more I heard the nightingale's song And it seemed to sing of love. The song that it seemed to sing that night Was the endless song of Love. It seemed to ring through the starry space. From the heavenlv realms above! And still, when I look at the Pyramids As they point up toward the sky, And the stone face of the dusky Sphinx, My soul would refrain to cry, For the world is fair, and God made it Out of chaos, mist and gloom, And out of it, He created us, And made every flower to bloom ! The Egfyptian Violets. Not far from the mines where the turquoise Are found in the earth below, 'Mid the mosses that crown the wildwood, The fairest violets grow. A legend is told by the natives Of how in the days gone by, A maid left the queen's marble palace. In the vale to live or die. She wore on her bosom a lotus, Fresh frt)m the breast of the Nile, That seemed to look up to her beauty, And say with a gentle smile, "Where are you going sweet Seba?" But she never answered a word. As she journeyed on through the valley. As swift as a frightened bird. She died — and out from her beauty, A bed of rich violets grew; And deep in the earth beneath her The turquoise had found its blue. And forever, and ever and ever. The violets will cast their bloom. To veil from the land of mysteries, The darkness of Death and gloom ! JUN 13 19C5

19012025

Italy revealed,

Allaben, Frank

italyrevealed00alla_djvu.txt

Book_J=AlAli Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/italyrevealedOOalla JtaltJ l?waUb iFrank AUaiiPti '/f 5>' Jtalg Kpofal^i 3Frank AUab^n President of The National Historical Society, Editor of The Journal of American History ©V Nattotial l|t0tortral ^nrWg 37 fflpBl 33tli Btnst. Nm fork ^ ^^v* n t> vi^ K^ Written for the special Italy Number of The Journal of American History, January-Februar)f-March, 1919 Copyright, 1919, by Frank Allaben Wf traosfwr 'Otm WblX» Hmm. JUN 19 ]91S I Hail, Italy, kindled Out of the ash of death ! Italy, bruised and crowned In glory of thy gashes ! Through seven seals unloosed, into thy book Of revelation let our wonder look. War's caustic scours imaginary sight. And we no longer dream we see The ghost of Rome in risen Italy — Time's restless apparition walking The Mediterranean mid-way in a mirage Whose glitter in the blue mirrors of the air Seemed but an echo of thy ancient light. Earth's suffering flesh and blood Now battle-griefs attest thee. Even as pangs of war Revived thee when the Corsican swept by, And we beheld thee stir, Disquieted out of silence. A blind dismembered thing, we watched thee waking Thy ten disjointed segments; watched their squirm Within as many tyrannies, Writhing to knit up seams long ripped and frayed. Then rose thy orb of empire, lit Like a new pole-star in the purple north. Reared on a throne above the Piedmont hills, Sheer over Savoy's House, whose cry empowered Cavour's and Garibaldi's, gathering up Maazini's dream unbroken out of night Into substantial day. We watched thy blowing garments Wing over sapphire seas. And climb the dreaming airs Into the golden sun. We saw thee print upon the Red Sea shore Thy Abyssinian sandals ; Snatch from the shoulder of the smitten Turk Tawny-colored Libya To gird the loins of thy strength ; Out of his turban tear Tripoli's black diamond for thy diadem ; And stride from isle to isle before Adalia's slumbering door To bid thy antique ward, old Asia, Quit the grey tomb of her antiquity. [1] ITALY REVEALED We heard Marconi's pathless hghtnings speak ; We saw the brawn of thy battleships give New patterns to the sea. Yet all thy motions staged a pantomime That twinkled through our winking eyes To glimmer in a thought, A pageant filmed, a marvel screened, Part posed and part imagined. What curious thing, half-wraith, half-life. Could shimmer, half-emerged, Out of the chrysalis of a thousand years? Who'll unroll, Italy, thy seven-sealed book? War, blistering war. Hell's light of revelation ; The branding iron of reality Hot on the quick of the soul ! War stamps thy succoring image On the coin of our need. Not war thy Spurred Boot swinging Hard at the Musselman — But unto us an unimpassioned rumor Carrying no report How, in the fevered frame of thy unquiet, Prophetic intuitions stretched and strove. Training behind a veil their life-and-death Struggle with destiny. Never could war to chip the stony Turk Chisel thy statue heroic in our heart. Maniac war reveals thee : Satan incarnate in gorilla herds, Mauling the face of man, The heart of Belgium, and the soul of France, Resisting, dauntless, like an angel torn, One shoulder slit and limp. Justice was smitten on the cheek ; Faith, being ravished, fainted away ; The hopes of nations fell ; The dry lands swayed like seas ; The age bowed down and trembled, her pillars knocking together; The peoples staggered like a drunken man. Flung out of pillowed slumber, dreaming Peace Swooned into rigid nightmare, staring up. Gazing where heaven weighed the quivering earth. Hung in a balance high above our hope. Italy, it was then our anguish threw Out of her black suspense a frantic look That caught thy noble gesture in the sky. Casting thy gloiy's weight In just neutrality that tipt the scale. [2] ITALY REVEALED That tipt the scale, for out of thy frontier, Slung from a sling, the hurtled sons of France The invader smote and stretched along the Marne, Prone as Goliath in the sling of David ; While, cruising up the round ball of the world, Securely ferried through thy friendly seas, Justice assembled her crusading knights. As, locked within the firmament, the star Of hope that jewels morning sudden shines Out of his crystal casket, so we saw, Shining through thy neutrality, thy heart. The Mind that thrills the pulse of kings and nations Bids, Italy, thy loosed first seal enthrone Grave-visaged Justice, weighing iniquity. II He who thy palsied orbit raised again Out of the sepulchre of ruined worlds. Had timed thy perihelion to earth's need ; And now the event that loosed thy second seal He nursed in secret through ten bitter months That travailed in thy soul to be delivered Of faith, precocious in thy womb — Thy leaping infant, struggling for mastery Over the interloper, German greed, With covetous fingers crooked In surreptitious clutch in the walls of life. When the gorged dragons, clawing Russia down, Filled earth with wailing, clang ! the clock of God Began to strike their doom — thou, Italy, God's hammer on the gong ! Yet swift as thy knighted sword Knelt in the bending vow, The crouch of the couched panthers sprang. Fraud and dishonor, flung At the throat of thy plighted word To strangle faith in the dust At the feet of the hope of the world ! God knew — His purpose through thy borders walked, Bringing thy help, hid in a poet's heart. The whirlwind caught d'Annunzio, And on the blast he rode To Quarto hard by Genoa, Thy people, like the swirling gusts of spring, Delirious around. From Genoa thy visionary son Plowed the unknown till his long furrow burst Into the hopeful soil of a new world. [3] ITALY REVEALED From thence, to weave up thy unravelled lands, A new Columbus, Garibaldi, sailed With his immortal thousand, steering south. And here God's finger, in a poet's spirit. Builds thee an altar, o'er whose cry we see The heavens open and a flame leap down. Lighting a hurricane of sparks and brands That blow a roaring furnace in thy soul — Till God forge victory. To Rome a peril clings, like fallen clouds; Out of the north, to Rome, th}- tempest whirls Its purging fiery pillar. Now let thy poem be, Italy, Both seen and heard. Rome weaves through evening's silence her shouted word Into an insurrection of delight. She weaves a tapestry — Through the warp of the air, The woof of the patterns of her ecstasy Dartles and hangs and swings, loud-floating there. She weaves her torches through the black mat of night. And thrilling threads of flaring hearts, more bright ; And into a wild bewildering roar Her multitudinous shuttles pour The poet-tribune, mobbed by jubilation. Wheeled on a chariot-throne of exultation. What Caesar's Rome Brought such a pageant home? Beyond that chanting blaze Of light's processional through the slinking dark, Billow and his Italian shadow crouch. The knives cringe back. The fingers tremble. Afraid to stab Thy faith and honor, Standing circled in the light. Beyond the dark and his penumbra's blight ! Then, gushing out, thy burning wrath's Passionate denunciation, Volcanic through d'Annunzio, Treason consumes to ashes, fleeing Rome. 'Tis mid-May : ruddy as the morning sun. Spring, bursting through the winter of the world. Around thee flings the flaming rose of war, — Fragrant as angels over nightshade use To put to death the noxious weed of evil, — Red-woven to a scarlet coronal [4] ITALY REVEALED Set in the tresses of mysterious night Over unfathomable shining eyes. The second seal stands loosed : thy frowning book A gleaming messenger of vengeance shows, Like red coals staring out of cloudy wrath In at the murderous serpent coiled in man. Ill War grips thy mountains at a bound : Hunting the Hapsburg whelps. Thy bold Alpini swing from crag to crag, Fighting earth, air, snow, ice, hunger — and man ! Twelve months thy sword victorious climbs the Alps, A signal in the night. Thy bayonets prick the Turk, menace the sly Flesh-eating jackal of Bulgaria. But Serbia, shattered, Montenegro, mangled, And bruised Albania, lean against thy finger, Stretched down to help all three. And Verdun, sacrificial Verdun, bleeds. Heaping her altar with the blood of France. The world stoops faint, in sackcloth, sorrowful. Like a black mist, discouragement covers the earth. Only around thy head lives light — Over the northern mountains Thrown like a halo from the silver band Of six score ransomed towns that crown thy brow. Wreathed in a curve from lofty Stelvio Four hundred miles to Carso's horny beak. Watching the Adriatic. Thy hills wear light : huddling to smother it. The crafty dragon of the Danube shrugs Her mottled foldings through the Trentino, looped In gorge and coiled on peak. Soon as thy war's first year new mid-May meets. The wyvern strikes thy buckler — strikes and strikes, As furious torrents ram a dam to seize The shuddering land below. Thy sons fight, backward staggering, step by step. To where the verge o'erhangs their homes: there stand, A rocking barrier on a dizzy brink. Through May, through June, six weeks, — a tumult, scrambled, Of earth and air and sky and waterfloods, Armies and rocks and mountains, sweating blood. Hate, hydra-headed, swarms : two thousand throats, Arched from the Val Sugana to the Val Lagarina, five score to the mile, Bark flaming death and cough up killing gas [S] ITALY REVEALED Out of their black abysses. These have crunched Antwerp, Liege, Laon, Ivangorod, And Brest-Litovsk, strongholds of Belgium, France, Russia, and Poland. Hooded and puffed, they strike. Horribly animated to mutilate. Aching to fang thy right flank from the rear, And seize and throttle, through her unguarded door, France, forspent at Verdun. Flushed stands thy third seal loosed : we see the power That upheaves towns and crumbles fortresses, Unanchoring iron out of masoned stone ■As Samson tore the gates of Gaza up — See the gross demon of the might of evil Recoil from Justice, soldiering in man's heart That foams and gallops, wild and violent. In the long agonism of good 'gainst evil. Hell's horror clings through June. In hot July, Back, snarhng, dripping, slinks the baffled fiend, As, by indomitable Alpini led, Like flames ascending up a rising wind. With garlands on their helms, through smiling lips. Thy irresistible children, Italy, Scourge with the songs of their spirit, lashing g^ns That know not how to answer, being cast Only to tear the flesh ! The bruised dragon Flees, rolling up the mountain ; round thy sons The light of God still walks the shining Alp ! Prefigured in a semblance, here f orethrown On the Trentino, as against a screen. Thy loosed third seal predicts great wrath to come — The victory of anguish, long dragged out, Walking the furnace of the forge of God Toward Italy redeemed. Often as rushes the swift leviathan To whelm us through the broken dike of earth, God thrusts thy spirit, Italy, in the gap 1 IV Three acts have staged their play ; four haste them on. Thy fourth seal stirs, the number of a man. Impetuous to begin. Thy left guard stands In the Trentino, feinting; like a nerve, Cadorna swings the right hand of thy power Across the Isonzo, and Gorizia falls. As falls Tolmino — falls, to rise redeemed. August is gladdened by that staggering blow. September sees thee seize San Grado so — Sees thy assistance of her cause Lift wearied Verdun into a pause. October eyes thy serpent-cutting sweep [6] ITALY REVEALED Far up and on and into the Carso leap. November sees thee stun that same plateau With a new overthrow. Twice five thy vistories in that craggy war That earth and heaven blots into one scar. The miracle of human spirit ran Unloosed in thy fourth seal, Whose prodigies reveal The glory of the stature of a man. By children, women, and by men, In ice and heat, in storm and sun, What man can do is done. Calling the age of exploits back again. Hail, Alpini, lions of the rocks ! Hail, winged Titans, eagles of the sky ! Hail, Arditti, tigers of the trench, With bombs and knives — and fingers in a throat ! Hail, soldiers, victors on the Alp ! Hail, sailors, conquerors at sea ! Hail, valiant women and heroic children, Grinding at your tasks, warring in your hearts ! Hail, King and Queen, Man and woman glorified. Battling on the front, fighting at the sick-bed. Loved in all the land, and honored in the earth ! Hail, Italy, blazoned in the badge of God, The decoration of a million wounds ! What billows roll the music of that epic? What thunders crash the chorus? Trumpet your psalms, ye Alps ! Create a symphony Of blending land and sea ! And listen, all ye sons of Italy ! Let San Martino and Cortina sing. Whose shaggy-gleaming eyes grew eloquent. Watching their freed kin where your swift advance. Cracking the iron of the Austrian keep. Unchained the giants of the Dolomites. And let the tidal choral, tuned to these. The Adriatic and Ionian Seas, Tell how your convoys through their waters sprang, Steering the Serbs to Corfu and Valona, Where ail our anxious navies learned to foil Ubiquitous submarines and perilous mines. Let charmed Zarola out of her thrilling breast The tempest of a deep contralto fling. To sing around you, heroes, how she saw You climb the shoulder of her towering mate And off the Altissimo of Monte Baldo brush Crawling invaders like a swarm of ants Into the vengeful chasm. [7] ITALY REVEALED Ransomed Trieste, tell how, through your soul, Drooping in bondage to demonic hate. The wing of expectation flew, as swiftly Into your port the Istrian Sauro sped, Swooped down a ship, and like a hawk whirled out ; So doing, repetitious, till they slew him. Tune your loud torrents, Monte Pasubio, And chant the anthem of the gallant fight That round your loins hung victory for a girdle. Buying your freedom with a holocaust. Ring out, Durazzo ; chime four different deeds That awed your harbor on as many days From four torpedo-boats : how each pounced in, Devoured a dragon-ship, and soared away. Hearken, ye engineers ! hark, and rehear The orchestras of a thousand hills rehearse The oratorio of a thousand scores That mid reverberating plaudits sang Your fearful blowing up of Castelleto. And listen, while Trieste trills again Her glee when gallant Rizzo rocked her bay. Blasting a battle-monster, blowing another. Gaping and paralyzed, against the sea. Cry, Monte Cucco, wonderments of May That made your passion kiss their soldier-feet That leaped incredibly Isonzo's gorge And ran up rocky barriers. Pola, sound Daring as wonderful, when Pellegrini With only three companions at your feet A dreadnought slew, torpedoed. Sing, ye joys Of saved Bainsizza ; every August wake The prickly hills that stud your thorny plain Into an anniversary carnival To vivify again and celebrate Glorious achievements that the Julian Alps Perceived with wild amazement ! Italy there Leaped like a cub through Austria's scampering camps. O'er thousands, prisoner, and, spectre-like. Stood beckoning on Hermada, o'er the rim That bristles round Trieste ! Answer, waves That swim the Adriatic, roll us out Your song of Rizzo and two motor-boats. Sixteen heroic men and four torpedoes, That broke the guarding wall of ten destroyers. And, killing both the giant dreadnoughts there, Entombed them in your sheol ! Airy heights. And steep aerial valleys, dizzy skies, Rainbows, and high-winds, and ye oft-congealed, Recuperating clouds, speak out, declare What human hawks, man-falcons, dove among you, Hunting their prey ; what climbing seas they sailed, O'er strongholds throwing down resounding death. Warning like balanced eagles scared Vienna, [8] ITALY REVEALED Pouncing on ships and ramparts out of skies, Down-swooping into battle-fields through mists As lightnings out of storm-clouds riddle earth, And chasing regiments and skimming trees Like insect-scooping swallows. Rouse the south. Freed Monte Santo ; pitch a key to reach San Gabriele in the north till he Makes a duetto of deliverance, ' Thrilling Isonzo on his lofty tongue Till all the echoing regions round cry out, " What bells peal out of heaven?" Let him say, \^'as not the fight that crashed around his crest. Lighting a taper through the darkened world, As if the archangel of his name had sparred With dense, surrounding, cloudy hosts of hell. Till Michael, with the swords of God, had come. Angels and men, blaring on seraph-trumps. To rescue glory and restore the light ? A limit rims the coinage of man's power. Though imaged in the mint and die of God. Yet we man's emblem, in thy fourth seal stamped. Behold henceforward and forever see — Topping the utmost peak, high over the ledge That builds the boldest eagle's windy nest. In dark-limned outlines, man, a sable crest, On rocks and ice, a black and silver wreath. Above a field of Alpine snows, the white Of a shield argent, vast, and issuant Out of a golden coronet and flames Of ribs of sunrise curled around his feet — This on thy seal and mountains we behold, The figure of thy glory on the Alp, Man's silhouette engraven in the sky ! V Blow, organ, blow. Plaintive and slow. For a world's hope in Italy laid low ! At last our dragging feet, slow trailing thine, Have pledged our rvtsted sword, that six months toils Behind thy spring and summer victories To build a forge and hammer out our strength. Then sudden comes the eclipse of thy October — Death's glazing eye, and autumn's. October — feverish in his caving house ; The last red rush of apoplectic life ! October — when the armies of the wood. Brittle and sallow, fly before the blast! God tempers with fire the steel of man's spirit. Handling our edge so tight it only cuts Our destiny where His grip clenches ours. [9] ITALY REVEALED About to thrust in heat our weapons all, He flings thy falchion foremost. Thus, Italy, in thy book, The brief and index of our cause. The daj-s of agony begin to write. Yet if God's anguish angelize our way, It posts around the end its guard of light. By double treachery tricked, and double-stabbed, Great Russia withers — fallen, doubly fallen. And fallen shrinks Rumania at her side. The dragons, from the carcase of the east. Swing up their gulping necks, To swivel every coil around the west — To crack thee, Italy, then France constrict. As Moses over Egypt stretched the rod That bred the east wind through a day and night Into a morning drenched with locust clouds That quenched with killing pools each greening thing, So, Italy, from the rod stretched over thee, Out of the east an ominous rustle scouts, Lifting a lying tongue among the trees. A day, a night, and out of whispers blown. Over the Julian and the Carnic Alps The dragon of the east wind rears and strikes. Hissing the startled hills, She coils and rears and strikes. As thunders rear and bellow And coil and roar and hiss. Glaring among the shrinking trees. She coils and rears and strikes. As wicked lightnings gleam and dart In the tongue and eye of night. Thy trees are swaying. They exclaim together. Their souls are afflicted. They are sore afraid. They cringe from the striker. They bend down backward. They swerve to heaven. They rock from side to side. They strain to escape, but they cannot. The lashings of death rail upon them. Their veins swell up with poisons of sheol. Out of the clouds of the blackness of the locusts of the pit. They sting them to fury. They drive them mad. Their heads wave together. They tug in frenzy. They leap. They pitch. In the sweat of the fear of the strength of their anguish They wrench their feet out of the earth and crash against the hills. Thy leaves are flying. They dance before the dragon. Thy red leaves cry out in-the venemous air Like hearts of men in the torments of hades. [10] ITALY REVEALED Like darting flocks of frightened birds They shoot the slopes of Monte Nero, Dashing, swirling, clambering over mountains, Clamoring among the hills, Covering the Alps with terror. Falling in the valleys and choking up the streams, Where the leap of the locust devours them — Child and maid and the babe with her mother. Earth mirrors in her grey and ghastly face, Swung like a pendulum to the swaying rage That drives thy hurrying leaves, their blighting fear, Where flying torments never couched in words. Abnormal as the gouging touch of hell. Misshapen, foul, distorted warps of dread, Besplashed with every hue of woe and death, Yellow as rotting parchments, black as plagues, Hectic as fevered cheeks round burning eyes. Red as rashes, white as lepers, speckled as pox, Grisled as skeletons startled out of tombs — All shapes and tints and attitudes of terror That out of Caporetto stream and wail Like flying meteors through a darkened land, Waving their shadows up above the earth. Fling all their terrifying ghosts across The visage of the world. Let the earth pray. Let Italy fall on her face. Let the peoples cry out of sackcloth. Will not the God of mercy hear ? The King is with his men, his broken heart Ascending up to heaven, and bending down to the land. Let God fulfil the promise of the King's name : Victor — " God with us !" The Queen of her people implores their God, The soul of her love melted within her. The lifted hands of her toil crying aloft. The women of Italy writhe in distresses. Their hearts poured out into their bended knees. Fear, ye wicked, the sword of the prayer of faith. Be strong, Diaz ! Gather the youth of the land together, The old man, the boy, the straggler broken from rank. To reenforce the rout, to make a stand at the river. They fly, they wade, they sink, they swim the Tagliamento. Stand ! stand ! stand ! They fly ; they will not stand. Be strong, Diaz ! Gather the youth of the land together. The old man, the boy, the cripple crumpled by war, To push against the flight, to stand with God at the river. They flee, they surge, they dive, they splash across the Livenja. Stand ! stand ! stand ! they flee ; they will not stand. [11] ITALY REVEALED Be Strong, Diaz ! Gather the youth of the land together, The old man, the boy, the angels camping their wrath. In the azure tent of God the cry of Italy kneeleth. They come like sheep that leap the wash of the wool at the shearing. Quavering through the stream, gasping out of the water. Stand ! stand ! stand on the brink of the Old Piave ! Stand ! stand ! stand ! They pause, they halt, they stand. The number of their king is there. The Breaker of Italy's seals hath loosed The anagram of God-with-man. They gather ; they lean against God On the edge of the rim of the river. Ye bayonets of Britain and France, Why trench behind the Adige ? Omnipotence pitches the wall of the land On the margin of the Piave. Hail, wall of life, damming death and evil ! Hail, wall of light, firm as the sway of angels ; Burnished with fire of seraphim, Incensive, gloriable around, Numerous-eyed and numberous-winged. All standing by unseen ! VI Through frozen winter and unthawing spring Her frosted courage to the old earth clung, Or hibernated in a drawled suspense. Prepare, ye nations ! Lest the earth should say, " I have delivered me with my own right hand," Ye drink of the gall-wine's bitter with Italy, France and England staggering in the coil, America unhelpful, until God On Italy's bank reopen victory. As the malicious spirit, barred in ice. Foments his rancor till the homing sun, Melting the lock, unjails him, and then enters The freshet's supple body, driven mad By meditations murderous that pitch Demoniac fury down the roaring gorge In a debauchery of destruction ; so, Out of the Arctic and the icy east Piling his convolutions' catapult, With hate so hot it fires the bitter cold. The homicidal dragon of the north Sways, preening to the hissing of the blast, Before the fascinated soul of France, Whetting the murder of his cruel eyes, That pop with venom and with cunning glare. Plotting to seize the vernal equinox And chariot on its wing across the trench. He calls his mate ; but, in the fiery menace [12] ITALY REVEALED And blistery grapple of Italy's burning soul, She dare not swerve a flank nor shift an eye. We watch our hope in pawn between the dragons — The wedge that splits the forking tongue of hell. Hold the Piave ! Heart of Italy, stand ! Each sunrise swings a pontoon in the bridge That we, adventurous like thy Genoese, To pay his new world's debit to his old. Build back along the ocean-trail he blazed. We strain, America ! Double your haste ; Put spurs to energy ; larrup the task ! What fury howls ? The winds of March wrench out, And in their lunge the dragon of the north, From gashed Saint-Quentin, out of racked Cambrai, Encoils the British vitals, whelmed back. Brave England buckles. Ravenous, the fangs Probe to the heart and reins. Bapaume is down ; Bril falls, and Peronne; the long-suffering Somme Is tottering to the fringe of Amiens. Shall bending Britain break? Our engineers Drop spade for gun and die against the gap. O that our strength were there ! Our boys sit bivouacked : O for ships, the ships To march them through the sea ! The crusher lags, sheers off the British shank, Nursing his hurt and cluttering his coil. His mate stirs sibilant to his beckoning hiss. Italy, cling ! The nations, like a shutter, Rock on the hinge of their hope, Swung from the nail of thy valor. We twist on the nerve of our anguish : Be swift, America ! What month wails meagre in, bleached with despair ? Is this young April, darling of the year? A worm is in the bud. The north wind yells, Rocking life's cradle to the dragon's stroke. The unhealed scabs of Flanders, raw again, Rip, moaning, off their sores. The British blade from Ypres to Arras shakes, Crooks at the center to the serpent, props The soul of England in her bout with death. Her grim back 'gainst the sea. The fangs droop baffled, like a criminal That cannot awe his judge. [13] ITALY REVEALED Italy, watch the saurian ! Blazy-eyed, Her gorge grows wicked to her mate's distress ! Clench the last ounce ! Over the arching trail — The span thrown out of England, and our span. Spliced in mid-ocean — double-quick, our boys Swing to France, singing. Lock your clutch and cling ! Hung in a grapple on the river's rim. Against our agony, This body raveling from this denuded soul. We grip the gnawing lizard to our pain ! May throbs in squalling, like the life of man That, born in rosy buds, breaks swagging down Into red dews of death. All scarlet wrath, The great red dragon bloods the bloom of France From Noyon unto Rheims. May's pinky whites stain into bleeding crimsons Around the strangled month — her blossoms bleaked, Her wheat-fields flailed, her vine and terrace swooning. God save thee, France ! the coils unkink again. Swimming the Aisne, Soissons enveloping. Entangling trouble in the ruddied Marne. One lurch away, unterrified Paris wipes Hate-snortled virus out of her smarting eyes. Perched on his cowardice behind war's risk, A grizzly wraith, the parody of Satan, In rattling armor clothed, and railing speech, Champs Hohenzollern, shaking bloody words Out of his heart, and, off his bloody steel, A red rain on the earth. Screw the last nerve to courage, Italy ! One turn of the capstan warps us in. Our knuckles clamp around the dinosaur Like wrath round hell's rim ! May ends in pangs ; June enters, crying out In pain to be delivered. Cruel midwives. North winds abrade her, while the embrangling snake Constricts maternity into violence, Where, eyes in sorrow, bowing on her bed, June bears war's monstrous birth of life and death. Be valiant, Italy, this wailing day A woe and a deliverance are born. An omen : Chateau-Thierry sees our sons Shunt back the death-lunge shot at Paris. Enraged, that his cankerous fangs The heart of France should miss. The monster flags his mate In a red-slavering hiss. [14] ITALY REVEALED. Look to her, Italy ! Her hatred curls Round Asiago, smothering his plain. She spools her wrath round Grappa, strangling him, With his Ferrara in her winding sheath. Her covetous fangs lust, lanky, lickerish. Her tongue laps murder, thirsty as the pit. Her famished dartings knit across the Piave, Bridging the banks with needles in thy flesh. Zenson reels, tortured. II Montello's rent. The Piave leaks from Capo Sile south. Her withering poisons cramp thy jerking thews, And spray thy seeing into cloudy night. Thy soul recedes from the jar of her impact. From the sickening thud of her coil on thy chest. Back over thy spine thy shoulders jut like cliffs, Their vigor bent like Pisa's leaning tower, Inclining in a perilous crisis, swaying Like Pisa's vertigo in a powerful wind. Thy strength is pendulous : elastic spirit's Return steers upright, forward, outward, leaning Far over the Piave, sword inclined Aslant the cringing dragon, cutting deep. Thy parched avengement quaffs her, Italy, Quenched to the hilt at Castalunga. She's tapped at Zenson, half the spigot out. Her liquors spurt, more gules than Red- Sea water. 'Tis drink and bright apparel : she attires Thy hurts in dripping gifts — Clothes II Montello in her scarlet raiment. The mantle of her blood. And Capo Sile wraps in crimson garments. The ebbing of her strength. Prodigal with the anilines of death, She stains thy kirtle gorgeous. The heavens chastise her wickedness. Rolling their thunders against her ear, And plumbing her heart with the prongs of lightnings. They spue her out of their mouth. With breath of tempests, in spital of storms. The torrents swarm upon her. The floods rise out of their bed to maul her. The passion of the Piave swings his hate. Sweeping away the bridges, plunging her into wrath. The river beats her prone, stretched writhing across. Heaven reproves her with the weapon of man. She is cupped to the quick ; she moults ; Her scales peel, scattered ; her flesh flakes off. Her strained nerve snaps : recoiling through the stream, Her wounds disturb the red ford of their blood. [15] ITALY REVEALED Listen, ye nations, to the Triumpher, God, Blowing the clarion of the Alps to thrill Her hour of victory through the widowed earth ! VII Under two flaming swords and cherubim, Stars facing, sun to sun, their amberous wings Curving plumed shoulders up a goldeny arch. Thy sixth and seventh seals stand, Italy, Twin victors, like twin angels double-bloomed Out of the twin-bud thy fifth seal disclosed, Of Godhead loaning man His agony To wrestle darkness on the brink of life. Thy radiant sixth around her sister sparkles Her mystic number of the deliverance Of victory over evil well begun; And thy exultant seventh on tiptoe raises Her number to the glorious cherubim. To loose the mystery of her warfare finished Into the sabbath of a perfect work. The touch of glory instantly unseals The jeweled swords of five victorious months. Keen as the eye of the eagle's swooping wing, Stern as the coals of the wrath the heavens fling. Warring with war to kill the accursed thing. July comes, torch and blade. As once his heat Resolved the charter of our liberties. And razed the Bastille, melted down off men. So now the vehemence of his anger smokes To burn away from freedom another hell. He sends thee, Italy, his first four days To scorch the dragon's hope on Monte Grappa, And bids his sixth day singe the last of her Off the Piavian delta's wrinkled throat. The dinosaur, subdued, On bank and hill and plain Wails her curdled brood. Two hundred thousand slain. The earth throws eyelids wet Up sparkling into light. Where Alpine signals set Judgment's return to Right. Allies, out with glaives ! advance ! Delve the dragon out of France. The strangler round the June-scream of his mate Had flung a coil ; but no coercive cry Ransacks his succor from her sprawling wound. Eyeing thee, Italy, out of France, his glare Lights on thy outstretched valor ramping through Albania ; sees it swinge his warmate off [16] ITALY REVEALED Vayusa, Malacastra Heights, and, coursing Astride the Orsum, comb her from Berat ; And spies her, in the scuffle in the bend Of the DevoH, south of Elbasan, Pitched from lozi, Mah Siloves' crest. Back drooling to the Skumbi. His bristling fury in its own shadow sees Thy striplings, Italy, retrieving France : Three hundred thousand at the thrilling task Of guardianer of Rheims. Thy sturdy slips he scowls at — olive-tinctured, Tinting whole forests of our sapling pines, Dug off the husky slopes of liberty To reen force the sap and pith of France And spread a shelter over her despair. He dare allow no pause to loll against Our daily thickening of armament. Ferocious frenzies through his wicked eyes Dart to impale their newest foes. He throws His long death-struggle, thrashing in the earth, The wrenched old planet creaking on her posts. Four fiendish days and four demoniac nights. Across the vale of Ardre, Italy, The bars of thy flesh go banging to and fro. Pounding the slamming blasts unpacked from the pit. Four murderous days and slaughterous nights assault Rheims' coat of mail — the interlinking plates Of Italy's lives — where death falls, glancing off Panoplied Rheims, screened Epernay, masked Chalons. Four days and nights the gambling dice of hell Rattle against thy ribs, and lose the throw. From four climbed days and nights the tide-wave 's pushed One foot-slip down the ebb. Like Italy's brave, America's with Gouraud shield Champagne, Defend Chalons, and, 'gainst the shifting Marne, Hanging their pluck in the way of the serpent, Cling to that gate of Paris with their souls. And almost with the fury of bare hands Thrust back the outrageous dragon. The trump of thy June battle, Italy, Winds through July's stout spirit not in vain. He gazes past the brazen skies, and sees Our battle-weight pull down the golden scale, God's glory in the bowl. Storm-helm and cloud. That helped the Piave, rage around us now. Between the Marne and Aisne, spinning our strands Into the gossamer of the long grey mist. Drumming to silence our advancing noise With gun-fire out of heaven. [17] ITALY REVEALED God weaves us into the night and wet Till the tangled serpent swings in our net. Out of the pillar and cloud of God, Mangin, Petain, Foch, and France, Pershing, and America, Thunder the dragon to the sod, Javelined with lightning's lance. God's hammers clang him there. Writhed in a gnarled despair, Against the anvils of the steel of Italy. By day, by night, in his flaring forge, July, Blowing his fires pitiless-high. With iron mallet on the warping thing, Rimmed to our hoop of scathing arms that sear it, Around, against our incensed ring, Pestles the dragon's hulk and spirit. The blazing wrath of sweating August swears A shriveling vengeance to sear out his stain. Blotched four years past, when hydrophobic hate. Snapping among the dog-days, bit them mad, Gnashing the whole world into crazy war. August has weighed our metal, peering through The gadding curtains of the skies : he knows What bayonets our marching sea-lane throws, Three hundred thousand, unto each new month. These in a wracking avalanche he crashes. And Soissons, salvaged from the crusher, lives; While the maimed demon, skulking from the Ourcq, Where fighting palls him, twists around the Vesle His snarled resistance in a knot of rage. Where murder's garroting loop rubs Amiens; Fierce August stokes the furnace of his wrath Under the grill of Haig's men, flamed to crisp The creeper's edge with broiling bars, that spark The prairie boys of Illinois afire. Inflammable sons of Lincoln and of Grant That smelt the ebbing monster off Chipilly. Norward the conflagration chars the coil. Crackling from strangled towns, out of whose corses — Marred Bapaunie. blemished Noyon — haggard ghosts Faint back against the scrawny arm of France. August, well done ! Thrust red between thy tongs. Fear's hot coal scalds the leathern heart of hate. Where HolienzoUern's throne haunts him, aslope. What sable-pknny crest Waves war-cry ? 'Tis September's, Whose unavenged unrest Through four black years remembers Horrors, whose great welts are [18] ITALY REVEALED Ridged throbbant through his heart, an ulcering scar. He watched the hideous heel advance, Dripping the crunch of Belgium's bones, Swaggering on the breasts of France, Grinning through her groans, Almost wading to his lust. The grinding into blood and dust Of the old-young face of Paris. Always his days have greedily recalled How through the Marne grim Jof fre that horror mauled ; And, angel of the avengance of the Somme, He waves the scorpion of Britain on. It stings : Peronne's redeemed. It flogs a breach In the red boa from Drocourt to Queant. We gash the curling mangier past the Vesle ; And, from the Oise to Rheims, with France we shear* And tear and fold it, ragged, back to Conde, Like tailors ripping cloth. Verdun's vendetta cries : September nods ; And, swift as words, the knights of Pershing whip The serpent's crook off Mihiel at a crack; And grip it in the Argonne, snake and den And jungle lashing through the earth and sky. Choked in our clutch — to cling to crime's convulsion Till death has rattled through it. These are the days of over-tortured earth's Recovery out of shell-shock, morn by morn Hearing the whetstone on God's rhythmic scythe Mowing the haunch of murder back to hell. The ardors of thy reapers, Italy, In these crusading tasks to gather France Out of the abyss, from dawn to dawning toil — Even as thy stamina on the Piave's marge Makes what is possible. And eastward now September Invokes the fellowship of thy limber arm Against a cunning beast, and, lo, Thy aid heaps up the Macedonian blow That drops Bulgaria's red tool into woe. And a far crash the gibbering Turk appals : Down through his crumbling empire's sagging walls, Out of his hand, ancient Damascus falls. Striding up the mirrors of the sky, October's red-gold torch and brand flare nigh. Yet ere he quits. September's ire must try To break the Hindenburg line. That never has budged for man or gun or mine. [19] ITALY RE\'EALED Ho, Italy, they come : black-diamond eyes Flash Italy from these yellow strings of beads, Threaded on khaki, charging for New York — The high, uplifted giant of the skies That swings earth's western gate toward liberty Above the crouching nations. They'll crack old Hindenburg, or their own hearts. They run, swerve, fall, creep, lift, trip, stagger, stumble, The sons of freedom in the twisting snake. Spectral, before, around, behind, among them, A Proteus, up from subterranean lairs His helly forms all simultaneous rearing. No sooner do we think the battle won. Than new fangs stab our flanks that, wheeling, see Dizzy eruptions through the old cracked earth — The virulent eczema of the oozing pit. Inflamed in all its pores, exuding fiends. So seeing, still we fight, fall, creep, up-stagger, And, falling, creeping, staggering, fight until The Hindenburg line drops broken into hell. Italy, taps ! the frosted plume commands : October, gorgeous in his golden mail, Remembering Caporetto. Taps ! prepare a toil with rest ; Then, up at reveille. Leaping with conquering dreams, Make real what but seems, Ripping the dragon's crest. The eye of his purpose set to Italy's clock, By slaying the saurian to doom her mate, October drives the dragon of the north. Dragging Saint-Quentin from the haggled snake, And tattered Cambrai, shrunk Laon, and Homs, And Ostend, Lille, old Douai, and their kin. Straught Belgium, in her right mind rearrayed. Sits in the gates of Brup;es. her coasts redeemed. The streaming fragments of the smotherer's power, Like a great fungus, creeping toward the north, Save where our sons in Argonne-Forest latch Hate's throat in death and hem his heart in judgment. Leaving the strangler in our stricture caught. On Caporetto night, loud trumpeting. Dripping blood-crimson flame, October's sword Flares on the Brenta and the glad Piave. LTp, Italy ! with the wrath of heaven Sickle the great deliverance given. Judgment, thundering out of Monte Grappa, Leaps roaring on the rocks of Asiago, Under the gleaming eyes of startled night, [20] ITALY REVEALED Who springs awake, her black flanks on the mountain Plunging like frightened steeds. A palsied rumble grips the throat of earth, Coughing and hiccoughing a sanguine death That clutters and coagulates the air. The dragon rolls from sleep, Pitched out by noises and a noxious hail : Hissing and belching like the smudgy pit, She murderously wraps the Italian armies. Their tussle tramping down the shuddering dark. The hours behold it, muttering to heaven, While night, grown paler, down the mountain roams. Moaning against the woods. Entangling in her hair the shivering trees. The eyelids of the morning, red and sore. Lift heavy out of vigils, opening slow The eye of day, all bloodshot, draggling garments Splashed and bedabbled in the blood of earth. He stares upon the foes, too strung to know it His light enrages them : their tearing sinews. Streaking the sky with splots of splattering death. Make day more hideous than savage night. Let wickedness rumple this plateau and peak. Light locked in darkness, day in night, until The dragon's throes drip limply, trickled thin As sievy earth sifts seeping rains ; until The number here of Italy's fated sons Is twenty thousand perished, and the hurt Groan, sixty thousand souls. The army of thy right hand's picking up The islands of the Piave, Italy, While two of thy armies strain, amphibious. Sagging from either bank down through the river. Why do the heavens weep around the battle ? And why does the flood let swollen eyes o'erflow The bridges, crashing through his tears. Leaving thy hope imperilled ? But God sends courage where Pent Italy might despair. His anger's not in nature, as before. And courage can pry open her shut door. He bids thy engineers rebuke the river, Arguing in the friendly mask of night, Under the stingings of the demonian hiss ; And bridges rise, and swim : thy armies cross. And firm, with legs astride the Piave, fight Like two great pillars of a mighty land. [21] ITALY REXEALED The dinosaurus sways deceived, Caught in the vail around her heart, The cunning of her fire-eyes steeped In folly straight before her. She winds up her strength on Monte Grappa, Mindless of the winding fingers Coiling round her coil like death round death. But, wondering at her, under eager browns Valdobbiadene sees it from afar; And bright Solize sees it, peeping out Over the edges of her shining bank. Under October's mask of golden haze, Diaz deceived her with a regiment, Sons of Ohio and the woods of Penn, Whose daily march of new accoutrements Out of Troviso. stealing in at night, Aroused the laughter of the Carnic Alps, To see the dragon damped and Ital)' thrilled With courage as our Blobdingnagians lake The stature of three hundred thousand men. They leap the Piave, and the saurian broods Scurry ghost-haunted through Venetia And into the Tagliamento plunge their fear. Chased by the armies of one regiment. The Slinger hurls thee, Italy, out of His wrath Straight to the heart of the cause and guilt of the war. Thou hast trapped the black night in the mountains And broken her flank on thy wheel. Heaving the power of her crest Into the valley of retribution. October sings over the peaks, Across the plains, and the valleys of rivers. Dragon's-blood splashing on tree and bush. Her scales, that swim on his blade, Fly into the air like sparks of rainbows. Sprinkling forest and thicket and grass — Green and yellow and red scales, And brown and speckled and crimson. The leaves clap hands, and laugh at themselves, In pied costumes of scales and blood As in a day of carnival. They sing the song of her judgment. Strumming on the wind. Dancing showers rinse out of the sky The memory of Caporetto ; And the good old sun walks out, all tenderly Leaning on his daughter. Italy, Touching her sorrows with the hues of heaven. [22] ITALY REVEALEU The old and new months in the midst of work Swap saddles in the field, One loth to quit, and one imperious To glut his vengeance to a sudden end. Done - — in too bright a flash for mortal eye ! Without a lull in battle, swerve, or blench, Or jar, where Diaz and his armies sweep, October's gone — November's crashing blade Gallops the charger, furious as he. Abrupt November arms eleven days : Three at both dragons' throats, eight more at one. With double falchions, forged for double tasks. Three victoring days serve France and Italy, A sword in each ; and in the Meuse-Argonne The serpent's power is broken in the neck, And keen Americans like greyhounds lope To spill his death-wound there. Around the dinosaurus, Italy, Three knighted days with flashing falchions leap From peak to peak, and down thy river banks. Where the Piave and the Brenta wind Their ribbons out on sea-spools ; chasing death Off Monte Grappa, Monte Pertica, Montello, and their fellows, driving her Down off the ridges to the Piswe's brink; And off Fonzazo and Quero, thrown Into the vale between ; and, northward, sweep her Off Monte Baldo, through the Valle Arsa, From Revereto, out of Trento ; scourge her South-easterly across the recovered plains And ransomed valleys of Venetia, Beyond Belluno, and beyond Udine, Thrilling Trieste with her dream come true. And freeing Pola, singing to the sea — Leaping from vales to hills, from peaks to valleys, Unmanacling the towns, unchaining rivers, November's vengeance and his firstborn days Destroy the dragon and unhook her spoil, Seizing a half a million of her brood Alive, and piling up a countless dead On the heaped mountains and in choked ravines, Like lost leaves out of tempest-stricken woods. The end is come Of guilty centuries of greedy wrong : Surviving victims and dead martyrs strow Their exultations on her whimpering woe. The dragon of the Danube, That through thy mountain rolls, Red-writhing in her death, [23] ITALY REVEALED Doth she repent our slain souls, In her expiring breath? The strange amalgamation of old hates Undoes her metals : see, Out of her crumbled thigh and belly gush The swallowed nations, free 1 'Tis done ! 'tis done ! • Down the angelic sky Let a hymn cry, " The war is won ! " 'Tis done ! November, in a peal of lights. Flares eight days thundering round the rim of France, Through Flanders-field, through clanging Belgian gates. Through Argonne, crashing to avenge Sedan, And war is done, the dragon of the north Whining for mercy under the peoples' feet. What's in the earth? a storm of shooting stars? The splitting skies shed crowns and royalties : By scores, disheveling the firmament, Princes and dukes and kings and emperors Shell, parachuting out of tipsy thrones. Their dribbled glories frayed to purple sparks That fade in transit like the meteor's flit — The best decoronation earth has seen. The peoples slack a sigh through every town : Out of the muffled years they slip ungagged ; They smile ; they laugh ; they hum ; they sing ; they pour Into the streets like bees at swarming-time. And shout, grab one another, dance, and yell. Old men up-kicking heels like yearling colts, And stately dames kidnapping strangers, shying Like skittish two-year-olds down crazy streets, Entangled in confetti, jangling bells, Tooting tin-horns, and murdering fifes and drums In wild delirium, under twitching stars That rub their poor old orbs at giddy earth. • Glee's dizziest madcap fits the world to-night. Dance on, dear flighty peoples! life has been Four years suspended at the tip of hell, Swung from an eyelash — nay, the gossamer thread Of God's eternal goodness. Dance and sing, And loose the heart's thanksgiving, psalming Heaven ! 'Tis over — acted, done ! Blue-gold, the avengeful sky Wipes his red weapon into the sheathing cry, " The war is won ! " [24] ITALY REVEALED VIII Here wrath should end. But what fantastic voices, Like leaves that rattle grave-yards windy nights, Chatter and screak their antique selfishness, Till ghostly gabble troubles up an age We thought long buried under ugly scars In dark unfathomable hates of war? Is sense jarred out of cue ? Ears think they hear The old snake-charmers of the Senate Chamber Beat veto tom-toms and howl incantations, Lest earth eclipse war with a League of Nations, And, cHpping' strife and battle, shear His wiggeries off the baldness of old greed. Howl, old dwarf's fistful of anachronists ! Make earth stand still, or trundle back an age ! Is this our world late squeezed, by the skin of her teeth. Wet-mangled through such agonies as we think ? Has war toiled — incommensurable war — Four years, destroying earth ; or do we dream, Or waken out of madness? Surely, we dream. It is not possible Freedom has spokesmen so insensible To the world's need, guides so impervious To the world's light, as to swing brazen tongues, Where honorable law is weighed, to sully men Out of man's obligation toward mankind With words that shame us with their nude appeal To all that 's basest in what 's crooked in us ! Back from crusading, must America Suffer in audience, assoiling her, The same old dragon's hiss of selfishness She sailed away to punish ? Or is this crawling tickle in our ear Only the rattle of the dragon's tail That — like all tails of new-killed snakes, boys tell us — Wriggles till sundown? Freedom needs thy example, Italy, And thy devotion to it. Thou'rt both a builder of the League of Peace And one of the chiefest pillars of her house. Like thy Columbus, seeking a new world To demonstrate the earth a globe of hope. Be ever hope our enterprise, that news us. Vigorous, Italy, alike in thee And thy discovery, America, Oldest and youngest of the mightier powers ! Or has thy new bud made the old the youngest ? Then, Italy, if we lag, let thy resurgence [25] ITALY REVEALED Rebuke us out of the youngest face of nations, Risen to serve, the springtide in thy heart, More human than old Rome ! For 'tis in sacrificial scars of service — No longer faithless, unbelieving, but With our own trembling wound-prints thrust in thine — W'e know thee, what thou art, one risen indeed From earth's dark tomb of thousands of years of strife. 'Tis not old savage war thou wearest now — His murderous, dripping, black-red coronet. Thou art not crowned of hell. In the damned glamors wreathed of cursing night, But throned with holier spell, Transfigured in the sorrowy scars of Right. What scalding centuries burn Hell's lesson in, we learn ! As children, dancing to a vivid snake. Applaud his vicious lunges, like a game. We, fascinated, clap war, when his fangs Through Caesar or Napoleon venom earth. Though ruinous through lands the charmer glides, \\'ith endless murder in his wicked gleam. War drafts our virtues and our faults, and adds Nothing to virtue but degrading dust. Save war that is crime's strict and just police. Courage, our soldier-epaulet, we wear With bulls and dogs and game-cocks, volunteers That stake a life in battle quick as we. And pour it out defending what they love. Courage to risk life in the killing of it Breeds boldest criminals. 'Tis not too nice To march with honor, as to charge with vice : The braveries of the battle-legion ken The noblest and the wickedest of men. .War drafts and kills, but cannot father valor. War coins no courage ; but the drill of war Is the great counterfeiter of brave coin. And passes it, coin current, in the field. Men, vised 'twixt death and death, war's disciplines Compel to bout death's chance- jaw at their front. To void death's sure jaw at desertion's rear ; Whence trapped compulsion dons the helm of zeal. War little edifies the officer Who clamps his regiment in gyves of death. And serves the canons of his killing art The more he screens himself behind his men. Great safety growing with high rank, that grabs War's glory in inverse ratio to hazard. This ignobility brave shoulder-straps [26] ITALY REVEALED Often transgress by risks almost a private's, And even war blushes to upbraid them for it. Its stains of cowardice, birth-marking war, Suggest the inventor — the hallmark of hell. Unscrupulous strategy, war's chiefest boast, Gambles with tricks, plots inequalities. Plants ambuscades, schemes overslaugh with numbers : The tactics of the wolf-pack, and its glory. War turns us wolves, and drives out nations, packs That kill by multitudes, a crime in one man. Crime, multiplied by nations, equals glory ! Murder retailed is crime ; wholesaled, good war ! O hypocritical, inglorious war. Red, baseborn, bullying cub of violent hell ! Cain taught one-handed murder : thou hast coached us To multiply it by ten million men And all our sciences, geared up to kill ! War is the sheriff, or the criminal; Murder, or retribution's sword run through it. Four years in pawn to anguish, earth would pump Out of her system war, the asp of ages. Let sheriff war end war, the criminal. Wry-necked in hangman law's avenging knot. All just war 's circumscribed within the sword Of justice, law, and right ; who glorifies it, Bejewels the hangman. Other war is Cain's, At Abel with a hell's-brand : kings and peoples. Who crown them with it, wear the bands of hell. Only in sheriff's badge can strategy Serve honorably — an honest deputy Of the reign of law, who, using strategems To save good lives, none handcuffs unawares Save crooks, whose stock-in-trade is tricking justice. Constabulary warfare, Italy, Wracking all precedents of the shock of battle, With body, soul, and spirit thou hast waged To the extremity of an ardent people, To pay a priceless ransom for the sins Of centuries, and get the world reprieved. Thy heroism was not In twilight courage, where the unspirituous beast Takes death without a speculation in it. Thy half a million lives, that guled thy altar, Wrenched open-eyed, gold day, and weighed in light Life's estimation, highest when they gave it. In passionate despair, that earth might live. O they were not deceived ! not when they knew [27] ITALY REVEALED That sin had found us all out, suddenly, And not the Teuton only, trapped in crime. 'Tis easy to confront the wretch and judge The deed our guilt has no investment in. But to be striking at a hideous thing That is our mirror with our image in it, Our image magnified, but only to The logical conclusion of our ways ; For freedom, life, and light, and hope, to wrestle Our own tough wrong of immemorial days; To agonize with Satan, yet to fight Our hearts, ourselves, our fathers' fathers' guilt, Knowing no people 's clear, no land 's acquitted : O this is cruel, cruel ! for the doubt If God can choose us starts a leaking wound Whose siphon lets the courage of the soul. To the full house of earth war staged his play, Whose first scenes spoke their lines with double sense, Their portents waiting in the wings their cue To out their horrors in the more fearful acts Staging behind the drop-scene. Actors played New parts from day to day without rehearsal, Feeling death's terror as they spoke his lines, Falling upon his dagger. Thousands stood Spectators only till insatiate war Made the whole house his stage, peoples and theatre Emblazing in a slaughterous hell of wrath. Ere God's white flame enlightened war's red glare, Millions expired in dread and mystery, Hoping they played their death-scene not in vain. But perishing in the hope. So died they, over brain and heart baptized Into the agonies of God's strange work Of necessary judgment. What tragedy, pitiful, sleeps with our slain ! There must be in the Heart upholding all hearts — - Through infinite tragedy, beyond our ken — A terrible compassion for our dead. Can God be merciful to the greed that ever On earth proposes wicked war again ? A passion haunts me that could choke that thing, In king or politician, rave it down Out of its coil accurst, and crumple it Into the shadow of an ended snake. This war 's the nailing of God's heart afresh, Penumbral round the umbra of His cross In Whom we live and move and have our being. As beats the word of His power through all that is, Felt in the wind, seen in the flower, and heard [28] ITALY REVEALED Lustre of service, rainbowed over death, Flashing the lights of heaven uneclipsed. Thou art our token, out of tomb and pall, That God can bring a people from their fall And make their life peal out a nobler chime. O never be apostate to His call ! Swing the Torch upward to the last steep of time ! Build God — Whose toiling visions raise Thy slumbers, Italy, from the dead — A new cathedral's climbing praise, With pillared vault and arching spread Of psalms by raised-up nations said ! Beauty of use and service-stars avow. Purer than Rome's thy glory risen now. Some olden dreamer of the golden age. Met somewhere in thy sleep, we know not how. Endorsed his promise on thy rising page. And since God gave thy newer birth To lure us from our selfish grip. Let sacrifices still equip And knight thy serviceable worth, Till violence learns from stronger ruth, And all the daughters of the earth, Some image of thy sheen to win, Some radiance of Serving Truth, — God in the hand, as on the lip, — Come climbing up thy ways, to dip The garments of their service in Thy fountain of perpetual youth. [31] ITALY REVEALED On trilling boughs, in children, in ourselves Experienced in each pulse of heart and brain, So, groaning through all sickness of creation. His are the burning Eyes of every fever. The dying Heart of all we kill in war. Our reckless centuries have been more callous To God's bruise even than to the hurt of man, Though Heaven's heart He lowered out of glory One hour to show us while grief lasts God is The God of sorrows and acquainted with grief Beyond the sum of all the sons of men. As God is, we beheld Him, on His shoulder Bearing our cross, and made its Curse for us; And now we see Him newly-nailed to war ; For Love's eternal life, let down from heaven, Is, as it ever was, in sorrows, chief. Gashed with war's million wounds, war's million deaths He dies in the dying, mourns them in the living. And in the wicked, the aggressors, groans, Bearing the contradiction of their sin. The tragedy and waste of war outreaches Its only compensation to him it teaches To see Love's crucifixion on earth's cross. The Weeper over every soldier's grave. A beauty lingers on the lids of death, A glory in God's anguish writhing there In wistfulness so sorrowful despair Seems like, or near that other hovereth. Broken, our dust and spirit cling to God's breath ; Yet as we break we seem to see Him stare Into our wreck upon His finger, where Our life lies in her ashes, as He saith. Our grief we know : the Infinite Woe That stands Silent we'd guess if our poor children lay Crumbled in our just government to clay, And dust of some in other, sweeter lands Our passionate hearts could clutch with eager hands, But some we never could regain that way. O Italy, if the Agonies Divine, More tortured by this war than all the world. Can lift us into faith out of such sorrow. Thy half a million have not died in vain. But all is lost, and nothing can avail. If Christ be not the Hero of this war. The true Prometheus, staked to all our woes In bringing the fire of God's love to man. To give this flag or that some paltry acre, Who'd spill the bright red cup of one man's blood ? But to maintain earth's light of God is worth All that man's Lover lets us pay for it. [29] ITALY REVEALED It well becomes us to exhort our hearts To search the price of peace heaven weighs us at. Since every mystery of hfe and death This wild war dangles in its savage bud. There 's not a people shares this planet's mercy That has not sowed the seed war's red scythe reaps. Should God mete Germany unmercied justice, Which of us could that inquisition bear ? We have been saved, but in a great rebuke Shaming all calls for penance that yield none. Even as the tribes that punished Benjamin Were sold in battle to his sword by God, So Justice in this war brands the most guilty In a hot chastisement that scores us all. Warning our past, our present, and our future, Of the curst pharisee in every heart, Ready to act the Cain condemned in others ; And warning skepticism, that sold our day, Like Judas, to this cross of war, God is. And will, at any cost to Him and us. Require our evil, and regard His throne. Thank Him, He is, lest hell engulf the earth Forever and forever. Hark, ye peoples, And hear the rod ! let sorrow teach our sin ! Let there be hope where God has written books, Scriptures of sorrow, in the nations' hearts ! There, Italy, a gospel to the world, Against the midnight black of war and death, Engrossed by Him Who loosed thy seven clasps, The apocalypse of thy existence stands. Lettered without and in, an unsealed book. Here, in thy palimpsest, lately recovered Out of the catacombs of former things. Papyrus of a nation old yet new. Inscribed in characters Love's hand has traced With glorious illumination-work. We read thy sufferings, and read with hope. Yet, bleared with blood-stain, be thy seven-leaved book Only by reverent, trembling fingers took ! God crowns His warrior. Italy, we see His diadem arraying thee : Victorious Anguish ! Agony glory-crowned ! Hail, Italy, blazoned in the badge of God, The decoration of a million wounds ! Thy coronet of glittering scars Is brighter than a wreath of stars ; Thy gold was beaten out of infinite woes; Thy jewels all reflect [30] t^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper p Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxii Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnolo A WORLD LEADER tN COLLfCTIONS PRESEI 1 1 1 Tnomson Park Orive Cranberry Township, PA I6O61

22013910

The harp of life,

Allemong, Nettie P.

harpoflife00alle_djvu.txt

Class Book- CopigMT^" I Q ^ g rOPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE HARP OF LIFE THE HARP of LIFE by NETTIE P. ALLEMONG ^^And love took up the harp of life and smote on all the strings.' ' LocKSLEY Hall. 1922 THE STRATFORD CO., Publishers Boston, Massachusetts V^"^c^^ Copyright, 1922 The STRATFORD CO., Publishers Boston, Mass. The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A. JUL 10 1922 The f^emory of that Love which taught My Heart to Sing CONTENTS / Page Salutation 1 Eventide 2 To a Released Bird 4 Take Me Home to Old Virginia ... 6 To the Hierarchy in the Bush . . .10 Swinging on the Gate 11 The Snow Fall 14 When a Fellow Needs a Friend . . . 17 Our Ready Ally 20 Too Late 22 The Tryst 24 My Rival 25 Virginia 27 The Friend of Friends . . . .29 A Picture of Evelyn 32 Writer's Cramp 33 Riches 34 Pumpkin Pies 37 I Know a Little Avenue . . . .39 Sympathy 41 CONTENTS Page A Man Like You 42 My Mother 44 Easter Revelations 45 Because 51 Hollywood 52 Those Kids of Mine 55 Country Folk 58 Supper Time at Home 61 Woman's Smile . . . . . .63 Honni Soit Qui Maly Pense . . . .65 Tide of the Years . . , . .68 Bereavement 70 Christmas Eve at Home . . . .73 When Daddy Had to Cook . . . .80 There is a Life That Has No Death . . 85 Learn to Laugh 87 When the Table is Set For Two . . .89 To a Musician 91 When the Autumn Days Are Here . . 95 Love 100 To Courtney . . . . . .104 The Empty Cradle 105 My Reward 106 Sunset 107 The Peaks of Otter 109 The Unseen 113 Salutation A bard unknown to fame salutes you here, Presents these simple rhymes with trembling fear, Like songs of birds, they claim no lyric art ; But as the Muse impelled, flowed from the heart. Here love full oft has struck life's throbbing lyre; In swelling strains essayed its high desire. Grief too has voiced its ever mournful note, In plaintive song which welled the singers throat. Mirth's airy mood as well has told its Jest In careless strain, which suits its tenor best. Thro all these varied themes of poesy, Some heart may throb with mine in sympathy, In dreams may fare with me the sunset ways To hallowed scenes of life 's bright yesterdays. Repaid am I if here I've made one constant friend, Whose path some song may cheer unto the end. Tho critic minds condemn the work unfit to live. They can at least, in charity, FORGIVE. [I] THE HARP OF LIFE Eventide Eventide, an empty nest, a robin's plaintive call, Unheeding sit two little birds beside my garden wall. With pleading notes the mother calls the brood unto her breast. Two little birds the world have seen, forgot the parent nest. With eyes that see love's finished task as fall the shadows gray Westward on unresting wing, the robin flies away. Eventide, an empty home, a mother old and gray, To distant scenes the world has called her group of ^Ye away. As twilight falls, in dreams she sings to babes upon her breast. And o'er the cradle bends again with prayer for peaceful rest, [2] THE HARP OF LIFE As empty home and vacant crib melt in the shadows gray Where shine the hills and faces smile, the mother flies away. [3] THE HARP OF LIFE To a Released Bird My beautiful captive, I set you free To make your home in the forest tree. No more shall your cries for life be heard, My cage-prisoned suffering striving bird ; You shall sweep the vaults of the azure blue As an All wise God intended you to. When your mates invite from the branches high, You will answer back with a Joyous cry. Free to choose irom the birds that rove The forest halls a mate you will love ; Free to anchor a new-home nest Where birdlings will cheer the brooding breast. Like a silken sail by the breeze upborne, You shall fly aloft on the wings of morn. From a new found home, you will wander forth To the wooded cliffs of the wind-swept North. You shall lave your breast in the silvery foam, And sing on the heights of the cliff -built home. You will hear God's voice in the thunder loud, And read His smile on the sun-lit cloud. On the wings of Joy you will cheerily go [4] THE HARP OF LIFE From the mountain heights to the vales below To gather food where the fancy calls In the mossy dells, by the waterfalls. You will dive and sing with your mates at play As children sport with the ocean's spray. Your beautiful notes so clear and free, Will rise o'er the forest harmony. The listening ear of the passing throng Will thrill with Joy at your raptured song, And when at eve to your nest you turn, While the Western skies yet faintly burn As you rest secure in the sheltering tree I will think how much you have been to me. And dream of a day that will have no night When I'll see you again in scenes of light. [5] THE HARP OF LIFE Take Me Home to Old Virginia Take me home to old Virginia, to the roof of kindred ties, Where my heart in dreams is living in the light of loving eyes, Take me back to old surroundings, sacred scenes of other days, Where these feet in youth have wandered over sun-enchanted ways. Let me feel the morning breezes blown from musky clover dales, See the waving harvests spreading over peace- ful, smiling vales. Let me taste the ripened fruitage of its orchards and its vines. Rest again beneath the arbor where the trumpet creeper twines. Let me see the Alleghany with its glory-misted heights. Reaching starward in its grandeur on the silver summer nights, [6] THE HARP OF LIFE Let me hear the mellow music of the dancing mountain rills, Leaping down from heights of silence, through the shadow-cloistered hills. Let me gaze on loved Mt. Vernon, and historic Arlington. Sacred shrines of great Virginians, noble Lee and Washington. Let me look on Monticello where the slanting morning sun Gilds with gold the famous roof tree of immor- tal Jefferson. Let me linger near Manassas, on the sod where legends tell How the valiant Southern soldiers, nobly- fought and nobly fell Let me dream at Appomatox of the unforgotten day When the North and South forever laid the deadly sword away. Let me wander down by Piedmont thro the Rappahanock vales. Where the Tuckahoe is monarch of the daisy- dappled dales. [7] THE HARP OF LIFE Where the old Virginia darky sits beside his cabin door, Dreaming dreams of bygone glory, and the days that come no more. Let me see the stately mansions all along the rolling James, Where escutcheons bear forever many proud historic names, Let me trace old paths thro Richmond, Holly- wood, the Soldiers Home ; Rest my heart in reverent silence there beneath the State House dome. Virginians of Virginians, you are all the world to me! In my heart your proud position leaves no room for rivalry. Other states and other peoples claim my recreant thoughts apart ; You Virginia, and Virginians have my friends, my thoughts, my heart. Take me home to those who love me, to the roof of kindred ties ; Let me see the welcome smiling in the light of loving eyes. [8] THE HARP OF LIFE Let me share their dreams, their sorrows, daily happiness and toil, And in death, by them surrounded, rest in peace in sacred soil. [9] THE HARP OF LIFE To the Hierarchy in the Bush How much do you know of the skylark's song, Who carols his soul's deep pleasure In rapturous notes which pour from his throat In fluent, melodious measure ? How much do you know of the mournful lay, He chirps o 'er a lone nest grieving, For the loved ones flown which were once his own, As the old home-bower he is leaving ? Who spreads to his view the beautiful blue, And earth for his admiration ; Has fashioned the note of his minstrel throat, Interprets the inspiration. However the song, if mournful or glad In lyrical measures, or broken ; The notes that could flow to you critics below He graciously leaves unspoken. [10] THE HARP OF LIFE Swinging on the Gate To Gladys You mothers whose dear children God took in early years, Whose Joys were your deep pleasures, whose sorrows caused your tears. Will understand the reason I let dull duties wait, To paint a mem'ry picture of a child upon a gate. 'Twas at my garden entrance, one cloudless eve in June ; When roses wreathed the porchway in riotous festoon ; While yet a lark was singing a love song to his mate, A child watched for my coming, swinging on the gate. I thought to steal upon her, and catch her un- aware, To print a kiss blindfolded, upon her forehead fair. THE HARP OF LIFE When suddenly she spied me, and cried with heart elate, ''I'm waiting for you Mamma, swinging on the gate!" Her Joyous tone of greeting, the gladness in her eyes Broke on my heart as sunlight transforms the eastern skies ; Her clinging handclasp told me why love and life were sweet, As through the door she led me, on lightsome, dancing feet. New values seemed to greet me in home's familiar store ; The doll within the rocker, the toys upon the floor. And when the supper lamplight shone round her picture plate, She told again the story of watching at the gate. Ere summer flowers had faded, or nesting birds had flown ; My little one had vanished, and I was left alone. [12] THE HARP OF LIFE And as in wondering silence and empty rooms I wait, I seem to hear her calling, when swings the garden gate. One evening, worn from sorrow, I fell asleep and dreamed That life and love continue, that what was death but seemed A viewless curtain parted, beyond which loved ones wait, To welcome home our coming thro Heaven's eternal gate. Content, I wait life's evening, when from my hands shall fall My work, perhaps unfinished, in answer to His call. For one will hail my coming where angel children wait, I 'm watching for you Mamma, at the open gate. [13] THE HARP OF LIFE The Snow Fall The earth newly-manteled is wondrously still As flutter the flakes over valley and hill. Like some fairy curtains let down on the scene, Shuts out all the landscape and objects between. While down thro the branches, new-feathered with pearl, The snowflakes unceasingly, silently whirl. The paths and the highways have vanished from sight. The snowbirds for refuge have taken their flight. The trees in the orchard, like ghosts in a row. Stand hooded in raiment new-fashioned from snow. The grape-arbor shines with its lily-shaped flowers, 'er latticed with garlands as Japanese bowers. The hawthorne resembles a stately young bride. With veil of illusion which falls at her side, The cypress in rival is coated in fleece, THE HARP OF LIFE With bonnet new-feathered with down of the geese. The garden resplendent in vestments of white, Presents to the vision a wonderful sight. Shut in from the storm that is raging without, Contented, we circle the bright hearth about. Where rich, roasting apples with cider o 'er-run, While pop fly the chestnuts to heighten the fun. Each face and each heart is with gladness aglow. As lamps thro the windows shine out on the snow. When night with its shadows has covered the earth. And beckoned to dreamland the group from the hearth ; The children close-folded in each downy bed. In visions are happy with snowshoe and sled, While silently down on the white scene below On homestead and barn falls the beautiful snow. Ere Dawn 's fairy fingers had opened our eyes, She spread for our vision a wondrous surprise, [15] THE HARP OF LIFE The earth 's snowy bosom with gems was aglow, The house was of marble, new-sculptured from snow. The gateposts were pillars of ivory white, Each tree hung with Jewels, a glittering sight. The barn was a castle with turrets and towers, The hedge in the garden was laden with flowers. The well and the windlass with coral were hung. While fair o'er the woodshed an awning was flung. All spotless and white was the new scene below, Transformed in a night by the mystical snow. Thro highways new-broken, o'er hilltop and dells, O^er regions of stillness rang merry sleigh bells. The children were off for a skate by the mill. To harden a track for a coast down the hill. Then ho for the Storm King, for Winters gay show! Heighho for the Joys of the beautiful snow I [i6] THE HARP OF LIFE When a Fellow Needs a Friend Not when skies are arched and sunny, And he's well supplied with money; When his hives are dripping honey Where the fruitful branches bend, Not when banks their cash will lend him, Social pets and peers attend him ; Not when law and press defend him, Does a fellow need a friend. But when storms of ill o 'ertake him, And temptations lurk to shake him ; When his one-time friends forsake him, And he's reached his tether's end. When by landlord he's ejected, And by creditors rejected. When by no one he's protected, Then is when he needs a friend. When his business comrades doubt him. Slyly sneer and talk about him, From their chosen circle rout him To a more despairing end, [17] THE HARP OF LIFE When the world and press accuse him, And in covert ways abuse him, When his kinsman too misuse him. Does a fellow need a friend. When his house and lands are taken. And his confidence is shaken ; When by God he seems forsaken. Is the time to be his friend. Then he needs what you can lend him, Kindly speech to recommend him, With your heart and purse defend him. Till his broken life you mend. Though an outcast bruised, and battered, Years of savings wrecked and scattered. With his dreams and prospects shattered, Save misfortune to the end. You can better his condition, Stir his soul with new ambition. Help him gain his old position, If you try to be his friend. Help him meet a new to-morrow. Free from penury and sorrow ; Show to him that he can borrow From a man who has to lend. [i8] THE HARP OF LIFE Let your friendship flow to meet him, As your smile and handshake greet him, Prove no foe can e 'er defeat him. Who in you has found a friend. [19] THE HARP OF LIFE Our Ready Ally The talk about the devil as the worst of human foes That his wicked schemes and cunning underlie most mortal woes, But IVe the frank impression, tho his friend- ship you disclaim ; You'll accept him for an ally if he helps you win the game. Should the adversary find you on some island in distress. And in briney leagues would sink you in your abject helplessness ; Should his Majesty confront you and present a two-edged sword, Would you spurn his saving weapon, and be shuffled overboard? Should disease and death come prowling round your home in wants-disguise And the tears of little children plead with you from hungry eyes ; [20] THE HARP OF LIFE If by stealth you spared them famine with a loaf from Mammon's board, Would you thank this ready ally, or deceitful thank the Lord? "Were a scheming world around me with its threatening look and word, And from nether pits of sorrow, let my cries go up unheard ; Tho good people all may scorn him, and the churches put to rout, I'm no saint — I'll take the devil, if he's there to help me out. [21] THE HARP OF LIFE Too Late! Too late when the loved have vanished To wish for the bygone days; Wherein we could scatter kindness, Or utter the words of praise. Too late when the rose is shattered, To gather its rich perfume ; Or Joy in the glowing beauty That smiled in its velvet bloom. Too late when the years are numbered And fortune has passed us by ; To wish for the wealth we 've squandered. As ruins about us lie, ' ' Too late ' ' locked the shining portals Of bright opportunity. When shut from our sight forever, Was a golden reality. Too late! chimes in the distance, How often your sweet refrain Doth echo Regrets' sad message From lips that are white with pain ! [22] THE HARP OF LIFE As up from the founts of sorrow The penitent teardrops start, There knells in your notes of pathos, The cry of a broken heart. [23] THE HARP OF LIFE The Tryst When twilight shadows close the day, And veil these aching eyes, To keep its tryst my soul goes forth To love's pure paradise. Released, on Joyful wing it flies To find the hallowed place Where your sweet spirit eager waits To meet its soft embrace. As to its nest at eventide Returns the homing dove, So in your heart it nestles close And sings its song of love. [24] THE HARP OF LIFE My Rival She holds him her captive, this charmer of men, Who beguiles with her caprice to woo him again. She weaves 'round his visions a spell of delight ; Coquets with his fancy far into the night. She goes to his office, and ere he's aware She saucily tempts him to banish his care. She bids him forget all that's purchased with gold, And yield to the Joys that shall never grow old. She is close by his side in the sweetness of dusk, To ravish his senses with exquisite musk ; To press on his lips tender kiss after kiss, And woo his affections to orbits of bliss. I see him caress her, and smile at her charms, Till drunk with her influence, he opens his arms; And tosses her from him, then stands with a stare To see she has vanished — a dream in the air. [25] THE HARP OF LIFE But what am I telling, a story untrue Of him whom I worship, who worships me too? Why fancy has led me to regions afar; In truth — she's a fragrant Havana cigar. [a6] THE HARP OF LIFE Virginia Proud mother-State, thy noble name Enkindles hearts with sacred flame. Is wreathed with ever-living fame, Virginia ! O'er empire's path, thy natal star Led Christian Pilgrims from afar. Offspring of sacrifice and war, Virginia. Thine is an ever-open gate To those of high or less estate, Where opportunities await, Virginia. Thy sons revere their native sod. Ancestral homes, ancestral blood, Have faith in men, and faith in God, Virginia. Thy mountains pierce the opal mist, Where shine majestic peaks sunkissed ; Beneath soft skies of amethyst, Virginia. [27] THE HARP OF LIFE The wonders of thy caverned hills, Thy rock-ribbed Bridge and singing rills, Thy sacred shrines the spirit thrills, Virginia ! Thy vales are clothed with waving grain, Rich-fruited trees deck hill and plain, "Where songbirds carol in refrain, Virginia. Here twine the gorgeous trumpet flowers, 'er columned porch and latticed bowers, Here rainbows shine thro summer showers, Virginia. Here dwells the flower of maidenhood. The noblest type of womanhood. True gentlemen of noble blood, Virginia. With charming grace are met in thee Unrivaled hospitality; Old fashioned true democracy, Virginia. First in the Union, first to be The Nation's guard of liberty, First in the hearts that worship thee, Virginia ! [28] THE HARP OF LIFE The Friend of Friends - In all my travels to and fro Around this gladsome earth, I've found one pal in whom I trust, One friend of honest worth. However fortune frowns or smiles, Or rolls the daily tide ; This friend of friends, unselfish, true. Is constant to my side. His lineage and heraldry Are known the world around. To him the kings of finance make Obeisance most profound. He rules the trade of farthest climes, Inspires the halls of State, Directs the wheels of industry The marts, however great. Integrity is graven deep Upon his honest face. The countenance of presidents Has lent him lineal grace. Altho the sport of knaves and fools The prodigal and bum, [29] THE HARP OP LIFE He is an oracle of speech Altho his lips are dumb. He holds the key to treasured stores, The palaces of earth, There 's not a thing he can not buy- That has commercial worth. And yet, withal his wondrous power A residence he lacks ; A vagrant o 'er the earth he goes Nor pays a cent of tax. No matter where the feet may roam. He'll take the journey too; The least or greatest service known He 's there to do for you. He'll answer every human want, And succor every ill. Whate'er the debt, the loss, the claim. He's there to pay the bill. From dawn of life into the grave 'Tis well his gifts to hold. "With him to aid, your plans and dreams Like flowers will unfold. And you, with all his blessings proved. Your fellow-men may bless ; [30] THE HARP OF LIFE Your sympathies find recompense, In daily helpfulness. Of all your friends and worldly goods, Take inventory now. To this one friend upon the list A balance you'll allow. Throughout the changing scenes of life, Come happiness, or ill, The friend to have, and hold is this, A hundred dollar bill. [31] THE HARP OF LIFE A Picture of Evelyn This unskilled hand can ne'er define Her lineaments in fair outline ; On facile canvas deftly trace The beauty of my darling's face. The magic skill of artists brush Could not portray her (peeks' soft blush ; The sparkling light within her eyes, As lustrous as the noonday skies. Her merry smile has all the theme Of some inspired, enraptured dream. Her winsome voice, so soft and clear, As music falls upon my ear. Then let this willing hand forbear To paint the soul reflected there. Such vain attempt were but a part Of what I wear within my heart. [32] THE HARP OF LIFE Writer's Cramp It isn't the grip on the author's pen Which causes the pain ; instead, It's the indigestible, gaseous stuff That rumbles around in his head. [33] THE HARP OF LIFE Riches I've been taking inventory of the riches 1 possess, And I find my stock of treasures totals millions, more or less. Though I have no costly Jewels, and no paint- ings rare and fine, Yet the wealth of earth and Heaven seem in measure to be mine. I've no splendid storied mansion overlooking sward and flowers, Neither have I seaside cottage where to spend vacation hours, Stocks and bonds to me are fables, such as bankers like to tell, Loans and discounts never charmed me with gold-alluring spell. Neither do I wait the anchor of some ship far out at sea Silken-sailed and home returning, as some precious argosy. [34] THE HARP OP LIFE Fame and power and high position in their train have passed me by, Yet without these gifts of fortune, rich as any king am I. Down a street where lindens cluster, stands a modest wayside cot; Blooming flowers within the garden lend en- chantment to the spot, Climbing roses wreathe their garlands festively about the door Where the sun thro lattice spaces sifts its gold upon the floor. From within, you'll catch the patter of im- patient little feet Romping, bright-eyed, joyous children, rushing out my kiss to greet. In a twinkle, I'm their captive, bound by tight encircling arms, Cares like magic flee the sunshine of their un- affected charms. Near the parlor window knitting, where the sunset lances fall Sits my saintly sweet-faced Mother in her widow's cap and shawl, [35] THE HARP OF LIFE There's a kindness in her manner and a look within her eyes, Makes me think she 's near the threshold of her home beyond the skies. When the lamplight on the table throws its shadows on the floor, And appears my life-long Sweetheart in the rose wreathed outer door, In the old familiar greeting, and the tender soft caress I have glimpsed the vales of Eden from the heights of happiness. When the children all are nestled each within his snowy bed, And I hear my sweet-voiced Mother softly sing- ing overhead, With my lover's arm around me resting near the lamplight's gold I have all the Joy and riches that the human heart can hold. [36] THE HARP OF LIFE Pumpkin Pies When the frost has touched the forests, Tinting leaves with gold and red ; And the hunter seeks the footsteps ^ Of the rabbits ' nimble tread. When the chestnut burrs are dropping In a shower before your eyes ; Then it is the ripened pumpkin Changes into pumpkin pies. Tho the pantry shelves are laden With their store of rich preserves, And you view the garnered bounty Which the wifely thrift deserves ; Hungry eyes will hail the harvest With a look of glad surprise, If upon the shelf most handy. Shines a row of pumpkin pies. Rimmed within their flaky crust shells Lies the golden, velvet sweet. Cream and sugar richly blending In this old remembered treat, [37] THE HARP OF LIFE With a tinge of spice suggesting Ripened fruits of piquant tang Over this in snowy billows, Spreads the foamy, soft merangue. When the turkey flaunts his prestige On Thanksgiving holiday, And the salad and the dessert Set around in fine array, In a glass of Sherry lifted, Smiling Joy you can't disguise, You will toast the peerless merits Of delicious pumpkin pies. [38] THE HARP OF LIFE I Know a Little Avenue I know a little Avenue That leads to many hearts. It lies along the sunny slopes, And thro ' romantic parts. This road is ever smooth and bright Wherein the weary feet May find the plain of perfect peace, And rest where life is sweet. 'Tis fringed along with old time flowers, Heartsease, forget-me-not ; Its cooling shade is ever green. Delightful every spot. Here flows the spring of true content From out the hidden rock. Here storm clouds never dim the sky, Nor felt the tempest shock. The air is rife with fragrant bloom And gay with singing bird ; Here little children throng the way, And lover's song is heard, [39] THE HARP OF LIFE And all who walk herein will find True friends and happiness ; This Avenue to many hearts Is known as Cheerfulness. [40] THE HARP OF LIFE Sympathy I know the pain, the deep-plunged woe When death has dealt its crushing blow. The soul 's great cry of deep distress, The sudden void, the loneliness. I know the longing day by day For one bright smile to cheer the way ; The tender touch of one dear hand That moved the will at love's command. I know the hush that pains the ears, The hearts low call when night appears ; The yearning sigh for that sweet rest Which found its peace on one dear breast. I know the hunger memories bring To natures faint with famishing. The sickness that finds no relief In falling tears of poignant grief. May faith and trust with mighty power Sustain thee in bereavement's hour That when life's griefs are overpast He'll bring thee to thine own at last. [41] THE HARP OP LIFE A Man Like You I would nerve my strength for the bravest task, For the sake of a man like you. And conquering odds, the heart would ask That reward be given to you, For you were the star in cloud-hung skies, Which led me on to the envied prize; Steadfast light of my lifted eyes, Joy of my way were you ! I would give the years of my youth all told, All with my love for you. Years when the path seemed paved with gold, And the heart of the world beat true. For you have given your best to me, Worshipful love and loyalty, Nurtured my faith in constancy. King of a man are you ! But days of my youth, nor the trophies won Can buy what I ask for you. The years of a beautiful life are done, The glittering hills in view, [42] THE HARP OF LIFE But here on the edge of the Borderland, As a kiss wafts down from your waving hand, As you pass from sight you must understand My love for a man like you. [43] THE HARP OF LIFE My Mother God did not make her beautiful As some fair women are, Nor give her intellect the poise Nor brilliance of a star. Yet in her eyes He put a light, Far lovelier than stars at night. He did not place her in a sphere Where social magnates shine. Where wit and song sway lighter souls To music's rhythmic time, Yet in her voice was sympathy. And all love 's finer harmony. God gave my mother nobler gifts Than grace and loveliness, Endowed her with capacity So many lives to bless. She made a home what home should be, And left a stainless memory. [44] THE HARP OF LIFE Elaster Revelations My sacrifices all are done, the Lenten season's past ; And I can don my stylish gowns, and new chapeaux at last, For weeks I've hurried to and fro with breath- less agitation, That Easter bonnet, gown and gloves may challenge admiration. The Paris modes, you see, Lissette, quite well become my beauty ; Tho I am pale you well agree from tireless Lenten duty, Yes, that's the hat with drooping plumes, and gauzy crown aspangle, You see, I wear it slightly tipped at this coquettish angle. My gloves, Lissette, and Prayer-book too, I'm late, tell John to hurry ; These forty days of sacrifice have put me in a flurry. [45] THE HARP OF LIFE Who passed us then in that new car, they bowed as tho acquainted, With all their speed, I well could see the woman's face was painted. These poor old jaded, faded dames; their tricks are most amusing. The dotted veils which hide the lines are rather to my choosing. Ah, here we are, the church is packed, and there is Mrs. Furman, Yes, usher, seat us near the front, we want to hear the sermon. My! who's that frump with frizzy hair, on bended knee confessing? That ancient gown and last year's hat have surely got me guessing, I wonder if its Betty Brown? oh no, she's wear- ing mourning. There comes old Bonds in Easter togs, his poorer neighbors scorning. I sometimes think the Devil has a mortgage on such sinnners, Tho on the turf, or trading stocks, these churchmen all are winners. [46] THE HARP OF LIFE They're prospered — ah I see the eyes of widow Simpson streaming, Upon her careworn lifted face, an angel's smile is beaming, With husband gone and poverty to fight from day to day, I wonder that she has the heart to praise the Lord and pray. Yet there she sits unconscious of the wealth and style about her ; Tho if she'd rise and say ''I'm saved," I'm sure no one would doubt her, Perhaps she sees a vision — but what nonsense am I thinking ? My Lord! there's Smithers, just divorced, at Mrs. Hightop winking, What scandal! here in Nabob Church, where cultured folk assemble. My anger fairly makes the plumes upon my bonnet tremble. What is the number of this hymn? oh yes, the offertory. On such sweet strains my soul could waft to everlasting glory. [47] THE HARP OF LIFE That vestryman in stylish togs, who's passing round the platter, Was once an old sweetheart of mine, who well knew how to flatter. But I was handsome then — who knows, I still may get his money. And give his wife a grand surprise, now wouldn't that be funny? My! but I'm sleepy, that old gump will never cease his talking, However, many folks I see are at my bonnet gawking. These sordid minds should turn from sin and weigh the helpful text. If they would fight this frowning world, and safely win the next. The closing hymn — here John, wake up and sing this old selection, Awake my Soul Stretch Every Nerve, — and then the benediction. But in a dream that afternoon, I had a revela- tion. Beside the Gates Of Life we stood — that morn- ing congregation, [48] THE HARP OF LIFE The rich, the poor were clad alike, aristocrat and lowly ; When thro the crowd a woman passed, with face serene and holy. St. Peter smiled, and caught her hand and led her thro the portal. The widow with the angel face had passed to scenes immortal. Then suddenly the Gate was closed, and all who stood outside Were wondering if so grand a place to us could be denied. With sickening fear our souls were seized lest by misapprobation The King within might us deny some lofty place or station, When at the Wicket there appeared an Angel with a Book, Whereon the eyes of sinful men, nor angels may not look. "The Record shows," the Angel cried, ''that much to you was given. While others toiled thro sacrifice to win a crown in Heaven." [49] THE HARP OP LIFE Then turning to St. Peter said, in solemn tones and slow, ''Just phone for Satan's limousine, and send this crowd BELOW." [SO] THE HARP OF LIFE Because Because I have known your love dear, The flame of its hidden fire ; The pulse of my life beats high dear, With the warmth of a new desire. Because I have known your will dear, Your dreams of a sunlit crest ; I '11 strive through the years to give you The Joy of your soul's request. Because I have known your kiss dear. The throb of your heart into mine, I've looked from heights of delight dear, Down into depths divine. Because I have known you, love you. The love of my life aspires To live for you, be to you, give you. All that your heart desires. [SI] THE HARP OF LIFE Hollywood (Richmond, Virginia) Hollywood, thine open portal ushers men to dreamless rest. Infant babes, and grandsires hoary, find a lodgment in thy breast, Thou a silent city peopled by the hosts of human kind. Men of every creed and station, in thy halls a dwelling find. O^er thy terraced slopes and valleys, spreads the shade of mighty trees. Columbine and trailing myrtle waft their in- cense on the breeze. Here the ever-living holly flanks the outer City wall ; Shading parapet and coping where the ivy ten- drils fall. Deep within thy vale embosomed, smiles a crystal lake serene. Waving grasses sweep its margin with their nodding plumes of green. THE HARP OF LIFE Hollywood, thy sylvan beauty woos the heart from grief and tears; Like a garden, trimmed and blooming, every lovely plot appears. Here the willow, lowly bending, shelters some sequestered square, Here the rose in rich profusion breathes its fragrance on the air, Here no jarring notes nor clamor ere disturb the deep repose. Singing birds, with reverent voices, chant their hymns at evening's close. Through thy shaded aisles and holy, daily moves a solemn train. Some to bells that toll of anguish, others to the martial strain, From the humble home and mansion, come they to their earthly bed ; ''Dust to dust," the good night spoken over every coffined head. Here the mother leaves her baby safe within the warm earth's breast. Here the widowed ones and lonely find forget- fulness and rest. [53] THE HARP OF LIFE Wealth and Pride in peaceful slumber dream no more of place nor gain ; Here the poor, with prayers unanswered, find release from want and pain. Here the artist, soldier, statesman, heirs alike to deathless fame, Find the myrtle and the cypress wreathe at last an honored name, Ours the trust, their sacred stories, love pre- serves from age to age ; Chambered in the heart's recesses, rests each hallowed, tear dimmed page. Unseen hosts have thee in keeping, lovely City Of The Dead; Spirit eyes from heights immortal guard each lowly, narrow bed. Faith and Hope illume thy portals, speak our loved ones glad release ; While the winds above them sighing whisper peace, eternal peace. [S4] THE HARP OF LIFE Those Kids of Mine Once Fortune took my hand to see My various lines of destiny, And as my palm she closely read,^ She smiling cried, "You're soon to wed!" ''For you I see domestic life, A gallant man and you his wife ; A little home, where song and cheer With love, will crown the passing year." ''Your horoscope reveals to me Maternal Joys as you shall see. Two kids — a lively, healthy pair. With cheeks of bloom and sun-kissed hair." To show the truth of palmistry, Man, house and kids were sent to me. And on the screen of life unrolled, I read the tale as Fortune told. Those kids — the subject of my song. Were mixtures of delight and wrong; Despite advice, their one intent Was glad good times, and that hell bent. [55] THE HARP OF LIFE With garments rent and tousled hair, They 'd split the wind in foul or fair To undo something Care had done, Then hide and giggle at the fun. They scorned the precepts I adored; Scoffed Wisdom's rules with one accord, Defied the rod, and social creed, They were the devil 's own indeed. At school they seemed quite out of place. Nor sought to strike a winning pace, With mischief they were right in touch. Nor did their teachers praise them much. My training seemed amiss, in vain. Against such recreant high disdain I viewed my job a failure sure, A grief I scarce could well endure. But Time 's great tides which bear us on. With undercurrents sometimes run. Who sets in view each mighty force. Alike can see the end and source. The fires which moved those kids of mine To daring deeds on danger's line, [56] THE HARP OF LIFE Have led their feet in later years To peaks sun-crowned, where Joy appears. Full-statured now and strong they stand, With faculties in full command. As up the steeps of life they climb, Where honors wait their fuller prime. Their energies and talents show The ways that love would have them go. And eagerly for them I wait The forward swing of fortune 's gate. At eventide I am imbued With sense of Joy and gratitude To Him who gave — as stars come out — For kids I well may brag about. [57] THE HARP OF LIFE Country Folk I like the ways o ' country folk, So hearty-like and free ; Their sunny smiles and cordial grasps Somehow just ketches me. Their brimmin ' o 'er with life and health, And soulful energy ; With busy hands and clever wits Attuned to industry. They keep in vital touch with life, With wholesome things and true ; They understand our daily needs. And know Just what to do. Their lovin' hearts and helpin' hands In Joy or deep distress. Just overflow with kindly deeds. And friendly tenderness. They have a takin' sort o' way Of doin' things worth while. When you're alone, need cheerin' up, They'll come and set awhile, [58] THE HARP OF LIFE And like as not, if f eelin ' ill And in the doctors care ; They'll send a dainty, garnished tray, With choicest country fare. They have a style that's all their own Enhanced by rustic graces. The sunny smile of toil 's reward Illumes their honest faces. They have a stock of common sense, For tried and proven worth Beats all the scientific bosh That circumscribes the earth. When comes the merry shuckin' time, With neighbors gathered round ; And deep within the golden pile A crimson ear is found ; The lucky lad and blushin' lass, At Cupid's bold suggestion. Exchange a kiss and settle there The matrimonial question. When Autumn-time has given place To Winter's frosty cheer; When round the hearth and at the board The farmer-folk appear, [59] THE HARP OP LIFE They've got the best the earth affords, Good health, abundant livin', With minds content, and hearts that trust The God that rules the heavens. 1.60] THE HARP OF LIFE Supper Time at Home When the evening shadows deepen Into dusk beneath the trees, And the bells of herded cattle Tinkle softly on the breeze ; When the plowman turns his horses From the furrow in the loam, 'Tis the time a fellow's gladdest, For its supper-time at home. With the duties and the worries Of the work-a-day all past ; As you sit and rest reflecting While the sunset splendors last, There will steal upon your spirits New contentment with your lot ; Make the farmhouse seem a mansion In a fairy garden spot. As the Mother singing hurries From the table to the stove ; And you catch the tempting odors Of the food you dearly love, [6i] THE HARP OF LIFE In the plate of golden biscuits, And the chicken's fragrant steam; Hungry eyes will read fulfillment, Of the toiler's evening dream. When they've brought the cream and butter From the spring house in the deil, And the lamp is on the table "With its cheery, homey spell ; As the children take their places, Happy from their evening play, 'Tis a picture you'll remember, 'Tis the crov^ning hour of day. Then a hush, as hearts are lifted To the Gracious God above ; For the blessings shov^ered upon them, Through His daily care and love. As the twilight shadows gather. And the stars peep through the dome ; 'Tis a sight to greet the Angels, When its supper time at home. [62] THE HARP OF LIFE Woman's Smile It is the charm of charms to him Who holds a woman dear, Its value more than fortune's gifts Or thousands won a year. It lends her manners new delight Her weaknesses a shield, Her speaking eyes a light more bright Than midnight stars may yield. Her tenderest smile can plead the cause Her suppliant lips forbear, Can win the words of high decree For Heaven or despair. It is her silent yes or no, To him who would discover The path her timid feet would take With some accepted lover. When deep emotions stir her soul And crowd to be expressed The tearful smile which lights her eyes Will tell her story best. [63] THE HARP OF LIFE As spans the rainbow on the clouds^ When threatening storms are o 'er, So lights the clouded scenes of life The smile all men adore. 164] THE HARP OF LIFE Honni Soit Qui Maly Pense Do you wonder I loved him, or ever my pen Should paint him a hero, or prince among men ? When thrown on the world, without knowledge and poor, Fate cast me a stranger one night at his door. 'Twas during the blast of a midwinter storm, When penniless, naked, my shivering form In helpless dependence was laid on his bed ; A charge on his bounty for raiment and bread. Do you wonder I trusted the whole hearted care. Or Joyed in the comforts which waited me there, When couched by his fireside, and idly at ease, I fed of such pleasures my fancy should please? Do you wonder I ask you when nameless that I Should yield to the lover-like smile of his eye; Or willingly rest in his warm circling arms. The sport of his fancy, a prey to his charms? [65] THE HARP OF LIFE Was it wrong he should kiss me and call me his own, When curtained at twilight we two were alone t To share in the pleasures affection inspires And I the new theme of his dreams and desires. But love's fond illusions are never to stay. They pass like the blossoms which bloom for a day; Whose beauty and perfume but gladden the hour To brighten and fade, like the tints of the flower. The man who had entered my heart and my life, Was wed to another — a sweet, trusting wife Adored him as I did, as all women do The men whom they honestly think to be true ; Nor guessed that her husband in under hand part Permitted a rival to enter his heart. But was he the sinner my story implies, Whose language and smiles were a series of lies? [66] THE HARP OF LIFE no ! he was all that is honest and sweet. A man in whom Virtue and chivalry meet ; With will that could triumph o'er everything bad, The lover I sing of— MY OWN GALLANT DAD. [67] THE HARP OF LIFE O Tide of the Years! Backward, turn backward, O tide of the years ! Turn to the era where woman appears, Living her life with a sensible view ; Just as her Maker intended her to. Something is wrong with the girls of to-day, Restless and roaming, a traveling array, Rouge-tinted creatures in veilings and lace ; Faces and figures sans feminine grace. Bring back the woman whose charms are her own. Fashioned and tinted by Nature alone. Healthy and merry, who guiltless of artj Captures the fancy and gladdens the heart. Gone from the scenes of the country and towns, The strong, ruddy lassies in fresh muslin gowns. With picturesque hats made of ribbons and lace, Coquettishly shading a beautiful face. where are the home-loving women of yore ! The mothers, the sweethearts we used to adore, [68] THE HARP OF LIFE Whose ideals of living and womanly grace, Could make of a cottage a glorified place, Who valued the things that are finest in life, The Womanly virtues in maiden or wife, tide of the years give us back our desire ! A mother, a sweetheart to love and admire. [69] THE HARP OP LIFE Bereavement Heart of mine ! how still you lie to-night. With placid brow upturned, so smooth and white. The yesterday of time for thee is past, Its friendships and its tears are o 'er ; at last You stand beyond the boundary and see The unveiled wonders of Eternity. For thee no more death's pangs, or dreaded woes; God's peace enfolds thy couch of deep repose. Here by your side, within the shadows gray, 1 count anew the Joys that made my day Of life so sweet ; the smiles, the songs of cheer, The love on which I leaned each passing year. Could I but live one day with thee, How I would grasp the opportunity To speak the word of praise, approval due The many acts of thine, would strive anew To make the measure of thy Joys complete. The path a smoother way for those dear feet. [70] THE HARP OF LIFE Could I but pierce the veil to-night and reach Your listening ear with tender yearning speech, This heart would bound to speak the loving words, More musical to thee than Heavenly chords. How deep the hush, the loneliness I feel As here beside your pulseless form I kneel ; Knowing the charm of life forever fled. That I must walk alone, uncomforted. In that bright world beyond how blest thy lot! Henceforth these once loved scenes, a desert spot. Broken the heart that takes its leave of thee, The last long look ; — yet ere mortality Shall tinge with deeper shade the lips, the eye That speak so tenderly their last good bye. Ere silence of the dismal yawning tomb Engulfs my all, or ere the roses bloom Shall breath its dying fragrance o'er thy head. And thou art numbered with the dreamless dead, It seems your voice must answer to my call. Your hand reach out to mine beneath the pall. And draw me once again unto the breast Where oft this head has lain in blissful rest, [71] THE HARP OF LIFE But no — my dream of life is past, in vain I call to thee to sooth the poignant pain Which numbs the heart with its great agony, Be kind O God and lift the veil for me ! I'll question not Thy love nor righteous will, If this one prayer Thou grant, desire fulfil. Give me to know ere dawn's returning light My soul, transported, lives with her to-night. [72] THE HARP OF LIFE Christmas Eve at Home Arrayed in royal ermine, the earth is fair to- night, New-cloaked in Winter Vestnre, of soft and lustrous white. All day the busy snowflakes have mantled roof and tower. And hung with glistening garlands, each tree and leafless bower. The summer rose is shrouded in pall of snow and sleet ; Like pulseless forms of loved ones beneath the winding sheet. In silence closely hooded, loom distant peaks of blue, While vales and hills are spotless in garments soft as dew. Across the snow the pine trees fantastic shadows throw. And sigh in mournful cadence to hear the Northwinds blow. [73] THE HARP OF LIFE Above the storm-swept heavens the stars with glory gleam, Bright worlds commemorating the Orb of Sacred Beam, From yonder tower illumined, the Christmas Joy-bells ring, While fuller swell the anthems the little choir boys sing. The world is meet for Christmas, and peace and love again. Fall like a benediction upon the hearts of men. Within, the yule log blazes upon the homestead hearth. While children's voices mingle in festive song and mirth, The mistletoe and holly, with gay festoon of green. On chandelier and doorway, enhance the Christmas scene. While proud within the corner a fragrant cedar stands. Awaiting globe and tinsel, and snowy pop-corn strands. [74] TkE HARP OF LIFE By nine its magic beauty will gleam from crown to base, Bring shouts of admiration and smiles to every face. The time for Santa's coming, the mystic hour draws nigh, When hearts with Joy are swelling and pulses beating high. Each head is filled with wonder at what the night will bring, For Santa, sleigh and coursers are on the Christmas wing. As older hearts expectant with anxious Joy await The swinging of some portal that ushers brighter fate, So children watch and listen without the mystic door, That bars a glimpse of Santa and all his treasure store. From far is borne the music of sleigh-bells ring- ing clear. The children pause, and listen, then shout in Joy — "reindeer!" [75] THE HARP OF LIFE As to my side they scamper in ecstasy of glee, Each one in frantic hurry to climb upon my knee. With outstretched arms I gather the cluster to my breast, And smiling at the idea the childish lips ex- pressed, I head the happy marchers who up the stairway go Each brain awhirl with Santa, the reindeer and the snow. When snugly tucked, I leave them to dream of Christmas day. The toys the Magic Giver will spread in bright array, Each in its festive glory beneath the Christmas tree. To wait the shining faces and shouts of Christ- mas glee. With thoughts upon the children and all that makes life dear, I seek the flickering firelight where phantom forms appear, [76] THE HARP OF LIFE And there within the twilight, where shadows come and go I dream of absent faces, and days of long ago. From out the dusk a homestead shines forth with windows bright. Adorned with Christmas garlands, ashine with candle light, It beams with olden welcome to each familiar guest Who homeward turns for Christmas, for happi- ness and rest. And there within the doorway a mother's face appears. With outstretched arms she greets us as in the bygone years, Again we're little children who throng the dear old home. With doll and sled and dishes, with horn and martial drum. About the blazing fireside a little group I see. Who nestle close in silence, with elbows on her knee, [77] THE HARP OF LIFE To hear about the Christ-child who in a manger lay, While angels sang hozannas for earth's first Christmas day. Assembled there in spirit, the generations meet, The grandsire, youth and infant who make the scene complete. As round the dinner table we take accustomed place; Unmingled Joy reflected upon each smiling face. 'Tis Christmas home with mother, with all the charms of old. 'Tis Christmas with the loved-ones, endeared by ties of gold. Ere fades the happy vision, with wreaths and tapers bright, The heart reviews the picture aglow with love and light; And looks beyond life's shadows, to home be- yond the sky, The house of many mansions prepared for all on high ; [78] THE HARP OF LIFE Where raptured hearts united shall speed the seasons roll, While Joy will flood forever the gateway of the soul. [79] THE HARP OP LIFE When Daddy Had to Cook When mother left for grandma's house To spend a short vacation, Our trusty cook was on the job To meet the situation. Without a qualm or other fear My daddy dear and me Were Just as happy keeping house As any pair you see. When much to our surprise one morn The cook did not appear, The dusky maid who 'd fixed our meals For more than half a year. I flew to daddy's room in haste To tell the situation; That message filled his heart and mine With wildest consternation. He leaped from out that poster-bed Like some mad beast of prey ; And doffed his pink pajamas In a most informal way. [80] THE HARP OF LIFE He neither shaved, nor brushed his hair, Nor washed his hands and face The way he talked the while he dressed, Was positive disgrace. With durns and damns he buttoned on His collar and his vest, Then to that sulking kitchen fire, He said the shocking rest. But when that stove began to roar, The kettle hum and sing ; He smiled at me and said, ''My child, We '11 have a feast, by Jing. ' ' ''I'll cook the coffee, ham and eggs While you arrange the table ; The treat we '11 have will rival that In Mido's glowing fable. So cheer up lassie, get the plates And set the board for two ; We know enough of keeping house To see the problem through. ' ' With willing hands I set to work, As hopes rose high and higher. When from that kitchen came a yell Of fire ! fire !! fire !! ! [8i] THE HARP OF LIFE It chilled the blood within my veins, I reeled against the wall ; As through the door the belching smoke Confirmed the frantic call. I dashed in on that frightful scene To see my father lying Unconscious near that roaring stove, Whereon the ham was frying. The flames had caught the smoking fat And played in wild gyration Above that morning feast of ours, With reckless dissipation. Our eggs were cinders in the pan, The coffee sputtered o 'er ; But what of him — my hero dad, Unconscious on the floor ! With eyebrows singed, and whiskers scorched, And blisters big as peas ; With dabs of flour and spots of grease From neck-tie to his knees. Revived, I helped him to his bed. And called a doctor quick. My blackened, scorched and blistered dad, Was not pretending sick. (82] THE HARP OF LIFE And when his wounds were softly dressed, He said to me, *'My daughter, Till Mamma comes I fear that we Must live on bread and water. " Next morning in the Times appeared This self-explaining ad. A cook is wanted at Judge Smith 's, And wanted very bad. No questions asked, just so she cooks, And comes prepared to stay ; The best the place affords is hers. With most substantial pay. That night, when mother reached the house, In answer to my call. To satisfy her anxious thought I had to tell her all, She hugged me close and wept a bit, As she did daddy too. Then smiling said, ' ' Cheer up my dears. The sun is peeping through.'' ''For breakfast you'll have ham and eggs," And then with teasing look She turned to dad and said "my love Who taught you how to cook?" [83] THE HARP OF LIFE "For never in our married life Have you essayed the question Of dietetics quickly solved, Save by a good digestion." Well, one thing's sure, whatever comes, And mother's gone away; I '11 fly the coop with rod and reel, And spend a peaceful day In some lone spot beside a stream, Or in some mountain nook ; If Bridget quits the job again. And daddy has to cook. [84] THE HARP OP LIFE There is a Life That Has No Death There is a life that has no death, Beyond time's mystic portal. Where we shall wake to scenes of light, With youth and health immortal. A life undimmed by falling tears, Or pangs of mortal sorrow ; Where pall, nor cloud, nor midnight gloom Will overcast to-morrow. A clime where beauteous flowers no more To chilling winds surrender. Where summer suns on landscapes fair. Shine with unclouded splendor. Where birds no more forsake their nests In wearisome transition; But build in trees of living green, Which yield a rich fruition. There is a land where we shall find The soul's sure habitation. Where home's sweet songs will thrill the heart With rapturous exaltation, [85] THE HARP OF LIFE Where with the loved we mourned awhile We '11 live in Joyous union, With Him, the Pure, the Glorified, In Heavenly communion, A home in which our work shall be Enhanced by sacred duty. Where love shall find its recompense. And hope its crown of beauty, A life where love 's unfinished tasks Will greet our new endeavor. Where dreams shall live in structures fair, Forever and forever. sinless life that has no death, clime of fadeless glory ! changeless home where hearts shall sing Love 's ever-living story ! Rejoice, Soul, in Him, thy light. Who crowns thy high endeavor. With life and love and happiness, Forever and forever! [86] THE HARP OF LIFE Learn to Laugh Learn to laugh, it is lifers elixir, Building body, soul, and brain. Leads our feet to mounts of pleasure, Far from vales of care and pain, Laughter fills the heart with sunshine, Clears the mind of doubts and fears, Brings forgetfulness of sorrow. Shows a rainbow thro our tears. Learn to laugh, it is sweetest music To the ear of him who strives. In life's dismal, dusty places. For support of other lives. From the fount of glad emotions. Thro the trying days and drear, Let its overflowing sweetness. Fill his soul with crystal cheer. Learn to laugh, its magic power Kindles, strengthens, beautifies, All the toil and aspirations Underneath lifers changing skies. [87] THE HARP OF LIFE Gives us riches more than millions, Tints our dreams with gold and rose ; Brightens, blesses all life 's channels Where its silver current flows. [88] THE HARP OF LIFE When the Table is Set For Two Two lovers they in a new-found home, With dreams of the coming years. - In the tender light of their smiling eyes, A world-old Joy appears. The shaded lamp on the damask white Gleams soft on the silver new, As hand seeks hand in lingering clasp. Where the table is set for two. With the added years were the added leaves, Till the ends seemed far apart. But the added face was an added Joy To broaden and bind each heart. Then the evening lamp with its mellow glow Shone soft as a light from Heaven, On the happy pair with their group of five, When the table was set for seven. But the leaves are stored in the attic now ; The children of love have flown And the aged pair by the evening lamp Are sitting to-night alone. [89] THE HARP OP LIFE But hand seeks hand with a tenderer touch As stars shine forth in the blue, And they speak in tears of the bygone years, When the table is SET FOR TWO. [90] THE HARP OP LIFE To a Musician Within this quiet room once melodies From raptured fingers woke these silent keys. Wliose soothing tones oft charmed the listening ear With softly rippling music, sweet and clear. Here vibrant beauty caught the blush of morn ; The promise of delightsome years unborn. This instrument was vocal with delight When children tripped this floor with footsteps light; When older hearts held carnival of Joy In masquerade, Deception's liveried toy, Then Pleasure on these keys held merry din. While mirth encircled happy hearts within. In twilight hours, ere Night unveiled the sky, These keys oft crooned some tender lullaby ; Breathed songs of love and rest, and homely cheer ; Endeared the hearts which make the home hearth dear. Her Hope envisioned years on pinions soared To those far heights where effort finds reward. [91] THE HARP OF LIFE Where merit shares with truth unstained re- nown, And Honor humbly bows to meet its crown. These pulseless chords have uttered Sorrows' woe; The pain of wounds that only great souls know Spoke tender sympathies which stirred within, Make all mankind in suffering akin. Here artist touch has waked immortal strains Which distant years will echo in refrains From hearts which drink of hidden founts and clear, Which breath delights of higher atmosphere. Here thund'rous tones have sounded ocean's roar; The mighty surge which beats the rock ribbed shore. The tempest's flash across the midnight cloud, The deafening charge of combat long and loud, Here sunshine too like molten gold has shone When storms were o'er; when peaks stood out alone Against a windswept, radiant, sapphire sky ; When Earth smiled back the beauty framed on high. THE HARP OF LIFE When genius thrilled with fire these answering keys, Overflowed this room with matchless har- monies ; The feathered songsters passing paused to hear The silvery notes, divinely soft and clear The evening breeze awoke with drowsy call, Stole down the dell by tinkling waterfall — Upon her breath the musk of mignonette, To catch the spell, ere evening star was set. Then Night her silver sifted down the sky From urns of light ; and twinkling stars on high Came out to hear the concord like a paean melt away ; As sunset hues dissolve at close of day. folded hands, in mouldering darkness hid! Beneath the flowers, the earth pressed casket lid Life's sun was quenched in shades of deepest night When swung for you the gates on scenes of light! Somewhere, in all that bright Celestial throng. With bards, you move the Heavenly choir among ; [93] THE HARP OF LIFE Where harp and harpist with immortal fire Interpret joy and peace; the soul's supreme desire ; Where life undimmed, to strains divinely pure, With love reclaimed, forever shall endure. [94} THE HARP OF LIFE When the Autumn Days Are Here Summer lives in song and story as the fruitful, flowery time, When all Nature's clad in glory, and a bubblin* o'er with rhyme. But to me the best o' season's when October's drawin' near, When the golden grain is garnered, and the Autumn days are here. Then the air is keen and bracin' when you wake up in the morn ; Feelin' like a stag defiant when he hears the hunter's horn. Every nerve with life is tinglin' as you button coat and vest ; Bound the stairs to drink the sunshine with an early mornin' zest, How you hurry round the farmhouse, eager for the early chore, Take the pails that stand ashinin' on the shelf beside the door; [95] THE HARP OF LIFE Answer to old Brindle's lowin' in a way that makes you think, YouVe imbibed a nip o' toddy, or some other cheerin' drink. Milkin' done, you seek the kitchen, where the breakfast steamin' hot, Blends the country ham and waffles with the fragrant coffee pot. With an appetite surprisin', and a soul as full o' cheer, As the lusty, frosty mornin' of the season o' the year. Then with gun you go a hunting far along the wooded vale. Seek the copse where hides the pheasant, haunt the covey of the quail, Mark the squirrels nimble footsteps as he leaps the branches brown, Huntin ' stores for winter usage where the nuts are droppin' down. Trees and vines have lately yielded up their fruitage fine and sweet. And the cellar's full to burstin' with its stores of things to eat. [96] THE HARP OF LIFE Shelves with rich preserves are laden, casks with wine are runnin' o'er; Bins with rosy apples shining, tempt you with their luscious store. Though the kine have left the pasture for the rick of ripened hay. And no more across the fallow call the swallow and the jay; Still a glamour seems to hover o'er the fields, about the lane. Where the harvest hands a'singin', followed home the laden wain. Rev'rently, and somewhat thoughtful you re- trace familiar ways, With perhaps a tinge of longin' for the bloom of summer days. For the romance in the arbor, hid beneath the roses sweet, For the joys that now are perished, like the leaves about your feet. Still, there comes a compensation in the thought that round the hearth You will find the richer pleasures in the hours of social mirth. [97] THE HARP OP LIFE Seated with the boon companions when the days are growin* chill; Pledgin ' friendship 's old allegiance in the cider from the mill. Nature paints no fairer picture underneath her azure dome, Than the scene about the fireside in the twilight hours at home. What to you are changin' seasons, fadin' blossoms, Autumn skies, If about a glowin' hearthstone, love has found its Paradise? Bards may sing of Spring and Summer, and of Winter 's frosty cheer ; But to me the best o' seasons, is the Autumn time o' year, When the earth and sky are blended in a mist ' rarest gold, And the sweet old book of nature is a story nearly told. Then I know the grateful spirit which the Pil- grim Fathers felt When they sang their glad Thanksgivin' while on hallowed ground they knelt. [98] THE HARP OF LIFE There is something soul-compellin ' in October's kindly cheer, Makes you thank the Lord you're livin' when the Autumn days are here. [99] THE HARP OF LIFE Love Love is the great eternal pawer Within the human soul, Which drives the thoughts and acts of men Beyond the will's control. It is the heart 's dynamic fire Which threads its subtle course Along the secret wires of life, With mighty, tireless force. It moves the energies anew To nobler work each day ; Its recompense a word of cheer, Or smile along the way. It is the architect unseen Of fate 's mysterious plans ; Who builds for us a structure strong Beyond life's shifting sands. It is the path to that pure fane, Both human and divine, Where God's own hand has set alight The sacred taper's shine. [TOO] THE HARP OF LIFE It is the guide to Want's retreat, And Sorrows dark abode. To lift the cross, and set a orown Where tears of anguish flowed. It is the way that Pity takes To find the world's distress; While white robed Mercy clasps her hand With smiles of tenderness. It is the Spirit ever-bright Which answers every call ; Pain's deep distress, Joy's fevered wants, With equal grace to all. It is the hidden fire within To purify and bless ; And sheds o'er Imperfection's face, A radiant loveliness. Love is a mighty, moving stream Whose ever-rushing tide Bears sin and grief upon its breast Out to an ocean wide. It is the beacon shining far Across life 's trackless foam ; [101] THE HARP OF LIFE A chart and compass ever true Where'er our sail may roam, It is the star that points the way 'er moors of doubt and strife ; And safely leads our stumbling feet To higher plains of life. It is the joy of that dear spot Where faults are all forgiven. Its glory lights its humblest room, And makes our home a Heaven. It is the language of the heart, The warmth of friendship 's hand ; The magic light of smiling eyes, Whose speech we understand. It is the blush on beauty's cheek, The glow in beauty 's eye ; The tear which trembles on her lash. Where hidden fountains lie. It is the artist's haunting dream. The theme of poet's rhyme, The charm of music's melting note Of melodies sublime. [102] THE HAHP OF LIFE It is the vision shining fair Thro aisles of happy rest. Which pictures every dream fulfilled Unto the lover's breast. It is the music of the world, Which onward leads thro strife; As swells from out the victors* heart The triumph-song of life. Love ! of every life the way That human feet have trod, The light, the power in earth and Heaven, That leads us up to God. [103] THE HARP OF LIFE To Courtney Do I love you little maiden With a heart so warm and true ? In your eyes of sparkling beauty Shines my heaven of azure blue, What are seashells, damask roses To thy soft cheek's blooming tinge? What are hanging clouds at sunset To thine eyelid 's silken fringe ? You are dearer than the life blood Surging thro this constant heart, Not a joy that cheers its vision But your face has central part. Love that hopes, endures, and braves all Garners every good for you. That your heart may know the gladness Of your dearest dreams come true. [104] THE HARP OF LIFE The Empty Cradle The moonbeams kiss with lingering touch to- night An empty crib ; whose little pillow soft and white, Still holds the imprint of a sunny head ; Which lately woke with smiles within this bed. Like grieving bird above an empty nest, With fledgling flown; the brooding mother- breast Still j^earns the touch of fluttering pinions warm; The nestling head tucked close from all alarm. Did I detect those covers lightly stir. Or see the dimpled, waving hands of her In beckoning call? or did an angel wing Bend low, my baby's Heaven-born smile to bring ? little empty cradle, soft and white ! You too will go beyond my touch and sight ; But like the new-made bed on yonder hill, My aching heart will bend above you still. [105] THE HARP OF LIFE My Reward With song I've wrought the daily tasks With needle, cloth, and broom, The little house in order set, Smiles fair from room to room. The supper hints of hidden treats To tempt his appetite ; The table shines with snowy cloth, And silver burnished bright. At window sill I wait his step As sunset fires grow dim; And all because his smile will say, I 'm all the world to him. [io6] THE HARP OF' LIFE Sunset The day had closed in beauty, When up the flaming West Loomed towers of glittering splendor Above the mountain's crest. Each gleaming wall of Jasper Reflected far the tinge Of fleecy clouds new-woven, Which hung as some soft fringe. While folds of ruby velvet Draped low the Eastern sky; As tho to veil the glory That soon would rise on high. Athwart the shining heavens Of rose and burnished gold, Were bands of sapphire blended With crimson lace unrolled. AVhile scintillating jewels Decked each window-pane, Illumed the spire with glory Above God's holy fane, THE HARP OF LIFE It seemed as though an Angel Had caught my wish afar, And passing thro the portals, Had left the gates ajar. [108] THE HARP OF LIFE The Peaks of Otter mighty Peaks of mystic blue, Upraised to heights of glory! . The morning stars thy birthday hymned, When rang Creation's story. A mighty temple, granite strong, Thy Builder's thought impressing, Enduring speaks from age to age, Eternal truths expressing. When blazing worlds took glorious form From out His contemplation ; High 'er thy lofty spires they shone. In matchless constellation. When from the dark abyss of space New forms the void supplanted ; God gave thee favored place, great Mount, Amid green groves enchanted. Thy sacred annals, deathless name, Virgina's proud possession! Virginian tongues thy praise will wreathe, With eloquent expression. [109] THE HARP OF LIFE While from the South, the West, the North, The traveler seeks thy glory, He 11 twine with Old Dominion fame Thy ever-living story ! Sublime the heights where vistas spread. The dim horizon cleaving ! Deep emerald vales, rich sapphire hills, Tyrolean beauty weaving ! The spreading plains, the changing skies Are mines of inspiration ; Uplifting thought to Nature's God, On wings of exaltation. Here forest choirs in chorus chant Sweet songs of pure elation. As thro thy cloistered aisles they move To shrines of adoration, The main lay, the vesper hymn, From raptured hearts upwelling, Are borne in cadence on the breeze, In joyous music swelling. Before thy face the season's roll. As sweep the tides of ocean. Time 's ever-changing scenes to thee, But pageantry in motion. [no] THE HARP OF LIFE The lives of men as fleeting clouds, Wind-blown twixt love and duty ; As transient as the forest leaves, Or summer rainbow's beauty, Thy placid mien, paternal Mount, Rebukes man's strife and worry! Whose span is as an hour to thee, Illspent in anxious hurry, Thy solemn silence woos his heart From scenes of toilsome fretting, Thy peace instructs his weary soul, In science of forgetting, Above thy head the storm-clouds sweep, Destructive combat waging ! Across thy breast the lightning leaps, Like fiery billows raging ! Yet on thy ever-youthful face, The tempest leaves no changes; Serene you stand, defying shock. Amid surrounding ranges ! At dawn thy beauteous face reflects The crimson tints of morning. Proud noonday sets her coronet Thy kingly head adorning. [Ill] THE HARP OF LIFE When to the glow of western skies, The god of day surrenders; Thy summits flame with radiant fires, Entrancing sunset splendors! When evening sooths to charmed repose The world for dreamless slumber ; She sets on high her vigil lamps. In glittering, glorious number. The peerless moon, the blazing stars, Come forth to tell Nights story; And set above thy regal brow A diadem of glory. [112] THE HARP OF LIFE The Unseen In the soft gray hush of evening, When cares of the day are done : And noise of the world about me Has lulled with the setting sun ; I see in the gathering shadows, Faces of those I have missed Long years from their wonted places, Where gently the dear feet pressed. And voices long hushed to music And mirth of the earthly song ; Are borne on the throbbing silence, As notes in the distance rung. While in thro deepening shadows. Streams light of supernal ray ; Revealing a spirit convoy Descending the shining way. They bring to the waiting spirit A peace that is half divine. As in thro the heart's high portal, They pass to the inner shrine, [113] THE HARP OF LIFE Loved hands light the altar tapers Which long have been shadowed in gloom; Set memory's censer swinging, Exhaling a rich perfume. Waking the chambered silence To melodies low and sweet, Pulsing in rythmic measure, To steps of the angel feet, They chant as a choir celestial Around the chancel of light. Their faces aglow with rapture, All vested in spotless white. They sing of a realm unclouded, With happy release from pain. Of conflicts and sorrows ended, Of love and eternal gain, Gone are the twilight shadows, And cares which oppressed me low My soul follows after them singing. As down thro the aisles they go. ["4] r

22019937

The seasons

Woodrow Wilson Collection (Library of Congress)

seasons00alle_djvu.txt

Copyright N" COEXRIGHT DEPOSm THE SEASONS BY CHESTER ARTHUR ALLEN BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS Copyright, 1922, by Chester A. Allen All Rights Reserved Made in the United States of America Press of J. J. Little & Ives Company, New York, U. S. A. ^'^^ >^ 1922 ©C1A686283 ^0 I TO THE MEMORY OF MY FATHER AND MOTHER LEROY D. ALLEN MARY BENAWA ALLEN CONTENTS SPRING PAGE CHAPTER I March— Signs of Spring 9 II Philosophy from Nature lO III March Storm n IV March Landscapes— Flooded River . . I2 Philosophy 13 V Maple-Sugar Season I4 VI April 15 Spring Parades in Triumph: Philosophy 16 VII April— Marsh Voices i? VIII Easter i7 Philosophy from Easter 18 IX Fishing 19 X May, the Month of Blossoms .... 19 XI When the Leaves Appear .... 20 Philosophy 21 3 Contents CHAPTER PAGE XII May Landscapes 2i Husbandry of Garden and Fowls . . 22 SUMMER I June 24 Songs, Nests 24 II Children's Day 25 III Picnic 26 IV Bathing 26 V Queen of the Year 27 VI Storm 27 VII July— Harvest 29 VIII Growing Time 30 Rain 30 IX August, the Month of Wild-Life Voices 31 X August Landscapes 31 AUTUMN I September Landscapes 32 II October Landscapes 33 III Philosophy from Nature 34 IV Forest in November 35 4 Contents WINTER CHAPTER PAGE I December Snowstorm 36 December Landscape 37 Christmas 37 II Philosophy from Christmas .... 38 III Spirit of Christmas is Spirit of Democracy 38 Spirit of Democracy 39 IV The Purpose of Democracy .... 40 Marshal Foch 40 America's Light 41 V January — New Year Resolutions . . 42 How Different Modern Man .... 43 VI February 44 Indications of the Winter Closing . . 44 Conclusion 45 THE SEASONS THE SEASONS SPRING I MARCH — SIGNS OF SPRING The sun has been enroute his longer course For many winter days. And often now Apollo very late his daily ride Begins. It looks as if he hesitates In fear of being lost in mist and fog. At times such dimness overhangs the day, It seems this god must safe in dreamland be. The changes come of snow, fine sleet, and rain, And sunshine chasing frosty work: but still A northern slope, or fence has fringe of snow ; And through the timber-land are scattered rows Of green stove-wood all uniform in height. The heaps of brush, the thickly sprinkled chips And sawdust, bared from their wintry bed Are tokens bright the season has fulfilled Its usual flow of snow-capped days. With cheer, Anticipation overflows to star Our timber friends. White-breasted nuthatch ; jay; The chickadee; and noisy flicker, breast The Seasons With crescent black ; unwary creeper brown ; Our friendly robin; towhee on the ground; And all the squirrels at play, — appear to look Instinctively ahead, rejoicing all The time, and often much impatience feel That budding days should tarry, longing more For leafy season, secret nooks to drink And bathe, and summer's playground, woods and field. The changes blithe are spoken through the air. A sprite awakens buds on sturdy limbs, On twigs, the louder calls to seeds and roots So snugly covered under ground, and throbs Its welcome age-old vision — dawn of Spring. PHILOSOPHY FROM NATURE What way should forces, forged in mild or grand Display of outer world affect the soul? By whom controlled — the life and beauty shown To thrill us with delight? What worthiness. Significance have natural beauty, laws Of nature? Read their meaning, find their worth Through what we do with things about our sphere. Since God controls with regularity The change of seasons' rule, they govern bold. And each one's disposition, sentiments Expressed through laws whose regularity lO spring Should teach us how, a justness all divine Pervades the soul of earth, suggests a search For many leading principles. For God Is just, and justice triumphs everywhere. All forms of energy should be to us Like open books to teach a part of God. Ill MARCH STORM Old Winter's age-long jealousy is roused By threatening reign of "Boyhood of the year." ^ Incensed, when Spring is promising: a strong West wind brings fleecy clouds at first, a mass Of dark snow-laden ones then follow hard. In fearless manner come the flurries first, Like skirmishers of mighty armies, till The falling storm is thick enough to hide From view the objects near at hand. The snow Is flung in piercing clouds of ev'ry shape, Is formed in streams by blinding wind that picks The fallen blanket, hurling it again. With increased force it writhes in battle groups With mighty foes. The moans and whistles heard In tree tops, 'round the buildings, sound like cries From wounded men, and trumpet call to charge. It speeds along or slackens, sending down * Tennyson. II The Seasons In mad uncertain rush, battalions close In rank. Aeolus seems descending, bent On endless fury. Smoth'ring plains which close Together nestling seek protection. Proud Are trees when swayed as ne'er before. The gale Howls more as night draws near. When darkness falls The mind half dreams — the frozen hills are torn From their foundations, ground to powder, hurled Upon resistant world. Aquilo's troops Now charge, now run, or circle round a hill Or building, rush a flanking movement brave. The struggles far and near, the drowsy hours Impress like echoes, faint or clear. The ground On western slopes is coldly bare. White gems Are piled in masses great. Aeolus wroth At failing to dislodge the hills, assailed Direct, has heaped the flakes, endeavoring To crowd the hillocks from eternal rest. In rigid whiteness lies the Arctic field. The brook is arched in self-protection, holds A cavern roof of twining crystal form; With deep-cut ripples ponds and lakes are spread From shore to shore with sparkling handy frost. MARCH LANDSCAPES FLOODED RIVER The sprite of Spring is not with glaive overcome ; 12 spring Is quick to send successive warmer days Against oppressive rule. He turns the snow To thousand rills which trickle down the hill In last retreat to fill the swamps, and ponds, Glad brooks and creeks to manifold their nat'ral size ; Uncurtains green wheat mats, sward brown of last Year's pasture, meadow, dark and yellow mud That bristles stalks of corn and weeds. The net Work water courses glen our land, enjoy Their freedom, show that they are much alive And quick to use the strength they have. A flood Corralled in river channel foams stampede In massive volume reaching upward, wroth To wrestle with a bridge, resisting man's Attempt to span its aged course. It pours Along with icy hammers battering, Or sweeps whatever man or Providence May leave within its grasp, can spread upon The bottom land a rising lake which swamps The lowland hut, or levee breaks to free Itself to roam its delta haunts of yore. PHILOSOPHY Our dial which sends through frigid space its rays Will melt the crystals seven for rivulet; The power driving rivers down their way, — Should make us think of our Creator's will, Awaken us to read a purpose — seen 13 The Seasons To constantly reflect to mortal man, "Lest we forget — lest we forget" ^ our God. MAPLE-SUGAR SEASON When only lines of soil-marked snow remain In open field to show where glittering Unfolded banks were shaped, the farmer with His help will often wade in slush to tap The sugar maple. Daily trips are made With team on barrel sled, to gather sap. For buckets must be kept from overflow. The central interest is ever round The camp. A glimpse of rising steam is sought, For habit prompts to wondering, if all Is well with fire and pans? There's something fresh With each returning trip — the fire rebuild, The feeder fill, and skim the whitened pans Of boiling, vapor-clouded sap which needs A watching that increases ever while It sweetens, thickens, darkens, nears the time For syruping-off — the happy climax rounds The day — extinguish partly fires, remove With steady hand the pan to margin skid, Well dip of hot transparent liquid joy, Replace, refill, another round begins. No grand repast is more enjoyed than meals * Kipling. 14 spring At noon on peaceful days when gathered round The big arch door — potatoes, eggs, both wrapped In paper wet to roast In ashes hot, To eat with sandwiches, hot coffee, sauce. Warm doughnuts, corn bread, cookies, leeks, and pie, And syrup fresh. Such appetizing w^ork In opening Spring is filled with pleasures rare — Review advance oi "Boyhood of the year." Each step is clearly seen and felt. From now Until the snow returns the daily pulse Of nature may be seen to measure change. VI APRIL On sprightful days when southern slopes begin To green, but sap continues fresh, the woods Are filled with active merry life; the crows Are heard in distance, one or sev'ral fly Occasionally over tree tops near And caw alarm ; the piercing cry of hawks Is often echoed through the timber; raps Of woodpeckers in search of food sound loud Tattoo for denizens of woods; above The other chimes are scolding squirrels near. Uneasy like the crow^ and jay. Combined These voices waken muse for one who loves The call of woodland life and beauty. Spring Has conquered; earliest of flowers come. 15 The Seasons The sugar season glides away, but leaves One pleasant memories while watching day SPRING PARADES IN TRIUMPH! PHILOSOPHY By day unfolding life of animals And plants. We gather first hepatica, Anemone; the adder's tongue precedes The trillium and hosts of blossoms sweet Which takes their colors matched from rainbow base. The wood is sprinkled quaint with flowers which In silence greet returning summer birds, And cheer on those migrating north, to keep Them in a singing mood, that we may hear Their songs. For in each song as in each bird Is represented some idea clear Of God, is some suggestion — How would He Have us obey and think of Him? From Him, His works, to look for inspirations clear, From nature's moods^ — her tenderness, caress, Her freshness, sympathy, and hopefulness — Pursue the course which gives improvement most. Discordant life, its pangs and vampire moods, Ensnare so unaware, when nat'ral laws Are disobeyed. Oh, look, and see what may Be seen ! For ev'ry positive has its Deceitful negative. The soul should be Made stronger by each opening of the year. i6 Sprinff VII APRIL MARSH VOICES The greetings, praise of early flowers, is joined By aeon-practised welcome from the marsh. When each day's warmth and sunshine freshens grass On southern slopes, this chorus comes in all Its glory ; swells out full and clear, fills out With harmony the silent morning hours. This frogling chorus all day long resounds Continually over timbered hill And dale; reechoes o'er the rolling field. When mirrored stars are spread around the rush, The osier bush, the moor-grown tree, the bog, The mossy stub, and moon-timed shadows pass Across the still or roughened water roof In clear dream-light that rovers love so well. These silent hours are robbed of gloominess By merry rounds of voices pealing forth From lakes, and rivers, swamps, and meadow ponds — These praisers are the season's trumpeters. VIII EASTER At Eastern service is retold in song, In sermon, recitation — Christ is ours ; 17 The Seasons iHas risen o'er the tomb; He died for us; He lives for us; Redeemer who has set His cross on high ; defeated death ; is now The source of all our blessing, life and hope ; Forgives, consoles; our beacon light across Dark waters. He reveals to us a law Of life superior to death — set not Aside, uncovers universal law. Sanhedrin seal and Roman guards in vain, Attempt to hide our light in rock-bound tomb. PHILOSOPHY FROM EASTER Unlocking charnel house has come to us In northern clime when Spring unlocks the buds. The reawakening, golden soul is close Akin to reawakening nature — live ! Enjoy! oh, not exist! The empty crypt At time of life reviving argues depth Which well considered shows how Providence, In striking grandest harmony, has played; Phenomena returned, phenomena Which sound the song of God's unchanging law. For aeons Spring has come and gone, the globe A sepulcher has been. The highest scale Of life gets many visions clear of God's Own heart. And ever when the Spring shall hang Her smiles, reechoing the chord upon Forgetful man, may hope grow wise and sure. i8 spring IX FISHING Our friendly fisherman is seen around The many lakes and streams as well as he Who seldom prides himself to take the swift, And scaly, slippery, staring wights away From mirror home. The sportsman, toiler seeks For swimmers that will make a fine repast. If he must homeward turn without his luck. He almost feels the day is sadly lost. MAY, THE MONTH OF BLOSSOMS The days are marked with fresh and suluy air. Although our God through his estate has been Most clearly speaking, opening secrets too ; He gives sublimity to us again When many plants put forth in clusters, blooms From every twig, whose beauty rivals claim To charm w^hen they were burdened downy bright With fleecy cloud of winter's snow. Allured, Approach the downy trees. A muffled sound, A perfumed air will bring delight. Aglow With springtide vision to discover joy Anew and freshen old sensations, one Is drawn within the influence of blooms And their dependent army — honeybees, 19 The Seasons And bumblebees found searching one by one Each pollen cup. The blossoms swarm with life. The journeys short of bumblebee are known By buzzing loud. All o'er the trees in search Of nectar, pebble-like black bodies near At hand arrest attention most ; both these And speck-like ones a little farther off, — Are darting back and forth a foot or more. The hum continuous, companioned with Aroma, sense of energy, and life In spheres apart from man, awakens praise. XI WHEN THE LEAVES APPEAR There comes again the royal garb of "God's First temples" ^ casting shadows dense and deep Like shades which fill the cave of bruin staunch. The stock-browsed heavy timber which extends Along the pasture field, is overlapped With grass. Below the lower branches thick, It's dark with many shelters. Climbing vines And heavy foliage above a line Of darkness, matched with sodded field, with hues Of darker shades; combined with grandeur blue Of cloud-patched sky, — the scene may rouse the soul. In entering the shade of nature's room Of richest draperies, all curtained, screened ^ Tennyson. 20 Spriiig Beyond description, ev'ry bending twig A hammock forms, and ev'ry leafy branch Partition makes, one hears the voices, not As called in naked woods, but mellowed score By leafage dense which waves in Maia's breeze. To walk along the banks where flowers had grown, Were gathered near one's shadow ; follow paths And sap-boat roads,— and delve the question : What PHILOSOPHY Could build a service elevating more Its influence? As God provides a time For plants to grow, and yearly clothes the trees With newborn leaves; then how much more should man Who has the privilege of choosing his Activities, controlling his few thoughts. Be sure that he is child of light and truth? His newborn soul each natural object sees As thought of God, a kindly plan divine. XII MAY LANDSCAPES The various delightful emeralds From fields where grow the darker wheat, the grass 21 The Seasons And rye of brighter stain, and oats with still A lighter hue, the scatt'ring shade trees, all Allied with timid changing forest shades, — Are sharply cut from fields of gray, and black. And orange soil where sprouts the maize. The crow And blackbird feast on corn destructive grubs. The crow too often plucks the youngest shoots To get the softened kernel — toll too great For good it does. The dew a gladness brings To farmer keen when he begins his work. His heart throbs faster, cheered by sprightfulness Of lambkins gamboling on morning sheen. Shorn sheep may whiten lea where they have been Since early dawn most busy feeding, lodged. In heat of day they bleach the shade. The forms Of lying, standing cattle, colored clear From brindles, black, and white, and red, to those Attired with all these colors on one coat. Are seen in friendly cover out of sun; The horses' arching forms lend grace to field While hiding well from burning rays, — they too As well as kine keep stamping, switching flies Which flock of cowbirds, hopping now and then On ground so near the stock, find easy fare. HUSBANDRY OF GARDEN AND FOWLS At farmer's home 'tis flood-tide time of year — The garden full, big broods of chickens, ducks, 22 spring And geese, shy turkeys, guineas, pigs, — all need Attention, boast their hearty growing, smack Of palatable dish on festive board The Fourth, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day, And ev'ry favored dinner country round. 23 SUMMER I JUNE "All green and fair the summer lies Just budded from the bud of spring." ^ From early dawn to set of sun, the day SONGS, NESTS Is full of merry songs. When summer sound Is all the SAveeter, matched, securely set In leafy branches, some may reach far out. Protected well from sight above, below, There nestles home within which soon will be The greedy nestlings for two vigilant And happy toilers. Insects, worms, fruit wild Contribute strength to warm and grow our kin In feathers. Morning after morning, while The sun fast drinks the dew ; and breezes sway The limbs, — a chorus rings, not only sung To nest so snug in ground, or bush, or tree Top towering high, or dug in rotten stub. To listeners in ev'ry place, while swift And swallow twitter flitting through the sky. ^ Susan Coolidge. 24 Sui At night the silence — broken near and far By rustling leaves, the voice of ov^^l, or train, And tread of creatures doubly fond of shade Of earth — is passed under guardian wings. When days are hot and dusty, breezes cool Will rock these cradles, hammocks made for w^ild. II children's day On Children's Day, the boys and girls amid The garlands, mottoes, palms, bouquets, and large White lilies, sit in groups arranged for proud Occasion — faces bright, and flowers bright. All decorations prove but symbols small, Of interest for w^hich the day is kept. What pride and pleasure swells the heart to hear The smaller ones take part in praises for Ideals of merit? Hark the shortest song. Or recitation, follow longer ones Of juniors, seniors, choir, or any part The day commands, the int'rest never stops. And oft' a wee one never heard before, Will bring the most delight. Parental joy The deepest goes to see the yearly growth That blooms, so quickly measured Children's Day. 25 The Seasons III PICNIC The river bank, or lake, or ocean front, Artd silent forest tenderly invite All toilers coma, and find agreeable Excitement, pleasures yield to noble end. Relax, the cobwebs clear away, expand The chest, electrify the nerves, refine The senses, share your joys with souls of truth. To picnic-makers laughing water breaks To dimples, openly reveals, pours out "A song of a vast unrest," ^ repeats, approves Of pleasures, shares enjoyments worthy, gives To body, mind, and soul a vigor, depth. And nobleness preparative to live A grand and noble life. New friends and old Meet happily to talk. The frolic, feast Of day, with group and team matcb.ed games will help To make of business pleasure, show that joys Aright will always breathe the cnoicest pearls. IV BATHING The quiet pool seems always welcome gleam To happy bathers, linger, splash, and dive, ^William Hayne, in "A Sea Lyric." 26 Summer To let the peace of scene pass into soul — Its meeting nature, boon companion meets Companion. Watch, take part in play, and it Will fill the heart with joy of summer day. QUEEN OF THE YEAR All ranks of plants from trees, and clover thick. Obnoxious weeds have blossoms sipped of dew And richest nectar. Blackbird, meadow-lark, And robin, grackle, sparrow, other friends, In legions, many species brooding bliss. On pleasant mornings oriole, which weaves A hanging nest, will call from hidden perch In thick leaved trees about the lawn and sward. The luscious strawberry will introduce The fruits and vegetables seasonable. A June-bug wings his way as well on dark As on a moon-lit night. The freshened air. The heavy leaves, the fragrant flowers, sky Of rose and purple, call of whippoorwill, With evening stars, make perfect twilight hours Which sound in tune with daylight's golden chain. VI STORM The diverse scenes of opening summer show How God is roused to clothe the naked earth. 27 The Seasons Succeeding balms of sunbeams, zephyrs, mists, Are blessings easily attributed To God, but God is ev'rywhere. Detect A coming storm by heavy colors seen To rise above the distant line of earth And sky. A gale begins while overhead A mass of floating monarchs, outlined dark Against the lighter vapor, sail on. Thin clouds of dust are ever being raised From sun-burned road, and field of clover dry, Until the air appears smoke-laden. Like The waves of sea, the standing wheat and hay, Is dipping, swelling, lightens, darkens. Trees With branches wincing wild from blast turn shades Of lighter green. The flashes come in chains Against the mountain background, followed soon By cannonading guns of siege. A space Of gray, of even width extends above Horizon, climbs in darker sky, and just Before arriving, heralds itself by gust Of stronger temper. Giant drops at first Come single handed, followed close by host Of streams that splash and dash, and grow in force Until with summer's courage ranks are filled. If toiler's prayers are answered, fields have rime, Awakened souls that clothe the soil with cheer. 28 Summer VII JULY — HARVEST These changing thrilling acts so full of wealth Continue. Clover blossoms fragrantly Will call the mower, hay-rake. Nodding grain Deprived of fragrant mead, a lighter shade Will turn, anticipating harvest hot, Until inviting golden field it stands. The blackbird, robin, jay make frequent trips To crimson cherry trees as long as crop Will last; then other songsters aid to take Their own from raspberry, the elder bush. The blackberry, as each one ripens. Fruit And grasshoppers with sip from bubbling spring Are turned to merry songs. A burning sun May hasten harvest. Clatter hardly ends Of gliding swath machine before the hum Of binder starts. The golden wheat a last Salute will wave to neighbor field of oats As yet untouched by age. A week or two Of glowing days, however, changes them To harvest color. Soon they too will fall Before the reaper, graceful, bow adieu To stalwart corn intensely growing ears. The heavy maize is dark as waves of sea, And truly crest with downy tassels bright. 29 The Seasons VIII GROWING TIME Cerulean the sky brings ardent rays Which beat and linger, fill our atmosphere With throbbing fervid waves of life which warm To zealous work the apple, plum, and peach, The walnut, beech, the hickory, and oak. The pumpkin, squash, and watermelon vines Are spreading wide to raise delicious fruits. A throng of our herbaceous friends have come And gone, but leave as hostage apt return, Reflective thoughts, that each year brings to us Their happy season. Faydom sturdy grove And forest where the wood-thrush merry sings As clear as if 'twas sung by nymph herself. RAIN Bland wit of Thor oft aids activity, Pervades the world of growing plants, outwits The harbinger of fall whose gelid breath Has often come so fatally upon This kingdom unaware. The apples first To ripen bring enjoyment fond, but when Varieties are many, juicy foods Are deftly made, surpassing Eve's repast In garden where first labored thinking man. 30 Summer IX AUGUST, THE MONTH OF WILD-LIFE VOICES Displeasing, noisy locust warns of drought In heat of day. The red-winged blackbird finds The heavy ripening maize. As sun goes down They noisily will gather round the swamp Elm, willow, alder bush — here seek a night's Repose. We do not lack for company When earth's dark mantle spreads, for cricket fluts Its metered cheer quite ready ; katydid Tones o'er and under, rapid jazzy forte That leads the midnight summer symphony. Serenest wild-life serenade of year Is versed throughout the pleasing slumber hours. AUGUST LANDSCAPES The brassy oatfield stubble turns to rolls Of dusty ground. And desert-like the mead And pasture look beside the restful woods. Refreshed the "thirsty ground" ^ regains its hue Original. The garden well fulfills Its promise. Orchards, vineyards welcome give In loads of their own prize deliciousness. ^ Tennyson. 31 AUTUMN SEPTEMBER LANDSCAPES When eye of heaven shortens arc until The larking time for owl, and bats, or coon, And undisturbed south flight of water fowl Is equal-houred to Phoebus' rule supreme, The friendly heat in moving south, new life In other spheres to waken, opens way For frosty nights. The maize shocks increase each Fair day. The young wheat daily grov/s. At last In unresisting calm which stars or moon Are left to watch, a frozen vapor creeps Upon the earth as through an open door. This fairy painting whitens over fields, The fences, trees, and roofs, and all the things Exposed, until their speciousness confirms The thought, 'tis star dust, star dust sprinkled here. If light or heavy frost, do gems above Grow less in luster nymph's when flowering comes? The sun keeps ever bright, itself to plate With sparkling down the elfs had spread to play Upon, and swift returns to paint the leaves Its choicest shades of orange, red, and brown. The tresses frisk of bushes, trees in groups Or trees alone, and forest stand aglow. 32 Autumn When matched with fields of green, the cloud- patched sk)^ And cornfields bristling shocks or stalks, present A many colored landscape scene which basks In smiles of autumn sun. If sought and grasped For love of its suggestions deep, the spell Of peace, contentment, whither it be found, To heart communing nature kindles quick. II OCTOBER LANDSCAPES On sunny days, the horizon near and far Is partly lined with timber, partly lined With rolling fields. All distant colors blend, Obscured by veil of hazy film. The green And barren ground is intermingled craft With unscreened gray of upper trunks and limbs In near-by wood contrast with orange, red. And brown of what few leaves remain to form The variegated patches, thicker hung In lower half of ever cheering woods. The smoky dawn and varied flame-cloud east Of dreamy days that end in flame-patched west And twilight haze, are interrupted now And then, in warning season's close, by heralds Of rain, and wind that pick the leaves which have Not fallen, nor been coaxed to whirl, or sail, Or dart away in playful breeze. In banks 33 The Seasons The summer verdure, glory piled by wind, Profusely carpets, weaves autumnal pride On floor of timber land, in shades which vie With pledge when rainbow arches full. Ill PHILOSOPHY FROM NATURE Although the autumn bravely paints upon The sky her fame, 'tis gorgeous all the year: Kaleidoscopic aspect greetings speak Of Deity to minds intelligent. The hours of changing clouds have eloquence That matches man, a tenderness so full Of spiritual — moving art divine. And when the hours of deep blue canopy Are spread, sublimity of cloudless sky So pure and beautiful, has always shown That God alone in heavens may be seen. Another herald wishing Maker's praise. Is voice of thunder which is echoed cloud To cloud in rumble. Why o'erlook so great A part? For God is teaching many ways. 34 Autumn IV FOREST IN NOVEMBER When trees are foliage stript for winter blasts, And cleaned of shack by squirrels, they remain In drowsy silence — show their sturdy arms. The pine with all its emerald is fresh And cosy; cedar, spruce, and hemlock keep Their aquamarine, and also house within Their deepest many denizens of wild ; For here much more than found in naked woods The gales of winter barred out, with hint Of southern home from thicket evergreen, Where spiral stairways, frequent landings, aisles Profoundly winding, zigzag vestibules Incite to rooms of sundry size and shape Antiquely columned. Thatching thicker grows, The lower lines are traced from towering tops. 35 WINTER DECEMBER SNOWSTORM A chilling rain to hail and sleet may change And then entirely snow with large light flakes That gently fall, or sail, or balance well As if they fear of getting camping place Of ranking crystals, vigils o'er the host. But other flocks appear to hesitate In study mood, deciding whether they Shall rest upon the naked bows, or limbs Of evergreen, upon a roof, or fence. Or weed, or log, or light upon the ground. This mantle pale comes stealthily as creep Of rising tide. All objects seen from sky Must don their sagely ermine. Providence Provides the blanket down protecting plants That slumber o'er the ground. Impartially The branches loaded, bending 'neath the bright Cold burden, look as though their foliage Developed into sparkling silver foam That more than covers, piles, and hangs from twigs. When clouds are shorn of fleecy treasures, moon Looks cold and night is still, but lighted clear By friendly orb to almost perfect day. 36 Winter The country lies with ev'ry hill and vale Enrobed before the space of universe: Its pearly white contrasts with twinkling ink Dome sky. With dawn of day, comes breeze that shakes The trees of splendor; crystals drop, appear In sunlight, like a storm of falling stars. DECEMBER LANDSCAPE When sleigh bells answer sleigh bells tuned with heart And head, the air is pure and bracing o'er The welcome snow which flows dark-timbered- lined Along the hills and dales horizonward. When good will honored true, the fellowship, And joy, and happiness the warmer grow In social uplift, making memories To prize forever, prized for wholesomeness Of festive hall, or round the open grate. CHRISTMAS The piercing air our minds with keener thoughts Will fill to meditate on life and death. The harp within the soul is turned anew With charity, and youth returns and glows With memories of laurestine and pine. Or cedar hung with friendly gifts and jokes. The stockings hung by chimney, bulge from toe 37 The Seasons Full length, are unpacked. All the world seems new To boys, and girls, as well as Santa Claus. II PHILOSOPHY FROM CHRISTMAS The chances come to prove our heav'nly thought And register appreciation full Of humble birth announced by angel hosts To wisemen, shepherds, nineteen centuries past. He gave to mankind highest order, apt For thinking out of all relations — Truth And Mercy meet, and Righteousness and Peace Have kissed each other. This reject, the world An unexplained riddle stands; believe And well explained will stand the history Of race. He saw the germ of good in soul. The leaven which will raise a kingdom known Of God throughout the world. This course be- comes A part of one by growth of daily deeds. Ill SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS IS SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY A thousand chances come to show divine Our kinship through appreciation deep 38 Winter Of nat'ral beauty poured around the earth At dawn to make impressive pictured world, Too quickly taken up by setting sun. Our royal blood is manifested sound By kindly feeling toward God's creatures all. With pride the heart does beat to view the path The mighty English race has trod in search Of liberty, and law. Continuous Beyond the power of king to chain, or crush, Has risen noble scorn of tyrant pride. Our race success, shows social smiling kind, With kindness, sternness blending character; A land of deputized Democracy; A land of patriots where justice lights The public soul, and shines from every home. SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY Our heroes wisely guard the nation's weal : Our statesmen voice a free Democracy. May tyrants ever tremble when they read How England, France, Italia, Japan, America, the whole entente fought To make the w^orld a safe Democracy! Enlightened people strongly sympathize With Belgium, Serbia, All-helpless-lands Who suffered Hun-crushed years in great world war. The sons of Freedom have subdued for aye The blighting German strength. With haughtiness 39 The Seasons But harmless rank, exposed, autocracy Has fallen. Spite must drop, forever drop Among the civil nations. Brother-love And honor, noble washes fitly crown The deeds of men w^ho have so much to bear, To live for. Hate, revenge a loss have been. The world should never be without its league For government of free Democracy. IV THE PURPOSE OF DEMOCRACY America's collective action marks Her chivalry, disinterestedness, Her charity, unselfish inborn mind. The purpose thrives, Democracy will make Each age much better than the last; to build On justice, good that will forever stand; To front autocracy and not to yield ; For present likeness shapes the future near And far. All national aspirations which Are free from elements of discord have A worthy claim; Eternal Peace must stand On Rock of Freedom — always hard won prize. MARSHAL FOCH How lofty-minded. Marshal Foch to end The war without the sacrifice of one 40 Winter Unneeded life! How kindly-earnest not To add one hour of anguish to the world! The world will always be in debt to France For this true brave and patient son who did Accept responsibility to meet The greatest foe Democracy has faced. America's light Far-visioned Wilson represents the light America has sent across the sea ; His principles a Magna Charta raise For mankind. Liberty, equality, Fraternity were first proclaimed to world In seventeen-seventy-six. American Unfolding creeds are near to nature's life; Her mighty leaders spring from noble hearts. Washington the father of his country: Lincoln the savior of his nation: Wilson the league of nations statesman: The shepherds for our race. How Wilson led America to Freedom's rescue, helped To purge the world of aristocracy! Emplants Democracy's nobility — The first Democracy world-citizen — This sacred liberty unshackled lives. The Seasons JANUARY — NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS The New Year opening page Is closing day Of holiday season. Resolutions good And turning new leaves annually are quite The fashion — if, with each occasion grow The stronger reasons, sometime they may hold. A purple cloud that hangs from high in east Obscures many sunrise; vapor-veil Transparent, dims the darkest forest line And tints in gray the shade of ev'ry hue. The hand of winter never overlooks A crevice; flings Siberian landscape fell. The field is marked gracefully by road, Or path, or lone footprints of man or beast, Which wind across the sea of snow. The snow In sun, reflects a blinding pearly light ; Is fleecy cloud which snugly lays o'er hill And vale. When wind runs strong, the outlined clouds Of light or freshly fallen ermine whirl Around the buildings, fences, trees, and posts, About all objects rooted firm in snow. Or sweep across the open, bounding fringe From knolls, and terraced hillsides large and small, Behind which streaming banks are formed whose shape A.nd depth afforded cover molds by hand Of tireless gale. The sun which often sets 42 Winter Behind a purple long-horizon cloud, Bespeaks the lengthening day. On frosty days Designs fantastic, ferns, of net-veined leaves, Of puzzle pictures, decorate in full Or part the window pane. How warm is coat Of fur or feathers, age-long denizens The climate knows! To clothe himself, to make His dwelling, pristine man, the animals Has sought which nature clothes the warmest- clothed As if to keep the season's company. HOW DIFFERENT MODERN MAN What change in building feels the modern man ? How different enlightened home, where trust And love in personality is felt; Where kin are taught that social atmosphere Should grow to make a brighter home; where care And diligence in foresight rare is used To teach respect for things of worth, and warn Against degrading life which plays among The lower scale of mankind, lead the way Developing the good will spirit, choose Cooperation, voiced with helpful end In view — to conquer self; arises here In ev'ry one the memories to more And more endear the comforts, pleasures, life In keeping faith with home-born happiness. Have games true sportsmanship to plant and thrive ; 43 The Seasons Awaken healthy thought, tell stories live; Survey a broader reading interest, Of any wholesome thought pursued the hours Of long uninterrupted evenings. VI FEBRUARY How welcome peers the final period Of snow, which early brings the day of clouds Or prophet's shadow, numbering the weeks INDICATIONS OF THE WINTER CLOSING Before the season's change! The lengthening days Give promise, dreams of blossoms under snow. And active time again for animals And plants. The friendly snowbirds have their broods, Await to follow path of frigid grip. In social circles, haste is made the snow Enjoy as long as possible. This month Occur the birthda^^s honored far and wide, Of Lincoln, Washington ; occurs the day Of heart of hearts, St. Valentine's; it adds The leap-year genial stunts, a year in four. The picturesqueness, length'ning days of bleak Old January glide, succeeding month Which stalks the stormiest, most changeable Of year. Such frequent storms must indicate Old Winter's stern unwillingness to yield 44 Winter The season's rule; in anger, blows his breath The fiercer after sunny periods Of constantly increasing daylight hours; He piles the snow in curling banks, as though To thwart as long as possible the Spring From waking insects, flowers, grass, and buds. Reluctantly Old Winter see his grip Upon the season, loosen — augurs change. CONCLUSION The cycle tale of year's environment With myriads of observation points, With all discoveries, and weaving fast From their interpretation threads, must prove That only squared for benefit of man. To aid him in his upward-onward march, — Omnipotence has placed within our reach These blessings — honest work. All progress, truth, Morality, and industry go hand In hand. Achievement, all that man holds dear, Is what improves his living through the whole Of his activity and interest. What golden growth in life of Christ! How rich To have the priceless visions seeing God In all creation — glow of wealthy sun, In garden sweet, or hive of honey, stars Of night, in fountain, brook or rose, in green Of hills, the height of mountain, majesty Of ocean, boundless sky, in peace of woods, 45 The Seasons Or song of bird, in beauty crowning world Anew each day, in life of Christian man Or woman, better still, enshrined in hearts Of Christian home. May man be guided through Suggestions from the vivid pictured world, Suggestions from the wondrous energies, Suggestions from the free Democracy: Accept this Heav'nly Message bringing news Of glory toward God, of peace on earth That leads to know the worth of good will strong; Of tidings good, of joy profound to all The nations wisely building heart and home. 46

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Idle hours ...

[Allen, Edward Lee Roy]

idlehours00alle_djvu.txt

V .-lo. A ,v •s. o .^' <. 0^ oo^-.^'^o, :^ ^ <6 ' ^•'■J^'' "% rO 'LIT" o ^<^^ .^'•. <^ ^o.-^-'*/ v-^-/' %"^'*/ V^^\/ .0 ^ •">^*^i^$^.' ^h o _0 -^^ '^^l^.^ J^ c *■!■ tf PR PICT 5 RIErS PUBLISHED BY THE HUMANE WORKERS' SOCIETY ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA \ \ 1 'xlJU.^^^-t^-^t.Ji, (K . (JJlSuL''*.'^.^ fA'' \ Copyright, 1912 By Edavard L,. Ali,en V CCI.A312496 PRISON POEMS, PICTURES AND STORIES PREFACE AND EXPLANATION. A man is selfish who devotes all his time to expressing his own feelings. A great Painter or Poet is selfish if he devotes his entire time to expressing his feelings on canvas or in verse. We owe the world something beside self- delineated feelings and our friends, we owe them all — What care I for worldly gain For me alone a crust will do Should 1 some power or wealth attain Dear friend — 'twill be for you. The author of these little poems and pictures is quite aware of their crudeness, nor does he intend devoting his time to the like — there are other things too well worth while — These little poems and painted flowers* Are but the product of my idle hours; Far greater things have I in view And having will the aim pursue. So you may laugh and turn away, But I — perhaps will laugh another day. * In printing the book the expense of reproducing the flowers was too great. — 3 — PRISON POEMS. AN APPEAL AND A STORY. This little book not only contains poems but information on the subject at hand. Somehow I feel that you will be interested in this subject. Never have the American people been given anything so different from the ordinary line of reading matter. Not that it is better written or classic, but because of its simplicity and sincerity. The writer feels that the expression is somewhat crude. It is an honest effort of a convict to better his condition while still in prison and his struggle after his discharge. It deals with the terrible condition and odds the writer had to fight against in order to survive and live up to a good moral standard. It touches on the awful condition in our prisons and in some measure my change your conception of the man behind the bars. The writer earnestly begs you to co-operate with him in circulat- ing this little work. When you write to your friends won't you tell them about the little book and "The Humane Workers' Society" which aims to better the awful condition that endangers our homes and lives and the future welfare of our children? Won't you help me start this movement by passing the word around among your friends? I want to make amend for the past and I can do it better by bettering the condition you all know to exist in every city and town in America — that leads the boys and girls astray; to disgrace and shame. I do not look for any reward either in this world or the next one. I seek to make amend. My reward will be in doing good because it's good to do good. The greatest pleasure of my life is in helping the poor deluded boys and girls who wander away from home seeking that which they can never find apart from that home, and, failing, become despondent and seek relief in that awful life that leads to prison and ill-fame. Then there are the boys and girls who have no home, who are cast out into the cold world at an early age to struggle alone, to sink or swim. Oh, how my heart goes out to these children of misfortune — I was one of them. I can feel as they feel and have suffered as they suffer. Every one would have been better boys and girls had some one cared for them. Won't you help me help them? You who have comfortable homes and loved ones. They might have been your dear ones. This little -_4 — PRISON POEMS. book is my only means of getting my message to you. Won't you send the message along to others? It will be so much easier than the way I have had to go in order that I may send the message out to you. You have organizations, societies and churches and they are doing good, but don't you think one who has been down in the places of those you seek to aid, and who has risen up, can do more to raise these wayward children. Knowing the conditions that made them what they are, do you not think the writer can do more to remove them than people who never suffered — who cannot feel and under- stand? I wish I could send every person in the world one of these little books, but I am poor. Many, many days the little girl (who has sacrificed so much for me) and I have gone hungry and slept cold. She gave up a home of luxury and wealth to share my lot and help me in my work. It is through the good will of a few generous hearted people that I am able to furnish you with this little book. Won't you help them in helping me to help others? Let me tell you a little story, and if any one doubts it, I will refer them to an institution that will substantiate it, at least in part, if not all. The little fellow I mention had been kicked out into the cold world one evening in early Spring to shift for himself at the age of twelve. For days he wandered about in the woods and country, working where he could for something to eat, often without food for two days at a time; sleeping where he could — in barns or straw stacks. One evening he strayed into a little town hungry and cold. It had been raining and the little fellow was soaked through. At a baker shop some kind lady had given him some rolls. With the bag of rolls tucked under his little wet coat he wandered down the street till he found a hallway that offered him the shelter he sought. Here he would spend the evening. Outside the storm came up in all its fury. As he sat eating his rolls he heard a whining, then a yelp from the street. In a moment the little fellow was out in the rain. Somehow he knew it was a cry of distress. Oh, my dear readers, whatever you may think of this story will not change its truth. 'Tis true I have elaborated in its telling, but could you see the little boy as he reaches down into the gutter and picks up that poor little puppy-dog that was battling with the wind and rain, hungry and cold — so weak it could not crawl out of the gutter. Half drowned and starved he carried it into the hallway. Oh, how he nestled it to his little lonely heart. It was just a tiny thing, only a few weeks old, but it was a creature in distress and he — 5 — PRISON POEMS. shared his rolls. The poor little puppy was so weak from hunger that it could not swallow and choked. The little boy had to put his finger in the little fellow's throat and remove the half-chewed bread. Like a mother feeds her baby, and as tender, did the little twelve year old boy chew the pieces of rolls first and give it to the pup, so that he could swallow it. As they lay together in the hallway, the boy could feel his little companion shiver. The hall was good enough for him, but his friend was cold and they must find some warmer place to sleep. So he took the little fellow in his arms and wandered out into the rain. In an alley he found a barndoor unlocked. Softly he crept in. It was dark, but he found the manger and there he and his little friend curled up and were soon asleep; nor was it so uncomfortable either. But the man came and found them in the morning. He kicked the little boy and dog out into the alley. That man was meaner than that little boy ever was and he has been in prison twice and deserved to go there both times — tho' I do expect the man deserved to go there instead, for he was responsible for the boy's going there. That man professed to be a Christian and if he is living now and should run across this little book, I wish to say — You were an old hypocrite and it's your kind that make conditions that make criminals, A man don't steal for the fun of it. Neither does he steal because he likes to steal. He steals by force of circumstances and certain conditions make these circumstances, and certain kinds of society and people make these conditions. Would Christ kick a little orphan boy and dog out into an alley because he slept in a manger? No, and he won't let an old hypocrite spend eternity in paradise who wouldn't let a little boy and dog sleep in a manger. What I tell you is the truth, though it may be expressed in a crude way. I haven't meant to bore you, and instead of telling you my life's history in this little book, I present you with little pictures, poems and sketches of life — hoping it will change your conception of those behind the bars and those living lives of ill fame. After all they are our brothers and sisters and though we may not help them so much, we can better conditions that made them so and make the way clearer for the coming generations. Won't you help me in this work? Won't you tell your friends about this little book? Very sincerely, EDWARD L. ALLEN, The Humane Workers' Society, Erie, Pa. P. S. — I was the little boy. — 6 — PRISON POEMS JUST A CHILD. 'Twas just a child That came and smiled — Smiled through the steel-chilled bars; The smile it stole Into my soul, There beams like a thousand stars. This child of love Like the stars above, With its beaming, smiling face, So sweet and kind. Shall ever find In my heart a resting place. Ever as I dwell In my dreary cell My thoughts shall be of you, Sweet little child That came and smiled, With eyes so soft and blue. PRISON POEMS AN EXPLANATION— A MAN AND A DOG. This little child accomplished more with a smile than all the laws and religions in this world did by force and superstitution — caused me to think; awoke in me the good there is in every man. Reformed me. What that smile did for me, it will do for thousands in our prisons today — I know, I was there. I once thought and felt as these men do. I know their longings, emotions and desires. Hundreds would never have become convicts had some one cared. A smile, a kind word or a letter from some one, would do what the Law, the Church and society have not and cannot do — make good citizens of these men. A man who was electrocuted for murder in Columbus, Ohio, and who was once a prison mate of mine, said to me: "Tomorrow I shall be free, but what have I to live for, not even a yellow dog cares for me. I never knew a mother or a father. No one ever loved me. Once a lady who passed through the county jail spoke to me and smiled. God, how I loved that woman! it is the only thing I have had to hold on to during these long years. Tomorrow I'm free! I shall go to work, and if they will let me, be a man. He tried. He worked like a slave. He had one little friend, a stray dog he had picked up on the streets. One night some one was held up and robbed — he had been sent to prison for a similar crime. The police discovered his past. He was innocent, but that did not matter. Circumstances were against him. He had two hundred and forty dollars. The man had been robbed of three hundred dollars. He lived in a house with only his little friend, the dog. He was sent to prison again. Before he was taken away, he requested to see his "little friend." The police laughed at him. The night he was arrested the little dog had followed him to the police station and hung about until the police had given it to the "Dog Catcher," who drowned it. So when he asked to see his little friend, they told him, "Why, it hung around here till we got tired of it, and we sent it to the pond." — 8 — PRISON POEMS. That man became a confirmed criminal in less than a minute. When he was discharged from prison, he went out with murder in his heart. He was electrocuted for killing some police official in Ohio and I believe had killed several before they caught him. He died with a smile on his face, and his last thought was for his little friend — the stray dog. On the walls of his cell they found written in lead pencil: "I loved you, oh I loved you, and I have avenged your death — soon I will join you in the great unknown. You were but a dog but you were dearer to me than any human being I ever knew. I know you waited outside the police station for me. Your little heart was loyal till death. You died for me and so I shall die for you. If there is a God in Heaven He is a just God and I believe we shall meet again. From 'JIMMY' to PAL." I knew this man and what the world may think I care not. In my eyes he shall always remain a hero. Not because he murdered several human beings — that was wrong — but because he died for a friend. His mind was misdirected and wrong — terribly so. That same something which caused Paul Jones to lash himself to the mast, was the same something that caused this man to die for his little friend. I shall treasure this man's memory because of his loyalty and fine spirit shown in the words written upon the walls of his death chamber. "By your faith you shall be saved." If there is a Heaven beyond this earth and any of us ever get there, we shall find a man and a dog. Those evening stars, those evening stars, I watch from behind the prison bars, And as they gleam from their far-off clime I know, I know it's Christmas time; Christmas time, but not for those Behind the iron barred gate ; Once within few find repose And no one knows his fate. 9 — PRISON POEMS, THE FACE IN CHAPEL. One look from your bright eyes, Sweet maiden fair, Has stole into my heart And laid a treasure there. Before you came all was dark Within my lonely cell, But now it is a heavenly place, Whereas it was a Hell. No words spoke those charming lips. Nor would I have them speak. But fain would paint upon my heart The rosebuds on your cheek. Your hair, all waving, golden bright. Your eyes, so heavenly blue, Engrave upon my famished heart An image fair of you. And oh, fair maid, if you but knew How longs my starving heart. Our flitting souls that came so near Would never stray apart. And as I dwell, sweet maiden fair. Within my walled abode Sweet thoughts of you shall ease the weight Of my remorseful load. My aching, famished heart doth pine For you fair maiden sweet. And while I wish we'd never met I pray that we may meet. And now, fair maid, somewhere doth dwell A soul that matcheth mine, And sweet maid if you but knew That soul it may be thine. AN EXPLANATION. The "Face in Chapel" was written after religious services one Sunday morning in the author's lonely cell. It expresses the longing, — 10 — PRISON POEMS. burning desire of a lonely heart for a little human kindness — a little love. There she was, the new organist, a beautiful girl with her sweet young soul shining out from kind blue eyes. Those eyes did more to reform the prisoners in that dreary old prison than all its laws and rules ever did. Men who had been unruly, men the guards could not control, became as meek as lambs. Every one had something to look forward to — the Sunday services and the Face in Chapel. OH, FREEDOM DAYS. Oh freedom days, Sweet freedom days, How in my heart your treasure lays, And round my life your memory clings, Sweet hope of love and freedom brings Of better life and better things, Sweet freedom days. Oh, freedom days, How in my heart your treasure lays. Oh, sunny rays. Sweet sunny rays. Reminding me of freedom days In woodland bowers of shady trees. Waving in the summer's breeze. Oh, let me feed my soul on these Sweet sunny rays. Oh, Sunny rays, Reminding me of freedom days. Liberty, how sweet. Oh, how sweet; Without thee life is not complete. Goal of every toiling slave, Hope of every fettered knave. Without thee I would gladly brave The shadow of a dreaded grave. Oh, how sweet, Liberty, how sweet ; Without thee life is not complete. — 11 — PRISON POEMS TO A FRIEND. The morn is fair, the sun is bright, Each little tiny ray Peeps in to help me write The words I cannot say. But, while I cannot speak, my friend, My heart and hands are free ; And so with "hope" I gladly sent This down to Fifty-three. And oh, my friend, could I impart One little word of cheer To ease the aching of your heart, 'Twill make my own less drear. The greatest tribute I can pay To you, my dearest friend, Is to help you wile the hours away That seem to have no end. To help dispel the silent gloom Around your lonely cell, And call to mind the sweet perfume Of some fair flowery dell. To take you, the' but in a dream. Far from the clanging bell And wander by some woodland stream With some fair, bonny belle. And oh, my friend, your sunny smile Doth make my heart beat glad. And midst the gloom, the low and vile, It cheers me when I'm sad. Could you command a golden tide To flow beneath my tread, I'd gladly cast the gold aside And take the smile instead. — 12 — PRISON POEMS YET, I AM FREE. Tho' I may sad and longing dwell An occupant of a lonely cell, Where clangs the prison bell And men bid hope farewell. Yet, I am free. Free to roam at large and will In woodlands cool and still, Or down some sloping hill Where winds the rippling rill Towards the sea. Or linger by some farm and gaze Across the ripening fields of maize. Where beams the soothing sunny rays Enjoying life a thousand ways — For I am free; Or hide me in some shady nook Beside some sparkling running brook, With pole and line or pipe and book. Fast beating heart and eyes that look And fondly see. Free to roam this glorious earth. To get from life what life is worth. And love the mother that gave me birth. Greeting friends with friendly mirth, And they greet me ; — 13 — PRISON POEMS. Clang, clang, sounds the prison bell, Echoing the awfulness of its knell To every crouching prisoner's cell. Where all is dark and life is Hell, Yet, I am free. Free, ah, you cannot understand Why bolts and bars respond to my command Why walls fade or turn to crumbling sand And flowers spring forth on every hand To greet me ; Why I escape my living tombs Leaving behind the prison gloom And bask in sun and sweet perfume Where maidens walk and flowers bloom To meet me. My keepers — and line fellows, they, With suits of blue and hats of grey. Shake their heads and sadly say, "We'll give the fool another day With the rules" ; Clang, clang, that awful sound Breaks the silence all around. My Keepers — they so gaily gowned — Stretch their limbs and look profound — Ah, poor fools ! I care not how much fun they make. Nor why they laugh at me — I'll keep on pounding till I wake The God of Liberty. — 14 — PRISON POEMS. POEM TO A FRIEND. Time has no beginning- nor has an end — 'Tis ever on the fly — And if we'll but hope and wait, dear friend, Some day we'll say good-bye. Good-bye to the lonely prison cell, Where life at its best is drear. Where walls and bars turn earth to Hell, And bravest hearts to fear. But, dear friend, we'll not give up, Tho' time we cannot haste; Ere long we'll sip life from another cup That has no bitter taste. Ah, life is swet, dear friend, ah, sweet, When free to live and love The friends that you and I shall meet Where skies are blue above. OUR FLAG OF HOPE. I look out through the cold steel prison bars O'er the hills of pain and toil, And there see shining like the Heavenly stars A flag of hope on freedom's soil. And oh, my friend, that flag of Hope It waves for you and mee As we go toiling up the slope That leads to liberty. And dear friend, tho' the way be drear. Don't let your heart give way. But think of the future fair and clear The dawning of a brighter day. Ah, think when first the rising sun Beams on our flag of Hope and cheer, 'Tis then, dear friend, the battle's won And we've no more to fear. Our flag of Hope, dear friend, is love, Love of home and liberty — All nature beneath the stars above That shine on you and me. — 16 — PRISON POEMS. TO MY FRIENDS IN FIFTY-THREE. The truth, dear friends, are in these words, I was punished for feeding the little birds Around by lonely cell. Although my own meals are scant and spare, With these little friends the crumbs I always share And for this kind act I suffer Hell. But there, I'll not give way, but all the firmer be, And while I cannot feed the birds, I'll love the more My friends in Fifty-three. Ah, dear friends in Fifty-three, I wonder if you thought of me. Hanging to the iron-barred door. No keener pain can human feel Than when wrists are bound with band of steel And all is silence and your heart is sore; But there, dear friends on Gallery Two, All the while I thought of you. Altho' my weary flesh and bone Were incased in iron and steel and stone My heart and mind were free ; So while the irons bound each aching wrist My mind pierced through the gloomy mist To my friends in Fifty-three; Ah, dear friends, don't let your heart give way, Be thankful for the prospect of a brighter day. But come, dear friends, let's cheat them all — The lonely cell, the shackles, the prison wall — We're off on freedom's wing To where the air is cool and pure and sweet, Where flowers grow and lovers meet, And wild birds sing; Ah, dear friends, tho' hard our lot may seem. We make it all the easier when we dream. So come, let's dream we're free — You leave behind old Fifty-three, I'll cast the irons away; We're off to where the fragrant, sweet perfume Comes from the flowers as the bloom, And it's a sunny summer's day ; But ah, dear friends, this wretched woe Is but a shadow on the pleasures we'll really know. — 17 — PRISON POEMS SHE MEANT THE KISSES. O'er the wall and to my lonely cell Comes the fragrance of some flowery dell To tell me spring is here with its balmy breeze To clothe in green the fields and trees. Ah, well I recall the pastures green With lanes and woodlands in between Where waving in the meadows, to and fro, The goldenrods and thistles grow. Where Johnny-jump-ups — ah, surely "Fay," You remember hearing some dear maiden say Now "Fay Up" — that wasn't square, I won't play unless you play fair — Seems queer that I should know all this How, when she stooped to pluck another you stole a kiss. Well, in those days, you see, we both were boys. And I suppose what we do in Maine you do in Illinois. At any rate, I know I used to cheat. And no kiss since then was half so sweet; You know each purple stemless head Stood for a kiss or a stick of gum instead. Well, I remember on one occasion, when I had sixty-two and she had ten ; And of course, because I had the largest sum I thought I wouldn't have to buy the chewing gum; You understand, dear friend, of course you do, After buying her ten, I'd still have fifty-two; Well, this shows I didn't know these country Misses — She spunks right up and says, "you take your kisses," And when I had reached the total sum. She says, "come on and buy the chewing gum." Now, don't laugh, dear friend, I swear 'tis true, Every word I've been telling you ; And when I had left her at her mother's door She turns and says, "I'm sorry it wasn't fifty more." Well, perhaps you'll think me rather dumb When I say I thought she meant the chewing gum ; But then, I didn't know these country Misses — She didn't mean the gum at all — she meant the kisses. 18 — PRISON POEMS. EXPLANATION AND A STATEMENT. These little poems written to my prison friends are the products of certain prison conditions and the peculiar states of mind one gets into who longs to expand — to do something — to rise above his sur- roundings. Often I have longed to pour out my pent up feelings to some one, but I could not speak; so I wrote one of these little rhymes and threw it down to one of these prison friends as he passed my cell going to his work. In return I would receive a sunny smile or a hand wave. Somehow the smile and hand wave of one of these fellow sufferers would impart a spirit that would lighten my burden. Naturally your idea of a convict is something brutal — something to be dreaded and to be hounded like a wolf. I have met with the sweetest natures, the finest feelings and the greatest loyalty in a prison cell. No where else have I found such rare examples of brotherly love — self-sacrifice and good will. The moral standard of the convict is higher than those who guard him. The author of these lines was caught feeding the little hungry sparrows in front of his cell and was hung up by the wrists with only bread and water to eat twice a day. He had to hang up twelve hours a day for several days and all for a humane act. The Warden and Deputy Warden approved of this treatment and yet the thought of the Church, the Law and Society was to reform — to develop these humane acts. You don't believe my statement. I can prove it. The little poem, crude no doubt, "To My Friends in Fifty-three," was composed while the author was hanging to the iron door he mentions above. Good English will not permit me to tell you of the horrors of that prison. The terrible crimes against nature of which the man- agement approved. Men were murdered and driven insane. Some who were not insane were even put in the "Crazy House" which was attached to the prison. If ever there was a Hell it was the Foundry of that prison. Men have cut oflf their own fingers and hands to escape its horrors. 'Tis true. I can prove it. The better your conduct, the longer you were detained, if you were a good worker, in this prison. The Law sent you there, they released you when they wanted to. If you had money or influence you could gain your freedom in eleven months. Many an innocent man has served twenty years, even life, because he had no money or friends. Many who had robbed banks of thousands of dollars were released in a year or two; some in eleven — 19 — PRISON POEMS. months. And these "big thieves" never had anything to do but lie around, eat in the guard's kitchen and smoke good cigars. 'Tis true. I can prove it. The above statement is not made in a spirit of envy or jealousy, for the author himself did not do two months' w^ork during the five years he served. These are plain statements and only a few of the horrors are mentioned. I have told nothing hardly to what I might tell. I wish to reserve my space for something that will not grate so much upon your nerves. In closing, let me state further — I am not condemning all prison officials. Nor am I speaking well of all convicts. My little poems, "Why Should Man Fear Man" and "Ruling Art and Detention," will explain much I have not mentioned in these lines. Here is a clipping from a daily newspaper which is a parallel case to mine, showing how hard a struggle a man has who has been in prison: EDDIE GUERIN'S THRILLING STORY. Special to The Herald. LONDON, Feb. 17. — The way of the ex-crook in England is hard. If you doubt it, go to the little tobacco and candy store in the East End of London kept by a man who calls himself "Bertram Morton" and ask him. "Morton" is Eddie Guerin, who several years ago startled the world by his sensational escape from Devil's Island, the lonely, fever- ridden and shark sentinelled spot of land off the northern coast of South America which for so many years was the scene of Captain Dreyfus's martyrdom. Since then Guerin has been trying to live straight; but he will tell you that society has conspired against him, and you will almost believe it. Acting on the theory of once a crook, always a crook, Scotland Yard has been dogging him. His former associates of the under-world have turned their hands against him, and his every act that could be construed in the least degree suspicious has been reported to the authorities. If Guerin's protestations of leading an honest life were untrue, it seems that he would have been trapped before this. Scotland Yard thought it had him recently. Detectives who had trailed him to Glas- gow, where he had gone to sell some moving picture films, which business he has taken up as a side line, arrested Guerin on the charge of loitering about the Central Station Hotel in that city "with intent to steal." But the testimony didn't hold water. After hearing Guerin's story, the magistrate promptly dismissed him. The ex-crook did not — 20 — PRISON POEMS. try to gloss over his past, but he succeeded in persuading the court that he was sincere in his efforts to live it down. "Do not permit my previous bad reputation to weigh with you," he pleaded. "Don't turn me back. This means so much to me. I have found it very hard to reform; do not undo it all. I challenge Scotland Yard to prove that I have been associating with a single suspicious character since my escape." So Guerin is back in his little shop, and has again taken up the struggle — with Scotland Yard still watching him. Guerin, in company with the notorious "Chicago May," had already achieved considerable fame as an international crook when he was arrested in 1901 for burglarizing the American Express Com- pany's office in Paris. Condemned to penal servitude, he endured the miseries of Devil's Island until 1905, when, with two other con- victs, he succeeded in escaping by night in a dug-out. So rough was the sea that one of his companions while standing up to look for the coast line, lost his balance and fell overboard. A shark devoured the unfortunate man before Guerin could attempt his rescue. Reaching Dutch Guiana, Guerin and the other convict lived in the forest for six weeks, then, half-starved, made their way to Georgetown, where Guerin found a friend who supplied him with funds with which to travel to New York. The ex-convict's troubles, in his determination to reform, began shortly after he reached London, in 1906. "Chicago May," whose love for Guerin had cooled, happened to run across him in the street, and promptly betrayed him to the police. In the subsequent extradi- tion proceedings, Guerin proved that he was an English subject, and on June 14, 1907, he was released. The very next evening while he was standing at a corner of Russell Square, a cab drove up, and a man leaped out and fired several shots, one of which struck Guerin in the foot. The assailant was "Dutch Gus" Smith, a former companion in the under-world, who had never forgiven Guerin for winning "Chicago May" away from him. Both Smith and the woman, who had been trailing Guerin in the cab all evening, were arrested and speedily convicted of attempted murder. "Dutch Gus" was sent up for life, and "Chicago May" for IS years. Guerin ascribes most of his subsequent difficulties with Scotland Yard to the friends of this pair. "Chicago May," whose real name is May Churchill, is one of the most notorious female criminals of Europe. Strikingly beautiful, her favorite pursuit is blackmail, and it is said that she drove several of her victims to suicide. She was regarded as a sort of queen of the under-world, and there are any number of her miserable subjects who are eager now to win her favor by "getting" Guerin. — 21 — PRISON POEMS THE ROSE TREE. Outside my prison window A little rose tree grew; Ah, often have I wondered If the little rose tree knew Of the humble aching heart That lingered in the shade Of the dreary walls and bars The hands of men have made. Oh fragrant little rose tree With your fragrant little flowers, How often have I watched you Through the sad and silent hours ; And I must frankly tell you For years and years I've sought For the good and noble lessons Your little rose-buds taught; And I thank you, oh, I thank you. And I never shall forget. How often you have cheered me. Sweet rose tree — I'm glad we met. WHO KNOWS? Hark, hark, you who are free To the cry of a soul in distress, With contrite heart I openly plea For a bit of your happiness. Hark, hark, you who would hear Of a sad, sad soul and its pleading, Can you look on and shed not a tear For the heart that is wounded and bleeding. Hark, hark, you who have love. To a wretch in a lonely cell ; Perhaps you may meet him above Where the Lord and the Angels dwell. — 22 — PRISON POEMS. THE SADDEST SOUL OF THEM ALL. I arose at dawn With a weary yawn At the sound of the birdie's call, And through the bars I watched the stars Gleam down on the grim, gray wall; And each bright ray Of the dawning day Crept in through the open door And spread its lights Upon the sights Of a thousand souls or more And one sad soul was I The saddest soul of them all. WHY SHOULD MAN FEAR MAN? I care not who you chance to be ; Tho' Lord or millionaire. Governor or judge of high degree; I fear you not and dare — If I am right — and need no aid — To call you fools and knaves ; Pointing to the wretched graves. Your tyranny has made — And fearing not, I ask — and if you can. Answer — Why should man fear man? Fools and knaves — for such you are ; Tho' otherwise may seem, I point you to yon rising star With lusterous gleam. Ah, watch it on its upward course Through realms of eternal space And tell me, fools of wealth and place. What guides it upward, what is its source? Ah, poor fools and wretched knaves. After all, you are but slaves, So I ask — through life's short span — Answer — Why should man fear man? — 23 — PRISON POEMS. You can but take my life, You, too, poor fools, must die, What matter the few short years longer you may live, Ere I have finished the lines here written Thousands will pass beyond And thousands more will be ushered into the world- Fools — the very earth you tread Is but the dust of mingled dead, The rich, the poor, the king, the slave, All shall share alike — the grave. Yes, your turn shall come — poor fools — And other races shall walk upon your dust As you now walk upon the dust of those now dead; So why should I fear your power Which is really no greater than my own; You have taken my liberty — You may take my life. But I fear me not to die Nor fear the great beyond; Ah, poor fools and knaves — I pity you. Slaves to lust and greed, I hide behind gray walls my shame; You, poor fools, have no shame. What care I if you should say, "He is but a harmless lunatic, "Poor fellow" — meaning me, I may be insane — if so, what then? What matters that — I live and feel And have lived longer in one small hour Than you poor fools shall ever live ; Even behind these gray walls and bars, That turn earth to hideous Hell ; I have felt keener joys Than you poor fools can ever feel. So why should I fear? — 24 — PRISON POEMS. If I obey your laws 'Tis not because I fear, But because 'tis right — For did I not violate the "Law" And do I not believe in law and order? 'Tis just that I should suffer for my crime And reasonable that I should not rebel ; Nor have I — till I am legally free, Served the time fixed by the "Law" — And yet I am detained, robbed of my rights ; Now 'tis right that I should rebel. I have justice on my side; Not the justice of fools and knaves. But the great laws of Nature and the Universe. What is life? does any one know? Where did it come from, where does it go? Can the wisest man, I ask, tell why We are born today, but tomorrow die? Life is an organization of particles — a stage of existence ; Temporarily conscious of its existence. Death a decomposition and loss of consciousness. So why should I fear? You can but take my life; You will but sound your own death knell, For ere my bones have turned to dust You, too, poor fools, must follow me. So why should I fear? what should I fear? The cause is a just cause And I have the courage of my convictions ; I can but die and 'tis better so Than live a while in despair then die in shame at last. So, if I must die, dear friends, farewell, farewell, I have no fear. Within the great wide prison wall There stands a solitary tree ; The scenes on which its shadows fall Are ones of misery. — 25 — PRISON POEMS. RULING ART AND DETENTION. You ask, my friends — and I don't know who Has a better right to know than you, To give an opinion of a certain law; Nor doubt my mind may hold a flaw. Such confidence shall be appreciated And my opinion free and fully stated. To view a thing, we must note each part, And in viewing find a place to start; Had I the naming of this law you mention I'd name it "Ruling Art and Detention." The "Ruling Art" seems somewhat misapplied; But 'tis nothing more than Carpet-bagging modified; And, dear friends, while I'm revealing, Carpet-bagging is nothing more than stealing ; The two together — "Ruling Art and Detention," Are what I term a legalized invention. Invented by some master, mercenary mind. Whose only thoughts were selfishly inclined. Whose only wish and main desire Is to build his pile a little higher; Whose hands no doubt are soft to feel. But heart, harder than the hardest steel; Who grasp with outstretched hands the golden flood, Whose every dollar represents an ounce of human blood; Who, scheming for gold's bright sake, Violates the very laws he helps to make; And, dear friends, if we but only knew, We'd find the thief the better man of the two. These fools and knaves put up to represent, A law that produces what it should prevent, Have me at their mercy, age and more. Hold the key that locks my very door; But, dear friends, even, tho' I be their slave ; They, too, poor fools, must share my grave. — 26 — PRISON POEMS. JUST TO SAY FAREWELL. A Song. A young man in a lonely cell sat pining the hours away; His heart was sad and longing while other hearts were gay; Long years he's been in prison, all hope for him seemed dead, Yet he's thinking of his sweetheart, the one he'd long to wed. The birds, the trees, the flowers, the dear old happy home Where with his darling sweetheart he used to play and roam; But now he's going to write her, there from his lonely cell And tell her that he's dying and say once more farewell. REFRAIN. I'm going to write you just to say farewell For I'm sad and dying in a lonely cell ; Oh darling do you miss me, Iwonder if you do, I could gladly die just to feel your kiss once more And say good-bye ; For no one ever knew how to kiss the same as you And tho' the years have fled and you perhaps are wed, Yet your kisses linger still on my lips and ever will Darling, till I'm dead. The maiden took the message to the Governor of the State, With tear-stained cheeks told the story of her lover's fate ; And when he'd read the message his tears began to flow. For he had loved a maiden, tho' that was years ago ; Now Summer flowers were blooming on his sweetheart'sgrave, So for her sake a pardon the old man gladly gave And bade the maid speed onward with hope and good cheer But when she's gone, the message keeps ringing in his ear. UNDER THE GARDEN SHADE. A Song, When the Winter days are over and the soft sweet breath of Spring Comes to start the pretty rosebuds and the little birds to smg 'Tis then, dear heart, I miss you and I wonder if you're true To the vows made in the garden where the roses grew. — 27 — PRISON POEMS. REFRAIN. I wonder if you are still waiting and true, True to the vows we made When skies were blue, where roses grew, Under the garden shade. The years have slowly passed away, I'm coming home to you, All through the toil and hardship my heart was ever true, Nor once have I forgotten the solemn vows we made And sealed each one with kisses, under the garden shade. A SONG— MY ROSA BELLE. I dreamed a dream, a sweet fair dream, I dreamed of you And, darling, in my dream, me thought my dream was true ; Me thought I saw you standing there, where first my love I told The sun was shining on your head and turned your hair to gold ; I pressed your throbbing heart to mine, your love to me you tell But as I kiss your rosebud lips, I wake in a lonely cell. REFRAIN. My Rosa Belle, I dream of you Your love you tell, I dream 'tis true, And in my dreams, your sweet face seems To linger near my lonely cell To keep me cheer, my Rosa Belle; Oh, will you wait, outside the gate When my time is o'er, sweet Rosa Belle. I dreamed a dream, another dream, of you sweet Rosa Belle, And in my dream me thought you stood before my lonely cell ; Oh tell me sweetheart, darling Rose, will my dreams come true, When my time is over will I be the same to you? Oh meet me, little sweetheart, at the prison door. For, darling, in each dream I love you more and more. I dreamed again of you sweet Rose, dreamed the years had fled ; My heart was filled with sadness, for darling you were dead; But then, I'm only dreaming in my lonely cell. And, darling, how I love you word can never tell ; Oh tell me little sweetheart, when my time is o'er Will I find you waiting at the prison door. — 28 — PRISON POEMS A SONG— GOOD-BYE OLD PRISON CHUM. In a dark and lonely cell behind an iron-barred gate Two young men linger, in silence sadly wait ; Their hearts are bound in friendship, their aim in life is one, To gain a place in freedom beneath the glowing sun ; But one day a pardon came and one must go away And as he leaves, to his friend, his comrades hear him say — CHORUS. Good-bye old prison chum, for I must leave ; Good-bye, old fellow, for you I'll grieve; And where'er I stray, be it near or far away, My thoughts shall always be with you, Nor will I forget the dreary place we met — Good-bye, old prison chum, good-bye to you. The young man stood in freeland outside the iron-barred gate, But his heart was filled with sadness and all seemed desolate, For the only friend he had in all the world that day Was the gentle youth that lingered behind the walls of gray; But then he could not help him, so turning with a sigh, He bade his dear old comrade once more good-bye. Now the years have slowly sped, the young men both are free; They've built a home and happiness in freedom o'er the sea Where no one knows their past nor will ever know The dreary years they spent in prison long ago; But often by their fireside when beams the evening stars They live again in memory behind the cold steel bars. Behind the shaded walls they have confined My weary flesh and bone But no, they ne'er can keep my mind Behind ten thousand walls of stone. — 29- PRISON POEMS. YOU AND I— THE CONVICT'S STORY. Extract From a Most Remarkable Book to Be Published Shortly in Erie Is Worthy of Serious Study and Careful Consideration. What It Costs One Who Has Done Time to Live Square Afterwards — Will This Man, Living Right Here in Erie, Go Out in the Woods With His Faithful Wife and Starve? He Says He Will. [EDITOR'S NOTE— Living in Erie is an ex-convict. His record is known. He has a story to tell. He tells it well and he has the proof to substantiate what he says about himself. He is publishing a book and it will be out shortly. It is a most remarkable work. There are a number of Erie people who have heard the man's story, who have seen his proofs of what he claims. He contends that, having been a convict, he is hounded continually and is unable to make an honest living for himself and wife. He is determined to live honestly or starve. He discusses a vital social question in a way that will cause the reader to pause and reflect.] The following article was written at a time when the author was worried and had very little balance — nor does he claim to be real well balanced now. He is struggling to better his condition, to gain balance and learn truth, to survive and come up to a certain moral standard. The way is dark but he shall win. It is the writer's intention to start an organization called "The Humane Workers' Society," to help erase the awful condition now existing, to better humanity in general, and would be glad to hear from any one who is interested in such a movement. You can help by sending suggestions, by personal service or financially. You read these lines. How do you read these lines? By impres- sions made upon the organ of sight. From the organ of sight the impressions are carried to the faculty of reason where they are analyzed. Right now that process is going on in your brain and you understand what I have written. Now the impressions are being carried on to the memory where they are retained for future use. Similarity revives these impressions and so we recall and have our being. All we know is according to the impressions made upon our five senses at some time or other during our life. We are intelligent and educated according to the number and kind of impressions made upon our faculties through cur five senses. — 31 — PRISON POEMS. We are superstitious, prejudiced, narrow-minded, etc., because of wrong impressions that have become fixed on our faculties through wrong teaching and bad association. These can only be erased by right teaching and good association. The hereditary effects, morally, of ten gererations, can be changed in one generation by environment and conditions. A man can be both right and wrong. Right according to the laws of nature and wrong according to the standard we gauge the world by. But there is no perfect harmony for a man who is right by nature if he's wrong by laws of man. There are natural laws; there must be laws by man, and even though those laws are unjust, man must obey them. There must be men to make laws; men to enforce these laws, and if there were no men to break them, we wouldn't need any laws. So the law breaker is a main factor in our great scheme of law and order and when the law breaker and the law enforcer recognize the work in harmony with the law breaker they will find a solution to the great problem. Even a correct answer to a simple sum in arithmetic can not be worked out if one little cipher is left out. How, then, can you solve the greatest problem on earth today, by leaving out the one great main factor, the law breaker. You have your great prison congress, your laws, etc., but all you really do is to treat your law breaker like you do your pigs and cattle. You build a pen around him, feed and keep the wind oR and then he's what? Turned loose after he's good for nothing to be hounded till you round him up in the cattle pen again. I'm not blaming you. You are not to blame. But you are blaming me. You are penning me up, you are hounding me when I'm out of the pen. You call me an ex-convict. Debar me from the rights you say I have. How do you do this? By the conditions you make. How do you make these conditions? Read the clipping I insert from one of your papers: ARE GIVEN LASHES ON BARE BACK IN ZERO WEATHER FOR THEIR CRIMES. WILMINGTON, Del., Jan. 13.— With arms tied to the extended arms of a cross and with backs bared to the zero gale, two men were mercilessly lashed in the court yard of the county workhouse here today, as part payment of the toll the State exacts for their crimes. John Brewington received forty lashes with a cat-o'-nine-tails, in addition to which he will serve two years in state's prison for highway robbery. Arthur Johnson received twenty lashes and will serve one year for larceny. — 32 — PRISON POEMS. The men suffered frightfully from the cold and from the blood- letting lashes and staggered semi-conscious, back to their cells. The whippings, as are all Delaware whippings, were public, and a morbid crowd stood against the prison walls and saw the heavy leather strap with its nine thongs cut deep into the quivering flesh of the wretches. The men were to have been lashed early today, but the two degrees above zero weather chilled Warden Crawford himself to such an extent that he postponed the whipping until the day warmed. In the afternoon, when a four-degree rise in the temperature was noted, Crawford bundled himself up in a fur-lined overcoat, put on heavy gloves and ordered the men brought out. Each wore a heavy blanket wrapped about his neck and hanging down across his chest, but his back was nude. The prisoners' hands were encased in gloves as their extended arms were lashed to the cross, but the winds bit and the snow pelted against their naked backs. Brewington was whipped first. The back, blue from the cold, shivered and shook as the first blow of the strap fell, cutting bloody welts straight across. Ten times the scourge fell, straight down, and ninety livid welts showed on his quivering back. Then by moving his position. Warden Crawford made the strap strike at an angle. Ten blows thus, and the angle was changed, until, when the forty cruel blows had landed, a perfect grill of embossed flesh, torn and bruised, showed across the wretch's back. Not a sound did Brewington utter, though his lips were bleeding from the bites he gave as the scourge swished through the air and he stiffened himself for the coming pain. His arms were freed and he staggered back from the cross. Guards seized him. Without washing away the blood, they drew a heavy, coarse woolen undershirt over his body and rushed him, half frozen, back to his cell. Johnson, nude to the waist, stood by all the while, shivering from the cold and fright; involuntarily he braced himself as each blow landed on Brewington's shoulders, as though he could feel the pain himself. Then, when Brewington's torture was ended, Johnson was led to the cross, pilloried and lashed. But the above article is humane compared to the writer's own case. I do not relate my story because you would laugh at me in scorn. You would not believe me. If you follow the writer in his writing, you may learn something of that peculiar phase of human existence where man must struggle against heredity, early environment and old association; even more and yet remains honest, leading as clean a moral life as man can live. "You shall leave that 'snip' of a girl and come back to me or I will drive you either to starvation or crime." — 33 — PRISON POEMS. These words were uttered by a woman, whose resources are worth millions, to an ex-convict recently discharged from prison. A woman beautiful, educated, with a wide worldly experience and a criminal brain, who handles most judges and police officials as a nurse would a baby; even with less trouble. No blood hound was ever more persistent or kept the track better than does this beautiful feminine species of mankind. As a cat plays with a mouse does this lady play with her human prey. The above lines may sound more like a page from a dime novel than a part of a truthful statement by a man, who, when you read these lines, may have passed out into the great beyond. This woman with her polished manners and soft, soothing ways, walks on the laws of America, using its representatives and society to hound and persecute an honest man and an innocent girl. And you don't believe it! Such a thing could not be so! But it is. You are blinded by the very truth you fail to recognize. But I, the ex-convict, the outcast, the one whom you deny the right to happiness and life, shall be your physician; shall restore your sight. Not because I am smarter than you, but because I am humble and seek the truth where I may find it, and from a non-personal view- point. The lowly approach nearest the truth because the truth is found in low places. You in your elevated stations of life, with your lofty conceptions of God and the Universe, that God created all things for your special benefit, are deluded by your own self importance. You walk on the truth, but do not know it. God — an idea, supernatural, that conveys to mortal mind that something which he can not understand, but which he feels must exist or he himself would not exist. Down on my humble knees I worship that God — first by acknowl- edging that I do not know, that I can not know, that I will not at- tempt to know that which is beyond by understanding — complete sub- mission. I therefore seek to understand the forces within my own being which will enable me to recognize the truth when I find it; a small portion, at least. Some one said: "He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride. And he that is humble ever shall Have Truth to be his guide." So I seek the truth in the low places, for you in your lofty stations have not found it. In order to learn the truth about any particular thing, we must first eliminate all prejudice and personal interest and look the thing square in the face. I may add the simpler we are in our methods, the — 34 — PRISON POEMS. more progress we can make toward discovering the truth and the easier can we prescribe a remedy. To get the best results one must be frank and open, with a complete disregard for public opinion. The writer of this article is an ex-convict who is having more than the usual struggle. He deserved the time he served and admits it. Is free now and in the face of some very disagreeable facts, which may follow, don't care a "rip" what you think of him and his crude expression. This article is a cold, hard, steel proposition, written as a last resource to gain an honest livelihood, to keep the wolf of "want" from the door. It seems to be his last chance. The writer and his wife lived on 25 cents a day for the last two weeks. Twenty-five cents has even gone two days. At the rate of 25 cents per day, they may live fourteen days more. When one may have only fourteen days more to live, he loses all fear of public opinion and has no motive to lie and is more apt to state facts as they appear to him — to express his thoughts as they really are than those trained and educated whose business it is to furnish the public with information on various topic — than judges and police officials, who think within a radius of their jurisdiction, and ministers who live within a radius of twenty-five miles and judge the entire world by the standard they gage that radius by. At the end of fourteen days should circumstances compel him to either steal or starve, he shall starve. But what about the beautiful young wife, who gave up a home of wealth and luxury to wed him, the ex-convict, and knowing all? She — one of you — shall she die? Yes! Does she love him, this monster, the convict? Yes, better than he ever dreamed a woman could love, and because he loves her, they shall die. Yes, we will die! "Oh, what nonsense!" But it must seem strange to you that we should wish to plunge into the Great Beyond? We do not desire. We are compelled. We do not fear. It is her will to share my fate and she would have me remain true to her ideal, and I shall. After all, perhaps, 'tis better so, for you shall know the truth and the generation that comes will profit by the example. Our whole scheme of existence is based on two great principles, Life and Death. Why should one fear to pass into the Great Beyond? What matter the few short years longer I might live, if by dying now I accomplish a purpose and that purpose be the giving to the world the truth that may solve a problem the law, the church and society have failed to solve since the beginning of time? Could I really do better? — 35 — PRISON POEMS. We, ourselves, are a part of the very forces that make possible our own existence. We all came from the same place, because there was no other place to come from, and we shall all go back to the same place, because there is no other place for us to go — the Universe. All any of us can really know is that we don't know, and when we think we do know, then is when we delude ourselves. Perhaps all that I have said is the product of a diseased brain, driven mad by constant hounding by old associates who seek to bring me back to the old life, who dog me night and day, causing me to fail in every new enterprise I undertake, pointing me out to the police and my new associates. So my only hope lays in the very article I am writing. Should it have no value to the magazine I am sending it to — well — we have fourteen days longer to live and during that time we shi.ll have lived longer and felt keener, sweeter, joys than most people do in a life- time. And, when the time comes, we shall wander out into the beautiful snow, to the woods we both love so well. There you will find us in the spring, when the snow has melted away and the birds have re- turned from the sunny South, there midst the birth of new life shall you find us locked in each other's arms — that part which we call life will have returned back to the source from whence it came, but we shall live — live as a monument to the truth we died to prove. Along with us you will find this article which no editor would accept, that had no value until two human lives were given to prove its sincerity, its reality. The last forlorn hope of two blundering children of nature who blundered on to the truth through their folly and your persecution. Oh, but you shall know. The article that had no value will be- come valuable. The editors that refused it will clamor for it. The newspapers will print and reprint it, and I, the hounded, the convict that you would not give a fair show, shall become your teacher. And the brave, noble-hearted little girl who gave her sweet young life that I might live up to her ideal shall become an example — a sacrifice to the good in a man the world could not see. But we still live and hope, so I shall continue my ravings. I love this old world. I hate no one. Not even those who have pointed the finger of scorn and said: "He's an ex-convict! Don't trust him!" I don't blame you. How can I. Like myself, you are the product of the surrounding conditions. I would even kiss the finger you point in scorn. Not because I am a coward! I fear nothing, not even the Great Beyond, but in the spirit of sympathy, with a bleeding, sorrowing heart, for I once thought as you do. I once hated you as you hate me, the ex-convict. — 36 — PRISON POEMS. Oh, but I was wrong. Now that I seem so near the Great Beyond, I see things so differently. You and I — we are what the environment and conditions made us. I love you, but I hate the conditions that made you hate me. You are no more responsible for hating me than I am for loving you. Why should I retaliate? The whole conception is false. Is the flower seed dropped by the wayside into unfertile soil, growing up among vile weeds, any more responsible for its puniness than is the seed planted in some king's fertile garden, receiving care and cultivation, that grows into a beautiful flower, rich in color and sweet in fragrance? To find the cause as to why one is puny and undergrown and the others beautiful and strong, would you look at the flower or the surrounding conditions? To remove the cause would you use the hoe on the poor, puny flower or the ground and weeds? Might not the puny flower become strong and beautiful if transplanted in the king's garden and cultivated with care? The flower that was rich in color and which gave forth such sweet perfume was compelled to grow sweet and strong. It knew no other way. Surrounding conditions made them both what they were; one strong and the other weak and under grown. In the king's garden one dare not walk on the flower bed. By the wayside one tramples as much as he pleases. When you and I quit fighting and abusing one another and unite in fighting the surrounding conditions, cutting the weeds, cultivating the soil and watering the flowers, we may make the puny flower strong and beautiful and the beautiful flower more beautiful. You are the flower (figuratively) in the king's garden. I am the one by the wayside. You look on me from your luxurious height, but it was your seed that the wind blew over the garden wall out by the wayside and in denying me the sunshine and allowing the weeds to smother out my poor life, you blight your own life and that of the generation to follow. By hating and abusing me you approach no nearer the truth. The problem you seek to solve will only be solved by love and co- operative thought and action. When you recognize that I am a factor and you recognize me in your scheme of things, you may then solve a problem that when solved will make earth a paradise. An intelligent man who has served a term in prison is better quali- fied to be sent to prison congress than ministers and judges. Most men are honest with themselves, but where others' interests are in- volved are not so careful. ~Z7 PRISON POEMS. THE CONVICT'S WIFE AND CHILD. It is they who suffer most — who need our help even more than the man himself. Often they suffer for food — sometimes the little ones die for lack of medical attention. The woman is blamed by her neighbors for her husband's sins. Instead of aiding her they persecute her. The other mothers will not allow their children to play with her children. The little ones are teased: "Oh, go on; your daddy's in the penitentiary, our Ma's don't want us to play with you." If she goes to church, everyone stares at her. I have seen Chris- tian women hold up their skirts and draw away from the wife of a convict as they passed her in church. I have heard them say: "Isn't it terrible; she ought to be ashamed to put her head inside a church door." Oh, my dear readers, how wrong some of us are in our attitude toward others. The man may have been bad, but his wife and children are just as good as any of us and better than the man or woman who points the finger of score at them. THE HUMANE WORKERS' SOCIETY, ERIE, PA. General Public: To every one desiring to better conditions that make bad men and women, poverty and crime. Do you wish to better conditions which you know to exist, that are bad? Do you approve of helping the coming generations; making the way clearer? Would you approve of a man who has been in prison being at the head of The Humane Workers' Society, one who knows why men are criminals, who can feel and understand as they do, who has had their emotions and desires? Who can think as they do; because he has been one of them. Would you endorse a man of this order, did you feel that he has been cured of his criminal tendencies and wishes to make amend by devoting his life to making men and conditions better? The Humane Workers' Society is to be an organization which aims to co-operate with churches, society and the law in an effort to better the conditions that endanger our lives, homes and property. We cannot do much for the man and woman who has already fallen, but we can better the conditions that make them fall, so that the coming generations will not fall. Your children and mine and their children. — 38 — PRISON POEMS. There are organizations to better the present generation. Why not one to better the coming? If an individual wrongs me and I kill him, I haven't bettered the matter. There will still remain thousands who would do the same thing he did, but if I can better the conditions that make such people, I will have accomplished something worth while. When creeds, organizations and individuals quit fighting one an- other and unite in fighting the conditions, we will have then accom- plished what we aim to accomplish by fighting one another. We aim to better conditions but we really produce the very thing we aim to prevent, by our wrong methods. You have been trained and educated along some line of business or profession and have been successful according to your understand- ing of certain principles. Inasmuch as you know your line of business or profession, I feel that I know mine. I could no more handle your affairs than you could handle mine. We are specialists, each in our own field. I require your services every day of my life. I pay you for them. You require mine and should be willing to pay me. What you pay me comes back to you with interest through those who follow in your footsteps. We can help one another. You can not give your time. Besides, you would not know what to do. But you can give your financial aid and in return I shall better the conditions that endanger us both and our children to come. You store up wealth that your children my be provided for, you build schools that they may be educated, but you neglect to better the awful conditions which you know to exist, that are making criminals and moral perverts of the present generation. The welfare of the coming generations depends upon the sur- rounding conditions we leave behind us. Crime is a disease that warps and disfigures the poor victim's mind until he feels justified in his crimes. The remedy that will cure this awful disease has never been discovered by Judges, Ministers or Policemen. They have failed. They have their places. They all pronounced me incurable. They have all treated me according to their best knowledge and their remedies failed. If you approve of my office and have confidence in my integrity and ability, will you contribute to the support of "The Humane Workers' Society" and its founder? What will you give to start it, and what will you pledge to main- tain it? EDWARD L. ALLEN, 208 East Eleventh Street, Erie, Pa. — 40 — tH'L 78 N. MANCHESTER INDIANA

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Allen, Florence Ellinwood

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PATRIS Florence Ellinwood Allen ^ Class ~PS am/ Book -l-± 2£E8 CpEyright^?. — :_; COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: PATRIS PATRIS BY FLORENCE ELLINWOOD ALLEN Cleveland Published by Horace Carr 1908 LIBRARY of CONGAS t wo vOpius ttecwivad A«r>K 2% 1908 iwy.vri«iu entry ^ ^oPY a. Copyrighted, 1908, by Florence Ellinwood Allen Published April, 1908 Press of Horace Carr Cleveland TO MARION PRENTISS STRATTON CONTENTS PAGE The Old World to the New .... 7 East .... 9 West 10 Law 11 Prophets 13 Land-Sighting 15 Morning-Song 16 In Chapel 17 Ver Immortale 18 Beethoven 19 Hagar 20 Orpheus 21 Song of the Rails 22 College Recessional 23 To Charis 24 Ananias 25 Sonnet . 26 Fifths . 27 Western Cradle Song 28 En Voyage 29 Serenade 30 Valentine 31 To C. R. . 32 The Sun-Dial 33 Interlude to Sakuntala 37 Student's Speech 38 Wood-Nymph's Song 39 Theocritus, Idyll I . 40 Theocritus, Idyll I . 42 Les Nuits de Juin 45 Whence Cometh My Help 47 The Pharisee 48 The Calling of the West 49 PATRIS THE OLD WORLD TO THE NEW Stand there, Magnificent, with free, unbended head, The dawn within your eyes! I, too, was young once, and strong, but not so, For in darkness I lay, And heard but the raging of beasts that were men, As I waited the day. For eons of night I groped madly alone, As they stifled my mind, And the passion of love that surged up in my heart Was impotent, blind. They trained my deft hands to all fanciful art, To trace marvelous line, To hew stone into form, to pour life into clay, Make all seen beauty mine. 8 PATRIS And my fingers are lord of the chisel and brush That your hands cannot hold, And vast flooding harmonies surge through my soul When your spirit lies cold. But O for the uplift, the unfettered mind That beams from your brow ! The poise of the soul that can act, need not feel, Can act, and knows how ! And I count all my culture but barrenest gain From the years that are sped, As I gaze on my passion-swept age, and your youth, And know myself dead! PATR1S EAST What are these that huddle in thy gates? A countless, hideous rabble: Call ye them children? With twisted, tortured bodies, shrivelled arms, and evil-conscious faces, For them the only warmth the roaring fires of glass and factory furnace, The dampness of the mines; Instead of meadow-flowers, dank and clinging odors; Ears that should hear the song of birds, and hum of bees, And trilling of the cricket, numbed and deaf With crash of drill and loom and rumble of the chute ; Eyes beauty-loving, dulled with unloveliness, Seared by the glare of furnace, blind With staring, mole-like, in the senseless dark ; Budding souls crushed lifeless under heel. Out of the slavery of other lands they came to us For freedom. What are we doing with them, East, my East? PATRIS WEST Oh it's West, and my West I am singing, With its infinite stretches of sky, And the yellow light of the morning, Ablaze on the uplands high; With the clouds lying low in the valleys Like folds of soft-billowing white, And the spruce blue-grey And the aspen a-sway On the mesa's brown-shelving height. And it's West, my West, I am singing, The mountains all misty-grey, And the quivering lights on the foothills Like stars that swing and that sway, When the flying lights from the engine Flash out on a blur of sand, And the telegraph-wire, Silver-threaded with fire, Leads on to the Wonderful Land ! Ah, West, my West, keep thee noble! For the freedom of hills is vain, And the breath of thy mountain-meadows May stifle as that of the plain, If violence sap thy justice, In the grapple 'twixt passion and greed, And the limitless might Of free, inborn right Decay to unchecked, lawless deed. PATRIS II LAW Ere Montesquieu communed with thee alone, And knew the spirit of thee, soul to soul; Ere Draco warped thy stern benevolence To cruel rigor; Ere Hammurabi graved his code of stone And named thee to the world, Thou wast ! Before the heavens shaped them of the void, Before the seething, boundless floods were stayed, Before the ancient streams and deathless hills, Thou wast ! Thou art eternal ; from thee all things spring, To thee again return. Always and ever, Thou art ! Thou art not cabined into mortal shape, Yet of thee comes all symmetry of form, And graceful sweep of line, and play of color. Thou art unheard, and yet thy essence dwells In every cadence of a throbbing song, Or swelling onrush of a symphony. Thou art all beauty, as thou art all life. Nay, if we lose thee for a flash of time, Bow to the falsehood of new passions, sway to blasts Of furious feeling — thou changest not. 12 PATRIS Nations who live without thee surely die: Die, not the easy death of sudden ruin, But gradual wasting, innermost decay, The state a prey to evil — a bitter thing, The exalted so defiled ! —Yet thy firm purpose orders as before. Where is our Pilgrim sense of solid right? Where is our old-time keeping of the law? Where is our sturdy sanity and strength? Rapine pardoned, violence unpunished, The excellent citizens unheeding! Law, thou changest not. Our heritage it was to know thee. Do we sell thee for a mess of pottage? PATRIS 13 PROPHETS Not in the guise of prophets stern of old, In white-lipped anger, hand in threatening raised, Visions of blinding loveliness with horror mazed, Deep hallowed love unto the people cold ; Not as the devotee in cowl and hood, Frame racked by toil and fasting, deep eyes keen To spy out evil, lips aye clean And powerful to denounce the indifferent good ; But in the little signs of slow decay ; The first faint rift within the wall rock-hewn, Irregular and jagged, where too soon A mighty fissure rends along its way. The sale of public posts by those professed To guard their country's honor, and the shame Of party bribery — treason, not in name, But in the heart of it, too well confessed : These be the lesser prophets, and their cry Is potent with the doom of lands that die. Lo, yonder where the wall is undermined, Property never safe from grasping wealth, Person unsuccored from the blow of stealth Or openness ; judger and wrong combined. 14 PATRIS And, yonder, at the very temple gate, In dapper garb, with white and taper hands, Men of our race, but born of other lands And times, do still and subtly lie in wait, With sensual sneer and principles diseased To teach the creed of moral unrestraint, And plant the swift-maturing seed of taint. These be our greater prophets, and their cry Is anguished with the doom of lands that die. PATRIS 15 LAND-SIGHTING Somewhere within that heavy western mist There lies my native land. Almost I could, across the lapse of waves, Feel her swift, silent greeting. Lovelier than any green alluring isle, Fringed with slender palms, and honey-sweet, Where the enchantment languorous of the Orient broods ; More glamored than the romance-hallowed shores Of Europe, with its ruined keeps and towers, And potent spells that hover in the dusk Of echoing cathedrals — That low coast, still invisible, but felt, almost with pain. Stronger than any man of steel in force and bound- less freedom, Weaker than any shell-like girl in thy dependence, Thy utter need of us, the people, Thou and thy being, in glory or in stigma, freedom or enslavement, Care I or not, I share in shaping thee. Somehow to guard thee from betrayal, Keep thy brow high, thy pure heart pure. 16 PATRIS MORNING-SONG Rosy cloud and a skylark's song: Wake, my little one, wake ! The spurge lies russet the fields along, And the daisies dance to the wind's blithe song: Wake, my little one, wake! The faint moon floats in a sea of blue! Wake, my little one, wake! Where only a white-capped cloud or two Ever hides her pallid face from view, Wake, my little one, wake! Wake, little girl, and I'll show to you Buttercup gold set with diamond dew, Strawberries crimson before the sun, And the gossamer web on the grasses spun, That shimmers like silk in its rainbow sheen, A wedding-robe for the fairy queen. Wake, my little one, wake! PATRIS 17 IN CHAPEL The opal windows flush and glow With golden flaming fire; A tender choral, lingering slow From soft notes tremulous and low, Triumphant rises higher. Dear Alma Mater, as we bow Before thy sacred shrine, We long to have thy spirit true, To shape our awkward lives anew To love and strength like thine. And, deeply as the windows flash The glorious western sun, So may our lives show forth thy sign, Thy breadth of influence benign, Until our lives are done. 18 PATRIS VER IMMORTALE Long lines of low-banked, sombre trees And sullen sky; Fast-shifting, faded, barren fields, That past me fly ; Dead leaves where dainty wind-flowers danced, Dead limbs where laughing sunbeams glanced In days gone by. But come, cast off this coward gloom, My heart, and sing ! Mind not the howling winter winds, Nor frost, nor sting ! Ere long, upspringing through the snow, The yellow crocus-cups will glow, And then — the Spring! PATR1S 19 BEETHOVEN He caught from lucent stars, each one, a note, And strung them into linked melody ; From crashing storms he took his thunderingchords, And raging tempest music. The still calm of a starless, breathless night Sang in his soul its wonderful adagios. PATR1S HAGAR Sleep, sleep ! Wraith-like moon in an ashen sky ; Thick white mists creep up the hill, Gaunt-limbed and black are the weighted trees; And the air is choked, and hot, and still. Well sleep ! Wander there in your Eden bright; Reap the harvest of fading hours ; Waken to life all sorrow-free, And bring me a rose from those dream-sweet bowers. Sleep, sleep ! The time will come, perhaps, some day — God knows the time will come too soon ! — When you, as I, shall watch the play Of shadows cast by a wan-faced moon — Shadows that turn and twist and leer, As they mock at the hopes of the bygone year. Sleep, sleep ! PATRIS ORPHEUS Down through the long dark avenues of pain I follow her dear face, all strained and white, And see again her flower-form fall back Into the cavernous depths. Zeus! For one little look! Would that I too had died when there she fell, Stung 'mid the waving grass; then in the fields Sunlit, Elysian, zephyr-lulled, we two Should wander hand in hand, and twine our cups With glossy- leaved myrtle, and with iris, pale As her own lovely face. For one little look! Eurydice ! PATRIS SONG OF THE RAILS Farewell to the land of the rolling hills, Of the yellow-crested corn, And hail to the land of the rolling sand, Where the primrose flower is born ! The long, low ridges climb in the West To a blue-hazed, nearing wall, And I know that there lie the mountains bare, Bristling with pine-trees tall. For the dim East pales, as the glistening rails Leap into a single line, And the burnished curve, with its long-bent swerve, Leads on to the world that is mine! PATRIS 23 COLLEGE RECESSIONAL Wisdom all-wise, which e'er hast shown Mere human knowledge to be lies, Casting to earth the lordly king Making him as the beast that dies, Grant us Thy mercy, make us know We are Thy creatures, weak and low. If, mad with learning, we essay Foppery of knowledge proud to wear; If, with our glittering sheaves of facts, To count ourselves divine we dare ! — Grant us Thy vision, make us know That we are trifling, worthless, low. Grant us to sift the false from true, And never from the true to part. Grant us the living truth to win And wear forever on our heart. Grant us Thy wisdom, make us know Thyself, our victory below. 24 PATRIS TO CHARIS I call to my love, for the spring has returned, Flower-crowned, joy-girt, and the violets are blooming, The white-clustered locusts bend low with perfume, And the valley, her gay garb of verdure assuming Smiles into my eyes. Shall my flower of to-morrow, My blossom the sweetest — still hold me in sorrow? 1 call to my love, for the spring has returned — Shy-glancing, sweet spring, and the robins are singing In shrill-noted carols of jubilant life, In clear, warbling trills from pure happiness spring- ing. And shall my sweet singer, my music divine, Be mute, and rob me of the song that is mine? PATRIS 25 ANANIAS One-tenth of my God-given, misered soul I render back to him, and, guiltless, cry "Lord, here is all!" 26 PATRIS SONNET Then I must bid my dream for aye good-bye — My dream so fair, and, like a wind-flower, frail ? I covered it away, lest it should fail, And only when the blue stars lit the sky, Like some coward thief I watched the shimmers fly Before my flickering light, adown its veil — Knew it for mine, yet even in the pale Grey dawn, I dared not think so, lest it die. Ah, Love! tho' all my life be one lost hope, One glimpse of crimson joy whose fragile head Bent in my hand, yet that it was the true Which for a moment led me, as I grope Within the bitter, barren waste, heart-dead, I sing ! I may have lost my dream — I still have you J PATRIS 27 FIFTHS Here 'mid the tremulous dusk, Here 'mid the shadowing memories, Play me the old, old songs of the withered years. Play till the ivory keys pass like human fingers Over the vibrant strings of a ringing harp. Out of the darkness — play to me — 28 PATRIS WESTERN CRADLE-SONG Sleep, little boy with the dusky eyes! Over the mountains a rosy haze Is veiling the snow-peaks which ever raise Their glistening height to the skies. The mourning-dove in the sage-brush grey Has silenced her tiresome, wailing song; And the prairie-dog, in his sand-castle strong, Has tucked himself snugly away. And, if you sleep well, little boy mine, You'll come to the land where Joyousness dwells, Where columbines toss their waxen bells, And sunbeams softly their rays entwine With the vibrant leaves of the aspen trees, Where downy white cotton-boats float the breeze, And the violet under the sage-brush lies. So sleep, little boy with the dusky eyes! PATRIS 29 EN VOYAGE Low swings the sun, pale-gold, into pearly cloud ; Endless and deep and calm the silent sea, Save for the dashing spray that curls and laughs aloud, Blowing a rainbow out on the wind to me. And I think of the life and love so far behind, Of the boundless, pathless plains that stretch between, When lo! my rainbow of hope upon the wind, My new old friends — the friends I had never seen! 30 * PATRIS SERENADE Slow-swinging star-lamps, Shedding veiled light, Shine for my love In her dreaming to-night. Say with your star-beams I'd gladly be blind To the sky's soft enchantment, If once I might find Awake in her brown eyes The starlight of love, Far deeper and brighter Than radiance above. Low-breathing zephyr, Arbutus-sweet, Waft your cool breezes My princess to greet ; Tell her the incense From far meadows blown, Fringed with white violets, Adder-tongue sown, Is naught to the sweetness Of her own dear face, Fragrant in exquisite Frail flower-grace. PATRIS 31 VALENTINE Ah, love of my heart, to delight thee What valentine gift shall I bring? Fresh wreaths of deep-crimsoning roses, Or daffodils, fragrant of Spring? Nay, love, they will wither and blacken Mere ashes of beauty impart — My treasure of treasures I give thee, A loving and unchanging heart. 32 PATRIS TO C. R. As some industrious, tawny bee Delves into incense-hearted flowers, And, gathering sweetness, bears it hence To store up future joy for friends: So thou, in healthful joyousness, Dost gather up the pollen-dust Of unmixed happiness from life, And bear it with thee, to dispense In free good comradeship to us. PATRIS 33 THE SUN-DIAL College Campus, IV. R. U. Others may count the hours of sullen age, Or the insensate days of babyhood; I do but mark the beautiful and good, The book of youth, in joy-illumined page. Winters, when wonderful the windows glow, Shot with their crimson, sapphire and pure gold, Across the grey of chapel, and the cold, Unlimited expanse of drifted snow; Summers, when sunrise cuts its swaths of light Across the turf, and cool the morning air Shimmers adown the ivy ; when the fair And splendid stars flash out upon the night— I dwell 'mid joy — the joy and happy pain Of unembittered lives, that strive and strain, Trusting they shall at last the heights attain. Others may count lacklustre hours of age, Of drudgery, the witherer of truth; For me the record of all-glorious youth, Lambent with hope its rosy-tinted page. TRANSLATIONS PATRIS 37 INTERLUDE TO SAKUNTALA Kalidasa Great God of blind Love, how pierce thy keen darts, Though, tipped with soft flowers, cool seemed they to me, In those crimson buds lurks a wild Hara flame. They blaze as Barava, e'en under the sea. Ah! thou and the moon, cruel one, e'er deceive! We call thy shafts flowered, and her bright beams cold, Who glories in dewy rays fire to shed, As thou to a diamond-point, flower-darts to mould. If thou, who now woundestme e'en to the heart, Dost grant me delight that I die through my love, Draw not to its head thy most merciless shaft — That the hurt may throb deeper — and ye, Gods above, Give that I may see her! Ah, fresh-blooming stems And leaves, were ye plucked by her own little hand? And tomala banks, with your breezes that waft Faint, shy lily-fragrance above from the strand Of spray-dashing Malni, and vine-covered grove — Sakuntala comes — on the firm, yellow sand The mark of her feet— my heart and my love ! 38 PATR1S STUDENT'S SPEECH Sakuntala To the grey west, the moon, who kindles red beams Of asadhi, sinks to his low dawn-soft bed. While yonder the sun and his bright charioteer Drive up the steep hills, with their rosy veil spread. The night-flower leaves but a memory of sweet, Languishing still, as a bride, young and shorn Of her dearly beloved ; on vadari stems Quiver dewdrops all purple in tints of red morn. The peacock shakes out of his sleep, and departs From the cool hermit huts, thatched with hallowed grass ; And the antelopes spring from their beds near the stream ; The forest-leaves rustle as lightly they pass. How the pale moon is fallen and robbed of his beams — The moon who upon Sumuru, mountain-king, Set proudly his foot, and scattering night's rear, Even up to the palace of Vishnu did swing ! PATRIS 39 WOOD-NYMPH'S SONG Sakuntala Waft, breezes, afar for her joying, Rich dust from purple flowers, Clear, silent pools of water, Green with the leaves of lotus ; Cool ye her woodland journey ; Grant your aid to her delight. LOFC. 40 PATRIS THEOCRITUS, IDYLL I Description of a Cup Here is a bowl smoothed o'er with fragrant wax, Two-handed, newly carved, sweet-smelling still From 'neath the chisel ; all around the brim There weaves an ivy-vine, its glossy leaves With helichrys entwined ; the graceful shoot Is graven with the luscious, purple fruit. Within, a girl by workmanship divine Is wrought, well-garbed in fillet and in robe. Near by two men, dressed foppishly, hold strife, Now one and now another, in hot words. The maid, all coquetry, marks not their wrath, But now with smiles she turns one luckless head, And now again the other ; they, in love, Uselessly strive, on fire at her caprice. Near them is graven stark a rugged cliff, Upon it, hastening, a fisherman Wrinkled, but casting with a mighty throw His net, and straining as a brawny man. Such is the play of muscle, you would say You really saw him fish ; so swell the cords Upon his sinewy neck ; spite of his beard, All silver, he has youth's own strength. Beside the hale old salt, A branching vine, heaped high with ruddy fruit ; A youngster, sitting near the hedge, keeps watch PATRIS 41 Thereover. Two sly foxes play About, one darting up and down the rows And nibbling grapes ; the other shrinkingly Creeps closer to the well-filled luncheon-bag, Resolving ne'er to let the rascal go Until he's left completely dinnerless. Meanwhile the boy, all ardor, plaiting grass, Weaves him a cage for crickets ; little care Has he for wallets, or for stolen fruit, So deeply buried in that cricket-cage. And over all the cup are carven thorns, Like foreign work — I know you'll like it well. So often as your lip shall touch its brim The golden Hours shall seem to bear you up To fullest joy. 42 PATRIS THEOCRITUS, IDYLL I Extracts from the Lament for Daphnis "Where then were ye, O nymphs, when Daphnis wasted in sorrow? Gathering hyacinths fair in the fragrant vales of Peneius, Leading your light-footed revels upon the steep hill- slopes of Pindus? Surely you turned not your dance by the rushing river Anapus, Nor by the peaks of sharp /Etna, nor sacred waters of Acis." Lead, ah Muses beloved, lead the pastoral measure. Cypris came last to him, laughing, radiant, and blushing, and golden, Laughing in triumph deceitful, merciless e'en in her beauty, And taunting— "This, then, is the boaster who threatened to conquer sweet Cypris? See him now hopelessly caught in the meshes of mas- terful Eros !" Lead, ah Muses beloved, lead the pastoral measure. PATRIS 43 Unto her Daphnis made answer, "Cypris, thou pitiless sweetness, Cypris all worthy of reverence, Cypris most bane- ful to mortals, By thy command has the sunlight faded from Daphnis forever? Nay — in the black depths of Hades Love will find Daphnis unconquered." Lead, ah Muses beloved, lead the pastoral measure. "Go to thy old love, Anchises, far on the green slopes of Ida, There take thy pleasure in oaks, not here in the low-lying sedges, Here, where the tawny-backed bees buzz round the honey-sweet beehives." Lead, ah Muses beloved, lead the pastoral measure. "Ah, wolves that lurk in the thickets, bears that climb fleetly the mountain, Farewell — no longer shall Daphnis revel with you in the woodlands, Nor in the thick-leaving copses, nor groves. And you, Arethusa, Farewell, and ye streams swiftly gushing in bright- flashing waters down Thymbris." Lead, ah Muses beloved, lead the pastoral measure. 44 PATRIS " Pan, Pan, whether you dwell on the far-stretching range of Lycaeus, Or on the summits of Masnalus, come unto sea- compassed Sicily ; Come, great king, and bear with thee thy pipe, all grace and all fragrance, Scented with firm-pressed wax, carven with well- rounded mouthpiece. Conquered by pitiless Love, I journey alone to bleak Hades." Lull, ah Muses beloved, lull ye the pastoral measure. Thus the herdsman's life ended ; and Cypris would gladly have raised him, But all the slight thread of his fate had passed through the hands of the Moirse. So Daphnis crossed the dark river; the eddying swirls of the torrent, Rushing, closed over the man beloved of the Nymphs and the Muses. PATRIS 45 LES NUITS DE JUIN Hugo In summer, when day flees away, flower-veiled, The plain pours wine-sweet from each blossom that sways ; Eyes closed, and ears straining for murmurings failed, I slumber, soft-mantled in transparent haze. The stars are more pure, every shadow a bower, A wandering half-day tints the dome arching high; And dawn, sweet and pale, only waiting her hour, Seems to wander all night at the edge of the sky. PATRIS 47 WHENCE COMETH MY HELP Know ye the mountains and their wondrous peace? Ye who from worse than trial crave release, From bitter questioning of heaven and earth, Suspects of gladness, save for children's mirth ; Callous to sorrow, save for children's tears; Stung by injustice that will never cease — Know ye the mountains and their nameless peace? Surely there dwells not anywhere such calm, Such silence musical, a very psalm Of majesty to pierce the doubt of years. Up from the purpling grass that gently sways, Off to the dark-brown northern range I gaze ; Out to the silver sheet of water fair — The hills, aflame with sunset, still are there. E'en to the south, where lucerne fields are green, Around me gird the mountains, though unseen. Before their steadfast strength my feeble fears Pass as a breath on glass — my questions cease — Know ye the mountains and their wordless peace? 48 PATRIS THE PHARISEE I thank Thee, Lord, that I am not As this girl here ; Old ribbons, worn, and out at heels, Year after year. I thank Thee when her ill-bred voice Essays to speak, I know enough of things to think And whisper " Freak !" I thank Thee my lot touches not At all with her ; I thank Thee for the whiting of My sepulchre. PATR1S 49 THE CALLING OF THE WEST Around me vaguely hover Grim shadows of unrest. Steel clouds the hillside cover, Grey bank on bank thick-pressed ; But Midas-fingered, lying On sombre pines, low-sighing, The sunset lingers, dying, And calls me to the West. For where the daylight closes, With molten, golden sky, Lie, starred with pale primroses, My plains of alkali. And oh ! for purple hazes That o'er the mountains creep; For trackless, sandhill mazes, And bluffs of limestone steep; For stars as brightly beaming As distant watch-fires gleaming, Yet veiled with deeper dreaming Than crimson-poppied Sleep ! &PR 29 ' 908 / J LiDnnni \jr ouiNuncoo 012 227 880 3

32008117

The mystic line, and other rhymes,

Allen, Fred H. (Fred Hovey)

mysticlineotherr00alle_djvu.txt

PS 3501 .L488 MS Copy 1 [E MYSTIC LINE .WD OTHER RHYMES FRED HOVEY ALLEN ^he (Cystic Line c^nd Other '^'FJijymes BY FRED HOVEY ALLEN ^ Published by THE RODGERS BOOK STORE 258 FULTON STREET BROOKLYN, N. Y. To MY WIFE WHO HAS CHERISHED THESE FRAGMENTS OF A BUSY LIFE AND AT WHOSE REQUEST THEY ARE GATHERED HERE, THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. I shrink from the obUvion of the grave. It is my wish that a modest volume con- taining some thought of mine might lie upon the table at bright firesides which I have loved, when I have passed from sight, thus to continue for a time a recollection in the hearts of those I have known so well. Contents FACE An Old Sweet Song 9 Greeting 10 The Mystic Line 10 My Little Girl and I 11 Silent Town 12 My Castle 13 Nobody 15 The Kingdom Under the Ground ... 16 In Summer Time 17 To My Brother Frank on His Wedding Day 18 Father, Take Me 19 Some Day, 20 Night on the Grand Canal .... 21 Just a Thought Immortal .... 22 What Is Death to the Christian ? . . .22 God and Me 24 Sometime 24 Home Revisited 25 Dreaming 27 A Fragment . . . . ■ . . .28 Impromptu 29 In the Cathedral 30 At Sea . .31 For a Silver Wedding 32 For a Golden Wedding 33 Memories 35 A Prayer 36 A Fragment . . . . . . . .36 To My Friends 37 Shadows 38 Cheer Up 40 7 8 CONTENTS PAGE To M S 40 Christmas Carol — 1900 41 The Old Year and the New . . . .42 A Thanksgiving Hymn 42 In the White Hills 43 Who? 45 A Christmas Carol — 1869 .... 46 Lines to a Friend on Her Wedding Day . . 48 To "Codie," December 3 1st, 1909 ... 49 What Then 50 Withered Leaves 51 Fragment for an Article on the Rhine . . 52 To Nell 53 Better Days 54 The Ebbing Tide 55 Revisited 56 The Connecticut River 57 After 58 The Sunken City 59 Shadows That I've Picked Up . . . .60 Compensation 61 Our Jesu 62 The Bethlehem Star 62 Companionship 63 The Great Forever 64 Springtime 66 Night at Sea 67 Christmas Bells 68 The Sons of Freedom 69 We Are Coming, Coming, Teddy ... 70 A Poem 71 The Close of a Farewell Sermon ... 74 The Mystic Line and Other Rhymes An Old Sweet Song I hear the echo o£ an old sweet song, Sung long ago; It billows o'er the past like silver mist, Or bells rung low. I scent the perfumed dew like violet's breath, After the rain; The echo and the fragrance wake on memory's harp The old refrain. The curtains fall apart in golden west; The sun sinks low; I feel again the charm of rest from songs Sung long ago. 9 10 THE MYSTIC LINE Greeting Wherever you are May each morn unbar Some glory of love From the Father above, Some sweetness of friends who are true; May the hours keep time To the heart's deep chime As you pass from the old to the new. The Mystic Line I stood beside the chafing sea, As white winged ships came gaily down With rich and costly gifts to me, From hardy sailors, strong and brown. I watched the billows rise and fall, 'Till tangled in the setting sun They sang of mystery and peace Beyond where sea and sky are one. O! sailor from the unknown sea. What lies beyond that mystic line? He whispered, "Rest, Eternal peace, Sail outward, they are thine." THE MYSTIC LINE 11 I called my white winged ships to me, Hope hung her flag upon the mast, Faith, as the pilot took the wheel, And we sped west-ward fast. The sea rose up to meet the sky; The sky bent down to kiss the sea; As toward their far embrace I fiy, They wave inviting arms to me. By day, by night I sail and sail! Each dawn, I say will bring me rest, Each night I dream that I have found That holy peace, that golden West. And still I sail the deepening sea. The mystic line burns in the west, The heart still waits for perfect peace. The weary feet, eternal rest. My Little Girl and I We've crossed the Divide on the middle of life, My little girl and I. We've had our share in the calm and the strife With the travelers trudging by, Tho' oft on our pathway the shadows were rife There is light in the western sky. 12 THE MYSTIC LINE Of losses and crosses enough we have had, My Utde girl and I; But, bless you, we never had time to be sad, Or pause in our work to sigh And when trouble came we were not so mad As to sit us down and cry. To the weak and the weary we sang a song, My Uttle girl and I, To lighten the burden when days were long. We talked of a by and by; And therefore they who imagined us wrong Never cost us a single sigh. We must lodge at the sign of the grave one day. My little girl and I; 'Tis a comfordess inn, we have heard men say But a palace we own hard by;— From its welcome no wanderer goeth away, 'Tis the Father's House on High. Silent Town A mile beyond where the sun goes down Lies the mystical isle of dreams; Where the gossamer webs of Silent Town Are fashioned in spectral seams. THE MYSTIC LINE 13 And the threads which are woven in silent town Are spun in the echoing brain From the zephyr of sleep; by the hand of a clown And a tragic, ephemeral train. There are bright threads woven of yester-year On the looms of that silent town, They are twined with the vision of things to come Just beyond where the sun goes down. A mile beyond where the sun goes down Is the shore of a dream-lit sea, As I wander there when the tide has flown, My sweetest dream is of thee, But the dream is shattered in silent town. For the day calls strong and free. But a mile beyond where the sun goes down I know thou wilt wait for me. My Castle I builded me a castle. True, 'twas air, I watched it rise, 'Till, shimmering in the sun, its turrets fair Pierced to the skies. 14 THE MYSTIC LINE In beauty, passing fair, When day was done, Its gilded spires Glowed, touched o'er with molten cloud and sun. From heavenly fires. But it was only air, Love's phantom theme Too bright to trust, And so, my fairy castle like a dream Crumbled to dust. Love tenderly yet enfolds That castle ruin That delusive dream, Still, memories of the happy "might have been" Upon me gleam. I will not vail the shadows Sorrow teeming. Nor will forget; Perhaps some lesson from the old sweet dream- ing, I still may get. But why should manhood yet despair Though all his castles Lie in the dust? THE MYSTIC LINE 15 Though thickly strewn the way with wreck of battle, I'll wait and trust. Nobody I'm thinking just now of, — nobody, And all that nobody's done; For I have a passion for, — nobody. That nobody else would own. In life's tender morning, — nobody. To me was loving and dear; My cradle was rocked by, — nobody. And nobody ever was near. I played in the street with, — nobody, And nobody brought me up. And when I was hungry, — nobody Gave me to dine and sup. I went to school to, — nobody. And nobody taught me to read, I recounted my tale to, — nobody And nobody ever gave heed. So I trudged along with, — nobody, And said, — nobody I'd be, I asked to marry, — nobody And nobody married me. 16 THE MYSTIC LINE Then, here's a health to, — nobody, For nobody is now in town, And I sing to the praise of, — nobody As nobody else has sung. The Kingdom Under the Ground 'Tis a mighty realm you hold, old King,— Your kingdom under the ground; Each day doth a thousand subjects bring. Each hour art thou newly crowned. Thy chambers are dark and damp thy halls. Their walls have a look of decay. While around them the death-watch creeps an crawls And the will-o'-the-wisp lights play. Thine is a varied court, old king, 'Tis gathered from every age! The peasant, the peer, the lordly king. The fool, and the reverend sage. Thou boldest court in silence grim And thy corridors, damp and long. Ne'er sound with choral, chant or hymn Nor burst of festal song. The traveler, journeying to thy land. Must cross a turbid stream. THE MYSTIC LINE 17 And he passes out from our sunlit strand In a deep, forgetful dream. His dream is unbroken still we know, While the feet of the ages creep, He heeds not the storms of life below Where the pulses are touched in sleep. Rule well, old king, in thy dismal realm, — In thy kingdom under the ground. For a mightier power shall break thy spell When the last great trump shall sound. In Summer Time " 'Tis now the gorgeous summer time. And all the days are filled with rhyme. And all the forest dells a-chime. And choral halls, like lover's clime, Replete with wandering scents of thyme." H. F. Vanderlyn The glad hours linger, midst perfume, To toy with Flora, where she dwells A queen, enthroned in fragrant dells And in the landscape's drowsy blooms. They woo and wonder all the day, With sunbeams, in whose mystic loom The breezes weave the crown of June, The rosy favored child of May. 18 THE MYSTIC LINE Above are slopes o£ wooded hill, Whose green waves roll with ceaseless sigh, And bald crests melt into the sky, With music of swift, dashing rills. Amidst the storm and summer-shine Their grey-grown rocks like sentries stand, O'er girding the fierce mountain land. And all their glory, Dear, is thine. To My Brother Frank on His Wedding Day 'Tis well to woo, 'tis well to wed. For so the world hath done. Since roses grew and soft winds blew And morning brought the sun. The sons of Adam ne'er forget Their single state to leave. And count it happiness to get A loving, faithful Eve. And 'tis not strange, since for each Kind nature formed a plan. For with true instinct, she doth teach What woman is to man. THE MYSTIC LINE 19 Each without each, Hves half a hfe; Together, Ufe's subUme; Unfraught with jealousy or strife, A living, breathing rhyme. Much must be borne, and much forborne, Much loved, and much forgiven; Many the suffering prayer alone. Before the bar of heaven. Each first in strife must conquer self; Then, each may conquer each, Each heart subdue its vicious elf. Then each is fit to teach. Learning life's lesson thus, 'twill be A mutual summit gained; A beacon light, by which to see The goal to be attained, Then passing early from the shore, Or, lingering on the strand. The golden chain of love is held, Fast in the spirit land. Father, Take Me If I never find repose While on earth my stay shall be. Then, when gently comes life's close, Father, take me. 20 THE MYSTIC LINE Wild distress, or gnawing care, Driving storm, or restless sea, I no more the stress may bear. Father, take me. All my earthly toils are done, Wandering feet aweary be. Time and life alike are run. Father, take me. Some Day, Some day will fall the heavy load. And we shall reach the sunset tree; Some day will end the weary road, And we shall sail the silent sea; Some day, a backward glance will show The wayward journey we have come; Some day we'll only wonder how We've reached, through all, the quiet home. Some day among the islands blest. We'll wonder why we fumed and fought; Some day we'll learn that love is rest. Recall and claim the things forgot. THE MYSTIC LINE 21 Night on the Grand Canal We are out on the liquid pathway, Where the sea and the sky seem one, And the flame-bright wing o£ his setting Broods over the sunken sun. Above us the night stars thicken, — And the moon glows, round and red; Beneath us the shimmering waters Tell of a day-light dead. From many a phantom galley Which through the waters glide. Come rich, entrancing melodies O'er the tender, pulsing tide. Bell unto bell is calling. And Adrian's billows hear; And toss their glad antiphonal Through the crystal atmosphere. There are twinkling stars above us. There are dimpling stars below; We glide on an opal pathway As the evening shadows grow. We float 'neath heavenly places. Reflected back in the stream; Through towers and domes inverted, Like a city of fabled dream. 22 THE MYSTIC LINE Just a Thought Immortal Will it be so, when I am dead ? When lips are silent and hands are cold? That a thought wrought out on a summer's day May grow into power through the years un- told? Just a thought immortal on page or stone, That found its birth through travail of soul, And was nourished unknown, till it sprang into power On the sculptured stone, or the papyri roll ? A dear, dread truth; — a ghastly train Follows the silent steps of the dead; Spectres of deeds for good or for ill. The thought unspoken, — the words unsaid. Could I but live, that all my thought, Graven on marble, or traced in line, A beacon should stand for those who seek. Winning their feet into heights sublime. What Is Death to the Christian? 'Tis only taking the helmet off And laying aside the shield; THE MYSTIC LINE 23 'Tis only putting the sword away, And leaving the batdefield. 'Tis only coming home from school, When the lessons all are learned; 'Tis sitting at rest by the wayside, When the sun from the sky has burned. 'Tis only falling asleep, When the hard day's work is done; 'Tis only to wake in the morning By the side of the great white throne. 'Tis only casting the anchor Till the storms of life are o'er; 'Tis only laying down the cross. To open the palace door. 'Tis only climbing the mountain For a gleam of the promised land; 'Tis only crossing the Jordan For a touch of the pierced hand. 'Tis changing the evening twilight That darkens the way we've trod, For the glorious morning sunlight That burns on the hills of God. 24 THE MYSTIC LINE God and Me The motto of the Carmelite Mon\s: "At Carmel and at Death, — God and Me," At Carmel and at death, the same; I know, at last, 'tis God and Me. I breathe in peace the hallowed name, The answer falls, "I am with thee." When I shall stand upon the shore, To launch my bark on death's wild sea, Tho' dark and loud the surges roar. No harm can come to God and me. Past pearly gates, o'er sunfilled hills. Or by the shore of tideless sea. One raptured thought the spirit fills. Here and forever, God and me. Sometime Sometime or other dark days must come. Pitiless days of doubt and pain. Mists and storms on the sunny hills; Cold rains sobbing against the pane. THE MYSTIC LINE 25 Sometime or other, the changing years, Throwing the mystical veil away. Will change the heart-aches and griefs and fears Into the soul's glad freedom day. Sometimes I long for the golden days When I gaily played 'neath the old roof tree; Is there a land where the sunshine drops. Soft as the old sky used to be? Sometimes I long for the bonnie eyes. Laughing their love into mine each day. But out in the darkness desolate, One from the sunshine went away. Sometime or other, perhaps, there will come Purple gleams in the Autumn sky, October sunshine, song of birds; Indian Summer by and by? Home Revisited I'm home again to-night, dear Tom, In early childhood scenes, 'Neath the dear old mossy cottage roof With its quaint old oaken beams. 26 THE MYSTIC LINE The walls are still unplastered, Tom, But the firelight plays, I ween, As bright as when we played, dear Tom, By its clear and silvery sheen. The rain is falling, too, dear Tom, With just the soft refrain. It played upon the shingles, Tom, In days far up the main. The cricket sings in the hearth, Tom, The same bright note of glee; To him life's all the same, Tom, But not to you and me. — For the wrinkles that mark the brow, Tom, And the frost on the curling hair. Both tell of the world's fierce strife, Tom, And its endless toil and care. I went alone to the brook, Tom, To the tree where we used to swing; But the tree and the names we cut are gone. And the brook forgot to sing. The shadows grow on the hearth, Tom! A mystical, twilight shade; And I fain would rest with our loved ones, Tom, As they sleep on the spot where we played. THE MYSTIC LINE 27 Dreaming I am wandering out in a dreamy land, Which borders a beautiful river; Fair objects before and around me stand And beckon me on with a fairy hand, To the shades of the beautiful river. As I listen, murmurs of long ago Down through the dry reeds quiver; Their bright notes changed to a wail of woe Which melt on my burning heart like snow. And blend with the beautiful river. But the river now runs through dry, brown banks. Where the scorching sun rays quiver, Far up the stream is a youth sublime. Whose freshness I thought would out-live time. On the banks of the beautiful river. For love was queen on that morn in May; And we walked by the beautiful river; And all was fair that the sun shone on. For she gave me her heart as we walked alone, Where now the dry reeds shiver. But the river has brought us swiftly by, And lost is the golden quiver 28 THE MYSTIC LINE V/hich held the arrows which love had made, And I think they were lost in a sombre shade Which fell on the beautiful river. And the shadow still lies on the darkened heart; And wild is the beautiful river; — I had rather been wrecked in the rapids just passed Than struggle along if the shadow must cast Its blight on the beautiful river. A Fragment Have you ever felt the silence Of the morning on the hills.? Have you ever caught the rapture Of the laughing, dancing rill? Have you ever watched the sun rise From the mountain's highest sod And felt the soul uplifted to The very throne of God.? Have you ever seen the sunset Fill the air with flecks of gold. Till an amber robe of glory Did the drowsy world enfold.? THE MYSTIC LINE 29 Impromptu On Presenting a Broom to the Bride of My Brother Franf^ at Their Wedding Ceremony I bring no gem from India's mine, No pearls from out the sea, No diamond flashes in my hand. No wealth I bring to thee. I bring no thing, with silvered face, No shrine at which to kneel, Nothing that moth or rust will eat. Or thieves break through to steal. But since all friends that gather here Some present now must leave, I bring a choice domestic plant Quite useful, I believe. This end, you'll find a useful thing To move about the floor. To gather up the little crumbs. The puppy can't devour. This end, of little sterner stuff. When storms beset your path. You'll find a striking argument To move your t'other half. 30 THE MYSTIC LINE And when the httle chickens come, The fruit of being wed, You'll find it very excellent To hit 'em on the head. And when old time has cut the last Of all your earthly stitches. Just scrabble on astride of it And o£E to join the witches. In the Cathedral Through the chancel, quaint and olden, Touching choir and pulpit stair. Streamed the evening sunlight golden In the ancient minster there. Sweet the solemn anthem soared, Ringing through the long defiles, Note on note and word on word, Echoing midst the ancient aisles. And the preacher's tones at length Swelled above the lofty nave. Rolled in concert, gathering strength. Like a sea-hymn in a cave. THE MYSTIC LINE Echoing from the walls around, Psalm and prayer and lesson given, Psalm and prayer in sweet rebound. Passed, or seemed to pass, to heaven. At Sea Night falls upon the resdess deep. Our steel prow parts the phosphor glow, While silver flash of spray reveals The seething, yielding path below. We hear the ocean's storm-strung harp; Touched by the sea-king's fingers light. While winds through all the throbbing strings Pour forth their psalm upon the night. Like sculptured hills the waves arise. And then, like melting mountains fall; 'Till rushing down in clamorous might. They wrap us in their vapory pall. And still the burning heart beats on; Through storm and night; o'er trackless foam, 'Till, through the waning mists of night. The searching eyes discern their home. 32 THE MYSTIC LINE For a Silver Wedding While friends have come with joyful smile, Also, their glad tears shedding; I say (without a thought of guile) I wonder greatly all the while, To see a silver wedding. Just think of all the weary years Two people can be treading, A pathway lined with doubts and fears; Perhaps through sorrow's vale of tears Up to a silver wedding. You've had a man upon your hands: — Now called a self -beheading; His crazy notions and demands; His "this" and "that"— his buttons, bands; 'Till there's a silver wedding. We note that upon his hair, Time's silver flakes are spreading. Some wonder at his youthful air; I wonder that he still is there. To have a silver wedding. Well, well, if young folks only knew: — But matrimony's spreading; THE MYSTIC LINE 33 I doubt not, friends, that all of you Are hoping ere your lives are through. To have a silver wedding. We all may wish for thou, and thee, Beyond your silver wedding, That patience's perfect work may be. So far fulfilled that you may see, A day as fair as this to be. Your sweet, bright, golden wedding. For a Golden Wedding Bring them a nobler thread. The nuptial cord is old, 'Tis fifty years since they were wed, Bring them a chain of gold. Bid them repeat the words. In gentle tones and slow. The covenant by angels heard, Just fifty years ago. No snowy bridal wreath Befits the matron's brow. No roses, pale with summer's breath Bring autumn fruitage now. 34 THE MYSTIC LINE Pray that the gracious hand Still guide them as they go, Till their feet shall stand On the golden strand, Beyond the Jordan's flow. Thick mists may trouble the hills And the mountains you have passed; Tramping of storms and of night. But you've pierced the gloom at last, The shadows are thrilling with silver tints. And day at a golden sunset hints. So, at last about your feet. The warm, sweet sunshine glows, And step by step as you pass. The glory fuller grows. The jewels which glisten In love's deep mint Throw over the sunset their golden glint. And flowers at last will spring. By the dreariest, dustiest way. And a golden radiance fling Its peace o'er the setting day. The shadows are fleeing— the golden tint Hath woven its jewels from love's deep mint. THE MYSTIC LINE 35 Memories How oft as night her mantle spreads And gendy pins it with a star, In a half mournful, sleepless mood Our roving memories reach afar. They bring the days that are no more. The scenes we loved in times gone by — Those hallowed things we prized the most, The first to fade, the first to die. Yet farther back, to childhood's hour, To birch, to bench, to ferule true. The teacher's stern forbidding face. The tedious lessons, stumbled through — The brook that turned the noisy mill. The minnow caught upon a pin. The "old Brown Cottage," 'neath the hill. The trundle bed we slumbered in. How great the change that now appears. Since the bright days when we were young! Reflected through the mists of years. How brightly beams our childhood's sun. Childhood is past, and still we stand. Amid the world's fierce, angry strife, And with a bold, unflinching hand, Fight out the unequal war of life. 36 THE MYSTIC LINE Often as twilight veils the sky, Long troops of memories gather still, And with sweet sadness, tinge they all Our weary journey down the hill. Things that are fairest droop and ide, Forgetfulness will seal them up Save where affection twines the wreath To fill sweet memory's waiting cup. A Prayer O! Jesus, source of love and light. Saviour Divine, Lead us, we pray, to know thy truth, To do thy will, To keep thy way. O! Holy Spirit, cleansing power, Give us thy light. In us abound, till sin-touched hearts And self-stained souls In life are found. A Fragment The warm spring-time beameth Within thy fair cheek's glow, THE MYSTIC LINE 37 Upon thy heart there Ueth The chill of winter's snow. But now the summer burneth, O dear, beloved of mine, Thy cheek hath caught its splendor. Thy heart its love divine. To My Friends Written for a special occasion, on receipt of a request signed by several hundred persons ask- ing me to continue the pastorate which I was resigning in RocJ^land after a service of seven years. A garland of flowers was borne to me With the breath of pine and the scent of sea; On a sun-filled cloud they were borne to me. Their roots have never been kissed by mold, Their petals are filled with sun-touched gold; Their beauty is rare; their wealth untold. They grew out on earth, nor hill, nor lea; With their breath of pine and the wild sweet bee. In a love-filled clime they were nursed for me. 38 THE MYSTIC LINE Their petals can never know decay, Nor will they vanish in mists away; They will form a wreath for the crown of day As he dies at last on his couch of gray. Would you breathe with me the fragrance rare That is wafted in on the sun-set air? Would you linger for aye in my garden fair? Then take my hand and walk with me, Through the waning days, to the outer sea, And we'll live with the flowers that were borne to me On the breath of pine and the scent of sea, In the hearts of friends who were true to me. Shadows I am glad the service is ended, Still gladder the day is done. For I've lived so long in the shadow, I cannot bear the sun. It may gild with Its amber glory Each nook and flower and tree. But sitting here 'tis only A shadow that falls on me. THE MYSTIC LINE 39 And ever and ever I'm praying Its setting may be ere noon; And the saddest part o£ the story is, It cannot set too soon. Hovs^ Uttle men reck of the battle, If it be lost, or won, This battle we fight in the shadow Untouched by the shining sun. There are many of you who listen To the singer while he sings, But how many feel the sorrow, — Of song, the secret springs. There are many of you to stay here. There is only one to go, — But the day is so long till night-fall. And the night is so full of woe; — Oh! how glad of the deeper shadows, How glad when the play is done. And the sombre curtain stretches, 'Twixt me and the garish sun. For, better the night, and the darkness. The winds and their tears of rain. Than shadows which fall from a sunlight Whose slightest touch is pain. 40 THE MYSTIC LINE Cheer Up The clouds are not always flying, The rain does not always fall, The winds are not always sighing The sun shines, after all. It is always morning somewhere, And the sun shines always, too, No matter how thick the mists are. The white light filters through. You can never find a shadow Unless the bright sun shines. While the cloud that hides its glory Is edged with his silver lines. No matter, — the clouds will gather. But they always have flown away, No trouble can last forever. For the brightness of heaven doth stay. To M S The Autumn rain drips drearily. The Autumn leaves fall wearily, The saddest days are here, Within, the fire burns cheerily, Men's hearts are beating merrily My heart, what do we here.f^ THE MYSTIC LINE 41 Ah! well do I remember The chilling, drear December Of many a happy year; Ere love, the weak dissembler. Had burned to heatless ember And crushed the heart so dear. I mourn no vanished pleasure. Though sorrow fills the measure, Of my sojourning here. I'll bear the burden stoutly. Seek the great end devoutly. And find my treasure there. Christmas Carol — 1900 We hear the joyous bells to-day. The merry bells across the snow; The heavy shadows fall away Which held the world long years ago. The wreathing centuries grow apace; The Christ-light burns with steady glow, Our chiming pulses feel the grace Which throbs in bells across the snow. The angels crowd the doors of light, Their voices chiming sweet and low; Beating across the fields of night Since Christ appeared long years ago. 42 THE MYSTIC LINE The night still rings with accents sweet; The night stars burn with ruddier glow; The larger Christ to-day you meet Than Christmas brought long years ago. "I live for you, I banish night," Like silver bells across the snow, "In me is life. In me is light, I brought you these long years ago." The Old Year and the New Et/ery End Is a Beginning Once more Old Time with trembling hand Unbars the silent tomb. Where dead years lie in some drear land Amid eternal gloom, — Time's first born in the night is dying. From out ten thousand towers, the bells Bid dark-robed hours adieu, And herald through their wild farewells The birth-pangs of the new, — Time's last-born in our arms is lying. A Thanksgiving Hymn For bounteous showers of early Spring, For Summer's fields of ripening grain. THE MYSTIC LINE 43 For Autumn's harvests, Lord, we bring Our grateful thanks in songs of Praise. Thou hast ordained the showers to fall, The gracious sun his work fulfil, A rich abundance crowneth all The mandates of Thy sovereign will. Thou hast preserved our goodly land From foes without and fears within. While Christian love on every hand Has fought the mighty tides of sin. Accept our thanks, our Father, Friend, Hear Thou our prayer, that still thy hand May lead us to our journey's end And make a better, nobler land. In the White Hills Now once again with fancy warm I climb the White Hills' mountain path, Where winter's winds and April's storm Have wrought in beauty, or in wrath. The cloud topped summits dim afar As fainter grows the sunset's dye. Till the last blue and golden bar Fades in a shadow 'cross the sky. 44 THE MYSTIC LINE I rest within a camp, beneath The gloaming forest's clustered throng, I drink the fir tree's balmy breath, I hear the mountain's prophet song. Above, the storm gods chant their vows. And call their mightiest thunders forth. The wind's weird spectres knit their brows Sounding the trumpets of the North. I walk the aisles where storm has trod. The winds are hushed, the shadows pass. My soul stands face to face with God, In temples unrestrained by glass. No bell rings out its anthem clear To wake the sabbath midst the hills. For God has sought His temple there And God Himself the temple fills. Above these hills my feet would climb. Where midnight meets eternity. And pours a melody on time, Which ne'er was sung, and ne'er will be. — See pictures flash and fade again Which neither power nor prayer can bind. Each melting from the earth-born train. To fill the treasures of the mind. THE MYSTIC LINE 45 If weary hearts could kneel and taste This wakening draught at nature's shrine, See in the temple, unefiFaced, The impress of the hand divine; They, here before the doors of light 'Neath roof of living flame impearled, — In health and harmony could write, The language of another world. Who? Who will be near me when the last sands flowing. Hint at the mighty change that comes to all? Who will be near me when the film doth thicken. And the spent eyelids for the last time fall ? Who will be near me when the pulse is failing And the worn heart beats faint and fainter still? Who on their loved bosom then will hold me As the tired feet shall journey down the hill? Who will be near me when the shadows thicken And the dim twilight gathers, cold and gray ? 46 THE MYSTIC LINE Whose voice shall cheer me in the valley's darkness, Whose hand shall lead me to that brighter day? I hear a murmur in the gathering twilight, It is the Muzziem's gentle call to prayer; I go alone, alone to meet love's answer, The voice is His, a wounded hand is there. A Christmas Carol — 1869 We hear the bells of heaven ring. Again we hear the angels sing. The starry hosts take up the strain. And earth repeats the glad, — Amen. Years upon years have rolled away Since, speeding on their joyful way The chanting angels bore the strain To shepherds on Judea's plain. 'Tis midnight and the shepherds fear The glorious conclave drawing near; But "glory to God," they hear them sing. As on they speed with glistening wing; "Peace be on earth," they hear again United with, "Good will to men." THE MYSTIC LINE 47 A star in Eastern skies doth shine, The wise men mark its rays divine, Which leads to Bethlehem the way Where in the Kahn the Saviour lay. There did it rest, as round His head Its purest radiance was shed. They hail the child, they here behold The one by prophets sung o£ old; With precious gifts and incense rare They leave him to his mother's care. Years rolled along. To man he grew; Filled with such power as earth ne'er knew, For in His heavenly Father's name He raised the dead, restored the lame; The leper by His word stood free. And at His touch the blind can see; The suffering ones forgot their pain, The palsied found new life again. To man He made Himself akin; For man He bore his load of sin. The garden saw the tempter's power, The cross proclaimed His triumph hour; No king's crown His head adorns. They plaited him a crown of thorns. To save mankind He yielded up His breath And laid Him down in the cold arms of death. 48 THE MYSTIC LINE Eternity's broad sea has now no gloom; Man has a saviour there. Beyond the tomb He stands today, to cheer the pilgrim on, To fairer fields, to crowns of glory won. By those who, trusting Him as on they go Shall emulate His precepts here below. Lines to a Friend on Her Wedding Day Standing at the mountain's base, Where two pearly streams unite, Each into the other blending, Limpid, sparkling, pure and bright. Thence together, onward roving Through the shadow, through the sheen. Past fair banks in flower and fruitage. Past fair fields forever green. Learn the lessons these will teach thee. Let them in thine heart abide. Lesson first the mountain mingling, Lesson last, the ebb-less tide. Every drop a fleeting moment. Use them ere their beauty fade, 'Gainst these moments, in the balance Will your earthly life be weighed. THE MYSTIC LINE 49 "Little foxes spoil the vineyard," Little words of love w^ill win, Little deeds will help them heavenward. Little checks will keep from sin. Heaven is great by little children, Loving, holy, life, if made 'Gainst a store of golden moments In the balance will be weighed. If you gather up the sunshine That is spread along your path. You will find the harvest fruited. You will find but litde chaff. Jesus leads you, you can follow, Every foot-print He has made. Then, how sweet if found, "not wanting," In the Father's balance weighed? To "CoDiE," December 31ST, 1909 Tonight you shake hands with the past. Bid pains and joys alike adieu. Tomorrow's door, wide open cast, Calls to a future, sweet and new. With what bright joys your year has blest, Build fairer mansions for the New; Love fills the pathway into rest. His hand shall daily lead you through. 50 THE MYSTIC LINE Turning, oh! New Year, thus to thee, My heart shall all dear memories keep; Like some sweet sea-shell from the sea. Filled with the music o£ the deep. What Then (The first three stanzas are a recollection; the last one is original.) I am growing old, you say; What then! What then! Wrinkles mark my brow to-day; Well! What then! If the heart is just as young As it was when first I sung Childhood's sunny vales among; Well! What then? I am growing old, you say; What then! What then? And my laugh has grown less gay; Well, what then? If the stream no bubble knows, If the tide in silence flows. If the ripple seeks repose; Well, what then? THE MYSTIC LINE 51 I shall soon be called away, What then? What then? And the summons must obey; Well, what then? If the mists have left the vales, And upborne by favoring gales, Higher up to heaven sail; Well! What then? When I cross the shadowed vale. What then! What then? And the morning sunlight hail, Well! What then? When the Angel's grand Amen Breaks the solemn silence then, And I meet my loved again, Well! What then? Withered Leaves I lay me down tonight without a thought or care If the coming of tomorrow's light Shall find me here, or there, — My wearied head seeks only rest. Deep in the cool earth's silent breast. The morning hours are past; alas, so soon! I do not like the burning heat of noon. 52 THE MYSTIC LINE Life's fitful fever ebbs, — I have done all my part, I give a patient God, a sinful heart. His banner, low I've trailed. Its stars are dim; Nothing but withered leaves I bring to Him; Though withered, dead and dry, — just like my heart; I'll lay them at His feet ere I am bid depart. Fragment for an Article on the Rhine Go not, my son, to the dashing Rhine, To my word you may well give heed, For life on its banks hath a flavor too fine — Days pass with too fatal a speed. The water sprite lurks in the depths of the stream, Beware, if upon thee she smiles, Shun the Lurlei's pale lips, and her eyes' fevered gleam, And the ravishing song which beguiles. Her songs will bewitch thee, her beauty en- thrall,— Fear and rapture entangle thee sore, — If still, "To the Rhine," is your answer to all; Then homeward thou com'st never more. THE MYSTIC LINE 53 To Nell It is only a "scrap of paper" My dear little cousin Nell, But 'twill serve the present purpose To show that we love you well. 'Tis a day unkissed by sunshine. The sky is a leaden gray; And the winter, wrapped in a misty veil Is weeping its life away. We note through the drizzling rainfall How the snow-banks disappear And long for the promised spring-time, When life shall burgeon here. And the flowers will come in May days And laugh 'neath the April suns, But no springtime dawns on the 70's, Nor blooms to the aged ones. And the mind runs back to the early days, Through many a yester-year. When life was bold in high emprize, With never a dream of tear. But the way ran down through a valley, The path was not always clear; We climbed many hills of sorrow And swam mighty rivers of fear. 54 THE MYSTIC LINE But the song my heart keeps singing As we near the silver strand, Of the rest and the love and the sunshine Of our promised springtime land. So I know that youth will bloom again When the weariness all is done, In flowers and song on the hills of God In the peace of the battle won. So I send you this simple poem In lack of a better thing. And ask you to dream as I do now, Of love and Eternal Spring. Fred. Better Days Beautiful days in the future. Darling, for you and me. Touched with the radiant glory Of a sunset on the sea. Storm-clouds darkly gather; Dearest, they soon will fly; Fiercely the waves are dashing. The calm come by and by. THE MYSTIC LINE 55 Rough is the path we are treading, Darling, for you and me, But the end o£ the day is brighter, The evening brings us home. The Ebbing Tide Some day when the tide is ebbing. As the sun sinks low in the west, I will loose my boat from its moorings And sail to the land of rest. Perhaps there are none who will miss me Of the craft in the busy bay, But out through the purple shadows. Alone I will sail away. O'er the tides of an unknown ocean. Through the gates of the setting sun To the mystic isle, — where anchored fast Are my loved, — who the port have won. In the hush of the crimson twilight Some soul whom my heart holds dear, May catch the dip of the parting sail And in sorrow will drop a tear. So — just as the mists of evening Hide my boat from those in the bay, Unseen by all but my pilot, I will silently sail away. 56 THE MYSTIC LINE But if, — when I slip the mooring You should learn I return no more, You may know I am sailing the unknown sea In search of an unknown shore. Revisited I stood beside the river Where I stood so long ago: Since, — full half a hundred years Have watched its silent flow. Its banks, still willow-whitened, As on that distant day. They seem forever changeless. But the waters, — where are they.? I sat in the fading twilight By the cottage 'neath the hill, And wondered if they missed me. Or if they loved me still. And I listened for the music That I heard in childhood's play. But 'twas only silence answered; The others, — where are they? Then I watched the golden sunset From the summit of the hill. THE MYSTIC LINE 57 But the voices and the bird's song And the river, all were still; And I called from out the shadows For the hearts that once were true, Only echo answered sadly, It was you they never knew. And so, the river flowing To its tomb within the sea. Is like the outcast wanderer Or, so it seemed to me; Each drop will fall forgotten 'Midst its flashing leagues of foam. But no heart will ask the question, Has the outcast found a home? So! My life is like the river In its half a hundred years; One wanders off forever, And forever disappears. The Connecticut River Oh, laughing, joyous river! Oh, sun-filled, singing river! Thy silvery willows quiver In the sunlight as of old; 58 THE MYSTIC LINE They shiver in the silence Of the lowlands and the highlands While the sunbars and the sandbars Fill the air and waves with gold. Oh, gentle, flowing river! Oh, silent, gliding river! Thy silver wavelets quiver In the sunsets as o£ old; There, when the moon has risen, Thy flashing waters glisten, And the hearts of lovers listen, As the old, sweet tale is told. After The violets above my rest Will blossom sweetly blue, And raindrops filter through Upon my breast. The sunshine from above Your cursing heedeth not. Nor I, — ^but of my lot Speak kindly, love. Your partial judgment keep Until this life shall end. Then mark my foot-steps trend. Judge when I sleep. THE MYSTIC LINE 59 The Sunken City I have heard a wondrous story Of a city, sunk in the sea; O'er its lost and ancient story The winds and the waves sweep free; But at even we hear its bells achime With the wild sweet songs of the olden time. There are domes and templed towers, Unseen in their ocean grave; — But when the sunset its glory pours Through the scintillant, restless wave. The waters are filled with a sad, sweet rhyme As they chant the tale of the olden time. And the name of that wondrous city, Is! the "Home of Vanished Years." And we speak of its ravishing beauty, Through mingled smiles and tears; But the songs we knew, now nobody sings; But they live in memory's mystic cells. And the name of that wondrous city, — Let us call it, "Long Ago"; And dream of its fadeless beauty. Through the sunset's dying glow; But eternity holds in memory's shrine. The sweet, sad songs of the olden time. 60 THE MYSTIC LINE Shadows That I've Picked Up I sat one night by my glowing fire Which played o'er a rug o£ Persian dyes; When I noted a rare and beautiful thing That fluttered and flamed like the Orient skies. I stooped to gather the beautiful thing, And hollowed my hand like a waiting cup; I held it down with a winning grace, But, 'twas only a shadow that I picked up. The dream of my youth was a maiden fair, — I clasped to my heart and believed her true; But a shadow fell on the vision sweet I have chased my phantoms, — and so have you. For a maiden's heart is a mystical thing, And the dreams of youth are an empty cup; The man with the pocket of gold wins out, — 'Twas only a shadow that I picked up. By ways of danger and hopes sublime I called men out to a broader view; I won them by voice and book and pen To a higher path and to visions new, But they laughed and sneered at what might be; Their lips returned to their feverish cup; THE MYSTIC LINE 61 So, — ever and ever the trust was vain: It W2is only a shadow that I picked up. So this is the tale our lives will tell; However fair the promises be; Strive as we will 'gainst the things which seem, Most is a shadow to you and me. And after the struggle and toil of years What have we left from life's deep cup.f* Its reals and its visions, its hopes and tears Are a bundle of shadows that we've picked up. Compensation It is always morning somewhere, And the sun shines always too; No matter how thick the mists are. The white light filters through The clouds are not always flying, The rain does not always fall; The winds are not always sighing. The sun shines after all. You can never have a shadow Unless the bright sun shines; And the cloud that hides his glory Is edged with his silver lines. 62 THE MYSTIC LINE No matter! — the clouds will gather, But they always have flown away; No trouble will last forever, This too shall pass away. Our Jesu Our Jesus, source of life and light. Saviour Divine; Lead us, we pray, to know Thy Truth, To do Thy will; To keep Thy way. O Holy Spirit; Cleansing power. Give us Thy love — In every sin-touched heart abound, Till self-stained souls In life be found. The Bethlehem Star Star on the bosom of the night. Shine out afar, o'er hill and dell; With visions blest, the heavens are light! And filled with joy ineffable. The angels chant through midnight air; The clouds seraphic faces show; While feet of seers, o'er mountains fair Are hastening where thy beauties glow. THE MYSTIC LINE 63 Star on the bosom of the East, My soul would follow from afar; No shade can dim thy glorious light, It sets life's portals wide ajar. Above the broad world's temple gate All eyes may see the Christ-star glow; Earth's mightiest empires thee await. E'en death, thy triumph yet shall know. Let all earth's raptured choirs sing; Let organs peal the heart's desire; Let happy voices hail their king; To deeds of love the soul aspire. Chime on then! all ye Christmas bells; Ring out the night. Ring in the morn; Shine on! Shine on, O star that tells To all the world that Christ is born. Companionship I'm never quite alone; Around each step I find Of the Eternal mind Some presence thrown. Though not in all my heart Yet ever near is He; No loneliness I see; We never dwell apart. 64 THE MYSTIC LINE Though severed far from men, In mountain soUtude, Or far from earthly good, He's with me then. The great God Heart is nigh To cheer me in my walk; He fills the way with talk As heaven high. The Great Forever Part of an Easter Sermon. Adapted from the Oriental, Brahma Thou shalt stand in the great Forever, And bathe in the ocean of truth; Thou shalt bask in the golden sunshine Of fadeless love and truth. And God shall be in and around thee, All good is forever thine; For, to all who seek it is given And it comes by a law divine. Brahma, From the deathless glory of spirit. That knoweth no blight nor fall; From the immortal fires of Heaven To the plains of Earth I call! THE MYSTIC LINE 65 Come, stand in the Great Forever, Where all things become divine; Come, eat of the heavenly manna. And drink of the new-made wine. In the gleam of the shining rainbow, The Father's love to behold; Then master the radiant blending, Of crimson and blue and gold. In the glorious tints of the morning, As you rise from the depths of night The senses are lost in rapture. And the soul is drowned in light. They tell us we only are mortal. And like others we too must die; But the mighty life of the Spirit Proclaims it; and death I defy. Are we born but to die? Ah! Never; The Easter-tide floods like the sea; We stand in the Great Forever, O! God, we are one with Thee. With God to be one and forever; With Thee, by the Easter-tide birth; — The Celestial choirs shall proclaim it. To the uttermost bounds of earth. 66 THE MYSTIC LINE With you, — in the great forever, — Oh! Children of earth! to stand; While its light, flowing out like a river, Shall bless and redeem the land. Then gaze through the dawn of morning; Or dream 'neath the stars of night; But bow thine head to the blessing — The wonderful gift of Light. Oh! the glory and joy of living! To know that with God we are one; 'Tis the armour of might to the spirit. The blossom that welcomes the sun. Thus to stand in the Great Forever, With Thee as eternities roll; The Spirit forsaking us never. Thy Love the true Home of the soul. Springtime An Imitation — The Spring comes from the Southland, I know it is pleasant there; For all the flowers are dreaming. On the drowsy, perfumed air. THE MYSTIC LINE 67 But, someway all the heart of me, The strongest, tenderest part of me, Is longing for the mountains. And is sighing to be there. The Springtime draweth nearer — And O! The Spring is fair, She glories in her radiance; No days with her compare; — But somehow, still the soul of me, Gets quite beyond control of me, And I'm crying to be flying. Where the sunset mountains are. The Springtime buds are bursting. For now the Spring is here; The sunlit days we longed for, — The promise of the year. But, O! the wandering mind of me, Perhaps you think it blind of me. Is yearning for the mountains. Where my heart is free from care. Night at Sea Night falls upon the restless deep. Our steel prow parts the phosphor glow, While silver flash of spray reveals. The seething, yielding path below. 68 THE MYSTIC LINE We hear old ocean's storm strung harp Touched by the sea-king's fingers hght, While winds through all the throbbing strings Pour forth their psalm upon the night. Like sculptured hills the waves arise; And then, like melting mountains fall, Then, rushing down in clamorous might, They wrap us in their vapory pall. And still the burning heart beats on; Through storm and night — o'er trackless foam, 'Till, through the waning mists of night The searching eyes discern their home. Christmas Bells Again the Christmas bells are ringing. Pulsing with harmonies soft and low; Ever the Old Sweet Story bringing, Heard by the shepherds, long ago. Judean hill-sides, drowsily sleeping Under the moonlight's silvery glow, Heard on the night winds, tenderly creeping. Wonderful anthems, long ago. THE MYSTIC LINE 69 Glory to God! They are angels singing; Good will to men! is the strong refrain; Over the broad earth, still it is ringing; Bells are repeating it yet again. Happy the heart where Christ-bells are ringing; Sweet are their harmonies, soft and low; Love and good will; they are evermore bring- ing; The angel's sweet message of long ago. The Sons of Freedom As the lion of the desert Springs fiercely from his lair And gazes down the distance With fixed and fiery glare, As the bolt along the storm cloud Trembles with fierce unrest Ere it bursts with triple vengeance On earth's rent and quivering breast; E'en so, the sons of freedom For one dreadful moment stand, Till a traitorous hand uplifted Strikes at their native land. New England's hills will echo The warrior's battle cry, 70 THE MYSTIC LINE New York's excelsior banner, Mid shoutings kiss the sky, — From the Southland's lakes and rivers; O'er the distant prairie's breast; O'er true souled Pennsylvania, And the bold, unfettered West, Like the roar of the mountain torrent. Like the shriek of the tempest comes, God and our country ever, Our banners and our homes. We Are Coming, Coming, Teddy We are coming, coming, Teddy; All "our hats are in the ring," With the boys of five-and-twenty falling in? We have heard the nations calling For our help from o'er the sea; And their freedom, with you leading, we will win. We are coming, coming, Teddy; Don't you hear the bugles play? See the boys of Santiago falling in? We will follow 'neath the banner Of the glorious stripes and stars. Till the freedom of the nations we will win. THE MYSTIC LINE 71 We are coming, coming, Teddy; Don't you see the pennons dance? O'er the Yankee boys of freedom faUing in? And the stars and stripes shall flutter On the sunny fields of France, In the name of God and Country we will win. Chorus We are coming, coming, Teddy; All our stars are on the blue; While the sun is shining on each crimson bar; We will save the sons of France, With Old England, strong and true, And on Freedom's banner plant another star. A Poem Delivered at a Meeting of the Alumni of Deer- field Academy December 12, Eighteen Hundred and Seventy-two If it were only in rhymes, my President friend. That strains of joy and sorrow blend, It were happier far, this world of ours, With its glowing sunshine, birds and flowers; Then the longing heart would no more see Its ships go wandering over the sea. 72 THE MYSTIC LINE How often we sit on some quiet shore On whose shining sands the waters play, And watch and dream, as the sun goes down, Of the white sails gleaming far away; And we muse of one we sent away; A beautiful ship, and fair, Ah me! But she tarries long, and the heart grows faint As we wait for her coming from over the sea. Last night I sat on the headland height, Which runs far out in our quiet bay. And watched the sun as he went from sight To kiss the lips of the dying day. And just as he touched the wavelet's crest A phantom ship, it seemed to me. Clear, mirrored within his golden breast. And I thought it was my ship from over the sea. Her hull was made of the purest pearl. Her masts and spars of the coral tree; She sailed away from her golden port, And I thought her course was set for me. But her form grew dimmer as night drew on. And in the distance her hull sank low. But voices arose from her fading decks Which whispered her name, — 'twas Long Ago. THE MYSTIC LINE 73 The song which they sang floated out o'er the tide 'Till it reached my ear on the shore, And my heart went back through the fading years To the days we shall see no more. But the waves began singing another song, A happier, livelier strain. And the burden they bore as they reached the shore. Was — to-morrow they come again. My heart was light, and I sang a song, In my happiness, freed from pain, And perhaps, if I make it not too long, You would like to hear the refrain. And so, we gather, one and all. To thank him and to cheer him. To tell him that our hopes and prayers Forever will be near him. And though to meet again on earth, To us may not be given. We'll pray our band will meet at last. Unbroken, safe in heaven. Then, out from the bay with her white sails set, Blithesome and free as a bird on the wing. 74 THE MYSTIC LINE My ship sails out o'er the billory main, And I Usten to catch the last strain they sing. The years may come, and the years may go, Some with sorrow and some with glee. But I mourn no more for my beautiful ship As she wanders on to the outer sea; — For a million sails on the billows shine, There are many fairer, but none like mine. Sailing out to the sea of eternity. The Close of a Farewell Sermon And now, farewell; If thoughts among you dwell of higher life, A sense of pardoned sin, — of strength and courage For the onward march, — then, not in vain I've borne the pilgrim staff, the scallop shell, Farewell. m.

08019896

In crystal hills,

Allen, Frederick J. (Frederick James)

incrystalhills00alle_djvu.txt

,Tkeoerick'.i:;'"mx'ew' NORTH CONWAY New l-Saaipshire ''"^l ivkmi\[^i\m) w^.'i v'iWV. iii fLLHSTMATm mmwmwmmWviJWimw. :ussz:":iJ! Ji^^^t"n"":"":"ii li 1 i!;li?l(gf iJ|pHMi Class. 1 ■ Book IN CRYSTAL HILLS NORTH CONWAY NEW HAMPSHIRE ...By... FREDERICK J. ALLEN Published by FREDERICK J. ALLEN 2 Park Square, Boston, Massachusetts UBHARY ot CONGRESS I wo Copies iteceivM JUL 6 iy08 , utiffllltlH LIIUJI CLASS A XXC. Nu 2. O 9 -2 i-( f COPY B. iiV. Copyright, 1908 By FREDERICK J. ALLEN COLLIMBIA-WEBCOWIT PRESS 84 Broadway, Somerville, Mass., U. S. A. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Page The Village of North Conway 8 The Intervale and Presidential Range 12 The Saco ..... 14 The White Mountains from Intervale 16 Moat Mountain and the Ledges 20 White Horse Ledge .... 22 The Cathedral . 24 Echo Lake 26 Diana's Baths 28 Thompson's Falls 30 The Enchanted Woods 32 Artist Falls 34 Thompson's Grove 36 Artist Falls Brook 38 Kearsarge and Bartlett Mountains 40 Redstone Quarry .... 42 View From Mt. Surprise ( Village of Intervale) 44 The Wizard Birch at Intervale 46 The Cathedral Pines at Interv ale 48 LIST OF POEMS i Page North Conway in the Crystal Hills .... 9 The Wood Thrush 11 The Intervale 13 The Saco 15 Mt. Washington 17 Moat Mountain 21 White Horse Ledge 23 The Cathedral . 25 Echo Lake 27 Diana's Baths 29 Thompson's I- alls 31 The Enchanted Woods 33 Artist Falls 35 Thompson's Falls 37 Artist Falls Brook 39 Mt. Kearsarge 41 Redstone Quarry 43 From Mt. Surprise 45 The Wizard Birch 47 The Cathedral Fines 49 The Crystal Hills 50 I Am the Wind 52 Old New Hampshire 54 1 -J •*■ 7-"^- ■ .-.^g-'sr' ^ ■«r->-' '■■ .- THE VILLAGE OF NORTH CONWAY IN CR YSTAL HILLS NORTH CONWAY IN THE CRYSTAL HILLS NORTH CONWAY lies beneath blue skies, By her majestic stream, A picture from far Paradise, A vision and a dream. liy sun-kissed hill or ocean foam. By field or forest fair, For ages man hath built his home, And set Love's altar there. And evermore by vale and steep. With clustering homes and spires, Men dwell in amity and keep The race's altar fires. Sweet Auburn, one thy praises sung. And straight the world knew thee ; Dear Stratford, one thy name gave tongue. And thine is homage free. A people's virtue or bright fame Of noble soul and true. Gives many a hamlet glorious name In Old World and in New. IN CR YS TAL HILLS In thousand villag'es of our land Peace and Good Will abide, Oldest and newest joining hand To keep the countryside. Far from the city's endless strife, Among the mountains old. Far from the discords of our life, Like jewel set in gold, North Conway lies 'neath sunny skies Along the Saco fair, A picture from far Paradise, In setting rich and rare. O Nature, mother of us all, In field or flower or pine We see thy hand and hear thy call, And worship at thy shrine. Sweet Village in the Crystal Hills, Dear home of rest and peace, In thee her promise Joy fulfils And giveth Pain surcease. 10 IN CR YSTAL HILLS THE WOOD THRUSH IN THE NORTH CONWAY FOREST WHEN westward low descends the sun's red car A lingering woodland note my heart enthralls ; O hark ! O list I It is the wood thrush calls From out the forest dim ; and sweet afar The ripple glides to greet the evening star, As when upon enchanted mountain walls Soft wind-harps sound, or fairy music falls In stilly hours beneath the moon's pale bar. O Vesper Singer in thy sylvan glades, What gift is thine, how thrills .the enraptured air Beneath the burden of thy song ! Oh, cease Not while on field and forest deep the shades Of night are mantling down ; but, singing there, To all the hushed and listening earth give peace. THE INlKkVALK AND PRESIDENTIAL RANGE IN CR YS TAL HILLS THE INTERVALE WHEN nature's giant forces reared These hills from caldrons far below Each mass of stone uncrowned and seared Soon wore its robe of green or snow. Thus nature worketh; rocky waste Becomes the forest green and rare, The desei't lowland soon is graced With grass and fern and flower fair. Like these the meadows in tlie lands ()f mystic nge and fabled time ; Like these the meads along the sands Of Simois in Asian clime. Sweet Greece and Italy are graced With sunny skies and vales like these ; And in the books of men are traced Such visions that the poet sees. Outspread beneath this northern sky, Soft kissed by breeze or swept by gale That Cometh from yon mountains high, Fair is this northern intervale. 13 THE SACO IN CR YS TAL HILLS THE SACO FROM many a glen and dai"k ravine Unite a thousand purling rills, Till flows the river fringed with green, Fair River of the Northern Hills. In majesty thou movest on To pour thy flood in ocean's tide ; What mysteries of ages gone Lie buried in thy bosom wide ? What tribes of men thy course beheld Ere first the White Man hither came? What brave deeds of the ages eld Hast thou hid from the trump of fame ? The Red Man kindled here his fire. By stream and mountain unafraid ; And here he found his heart's desire, The answering heart of Indian maid. The peace of centuries broodeth here, Fair River of the Intervale ; And in thy waters, crystal clear, The sunset's glory shall not fail. THE WHITE MOUNTAINS FROM INTERVALE IN CR YS TAL HILLS MT. WASHINGTON HAIL! O Momircli of New England! Mightiest of her ancient mountains, Peak supreme among thy fellows Rising round thee like a stairway, Stairway of enduring granite, Where the giants of days olden Mounted to thy hoary summit And thence gazed upon the wide world. In some peon prehistoric Nature built thy granite bases, And thy kingly crest uplifted. Then as now sweet Morning crowned thee With her light pink, rose, and saffron, And the Noonday poured his arrows Vainly on thy mailed shoulders; Then as now the Evening lingered O'er thee with her lights and shadows, Evening mystic Night's fair portal. Evening ebon Night's pale portal. IN CR YSTAL HILLS Answering the far Atlantic Throbs the heart that lies within thee, Bulwark of the land puissant, And thy foothills feel and tremble From thy base to ocean's margin. Softly fall the rains of summer, And thy thirst give sweet refreshing; Variant cloud-forms o'er thee hover, As they heard thy heart's deep calling, And thy summit wreathe in beauty. Tempests smite thee in their anger At thy grandeur and defiance, At thine teon-long defiance ; And old Winter with his ermine Lingers long upon thy high crest. Running there his northern courses. Down thy sides dark caverns yawning Tell the throes of distant ages. Tell of Nature's grand upheaval ; 18 IN CR YSTAL HILLS Many a path of bounding torrent Marks thy gray and somber ledges; Many a shattered cliff or boulder Witnesses the Storm King's vengeance, Smiting on thee with his lightning. On Olympus, Mount Thessalian, Dwelt the gods in days heroic ; On Mt. Sinai were the Tables Of the Law to men entrusted ; Ever shall man's feet ascending Earthly mountain come near Heaven, Ever shall his spirit follow Where the Spirit Universal Moves in mystery and power Through the ether's endless spaces. Mountain Beauteous, Mountain Glorious, Worthy of the name thou bearest. Mount of- Vision be forever For a great and noble people. 19 MOAT MOUNTAIN AND THE LEDGES IN CR YSTAL HILLS MOAT MOUNTAIN OLD mountain wall, with sanimit' seared 'Neatli many a summer's sun on liigli, What Titan hand thy mass upreared And tiknl thy crest against the sky? Ifavine ;;nd shadowy pass are there, And ton-ent's path and winter's scars; And there oft falls the moonlight fair, With golden sheen of crystal stars. In the soft stillness of the night Tliy thousand harps with music swell; IJoth evening shade and morning light Alternate on thee cast their spell. Old Moat, of jeweled porphyry And many a rare and beauteous stone, Lo! thou art crowned with majesty, And set along- the land alone. 21 WHITE HORSE LEDGE IN CRIYSTAL HILLS WHITE HORSE LEDGE SILENT and gi"ay, with adamantine crest, Yon cliff uprises at the mountain's base, And bears a snow-white figure on its face, A horse forever rearing toward the west ; Below, in limpid sheen and shadow drest. The fair lake lies, and flows with matchless grace Old Saco's crystal tide. The cliff hath place By mount and vale where Nature wrought her best. 'Tis here the sweetness of the woodland fills The heart with rest; 'tis here the poet dreams. Interpreter of the omniscient plan Of him who graved His glory in the hills. And set His beauty by ten thousand streams, And made the earth a paradise for man. 23 THE CATHEDRAL IN CR YSTAL HILLS THE CATHEDRAL HEWED from tlie high cliff's yawning side, With lofty arch and transept wide, And walled with maple, beech, and pine, Is this Cathedral's mystic shrine. These walls pearl-gi-ay, soft green, and brown With water ever trickling down, More beauteous are than graven stone. And here my heart shall find its own. In fane and shrine man's hand hath wrought. And forms divine hath Genius caught From that fair world of dreams where rise Faiths' altars with their sacrifice. But God his noblest temples rears With his own hand ; his thought appears In blooms that fringe the meadow rill And in the granite-templed hill. ECHO LAKE IN CR YSTAL MILLS ECHO LAKE FAIR is thy storied lake, sweet Gallilee, Across wliose shining wave the Lord Christ passed; And fair is Leman's limpid crescent, cast Upon the Rhone, blue lake ot" mystery. The New VVoi-ld beauteous is, with inland sea, Majestic river, mountain, forest vast ; And in New Hampshire's hills, () Nature, hast Thou wrought with thy most wondrous alchemy. Crystal Lake, lying in solitude. Forever guarded by yon warder gray. And fringed around by hemlock, fir, and pine ; Here trembling lights and mystic shadows brood, And Echo dies like bell at close of day ; Here is earth's sweetest spot, O Font Divine ! 27 DIANA'S BATHS IN CR YSTAL HILLS DIANA'S BATHS THY course is broken here, O Woodland Stream, By ledges rended deep in throes of old, liy boulders cast in figures manifold When Nature graved the rocks with art supreme; Here ever brood the shadow and the dream. And lofty trees their mystic branches hold Like sentinels above the waters cold. While ever shineth here the wave's soft gleam. Fair Dian laved in fountains in far days. To crystal flood revealing form divine ; Fair Dian wandered free in woodland ways And heard the harmonies of stream and pine; Yet never on her raptured senses never fell Sound sweeter, sight more fair, in sylvan dell. 29 THOMPSON'S FALLS IN CR YSTAL HILLS THOMPSON'S FALLS BULWARK of broken ledoes, Moss-covered and old and gray. Crumbled on ends and edges And wet with the falling spray ; Titans these rocks have riven, Have riven in some wild chase ; Titans their spears have driven Deep into the green hill's base. Flood of the spring hath bounded Adown from the green hill's side, Voice of the flood hath sounded Afar through the forest wide. Sweet is thy sound in summer, O Fall of the Wild wood Stream, Filling the heart of each comer With peace like a sylvan dream. 31 THE ENCHANTED WOODS IN CR YS TAL HILLS THE ENCHANTED WOODS MAJP^STIC, mystical, these old pines tower, Unheedful of earth's changes year by year, Tlieir armor seamed and knotted, brown and sere ( )n every hand soft fern and woodland flower In fragrance grow, 'neath their protectors' power. Save for the wind-harp's whisperings all here Is silence grateful, and there broodeth e'er The Spirit of the world's fair Morning Hour. ( ) here is place to come when love is new. And rising struggles at the spirit's bars ; And here is place to come when love is old. And sees again in loving eyes the stars: For here, at Nature's heart, all things are true, And loving souls communion sweet may hold. 33 ■'■■'■ll ^"^M 1^'^ ,-,' " -■■ ' ^*"'' ''S**^-- '-^ |j|t|s|^4'*' • -. '■'■ ' '■!, I ^ "'"^^S^H I^K<H ■'-i-^-;-^':^--!^'" ' ARTIST FALLS IN CR YSTAL HILLS ARTIST FALLS BATHED with the glow of morning Gohlen and gray and white, Gemmed by the noon's adorning, Fair at the fall of night; Crescent and spray and sparkle, Music of lotus lands. Shadows that pass and darkle, Home of the elfin bands ; Mosses and tree and boulder, Carpet of autumn leaves: Here, as the year grows older, Nature her beauty weaves. Here is the spirit granted Balm for the care that calls; Here is the heart enchanted, Lulled by these crystal falls. 35 THOMPSON'S GROVE IN CR YSTAL HILLS THOMPSON'S GROVE THE traffic of the busy world goes by, The horse of iron daily thunders past Upon his endless round, from ocean vast Unto the kingly hills, from mountain high Down to the shore where princely cities lie. Stern Industry while human need shall last Upon the primal world her spell shall cast, And rear her banners 'neatli the holy sky. Sweet Grove, where man may come and refuge find. Thy sacred silences shall hush the pain That broodeth in the breast ; thy spirit, old As nature, new as morn, shall touch the mind With influence Lethean: here, come loss or gain, Earth's rarest visions shall my heart behold. 37 ARTIST FALLS BROOK IN CR YSTAL HILLS ARTIST FALLS BROOK STREAM from the forest flowing free, What greeting bringest thou to nie? What message from the mount afar Where beats the storm and shines the star? Beholding thee Faith shall not cease ! F'rom out the tempest comes tliy peace ; From hill to sea along thy strand Kind Plenty blesses all the land. Within thy mirror gleams the sky, And in thy heart all mysteries lie Of field and wood ; of man and maid, For ever here have lovers strayed. Like thrushnote when the twilight falls. Or wind-harp sweet on mountain walls, Thy music soundeth evermore From crested hill to ocean shore. 39 KEARSARGE AND BARTLETT MOUNTAINS IN CR YSTAL HILLS MT. KEARSARGE WHEN stars are slowly fading in the sky And night is softly paling into dawn, When birds begin to sing upon the lawn, Then like some ancient ruin rising high Old Kearsarge proudly looms before the eye : Darkness below; above, the curtains drawn, Morn's crimson rays upon his crest are strawn. And gorgeous hosts of Light the Night defy. O who hath seen the morning in the hills? O who hath climbed some mountain ere the sun, And seen his shafts of glory quivering rise? Then climb Old Kearsarge ere Aurora fills The land with light; the stars pale one by one. And, lo ! Morn's Miracle on earth and skies ! 41 REDSTONE QUARRY IN CR YSTAL HILLS REDSTONE QUARRY EVER hath the fair earth yiekled Riches boundless for her children, Gold of Ophir and a New World's Mines of silver, India's silken Wares and spices, Afric's diamond, Pearl of ocean. Orient opal, And a thousand iridescent Gems of magic and of beanty ; Woods of cherry, oak, and cedar. Stones of sand and lime and marble Fit for mansion, temple, palace. In the unrecorded {eons Of the past, O fair New Hampshire, Earth uplifted from her bosom Granite masses for thy mountains, Domes of mica, quartz, and feldspar. Pillars of thy strength and glory ; And the Master Artist fashioned Here at Redstone hills of granite. Granite rose-like, clear, and beauteous. 43 VIEW FROM MT. SURPRISE (VILLAGE OF INTERVALE) IN CRYSTAL HILLS FROM MT. SURPRISE THROUGH frngraiit dells and piny woods Whose spell the spirit binds, Through rarest sylvan solitudes The roadway upward winds. From the fair crest of Mt. Surprise, Set in a sea of green, A panorama beauteous lies, Softened by shade and sheen. Upon the far horizon's bar Rise the eternal hills, And morning light or evening star Their crown of glory hlls. Below, the Ledges gray and grim Like Parian pillars stand ; And Moat, in mystic shadows dim, Lies prone along the land. In peace beneath the northern sky. By ancient wood and dale, And kept by mountain warders, lie The homes of Intervale. 45 THE WIZARD BIRCH AT INTERVALE IN CR YSTAL HILLS THE WIZARD BIRCH THOU Wizard Tree, set here in solitude, What changed thee from the fair form of thy kind ? Was it some vengeful demon of the wind That smote thee when thy trunk his way withstood ? Or did the sun, unheedful of thy good, Disdain to shine upon thy pearly rind And warm thy heart? Or hast thou not divined Why nature made of thee an alien in the wood ? Ten thousand thousand patterns, large and small, Hath nature for the fashion of her art ; And yet there is naught common in them all, Nor doth she from her pattern far depart. And thou, Old Tree, whose growth so strange hath been Hast yet within the red heart of thy kin. THE CATHEDRAL PINES AT INTERVALE IN CR YSTAL HILLS THE CATHEDRAL PINES LIKE sentinels of somber hue and green, Tall, statel^^ and majestic, row on row, And stiaight as any arrow sped from bow. These old pines stand. Soft shadows lie between, And wandering liglits from over-arching sheen Fall downward on the needles brown below. Through these cool, fragrant forests deeps there flow Tlie sweetest strains of nature's fair demesne. here is place for loitering lover's feet. And the fond heart its secrets may reveal , Here one the far thoughts of his youth may meet, And all the wounds of life's stern battle heal ; And 'neath the organ harmony of pine The rapt soul here may bow at Nature's shrine. 49 IN CR YSTAL HILLS THE CRYSTAL HILLS HILLS of Crystal, upward lifting, Gleaming with a thousand glories In the golden sun of morning. Traversed by a thousand shadows In the softer lights of even ; Are ye sentient of the sunlight, Are ye conscious of the shadow, Throbs your great heart to the wave-beat Ceaseless on the ocean's margin ? From the bosom of the Atlantic Years untold the sun hath risen, Casting crimson on your high crests; At his coming mists have vanished, Like the dreams of softest slumber When the daylight calls to action. Like the shadow on the child's face When the mother's kiss is given. 50 IN CR YS TAL HILLS Hills of Crystal, glorious, golden, Castles reared in childish fancy, Years agone, with you compare not ! I would lay me on your summits, Planned by breezes out of heaven, Breathed upon by purple vapors, ^V^ rapped in odors of the forest, Lulled to rest by softest music Borne up from the aged ocean. Such the peace the gods imparted On some far Hesperian isle or Sunlit clime of stoi'ied icon. IN CR YS TAL HILLS I AM THE WIND Written in Thompson's Grove ( iVe-iy England Magazine, February, 1907) 1 AM the wind that crieth Wliere the Storm King strides, I am the wind that lieth On the fair hillsides, And man my puissance trietli Where his proud bark rides. When the great Void was riven By the hand that wrought. When light and life were given To fulfil His thought, I only, 'neath God's heaven, Had a bound set not. His messenger, I carried Seed of the wood and wold, And cities I have buried In ?eon's dust and mold Nathless my legions serried Have not yet grown old. 52 IN CR YS TAL HILLS Along my path the golden Cloud of morning flees, Wind-harps in forests olden Make I of the trees, And on my pinions holden Bi-ood I o'er the seas. l>e seasons fair and vernal. Or the snow be whirled, Like Destiny eternal Whose wing is never furled, With messages supernal 1 course around the world. My work hath never ended. Since first time began ; And in my V)reath are blended Life and death for man. Free, mighty, sun-descended, I fulfil God's phm. 53 IN CR YS TAL HILLS OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE FAST DAY. 1899 {In the Manchester Union) OLD New Hampshii-e, first to enter In the union of the Thii-teen, Thy brave sons withstood the Briton When the call to arms was sounded, Foremost in that mighty conflict For the freedom of a people ; And in later years rebellion Found a foe among the free-born Of thy hills and lakes and rivers. Thou hast given strength in battle, Wisdom in the halls of council. Stark and Webster, and a thousand Who have made our broad land richer. Products of thy field and quarries. Products of thy myriad spindles. Craft of brain and might of sinew. Thou hast uiven her resources. 54 IN CR YSTAL HILLS On their granite bases resting, Piercing the eternal regions, Firmly stand thine ancient mountains. Stand as sentinels of freedom ; So thy virtues, deeply grounded In the faith our fathers cherished. Rise in action to sublime deeds, Rise in sacrifice and service. Christian were the old-time builders. Christian were there sons and daughters ; And the center of each hamlet. In those distant days and simple. Was the church, God's rough-hewn temple. And by men foreseeing planted In the wilderness. Old Dartmouth Ministered to state and and nation. One has spoken words of warning. One has bidden us to ponder On the ways almost forgotten, And restore the ancient landmarks, And rebuild the fallen churches. 55 IN CR YSTAL HILLS ^^ Can it be the past is dying. Can it be God's arm is shortened, And onr father's hope was groundless ? Shall the old traditions perish, Shall we falter in the pathways, Falter in the ancient pathways Trodden by the consecrated? Rather let us think the ^Jt^ople, Listening to i-eceding voices, By the past ai'e still uplifted. Guided, strengthened, and ennobled; Rather let us trust the people Shall continue wise and faithful, Building on the tried foundations Edifices nobler, grander. Than the world has seen aforetime. Rouse ye, children of New Hamshire, Let your virtues, ever grounded In the faith your fathers cherished. Rise in action to sublime deeds. Rise in sacrifice and service. 56 JUL 6 1908 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 799 354 9 1 4 1 m

21016521

Wampum and old gold

Pforzheimer Bruce Rogers Collection (Library of Congress)

wampumoldgold00alle_djvu.txt

"o^'-Tr,"*"/* '\.'^ft*\/'^ V*^^'/ \ 4 O .^^' ^^. ^v^ :>f ^^-^^^ . o A Wampum and Old Gold HERVEY ALLEN NEW HAVEN • YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON • HUMPHREY MILFORD • OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS MDCCCCXXI COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS SlP 30 1921 ©Ci,A624572 ACKNOWLEDGMENT. FOR permission to reprint poems appearing in this volume, thanks are due to the editors of The North American Re- view, The New Republic, Contemporary Verse, Life, La France, Harvey's Weekly, The Southern Review, The New York Times, The Boston Evening Transcript. TO FRANCIS FOWLER HOGAN SOLDIER POET CORPORAL FOURTH UNITED STATES INFANTRY KILLED IN ACTION IN THE ARGONNE FOREST OCTOBER SEVENTEENTH 1918 " Though my hands have not learned to model The dreams of a groping mind, Though my lips have not spoken their music And are leaving no songs behind, Think not that my life has been futile, Nor grieve for an unsaid word, For all that my lips might never sing My singing heart has heard. " I have etched the light on a willow With neither a plate nor style ; I have made a song of the crescent moon And a poem of only a smile ; Are they less because lips could not know them, These songs that my heart has known *? Am I wholly mute who have sung with my heart And sung with my heart alone ?" F. F. H. CONTENTS. Poems Written Since 1918: Confession Despair Vale Aftermath Hylas Bacchus Is Gone Tiger Lilies Three Landscape Moods: Youth . High Tide o' Life . Old Age The Hermitage of Bells The Seasons : Spring's Pilgrimage Summer Autumn Portents Autumn Invocation . Dream Fragment When Shady Avenue Was Shady Lane Triangles vs. Circles . The Old Judge . Bewitched . The Wingless Victory Poems Written in France at the Front The Blindman Hands Off Soldier-Poet Doomed White Light Beaumont . Villiers Le Bel Gonnesse Dragon's Breath We . 13 14 16 17 18 25 26 27 28 29 31 39 40 41 42 44 45 47 48 51 52 55 59 60 61 63 64 66 67 68 POEMS WRITTEN SINCE 1918 CONFESSION. I THINK, by God! It Is no He; I shall go dreaming till I die I There is no love so real to me As the cold passion of the sea. There is no little, wind-swept town By harbors where the roads go down. Or headland gray that sits and sips The cup of ocean at its lips, And gazes at the far-off ships — Or tree or house or friend so real As visions and the dreams I feel. No — not the windy, vaultless arch Where all the white stars flame and march, Nor water at the river fords Like horses mad among the swords. Or oaks that lean from winter storms ; These only give my vision forms. Away I White hands, I will not take ! And kissing mouths that cry, "Awake I" For you I have no gramercy ; So leave me by my lotus tree, To dream and gaze into the sky Where red suns wither up and die, I know ! I know ! I do not lie ! I shall go dreaming till I die I 13 DESPAIR. You who made me With first ecstasy When I was sown, And lovely things at night I will not write And burdened moan, While veiny labyrinths with mystery ran Till time and blood were life And I began — By holier things than God, Or any other shibboleth of man, Dead woman wan. By the thin, silver scream that winter morn In the dim, shuttered room where I was born, Be gone ! Haunt me no more, Shroud Trailer, Go to bed. For the swift, golden wings I owe to you Flap in the dust like some loose, common shoe ; Stay dead, stay dead ! I fear your glimmering bust in utter air. The transparent eyes with shadowy stare, The sleepy, sleepy scent of flowers And the long hands — They fill me with despair. Touch me no more at night. Borrow no form for me Of sound or sight; For all my days are spent by cluttered streams. Distracted by a thousand things and faces. And all unuttered die great dreams Among the stagnant places. I am not what you gave your life to buy. And God knows what I shall be by and by ! 14 The motes of habit sift down grain by grain, Till I am what I am in heart and brain, So young — so old — Death keep you, darling, Deaf and blind and cold. 15 VALE. I LOVE the little vale between your breasts, But yet, farewell, for that is never still ; My garden far from you will be at rest With lakes asleep beside a brooding hill And cedar swales in hollow valley lands With S-like streams between the O-shaped ponds, Where grow frail ferns with upturned Gothic hands And prayerful fronds. In gray half-lights 'twill be a lovely thing By Gypsy paths to wander at hearts-ease Near campaniles where the bell folk sing Down terraces of rustling linden trees. And two hills like your breasts will be in death, When lamps will cast their shadows silently. Will rise still blue above the yellow corn That ripples with a sleepy mystery. 16 AFTERMATH. UNDER the placid surface of the days So seeming clear, Back of the habits of old ways, A quiet fear; The locked-up memories of war, Our Bluebeard's room. Where the blood creeps underneath the door. Never will come In streams of days that ring Like clean coins down the merry grooves of change, One without grief's alloy. Struck from pure gold of joy, Undimmed by unshed tears, Nor is it strange. For in the wraith-thronged brain Are private ghosts of pain. Aloof, like patient sick men in a crowd With half-veiled faces and old sorrow bowed — Ah ! The free days can never come again ! They passed with the far, rolling drums, Died to the moan and thunder of the guns. And the mad, glad, clear, lyric birdsong never comes. 1? HYLAS. Theocritus^ Idyll XIII. WHERE art thou, Hylas, Of the golden locks? Where art thou, Argive lad. That fed thy flocks In wind-swept Thessaly, Beside the sea? Alas! Alas! for thee, Hylas, Alas! I. When the Pleiads rose no more Rowed the heroes to the shore, Much in fear of winter gales, And they furled the wing-like sails, Carrying up the corded bales From the hollow, oaken Argo Till they lightened her of cargo. Then they beached her for the winter Where nor rocks nor waves could splinter There the heroes made their camp By the whispering seashore damp, But the mighty Heracles, Tired of looking at the seas. Rose and left those sounding beaches For the upland's wind-swept reaches. In a little beechwood gray Hylas fed his flock that day. Playing all alone but gayly Where he fed his lambkins daily, Singing to a five-stringed psalter By a little woodland altar. Where a shepherd's fire of oak Made a ribbon scarf of smoke. Curling highly, thinly, bluely. From the faggots cut but newly. 18 Moving with a god-like ease, Through the gray boles of the trees, Hylas first spied Heracles, Looming vast as huge Orion, Tawny in his skin of lion ; While through interspace of leaves, Through the network autumn weaves. Fell bronze sunshine and bronze leaves On the lion skin with its paws. Dangling, fringed with crescent claws. Softly all the flock were bleating As he gave the lad good greeting, Rubbing down with leaves his club. Mighty as a chariot hub — Hylas stood with golden locks. Glowing mid the lichened rocks. Laughing in the silver beeches, White as milk and tanned like peaches. Then the hero loved the lad, For his beauty made him glad. And he took him on his knees ; Tender was huge Heracles, Telling him of strange journeys To the far Hesperides, Crossing oceans in a bowl. Till he won him heart and soul. So these two were friends forever. Never seen apart, together Were they all that winter weather. And the hero taught the youth How to shoot and tell the truth. How to drive a furrow straight. Plowing, plowing, very early When the frosty grass was curly — Taught him how to play the lyre. Till each wire, and wire, and wire Sang together like a choir ; 19 And at night young Hylas crept In the lion skin where he slept Where the lowing oxen team Stood beneath the smoke-browned beam, Slept beside the hero clypt By the giant, downy lipped. Centuries have fled away Since the hero came that day To the little beechwood gray Where young Hylas was at play ; But I shall, as poets may. Wreathe these roses for his head. For his beauty is not dead. And a voice has sung to me Like a memory of the sea. Sung this ancient threnody. Like an autumn melody: ''Alas I Alas I for thee, Hylas, Alas/'* II. When the springtime came again And the shepherd to his spen Led his cloudy flock again, When the awkward lambkins bounded While the twin pipes whistling sounded, And old Charon from his glen Saw below the smoke of men Curling thinly from the trees. Then the heroes sought the seas. Then the Argo left the shore. For each eager warrior thought, When the Pleiads rose once more, Of the golden fleece he sought. Hylas went with Heracles, Dancing to the dancing seas. And he stood high in the bow, 20 Golden by the carven prow, Or he lay within the furls With the sea damp on his curls. But at home his mother wept With her hair upon the floor, By the hearth where he had slept, For her woman's heart was sore. Saying, "He is gone from me ! Gone across the sounding sea ! Ai ! Ai ! Woe is me ! Alas ! Alas ! for thee, Hylas, Alas !" With the soft, south wind to follow All the day the sail was hollow. While the marvelous Orpheus sang, Till the water furrows rang — Never man sang as he sang — Never man has sung the same — And the ship flew till they came Where the olive trees are gaunt By the winding Hellespont, And the Cian oxen wear Water-bright the bronze plowshare. On a fallow meadow hollow. Where the Cian cattle wallow, There they landed two by two ; They the grass and rushes strew For their bed, Leaves and pointed flag stocks callow, Foot and head. And the evening coming on, Heracles and Telamon Set the supper fires upleaping And the shadows swooping, sweeping Overhead. Meanwhile, Hylas with a vase Wandered inland through the haze, 21 Hoping there to fill his bronze, Girt about with goat-foot fauns, Polished. And around and twice around it. Where an inwrought girdle bound it, Fled the rout of chaste Diana, Goddess led. Inland in a cup-shaped vale Willow swart and galingale Grew with swallowwort and sparsely Maidenhair and blooming parsley, And the shallow's level glass Mirrored back the yellow grass Where the swallow dipped his wings, Making rings on rings in rings. There a nymph dance was afoot Where the country people put Cloth and oaten cakes and bread For the water spirits dread — Two and two and in and out, Three and two, around about. Hands around and then they vanished, Leaving Hylas there astonished. But at last he stooped to dip And the eager water slipped. Stuttering past the metal lip. Choking like a sunk bell rung — Suddenly white nymph hands clung Cold as iron around his arm Till he cried out in alarm. Gave a little silver cry And the swallow skimming nigh Darted higher in the sky. And the echo when he spoke — Awoke. Now the white hands tighter cling, Now the funneled water ring 22 Fills and flows till in its glass Nods again the nodding grass. Alas/ Alas! for thee^ Hylas, Alas! Then it was that Heracles For sweet Hylas ill at ease, Left the heroes by the fire, Strung his bowstring taut as wire, Went to look for Hylas inland Fast a little rocky headland. Rising higher ever higher Till he found the cup-shaped dale, Where he called without avail, Shouting loudly, "Hylas, Hylas," Echo answered back, "Alas," Echo answered very slowly. Speaking sorrowfully and lowly, When he called the lad, "Hy-/«j," Hollow echo said, "Alas." And he never found him more On the hill or by the shore. On the upland, on the downland, Never found him where he lay Down among the boulders gray. Limp among the watery rocks. Where the lily raised its chalice And the dread nymphs combed his locks, Pale Nycheia, April-eyed, And white Eunice and Mails. For his voice came down to these Vague as April in the trees. Filtered through the water clear Far and faint yet strangely near, Very thin — And no echo could they hear Only ripples' silver din And the dull splash of an otter ; Echo cannot live in water. 23 But that echo comes to me Down through half eternity Crying out, ''Alas — Alas/" For all beauty that must pass Like a picture from a glass — When time breathes it is not there- Bony hands and coffined hair! Alas! Alas! Alas! 24 BACCHUS IS GONE. BACCHUS IS gone! I saw him leave the shore Upon a moonless time, And he is gone — is gone — Forevermore. I saw the satyrs and the bacchanals — Bacchus is gone — is gone — With smoking torches as at funerals Light him across the sea at dawn. I saw the whimpering pards Where he had passed — Bacchus is gone — is gone — Sniff to the water's edge, Where purple stained, his footprints led — I heard the Goat-foot whisper in the hedge, "Bacchus is dead — is dead J' And go aghast. Snapping the myrtle branches as he fled. Bacchus is gone! And with him dancing Folly — Bacchus is dead — is dead — Oh, Melancholy! No ! No ! He is not dead ; he has but fled To kindlier lands he knew in days before Men snatched the purple roses from his head. He does but wanton by some liberal shore — Sun kissed — And wreathed with vine leaves as of old, With spotted beasts and maidens by his car, And sound of timbrels like a story told Of youth and love and blood and wine and war. 25 TIGER LILIES. THEY make me think of battlefields I saw Where butterflies with wings of sulphurous gold Crawled on gray faces death had made obscene That stared with stolid dolls' eyes from the mold. They make me think of pools of wimpled slime, Where lizards bask upon the quaking crust, And crumbling walls where hairy spiders weave And snakes lie coupling in the summer dust. I think it must have been along the Nile That first these speckled membranes burst the pod. Before the boy-flat breasts of some half-cat Half-man and beryl-eyed Egyptian god. Or first they grew about forgotten tombs The apes inherit in hot jungles where Like xanthic suns through aquid shade of leaves A spotted leopard's dilate pupils stare. These were the mottled blossoms of Gomorrah, Wreathed on beast-gods by priestly Sodomites, By Baal fires when the talking timbrel's sound Fell from Astarte's groves on full moon nights. They suck a yellow venom from the sun And mid their reedy stocks there comes and goes The forked, black lightning of a serpent's tongue That hisses as his slippery body flows. Such lilies bloom beside the gates of hell And poison honey festers in their pods. Olid as tales of lust told long ago About the wanton mother of the gods. And I would plant them by the lichened tomb Of that veiled queen who died of leprosy With two red princes smothered in her womb; Their roots would feed on her in secrecy. 26 THREE LANDSCAPE MOODS. The First: Youth. YOUTH is a vale afire with hollyhocks, Robbed by those greedy publicans the bees, Where cuckoos call like fairy story clocks And blue-jays holla in the apple trees. No thunderheads come up with black despair To dim its arching orchard's leafy sheen, But clouds like ivory towers pile in air And gothic woods stand, cloistered, cool and green. It is a glade where earliest flowers grow, Along the melting snowbanks in the spring, The waxen-stemmed anemones first show. And Madame Woodthrush preens her dainty wing. White hyacinths like masts with flower spars Stand in the woods and dot each bosky lawn, Like distant sails or clusters of pale stars Against an emerald sky at early dawn. Cleft in life's hills, Youth is a sheltered swale Where for a while we lie in indolence And watch time's waterfall thin as a veil That falls and hangs and smokes in long suspense, And there a fountain spouts of purest joy That feeds the fall, birds whistle on its brim. Often I lay beside it when a boy And saw the future mirrored vague and dim — Heaven was there a strangely clouded page. Two rivers on the plains met like a "Y," And blue as ghosts the mountains of old age Rolled down the western sky. 27 The Second: High Tide o' Life. High Tide o' Life's a city by the sea, By tide rips where the flood comes shouting in, On straits that bring up ships with spiced freights And sails as scarlet as a woman's sin. A mart where merchants chaffer on the docks For pearls and feather work and jewel'd shoon, And hurry off to feast when all the clocks Strike anvil-tongued a thousand-noted noon. High Tide o' Life's a city proudly vain, With minarets from whence men can descry, Like domes of giants' houses, chain on chain. Death's arid mountains arabesque the sky. And hoary uplands wave with tasseled corn. And long sun pencils strike the hills, afar. The walled towns smolder in the fire of morn Like embers of a sullen, fallen star. High Tide o' Life's an upland where no breath Of frost has ever crept across the grass, But days as idle as a shibboleth Like golden coins are quickly spent. They pass In hidden valleys fit for secret lust, Where strange winged-sins like griffin-hippogryphs Bask with their glittering scales in white-hot dust Along a sunstruck face of basalt cliffs. It is an isle in red, witch-haunted seas Where lovers' nights, the jade-faced moon stands still, Pouring an amber twilight through the trees. Across the copper ocean and the hill. High Tide o' Life's a plain laid easterly In realms ruled over by some fabled Djinn Where rivers blue as lapis-lazuli Rush down to meet the flood tides roaring in. 28 The Third : Old Age. Old age is like a bleak plateau, About — around — the dead leaves blow In shouting, keening winter wind. Below life's plains lie cloud bedimmed Below. In long gray lines the dead leaves go, The stone blue shadows limn the snow, The thwacking branches creak and mutter In scarecrow desolation utter. In scarecrow Clothes the last leaves flutter And in dry hollows rasp and putter About the starved, old, carven faces. Around the ancient burial places About, around, below. That land is very old and lonely Beneath — among — the cliffs its only Hope is kindling firelight Before the coming of the night. Before There are no travelers there Left any more to come and share The shelter from the ghost wolves' patter, The helter-skelter, bony clatter The helter-skelter And the scatter Of riven, driven souls that chatter Beneath the cliffs, while in and out Among them raves the death wolves' rout, Beneath, among, before. And ever from each waning fire Away — away — against desire The death wolves snatch their struggling toll, And snarl and harry down a soul, And snarl 29 And harry down one other, And then another and another, To where Death sits, an idiot. That stirs all things into a pot, That stirs Till everything is nought Except the stirrer and the pot ; Beside eternities midriff. Where time is bordered by a cliff, With creaking bones and dismal whoop He makes God's bitter charnel soup — "Away," he cries, "or we shall quarrel. Away, my wolves, for more and snarl Away ! Away ! and snarl." 30 THE HERMITAGE OF BELLS. A Drama of Sound. Dramatis Personae. The King. The Queen. The World. The Five Bells. The Earth. Time: The Middle Ages. Place: Lusitania. The king builds a lermitage from ife and passion ivherein he hangs Tiany bells. L THE king has built a hermitage of bells Beyond the city walls upon a hill, Save when the bells are ringing for the king, His garden by the sea is forest still. Set on a cape curved like a hunter's horn, Rock terraced like the temples of Cathay, It overlooks the town and fields of corn And glimpses topsail-ships at break of day. And there a deep spring flows called Blanc he fontaine That sings a deathlike monody of rest, All night the sick moon totters on its alban waters — It drips a sound like summer rain, When the sun opens up his eye. Until he stares like Cyclops from the west. It slips through oak groves with an easy motion. Twinkling like starlight from its shady source. Three times it curves before it meets the ocean Across the tide rip hoarse. Farther up The oak groves end abrupt. But down that narrow valley Like a darkened alley. The water falls and calls And seeps and leaps 31 Like the bells in the garden, the water speaks of peace and sleep. And speaks by waterfalls ; Till the wanderer believes There are voices in the leaves, Whispering like thirsty lips, Calling like muffled bells from misty ships, Gurgling like pigeons from the eaves — It is a demon din Of subterranean voices old and thin, An elfin carillon the water rings As it sweeps on. Halfway in that night Of oak twilight. Where the stream dashes down a verge. The sound of ocean and of river merge. And it is strange to see The leaves whirl eerily. When like an icy kiss. Comes the long withering hiss Of the tormented sea. The world, know- ing only itself, thinks the king is mad or bewitched to leave it and the love of the queen for solitude. The king is melancholy mad, I guess, To dwell in such a dim and rustling place, Perhaps he has a sin beyond redress. Perhaps he sees him visions of a face. Some say it is a bell Has lured him to the garden by a spell. And that the spell is holy ; Holy or not, it's melancholy ! For when the queen rides to him from the town, With two maids posting, one on either side. Her face is veiled with black when she rides down — Like mourners by a hearse her two maids ride — Her face is veiled with black, The reins hang slack ; Some say she weeps. But who can tell ? Why should the queen weep when she hears a bell? 32 The queen, de- iring the love of er lord above all flings, calls him rom his garden, ut is mocked by he voice of the olitude. She stops by the gate blind-walled ; iVf^rj/ What called*? Did something die*? What answered back*? Did the queen shriek behind her veil of black ? Something said, "O," "O," "o" With the voice of the queen's own woe ! Was it demon or echo"? It had an "0"-shaped mouth And a voice like the wind in the south. It mocked her like a child, Each time less loud And much more mild. "he unchanging ttitude of nature (lakes the king fall n love with the arth. The king, I guess, has lost his wits ; It must be so ! All day he sits Where mast-straight poplars grow. Four here, four there, foursquare. Like columns in a row. Still as the shadow on a mountain. And in the middle is a fountain. Held by two marble boys. Whence the water falls with a sleepy noise. It is a madman's choice To listen to that fountain's voice. It must be so ! [n his garden he inds a peace like ieath in life. For never comes to that enchanted place A sound but of the water, sea, and bells ; The shadows lie like tattered lace. One mood is fixed there and forever. Like a look on a dead man's face. Like a week of summer weather, I would that I might lay my head on such a bed, Where dreams make spells — So must the king think when he hears the bells. 33 In his youth the king heard a her- mit's bell and in the ineffable peace of its sound realized the deepest longing of his heart. II. Once in his youth, While his new ears could yet distinguish truth, He heard a listless bell clang langorously, A liquid, languid clamor. The talking tone of iron struck by the hammer, A sound that blew like smoke across the sea, Low, slow and trembling dreamfully From the high, horn-shaped cape; For there a hermit lived And tended the wild grape. Where white, campaniform, small lilies teem, And there he died beside his cell, Lost in his dream of heaven and of hell ; And the bell was the voice of that old dream. One Lusitanian summer, long ago, Upon a hot and azure afternoon, While the oars trailed And with the tide they sailed. And tenor zithers sang an ivory tune — Along cerulean coasts. With islands like blue ghosts. Rang the lone hermit's bell, "/4 lone-lin-lang-aloner Clear as a wounded angel's voice. Soft as a death spell that old women croon — The harbor gulf lay placid, And in the west there hung a half a moon. Through all his life the bell never ceases to lure him. Weak from wounds, he sees a vision of the peace of death in life in the hermit's garden on the cape. Never again in laughter or in tears. Or in titantic days of crashing shields. In triumphs with blue light upon the spears, Or when he rivaled God upon his throne, Never had the bell's voice died ; In all his purple, blood-bought pride It seemed to toll for him an overtone. After the battle with his veins' blood spent. Disheartened by the metal light of day. Between the crisscross threads that made his tent, 34 / The fear of life came on him as he lay ; "Outside the world is garish," thought the king, And then — and then he heard the lone bell ring And saw the peace and green light of a wood ; It was a very vision of escape, A high-walled garden on the crescent cape, Fair as an evil thing but good. The cape is luniform Whereon the hermit's form Lies bony white and still Beside the chapel on the hill ; The long grass waves as if he breathes At every breeze that weaves ; The birds have nests among old votive wreaths And there the snake sheds in the rustling leaves. There are faint flower sounds Around, for spider hands have rung The lily with its yellow clapper tongue. All day the mists take shape And the high hawks slant drifting down the cape- By night the heavenly hunter leads his hounds, Wandering the zodiacal bounds. And all the white stars march, Flaming in the unalterable arch, While the wind swings the listless bell That rings the hermit's knell — Sleep well, sleep well! By his art the king casts four new bells that blend in perfect harmony with the hermit's. When they ring together the five bells charm all the senses. III. Three years the king has dwelt within a cell That he might dream his garden first to build it well, His ministers are black with wrath And the stone floor is hollowed to a path. But still he hears the bell, A frozen sound clear as a cold, deep well. The king is melancholy mad, I guess. At nights The tower windows flash with lights 35 And many an artisan Comes after midnight with the garden's plan Of walls and towers And terraces and flowers, And spreads them wondering upon the floor; The queen comes seldom now and least Of all the priest; There is no priest alive That can the king's soul shrive; The dead hermit from his cell Has lured him close to heaven with his bell, A strange, a mad, a melancholy spell. The master of campanology Has cast four lovely voices for the king. Four godlike metal throats that sing In towers at the corners of the wall ; And all the garden hears them call. Four miracles of tone. Of sound that flows to nothingness Like water lines upon a river stone. Gracious as a good gift given freely. Comes from each campanile At each corner of the wall. The keen voice of a bell, ''Lan-up^ lan-upr they ring. And call and call the king With the voice of the old spell That they inherit from the hermit's bell — Five times as strong, — The king must go ere long — He has the key to the garden gates. He only waits In courtesy to say the queen farewell. Alas ! Alas ! The king is mad ! The people throng to see him pass. And he has heard a mass. 36 All the world is convinced of his madness, especially lovers. It was an eery thing to see The king go merrily And all the world forgo — At dawn when little birds sing charmingly, There was a ringing sound of horses' feet And lovers in their upper rooms stopped clinging, To hear go down the street The minstrelsy And little foolscap bells a-ringing. Having heard a mass the king takes leave of this world's shore and the queen. [n the perfect harmony of his garden the king is married by the power of art and nature to the beauty of the earth. IV. Down at the river ford Beside the ferry, Dances a little wherry, To every wave that blows in from the sea It dances merrily; To every wave it dips it And to the wind it tips it. This merry little boat the king will take. The pale queen waits with outstretched hands, And now he bends above the oars. And now before the garden gates he stands — It was an eery thing to see Him leave so merrily — The music played him to the shore Where he will walk no more. The king is mad to be so lonely glad. And mad to throw the key into the sea. And now he dwells within his hermitage of bells Upon the cape shaped like a hunter's horn. The five bells strike a unitone, The wind comes fooling like an ape And the strange boy-breasted sea things mourn. The rock pools seep and creep, Laugh like a mad child in a moonstruck sleep, And then flow onward like an easy dream. Talking among the rocks, Into one valley stream, 37 That ticks and drips and strikes like distant clocks Till with a snaky motion It curves three times And glides into the ocean. Marry ! The king now is a lover ! The bridegroom of his mother earth, no other, It goes unholily that he should be Enamored of the earth that gave him birth And of the sea, But now he has his will And he is husband to the sea and hill And to the wind a brother. At sunset all the garden swoons with bells. Rolling across the sea and fells. The demon sound stumbles along the ground, „ , ,j Withering for miles around But the world * i i • -n still thinks the And then is still— king mad. All but one bell that dins on from the hill. That strikes to ten. While all the peasants pray And cross themselves and say, "Christ pity us ! It is the mad king's angelus, Amen." 38 THE SEASONS. Spring's Pilgrimage. WHEN Spring is born of Winter Then there comes a day In early April with the warmth of May, The clouds go gadding and the winds turn mild, And Spring is born in sunlight, Merry child ! Her nurse is April with the misty eyes ; The birds sing round her cradle Where she lies In green-streaked woodlands by the mantled ponds. Where the young ferns unfurl their snaky fronds. She comes up from the South With a bird whistle on her pouting mouth, And sits upon some hill Her mother. Winter, has kept cold and still, Till her Sun-lover melts the snow — Then out the strong floods go, Leaping like horses to the sea. And the green frogs go mad with glee. Ah ! When that child is on her way The trees make ready, in the North The robins herald her And the buds put forth. Puss Willow's little catkins are a-stir. And it is all, is all for her! But for a little while She lingers in the South, Wandering the moss-draped aisle. Brushing the shiest flowers with her mouth. Tuning her swanny throat To the lush warble of the swamp-bird's note. Beneath the lamp-hung jasmine's vine tent Her warm, delicious childhood soon is spent. 39 Then forth she fares, About the middle of the month of May, A young girl, wild-eyed, gay ; The mountains are her stairs. The birds her harbingers, With merry song The peewit pipes her as she trips along — The trumpet flowers blow fanfares. Even the sea caves know her And deep down The mermen chime the bells In some dim town. Where wrecks lie rotten and forgotten ; The shark's fin glides More avidly among the sea-isle tides — The whole glad earth Hails her with gales of mirth. The frantic midges dance ; There is tumultuous lowing from the cattle. When Spring fares northward from the South, The young sun hungers for her cherry mouth And the black stallions scream as if in battle. Summer. Now come the Dog Days When the fat-faced sun Like Falstaff pours hot jest On Prince and thieves ; The earth at morning smokes And at high noon Straight downward point the listless hanging leaves. Come, love, come, come away with me. Beneath the arbor tree. Where is sweet greenery and shade within ; Shall we not take our ease in love's own inn? 40 Come to that elfin place Where fawns feed on the tender grass And slim, shy shepherds come To see their sunburnt face - Upon a water glass, Miraculously still — Ah ! Magic pool ! They let the lead-sheep's bell Grow fainter, fainter down the winding dell. Until the only tone That comes is the far ''lina-lina-lone' Of strayed sheep wandering on a windy hill. Come, love, come, come away with me: Drink from the coldest spring. Where little frogs make Attic melody. Tonight, perhaps, some moon-fooled bird will sing. Dog Days, I wish my love Would come and live with me. Beneath a tented tree, The lush catalpa that in summer flowers, Sol, I could laugh at thee ! If dalliance and sweet kisses sped the hours. Autumn Portents. The amber foam creams from the cider flagons. Backward the shadow of the ground-hog shrinks. The lanes creak with the laden harvest wagons. And the fur thickens on the owl-eyed lynx. The hunter sees cold mist about the moon, And in the bottom lands at morn. The print of tiny, thievish, fairy hands Where the raccoon last night went stealing corn. 41 Autumn Invocation. "The seasons wait their turn among the stars." Come from the blinding sun fields where you are, Come from the interspace of star and star, Summer lies sleepmg in her dusty tomb, The owlets mourn her through the woodland's gloom Where all the night birds are. Autumn, come down! Into the columned forests cast your torches, Light all their shadowed aisles like temple porches. Stop at the Dog Star first and snatch his fire, Bold sun-hot yellow and the red that scorches To light dead summer's funeral pyre. Autumn, come down! Lean down. High Lady, from your starry arch, Over the maples and the fragrant larch, Stoop down some frosty night. Like a proud maiden from an old, walled town Tossing a rainbow favor to her knight. Lean down, lean down! Come take our northern forests for your palace, Dance in the witch fires of the borealis. Stand misty-eyed upon the mountain tops Or sit and gaze. With wind-twitched cloak and merry, cast-back hood, Down valleys purpled by the grape-blue haze. Beside some flaming wood. Come throw your mad flambeaux Till all the motley, fire-streaked woodlands glow ! Autumn, come down! Lady, how often must I ask it? Proud plenty, if you will, with vine-wreathed basket Shall bring you offerings of damasked plums — For you in orchards mellow peaches plash All night. 42 The lichens whiten on the lonely ash, The clover blackens and the last bee hums. Autumn^ come down. You brown-skinned sorceress, And witch the leaves, for harvest home. And bear the nodding sheaves Into the red barns by the little town, Autumn, come down, come down! I 43 DREAM FRAGMENT. I WALKED last night in southern Brittany, In deep, warm meadows where the rouge-gorge sang, A land cliff-bordered, by an azure sea, Far off, far down, the muffled buoy bells rang In bays that stretched into a land of indolence, It seemed the peasants, in a fit of folly, Had fled and left me in sweet impotence To range blue uplands, tinged with melancholy, In amethystine pastures, smooth and lone. Charmed by a tepid ocean's magic moan. 44 WHEN SHADY AVENUE WAS SHADY LANE, WHEN Shady avenue was Shady lane, Before the city fathers changed the name, And cows stood switching flies beneath the trees, And old-time gardens hummed with dusty bees, And white ducks paddled in the summer rain ; Then everybody drove to church. And Shady avenue was Shady lane. We lived on Arabella street, that too Is changed — Kentucky avenue — And where the toUgate stood beside the sprmg, The phlox and hollyhocks Once flourished by the box Where the gatekeeper sat with key and rmg. A wiser looking man there never was. In contemplative mood he smoked and spat. There by the gate he sat In an old dog-eared hat And listened to the yellow jackets' buzz. All this is gone — Gone glimmering down the ways Of old, loved things of our lost yesterdays, After the little tollgate by the spring. And the gatekeeper odd Rests in the quiet sod. Safe in the arms of God Where thrushes sing. Even the spring has gone, for long ago They walled that in. And its dark waters flow A sunless way along ; And no one stops to wonder where they go, For no one hears their song. Only a few old hearts Of these much changed parts. Whose time will soon run out on all the clocks, 45 Catching the scent of clover, Live all the old days over When Shady avenue was Shady lane. 46 A'S VERSUS O'S. Do you not see, you American people, What the triangle means ^ Mind, soul, body. Man is to live and die In a little metaphysical, three-roomed apartment, Office, chapel, and kitchenette. As I sat and listened to the words of the wise man, I looked out of the window And suddenly a feeling of great well-bemg came on me, I saw that I was made of the same stuff as the hillside And that tomorrow I would be flowers. Or dance in the dust motes in the sun And that all things are one. Then two laughing children came And threw a stone into a fountain And the ring widened till it was lost in the pool. Behold a sign! And I awoke and the wise man babbled like a fool. And yet, O Great Republic, The symbol of your state church Is a triangle, blood red, Pointing downward. 47 THE OLD JUDGE. A ROUND the courthouse corner from the square, jLjL Where Poet Timrod's bust stands in the glare, There is an ancient office shuttered tight. With fluted pillars and the paint worn bare. Seldom, if ever now, do passing feet Disturb that little, cobbled cul-de-sac Or rouse dull echoes in the quiet street Where time has eddied back. Only the old judge comes, With quivering hands and thin. With palsied scraping at the rusty lock And enters in. He is the last of all the courtly men. Those lion-hearts who knew their Montesquieu, And fought for what he taught them, too. The STATE was something then — But now — but now — he seems a very ghost That haunts the little office off the square, A Rip Van Winkle of the place at most At which to stare. Only on Saturdays he goes. And no one knows. And enters by the dusty, blinded door, And sits and sits While the long sunlight streams between the slits And the rats scurry underneath the floor. And there he stays all afternoon ; The wagons rumble in the square, And the cracked, plaster bust of grim Calhoun Frowns with its classic stare. What dreams are these, old judge, of the old days. When cotton bales made mountains on the ways. When clipper ships were loading at the quays — Or statelier, courtlier times of ease And manners without flaw. When Smythe & Pringle^ 48 The name is all but weathered from the shingle, Were the state's foremost firm at law. Aye ! Those were times ! They leap to life among the steeple chimes, A passion and a white tone in the bells Flatters his sleep until he dreams of bout And rapier thrust at law — Of frosty marches, Camp fires and faces of dead men, The War, And old Virginia's academic arches — And he is young again ! Oh ! Life ! Oh ! Glory ! He leaps up from his seat — Ah ! Judge, the old, old story ; The blood can scarcely creep Back to the icy feet As the old man startles from his sleep. The last bell hums and then — Memento mori! Dream, dream, old judge, May quiet bring you ease. Among the Wedgwood phantoms of old Greece, Dream while the carved lambs in the frieze Trot to the voiceless sound Of Pan-pipes in the Georgian mantelpiece, Summon the forms of men you used to know ; Till dead men's footfalls creak across the floor — Is it your partner's who once long ago Planted the brick court with reve d'or? Ah ! He is gone now with his roses. Gone these thirty years and more. And now the new South quickens, in the square The huge trucks thunder and the motors blare. The park oaks droop with Spanish moss and age, The jedge no longer now is marss but hoss^ 49 And all the old things suffer change and loss But still he makes his weekly pilgrimage. Some day, some waif will look in through the pane And see him sitting with his gold-head cane With wide unseeing eyes a-stare — Then there will be an end of dreams and care, A courtesy will pass we cannot spare, And humor, sparkling, dry as old champagne. 50 BEWITCHED. A LITTLE lad was he Who loved a fisher maid in Brittany, Where sands stretch flat and wide When ebbs the tide, Smooth as a threshing floor. And there they played, young Veronique and Pierre, Along the shore. Often they used to walk Hand fast in hand. And laughed and kissed. Lost in such heavenly talk That spirits there, Who dwelt in sunny places in the mist. Drew very near to Veronique and Pierre, And the shrill curlews cried. And there were rainbow castles in the foam Where seawites died. Mornings, dear Veronique brought shells And laid them on the stone beside Pierre's door, Sea-shapes of beauty, magic as the stars. Washed from old ocean's dragon-haunted floor, And Pierre would dream that she was sitting there And hoped that he would find her when he woke ; And so he did — and she would look at Pierre And he at her — and neither of them spoke. So passed July, whose molten hours flow. The sun laughed hot and high. And then they said good-bye. For Pierre must go.* He left her standing dumbly in the lane. Her lips a-tremble with his parting kiss. And had her farewell gift, a twisted shell. Bewitched! Bewitched! With melancholy spell, For in that shell it was that little Pierre First heard love's secret whispered thus, "De-ssspairr." 51 THE WINGLESS VICTORY. NIKE of Samothrace, Thy godlike wings Cleft windy space Above the ships of kings, Fain of thy lips, By hope made glorious. Time kissed thy grand, Greek face Away from us. Our Nike has no wings ; She has not known Clean heights, and from her lips Comes starved moan. Mints lie that coin her grace, And Time will hate her face. For it has turned the world's hope Into stone. 52 POEMS WRITTEN IN FRANCE AT THE FRONT 1918 THE BLINDMAN. A Ballad of Nogent l' Artaud. AT Nogent, on the river Marne, I passed a burning house and barn. I went into the public square Where pigeons fluttered in the air And empty windows gaped a-stare. There crouched a blindman by the wall A-shivering in a ragged shawl, Who gave a hopeless parrot screech And felt the wall with halting reach. He went around as in a trap. He had a stick to feel and rap. A-rap-a-tap, a-rap-a-tap. I strode across the public square. I stopped and spoke him full and fair. I asked him what he searched for there. There came a look upon his face That made me want to leave the place. He could not answer for a space. He moved his trembling hands about And in-and-out^ and in-and-out. "Kind sir," he said, "I scarcely know — A week ago there fell a blow — I think it was a week ago. I sent my little girl to school, With kisses and her book and rule, A week ago she went to school." The pigeons all began to coo, "A-cock-a-loo^ a-cock-a-loo^ "O God ! to be a blinded fool ; I cannot find the children's school — The gate, the court about the pool — But, sir, if you will guide my feet 55 Across the square and down the street, I think I know then where it lies. Jesu! Give me hack my eyes! Jesu! Give me hack my eyes!"" 1 led him down the littered street, He seemed to know it with his feet. For suddenly he turned aside And entered through a gateway wide. It was the court about the pool. Long shadows slept there deep and cool. No sound was there of beast or bird ; It was the silence that we heard. "And this," he said, "might be the place," An eager look came on his face. He raised his voice and gave a call ; An echo mewed along the wall, And then it rose, and then it fell. Like children talking down a well. "Go in," he said, "see what you see. And then come back again for me." Like one who bears a weight of sin And walks with fear, I entered in — A turn — and halfway up the stair There was a sight to raise your hair ; A dusty litter, books and toys. Three bundles that were little boys, White faces like an ivory gem ; A statue stood and looked at them. So thick the silence where I stood, I thought I wore a woolen hood ; The blood went whispering through my ears, Like secrets that one overhears. I looked upon the dead a while ; I saw the glimmering statue smile. The children slept so sweetly there, I scarce believed the tainted air. 56 And then I heard the blindman's stick, As rhythmic as a watch's tick, A step — a click, a step — a click — As slow as days grow to a year. So long it seemed while he drew near, But sure and blind as death or fate. He came and said, "I dared not wait. It was too silent at the gate." "And tell me now, sir, what you see That keeps you here so silently." "Three harmless things," I said, "I fear, Three things I see but cannot hear. Three shadows of what was before. Cast by no light are on the floor." "Sir," said the blindman, "lead me round, Lest I should tread on holy ground." Like men they lead at dawn to doom. We slowly climbed the stairway's gloom And came into a sunlit room. The ceiling lay upon the floor. And slates, and books, and something more- The master with a glassy stare. Sat gory in his shivered chair And gazed upon his pupils there. The blindman grasped me eagerly. "And tell me now, sir, what you see^ This is the place where she should be — My Eleanor, who used to wear Short socks that left her brown legs bare. She had a crown of golden hair." I saw his blind eyes peer and stare. Now there and here, now here and there. "Blindman," I cried, "these things I see: Time here has turned eternity. The clock hands point but only mock, I'or it is always three o'clock. 57 I see the shadows on the wall ; I see the crumbling plaster fall." *'Oh ! sir," he said, "I crave your eyes — Be not so kindly with your lies." I drew the blindman to my side ; I told the truth I wished to hide. I said, "I see your Eleanor And she is dead upon the floor. And something fumbles with her hair; I guess the wind is playing there. And I see gray rats sleek and stout That dart about and dart about." "Now, sir," he said, "I love your lies And Christ be thanked that took my eyes ! But lead me, lead me to my dead ! And let me touch her once," he said. I placed his hand upon her head. And when we left the charnel place, 1 dared not look upon his face ; For suddenly upon the street Arose the sound of trampling feet. And wheels that rumbled on the ground, And ground around and ground around. The din of them that go to slay. The shout of men and horses' neigh, And men and beasts swept on to war A dreadful drumming on before. It throbbed and throbbed through Nogent Town, Till desolation settled down. The blindman leaned against the door; "And tell me, sir, about the war, What is it they are fighting for*?" "Blindman," I cried, "Can you not see*? It is to set the whole world free ! It is for sweet democracy — " "I do not know her, sir," he said. "My little Eleanor is dead." 58 HANDS OFF. Dedicated to Orators and Others. I KNOW a glade in Argonne where they lean — Those crosses — loosened by last winter's snows, Throwing their silent shadows on the green ; There I could go this very day — God knows ! To hide a sorrow mocked by tears and words, To fall face downward on the catholic grass That sprang this springtime through the shroud of snows And let the little, greenwood birds say mass. Like sound of taps at twilight from the hill, The solemn thought comes that these lads are gone ; At evening when the breathing world grows still And ghostly day steals from the bird-hushed lawn. When over wooded crests the swimming moon Casts ivory spells of beauty they have lost, Across delicious valleys warm with June I count the ghastly price the victory cost. I count it in moongold and coin of life. The love and beauty that these dead have missed. Who lived to reap no glory from the strife. But are like sleepers by the loved one kissed ; Each sleeps and knows not that she is so near. Or at the most sinks deeper in his dream, And life, and all blithe things they once held dear. Are far and faint like voices of a stream. Hands off our dead I For all they did forbear To drag them from their graves to point some speech ; Less sickening was the gas reek over there. Less deadly was the shrapnel's whirring screech ; You cannot guess the uttermost they gave ; Those martyrs did not die for chattering daws To loot false inspiration from the grave When mouthing fools turn ghouls to gain applause. 59 SOLDIER-POET. To Francis Fowler Hogan. I THINK at first like us he did not see The goal to which the screaming eagles flew ; For romance lured him, France, and chivalry; But Oh I Before the end he knew, he knew ! And gave his first full love to Liberty, And met her face to face one lurid night While the guns boomed their shuddering minstrelsy And all the Argonne glowed with demon light. And Liberty herself came through the wood. And with her dear, boy lover kept the tryst ; Clasped in her grand, Greek arms he understood Whose were the fatal lips that he had kissed — Lips that the soul of Youth has loved from old — Hot lips of Liberty that kiss men cold. 60 DOOMED. CONNIGIS FROM BoiS DE LA JuTTE, JuLY, I918. LEFT to its fate, the little village stands J Between the armies trenched on either hill, Raising twin spires like supplicating hands From meadow lands where all lies ghastly still. The lakes of clover ripple to the breeze As from the vineyards glides a rancid breath. Bringing the homelike murmur of the bees, Mixed with a sickening whiff of carrion death. It is the valley of the shadow there. Where death lies ambushed in the tossing flowers Whose very beauty seems to cry, ''BewareT' For terror haunts its villages and towers. That home where peasants led their blameless life, That thatched, stone cottage is a clever trap With painful wounds and fatal danger rife, Noted with two red circles on the map. Seen through the glass, dead, sleeps the petite place. Where white-capped housewives lingered once to chat On market days, or after early mass ; Now nothing moves there but the stealthy cat — The only thing that even dares to stir ; It hugs short shadows near the walls at noon. Lashing its tail to hear an airplane purr. Circling about a peering, fat balloon. The houses gleam too bright, their limelight glare, Pure sunlight though it be, is filled with gloom ; They are too white, too garnished and too bare — They are too much like walls about a tomb. The windows stare beside each gaping door. Where once in gingham apron and a shawl. In days now passed away forevermore. Some little mother sat and nursed her doll. 61 Sepulchral silence and a lonely dread And desolation's calm have settled down, Making brief peace there for the rigid dead — Tonight the shells will burst upon the town! 62 WHITE LIGHT. How like high mountain air this air in France ; The sun is so intense, so clear, so bright, The fields unearthly green, the poplars glance, Shivering their leafy lances in the light. Those drilling troops flash back a steely gleam. Others v/ith distant din of clean delight, Bathe where their bodies flash along the stream And everywhere, the air, a lake of light ! White light, strange light of tense romantic days, You are too rare, too cloudless and too clear, Like a deep crystal where a seer might gaze And see some vast disaster drawing near. Petite Villiers, July 4th, 1918. 63 BEAUMONT. DEEP in the mystery of the woodland's gloom, Topping the sea of trees with pointed cone, So that from many hills its towers loom, The old chateau of Beaumont stands alone. This generation saw its last sons go To spill their noble blood with humbler men; So Madame lives alone at the chateau And waits for steps that never come again. The sunlight sleeps along the buttressed walls, And on the stagnant moats the midges dance. And in the haunted wood the cuckoo calls, Where hunted once the vanished kings of France. The terraced gardens hum with greedy bees. And Madame walks among the orange trees. Boxed orange shrubs — they stand in potted row Along the plaisance — Madame takes her ease ; But it is lonely at the old chateau ; The milky statues glimmer through the trees. So silent, too! What can make Madame start *? Down in the garden where late roses blow. She has heard laughter there that stopt her heart Like echoes from old summers long ago. But no — it cannot be ! For hark ! the click Of little peasants' sabots ; down the walk That winds among the rows of hedges thick. The children's voices die away in talk. Alas ! Who knows, who knows, Why Madame bends so long above the rose*? Gently, old heart — there is no recompense For the last uttermost you had to give. Yet there is peace for you to outward sense — God gives you Beaumont as a place to live. The white herds graze in stately indolence. While you sit knitting on the terrace there, And that your hands still feel no impotence, Witness the poor and Croix Rouge at St. Pierre ; 64 And sweet the drive home through the wooded park, When faintly chime the far-off steeple clocks At dusk when village dogs begin to bark, And the long lanes go glimmering white with flocks. When the first, steely stars begin to peep And the young shepherd whistles to his sheep. St. Pierre-Le Moutier, 1918. 65 VILLIERS LE BEL GONNESSE. HERE in this garden where the roses bloom, And time is scarcely marked by silent days, The walls and pear trees cast a pleasant gloom, A wavy, weed-grown fountain softly plays. And fate has left us listless for a while Upon the brink of what we do not know ; Outside the walls a passing schoolboy calls, And lumbering oxcarts rumble as they go. Red roofs, a spire, white roads and poplar trees ; An aeroplane goes droning through the skies ; The petals fall, there is no breath of breeze ; The old dog by the sundial snaps at flies. My comrades by the fountain are asleep. Far on the lines I hear a great gun boom ; Here in the garden, though, white peace lies deep, And in the limelight heat the roses bloom. 66 DRAGON'S BREATH. WE held the last stone wall — when day was red — They crept like morning shadows through the dead, The flammenwerfer with their dragon's breath Compressed in nippled bottle-tanks of death. They puffed along the wall and one long cry Withered away into the morning sky, And some made crablike gestures where they lay And all our faces turned oil gray. Before the smoke rolled by. It is beyond belief How men can live All curled up like a leaf. I saw a man bloom in a flower of flame, Roaring with fire, Three times he called a name ; Three times he whirled within a white-hot pod With busy hands and cried, "Oh, God ! Oh, God !" Now when the trumpets lie with blusterous joy And the silk, wind-tweaked colors virgin fresh, Borne by the blithe, boy bodies glitter past, As the old gladiators throw their mesh ; The dragon's breath leaps from the bugle blast And Azrael comes pounding with his drum — Fe, fe, . . . fi, foy fum — I smell the roasting flesh ! 67 WE. WE who have come back from the war, And stand upright and draw full breath, Seek boldly what life holds in store And eat its whole fruit rind and core, Before we enter through the door To keep our rendezvous with death. We who have walked with death in France, When all the world with death was rife, Who came through all that devils' dance. When life was but a circumstance, A sniper's whim, a bullet's glance, We have a rendezvous with life ! With life that hurtles like a spark From stricken steel where anvils chime. That leaps the space from dark to dark, A blinding, blazing, flaming arc. As clean as fire, and frank and stark — White life that lives while there is time. We will not live by musty creeds. Who learned the truth through love and war, Who tipped the scales for right by deeds. When old men's lies were broken reeds. We follow where the cold fact leads And bow our heads no more. Deliver us from tactless kin. And drooling bores that start "reforms," And unctious folk that prate of sin, And theorists without a chin, And politicians out to win, And generals in uniforms. We have come back who broke the line The hard Hun held by bomb and knife ! All but the blind can read the sign ; 68 The time is ours by right divine, Who drank with Death in blood red wine, We have a rendezvous with life ! 69 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 1 o " o. C^' °<^ ° ■ " A° <H .0- <'. C, vP ^^^. .^ ^^. 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The confessions of John Allen (and other poems) by John Allen.

Allen, John

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The Confessions of John Allen (and other poems) JOHN ALLEN Chicago MANDEL & PHILLIPS CO. 2 &c/. 3l£, , I 17 10 9 COPYRIGHT MCMV BY MANDEL & PHILLIPS CONTENTS PAGE The Confessions of John Allen 7 The Storm 65 I Confess 71 Art and Life 83 Forbidden Fruit 96 Masks and Faces 98 Waiting 103 Reflect no "'The Climber no Gratitude 137 The Gifts of Life 144 A Promise 151 Success 155 M v Desolate Heart 160 What Music Is 167 Silhouettes 176 What the Devil Said 184 My Confession to Satan 196 I Try to Cast Off My Woe 210 Before the Gates 223 The New City 224 ^ Osceola 235 - The Watchers of the Trail 250 v Ramona 263 * Davy Crocket's Ride 269 v The Legend of the Argentine 277 . aIoanee 288 page • The Oregonian 300 Mirage 3*3 A Nun's Temptation 319 ' Good-bye, Sweetheart 323 v I Miss Thee 324 \ 1 1 \e Forevermore 325 * Retrospection 326 The Exile's Lament 327 M idwinter 3 2 9 Life's Woes 330 On Ice 33i Spring 33 2 " In Winter 333 The Days of Long Ago 334 To My Soul 337 My Wants 338 Poland 339 Have Faith in Thyself 340 She is Not to Blame 34 2 Clouds and Sunshine 344 The Steamboat 345 True 346 The Brown Little Man 347 Easter Tide 349 vYule 350 v December Days 35 2 The Seasons 354 THE CONFESSIONS OF JOHN ALLEN. THE CONFESSIONS OF JOHN ALLEN T JOHN ALLEN, of Chicago, 9 Having fasted for years in the Wilderness ; Having crossed the burning sands of the Desert ; Having wept and moaned in the Shadows ; Now come forth upon the dark arena of the World, with a new light, a new faith, To complete the work we were placed on earth to do ; To annihilate the bandits that surround Life; To make announcements extraordinary, and original ; To break every tie held dear to the human heart ; To mould the nations into one great family ; To plant the seeds of the New Love in all hearts ; To banish the fads and follies of society ; To shatter every system now in vogue ; To break every law that now exists ; To consign the politician to oblivion ; To plough the dark continent of the body; 8 THE CONFESSIONS To destroy the religions of the universe; To tear down the galleries and homes of Art ; To demolish the power of gold ; To banish every actor and theatre ; To banish every sorrow, every fear, and To bring back the Paradise that Adam cast Away, five thousand years ago. No time was ever more auspicious for Such work than the present, for the world Is in the grasp of false leaders, false prophets, Irresponsible statesmen, crafty lawyers, Useless judges, combinations of capital and Labor, and will certainly be throttled or Shipwrecked, if some strong arm is not Stretched forth to save it. O, that it may Accept me as its Saviour, and that my Strength, my voice, my pen (trinity indispensable), May not fail me, till my high mission is Accomplished, and the sun of the New Faith Shines gloriously down on every nation on its Bosom. Before I take another step, however, in this My Life's great work, I will set forth where first OF JOHN ALLEN. g I saw the ''light of day", or "night", as it should Be, and a brief history of myself, which Will be enlarged upon, when I enter the scenes Of the Desert, the Wilderness, and the Deep Shadows. I was born in the City of Chicago. My father Was a sailor on the lakes, and died some Months before I was born — so I never saw His face, and never knew a father's love, Which may not have been such a great Misfortune after all, for had he lived, He might have interfered with my ambitions, And like the majority of zealous parents, Demanded that I walk the paths he had Laid out for me, and this would never Have suited me at all, and would have Cut short the career of the greatest Saviour That ever walked the bosom of the Earth. His death, however, greatly affected Mother, And cast her upon the tender mercies of The wise old world, to fight the battle of Life as best she could, and to provide A living for us both. Heavy was the Burden placed upon her, and nobly 10 THE CONFESSIONS She took it up. Never once she faltered. She had the bravest heart the world e'er Knew, and where strong- men in her Position faltered and failed, she succeeded. Her needle was never idle, day or night, And many were the beautiful dresses She turned out for delighted patrons, Some of whom were members of the Most exclusive and wealthy families In the city. Yet in the midst of her Busy life she never once neglected me. She always found time to caress me. She Was fond of me — excessively fond — too fond. And sought by every means in her power To gratify my every whim — but alas ! all Her kindness and attentions failed to make Me happy. I was a child of eight, but Felt like a man of thirty. I was beginning To think — seriously — deeply on the problems Of life, and this always cast a shadow O'er the momentary joys the Fates granted Me. The playful chatter of my school Companions ; the solemn advice of my Teachers ; the lessons that were planned OF JOHN ALLEN. II But never learned ; the deep love of mother — All passed me by as trifles too light To engage my attention. I stood apart From them. Why, I could not explain, But I seemed to feel in the inmost depths of My heart and soul, that I was reserved By the All-Wise Providence above for some High and special mission, and that I was Not to concern myself with the trifling, Butterfly events of the hour, but with the Deep — the everlasting problems of life. These Problems generally resolved themselves Into, why were we placed On Earth? Whither are we going? What are the Things we should do while we are here? Why Do we suffer, and why did not the Saviours Of the past bring salvation to the world? In this wise were my days spent at home, at St. Joseph's, and the Holy Family Schools. But a change soon came which added Novelty to my somewhat monotonous Existence. A Jesuit priest one day singled Me out of a crowd of boys, and asked Me if I would not like to attend the 12 THE CONFESSIONS College of which he was then the Rector. He said he had watched me carefully For many days, and noted that I was Totally unlike all the boys whom he Came in contact with, and that I would Certainly make good material for the Jesuit Order. Of course I was delighted To have a great man (as I then considered Him) take such an interest in me, and I Replied with gravity due the situation, that I would be only too pleased to attend the College, but that there was one drawback To the undertaking, namely, Mother Could never pay for my tuition There. This, however, he said, need prove No obstacle in my path, and he offered Me a free scholarship, urging me to Accept at once. His liberality and Kindness overpowered me, and it was Sometime before I could command Myself sufficiently to reply that I could Not accept his offer until I consulted Mother about it. "Very well then,'' he said. Patting me on the back, "go at once and OF JOHN ALLEN. 13 See her, and let me know her decision. I shall await it with impatience." When I arrived home that night and Related to Mother, all that had transpired, She clasped me in her arms and wept for Joy at my good fortune, but on second Thought, through her tears she declared That she would never allow me to accept A free scholarship. And she kept her Word. I was duly entered at the College With tuition fully paid, and began my Studies with all the eagerness of youth. They possessed a strange fascination for me At first, but I frankly confess they soon Ceased to interest me at all. In fact they Appeared unpardonably dull to my youthful Roving eye, and I promptly said so to my Astonished professors, and further declared With considerable warmth, that Latin, Greek, and Algebra were certainly refined Inventions of the Devil bequeathed to the Descendants of Adam, to give them a Foretaste of what they might expect on I4 THE CONFESSIONS Their arrival at Hades. For these Rebellious ideas I was severely reproved By the Rector, and brusquely informed that I would be dismissed from the College if I did not apply myself more warmly to My studies. Threats however possessed no terrors For me, they never did, and I continued in the same Old way, with an occasional entertaining lecture From my Teacher, on that enlightened And ancient society popularly known As "Blockheads," by way of variety. To Tell the truth, however, it was not dullness on My part, nor the dry studies that brought about This state of affairs at college. Life was the cause of It all. It was my thought by day, my dream By night. I saw what no other eyes could see — Life helplessly entangled in the snares — Life sur- rounded By millions of bandits in the Wilderness, the Desert And the Dark Shadows, and I firmly resolved In the very depths of my heart, to the neglect of everything Else, Earthly, Heavenly or otherwise, to become its Saviour, to brush away its snares, and to OF JOHN ALLEN. 15 Annihilate the bandits that surrounded it. This determination of course, caused me to bid Adieu to all studies, to all professors, and the College itself, and thus at an early age, I found myself standing tremblingly at The threshold of the Dark Shadows. How I Passed through them, what scenes I witnessed there, What people I conversed with, and what thoughts Entered my head, day by day, I will now Relate, but it is indeed with a heavy heart, That I pull aside the curtains, to retrace my Steps once more among them. THE DARK SHADOWS. I. ' I A HE Dark Shadows ! — trembling with sorrow-laden Heart, I walk where fall their sylvan types, Beneath the weeping willows — the giant-like Oaks — the sombre evergreens — the wide-spreading Elms — shadows that I always knew, when but A barefoot-boy upon the prairies. They Were present always, save when the sun came From its bed of gold and roses. 'Twas then 1 6 THE CONFESSIOXS I played with my companions ; 'twas then the World with all its folly, vice, and crime, lived ( )n unknown, unheeded by me in the Distance dim, and I was happy till the Evening shadows lengthened o'er the lonely I Vairies ; then sad longings filled my heart : Quiet tears suffused my eyes, and my weary Head I laid upon the bosom of the Earth, and sobbed as if my heart would break. The Dark Shadows were upon me. II. Within their Gloomy depths I groped my weary way ; hoping. Vainly hoping that the sun would send its Floods of gold to o'erwhelm the Shadows, and Shine on — forevermore ; but alas ! it Came not down, and the Shadows reigned supreme. In the Dark Shadows — naught is found, but bitter Tears, and broken hearts, and hopeless loves. Ofttimes I wonder and I ask, "Why was I placed Upon the Earth, a gloomy untamed Animal — to wander weeping, moaning, Asking, vainly asking, up and down the OF JOHN ALLEN. 1 7 Shadows dark, if Shadows are to be my Lot, but sugary philosophy, or Silence grim and terrible is the only Answer I receive." This much, though, I know, And know it well, that I shall find no peace, Nor rest, till I am laid within the silent Tomb. All this dawned on me in the Shadows Dark, and directly woe, unutterable Woe came stealing o'er me, and convulsed my Frame. I was all alone, and felt my Misery and loneliness, as shipwrecked Souls feel theirs on desert isles. There was no Hand stretched forth to smooth the hair back from my Fevered brow ; no voice to cheer my throbbing Heart, no loving lips to kiss my woe away. The Dark Shadows were with me — these and Nothing more. The deepest gloom was everywhere. There seemed to be a sob on every breeze, and I stood with head bowed on my breast before It all. O, how I longed for the sun to Come with all its fluid gold, to wash the Shadows from the Earth — forevermore ! "Come Down, come down, thou glorious sun," I cried 1 8 THE CONFESSIONS In my deep agony ; "come down with showers Of gold, and wash away the Shadows dark That make of life a mockery and living Hell ; come down and guide me on through all the Gloom, to Peace, and Rest, and Happiness!" I Turned, and saw a struggling mass of people Winding snake-like through the shadows. Their voices Reached my ears — "John Allen, the first shadows Fell within the Garden. They are falling Still. There is no peace, no rest within them. Helplessly we drag our weary feet along. Hopelessly we look from right to left. All Is dark. Everywhere the shadows fall. We Are helpless ; you are strong. The blackness of The night is on us now. We know not whence It came. You have studied it for years. You Know it well. Be our Saviour from it now — Now while the tempests rage, and gloom abides." "Yes ! I'll be your Saviour," came the words from Out my lips ; but I trembled when I spoke, And fancy too, how pale I must have been. Millions of frenzied eyes were on me! Millions of arms now wildly waved in air ! Millions of voices, thrilled with agony, OF JOHN ALLEN. Cried out : "O, save us ! save us, John Allen ! Save us from the darkness of the shadows, From the bitterness, and all the woe. Tarry Not a moment longer. Be our Saviour Now r "Yes ! I'll be your Saviour," once again I murmured low. Then as I thought of Life And all its misery supreme; of the Morgue, and the young and wayward maid lying Dead and cold upon its table ; of the Bride deserted at the altar ; of the New-born babe left on the doorstep ; of the Secret deed of shame ; of the mother old And gray deserted by her children, I Turned away deep crushed with grief, and with Bitter thoughts for the coming sacrifice. III. I am the great Destroyer ! I am the Great Sufferer, and the while I suffer, I make ready to destroy. I come with Sharp pointed weapons, and nothing in the World shall dare withstand me, no, not even 19 20 THE CONFESSIONS Time itself ! I love the Past no better Than the Present ; they are one, and these I Will destroy. The Present is nothing but A shadow of the Past, and the world has Learned absolutely nothing from it, for Its Present is to-day identical With its Past. We have to-day our murderers, Our suicides; our births; our deaths; our lovers; Our men of fame; our politicians just The same as in the Past, but the World learns Nothing from it all. It rolls merrily On, but suffers dreadfully from the Shadows that fall upon it. Whenever I go forth and see two happy lovers, Newly wed, locked in each other's arms — a Paradise to them, and return to find The fair one fled, and he in tears, and hear The same old story, how a stranger with A piercing eye, and winning way, was the Cause of her false step, I look back, and see Adam and Eve, and the snake in the Garden. When I read in the newspapers, Of a murder, a picture of Cain and OF JOHN ALLEN. 21 Abel, always rises to my eyes. When I hear of Brigham Young, his wives, and the Temple in that "City of the Saints," I Think at once of Solomon, the splendor Of his court, and his myriad wives. When I Read of the British-Boer, and Japo-Russian Wars, I call to mind the wars of Rome with Carthage, and the Franco-German War. Would You have me read the riddle of America Acquiring the Philippines, the Hawaiian Isles, and Porto Rico? Lo! you have it in Rome extending her Territory at the expense of all Her neighbors. You have it in England Seizing India, the Transvaal, Thibet — Shadows, shadows, everyone of them — ever The Dark Shadows — no bold orginality — No attempt at freedom — these I will destroy. IV. Long has the sun been shining, Long has the world rolled round, Long have the mountains stood, Long have the rivers flowed, 22 THE CONFESSIONS Long have the states cried for salvation, Long have they waited for my coming. Greater than the Northman's discovery of America, Greater than the landing of Columbus, Greater than De Soto's discovery of the Mississippi, Greater than the Spanish explorations, Greater than the Cabots' expeditions, Greater than the Pilgrims landing at Plymouth, Greater than Hudson's discovery of the river, Greater than Penn's arrival with the Quakers, Greater than Washington's triumphs, Greater than Franklin's genius, Greater than Scott's victories in Mexico, Greater than Lincoln's administration, Greater than Grant's or Sherman's victories, Is my coming to the states, and the Faith I bring. Not with banners flying, nor with bands A-playing, do I come, things fit for Kindergartens only; not like the Cautious scribe of history, seeking for Favorite expressions and situations ; Nor like the minister, the poet, the OF JOHN ALLEN. 23 Orator (poor fools), lauding their country To the skies, but I come with that which will Wipe away the Shadows for all time — the Shadows that have hung o'er the land, for a Century and more. I can see them, wise Old world, if you cannot. I can trace them 'Neath the maples, and the pines of Maine. They Hover o'er the white-clad mountains, and the Lakes of old New Hampshire. I find them in The footprints of the Iroquois ; the forests Of Vermont, and where the Connecticut river flows. Dark, dark are The shadows, dark, and full of pain. V. The Hardy toiler of the mills, returning From his work at close of day, is met by His little children with their arms outstretched, And by the busy housewife, calling from the door ; And as he kisses each in turn, and feels Their arms entwined around his neck, his heart Is rilled with love, and life seems fair and sweet To him. In the fullness of his heart, the 24 THE CONFESSIONS Words flow from his lips, "God bless my home, my Wife, and little ones, and God bless my own, My native State, the cradle of our Liberty — Massachusetts great and grand !" Yes, poor fool ! draw down God's blessing on the Soil that was nursed with the bones, and deluged With the blood of misguided men, called Patriots ! What to him is the State he Lives in? Is it better than any other State? Within its boundaries, he toils and Earns his living by the sweat of his brow, Just as thousands of others do. The State Gives him nothing. If he falls sick, and has Xo money, it remains passive. If he Works and earns money, it is passive. If He dies and is buried, it still is passive. The State is nothing. 'Tis merely a piece Of clay with a label, same as a man. Yet, you will find hundreds such as he, who Continually laud their States to the Skies — the States that absolutely do Nothing for them, except perhaps to grant Them the privilege of walking on the Soil, and in some instances even this OF JOHN ALLEN. 2 $ Is prohibited by signs that read, "Keep off the grass." Call down your blessings, poor Wretch ! What to you is Bunker Hill, and Lexington, or Concord and Boston? What Are they now to the so-called patriots, Whose bones have gone to nurse the soil beneath Them? Nothing whatever! Mere themes for the Song-writer, the poet, the novelist, And the historian. VI. Sometimes I try To drown the grief I feel. Sometimes I try To blot the shadows that ever flit Before me, but alas ! 'tis all in vain ! The grief will not be drowned, nor the shadows Blotted from my life. Others can walk Along the road of life, and look upon The fields and flowers, and purple walls of trees On either side; can listen to the Melodies of feathered warblers, and the Cheerful chatter of the little children at Their play ; can watch the gaudy colored Butterflies a-wing, the flying flowers of 26 THE CONFESSIONS The air ; can attend the services at Church ; can walk arm-in-arm with orphans, Tramps and beggars, and find in each and Every thing and person, a note of that Which they are pleased to term the "beautiful Song of Life," but try how I will, I can Find naught but shadows grim and dark, and Full of pain. Shall I walk forth where mirth holds Sway, while shadows fall ? VII. At sunset with Agonies raging in my heart, I watch The workmen, women, and children, pouring Out in steady streams from the trade-palaces On State Street. The tall buildings, that almost Throne their scalps above the clouds, wear an air Of gloomy grandeur, at the closing hour. Bells of cable-cars are ringing ! Newsboys Shouting "Chicago-American," "News" Or a "Journal," the "Sporting Extra !" Wagons Rattle up and down the street, and then comes The army of workmen, women, and children, Pushing along with impatient feet. What OF JOHN ALLEN. 2 J Walking histories have we here ? What Pages of destiny ! Terrible to Think of ! Terrible to dream of ! What a Horrible mockery of life it is, That passes away into the night. What A terrible day it has been for them All ! No prisoner in Siberia's Darkest, and bitterest depths, has suffered More misery, than these poor wretches for The day. Some of them will strenuously Deny that they have suffered. But, O tear Aside the mask, and see the scars ! Behold How they groan out forgotten lives from Garret to basement, from counter to desk, For paltry salaries, which the Merchant- Bandits are pleased to hand them from their Plunder. And this is what society Is pleased to term employment, this work in The big stores. Employment? Why this is not Employment at all. It is slavery ! We might as well take off the sugar coating, And tell the truth once in a while. These humble Workers are the white slaves of the twentieth Century ! Slavery is not a thing 28 THE CONFESSIONS Of the past. It is as common as our Everyday life, but it is masked under Different titles. Slavery is one Of America's greatest institutions, and "The Land of the Free," is one of the most Brilliant mottoes of sarcasm that America boasts to-day ! It has been Said that the "night was made for coons," but I Say that Americans were born for the Night — for in the day they are slaves in their Refined prisons. The old feudal days have Not passed away by any means. The Name of the system has changed, that's all. To-day, baronial castles are called Palaces of trade ; the slaves, employes ; And the barons, lords, and what-not, employers. So you see the shadows of the old days Rest on our present system ! And the treatment Within their walls ! Why, no Slaves of the past, or prisoners of the Present, ever bowed their heads before more Imperious masters than the employers Of to-day. And these same employers always Select for managers, first-class slave-drivers OF JOHN ALLEN. From among their employes, men who have No sympathy whatever for the Miserable wretches, the cattle who Have to do their bidding, or lose the Position that is keeping body and Soul together. Not that the lost position Is a prize to be wept over, but because The damnable condition of present Day society, forces workers to Fear the loss of it. These managers, clothed With brief authority, exert all their Powers to hide the abilities of Others from the proprietor's eyes, In order that they may shine with greater Lustre, and receive praise for things which they Have never done. This is, indeed, Christian Charity with a vengeance! And to think Of it ! these employes, these slaves are to Be the future fathers and mothers of America ! Just think of it, they are To raise children to move through the dark Shadows, just as they are doing to-day ! 29 3o THE CONFESSIONS Just fancy what a magnificent race Of Spartans we must expect from these Men and women of the prisons ! Yet, the Big stores on State Street, with all their faults, are great Educators. This fact cannot be denied. They are just the places to learn respect For proprietors and managers, Who lie; just the places to learn how to Crush out all kind feelings from the heart; just The places to learn how to lie and cheat ; Just the places to learn that society Is nothing but a sham ; just the places To learn how to crush out all respect and Love of country from your soul; just the places To learn that you are not human ; just the Places to learn that you are looked upon By your employers as so much cattle ; Just the places to learn that your vote Politically must be used as the Employers so direct; just the places To learn that you must not think, for OF JOHN ALLEN. Anybody found guilty of the crime Of thinking, will be severely dealt with. Universities are really of no Use when these great educational Institutions exist. In the State Street stores, there is absolutely Nothing to be hoped for by the poor Wretches behind desks and counters, For employers will correct none Of the crying abuses of the present. They Have sold their honor and their souls for gold, And you are slaves ! But tremble not ! I have Come to save you. I have come to destroy The rotten system of the present, and To erect on its ashes, the new cities With the New Faith, that shall heal all bleeding Hearts, and make of earth a Paradise till Judgment Day. VIII. Weary and still in the clutches Of my woe, I draw aside the curtains — 31 3^ THE CONFESSIONS I gaze out upon the world, and find that There exists in our present damnable System, three kinds of society. But, To tell the truth there is but one great class, Namely the common or poor people, which Has given birth to the others. The only Distinction my eyes can find between them, Is that which is found between snow, ice, and Water. They are all water, and all it Requires to verify it, is for the sun To come with all its power and majesty. To melt the snow and ice into water, The great common body. I have grown Aweary of the ravings and distinctions Of society, for I am the sun of Salvation, and I have come to melt its Snow and ice, into its proper sphere — the Great common body. But, as it stands now, There are three classes in existence ; the High class, to which the millionaires belong; The middle class, or the well-to-do, and The lower class, better known, and despised As the poor. It is really unfortunate That they are compelled to live together, OF JOHN ALLEN. For they cordially hate, and ape Each other. High society sets the pace, And the classes immediately below, Follow up in a less pretentious Manner. Shadows ! Nothing but shadows ! There Is one thing, however, which High Society Does, which like a charitable mantle, Covers a multitude of its sins, and That is, its feverish anxiety to Keep from the newspapers, all notices Of its engagements, its marriages, its Tears, its joys, its barbaric costumes, its Receptions, its divorces, its — sins, and All that kind of thing; but with all its Precautions, it does seem strange how Copyrighted photos of its Monkeys creep into the vulgar newspapers, Coupled with charming accounts of its Acrobatic triumphs. The only explanation I can offer for this peculiar state Of affairs, is that a traitor must live Within the lines, who sells his or her Information to the enemy — the Editor, Who in turn exposes his war secrets 33 34 THE CONFESSIONS To the vulgar gaze of the vulgar herd. This must be the truth, and truth triumphs Every time, for we all well know how shy Society is about appearing in print. Mercy ! Anything but that ! Why, if Society was to be written up every Day, it would melt away like snow before The April sun. The very essence of Its existence, consists in screening Itself from the public gaze. Society In this respect, is like the actors, who Would rather not have audiences, while They are performing. High Society Has many trials, many humiliations. Two of its greatest humiliations, Two that gall at all times, are the facts, first That its existence depends entirely On the lower class ; second, that its revenue Is derived from the sale of vulgar cattle, Canned-goods, soaps, perfumes, toilet-paper, and Other things less familiar. It seems a Pity that Society is compelled to OF JOHN ALLEN. 35 Deal in the aforesaid vulgarities, And to stain its immaculate hands with The vulgar money of the vulgar plebians. There ought to be some method by which The sacred barriers of society could Be upheld, and the vulgar lucre kept Out of its coffers. Then all its humiliations Would fade away. How it must gall the Astors to know that the vulgar fortune They possess, was made from the sale of the Vulgar skins of the vulgar animals ! How it must gall the Rockefellers to Know that the wealth they possess, was made From the vulgar oil, of the vulgar soil ! How it must gall the Armours, to know that The wealth they have, was made from the sale of Canned-goods, and hogs ! What a pleasure it would Be, if they could proudly lean back in their Mahogany seats and say, "Our fortunes Were inherited from a long line of Ancestors, old, so old, that all trace of The founders is lost in the dim twilight Of tradition." But, alas ; they cannot do This. The world seems unrulv, and refuses 36 THE CONFESSIOXS To be moulded to the cast they prefer. It refuses to close its eyes on the Knowledge of things it possesses. Society Of to-day, forms a very favorable Comparison with a set of monkeys I once saw in a cage at a country Fair. They were clad in tinsel and finery. And their grimaces, their chattering and Their gambols highly amused the people Who came to see them, but what capped the Climax of the whole affair, was the air Of seriousness they affected, and Their magnificent exclusiveness. So Is it with society at large, but especially So with the Lake-Shore-Drive-Clan. Talk About your tinsel, your finery, your Exclusiveness, why here it is a virtue, But especially so, is it true of the Latter quality, and to be just, it should Be, for really no wise person would Care to enter cages devoted to Monkeys, and to inhale the stench that Proceeds therefrom. OF JOHN ALLEN. 37 I have touched on Society's trials and humiliations. I will now speak of its insanity. That it is insane, and that more sane People are in the asylums to-day, Than in the ranks of so-called Society, There can be no question whatever, for What sane person, or persons would dream of Giving a $10,000 dinner in honor of dogs, With the dogs eating from the same plates, while Ten thousand or more of the poor, were starving In the city? What sane person or persons Would dream of sending out a dog in a Brilliant equipage, for a morning constitutional Accompanied by a liveried coachman, And footman ? What sane person or persons Would dream of educating a monkey, To appear at social affairs, and what-nots ? But right here is where the worm turns, for the Monk appears before them as a reflection Or grinning caricature of themselves, Or in the role of the ape, aping the apes. What sane person, or persons, would make of American society circles the great 38 THE CONFESSIONS Breeding grounds for the dissipated Wine-soaked, bankrupt-titled imbeciles Of Europe? Here American girls are Gowned, groomed, polished, and then sent abroad, to Enter the lists of the live-stock show, where Their points are carefully noted, by the Aforesaid imbeciles, and, being cattle Of quality, they are quoted at so much A head, but these little indignities pass By unnoticed, if they are only secured As a prize, and taken home to the titled Pens. Verily, sanity is a rarity In Society circles ! The asylums should Be emptied of their occupants, and Society sent there in a body to take Their places ! Arguments have been used ; Sermons have been preached, prayers have been Offered up, to wipe out the sins, and follies Of Society, but all to no purpose — Society has gone on more grimly Determined than ever, in the same old way, Therefore I, notwithstanding all the shafts OF JOHN ALLEN. 39 Of sarcasm I have launched in its Midst, who really sympathize with society In all its sins, and difficulties, come Forth in the arena, to save it with the Only solution that exists for its difficulties, The only balm there is for aching hearts, The only light that can penetrate the Gloom — the New Faith, of the New Cities ! O, that it may accept me as its Saviour, And accept the New Faith of the New Cities, That shall make of earth a Paradise Till the trumpet of the angel shall Call us all to inhabit the celestial New Cities prepared for us, by the Father of the Universe! IX. One thing there Is that's true to me, and that's my woe. No Love or friendship in the world ere was strong As the love and friendship of my woe. We Two inseparable are. We two have Been companions for long, long years, and now As I go forth where life roams or rather 4Q THE CONFESSIONS Dying Life, it follows me. On my way, I called in upon a dying man, and It was pitiful to see and hear how Much he feared Death. I knelt down at his Bedside, and hastened to inform him that Death was not to be feared, and that Life was To be feared a thousand times more than Death. But this he could not see. He was blind like The wise old world. He only shuddered and Bade me go. Once more in the cool air, I Wandered on — a hunted creature, mad with Life's misery ! Yes, and other hunted Creatures passed me by, "What is Life?" I faltered. "Yes, what is Life?" I walked slower now with Head bowed on my breast, and sobbed as if my Heart-strings would break in a thousand pieces And the pain within them would crush the world ! Yes! what is Life? Life is not merely the Beating of a heart within the walls of Clay — Life is the greatest lie, the greatest Curse that ever crept across the earth or Seas ! From the simplicity of its Original state, it is impossible To discover it, in the present damnable OF JOHN ALLEN. 41 System, or in the hunted things that pass You by every hour. It is lost in the Wilderness, on the Desert, beneath the Shadows, and in the lies. Not a trace of It can be found to-day. That which we call Life is nothing but a mockery. The World has created this mockery, and Must perish with it, unless it accepts Me as its Saviour! I alone can Save it with the New Love, the New Faith, the New City, for this trinity will erect An impassable barrier between the Sexes, marriage shall cease at once, and the New Life begin in all its beauty, and . Its glory. Marriage is one of the greatest Shams of Life ! Why should the sexes marry? Why require an outlandish ceremony Over such a crime ? Those who wed stand Convicted the greatest criminals in The annals of crime ! Just pause a moment, Young man ! Just pause a moment, young maiden, When you dream of becoming united In wedlock, and think — seriously think Of the step you are about to take. Think 42 THE CONFESSIONS Of the Life you have led from the cradle To the present — the terrible Life of Pain and woe, and ask yourself if you are Satisfied with it. Do you honestly Think Life in its present form is worth Living? Are you satisfied that your parents Did right in bringing you into the world ? Do you not curse the hour that you were born ? I do ! A thousand times I curse it every Day ! I wish that I had never seen the Light of day ! Do you think it right, after All that you have suffered, to bring innocent Children in the world to suffer as You have done ?. Just be present at the hour Of birth when some poor child is cast upon This world of woe, and list to the Pitiful scream that comes from its little Throat, and you will never wish to wed — That is — unless you want to be a Criminal ! Marriage is not a failure, Nor is it a Sacrament as the Church Of Rome would have us believe ; it is a crime ! It is all well and good for the happy Mother to love the offspring of her womb. OF JOHN ALLEN. 43 And all well and good for the happy Father, to go about boasting and treating In honor of the birth, but do either Of them know what they are doing? Can they Guarantee the peace of mind of that poor Child from the cradle to the grave? Can they Guarantee a path of roses for its Little feet, minus all the thorns? Can they Promise that it will never perish? Speak Age of shams ! Why bring up children In a world of woe, only to perish As caravans do perish on the Desert's Burning sands? But — yes, there is a reason For all births. There is a good, and all- Sufficient reason, why so many children Now roam upon the earth. I will trace it To its source — the untamed passions of the People ! These very passions Have brought us all into the world. From the peasant to the king ! Bear that in Mind and blush, ye hypocrites, who read These lines ! The present incumbent at the White House advocates the raising of large 44 THE CONFESSIONS Families. Does he know what it means? He Fears a race suicide ! Ye Gods ! is not The suffering in the world great enough now. Without seeking to increase it, and that Too, at the expense, and satisfaction Of physical pleasure? If the Aforesaid incumbent believes in Such a thing, and gives it his support He should at least, try to discourage it, In the myriads he is supposed to rule. Ever ready to follow the initiative In such matters, the clergy of the City are urging the young men of Their parishes to get married. Evidently They are not satisfied with the misery In the world. They well know that marriage i: A sham, and a flimsy sham at that, to Clothe the passions in, but they are Determined to follow the lead of the nation's Executive. In the course of Their professional life, they hear many A tale of so-called secret deeds of shame, And they in their monkish philosophy, Think the best remedy to recommend OF JOHN ALLEN. Is marriage, which is nothing more, than A blessing on such deeds of shame. I rise to protest against such a creed! There is no such thing as immorality In the world. I can see none. It is a Hoax created by the false world, and must Be destroyed. The body, to me, is a Sacred thing — the body of the male, and The body of the female. I can see Nothing immoral about them, but alas ! They were made for the tangled web of woe ! It is really amusing to note how The blood mantles the cheeks of a woman, When she speaks of a girl's "limbs," never Legs, as if they were something shocking. I Presume she would have us understand that Girls walk on stilts, and that no such Profane thing as legs exist in the feminine Gender. Another thing that shocks the So-called virtuous, and shams, are the Courtesans! With what holy horror they Raise their hands in air, and speak of these Poor creatures, as if they were numbered 'Mongst the damned. Right here I rise to 45 4 6 THE CONFESSIONS Destroy the name they bear, for in the whole Wide world there is not one courtesan, let The false world say what it will. These girls were Created against their wills, and took up Their employment, same as each of us have Taken up ours. If they were not created Against their wills, they would not now be What the world terms courtesans. They are Exactly what they were created for. We are all exactly what we were created For. Our course is determined from the Cradle to the grave, and cannot be altered One iota. As well try to turn back the Tides. As well try to destroy the seasons. As well try to stamp out disease. As well Try to arrest the lightning. When speaking Of courtesans do not question their Employment. Do not sneer at it. Rather Question the authors of their birth — which is The root of all evil ! "But," says one, "if We kill off the race, affection too will Die." Affection ! yes, affection would be OF JOHN ALLEN. 47 The dearest thing on earth, if it brought no Pain. "And," she continued, "children are such A comfort." I took her hand in mine, and Softly said, "Yes, to you. But how about The children? Where is their comfort to come From?" Speak! age of shams! shall this Forever be? At the gates of my New Cities, marriage shall cease at once, And then shall follow the short watch — To welcome the most beautiful thing of Life—Death. X. Come, follow me, ye who would know What Life really is ; follow me across The burning sands of the Desert, through the Dark Shadows, and the Wilderness. The Dawn ! What was it ? What is it ? Naught but a curse — Obscured by clouds of Bible lore, and Hopelessly disfigured by the so-called Students of theological Rome. Of All the races that have trod this earth, with 48 THE CONFESSIONS All their hopes, and joys, and woes, not one has Solved the riddle of its age, or being, But the present age, through me shall have its Riddle solved, for I have come to save it. All the thoughts, deeds, books and orations of The past and present, have not thrown one Ray of light on the Sphinx-like question of Our being. It is naught but a record Of births and deaths, of coming and going. Of day and night, and incessant hum And jar. We vainly grasp for facts, but grasp At sunbeams that we cannot hold. Is it Not a crying shame that this should ever Be? Is not our woe heavy enough now, That the world should perish to see it Nevermore ! Our Roman theologists, With their ever ready cunning, have Actually dared to answer the question Of our being. According to their Electrotyped ideas, we were born to Love, honor, and obey the Lord of Heaven, in order that we might enjoy The kingdom he has prepared for us. But I deny this cursed doctrine ! I sav OF JOHN ALLEN. 49 That we were born for misery, crime, and Destruction. Why do they not tell us this? Furthermore we were born from the passions Of the sexes. We should not be held accountable For our being. We never asked to be Brought into this damnable world of woe. What ! according to the Roman teachings, We were born from the lowest brute passions Of the sexes, to love, honor, and obey A God of whom we knew and know Absolutely nothing? What! and if we Fail in this, we are to be burned in Everlasting fire ? What ! burned forever. And forever ! No end at all ! What ! would Not the great God relent in one hundred, One thousand, or ten thousand years? Would not That be long enough to suffer for the crimes We were brought into the world to commit? We May as well get down to common-sense on This question. The Argus eye of the Lord Flashes from the cradle to the grave. He Knows at the birth of a child what its end Will be. He knows ! He knows ! He knows ! Will He then condemn it to everlasting 5 o THE CONFESSIONS Punishment, for some infraction of the Law, while he, surrounded by his angels. Enjoys the Happiness of Paradise? He knows ! He knows ! And when he knows at The hour of birth, what the trials and end Of a creature will be, why does he allow That creature to be created ? Has not The farce of Life been played long enough ? What sane idea can the world advance. To allow it a further lease of Life? We have the right to ask why we are here. The birds of carrion, the students of Rank theology, can arise, and flap their Wings and scream "Blasphemy !" from the belfries, For all I care. I too could scream "Blasphemy!"' At their horrid doctrines, but as I have Come to save them, as well as all the world, I shall keep my counsel. All old ideas. All history, all ties held dear to the Human heart, must be cast aside, By those who follow me, for I am the Singer of the Dawn ! Shadows, nightmares, OF JOHN ALLEN. 51 And all their close relations will fade away At my approach! The old idea of "The Lord is good to us; he has given Us rivers, lakes, and oceans ; he has given Us fish, and meat, and wheat and fruit To eat, and water to drink," must be Discarded at once. Fancy the world Living without food to eat, and water To drink. It would perish at once. This is Just what it should have done long ages Ago. But O, no ! this would never do ! We would then have escaped our woe and Such pleasure of course must not be Denied us. But tremble not poor wanderers On the burning sands of the Desert, I Will save you yet. Cast away your family Traditions and Bibles, and follow me, For they will avail you not in my New Cities. XI. Fear life, I say. Fear it More than a thousand deaths. I fear life, But would welcome Death, for Death, at least 52 THE CONFESSIONS Has mercy in its eyes, and terminates All earthly misery. What comes after, Matters little, matters not. We are not To concern ourselves about it. I know Life in all its terrible bitterness, But Death, ah ! let it come ! Just "a little Folding of the hands," just a little lowering In the narrow house, and that is all. Can Anything more peaceful or beautiful Be dreamt of? Many, and many were the Beautiful talks I have had with Death. But Yesterday we walked forth where Life held sway, Death and I. She is the sweetheart that I Dearly love. Beneath the cloudless summer Skies we walked, Death and I, two happy Lovers without a care on earth. We were On the sandy shores of my own Western Sea, and listened to the sobbing of the Waves. W r hat happiness was mine ! I begged Iler for her love. I cast myself down at Her feet. Bitterly I wrung my hands, and Wept until I thought my heart would break, but She softly said: "Not yet! I cannot grant The love you ask. You must drink ! drink deep OF JOHN ALLEN. Of the bitter cup ! Drink your portion, then Come to me." And she left me sobbing like The sad waves of the sea. I went forth into The burning sands of the Desert, and travelled There for years. I saw the caravans wind Slowly on to distant points, while birds of Carrion ever floated o'er them, waiting For their prey. I saw them come and go, and Come and go, and murmured, "Whither do They come, and whither go? Shall the weary, Tear-stained procession never stop ?" To them, Sweet blue-eyed babes were born, to live, grow up, And travel o'er the sands they trod, to brave The noonday heat, and fury of the Simoon, till they in turn, should raise their Children to travel o'er the very sands They perished in. And so the weary Caravans move on. They tell sweet love-tales Beneath the swaying palms. They halt for Refreshments at the oasis ; then take up The weary march again, to go astray Within the labyrinth of mirage, or perish 53 54 THE CONFESSIONS 'Neath the noon-day heat, or in the jaws of The wolf-like Simoon. Fainting, weary, Footsore, once more I came to Death, and begged Her for her love, and once more she told me To drink deep of the cup — to drain the bitter Dregs, and then her wealth of love would all be Mine. She looked so beautiful, I could not Leave her side. I begged her to Remain. She gazed in pity on me, then Granted my request. At this moment she Seemed to have robbed all the beautiful Women, of all the world, of all their beauty, And adorned herself with it. And this Beauty almost overpowered my senses ! How I longed for the love she would not give ! If worlds were mine, I'd gladly lay them at Her feet for it. No one but I could know The beauty of being in love with Death. Everyone fears Death, which proves that wisdom Is not with them. I threw myself down at Her feet. I buried my face in her lap, I felt her warm hands on my burning cheek ! OF JOHN ALLEN. 55 I was thrilled with the electric waves Of love. Tears came — K:ame in floods — tears of Joy, from the warped fountains of my woe. Was this to be the end of the agony? Was this the end of all my woe? "I madly Love you," I hotly cried. "I love you more Than angels ever loved their God ! More than Flowers do love the sun and dew ; nay, More than all the lovers ever loved their Loves on this brown earth !" A silence followed, A bitter one. I did not dare to stir. "And why do you love me?" She asked at length. "Because," I said, "I want you for my bride, My peerless bride !" She gently lifted up My face with her two hands, and looked me In the eyes. That look thrilled my soul with The wonderful melodies of Paradise. "You are the first," said she, "who ever spoke That way to me. I assure you, it is A pleasure to hear it. I have never had A lover before you. All that is written Of me, is done with pens of terror. All That is said of me, is done with quaking Voices. The beautiful cities I own, 56 THE CONFESSIONS Are paved with the tears of broken hearts. The world shuns me. The world frowns down Upon me — " "But," I cried, interrupting Her, "it shall do so no longer. The world Will passionately love you vet. It will Cast aside all else for you, even as 1 now do. First comes the Saviour, then the Disciples. "So," she asked, "you really Want to marry me?" "I do !" was the reply That came from out my heart. "But," said She, "the world will never approve of it." "I don't care," I returned, "what the world Approves of. You are my world !" A silvery Laugh greeted my impassioned words. "Really," Said she, "this is charming, you would lead Me to the altar, and have the priest — " I Raised my hand in protest. "Not for worlds !" I cried, "would I require the service of OF JOHN ALLEN. 57 The priest. That would not be marriage. It Is not marriage. It is a cursed lie, Formed by the customs of cursed society. Marriage is love, and love is marriage, and No words uttered by priest, minister, or Justice can bind it firmer. Neither can The croakings of sham virtue make it Otherwise. I am madly in love with you." "I know you are," she softly murmured. "And," Said I, "All I ask in return is for You to love me. That will be marriage in Its truest significance !" "But," she replied, "What would the world think of such a thing?" "I care not," I said, "What the world would Think. The world is stupid. The world is a Damnable sham. Sham is its greatest Stock in trade. In fact, sham is considered A virtue by the world. How then would you Expect me to care for an opinion, Coming from such a source ? I love you ! I Madly love you ! That's all I care for or 5 8 THE CONFESSIONS Think of as the hours glide by." She leaned Forward, and said, "tell me, how madly you Love me." I replied, "I love you so madly, That I'd dearly love to crawl in abject Slavery at your feet forevermore ; so .Madly that the world with all its vice and Crime, seems filled with flowers and summertime So madly that my heart and soul seem filled With the enchanted glories of Eden ; So madly that my body seems enveloped In the web of melodies the angels made for Heavenly ears ; so madly that when I Think of you, I am drowned with the oceans Of sweetness the thought brings ; so madly, That the sylvan warblers of the world seem Living in my heart ; so madly that though You would forsake me for another, I Still would love you to the end." "That is true Love," she said, with a burst of silvery laughter. "Surely, you don't love me that much." OF JOHN ALLEN. "O, much More," I wailed. "Could I but translate the love I bear you, into words, you would then Understand its truest meaning. As it Is — words fail me." ''Yes/' she agreed, "you Madly love me. I believe what you say, But, how long would this love last?" "Forevermore !" I cried with intense fervor, and buried my Head once more in her lap. A storm of tears Burst from my eyes. I cannot express in Words, the delicious feelings that ran riot In my viens at this moment, but I was Happy ; happy ; happy ; — 'but alas ! only For the moment ; then it faded away. But its memories will ever remain Engraved upon the tablets of my mind. "I madly love you," once more I faltered. "When can I hope that you will live with me?" She moved uneasily in her seat. "Why," said She, "we are not even engaged, and we Would necessarily have to be married Before we could live together." 59 6o THE CONFESSIONS "Not at all!" I cried. "Marriage is only a sham, an Empty ceremony performed over That sacred thing, 'LOVE.' I hate the word 'Marriage.' Marriage, to my mind, is a very Simple thing. It merely consists of Placing my hand in your hand, and a Promise to love you forever, and forever, And a placing of your hand in my hand, And a promise to love me forever and Forever." She smiled, and said, "Really Marriage to you is a sort of jest." I Replied, "On the contrary, I think it Is the most solemn, sacred thing in all The world, but I detest the cloak of sham Forever thrown over it." "You are Brutal in your remarks," said she. "You Are an Iconoclast. You seek to destroy Institutions," OF JOHN ALLEN. 6l "Not at all," was my Protest. "My only hope is to see Truth triumph over Ignorance. Marriages Of to-day are detestable. I could never Love a girl who would come to me, and Solemnly declare she had no faults, that She was spotless as the Virgin of Heaven ; That she never loved another till she Met me, and that she never kissed another's Lips but mine." "Why," exclaimed Death in Surprise, "what would you have her to say?" I replied, "Just what I would say to the One I loved. You, little sweetheart. With my Arms around your waist, I'd say, I love You with all the strength of love within my Heart and soul, and will love you so until The end. Passionately I have loved others Before I met you ; passionately I Have kissed them, and twined my arms Around their waists. I am not spotless ! My morals are not good according to The wisdom of the world. My faults are Countless as the sands in the Desert, as 62 THE CONFESSIONS The stars in the sky. I have broken Every commandment but one — "Thou shalt not Kill !" but I love you, and want you for My own." She looked at me strangely. "You are Horribly honest about it," was her opinion. Holding her two hands in mine, I replied : "No one in all the world is more deadly Honest on this subject than I." She stroked The hair back from my fevered brow. O, what Thrills of delight darted through my brain And heart, at the touch. Would that I could Have died there at her feet, the bliss was so Supreme. "John Allen," said she, "deeply do I sympathize with you in all your woe. Life indeed must be a dreadful thing for You." Once more the hand stroked the hair Back from my brow, and once more the thrills Of delight flashed back and forth through heart And brain. "Deeply do I sympathize with You," she murmured once again, but I Could not reply for the tears were flowing From my eyes. She continued, "And you OF JOHN ALLEN. 63 Think you could be happy with me? Why, Your happiness would only bring you pain." "Yes," I said, ''the dear sweet pain that I'd Gladly suiter all for you. That is true Love. Though the herd would leave you all Alone ; though storms should rage around you ; Though every hope I had in you was Shipwrecked; though another should enjoy Your charms ; though you'd persecute me till The blood would flow ; though disease would Steal away your beauty and your youth ; Though you'd spurn me as the vilest thing on Earth ; though the world would call you false As hell itself, I'd love you, and adore You with all the passion that I felt for You, when first we met as lovers beneath The sweet blue skies." I could go no Further. Tears were in my voice, and I Did not dare to raise my eyes to hers. O, The feelings of alternate hope and woe, That flashed throughout my heart ! She answered Not. I trembled lest she'd turn me from her Side, my Paradise, and I'd be in The deadly grasp of woe again. 64 THE CONFESSIONS She said. "You have conceived a terrible passion For me, and I cannot understand it." "Oh," I returned, "you would understand it Well, if you but knew how much I wanted To escape my woe. It haunts me in my Dreams ; it is present in the morn when I Arise ; it dogs my footsteps all the day. There is no peace from it at all. I start Out in the morning with resolutions Bright ; I have hopes most brilliant for the day There are some things I want to do, but alas ! Before the noonday heat arrives, I'm in The throes of my dread woe, and all my Resolutions, hopes, and thoughts are Helplessly shipwrecked. I am lonesome. 1 am weary. That's why I want you for My bride. That's why I cast myself down At your feet." Long, long, I remained thus. I did not dare to raise my eyes. The waves Of the sea were moaning on the sandy Beach, and the sea-gulls were wildly Screaming. All the bitterness of life was With me now. 1 lifted up my eyes to OF JOHN ALLEN. 6$ Search for some look of pity on her face, But she had vanished. And the sea-gulls Screamed, and the surf moaned on the sands, And I — I too moaned on the bitter, barren Sands of life. THE STORM. TT IS night. The storm raged without with Unparalleled fury, but not greater Than the storm within my heart. Let it rage, For I well know that I must perish in It. No sunshine, no cloudless days for me. Naught but the thunders' awful crash, the Lightning flash, and bitter rains. In the storm, All things are filled with fear. The trees then bow Their green heads low. The birds seek shelter in Their nests. Ships struggle in the sea. The Bitter winds moan o'er the streets and prairies. And people walk along with bowed-down heads, And aching hearts, but the storm for them lasts Not forever ; the clouds soon clear away, And the beauty of star, and moon, and sun Shine down on them again, but alas ! the 66 THE CONFESSIONS Storm for me is everlasting. Why, J Cannot saw 1 am unlike all other men. I am the strangest creature that ever lived In this damned world of woe. I cannot sec All things like others. I cannot feel like Others. J live apart from everything. Life to me is a dreadful thing. It is A curse ! Towering science, and keen-eyed Logic cannot answer questions that I Ask. They speak in mysteries, and nothing More. Nowhere can I find the key to L'nlock the doors. I can only beat my Mead against a wall of adamant! I Can only wander wailing up and down The road. I can only build the bridges Frail that break beneath my feet. This, And nothing more. This, all this, I felt in The storm — yes, in the storm. And the storm to Me is as everlasting as the hills! The thunder roared, and reverberated < I'er the roof-tops of the city. The rain Came down in torrents, and the winds blew with The fury of the hurricane, through all The streets, making it almost impossible OF JOHN ALLEN. 67 To walk ! Through the rain-swept windows, the lights Shone dim, and fear was in the air and Everywhere. How I longed for beautiful Death in the storm ! How I prayed for the end Of the agony ! "Come to me ! Come to Me now, O beautiful Death," I implored. "Come while the bitter winds blow through my heart And soul ! Come while the tempest rages round Me, and let me perish on thy breasts of Beauty !" I walked on, and soon found myself On the Madison Street bridge. I saw its Colored lights faintly gleaming through the rainy Curtains of the storm. I rested my arms Upon the rail, and looked down at the swiftly Flowing river. Long, long I looked upon It. I was fascinated with it. "Were I Not a coward," I murmured o'er and o'er, "Were I not a coward." And the thunders Roared, and the lightning flashed, and the rain came Down in blinding sheets, but I stirred not. "Were I not a coward," I said again, in a Hollow voice. The wind swept by, and moaned, and A voice from the distant ages seemed borne Along by it. "John Allen," said it, "thousands 68 THE CONFESSIONS Who were not cowards, cast off the chains of woe That bound them here on Earth and sought relief In a watery grave, and why not you?" "Yes," I murmured, "and why not I? Simply Because I am a coward. But last night, A woman young and beautiful, leaped from The bridge into the waters far below — ■ Twas but a plunge — a splash of water — a Human arrow in the armor of the Deep — a human arrow in the bosom Of sweet Death, and all was over. How Beautiful ! How sublime ! No trace of the Coward lurked in her heart. God bless her, and God bless the thousands who have ended all Their woes in death ! A thousand blessings be On all the suicides ! To me they are Not suicides. They are heroes, and Heroines !" The winds moaned, "There is peace, there Is rest in the beautiful grave below. All you need is courage for the step. Just OF JOHN ALLEN. 69 A leap in the dark, and O, then all is Over — all the agonies you now suffer." "Yes," I murmured. "J ust a ^ ea P m tne dark, And then — ah, then — " I was fascinated With the idea. My eyes were riveted On the madly flowing river. I crouched Low, like a wounded panther, ready to Leap like an avalanche upon its prey — But my courage forsook me, and I leaned My arms heavily on the rail again. "Coward that I am !" I hoarsely cried, "I Cannot bring myself to it — to Rest ! I Need some one to lead me on ! Yes, And there's one that could do it, too. Ah ! her Face ! her face divine, her form of beauty Come before me now ! I humbly bow my Head before the vision, for I dare not Raise my eyes to her — my first, my only, And alas ! my hopeless love. She could lead Me to the brink. Blindly would I follow Her, and at her bidding blindly would I Leap to death, with a smile upon my lips ! yo THE CONFESSIONS When I read of the beautiful suicides — Of the man found dead in the bath-room — «the Pallor on his face, the zigzag pool of Blood flowing from his temple, and the tell-tale Revolver near at hand ; of the maiden Young and fair, who ended all her woes with Poison ; of the man of thirty-five or Forty, found dead with a dagger in his Heart, I am filled with mingled feelings of Admiration and despair ! Admiration For their courage. Despair at my base Cowardice. Deeply do I love, and worship All the heroes of suicide ! The false World should not frown down on them, for what else Is left for a tortured heart, a life of Woe, a hopeless love ? Speak ! age of shams ! What Else? Some tell me I should not think thus: that 1 should love Life, and walk with it beneath The cloudless summer skies. Yes, walk 'neath Cloudless summer skies — 'twere well if I could Follow such advice, but whether 'neath the Cloudless summer skies, or otherwise, the Storm is with me always — d cannot rid Mvself of it. Once more 1 looked down at OF JOHN ALLEN. ; x The madly flowing river, and once more I murmured, "Were I not a coward," and Then — ! I wandered down the street, with head bowed On my breast. And the winds moaned, "Were you not A coward? Think! fool! think! Just a leap in The dark, and all would be over !'' And the Rains fell, and the thunders roared, and the storm Increased with the night. And the storm is with Me always. I CONFESS. AX^ISE old world, pray give me your Attention for a moment. I entertain Nothing but the utmost contempt for you. Which is not silent contempt, you will Observe, for I would claim your attention. To launch a few shafts of sarcasm in The rotten timbre of your wisdom. I have Made many confessions, and I still hope To make many more, but of all the Confessions I have made, and those which 72 THE CONFESSIONS I hope to make, the following ones are Those which have claimed my attention, from First to last ; which have haunted me day And night, and gave me no rest. They are Yours. Please accept the gift, and open your ears. I Confess — That I am filled with profound disgust, When I read of resignations being Accepted by those who ordered them. I Confess — That I am filled with admiration For the Job-like patience manifested By our English language, in the face Of the yearly assaults made upon it By colleges that persist in calling Their closing exercises "Commencement." I Confess — That my sense of humor knows no Bounds, when I run across a member of The masculine gender, carrying a Female voice in stock. OF JOHN ALLEN. ; 3 I Confess — That I would rather enter the chamber Of horrors than sample the wonderful Mysteries contained in the sausage. I Confess — That I mistook the picture of a group Of graduates, for a battalion of Undertakers holding a pow-wow. I Confess — That I begin to lose confidence in Humanity, when I hear the milk-man Blandly declare, that his stock is not watered. I Confess — • That the servant-girl has the best of The situation to-day. In short, she is "it." I Confess — That I feel like constituting myself A court of chastisement, whenever I Have the misfortune to converse with a Mar. who wears the proverb habit. 7 4 THE CONFESSIONS I Confess — That I entertain nothing but profound Contempt, for those who make a Brass band display of the charities they bestow. I Confess — « That I am filled with merriment at The thought that the Armours, the Goulds. The Potter Palmers, the Rockefellers, and several Others of their ilk, are only laying by a few- Dollars for a rainy day, and not for a Deluge. I Confess — That all the fish stories of the past And present, appear somewhat scaly to me. I Confess — That I never entertained very high opinions Of the faculty of imagination, until after I came in contact with railroad and Summer-resort literature. I Confess — ■ That 1 am at a loss to understand OF JOHN ALLEN. 75 Why the officers of the law allow such polite Robbers as "Fortune-Tellers" to remain in Perfect security, outside the prison walls. I Confess — That I am at a loss to understand Why our comic writers (?) still present The public with the same old jokes That Noah smiled at in his boyhood days. I Confess — That I have not the slightest respect for Schools, or the teachers who preside over them. I Confess — That I fail to understand, why critics Call the rhymes of Kipling, and Markham, Poetry. I Confess — That I am filled with disgust, when I Behold an American citizen wearing a Shining silk hat. 76 THE CONFESSIONS I Confess — That I am more than amused when I Behold Cholly and Fweddy, hawwibly Dissipating on weak lemonade. I Confess — That "distance lends enchantment," when I Meet a friend enjoying one of those Fragrant three-for-five stogies. I Confess — ■ That I have sifted it from head to Foot, and find that it really costs a Poor man more than he can afford — To die. I Confess — Whether awake, or asleep, or galloping Beneath the stars on my panting steed. That I am ever thinking of my Cherished cities, and my strong and Beautiful lovers. OF JOHN ALLEN. yy I Confess — « That I often ask myself, "What is the Matter with the American public?" When I behold it parting with its Hard earned money, to hear the bushy-headed Paderewski deliver a death-blow to Harmony on the piano. I Confess — That the ups and downs of married life Never appear to better advantage, than When I see a six-foot woman walking Up the street, with a five-foot husband in tow. I Confess — That I have no respect whatever for A self-made man ( ?), a smart young man ( ?), Or a man who has made his mark ( ?). I Confess — That I have nothing but the utmost Contempt, for that national, and damnable Lie, known as "the survival of the fittest. " 78 THE CONFESSIONS I Confess — That Death is one of the most beautiful Things I have ever read or heard of In this Life. I Confess — That I have as much use for the good Things that are said of a dead man, as The Devil has for "Holy Water." I Confess — • That I am the strangest character that Ever walked upon this cursed Earth, and That no man will ever understand me Rightly, or enjoy my conversation or Companionship, unless he takes off his Mask, and treats me as his equal. I Confess — That the announcements in the daily papers, Concerning extravagant banquets, and Imported costumes worn by social butterflies, Are splendid remedies for hungry stomachs. And people in rags. OF JOHN ALLEX. I Confess — • That no array of arguments will ever Move me to forgive a smiling, smooth flatterer. Or a man who forms a hasty Judgment of me. I Confess — • That the place to obtain injustice, is In the Justice-Shops of the city. I Confess — That the luckiest man in all the world. Is he who ne'r was born. I Confess — That there are some men so degraded. That they are exalted to the Seventh Heaven, Whenever they can humiliate you. I Confess — That I have the utmost contempt For the man who has smiles for some. And frowns for others ; for the man Whose dignity will not permit him 79 So THE CONFESSIONS To recognize you, when he sees you On the street ; for the man who wears Medals, and has diplomas in his Possession ; for the man who rides in A carriage, cab, or automobile ; for the Man who erects statues to preserve the Memories of so-called heroes and what-nots ; For the man who is always employed in Building air castles, and living in them ; For the man who has not the courage To face ingratitude ; and for the man Who is not democratic enough to meet All men on a common level. I Confess — > That I am more than amused, when some Men, after looking me over, go their way, thinking They have taken my measure. I Confess — That I sympathize with the rich man, Who has to die, after all, and leave all His wealth behind, for others to spend. OF JOHN ALLEN. 8 1 I Confess — Whenever I see two able-bodied Italians, popularly known as "dagos," Equipped with a horse, wagon, and Hand-organ, that I am at a loss To understand why they are not Arrested for vagrancy. I Confess — That honesty is the best of policy, After all, and that the place to find It, is in the United States Senate, In the aldermanic sessions of every city. And in the advertised food-stuffs of The day. I Confess — That I have more respect for the Man who breaks all the Commandments In full view of the public eye, than For he who does the same in Secrecy, and poses as a Saint. 82 THE CONFESSIONS I Confess — That I cannot understand why The Government persists in employing Hysterical, brainless, fad-stricken Females to teach (God save the mark!) The children of the country, when men Of brains and family can be Had for the asking, to do the same work. 1 Confess — That I can see through the screen at Last — that laws were made to protect The rich transgressors, and to punish The poor ones. I Confess — That money is the one great power That wields its sceptre over the whole World. Its will is absolute. Before It, all bow low. For it, how Many lives have been wrecked ; How many have toiled, but Toiled in vain ; how much Honor has been purchased ; OF JOHX ALLEX. 83 How many assassins have been Hired ; how many officials Have been corrupted, and how Many American girls have purchased The empty crowns and titles of Europe. Without it, a man is like a ship Without a pilot. Without it, you May as well seek the potter's field, But this I say to you Wise old world, that money shall Lose all its power at the very Gates of my New City ; for it Will not be accepted for any service Done, nor for any commodity Within the sacred walls. Once More I beg your attention for these Confessions. They are yours. Please Accept the gift. ART AND LIFE. T WENT to-day to the Art Institute, And when I unto my home returned, the Despair that always rages in my soul^ 84 THE CONFESSIOXS Almost o'erwhelmed me, for my love, the love I gave so freely there — was cast aside — Was shattered and the fragments rudely Trampled on by the heedless feet, of the Heedless throng. I saw them pass, the ones I Madly loved, the rich, the gay, the poor, the Humble, but alas ; they had no eyes, no Ears, no hearts, no love for me. These like serfs Were lying at the feet of chiseled and Of painted lies. How I longed in my despair For their deep sympathy, and love ! But this As always is the rule, was brutally Denied me. Nowhere can I win out! I Seem to be at war with all mankind, and In harmony with nothing in this wise Old world, because I can attract no one ; Because I do repel ; because I possess Not the polished manners that the Piker Uses in society ; because my Heart is filled with love for all mankind ; Because it hungers in return for all The love it gives ; and because my soul is Filled with a despair, the like of which did Never yet exist in this wise world, when OF JOHN ALLEN. 85 I behold the idiotic indifference, The damnable contempt displayed by my Own people, when in presence of the Painted, and the chisled lies, of painters And of sculptors. What are painters, what are Sculptors? Artists? No, they are but one set Of the myriad bandits, who steal from life's Great treasury — Time, and leave it almost Penniless. They liars are, who paint and Chisel lies ; show artists too, who flatter Well, amuse, and then astonish the Bewildered sight. They are kindergarten Manufacturers, who turn out dolls, and Pictures for the children. Unhappily In this case we the children are — the Children overgrown, who still do clap our Hands, and cry aloud, "O see the pretty Pictures and the dolls." We must be amused. We must live in an atmosphere unreal. We must diverge from pathways true to life. We must have landscape, seascape; birds in trees; Spires of churches ; court-house towers ; scenes of 86 THE CONFESSIONS City or country ; skies of blue, of Glittering stars ; of turquoise rare ; gorgeous Sunsets ; moonlight scenes on rivers, lakes And oceans, all recorded for our Benefit, on canvas or on stone. These Scenes of course we never see about us. Landscapes, and seascapes, arc nowhere to be Found, nor the scenes of our real life, so Beautiful, that nothing in the so-called Arts compare with them. These are cast aside, Unworthy of a thought or look, but — Record them once on canvas, or on stone, And behold what admiring crowds, Will gather round them. Then come the unreal Pictures — they of fabled heroes ; of Two-headed monsters; of scenes and characters In fairyland ; of the crusades ; of Mermaids rising from the sea; of horrid Buddhist Deities ; of Bible characters ; Of murders found in history ; of Battles great upon the land and sea; Of Hell with all its torments, and of OF JOHN ALLEN. 87 Heaven with its joys. These are painted lies, For the artists, they who made them, knew Nothing- more than you or I about these Subjects; they drew on their imaginations For materials, and the moment they Did that, the foundations of the lies were laid. Do you think you were created here to Squander precious moments on these — lies? Do you think you were created, just to Read accounts both long and short, of artists And of sculptors ; of pictures and of Statues, by so-called critics of the art? Do you think you were created just to Listen to long lectures on the art? Do you think, one moment think that you should Join that throng, that still applauds the artists And the sculptors of the past and present? Do you think because society, and Certain circles in the world pretend to Knowledge of the art, and attend its Exhibitions, that you too must cultivate Pretensions similar, and attend such Exhibitions ? 88 THE CONFESSIONS Suppose that I had Painted pictures full of beauty — they the Greatest of all time, what would it be to You? Would it help you solve the problems of This life? What would it profit you to point Me out a man of art, the greatest of Your time? It would simply prove that I Had cast a thought on canvas, for you to Approve or disapprove ; it should be the Latter, for I have disapproved of all The art of past and present, and if you Follow me, you too must disapprove of All the art of past and present. Art ! What is art? I know not art as the world Classifies it. Art, true Art, is yourself. You are the painter, you the sculptor, not The man with brush and chisel in hand. I Swear to you from the very depths of the Agony that rages in my heart, that This is the Truth ! Anytime you doubt My word, go forth into the golden Sunshine, or out in the dark storm-shadows, And look at all the scenes about you — look At them with just one-half the attention — OF JOHN ALLEN. 89 One -half the sympathy you bestow on Worthless paintings, and in that moment, You will become the greatest painter, and Sculptor of them all. In that moment you Will have recorded in the art galleries Of your vision, scenes far more beautiful, Than Raphael, Correggio, Vandvck, Rubens, and all the other countless Artists, have ever recorded on canvas. And what a realness there is in Nature's Scenes ! So real, that they startle you — that Is if you have any eyes at all for Majesty and beauty. Then why waste your Time on the man with the brush. Surely Your interest does not centre in the Picture that he paints ? It must centre In his skill as the Artist of the hour, For with your own two eyes, you must have Gazed on the real scenes of Nature, which he Transfers to canvas; and O, how Immeasurably more grand they seem Alongside his daubing! How beggarly! How wretched appear the paintings of the Greatest artists in comparison with 90 THE CONFESSIONS The majesty of Nature! His skill then, Is the only thing to attract you, and this Indeed is a worthless accomplishment — A woeful waste of the most precious thing In the world — Time. Pictures should be Painted only for the blind ! Perhaps in This matter you will say, I am a bit Severe on you. Perhaps I am, for it Has just occurred to me, that these canvas- Scenes, which you so highly prize, may ceas? To exist, and what an awful affair That would be! Just fancy what a funny Old world we would have, if the sun would Go down to rest in the West, and never Rise up again ; or if the rivers, the Lakes, and the oceans escaped from their Beds, and fell off the world on planets Below ; or if the seasons got into A row and we would have but one eternal Summer, or Winter, or Autumn or Spring; or if you awoke some morn, and Opened the window to find that the OF JOHN ALLEN. 91 Earth had disappeared in the Night, and Left your house standing on ■ ? Possibly This is why you want preserved scenes. We Have preserved peaches, apples, tomatoes, And old maids, and I presume we must have Preserved scenes. I can advance no other Reason for it, unless it be that your Life is to be prolonged for ages, and That you are prepared to waste it on painted Lies. The men who paint, and who have painted, Are bandits, who lay snares on the canvas For your eyes (snares are nothing but lies), And cast a spell o'er your brain, your will, Your soul, and your imagination, while they Rob you of your greatest wealth — Time. Many A man has been cast into prison for Much smaller crimes, but these great bandits Of the past and present have escaped the Hand of the Law, because the good easy Generations of Adam and Eve, have Never placed a true value on Time — their Lives, and the grave problems that confront 92 THE CONFESSIONS Them. Hands up ! I cry at last ! I John Allen, of Chicago, a lover of the People, have discovered these bandits ; I Have tracked them to their dens ; I have Uncovered them, they are now in our Possession, and shall stand trial before our eyes. Come forth Bularchus, Angelo, Raphael, da Vend ! Come forth Titian, Veronese, Correggio, Cousin! Come forth Murrillo, Rubens, Rembrandt, Reynolds ! Come forth Landseer, West, Beale, Leyendecker! Come forth Millet, Whistler, and ye countless Other daubers, trap setters, and bandits, and tell Us what ye have done for the generations of The past, and those of the present. Ye have Painted scenes of love, of life, of glory ; of Heaven, hell, and Purgatory; of the Last Supper; Of celebrated battles ; of life in the tropics ; Of altar pieces ; of rocks, caves, thickets, and desert Plains ; of antiquities ; crowded cities, and Ancient customs ; of curved bridges spanning placid Streams ; of gorgeous banquets, gorgeous Sunsets, and Bible subjects; of the seascape, OF JOHN ALLEN. 93 Landscape, and lifescape. and of storms at Sea, and on land. This, all this ye Have done. Very good. It sounds well. It Looks superb in print — but — have ye ever Painted the picture of a louse? And pray What have ye done for Life, and all its Bitter problems? Has this art of yours ever Solved one of them ? Not one ! And it shall Never solve them ! O, you have cunningly Done your work, and it passes to-day as One of the line arts ! You have entered Into a conspiracy against that Beautiful sacred thing — Life, to defraud It of some of its precious time, but you Shall do so no more ! My entrance on the Field, shall block your way forever ! And Ye sculptors of the world — ye that have been , At work, since Dibutades cast the Profile of his daughter's lover in clay ; Ye that have sought to celebrate so-called Heroes and events in marble, alabaster, And stone ; ye that have made the gods of 94 THE CONFESSIONS Old, the idols of Egypt, the Hideosities of Hindooism, and Buddhism, what has it Profited Life to know that ye have done All this ? What has it profited Life to Know that Phidias of Athens once lived, and Made statues ; that Julius Caesar was Devoted to the arts ; that Thonvaldsen Was famous, and that MacMonnies, and Kuhne Beveridge moulded silly dolls for The Kindergarten? O my children of The Wilderness, Life has profited nothing To know all this — except — except — to make For it a more dreadful tragedy than Before ! It has held Life up on the Highways, and byways of the World, and Robbed it of its precious gold — Time ! It Placed a thought in the heart of Life from the Beginning, and ever since that hour Life Has knelt in reverence at its feet. Shall it Kneel there forevermore? Shall it, my Beloved children ? Shall we still go on As before, and waste our golden moments OF JOHN ALLEN. 95 On these painted and chiseled lies? Is it Possible we have become a race of Monkeys, that strain every nerve to imitate. And follow in the footsteps of our ancestors? Has the so-called Art ever soothed the Agony of the new-born babe, or consoled a Dying soul on the death-bed ? No ! Emphatically No ! It was not invented for any Such purpose. This being the case, it is Of no use whatever. That which cannot Be utilized at the dawn or close of Life, should have no place whatever On the earth. O, my children ! cast these Foolish ideas of Art to the four winds, For there is no art in all the world, except The art of life ! Learn that well, and you Will know the all-in-all, and how Shallow have been the pretensions of men And women, called artists and sculptors. 96 THE CONFESSIONS FORBIDDEN FRUIT. A I MlE shadows of Adam and Eve still fall Among us, and they fill my heart and soul With appalling darkness, and a thousand Gloomy tragedies. Not a day goes by. But I feel their presence near. Not a day Goes by, but some Eve leads an Adam to The abyss. Not a day goes by, but some Paradise is rudely cast away. Long Ages, dark and terrible, have passed away Since Eden's fall, but still year after year. We ape the parts of our first parents, and The while we ape we ne'er neglect a chance To raise our voice against them, and to lay The blame of all our woe upon their Shoulders. We never pause — we never think that we Ourselves are Adams or are Eves. O, no ! Nor do we see the garden, though we Stumble o'er it in our daily walk of Life. OF JOHN ALLEN. 97 We are a race of fools, that wander Up and down, and wail within the shadows, But make no effort to escape at all. The stomachs of our passions must be fed At any cost. That being done, we walk Abroad with looks of fair contentment on Our faces, which are shams and nothing more. But these shams, horrible as they are, shall all Be shattered ; these gardens be all cast aside, And the shadows of Adam and Eve forever Lifted from your lives, if you will but Follow me. 98 THE CONFESSIONS MASKS AND FACES. COMETIMES when I go forth, and see how the People squander time at palaces of Pleasure, called theaters, my eyes fill up With tears, and I'm almost o'erwhelmed with grief. Time is the greatest treasure that we have. And the manner in which it's lightly cast Away, leads me to believe that these same People are Death-Proof, and that they are Destined to live on, through the countless Ages that will roll by. They go forth with Lightly beating hearts to the theaters. The doors are opened. Brilliantly shine The lights within. They enter, take their seats — The orchestra strikes up the music — the Curtain rises — the actors perform their Parts on the stage — the curtain drops — the Audience files out again into the Night, and so on, as the ages roll by, But what do we learn from it all? Nothing — But that we are a race of fools to OF JOHN ALLEN. 99 Squander golden moments, listening to That which we already know, and Witnessing the comic and tragic scenes Of our own life, or of that of a bygone Age. No new ideas are here advanced. Nothing new whatever for our Emancipation from the inexorable — The bitter drama of Life. Every NEW Theory here advanced, is as ancient As the cracked old face of the World. The Only difference 'tween it, and ideas Of the past, is, that it comes to us in A new garb. Every character assumed By the actor, is but a counterpart Of some character well-known to us, in Our own, or the distant ages. Everything Here is but a sham, and hides behind a Mask. You will observe too, that different Schools of acting here are represented, (Indeed quite a war of words and deeds, form The gulf between), and that the star of each Particular school, always holds the centre Of the stage, while his shadows — better known As disciples, form the background. Disciples ioo THE CONFESSIONS Of course, are not necessary, but then, they Look well, and help the star to shine with Greater lustre. This the star knows in his Private mind, but as wisdom is golden, He does not make it public, for he is Fearful lest his brilliance be diminished. Like actors and theaters, are the so-called Heroes of thought, and their schools. The heroes Are brilliant thieves of Time. Their schools — the Homes of lies. Had I my way, the heroes Of the present would be cast behind the Prison bars, and their schools abolished, And the names, and memories of those of the Past, would be forever blotted from the Page of History. Plato, Socrates, Buddha, Aristophanes, Rousseau, Voltaire, Kant, and a score of others, came upon The stage of the world, with the blare of Trumpets, and the drum-rolls of revolutions In thought ; their tongues and pens of eloquence Held the Nations spell-bound, but what did it Amount to? Words, words, words. NOTHING! What legacies have they left us? A few Books filled with choice phrases, with catch words, OF JOHN ALLEN. 101 And a host of polished shams ; a church or Two, which are of no use whatever — and That is all. Nothing was done for the life Of the present. Everything was for the Future, of which they knew nothing at all, Except that which they gathered from the Bible. They sought not to dispel the Dark shadow's of Life. They fell then. They Are falling now. Does not the murderer Live with us yet? Have we not adulterers, Keepers of brothels ; thieves ; liars ; bigamists ; Perjurers, and confidence men still in Our midst? The so-called heroes of thought Have come and gone. They have played their Parts on the stage. The curtain has dropped, And they have left naught but a memory For fools to revere, and wise men to waste Time over. The only true solution of Life's mystery, and the salvation of The world as well, lies in me, and in the Doctrines new, which I expound to you. O, Cast me not aside, nor reject the Doctrines that I place within your reach, For they are the planks, the drift-wood, that 102 THE CONFESSIONS Will carry you safely o'er the storm-tossed Sea, to the shores and glories of the New Life, and New Cities, of which you Have but a dim idea at present. OF JOHN ALLEN. IG3 WAITING. \ LL through the long, long night, I wept and moaned Upon the cruel breasts of the storm ; all through The long, long night, I was buffeted by Bitter winds, till I could bear no longer With them, till in my heart's deep anguish, I Was forced to cry aloud to the hunted Thing within my room — "a curse be on you And your ceaseless longings ! Have you not done With them ? Will you ne'er learn to wear the crown That wisdom brings? Will your hands forever Beckon to the phantoms — forever build Fair palaces of ice and idols grand Beneath the rain of fire the sun sends down? Will your feet forever wander up the Heights where avalanches hover? Peace, be Still I say. Away with these mad dreams ! They Are but feasts provided by the phantoms. They are not for you. There's absolutely Nothing for you there. There's absolutely I0 4 THE CONFESSIONS Nothing for me there. All is emptiness! All is hope deferred. All is love denied. Mayhap you fail to grasp the meaning of My words. Mayhap they are not clear enough To you. I will sum the whole thing up in Just three little words. ALL IS WAITING! Life Is the great drama of waiting — but of Death, what of death? Does the dramatic Climax come with it, when you or I, or Such as you and I dissolve the bands most Cruel that chained us both together in a Living hell, and then float out into the Great Beyond? O, no, disguise it as we May, it is but a climax that leads into Another sphere of waiting. It will be A change at least, and a change is something after All, but you will still be waiting. Your face Then will be as drawn and white, and tear-stained As now — 'you will be waiting. Come, you seem Not yet to comprehend. You are as OF JOHN ALLEN. Stupid as the proud cold world. Come, the first Faint streaks of dawn are in the San Francisco Skies. Let us go forth where you still think 'tis Possible to find the thing you seek. Shall I call our brother of the mantle dark To walk with us? The hunted thing with a Shudder drew the hood close 'round its head, and Murmured low, "we will go on without him." Along the road we slowly went, for there Are roads in San Francisco, but like our Search for Light — they lead nowhere. They are Waiting. We went on, and the hunted thing Kept sobbing all the way. Its every step Was but an added chord to the sad sweet Symphony of life. "It is useless well I know," said I, "to storm and wail within The shadows — you are waiting. Behold the Blue sky o'er us! How beautiful, how calm It is. So beautiful, so calm, that it Sends wild thrills of madness through my heart. To-day 'tis garbed in blue. To-morrow it May don its steel-gray robes, and as Time speeds ™5 106 THE CONFESSIONS On, lilacs will bloom in all its yellow Fields. At night a million gems will glitter In its robes, and crescent moons flash from its Heights. The clouds will come, the thunders roar, and Storms will rage, and rains will fall — -but all to No purpose. They will come and go, and come And go, as the long caravan of ages Pass swiftly o'er the sands — but the sky will Still be waiting. It makes madness whirl through Heart and brain, when I look up at it! It hurts ! It stings ! I long for it- to fall With the crash of earthquakes at my feet, so That my head can push itself up through the Floor of blue, and — and see the great beyond. But it will never fall. Be not afraid. It, like all the rest, is waiting. There was A close gath'ring of the hood, and then a deep Sob came from out its folds. 'Twas pitiful To see how the hunted one still grasped at Some faint ray of hope. We now stood on the Far Pacific shore, and heard the breakers Roar, and burst a silver show'r of melodies OF JOHN ALLEN. 10 y O'er all the jagged rocks below. Long — long We stood and gazed in silence o'er the sea, Till the silence sore oppressed me, and I Cried out, "can you not see the folly of It now, or are you as stupid as The proud cold world? Behold the sea, the calm, Majestic, beautiful sea. 'Tis calm now Because the bitter winds are silent ; Because the sea-drift is gently tossed Along its glassy bosom. 'Tis even Rippling with laughter. Yet I know this Self-same sea, is savage, merciless, Inhuman. 'Tis calm now because it is Not troubled. But times there are when rage fills All its bosom. When it bubbles o'er with Discontent ; when it bellows o'er the Mountain waves ; when 'tis lashed to fury by Old Neptune; when it plays the tyrant; when It hurls poor struggling ships across the Angry billows. This all this I know, and That its present calm is but a brutal Mask, and 'tis this that fills me with despair. I long for it to leap from out its bed, So that I can then read all the secrets of 108 THE CONFESSIONS Its depths. But fear not you poor, poor hunted Thing, it will not leave its bed — it will not Disclose its secrets. It is waiting. Dost Understand at last?" But my hunted soul Would not understand, and it moaning said:— "If there is no hope in sea or sky, there Must be some here in the land of palm and Pine." And it lifted up its tear-stained face To me, a perfect picture of all mis'ry. "And you still have hope?" I asked. "I still have Hope," my soul replied. "To hope," I softly Said, "is but to wait." "It is to wait," my Soul replied. "It is beautiful to wait," Continued I, "If the crown lies near at Hand; if you can find the gold down at the OF JOHN ALLUN. I09 Foot of every hill, but to wait and to Receive naught in return but sack-cloth, ashes, Thorns, and bitter winds, and the cold embrace Of death, is to make of life a tragedy Most terrible. So you still have hope. I Really do admire you. But pray, where think You, can all the ideals of your hope be Found? Not here, you poor pinched creature of an Earthly hell ; not here, where sun and moon, and Star shine down upon the orange and vine ; not Here, where feathered warblers fill the trees ; not Here, where snow-clad peaks look down on valley Plain, and stream — no, no, not here at all, for These, all these, like sky and sea, in all their Changing moods are waiting — waiting!" At this My hunted soul stole from my side, and crawled Across the sands. It moaned and wept. There was Scarce a spark of life in it, but still it Clung to hope, that like a sunbeam melted In its grasp. It was waiting. San Francisco, 1904. I io THE CONFESSIONS REFLECT. TjERE read of one who climbed the height, The glittering heights, and failed, as all Things fail upon the earth, and then Reflect, if 'twere not best to Follow me into the City New which I have prepared for you. THE CLIMBER. A WANDERING goatherd in the streets Of far-off Alpine village stood, And saw draw near a chariot Of gold and crystal wondrous fair. Upon it, lashing foam-white steeds To frantic speed, the rider stood, Uncaring for the multitude Of throngs, all ages and all trades And wavs of Life. OF JOHN ALLEN. Ill There sat within, On crimson velvet seat, a Maid Of grace and beauty marvellous ! All eyes were turned, all hands were raised Towards her now beseechingly, And voices wild for favors plead. Full many trampled were beneath The prancing hoof-beats of the steeds, Or crushed under the grinding wheels ! For sage divines ; the poor, the rich ; The young, the man of four score years ; The student, and professors wise — All madly rushed towards the Maid, With outstretched arms, to win her smiles ! But calmly sat she, with a face Impassive as those mountain peaks, With naught of recognition there, Tho' the way was wet with blood and tears. And strewn with myriad broken hearts ! The simple goatherd marvelled much To see this Maid so passing fair. Was she a Princess from afar? For the slaves of Toil a Joan of Arc? A Queen of Song to glad their hearts 1 1 2 THE CONFESSIONS And thrill? Or fairy with rich gifts? He turned him to a veteran gray All bent and worn and bullet-scarred And him bespoke: "Who is this Maid Who rules all hearts with queenly sway?" His withered hand the veteran laid Upon the goatherd's arm, and said With voice of treble, child-like tones : "This is the Maid for whom the world Doth sigh, and many perish still — Have perished since the world began ! Old, young, weak, strong, humble and great, Rich, sinner, priest, and potentate, The fool, the sage her votaries are ! Happy, yet wretched is his life Who basks within her witching smiles, And on her passionate kisses feeds ! But once a year this way she comes Bestowing favors on the few !" E'en as he spake the chariot stopped. The Maid alighted, and the throng Fell back in awe — made opening wide OF JOHN ALLEN. n Of avenue, thro' which she passed. Up to the startled goatherd she All smilingly, came, and straightway threw Her arms ahout his sun-bronzed neck, And pressed upon his trembling lips Her burning kisses! Mad with joy, He begged her never to depart, But evermore his star to be Amid the storms and ills of Life! She whispered something to him then, And, entering her chariot swift, Sped on her way, amid the sighs Of throngs of disappointed hearts ! Envied by all, the goatherd stood And heard the shouts of bitter rage That 'round him beat. "To think," they cried, "That she hath showered favors on This ragged toiler of the hills, While many are far worthier here !" But he heeded not the furious speech, And taking up his daily task, With hope renewed, he wandered on. 1 14 THE CONFESSIONS The birds to him sang carols sweet ; And flowers nodded on his path. Scattering fragrance o'er his way. Vet in the mids of his delight A shadow fell athwart his heart ! Oft in his toil he paused to brush The sweat that gathered from his brow — A string of sparkling, silver beads — For he was musing of the one Who sat within the chariot fair — Her eyes, like brilliant stolen stars Of Paradise ! He felt again Her maddened kisses thrill his blood With fires of Love; those downy arms — Soft pillows of the Seraphim ! Would that he might once more repose Upon her bosom, and expire ! Then would he to his task repair, While the hours crept by with feet of lead ! Anon he turned imploring eyes To peaks against the steel blue dome, That towered like vast, cathedral walls ; Like monuments of Gods of old ! Or like the fangs, in jagged row, OF JOHN ALLEN. Of fabled monsters of the Past ! Or thoughts of Genius soaring high ! Or giants garbed in silver robes With fringes of the eternal snow ! Wild torrents thundered deep below With eloquence that fiercely poured Thro' tunnels of the mountain's heart. With gathered fury, leashed, in view Crouched avalanches everywhere — White dragons of fair Switzerland ! Great lakes that mirrored Alpine skies And all their stars of sparking rays — The eyes of Angels ! Swift cascades Adown the craggy steps out-leapt, With silvery feet, and dark green pines Seemed armor-clad for battle dire With ice-armed legions everywhere ! Deep glaciers gleamed in every pass ! And silver-arrowed rivers sped Upon their flight ! Like emerald wreathes The valleys twined around the scene, And sounds of tinkling bells were heard 115 1 1 6 THE CONFESSIONS Floating on pinions of the air ! The chamois flashed across the sea ; And music of the huntsman's horn Came to the ear of the shepherd lone Tending his flock of bleating sheep ; While the last rays of the dying sun Tinted the floating clouds with lights Of purple, rose and amber gold. The land of Freedom — Switzerland — Unrolled its beauty to his eyes ! Long gazed he on the marvellous realm. These peaks seemed mighty problems high Upon the varied paths of Life, And beyond them he would, searching, find The secret haunts of fair Romance ! Mayhap, the Chariot-Maid was there ! Would he attempt the heights to scale? Perchance when he had bravely won A foothold on their arduous side — Conquered each obstacle, and reached The highest peak, might he not find An icy wilderness — no more — Instead of trace of her he loved? * * * OF JOHN ALLEN. 117 The sun poured down its store of gold ; It was a day of Alpine calm And beauty. To his view there came The shadow of a human form. The stranger paused; upon his brow Were waving locks of iron-gray That fell on shoulders broadly made ; His lips were pale, and firm compressed ; His raven-black, and piercing eyes Peered from their bushy eye-brows On the goatherd who stood wondering nigh. The iron hand of Time had left Its marks upon the stranger's face, Yet fire still blazed within those eyes, As if of will unconquerable ! * * * ''Still dreaming, lad," he softly said, "Of the world afar and its delights, Of dazzling charms of one sweet maid? Why should you climb? Nigh all the world Is with you in your airy task ! Yours are but dreams, fair, idle dreams, That melt, like rainbows in the sky! When man meets me real Life begins, 1 1 8 THE CONFESSIONS For I have crossed the giddy heights, And knowledge have of her you love ! I knew your secret — read your heart — From the first moment that we met ! I know where you may find the Maid If heart of yours is strong as steel! I'll point the way that you must take — I am the traveller of roads, And know the best and surest paths. Yet Pilgrims tremble when I'm near! I build the gorges, giant-mouthed, The dizzy precipices vast That must be crossed ere one can gain The glowing wreathlet of Success ! I plant the trees — the sharp-teethed rocks On paths that otherwise were smooth. Who conquers these his Life shall be One dazzling dream of Fairyland ! The road that leads to the palace bright Of the Maid you love is crowned with peaks That pierce the realms of vapid clouds Where Death doth lurk in every step ! Dare you attempt? If you succeed, The Maid you love you then shall wed ! OF JOHN ALLEN. 1 19 But should you fail, you must return To Mother Earth — to nourish her — In some new form of life to rise !" The stranger spoke and disappeared. * # * "Be it so then !" the goatherd cried, "I'll follow on the toilsome trail ! I'll find the Maid I madly love !" But in his brain what thoughts arose? The Past — its hours of mystery — The Future and its roseate Hopes — The Present and its trials grim. But mused he : "Thus are heroes made ! When here the battle's roar had ceased, And the footsteps of the Legions vast Of bold imperious Caesar died Away from grand Helvetia old, At Ruth three from the Cantons met And swore beneath these Alpine skies To die in their dear Land's defence ! To burst the chains of Tyranny ! To drive the power of Austria Hence, like the leaves before the blast ! These heroes were ! Their names outshine 120 THE CONFESSIONS Like brilliant stars of Hope and Faith To the weary Pilgrims of the earth !" All day he strode still on ; but now, With quickened pace, his heart was thrilled With sacred fire. Lake Constance shone Before his sight ; the moonbeams fell, In dreamy silver, o'er its breast! He bent to hear while whispering waves Told of the mighty days of old When forests which its strand adorned Were peopled with the startled stag — Were ringing with the Roman shouts ! But now his thoughts were not of these. In reverie, far-off was he! At Schaffhausen that quaint old town, Set in the Twentieth Century's lap, Of oriel windows, gables gray, No rock nor barrier crossed his path. But, to the South, the glittering towers Of rugged mountains lifted high. There lay the pathway to his goal — There dwelt the Angel of his dreams ! OF JOHN ALLEX. 121 ( Mi ward! While clouds, like argent Isles, Lay in the upper deep of blue. Lake Wallenstadt slumbered within Its rocky bed. Sudden he heard The roar of conflict near at hand ; And at the advancing host of Knights A handful of brave shepherds hurled Down giant rocks ! For hours the strife Raged on. Like thunderbolts swift crashed Huge boulders hurling instant death ! Those shepherds' valor conquered here ! And Knights of Gold were vanquished by The muscles of the sons of Toil ! Still on he went, and down the vale He saw an armored knight, with sword Poised o'er a shepherd at his feet. The goatherd rushed upon him there With well aimed blow of oaken club And dashed the knight to gory death ! He knelt to dress the shepherd's wounds, Who cursed him that he killed the knight, For said he : "Soon my soul would be 122 THE CONFESSIONS Within the Palace fair of Fame !" Still, as he dressed the shepherd's wounds, He murmured: "Will this be my Fate?" 'Twas but a vision of the Past ! Within the vale of Engadine lie stood, where mountain giants shone In regal glory ! Rivers flashed Like steel swords, thro' the leafy trees. The sun stood with its feet of gold Upon the peaks, and cascades leapt, And sang their roundelays of joy! He peered adown amid the trees Where mountains mirrored rugged heads Upon Lake Maggiore's breast. Where bright blue skies forever hang O'er dreamy Lake Lugano while The sun-kissed breath of Italy Sweeps o'er its bosom. Then he turned, His heart with gloomy sadness bowed, For seemed he lost, as in a maze ! Oh, for one star from out the Heaven OF JOHN ALLEN. Of Thought to guide him to the shrine Of yonder Goddess of his heart ! On ! On ! with face set to the North He sped, and crossed a rugged hill ; Where the women, strangely beautiful, Beckoned to him, by Zurich's Lake And sought with siren voices to woo Him to their arms ! With fond delight He gazed upon enchanting charms, And w T illed to throw him at their feet, Forever there in bliss to be! But, hark ! the roar of battle rolled, 'Mid the roads of winds invisible, Rushing in madness to his ears ! It called him to be present there ! It stirred his heart, and urged him on To join the struggle, and he fled, Waving the women his adieu ! V !§S ^i« At Sempach, in the narrow pass, The tide of battle halted. Here The heroic Swiss had humbled now 123 I24 THE CONFESSIONS The flower of Austria's chivalry. Like tigers watched they, either foe, Gathering muscles for the fray — Muscles of steel and adamant! To Death or triumph now to haste. The Swiss crouched in the narrow pass, Like statues of Defiance ! The Austrians came, Like massive waves ! 'Twas there, and then A peasant hero boldly stood Within the awful jaws of Death! Then rushed he forward, gathering Within his breast the awful spears, And perished at the foeman's feet ; Yet shook their lines, slow-wavering, Until they all were put to flight ! Oh, glorious example thine, Brave Arnold Von Winkelreid ! As the sun shone o'er this battlefield The goatherd saw the Maid so fair — Heart of his heart ! She placed a wreath ( )n Unter Walden's hero's brow ! OF JOHN ALLEN. 125 And uttering a cry of joy He rushed to meet her ; but she fled ! "At last!" cried he, "the road I see! Foot-sore and weary tho' I plod, I near the goal of heart's desire!" Still toiling on, a maid he met Enveloped in a robe of charms. She was indeed a vision bright ! She sang rare songs of beauty sweet, With voice that thrilled, like magic, thro' His soul. His heart was soon ensnared In the web of melody she wove ! "Madman!" she cried, "no further go! Here ever pause 'mid glittering joys, Tempt Fate no more ! Your mission vain Is known to me. Ambition's road Is strewn with bleeding, broken hearts ! Tho' thousands perish, still they come ! Ah, few indeed who reach the goal ! Fleeting the smiles of her you seek, Elusive as the lightning's flash ! And even if you do succeed And reach her palace — even then The struggle is but just begun — I2 6 THE CONEESSIONS 'Tis vain to hold your footing" there ! Turn, turn aside, nor sap your strength ! The brilliant mirror of your dreams I'll shatter. Come, and follow me! I'll lead you to a haunt among The crystal hills, where snow-white doves And robins coo and warble sweet The happy songs of radiant dreams ! On balmy nights we two can sit On a rustic bench, by a silvery brook, And drink in the music of dear Love ! Where never wordling's sigh can come. From gardens of delight I'll cull The brightest flowers for you alone !" "Oh! say no more!" the goatherd cried, "Your siren darts fall pointless here. I will go on, Ambition calls ; Tho' avalanches bar my way I will go on ! The flowers of Love And Beauty which you offer me Will fade before the morrow's sun ! Already they in throes of Death ! New could I wear them on my breast, Where Life Throbs warm and fast? OF JOHN ALLEN. 127 'Tvvere best To leave them in the garden fair With their companions ; sacred they Even as our lives sacred are !" He turned ; his journey to resume ; The battle won, renewed was he In strength and vigor of the heart. Where the glorious Staubbach tumbles down O'er wildest crags, in silvery showers, All fringed with people, green and gold, Where liquid, blazing diamonds gleam, All bruised and torn he wandered on He stretched his trembling, bleeding hands And plucked a brilliant gem from out St. Gothard's crown, at peril dear Of his whole life ! The first of gems That he had found since Ije set out! Oh, what a treasure 'twas to him ! For hours he gazed and gloated there On the seraphic fires of its soul ! He heard its melodious murmuring: "Oh, Paradise and all its joys Are dwelling here within this gem!" The lordly Rhine was at his feet, I 2 8 THE CONFESSIONS And following, like fiery youth. It rushed by huts and hamlets, till 'Tvvas lost among the city's walls. Leaving him with his reveries. * * * lie saw armed Knights of Tyranny, Who bowed the hearts of men to dust ! And soon they melted far away, Like dew before the morning sun. For a terrific storm arose. And when it ceased, the sunshine burst Thro' the roof of clouds, a waterfall Of gold ; and lo ! brave William Tell Stood o'er the dying Gessler there And Liberty was glorified, And Tyranny was dashed to earth ! :;: :|: $ And still the goatherd wandered on, V\ iili bleeding feet and weary heart. Where the silver crowned Alps uprose. By emerald pastures, countless flocks, •\nd sun-kissed landscapes 'neath the blue. Me stopped to rest beside Lausanne Where walked the Kings of earth, and where OF JOHN ALLEN. 129 Lived monarchs of the world of Thought — Voltaire and Gibbon and Rousseau ! He struggled by the mighty Rhone That like an arrow rushes thro' This wonderland of Nature's realm, Past glaciers and mountains huge, Past great St. Bernard, where the hosts Of grand Napoleon looked down ! Mont Blanc, the goatherd gazed upon, Its glittering helmet towering high Above its army of giants near ! "So will I tower!" the climber cried, "Above the burdens that I bear!" Bleeding and bruised, still on and on He struggled o'er the toilsome path, And then he saw hundreds of skulls About him strewn, and from a cave, A giant came who bore a shield. There was one path which onward led. Beside the giant's horrid den, Towards the enemy he came No thought of fear in his brave soul. The giant's name was Ignorance ; A gem flashed on his mighty breast. 130 THE CONFESSIONS The goatherd willed it to possess This gem at any cost ! His sword He drew as he advanced. The fight For hours raged with furious might. But 'neath the giant's cruel blows The goatherd, fainting, gasping, fell ! * ■',■■ * The earth, the mountains and the sky All whirling seemed ; the torrents roared Within his ears ! He looked up then And saw the soft sky bending o'er; While stood the giant near his den. By the fallen sat a blue-eyed maid With a winning smile and wooing voice. Who pleaded his sad wounds to dress. "No!" cried he, "This would comfort bring, And sweet repose; but I was born For trials and for battle-strife !" Slowly he rose unto his feet, With sword in hand. The maiden turned Aside and wept. The giant quick The fight renewed with fury dire ; OF JOHN ALLEN. But soon the unequal combat ends ; The strength of Desperation drove The goatherd's sword within the heart Of that fell monster to the hilt, And the goatherd tore the precious gem From the gory, cleft and quivering breast ! sfc * * "At last ! At last !" the goatherd cried, "I am upon the right road now !" Emerging from his shelter, he Exposed was to the golden glare Of sunlight, and grew faint and wan. Two maids of beauty came to him. "Pilgrim," they said, "your days are few, For Time, the sculptor, has upon Your brow carved wrinkles. You are old, Your hair is white, your eyes are dimmed, And worn and bent, you cannot live In this fierce light that on you shines! Unto the gardens fair of Peace, Pleasure and Comfort come with us ! Enjoy the hours that yet remain." He yielded, too weak to resist ; And slowly they led him away. 131 132 THE CONFESSIONS Then thro' the garden's open gates He saw the marble fountains play. With many tinted waters rich. Couches of velvet and of gold On which the forms of maids reclined Were near ; sweet music stole upon The perfumed air ; rare flowers bloomed Intoxicating with their scent. "Surely," said he, " 'tis Paradise! Here will I rest in happiness Forevermore !" But as he paused, About to enter this domain, A feeling strange rushed thro' his heart, The counterpart of what he felt When kissed by his fair Chariot-Maid ! The fires of courage and of strength That feeling strange again renewed. With a wild cry he cast aside The lovely sylphs, and turned away. Toiling still up the mountain's side ! Below him echoed far and wide The terror-stricken cry that rose : OF JOHN ALLEN. "No further, weary Pilgrim go ! Beware the crashing avalanche!" At last his feet had gained the top Of highest mountains, and he paused To rest, for he was sore opprest. Alas ! the air was hard to breathe, And fiercest vultures hovered 'round ! So hot the glare of noonday sun He longed to be in pastures mild Among the flock he dearly loved ! As he turned to view the scene around A vision burst upon his sight. To him it looked a picture bright Torn from the walls of Eden's sphere ! A palace built of sapphires rare And rubies — 'twas the dome of Fame ! "At last ! at last !" he wildly cried, "The goal is near for which I've toiled ! Within the arms of her I love, Yes, madly love, I soon shall rest !" Sweet, silver bells rang from the towers, And long processions sought its doors. As he approached, chains rattled loud ; 133 I3 4 THE CONFESSIONS The swinging draw-bridge lifted was, The Warder of the towers cried out; "Too late! the Maid you seek is Fame! She's wedded to a friend of yours — The butcher's son of far-off Bern !" :|: $ * The goatherd staggered to a rest On rustic bench. His breath and blood Seemed leaving him at this fell blow ! "The butcher's son," he laughed aloud, "That good-for-nothing, drunken elf! The scorn and jeer of all the town !" Thus he bemoaned his hapless lot, His breath and soul melting away. :Jc :j: $ The Warder spoke: "Some travelers find The journey easy, while some toil And in a Life ne'er reach their goal ! Fame is as fickle as the flash Of lightning, tho' it shines on all It strikes but few, and those few die In the golden tangles of its web ! Far better 'tis to lowly live, Like humble beasts, in pastures green, OF JOHN ALLEN. 135 Than be a strong man seeking Fame ! For when the eyelids of the day Are closed, the beasts to slumber go, And have no dreams till day arise. What care they for the busy world? Better to be like these than sigh For bubbles of the Goddess Fame ! Frail as fair lies on Beauty's lips ! Where is thy gain ? Return ! Return ! Oh, stranger, downcast, turn thy steps ! Go! be a beacon 'mid the dark For Folly to take warning by !" The goatherd sank in mute despair, Then plunged him from the mountain's side ! A poor, dwarfed fir-tree stayed his fall, And held him in its rugged arms. For hours he lay in its embrace, Then, strength returned, he started up The mountain's path defiantly, Determined not to know defeat! * * * Hark! what mighty sound was heard? A roar, like thunder, shook the air! Oh, horror ! it was the avalanche 136 THE CONFESSIONS The white dragon of Switzerland ! Adown the mountain's side it rushed. While the air was filled with broken trees, And wayside cabins, and huge rocks. Ah! what its fury could withstand? No army would dare cross its path ! Down, down, it came, and to his death It hurled the goatherd in its icy arms ! While far above the vulture sailed In glee ; and a million tiny suns Were gleaming in the Alpine sky ! OF JOHN ALLEN. 137 GRATITUDE. 9 A I HVAS Sunday. A beautiful day of calm And sunshine. Mother and I had just Returned from mass. I sat down to read the Chicago-American while she prepared The breakfast. From time to time as I looked out The window, I saw men, women, and children Passing up and down the street ; some well dressed, Others in rags, and all seemingly in Happy frame of mind. After breakfast I Again sat by the window, and listened To the merry shouts of children at their Play, and the occasional barking of A dog. A cloud passed before the face of The sun — a fleecy handkerchief to wipe The gold sweat from its brow. The dust in the Streets arose like smoke from a fire. Papers 138 THE CONFESSIONS On the sidewalk, leapt, and danced, and jumped Along; in the hands of the wind. Dull-gray Clouds o'erspread the bright blue skies. Low growls Of thunder were heard, smothering the rage Of the storm, which soon would burst upon the Trembling earth. Down came the rain in sheets and Spears of silver. It pattered on the Window-panes, and soon they were weeping like The clouds. Suddenly the thunder wildly Roared and rushed to the doors where the sun goes Down ; the lightning flashed — the angry eyes of The storm, and the thirsty earth, sidewalks, and Roofs were drinking their fill. My heart and brain Were like the storm. I longed to go forth, and Fiercely fight for the liberty of all My people. My heart bleeds for the misery Of all crawling flesh, that answers to the Names of John, Jim, Ed, Frank, Tom, May, Nell, Flo, And so on. I long to give them the freedom Of which they little dream at present. OF JOHN ALLEN. 1 39 My Soul, heart, and mind to-day, float from their Prison. I restrain them not, for that would Be to strangle poetry — and I am a Poet — a strong poet of Democracy ! I stand 'neath the frown of the Yratanitza Mountains. Close by in a Hut, lives a mother and her son. He is The sunshine of her heart. With eyes of care She watches every step he takes ; with hands Of love his food and clothing she provides, Saying, "some day he'll be a man, and the Staff of life in my old age." From the Window she can see the mountains stretch Away upon the bosom of her beloved Servia. Like waves upon the restless Sea they seem, and in her heart she feels that They remind her of the sharp and bitter Heights she climbed, along the stormy road of Life. "These," she sternly says, "must never stand Upon the paths my son will travel." 1 4 THE CONFESSIONS The Wind swept across the bosom of the Winding Morava. Its skirts rustled through The fields of wheat and rice. These she loved, for Were they not a part of her own country? The years passed by — those merciless steps of Time, and her son grew up to man's estate. The hour for parting was at hand. She called Him to her side. There surely was a flood Of tears within her voice, that never reached Her eyes, when she said : — "tq-day my son we Part for many a weary year. Our paths Lie far apart. For you, the fierce long struggle In the world for gold and fame. For me, the Lonely hours at home, that shall only be Brightened, when you write to me. In the battle On the road of life — never once shrink back! Pass through its fires of hell to gain the prize. Remember ! you are a Servian ! And Servians are giants of strength. Their hearts are Brave. They are a nation of unsung poets, And prize their liberty, far more than gems Of glory. Remember ! — they once held back The Grecian legions, and struck the Turkish OF JOHN ALLEN. 141 Power a fatal blow. If your heart asks Further proof of their great valor — gaze at Belgrade's ruined walls and palisades that Oft withstood the bitter siege and shocks of War, and then pass on with conquering feet. And should you, by some mishap, fall in the Fight — remember this home, and these arms will Receive you with a welcome. Good-bye, my Boy ! God bless You !" The years passed by with wings Of sorrow, for a letter never reached her From her boy. But with brave heart, she still hoped On. Surely he'd some day think of her who Nursed, and fed, and clothed him in helpless Childhood, and he'd send a letter full of Love for her poor aching heart, and wherewith To purchase comfort in the fierce, and stormy Days of old age. But, alas ! that day never Dawned for her ! Poverty assailed her with Success, and the angel of sickness spread Itself throughout the canals and rivers Of her body. The last hard blow fell on Her tottering form — she was driven from the 14- THE CONFESSIONS Shelter of her home, and it was sold for Robberous taxes. She staggered along The road, and her every step was filled with Pain and bitterness. She had no place now To rest her weary head, and weakness was Weighing down upon her like a load of stones. To the right there towered a mountain high Above the floor of clouds. She tottered on, And cast herself down at its feet. 'Twas sweet To lie where nature dwelt in beauty. It Was rest. She never saw her boy again. An old man passing, recognized her. He Had known her for a score of years. He tried To rouse her, but she was in a deep sleep. It was the last sleep. Her circumstances Were well known to him. Said he : — "and to think That far off in Belgrade, her son lives with The rich and grand! His servants number forty. His horses are the finest in the land. Beauty's eyes look into his. Beauty's smiles Are cast upon him. Rare old wines are in His cellars, and his marble palace is The wonder of the world." OF JOHN ALLEN. 143 The rain is still Pattering on the window-panes. But w r e Left off here. Let the fight begin again ! 144 THE CONFESSIONS THE GIFTS OF LIFE. [ AWOKE one morn in April, from wild Dreams of the night, only to be ushered Into the drama of day dreams that have Been with me since I was a child. "Come," said They, "the voice of day is loudly calling; The brown-clad sparrows sweetly chirping ; and the Factory whistles shrilly blowing. Take up The burden of your journey where you laid It down last night. You are the strength of all Our realms. Record for us. Walk forth." The Invitation I little heeded, for I was Indeed a victim of their wiles each day. And 'twas superfluous to remind me Of it. I sat down to the breakfast Mother Had prepared for me — three nice fresh eggs boiled Soft, a slice or two of bread, and one of OP JOHN ALLEN. 145 Raisin cake, a saucer of strawberry Jam, and a cup of coffee. After this, And a short prayer of thanksgiving, I bade Good-bye to Mother, and began the Mechanical journey of the day. As I went up the street, the groceryman Outside his store, with morning paper in Hand, pleasantly nodded to me; a few Friends near the gloomy foundry, bade me a Cheerful "good morning." Further up, "Dewey" Met me, not the famous old sea-dog, but A white and brown spotted animal, that Rarely failed to greet me every morning, With a friendly wag of his sharp-pointed Tail, and an open, unflinching look, from His honest, dark-brow T n eyes. Would that all men Could look me in the eyes like this intelligent Animal, and throw aside the masks they Wear. After patting his smooth brown head, I Boarded the car, and soon arrived at my Place of work! 146 THE CONFESSIONS The day began. The same walking, Smiling flesh around me ! Back again to The dusty shelves and counters ! Back again To the weary mechanical day ! Back Again to the day dreams ! Back again to My eternal woe ! But here my hands perform Mechanical work, while my mind in fancy Leads me far away. My cherished cities! My strong and beautiful lovers ! The hopes That bloomed within my heart's deep center, when But a boy, to rise a Saviour of my People, country, and the world, in legions Came before me, and gazing afar, I Saw beneath Roumanians violet skies — A man among the mottled kine upon the Plains — one of the songs — sad though it be — That fills the harmony of life with Wildest beauty. Seventy years had placed Their silvery crown upon his head, and left Their furrows on his brow. Life had dealt with Him severely. Its terrible scars were on His heart. He was too feeble now to labor. OF JOHN ALLEN. 147 To-day was his last upon the plains. On The morrow he would be adrift upon The merciless sea of the world. From Childhood up, his lot was ever in the Damnable fields of privation, and of Poverty. The only days of song and Sunshine he had known, were those in which his Wife was fond and true to him. But alas ! This happiness was brief, and a shadow Fell across his path. A rich Armenian On his way to Bukharest, stopped at his Happy home for the night, and in the morn When he set out upon his journey, with Him went his beautiful wife. Poverty Had soured her love and soul. The glitter of Wealth dazzled her, and she gladly left all Poverty behind to revel in its glories. I do not condemn the step she took. The Imprisoned soul longs for its freedom. The Starved body requires nourishment. Tears coursed Down his cheeks — bitter tears, as with his little Pack, he went forth aimlessly begging for Employment. His brain was stunned, his face 148 THE CONFESSIONS Was calm, but within his heart and soul, there Raged the fiercest fires of hell. For years he Labored on the farms as best he could, and Gathered in some gold to sustain him in The evening of his life. He knew the hour Would come when all his muscles would shrink up, The joints become stiff, and he be left by The wayside to die, if he had no money In his purse. So he carefully saved, and Took special pleasure in counting it over Day by day. But one morn when he unlocked The secret drawer to count the gold, he found Alas ! that it was gone. Some restless Spirit had taken the staff of his Tottering days, and that same hour his master Rudely turned him adrift upon the world. Without a murmur for the moment he Staggered up the road, caring little where His aching feet would lead. He then cried Aloud : "O ! Roumania ! my country ! Behold me, hopeless, dying, desolate OF JOHN ALLEX. Upon thy breast! In youth I walked along The winding Pruth and watched the Gipsies Wandering o'er thy bosom. I loved thy Pleasant plains ; the sturdy forests that stood Upon thy mountains ; the romance that crowned Thy valleys, and the opals in the wild Carpathians. I labored too, within thy Fields to make thee great, and is this the Reward that thou dost give in my declining Hours." The night was dark, and the winds were Low. He wandered on to where the beautiful Danube flows. There is a strange light in his Eyes. All the past scenes of his life rush Swiftly o'er the halls of his distracted Brain. Has he a wife? A mother? A sister? Brother? Gold? What links him to the earth? With a smile on his old withered face, he Walks swiftly off the banks into the river. It was shallow so far, but bravely he Walked on. Little by little, the waters Closed in upon him. They reached his shoulders- 149 1 50 THE CONFESSIONS His neck — his mouth — and then — he disappeared Beneath the troubled surface. The moon burst Through the clouds, and sadly it looked Down upon the scene. A night bird shrieked a Requiem o'er the waves, then silence reigned Supreme. And that was all. OF JOHN ALLEN. 151 A PROMISE. lVVTV HEART is a fountain of sighs, but To-day 'twas filled with a sad-tinged longing, As on Lake Michigan's sandy shores I Walked — a longing to link the scattered chords Of life in one grand harmony; to tear The masks from every face, and to unfold To them the glories, and unrivalled paths To the New City of Life, Love, and Democracy. My children were all around Ale. The sun-tanned fisherman with his rods And net ; the dreamy-eyed, shabby-clad lounger ; The eager joy-faced boys, casting pebbles In the lake ; the dark-skinned sons of Africa ; The weather-beaten driver on his seat, His red moustache drooping o'er the stem of his Brown-burned old clay pipe : the old man in the Old clothes, with an old silk hat, old, so old That it surelv saw service in the davs 1 52 THE CONFESSIONS Of gold, the days of forty-nine, and the Mild faced mother with her little girl Attired in blue. How I longed to give them The freedom they little dreamt of. That was The thought that haunted me. The day was mild. A slight gauzy canopy of mist, o'erhung The rippling bosom of the lake, which had Changed its light-blue robes, for those of deepest Violet ; the sea-gulls, like flakes of silver, Flashed o'er its surface ; afar where the walls Of Heaven meet the floor of the lake, there Hung a narrow band of pearly clouds ; they Were motionless, and charmed the eyes of all Around me. What magnetic force must be Concealed within their depths! How damnably Desolate seems this Life to me ! Without That one grand thought, that one wild dream, to burst The chains that bind my people, I would not 153 OF JOHN ALLEN. Now be dragging my flesh along the bitter Road of thorns ! I push aside the shrouds of Distance. Long vistas appear. I see thee Montenegro, an atom on the cracked Old face of Europe. By special privilege, I walk along thy mountainous and Rugged breast to the shores of Scutari's lovely lake. Rich fields of corn Arise on every side like gems of beauty. Sheep and goats adorn thy peaceful hill-sides. The giant that stood for years before thee, and Darkened all thy sunny skies with tyranny, Now has fallen before the swords of Heroism. Still thou art not free. Another Giant more terrible, now stands before thy Path. Life with thee is yet a weary Struggle. Like all of us, thou art robbed Of that which should be thine. Come, Montenegro ! Arise ! and strike the blow ! Come to me in All thy woes ! Lay thy head upon my broad And democratic bosom, e'en though Tis filled with a damned desolation, and 154 THE CONFESSIONS There pour out the oceans of thy dread Woe, for there, and there alone shalt thou learn Of the glories of the New City, and the New love ! The low voice of the red tug near The shore, called me back from the land of Dreams, and I stood once more before the lake. The day was dying in its shrouds of gold, And I, wishing to record some special Thoughts, sadly bade farewell to the inspirer Of my muse, and slowly wended my way Homeward ! OF JOHN ALLEN. 155 SUCCESS. X-TARK! how the wild winds howl, and sing their songs Through all the doors and chimneys ! Woo-00-00 ! Pile more logs on the fire ; sit closer all, A story I would tell. Old George Murro Was a doctor all his life ; had studied Medicine for years — the medicine — the Science of life. Some shield of might would he Invent to save life, to snatch it from the Marble jaws of death. Why should the body Die ? Why be buried in the earth ? Why not Live forever ! This was his life-long song, His life-long study. Afar 'neath Grecian skies of blue, in the isles of sun And sea, where Nature carved her fringe of gulfs, And inlets 'round the coast, he sadly roamed 156 THE CONFESSIONS Deep buried in the bosom of his studies. He resolved to be the Saviour of his Race, and all the world as well. That was The dream that led him up the glitt'ring Stairs of hope. "O Greece ! my country !" he Exclaimed, "for thee, and all thy sisters too, Do I now renounce the gilded pleasures Of the world. From this hour on they shall live Without me, for they remind me so much Of the masks of death. Beautiful Hellas Of old ! My eyes sweep o'er thy breast, where First I learned Life's lessons, 'mid scenes that charmed The eye and soul. I see again the caverns Wild, and grottoes wide, deep cut into the Mountain sides, and all the wide-spread plains that Lead along the seashore. Rich sweet grapes Adorn thy hills ; olives give thee light and Food ; fruits of gold, the lemon and the orange Delight the eye, and ruins of the magic Past lie scattered all around. The giant crests Of the Pindus Mountains, rise clear to view — They that held me spell-bound when a boy, and Sweetest memories lead me once again Along the banks of the Rhoupia River. OF JOHN ALLEN. 1 57 In a vision I can see the brave Pelasgi fade away from their walled-towns. Before the Hellenes march of conquest ; Athens rising up to mountain heights of power, And glory, guided by the matchless hand Of Pericles ; brave heroes tumbling from Their thrones of fame, into oblivion's realm, Before the mighty deeds of Hercules, And Theseus, and Solon dragging Down red-handed tyranny from ev'ry Seat. These scenes pass swift as an eagle's flight Before my eyes, mere flashes of the past, But still I thirst for more. Where, O where is Cadmus, he who brought the art of arts Into my country ; where Paris who stormed Helen's heart, and tumbled Troy in the Dust ; where Lycurgus, he whose laws made Sparta great — he who gave his country giants of Strength, with muscles trained and fine as steel? Where The heroes of famed Marathon, where Liberty arose amid the wreck of Persian hopes and hosts ; where Sappho's fires of Genius that once shown bright from Lesbos, and 158 THE CONFESSIONS The sea-kissed isles ? Gone ! — all gone unto The silent homes of death ! Alas ! that all Should walk this bitter road ! Tis this that fills My heart with woe — 'tis this that spurs me on To seek a saving balm for Life!" Throughout The lonely vigils of the night, when half The world was wrapped in slumber sweet, He sat pouring o'er the lore of all the ancient Doctors of the past. Years flew by — those years Of fruitless study. Each day saw a new Thought bud to ripen on the morrow, and With the setting sun die out. At last one Night when the icy breath of Winter Swept o'er Ionia's sea, and howled throughout His dwelling, he arose with a shout of Triumph on his lips! His eyes blazed with the Fires within his soul, as he drank a glass Of purple liquid, and then wildly cried: — ' "lis found at last! the world and Greece in all Their beauty and their power, now like serfs lie At m\ feet ! The hoarded gold of ages, OF JOHN ALLEN. 159 And undying fame are mine ! Death has no terrors now for Me ! I defy it ! Behold the talisman Here in my hand I" These, his last words. When his Mother came, he sat there dead. l6o THE CONFESSIONS MY DESOLATE HEART. ""F WAS May. Ashy and leaden skies frowned down on me ; A cold penetrating north wind was blowing. Whe-ee-eow ! it whistled — the awnings flapping In the power of its breath, and the dust rising in Dull brown clouds before it. Men and women Clad in their winter coats and jackets sought Further shelter from the cold by burying their Chins snugly in the depths of their turned-up Collars. As they jostled past me on the yellow Stone pavement, with heads bent down and Bodies tipped far over, they appeared like little Trees in the woodlands bowing before the Heavy billows of the wind. I saw them all, but They appeared not to notice me. I shall never Forget them, for their pictures and the scenes They formed, are deeply photographed upon The mirrors of my desolate heart. Never did The desolation therein feel more damnable, Terrible and sad-tinged, than on this cold, OF JOHN ALLEN. 161 Cheerless morn when I gazed upon my People, the flowers in the garden of my Study, as they walked in the shadows of the Sky-kissing palaces of trade, amusement And vice. These stand on the bosom of Chicago, the bride of the lakes, but alas ! they Are not the buildings of my choice; They fill not my hungry heart with gems Of beauty ; they have too much the odor Of the prison, the house of misery, the palace Of shame. Leaving them far behind, I sauntered down the Winding road to the lake. The lines left by Wagon-wheels, and the impressions of horses' hoofs Were on the black surface, and all along on Both sides of the road, scattered in wild Confusion, were dull- white jagged rocks And red-cheeked bricks. As I walked on I saw the men filling in the lake with showers Of dirt and mud, from their old box-wagons And immediately I became an interested Spectator. Whatever my children do is always Interesting to me. Little did they dream 1 62 THE CONFESSIONS That I stood by and watched them, poor Slaves that they are ; little did they think That I was to be their future liberator — I, the humble, misunderstood looker-on. One by one they threw their shovels in the Wagons and drove off for more loads, And I turned my eyes to the beautiful Sobbing sea. Its green silken garments Trimmed with silvery spray, rustled and Flapped on the broken sandy shore And seemed to tell me tales of far away Lands and people. Intently I listened And for my pains, was repaid a Thousand-fold. A mighty mother arose before my startled Eyes and placed her right hand upon my Shoulder. How I shuddered beneath the touch ! She laid her aching head upon my Bosom, the bulwarks of my desolate heart, And sobbed like the sea in its greatest woe. I knew her well and poured a shower of Consolation in her huncrrv ears. She was OF JOHN ALLEN. 163 Born in the last sad lingering rays of the Roman Empire's setting sun, and her Lot was cast among a strange medley Of people. Moravians and Slavacks, Mygars, Poles and Russians, Slavonians, Croats and Servians, Jews, Gipsies, Italians, Latins and Hiavls. Her early hours of youth were strengthened By the matchless wisdom of Charlemagne, Those early hours she spent roaming Through the larch and alder woodlands, Or sitting 'neath the spreading arms of Gigantic oaks. Far up the wild Carpathians, the brown bear, the wolf And lynx found a home ; the gorgeous Golden eagle built its rude nest on The ragged brows of the Alps, and She was happy till she felt the iron hand Of Frederick the Great at her throat. Then Faded all the bright visions of the future From her breast and the land of the Leopolds and Hapsburgs. Long 1 64 THE CONFESSIONS Pageants of princes, bishops, and barons Passed before her; Prince Eugene's sword Of genius swept the Ottoman power To destruction ; dark Austerlitz arose In glittering panorama of war — the Roar of Napoleon's victorious guns Fell upon her ear, sounding the death Of all her hopes ; Kossuth's magic Eloquence fired the drooping heart of Hungary with flames of patriotism, And yet through all these scenes and Deeds she struck not one true chord In the harmony of life. She shudders When she peers through the wild tempest Of mountains in Tyrol and sees Innspruck where Hofer, the patriot, burst The iron gates of tyranny, and led his People out to smiling fields of freedom. How she weeps upon my breast! From the dark forests of Bohemia she hears The cries for liberty ; all the past in Overpowering floods is rushing through Her heart ; she remembers well how years OF JOHN ALLEN. 165 Ago we two walked on together beneath the Stormy skies of Europe, and saw the Theiss flowing swift to meet the Danube ; And how we crossed the bridge at Budapest And saw the multitudes gather round John Huss, while he tore the masks Of sham asunder and showed them The naked truth. Ah ! Austria ! Austria ! This is what I'd do for thee. I'd push Aside the misty veils and let thee See the truth. Long have I dreamt Of this while walking round Vienna's Grand old squares and palaces ; while Standing in Dalmatia where the Tempestuous waves of the Adriatic rush With showers of fury on its high and Ragged cliffs ; while gazing with Weary eyes on thy two hundred and sixty thousand Square miles. Thy past was nothing but A glittering — bloody performance; O may thy future lead thee to the joys Of the new love and cities — iC6 THE CONFESSIONS A flash of light — the screaming of sea gulls And she was gone. The north wind was Blowing still, and overhead the ashen Clouds moved on — but my heart was As desolate as ever. It found no Food to satisfy its hunger. OF JOHN ALLEN. 167 WHAT MUSIC IS. COMETIMES when I go forth in cities grand, And find the children of the Wilderness, Loitering in snares — the gaudy theatres, The festive parks, the gay ball-room, listening To sounds called music, I am filled with grief, With infinite grief. All that I dearly Madly love shrink from me as if from the Discoverer of leprosy. Not one in all The throng would walk with me, or hearken to My voice. "Life is stern, life is real, life knows No folding up of hands, or lying down, Or entertainments grand," I sadly murmur O'er and o'er, "and can it be that these poor Children realize not the deadly seriousness Of the life entrusted to them? Can it Be that they see not assassins dogging Every footstep day by day? Can it be That they find not the snare in the so-called Music of the hour — the snare that steals Time From Life and holds it back from discovery 1 68 THE CONFESSIONS Of truth. O, my poor, poor children of the Wilderness, waste not a moment longer On these sounds. 'Twould be suicide ; 'twould Be folly, when all the music that ever Was, or ever will be, lies within you. You are so rilled with it ; it is so Abundant within you that it seems a Pity to find you listening to a host Of counterfeits, which is not music at All. True music, real music is nothing More than the thoughts and feelings that cross The harp-strings of your soul. Grander, truer Music exists not in the world, or in The gilded halls of Paradise. When you Read of Jim Bludsoe standing at his post, 'Mid smoke and flames, "till every galoot was Safe ashore," you are thrilled by the deed of The hero — and this is music. When you Read somewhere of a man dissolving the Bands of wedlock, so that his wife may wed Another whom she loves far better than Himself, you are filled with mingled feelings OF JOHN ALLEN. 169 Of sorrow, and admiration — and this is Music ! When you see a fireman risking His life to save a woman or a child ; When you hear of a man giving up his Life to save a friend; when you read Beautiful stories of "what might have been ;" When you read of people in the world who Have given up, and learned to wait ; when You read that little incident of Bruce And the spider; when you hear a mother Cooing to her first-born, you are thrilled, Through and through by the deeds, and this, O this is music, far more beautiful Than all the polished sounds blown from Instruments. But, of course, the music of Life is not good enough for us. We must Always lean to the artificial. We Must have polished sounds blown at us from Instruments, to remind us of the music In our bodies, and our souls. We must Worship the authors of sounds, whose names Have gone down on History's page as great I jo THE CONFESSIOXS Men ; we must admire their pictures, and Their statues in art galleries ; we must Bow down before these bandits as mighty Heroes, and scornfully cast aside the Real heroes of music — ourselves. Anything Of course, is better than ourselves, even If it is a bandit. How generous, How easy we are! How amusing. But Still more amusing is it, to listen To the different theories advanced on Every side, on the question of music. Some excited individuals who Wear snow-flake clothes and no brains, claim That music is the grandest thing on earth ; The food of life ; the art of arts ; but as Ignorance is bliss, of course, they do not Know that music is not art, and that there Is but one art — the art of Life, which has Never yet been cultivated, so we Must forgive them ; we must control ourselves. Others say (usually those who wear long Hair, and long coats, which make them look Like caricatures on the feminine gender), That the American people who have OF JOHN ALLEN. 171 Cultivated a taste for light, catchy Airs, are as ignorant as ant-eaters In matters musical, but that the hour Will come, it is near at hand, when music Will be elevated (by what process, They do not say, human or superhuman), When ragtime and its close relations will Meet their Waterloo, and that we shall then Have the real thing — a veritable feast Of Wagner, Chopin, Beethoven, and Their kind. Methinks if I am not mistaken, We have already had a number of Courses served us from these distinguished Bandits, through the efforts of that charlatan, Theodore Thomas, now deceased. If Chicago ever Housed a charlatan, this man Thomas was One. But you will say he was successful. I grant that, as far as success is judged By the crafty old world, but bear in mind, That his success was due to the pride of The rich men of Chicago. They feared that If they dropped support of him, that Madamoiselle Boston, of baked-beans, and Long words fame, would take him to her arms, 172 THE CONFESSIONS And relegate Chicago to the backwoods, As far as art (?) was concerned. Fancy What a calamity that would be ! But There should have been no fear. They did not Lose Thomas. Charlatans are hard to lose. Empty-headed society, and pride backed By money, declared for him, and he remained. He remained to wield the baton o'er the Same old audience that always did attend His concerts ; the same old audience which Was made up as follows: Seventy per cent Which came to show its figures, and costumes ; Twenty per cent to see who was there — to Gaze around most vacantly, in hopes that Some newspaper would report that they were Among those present ; and ten per cent which Was insane enough to claim they understood The works performed. Such was the intellectual Audience before which the mighty Thomas Performed. But Thomas was a great man, And I must make allowances for him. He must needs have been a great man, for Chicago subscribed seven hundred thousand Dollars to keep him here. Proof positive ! OF JOHN ALLEN. 1 73 It was a notable effort, and will long Be remembered in the annals of the City. Yes, Thomas was a great man, and Had to be saved to the city. The newspapers. In long editorials, and articles, said so. Ministers thundered from the pulpits that He should be retained. Ordinarily Sane business men, came to his rescue with Money, and when at last the coveted Amount was realized, there was great Rejoicing in the community. Yes, great Rejoicing, for Thomas was saved, but over On the great West Side, there was sorrow and Tears for a woman with a child at the Breast, had perished from starvation. What Matter! Why should such small things be Noticed by those bred in the atmosphere Of art. They had just raised Seven hundred thousand dollars and saved The mighty Thomas ; and these things considered, No woman, had a right to be poor, or To die. Yes ! Seven hundred thousand dollars Was raised to honor a bandit and his Crew, but the halt, the deaf, and the blind 174 THE CONFESSIONS Of the city were in no particular want. Of course not. And furthermore, the afflicted Should all be banished to some far off isle, Where they could not be eye-sores to the rich, And the art-stricken. Seven hundred thousand Dollars for Thomas, but not a penny For the poor ! Seven hundred thousand dollars For honor and weak intellects, but nothing For the orphans, and sane people who occupy Asylums. Seven hundred thousand dollars For music, just think of it! Seven hundred thousand Dollars for music, but nothing whatever For Life ! All to no purpose. O, that this Should come to pass ! And pray, what good Has music ever done for Life? What good Have Handel's Oratorios, Bach's Fugues And Preludes, the operas of Gluck and Verdi, The symphonies of Haydn, Mozart and Beethoven, Mendelssohn's Elijah, the thunders of Wagner, The waltzes and mazurkas of Chopin, ever Done for Life? Tell me, you who dare! They Have been, and are of no value whatever To Life. For years and years they have lured Life into half-way houses, and plundered OF JOHN ALLEN. It of golden moments that can never be Restored, but they shall do so no more ! I, John Allen of Chicago, will block their Progress from this hour on ! I have come to Save you, you poor children of the Wilderness ! I have come to annihilate the millions Of bandits who surround, and plunder you At will, under the high-sounding titles Of Art, Music, and the devil knows what not. Will you accept me as your Saviour, or Will you still continue to perish, as Countless thousands have perished before You. Will you follow me where peace, And Rest can only be found, or will You still remain a prey to Bandits? 175 i;6 THE CONFESSIONS SILHOUETTES. ; I 4 0-NIGHT I stand on the threshold of ages long gone by And behold a thousand fierce and valorous tribes Camped all around. Wild are the songs they sing And loud, yet eloquent, the voices of their chiefs as They tell of battles wild, and deeds of glory in the Past. The wind sweeps o'er the marshes and moans Through the dense forests. It tells them to beware ! Death and destruction are near at hand. But They heed not the warning, for are they not lords of The land? The enemy appears. They rise — they seize Their arms, and rush to conflict. Long are they Locked in deadly embrace. Like walls of steel they Hold their ground. But the sun had set upon Their skies of freedom ; their hour had come at Last. They yield — 'they break ! they fly ! and Caesar Lays Belgium at the feet of Rome. I take but a step forward, and lo ! Time with magic Brush has changed all things. Imperious priests OP JOHN ALLEN. 177 And nobles walk upon the scene, the canals and Rivers of their bodies made sluggish with rich wines ; Their minds and hearts too much inflated with vanity, To permit them to labor for a living. The rich products Of the fields must be placed upon their tables at All hazards, by a lower order of mortals, necessarily Of less intelligence, and in the vernacular of Europe — Slaves. The Flemings bowed before this flood of Wind and despotism, but while they labored in the Fields, the fires of liberty burned bright within their Hearts. Secret meetings were held, where the senti- ments Of their minds found voice, and soon all Flanders Was a network of their Guilds. The dark night had Passed away. It drew its sable curtains up and Ushered in the dawn ! and lo ! there rose upon these Fertile lands, the stateliest town-halls in all the World — the monuments of Flemish liberty. Here Art, science, and civilization were crowned and Cultivated, while the whole of Europe was wallowing In pools of ignorance and barbarism ; here Liberty found its dearest home, while all 178 THE CONFESSIONS Neighboring nations dwelt beneath the skies of Despotism. I draw aside the curtains, and lo ! a flash of Cities, a roar of emerald waves, and the far-famed Dyke at Ostend lies before me, with all its throngs- Thc rich, the gay, the fashion-plates of Europe, and My desolate heart and soul feel still more Desolate at the sight. The food for them is far Too nauseating. I do not fancy peacocks' raiment Covering the decayed virtues of walking flesh. I leave the throngs behind, and walk through the Wild dunes on the coast, where sea-weeds find a Home after their long voyage on the treacherous Waves of the North Sea. I pick up handfuls of Sand, and sift it through my fingers. I Contemplate the sea. Emerald hills are waving On its bosom. The spirit of unrest pervades It all, though the sun is shining down. Overhead Dark clouds are gathering. Slowly they come — Those floating mountains of the sky, and melt In one vast sable cloak that appears to Cover the entire world. Fear is OF JOHN ALLEN. 1 79 On the deep and also in my heart. The wind comes down In shrouds of fury and lashes the sea in foaming rage, The thunder roars and reverberates along the Liquid mountain peaks. Down comes the rain Like an avalanche of silver spears on the shining armor Of the deep. Afar out a ship is in the grasp of the Struggling elements. It is in distress, for the mad waves Have wounded its sides and are sweeping its bulwarks Away. How pitifully it moans. It is all alone in Its woe, and is richly freighted with gold. No port Is in sight, no lighthouse near. Even the sailors that Line the shore, cry out, "A wreck ! a wreck ! 'Tis only Another wreck that's drifting by too late, too late to save." On it comes in agony. A giant wave lifts it high In air, and dashes it to atoms on a nest Of rocks, but ere it disappears from view The sailors see the gold they lost, and cry aloud, "Another opportunity lost, another treasure gone Through our indifference !" 180 THE CONFESSIONS And thus it ever is. Precious gold is brought by certain Ships to sailors who leave them founder on the sea, And grasp with eager hands at counterfeits, for These they seem to dearly love. The whole world is Chasing phantoms, while hearts true as steel, Muscles of oak, and willing hands, are tossed Rudely aside, and crushed beneath the heels of Its folly! With desolate heart I turned away and traveled On. Proudly rose the old belfry of Bruges before me, And its chimes sent forth a shower of melodies That charmed my ears. The marvellous weavers Of the city left their looms and came out in The sunlight on the streets. They gathered there in Groups and spoke in guarded tones of the Marriage of Charles the Bold and Margaret of Eng- land. And some there were who had been to the feast, And they described in glowing terms, the glory Of the magnificent art-clad ducal halls, and the Unparalleled splendors of the banquet. As I mingled In the crowds, listening to the gossip, visions of Days gone by crowded thick and fast upon me. OF JOHN ALLEN. 181 There were old Flemish castles with retainers On the towers and walls reflected in old Flemish moats ; there were old Flemish market- Places, surrounded by old Flemish buildings From whose roofs protruded old Flemish gables. Below in the streets reigned the silence of the tomb. There was Ghent, the city of the Van Eyes, and the home Of the "Adoration of the Lamb." There was the Famous fortress built by mighty Baldwin Bras-de-Fer To hold back the Norman hordes. There was The statue of Jacob Van Artevelde in the Market place — the fearless leader — the magic-voiced Orator, whose dreams of a new republic were Dispelled by the breath of tyranny, like mists before The rising sun. There were the horrors of the Inquisition, made doubly horrible by that monster of Blood and crime, the Duke of Alva. There was The heroic defense of the People, by the Prince of Orange. There were long stretches of grass and waving corn- fields ; There were verdant meadows enclosed by hedgerow 1 82 THE CONFESSIONS Trees. There were priceless flocks of sheep in Brabant. There were old libraries containing copies of the Rymbybcl, and the Spiegel Historicel in the Flemish Tongue. There were parades of ancient merchants On the docks of Antwerp. Flemish ships of trade Arrived, and departed for far off ports. There were the bitter hours of the revolution and The surrender of Chasse at Antwerp. There were the coal mines of Liege, and the far-famed Woods and promenades of Spa. There were the The ragged Ardennes hills dividing the waters Of the Meuse and Moselle. There was the Scheldt, flowing in the North to the Sea. My heart inclined to this, and as the crowds were Growing thicker, and their conversation still more animated, 1 struck out to follow the river in its course. On the way I mused, "Yes ! this is the land of Rubens, who was one of the most polished and Accomplished brigands of the sixteenth century. From Italy and his Italian brothers he stole The sacred fire that burns with glory on his OF JOHN ALLEN. 183 Canvas, and causes every Flemish heart to Glow with pride. But what did he for the Emancipation of his people? Did he paint the Dying groan of the miser, the crimson beads of the Poverty-stricken burghers' heart? or one flash of New love — the new way of Life? Why, one of These would be worth the whole wilderness of Altar pieces and other subjects he has given the world. 184 THE CONFESSIONS WHAT THE DEVIL SAID. I. It was a day of beauty — tilled with sunbeams of gold ; Filled and thrilled with melodies of feathered war- blers — Filled with perfumed breezes of the distant sunlands — Filled with voices of silvery mountain streams — Filled with delicious charms for rustic lovers — ■ Filled with laughter — filled with joy, and a thousand hopes For peace at last. It was a day that did not harmonize With my lacerated heart and soul, yet I tried With all my strength to enjoy the charms it held forth With such generous hands. II. As I walked along the well-remembered paths, my heart Whispered "Beware ! eat not of these forbidden fruits ; they are Not for thee ; soon will they fade away like fairy dreams, OF JOHN ALLEX. 185 And make thy chains of sorrow far heavier than before." But I heeded not the advice, and went my way with Songs upon my lips. Suddenly the blue sky was O'ercast with masses of black clouds. Loud roared The winds through the melancholy cypress trees. The Thunder bellowed wildly o'er the land, and the light- ning— The sword of the storm — flashed swiftly through the air. III. Down came the rain in cataracts, and lo ! through its sparkling curtains A dismal lake burst clear in view, and spread out Its waters at my feet — a lake shut out entirely from The world by a wall of mighty mountains — a lake With moss-capped rocks along its shores, and Sobbing waves upon its bosom — a lake that liked Not its dark surroundings, nor the sharp teeth of the O'erhanging crags that deeply wounded it and Forever denied it a sight of the green fields of the Earth. 1 86 THE CONFESSIONS IV. Deeply did I sympathize with this poor forsaken lake Whose bosom trembled with ambition to leap o'er Its frowning barriers, and cast refreshing showers on the Drooping, thirsty weeds and flowers of the earth, and I Murmured faintly, "How much like my life are its Waters of hope and sorrow — how much indeed !" For hours I gazed upon it. There was such a Sadness in its depths that held me spell-bound on The shore, and its every sobbing wave seemed to Rise and fall with the beating of my heart. V. A vulture was its constant companion. It wheeled about In circles overhead, and manifested marvelous interest In its condition, and its vigilant eye and voracious appetite Allowed nothing of value to escape its bosom. O God ! A wave of wild resentment swept across my Heart, and I lifted up my hands in horror at The dark deeds of this feathered tyrant ! As I did so, The fury of the storm calmed down, but ere the OF JOHN ALLEX. 1S7 Last angry echoes died out on the startled air, I Saw — the Prince of Darkness walking slowly By the sobbing lake. I shuddered ! He thrilled my heart With fresh forebodings, and I turned away to Shut the sight of him forever from my eyes — But some magnetic force arrested me, and soon Too soon, I found myself at his feet, crying out In tones of untold agony — "Mercy! mercy! for my Lacerated heart, sight and soul ! Away with these Ghastly phantoms of life that wound me so ! Too long have I been haunted by them ! Give me One scene of joy — of purity — of love — of truth — Of eyes looking calmly — fearlessly into eyes.'' My whole heart and soul were poured out in These passionate words, and impatiently I Awaited his reply. He did not speak for the Moment, but a strange smile illumined his Strange face. He laid his hand Upon my shoulder, and said, "Come with me. We will leave the valley and glance o'er the Fields beyond. Perhaps you may see that which You have prayed for." i88 THE CONFESSIONS VI. He led on. I followed, and when We came from out the valley and stood on the Rugged hills, he cried, in exultant Tones: ''Behold my fields! my gardens! my Flowers ! They will yield abundant harvest ! They are mine ! Let us go down and walk ' Among them I" Fires of delight were Gleaming in his dreaming eyes, and I shuddered, But followed in his footsteps. We stood in the Streets of a famous city, and heard the sound Of the castanets. Chained gangs of convicts Passed us by. There was a look of misery in the Hard lines of their faces that affected me to The point of tears, but the Devil only laughed, And, strange to say, I too laughed with him, And my tears vanished at once. It all seemed So strange to me. We strolled along beneath gigantic Oak and cork trees ; passed through sunny Malaga ; Saw the cactus on the rolling hills ; saw the Dreamy bosom of the Mediterranean ; saw the Mantillas and the brilliant scarfs — the frowning Rock-bound coast — the smiling cornfields and Meadows of Valencia — the green plains on OF JOHN ALLEN. 189 Catalonia's coast, and Barcelona's noisy Harbors. VII. The coast was before us — the coast — an endless Chain of bays and gulfs — of hills that ran down to The sea — of sparkling towns that raised their heads High up in the charmed air. The country — a sea of Great plains — of hills that rose and fell like Stormy waves on the ocean blue — of wild Sierras that Tossed their snow-white heads among the stars. VIII. Side by side we walked along. We passed through The sun-scorched, shadeless streets of Cadiz, And at night strolled on the shores of the sea, and Drank the refreshing breezes from its bosom, while The sparkling, silvery laughter of its waters, charmed My ears. I saw the majestic Guadalquiver gleaming Like a thread of silver in its bed, and great plains stretching Away from its banks, covered with Flocks of goats, and troops of horses. The perfumed Melodies of orange and lemon groves were on the air, And nightingales thrilled forth their magic songs. I qo THE CONFESSIONS IX. As we entered the heart of past glories, I turned to The Devil, saying, "I walk no longer o'er the ruins Of the present, but by some enchantment seem carried Back to the age of chivalry and song. Tell me, tell me, dark destroyer of strongest hopes, did You gather in a harvest in those times, or did Any escape the snares you laid for them?" And he replied, "I gathered in a goodly harvest, And never a kernel lost." This, and nothing more. X. 1 cried, "The Alhambra, with its magic towers — those Monuments of dazzling romance, rise up before me. They are Filled with seas of mighty warriors, whose shouts, Whose hymns to Allah reach my ears ! Within the Walls, beneath the delicate arches, beneath the massive Pillars, o'er the marble floors, roam scores of dainty Maids with sparkling eyes, with fairy forms orna- mented With girdles and anklets of gold. A feast of splendor Is in progress, but the sound of trumpets scatters Consternation o'er it all, and the maidens vanish OF JOHN ALLEN. 191 Like ghosts before the dawn. I see the warriors with Flashing scimitars and daggers rush To the battlements, there to defend the FAITH, And shower victories at the feet of Boabdil. The Battle rages. It is swayed by lion-hearted heroism And black despair, but the Moors slowly recede Before the Christians' determined advance. Their Ranks are torn — their hopes all gone — but like heroes Slowly they retreat. But stay — the enchantment Fades from my sight, and those mighty scenes are gone. Still at my feet lie all their ruins. Tell me, O tell me, dark Architect of peoples' lives, did any here escape thy power ?" To which he replied, "I gathered in a goodly harvest here, and never a Kernel lost." XL "Granada ! — Granada was magnificently defended, But Granada fell. Gone are its glories. Gone, all The beauties of Alhambra. Gone — 'the luxury — the pride — IQ2 THE CONFESSIONS The power that once crowned their brows. Side by Side in ruins sleep the heroes of the Koran and The Cross. The silvery Xenil and the lovely Darro Sing the pathetic memories of the past, and the wild Sierras clad in snow-white robes of Paradise, look Down upon the scene. Tell me, O tell me, dark Wanderer of the Night, in all these scenes, did Not one escape your snares?" And the Devil Answered, "I gathered in a goodly harvest here, And never a kernel lost." r XII. "O Spain ! Spain ! Step by step From the Phoenician cities, From the wild camps of barbarians, From the battle-scarred hours of the Koran and the Cross, From the days of the Arabian conquests, From the jeweled, the voluptuous seats of the Khalifs, From the days of Cardinal Ximines — the sacred schemer — From the days of butchers and bandits, Cortez and Pizarro — From the days of Lope de Vega and Cervantes, OF JOHN ALLEN. 193 From the days of the American War, Thou didst ever degenerate. Thy conquests of the past were made O'er naked savages, not o'er races equally armed ; Thy political success, by political lying and thieving ; Thy beautiful fields and gardens are not even the product Of thy hands — they were reared and kept by Foreigners, and thy possessions, all, all Falling away — the jewels of thy crown — a result of Thy tyranny. Sagasta's craft, nor Castellar's Patriotism could save thee. Thou hast fallen to The ground by the weight of thy sins ! XIII. I gaze afar and see the fierce Andalusian Bull rush O'er the sands of the arena ; the picadores ply the lances ; The banderilleros stick their darts in his tawny neck — The red mantle of the matador attracts his eyes of Fire — blindly, furiously he plunges at it — only to meet Death by the lightning flash of the sword concealed Beneath its folds !" 194 THE CONFESSIONS XIV. The Devil stopped my speech. He placed one Hand upon my shoulder and pointing o'er the Land with the other, said, " these are my fields, my Flowers, my gardens ; they are represented well In my great kingdom ; I wonder what Loyola now would Think of them ?" To which I said : "I would Not care a fig for his opinion on the subject. This Soldier-Priest from Guipuzcoa came with religious Fires brightly burning in his heart, but he too, like all Founders of systems failed to grasp the grand idea Of life. He was narrow-minded. He saw only in the World what he was pleased to term infidels and heretics. These Poor creatures must be converted at any cost. The rest of Humanity was all right, especially the crowned — the Wine-soaked butchers and bandits of Europe who spread The wings of protection o'er the Catholic faith. Why He did not seem to know that a bad Christian Needed more converting than a whole wilderness of Heretics! He saw not the work to be done OF JOHN ALLEN. Around him. Verily the eyes of the fool were in The ends of the earth. Opinions, indeed !" Thus At the close of a day of beauty, I found. Myself no nearer purity, love and truth than Buddha was to the secret of Life. 195 I 9 6 THE CONFESSIONS MY CONFESSION TO SATAN. The Devil stood by my side. I had a confession For him. His eager ears were ready To devour it. He understood me. O joy unconfined ! He understood me! — understood my nature — My heart. How few do that — (scarcely two out Of every thousand. He stood by my side. The Star-trimmed curtains of the night were lifted By the dewy hand of morn, and the splendid Sun poured all its brightness o'er the land, and He stood by my side. "Comrade," said I, "tq-day I tear off the mask from the monster ! it shall Crouch and hide no more from the public eye. It shall be laid bare before its own down-trodden People! Oh how it feeds and has fed off The liberties of these same people. But it shall Do so no more. Its course is run. For Many years I've watched its progress, Marvelling all the while that the oppressed Did not arise and strike it to the ground. And resolved that it must cease at once. OF JOHN ALLEN. 197 Sealed lips, cowardice, and reverence for the Throne shall no longer cast a shield before It. Open not your lips. Speak not. I'll speak First. I've a confession for you. I know You are far better versed than I in this Matter, but I long to unburden the accumulated Observations of years, that are stifling my Heart with bitterness. For years I walked upon the upland Grassy lawns, and down the sloping hills Where grazed the lowly sheep at morn, at noon, At night and ruminated all the time on the Bitter yoke laid on my people, while a Perfect tempest of sorrow raged through my Soul and heart, and I resolved to make Them free — free as the untamed mighty sea. I went forth. The fresh scent of lime leaves Floating on the waves of the air, the murmuring Of rivers, the sweet carol of the sylvan warbler, The fields arrayed in yellow, brown and russet Robes, the glorious Lakes o'er which sailed Snow-white swans with their little ones, the Famous old baronial halls ; the superstitions 198 THE CONFESSIONS That haunted every nook and ruin ; the manor Houses nestling 'mong the patriarchal oaks, All, all formed a gorgeous panorama of Charms that mingled strangely in the sorrows Of my heart, and the resolutions underlying it. I went forth and scanned the high, the picturesque Cliffs of Dover, and listened to the owls hooting Among the rafters of ancient buildings, (Other Owls known as men and women hooted here before), and I walked o'er the rich woodlands, meadows, And hills of the Isle of Wight, and standing On the colored sands of the shore, gazed with Delight on the heaving bosom of the sea, and felt The fresh breeze make the blood tingle in My cheeks. But my delight lasted for a moment Only. 'Twas gone — it faded like the gorgeous Sunset pictures that light up the western isles With harmonies of gold and fire, like sweet Melodies that die out upon the air. Then fell The weight of bitterness upon my heart. It made my flesh tremble. Alas ! I knew it Now too well! I must tread the vale of OF JOHN ALLEN. 199 Tears alone. In the throes of my unutterable Woe I opened wide my arms to welcome Death, for I felt that it must be near at hand, when The sun cast my shadow on the ground — the Perfect shadow of a cross. Then I knew my Mission well, and fell fainting, moaning On my face and hands among the Storm-swept rocks. How long I remained There I know not, for I seemed to have been In the grasp of dreams, but when I struggled To my feet, the sea gulls were wildly screaming, The hoarse voice of the ocean roaring, and The twinkling foot-lights of heaven sweetly looking down. I went forth enveloped in my woe ; I traversed The winding paths of the old oak forests, and Woe was all around me. It was in the air. The poor old oaks were filled with it. They trembled With it. Their green heads drooped low. Their arms Were raised to Heaven for mercy. Their gnarled Sinews were mute evidences of the woe that coursed Through their bodies. Woe, woe, and all was woe. 200 THE CONFESSIONS I stood on the spot where in days of old the Drnids in their flowing robes of white offered up Human saerilices to the sun, but marveled Not that they found means of subsistence In the dual role of lunatics and scoundrels, Because we still have Druids among us in The twentieth century priests, — we still support Them, and therefore should make no outcry Against the past. We are children of woe, and Cheerfully do we add to it. I went forth, and entered the old Bedford jail Where sat John Bunyan writing his marvelous Poem. I greeted him. "I am an American,'' said I, "I am a Democrat in the fullest sense of the Word. My name is John Allen. Like you I Was born for great deeds. Like you I was Imprisoned. Like you I am determined to Succeed. But to gain that success, I must beg One gift of you — to see — to examine the material Out of which you fashioned the armor of Your immortal Christian." To which he replied, "Be it so, your wish is granted. His armor Was forged from chains of woe, and polished OF JOHN ALLEN. 201 Bright with iron-will — the best armor in the World. It resisted Apollyon's fiery darts And carried him in triumph to the gates Of the Celestial city. I cannot show you the Materials, because they are invisible, but this much I will say — they are treble the strength of finest Steel.'' Then he turned his head away and began Writing. "Very well," said I, "I will girdle on The armor that you name, and when next we meet It shall be side by side on equal ground." We parted. The iron-gates of the prison clanged Behind me, and I know no matter how Brave my resolutions were, I must have been Very pale. Already the burning chains of woe were upon me. I went forth and saw the desperate struggle Of the Roman and Briton for the throne, the Onward march of the Saxon and Angles for Their rights — the fierce onslaughts of the Picts And Scots upon the Britons, and then with Eyes of horror saw the conquering Danes Sweep on with fire and sword leaving Naught but death and destruction in their wake. 202 THE CONFESSIONS "Can these be men," said I, "who so Fiercely assault and rob each other, or Are they packs of animals from the wild Dens and forests?" And my heart answered Whispering, these are the ancestors of the Modern business men, whose refined cruelty Outshines their brutality, like the sun outshines The stars! I went forth into the great country, and my Heart was filled still more with sorrow at what I saw. O comrade } the real idea of life here too, Was lost to view by the crew of bandits And assassins who dared to rule the People. Hold up the mirror ! gaze therein, From the first down to the present ruler. What do you see? Can you find one trace Of brains in all their modes of governing? I can — steel, bullets, poison, treachery, Powder and gold were the brains they Employed — these blood-stained bandits who Wore the crown. Think of it — think of it ! — These down-trodden isles called the Butchers, Bandits and Plotters GREAT— just think of it OF JOHN ALLEN. 203 And marvel ! And what a magnificent gallery Of GREAT men they were — William the Conqueror Who made a desert of his lands to crush The voice of the people — of justice; Henry II., the Murderer and coward ; Thomas a' Becket, The SAINT — and is a saint made of such Stuff as the uncompromising schemer of The throne of Rome? Pope Adrian IV., who Cooly handed over Ireland to the English, He claiming the right to bestow kingdoms On whoever he pleased. Imagine a follower Of Christ in this worldly position ; Richard I., Whose brains were in his brute strength ; King John, the imbecile; Henry VIIL, the sultan of English kings, whose Thriving little harem was either cast Aside in disgrace, or met death at the block; Elizabeth — the female plotter, whose hands Were dyed in the blood of Mary, Queen of Scots ; Cromwell, the cruel, the ambitious, who could See no one but Cromwell in the mirror Of the world — Cromwell the tyrant — in whose Death England lost one of her greatest butchers; Charles II., a man? — ? ''without will-power 204 THE CONFESSIONS Or principles — who was the proud possessor of Two virtues — murder and vice ;" Marlborough, who loved gold more than He loved his God — jMarlborough whom the Historian calls great ! Yes, he was, if murder And slaughter and greedy ambition are Great! Comrade, would you consider a Man great, if he set fire to his neighbors' houses, Laid waste their fields, and then marched In triumph o'er their ruins ; William Pitt, whose fame rests on Towers built of the sighs and broken hearts Of the poor, and the robberous taxes wrested from them ; So you see, Comrade, the real idea of life here was Lost to view, by this gang of cut-throats, notoriously Known as royal rulers. But I have unmasked Them. The historian, and professional writers May call them what they please ; they may adorn Them with gold-lace, velvets and gems, but the Naked truth proclaims them Bandits, Robbers and Murderers, and the naked truth should be exposed All hours of the day and night for use of the Public eye. OF JOHN ALLEN. 205 I went forth again, and nothing seemed More pitiable and amusing than the distress Of the great mass of the people — the English people, Men of muscle and brains, in seeking a royal Heir to the crown to rule over them whenever an Old dynasty died out. The sighs, the tears, the Prayers, they sent forth on these occasions is Something that passes the boundaries of belief, Especially when they possessed in their own ranks, Hundreds, nay thousands, of leaders far superior To any creature (?) with the blue-blood coursing Through his veins ! By the way what special brand of Flesh and earth are these cut-throats called Kings made of, anyway? I went into London, — London filled with crime — London, seated on the majestic Thames — London, o'er whose streets flow the tides of life And death — London enveloped in its gowns of Fog — London, with its palaces, the homes of Ancient vice and modern ignorance — the Refuge of high-class bandits called Lords, Earls, Kings ; London, where Addison and Milton Lived and suffered — where Shakespeare acted; 2o6 THE CONFESSIONS Where Johnson and Lamb found inspiration ; Where Westminster and St. Paul's tower aloft In pride and grandeur; London, whose Ever-enduring tower stands out a saintly Monument of the past compared with its Present career of robbery, snobbery and vice But, Comrade, what did I find London? — A glittering gigantic fraud, like all the rest ! While wandering through its streets, I thought of The great wars that were launched from its Heart, and marveled that its heart was still Beating, for 'twould be enough to break any country's Heart to achieve the SUCCESS that glitters in Its crown. Success in war, to England always meant Volumes; it was necessary no matter what the cost might be. For example take the Napoleonic war. It Was a great success. The English army backed by Europe — triumphed ! Mark ! It was a tremendous Success ! It was a magnificent spectacular perform- ance! It only cost $4,000,000,000, and the people (audience) Appeared at the box office to pay the taxes — oh, I OF JOHN ALLEN. 207 Mean to buy the tickets for the show. The perform- ances In the Soudan and India too were splendid Affairs crowned with special triumphs ! Also they were Highly instructive. They proved what no one would Ever have dreamed of — that a large army well Fed, well clothed, with plenty of money and ammuni- tion And well-armed to the teeth with the latest improved Weapons was able, after a desperate struggle To hold its own against the dark-skinned Habitants, and finally to crush out their liberties — To enslave them. This was indeed a TRIUMPH ! But as a performance, it is not to be compared At all with the one with the Boers in South Africa. Here Was a triumph that is certain for all time to Make an Englishman's heart beat with pride, And his chest swell out with enthusiasm. The only thing that caused any uneasiness Was the overwhelming numbers of The Boers. This, the British Generals thought, might Interfere with their plans and have something 208 THE CONFESSIONS To do with prolonging the war, which proved to Be the case later on. But they pushed on heroically With their handful of men — pushed on to The scenes of their splendid triumphs at lYlodderspruit, Magersfontein, and Colenso. Everywhere the Boers gave way. Their countless Regiments could not prevail against the valor Of the British few. Success crowned all their efforts. Buller had crossed the Tugela, though it did Consume some time in the operation, because the Tugela was Very wide; Kitchener — the butcher of naked-savages With a few thin columns had driven the Boer hordes Before him, and captured all their guns, and last But not least, the star event of the war, the greatest Triumph of military genius, of this or any other age Fell to the lot of Lord Roberts. At Paardeberg With a mere handful of 40,000 or 50,000 men And some fifty cannons, he succeeded after Nine days in crushing Cronje and his Overwhelming force of 8,000. Consider what The great Roberts could have done, had he One hundred thousand men at hand? It was A magnificent performance, and all Englishmen OF JOHN ALLEN. 209 Certainly must feel thrills of glory shooting through Their hearts, when they march up to the tax-office To pay for it. But of course good shows cost High admission fees, and this must be borne In mind. The South African show only cost One hundred millions, and some few thousand Troops. This, comrade, is the confession I longed To tear from my tattered heart, and soul, to Launch into your ears ! 'Tis done, and I Shall go my way, but should you ask me Further on the subject, my one reply would Be: "The world is filled with bandits, — But the greatest of them all are found in England." 210 THE CONFESSIONS I TRY TO CAST OFF MY WOE. A FAR among the highlands, clad in kilts And plaid I roam, I and my unspeakable, Unendurable woe. We roam and scan the Scenes together, for we are old companions, And where'er my steps may lead, it is sure To follow. Therefore I find it gratifying to know That something is faithful to me — even if It is only my unspeakable woe. On, on, I walk where the Fragrant purple heather gently Sways beneath the garments of the wind ; on where Hidden brooks are babbling o'er the rocks with sweet- est Melodies ; through lonely mountain glens, and Old ruined towers among the sea-beat rocks. I walk on. The curlew's lonely call is sounded On the breeze, and my woe — my woe sits heavy In my heart. It is weighing me down ! It is tearing out the OF JOHN ALLEN. 21 1 Vitality of my body ; it keeps me tossing in a Wild sea of unrest. I gaze into the eyes of a Passing man, and he turns his head away ; I gaze into the eyes of a passing woman, and She shrinks back from me; I gaze into the Eyes of a child, and the child, in distrust, turns Its back on me ; I look into the eyes of a dog But he returns the look unflinchingly With his honest brown eyes ; he thrusts his Cold wet nose into my hand, and licks it with His tongue — he is my friend — the only one I have In all my woe. So then I can claim the friendship Of a dog. That much is left to me out of the Wreck of my hopes. That much is given me From the false cold world, the love of a dog. But That is more than I can ever hope for from the Two-footed dogs with which I am surrounded. They Boo-hoo, bark, yelp and bite from the mangers. And though they hate me, I love them with the Deepest, truest love that e'er found shelter in a Passionate heart. So across the heather and bluebells I roam Chained to my heaviest woe ; here among scenes 212 THE CONFESSIONS Of the historic past ; here where Agricola and His Roman legions were hurled back by the Fierce Picts and Scots; where the tyranny of Edward I. went down in defeat on the field of Stirling, and raised Wallace to the height of fame; and Where Malcolm mounted the throne only to Prostitute it to the Norman Bandit. Thrice Did he promise homage to William for that throne And thrice did he break that promise. I find no Fault because he endeavored to become Independent of Britain, and the bandit who Ruled it, but I condemn his base infidelity And I say a promise is a promise — it is a sacred Thing, and should not be made if it is not Intended to be kept. But I suppose I must accept This as an example of Scottish character, for Scottish Character and history are filled to the overflowing With such examples of weakness, treachery and folly. Take for instance, Mary Queen of Scots, or as it Should read, Mary Queen of the Scots, and ask What were the Scots dreaming of when they Elevated that creature of deception to the throne? A woman who posed as a model of virtue, OF JOHN ALLEN. 213 Who was so steadfast in the Faith of Rome, That she would not listen to the teachings of John Knox, but readily dabbled in Treachery, immorality, murder and numerous Husbands. Or, take Bruce, and that little story Of the spider and Bannockburn, which may Appear all right in print, and ask why the Discerning Historian always sings his deeds with the Choicest words of poetry and romance ? I know if I Was chosen to write his history, and to exalt him To the altar of Fame, I would first recall Him from the tomb to undo the treacherous Murder of Red Comyn — to give back the Life he took. As I wander on with tottering steps, the wind Sweeping o'er the Locks and Firths seems to Whisper of the bitter past — of the treachery of the Red Douglas, And the Black Douglas and of the James's Who never did rest well at night because they Lived in mortal dread of the highland clans, And the fierce bordermen — the wild outlaws, the murderers, 2i 4 THE CONFESSIONS As they were pleased to term them. But I murmured These clans and bordermen, cannot Be compared at all with the murderous, high-class Bandits who wore the Crown of Scotland ! Afar I hear the Piper playing Bonnie Doon, And tears rise in my eyes, as they always do When that pathetically beautiful melody strikes My ear. Some black-faced sheep move Over the heather-crowned hills; some pheasants idly Stand beside the hedges, and snipes are calling And drumming in the distant marshes. The Voices of Nature reach me from all sides, and hurt Me, hurt me for they open half-healed wounds in my Woe-stricken heart. Slowly I walk on. I cross the haunts Made famous by Walter Scott, the hero of poetry and Romance and seem again to see his gallery of Heroes all around. Noble poet ! Sleep on ! Sleep In the robes of fame, for the whole world loves You and your memory. Who has read your Works, from the "Lady of the Lake" to the "Heart of Midlothian," OF JOHN ALLEN. 215 Without transports of delight and eyes bedimmed With tears? Every line touches the heart with a Gentle sadness, that can hardly be explained, Unless it be a longing in our hearts, to bring- Back the scenes of the past, scenes of romance And chivalry, and to crowd them into the Damnably empty days of the present. Glorious Hero — sleep on — rest, for your work was Magnificently done — you have given more food To the brains of the world, than all the gold And wheat-fields on its surface. Across the heath and rugged mountains, Across the Grampian peaks I speed on — on To the beautiful South with its green-clad plains, Its glassy streams, its sea of cornfields, its Curving hills and sweeping vales black with herds Of cattle ; its charming meadows ; its wild dells Of murderous depths ; its craggy rocks and roaring Torrents ; its barren moors and Cheviot Hills — • Wildly, wildly I speed across the Tweed and Aye, across the Firths and Sounds, and stand at Last in Ayrshire, and bow in reverence to the Monuments of Robert Burns, the Heart of Scotland, — 216 THE CONFESSIONS Burns whose poetry, every line of it Is but the rising and falling of a passionate Heart. Go read his "Cotter's Saturday Night," his "Annie Laurie," his "Highland Mary," and see The intricate workings of a heart, disguised in Lines of poetry. But my wild rush across the breast of Caledonia Did not release me from my omnipresent Woe. Like balls of fire and lead it sat Within my heart. O, ye Divinely beautiful Scotchmen living 'neath The red-roofed cottages in the vales or in the Crowded cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow — my Sufferings, my life, my heart, my soul, my brain, Are all for ye ! To ye I bring a message grander Than any message yet written in the book Of Life — it is the message of the New Love ! O cast it not aside, if ye Would have Paradise on earth and know the Great truth — the real idea of Life, and your Relation to it. Daily my woe grows heavier. It is Made so by your indifference, and the chains OF JOHN ALLEN. 217 Of bondage that you so willingly now wear. Let me Burst them asunder and give you freedom!" But — shall I be strong enough to bear the burden of The World alone ? Methinks it is so heavy now that I fain would cast it all aside. "But you cannot" Says my Woe, "unless — unless you secure Someone to bear your burden. Then you can Go your way free and contented." A flash of joy Went through my heart, at the words, "secure someone To bear your burden." And I replied, "that I can do, but did not Dream of it till now, for I remember well, 'twas here I saved A man's life at the risk of my own. 'Twas on Iona's isle. A fierce storm was raging And I was walking on the shore, when suddenly A huge rock from the heights above came tumbling down, and Knocked him senseless in the jaws of the maddened Sea. Horrified at seeing a human creature in Full possession of his faculties struck down at my Side, and in danger of drowning, I plunged boldly Into the foaming waters, and after hours of 2 1 8 THE CONFESSIONS Weary battling, succeeded in bringing him safely To the shore. His gray-haired mother wept with joy At his rescue. She bent down to gaze on the face Of her son, when suddenly a piercing shriek burst from Her lips, and wildly she moaned, and beat the sands At his side, with her hands. With terror trembling Through my frame, I knelt down beside her and asked, "Is he dead?" She shook her head moaning, And replied, "No he is not dead, but he might Just as well be, for he can never face the world Again. O my poor boy ! my poor boy !" I gazed At him, and saw that the skin was badly torn From his face, so I lifted him up and carried Him into his mother's house. She followed me With streaming eyes, and watched my every Move. There was a look on her face, that I shall Never forget. It plainly said, "give me one ray Of hope for my son's recover} 7 , and I will lay down my Life for you." The doctor had been sent for and Was now working over the wounded man. He Told the gray-haired mother he could restore her OF JOHN ALLEN. 219 Son's features, if some one would allow a sufficient quantity of skin To be cut from their arms, and grafted on his face. Hope and despair alternately lit up the poor mother's Features. She looked at me, and I turned away ; But somehow she came before me, and looked Again. Then I knew my duty. I bared my Arms and told the physician to cut the skin From them, and I stood the ordeal well, but for Many weeks I went around swathed in Bandages, and was very weak. The young Man recovered, and it was with deep Satisfaction that I gazed on his face, which Appeared as well as ever. No one on looking At him would ever suspect that his features Were Once in terrible revolt. And his mother gazed Upon them long and earnestly and then showered Caresses and blessings on my head, which most Deeply affected me. I passed many happy days With them, and when the hour at last arrived for Me to go, I found myself choked up with tears. The last farewells were spoken, but the young man Took me aside and said: "I am poor — Very poor, and I feel as if I can never reward you 220 THE CONFESSIONS For what you have done for me. All I can give You now is gratitude, to which my mother's Is added. But the day may come, when you May need the hand of a friend to guide you through Some battle of life, and when that day arrives — call On me no matter where you are, and be assured that You will not call in vain — farewell !" Years have passed since then, but I feel Now as if the day he spoke of was at hand. I long so to cast aside the woe that is fast Consuming me — body and soul. At last! At last ! I shall escape my woe !" But even as I journeyed on I heard My woe laughing — a low sarcastic laugh That opened a fresh wound in my heart. But terrible as it was, it did not halt me In my purpose — for my purpose was strong As adamant. By Cona's streams and rocks I wandered, and I seemed once more to hear The wild genius of Ossian sweeping o'er the Scene with the sound of a thousand harps, Drifting, piling, curling, ghostly curtains of mist OF JOHN ALLEN. 221 Hung o'er crags and storm-swept peaks of Morven; Clouds of Starlings flew overhead, Their dark-green armor glittering in the gorgeous Showers of the sun, and the smell of new-mown Hay was on the breeze while flocks of feathered Warblers filled all the air with flowers of Melody. Above was the deep blue sky, 'neath Which hung broken clouds of lilac trimmed With gold, and the sea was but one vast Plain of quivering, polished silver, in whose Center stood one white sail. Sea-gulls screamed Wildly from the crags, and jackdaws croaked From the heights above, and I — I stood at Last by the home of my friend — my salvation. He clasped me to his bosom, and I told him Why I came, but — he stood still as if struck Dumb and made no reply. His Gray-haired mother drew near, and I asked My woe — "Why does he not speak?" and my Woe said, "He dares not, if he did he would Take up your burden out of the fullness of Gratitude — but his end would be dreadful." "His end would be dreadful," I repeated in a hollow Voice, and then Woe asked, "Would you like 222 THE CONFESSIONS OF JOHN ALLEN. To see it?" Fire flashed from my eyes — "yes," said I, "let me see the — the — end." He led on, and Pointed to the skull and bones of a man Bleaching on the sea-beat shore. I crouched behind A rock like a hunted beast. "Do you want Him to lift your burden?" Asked my Woe. "He Is the staff of life on which his dear old mother leans. Without him she will totter and fall to the earth." But I said to myself, again and again, stroking My breast, ''have I not shed my life's blood for Him? Have I not given the skin from my body To save his life?" Then as he and his mother Drew near, Woe asked, "do you want them To speak?" and I cried out aloud, "why don't They say something?" "They are awaiting Your decision," was the reply. The mother Looked at me, but I shrank back from Her gaze. "Shall they speak," whispered Woe. "No ! No ! No !" I cried out in an agony of terror. "Then you are satisfied?" was the next query. I clutched my hand at my tortured heart, And faintly I said — "yes !" then fell sobbing On the storm-swept rocks. BEFORE THE GATES. 223 BEFORE THE GATES. A T last ! At last ! We stand before the gates ! The promised land, the City New is near at Hand ! Come, ye cripples of Life's Woe, and here Enjoy the New Life in its beauty, and Its glory. Lay aside your crutches, and Your staffs, for they will be of little use Within the sacred walls. How useless here Shall be all science, and all art ; how useless Every creed that now infests the world; how Useless all the fads that have disgraced Society; how useless all the books That have been written; how useless even- College and library in the land; how Useless all amusements, and theatres ; How useless palaces, and buildings grand Or humble ; how useless inventions of the Day. Everything the world holds dear shall pale To insignificance at the walls of My New City. Come ! I throw the gates wide Open ! Enter ye who love salvation, and Despise the world of foul hypocrisy And woe, while I briefly go o'er the ground We traveled on thus far. 224 THE NEW CITY - THE NEW CITY. T STOOD upon a height remote from all, And watched the changing scenes go by, I saw the misery of earth; I marked the seasons have their birth Then fade, as stars fade in the sky When o'er them, summoned by the trumpet-call Of storms, the clouds, unrolled, Obscure them, fold by fold. Then dawned a presence on my sight And bade me read Life's dream aright — To ponder o'er its mysteries, And all its questions solve ; With earnestness and deepest thought To note the pain and anguish wrought, As wrecks are wrought in raging seas, No matter what it might involve. Below me, cities in their pride, Were lighted by the sunset's glow That touched with fire the hovel's side And burned on palaces of snow. THE NEW CITY. 225 I saw the throngs wend here and there Bowed with their burdens of despair, The young, the old, the foul, the fair. All to their own appointed way Home-hastening at shut of day ; And, as I mused upon their lot, What now should be, and what was not, The spirit taught my lips to say These words : "O, children of the earth ! Down-trodden from your very birth, Cradled in misery supreme, The puppets of a godless law With every noble deed in awe ! Through ages kept in ignorance, Impeded in all true advance To make for human good ! Behold the sweetest flower of all Clouded, as with a deadly pall, Thro' shackles that around her fall, And keep in dark ignoble thrall Thy heart, fair Womanhood ! The curse of Custom binding still God's souls — their mind and will — Their very living breath until 226 THE NEW CITY. The world is but a mockery Of what is called Society ! The helpless little ones who bear The burden of a parent's curse; Thro' all the troubled years to share Its ignomy, and rehearse From hour to hour in sunlight fair, In storm and calm, The lesson of a dreadful woe For which there is no healing balm From skies above or seas below — No refuge from the vengeful foe !" All this I saw : Foul forms of disease, And joyless homes, like leafless trees, Stripped of the happiness they knew In far-off days, when lives were true, Ere vampire-winged Hypocrisy Brooded above the haunts of men And made of homes a demon's den! Unmasked to me was every face, And robbed of every spacious grace That artifice could there implant! "Oh, that a heart of adamant Would strike," I murmured in my heart THE NEW CITY. 227 "These horrid bonds apart ! These chains that have embittered Life, And held it seethed in loveless strife! Brought woe into a beauteous world, And humankind to misery hurled ! Yea, stifled e'en the vital spark With murderous hands of infamy In what God had ordained to be — Weak man defying Deity !" "Is there no help?" my spirit cried: Shall every good thus be denied? Shall every law thus be defied? And must the world to chaos dash E'en as the livid lightning's flash, In swiftness to its final doom Amid the tempest and the gloom? All this for ages Writ on earth's pages ! His book Eternal Marred by infernal Vices and woes ! His judgment slandered, His purpose squandered ! Weeds in profusion 228 THE NEW CITY. By man's delusion (How they have flourished!) Tenderly nourished, Where God placed a rose ! Who shall from evil deliver The earth of its ills? Who the giver Of all good shall be to mankind Thus groping, deluded and blind, In the deeps of despair and of gloom, In the horror and mould of the tomb? Out of the silence I heard The sound of a marvelous word That spoke to my heart as I gazed On this picture of Death, all amazed ! "Behold !" and all changed was the scene From its turbulence into serene And beautiful Peace ! Far below A city as white as the snow I saw in the soft crimson glow Of the last gleam of glorious day As it melts into darkness away! A city whose walls shut within No vestige of sorrow or sin ! Where children of men were content THE NEW CITY. 229 With all the Eternal had sent ! Where hovered with wings of a dove The sweetness and beauty of Love From Heavenly regions above ! Where brooded the spirit of Rest, As broodeth a bird on its nest ! Where Nature's law, turned not awry, Xo dweller therein could defy ! "I come as a Saviour to children of men!" This legend inscribed on its gates I beheld, 'Twas written as if with luminous pen In flame, and my gaze with its beauty compelled ! Its dwellers were parted, I saw, By choice of immutable law. Xo mingling of sexes, a wall Divided them both, past recall ! Each Life's busy pathway pursued With sweet Duty's ardor imbued. No discord ; but harmony there, And loveliness beyond compare ! All strife had departed, and pain, All greed, and the struggle for gain, And sighing for things that were vain. Erased was all sorrow and stain ! 230 THE NEW CITY. Nevermore could eyes of man Faces of womankind scan ; Nevermore Love's glance be theirs — Love and its passionate cares Banished were from human souls That in sweet peace found true goals. Thus the old Love passed away But in its place, holding sway, Came the New Vow to protect, And never on earth to subject To torture the innocent child Into this being beguiled As in the inhuman, dark Past! True to the Vow was the call Henceforth in hearts of them all. No degredation marked its brand Upon fair woman's brow ; No Vice with harsh and scathing hand Made humankind to bow, And drink the dregs of fierce despair; But Chastity ruled everywhere. And Slander's tongue was ever hushed, Vile Scandal's wiles were downward crushed Disease walked not those streets of Peace, THE NEW CITY. 231 And Death sought not there to increase His clutch upon the race, But hid his ghastly face Within the hallowed place ! Virtues bloomed like flowers, Amid these human bowers ; And Artifice, unknown With no false glitter shown ! The tinselled glow of art In hearts here had no part ; Convention's arbitrary rule — The guidance of the fool — Held here no iron sway, Drove Wisdom not away ; But in obscure decay Forgotten was forever, And resurrected never ! The sins of proud Society — The petty tricks and shams of old — Were practised not; these eyes could see The tinsel 'neath the gold, And all the base unfold That ruled mankind's degenerate heart, And was of the old Life a part. 232 THE NEW CITY. The sacred Vow they always kept Firm and inviolate ! In golden precepts never slept; Immutable as Fate ! Should man on woman's features look As on the fair page of a book — God's book wherein all good is writ — That man was held, by law, unfit To live, and died the awful Death — Gave for the crime his blighting breath ! "Death to the Judas !" was the cry ; Death to the Traitor would defy Our Laws, to bring again The selfish brand of Cain To foreheads spotless fair, And plunge our hearts in care From which we have escaped, And all the bitter pain Of Vice's godless reign That noisome woes hath shaped To drag existence down Where Hell's foul shadows frown Upon unhallowed hosts ! Where ever gliding Ghosts THE NEW CITY. Of grim Disease flit by, And Pain obscures the sky Wherein shines Hope, from mortal eyes ! Despoil not thou our Paradise By means unholy ! Here, meek and lowly, We live the Law for us appointed, Our lives by Purity anointed. Death to the Judas would betray us ! Death to the heart of him would slay us ! The Law — the Vow Protect us now ! The New Millennium is ours! The World is garlanded with flowers — A garden fresh from God's own hand, And as He at creation planned ! This was the cry rose on the breeze, Wafting, like murmuring of seas, Sweet music on the listening ear — A pean from that Land so dear ! Then in the sunset's purple glow That lighted up the walls of snow Of that strange city, like a dove The benediction of God's love 233 234 THE NEW CITY - Descended from His Home above ! And Peace was in the air around And in the realms below, I heard no note of Discord sound, Nor cry of human woe ! Then tenderly the stars outshone — The jewels of God's Heavenly throne — "Peace! Love!" they seemed to sweetly sing, Softly as touch of Angel's wing ! "These cities yet shall stand, The pride of every land." OSCEOLA. 235 OSCEOLA. X-TERE, beside the deep blue sea, I muse of days no more to be — Of Life and all its tangled skein, Its mingled joy and bitter pain. The white sails dot the pearl-tipped waves That sob and moan as o'er the graves Of sailors in eternal sleep Down in the caves of ocean deep ! So moans my heart beside the sea For one brave heart who once to me Seemed god-like in his majesty! Whose image now before me comes, Aye, god-like still! I hear the drums Of yonder surf beat on the shore. Again I'm with the hearts of yore! My father was a trader brave And led me hither as a boy, Bv dark ravine and rocky cave 236 OSCEOLA. And swamp ; and here it was my joy To gaze on Osceola's face With every line of manhood's grace Written thereon, as on a page ! Oh, bravery was the heritage Of this great Chief, e'en then my friend, And true and loyal to the end ! He drew me to him as a star Draws mortal gaze to heaven afar. My young soul in its ardor grew To love his band ; their ways I knew. Here were the swarthy negroes bold, Never to be in slavery sold, As was their doom in days of old, Ere they became brave refugees ; Only to him they bent their knees — Their Chief! Here were the red men true, Stolid and brave to dare and do; These were the mighty ones I knew In those young days of long ago, And their foe was my deadly foe ! For Osceola drew free breath, OSCEOLA. And slavery was living Death ! My heart, my sympathy I gave Unto the mighty Chief so brave. His eagle eyes oft looked in mine ; Stalwart was he as forest pine ; He led us thro' the dense morass, 'Mid tangled woods and waving grass, By tropic trees whose hair was laced And garlanded, the foe we chased, Relentlessly as blood hounds track Their quarry, and ne'er turned we back ! Beneath the swaying palms we rode Whose leaves like daggers hung; And under fruit of gold we strode. While battle songs were sung. Birds of blue and green and red Hovered o'er each feathered head For the fierce war-path bonnetted 'Mid sylvan haunts where fruit was pressed, Like children to the mother-breast ; Where the deer, startled from his rest. Sped like an arrow from the bow, And the bear wandered to and fro, At blush of dawn our steps would go ; 237 238 OSCEOLA. Living the life that Freedom knows — Its energy — its grand repose! Our weapons were the arrows keen The bow, the knife, the tomahawk; Not for wild creatures of the scene That thro' the everglades would stalk; 'These were for Tyrants only made — " These weapons borne thro' everglade And gorgeous vines, upon our trail: So said our Chief. As summer gale, His words were soft. His heart was kind As maiden's in its peace enshrined ! As gentle as the bronze-eyed fawn That crops the herbage of the dawn ! We halted by the streams That sang, as if in dreams; Where fair magnolias grew And winds their fragrance blew. The campfire's smoke upcurled, Like sails that were unfurled. Then would the great chief walk apart, And muse beside the babbling stream, OSCEOLA. Or gaze upon the far-off stars That trembled in the majesty Of God ! 'Twas there I sought him once. And there he told me of his wrongs. His beauteous bride had in her veins The blood that doomed her for a slave! How she was taken, to be sold As beast of burden, in those days! How he had pled for her release, And how the scoff and bitter jibe Of pale faces had wrung his heart To deadly vengeance. "I fight them not," He said, "because the face is white; It is because the heart is black! With treachery deep-dyed their soul ! I war for Freedom of all men ! So shall I till Life's sun departs." Again at 'dawn the trail we took, By moss-hung trees, and winding brook; Green, tangled depths, where wild birds piped And nimble squirrels, brownly striped, 239 240 OSCEOLA. Like bolts of lightning, flashed in air. And hid in trees all sunlit fair. Then rang the war whoop piercing wild ; The rifle cracked ; and knives out-flashed ; Blood reddened every inch of sod ; Dripped at our belts the pale face scalps ! The wild flight to our swamps, at dusk. And we secure from hand of foe ! The battle raged, day after day. Then came a lull. Where we were hid Gay butterflies, with wavering wings, Poised on the air, like flying flowers ; The mocking bird its song outpoured In thankfulness to bounteous God ! But rest was brief; the stern command Of Osceola rang once more, And on the war-path sped his band To victory. So fell my lot, One day, to linger in the camp, Bade by my Chief to watch and guard. OSCEOLA. 241 Idly I lay 'neath tropic skies. Once, bathed in sunset's radiant gold, Before me stood an Indian girl, Dark-eyes, and lovely as a queen ! My heart was hers, e'en while I gazed! The daughter of a Chief was she — A mighty Chief — with heart of stone! x\nd he would have his daughter wed A slave-trader, with many wives — Fair sample of the hideous trade ! A harem had he 'mid these wilds Of dusky hued, and black and white ! We wandered on thro' blossoming trees, Where humming bees and warbling birds Made musical the canopies Of leaves above? where glinted thro' The deep blue of the skies of Heaven, And spoke we then of Love ! True love, That fills the heart with sweetest bliss ! The hope, the joy of all desire, A balm, and a consuming flame ! We drifted in our bark canoe 242 OSCEOLA. 'Neath drooping palms, where lilies bloomed. Not whiter, fairer, than her soul ! Thro' fragrant breath of orange groves We glided; saw the stars arise And set; and sang she there for me A song, like cooing of the dove Unto its mate : no song more sweet Was ever heard in Paradise ! Alas ! but happiness is brief, And Love — a flower that fades at eve ! What strange canoes swung into sight? What rifles gleamed in hands of might? Bound were we there, and led away Unto a city old and gray ! They placed me in a noisome cell Wherein no gleam of daylight fell — Rock-hewn, in Spanish days of old. Chilly, and hung with slimy mould. I moaned, I cried in my despair, Like pinioned leopard in its lair ! I cursed my lot, with bitter tears — The echo was but savage jeers! A keeper came, thrust thro' a door OSCEOLA. 243 Bread, water ; then locked, as before That egress — all was dark once more! One night as I bemoaned my Fate, Left hopeless, dying, desolate, I heard the jailer's jingling keys; A trembling smote my hands, my knees ; But 'twas the thrill of wild delight ! In buckskin garbed, dawned on my sight My loved one! In each other's arms, What cared we then for all the harms That vengeance sought on us to wreak? ''What do you here, my darling — speak?" I whispered, "I have come to save My true love from his living grave!'' She answered, "Doomed to torture dire — The horrid rack, the deadly fire — This was your portion ! I am here Oh, my beloved, do not fear ! x\nd I remain to take your place ! Nay, look not so, with ashen face ! Horses are near: go, dearest, go!" 244 OSCEOLA. She said, with cheeks of love aglow. "What does this mean?" my heart outspoke; But swifter than the lightning's stroke Fell on my ears her words of dread : "It means, you rescued from the dead A soul that sinned forevermore. And from perdition did restore A lone, despairing, worthless one Shunned by all good beneath the sun ! No purity was in my heart Till love of yours came to impart Its healing balm ; as lilies are, In whiteness, you have made my soul So it may seek its envied goal — The happy hunting grounds ; for when Your lips touched mine, ah, then, ah, then, Love made of me — the vulture foul — In search of prey, a dove ! Friends prowl To seek your death ! Go ! Leave me ! Go !" "Then let us both escape," I said, She shook her head, and answered, "No !" OSCEOLA. Recoiling from my arms in dread. "I am not fit to share your love, Tho' dear it is as Heaven above ! To-day I was to have been wed," And in her shame she bowed her head. 'The hardened sinner here would rest ; I die for you — it is the best ! That Fate alone for me is blest ! I hear their footsteps! Go, love, fly!" "And leave you here alone? Not I !" I spoke, and caught her to my heart, "No! you and I shall never part!" She drew a dagger from her girth, I dashed it swiftly to the earth ! The door flew open ; swift as light A steed I mounted, in my flight, And lifted her unto my side, As o'er the trail, quick, bound on bound, We sped ! Click ! came the fateful sound Of rifle ! 245 246 OSCEOLA. With its deadly aim : A spurt of blood from her breast came, And silent in my arms she lay ! * * * On, on, with the speed of a cyclone, my bay Dashed into the open, away and away ! With one arm I held my dear burden, so pale, But words that I spoke there could nothing avail. By river and ford, By hill and ravine ; Past forests so broad Of dew-spangled green ; 'Neath tall, bearded trees Moss-tangled, we flew ; With Death on the breeze — Yet no rein I drew ! Crack ! Crack ! rifles blazed, Swift bullets sang 'round ; Still forward I gazed Nor heeded their sound. I called her dear name! I pleaded that she Would speak ! Pressed her cheek, Ah ! how cold 'twas to me ! OSCEOLA. 247 My wild, panting steed Paused no whit in his flight ; But each word he would heed. Was there rescue in sight ? Thro' the river we splashed, Up the steep bank we dashed; And at the dying of the day As rescue, safety, far away, Was almost in my startled grasp ! I felt her hand's convulsive clasp, Then all was still! I knew no more, Until a grave face bending o'er My form, recalled me back to light And Life! And he who met my sight Was Osceola, Chief and friend! And so my story has its end. $ :■< ■%. We made her grave beneath the pines, Where evermore the lily twines In loving friendship with the rose, And swift winds sigh at day's repose. 248 OSCEOLA. I pressed her lips ere in that tomb I left her in her beauty's bloom ! And ever after, in sweet dreams, I've heard her voice — so near it seems ! Her light canoe glides swiftly by At twilight, 'neath that tropic sky, And on the air her song is heard Mingled with night-songs of the bird. Years afterwards I sought the spot Where she was laid, but found it not ; But the light leaves that warm wind stir Seemed ever whispering of her ! I felt her breath upon my cheek, Her eyes beamed on me, softly meek ! Away ! it was the dream of yore Those Seminole days live no more, And all their joys and griefs are o'er ! But Osceola, what of him ? The well-fought battle sounds grew dim. They led the Chief in chains away — His spirit broken — from the fray ; That spirit proud had never bent Before ! OSCEOLA. What nobler monument Should be than his whose stolen lands Divided were by white man's hands? Whose kin were severed from his heart, Whose wife was sold at Slavery's mart? Conquered in the unequal fight Where bullets dared the arrow's flight, He looms, heroic and sublime, A noble warrior thro' all time ! O, glorious Nation that with might Hath trodden down the Indian's Right ! Hath sown your vices in his path ! Will there not come a day of wrath W^hen all shall surely righted be ! Take heed lest this dark day you see, When the red man, in God's own time, Shall rise in judgment of your crime ! 249 250 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. (Arizona.) 11J IGH o'er the desert's leagues of bleaching sand That seem to quiver in the blinding glare, No blade of living green on either hand, With only desolation in the air, And silence, breathing Death and grim Despair, With helpless horror brooding everywhere The spirit of the scene — a grizzly stands Upon a peak whose eminence commands The utmost limit of these lonely lands. Above him rise still grander heights of snow, Up, up, until they lose themselves in clouds ; While gorge and ravine yawning far below, Whose awful deeps the darkest shadow shrouds, Unlighted by the sunset's dying glow, A sense of fearful majesty bestow. Rich purple, fit for panoply of kings, The setting orb inimitably flings O'er purest white of snows for ages laid Far, far above the towering pine-tree glade, THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 251 And mingled hues of pearl and amethyst Blend o'er the scene in gold and purple mist! As if the hand of God, at shut of day, Were softly laid upon His glorious work, That it might hide from awe-pierced eyes away Yon desert where dark, fell Destruction lay ! The arrows of the sunset, tipped with fire, Glanced over gorge and over rocky spire, For like some vast Cathedral's massive height The grand Sierras loom upon the sight This sunset hour ! and thro' their cloven aisles, Lo! 'tis Almighty God who sweetly smiles! The wind's soft sigh is like the prelude fair Of some vast organ calling man to prayer ! And deeper, deeper flash the radiant dyes Of those translucent, iridescent skies Till Heaven seems opened to the raptured gaze And human hearts pause in devout amaze ! The spirit of the scene stood silent there, Distinctly limned against this scene so fair, Huge, fierce, as if to supreme anger wrought At what the years in onward course had brought. He seemed to mark the desert's deadly waste; The mountains wild in adamant encased ; 252 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. The snowy peaks ! the weird abyss beneath ; The river, like a sword without a sheath, Glancing afar ; the pine trees darkly green — All these he marked — the spirit of the scene — Then to my heart, in accents eloquent, A message from that dizzy height was sent, And with the glory of the scene was blent In never fading, and resistless power, From him — the Prophet of the sunset hour ! From him whose feet had trodden year by year Yon valleys low, and yon aerial sphere Whose only limit is the keen-eyed stars Which sentinel the realm that Heaven bars From mortal ken ! And thus the message sped : "These paths by man untrodden, wild and lone, The lapse of Ages, since earth's dawn, have known ! Yon silvery river murmuring to the sea Will ripple on till Time no more shall be ; These caverns held in hollow of God's hand Will rear their heads precipitately grand And frown o'er yonder parching desert sand ; While storms of Winter turbulent and free Will wolf-like howl in fierce and angry might, Resounding still from awful height to height, THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 253 'Mid blinding whirls of sleet and feathery snow, When icy winds tumultuously blow ! And man will pass away, aye, race by race, No more on earth to have a biding place, His bones will whiten yonder gleaming sands, And all the labor of his busy hands Will prove of no avail, howe'er he toil, And garner, in his greed, the golden spoil Of these wild lands ! Yet these forever last — These battlements and towers grandly vast, Forever soaring to the skies afar, Above the world's incessant hum and jar, A living monument of Deity supreme To mock man's power, and scorn his wildest dream Of grand achievement ! Yea, these pass not by Till like a scroll shall rolled up be the sky In flame and earthquake shock and gloom W^ild portents of the judgment day of Doom! Time was, when o'er yon desert's mighty space, The buffalo would darken Nature's face In numbers countless as the ocean's waves Or, as on earth, are mankind's mouldering graves ! As if the clouds that brought the hurricane Had swept their vampire-wings across the plain 254 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. And hovered there ! Where are those legions now That thundered past the vales and hills, as prow Of vessel plunges in the ocean's brine, Or cleft- rock flies adown the steep decline? Gone ! Not one vestige of their bones remains To speak their prowess on yon sterile plains ! Oft have I seen the canvas wagons thread The path upon the dried-up river's bed — Like tiny sails of white they sped along And faintly on the breeze I heard the song Of many a brave and stalwart settler-throng Upon its way towards the boundless West, While here I've listened on this lofty crest ! How oft I've watched the twinkling campfire's gleam. Like fireflies, by the starry-lighted stream, While o'er the tent the midnight hush descended And all the toils of day in dreams were ended ! Where are those brave and sun-bronzed hearts of yore ? Go search the sands, you ne'er will find them more! Lost, swallowed up by Time's devouring might — Gone like the lightning's flash in depths of night Unmarked, unnoticed in oblivion's flight! Yet still the canyon's deeps in shadows lie, THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 255 Yet still these rocks immeasurably high Heed not the years in their incessant flow ; Massive they stand as in ages long ago! The golden arrows of the lightning strike ; But bolt or sunbeam is to them alike ; The rains and snows beat on them year by year, But all unscathed their ancient forms appear, As when they first in elemental strife Sprang, at God's bidding, to insensate life ! Born of the earthquake's globe uprending shock, Heaving stupendous rock high up on rock ; Measureless chasm and abyss tremendous, Down, sheer down, where cataracts leapt by ; Gorge, gulch, declivity and walls stupendous, Where never gleams the light of yonder sky ! Home of the eagle, and the vulture's haunt. Where silently they poise on moveless wings ! Ah ! vain is man and every idle vaunt Of prowess that in vanity he sings When measured with this handiwork of God — Towers of the world, by human feet untrod ! Creation's dawn first saw this majesty Of mountains sentinelling yonder vales — First heard the grand and fearful symphony 256 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Awaken in the fury of its gales, And thunder down these vast cathedral aisles Where never blossom in the sunlight smiles ! So far away that scarcely eye could scan — Like specks appeared the savage caravan, Trailing the tepees o'er the arid waste, Or spurring on in wild ferocious haste To where the pioneers their tents had placed, In fancied safety, for a night of rest And peaceful dreams, where never ills molest. Then on the dreamers beamed the home-light sweet Whose cheerful rays their eyes no more would greet! The home beside the river's flowery side Before their vision stood in humble pride ; The well-sweep and the barn were theirs once more, And living faces and delights of yore. As if the fiends of Hell had all arisen — ■ Had rushed headlong from out their lurid prison, The painted foe upon the quarry swept, And Death their portion was while calmly slept Mother and babe, and maidens in their glow, And manhood, and old age with locks of snow ! Sphinx-like this mountain's face down-gazed Impassive, stern, nor more amazed THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Than if the sound of Angels' hovering wings Had fallen there in grateful murmurings ! Or if the grand celestial choir had sung In rapturous measure, past all mortal tongue Or mind of human to conceive ; so gazed This mountain, pitiless and unamazed ! Noon on the desert's white and gleaming waste, A copper sky whereon no cloud is traced ; No glance of water glimmers to the sight, No sound of bird or beast, from left to right, Or anywhere, nothing save quivering blight! The cactus rears its tiny spears; no shade For endless leagues along the trackless path No longer swept by cyclone in its wrath, That hurled the sleet-like sand in whirls of fire Stinging the hapless traveler, like fire ! No breath of air to fan the swollen veins That choked with blood stand out upon the skin Of laboring broncho, on whose neck the reins Hang loosely o'er his mane. Dejected, thin, Devoured by thirst, his rider's anxious gaze Scans, hand o'er eyes, the soul-tormenting blaze, His black lips cracked, and red with spirted blood ; While in his feverish fancy pours a flood, 257 258 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. In tantalizing gushes, just afar Where yonder mirage tells where green hills are! The trail is lost ! He staggers aimlessly, For yonder oasis holds life and rest ! A few more steps and safety he can see, And sweet repose upon fair Nature's breast! He shouts as shouts the maniac in glee! Another step, 'tis all to reach yon tree That waves its branches in the cooling air ! Still on and on his blundering footsteps fare. For fast recedes that vision from his eyes Beneath the fire that falleth from the skies To wither 'neath its touch both men and beast, And fit them for the vulture's watched-for feast ! Oh, God of Heaven, 'tis pitiful to lie Out on the desert lone, and slowly die ; To seem to hear the babbling, silver brooks Singing their way along in mossy nooks ! To know that help is gone forevermore, And all Life's purposes and plans are o'er ! Was this the end to be of search for gold? These wanderings and horrors manifold? Ah, glazed eyes fixed upon the dome above, Who now will close those lids with hands of love ? THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 259 Who softly still those writhing limbs of thine? Whose loving* arms thy wasted form entwine? E'en now, afar, mayhap some loved one waits To welcome thee, the while she contemplates Thy safe return to Home and all that's dear, Within her heart no haunting thought of fear ! And, hopeless, watching, as year follows year, Will say: "He has forgotten those he knew In the old days, before he proved untrue !" Meanwhile he lies upon the barren sands, Stretched white upon his breast those bony hands ! His sepulchre the dim, lone desert's reach, His requiem the eagle's rancous screech ! And yet God knows, and understands ! Back in the flight of Time, yea, eons back, My spirit flies, and sees no vapid track; But hordes that dwelt upon this flowerless land — The men of old of stalwart limb Whose eyes the sun-blaze could not dim. What city of that long forgotten Past Here built its homes, and braved the furnace-blast? What loves, what hopes, here had their glorious birth, And lived their hours upon this spot of earth ? The songs of childhood, and the laugh of youth, 26o THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. The words of wisdom and the voice of truth, Here oft were heard beneath the swaying palm, And golden hours were passed in joy and calm, Where roses gave the fragrance of their balm To winds that played 'mid tresses dark or fair ; And mirth was ringing on the wandering air ! Now every breath is laden with Despair ! No purposes that live in human heart But in long ages back have played their part Beneath this sky ! Perchance here flowed the sea In all its wild and peerless majesty! And sails were wafted from their havens here While songs of sailors rang with merry cheer Long after cities had lain buried here ! What centuries of human woe and weal Could not these mute and Time-swept sands reveal? Peaks of the ancient world, we ask in vain ! Ye answer not unto our plea ! Again I turn me to the sphinx-like mountain's brow, And in my helplessness I humbly bow ! Ye answer not, who all could now unfold, Clad in soft raiment of the sunset's gold, Crowned with the glory that surpasses kings Beauty of star and moon, and all that brings THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 261 Loveliness to earth kneels at thy feet, And offers thee the homage of the morn ; The grandeur of the tempest wreathes thee 'round, The lightning's gold is that with which thou'rt crowned, Thy jewels are the dew drops newly born ! Lo ! still yon beast looks o'er the desert scene Bathed in the sunset's beatific sheen — Deep-woven dyes resplendently serene ! Dark painted there against yon background gray. Illumined by each evanescent ray, The Prophet of this lone aerial height, Moveless it stands amid the splendor bright. Now fades the purple from the dimming West, The gold the crimson wreathing peak and crest. The changing hues upon the snowy breast Of these Sierras. Soundless grows the air, Like barques, with sails of pearl, the clouds Float on their seas inimitably fair, To harbors that the coming Night enshrouds. God's flowers — the stars — now one by one appear, As twilight in deep beauty hovers near, Like some sweet Angel hushing all to rest As dies the last faint glimmer in the West ! 262 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Then from the brilliant orbs there seems to fall A hush as if to prayer they summoned all Of earth ! An e'en these peaks seem bowed in prayer, While moonlight bends in benediction there ! So thro' the night these awful caverns loom Steeped in their vast impenetrable gloom ! Still, echoless, no sound of whirring wing, Till Morn shall come, in grandeur of a king, And plant upon these walls his standard bright While fly the scattered legions of the Night ! Arizona, 1904. RAMON A. 263 RAMONA. T5ESIDE the tepee's door she sat; The murmur of the cataract That leapt from rocky cleft to cleft Was all the sound she heard. Bereft Of all that life and love held dear, A moment then she paused to hear The accents of her little boy, Playing beside her in his joy. A bow and arrow held he there, And little knew her heart's despair ! Her open arms she held to him While tears her darksome eyes made dim, And these words told her woe and care: "Come close to me, my poor, lone boy, My anguish, and my soul's dear joy ! Nay, look not in mine eyes with fear, For the last time I clasp thee here ! I go where love knows not deceit, Where only love is ever sweet — The Father's! In that happy land 264 RAMONA. Beyond the stars ! Oh, proud and grand Thy father once held me to his breast, And first these raven locks caressed, It seems not many moons ago The blissful mem'ry haunts me so ! My life is fading, as the day That sinks in yonder clouds away ; Soon comes the night ; alas, for me ! Another day I shall not see ! So let me quickly tell to you My story, as yon heavens true. Afar from here, 'neath torrid skies, And peaks that to the stars arise ; Where torrents like a whirlwind dash, And sounds the thunder's awful crash ; Where step of white man rarely trod, The red man dwelt. He was my God — That stranger who one day I found Within the tepee, strongly bound, Reserved for torture when the sun That day its lurid course had run! I had a heart that could endure All pangs, and keep its purpose sure; An Indian maiden does not fear ! RAMONA. 265 But there was something in those eyes That gazed upon me, deep and clear — Something my heart could not despise ! They seemed to say, "Oh, save me, girl ! And I will give my heart's dear pearl — Its tender love alone to thee !" My soul went out in sympathy. Oh, God ! that this the end must be ! I gave him one assuring glance, And left the rest to time and chance ; For I could not the stranger leave In misery to moan and grieve Knowing that Death his fate would be Ere midnight fell o'er rock and tree ! I watched, and to the tepee crept, While all the tribe in silence slept! No sound except the night wind's moan, I stood before him there alone ! Unbound the thongs, and set him free ! Led him to where he safe would be Oh, God ! for white man's treachery ! A pale face with a heart as black As midnight! Boy, the time I lack To tell thee how my heart was won. 266 RAMON A. And how I loved thy parent, son ! My father was a chief, and stern, And when he came the truth to learn He died in grief — I left his side: The Indian maiden was the bride Of one to whom she gave her life — Her life of Love, thro' ev'ry strife ! Days passed away ; we happy were Within the City's whirl and stir; I lived but for his love alone, He was the Sun that o'er me shone! His was the smile that was a star To guide me on to joy afar! I never dreamed that untruth lay Within his vile soul day by day ! I never thought he could forget The life I saved him ! With regret I saw his love fade as the star That ushers in the dawn afar! But thou hadst come to be my joy, My ruddy, little joy-faced boy! For thee I lived, his taunts I bore, But from this heart his love I tore, When for another he forsook RAMONA. 267 His wife ; and boy, his life I took ! I tracked him with the steps of Fate — Even an Indian squaw can hate ! * * $ I was an outcast, shunned by all ! By night I heard the wolf-pack call ; But it was sweeter to my ear Than heartless laughter, jibe and jeer Heaped on a poor forsaken wife — No home, no friend, no rest in life! Oft I have paused upon the side Of yonder canyons yawning wide And watched the thread of silver flow Thousands of feet away below, And thought to plunge within its breast To find an end in dreamless rest ! But thou wert near ; how could I leave My boy, my pride, alone to grieve ? Tis better as it is: I go Beyond these peaks of living snow- Where the Great Spirit cares for all However mean, however small ! For heeds He not a sparrow's fall? 268 RAMON A. Just now I placed within thy hand The poisoned arrow of our band And bade thee aim with childish glee The bow-string held upon thy knee ! Kiss me ! One clasp ! to rest I go ! Weep not my boy, thou couldst not know That death lurked in the poisoned dart — Thank God the arrow reached my heart ! The night fell o'er her like a pall While pitying stars looked on her there ! Once happy, young, unknown to care But now bereaved of Life and all ! So passed she from the earth away. Biding in peace God's judgment day! DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 2 6g DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 4 4^V7'OU sort of admire that small mustang's pints? Why, stranger, there's lightnin' in all them rough jints! That's why his name's Thunder. I gave it to him. Tho' when I first owned him his name was plain Jim. Set by for a minute ; that's Rosebud, my wife — Thar' ain't any finer gal around, on your life Thar' ain't any sweeter in all the wide West, I pan out on her, let who will have the rest ! You think she's a woman ; I say she's a Saint, — An Angel of goodness, I'm blessed ef she ain't! But speakin' of horses. Whoa ! easy now, Thunder. Look out! he might nip ye, and I shouldn't wonder! Ye see, he knows me, but to strangers he's shy. Just look at that devil's light in his off eye! 'Twas this a way : one day at sun up we sped Far out on the prairie, red hot over head ; There wasn't a cloud in the bright copper sky, And water — there wasn't a drop of it nigh, 270 DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. Not even a sign of it, look where you might, And nothin' but parched, withered sage brush in sight. Why even the tongues of the coyotes hung out A half a yard long as they skulked 'round about. I own I was puzzled to know whar to go — To know what to do — tho' I'm not always so. 'Well, Thunder,' sez I, 'it's a clear case of skunk.' He snorted, as much as to say — 'We'll git hunk !' Then just over thar rose a small cloud of dust, I couldn't make out what it meant, at the fust, But Thunder there picked up his ears, shook his head, And Tnjins! run fur it!' that's just what he said. Right off to our left was a small clump of trees, We started fur that ; it was go as you please ; But I knew we could hide, if we got there in time, And the way Thunder galloped — well, it was sublime ! I just let him have that bit all to the good, And yelled 'Go it Thunder!' and he understood! The red devils swept down, with one mighty yell, I fired at the foremost, his horse reared, he fell ! A shower of bullets clipped brush all around, But on galloped Thunder — kept time to the sound ! Still nearer and nearer, to head us they tried, Old Thunder kept going, and never once shied DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 271 Until we were safe behind that clump of trees, And Thunder — why, that for him wasn't a breeze ! But this wasn't all, for I caught just a gleam, Although miles away, I knew 'twas a stream, And that was the brightest of visions to me, A sight much more precious than any could be ! Say, Stranger, do you know the awful sensation Of thirst, hev ye given it consideration? The sky like an oven, the sand 'neath yer feet, And even the rattle snakes frizzling with heat; Yer tongue lolling out, and yer lips baked and hard, Well, say, if yer haven't, yer lucky, old pard. As I was just savin', he saved me, old Thunder, So look at him, tell me now, ain't he a wonder? But that wasn't all, fer we've had other chases Which showed Thunder's mettle and elegant paces. Just pass the old bottle, it makes me feel dry To think of the times we've had, Thunder and I. One night when the stars were all twinkling aloft, • And breezes were hummin' not any too soft, We two had been prospectin' nigh the foot hills, And hungry enough, well, to give one the chills. When all of a sudden the heavens grew clouded A snow-storm was risin', the prospect was shrouded 272 DAVY CROCKETS RIDE. With big flakes of snow till our sight it was blinded, We'd soon lost the trail ; but old Thunder ne'er minded. He stood still awhile as if thinking about it, Then made up his mind that he could do without it And find out a path for himself. Now 'twas midnight The snow kept on falling, and totally hid night; But Thunder, fleet footed, just kept up his stride And I was so frozen, I scarcely could ride. An hour went by, and we no nigher home, The desert was white, like an ocean of foam ; I heard a low sound, and the old horse looked back To see what it was that had followed his track ; I knew it was wolves, and, my God, what a pack ! On, faster and faster, they came with a rush ! It made my blood curdle to hear in that hush Of snow-blinding midnight the horrible howl Of hundreds of wolves with their fierce hungry growl ! Old Thunder he knew how to spoil their nice game, He'd been thar' before, and their mettle could tame ; I stood in my stirrups, and held tight my breath, (To be eaten alive ain't a nice kind of death !) DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 273 As the foremost black speck shown out clear on the white Of the snow, I let loose, and one stopped in his flight ! Bang! Bang! you'd have thought that all hell was to pay, And so for a minute I held them at bay. To see them black devils, when they'd scented blood, Tear, scramble and scratch would hev' done yer heart good. Old Thunder swept on, didn't lose nary inch — A friend is yer friend when it comes to a pinch ! And he was my friend on that terrible night. I'll never forget it — not by a dern sight! Them wolves put together, stopped havin' their fight, We hurried along, and they fast strugglin' after, And all the while makin' their horrible laughter, Which seemed to say, 'now we'll soon hev' ye dead beat, And dollars to doughnuts ye both are our meat! 5 But look ! at the foot-hills a half mile away There twinkles a light ! 'tis as welcome as day To one who despairs thro' a night of disaster ! I'm blessed if old Thunder then didn't run faster, And up to the door of my cabin he stopped, 274 DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. While out of the saddle I instantly dropped And led him straight in, when I barred quick the door, Those daring black devils we'd foiled just once more! Say, Stranger, now ain't it a while between drinks? Ye see, 'bout old Thunder I've so many kinks I'd set here forever ter tell what he's done; There ain't any equal ter him, not a one! Well, there was a gal, just a rose-bud of June, She set my heart singin' to Love's sweetest tune, Yer never might think it; but 'twas years ago, And somehow time changes a feller, ye know, But never the heart — she's my love to this hour, And blooms still for me, my dear rose-bud, my flow'r ! Another chap liked her, she didn't let on Which lover her mind had yet settled upon. So somehow that chap said we'd race for her hand, Whoever should win she would choose — understand? Well, he was a tenderfoot, always would brag About his fine Morgan-sired thoroughbred nag. And I had old Thunder, or rather plain Jim — For that was the name was first given to him. The race-day came of! : there was lots of a crowd, The talk and the bettin' was both rather loud. A hundred to one was the odds on my nag, DAVY CROCKETS RIDE. 275 But that didn't matter, and I didn't care, For I saw a face that looked heavenly fair, Her eyes seemed to say, "I am yours, and you'll win !" Although to the rest my chance looked rather thin. Four miles straight away and return, was the game, His horse looked the winner, mine humble and tame. We started, the crowd roared, he'll beat him to death, But me and old Thunder there just held our breath. In racin', ye know, it's a good thing ter wait And shout when yer win, this you'll learn soon or late ! The First mile he went away far in the lead, But 1 didn't mind that, I knew Thunder's speed, Just hung on until we had come to the Two And then just a leetle up nearer I drew. The Third, 'bout the same, and I saw Thunder wink As much as to say, 'We hev' got him, I think !' The Fourth, goin' easy, as usual quite, And then came the run home — well that was a sight ! The Fifth, we had crept up still nearer, could see That Morgan-sired thoroughbred didn't agree With the lashing his rider applied to his flank. I knew in a twinkling his courage then sank, And old Thunder's hoof-beats — they flew like a dart — Kept always repeating, 'Oh, we'll break his heart!' 276 DAVY CROCKETS RIDE. 'Oh, we'll break his heart!' then the Sixth mile we passed, And up to his saddle swept Thunder, at last! He hung there as never a nag hung before! Then up to the skies went a yell and a roar, As the Seventh we passed, half an inch to the fore! The thoroughbred rallied, came at us again, His rider plied spur, till he bled from each vein, But it was nary use, and the string was in sight, And Thunder, swept on, in his masterly might, Won the race in a canter, and just by pure grit, And Stranger, well, that is about all of it ! Except that I won the gal settin' up there And smilin', a pretty rose-bud in her hair, Which she took and pinned on my coat right away, And she's been my Rose-bud since that very day !" THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 277 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. A CARVEN arrow's head once bore This legend of the days of yore, From wide-spread pampas to my door; So, hear me tell it. Long buried was this arrow's head Where reaches of deep green outspread, Beneath a turquoise sky, so fair, That paradise seemed mirrored there, Stretched to the Andes far away : This tale of Love it breathes to-day, And what befell it. Ere the white man's conquering horde Trod those pampas wild and broad ; When the condor's mighty wings Swept these mountain openings, Poising over caverns vast On which never had been cast Eye of mortal ; ere these caves Had become the silent graves Of the dwellers of the rocks 278 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. Cleft and crumbling with the shocks Of the tempest and the storm Hurled when loomed the earthquake's form, Shattering with giant hands These primeval mountain lands, Delving awful deeps where Fear Ever since has hovered near — Ere this time a savage race Made these plains a dwelling place. Strong of limb, bronze-brown of hue, Valiant, and of purpose true ; In the chase of eagle flight, Brave and crafty in the fight ; Bold of heart, to fear a stranger, Morn would see the savage ranger Speeding o'er the plains in battle, With a foeman's ire aglow, Nerved on by the war-drum's rattle, Armed and eager for the foe! Noon, beneath the palms o'erspreading, Shade and sweet contentment shedding, Saw the maidens coyly gathered In a circle bright and fair, With their garments gaily feathered — THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 279 Plumage varied, rich and rare. Ah ! for lovers then they waited, Hastening from battle dire ! On their prowess contemplated, Eager for their heart's desire! Twilight, with its purple wings, Over them made shadows deep : Where the tangled foliage swung, And the vine in clusters clung, Nature wooed to tranquil sleep Pampas, hill and wooded steep, Then crept stealthily from lair Beasts that shunned the daylight fair. Slid the lizard thro' the leaves, Where the noisome spider weaves ; Twined the snake on dewy trees Motionless on moonlit leas. From his huge and horrid den Strode the fierce gorilla then, Making hideous with his cry Every region neath the sky That his lungs of brass could reach With reverbrated screech ! While the cougar, from the limb, 2 8o THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. Crouched, and darted on the dim Covert of the Night, his stare From two eyes with rage a-glare! Yet from the forest and the plain, And from the Andes to the main, Along the Orinoco's sweep There spread no terror half so deep, No fear like that this monster brought Thro' deeds of cruel vengeance wrought On those who ventured on his path And met the demons of his wrath! Half man, half devil ! horror vile ! No Caliban from Fancy's Isle So fierce, so unrelenting, foul, As he that bore the hideous scowl Of a malignant, deathless hate T'wards all God's creatures animate ! * * ;;< Brave was the Chief in the pride of his youth, Child of a sire who had long passed away ; Fair was the maiden in whose eyes the truth Shone as the dew on the lilies of May! Sweet was the love that was plighted at eve Under the stars that were clustering bright ; THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 281 Lone was the heart that was destined to grieve, Steeped in the darkness of Misery's night! Often they wandered beside the clear stream, Often it listened to vows that they told; Love held their souls in its beautiful dream — Love that in spite of Time never grows old ! He was her pride for his valor and fame ; She was his idol of grace past compare ; Joy of his heart, like a spirit she came Bringing to him all things lovely and fair! Soon were their lives to be wedded with joy, Like mountain torrents that meet on the plain! Joined with a passion that naught could destroy — Fraught not with shadows of sorrow or pain. Nature's sweet children they were, in its prime, Free and untrammeled by Fashion or Art; Love knows no season, and Love knows no Time ; Their's was the pure, virgin bond of the heart! * * * "Omene, dearest," spoke her love ''Take from my lips these gifts above ; See those the false and fickle claim — My kisses ! Give me back the same !" Ah ! beautiful she lingered there 282 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. Framed in her wealth of raven hair That in the moonlight shone as fair And glossy in its splendor As did those orbs of midnight hue That uttered, mutely, answers true To words of love so tender ! "Good -night, Omene, now we part But for awhile; yet in my heart I keep thee as a flow'r that blooms Amid some far-off desert glooms, So sweet, so rare thou'lt ever be, Dear Indian maiden, unto me !" They parted in the silver gleam Of moonlight ; each to fondly dream Of bliss that was for them in store : They parted — to meet nevermore ! In dreams, the maiden's raptured gaze, Softrlighted by Love's ardent rays, Beheld the Future's radiance shine In rapture that was all divine! In dreams, she held her lover's hand Threading the groves of fairy-land ! The angels sang to soft repose Her heart, as breezes lull the rose THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 283 Of twilight to its gentle sleep, So calm, so restful, and so deep ! * * * With stealthy stride from out the wood Who glides in wrathful solitude? The fierce gorilla nears the tent, Xow straight he glides, now lowly bent, Glares 'round him with a cunning leer! Oh, maiden, quaileth not with fear Thy gentle heart, e'en in thy dreams, As onward fall the baleful gleams Of those fell eyes where lights of hell Blaze in their flames unquenchable? One scream of wild and lone despair Cleaves like a knife the torrid air! Then, in his arms, with mighty stride He bears the maiden far away While gleam the skies with tints of day, And fall the shrieks of wild dismay ! 5£ %■ % On, on, like a torrent in turbulent might, The sons of the forest spur after in flight ! With heart all aflame rides the chief at their head, To rescue the maiden tho' living or dead ! 284 THE LEGEND 0F THE ARGENTINE. Past tangle of vines, over river and hill, By valley and wood, over cascade and rill, In gorge and ravine, till the desert afar Shines on their gaze, like the gleam of a star ! By night and by day o'er the desert they speed, It bears not a leaf, no not even a weed ! But yonder, afar on its ultimate verge, There blooms an oasis ! Still onward they urge Their fast failing steeds on the gorilla's track, No ardor they lose and no courage they lack : They care not for hunger, they heed not- the thirst, For fierce the revenge that their maddened hearts nursed. Day follows day; they journey on, Until their hope has well nigh gone ! No food, no water anywhere, Nothing but one all-binding glare Of sun ! Steeds drop on every side Their forms bestrew the desert wide To gorge the buzzards of the air That hover o'er their pathway there ! With sun-baked lips, the riders lie Beside their panting steeds to die. They talk of rivers gushing free, THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 285 Of fountains in the desert sand ; Of brooks that purl in melody; But Death lurks there on every hand ! Pale, quivering forms cry for one drop Of water; but the rest ne'er stop — They follow where the chieftain leads Who little all the anguish heeds ! One thought is his in pain and death — To rescue her ere his last breath ! They mark his tracks upon the sand — That monster's — and the lessening band Still staggers on! He looms in sight — Seems laughing in at their hapless plight ! The maiden in his arms he holds His mighty clutch her throat enfolds ! ♦ * * From crag to crag leaping, still upward he flies, The fierce fire of Hell in his terrible eyes, He laughs his pursuers to scorn as he bears His fair burden on to the dim mountain lairs Of the cougar and jaguar, o'er crevice and cleft, With the might of a giant of pity bereft! Up, up, till he reaches the furthermost edge Of the precipice, piercing the clouds, like a wedge, 286 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. Till clearly in view of the young chief he stands, And holds o'er the deep yawning gulf in his hands The maiden ! With horror and hopeless despair, The chief presses on, in his heart a wild prayer That the gods of his tribe will lend succor and aid. And safely restore to him yon helpless maid. "Hold ! Horrid monster ! Curse thy hand !" He cries, while mockingly doth stand The creature of his vengeful hate ! The arrow of the chief too late Wings from its leash ! Down caverns vast The maiden with a shriek is cast, Just as the fatal poisoned dart Is fleshed within the man-ape's heart ! Years afterwards her grave they made Where the wild flowers gem the glade ; And where the bright-winged birds flit by, Singing their songs to earth and sky. Beside her lies the chief whose love Was more to her than Heaven above ! THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 287 Long, long, the tribe this legend told Of those dark, savage days of old — Of valor bright, of Love so true. As I have told it unto vou. 288 MOANEE. MOANEE. (A Tale of the Foot-Hills.) TTARK to this tale of the foot-hills lone — This legend that lights the Western zone With its glow of human kindliness That the savage heart, loathe to confess Still shows, like gold hid in dull earth, Which to the eye puts forth its mirth After the passion,-shock of storm That rends the pine tree's towering form. Hark to the night-winds ! in their tones Fancy may hear the parting moans Of many a brave in days of old Who reddened these arid, level sands, As ancient legends have often told, In the wild foray, where the savage bold With his schemes of cunning manifold, Oft led to battle his murderous bands. Here are whitened bones that peep to-day When the storm-wind sweeps the sands away. Here are arrows that have sped their flight In the horrible tumult of the fight ; MOANEE. 289 Yon grand, majestic cliff could tell Of the wild and hideous savage yell, Like a voice that came from the pits of hell ! And this canyon's dim and vasty deeps Where breathless silence ever keeps Its lair, with awesome vigilance, Could whisper of the fierce advance, In war-paint hideous to view, Of cruel hordes, here to imbue Their hands in hated tribal blood That flowed like a sunset-tinted flood When the carnage of the strife began, And the battle was fiendish man to man. Not the panther in his mighty wrath Prowled to destroy, on his midnight path, With a more relentless, vengeful hate Than the savage showed while he w r ould wait, Low-crouched, upon these level plains, Once deeply dyed with gory stains, For the coming of his treacherous foe In the horrible days of the long ago ! Not a rattlesnake with its head erect, And its coils with dark-hued scales bedecked, Bore such malignance in its glance 290 MOANEE. As the savage eyes, keen as a lance, Glared at the signs along the trail, Which never he had known to fail, That told him of the stealthy tread Of the enemy he was taught to dread By long hereditary spite, In those terrible days of savage might ! So I tell the legend, as it was told By the camp-fires in the times of old, When the blue smoke rose above the pines, In a thousand curling, waving lines, And the warriors of the plains, at peace, To all their battles gave surcease. -!« % ^ Fairest of Indian maids — • Sprite of these emerald glades — Was Moanee, whose sire The Chieftain proud and brave, Ne'er would to foemen crave — Whose heart was raging fire ! Her step was like the fawn's That glided at the dawn's First light upon the hill ! Her hair, the raven's wing MOANEE. 291 That poised above the spring That glistened 'mid the bloom ! Her eyes were dark of hue, Bespeaking courage true. And still untouched by gloom. The child of Nature's choice, Lovely, and mild of voice, A maid beyond all fear; Joy of the Chieftain's heart. Of his lone life a part His comfort year by year She grew to womanhood, This nymph of grove and wood, The tribe's bright hope and joy ; Woe to the blighting hand — Death to the dastard band Would Moanee destroy! There was no deed too bold In those dark days of old Nor punishment too dire Of fiercest, torture-fire To visit on his head Who dared the might so dread Of Moanee's proud sire! 292 MOANEE. He loved her with a passion tender, To him she was his all in all; Her thought was but of him ; to render A daughter's love whate'er might fall, Tho' o'er him grew the clouds of sorrow, Tho' tempests of defeat each morrow Assailed him, she was ne'er denied. Tho' her Life's joys were multiplied For this red chief of all his race Upon whose grand and stoic face Love set its mark of haughty pride In her — the daughter at his side ! In chase and battle she was near The bow and arrow in her hands Answered her spirit's swift commands ; And all the tribe her prowess knew, Paying her queenly reverence due ; For was she not their Warrior Queen, In savage womanhood serene, The naiad of that desert scene ? But Love had come to the maiden's heart, With all its sweetness and all its pain — The keen delight and the bitter smart — MOANEE. 293 Its burst of starlight, its tears of rain ! She gave her soul to her sire-chief's foe Brave Eagle-Wing, who in many a blow Of fiercest conflict her sire defied. She had promised to become his bride When Autumn leaves had to crimson changed, And the wildwood trail o'er which they ranged Had its emerald glories turned to gold In a wealth of beauties manifold. But a rival warrior of her band Had wooed her for her heart and hand — Lone Wolf, who looked with a scowl of hate On his enemy kindlier used by Fate ; Who was smiled upon by the maiden fair Whom the tribe had guarded with tender care ; And for vengeance sought he early and late. * * * She had laughed his ardent vows to scorn, All her sharp rebukes he had meekly borne, But within his breast his smouldering ire Lay buried, like the volcano's fire, And he vowed to win her, his heart's desire ! But the Indian maiden arch, yet coy, Went on her way in the bountiful joy 2 94 MOANEE. Of a Love that Heaven to her had sent — In which each thread of Life's woof was blent ! * * # The dawn was tinting peaks of snow With its enamelled, roseate glow, That flashed from rocky cleft and cave To the boundless deeps of gloom below, And to the scene a grandeur gave, As the glinting arrows of the sun Glanced here and there, with light intense, In a maze of wild magnificence ! The Western world from nest awoke, And mists arose on high — The great All Spirit to invoke — Ascending, incense-like, unto the sky ! It was Dawn, as yet, of Life The mountain-torrents, as in play, Tossed to the breeze their diamond spray ; And leaped along from steep to steep, Sparkling in every crevice deep. The birds poured forth a matin song That rippled down the jubilant breeze, And rang in joyous symphonies The leafy groves along. MOANEE. 295 It was a Dawn, as yet, of Life All unembittered by the strife Of foes in turbulent array. As if to mock the glorious Day Xew-born unto a teeming earth ! As if to turn to darkest dearth Fair scenes with p'ladness rife ! .-> j Hark ! with a horrible rush and a roar — Boom of the surf on a storm-smitten shore — Crash of the terrible avalanche-pour Met mighty legions contending! Faces that gleam with a fiendish delight. War-painted ; arrows in murderous flight, Steeds that out-thundered in hoof-beating might Tempests their fury expending! Out of the hell of the battle that rages — Like unto beasts just set free from their cages — Eagle Wing singles out Lone Wolf, while he Watches his rival. The challenge is given, While the blue firmament o'er them is riven With veils that are momentlv stifled in Death ! 296 MOANEE. And trampling of steeds that are crushing the breath From foemen whose war-paint in mockery there Mingles with gore in the sun's vivid glare ! On speed the rivals o'er the plain, Until a space apart they gain Far from the battle's deafening din ; Their prize — the maid each strives to win ! The mountains tower on either side, The river glistens deep and wide, The pine trees look in lofty pride Upon the warriors bold ; Alas ! a moment later they see Prone on the sands in agony Eagle Wing, whose death rattle sounds Amid those silent, desert mounds ! His dying steed beside him lies, O'er them the glaring, parching skies. Lone Wolf looks on his rival's fate With glances of malignant hate. A haughty smile comes o'er his brow. But, lo ! with sweet compassion now He from the saddle swiftly swings, And running to the river brings A draught of water for those lips MOANEE. Deep-purpling in pale Death's eclipse ! He bids him drink in accents mild, As he would speak unto a child. "Moanee !" came the whisper low ; "Moanee ! Love ! from Life I go, Bearing the sweetest thoughts of thee Unto the happy hunting land; By the Great Spirit thus set free ! Farewell ! Farewell, forevermore !" Then no sound the zephyrs onward bore. Down from the zig ; -zag mountain trail, Rushed the Indian maiden wild and pale, With a horde of warriors following her Over the dangerous rock-ribbed spur! She is kneeling by her lover's side, She is holding him unto her breast, In the anguish of her soul's unrest! Lone Wolf, pursued, made prisoner And firmly bound they brought to her. She cast on him a loathing look Of deepest scorn. 297 298 MOANEE. "This is thy work!" She cried, and from her quiver took Her keenest arrow. "Shall there lurk Within my heart one pitying thought For him who has this foul deed wrought ? Die !" "Stay your hand!" Lone Wolf replied, "In gage of battle thus he died ! My life was free for him to take ! It was the chance of War that gave Me life, and him the silent grave ! Xot for your pity now I crave. The Indian brave fears not to go Where he has sent his conquered foe ! My heart relented ere had fled The spirit of the noble dead I brought wherewith to quench his thirst, And back to life I would have nursed Him for your sake, because your love Is dearest to my heart — above All thoughts of vengeance !" MOANEE. 299 'Mid her band, The arrow dropped from out her hand. "Loose him, and let him safely go !" She said, "Were he the foulest foe I could not, would not do him harm For he was kind, his noble arm Would soothe where he had laid the blow ! A father gone in this day's fight: Oh, do I read your thoughts aright, Brave band, and Chief he now shall be !" Lone Wolf thanked her, on bended knee, Kissing the hand she offered him There in the twlight gathering dim. * ♦ * Then the pine trees gazed on another scene After the lapse of moons serene ; And the mountains seemed to hide their frown Silently, solemnly peering down On the festal dance and the songs of glee, As Lone Wolf wedded fair Moanee! 3oo THE OREGONIAN. THE OREGONIAN. TTNDER the skies of the infinite azure, Under the silver of myriad stars ; Nigh to the mountain's majestic embrasure, Awful and grand with its abysmal scars; Here let me bide in my joyous contentment — • Here with the birds and the cattle that roam — Owing the world not a tithe of resentment, Over me God's multitudinous dome ! Long leagues of land in the blaze of the sunlight, Stretching afar to the horizon's verge ; Then, at the darkness, the soft gleam of one light- Star of my cabin — while homeward I urge. Here it is God's Land, and Heaven is nearer ! Dies all the petty contention of earth ; Even the brooks and the flowers seem dearer Bound to my heart by a fair higher worth Than all I find in the din of the rabble, Crazed with its race for the gaining of gold, Wild with the noise of its incessant babble — Type of the heathenish Babel of old ! THE OREGON I AN. 301 One with my soul is the rush of the torrent Tearing its course down precipitant deeps ! Even the rattle of reptile abhorrent Blends with the bird-song, and harmony keeps ! Room for the soul's broad expansion is 'round me, Room for the sympathies tethered in town ; Here can I break all the fetters that bound me, Cast all society's heresies down ! Nature is mine with its beautiful sweetness — Laughter of winds in the lightness of Spring ; Glory of flow'rs in radiant completeness ; Canyons and clefts where the wild echoes ring ; Waterfalls gleaming with hues iridescent, Swirling in thunderous vehemence by ; Snow-peaks that lift to the moon's pearly crescent, Piercing the blue of the luminous sky ; Flight of the vulture that airily poises — Eager to sweep on its quarry afar; Insects that utter their petulant noises — Far better these to my heart than the jar And turbulent warfare of wild, crowded places Knowing no God but the God of base gain ! Tricked by the glamour of deceiving faces, 302 THE 0REG0NIAN. Filled with the spectres of want and of pain ! Oh, for the rare fragrant breath of the prairie Bearing the scent of the long waving grass ! Oh, for the bright plumed birds ! And the airy Voice of the pines ; and the rivers, like glass, Sweeping majestical, silvery-winding, Onward, still onward, and evermore finding Gorgeous magnificence over them bending, Gold of the sunlight and silver of starlight Evermore blending and unto them lending The power and grandeur that live not in Art But only are born out of wild Nature's heart Their beauty, their gladness, their rest to impart ! * * ♦ Mine be the serpent that slips thro' the sand. With sinous sliding, and malignant glance ; Mine be the cyclone fierce, mighty and grand. For in its fury one has half a chance ! Give me the grizzly, tremendous of paw. Rather the vulture, the sleek lizard's jaw — Aye, rather these than the scandal and spite The spleen and the jeer of the opulent crowd, The way of the world that has made Mammon might, And utters its sophistries blatant and loud ! THE OREGON I AN. 303 At least I have rest from the long, hopeless quest Of a love that can never — ah ! never be mine ! There is rest in the rill, and the pines of the hill, In the lone, brilliant stars, and the moon's placent shine ! There is peace in the sound of the wild waterfall That bloweth its trumpet on storm- jagged steep To summon the echoes of yon canyon's wall, And, like tangled silver, then headlong to leap ! There is joy for the heart that can hope nevermore. Forsaken by Love in the days passed away : For Nature alone can its calmness restore, And teach it to hold taunting Mem'ry at bay ! Why utter the story of one all untrue — Of Love's tender vows in their holiness shattered? The severance bitter, the scornful adieu. The jewels of confidence thus rudely scattered! I meet no rebuff in the elements near me ; The wild creatures slink from my pathway and fear me; To me they are harmless, and bear me no scorn. Fit comrades are they for hearts hopeless, forlorn ! Rich butterflies, like gaudy flowers awing, 304 THE OREGONIAN. Amid tangled vines gayly hover and swing; Close hid, the panther crouched low on the branch Waits but to fall, like a fierce avalanche ! Sunning itself in the bright, blinding glare Of noontide the rattler lies coiled in the sand ; And songs of the birds on the bloom-scented air I hear, like the echoes from far fairy-land ! The river my comrade is, restlessly flowing, Onward, still onward, in broadening view, Beauty and charm to the wildwoods bestowing, Mirroring stars in their eloquent glowing, Mirroring heaven translucently blue, Lulling to quiet my heart in its passion, Soothing its anguish, it still is a friend ; But, when the lash of the storm bids it dash on, Sweeping its banks with a boundless unrest, Bearing its rage and its hate in its breast, Showing its fangs in the white of each crest, Wild in its anger the forest to rend — Then is my heart with its infinite yearning One with the river, all passionate, spurning Human control, with a deep inward burning, Filled with a scorn that seems never to end! Scorn of the love that was falser than human ! THE OREGONIAN. 305 Scorn of the vows of a false-hearted woman ! Kinder the flame of the red lightning's stroke Rending the heart of the huge forest oak ! Aye, far more merciful were the cyclone Sweeping destruction o'er circle or zone, Dashing its way with an uncontrolled ire, Swift as the wings of a whirlwind-lashed fire ; — Kinder, more merciful these than the love Slighted and scorned; for the angels above And the demons below must with pity condemn The heart that would barter the rare, priceless gem Of affection, so full of a richness untold — Aye, barter it all for a handful of gold ! I wonder if now in that city afar, The whirl of its crowds, and the tumult and jar, Her heart hath forgotten the vows that we plighted ? The night at the porch by the stars dimly lighted ? The winds soft and low, and the roses asleep ? The nightingale trilling its cadences deep? I see the rich hue of her cheeks all aglow ; I touch her warm hand, small, and white as the snow That gleams to the stars on yon peaks far away ; 306 THE OREGONIAN. And my heart reads the words that her eyes mutely say! Oh, the world then to me was a Paradise rare, And she was its Eve in her loveliness fair ! But the serpent came early the joy to despoil, The glamour of beauty to wither and soil, And leave in its place but a heart-blighting care To follow my life with its burden and toil ! One night — I had been on the trail since morn — I was weary, dejected and sadly forlorn — (Ere the sweet love of Nature was in my soul born, And I'd learned its philosophy, tender, consoling, The delicate harp-strings of life all controlling, And blending in harmony discords of Time In one peerless song, rare, ecstatic, sublime!) I mused in my hammock; the night's deepening shade Hung heavy o'er ravine and river and glade ; And, like the low rumble of hoofs on the plain, I heard the deep thunder presaging the rain, The pines wildly writhing like giants in pain ! A face, white with anger and terror, appeared — The eyes glared upon me as if they still feared A living resentment that would not be hushed ! The blood of a wound from her heart madly gushed ! THE OREGONIAX. 307 Twas she — 'and she reached out her hand to me there — And said in a voice that was wild with despair : "Forgive me! Forgive me! I cast Love away — I saw all its roses in brightness decay, And Life with me since has been bitter dismay I" I strove to arise ; but my limbs were like lead, I tried hard to speak ; but words none I said ! She knelt at my side pleading thro' blinding tears, And told me the story of sad, loveless years. But still I replied not, my tears would not flow ; I laughed at the words of her pitiful woe ! For had I not suffered, unpitied for years ? Could this be assuaged by a false woman's tears ? She clung to me there in her anguish supreme, And, by the swift glare of the lightning's sharp gleam, I saw a face pallid and deep-lined with pain — (Oh, God ! that I ever should see it again !) She told me of long years of bitterness spent, And begged that my heart would its anger relent ; She spoke of the days ere her promise was broken, She showed me a withered rose — Love's early token, And pictured the Past and the beautiful years With eloquent yearnings and passionate tears ; 3 o8 THE OREGONIAN. The porch ; and the old trysting place in the dell ; The lane ; and the scenes that my heart knew so well ; Her fair Northern home with sweet woodbine em- bowered, Its garden, its meadows with daisies o'erflowered. I saw, yes, and yonder the school on the hill ! I heard once again the harsh whir of the mill Where as fair childish sweethearts we loitered to see The dash of the waters that swept by in glee. But what was her anguish, her pleading to me ? For had I not suffered since that far-off day? And had not my current of Life turned away From all joys it knew and their beauty and sweetness, From Hope's lovely dream and its fruitful complete- ness? And all for her sake and her false, wilful pride That thrust me an outcast so far from her side, And turned unto gall the sweet cup of pure love, Yea, changed to fierce hate the content of the dove ! I spurned her, I say, with a strong man's fierce wrath ! I bade her begone — no more darken my path ! For the tempest without could not equal the might Of that in my heart at her terrible sight, And the thought of the life she had come but to blight ! THE OREGONIAN. 309 With a crash that resounded from cavern to peak, And a glare, as if risen from Hell's awful deeps — (Or the red of a flame as in fury it sweeps O'er the prairie — ) she turned then to speak : And I woke from the clutch of a horrible dream ! She had fled ; and I saw in the last lurid gleam The eyes of a serpent that crawled at my feet, To me and my cabin companion more meet Than the woman who vowed to be mine long ago, But whose vows were as light as the sun-lighted snow That melts into tears in the mild spring-time breeze — Yea, as trustful as waves of the treacherous seas ! Then I saw the first glimmer of dawn in the skies Rose-tinting the mountains that 'round me arise, And purpling the caverns and pine-covered hills And spreading its glories o'er rivers and rills, Like the blessing of God on his handiwork below O'er the land that had nothing to do with Life's woe ! And I thanked Him for being, and strength to live on For the grandeur of all these eyes rested upon ! For the nights of the keen orbs that spangled His throne. For the deeps of the canyons reverberant, lone. For the mountains that up, up in majesty rear 3io THE OREGONIAN, Till they pierce through the clouds to the luminous, clear. Azure space far beyond ; and the glitter and glow Of the stars softly fall on their manes white with snow ! And I thanked Him again for the pathways I trod, Where the human within me was kindred with God ! For what is the Orient o'er seas of blue With the languor of palms dripping spice-laden dew — Mosques and minarets stretching away to the skies, And its blossoms and flowers of infinite dyes, Or its maidens with night in their soft, melting eyes? Have I not in the breath of the pines o'er my head All the sweets, the delights ever Paradise shed? And the lessons of mountains here lifting my soul, With the language of rivers that ceaselessly roll, Rushing onward and on to the far-away goal ! Why for Eastern delights should my restless heart sigh ? Here dwelleth all joys that the earth can supply. In the open for me is the heart's pure desire, With a room for content, and a sphere to aspire ! On the trail, in the round up of cattle, I sing, With the lariat unleashed, like a bird on the wing ! Here, alone, I am lord, in my freedom a King! THE OREGONIAN. 311 There is joy in the watch of the herd 'mid the night When the stir of the wind sets them often in flight, And the clash of the horns, and the billowy sweep Of the dark, huddled throng echoes harshly and deep ; And I gallop along while my broncho I spur, 'Mid the wild ever-echoing tramping and whir Till the leaders I head in precipitate flight — There is joy in it all and a wondrous delight ! So why should I sigh for the dazzle and glare Of the city, and all that most men deem so fair, When I know 'tis a world of delusion and snare, Of crime and pretense, and of scandal and wrong, Where the soul is oft bartered for gold, and the poor Have Misery's lot evermore to endure? And why should I care for a love that is lost? I have counted the gains of it all, and the cost! I have known the deceit that can lurk in bright eyes, The sting of false hearts I have learned to despise. All is vanity there ; but I breathe here the Truth In broad Nature's domain of perennial youth ! There is pleasure for me in the green dewy blade, In the trees and the flowers of valley and glade ; The deeps of the blue sky, and the songs of the birds ; Day's dawn ; and the noontide of quivering heat, 3i2 THE OREGON I AN. And the sound of the heart-thrilling echoing beat Of the steed as it rushes away o'er the plain. Tho' often at night but the limitless sky Is roof of the spot where I wearily lie, I am happier far than if sheltered with pride In a palace where Untruth and Envy abide With its mates of Hypocrisy, Falseness and Wrong, And the glamour of riches cast over the throng ! So mine be the mountains that climb to the stars, The gulches, the canyons that carry the scars Of the Ages deep-lined in their adamant breasts ; The peaks with the snow on their high-lifted crests, The grandeur, the beauty, the sweet, boundless peace That give to the spirit of sorrow surcease ! So live I ; and when to my rest I shall go, My grave be the prairie, where winds breathing low Shall sing me a requiem tender and soft, And yonder deep caverns that tower aloft My monument be till the great Judgment day When the earth and its wrongs have all passed away ! Oregon, 1888. MIRAGE. MIRAGE. 313 "V/TUST I then leave thee, O treasure dear — leave Thee forever — after all these years of Love and longing, tears and laughter ? Shall dark Clouds swim before mine eyes on wings of air Invisible, and hide thy radiant Presence from me? Shall I walk the halls of The forgotten and rejected, they who Roam about mechanic-like in shrouds of Tears ? Long have I dreaded this — the bitter Hour, that ghost-like would come to sweep away The bright anchors of my hope, and leave me, Like a frail bark to the mercy of the Storm-tossed deep — my lacerated heart and Soul. The sun shall rise and come with flames of Gold and shining spears, but nevermore for Thou and I. No more to inhale the Glorious breath of freedom, shall we roam Across the red waves of the Dahna sea ; Whose every drop is filled with heat most fierce, 3H MIRAGE. Nor listen to the careless jest, and joyful Laugh of the dark-skinned Bedouin. Here once In the dear sweet long ago, thou didst carve Proofs of thy true love upon my heart, which Still do linger there despite thy changeful Mind. 'Twas high noon of the dreaded summer Solstice, 'neath Arabian skies Of fire, and not a cloud in sight ; we had Wandered far from our black tent, upon the Flaming dark-brown desert, in frantic search Of water, and were gathering up for Supper-time, the yellow flow'ry Samh, and Green-leafed Mesa'a, when of a sudden, great Burning waves of wind came dashing from the South ; dark clouds of violet hue drew in Upon us from all sides ; it seemed as if the Bowels of hell were loosed, and were bounding up From earth to sky, and back again with Added fury. My senses fled, and I Was just about to drop down in the Flaming sands, a helpless toy for the Simoon's fury which was now upon us, MIRAGE. 315 When thy strong dark-brown beloved hands did Lift me up to thee upon the camel's Back, and we were off like meteors for Our tent. We reached its side half-perished with Heat, and threw ourselves prostrate within, and Then I heard thee cry: — "just muffle up thy Face secure, and do not stir. Lie still as Death till it shall pass away !" With trembling Feeble hands, and limbs, I did as thou didst Say, and thus was saved. Waves of red-hot heat Passed slowly o'er us there. The tent-sides flapped, And when mine eyes looked up, it was in realms Of Paradise — into thy dear dark anxious Eyes, for thou didst think that life within me Was extinct. The dark clouds rolled away ; the The sun sent down its showers of golden heat Once more upon desert's sand, and thou Wert by my side. What cared I for the Simoon's Wrath, or for the world at all ; 'twas life and Joy enough to know that thou wert near, to Hear thy voice of melody ; to feel thy Hand pressed close to mine. But now alas ! all Things seem changed. Thy fairy charms fleet from my arms. 3 i6 MIRAGE. Another soon shall clasp thee to his breast. Ah ! happy one, that I could mask and take His form to revel in thy wealth of passion ! 'Twould be worth a desert filled with priceless Gems! In my dreams and only there, shall I See thy wondrous beauty once again; shall I see thy mighty progress from the womb. Long ere Lief Erickson sailed o'er the stormy Deep — the rover's paradise, and kissed my own Wild western bride, thou didst bare thy breast of Jasper and porphyry, to the burning Showers the sun sent down. 'Twas here Ishmael Wandered, the far-famed archer of old — the First to place great actors in thy fields — the Powerful progenitor of thy race. And Thou in all thy rugged beauty, didst woo Them to thy breast. Soon along thy desert Seas, the dark-skinned Arabs pitched their tents and Lived their roving lives of freedom, save where Tetal's hand of iron stretched forth for unity And strength. MIRAGE. 317 In my dreams, and only there, shall I see thee once again at Mount Sinai, (Upon whose heights the Saviour lived, and Unto Moses there revealed those grand old Poems, the Ten Commandments, that should be held As precious to the Christian heart, as the Yellow gold the miser hoards). The Suez Canal shall dawn upon my weary eyes, The triumph of commerce, De Lesseps' Monument of glory, and fleets of ships White-winged and beautiful, shall proudly sail Along its bosom, but I shall look, and Look in vain for thee. The perfumed breath of Nejed shall reach me from afar; its Palm groves shall invite me to their shade ; once More I shall see the mild-eyed swift gazelle Bound past me like a lightning flash, and hear The whirring flight of every partridge near, But nevermore thy voice of fairy Melodies. I shall leap upon my Arab steed, the meteor of the desert, 3 i8 MIRAGE. And flash past the Wahabee Empire ; The thorn-branched Tahl ; the elegant acacia ; The date-tree with its amber-coated fruit, Shall all be left far, far behind ; mirage Shall not deceive mine eyes ; the crowded fairs, And the bazaars shall not detain me, nor The Katar natives taking pearls from out The Persian Gulf. Nothing shall stop my Terrible ride, till I reach the star of All Arabian hopes, the sacred city Of Mecca. Here will I pause before the Mosques and minarets, and look to see if Thou art 'mongst the throng. But why this wild Harangue ? Thank Allah ! 'tis false as hell Itself ! Thou art here ! Thou art by my side, And my aching heart is drowned in seas of Joy ! Here, here on my broad bosom rest — Rest safely here my dear Arabian Bride. Kisses hot as all thy sands, shall now Rain on thy rose-bud lips ! Pearl of Asia, And the Indian Seas, look in my eyes, For I am thine, and thou art mine Forevermore. A NUN'S TEMPT A TION. 3 1 9 A NUN'S TEMPTATION. fT is Autumn. A sister of the Convent Stands within her cell, near a window That overlooks the sea. In her Trembling hands she holds a letter, while o'er Her tear-stained face a pained expression steals. She reads the letter o'er and o'er, then puts It in the pocket of her sable gown, And gazes sadly at the sun, that is Dying slowly in the west with a golden Sea of glory 'round it. The letter's from A lover of the dear old days, when their Two hearts were bound in one. It is an Eloquent appeal to her to leave the Convent, and to marry him. He regrets The past, and what he did, and now awaits The golden chance to cast himself down at Her feet — there to repent forevermore. Outside the monastery's walls his Carriage stands. He is waiting there for her. 320 A NUN'S TEMPTATION. He will wait until the sun has vanished, And if she fails to come then, he will know That she's been true unto her vows, and that She'll not forsake the Convent walls for him. In the woods beyond, a nightingale thrills All the air with melody. The sister Hears it with an aching heart, and looks Afar once more upon the sun Disappearing slowly in the west. She Reads the letter o'er again, then opens Up her trunk, and packs it with great haste. There Is determination in her movements. But suddenly she pauses in her work, And listens, for the nightingale is singing As it never sang before. She looks out The window, and observes the pearly clouds Collect into a body, and remain There as motionless as painted clouds Upon a painted canvas. The wavelets Of the sea, now cease their dancing, and not A sound is heard save the singing of the Bird beyond. "Surely," thinks the sister, "all Nature now doth listen to those notes of A NUN'S TEMPTATION. 321 Glory." A bright ray of the setting sun Shoots in the cell ; it falls upon a Crucifix that stands upon the table, And casts its shadow o'er the trunk the Sister now is packing. A sweet expression Steals into her face. A thought arises In her heart, which alas ! she cannot Analyze, but the thought has some Connection with the crucifix, and vows She made long years before. Then comes the sound Of Convent Bells, the vesper hour proclaiming. The nightingale stops singing. The sun goes Down. The sister tears the letter into Shreds, and casts them in the fire. She sees her Lover's carriage disappear among the Hills, and then sinks down upon her knees Before the crucifix, her hands clasped o'er Her trembling bosom. And all is dark and Silent in the cell. The nightingale has Sung its poem of glory. The Convent Bells Have rung both clear and sweet, throughout the tempest In her heart, and called her back to duty And her vows. 322 A NUN'S TEMPTATION. Ring on ye Convent Bells of Glory ! Send forth your hymns of beauty, for the Night is mild, and robed with glitt'ring Stars, and crowned with a crescent moon ! - GOOD-BYE SWEETHEART. 323 GOOD-BYE SWEETHEART. G OOD-BYE, Sweetheart, For we must part ; Those bitter words are filled with pain. I did not dream That life would seem So cold to me, and all in vain. My days were bright, No gloomy night Until he came, His bride to claim, The happy past Aside is cast, For I must say — good-bye, sweetheart. One parting kiss, I beg for this! And tho' I go — I love you yet. This last good-bye Brings forth a sigh, And my poor heart throbs with regret. Think once again What might have been, Had fate been kind And love not blind, And that will be Enough for me — I'll ask no more — -good-bye, sweetheart. 324 ! MI $S THEE. I MISS THEE. I. MISS thee when the morn awakes, And all the birds sing out thy name, I miss thee by the rippling brook, Where first I sought thy love to claim ; I miss the music of thy voice, That spoke to me of love divine, And feel as if my heart would break, For I can never call thee mine. II. I miss thee where we walked so gay, Beneath the cloudless summer sky, And told our loves so dear and true, Before we parted — thou and I ; I miss thee when the twilight falls, Tis then I long to have thee near, I know no life without thy love, 'Twas bliss alone when thou wert here. MINE FORE VERM ORE. 325 MINE FOREVERMORE. 1V/TY dream of love, I bless the hour When thou didst say, "I love thee so !" And feel again — thy kisses thrill, While thy dear cheeks are all aglow. I glanced back o'er the happy past, When first I met thee to adore. And find in thee each wish fulfilled, For thou art mine forevermore, For thou art mine forevermore ! dream divine ! O heart of love ! 1 falter at thy fairy feet, For thou art mine forevermore! happy day ! O dream of love ! 1 gaze into thine eyes so blue, And hold thee in my trembling arms, While my heart whispers : "Thou art true !" Each day seems brighter by thy side, Each hour more filled with bliss divine ; I hear the music of thy voice, That tells me softly, "Thou art mine!" For thou art mine forevermore! How cloudless are the deep blue skies ! How sweet the birds sing out thy name, For thou art mine forevermore ! 326 RETROSPECTION. RETROSPECTION. A I 4 HEY lie before me here, Indeed they look like toys- So small they seem — yet dead To me the many joys That in my heart revive At sight of these wee mates ; Once it seemed paradise To put on Nelly's skates ! I see the same gay throng Swift gliding here and there ; I hear the low-hummed song That fills the icy air; What was the world to me With all its loves and hates? When bending on my knees I put on Nelly's skates ! Ah, me ! 'Tis years ago ! And, Nelly, where is she? No wedded joys I know, Life seems a farce to me ! The longer tho' I live The more love contemplates; What wouldn't I now give To put on Nelly's skates ! THE EXILE'S LAMENT. 327 THE EXILE'S LAMENT. A St. Patrick's Day Reflection. f~\ ERIX. lovely Erin ! Will I evermore behold Thy heather-covered mountains, and thy Autumn fields of gold ; Thy relics of ancient splendor, in green-leafed ivy bound ; Thy lakes and sylvan grandeur with which thy face is crowned. Shall I see those verdant meadows, as I saw them long ago, Wafted gently by the zephyrs, as the herd would homeward go ; Dotted o'er with fragrant lilies — melodious with the lark— And fed by Xature's tear-drops, that come just before the dark. Shall I ever feel the pleasure that I did in days of yore, When we swung the pretty colleens 'round upon the barn floor, 328 THE EXILE'S LAMENT. And matrons gazed in wonder, amid hooray and shout, For we sought renown by dancing on, to tire each other out. Shall I ever climb those rocks, and scan those beauteous scenes, That Nature formed so lovely by inimitable means, And listen to the tuneful song of blackbird and of thrush, As they proclaim that Spring has come from under- neath the bush. Shall I mingle with thy people, who though bound by cruel fate. Have probed the depths of science, made the world doubly great, But if in friendly foreign lands, my destiny is to roam, I'll consider thee, dear ERIN, as still my native home. MIDWINTER. 329 MIDWINTER. *7 IG-ZAG branches traced against A dreary, ashen sky; A filmy drapery of snow, And winds that hurry by. Oh, dark midwinter days, ye hang A pall on all around, But underneath the deepest snow The sweetest buds are found! Icicles that, dagger-like, Hang from the farm-house eaves; A monotone of weariness The howling tempest weaves. Oh, sad midwinter days, the heart, Like you, hath lack of cheer; And yet amid the leafless trees, The chirp of birds I hear! Dales and hills that stretch afar, A wilderness of white ! The silent brook that gleams like steel, Once silvery delight. Oh, wild midwinter, haste away, On swift and darksome wing ; Tho' hopeful hearts in thee can hail The prophesy of Spring ! 330 LIFE'S WOES. LIFE'S WOES. (~\ H, wife, no cloud has settled o'er Our nuptials' hallowed joy ; Oh, speak ! one word I now implore ; Say, what hath caused annoy? Is not our honeymoon divine? What sorrow hides in heart of thine? "On bended knee, behold me, love; I kiss the tear that falls From out those star-lit eyes above; My heart no slight recalls. Oh, tell to me thy hidden pain, And smile the olden smile again ! "Have friendships proven all untrue, Or doth some secret woe Like Nemesis thy path pursue? Oh, tell me ere I go !" With burst of tears her heart gave way "Dearest, the cook left us to-dav!" ON ICE. 331 ON ICE. TJPON one knee Before her there, He fixed her skates — A dainty pair. Then, arm in arm, How sweet and nice! The fondest two They were — on ice! Such lovely curves ! Around they sweep, A muff her small White hands to keep, Within its deep He longs to be, For surely there Is room for three ! For Cupid — ah ! No danger line ! The sky is clear The course is fine, A slip, a dip, They both fall thro'! A coldness now Is 'twixt the two ! 332 SPRING. SPRING. (By a Musician.) VFOW the song-birds, one by one Return to join the chorus, While the frogs have just begun To tune up: blue skies o'er us. Breezes pipe o'er vale and hill, The trees their batons waving; Robins 'mid the branches trill, Their high notes never saving. The even tenor of their way Brooks keep, in greening places ; In brief, all nature throngs to-day With barytones and basses. The year's orchestras now in tune, My ear it soft entices, Whilst I take out my old bassoon To play at union prices ! IN WINTER. 333 IN WINTER. TN the sleigh together, He and she; Lovely Wintry weather, Happy he. Round her waist, so cosy, One arm free; Cheeks are blushing rosy As can be ! This, while joggling slowly On their way, Thro' the valley lowly, Light and gay. Soon the air is tingling Fast they speed; Reins, while bells are jingling, Both hands need ! Little maid demurely, Simply sighs, Muffled up securely; Witching eyes. Speeding clown the high hill, Speech she gains: "Dearest, rest, and I will Hold the reins !" 334 THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. r^ON'T you remember the days, dear Will, The days of long ago, When our voices our hearts would thrill With their music soft and low? Where first we met, down by the gate, The evening shadows fell ; The stars peeped out, the moon was late ; Then tolled the vesper bell. An owl sat near on a dying tree His lonely watch to keep; His burning eyes, turned full on me, Sank in my spirit deep. I thought of the night my mother died, The one who loved me best; I shall ne'er forget how I cried For her who now is blest. THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. 335 I listened to your voice of love With its soft, pleading tone ; I knew my heart was far above With mother who had flown. But your words were music to my ear, I loved to hear you talk ; My future then need have no fear, My feet no weary walk. The church was very still that day, The weather rather damp; The silence broke with the organ's play — Then burned the marriage lamp. The village dames were out in style, With curious eyes to see ; I saw them all in the middle aisle, They gazed at you and me. The usual talk the rounds then went About the couple wed ; The gossip soon its wit had spent, To other talk it led. 336 THE DAYS OF LONG AGO. The years flew by — those years of joy, Which made us feel so glad ; We thought that nothing could destroy The happiness we had. But the stroke then came which made you blind, And made my poor heart weep ; Your eyes that were of the speaking kind, A silence now must keep. But I'll always love you, darling Will, I'll never leave you, dear; Now don't sit thus, and be so still, And do not have a fear. I'm only talking of those days, Will — Those days of long ago; When our voices our hearts did thrill With their music soft and low. We'll wander down the path of life With steps of happiness ; We will not dream of any strife, Nor love each other less. TO MY SOUL. 337 TO MY SOUL. A ND darest thou, O soul walk forth with me To seas abysmal, the mysterious Unknown, from which oftimes at twilight, Faint whispering harmonies float on the wings Of silent air, and tremble away again In silence, but dreamy echoes of the Land of glory and of rest. Darest thou Tread with me, these unknown paths, far from the Maddening world of pomp and vanity. Disgrace and vice? No; not till thy dusty Prison bursts into dying light, and Dissolves itself in mist, and air, and clay To nourish Mother earth again ; not till The unknown hour arrives, and mysteries Are all unveiled as by a flash, the Encircling globes and all are visible. All understood; not till thy bands are Burst asunder, O my soul, shalt thou tread These paths with me. 338 MY WANTS. MY WANTS. f^ IVE me the gorgeous smiling sun ! Drench me With its golden splendors ! Give me lovers With full hearts of passion ; let them walk by My side ; give me the melodious flowers Of the air, the birds that sing to us gaily. Give me the mad careering storms ; the Thunder, lightning, rain and snow; paint me with The brilliant rainbow ; let the sick call me By name — give me the leper, lunatic, The blind, the paralyzed, the crippled ; give Me the sad-eyed orphan ; the drunkard most Despised ; the struggling mother ; the kept-woman, The hypocrite, the liar, dunce, and miser; The fool, the usurer, and thief — let them Walk by my side, nay nearer still, let them Load all their ills on me ; here let them rest, Upon this bosom here — here where the heart Throbs with love for them all — and these, and these Shall be my wants. None greater can be found. None greater shall I seek. POLAND. 339 POLAND. CHE walks along her streets once more, But feels a stranger in them. Her children Pass her by with bowed down heads And shackles on their wrists, but speak No word — for the breath of tyranny is In the air, and they were slaves. She Weeps in powerless way, 'neath the iron yoke Of oppression — she who was once the Glittering gem of Europe — the glorious Child whom Lekh first found — the pride Of the Jagellon line — she who was led Up the paths of glory by Sobieski — the Hero who saved Vienna, but could Not save her. The voice of Russia is in her halls, Its chains are on her gates; the sacred lights Of liberty — lit and kept aflame by The genius of Kosciusko, all, all are now Extinguished — and their ashes buried in The treacherous heart of Warsaw. 340 HAVE FAITH IN THYSELF. HAVE FAITH IN THYSELF. \X7E are all great and divine, both male And female. Skulk not away to some dark Corner to bury the ashes of thy dead Hopes, in the chamber of thy lacerated Bleeding heart, because thou art unknown. Unnoticed by the rich and grand, but stand Up erect ! Face the world — it owes every thing To thee. Art thou not a part of it? I swear to you ! that every step you take Every breath you draw — Every glance you give, Every thought you have. Every dream that comes. Everything you touch, Everything you eat, Everything you digest, Every scene you witness, Every word you speak, Every feeling you have, Every whisper you drop, HAVE FAITH IN THYSELF. 34l Everything you hear, Every sigh you heave. Every sorrow you have, Every joy that comes, Every passion you have, Confounds the learning of all times, Barries keen-eyed, towering science, and sings Such songs, that the little leaves pause in their Flight to listen, ere they rustle onward To their destiny. 342 SHE IS NOT TO BLAME. SHE IS NOT TO BLAME. HT* HOU who hast lived upon the storm of vice, Who knew the right, yet walked in paths of sin, Ever within thy heart thou didst desire thy Freedom from the earthly hell ; to walk in Paths of virtue, and of happiness ; to gaze With clear and steadfast eyes upon thy neighbors And companions ; not living in common Level with the dog and hog, but a shining Monument to the Creator, and the world. Poor Fallen angel, drooping lily of unhappiness, dying Swan of virtue, with the last plaintive notes In thy sallow complexion, and hunted eyes — A word with thee. Stand up in the broad Sunshine of gold on the mountain of thy present, Glance o'er thy shoulder down the long, long Vistas of the past, where sunshine and the angels Were ; where the morning-glories of love, truth, Beauty and happiness were — the brightness o'er- shadowed Bv darkness, and dream of what thou art. SHE IS NOT TO BLAME. 343 O ! inhabitant of the levee, why art thou here? Methinks I read thy answer in the world. Shame and society should not cry out Against thee. Common decency should not Condemn thee. They should point the accusing Finger at man ! And until man can check His flow of passion — till he can drive the brute From out his soul, we shall have women of The town. We may as well try to turn back The waters of the sea, as to check this Evil, while man gives it his patronage ! The very existence of houses of Ill-fame are true signs of the immorality Of man. Look well, young maid of the blushing- Cheek, and pure white heart, look well to the one You wed, for the very arms he twines About you, may have been twined around a Hundred harlots. ; 4 4 CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. ^OME, said my soul ! walk with me an hour, For this muddy garment of decay is Filled with tears, such as come from contact with The world ; the way is dark and dreary, and we Should unite more often for benefit Most mutual. Sing to me, therefore, such Songs that will float harmony on our way, Not leading to dreamland fancies, but truths Most solemn and modern, and our tears shall Be turned to music, for there is music In everything. THE STEAMBOAT. THE STEAMBOAT. 345 LJ O W I love to watch the steamboat, As it skims the silv'ry lake In the glorious golden sunshine, When the morn is just awake; And the smoke its sable ringlets Wave around its handsome back, While it speeds along the wat'ry ground It leaves a silv'ry track. The men who ride this matchless steed. That plows the raging deep, Are lost in wonder, love and fear, As along the waves they sweep. They watch the golden flowers above, That bloom in the fields of blue, And dream of the loving ones at home With loving thoughts most true. O ! the music of its whistle ! Its throat so sharp and shrill! As it echoes o'er the bounding waves It makes my heart just thrill ! For I love this steed of matchless speed, This steed of the waters blue, That dashes along the hilly ground With feet that are most true. 346 TRUE. TRUE. f\ | PURE flow'r of the valley, Thy sweetness is dead, For the thorns that lie 'round thee With hatred are fed ; No sister is near thee, No bud of thy own, To share thy deep sorrow, For thou art alone. But that virtue is greatest Which stands all alone, And fights hard for its honor When others have flown. Though the thorns of thy life-time May cause thee great pain, Remember that suffering Will lead but to gain. So thou flower of the valley, Droop not thy sweet head, Though thy perfume be wasted Thy glory's not dead ; The false world may leave thee To die all alone, But the gems of thy sweetness Will shine in thy crown. THE BROWN LITTLE MAN. 347 THE BROWN LITTLE MAN. HP HE world loves its heroes, And desecrates Neros ; Despots and tyrants are under its ban ! Valor untiring One can't help admiring. So here's to the brown little man, Of Japan ! With no fuss and feathers (His temper he tethers), Stolidly, grimly, he does what he can ; Silent, defiant, Quite self-reliant — Look at the brown little man, Of Japan ! Fortresses storming, Intrepidly forming, Cossack and Russian check not his plan ; 34 8 THE BROWN LITTLE MAN. In battles' dread thunder, Oh, he's a wonder — This fighting, brown little man, Of Japan ! Sympathy winning, Yes, from the beginning; The true Yankee spirit you find in his plan Tho' his ration fish is, And other queer dishes, You can't beat this brown little man, Of Japan ! EASTER-TIDE. EASTER-TIDE. /^\H, bells that ring out joyfully, Awake the hills and vales To glories that our eyes may see, Bring fragrance to the gales ! Ring out all sadness from the heart. Bid mirth with us abide, And cause the gloomy shades depart, Oh, bells of Easter-Tide ! Oh, skies of blue, ye seem to lean More near to waking dells, And fields and mountains, glad each scene With rapture, Easter bells ! Ah. lonely hearts await your call, The message, far and wide, Bear jubilantly unto all That wait, fair Eastec-Tide ! Join rills in glorious refrain, Sing birds on merry wing; Oh, trouble of the silver rain, What gladness do ye bring ! The emeralds of springing leaves The winter's ruin hide ; God's love to every soul that grieves, Oh, speak, sweet Easter-Tide ! 349 35o YULE. YULE. y-^H, heart of brave humanity, ^^ How art thou stirred to-day ! There is a sound of kindly glee That meets thee on thy way. Thy pulses throb with happiness For, lo ! the star that shines to bless ! The Angels' choral symphonies Blend now with earthly harmonies, In heavenly rhyme At Christmas time! Back thro' the vista of the years, See yonder manger low, Beneath its wall the Babe appears With face of wond'rous glow ! The- majesty of innocence That brings to earth a recompense For all the sorrow and the gloom, And bids sweet Hope again to bloom, With peace sublime At Christmas time! YULE. Ring out to earth, ye happy bells, Above the mantling snow! What joy each sound of yours compels While beam the high and low ! With peace on earth, and kindness still, Re-echo over vale and hill! He comes, the Holy Babe of Peace, With glory that shall never cease ! Speed on, each chime, At Christmas time! The world is crowned with heavenly light, In grasp of kindly hand ; In smiles of beauty die all spite And scorn throughout the land ! New life is wakening; and cheer Is throbbing in the heart so drear ! The radiant Babe has tenderly Brought joy untold to you and me ! Ring out, sweet chime, At Christmas time ! 351 352 DECEMBER DAYS. DECEMBER DAYS. \ SONG for bleak December days, Tho' not a song is left, For birds have gone, And woods are lone, Of all their joys bereft. But what of that, if in the heart The Summer birds remain? We'll still be gay/ And laugh away The bleak December's reign ! A shout for wild December days, Tho' falls the snow and sleet ; Who heeds the storm, While hearts are warm, And smiles are bright and sweet? We've had the lovely summer leaves, The sunshine and the dew ; We'll have them still, Old friend, we will — December days are few ! DECEMBER DAYS. 353 A cheer for dark December days, For bring they not to all The brightest hour Of Heaven's dower That may to mortals fall? Oh, days of rare, old Yule-tide joy ! The sweetest of the year ! That's why we sing Your welcoming, December days so dear ! 354 THE SEASONS. THE SEASONS. SPRING. {In Colorado.) t) OBINS in the tree-tops, Deeps of turquoise sky ; All the leaves a-waking — Laughing, low and high ! Crowds of snowy daisies Twinkling far and near ; Oh, the joy of daisy-time, Sweetest of the year ! Silver rills that tinkle 'Mid the grasses green ; Not a cloud that hovers Earth and sky between ; Crickets blithely chirping, Welcome in with cheer — Daisy-time, sweet daisy-time, Fairest of the year ! SPRING. Far away the hill-tops In the purple mist Gleam a brilliant welcome — Gold and amethyst; Thrills the world with gladness After sadness drear ; Who could sigh in daisy-time, Brightest of the year? Colorado, 1904. 355 35^ A SONNET. A SONNET. (Midsummer In Santa Barbara.) A MISER I would be to-day, and hoard These treasures that I may not clasp again ; This flood of gold that drowns upland and plain, This billowy bloom that stretches deep and broad ; The river, dwindling far — a silver cord — And dappled shadows, down this cool, mossed lane Whose mirrored boughs the lucent brooklet stain With carven jet; these carols now outpoured — Melodious rain — among the listening leaves. Oh, Benison of boundless, cloudless sky! Mine, now, howe'er your sweets may glide away, Mine, to delight the while white Winter grieves, To dream of when keen drifts go whirling by. Can aught to come steal joys I hoard to-day? Santa Barbara, 1904. OCTOBER. 357 OCTOBER. Z^ 1 OLDEN brown and crimson leaves, Falling, falling everywhere ; Ranks of amber- tinted sheaves Nodding in the hazy air. And it's hey for blithe October, Tho' the skies are dull and sober, And the air is chill, Yet we love thee still, Oh, rare and blithe October! Here and there, in russet rain, Fall the chestnuts from the tree ; "Bob White" softly calls again, Leaves are dancing in the breeze. There's a joy, tho' flow'rs have faded, And the sky and storm is shaded, For the dreamy days, Down these woodland ways, Are sweet in blithe October ! 358 OCTOBER. Far off hills, in purple sheen, Glow, like lights from fairyland ; Vales are clothed in golden green, Earth seems now a pageant grand ! Tho' the joyful Year is fleeting, And belated birds repeating Sad and long "Good-bye," Where's the heart would sigh, In rare and blithe October? On the Santa Fe, 1904. MIDWINTER. MIDWINTER. {Wyoming.) A WIND that moans o'er lifeless plains That wear a snowy shroud ; From leafless trees, when sunset wanes, No song-bird carols loud Its sweet Good-night ; all Nature seems As hushed as Death, while far, Amid the dying daylight beams There shines no welcome star, In sad midwinter ! All silent where from branches high Keen icicles, like spears, Hang 'neath a bleak and ashen sky ! And yet this thought still cheers : Oh, heart, amid the palling dearth, The overwhelming gloom, Beneath this snow-white shroud of earth, Sweet roses bide their bloom Thro' lone midwinter ! Wyoming, 1904. 359 OCT 25 1901 mum LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 799 370 7

12027998

Rough rider poems,

Allen, John

roughriderpoems00alle_djvu.txt

n Qjj^pri I r:i ddddr CDPyRIGHT DEPOSnV Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/roughriderpoennsOOalle JOHN ALLEN Rougn Rider Pocmi Rough Rider Poems -By- JOHN ALLEN CHARLES W. BANCROFT CO. CHICAGO 7^ 3?o^ •l1<^ \'\\'^ Copyright 19)1 B, JOHN ALLEN (g:C!.A3285]0 Contenta DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE - - 13-24 OSCEOLA . - _ 25.43 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL - - 45-61 RAMONA - - _ ^3-72 MOANEE - - - _ 73_88 THE OREGONIAN - - 89-106 THE CLIMBER - - - 107-137 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE - 139-153 THE AIRSHIP - . . 155-156 THE STRONGEST FORT - - - 157 YULE - - . - 158-159 DECEMBER DAYS - - - 160-161 MIDWINTER - - _ 162-163 RETROSPECTION - - 164-165 THE SEASONS - - - 166-171 THE STEAMBOAT - - - 172 GOOD-BYE SWEETHEART - - 173-174 EASTER-TIDE - - - 175-176 I MISS THEE - - - 177 IN WINTER - - - 178-179 DAVY CROCKETS RIDE Say, Stranger, now ain't it a zvhile between drinks f Ye see, 'bout old Thunder I've so many kinks I'd set here forever ter tell what he's done; There aint any equal ter him, not a one! Davy Crocket Riae "You sort of admire that small mustang's pints? Why, stranger, there's lightnin' in all them rough jints ! That's why his name's Thunder. I gave it to him, Tho' when I first owned him his name was plain Jim. Set by for a minute ; that's Rosebud, my wife — Thar' ain't any finer gal 'round, on yer life ; Thar' ain't any sweeter in all the wide West, I pan out on her, let who will have the rest ! You think she's a woman ; I say she's a Saint, An Angel of goodness, I'm blest ef she ain't! But speakin' of horses. Whoa ! easy now, Thunder. Look out ! he might nip ye, and I shouldn't wonder ; Ye see, he knows me, but to strangers he's shy. Just look at that devil's light in his off eye ! 'Twas this way : one day at sun up we sped Far out on the prairie, red hot over head ; There wasn't a cloud in the bright copper sky, And water — there wasn't a drop of it nigh, Not even a sign of it, look where you might. And nothin' but parched, withered sage brush in sight. Why even the tongues of the coyotes hung out 18 DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. A half a yard long as they skulked 'round about. I own I was puzzled to know whar to go — To know what to do tho' Vm not always so. 'Well, Thunder,' sez I, 'it's a clear case of skunk.' He snorted, as much as to say — 'We'll git hunk !' Then just over thar rose a small cloud of dust, I couldn't make out what it meant, at the fust, But Thunder there pricked up his ears, shook his head. And Tnjuns! run fer it!' that's just what he said. Right off to our left was a small clump of trees, We started fur that ; it was go as you please ; But I knew we could hide, if we got there in time, And the way Thunder galloped — well, it was sublime ! I just let him have that bit all to the good. And yelled 'Go it Thunder !' and he understood ! The red devils swept down, with one mighty yell. I fired at the foremost, his horse reared, he fell! A shower of bullets clipped brush all around, But on galloped Thunder — kept time to the sound ! Still nearer and nearer, to head us they tried, Old Thunder kept going, and never once shied Until we were safe behind that clump of trees. And Thunder — why, that for him wasn't a breeze ! DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 19 But this wasn't all, for I caught just a gleam, Although miles away, and I knew 'twas a stream, And that was the brightest of visions to me, A sight much more precious than any could be ! Say, Stranger, do you know the awful sensation Of thirst, hev ye given it consideration? The sk}' like an oven, the sand 'neath yer feet, And even the rattle snakes frizzling with heat ; Yer tongue lolling out, and yer lips baked and hard, Well, say, if yer haven't, yer lucky, old pard. As I was just sayin,' he saved me, old Thunder, So look at him, tell me now, ain't he a wonder ? But that wasn't all, fer we've had other chases Which showed Thunder's mettle and elegant paces. Just pass the old bottle, it makes me feel dry To think of the times we've had, Thunder and I. One night when the stars were all twinkling aloft. And breezes were hummin' not any too soft, We two had been prospectin' nigh the foot hills, And hungry enough, well, to give one the chills. When all of a sudden the heavens grew clouded A snow-storm was risin', the prospect was shrouded With big flakes of snow till our sight it was blinded, 20 DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. We'd soon lost the trail ; but old Thunder ne'er minded. He stood still awhile as if thinking about it. Then made up his mind that he could do without it And find out a path for himself. Now 'twas midnight The snow kept on falling, and totally hid night ; But Thunder, fleet footed just kept up his stride And I was so frozen, I scarcely could ride. An hour went by, and we no nigher home, The desert was white, like an ocean of foam ; I heard a low sound, and the old horse looked back To see what it was that had followed his track ; I knew it was WOLVES, and, my God, what a pack! On, faster and faster, they came with a rush ! It made my blood curdle to hear in that hush Of snow-blinding midnight the horrible howl Of hundreds of wolves with their fierce hungry growl ! Old Thunder he knew how to spoil their nice game, He'd been thar before, and their mettle could tame ; I stood in my stirrups, and held tight my breath, (To be eaten alive ain't a nice kind of death!) As the foremost black speck shown out clear on the white Of the snow, I let loose, and ONE stopped in his flight! DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 21 Bang ! Bang ! You'd have thought that all hell was to pay, And so for a minute I held them at bay. To see them black devils, when they'd scented blood, Tear, scramble and scratch would hev' done yer heart good. Old Thunder swept on, didn't lose nary inch"" A friend is yer friend when it comes to a pinch ! And he was my friend on that terrible night, ril never forget it — not by a dern sight ! Them wolves put together, stopped havin' their fight, We hurried along, and they fast strugglin' after, And all the while makin' their horrible laughter, Which seemed to say, 'now we'll soon hev' ye dead beat, And dollars to doughnuts you both are our meat !' But look! at the foot-hills a half mile away There twinkles a light ! 'Tis as welcome as day To one who despairs thro' a night of disaster ! I'm blessed if old Thunder then didn't run faster, And up to the door of my cabin he stopped, While out of the saddle I instantly dropped And led him straight in, when I barred quick the door Those daring black devils we'd foiled just once more! Say, Stranger, now ain't it a while between drinks? 22 DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. Ye see, 'bout old Thunder I've so many kinks Fd set here forever ter tell what he's done; There ain't any equal ter him, not a one ! Well, there was a gal, just a rose-bud of June, She set my heart singin' to love's sweetest tune, Yer never might think it; but 'twas years ago, And somehow time changes a feller, ye know. But never the HEART — she's my love to this hour, And blooms still for me, my dear rose-bud, my flow'r ! Another chap liked her, she didn't let on Which lover her mind had yet settled upon. So somehow that chap said we'd RACE for her hand, Whoever should win she would choose — understand? Well, he was a tenderfoot, always would brag About his fine Morgan-sired thoroughbred nag. And I had old Thunder, or rather plain Jim — For that was the name was first given to him. The race-day came ofif ; there was lots of a crowd, The talk and the bettin' was both rather loud. A hundred to one was the odds on my nag, But that didn't matter, and I didn't care, For I saw a face that looked heavenly fair, Her eyes seemed to say, T am yours, and you'll win !' DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. 23 Although to the rest my chance looked rather thin. Four miles straight away and return, was the game, His horse looked the winner, mine humble and tame. We started, the crowd roared, he'll beat him to death, But me and old Thunder there just held our breath. In racin' ye know, it's a good thing ter wait And shout when yer win, this you'll learn soon or late ! The FIRST mile he went away far in the lead, But I didn't mind that, I knew Thunder's speed, Just hung on until we had come to the TWO And then just a leetle up nearer I drew. The THIRD, 'bout the same, and I saw Thunder wink As much as to say, 'We hev' got him, I think!' The FOURTH, goin' easy, as usual quite, And then came the run home — well that was a sight ! The FIFTH, we had crept up still nearer, could see That Morgan-sired thoroughbred didn't agree With the lashing his rider applied to his flank. I knew in a twinkling his courage then sank, And old Thunder's hoof-beats — they flew like a dart — Kept always repeating, *Oh, we'll break his heart!' 'Oh, we'll break his heart!' then the SIXTH mile we passed. 24 DAVY CROCKET'S RIDE. And up to his saddle, swept Thunder, at last ! He hung there as never a nag hung before ! Then up to the skies went a yell and a roar, As the SEVENTH we passed, half an inch to the fore! The thoroughbred rallied, came at us again, His rider plied spur, till he bled from each vein, But it was nary use, and the string was in sight, And Thunder swept on, in his masterly might, Won the race in a canter, and just by pure grit, And, Stranger, well, that is about all of it! Except that I won the gal settin' up there And smilin, a pretty rose-bud in her hair, Which she took and pinned on my coat right away, And she's been my ROSE-BUD since that very day ! OSCEOLA What nobler monument Should be than his zvhose stolen lands Divided were by white man's hands? Whose kin were severed from his heart, Whose wife was sold at Slavery's mart? Conquered in the unequal fight Where bullets dared the arrows flight, He looms, heroic and sublime A noble warrior thro' all time! Otfceola Here, beside the deep blue sea, I muse of days no more to be Of Life and all its tangled skein, Its mingled joy and bitter pain. The white sails dot the pearl tipped waves That sob and moan as o'er the graves Of sailors in eternal sleep Down in the caves of ocean deep ! So moans my heart beside the sea For one brave heart who once to me Seemed god-like in his majesty! Whose image now before me comes, Aye, god-like still ! I hear the drums Of yonder surf beat on the shore. Again I'm with the hearts of yore ! My father was a trader brave And led me hither as a boy, By dark ravine and rocky cave And swamp ; and here it was my joy To gaze on Osceola's face 30 OSCEOLA. * With every line of manhood's grace Written thereon, as on a page! Oh, bravery was the heritage Of this great Chief, e'en then my friend, And true and loyal to the end ! He drew me to him as a star Draws mortal gaze to heaven afar. My young soul in its ardor grew To love his band; their ways I knew. Here where the swarthy negroes bold, Never to be in slavery sold, As was their doom in days of old. Ere they became brave refugees ; Only to him they bent the knees — Their Chief ! Here were the red men true, Stolid and brave to dare and do; These were the mighty ones 1 knew In those young days of long ago. And their foe was my deadly foe ! For Osceola drew free breath. And slavery was living Death ! OSCEOLA. 31 My heart, my sympathy I gave Unto the mighty Chief so brave. His eagle eyes oft looked in mine ; Stalwart was he as forest pine ; He led us thro' the dense morass, 'Mid tangled woods and waving grass, And garlanded, the foe we chased, Relentlessly as blood hounds track Their quarry, and ne'er turned we back ! Beneath the swaying palms we rode Whose leaves like daggers hung; And under fruit of gold we strode, While battle songs were sung. Birds of blue and green and red Hovered o'er each feathered head For the fierce war-path bonnetted 'Mid slyvan haunts where fruit was pressed, Like children to the mother-breast ; Where the deer, startled from his rest, Sped like an arrow from the bow. And the bear wandered to and fro. At blush of dawn our steps would go ; Living the life that Freedom knows — 32 OSCEOLA. Its energy — its grand repose ! Our weapons were the arrows keen The bow, the knife, the tomahawk; Not for wild creatures of the scene That thro' the everglades would stalk ; ''These were for Tyrants only made — " These weapons borne thro' everglade And gorgeous vines, upon our trail : So said our Chief. As summer gale. His words were soft. His heart was kind As maiden's in its peace enshrined ! As gentle as the bronze-eyed fawn That crops the herbage of the dawn ! We halted by the streams That sang, as if in dreams; Where fair magnolias grew And winds their fragrance blew. The campfire's smoke upcurled, Like sails that were unfurled. OSCEOLA. 33 Then would the great Chief walk apart, And muse beside the babbling stream, Or gaze upon the far-off stars That trembled in the majesty Of God ! 'Twas there I sought him once, And there he told me of his wrongs. His beauteous bride had in her veins The blood that doomed her for a slave ! How she was taken, to be sold As beast of burden, in those days! How he had pled for her release, And how the scoff and bitter jibe Of pale faces had wrung his heart To deadly vengeance. "I tight them not," He said, "because the face is white; It is because the heart is black ! With treachery deep-dyed their soul ! I war for Freedom of all men ! So shall I till Life's sun departs." 34 OSCEOLA. Again at dawn the trail we took, By moss-hung trees, and winding brook; Green, tangled depths, where wild birds piped And nimble squirrels, brownly striped, Like bolts of lightning, flashed in air. And hid in trees all sunlit fair. Then rang the war whoop piercing wild; The rifle cracked ; and knives out-flashed ; Blood reddened every inch of sod; Dripped at our belts the pale face scalps ! The wild flight to our swamps, at dusk. And we secure from hand of foe! The battle raged, day after day, Then came a lull. Where we were hid Gay butterflies, with wavering wings. Poised on the air, like flying flowers ; The mocking bird its song outpoured In thankfulness to bounteous God! But rest was brief ; the stern command Of Osceola rang once more. And on the war-path sped his band To victory. OSCEOLA. 35 So fell my lot, One day, to linger in the camp, Bade by my Chief to watch and guard. Idly I lay 'neath tropic skies. There, bathed in sunset's radiant gold, Before me stood an Indian girl, Dark-eyed, and lovely as a queen ! My heart was hers, e'en while I gazed ! The daughter of a Chief was she— A mighty Chief — with heart of stone! And he would have his daughter wed A slave-trader, with many wives — Fair sample of the hideous trade ! A harem had he 'mid these wilds Of dusky hued, and black and white ! We wandered on thro' blossoming trees, Where humming bees and warbling birds Made musical the canopies Of leaves above, where glinted thro* The deep blue of the skies of Heaven, And spoke we then of Love ! True love. That fills the heart with sweetest bliss ! 36 OSCEOLA. The hope, the joy of all desire, A balm, and a consuming flame ! We drifted in our bark canoe 'Neath drooping palms, where lilies bloomed, Not whiter, fairer, than her soul ! Thro' fragrant breath of orange groves We glided ; saw the stars arise And set ; and sang she there for me A song; like cooing of the dove Unto its mate : no song more sweet Was ever heard in Paradise! Alas, but happiness is brief, And Love — a flower that fades at eve ! What strange canoes swung into sight? What rifles gleamed in hands of might? Bound were we there, and led away Unto a city old and gray ! They placed me in a noisome cell Wherein no gleam of daylight fell — Rock-hewn, in Spanish days of old. Chilly, and hung with slimy mould. I moaned, I cried in my despair, OSCEOLA. 37 Like pinioned leopard in its lair ! I cursed my lot, with bitter tears — The echo was but savage jeers ! A keeper came, thrust thro' a door Bread, water; then locked, as before That egress — all was dark once more ! One night as I bemoaned my Fate, Left hopeless, dying, desolate, I heard the jailer's jingling keys; A trembling smote my hands, my knees ; But 'twas the thrill of wild delight ! In buckskin garbed, dawned on my sight My loved one ! In each other's arms, What cared we then for all the harms That vengeance sought on us to wreak? "What do you here, my darhng — speak?" I whispered, *T have come to save My true love from his living grave !" She answered, ''Doomed to torture dire — The horrid rack, the deadly fire, This was your portion ! 38 OSCEOLA. I am here Oh, my beloved, do not fear! And I remain to take your place! Nay, look not so, with ashen face ! Horses are near ; go, dearest, go !" She said, with cheeks of love aglow. "What does this mean?" my heart outspoke; But swifter than the lightning's stroke Fell on my ears her words of dread : "It means, you rescued from the dead A soul that sinned forevermore, And from perdition did restore A lone, despairing, worthless one Shunned by all good beneath the sun ! No purity was in my heart Till love of yours came to impart Its healing balm; as lilies are, In whiteness, you have made my soul So it may seek its envied goal — ' The happy hunting grounds; for when Your lips touched mine, ah, then, ah, then, Love made of me — the vulture foul — In search of prey, a dove ! OSCEOLA. 39 Fiends prowl To seek your death ! Go! Leave me! Go!" "Then let us both escape," I said, She shook her head, and answered, "No!" Recoiling from my arms in dread. 'T am not fit to share your love, Tho' dear it is as Heaven above ! To-day I was to have been wed," And in her shame she bowed her head. "The hardened sinner here would rest; I die for you — it is the best! That Fate alone for me is blest ! I hear their footsteps ! Go, love, fly !" "And leave you here alone ? Not I !" I spoke, and caught her to my heart, "No! you and I shall never part!" She drew a dagger from her girth, I dashed it swiftly to the earth! The door flew open; swift as light A steed I mounted, in my flight, And lifted her unto my side. As o'er the trail, quick, bound on bound, We sped ! 40 OSCEOLA. Click ! came the fateful sound Of rifle! With its deadly aim : A spurt from her breast came, And silent in my arms she lay ! On, on, with the speed of a cyclone, my bay Dashed into the open, away and away ! With one arm I held my dear burden, so pale, But words that 1 spoke there could nothing avail. By river and ford. By hill and ravine ; Past forests so broad Of dew-spangled green ; 'Neath tall, bearded trees Moss-tangled, we flew ; With Death on the breeze — Yet no rein I drew ! Crack ! Crack ! rifles blazed. Swift bullets sang 'round; Still forward I gazed Nor heeded their sound. T called her dear name ! OSCEOLA. 41 I pleaded that she Would speak! Pressed her cheek, Ah ! how cold 'twas to me ! My wild, panting steed Paused no whit in his flight ; But each word he would heed. Was there rescue in sight? Thro' the river we splashed, Up the steep bank we dashed ; And at the dying of the day As rescue, safety, far away, Was almost in my startled grasp ! I felt her hand's convulsive clasp, Then all was still ! I knew no more, Until a grave face bending o'er My form, recalled me back to light And Life! And he who met my sight Was Osceola, Chief and friend! And so my story has its end. ♦ * * * 42 OSCEOLA. We made her grave beneath the pines, Where evermore the lily twines In loving friendship with the rose, And swift winds sigh at day's repose. I pressed her lips ere in that tomb I left her in her beauty's bloom ! And ever after, in sweet dreams, I've heard her voice — so near it seems ! Her light canoe glides swiftly by At twilight, 'neath that tropic sky, And on the air her song is heard Mingled with night-songs of the bird. Years afterwards I sought the spot Where she was laid, but found it not ; But the light leaves that warm winds stir, Seemed ever whispering of her ! I felt her breath upon my cheek. Her eyes beamed on me, softly meek ! Away ! it was the dream of yore Those Seminole days live no more, And all their joys and griefs are o'er ! OSCEOLA. 43 But Osceola, what of him? The well-fought battle sounds grew dim. They led my Chief in chains away — His spirit broken — from the fray ; That spirit proud had never bent Before ! What nobler monument Should be than his whose stolen lands Divided were by white man's hands? Whose kin were severed from his heart, Whose wife was sold at Slavery's mart? Conquered in the unequal fight Where bullets dared the arrows' flight. He looms, heroic and sublime, A noble warrior thro' all time ! O, glorious Nation that with might Hath trodden down the Indian's Right ! Hath sown your vices in his path ! Will there not come a day of wrath When all shall surely righted be ! Take heed lest this dark day you see, When the red man, in God's own time. Shall rise in judgment in your crime ! Florida, 1880. THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL What city of that long forgotten past Here built its homes, and braved the furnace-blast f What loves, what hopes, here had their glorious birth, And lived their hours upon this spot of earthf Tne Watchers of the Trail (Arizona.) High o'er the desert's leagues of bleaching sand That seems to quiver in the blinding glare, No blade of living green on either hand, With only desolation in the air, And silence, breathing Death and grim Despair, With helpless horror brooding everywhere The spirit of the scene — a grizzly stands Upon a peak whose eminence commands The utmost limit of these lonely lands. Above him rise still grander heights of snow, Up, up, until they lose themselves in clouds ; While gorge and ravine yawning far below. Whose awful deeps the darkest shadow shrouds, Unlighted by the sunset's dying glow, A sense of fearful majesty bestow. Rich purple, fit for panoply of kings. The setting orb inimitably flings O'er purest white of snows for ages laid Far, far above the towering pine-tree glade^ And mingled hues of pearl and amethyst 50 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Blend o'er the scene in gold and purple mist! As if the hand of God, at shut of day, Were softly laid upon His glorious work, That it might hide from awe-pierced eyes away Yon desert where dark, fell Destruction lay ! The arrows of the sunset, tipped with fire, Glanced over gorge and over rocky spire, For like some vast Cathedral's massive height The grand Sierras loom upon the sight This sunset hour ; and thro' their cloven aisles, Lo ! 'tis Almighty God who sweetly smiles ! The wind's soft sigh is like the prelude fair Of some vast organ calling man to prayer! And deeper, deeper flash the radiant dyes Of those translucent, iridescent skies Till Heaven seems opened to the raptured gaze And human hearts pause in devout amaze ! The spirit of the scene stood silent there. Distinctly limned against this scene so fair. Huge, fierce, as if to supreme anger wrought At what the years in onward course had brought. He seemed to mark the desert's deadly waste ; The mountains wild in adamant encased ; THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 51 The snowy peaks ; the weird abyss beneath ; The river, like a sword without a sheath, Glancing afar ; the pine trees darkly green — All these he marked — the spirit of the scene — Then to my heart, in accents eloquent, A message from that dizzy height was sent, And with the glory of the scene was blent In never fading, and resistless power, From him — the Prophet of the sunset hour! From him whose feet had trodden year by year Yon valleys low, and yon aerial sphere Whose only limit is the keen-eyed stars Which sentinel the realm that Heaven bars From mortal ken ! And thus the message sped : "These paths by man untrodden, wild and lone, The lapse of Ages, since earth's dawn, have known! Yon silvery river murmuring to the sea Will ripple on till Time no more shall be ; These caverns held in hollow of God's hand Will rear their heads precipitately grand And frown o'er yonder parching desert sand; While storms of Winter turbulent and free Will wolf-like howl in fierce and angry might. 52 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Resounding still from awful height to height, 'Mid blinding whirls of sleet and feathery snow, When icy winds tumultuously blow ! And man will pass away, aye, race by race, No more on earth to have a biding place. His bones will whiten yonder gleaming sands, And all the labor of his busy hands Will prove of no avail, howe'er he toil, And garner, in his greed, the golden spoil Of these wild lands ! Yet these forever last — These battlements and towers grandly vast, Forever soaring to the skies afar. Above the world's incessant hum and jar, A living monument of Deity supreme To mock man's power, and scorn his wildest dream Of grand achievement! Yea, these pass not by Till like a scroll shall rolled up be the sky In flame and earthquake shock and gloom Wild portents of the judgment day of Doom ! Time was, when o'er yon desert's mighty space, The buflfalo would darken Nature's face In numbers countless as the ocean's waves Or, as on earth, are mankind's mouldering graves ! THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 53 As if the clouds that brought the hurricane Had swept their vampire-wings across the plain And hovered there ! Where are those legions now That thundered past the vales and hills, as prow Of vessel plunges in the ocean's brine, Or cleft-rock flies adown the steep decline ? Gone! Not one vestige of their bones remains To speak their prowess on yon sterile plains ! Oft have I seen the canvas wagons thread The path upon the dried-up river's bed — Like tiny sails of white they sped along And faintly on the breeze I heard the song Of many a brave and stalwart settler-throng Upon its way towards the boundless West, While here I've listened on this lofty crest! How oft I've watched the twinkling campfire's gleam. Like fireflies, by the starry-lighted stream, While o'er the tent the midnight hush descended And all the toils of day in dreams were ended ! Where are those brave and sun-bronzed hearts of yore? Go search the sands, you ne'er will find them more ! Lost, swallowed up by Time's devouring might — Gone like the lightning's flash in depths of night 54 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Unmarked, unnoticed in oblivion's flight ! Yet still this canon's deeps in shadow lie, And still these rocks immeasurably high Heed not the years in their incessant flow ; Massive they stand as in ages long ago ! The golden arrows of the lightning strike ; But bolt or sunbeam is to them alike ; The rains and snows beat on them year by year. But all unscathed their ancient forms appear. As when they first in elemental strife Sprang, at God's bidding, to insensate life! Born of the earthquake's globe uprending shock, Heaving stupendous rock high up on rock ; Measureless chasm and abyss tremendous, Down, shear down, where cataracts leap by ; Gorge, gulch, declivity and walls stupendous. Where never gleams the light of yonder sky ! Home of the eagle, and the vulture's haunt. Where silently they poise on moveless wings ! Ah, vain is man and every idle vaunt Of prowess than in vanity he sings When measured with this handiwork of God — Towers of the world, bv human feet untrod ! THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 55 Creation's dawn first saw this majesty Of mountains sentinelling yonder vales — First heard the grand and fearful symphony Awaken in the fury of its gales, And thunder down these vast cathedral aisles Where never blossom in the sunlight smiles ! So far away that scarcely eye could scan Like specks appeared the savage caravan, Trailing the tepees o'er the arid waste, Or spurring on in wild ferocious haste To where the pioneers their tents had placed, In fancied safety, for a night of rest And peaceful dreams, where never ills molest. Then on the dreamers beamed the home-light sweet Whose cheerful rays their eyes no more would greet! The home beside the river's flowerv side Before their vision stood in humble pride ; The well-sweep and the barn were theirs once more. And living faces and delights of yore. As if the fiends of Hell had all arisen — Had rushed headlong from out their lurid prison, The painted foe upon the quarry swept, And Death their portion was while calmly slept 56 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Mother and babe, and maidens in their glow, And manhood, and old age with locks of snow ! Sphinx-like this mountain's face down-gazed Impassive, stern, nor more amazed Than if the sound of Angels' hovering wings Had fallen there in grateful murmurings ! Or if the grand celestial choir had sung In rapturous measure, past all mortal tongue Or mind of human to conceive : so gazed This mountain, pitiless and unamazed ! Noon on the desert's white and gleaming waste, A copper sky whereon no cloud is traced; No glance of water glimmers to the sight, No sound of bird or beast, from left to right, Or anywhere, nothing save quivering blight ! The cactus rears its tiny spears ; no shade For endless leagues along the trackless path No longer swept by cyclone in its wrath. That hurled the sleet-like sand in whirls of fire Stinging the hapless traveler, like fire ! No breath of air to fan the swollen veins That choked with blood stand out upon the skin Of laboring broncho, on whose neck the reins THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 57 Hang loosely o'er his mane. Dejected, thin, Devoured by thirst, his rider's anxious gaze Scans, hand o'er eyes, the soul-tormenting blaze, His black lips cracked, and red with spirted blood ; While in his feverish fancy pours a flood. In tantalizing gushes, just afar Where yonder mirage tells where green hills are! The trail is lost ! He staggers aimlessly, For yonder oasis holds life and rest! A few more steps and safety he can see. And sweet repose upon fair Nature's breast! He shouts as shouts the maniac in glee ! Another step, 'tis all, to reach yon tree That waves its branches in the cooling air! Still on and on his blundering footsteps fare, For fast recedes that vision from his eyes Beneath the fire that falleth from the skies To wither 'neath its touch both man and beast, And fit them for the vulture's watched- for feast! Oh, God of Heaven, 'tis pitiful to lie Out on the desert lone, and slowly die ; To seem to hear the babbling, silver brooks Singing their way along in mossy nooks ! 58 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. To know that help is gone forevermore, And all Life's purposes and plans are o'er! Was this the end to be of search for gold? — These wanderings and horrors manifold? Ah, glazed eyes fixed upon the dome above, Who now will close those lids with hands of love? Who softly still those writhing limbs of thine? Whose loving arms thy wasted form entwine ? E'en now, afar, mayhap some loved one waits To welcome thee, the while she contemplates Thy safe return to Home and all that's dear, Within her heart no haunting thought of fear ! And, hopeless, watching, as year follows year, Will say : '*He has forgotten those he knew In the old days, before he proved untrue !" Meanwhile he lies upon the barren sands, Stretched white upon his breast those bony hands ! His sepulchre the dim, lone desert's reach. His requiem the eagle's raucous screech ! And yet God knows, and understands ! Back in the flight of Time, yea, eons back. My spirit flies, and sees no vapid track ; But hordes that dwelt upon this flowerless land — THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 59 The men of old of stalwart limb Whose eyes the sun-blaze could not dim. What city of that long forgotten past Here built its homes, and braved the furnace-blast ? What loves, what hopes, here had their glorious birth, And lived their hours upon this spot of earth? The songs of childhood, and the laugh of youth, The words of wisdom and the voice of truth. Here oft were heard beneath the swaying palm, And golden hours were passd in joy and calm, Where roses gave the fragrance of their balm To winds that played 'mid tresses dark or fair ; And mirth was ringing on the wandering air ! Now every breath is laden with Despair! No purposes that live in human heart But in long ages back have played their part Beneath this sky ! Perchance here flowed the sea In all its wild and peerless majesty! And sails were wafted from their havens here While songs of sailors rang with merry cheer Long after cities had lain buried here ! What centuries of human woe and weal Could not these mute and Time-swept sands reveal? 60 THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. Peaks of the ancient world, we ask in vain ! Ye answer not unto our plea ! Again I turn me to the sphinx-like mountain's brow, And in my helplessness I humbly bow ! Ye answer not, who all could now unfold, Clad in soft raiment of the sunset's gold, Crowned with the glory that surpasses kings Beauty of star and moon; and all that brings Loveliness to earth kneels at thy feet. And offer thee the homage of the morn; The grandeur of the tempest wreathes thee 'round, The lightning's gold is that with which thou'rt crowned, Thy jewels are the dew drops newly born! Lo ! still yon beast looks o'er the desert scene Bathed in the sunset's beatific sheen — Deep-woven dyes resplendently serene! Dark painted there against yon background gray, Illumined by each evanescent ray. The Prophet of this lone aerial height. Moveless it stands amid the splendor bright. Now fades the purple from the dimming West, The gold the crimson wreathing peak and crest. The changing hues upon the snowy breast THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAIL. 61 Of these Sierras. Soundless grows the air, Like barques, with sails of pearl, the clouds Float on their seas inimitably fair, To harbors that the coming Night enshrouds. God's flowers — the stars — now one by one appear, As twilight in deep beauty hovers near, Like some sweet Angel hushing all to rest As dies the last faint glimmer in the West ! Then from the brilliant orbs there seems to fall A hush as if to prayer they summoned all Of earth ! And e'en these peaks seem bowed in prayer, While moonlight bends in benediction there ! So thro' the night these awful caverns loom Steeped in their vast impenetrable gloom! Still, echoless, no sound of whirring wing, Till Morn shall come, in grandeur of a king, And plant upon these walls his standard bright While fly the scattered legions of the Night ! Arizona — 1904. RAMONA / was an outcast, shunned by all! By night I heard the wolf-pack call. R^amona Beside the tepee's door she sat; The murmur of the cataract That leapt from rocky cleft to cleft Was all the sound she heard. Bereft Of all that life and love held dear, A moment then she paused to hear The accents of her little boy, Playing beside her in his joy. A bow and arrow held he there, And little knew her heart's despair ! Her open arms she held to him While tears her darksome eyes made dim, And these words told her woe and care : "Come close to me, my poor, lone boy, My anguish, and my soul's dear joy ! Nay, look not in mine eyes with fear, For the last time I clasp thee here ! I go where love knows not deceit, Where only love is ever sweet — The Father's! In that happy land Beyond the stars. Oh, proud and grand 68 RAMONA Thy father once held me to his breast, And first these raven locks caressed, It seems not many moons ago The blissful mem'ry haunts me so! My life is fading, as the day That sinks in yonder clouds away; Soon comes the night ; alas, for me ! Another day I shall not see ! So let me quickly tell to you My story, as yon heavens true ! Afar from here, 'neath torrid skies, And peaks that to the stars arise ; Where torrents like a whirlwind dash, And sounds the thunder's awful crash ; Where step of white man rarely trod, The red man dwelt. He was my God- That stranger who one day I found Within the tepee, strongly bound, Reserved for torture when the sun That day its lurid course had run ! I had a heart that could endure All pangs, and keep its purpose sure ; An Indian maiden does not fear! RAMONA 69 But there was something in those eyes That gazed upon me, deep and clear — Something my heart could not despise! They seemed to say, *Oh, save me, girl! And I will give my heart's dear pearl — Its tender love alone, to thee!' My soul went out in sympathy. Oh, God! that this the end must be! I gave him one assuring glance, And left the rest to time and chance ; For I could not the stranger leave In misery to moan and grieve Knowing that death his fate would be Ere midnight fell o'er rock and tree! I watched, and to the tepee crept, While all the tribe in silence slept ! No sound except the night wind's moan, I stood before him there alone ! Unbound the thongs, and set him free ! Led him to where he safe would be Oh, God ! for white man's treachery ! A pale face with a heart as black As midnight! Boy, the time I lack 70 RAMONA To tell thee how my heart was won. And how I loved, thy parent, son ! My father was a chief, and stern. And when he came the truth to learn He died in grief — I left his side: The Indian maiden was the bride Of one to whom she gave her life — Her life of Love, thro' ev'ry strife! Days passed away; we happy were Within the City's whirl and stir; I lived but for his love alone, He was the Sun that o'er me shone ! His was the smile that was a star To guide me on to joy afar ! I never dreamed that untruth lay Within his vile soul day by day ! I never thought he could forget The life I saved him ! with regret I saw his love fade as the star That ushers in the dawn afar ! But thou hadst come to be my joy, My ruddy, little joy-faced boy! For thee I lived, his taunts I bore, RAMON A 71 But from this heart his love I tore, When for another he forsook His wife ; and boy, his life I took ! I tracked him with the steps of Fate- Even an Indian squaw can hate ! I was an outcast, shunned by all ! By night I heard the wolf -pack call ; But it was sweeter to my ear Than heartless laughter, jibe and jeer Heaped on a poor forsaken wife — No home, no friend, no rest in life! Oft I have paused upon the side Of yonder canons yawning wide And watched the thread of silver flow Thousands of feet away below. And thought to plunge within its breast To find an end in dreamless rest ! But thou wert near : how could I leave My boy, my pride, alone to grieve ? 'Tis better as it is : I go Beyond these peaks of living snow 72 RAMONA Where the Great Spirit cares for all However mean, however small ! For heeds He not a sparrow's fall ? Just now I placed within thy hand The poisoned arrow of our band And bade thee aim with childish glee The bow-string held upon thy knee ! Kiss me ! One clasp ! to rest I go ! Weep not, my boy, thou couldst not know That death lurked in the poisoned dart — Thank God the arrow reached my heart ! The night fell o'er her like a pall While pitying stars looked on her there ! Once happy, young, unknown to care- But now bereaved of life and all ! So paosed she from the earth away. Biding in peace God's judgment day ! MOANEE A TALE OF THE FOOT-HILLS / tell this legend, as it was told By the camp-fires in the times of old, When the blue smoke rose above the pines, In a thousand curling, weaving lines, And the warriors of the plains, at peace, To all their battles gave surcease. Moanee. (A Tale of the Foot-Hills.) Hark to this tale of the foot-hills lone — This legend that lights the Western zone With its glow of human kindliness That the savage heart, lothe to confess Still shows, like gold hid in dull earth, Which to the eye puts forth its mirth After the passion-shock of storm That rends the pine trees towering form. Hark to the night-winds ! in their tones Fancy may hear the parting moans Of many a brave in days of old Who reddened these arid, level sands, As ancient legends have often told, In the wild foray, where the savage bold With his schemes of cunning manifold. Oft led to battle his murderous bands. Here are whitened bones that peep to-day When the storm-wind sweeps the sands awaj. Here are arrows that have sped their flight In the horrible tumult of the fight ; Yon grand, majestic cliff could tell 78 MOANEE. Of the wild and hideous savage yell, Like a voice that came from the pits of hell ! And this canon's dim and vasty deeps Where breathless silence ever keeps Its lair, with awesome vigilance, Could whisper of the fierce advance, In war-paint hideous to view, Of cruel hordes, here to imbue Their hands in hated tribal blood That flowed like a sunset-tinted flood When the carnage of the strife began, Not the panther in his mighty wrath Prowled to destroy, on his midnight path, With a more relentless, vengeful hate Than the savage showed while he would wait, Low-crouched, upon these level plains, Once deeply dyed with gory stains. For the coming of his treacherous foe In the horrible days of the long ago! Not a rattlesnake with its head erect. And its coils with dark-hued scales bedecked, Bore such malignance in its glance As the savage eyes, keen as a lance. MOANEE. 79 Glared at the signs along the trail, Which never he had known to fail. That told him of the stealthy tread Of the enemy he was taught to dread By long hereditary spite, In those terrible days of savage might ! So I tell the legend, as it was told By the camp-fires in the times of old, When the blue smoke rose above the pines. In a thousand curling, waving lines, And the warriors of the plains, at peace, To all their battles gave surcease. Fairest of Indian maids — Sprite of these emerald glades — Was Moanee, whose sire The Chieftain proud and brave. Ne'er would to foeman crave — Whose heart was raging fire ! Her step was like the fawn's That glided at the dawn's First light upon the hill I 80 MOANEE. Her hair, the raven's wing That poised above the spring That gHstened 'mid the bloom ! Her eyes were dark of hue, Bespeaking courage true, And still untouched by gloom. The child of Nature's choice, Lovely, and mild of voice, A maid beyond all fear; Joy of the Chieftain's heart, Of his lone life a part His comfort year by year. She grew to womanhood, This nymph of grove and wood, The tribe's bright hope and joy; Woe to the blighting hand — Death to the dastard band Would Moanee destroy ! There was no deed too bold In those dark days of old Nor punishment too dire Of fiercest, torture-fire MOANEE. 81 To visit on his head Who dared the might so dread Of Moanee's proud sire ! He loved her with a passion tender, To him she was his all in all ; Her thought was but of him ; to render A daughter's love whate'er might fall, Tho' o'er him grew the clouds of sorrow, Tho' tempests of defeat each morrow Assailed him, she was ne'er denied. Tho' her Life's joys were multiplied For this red chief of all his race Upon whose grand and stoic face Love set its mark of haughty pride In her — the daughter at his side ! In chase and battle she was near The bow and arrow in her hands Answered her spirit's swift commands; And all the tribe her prowess knew, Paying her queenly reverence due; For was she not their Warrior Queen, In savage womanhood serene, The naiad of that desert scene ? 82 MOANEE. But Love had come to the maiden's heart, With all its sweetness and all its pain — The keen delight and the bitter smart — Its burst of starlight, its tears of rain ! She gave her soul to her sire-chief's foe Brave Eagle- Wing, who in many a blow Of fiercest conflict her sire defied. She had promised to become his bride When Autumn leaves had to crimson changed, And the wildwood trail o'er which they ranged Had its emerald glories turned to gold In a wealth of beauties manifold. But a rival warrior of her band Had wooed her for her heart and hand — Lone Wolf, who looked with a scowl of hate On his enemy kindlier used by Fate ; Who was smiled upon by the maiden fair Whom the tribe had guarded with tender care; And for vengeance sought he early and late. She had laughed his ardent vows to scorn, All her sharp rebukes he had meekly borne, But within his breast his smouldering ire Lay buried, like the volcano's fire, MOANEE. 83 And he vowed to win her, his heart's desire ! But the Indian maiden arch, yet coy, Went on her way in the bountiful joy Of a Love that Heaven to her had sent — In which each thread of Life's woof was blent! The dawn was tinting peaks of snow With its enamelled, roseate glow, That flashed from rocky cleft and cave To boundless deeps of gloom below, And to the scene a grandeur gave. As the glinting arrows of the sun Glanced here and there, with light intense, In a maze of wild magnificence ! The Western world from nest awoke. And mists arose on high — The great All Spirit to invoke — Ascending, incense-like, unto the sky! It was a Dawn, as yet, of Peace. The mountain-torrents, as in play. Tossed to the breeze their diamond spray ; And leaped along from steep to steep, Sparkling in every crevice deep. 84 MOANEE. The birds poured forth a matin song That rippled down the jubilant breeze, And rang in joyous symphonies The leafy groves along. It was Dawn, as yet, of Life All unembittered by the strife Of foes in turbulent array, As if to mock the glorious Day New-born unto a teeming earth ! As if to turn to darkest dearth Fair scenes with gladness rife ! Hark ! with a horrible rush and a roar — ■ Boom of the surf on a storm-smitten shore — • Crash of the terrible avalanche-pour Met mighty legions contending! Faces that gleam with a fiendish delight, War-painted ; arrows in murderous flight. Steeds that out-thundered in hoof-beating might Tempests their fury expending! Out of the hell of the battle that rages — Like unto beasts just set free from their cages — Eagle Wing singles out Lone Wolf, while he Watches his rival. MOANEE. 85 The challenge is given, While the blue firmament o'er them is riven With yells that are momently stifled in Death ! And trampling of steeds that are crushing the breath From foemen whose war-paint in mockery there Mingles with gore in the sun's vivid glare ! On speed the rivals o'er the plain, Until a space apart they gain Far from the battle's deafening din ; Their prize — 'the maid, each strives to win ! The mountains tower on either side, The river glistens deep and wide, The pine trees look in lofty pride Upon the warriors bold ; Alas ! a moment later they see Prone on the sands, in agony, Elagle Wing whose death rattle sounds Amid those silent, desert mounds ! His dying steed beside him lies, O'er them the glaring, parching skies. Lone Wolf looks on his rival's fate With glances of malignant hate. A haughty smile comes o'er his brow. 86 MOANEE. But, lo ! with sweet compassion now He from the saddle swiftly swings, And running to the river brings A draught of water for those lips Deep-purpling in pale Death's ecHpse ! He bids him drink in accents mild, As he would speak unto a child. "Moanee!" came the whisper low; "Moanee ! Love ! from Life I go, Bearing the sweetest thoughts of ihee Unto the happy hunting land ; By the Great Spirit thus set free ! Farewell! Farewell, forevermore!" Then no sound the zephyrs onward bore. Down from the zig-zag mountain trail. Rushed the Indian maiden wild and pale, With a horde of warriors following her Over the dangerous rock-ribbed spur ! She is kneeling by her lover's side, She is holding him unto her breast, In the anguish of her soul's unrest ! Lone Wolf, pursued, made prisoner MOANEE. 87 And firmly bound they brought to her. She cast on him a loathing look Of deepest scorn. "This in thy work !" She cried, and from quiver took Her keenest arrow. "Shall there lurk Within my heart one pitying thought For him who has this foul deed wrought? Die!" "Stay your hand!" Lone Wolf replied, "In gage of battle thus he died ! My life was free for him to take ! It was the chance of War that gave Me life, and him the silent grave ! Not for your pity now I crave. The Indian brave fears not to go Where he has sent his conquered foe ! My heart relented ere had fled The spirit of the noble dead I brought wherewith to quench his thirst, And back to life I would have nursed Him for your sake, because your love 88 MOANEE. Is dearest to my heart — above All thoughts of vengeance !" 'Mid her band, The arrow dropped from out her hand. **Loose him, and let him safely go!" She said, ''Were he the foulest foe I could not, would not do him harm For he was kind, his noble arm Would soothe where he had laid the blow ! A father gone in this day's fight : Oh, do I read your thoughts aright, Brave band, and Chief he now shall be !" Lone Wolf thanked her, on bended knee, Kissing the hand she offered him There in the twilight gathering dim. Then the pine trees gazed on another scene After the lapse of moons serene; And the mountains seemed to hide their frown Silently, solemnly peering down On the festal dance and the songs of glee, As Lone Wolf wedded fair Moanee! THE OREGONIAN Why for Eastern delights should my restless heart sighf Here dwelleth all joys that the earth can supply. In the open for me, is the heart's pure desire, With a room for Content, and a sphere to Aspire! On the trail, in the round up of cattle, I sing, With the lariat unleashed, like a bird on the wing! Here, alone, I am lord, in my freedom a king ! Xhe Oregonian Under the skies of the infinite azure, Under the silver of myriad stars ; Nigh to the mountain's majestic embrasure, Awful and grand with its abysmal scars ; Here let me bide in my joyous contentment — Here with the birds and the cattle that roam — Owing the world not a tithe of resentment, Over me God's multitudinous dome ! Long leagues of land in the blaze of the sunlight, Stretching afar to the horizon's verge; Then, at the darkness, the soft gleam of one light- Star of my cabin — while homeward I urge. Here it is God's Land, and Heaven is nearer ! Dies all the petty contention of earth ; Even the brooks and the flowers seem dearer Bound to my heart my a far higher worth Than all I find in the din of the rabble, Crazed with its race for the gaining of gold. Wild with the noise of its incessant babble — Type of the heathenish Babel of old ! 94 THE OREGONIAN. One with my soul is the rush of the torrent Tearing its course down precipitant deeps ! Even the rattle of reptile abhorrent Blends with the bird-song, and harmony keeps ! Room for the soul's broad expansion is 'round me, Room for the sympathies tethered in town ; Here can I break all the fetters that bound me, Cast all society's heresies down ! Nature is mine with its beautiful sweetness — Laughter of winds in the lightness of Spring; Glory of flow'rs in radiant completeness ; Canons and clefts where the wild echoes ring; Waterfalls gleaming with hues iridescent, Swirling in thunderous vehemence by; Snow-peaks that lift to the moon's pearly crescent, Piercing the blue of the luminous sky ; Flight of the vulture that airily poises Eager to sweep on its quarry afar : Insects that utter their petulant noises Far better these to my heart than the jar And turbulent warfare of wild crowded places Knowing no God but the God of base gain ! THE OREGONIAN. 95 Tricked by the glamour of deceiving faces, Filled with the spectres of want and of pain ! Oh, for the rare fragrant breath of the prairie Bearing the scent of the long waving grass ! Oh, for the bright plumed birds ! And the airy Voice of the pines, and the rivers, like glass, Sweeping majestical, silvery-winding, Onward, still onward, and evermore finding Gorgeous magnificence over them bending, Gold of the sunlight and silver of starlight Evermore blending and unto them lending The power and grandeur that live not in Art But only are born out of wild Nature's heart Their beauty, their gladness, their rest to impart ! Mine be the serpent that slips thro' the sand, With sinous sliding, and malignant glance ; Mine be the cyclone fierce, mighty and grand, For in its fury one has half a chance! Give me the grizzly, tremendous of paw. Rather the vulture, the sleek lizard's jaw — Aye, rather these than the scandal and spite The spleen and the jeer of the opulent crowd, 96 THE OREGONIAN. The way of the world that has made Mammon might, And utters its sophistries blatant and loud ! At least I have rest from the long, hopeless quest Of a love that can never — ah ! never be mine ! There is rest in the rill, and the pines of the hill, In the lone, brilliant stars, and the moon's placent shine ! There is peace in the sound of the wild waterfall That bloweth its trumpet on storm-jagged steep To summon the echoes of yon caiion's wall, And, like tangled silver, then headlong to leap ! There is joy for the heart that can hope nevermore, Forsaken by Love in the days passed away ; For Nature alone can its calmness restore, And teach it to hold taunting Mem'ry at bay ! Why utter the story of one all untrue — Of Love's tender vows in their holiness shattered? The severance bitter, the scornful adieu, The jewels of confidence thus rudely scattered ! I meet no rebuff in the elements near me; The wild creatures slink from my pathway and fear me ; To me they are harmless, and bear me no scorn, Fit comrades are they for hearts hopeless, forlorn! THE OREGONIAN. 97 Rich butterflies, like gaudy flowers awing, Amid tangled vines gayly hover and swing; Close hid, the panther crouched low on the branch Waits but to fall, like a fierce avalanche ! Sunning itself in the bright, blinding glare Of noontide the rattler Hes coiled in the sand; And songs of the birds on the bloom-scented air I hear, like the echoes from far fairy-land ! The river my comrade is, restlessly flowing, On\yard, still onward, in broadening view, Beauty and charm to the wildwoods bestowing, Mirroring stars in their eloquent glowing. Mirroring heaven translucently blue, Lulling to quiet my heart in its passion, Soothing its anguish, it still is a friend ; But, when the lash of the storm bids it dash on, Sweeping its banks with a boundless unrest, Bearing its rage and its hate in its breast. Showing its fangs in the white of each crest. Wild in its anger the forest to rend — Then is my heart with its infinite yearning One with the river, all passionate, spurning Human control, with a deej) inward burning, 98 THE OREGONIAN. Filled witli a scorn that seenis never to end! Scorn of the love that was falser than human! Scorn of the vows of a false-hearted woman ! Kinder the flame of the red lightning's stroke Rending the heart of the huge forest oak ! Aye, far more merciful were the cyclone Sweeping destruction o'er circle or zone, Dashing its way with an uncontrolled ire, Swift as the wings of a whirlwind-lashed fire; Kinder, more merciful these than the love Slighted and scorned; for the angels above And the demons below must with pity condemn The heart that would barter the rare, priceless gem Of affection, so full of a richness untold — Aye, barter it all for a handful of gold ! I wonder if now in that city afar, The whirl of its crowds, and the tumult and jar, Her heart hath forgotten the vows that we plighted? The night at the porch by the stars dimly lighted? The winds soft and low, and the roses asleep? The nightingale trilling its cadences deep? I see the rich hue of her cheeks all aglow; 1 touch her warm hand, small, and white as the snow THE OREGONIAN. 99 That gleams to the stars on yon peaks far away ; And my heart reads the words that her eyes mutely say! Oh, the world then to me was a Paradise rare, And she was its Eve in her loveliness fair ! But the serpent came early the joy to despoil. The glamor of beauty to wither and soil, And leave in its place but a heart-blighting care To follow my life with its burden and toil ! One night — I had been on the trail since morn — I was weary, dejected and sadly forlorn — (Ere the sweet love of Nature was in my soul born, And Fd learned its philosophy, tender, consoling, The delicate harp-strings of life all controlling, And blending in harmony discords of Time In one peerless song, rare, ecstatic, sublime !) I mused in my hammock ; the night's deepening shade Hung heavy o'er ravine and river and glade ; And, like the low rumble of hoofs on the plain, I heard the deep thunder presaging the rain, The pines wildly writhing like giants in pain ! A face, white with anger and terror, appeared — 100 THE OREGONIAN. The eyes glared upon me as if they still feared A living resentment that would not be hushed ! The blood of a wound from her heart madly gushed ! 'Twas she — and she reached out her hand to me there — And said in a voice that was wild with despair : ''Forgive me ! Forgive me ! I cast Love away — I saw all its roses in brightness decay, And Life with me since has been bitter dismay !" I strove to arise ; but my limbs were like lead, I tried hard to speak ; but words none I said ! She knelt at my side pleading thro' blinding tears. And told me the story of sad, loveless years. But still I replied not, my tears would not flow ; I laughed at the words of her pitiful woe ! For had I not sufifered, unpitied for years? Could this be assuaged by a false woman's tears? She clung to me there in her anguish supreme, And, by the swift glare of the lightning's sharp gleam, I saw a face pallid and deep-lined with pain — (Oh, God! that J ever should see it again!) She told me of long years of bitterness spent. And begged that my heart would its anger relent ; THE OREGONIAN. 101 She spoke of the days ere her promise was broken ; She showed me a withered rose — Love's early token, And pictured the Past and the beautiful years With eloquent yearnings and passionate tears ; The porch ; and the old trysting place in the dell ; The lane, and the scenes that my heart knew so well ; Her fair Northern home with sweet woodbine em- bowered, Its garden, its meadows with daisies o'erflowered. I saw, yes, and yonder the school on the hill ! I heard once again the harsh whir of the mill Where as fair childish sweethearts we loitered to see The dash of the waters that swept by in glee. But what was her anguish, her pleading to me? For had I not suffered since that f ar-ofif day ? And had not my current of Life turned away From all joys it knew and their beauty and sweetness, From Hope's lovely dream and its fruitful complete- ness ? And all for her sake and her false, wilful pride That thrust me an outcast so far from her side. And turned unto gall the sweet cup of pure love, Yea, changed to fierce hate the content of the dove ! 102 THE OREGONIAN. I spurned her, I say, with a strong man's fierce wrath ! I bade her begone — no more darken my path. For the tempest without could not equal the might Of that in my heart at her terrible sight, And he thought of the life she had come but to blight ! With a crash that resounded from cavern to peak, And a glare, as if risen from Hell's awful deeps — (Or the red of a flame as in fury it sweeps O'er the prairie) — she turned then to speak: And I woke from the clutch of a horrible dream ! She had fled ; and I saw in the last lurid gleam The eyes of a serpent that crawled at my feet, To me and my cabin companion more meet Than the woman who vowed to be mine long ago, But whose vows were as light as the sun-lighted snow That melts into tears in the mild spring-time breeze; Yea, as trustful as waves of the treacherous seas ! Then I saw the first glimmer of dawn in the skies Rose-tinting the mountains that 'round me arise, And purpling the caverns and pine-covered hills And spreading its glories o'er rivers and rills, Like the blessing of God on his handwork below O'er the land that had nothing to do with Life's woe ! THE OREGONIAN. 103 And I thanked Him for being, and strength to live on For the grandeur of all these eyes rested upon ! For the nights of the keen orbs that spangled His throne, For the deeps of the canons reverberant, lone. For the mountains that up, up in majesty rear Till they pierce through the clouds to the luminous, clear. Azure space far beyond; and the glitter and glow Of the stars softly fall on their manes white with snow ! And I thanked Him again for the pathways I trod, Where the human within me was kindred with God ! For what is the Orient o'er seas of blue With the languor of palms dripping spice-laden dew — Mosques and minarets stretching away to the skies, And its blossoms and flowers of infinite dyes. Or its maidens with night in their soft, melting eyes? Have I not in the breath of the pines o'er my head All the sweets, the delights ever Paradise shed? And the lessons of mountains here lifting my soul, With the language of rivers that ceaselessly roll. Rushing onward and on to the far-away goal 1 104 THE OREGONIAN. Why for Eastern delights should my restless Lean sigh? Here dwelleth all joys that the earth can supply. In the open for me is the heart's pure desire, With a room for content, and a sphere to aspire ! On the trail, in the round up of cattle, I sing, With the lariat unleashed, like a bird on the wing ! Here, alone, I am lord, in my freedom a King! There is joy in the watch of the herd 'mid the night When the stir of the wind sets them often in flight, And the clash of the horns, and the billowy sweep Of the dark, huddled throng echoes harshly and deep ; And I gallop along while my broncho I spur, 'Mid the wild ever-echoing tramping and whir Till the leaders I head in precipitate flight — There is joy in it all and a wondrous delight ! So why should I sigh for the dazzle and glare Of the city, and all that most men deem so fair. When I know 'tis a world of delusion and snare, Of crime and pretense, and of scandal and wrong, Where the soul is oft bartered for gold, and the poor Have Miserys' lot evermore to endure? And why should I care for a love that is lost? < THE OREGONIAN. 105 I have counted the gains of it all, and the cost! I have known the deceit that can lurk in bright eyes, The sting of false hearts I have learned to despise. All is vanity there ; but I breathe here the Truth in broad Nature's domain of perennial youth ! There is pleasure for me in the green dewy blade, In the trees and the flowers of valley and glade ; The deeps of the blue sky, and the songs of the birds ; Day's dawn ; and the noontide of quivering heat, And the sound of the heart-thrilling echoing beat Of the steed as it rushes away o'er the plain. The' often at night but the limitless sky Is roof of the spot where I wearily lie, I am happier far than if sheltered with pride In a palace where Untruth and Envy abide With its mates of Hypocrisy, Falseness and Wrong, And the glamor of riches cast over the throng! So mine be the mountains that climb to the stars, The gulches, the canons that carry the scars Of the Ages deep-lined in their adamant breasts ; The peaks with the snow on their high-lifted crests, The grandeur, the beauty, the sweet, boundless peace That give to the spirit of sorrow surcease ! 106 THE OREGONIAN. So live I : and when to my rest I shall go, My grave be the prairie, where winds breathing low Shall sing me a requiem tender and soft, And yonder deep caverns that tower aloft My monument be till the great Judgment day When the earth and its wrongs have all passed away ! THE CLIMBER "Say no more!" the goatherd cried, "Your siren darts fall pointless here. I will go on, Ambition calls; Tho' avalanches bar my way I will go onf The Climber A wandering goatherd in the streets Of far-off Alpine village stood, And saw draw near a chariot Of gold and crystal wondrous fair. Upon it, lashing foam-white steeds To frantic speed, the rider stood, Uncaring for the multitude Of throngs, all ages and all trades And ways of Life. There sat within, On crimson velvet seat, a Maid Of grace and beauty marvellous ! All eyes were turned, all hands were raised Towards her now beseechingly. And voices wild for favors plead. Full many trampled were beneath The prancing hoof-beats of the .steeds. Or crushed under the grinding wheels ! For sage divines ; the poor, the rich ; The young, the man of four score years ; The student, and professors wise — 112 THE CLIMBER. All madly rushed towards the Maid, With outstretched arms, to win her smiles ! But calmly sat she, with a face Impassive as those mountain peaks, With naught of recognition there, Tho' the way was wet with blood and tears, And strewn with myriad broken hearts! The simple goatherd marvelled much To see this Maid so passing fair. Was she a Princess from afar? For the slaves of Toil a Joan of Arc? A Queen of Song to glad their hearts And thrill? Or fairy with rich gifts? He turned him to a veteran gray All bent and worn and bullet-scarred And him bespoke : "Who is this Maid Who rules all hearts with queenly sway ?" His withered hand the veteran laid Upon the goatherd's arm, and said With voice of treble, child-like tones: "This is the Maid for whom the world Doth sigh, and many perish still — THE CLIMBER. 113 Have perished since the world began ! Old, young, weak, strong, humble and great, Rich, sinner, priest, and potentate, The fool, the sage her votaries are ! Happy, yet wretched is the life Who basks within her witching smiles, And on her passionate kisses feeds ! But once a year this way she comes Bestowing favors on the few !" E'en as he spake the chariot stopped, The Maid alighted, and the throng Fell back in awe — made opening wide Of avenue, thro' which she passed. Up to the startled goatherd she All smiling, came, and straightway threw Her arms about his sun-bronzed neck, And pressed upon his trembling lips Her burning kisses ! Mad with joy, He begged her never to depart, But evermore his star to be Amid the storms and ills of Life! She whispered something to him then, And, entering her chariot swift, 114 THE CLIMBER. Sped on her way, amid the sighs Of throngs of disappointed hearts! Envied by all, the goatherd stood And heard the shouts of bitter rage That 'round him beat. "To think," they cried "That she hath showered favors on This ragged toiler of the hills. While many are far worthier here !" But he heeded not the furious speech, And taking up his daily task, With hope renewed, he wandered on. The birds to him sang carols sweet ; And flowers nodded on his path, Scattering fragrance o'er his way Yet in the midst of his delight A shadow fell athwart his heart ! Oft in his toil he paused to brush The sweat that gathered from his brow— A string of sparkling, silver beads — For he was musing of the one Who sat within the chariot fair — • Her eyes, like brilliant stolen stars THE CLIMBER. 115 Of Paradise! He felt again Her maddened kisses thrill his blood With fires of Love; those downy arms — Soft pillows of the Seraphim! Would that he might once more repose Upon her bosom, and expire! Then would he to his task repair, While the hours crept by with feet of lead ! Anon he turned imploring eyes To peaks against the steel blue dome, That towered like vast, cathedral walls; Like monuments of Gods of old ! Or like the fangs, in jagged row, Of fabled monsters of the Past! Or thoughts of Genius soaring high! Or giants garbed in silver robes With fringes of the eternal snow! Wild torrents thundered deep below With eloquence that fiercely poured Thro' tunnels of the mountain's heart. With gathered fury, leashed, in view Crouched avalanches everywhere — White dragons of fair Switzerland! 116 THE CLIMBER. Great lakes that mirrored Alpine skies And all their stars of sparking rays — The eyes of Angels ! Swift cascades Adown the craggy steps out-leapt, With silvery feet, and dark green pines Seemed armor-clad for battle dire With ice-armed legions everywhere! Deep glaciers gleamed in every pass; And silver-arrowed rivers sped Upon their flight ! Like emerald wreaths The valleys twined around the scene, And sounds of tinkling bells were heard Floating on pinions of the air! The chamois flashed across the sea ; And music of the huntsman's horn Came to the ear of shepherd lone Tending his flock of bleating sheep ; While the last rays of the dying sun Tinted the floating clouds with lights Of purple, rose and amber gold. The land of Freedom — Switzerland^ — Unrolled its beauty to his eyes ! THE CLIMBER. 1 1 7 Long gazed he on the marvellous realm. These peaks seemed mighty problems high Upon the varied paths of Life, And beyond them he would, searching, find The secret haunts of fair Romance! Mayhap, the Chariot-Maid was there ! Would he attempt the heights to scale? Perchance when he had bravely won A foothold on their arduous side — Conquered each obstacle, and reached The highest peak, might he not find An icy wilderness — no more — Instead of trace of her he loved? The sun poured down its store of gold ; It was a day of Alpine calm And beauty. To his view there came The shadow of a human form. The stranger paused ; upon his brow Were waving locks of iron-gray That fell on shoulders broadly made ; His lips were pale, and firm compressed ; His raven-black, and piercing eyes 118 THE CLIMBER. Peered from their bushy eye-brows On the goatherd who stood wondering nigh. The iron hand of Time had left Its marks upon the stranger's face, Yet fire still blazed within those eyes, As if of will unconquerable! "Still dreaming, lad," he softly said Of the world afar and its delights. Of dazzling charms of one sweet maid? Why should you climb ? Nigh all the world Is with you in your airy task! Yours are but dreams, fair, idle dreams, That melt, like rainbows in the sky! When man meets me real Life begins. For I have crossed the giddy heights. And knowledge have of her you love! I knew your secret — read your heart — From the first moment that we met ! I know where you may find the Maid If heart of yours is strong as steel ! I'll point the way that you must take — I am the traveller of roads, THE CLIMBER. 119 And know the best and surest paths. Yet Pilgrims tremble when I'm near! I build the gorges, giant-mouthed, The dizzy precipices vast That must be crossed ere one can gain The glowing wreathlet of Success ! I plant the trees — the sharp-teethed rocks On paths that otherwise were smooth. Who conquers these his Life shall be One dazzling dream of Fairyland ! The road that leads to the palace bright Of the Maid you love is crowned with peaks That pierce the realms of vapid clouds Where Death doth lurk in every step ! Dare you attempt? If you succeed, The Maid you love you then shall wed ! But should you fail, you must return To Mother Earth — to nourish her — In some new form of life to rise !" The stranger spoke and disappeared. "Be it so then !" the goatherd cried, "I'll follow on the toilsome trail ! 20 . THE CLIMBER. ril find the Maid I madly love!" But in his brain what thoughts arose? The Past — its hours of mystery — The Future and its roseate Hopes — The Present and its trials grim. But mused he : "Thus are heroes made ! When here the battle's roar had ceased, And the footsteps of the Legions vast Of bold imperious Ceasar died Away from grand Helvetia old, At Riith three from the Cantons met And swore beneath these Alpine skies To die in their dear Land's defence ! To burst the. chains of Tyranny ! To drive the power of Austria Hence, like the leaves before the blast ! These heroes were ! Their names outshine Like brilliant stars of Hope and Faith To the weary Pilgrims of the earth !" All day he strode still on; but now, With quickened pace, his heart was thrilled With sacred fire. Lake Constance shone THE CLIMBER. 121 Before his sight ; the moonbeams fell, In dreamy silver, o'er its breast! He bent to hear while whispering waves Told of the mighty days of old When forests which its strand adorned Were peopled with the startled stag — Were ringing with the Roman shouts ! But now his thoughts were not of these. In reverie, far-oflf was he! At Schaffhausen that quaint old town, Set in the Twentieth Century's lap, Of oriel windows, gables gray, No rock nor barrier crossed his path. But, to the South, the glittering towers Of rugged mountains lifted high. There lay the pathway to his goal — There dwelt the Angel of his dreams ! Onward ! While clouds, like argent Isles, Lay in the upper deep of blue. Lake Wallenstadt slumbered within Its rocky bed. Sudden he heard The roar of conflict near at hand ; And at the advancing host of Knights 122 THE CLIMBER. A handful of brave shepherds hurled Down giant rocks ! For hours the strife Raged on. Like thunderbolts swift crashed Huge boulders hurling instant death ! Those shepherds' valor conquered here ! And Knights of Gold were vanquished by The muscles of the sons of Toil ! Still on he went, and down the vale He saw an armored knight, with sword Poised o'er a shepherd at his feet. The goatherd rushed upon him there With well aimed blow of oaken club And dashed the knight to gory death ! He knelt to dress the shepherd's wounds, Who cursed him that he killed the knight. For said he: "Soon my soul would be Within the Palace fair of Fame !" Still, as he dressed the shepherd's wounds, He murmured : ''Will this be my Fate ?" 'Twas but a vision of the Past! Within the vale of Engadine He stood, where mountain giants shone THE CLIMBER. 123 In regal glory! Rivers flashed Like steel swords, thro' the leafy trees. The sun stood with its feet of gold Upon the peaks, and cascades leapt, And sang their roundelays of joy ! He peered adown amid the trees Where mountains mirrored rugged heads Upon Lake Maggiore's breait. Where bright blue skies forever hang O'er dreamy Lake Lugano while The sun-kissed breath of Italy Sweeps o'er its bosom. Then he turned. His heart with gloomy sadness bowed. For seemed he lost, as in a maze ! Oh, for one star from out the Heaven Of Thought to guide him to the shrine Of yonder Goddess of his heart ! On ! On ! with face set to the North He sped, and crossed a rugged hill ; Where the women, strangely beautiful. Beckoned to him, by Zurich's Lake And sought with siren voices to woo 124 THE CLIMBER. Him to their arms ! With fond delight He gazed upon enchanting charms, And willed to throw him at their feet, Forever there in bliss to be ! But, hark! the roar of battle rolled, *Mid the roads of winds invisible. Rushing in madness to his ears ! It called him to be present there! It stirred his heart, and urged him on To join the struggle, and he fled, Waving the women his adieu ! At Sempach, in the narrow pass, The tide of battle halted. Here The heroic Swiss had humbled now The flower of Austria's chivalry. Like tigers watched they, either foe. Gathering muscles for the fray — Muscles of steel and adamant! To Death or triumph now to haste. The Swiss crouched in the narrow pass. Like statues of Defiance! The Austrians came, THE CLIMBER. 125 Like massive waves ! 'Twas there, and then, A peasant hero boldly stood Within the awful jaws of Death ! Then rushed he forward, gathering Within his breast the awful spears, And perished at the f oemen's feet ; Yet shook their lines, slow- wavering, Until they all were put to flight ! Oh, glorious example thine. Brave Arnold Von Winkelreid ! As the sun shone o'er this battlefield The goatherd saw the Maid so fair — Heart of his heart! She placed a wreath Oji Unter Walden's hero's brow ! And uttering a cry of joy He rushed to meet her ; but she fled ! "At last !" cried he, "the road I see ! Foot-sore and weary tho' I plod, I near the goal of heart's desire!" Still toiling on, a maids he met Enveloped in a robe of charms. She was indeed a vision bright! 26 THE CLIMBER. She sang rare songs of beauty sweet, With voice that thrilled, like magic, thro' His soul. His heart was soon ensnared In the web of melody she wove ! "Madman!" she cried, "no further go! Here ever pause 'mid glittering joys. Tempt Fate no more! Your mission vain Is known to me. Ambition's road Is strewn with bleeding, broken hearts ! Tho' thousands perish, still they come ! Ah, few indeed who reach the goal ! Fleeting the smiles of her you seek, Elusive as the lightning's flash ! And even if you do succeed And reach her palace — even then The struggle is but just begun — 'Tis vain to hold your footing there ! Turn, turn aside, nor sap your strength ! The brilliant mirror of your dreams I'll shatter. Come, and follow me ! I'll lead you to a haunt among The crystal hills, where snow-white doves And robins coo and warble sweet THE CLIMBER. 127 The happy songs of radiant dreams ! On balmy nights we two can sit On a rustic bench, by a silvery brook, And drink in the music of dear Love! Where never worldling's sigh can come. From gardens of delight I'll cull The brightest flowers for you alone !" ''Oh! say no more!" the goatherd cried, ''Your siren darts falls pointless here. I will go on, Ambition calls ; Tho' avalanches bar my way I will go on! The flowers of Love And Beauty which you offer me Will fade before the morrow's sun ! Already they in throes of Death ! How could I wear them on my breast. Where Life throbs warm and fast? 'Twere best To leave them in the garden fair With their companions ; sacred they Even as our lives sacred are !" He turned; his journey to resume; The battle won, renewed was he 28 THE CLIMBER. In strength and vigor of the heart Where the glorious Staubbach tumbles down O'er wildest crags, in silvery showers, All fringed with people, green and gold, Where liquid, blazing diamonds gleam, All bruised and torn he wandered on. He stretched his trembhng, bleeding hands And plucked a brilliant gem from out St. Gothard's crown, at peril dear Of his whole life ! The first of gems That he had found since he set out ! Oh, what a treasure 'twas to him ! For hours he gazed and gloated there On the seraphic fires of its soul ! He heard its melodious murmuring : "Oh, Paradise and all its joys Are dwelling here within this gem!" The lordly Rhine was at his feet, And following, like fiery youth, It rushed by huts and hamlets, till 'Twas lost among the city's walls, Leaving him with his Reveries. THE CLIMBER. 129 He saw armed Knights of Tyranny, Who bowed the hearts of men to dust ! And soon they melted far away, Like dew before the morning sun. For a terriffic storm arose. And when it ceased, the sunshine burst Thro' the roof of clouds, a waterfall Of gold; and lo! brave William Tell Stood o'er the dying Gessler there And Liberty was glorified, And Tyranny was dashed to earth ! And still the goatherd wandered on, With bleeding feet and weary heart. Where the silver crowned Alps uprose, By emerald pastures, countless flocks, And sun-kissed landscapes 'neath the blue. He stopped to rest beside Lausanne Where walked the Kings of earth, and where Lived monarchs of the world of Thought — Voltaire and Gibbon and Rousseau ! He struggled by the mighty Rhone That like an arrow rushes thro' 130 THE CLIMBER. This wonderland of Nature's realm, Past glaciers and mountains huge. Past great St. Bernard, where the hosts Of grand Napoleon looked down ! Mont Blanc, the goatherd gazed upon, Its glittering helmet towering high Above its army of giants near! "So will I tower !" the climber cried, "Above the burdens that I bear!" Bleeding and bruised, still on and on He struggled o'er the toilsome path, And then he saw hundreds of skulls About him strewn, and from a cave, A giant came who bore a shield. There was one path which onward led Beside the giant's horrid den. Towards the enemy he came No thought of fear in his brave soul. The giant's name was Ignorance; A gem flashed on his mighty breast. The goatherd willed it to possess This gem at any cost! His sword . He drew as he advanced. The fight THE CLIMBER. 13 For hours raged with furious might. But 'neath the giant's cruel blows The goatherd, fainting, gasping, fell ! The earth, the mountains and the sky All whirling seemed ; the torrents roared Within his ears ! He looked up then And saw the soft sky bending o'er ; While stood the giant near his den. By the fallen sat a blue-eyed maid With a winning smile and wooing voice, Who pleaded his sad wounds to dress. "No!" cried he. "This would comfort bring, And sweet repose; but I was born For trials and for battle-strife !" Slowly he rose unto his feet, With sword in hand. The maiden turned Aside and wept. The giant quick The fight renewed with fury dire; But soon the unequal combat ends ; The strength of Desperation drove The goatherd's sword within the heart 132 THE CLIMBER. Of that fell monster to the hilt, And the goatherd tore the precious gem From the gory, cleft and quivering breast ! "At last ! At last !" the goatherd cried, "I am upon the right road now!'' Emerging from his shelter, he Exposed was to the golden glare Of sunlight, and grew faint and wan. Two maids of beauty came to him. "Pilgrim," they said, "your days are few, For time, the sculptor, has upon Your brow carved wrinkles. You are old, Your hair is white, your eyes are dimmed, And worn and bent, you cannot live In this fierce light that on you shines ! Unto the gardens fair of Peace, Pleasure and Comfort come with us ! Enjoy the hours that yet remain." He yielded, too weak to resist ; And slowly they led him away. Then thro' the garden's open gate<^ He saw the marble fountains play. THE CLIMBER. 1 33 With many tinted waters rich. Couches of velvet and of gold On which the forms of maids reclined Were near; sweet music stole upon The perfumed air ; rare flowers bloomed Intoxicating with their scent. "Surely," said he, " 'tis Paradise! Here will I rest in happiness For evermore !" But as he paused, About to enter this domain, A feeling strange rushed thro' his heart, The counterpart of what he felt When kissed by his fair chariot Maid! The fires of courage and of strength That feeling strange again renewed. With a wild cry he cast aside The lovely sylphs, and turned away, ToiHng still up the mountain's side ! Below him echoed far and wide The terror-stricken cry that rose: **No further, weary Pilgrim go! Beware the crashing avalanche!" 134 THE CLIMBER. At last his feet had gained the top Of highest mountains, and he paused To rest, for he was sore opprest. Alas! the air was hard to breathe, And fiercest vultures hovered 'round ! So hot the glare of noonday sun He longed to be in pastures mild Among the flock he dearly loved ! As he turned to view the scene around A vision burst upon his sight. To him it looked a picture bright Torn from the walls of Eden's sphere! A palace built of sapphires rare And rubies — 'twas the dome of Fame ! "At last! at last!" he wildly cried, "The goal is near for which I've toiled! Within the arms of her I love, Yes, madly love, I soon shall rest !" Sweet, silver bells rang from the towers, And long processions sought its doors. As he approached, chains rattled loud; The swinging draw-bridge lifted was ; THE CLIMBER. 1 35 The Warder of the towers cried out : *Too late ! the Maid you seek is Fame ! She's wedded to a friend of yours — The butcher's son of far-oflF Bern !" The goatherd staggered to a rest On rustic bench. His breath and blood Seemed leaving him at this fell blow ! "The butcher's son," he laughed aloud, That good-for-nothing, drunken elf! The scorn and jeer of all the town!" Thus he bemoaned his hapless lot, His breath and soul melting away. The Warder spoke : "Some travellers find The journey easy, while some toil And in a Life ne'er reach their goal ! Fame is as tickle as the flash Of lightning, tho' it shines on all It strikes but few, and those few die In the golden tangles of its web ! Far better 'tis to lowly live, Like humble beasts, in pastures green, Than be a strong man seeking Fame ! 136 THE CLIMBER. For when the eyelids of the day Are closed, the beasts to slumber go, And have no dreams till day arise. What care they for the busy world? Better to be like these than sigh For bubbles of the Goddess Fame ! Frail as fair lies on Beauty's lips ! Where is thy gain ? Return ! Return ! Oh, stranger, downcast, turn they steps ! Go ! be a beacon 'mid the dark For Folly to take warning by !" The goatherd sank in mute despair. Then plunged him from the mountain's side ! A poor, dwarfed fir-tree stayed his fall. And held him in its rugged arms. For hours he lay in its embrace, Then, strength returned, he started up The mountain's path defiantly. Determined not to know defeat ! Hark! what mighty sound was heard? A roar, like thunder, shook the air ! Oh, horror! it was the avalanche The white dragon of Switzerland ! THE CLIMBER. 137 Adown the mountain's side it rushed, While the air was filled with broken trees, And wayside cabins, and huge rocks. Ah! what its fury could withstand? No army would dare cross its path ! Down, down, it came, and to his death It hurled the goatherd in its icy arms ! While far above the vulture sailed In glee ; and a million tiny suns Were gleaming in the Alpine sky ! THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE A carven arrow's head once bore This legend of the days of yore, From wide-spread pampas to my door; So, hear me tell it. ine Legend of the Argentine A carven arrow's head once bore This legend of the days of yore, From wide-spread pampas to my door; So, hear me tell it. Long buried was this arrow's head Where reaches of deep green outspread, Beneath a turquoise sky, so fair. That paradise seemed mirrored there, Stretched to the Andes far away: This tale of Love it breathes to-day, And what befell it. Ere the white man's conquering horde Trod those pampas wild and broad; When the condor's mighty wings Swept these mountain openings, Poising over caverns vast On which never had been cast Eye of m6rtal ; ere these caves Had become the silent graves Of the dwellers of the rocks 144 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. Cleft and crumbling with the shocks Of the tempest and the storm Hurled when loomed the earthquake's form, Shattering with giant hands These primeval mountain lands. Delving awful deeps where Fear Ever since has hovered near — Ere this time a savage race Made these plains a dwelling place. Strong of limb, bronze-brown of hue, Valiant, and of purpose true ; In the chase of eagle flight. Brave and crafty in the fight ; Bold of heart, to fear a stranger. Morn would see the savage ranger Speeding o'er the plains in battle, With a foeman's ire aglow, Nerved on by the war-drum's rattle, Armed and eager for the foe! Noon, beneath the palms o'erspreading, Shade and sweet contentment shedding, Saw the maidens coyly gathered In a circle bright and fair, THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 145 With their garments gaily feathered — Plumage varied, rich and rare. Ah, for lovers then they waited. Hastening from battle dire ! On their prowess contemplated, Eager for their heart's desire ! Twilight, with its purple wings, Over them made shadows deep : Where the tangled foliage swung, And the vine in clusters clung. Nature wooed to trancjuil sleep Pampas, hill and wooded steep. Then crept stealthily from lair Beasts that shunned the daylight fair. Slid the lizard thro' the leaves, Where the noisome spider weaves ; Twined the snake on dewy trees Motionless on moonlit leas. From his huge and horrid den Strode the fierce gorilla then. Making hideous with his cry Every region 'neath the sky That his lungs of brass could reach 146 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. With reverberated screech! While the cougar, from the Hmb, Crouched, and darted on the dim Covert of the Night, his stare From two eyes with rage a-glare ! Yet from the forest and the plain, And from the Andes to the main, Along the Orinoco's sweep There spread no terror half so deep, No fear like that this monster brought Thro' deeds of cruel vengeance wrought On those who ventured on his path And met the demons of his wrath ! Half man, half devil! horror vile! No Caliban from Fancy's Isle So fierce, so unrelenting, foul, As he that bore the hideous scowl Of a malignant, deathless hate T'wards all God's creatures animate! Brave was the Chief in the pride of his youth, Child of a sire who had long passed away ; THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 147 Fair was the maiden in whose eyes the truth Shone as the dew on the liUes of May! Sweet was the love that was phghted at eve Under the stars that were dustering bright; Lone was the heart that was destined to grieve, Steeped in the darkness of Misery's night ! Often they wandered beside the clear stream, Often it listened to vows that they told; Love held their souls in its beautiful dream — Love that in spite of Time never grows old ! He was her pride for his valor and fame ; She was his idol of grace past compare ; Joy of his heart, like a spirit she came Bringing to him all things lovely and fair ! Soon were their lives to be wedded with joy. Like mountain torrents that meet on the plain ! Joined with a passion that naught could destroy — Fraught not with shadows of sorrow or pain. Nature's sweet children they were, in its prime, Free and untrammeled by Fashion or Art; Love knows no season, and Love knows no Time ; Their's was the pure, virgin bond of the heart ! 148 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. "Omene, dearest/' spoke her love ''Take from my lips these gifts above See those the false and fickle claim — My kisses ! Give me back the same !" Ah! beautiful she Hngered there Framed in her wealth of raven hair That in the moonlight shone as fair And glossy in its splendor As did those orbs of midnight hue That uttered, mutely, answers true To words of love so tender ! "Good-night, Omene, now we part But for awhile ; yet in my heart I keep thee as a flow'r that blooms Amid some far-off desert glooms, So sweet, so rare thou 'lit ever be, Dear Indian maiden, unto me!" They parted in the silver gleam Of moonlight ; each to fondly dream Of bliss that was for them in store: They parted — to meet nevermore ! In dreams, the maiden's raptured gaze, Soft-lighted by Love's ardent rays, THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 149 Beheld the Future's radiance shine In rapture that was all divine! In dreams, she held her lover's hand Threading the groves of fairy-land ! The angels sang to soft repose Her heart, as breezes lull the rose Of twilght to its gentle sleep, So calm, so restful, and so deep! With stealthy stride from out the wood Who glides in wrathful solitude? The fierce gorilla nears the tent, Now straight he glides, now lowly bent, Glares 'round him with a cunning leer! Oh, maiden, quaileth not with fear Thy gentle heart, e'en in thy dreams, As onward fall the baleful gleams Of those fell eyes where lights of hell Blaze in their flames unquenchable? One scream of wild and lone despair Qeaves like a knife the torrid air! Then, in his arms, with mighty stride 150 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. He bears the maiden far away While gleam the skies with tints of day, And fall the shrieks of wild dismay! On, on, like a torrent in turbulent might, The sons of the forest spur after in flight ! With heart all aflame rides the chief at their head, To rescue the maiden tho' living or dead ! Past tangle of vines, over river and hill, By valley and wood, over cascade and rill. In gorge and ravine, till the desert afar Shines on their gaze, like the gleam of a star ! By night and by day o'er the desert they speed, It bears not a leaf, no, not even a weed ! But yonder, afar on its ultimate verge. There blooms an oasis ! Still onward they urge Their fast failing steeds on the gorilla's track, No ardor they lose and no courage they lack; They care not for hunger, they heed not the thirst, For fierce the revenge that their maddened hearts nursed. THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 151 Day follows day; thy journey on, Until their hope has well nigh gone! No food, no water anywhere, Nothing but one all-blinding glare Of sun! Steeds drop on every side Their forms bestrew the desert wide To gorge the buzzards of the air That hover o'er their pathway there? With sun-baked lips, the riders lie Beside their panting steeds to die. They talk of rivers gushing free, Of fountains in the desert sand; Of brooks that purl in melody; But Death lurks there on every hand ! Pale, quivering forms cry for pne drop Of water; but the rest ne'er stop — They follow where the chieftain leads Who little all the anguish heeds ! One thought is his in pain and death — To rescue her ere his last breath! They mark his tracks upon the sand — That monster's — ^and the lessening band Still staggers on! He looms in sight — 152 THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. Seems laughing at their hapless plight! The maiden in his arms he holds His mighty clutch her throat enfolds ! From crag to crag leaping, still upward he flies, The fierce fire of Hell in his terrible eyes. He laughs his pursuers to scorn as he bears His fair burden on to the dim mountain lairs Of the cougar and jaguar, o'er crevice and cleft, With the might of a giant of pity bereft ! Up, up, till he reaches the furthermost edge Of the precipice, piercing the clouds, like a wedge, Till clearly in view of the young chief he stands, And holds o'er the deep yawning gulf in his hands The maiden ! With horror and hopeless despair. The chief presses on, in his heart a wild prayer That the gods of his tribe will lend succor and aid, And safely restore to him yon helpless maid. THE LEGEND OF THE ARGENTINE. 153 "Hold! Horrid monster! Curse thy hand!" He cries, while mockingly doth stand The creature of his vengeful hate! The arrow of the chief too late Wings from its leash ! Down caverns vast The maiden with a shriek is cast, Just as the fatal poisoned dart Is fleshed within the man-ape's heart! Years afterwards her grave they made Where the wild flowers gem the glade; And where the bright-winged birds flit by, Singing their songs to earth and sky. Beside her lies the chief whose love W as more to her than Heaven above ! Long, long, the tribe this legend told Of those dark, savage days of old — Of valor bright, of Love so true. As I have told it unto you. THE AIRSHIP. 155 (A Twentieth Century Ditty.) How lightly thro' the air we whiz ! That's New York, just below : This keen wind cuts a fellow's phiz, ril close the window so. "Fares please!" Conductor, tell me when We come in sight of Mars, If I'm asleep, just wake me then; My ! what a lot of stars ! How smartly we are steered aside, I really thought we should collide. Thank goodness, I've a cozy seat, I can't hang on to straps ! How strange the faces that we meet Hindoos, Chinese and japs, French, German, Russian, all the rest Are congregated here ; This line's considered far the best. And fares are not so dear. No ! I don't stop at Timbuctoo, Conductor, I am going thro' ! 156 THE AIRSHIP. That white streak over there, niv friend! Why, that's the Chilkoot Pass. You'll view it better at this end. Here, take my opera glass. And there's the Pole ! The Yankee flag- Is waving- o'er it, see ! As likewise over every crag In this vicinity ! What, Paris? I'll land there all right, I want to reach New^ York to-night! THE STRONGEST FORT. 157 The strongest fort in the whole wide world ; Shall I tell you where it stands ? 'Tis not where flags are proudly unfurled In this or in foreign lands. Nay, not where the walls are thick and high, Where the cannons are frowning down. Nor yet where the troops are standing by To defend their walled-up town. But down in your midst where battles rage — Rage on from the morn till night, It has stood the test from age to age. And never gave up the fight. No poet has ever sung in its praise, No hist'ry given it thought. Yet faithful it stood through all the days. And bravely the battles fought. Shall the riddle be read by some brave herald? Shall the curtains be drawn apart? Lo! the strongest fort in the whole wide world You'll find in a true woman's heart. 58 YULE. Oh, heart of brave humanity, How art thou stirred to-day ! There is a sound of kindly glee That meets thee on the way. Thy pulses throb with happiness For, lo ! the star that shines to bless ! The Angels' choral symphonies Blend now with earthly harmonies, In heavenly rhyme At Christmas time! Back thro' the vista of the years, See yonder manger low, Beneath its wall the Babe appears With face of wond'rous glow ! The majesty of innocence That brings to earth a recompence For all the sorrow and the gloom, And bids sweet Hope again to bloom. With peace sublime At Christmas time ! YULE. 159 Ring out to earth ye happy bells Above the mantling snow ! What joy each sound of yours compels While beam the high and low ! With peace on earth, and kindness still, Re-echo over vale and hill ! He comes, the Holy Babe of Peace With glory that shall never cease! Speed on, each chime, At Christmas time ! The world is crowned with heavenly light, In grasp of kindly hand ; In smiles of beauty die all spite And scorn throughout the land ! New life is wakening; and cheer Is throbbing in the heart so drear I The radiant Babe has tenderly Brought joy untold to you and me! Ring out, sweet chime, At Christmas time ! 60 DECEMBER DAYS. A song for bleak December days, Tho' not a song is left, For birds have gone, And woods are lone. Of all their joys bereft. But what of that, if in the heart The Summer birds remain? We'll still be gay, And laugh away The bleak December's reign ! A shout for wild December days, Tho' falls the snow and sleet; Who heeds the storm, While hearts are warm, And smiles are bright and sweet? We've had the lovely Summer leaves, The sunshine and the dew ; We'll have them still, Old friend, we will — December days are few! DECEMBER DAYS. 161 A cheer for dark December days For bring they not to all The brightest hour Of Heaven's dower That may to mortals fall? Oh, days of rare, old Yue-tide joy The sweetest of the year. That's why we sing Your welcoming December davs so dear! 162 MIDWINTER. Zig-zag branches traced against A dreary ashen sky ; A filmy drapery of snow, And winds that hurry by. Oh, dark midwinter days, ye hang A pall on all around, But underneath the deepest snow The sweetest buds are found ! Icicles that, dagger-like, Hang from the farm-house eaves ; A monotone of weariness The howling tempest weaves. Oh, sad midwinter days, the heart, Like you, hath lack of cheer ; And yet, amid the leafless trees, The chirp of birds I hear ! Dales and hills that stretch afar, A wilderness of white ! The silent brook that gleams like steel. Once silvery delight. MIDWINTER. 163 Oh, wild midwinter, haste away, On swift and darksome wing; Tho' hopeful hearts in thee can hail The prophesy of Spring! 164 RETROSPECTION. They lie before me here, Indeed they look like toys — So small they seem — yet dead To me the many joys That in my heart revive At sight of these wee mates ; Once it seemed paradise To put on Nelly's skates! I see the same gay throng Swift gliding here and there; I hear the low-hummed song That fills the icy air; What was the world to me With all its loves and hates? When bending on my knees I put on Nelly's skates! RETROSPECTION. 165 Ah, me ! 'Tis years ago ! And, Nelly, where is she? No wedded joys I know, Life seems a farce to me! The longer tho' I live The more love contemplates; What wouldn't I now give To put on Nelly's skates ! 166 THE SEASONS. SPRING {In Colorado.) Robins in the tree-tops. Deeps of turquoise sky ; All the leaves a-waking — Laughing, low and high ! Crowds of snowy daisies Twinkling far and near ; Oh, the joy of daisy-time. Sweetest of the year! Silver rills that tinkle 'Mid the grasses green ; Not a cloud that hovers Earth and sky between ; Crickets blithely chirping Welcome in with cheer — Daisy-time, sweet daisy-time, Fairest of the year! THE SEASONS. 167 Far away the hill-tops In the purple mist Gleam a brilliant welcome — Gold and amethyst ; Thrills the world with gladness After sadness drear; Who could sigh in daisy-time, Brightest of the year? Colorado— 1904 168 THE SEASONS. A SONNET {Midsummer in Santa Barbara.) A miser I would be to-day and hoard These treasures that I may not clasp again ; This flood of gold that drowns upland and plain, This billowy bloom that stretches deep and broad ; The river, dwindling far — a silver cord — And dappled shadows, down this cool, mossed lane Whose mirrored boughs the lucent brooklet stain With carven jet; these carols now outpoured — Melodious rain — among the listening leaves. Oh, benison of boundless, cloudless sky ! Mine, now, howe'er your sweets may glide away, Mine, to deHght the while white Winter grieves. To dream of when keen drifts go whirling by. Can aught to come steal joys I hoard to-day? Santa Barbara— 1904. THE SEASONS. 169 OCTOBER Golden, brown and crimson leaves, Falling, falling everywhere; Ranks of amber tinted sheaves Nodding in the hazy air. And it's hey for blithe October, Tho' the skies are dull and sober, And the air is chill, Yet we love thee still, Oh, rare and blithe October! Here and there, in russet rain, Fall the chestnuts from the tree; "Bob White" softly calls again, Leaves are dancing in the breeze. There's a joy, tho' flow'rs have faded. And the sky and storm is shaded. For the dreamy days, Down these woodland ways. Are sweet in blithe October ! 'fJ^TT-'T' 1 70 THE SEASONS. Far off hills, in purple sheen, Glow, like lights from fairyland; Vales are clothed in golden green, Earth seems now a pageant grand ! Tho' the joyful Year is fleeting, And belated birds repeating Sad and long, "Good-bye," Where's the heart would sigh, In rare and blithe October? On the Santa Fe— 1904. THE SEASONS. 171 MIDWINTER ( Wyoming. ) A wind that moans o'er lifeless plains That wear a snowy shroud ; From leafless trees, when sunset wanes, No song-bird carols loud Its sweet Good-night; all Nature seems As hushed as Death, while far, Amid the dying daylight beams There shines no welcome star, In sad midwinter ! All silent where from branches high Keen icicles, like spears. Hang 'neath a bleak and ashen sky! And yet this thought still cheers : Oh, heart, amid the palling dearth, The overwhelming gloom. Beneath this snow-white shroud ot earth, Sweet roses bide their bloom Thro' lone midwinter! Wyoming — 1904. 172 THE STEAMBOAT. How I love to watch the steamboat, As it skims the silv'ry lake, In the glorious golden sunshine When the morn is just awake ; And the smoke its sable ringlets Wave around its handsome back, While it speeds along the wat'ry ground It leaves a silv'ry track. The men who ride this matchless steed, That plows the raging deep, Are lost in wonder, love and fear. As along the waves they sweep. They watch the golden flowers above That bloom in the fields of blue. And dream of the loving ones at home With loving thoughts most true. O! the music of its whistle! Its throat so sharp and shrill! As it echoes o'er the bounding waves It makes my heart just thrill ! For I love this steed of matchless speed. This steed of the waters blue. That dashes along the hilly ground With feet that are most true. GOOD-BYE. SWEETHEART. 1 73 Good-by, sweetheart, For we must part ; Those bitter words are filled with pain. I did not dream, That life would seem So cold to me, and all in vain. My days were bright, No gloomy night Until he came, His bride to claim; The happy past Aside is cast, For I must say good-by, sweetheart. One parting kiss I beg for this ! And though I go, I love you yet. This last good-by Brings forth a sigh. And my poor heart throbs with regret. 74 GOOD-BYE. SWEETHEART. Think once again What might have been, Had fate been kind And love not blind, And that will be Enough for me — I'll ask no more — good-by, sweetheart. EASTER-TIDE. 1 75 Oh, bells that ring out joyfully, Awake the hills and vales To glories that our eyes may see, Bring fragrance to the gales Ring out all sadness from the heart, Bid mirth with us abide, And cause the gloomy shades depart, Oh, bells of Easter-tide. Oh, skies of blue, ye seem to lean More near to waking dells. And fields and mountains, glad each scene With rapture, Easter bells Ah, lonely hearts await your call. The message, far and wide. Bear jubilantly unto all That wait, fair Easter- Tide. Join rills in glorious refrain, Sing birds on merry wing; Oh, trouble of the silver rain. What gladness do ye bring. 176 EASTER-TIDE. The emeralds of springing leaves The winters' ruin hide; God's love to every soul that grieves, Oh, speak, sweet Easter-Tide. I MISS THEE. 177 I miss thee when the morn awakes, And all the birds sing out thy name, I miss thee by the rippling brook, Where first I sought thy love to claim ; I miss the music of thy voice, That spoke to me of love divine, And feel as if my heart would break, For I can never call thee mine. I miss thee where we walked so gay, Beneath the cloudless summer sky. And told our loves so dear and true, Before we parted — thou and I ; I miss thee when the twilight falls, 'Tis then I long to have thee near, I know no life without thy love, 'Twas bliss alone when thou wert here. 1 78 IN WINTER. In the sleigh together, He and she; Lovely wintry weather, Happy he. Round her waist, so cosy, One arm free ; Cheeks are blushing rosy As can be! This, while jogging slowly On their way, Thro' the valley lowly. Light and gay. Soon the air is tingling Fast they speed ; Reins, while bells are jingling, Both hands need! IN WINTER. 179 Little maid demurely, Simply sighs, Muffled up securely; Witching eyes. Speeding down the high hill, Speech she gains : "Dearest, rest, and I will Hold the reins!" !«0V 22 5912 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Dnve Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 (724)779-2111

21000615

Prairie poems from the Sunflower state,

Allen, Lottie Brown

prairiepoemsfrom00alle_djvu.txt

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O • )L * 4 0 ' ■OP.^ PRAIRIE POEMS FROM THE SUNFLOWER STATE B Y LOTTIE BROWN ALLEN GRAFTERS PUBLISHING CO, Kansas City, Mo. V Copyright^ 1920, by Mrs. T. G. Allen DEC 27 1920 \ §)CU604712 Dedication . 7 Sunflowers . 9 Kansas Day. 10 October .:.11 The Old, Old Story.12 San Francisco _ 15 Kansas Dreams . 18 What Christmas Means . 22 The Old Wash Place...24 Reverie . 29 Christmas Tide. 32 To a Friend. 33 A Gingerbread Story. 35 A Kansas Prayer.... 37 Our Heroes . 39 Two Mothers .-.40 Christmas Carol....-.44 Kansas .......-.46 TO THE DEAR PIONEER MOTHER WHO HAS EVER BEEN TO ME A SOURCE OF ENCOURAGEMENT AND INSPIRATION THIS LITTLE BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED -7 - o SUNFLOWERS Up from the wayside damp and cold Cut of the early Kansas mold Blossomed the sunflowers, green and gold, Eastward turning at dawn’s first light Hourly drinking the sunbeams bright Westward waving a fond goodnight. Kissed by the sunshine and the dew Under the Kansas skies of blue Like unto sunflowers, the children grew. Bright eyes greeting the sun’s first ray Small hands eager for work or play Young hearts singing the livelong day. Kansas sunflowers happy and free Men and women that grew to be Builders of Kansas destiny. - 9 - KANSAS DAY 0, Kansas Land! Fair Kansas Land! We come thy birthday morn to greet, To fling fresh laurels at thy feet. 0, central gem of our great land, Loved spot of the united band; We hail this day, our Kansas Land. Thou art our pride, dear Kansas Land, Sweet peace and liberty are ours. 0, land of luscious fruits and flowers. Of peaceful homes on hill and plain. Of lowing herds and waving grain. Of cities fair, on every hand. As now in joy and pride we stand. May we, thy children not forget. But treasure in fond memory yet. The awful price that has been paid. The bitter tears that have been shed For thy broad acres, Kansas Land. And unto Him whose guiding hand With sorrow's tears did christen thee And shape thy glorious destiny, Let there from us today arise Melodious anthems to the skies From out thy borders, Kansas Land. -lO- OCTOBER 0, golden days! 0, quiet, peaceful days! October’s winsome voice we now can hear, While all around, her magic wand she plays, To consummate the crowning of the year. Behold her ’mid a wealth of golden sheaves, Most glorious month of all the year, she stands. Upon her brow a wreath of crimson leaves. While purple clusters fill her outstretched hands. How could we know that when the flower-strewn spring And all the happy summer days were past, October would this golden mantle fling To warm our hearts e’er comes the winter’s blast. Then linger on, fair days of golden light. And grant to leave in us an after glow, That shall shine on throughout the winter night. That shall not pale before the winter snow. THE OLD, OLD STORY Joyfully the hours were speeding, And the children, all unheeding Flitted gaily to and fro. At the farmhouse making merry. Hanging sprays of holly berry And the magic mistletoe. Dear old Grandma, meanwhile sitting In the firelight with her knitting. Sometimes joining in their glee. Spoke at last in gentle measure And they came with smiles of pleasure To their places at her knee. '‘Come, my dears, and 'round me gather For without is wintry weather. But within is warmth and cheer. Lay aside your pastimes yonder And the Old, Old Story ponder. As the Christmastide draws near. “Long ago, in bygone ages. Oft we read from sacred pages. Shepherds watched their flocks by night. When a beauteous angel found them, And his glory shone around them, Till they trembled with affright. -1 2- “But he said, '0 Shepherds, hear me! Do not flee, but come ye near me. Goodly tidings do I bring. List ye to the wondrous story, Christ, the Lord of light and glory. Unto you is born, a King. “ 'Have ye, then, no thought of danger. Ye shall find him in a manger Near the inn of Bethlehem.' And e're he had ceased the story. Heavenly hosts were singing, ‘Glory, On earth peace, good will to men.' “And you know, dears, how they sought Him, And of gifts the wise men brought Him, As they journeyed from afar. Seeking for that Babe of Glory, Never doubting once, the story, Guided by a single star. “And each year, all gloom dispelling. Sweeter growing in the telling. This old story, ever new, Points to Bethlehem's star that brightly Shines above to guide us rightly, Shines, my dears, for me and you. -13- “When the Christmas bells are ringing Our hearts' choicest treasures bringing, Humbly may we offer then, And with angels of the story We may sing the songs of glory, Teace on earth, good will to men.' " I -1 4 - SAN FRANCISCO A mighty nation mourns today A ruined city on the bay. But yester-eve the sunset shone Thro’ Golden Gate on spire and dome And seemed to linger and caress The city in its loveliness. Yet none could know and none could tell It was the sunset’s last farewell. No warning breathed the shades of night That crept around the city bright, And silently each twinkling star Shed its soft radiance from afar. Perchance a Savior’s eyes looked down In grief upon the stricken town. Perchance His arms stretched forth again As they did o’er Jerusalem. Oh, wonderful is mystery! That veil thro’ which we cannot see. Thus came the awful earthquake shock That caused those massive walls to rock. To sway and totter and to fall. While smoke and flame engulfed them all. Too horrible for tongue to tell Or pen to picture it as well. For many perished in the fall Nor answered back to loving call. Swiftly the wires from state to state -1 5 - Foretold the city’s awful fate. We who could read of foreign wars, Destruction on Italian shores, Now stand too dumb to cry or moan That this should happen to our own; For who is there from shore to shore But hath some loved one there, or more? Or hath he not, what heart so cold That could at such a time withhold— If there remaineth aught of good— The love of common brotherhood? And when our daily paths we trod A Nation’s prayers went up to God That blessed Father of us all. Who noteth every sparrow’s fall. “Be merciful, dear Lord,” we plead, “Sustain them in their time of need.” From out that fiery furnace there. Where brave men toiled nor would despair, Methinks a Shepherd called his flock Away from flame and earthquake shock; Away He led their wandering feet Where flowers bloomed, ’mid grasses sweet; And there He bade their tears be dried; To pitch their tents and to abide. Three hundred thousand souls were there Dependent on His tender care. Another story comes to me. Another scene beside the sea. -1 6- The time is evening, calm and sweet; A multitude at Jesus’ feet; Hungry and weary with the day, He would not send them thus away. Turning to his disciples near, He spoke in tones so soft and clear That we, too, hear those accents sweet, "‘What hast thou here for them to eat?” Gladly we answer to His call ‘'Dear Lord, there is enough for all.” Thus may our prayers, the tears we shed For San Francisco’s ashy bed Refresh our land from shore to shore And make it better than before. Our Father knoweth while we plead Of what His children most have need. -17- KANSAS DREAMS Oh, beautiful Kansas, whose autumn days Are agieam with October's glow. Whose hills are crowned with a purple haze That kisses the vales below; My thoughts fly away to the land of dreams, To the days of long ago; And, dreaming, I seem to understand And can tell why I love you so. Back through a vista of bygone years. From under your sunny skies, Beyond the reach of my memory Come my mother’s lullabies. As she sits in her home on the banks of the Kaw At the close of an autumn day. Rocking her babe while she softly sings Low snatches of “Nellie Gray.” Around her twilight shadows creep. While in slumber the baby lies; But the mother has no thought of sleep. And lifting her trustful eyes “Through difficulties,” beyond “the stars” Her whispered prayers arise, That her slumbering babe may never know The terrible blight of war; -1 8 - That future joys may soon blot out Dark days that have gone before; That God in His mercy will safely shield The absent one whom she knew Must spend that night on the battlefield In his “Army Coat of Blue”. Oh, beautiful glimpse of the mother love That today I so plainly see; It is hidden away in the vanished past And revealed in my dreams to me. Soft, shadowy wings seem to carry me Through the still of that autumn night. Till afar in the distance I dimly see The flicker of camp-fires bright. Strange and wild is the thrilling scene As it bursts upon my view— The camp-fires lit in the long ago By the then “Brave Boys in Blue”. And faintly borne through the starry night What falls on my listening ear? I eagerly strain for a better sight. 0, would that I were more near! Is it the murmuring grasses low. Or the fitful night wind's moan? Ah! 'tis “Never forget the Dear Ones That cluster 'round thy home”. -1 9 - They are singing of home, 0, Kansas land! They are here for their homes and thee; Facing a battlefield they stand For “Union and Liberty'’. Tenderly treasure them on thy breast Who fell in that cause so true; Scatter bright flowers where they sweetly rest— Our dear ones who wore the blue. And whether with golden sunbeams fair, Or the patter of raindrops wild. Sing to them while they slumber there. As a mother sings to her child. And again sometimes in my dreams I see Broad stretches of prairie grand. Reaching away to the sunny skies; Entrancing on every hand. And, seeking wild flowers with the butterflies Flits a joyous child, care-free; While she sings from her soul with the happy birds, “My Country ’Tis of Thee”. Fair Kansas! thy present is just as dear As the past can ever be. But beautiful dreams of the days that are gone Will ever come back to me; And whenever from out thy portals wide My footsteps chance to roam -20- My heart will thrill with a sense of pride At the measures of “Home Sweet Home’’. And whether I dwell in my native clime, Or over the distant sea, I ever, as now, shall hold thee mine. For I am a part of thee. -2 1 - WHAT CHRISTMAS MEANS The Christmas time has come again, It comes but once a year, And that is why to boys and girls It is the time most dear. It means just lots and lots of things And though I’m small, you see, I know it doesn’t mean the same To you, it does to me. I’ve noticed when we children tell Queer tales of old Saint Nick That baby listens wonderingly And leaves his playthings quick To hear how the old fellow comes A-dashing in his sleigh Along the house-tops every one In such a funny way. And how through every chimney black. So far, far down below. He bravely bears his shining pack To fill each stocking row. Then baby clasps his little hands And laughs and shouts with glee. To him it means a fairy land Of Christmas mystery. - 22 - When little sister gaily sings About the Christmas-tide, Of lovely dolls old Santa brings And picture books beside, And when she dreams of Christmas trees. Her stockings hanging near, I know it means that Christmas day Is best of all the year. To boys like me, that’s older grown It means a great deal more. There’s knives and sleds and skates and things And story books galore. And then in our dear Sunday School We learn another thing About the Babe of Bethlehem— The birthday of our King. But when we see our mother’s smile Hear father’s words of cheer As they bid friends to ’bide awhile Within our gates each year As Christmas time is drawing on The meaning’s plainer then. It speaks to them of '‘Peace on Earth” And of “Good will to men”. - 23 - THE OLD WASH PLACE (By Judd Mortimer Lewis, used by permission.) She was such a little mother, so absurdly young, that while Tears are trembling on my lashes, at her memory I smile. At the very youngness of her; just a little girl she seems. Smiling at me from the distance, singing to me in my dreams Lullabies we all remember; but I mostly see her face Smiling through the clouds of steam that almost hide the old wash place. Sometimes in my dreams, a dogwood blossom glim¬ mers in her hair. And I hear a redbird whistle, and the dream is free from care— Then a man comes in the picture, like a dream, and goes away. Waving to the little mother from the ranks of men in gray; And from then the dogwood blossoms never glimmer any more, And the redbird sings no longer ’round the wash place as of yore. - 24 - Three of us—and just the little bit o’ mother to the brood Singing while her heart was breaking in the woodland solitude With the homely tubs and kettle and the soap gourd and the stick, The old battling stick! The memory catches at my throat so quick That I scarce can choke the sob back at the picture of the face Smiling bravely from the distance through the steam of the wash place. Yes, I carried water for her wliile the baby went to sleep With the songs that sister sung her where the wash lay in a heap. And I sought dry sticks and piled them ’neath the kettle—all my joy In the dreams that come back to me is that I was born a boy. And could help the little mother and was glad to help her, too. In the tasks about the wash place where there was so much to do. Can wee babies understand it when a heart’s about to break? We were babies, but we seemed to know, somehow. - 25 - for mother’s sake f We must help to bear a burden which we could not || comprehend, 1 And our puny arms about her seemed to strength- en her and lend f Her a strength no little bit of mother could have got elsewhere t As she toiled about the wash place with her heart f bowed down with care. il Some days tasks seemed overdreary, and the hours j seemed overlong; ^ But she’d catch our eyes fixed on her and would [ tremble into song, V But the world of heartbreak throbbing through the j counterfeited joy Somehow would play on the heartstrings of the & little girl and boy | And the little baby sister, and we’d snuggle face to face, i f Heart to heart, her arms about us, kneeling at the t old wash place. Then one morning came a message, came in with the morning’s gleam; How it came is lost or hidden in the shadows of the dream. But with it, hope went out from her, and she seemed to hark no more - 26 - For a voice across the distance, for a footstep at the door; And she kneeled there in the wash place, kneeled with sister girl and me. And I know now that that moment was her souks Gethsemane! Then the washings came more often, there were other heaps of clothes; Day by day the clouds of sudsy steam from the old kettle rose, Day by day her love grew stronger; in the worry and the smart Of her heartache she would rush to and would clasp us to her heart, And she’d strive to coax her lips to curve into a snatch of song— But the wash place called and called her, and its tasks were hard and long. Not long since, I heard a woman say in sneering tones and low, “Huh! his mother did our washing, my own moth¬ er told me so!” V/hiter than the dogwood blossom, sweeter than it e’er could be— Shown the truth of that vile whisper, for she did it all for me. And for sister girl and baby—Oh, the whisper— - 27 - it was base But a soul was born to heaven from that lowly old wash place. Why, it doesn’t seem that mother was quite grown up when she died Such a little bit o’ mother! Oh, the years are long and wide Since she went away and left us, with the old smile on her face, Leaving us but just a memory of the homely old wash place; I know father beckoned to her; by the look that overcast Her sweet face; but we still miss her—shall as long as life shall last. - 20 - REVERIE (On reading “The Old Wash Place'')- There are pictures drawn by artists, with the brush and with the pen, That have thrilled the very nations, and have stirred the hearts of men. But I think the sweetest pictures we have ever seen or heard Are the ones drawn by the heartstrings that are painted word by word. Such a picture lies before me, painted by a loyal son; I can see it. Oh, so plainly, for so well it has been done. I can see the little mother, with the face so young and fair. With the smile so full of sunshine, dogwood blossoms in her hair. As she flits about the wash place, softly singing in her joy Lullabies that charm her hearers, babe and sister girl and boy. I can hear a redbird's whistle, even on the very day When that last farewell waved fondly from the ranks of men in gray. - 29 - I can see the little nestlings, that dear little brood of three, In the steam of the old wash place, watching mother earnestly While she toils with “tubs and kettle and the soap gourd and the stick’'. In the meantime singing bravely, while her heart grew faint and sick. But those little bright-eyed darlings must not feel the sting of war; So she strove to carol gaily, just as she had done of yore. I can feel the solemn stillness that throughout the morning lay. When there came the cruel message, dashing all her hopes away; When the birds forgot to warble forth their wonted melodies. And the flowers shed the teardrops that had fallen from the skies; I can see her in the wash place, kneeling there among the three. For their sakes so bravely facing this, her soul’s Gethsemane. Oh, ye world of restless mothers, what can give you sweeter bliss Than to leave your sons and daughters memories - 30 - ^of that equal this? To what greater heights aspire you, little mothers young and fair, Than those reached while you are kneeling with your little ones in prayer. Than to be as this dear mother, worthy of a dia¬ dem— Ah, the one who scorned her efforts, may not touch her garment's hem. This old world is but a wash place, where we labor day by day. Where the Prince of Earth and Heaven came to wash our sins away; And the sweetness of His patience, and the young¬ ness of His years. Make our hearts to ache with pity, and our eyes to fill with tears. Oh, the joy that He is risen, and beyond the jasper sea 'Mid the Father's many mansions, doth prepare for such as she. There when earthly tasks are ended, through His mercy and His grace. One by one His saints shall gather, from this steamy old wash place. CHRISTMAS TIDE Turn ye away from your hearth fires bright, Women and men of the world, tonight; Cease for a moment, your jest and mirth, Hark to the message of ‘Teace on Earth''. Join ye the shepherds who watch their sheep Tending their fires lest they fall asleep; Under the arch of the star-lit sky. Hear ye, the ‘‘Glory to God on High". Take just a glimpse of the heavenly throng Joyously chanting the glad, new song. Out of the midst of those realms of light. Know that your Savior is born tonight. - 32 - TO A FRIEND There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there. There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended, But has one vacant chair. —Longfellow. We weep with you in your dark despair, Because of your fireside's vacant chair; Because from your arms a dear form has slipped, And into the grave, the wee feet have tripped; But we know, in the City with streets of gold. The sweet spirit is safe in the upper fold. Beyond the shores of the Jasper Sea, From sorrow and pain of earth set free, A heavenly cherub with love-lit eyes. Looks forth from the gateway of Paradise; A heavenly cherub whose baby face Is filled with the joy of that holy place. Picture him there in that beautiful spot 'Mid banks of blooming forget-me-not. By the sweet, clear river of life he stands, And beckons to you with his baby hands. From those gates of pearl and those streets of gold Where your darling is safe in the upper fold. - 33 - JUNE Oh what is more sweet than the month of June When our senses thrill and our hearts keep tune To the song of the birds and the rose in bloom? Oh what is more joy than the early gray Of the dewy morn and the sun’s first ray That herald the dawn of a perfect day? Oh what is more fair as the sun climbs high Than the azure hue of the summer sky And the snow-white clouds drifting idly by? Oh what is more pure than the summer air That wafts from the woodlands and gardens fair A fragrance and perfume so rich and rare? Oh what is more dear than the twilight hour When the daylight fades and each nodding flower Is kissed by the moonbeams’ mystic power? 0, Summer Queen! you are gone too soon With your sunny days and your shining moon, With your golden grain and your wealth of bloom. And if we could hold in some magic way To your trailing robes for a single day, Dear month of June, we would bid you stay. ■S'^fDoC^ A GINGERBREAD STORY I love to note a baby’s way The grace of childhood is so sweet. I gave a tiny friend, one day, A piece of gingerbread to eat, And 1, much pleasure gained the while To see the happy little smile. Then straightway I forgot the act As usually I do, in fact. A few days more, the same wee tot Tapped softly at my kitchen door. Some ripe tomatoes he had brought As he had often done before. I chatted as I took his pan While through my brain the question ran. If there was anything I had With which to please the little lad. I asked if he liked honey, sweet, Knowing some children prize the treat. “Not wery well,” he shyly said. Then boldly raised his little head. While bravely forth his wee voice rings, “But I like gingerbread and things.” Was ever baby tact more sweet? Swiftly I ran with flying feet. - 35 - Almost afraid to lift the lid For fear no gingerbread it hid. That baby faith, I must not shake— Oh joy, there’s one small piece of cake! A KANSAS PRAYER 0, Lord of mercy, draw Thou near, A suppliant nation’s prayer to hear. With troubled hearts we come to Thee With visions dim that cannot see. With lips that know not what to say; Teach us, our Father, how to pray. Dark clouds of war above us spread. Dire symbols of distress and dread; And stand we with reluctant feet The awful sacrifice to meet. Oh, fill us with a fire divine And let our will submerge in Thine! There comes to us across the sea, Oppression’s cry for liberty. Help us no longer to withhold Naught we can give of script or gold. Help us to send our armies strong— Let Freedom be their battle song. Our sons, dear Lord, our hearts grow cold More precious far than all our gold. Grant these we give with love and trust Shall triumph in a cause so just. Gird with Thine armor, every one, 0, Thou who gave Thine only Son! - 37 - All through the thickest of the fight, All through the long hours of the night, May we, 0 Lord, Thy watchtowers keep. Nor for one moment fall asleep. Till breaks the dawn when strife shall cease— The dawn of universal peace. — 38 -“ OUR HEROES (1917-1918) The year is passed, the guns are stilled The year of grief and pain. The lads we gave to Liberty Are coming home again. With throbbing hearts that seem to quell The mighty cannon's roar, We wait for footsteps loved so well. To greet them at the door. With tears of joy we lift the latch Once more to clasp our own. Praise God, who kept our lads for us And brought them safely home. But some come not; in foreign fields They fell 'mid poppies red. Or in the camp or 'neath the wave; They tell us they are dead. Believe it not. They did not die— Our lads who gave their all. For there were “Everlasting Arms" To save them from the fall. While holy angels softly swept Across the land and sea And gently bore their spirits home To live eternally. - 39 - TWO MOTHERS A mother smiled as she waved goodbye And tried to stifle the pain As she thought of the many weary days Ere they should come back again. She knew that her heart did not bid them stay For proud and happy was she, That each had eagerly entered the fray In the struggle for liberty. She prayed as they passed from her misty sight, “Dear Father, protect from harm Our sailor boys in the cause for right. By the strength of Thy mighty arm; And when their ship shall be tempest tossed And the rolling waves leap high. As they bear supplies to yon fighting host, May they know that Thou art nigh. “Draw near at the beautiful sunset hour When the calm waves ripple green. To strip that hand of its deadly power That aims from the submarine. Be Thou their guide while they prove their worth; Oh, sweet is the thought to me. That when our Savior walked on this earth. He likewise walked on the sea.'^ - 40 - Wild and rocky the pathway was American mothers trod As they daily strove to help the cause By keeping it close to God; And when the victorious message came From the stricken fields of war Their praise upwafted with one acclaim Resounded from shore to shore. “Praise God,” they sang, “for our stalwart sons, Give praise for our native land. For the blessings of liberty and love— The emblems for which we stand.” And the sailors' mother, with happy tears Greeted each returning son For well she knew that the coming years Would revere their work, well done. As they bent to kiss her upturned face Their hearts seemed to understand. And they told her tales of from place to place They had touched in a foreign land. With seldom a word of sickness or pain Or the hardships of war, now done; Of the long hours spent in the pouring rain On watch or behind the gun. But often she questioned from da> to day And carefully gleaned the rest, -4 1 - And that was the part which she hid away In the depths of her loving breast, Once when she asked of the ocean storm Of how terrible it might be, They spoke of a sailor who came to harm Of a comrade lost at sea. How his fragile form had been snatched away On the crest of a mighty wave. Beyond the reach of their wind-tossed craft Or their human power to save. And the mother's heart gave a throb of pain. Of pity and sympathy For the lad, and that other she did not know. His mother—oh, where was she? Did she plead in vain in an earthly home Bowed low on her bended knee, ‘'0, Father, send aid through the ocean's foam To rescue my boy for me?" Or did she reach forth from the heavenly gate From those realms of endless day. And whisper, “Dear Lord, 'tis so long to wait; Bear him safely home, I pray?" God only knows, for we cannot tell. Just plead as to us seems best To a loving Father, who doeth well. And trust unto Him, the rest; For He that heareth the orphan's cry - 42 - And noteth the sparrow’s fall, Will not the mothers of men pass by, But tenderly care for all. - 43 - CHRISTMAS CAROL Long ago the holy angels Sang from the skies of glory bright, O’er the drowsy shepherds v/atching By their silent flocks at night, And their song was '‘Glory, glory. Glory be to God on high. Peace and good will to His children,” Rang the chorus from the sky. And an angel told the story, “Joyful tidings do we bring God has sent to earth from heaven, Christ, your Savior, and your King. Go and seek in yonder village. Hasten and be not afraid. He is born among the lowly And is in a manger laid.” Ages pass, but not the story By the shining angel told, ’Tis man’s greatest gift and blessing And it never shall grow old. And the children love to hear it Best of all at Christmastide, The sweet story of the Christ child. Whose dear name was glorified. - 44 - And within the many churches That are builded in His name, With glad gifts to one another Do we honor Him again While thousands of children's voices Sing His glory and His love As the holy angels sang it From the shining skies above. Tis by far the sweetest music Mortal ears have heard since then, Happy childish voices chanting “Peace on earth, good will to men." O’er the earth resounds the anthem “Glory be to God on high. Peace and good will to His children" Rings the echo from the sky. - 45 - KANSAS Do you know where the sun shines brightest Out in the golden west; Do you know where the snow falls whitest The land that I love the best; Do you know where the skies are bluest Bending above the plain; Do you know where the hearts are truest Bidding you come again ? Do you know where the flowers are fairest Crimson, purple and gold; Do you know where the fruits are rarest Bestowing a wealth untold; Do you know where the birds sing sweetest Ever along the way, Bespeaking a joy the completest Caroling all the day? Do you know where the waving sunflower Nods to the passer by; Do you know where the prairie sunset Flames over earth and sky; Do you know—but ah, you have guessed it And do not need to be told; 'Tis Kansas! your eyes have expressed it, The land that will never grow old. - 46 - 3477-133 Lot IK « ^ . •• ♦ f- f . ■* r\ n C)0^ X t ‘ « -r ^ ^ 4 .“^ * ’^» ^ oV • - ^ 0 ^ . 0 '^ 6 ®"®^ o • ; ^-l ' <.K o „o .'ri'. - ^ *'o,»*" G^ ^ '^v'T^r.' V ’ ,->2.^^ 4 *'' * -» /-O^ o ® " • ^ v^ ^ -^N ♦ G > • " ^ 0 ^ * <0 O ^ * N,' ct^ * • < 1 ,” ^ ' ^ *' O « O ® O^ ♦ . , , %> • V^ f ^>*• *“ oK v' .;•”- Jx*) O N O % ^ A^ ‘ • O y • * <0 * *10 '^ ♦ /^ '"^'I\\nS^ ' N.™ •■ • xV A° V * 0 ..’ ^ O,, *••’•' ,v' *'•». S' .o'^ ’i.^;;^* v' .’•»- ^ ^ '~A°^ V :®‘'- •^"- ^ ^ A aV ..»’ x'> -e-x 'o..* .0^ 05 ^ ,^ •»•- .<^' . X ... _ _ x-^"^ x‘:< c#* "* ^ '^ ^ . . «* A <. 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08033770

A parable of the rose, and other poems,

Allen, Lyman Whitney

parableofroseoth00alle_djvu.txt

Class JRILLU Book__<_L££p& Gof5TightN° COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. A PARABLE OF THE ROSE AND OTHER POEMS By LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN ABRAHAM LINCOLN. A Poem. Centennial (Third) Edition. This poem was awarded the prize offered by the New York Herald, in 1895. The Centennial Edition, the third, has been revised and enlarged. A PARABLE OP THE ROSE AND OTHER POEMS A Parable of the Rose And Other Poems By Lyman Whitney Allen G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London Gbe fmfcftetbocftet press 1908 I of CONGRESS Two Coi NOV 21 iSOd Copyritffit tnt CopyrirfPt entry ^ class fcfc* Wtojao . Copyright, 1908 BY LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN TTbc fmfcfcerbocfeer prees, flew H?orfc TO PHEBE I cannot find in shop or mart The things which thou dost value high; For things can never satisfy A mountain nature risen apart From valley creatures, coveting Life, vision, music, poesie, — The ripest fruits of Wisdom's tree, Imagination's eye and wing. Therefore I give thee of life's yield My treasures, garnered year by year, — Some bits of heavenly atmosphere, Some gleams the peaks of joy revealed, Some finer strains of faith whose lilt Is music strange, to thee not strange Since thou hast had ascension range Where skyey domes of seers are built. These are a spirit's soaring thrifts Got 'twixt the rhythms of Love and Fate, A poet's soul articulate, A poet's songs — his choicest gifts. CONTENTS A Parable of the Rose Canzonets . I. Lenses of Delight . II. O'er Rime's Confusion III. From Aery Leashes IV. My Skyey Shepherdess San Gabriel The Vision of a Mature Mind The Ass of Destiny The Birds of Love Madrigals . I. Till the Day Goes by II. Alas ! . III. A Dear Complexity IV. Prairie Queen V. If Love Abides VI. Love's Coming PAGE I 13 15 17 19 21 24 28 32 38 41 43 44 46 47 49 5i viii CONTENTS PAGE VII. The Heart of Spring 53 VIII. Just She . 56 Shakespeare ...... 58 Beethoven's Seventh Symphony 62 Edmund Clarence Stedman . 65 China . . 66 Ars Artium ..... 69 Sonnets 75 Prelude: The Sonnet 77 I. The Tree and the Rose 78 II. Like Love in Heaven 80 III. Love's Immortality 82 IV. My Seraphim . 84 V. Saint Michael's . 86 VI. Day-Dreams . 88 VII. Tennyson .... 90 VIII. Princeton .... 92 Lyrics 95 I. The Same Old Love 97 II. A Soul's Return . 99 III. Atmosphere .... 100 CONTENTS IX IV. The Captain on the Bridge . PAGE . I0 3 V. Retrospection . 10/ VI. Genesis .... IO9 VII. The Silence of God III VIII. My Father .... • "3 Wheat and Husks .... . 117 I. Fruit of the Threshing . 119 II. The Need of the Husk . 121 III. The Rime of the Refuse 123 IV. Loss and Gain . 125 V. The Husk's Glory . 127 VI. The Starting of Sorrow 129 VII. God and the Wrong x 3* VIII. The Law of the Evil 1 33 IX. Fate and Pain . 135 X. A Song of the Mysticals 137 XI. Break of the Day . 140 XII. Through Death to Life . 141 XIII. The Touch of the Skies 143 XIV. The Creed of Love 145 A PARABLE OF THE ROSE. A POET dreamed a matin dream Most mystical, most true; His soul beheld a pageant gleam Against th' illumined blue. As real did the sight appear, With skyey landscape spell, As ever shone before trouvere, Lorris or Clopinel. And one who gazed with tranced heart Upon this holy Thing, Were recreant to Love and Art If he refused to sing. 2 A PARABLE OF THE ROSE Creative visions come in days When noontide's splendor fades Beneath the firmamental rays Of Love's white overshades. These are celestial signs that show Love's sovereign ebb and flow; The imagery of Providence That heightens soul and sense, And sets Life's perfect paradigm Before the world in rime. There loomed the garden of a King, — A garden such as poet eye Had ne'er beholden, — opening Through crystal portals wide and high; A barred and battlemented close Of bloom, perfume, adagios A PARABLE OF THE ROSE 3 Of fountains murmurous, melodies From woodland quires and meadow broods Of birds symphonious, fruiting trees And trees umbrageous, broidered roods Of rest, delight's similitudes, Processions hymnic, jocund forms, In train of Love's each new surprise, With dancing feet, and radiant swarms Of children playing circlewise In angelhood's disguise. The poet wandered to and fro, And gladness filled his heart. His nature ne'er before did know Such promptings unto art. Each scented waft of atmosphere Was inspiration strong and clear. 4 A PARABLE OF THE ROSE Before the poet's loitering feet A rosebush stood, and on it shone One great white Rose full-blown. Its creamy petals, oversweet, Shed fragrance of such high degree, Such musky sorcery, That all the garden seemed to sense Its quickening redolence. About it spread a circle fair Of angels with long folded wings, Who guarded with ecstatic care This Rose of which the poet sings; And round it ranged a shining row Of saints, whose blessed eyes bespake Large wonder, chanting sweet and low Life's rapture for Love's sake. A PARABLE OF THE ROSE And one fair saint high Love bequeathed In days of earlier bliss Bent o'er it tenderly and breathed One long ascension kiss, And lifted her white hands and blessed, A prescience in her eyes, The Rose with such enamoured zest, — For this was Paradise, — That as he gazed the Rose and She Seemed mixed in sacred unity. I But none might touch the great white Rose That grew within the garden's close. This was the garden of the King, And this the King's beloved flower Full-blown for Him. Each lesser thing Of amaranthine mead or bower 6 A PARABLE OF THE ROSE All might possess; but Kinghood's mind Delight above delights designed, And fashioned to art's last degree A royal Rose for Royalty. The poet gazed, and o'er his soul Wave after wave of rapture stole. His lips were dumb; his eyes were fixed Upon the flower; what glamour mixed With glory! In its deep rich heart A dewdrop lay. What rightful part Had he by sufferance in such bloom That filled the garden with perfume? The poet waited long beside The Rose, and grew more mystified. A PARABLE OF THE ROSE ; He breathed its odors,— but to dare To touch it!— nay, it was the King's; It was enough to have some share Of saints' and angels' sorcerings. At last he heard the rhythmic feet Of the approaching King; and bowed Beside the Rose, feeling its sweet Wild joyance round him like a cloud Of passionate incense flame and swing To greet the coming of the King. He bowed, but dared not lift his eyes; This was the Lord of Paradise. He sensed the patience of his soul Become high burgeoning, while all 8 A PARABLE OF THE ROSE His mystic feelings seemed to roll From joy to joy seraphical Up Nature's every opened aisle With hope's delirious overflows That shook the flowers and stirred the file Of angels round the great white Rose. The King stood still, and from his eyes The love that fashioned Paradise Illumed Him, while His lips, bedewed With sweetness, breathed beatitude; And all the saints and seraphim Bowed low adoringly to Him. The King came to the great white Rose That grew within His garden's close; And bending o'er it with a kiss, While every petal shook with bliss A PARABLE OF THE ROSE g And the pale chalice glowed and flamed, The Lord of Paradise exclaimed: "O Rose, My Rose, I planted here And tended, thou hast bloomed at last ! So full, so white thou dost appear! Thou hast My early faith surpassed! Thou art the rose I hoped would be When in great love I cultured thee!" With this He stooping plucked the flower And pressed it to His lips. Again The fluttering birds in every bower Warbled, while all the children fain With saints and angels raised their eyes In holy rapture toward the skies. "O Rose, My Rose! thou shalt fulfil At last thy mission and My will. IO A PARABLE OF THE ROSE The King's white roses all are grown For the King's singers, — them alone.' And all the garden seemed to gleam With the new joy; the poet heard Sweet tides of holy music stream From distant hills; bird after bird Mixed dulcet strains in orchards near With children's laughter sweet and clear; And all the angels shook their wings In mystic ravishings. And one glad saint stood forth and bent A moment o'er the poet, sent One flash of love into his breast, One testimonial kiss impressed, Then slowly rose and stood beside The shining King beatified. A PARABLE OF THE ROSE II Then turned the King of Paradise Full on the poet, held the flower Above him quivering, while his eyes Shone with such grace, such regnant power, That every soul was caught and swayed By holy Love's divinest art. Then smiled the King, and stooping laid The Rose upon the poet's heart; And as he clasped the peerless thing The King exclaimed: "Now, Poet, sing!" CANZONETS. 13 I. LENSES OF DELIGHT. HPO pray, and know the heavens are open wide To send down every grace; To live, and feel a woman's heart beside To gladden every place; To dream with her, and watch the tender blue For every wonder new; This is to rise and breathe the purer air Off lofty mountain crest; Behold the further stretch of shining stair On which high spirits rest; And e'er where vanished ministrants have trod, Perceive the form of God. 15 l6 LENSES OF DELIGHT Sky visions seen through lenses of delight Set in a woman's eyes; And music, heard through passionate lips be- dight With Love's vermilion dyes, — These are the feeders to a poet's lays Which after ages praise. II. O'ER RIME'S CONFUSION. HPHOU earnest, oh so sorcerously sweet! One matin hour of eld, My winged Hope! and, at thy shrinal feet, Since then mine art has held Each song-wrought censer of my soul's desire, For Love's empyreal fire. Flaming o'er rime's confusion thou didst come Upon my tranced heart: Thy miracle struck every prophet dumb, And my tumultuous art Awoke to see, from gleam to gleam along, Love's Bethel steps of song, a 17 18 o'er rime's confusion Thou art Love's angel with forbidding sword Guarding Arcadian state; The poet's moods, the poet's music stored Within Love's templed gate, Which thou alone mak'st radiant passage through Down from th' unstained blue. III. FROM AERY LEASHES. TV /I Y winged Faith thou art, and thou art here, From aery leashes slipped, — My constant vision, my enduring seer, My life's apocalypt; My priestess at the altar of romance, My spirit's puissance. Nor lips nor lute can tell the ecstasy Thine orisons bestow; Responsive founts of psychic power set free In music's mystic flow. Thy love is my cathedral sheltering, 'Neath which I dream and sing. 19 20 FROM AERY LEASHES Regeneration's bread! I eat and free My soul from earth's domain; Imagination's wine! I drink and see The sky's superior grain; And life, from glory unto glory spent, Is one long sacrament. IV. MY SKYEY SHEPHERDESS. HP HE RE is a shining garden far away Walled from the common sight; An orchard of green palms, a wide array Of roses red and white, And tender violets whose azure eyes Bespeak Love's paradise. Here is Love's music, such as never feels The insufficient lyre; Here is Love's perfect rapture at the heels Of perfected desire; And here the poet wanders with his Muse Down fancy's avenues. 22 MY SKYEY SHEPHERDESS With eyes to see, with ears to hear, with heart To sense the universe As must the seraphim, thou giv'st mine art The things thy thoughts rehearse; The finer things of darkness and of light, And Love's interior sight. For Love alone that is the world's eclipse The heights of song I scale; Thine eyes the sorcery of the peaks, thy lips The witchery of the vale. And my enchanted thoughts do reverence To thy diviner sense. Thou art Love's warden on the stormy steep Where poet frenzy leads; MY SKYEY SHEPHERDESS 23 Or where 'mid sunny meadows verdured deep His browsing fancy feeds; Thou art the surety of my song's success, My skyey Shepherdess! SAN GABRIEL. CAN Gabriel! I stand and wonder at thy walls So old, so quaint; a glory falls Upon them as I view the past, And read the story which thou hast Preserved so well. San Gabriel! I gaze and marvel at thy towers, Thy belfry strange through which the hours Fleet-footed crowd two hundred years, Whose echoing music yet appears In each sweet bell. 24 SAN GABRIEL 2$ San Gabriel! What souls were they who fashioned thee To be a blessed charity! What faith was theirs who bore the cross, And counted wealth and ease but loss Of Christ to tell! San Gabriel! Before thy gates what heavy tolls Have fallen from sin-burdened souls! Within thy walls what new desires Of love have quenched fierce hatred's fires, From nave and cell! San Gabriel! What guidance hast thou flashed along The ways of savagery and wrong, 26 SAN GABRIEL And shamed th' unholy and unkind, The theftuous hand, the murderous mind, Ere ravage fell! San Gabriel! A glamour of the ancient time Remains with thee! Thou hast the rime Of some old poem, and the scent Of some old rose's ravishment Naught can dispel! San Gabriel! From Mexico to Monterey Thy sisters greet thee 'midst decay; But thou dost stand a living thing, And round thee living passions cling And voices swell! SAN GABRIEL 27 San Gabriel! Within thee all my doubtings cease; I find the holy Prince of Peace; And feel the thrill of brotherhood Betwixt my soul and those who stood For this same faith, for this same world, And Christ's one flag of love unfurled! San Gabriel! San Gabriel! I own thy sweet and mystic spell. THE VISION OF A MATURE MIND. T CARE not for the Spring as once I did. I miss the gladness of those earlier years When, in the orchard where the robins hid Their nests 'mid bloomy coverts, eyes and ears Caught mime and rime of mystic rhapsodies, As Life and Joy disported 'neath the apple trees. I thrilled to sense the pulsing of the grass And breathe the subtle odors of the ground, As Nature's resurrection morns did pass Into ascension days of light and sound; I dreamed of love and power, youth's alchemies, Achievement quickly wrought and swift-sur- rendering ease. 28 THE VISION OF A MATURE MIND 29 I gazed entranced upon th' expansive sky, And watched the garish clouds, white- bannered ships, Sail over heaven's blue main. I felt God's eye Impiercing Beauty's wide apocalypse. I built me vast cathedral fantasies, And joined the universal anthem of degrees. But now I dwell amidst the city's strain, See flaunted Wealth and Fashion's masquerade, Hear Toil's deep undertones of hate and pain, Witness Life fighting Fate with broken blade. My soul is limned with ominous images Of want, despair, and shame, — and death, — Sin's sure decrees. 30 THE VISION OF A MATURE MIND I hear above bird-songs curses of men, Heart-sobs of women, little children's wails. Beneath the apple blooms there looms the ken Of Woe's processions o'er Oppression's trails ; My soul cannot escape earth's tyrannies; The sorcerous season palls, the wonted pleasure flees. Gone is the olden gladness of the Spring; I feel an alien 'mid its happy throngs; While man wounds man, while hearts have sufferings, Mine is the sphere of life's unrighted wrongs. I turn back to the world's activities To haste Love's golden age as God's high Will shall please. THE VISION OF A MATURE MIND 3 1 The dreams of lifting up Redemption's Cross, Holding Faith's torch above the paths of gloom, Starting a song of Hope through cells of loss, Planting Love's roses 'gainst the walls of doom, — These are the Springtime's sweetest reveries; These are Heaven's holy joys beneath earth's fruiting trees. THE ASS OF DESTINY. [ SING of a simple creature, The ass of destiny. My vision takes strangeful feature As eyes of the spirit see Past veils of the dark and the dust; And art bends low to the must. I sing of an animal sign; I wot not of what I sing, Beholding the glory shine From Heaven round earthly thing. My soul is filled with an awe Of fate that is upper law. 32 THE ASS OF DESTINY 33 The Master of sacrifice Rode triumphing on an ass; Love furnished the earnest price For ownership of the pass Up hell-fought steeps to the plains Where losses emerge in gains. Behind the Acceptable Year What cycles of years there are! And writ is the history clear On mystery's calendar Of this strange ass and the King Who rode to His suffering. It came as all others came, — This creature elect. Who knew The hovering wings of flame, The rhythmical retinue 34 THE ASS OF DESTINY That kept the centuried way- Unhindered for its birthday? 'T was born; but who recognized The steed of the Prince of Peace? It grew; but what man surmised Its worth to the world's increase? No singular signs it wore. 'T was only an ass, — no more. At last came the fulness of time; All time to its fulness comes; This scourges the poet's rime To songs of millenniums. Who knows where such strain belongs May fashion the ages' songs. THE ASS OF DESTINY 35 A purpose; a fact to be; Betwixt them long ignorance That counts that the race is free And time and the world are chance, And all that happens fulfils The folly of fugitive wills. So be it for thee, thou blind To song, and thou deaf to light! In loftier realms of the mind Eyes hearken and ears have sight; For music and flame are one Where wings of seraphim run. The prophets are not extinct; Innumerous as the stars They live unbeholden, linked With God past visible bars; 36 THE ASS OF DESTINY They speak; Love hears and affirms Fulfilment in mystic terms. Time understands; and the air Has knowledge; and force beholds; The angels guard; and the care Of sainthood's heart unfolds. What was, is, and is to be Is scion of Destiny. A little enlarged to much In prophecy's aftermath; Who kens when the King may touch The trivial in thy path, And prove it predestinate, The hinge of the ages' fate? THE ASS OF DESTINY 37 Walk softly, soul, and watch! Thou knowest not at what turn The commonest thing may catch The glory of Heaven, and burn Before thee, and show the edge Of infinite privilege. THE BIRDS OF LOVE. TJIGH Love lets loose his singing birds In every heart that yields to him. These are the poet's runic words For what the Muses limn. O Love! I yield my heart to thee; To thee most leal my heart belongs; Come, birds of skyey royalty, And sing your happy songs! My orchard trees are all in bloom, And waiting for your quiring moods: Come, mingle with the Spring's perfume Your fluting interludes! 38 THE BIRDS OF LOVE 39 O birds of Love, the wild, the tame! I crave each aery fugitive. Who holds to Love may boldly claim All boons which Love can give. O birds of Love, how blithe you are! Bright waftures from his tropic breast. Love changes Nature's calendar And turns the east wind west. O birds of Love, what cheer you make! There is no discord in your notes; 'T is Love alone has power to wake Song-bursts from silent throats. O birds of Love, your carollings With joyance fill each fragrant spray! Love's is the only voice that sings The perfect roundelay. 40 THE BIRDS OF LOVE O birds of Love 'twixt earth and sky! Build firm your nests, bring forth your young. Ascension things fast multiply Wherever Love has sprung. O birds of Love, you vanish not With warnings of the Winter's strain! Love keeps the heart a Summer spot And all his birds remain. High Love's ethereal comradery! Fulfilment of the poet's words! The heart can never lonely be With Love's sweet singing birds. MADRIGALS. 41 I. TILL THE DAY GOES BY. A FACE to a sky of blue, A heart to a song; With wild birds singing through The whole day long; And roses crimson and white Across my face Blown hard in the wind's delight With perfume and grace; I lie and dream to the sky, And sing to my heart, And dream and sing till the day goes by And the birds depart. 43 II. ALAS! IV A Y heart is sad with waiting, Love, Waiting for thee. My eyes are dim with watching, Love, Watching for thee. The sunlight fades, the night draws nigh, The stars come forth in the clear sky, I sit alone, alone and sigh, — Sighing for thee. My heart is faint with longing, Love, Longing for thee. My eyes are worn with weeping, Love, Weeping for thee. 44 ALAS ! 45 The night-winds murmur as they pass, Trailing thy name through the long grass, My soul cries out, alas! alas! Alas for me! III. A DEAR COMPLEXITY. JWIY Sweetheart, Sweetheart mine! I love but thee, but thee, Thou dear complexity, Half human, half divine! Thy graces ever shine Each day on me, on me; Without thy face to see, Each day my heart would pine, And joy would slowly surely be Only a haunting memory. 46 IV. PRAIRIE QUEEN. A /lY heart is a great prairie Close-bounded about by sky, — Blue sky of God, with a rim Of yellow and red, and aery; — Sweet wealth of the thoughts that lie Past graces where trace is dim. Down deep in the sacred centre, Bloom-wise to the rising sun, Art thou, my Prairie Queen! Whose waftures of fragrance enter My spirit, and make it one With Love and the world unseen. 47 48 PRAIRIE QUEEN My God and my Queen are sufficient, On prairie or mountain range; I ask nothing more nor less, — His compassing power omniscient, Her love that can never change, Their fusion of tenderness. IF LOVE ABIDES. A17HAT grief can break the heart If Love abides? Whate'er betides Sweet Love can heal the smart. He with divinest art Swift help provides; What grief can break the heart If Love abides? 49 50 IF LOVE ABIDES His words new courage start; Despair subsides; And sorrow hides In unknown ways apart ; What grief can break the heart If Love abides? VI. LOVE'S COMING. IN Springtide days of splendor, When speech was blithe and tender, And all the world of hearts was young and strong, Love came with wooing graces, Slipped out from shining spaces, With lifted lute and lips for perfect song. On floating wings he lingered In aureoles, and fingered The shimmering strings and sang a song to me. 5i 52 LOVE S COMING He sang so sweet, a feeling Of sunlit pinions stealing Around me bound my soul in ecstasy. With one long note of rapture He turned, as if to capture Some wildering fragrance blown across his way; Then suddenly ascending He vanished, like the spending Of light behind a cloud of fading day. Through weary years of yearning I wait for Love's returning And never comes he back nor heeds my cry ; But all my heart is ringing With echoes of his singing: Oh, come, sweet Love, again before I die! VII. THE HEART OF SPRING. T ROSE from my sleep When thou didst call; I broke from the keep Of Winter's thrall; The frost-time scorning I hailed the morning To dwell with thee and Life. I gazed on the skies When thou didst smile; I felt in thine eyes The sun's warm guile; 53 54 THE HEART OF SPRING My dark robes leaving I donned light's weaving To dwell with thee and Joy. I harked to the birds When thou didst sing; I heard in thy words The heart of Spring; The treetops' quiring I left, desiring To dwell with thee and Song. I scented the South When thou didst kiss; I drained at thy mouth The cup of bliss; THE HEART OF SPRING 55 From earthly storing I turned adoring To dwell with thee and Love. With thee I dwell, My goddess sweet! I feel the spell Around thy feet; 'T is earth ascending, 'T is Spring unending To dwell with thee and Faith. VIII. JUST SHE. T TOW beautiful are the days of Spring! But what if there be no heart to sing? Who cares for the bluebird's note If one sweet voice is still, And silent the only throat That set the earth athrill? 'T was Love that made the Spring for me, — My Love, just She, just She. How beautiful are the days of Spring! But what if there be no heart to sing? 56 JUST SHE 57 Who cares for the May's perfume If one sweet flower is dead, And vanished the only bloom That life with joy o'erspread? 'T was Love that unmade the Spring for me, — My Love, just She, just She. How beautiful are the days of Spring! And what if there be a heart to sing? There 's rapture that conquers grief, When one sweet soul exists Past death, and assures belief In Heaven's evangelists. 'T is Love that remakes the Spring for me, — My Love, just God and She. SHAKESPEARE. T MMORTAL Shakespeare, — he who loved Great Love And built him thrones where'er his genius made Dead ages live! Within the heart of Rome, Above the Caesars, set he One whose grace Turned catacombal darkness into light To daze the world; and in the pagan North, And past the confines of the sunset sea, Wrought spiritual kingdoms, bulging forth The ancient walls of custom into wreck With the new throne-rooms of the Nazarene. 58 SHAKESPEARE 59 Death has one pang, — the leaving of my books; But am I loth to leave the written word To find the speaking master? Such great souls As claim, unclaiming, worthy reverence From those who find their own exceeding worth In the re-birth of spirit at the touch Of genius, the sky-flash of earthly souls, Are as the sea that flings the surf ashore In long thin edges of encurling foam, But has its deeps unfathomable, breadths For mighty ships, and mounts and gulfs of wave, Close-kindred to the moon and all the stars. The surge of Shakespeare's soul along the edge Of our great Anglo-Saxon continent, By night, by day, through changing seasons' tides, We hear; we hearken, laughing, praising Heaven 60 SHAKESPEARE For seashore such as ours, and our great sea. But out afar, 'mid mists that have not lifted, Lie the vast breadth and depth of Shake- speare's soul, Of which King Lear and Hamlet and Macbeth Are but the earthward foam. To leave this shore Is to sail outward on yon open sea, And sailing hear the rhythm of yeasty deeps Fierce-tossed with mighty billows, feel the force Of under-fathoms and the straining moon, And see round prow and stern in silver wake To starboard, larboard, gulfward, crestward rise Afar and near, round, round on every wave, Innumerous Ariels and Prosperos, And all the gloam and lustre of all lands, All camps and courts, all huts and palaces, And all that build their worlds for all delight, Forever greatening with eternity; SHAKESPEARE 6 1 And ours the ship, and ours the captain strong, And ours the vision, — vision of high things. Farewell, ye hither powers, the while there works The unadulterate air my soul has breathed From o'er yon thither far Shakespearian main! Not merman, mermaid, Neptune's hoary form With mythic trident of the aery wave, Are luminous and rhythmic as yon shapes I see arising, plunging, dashed with foam Effulgent with the light of farther suns. Farewell, ye hither powers! sweet books adieu! Ye sands and foam and narrow shore farewell! We will sail outward to the open sea. BEETHOVEN'S SEVENTH SYMPHONY. An Impression. poco sostenuto. vivace. T^HE dead Christ starts; the dual pall of night Falls wrested from the Galilean's face; Death flees before imperious hosts that chase, With swords of splendor and white spears of light, Wan wraiths of agonies and lingering sight Of scarred Golgotha in divine disgrace. The red dawn quivers, and the burthened space Strains with the passion of immortal might. 62 BEETHOVEN'S SEVENTH SYMPHONY 63 ALLEGRETTO. The dead Christ arises; the grave is defeated; the stone Is rolled away by the angels; from far empyrean Tumultuous ravishment, mystical flutterings, White whirlwinds of cherubim wondrous and worldward flown. On one skyward billow of song the trium- phant Judean Moves into the glory and gladness and wafture of wings. PRESTO. PRESTO MENO ASSAI. Waking Easter lilies lift' their eyes To the weeping gaze of Magdalene. 64 BEETHOVEN'S SEVENTH SYMPHONY Pageants pass bewildering between Dawn and morn, and all things seem to rise. Mystery casts off its dim disguise; Power leaps from the luminous Nazarene; Life has won ; the leaves of hope are green ; Love's rose blossoms; earth is Paradise. finale: allegro con brio. Heaven is emptied of angels ; the jubilant legions, Mists of sweet minstrelsy, orient shadows of care, Whirling and swirling encircle with paean and laughter. Strong with the infinite strength to the infinite regions Rises the Crucified, swift on the tides of the air, Drawing the worshipping ages in ec- stasy after. EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. NEVER saw him face to face, — This poet with his generous grace. Yet oft have I beheld his soul In singing robes, while through me stole A subtle joyance that renewed My faltering faith's ascension mood, Whose sweet persistence made it part Of inspiration's life and art. A mystic voice within me saith: "He lives and sings; who cries out 'death'? 65 CHINA. IMPERIAL China, immemorial born, Beyond the offing of the Orient seas! Thy natal star flamed in the misty morn Of far-off centuries. We of a later day and younger age Touch hands on thine, and feel the fee- bling beat, The languor of thy lessening heritage, Life's flow from founts effete. Our ears are toward thy pleading unto us, The lisping of thy hoarse and hoary lips; 66 CHINA 67 Thy semblant music trembles ominous From faltering finger-tips. In vain thy veteran search ; now would we guide Thy feet aback to Paradisean streams, Whence softly flows the blest ancestral tide Of thy Confucian dreams. Beside those fountains pure thou shalt not rest And dull thy passion unto poppied mood; But drinking deep, of primal power possessed And childhood's sanctitude, Thou shalt press onward toward the farther goal, Maturer being, mellower strains repeat, Matutine music of the larger soul, Redemption's chorus sweet. 68 CHINA Thou shalt attain the land which grace endues; Its white noon dimless, its camellian airs Hymnic with hope, and all its avenues Love's golden thoroughfares. Forward, O China! for the Christ appears Upon the shadows of thy centuried loss; And thou shalt find, through all the widening years, Thine Eden at His Cross. ARS ARTIUM. I. A N architect builded a palace of stone *^ Of exquisite form and hue, With bronze colossi and pillared zone Of porphyry purpled through. The master boasted and proudly swore That unto the end of time His house should endure, and forevermore Resound with his praise sublime. 69 70 ARS ARTIUM Passed swiftly by a year and a day; An earthquake shattered the place; The palace of splendor tottered and lay A ruin in earth's embrace. II. A sculptor, centuries long ago, Carved out of the marble white An Aphrodite, with face to show The glory of Love's delight. The people wondering worshipped, bound By spells of the goddess fair, Foam-swathed, wind-wafted, with roses crowned Queen-Beauty of earth and air. ARS ARTIUM ?I The sculptor and people ceased to be; And afterward ravening came A vandal horde from the northern sea, And cast her to wreck and flame. III. A painter captured a rainbow and wrought, With pigments of Paradise, The Virgin Mother of Christ, and caught The wonder-light in her eyes. The picture hung in the altar glow; And through the cathedral air, From vaulted roof unto tiles below, It hallowed the place of prayer. 72 ARS ARTIUM But time was ruthless; the colors waned; Half- veiled seemed the face devout; The shining features grew dark and stained And the vision faded out. IV. A great musician, his genius fired To passion's supreme degree, By heavenly orchestras inspired, Created a symphony. It swept from a hundred instruments A whirlwind of consonance; The throngs, bewildered with art's ascents, Were held in ineffable trance. ARS ARTIUM 73 The morning came with impetuous mood O'er-breaking the night's demur; But the music was not for the multitude Without an interpreter. A poet fashioned a song and gave, Like Noah's ultimate dove, The soul of his soul to wind and wave; And swiftly the bird of love Found rest and covert for welcome wings, And nested in gladdened hearts; And nourished her brood of quiring things, Song's numberless counterparts. 74 ARS ARTIUM The poet vanished; but sweet and strong, In ravishing roundelays, The poet's soul and the poet's song Live on in the world always. SONNETS. 75 THE SONNET. THE poet's burnished glass of thought Held up to Nature's daily lure, Whereon each pageant mood is caught In radiant miniature. Life's near inclusive form of things ; Love's narrowing circumference, Wherein Grief's gathered glory springs And Joy's delights condense. The ancient song of poet tongue; The modern lilt of poet lips ; Th' elect of Art, forever young, Unknowing time's eclipse 77 A I. THE TREE AND THE ROSE. GREAT green tree grew 'neath the south- ern skies O'erspread with great white roses; every- where Upon it, like a thatch, with gleam and glare, The flowers lay thick and fragrant. In surprise I gazed, and marked a bush beside it rise The twain entwining, each the other's care, Tree strength, rose blossom, an expanding pair- Together one rose-tree to poet eyes. 78 THE TREE AND THE ROSE 79 Thus is it, my Beloved, my White Rose! God set thee at my side, and thou dost climb, Mixing with mine thy soul's ascension power. Each through the other to completeness grows ; And my life's glory is my Rose of rime, And my life's gladness is my heart in flower. II. LIKE LOVE IN HEAVEN. J3ELOVED, I would have thee love me true As lovers do in Heaven, whose opened eyes Behold, without the flesh that falsifies, The ageless soul in beauty fresh and new. Beloved, I would have thy spirit view Th' enlarging life which deep within me lies, And know that what will make thy Paradise Hereafter now is thine for thee to woo. 80 LIKE LOVE IN HEAVEN 8 1 My life is thine to take and take again; My heart is for an Eden unto thee; And love shall never lose its golden prime. Oh! love me now as thou wilt love me then, Seeing me somewhat as the angels see, Knowing me unimpaired by loss and time. III. LOVE'S IMMORTALITY. T3EL0VED, shall we change as we grow old? Shall this great love of ours that every- where, In look, in word, in daily tender care, Burns like high-leaping flame grow ever cold? If we but knew years hence we should behold This same sweet glory, that our lives would wear These same bright crowns of joy, our hearts could bear Each cross, each loss, by deathless love consoled. 82 love's immortality 83 Sweetheart, I fear not, knowing love's true sign, Knowing love's changeless law and ageless life; And since thou art God's perfect gift to me, And God is love, our love is love divine Which cannot alter, but is ever rife With deepening proofs of immortality. IV. MY SERAPHIM. /VyiY books, dear comrades, each a constant guest Beside my humble hearth; a waiting quire, Minstrels of thought to sing as I desire; The master-host of time all dispossessed Of earthliness, in garb immortal dressed; My sacred seraphim that fan the fire Of smouldering power, till 'neath their grace aspire White flames of poesie on skyward quest. 84 MY SERAPHIM 85 Chant on, life-bearers, from your thrones of peace ! And I will strike my lyre; perchance my soul, Set to the measures of perpetual prayer, May add one note to your rich harmonies, And, through the service of your bounteous dole, The fadeless robes of inspiration wear. V. SAINT MICHAEL'S. ,r "T WAS midnight, and I stood outside the door Of the great hospital's benignant close; The fevered city lay in deep repose; I rang; a sister answered; with heart sore I faced a bed where flesh and spirit tore At shame's red robes 'mid death's con- vulsing throes: I flashed hope's skyward lights; upbraid- ings rose Infuriate with lust's demonial lore. 86 SAINT MICHAEL'S 87 At last I stood without; the morning's beams Shone on the portal; but a horror stole Across my brain working revulsion's spell. Behind each door what is? and what man dreams ? I loathed the forced achievement of my soul — Culture in holiness through sight of hell. VI. DAY-DREAMS. T^HE best I know is what I may not know, My day-dreams, psychic auras that sur- round My spirit's inmost working, being ground And sky for all the trees of life that grow Bearing ideals. Thus does God bestow My mystical becomings 'neath all sound, All sheen of earth, where soul and sense unbound Are penetrant with Heaven's creative flow. 88 DAY-DREAMS 89 I know the best is what has never been; And next, the knowing, — faith's foresight of things, — Cities of God for them who dare to trust. So silent grow I, sing I, feeling kin To oracles, apocalyptic kings, And every soul that climbs o'er death and dust. VII. TENNYSON. T^HE Laureate Alfred, chief of Arthur's knights, A greater than the mighty Lancelot, Clomb up the thousand steps, and, faltering not, Clove through the portal of the fiery lights. He gazed unswooning on the awful sights Across the swath of mystic flame, and got Eyes to the naked chalice, waxing hot With poet passion on immortal heights. 90 TENNYSON 91 His soul, white-heaten in the Muses' fire, Seven-times refined passed on and did prevail ; And now, in samite of his pure desire, On open vision glows the Holy Grail. Victorious knight amid great angels strong! We will ascend thy thousand steps of song. VIII. PRINCETON. |3 EPOSEFUL spot horizoned by the stress Of thunderous cities! Here stern Nature seems One verdurous peace, an atmosphere of dreams, With ever-lilting languorous caress. Yet everywhere a laborous mightiness, A fine vibration, youthly anvilled, streams, — Felt music, muted clangor, wisdom's themes Turning to vantage for the world's redress. 92 PRINCETON 93 This is the armory of intellect Where swords of thought are wrought for lords of strife, The while th' enfreedomed spirit beats down brawn On the last lines of darkness, stands erect, Grasping the vision of dominion life, And cries, "The Day!" across the reddening dawn. LYRICS. 95 I. THE SAME OLD LOVE. T OVE is ever young. Albeit Life feels time's growing age, Albeit Life sees earth's slowing wage, Love has the same melodious golden tongue. Love is ever strong. Albeit Life feels time's hea vying cross, Albeit Life sees earth's levying dross, To Love the same imperial hands belong. 7 97 98 THE SAME OLD LOVE Love is ever glad. Albeit Life feels time's galling chains, Albeit Life sees earth's falling fanes, Love's heart keeps fresh the early joy it had. Love is ever true. Albeit Life feels time's ailing lyre, Albeit Life sees earth's failing fire, Love is the same old Love forever new. II. A SOUL'S RETURN. i HEARD a strange but familiar song Above the noise of the hurrying throng. It drifted out of a window set With heliotrope and mignonette. It seemed the voice of Love's oracle, A heavenly music that earthward fell. It was my own wrought melody; It was my soul come back to me. 99 III. ATMOSPHERE. T WONDER so! Such holy sweetness wraps my soul, An atmosphere that takes control Of all my nature, claiming all In swift abandon to the thrall Of Love's deep ebb and flow. Hold, doubting heart! This is a soul become a breath For my soul's breathing. My soul saith: ATMOSPHERE ioi "I drink thee, sink thee into me, Thou kindred spirit mystery, And mixed with me thou art!" Stop, questioning sense! I yield myself entranced and still, And let this subtle aura fill My being's rapt interior frame, Whose quivering ecstasies proclaim Love's secret evidence. O wonder, cease! Nor space, nor clay is barrier To this caressing breath of her, That wooes my heart from hour to hour, Imbues with Love's ethereal power And Love's imperial peace. 102 ATMOSPHERE Sweet spirit lore! This is the truest, realest Of thought, of love, the essence blest That blends in full communion Two mated beings into one, — One soul forevermore IV. THE CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE. '"THE night is nigh, The sea is high, The dashing waves o'erwhelm; But all serene, With vigil keen, The captain 's at the helm. Across the sea He pilots me Through gulf and foaming ridge; I know no fear, For he is near, — My captain on the bridge. 103 104 THE CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE In mist and storm, His beaten form Moves all the long night through He knows the path The great ship hath, And steers her straight and true. Across the sea He pilots me Through gulf and foaming ridge; I know no fear, For he is near, — My captain on the bridge. I have no chart Nor seaman's art For ocean's thoroughfare; THE CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE 105 But undistressed I calmly rest, And trust my captain there. Across the sea He pilots me Through gulf and foaming ridge; I know no fear, For he is near, — My captain on the bridge. O soul astrain On life's rough main! Thy Captain's in command; And, tempests past, In port at last Thy bark will safely land. 106 THE CAPTAIN ON THE BRIDGE Across the sea He pilots thee Through gulf and foaming ridge; Have thou no fear, For He is near, — Thy Captain on the bridge. RETROSPECTION. 'THE years are grim because of me, Before and after, Judgment saith; I go the way of misery And tread the purple grapes of death. Offence is all forgiven, but still The crimson scars in heart and flesh Are mockers of the later will And start the olden pangs afresh. 107 108 RETROSPECTION It is not love I failed to win; It is not unrewarded strife; It is the man I might have been That makes the tragedy of life, VI. GENESIS. T^HE outlet of eternity Into the sweep of time; Gateway through which life's great to-be Has issuance sublime; Love's tidal mystery set free In history and rime. First measure of the music far The centuries prolong; The melody of morning star; The moon's empyreal song; Creation's fugue oracular; World-preludes sweet and strong. 109 I IO GENESIS Primeval glow of Providence Upon the quickening spheres; Foregleams of grace auroral whence Shall glide the widening years; Sunrise of life's immortal sense Across earth's misty meres. Beginning of the winding way The feet of Love have trod, — Love's bruised feet, by night, by day, With priestly sandals shod; Breaking the path for men astray That they may mount to God. VII. THE SILENCE OF GOD. I SAT at the feet of the King, With face toward His face divine; "My Father! answer my questioning! Speak Thou of the things to be mine, The kingdom to which I am heir, The wealth and power I shall share!" But God was still; I bowed my will; in H2 THE SILENCE OF GOD And through me there softly stole A sweetness the heavens forspend; And somehow I knew I shall know when my soul Is able to comprehend. The silence of God is His loudest word. O Love! I have heard, I have heard. VIII. MY FATHER. (~\ GOD of rest! Thy watchful care has safely kept My soul from evil while I slept; Thy guardian love has been my shade; Thy healing touch has strength conveyed; In mystic sleep destroyed Thou hast The disenchantments of the past; In life renewed, in frame reborn, I wake and praise Thee with the morn, O God of rest, My Father! 8 "3 ii4 MY FATHER O God of dreams! By night Thou hast revealed to me Chambers of precious imagery; The fresher air, the farther lights, My native world upon the heights, Dear faces of the earlier time, Loved voices with the olden rime. I view my hope mount from eclipse, I hail my heart's apocalypse, O God of dreams, My Father! O God of light! When morning's beams my slumbers break I feel Thy presence as I wake; About me floats an atmosphere All crystalline, most pure and clear, MY FATHER Ix ^ Charged with Thy tender Fatherhood, Through which I sense th' Eternal Good In pulsings of high purpose beat; And all my soul lies at Thy feet, O God of light, My Father! O God of life! From sleep and dreams I turn, I spring, To greet my being's Sire and King. Refreshed and strong I now present Myself a humble instrument By which Thy covenant may pursue Its course of love the whole day through. Accept me, let the joy be mine, Of service 'neath Thy yoke divine, O God of life, My Father! Il6 MY FATHER O God of love! What blessed guerdons Thou dost give! The grace to grow more sensitive To every rhythm; the subtle power To see the far-off full-blown flower Of every seed; the ecstasy Of secret comradeship with Thee; The glory, only faith may win, Of working out what Heaven works in; O God of love, My Father! WHEAT AND HUSKS. 117 I. FRUIT OF THE THRESHING. THE wheat of the soul! God's grain! The seed of centuried sowing, The fruit of celestial growing, The harvest of infinite pain. For each inspiring thought, And every conception high, Descends from the azure sky, By heavenly forces brought. All things in the soul that are good Are out of God's bountihood. 119 120 FRUIT OF THE THRESHING The earth is a threshing-floor; Upon it the harvest lies, A mixture that signifies The perfected fruited store, When under the flail's laborious art The wheat and the husk dispart. II. THE NEED OF THE HUSK. f~\ HUSK, thou art more than husk! ^^ The wheat had need of thee; Thy worth is the destiny Thou gavest the day at dusk. Without the husk there had been no wheat, No bread for man to eat; Strong life had withered, sweet love had failed, And all the world had wailed. Without the husk there had been no flower To all thought's processes of power; 121 122 THE NEED OF THE HUSK No ship sea-riding from shore to shore; No word sea-piercing through cable's core; No muscle's venture; no spirit's climb; No engine's motion; no poet's rime; No restful temple; no laborous mart; No science, history, or art; No children's laughter; no mother's song; No manhood's glory that rights the wrong; No home, no state, no hope, no faith; But only desert and brooding death. III. THE RIME OF THE REFUSE. npHE poet is true to the glume; * No cheating of negatives! He sings of each thing that lives And goes unsung to its doom For sake of the world's advance; He sees what the refuse is, Its mystical dignities, And rimes it with high romance. Each speck of dust has a fleck of sky That's open with bluest blue; 123 124 THE RIME OF THE REFUSE And he who raises unveiled eye, And gazes fast therethrough, Beholds the heavens close-pressed to earth, And vanishing things' eternal worth. IV. LOSS AND GAIN. T^HE poet of Nature discerns somehow, In psychical moments when The very zodiac seems to bow And seizes bewildered ken With signs and symbols, whose lights rehearse What is and shall ever be, The changing prose of the universe One changeless poesie. I sing of the husk: I sing of the wheat; The chaff that is trampled beneath men's feet; The grain that is garnered to make life sweet. 125 126 LOSS AND GAIN The things of the subtle soul are twain, The fruit for loss and the fruit for gain; All things are the husks that are not the grain. THE HUSK'S GLORY. T SING of the wheat for what it will do; I sing of the husk for what it has done; And, praising the wheat 'neath the harvest sun, I give to the husk its glory true; And thus is the poet's moment-music one With Nature's centuried song forever new. The husk is grown for the wheat; The evil exists for the good; Methinks the archangels understood When man met his first defeat. 127 128 THE HUSK'S GLORY Some prophets have fathomed the mystery- Beholding what was and is to be. Some souls have entered Edenic gate Since Cherubim swords were set With holy forbidding flame, And wandered over those meads of Fate, Faced Love by his side who let Man's glory dismount to shame. VI. THE STARTING OF SORROW. f\ VENTURESOME poet, who hast betimes Strange vision of things past earth's despair, Be cautious, immure thy mystic rimes! Thou may'st not all thou see'st declare, — How man and Fate met face to face, In Eden's most exalted place Hard by the tree of destiny; How Deity did there permit The finite 'gainst the Infinite * To set unbending brow and knee; And why th' Eternal Power withdrew, When Nature's golden age was new, 129 130 THE STARTING OF SORROW And all the sin and sorrow started By which the earth and sky were parted, And all man's high desires Became but smouldering fires, For Love's superior pain, And Life's ulterior gain, Let God and Time explain! And keep thou still, Thou seer of good and ill ! VII. GOD AND THE WRONG. T COUNT on God for wherefore and whence,- God's omnipresent omnipotence; The selfsame Maker of men and stars And star-laws and laws of the soul, And cycling centuried calendars Unchanging toward selfsame goal Beknown, since the primal founts are one And every shine is sign of the sun. I will not rail at the wrong; 'Tis husk for my golden wheat; 131 I32 GOD AND THE WRONG I count it such and will beat It loose with a threshing song; Then gather my grain, and for joy of it Will sing of the husk's sure benefit. VIII. THE LAW OF THE EVIL. f~> OD somehow gets the good from the ill ^^^ And works His unhindered will; And evil's law is the law of Love, Love dauntless, knowing the Power above Must bring each right to its might and throne And crown it God's chosen own. I speak of law. 'T is a child that speaks With knowledge only from inner moods And deep impulsions that rise and rush 133 134 THE LAW 0F THE EVIL Imperious, as one finds who seeks And hears the spirit's beatitudes Across the unfathomable hush; Nature's proclaiming spell From deep-set oracle; The rhythm of sweetness set to awe, Inseparable love and law; I give it trust, I will not deny The voice of God in earth and sky, And my soul's voices as true as His, Life's inborn prophecies. IX. FATE AND PAIN. f WILL not rail nor complain At fate or at pain; I see them husks to my grain. I cherish them answers to needs, Time-servants for destiny's seeds, — The wheat for eternity's mountains and meads. I sing of the threshing-floor, The floor of the soul; Here lies the harvested store; For what? Thou knowest the goal 135 I36 FATE AND PAIN O God! But how hard is the way Of beating and bruising, Of pain and confusing, The only means for the sway Of right over wrong, Of wheat over husks and the day Of garner and song! X. A SONG OF THE MYSTICALS. T SING of the mystical wind That symbols high energy; The sweep of the unconfined; Inbreaking of powers that be Paroled from Love's unbeholden surge, Across the heavens' close verge. I sing of the magical sky O'er-rushing its azure meres In waftures that purify Earth's vaporous atmospheres, 137 138 A SONG OF THE MYSTICALS Space, time, and nature from gardens above, The constant blowing of Love. I sing of the musical might, The motions of spirit that flow Down realer realms of delight Than ever the senses know; The cadence of severing holiness, Love's tenderest storm and stress. I sing of the miracle grace That fanneth my threshing-floor; I yield to its tropic embrace, I throw it my bruised store, Heaven's purging that perfects my freedomed grain, Love's victory through pain. A SONG OF THE MYSTICALS 1 39 I sing of the mythical breath; The Life of the Holy Ghost, The Power that is death unto Death, Love unto the uttermost; The covenant winnowing Passion of God Reclaiming the soul from the clod. XL BREAK OF THE DAY. HPHE hour 'of the soul appears; Tis Love's time, break of the day, That ushers the golden years And metamorphoses clay, When pain is no more, — not hence In nebulous paradise, But here, in earth's circumference And under these azure skies; For the bruising time below Is past, and the wheat is free; And only the upper breezes blow In winnowing ecstasy. 140 XII. THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE. T^HE soul full-used Has once been bruised As th' unseen Thresher willed; Its fullest worth To Heaven or earth Is that which has first been killed. The brightest hopes For skyey slopes Are those that have been consumed; 141 142 THROUGH DEATH TO LIFE The highest joys, Time ne'er accloys, Are those that have been entombed. The greatest lives Where service hives Are those that have once been slain; The sweetest songs The world prolongs Are those that have come through pain. The Living Breath Alone through death Makes man and Nature real; Thus he who dies To self shall rise And reach his soul's ideal. XIII. THE TOUCH OF THE SKIES. •[ SING of the winnowed soul; I sing of the yielded will For what God would have it be, Life set unto Love's high goal, All Heaven let loose to fill Existence with ecstasy. The flail shall never be felt again; The bruising ends, there is no more pain; What force ennobles and purifies Shall always be the touch of the skies, 143 144 THE T0UCH OF THE SKIES And never the earth's sharp instruments, But ever the heavens' most sweet descents; Love's blowing and flowing increasing sweet And ever the soul's increasing wheat. XIV. THE CREED OF LOVE. T OVE'S wind makes chaff of the husk And blows far away the chaff; The dawn descends into dusk, And out of my joy I laugh, And sing as my wheat falls back to me, Made fit for the granary. The days of threshing are o'er; The winnowing time is past; The wheat from the threshing-floor Is safely garnered at last; 145 I46 THE CREED OF LOVE Stored up for seed and a later spring And a greater harvesting. The wheat of my soul is mine Because it is God's. 'T is He Who planted the grain divine And builded the granary, Who gathers destiny's seeds With all the heavens in song, Makes love the creed of all creeds And man's heart sweet and strong. N0\ ■ n a

10000166

The triumph of love; a poem,

Allen, Lyman Whitney

triumphoflovepoe00alle_djvu.txt

CopyrigM AM- COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE By LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN ABRAHAM LINCOLN :y2 Poem Fourth (Centennial) Edition A PARABLE OP THE ROSE, AND OTHER POEMS THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE: A Poem The Triumph of Love A Poem By Lyman Whitney Allen G. P. Putnam's Sons New York and London Gbe fl?nickerbocker press 1909 lU Copyright, 1909 LYMAN WHITNEY ALLEN Ube fmfcfeerbocfcer pteee, "ftew fork CI.A253555 0*» J IN REMEMBRANCE OF MY MOTHER, JULIA OLDS WHITNEY. No words can tell the priceless worth Of one who, though in Heaven, doth brood O'er changing scenes of time and earth With changeless motherhood. 'T was she, God's leal confederate, High priestess of the vanished years, Who opened childhood's every gate . Through which the sky appears. 'T was she who showed the founts of power Whence goodness rises, wisdom springs, And courage flows, — a triple dower For manhood's venturings. 'T was she who poured the mystic wine Of joy from Duty's chaliced heart, And set Faith's sacramental sign Above the paths of art. Her life was love's full ministry, A wealth of prayer and service strong; In bonds to her, by Love's decree, I sing this triumph song. CONTENTS I. Prelude: Invocation to Nature PAGB I II. Happy Colour! . 3 III. O Wonderous Chlorophyl! . 6 IV. The Call of the Chloroplast 8 V. A Perfect Day IO VI. The Cry of the Chlorophyl . 16 VII. Apostrophe to Light 18 VIII. The Joy of the Leaves 35 IX. With the Soul of Nature 38 X. The Quickening of Man 40 XI. Interlude: Invocation to thi Soul .... i 44 XII. Apostrophe to Love 49 XIII. The Spirit's Chlorophyl 67 XIV. The Call of the Earth 70 XV. Hymn to the Sacrificial Heart 73 XVI. The Opened Blue 75 VI CONTENTS PAGE XVII. The Ethereal Spending 77 XVIII. The Great Ascension . 80 XIX. Love's Diffusing . 88 XX. Redemption's Revealings 9 1 XXI. Interlude: Invocation to thi 5 Poet .... 93 XXII. The Wonder Spell 97 XXIII. The Infinite Weal IOI XXIV. Rose of Paradise i°5 XXV. The Miracle 107 XXVI. The Larger Nature in XXVII. The Great Responding "3 XXVIII. The Infinite Hope 116 XXIX. The Golden Vision 120 XXX. The Larger Man 123 XXXI. Reclamation "5 XXXII. Reconstruction . 127 XXXIII. The Infinite Cheer 129 XXXIV. The Larger World 133 CONTENTS VU PAGE XXXV. The Infinite Trust . . .136 XXXVI. The Dream's Fulfilment . . 139 XXXVII. The Chant Triumphal . . 141 XXXVIII. Postlude: The Song Unending . 145 I. PRELUDE: INVOCATION TO NATURE. S~\ NATURE ! whoso bows before thy shrines Kneels at innumerous altars, mystic signs Of Deity, minute as they are vast, And vast as thou, since each in thee holds fast. Thou art expression of th' Eternal Will, Revealment of Life's cycles that fulfil Through Light and Love God's Dream of Destiny Redemptional for earth and air and sea And man, the paramount, to whom belongs The birthright governance of cosmic throngs, The earth-right fealty to Wisdom's streams Of potence wheresoe'er creation teems. 2 PRELUDE : INVOCATION TO NATURE Inclusive bloom and star and wonders all Feel the deep interchanges of that thrall 'Neath which the skies are opened and earth's space Throbs with the ranks of Heaven's descending grace. So may I hope, upon thy mediate stairs, To hear some strain thy harmony declares, To feel some touch of trailing robe and wing, To breathe the flame of some near ravishing, And learn to chant the symbols and the tropes Thou giv'st the poet as he upward gropes. II. O HAPPY COLOUR! /-^OD keeps not His loved livery from the earth, But lavishly and mystically robes Her form, as though she were a million globes, With one great glory at the Spring's new birth. Green is God's choicest colour. What voice sings Its amplitude of beauty? Everywhere It spreads upon the earth its sorcerings. If 't were not God's elect would Nature wear Such mantling in wide acreage? Each tint Beside it is but as a painted sphere In virid firmament, a bright imprint Of variance that makes the green more dear. 4 o happy colour! O happy colour hueing hill and vale! Thy bright return I hail. Thou art the ground of Nature's garniture Of beauty softly pure And figuring evolvements of high aim O'er earth's illumined frame. Thou art the blazonry of verdurous slope, Spring's mantling robe of hope. Thou art the broidery of opening leaf, Spring's silencer of grief. Thou art delight's refreshing recompense For each desiring sense. The weary eye and troubled heart find rest When thou art manifest. The robins love thee and the apple blooms Share with thee Spring's perfumes. Thou generous art to every bird and beast And Nature's lover-priest. o happy colour! 5 Thou stayest kindly through the afterglow While roses come and go. When asters fail and fades the goldenrod, Thou art for Love and God. Thou art the subtle symbol of God's grace That covers every place The heart counts bare with delicate tenderness Unchanging with the stress Of season-tides, — unchanging Love's embrace. happy colour, sacred mystery! 1 lilt on lowly knee Bewildered over thee and all thou art. Deep-drinking at the Springtime's brimming well I worship Nature's Lord invisible And scourge my faltering heart. III. O WONDROUS CHLOROPHYL! r\ WONDROUS Chlorophyll I sink my thought and will Down deep into the Spring With anxious questioning, To know the heart of thee And Nature's wizardry. God doth not all unfold, O soul! Else thou might 'st tire of lore. The whole He limits with the farthest rim Of space. Not e'en the seraphim 6 O WONDROUS CHLOROPHYL ! Have vision thou desirest. Thou "With them must grow from now to now, Behold the present after toil, The future endlessly uncoil. IV. THE CALL OF THE CHLOROPLAST. "HP WAS music known by the inner sense,- The poet's ear, — that, hearkening, Heard Life's mysterious conference And Nature's voices ring. The hiding Chloroplast Called loud to the Chlorophyll — " The storage of suns thou hast, Give, give, for the good o'er the ill! The morning is come, be swift, Drink light, give might, for the lift That comes with the dawn to the world THE CALL OF THE CHLOROPLAST And every leaf unfurled; For I and mankind must work; A curse on the leaves that shirk! The morning is come ; the burgeoning earth Awaits thine essential worth; Acknowledge, O leaves, the effulgent power! Absorb the ethereal dower! Break, foliage, multiple spears of death ! Send forth the rejuvenant breath ! The hymns of the hills and vales ascend ; The sheep and the oxen blend Their chants with the thrushes' roundelay, With echoing tramp of perfumed feet And Beauty's carolings wild and sweet, Fair usherers of the day. This day must enter with gleam and song Where perfect days belong." V. A PERFECT DAY. A PERFECT day! 'Tis Nature's crowning feature, — Th' appointed goal Of sense and soul, The opulent joyousness of every creature; The miracle time, the top of the Spring, With mystical moods Of meadows and woods And all the earth awake and awing; The summery edge of the fledgling year, With sorcerous spell Of brooklet and dell And magical musk of mountain and mere, IO A PERFECT DAY II With wizardry winds of the sumptuous South, Freed secrets and sweets, And tumult that greets Enravishing kisses at amorous mouth. A perfect day ! 'T is Nature at one With Love's full measure, With God's good pleasure And deep content at descent of the sun. 'T is wrought in the innermost sphere of graces, The wisdom-weavings Of soul-achievings And Nature's instinctive diapases. 'T is in the mind that has holy dreaming, — The mind that sees What God decrees, Love's realised redeeming. 12 A PERFECT DAY 'T is in the heart that creates all beauty,- The heart that shows What God bestows, Love's paths of sovran duty. 'T is in the will that fashions action, — ■ The will that dares What God declares, Love's deeds of benefaction. A perfect day! 'T is in commutual bliss Of sense and soul that lilt high loyalties To rapt revealings of Nature's heart, Immediate feelings the skies impart ; Surrendering sense that has felt the touch Compelling more out of Nature's much; Controlling soul that has paid the price For th' opened heavens by sacrifice. A PERFECT DAY 13 'T is in Love's service from hour to hour And Love's rewards God seals as power. The outer is hued by the inner frame, The splendour of spirit's psychic flame; The outer world has its colouring As th' inner mind doth plain or sing; The perfect heart makes the perfect day, The heart of a child in man's array. The glory of Nature rejoices not The eye or ear that has selfdom's blot. The self that for others is truly lost Is truly saved, — this is rapture's cost; The perfect day is the day laid waste In placing a life where God's thought placed 14 A PERFECT DAY All lives when His vast Creatorhood Established the world and pronounced it good. What God called good the best becomes Through sacrificial millenniums; Man fashions God's superlatives By what co-operant service gives, And as God's imaged complement Works Nature's laborous ascent, Until upon Time's ancient peaks Shines the perfection Wisdom seeks, The Good's increasing gatherings From Life's unceasing round of things. O perfect day! from the heights apart Foretastes of thee rejoice the heart ; — A PERFECT DAY 1 5 The subtle breathings of occult winds, The sweet includings of brooding minds, Familiars of Joy whose sinews strove To fashion the raiment the white seers wove In vision for kings and anointed ones Whose halls are built in the central suns Where Love holds court and His sway supreme Makes real the soul's ideal dream. VI. THE CRY OF THE CHLOROPHYL. HPHE poet heard as the Chlorophyl Cried "Hail!" to the rising sun. The poet felt the descending thrill And wavelets of splendour run. Each tiny grain was an emerald cup That drank the radiance up, A chalice abrim with sorcerous wine, — Elixir of morning's shine. The poet felt the light as it swayed The green of the mead and glade; He sensed the invisible streams of health, The firmament's vital wealth, 16 THE CRY OF THE CHLOROPHYL 1 7 The joy of the earth, the rapture tide Of Nature revivified. His being throbbed with the passionate flood Of life in his burgeoning blood; He leaped with the springing things of the morn And sang as the day was born: — " Rejoice, for the Lord of the skies is come And Life is too glad to be dumb ! Hail, Light of the world, the Master and King Of Nature's recovering!" VII. APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT. T I AIL, light of the world, pure life to earth I What poet may sing thy worth ? Bewildering transcendence of flame! What seer may translate thy name? Hail, rhythmical glory, defying rime On either side of time ! Thou wert — how long? — ere the Deity Began His exploits through thee. Thou wert — how long? — ere the primal star Prefigured Love's calendar. Thou wert — how long? — ere the firstling clay Commenced its ascension way. 18 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 1 9 Thou wert the vesture the prophets limn Of mystical cherubim; Thou wert the raiment of seraph files That trod Edenic aisles ; Thou yet remainest what Fealty wears Down Love's Bethelian stairs ; Thou shalt be ever redemptive dress Of Wisdom's diffusedness, For sake of the Dream creation holds And Power through Love unfolds. Thou wert the trail of the Sovran Word When first was registered The Infinite Love on the orbless space, And God's unbosomed grace Turned flowings of unbeginning fire To Nature's spheric quire, — 20 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT The morning stars and the sons of morn,- For sake of the world first-born, For sake of the Love that knows no rest Save in the Dream's acquest. Hail light, ineffable energy! God's life is thy source since He Spake forth and forth thou didst open in space, Far-straining Love's wide embrace. "Let there be light!" and the light did spring To cosmic adventuring. " Let there be light! " and the dark became Creation's luminous frame. O life of the Word ! thou didst break and brood A firmament's multitude Of suns and gyrings of fiery force O'er Nature's disturbed course, APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 21 Reforming chaos, arresting wreck, And giving rebellion check, — Rebellion that turned white spirits to black And started the welkin's wrack. Bright swallower of the dark ! thy power Transmutes its co-operant dower. Thou hidest the dark in thyself ; the murk Thou forcest unto thy work ; Entomber of gloom in thy glory! thy need Is darkness, thy chariot and steed. Ethereous substance for light's display, Light's undulant highway, The darkness — Nature apart from light — The means for the Infinite Might To manifest the Infinite Will And Infinite Thought fulfil! 22 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT The darkness ! Nature constrained to be The subtle capacity Of matter for Spirit's outpouring flood Of glory achieving good. What sheer defeat unto Love's high hope Without the dark for its scope ! Ethereal effluence, swift and sure, Electrically pure! Thou art the undefiled, and as well The undeniable. Thou racest with multiple feet and wings, For holy embellishings, O'er waving elastical waste unseen Whose energies intervene 'Twixt clod and sun, an etheric sphere Infilling each vibrant here. APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 23 Across the dark thou dost speed and spread; Thou openest heart and head Of life and potence ; thou bringest out The features and forms devout Of secret fantasies, shapes ideal Of Beauty to Wisdom leal. O light of the world, enfreedomed power! How rich is thy daily dower, The crown and robe and the signet ring Of Nature's creative King — Of Nature that knows no shame, — Desire That feels high God as Sire, And hides not, mounting the morning peaks, Displaying roseate cheeks And eyes resplendent with passion's gleams, The mirrors of Love's high dreams, 24 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT And joins Delight's matutine hymn 'Mid quiring seraphim, Safe-guarding o'erwhelming plentitude Of Wisdom's conclusive good! O light, thou art of the heart of the sun! Apocalypses run To north, to south, to east, to west, From out his eager breast, Fire-sandalled, flashing in vibrant flame Life's supernatural frame. White-sworded annihilator of Night, Creator of Dawn's foresight, The finisher of nocturnal needs, The starter of matin deeds ! APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 25 Thou art beginning of Good's display, Whose other name is Day, — Day for th' awakening eyes and ears That greet Love's atmospheres; Day for the bending sinew tense To hurl back reverence Into the vast abysm of power As Love bursts into flower; Day for th' ecstatic bloom and bliss Of Life's high prophecies; Day for the deed that fulfils the dream And thrones the Good supreme. Hail Light, and Day, and the Dream that lies Against the whitening skies! O light of the world, rich giver of good? All hail to thy bountihood! 26 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT Thou offerest freely and askest not, — Empyreal patriot! All men and things are of worth to thee, Bestower of liberty ! Thou shinest alike on rich and poor With stintless unwasting store; Thy touch is the same on hill and vale, On sparrow or nightingale ; Thou blessest, as God, the best, the worst, And knowest no last or first. Thou fallest on snowy pinnacles, Outflinging magic spells From peak unto peak, fast reddenings Of morning's underwings. Thou changest gorges from black to blue, Far-flaunting thy variant hue APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 2j Upon th' illimitable pines, Where Nature's occult shrines Unveil into golden sanctity Beside an emerald sea. Imperial, immaterial white! All colours in thee unite. Imponderable composite sheen! All colours through thee are seen. Thou fallest upon responsive plains Bestowing thy prismy rains; Thou givest glory to barrenness, And weavest earth's royal dress In meadowy tincts, in orchard dyes, In garden tapestries, In irised blossoming fulness spread For Fantasy's soft tread. 28 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT The rose's crimson is gift from thee; Commutual dignity- She feels with the purple violet And greensward's larger debt. Thou wooest the vintage from the earth ; Thou givest the forest birth; Thou shinest, piercing the heart of clay, And sendest on skyward way Th' imprisoned seeds of miracle Awaiting burgeoning spell. Thou fallest upon the ocean, Whose billows wild and wan, Escaped from the Night's enthralling frame, Awake into foam of flame. Thyself art an ocean of radiance Round Nature's isled expanse. APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 29 Thou mantlest rhythmic gulf and crest And liltingly lingerest O'er yeasty exaltations, — trysts For troth of the fogs and mists, — Blue mists for the dawn's unveiling grace, Mauve fogs for the dusk's embrace. Thou flashest into the glamorous brine Where purpling fathoms shrine Enchained riches of imagery Till there shall be no more sea. Ascension bringer of luminous change To destiny's forward range! Thou makest whate'er thou touchest teem With altitudinal gleam; Thou paintest with flame cathedral panes And goldenest altar fanes; 30 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT Thou crownest the city's towers and spires With Heaven-suggesting fires; Thou spreadest the streets with garniture Of cheer's transfiguring lure ; Thou gladdenest the toiler's heart Assuaging labour's smart With mystical sense of a holy care, A feeling the skies declare, — Like light, an impassioned paradigm, — Like love, an illumined rime. Invincible master of earth and skies! The vision of thee descries The breathing that turns despair to joy, Bequeathing that burns accloy. Hail, light of the world, life-giving light! Thou art Love's proselyte APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 3 1 Of every essence electrical That hides 'neath Nature's thrall. Thou art cherubical covering, Anointed breast and wing, Low-sweeping over earth's farthest edge, High maker of privilege, God's aeriest brooding of motherhood, Unfolding enfolding good. Thou art th' empyreal livery Of Love who dwells in thee. Thou art the vestment Love ventures by Creation to justify. Thou art the armour Love battles in Against the hordes of sin. Thou art the garment Love leaps into To fashion earth anew. 32 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT Life's pure beatitude ! quickening earth, Hard-straining to give re-birth To every creature, illuming death, Sure-proving what Wisdom saith: — " Death serveth for Life, and all life comes Through Love's millenniums Back out of failure into success, From sin unto holiness, Back into Eden and Nature's joy, Back to the supreme employ Of nerve and sinew and yearning soul For sake of predestined goal." Effulgent gift of the Life Divine! Regeneration's sign; Ecstatic essence of grace outpoured From Love's eternal hoard, APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT 33 Through Nature's core and circumference The Trinal Power's expense; A vitalising compulsiveness ; A psychical impress; An entering of an aura sweet; A penetrating heat; A breathing of tenderness circlewise 'Gainst inner ears and eyes; A lingering sense of the Eucharist, Whose ravishings persist In mystical moods of soul and flesh That ope the heavens afresh. O Light of the world, O Life Divine! Forever thy glories shine, The features of Love emparadised, The Face of the conquering Christ. 34 APOSTROPHE TO LIGHT The beat of our hearts and His are one; The endless joy is begun; We walk in the stream of Thy ecstasy; Our spirits are filled with Thee, O Light that art Love and Life from the soul's unsetting Sun! VIII. THE JOY OF THE LEAVES. 'T'HE poet heard the rustle of leaves Caught up into windy snares; The poet saw the wizard that weaves The intricate music and swears Hymned oaths to the furthest ecstatic sum Of joys unto which the ages come. The dictatorial leaves cried out Ahungered. The poet turned about Devotional, leal worshipper Of Nature and God's ideals of her. 30 THE JOY OF THE LEAVES A shadow fell from his eyes like a veil; An arrowy rhythm pierced his ears ; He visioned the Spring's illumined trail; He heard what is only vouchsafed to seers, - The plasmic music, — and, underneath, The passionate troll of the soul of things, The love that uses the earth as a sheath, The life of love that unceasing sings; He listened, as only the poet lists; He saw, as only the poet sees, The leaves, creation's philanthropists, Achieving their ministrant chemistries; The joy of the leaves, absorbing death And lavishing life for the world-wide breath. He heard the laughter of foliage, The lilting of Nature's increasing wage, THE JOY OF THE LEAVES T>7 The frolic of hope that ascends from doom, The dancing delight of the whitening bloom; He sensed the throb in the robin's throat, The pulse in the brooklet's rippling rote, The ends of the world in mystic swing, The azureward surge of earth's burgeoning; Within his heart and about his feet He felt the wakening wild and sweet, A sorcerous aura the sun sets free, Th' adjusting goodness of Deity. IX. WITH THE SOUL OF NATURE. HPHE poet beheld the awakening spread, - Light vanquishing Night and Death, And Life o'ercoming as flame that is fed With morning's hurricane breath. The poet's soul was one with the soul of Nature, And sang the rejuvenant song of e very- creature, — The song of the earth and air and sea, The song of the quadruple mystery, — Cherubical eagle and ox and lion And man, the Almighty's dominion scion, WITH THE SOUL OF NATURE 39 And Love that is Light and is universal, And Light that is Power for Love's rehearsal; The vision of seer on bardic tongue, The gleam of the Dream extending ; The rime of the climb of the ageless young, And grace for the race expending. Awake, soul, for the earth is new! Arise, O soul, for Delight's review! Join Beauty's and Joy's recoverings! And list, while the poet soothly sings Of the bursting sod, Of the Heart of God, And what lies 'twixt of miracle things! X. THE QUICKENING OF MAN. T^HE poet beheld the face Of man and his quickened gait, Clear eyes, red lips, and the trace Of blither scorning of fate. Man leaped, he ran, he strove With deeps, through the mountains clove. He dug the gold from the hills ; He covered the vales with wheat; 'Mid myriad marts and mills He set his unwearied feet; The seas buoyed his chariots Commanding with battle shots. 40 THE QUICKENING OF MAN 4 1 He circled the globe about With spindle and wheel and shaft, With industry's surge and shout, With benison-laden craft, His lore, his law, his song, His faith that o'erthrows the wrong. Ethereal wine! Thou art The gift of the chlorophyl; Ideal ! Thy lower heart Is turned to the higher will, — The man for the world entire, The man with the spade and lyre. Ethereal wine ! Thou hast The lift of the rhythmic sphere; Ideal! Thou art forecast Of Liberty's pioneer, — 42 THE QUICKENING OF MAN The man for the race of men; The man with the sword and pen. The man for the world with lyre and spade; The man for the race with pen and sword; The man for the world where the Hope is laid; The man for the race where the Dream is stored; The eagle man, with the sun-turned eyes ; The lion man, with the eyes of flame; The king of the world, whose high emprise Beats strong in his heart and God's the same, With passion that dares, like encroaching fire Enwrapping the iron with tongues white-hot, The dross for its loss in the cindering pyre, The steel for its weal in the furnace got; The man of the world 'mid the world's increase, Prepared for battle but courting peace, THE QUICKENING OF MAN 43 Evangel of good but clad in mail And floating the truth's dominion sail; The tyrant to wrong, the slave to right, The herald elect of Love and Light; The man of the race, the seer who waits The open waters beyond the straits ; "Who trusts his vision though lights burn low, Remembering God works deep and slow; Who senses the rhythms of destiny Blow into his soul from an unseen sea. The man who shall get control of the world And lay it, a great submissive thing, Low at Christ's feet, with the war flags furled And love o'erfiowing as from a spring Set deep in the heart of eternal hills, An inexhaustible life that fills The soul of the race with an endless peace And brotherhood's holy harmonies. XL INTERLUDE: INVOCATION TO THE SOUL. f~^* OD keeps not His loved livery from the soul, But lavishly and mystically robes Her form as though she were a million globes With one vast glory working blessed goal. O soul, the world of Nature's benison! Thou art God's spiritual sphere whereon He, Artist limitless in high designs And broad fulfilments, delicately lines Eternal wisdom, truth, each brilliant hue Of His enduring grace the ages through. 44 INVOCATION TO THE SOUL 45 O countless souls of centuries past, to be ! Phenomena of the Great Trinity! Creations of the Uncreated Word ! A part of God's revealings seen and heard ! Ye are His spiritual orbs of light Afloat in oceans of His holy might, The morning stars that Love's adventure sing, The sons of God that shout Love's wayfaring. O soul! how may the poet sing of thee, The praise of God and Love's great mystery? The souls of others knows he by his own. When Love flashed light across his heart and shone A sun upon his dark, he felt sweet power Rise in him, into shoot and leaf and flower, And all his inner world went verduring, 46 INVOCATION TO THE SOUL And all his outer world was one great Spring, — Blue sky, green earth, bird song, south wind, and all Life's festal robes and voices 'neath the thrall Of Love that makes all beauty, all delight, Of Love through which the soul and earth unite. O soul! thou art of God, thou subtlest grace Of Trinal life and goodness, earthly trace Of the invisible Creatorhood, That Heavenly whose unseen yearnings brood To bless the earthly with high mothering! From the Eternal Spirit thou didst spring His rounded glory's full-orbed miniature, For thought, for love, for power forth from the Pure To work the pure and fill th' egregious dark INVOCATION TO THE SOUL 47 With holy scintillations spark by spark Outflung until the populous earth should move With God's unnumbered living forms of love. How may e'en wisest poet sing of thee, Beholding thine unfolding destiny? Within thyself, O soul! th' Eternal dwells And works, as thou dost choose, immediate spells. He brings thee odours from sky bowers afar On winds of inspiration. Wings that are The veils and chariots of seraphim He folds about thee. Rapture's choral hymn, That floods celestial spaces with high bliss, He opes thine ears to hear. And the sweet kiss Of Love that holds the heavens against eclipse Falls an ecstatic fire upon thy lips; 48 INVOCATION TO THE SOUL And thou dost see th' unfading robe of Spring And that great Summer, where the roses swing Unceasing censers of delight, where broods Of minstrels sweet lose not their fluting moods, Where dancing feet ne'er tire, where every veil Lies fallen like a rainbow in the trail Of Love's complete revealment, where the thrall Of one great Essence whist and mystical Prevails with rhythmic surgings of strange power; Where every instinct bursts to full-blown flower, And every thought transmutes to instant might, And life is music and desire delight, While one white glory of one storied Face, Streaming with Love's supreme and strenuous grace, Triumphantly enfolds th' unfolding race XII APOSTROPHE TO LOVE. 1 AIL Love that didst exist ere Nature came ! Thou wert God's very essence, form and name. In Him Thou movedst while He moved through Thee; Thou mad'st Him the Eternal Trinity; In Thee Himself He saw and recognised Th' eternal vision of th' Eternal Christ, And in His Twain conjoined His Holy Third, — Godhood complete through Spirit and through Word,— For light's creation, for life's permeant flow 4 49 50 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE Of circumambient grace, creation's show Of glory through the constant opening Of Deity in Nature's every spring. Hail Love, preceder of prevailing light! Thou wert ere light began its mission bright. In God was life, — life that was light divine; In God was love, — love that was seal and sign Of Being Infinite, since Spirit that sees Itself exist beholds through mysteries Of Love alone the Love that holds large eye And mirror large for sight, impels the cry Of recognition and high movement wakes, The primal light and light's prime motion makes, — Love's birthless cycle, — Love that first begets, Rounds into Trinal vision, then besets APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 51 The universal emptiness with forms, Deific miniatures, sidereal swarms To suns evolving, and at last, perchance, The highest frame of Nature's long advance, That other, that ethereal earthly son, Th' elect of Love, for wide dominion, Begot, create, union of soul and clay, Coeval with creation's final day. Hail Love, Thou Life of God! Thou art the Will That moves the universe. Thy motions fill All space with goodness ; Thou hast only good For all creation; every creaturehood Springs forth from God in Love's illumined sea Of goodness, whose sweet perpetuity Is God's pervasive trace for life's employ, Is God's persuasive grace for Nature's joy. 52 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE Hail Love, Thou watcher at the timeless springs Of Being! Thou art farthest compassings Of governance that holds what God has wrought In wisdom, power and ever-varying thought, Adjusting King to kingdom, wheresoe'er Th' enlarging acreage is. From sphere to sphere Thou art beginning and continuance Of beauty, wonder, — the divine romance That starts ethereous music and conducts The eons into rapturous usufructs Of Nature's constant and benefic stream Of good, forever working out th' Eternal Dream. Th' achieving of the Dream, th' omnific beat Of God's engaged love, the cadence sweet That falls across the lure-ways of the moon, Betrays the presence of the morning's shoon APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 53 And that wild summer breath of fragrant winds Touching seolian rose-harps, softly binds The garden glamour and th' enamoured heart In measures of th' Eternal Love's mellifluous art. Through Love the world's beginning and its end Into the universal newness blend, — That newness got by travails numberless Through sin and death and fearsome judgment stress, The rockings of the cosmic fundaments, The moanings of seraphical dissents, The broken heart of Heaven, the emptying Of power, bared back and breast to every sting And breakage of the fire and iron of lust, By sin-bearing, by Cross and spiked thrust, Black horror, the lost Face of God, and Hands 54 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE Of Holiness outflinging to the brands Of burning retribution one pure Soul Vicarious for sake of Love's far goal, — That newness got by one great triumph-dower Of life divine and life's ascension power, — That newness got by conflagration strange, And the sea's passing, and descensive range Of the great Mystic City, and its King Appropriating Love's recovering, Sorrow eliminate, th' accomplished best And all the past a sacred palimpsest With God's fresh uncials writ for tearless eyes, Revealment of victorious emprise, — Th' emprise of Love that works the Dream's decree For which as spoils hard-won on Calvary Fair mansions rise within an Eden new For souls renewed and whom the heavens endue. APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 55 There is a sensive substance in the soul Which the flame-swordsmen of the heavens patrol For sake of God's great Dream. Eternal Love Can never know defeat, leading above The forces of the world His legions strong, Whose triumphs make the heart of all great song. Oh, happy is the poet who may sing Of Love's adventuring, And tell the story how He came to earth And of His wondrous birth; And how the pageant stars with new delight Went marching through the night; And how the earth awoke from centuried sleep Hearing the music sweep 56 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE From orb to orb in sweet antiphonals Past Nature's farthest walls ; And how the Face of God wore a new sheen Which ne'er before was seen, — The glory of the vision of the spheres, Love's perfect circuiteers; And how angelic hosts were singing flames White-heaten by the aims Of sharing in the gladness of the world, When Love His wings unfurled. Oh, happy is the poet who may sing Love's later venturing, And tell the story how He came to earth, And of His lowly birth, — Bewildering emptying of kingliness, The dazzling regnant dress APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 57 For the dark raimenting of servitude, Garden for desert rood And its one tree grown out of Nature's pain For Love's vicarious stain. Oh, happy is the poet who may sing Of Love's recovering, Love's emphasised dominion over death, Life's resurrection breath, And the re- robing up ascension ways With triumph's high displays, — Enthronement, coronation, life's new stream Of potence for God's Dream. O Love ! Thou Life of God invisible But working visioned spell, 58 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE Diffused in instinct and each subtle mood Of Nature's spirithood, Commingling sky and earth with soul and sense In one great reverence For God and man, and that benefic end Toward which all forces blend. O love! Thou dost create continually, Setting Thy glories free To wander, life's ethereal essences Whose every touch doth bless, From centre to circumference of the earth, Bringing to holy birth Each daily gladness and ingathering Beholden hosts awing Around the pierced feet of One whose throne Is Love's eternal own. APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 59 mystic Love that makest all things new! 1 hunt Thee to the blue; I quest Thee to the centre of the globe; I follow Thy fair robe Upon the mountain- tops, across the vales; I seek Thee in the trails Of morning's aery wings, and in the boon Of eve's ethereal shoon; I search for Thee where bees find provender, Where honeysuckles stir The faery ruby-throat's mysterious wheels And where the dewdrop steals The filmy moonflower's white and chaliced heart Beneath the starlight's dart. I seek Thee where the eyes of troth and tryst Find Nature's alchemist, While every cloud is set in morning's gold, And desert ways unfold 60 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE To garden glamours of the full-blown rose And thrushes' overflows. mystic Love that weavest every song! 1 seek Thee in the throng That crowds the city's streets, and hear the strain Of gladness and of pain, The lyrics and the dramas of mankind Commingling in the wind Of circumstance, where Thou dost subtly hide, Heaven's earth-sent unseen guide. Thou visitest the city's tenement; Thy glory is forspent Upon the hungered, sick, a light uplift Against the dark and drift. Thou enterest the lonely prison cell; Thou work'st sweet miracle APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 6 1 Upon the hardened heart, distorted mind And eyes to goodness blind. Thou gatherest the orphaned multitudes; Thy tender nature broods O'er God's selectest wards, — Thine oversight His Fatherhood's delight. Thou strewest roses upon iron beds; Thou crownest barren heads With fillets of the flowers of sympathy; At delicate hands of Thee Water from childhood's storied well is brought To lips with age o'erwrought; Thou puttest shoulder unto every cross ; Thou findest 'mid the dross The gold that gives despairing struggle worth ; Thou bringest unto birth High yearning waiting for its natal day From out abysmal clay; 62 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE Thou sittest by the side of sorrow's heirs; Thy tender face 'gainst theirs; Thou provest Heaven's o'ershadowing of saints, Whose life Thy joyance paints, Whose ministry unbroken oft intrudes On Faith's superior moods, And souls, not knowing space, through Love discern The souls for which they yearn And that great Lord of Love whose endless glory is His body's indestructible commutal bliss. O mystic Love that joinest hearts and lips In nuptial comradeships Moving about the world from rim to rim Like stately seraphim! APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 63 Thou buildest marriage altars into stairs That reach celestial airs, Whence troops angelical do oft descend And with earth's spousals blend. Thou finest Nature's cup with holy wine ; Thou fartherest joy's confine Beyond the white horizons of the sea Of deathless destiny; Thou limnest visions of sweet lastingness And ecstasy's access Into the house of many households kept For those who once have wept But in the great reunion weep no more, Having life's perfect store. O mystic Love! life's every plain and path Thy subtle glory hath. 64 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE I hunt Thee on the battle-fields of shame Amid the cannon's flame, And in the thunder of its belching throat I list for Thy sweet note; Beside the pilots on sea-ploughing ships I seek apocalypse; Upon the steaming chargers of the rail Thy forward form I hail; Down in the ebon bowels of the mine Thy whiteness I divine; On every lifted stone against the sky Thy presence I descry; Beside the grave of buried hopes Thou art God's prophet to the heart; And at the minster's incensed altar stair I find Thee strength for prayer. O mystic Love! O passionate Paraclete! Thine aery wings and feet, APOSTROPHE TO LOVE 65 Thy hands electrical, Thy dulcet tongue, Are vast diffusions sprung From Christ th' Invisible to fill the spheres And the ascension years With subtle sweetness, — neither song nor scent, But one high sacrament That makes the underdeeps of being rise And show forth Paradise Essential at th' unblighted heart of things Of which the poet sings. O mystic Love! I seek Thee not in vain; All things are in Thy train ; The poet's eyes, unholden as his heart, Discern Thee as Thou art; Oh may I sing a mediate canticle Of Love's immediate spell! 66 APOSTROPHE TO LOVE And as my swelling heart Thy presence sees And feels Thy mysteries, May faltering song in some faint rime rehearse The inner universe. XIII. THE SPIRIT'S CHLOROPHYL. OVE is the colour of the soul; Love is the spirit's chlorophyl; It has its secret source and goal In Heaven's deep-working will. Not e'en the starry poet knows The bands of Love's irradiate thrall; Each other spectrum clearly shows; But Love's is mystical. God hides within divinest things, And guards His secrets jealously, — The most in Love; — so he who sings Of Love sings never free, 67 68 the spirit's chlorophyl But, ever swayed by some occult Strong sweetness, fine as breath that turns A feather's course, perceives result To every sense that yearns, — Th' infilling of descending light, — Knows Love as Power for Life's reclaim, More gentle than a marriage rite, Imperious as flame. The poet hides likewise within The covert fane of Love, in touch With that deep Grace he feels begin And shape impulsion such As makes for Spring, — for bloom, for song, And benedictions of the wind, The robins, roses, music strong Of the immediate mind. THE SPIRIT'S CHLOROPHYL 69 Love works as works the chlorophyl, Absorbing life from light divine ; So comes the glory of God's will Upon the spirit's shrine. XIV. THE CALL OF THE EARTH. TPHE poet felt in the shrine The song-breath of Grace proclaim For seership, an aura of wine, An incense of flame. He heard in the holy deep The breath-song of Grace aspire For arthood, a dream out of sleep, An echo of fire. He heard as Earth called to the Sky, — "Descend thou, Spirit, descend!" He felt pinions open and fly, The firmament tremble and bend. 7o THE CALL OF THE EARTH 71 Each cloud was a shining zone By winds of the morning blown In cycles of glory that wheeled, Fire infilling fire unsealed. Stars shouted to planets; each moon For gladness of God was aswoon; For hope of the larger world All banners of space unfurled ; The skies were laden with wings That bore Heaven's venturings; A sweetness fell earthward and pressed Its spell upon Nature's breast ; The earth felt the magical tide, The joyance that vivified; And spirit knew spirit, and life Bent buoyant beneath the strife Of Light for the promised hour, Of Love for the perfect flower. 72 THE CALL OF THE EARTH "When thou, poet ! hast a finer frame Through which th' evasive flame Thou feelest, and the subtle surge of song Thou hearest, may prolong Light, music, so that thou may'st safely bear The spirit's mountain air, Then shalt thou sing the Love that fills the world, The storms of rapture whirled In universal consonance around The spheres to farthest bound, And one great Sacrificial Heart forever crowned. XV. HYMN TO THE SACRIFICIAL HEART. /~\ SACRIFICIAL Heart! Help Thou my heart to sing The gift of Love Thou dost impart, The blessing Love doth bring. All Nature wakes to Thee In one thanksgiving strain ; She feels the holy mystery, The rapture after pain. I may not understand, So dull of sense am I ; But as my powers Thou dost expand Thy grace I glorify. 73 74 HYMN TO THE SACRIFICIAL HEART O Saviour of mankind, Remaker of earth's frame, Blow through me with Thy rushing wind, Crown with Thy tongues of flame ! XVI. THE OPENED BLUE. QOMEHOW is opened the farther Blue That circles the inner life of God ; Somehow a rapture pierces through The shaken veil, the broken clod, And all the earth is heavenly-new; While nothing e'er grows old again, And every fang is drawn from Pain. How sweet is the opened farther Blue That circles the spirit's inner sway! How sweet is the rapture that pierces through The vanishing veil, the transforming clay, 75 76 THE OPENED BLUE And all the earth is heavenly-new! While Life ne'er loses its morning spell, And Pain is ever Love's miracle. O holy sweets of the opened Blue That circles the spirit's present moods! O holy rapture that pierces through The flesh with countless beatitudes, And all the earth is heavenly-new! While Pain and Blessing together run, And those once Love's are forever one. XVII. THE ETHEREAL SPENDING. I SEE the skyey openings, I subtly feel my soul ascending, Caught up by some ethereal spending, The lift of Love's unvisioned wings. The atmosphere is crystalline; I sight afar the Mystic City Beyond th' unwearying wards of Pity, Where Love's commanding holies shine. The heavens and earth are strangely one; I go and come, the way is aery; While every fear and every query Is hushed in Love's communion. 77 •jS THE ETHEREAL SPENDING I view a Presence settling down, An overshadowing of glory, The grace of Love confirmatory Of troth and tryst for cross and crown. I hear the rustling of a Dove; I sense the Spirit's tender brooding, And God's embosomed Peace including My spirit 'neath the breast of Love. The heavens have touched the earth at length, Th' immortal with the mortal sharing; Anointing Love goes witness-bearing And girds man's mission with God's strength. I hark a music rolling high In rushing rhythms of inspiration; Love's overflow of exultation Bursting the azure dikes of sky. THE ETHEREAL SPENDING 79 I heed the Blue's Beatitude; I feel my kindred forces waking, Love's oracle of purpose breaking The languor of my wavering mood. The heavens have spoken; earth has heard Avowal of Love's holy rapture ; Flesh is too frail for such high capture, The triumph of th' infilling Word. XVIII. THE GREAT ASCENSION. T^EYOND where fly the birds, where shine the stars, Where live the blessed dead, past Nature's bars And all things creaturely, a realm extends, Which, mystical as vast, none comprehends, Since none hath seen th' Eternal's dwelling- place, His omnipresent glory's higher space, The uncreated Heaven, wherein exist The founts of Love's perpetual Eucharist. All circumambient and limitless It folds with close embrace and sweet caress 80 THE GREAT ASCENSION 51 The thrones of Deity, the lowliest seats Of slaved clay. Ubiquitous it beats With the great pulsings of Infinitude Through space, time, matter, spirit's every rood And every circumstance. Its presence fills Each pore etheric. Every atom thrills With power imponderable, subtle spring Of delicate tenderness, th' unbroken swing Of universal rhythms, soft thundery Of rapture heard by senses fine and free, Th' above and under of creation's base, The resting of the spheres' unresting race. O poet, overbold! Hide low thy face in dust! Thy fleshly eyes can never hold What God bestows in trust, Whose mysteries unfold. 82 THE GREAT ASCENSION Close ears, inspired seer, To earth's accustomed sound! Sink soul into the atmosphere That wraps creation round, And note what thou may'st hear ! Thy spirit slips from thee, Lost to thyself and earth; It swims, it soars, through ecstasy Which ne'er hath known a birth,- Source of all joys that be. O mortal, vanished quite Beyond the creature veil! Strain thou for the empyreal height, See Love's ascension trail, List to the singing Light I THE GREAT ASCENSION 83 Light sings to Love, and Love irradiant Responds to Light, and all the heavenlies chant Antiphonals of exultation. Sky- Greets earth with holy wonders. One vast cry Of serried rapture rises. Wheels on wheels Of glory haste, and welcoming music peals From multitudinous turnings. Clouds more bright With dazzlement than sun or star unite In swirls ecstatical of mortal shapes, Heaven's wildering immortals, round the capes Of isles ethereous of yet higher forms And whiter in the whitening tide that swarms From every whence to every whither, — all Light's interblending hosts seraphical Rejoicing each to each, o'erloading space With lightning wings, with heaving breasts and grace 84 THE GREAT ASCENSION That bears unvoiced Victory's impress, Dimming galactic belts to nothingness. Light sings to Love, — Love that has fought and won, Love that becomes Itself through Self undone, Love that has plumbed unfathomable deeps, Love that has clomb immeasurable steeps, Love that for Life has counted life but dross, Love that has proved Itself on crimsoned Cross God and God Love, and the Creatorhood No failure, but the source of endless good And endless joyance, God's supreme success, And God's and man's enduring happiness. Light sings to Love up Love's ascension way; White clouds melt into luminous display THE GREAT ASCENSION 85 Of winged embosoming of Love's dear Form; And all the blue is hid by one vast storm Of gladness, touching earth, and far and high Extending through th' illimitable sky. What holy envying of service sweet! What chasing fugues of seraph wings and feet ! Desire in spiral waves ! Delight that soars Imperially aloft and opes the doors From heaven to heaven, startling the eagle's sight, Aweing the constellations' aery flight, Beating back hosts clad in joy's dulcet frames, Immortal with Love's unconsuming flames, Through incensed air, o'er chant and cadent hymn, Past aisles of fiery wing-wrapped cherubim, Through dome resplendent, insufficient And helpless 'gainst o'erpowering event 86 THE GREAT ASCENSION That bursts the unresisting bounds of space, For one long-absent and beloved Face, For one returning and victorious Soul, With Body captured from the earth's control, With vast processions of Love's liege and leal Chained to His chariot's redemption wheel. E'en seraph eye and high cherubic gaze Fall blinded by the wide outbursting blaze Of glory, — yet the straining soul is stirred By the sweet music of a secret word Spoken within the Holy Trinity, Translating into joy of new degree, — By the sweet motion of a bosomed beat Of strange enfolding, and the sudden heat Of such commingling as when fire meets fire In largeness, and unwonted flames aspire, THE GREAT ASCENSION 87 Th' enclasping of t-h' Almighty Sire and Son, And in Their mystical reunion Manhood uplifted unto Godhood's place, Supernal venture of Eternal Grace, One universal basic consequence Of Heaven's great deed to cure Earth's great offence. XIX. LOVE'S DIFFUSING. A MYSTIC heaven is everywhere, Past heavens created, uncreate; Th' initiates chant, " 'T is here, 't is there ; Behold Love's high estate!" No lips may speak what Love bestows; No eyes may see what Faith beholds ; But rapture ravishing rapture grows, And glory's heart unfolds. One entered in past shame and death, Through light and white ascension mist ; The Lost returned,— a Flame, a Breath, The Universalist 88 love's diffusing 89 Of Life and Power, for that He bore To Godhood's bosom manhood ; thence Outward to every sea and shore He poured munificence Diffusing Self from star to clod, Enlarged Life with sign and seal Of God in man, of man in God, For Love's Divine Ideal. O later Christ with greater goal Than resurrection ! Thou dost make Thy Hidden Presence in the soul Beatitudes that take The light that changes into power, The power that changes into life. Thus comes the consummation hour To immemorial strife. 90 LOVES DIFFUSING O Soul that work'st by Love! in Thee Is Life that is the light of men, — Is Power that is God's energy In sons of God, as when The sons of God knew only light, Knew only power as holiness; As when all thought was one requite For Love's supreme impress, — As when the air was pure as wind Driven through white-heaten flame, and sweet As roses when Desire is blind And Faith and Rapture meet. XX. REDEMPTION'S REVEALINGS. /"*\H teach us Thy Fatherhood, Thou God, the Eternal Good! Reveal Thou our sonship divine ! Make love in us image of Thine! Create in us harmony Such as Christ had with Thee ! Then will Thy redemption's revealings In deeps of our thoughts and our feelings Throng forth as strong voices that cry To hosts of the earth and the sky: — "Ye are our brothers, beloveds ! we stop not atsoul ; We hail the consanguined and consonant whole, 91 92 REDEMPTION S REVEALINGS The lamb and the lion that lie together On mountain slopes of a peaceful time, In visions of Love's millennial weather, While all the bells of creation chime Past storm and the fiercer tempest of heart, While feebling clouds from the blue fall forever apart, And earth feels Heaven's miraculous tether. We hail the ineffable holy wonder, The Power that works above and under And realises the great regeneration Through universal Love's diffused vibration And universal rapture's hymnic thunder. XXI. INTERLUDE: INVOCATION TO THE POET. A NEWNESS entered the earth,— The earth that was eons old. Nor seer nor poet has girth Of vision or song to enfold The beauteous Miracle, The Infinite Wonder-spell. What is the newness? T is Love, O soul! Sing poet-seer, sing on ! Sing what the heavens gave thee for dole, Sing thou the Light that shone. 93 94 INVOCATION TO THE POET Thou wilt know God upon Nature's breast; Thou wilt have joy as thou venturest ; Sweet is the song that is Love-possessed. Sing poet-seer, sing on! What is the myst'ry? 'Tis Love, O soul! Sing, poet-seer, sing oh! Sing what the heavens gave thee for goal, Sing thou the Light that won. Thou wilt know Nature through Love divine; Thou wilt have life as thou drink'st Love's wine; Sweet is the song that is Love's true sign. Sing, poet-seer, sing on ! O poet! thou dost essay Where few have e'er made way. INVOCATION TO THE POET 95 Some dared not the white-hot flame For want of the stronger frame Which faith and prayer make strong. Some dared not the mythus song For banners of scorn unfurled By sinners and saints of the world. O poet ! what singest thou ? And who did thee endow To hear what thou dost sing, To feel what thou dost bring? God fashions his poets witnesses Of thronal tropes, — th' unspoken " Yes" To Faith's unfailing endeavouring. "Who falters shall never the heights attain; 96 INVOCATION TO THE POET Who questions shall never the vision gain ; Who trusts and ventures shall hear the strain, — The panting of Light's archangels, The chanting of Love's evangels. Hast thou not doubted ? Then poet, sing ! XXII. THE WONDER SPELL. A NEWNESS entered the earth,- The earth that was eons old ; Nor seer nor poet has girth Of vision or song to enfold The Beauteous Miracle, lhe Infinite Wonder Spell. Th' ascension entrance of flesh and blood Transfigured Creatorhood ; High God got gain out of manhood's loss By way of the lowly Cross ; 7 97 98 THE WONDER SPELL A sympathy forth from the essence of God Descended to every clod; Experience of the passion of pain Commingled itself with the rain; The sense of the sin-wrought burden of grief Invaded each blossom and leaf; Vicarious suffering of death and of doom Sank down into Nature's womb. The rapture of conquering holiness Spread forth in divine caress; Th' enchantment of Life indestructible The earth and the seas befell; The transport of Love's accomplishment With mountain and valley blent ; Th' exalting of manhood to Godhood's throne Restored Nature's vanished own, — THE WONDER SPELL 99 Original Nature, — instinctive mind That soars with the winged wind, That leaps in the splash of the ocean's wave, That lies where the grasses pave Rejuvenant earth with emerald floor, That sings in the multiple score Of Nature's multiple worshippers, — Intuitive soul that stirs Asweet with the beat of the universe, Whose rhapsodies rehearse Th' eternal order, harmonic moods Of Love's solicitudes, — Informed sense that perceives the tread Of Lordship's feet, the spread Of regnant robes upon Nature's heart, That makes wild joyance start And mix with redemption's atmosphere Diffused from the God-man sheer. IOO THE WONDER SPELL I sing of an Infinite Dream; How came it — who knows? 'T was Love's universal theme, The source from which flows The vision of prophet, the song Of poet the years prolong. XXIII. THE INFINITE WEAL. 1 SING of an Infinite Dream; I sing of the richer earth; 'T was Love's universal theme Before a desire had birth ; The Dream far-wrought into time, The earth and its golden prime. The Dream of God, the joy of purposing The Universal Beauty for the spring Of every goodness as th' Eternal Eye Beholds th' ascension movement, ecstasy 102 THE INFINITE WEAL Pervasive, wakened earth with glory rife Which Life alone can give for working life, Which Love alone can give for working love, Through recognition of the powers that move Sweet essences to full embellishments, — Full rose, full forest, multifarious scents Sweetened by Love's restoring miracle, Regenerate forms and features 'scaped the spell Of prisoning which ancient evil wrought, And Love's deep healing in all things distraught, Expanding Paradise from wisdom's roots, Mankind's high lordship over all her shoots, Enlarging ravishment to eyes and ears, Perpetual perfecting whose progress clears The steeps of wonderment and wraps the earth With haze seraphical about the girth Of Faith exultant, Hope communicant And Love's continuing creative chant. THE INFINITE WEAL IO3 Th' amending change is blown about the world, Mysterious, as if sweet incense, curled O'er naming altars, had been caught and spent By summer winds from distant sacrament. There spreads through earth a sacred sorcery; The rose is not the rose she used to be; The God-man's glory enters into her; She is become Love's chosen almoner Of psychic grace; albeit multitudes, Untaught, discern not Nature's dearest moods Of miracle, children and poets know, Birds warble apprehension, and the flow Of the deep music of the winds of morn Confesses incarnation. Life reborn Senses occult revealings. Nature feels The ties invisible, the countless seals Upon her breast, binding within her heart New potence that awaits man's subtle art, — 104 THE INFINITE WEAL The art which is God's thronal influence In man's dominion thorough soul and sense, Restoring broken forms of Nature's sin-wrought shame Into the perfect glory of her primal frame. I sing of an Infinite Weal; 'T was born with the Dream; 'T is Love's perfect symbol and seal; The earth is its theme, — The earth for the man restored, Creation's unhindered hoard. XXIV. ROSE OF PARADISE. /~\ ROSE! thou wert waste and wild; But now thou art wild no more. Long, long hast thpu striven, exiled From Eden's primeval store, Without the blaming of earth or skies, To be, as thy passionate instinct cries, God's Rose of Paradise. Fair Paradise broke with the blow, Struck hard by an alien hand, On God's harmonious show Of Power in a sinless land; 105 106 ROSE OF PARADISE And beauty shrivelled, and glory waned, And Nature suffered with soul profaned, God's Rose of Love distrained. O Rose ! thou art perfecting fast — Since Christ has achieved for man, — With man's ascension; at last Thou 'It vanquish the ancient ban; Man's art will greaten with greatening soul; And thou, by his art, wilt reach thy goal, — God's Rose forever whole. XXV. THE MIRACLE. HPHE Miracle ! God's wonder sign and prophecy, The witness of th' Unseen, whose holy grace and power Make Heaven and earth agree For one symbolic hour, And Nature show her dower Of glory sprung from out th' eternal harmony. The Miracle! The fruit of Heaven's maturer might Wrought by superior Hands, sweet flower of evidence 107 Io8 THE MIRACLE Dropped from Deific height At Love's supreme expense, Which only spirits sense, Which only strained eyes of pure creation sight. The Miracle! The working of a Nature higher Than sky or sea or bruised earth's dis- ordered frame Or man, whose blind desire Turns unto sin and shame; A Nature whose white flame Wastes with consuming Love the evil's quench- less fire. The Miracle! Return of primal naturalness To Nature and to soul by primal sin pro- faned; THE MIRACLE I09 A health the heavens possess, A grace the Christ obtained, A glory Love has gained, God's ever-purposed and forever-won redress. The Miracle! Expression of th' Almighty Will Whose effluence Nature is, the law of Heaven displayed For good's defeat of ill, For Love's high plan essayed, For man's perpetual aid, Until the Dream of God all being shall fulfil. The Miracle ! Appeal to Faith that feels the doom ; Appeal to Reason pressed by Fate's im- perious feet; IIO THE MIRACLE Heaven's flash above the gloom, Earth's undermusic sweet, While man and Nature meet About the Rose of Love that bursts to perfect bloom. XXVI. THE LARGER NATURE. f\ BLOSSOMINGS in wold and weald! Swing Love's new sweets. I sense the fold Of earth's evasive priests afield That cry, "Behold! Behold!" O thrushes in the orchard trees ! Sing Love's new songs. I hear the voice Of earth's hid Lord, the mysteries That cry, "Rejoice! Rejoice!" O clouds upon the mountain's spurs! Flaunt Love's new robes. I catch the trend Of earth's unvisioned ministers That cry, "Ascend! Ascend!" 112 THE LARGER NATURE O stars within galactic mists ! Shed Love's new light. I feel the stress Of earth's occult evangelists That cry, "Possess! Possess!" O kindreds to creation's rim! Chant Love's new power. I know the lore Of earth's re-fashioned seraphim That cry, "Adore! Adore!" XXVII. THE GREAT RESPONDING. | JAIL happy poet soul that sees Fine forces, subtle sorceries Ascending fast from mount and vale, From stream and every irised trail Of cloud that floats across the blue And swells Love's holy retinue ! Hail happy poet soul that hears The quires of Love's high atmospheres And the new music of the day That comes with Love's increasing sway! The earth lies open; everything Is restless, softly quivering 8 113 114 THE GREAT RESPONDING Beneath faint feet invisible, Beneath sooth breathings, while the spell Of some sweet wonder lies aslant The world. Earth feels th' impassioned pant Of wakened heart, the setting free Of Nature's dulcet enginery. The sensive soul perceives the great Ascension grown articulate, Feels the regeneration, lists To Nature's happy sorcerists That meet upon the skyward ways Antiphonal with holy praise Within the wide circumference Of purifying soul and sense. He sees the higher forces move; He views the radiant form of Love Borne up by wings processional, While clouds of glory rise and fall, THE GREAT RESPONDING II 5 And Love's redemptional decrees Resolve in widening harmonies, — The vast evolving of God's thought, Th' achieving of th' Eternal Ought, Love's victory divine o'er evil's horde, The primal order of the world restored. XXVIII. THE INFINITE HOPE. T SING of an Infinite Dream; I sing of ascension strife; T was Love's universal theme, And Faith is its law and life- The Dream that is history- Achieving divine decree. The Dream of God risen on His holiness ! God- hunger taking shape; th' eternal stress Of Beauty hid within th' Omnific Mind And waiting for the nuptial hour assigned 116 THE INFINITE HOPE 117 Of Time and Space, the Word and the Event Of firmament o'erlapping firmament With spheric hosts; Beauty for portraiture Of Beauty uncreate. Thus on God's pure Infinitude His infinite Desire He framed in outlines of prophetic fire. The primal flame rays through all nebulae, Through burnt-out suns and stars that wander free Across the blue and black of changing skies, And rests Love's latest beam on latest eyes, Waking the slumbering soul to birthright sense And new aspiring after Love's expense. The Dream of God risen on His loneliness! God-hunger taking shape; th' eternal stress Of Love for love, for that high comradeship Il8 THE INFINITE HOPE Of Sire and sons which makes the mortal slip Into the homing of Immortal Good Like infancy to bosoming motherhood, Finding in God its life's continuing, Finding in Love the immemorial spring Of every joyance and that deep reserve Of purpose mixed with power, whereunto swerve All things for guerdons wrought for filial state Responding to the Grace Inviolate. The Dream of God risen on His tenderness! God-hunger taking shape ; th' eternal stress Of Love for sake of others, giving vent To Love's vast reservoir of ravishment, To Love's great stream of sweetness, whose deep well Lies fathomless and irrepressible THE INFINITE HOPE II9 Within th' Uncomprehended, — for one aim Of Love throughout creation's subtle frame, Of Love for sake of others, myriads meet To drink Love's wine of joy, Love's food to eat, To hear Love's voice, and chant antiphonals Of their God-rapture back into His halls Of glory seraph-thronged where'er His goodness calls. I sing of an Infinite Hope; 'T was born with the Dream; 'T is Love's perfect horoscope; The soul is its theme; Let poet sing it who can, God's dream of the larger man ! XXIX. THE GOLDEN VISION. A S heart believes so eye discerns The larger Nature, since the sway Of God-embosomed manhood turns The wheels of Night and Day, And Love redemptive penetrates Man's every kindred, — beast and bird, The air, the flower, that wooes and waits His reconstruction word, For all the dream when earth was young, For all the dream of later youth, For every golden vision sung, Each horoscope of truth. THE GOLDEN VISION 121 Hail manhood's art! Thou hast event In Godhood's new diffusing, lost Through sin but now in sweet descent With Nature's pulsings crossed. Hail holy art! Withouten thee Th' entranced globe were ever chained. Thou greatenest every destiny By what High Love has gained. Hail Nature's every seed and spring! Receptive to the art of man; With earth and soul recovering Creation's primal plan. Hail Nature, holy Nature! new With thy Creator's racial heart Risen throneward through ibhy curse, and through Love's victory the part 122 THE GOLDEN VISION In thee that makes responsiveness At every pore to every call Of man who hastens to possess His birthright's mystic thrall. Rise soul, and chant the sacred theme ! All Nature waits, Love's happy slave, To shape, with thee, from dust the dream Love's ancient triumph gave- XXX. THE LARGER MAN. TPHE iron chains that bound the soul And Nature in commingling curse Have turned to gold. Redemption's goal Involves the universe. They fell as one, as one they rise, God's mutual helpers toward the end Toward which exert prophetic eyes And songs of poets blend. The larger man! Though sinew shrank, Imperious Love prevailed at length; The mystic wine of faith he drank Made quick his pulse with strength. 123 124 THE LARGER MAN The larger man ! Though reason reeled, A spirit kinship worsted clod; The heavenly flow of power revealed Th' impinging thoughts of God. The larger man ! Though unction stopped, One Greater Heart leaped up and flamed, And one great wound for Love o'ertopped What else desire had claimed. The larger man! from alien land Nature's dominion lord returned! Henceforth through his a pierced Hand Shall plough what once was spurned, — Shall plant and reap and garner in The fruits of world-wide service, see Love's travail which at last doth win Eternal victory. XXXI. RECLAMATION. /^""^OD'S thought is more than miracle; The mind of miracle diffused Into Love's universal spell Of Omnipresence used To build vast engineries of trust, To fling far spans from soul to soul, To lift great pillars out of dust And tracks of hope unroll Across illumined continents, Whose freightage is the one in all And all in one, for vast events Reclaimed from selfdom's thrall. 125 126 RECLAMATION Redemptive Love! Thou Marriager Of Man and Nature! Thou dost bind In affluent union him and her Whom sin left poor and blind. Hail Man and Nature ! Life's new frames, Round which th' inviting eons throng! Ye spring together as two flames Empyreal and strong, White-heaten at the Heart of Christ, — God's purifiers, stablishing The later world re-paradised, Where man restored is king, While one expanding order turns Ideals into history, And every centuried worth discerns Its essence purged and free. XXXII. RECONSTRUCTION. r*\EAD faith of Greece! thou art reborn; The pipes of Pan resound afresh ; Superior nymphs thy groves adorn, — New poise of soul and flesh. Past hope of Ind! thou art renewed; The golden lotus blooms again; — Re-incarnation's deeper mood Beyond the Vedas' ken. Lost dream of Egypt ! thou art found ; The lips of Memnon hail the sun; The Sphinx's loosened tongues expound Th' enigma Love has won. T27 128 RECONSTRUCTION Love solves the riddle of the earth; So changes labyrinth to spire; The modern Phoenix springs to birth Out of its ancient pyre. Forth soul! the stars in choral march Chant o'er and strive for thee as thou For them, as for the heaven's blue arch Labour the lyre and plough. Illumined soul that sees and hears The vision and the song! thy course And Love's are one among the spheres, — One light, one life, one force. XXXIII. THE INFINITE CHEER. I SING of the Infinite Dream; I sing of the larger man; 'T was Love's universal theme Since ever the stars began; The Dream that is but half -through ; The man that is but half -new. Assiduous Weaver, Love ! Through centuriedloom Thy fiery shuttles flew 'mid gleam and gloom; E'en swifter now they flash like flying flame; How grows Thy shining garment round God's frame o 129 I30 THE INFINITE CHEER For the great bridal-day of Soul and Sense, The Sacrificial Heart's full recompense! It comes, it comes, the long expected time! The thought thereof turns passion into rime And sets the soul to music of the stars Forever singing with Hope's Avatars. The larger Nature and the larger Man, — God's complements of grace ! When Love o'erran The winds and waves and the familiar earth, He simultaneous brought the soul to birth, And glorified the Dream in the new race, — The Dream that broods above the new embrace. A clearer eye to see where Love doth touch The world and fashion duty, where the crutch, THE INFINITE CHEER I3I Wrought of one great and ancient olive-tree, Doth grace the hands of clay's infirmity, — A keener ear to hear, as Love doth play Thrilling despair with music and decay With selfsame strains that keep the angels young, And giving every mouth a seraph's tongue, — A finer nerve to feel, as Love doth breathe Appreciation, crowns of kindness wreathe O'er pallid brows or lay at weary feet On thorny ways, counting denial sweet, — A kindlier soul to sense beatitude Throbbing in Life and Nature's every mood As Love doth strive to show the broken Heart Of Deity become man's counterpart; — These are the testimonial attributes Of men, who, climbing, have outstripped the brutes, 132 THE INFINITE CHEER And wrought upon the Dream of ages past The brotherhood of man for which God's Dream is cast. I sing of an Infinite Cheer, — 'T was born with the Dream; 'T is Love's perfect atmosphere; The world is its theme; The man for the total race; The world for the man's embrace. XXXIV. THE LARGER WORLD. A SPOT in one vast acreage; Round holy shrine Love's roses blow; Lips meet, find sweet and doubly sage Earth's microcosmic show Of that great bliss when Love shall win All orbs, all races, subtly dome All hymeneal hearths within The Father's costly home. One life, one law, one larger world Of millions, hearts and hearths secure Beneath one blood-earned flag unfurled, The timely miniature 133 134 THE LARGER WORLD Of that eternal commonweal, Democracy with God for King, With stars for states, and every wheel For Love's adventuring. One comradeship of faith and hope, One vision blest from bended knee, Within whose wide cathedral cope Stands Love's epitome Of that great City Mystical Seen faintly as the skies divide Prayer-forced, whose dignities forestall The glory certified To sacrifice that gathers out From prison, brothel, slum, and street And deserts of despair and doubt Into Love's gardens sweet THE LARGER WORLD 135 God's roses, trodden, broken, meant By Him for all a rose becomes When claimed for God by Love forspent Through Love's millenniums. XXXV. THE INFINITE TRUST. I SING of the Infinite Dream; I sing of the Universe; 'T was Love's immemorial theme Which Wisdom shall e'er rehearse; The Dream that comes to event In Love's perfect lavishment. O Love, that work'st for earth and man the same, For highest sake of each ! Thine ancient fame Covers the firmament, o'er every sphere Broods as a holy sweetness making clear 136 THE INFINITE TRUST 1 37 God's great Creatorship and Governance, The ground of every rapture and romance, The source of Nature's wide apocalypse Of goodness whose endeavouring outstrips The farthest spaces to remotest spark As did the first light-flash in primal dark. The spheres in canons sing and march in file Processional around Thee. Every aisle Of blue is thronged with flame-winged seraphim. And from the dusky earth, whose humours rim Thy garment's hem of splendour, chants ascend Of bloom and bird and roaming kine that blend With dust's deep rhythmic incense, making one Sweet symphony of gladness round the sun; While man meets angels on the lowest ways, Blends with their music his impulsive praise, I38 THE INFINITE TRUST And knows that Love doth ever work God's Dream, — God who is Love, Christ given to redeem. I sing of an Infinite Trust, 'T was born with the Dream; *T is Love's perfect vision of dust; The stars are its theme, The numberless spheres, and the goal Attained for Nature and soul. XXXVI. THE DREAM'S FULFILMENT. "T7R0M earth to Heaven most filially The songs of recognition rise; A fealty belts the azure sea And sinks within the skies. God's Universe! I sense thee mine; I know and take at every turn Love's sacramental bread and wine And feel my nature burn With one pervading holy flame, An unconsuming fire wherein Mysterious angels hide and claim Myself their lasting kin. 139 I40 THE DREAM S FULFILMENT From star to star the music runs In later fugues from ancient themes, As round innumerable suns Range Love's harmonic dreams. The heavens and earth are twain no more ; The marriage of the Universe To Love is come, the vows Love swore Spheres crowding spheres rehearse. XXXVII. THE CHANT TRIUMPHAL. /"\ BRIDEGROOM, behold Thy Bride! Thou madest her fair and beautiful To be Thy glory and pride; And Thou shalt be satisfied In her the unceasingly dutiful, — The body of all Life's essences Recovered for Thy caress; The instrument of Time's perfecting In fulness for Thee, the King. She is to be Thy Heart's Delight, Which none from Thee can sever, And fashion by Thine immediate might The Dream of God forever. 141 I42 THE CHANT TRIUMPHAL Light fills the etheric abysms with life ensouled; Joy lines with rhythmical graces ascension ways; The sons of the Lord shout forth with the glad- ness of old; The stars of the morning sing as in ancient days; The sea has a song that is strange on her foaming lips; The earth is vocal with paeans unheard before ; The air is vibrant with music that rises and slips From sphere unto sphere which never the blue sky bore; 'T is one great newness that bursts into hymnic rapture, One gratitude vast of captives o'er Love's high capture, THE CHANT TRIUMPHAL 143 The illimitable chorus of exultation, The chant triumphal of redeemed creation: — "0 Love! Thou hast triumphed at last; Thy trumpets of victory sound; The days of Thy travail are past; And now Thou art throned and crowned With fruits of Thy holy adventuring, The Universe's King. " O Love! Thou hast saved us from doom, — Redeemer of Nature and Soul! We burst from the prison and tomb, We rise Thy regenerate whole, Thy cleansed, Thy renewed, Thine adoring host Restored to the Eden lost. 144 THE CHANT TRIUMPHAL " O Love, who art Christ ! we are Thine ; We bathe in Thy rapturous floods; We feel the inflowing divine — Thy power in our spirits and bloods, The death of the mystical curse, and the stream Of Life that fulfils God's Dream." XXXVIII. POSTLUDE: THE SONG UNENDING. 'T'HE poet's song is ended; but th' unsung Goes onward outward, rays of rime. Who dares to follow where God's Dream has swung Finds all his verse a halting mime Of the great music, and the voices far That chant across the skies from star to star The lilt of Love's millennial tongue, And Love's perennial prime. High Love who visitest the poet's heart And giv'st rich guerdons for attempt to sing! 10 145 146 postlude: the song unending Thou mak'st him and his kind integral part Of Thine illimitable wayfaring; And while he may but lisp a paltry strain Of the great paean of creation's whole, 'T is his, because of faith, in moments fain, To hearken with th' unsullied birds, and roll With them his matin music toward the sky In simple minstrelsy. High Love whose white imponderable feet Soar star-wide! — thus the poet strives To follow with his song Thy winding wildering ways of vantage sweet, The heights Thy dazzling joyance rives, The flame that trails along From sphere to sphere and melts the clouds And pales th' empyreal blue that crowds The light with solemn rush of ecstasies. postlude: the song unending 147 Alas! the poet's strenuous fancies miss The path and fall intoxicate Against the blinding bars of fate, Lost in th' expanse of universal bliss. DEC BO IW» One copy del. to Cat. Div. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONjgjjSg, 015 863 81 6 2 #J

15015066

Bits and banters,

Allen, Ruby Galbraith

bitsbanters00alle_djvu.txt

PS 3501 1555 B5 °*. * >''^-' „0 ^ .^^fe.'. -^z ,^, ^^^^^^ „.^', %/ ,5. '"■•" .^' V'^\o** \.-'f.^"<v* %-^^'o^* ^ ^\ « • • *r. 3.. .° ^^-^.^^ V ,. .'.Qfe.', -^z ,^, -^^^^^ ,^^', \Z 4.^ -' 1^ ^l*o^ iS^r •0 i r. V : O'^ ».';^!«, •*< l**^ oO«., ^i, O^ 'o. ■n^v* 'S" .' ' V^'" *' -^0^ =*'*^*^o' V'^-\/ "o.'-^-^o'' v-^^ '^J^C,' ■• /"^^^ •-^•' /\ '°'fWs /\ -l.^. 1.0 v^. <^ "' <^ >9' V*^^ c^ ^9^ . .. ^*„^'- .0*^ '"^^ *^?^T^'' .^^ ^- -.r^^^^o- .0 <!^ aO r p « • o* BITS AND BANTERS BITS AND BANTERS BY RUBY GALBRAITH ALLEN NEW YORK 1915 T^3 Copyright, 1915, BT RUBY GALBRAITH ALLEN JUL -9ij!5 ^riA4U6641 DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER Catile of Contem0 The Rose and the Sunbeam I Drink to the Heart! My Golden Butterfly You Can Win If You Wait Creatures of Impulse The Story of the Chrysanthemum Life and Love Convention I Know Not What Great Love May Be God's Presence If Only! Here's To Your Eyes! I Dreamed I Sought You Love Has No Reason Why Here's To Marriage! A Strange Old World f~— Recipe for Results Misfortune Till the Soul Is Born A Triple Toast Reflections of a Show Girl Reflections of a Man About Town The Seed of Inspiration In a Little Cafe (lLOnttnt$— Continued Advice For Your Dear Sake Dear One Toast to a Flirt Thoughts of You I Am Dreaming a Dream of Love Love's Ghost Live and Let Live The Pessimist One Point of View Be Good to Yourself Unknown Love A Little Flay of Gladness i The Test Flowers To Mother Aphorisms BITS AND BANTERS Cfie iao0e anD tfte ©unlieam A rose fell in love with a sunbeam Who had smiled upon her for days ; Her petals were arms that she opened To keep him with her always. But soon he began to neglect her ; Hid in the shadows apart, She drooped and she cried, For the sunbeam she sighed, And then died of the love in her heart. But later the sunbeam came gleaming. Handsome as he was before. Glancing where roses lay dreaming. But one little rose was no more. Had the little rose known that shadows Are lessons sent down from above She would not have sighed. But instead would have tried To have lived, and not died, for love. [1] 3 Drink to tfte ^tatu I drink to the stars that were meant for the night, I drink to the sun that was meant to give light, I drink to the love that is ever divine, I drink to the heart that was meant to be mine ! [2] Qip (SoIDen ISutterQg My Golden Butterfly, so often now I sigh With regret, when I'd forget The day you first came by — I tried to break your pretty wing, I tried to catch you, pretty thing. To satisfy Love's sudden cry. My Golden Butterfly ! It was my heart's desire to see your bright wings tire, My passion grew, I never knew My heart could feel such fire. You fluttered, then lay still in death, The sad sight chilled my very breath ; Love said goodbye — you chose to die, . My Golden Butterfly ! [3] The man who tells he has loved but once, admits to all he's but a dunce. [4] gou Can min It gou mait When you're feeling disheartened, discouraged all through ; When there's no one around to reason with you; When the sun in the sky has forgotten to shine ; When you've prayed to the Lord that He send you a sign; When the roadway ahead seems too long and too rough ; When you're fain to admit you have had quite enough, Turn the laugh on despair by the cheer of your smile — You can win if you wait — so hold on for a while ! When you climb up the hills that are rocky and steep ; When fatigue and exhaustion compel you to creep; When you come to a comrade who turns to go back, Let him by, but keep on with the upleading track ; When around every precipice slowly you wind ; When you seem to stand still, keep this fact in your mind: When you've come to the summit, you'll say with a smile — "It's the fighting the fight that makes winning worth while!" [5] •^^1 Creatures of Smpulise We are creatures born of impulse, We are swayed by touch or glance; As the wind will blow leaves to and fro, We are blown about by chance. [6] Cfie @)tDrg of tfte C6rp0antf)emum A chrysanthemum sat on my window, So stately and tall and strong, And day after day as I watched it there, I wondered it lived so long. Then a breath of a breeze touched it gently Though all in the room was still. And its golden petals by one and one Went over the window-sill. And I thought how the beautiful sunshine Had nourished it day by day That a wandering breeze might one day come To lure its petals away. As I gazed on the stalk, so tall and strong Though robbed by the vagrant air, I wondered what judgment the stalk might pass On the petals, frail and fair. 'Tis the tender thing, with its feelings fine. That is wooed and won by guile, While the never-tempted and always strong Will ever live on to smile. [7] If advice were food, we would all die of indigestion. [8] Life anD iLotie AN ALLEGOEY Where the sunshine played on the seashore Life sat and fell asleep, Till a presence cried in her ear, "Awake !" And she woke from her slumber deep. And there stood — ^Love, with his strange dark eyes ; Of that meeting was born First Joy. He never spoke, but laughed and played — Their hearts his toys to destroy. So when Love and Life let time slip by, It happened somehow one day That while they both lay down to sleep. Their First Joy ran away. When they awoke and found him gone, Alone, their eyes so sad Beheld a tiny stranger there Who tried to make them glad. [9] He gave a hand to each of them, Drew close as they journeyed on, And when Love was weary or Life was sad, They had him to lean upon. When Life on sharp stones cut her feet, He would kiss the wounds away. O'er hottest sands when Love grew faint, Brought water every day. When they passed through dark drear places And their hands would freeze with cold. He'd warm them at his beating heart When their sorrows they'd unfold. At last they came where Reflection sat With her elbow on her knee : 'Tis she who steals light from the past To shed on tranquillity. They cried out, "Wise One, tell us Where our radiant Joy has gone! How did we sin to lose him? Shall we find him as we go on.?" [10] "Would you give up what's beside you now," The wise old woman said, "For the Joy you knew so long ago. You both had thought was dead?" And Life and Love both wondered Who'd warm each freezing heart ; At last they cried, "Though we'd fiAd our Joy, From this we cannot part!" Reflection answered, "Fools and blind, What you once had, you have now, But when roads grow rough and days grow long, You forget to see, I vow. "Then comes the time when you would ask, 'Where can our First Joy be?' When he walks beside you, changed in name From Joy to Sympathy !" (Versified from the story, "The Lost Joy," by Olive Schreiner. ) [11] i^M^^ws^&w^srwfiP A woman's sincerity is as dangerous to a man's hap- piness as her insincerity. [12] Contoention With money and power to loom up like a tower, We are slaves to the whims of all others; We worry and fret in and out of our set, So it's been with our fathers and mothers. The comfort we'd know if Convention, our foe, Wouldn't check every impulse and curb us. Would brighten our work and distrust wouldn't lurk In our hearts and our minds to disturb us. Could we clothe all we do in frankness all through. The best that is in us we'd give ; But conventional rules make the best of us fools And the slaves of deceit while we live. [13] 2 iElnoto J9ot GHftat ©reat Lotoe Q^ag 15e I know not what great love may be, But somehow I divine It's that which fills my heart with thrills When your eyes look in mine. [14] aoD's! pregence In the desert alone I lay one night The earth my pillow, the stars my light; White like the snow was the burning sand, And I felt God's presence close at hand. He came so near me, a restful sleep Came to me when I'd thought to weep ; I grew at last to understand What brings God's presence close at hand. [15] Love will recognize no Happy Medium, [16] f^^iJl^^*^>^^6^^^9iBy^AJ^^Si^^^fo^i^^S If we only could, just you and I, Find the one great reason why A love, a friendship so supreme, Must some day end just like a dream! If we only could but touch the stars ! If hearts could only break their bars 1 If we could somehow change the past. Why, then, perhaps our dream might last I [17] f^Mi J^ere'0 to gour a5ge0;r Here's to your eyes that somehow surmise Something I'd tell, that's true ; And here's that no part of your dear little heart Will regret that it's love for you ! [18] 3 DreameD 3 @)puffftt gou I dreamed last night of a world so fair, Where green, the Earth laid her carpets rare Roses and violets everywhere — But I was searching for you I The summer sunshine had slain the night And birdlings sang to their heart's delight, Nymphs in their beauty beguiled the sight — But I was searching for you! From Paradise then my chains I broke, I saw you, dear one, when I awoke, I kissed your lips, but no word I spoke, I knew why I'd searched for you. [19] Never tell what you wouldn't believe. [20] (song) Sometimes I wonder why Love should come to such as I, When I've laughed to scorn My heart forlorn, When 'twould plead and beg that love be born. And when dreams would come my way, I'd never let them stay. No romance, by any chance. But now I have to say: With the clasp of your hand. With the touch of your lips, With grace from your toes To your finger-tips ; With a perfume divine That confuses the mind, With a power to make me want you for mine. [21] f^ ^^^ '0m 'M^im^Mm^^<r^mfi^^^$^^^i;^ With alluring sweet smiles, I bow to your wiles. Content just to live or die; Love has no reason, Love has no season, Love has no reason why. I never dreamed or knew What love could really do. The world to me now seems to be A prison — set my poor heart free ! The deep blue of the sky Seems bluer to my eye; The flowers grow, They seem to know That you're the reason why. [22] ^ere'0 to ^aniaQti Here's to marriage — that bond supreme That has power to waken us out of a dream ! If the dream be of heaven, If the dream be of hell, Father Time alone can tell! [23] a Strange 2DID mom ^ It's a strange old world with its broken hopes, Its broken hearts and sorrows ; Where the interest rate Is all too great For the little joys it borrows. It's a strange old world where we work for food, For the very beds we sleep in; Though we have the best, A great unrest Some day will surely creep in. It's a strange old world, with its many types, Its vices and temptations; With its Winter drear. And its Summer cheer. And its many queer creations. [24] It's a strange old world, full of strange old folks Who cling to this mundane sphere, Though one more morrow Means one more sorrow To add to the dying year. [25] New clothes bring a woman new smiles. [26] JRecipe for lRe0ult0 If you try to make each one believe You're as happy as can be, You'll gain respect, that will reflect Through the whole community; But if you ever seem to sigh Or seek to tell your woes. The things you want you'll never get. Just why — nobody knows ! [27] m^,^^^^>c^^^w^'^^mi>j^:>^vMii>^^^^y^j.^^sy^v^ Qiisfortune If you ever need help and you really are down, You will find it's a cold world at best; When your heart begs a smile, Ten to one all the while Your pride will be put to the test. When your clothes tell the tale your lips seek to hide, The respect you try hard to command Is all lost to view, The joke is on you. You're compelled to lay down your hand. Sign posts to success are too few indeed; The wrong road is too easy to find ; And people won't try To figure out why When fortune to them has been kind. There are few who have sinned for the love of a sin, We are creatures of circumstance;, If each one had the might Just to always do right. How few wouldn't jump at the chance! [28] ^^A^^^'^^^^^^H^^^Y^ 'Twere well to remember and weigh all our thoughts When judging another soul's case; There's a spot on the Sun, So what earthly one Dares laugh in Misfortune's face? [29] ^f^ig Some people are too ignorant to be unhappy. [30] Cill m ©oul 10 13om The one who is told he can't live but must die Seems somehow resigned, never ready to cry. Not so his dear ones, who pray he may live; If 'twould keep life the longer, their Heart's blood they'd give. To the one passing out, though vague it may be, Something peaceful and restful, like the calm of the sea Must make itself clear to the soul on its way. Though it comes without voice to the body of clay. If death calls your mother or baby of two. There's a feeling that God's been unkind to you. We forget that He made us and sent us to earth And we're His to take back from the day of our birth. The most of our grief is but selfish at best ; We mourn more for ourselves than the dear ones at rest. For we know how we'll miss the touch of a hand — Just why they are called we cannot understand. [31] There's something within wants to keep, have and hold, If it's ours in the flesh or ours in the gold. We seek ever for happiness till our bodies are worn, But seek ever in vain till the soul is born. [32] \v^ ^l^wsl^ WM^ ^ a Criple Coa0t To health, to wealth, and then to love, I drink this toast; though few, Beneath the sun, find more than one. But here's all three to you ! [33] iSittttttiom of a g^ftoto ©irl There are many things I would write about If they could be colored with truth: I'd tell of the man of fifty, And I'd tell of the callow youth. I'd tell of the love they beheve they feel When you're looking your very best, I'd tell of the foolish things they say — How you're so diff'rent from all the rest. It's amusing to hear them warn you Of the man who may not play fair; They take it they're the only ones Who play the game on the square. When you tell them how you are trying To live, to exist, and do right. They insist that you need affection To make everything look bright. You don't even dare speak of money. It is thought to be commonplace; It somehow gets on the nerves of a man And can seldom be done with grace. [34] ^'Fi So while you worry your brains away, Over bills that are coming due, You get invitations to parties and balls That mean only late hours for you. You're supposed to have clothes of the latest cut, It's understood you should always look right. And to prove how much they care for you. They wine you and dine you all night. When in the end they try to make love. As they never forget to do, And find no response awaiting them. They wonder what's wrong with you. If you're cold or you're not quite human.'* If you love some other too well? If you fear you'll be misunderstood? Or is it — because they might tell? And they wonder at a lot of things. When they should have known at the start If your head were free from worries. Perhaps you might think of your heart! [35] Never feel so encouraged that you will be surprised at disappointment. [36] Reflections of a ^an about Coton It can well be said in words that are few That the man about town has a version too : It has ever been known since the world began It is woman's delight to tempt mere man. With skirts cut short, with shoulders bare, With lips made red, with perfumed hair. She fans the flame, though surprised at the fire She kindles, that brings out mad desire. There's the girl you meet at the midnight hour Who will smoke and will drink a whiskey sour, Who will take offense if you misunderstand — If you ask for a kiss, or you squeeze her hand. If a woman would give when she's willing to take, If she only would live by the laws she would make, In life's little drama, she'd play the star part And rule every man by a sweet simple heart. [37] Cfte §)eeD of Impitation Plant in the mind inspiring thoughts And beautiful flowers will bloom Till your garden so fair Will scent all the air With its sweet and its rare perfume. [38] In a Little Cafe Did you ever come home from a cafe's bright light With eyes tired but wakeful, and think in the night Of the voices, the faces, the music, the dance — The illusion they give at a first little glance? Ever read behind eyes that looked into your own The things people mean to keep always unknown? Ever feel what they felt as they drank to forget And spent to their future and certain regret? Ever think of the games that are played as we dine? While we taste of our food, while we sip at our wine? While we chatter of love or of business each day? Of the heartaches we hide in a little cafe? [39] autJice Look your best and the rest will follow, Mix as little as you can; Live with a book and a good plain cook, And be happier than many a man. [40] Jfot gout Dear @)ake There are days of the past I will never forget, There are days of the past I will never regret ; They were spent with you, and how happy, dear heart, But sad was the day when I found we must part ! In my blindness, of course, I could not know You loved me not, for I loved you so. And sometimes I think you were kind to me To let me live on in my ecstasy. Though it proved but a dream and I had to wake, I have been content for your dear sake. There are times when I long to stroke your hair As I did when I thought you used to care ; I remember how sometimes you sighed Although, dear heart, you so often tried To smile, when your heart was weary and sad That I might always think you were glad; So you know why I only think kindly of you When I look back and know what you must have gone through. And when I've thought my heart must break, I've been content for your dear sake. [41] ws^^^^<i^A&i^^^&s^^s*JsK. *^ii *^ Many a plot has been spoiled by a kiss. [42] ^frv«si^»><s3^j!sws)^ Dear SDnt Dear One, why should you hear me ? I have only love to give ; With thoughts of you to cheer me, I've been satisfied to live. Dear One, by sleep forsaken. In my fancy, through the night My toll of love I've taken And your lips were mine by right. Dear One, when you discover, My Maker up above Will have claimed me from a fate unkind That gave you — my heart, my soul, my love! [43] Coa0t to a jFlitt Here's to the flirt who'd have you believe That you alone she would never deceive; Here's hoping some day when she cheats at the game She'll lose her heart and not try it again ! [44] Cf)OUg{)t0 of gou I feed mj soul on thoughts of you Until all else is lost to view. Each thought just like the bright sunlight Comes to me in darkest night; The very breeze that blows, I vow, Breathes kisses on my fevered brow — Each rain-drop like a tiny tear Mourns your loss with me, my dear ! [45] 3 am Dreaming a Dream of Lotie I am dreaming of love, I am dreaming of thee, I am dreaming of life as it all should be, Of joys divine, had you been mine, I am dreaming a dream of love ! I'm dreaming of love and, dear, you see I may always dream on and long for thee ; Since deep in my heart, as a thing apart, I am dreaming a dream of love ! [46] iLotie'0 (e{)a0t Here's to the days of the pleasant past! And here's to the love that we thought must last! And here's to the spirit that lets us toast In new-found friendship, Love's pale ghost! [47] JLitie anD Let Litie It's all right to be optimistic When things go right the while; It's pleasant to feel you have friends who are real — Who haven't deceived with a smile. It's great to believe the world is good, Hold to that thought each day, If Fate has been kind and has not let you find How frail is humanity's clay. It's splendid to keep even tempered. And never wear even a frown. If all the day long not a thing has gone wrong And your spirit's not all trampled down. It's fine to believe in New Thought creeds, Let your mind just govern your will, If you were not born to suffer forlorn Some other's inherited ill. [48] It's best not to be mercenary, Not measure each thing by its worth, If you're sure you can pay your bills every day And you have everything on earth. To the man who has lived not enough to know, This advice I would gladly give: Tell no one by the how or the why ; Each one has his life to live. [49] >'^^9fe<2e'^fey*S!^=lfc«^^J*fewSJ^yt><2J^M^wS"' The adage old, "To err is human," Is man's defence to trusting woman. [50] ^^ Cfte Pe00imi0t I'm tired of life, I'm tired of living; Tired of taking, tired of giving; Tired of asking the reason why We sorrow through life until we die. You may live in this world A short while or long, And though things may start right, They somehow end wrong. It's your health or your wealth. Your friends or your foes ; The heartache you suffer When nobody knows ; A fear for your future ; Regret for your past; A hope that some happiness Somehow may last; [51] A thought for some dear one To whom you can't give; A prayer for new courage To fight while you live. A long wait for success Which may come bye and bye, When you're weary and old And it's just time to die. [52] 2Dne point of ??ieto No one wants to listen to your troubles, No one wants to know that you feel blue ; It's only when you're smiling and you're happy That everyone is glad to talk with you. Your friends will come to life like wine that bubbles, If Fortune smiles, you'll always get your due, But your trouble always doubles When you start to tell your troubles. So keep your health and wealth — it's up to you ! [53] T3t (S5aoD to gout0elf Be good to yourself, take care of yourself, In this world you will find there are few Who won't take the best and leave you the rest, 'Tis the way of the world so to do. There's many a man who will whisper each day Of love and your eyes so blue, But try him tomorrow — try him to borrow, And you'll see how he cares for you ! [54] A woman may look ever so much when she means ever so little. [55] (song) f Let me know love for one short hour, Let me die when that hour is done. Let me feel, let me know its power. Let me bask in the warmth of its Sun ; Let sorrow come to me if need be. Let regret cause me ever to sigh. Let me waken from sleep Though I waken to weep — Let me love before I die ! [56] a Little Kag of (eiaDtte$0 A little ray of gladness crept in my heart one day, Caused all my little sorrows to quickly fade away, Doubt and disappointment could nevermore hold sway ; That little ray of gladness has come always to stay. [57] Cfie Ce0t When you've battered out an existence, Been brave when storms were near, Been resigned without resistance, Concealing the pent-up tear; When you've shown what you are made of. Been willing to help and give ; When from sorrows you've known Seeds of kindness have grown, Then at last you are fit to live. [58] The fool who says nothing may be thought very wise. While the one who talks loudest burns his fish while it fries. [59] jFlotoer0 A flower that once bloomed in my heart Has died, and I would know Why night must end a summer day, And soon must fall the snow. Why, when cold Winter chills a heart, Its soil can bear anew, When laid to rest, each petal's pressed With tears for morning dew. For the violet dead there comes instead A rose, to tempt, to please; And the heart so sad is again made glad. While the rose perfumes the breeze. And when the rose just somehow goes, A fragile lily shy Will come to live, will come to give I would I knew but why ! [60] X] When you grow content to live, you will be resigned to die. [61] Co Q^otftetT Let each drink a toast to his mother — a toast! For of all in the world we should love her the most ; For husbands and wives may kick over the traces, Our friends and our sweethearts may harden their faces, And even our children may break with the past. But mothers — God bless them ! — ^will stick to the last ; Then here's to our mothers — your mother — my mother — You drink to the one and I'll drink to the other. The first of our sweethearts whose love never ends. The staunchest of comrades, the firmest of friends; Then here's to the one whom we all love the most — Your mother — my mother — our mothers — a toast ! [62] ,0-^ V'^!^\/ ^'^-'^o-^ V*^% '*'^^\c.O V'>^-^. .:..r«^-.^ ^^ ^^ " /^Vao '-^^ y^.-^ .^fS^^ ^^ A^ 'C/^9- L*' ..'■'. ^^ °0 .,*' .vl'^% ^-t. cO .'J^% °0 J*^ .^^y^^ -f- '" ,<> .^ ^ ^>. .. _. ^ . -■1°^ "<^ "..o' ,■?,'*■ vvasT 3KBINDJNC aniville. Pa It— Oc! 1985 m- ^'^'"^^^ °»^R^* /\. ^^K-° ^'

11009933

In sonnet wise

Allen, William Frederick

insonnetwise00alle_djvu.txt

In Sonnet Wise FRED RAPHAEL ALLEN Class Book IS/ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: In Sonnet Wise FRED RAPHAEL ALLEN BOSTON RICHARD G. BADGER THE GORHAM PRESS Copyright, 1911, by Fred Raphael Allen All Rights Reserved The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. ff-^ \ CONTENTS Page Louise Chandler Moulton 9 Afterward lO The Other's Shadow 12 The Empress Josephine 14 Lucrezia Borgia 15 Hawthorne's Silence 16 Hester Prynne 17 The Reptile 18 Too Late 19 Gretchen 20 The Last of the Druids 2i The Aphrodite to the Dying Poet Heine 22 Athena to Renan the Scoffer 23 My Queen 24 Agony 25 Temperament 26 In the Mirror 27 Individualism 28 Tranquil Eyes 29 Christos Slain 30 Mater Dolorosa 31 The Silent Huntress 32 Thy Faults 33 The Automobile 34 CONTENTS Page Emily Dickinson — Her Poems 35 Wild Flowers 36 Pussy Willows 37 Delilah 38 Sigyn 39 Elsie Venner 40 Jeanne D^Arc 41 Robert Browning 42 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 43 Paul 44 The Water Lily 45 The Emerald 46 May Eve 47 To the Sonnet 48 A May Shower 49 The Catholic Dead 50 The "Chapping" at the Door 51 The Annunciation 52 To the Muse 53 Rebecca West 54 The Fireside Sphinx 55 Thy Sin 56 Madame Blavatsky 60 A Knot of Crepe 61 The Dead Master 62 The Dark Sisters 63 The First of March 64 CONTENTS Page The "Nigger" 65 Reuben 66 A Sea Shell 67 "Ex Maria Virgine" 68 Old Boston Streets 69 George Eliot 70 Spring in New England 71 Rose Geranium 72 Nance O'Niel 73 Sunrise in the City's Heart 74 Sunset in the City's Heart 75 My Grandmother 76 Mein Schw ester 77 In An Old Album 78 The Romany Girl 79 The Archangel Raphael 80 The City of the Dead 81 Scents and Sounds 82 Laurence Hope 83 Love and Spring 84 A Dead Child 87 Poet and King 88 The Two Statues 90 The Decadent Poets 91 Lilacs 92 The Imjnortal 93 His Mother 94 CONTENTS Page The HoTnely Hearth 95 Mary Stuart 96 Elizabeth Tudor 97 The Voice of Sex 98 "In that Old Ancient Time" lOi A Day in Spring I02 "When in the Silence of Thy Last Despair". . 103 The Lone Hollow 104 Paganini's Violin 105 To My Mother 106 To An Old Poet^ Who Fears Death 107 Father 108 An Old Toiler 109 IN SONNET WISE LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON IN MEMORIAM Maker of poets! Poet crowned, and friend! The silence fills your erst familiar place ; The gentle presence of your woman's grace — No more to mortal circles you may lend. Oh if there be some poem-gift to send From vague dream-vastness of untravelled space — I pray you measure with an angel's pace, Through cloud and night your radiant star-path wend ! I beg you, stoop from your sun-perfect sphere — To list the plainting of an earthly lute ; Behold a wreath whose only worth is love ! Heaven has not changed you, you, so gracious here — No death can make your voice of summer, mute ; Speak, and accept the songs I waft above! 9 AFTERWARD What is my beauty now? The lips that praised My smile, my glance, are silent evermore! We traced in sand ; the heedless wave erased Our slight love-markings from the faithless shore. Am I so changed to him, as he to me? Am I too warm for his cold arms to clasp? Would he still seize me, with the lover's grasp, And shake the love-blooms from the marriage tree? How is it with the dead? Is love a dream, Forgotten, when the phantom stands beside The sea of death, and looks across the tide Wistful to know how love and lovers seem? I cannot coax him o'er that hungry wave; He loved my beauty, yet it may not save ! lO II Did soul touch soul, I wonder? Do I crave The kiss thou gavest with thy power of fire? It stifles me! Thine arms fold in the grave, And yet they yearn to close me with desire! Oh love, with impulse of the untamed horse On boundless plains, thou art a ghoul to me! Thine was no soul, content to run its course Content in God, meek in eternity! I feel thee hovering in a vampire form — And breathing kisses on my face and hair! I dread thee, as I dread the sudden storm That chills the mildness of the summer air! Torments of fancy ! Yet I would life's powers Had taught us God to bless this love of ours! II THE OTHER'S SHADOW I The other woman's shadow stands between — That one who stabbed your heart, and maimed your soul ! I would be blinder than the earth-hid mole Did I not see her mocking, scornful mien ! She points at me like an adulterous queen And sneers, "I had him first; where then, wert thou?" Could I place orange blossoms on my brow, Forgetful, henbane on her lips had been? Would not she sit between us at the board Or wave me hence when I lay in your arms ? Would not her shadow laugh, if I should weep? Nay love, I take you for my chosen lord — But would the white flesh of her wanton charms Were hidden from us in the final Sleep! 12 II But stay, I see the sorrow in your eyes ! Love I shall heal, where she but lived to kill! Let vanities of earth-life claim her still — My love shall make me wifely kind and wise ! Love, I shall pray the glad suns on you rise! Love, I shall shape the labour of my hands To bless the highways of your life's demands — That she may greet us with dismayed surprise! Come, let us face her! I shall fear no more! Let her be dead, who never lived to me; Let her be silent, when we speak and kiss! Perchance, hereafter, on the blessed shore Her meek-eyed ghost may find us, chaste and free- And give us greeting in our lovers' bliss ! 13 THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE No ill-timed sneer of this irreverent day Can smirch the lustre of thy matron's robe; No jackal orb, adrift o'er history's globe, Can turn thy star from its empyrean way. Think they, these snarlers, to bedim thy sway And crown the kraken beast. Napoleon By whining slurs of wrongs, thy hands had done — True light who raised him, by thy guiding ray? Nay, had thy heart been black instead of sad — It had not worn his colour, lecherous red; But thou wert pure, fair woman — more than queen ! Each petty folly censured ; wilful-mad Are those dog-scribblers who would bow thy head And seize his pitch to soil thine honour's sheen! 14 LUCREZIA BORGIA Praise God a voice is heard — a random voice To breathe denial of thy lusts and crimes; Three Borgias were ye — why should we take choice Of thee, as scapegoat, of old, evil times? Thou wert a woman. Flora fair, we read — And marred by faults wt fain would never speak. Thou wert not guilty of each bloody deed Old wives' decrees have branded on thy cheek! A Jezebel, a poisoner, wert thou If rote and drama flame the rightful word ; A traitress, false to God in every vow — A name accursed, where it chance, was heard ! Thus speaks untruth ; howbeit, we shall know . The Last Great Day, why men have judged thee so ! 15 HAWTHORNE'S SILENCE The babblers chattered like a flock of birds Who spy a field of ripe and yellow corn. Amid the shower of smiles and pleasant words, I saw him stand apart — the Mystic Born ! His was a Silence, I had never known! The fair sky of my sunny world turned gray; He heard far voices, where he stood, alone — And saw dark forms outlined against the day. Where was the world those deep eyes searched and knew ? Who spoke to him in that far Silence land? The noisy room seemed misty to my view, And soul-imploring, I stretched forth my hand. He looked — he smiled ! His Silence was mine own ; And I stood with him in the skies — alone! i6 HESTER PRYNNE The faultless concept of a master brain, Who follows soul dictates, is nobler far — Than manikin who breathes, but knows no star, And lives as swine, in sluggish torpor, lain. This woman, Hester Prynne ; among the train Of glorious penitents great Goethe saw — She moves the holier, for her soul's one flaw — And as the still sea chants the raptured strain. When thoughtful footsteps turn b)^ ice-bound streams To list the pines sing to the wailing wind — The echo of her presence fills the air. Her steadfast eyes shine in the heart's high dreams; She treads by ocean wastes with wet rocks lined — Hands clasped on bosom, spotless pure and fair. 17 THE REPTILE What third world bore the reptile? Why has man Instinctive, nurtured hatred to the race ? Are they the offshoots from some vanished span When God and Death fought on the waters' face? The watchful tortoise, still and deadly snake — The wary-creeping, cruel-souled crocodile — All bear the Impress of an antique make Of worlds and strata older than the Nile! What horrid beauty marks the serpent's wrath? Behold the wisdom In those sleepless eyes! On foot, on belly, lo the reptile's path Seems destined. Isolate, for death's surmise. Yet birds leaped from them ! In our walks we trace The reptile's brand In human hand and face! i8 TOO LATE The kisses you denied my whole life long — You leave with slow tears on my ice-cold brow! Oh, tardy love, why pledge affection now? Why ask the silent bird for life and song? It was your duty, say you, to the throng — You call the world, to love, and never speak! But now, when Death's white roses frost my cheek- You sob in broken whispers, "I was wrong!" This heart wild for you in life's sad days, Now dead and done as e'en my love and I ; I am most deaf to life and lover's ways. And coldly lie here, who was loath to die. I may not heed you ; your's the sorry fate To cherish soul and heart, too late, too late! 19 GRETCHEN Poor maid to clasp the jewels to her breast, When flower jewels sparkled at her feet! Weak girl to deem their heavy weight the best, When tendrils brushed her forehead, white and sweet ! How changed was all her world in one sad hour! So pure, she had no need to ask her shrift — Then, withered like some frail rose in a bower — Cast in the stream 'mid spreading weeds to drift 1 For one mad sin, a Brocken of despair Seized brain and heart; and by her lover's kiss Soul torture followed, till the cell's foul air Led her to angels' song from serpents' hiss! Yet Gretchen, penitent, did so believe That Faust was saved by clinging to her sleeve ! 20 THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS He saw his ancient faith die in the groves; The great tree temples decked with Christian wreaths. He wandered, as a lawless star that roves Unmindful of the moon, who light bequeaths. At last, grown old, his hoar beard on his breast, His fellows dead, their mandates disobeyed — He sought his runes to find some charm for rest, That he might face the future unafraid. The while he mused, beneath the moss-crowned oak, The fearless Patrick passed, and gave his hand. His voice said, "Brother!" and the stern heart broke ; The Druid knew a God had blessed his land ! And Patrick prayed for him who loved his race — That he might know the Father, face to face. 21 THE APHRODITE TO THE DYING POET HEINE Ah, offspring of the long-dead Pagan age, Why beg of me whose hands must be my eyes ? How can I help thee to discern one page Of Jove's old book, writ when the gods were wise? Poor, crippled, halt — how can I give thee power? The gods are mute; I live in silent shame. Thou whisperest "Death!" thou withering poppy flower — I cannot aid, though thou hast praised my name. My bones are weary of this lonely fate — Speak not of passing to the loathsome grave! I tell thee, fool, thy fears have made thee prate — Walpurgus presbyter, know — I cannot save! I knew Hellene — harlot love I knew — That hast thou known — now wear thy crown of rue! 22 ATHENA TO RENAN THE SCOFFER I was the Shadow of that Mighty One — Thou wouldst not know — the lowly Nazarene! I was the Moon, but, fool, He is the Sun — The life that decks the Pagan fields with green! I am not dead! I lived as e'er I lived The Perfect Wisdom of a little day ; 'Tis not by me the thoughts of men are sieved — But by that One, who was, and is alway! I sprang, full-armed, from Zeus' half-mighty brain- A miracle; behold the Nazarene! A Babe in Mary's arms in slumber lain — That Mary who is now All-Heaven's Queen ! Lo He, the Ever-Child, the God in man — Will tell thee, wastrel, all of thy brief span ! 23 MY QUEEN "Love Loyal to the least wish of the Queen" ; So let me be, but to no Guinevere, Whose heart's warm rose absorbed her conscience's tear — Till sin defiled her bower's lily sheen. My sovereign is a lady robed in green. Who yields me simples, made of herbs and sleep. She leads me where the woodland heart is deep — And shows me oft, the grave rest of her mien. I am most loyal, giving heart and love — And binding years as strings to chant her praise, Knowing, at last, she calls me to her arms. My lady dwells where flies the greenw^ood dove ; More fair than mortal mistress, lo, her ways Are songs and smiles of forest spells and charms! 24 AGONY A canvas glimpse, 'twill haunt me all my days; A mother-sheep, amid the whirling snow — Her dead lamb at her feet; whilst, eyes a-glow — With whetted beaks, the crows, from forest ways. Fix the small carcass with expectant gaze. They wait in silence; her despairing cries Shrill through the night; with pitiless surmise — They watch till death her hapless eyes shall glaze. A picture bit! But still I feel the snow — I hear the shrieks; in fancy I can see The blood chain, ring as grim and cold as fate. What sword pierced through her breast, before the glow Of those red eyes! Oh, well-named "Agony" — The dumb, maternal soul, that bade her wait! 25 TEMPERAMENT Alas, poor word! So mis-applied, abused By every selfish coward drunk with self! Sad prisoner to sin, now be thou loosed — Sleep, till thou wake to happy lease of health! Thou art the veil of every petty vice — The glib excuse of rogue and dilettant ; Behold a carrion, stinking, reeked in lice — And thou art fair cloak for this devil's grant ! Thy primal mission seeks Elysian air — Where hearts incarnate as translucent gems; But lo, lust drags thee to its siren's lair — Where nightshade mongrel son the orchid's stems! I fain would echo Madame Roland's cry — And scourge them hence who sin, and smoothly lie! 26 IN THE MIRROR Her glass in hand — her faithful plane of glass, A face she sees; not her's, who therein looks — But oh, a face that gazed in running brooks — The rose-pink skin of sonsie countrj^ lass! Her ears once heard the feet of summer pass — The face was fair with daisy pastured health; A dancing eye, her hair her only wealth — Her one great joy the skylark's tribute Mass! Long doth she look, this woman, worn and sad. At that young face, once her's by dower right Of wild-sown meadow, stream, and wooded hill. Alas, what pain to scan the charm she had — Dimmed by the street and ghastly taper light; Long hath she known how sin, young grace doth kill ! 27 INDIVIDUALISM My life came as a gift — a perfect gift; I cannot, careless, toss this gift aside — Unless I make the puling coward's shift, And go a traitor o'er the dark divide. What bodes this gift ? Say, what its golden use ? Is it the knife to kill, or balm to save? Is it my right to twist myself the noose — If my desire should beck me to the grave? Is it my right to trample on those hearts — I was commanded by my God to love? Should I dance Carmagnole by rattling carts. My "right" had filled? Would that win peace above ? Is my first duty to my poor self ? No ! No reckoning but the monster's, metes life so ! 28 TRANQUIL EYES In those soft lakes of hazel, peace is seen ; Yet that pure soul was oft times torn and stirred By time's distress and hatred's javelin word — The crown of sorrow on that brow hath been. Now, in these twilight hours, she dwells serene By stilly waters; in those trustful eyes — Behold the light, the day sheds when it dies — The solemn joy of sunset's farewell sheen. The flush of youth knows not this fearless peace- The silver flecks the hair above those eyes; The river nears the vastness of the sea. Soon Death shall give her victory of release — The soft orbs mark the death-bird where it flies- The calm lips whisper, ''Rest! Eternity!" 29 CHRISTOS SLAIN Forgive me, Christos, if an act of mine Hath nailed Thee to this day's memorial Cross. Forgive me w^hen I spurn the galled w^ine, And sorrow for an idle bauble's loss. What are my mortal tears to tears of Thine? Have I the burden of an evil w^orld? When v^^as I raised against the sky's gray line? When was I to the blood-hell, blameless, hurled? Oh Perfect Christos! Pity and forgive! Thy dying eyes have pierced my bosom's core; Oh wounded hands outstretched to bid me live — Forgive that I have failed to love Thee more! If I have bound Thee on the bitter Cross, Be mine the thorny crown, and mine the loss! 30 MATER DOLOROSA Hush! Here is grief the like was never seen! She weeps who is the purest of the earth! A sorrowing Mother is the Heavens' Queen — Bound to His flesh in God-mysterious birth! Oh can those streaming eyes be Her's who yearned Above a gentle Babe among the hills? Her dry lips move — Her Son with thirst is burned, Her vision shows Her, mock of gushing rills! All, all, is His; His Mother's prayers can move The Kingly Victim for ungrateful man; Yet, here She shares His Martyrdom of love And feels hell's torments in a moment's span. Oh Mary of the Dolours, let me pray Beside Thee to my Lord, this awful day! 31 THE SILENT HUNTRESS Does Death hunt with you on those silent shores, You, who have roamed the woods to horn and hound ? Did not your strong arms seize the boatman's oars, When that dim bark passed from my sight and sound? Oh goddess huntress! Woman, brave as true — Who met with Death and smiled full in his face! What warrior phantom roves those Woods with you ? What game is yours in that far, noiseless chase? Your supple hands^ — what bridle do they grasp ? Who rides beside you on those endless miles? Who saw the coffin hinge, at length unclasp — And sunned him in the glad light of your smiles? Oh great and strong! My Amazon, my soul! Cannot your voice ring o'er the tide's dark roll? 32 THY FAULTS As time with kindly hands would fain conceal With ivy mantles, boss of ruined tomb — So, in the narrows of my spirit's gloom, I gloss the faults thy impulse would reveal. Yet, stern convictions, born of justice, steal That as the tomb is but the tomb, despite Its ivy cover, so no haze of light Can prove the darkness of thy grain unreal! The bird, created for the orchard peace, Who nested mid the thick sprays on the tomb — Would it be mad, or only gently kind? I know thee ! Yet I seek no last release ; I only pray some chance of life and bloom In me, may call to sight thy soul, now blind ! 33 THE AUTOMOBILE Mis-shapen monster of a misprised age! I loiter with the summer down the lane As care-free as the bird loosed from the cage — When you sweep on me like a plague's foul bane! Oh, Mother Nature, think! The mammoth forms Of pterodactyl, of dioynasar — Those creatures bred in rock-wombs, mid thy storms — Is this their offspring, bastard of their core? I strive In vain to set my soul In touch With thee, Green Mother; I can only shrink In flesh and spirit from this saurian clutch ; I lose thy wood-scents In this man-made stink! I must plunge in thy deeps to catch again Thy charm, dispelled by this rank thing of Cain ! 34 EMILY DICKINSON— HER POEMS Why should you stoop to me from that far sphere Your spirit measures with unfaltering tread ? What soul am I, that you, th' exalted dead Should leave your star to share my vigils here? I laid no laurel tributes on your bier; I know you not, in those, your earthly days; Yet you walk with me in the woodwild maze — And speak to me, beside the tranquil mere, Your soul has nasence in your poet's book — You seem so real, I almost feel your hand Steal into mine, the while your lines I read. You, in this life dreamed in a quiet nook. But you have led me to Parnassus' land — Where guardian muses serve the poet's need! 35 WILD FLOWERS I like those flowers best, whose sweetness lives Defiant of the winter's killing power. The staunch field fellows, whom wise Nature gives A chosen Asgard in her country bower. No dainty segments of the city's skill Are those brave rustics, strong and sturdy-veined; They hide their heads in philosophic will When coarse winds roar, and fields are brown be- stained. These are the symbols of the hearts that hope — The optimists that strive, and dare, and do; They blow, they dance, a white-lined, gold-eyed rope. The summer's hour, reliant, smiling, true! No fragile rose may be so dear to God As these wild gypsies of the untilled sod ! 36 PUSSY WILLOWS The March is sullen ; but he leaves one gift To prove him generous-hearted, not a churl. Impatiently he tears a snow-thick drift, And scatters, careless, drops of rose and pearl. He meditates — shall winter claim his heart? He mutters to himself, and bare trees stir. Then he recalls, he owes fair spring his part, And grimly smiling, gives these buds of fur. Sired by winter, damed of murky days — They cling persistent to the parent stem ; They purr as March strides through the curling haze ; He nods, in passing, gruff farewell to them. Thus Pussy Willow^s cuddle in the woods To show the March a friend, despite his moods. 37 DELILAH Why do we call thee traitress, that a fool Lay on thy breast and told thee of his strength? His was the sin, who broke th' Almighty's rule And slaved his people for a hapless length. But thou, who called God, Dagon, hands of scorn Have painted thee through ages as a bawd! Did not thy bosom know its secret thorn To lure a giant dolt with trick and fraud? True, thou wert fair, but in thy woman's soul Deep love was strong for thine old nation's pride; Thy warrior heart burned as a livid coal. And thou to Philista wert plighted bride! Why execrate thee ? Thine was mind and power ; Thou of thy people, wert the perfect flower! 38 SIGYN She never did a wrong; but evil casts Its fatal shadow on her stricken heart; Her husband, Loki, works his god-doomed part Bound to the rock, while time's appointment lasts. Above him hangs a serpent, mid the vasts Of fissured rocks; its eager fangs displace The angry venom on his upturned face — But she, t'avert his doom, bides endless fasts. Within a leaf-twined cup the venom falls — And her sad eyes are evermore upraised Imploring grace for him who knew not good. Ever she sits amid the wild birds' calls — Faithful to him, her pure soul who abraised ; Eternal martyr of true womanhood. 39 ELSIE VENNER God sets some souls a sorry task from birth; The pre-ordained, who suffer in the womb. Theirs is the loss from cradle to the tomb; Not theirs the laurels of th' applauding earth. Solitude claims them from the rounds of mirth ; Ishmaelites, they walk where Nature broods O'er rocks she gashed, in vengeance of her moods; Sombre and silent, they wander in dearth. Ever they raise their eyes in deadly hate; Like basilisks they poison with their rage; Mutely they seek for a soul, dumb-defined. Sometime God looses the chain of their fate; Somewhere they meet with the best of their age; Love, at the last, lifts the cloud from the mind! 40 JEANNE D'ARC God spoke to her; the loftiest of His host Came down to bear her spirit company. Our Lady gave her gifts of chastity, And for her spouse she had the Holy Ghost. She drove iron England from the Frankish coast- And with her peasant vision, turned the tide Of time and history, from the Briton side To France, where Fate decreed its mileage post. Yet envious England led her to the flames; And slothful France keheld her saviour die. And turned her face unwitting — gratitude! But La Pucelle among the deathless names Stands foremost in the annals of the sky; "All perfect thou, with every glance endued"! 41 ROBERT BROWNING Thou wert the Piper; and thy strange-blent tune Called vermin forms to perish in the wave; The w^orld, the Hamlin, that thy reed might save If it so chose to know the Sun at noon ! Again thy pipe called, that the freed might hear; And waiting souls, who were as children wise — Listened rejoicing, followed without fear, And through the hillcleft saw the bending skies. Afar they built them on the forest side, And saw the grass was green, found God, a truth; They knew life stately as a goddess bride, And lived the palace in the seer's booth. Who heard thee, followed; for thy reed sang, "Think! If Life be God, from death thou shalt not shrink!" 42 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING In storied Florence is a noble tomb, Where lies a woman, called Elizabeth. Long years ago she gave her harp to death — Long since she left her Casa Guidi room. I hear an echo from th' Italian gloom; Lo, 'tis a voice I oft have yearned to hear! A gentle form steals lightly from her bier And now I know the grave a fabled doom! 'Tis thou — Madonna of the poets' Heaven! Thou Joan of Song who heard St. Michael's voice Thou Moon of Splendour in the lyric sky! I take each note, thy deathless harp has given ; I make thy poet's dreams my lasting choice; I hear thy singing — thou canst never die! 43 PAUL I never kissed you, Paul; your arms' embrace I never knew, though love spoke in your eyes. I met you, years gone, under distant skies And gave my soul to you a summer space. Where are you now? What people, and what place Live in your smile — your smile that was my sun! Sad-eyed, alone, I think, when all is done My dying heart shall pray to see your face! Why did we love, and fear thereof to speak? I have been loved since then — God spare the word — But in my soul, Paul, you are Sacrament ! Oh would my spirit had the light to seek Your spirit where no voice but God's is heard — Then should we kiss, and know what true love meant ! 44 THE WATER LILY Ah water lily on the stagnant pool, What miracle art thou of God and Life? What law of nature wed a spotless wife And shaped thee 'mid these scenes, meet for a ghoul? Who but a God could so ordain the rule To bear thee, crystal gem of virgin worth? Pure, dost thou rise from noisome depths, to birth Whose wonder well rebukes the atheist fool ! Heredity has snapped its chain for thee; Environment n'er carved thee, jewelled star — Thy mission is to chide the cynic heart. Not in our world thine excellence could be — We men, who boast so high and fall so far. We are but flesh — thine is an angel's part! 45 THE EMERALD Mysterious emerald, emblem of the May — The new-waked fields, the dainty fairy ring! The fresh-robed trees where young birds mate and sing Of spring's warm birth, and summer's verdant day! Did wild forms snatch you from the sea's tossed spray ? Or did a dewdrop, sparkling diamond fair Fall on the Fay-queen dancing in the air — And seize the colour of her mantle's play? Green eye of youth, you reign the fairest queen Of precious gems, decked in their caprice blaze; You gleam, a mirror, where a god might look! But, best of all, you shine with nature's sheen ; You speak of moonlit nights, and long, clear days — The turf's green breast, beside the murmuring brook 1 46 MAY EVE This Is the night when old dreams work their will! Old memories of half-forgotten times Will jingle light in thistle-breasted rhymes — And thirsty fays will drink their beakers' fill ! No thing that loves the wood-life shall be still; Each forest heart awakes to greet the May. Shrill laughter wildly hails her smiling sway — And tiny figures dance o'er mead and rill! May Eve and Spring! The fairies' potent night! The scattered exiles have their long year's wish — They sing the runes of age-stored fairy lore! The stars are songs, the moon a magic light ! Who drinks their wine, eats of the fairies' dish — Remembers old lives, lived and died before! 47 TO THE SONNET Come sound, come silence! Come, oh sonnet soul! I want the rhythm of thy mark and pause! I crave Effect, thou most exquisite Cause — Thou Holiest, thou Elohim, thou Goal! Speak, 'twixt thy lines! Sing of the dusky bole Where fairies slumber till the shade of night! Thy interludes shall make me dream aright — I shall transcend the gray threads of my dole! The thought thou bindest in thy close confine Leads gently to the further paths of peace ; I wander, wander, till the world is nought! The solemn pause that holds thee, line to line Is unvoiced music, struggling for release; Thou art perfection, in a vision wrought! 48 A MAY SHOWER Wouldst thou obscure the May, thou playful shower, Or dost thou think us weary of her charm? Thou wouldst not do the dryad maiden harm — Thou wouldst not rob us of one welcome flower! Wouldst thou display the caprice of thy power, Or art thou sporting with the field and wood ? Hast thou a measure of the sky's soft good Whose hope inclines to brighten urn and bower? Yea friend, we love thee! Thy light hand is soft — Thy footsteps whisper only, and are gone; Thine is a gift of diamond-crested dew! Quick, thou art fled, and in the still wood-croft A lone bird sings; and lo, the queenly swan Glides through the waves, rejoicing in the blue! 49 THE CATHOLIC DEAD A host of silent witnesses they lie From pole to pole, the holy Catholic dead! Wherever mankind breaks his humble bread — Wherever mortal flesh must faint and die. Strange hoar trees shade them, 'neath the Eastern sky; Fierce dawns burst o'er them, wondrous gold and red; Cold mountains yield them stones at feet and head — The prairies bless them in a low-breathed sigh. No land too Pagan for the conquering Cross — And on the grave the Cross becomes the Crown! No tongue too alien for the Requiem prayers. Mirabile! The parent earth's emboss Ornates the faithful dead with tender down — Wherever man, and his appointment fares! 50 THE "CHAPPING" AT THE DOOR ('7 hear my father chapping at the door" J. M. Barriers Margaret Ogilvy.) I hear the Last Guest chapping at the door ! He comes by night across the unmarked snow. How can I leave my fireside's warming glow, And take the few steps on the home-sweet floor? I look around and murmur, ''Nevermore!" The thread's spun out ; the watchful cat's asleep ; The toilers rest ; the night's at blackest deep — Quick! I must glean my half-forgotten lore! He comes but once, this Guest who sharply raps, And sometime I must open — why not now ? But oh so sudden, — not one last good-bye! But still He stands, and still his thin hand chaps; No wood-leaf stirs ; no breeze plays on the bough ; It seems a dream — the Messenger is nigh ! 51 THE ANNUNCIATION Wrapt in a dream of temple days She knelt; The silence grown so loud, She raised Her eyes; A trembling seemed to shake the cloudless skies — A strange joy seized Her, never dreamed nor felt. A flash of white seemed hovering on the floor; It took an Angel's shape! And She recalled The sweet-stern face, when She was temple walled — Had outlined dimly near the fast-barred door. But now he came in glory! And the power Leaped in Her soul and shouted in Her heart! A regal throne became Her maiden's bower — She stood majestic in Her destined part! Troubled in mind was She, but not afraid; Thus Gabriel called Her — Mother, Queen and Maid! 52 TO THE MUSE Dear Muse, come back ! I sit with head on hand ; But you have fled, I feel no answering thrill. Have I strayed so far from the lover's land That I may claim no recognition still? Once love was mine — but what Inspires now? Old griefs and shadows have no tender voice. Pain In my heart, the rue wreath on my brow — Without your pity, how can I rejoice? Come — give your soft touch to my cheek and hair! Come — sing of woods and hidden fairy dells! Tell where you bide that I may fly to seek! Oh give me water from your crystal wells — Inspire me with your cerulean air — Behold me patient, sad, and wisely meek! 53 REBECCA WEST {Ibsen s Rosmersholm) The nights thy troubled spirit sought the path That mounted o'er the mill-dam's maddening race! And there beheld a drowned woman's face Transfixing thine with staring smile of wrath! The pictures mocked thee, child of graceless Gath, Till shadows shaped as hands of burning iron! The simple fancies of the day's environ Foreshadowed pennance of thy aftermath! And he the man — unknowing, dreamer-wise, But all unlearned in woman's sophistries — Was god of wax, where marble were thy will! Thy fate was written in the dead wife's eyes — The White Horse rattled through the boding breeze, And ere he visioned, waited grim and still I 54 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX No house is home that lacks th' attendant cat, The tiny tiger, savage, and demure; The ruthless foe of bird, and dog, and rat — Who glides with cushioned ease, alert and sure. Behold the dainty Pussy's coy device. Her grateful purr for household w^armth and fire ! But, wonder, that wee beastie in a trice Can splutter like a demon in her ire ! A heritage of mystery wraps her round — Night and the devil claim her jungle heart; In her volcanoes of infernal sound; Shrewd diplomat, she scores in each strange part. 'Tis well, when surfeit gluts our history's page To watch her eyes, untamed from age to age! 55 THY SIN I I thought how Gretchen at the spinning-wheel Heard, in the dusk, the mocking devil's strain; And when her sin through thinking, seemed unreal- He woke her to the sharpness of her pain. But hapless Gretchen never sat as I And heard the twanging of the red guitar; The links of loathsome music pierce the sky, Whilst thou who earned the serenade art far! If it were sin of mine, my heart should weep — But 'tis thy sin that mocks the silent air! My soul is tortured that thine own does sleep ; Thy conscience rests, but mine lives thy despair! If it were sin of mine, my life should die; But I must mourn for thee, who art a lie I 56 II The Brocken broom and brack would ease me now! The night's too black for God-redeemed earth! I'd have the Fiend's hot finger on my brow And join the Harpies in unhallowed mirth! Why do I stay with God, when thou hast lost The God impress through carelessness of sin? I would upon the waves of air be tossed And bid the Sabbath spirits let me in! I, who am bound to thee by endless chains Of life and love, am weary with my prayers! Would revel with the damned ease my pains — Could I be lulled with discords unawares? Oh sinful love return! These thoughts of hell Will sound for me, as thee, the funeral knell! 57 Ill Ask thou of God ! Why ask me to forgive ? I who am flesh of thee have shared thy sin ! I will be with thee, while my life shall live, And only know a Heaven thou canst win. Canst thou unbind the circled band of Fate From my left hand? Canst thou wipe off the kiss Thou gavest me first? Too late, poor love, too late, There was too much of soul, too much of bliss! I, I condemn thee? I can only weep To see thee kneeling, who should stand beside; I shall go with thee to the Silent Sleep Who faced the Altar as thine unspoiled bride. Ask thou of God ! And ask, my love, for me — Our soul, our sin, that cleansed they may be! 58 IV The past Is quick forgot, when Fate restores The placid light ; thy anguish proved thy soul A tortured wanderer on those woodless shores Where sin demands the conscience's breath for toll! I have no fear to love thee; all is spring In thee, in me, and in the garden's heart; I ever crowned thee as my spirit's king E'en when I walked for thee a lonely part. The ash fades on thy brow; the sad scars heal Where scourge of thy remorse dipped in thy blood. Thy sin is dead ! Our love, our life, is real We have not perished in the devil's flood ! Come, let us walk the garden, breathe the sky! God has forgiven, why, my love, not I? 59 MADAME BLAVATSKY Woman, who played at Zeus In council-seat On high Olympus ; would-be thunder giver — Feigning the sea, though but a brawling river — In all things strong, in nothing sane or sweet! Who traced the pathways for they wilful feet? Where found thy soul its wit to guide the pen? Was it an holy temple, or a den Where uncouth monsters held their devils' meet? In truth, thou wert a miracle of noise — Albeit thou didst steal thy thunder's crash; Although a river, thou couldst play the sea! What time leaves of thee, what his will destroys — A future age must read by lightning's flash ; Whate'er thou wert — some strange force voiced in thee ! 60 A KNOT OF CRAPE A knot of crape tossed by the twilight winds Hangs on this door; whose door I know not, yet Herein I know, Death and his peers have met — And God herein. His altar's w^orship finds. The moon rides in the sky, and on the blinds Closed, as to shut the heedless noises out — Sheds night's young lustre; pausing on her route To mock the trappings of poor mortal minds. Peace, peace, within ! God moves among ye, now- Howe'er ye did deny Him, years agone! No lore of man can heal the aching heart. Thus find we God; one tracing on the brow By Death, the Victor; one face, set and wan — And life, one moment, stands with God apart 6i THE DEAD MASTER Oh could I hear you play as now you play, Crowned master of the star-stringed violin! Speak through the night, the moon is cold and thin- Beloved dead, for my dear sake obey! Push by the straggling stars, and wing your way ! Your violin lies lifeless on my knees ; In my rude hand, the bow that sobbed of seas And myrtle dells is mute as soulless clay! I may not wrench one wailing chord of sound To tell my grief and dumb despair for you ! Beloved come, for God's Soul thrills you now! Hush ! In the misty darkness lowering round A strain I hear, celestial deep and new ! Beloved — was it you who kissed my brow? 62 THE DARK SISTERS Pain and Sorrow — Grief and Death; these four Dark sisters walk among us at their will. We may not heed them, but their presence, still. In silence speak the fatal "nevermore". Not only by the grass-grown marble door Where love and life lie fast in dreamless sleep ; Not only when the last dim shadows creep Their sweeping garments trail our spirit's floor. Beside the gates of pleasure, where we seek Forgetfulness of gall and latter end — The four will whisper "Love and life are brief !" We cannot flee them, solemn-eyed and meek — But we may greet them each as faithful friend — And in their presence find a sweet relief. 63 THE FIRST OF MARCH Blind Februarj^ tore her hair in wrath — And when we sought to do her homage, threw Snow blankets o'er us; shrieking down time's path She cursed and left us. March ! The sky is blue ! No trace of February's angry frown — March smiles among us with benignant eyes; Wee buds, hard-gnarled, peep out on stems of brown — And o'er the landscape, haze of sun-joy lies. Capricious March may pelt us with his sleet — May slash the infant buds, his first day's gift; But we are grateful, that his god-winged feet Brought blue and gold, and hints of winter's lift. Good Omen, Master March! A soft day's sun! The ice-floes shake, the new life is begun ! 64 THE "NIGGER" Why rail at him? This ''free land" is his ''home"! Now shout of "Spangled Banners", and the "brave"! Our fathers' fathers branded him as slave — We "generous" Saxons forced him o'er the foam. He would be man — should he be ape or gnome, Who', generations, heard us scorn his soul? He has God's image, shall we make his mole? He knows the light — must he endure the gloam? He has his awful sins, this African — He learned of those who prospered by his chains; He spoils our women — as we long spoiled his! Shall seas engulf him? He can walk — a man! Say, can we drive him, who let slip the reins By our own weakness? Act! He lives — he is! 6s REUBEN Not his the envy of the nobler mind, To trick his aged father's failing sense; Not his the hate to send his brother hence, And give him bondman, to an alien kind. His was no hand the iron goads to bind — But his the lips to speak the soothing words. His was the voice of gentle singing birds; His eyes shed pity for his sire, blind. Yet could his nature stoop to weak deceit — Not his the courage to withstand the crowd; The son of Isaac knew his eldest well. When Reuben knelt before his father's feet- In tones of grief, the Angel-marked avowed "As water shifting — thou shalt not excel!" 66 A SEA SHELL I hear the sea chant In this tiny shell — A lowly child of its infinity; I place it to my ear ; it sings to me Of merfolk sporting on the far tide's swell. I hear the echo of the wailing knell The drowned chorus in the coral deeps; I dream sea-children in their languid sleeps; Grots I behold, where lovers, sea-tales, tell. Thou hast thy shell, thou unconjectured main — But what should be my echo, if I pass To that long silence, where all sound is dead? No anxious effort of my futile brain — No thought in marble, no emboss in brass — May live to mark the soul forever fled ! 67 "EX MARIA VIRGINE" {Et incarnatus de Spirituo SanctOj ex Maria Vir- gine et Homo f actus est) Thus Christ was born! Thus Truth was e'er de- creed, And ever thus shall incarnate! 'Tis She — The Woman, who the means of grace must be; 'Tis She ordained to mate with God at need ! 'Tis fixed as the earth must hide the seed To bear the fruit and forest foliage; 'Tis She with wisdom, far above the sage Whose soul can hark, and do God's Golden Deed! And God, who chose the Maid of Galilee As His Co-Worker in the destined plan Has marked the Woman for His holy spouse! Lo, forth She steps, when Christos is to be — And God, o'erleaping lowly law and man — For His fulfilling, makes Her soul His house! 68 OLD BOSTON STREETS Old England left a silent heritage, Although young Albion broke the parent tie. The grave streets wear a solemn air and sage — As though the English fathers still were nigh. With wistful longings for the mother land, Our forbears laid her mark on road and lane; And e'en to-day, the staunch New England strand Clasps hands in thought with her across the main. The quaint-laid parks, the covert balconies On tall, grim houses, fallen from their state — Recall the decorous towns far o'er the seas; The past still lives in echo, sign, and trait. The couchant lion, garden-front, we see. That might have coaxed a smile from Thackeray! 69 GEORGE ELIOT I would not live thy life, strange woman — man, No, not to write the wonder of thy lines ! Yet I revere the soul who knew the signs Of life's long-serpent, trailing caravan. The hieroglyphics of the cosmos' span Thy shrewd mind traced, and set in marble rote; I lodge the beam, In thy deep eye the mote — I dare not judge thee; God, no creature, can! But for thy future glory, would thy days Had been a woman-wife's ; thy soul was white. And yet thy name must wear an unwashed blot. A star so bright, oh pity, that the haze Must dim the super-splendour of Its light; And we who love thee sigh — though we would not ! 70 SPRING IN NEW ENGLAND New England mine, the spring comes soon to thee — Thou vestal matron, strongly stern and mild; He comes to thee, reluctant as a child Who fears correction at his mother's knee. But thou art perfect in each bush and tree When young May sits triumphant on her throne ! I would not fly from thee to lucent zone Where languid violets wait the velvet bee! Thy God-dreamed elms! The glory of thy hills! Thy strong-veined rocks, thy grandeur-gloomy pines ! Truth is thy birthright — faith thy blood and bone! Soon shall I wander mid slow-dropping rills — And seek, in each shy nook, thy summer wines — Dear my New England, God's land, and mine, own! 71 ROSE GERANIUM Art thou the daughter of the wild pink rose Who heard the wooing of the rough west wind, And thought her wood the graveyard of the blind Where dull trees slept in colourless repose? She followed from the deep wood's sheltered close And nestled in her lover's wilful arms; Alas, the brigand wearied of her charms And tossed her where the tall geranium grows! Thou, dainty mignon, art the tender child Of second love, born in the garden bed; The tall geranium won the sad-eyed rose. But, like thy mother, thou art pink and wild, Thou wert conceived when she with sorrow bled; Thou art a-quiver, when the west wind blows! 72 NANCE O'NEIL Some pagan goddess come to earth again To learn new laws, and practice half-forgot Long-vanished rites of her immortal lot; Peace in her sleep, but in her waking, pain. The jungle moons, the haunts where beasts have lain Her still eyes speak; a priestess muttering charms, With streaming hair, and wild, distended arms — Then shrieking in a fierce exultant strain! Thus seems this woman, who adorns an art Whose many vestals boast a sorry few — To brave like her, the lightnings of the gods! Half-slumbering Egypt stirs her stranger heart; The gloom of life has crowned her with its rue; Her soul has known the welt of many rods! 73 SUNRISE IN THE CITY'S HEART Grim, monster buildings, sombre and uncouth, Glow with a tardy smile of kindly will ; The sunrise gives a touch of long-dead youth, They blandly beam, while yet the streets are still. Now hear the hurrying feet! The rest of night Seems but a moment, idly breathed and passed; The lust of toil is present with the light — Each face is tainted with harsh labour's mask. The m.any haste-unmindful of the sun; The fev/ sniff breezes from the distant sea; One soul hears woodland waters leap and run, And craves a long day on the wind-kissed lea. The sun Is strong; his call is strife and care; But hush! He whispers, "Children, work Is prayer!" 74 SUNSET IN THE CITY'S HEART Now daylight dies, and welcome peace descends; Somewhere beyond, the sea smiles to the sun. The soft winds stir, the breezes kiss as friends ; The workers breathe — the round of toil is run ! The drowsy buildings gravely sink to sleep ; The last, faint rays hail twilight in the west ; But, in the eaves, the gossip sparrows peep, Above the street these Arabs make their nest. 'Tis almost dark— but see, a red flower leans Against the gray stone of yon window-ledge ! A brave field-lily, one of nature's weans, Plucked from her nook beside the rambling hedge! The sun's last kiss is her's ; he gives her dreams Of quiet pastures, woods, and pleasant streams. 75 MY GRANDMOTHER Thou, whom I loved on earth, so long art dead That I may ask thee of the God of love! What is the true tale of the world above? Hast thou found youth, whose soul through space hath fled? Dost wear the silver on thy saintly head, Or art thou radiant with thy girlhood's grace? Wilt thou be there, with thy familiar face When I before the King, am doubting led? Come not to me in strange angelic guise! Thou art the one friend I may hope to greet; Come, free from pain, but as I knew thee — old! I weary for the long flight to the skies ; Give me the light to guide me to thy feet; Bid me fly to thee — I am tired and cold! 76 MEIN SCHWESTER Would I were Wordsworth, sister Dorothy! Thou hast her heart, though I have nought In him ; His flame was high, and mine is small and dim; A bondman I, whilst he was sovereign free! That which I do, I do for love of thee; I wander oft on sorrow's doubtful track; But ever thy low voice hath called me back — An angel guardian, thou hast been to me! I hope all-love will crown thy wisdom's day; I know thy orchard lined with fruitful trees — I dream the faith that lights thy patient eyes; For thy fond sake, I give the Muse her sway — And trust her guiding o'er unbounded seas — Content in darkness, till the sun shall rise! 77 IN AN OLD ALBUM Fair, fresh young girl — fair, fresh, spite time! I find you mouldering in this album's tomb ; I wipe away the dust of time's old gloom — And lo, your face, as sweet as scented thyme ! Fair miss of Yesterday, take this, my rhyme — Then sleep as Brynhild, beautiful for aye; I would not smile at your dead bloom of May — Death rings for all the sad notes of his chime. What matters antique garment, if the face Be bright and artless as a rose in June? Maid, you were young, and you are ever young! Time slew you; but this relic of your grace He left as echo of a master tune Sung by a gentle voice in alien tongue. 78 THE ROMANY GIRL Her piercing eyes recall the earth's new dawn; She walks the hard streets with a woodland tread; Her hair is black, her skin a satin tawn ; Her bosom's instinct serves her heart and head. "Poor creature!" sigh the women, caged and housed — And sheltered as the twittering yellow birds ; The gypsy maid with free life is espoused ; She hears the brooks, her spirit fits the words! Are cold and hunger not the least of ills, When young moons set the gypsy's blood aflame ? The gypsy's feet have topped the highest hills, And somewhere deep she speaks the Father's name! Ye tame canaries, pale slips of the town — Know ye the soul burned in her eyes of brown ? 79 THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL He comes to me in secret! As he came To pure Tobias In the olden days! He comes — a Presence, set mid golden rays — The Angel, radiant with the healer's fame! I, weak, most sinful, breathe his holy name — And at the death of day his splendour comes! The grief of life, my faltering soul benumbs — But silence brings him wreathed in oriflame! Such is our God — the God of such as I~ That greatest of His host wnng through the skies To serv^e the heart-need of the humble least. Thus Raphael, when sunset burns its dye To my low dwelling with contentment flies; He shares my fast, my solitary feast! 80 THE CITY OF THE DEAD A long, unbroken silence wraps it round ; Lethean seas lap on its ancient rocks; No need of bars, no need of chamber locks — The boldest foot shrinks from this holy ground. Slowly a boat appears, but wakes no sound ; Twain forms within ; a muffled figure stands — His cold face hidden in his trembling hands — The keen-eyed boatman scans the wall's high bound. The black gates straight unclose; with mirthless smile The boatman dips his oar; with noiseless rush They pass within the city — one, for aye! No mortal knows the lung, unreckoned mile — The boatman rows the soul mid endless hush; None in the city wake as they sweep by! 8i SCENTS AND SOUNDS The world of scents and sounds is with me now ! The crisp young grass would kiss me as I roam! The budding wood's my bed, the field's my home; The hawthorn becks me, eager to endow Its perfumed glory on my cheek and brow ; By moon and star, in sun and shade, the same — The votaries of nature shout spring's name; The playful breezes riot on the bough! Sounds! From the birds, the air, the brooks, the trees ! Scents! Everywhere from rose to parsley bed! Love! Where the cresses wait the waters' kiss! What hinders me to wander with the breeze? Speak, heart, and drown the dull voice of the head — Let me be one with Nature in her bliss! 82 LAURENCE HOPE Lo, mid the grays of mist, a crimson flash Burst In Its fullness from the Indian prime! The Orient's Impulse, rebel, fierce, and rash Swept on her harp, thorn-tuned by passion's time! So much of pain ! Such wailing of despair ! So little of the joy that cools the brow! Ah what avails to stir the surcharged air If heart and soul to sleeping Fate must bow? Oh spirit of the flower-laden East, Who lived and died by boding love's decree — Why did thy gods foretell of best and least? What did thy quest of Kama mete to thee? We hold the velvet petals of thy rose; Thy being's shrift, oh passion-tossed, who knows? 83 LOVE AND SPRING I Art thou a traitor, Spring? Why am I cold — A pensive wanderer in thy fairest ways? I was so warm, so passion-swept of old, As noisy brook that through the dark wood strays! I seem a shadow, when young life is free; Thy sweet charms are for asking — God is true; The joy of many wakes no chord in me, I find my pleasures with the sombre few. The lilacs whisper of immortal years When love called gods to burn as forest-men; I have forgot the heart-throbs, and the tears. That stirred my bosom when I heard the wren! I walk serene — Spring, is this happiness — Calm in my soul, no love-sin to confess? 84 II Is there one hand that could grow warm to mine? Oh who will burn these lips so long a-cold ? Could old love press its draught of spicy wine? Could dead suns rise to life in pearl and gold? My dead love's face — shall it again be mine, Or does a new love wait to crown my days ? Must I be lonely by the sea's long line^ — And tread in silence through the forest ways? My hair is hidden 'neath my hood of gray; Yet love caressed it, when my youth was new; Am I too autumn-worn for fields of May — My cheek is red, my eye is still lake-blue! My garments brush the pine-cones in the path — Could I brave love again — its pain and wrath? 85 Ill My days of love are perished ! Long these lips Have lain as dead to mellow kiss of love! But now the bee among the woodbine sips His glad heart's fill ; the happy-mated dove Coos to the wind her nest-song of delight — I see young lovers in the twilight dales; Am I the witch who reigned a love-mad night, And tore from wisdom's hills to passion's vales? I am but fit for droning prayers and beads — What nun so humble, meek and chaste, as I? I may not sow in spring my luscious seeds — I've lost the gleam that sparkled in my eye! I have forgot my rood; love worked his will — And left me frozen, as the dead grave-still! 86 A DEAD CHILD Heap frail arbutus for this child of May, Who knows of Heaven ere she learned of life ; Who n'er shall be a lissome maid or wife; Her sunset followed on her dawn of day. Anemones, narcissus blooms, we lay On her white couch, the earliest gifts of spring; Meet symbols of her hour's brief opening — Close in her hands that she may keep alway. So much of happy promise here is dead — The unborn dreams of wistful womankind — The soul that whispered of its pristine worth. Why echo trite words that her life is sped ? Why pierce the mists with eyes, by grave-dust blind? Praise we the Lord who spared her sin and dearth ! 87 POET AND KING Nay cease to plead ! Thou art the great of earth By rank, by honour, and by destiny; Thou givest me homage, that my May-time birth Gave me the Muse to breathe divinity. If thou art great, and I am poet, born. And life's decree has marked us each for each — Would we had met at hush of early morn Ere time had swept the velvet from the peach! I bear the wedding-ring; thou hast a crown; And though we love, we may not jest with God. I will not brave the wrath of honour's frown. But bid thee stand, and kiss the fated rod. Oh plead no more! We are not Scroll and Cause; Poets and kinss need most man's stern-writ laws! 88 II I count that love a lie that lightly holds Its wedded honour as a paltry thing! So, gaze no more, man of the ermine folds; Thou art but man though fate hath dubbed thee king! Bethink thee, nuptial laws thy lips disdain Have rooted them so deep in mankind's sod — That conscience tells me, spite my longing pain They were ordained in Eden-times of God! I will not fight with God ; we may not lave Our guilty hands as Pilate vainly strove. I will be thine beyond the lawless grave. But in this life my soul shall mete my love! I say I love thee ! Take thy sceptre — go ! Art thou not more than God and honour ? No ! 89 THE TWO STATUES Anear old Florence lies an ancient wood — Once theatre for Bacchus' maddened praise; And there a sculptor, in old Pagan days — Imaged the wine-god in a lustful mood. But, strange companion, in Her cedar hood The Virgin stands beside him tender mark Of Christendom, while yet the world was dark, And men but dimly knew the Christ-law good. The vine-crowned scoffs, though stains of untold years Deface his visage, as with grim intent; He fain would spit at Her, but dares he not! Before Her likeness, men with griefs and fears Have given sorrow all its blessed vent. And gone, contented, with life's varied lot. 90 THE DECADENT POETS These be great men! If it be great to choose To wander through a drowsing orchard, sweet With nectared fruits! If it be wise to lose The soul through richness rotting at the feet! These be true men ! If those be true who crave Old Pan unveiled in all his naked shame ! These be wise men, who mock the Christian's grave — With atheist doubts and coxcomb-minced blame! These be just men! If it be just to fire The dreams of youth with fancies meet for death! If it be god-like weaklings to inspire — Then are these gods of Sodom and of Heth! True, God is stern, but these would bow the knee To Lesbian hymns and sick-hued phantasy! 91 LILACS Oh lilacs you must fade! It needs must be That all things lovely flourish but to die! Whene'er your clusters shower over me, In pure delight I cannot pass you by. I know you will not grieve, if I partake Of your soft fragrance; you must die betimes — And, for the goodness of the summer's sake I weave you thus within my ventured rhymes. The Indies gave you in the long ago As they have given all of worth and thought. You whisper of that matrix land; I know In western soils a miracle you wrought. You brought the rich East to the infant West And in your perfume, gave the Orient's best! 92 THE IMMORTAL The odours of the lilac, delicate — The myriad blossoms of the wood and field — All bells, whose hearts a mystic fragrance yield — Die, but to echo in a higher fate. In Heaven shall be known the thousand scents We knew on earth, besides the garden gate. Love's sense shall tell us, while we humbly wait- Where sweet familiars shed their recompense. The spicy box, the warm breath of the pine Shall ease our spirits fainting with the light; The violets shall stretch in endless line To rest the new pain of our dazzled sight. Forget-me-nots and roses shall beguile Our souls, ashamed to meet the Father's smile! 93 HIS MOTHER I shared your fast; I vanish at your feast; I drank your tears; I wish no beak of wine. I was your solace in your unsunned years, And all your youth's high visions, I made mine. Now let me go! The world gives its acclaim; I am a sower for the shrouds of death; Let new friends clash the goblet to your name ; I gave your fame-child first its meed of breath. When warm fires die, and new friends wane as moons — My foot shall cross your portals as of old ; My hand shall link the old familiar tunes — And smooth the gray, as once I smoothed the gold. I make your glory mine ; I carved your place. You saw your fame, writ in your mother's face ! 94 THE HOMELY HEARTH What in this world is like the homely hearth ? Plough through white fields pursued by purring cold ; Push by the door, where ice-dips hang their scarf, And leave thy gray thoughts on the gloomy wold. The good wife spins before the snapping fire; The snowy linen reels in graceful glide. The shrill hens gossip in th' adjacent byre; The starling whistles on the window-side. Sit thou and dream! Behold the stately cat Completes the picture of the cottage home. Now hear outside the goodman stamp the mat — The goodwife coos her ewe-lamb, "Father's come!" So let old England keep the cottage fire — And not for her the death on ruin's pyre! 95 MARY STUART Poor hapless Queen, whose tears were never dried, But flowed in rivers through the bed of years! If ever pitj'' solaced those who died Some saintly breast allayed your anguished fears! So much a woman, that the Queen was lost When southern minstrels warbled of the dance; Sweet fair, whose wavering heart was thistle tossed And brought duir Scotland charm of mellow France. Your country knew you not, nor did you know A pompous people's rough and sullen ways; Your white hand gave its warmth to treacherous foe — Your beauty's trust misguided all your days. A martyr in your life, saint in your death; Poor lamb foredoomed for wolf Elizabeth ! 96 ELIZABETH TUDQR The paltry woman, and the mighty Queen ! The deadly foe of Scotland's sad Marie; Your soured heart glowed with a livid green — Your soul was bitter as the turbid sea. What majesty of head, what dignity Of scholar's mind, and statesman's lofty skill! What petty foments of your woman's will — What restlessness of savage vanity! Thus history gives you grateful tribute due For those sure acts that showed the sovereign's heart — But think in silence, what would hiss, if said. To England loyal, to yourself untrue — The times unborn forgive the erring part, And say the Muses crowned your royal head. 97 THE VOICE OF SEX You do not love me! 'Tis the voice of sex That urges you, despite my frown, to me; Not yours to win me; you may not perplex My woman's wisdom with your sophistry. Strip me of moonlight, silence, and lagoon — The secret perfume of my tinted hair, And that, you call your love, would vanish soon — And die as thin smoke in the heedless air. You love my charm, the rustle of my gown — My head's proud toss, the music of my words; You may not move me; yours is not the crown That I would wear, as song-light binds the birds. True, you are man, and I am woman. Cease! Yours is no love to lead life into peace! 98 II You say you love me ! Man, you do not know The simple meaning of the word you speak! "My eyes — my voice — my manner," — be it so! Well said, my lord, but further you must seek. A master you — but n'er in ought of mine; A loving suitor, honey on your tongue. I wish no spiced libation of your wine — Recall the shimmering net your heart has flung! What know you of my soul, or of your own ? Can you find God with me? You stand amazed! I, I be yours? A hill mid vales alone? Should I live by your side, with silence crazed? Ask of those women who would hark your voice; I cannot, will not, be your bridal choice! 99 Ill Must I be round with you? You will not take My woman's ''No!" as answer of my heart? Well then, I cast a sharp stone in your lake, And may its ripple flash my spirit's part! I tell you, ask those women who would smile With flattered instinct, that Narcissus man Had honoured them, and thought them well worth while For chief delight in his rich caravan! Your heart is proud ! Your soul-light is untrue I I tell you I would shrink from your caress; I pray for love — but not, my lord, from you! You wish a slave for passion's respite — yes! Man, I am proud! His wife I would not be Nor stoop to him, who deems he stoops to me! lOO "IN THAT OLD ANCIENT TIME" In that old ancient time, before the rose Had harked the wooing of the nightingale — And endless winter held the land in mail — Mid silence of the ice enshrouded floes; Had Beauty then the witness now she knows Hid in the womb of verdure unbegot? Eternal Beauty! Never she was not; Somewhere she sighed, obscured by sullen glows! The rose, perchance, lay half-designed in stone; A reptile mammal cloaked the nightingale — When Beauty held the Alpha of her reign. The ice-fields snapped ; a trembling, southern zone Crept out in green, beneath a dawn, all pale With joyful pallour and the flush of pain ! lOI A DAY IN SPRING My lyre long weeks was mute; but this fair day When, in my garden, green things rise in haste — And leap and push to grow abreast with May, In eager zeal to mend for winter's waste — I dream of love, and tune my lyre again. And mingle love-chords with my garden song. 'Tis as a ghost, who countless years has lain In grave clothes rising mid the quickening throng. A few chords left ! A few remembered ! Some Are mute forever ! I but sang for one, And he is dead. I wonder, could he come To hark my singing 'neath the spring's new sun? I think the miracle would strike my lyre To sound each note as silver molten fire! 1 02 "WHEN IN THE SILENCE OF THY LAST DESPAIR" When in the silence of thy last despair, Thy soul reviews the path so long she trod — And dreads the awful thought, alone with God! Wilt thou of love and me then be aware? Shall Death be burden, thou alone must bear? Thou wilt recall my kiss was warm and kind ; My eyes to fault and sin, for thee were blind ; Shall not my weeping charm thy troubled air? I beg thee, breathe my name, and I shall hear! I bid thee speak of love, and love shall plead! Thou hast no place, but I shall be anear. Remember me — and God shall pardon all ! My love shall serve thee in thy hour of need — God will forgive, if thou dost heed and call ! 103 THE LONE HOLLOW Here is the hollow close beside the road; Three harpy trees extend their skinny arms. Flat, sullen stones, — oh what a meet abode Where Afrite shapes might breed their baneful charms ! Macbeth 's three witches, seem these sneering trees — This mournful wind might be their muttered spell. E'en in the summer, shunned by errant breeze. They can but rasp the loathsome words of hell ! Now in the winter thaw, the noisome pool Clings at their roots; the autumn's refuse leaves Sulk, e'en in death. High nature's forest school Fly from these mongrels — here no bird's voice grieves. Yet is there grim attraction in the spot ; The witch-trees chuckle, gloating o'er their lot. 104 ^ PAGANINrS VIOLIN This was his medium, this dumb-souled thing — And this, his bow; what are they in my hands? Can I link harmony from these four bands ? Yet he ruled Heaven, with one tiny string! The wind at sea; the light bird on the wing, The kiss of lovers, spake, when he decreed. And this — the instrument! The fated need When he, creator, chose of spheres to sing ! What fathoms here, of that unknown beyond We term the Fourth Dimension? Was there blend Of conscious soul in this mere box, with him The All-Musician? Was there compact bond Between the twain, the friend that served the friend? Or was this flesh of him — the blood and limb? 105 TO MY MOTHER Nor ode nor epic could I write to thee; Thou, who art first and best of all on earth ; Who gavest me spirit, as thou gavest birth, And cradled flesh, with hid divinity. No word of mine, no tribute given by me Can half explain the nearness of our tie. When rocks are dust, and ocean beds are dry — May God reveal the mother-mystery! So, mother mine, accept these fourteen lines With all my lore, and all my love deep hidden ; The years must live, what I would speak, and fail. Mother and child, by rainbow-promised sign Are one in love, as when the Angel, bidden Brought long ago, the message, "Mother — Hail!'* 1 06 TO AN OLD POET, WHO FEARS DEATH You talk of winter; dread the snow of death; But look, has one leaf left its parent tree? Your fields are rich with autumn's kindly breath And green pines line your pathway to the sea. Your orchard sweep is ripe with mellow fruit ; You walk mid Indian summer's purple haze. No voice you love can be forever mute — Lo Moses' strength shall crown your length of days ! What of the winter, shall it slay the spring? Shall one small blossom fail its promised bloom? Love weds you with its golden marriage ring. Nor will it flee you in the narrow room ! As Fate and Love are God, so live and trust; No singer dies, no poet turns to dust! 107 FATHER If I pass from thee, who hast toiled for me With sweat on brow, and dull pain in the heart — Think not I shall forget thy faithful part — No world, no death, can tear my soul from thee! I hear faint voices call across the sea. And I may vanish from thy sight and reach ; So will I leave thee this brief glimpse of speech, And bid thee hold it, as a memory. Could I forget thee in celestial spheres — Who cost thee many a grief, and many a sigh? I have a love for thee no words could paint! I shall remember all the loving years Tho gavest me beneath the earth's gray sky; I love thee, father, man, and warrior saint! io8 AN OLD TOILER Dear, work-worn hands! Would I could kiss the signs Of patient toil from those soul harbingers! Would I could tear from you the stinging burrs That fall within your garden's autumn fines! Were it my lot to swift unwrite the line The mirk of years has pencilled on your brow! Oh weary heart, would some kind fate endow Your slender hoard with all Golconda's mines! Kind eyes, before you close, may gentlest peace Give you the lustrum of earth's silken ease! May you go softly all your latter years! Too brave to halt, and ask for death's release I pray God send you summer's tranquil breeze — An angel host to wipe away your tears ! 109 AIR 13 !^ri One copy del. to Cat. Div. APR 13 19(1

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Allen, William Frederick

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PS 3501 r' j Monographs \ William Frederick Allen \ J y^ — '±>- /I Copyright N» L^l^ CSffSRlCm DEPOSfT. MONOGRAPHS MONOGRAPHS BY WILLIAM FREDERICK ALLEN Boston The Four Seas Company 1919 Copyright, ipip, by The Four Seas Company Uti; 29 19(9 Boston, Mass., U. S. A. The Four Seas Press yGI.A55920l ri To S. A. WITH MEMORIES CONTENTS HYACINTHUS SEERS OF VISION THE STOKER NO CROSS TRINITAS MY FATHERLAND FIFTY YEARS HENCE BEWILDERMENT FOR YOU THE GARDEN BUILDER THE UNASLEEP AVE IMPERATOR! GOOD THOUGHT THE FINAL JUDGMENT THE BIG SMASH SECOND FIDDLES A NEW ENGLAND MEETING HOUSE THE PIPE "OMNIA MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM" ALL SAINTS' SAY MIDNIGHT IN NEW YORK .. THE DEATH OF OLD GERMANY .. ENGLAND POET TO WOMAN LONDON FOG SIMPLICITY WINTER TWILIGHT IN PRAGUE .. THESE DAYS YOU WHO ARE DEAD PATRIOTISM "GONE WEST" CHUCKED CONDOLENCE AMERICA KING GEORGE INTERRUPTED DEATH AND DAWN THE OLD HOUSE THE LONE CYPRESS AT MONTEREY GOD'S ANTHOLOGY IN FLORIDA FROM MY DORMER WINDOW .. RIPE GRAPES NUNC DIMITTIS POST BELLUM THE FAUN EVENING IN A HOSPITAL .. THE HOME COMING THE GRAY DAY Page 11 13 14 16 17 18 19 21 22 23 25 27 29 30 31 32 33 35 36 37 38 39 40 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 MONOGRAPHS HYACINTHUS Who sports with the gods must die! Woe, oh woe! Who prays for the wings must fly; Fate wills so. Who mocks at the loving friend Hath signed his death. He comes to the silent end Who scorns love's breath ! Thou, Hyacinthus, thou Didst spurn thy friend! Now, Phoebus playmate, now What is thine end? The stricken Zephry weeps Where thy white body sleeps ; The Sun-god lingers near And drops a shining tear. Where art thou Fair pouter now ? In the shades where lovers wait Message from the loved one's gate — Dead — alone. [II] A wind tossed stone Hath laid thee low ! Phoebus' kiss may not awake Nor thy beauty's silence Poor boyfair, no ! But still a flower soft in name Sighs why Hyacinthus came; The Zephry moans Where blood-kissed stones Have stained thy hair. The morning air Is sad with Phoebus' long-drawn sighs ; And when the pensive daylight dies He dreams on thee. Divinity Hath kept thee in his heart and soul; His melodies have sung thy dole. So what's amiss To die when Phoebus loves thee best? And earth bears on her fragrant breast Thy blood in flower? The high god's kiss Was thine, an hour. So thou art blessed past grief's annoy— The god of gods hath loved thee, boy! [12] SEERS OF VISION Thou art a Seer of Vision — thou — and thou! And I am run to kiss ye — brothers all ! My couch is heaped where forest pines grow tall — Where shyest birds nest on the thicket's bough ; And thou art of an attic's pinched confine — And thine is ermine of a purple throne — And thou doest pray where altar lights are thrown On acolytes bowed in a decorous line! Greet ye, my brothers ! "For us creeds unbend And royal kings wear homespun ! Attic walls Picture arbutus ; each to each is friend — And self same sun to self-same vision calls ! We gather up dead dreams as diamond dust And shape new dreams, the better for their death ! We lisp new tongues, we voice a Shibboleth From broken hopes till new worlds form their crust! Each to his own domain, his star of things — To dream, till dreams are Vision, faith is Sight." Each with the half -blind eyes made quickened light — Each with the feet grown fast Icarian wings ! Four points of Vision! Forest, attic, throne And olden gloried Church ! Each seer a god ! Each stumbling out a path the seers trod Of us unknowing, to us loved and known ! Oh, brothers to my woods ! The brook has wine Of sun-dyed summer! Let me play the host! Come thou, and thou, and thou, The Holy Ghost Hath signed my treasure yours, your treasure mine ! [13] THE STOKER How did he get there? Who does he stay there? How could I get him away? I'd die in such excluse of free summer air! I'd die if my day were his Pluto's day! There's something about him not human ! Is he flesh, as I'm flesh, born as I am, of woman? Is he Fafner or Titan? Has Thor Left Thorlings on earth? He's iron to the core — A god — but, My God, such a face ! 'Tis a brute's ! Is he one of my race Or shoot of a planet swung out of space And dropping its left overs on this terrene? And how could I help him? A boon To him Casey's corner saloon — The loud-natured gaff of his kind. A Sampson in strength, but a child in his mind — His mien no birth-mark my mien. Reason him? No! Pity him? Explain him? No! Yet his is one part of the voice that shouts "Go!" When this creature of science sweeps in her pride For a caprice of whim Like Dian turned bride. He's something to me ; I'm nothing to him ; If I love him, 'tis with head, not with heart; And head without heart is the scurviest part; His look fends thought from my speech. Why show him pomegranates he never can reach? The dried fruit he knows ; why harrow and teach Till his taste grows, and orchards with never a peach [14] For his eating! Alas, there's no platform of meeting! Sit him down to a symphony; some blotch of a tune Abortion of music, his tear or guffaw. There's no quick prescription of man-cozened law To bid an oaf thrill at the first rose of June And beauty's a magic ne'er to be seen But by the beauty born. I'm out again; back to the earth's bliss of green. He stays there — forlorn? Or happier than I am: I hear him, "That swell Don't know he's a-livin' — a drink pard — oh hell" And yet there's a God ; He made us ; and I And my huge stoker brother walk 'neath the same sky Lick up the same air in deep meeds of breath And live out a life to the free soil of death. And though I'd fain reason him, my reason won't tell How he got there ; Why he stays there ; Why he won't break away And live his full birthright of sunlight and May. How I got here ; Why I stay here ; Why I don't break away Who knows? And my stoker? God tell us, some day! [15] NO CROSS I bear no Cross — And therefore my loss. Death hath walked blind for me — Life hath smiled kind on me: When I would weep, dry dust were my tears. Fate spared me sorrow for humankinds' biers — Roses have reft for me, thorns. Wine sparkled in deep horns — And thus, I bear no Cross. And whence my loss? When others weep they read my tears as stones; My banquet paeons chill their requiem groans For mankind worse than dead. My heart lies emerald-crusted, ruby sharp — The cynic's discord haunts my spirit's harp That fain would sing of grief. Come Fate, bold ruthless thief — And strip mine orchard of its veinous sweets ! When sorrow next me greets Let her behold me clad in poverty — Feet bare, eyes blurred to see Life's worst; that I may clasp some work-worn hand Whose touch my fine skin's silk may not withstand With curse, "What hast thou with me !" Let me bleed Till I be healed of God, and cry "My creed Is mankind's own; I know, I bear the Cross — And know not isolation's worse than loss !" [i6] TRINITAS All-Father God is as the world at night ; Hints in the sky, of never sleeping suns; Unfathomed currents of etheric runs — Assumptioned dark, but, certain, molten light. Omniscient vastness ! Faith in stars and space — Limits unlimited ! Deep evolved to deeps ! Security, that somehow, somewhere, keeps A tireless vigil of eternal Grace ! And Christos God beams as the rising sun Who colours edgeless forms to shapes concrete ; Man glimpses traces of His hands. His feet In each new impulse of the day begun. The awfulness of night dispels in dew And morning freshness ; hope enforces sense To fuller being; some immortal lens Defines the Living God child-born, anew! But God the Holy Ghost, like some ravine Fast set mid ice-looked hills, gives forth no sign Of Deity, nor marks Himself divine Till God Allfather, Christos God are seen. Then fullest silence, incarnate in love In truth eternal, shadows visible! The Triune God in presence visual Illumes all space. Around, Within, Above! [17] MY FATHERLAND Where lies it — Greater Anglia — my Fatherland? Each reef where syllables the English tongue! Where'er an English verse, soul born, is sung There am I native ! There my flag, my strand. Or Union Jack or joyant Stripes and Stars No alien I b'neath either pennant ; mine The heritage of Shakespeare; Cana's wine Blushes for me by far Australia's bars As by rock-starred Maine; my brother he Who loves my Hawthorne with me ; let him hail From tide-hemmed Faulkland ; let his pearl-dipped sail Be set Hawaiian in the west-east sea ! What makes the foreigner? He whose heart Holds not the tongue I love ! — mine English right ! Him I may whisper, ''God give thee good-night" Is of my loins the most integral part! My Fatherland? My sun-proud spot of birth? Each vibrant clod of English-speaking earth? [i8] FIFTY YEARS HENCE Fifty years hence; the lad we plied To stricken France with convoys' train — May lean, an old man, 'gainst some fence And garble dried herbs o'er again Of trenches, long syne bearded fields The richer for their crimson bust. Drone toothless jars of Zeppelin birds With Anti-Christ's black pinions trussed. Naithless, above his frost bleared head Some new air bastard may contort — Though fixed in his war clouded mind — The year when nature ran distort With streaming hair, and palsied scream — When men gnashed thoughts embowelled in hate. He young, changed old; beheld for aye But France as the one square of fate. Unheeded as he mumbles on With gesture of his long-lived age — How what was Prussia griped the world — And greened anew old history's page. With feeble pipe he'll shrilly rant Of France, how England stemmed the tide — America last bared her arm — For honours' name young millions died! Fifty years hence ! And thus will speak These unborn minnows, bred to rules We wot not of; "These dotards squeak Like antique mice; away with fools Who mouth a Prussia lest than least. Why gnaw dead history's girth of bones? [19] The seas are free; their battle brunts Scant heeded mounts of scarce read stones!" But still we plied the lads of France For that posterity who seem A. dream unborn ; to whom we'll shape The shadow of a long dead dream. [20] BEWILDERMENT Submission — resignation. Are these the vestibule afront the door Of life eternal? To hear Zambesi's roar Nor heed it with the loin embued elation Youth's prompting circles — one mad leaping band Of heart plus soul, plus brain, plus Pan? Am I grown one with Christ? Is God's right hand Transforming me Saint John from Caliban? Or is ambition's fervour, tearful fled From me twain Icelands' cold ? Lord, do I sleep Dropped on mine eyes the film of atrophine — My veins time sluggish to the cast-off dead Who "rest eternal — light perpetual keep" — Mere deadwood, hush of summer fire and green? [21] FOR YOU For you he fought ; ne'er shall the f oeman's tread Profane the violet fragrance of your dust. Ne'er shall your grave be tramped by German lust — Thus did he guard the tryst sleep of his dead. Other's hallooed, fresh from their sweetheart's kiss — The arms' embrace, the heart tuned to the heart. God fend their love ! Not his their rapture's part — His was a shadow's dream, a captured bliss. And this his woe : 'neath custom's rigid guise — That hear "Good-Bye" breathed to another's ears — Beholds another dewed with vesper tears And looks at love caught in another's eyes. And yet was his a strength, they scarce could know Those quick young saplings; those whose pulses burn — Whose prayer demands their laurel twined return — God's victory wrest from time's most deadly foe. The great word, "Home" their slogan ; 'neath a tree In sacred Flanders, some unconscious Hun Made free his soul; his black of day was done — And 'twas your smile, erst years his rosemary For you — for England — yea, for France — His God — For soft-browed Death! What now the mirk of grief? Peace to your dust! No heathen German thief Dare break the holy silence of your sod ! [22] THE GARDEN BUILDER He who sows a garden, builds for God And to that end I work ! The trowel's edge Upturns and digs th' alembic of the soil To His great glory. Kings, and studded czars Upraise the sceptre, and to their decree Vast tablets rise in monumental stone And rich-veined marble; noble are such deeds And he is worth the laurels who so builds. More worthy he, of more supreme renown Who paints a picture ; he who carves his thought In precious matrix; rifle Daphne's groves. And crown these monarchs with the gods' esteem ! Still greater is the poet; in his lines The picture paints, the marble falls in moulds Of frozen music. But, the gardener Surpasses painter, poet, sculptor, all; For God Almighty, as the sage hath said First made Himself a garden, in the times When transience lingered with eternity — And truth, as yet, knew nought of falsehood's shame. Thus he who plants a tree, resembles God In earth's first Eden; he who tills the soil For beauty's virtue, dreams virginity — Millenium once known, and ages lost. No dullard is the gardener ; his no pain Of weary tedium; his the joy undimmed Bestowed on those who plant, and delve the earth To symbol resurrection. Hear, ye men, Give to the earth the flower-pregnant seeds — That she may sing a joyful stave to God ! [23] Make firm the stripling trees, and ye shall do The golden deeds that win the smiles of God! Perchance the garden-dreamer may restore The Eden-hour again — oh happy thought — And sinlessness and truth be incarnate In leaf, in flower, and garden holiness! [24] THE UNASLEEP For such as I, God pray — the Unasleep ! The weary swimmers on the midnight deep Of soul-rest and repose! The waking throes Of doubtful half-dreams, hinted nightmares ; thrills Of slumber journeys up steep-breasted hills — The hideous starts to life! This is our doom; the slow turn of the knife The dull night through Till morning dew As shallow substitute for Sleep ! Oh well for those who wide-eyed vigils keep ! Or well for those who chortle as the swine In sottish Lethe ; those who reach the fine Of dreamless rest! But God— we Unasleep ! The stab i' the breast By every creature of the baleful night ! Each flicker of the nightlamp's restless light; The long wail of the melancholy cat ; The chipper-chipper of the evil bat : The stern glance of the cold, imperial moon — The shuffling step of some drink-glad buffoon Who matters in the silence-shrouded street. The lone patrolman on his measured beat ; The chance pedestrian whose feet resound In quick-step o'er the pavement-piercing ground— What maddening staves they sing ! What ghoulish shapes the long-armed shadows fling Across the trappings of the loud-voiced room ! And we— the Unasleep— who through the gloom [25] Half-wake, half-sleep, hal f -dream ! Who turn and toss — Who yearn for peace, if but the tomb's cool moss — What tortures of the damned do we endure! The scaffold's hempen were a welcome cure; The Iron Maid, an action of delight — 'Gainst these thin phantoms of the mocking night — These dreams that be no dreams ! How foolish seem the stars with their cheap gleams — How futile seem the storms when they do chance ! What were a lover's kiss, a friend's soft glance? The monarch's sceptre, dubbing us as knight? The purest joy, earth's most effulgent might To us, the cureless, death-shunned Unasleep? We sigh as hapless Henry, or like him The ghostly mariner, whose eyes strained dim — Glared, red with pain, on Sleep that fled his face ! We pray — we pray; could Mary, with her grace — Or Christ Himself — could they but see our woe — Then might they learn what sorrow man can know ! Alas, they sleep above! Their calm is deep; And God and Nature shun the Unasleep ! [26] AVE IMPERATOR! Hail, vernal, smiling Death! I will not have thee cold ! thy smile a sneer At man's poor despite! I will not paint thee fear Thou fair bestower of the Further Breath Great God doth give! I will not gasp "I die,"— I'll shout "I live!" When night's soft mellowing haze extends the gold My sunset boasts! When every Rosary Bead last time is told — And every Sanctus Bell last time is knolled — I'll gird me for the coasts Thy sea fresh Presence brings ! Who deems thy voice knife sharp? The tid that sings! The greenwood dark to poetry's eteme Carols no sweeter than thy harmony ! I've heard full many a leaf entangled burn Slip through the fields, but none croons staves as thee Thou summer of the spring ! I've heard thee laugh of childhood's faery ring And crack quick jests as children spanned thy back To run afar with thee. Thou art no ghost! Thou art no iron-tongued rack As sorry mortals cry thee ! Azrael With face avert and dread sword ever bright To slay, men whisper thee. Why build bald hell Of blearing black of thee who art pure light And God's eyes are thine own! Thou art no requiem sob ; thou art no moan Of thorn-pierced grief ! Thou art no midnight vigilant sleepless thief — [27] For Sleep hies with thee; loveliest harbinger Of silvern dreams we may not dream here ! Myrrh Is not thy cup, and ice is not thy touch. Not thine the Master Corsair's boding clutch — A finger-print of goodness is thy mark! Nor have I seen the shroud sail of that bark Men garnish thee therewith ! With feathered oar On stilly seas I've seen thee. Oft I've followed thee beneath the orchard croft And watched thee read the script of blossom lore. When leaves were tenderest green and apple's pink Bound Heaven to earth in long bands of perfume ! Shrink, friend, from thee? Why, Angel, should shrink And throw about thine head a fold of gloom? Have I not spied thee sporting midst the bloom Of May's first showing? And shall I close a tomb Of that but is the Necessary Womb Of newer Life's seed substance? Nay! Come then And let us count the true shades down the glen Mortals call Vale of Shadows ! Come When corn is tasseled and the glad bees hum With honey of the June! Lute out for me an olden ditty's tune Of Rosalind or mad-cap Robin Hood! Come when thou wilt; thy coming is but good And thou art faery Oberon to my thought More than King Angel ; and come unsought Ere life doth make me old ; for thou art young And I would harken to thy music's tongue With heart child joyful; come then, Death For Thou art Victory's Kiss and Beauty's Breath ! [28] GOOD THOUGHT If good wine's worth drinking Then good thought's worth thinking — Or better no thought at all ! For poor wine's but sour ; And poor thought's ne'er flower To roses worth naming Saint Paul ! [29] THE FINAL JUDGMENT Elohim-sense stripped clean of flesh; The kernel of the soul laid bare ! Stuffs filched out from suppression's mesh — Corporeal in the keen-eyed air! Each sin disrobed of life's abuses — Each virtue weighed exact in worth ! Each impulse freed from gauze abuses — The whole seized from the cloy of earth! Thank God a God is Judge ! I'll tell My reasons branded reasonless ! And why, what seemed a lust of hell Flamed out a fire love needs must bless ! My voice quick stifled, an I speak Herewards to men my rights turned wrongs ; I'll shout to God, how strong, why weak I trammeled in my several thongs ! Sin's nucleus glorified in truth — I'll chant with God's firm clasp of hand — I'll sort the grain from chaff of youth — And thank God, God will understand ! So, fear the Judgment? Rather fear The stupid law of man below ; Loins girt, heart singing, I'll appear Face God, tell all, and God will know ! [30] THE BIG SMASH Till the Big Smash comes — The man is a brute ; An insect that hums / Mid sweet nectared fruit Unfit for the solitude grandeured by thought. Weak brawned for the forges where iron truths are wrought. Small troubles, the hare's bite the parsley amid; Soon grown o'er, the nibbling by pushing shoots hid, But the Big Smash — a foundering mid torture of rocks — A sob to the heedless that life's tournay mocks. Then after — the silence: the healing of wounds; An ear harp accord to the wildering of sounds The world shrieks. An eye quick to rose dust of tears on the cheeks. The heart quivering sharp to the warmth of the hand. The lips' press, "Come, comrade; I too understand!" And the man born, true upright; true jointured with Christ ; Who clasped Jew and Greek in the brotherhood tryst. When the Big Smash fails A life is a death! And a sad Heaven wails For a lost gift of breath ! [31] SECOND FIDDLES Gray heroes, these; the drab contralto third Their ash-hued lot. These line the walks of life As meek medicinal herbs : the second wife Like to some voiceless hedge contented bird Who weaves her nest with noiseless tender love Unpraised and patient; such a Phoebe she Who becks a ghost wife's children to her knee ' And feels affection's hand touch 'neath a glove — No glow of true warmth's flesh; the maid unwed Grown old in sacrifice ; the man whose toil Sends forth a brother where ambition's moil Slakes gold, fit crowned for him in proxy's stead. Madonnas who give forth their virile Christs Then humbly shrinking 'neath the willow shade; Second fiddles ; Magnificats assayed That Song with God may hold its glory trysts ! Mid Stradivari of earth's violins The silent angels mark these second ones; Not theirs the strings of ribbon lustrumed suns But theirs the hum of quiet singing linns. Praise to the second fiddle ; should he fail The first must fall from Music's God to Baal ! [32] A NEW ENGLAND MEETING HOUSE Meeting house — in truth ! What makes the Church — The Psalm, the Sacred Host, the AUar's heart This white pile lacks ; and yet the charm is here The charm New England holds in firm-clutched leash — Feared to let slip, and show the dryad's smile Beneath the frigid virgin's austere frown! A beauty as of violets found in clefts Of frore beard rocks; architecture? None Of Rheims or Cologne; yet the thus-and-so Of prim hewn walls is ice-bound music seemed — The sombre swell of gray Georgian chaunts — Or Palestrina's clef of treble fauns Baptized and garbed as nuns ! Maple luxuriance The elm's grace vesture, benediction give Of green old Pagan nature — bless her soul — The loved untamed barbarian! "Vanity Is Beauty's face ; and Life is but a sweet We needs must sour, or our duty's dead.' " Thus preachers droned ; but elm and maple laughed And tipped and lurched, while nasal psalmody Arose in quavers on the Sabbath air And shattered 'gainst their branches ; meeting house — Wilt take a greeting from a son of Rome — Thy fearful "Scarlet Woman"? Cross and cowl And true made priest, thy lack — yet, grim browed friend I'll whisper thee a secret ; she will know The Juno elm, or that bold Mercury The gamboling maple — that iron spine you boast [33] Of holden virtue, is the jewel of Rome Poached by an errant child ; so, good will, friend — For though thou champed the door to bar her out In thy duir heart our great Rome entered in ! [34] THE PIPE You've piped to me, old Death — Thrice, with voice of mouse's squeak ! I girt in haste, with saints to speak And deemed them worth a puff of breath. The whiff of feast, that counterfeit Of you, old Death, called Life, affords. I culled old psalm staves — Lord of Lords And King of kings; the room was lit With Aves, Venites, Adestes — I knew How Christ looked: how His Mother smiled, I smelled the lilies, saw her cloak of blue; Some ante chamber, silence tiled I felt was built for me; and then You scruffed me back, you piebald god — A sick bed ! Moss of scragged fen After wide rose acres ! Untrod The stepping stones of unfamiliar space; Now that I'm back to number and place What compensation offered? If again you pipe Let your skull-sconce certify the angels' fruit as ripe! 35 "OMNIA MAJOREM DEI GLORIAM" Loyola, hadst thou made no pledge but this Foremost thy station mid the sons of God! This chaplet; 'tis the Hebrew singer's rod Psychos to call from Panian chrysalis ! But this the slogan of those supermen The star-eyed Jesuits, cross-bowed of hate, Who brushed old slumber from the Sphinx of Fate And sowed the lily in the dragon's den ! Bruised, spat upon; their truths distort to lies These words the Rosary of their every breath ! Thus hewed they life, ploughed Beulah fields in Heth 'Neath frore of bergs and carmined southern skies ! Oft have I marked the humble spoil of stones The sad marcation of an holy fane; Where spake these men as n'er man speaks again — Ezekiels mid the chaos vale of bones ! To God's great glory; Luther, Calvin, Knox Base metals 'gainst this diamond orthodox! [36] ALL SAINTS' SAY Saints were warriors — I'll chew on that! And most of them warred on little things ; Little wasps, whose petty stings Wounds of mighty pain begat! And they didn't fare forth with broil of drums To pompous battles with swords waved high But they walked where life turned down its thumbs And callously bade the unfit die. For they turned dry earth into fertile sod .Cried "Nil Desperandum" from Ichabod These Saints we laud today! And we have their blood, and we have their might And we can't twist wrong from the spoken right For their truths we must obey! And we'll burst forth, as virgin maids And warrior knights, and we'll ply God's trades By the Christ that speaks within ! For we'll break the glebe of stubborn sin As strong-girt Saints, and we'll wreak the best From untilled soils, and doubts confessed — That they may know who fought before We still have the stuff to fight God's war! [37] MIDNIGHT IN NEW YORK Chance sleeps tonight some promise of a child Foredoomed by Nature's tooth, rat-like to merge From human sewerage, oozing from its verge These rodent souls. (How matter hath defiled The spirit God makes pure!) The quiet seems A secret hiss of unseen cobras ! Lairs Of fevered wolves, these houses ! Glares A snarl of moon; here sing no lyric dreams Of frond-tipped fancy; jaw-champed faces wear The jungle likeness ; here slink beasts, not men ! Each chance abutt the jackal's covert den — Not women, she-dogs, brazoned in despair This sisterhood immortal; yet outlines The Christian's Cross against the pallid sky Symbol of Him who asked and answered "WHY?" The question failed of human-skilled designs. Let me this question ask, "How much is sin What loneliness, what heart-ache, dearth of soul In this outpouring? I'st the brain's control Alone that breeds the lust carked deep within Our carven loins ? But God, All God, doth know And God is patience, born eternally. But weary age seems Atlas laid on me That sacred life must crawl in offal so ! [38] THE DEATH OF OLD GERMANY There lives a land whose death is Sodom's end Whose name shall live an hissing, a reproach. But, lived on land, the wide world hailed as friend — Passed with Kultur's syphilis encroach. A land whose every window framed a light For Him the Christ-Child with His young good will ; (The blue-eyed tots who chattered Christmas night With hearts of stone soon marshaled forth to kill!) Sodden with drink, scarlet with whorish lust The junglings closed, who hailed Saint Nicholas. Sweet sane old customs spurred heels tramped to dust Song's golden store lay rent where demons massed! Toll, toll the bell ! She welters, smitten, slain Our fair Rhine-maiden, old loved Germany; From whose white hands and balsam learned brain Dropped purest songs of holiest minstrelsy ! All, all are gone; the Minnesingers' art Whose wreath empyrean clasped the lore of Rome I Lo here a fiend, 'gainst here whose matron heart Taught us the glory of the earth-Heaven — home! Wagner is perished, Fafner wrote his fate — Where was the transport of the Homeric page Nought scrawls but spittle of impotent hate — True manhood shrivelled to the spite of age ! Toll, toll the Bell, ye towers of Cologne — Ring out your tears ! Old Germany is dead ! Where grew her myrtles new tongues shall be known — She lives a curse — her soul forever fled! [39] ENGLAND I love thee, England! English is my name My heart, my soul ! Brief fifty years agone — He saw this Newer England, he, whose blood Runs in these veins, and English blood, God praise ! My sires clustered mid the pale faced hills Of bard begetting Cheviot; o'er the moors The clefts of furze capped rocks, the minstrels roamed When Robin's crown was not of dust begat And Alan coaxed his songs from woodland gods ! Loin of my Loins, in these few latter years Shall I lose thought of thee, my fathers' womb? This Newer England is thy strong-limbed child Stalwart as fits her mother's natal gift! And now my heart is glad with that old joy My kinsmen felt dead generations gone When friend laid bare his falchion that his friend Might know the name of friendship fervour's heat No mere thin-silvered gloss. Two Englands move — Two souls made one ; mine is America By right, by love; and, England, thou art mine By first imperial birth of ancestry — By reason's choice-nay, were thy blood not mine I still would crown thee time's imperial queen ! Thy faults be those of gods ; thine errors mass More pure than others' virtues ! He, the knave On this our western shore, who bites thy heel Is bastard to thee, dastard to this west That shall live English while the waters roar — And Nature heralds spring in bloss of green! Let whine the peevish dolt, thy soul is here [40] In this America ! Who strikes at thee Strikes her, thy strongest daughter; England, Uve The generous mistress of the cirding seas — And with thy children rule the listening stars ! And we, who boast thy blood, be David's sons The line most royal since creation shaped This nebulous substance from the breath of God! Thank God for England ! God be praised, my screed My tribute scroll, I write in English words ! [41] POET TO WOMAN I know thee; From the dark womb of my thought Children have sprung, veil-garbed in verse and rhyme. Like thee from pain and travail have I wrought Truth substance, hell conceived, in God's full time. I know thee. Anguish only climbs to love As thou and I must climb, our birth's decree. Men walk; the virgin's wings are ours to hove By black-starred shores of ill-read mystery. Friend, I have woman in me ; dreams ne'er screed By form of man, all man; and I, like thee In being's fond by right of godhood bleed; Creation's Egg, all woman, sheathes in me ! [42] LONDON FOG A writhing witch, with tenuous fluttering arms — Her yellow locks outstreaming to the wind. She breeds an hell-broth with her nebulous charms ; She staggers; hair a-twist — the witch is blind! Jointured with dying, Madge Wildfire in death — House, palace, street ; on each her f rore is laid. The nightmare ether of a sickman's breath — This London fog! One sun-lance, lo, crusade Of Baldurs, of clear invigorating blue! A fist of hours, the witch is fled afar Her half-soul stirring mid the thick of brew 'Gainst chance of visitation; yet, though touch Of her, this Hell-thing, seems the Third Sad Fate — Yet is her threat a shadow's weakling clutch! A chimera, a nothingness of fate. Below — lies London ! Fogs a-gone, a-come No whit dismay the world's most blazoned queen; Nor shall a monster fog with scare of drum Affront this London's grave imperial mien ! As pass these harpy wraiths, so came to pass A war's chimeric hell-smoke; London stands A rock when Berlins melt as futile glass — A smiling mother to the English lands ! [43] SIMPLICITY A fervent prayer; soul sick of war — Good Lord, give us simplicity! We dree our weird — complexity — And hence our plight; an unhealed sore We needs must heal ; let us return To single-minded Galilee; The truths we blur as platitudes Let fall by Him who was of Thee. We've hatched the dreadful Loki broods The Midgard snake ; the ice of Hel. We've "reasoned," till this Egg took form Whose monster woke this horrent mell. 'Gainst pastured meads we chose the storm The chaos of a doubtful skill. And whence our boast ? The end, the front Of sophist's wisdom — this — to kill! Well have we earned this devil's brunt We, things of paste-cheeked luxury! Behold in sackcloth we repent — Kind Lord, give us simplicity ! Now done with noise of armament Let us bruise herbs beside Thy brooks ; Again read Nature's woodland books — Dear Lord, give us simplicity! [44] WINTER TWILIGHT IN PRAGUE Opal steals through the opaque gray Now that the sad day's closing; black Of the night, dusked with dim purple steals On like a soft-shod thief. Blurred lamps Stream like the friendly struggling beams Of far-off lighthouses through the mist Dank-deep at sea. The soul feels cold ! Mysticism sighs in the air! Knife-sharp welts of cold alone betray The prod of winter's iron malignant sting. But else, how unrelated, how unreal Mid life's ambitions is this somethingness Of lineless wavering, soft, yet tangible Veiled o'er the soul ere it enwraps the flesh ! 'Tis like the half -waked Slav; 'tis like old Prague Sleeping hard sleep ; white-haired from centuries Of hack-hewed battles ; wise with wisdom's droop Of eyes fast closed, as sight had served its worth ! 'Tis melancholia; shuffling footsteps seem As weak half -ghosts, who feebly would essay The angel garments; voiceless, timid, weak — Yet wistful of eternities undreamed. 'Twixt gray of day and night's nun-veil of black Is scarce a breath ; but in that breath hath passed As a soul half-dead; so tired that death's advent Is but the slipping off of needless shoon And stealing bare-foot on a path unknown To vague unwondered nothingness ; Truth, this is Nirvana's foretaste ; and a ghost am I Mid ghosts as fellows, dead as they are dead. [45] THESE DAYS We've nerves these days ! No head, no heart, no soul — mere nerves ! We shriek in angles, sneer in curves — We writhe in Pandemonium maze. We each are blood of the Gummidge tribe. We croak like frogs in a stagnant pool. We may be gods, but we ape the fool — We stick out tongues ; we mouth and gibe Like children o'er some toffee bit ; And yet, God knows, there's work to do ! But, chip on shoulder wild hullabaloo — And nineteen ways of spittling spit ! We wage on beer and nicotine — We seize each by his front and throat. God, force on us Thy creosote — Pray rub our souls with Nature's green ! Or else we perish, Bander-Log — Unfit to walk Thy kindly meads ! By Christ's Eternal Heart that bleeds To watch us grovel, each a dog Chained to his vomit — give us heads Cool as the snows, give tempered hearts! Look — selfish greed bestrides our marts And hog with satyr boldly weds ! God, save our nations, lest array Our souls lost on Thy Judgment Day ! [46] YOU WHO ARE DEAD You're not gone ; translated, changed, nor decayed. You're lying there, staring through six feet of earth With black eyes wink full of Dickensesque mirth And grinning at life as a game well outplayed ! And I see you, rogue comrade, stumbling o' nights O'er Molly prim rose-bushes, pooh-poohing wreaths Mocking each ass soul that wiggles and breathes Whilst you prowl amidst graves and their trig-nancied sights ! Still, there are stars, and a moon, random whiles — And you've me, silent gypsy, to sing to your soul ; Though you can't toss a posset, or drain a deep bowl You can feast on our fellowship's echo of smiles. For we're one. If you're lonely, just conjure up me Your trail-mate, fast bound to a winter of days And a black grief that chokes me, that coils close, and stays Till I envy you, comrade, ice-laid, but free ! For you can't reckon life as the prism I know With your part soul gripped fast where trails all must end. But still I half sense you ; and praise God, leal friend — You're a real speaking something — God whispered me so! [47] PATRIOTISM Perchance 'tis well — a sugared snatch of song Profaned of music's grand intrinsic worth; The crude half -thinker's sway of rhythm's mirth The wildfire thrill bom of the dim-brained throng :- Perchance, 'tis well ; the flag thrown to the wind — The hand spat tribute wrest from Moll and Jock — This — patriotism: the quick galvanic shock Harmonic to the yokel and his kind. The mob is still the mob, let fall the cloak — The pompous nomen of esprit de corps. Now Brutus, now Antonius earns its roar — Christ or Barabas — crowned the last who spoke. Patriotism! The statesman blenched with thought Lives its white passion ; the evolvent master brain Stammers its terrors; mid the careless train Ne'er may its godhood be mid blood-heat wrought! Silence its travail ; sapience, its fruit : Bruit antipodes its birth-pains; where it broods Apoethosis still all lesser moods And for its octave seventh grasps are mute! Patriotism! For me 'tis most akin To that most awful hush, when God in Host Descends in fulness of the Holy Ghost And dwells each recess of my soul within! A truth I dare not limit ; raising me To something of its fixed divinity ! [48] "GONE WEST" He's just "Gone West." And he left this watchword — "Carry on !" There was blood and smirch ; a rose-pink dawn And a Thing left dead ; but what's the rest ? Out of the thing a soul sprang free — A spirit man, six foot and three! Spirit, not phantom, in God clothes dressed — With brown eyes steadfast to the west! And it's best. "Carry on !" He has work to do — And I, his mother, I'll "carry on" too — For the breeze of the Blessed Isles blows here I feel it ; I'll not damp his trail with a tear For the Blessed Isles lie west ! I'll carry on — an American! For I bore six foot of allied man Whose clarioning "Westward ho !" The ruled out west-path I can't know But God and the stalwart Christ are there And Mother Mary ; the tang of air Blows health to the Allied cause ! I care not what mete theology's laws He's "gone west"— Not dead — my night's his dawn — And we've both the watchword — "Carry on!" [49] CHUCKED You're chucked; kicked out from all worth while. Your milestone's passed on Heartbreak Hill. You'll learn now — a maiden grief can't kill Or a first thrust rasp a sunrise smile. Nor yet the second, nor yet the third; You'll find the rope gripped round my neck — The rope that bites, but never hangs — You'll kiss the bark with hidden fangs And still seek fruit sans littlest speck Look at me ! I've been chucked and chucked And still can shrug my soul and laugh ! The heart wounds leave my face unscarred — I still dream wheat though fed on chaff. You'll head gates five-knife points barred As I and others — rise, well plucked — Tom, bruised and battered; bleeding, scarred — Yet praying, laughing! Snibs of sun And tastes of green will cry you on To champ once more from Babylon And play Quixote ! Chucked? Well done! Shake hand with soul — your wreath ? Well plucked ! There's God — His place — there, no one's chucked! [so] CONDOLENCE I who have moaned Tenebra thrice three times — Have looked long down the Valley of the Shades ; Say thus to thee; build not conjectured climes From ill-wrought dreams of heavenly palisades Where lost ones chance may dwell ; God's heart is here — Here in the humdrum of the commonplace. In box-hedged gardens lies thy salve of grace; And trivial bits; the fragrant brew of tea — The tropic lustred coffee; homespun toil — Life's lettuce leaves ; iotas fend from thee The lead of snake now 'gainst thy breast a-coil. This wear thee on thy bosom's seeming stone As rosemary- ; Nature is one with God ; And both fain heal in wholesome monotone With tasks that set the shivering feet a-plod Till simple duties, angel vigils keep And thou dost know thy dead in God asleep ! [51] AMERICA America ; — In after years, the pomp of fighting done — The keen blade rusted, victories' tale hearth-spun — When commerce pinions forth in peace once more And grass downs breast the earth's harass of war : Forget not those who thrilled with love of you Loathing of Mars, but praising truth — as true — Your truth and England's — forget not those, I pray Who sink to garrulous life's dull after-day; One socket eyeless, one sleeve less its arm — One limb oblation to the dread alarm Of belching hell ; oh, praise is theirs in truth While yet the slaught lives on in echo's youth ! While glamour glists as hero each who fought And eyes droop for wonders God hath wrought! But when the glamour fades, and plaudits cool- Dub not the hero maimed as "tiresome fool" — And think not penny pensions meet largesse For those who doffed the clerkman's harmless dress And donned the guise that beckoned steel and shell And made of life's sweet solstice garnished hell ! Remember these, in after years, I pray — Do not as Judas, thy liege Christs betray — America ! [52] KING GEORGE No widening breach therein ; democracy Britannia as America endowers. Full sceptered here the magisterial powers — Fraternal founded, England's royalty. The crowned Republic, the Republic crowned; "What's in a name?" King friend of Windsor, hail! Iron is thine English staunch armorial mail — Long live thy land in purple worth renowned ! A king here domiciled? Anomaly! England in plain clothes? Boorish peasant jest! Peace guard the ways ! King indeed professed First gentleman of England! Honesty Heart's praise impels; Victoria's scion thou — God save the King who gave thy land her Queen! While spreads the loyal oak its shoots of green The monarch's emblem bind the Windsor's brow ! Night's death blast Hohenzollerns ; autocrats All breeds, all births ; our brothers' love is thine ! The goldenrod and English rose atwine Dower alike Time's true aristocrats ! Long live King George! America we sing — Our under rhythm shouts God save thee — King! [53] INTERRUPTED His laugh was interrupted; 'twas a shell — Of war a part — his life's synecdoche. Valhalla from a bawdy bit of hell — He left his laugh — the greater part — with me! My blood flows still unspilled — I feel it crime To live unscathed, my Damon hurtled "west." That Falstaff slice of laugh! Some future time He'll tell me why his sudden flight was best ! God never interrupts us ; past a doubt He'll hold that laugh for me and laugh it out ! [54] DEATH AND DAWN Strange and terrible ! Terrible and strange ! That gray black hour before the Dawn's pink mist; Aurora's steeds steeped forth the deeps to range On Sleep's invisible mount of amythest — Men creatures ravel out! That hush of time When stillness cuddles earth maternally — When cherubs scatter banded dreams of thyme That Easter hour — that Death should canter free His grim horse Hecate pale ; and snatch in souls -By gibbering handf uls ; bird feeds piping faint — Wood dryads fluttering on moss satin knolls — Then to thin out the death-chant's toneless plaint! Life wombed anew ; and as the vestal flush Blesses the world in hyacinthine prayer — Death tiptoes out ; hush greets in passing, Hush — A two-fold sigh strings on the violin air ! Thus Death and Dawn ; a queen that greets a king — Exchanged in passing crown and signet-ring! [551 THE OLD HOUSE The old house is drugged to sleep By some narcotic of the past. One drowsing window wakes to peep At ponderous dray-carts jumbling fast O'er sharp-voiced pavestones ; dead repose Of human history's dropped morphine. That pile some lurid story knows — Some dangled skeleton has seen! [56] THE LONE CYPRESS AT MONTEREY Ages it watched thus; is its glance malign Or wearied with the chance moods of the sea To it, one mood. Tide's sweep froth of line Dashing exultant, staving minstrelsy Of rack and death ; lamb's touch on the sward In gentler passions ; both, a child's intent To this lone pterodactyl; is 't on guard — Its dim eye fearful of new armament From strange blear yellow seas? Or doth it dream A race long lost, of nobler form? It sighs Chance, for a child long since a man; a gleam Of moon translucence gilds it. Dust-kissed eyes Have wondered on its wonder; eyes to come May ponder its first meaning; its old youth. Shall it be this land then ? Will Fate's turned thumb Sluff out this people, spurned remorse and ruth? Still shall the cypress gnarl in awkward grace — Beholding eyes — set in a yellow face? [57] GOD'S ANTHOLOGY Ghastly ! The poets who were poets ! They All died; do any live? Thus, he and he Wrote sonnet, ode and epic; here and there A woman's thought soared as a meadow lark. Great song ! True verse ! The clock struck twelve times twelve Ten thousand times ten thousand, strand and zone ! But God — all dead — all vanished! So and so Lived such a place, wrote such a line — and died! If, as the Scriptures read, God's witnesses Dwell ever on the earth, His poets must Be incarnate in hidden baby forms ; And, in their passing to the Fuller Sound Give poet's eye and ear to some mute soul New sprung to sense of being. But, the past Shines with a lustre gathered through the years — And present purpose no enchantment has Because its nearness dims its diamond worth. Thus in the Last Recessional, we know Strains will be heard that died here on the earth; And every impulse of the poet's soul Will live when God makes His Anthology ! [58] IN FLORIDA When Elman played, th' applause, made hippocrene O'er flowed in alabaster. Soft, his bow- Prayed in the Ave Maria; faith's Nicene Glowed lucent in the slow devotional flow Of strings concorded to the Merlian rod. "Ave Maria!" 'twas the cygnian cry Of those who love, and love, alas, to die — Their sins by Mary born as pearls to God ! The orange tree withdrew its bold perfume Abashed before the music's natal sighs. The oleanders oped their languid eyes And gazed, trance bounden, through the foyer's gloom. "Ave Maria" ; sudden wailed without A shattered fiddle's meek unconscious hymn; A tenuous prayer, through Schubert's interim Beseeching them, the peacock feathered route. For few brief pence, the fiddler blind and old Shambled in rasps, "When you and I were young." Still Elman's bow in master cadence swung — Without, within, which were the tone of gold To Mary's heart? 'Twas Dives at the gate Of Lazarus; who scrolled it — chance or Fate? [59] FROM MY DORMER WINDOW Night and silence! Cloudy night, no stars; I see in faint outline far-lying roofs. I hear below the rush of noisy cars. The pound of horses pelting with their hoofs. Silence! How many dying while I stand Here at the window? Vice and sin unloose Their kennel's breed; this hour's shifting sand May chronicle a murder, mark abuse Of mind or body. Dimly I perceive Two Crosses rise on near-by church. I know The Christ keeps watch and mankind must believe He welcomes friend and pardons blinded foe. And I am happy ! I have heard the voice Born on the wire of my beloved! Night, Thou hast thy sorrows, but I must rejoice — Thou night, art blind, but I have spirit's sight ! No need to tell my love to him; he knows Without the telling; so I send my prayer To him. In silence my whole being goes — He looks — he knows — and I am with him there! [60] RIPE GRAPES Give me ripe grapes ! The leaves may fall, The blight of autumn brood o'er all. The fruit is sweet — our blood is red — Let's live the heart despite the head! [6i] NUNC DIMITTIS The blare of battle died in smoke away; The soldier gasped ; his hand strayed to his beads. He dying with the sad vermilian day Shuddering before the sight of Moloch deeds Done in the name of war ; his fingers, numb With death's antarctic, told the Aves ten — The six last Paters ; hands fell : voice was dumb But eyes beseeched — oh to behold again The Crucifix worn o'er his burnt-out heart Star of his faith, alembic of his soul ! A sombre Rabbai mused a space apart Tranced by the guns last Pandemonium roll. A Judas Maccabeus of his race; An exile of the Babylonish streams. The Christ he knew not lit his eager face — His gaze fixed on the earth, its shell-made seams. Sudden his eyes the war-claimed soldier swept ; In pity's moistened flash he knelt beside. The Cross on death-dewed Hps were laid; he wept. The soldier smiled ; his eyes spake thanks ; he died. Nunc Dimittis ! These poor unworthy eyes Have seen creeds merge to further Paradise! [62] POST BELLUM Now 'tis ended; Why had it to be? Home and love rended — Death-sown the sea. Doubt; dark; bewilderment; ice breaths of pain For the lone dead on crimson fields lain. Crash, dies the music ! Hiss, die the lights ! Days, webbed with memories ; long starless nights When cry the Rachels; Marys at Cross Beat milkless breasts for the wild sense of loss. One flare of pageant — then moments to think — Marah, not Lethe, in deep quaffs to drink. God, the All-Terrible, why was it, why? Thou, who art Life, what sped men to die? Beyond and above is the Cause — Father — Thou! Still, Thou art Love, and still needs we bow Whispering, hands clasped, *'Thy will be done" — Calvary, the Mother, Calvary, the Son. Leal fare the nations? Perished the sword? Finite, we question Thee, Battles' strong Lord! Infinite wonder — why had it to be? Thou 'twas who urged us ; Thine the decree ! Do as Thou wilt with us ; fain must we weep — Scythes of destruction; first fruts of sleep Fix us Medusa-like; this, we implore — Smite us, but nevermore, nevermore, war! Now 'tis ended — Why had it to be? Home and love rended — But, Father, 'twas Thee ! [63] THE FAUN The Faun is the Superman ! The Man-Woman Plato prophesied — And hopeless, sighed While prophesying. He looked forward : vision ran Outvieing Good nature sense, that roots so deep The grass may not find it, nor long womb sleep Of great oak embryos. The Faun alone it is, who knows The Over- Soul of God; The Lower-Soul of Man; The Somewhat-Soul of Flowers and Beasts! The acorn in the sod. The human caravan. The soul-pulse in the four foot priests Of Nature, make the Christ! This, in old tryst The Faun doth know! The All- Soul he — And had but Plato opened vision's history This had he known. The pointed ears, the dancing toe, alone Bespeak the Superman. Christ is born of Pan; The Trinity in wildwood Unity; The beast culled in the flower, The hill's rock power In the babe's smile — Mary in Ceres. Some new mile In man's new reckoning shows the antique Faun The foremost figure in the world's new Dawn ! [64] EVENING IN A HOSPITAL Evening gloams; ghost-mantled with snow But few brief paces distant-Ufe and light. Street lamps moon globed with kindly fostering glow- A welcome clatter dins the friendly night. And here — a bed, a window ; two gaunt pines Caught in the pane's rectangle ; night or day — Here life snaps links with life; these cribbed fines Know nought of man's routine; man's holiday Is still the world of physic, glass and spoon — A couch where 'tis to drone, half-wake, half -sleep. The stars, the dawn, the crowned joy of noon — Are nought to beats the pulses' rhythm keep. Here life is steeped in Death, and Sleep may touch His Elder Brother's hand, and share his cold. Here joy crawls out, impeded by a crutch — And, chained to sick-beds, who is young, who old? Yet no inertia's Limbo ! Strife is waged 'Twixt Love and Silence — Courage and Despair! Here voiceless fields of battle! Here the gage Is flung each sand-slip; here resolve in prayer! And there is mystery ; the greater mind In throb accordant with the surgeon's knife; The lesser mind, in mercy deaf and blind To agony of soul arest with Life ! And here the Great Physician ever stands His heart a-brim with germinance of peace. His is the healing in the skilful hands — Or Life, or Death — from Pain He yields release! [65] THE HOME COMING With the laggard sunset, home we came ; We entered; one purple tinge of flame Enwrapped us, as through the door we passed. April rains, and buds amassed On the wisteria, sprawled o'er the porch Set afire by the sun's last torch. We entered; we spoke not; we heard the sea Sighing its endless litany — And a half felt sadness dimmed me; sight Was barred me of its monotone's might. For to feel, and hear e'en taste the deep And know it droned through the hours of sleep — Yet live anear, and all unseen Its foamy tracks of salt-flecked green Seemed like the rose of an infant's breath Sucked on milk that was drawn of death. The lights were glimmering; and what my fears For the bridal night, and the brood of years Stretching in endless procession away From the mileage-post of the wedding-day I could not tell ; I smelt the turf — And felt like some olden riveted serf Chained to her master; and yet, had I turned Where the feeble death lights of sunset burned To ash of blackness — I knew my feet Would bear me back from the prosing street And urge me straight to his arms again And what might come of undreamed pain ! His arms wound round me; the thick night fell — Our home ; my Heaven ! — ^yet reached through hell ! [66] THE GRAY DAY The day slinks out like a gray old rat And curls in the wet depths of the sky. And there it yawns : like curds from a vat It poaches the mist-bits, drifting by. And whether to melt in a sheet of rain Or sulk till misnomered sunset strives To piece sun honey as sweet again — Where the day bees drip in their dampened hives,- I know not ; 'tis a day for a "poet's moode" To pout of ivy on mouldy walls; And sigh for the graveyard trench as good — And moan of the wind to the mist that calls. And dream of childhood's vanished joys, And count life's pleasures a babbling noise — And life's enhancements as broken toys — And men of valor but puling boys ! But what of the day and its rodent face? A mood's not a permanency ! Sun bees will hum And a day burst forth with a moss rose grace ; And inspirations will sprout, and come In galaxies ambrosial rich ! And the autumn leaves clattering in the ditch Will be over gold a cloak of pitch — And this day that seems a drab old witch Will be a faery greenwood Hght! So drowse, old rat of a day! Your coat Is gray as doubt and cold as fear ! But one day's not the worth of a year And joy's immortal! For her no bier [67] Of back- thread sighs ! So your nought to me For I Uve and I love for Eternity ! And the sober coat of a gray old day Can't filch an eternal kingdom away! The End. [68] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS liSlil liill S!!!! Iliil !!!!! I!!l! !!ll! !■"■ "I'l I'H! !■«■ nil mi 015 799 389 6

20016171

Songs and sonnets

Alling, Kenneth Slade

songssonnets00alli_djvu.txt

Reprinted from The Bowling Green and The Sun Dial. jj fcmtetlt&Uife Ailing jj Copyright, 1920, by Kenneth Slade Ailing All rights reserved. Published September 1920 ©C1A593537 btf -b Ib20 For K. C. For whom this book is made I will make a song for you, One of April's fled and gone, Unimaginably blue 1 will paint the dawn. For the dawn is always sweet, Promises are ever fair And the touch of April's feet, Eunning silver on the air. Light as April's rapturous laughter When the wondering earth is glad, Though with blossoms dying after All the winds are sad, I will make this song for you, Spun and woven of old words, With a strain of music too, From the earliest birds. April comes, but April goes, Time has carried her away, This torn fragment of her clothes, Take from me to-day. Spring and Summer I shouted to green things growing, Across the garden ways, And in my voice there echoed, A thousand Mays. And the green things grew so swiftly, To hear the singing tune, That when I turned to shout again, My voice was the voice of June. Daffodils In early spring the daffodils Come out across the way, A thousand golden candles To light the feet of May. But May arrives with flaunting robes, And blows the candles out — I sometimes wonder if our friend Knows what she is about. The Rain Running on silver feet, the rain Hurries across the sea, And dances on the dusty plain, An April ecstasy. The wind has fetched his violin, The thunder brings a drum; Theleaves, delighted, clap their hands, To see the dancer come. White Ships (For K. C) Upon the air's unrippled blue, White ships that run, are bringing Laughter and pearls for me and you; This is a day for singing. The boats that breast the stubborn sea Could never glide as gladly As these, with bales for you and me, Or cheer our hearts so madly. A Presence When the departing, great sun stands And plants, on the last hill, his feet, He comes; likewise to morning lands, Or down a dim and crowded street. Today I knew that ecstasy; A soaring light was all my blood. And, in me, voices, like the sea, Shouted and my heart understood. To-day He smote earth with the flame, That clothes His presence when He comes And earth grew vibrant with His name, Like hidden trumpets, answering drums. To All Little Children You are the single, sole excuse The world possesses for existing; But life will find you griefs to use And you will make and keep strange trysting. Be merry now, the sun is shining And earth is a new fairy place, For tireless weavers are designing Garments to hide your innocent grace. Be merry now, and run and laugh, Because the earliest day you wear These garments, that same day will dare To write your childhood's epitaph. St. Bartholomew's I have fled from the world and entered here: Peace, that this place does like a vestment wear, Subdues the ancient agony, and prayer, Communion, and the hands of God are near. Within the sacred sanctuary fear Comes not, but love along the hallowed air Walks quietly and he beckons me to share The sound of choirs that only to his ear Is audible; but such his kindness and His power that now ( Love takes me by the hand) Suddenly and stupendously I know The noise of silver strings and golden wires, The unimaginable music of the choirs, That sing beside the street where angels go. To- I cannot write of paradise, Though I have travelled there And known the ambient perfume Of that ecstatic air. How should I write of paradise And who would understand - Save you, who, bringing my feet wings, Led me through starry land. Epitaph Come jest a while with me and talk And talk awhile and laugh; Some day the one of us may write The other's epitaph. And if your hand shall write for me, Then let the words you write Say that I love them equally, Blue day and starry night. Say I loved talking things like birds And prattling things like brooks, And that I learned from children's words And fell in love with books. And say I loved a girl or two, And one with hair like flame, And flame my heart was when she spoke By night my name. Beauty Preferring beauty to the warmth of blood, He will love marble and the moon bright girls, Diana, who once only understood The ways of love; when through Endymion's curls She twined queen's fingers (as a wood stream wreathes) Cool fingers through the forest's wind-blown hair). Oh, marble so inaudibly breathes, What can he find in marble that is fair? Beauty I seek but more I seek the fire, That lives in hearts where oft no beauty is. No beauty? There is no beauty without desire, Which is all beauty. Let me never kiss Cold marble; and when my flaming days are done, I would go back unto my home, the sun. On the Passing of the Last Fire Horse From Manhattan Island I remember the cleared streets, the strange suspense, As if a thunderstorm were under way; Magnificently furious, hurrying thence, The fire-eyed horses racing to the fray; Out of old Homer where the heroes are, Beating upon the whirlwind thunderous hoofs, Wild horses and plumed Ajax in his car: Oh, in those days we still possessed the proofs Men battled shouting by the gates of Troy, With shields of triple brass and spears of flame. With what distended nostrils, what fierce joy, What ring on stone and steel, those horses came. Like horses of gods that whirl to the dawn's burning, They came, and they are gone, and unreturning. 3477-1 83 Lot 74 ^ A? V *•-•• .** O •.,,. * 0-' ^ 4 o o^,. O **"V 4 P>. «** ^%//££p * few* oV l ::> ^ Q ^ ^ "> !' ^ *" o*~ o > » ^ « ^. ^^>S V < c ,y °^ o

16018316

A place in the sun

Allison, George William

placeinsun00alli_djvu.txt

PLACE IN THE SUIV OEORQE: TVILLIAM ALLISON Class Book GopjTiglitl^^.- CDPXRIGHT DKPOSm A PLACE IN THE SUN A PLACE IN THE SUN GEOROK ^WILLIAM ALLISON RIVERSIDE PUBLISHING COMPANY South Bend, Indiana 1916 -.N 6> Copyright 1916 By George William Allison. All rights reserved. M: SEP 15 1916 PRINTED BY GONIEC POLSKI PRINTING COMPANY ©GI.A437()99 To one who cannot read this page By reason of her youth My daughter Clare Louise I dedicate this book In the hope That she will grow To understand her father^ s love CONTENTS. A FOOI^'S DREAM 25 AFTER SUNSET— A LONE STAR BEFORE DARK 61 AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY 89 A PILE OF STONES ON MT. CHEYENJJE 78 A PLACE IN THE SUN 15 A PSALM AND A FALL AFTERNOON 48 A ROBIN IN WINTER 79 BEYOND THE GRASP 60 BRUCE ISMAY'S SOLILIQUY 71 CONSCIENCE 82 DELIGHT 45 DESCRIPTIVE MUSIC 54 DIVERGENT PATHS 81 HOPE 84 HUMANITY 29 IMPATIENCE DIVINE 41 IN THE MUSIC-ROOM 58 IPALNEMOANI 87 LOVE CHASTISES : 88 MOTHER 50 MOTHER-LOVE 49 NATURE'S ALCHEMY ....«...-,...-. _— , 85 PEACE „ 35 REPLY TO OBSCENITY 56 SELF-SACRIFICE .l....... "..... 2 8 SOLITUDE DISTURBED ...' „...........: 1.......:....... 78 SO THE WORLD GOES ON .....„...:...,L............. 21 THE BEGINNING QP THE DANCfe :.... 62 THE BRIEF SUPREMACY ..1 .....2d THE CINEMATOGRAPH ........:...! .......:........................ 67 'i'HE CLOUD OF FLESH ...: 5^ THE CLOUD WITHIN THE POOL 69 THE DESERT PRAYER 36 THE ETERNAL PYRAMIDS ZO THE FLOWING SPRING 65 THE GOTHIC PRAYER 34 THE GROWTH OF AN IDEAL 58 THE NIGHT-WATCH 48 THE OLD MAN AT THE DOOR - IB THE ROAD I CHOOSE '. 4t THE SERVILE THOR ..,....,. 23 THE SUPER-MAN 17 THE TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION 19 THOTS AFAR ft# THE WORLD AT THE WAILING- PLACE 1« A PLACE IN THE SUN. God, how men have struggled And battled in bloody fight To briefly stand a sturdy while Possessing that poor eminence we call ''A place within the sun!" To bask in that unholy light How many men have vainly died To push their petty prince ahead? What a striving human herd we are! And tho the place one may have gained, And tho the bloody reddened light may shine And keep the face abeam awhile With sleek sardonic vulcan gleam, — "^hor<^, always stands a shadow in the rear . . . — 15 — An umbra strewn with bodies of the slain Whose winds are fetid-weighed from rotting dead, And weird with hellish corses of the dying horde Or the agonizing cries of disappointed pain they raise And on either side the penumbral threats Of clashing fighting rival arms Of driven maddened maudlin men Who come to take in turn each winner down Who stands above so ill at ease To gratify his egotistic pride and vanity Within the envied place up in the sun ! God, we are a striving hortling human herd ! 16 THE SUPER-MAN. Create a self ! Attain the end for which thou'rt born; Achieve the aim of lusty living ! Nor let the race with eager claim For charity defeat thy course, And hold thee down amid the horde Of common ordinary men! If obstacles oppose thy path, Step not around — But brush the paltry earth aside, Wave the universe away That you may pass And yonder stand unsheathed Of shackling arts And skillfully contrived device, Unbaggaged over-man ! 17 THE WORLD AT THE WAILING PLACE. From sheer ashamedness of sin The world now seeks its weary wailing-place To pour its grief-o 'erladen soul in prayerful tears And cry release from dismal servitude Of gods who know not peace. Too long alas some tempting strayed In curiousity too close the brink Of precipices bounding deepest hell, When of a halt — the bank gave way, And they went tremblingly o'ersault Without support — wherefore we weep ! Unceasingly the sobs ascend to God ! 18 — THE TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION. The putrid odor of decaying dead Rises from their earthy cerements And wafted by the fetid winds Offensively it floats across the fields; And even now entrained Comes trampling thru the streets Trailing in the triumph of the host, And making sick the scene Of glory- vaunting guilt! It taints the show of triumph born of war ! The glitter and the glamor of parade Suff iceth not to blot from memory The curses of the murdered dead They killed to win the field. Call this not a triumph! Nay, for shame ! Say failure ! For they fail who win by force — 19 — And virulently vaunt a victory Above the decomposing bodies Or unnumbered dreamless dead ! 20 so THE WORLD GOES ON. And so the world goes on. Today to build — tomorrow to destroy ! Today to speak of brotherhood and God ; Tomorrow nations pray to Jupitor or Mars! Not wait to pray, but eagerly, While pushing engines of destruction To vantage points from which The projectiled fingers of a pained death May reach and grasp and crush With iron hand and rasping nails Whole cities full of men and homes. With treasures of labor and art ! And so the iron claw of a rabid hate That knows no let or stay Still grasps with pitiless greed For the fruit of the centuries peace. And those who spoke yester of God, — 21 — Today study tactics and field, Issue orders, engage, and count dead. And mutter to Mars in the mean ! And so the world goes on. O utter ennui ! — 22 — THE SERVILE THOR. In days of yore the hills of Norseland Heard within their yawning gulches' depths The deafening din and rumbling roar of thunder, As Thor the mighty strong of arm Raised hands aloft and smote with sturdy stroke Of hammer, blows which brot a mighty crash And seemed to crush the souls of men. And shatter in a thousand scattered fragments The hardihood that feared nor man nor devil. But now the knotted arm is bound Which held such mighty power, — Fettered by him who crivged And feared the awful force ! No longer free to roam the hills at will, But work content in shop and mill. In street, on field or sea. To raise his busy whurr and clattered din, — 23 — To lift and bear with ease the heavy tons, To light the darkened ways of puny men, To flash their mystic words thru widened leagues Behold the mighty god who once was free, The willing servile slave of fearless man ! — 24 A POOL'S DREAM. I hold within my hand the palsied, pale-sick moon And stand beneath the hollow, starry dom6 Of blue we call in iterance the sky ; We know not what it is. But I shall hurl this moon With Herculean strength of arm Against the key-star of that dome And leave the shattered fragments To come tumbling down And crush the earth And all that in it is. What if I perish in the deal? The melee will be great And I shall gloat with glee To see the pieces of the blue Lie scattered here about Amid the tumbled wreck of stars I — 25 — THE BRIEF SUPREMACY. A strong sense of the incomparably serene, The exaltation of victorious chosen few, Crowns the hardship and toil Of the torturous upward trails That lead to the peaks and blue. Undaunted by the chilly gaze of frowing cliffs. The snarling lips of Nature curled in scorn At the effeminacy of the weak, But challenging the strong, — We climbed and have achieved : Are tasting of the joys reserved For thoiSe who will to win And do by sheer determination! But as from hatred at the core For those who prove their best, We, standing on the summits. Beheld them snarl the more — 26 — And prove intolerant of conquerors ; They drove us dumbly down to valley With our fellows far below ! How like is life! To attain the topmost pinacle of Fame May be our greatly gifted human lot, To only then retire to the humbler ranks Of ordinary and forgotten men, Dissatisfied the more for having tasted Joys and conquests we could not longer own, Or bequeath to those who come behind! — 27 — SELF-SACRIFICE What tho I push myself to heights sublime As fit for only super-man? Does not the whispering pine, Sole remnant in the wake of weilded axe, Suffer greviously from cruel gale Which sweeps the unprotected hillside And its lonesome window ? Are not her branches whipped and snapped Until the forest beauty bleakly stands A horrid mangled ugly hag? So alone can I arise of self, Achieve the vaunted over-man, With loveless crippled character: A gaunt and barren trunk of a man Of height enough to spare. But lacking spread ! I cannot rise without I raise the race! — 28 — HUMANITY. I beheld a terrestrial planet Swung far out among the spheres and space Majestically poised and rotary, And round the sun it swung; Millions of beings clambered round its sides Or tossed upon its liquid seas ; Creating or eating bread they are : And something else. What? Ah, there *s a word I cannot meet! They've tears and smiles. And loves and hates, Hopes and fears. And wars and peace, Deep wellings of an unsung soul, — Yea, more than this ! But what, Exactly what, I cannot say ; Except, perhaps, they 're human ! — 29 — THE ETERNAL PYRAMIDS. The rugged Cheops had only scowled ; The master builder knew his meaning well — And urged his foremen ply their whips more freely ; The uncurled lashes snarled and snapped; The swarthy slaves o 'erstrained their tired limbs To barely move the heavy block. The granite mass rose slowly from the earth ; The desert sun shone hot on drifting sands ; The blurr'd horizon quavered in the atmosphere; The sluggish Nile flowed on between its muddy banks Adown the valley distantly to sea. Still scowled the mighty Cheops — Him of power — whose word is life Or death to slaves as he alone may choose. A dusky slave has fallen by the granite mass Where he has lifted much on little food Except impotent rebellious hate — 30 — That dared not risk the lash, Or worse, a head removed ! The stinging lash brings on outcry But a trembling quiver of the tired flesh Beneath the place the welt appeared. His body is removed and laid aside to die. Another fills his place. The work goes on! The mighty Cheops must his tomb erect 'Ere he too drops besides the rock He could not lift alone — tho king — Except for help of these — tho slaves. The massive pyramid of Cheops stands Durable above Egyptian desert sands, A memorable monument as much to them Who toiled with no reward save tasks and death As His to him who drove (and still some drive!) The slaves he plied beneath his system Before the age of justice had arrived — If still His come! — 31 — CONSCIENCE. On the boundary of the expansive sea One stands to watch the rolling waters heave, To note the inward creep of tide, The rush of waves that lash the shore, Thrust threatening finger-rills toward ones feet. Then ebb thru wetted glistening sands Adown to meet the motion inward bent Thus o'er and o'er. So under the orbs and lisping winds of God The tide and waves of conscience rise And crowd and rush and lash Remorselessly the guilty mind of man Once he has cast up continents of crime To impede the restless motion Of the boundless seas of God. 32 LOVE CHASTISES. As the Christ of old in righteousness indignant Hurled his well-aimed seven woes Against pretending Pharisees and scribes, Then having quit the holy city Looked backward o 'er the vale and wept They would not hear and heed his word, — So the careful mother whips the naughty child In cold and stern severity Then quickly turns away to hide the growing tear That dims the eye and blurrs the vision. Chastising love e'er suffers most itself. And after cries, * ' If thou hadst known ! ' ' — 33 — THE GOTHIC PRAYER. God help the men who utter Long slender Gothic prayers in plaintive tones That rise in cold grey splendor To majestic pointed arches Reaching toward a hollow-sounding heaven And bring back only echoes — Effete echoes of the prayers themselves — Sounding empty on the sated ear, Nor giving peace to praying souls Of sinful sorrow-laden men, Or such as we. 34 PEACE. In the mist of the valley 's summer green, In the setting sun's golden haze And the purple and azure and dreamy mists Which artlessly o 'er the whole scene plays, — There ascends a column of uncurled smoke' From the stack of an unpaintod home. Not a sound or a breath on the stillness breaks To disturb the gathering gloam, — And God calls the picture '* Peace"! — 35 — THE DESERT PRAYER. No minaret of mosque to mark the scape ; No sounding chant of priestly call to prayer ; Only a solitary camel-rider, A bowl of sapphire blue for sky, ^ A limitless expanse of desert sands, That yesterday were rippled with the winds, Now growing gold and glowing in the rising sun What greater summons could the Allah give As call to prayer than this ? Dismount and wash. The rug. The desert still. A penitential forehead to the dust. Allah lives, and ruleth over all: The barren drifted desert is not lone ! 36 IPALNEMOANI. Among a host of other stern-faced gods ye stand, Appalled by human blood and human fears : Their green stone altars running red in blood While human faces trickle salty tears. For you no breast is torn or bleeding heart Is waved toward the burning sun, No body tumbled down the temple-steps To sate the savage rage we shun; No voice of priest rings out from temple-top For you all human-kindness demonize, No cry of waging war or tossing lottery To bring or choose the human sacrifice For thee alone of all the pantheon That grace the hills of Mexico There is no sacrifice of life or limb That praise upon thine altars does bestow : For thee alone there swings the burning incense — 37 — "Whose aromatic fumes to thee arise To voice the prayers of human hearts Which would diffuse themselves thru earth and skies. Nay, more! There blows from every fragrant blossom Each a swaying censor which beautifies the splendid More perfumed incense than could rise [earth, Thru any stenchant smoke from any altar-hearth ! We grace thy name ! The flowered earth gives grace ! Ipalnemoani — '*by whom we live" — We offer thee our living hearts, His more Than all the fragrant perfumed flowers give! — 38 AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. Upon those browning crumbling bones (Now near to earthly dust Within their dustless polished ease) Once lived the vibrant tissue With the warmth of woman-flesh. *Tis well the tight-wound linen Hides what once was woman-frame from view Since form has gone, and all is hollow mockery. But ah, those ghastly features ! The toothless jaw has fallen from its socket And now stands mockingly agape ! *Twas set on yestermorn in rows of pearl. And yesterday were lips to smile and speak and kiss ! Thru the crunched bones which mark the nose Were breathed the scents of perfume-laden air. Whilst overhead the sutured skull there grew The raven hair so proudly tressed. — 39 — And HOW below, two empty sockets Reveal the secrets of the dusty cave arear Wherein dwelt thot of good and ill and all : No longer do the sparkling eyes hide aught within And give it sight and life ! The citadel of thot is now for rent Of other tenantry than mind. Yet one cannot but ask What thots and hopes, what fears and dreams Perplexed your day or troubled sleep — What pleasures thrilled or pains annoyed. But rest in ageless sleep, and near the dust, — We know you are of kind with us. — 40 IMPATIENCE DIVINE. thou great infinite idea Which impenetrates the All Impelling on and upward With divine impatience And energy eternal Everything that is Or was or shall be In the sum of being : Creating active strife And endless struggle brewing, Burning, clamoring expression — Impulsive force which makes all Incline and climb, yet cringe Attainment of the great Ideal — Stimulate this living life To reach and claim the power Which lever-like mil pry — 41 — The soul from lowly pits Of lethargy wherein have lain Too long too many souls Of men and things and All. 42 — A PSALM AND A FALL AFTERNOON. Let me leave the wide road, The hard-trodden road Of the beaten paths of men ! Let me clamber the sagging wood-lot fence And kick the dead leaves with my feet In the groves of the gorgeous fall ! With the golden sun and the hazy air To liven the day for the dying leaves, As aflame in scarlet and gold They cling for a last farewell To the birds and the wind and the sky ! Let me feel the crunch of the soft mother-earth 'Neath the heel of my unhallowed shoe! Let me reverently lean with my arms On the old rail-fence beyond And watch the unherded flocks, Or scan the corn-shocks, row on row, — 43 — Sturdy ^ards of invincible fall ! Let me bask in the beauty of present joy, And the sun, and the afternoon ! As waters from unfailing springs, There wells from the depths of mind, • Mysteriously half -understood, > The words of an ancient psalm ....*' Thou crownest the year with thy goodness, And the hills are girdled with joy; The pastures are clothed with flocks, And the valleys are covered with grain; They shout for joy, and they sing.'* — 44 — DELIGHT . I delight .... To throw myself recklessly- Over the rocky ledge With the slender stream In a tenuous film of silver And dash myself into spray, Then reassemble and rush on. . ... To quietly slip with the winds Thru the shadowed ways of the woods And kiss the light-flower 'd poppy, Then scatter the scent o'er the fields. . ... To stand like the green live-oak And let the wind run quivering thru me And rustle the folds of my frock. — 45 — • , , , To lie like the rich brown earth Which gathers the warmth of the sun And feeling the glow of new-life Born of a welcome pregnancy Exhilirate forth in a wealth of flora. ... To be companionable To earth, wind, water, and wood. — 46 — THE ROAD I CHOOSE. I lifted up mine eyes unto the hills And trudged with zest the upward path of youth Ascending from the vale of infancy. IVe reached the crest of manhoods sturdy road From here I see the path diversified — Direct and torturous, hither and yon, Out thru the vale and over summit Its' various courses lead, — Each with its hills and sunny meads to Wew, But each with its petty hindrances^ I know not which way to the best — I cannot take them all (I say so with regret!) So — this the road I choose And onward trudge! I trudge it zestf ul still ! 47 THE NIGHT - WATCH. Wearied with racking pain Which follows the surgeons' knife. Long thru the endless night With its* ceaseless calm and still I lay restlessly a-cot Waiting complete fulfillment Of either of two desires — Sleep, or the dawn: Relief from the pain of self By sleeping forgetfulness, Or interfusion of self in else. 48 — MOTHER - LOVE. Who has ever seen The suffering of the silent mother Who stands besides the prim-made bed Of immaculate unruffled linen Whereon lies the fevered brow Of the boy she once gave birth And felt the tears She dared not well? Who has ever seen And knows not mother-love? — 49 — MOT HER How beautiful The memory Of mother ! — 50 — ^TER SUNSET — A LONE STAR BEFORE DARK. One glimmering twinkly star Lumines the window-scape With its' limited gaze From a hospital cot : Lone star, blue sky above Fading to pink below, — Pink gashed with pointed gables, Weird shapes of trees and poles : Foot-steps below in the street, Clang of the distant car. Voices supprest in the hall — Lone star twinkling over all : — Suffer or sleep — God is near ; The night will pass And morning will bring the dawn. 51 THE CLOUD OF FLESH. The cloud of flesh which wrapped your hidden form Was precipitated by the chilly blast of death And leaves your truest self untrammeled now To stand forth sheathed with only glory In the light of glowing noontide sun. — 52 — IN THE MUSIC -ROOM. I beheld the sun-lit room, The polished instrument, Brown case and ivoried keys — And 70U — With unfolded sheet of notes : A touch of slender practised hands And room and keys and page Fade into a maze of mist and melody Into music-mist and you. — 53 — Descriptive music. My rocking ceased ; And soon the chair was still: For from the polished instrument With noiseless ivoried keys There came a scene of sound — On either side the tree-clad banks Of a sun-lit woodland stream : And down between the sound-banks Came a rippling melody of laughter As the brook of notes unceasingly Babbled on from side to side Slippered by moss-topped stones, Fanned by wood-flower-scented breeze, Heralded by sun and fluttered shadow. The sound-stream gaily triple-trickles on. — 64 — A folded page ... A dying chord . I closed my eyes and rocked again. — 55 REPLY TO OBSCENITY. Dame Nature has a shame that's all her own — Nay, shame is not the word For shame means moral turpitude And morals are not hers. Well say not shame, but modesty Which shrinks from filthy show; Not to deceive or lead astray, Disown the wrong she knows is there — But not only to put it forward. Nor is she less strong that this is so. Less worthy of the worlds' respect: Virtue lies not in display of passion ; Sturdiness is not of stallions' fire. She need not be too nice to not be rude ; Nor need be rude and boorish lest too nice And being nice — too weak ! The ivy-tendrils, leaves, and vine — 56 — Trail o 'er the crumbled ruined walls of weakened men And hide to beautify decaying shame ; The lichen hides the harshness of the limestone tomb ; The mats of moss conceal and glorify The dismal dreary swamps of putrid mud ; The southern jessamine o'erclambers green The blasted pine of woodland solitudes That else were shameful. So need not man be hesitating to avoid immodesty, Nor need be rude to prove him man ; Display the base to prove him bold ; He need not tell or sing a song of shame — Too many things too better to be told. — 57 THE GROWTH OF AN IDEAL. Whether from the slime of ocean ooze Emerged the germ which generated life Of man and fish and bird, Or whether God or gods created him and them Complete in form, concerns us not ; We only know he is and they. We see his stooping form emerge From dismal dark of dusty cave Half-erect, low-browed and stern. With pudgy belly and unkempt hair ; Killer of the beasts, yet one of them; Carver of the bones whose flesh he gnaws ; This once the thing that now is man ! And then from Tigris Valley and from Nile We learn of cities walled and strong. Of waging wars, and conquests Carried into dim and distant lands : — 5'8 — And then the seas were won from gods of fear, And more fleets plowed the blue Than tilled the black and fertile earth. Anon Rome dons the warriors helmet Worn by Greece of yore And subjugates the earth; And underneath her tutelage the nations rise And supercede their patron. But all the while the cave-man grows And sloughs his stooping hairy form And bestial code of life. Leaves caves and beasts to guard The low-browed skulls of yore While he ascends To be the lordly democrat of all the earth, Potent over elements and sea and air, Tho holding still the unreached folds Of rich ideals in view. It doth not yet appear What he shall be ! — 59 — BEYOND THE GRASP. He walked along the rocky ledge That grooved the hip of earth : The crevices above which gathered soil Gave root to hardy flowers of the wild, And in the suasive July sun Each stalk was toppled heavily With its load of floral gold. The heart and hand were tempted To garner in a sheaf. But those he held in hand seemed Not quite the peer of those beyond: Some missing petal, dull of shade, Or some lesser fault in all. But ah, — one just above the reach Seemed flawless — perfect in every line. The one desired blossom of them all ! — 60 — So is it ever thus in life : The thing we hold in hand Seem's less than what's beyond the grasp, And leaves ns discontent To long and strain for the ideal Which is ever only just beyond ! — 61 — THE BEGINNING OF THE DANCE. (Japanese Legend.) Whence came the dance? Who first discovered beauty In the form of rythms ' song ? Who felt the joyous stir, The thrill of pulsing sentiment, That swaying with the trees, The babbling stream of brook. The unseen breath of wind Make mighty moving melody? The fathers of the race reply: On the morning of creation Ere the mists of time arose And the grasses of the earth Were sparkled with the dew. When the world was fresh-created 62 And the sun was bright and new, It happened so ..... . Thru the woods of gladsome springtime Tripped a faun abrim with life ; Trees and shrubs full-budded Awoke a happy thrill of soul Flowers called unceasing And the sweetness of their odor gave delight : The sun gave energy to thot and soul. One beautiful pure blossom Defiled but by an hours sun Seized his soul, and drew it out And up, above his utmost reach; Its whiteness dazzled and entranced — He sprang to grasp and hold it, But when the firm earth left his feet. He knew the dance and kept it Tho the blossom he might covet held its place. — 63 — And still the stream and the tree-tops, The wind and the waves of the wild Dance and teach this rythmic joy To the faun, the nymph, and the child. — 64 — THE FLOWING SPRING. Below a grass-clothed knoll Where grow the green live-oaks, There flows a cooling spring Out o 'er the lap of limestone Roof above and shelf below. Quietly it ever flows Out and on, The stillness only broken By the gurgling of the little stream As laughing at its pebbly path And the clear-throated song Of a lone bird above. It is a spring of magic mystery To kiss the thirsty roots Of stream-side plants and reeds With healing soothing lips, While mirroring the sun. — 65 — My mind is a flowing spring : A magic mystery of thot Rising from unseen sources And moving stilly out and on To kiss with fluid lips The roots of reasoned order In the universe of thirst For explanation of its being, And the stream reflects (sometimes rofracts) The illuminating rays of reason Which emanate from the divine. — 66 — THE CINEMATOGRAPH. Seated in a cushioned opera-chair ~ Within the cheap theatre of reflection I watched the lighted action on the screen. The sound of voice was silent Save the dreary hum of whispered comment And the faulty melody of woe or joy, Of gleeful ragged discontent Or of sullen pathos As mayhap fit the action Which alone disturbed the tranquilized occasion. The reel rolls on — the length of memory. The film of deeds once done Is re-enacted here for ruthless rumination. The alternating flickered light For days of animated action, And an instantaneous flutter for the nights Eeweave before my eyes a film of life — 67 — For solemn retrospection. The hero of the tale secures award; The villain takes his due. I sigh the sight is so soon done. A click! .... the picture's o'er, And ended in a blinding glare of light ! I rise to go . A few more days may flutter out The action of my lif es enacted tale ; A few more flickered scenes of shortened nights May intersperse the whole "While I retain my seat And see my actions featured By the cinematograph of God. • «•••• And then will come the glare? . — 68 — THE CLOUD WITHIN THE POOL. Beneath the fluttering shadows of the gorge In the cooling freshness of the springtime green The white-flowered trillium topples drowsily; In the wetness of last seasons fallen leaves, Modest and almost quite unseen, there grows The wild ginger with its richness folded in corolla Of a humble brown. The spatter of a nearby waterfall, The rustle of the newly opened leaves, The merry chatter of returning feathered friends. Melt into indistinctness. My thot is otherwhere. A convenient moss-rugged log invites to rest and medi- On the wonder and the glory of the opening day [tation In this forenoon of the year. The narrow streamlet at my feet in freshet swept Its limestone path and left a pool Of clear and quiet limpid water Wherein my gaze, invited, falls. — 69 — I note the fossiled coral in the pool And send my meditation to the days When ocean ooze and clamminess here reined supreme, And laid this down to keep until today. And centuries of earth are melted from my mind. But deeper down it seems I see A framed expanse of clear unmeadowed blue : And even now far down there moves A silvered fleece, ungilded by tradition, Which sweeps the bottom from the stream And leaves a vacant blurr where had been Trees and pool and rocks and leaves And time — and I 'm alone with God In reverie and fantasy and dream. — 70 — BRUCE ISMAY'S SOLILIQUY. The melancholy wind unceasingly Sweeps the barren waste of unplowed field From rocky shore and restless dreaded sea And seeks me out upon the dreary land To speak the silent voices of the dead : The dead the deep insatiate sea devoured — Some unprepared, but others brave — Tho dead are all thru fault of mine . . . Deep down they lie, Deep down they lie, Deep down in the surly sea And their voices cry. Their voices cry, They cry from the deeps at me ! The ocean tosses up into the wind With the constant heave of her surging breast — 71 — The agony-cry of those who drowned When my ship went down in the sea With a hole in her side two fathom wide And a half -ship-line in length : Yet still from the sea they cry at me In the restless voice of the wind . . . **Deep down we lie Deep down we lie, Deep down in the surly sea!" Oh their voices cry, Their voices cry ! How they cry from the deeps at me ! 72 A PILE OF STONES ON MT. CHEYENNE. ''.What's this, a devil-tree. With piles of stones about its trunk, Each stone a memorable token Of imprecation uttered here Upon some foul spirit?" ''Not so — for here lies one Who loved these crooning pines, These rugged cliffs of Mt. Cheyenne And prolonged her ebbing life Within the folds of each. She 's buried here at her request ; And these stones are each a token Of the love that someone bore The holder of a pen that moveth not To write a line forever more. A pile of stones beneath a pine; But ah, could one discern — 73 — The pile of pleasant memories Of hosts who held her dear, 'Twould far outweigh the weight Of stones thus builded here In crude unlettered altar!'* ... 74 -_ THE OLD MAN AT THE DOOR. He sat upon the sloping stoop In front the sagging door Which stood ajar invitingly And yet forbidding trespass On that sanctity He called in courtesy his home. The companion of his latter days, A mongrel dog, drowsed near his feet. His home-made cane of cherry-limb Flecked uncertainly a loosened pebble From the sometime graveled walk. Box-elders shade the humble door. And stray flickers of the risen sun Flutter thru the scene uncertainly. A clump of untrimmed lilac at the gate, A few old-fashioned lilies and some bouncing Bet, * Volunteered,' suffice for flowers, — 75 — Save for the straggling rose From whose blossomed pink, Dew-weighted, there falls a faded pedal. The old man waked with dawn, But shares not the shaded songs Of rustic home-yard birds, Noisy chatter of the sparrow Or the ruddy-breasted robins* cheerful churck, Thinks not of mid-morning sun Nor notes the sparkling dew Upon the unbrowsed grass Within the apple-orchard lot Where frolic pastured calves With young bucolic lack of grace. All unmindful of the teeming world about him, Absently he sits with lowered head Fumbling with his homely cane, And dreams. Not toil, not quests. Not seeds and plantings, nor of harvests — 76 — Is his mist of mind this morn; Too late today for these to be. But dim reckonings of those might-have-boens That had wrought for better or for worse: Thanks for the ills the flesh escaped And kept the humble spirit free, Regrets for the goods ungrasped And sorrows that their loss entailed. The wrinkled smile that played about the lips, The quiet luster of the aging eyes. Showed well the way the balance cast. My tread upon the walk disturbed his reverie; He rose, and came out in the sun; His grey locks glowed with glory in the sheen. — 77 — SOLITUDE DISTURBED. A little glade of water in a wood, Wherein there stood a crane with lifted foot And bill at rest upon her breast, Reflected trunks of trees in and beyond. The dead leaves of last season rustle In the wind that croons thru unleafed trees. The afternoon grows late, the sun grows large, The evening hush of solitude comes on More rapidly than coming of the spring. The crackle of a twig beneath my foot Provoked a sudden inharmonious start: The awkward crane ungainly dropped her foot And clumsily then flopped her way awood. I might regret intrusion on this solitude Had I not seen a woodland glade, A lazy crane, the drear gaunt trees, And heard last seasons' leaves Arustle in the wind. — 78-- A ROBIN IN WINTER. With the shrubs frost-tinseled grey All cottoned o 'er with snow And the rousing sun ascending From the ruddy right of east And setting all the world agleam In a glorious sheen of diamonds Riotously scattered on the breast Of the white-apparalled earth, . There comes a sense of vigor As of rejuvenating spring. The morning air is not too chill For friends to gayly greet good-morn With merry voice and hearty cheer. But no voice so unexpected Nor so lovely, full, and clear As when a strayling robin Hops without its hiding — 79 — Artlessly beyond the clump Of leafless lilac shrub, And challenges your friendship With a '^Church! Churck! Churck!'' you ruddy breasted robin, Spring's anticipated peer, Your full-throated churck of greeting Wins your welcome for the year ! - 80 DIVERGENT PATHS ''No, boys, I've quit! Damned if I'll be more besot And drunken as a hog unpenned — Or lewd as dog on city streets ! I '11 taste the vent my stomach vomits No more, I say ! The bleary eyes, The sick headache, the dismal shame Of hunting jobs I cannot get Nor hold so long as drink has hold of me ! My God men, I wakened in an alley yesterday. And say, — a sorry sight! My hat was gone, my trousers torn. My suit was old tho new ; And money? I could not have paid For breakfast had I w^anted one, Tho paid myself the day before. But say, when I got home — 81 — The Avomans eyes were red All ringed around with black. I knew she'd seen no bed that night, And cried her poor eyes out for drunken me ! The kids were up, and dressed — Glad to see me come home — sober — Too often drunk I'd come And beaten them — curse my beer-soaked hide And all my drunken ugliness ! 'You're a pretty sight!' w^as all the woman said, But Bill, you know how your wife looks at you — She looked at me — and say! I broke right down and cried ! She loved me, boys, for what I had been, And not for what I was ; Same's your wife loves you too, And cries all night long for you When you're out on a spree. And boys, I tell you now, I'm thru: — 82 — No more of this for me ! I'm going to be clean And give my wife a man That 's fit to be the father of her kids ; And buy her grub and duds, Instead of tears and rags And foul-mouthed curses! Excuse me, boys, I 'm quit ! Good-by ! ' ' He walked away. The others walked. But toward another place than home; One looked as tho to follow him, Then caught the others eye. And muttered, ''Well, I'll be damned!" The other said, ''D'you 'spose he will?" 83 — HOPE . (After the painting by George Frederick Watts.) Hope took up the harp of life And gently thrummed its strings As suited to her mood. The first one rudely snapped, And left her song without accompaniment. The second, and the third, the same! Undaunted, Hope then lifts the song again. And plucks the fateful final cord — Her disappointed ear athrill to hear As, blinded, bending low she w^aits to learn Whether the final string gives melody. Or lets the soul within her die With broken interrupted song ! Crouching o 'er the instrument of broken life On top a melancholy-looking earth, Expectantly she waits to thrum the final cord ! We gladly pluck the string with Hope! — 84 — NATURE 'S ALCHEMY. What magic alchemy is this To reach down in the unattractive clay by root, And grasp a grain or two of earth, Transport its weight above And spread it out beneath the sun in bits. All colored gay with careful nicety? Sometimes arrayed in gaudy floral petal, Mayhap in deep-hued leaf, or curling tendril ; Or else, more wonder still, A delicate aroma exhaled to scent the air And draw a pollenizing agent to your purpose! I do not understand but only know. This alchemy of Nature and her God. It baffles thot, defies experiment. 85 — THOTS AFAR. I send my thots far off Unto the dim distant edge of the universe All golden-rimmed about with stars, And ask them on return, ''What is beyond?" PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. nmm,^,{^,!^y. °^ CONGRESS iiiiiiH 015 799 394 A

08033900

Della Dorn; or, Struggles of the Boers,

Allison, Thomas Jefferson

delladornorstrug00alli_djvu.txt

Class _^r-SJ2uS:m Book - .L Ar^2j\ ^ Copyright 1")?. ^Ag COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV DELLA DORN OR STRUGGLES OF THE BOERS By THOMAS J. ALLISON If I'm designed yon lordling's slave — By Nature's law designed — Why was an independent wish E'er planted in my mind ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty and scorn ? Or why has man the will and pow'r To make his fellow mourn ? — RoBKRT Burns. J. S. HYLAND & COMPANY CHICAGO ULiRAaY Of CONGRESS Two Cop:es f^ecsived NOV Id 1308 I C'JiJvntint c/ii.-y i Cf7PV d. ' COPYRIGHT 1908 BY THOMAS J. ALLISON. • . • DEDICATION. TO ALL THOSE WHO FEEL AN INTEREST IN HUMANITY AND CAN SHED A TEAR OF SYMPATHY FOR A SUFFERING BROTHER, THIS STORY IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED. PREFACE. Many epic poems are so commonplace that they afford no enjoyment to persons of even a moderate degree of Hterary attainment, while others are so abstruse that they can be under- stood by those only who have mastered the his- tory of all ages. A poem, to be enjoyed, must be understood, but it cannot give the highest degree of pleasure if it be so explicit as to leave no room for the exercise of the reader's own imagination. It should be only a frame-work which, when com- pleted by the imaginative powers of the reader, will become a beautiful picture. If the picture is too complete, no matter how beautiful it may be, it will rapidly pass from the reader's mind, because of the feeling that he has not been allowed to take part in its construction. If the frame-work is too meager, a mind of only moderate imaginative power is unable to complete the structure and hence it fails to be- come a picture such as the writer had in mind. In the following story the writer has attempted to avoid these extremes. Complete notes are appended for the benefit 6 Delia Dorn of those who are not famiHar with the history of the South African Republics and are not ac- customed to reading works of this nature. Such persons would not be able to enjoy the story with- out these notes, while there are many who will find no need of them. While fictitious characters have been intro- duced for the purpose of illustrating the heroism of the Boers and to make the story more inter- esting, the poem is based upon the history of their unfortunate struggle — unfortunate for both Eng- land and South Africa. I wish to express my gratitude to my friends, Mr. John O'Byrne, W. I. Simpson and B. F. Phillips for substantial aid, and to Prof. B. C. Chrisman and wife, Mr. B. Cannon, Mrs. J. T. Jeter, and many others for their encouragement in the preparation of this story. or Struggles of the Boers INTRODUCTION. It IS to be hoped that no one will ever attempt to read the following poem without first carefully perusing this brief introductory lesson in the his- tory of the South African Republics. Should anyone read the story without understanding the circumstances which gave it birth, he will deprive himself of the inspiration of the author, his sym- pathy will be dormant, he will look upon it as a problem in the abstract and the whole story will probably be reduced to a bundle of meaningless rhymes. Even the student of history, who is al- ready familiar with all the circumstances of Eng- lish domination in South Africa, will find a deep- ening interest in a review of the trials and unjust burdens of such a brave, though unfortunate, people. There has probably never been a country with a history so full of pathos, or an existence so disturbed by injustice and indignities. Every act of British rule over the Boers, as those early set- tlers were called, was but a link in the long chain of oppressions which dated from the moment that the English first set foot upon their soil. Their history begins about the year 1650, when 8 Delia Dorn some families from Holland, together with a few German, French, and Flemish settlers, formed the nucleus of a Dutch colony near the Cape of Good Hope, the southern extremity of Africa. Here they lived the simple, patriarchal life common to all pioneer settlements, at perfect peace among themselves and with the world, ex- cept the native savages, who occasionally made raids into their settlement; nor did they war with these except so far as was necessary to pro- tect their homes and families from the ravages of those roving, robber bands. Whenever they were attacked by these savages, they fought bravely, but beyond this they gave no evidence of a belligerent spirit. They tended their flocks and herds, built and cultivated their farms and were expert huntsmen. Game was plentiful on the wild plains and hunting was their chief sport. While their houses were mostly of rude type, they built comfortable homes, had a regular gov- ernment and were deeply religious. They seemed to have no spirit of aggressiveness and did not trouble themselves to subdue the natives or ac- quire lands beyond what they needed for pastoral and agricultural purposes. They had great respect for the customs and methods of their ancestors and hence progress or Struggles of the Boers 9 was not a prominent feature of their national existence. From time to time they were joined by other settlers, attracted by the hope of greater civil and religious freedom and their financial betterment. Each new contingent at once be- came a part of the people and all went well until at the end of a century and a half the little colony had grown to be quite an extensive country and their farms and villages covered a wide area. During all these years it was a Dutch colony, and notwithstanding its dimensions and prosper- ity, it was still owned and governed by Holland, though there is no intimation that Dutch rule was severe or that it produced any great degree of dissatisfaction in the minds of the Boers. While Holland had been their benefactor, and they, no doubt, felt grateful for her assistance, they probably, also, felt that one hundred and fifty years of service was sufficient to fully com- pensate her for all she had done, and, being now able to take care of themselves, they sought their independence in 1795. The United States of America had gained its freedom from English rule less than a decade before and the French Revolution, which had completely changed gov- ernmental affairs in France and shaken the foun- dation of almost every European government, 10 Delia Dorn had come to an end and the Napoleonic wars had just begun. All things considered, it would seem that this was a propitious moment for them to strike for liberty. Holland was unable to hold them, but England took charge of the colony, claiming to do so as a friend to Holland. In 1804 it was delivered to Holland, but in 1806 the English retook it and Cape Colony has been a British province ever since. In 1815 Holland relinquished all claims to it, which firmly established British supremacy in that region. An attempt was at once made to destroy the nationality of the Boers. The Dutch language was forbidden in the courts and schools and every possible effort was made to make the Boers feel their dependence upon the British. So harsh was English rule, that in 1840 great numbers of the Boers left their farms and moved northward and settled, some in Natal and others in neighboring sections. In a short time the British annexed Natal to Great Britain just as she had Cape Colony. Again, many of the Boers left their second country and settled in Orange Free State, but in 1849 the English took that also. Many of them again left the country and set- or Struggles of the Boers 11 tied in the Transvaal, where a small settlement had previously been made. About this time the English began to be attacked by the native tribes around them and they appealed to the Boers for help, which was refused. The English began now to see how difficult it would be for them to hold the territory against both the natives and the Boers, and in 1852 they made a treaty which assured the Boers that they would never be inter- fered with north of the Vaal river. This is called the "Sand River" treaty. Orange River Free State, two years later, was given sim- ilar assurance of immunity from British disturb- ance, by the treaty of "Aliwal North." Notwith- standing these assurances, in 1877 Mr. Shepstone, the British Secretary of Natal, forcibly seized the Transvaal for the British Crown, under pre- tense that the Boers were too weak to resist the attacks of the natives. The real truth of the matter was that they were not able to resist the attacks of both the barbar- ous native and faithless Briton. This state of affairs continued until 1880, when the Boers of the Transvaal, unwilling to longer suffer the indignities of British insolence, re- solved to fight for their freedom, and an attack was accordingly made on some British troops 12 Delia Dorn who were making their way to Pretoria, the Capi- tal of Transvaal. The British were defeated in this battle and surrendered to the Boers. Three other battles, in all of which the Boers were victorious, were fought in this war. The last was the battle of Majuba Hill, in which the British lost 283 offi- cers and men in killed, wounded and prisoners, while the Boers lost only one killed and five wounded. Gladstone was at this time Prime Minister of England and, having a greater sense of justice than most Englishmen seem to have had, he summarily stopped the war. This was in 1881. In 1884 the Boers were again assured by the terms of the London Con- vention that Britain would never again interfere with her affairs. About this time it began to dawn upon the world that the Transvaal had one of the richest gold mines in existence. Thousands of foreign- ers flocked to these gold fields and soon the for- eign element outnumbered the original settlers four or five to one. Almost at once trouble be- gan. It was a rather awkward situation. A very great majority of the people were being governed by the minority, without any voice whatever in the government. Most of these foreigners probably or Struggles of the Boers 13 cared but little who governed them, but England saw her opportunity and did not fail to make us^ of it. British papers were freely circulated among the miners, explaining the injustice of ex- isting conditions, and soon there was a clamor for suffrage. Paul Kruger, President of Trans- vaal, opposed the infranchisement of foreigners, for he well knew that if this element was al- lowed to vote, England would soon be in posses- sion of the government, and the experience of the Boers with the English made this, above all other things, the most undesirable. He felt unwilling to surrender his country to a nation which had already robbed his people of three out of the four homes which they had set- tled. In 1895 the English made a raid into the Transvaal for the purpose of overthrowing the Government. This raid was led by Col. F. W. Rhodes and Dr. L. S. Jameson, though it is be- lieved that Cecil Rhodes, Premier of Cape Col- ony, planned the expedition. Cecil Rhodes, broth- er of F. W. Rhodes, was an immensely rich Eng- lishman who lived at Kimberly near the western border of Orange Free State, and was hated by the Boers, probably above all other men. He had been constantly interfering in their affairs and had thus rendered himself supremely odious. 14 Delia Dorn The Boers brought the Jameson Raid to a sudden termination by turning out with their rifles and capturing the entire posse. If these had been Boers raiding British terri- tory they would have been hung at once, no doubt, but the Transvaal Government turned them over to the English authorities, and they were tried on the charge of invading a friendly country and imprisoned, which was probably meant as punishment for their failure, more than for the crime. From these developments and the increasing clamor for suffrage, Kruger now saw that the English were bent upon the destruction of the in- fant republic, even if it took bullets instead of ballots, and in 1899 he consented to foreign fran- chise after a residence of seven years and oath of allegiance, provided England would agree to submit national differences to arbitration. Britain objected to the "Arbitration" require- ment and demanded a five years' franchise in- stead of seven. England was a member of The Hague Con- ference which proposed to settle all National disputes by arbitration, and it seems a little queer that she would object to it just now. But it should be remembered that Transvaal was de- or Struggles of the Boers 15 nied a seat at The Hague in May, 1899, which denial was based upon England's objection. This is probably the Key which unlocks all mystery in the matter. England no doubt thought that her guns could settle all disputes between herself and Transvaal more satisfactorily than any Court of Arbitration, and she did not propose to be brought under obligation to the Boers or to the other Powers to settle those differences in any such manner. It is said that Mr. Kruger even agreed to the five years franchise, but that, so eager was Mr. Chamberlain for immediate conquest of the coun- try, he did not even present the proposal to the British Parliament. Negotiations of this kind went on during August and September and all this time England was making preparations for an invasion, and Transvaal was preparing to meet it if necessary. At last, the Transvaal Council decided that the English were only parleying in order to gain time to mass more troops and be- come more firmly stationed on the Transvaal borders, and on the 9th of October, 1899, Mr. Kruger sent a note to Mr. Green, the British agent at Pretoria, stating that unless the British should cease to land troops, and unless they should remove further from his border those al- 16 Delia Dorn ready there by five o'clock P. M. of the 11th, he should consider it a declaration of war. It could scarcely be supposed that England would com- ply with this demand, when war was the very thing upon which she had already determined. On October 11th shortly after noon, Mr. Green brought to Mr. Kruger, Dr. Reitz and Wc'mer- ans, as they sat in the Executive Hall, a note from the British Government, breaking off all further negotiations, and from that moment war was inevitable. The reception of this note is suf- ficiently described in the text and notes of this story. While it may seem unjust that a majority of the people should be governed by a minority, it should be remembered that this was the Country which England had promised never again to dis- turb. It was the country of the Boers and they should have had the right to control it, no matter who came. If they considered it dangerous to grant suffrage to the great number of foreigners, it was not only their right, but their duty to with- hold it. Of course, there could be but one re- sult hoped for — that of victory for England. The population of Transvaal was only 150.000, while that of Great Britain was 300,000,000, and with such disparity in numbers the Boers them- or Struggles of the Boers 17 selves could not hope to win without help from other nations. They, however, felt that the jus- tice of their cause would excite the sympathy of other nations, which it did, but not to the ex- tent of giving them aid. In 1897, the Orange Free State and Transvaal had entered into an agreement that in case the independence of one of these territories was threatened, the other would come to its assistance unless it could be shown that the threatened country was at fault and, as will be seen from the following story, President Steyn of the Orange Free State re- sponded promptly when war was declared against the Transvaal. There was also quite a number of Cape Colony volunteers, and a few from other countries. Colonel Blake, an American Irishman, raised a company of volunteers in the United States and went to the assistance of the Boers. This was known as ^'Blake's Irish Brigade," and won for itself the reputation of being as good "Fighting Stuff" as the Boer army possessed. Beyond these the Boers had no assistance and in the end were forced to yield. It is unneces- sary to mention the Concentration camp in this connection, as this barbarous war method is fully dealt with in the text. Suffice it to' say that in 18 Delia Dorn all probability this one measure, in which Eng- land seemed determined to punish women and children, even to death, for the persistence of the soldiers in the field, had more to do in causing the Boers to surrender than all other British measures combined. But England paid pretty dearly for her victory. The territory which she gained cost her nearly $7,000 per square mile, besides the lives of more than 22,000 killed and about 74,000 invalided home. I am not in possession of an estimate of the Boer losses, but feel pretty sure that England would be unable to offset her 22,000 killed, even by counting the 14,000 children which died in the concentration camps as a result of her cruel measures. England has gained a country with one of the richest gold mines in the world, but this will lack much in paying her for the one item of prestige which she has lost. She has been one of the most powerful na- tions of the earth and a glorious country. She can boast of some of the loftiest minds that the world has produced. She is yet a great and powerful country, but when she allowed us to see that it took her nearly three years to subdue an army of men whom she considered too ignorant for self-government, and with a force five or ten or Struggles of the Boers 19 times as large as theirs, then we begin to wonder why we ever considered her so powerful. Yes, England is a glorious country, but she has reached the zenith of her glory. The love of wealth and power, unmixed with justice and mercy, is her ruling passion, and the canker-worm of decay is gnawing at her vitals. Long has a continuous sun shone over her dominions, but today it is descending toward her western horizon, and ere long it will set never to rise. Then, like Greece and Rome, her only pride will be in her history. 20 Delia Dorn BELLA DORN OR STRUGGLES OF THE BOERS. (INVOCATION) Oh, Thou, Who didst in days of old Direct the pen of poets bold. And round them nightly visions cast Of weal, of woe and trumpet blast, And held beneath omniscient eye Each nation's final destiny: Thou, who dost yet in varied mold Republics, Kingdoms, Empires hold, And fashion each as best to fill The measure of thy sovereign will: Thou, Who dost still against the strong Avenge the weak of ev'ry wrong. And bind the wounds of broken hearts Made by unjust and selfish darts; Inspire my soul, direct my pen. That I may teach my countrymen, Sons of Columbia's worthy sires Within whose breast still burn the fires Of freedom, bought with patriot's blood On many a field a sanguine flood. Oh, aid me teach to them the cost or Struggles of the Boers 21 Of freedom won or freedom lost, And point them to a noble race From whom the world had turned its face, And heeded not its struggling throes 'Gainst fearful odds of battling foes; And how its sons for freedom fought And baffled cultured skill and thought With naught but brain and manly heart To shelter from the tyrant's dart. Oh, that Columbia's sons could feel How ill the fate when tyrant's heel Has crushed a nation's bleeding heart And forced it reeking to the mart And made in anguish there behold Like merchandise her children sold. When hope no charm to future lends And death is but where anguish ends. Oh, give me courage, make me bold That I may ev'ry page unfold Where heaven records the direst fate Of those who rob of freedom's state Those who were made with equal share Of gifts divine and heavenly care; For heaven ordains that man must pay A forfeit for unequal sway: A recompense of loss and pain 22 Delia Dorn Is blent with base and selfish gain, And Justice would not dare revoke A just decree by nations broke, But raze each nation to the dust Whene'er it ceases to be just. DELLA DORN OR STRUGGLES OF THE BOERS. Chapter I Beyond the Vaal there lies a land/ By zephyrs from the tropics fanned ;2 A favored spot on Afric's plain With streams more fair than Clyde or Seine, And, nestled in the mountain cove, The timid deer and cooing dove Found each a home — a sly retreat — From sportsman's ken and noonday heat. The sunny peaks, where mountains rise And pierce the dome of Southern skies. Like sentries, stationed guard to keep O'er nameless graves where heroes sleep, Looked down upon the fertile plain. All rich with fields of golden grain, Whose yearly harvest^ always brought iThis is the country North of the Vaal river between that stream and the Limpopo, in South Africa, and is known as the Transvaal. 2The tropic of Capricorn passes through the Transvaal, and hence it lies partly within the tropics. "The inhabitants of Transvaal were an agricultural as well as pastoral people. 24 Delia Dorn The sturdy farmers all they sought. The sparkling brooks and trickling rills Came skipping down the forest hills, As from their crystal founts they sped To vales v/here flocks and herds are spread In countless numbers. Oh, how sweet To watch where brooks and streamlets meet As they, like lovers' voices, blend. And ever onward, downward trend, And o'er the pebbles rippling go To reach the glassy lake below; Or, ling'ring in each eddying curl, Like maidens, dance in mazy whirl. As from each drop rare jewels gleam, Reflected from the sun-lit stream. Nor wear they thus those gems for show. But careless of their beauty go, Allowing but one glimpse of light From them to meet our anxious sight; Coquettish baffling all who fain Another glimpse from them to gain, And hurrying on to reach the edge Of some high cliff* — some rocky ledge. Whose trembling height the trees o'erlook That stand below beside the brook, Nor shudder at the quiv'ring brink. But, hand in hand they trusting link, Its mossy banks o'erspread with fern Pormed rustic seats at ev'ry turn Where whispered love and plighted vows Were wafted through o'erhang-ing- boughs. or Struggles of the Boers 25 And with their faces all aglow, They leap into the stream below, And join with countless friendly drops, Whose streamlet songs had reached the tops Of those high cliffs their flight to urge On down to ocean's restless surge. II The Limpopo,^ whose murm'ring roar Made music for th' admiring Boer, More softly sang, when on its shore The Transvaal- maids their lovers met. And days for nuptial feasts were set. Its mossy banks o'erspread with fern Formed rustic seats at ev'ry turn. Where whispered love and plighted vows Were wafted through o'erhanging boughs Of elm and oak and sighing pine. No spot on earth seemed so divine. For wave-washed bowers by Nature made Bear 'semblance fair to Eden's shade. Where first the songs of love were sung By man to maid when earth was young. Oh, happy pair — primeval twain, iThe Limpopo river is tlie northern boundary line of the Transvaal. It first flows North, then East into the Indian ocean. 2The term "Transvaal" means, literally, "Beyond the Vaal." 26 Delia Dorn Who dwelt on Eden's lovely plain, Thy strains were but repeated o'er, When lovely maid and gallant Boer Sang songs of love, by Limpopo, You sang six thousand years ago. They learned to love that rolling stream, For it was blent with ev'ry dream, Each youthful passion's brightest gleam, And on its bosom seemed to bear Their hopes, their secrets and their care. Ill The mocking-bird that lingered near, And seemed to bend a list'ning ear, Repeated each sweet accent o'er. As, wafted from that mossy shore The lute's sweet tones in melting strain, In cadence, such as softens pain And lulls an aching heart to rest, Or brings a sigh to lover's breast. Enchanting filled the fragrant air With breathings soft as maiden's prayer. IV The gentle slopes, the rolling hills But led to plains of wilder thrills Where forests, stretching far and wide. Traversed by streams on ev'ry side With tangled vines and flowering trees, or Struggles of the Boers 27 Each waving welcome to the breeze, Held many a home of patriot brave, Who would but smile to see his grave, If 'twere the price his land to save. V, Upon those plains and sacred hills, More sacred made by former ills,^ Once lived a happy, noble race With freedom's beam on ev'ry face. And in each eye a spark that shone More bright than earth's most valued stone. Nor was that gleam of giddy kind. As in the gay we often find. But sober, just, religious" look, That grosser eyes would fail to brook, With feature waves that hap'ly blend, As when we meet a childhood friend, And over all those gentle flows That give to comrades best repose. VI A land too new for gorgeous homes, Or gilded spires and costly domes; Or ivied porch, artistic bowers. Creations but of older Powers; Or laden coffers gained by spoil, ^Reference is here made to their former treatment by England, mentioned in the Introduction. "The Boers were deeply religious. - 28 Delia Dorn Or wrung from hard and honest toil, But rich in such as mountains hold Of brightest gems and purest gold;^ The densest thickets, home of birds, And barer plains for flocks and herds, With echoing glen and solemn glade. The hurrying stream and wild cascade, Were blent as one continuous dream. Well suited to the poet's theme. VII But far more lovely was each spot Where stood a cozy mountain cot. Home of the noble, hardy Boer, Who loved his sports, but freedom more; His hand unused to blood and spoil. But suited more to honest toil. Delighted not in human gore. And longed to hear of war no more. VIII Beneath the elms and scaly birch. Half hidden, stood the simple church. Where ev'ry happy Sabbath day Called each from toil to sing and pray. And as their prayers and anthems rose. They pled for blessings on their foes. iThe gold-mines of Transvaal are probably the richest in the world, and diamonds also abound in the immediate vicinity. Beneath the elms and scaly hirch Half-hidden stood the simple church. or Struggles of the Boers 29 Their simple life, their frugal fare; Chaste conversation, fervent prayer; Their gen'rous spirit; love of friend; Such sense of right as would defend, By ev'ry phase of justice' laws, A hostile foeman's righteous cause; Respect for paths ancestors trod. Alone surpassed by faith in God; With Valor's gift from sire to son, The trav'ler's admiration won. IX In Calvin's Creed,^ they gave assent To ev'ry word its tenets meant. For each was taught from earliest youth To deem it all unquestioned truth. In it each doom was known to God E'er seas were formed or earthly sod, And by decree so firmly fixed That man nor angels stood betwixt, Nor even God would dare undo What purpose did or knowledge knew. So, if they reached a hoary year iThe principal religious sentiment was that of the Dutch Reformed church, which is Calvinistic. Calvin believed that all things "Whatsoever cometh to pass," was pre- destinated or predetermined by the Creator before Time began and that the number and identity of those to be saved and those to be lost was thus unalterably fixed. 30 Delia Dorn Or filled the sadder youthful bier; If by disease found early graves, Or, sailing, sank beneath the waves ; If on the field of hostile strife They fell, or by assassin's knife, They deemed it all as foreordained And still their faith as firm remained. or Struggles of the Boers 31 Chapter II. Beside a gently rising hill, Where Limpopo's low, murmuring trill So faintly fell upon the ear. As though 'twere spirit voices near, Once stood a plain though pleasant cot,^ Where sorrow's visits seemed forgot And every breeze with fragrance fraught New joys and love of freedom brought. Its walls were neat, though low and plain, Nor bore its porch a sanguine stain. And none who sought a refuge there From summer's sun or wintry air Were e'er denied a gen'rous share. II The tempting lawn in verdure dressed. Seemed but where forests paused to rest And dwell upon the smiling scene Of blooming peach and field of green. Its rustic seat, its limpid spring, And list the songs the warblers sing. This sacred spot, 'til British mood ^This cottag-e is supposed to have stood near the south- ern bank of the Limpopo river in the extreme northern part of the Transvaal. 32 Delia Dorn Between its lord and freedom stood, Where morning's brightest beams were born, Was once the home of Horace Dorn. O'er many a land he wandered far, With Liberty his guiding star. And labored on from year to year, For Freedom's boon to him so dear. Ill Below the ocean's restless rim,^ Where fogs and clouds the skies bedim. And struggling star-beams lost their way, Nor reached the earth their brightest ray; Where dikes, the land from ocean pent, His happy childhood days were spent. But when those youthful days had flown And he through youth to manhood grown, With brow untounched by marks of time. He sought a more salubrious clime. To Iran^ first, "Land of the sun," Which Moslem^ sword had long undone; iMuch of the surface of Holland is below the level of the ocean, hence fogs and misty clouds are quite prevalent. Inundation is prevented by dikes or embankments. Hran: Ancient name of Persia, a portion of which is referred to as "Land of the Sun," by Thomas Moore in \ his Lalla Rookh. ^ ^Moslem: A follower of Mohammed. or Struggles of the Boers 33 Where Mithra's^ shrines in ruins lay, Nor Gheber^ dared to disobey Command to kneel at Allah's^ shrine. Or count its worship undivine. Where once Al-hassen proudly trod Through Gheber's blood to serve his God, Where many a brave had tried in vain To free his land from Moslem stain, Young Horace saw the proudest fall Before Mohammed's saintly hall, Though forced at first by Arab's rod, Submissive now to Moslem nod. IV Disgusted with the land of slaves. Apostate sons of nobler braves. He sought fair Erin's^ verdant shore And thought to roam the world no more. But what had been the Persian bane Here Britain tried, though half in vain, For, though by force her pride was crushed. Her valiant s ons were never hushed.^ ^Mithra: Deity of the ancient Persians. They were Fire-worshippers and were conquered by the Arabs and their temples destroyed, and the people forced to embrace the Mohammedan religion, though they, in time, became willing devotees to that form of worship. ^Gheber: A Persian Fire-worshipper. ^Allah: Arabic name of the Supi^eme Being, though its general introduction into the Mohammedan worship, makes it, at present, a more essentially Mohammedan than Arabic term. *Erin: Ireland. Called also "The Emerald Isle." ^Though Ireland has b'^^^'^ mled by England for several centuries, she has never ceased to strive for liberty. 34 Delia Dorn V Upon a calm November morn Was seen the form of Horace Dorn, Whose vessel skimmed the glistening tide, And on his arm his Celtic^ bride. The vessel sped o'er ocean brine Beyond the equinoctial line, Where spring, reversed,^ beholds the rose While northern climes are wrapped in snows, And on the soil of Afric's shores They sought a home among the Boers.^ They chose a spot* beside the hill, Where sprang to view a pebbly rill, Whose dimpling waters sudden sank Down Limpopo's fair circling bank To mingle in its constant roar. And greet the hardy boatman's oar. Here all the din of war was past, iThe Irish and Scotch are both of the Celtic race, but in this story, the Irish are invariably meant when the term Celt is used. 2The Transvaal being in the southern hemisphere has opposite seasons to all countries north of the equator. ^Boer: A name applied to the Dutch colonists in South Africa. The word in the Dutch language, means "Farmer" or "Dweller." The word "neighbor" is probably derived from the same source. *This is the same spot mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. or Struggles of the Boers 35 And they had found a home at last, Where they might live and worship God, Untrammelled by a tyrant's rod. VI Who can compute th' unmeasured swell. That rises in the heart's deep well, Of him who long hath felt the sting Of foeman's power or tyrant king. Who sudden finds the galling yoke Forever gone, his fetters broke. And holds within his fond embrace The cherished freedom of his race? VII Long years had passed and dimpling still The brook flowed down the pebbly hill, But Time had countless changes wrought, Though mostly those with blessings fraught: Where once the forest, could be seen Broad-acred fields of waving green, And, lavish recompense for toil. Earth turned to gold^ the dusky soil. Still stood ajar the cottage door, A friendly welcome to the poor. And all who shared his bounteous board ^Turned to gold: This is not to be construed to mean that Horace Dorn was a miner, but that he became rich from the products of his "broad acres." 36 Delia Dorn Were counted equals with its lord, 'Til all Transvaal that cottage knew And Horace Dorn more famous grew. VIII The whole republic joined in praise Of bright young Conrad's manly ways, And hoped, a man of great renown, To see in him when older grown. Already was it manifest His talent was the nation's best, For in his mind great powers were seen Ere he had passed his final "teen," And questions oft that long menaced Far older men in honors placed. On which solution's price was set, By him with ease were quickly met. His winter evenings oft he spent In study of the Orient, And with his sister loved to pore O'er Celtic tales and British lore. From Limpopo to VaaP he knew Where cocoa palms spontaneous grew, And from each mountain-pass and drift^ ''■Limpopo to Vaal: The Limpopo being the northern and the Vaal the southern boundary of Transvaal, Conrad was evidently well acquainted with the hills and valleys of the entire country. Wrift: A ford on a creek or river. or Struggles of the Boers Z7 All doubt of place could quickly lift, Which hunters deemed his greatest gift. For him no greater sports were found Than with his horn and yelping hound To gallop o'er the level plain And be the first a glimpse to gain, For, when he joined the merry race, He led the vanguard of the chase, And when he wound his echoing horn. All knew it was young Conrad Dorn. His bullets seemed to strike the mark That distance made to others dark, Or, if their chances were the same, His piece was held with steadier aim. And when the tincheP closed the race, He bore the trophies of the chase. Returning home he always found New joys awaiting him and hound. Nor failed his mother's heart to bless By waiting for her fond caress. When day was lost in twilight haze. And all had gathered round the blaze To hear the deeds of daring done. And share with him the laurels won, ^Tinchel: A circle formed by a number of hunters around their game. 38 Delia Dorn He told them how adown the slope He chased the deer and antelope, And how his light and faithful hound Before the pack was always found, And how his steed so fleet and strong Had borne him as the wind along; Then Horace felt an inward joy That he had such a noble boy. IX But Conrad oft was ill at ease And longed to stem the billowy seas And o'er the ocean's swaying foam To seek his mother's Erin home.^ Killarney's^ lakes and Shannon's^ roar For him a fascination bore, And oft in dreams, the only bliss That woos when sleep the eye-lids kiss, He saw the bogs* beset with turf And heard the roar of beating surf, Beheld the mirth and winsome smile Of maidens of the Emerald Isle. ^It will be remembered that Horace Dorn, Conrad's father, married in Ireland. ^Lakes of Killarney in Ireland are said to be the most beautiful lakes in the world. ^Shannon: A river in the western part of Ireland. ^Bogs: Low marshy places which, in Ireland, produce a substance known as "turf" or "bogpeat," which, at one time, was the almost entire source of fuel. or Struggles of the Boers 39 X Upon the voyage he was bent, And with his father's kind consent, A mother's prayer and sister's tears, And many a friend's ill-augured fears. He sought the ocean's troubled side And soon was bounding o'er the tide. O'er trackless seas the vessel flew 'Til proud Polaris^ came in view, And, watching from beside a spar. He first beheld that brilliant star. Oh, how his heart with transport filled As joy untold his spirit thrilled To catch a glimpse in heaven's blue That Erin's sons were watching too. XI He passed where Moses held the rod^ By the commandment of His God, Where waters stood like stony walls As firm and grand as marble halls And rescued many a Hebrew slave But gave their foes a watery grave; ^Polaris: The North or Polar star. This star is below the horizon to all points south of the equator and hence Conrad had never beheld it. ^Passing up the eastern coast of Africa, he would neces- sarily pass through the Red Sea, the Mediterranean and through the Strait of Gibraltar into the Atlantic ocean. 40 Delia Dorn And as he leaned beyond the rail, He almost seemed to hear the wail Of mothers on the western shore/ For sons that came to them no more. XII By stern Gibraltar's towering head, Now westward turned, the vessel sped. And as he passed that massive stone, First heard Atlantic's muffled groan, And out upon its waters wild The vessel bore the restless child Of Horace Dorn, who, years before. Had left that ocean's mournful roar For Southern Afric's sunny shore. Still speeding on from day to day. The vessel held its northward way. Nor passed a shore or lonely isle. That would have served the time to while, 'Til near the land the bark at last In Dingle^ Bay its anchor cast. On board five hundred hearts and tongues The chorus joined of happy songs To greet their kindred on the shore While waiting^ to be wafted o'er. '^Western shore: Egypt. Wingle hay: A bay on the southwest coast of Ireland. ^While waiting: The ship is often anchored in the bay and passengers rowed to land in small boats. or Struggles of the Boers 41 XIII No picture drawn can e'er portray The boundless joy of that array, As they in boats were quickly lowered And on the crew their blessings showered, With praise and thanks to Him whose hand Had brought them safe to Erin's land. Boat after boat with many an oar From vessel's side to landward bore That happy, grateful, singing band, With dialects from many a strand; But 'tis no task to sing as one. When hearts all beat in unison. The lips but utter what we feel ; The song our inmost thoughts reveal; For, as the harp with varied string By skillful touch such measures fling. So, countless hearts with single aim May wondrous chords of music frame, And, when we feel the thrill it brings. We know it is the heart that sings. XIV The boats approach the precious goal, Ecstatic feelings seize the soul And song is changed to deaf'ning roar In answer to the throng on shore. 'Kerchiefs are fluttered by the fair, 42 Delia Dorn And hats by men held high in air, As loud "Hurrahs" from every tongue Are wafted far the shore along. XV At length they land — the voyage o'er, With eager haste they leap ashore, Embraced in arms of many a friend And blinding tears of rapture blend. The mothers kiss, the sons embrace, A sister hastens to the place Where, through her glimmering tears, she spies A brother hurrying up the rise. And, rushing through the joyful crowd, Upon his neck she sobs aloud. The social forms of wealth and pride Are, for the moment, cast aside. And father, mother, husband, wife. And children, all are true to life. But incomplete is all the bliss 'Til father stoops the babe to kiss And hears it lisp the father's name, The only word its lips can frame. And feels its arms his neck entwine : This is the bliss we call divine. :^' 'Kerchiefs are fluttered by the fair, And hats by men held high in air. or Struggles of the Boers 43 Chapter III. Young Conrad Dorn stood listening nigh, With softened heart and moistened eye, To find a spot so tender grown In hearts he deemed as hard as stone. But let us hope no heart to find In which the chords are all unkind, For, though 'tis bulwark^ of the soul, Still, may some tender tie control, Or else may nature plan a breach Through which the soul of man to reach. II Young Conrad saw the throng depart With quickened step and buoyant heart; All souls had cheer except his own, And only his seemed all alone, And as he turned to leave the strand He saw an aged couple stand, As if they wished to longer stay To watch the beauties of the bay. He noted in their mien and dress Nor wealth nor poverty's excess, For pleasure takes its loftiest seat ^The heart is here called the "bulwark of the soul," by which it is only meant to convey the idea of the soul residing in the heart, the heart forming its covering. 44 Delia Dorn Where wealth and squalor midway meet, And those who fall below will find Discomforts oft disturb the mind, While they who much their wealth increase Find cares supplant their wonted peace. Ill Approaching now the man and dame, For information Conrad came, And, with his hand upon his breast, He thus the aged pair addressed : "Your pardon, please, my way has lain For many weeks upon the main, And now to Erin I have come To view my mother's childhood home. A simple boon I'd ask of thee. If in thy power that favor be. Direct my steps unto the door Where mother lived in days of yore. Oh, it will be to me a spot Through life can never be forgot: When I shall sit beneath the shade, Where she, when young, so often played. Or stroll among the garden flow'rs, Where whiled she oft her girlhood hours, Or pluck the rip'ning golden pear And feel her hand has rested there; "Ten thousand worlds, though offered all. or Struggles of the Boers 45 Were compensation far too small The sacred thought from me to steal Or purchase what my soul shall feel." IV *'Aye, lad, thou seem'st a noble youth; That tear betrays thy speech's truth, For none to idle falsehood bow Who loves his mother such as thou. For many a year our cot hath stood Just where yon village meets the wood, And long to me has been each place Familiar as a brother's face, So, surely 'tis within my power To lead thee to that treasured door; But name the place and by thy side My wife and I thy steps will guide." V "Ah, thou art kind and thou canst feel A joy to aid another's weal; It is the home of John O'Neil.^ 'Tis he, my mother's aged sire. Who long has framed my chief desire. And Conrad Dorn, who speaks with thee, Has crossed the brine that face to see. iThe O'Neil was once a powerful family at the head of a great clan in the north of Ireland, but were doubtless dispossessed and driven southwestward with most of the other nobles after the barbarous invasion under Cromwell. 46 Delia Dorn "And dear grandmother, Oh, what joy. When she shall see her daughter's boy, And from his lips receive the kiss Sent to remind of former bliss. Prolong no more my deep suspense. But, if thou canst, direct me hence.'* VI As Conrad spake he saw a flame Come o'er the face of man and dame, As when Aurora's blushes rise To light the face of northern skies. Across their brows were wavelets sent Of pleasant smiles and wonder blent; Their eyes were fixed upon his own And stood they speechless as a stone. A moment more in silent maze On Conrad's youthful face they gaze, And, when from trance they sudden woke. The man that painful silence broke. "Ah, wife," said he, "give God the praise For length'ning out our aged days 'Til we've beheld an angel come To bless our humble, childless home." And kneeling there upon the sod, A fervent prayer was sent to God. or Struggles of the Boers 47 VII In sore amazement Conrad stood And viewed the couple as they bowed, With queryings much if they were sane, Or whether madness seized the brain, For pity so engrossed his care He scarcely heard the words of prayer; And though the words were strong and clear With evidence of Godly fear, Their accents scarcely reached his ear. From matin rose the aged pair With an almost angelic air, And marking Conrad's sore surprise And pitying tears that filled his eyes. The old man's voice in measure broke, And thus he to young Conrad spoke: "Ah, Conrad Dorn, becalm thy fears And soon thou'lt learn, what now appears A myst'ry to thy 'wilder'd mind. This tale will full solution find. For ev'ry sob, for ev'ry tear, And all that gave thee cause to fear. Long years ago we had a child, A daughter true and lovely, mild. With eye as soft as morning's hue. And cheek as faultless as the dew. Her infant laugh and childish glee 48 Delia Dorn "From room to room or on my knee, Her wildest carol, choicest song, That floated as the breeze along. Bore charms for many a list'ning ear, That lingered long that voice to hear. VIII "But time's relentless cycles flew, And she from child to maiden grew, Though kindly years increased the mold Of ev'ry grace a hundredfold. Her eye so soft had softer grown, And o'er her cheek a blush had flown; Her lips were colored as the flowers Where she had spent her happiest hours. And ready hands and willing feet Rejoiced our slightest wants to meet. She met a youth from Iran's shore. Whom good report had come before; He came, admired; he loved and won That brightest beam from parents' sun. They chose beneath our roof to dwell, And evenings heard their voices swell The songs that we had loved so well, And when familiar we had grown. We learned to love him as our own. or Struggles of the Boers 49 IX There came a day of sorest ill That now my soul with sorrows fill/ And almost bids my heart be still, When o'er the ocean's shifting sands, They sought a home in foreign lands. And back to this, our lovely shore, Our jewels came to us no more. Then wonder not that we're forlorn, Those gems were Jane and Horace Dorn, And thou that angel sent to bless. And bear thy mother's kind caress. Take thou this hand within thy grasp And thou shalt find a welcome clasp, And we will lead thee to the door Thy parents left in days of yore." To take the youth in her embrace Grandmother came with tottering pace ; Upon his breast she leaned her head, And as she sobbed she faintly said: "God bless the day that wafted o'er A son like this to Erin's shore." With heaving breast and speechless tongue ^I know of no rule of language that tolerates this error, but it appears to me that when a verb is well separated from its nominative singular, and follows a plural noun, the verb should be plural when the sense is not thereby weakened. There are several such instances in this story. 50 Delia Dorn The tear-drop from his eye he flung, And to her loving Ups he bent And placed the kiss his mother sent. X His mother's image Conrad bore In eyes of softness, look of lore, And e'en the tint of lips was traced To hers, ere age those tints defaced. And, had he been of merit shorn. Still was he the son of Horace Dorn, And this alone sufficed to make Them love him more for parents' sake. XI The happy hours, where pleasure speaks, Melt into days and days to weeks; Unconscious glides a passing year. If free from pain or sorrow's tear, But swifter far the moments fly. When Love's bright angel hovers nigh And from her gently flut'ring wing Upon the soul her dew-drops fling. XII 'Twas thus the days of Conrad passed. Outstripping time, the moments haste In quick succession ; morn and eve Small intervenings seemed to leave. And joys that came at opening dawn, or Struggles of the Boers 51 At evening still were unwithdrawn. The lakes, the streams, the smiling eyes, That in his dreams were wont to rise. Surpassing all that dreams can tell, Upon his raptured vision fell. Gay gatherings in his honor met, And many a festive board was set, And pleasant rides were often planned O'er field and brook and ocean strand, While maidens with each other vied To find a place by Conrad's side. XIII The moments thus by Conrad spent Much joy to his grandparents lent, For 'twas as though new life begun With Conrad as their only son. To them, his smile was brighter far Than rays combined of ev'ry star. And beams that from his eyelids glanced, Not only them, but all entranced. Oft by his side at eve they strolled, Where Moine^ its limpid waters rolled, And watched with him the flickering ray Of moonbeams dancing on the bay. He valued not a call to tea, ^Moine: A small stream which flows into Dingle Bay. 52 Delia Dorn Where his grandparents could not be, And when their sHghtest wish he spied, At once he hastened to their side. What matter though his lady fair Should seem absorbing all his care; W^hen conversation sweetest flowed Or in the dance the brightest glowed The beauteous cheek of Celtic belle, Or on the ear wild music fell? Each wish of all must be denied When their least want was unsupplied. He saw them placed on easiest seat, Their plate supplied with choicest meat, And wine sat worthless at his side, Until its flavor they had tried. All marked the gentle, loving care With which he served the aged pair. And matrons felt the warm tear start. When they beheld the artless art Which only such devotions give. And only in the heart can live; And when they praised him for his care He only said, with careless air: "In youth we well can bear to wait. But help to age may come too late." or Struggles of the Boers ^Z Chapter IV. Though Conrad drank from pleasure's store, He thirsted still for British lore, And 'mid farewells of parting grief, To which his thirst gave small relief. He bade adieu to Erin's shore To mingle with its scenes no more, And, 'neath the domes of London, sought To find the depth of British thought. Within her parks and courts and schools He learned the trend of English rules And studied well the Briton's share In arts of peace and arts of war. But most of all he loved his horse And telegraphic code of Morse,^ And in his sports with ease could gain The prize, in use of spur and rein. While from his desk, o'er laden wires, His message flashed like lightning's fires. Wode of Morse: A code of signals invented by Samuel P, B. Morse for use at a telegraph station, and consists of dots, dashes and spaces which are transmitted to the in- strument by means of an electric current. .54 Delia Dorn II His comrades tried but tried in vain Such graceful skill and speed to gain, But Conrad's swift and nimble touch And easy grace were always such, That those who dared with him to vie, Ne'er cared a second time to try. Ill But Saris, full of youthful blood. In challenge now with Conrad stood. Said Saris : "I'll a message send With all the grace that thou canst lend. And our preceptor, if he will, Shall mark the speed of each, and skill. Nerve thou thyself! the contest brave! And if thou canst, thine honor save!" IV With equal zeal they join the strife. As if on it depended life, And summoned each his greatest power, That best could serve such trying hour. The redd'ning cheeks, the eyes of fire Burn now with zeal, but not with ire, Impatient each the key to press. Each confident of his success. < or Struggles of the Boers 55 First, to the key^ young Saris comes; Along the wire his message hums, While Conrad views with mute surprise How swift the hand of Saris flies, And to belief is almost driven The palm to Saris must be given. For he that can such rival stand Must have no less than perfect hand. V The message finished, Saris rose With look triumphant, such as foes Who win so oft delight to throw Upon their lately vanquished foe. The master from his distant room^ Bade now the next contestant come. And Conrad bent a suppliant knee And took his seat before the key. In firm resolve he found relief. That changed his former fear and grief; Devotion was to fingers lent Which lightness gave to message sent. With wondrous touch the words resound ^Key: For convenience, in all references to the tele- graph instrument in this story, it is termed "Key" whether in the matter of receiving or sending messages. The reader should also remember that this telegraphic contest takes place in one of the London schools. ^Distant room: The master is supposed to occupy some distant room and not to know in what order the applicants come. 56 Delia Dorn As leaping hare before the hound, And with a skill ne'er reached before The wire his lightning message bore. Young Saris now with changeful mood The flying hand of Conrad viewed And almost wished the challenge rued; Nor did he seem to understand What faith had lent to Conrad's hand. VI At last has flown the final word, No more the sound of key is heard; Each rival now in silence stands, With solemn mien and folded hands. To wait the master's just decree. So soon to sound upon the key. A "click" is heard, at once they turn. Suspended hope their faces burn; Upon the key each ear is bent For ev'ry word by master sent. For in their sharp and mingled sound The master's verdict will be found. At length 'tis finished: Saris' head Has dropped and all his color fled, For thus the master's sentence read: *'The last zvas best, though first zuas near; Decide ye, who the palm shall wear!' The palm-leaf from the sable stand IToung* Saris snatched with tremblingc hand, And raising* it to Conrad's breast He thougrht to pin it to his vest. or Struggles of the Boers 57 VII The palm leaf from the sable stand Young Saris snatched with trembling hand, And, raising it to Conrad's breast, He thought to pin it to his vest. And, musing, said: ''The challenge mine; To wear this leaf of palm is thine.'' But Conrad back a pace withdrew; His face had lost its flushen hue; A brave impulse had seized his breast. And sadness marked his youthful crest. "Nay, Saris, nay, too brave thou art To do for me such servile part. Such humile acts are only meant To give the hate of tyrants vent, Or to a brave, though vanquished foe. Beyond defeat a crushing blow. The master said 'we should decide/ So let us now the palm divide, And each shall on his bosom place This evidence of skill and grace. 'Twere such small stint that gave the prize, I could not bear to sport the guise Of champion o'er such hand as thine, And know that it had equaled mine." 58 Delia Dorn VIII "No, Conrad, no, 'tis all thine own; The master's word hath wisdom shown. I knew, when thou wast at the key. The prize was never meant for me. 'Twould be for me but low disgrace To claim with thee an equal place. And but remains me now to ask Your pardon for the challenge task." IX At length the palm leaf Conrad took; His very frame emotion shook; And as he gazed upon the prize And to decide a moment tries, A resolution o'er him came That Saris must not suffer shame, And to his lips the leaf he pressed And thus his rival friend addressed : "No, Saris, I can never wear What might cause thee a sigh or tear," And with firm hand and look sedate He thrust the palm into the grate. "Now we are peers, no more I claim. And Saris' equals Conrad's name. And what of honor comes to me An equal portion's meant for thee. And, now, pray tell from whence you come; or Struggles of the Boers 59 Where is thy country, friends and home? For surely it is well to be In constant touch with such as thee, And well I know such heart and hand Were never bred on British land." X "My home is far beyond the sea, Upon a soil that's fair and free. Where friendship blooms as mountain rose. And none but savages are foes. Where heart to heart responsive thrills With love as true as echo trills ; Where Vaal's fair waters gently flow On down to Orange" "Saris, ho! What ! Orange ? Vaal ? Say now no more ; Thou art an Africander — Boer," The rising blood his features flushed; To Saris' side he wildly rushed, And grasping now his willing hand, The rivals like two brothers stand. "My home is, too, on Afric's shore. Where Limpopo its waters pour. And circling waves of light expand Above its glist'nlng golden sand. Where Transvaal lad delights to woo His maid as pure as mountain dew. 60 Delia Dorn Yes, *tis a country free and brave; A land its sons would die to save." XI Each held in other's close embrace; The grateful tears each other chase Adown each noble, youthful face, For strife, that oft in conflict ends, Had made of them far closer friends. XII Each now unto his room retired, By valor of his friend inspired. Each knew that in the other's heart Could dwell no thought of selfish art, And each had found a faithful friend That would his name and cause defend. XIII As Conrad sat in musing mood His Transvaal shores his fancy viewed And all his childish scenes renewed. He saw his home beside the hill. And heard the murm'rings of the rill. And from the oaken giants tall He saw the rip'ning acorns fall. Once more he saw, around the fire, His mother, sister, and his sire, As in low sighs of deep concern They long in vain for his return. or Struggles of the Boers 61 XIV A sudden shrill and piercing sound (Just as he stoops to pet his hound) Rings out a loud and quivering key Like some wild bird in revelry, And like the stars that flee at dawn His dreamish reverie is gone. With sudden start and senses blurred Young Conrad now himself bestirred. And, quick as sense he can recall, He hears approaching footsteps fall. XV "Who can it be ! that with such scream Dispels my pleasant home-land dream?'* Again that wild, discordant sound — "Ah, 'tis the post-man on his round. I should have known that noisy blast Even though deep slumber held me fast, For though the streets with whirring din Are noisy kept by busy men. The post-man's shrill though welcome call Is plainly heard above them all. XVI "Good morning, Post-man, can it be That thou a letter hast for me?" "Aye, sir, and from the stamp and hand It must be from some foreign land." 62 Delia Dom XVII Young Conrad, with an anxious look. The letter from the post-man took. And, as he glanced and writer guessed. The letter to his lips he pressed. The post-man should have hiuried by. But thought he saw in Conrad's eye A twinkling gleam of glad surprise And tears unbidden slowly rise. And thought that in a moment's pause Perhaps from him to learn the cause. But foimd the hope was all in \-ain, WTien Conrad sought his room again. With nervous hand 'twas soon unsealed; His father's message was revealed. And in its ample folds he found A card with finer textture woimd. \Vith care he op'd the tissue furl — "Oh I it is sister, precious girl I *'Dear Delia, Delia, seems it wrong That I should be from thee so long? Oh, sister, dear, thy smiling face. Thy tender heart and winning grace. Through wear>- day and sleepless r.iir'.t. Still haunt me like some fabled spri:e. Not many nKons shall wax and wane Ere I shall be with thee again." or Struggles of the Boers 63 He kissed the picture o'er and o'er And wept as never wept before, And in his tears he found relief, For there's no other balm for grief. XVIII He quelled his feelings, dried his tears, And now into the letter peers. With calmer nerve and clearer head, He thus his father's message read : The Letter. Dear Conrad Dorn, mine only son, A few short lines I'll pen to thee, For still we mourn our absent one Far, far beyond the cruel sea. Twere sad such waters should divide From us our only hope and stay ; That arm on which we all relied To cheer our life's uneven way. At morn we miss thy cheerful face, At noon, thy counsel wise and brave; At eve we view thy vacant place. And all is silent as the grave. We hope for thee a gen'rous share Of all that's good and just and free; ^lay life and health with less of care Be long vouchsafed to us and thee. The autumn days are growing chill ; 64 Delia Dorn The forest leaves begin to fall; The nuts are rip'ning on the hill, And winds are whistling through the hall. Thy favorite horse is on the mead, He does not seem to miss thee now ; Perhaps 'tis well such noble steed Cannot like us to sorrow bow. But Medor still remembers thee, For when we speak to him thy name, He barks and whines with ecstasy And longs to range the veldt for game. To thee her love thy mother sends With many prayers combined with tears. And, though to all-wise Will she bends, Her heart is filled with doubts and fears. Thy sister's picture I'll enclose, (Ah, here she comes to bring it now), The cheek, you'll see, has less of rose, With tinge of sadness on the brow. Dear girl, it seemed she'd die of grief, When o'er the wave she saw thee start, And months of time gave poor relief To her forlorn and broken heart. But she is not so gloomy now, She seems more like she used to be. And oft with smiles her features glow, But never with their former glee. or Struggles of the Boers 65 Avon O'Kane now often calls And stays with us to dine or tea, And from his lips such wisdom falls He always makes me think of thee. 'Twas months ago, in raiment rude, A huntsman to our gate he came ; He said that in the mountain wood His way was lost in search of game. We bade him spend the night and rest. And found that 'neath his rude attire. There lay such heart and manly breast As all true souls at once admire. His learning seemed a boon from heaven, More than from schools and teachers learned. For such rich speech were scarcely given By schools, though oft 'tis amply earned. We kindly bade him often come. And many pleasant eves he spent, But, of his station and his home, It seems, he's always reticent. With quick evasion, seeming planned. Each questioner he holds at bay, And, though we cannot understand. We always let him have his way. No doubt he was some Transvaal child With no small store of manly pride. On whom dame fortune never smiled. 66 Delia Dorn As thousands more have been beside. Those questions now we ask no more, Lest we should fill his heart with pain, But are content that he's a Boer And that his name's Avon O'Kane. And Delia, when the day is fair. Strolls oft with him to Limpopo, Where she and thou hadst joined in prayer So many, many days ago. And there with song and hook and line Or in her light and tiny boat, They sit beneath the flow'ring vine Or on the waves they gently float. And now, dear son, our prayers sincere Are still for thee, where'er thou art. We hope that in the future near Again to take thee to our heart. And should thy soul with burden fill Or in thy absence feel forlorn. Oh, son, remember I am still Thy loving father, HORACE DORN. XIX Young Conrad rose and paced the room With aching heart and silent gloom. And, to dispel, he tried in vain, The visions that had racked his brain. A vivid sense of absence wore or Struggles of the Boers 67 A darker hue than e'er before, And round his soul a feeling clung That's not expressed by mortal tongue ; A thousand scenes all crowding came, Each with some new and scorching flame. To light the fires within his soul And place those fires beyond control. He saw his mother's tear-drops fall. And heard the gusts within the hall, And father's low and patient call. His native home with all its throes, With all its joys and all its woes. Before his mental vision rose. And with each scene, in ev'ry place, His loving sister's pallid face With quiv'ring lips and pleading eyes For his return would always rise. XX Again he tries to break the spell, But its bold shapes refuse to quell. And, as his last and best retreat, He strolls upon the busy street To mingle with the noisy throng. That like a current drift along. But here he feels as if alone; Each face is cold as marble stone. And the vast crowds that round him swell 68 Delia Dorn Seem but as walls of hermit's cell. Back to his room his steps he sped And threw himself upon his bed, And dreamless slumbers gently come And close the visions of his home. XXI When he awoke, the day had flown, And o'er the city night had thrown Her somber robes of spectral hue, That stars had marshalled out to view. The moon, just rising in the east. Its long, dim shadows faintly cast. And from each tower and stately dome Its lines of cold reflection come. He sits beside his window high And gazes out upon the sky, And down upon the restless street, Which, from its war with 'sieging feet, Seems half inclined to sound retreat. And, peering out into the night, He sees a vivid flick'ring light. Successions quick of light and dark. As of some bold electric spark. Attracted Conrad's watchful eye. And soon is heard his eager cry: "It's Morse's code!" he read the flame. For it was flashing out his name. or Struggles of the Boers 69 "Ah! that is Saris!" Conrad cries. And still their flash with wonder eyes. He placed his lamp to Saris' gaze, And, with his hand before the blaze. With that same code spelled Saris' name, Which Saris knew from Conrad came. XXII Night after night, across the street, Their lights, each from his window, meet. And with their flashes through the air. They many a friendly message bear. XXIII At length a bright and happy thought Upon the mind of Conrad wrought. "Two lamps of tiny form," said he, "One for my sister, one for me, With light electric and a key, I'll take with me to Afric's shore, When these, my exile days, are o'er. From house to house and bower to bower We'll often while eve's idlest hour. And friends will often gather round In wonder's spell completely bound." XXIV Each idle moment now was spent To learn what plan he would invent, And many a day of thought he plied 70 Delia Dorn Ere on the form he could decide. At last his plans were all complete, And he had formed the lanterns neat, With light, reflector, key and slide. And yet so small that they could hide, Secure from sight of one and all. In some secluded pocket small. And to secrete from vulgar eye. And sister be the first to spy The product of his care and skill, He wrapped and placed them in his till. or Struggles of the Boers 71 Chapter V. 'Tis evening now on Limpopo; The glinting sunbeams come and go, As white-winged clouds are slowly driven Like sails, across the face of heaven, Whose ever-changing forms^ of light. From menial slave to gallant Knight And war-like steeds with loosened rein Like magic changed to burthened wain, Transform the heaven's un fathomed arch To fancied foes' triumphant march. II Who has not thus at balmy eve^ Urged childish fancy to deceive His raptured eye, as long he'd gaze Upon the changing mystic maze Of cloudy cohorts, marshaled high, Majestic on the Western sky? Ill A breeze as soft as Fairy's tread Is floating now across the stream, iThis picture only attempts to portray what any boy will notice as he watches the clouds slowly change their shape. ^Evc: Eve and evening are used in this connection aa in most all others in this poem in the sense of "after-noon.*' 72 Delia Dorn And breathing in the boughs o'erhead A song as sweet as angel's dream. And though that song such measure swells, As 'twere the chime of distant bells, Still its deep pathos plainly tells That this fair stream must soon behold Far sadder scenes than can be told. IV The rain-crow's yelp — ill-omened^ bird — Beyond the stream is plainly heard. As if each tim'rous heart to fill With warnings of impending ill; And though we heed its warnings not, And its shrill tones be soon forgot. Yet we too soon may find this spot, Though seeming far removed from fears, A bower of blasted hopes and tears. V The honeysuckle's climbing vine. Whose closely folding tendrils twine Around some half -decaying boughs. As if in them a hope to rouse Again to live and verdant stand To shade the flowerets of the land. ^III omened: In my boyhood days it was considered an ill omen to hear a rain-crow, probably not further, how- ever, than that of indicating foul weather. But See! she starts as from a dream, And quick she stands beside the stream. or Struggles of the Boers 73 Its fragrance spreads upon the air Of choicest odors rich and rare. VI See ! yonder, near the water's brink, Where flow 'ring daisies love to drink The dews, that from the river rise, As, bound from earth to upper skies. They pause to bid a last farewell To flowers that grace the bank and dell. For there beneath those clustered vines Beside an oak a maid reclines. A half impatient wandering plays O'er her fair features and betrays A deep suspense, some wish reveals, Which maiden's art but half conceals. As o'er the wave she tries in vain Some fondly cherished glimpse to gain. But see ! she starts as from a dream. And quick she stands beside the stream, As, round the bend beyond the cliff. She spies a light and shining skiff. Far up the river now she peers, As down the stream the shallop steers And in its ever-wid'ning wake Sunbeams ten thousand sparklets make. Fast to her cheeks the blushes rise And glowing beams start from her eyes, 74 Delia Dorn With all the softness of a dove, Such as are born alone of love. Around her neck the falling curls Half hide a band of shining pearls, And on her brow of snowy white, Bathed in alternate shade and light, She wears a simple modest wreath Of hare-bells gathered from the heath. VII What maid is this? Who can it be? Ah, now she turns and we can see. By that fair face like blushing morn, It is the gentle Delia Dorn; For there was never face so fair, Or such bright curls of auburn hair, Or eyes so soft as Delia's are. VIII Why is she here? Why such concern? Why do her cheeks with ardor burn ? Look thou where sky's sun-crested brow To stream's soft wave is forced to bow, Along the bright horizon line. Where sparkling rays with splendor shine, And see that gay and silvery boat On Limpopo so lightly float. As on the current it is borne On toward the bower of Delia Dorn. or Struggles of the Boers 7^ IX The man who there so proudly stands With head erect and folded hands In such gay weed and forward brow Upon the vessel's silver prow, Is England's proud and warrior son, Who, e'en in spite of youth, has won Some laurels which can never fade. E'en when beneath the dust he's laid. His uniform, the Briton's pride. With the bright broad-sword at his side And epaulettes of golden folds Tell of the rank the wearer holds. While worthy tongues and lips profane All join to praise Avon O'Kane. His gentle speech and bearing grand Have won fair Delia's heart and hand. And, though she knew naught of his rank. Still she that pleasure always drank. Which from love's fount alone can flow And only those who feel can know. X He chose to woo her as a youth Of her own land, and thus the truth, To her, had always been suppressed Or in uncertain language dressed. 76 Delia Dorn XI *Twas yester In this bower they met To pHght their troth and nuptials set, For though 'twas months since he had come A weary huntsman to her home, And long his anxious suit had pressed With all the power his soul possessed, She but one day ago complied, And one day more becomes his bride. Today he comes in grander guise To give to her a glad surprise And to unfold to her the truth. That he is not a Transvaal youth. But holds in fee a rich estate Such as make Britons truly great. XII His boat moves proudly o'er the waves, Propelled by four black Kaffir^ slaves. While still he stands upon the prow With folded arms and radiant brow. And as his vessel glides along He sings a happy, cheerful song. ^Kaffir: A cruel savage tribe of Southern Africa whose abodes are in the vicinity of Transvaal. or Struggles of the Boers 77 THE SONG. "Now swift o'er the wave is my bonny boat glid- ing, Bearing me on to that beautiful bower, Where rests a sweet maiden with heart all con- fiding, Waiting approach of this bright, blissful hour. My soul feels no burden, how changed its con- dition Since but tomorrow I'll wed that fair bride ; Fond hope soon will change to the happiest fru- ition, Boundless as ocean and wild as the tide. The sunshine grows bright and the springtime more tender; Flow'rs of the forest seem beck'ning me on; Since love's consummation naught earthly can hinder, Midnight to me is as bright as the dawn. Her heart will o'erflow with surprise and emo- tion, When she beholds the high rank she has won; This sword as a signet will seal her devotion. Staid as a statue, as fixed as the sun. Glide swiftly, fair vessel, my lover is sighing. Long are the moments when pensive the mood, 7^ Delia Dorn And soft as the song of the swan that Is dying^ Fall my oar-notes on this 'Queen of the Wood/ Then row, my dark Kaffirs, thy toil nearly ended, Gold will reward thee, though double it be. See, yonder, where sunshine and shadows are blended, Stands that fair damsel, she's waiting for me. XIII The song is finished, and the breeze Its echo wafts among the trees. While ev'ry word new joys impart To Delia's warm and throbbing heart. Still nears the boat and nearer still, The dripping oars the waters fill With ever-wid'ning waves that seem Like childhood's fast receding dream. At length a jutting rock is passed, The vessel, full in view at last. So near to her retreat has come, She sees his sword and uniform. With disappointment Delia turns. And now no more with ardor burns Her beauteous cheek, nor in her eye Do former hopes of pleasure lie. Said she: ''My joy was all in vain; ^The ancients believed that a dying Swan sang a sweet, pathetic song. or Struggles of the Boers 79 I thought it was Avon O'Kane. 'Tis but some idle soldier band, Who seek to gain with bloody hand Applause from those too base and low To feel a pang for human woe. But see! They're steering past the grot And soon will land upon this spot," And giving one quick, piercing glance, As 'twere her last, her only chance. Far up the stream she tries again To see Avon, but all in vain, And, fearing longer here to stay, She thought to haste her homeward way. And, looking back, she saw the band, Had almost touched the mossy strand. Such near approach her fears increased And ev'ry joyous hope released, And lent her feet a swifter pace. Lest that bold ruffian should chase. But ere cool sense she could reclaim She heard the soldier call her name. She stopped and looked with doubtful mood, Upon the land the soldier stood. And when he saw her mental strain, Said: "Delia, 'tis Avon O'Kane." At once she now her steps retrace. Nor can she chide his kind embrace, 80 Delia Dorn For, though decorum's laws are just, Her heart had learned Avon to trust. XIV "Dear Delia, does it seem unkind. That I should so disturb thy mind By donning such a gaudy guise, As to deceive thy lovely eyes?" XV "No, no, Avon, say not unkind. For love could scarce such meaning find. In those small acts which only tend The serious themes of life to blend. But I must own thy plan was meet,^ For its deception was complete. But pray, why such expensive weed^ For but such momentary need? Such costly sword, such rich attire, In sooth,^ must many pounds require. And it would seem *twas dearly paid All just for me, a Transvaal maid." - XVI "Dear maid, e'en were it all I had. If it one moment made thee glad, I would not rue its price as lost, Nor deem extravagant its cost; "^Meet: Sufficient. ^Weed: Apparel, dress. '/w sooth: Truly, certainly. or Struggles of the Boers 81 Nor is it for surprise alone, That I such rich apparel don, Nor did it cost a tithe of gold That now for thee I gladly hold." XVII "Avon! to me thy meaning teach; I do not understand thy speech: It sounds more like some Eastern Knight, Whom daring feats gave most delight. Who, service for his lady love, Regarded nothing else above. If not alone for mere surprise Thou wearest such complete disguise, Then, pray, Avon, what else beside Hath tempted thee so well to hide Beneath a soldier's uniform, As if to brave the battle's storm? 'Tis true, such gaudy, rich attire No one could fail at once admire, But those gay epaulettes of gold. That warriors in such honor hold, Before which men are wont to bow. But ill become such youth as thou. They should be worn by sterner men. Who never hope to hear again A sister's call or mother's prayer, Or feel for son a father's care. S2 Delia Dorn But thou my own " "Hold, maiden, hold; Glad news for thee must now be told: And, lest thou in false judgment sit, And further still thyself commit, Say thou no more. I'll tell thee all And by thy judgment stand or fall. XVIII "Last eve thy hand wast given, nor sooth Was it bestowed on Transvaal youth. The truth from thee hast been concealed. But now to thee must be revealed, That he who claims thy noble hand. Is not a youth of Transvaal land, For England boasts no prouder son Than Delia Dorn's own dear Avon. In Britain's name, on many a field This sword hath caused the foe to yield, And o'er those hostile lands remote Her colors now in triumph float. While o'er her wide and 'nightless' plain^ All honor's given Avon O'Kane. My mansions stand on many a hill; ^Nightless plain: Great Britain's possessions are so ex- tensive that before the sun has set on one part, it has risen on another. She therefore boasts of a "Dominion on which the sun never sets." or Struggles of the Boers 83 Uncounted wealth my coffers fill ; Tomorrow thou'lt an heiress be, For I resign them all to thee." 84 Delia Dorn Chapter VI. Fair Delia stood all blanched and pale; Before his glance he saw her quail, And to her soft and pleading eyes He saw the tears like dewdrops rise. No longer held in his embrace, She now before him stood apace; Her eyes were fixed upon the ground; Those eyes that oft had held him bound. Her trembling lips and silent tongue. The soldier's heart like adders stung, While long he stood with wond'ring eye. To wait her long-delayed reply. Oh! silence, thou'rt a wondrous thing. For thou canst joy or sorrow bring; To anger's rage the mildest start. Or melt to tears the stoutest heart. If given to bless, a balm for woes; To ban, the worst of all our foes. The moments thus so long delayed Like hours upon his patience weighed. Unable longer to control Suspense that racked his troubled soul, And raved like wild beasts in his breast. He thus the gentle maid addressed : or Struggles of the Boers 85 II ''Sweet maid, I, too, for joy have wept. For joy too full cannot be kept: Like sorrow, it must have its vent, And oft is through same channel sent." ■ III "Ah ! no, Avon, not joy, but grief, For which I now would find relief. I cannot bear to understand That blood hath stained thy noble hand. Oh! that thou hadst but told me this, Ere I had dreamed so much of bliss, And builded hopes of love so high. That now, alas! in ruins lie." IV "In ruins ? Nay, those hopes shall live Ten thousand joys to thee to give And, wishes all from thee shall fly. That wealth or love for thee can buy. Each morn shall fill with joy thy soul, And noon shall brim the flowing bowl; At eve, like birds on ocean's crest, On downy beds thy form shall rest.'* V "Oh, tempt me not, Avon, I pray; Love is not made of fashioned clay; Its mold is formed by purer hand 86 Delia Dorn Than mortals have at their command, And though, Avon, my love is still As pure as drops from mountain rill. Unless thou doff thy martial pride, I never can become thy bride." VI "Deem'st thou me false? " "Nay, nay, indeed, And dear Avon, thou hast no need To offer argument to prove That thou hast still thy former love. 'Twas not thy heart that went astray. But head that held the cruel sway O'er thy once pure and noble hand. All steeped in blood of foreign land. Had but thy sword been used to fight Against invaders of thy right, Then well wouldst thou deserve thy fame, And all the honors of thy name. But when thy Queen's unjust command Was given, to seize a foreign land. And fill with grief the homes of those Whose weakness, only, made them foes, Then thou wert recreant to thy God To wield o'er them the tyrant's rod. Then tempt me not with offered gold Or rich estates with thee to hold, or Struggles of the Boers 87 For e'en my raiment and my food Must never be the price of blood." VII "Dost thou, fair maid, remember not That yester eve upon this spot Thy heart and hand thou gavest me? And canst thou now so fickle be?" VIII " 'Twas not to thee my hand I gave, But to a noble Transvaal brave ; But must confess to thee, Avon, My heart is still, yes, still thine own. My heart, my love, my very soul Has passed beyond my will's control, And here in sorrow now I stand With naught but honor, life and hand. To only three I bow the knee: , To God, to country, and to thee, But first to Him is homage due. Who first of all my being knew ; Whose powerful hand created worlds, And into nothingness it hurls; Who justice metes with weal or woe; To Him alone my life I owe. My honor is my country's meed, 88 Delia Dorn For native land this heart would bleed, And ev'ry sinew of my frame Submit to death's consuming flame. My hand alone is left to me, And God and country both decree That hand can never be for thee. Til thou no longer nurse thy fame, And meet with spurn Great Britain's claim To service of thy cruel sword, *Til then, I cannot keep my word. Thou art too noble, dear Avon, To honor claim from British crown; Too far beneath thy noble soul Does her base tide of greatness roll ; Her strength alone is in her power, And God is banished from her door. For while she prays a soul to save. She sends a thousand to the grave. My mother, bred on Erin's soil, Hath felt the Briton's hand of spoil. And, though my father's cooler mood Is loath to raise the boiling flood, Enough of Celtic blood remains, Still coursing through these feeble veins, A Transvaal maiden's life to sate And feed the fires of British hate. And, Oh! Avon, it grieves my heart. or Struggles of the Boers 89 That thou hast borne a traitorous part, And revel in an empty fame That should but blush thy cheek with shame." IX "Fair one! Thou mak'st my blood run cold: Whence comes such imputation^ bold? My faithful service is my boast, With pen and tongue and marshaled host. My England home I've ever loved. And ne'er to thee have faithless proved." X " 'Tis not from me nor Britain's cause. That thou hast undeserved applause: Well hast thou served the Saxon^ hand. But England's not thy native land: Thy very name, thy speech, thy face. Betrays in thee the Celtic race. And, severed by ten thousand woes, Thy fathers are the Saxons' foes. And though, Avon, I love thee still With all the power of woman's will, I cannot cast with thee my life, I cannot be a Briton's wife. ^Imputation: Delia charges him in a previous line, of acting a traitorious part. In the next four lines he tries to justify his course by denying faithlessness to both her and England. ^Saxon: The term Saxon in this story invariably refers to the English. 90 Delia Dorn For if thou'rt still to Britain wed. By her caprice a captive led, My country could not trust thy word Or hope the succor of thy sword. An exile I would hapless be From home and friends and all but thee; A stranger to my country grown And thou a traitor to thine own. And as Port Cullis guards the towers From hostile foes, external powers, So, honor shields a Transvaal maid From those who have their land betrayed. XI "Should Britain, with the hope of gain. Her vessels launch upon the main. Fair Erin's borders to invade. Thou know'st her will must be obeyed. Like some proud statue thou must stand, Thy cruel vassals to command. Or, leading on thy murd'rous crew, Bid them the battle-cry renew, 'Til o'er each valley, hill and wood Thy hand is drenched with kindred blood. Oh ! give me not that love of fame That blasts the soul to save a name; And fires the hand to deadly strife That values not a brother's life. or Struggles of the Boers 91 XII "Too well, thou knowest, Avon, too well, What hearts in Celtic bosoms dwell, Whose ears have heard the timid wave That dare not touch the legend grave,^ Beneath whose mound the bones are stored Of victor o'er Formosion horde. By legend dim their ears are trained To list how Lady Caesair^ reigned Before the ancient gopher ark Rode o'er the flood of waters dark; And Erin's proud king Partholan^ Whose kinship near to Japhet ran. But most of all they love the tales How bold Milesius led the Gaels That smote Tuatha's silver hand* And gave the Celts that pleasant land. "^Legend grave: It is an Irish legend that in a decisive battle fought between the kings of the Tuatha and the Firbolgs, the Firbolg king was killed and was buried on the shore of Sligo, and that his grave may still be seen there, nor have the waves ever been known to wash over i't. He had previously driven the Formosians from Ireland. ^Lady Caesiar: This is an Irish queen who is said to have reigned before the deluge. ^Partholan: This is a traditional king who was a descendant of Japhet, one of Noah's sons, and reigned soon after the deluge. ^Silver hand: The Tuatha king lost his hand in the battle in which the Firbolg king was killed, and as the Tuatha were unwilling to be governed by a king, with only one hand, they made him one of silver. He was after- ward slain by Milesius, since which the Celts have been the ruling race in Ireland. 92 Delia Dorn More than a hundred warrior kings Tradition^ down to history brings, With all their wars and hopes and loves, And how the Druids- in their groves, To Crom,^ around their merry bowls, vlade sacrifice of human souls, Til bold Saint Patric* — once their slave — Returned with Christ their souls to save. That age with Christian fervor glowed ; The land with milk and honey flowed. And nations far its learning sought, For 'twas the world's storehouse of thought. Where thousands came, without expense,^ To spread her fame and learning thence. ^Tradition tells of one hundred and eighteen kings who reigned prior to Historic Ireland. Wruids: The ancient Irish were Fire-worshippers and their priests were called Druids. ^Crom: The principal deity of the Irish Fire-worship- pers. They probably thought that the home of Crom was in the sun and hence are often called "Sun-worshippers." */St. Patric: Ireland's patron Saint. He was born in France in the fifth century. When he was sixteen years of age France was invaded by Nial, an Irish king, and Patric was captured and sold as a slave to an Irish chief, but after seven years he escaped. When he was about forty-three years of age he returned to Ireland and suc- ceeded in converting the entire nation from their idolo- trous Fire-worship to that of the Christian religion. St. Patric was a Catholic, and the Irish people, as a nation, have remained loyal to the Faith unto this day. ^Without expense: Many of the Irish schools were free, not only in the matter of instruction, but in board and lodging as well. Students came from all parts of the world to attend these schools. or Struggles of the Boers 93 XIII "With patriot sons the land was blest, Nor even Rome had dared molest, And they had stoutly held the land Against Formosa's roving band. Her harvest fields and meadows green ; Her lakes and streams of glit'ring sheen; Her stately domes and castles grand In great profusion filled the land, And, like the beams of morn that fall, Spread sweet contentment over all. XIV "But, ah ; but ah ; thou knowest, Avon, Those days are now forever gone. For, though like knights her soldiers fought, The British sword her ruin wrought, And her proud hopes that towered so high, At Britain's feet were doomed to die." XV "Dear maid, speak not at random wild, Nor be by fancy's touch beguiled, Nor harbor sorrow in thy soul For deeds so far beyond control. Thy simple acts will dry no tear, Nor make their burdens lightly bear ; They'll never know that thou hast shed A tear o'er their illustrious dead.'* 94 Delia Dorn XVI " 'Tis not their dead, Avon, but mine. And thou shouldst feel that they are thine, For we are both of Royal line; And may I never cease to feel A thrill at name of the O'Neil, And thou shouldst suffer endless bane Shouldst thou forget the name O'Kane. XVII "Our sires have stood on many a field Before the Saxon's glittering shield To save a freeman's home for thee On that fair island of the sea. And though in this, alas! they failed, And English arms at last prevailed, Still thou shouldst hold their honored name Far, far above a Briton's fame. How canst thou thus betray thy trust, That only heirloom of their dust, And hold above thy fathers' blood, The colors of a British lord? Could thy ancestors now but know That they had recreant son as thou. Their ashes in their graves would groan And such unfaithful son disown. My mother's sires were the O'Neil, And, ere I cease for them to feel or Struggles of the Boers 95 A thrill of patriotic fire, May I by ruffian hand expire And draw no more the hated breath Of faithless maid deserving death. XVIII "If thou hast fancy, dear Avon, Call now its rays thy soul upon, And view thy former Erin proud. Whose towers had almost touched the cloud. Then turn and watch the robber bands From Britain's shore, whose wanton hands Mix native blood with native soil, And everywhere is death and spoil. Watch Cromwell's columns^ in the street As, 'neath their base, unhallowed feet. They tread the holy things of God^ As though they were but basest sod. Men, women, children, all expire Beneath the ruffians' dreadful ire, ''■Cromwell's Columns: In 1642 Oliver Cromwell, an English general, with a great army marched Into Ireland. In three years he accomplished the complete subjugation of the island. Whenever a city fell into his hands he put to the sword, not only the garrison, but thousands of women and children as well. It is said that at Drogheda five days were spent in murdering the inhabitants after the battle had been gained. Cromwell claimed to carry the sword in one hand and the Bible in the other, but al- though Ireland could not stand before his arms, he was unable to turn them from the Catholic faith. ^Holy things of God: Cromwell's soldiers robbed the churches of their valuables and destroyed such as was of no service to them. 96 Delia Dorn While up and down, on evVy side The pavement is with crimson dyed, And here and there and all around Lie bleeding patriots on the ground. Wild screams, the tragic scenes renew, Of women pierced with saber through. And cries of helpless babes, as oft On bayonets the're held aloft, While maidens with expiring breath, Must suffer pangs far worse than death. XIX "Oh, for the hand of Red O'Neil,^ And brave Tyrone, whose stubborn steel Had vengeance full on Saxon wrought, On many a field of battle fought. And blood, for blood of fathers' shed To save the honor of their dead ; And to their children — you and me. Secure a land from tyrants free. Those heroes, on the battle plain, A thousand British would have slain. Which might have turned the British hand And saved the Celts their sacred land. But, ah ! those braves — the Saxons' dread, Were numbered with their honored dead, iRed O'Neil and Tyrone were celebi-ated Irish warriors. or Struggles of the Boers 97 No more to deal their foes the sword Or shout to friends, commanding word. XX "O'More, O'Connell and O'Byrne Had served their country each in turn, And each had laid his life and blood On altar of his country's good, And thousands more as true and brave Had filled a soldier's honored grave, But all their struggles now were o'er, And Emerald Isle was free no more. Now useless hung their idle swords: Their lands^ had passed to British lords. For even their own beloved soil Was reckoned now among the spoil. See, thou, the babe, the youth, the old. As from their pleasant homes they strolled, Dejected, naked, hungry, cold. Poor exiles from their native bower, Sad victims^ of a tyrant's power." ^The lands of the conquered Irish were confiscated and parceled out to British nobles and warriors. 2The rich and noble Irish families as well as the poor ones were dispossessed and driven southwest into the bleak territory of Connau.^ht. The journey subjected them to untold sufferings while their destination offered but little better condition. 98 Delia Dorn XXI "Sweet maid, those days were days of old, And years on years since then have rolled That gloomy curtain's bloody fold From o'er our sires' beloved land, And stayed oppression's wanton hand. No longer now the cave and den Hide women sad and wretched men. Or hear the moans and wailing cries Of war-begotten miseries. No longer driv'n a wretched band With hopeless aim, from native land, They now traverse the island free, Unfettered by unjust decree. Where long the land hath sheltered lain Beneath Victoria's peaceful reign." XXII "Peaceful, indeed ! there is no peace, Save that which finds, in death, release From sight of blood and constant broil, And ravages of sacred soil. No land may boast a peaceful rest. That English foot hath ever prest, And strong the nation that can hold Its land 'gainst Britain's thirst for gold. Ask Burmah's maids, whose brothers sleep In patriots graves — ask why they weep : or Struggles of the Boers 99 From Himalaya's snowy head, Look thou o'er many a Southern mead, The wreckful path of Britain's tread, Where o'er fair India's matchless plain. Lies, countless, her unjustly slain. And even, Avon, in thine own land, Thy brothers oft, with sword in hand, Have tried, though efforts were in vain, To break th' oppressor's galling chain; For though they serve the British Crown, They cannot — dare not — claim their own. XXHI "And, dear Avon, thou knowest too well What mean the bugle notes that swell With such gay cadence on our breeze. While hostile fleets are on the seas. Even now, Avon, at this sad hour, Thou knowest there stands a sullen Power, Whose vassals chafe the time delayed. When some light pretense shall be made For war on Transvaal's peaceful shores, The land their treaty gave the Boers. XXIV *'Oh, dear Avon, should Britain come To desecrate our sacred home. How couldst thou bear the band to lead. Which fiercer grows when patriots bleed, 100 Delia Dorn And here among these timid flowers, Where we have spent such bHssful hours, Find this dear spot, where oft weVe stood, All covered with our brothers' blood? How canst thou find consent to reap Fresh laurels, while our maidens weep, And wring from us with bloody swords To deck the homes of British lords? Oh, how canst thou so cruel be To this dear home that shelters me?" The soldier stood with fallen crest. While sighs disturbed his manly breast; A thousand visions, each a dart. Came crowding round his wretched heart, And bade a timid tear-drop start: His troubled thoughts were tempest-tossed Like ships at sea with rudder lost. With but one isle that promised good. And that fair isle before him stood. He gazed upon the charming maid. While love and pride alternate swayed His wavering heart, as stubborn trees Are bowed before the fitful breeze. She silent stood — she knew not why. He, pondering what he should reply. For yet debate was in his mind or Struggles of the Boers 101 If pride or love should be resigned. His sword had seen the foemen yield By thousands on the battlefield, And his command to come or go, (Obeyed alike by friend and foe), A power so oft by him displayed Could not subdue one gentle maid; For here his sword was his distress, And words were just as powerless. XXVI "Fair maid," at length the soldier said, And proudly raised his drooping head, "Fair maid, thy words are words of truth: Oh, that I were a Transvaal youth : Thou'rt worthy of the noblest lord That e'er hath wielded pen or sword. If aught beneath the earth or sky Should change my purpose proud and high. Or bid my hope of honor pause Til I should join with weaker cause. Unless they were resigned for thee, I'd deem it basest perfidy. But, ah, dear maid, where'er I turn, I view those hopes of honor burn. Whose incandescent rays of light Point up to future glory's height, Where wealth and power and honored name 102 Delia Dorn Unite in permanence of fame: Then thou'lt forgive me, if I pause To ponder what the course or cause, Thy life and mine to better bless, Or bring us surest happiness. If I am true to England's crown, I've wealth and honor and renown; And if my lot is cast with thee, Then thou alone art left to me. XXVII Tomorrow, by this river's side We'll meet again at eventide. While still yon sinking sun's bright gleam Is high above this sacred stream. And, oh ! dear Delia, may thy mind A course less unrelenting find, And, touched by ties which fate hath planned, Grant me both honor and thy hand : Or, if my dreams of honor fade. Then I'll return to thee, dear maid. And all shall be as thou hast said ; But, if in purpose both are fast. Each then may know 'the die is cast :' Our fondest hope will then be o'er. And we, sweet maid, will meet no more, But try to learn, if fate will let. or Struggles of the Boers 103 XXVIII Each other's fondness to forget." "Avon, 'tis well," replied the maid, "Thy mandate just will be obeyed; Here, near my home, my native cot, We'll meet upon this sacred spot. Where oft we've lingered by this stream, And even dared of love to dream. While hope for future years of bliss Seemed all the soul could ask in this. But, dear Avon, thy hope is vain, That we may shun sad mem'ry's pain, For blighted love brings most regret And sets a seal we can't forget." XXIX Into his boat the soldier sprung While his gay trappings loudly rung With sounds which once he loved to hear. But now, seemed dirges on his ear. A quiet look, a modest wave Now summoned forth each willing slave ; Each plied his long and stubborn oar, And soon the boat had left the shore. Again he stands upon the prow, But, with a sadder heart and brow, And, though the tears his vision blind, He dares not cast a look behind. 104 Delia Dorn His love is battling with his pride And one more night must now decide If Britain's crown with bloody blade Be stronger than a Transvaal maid. If thou one glance, Avon, would'st cast, (Oh, look! oh, look! ere time is past), To her who kneels in agony With tearful prayer to God for thee, Thy stubborn heart would drown in tears, And happier be thy coming years. But, no; ah, no; thou wilt not look, Thou knowest such scenes thou couldst not brook, But thou art bart'ring wealth untold For British fame and sordid gold. or Struggles of the Boers 105 Chapter VII. Low sank the sun on Limpopo; The stream's sad murmurings soft and low, As on fair Delia's ear they fell, Seemed tollings of a funeral knell, And faded, drooping, lifeless now, The wreath of harebells on her brow. Her pallid face and features cold Bore aspect, grave as marble mold, While dimmed with weeping were the eyes, Which once Avon had deemed a prize. The length'ning shadows on the wave. Like "Weeping Willows" o'er the grave Of some beloved, departed friend, A solemn sadness seemed to lend, While in her ear, a cooing dove Poured its sad tale of blighted love. II Long, up the stream, she sadly gazed. Where setting sun and billows blazed, To watch the fast departing skiff Pass from her view around the cliff. Once she had thought she saw it turn; 106 Delia Dorn Once more allowed a hope to burn That he might ponder on his course, And back to her bring his remorse; But no, 'twas but delusive thought, Born of a wish, by fancy brought, For while she watched the oars descend. His vessel passed beyond the bend. In silent sadness Delia stood, With breaking heart, though unsubdued, And meekly, humbly kneeling there. Poured out her soul again in prayer To God, for wisdom and for power, To meet the morrow's trying hour. She prayed forgiveness for the maid Who may in folly's path have strayed, And for the guidance of His hand To serve her own beloved land. She begged His constant heavenly care, For brave O'Kane, unstinted share, That he be led to choose aright By counsel with the coming night ; And when she rose, heard seeming song Of angels whispering: "Be thou strong.'* Behind the hilltops of the west The sun had gently sunk to rest, And twilight's weird and solemn hour Was settling o'er that sacred bower. or Struggles of the Boers 107 She heard her mother call her name ; With heavy heart the maiden came And slower step and sadder brow, Than e'er had been her wont 'til now. Her pallid face, her manner shy. Caught now her mother's watchful eye, Who quickly sought the cause to know For such apparent mental woe. She clasped her mother in embrace; The tears were streaming down her face; "Oh, mother, let thy counsel kind Aid me to fix my heart and mind, And help by thy advice to roll This crushing burden from my soul." Ill "Speak, daughter, speak, thy troubles tell, Nor matters what hast thee befell. Oh, dear, dear Delia, thou shalt see Thou hast a mother's sympathy. With all the powers which I possess I've labored for thy happiness, And cares 'neath which thy heart must groan, With equal weight depress my own. For, though 'tis safe to trust but few, A mother's heart is always true." 108 Delia Dorn IV *'0h, mother, dear, I know thou'rt kind ; None could I hope more true to find, For none beneath the heavens possess A mother's love and tenderness. Not much that's earthly have I seen ; This home, a heaven to me hath been, Nor have I ever known 'til now. What anguish may becloud the brow. Were all the world at my command, 'Twere gladly given to free one hand From guilt of blood and British land." "Thy hand? " "Nay, mother, but Avon, Whom thou hast cherished as a son; From whom such words of wisdom fell; Upon whose songs we loved to dwell ; Whose ev'ry thought seemed newly mined From wisdom's mountain and refined; Whose playful mood and winning ways Have cheered dear Conrad's absent days. And whom we thought so true and brave Is but a soldier — Britain's slave. V "His sword hath won both wealth and fame, And Britain honors well his name, For 'twas by him that Burmah's plain. or Struggles of the Boers 109 Fell such sad prey to British reign. Oh, could he but consent to come And o'er our hills contented roam, No more to lead a soldier's life, 'Twere highest bliss to be his wife. But, ah, his heart is on his name, His love of praise and hope of fame, And but consents that I may share His wealth, his love and glory there. Tomorrow eve, on yonder shore. We meet — perhaps to meet no more, For, 'then,' said he, 'if both are fast, 'Twill all be o'er — the die is cast.' Dear mother, may thy wisdom guide And aid my wavering heart, decide HI should be a foeman's bride, For love is not with reason fraught. Nor holds the rein of sober thought." VI "Dear Delia, it were grief to me For thou a Briton's wife to be, But thou hast been a duteous child. To parents' wishes reconciled, And thy sweet lays from day to day Have chased a thousand glooms away; But since thou hast to woman grown The right of choice is all thine own. 110 Delia Dorn For kindred ties too narrow span Where love has thrown her taHsman. Ask thou thy heart if happier Hfe Were thine, when thou'rt a Briton's wife, And, be thy choice whate'er it will, ril love thee, yes, I'll love thee still." VII With sober mood the father came; His words of comfort were the same: He placed his hand upon her head And in his tenderest accents said: "Dear child, thy life hast been to me All that a daughter's life could be; Thou wast my joy when fortune blest, My source of comfort when distrest : When fever wracked, the Angel thou That cooled my scorched and aching brow. And now, dear Delia, thou'lt decide. Nor fear that we shall ever chide. For though 'twere joy to be with thee, Our love will reach thee o'er the sea." VIII The maiden sought her lonely room. O'er which there seemed to rest a gloom As deep as that of haunted tomb. For night a strange enchantment throws Around, when sorrow seeks repose. or Struggles of the Boers 111 She silent sat, her window nigh, And gazed upon the evening sky, Whose clouds in many-colored dress Seemed only mocking her distress. The birds had sought the leafy trees And quiet lay the evening breeze. While here and there came rays of light From starry watchers of the night. Long, long she sat, but silent thought No more of fixed decision brought, For ne'er before had she been left, Of even a parent's counsel reft. "Oh, that dear Conrad could be here This lonely, lonely hour to cheer. And with his gentle words impart Some solace to this breaking heart. But, ah ; ten thousand miles betweet^ Us, of sad ocean intervene. Oh, how can I, alone, decide Between Avon and country's pride ? For I must aid my nation's bane. Or see his face but once again. His lordly fame and rich estate Attract me not, but gender hate, For though his heart is true and good. His wealth is priced with human blood. Tomorrow's answer must decide 112 Delia Dorn If I must be a Briton's bride, Or yield, through Hfe, my heart and hand, A martyr to my native land. But, oh, dear Land, well canst thou trust Thy maid, 'til she return to dust, Nor future pen, whate'er befall, Record her faithless to Transvaal." IX With throbbing heart and aching head The maiden sought her lonely bed. But sleep and rest alike were fled. For though her heart was firmly set, There lingered o'er her spirit yet A hope that brave O'Kane would find Full cause to change his wayward mind. When Morning woke from his repose, She, from her sleepless pillow rose, And while the evening sun was high. And winds were sweeping gayly by, With trembling, measured step and slow She sought the bank of Limpopo. Again she sat beneath the flowers. Where she had spent such blissful hours. When two young hearts with love entwined Had naught but future joy divined. But, ah, how changed her features now ! What pallid face and mournful brow ! or Struggles of the Boers 113 Those eyes that once with joy were bright, Are victims now of sorrow's bHght. With constant watch the wave she scanned, As far as view she could command, With hope that soon Avon O'Kane Would pass the river's bend again. Slow beats her heart, the moments roll Like sluggish tides across her soul. For even the stream, that faithful friend, Cannot one thrill of solace lend. X Her vigils all were kept in vain. For that dear form came not again; And when the sun had fallen low. And day had lost its lustre's glow, Those melancholy hours, which bind Such mournful mem'ries to the mind With cruel weight of added care, Seemed greater than her soul could bear. XI **Oh, why not come once more, Avon, To soothe the heart which thou hast won ? How can I bear to think that thou Canst leave me thus to sorrow now ? Hast thou been false? that cannot be. For thou hast been too kind to me : Thy soul itself would feel the smart, 114 Delia Dorn If thou should'st wound a maiden's heart. Oh, that we could but meet once more, Nor would I now thy course deplore, But only ask, in future years When thou art gay and I in tears. That thou, Avon, would'st not forget That there is one who loves thee yet." XII She views the eve's declining sun ; Another day is nearly done ; The stars again will deck the skies, And winds will calm to gentle sighs : The birds again upon the nest Will chirp their little ones to rest. And flowers their velvet petals fold To shield from night's benumbing cold. But, ah, dear maid, thou loveliest flower That decks thy loved, thy sacred bower, Far sadder will thy moments be, For night no guerdon brings for thee. XIII Long on the prow the soldier stood And gazed upon the bank and wood With void, subdued and vacant stare. But felt no sense of beauty there. His thoughts were not upon the wave Or bank or wood or passing cave, or Struggles of the Boers 115 For there was rising in his soul A feeHng he could not control. The future was to him as dark As the black slaves that rowed his bark, For ne'er had seemed so fair 'til now Sweet Delia's sorrow-stricken brow. He felt the justice of her cause; Her sad appeal had bade him pause, For 'twas his hand that gave the blow That laid her hopes of future low. He almost wished he had obeyed The pleading tones of that dear maid. For such a brave and lovely bride Were greater wealth than all beside. XIV When love and pride in conflict meet, Pride suffers oft a sore defeat; Equipped for strife upon the field, Pride boasts a spear, love bears a shield: The shaft of power Pride madly thrusts And in his strength alone he trusts ; Around Love's head his missiles fly, But at her feet they broken lie, For she with simple, modest art Protects her only home — the heart. 116 Delia Dorn XV The bending oars in concert rang; The stream its softest murmurs sang, Which only served to closer bind The chains of sadness round his mind, For all he loved was left behind. As more and more he pensive grew, His pictured life he darker drew, And future's lonely solitude Like dismal sprites before him stood. Fast up the stream his Kaffirs rowed To reach the camp — Avon's abode, Where ready stood the soldiers gay His slightest summons to obey. The darker shades of coming night Had chased the day's last beams of light, And cold nocturnal stillness spread O'er stream and wood and mountain-head. So quiet lay the world, and still, He almost feared some penal ill, Some monstrous form, would sudden rise, Whose deathly mien and haggard eyes Would pierce his soul with agony, — His just reward for perfidy. He watched the dancing bubbles float Upon the water by the boat. And almost envied them the hour or Struggles of the Boers 117 When they would reach that lovely bower, And vainly wished that they could bear A message to the loved one there, For deep remorse had touched his heart And caused a sudden tear to start. He spoke aloud the maiden's name, And sobs convulsed his manly frame; And while the Kaffirs heard his groans, Words took the place of sorrow's moans : XVI *'Oh, heaven forgive the sinful hour That gave me thirst for fame and power. And steeled my soul to wrack with pain A maiden's heart 'twere wealth to gain. Tomorrow, by this sacred stream. Again we'll 'dare of love to dream :' May penitence my wrongs atone, And Delia Dorn be still my own. The future is a dreary waste On which the lives of all are cast. And when but one oasis stands Amid the waste of scorching sands, 'Twere better far that spot to gain Than long for sands of all the plain. Tomorrow eve I'll meet the maid In simpler style and dress arrayed, 118 Delia Dorn And give to her my honor's word To serve no more a British lord." XVII The boat still gliding o'er the wave, Passed many a bower and hollow cave, And when high up the eastern sky The boatmen cast a weary eye And spied above the hills and trees Orion^ chase the Plieades, Avon beheld a light on shore, And bade his Kaffirs slack the oar. And soon is heard the sentry's tramp Around the British soldier's camp, And when his boat had touched the land. His soldiers close around him stand, Each with a loud and piercing yell, Expressing joy words cannot tell. XVIII They mark his sober, thoughtful mien. For such in him was seldom seen. And much they feared and wondered still If their commander chief was ill. ^Orion: This is a bright star, which in the early part of October rises soon after sunset. According to mythol- ogy, the Pleiades, or Seven Stars, are seven maidens whom Orion is constantly chasing through the heavens. As the Z'!:'^l^''i}'^\^,}^^\%J^'^''''^^'^ ^""^ supposed to have taken place about the 11th or 12th of October, it must have b<^en iTrr.^'' ^^tr^" i''^^^^^ ^* "^^ht when O'Kane reaSpd Ms camp, as the slaves saw Orion "above the hills and trees '' or Struggles of the Boers 119 He passed their questions lightly by, But his unwonted/ solemn eye, His rueful look and fallen crest And absence of accustomed jest Betrayed the burden of his breast. With haste he took his evening meal, Nor hunger's relish seemed to feel. And feigning weariness of limb, (Pretense before unknown in him), A kind "Good-night" to all he gave, And took a lantern from his slave To light him to his martial tent. Where night would be in silence spent. And soon upon his lonely bed O'Kane had laid his aching head. The wakeful hours roll slowly by. Nor are the warrior's eyelids dry, For in his solitude appears A pang that ope's the fount of tears Such as would teach the stern to know What depths belong to mental woe. He felt the anguish he had laid Upon the heart of that dear maid, And ill could bide the time to go And ask her pardon for the blow. Wnwonted: Unaccustomed. 120 Delia Dorn XIX 'Tomorrow eve," said he, "my boat Down Limpopo again will float, And as we sit beneath the flowers. And former joys again be ours, I'll pledge to her my life and Tove, And never more from her will rove ; Then will I seek Great Britain's lord, Resign to him my rank and sword. And sigh no more for warrior's name. Nor ask again a Briton's fame, For this my final night shall be Beneath a soldier's canopy." XX The guards have sung their "all is well ;" The midnight hour their drawlings tell ; The camp is still, no watchful eyes Are out to view the starry skies Except the guards', whose dreary rounds Keep vigils o'er the laager grounds, And even O'Kane with sleep is blessed. For he has sunk to dreamful rest. But ah, fond soul, not long canst thou With peaceful slumber shield thy brow. For ere again the rising sun Shall spread his rays the hills upon Thy heart will meet a deadly blast The courser rounds the distant hill So near he conies and nearer still That e'en the stars give ample ligpht To trace the form upon the heig'ht. or Struggles of the Boers 121 Severer still than thou hast passed. Oh, may thy sleep prepare thy soul To stem the tide so soon to roll Between thee and thy cherished goal. XXI Could'st thou but hear the signal yell Of courier flying through the dell, The sounding hoof o'er hill and mead. And see the foaming, panting steed, As down the mountain side he flies And rocks and streams alike defies. The sight would chill thy very brain And freeze the blood in ev'ry vein. Awake! Avon, Oh, Heaven! Awake!! Prepare thy strongest chains to break, Nor let thyself, thus unawares. Be led to slight a maiden's prayers. XXII The courser rounds the distant hill; So near he comes and nearer still. That even the stars give ample light To trace the form upon the height. On, on the flying charger bounds ; The guards have caught the thund'ring sounds, And eager watch the flying form Approach the camp like mountain storm. The outmost sentinel is pas't, 122 Delia Dorn The courier's long, loud bugle-blast On ears of dreaming soldiers fall, And spreads confusion over all. With glit'ring spurs and clanking sword Through camp he spreads the dismal word : *To war ! To war ! ! Let time be brief : Show me Avon O'Kane, the Chief." Full fifty men their bodies bent To point him to the lonely tent, Where brave O'Kane in slumber lay With rapturous dreams of coming day. XXIII His soul was glad, for in his dream His boat again swept down the stream. While his black slaves some carol sung, Or stories told in Kaffir tongue. He thought the flowers had raised their head Which had but yester seemed so dead. And caves which had been dark as night Seemed radiant now with heavenly light. He thought his boat had passed the grot, And now had neared the sacred spot. Where Delia Dorn in days gone by Had loved to gaze upon the sky. And with her soft and tender eyes Had made her bower his paradise. Again he saw her by the stream, or Struggles of the Boers 123 (Oh, blessed sleep, celestial dream!) But ere the boat had touched the land He heard the courier's harsh command. With sudden start Avon awoke; The dream is gone, the vision broke. And while dim thought his senses pall, He hears the courier loudly call : "Up! up! O'Kane, put on thy sword, I bring to thee our Chieftain's word: E'en now has Transvaal war begun, And quickly thou must hasten on, For ere the morning's sun shall spread His beams o'er yon gray mountain-head. This honored troop of Britons gay Must long have been upon their way. But why such laggard step, and slow? A Briton thou, and loath to go? A Warrior Chief, and canst not bear The sight of blood or maiden's tear ?" XXIV Ah! sad Avon, if all the powers Were culled from life's most bitter hours, To make the sum of human ills. Such sum this hour but poorly fills. Too long, too long hast thou delayed Thy choice of fame or priceless maid; Thou canst not now thy sword resign, 124 Delia Dorn For even thy band would then combine To punish thee by martial laws As a deserter of thy cause. XXV Avon the courier's letter took, And as he read, emotion shook His ev'ry limb; the rising tear, Construed by some as sign of fear, Betrayed a heart too soft by far To lead the cruelties of war. His bugle horn he took at last, And gave a long but feeble blast. His band to summon from their bed, For all his dreamish hopes had fled. Were countless worlds at his command He'd give them all to leave the band. But he must face a life of dread For all his hopes of choice are dead. Oh, that the maid could view him now To pardon his unfaithful vow To meet her where the breezes blow Their softest chimes o'er Limpopo. But, ah, dear maid, such wish is vain, For thou wilt never sit again With him beneath that sacred vine Or know the joys which once were thine. or Struggles of the Boers 125 XXVI With trembling voice he gave command To summon out his warrior band, Then one long parting look he gave To Limpopo's dear sacred wave, And ere the sun had risen again He led his band across the plain. 126 Delia Dorn Chapter VIII. Cursed be the power whose brutal might Invades a land's inherent right, And o'er its country casts a blight Of blood and tears and hopeless woe, And wrecks a land to gain its gold Regardless though the parents old And children, forced into the cold, Must suffer tortures from the blow. When men the laws of justice break And lives of fellow-mortals take, Their doom, the scaffold or the stake, Or prison's cold and dreary bar; While NATIONS loot a neighboring plain As pirates seize ill-gotten gain. And glory in the number slain, But call that greater crime a "war." II Upon Pretoria's^ breathless streets No mirthful face the watcher meets. ^Pretoria: This is the capital of the Transvaal. An attempt is here made to describe the effect of England's message in this city. Every one knew, almost to a cer- tainty that Queen Victoria's message, which was to be delivered to the Transvaal in the afternoon of October 11th, 1899, would be a signal for war, and hence the gloomy sorrow which hung over their beloved city was intense. or Struggles of the Boers 127 As o'er the pavement burghers^ tread As though they walked above the dead. Their words subdued to whisp'rmg sighs Match well the sadness of their eyes, And give this city of Transvaal An air of its own funeral. The rising sun's faint, sullen rays, Half-hid behind the morning haze, Can scarcely meet the anxious gaze Of those who stare — they know not why — Along the border of the sky. The birds have hushed their merry song; The wind that lately swept along Has sunk to such a gentle breeze As scarce disturbs the leafy trees, And children join no more in play Or sing their merry childish lay, But sadly gather round and trace The signs of grief in father's face, And wond'ring, ask each other why The teardrop starts from mother's eye. The babe held close to mother's breast ^Burgher: A citizen. The term was employed in South Africa to distinguish the original colonists from the immi- grants. The latter were called Uitlanders. In this story, the term "burgher" is used to distinguish the Boers from their British foes. It therefore includes all, both burghers and Uitlanders, who aided the Transvaal cause. There were many Uitlanders, even some British, who fought in the Boer army. 128 Delia Dorn Is with unwonted care cares^t, While fathers gaze upon their sons And fancy them before the guns Of an unjust and cruel band, Contending for their native land. Preferring, rather than be found By the oppressor's shackles bound, To fall, perchance, with mortal wound. Ill The nation groans in deep suspense, With ready hand for its defense And listening ear for sounds afar, It fears will bring the notes of war. But there is one who, more than all. Will feel the dreaded message fall, In whom the cares of all are blent ; It is the nation's President.^ With heavy heart Paul Kruger sits. iPaul Kruger was president of the Transvaal Republic. It is said that he was a man of limited education, but of great natural ability. He foresaw the British storm which threatened to sweep over his beloved country and tried to avert it by making concessions which were even humiliating to his proud spirit, but all to no purpose. England had determined upon the spoliation of the little Republic and did not propose to be turned from her pur- pose by concessions^ however, great — not even by her oWn promises. or Struggles of the Boers 129 With Wolmarans^ and Doctor Reitz, In the RepubHc's Council-Room, O'er which there hangs a fateful gloom, To wait the message from the Queen, Sent by her agent — William Green. The sun has reached the hour of noon ; Great joy must come, or sorrow, soon, For ere the coming night shall throw Its shadows o'er the day's faint glow. Great Britain's Queen her peace will send, Or with a word the nation rend. IV An hour has passed, the clock strikes "one," The day's suspense is nearly done. For soon will come Great Britain's word To glad the heart or wake the sword. Oh! that I could with language trace The anguish written on the face Of him who soon must feel the roll Of war's harsh drum upon his soul, And view with sad and tender eyes His own dear country ere it dies. ^Wolmarans: Major Wolmarans was a member of the Executive Council and Dr. Reitz was secretary of state. These two, with President Kruger, were seated in the council room when William Conyngham Green, the British agent, arrived bearing the Queen's message which was to put an end to all further negotiations. This meeting is fully explained in the text. 130 Delia Dorn V In tones subdued the three converse, And all their nation's ills rehearse, And vainly hope from British hand A bloodless peace to bless the land. **Ah, Reitz," said Kruger, "think how long Our land has suffered British wrong. Think how our fathers at the Cape, Long tried our destiny to shape, And strove to win, by constant toil, For us the freedom of the soil, Where we, their children, should be free From ev'ry form of tyranny. Think how the British seized the land. And ruled the Boers with 'iron hand,' Forbidding e'en their mother tongue Into the courts of justice brung. They seized their cities, towns and lands. Exposed them to the native bands Of Kaffir tribes which round them dwelt. Whose hordes no sense of mercy felt. But gloried most in taking life, Not sparing e'en the child or wife. Such were the sorrows of our race. And such the foes they had to face Upon the soil which they had prayed Might be a home their toil had made. or Struggles of the Boers 131 VI "They fled from their beloved soil, Resigned it all to British spoil, And northward^ pressed their dangerous way, Harrassed by natives night and day, Preferring o'er the veldt^ to trek,^ Than see upon their oflfsprings' neck The yoke of British bondage placed. And thus with country be disgraced. Nor think their troubles then were done. Ah, no, the worst had just begun, For, scarce of arms from British loot,* 'Twas hard with natives to dispute The right of passage o'er the plain. To reach the land they hoped to gain. morthward: This has reference to the first great trek or movement northward from Cape Colony when the British had taken that country from the Boers. Welclt: The great plains of South Africa are called "veldts." The term probably corresponds to the term "prairie" of the United States of America. ^Trek: To move out, to emigrate. The term is also used when an army is vanquished and retreats to some distant point, or if an army is victorious and then moves across the country to attack some other distant point it is said to "trek." . ^ . ^ ^ ^Loot: Plunder. This term is here used m a restricted sense. When the English seized Cape Colony, the first African country which the Boers had settled, their rule over the colonists was so intolerant and unbearable that hundreds of Boer families determined to trek northward and settle a new country in order to rid themselves of British domination, and the English tried to deprive them of arms and ammunition with which to protect themselves from the wild tribes through which they would pass. The British probably did this more as a measure to protect themselves than for the value of the arms and ammunition. 132 Delia Dorn Hard-pressed at length the Vaal^ they reach, Their joy almost o'ercomes their speech, And, feeling now their perils o'er, They pitch their tents along the shore. VII "But, ah, how soon they're taught to know How fleet the joy, when lurking foe. In secret, plans their overthrow. For Moselekatse,^ from the North, With bands of natives sallied forth. And, with the savage Kaffir yell And thirst for blood, upon them fell. Repulsed at first, they soon returned (Through their defeat their vengeance burned). In greater numbers than before; Now, more than twenty to each Boer. A hasty fort, with wagons made. Was now the only barricade With which the Boers their wives could shield, But it were better far, than yield. To die upon the battlefield. On came the Kaffirs' countless horde; ^Vaal: This river is the southern boundary line between Transvaal and Orange Free State, the third Boer settle- ment, Natal being the second. Natal is a small country east of Orange Free State on the coast of the Indian ocean and is the second country taken from the Boers by the British. ^Moselekatse: A cruel Kaffir chief. or Struggles of the Boers 133 Among their ranks the bullets poured, And falling natives gave the groan, Which, save in battle, is unknown. The flying hordes view with delight The smoke that rises o'er the site, And deem the camp an ashen bed, And Boers all numbered with the dead. To Grahamstown the word they bore That 'Camp and Boers are all no more,* And Britons there are so elate, That they with bonfires celebrate The thought that all the hated Boers At last are swept from Afric's shores. VIII The Boers, now free from Kaffir storm. Resolve a stronger force to form : They leave the waters of the Vaal And join with Reteif^ in Natal, Which from Chief Dingaan had been bought, To form such home as they had sought. But Dingaan, jealous of our race. Invited Reteif to his place. With three score more of gallant Boers, And when they were within his doors, With ruthless sword and treacherous hand '^Reteif: A Boer pioneer, who purchased land in tHie Natal territory from Dingaan, the dominant Zulu chief, for the purpose of establishing a second Boer colony. 134 Delia Dorn He murdered all that faithful band: Nor deemed his carnage yet complete, But sent his band on chargers fleet, And twice three hundred of the old And wives and babes in death lay cold. IX "The rest a brighter aspect wore, When Captain Jarvis stepped on shore; For, though a Briton, still they felt Such scenes his heart would surely melt. But, ah, they soon were undeceived. For he came not as they believed To render aid to the bereaved, But to forbid the use of sword On Dingaan and his Zulu horde, And to disarm and leave them there, Exposed to Dingaan's savage care. But, from the hated Jarvis' sight They hid their arms at dead of night, And calmly waited then each Boer 'Til Jarvis' band should leave the shore. X From Capetown, like a brilliant flame, The wise and brave Pretorius came. Resolved their gloomy fate to share. And seek for Dingaan in his lair, And visit vengeance on his train. or Struggles of the Boers 135 For his six hundred victims slain. He struck the foes a deadly stroke, And Dingaan's power forever broke, And, years beyond the mournful tones Of Dingaan^s victims' dying groans, The Veldt v^as white with Zulu bones." XI Oh, great Pretorius, how shall fame Pay fitting tribute to thy name? For words are powerless to spread Meet honors o'er thy valiant head. XII "But, oh, dear Reitz, it grieves my soul, That e'en Natal, our father's goal. So soon should pass from their control. But Britain's guns and greater force. Had shaped our fathers' gloomy course. And dear Natal for which they fought. And even from Zulus had been bought. Like all their former cherished lands. Unwilling, passed to British hands; For Smith and vassals took the town. And claimed the land for Britain's crown. XIII Oh, wretched people, no redress Relieved their children's sore distress: No star of hope rose o'er their lea 136 Delia Dorn To guide them to their Hberty; But naked, hungry, fearful, cold. Their wives are forced upon the wold. Whose nights are spent on mountains brown, Their only refuge from a Crown, Which spreads religion's hovering wing For none save those who serve the King." Oh, let me not, deluded, pine For hope that reaches only mine, Or feint religion dark and fell. That hopes no heaven and fears no hell. XIV 'To Orange Free State they wandered back; The English still were on their track, And though the nation dawned so bright, With such clear beams of Freedom's light, Long ere its noon came England's blight. And backward rolled its rising sun. For British arms the land was won. XV "Then, o'er the Vaal our fathers came, With Freedom still a burning flame Upon each noble manly crest, And British hate in every breast; And though Great Britain's pledge was given That we should never more be driven, Or suffer aught from British hand, or Struggles of the Boers 137 Today they seek to seize the land, And blast again the hope that we May have a home from tyrants free. XVI "When to The Hague^ the nations thronged To arbitrate whatever wronged, And settle every country's jar Without arbitrament of war. We gladly sought the shelt'ring wing, And hoped to aid each prince and king To lend his country greater good. Nor spill again his nation's blood. But Britain on our ruin bent. Refused her Majesty's consent, And when our prayer with scorn was spurned, Our steps we sadly, homeward turned, And gravely asked : *If all the powers Hold but injustice in their towers. And all are led by selfish hate, Why should we wish to arbitrate?' lAt the International Conference which met at The Hague May 18th, 1899, Great Britain refused to co-operate with the other powers unless Transvaal was denied repre- sentation. The result was that the South African Re- public was denied a seat in this convention. The adage, "Straws show the direction of the wind," is quite appli- cable in this case. This was less than five months before the war began, and Transvaal was left with no protection from other nations. 138 Delia Dorn XVII "How soon, dear Reitz, our land may feel Again the weight of English heel, For, in this hall, we only wait Expressions new of English hate. It grieves my soul to know the truth. That all our valiant Transvaal youth. Who lay to heart our country's good, Must stain their hands with British blood. But they must win, the soil's their own, Nor owe they aught to British Crown. In arms and God we place our trust. And heaven will aid if we are just. XVIII **0h, that our lands were drear and poor ; A low morass or mountain moor; An uninviting field for spoil, For then 'twould be a freeman's soil. Beneath our streets are diamonds found; With purest gold our mountains crowned. But what are riches and estate. If held beneath a power we hate? They but invite the subtle thief. And bring to us severest grief; The robber takes our wealth and cheer And life, or leaves us homeless here." or Struggles of the Boers 139 XIX The doorbell rings, they quickly glance And see the mansion-guard^ advance With pallid face and troubled mien, And by his side the agent — Green. With measured step and stately tread, The agent entered, bowed his head, And firmly shook the hand of those Who must so soon be deemed his foes. ''Hast thou some word from England sent ?" Enquired the agent President. "I have, my lord," said William Green, 'T have this letter from the Queen." The three all pale and breathless stood. And icy seemed the coursing blood That froze the pallor of their look. As Reitz the ''fateful message" look. In solemn tones he slowly read The haughty lines so soon to spread Dismay and grief through ev'ry home. And send ten thousand to the tomb. For, in that letter, brief and bold. Was bloody Transvaal war foretold. The courteous agent then arose And stood before his country's foes, ^Mansion- guard: Door keeper. 140 Delia Dorn And asked a passport from their hand To give safe passage from the land. Oh, let not words presume to find Expression meet for Kruger's mind, As he the agent's passport signed. When Britain's agent left the room, All was as silent as the tomb, While Kruger, filled with grief and care, A moment bowed in silent prayer. The prayer is ended, they arise With aching heart and saddened eyes, And out upon the pavement stand, To warn the burghers of the land. XX The clock strikes ''three"— a word has flown. From hill to hill and town to town — A single word is sent afar. And that one, cruel word is "WAR.''^ O'er mountain, veldt and list'ning mead The word is sent with lightning speed; Along the borders of Natal, And by the waters of the Vaal, And to the upper Limpopo, Where'er the wires electric go. Within an hour after this memorable interview a word was flashed over the wires of the two Republics from Pretoria. . . . The word was 'War '' " CThe Boer Fight for Freedom, p. 55.) or Struggles of the Boers 141 The hurrying word is flashing by, Like thunder-beams across the sky. Nor less that word the nation rends, Than does the bolt that thunder sends. Which has from clouds in fury broke. Tear out the heart of mountain oak. . To Bloemfontein^ the message flies, And in their might the burghers rise, For each is bound to aid the blow Her sister gives a common foe. The two republics must unite^ Against a foe whose selfish might Has dared invade their common right, And with their Mausers well in hand, The Orange burghers willing stand. To guard the freedom of the land. XXI From village, town and country home, The son, the sire and grandsire come. And, mingling youth with hoary age, Prepare to meet the foeman's rage, And pledge their fortune, life and all, To aid their friends beyond the Vaal. ^Bloemfontem: The capital of the Orange Free State. ^There was a mutual understanding between the two Republics that in case one was attacked the other would come to the rescue. Mr. M. T. Steyn, president of the Orange Free State, sent Mr. Kruger the following simple message: "We are ready." 142 Delia Dorn XXII The word has flown to British Camp ; The soldiers rise and coursers stamp In hurrying, panting, mingUng form. Like boiHng clouds of rising storm, All eager o'er the Veldt to go, And be the first to strike the foe. From camp to camp the couriers ride, And chafe each courser's foaming side O'er flinty rocks and flagging sand. To bear the news to post and rand. Where wires can go, the wires are hot, And horsemen fly where wires are not. And soon each hill and vale has found An echo for the blighting sound. At once a hurrying courier^ rides Along the streams and mountain sides To Limpopo beyond the plain To the lone camp of brave O'Kane, And raises on the midnight air The bugle-note of Transvaal war. iThis is the same courier mentioned in the latter part of tlie preceding chapter. or Struggles of the Boers 143 Chapter IX. 'Tis noon o'er London's stately domes, And quiet fills her pleasant homes; The sun, like many-jeweled gems, Is sparkling on the breast of Thames. The aspen leaves in breezes quake, And boats are on the dimpling lake, While children, in the autumn sun, Released from school, now homeward run. The oaky parks of golden brown, Their leafy showers are flinging down. To shield the flowers from autumn's frown. The merchant-man, with business prest, Can find no time for needed rest. While housewives chant some merry song, And duties rush their hours along. The cars, with constant whirring hum, Along the streets incessant come. Whose clanking bells, pedestrians learn, Are meant their steps aside to turn. The auctioneer, all furrow-browed, Holds up his wares before the crowd, And with his guttural murm'rings loud Of inarticulated words, The listeners sways like lowing herds, 144 Delia Dorn While some bright gewgaw, made of earth, Is sold for more than twice its worth. The infant from the window sees The flowering shrubs and yellow trees, And, chuckling with delight within, Brings dimples to its cheek and chin, And, as its mirth expands its charms, 'Tis tightly clasped in mother's arms. Down through the park the lovers stroll, All glad of heart and light of soul. And as they while away the day. Or dine at some renowned cafe, Each lends an eager list'ning ear To whispered words of nuptials near. II The house of Commons and of Lords Have closed their war of stormy words; Within their halls has ceased the din Of Edward Clark^ and Chamberlain, Whose voices rung — are ringing still Through ev'ry land, o'er ev'ry hill — One, clamoring for an unjust war. ^Edward Clark: About a week after war had been de- clared, Mr. Chamberlain, the British Colonial Secretary, and Edward Clark held a rather warm discussion in the House of Commons. Mr. Clark contended that the war in South Africa could and should have been prevented, an^ intimated that the Colonial Secretary had committed a crime against civilization for which there was no excuse. (Hansard, 1st Vol., Autumn Session, 1899, pp. 307-311.) or Struggles of the Boers 145 And one opposed to bloody jar. Thy words, oh, Clark, will long be sung In many a land and foreign tongue, And guardian spirits oft will come In peaceful haloes o'er thy tomb. Ill But, hark! what strange sounds strike the ear? Why start the timid maids with fear? What mean these columns on the street, As fifers play and drummers beat? Behold, that proud, majestic tread, Fair England's pride and foeman's dread. With measured step and head erect, And tufts of gold their shoulders deck't. The soldiers march the crowded street. And doff their caps the throngs to greet. An hundred lads in uniform. Along the streets on palfreys come With haste and hurry everywhere To bring the bulletins of war. From these, the cause is quickly read, The city filled with fear and dread, And mothers' eyes are filled with tears, To see the call for volunteers To sail to Afric's southern shores, And battle with the Transvaal Boers. 146 Delia Dorn IV The merchant leaves his inky pen ; The farmer quits the fallow glen; And from the parks of shady bowers. The lover seeks the city towers. Unclosed is left the student's book; The fisherman rolls up his hook, And auctioneer, with goods unsold, Steps from the block to be enrolled. The city now is one turmoil Like ocean-storm where billows boil, And policemen are bearing back The crowds that in each alley pack, While pandemonium seems to reign, And police feel their efforts vain. V At length within a window high, Appears a man with curious eye, Who gazes out upon the crowd. And hears their exclamations loud. He looks intent on all below, As patriots watch approaching foe. And hears them speak of Southern strife, Of gleaming sword and dagger knife. And from the throng upon the street Hears many a threat of "quick defeat," But when above the common brawl, or Struggles of the Boers 147 He hears the word, ''To the Transvaal," His eyes grow fierce as ''Lord of Lorn,"^ For 'tis the face of Conrad Dorn. Alternate tears and anger trace Both love and wrath in Conrad's face, As love for friends now doubly rose, And hatred for his country's foes. A moment Conrad paced the room, His valor rose o'er country's doom, Then sank beneath depressing gloom. For, but tomorrow, he had planned To mount the wave for Afric's strand. His soul in rapture had been nurst, When in his dreams his home had burst Upon his more than raptured sight, And gave a climax to delight. In dreams, again he saw his home. His father, mother, sister, come, And heard their words of welcome given, Which were, to him, forestaste of heaven. And bade him fix an earlier day To haste him o'er the watery way. And must he now that joy forgo? Is not such thought a fatal blow ? ^Lord of Lorn: One of Walter Scott's characters in his "Lord of the Isles." 148 Delia Dorn VI He sat his cozy fire beside, And for a time strove to decide, And sought from ev'ry mental source. To shape, for best, his future course. A sudden flush came o'er his face; Said he, "I'll serve my father's race," And, taking from his oaken chest A package, placed it 'neath his vest ; Nor was it blade or weapon bare. For Conrad kept no weapon there. To Saris' room his way he took, And found him poring o'er a book; Nor did young Saris seem to know. His land must face the British foe, And soon as Conrad was at rest. He thus his rival friend addressed : "Up, Saris, up, come let us speed ; Of us our country now hath need : The British sail to Southern shores. To battle with the Transvaal Boers." "Oh, Conrad, dear, and can it be, From Britain we can ne'er be free? Thrice have the lands of Southern shores. Been ta'en by Britons from the Boers ; Thrice have our fathers borne defeat, And at The Hague denied a seat. or Struggles of the Boers 149 Ah, poor Transvaal, and shalt thou now To greed of Britain's monarch bow ? Dear country, now, my Hfe and blood To thee I pledge for country's good, And thou, dear Conrad, witness take That I such vow to country make." VII The rising tear in Conrad's eye Forbade him instant to reply, But, soon as he could find control. The burden from his heart to roll. On Saris' breast his hand he laid, And in the softest accents said: *' 'Tis not to those who friendship boast, Or e'en to those who love thee most. That thou a secret canst confide. If its divulgence thou wouldst hide ; But to the one whose heart and tongue Are steeled for those who do thee wrong. Whose life would gladly feed the flame Upon the altar of thy name ; To such a friend, and such alone. Thou dar'st to make a secret known. And now wilt thou, forever sealed, Keep this my secret unrevealed?" *'Dear Conrad, I thy word will keep, As safe as if beneath the deep, 150 Delia Dorn And, though to rack, my Hfe should yield, My lips will be forever sealed. For thou'rt too just to harm propose Save for our country's vilest foes." VIII "I deem thee, Saris, true and just ; Such soul as thine I well can trust, And, though my life the forfeit be, I trust my safety all to thee," And, as his hand his bosom prest, He took the package from his vest. And thus again his friend addrest: "Here, Saris, take this lantern small. Made for my sister in Transvaal, And join thyself to Joubert's^ band And help to save our native land, While I will join a British corps And sail with it from England's shore. When thou shalt see my glittering spark. Then with three flashes through the dark Thy answer I shall deem complete And give thy band the warning meet ; Thus with the lamp thou'lt serve thy land Though it was made for fairer hand. Tell thy commander of thy friend, ^Joubert: Piet Joubert was Commander-in-Chief of the Boer army at the beginning of the war. or Struggles of the Boers 151 That thou may'st better service lend, But still, with all thy courteous grace, Conceal for me my name and place, Though they will call me 'Billy Brande'^ When I am with the British band." " Tis well," said Saris, "but thy heart Hath planned for thee a dang'rous part, But thou art wise and quick thine eye. And well thou'lt serve us as a spy. Remember, Conrad, thou'rt exposed Alike to friends and those opposed. And while thy foes thy valor claim. Thy friends may take the fatal aim, And, killed by us in battle be. Unknown to all but God and me. But oh, dear Conrad, may thy hand Be able long to serve our land. And may thine angel guard thy head, Till triumph o'er our country spread. Take thou this little ring of gold, And should our prison e'er thee hold. Send it to our commander chief. And I will come to thy relief. ^Conrad Dorn is known as "Billy Brande" throughout the campaign in South Africa. In the Boer army there was a young scout named Daanie Theron. whose daring acts have formed the basis for some of the feats ascribed to Billy Brande. Theron was killed near Krugersdorp, his boyhood home, in September, 1900. 152 Delia Dorn And now, my friend, adieu, adieu, And may'st thou be as safe as true, And may thy dangerous deed of love Salvation for our country prove. Remember when thou'rt with our foes. That there is one who doubly knows What dang'rous snares are round thee spread. And prays protection o'er thy head." IX The hand of Saris Conrad took With parting sobs convulsive shook. And thanking Saris for his aid In broken, tender tones he said: ''The palm-leaf^ sent to us from heaven Has many a pleasant moment given. And seems 'twere sent to closer link A soul to soul on danger's brink. 'Twas but a tender with'ring leaf, And brought no cause of fear or grief. And though 'twas burned to save regret, Its incense lingers round us yet. And oh! dear Saris, may the palm. Which now we seek, bring freedom's calm, And heaven attend our earnest prayer, To save our country from despair. ^Paltn-leaf : This refers to the prize in the telegraphic contest giver in cliapter IV. or Struggles of the Boers 153 And oh ! Dear Saris, should I fall On battle-field by random ball, I only ask that thou wilt go To my dear home on Limpopo, And tell the loved ones how I fell And give to them my last farewell. Tell father how his only son Had misdirected many a gun. And, though a dang'rous track I trod, I trusted all to freedom's God. Tell mother, who so often prayed That I should lend our country aid. That through her son's most dang'rous years, Those prayers still sounded in his ears, And tell her not to weep for me, For life was given for liberty. Tell sister — Oh, that precious girl, Her memory makes my senses whirl — Tell her that even the war-drum's roll Chased not her features from my soul. Tell her to seek, once more, the bower. Where last we prayed at twilight hour, And kneel again to God in prayer For strength her saddest grief to bear. And now, dear Saris, if no more We meet upon this earthly shore, May it be ours again to meet 154 Delia Dorn Upon that shining, golden street, And, free from strife, forever dwell— Farewell, my dearest friend — farewell. or Struggles of the Boers 155 Chapter X Along the shores of Afric's streams The day is lost in slumbering dreams ; The sun behind the western hills No longer smiles upon the rills; The sea is white with hostile ships^ And mothers give with quivering lips, Perhaps, a last "Good-bye" to sons Who now must face the British guns. O'er many a kop-, by many a stream, The flickering fires of foemen gleam, Whose tents, revealed by fading light, Seem spectral demons of the night, Such as round lonely church-yards stray To check benighted travelers' way. The noon of night-"^ the watchmen tell ; The patriots wave their last farewell. And soon beneath the falling rain Are lost to view upon the plain. O'er veldt and vale and stony nek,* '^Hostile ships: These were English ships bringing British soldiers to Transvaal. This was October 11th, 1899. ^Kop: A little hill. ^The first detachment of burghers from Pretoria left at midnight during a heavy rainfall. ^Neic: A sharp ridge or backbone of a hill. 156 Delia Dorn And dangerous pass the soldiers trek, And ere the morn has chased the damp, The patriot band has reached the camp. II Soon from the South an armored train^ Is seen to move across the plain ; A rail is moved and Boers await The moving fort with British freight; The train derailed, an easy prey The British fall to De la Rey.^ No loss of life or flowing blood As round the train the burghers stood; The British lost but train and stores And men, surrendered to the Boers.^ But ah ! how soon will sadder tale Be wafted on the mournful gale. Of dead and dying, side by side. Borne from Talana's* gory tide. Ill At early morn, while still the dark Forbade the sun's horizon mark. ^Armored tram: This consisted of a boxcar covered with armor-plate. There was generally two of these cars, one before and one behind the locomotive. The British at- tempted to use these trains, but they were not a success. ^De la Ray: A Boer general. sThis was the first engagement of the war, and is suffi- ciently explained in the text. ^Talana Hill: This hill is in the northern part of Natal, the second country which the English took from the Boers, and is the first real battlefield of this war. No loss of life or flowing- blood As 'round the train the hurg-hers stood. or Struggles of the Boers 157 The burghers rode at rapid pace To reach Talana's northern base.^ In columns three the troops divide, While yet the dark their forms may hide, With noiseless care to left and right. And up Talana's rugged height. The morning dawns, and firmly now Four cannons crown Talana's brow To issue death to Britain's men, Whose tents, like goblins, deck the glen. And as the sun majestic rose. Its rays revealed the deadly foes. Oh, would that we could loose the bar That shields the ear from pangs of war, And teach what anguish lies within The ranks that lose and those that win. IV Pretorius^ stands his guns beside. In warrior strength and freeman's pride. While Meyer^ scans with searching eye Penn Symons' throng that 'neath him lie. ^The burghers reached this hill before daylight on the 20th of October, 1899, nine days after the declaration of war. They dragged four cannons up the northern side of this hill, and when morning dawned they could see the British camp in the valley to the south, ^Pretorhis : A Boer commander who managed the four cannons on the hill. ^Meyer: The general who commanded the Boers at Talana HilL 158 Delia Dorn . Which, by the light of rising day, He sees preparing for the fray. But hark ! There comes a sound that shocks Talana's crest of rugged rocks, And, in the still of morning-tide Comes thundering down the mountainside, As in the vale a bursting shell Among Penn Symons'^ soldiers fell. Pretorius watched with eager ken, If his first shell had erring been Directed from his Creusot^ gun; But soon he saw their columns broke, As bursting shell and boiling smoke Rose up to greet the morning sun. Suspense has ended in the roar From British camp and sturdy Boer, As through each rank the cannons pour. With fiery smoke and hissing breath. Swift messengers of blood and death. The shot from Krupp^ and Creusot fly, And bring the foemen's quick reply, While hills send back, for miles around. The clashing echoes of the sound. ^Penn Simons: British commander at this battle. ^Creusot: A kind of cannon of French pattern. ^Krupp: A rapid-firing gun used in the artillery service. But soon he saw their columns broke As bursting- shell and boiling- smoke Rose up to meet the morning- sun. or Struggles of the Boers 159 V The fife and drum in British camp Combine with shout and coursers' tramp, As British columns strong and fleet Haste on to glory or defeat. On right, on left, on, on they come, 'Mid rifle hail and bursting bomb. With streaming banners overhead And groaning earth beneath their tread. Five thousand^ strong, the glen they sweep, While half that number hold the steep, And Meyer's burghers firmly stand Against Penn Symons' mighty band. With eager soul and rapid pace At length they reach the mountain's base And try to rush the upward track, But burghers' Mausers- hurl them back. And, 'neath the shot from mountain's crown. Their columns reel tumultuous down. ^The British at this battle were about five thousand strong, while Meyer had only about half that number. ^Mausers: This is a kind of rifle used by the Boers at the beginning- of the war. They soon learned, however, that the Lee-Metford and Martini-Henry rifles were better guns, and as they had no trouble in capturing from the British all that was needed, the Mauser fell almost into disuse before the war was over, though to prevent con- fusion the Mauser will be retained in this story as the rifle of the burghers until the end of the war. 160 Delia Dorn VI The Britons are no laggard foes, Nor yield their ranks to timid blows, But here they face a patriot band, Who fight for home and native land. Whose lives they deem but lightly weigh Against a British tyrant's sway. Again they come with flag unfurled, And back again by Mausers hurled. And back and forth till hill and plain Are covered with the British slain. VII Now plunged Penn Symons with his might Into the thickest of the fight, Where lead, like rain, came pouring down From guns upon Talana's crown. And man by man, inspiring each That victory lay within his reach. But ere they gain the rocky walls. With mortal wound Penn Symons falls. Again they come with rage and grief. To deal dire vengeance for their chief, When lo ! the sun its light refused To men who thus its rays abused. A foggy mist^ came slowly down ^Foggy mist: It was about noon when this fog settled upon the two armies. or Struggles of the Boers 161 Upon Talana's crimson crown, And rolled its misty billows o'er The British ranks and valiant Boer, And like a hovering angel spread Its wings of mercy o'er the dead. The Boers retire beyond the rill And Britons dare not climb the hill, Lest they unwitting find their course Lead into toils of greater force, And each must leave, however loth. The battle-field unclaimed by both. The 'wildered bands now wandering go, Each fearful lest some groping foe Should in the pathway sudden rise With salutation of surprise, As, through the maze of misty damp, They try in vain to find the camp. VIII A British corps upon the veldt Perceived a boy^ who weeping knelt Beside his father's dying form. Brave victim of the leaden storm; The stripling begged with tearful eye To be allowed to linger by, ^This lad was named Scheepers. Later on. this band in their wanderings in the fog met with a detachment of Boers and were compelled to release their prisoners, but when the boy returned his father was dead. 162 Delia Dorn And try to staunch the crimson tide That issued from his father's side, But e'en that prayer the foe denied. They urged the lad at ruthless pace By means as merciless as base, For prisoners give a Briton joy, E'en though the victim be a boy. IX Approaching night o'er hill and plain Has turned the mist to chilly rain, And as the wounded patriots lie, Shut out from even a friendly sky, They curse the hour that Cecil Rhodes* First planned the wreck of their abodes. And, undeterred by rain and blood, Resolve to die for country's good. X When morning dawned the foe had fled, And left the wounded and the dead. With victualed wagons, full a score, And much of ammunition store To mercies of the hated Boer. Wecil Rhodes: Mr Rhodes was an Englishman who had gone to South Africa, probably in search of health, about the time that gold and diamonds were discovered there. His home was at Kimberly, just west of Orange Free State. He had become immensely rich and was regarded by the Boers as the prime instigator of the war. He died of heart disease a short time before the close of hostilities, March 26th, 1902. or Struggles of the Boers 163 The Boers knew not the battle won, Until the rays of rising sun Had lifted up the misty shield, And they could view the battle-field; And as they gazed upon the glen Where British foes had yester been, And watched their hurried columns meet Upon the plain in quick retreat, A thousand yells exultant rose. Whose echoes reached the flying foes. Which only served to urge the mass On through the dangerous mountain pass. Three days and nights the bands retreat, Thus emphasizing their defeat, Which jingo lords, through British Press, Translate into their first success.^ XI 'Tis quiet now o'er hill and glen, Save cries of pain from wounded men, And thirst that follows sanguine flow, Which none but wounded soldiers know. The scene appealed to Meyer's heart And touched his spirit's milder part. For wounded Britons' friends had fled iWliile the British were thus retreating, leaving their dead and wounded upon the battlefield, the British war papers were feasting their readers with the glorious news of a British success. 164 Delia Dorn And left them mingled with the dead. Up from the stream is water brought/ And every wounded soldier sought, While surgeons give their tender care To friends and foes an equal share, And only ask the Britons brought If they can tell for whom they fought.^ The living share a Christian's aid, And for the dead a grave is made, While o'er the graves of friend and foe Salutes^ are fired, respect to show. Down in a quiet, shady glen, Far from the haunts of living men. Where leafy trees their branches spread Like angels' pinions overhead; Where travelers hear the cooing dove Tell to its mate its tale of love; Oblivious now to battle-tide. Sleep Boers and Britons side by side. iNo history which I have seen mentions the burghers as carrying water to the British wounded at this particular battle, but as they did so on other occasions — as at Nich- olson's Kop — it is mentioned here by anachronism. 2 "A Boer doctor at Modderspruit . . . asked him" (a wounded Briton) "for whom he thought he was fight- ing, country or capitalists? . . . 'Well,' replied the soldier, 'I won't swear it is not for the Mahdi ! I cannot, after what I have seen of the Boers on the field, and since I have been wounded in this battle, believe I am fighting for the Queen of England.' " — (The Boer Fight for Free- dom, p. 161.) ^Salutes are fired: Anachronism from General Ben Vil- joen after the battle of Modderspruit. When a soldier is buried, guns are fired over the grave as a mark or respect. or Struggles of the Boers 165 XII Oh, fair Talana, many a year Wilt thou behold the widow's tear; Long will thy rocks with gunner's scar Speak to thy youth of cruel war ; But when the hand of time shall chase Each wound of thine from crown to base, Still in the heart of thy proud race Will linger seeds of freedom sown, Whose yield will shake the British throne. 166 Delia Dorn Chapter XI Oh, that Transvaal could view no more The blood of Briton or of Boer ; But ah! Majuba's^ crimson top Contagion brings to every kop, To Briton vengeance, hope to Boer, Unmindful each of other's gore. II Along the ocean's glistening foam Ten thousand troops from England come, Who lightly deem^ the task assigned A country's liberty to bind, And pass with jest the sanguine flow That brings, to hearts of mothers, woe, As though 'twere but a harmless strife ^Majuba: This is a mountain in the southeastern part of Transvaal. On the top of this mountain the Boers utterly defeated a British detachment under Sir George Colley, February 27th, 188 1. Six hundred and fifty Britons took a stand on the top of the hill. About 400 burghers climbed the hill with their rifles, and when the battle was over the British had lost 283 men in killed, wounded and prisoners, and the Boers had one man killed and five wounded. '^Lightly deem: The British thought it would be quite an easy task to subdue the Boers, and confidently ex- pected to eat their Christmas dinner in Pretoria. Their disappointment must have been great indeed when they found that instead of from October 11th to Christmas, it required two years and eight months to complete the task, and even then were compelled to give terms which scarcely bore the mark of victory. or Struggles of the Boers \67 To seek a Christian brother's Hfe. The cruel joke and laughter's roar Index their views of ''worthless Boer," As they presage, with biased mind, An easy conquest soon to find. But there is one who knows too well More than he now can dare to tell. Who shares no joy in jestings rude Of Briton's low and murderous brood: It is the scout for Britain's band — The young and valiant "Billy Brande." His manly face so young and bright Finds grace in every Briton's sight, And, though he shuns their jestings low, As slave would shrink from master's blow, Still, for his bearing bold and grand, They have respect for "Billy Brande." A well-observant eye would note The scowls that o'er his features float. Whene'er a mention, low and base, Is coupled with the Transvaal race; But he avoids the shrewder gaze Of those who know deception's ways, Whose eyes are trained to read the mind From lineaments but ill defined. Or ears to catch deceptive word Unnoticed by the common herd. 168 Delia Dorn III Upon fair Afric's shining strand At Port Natal the transports land, And troops are marched along the shores, Which Britons seized from weaker Boers Whose newer homes and fresher soil Again the British plan to spoil. While views a heartless gazing world From land and home a nation hurled. Now Buller^ leads the British throng; An army twice ten thousand strong, 'Til, o'er Colenso's grassy dale, His tents are spread along the vale. While Botha, with five thousand men, The kopjes^ hold above the glen. IV Oh, Tugela,^ thou flowing stream, ^Buller: The British general who commanded at Co- lenso. ^Kopje (Pronounced Kop'-ha) : A little hill, same as kop. ^Tugela: A river in the northern part of Natal. It flows eastward, and Colenso, a small town, stands a few hundred yards south of the river. At a mile or less east of Colenso the river turns abruptly north and washes the western base of Lang^'^ani, a rather high hill on its eastern bank, continues its course northward a few miles and turns eastward again. Three miles west of Colenso there is a ford on the river called "Bridle drift." Buller and his forces were camped south of Colenso, while Botha and his burghers were north of the river, directly west of Lang- wani hill. This was one of the most disastrous battles for the English during the war, and unless the reader fixes well in his mind the positions mentioned in this note, many of the statements in the text will be entirely meaningless. or Struggles of the Boers 169 Upon thy banks how oft the dream Of freedom filled the burgher's breast, And gave to toil a greater zest, And ended day with calmer rest ! But, ah ! those dreams were idle tales,^ For, soon their hopes were turned to wails Of women on the mountain moor. All homeless, friendless, hungry, poor, While British robbers of their nest Deny, e'en now, the wanderers rest. The homes they made beyond the Vaal Are threatened now with British thrall. But ere those homes such thralldom reach. The art of war will patriots teach. And ere the goal shall sate their eye, Will many a Briton learn to die. V The sun had set and all was still. And quiet flowed each listening rill ; The Britons took their evening meal, And jested light of foeman's steel. As, round the camp-fire's ruddy blaze. They talked, or sang their warrior lays. Within the Chieftain's- tent were set The officers in council met. ^Dreams were idle tales: Natal was taken from the Boers by the English about the year 1840. '^Chieftain: General Buller. 170 Delia Dorn And as the stars came slowly out, The Chieftain called to hhn his Scout, And, in his uniform arrayed. The summons "Billy Brande" obeyed. The Scout, the Chieftain closely scanned. And then he said : "Up, Captain Brande, Lead thou thy troopers o'er the plain. Where'er thou dar'st to guide the rein. And, long ere dawn its beamlets show. Bring me full tidings of the foe. At three my troops will face the damp Around young Botha's flimsy camp. And morn will view yon western kop With Britain's men upon its top, And north and east around the Boer, From every hill my guns will roar. And, 'neath the sun's yet eastern flame. My troops will bag the tincheled game." VI Young Brande now bowed him from the tent. But on far different mission bent, And thanked the darkness for its grace To hide the scowl upon his face. Quick to his steed the captain sprung. The courser's sides his rowels stung. And, with his score of daring men, He swiftly dashed along the glen. To Bridle Drift he made his way Nor did the stream his course delay For as he neared the river side He plung-ed his steed into the tide. or Struggles of the Boers 171 Each of his troop was Britain's friend, Nor must they guess that he would lend A friendly aid to Buller's foe, Or cause a Briton's blood to flow ; And, feigning love for England's cause. He bade the band of warrior's pause, And, hiding hate within his breast. He thus the scouting band addressed : "Brave comrade troopers, we tonight Must dare to die for country's right. And, if there's one who fears to go Around the camp of Britain's foe, Let him return to Buller's wing Unfit to serve a pauper's king, Nor think his path from danger free, Who dares tonight to ride with me." The troopers all with one acclaim Resolved to die for Britain's name. And by their accents plainly showed Their heart was in their country's good. To bridle drift he made his way Nor did the stream his course delay. For as he neared the river side, He plunged his steed into the tide, And well it was that yester night His eye had caught young Saris' light, And thus a way of safety found 172 Delia Dorn Around brave Botha's laager^ ground, Else had his Hfe the forfeit paid, And burghers mourned his wilHng aid. They gained, at length, the farther shore Nor challenge heard from guarding Boer, And as they on and onward sped All was as silent as the dead. VII O'er kop and vale and rocky height Orion guides their course aright, For in the east that blazing star Seems beckoning on the sons of war. The band now took the eastward way ; Upon their right the laager lay, And when they reached a kopje's crest, The captain bade his comrades rest; And while they sat upon the ground, And sent their jovial jestings round. Their leader drew himself apace To better view the laager place. Below them in the quiet glen Lay Botha's band of patriot men. But naught of camp shone through the night. Save now and then a flickering light Of guardsman's lamp or ruddier hue Of coals expiring 'neath the dew. ^Laager: A Boer camp. or Struggles of the Boers 173 Now from his vest, all unobserved, He took the lamp so long preserved, And gave a signal to the camp, And hoped reply from Saris' lamp. Soon on the wings of central night Came flashes three of piercing light. Which caused his heart with joy to swell ; Joy which he felt but dared not tell. He touched the key with nervous hand To warn brave Botha's burgher band. And while he felt for them a prayer, He flashed this message through the air: "Ho ! Saris, ho ! guard well thy right, The foe surrounds thy camp tonight" vni With lighter heart and calmer mood. Before his band the captain stood. And, glancing o'er the eastern dell, He gave command to mount the selle.^ Each warrior rose and mantle shook. And o'er the camp cast glancing look, Like heavy-antlered, hunted stag. That stands upon the mountain crag, And feigns contempt for hunter's blow, But fears the hound that bays below. All unobserved, the scouting troop ^Selle: A saddle. 174 Delia Dorn March down the kopje's eastern stoop, And ere an hour, again they stand Upon the river's mossy strand. Again they plunge into the stream, The base^ of many a Chieftain's dream, And when they reach the farther brink And midnight's chilly stillness drink. They southward turn by river's edge, By many a jutting rocky ledge, And when they reach the veldty height, Langwani bursts upon their sight. All on its top is cold and still. Nor signs of life along the hill. And by the breeze denied a breath, It seems to sleep the sleep of death. IX Beneath their tread the valley heaves. Mimosas^ close their tender leaves, And, well beyond brave Botha's guard — Their southward course by nothing barred — O'er stream and veldt and heathery sward, The sounding hoof of chargers' tramp Is heard approaching Buller's camp. ^ ^Base: Foundation. This stream was considered a bar- rier, to some extent, to the approach of foes. ^Mimosa: A kind of plant, varying from a small vine to a scrubby tree, which has the power of closing its leaves on being touched. There are groves of such trees around Colenso. or Struggles of the Boers 17 S And when they reach the British Hne, The captain gives the countersign^ — Unmindful of the foaming spray From coursers' sides that deck the way Like flaky snow by tempest driven When winter scours the face of heaven — And, swift as carrier-pigeon free, They press to Buller's tent at three. Already do the columns form Like threat'ning clouds of rising storm, And lamp and torch in many a row Reveal the strength of Botha's foe. Assembled now in Buller's tent, But few the hasty moments spent, As round their Chief the troopers stand To hear report from Billy Brande. "Attention ! Chief," the scout began, "While Hastings^ here — thy bravest man — Shall spokesman be of all we know. And plan thy march around the foe." " 'Tis well," said Buller, "but be brief Lest rising day should bring us grief, And find our tinchel still undrawn Around the young and wary fawn." ^Countersign: Pass-word. ^Hastings: One of Brande's comrades. 176 Delia Dorn X "Ah! noble BuUer," Hastings said, "Would that such honor could be spread In truth, above thy servant's head; But 'bravest man' alone applies To Captain Brande, as brave as v^ise, Whose dauntless heart no danger flies. 'Twas he that led our band tonight Around the guards of Botha's right, And, by his skill and daring, found Safe passage round the burgher's ground. To bridle drift he led the way. Nor did the stream our course delay. And, though we feared a Mauser's gleam, We passed unchallenged through the stream And out upon the northern bank Around the west of Botha's flank. Nor did for rest a moment stop 'Til we had reached a northern kop, Where, to the south in small array, The sleepy tents of Botha lay. Then down the eastern slope we passed O'er kop and vale, until at last The Tugela again we crossed, And sight of Botha's laager lost. Here, southward turned our darksome way Along the river's rising spray, or Struggles of the Boers 177 And when upon the veldt we drew, Langwani's crest arose to view, But veldt and stream and craggy hill So quiet seemed and deathly still, All wore the air of funeral car More than the busy scenes of war. On through mimosa groves we pressed, Nor paused again for courser's rest Til where yon stately palm trees wave The pass-word to thy guard we gave, And now before our Chief we stand To wait alone his high command." *'Well hast thou done," the Chief replied; *Take thou thy rest 'til morning tide, For greater service thou canst yield, As scouts, than on the battle-field. And now, brave Brande, this daring deed Deserves a soldier's highest meed. And I could envy thee thy name Thou mayest from hist'ry's pages claim; For with thy aid our cannon's roar Will seal the fate of hated Boer." XI The band dispersed, and to his tent Each trooper now, all buoyant, went. And soon, with calm and peaceful breast, They all, save one, had sunk to rest. 178 . Delia Dorn With pensive mood young Brande retired And often of himself inquired : ''What laws have 'hated Boers' transgressed That they should now be thus distressed? And is it wrong, Oh, heaven ! that I Should serve my country as a spy? If it be wrong. Oh, God, forgive The deed that aids my country live." Oh, who can scale the spirit's height That dares for native land to fight, Or measure depth of warrior soul That seeks but freedom as its goal ? or Struggles of the Boers 179 Chapter XII 'Tis three o'clock; oh, solemn night, Why do thy stars refuse their light To veldty hills and winding streams, Where eve beheld their twinkling beams? Why do the mists come rolling down Upon mimosa grove and town, Concealing all upon the plain Beneath the robe of falling rain? Oh, Tugela, thou gentle stream, Thy surface greets no starry gleam, But, like the grief of sorrowing souls Thick darkness o'er thy bosom rolls. Does heaven itself refuse to see Thy sons contend for Liberty? But ah ! full soon thy bosom fair Will catch the gleam of cannon's glare, And the harsh voice of battle's roar Convulse thy wave from shore to shore. Thy banks will shelter heroes' graves, And blood be mingled with thy waves. And long Colenso's maids will dream Of fancied moans beside thy stream. Already Buller's columns stand. And but await their Chief's command 180 Delia Dorn Across the plain to northward go To reach the kops beyond the foe. When Buller heard his trusty scout, Quick was removed his faintest doubt That he an easy way had found To circle Botha's laager ground. Command is given, the columns start; Quick rushes blood through every heart, Each eager now to meet the foe And be the first to strike a blow. Three columns move; one to the right To scale Langwani's steepy height; And central troops approach the bridge, To occupy Fort Wylie ridge,^ While others to the leftward shift To cross the stream at Bridle Drift. But ah ! the Boers have caught the light That Brande had flashed to Saris' sight. And all along the northern strand The burghers with their rifles stand. II But hark! what sounds come through the damp, Ere warrior burghers leave the camp ? What notes are those like muffled drum "^Fort Wylie Ridge: This is a hill on the north side of the river between the river and Botha's camp. The bridge spanned the river between Colenso and Fort Wylie. or Struggles of the Boers 181 That o'er the hills and valleys come? A thousand voices seem to rise Like angels chanting from the skies With chorus sung by seraphim; It is the burghers' morning hymn.^ Each voice attuned to Christian lays, To God its humblest tribute pays, And as the anthem floats along, Each warrior's soul is in the song. Ill The hymn is ended, and a prayer Is borne upon the morning air As they, with contrite, pleading tones For mercy seek the Throne of thrones. Oh, that the world had listening ear That humble, earnest prayer to hear, As in humility they come To God for aid to save their home. IV With gun and well-filled bandolier^ Each burgher now, with naught of fear. Nor star to shed its twinkling gleam. Through darkness seeks the winding stream, ^It was the custom of the Boers to engage in singing and prayers before going into battle. '^Bandolier: A belt worn around the body or over the shoulder for carrying ammunition. 182 Delia Dorn And long before the foe can reach That fatal river's southern beach The watchful, trusting, praying Boer Is guarding well its northern shore; Nor do the burgher soldiers know How much to Billy Brande they owe, As they beside the river stand To wait approach of Buller's band. Far to the south from Buller's camp The Britons come with steady tramp. Nor voice of trump or rolling drum, As through the dark the British come. Attends their march across the heath Into the jaws of certain death. V The drift, the bridge, the lofty hill,^ Which to the scouts had seemed so still. Are now aflame with watchful eyes As silently each burgher lies With Mauser held within his grasp. Whose sting, more deadly than the asp. So soon may tell its mournful tale Of blood along Colenso's vale. With careless step, on, on they come, Nor deem so near their early doom Which now prepares for them a tomb. ^Lofty hill: Langwani. or Struggles of the Boers 183 So near they come, they seem to rise Before the watchful burgher's eyes A moving wall of darker shade Than clouds upon the veldt had laid. At length they reach the southern shore Full now in sight of hiding Boer, And on the bank their columns stand By Tugela's dark, mossy strand. VI They pause, and lo ! above the stream From yonder bank there comes a gleam. As though the lightning's blinding glare Leap't out from earth into the air, And o'er the stream the leaden rain Mows down their ranks like ripened grain.^ Confusion marks the human wall. As riders reel and chargers fall. And blood and death and dying yell With consternation fill the dell. 'Twas but a moment, all was done; ^This attempt of the British to surround the Boer camp In the night is connected with the battle of Colenso by- anachronism. It was at the battle of Magersfontein, De- cember 11th, at which this disastrous attempt was made, four days before the battle of Colenso. At Magersfonfein, Lord Methuen undertook to surround General CronjS's laager under cover of the darkness and unexpectedly en- countered the entrenched burghers at half-past three in the morning. It is said that 700 Britons fell in a half minute. The battle of Colenso was fought December 15th, 1899, and did not begin until after daylight. 184 Delia Dorn A thousand mothers wept a son, And England's hope of easy pass, Lay buried 'neath the dying mass. As from the field the living fled, And left the dying and the dead. VII When day peeped forth, the parting cloud No longer spread its misty shroud Above the valley, stream and hill, Which yester eve had found so still. And when the prince of morning rose, The sky was spread above the foes. VIII Along Colenso's southern glen The tattered host of Buller's men In restless bands dejected lay. Poor numerous remnant of the fray. They seemed unwilling yet to yield To such small foe the battle-field, And thus allow the world to see Their troops' inferiority. IX Near to the bridge twelve cannons come ; O'er burghers' heads the bullets hum, As Colonel Long the guns command And makes for England stubborn stand, With hope to change by such array or Struggles of the Boers 185 The sad misfortunes of the day. His guns are trained upon the hill; Their echoes distant valleys fill, As shrapnel, lyddite shell and ball Among brave Botha's soldiers fall. The burghers lie behind the rocks And thus avoid the cannons' shocks, And from the ranks of hidden Boers A ceaseless rain of bullets pours, While every shot is made with aim And brings its tale of "British game." No man on earth could hope to stand Before the storm of such a band, — Such horizontal sheets of lead As round the cannon-service spread, — And soon deserted stands each gun All silent, useless and alone. X Thus stood the cannons on the field. Nor Boers nor foes the guns would yield; The fear of Boers the British felt. Nor burghers dared to cross the veldt. All knew the danger and were loath To reach the guns in range of both. And thus they stood by foemen crossed, Ungained by Boer, to Briton lost. At length the British madly dabh, 1H6 Delia Dorn (Hravc was tlic deed, tlic act ion rasli), And will) a llioiisand daring' men Like winlry l)last tliey sweep llic k'*'"» And like (lie rocks of niounlnin |)ass Aronnd llic p;nns (lie i'rilons mass. r.nl ah! 'tis sad to tell of slrifr That costs so nineli of British life, I'or siieli brave ^\^.'v^\ must win applause Iwen llionf^li 'lis joined vvilli wionj^fnl canse. AJ^^•lin upon llic f.ilal spol I 'ours down .1 r.iln of liissin^ shot, And M.'iiiscr hall and ('rensol -shell The head-roll of Ihe ihilish tell. XI I)nt ho! a \\v(\ Cross' banner soars lU'tween the f^nns and "haled I'oers," And, safe as 'neath a llaf,^ of Iniec 'The leams from l\ed (.'ross earls lliey loose, And lliiis, heiiealh woild honored sliicM, 'riiey rush Iwo eaniions from llie held, I 'referrinjj^ eensnre and disf^raee 'To leavinjj; eannons in llieir place. ^Uiul CroHH: It 1m an undDiHiirxllnff ninoiiK all civilized nntlotiH tlint (lie Ked (^tomh imi.sl ho rcHitcclrd. Tl Ih iiHOrt III cni'liiK I'di* IIk^ woiliidfil in h.'illlc, Hm iiii.HMluii Ix'iiiK <)ti<) of iiKM'cy, mihI II Im 11 brrncli of iiil<M-ii;i I loiinl IniNl for It Id ho iiHod for iiiiytliliiM: «'!»<>, IIioiikIi II Ih Hiild Ihiil llio MrlloiiH look t(<iiMiH Troiii IIk^ Itcd (Mohm wiikixim mid tliiiH I'cHciicd two of lll(^ Ivvidvo c'liiitioiiH Icl'l on [\w Held at ('oloiiHo, or Slru(j(jh's oj llic liucrs 187 liill, niiM-ly Diri) hy P>iiII()( !•: ' |(<1, i<L'ni;i.in wli'ii ;ill llx- k',1 Ii;ivc flcl, An<l lie; coucfaic*! in Hoii^a;^ dccj) Aii'l \\()\)v. rcniainiiii-', ^iiii', to ktM-p Til darkness, like proh-ninj; ami, Can sliiehl their rank from hnr^jher li.iiin, /\n'! 'nc.ilh llic •.liclhrjnj^ wiii|^ of nij^lit To move ll)<- j'jMr. from I'olli.i's si^Hil. XII But all! llie P>ocrs too ea^'er grow Sneli j>ri/.e lo win from sneli a foe, And I'jnmell hiave and roIilm;m wise Oossed r>'er llie sfreani lo hriii;', I In- prize, And will] two liniidred hnrglier sons 'ri)«y 111 ,li 111'- dongas near iIm- j^mis. '*Surrend'r, liiiions!" l'ol)lin;m rried, And Irenihliiif'^ fo^-s ;i1 once eonijilicd, Jinf. llieir coirimand<:r, linlloek hrave, A jjiercing look lo I'olilman j^'ive, And Willi revolver fired a sliot, Resolv'd lo (\\c upon the ftpoi, J'r'f'ii in;^ d<;i,tli in vali-'uil fi^ht To life heiKMlh a prison's hli^dif. An hundred hiillets would have hissed ^fiullof.k: All l';(ij.',n''li 'olofxJ, WiiiiU'.vcr iimy h<i «!»I4 of iilH ju'lKT'i'-nt, H\in-ly lowtirdli-.t', VV.iM nol. ittn: of hlM fsiulfM. TUt'. Mhoi. whl<:h he Unui woMitd'-A a ]nmsin'.v in the h;jfi<i. 188 Delia Dorn Through Bullock^s form, and he had kissed The earth, reward for that rash deed; Reward, too oft the soldier's meed. Put Pohhiian saw and much admired Impulse that Bullock's soul inspired, And to his men quick orders gave The valiant Briton's life to save. Long will the Boers link Bullock's name With deeds of valor and of fame. For they delight in valor's blow E'en though 'tis struck by burghers* foe. XIII The day is won, the battle fought; Across the stream the guns are brought, And quiet reigns along the glen Save as the groans of wounded men — Poor, thirsty victims, of despair — Are borne upon the evening air. Into their camp the burghers haul Twelve wagons filled with shell and ball. And though the world on such has frowned, Dum-bullets^ are by burghers found. '^Dutndum bullets: These are leaden balls split into quarters at the front end, so that when it enters the body the points will separate and make a much larger and more fatal wound than a smooth bullet. All nations regard this ball as too barbarous to be used in battle. It is said that the Boers often captured British ammunition wagons which contained these barbarous missiles. or Struggles of the Boers 189 XIV From distant hills, like farewell word, Faint booming cannons still are heard, But, like the sun through rifted cloud, While still the thunders echo loud From distant hill and ruined tower, Proclaims the close of summer shower, The cannons' fast receding roar Announced the bloody conflict o'er. XV Beside a rock a burgher lay, Where fell the thickest of the fray. Whose age was three-score years and ten. Though still as hale as younger men. And by his side a stripling Boer ; A youth of only ten-and-four. His boyish look and youthful face Bore lineaments of noble race. While his quick eye and features mild Seemed blending warrior, man and child. Oom Piet,^ though, was cool and sage Far, far beyond his tender age. And from his grandsire at his side. Had caught the fire of freedom's tide, ^Oom Piet and his grandfatner were killed at the battle of Spion Kop, January 24th, 1900, just one month and nine days after the battle of Colenso, but the story is placed here for convenience. 190 Delia Dorn And gloried in the thought that he Could aid his country's liberty. Thus disproportionate in age, Throughout the day 'neath cannon^s rage The grandson and the grandsire lay Beneath the rock's kind sheltering stay, And by their well-directed fire Did many an English troop expire. Whene'er the lad's quick piercing eye Beheld a British column fly, His rising joy he could not quell, But gave a loud, exultant yell; And, when before his Mauser's bead A Briton fell upon the mead. With sparkling eyes the stripling said: "Grandpapa, look ! before my ball I saw another Rooinek fall." XVI Empty at length his bandolier, Nor other ammunition near. And ere his rashness could be stayed He leap't before the barricade. And from a burgher soldier slain He took a belt, and back again So quick, his shots were scarcely missed, Which down the slope incessant hissed. But ah ! 'tis sadness to relate or Struggles of the Boers 191 Of this brave pair on early fate, For when the morrow's sun arose And far had fled the British foes, The burghers sought the lonely kop, And there upon its rugged top. Beside a rock's high, steepy way Oom Piet and his grandsire lay, But ah! the souls of both had fled And they were numbered with the dead. The soldiers gazed upon the brow Of the fair youth, oblivious now To cannon's roar, or battle's rage. As, side by side with hoary age. The youthful brave so quiet lay With lips that almost seemed to say: "My young life was for country given, Press thou for freedom and for heaven." Near by beneath a quiet shade One grave for both the soldiers made, And side by side they sweetly sleep Unconscious that their comrades weep And place upon their lonely bier The soldier's last farewell — a tear. XVII But, oh! thou brave and youthful Oom, Long will thy friends weep o'er thy tomb, And many a stranger drop a tear 192 Delia Dorn Above thy brave and youthful bier. Thou wast on earth a hero born, Who saw but Hfe's most early morn, But thou hast more, far more to boast Than all the vanquished British host. As sparks that on the embers lie Shed brightest beams just ere they die, So did thy death to rays give birth Whose beams will spread o'er all the earth. or Struggles of the Boers 193 Chapter XIII Six weary months^ have passed away, And still the burghers stand "at bay," But, oh! what heartaches foes have given, As Boers from home and loved ones driven, Have wandered o'er their once free veldt And every form of torture felt. With Cronje^ gone and Joubert^ dead, The hope of many a burgher fled; But there are thousands yet who stand For freedom and their native land. Pretoria fall'n,* Bloemfontein^ lost. And country swept by British host, And even into the burgher's home The Briton and the savage come, '^Six weary months: The battle of Colenso was fought December 15th, 1899. This chapter begins with incidents which occurred about the middle of May, 1900. '. ^Cronje gone: General Cronje, together with nearly four thousand burghers, surrendered to Lord Roberts at Paarde- berg, February 2 7th, 1900, and all were sent to St. Helena. Cronje was born at Potchefstroom, in western Transvaal, and was called "The Lion of Patchefstroom." I had the pleasure of meeting General Cronje and wife at St. Louis in October, 1904, and gained from them much valuable in- formation. Mrs. Cronje told me that the general lost twenty-one sons and grandsons in the war with England. ^General Joul^ert. chief commander of the Boer army, died March 27th, 1900. ^Pretoria fell into the hands of Lord Roberts June 5th, 1900. ^Bloemfontein, the capital of the Orange Free State, was surrendered to the English March 13th, 1900. 194 Delia Dorn And many a dark, inhuman deed Have marked the civil (?) Briton's tread. Brave Botha, Meyer^ and De Wet- Give punishment to Britons yet, And at the crest of many a kop Compel the British hordes to stop. And redden still their native plain With crimson streams of British slain. But ah! they can no longer face The British host that now menace Their freedom, land, their very air, And spread destruction everywhere. The ocean wave has borne along A force two hundred thousand strong. And every form of punishment That British genius can invent Is sanctioned by her men of trust, Though deemed by all the world unjust, And hopeless seems the strife and vain, When foes, like locusts, scour the plain. ^Lucas Meyer: This is the same Meyer who commanded the burghers at Talana Hill. ^Christian DeWet was one of the most wary generals of which history gives us any record. He seemed always to be just where the enemy least expected him. Several times the foe had him completely surrounded, but he was always able to find a sufficiently large mesh in the net through which to find his way out. or Struggles of the Boers 195 II Oh, Deredepoort, long will thy name Remind the world of British shame, And blood of wives and children shed Bedim the crown on Britain's head And be redeemed, not with her gold, But with her blood an hundred fold. Ill Lord Roberts now has chief command, And strikes the Boers with ''iron hand," Nor honor deems, save in his blade. For diamonds are with honor weighed. He is a native Kaffir's friend Whene'er such Kaffir help will lend To aid in his unrighteous cause, Though it oppose eternal laws, And win but savages' applause. Outnumbered thus by ten to one. Still knew the Boer to use his gun. And many a battle still was fought That to the patriots victory brought; For burghers stood their homes to hold. While Britons fought for fame and gold. IV When Botha from Pretoria drew His little band — oh, sad adieu ! — And sorrowing gazed upon the hills, 196 Delia Doni The lovely fields and flowing rills, And their loved city, once the pride Of every burgher at his side, His generous heart no longer kept The fount of tears which long had slept, For he and his companions wept. But when he scanned the southern plain And saw Lord Roberts and his train. Which, but as robbers now had come To seize the burghers' rightful home. With clinched teeth and hard-drawn breath, Said he, ''We'll fight them to the death." With Lucus Meyer and De la Ray^ And Steyn^, he soon was on his way To where his men in laager lay. And e'er the sun's cold wintry beams With moon-tide rays adorned the streams, And jeweled Transvaal's crystal rills, Was safe among the eastern hills. V To face two hundred thousand guns With twenty thousand burgher sons. Would seem a task which none would care ^De la Ray: General De la Ray was a Boer general of more than ordinary ability. 2Mr. Steyn was president of the Orange Free State, but he took the field at the commencement of the war and remained to the last. or Struggles of the Boers 197 To hazard, and but few would dare, But when the wives and children stand Between the heart and looting band, The soul counts not the numbers met, Except its keener wits to whet. And as the oak of giant form Defies the wind of threat'ning storm. With dauntless courage burghers stood To price their homes with British blood. VI But ah ! Transvaal, thou'rt not aware What heartless hordes thy foemen are. But thou wilt learn, at country's cost, A British foe to virtue lost. 'Tis but thy treacherous memory blurred That bids thee trust a Briton's word. And gives a hope that thou hast found A Christian foe by honor bound. If once thy memory would recall ''Sand River peace" and ''Aliwal," And read again the promise given That thou should'st never more be driven A homeless wanderer o'er the plain. Thou could'st not trust their word again. Their solemn pledge they now ignore And barter faith for gold and gore, Which pledge 'twould seem was only made 198 Delia Dorn To lull the Boers for final raid. But Britain has mistook her "game" And poorly chose the road to fame; Her wrongs must seas of blood atone, Ere burghers yield to British crown. VII A week is spent by Roberts' men Within Pretoria's walls, and then Again o'er hill and dale and stream The Boers behold their lances gleam. In all directions Britons go. At first, in search of burgher foe. And later, moves each rank and corps In deathly dread of "hated Boer." When bands are large, they win the field, When small, they to the burghers yield, And oft, a town which Britons win, A fortnight gives to Boers again. VIII Thus, circling round, the war goes on, Bands here today, tomorrow gone. DeWet is trapped at night in vain; At early dawn he's gone again. And bands, surprised by Steyn today. Tomorrow, find him miles away. IX A year goes by, foes still arrayed. or Struggles of the Boers 199 But Roberts finds no progress made, For still nine-tenths of Transvaal lands Are in the valiant burghers' hands. His numerous bands cannot subdue The farms and towns and hold them, too. For he no sooner takes a town And leaves behind a garrison. Than swooping burghers raid the glen And seize his stores and trembling men. Lord Roberts now is much perplexed, Nor knows what plan should be his next, For with ten men to meet each Boer, His pride forbids a call for more. It seems, a Christian such as he. Would now invoke the Deity, And thus beseech a higher Power To aid him in his sorest hour; But, no ; if Roberts prayed at all. 'Twas Satan heard the wailing call. And taught him how the stubborn Boers Might soon be swept from Afric's shores. Perhaps he bade him call to mind How Erin's hopes were all resigned. When Cromwell, through the helpless slain, Reduced the Celts to British reign. X An order now goes far and wide 200 Delia Dorn That homes be burned on every side, And wives and children of the Boers Be turned upon the mountain moors, And farms on which the children toiled, Destroyed, where railroad track was spoiled.^ All stock, ten miles around a break, In railroad track, the British take, And ladies must in prison live Who shelter to their brothers give; And girls, who sing their "nation's air," Must, too, a term in prison share. ^ The Zulu bands, "a chartered crew,"^ Their depredations now renew, And all the loot to Britons bear And take a tithe for robbers' share. SOLILOQUY, The latest theologians say That hell is all a sham, That God's too tender souls to slay, Too merciful to damn. lOn September 2d Lord Roberts issued an order that in case the railroad track was damaged, the farm nearest the spot should be burned and all farms within a radius of tfen miles should be cleared of stock, supplies, etc. ^Several ladies were imprisoned for thirty days for giv- ing food and shelter to burghers, and others for singing their national hymn in the hearing of some British officers. 3British officers allow bands of Zulus to loot Boer settle- ments, with the understanding that all stock and other spoils are to be brought to the British and the robbers are to be allowed one-tenth of the plunder. or Struggles of the Boers 201 Tve thought this matter over well, And it appears to me That if there is no real hell, There surely ought to be. XI The burghers who are forced to yield To greater numbers on the field, May fare no better than the ones Who still refuse to yield their guns. For Britons oft a target^ find In those who have their arms resigned. The wounded Boers on battle-plain Have furnished blood the lance to stain,^ While British ghouls, when foes have fled, Oft ro-b the wounded and the dead. Their nation's rank aside they toss 1 "A lancer, writing home, had his letter published by his admiring relative in the Brighton 'Argus.' This cham- pion of Christian England said : 'We got a charge at them ; they asked for mercy, but we were told not to give any, and I assure you they got none. We went along sticking our lances through them — it was a terrible thing, but you have to do it in a case like this.' " — (The Boer Fight for Freedom, p. 136.) 2Many other instances are recorded where the British soldiers killed burghers after they had been wounded or taken prisoner. When General Joubert was urged by some of his men to follow up his victory over General White (British), he replied: "It would be barbarous to pursue and slaughter a beaten Christian foe." What a contrast in the Christian idea of the two nations! 202 Delia Dorn And violate the "Crimson Cross,"^ Though deemed more sacred by the world Than all war-banners e'er unfurled. They seize the surgeons and the nurse (Such act deserves eternal curse), Nor suffer them to staunch the tide Of bloody streams from burghers' side. XII A proclamation Roberts makes, And for the Crown the country takes, "But such pretense is surely nude Of power to make th' assertion good, For but one-tenth of all the land Is subject to Lord Roberts' band." Thus said the Boers, and still they fight With growing zeal for nation's right, Still willing, for their country's weal. To face disgraceful foeman's steel. But ah! Transvaal, thou'rt yet to learn What base desires in Britons burn. For ne'er was Kaffir crime so bold But they'd increase it many fold If 'twere required to reach thy gold. 'At the battle of Modder River some doctors with their attendants were dressing wounded soldiers, under the Red Cross flag, when a British officer came up and arrested them all and took them to Capetown as prisoners, for- biddmg them to attend the wounded while waiting for transportation. or Struggles of the Boers 203 "Brave warrior" is a glorious name, When life resigns to freedom's claim, But when 'tis spent for selfish gain. Stands not above the robber's plane. The smoke of farms still upward soars, But dauntless stand the patriot Boers, And from their wives bereft of home Does many a word of comfort come. XIII Another year has come and gone, And still the cruel war goes on. Nor savage threat nor burning farms* Incline the Boers to ground their arms. The burning torch the British set To farms of Botha and DeWet, And soon in smoldering ashes lay The house and farm of De la Ray,^ While wife and children, sad and cold. Are turned upon the dreary wold. lit is related by Michael Davitt that on a certain occa- sion some British soldiers notified a widow that they had come to burn her home. She asked why it was to be done. "It is Lord Roberts' order, madam," replied the soldier. "What have I, a widow, done to have my chil- dren's home burned?" "The railway has been torn up a few miles away, and " "But, surely," replied the woman, "if Lord Roberts and 150,000 British soldiers cannot protect the railway, a widow and her children cannot be expected to prevent its being injured." — (The Boer Fight for Freedom, page 452.) Funk & Wagnalls Co., N. Y. 2The homes of Botha, DeWet and De la Ray were burned. De la Ray's wife was compelled for a consider- able time to take refuge in a friendly Kaffir hut. 204 Delia Dorn But these move not the warrior's heart, With hope of Hberty to part, Nor make him more inclined to yield To such vile foe the battle-field. Can there be yet more heinous ill The cup of infamy to fill? Can schemes more hellish still be found By which a nation may be bound? Ah ! yes, there's one, surpassing aught. In hades born, by Satan taught. And concentrado !^ is the name That crowns the tower of Britain's shame. A Concentration camp is made, And thus the brutal scheme is laid To murder children — many scores. And force surrender of the Boers. Oh ! hapless infants, wretched wives. The power that seeks these sacred lives Dares not an equal foe to face Conceyitrado: This is the Spanish name for a camp in which the women and children of the Cubans were kept in prison to induce their belligerent relatives to surrender. The English resorted to this inhuman method in their war upon the Boers. They called their prison a "concen- tration camp," and claimed that it was formed in the interest of humanity, but there is probably no fair-minded person who is at all informed upon the subject that be- lieves the claim to be true. He who can burn the homes of women and children, take the last morsel from their mouths, destroy even their growing crops, and thus deprive them of every means of subsistence, is surely not the one from whom we should expect any very great deeds of philanthropy. or Struggles of the Boers 205 Nor knows the meaning of "disgrace," But deems each Hfe at profit sold, If it may bring an ounce of gold. XIV With wire they fence the accursed camp, As though 'tw,ere meant for beasts to tramp Upon the foul and loathsome spot, Where laws of health are all forgot; Where swine could scarcely well be fed, Nor decent brute would choose to tread. Here fathers, mothers, children, all Are kept, like beasts in filthy stall, While food and drink, at Britain's best, Might well compare with all the rest. Oh, think of wives from shelter torn. And for their loved ones made to mourn; The tears that dim the mother's eye As she beholds her children die. She bore it all, nor was there heard Escape her lips a murmuring word. Nor asked the burghers on the field The freedom of their land to yield. XV The nobler instincts of our race Would spurn such methods low and base, But heartless nations, mad with wealth Scorn not to gain by crawling stealth. 206 Delia Dorn And with their power the poor abuse For gold they cannot hope to use. But Britain's meed will surely come, When she will meet deserving doom, And then thy nation towering high Above Great Britain's sunken sky Will spurn the proudest British brave To be thy meanest burgher's slave. or Struggles of the Boers 207 Chapter XIV. CONCENTRADO \^ Oh, speak it not, Twill make thy cheek grow raging hot, And fiii thy heart with burning shame, More fierce than Etna's mad'ning flame. In that dread name there lurks a curse More dark than aught but demons nurse, And even satan's self would blush And every demon's revel hush To hear the cries for bread, of those Who, held beneath the power of foes As hostages, whose ransom claim Surrender of their country's name. ^While the term "concentrado" has been retained in this story to indicate the generally supposed origin of the brutal method of punishing wives, children, sisters and aged fathers for the continued resistance of husbands, fathers, brothers and sons, it is not at all probable that the Spaniards can justly claim priority to this valuable though eminently barbarous invention. Walter Scott, in his "Lady of the Lake," mentions the circumstance of Roderick Dhu placing the women and children on an Island in Lake Katrine, leaving all the boats on the island side with no means of approach from the mainland, and then quotes the English commander as saying; "My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then. Lords of his mate, and brood and den." The above lines were suggested by a circumstance which took place when Cromwell invaded Scotland. 208 Delia Dorn II Accursed scheme! infernal plot! A country's curse, a nation's blot, That clouds its banner's brightest spot, Erases every deed of fame, And fills the space with blackest shame. More base the deed than satan's plan To tempt^ the wife to reach the man, Which gave the world its primal fall. He gave her but persuasion's call And left her freedom unconfined Nor dared her reason ruthless bind. But far surpassing satan's worst Their fury falls in mad'ning burst Upon the helpless and the weak (Resort that none but dastards seek), And from their homes drag helpless wives And babes to sacrifice their lives To hunger's pang. Oh, cruel fate, Why dost thou thus like fiendish hate Consign such sacred lives as those To gross, profane, abandon foes? Ill Oh, for a word — just one foul word, (One never yet by mortal heard), ^Temptation of Eve in the Garden of Eden. or Struggles of the Boers 209 To name the crime — that damning shame That foully blurs a nation's name And pours disgrace on all who. throng Beneath its banner's harbored wrong. If once that shapeless word were seen, Half seen, in all its horrid mien, 'Twould haunt the soul with torturing pain And hideous monsters wrack the brain 'Til death would be a welcome night To rid thee of the phantom sprite; For, from each letter blood would stream, And with each drop an infant's scream. And in each letter's sudden turn A mother's heart in anguish burn, And over all a misty pall Of maiden's tears like burning gall. IV That word no mortal lips could speak; Nay, demon's tongue were far too weak Its even whispered tones to give. Or touch its least import and live. The lips would parch with liquid fire More fierce than lightning's cloven spire; The tongue would fall as molten lead 'Mid sounds unearthly and more dread Than hellish fiend-song's rabble din In that appointed home of sin. 210 Delia Dorn Its mildest lisp would thunders mock, Its softest tones perdition shock, With voices of ten thousand tongues, Rehearsing Britain's coward wrongs. Wan infants' cries and sisters' throes, And mothers' groans of deeper woes Combined with earth's indignant rage, (Unprecedent on hist'ry's page). Were one confusing din so deep. That nations yet unborn would weep, And on the God of justice call With groans that would the heavens appall. Lest their unhappy lot be cast Beneath that nation's withering blast. V Oh, cursed he so shapeless framed, Called "man," but ah! how illy named, Whose withered heart, decaying brain Could plan such gross inhuman pain, And drink so d-eep of human ill And thus his thirst for plunder fill, Yet fear to meet a foe so small One-tenth his band would cover all. VI May life for him be filled with woes; His steps be dogged by vilest foes; His food all putrid and decayed; or Struggles of the Boers 211 By every friend on earth betrayed. May every pleasure tempt his eye, But ere he reach it may it fly, And disappointment deep and sore, Unfelt by man on earth before, Be his unhappy constant lot. May death, though cherished, greet him not, But let that wretched life remain To mock his vile and fevered brain. And when that soul, perdition-crowned, Consents no longer to be bound By such low-fallen worthless dust Or animate the world's disgust. Then downward, downward let it trend, But not with common fiends to blend. But to far deeper, darker cell Than sacred Canon's pages tell. Let his foul ghost take hasty flight; And there in hopeless, endless night, Where heat emits no ray of light. May its last home of torture lie. An outcast of eternity. ' VII Insult not earth by asking graves For such pollute, ignoble knaves; 212 Delia Dorn The wild simoon^ were far too neat To be such corpse's winding sheet. But let that carcass foul be laid By fiendish hands 'neath Upas'- shade, Where aught with life can linger not, Or touch that doubly death-made spot. VIII Here, to his name, would rise a stone Alike to him and Britain's throne; A marble shaft as black as night — Not that bright black reflecting light, But like that hazy dark that falls From hell's own sin-polluted walls. — IX See'st thou where sculptor's hand hath chased, Upon this stone so dark, debased, A female form, of stature tall, With features w^an and haggard all? See! with her feeble thin right arm. As if to shield from ruffian harm, She clasps a form with terror wild; That is her own, her infant child. Around her neck its arms are twined. ^Simoon: A very hot, destructive wind which blows over a desert. ^Upas: A very poisonous tree of Java. It is said to be so poisonous that nothing, animal or vegetable, can live near it. This, however, is an exaggeration. or Struggles of the Boers 213 Upon her cheek its head inclined, While, round its head, neglected curls Hang like surrendered banner-furls. Their eyes are fixed with varied stare, With terror babe's, in hers despair. Upon a frightful gorgon^ face. Where sympathy has left no trace. But hatred like mad billows driven Before the winds of angry heaven, O'er that grim visage wildly spreads, Nor heeds the tears that mother sheds. His locks are like Medusa's^ curled. Ere Persius from its shoulders hurled The head of her who turned the world To stone, who e'er her features spied. Fit punishment for haughty pride. Thus are his locks with serpents twined. Whose slimy folds they writhing wind Around those horrid features cold, As misers gripe their worshipped gold, ^Gorgon: A mythological monster whose look was death. ^Medusa: A female Gorg-on who considered herself as beautiful as Minerva, who, being- displeased with Medusa's vanity, • turned her beautiful hair to serpents. Medusa now became so hideous that whatever dared to look upon her was turned to stone. Medusa wished now that she could die, and Minerva dispatched Persius, who cut off her head and thus ended her sufferings. 214 Delia Dorn As if in that contemptuous heart They found at last their counterpart. X His murderous eye with fixen stare Views now that mother's wan despair, Nor softens at the mehing sight Of her despair or infant's fright, But o'er his features seems to brood Still greater thirst for helpless blood. With her left hand in vain she tries To stay the hand, where lurking lies A gleaming dagger's murd'rous blade That erst hath many an orphan made, But, ere she can its flight arrest, 'Tis sheathed deep in her quivering breast. XI Below this scene a word appears, Bathed with ten thousand orphans' tears : Tis ''CONCENTRADO"—h\\gUmg breath- This tells the tale — the tale of death, And calmly o'er this brutish knave, Approving, Britain's colors wave. or Struggles of the Boers 215 Chapter XV. Lord Roberts has resigned^ command; Again has sailed for England's strand, And deems complete^ the task assigned, By method base the foe to bind. Lord Kitchener, left on Afric's shores, "Will soon," says he, "subdue the Boers, Who — but a moiety — yet persist. And struggling still, our arms resist." He deems that fighting now is o'er. Save now and then some daring Boer May chance to fire from vantage spot Or vaal-bush clump or hidden grot On small and careless British bands, That still are scouring burgher lands, Who, helpless wives and children take, And leave destruction in their wake. iLord Roberts relinquished the chief British command in South Africa about December 1st. 1900, and Lord Kitchener took charge of affairs in his stead. 2Lord Roberts was rewarded with an earldom for end- ing the war, just seventeen months before the war ended, by which it is plain to see that tardiness is one of Eng- land's faults. 216 Delia Dorn II But, ah, Lord Roberts little knows What hearts are in his burgher foes, For many a tale will yet be told Of daring deeds of burgher bold, And many a Briton yet will fall Who bars the course of Mauser ball. With Kruger now to Holland gone,^ Schalk Burgher leads the patriots on, Nor does he try himself to shield From dangers on the battlefield, But on through weary day and night He leads the thickest of the fight. HI From Vryburg starts a British train Of wagons o'er the ruined plain, With ammunition carts and stores, Across the country of the Boers. Lord Methuen with a thousand men Guards train and stores o'er kop and glen, Nor does he know that De la Ray Will soon dispute the dan^c^erous way. They make a camp at Rooikraal, lAbout the 8th of September, 1900, President Kruger, acting on the advice of General Botha and others, sailed for Holland. This was done partly as a matter of per- sonal safety and partly with the hope of interesting Euro- pean powers in his behalf. or Struggles of the Boers 217 Upon the borders of Transvaal, And night is spent in jovial cheer, Nor deem they burgher foemen near. But, ah, the wary De la Ray Has planned the fight for coming day. And when the night has thrown its veil O'er silent kop and lonely dale. He southward moves a point to gain, Just in the rear of camping train. IV With earliest rays of rising sun Lord Methuen's train moves slowly on, But gathering clouds o'er southern hills Seems omen of approaching ills, And, reading now the thundering roar, The troops exclaim, "The Boer ! The Boer !" Half circling round the burghers come ; With sudden dash strike Britons dumb, And sound of tramping chargers' hoof Like pelting rain on battered roof; The falling Britons and the dead. Combine to paint the battle dread. Amid the storm of flying balls With many more Lord Methuen falls. And British horsemen fly the field, And footmen to the burghers yield, 218 Delia Dorn While ammunition carts and stores Are seized by the victorious Boers. V Brave De la Ray, this is the day Retaliation thou canst pay, For Methuen's is no fatal wound, Nor art thou now by honor bound Thy wonted high respect to show To such a vile, unmanly foe. But no, the burgher spurns to harm. Though Methuen burnt his house and farm And turned his wife and children dear All roofless on the mountain drear; Had -scheepers^ shot and lotter hung, And Boer aspersions glibly sung, And fate of Red Cross bands had sealed For burghers on the battlefield. The smoke of full six hundred" homes Had veiled adjacent kopje domes. And many a deed had stained his sword Unworthy such an honored lord. But all these thoughts are swept aside; iScheepers was an officer in the Boer ai'my, and was tried and executed for burning a British government building in Cape Colony. Lotter was also a minor offlder, and was hung on a charge of capturing and destroying a British train. ^The British estimate of the number of farms burned is 630. This is probably far below the actual number. or Struggles of the Boers 219 They sink below the burgher's pride Who only sees within his power A foeman of the present hour. VI Lord Methuen's slight though painful wound Is by the burghers gently bound, And when to nearest station driven, A full release to him is given. But e'en this act, this noble deed. Receives no just, no ample meed, For, though the world astounded stands To find such hearts in Afric lands. This sacrifice to Christian cause In British press finds no applause. And women still 'neath Britain's eye In Concentrado prisons lie. Ingratitude ! Thou monstrous thing ! More deadly thou than serpent's sting, Nor more is hell of virtue nude Than thou, base, vile Ingratitude! VII There's hurrying now for miles around, Where'er a Briton can be found. And flying bands for shelter haste. By brave, determined burghers chas't. 220 Delia Dorn At noon the brave Van ZyP brings in A scouting corps of twenty men, Whom, found in some sequestered spot, Were captured ere they fired a shot. And now unarmed, escape is barred By watchful eye of burgher guard. The ammunition and the stores Are sent to laagers of the Boers, While dead and wounded Britons share With suffering burghers equal care. VIII To De la Ray at eve is brought A ring of gold and strangely wrought, With guarded pass and mountains tall, And stream that seemed much like the Vaal, And near a maid in close duress He sees engraved the letter "S." He gazed upon the shining thing. And urged his mind some thought to bring, That might the mystery unfold Deep hidden in this ring of gold. At length he reached a happy thought ; Its full import the Chieftain caught. And to his page at once he cried : "Bring Captain Saris to my side." ^Van Zyl, a Boer officer, purposely retreated before Methuen, thus enticing him into the toils of De la Ray. or Struggles of the Boers 221 Soon by the Chief young Saris stands, The ring is placed in Saris' hands, While De la Ray all self-possessed His rising wonder well suppressed, Nor gives he voice to his surprise, When tears have filled his Captain's eyes. ''Know'st thou that ring?" at length he said, But Saris only bowed his head, For his emotion took his speech And placed it far beyond his reach; But soon as quiet filled his breast. He thus his burgher-chief addressed: *'Dear Chief, if thou in me hast found A man by laws of honor bound : Who ne'er hath shunned a dangerous place That promised freedom for our race; Hast found in this poor feeble dust A servant thou canst safely trust. Grant me today this one request, (Nor let me be by question pres't), That round the wearer of this ring I may the arm of safety fling, Nor must thou know his name or place Or even look into his face; For 'tis my promise to conceal What safety cannot dare reveal." Brave De la Ray In musing mood, 222 Delia Dorn As was his wont, a moment stood, And with kind and tender look The hand of his brave captain look, And said : "I well know thou'rt too proud To throw o'er Transvaal cause a cloud: E'en should thy friend thy brother be, Still can I trust our cause with thee; And now thy friend and all his band Unquestioned, wait thy sole command." IX With graceful bow and courteous word. And eyes by tears all vision-blurred. He gave his Chief a parting hand. And quickly sought the scouting band, But when his eyes met Conrad's gaze, Again his heart was all ablaze, And he a moment turned aside His agitated face to hide, But soon again he quelled his breast And thus the British band addressed: "Brave scouting corps, thy burning zeal Has aided much thy country's weal. But still thy caution's woeful lack Hath led thee o'er a dangerous track, Nor should'st thou hope that thine will be A common soldier's clemency. or Struggles of the Boers 223 At morrow's dawn thy band must ride Beyond the Vaal's swift-moving tide, And there within a cavern cell Continuous prisoners thou must dwell; But to the band I'll speak no more; Show me the captain of the corps." At once they led their leader out, Whose well-feigned marks of fear and doubt, As he to Saris' side was led, Filled all his band with deathly dread. "Deal gently, friend," a Briton said. And courteous bowed his trembling head, ''With this, the captain of our band, Our brave and noble Billy Brande." Now side by side they stand once more As they had often done before, When 'twas no crime their love to show, Though now concealed from friend and foe. Oh, painful joy, how rude thou art! What pressure thine upon the heart ! When friendship pure as burnished gold Cannot to friends or foes be told. X Almost unconsciously they strode A little way along the road. Until at least a dozen yards Now lay between them and the guards, 224 Delia Dorn And safely thus beyond the reach Of tender word or whispered speech, A word was spoke in Conrad's ear 'Twere death for other ears to hear. Soon Saris left and all was still Save sighing breeze and murmuring rill; The light had faded from the west, And all but guards had sunk to rest. But no, there's one whom sleep has fled. Nor presses yet his soldier-bed. As in his tent brave Saris peers Among the guns and bandoliers To see that all is ready made To aid the plan his skill has laid. XI At morn the sun rose bright and clear O'er burghers' joy and Britons' fear, For painfully the time draws nigh When each must learn his destiny. Soon Saris rode with trusty guard. Conducting scouts along the sward To where a cell had been prepared And now by other Britons shared. Where Billy Brande so soon must lie. Shut out from friendly sun and sky. They reach at length a lonely kop And rest awhile upon its top. or Struggles of the Boers 225 And when again they rose to go Brande gave a signal soft and low. With sudden dash each Briton's steed Has gained at once his greatest speed, And hurrying down the kopje's side The daring men tumultuous ride. To north, to south, to east, to west, The scouts in wild disorder prest. While from the guards on kopje's spire Came constant roll of Mauser fire. With perfect aim the burghers shot, Yet not a bullet found its spot. And firing guardsmen deemed it strange That though within such easy range. No flying steed or Briton falls Before such shower of Mauser balls. But, ah, brave guard, 'tis not thy aim Nor trusty gun that is to blame; No wonder 'tis that none are killed : Thy guns with harmless "blanks"^ are filled. XII The scouts are safe in British lines. But none, save Brande, the cause divines, As round their campfires they repeat ^Blanks: These are cartridges containing powder but no balls. Saris is supposed to have placed these in the guns during the night. 226 Delia Dorn Their daring flight, — their dangerous feat, And tell how gallantly they fled 'Mid whistling bullets overhead, Each by his friends a hero made, For such a daring escapade; While guards, all stripped of martial pride, Attempt discomfiture to hide, As into their unwilling ears Pours constant stream of comrades' jeers. With many a boast : "Before my gun No Briton thus unharmed could run." How strange the human mind is made! What shallow depth for it is laid! Oft would its reasonings be disgraced, If side by side with instinct placed. It seems to mount the stars of heaven. And ride the thunders flying leven, But fathoms not the smallest things That o'er the surface Nature flings. or Struggles of the Boers 227 Chapter XVI. At noon the sun with tropic heat Its mehing rays on Kroonstad^ beat. Nor is a sheltering cloudlet driven Along the deep blue vault of heaven. Birds, which at morn such warblings made, Have hushed and sought the oaky shade. While herds, which from the Valsch have drank, Now panting lie upon its bank. And languid view o'er stream and town The summer beams come pouring down. The housewives leave the busy broom. For comfort seek the coolest room. And watch the quiverings o'er the dell Of heat almost unbearable. II Near to the town upon the glen There stands a sad, inhuman "pen," Around which British guardsmen tramp; That is the Concentrado^ camp. ^Kroonstad is a town on the Valsch river, in the north- ern part of Orange Free State. ^One of the concentration camps was at Kroonstad. 228 Delia Dorn Here, countless,^ helpless children lie Beneath December's burning sky, Watched o'er by mothers wan and pale, Whose prayers and tears can naught avail. As they behold their children die, — The price of Britain's perfidy. No record tells of savage race With brutal acts more vile and base, Nor history's page more deeply dyed With gross, wholesale infanticide. Except it be when this same power Had sought fair Erin's peaceful bower, And Cromwell, with his "Iron Hand," With infants' blood had drenched the land. HI The sun moves down the western sky, Advancing shadows eastward lie. Though none along the camp are sent Save those of men or tattered tent, Or children wan or maidens pale. Or mothers swept by sorrow's gale. All ended now the poor repast, (With many it will be the last), iThere were about 50,000 children in these camps, 14,000 of whom died in about nineteen months. There were also about 45,000 women, with a few men whose age rendered them unfit for field service. All these were really hostages, Whose only ransom was the surrender of their country. or Struggles of the Boers 229 And some in groups are gathered round, While others sadly stroll the ground To ponder o'er their wretched state, Or silent mourn their country's fate. Still lower sinks the evening sun.; Another day will soon be done, Though dying day's departing light Brings but another mournful night. IV Approaching now upon the green A British officer is seen. Whose duty 'tis to view the ground Ere darkness o'er the camp has frowned. With arched neck his restless steed Now swiftly bears him o'er the mead. Nor does he draw the charger's reins 'Til Concentrado camp he gains. The guard unlocks the ponderous gate, — Fell acme of the burghers' hate, Which, all too soon, must seal their fate. In, through the door, the soldier springs. His courser's housing gaily rings. And soon the rapid hoofbeats fall Along the path beside the wall.^ Near to the path a maiden stands, ^The wall of these camps was only a barbed wire fence, well guarded by soldiers. 230 Delia Dorn Where now she seeks with folded hands The throne of heaven for strength and Hght To guide her soul through coming night, Nor knows that man or horse is near Until the footfall strikes her ear ; And turning round in quick surprise The British officer she spies, Then half in fright and half disdain Resumes her solitude again. V The soldier marked her sudden fright, And pitied her unpleasant plight, For though her arms and face were brown, And sadly worn her faded gown, Still was there left from fortune wrecked An air compelling his respect. Unconsciously the soldier staid His restless charger near the maid, And gazed upon her as she prayed; And, though he strained his ear, he heard Nor sob nor sigh nor spoken word. He knew not why he could not move ; It was not fear, could not be love. For, fear, his heart could never own. And love for strangers was unknown. He saw her raise her face to heaven As if she sought to be forgiven, or Struggles of the Boers 231 *'But sure," thought he> "no cause is there For sinner's penitential prayer." Each motion now he closely scanned Of head, of arm, of folded hand, And, though disheveled was her hair. Some auburn curls still rested there. And round her neck beneath those curls, He caught a glimpse of shining pearls. VI She turned at length, her gaze to place On his two years' unshaven face. And gently said, "Why standest thou, With sorrow on thy martial brow?" For, though his face was mild and fair, Some marks of sadness lingered there. "If thou art ill, no help is found On Concentrado's prison ground, For poorly 'tended, here we lie, When ill, to suffer and to die." She paused and watched the soldier mum; That voice of yore had struck him dumb, For now he knew, as long ago When last they met on Limpopo, He stood again to her unknown, Nor scarcely dared his name to own, And felt again within his soul The flames that baffled his control. 232 Delia Dorn Too proud to weep, too strong to fly He gazed into her hazel eye, And when his speech returned again, Said, "Delia, 'tis your own O'Kane." VII Like swaying bands of equal foes, Alternate flush and pallor rose, Each in its turn, to Delia's cheek, Nor could she stay the rising tide Of withered love, and doubt, and pride, Or find a sudden voice to speak. But soon her cooler senses gain The self-possession of her brain, Though with the thought of former years There came a burst of sudden tears. In that brief moment, as she stood, Was many a varied scene renewed. As joy and hope and present plight All stood before her mental sight. She saw her home of years ago Upon the bank of Limpopo, And heard again the pebbly rill That rippled gaily down the hill. Again she heard the morning thrush Pour out its song from karoo bush, And saw her mother's smiling face That any spot on earth would grace. or Struggles of the Boers 233 And shared again a brother's glee Hid now in dark obscurity. Again she felt her rocking boat, As on the stream she seemed to float, And stood again within the bower Where mockingbirds had cheered the hour, And felt the thrill that love had given When first 'twere sent to her from heaven. Again she heard the words of love Avon O'Kane, so like a dove, Had poured into her willing ear; Words she delighted most to hear. She passed o'er all these pleasant scenes So filled with all that pleasure means. And then she viewed the changes, such As only war's dread horrors touch. VHI She saw their home, their pleasant cot, An ashen heap, a ruined spot. While the gay brook of form^er years Seemed watered now alone with tears. She saw her father, once so gay, On battlefields now far away. And mother, kindest soul of all. Held now by Concentrado wall. Her boat that once such pleasure gave On Limpopo's light rippling wave, 234 Delia Dorn No longer held the fisher's reed, But served the British plunderer's need; And murdering bands now tented where Once stood her sacred bower of prayer. She saw Avon when once he stood A modest youth so brave and good, And when again, for wealth and pride, He ruthless cast her love aside. IX 'Twas but a moment, but the soul From nature's laws brooks no control; She flies at her self -chosen pace And mocks alike at time and space. Nor do we know what forms are given To souls on earth or those in heaven. The souls of men their cycles make And naught reveal except their wake, Like rays of light that crown the hill, But are themselves invisible. X With trembling lips and weeping eyes The maid at once to him replies : "Thou wast not false? Then why didst thou Not keep thy word, thy parting vow, And come once more to Limpopo, Where last we met so long ago?" r-^^ilt. The soldier from his courser sprung* His sword ag-ainst its scabbard rung", And ere she could remonstrance mete Avon was kneeling at her feet. or Struggles of the Boers 235 XI The soldier from his courser sprung, His sword against its scabbard rung, And ere she could remonstrance mete Avon was kneeling at her feet. ''Dear maid, the world I would have given — Almost my meagre hope of heaven — Had not the Fates with cruel jar Between us rolled its ponderous car. And rendered sad these weary years, And dewed my pillow oft with tears. But time forbids that I rehearse; Delay may prove our safety's curse, For soon the sun its beams of red Will hide behind yon mountain-head. And on my way I must be found Around this loathsome prison ground. And now, oh, maid, can prayers and tears Atone for these two absent years? And vows again sufficient be To trust again thy heart with me?" XII "Oh, dear Avon, my heart is yet As true as when, with nuptials set, We stood within that sacred bower With hope as bright as morning flower. Thy sword and pride no barrier stand To this poor heart, but to my hand; 236 Delia Dorn And though my father's on the field. And brother's fate to me is sealed, And my dear mother, worn with age, Is in this prison's horrid cage, And I, who naught of harm have done, Held here beneath the burning sun, Yet naught shall change my purpose high A martyr for my land to die." XIII Avon arose, but on his brow A radiant calm seemed resting now. He stood before the lovely maid And in impassioned accents said: ''Dear Delia, thou'rt more true and brave Than those who seek a hero's grave. For they hope honor while they live And life for fame undying give. Whilst thou thy life an offering make Alone for land and freedom's sake. Such sacrifice to righteous cause Should win for thee the world's applause. Thou art as pure as sorrow's tear; Too brave and true to suffer here. And now I pledge to thee my word No more to serve a British lord, For thou to me art dearer far Than all the gifts of honor are, or Struggles of the Boers 237 And richer far that hand of thine Than all the gold of Afric's mine. Now, listen, maid: when dawn's first ray Shall paint the east with coming day, Seek thou once more this hallowed spot While still the stars the heavens dot, And 'neath yon stone of curious shape Thou'lt find a plan for thy escape, Nor any, save thy mother, tell Of these, my words; sweet maid, farewell." XIV The soldier bounded to his steed. Nor felt his foot the stirrup's need. And soon his charger's bolting tramp Was heard around the prison camp, And guard remarked, "Thou'rt riding late," As he again swung back the gate. Poor Delia watched with anxious eyes Her proud Avon as on he flies. And when behind eve's dusky screen Nor man nor horse was longer seen, Back to her tent she turned her way, Where, on a wretched bed of hay. In quiet sleep her mother lay. Though soft her step, her mother woke, Her slumber fled, her quiet broke. And sorrow took its wonted place 238 Delia Dorn In sighing soul and troubled face, But when the joyful news was told, Her saddened heart, though worn and old, Almost forgot its present pain In hope of liberty again. A moment silently she stood And hope from every angle viewed, And when at length her mind she fixed And doubt with hope had sadly mixed, She whispered soft in Delia's ear: "Dear daughter, there is much to fear, For, though we well might trust O'Kane, His plans may all be laid in vain." XV With foam and blood his rowels wet, Avon sped on; the sun had set. And twilight deep had settled down O'er kop and veldt and lonely town. But ere the turf with dew was damp O'Kane had reached the British camp. A hasty meal; his charger fed; Nor dreams he now of rest or bed; His plans are laid; his guards are bribed;^ A letter wrote with plan described, And when the sound of "All is well" ^The gnard is only supposed to have been bribed to allow Avon to scale the wall unchallenged. or Struggles of the Boers 239 At midnight hour the guardsmen tell, His flying steed is rushing back Upon the short but hasty track; The wall is scaled and 'neath the stone The note is placed and all is done. XVI With calmer soul and quiet pace Again Avon his steps retrace, And soon upon his tented bed He tries to rest his weary head, But sleep has, like a phantom, fled. With resolution firm at last, A thousand scenes go whirling past, That like bright visions seem to rise Before his sleep-deserted eyes. He sees the mother and the maid In British uniform arrayed,^ On British chargers mounted high, And thus deceive the gateman's eye. He sees the maid and matron wait In this disguise before the gate Of Concentrado's loathsome yard ^The supposed plan is, that Avon would on the next evening invite a couple of his British comrades to visit the concentration camp, and while they are being- entertained by ladies at a neighboring tent, Delia and her mother would array themselves in a British uniform which Avon would furnish, and mounting the comrades' horses, wnuli pass out with Avon and make their way to a burgTler camp. 240 Delia Dorn 'Til he commands the watchful guard, When open wide the portal flies And all pass out before his eyes. He views them riding through the night In search of friendly burghers' light, And by the gray of morning's dawn, All safe where burgher lines are drawn, XVII Thus rose the visions of O'Kane, And coursed along his sleepless brain, For love brings fancies brighter far Than all the visions born of war. How happy is the mortal's lot Contentment binds to some dear spot; Beyond ambition's jarring din, With peace and love alone within ! or Struggles of the Boers 241 Chapter XVII. At early dawn fair Delia rose From dreams too joyful for repose, For scarce could sleep so soft descend But it with liberty would blend, And thoughts so sweet would slumber break, And instantly she was awake. In happy dreams again she strolled, Where Limpopo's bright waters rolled. And in the morning's balmy air She sought again her bower of prayer. She thought Avon was by her side As long ago in burgher pride, But when of love he gently spoke With joy ecstatic she awoke. And saw but tent — poor tattered pall — Surrounded by a prison wall. When sleep again had closed her eyes, A thousand joyful scenes would rise: Perhaps a rain-crow's warning note; A thrush's song or gliding boat; A shady tree and pleasant book. Or fish in some sequestered nook. 242 Delia Dorn But when Avon the silence broke, Sleep fled her lids and she awoke. II Thus wore away the restless night With longing wish for coming light, And when from eastern mountain brown Morn's first gray streaks came slyly down, Out through the twilight all alone She sought that shapeless treasure-stone. She stood a moment by the spot; Through all her soul bright visions shot. But, as it were some warrior's head, She looked upon the stone with dread. But soon her courage took command. And steadier grew her trembling hand. And she removed the stone with care. But, ah! no treasure rested there. Ill Oh, wretched maid, does Fate ordain That thou must bear still greater pain? Has it 'til now reserved its worst Thy brave though tender heart to burst? Ah, yes, thy brightest hopes have fled. And sorrow bows thy drooping head. Like flowers beneath the chilling frost With all their brightest petals lost. Thy soul must droop in this sad hour or Struggles of the Boers 243 Beneath the blight of British Power. But, oh, dear maid, link not O'Kane With cause of this, thy sorest pain; No braver hero Hves than he, And throbs his heart alone for thee, And heaven reserves its mildest curse For heart than his supremely worse. For thee he dared with dauntless soul Beneath that stone to place the scroll, But other ears than thine had heard ''For thy escape," that secret word. For just beyond the prison wall A wary guard had heard it all. Oh, that he had in secret brought His plot matured by stricter thought, And silent placed it in thy hand. Unseen by friend of British band. But, ah, too rash was he to think How near he stood to danger's brink, Too restless when a single hour Should find thee held by British power, And thus the snare impatience set, That he so soon must sore regret. But, ah, 'tis done, his plans are known, For which no mercy will be shown. And thou a prisoner still must lie 'Neath Concentrado's burning sky. 244 Delia Dorn Back to thy tent, Oh, hopeless maid. For grief far deeper still is laid For thee beyond the future's shade, And long the world will curse the Crown That bows thy head with sorrows down. IV At dawn Avon O'Kane arose; Said he, "This day will surely close My service to the British Crown, And my ambition for renown. My fate Til link with fairer hand Than that which grasps a bloody brand. For Delia Dorn is braver far Than all the cruel sons of war." His visions wild and sleepless night Quenched not his eye's quick-piercing light, Nor could observer close have said That he had pressed a sleepless bed. His look so bold and head erect In each detail was circumspect, And as he mused, he thought, 'T'll ride Tonight with my fair future bride," But at his tented door he found A heavy guard was drawn arotind. V Oh, let me not attempt to tell The height from which his spirit fell. or Struggles of the Boers 245 Or to describe what thou may'st guess He felt for Delia Dorn's distress. To deepen well Avon's disgrace Upon his wrists the gyves they place, And by the court that gathered round Avon O'Kane was guilty found, But ere the sentence dire they reach They grant Avon a moment's speech. VI "Brave warriors, hear !" Avon began, "By whom I'm placed 'neath treason's ban; Though broke I laws by England given, I'm guiltless still in sight of heaven, And e'en though death my sentence be, I scorn to beg thy clemency. I ask but freedom for a maid, Fair, hostage prisoner of thy raid. And her dear mother worn with age Who cannot live in such a cage. Grant this request, and let me hear My sentence howsoe'er severe." VII Avon had paused, the Chief replied, While still Avon he closely eyed: "O'Kane, thine is a grave offense. And I am pained to send thee hence. Thy crime deserves thy instant death 246 Delia Dorn And grave upon the potters' heath, But, for thy service to the king, I shelter thee with mercy's wing. On St. Helena's lonely isle. Among the prisoners mean and vile, Thy future home through life will be For thy base infidelity. Thy one request will not be given Even though the stars should fall from heaven. I know naught of the worthless jade Thy fancy paints as 'charming maid,' Nor can I turn them on the moors. Lest they assist the fighting Boers. VIII With burning cheek Avon arose. Said he, "This hand the Chieftain knows; But for these fetters of disgrace Thy blood would stain this trenchant place Else thou retract thy 'worthless jade' Applied to noble burgher maid. See'st thou a tremor in this eye That says O'Kane would fear to die? Canst thou not find within this breast A heart thy marksmen's skill to test? I court thy worst, thou canst but kill, 'Twill aid thy cup of shame to fill. For gold thy vassals dare to die. or Struggles of the Boers 247 Why not for love of freedom I? And should I 'scape yon island cage, Though bent my form with hoary age, Still be thy heart my target made For memory of thy 'worthless jade/ " IX Avon retired with fettered hand; Aside the chief called Billy Brande, And thus he spoke beneath his breath: "I should have made that sentence death. Choose thou a guard and take O'Kane Where vessels lie upon the main, That soonest on Helena's isle Will land him in his long exile. But watch thou well, his heart's aflame; His hand unerring in its aim. And should'st thou find some trivial cause, — Risk not thy life, nor fear the laws." " 'Tis well," said Brande. "Let guards be short,^ Two Kaffir blacks from Deredepoort,^ ^Short: Few in number. 2About six weeks after the war began the British planned an attack on Deredepoort, a small trading post in the northern part of Transvaal. A band of Kaffirs was employed to do the butchering act on this occasion. They entered the village at three o'clock in the morning and made a frightful carnage, killing men, women and children. Brande is supposed to desire members of this Kaffir band as his gtiard, in order to retaliate. 248 Delia Dorn For surely three with rifles can Guard one unarmed and fettered man.*' X The blacks are called, at noon they start, Each knows his station, each his part, And soon across the veldt they wind And leave the British camp behind. Avon and Brande are side by side, The Kaffir guards behind them ride. And as on varied themes they rest, Each uses tongue he speaks the best. XI At length said Brande, "Count not me rude. Should I unwittingly intrude Upon thy spirit's gentler part To learn the secret of thy heart. Can it be true, as thou hast said, Thou'rt bound with gyves for Transvaal maid? Did thy heart's passion make thee wild To risk thy life for foeman's child? And does thy heart still unrepent That thy attempted aid was lent?" XII "Ah, Brande, she is no common maid For whose escape my plan was laid; She is the 'fairest of the fair,* With hazel eyes and auburn hair, or Struggles of the Boers 249 Whose snowy neck and glossy curls But mock her band of glittering pearls. Her voice is music, and her port Too well would grace a British court, And in her smile are beams of light That banish sorrow's darkest night. XIII "I met her full two years ago Upon the banks of Limpopo, Where, by that bright and lovely stream We 'even dared of love to dream;' But cruel war tore us apart And wrecked my soul and broke her heart, And now Tm doomed to foreign isle, And she, to British prison vile." XIV Avon now wept, nor did he turn To note, in Brande, intense concern, But when he named the "Limpopo," Brande's cheek was lit with fervid glow. And vivid scenes of childhood came All clustering round that sacred name, ^ut, ah, brave Brande, still must thy soul O'er thy heart's passion keep control. For soon a word will reach thy ear Thy heart is unprepared to bear. But be thou firm as aged oak- 250 Delia Dorn That yields to naught save lightning's stroke, Or as the mountain's stately rock That e'en defies the thunder's shock. XV "Brave Brande, I have but one request, — And that already thou hast guessed, — When back to Kroonstad thou return, If safe for thee, I pray thou'lt learn If still the maid's a prisoner there, And bear to her, for me, a prayer. Tell her that on my prison isle I'll not forget her lovely smile, For though between the ocean rolls. United still will be our souls. And though beneath misfortune's blast, Avon will love her to the last. Her tent is near the prison wall, Where shades of evening latest fall, Beside a brown and stony hill With not a tree or winding rill. Thou'lt know her by her auburn curls. Her lovely eye and glittering pearls. For she's the fairest maiden born. Her name is Delia, — Delia Dorn." XVI Poor Brande ! his face was deathly wan ; His heart had sorrowed for Avon, or Struggles of the Boers 251 But now his tears were burning hot. For now he mourned a sister's lot. For such sad tale his soul was weak; He dared not sob, he could not speak, But, as they silent rode along, He felt his soul grow doubly strong. At length he said: "Ah, brave O'Kane, 'Tis sad that thou should'st suffer pain, And for thy gentleness and care. Through life a prisoner's lot to share. But worse ! who spoke of Svorthless jade' Thinks now that thou'rt my target made. I saw thee stand before the court, Brave object of each menial's sport; I heard the Chief spurn thy request. And saw the heart-throbs of thy breast. Nor have I meant that thou should'st while Thy life, a prisoner on that isle: But promise thou'lt in hiding be 'Til war is o'er, and thou art free; But these vile Kaffirs, dark and fell, Must not be left the tale to tell. At Kaffir hut thou'lt find disguise Thy form to hide from prying eyes, And when the drums of war shall cease And war-pipes sound the notes of peace, Where odor-laden zephyrs blow 252 Delia Dorn Come thou again to Limpopo." Avon was speechless, but to Brando He offered now his fettered hand, And when his hand the trooper took. His friendly grasp its shackles shook. XVH. Near by within a lonely glade A camp for evening meal was made. And near Avon the careless guard Had placed their arms upon the sward. The gyves were loosed, a gun was fired, At once the Kaffir guards expired. Into the air Brande fired his gun, Avon was free and all was done. O'Kane, approaching Billy Brande, Now took the trooper's offered hand And said: "Thy grace hath saved O'Kane, I hope, dear Brande, we'll meet again," And giving Brande a wish of good, He disappeared along the wood. xvni Brande, for a moment, stood and eyed The forms, whose blood the heath had dyed. And then, with breath indignant, said: "But poor thy worthless lives have paid For children's blood of Deredepoort Shed but to aid thy gory sport, or Struggles of the Boers 253 Nor will my vengeance half be filled Til all thy band like thee are stilled." XIX With beams of early morning, Brande Was back at Kroonstad with his band, And soon the Chief, in secret, sought To know what news the trooper brought. **So soon returned? What of O'Kane? Is he now safe 'neath gyve and chain?" "Ah, Chief, thou well hast known of Brande, And how unerring is his hand, For, even though loose may be my aim, None hope a closer mark to claim. At evening meal in lonely glade A careless guard his gun had laid Full near the hand of brave O'Kane, And both my guards at once were slain. I saw them fall, I heard the roar, My Mauser spoke, — I'll say no more." XX ""Well hast thou done ! I know the rest. And well for thee 'twas not thy breast That gave him mark for hasty shot, Else had thou fall'n upon the spot. For his was not the hand to err Though he should aim on moment's spur, 254 Delia Dorn And e'en thy Chief was nervous made By his offense at 'worthless jade.' " XXI Four weary months have come and gone, But still th' unholy war goes on, And children still in prison lie And, by the foe unheeded, die. Today the burgher cause is worse, Tomorrow, Britons meet reverse, While Steyn and Botha and DeWet Entrap the foe in many a net, And Hertzog,^ Smuts^ and De la Ray Harrass their bands from day to day. XXII Another month nor horrors cease With whisperings of approaching peace. But rages still the unequal fight For burgher's gold and burgher's right. Three hundred thousand Britons fail To make their dauntless foemen quail. But Concentrado's tale is told. And hearts of burghers' once so bold. '^Hertzog: Judge Hertzog was a member of Orange Free State Councils, and also an able commander in the war. His wife was one of the sufferers of the concentration camp. ^Commandant Smuts was attorney general of Transvaal, and one of the most brilliant commanders in the Boer army. His little daughter died of hardship and exposure after the family was forced from home. or Struggles of the Boers 255 Are forced to yield, — Their struggle's o'er/ And Afric's sons are free no more. XXIII With mingled joy and patient grief, From war alone they find relief. And when they reach the ruined home, To lids, long dry, fresh gushings come, For many a wife and lovely child, Whose song had cheered the lonely wild. By British hand a grave had found Near Concentrado's murder-ground. iPeace was signed May 31st, 1902, nearly thirty-two months after the war began. History probably fails to give us a single instance in which a victorious nation ever gave more liberal terms to the vanquished than England was forced to give the Boers, although for about two years their only answer to proposals for peace had been "Uncon- ditional surrender." The Boers were to be released with- out punishment, were allowed to retain their arms, pris- oners were to be returned to their homes at Britisli ex- pense, and instead of requiring an indemnity, England paid them $15,000,000 for the farms which they had burned and for other purposes, and, in addition, proposed a loan of other sums without interest for two years. Other liberal concessions were also made. 256 Delia Dorn Chapter XVIII. Beside a bright and rippling stream, The site of many a happy dream, Where constant murmurings soft and low Are borne from waves of Limpopo, There stood an uninviting tent, Whose slackened cords and tattered rent Would scarce suffice a breeze to stay Or parry sun's bright tropic ray. Before the tent an aged man With facial type of burgher clan, Alone in seeming sorrow stood. Completely wrapped In solitude. Within the tent were mutterings heard Of song or Incoherent word, And round the tent there seemed an air Of sad neglect of woman's care. II A passing stranger turned aside. As though he would a moment bide To rest beside the wretched tent, For age his form had sadly bent. His dark blue eyes seemed clear and bright. Before tHe tent an aged nian With facial type of burgher clan Alone in seeming sorrow stood completely wrap't in solitude. or Struggles of the Boers 257 Though beard and hair were snowy white; His clothes were faded, worn and old, And sorely rent at many a fold. His face seemed furrowed now with care. But, showed, when young, was passing fair, And for his lame, unsteady gait A heavy cane bore up his weight, And, though his voice with clearness rung, His accent was of foreign tongue. "My friend," said he, "in sadness thou? What sorrow clouds thy aged brow? Hast thou no wife or daughter fair Or son with thee thy grief to share? Nor do I seek by query rude The secrets of thy solitude. V But if my soul one pang can lift And to its own thy burden shift. Then glad, though stranger, would I share With thee the grief that resteth there." HI "Dear stranger, thine's a noble soul ; E'en now my griefs more lightly roll. But death alone can bring relief. When depth of soul is depth of grief. See'st thou yon heap ? That ashen spot Was once my home, a happy cot Where, blessed with daughter, son and wife, 258 Delia Dorn Mine was indeed a happy life. Alike the friend and stranger came And shared the rich and poor the same, For though are bles't those who receive, Thrice blessed he who loves to give. But ah ! sad years have wasted all. And life itself seems but a pall That settles o'er my longing breast To hide from me eternal rest. IV Four years ago, yea, more than four. My son sought Erin's verdant shore, And full two years no word has come ; I fear he found a watery tomb, For at this hour his form may sleep Beneath the billows of the deep. Last night I dreamed my boy had come To once more glad this cheerless home; My shout of joy the stillness broke; The vision fled and I awoke. But ah! my dear and patient wife A victim fell to British strife. For frame so weak and worn with age Could not endure the foemen's rage; And now, oblivious to the flood That Britain shed of helpless blood, or Struggles of the Boers 259 She sleeps beneath a sacred mound Near Concentrado's guilty ground." V He paused his feeble voice to rest. And calm the tumult in his breast, And thought he saw a tear-drop trace Its way adown the stranger's face, As questioned he with sorrow's thrill: "What of thy daughter? Lives she still?" "Ah, stranger, it were long to tell Of all that noble girl befell, Nor could I hope to make thee know All she hath felt of earthly woe. In yonder cot, a lovely child, Her happy, tender years she whiled, Nor had she known a sorrowing heart 'Til she had seen her brother start Upon the voyage for which he yearned. To Erin, whence he ne'er returned. VI She loved a youth, Avon O'Kane, And thought her heart bestowed in vain *Til in the prison, near her tent. They met again by accident. Escape was planned, Avon was caught, Before the court a prisoner brought, And there condemned to long exile 260 Delia Dorn On St. Helena's lonely isle. But soon the word through prison sped That brave Avon O'Kane was dead, For, in a far and lonely glade, He an attempt for freedom made ; But there he fought a desperate hand, The heartless Briton, Billy Brande. My daughter fell as she were dead, A shriek she gave, her reason fled, And now, with wrecked and ruined brain, All earthly hope for her is vain. At yester morn a fever came. And slowly sinks her withered frame. But she has naught from death to fear. For she has lived a Christian here. And oh! dear stranger, would that God Might place this form beneath the sod. And take this soul, with hers, above And let me rest with those I love. vn The stranger turned his face aside His heaving breast and tears to hide, And, near, he saw a soldier come Arrayed in British uniform. Straight to the man before the tent With hurried step the soldier went. And said: ''My dangerous task is done, or Struggles of the Boers 261 Dear father, I'm thine only son." The father kissed his noble boy And wept the tears of inward joy, And while he pressed his youthful face He felt a loving son's embrace. *'Oh, Conrad, dear," the father said, '*I long have wept my son as dead. Nor hast thy grief on earth begun Til thou hast mourned an only son." VIII The stranger took the soldier's hand And said, "WeVe met again, dear Brande," But ere the wondering youth replied He cast his mask of age aside. And stood before them once again The young and brave Avon O'Kane. ''And thou art Conrad?" still he said. While through his brain a mystery sped; "Then why wast thou with Britain's band, Nor fought for home and burgher land?" "Avon, thou art no subtle foe, Nor do I fear that thou shouldst know. For e'en my life were scanty cost Since country, home and friends are lost. I've served my native country well, Nor by this hand a burgher fell ; The British trap and wily net By Billy Brande were often set, 262 Delia Dorn And fall of British thousands planned Oft by the 'daring Billy Brande.' " IX With cautious step, into the tent The father, brother, lover went; A flood of tears the brother shed And knelt beside his sister's bed; Nor knew she that her brother wept, For she a quiet moment slept. He brushed aside a wandering curl; "Oh, sister, thou'rt a precious girl; Why did I not, three years ago. Come back again to Limpopo, And help to soothe, with brother's art, Thy noble, pure and broken heart?" She woke, and in disjointed strain She sang of ''Conrad" and "O'Kane," While shattered song and wandering eye Told of the mind's inconstancy. "They say I'm mad and reason fled ; I've but been living with the dead, And Concentrado wall but keeps The horrid bed where mother sleeps." X She slept again, but soon awoke With a bright smile, as though there broke Upon her weak and wavering mind or Struggles of the Boers 263 Some pleasant memory well defined. "I've slept," she said, **and dreamed again Of my dear brother and O'Kane, But ah ! such dreams are all in vain." "This is thy brother! Daughter, see! Thy brother Conrad kneels by thee!" "And is it true? And art thou here? Dim is my eye and dull my ear. Ah, yes, 'tis true!" She raised her arms Bereft of all their beauteous charms, And as she drew her arms around Her long-lost brother, lately found, She said, "In stormy time thou'rt come; Even now I hear the battle-drum." "Nay, sister, Transvaal war is o'er; We'll hear the sounds of war no more." "And did we win?" "No, sister, no, Our arms have yielded to the foe." "Nay !■ arms of Boers would never yield ! 'Twas Concentrado won the field. But ah! dear brother, brave O'Kane By Billy Brande was ruthless slain. And in a deep and lonely glade His lovely form uncoffined laid. And oh! I sorrow most that he Gave his dear life alone for me." "O'Kane, dear sister, is not dead, 264 Delia Dorn Even now he kneels beside thy bed." ''And does he live? What glorious word! Oh, that I had but sooner heard. Give me, Avon, thy hand once more, As in the happy days of yore, When, by the stream's low moaning tide, Thou dared'st to claim me for thy bride. Choose thou some flow'r from out the dell Of those that we have loved so well. And near the stream's bright rippling wave Thou'lt let it bloom above my grave. And oh ! dear father, come thou near. My voice grows weak, thou can'st not hear.' The father knelt beside her bed. But she was still — her soul had fled. XI By Limpopo a grave was made Beneath her oak-tree's branching shade, And there, within that sacred bower, Where oft she prayed at twilight hour, A Concentrado victim sleeps And o'er her grave a soldier weeps. The Limpopo's soft murm'ring tide Still winds its course to ocean's side, And Vaal's unruffled sparkling waves Now careless pass the heroes' graves. The blood that purpled stream and bank. or Struggles of the Boers 265 Which they long since unwilling drank, Like veteran's scars in time of peace, No sympathetic tears release. The soldier's tramp and cannon's roar Are heard along their banks no more, And 'neath each kop and battle-field Lies many a hope of country sealed. The race by whom those homes were built, Whose blood was for their country spilt, Whose voice was once in Volksraad^ heard Nor for their country's good demurred, Who saw no dread in foeman's frown. Are subjects now of British crown. The hope that once inspired their souls Now, like a turbid river, rolls The blood-stream through the heart's slow beat. But spurns the hopeless word "defeat." The stranger stands beside the stream Recalling many a gallant theme, But sheds no sympathizing tears O'er the lost hopes of former years. The world's great fount of tears is dry, Nor throbs the heart for brother's sigh. For commerce sways a nation's heart Which nature formed for gentler part. Wolksreiad: The national council. 266 Delia Dorn But some great hero yet will rise With dauntless soul, and just and wise, And recompense an hundred fold Great Britain's thirst for power and gold. When Justice sleeps, the vow she makes Brings retribution when she wakes, And Britain well may watch the hour Transvaal beholds her waning power, For sons of Transvaal's dauntless braves Cannot be held Great Britain's slaves. xov :: :. lec

18015251

Bone dry ballads,

Allstorm, Oliver

bonedryballads00alls_djvu.txt

PS 3501 158 B6 1918 o > ^>t- <'^ r ^o. '.Tr,"'\o' \^''''^ «o 0^ o " o ^^ '^9- « a • ^^ r^ .A^ *cd\WA-. ^n .<i' .-^^^ "^-^ "•* aN" <- "'^•''* ^C^ 0-, <c .•1°* C N O ^^'\ -SiK-' /\ °ww/ ^' <i> •^ •^^o< % Bone dry Ballads :By: A Bone dry Salesman OLIVER ALLSTORM w Compliments of HOUSTON ICE & BREWING ASS'N Houston, Texas PRICE: One Four Cent Stamp "Copyrighted" STAR PRODUCE & COMMISSION CO. Distributors of Bone dry 211-213 W. 13th St. Ft. Worth TeKss Pbone Lamar 2970 Phone LaiNf 327B BONE DRY Bone dry is the result of years of experience and experiment of one of the most expert and competent Chemists in America This Temperance Beverage is composed of food products only, using sterilized water from deep artesian well and filtered air in brewing and charging. It is healthful, beneficial, invig- orating and strengthening. It is the best Near Beer on the market. Don't take any sub- stitute—ask for and insist on Bone dry being served you if you want health, strength and to be refreshed, HOUSTON ICE & BREWING ASS'N BREWERS Houston, Texas FPt^ ?n 1913 ©aA491697 WHAT IS THE OLD FLAG MADE OF? What is the old flag made of, made of- What is the old flag made of ? The stars of the sky that shine upon high, That's what the flag is made of. What is the old flag made of, made of — What is the old flag made of? The blood that was red in heroes that bled, That's what the flag is made of. Wh The Jilies so white tbstlsamftSlShMtisht. What is TFTT ild flag made of, made of — What is the old flag made of? The skies that are blue which hang over you. That's what the flag is made of. What is the old flag made of, made of — What is the old flag made of ? The purpose in man to live by God's plan, That's what the flag is made of. DRINK BONE-DRY It Is Made of What Is Pure and Best 'SALUTE OLD GLORY/ The Stars and Stripes are passing by; Its folds unfurl against the sky; There is no flag can wave so high — Salute Old Glory! Stand with your cap within your hand; There is no flag so great and grand; Its colors guard our native land — Salute Old Glory! Our fathers died that it might wave; The blood they shed they freely gave; Earth never found a flag more brave — Salute Old Glory! Let men proclaim its power today; Our bam Give alfcnUBPWkwfw^tli lliiimi/ HMirtHyt Let tji Its neli Its red^whose bloc ■\ Salute 01 Let all the ngitions Salute! 'TlsTriendship's countersign; Strike colors here at Freedom's shrine — Salute Old Glory! The Stars and Stripes are passing by; Salute it now, or answer why — The eagle screams from out the sky Salute Old Glory! Let none refuse, let none delay. This homage we demand today, Our cry is that you must obey — Salute Old Glory! DRINK BONE-DRY And You Will Remember Liquid Joy and Glory AMERICA FIRST, RING OUT THE CRY! America first. Ring out the cry. Shout it while the days go by — Let your limit be the sky! America first! Sing it, for it gave you birth; Sing it with a heart of mirth; Sing it over all the earth — America first! America first, though wrong or right. Shout it while the day is bright. Sing it in the darkest night — America first! We have fields where blessings grow, We have streams that sing and flow, We have mighty winds that blow — America first! Blazell^l'';§Sx^m^l^?]i*y'*5iP25^ Shout the name you love the besi America first! We have mountains filled with goId,| We have valleys green and bold, We have wealth, unheard, untoli America first! America first, our native land. Earth has not a flag more grand. Show your love at her command — America first! We have foes that we must bend, We have rights that must not end, We have homes we must defend — America first! America first, 'tis freedom's call, Here we stand, or here we fall! Send the challenge back to all — America first! Sing it till the heavens shake, Sing it till the dead awake, Sing it for your country's sake — America first! DRINK BONE-DRY And You Will Drink It First Always THE APPOINTED DAY. My name is Jim, and his is Jack; Now, ladies," won't you smile? A khaki suit is what we wear, Because it is the style. Now, if we don't come back from "there/ You'll know 'twas for the best, For a certain day's appointed For ev'ry man to rest. Yes, a certain day's appointed For ev'ry man to rest. Jack left his home and I left mine. Now, what else could we do? Our country called and we obeyed. Because our hearts are true. And if we die across the sea, 'Twill be our time to die. For a certain day's appointed I<]^y^ali^,lQ^_525HH|^-bj>^e^ Yj P{®I310L«!?! RRfSamP, cannon s roar, re, becausa we're co To this old Texas shore. We're coming; back — you bet we are. (Still one can never tall.) For a certain day's appor For all to say farewell. Yes, a certain day's appointed For all to say farewell. back And if, some day, we answer not The bu'de's cheering call. Remember that our rest is sweet Wherever we may fall; And thouojh we die a soldier's death, 'Tis only fate's decree. For a certain day's appointed. And it was so to be. Yes, a certain day's appointed, And it was so to be. DRINK BONE-DRY The Non-Alcoholic Beverage THREE CHEERS FOR UNCLE SAM! 'Tis the nation's natal day, Time for cannon balls to play, Time for ev'ry tongue to say — Three cheers for Uncle Sam! Time to wave our banners high. Time for rockets in the sky, Time to raise a mighty cry — Three cheers for Uncle Sam! 'Tis the day without a sting. Time to make the heavens ring. Time for all the land to sing — Three cheers for Uncle Sam! TimCj^^lHnmgtfsweet Hom^lsILrefrain, TiiTinfo^^anSdfDoodle's" s| Tiine for "Dixie" once again- Three cheers for Uncle 'Tij TiiPf^H* dance for you an( Time for one great jubilee ^gl^^^heers^or Time for bugle sounds to blow, Time for all to make a show, Time for hyphen marks to go — Three cheers for Uncle Sam! 'Tis the day of freedom's birth. Time to shake the very earth. Time to burst with zealous mirth — Three cheers for Uncle Sam! Time to wave our colors bright, Time to scatter love and light. Time to show the world our might — Three cheers for Uncle Sam! (For the Fourth of July.) DRINK BONE-DRY And Learn What Satisfaction Means TO WAR, TO WAR, THE BATTLE CRY! To war, to war, the battle cry, 'Tis for humanity! Now come, ye U. S. countrymen, And battle on the sea. Come from the ends of all the land- Defend your liberty! The boundless deep is roaring, come, Avenge each ocean grave! Come like our ancient mariners And charge the briny wave! Our martyrs call, and ye must hear, Like seamen true and brave! The Stars and Stripes are on the sea, Full in the winds that blow! Now follow and belch forth your wrath In flames ^f-b^i^^ing woe! jdeep Pi^:^sssig;y;!mmt\ Paint all the landscape you bVl In Red and White and •311^1 These are eternal colors| And they belong to you; § pave a pathway through the waves Unl " ""^ ' 1 Go paint the ocean's coral bed In colors that will keep! Go muzzle all the barking hounds And send their souls to sleep! Go drive them to their native shores And open up the deep! And God be with you, as ye go Out there to join the fray! Your conauest is for human rights On troubled seas today! Our prayers are with you, go and clear The world's Great Right of Way! (State of war declared April 4-6, 1917.) DRINK BONE-DRY Drink the Best and Stand by the Leader JERRY SULLIVAN— PATRIOT. (Venice, Calif.) "Old Glory is a dirty old rag." — Public Street Speaker. "If it's a dirty old rag, I'll make you eat it," says Jeri-y Sullivan. O'im tippin' me hat to ye, Jerry; O'im bowin' me head to the ground. Begorre, and faith to ye, Jerry, Yer likes is a men^-go-round. The imp o' the land o' the brazen, The clod without country or flag. He says that the blessed old banner Is only a dirty old rag. O'im thinkin' we heard him together. But, JeiTy, ye heard him the first, For ye wuz that wild that yer temper Wuz boilin' an' ready to burst. O'im hearin' ye telling it over, Thin _ BegoiTe, ^^. Ye rammed l^^JB^^if^ff^JIJ^tiM^f'Kff"^^'^ An' forcec ^^^ O'im thinkin* of old 9^^pmnattox, An', Jeny, ye say ye wuz there But honor, belated^ has found yoi An' crowned you, on old Venice Square. Begorre, we cheered like the blazes, O'im proud of yer fight of today; Ye held like a vise till he swallowed. An' choked like a sinner on hay. Ye stood like a captain, me Jerry, Like one who is leadin' the band — An' said that a man without banner Has neither a countiy or land. O'im tippin' me hat to ye, Jerry, O'im bowin' an' ready to crawl; Yer like, an' yer kind, is a credit To dance at the President's ball. Whin "taps" from old Gabriel is callin', Thin,'Jerry, they'll give you a tag; An' readin', ye'll find yer immortal For bravely defending the flag. DRINK BONE-DRY For Sale at the Best Fountains HONORABLY DISCHARGED. Boys, I got the dope today That I'll soon be on my way, And the parting brings a little bit of sor- row. Yes, I've been a good old scout, But it's time to muster out — And I'll be a plain civilian on the morrow. Here I've made a friend or two — Some as staunch and some as true As could ever bless the hour you've got to borrow. But our debts were honor bound — Twenty ounces to the pound — Now I'll be a plain civilian on the morrow. Each of us was like a chum; We could always spare a crumb For each other, and we'd often feed a spar- row. And Was I Now IfinMI^MiJIPMiilll^ii^^M^Gw. We \)^roTild often When we found . __ But Vv-e hastened for to smg swjg^^reet .toavura. '* Andllur voices, ri;^ugh^?vnd hard, Gave ^en fe< Now I'll bv.' a ^Tain ciVTlian orT^I^TTiorrow. We would strut along the pike Same as when upon a hike. Or we'd run to put to shame the swiftest arrow. Now my race with you is run And my soldiering is done. For I'll be a plain civilian on the morrow. Though it's rather hard to go. Still, somehow, well, I don't know, There's a mother who is waiting in her sor- row. So I'll drink a parting toast; "Here's to her I love the most! May she greet her plain civilian on the mor- row." DRINK BONE-DRY And Never Forget a Liquid Friend TURNED DOWN. ''Turned down?" "Yep, now tumble; You're married, don't grumble; You can't join the army today. Go back to your Sadie, An' stay with your lady, An' help put the linen away! "You're willin'? No matter, You're married, so scatter! We're lookin' for men who kin fight. Go 'long with your wishes, An' dry your old dishes. An' help rock your baby tonight! "Can't help what you're hopin', Go 'long with your mopin'. You'll 'blige me by standin' aside. Go home to your rakin'. An' help with the baki n', Is Mus G G An' .^t^!Esra!|^fS!ffmi3i»Apt laii oi our t)oaraers be of the noble unwec tong, now, you're craj your ppor^ " the cl "' NKE.^aBE «•!»!:• AS'jf^. hear nieti Go liome to yc Wake up, an' quit lookin' so blue! Go back to your bawlin', Your babies are callin' An' cryin' this minute for you! "There, have I offended? I'm sure you're commended For hearin' the call of the drums. It's w^rong to refuse you. An' still to confuse you With slackers an' cowards an' bums! "But, here's to the shakin' Your hand, for you're makin' An effort at doin' what's right. Old Glory will fold you, An' always uphold you As one who was willin' to fight!" DRINK BONE-DRY It Puts "Pep" in the Patriot TO OUR HYPHENATED COUNTRYMEN. Sons of Europe, here transplanted! Sons of sires of alien birth! Ye have sworn allegiance ever To the greatest flag on earth! Sink your faith a little deeper, Sing the name that should be sung First among the roll of nations. First upon your mortal tongue! Drop the creeds of ancient folly; Drop the yokes of foreign pride; Let the bondman serve his master, Bow to lords and kings beside! 'Tis your birthright to be boastful, God ordained you should be free; Bow to none beside the sceptre ng. 'Ti^s your her; From the Take the gift and laud the givei^^ Grateful hearts are never cold! There is bondage in the hyphen; Serfs are they who wear the band; Fishermen whose streams have vanished- Fishing on a foreign strand! Drop the treason-mark forever; Bury it where. none may find; Those who serve one master better — Still must leave the rest behind. There's a place accorded honor Won by valor through the blast; Legions tell in song and story It must not be sung the last. DRINK BONE-DRY For the Sake of Your Health Shout the name, "America," shout it Till your souls no longer thirst! There are lands, but none so precious As the one you mention first. First in heart and first in spirit, 'Tis the patriot's stem decree; Drop the hyphen from your ego — "Just a plain American be!" Show your kinship! Wave the banner! Colors red, and white and blue! And the land that gives you shelter Will be justly proud of you! GO FORTH, YE OF A FOREIGN HEART. Go forth, ye of a foreign heart. And join the foe's brigade; Ye have no right on free-born soil 'CMS^fy , I PEFRESHING Go' crihSSHHI^ih a ft That rule^across the'sear;' ve no right to.driiak sP^to our Lib Go join the serfs tl This land is not for yoi Ye have no right to shelter^Tn" The Red, the White and Blue. This is a man-sized glory land — Go back from whence you came; Ye have no right among the free Unless it be in shame. Go forth, then, to your foreign love- Rush to your monarch's call; Go give to him your carcass, too, So that you give him all! Go forth, at least, and dare to be An undivided man! Ye have no place on all the earth By any other plan! DRINK BONE-DRY Begin and You Will Never Cease to Like It WE MUST. We must forget that God is love, We must forget our heav'n above, We must! We must! And we must strike and rape and kill, And we must bow to Satan's will, Till German hands are cold and still. We must! We must! We must forget Christ's diadem. We must forget that we are men, We must! We must! And we must rouse the beast within. And we must torture, bruise and sin. Since this is war, so must we win. We must! We must! J^ ptri*SGt that liate is wrd orget the helpless We must! We mustt And we must make reprisals rij And we must fight like demoi Till Boche and Hun will dr( We USrONICEdBkeWihtAiiN. We musi We must forget that mercy spares, We must! We must! And we must terrorize the sky. And we must see that children die. Our cause is just, so is our cry! We must! We must! We must forget, help us Lord! We must forget Thy Blessed Word! We must! We must! If hope lies in atrocity. If hell leads on to victory. Through hell, so shall we come to Thee! To whom we must! DRINK BONE-DRY Because It Must Be Better When It Is the Best THE OVERT ACT. What more would you have them do? Thou, my flag, red, white and blue, Soaked in blood, and slandered through- And are you brave? Sinking thus in bloody slime, What more constitutes a crime? Flag of Concord, call her time! Or cease to wave! Patient lover of the right. Foes have dared your silent might. Outraged on the sea at night — Lnd ,^iim^-fm^^'^m^^^^ Till wamng ll^l-¥otmas"gta'nd aghast death' Thy hope is where thine honor lies; Remember this, and then arise From sleep's embrace! Awake! The overt act is done, The gauntlet of thy mercy run, Peace now would shame each native son To hide his face! (March 18, 1917.) DRINK BONE-DRY And You'll Never Forget It PEACE PRAYER. King of Heaven, Prince of Peace, We implore that war may cease; We, Thy subjects near the strife, Pray for hope and pray for life. Thou, O God, to Thee we pray, Help us heal the wounds today. We implore Thy tender care Still to guard our land so fair; Shelter us beneath a dove, Guide us ^^tl^s^iifbii^ love. *e beseecl ^till to stei Help us keep* Tranquil on the seas of fate. Thou, God, to Thee we pray, Help us heal the wounds today. King of Heaven, Lord of Earth, Teach us what a life is worth; Help us save the life you gave Ever from a soldier's grave. Thou, Jehovah, Thou, we pray. Calm earth's battlefields today. 3477-183 iatotK74 BONE-DRY For Your Family's Sake T^rink ^^BONE DRY A SATISFYING BEVERAGE Pure, Wholesome and Cheering ■^ Piwmm^^jimsMaK Houston Ice & Brewing Ass'n Phone Preston 58 or 869 Cor. Franklin Ave. and Milam St. HOUSTON., - . . 4t ■■■ TEXAS EUREKA LAUNDRY Forsimiiers lans 610 Travis Street Houston, Texas Phones Preston 565 and 882 C(^Hte3)(C(S>A(®))(C®^^ HOTEL BENDER New $1,000,000 Hotel Elegantly Furnished Strictly Modern European Hotel with all Up-to-date Appliances for Comfort of Guests Our House is open to the Soldiers, and we especially ask their patronage. Two Social Entertainments each week {Wed- nesday and Saturday) especially for Men of the U. S. Service. :■: :■: :-: Charges Commensurate with Service Rendered Centrally Located, Convenient to Street Car and Interurban Lines Phone Preston 8100 Corner Main St. and Walker Ave. HOUSTON, TEXAS Sold by Ai: Army Exchanges WmBmmm^ Favorite Beverage of Boys in Khaki L> v^ ^^ ax"^ '^^M^ \ / ^I« ^'^ / ^^¥a^o '^^ ^^ ^i 4°*. v-s^ "oK <^ aO •JL*^' '^ • ^^^ ^^x. .Ov% '-^0 ,-?- •^o 3V •Ao^ 'oK ^°^^ » • . ''^^ .^^ .^^^ ^^ ^^ ^Ov% 'v^O^ 4 o .vV. /"v 4^rM ^'i^'- '^'^.^ ^ -^^^5^-'- -o t-0^

02018603

Chords from a strange lyre.

Allstorm, Oliver

chordsfromstrang00alls_djvu.txt

¥ f I if M\Q BI:(;S};':NPiif')-^ IVER ALLSTORM. Class .^T^ 'hS:Q-\ Book d^SS^l^ GopightN" i3U)J A^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Poems. OLIVER ALLSTORM CHORDS FROM A STRANGE LYRE BY OLIVER ALLSTORM. SIMS, WILSON & SIMS. 259 Wabash Avenue CHICAGO, ILL. 1902 3 '3 •" 3 J D rTHE LIBRARV OF CONGRESS, Two C0f»tE8 REC€tVEO JUL. I 1902 >, COPVWIOHT EHTHV dtASS C^XXa No. COPY 8. COPTBIGHT By OLIVER ALLSTORM A. D. 1902 THIS LITTLE BOOK IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED TO MY MOTHER CONTENTS. PAGE. Saraphal 9 The Calm Of Night 11 I Would Rest Me in The Light 13 Evening Star 15 Unrequited 16 Twilight Dream 16 The Yoke Of Burdens 19 The Blending 20 Away Fond Heart 21 Love Of My Love 22 Floweret Of Blushes 23 Why Doth Love IMove 25 The Exception 27 The Inseparable 29 With You Beside Me 31 Fragment 32 We May Never Meet Again 33 The Tangled Maze 34 Eunice 35 Dear I^ove I Believe 36 Somehow 37 An Autograph 38 Eventide 39 Sunset From My Window 40 Uncrowned Princess 41 I know That It Is Wrong, This Wish 43 Lines to A Fair Stranger 45 When I Embrace Thee 48 Hovr Strangely Sad I Feel To-night 49 A Ballad Of The Day 51 As The Day So Is My Life 53 Forgive, Me Love 55 Absence 56 A Dandelion 57 The Rainy Day 58 I Shall Use No Charm To Win Thee 59 The Heart I Love Is Beating Yet 60 Solitude 61 Ultramundane 65 Up The Silver Tombigbee 66 My Love For Thee 67 Indian Summer 68 The Harvest 69 Don't Go Yet 71 Who Has A -Better Right? 73 The Assurance 75 The Penalties 76 You Hadn't Ought To 77 Proposal At Sea 79 Three Kisses 81 O'Connor Bells 85 The Shepherdess 86 As You Have Done For Me 87 Lullaby Of A Dying Mother 89 Wail Of A Night 91 My Wingless Angel 97 Violets 99 Forbidden Fruit 100 Remember The Maiue 102 San Juan 103 Anselmas Phanciancois 104 Old Alabama Banjo 107 The Last Good-Night 109 'Tis Now Far More Than Ever Ill Lines On A Stuffed Eagle 113 A Farewell 115 To A Child 117 Leon F. Czolgosz 121 SARAPHAL. SAEAPHAL. THEEE is a harp whose tranquil string Touched by the hand of one, Can, like the twilight zephyrs, bring Sweet peace when day is done; And there's a voice whose music sweet Attends this harp of mine, Whose notes outlive the echoes fleet — And love, that voice is thine. There is a brow whose temples form The archway to the soul, Can, like the sunbeams in a storm, Make clouds of sorrow roll; And there's an eye whose azure orb Affords a light divine, Whose lash no evil things absorb — And love, that eye is thine. 10 SARAPHAL. There is a form whose matchless grace Might well adorn a queen, Can, like the fairies 'trance the place Wherever it is seen; And there's a soul whose hopes arise Ahove life's terrene brine, Wliose light has made my paradise — And love, that soul is thine. THE CALM OF NIGHT. 11 THE CALM OF NIG-HT. HOW can the soul of mortal man In this deep calm of night, Deny God's firm unaltered plan Oi' universal light? The very touch of finite things One cannot understand, Yet hattles with the orh that swings His omnipotent hand. I can not view the starry arch Without a sense of peace; And, joining in the glory march, My aspirations cease. I feel too deep, I know too well, How small a thing am I, Yet in the consciousness' of hell. Dare raise my feeble cry. And thou, oh God of love and light, Support me at thy bar With this sweet peace, the calm of night. That moves me to a star. 12 THE CALM OF NIGHT. Then beauty, unadorned by day, Shall mark my spirit brow And whisper all my fears away More faithfully than now. 7 WOULD REST ME IN THE LIGHT 13 I WOULD EEST ME IX THE LIGHT. I WOULD rest me in the light Of the quiet west. On the bosom of the night In eternal rest. There the morning's light is dead, As my soul would be Lost in crimson on the bed Of eternity, Not to wake in boundless bliss Of the vast unknown, But to rest beneath a kiss In the grave alone. Though that kiss cannot be thine, Still thine was the last; And its pressure still is mine On my lips so fast. Thus while m.em'ry still is green, And ere I forget, Ere the cold light comes between' Or a shadow yet. 14 I WOULD REST ME IN THE LIGHT. I would rest me in the light Of the quiet west, On the bosom of the night In eternal rest. EVENING STAR. 15 EVENING STAR. HOW exquisitely beautiful Thou shine st forth to-night! I fain would bathe my conscious soul, Within thy mellow light. Eaptui"^ may bear my finite mind Across thy pathless sea. Yet thou, star of human hope. Art more than dreams' to me. Fve viewed thee in the darkest night, When hope's last breath came low, And in thy steadfast beam I felt New life within me flow. And ever, as I turn to thee, I can not feel forlorn, For something whispers while you shine Man has no need to mourn. 16 UNREQUITED. UNREQUITED. OH, how can I cancel My passion for thee, My love and affection Burning so free? Yet still I ranst leave thee, Cruel fate to regard, And suffer repentance Without a reward. Repent, — for I loved thee In moments of bliss? Ah, yes — for the wild dream Awak'ning to this. So, farewell, thou faithless; Still I shall be true. Like birds I'll remember, My summer with you, And fly when the winter Has ceased in thy breast. And whisper, for thee love, I die with the rest. TWILIGHT DREAM, 17 TWILIGHT DREAM. GO to thy window at sunset, My love, when the day is low, Go to thy window at sunset, When the soft sweet zephyrs blow, And list to the west-wind songlet, To the sound the angels know. Look back to the wooded inland, Where the last beams fade away, Look back to the dreary inland, Where the sky is tinged with gray. And think of him in the low land, Where the shadows darkly lay. Join the sunbeam with the moon beam. Let no shadow twixt them roll: Join the day-dream with the night-dream, In the annals of our scroll; Let no thought beyond a love-dream Intervene thy soul, my soul. Look beyond the peaceful river, my life, my soul, my love. Look beyond the quiet river, Where the bright stars shine above. And remember e'en thy lover Knows what thou art dreaming of. 18 TWILIGHT DREAM. Watch the purple join the darkness With the sinking of the sun; Wat(3h the west verge in the darkness When the d3dng day is done, With the brightness and the darkness Of the heart that you have won. Then when all the world is' silent. And the darkness steals the light, Breathe a prayer that reaches heaven To the glory of the night, And in silence hold communion With the love you deem is right. THE YOKE OF BURDENS. 19 THE YOKE OF BURDEN'S. WHY do the tears come to my eyes In thinking thus of thee, my love? Thou art not yet in paradise, Though thou wert framed to dwell above. Why do the fears rise in my breast? Because I know thou art too fair To launch from out thy place of rest Into my sea of winding care. Why do the years stretched out before, Seem less than what they ought to be? Because I fear your heart the more Shall suiJer, when I burden thee. Why do the tears rebuke the smiles That welcome thee e'en now as mine? Because I fear some day the trials That weigh on me shall all be thine. 20 THE BLENDING. THE BLEIsTDING. YOU love with a love One gives to the one One cares to be with forever; 1 love with the love You give to the one That cares to be absent never. We love with a love That comes from above, Which naught on earth can sever; But one can we love, As two we are one, That wish to be one forever. AWAY FOND HEART. 21 AWAY FOND HEART. AWAY, fond heart, I hear the bell! The shipman's cry, aye I aye! One kiss, and then, dear love, farewell Until our bridal day. Away, fond ship, thy beaten deck Bosoms my soul to-night. May slum.bers not npstir a wreck, ()r conscience know affright. Away, fond sea, I turn to shore; Thy bright waves' speak to me; Their whisperings bear my darling o'er And safely back to me. Away, fond world, I go to rest; Do not disturb my dream. But wake me when my aching breast Is wept on by Maream. 22 LOVE OF MY LOVE. LOVE OF MY LOVE. LOVE from above, A flame of fire; Love of m}^ love, My soul's desire; Love for the star, A moth at sea; Love, though afar, Longing for thee. LoTO from below, A snowfiake white; Love, may 1 know You melt to-night? LoYC for the sky, A drop of rain; Love, may T fly To thee again? Love from your soul, A breath divine; Love to control A heart like mine; Love for the love I give to thee; Love from above That dwells in me. FLOWERET OF BLUSHES. 23 FLOWEEET OF BLUSHES. FLOWRET of blushes, Thou^rt bursting in bloom. Teacher of thrushes Thou'rt singing for whom? Oh, whisper the beating Thy heart is repeating So pealfully, Stealfully, over the scale. Light over the gamut, The echoes avail. Avail for the dearest, The loved and the nearest; floweret of blushes, The river that rushes, The brooklet that gushes, Is' singing of thee. Is singing thy beauty. Thy heart and thy duty; Fve heard it in slumber, Ah, times without number. Oh, shall it prove sombre, Or sweet unto me ? 24 FLOWERET OF BLUSHES. Lily of whiteness, Thou'rt blooming so fair; Being of lightness Thon'rt gardened with care. Thy petals are sprouting, — No human is doubting, So sweetfuUy, J^eatfully, scented and true. That poachers' are ready To cite an ado. To pluck thee, and claim thee, To wear thee, and name thee, Lily of whiteness, The sun in its brightness. The fairies of lightness, ^re guarding but thee; And I from the thicket Am warding the wicked. That they in their madness. May not cause you sadness. love, in your gladness, Turn gently to me. WHY DOTH LOVE MOVE. 25 WHY DOTH LOVE MOVE. WHY doth love move The human breast, That dares not make Its passion known? Long nights of wake, Devoid of rest. And days to live And walk alone! Why doth love move A single heart, That finds defeat And solitude, ^ Yet suif ers well Though still apart, dream of life, not understood? 26 WHY DOTH LOVE MOVE. Why doth love move The human breast, That finds res^ponse With eager breath, And ready hands To make him blest, And footsteps made E^en nnto death? Why doth love move Two hearts as one, Two lives to live One attitude, A changeless dream Till time is run, truth of life, not understood? THE EXCEPTION. 27 THE EXCEPTIOJSr. TAKE her, piece by piece, mother. Look! so small and slender, Coughing at the lightest wind — Who could be more tender? Take her when the day is done, On her knee thanks giving; Then name of a victory won, Worthy of the living. Take her mind, so richly blest, With dream-music blending, Thinking only what is best. Ready for life's ending. Take her heart's low, timid beat, Not a note complaining. Could a virgin be more sweet In this world so staining? Take her eyes so kind and pure. Tear bedimmed, yet dreaming; Then ask why the stars endure In their luster beaming. 28 THE EXCEPTION. Take her hands so small and white. Ceaseless in contriving. Constant, from the morn till night, For another striving. Take her, mother, as thine own, Her my hope assuring; Coupled with thy heart alone, Love shall be enduring. Take her, mother, close to thee. Look! so small and slender, Smiling through a sea of tears — Who could he more tender? THE INSEPARABLE. 29 THE INSEPARABLE. I HOPE the time may come when we By other lips may hear it said, How unreserved, how true they seem, How lost each in the other's dream! Here are two souls that move as one. Two hearts that beat a tender note, Two voices from a single throat. Two meant to have each other won, And won, they feel each other's need. Each serves to please in word, and deed. Oh, theirs is bliss a heart might crave, For like the child at careless play. They smile the ills of life away. And nothing daunts them to be brave. Well may I hope for such a trust. For love I dare, and love I. must. My being flames to trust and dare, And in return I ask as much, Since God ordained our lives as such. Ijet others know that ours' is fair; Let others learn that we can teach And whisper when we sit alone: Here are two souls so widely known, That one might truly say of each, Inseparable. 30 THE INSEPARABLE. And if that time may ever be, When other lips shall whisper thus, We fehall not blush, nor feiar, forsooth! — We heed the mandates of all truth. For love, if love it be, and right, Must shed some sign, must feel in part A kinship to the poorest heart, So strong its all absorbing light, So great its pow'r that we might move An awe-aspiring world to love. Some little seed, some kind word said. Would bloom, and flourish at our feet, And w-e would feel our lives complete, Save for the days of love ahead. Ah, cannot this be our sweet lot. In leaving all but love forgot? We too might hear that sweet refrain. Without" a blush mark on the cheek; Forgetting that our souls are weak, We'd strive to hear that sound again; And listening angels in the skies AYould echo God's fulfilled command, As we come smiling hand in hand Straight from the earth to paradise — Inseparable. WITH YOU BESIDE ME 31 WITH YOU BESIDE ME. WITH you beside me, Thou tender &'oul, Love shall subdue The grosser bowl, And many passions Bear control. Thou art that to rae, S^veet soulful sound, Which stays the beast And holds him bound, A fond protector 1^'rora each wound. With you beside me, Sorrows depart, And lovers sweet light Glows in my heart. Hope builds' an altar Without art. Thou art more to me. Sweet, winsome love. Than all of earth Worth dreaming of, A bright gem loaned me From above. 32 FRAGMENT. FRAGMENT. YES I was once a sleeping babe, Locked in my mother's arms, Looked in the fond embrace of love, And pure as angels far above, And guiltless as the guiltless are — I was the household pet and star Tjong ago. Would I were still that sleeping babe, J^ocked in that fort of love, In slumber on that mother's breast, In the sweet untroubled rest, Safe in the dearest place on earth, The throbbing bosom of my birth, Once again. WE MAY NEVER MEET AGAIN. 33 WE MAY :NrEVEE MEET AGAIN. If there is a Never There is no EteTnity, FAEEWELL, Aurelia dear, farewell! Meet, ah shall we ever? Time shall part us from all time If there is a never, Time shall meet ns in a clime If there is forever. Here to-night in the belfry-tower, Shall time strike forever? Here to-night we part the hour — Meed:, ah shall we ever? Time shall part ns in a bower, Eain, is there a never? To-morrow we shall beat the sun, Aye, a day forever; Time shall lay us gently down In the mould'ring ever; You, and I shall meet again, Never? Oh, forever. 34 TEE TANGLED MAZE. THE TANGLED MAZE. WERE it mine to know the mystery Of the coming years^, or days, CoLild I draw aside the curtain, Could I pierce the tangled maze, Would my life be any brighter, Would my heart be more content? No, 'twere better far to leave with God The years till they are spent. Could 1 bear to see the sorrow Which those future years wilJ bring? No, 'twere better far to take the joy Of to-day and learn to sing. "If the world looks dark and gloomy Just to-day, why should I sigh? There will be a silver lining To each dark cloud by and by.'' — By My Cousin Aurelia. EUNICE. 35 EUNICE. SWEET Eunice, charming Eunice, Although you love me not, Within my passioned hosom There is a tender spot; Although unworthy of thee, Regard the love I own, Spurn not the spirit in me. That spirit^s love alone. Yes, I would fain forgive thee, Forgive and call you blest. If hope could heal the cancer JSTow buried in my breast. Eegardless of your splendor, I worship at your heart; Aye, mine for thee beats' tender, SAveet angel as thou art. But I forget in passion, Forget in hours of bliss. That I am out of fashion To court a love like this. Although unworthy of thee. Forgive affection^s glow, That bums in anguish only In this poor heart below. 36 DEAR LOVE I BELIEVE. DEAE LOVE I BELIEVE. DEAE love, I believe thee, You shall not deceive me; I know, though yon leave me, You still will be true. Ah, thus do you grieve me And fondly bereave me, Yet absence shall weave me A love song of you. Deep seas shall divide us, Vast mountains shall hide us, But hope shall provide us In seasons' of care; Through all God shall guide us. And trust shall abide us, So farewell — ^beside us — Our souls are at prayer. SOMEHOW. 37 SOMEHOW. SOMEHOW I can't forget thee, Nor would I ere forget; Somehow you have impressed me E'er fiince the day we met; Somehow, but still I love thee, Nor will my love e^er die; Somehow I failed to move thee, And you alone know why. Somehow at times I mourn thee, When love sighs' for the past; Somehow sweet thoughts are borne me. Sweet thoughts too sweet to last; Somehow since I have kissed thee Love's bitter-sweet farewell. Somehow, but I have missed thee As tongue can never tell. Somehow, beloved, I trace thee In every leaf and flower; Somehow my fancies place me Back in your humble bower; Somehow, such love I bore thee, Love that can never die! Somehow, but I deplore thee, And you alone know why. 38 AN AUTOGRAPH. a:n^ autograph. ^^ I ^ WEEE vain to string 1113^ harp again, _!_ Since naught but discord doth remain; So, woman fair, thy tender plea Suspend to lisp again to me. The chords I knew, the songs I sung Have left my wild-harp now unstrung. 'No more its shell so oft abused Shall answer to a world confused. So, fair one, pray some simpler task Of lasting strength, my favor ask, A more domestic useful art, Where hands are gracious to the heart; No sonnet with no meaning, save Some fourteen lines that need a gi*ave. EVENTIDE. 39 EVENTIDE. IT is evetide, the hour that ushered me luto the night of time, Eternity. Therefore I love, though loving far too well. The smothered sound of life's sweet vesper hell. Hail, hallowed hour, sublime to me and calm; More sacred is thy voice than David's psalm. Under thy watch-light, hope's radiant star, I view the trackless realms of beauty far; Unimaginable reality, Blest fount of love, I drink, I drink of thee My fill, and hold communion sweetly now With thee, blest shade, that cools my burn- ing brow. Move to my heart my child-faith, peace re- store, Until I thirst for life and earth no more. 40 SUNSET FROM MY WINDOW. SUNSET FROM MY WINDOW. LIKE the whisper of an unspoken thought, Alas, how sinks the melting day from view. Light clouds, envapored rains of ocean-blue, Eound many beams of light refulgent caught By those light winds that breathe a twilight song And waft their own sweet breath with them above. God, love, I thank thee for this long; My passions rise, I envy but the dove. Who, in his careless flight ten steeples high. Can view the slow decline, (denied to me,) Of that day star, whose beamings do supply The life of love and hope for destiny. Then sink, thy Maker made another light Thy substitute throughout the darkest night. UNCROWNED PRINCESS. 41 UNCROWNED PRINCESS. UNCROWNED princess, name of angels, Art thou mortal, mortal still? Framed in beauty— beauty fadeth. Oh, and thou, alas, must will Golden lock and eye, that shadeth Nothing earthly that is ill, To the cold, cold wind that rageth On the bleak and barren hill. Oh, thy Maker, He that pinneth Beings on the soil of Eve, Should^ have known the world that winneth Such a paragon would grieve At her parting as all mortals Must the summons once receive. As a star above the waters. Trembling o'er the silent deep, Looking earthward, hope that beameth. Shining where the shadows creep, Ever waking, still thou seemest Like an angel in her sleep. And within thine eyes' there gleameth Tears that strive but cannot weep. Tears that check the tear thait falleth Where the throbs of grief uprise, 42 UNCROWNED PRINCESS. Shedding a cool balm that calleth Fever from the weeping eyes, thou qnoen of lowly mortals. Fitted more for paradise. Paradise's seal is on thee, On thy lips and on thy hair, Beauty's robe, and harp " that playeth Tunes unrivaled, faultless, rare, ^ Now await thee, heaven sayeth, ^ Thou of earth, the fairest fair. Claimed by mortal, he who prayeth Thy reprieve from glory's share. One short season, one that shineth Where truth's heart is wont to feel All thy beauty only lineth All that of thee is but real, All that conquers sin, and mortal — Love the grave cannot conceal. Wert thou for the turf created Sad thy destiny I trow Bitter truth, grim death defieth A]l my love — hopes here below. Loved one, list! (My soul replieth To my heart-pulse song of woe.) "Move not restless, though she dieth: It is best that she should go." Yet in grief my spirit soweth. For the knock is at thy door And the wilder-wind that bloweth Lifts thee yet uncrowned before Till at last when we poor mortals Meet as angels evermore. I KNOW THAT IT 18 WRONG, THIS WISH. 43 I KXOW THAT IT IS WEOXG, THIS WISH. (Lament.) IKXOAV thn.t it is wrong, this wish, But, oh I do so long for sleep. Kow since all tliat to me is dear, All that of life I held more deep, Lies buried here, lies buried here. I know the gay world still moves on, But, oh, why must the weary one? Yet weariness to me were bliss If where thou art I could l)e won Away from this, away from this. I know the cold sod wraps thee now. But, oh, why came the day so soon? Why were it not as I could bear: Thou here, or I within thy tomb, As peaceful there, as peaceful there. 1 know the day sometime shall come. But, oh, ^tis now I long for rest, 'Tis now my heart-pulses implore; They cannot beat but from thy breast. Yet shall no more, yet shall no more. 44 / ENOW THAT IT IS WRONG, THIS WISH. I know tliat it is wrong, this wish, But, oh, can mortal-mind refrain? Although I know that thou art free, Were it a sin to wish again To be with thee, to be with thee? LINES TO A FAIR STRANGER. 45 LINES TO A l^^AIR STRANGER. BLESS you, oh, could my lyre swell The tranquil chords my bosom bears, How sweetly would its notes foretell The hopes I dare not breathe in prayer. Such music then might stir thy soul And win for me thy tender breast; ^Tis this I seek — that sweet control Where half love's fears are put at rest. But, as' it is, the wild winds roar; My bassoon's notes dare mock the breeze; Their discord chafes my heart till sore And sinks my bark on darkened seas. Obdurate in my heart there grows A longing that I can not waive. I live, but living, — heaven knows! — A corse fit for a meaner grave. 46 LINES TO A FAIR STRANGER. This season of suspense and pain, Ah, were it but a season's clime, I well might bear its falling rain In knowing there's a change sometime, In knowing that this tear should cease As winter spends itself by spring; So would I trust, though winds increase. To bend the bough on which I cling. For after all the summer's' breeze Of love should cool my burning brow And whisper SAveet low melodies In strains I j'^earn so madly now, What would these bitter pangs then be But jewels in my crown of love, Since they have borne so long for thee On rocks that billows cannot move. But still, ah still, the veil is low; The future's shadows move ahead. What clime is raging, I would know, In paths where I am wont to tread? Why must as creatures we appall Behind time's great, alluring beam, And in its shadows dare and fall, To hnd life's hope a transient dream? Yet in my fervored soul I trust My abject form to sin so prone, To llim, in whom all creatures must, For mankind dare not walk alone. Alone, alone, how cheerless cold That word of m,ore than passing sound! It chills my soul when I am told Alone must I return to ground. LINES TO A FAIR STRANGER. 47 Away! I will not list to these, Xor strew such seed on fallowed soil; Too soon perhaps my blood shall freeze And end my pilgrimage of toil. But while life's goblet's blush and smart Give me my portion of its wine, That portion still should fill my heart In knowing that thou art but mine — Mine till the setting sun of life Shall stay the passions o'er the 'bowl And call to arms, no more in strife, The terrene labors of the soul. Till then alas, alas for me, "What light can penetrate the gloom, What pinion bear my hope from thee Except the key note of my tomb? 48 WHEN I EMBRACE THEE. V/HEN I Ei\IBEACE THEE. WHEN I embrace thee, It is the world, The things I love; All else beyond thee Is snch of life I know not of. When I embrace thee, It is my soul That cannot die; Ail else within me; Is made of death. Oh, glad am I. HOW STRANGELY SAD I FEEL. 49 HOW STEANGELY SAD I FEEL TO- MGHT. HOW strangely sad I feel to-night! And, yet, I have no cause to be. No sorrow storms my inward breast; All that I know is harmony, Save for the rest, save for the rest. The rest? forgive if here I fail; My beating heart scarce knows its own. The rest? what can that remnant mean? And who can know, least 1 alone, What rolls between, what rolls between? What rolls between, betwixt, aye, what? Between that peace I do not know, Myself confused, and that to be The rcbt of which I wonder so? This conquers me, this conquers me. 60 HOW STRANGELY SAD I FEEL. And conquered, in the rock-bound cave, Wliere hies the guilty soul from ^iew, In quiet, where the heart and soul May wrestle with the combat through, I mourn the whole, I mourn the whole. Yet, baffled by the deeper cause. As babes who trust the mother-breast, I lay me down to slumbers light. And leave to Him who knows the rest AAHierefore my heart is sad to-night. A BALLAD OF THE DAY. 51 A BALLAD OF THE DAY. RESERVED in a measure, Eelnctant and shy, Assuming a treasure Man never can buy — Thus have I known thee, Thou being of light, Thy caprice has shown me The shadow of night. We met in the gloaming, The deep twilight hush. And night found us roaming. Where hearts were in blush. I whispered thee only. Would I had forborne! For thought makes me lonely, And love wails forlorn. 52 A BALLAD OF THE DAY. Eich lustre adorns' thee, But 1 know thy heart; 'Tis birth-pride that scorns me- ^Tis fashion to part. Wealth grins low between us, Pride fosters its power, While suffering unseen thus, Yow pine in your bower. Reserved in a measure. Ah, well it might be. I'll help you with pleasure And make you right free. Adieu, then, reserved be, Eeluctant and shy. Assuming a treasure Man never can buy. AS THE DAY, SO IS MY LIFE. 53 AS THE DAY, SO IS ]\IY LIFE. AS the day, so is my life; As the rain so I subsist, As the winds, cold winds that rave. Wherefore would my sonl resist? Wherefore \\onld I shim the grave When it leads beyond the mist? As the day, so is my heart, railing' lecives deep in the wold: As the wind my woes invade And deface my hnman mould. Twill avail earth's flower to fade If beyond 'twill bloom, Fm told. As the day, so is my soul. Yet my sorrows more accrue. Than winds or rain, timely brought: These must perish; these ensue. Better days, and pleasant thought, But my soul is weary through. 54 AS THE DAY, 80 IS MY LIFE. As the day, thus let life be, Lily-beds or beds of snow All things good may seem 'aloof i^ut m life beyond we know V/L^^^^""^'' "" constant proof Uf the place to which we go FORGIVE ME LOVE. 56 FORGIVE ME, LOVE. FORGIVE me, loye, If when I rise Thy image is not in my eyes. Forgive me, love, At noon of day, If my thoughts are too far away. Forgive me, love, At dead of night, If thy soul gives to mine no light. Forgive me, love. When I am weak And other v/ords than love do speak. I orgive me, love. My stubborn will. That never can surmount the hill. Forgive me, love. That I may live; Forgive, as I would still forgive. 56 ABSENCE. ABSENCE. A MELODY of love-bells, A soft refrain From out of the silence Clieers me again; An anthem of gratitude, Since mine thou art. True in thy faithfulness, Near or apart; An ode of contenting trust, A sonnet for thee. Borne on the while between. Love, you and me; A hymn to the mighty space Twixt us to-night, Sung from thy soul to mine Till we unite. A DANDELION. 57 A DANDELION. "TTE loves me^, he loves me not/' J[ 1 Sang a little maid, Blowing at a dandelion In the summer shade. Gentle winds caressed her brow, Birds sang overhead, And a bnsy bumblebee Heard the words she said. "He loves me, he loves me not — Ah! still there are more. Green's the ivy on the tree, Low's the wave on shore. Fly, ye white-winged fairies', %, I have three to blow. Then npon the summer wind, E'en my soul will go." "He loves me — the stem is bare. Joy! he's true to me. Sweet's the peace within my heart, Calm's the wave at sea. Fly, ye white-winged fairies, fl}^ Out into the west. Tell my sailor of your stem Pinned upon my breast." 58 THE RAINY DAY. THE RAINY DAY. HIGH and low, and far and near, Dark the sky so cold and drear. Eippling rains are falling mad; Here the world is dark and sad. Winds are whistling down the street, Urging on the weary feet. Clouds are clashing with each other. Oh! but it is windy weather. See the beggar hug his cloak, Whom the gamin does provoke. There the bootblack, barefoot Jim, Chucks the beggar on the chin. There is Nell the drunkard's child Weeping, innocent and mild. Winds are nuid with one another — Oh! but it is' windy weather Now the toiler, bent and low, Homeward from his work doth go, Thinking of his humble roof, Where the winds have no reproof; Glad his labor day is done, Glad the night of rest begun. Winds are beating with each other — Oh! but it is windy weather. I SHALL USE NO CHARM TO WIN THEE. 59 I SHALL USE NO CITAKM TO WIN THEE. I SHALL use no charm to win thee, Though thy love may be at stake. Truth shall find no felon in me; ni be faithful for your sake. Other lovers may adore thee, Winsom.e gestures falseJy play; But my life shall move before thee In its right and simple way. Truth, tho' tried and sorely shaken, Conquers, though it be too late, Thou mayest love, yet not awaken Till within the hour of fate. Yet, beloved, if still you love me. Bid love's whims to quickly fly, Trusting more a heart that moves thee In a wav that cannot die. 60 THE HEART I LOVE 18 BEATING YET. THE HEAET I LOVE IS BEATING YET. THE heart I love is beating j^et: Long years I thought it still; And oft I reveled to forget The angel of my will. Above my couch a spirit sped, — I could not break my vow, — And for the one I wept as dead My soul is joyful now. In foreign realms on land or sea, However long the stay, If love be true, the heart must be Consistent till decay. The heart I love is beating yet: Long years was death my guard; And tho^ mine eyes with tears were wet, Love smiles a dear reward. SOLITUDE. 61 SOLITUDE. To SOLITUDE, sweet sabbath of the soul. Sweetest when vesper bells noise to the night, Though't hint the close of that most terrene day Wherein the heart has felt the pain of life, Eapture my soul, infuse thy s'oothing theme. And breathe thy cool, sweet winds upon my brow That I may weep. Such winds have power to move When with them come the floods of thought divine. Have even power to move a heart like mine, Whose chords atuned vibrate to sounds of glee. But now whose notes are tempered by the breeze On whose light wing lamenting farewells roll. 62 SOLITUDE. And, be it thus, like sim beams hearts must set — A final close awaits each ebbing hope. And so my doom is set, my woe begun, My death -seed sown, my life deflowered of bloom. Shall T com.plain, are waitings for the best? Or is the silent grief a sign of pain? To ask a gay world thus were shame to death. Therefore to thee, and to thy peaceful vale, Blest solitude, reminder of the past, I come in whisper lest the world might hear. Men boast to quaff the burning wine gives rest — To burn the brain, and make the senses reel. To taste, and smell of fumes, and then forget, Forget, Oh, what oblivion in dreams! — Dreams that besiege and work the fevered brain To that high pitch where man is not himself. Woe be to me that remedy from pain I Ah no, if stupor tends me to forget, I, of all men would shun the sparkling glass, And suffer pain for them that bear for me. So shall 1 live but you shall be my guide. SOLITUDE. 63 Sweet solitude, teach me thy alphabet That I may learn to bear and to forbear Each pulse-beat prone to rage within my breast, Each sorrow doomed to intervene my joy. Thy avenues are wide, and lined with green, Imbued with vernal flowers and cypress wild; And thy soft wind can cool my fevered brow, Can turn my carnal-eye to sacred forms. And in thy breezes whisper — "Death is life/' Such thoughts would I employ and such create; So take nie now, thy twin friend I would be. Ah, yes, too soon ere many morrows cease, With thee, sweet soul, that flittest on thy way, I shall my burden wreck, and stretch my limbs, And breathe the breath whose sigh preceed- eth none. I know not then, but now 'twere sweet to pass ^ As lightly from this world as first I came. Since thou art fled, thou source of all to me. I, too, would fly, fly far beyond the mist Beyond the horizon, above the skies. Anywhere, everywhere, God knows where best. 64 SOLITUDE. Enough with wailings, the mill must ever grind, On fancy's' loom such silken chords may spin, But in life the real is' still sublime — We sow, we reap, we love, we die, and then, Ah, then, 'tis time to feel to know the worst' The best, or aught that is in store for me; But oh, still must I wail, lament for thee. Life still is void without is rays of love, Ah, yes, too soon, and days not years were mine, In which my life arose. God must it close! Must I so soon view from the rugged height The sunset in whose beams my hopes were born? ULTRAMUNDANE. 65 ULTRAMUNDANE. TWILIGHT and sunset And deeper shades for me Shall keep me in the peaceful glada Where I so long to be. Sunset and shadows And a]] that tends to make The world as when you left it I love them for your sake. Zephyrs and mild-winds And mournful sounds for me Bring back the buried echoes That warbled once in thee. Calm seas, and white sails Bedim my weary eye. For, Love, you were an angel, A ship just passing by. Dead flowers and tresses. All that remains of thee, A faded scroll of treasured lore. Love's sweetest memory. Sunset and shadows And love's own evening star Make the world as when you left it. So you cannot tarry far. 66 VP THE SILVER TOMBIOBEE. UP THE SILVER TOMBIGBEE. UP the silver Tombigbee Southern winds had wafted me, As the tide my heart was free, my fairy angel! Lightly sailed my birch-canoe On the waters deep and blue, Till your dream-boat; came in view, my fairy angel! Would the tide would turn again: I might find the lost refrain, For I dream of thee in vain, my fairy angel! Lost is all the peace I knew, Constant dreams revert to you, Nothing can my hope renew, my fairy angel! Up, up with the silver tide To the source so deep and wide. With a heart, but with no bride, my fairy angel! There is still one balm for me, That my mind may feast on thee Through the long eternity, my fairy angel! MY LOVE FOR THEE. 67 MY LOVE FOR THEE. MY love for tliee, is more than love; Breadth hath no bound, nor depth a base, ISTor height a canopy above: My being breathes unending space. In dreams I knew thee ere we met; Now dreams are past and life is reaL No power can teach me to forget The love I know, the touch I feel. Love, smile, and all my sorrows flee; Weep, if you must, tears are divine. No change of mood can harrow me; No virtue make thee more than mine. Time was with me as it is now. And ever will be but the same, A laurel weaved to fit thy brow, An endless song to praise thy name. My love for thee, Thy love for me, Are wrought on God's great forge, as one With wings' plumed for eternity. With lips to voice life's victory won. 68 INDIAN SUMMER. INDIAN SUMMER. YE chirping birds, Sweet tuned^ at war. Ye Indian summer Tranqnil days, What human heart Can now discard Thy full-fledged beams And anthem lays? What soft winds from A soulthern shore Blow vainly by This northern sea? What floweret blush To bloom once more Ere this fair clime Shall cease to be? Ye golden hours, Again returned As some sweet dream Unto a bride. Who mourns' to think Her heart's loA^e spurned, Yet smiles the while Her tears are dried. We hail thee, Echo of the past. And bless thee for The zephyr-breeze. For kiss returned Before the blast, For smiles between The naked trees. TEE HARVEST. 69 THE HARVEST. THE first low wail of the waning year. Is a sad and lonely sound to hear. When one sees through the gathering mist The teeming fields, by the sickle kissed, Laid low in their blazoned gorgeous dress, In mild contentment, and loveliness. When low on the breeze the reaper's song Grows faint, as the autumn nights grow long. When chill vapors in the sylvan grove Gather as tears from the eyes of love, And the landscape round with hectic bloom Smiles as in sadness from out her tomb. When the breath-wind sighs deep o'er the wold And the storm-wind moans, and days' grow cold, When the blue-bird prunes his wings for flight And the ground-hog hies from the world of light. Ah then, with the crop and stipend good My yearning soul, art thou understood? 70 THE HARVEST. When the dews of heaven bedeck the grain And the harvest past blooms not again, Methinks in the liglit of all terrene, No sad, more sweet, more heavenly scene. Oh, would that my pen conld paint the soil Where man joins hands with his God in toil. Then when this rife scene looms o'er the brink Of my last days, and, I'm wont to think Of the cold sepulchre's' sullen shade, In whose dark cell I must once be laid, Oh, may I then, as the sheaves in dress. Receive, the "Well done" in loveliness. DON'T GO YET. 71 DON'T GO YET. WHEX the clock has struck eleven, With its ringing wild alarm, Don't you wish that it were seven, With her clinging to your arm? But it is another story, When your feet are cold, and wet — Don't it make you mad, to hear her Softly whisper, "Don't go yet?" When the clock strikes twelve so loudly, That it fairly shakes your heart. And you say in softest accents, "It is' really time to start." But it is another story. When your winsome little pet — Puts her little arms around you, Saying softly "Don't go yet." One the clock strikes, all is silent; Not a mouse is there astir, And she sleeps upon your bosom. While you only look at her. But it is' another story Of the sleep that you will get: You must stay and hear her whisper "If you love me, don't go yet." 72 DOISI'T GO YET. Time goes on, and Two is striking. Be more patient, lover dear, There are many places for you. But the dearest place is here. Still there is another story; Y'ou must never once forget, There are some who have no sweetheart. Who will w^hisper "Don't go yet." WHO HAS A BETTER RIGHT? 73 WHO HAS A BETTER RIGHT? IF you have a little sweetheart, One who kicks when you pursue, When you kiss, or when you hug her, Just as you should always do; Or when you turn the gas so low That it scarcely gives a light, Then if she kicks, ju^t whisper, — ^•'Who has a better risrht?" ^fc)-" If her little silken shoe-lace Open when upon the street. And you stoop to tie it for her, Kissing both her little feet, Then if you should gaze upon them, With a sort of sweet delight, Smile when she kicks, and whisper,— "Who has a better rightP' If at times you feel like hugging As you never did before, Don't be backward, but repeat it Till your muscle's weak and sore. There's a world of joy in wooing When you kiss, and hug her tight, For if she kicks, just whisper, — "Who has a better right?" 74 WHO HAS A BETTER RIGHT? If at times you call her pet-names, Such as dearie', or as wife. Don't be fearful when she scolds you; She is all to you in life. For if you do what you should do All for love to make life bright. She'll join your darling whisper, — "Who has a better right?" THE ASSURANCE. 75 THE ASSURANCE. SAYS I, "Darling do you love me?" Says I, "Darling, are you true? If you hold no heart above me, Prove it darling prove it, do! End this cru'l suspense and longing; Start not, though I may repent; Let my midnight see a dawning; Let me feel your hearths intent.*' Says I, "Darling, do you love me? It is time my heart should know If you hold no one above me, Darling, loA^ed one, tell me so. Sweep aside our style of Avooing; Social sets' may like that best, But to-night my heart is suing For my soul's suspended rest." Says I, "Darling, do you love me? Says I, "Prove it, is it well? If you hold no soul above me End this constant cruel spell." Then with heart aglow I kissed her Lips so sweet without a stain, "While she coyly whispered "Mister — You may kindly call again." 76 THE PENALTIEa. THE PENALTIES. THINE is a patient love, Enduring much for me, Entreating, when I falter — A tear's the penalty. Thine is a changeless love. Enduring change in me, Steadfast as a sunbeam — A sigh's the penalty. Thine is a faithful love. Enduring scorn in me, Still as a fond forgiver — A smile's the penalty. Thine is a worthy love, Enduring all in me, Returning, good for evil — « A kiss's the penalty. YOU HADN'T OUGHT TO. 77 YOU HADX'T OUGHT TO. WHEN" tempted in weakness, What power these words brew In the heart of my soul, "You hadn't ought to/' They've strengthened my spirit, When mockery beguiled, And made me the hero. And not the defiled. They've cheered me in sadness, A task to be true. But they sounded so sweet, I had to smile too. They've guided, and warned me, When mostly oppressed. And given my wild soul A pillow for rest. 78 YOU HADWT OUGHT TO. But still is it wondrous, Or still is it less, Just why these words cheer me?- I'll leave you to guess. But if you've a sweetheart You'll know as I do, Then, if you should blame me, "You hadn't ought to." PROPOSAL AT SEA. 79 PEOPOSAL AT SEA. WE were sailing, only we, In a dainty little ship, And I murmured, "Ah, for me Just to kiss her rosy lip!" We were sailing, only we, Friends' in hliss there side by side, And I mnrnmred, "Ah, for me, If she were my honnie bride." We were sailing, only we, Now the day was passing by, And I nmrmAired, "Ah, that we Might together live and die." We were sailing, only we; Now the moon began to shine, And I murmured, "Ah, for me, AYould that she were only mine." 80 PROPOSAL AT SEA. We were sailing, only we; Xow the waves they meekly stirred; And I murmured, "Ah for me Just to speak that little word." "We were sailing, only we; Now I faltered at her side, And T pleaded, "Ah, for me. Just to have you for my bride." We were sailing, only we; Now the waves did madly roar. And she fiercely cried to me, "Take me quickly back to shore." We were sailing, only we, Backward to the dreary shore. And I murmured "Woe is me! Now 111 sail with her no more." THREE KISSES. 81 THREE KISSES. OH, how many of life's tragedies Begin with, a kiss When the first faint tinge of blushes Kindles to a flame of bliss! Then ^tis time for friends to wonder If they both are true, If the God of tender mercy Gave them of his wisdom too; If the kindly stars of heaven Do not fear their light, Then, ah kiss, you foolish lovers, For who has a better right? But in kissing heed my council. Guard the red-lip-line; Other lips may mar the pollen On the rose thou claim'st as thine. Eivals in the guise of friendship, Praise you for your prize, But with your retreating foot steps Each one to her bosom hies. Deep's the nest, and high's the tree-top Free from guilt or stain, If so's yours, you foolish lovers. Kiss, and kiss, and kiss again. 82 THREE KISSES. Kissing^s not the art of wooing; Wooing is' a style; Just as women choose their dress-wear, So they choose to pass the while. Men should learn to know their sweethearts Ere they swing the bow, Ere they aim with Cupid's arrow, Striking where? they do not know. There is danger, here's the warning; Listen to my song: AVho should know but you, lovers If a kiss is right or wrong? Judas. Oh, how many of lifes' tragedies Begin with a kiss! When a Judas like an angel Covets with a smothered hiss. Innocence, a prey to beauty, Flattered by the charm. Little dreams that ere the sunset Deep her breast will know alarm. Little weans that ere the morning She shall feel the pain, Pain that WTccks her life forever In the kiss that leaves a stain. Trace the taint and see it fl.ourish. Hush, and follow me; See yon mother, bowed in anguish On her gelid bended knee; See yon brother — who would know him? God, can it be true? Is this all the work of Judas? Is this what a kiss can do? THREE KI88E8. 83 Aye, alas, comes back the echo Like a mournful wail. Like the soimrl of smothered music Of the kiss that has a tale; There's a grave yard near the village Decked with slabs of stone. But away, far from that grandeur, Is a humble grave unknowai: There she sleeps, the j^rey of Judas, By the world laid there. How she died and why she perished, Could a world of pleasure care? Who shall pay her price for mercy On the judgment day? Who but he, v/ho helped to damn her When he kissed her hope away? Mother. Oh, how many of life's tragedies Begin with a kiss! But a mother's stills the tempest More than mortal can surmise. Not till those fond lips are silenced And the touch be dead, Not till wafted on life's billow Is their treasured value read. From the trundle-bed of mercy To her grave, or thine, Tho' depressed and oft heart-trodden, Still her kiss is all divine. Nothing can remit the beatings That her heart must know- When her lips are fondly pressing On the one's she covets so. 84 THREE KISSES. Life has not a touch so tender, Nor a bense more true; Death has not a fonder solace: Brother, let this bear on you. Scoff not at her soft entreaties 'V\Tiispered for your good: Hold in esteem all her wishes; Let her soul be understood. Love must have a sign to prove it — Where is one more s'weet? Other whims may serve the purpose. But the lip's the souFs retreat. Then, when her fond heart is beating, Such love never fails; Answer back with sweet protection, One as manly never quails. Hold her kiss a seal as holy One can yet bestow, For its eymbol smiles to heaven "Where yon tarry I must go." O'CONNOR BELLS. 85 O'CONNOE BELLS. DO you hear those bells, O'Eeilly? List how sweet their melody; They repeat the tunes of blessing, Tunes' that are so dear to me. Do you know those bells, O'Eeilly, Sound the same as long ago? Only now their notes sink deeper, Somewhat like a song of woe. For you know, don't ye, O'Eeilly, How my heart long years ago With my Mary's was united For the good priest made it so. On that moonlight night O'Eeilly, As beside that bride o'mine, Sweetly rang these bells O'Connor, Wedding bells with mellow chime. And when now, just now, O'Eeilly, As I hear these sweet bells ring, They bring back the heart o' Mary In her grave a-mouldering. Wedding bells, sweet bells, O'Eeilly, List how sweet their melody! Einging their eternal blessing, Opening a wound for me. 86 THE SHEPHERDESS. THE SHEPHERDESS. LOOK lip, thou pretty shepherd lass, Forget the sheep a-gTazing, Forget the world and let it pass, And listen to my praising. There's life within thy sparkling e'e, Though I'm a city rover, Oh could their lashes shadow me, Fd be a faithful lover. There's music in the gentle stream, The past storms' benediction; Thy hovel is a palace dream, To me love's sweet conviction; Thy bleating lambs are guards divine. Which round the sheep-folds hover. Oh, would their home alike were mine Fd be a happy lover. The gentle kiss o' summer's breath. More welcome than my garret, Oh, to go back were worse than death: My heart could never bear it. So, shepherd o' the bonnie hills, Make me thy constant drover. 1 swear, by all thy spirit wills. To be a faithful lover. AS YOU HAVE DONE FOB ME. 87 AS YOU HAVE DONE FOE ME. To A Friend. FRIEISTD of m}- soul, whose pensive eye Has opened nnto me More mysteries than 1 dare defy. More truth than sympathy; My wayward step might wander on, My careless heart be free, And few should care to interpose As you have done for me. Tho' thou dicFst move a tender chord In this cold breast of mine, I dare not lisp a grateful word Or count you as divine; I only know my conscience's clear. And feel that I am strong, Since you've thought best to intervene When I was doing wrong. When other hearts and other hands Had wearied of my care, You saw it fit to break the bands' And warn me to beware. You knew my spirit's love of life. And feared that I might rue. So came like one to intercede Lest I might perish too. 88 AS YOU HAVE DONE FOR ME. 'Tis true, the while Pxiy spirits rose And high ambition's flame, In watching some weak mimic pose Or glory in his shame; But ere the curtain fell each night, Some voice would whisper low, Some unseen hand would intercept, x\Dd gently, tell me, "Xo!" Thus may I on life's troubled brine, When angry surges roll, Eeceive some word as true as thine To ease my trited soul. And when, if ere, I do forget. And long for all that's vain, A thought of thee shall intersperse And cheer my heart again. Then, still for thee, my conscious breast Shall breathe a song of praise, And lightly shall remembrance rest On all my future days. I'm grateful for your simple fear That turned me home from sea, For few should care to interpose As you have done for me. LULLABY OF A DYING MOTHER. 89 LULLABY OF A DYING MOTHER. SOFT and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Hnsh my baby, all is right; There will be no storm to-night — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds, blow, Ere my dying breath depart. Rest thee closer to my heaitt — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds', blow. Bab/s dearest place on earth Is the bosom of its birth — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. 90 LULLABY OF A DYING MOTHER. Soft and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Oh, my babe, I weep for thee; Storms shall soon enrage the sea — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Though your day be dark or bright. Kiss, my babe, we part to-night — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. WAIL OF A NIGHT. 91 WAIL OF A XIGHT. IN the gloomy hour of twilight, Homeward from my toil I trod, Weary with the noise of labor. Careless of a friendly nod, Looking only forward, weary. Sadly on the withered sod. All the care of day has left me, Like the snn on yonder liill. Sinking slowly in the west sea, Leaving here a darkness still, Leaving here within my bosom Nothing bat a bitter chill. Onward, weary, as a lost one, As a dreamer bowing low, Caring little where I tany. Wishing deeper not to know. Wishing only I might journey Where the saintly spirits go. 92 WAIL OF A NIGHT. Deep the evening shades around me Wrap me in their terrene gloom, Lure me to the darkest portal Of my soul's enchanted room, Where my lighter hopes are buried In a darksome, unknoAvn tomb; In a tomb by memory guarded, In a dim, dark lonely wood, In a silent land of qui'tness Where the heart is understood. Where the stillness is unbroken, And the wicked mourn the good; Where the past is all forgiven, And the present knows no fear, Where affection is rewarded By a thought surpassing dear. Where the bosom of the faithful Is remembered with a tear; Where the rain of joy and sorrow Beat upon its mossy door. Beat upon the past eternal. Where my hopes have bloomed before, Where the deeds of the departed Are forgotten nevermore. Here, within these walls, Tve enitered, Not to tear the solemn past. But in answer to the summons Of my sad thoughts falling fast, To a dear voice, now a still one. Which is silenced in the blast. WAIL OF A NIGHT. 93 Walls of crystal, walks of granite Border round the chasm's side, Gleam and sparkle like a planet Of the welkin deep and wide, Like the ghost-light of a candle Burning for my silent bride. On a horse of rude upholster, On two slabs' of granite stone, In a room without an exit. There my loved-one lies alone, There she sleeps, whose soul is wanting, But whose clay is still my own. Dew drops on her garb of samite Prove a mirror to my soul; In their orbs reflect the sorrow Death has written on my scroll; In their orbs I read each morrow How my future life shall roll. Waitches may disturb the wicked, When the watch is o'er the dead, Wh.en the casket throws a shadow Of a form whose soul is fled. When the candle dankly flickers. And the last low prayer is said. Many passions move the temper, But to-night my soul is calm; Somelthing of the past disarms me To the nature of a lamb; Something like a Benediction, Or good David's shepherd psalm, 94 WAIL OF A NIGHT. Save my head is imanointed, Eod, nor staff, nor guide have I, And my cup nor runneth over, Nor in pastures green I lie, Nor is table spread before me — Dare I hope to question why? Parched my lips and fever stricken, TiOnging for a change of mind, For a well spring, deep and deeper Than the slough of human kind: Thus, I thirst and creep and falter For the need I can not find. Dead one, loved one, cold and palsied. All my life I give to thee; Dead am I, as dead as thou art, Since thy soul has gone from me. Since mine eyes scan the horizon Of a deep, and shoreless sea. Life is deep, but death is deeper; Here my mournful wail must end. It is morning, and the day-break Do my fears' somewhat amend. All my tears in vapor vanish Where nought can the soul offend. Out, out from the tomb of sorrow, Back into the world again, From the silent land of quietness, To the turmoil of the vain, From the stillness ne^er unbroken, To the heart-rent sound of pain; WAIL OF A NIGHT. 95 From the dark enchanted portals, From the dead-sea of the night, From the secret, place of sorrow, I'o the grosser shame of light, To the combat with a brother^ To the thickest of the fight; From the horse of rude upholster. From the slabs of granite stone, From the room without an exit, 1 must face the world alone, I must smile as if no sorrow Ever in my heart were known; From the tear-drenched garb of samite, From the caskef s icy pall. From the loved form low within it, To the world's ungracious call, To the factory's noisy whistle, To the hammer's ringing fall. I have said enough with wailing; Yet, ah, yet, 1 weep and wail, Just as if it stilled the moving Of my ship's unanxious sail; Tis so sweet to hear (the soft wind, — Sorrow, sorrow, do not fail! ^'Linger still one moment longer, liinger yet one moment more," Pleads the sad, uncertain rustle Of the tomb's encurtained door; Pleads the echo of her last words, Svs^eter now than e'er before. < 96 WAIL OF A NIGHT. Still beloved, farewell forever, Backward to my toil I trod, Back to win the bread I shun so For the ones who love my nod, Back to earn the rose of summer That may wither on your sod. MT WINGLESS ANGEL. 97 MY WINGLESS ANGEL. (Irregular.) I WILL not call you an angel: Of thee I cannot lie; But, forgive, thou dost resemble More than the passing by. Thy long, light flowing ringlets A seraph might possess; So I'll call thee Wingless' Angel While on a world like this. How came you to this region, Unstained, and so slender? And what gentle soft wind Bore thee so tender? Who named thee, who framed thee So perfect and supreme? And from what isle of beauty Came ye to my dream? 98 MY WINGLESS ANGEL. One woment, I was lifted From a world of gloom. With thy soul that drifted Towards the pallid moon, Drifted swiftly, burdened only With my bleeding heart. Wilt thou e'er return it to me Sweet angel as thou art? Nott as an angel, lightly Winged as the snow-white dove, But in the charming beauty. Created but to love. Return to this cold bosom, Or tender thine instead, For one without a true heart Had better far be dead. So I'll not call thee an angel, But twixt hope and fear. Wait with a patient longing To have thy presence near; And, when life's day is ended, Nought else would I possess. But the dream that we together Might fly a world like this. YIOLETS. 99 VIOLETS. VIOLET sweet violet, Love, I love you true; Green's the wood, I must forget Treaded oft by you. Violets wild, wild before, Painted from your eyes'; Violets your spirit bore Eresli from Paradise. Did we dream as we do now? Hope and beauty fade. Wh}^ then, did I deck your brow When my soul forbade? Love, you were a dream to me, Like a flower in May, More to my soul's destiny Than the narrow way. Violet, poor violet. Child of tenderness, Fonder hopes of life beset Your dream of happiness. Scarce I blame thy soul to rest. Still, can you be gay. With the red-blue on your breast. Turning unto gray? LofC, 100 FORBIDDEN FRUIT. FOKBIDDEN" FEUIT.. EDEN hath an apple-tree Still for my lot. Love, believe, I love but thee, Tho' wooing not. In thy glance my spirits rise; Yet am I mute, For thou art of paradise. Forbidden fruit. Adam's rib, full fair as thou, Walked by his side, E'en perchance as thou dost now, Tho' not my bride. Pure his heart beat in her breast, E'en as mine beat. Save mine knows no soothing rest To him so sweet. FORBIDDEN FRUIT. 101 "Forbidden still/' God has said Softly to me; "Thy love shall another wed Dearer than thee. "Bid thy fainting heart be still Sooth, thou, thy soul; In the light of His own will Thou art made whole. Eve walked in to Adams lair, Thou out of mine; Fair One, dearest of the fair, Still I am thine. Hush, thou, heart, so prone to break, Love would do right; Bid the angel of thy wake A last good-night. 102 REMEMBER THE MAINE. EEMEMBER THE MAII^E. SON'S of Freemen, pass the cry Man to man — Who'll question why? Is ihere one who dare reply? Eemember the Maine! Break the might of Spanish claim, For her yokes' are all the same. Let us prove that we are game. Remember the Maine! Men hold that revenge is sweet We are right the Dons we'll meet Ours the vict'ry, theirs defeat. Remember the Maine! Yield no straw unto the foe; Strike and lay their banner low; Make them pay the price of woe. Remember the Maine! Honor's price can not be paid Till the tyrant's hand be staid, Till their mercy plea be made. Remember the Maine! Blood for blood's a righteous boast; Here's the seal, and here's the toast; Here's to God we love the most. Remember the Maine! Music by Henry Corneilius. SAN JUAN. 103 SAN JUAN. DO you know I felt like weeping When I saw oiir laddies sweeping, When 1 saw onr laddies leaping, Up the heights of San Juan? Do you know the tears came streaming When 1 heard the cannons screaming, When I knew the dreadful meaning, Up the heights' of San Juan? Do you know I felt like sighing When I saw the wounded dying. When 1 saw the dead-ones lying On the heights of San Juan? Do you know my blood was burning. And my inmost soul was yearning For the comrades not returning From the heia^hts of San Juan? 104 AN8ELMAS PHANCIANCOIS. ANSELMAS PHANCIANCOIS. COLOK guard," the colonel said; ^^The rebel will watch for you. He'll make a target of your head And split it right in two. So, let me say that, when to-night The ambushed foes appear, And when the charge is made to fight, Man! hold the colors near. Spring to the front and wave them high, Where rebel eyes can see, Where Union hearts shall dare defy The foes to liberty. ^'Fear not the musket, or the shell That round your head may burst. But guard the colors passing well; Eemember last and first, I charge you Ansel, ^tis a trust, And that you surely know, So keep the banner from the dust. As well as from the foe. There'll be a sentry waiting you To pick you if you're brave; But mark me, Ansel! still be true: The stars and stripes must wave." AN8ELMA8 PHANCIANCOIS. 105 Old AnseJ turned his wooly head, War burning in his eye, "Fll bring these colors back," he said, "Or report to God just why. Port Hudson may be built as strong As old forts^ uster be, But they shall need a mightier throng To take this flag from me. Old thirteen's glory shall not fade, The Union shall not fall, So, Massy, when the charge is made, This flag shall lead them all." That night on Hudson's brow they lay, One thousand tried and true, That night they met the stalwart gray, As soldiers ought to do. They stormed the port with shot and shell And made their cannons roar. Their bayonets played a part as well As oft they'd done before. No man, not one, was there dismayed. But "Forward" was their cry. They saw red death, but still obeyed And did nor wondered why. The gray coats' missiles spread our line And held our boys at bay. So each true heart took in the sign That we would loose the day. Not so with Ansel, hot with shame, Ajid burning to be free, Sprang to the front in Old Abe's name, Proclaiming liberty. 106 AN8ELMAS PHANCIANC0T8. Hot with the spirit of the fight. He waved the starry flag, And deemed that ere another night He'd scour the rebel rag. "Charge boys!" he cried, but ere he'd done, One shoit, and Ansel fell. One moan, and then, a crown was won; One sigh, and all was Avell. Thus fled his soul from right's demands, As hero-like he died; A thousand honest, willing hands Still kept his colors wide. Still kept the star, the stripe, and sttaff High o'er the foes around. And gloried in each others laugh, — It never touched the ground. Thalt day was lost, but not the cause; God had each star in view: He knew the right of human laws, The Red, the white and blue. Though Ansel fell, he won his fight, As one with right accord. He'd done his part that bloody night i^'or mankind, and his Lord. And though he brought no colors back, AV'ho would his right deny? He'd gone to God without a lack To report the reason why. OLD ALABAMA BANJO. 107 OLD ALABAMA BANJO. WHEJST cl/C brighlt sun am a sinkin', Den de eyes ob dis ole coon Look away up inter hebben, Whar de white clouds am rollen, Whar de silber clouds am formin' Pictures round de yeller moon; And I see mah ole log cabbin, Heah mali poor, mammy callin', Call in' fo' her pickaninny, Weepin' an a sobbin'^ so, Dat it kinder makes me tremble Just de bitter fact ter know, — Neber mo on dis creatin Will I see the old plantation; But I still hab consolation Wid mah ole AFbama banjo. Chorus. Dars no mock bird in the wild wood, No song bird in de tree, No voice, no matter how good, Can sing so sweet ter me. I'se ben round dis whole creation, I'se been high, and Fse been low, But I finds no consolation, Cepiin' on mah ole banjo. 108 OLD ALABAMA BANJO. I was but a pick-a-nin-ny On de banks ob Tombigbee, When (ley took me down de ribber, Many, many miles away. Mammy prayed an' wept ter save me From de "block" on de lebbee, Daddie came with the ole banjo. Darkies don' you heah him say? "Lift your heart, mah pickaninny, One mo' gran' ole jubilee, One mo' serenade, don yo' .tremble, You's io cross de stormy sea, You's ter leab dis habitation, Gwine ter roam der wide creation. Take de pride ob de plantation, Dis here ole Al'bama Banjo." But dat war long years ago, Now I'se on life's highest hill. All I'se waitin' fo's' de message, An' de Massa's big ballon, Fo, ter come ter take me over. Over whar de storms am still. Hoop la, 0! darkies, I recken Den I'll be a happy coon. When I join 'em in de singin'. In that endless jubilee; An' I kinder think de angels. Will be proud ter welcome me. If I bring mah ban j oration, Give de saints an inspiration. Won't dey look wid admiration. On de ole APbama Banjo? Music by Joseph F. Mors. THE LAST GOOD-NiaHT. 109 THE LAST GOOD-NIGHT. STEP lightly, don say noffing, baby's sleep- Turn down de lights low, close de do', Call in de preacher, hush! now stop yo weepin'; Yo^ warm tears can wake her no mo\ Unstring de banjo, stop de clock's noisy tick, Call de mock-bird away from de tree, While you's a-praying remember I'se sick, T'o' dey taken my baby from me. Chorus. Baby's sleeping, baby's sleeping, In de garment cold and white. Sun am sinkin', stars am win kin'. Den yo' darkies say good-night. no THE LAST GOOD NIGHT. De long night am a-settin', baby's skepin'; Tell all de hands round make no noise; Tell dem de angels don hab in dar keepin' De sun-ligh!t ob all de good boys. Gadder de posies on de dark lonely hill, Put a 'reath ob de flowers on de do', Walk on yo' tip-toes, and mind yo' be still, Fo' you'll see our dear baby no mo! Long de banks ob de ribber, baby's sleepin', Down on her grave de posies bloom, Softly, and sadly southern am sweepin' De homstead am shrouded in gloom. 'Way up in liebben, past de clouds up on high, Whar de storm clouds do nebber mo' roll, Dar I shall see her, mah babe in de sky. When do good Lord shall call fo' mah soul. Music by S. Janet Davies. 'TIS NOW FAR MORE THAN EVER. Ill 'TIS N'OAV FAR MORE THA^^ EVER. Tune — I'll be all smiles tonight. b' TIS now far more than ever, Beloved, I long for thee, For honest hearts have whispered That thoit hast gnarded me. I've heard thou did'st repress them, Who laid my spirit low; And now my heart reproves me Because I love you so. There's a weight upon my bosom, An arrow in my heart; They told the truth in mercy: I should have told my part. Therefore to-night disarm me,^ — Thou hast a right to know, — And lead me to thy shadows. Because I love you so. 112 'TIS NOW FAR MORE THAN EVER. No other heart need arm them; 'Tis not for them, but thee, Since thou hast spumed the curses That they have heaped on me; Since .thou hast held me loyal, — Forgive though't be a blow, — I should have told you all, dear, Because I love you so. But, then, what need repeat it. Since Fve repented now And thou hast heard the worst, dear, Unflinching in thy vow. 'Tis now for me to cheer thee. And set thy heart aglow. And plead a fond forgiveness. Because I love you so. But why now, more than ever. Do I so long for thee? Is a guilty mind so lonely It need have company? Ah no, 'tis not thy presence. But love, I long to know, If thy pure soul forgives' me, Because I love you so. To-night I shall embrace thee And promise to be true; And I shall do thy pleadings As thou wouldst have me do. Why is it I'm submissive? Why is it Fm aglow? Because Fve learned you love me. Because I love you so. LINES ON A STUFFED EAGLE. 113 LINES ON A STUFFED EAGLE. (A very early piece.) ALONE, proud bird, exalted king, With pinions spread out far and wide, No more a monarch on the wing To guard thy nest on mountain side; No more to screech thy piercing strain, For, dumb as are the silent dead, You stately stand in my domain. Crowned emblem o'er a nation's head. As iitful and as clear of light Upon that rock of mold-decay No more to dare thy fearless flight, Or plume thy wings to fly away; No more to seek thy mountain nest Among the cliffs and shelters far; No more to lay thyself at rest Beneath the midnight shining star. 114 LINES ON A STUFFED EAGLE. Now far, far from thy feathered lair, Thou noble bird with dauntless eye, Thy unwearied wings spread so fair Seem fain to plunge the endless sky. Thy gaze too fierce for weary flight Back to thy rock-borne mountain home Too eager for to reach that height Where human foot steps never roam. Ah, never more these joys for thee, Proud bird of taxidermist's skill Wrought forth as in a mutiny, With open claws, and sharpened bill. Dead, dead, yet living in my bower So placid on that rock of gray You'll stand till in the invisible hour You pass, as with the dust, away. A FAREWELL. 115 A FAREWELL. DEAR child, sweet child of song, As draws the eve of parting near, I feel a longing, I have felt it long, To press one kiss, one faltering tear, To thy fair cheek, and to my breast Embrace thee, and strive to tell — Ah! could I only — my deep unrest Ere T bid thee one long farewell. How oft in the stillness I wait in tower, Not thatt I long to part from thee. But a feeling akin to the infestive hour Hurries me on to what must soon be; And deep the tangled chords of song Reproach me with a parting knell. Oh! how rends my bosom, and how long Before this sad, this last farewell. 116 A FAREWELL. High on the moTint I view the vale, As one forlorn, whose hope entombed, As one who sees' the fluttering sail Depart, and .thinks it ever doomed, As one who hears the wind at sea, The cry beyond the harbor-bell, Such is the wail that comes to me, And so must be our last farewell. Forgive this unpretending theme, This crude anthem of a broken heart. For sad is the low song of my dream, AVhose mournful burden's "We must part." And, oh! must this be thy abysmal goal Nor time, nor death to break the spell? Give answer, child, then will my soul Recall its cry, farewell, farewell. TO A CHILD. 117 TO A CHILD. TO him, first crowned Of this our coming race, I pass the annals by, But bless the ground, Wherein, unbounded space, Is heard the infant's' cry. A father's might, A sirens well worthy fame, Sweet child, are nought to thee; But brave the fight, And claim an honored name Throughout thy destiny. 118 TO A CHILD. A life to live, A work is thine to do. God, may your task avail! Arise and give, And fear no prospect through. But launch, and spread the sail. A sea before. To rear, and either side. Ah, shores are far apart, But bend the oar. And learn the changing tide, Then anchor in your mart. Life is a game: We play, we win, we loose. The outset is' our own. Ourselves to blame. Ourselves to take and choose, Ourselves to smile or groan. Death is a thing Of which we are to be, Therefore concerns us not: Pauper or king Knows not his destiny Save one small lowly spot. There is an end To all that does begin. And that which is, has been; So do not bend To aught that you would win: The srain's for other men. TO A CHILD. 119 Ait best, I pray, Learn to discern "the man." Your game defray at length; Act on to-day; Give aid, and say, "I can;" Then prove assertion's strength. To-morrow's light ^0 man can claim to-day, So shirk no duty's call: 'Tis now to figlitt, Tis' now to act, and pray, 'Tis now to rise, or fall. So welcome, thou, To this our terrene sphere. God be your strength, and guide On land and sea; Through all of human fear — May you be pacified. There is a rest For every heart that beats, '^A calm for those who weep." God's for the best; In Him we find retreat, In him our precious sleep. There is a sleep. Whose eyelids seals a doom; Two worlds, one is for you: To walk or creep, A haven, or a tomb, A cup to spill, or brew. 120 TO A CHILD. So shall you reign, So shall you come to die. Oh, self-willed, conscious heailt; But bear the pain. Nor ask, nor wonder why, But manly play your part. Launch out, spread sail, To battle with a world, Out to life's waiting goal. Succeed or fail. Thy banner's name unfurled Shall still sustain thy soul. LEON F. CZOLGOSZ, 121 LEON F. CZOLGOSZ. BBEEAVEMENT, deep anguish of the soul, Mournfullest when recollection takes us back Unto that day of mourning and of grief Wherein the cause of anarchy was espoused. Did sense of duty hail thy heart, wretch, And call thee to an act so foully fell? Writhe in thv death's anticipation, man, And then in hideous solitude collect thyself. And, pondering, mutter thus: "The deed is done." Dark is thy prison cell, dark is fthy heart; Thy morn of hope shall never more return; Thy night of stress has come, thy woe begun. 122 LEON F. CZOLGOSZ. Still, all, still, God is for thee, though man be nott — God is for thee, and thou art not for him. Turn, Leon, turn thine eyes to heaven. Up to that height to which thy soul must fly, Back to its maker and unto its God, Still unprepared, poor wretched soul of blood. None shall weep for thee; Few shall pray for thee; God will deal with thee. Is not thy every dream disturbed by night? Is not thy every thought disturbed by day? Does not the shadow of thy crime return? Its raven wing flit gloomy on thy cell? Are not the shackles hard upon thy wrist? The sweat drops cold upon thy burning brow? What more, man of shame, needs bring re- morse ? Slander is thine now from a million tongues; Scorn from humanity's heaving breast. Foolhardy act, vain in its mad career! Was it then praise you sought beneath a ker- chieft hand? Did that hearths blood, that soul's return to God, Atone for fancied ills thy spirit bore? Or, did that shot, the death knell of our chief. Make thee a man, or heal a running sore? Nay, deluded heart, fault is not wholly thine, Though men would curse thee, and would rend and tear, As if thy death would cure a painful sting. LEON F. CZOLGOSZ. 133 Full many like thyself do thirst thy blood, As if its flow could make the dead return And right the wrong that others taught to thee. Crime breeds crime, And yours was bred from teachings red as blood, Eed as the blood you spattered on your kin. Theirs is the sorrow and theirs is the remorse; Theirs is' the penalty, a shame for it to be; Theirs is the empty mouth, and theirs a roof- less bed. Their willing hands for toil are scoffed by men. Oh, shame for thee, Leon, oh, shame for thee! Thine is the privilege to pass away More lightly from this world than first you came. Thanks' to the sovereign law that you disown — The law that you would hurl from off the earth. Unlike that Bresci, Humbert's dagger fiend, Who passed through forty hells before the end. You'll fall asleep without a tortured flesh. And feel no pain, save in your fear to die. Poor wretch! the end draws near, the shadows fall; Your light of life is flickering to a close; Grim darkness gathers, and alone you stand Upon the brink of vast eternity. Where will you leap, to darkness or to light? And at what goal in that dim universe Will your soul live, in torment or in joy? Where shall the anchor sink into the swelling sea? Shall there be "moaning of the bar," or carols sung? 124 LEO:^ F. CZOLGOSZ. It lies with thee, Leon, it lies with thee. Meet God with contrite heart and spirit mild, And leave the world a farewell of regret For that base crime the centuries cannot blot. Mourn with the depth of sorrow in thy heart, And say to man, "Farewell! Forgive, forget!" That then thy dust may rest all undisturbed, And mingle with the many gone before. Mourn, that thy soul may live in boundless joy, Eedeemed upon the bosom of thy God. THE END. Jill 7 « IA«-. JUL 7 1 COPY OEL. TO CAT. DW. JUL. 7 1902

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Leisure moments of a traveling man,

Allstorm, Oliver

leisuremomentsof00alls_djvu.txt

/ 1^ 1 1 OLIVER ALLSTORM Leisure Moments OF A Traveling Man By OLIVER ALLSTORM author of CHORDS FROM A STRANGE LYRE, ETC. TEXAS PUBLISHED BY J. T. DUNCAN PUBLISHING COMPANY LA GRANGE, TEXAS PRICE, POSTPAID, $1.15 r 5 3 COPYRIGHT BY OLIVER ALLSTORM 191 I WP" 8 t! CONTENTS The Way They Laugh in Texas 7 A Dollar and a Penny 9 The Bull Fight 11 On the Streets of the City 15 The Pessimist 17 The Scarecrow 18 Just a Mosquito 20 The Ranchman and the Stranger 22 Wild Oats 25 The Daughter 26 The Gossip 28 My Own Neighborhood 29 Little Sister 30 Such Stuff as Lc ve 32 A Dream of Other Days 34 Another One 36 The Leading Lady 38 Saraphal 40 A Drama 41 The Bachelor 42 A Red-Headed Boy 43 The Cackling Hen 44 Man, Dog and Loaf of Bread 45 The Widow 47 Wedding Bells 49 To the Sender of an Anonymous Post Card 50 Love Is Like a Truant Child 51 The Golden Rod 52 To a Withered Morning-Glory 53 A P"'our-Leaf Clover 54 "He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not" 55 To a Forget-Me-Not 56 A Day in June 57 Heart Whole and Fancy Free 58 Perhaps 59 We Have Not Met as Lovers Meet 60 My Love for Thee 61 Thy Love for Me 62 When the Dream is Ended 63 The Exception 64 When This Day Comes Again 65 Dear Love, I Believe 66 Midnight Tide' 67 The Rich Man's Dream 68 Speak Kindly cf the Absent One 69 Long Ago and Once Again 70 I Wculd Rest Me in tlie Liglit 71 The Way to Do It 72 Get Right With God 73 Violets 74 Floweret of Blushes 75 The Penalties 76 Ring Out the Old, Ring in the New 77 The Silver Tombigbee 78 Absence 79 Twilight Dream 80 The Shepherdess 81 Away, Fond Heart 82 She Is Lost to You, Forever 83 We May Never Meet Again 84 Love of My Love 85 Ultra Mundane 86 The Conspirators 87 The Yoke of Burdens 88 Why Dcth Love Move 89 How Strangely Sad I Feel Tonight 90 I Know That It Is Wrong, This Wish 91 Lullaby of a Dying Mother 92 O, to Be Perfectly Sure 93 On the Iroquois Theatre Reopening 94 "Whiskey, That's All" 95 "Ladies' Entrance" 96 "Workingmen's Exchange" 97 A Famous City 98 Zion City Fifty Years From Now 99 O, Blasphemy 100 The Liar 101 I WOULD rather have ten men in the ordinary walks of life praise my lit- tle song, clip it from the files and pre- serve it, and at the same time have one critic condemn it, than have one critic praise it as a gem, laud it for its beauty, while ten men lay it aside because they do not undestand it. THE WAY THEY LAUGH IN TEXAS. Oh, a joy is near When a sonnd we hear That tells of mirth exploding — An abnndant store Of a jolly roar, A glad heart that's unloading. Then it 's ha, ha, ha, and it 's ho, ho, ho, And a he, he, he, of laughter ; For the way is bright When the laugh is right, AVith a '^wh-eeee" that follows after. Oh, a frown takes wing When the heart-bells ring And send their echoes soaring; And the sad souls rise To the merry skies AVhen Glorydom is roaring. Then it's ha, ha, ha, and it's ho, ho, ho, And a he, he, he, of laughter ; Oh, the wave is sweet, For it's so complete. With its 'Svh-eeee" that follows after. Oh, the skies are blue Where the laugh is true, And hills are green amazing; And the crops all blaze With a song of praise While all our sheep are grazing. Then it's ha, ha, ha, and it's ho, ho, ho. And a he, he, he, of laughter; Where under the sun Is the roar outdone With its "wh-eeee" that follows after? LEISURE MOMENTS OF Are you down and out With a fear and doubt That keeps your sniih^ a-hiding? Climb over the rail To the endless trail Where Texas winds are riding. For it's ha, ha, ha, and it's ho. ho, ho, And a he, he, he, of laughter. (jod gave us a staff To support our laugh. It's the "wh-eeee" that follows after. A TRxVVELING MAN A DOLLAR AND A PENNY. Once a great big silver dollar In a great big boastful way. Told a little copper penny All his travels of a day. Told him how he very seldom Alingled with the poorer class; How society caressed him In their houses made of glass. And he stroked his l)row of silver Like a monarch in his pride, Like a vain, conceited woman Out ui)on her auto ride. "AVhy," he said, "you're but a. penny. And you never leave tlie town. Even children spurn and snub you When there's other coin aroun'. " Said the penny: "I salute you. And admit you're standing high, You have seen the things of beauty ]\I(^n have envied much to buy. My sphere is among the lowly Where the evening prayer is said. Where the little ones are weeping And the hungry cry for bread. "I have helped, though just a little; Helped to make you what you are ; I can nuike or I can break you. Sure as pennies travel far; Without me you would be nothing; AVhy, you owe your life to me, While I'm whole and independent, And I'm certainlv more free. 10 LEISURE MOMENTS OF "You may visit lordly castles, I have been there once or twice, Though you think I never travel — That I haven't got the price. Well, I 've been where you go seldom- That's to church — I go by rule And I'm seen where you were never- Every week at Sunday school." A TRAVELING MAN H THE BULL FIGHT. IMacid in the great arena, Like a statue made of clay, Close beside me sits a maiden In the bull ring, light and gay, And her hair falls like the shadows Of a day that's near complete, And her lips are set like rubies In a face divinely sweet. Now the bugle sound is calling. Comes the cuaderilla brave, iMarching in their regal splendor — See their flag in beauty wave! And the picador, advancing On a steed both blind and lame, Drinks the glory of his calling. Hears the shouting of his name. They are off— the bull— be ready! Plunge the pica — spear his hide ! Drive him off — the steed is falling ! See! the throng is horrified! Done the deed ; a thousand voices Rise, and wave a thousand hands; But the maiden, scarcely watching. Seems adrift in fairy lands. Is she tender, all in pity, A spectator for the fad? Just a frail, unwilling watcher. With a heart too full and sad? Half I wonder her remaining. She so angel-like, and small. Till I love her for the picture, Sweet and loveliest of all. 12 LEISURE MOMENTS OF Sounds the bugle ; comes another Bull to fill the torture den ; Sure to fall, a martyr dying. Just to please the eyes of men ; Torture, spear, torment and gore him. Toreros, cuaderilla sweep — With your red manteletas waving. Plunge your banderilla deep. Mozos stand; the bull is weary; Odds outweigh, he hangs his head. Too confused to battle longer. All he sees is red, just red. Then the matador, advancing. Like a snake with lightning dart, Cuts the thread that we call living, Runs his sword straight to the heart. Cheer on cheer ! sombreros waving ! 'Twas a master stroke indeed, AYild delight! Confusion clamors, Hulls were only made to bleed. "Little one," I then addressed her. But the bugle caught her ears; And a fire, expectant burning. Lit her eyes too gay for tears. Is she human, now I cpiestion. As another bull appears; Bleeding, raving, snorting, tearing Loosing fury pent for years. Hell will soon return the torture ; Dumb he speaks with neck and horn, In a language full of battle. With the eyes of flaming scorn. Hold, proud picador ! be watchful ! Grace with care, your daring deed! A TRAVELING MAN 13 Turn about! Too late; he's goring In the belly of your steed ! Deep the prongs have run and guttered, Tearing flesh and spilling blood. God ! Good God ! the maid is clapping. Laughing at the crimson flood. Had a dove changed to a buzzard, Wild to tear a wounded bird? Had an angel changed to devil, Through the blood my eyes had blurred? All my soul cried out in anguish. For her beauty all had fled, And where once a lily blossomed Sat a monster — fiend instead. See! the horns with blood are dripping, ]Maid of hades, there's delight! Blood alone could bring the blushes To your cheeks so strangely white. Late I loved you and adored you; Now I loath(' you and despise. If a look alone could strangle I would slay you w^ith my eyes. Once I thought that beauty sheltered Ev'ry impulse pity knew; Once I thought that even mercy Was divine in eyes of blue, Now ; ah, wave your red manteleta ! Flaunt its flame before my face! Teach me that no gentle spirit Ever comes within this place. Teach me; I am wild with frenzy; Wild with laughter and delight ; Wild with music; wild with slaughter; Wild with rapture in the fight. 14 LEISURE MOMENTS OF AVIkm'c within this sea of pU^asure Is there room for pity's whiiiif Glory is at stake — shall mercy, Tears of mercy, maive it dim? No, 1 hear the mocking voices, And the maiden answers, No! Seems a specter — all this daring! There's a thrill in every blow! Picador, ride hard and bravely. Blood has made my being glad ; 'T would be treason to l)e tender When my devil heart is mad. Twilight falls and shadows gather; Steed and bull find rest at last. Their poor limbs have stretched forever, And the ga.y crowd dwindles fast. Still I linger like a dreamer. Waked from some narcotic spell. Glad remorse and shame have found me. Adios! Oh, game of hell. Jaurez, Mexico. A TRAVELING MAN 15 ON THE STREETS OF THE CITY. I stood upon the thoroughfare and heard the "Army" sing', And my thoughts went back to motlier like a hird upon the wing. I could see her in the moonlight there reclining in her chair. As I heard the "Army" singing, "^ly name in moth- er 's prayer. ' ' I could see her bending sweetly o'er the pillow where I Iny. For she seemed so much an angel when she taught me how to pray. I could feel her lips still l)urning as she kissed me for the night. Saying God would kei'}) her darling, when she took away the light. Years have passed and I have wandered like the sheep that go astray. Still I often think of mother and the old home far away ; And I almost feel forsaken when I see a strangm* frown, ]>ut the "Army" sings. "Speak kindly to a man when he is down. " And they sing the old songs over that I once could sing with joy — "Jesus like a shepherd leads us," and "Where is my wand 'ring boy ? ' ' — Till I wonder if there's mercy, hope for me if T could dare Just to kneel with them a moment in "the blessed hour of prayer." 16 LEISURE MOMENTS OF I am often heavy laden, weary of the empty strife, Till I feel that I am driftwood on the surg:ing waves of life; And perhaps there's truth in singing that 'Hhe lialf was never told," For the "Army" seems so certain of "Those suns'^r gates of gold." Even if I never glory in the presence of the King, Let me steal a little closer to the "Army" when they sing; For their songs bring dreams of mother and the things she taught to me When my life was full of sunshine, and my altar was her knee. Let me steal a little closer to the promise that I gave When in tenderness we bore her to the churchyard and the grave ; For if all her prayers are answered, God of heaven. 1 nuist know, "Though my sins may be as scarlet, I shall be as white as snow. ' ' A TRAVELING MAN 17 THE PESSIMIST. Does it pay ? I've asked it with the break of day. Does it pay to battle for the right? Does it pay to labor witli your might ? Does it pay to keep your garments white? Ah, does it pay ? Does it pay? I've sometimes heard a brother say. Does it pay to trust the friends we make? Does it pay to give and not to take? Does it pay to live for another's sake? Ah, does it pay ? Does it pay? I've asked it on life's rugged way. Does it pay to smile on the stormy main? Does it pay to try and to try again? Does it pay to pray when it looks in vain? Ah, does it pay? Does it pay? I've asked it of the lifeless elay. Does it pay to finish the work begun ? Does it pay to strive till the goal is won? Does it pay to live when the day is gone? Ah, does it pay? Does it pay? Ah, where is the soul that dares say nay? Does it pay? (this song is a common craze) Does it pay on earth or beyond the maze? Does it pay to know if anything pays — Ah, does it pay? 18 I^EISITRE MOMENTS OF THE SCARECROW. A scarecrow stood in an open Held, And lie scai'cd all the crows away; They would flit and fly so closely by But would never alight and stay. And some wei'c (juite mean, and hungry and lean, For the desert beyond was wide; ]^ut here where the wh(^at and the corn w(M'e sweet Was the big scarecrow beside. So the crows just fhnv. as crows will do. And starved in the fear of his I'each ; For the faintest gust that shook the dust Sent them all away with a screech. And the wheat and the corn just laughed with scorn At the birds that rather would die Than brave the old ghost on the hickory post AVhen the winds were swcH^ping by. ITow often in life we shun the strife For the coveted prize we seek; We shrink as from harm at each alarm. And we fear when the way looks bleak. While if we did right, and sought with our might Why failures so often surprise, AVe'd find all the mess that hinders success ■' Is a, scarecrow in disguise He not like a crow, should an ill wind blow. Or a phantom of trouble appear: Just press to the goal though signals toll That danger is hovering near. A TRAVELING MAN 19 Would you win, then dare, eouiit worry and care As specters that stand as your foe. And the road will be clear, if you count ev'ry fear As only an old scarecrow. 20 LEISURE MOMENTS OF JUST A MOSQUITO. There's not a lueaner thing alive Beneath the welkin blue Than a wild-west giant mosquito Out for a drink or two. His bold attack is fierce and strong, His temper's fiery red. His feet have claws both sharp and long. And horns are on his head; His eyes are like an X-ray wheel That see through walls of stone. His teeth are made of armor steel And reach down to the bone. No anguish is more great on earth. No torment worse in hell, Than these winged demons 'round the hearth Of each first-class hotel. You lie in bed imbued with hate, A towel in either hand. Determined to annihilate The whole mosquito band. The ''lotion" bought to kill them all To them is sweet perfume ; No odor can divert their gall Or drive them from your room. In joy they move and buzz and sing All through the torrid night ; The myriad swarms that prick and sting, With a supreme delight. You rave and tear and danni and swear And groan (it makes them glad) ; You sweat and pull your shaggy hair Like one who's going mad. A TRAVELING MAN 21 You feel the blood upon your face Of those sweet songsters slain ; Then all exhausted say your grace And try to sleep again. But lo — the charge is just begun — A legion now appears; The cru'l, persistent, vicious gun. Again unnerves your ears. They win the fight. Ah, such is fate ! The clock is striking five. All night you've been mosquito bait — Thank God, you're still alive. that some power could slay and glean This pestilence that vexes. From off the hills God made so green Away down South in Texas. 22 LELSL'RE MOMENTS OF THE RANCHMAN AND THE STRANGER. The Rniichinan sighed. "See yonder oxeii-freig'ht Wind sh)vvly o'er the phiins; they come like fate To fence the traekh^ss waste of freedom's soil. To tnrn the grass, to till, to sow and toil: They come like vnltnres feeding on my plains. My plains that know me, dear old rolling plains; My plains, eternal plains, bonndless and free. Wild and as tame as I wish them to be. "See how they stretch afar, just as they should, Feeding a mighty herd — just as God would. There's scarce a structure here, breaking the view; Only the skies so deep, tend( r and blue. When first I tarried here, years, years ago. Here I'oamed the wild coyote, here the buffalo; l^inirs here were plentiful, game was a i)est. I^ut life was like a dream— out in the West. "Stranger, these grassy hills all know my voice; No echo comes bnt mine, mine is their choice; My broncho here and me. swift as a bird. Had times together — times you've never heard. Lasso, and just a gun — where is such sport. Like's found on the range of the endless sort? J^nt times have changed now. the caravan train Has worn a dee^) road right over the plain; "And still they are coming, an army and one. Tearing the roots from the trees 1 have won ; Trees that are mine, man, by right of my love ! liy heaven, I swear — by the stars above! They are turning grass for hope of the seed. And ])low and plant with a desperate greed. I have watched them long, and I groan within. As the stakes are set bv the ones who win. A TRAVELING MAN -io "There is no West now, for the range is s[)lit. And the camp fire's k)w, and the lamps ai'e lit. An acre or two gives to many tlieir bread, J3ut a million for me or my soul is dead. Stranger, it's hard to be fenced like a beast. To know that the West will be like the East. With numberless people crowding for room. To know that sweet nature is robbed of its bloom; "It's hard, 0. it's hard, I'll never grow tame. But long for the wilds I knew when I came. I reckon, somewhere, over mountain and sea. A range still unfenced is now waiting for me; A range where my broncho, with me on his back. May ride in the solitude, leaving no track. Riding at random and wishing no guide. Just charging alone on the Great Divide." The stranger smiled, and answered with a voice That echoed from the East, Rejoice ! Rejoice ! A million tongues seemed breaking from his throat — "Ranchman and friend, I love these hills remote; But love far more my brothers who are pent In narrow rooms, foul with a nuisty scent. Who languish in dense aisles, where breeds disease And germs abound. Ah, yes, I love your breeze; 'M love your rolling plains, and soft blue skies; But love far more, the tender babe that lies. Within its little crib — whose pure sweet' breath Inhales the city smoke — the seeds of death. I love each blade of grass, each flow'r that grows; Would love them more, if ev'ry wind that blows Could kiss the one who never knew delight Found on the hills so fragrant and so white. "I would enjoy them more, if ev'ry child Could share my joy, could romp, as free and wild. 24 LEISURE MOMENTS OF Just now, as we two may. God never meant That you should lord the range where Nature spent Its most delightful hour. Think of the mass, Who scarcely ever see a blade of grass; Think of the multitudes that crowd for room. Who never saw a bluebell when in bloom, "Who never felt the south wind's tender kiss And never dream there is a world like this, Who only know the space in which they roam And call four walls, some smoke, and soot their home: Who only see a nation's bustling mart And feel its curses pressing 'gainst the heart. No, Ranchman, no, the West is great and wide And still has room for them, and you beside. "Welcome them in — these acres here alone Are worthless, save that they are all your own. Aye, call the weary in, help men to know, Here is a paradise where hope may grow. Where heaven may be found in boundless space Right here on earth, right here upon your place. W^ithin the range you love, and gold will rise From ev'r}^ grain of sand before your eyes. ''Then for your sake, I hope, and trust, and pray. Somewhere beyond the realm of night and day A range unfenced is spread, all fresh and green. Where spirit footprints never yet were seen ; Where even echoes die, beyond God's trail, Where spirit-wings turn back, and droop and fail — There in that wilderness, so deep and wide ; May distance mock your dreams, till you are satisfied." A TRAVELING MAN 25 WILD OATS. Sow your wild oats, my boy, and plow the furrows deep, But bear in mind "whatever you sow, that shall you also reap." One crop never is enough, so plant a little grain, And 3^ou may have a reaping chance in case it should not rain. Sow your wild oats, my boy, for they were made to grow; They help to make a larger crop when winds of Autumn blow. One crop never is enough to keep the wolf away, So work the rust from off the hoe. and keep on mak- ing hay. Sow your wild oats, my boy, when you are off the farm, A little more experience can scarcely do you harm. One joy never is enough, for knowledge still is sweet ; What wrong you learn, may keep you right, and steer you from defeat. Sow your wild oats, my boy, if you can stand the test, 'Twill teach you to appreciate the narrow path is best. One tear never is enough to save the soul that cries : It takes a sinner's contrite heart to hope for Paradise. 26 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE DAUGHTER. Thoirrt but a grain of human sand. Borne on the ship called Earth. The ocean 'round Of ether hath no port nor harbor save The darkness of her past, and that before. We conu' like meteors; a flash, a spark. And lethe fills our place. From whence we come We know not, neither whither do we go. Time here seems long; but. measured by all time. A drop as from a cloud into the sea. The space between for airy joyfulness; A dewdrop kissed and rising to the sun. With hope alive, but, blushing, disappears. We come as strangers to the walks of life; A moment meet, and then oblivion ; A moment light of foot, a dance for joy, A sound for mirth, then through the exit pass. A moment striving here, a tear, a sob. And footfalls sounding low upon the floor. The journey must be made, and why be made? Consulted not, forth issued into life. Forced through the active aisle, the body bends Like a dark cloud afloat in empty skies ; The body yields, and Nature laughs aloud. So much for bones that wind may sweep away. We come as pilgrims, voyagers at sea. Adrift and nowhere bound, save for the soul — The soul, our anchor to a hope divine. Whether the bar be true, or myth, or song ; Whether there be a life in the beyond ; Whether or no the hope is sweet the while And giveth balm. Wildly the storm may blow, And penury may gnaw the naked bone; Friends may desert and foes may bitter me ; A TRAVELING MAN Zi Sorrow may triumph on. sun may grow dim ; Jjife may be death to live; but hope in death. Door to all happiness, faith, peace sublime, Kisses the eyelids when man falls asleep. We eome. and you hav(^ eome to me, my ehild, As welcome as the breath my life holds dear. I owe you much, and you owe naught to me; I owe you means by which your tender soul May bask in sunlight of a wider sphere Than I have known. Live, then, your little day As if each evening's close might be the last. The journey is not long; take, then, my hand. And give me love, for all I ask is love; ]\rore would I give if it were ])ossible. Work is a blessing, child, and prayer is sweet ; Life is a great success where these two meet. 28 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE GOSSIP. She speaks, and yet says nothing; that's the way Miss Gossip finds her joys from day to day. To thwart good will and vex all harmony Is her delight. No song in enphony Comes from her lips, for discord is her theme, Though quite magniloquent her words do seem. No doubt you all have met her, so concerned And so precise; some story newly learned Soon fills your ears; her interest is great, No learned sage could such a tale relate. Her speech, all magnified, assumes a tone Of sympathy, though truly not her own. Tier one delight is just to carry tales; To harp on trifling things. The social scales Needs nmst admit this driv'ler, or perchance Their indolence might kill their eloquence. 'Tis sad, that where vast wealth may find a feast Such empty heads are found, to name the least Of all their sins. They welcome gossip's shell As some fair bride would hear her wedding bell; Or as some pilgrim lost, whose silent ears Yearn some familiar sound, such their desire. One well might think, among the conunon herd And not in fashion's throng, the gossip's word Would feed the flame, since there we look for store Of better things, but, no, they talk the more. O, giddy head, O, twaddling, gabbling tongue, Have you no nobler song that nmy be sung? Are there no wounds to lu^al, no hearts to cheer, That you should gad about from ear to ear? Pray for some sweeter task — for silent might, For busy hands that earn a restful night. A TRAVELING MAN 29 Learn from the past how "peace hath victory;" How milder winds can cahn a raging sea. Seal then thy lips, O Gossip, be discreet ; Contentment 's found where work and silence meet. MY OWN NEIGHBORHOOD. When I am out at night alone On some outlying street, Strange fancies seem to come to me Of forms I fear to meet ; I grope my way with cautious step As ev'ry alien should. For somehow, I don 't feel as safe, As in my neighborhood. Although the street on which I live Is very dark and long. And shadows seem to move about As if to do some wrong; I feel quite safe, for every house Just seems to do me good; They stand like guardian- sentinels In my own neighborhood. No matter where on earth I go. No matter where I be, I'm always kind of timid-like Suspecting things I see; But place me with familiar scenes, Where long our cottage stood. And I will brave the darkest night. In mv own nt^ghborhood. 30 LEISURE MOMENTS OF LITTLE SISTER. We've been waiting, little sister, ever since you went away. Waiting for your steps familiar and your laughtei sweet and gay. We've been waiting, I and mother, through each long and dreary night. Waiting here beside the window where the lamp is burning bright. We've been watchful; not a cricket moves the silence so intense ; But our hearts, aroused, grow eager, fearful in the cru'l .suspense ; Not a thing that moves escapes us, and, though all the world's asleep. We are sentinels together, watching as we pray and weep. We've been hopeful, not believing that you left us here alone So abruptly without sighing that the fault was not your own, Leaning on another's promise. Could we question, could we blame. When our hearts cry out in anguish that we love you just the same? We've been waiting, little sister, mindful of the golden past. When your laugh was like the music of a song too sweet to last. I remember how you nursed me while upon my bed of pain. And I long to feel your fingers on my forehead once again. A TRAVELING MAN 31 We've been longing, little sister, for the songs you used to sing. For the sunshine of your presence and the cheer that you could bring. We've been sitting here so silent as we view your vacant chair. And the bureau with the inirror, where you stood to comb your hair. We've been weeping, little sister, tears that think of shanu^ and sin. For life's i)itfalls are so many — (lod, if you should stumble in ! Who is there that's safe from falling, that our hearts should be at rest When we know not if you're homeless when the sun sinks in the w(^st? We've l)een waiting, little sister, witli a welcome that shall burn Till the light of love shall find you and your tired feet return. AVhat though all your dreams are shattered? Sin and shame shall not divide Those of us within the shelter from the weary one outside. 32 LEISURE MOMENTS OF SUCH STUFF AS LOVE. Mabel's husband, he is manly Strong and brave as man can be; Loves his wife unto distraction, Gives her quite a handsome fee; He's g-entle to her wish and fancy, Watchful o'er her every whim. But she scarcely knows her blessing. Hardly cares to notice him. Mabel's husband gives her pleasure. Ease and comfort, without care; Costly gowns that make her foolish On the great wide thoroughfare; Vain, conceited, just the model For the fashion's latest craze, But her soul is dead like ashes To her husband's love and praise Still he loves her, and adores her, AVorships blindly at her shrine ; Drinks the nectar, which is water. Though he sweetly thinks it wine : This is just such stuff as love is. Life is just such stuff as love. A TRAVELING MAN 83 Phoebe's husband, he is shiftless, Worthless to a marked degree : Drinks till drunk of blended liquor ; Sober, never cares to be ; Vile and filthy, loose in morals, Both profane and foul of speech ; Never toils to earn a penny, Though the job is in his reach. Cru'l at times, he strikes her often. Strikes her full a coward's blow; Often draws the blood that loves him, Many scars can Phoebe show ; Phoebe still clings sweetly to him, Toils and labors for his bread While he loafs, she plies the needle Till her eyes grow dim and red ; Still she loves him, hoping, praying, Looking forward to the years When his love again will blossom, Watered by her many tears, This is just such stuff as love is ; Life is just such stuff as love. 34 LEISURE MOMENTS OF A DREAM OF OTHER DAYS. Lo, after all these years, Lo, after all these tears, Still I dream on. Not while the day is bright, But in the darkest night. Hid from the snn. While all but life is dead And dreams are life instead, Which onee was real. Last night you came to me As if my eyes could see And hands could feel. You came as in the past With arms that clung as fast Over my neck, Just as you did of yore, Only you kissed me more, As from a wreck. Absence may heal the heart, Some say it doth impart Balm to the wound. If so, why nuist I yearn — Longing for your n^turn On airy ground ? Are dreams akin to life, Part of its joy and strife, Living the truth ; Calling from out its tomb Mistakes that merit doom Of careless youth? A TRAVELING MAN 35 Ouce yon wow like a flower, Joy of a fleeting honr, Unto my sonl. Heaven eonld not have told In those sweet days of old Of my true goal. I would have eiirsed the god Even that blessed the sod Where I was born, Had he but dared to say You should be borne away, From me be torn. Now you're another's bride; I have one by my side. Faithful to me. Thus did we drift apart, • I^odies, but not in heart Was it to be ? Was it to be as now? Dreams should cement the vow Broken in twain. Does life 's most sacred chord Sound on the broken board In dreams again? Tell me, when vespers fall, And all our vigils call Only for rest. Do you, as I have done. Think of another one Who once was best? 36 LEISURE MOMENTS OF ANOTHER ONE. Since you have passed beyond the sun, Somehow, two worlds seem quite undone, One world of which I dream at night Seems like a city filled with light. The other world, how well I know. Its cruel sting, its bitter woe. We were as mingled drops of rain ; Storms crashed, and we were rent in twain. Perhaps just now you wait for me, With bark upon that shoreless sea ; Or still perchance you do not know How often I have longed to go. Our worlds are incomplete — unless Your world has other lips to press. Then only one — my world — is dark. With missing oar and shattered bark. I watch, I w^ait, I hope, I yearn. With mad, sweet dreams for love's return. And if love comes not once again Then shall my days be spent in vain. Shall sun and moon, and stars still shine. And never more a heart be mine? Shall daisies bloom, and zephyrs blow. And all my days be filled with snow? A TRAVELING MAN Si Shall lovers mock with love's refrain, And I, I never love again ? If so, I would not live a da}^ Should k^ve not come again my way. vStill, I would leave this world tonight If I could join you in the Light. Or could you come to me from There I would not dream of one more fair. I only long for one sweet face, One heart to take your empty place, Shall it be filled, ere I have done With dreams of such Another One? 88 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE LEADING LADY. Twilight is the hour for dreainiiig, and if half the moon is bright, You can trace a little pathway both to sorrow and delight. You may wander through a forest where the branch has felt the blast, Where the leaves you crush will murmur, "There is nothing that will last. ' ' And above this hallowed forest, where the skies are deep and wide, I can see a mirage floating as a cloud beyond the tide; And the fairest picture moving is of one 1 never knew. But I know her hair is golden and I think her eyes are blue. I can see her standing sweetly in a wonder-singing choir. Just as when her living presence caught the flame of my desire ; And her voice that was like music from an instrument divine Seems again to come a-stealing round this lonely heart of mine. 1 can feel her eyes so kindly looking somewhere close to me. Just as if the gates of heaven let ten thousand bless- ings free ; And the only sorrow sighing on the zephyrs, soft and low, Is the thought that I am dreaming and that she may never know. A TRAVELING MAN 39 She may never know I'm dreaming, never know how I may drink Unmolested at love 's fountain here at memory 's sweet brink ; I may kiss her lips and relish all the sweets as mine alone, For I am my own Belaseo, and the stage is all my own. I am sculptor of my visions, and my characters obe}^ ; I assign each role for acting, for I manage all the play ; And I make her leading lady, though perhaps my crit- ics deem There would l)e another story were it other than a dream. Darkness falls as if a curtain fell from somewhere up on high. And her image seems to vanish somewhere in the west- ern sky. Somewhere near the place we parted, where alone our glances met, And I sigh: ''Will she remember, or in sighs must 1 forget?" 40 LEISURE MOMENTS OF SARAPHAL. There is a harp whose tranquil string Touched by the hand of one, Can like the twilight zephyrs bring Sweet peace when day is done ; And there 's a voice whose music sweet Attends this harp of mine, Whose notes outlive the echoes fleet — And love, that voice is thine. There is a brow whose temples form The archway to the soul. Can, like the sunbeams in a storm, Make clouds of sorrow roll ; And there's an eye whose azure hue Affords me light divine, Whose gaze is ever fond and true — And, love, that eye is thine. There is a form whose matchless grace Might well adorn a queen, Can, like the fairies, charm the place Wherever it is seen ; And there's a soul whose hopes arise Above life's terrene brine, Whose light has made my paradise — And. love, that soul is thine. A TRAVELING MAN 41 A DRAMA. (The Curtain Rises.) The play was welcomed by a throng That came to hear the lover's song. I was there, and heard sweet wooing, Such as some think, ends with rueing — Others, death knows no undoing Of such love divinely white. Tenderly he kissed her, sighing, Nothing to her soul denying All her wants of life supplying. Even to the portals bright, Ay, unto the Gates of Light. (The Curtain Falls.) Our hotel was deep in slumber Save these actors of our number ]\Ian and wife, I heard them raving — He, with curses misbehaving. She, with jeers of anger, braving Ev'ry cruel blow that fell ]\Iadly I could hear him slamming Her whose love lay but in shamming And they both agreed in damning One another down to Hell, Ay, unto the depths of Hell. 42 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE BACHELOR. Nothing to work for but silver and gold. One roof to shelter me in from the cold. One chair to cuddle in when shadows fall. One little lowly cot, one, that is all. No one to work for to sweeten the strife. No little home to keep, no little wife. No babe to run to me when day is done. No one to welcome me under the sun. No one to live for; the days drag along, Life seems monotonous, void of all song. Sadly I sit and dream old and alone. Silent I envy those loving their own. Nothing to work for. Ah, youth that is fled — Love, that was mine to give lies with the dead. I cherish naught of worth here among men. Living the vain regret — "What might have been." A TRAVELING MAN 43 A RED-HEADED BOY. Only a red-headed boy. with freckles on his face. And two bare feet of tan, l^ut the world must employ, and give him a place, When he grows to be a man. Only a child of the poor, just a slip of a lad, A thing to jostle aside. But. his heart is as pure as his days are glad, And the whole world is so wide. Only a child of the street, but his future may lie In the marts of wealth and fame. And his two little feet may climb very high. Till nu^n shall exalt his name. Only a red-headed boy. with freckles on his face, But he has a place to fill. He may some day employ and give you a place, AA^hen you meet him over the hill. 44 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE CACKLING HEN. It 's the cackling hen that lays the egg ; To the farmer the cackle 's a song ; No sweet-singing thrush that flies through the brush Detains him to listen so long. ''An egg in the nest" — that song is the best, However discordant the lay ; So live, little hen, lay daily, and then Just cackle your glory away. The cackling hen; oh, the cackling hen, Had a sister that posed as a belle ; And though she would lay an egg by the way, She never would cackle and tell. Her eggs, seldom founci. decayed on the ground, While she was out prancing in pride; So the farmer got "red," and wrung off her head, And ordered that she should be fried. The cackling hen ; oh, the cackling hen. Saw her sister lie cold in her shame ; She pitied her there, so young and so fair — Still, who but herself was to blame? That night on a limb she looked mighty prim, And gazing out into the skies. She felt doubly sure her life was secure. Just as long as she'd advertise. A TRAVELING :MAX "to MAN, DOG AND LOAF OF BREAD. Once a poor man, old and hungry. Trudging through the storm and sleet. Saw an old and rusty niekle Lying there upon the street. And he picked it up with gladness, Dreaming of a banquet spread That would feast him in the purchase Of a needful loaf of bread. And he hied him to the baker. Where the cakes and buns are rc^al, AVhere the smell is so delicious That it almost makes a meal. There he stood a moment, sighing, Hardly knowing how to buy. But lie got the joy he sought for. Though 'twas but a loaf of rye. And he hugged it to his bosom Just as though 'twere made of gold — And in truth 'twas more than luci-e To the starving man, and cold. So his grateful hands were lifted In a thankful prayer that fled To the throne that's built in heaven. Hut he dropped his loaf of bread. Tlien a dog, a yellow mongrel Starving with the low and base. Stole the bread that Nature told him Soon would fill the empty place ; And the old man, bent and feeble, AViped away a straggling tear. As he saw his manna flying. And his banquet disappear. 46 LEISURE MOMENTS OF For a moment auger moved him ; Wild he raved in blaming sin : Then a smile crept like a sunbeam O'er his features, wan and thin, ' ' Go, poor dog', you 're welcome to it ; I would not deny your mite ; Though 3^ou 've got the bread I 'm craving. Still I've got my appetite." A TRAVELING MAN 47 THE WIDOW. A Avidow lives next door to me, Who is a social wonder; She's fort3^-five, if twenty-three, With love galore to squander. She often calls me in to dine And blushes in a flurry. Lest I with great respect decline With thanks — "I'm in a hurry." Her name is Mrs. So-and-So, — 1 11 not divulge the donor, — For he is resting meek and low AVhile she refutes his honor. ''Well, be it as it be." one day, She whispered soft and tender : "Now. i\Ir. Sir. just call me May, My maiden name, remember." Much have I read, and still shall read. Of widows fair and forty. But never dreamed it was decreed That one should ever court me. Now, all ye men whose hearts are free. Come look upon my sorrow ; For she has sworn to marry me, And names the day tomorrow. I 'm but a child compared to her — And children are exacting. Already gossip is a-stir Of how we have been acting. 'Tis true that T have held her hand AAHien with her in her carriage : But what within the laws command Has that to do with marriage? 4S LEISURE MOMENTS OF I'm single, and I wish to be Until I bear inspection By someone suitable for me. One void of all deception. This widow offers land and gold. And freedom born of leisure; But she has not the price I hold. Sweet youth, life's dearest treasure. Now, all ye men who < rj;ve a mate Of matchless mien and beauty, I pray you help me from my fate — It is your manly fiuty. For now I feel in my heart's core Unless this help you do me, This widow living here next door Is surely going to sue me. A TRAVELING MAN 4y WEDDING BELLS. Do you hear those bells, O'Reily'^ List how sweet their melody ; They repeat the tunes o' blessing, Tunes that are so dear to me. ]3o you know those bells, O 'Reily, Sound the same as long ago ? Only now their notes sink deeper. Somewhat like a. song of woe. For you know, don't ye, O'Reily, How my heart long years ago, AVith my Mary's was united For the good priest made it so. On that moonlight night, O'Reily. As beside that bride o' mine. These same bells rang out the story And my glory seemed divine. And when now. just now, O'Reily, As I hear those sweet bells ring. They bring baek the heart o' Mary In lier grave a-mouldering. Wedding bells, sweet bells, O'Reily. Lord, how sweet their melody ! Ringing out another's blessing Opening a wound for me. 50 LEISURE MOMENTS OF TO THE SENDER OF AN ANONYMOUS POST CARD. 1 know not if yonr raiment's like The one that I nmst wear; I know not whether you must shave, Or if your cheeks are fair ; I know not if we two have met In business, or in pleasure ; But this I know, your little card Shall always be a treasure. I know not if you wear a rat. Or if you are bald-headed ; I know not if you're lean or fat. Divorced, or still un wedded; I know not if you know my verse Alternate falls in meter; lUit this 1 know, your little card Could scarcc^Iy strike me sweeter. 1 know not if you must be taught, Or if you are a teacher ; I only know by what you write You are some living" creature. I know not. but I hope and pray Your eyes are blue as heaven. And that your hair is like the hue Of sun])eams eastward driven. I know not if you know at all AVhat some immortals think Of those who fail to sign their name When they are using ink. Not so with me ; I would not wake From dreams with rapture laden ; Sweet little card, I'd hate to know You came not from a maiden. A traveli>;g man 51 LOVE IS LIKE A TRUANT CHILD. Love is like a truant child : Absence only makes him wild; Left alone, he takes to flying Where the gentle flowers are dying, Where their lonely souls are sighing On the quiet summer breeze ; And he stoops with kisses raining On their petals love he's feigning They know not his wondrous training — r How to fhittcr and to please. Love is like n tiiu'.nt child: Fond remembrance makes him mild: Thougli the lights of storm an* flashing And the rains in torrents dashing And the Minds with fury lashing, He dares face the journey grim Over hills and rivers roaring Wet his wings, but bent on soaring To the heart whose lips are pouring Songs in praises just for him. o2 l.EISL'KE MOMENTS OF THE GOLDEN ROD. "Thou art a bride, sweot flowor. '' A dying' soldier said. Speaking to a golden rod In its sunny bed. Gentle winds caressed his brow. And a dream of bliss — Touched his burning lips the whih AVitli a tender kiss. "Thou art a bride, sweet flower. To the flag I love. Let me kiss you as I pass To the realms above. Ere the sun shall sink tonight My soul shall be free ; And as they left no flag behind. Sweet flower. I turn to tht^e. "Tliou art a bride, sweet flower. Blushing maid of gold. Tell my comrads when they come All I should have told. Thou the martial shroud shall be For my wounded breast, When they find me here at morn. In eternal rest." A TRAX'ELING MAX Do TO A WITHERED MORNING-GLORY. Rainbow of the morning light. Wherefore shall I sue For thy love, whose noonday bloom Fades like wanton dew ? Hope may live while glory dies, This is life's refrain. Fear to fail not, gentle flower; Thy seed shall remain. Shadows of the setting sun. Ashes nothing more. AVhere is now the pomp of life. Once you gayly bore? Where the anthem of my soul Sung at blush of morn / Where, but on the raven 's wing From my bosom torn ? Then, good night, I too, must bend Unto nature 's law, Man. beast, bird and flower akin Hold her might in awe. Past and present, what are they, If the lark's sweet song But anmse from slumber deep Who have slept too long? 54 LEISURE MOMENTS OF A FOUR-LEAF CLOVER. "I've found a four-leaf elover, " Said a little child, Leaping, in her sweet surprise. O'er the fields so wild. ' ' All the rest have only three, I have seen them grow White as daisies wlnni in bloom. Or like fallen snow. ^^I've found a four-leaf elover; One, two, three and four. Dainty little leaves so green, Now I love you more. You shall bring sweet luek to me And my fears shall fly Like the dew before the sun On the hills so high." ^'I, too, have found a elover. Sweet as in the past ; But the dream is not the same, Nor is hope as fast. Still, I pray thee, leap my child; Joy like thine forsooth. Is too precious to destroy With a pang of truth." A TRAVELING MAN 00 HE LOVES ME, HE LOVES ME NOT." ''He loves me, he loves me not," Sang a little maid, Blowing at a dandelion In the summer shade. Gentle winds caressed her brow. Birds sang overhead. And a busy bumblebee Heard the words she said. ''He loves me, he loves me not — Ah ! still there are more. Green's the ivy on the tree, Low 's the wave on shore. Fly, ye white-winged fairs, fly, I have three to blow. Then upon the summer wind. E'en my soul will go." ''He loves me — the stem is hare, Joy ! he's true to me ! Sweet's the peace within my heart. Calm's the wave at sea. Fly, yet white- winged fairs fly, Out into the West. Tell my sailor of your stem Pinned upon my breast." d6 LEISURE MOxMENTS <)E TO A FORGET-ME-NOT. JJttle blue Forget-.Me-Not, It is said of old You could guide the love-lorn heart Into Cupid's fold L(4 thy legend then tonight Still sustain its boast- Gentle flower, go speak to lier That I love the most. Little blue Forget-]\Ie-N()t, Flower I love the best. Let no great ehrysantheiuuni Chase you fioiu her breast. Find i\ plaee so near her heai't That eaeh beat may know You are some one in disguise: Then go, floweret, go ! Little blue Forget-iMe-Not, If for woe or weal. May the feast you give her eyes All my soul reveal. Go then, 'tis my heart's delight : Go then, 'tis my prayer; And may you find a resting plaen In her golden hair. A TRAVELING MAN D/ A DAY IN JUNE. Drowsy of an afternoon. Lulled into a lazy swoon. Halfway in the days of June — This is being tired. With what shade an orange tree Gives a gentle bird and me, And a book that still must be Only half desired. I would \vMk(\ l)ut eyelids close, Somewhat anxious for repose, Nodding like a thirsty i-ose In a desert lonely. Soft the winds just lull to sleep Til] T wander o'er the steep Craggy hills and oceans deep Of a dream-world only. Rock me till the sun is set; Let my weary hands forget There is that worth doing yet While the sun is shining; Though my slumber must be brief, Let it soothe awhile my grief, Just as rain unto a leaf On a branch repining. 58 " LEISURE MO:VIENTS OF HEART WHOLE AND FANCY FREE There was a time before we met When life to me was gay, A¥hen I my sorrows could forget In pleasure's transient way. But that was ere my soul forbade The vows you made to me, And I was but a careless maid, "Heart whole and fancy free." Refrain — Oh, for a day whose sun could set. As in the golden past ! Oh, that we two had never met, Since love could never last ! Once more I'd be a child again. As when you first met me ; Fair as a sunbeam in the rain, "Heart whole and fancy free." Though I regret the promise true. And you remember not. My heart still fondly beats for you "Who care not for my lot. The love I bore you lingers yet. Though now^ I long to be The maid I was before we met, "Heart whole and fancy free." A TRAVELING MAN 59 PERHAPS. Perhaps if wealth had crowned thee With jewels rich and rare. Perhaps if robes of splendor Had graced thy form so fair, Perhaps, 0, just perhaps, dear, If I had come to woo ; You might have closed your lashes AVith an air of ''who are you?" Perhaps if maids had served thee With fruits and sparkling wine. Perhaps if all the smart set Had dubbed you "sweet and fine," Perhaps, O, just perhaps, dear. If I had told of bliss. You might have shook your ringlets And remarked, "why, what is this?' Perhaps if fame had blessed thee With flatteries of style. Perhaps if all the journals Had kept your name on file. Perhaps, 0, just perhaps, dear. Perhaps ! Ah, well, I know There 's no perhaps about it : You'd 'a' had another beau. 60 LEISURE MOMENTS OF WE HAVE NOT MET AS LOVERS MEET. We have not met as lovers meet, Though we have met as friends may do ; We have not sighed as low and sweet As lovers are accustomed to ; Yet we have met and parted more Than those who court the shady lane. But now^ those happy days are o'er, And we shall never meet again. When first beneath the pensive moon I saw you at your cottage door. I thought that I 'd forget you soon And think perchance of you no more, But time to me a light has shown A gem I did not caie to see, A soul which, day by clay, has grown, ^lore sweet and i)recious unto me. So sweet, that now. I feel the smart This ])ar*ting to my soul has brought; So dear. 1 fear the change of heart, vSo dear. I loath the change of thought; But still fMrcwM^ll, since avc have met And still farewell, sincc^ we must part Too near fair Eden to forget — Not neai- enough to break the heart. A TRAVELING MAN 61 MY LOVE FOR THEE. My love for thee, is more than love ; Breadth hath no bound, nor depth a base, Nor height a canopy above : My being breathes unending space. In dreams I knew thee ere we met; Now dreams are past and life is real. No power can teach me to forget The love I know, the touch I feel. Love, smile, and all my sorrows flee ; Weep, if you must, tears are divine. No change of mood can harrow me ; No virtue make thee more than mine. Time was with me as it is now. And ever will be but the same, A laurel weaved to fit thy brow, An endless song to praise thy name. My love for thee, thy love for me, Are wrought on God's great forge, as one With wings plummed for eternity, With lips to voice life's victory won. 62 LEISURE MOMENTS OP THY LOVE FOR ME. Thy devotion to me Is like a miglit}^ sea, Whose waves caress the shore And seem to ask no more. Thy loyalty to me Is like a mighty tree, Whose leaves a shelter form And house me from the storm. Thy affection for me Is like a honey bee. Whose comb feeds when the rose Has fallen to repose. Thy love, thy love for me Is like a boundless lea, Whose harvest, rich and wide, Supplies the world beside. A TRAVELING MAN t)-J WHEN THE DREAM IS ENDED. Though life gives me only dreams. One sweet face to cheer me, One familiar form that seems So often to be near me. I still am grateful, since the break Can nevermore be mended ; But, 0, the chaos in the wake When the dream is ended. Though life offers only dreams. One caress to fold me, One sweet face that always beams With empty arms that hold me. All that life offers, I accept, Glad even shades are blended With all that was, though I have wept When the dream is ended. Though life takes away but dreams. All it takes is of me Flesh and blood that moving seems Clay to those who love me. Though life takes the hopes and fears In dreams I 've comprehended, The joy I know is w^orth the tears When the dream is ended. 64 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE EXCEPTION. Take her, piece by piece, mother, Look ! so small and slender, Trembling at the lightest wind — Who could be more tender? Take her when the day is done, On her knee thanksgiving ; Grateful for the rest begun, From the strife in living. Take her mind, so richly blest, With dream music blending, Thinking only what is best. Ready for life's ending. Take her heart's low, timid beat, Not a note complaining. Could a virgin be more sweet In this world so staining? Take her eyes so kind and pure, • Tear bedimmed, yet dreaming ; Then ask why the stars endure In their luster beaming. Take her hands so small and white, Tender deeds contriving, Ccmstant, from the morn till night, For another striving. Take her, mother, as thine own, Her my hope assuring ; Coupled with thy heart alone, Love shall be enduring. Take her, mother, close to thee. Look! so small and slender, Smiling through a sea of tears — Where is one more tender? A TRAVELING MAN 65 WHEN THIS DAY COMES AGAIN. Oh, let us then be thankful For the things just as they are ; For the moon that shines in beauty, For each twinkling little star ; For the sun that shines so brightly, For the clouds and for the rain : For you and I may not be here When this day comes again. Oh, let us then be thankful For the friends that love us best. For the home that gives us shelter. For the privilege of rest ; For the food so sweet to relish. For a body without pain ; For you and I may be ailing When this day comes again. Oh, let us then be thankful For the little things that pass ; For the water so refreshing. For the trees and for the grass ; For the flowers that bloom around us. For the birds and their refrain ; For you and I may be weary^ When this day comes again. Oh, let us then be thankful For a world so good and fair ; For a God that gives us plenty, For the good things everywhere : For the hope in something better- After tears have been in vain ; For some time we shall not be here When this day comes again. 66 LEISURE MOMENTS OF DEAR LOVE, I BELIEVE. Dear love, I believe thee. You shall not deceive me ; I know, though you leave me, You still will be true. Ah, thus do you grieve me And fondly bereave me. Yet absence shall weave me A love song of you. Deep seas shall divide us, Vast mountains shall hide us. But hope shall provide us In season 's of care ; Through all God shall guide us. And trust shall abide us. So farewell — beside us — Our souls are at prayer. A TRAVELING MAN 67 MIDNIGHT TIDE. When the clock has struck eleven. With its ringing wild alarm, Don't you wish that it were seven. With her clinging to your ami? But it is another story, When your feet are cold, and wet — Don 't it make you mad, to hear her Softly whisper, ''Don't go yet." When the clock strikes tw^elve so loudly. That it fairly shakes your heart. And you say in softest accents, ' ' It is really time to start. ' ' But it is another story. When your winsome pretty pet- Puts her little arms around you. Saying softly, ' ' Don 't go yet. ' ' One the clock strikes, all is silent ; Not a mouse is there astir. And she nods in peaceful slumber. While you sit and look at her. But it is another story Of the sleep that you will get ; You must stay and hear her whisper, ' ' If you love me, don 't go yet. ' ' Time goes on, and two is striking. Be more patient, lover dear. There are many places for you. But the dearest place is here. Still there is another story; You must never once forget, There are some who have no sweetheart. Who will whisper, ''Don't go yet." 68 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE RICH MAN'S DREAM. Stop, my fortune, stop ! You 're growing too fast for me : I can not count the heavy gold That piles so rapidly. At first, your ring was like the flow, Of silver bells that chime; ] >ut "now each note is like the blow The guilt}^ feel for crime. Stop, my fortune, stop ! My tables rock and reel With milk and honey, fruit and wine — All mine for every meal. I see nine men with faces grim. Starved for the want of bread ; Their shadows fall like phantoms dim Across my table-spread. Stop, my fortune, stop ! My bed is like a nest ; Its feathers from earth's paradise Mock my unsleeping rest, AVhile nine men lie on earth's cold brink, Fatigued and weary-worn, I feel their breathing rise and sink Like flames of fieiy scorn. Stop, my fortune, stop ! My wardrobe's kept with care; Still, I but use one suit of clothes While I have loads to spare. I see nine men out in the street ; Their rags my frocks condemn ; Till I, too, feel the winds that beat So merciless on them. A TRAVELING MAN 6?^ Stop, my fortune, stop ! Life's meter is working wrong: I pay my doctor what would keep A thousand well and strong. While nine men have no means to bear Help to the dying child, Who haunts me with her choking stare Till my black soul goes wild. Stop, my fortune, stop ! I sink in muck of gold. In lucre made of stocks and bonds And flesh and blood untold. I can not use what nine men crave Out in that fearful throng, Whose needs my guilty soul might save, Could I my dream prolong. SPEAK KINDLY OF THE ABSENT ONE. Speak kindly of the absent one ; It is the wisest plan ; There's virtue in a plain defense Of almost every man. Speak gently of the absent one ; He can not self defend: Such charity to others shown Shall never want a friend. Speak softly of the absent one. As though his ears might hear; For brave's the man who dares oondetrni The absent one when near. LEISURE MOMENTS OF LONG AGO AND ONCE AGAIN. Yes, I was once a sleeping babe. Locked in my mother's arms, Locked in the fond embrace of love, And pure as angels far above. And guiltless as the guiltless are — I was the household pet and star Long ago. Would I were still that sleeping babe. Locked in that fort of love, In slumber on that mother's breast, In the sweet untroubled rest. Safe in the dearest place on earth. The throbbing bosom of my birth. Once again. A TRAVELING MAN I WOULD REST ME IN THE LIGHT. I would rest me in the light Of the quiet west. On the bosom of the night In eternal rest. There the morning 's light is dead, As my soul would be Lost in crimson on the bed Of eternity, Not to wake in boundless bliss Of the vast unknown. But to rest beneath a kiss In the grave alone. Though that kiss cannot be thine, Still thine was the last; And its pressure still is mine On my lips so fast. Thus while mem'ry still is green. And ere I forget. Ere the cold light comes between Or a shadow yet, I would rest me in the light Of the quiet west, On the bosom of the night In eternal rest. TO LEISURE MOMENTS OP THE WAY TO DO IT. Say just what you have to say ; Say your say, and say it. Reason has no time for play; Arguments delay it. Do just what you have to do ; Do your do, and do it. If there's aught that's dear to you. Hurry and pursue it. Go just where you have to go ; Go your go, and go it. Time is flying high and low, Ne'er can you resow it. Stand just where you have to stand Stand your stand, and stand it. Show the crowd your one demand Is but to command it. Keep just what you have to keep ; Keep your keep, and keep it. Let your vault be wide and deep. Lest 3^our folly leap it. Give just what you have to give : Give your give, and give it. Boast not of the gift, but live By the grace you give it. Say, or do, or go, or stand ; Keep, or give, but be "It." Always by your heart's command; Do as best you see it. A TRAVELING MAN 73 GET RIGHT WITH GOD. Get right with God, and all the world will shine With light and love and all that is divine. The brook will sing as in your childhood days, And each small bird will carol for your praise ; The skies so deep their secrets will reveal, And each lone star will tell your soul to kneel ; The sun will shine with radiant delight, And the bright moon will court you through the night ; Nature will smile and heal the heart that's torn, And you will thank your God that ever you Avere born. Get right with God, and love will rise again With all the wealth of rapture and of gain : The friends long lost and those forsaken long Will eome again and linger with a song; The hate you feel, the malice and the fear, Like dew at davm, will softly disappear; Your smile so faint will spread like beams of light, Till those who weep will think the world more bright. Get right with God, and solace you dare give To those who do not know how sweet it is to live. 74 LEISURE MOMENTS O:.' VIOLETS. Violet, sweet violet, Love, I love you true ; Green's the wood, I must forget Treaded oft by you Violets wild, wild before. Painted from your eyes; Violets your spirit bore Fresh from Paradise. Did we dream as we do now? Hope and beauty fade. Why, then, did I deck your brow When my soul forbade ? Love, you were a dream to me, Life a flower in May, More to my soul's destiny Than the narrow way. Violet, poor violet. Child of tenderness. Fonder hopes of life beset Your dream of happiness. Scarce I blame thy soul to rest. Still, can 3'ou be gay. With the red-blue on your breast, Turning unto gray? A TRAVELING MAN i ''J> FLOWERET OF BLUSHES. Floweret of bbisbes, Thou'rt bursting in bloom. Teacher of thrushes Thou'rt singing for whom? Oh, whisper the beating Thy heart is repeating So pealfully, Stealfully, over the scale. Light over the gamut. The echoes avail, Avail for the dearest. The loved and the nearest; floweret of blushes. The river that rushes, The brooklet that gushes. Is singing of thee. Is singing thy beauty, Thy heart and thy duty ; I've heard it in slumber, Ah, times without number. Oh, shall it prove sombre, Or sweet unto me? Lily of whiteness, Thou'rt blooming so fair; Being of lightness Thou'rt gardened with care. Thy petals are sprouting — No human is doubting, So sweetfully, Neatfully, scented and true, That poachers are ready To cite an ado, 76 LEISURE MOMENTS OP To pluck thee, and claim thee, To wear thee, and name thee. lily of whiteness, The sun in its brightness, The fairies of lightness, Are guarding but thee ; And I from the thicket Am warding the wicked, That they in their madness. May not cause you sadness. love, in your gladness, Turn gently to me. THE PENALTIES. Thine is a patient love, Enduring much for me, Entreating, when I falter — A tear's the penalty. Thine is a changeless love, Enduring change in me, Yet steadfast as an anchor — A sigh's the penalty. Thine is a faithful love, Enduring scorn in me. Still as a fond forgiver — A smile's the penalty. Thine is a worthy love, Enduring all in me. Returning, good for evil — A kiss's the penalty. A TRAVELING MAN i i RING OUT THE OLD, RING IN THE NEW. Ring out the old, the old year still ring out ! Ring out its grief, its cares and woe ring out ! Ring out its gloom, its poverty and need, Ring out its crime, its malice and its greed! Ring out its barren paths that lead nowhere ; Ring out its idle hours, so long and bare ; Ring out its seas, so weary of the oar ; Ring out its soil, that yields the bloom no more ; Ring out its pain, its worries arid its trials ; Ring out its tears, but still prolong its smiles ; Prolong its hopes ; prolong its happy days ; Prolong its love ; prolong whatever pays. Ring in the new, the new year still ring in ! Ring in its hopes, its light and love ring in ! Ring in its grace, its charity and youth ; Ring in its faith, its earnestness and truth ! Ring in its untrod fields that stretch afar; Ring in its seeds that yearn to kiss a star; Ring in its seas so anxious for the sail : Ring in its hills that shelter every vale ! Ring in its God ! Ring loud, glad bells, ring in ! Ring in its Christ, who saves a world from sin ! Prolong your song, prolong celestial praise ; Prolong your love ; prolong the life that pays ! 78 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE SILVER TOMBIGBEE. Up the silver Tombigbee Southern winds had wafted me. As the tide, my heart, was free, 0, my fairy angel ! Lightly sailed by birch canoe On the waters deep and blue, Till your dream-boat came in view O. my fairy angel ! Would the tide would turn again : I might find the lost refrain. For I dream of thee in vain, 0, my fairy angel ! Lost is all the peace I knew. Constant dreams revert to you. Nothing can my hope renew, O, my fairy angel ! ITp, up with the silver tide To the source so deep and wide. With a heart, but with no bride, 0, my fairy angel ! There is still one l)alm for me, That my mind may feast on thee Through the long eternity, O. mv fairv nnge] ! A TRAVELING MAN 79 ABSENCE. A melody of love-bells, A soft refrain From out of the silence Cheers me again; An anthem of gratitude, Since mine thou art, True in thy faithfulness, Near or apart; An ode of contenting trust, A sonnet for thee, Borne on the while between, Love, you and me. A hymn to the mighty space Twixt us tonight, Sung from thy soul to mine Till we unite. 80 LEISURE MOMENTS OF TWILIGHT DREAM. Go to thy window at sunset My love, when the day is low, Go to thy window at sunset, When the soft, sweet zephyrs blow. And list to the west-wind songlet, To the sound the angels know. Look back to the wooded inland, Where the last beams fade away, Look back to the dreary inland. Where the sky is tinged with gray, And think of him in the low land, Where the shadows darkly lay. Join the sunbeam with the moon beam, Let no shadow tAvixt them roll : Join the day-dream with the night-dream, In the annals of our scroll ; Let no thought beyond a love-dream Intervene thy soul, my soul. Look beyond the peaceful river, O my life, my soul, my love ! Look beyond the quiet river, Where the bright stars shine above, And remember e'en thy lover Knows what thou are dreaming of. Watch the purple join the darkness With the sinking of the sun; AVatch the west verge in the darkness When the dying day is done. With the brightness and the darkness Of the heart that you have won. A TRxiVELING MAN 81 Then when all the world is silent, And the darkness steals the light, Breathe a prayer that reaches heaven To the glory of the night, And in silence hold communion With the love you deem is right. THE SHEPHERDESS. Look up ! My pretty shepherd lass, Forget the sheep now grazing. Forget all things that come to pass. And listen to my praising. There's life within thy sparkling e'e— Grace in thy queenly cover ; Thy charms both thrill, and envy me. Lest thou shouldst have a lover. There's music in the gentle stream, The past storm's benediction; Thy green hut is a palace dream To me, love's sweet conviction. Thy bleating lambs are guards divine, Which round the sheepfolds hover. Oh, would their ken alike were mine, I'd be a happy lover. The gentle kiss o' summer's breath Make me abhor my garret ; Oh, to return were worse than death. My soul could never bear it. So, shepherd o' the bonnie hills, Make me thy fellow-drover : I swear, by dells and woods and rills. To be a constant lover. h2 leisure moments op AWAY, FOND HEART. Away, fond heart, I hear the bell! The shipman's cry, aye! aye! One kiss, and then, dear love, farewell Until our bridal day. Away, fond ship, thy beaten deck Bosoms my soul tonight, May slumbers not upstir a wreck. Or conscience know affright. Away, fond sea, I turn to shore ; The bright waves speak to me ; Their whisperings bear my darling o'er And safely back to me. Away, fond world, I go to rest : Do not disturb my dream, But wake me when my heaving breast Is wept on by Maream. A TRAVELING MAN 83 SHE IS LOST TO YOU, FOREVER. She is lost to you, forever, Lost as is the morning dew, Kissed by sunbeams into vapor Disappearing in the blue : Lost as is a raindrop sinking From its high and awful leap, Mingling with the mighty waters Of the dark and stormy deep. Lost as is a scroll of value, Doomed by fire's ruinous flame. Palling to the earth in ashes Leaving nothing but a name. Lost as is the rose of summer, Late^ withered on the wold, Bending to the winds of autumn, Dying on the barren cold. Lost as is the breath of mortal. Taking its eternal flight From the day of joy and gladness To the wJlderness of night. Lost, as is the voice's echo Sounding 'gainst the endless sky. Growing fainter in the distance. Nevermore to make reply. Lost ! for she has wed another, Lost! deep in another's care; Heaven's seal stamps its approval; Earth has witnessed them a pair. Lost, fond lover, lost forever ! Sad thy heart may be, and true : But all reason seems to whisper, "She was never meant for you." 84 LEISURE MOMENTS OF WE MAY NEVER MEET AGAIN. Farewell. Aurelia dear, farewell ! Meet, ah shall we ever? Time shall part us from all time If there is a never, Time shall meet us in a clime If there is forever. Here tonight in the belfry-tower, Shall time strike forever? Here tonight we part the hour — Meet, ah shall we ever? Time shall part us in a bower, Rain, is there a never? Tomorrow we shall beat the sun. Aye, a day forever; Time shall lay us gently down In the mould 'ring ever; You, and I shall meet again. Never? Oh, forever. A TRAVELING MAN S'J LOVE OF MY LOVE. Love from above, A flame of firej Love of my love, My soul's desire; Love for the star, A moth at sea ; Love, though afar, Longing for thee. Love from below, A snowflake v^hite ; Love, may I knov^^ You melt tonight? Love for the sky, A drop of rain ; Love, may I fly To thee again ? Love from your soul, A breath divine ; Love to control A heart like mine; Love for the love I give to thee ; Love from above That dvrells in me. ^6 LEISURE MOMENTS OF ULTRA MUNDANE. Twilight' and sunset And deeper shades for me Shall keep me in the peaceful glade Where I so long to be. Snnset and shadows And all that tends to make The world as Avhen you left it I love them for your sake. Zephyrs and mild-winds And mournful sounds for me Bring back the buried echoes That warbled once in thee. Calm seas, and white sails Bedim my weary eye, For, Love, you were an angel, A ship just passing by. Dead flowers and tresses, All that remains of thee, A faded scroU of treasured lore. And Love's sweet memory. Sunset and shadows And love's own evening star Make the world as when you left it. So you can not tarry far. A TRAVELING MAN 87 THE CONSPIRATORS. (A change of couples.) I am not jealous of him, Love. Though you allowed his hand To press your own so tenderly, Yet I can understand. She is not jealous of you, Love, Though that sweet smile he wore Was imprudent for a stranger Who loves another more. But he is jealous of me. Love, Though I was sorely tried. For my heart the while was longing To have you by my side. And you are jealous of her, Love, Though her bewitching eyes Have only said, ''to win them more Is worth this sacrifice." 88 LEISURE MOMENTS OF THE YOKE OF BURDENS. Why do the tears come to my eyes In thinking thus of thee, my love? Thou art not yet in Paradise, Though thou wert framed to dwell above. A¥hy do the fears rise in my heart? Because I know thou art too fair To launch from out thy place of rest Into my sea of winding care. Why do the years stretched out before Seem less than what they ought to be? Because I fear your heart the more Will suffer, when I burden thee. Why do the tears rebuke the smiles That welcome thee e 'en now as mine ? Because I fear some day the trials That weigh on me shall all be thine. A TRAVELING MAN 89 WHY DOTH LOVE MOVE. Why doth love move The human breast, That dares not make Its passion known? Long nights of wake, Devoid of rest. And days to live And walk alone ! Why doth love move A single heart, That finds defeat And solitude. Yet suffers well Though still apart, dream of life, not understood? Why doth love move The human breast, That finds response With eager breath, And ready hands To make him blest. And footsteps made E'en unto death? Why doth love move Two hearts as one, Two lives to live One attitude, A changeless dream Ti^] time is run, O truth of life, not understood? 90 LEISURE MOMENTS OF HOW STRANGELY SAD I FEEL TONIGHT. How strangely sad I feel tonight-! And, yet, I have no cause to be. No sorrow storms my inward breast : All that I know is harmony, Save for the rest, save for the rest. The rest? Forgive ^f here I fail; My beating heart scarce knows its own. The rest ? What can that remnant mean ? And who can know, least I alone, What rolls between, what rol^s between? What rolls between, betwixt, aye, what? Between that peace I do not know, Between what was, and is to be The rest of Avhich I wonder so? This conquers me, this conquers me. And conquered, in the rock-bound cave, AVhere hies the troubled soul from view, In quiet, where the heart and soul May wrestle with the combat through, I mourn the whole, I mourn the whole. Yet, baffled by the deeper cause. As babes who trust the mother-breast, I lay me down to slumbers light And leave to Him who knows the rest Wherefore mv heart is sad tonight. A TRAVELING MAN 91 I KNOW THAT IT IS WRONG, THIS WISH. I know that it is wrong, this wish, But, oh, I do so long for sleep. Now since all that to me is dear, All that of life I held more deep, Lies buried here, lies buried here. I know the gay world stil] moves on, But, oh, why must the weary one ? Yet weariness to me were bliss If where thou art I could be won Away from this, away from this. I know t'he cold sod wraps thee now, But, oh, why came the day so soon? Why were it not as I could bear : Thou here, or I within thy tomb, As peaceful there, as peaceful there. I know the day sometime shall come. But, oh, 'tis now I long for rest, 'Tis now my heart-pulses implore ; They can not beat but from thy breast. Yet shall no more, yet shall no more. 1 know that it is wrong, this wish. But, oh, can mortal-mind refrain? Though well I know that thou art free. Were it a sin to wish again To be with thee, to be with thee? 92 LEISURE MOMENTS OP LULLABY OF A DYING MOTHER. Soft and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Hush, my baby, all is right; There will be no storm tonight — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low. Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Ere my dying breath depart. Rest thee closer to my heart — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low. Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Baby's dearest place on earth Is the bosom of its birth — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low, Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Sweet, my babe, I weep for thee ; Storms shall soon enrage the sea — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. Soft and low, soft and low. Blow gently, blow, winds, blow. Though your day be dark or bright, Kiss, my babe, we part tonight — Blow, winds, softly, blow, winds, blow. A TRAVELING MAN 9o 0, TO BE PERFECTLY SURE. O, to be perfectly sure, To know that the day will return When your blushes so tender and pure Will again in ecstasy burn. The assurance would rush me along And lighten my heavy old grip, And the knocks that I think are all wrong Would be blessings along the whole trip. O, to be perfectly sure, To know beyond doubt that my prayer Must be heard above cottage and moor, By the Master who knoweth our care : I would take to the road wdth a will — Unmindful of where it might be — If I knew it were possible still To expect a sweet welcome from thee. 94 LEIiSURE MOMENTS OP ON THE IROQUOIS THEATRE REOPENING. J^e it what time of day or eventide, Amidst the busy throng my heart has sighed, Iroquois, for thee. I pass thy door As one in dreams that shall awake no more. Time doth erase some things, but here I stand. As on that night, one grain of human sand Swept on and on. I saw thy fallen lie By hundreds 'round, heaped up like logs; thy cry Of death was loud, and deep thine agony. 1 pass thy door, and still in mem'ry see The guileless babe, dead in its mother's arm. The aged sire, and youth that feared no harm. And maiden fair — all lying cold in death. The sorrow's mine, and with each going breath 1 still condemn — condemning, still forgive Those all to blame, while they a life will live Marked for disgrace and deep self-conscious pain. The lesson learned has left a lasting stain Time cannot blot. Our sole redemption lies In thy closed doors, where decency decries The morbid eye. O city, still our pride. Shall this thy great reproach be brushed aside ? Shall fiends incarnate hold their jubilee O'er charnel tombs in wild frivolity? Shall e'en the laugh of hell make sport of tears, And mimic-fools raise bedlam with their jeers Amongst the groans that rend the very grave? And shall burlesque here taunt the living brave Who mourn their dead? Or shall some nobler cause On that facade be stamped, where men may pause With due respect? How shall the right be done? How shall the race with infamy be run? By means that keep support from its Red door. And we, ourselves, there entering no more. ('hicago. A TRAVELING MAN 95 "WHISKEY, THAT'S ALL." All? Why, no, there's a great deal more: There's an arm that's weak and a head that's sore; There 's a home that is filled with grief and woe, And a wife that's felled with a savage blow. All"? Why, no, there's a job that's lost; There's an empty purse that can meet no cost; There's a watch to pawn and a chair to sell; There's money to borrow and a thirst to quell; There's an empty glass and a fight or two. And a fine to pay for an eye that's blue. All? Why, no, there's a demon's curse; There's a child to kick and a wound to nurse; There's a home to break and a wife to scrub; And the song of her life is rub, rub, rub ; There's a free-lunch served in a sample-room. And some chores to do with a rag or broom ; There's the price to beg for a burning drink. And a place to sleep where drunkards sink. All? Why, no, there is half untold; There's a heart grown sick and limbs grown cold There's a manhood gone and a substitute That is half a fiend and half a brute ; There's a place to rob and a man to kill ; There 's a prison-cell for a man to fill ; There's conscience seared with wild remorse. For the bright red drink has an awful course ; There's a speedy trial, and a verdict read, And a wife that weeps as the doom is said ; There's a curse and a prayer, while the gallows fall And as for your whiskey, why. ''that's all." 96 LEISURE MOMENTS OP "LADIES' ENTRANCE. " "Ladies' Entrance." Ah, yes, you've all seen the sign. It leads to the chamber of whiskey and wine ; It leads to the room with the little closed door From which there's no exit for purity more. An hour for a song, and another for drink. And some mother's girl is beginning to sink. ' ' Ladies ' Entrance ! " Of course 'tis the side door. too. For shame never cared to be open to view. They slip and they trip in their haste to get in. Lest some one might see they are sporting with sin. Hut once in the bulwark the virgin takes flight. And the soul that was pure grows black as the night. The shadows are falling; there's no escort now Save strangers that drink to the curl on her brow. Home, mother and honor are lost in the whirl. And the river of vice claims some mother's girl. ''Ladies' Entrance." Ah, yes, now boldly they go Through the little dark passage so bitter with woe. (■orrupt in their morals and deep in disgrace They blush not to enter, nor falter a pace. Half dead to life's meaning, half dead to its care. They drift through wild pleasure right into despair. ' ' Ladies ' Entrance. ' ' To where '! Ah, finish the sign ! Mark plainly the rest, to the end of the line; To the serpent that charms, and passions that rave. To torment that plunges one into the grave. If dead lips could speak, and if live tongues would tell. The sign would read on : ' ' Ladies ' Entrance to Hell. ' ' A TRAVELING MAN 97 ''WORKINGMEN'S EXCHANGE." "Workmen's Exchange." The sign over the door Of the foul smelling place shall attract me no more; For down in my heart, while sober one day, 1 figured out all I had bartered away. And just what exchanges go over the bar To make us poor drunkards as low as we are. I found for a drink I had given my purse, And for many a smile I was given a curse. For the friends I brought in I w^as left all alone, For the w^ork I had done I was given a bone. I got the bartender his job; as for mine? — I lost it while drinking his whiskey and wine. "Workmen's Exchange!" Exchange? Ah, I thought. What did I have for the stuff I had bought? He's a beer-palace prince, while I'm but a bum; His home's on the hill, and mine's in the slum, His wife knows the joys of a robin in May, While mine drudges on through the wearisome day ; His child is well fed and quite rosy and sweet While my starving Nellie has little to eat; Ah, yes, we exchange — the best for the worst; A kingdom of love for a slavery to thirst; Sweet freedom for bondage and silver for dross ; A crown of success for life's failure and loss. I've figured it out it's not money for drink That crosses the bar when the red glasses clink But it's heaven for hell, and it's not very strange For the devil is boss at the ' ' Workmen 's Exchange ! ' ' 98 LEISlIfiE MOMENTS OF A FAMOUS CITY. ''The beer that made Milwaukee famous." fame For which her noble sons would blush with shame. If beer her legends told. Tear down the lie. And rise, Milwaukee, rise and make reply. Show your metropolis in light more fair, Show where your handiwork few can compare. Blot out the lying words, tear down the sign. Lift up an emblem, your graces refine. Show that all beer is beer, label or cork. Kibbon or brand, beer is beer in New York ; Beer's beer in a keg, and beer's beer in a can. No matter if made away off in Japan. So tear down the sign, Milwaukee, your beer Is as bad as the worst that causes a sneer. It's as bad as the worst that goes to the head. And makes a man wish that he really were dead; It's as bad as the beer that's taken the coin. Which should have bought bread, and butti^r and loin ; It's as bad as the beer that causes a fight. From a sot that is out on a drunk for the night. Then rise, city rise. Milwaukee, your fame. Should be found in the towers that cherish your name. In the parks and the bay where your beauties abound. And your harbor as safe as ever was found ; And your men, who respond to charity's call. Are things that have made you most famous of all. So tear down the maudlin, the frivolous lie. That cheapens your worth and vexes the eye. And raise up a banner the sober may cheer, Milwaukee forever, but never for beer. A TRAVELING MAN 99 ZION CITY FIFTY YEARS FROM NOW. f walked in dreams adown a filthy town And there beheld much sin ; I saw the frown Of hate, the lip of scorn, and heard the flow Of blasphemy; the atmosphere hung low, Made dense by fumes of rum, and each saloon Did merry make. I followed one wild tune Into a gambler's den run open wide. Where two police lay slumbering outside. And there amidst a gorgeous scene tliere snt Women in silk, jewel-bedecked and fat From indolence; young men around them leered In sottish glee; the place was such I feared My safety there. Chips rang, and each device Of hdlish cheat drew like the loaded dice Its tainted gold. I w^atched, for I was lost. Weary of limb, a stranger, and the cost Was but my time. I marveled, for I'd read How fifty years ago, that here, instead. Did virtue rule; rum houses were unknown; Glory and peace and Christ were here alone. The streets were tranquil then, and on this spot A tabernacle stood; but now there's not One church in all the town ; a leader then Proclaimed himself Elijah to all men. He had a following, and, robed in white. He built this town and walled it from the night. His name I do not know, but could he rise And view this little hell, methinks his eyes Would moisten some, or surely his conceit Mowfed down by evidence would be less sweet. Prophets have gone, and prophets still will come : He went his way, and all his works are dumb ; So ends rapacity. The truly great Build not on sand. No man can depurate Society. Well done the work that guides 100 I.KIsrKE MOMENTS OF One soul from self; God's coloi\y abides In the beyond, but here, ah, erudition Once falsely taught, brought this town to perdi- tion. 0, BLASPHEMY. O blasphemy, what vain impious wretch. Through thee, with words polluted, hoped to stretch His argument, but found that in the light. Kind words have weight, and gentle words have might! A TRAVELING MAN 101 THE LIAR. Of all the sins contemptible that mar The unknown tenor of a day that's far, A lie, that shield through which the truth must pass, Is far the worst. True, other crimes surpass In fiendishness and cowardly deceit, But none more harm ourselves. Delusion's cheat In mockery returns, and truth laid bare Fears to renew its faith lest in the snare Of empty words it be betrayed again. O guilty lips, hypocrisy thy bane; O trembling hands, annihilating trust ; O shifting eyes, evading all the just ; AVhat plagues of torment move your quiet rest When in your chamber closed the heart is best! How move the phantoms of remorse ; how shame Hangs low its head and loathes your very name! O self-accused, murderer of confidence, Thief of thine hope, where is thy recompense? Glad days of credit gone, with debts unpaid Further from paying now than when first made. Small rivers lead to where the waters roar. And ships that pass that way return no more. So W'ith the lie you give ; white as the snow Rolls on, and with each turn more large doth grow, Till, hurled with mighty force, the mask is torn. Truth's sunlight melts and shows the man of scorn. Abject and vile he lies, or, groping low. Dodges the friends that loved him long ago. Shunning and shunned, a liar branded ''lost," Whose rating for service is less than cost. Rave, judgments, then, this fool has no amends. ''One's life is ended here when honor ends." 102 LEISURE MOMENTS OP Mr. Allstorm, in liis speech before the Coca-Cola con- vention, held in Atlanta, Ca., last December, said in part : I believe I am in a position to know Texas as few other men know it. I have covered 10,000 miles of this empire without leaving its borders. From (iainesville to the north, bordering at Oklahoma, it will take you ;i day and a night of continuous tia\el to reach Browns ville on the Rio (iSrande. and the shores of old Mexico, the land of Manana. and bull fights. From Galveston, or Corpus Christi, on the Gulf, which lie to the east, it will take you a day and two iiiglits to reach El Paso, the beautiful city at the i)ase of the liockies. If you were to attempt to encircle the state, it would take you some thi-ee days and three nights to complete your jour- ney. Truly, this is an empire! We lui\e 24(5 counties, many of them as large as some of the smaller of the Eastern states. There is nothing that grows that can not be raised in Texas. We supply one-fourth of the cotton of the world. We raise every kind of fruit, every kind of vegetable, and as soon as our railroads permit, we will be able to ship fruit to the l^astern markets six weeks in advance of California. Great men come to oui- hunting <:roiin(ls. There is W illiani -lennings Bryan, for instance, and oui- own Ite- loved Mr. Dobbs. Of course, 1 am always there. 1 can tell you where the deer is wont to roam, and the bear, and the wildcat. 1 have seen the coyote and the anti'- lope. One trip of mine takes me 120 miles by automo- bile, from Torrence to Carlsbad, N. M.. but the railroads have spoiled this trip for me. 1 now make the trip by rail. It's a sliame. The ranches are ])assing away, towns are springing up eveiywheie. Texas is no longer a wilderness. We have six great cities that have close on to 100,000 inhabitants each. We have a hundred or more towns of A TRAVELING MAN lUS between oUOO aii<l 10,000 soiiU. and still we lune looiu for more. Millions of acres lie waiting for the hoe and the plow. There are cities still to be built, dreams stili to be reali/.cd. Are you tired of your native state? Come to Texas! Are you weary of the old fauiiliar scenes? Come to Texas ! Do you long for the endless plains, for the mountains and the rivers? Come to Texas! Do you long for friends, come where there are no strangers. \\ here every man is your friend, and every friend your brother. Texas is paradise regained. Our climate is un- surpassed in its delight. The soft winds from the Gulf at night sweep like a benediction ovci- a hot and thirsty day. I'heie is no winter there, only a discontented day just now and then. God made Texas as it is. that man m'ght have a foretaste here of the gloiies that lie l»e- \-ond '^he veil of this life.

22006251

The wooing of Mary of Magdela

Alquist, Joan Armstrong

wooingofmaryofma00alqu_djvu.txt

PS 3501 .L65 M6 1921 Copy 1 Wooing of Mar}) of Magdela By JOAN ARMSTRONG ALQUIST Wooing of Mary of Magdela JOAN ARMSTRONG ALQUIST Copyright 1919 Copyright 1921 All Rights Reserved PRICE FIFTY CENTS ol u ■^''\^^ OCT I0 1S21 g)Cl.A624763 DEDICATED TO ALL WHO LOVE THE LORD A synopsis of the story CHRIST WOOING FIIS BRIDE symbolized by the wooing of Mary of Magdela IMartha, a type of those who love the Lord but the cares and troubles of the world hinder their growth. Lazarus^ a type of all who are bound In the grave's clothes of Death : For it shall come to pass, that all who are in their graves shall hear the Voice of the Son of Man and shall come forth. THE WOOING OF MARY OF MAGDELA Palestine, Bethanj^ a small town outside the City of Jerusalem. A quaint humble home. Inside tv/o lone orphans of Jewish origin, Martha the eldest, and Lazarus, a brother who seems to be an invalid. Their faces are sad as they converse in low tones about an absent sister. LAZARUS : "I have been looking over the Parchments, Martha, and we must be living in the time when our Promised Messiah was to come and deliver our nation from this hated Roman yoke. It is now thirty years since that star was seen in the East guiding the Wise Men to that babe born in a stable, which raised such a commotion and caused such a cruel massacre of little children, but although we are watching there seems to be no sign of His coming. If only our sister Mary would come home," — as tears filled the dark eyes. MARTHA: (heaving a deep sigh as she rises to go) — "Don't weep, brother, our prayers are sure to be answered soon. I will again put the lamp in the window and tonight I will leave the door a little ajar. It may be that her feet will be guided to the old home." 5 LAZARUS : (soliloquizing) — "Oh, Mary, my beautiful sister, all who have honored thee will despise thee because of thy nakedness. How is a virgin of Israel become an harlot — a woman of the streets. Hear all people and behold my sorrow." "What is it, Martha," as he sees his sister running to the door. "Listen, what is that? It sounds as if some one is calling. Do you hear it, brother?" Yes, he had heard, as with a great cry he bounds past her into the night. Martha, following, sees him clasp a slender form in his arms, w^hose long, beautiful hair is falling over her rich clothing, as he moans, "Oh, Mary, my sister, my sister." MARTHA: "Is it you, Mary," she gasps. "Oh, my baby," holding out her strong young arms, tears of joy streaming down her cheeks as she sinks down on the ground at her feet. She sees again the deathbed of their mother, and although only a child in years, she hears the anxious pleading of that mother and her promise to take care of the tiny sister placed in her arms, and the look of content that comes over the dying face. "Oh, mother! mother!" she cries, "have I kept my promise to you? Did you not know that j^ou left her to me with all that fatal beauty that I could not hide away." They both lead her into the house, into the room that has been kept ready for her since the night she went away, — crooning over her in their joy- Mary looks up, her face, although pale and tired, is still wondrous and beautiful, as they lay her gently in her bed. 6 MARY: "Oh, forgive, for I have seen Him. I have seen the King in His beauty and He said I could go in peace and sin no more." Martha and L>azarus look at each other in amazement — they don't understand. What does she mean ; and they smooth back from the w^hite brow the beautiful tresses, weeping afresh, as they see here and there a silver thread and the happy, healthful bloom gone from her face. But they ask her no questions. They have laid her tenderly in her bed, but the next morning her fever runs high, as she tosses in pain, a burning look in the lovely eyes, as she laughs wildly, speaking of nights spent in the salons of the city with those who pay high for the price of body and soul. "Oh, forgive," she cries out in her agony. Martha and Lazarus both watch over her tenderly, caring for her, and snatching her back almost from the brink of the grave. Weeks go by before Mary is able to leave her room, but one sunny morning she comes, leaning on the arm of her brother, to take her place at the table in the small cozy dining room, but she only plays with the dainty dishes Martha has prepared with such care. There is a sad, faraway look in the sweet eyes that makes her brother and sister look at each other and wonder if they will be able to keep her with them. MARY: (looking up, seemed to read their thoughts and smiled) — "Oh, I am so glad to be with you again; if I could only blot out the past ; if I could only atone ; but He told me to go in peace and sin no more. Oh, wondrous words — if I could only hear His voice again." MARTHA: "You are not strong yet, Mary. Come and lay down again and I will open the window and let in the sunshine and the balmy air and brother will come and read to you," — embrac- ing her sister. 7 Martha and Lazarus alone. MARTHA: "I wonder what has caused this change in our sister, Lazarus, and who is this King she speaks of. Where is the petulant, arrogant beauty that seemed so out of place in our home. The hateful proud look in those wonderful eyes, a look so satanic that it made us shudder at times, it is all gone, and in its place we see only a contrite broken flower, utterly crushed and broken." Martha taken up with the duties of the home leaves the care of Mary mostly to her brother, who proves an adept nurse, and between the two a loving confidential sympathy has sprung up in the many hours spent together. MARY: (noticing the almost ejuaciated body of her brother, which adds to her sorrow) — "He must have been grieving for me while I was spending my hours and nights in careless revelry. Oh, my burden is more than I can bear. Oh, that I knew where I might find Him. Would He plead against me with His great power? Oh, no, but He would put strength in me. For my bones are pierced, and my body takes no rest. Terrors pursue my soul as the wind. 1 abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes." LAZARUS: ''Come, Mary, let us walk a little in the garden, the flowers are all in bloom. Look, sister, there is your favorite," (fastening a spray of Bridal Wreath in her hair). "Let us sit under this tree. I think I see Martha coming with something." As Martha appears carrying a bowl of savory soup for both, and they think how kind and good she is to them, as they make room for her to sit by them. MARTHA: (sitting, seems to be in a brown study for some minutes, looking towards Mary) — "Mary, I would like to ask you some- thing I have been thinking about a great deal lately." MARY: (starting up with a cry, her face piteous in its entreaty) — "Oh, no, not that. Don't ask me dear sister to lay bare a past I am 8 trying to forget. Oh, brother, I see only love and protection in your face, and yours dear sister so strong and true, and He told me to go in peace and sin no more. Have pity on me, oh, my friends, for the hand of God hath touched me." LAZARUS : "Oh, Mary, thou hast been wounded with the wound of an enemy, but is thy sorrow incurable — is there none to plead thy cause that thou mayest be healed and bound up? Who is this King, Mary, you speak of; can He be the prophet Moses told our people about who would come and save our nation, for we surely seem to be sold for bondmen and bondwomen? He is due to be here now. Who is this King, Mary?" (But Mary's thoughts have flown— she does not hear the anxious queries of her brother.) A scene rises up before her. She is again in the City of Jerusalem. The sun is dipping and bowing his farewell in the West. She has turned from her gay companions to gaze for a moment through the open window in the dance hall. A tall, stately man is passing below, the center of a large crowd of people who are pushing and jostling one another in their anxiety to get near Him. "Oh," she says, "What is this strange feeling at my heart"; but as the strains of the music begin again, she turns with a laugh and looks at the noisy swirling mass before her, but interest in them seems gone. Someone is at her elbow asking her to cheer up and come and join them, but she pays no heed, her thoughts are with the stranger she saw passing, and she turns to a mirror near her, looks long and earnestly at herself. "No," she murmurs, "I have lost none of this wonderful beauty of mine that has brought so many to my feet. I wonder, oh, I wonder," as she laughs lightly, making her way through the open door, "will He kiss me with the kisses of His mouth, for verily His love to me would be better than wine." The people are looking at her, for she is well known in the city, and they are curious to know what is taking her amongst them. "Would she dare," they say, "this woman of the streets." 9 But she hears them not. Her eyes are fixed on a fact wonderful in its loving tenderness— the man she saw from the window. She listens to the wails and sees the tears of those who are bringing and laying at His feet their sick and afflicted. She hears the deep penetrating voice that speaks with such authority, yet so gently. She watches the strong white hands whose touch brings health and joy to them at His feet. "Oh, what is this strange feeling — how I wish I could feel the touch of those hands; but can I go like this," as she looks at the elegance of her dress, and looks wildly at her hair, that has been her pride, hang- ing all around her. ''If I could only but touch the hem of His gar- ment" ; but horror fills her as she remembers for what purpose she had come. She looks again at Him and notes the nobleness and dignity of His person, yet sees sorrow and weariness written there to. Surely a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Suddenly it seems as if a light shone around her. He is looking at her. "Oh," she thinks, "He must have felt the longing of my heart." He is calling. She moves through that wondering crowd of people, and falling down at His feet overwhelmed with grief and shame, begs Him to forgive and heal her too. But what is that, she lifts her hand as though to ward off a blow, as she hears the scornful comments of some hurled at her. They wonder what He will do. "If He is a prophet," they are saying, "He must know the character of the woman at His feet — Mary of Magdela, the harlot." But His voice is ringing out like a trumpet in all its tenderness in her behalf. JESUS : "She loves much and much shall be forgiven her" ; and He raises her up saying: "Go in peace and sin no more." MARY: "Did you ask who this King was? He is strong and mighty. The chiefest among ten thousand. He is altogether lovely. Look not on me for I am black. The sun hath looked on me. The glorious sun of righteousness. If I only knew where He maketh His flock to rest." 10 LAZARUS: "But listen, sister, do you think He is the Messiah? You know He is to come — a great King, and sit on David's throne; but this one you say is poor and a friend of Publicans and sinners. Could our Messiah come like that. I must look in my Parch- ments, it may be I did not understand ; but. Oh, sister, I must rest, I feel so tired, and long to lay me down in peace and sleep." MARY: (is at his side in a moment, throwing her arms around him as if she would guard him from she knows not what) — "Oh, Laz- arus, do let me take care of you, you look so pale and careworn. I feel strong now, and I have tired you watching and caring for me. Stay with me, brother, do not leave me, for I have no one who would understand like you. Oh, yes, my King would ; He was so wonderful to me. He drew me near in the day I called on Him, and said. Tear not.' " Martha and Mary lead their brother to his room, and Mary, her own sorrow half forgotten, is tireless in her attention to her brother. LAZARUS : (the next morning as his sister sits by his couch) — "How happy you have made me, Mary," taking her hand. "I wish you would tell me more about your King; but there is something I should like to ask." MARY : "What is it, brother ?" LAZARUS: "Have the Chief Priests and Pharasees received Him?" MARY: "Oh, no," as a look of sadness passes over her face, "only the common people, and they gladly." They sit silent, as Lazarus draws the Parchments toward him and begins to read. 11 MARY: (her face brightening) — "Are you feeling better, Lazarus? Do you think I could leave you for a while?" (and seeing the questioning look in his face, continues) : "You know that our people keep a feast today at Jerusalem and I should like to be there. It may be that I can hear something about this prophet. I will come again soon." "Yes, do go, Martha will be here to care for me, and I think I will sit by the window. I want to dream today." (Mary stoops to kiss him good-bye.) Mary in her room dresses quickly. Her heart is singing at the thought of seeing again one whom she has unconsciously learned to love. She has tucked away the beautiful hair inside a veil which she has thrown over her head and on her way out stops to tell Martha, who is busy as usual, of her intended journey. Martha, coming to the door to look after her as she goes away, muses to herself. "I wonder who this stranger can be. He seems to have dropped from the heavens. He surely must be wonderful to have wrought such a change in our Mary. How I love them both, but I wonder if they ever think how I toil and work for them. But I must not complain," takes a peep at her brother to see if he is all right, and sees that he is deep in thought. "Dreaming again," she thinks, as she moves away to go back to her work. Lazarus does not read, althought his Parchments lay open before him. He is thinking of his sister Martha. What a mother she has been to him, and how he has longed and wished he could confide in her more, but she had always been so busy. (^Lazarus dreams.) He sees Adam and Eve, the parents of the human race, made perfect. Their expulsion from Eden through Eve being tempted by the serpent, "the wisest animal of the field," to eat the forbidden fruit. 12 Their eldest son, Cain, slaying his brother, Abel, because of his being more righteous than he. Noah preparing an ark for himself and family to save them from the deluge, preaching and warning the people of the coming judgment of God for their sins through the wicked angels. Abraham leaving his own country going a pilgrim and stranger to the Land of Promise "Canaan." Offering sacrifices with his wife and servants on his way. Melchisidic, a priest and King on his throne, blessing Abraham. Abraham offering up his son, Isaac, on Mount Moriah. The angel staying his hand and pointing to a ram to be offered in his place. Eliezer, Abraham's servant, asking Rebekah to be the wife of Isaac. Isaac and Rebekah meeting together. Jacob, their son, on his way to find a wife; sleeping, a stone for his pillow, and dreaming he sees a ladder and angels are ascending and descending thereon. Jacob with Leah and Rachel, for whom he served fourteen years. Jacob with all his cattle, for which he served other isx years. Joseph being sold by his brethren into Egypt. Joseph's brethren showing Jacob, their father, Joseph's coat of many colors dipped in blood, saying a wild beast has torn him. Jacob's grief. Joseph, a great ruler in Pharaoh's Court, giving orders to store all the food in store-houses, preparing for the great famine they expect. Joseph's brethren coming to buy corn, but they do not know their brother in this great ruler, who takes them for spies, and their distress., Benjamin stealing Joseph's silver cup and being brought back, standing before the ruler. 13 Judah's appeal on behalf of his brother, offering to be a bond slave so that his brother might go free. Joseph, weeping, making himself known to his brothers. Jacob coming to see Joseph with all his family, seventy people. (Lazarus awakens and looks around anxiously for Mary.) MARTHA: (handing him something she has prepared for him to eat) — "I am anxious, brother, it is getting late. I will go and look and see if she is coming." "Oh, there she is." MARY: (her step lighter j and her eyes dreamy and as if far away, throws her arms around them both) — "Have you slept, Laz- arus?" "Yes, I have in my dreams been tracing the wanderings of our people in my Parchments. Have you heard anything about your King, Mary?" "Yes," she replied. "I have been thinking how grand to have lived when our people were led by God's hand and when He spoke to them in visions and d>> » reams. "Yes, but to me it is more to live and see Him face to face." MARTHA: "What do you mean, sister? Did you hear anything /nore about this prophet ? But you must rest, Mary, and then you can tell us the news." 14 LAZARUS : "And do hurry, Mary, for it seems I cannot wait." "Rest. Look at me. Do you think I look tired ? Oh, I am so happy. How I wish you could both come and see the wonderful things He is doing and telling. The whole nation seems to be in an uproar because of Him." LAZARUS: "Mary, did you hear by what name they called this prophet? You know our nation is threatened with terrible judg- ments because of its idolatry; but we are promised that a great prophet shall come before that great and terrible day." "I wonder, Lazarus, if He will be greater than this One who is healing our sick, opening the blind eyes, making the deaf to hear and the lame to walk. As I came near the Mount of Olives I saw Him healing the child of a poor woman who did not belong to our nation, because she had told Him that even the dogs ate of the crumbs that fell from the children's table. I saw also that the chief priests and Pharasees were there finding fault and deriding Him because of the great miracles. I thought to have passed by them unnoticed because of my plain attire. I had been wonder- mg if He would notice me and as I was making my way so I could get nearer to Him, I heard a low laugh near me. Looking around for the cause. Oh, could it be possible." (Mary, her face full of horror as the words she heard seemed to burn into her brain.) 15 PHARASEES: "Is Mary of Magdela one of his followers too?" (^pointing towards her with the finger of scorn.) MARY: "Could It be possible that those Pharasees, teachers of the law of God, who offered such long prayers on the street corners, many times I had heard them, but never dared to look or touch anything so holy. I held out my hands to them asking them in mercy to pity me, and turned to look wildly at my King. Had He heard these cruel words?" Oh, yes, he had heard them, as he held out his hand to Mary and drew her near to him. "Did you ever, brother, hear of anyone dying of joy? I thought I would when I felt those arms around me. In my hurry to get to hipi my hair had come undone, falling all around me, but oh, what is it I hear! Could that voice of righteous anger be His as it hurls denunciations at those Pharasees?" JESUS : "Truly the drunkards and harlots go Into the Kingdom before you. How can ye being evil speak of good things. Woe unto you. Scribes and Pharasees, for ye shut up the Kingdom of Heaven against men, for ye neither go in yourselves nor suffer those who are entering to go In. Ye compass sea and land to make one proselyte and make him twofold more the child of hell than yourselves." MARY: "I saw the look of hate they cast on Him as they hung their heads in shame, for the people were looking at them, but my King had changed His voice to one of sorrow as He continued." "I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance. (And turn- ing to me, as He pressed me to His side) : "It were better that a millstone were hung about your neck and ye were drowned In the middle of the sea, than ye offend one of these, my little ones. "I knew then, brother, He was my Saviour and King who stood by me. )) )> MARTHA: "I will go and get supper ready, Mary, you sit with brother." 16 LAZARUS : "Mary, did He say anything about the Kingdom? I have been studying the Parchments and I think I begin to understand them better. I begin to see the hearts of our fathers who wrote to us about Him. If I were only able I would go and lay my cause before Him and He would make it plain to me." MARY: (her eyes filling with tears as she looks at her brother) — "I have some good news for you, brother, but there comes Martha, supper is ready. Martha, why so sad? What caused that sigh?" (as she throws her arms around her drawing her down to the chair near her). A feeling of loneliness had come over Martha as she had stood at the door a moment looking at them, Mary's face lit up with a beauty she had seldom seen and her brother, his dark eyes fixed so earnestly on his sister, fearful of losing a word. "Oh, Mary, (a worried look coming into her face) be careful. Are you sure this Prophet is the great Messiah? The people are, they say, terribly stirred up because of His claims. They say He is the Son of Mary and of Joseph, the carpenter, and they will never accept Him as their Messiah who is to reign on David's throne ; and the Romans have an eye on Him as a usurper. This Jesus says that even before Abraham was He was. Be careful, sister, can He be greater than the prophet Moses? What, is He more to you than the prophet Moses?" "Oh, Martha, sister, I will tell you what He is to me. He is the Rose of Sharon 'in all its sweet smelling perfume.' He is the Lily of the Valley, 'in all its purity.' His head is as if of fine gold, 'so divine.' His locks black as a raven's and curling, — 'When His judgments are abroad the people will learn righteousness.' His eyes like a dove's, 'full of peace and gentleness.' His cheeks like a bed of sweet spices, 'full of confidence.' His lips like hlies, 'full of wisdom.' His hands are as gold rings, 'full of loving helpful- ness.' His body like ivory overlaid with sapphires, 'faithful and 17 true.' His legs as pillars of marble, 'full of strength.' His countenance excellent as the cedars, 'which if we look on will give us hope and life.' His mouth is most sweet. He is alto- gether lovely. This is my beloved, oh, my sister." MARTHA and LAZARUS: "Oh, Mary, that is a song of loves, per- fumed with myrrh and frankincense and with all powders of the merchant." But Mary's thoughts are again with her King. She does not hear them. She is sitting again on the Mount of Olives. MARY: (talking in a low voice, while they lean forward listening) — "He drew me with cords of love, guiding my steps so I would not stumble. He was there to hold me ; how safe I felt. How weary His face looked. How it must have hurt Him to speak in anger, to His brethren." JESUS: "Mary, dear one, I must be about my father's business. I must work while it is day for the night cometh when no man can work." (Mary, awed by his humility and lowliness, is grieving because her people see no beauty in Him. He begins to speak and she is sure He is speaking to her.) JESUS : "Blessed are the poor in spirit ; "Blessed are they that mourn; "Blessed are the meek; "Blessed are they that hunger after righteousness; "Blessed are the pure in heart; "Blessed are the peacemakers; "Blessed are ye when reviled and they say all evil against you for my sake, for yours is the kingdom of heaven." MARY: "Did you understand, Martha, what I was saying?" MARTHA: "Yes, sister, but I must think a little," as she rose to go, sighing at the many cares and toil of the household, and which were becoming irksome to her. What a longing she had for Him 18 whose yoke was easy and whose burden was light. Had she spent her money for that which was not bread, and her labour which had not satisfied her. MARY: "One thing troubled me, brother; when He said, 'Blessed are ye when they say evil against you falsely.' When He was finished speaking I went to Him and said, 'Lord, they could not speak falsely against me, because I was evil and foolish and weak.' Oh, brother, I wish you could have seen the glorious look on His face — it almost dazzled me — as He pressed me to His bosom, whispering in my ear, 'Mary, do you love me?' I was shaking with sobs and tears, and was drawing myself away from Him, for I saw myself in all my vileness, when I cried, 'Yes, I love thee, for Thou hast become my salvation.' " JESUS: "Then why those tears? Trust me, dear one" (and He kissed me with the kisses of His mouth). "Listen, Mary, to me, since the night you knelt at my feet thou hast been to me white as snow and hast become my dearly beloved. Fear not." MARY: "Oh, brother, on my way home how I longed to be able to suffer with Him, and He is coming to see us, Lazarus. I told Him how you longed to see Him. We need not worry about our humble home for I heard Him saying He had no place to lay His head." MARTHA: "Did you say, Mary, that the Master was coming to our house? Oh, I must be busy and do my best to get all things ready, and, Mary, do you and Lazarus get flowers for the table and place some here and there so our little home will appear inviting." The little home in Bethany all astir. Mary is standing watching at the window. It is almost a week since she last saw Him. She has fastened in her beautiful hair a spray of her favorite Bridal Wreath, and is dressed in a plain dress of spotless white. "I wonder," she muses, "if He will admire me today, and if I 19 will be as dear to Him as I was yesterday. Oh, yes, my King will never change. I can trust Him." LAZARUS : (is up earlier than usual. His face full of expectation, peering through his half open door) — "How fair and sweet you have grown, my sister," (coming forward with hands out- stretched). "I wish you would rest, Mary, I am afraid you will vanish away." "Rest, did you say, my brother. I am always resting, resting in His love, and it is surely sweet to me, but I will lie on the couch. I must not sleep for I must be the first to meet Him." (Lazarus gets his Parchments and sits down by her reading.) "Oh, Mary, I see now they were types and shadows of good things to come, and your King must be one of the good things." "Why do you tremble so, brother?" "Because seeing that wonderful tabernacle I seem to have been with Him already, but I did not think He was so near." Some people are seen coming in who have been invited, among them some of the priests who have come to watch. Jesus arrives with the twelve, Mary meets Him and together they enter the home. When seated Mary takes her place at His feet, looking up into His face as He speaks, for never man spake as this man. Some of the Pharasees ask Him why He eats with Publicans and sinners. JESUS : "They that are whole need not a physician, but they who are sick, for I came not to call the righteous but sinners to repent- ance." Some of John Baptist's disciples ask why his disciples do not fast. JESUS: "Can the bride mourn while the bridegroom is with her, but the time is near when the bridegroom will be taken away. Then she will mourn." MARY: (looking pale and troubled, as she whispers) — "Oh, that I might go with Him, for He hath called me as a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit." 20 Martha at the table, seeming displeased that her sister neglects to help. MARTHA: "Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone ? Bid her to come that she might help me." MARY: "Oh, the grief and pity of it. Can it be that my sister is faultfinding ; but my Lord is my help in my time of need." JESUS: "Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things, but one thing is needful, and Mary hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken away from her. She hath prom- ised, Martha, to be my bride." MARY: "He hath brought me to His banqueting hall and His banner over me is love." JESUS : "Thou art fair, my love. There is no spot in thee." MARY: "My beloved is mine and I am His." Jesus taking Mary's hand leading her out, asks her to walk a little way with Him as He has something to tell her. LAZARUS : "How my heart burned, Martha, to hear Him speak. He surely must be that Prophet." MARTHA: "If you read more in your Parchments it may be you can find out more about Him. I surely am sorry I spoke without thinking. How quick He was to take Mary's part." LAZARUS: (lying down feeling tired)— ''Ke said that He was the Good Shepherd; that His sheep knew His voice and followed Him ; and that He was that bread that came down from heaven which if a man eat he will never die. I begin to see more clearly now the Tabernacle with its strange furniture." MARTHA: "Oh, Mary, how I envy you — how near you have got to Him. What an understanding there is between them. I will not be afraid to trust you to Him, for thou hast obtained grace and favour in His sight." 21 LAZARUS: "I feel so tired. This head of mine seems to trouble me quite a little lately. Oh, Martha sister, come and help me into my room. I feel so weak." MARTHA: (running to him) — "Lazarus, dear, what is it? Lean on me and maybe if you lie down it will pass. Were you asleep?" "No, it seemed to me I was visiting our people, tracing them a little in some of their wanderings. I think there are more severe punish- ments awaiting them in connection with this Prophet. I begin to believe Him the promised Messiah or Saviour of our people, and they utterly refuse Him. Thank you, sister, I shall wait here to see if Mary will come soon." MARTHA: "I wish she would come. She seems to understand, Laz- arus, how to talk to you. I am always too busy, but since the Master's visit I have been thinking quite a little. I think that is Mary now." Mary, coming in smiling, but when she sees her brother so pale and still, she cries, "Oh, what is it," and drops down beside his couch, taking him in her arms, LAZARUS : "Oh, Mary, how I wish I could go to the city and hear Him again. I think it would put new life in me. For by the force of my disease is my garment changed, and my substance dissolved, and I will be brought to death and to the house ap- pointed for all living." MARY: "I will take you, brother, and help you and j^ou will see and hear the wonderful things that will make you to love Him more. How patient He is with the twelve He has chosen to be with Him, to be witnesses of His regeneration." LAZARUS : "I wonder why He chose those twelve men. They are only poor fishermen, unlearned, too. Did He ever say anything to you, Mary, about them? But do tell me what you were talking about while wtih Him, for Mary, I will never be able to see Him again with this poor sick body." "Dear brother, He has chosen the twelve to be eye witnesses of the sufferings and treatment He received from His brethren, as well 22 as the glory He will receive from His Father; but, darling, stay with me, I could not spare you while my King is absent. I would have no one to talk to. Martha has no time to listen. I will tell you some of the things we talked about; it will revive you, I know." MARY: "As we were walking I leaned on His arm, I felt tired and weary if JESUS: "Come apart with me, Mary, and rest a little. I would know, beloved, if you love me well enough to suffer with me, even unto death." MARY: "Thou knowest I love thee better than life." (Martha coming in quickly, sits down to listen.) JESUS: (looking so pleased) — "I have many things to say, Mary; some that will make you sad and sorrowful, but fear not, I am thy reward. My people go around seeking to take away my life, although I have for their sakes come to lay it down." MARY: (nestling closer to Him throws her arms around Him as if she luould shield Him.) JESUS : (gently puts them aside) — "Did I not ask, Mary, if you loved me enough to suffer with me? Be brave and faithful to me, Mary, because for this purpose I left my Father's kingdom, to ransom this one which has been usurped by a wicked prince." MARY: "Oh, why should you die — the just for the unjust?" JESUS : "Because they are my brethren and are dear to me, and more, it is my Father's will it should be so, 'but sorrowfully' my people will not believe." MARY: "But they must believe, surely for the sake of the work thou hast done which no other man has done. ») JESUS : "I have done the work of my Father, but they say I have a devil. Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often I would have gath- ered you under my shadow, but you would not. Your house is left unto you desolate." (Jesus weeping). 23 MARY: "Oh, my heart, weep not. How could our people treat thee so cruelly. I sit lost in wonder, who for our sakes became poor, to be nothing." JESUS : (taking her in His arms saying) — "A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse ; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Come and keep tryst with me often, Mary," (leading her away). MARY: "Oh," (clinging to His hands), "give me again those sweet assurances of thy endearing love, let me stay with Thee. Entreat me not to leave Thee, for whither Thou goest I will go. Thy people will be my people, Thy God my God ; where Thou diest I will die, and there will I be buried. Not even death shall part Thee and me." JESUS : "Not now, beloved, but soon. Trust me, Mary." MARY: "Oh, my brother, I will take you with me." But Lazarus does not hear. He had gently fallen asleep. The two sisters hang over their brother almost overcome with grief, calling upon him to speak, but no effort or endearing word of theirs can open those eyes or bring back that gentle spirit. The life had gone back to the one who gave it. MARTHA: "Do you think we could send for the Master? He said He was the resurrection and the life. You know, Mary, where to find Him." MARY: "Yes, dear sister, you send for Him. I will watch by my dead." (^Mary's lament for her brother.) "Oh, my brother, how hard it is to give you up. How distressed I am for thee. Very pleasant hast thou been to me. Thy love to me was wonderful. Oh, my Lord and Master, if Thou had been here my brother had not died." Three days after Lazarus is in the grave. The two sisters are standing by the window and wondering what delays their Lord. 24 MARY: "Behold, my Lord, for I am in distress. Martha, I see Him. Go out to meet Him and when He calls me I will answer." "Oh, Mary," (as she prepares to meet Him) , "if I were but as one that found favor in His sight I would go by His footsteps and feed by the shepherd's tents. I would remember the savor of His sood ointments." *:>'■ MARY: (musing to herself) — "Oh, Martha, how happy thy words have made me. What a debt I owe thee for all the toil and care thou hast lavished on me. Some day I will repay. When I am married my King and I will remember all. We will take the sorrow from your heart and the tears from your eyes, for all His will be mine." (Martha meets Jesus with the Twelve.) MARTHA: "My Lord, our brother is already four days in the )> grave. JESUS: "Did I not tell thee, Martha, that if thou wouldst believe in me thou shouldst see the glory of God ? Go call Mary." "Oh, Mary, He calleth thee." (Mar>' rises up quickly to go to him, weeping; the mourners fol- lowing. ) When Jesus sees her weeping he groans in His spirit and v/eeps, asking where they have laid him. They come to the grave and stand looking at him roll away the stone. JESUS: (lifting up His eyes to heaven) — "I thank Thee, Oh Father, that thou hast heard me, for Thou hearest me always, but for the sake of those w^ho stand by me I said it that they may believe that Thou hast sent me;" (then cried with a loud voice) "Lazarus, come forth." Lazarus coming forth out of the grave bound in grave clothes. JESUS: "Loose him and let him go." Mary stands as if transfixed, her beautiful hair has come loose from its bindings and is falling all around her like a halo of glor}% her eyes filled now with tears of joy. 25 JESUS: (going to her) — "Mary, did I not tell thee if thou walkest through the Valley of the Shadow of Death I would be with thee; that my rod and my staff would comfort thee?" MARY: "Oh, Thou art fairer than the children of men. Grace is poured forth from Thy lips making even those who are asleep to awaken ; therefore. Thy God will bless Thee and make Thy name to be remembered." They reach the little home amid the joy and acclamations of the people. Some days had gone by and Lazarus looking well and happy read- ing in his Parchments, Mary sitting by his side. LAZARUS: "I know now, Mary, it is He our promised Messiah. I feel as if I could fly on the wings of the wind and shout and tell the glad news. Oh, my people, hath God deafened your ears and shut your eyes that you cannot see and understand? Oh, I must read more, Mary. I must see if God will forgive so great a sin." MARY: "You know, brother, He told you to search the scriptures — that they would tell you of Him. Let me hear it too, Lazarus." LAZARUS: "Oh, Mary, listen to this: 'To us a child is born, to us a son is given. His name will be called wonderful, a mighty God, an everlasting Father. He will be a Prince of Peace.' Wait, I will read you a picture from life. Kings shall shut their mouths at Him, for that which they have not been told they shall see. He will grow up a tender plant in a dry ground. He will not have that form of comeliness that they desire. They will despise and reject Him. Sister, does it hurt you to hear this?" MARY: "Oh, no, brother, I promised to suffer with Him. Read on." LAZARUS: "A man of sorrows acquainted with grief they have hidden their faces from Him." 26 MARY: "Surely not I, brother. Oh, see if there is sorrow like unto my sorrow which is done unto me." LAZARUS: "Surely He will bear our griefs and carry our sorrows. Yet we thought Him smitten of God and afflicted by Him for He will bruise Him for our iniquities." MARY: "Behold my King for I am in distress. There is none to comfort me. All that pass by clap their hands at me. They hiss and wag their heads saying, is this she who is the perfection of beaut}^" LAZARUS: "He shall pour out His soul unto death that He may justify many." MARY: "Listen, brother, he called me when I was forsaken and with great loving kindness he drew me to Him. Since I was precious in His sight He has loved me and honored me. I must go to Him. I will comfort Him for we keep tryst this evening. Tell Martha I have gone to seek Him." (Mary and Jesus meet.) MARY: "Oh, if you have to suffer, let me suffer with thee, for my eyes run down with tears continually and I am called by thy name. Leave me not." JESUS: "Hush, Mary, rest thy head upon my breast while I tell thee. My Father hath a desire to the work of His hands and for the joy He has set before me I am willing to die. But, Mary, I will rise again. Dry your tears for I will come again and take you to myself, that where I am, there ye may be also." MARY: "Oh, but it seems a sword hath pierced my heart already, with many sorrows." JESUS : "In my Father's house are many mansions, but I go to prepare a place for you, my bride, and my spirit wjll be with you Mary and show you things that will delight you and my angels will minister to you." MARY: (her gace all aglow) — "And I will be busy with my bridal robe and will be watching for you until the day dawns. Oh, who could hurt thee." 27 JESUS: "M37 brethren mostly, Mary, some who have been with me in my wanderings, eating at my table, will betray and deny me." (Mary coming home.) MARY: "Oh, hold me brother, and you sister, and help me to bear it. The parting time has come." (The brother and sister leading Mary into the house.) MARY: *'Oh, no, I could not lie down. I cannot while He is sufier- ing. The Passover will be tomorrow and they will take Him." MARTHA: "Then rest, Mary, and drink this and it will strengthen you. LAZARUS: (Next morning conmig into Mary^s room) — "Do you think you would be able to tell me what He said to you, Mary?" MARY: "Yes, Lazarus, He told me he would be at Simon's house today, that He was invited for supper. A good many of the Chief Priests and Pharasees will be there." LAZARUS: "Are you going there today, Mary? Do you think you are able to bear all this?" « MARY: "Yes, brother, for He told me I would be able to drink this cup of suffering with Him; that His strength would be sufficient for both. So, dear brother, do not hinder me for I must see Him today." (Mary takes a box from her drawer and saying goodbye she hurries away to the city.) Jesus at supper in Simon's house. Mary in a dress of pure white, her hair falling down covering her from the rude gaze of some, comes softly in taking her place at His feet and begins to wash them with her tears, wiping them with her hair, and from the folds of her dress she takes a box of ointment that cost her a great deal and breaking it poured it on His head, filling the room with a sweet odor. She does not see the looks of scorn from the eyes of those 28 Pharasees but she hears the faultfinding of Judas complaining of such waste. Mary looking up as if she were guilty looks at her Lord. Nothing she thinks is too costly for Him. She is moving away but Jesus holds out His hand which she takes as He looks around on them. JESUS : "Let her alone. Against the day of my burial has she kept this. What you have neglected to do she hath done," and turning to Mary: "To all generations this will be remembered to thee for you have done what you could." JESUS : (in the Garden of Gethsejnane in agony) — Drops of blood like sweat are falling from His face as His body sways to and fro. "Oh, Father, may Thy will be done, if this cup pass not from me." An angel appears comforting him and he stands calm and waiting. Judas and a company of soldiers come. Judas kisses his Master. Jesus standing before Pilate bound, as they smite Him on the face. Pilate with Jesus alone asking Him If He is a King. JESUS : "Thou hast said, but if my Kingdom were of this world then would my servants fight." PILATE: (To the people) — "Behold the man, so noble, so patient, so lowly, truly a King." They lead Him away bearing His cross. Martha and Lazarus coming home from the city. Mary meeting them. MARY: "Oh," (crying out), "why are you so pale? Why do you tremble? Oh, my heart, my heart, you have seen Him. Tell me, look at me, I am strong. I can bear all things for His sake." LAZARUS : "Yes, dear sister, we saw Him and He looked a message to you as if He said, 'Lazarus, j^ou will tell her. > >> MARTHA: (Catching Mary as she falls down moaning out) — "I must go to Him for He Is suffering for me and I must suffer with Him." 29 Mary at the foot of the cross, her arms twined around it, her face uplifted to her Saviour, as she cries: "Oh, help me to suffer with thee;" but He replies: "It is finished!" Jesus is taken down from the cross by some who loved Him and laid in a new tomb and the soldiers roll a stone to it. Mary in her home preparing spices. LAZARUS and MARTHA: "This is the third day, Mary; the day He said He would arise." Mary with two other women at the grave, who go away leaving Mary alone. Mary stooping down looking into the tomb and seeing nothing begins to weep. SUPPOSEDLY A GARDENER: "Why weepest thou? Whom seekest thou ?" MARY: "Oh, sir, if thou hast borne Him hence tell me where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him away. I will whisper in His ear all my love and sorrow. I w^ill deck Him with sweet spices. Oh, that my grief were weighed and my calamity laid in the balance. Mine eyes do fill with tears and there is none to com- fort me. All mine enemies have heard of my trouble and they are glad. I know I have grievously rebelled, but hear and behold my sorrow." JESUS: "Mary, my beloved," with the old familiar tone of endear- ment. MARY: "It is the voice of my beloved. Thy lips, oh, my spouse, drop as the honeycomb on my troubled soul." Falling at His feet, embracing them. JESUS : "Touch me not, Mary, for I have not yet ascended unto my Father and your Father. Let not your heart by troubled but go quickly to my brethren and tell them I am risen and will sec them soon." Mary comes first to Martha and Lazarus. 30 MARY: "Martha, Lazarus! He is risen. He is here. Come with me. He has sent me to tell the disciples." The days and months grow into years. Mary has grown more beautiful. The sweet messages sent to her from time to time from her absent Lord bring her rest and peace. She is bending over, utterly en- grossed with a piece of beautiful needle work, a smile playing on the sweet face. "Oh, I want my dress to be beautiful, exactly like the pat- tern He has sent me." MARTHA: "Mary, are you looking for your King to come soon?" (watching Mary plying her needle). "Will your dress be ready by the time He comes?" MARY: "Oh, yes," (with a smile), "I am putting the last finishing touches to it now, some very delicate little stitches, that will greatly enhance its beauty." MARTHA: "I wonder how you will be able to work in such fine stitches, Mary. They will be very difficult, one can hardly see them. Can I help you?" MARY: "You have helped me a great deal already, Martha, but these I must do alone. I will work them mostly by love and patience, for my dress must be glorious, without spot or wrinkle." ('Mary alone.) MARY: "I w^onder if He has seen and heard all I have suffered since He went away. While I have waited for His return, but when He folds me in His arms it will be all forgotten. Oh, I hear Him. It is the voice of my beloved," as he comes leaping over the mountains, calling her brother and sister. It is a glorious morning, a beautiful sunlight coming up in the East, strains of wonderful music catching the ear of the watchers. Mary's friends are coming in with their little presents and to see how lovely the bridal robe. They stand lost in admiration as she shows them the beautiful inside lining, the color of pure gold, with an over dress of wonderful needle-work in pure white linen ; her crown of Bridal Wreath, 31 to which is fastened her veil, covering her beautiful hair, and in the lovely eyes ecstacy of love and joy. (People singing.) PEOPLE: "The bride hath made herself ready and with gladness and rejoicing she shall enter the King's Palace." MARY: "Oh, I hear Him. Listen all ye people! The sun seems to hide His face for a new and more glorious sun is coming up on the earth. He is calling me." LAZARUS : "Oh, Mary, I am glad for thee, my sister. How greatly shall thy King desire thee. Oh, Martha, listen." (Christ with a company of angels singing the glad Hosannas.) CHRIST: "Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away! The flowers appear on the earth and the singing of the birds is come. Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away." (Mary and her King.) PEOPLE: "Who is this that cometh," leaning on the arm of her be- loved. "Fair as the moon and clear as the sun." (The virgins, her companions, following.) (Christ gathers Mary into His arms as they slowly disappear in the clouds.) PEOPLE: "It is Mary of Magdela, her bridegroom is taking her to the home he has prepared for her." Martha and Lazarus pointing to them, telling the people that the wilderness and the solitarj' places shall be glad for them, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as a rose, and the glory of the King and Queen shall be seen ; the eyes of the blind shall see ; the ears of the deaf shall hear ; the lame shall walk ; and the dumb shall sing ; and a feast will be made to all who present themselves, both great and small ; the wine of the Kingdom will be given in abundance in vessels of gold, "the vessels differing one from another;" none shall compel; for so the King hath appointed ; but all shall drink according to every one's pleasure, and they shall obtain joy and gladness and sorrow, and sighing shall flee away. 32 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 863 821 6 #

19005142

Songs of the free; a collection of essays, poems and stories,

Alston, Toussaint l'Ouverture

songsoffreecolle00alst_djvu.txt

Class fS?>coj Book Ax%r Oopightlf COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. SONGS OF THE FREE A COLLECTION OF ESSAYS, POEMS AND STORIES TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE ALSTON, A. M. ii Founder Benjamin Benneka Research Society, Howard University, Washington, D. C. Anchor Publishing Co, Metropolis, 111. 1918 f" ©0. A 5 126 04 A-v© 1 FOREWORD PART I— ESSAYS The New Ethiopian. The Negro and the War. The War's Ultimatum to the Negro. E-Y-E-S Right. On Emotion and Its Definition. PART II— POEMS Life. The Shepherd. Forest Meditations. War Dawn. The Song of the Free. The Color Bearer. * Easter. The Transfiguration. The Dying Sinner. An Easter Prayer. Howard University. To Lincoln. To An Old House. To Mother. To Phyllis Wheatly. The Christ. The Voice. In Memoriam. Till Then. The Man. A Freeman's Song. The College Hymn of the Freshmen. To the National Negro Educational Congres The Happenings of Last Night. Let Me Lie Whar De Watah Milyuns Grow. To Bug- Eye. Fo' De Land's Sake Man, Hush! The Brothers' Crime. What? To My Sister. Return Sweet Smile. Return Sweet Soul. Leonah. Wenonah. Tell Her for Me. My Spring. Absence. Ah Love, I Sigh! The Rose Song. I Saw I^ast Night the Dawn of Peace. PART III— STORIES At Midnight. Rattlesnake Pete. Through Air to Squash Bottoms. Jeanne de L'Air. Copyright 1918 Anchor Publishing Co. NAR 20 1919 I write these poor but earnest lines, With mental struggles hard ; That you may see His glorious works, And nestle close to God. FOREWORD. The desire to express one's thoughts in writing is a great one. The feeling that some one at a distance is for the time being think- ing as you think carries with it a kind of pleasure. Even though the ideas expressed are not new, the fact that they have become* a part of you and are expressed in your own words, makes them yours as it were, and if they are worthy, to have them known to oth- ers is but a natural desire. All of us have ideas and the desire to express them is older than language. The great obstacle in the way of putting one's thoughts in writing is the difficulty in making one's purpose clearly understood. The reader is just as much interested in Why these ideas are expressed as What these ideas are. Mere barren statements are not enough; the purpose which they are to serve is of fundamental importance ; and if the pur- pose is clearly set forth at the outset there is —6— little doubt that the reader is likely to go as- tray as to the meaning of the discourse. Writing is, at its best, a poor vehicle of ex- pression. Written words can never carry the impress that spoken words can. They release their glow as they trail from the pen, and the full power of their source is lost on the read- er. Nevertheless, writing is, and will always remain the best means by which one's tho- ughts may become useful; for it is a means of furnishing the greatest good to the great- est number. This, then, leads us back to the foundation of thought expression — the pur- pose — a kind of food stored both outside and inside the thought expressed. The purpose of a discourse justifies it, and in a way, modifies the criticisms which are directed at it; or at least, restricts them from becoming too general. It becomes very plain therefore, that the purpose must be set forth in a clear, unmistakable manner. It may be stated at the outset, or it may develop as the discourse progresses. In either case it is to serve as a pivot upon which all of the discourse rotates, and which opens the way to its best interpretation. In this little book which has been called "Songs of the Free," is is the sole purpose to so uphold and portray the best ideals to the younger members of our race that they shall ever strive for a knowledge of their past, an understanding of their present and an indom- itable faith in their future. • The Author. PART I— Essays THE NEW ETHIOPIAN. An Historical Sketch. Ethiopia was the 'birth place of the Ethiop- ian race. From this country they migrated into upper Egypt and became the ancestors of the great Egyptians, whose civilization has never been excelled. After many years this civilization began to decline, due to the influx of the wild European tribes ; and in time we find this great civilization scattered through- out the Oriental world. But the people who had established it were no longer remember- ed and even their identity was almst blotted out in the fastness of the dark continent. Hundreds of years rolled by and still the people slept. It was not until they were brought by other races to the western world did they begin to awaken. It was at this point that New Ethopia began to move and to have its being. It was nearly three hundred years ago when our forefathers landed upon this conti- nent — a destitute and savage people; 'bribed and stolen from their native country and con- demned to a life of slavery in these United — 8— States of America. ^ rom the first moment of their landing until 1863 they were the sole popeity of the southern planters, who drove them under lash to the fields wheie they tilled the soil from sun up until sun down without one cent of recompense and without one mite of gratitude. In Maryland and Virginia and especially in the far southern colonies it was very difficult to secuie white laboreis, so the planteis had to depend almost entirely upon the Negro slave, and as the plantations increased in number and size the demand for slave labor became more and more urgent — so the num- ber of slaves increased rapidly. Further, the slave labor put the planter in a position to reap a large return from his fields. There were very few expenses attached to the oper- ation of the plantation; the laborers were abun riant and the labor was free. The South ern planter could easily hoard up riches, won by the unrequited toil of his black bondsmen. The growth of the thirteen colonies about this time became rapid though substantial. In the South the Negro labor had more than doubled the output of tobacco, rice, indigo and cotton. Also in the North factories were established for the manufacture of cloth, hats and glass. Cities and towns sprang up, and the white man began to feel the spirit of independence, which is characteristic of fron- tier life; but the Negro chained by his own ignorance and bound to a merciless over-lord still toiled in the hot field. ^9— It was about this time when the prosperity of the colonies was at its height that King George III of England in a supreme effort to rule Britian and especially her colonies, imposed taxes upon them which their new spirit of freedom could not undergo. Eng- lish troops were stationed in some of the largest cities to enforce the observance of the Kings' laws and to hold the colonies in awe of his power. But in Boston the spirit of re- sentment was so great that it resulted in a quarrel in which some soldiers fired into a body of citizens. These were the first shots of the great Revolution which was to drench the country with blood for six long years. Several of the citizens were killed; among these was a Negro, Chrispus Attucks who was the fist to give his life for a freedom of which he knew nothing. Thus the beginning of the great struggle for independence. On July the fourth seven- teen seventy-six the thirteen colonies with shouts of joy and defiance declared themselv- es free and independent from Great Britain; and Lexington and Concord re-echoed the sound. After years of sufferings and hard- ships the Revolutionists under George Wash- ington succeeded in wrenching America from the hands of the English troops and estab- lishing a government, "of the people, by the people and for the people." But what of the Negro during this great struggle for inde- pendence? True, his blood was the first to flow for this great cause ; yet at the close of —10— the war, we find him still in an ignorant state burning away his energy and coinage in the hot fields of the Southland. The yoke of bondage never once loosened from about him. The southern planter knew that he was indispensible, and from that time until I860 the Negro played a great part in the economic development of the American Nation. Out of these now firmly united colonies a nation rose which was destined to dominate the world. The American people grew lapidly in prosperity and power. Gradually they be- gan to work their way westward, and in 1803 Thomas Jefferson by the great Lou siana pu - chase extended the Ameiican possessions al- most to the sea. Independence had now rooted itself in the heart of every Ameiican. They made their own laws and rejoiced and prospered in their new bought freedom. But the laws of God must not be overlooked. Jesus Christ summed up the comma ndments in two fundamental statements : Thou shalt have no other God before Me, and Love thy neighbor as thyself. Did the American peo- ple adhere to these laws? No! One of them they had entirely discarded. Their neighbor was among them an outcast, a menial, a slave ; and yet they had no compassion upon him nor sought to 'better his condition. In the North, however, now and then a faint cry against human slavery was heard. Loud- er and louder grew this cry until the question of slavery ignited all America. The South wanted her slaves to be counted —li- as population so that she would have moie repiesentatives in congiess than the No±tii. Tnis di ought on a gieat political dispute be- tween the North ani the Sou in, ana in the end South Carolina seceded fiom the Union — followed almost immediately by fiiteen otner Southern states. There is no forgiving of sin without the shedding of blood. The American nation had sinned both against God and man. In a few weeks the bombardment of Foit Sumpter marked the beginning of the great Civil War and the election of Abraham Lincoln foretold the awakening of a new Ethiopia. History fails to paint the awful struggle between the North and the South. Language cannot expiess what anguish knows. The Union was now dissolved in two great fac- tions. There was but one way to save it, and Lincoln was the hist to see the way. In 1863 he issued a proclamation giving to all of the slaves their freedom. This was the beginning of our freedom and after the great war the Negro rapidly adapted himself to his new conditions. He grew up side 'by side with his white brother and accomplished in less than fifty years what it had taken the white man over one thousand years to accomplish. He is able to hold his own with any race in any field of endeavor which he has been permitted to enter. He has conquered the inevitable ; that is, he has lived side by side with the white race for three hundred years and has not lost his identity or racial characteristics. —12— This, then, is the true awakening of Ethi- opia. We are now in the morning of a new freedom. The black night of slavery has passed. The tiny stars of the Northland which strove to illume that night have faded from view; while the golden sun of Justice spreads its soothing rays over a land of liber- ty. Nevermore will that sun cease to shine. Although its surface may be made obscure at times by passing comets of race riots, lynchings and segregation in different parts of the country; this sun shall never set but shall ever rise higher and higher until its beams penetrate the hearts of all men and in- augurate the birth of the new Ethiopian. THE NEGRO AND THE WAR. This great war crisis which has fallen over the country like a vast enveloping shroud has given rise to many problems which are high- ly important to the American Negro. A state of war is always accompanied by character- istic conditions ; and it is from these condi- tions that we are enabled to see the outcome of the struggle. The fundamental cause of all wars is, clearly biological — a struggle for existence. The various races, nations and em- pires involved in the present struggle are tiy- ing to assert their right to exist; and in so doing some of them have lost sight of the very basic principles of existence. The great principle of existence is not exemplified in domination, but rather in assimilation. Of all the races whose very existence is be- ing weighed in the balance of this great war, the most conspicuous is the Negro. For fifty years we have slept in a kind of lethergy of hope — longing for the day when the high and just principles upon which this government is founded, shall be indeed rea- lized; and when the full hand of citizenship —14— will be extended to us on every side. During these yeais we have risen, slowly but suiely, and we are at present able to cops with any circumstance which the present crisis may provoke. We have advanced normally in pop- ulation, rapidly in finance and extraoid nari- ly in education, and have reached a high sta- tus of culture in spite of the many forces which acted to the contrary. It is from these conditions that we are able to catch a gleam of our place at the end of this great struggle. The Negro, like all other American citizens has been called upon and is expected to do his 'bit' in this present war. He has come fo Y th without a murmur and is willing to sacrifice and if need 'be, to give his "last full me?su r e of devotion" to his country. He has tried to enlist in every branch of the United States Army and Navy. He further prove i his loy- alty in the draft registration. Surely he has answered the call, and surely, like all other races involved, he expects and in fact deserv- es reimbursement for his sacrifice. The returns which the Negro believes will follow his participation in this great war can best be put in the language of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, which purposes to make ten million Americans physically free from peonage, mentally free from ignorance, politically free from disfranchisement, and socially free from insult. These are indeed the principles for which the Negro is willing to sacrifice his life. We —15— are fighting for the equality of man ; that is the great principle which means 'the right of every nation, great or small, to develop in its own way unmolested.' This is real democ- racy, and when fully realized will mean the salvation of all mankind. What the War Means. This war is not a mere conflict of arms, the decision of which will go to the strongest na- tion; but rather a conflict of the world-old ideas of right and wrong — the decision of which must go to the righteous. This con- flict is not concerned merely with the question as to which of the warring nations is in the right ; but it is greatly concerned as to which of the two great principles of existence shall dominate the world — Might or Right. (In this respect it is not in the least concerned with race, creed or nation). This struggle was of course inevitable. The laws of both man and nature have con- tributed to its precipitation ; and it is a settled fact that this war must continue until there is some real adjustment of inter-racial rela- tions. We see in this war the same old conflict between the East and the West. Not, how- ever, between the Oriental and Occidental armies as it was in Darius' time ; but between the Eastern and Western ideas. These two ideas have always been in opposition — since they represent two broadly different princi- ples. The western idea represents a principle of —16— race superiority or domination, and for more than 4000 years it has held sway over the des- tinies of weaker men. It is the idea under which we live today, and which threw us in- to the present bloody struggle. The eastern idea represents a. principle of race equality or brotherhood; and although overshadowed by the western idea it has been slowly fastening itself into the hearts of all men, and is fully recognized in this war. THE WAR'S ULTIMATUM TO THE NEGRO. This war has issued to the world an ulti- matum; and especially on the Negro races has this ultimatum been served. Were it to be summed up it would be put in this wise: "You must leave forever your ivays of super- stition and ignorance and adapt yourselves to modern culture and civilization" This will apply not only to the race here in America, but to the entire race the world over; wnose greater advancement has been retarded because of their inability to cope with the situations before them. No matter how many opportunities present themselves to us, if we are unprepared to take advantage of them they do us no good. The idea often expressed by some of us that "all we need is a chance" does not mean anything. We do not need a mere chance, but the ability to recognize an opportunity when we see it. To do this we must be prepared ; that is, we must be so trained that we can demand from the world this so-called chance. Some may say that no matter how well trained one may be, —18— if he has no chance to show it it will avail him nothing. It is so that "full many a flow- er is bom to blush unseen," but this applies to flowers — immobile otjects; and when ap- plied to man it does not necessarily woik. Mo one who has attained any accomplishment c£.n "blush unseen" for though he may live in a forest, the world will make a path to his doorway. It is not a question of chance, but of preparation. What the Ultimatum Means. This ultimatum which is seived on us is unmistakeable. We must prepare as we have never done before. This means that we must train our ability; that is, we must confoim to a definite means of education. The only way by which we can hope to compete wkh the other races of the world is to train ou 1 selves diligently in the ways of modern cultir e and civilization in such a manner that we can still hold to those high ideals which are so characteristic of our race. We must search for all that modern civilization can offer and select the best and most durable. This war has brought the people of the world closer together than ever before; and when different nations and races mingle to- gether in close contact, prejudices and an- tagonisms are wont to rise which can only be prevented by previous training. The war's ultimatum is a world democracy ; a world civ- ilization and a world religion. E-Y-E-S RIGHT! It has been said that civilization came on the wings of war. This is true, m that con- quest has been the greatest factor in dissemi- nating civilization among the nations of the world. We find through the pages of history that war has 'been the means of permanently planting the civilization of one nation into the heart of another. The civilization of Greece was established thioughout the East by means of the Macedonian wars. The civi- lization of Rome was cariied to all parts of the known world by the Roman conquests. War, then, is a necessary evil into which na- tions are sometimes thrown to eliminate the greater evils. The greater evil which confronts the world today is called autocracy; which of itself, means nothing, but in its application means slavery. Slavery not necessarily physical, but rather intellectual and spiritual. To be physically enslaved is bad, but this can be overcome by the bondsmen rising up against their masters. To be intellectually enslaved is worse, for in this condition the bondsman —20— is unable to comprehend his own state and therefore goes about in a happy-go-lucky manner — satisfied with his unprogressrve- ness. To be spiritually enslaved is hell, for tne soul loses its inspiration and ideals and sinks into a state of lethargy out of which it can never rise. The lesser evil which is striving to over- throw the greater evil is called democracy, which although not univei sally conceded, had its origin in the Haitian Republic under the great negro — Toussaint L'Ouverture. It has been generally taught for obvious reasons that democracy had its origin in the so-called Grecian republic, but unless words have lost their meaning, the government which exist- ed in early Greece was not in any sense a de- mociacy. Democracy first presupposes the equality of man, and any fool who has studied history with his brains and not with his pre- judices must admit that the Grecian govern- ment was established for the full-blooded Greek and not for the thousands of members of other races who were included in this "re- public." If then, the people who made up the great- er part of this "republic" had no part in its government, it was not a democracy, but an autocracy. On the other hand, in the Haitian Republic every race and faction were repre- sented in its government — Blacks, Whites, Mulattoes, French, English and Spanish — all had equal representation in this the greatest democracy the world has yet known. —21— Thus democracy, an idea which is now per- meating the mind of the world had its concep- tion in the heart and brain of a Negro. Not only did he dream of this ideal government, but he put his dreams into practice and gave to the world an inspiration and hope which lies at the root of the present world conflict. Had it not been for the little Republic of Hayti the world might never have known that it could govern itself without a master. What, then, does this war mean to the Ne- gro? Does it mean that he must, as before, bear the weight and sorrow which shall come in this mighty struggle without one mite of recompense? No! We are fighting for democracy, the equality of man — a gov- ernment by the consent of the governed — "of the people, by the people and for the peo- ple, which shall not perish from the earth!" And when the war's cloud shall have shifted and the sun of a happier day shall send its glorious beams across the muck of 'beaten au- tocracy, — the Negro shall take his place by the side of the other races of the world and work out unmolested his own salvation. ON EMOTION AND ITS DEFINITION. In order to give a clear and correct defini- tion of any phenomen of life, whether mental or physical, one must first understand the causes which produces that phenomenon, and the affect which that phenomenon produces. It is a widely spread belief among most stu- dents of psychology that the phenomenon generally known as "Emotion" is so variable and complex in its nature that it eludes all at- tempts of explanation and especially of defi- nition. This is due primarily to the amount of mystery with which students of psychol- ogy are wont to shroud all mental phenomena So being satisfied at saying "feeling is feel- ing," rest contented. In this paper, according as space will allow, I shall attempt to give an adequate explanation of emotion purely from a 'biological point of view; in that emotions are simply the manifestations of life. If, then, emotions are the manifestations of life, we are in a position to r'o away with some of its mysteries and build up a clear sensible definition. Prof. Ladd, in his "De- scriptive Psychology," (P. 164) in answering —23— the question "In what common characteristic do all the different feelings or emot.ons per- fectly agree?" says: "All feelings, high and low, and even pleasures and pams, are alike in this, that they are forms of feelings and not ideas, thoughts, volitions, etc." wnich is the same as saying that feelings are feelings because they are feelings; or rather, to illus- trate, that a noise is a horse because he is a horse and not a mule or cow. Plainly this statement means nothing, and is simply one of the many ways by which some psychologists evade fundamental ques- tions. All emotions are alike in that ;(1) they are primarily caused by physically stim- ulii, (2) their effect upon the organism takes the form of either repulsion or attraction which are fundamentally the same, in that both conform to the preservation of the or- ganism. The primary causes of emotion are, as has been stated, physical in their nature. We, in thinking of all the feelings and emotions that have come to us during all of our exist- ence, cannot recall one that was not caused by some physical stimulus. Even where emotions are caused by memory, so called, the primary cause is the physical stimulus, for in the act of memory, the same cortical cells and nerve tracts simply recapitulate their pri- mary experience. In feelings caused by imag ination the conditions are practically the same, the more or less pathological mind com- piles images in various contortions that were —24— once in its objective experience; thereby pro- ducing in consciousness emotions of a great- er or lesser degree. We see from the above that all emotions aie alike in so far as their primary cause is concerned, namely — physical stimulii ; whether anger, feai, hatred, love or any of the so-called "different" feelings. ffl Now, the result of emotions, as has been stated, takes the form of repulsion or attrac- tion. This no person will doubt; and neither can one assert (Ladd) that feelings are too variable and complex to sum up simply as re- sulting in repulsion or attraction ; for each is a fundamental law of all biological life. All organic movements, all deep seated feelings, all emotions, all sensations respond, in a greater or lesser degree, to or from their stimulant. This repulsive and attractive re- sult can be easily combined to form one fun- damental result — preservation, which is the ultimate aim of all emotions. Therefore, all feelings or emotions are alike in that they are caused primarily by physical stimulii and result as chaiacteristic preservation of the organism. Prof. Ladd in his Descriptive Psychology (P. 166), tries to distinguish between sensa- tions and emotions in this manner: "My sensations are, indeed, mine, as truly as my feelings are; both are alike subjective. But my sensations are what my feelings are not, and cannot be conceived as being; they also, in the development of perception, become re- —25— fered, as qualities, to the objects known in sense-experience. Things are green, blue sweet, sour, hard, soft, warm, cold, etc; and in lespect to the objective character of some of their qualities, even the most exterior parts of my body are things to me. But when I say my finger aches, as well as when I say that the music makes me sad, the ache and sadness have no "objective" existence; they are indeed, mine par excellence, as contrasted with all qualities of things which occasion them." Prof. Ladd has failed in the above state- ment in that he has tried to separate ideas of sense from objects of sense. Ideas of sense as he has shown, are subjective and exist on- ly in the mind or as perceived; objects of sense, (Perkley, — Rand's Classical Philoso- phy) are merely a number of ideas or quali- ties which have been observed to accompany each other and are called by one name. From this we see that green, blue, sweet, sour, hard soft, etc., beings simply objects of sense or ideas also have no "objective" existence. Consequently when Prof. Ladd says, my fin- ger aches, or "the apple is green" , neither the ache nor the green has "objective" existence; both are alike "subjective." Since there is no difference between sensa- tions and emotions with regards to their ex- istence, it follows that the only difference be- tween sensations and emotions is in the de- gree of their intensity ; that is, the difference between emotion and sensation is that in e- —26— motion the entire organism responds to the extraordinary physical stimulus, whereas, in sensation the ordinary physical stimulus excites only some specialized sense organ and does not necessarily involve an organic re- action. Since emotions are manifestations of life — since all emotions are alike in that they arise from physical stimulii and result in arr act toward preservation of the organism, and since there is no difference (save of degree of intensity) between emotions and sensa- tions ; we are in a position to compile a defi- nition of emotion. First — Emotion is that intensified organ "c reaction observed when the organr m becomes conscious, either through immediate associ- ation, memory or imagination, of some im- pending danger or safety. The final definition of emotion will be got from a short discussion of the present theor- ies. These are three in number. One theory is, in substance, that the emotion precedes the action. This is true in so far as it spe- cifies the beginning of the emotion, but it is a known fact that emotion may continue to exist during the action or long after the ac- tion has taken place. Plainly this theory does not add anything definite to our knowledge of emotions. Another theory states, that the emotion follows the action, which is in a sense true and depends simply on the inten- sity of the emotion ; 'but this theory does not establish an adequate explanation of emotion —27— but explains only the extent of its existence. Still another theory states that the action is the emotion, which is to my mind absurd, for the action is plainly the result of the emotion, or external manifestation of the emotion. Evidently, emotion may precede, accom- pany or follow the action; which brings us in a position to sum up our final definition of emotion; since all emotions are alike in their nature of cause and effect, since there is no difference between sensations and emotions, since the action of the organism preceding, during or following the stimulant is not the emotion, it follows that the emotion can only be the action of the stimulus upon the or- ganism. Second: Emotion therefore, is a purely mechanical action of a physical stimulus, the manifestations of which are observed in the organism. PART II POEMS LIFE. Sad mortal could'st thou but know What truly 'tis meant to live, The wings of thy soul would glow ; And glory to God you would give. To live is to be a Christian — To stand up for the right ; And ever hold up for Jesus With all thy main and might. THE SHEPHERD. Morning, the sunlight spread afar And lit the suirounding vale; A shepherd climbing a mountain high The refreshing air enhaled. Across his back was slung a sack, In his hand he held a crook; The sheep followed him close behind, Nor they his path forsook. They traveled on until they came To a place that was the best; . The Shepherd bade them feed at large, And there they took their rest. Today the good news has spread afar And never more shall cease; A Christ was born in Bethlehem, Who brought everlasting peace. Upon his 'back there was a Cross, In his hand he held a book; The Desciples followed him close behind Nor they his path forsook. They traveled on — and then he gave To those who loved him best, A place where they could be with God, And there they took their rest. —SO- FOREST MEDITATIONS. Silence ! From out thy shrouded Depths multitudinous with sound, Where dampened leaves on watery Bark collide, and weeping bushes Droop their weary neads upon tny Bosom; thou breathes a prayer; Ye mighty trees in solemn majesty Array, bespeak a thousand mysteiies Yet untold ; and witn thy lofty heads Reared to the skies, breathes forth A tranquil song of hope and love. When sadness like a blackened cloud, Envelopes thy rarest joys — when Discontent and distrust takes Possession over thy soul ; steal away Alone into the fastness of the Wild-wood and list to her song — And from out the depths of the Forest will come this prayer : Love is not lost That abides with thee, Songs are not hushed That arise from thee; Into the forest Where nature confides, There in the fastness God still abides ! Sweet is song That comes to me, Sweet is the hope That is to be; Lost in the Forest, I can but 'be Close to Thee ! —31— WAR DAWN. Ten thousand burning sparkling fires Alight the world forlorn; And music from a thousand Lyres Announce the coming dawn. The Demon Hate and Selfish Lust Have drenched the world with bloodj And crumbled learning to the dust — Destroyed the young manhood. The weak and ignorant races bear The burdens of the strong; In their sore hearts they do not dare To rise against this wrong. The burning Sun soars on his way Upon an arm of gold, And pauses at the bright noon-day To see the Great War's toll. He sees the younger sons go forth In battle garb array — He sees them mangled in the dust By Aryan tyranny. God of the Universe today, Let not thy mercy stray Far from this world ! Hold thou the maddened lords; Freedom unfurl! Let not the "superior" race Blot out our trust in Thee ! Protect our boys in France — Hasten Liberty! -32- THE SONG OF THE FREE. soldier I beg take a heart, A hope appears in yonder sky; I'll show you all 'before we part, Sweet peace, the Dawn of Peace Is drawing nigh. The God of men will soon o'ercome, And wipe all sorrow fom the land; Take heart ! take heart ! for peace is nigh- Fll show you that your race Shall always stand. The day of sorrow now is gone, No longer must you be forlorn; Just struggle onward, I beseech, The highest aim of man to reach. The Dawn of Peace is drawing nigh, And all fear and doubt must say good-bye. Take heart, your race shall justice see And sing with the world a Song of the Free ! —33— THE COLOR BEARER. Day-break and over the shell-wrecked field An awful silence lay ; The Huns had ceased, their terrible guns Were resting for the day. Far out across this wretched field, A Negro patrol came by; Each one upon his errand bent, Nor thought of danger nigh. — When lo! out from the heavens A fleet of German planes Flew over the colored soldiers — ■ Above the shell-torn lanes ! "To cover men!" the lieutenant cried; "Lie Low — close to the ground !" The men soon scattered to and fro, Each one a shell hole found. But there was one who did not move, Nor sought to cring or hide; And in his arms "Old Glory" Was waving at his side. This flag that once had held him slave And once had set him free — Now floated proudly o'er a field Blood-smeared for liberty. "Lie down !" the lieutenant cried again ; "Lie low or you must die !" But the Negro only stood erect, While bombs 'burst near by. Then turning to the officer He answered his command : — "I will not put this old flag down As long as I can stand." —34— EASTER Slowly and silently upon his way, The sun arose at break of day; As round his course he lightly swings Memories to my mind he brings. Today God sends a golden light, And the world with hope is bright ; Even the birds in joyous glee, Merrily sing from tree to tree. From earth comes praises loud and long Joined with heaven I hear this song : day of all the sweetest, Ye happiness bring; O King of all the greatest, To Thee we sing ! day, two thousand years ago, Small hope we had; Now Lord, Thy truth we know, And we are glad ! Heart join with the world And sing and pray; Soul, thy best unfurl — glorious day! -35- THE TRANSFIGURATION. Midnight ! They stood on the mountain alone, The pallid moon in the distance shown ; They were Christ, Peter, James and John, Assembled that night on Mt, Hermon. They prayed and as their faith aspired, All thoughts of earth from them retired. Behold, they look with wondering eye Upon the Christ — who standing by Transfigured — His raiment as light ; His face as the sun at midday height! His countenance banished back the night; And the Disciples following the light Saw heaven open and out issued Moses and Elias, but with light subdued. A cloud descended and a voice of one Said: "This is my beloved Son, In whom I am pleased;" and to them "Hear ye Him !" ~-36~ THE DYING SINNER. That evening after the sun had set, In a cottage by the sea Lay a sinner dying, his soul was lost Through all eternity. What fearful thoughts crowded his mind As he lay there — he was not saved; A vision of eternal death Over his conscience waved. He knew that he had waited too late Before taking up Jesus' cross, And carrying out the Lord's command ; He knew his soul was lost. But as he lie there meditating, Someone began singing — a child That beautiful song his mother sang: "My soul in sad exile — " His mind went back to childhood days — "Was out on life's sea;" "So burdened with sin and distress," if I a Christian could be ! "Till I heard a sweet voice saying" "Make me thy choice." "And I entered the Heaven of rest." Silently the sinner lay praying : —37— God have mercy on me, Save me from eternal death And set my soul free ! The spark of life was going out, But gone was all earthly pain ; Dying, the sinner joined with the child And sang this beautiful strain : "I've anchored my soul in the heaven of rest, I'll sail the wide seas no more; The tempest may sweep o'er the wild stormy deep, In Jesus I'm safe evermore." —38— AN EASTER PRAYER. Pent in darkest doubt, My hope forlorn; Lost from me? It cannot be! One by one te day-dreams pass, And they are gone — soul of mine when shalt thou be free Out o'er the distant west, A song I hear ; Its strains fulfill Thy 'blessed will. Dark doubt grows fainter love, For thou art near — heart of mine be still, be still ! Wrapped in darkest sin, A world forlorn ! L/ sinner flee, Thy soul set free! For unto you this day A king is born. O Lord of host deliver me ! Hope return — No darkness can shroud the more Still I yearn — The guiding light reveals upon The shore A silent figure robed in purest White. My dreams set free : — And now to Thee Beloved I take my flight — soul of mine when shalt thou be free ! —39— HOWARD UNIVERSITY. All hail the college on the hill, To thee our songs we raise ; A thousand voices with one will, Join in to sing thy praise. For aye shalt thou stand a conqueror in the fight, And shine with thy knowledge as a bea- con light — Pointing the way to truth and light; This song we raise. Then hail the college on the hill, With jubilant songs and free; Though years may roll it shall be still, Our University, The pride of our student body here, Thy sons stand amidst life's conflicts without fear — And from each country far and near Thy praises ring. —40- TO LINCOLN. Up from the back-woods' rough control, Up from hardships sad — untold; He struggled on. Daily he climbed step 'by step, And ever his early teachings kept; He gained the crown. At last he reaches the highest round, Yet still his eyes are on the ground : He sees the slave. With noble heart replete with love, Believing 'twas the will of God above ; Him freedom gave. 41- TO AN OLD HOUSE. Yes thy logs are losing strength, Crumbling with decay ; Methinks 'tis been a long time since Thou wast in thy day. The mud that was between thy logs, Displaced as the ages rolled ; Many a youth in rustic togs, Has shielded from the cold. And as I look on thee Seer ! Fast bending to the ground ; From afar is wafted to my ear An empyrean sound. that someone would look with pride Upon my poor weak soul; And then as now in me confide, When I have grown old. —42— TO MOTHER. Thy presence seems about me still, Though I am far away. I cannot wander from thy will, You guide me on each day. And mother dear I do not fear, My hopes are not in vain ; I'll fight the battle year by year, With all my might and main. So mother, far in the golden west, Some glad day bright and fine ; With tenderest care again I'll press, Thy dear sweet lips to mine! —43- TO PHILLIS WHEATLY. star that shown when all was dark, maid of dusky skin; Who sang though caged like a lovely lark ; Deep from thy soul within. Could I but write with ink and pen, To thee whose spirit hovers near; I'd sing a song to thee O Queen, A song that martyrs hear. Yet I am weak, my soul doth see,, maid without a stain ; Thou who sang from sea to sea, Thy work was not in vain ! Though years have rolled away and gone, Since hou wast in thy fame ; Forever will a race forlorn, Rejoice to call thy name! —44— THE CHRIST. We cannot see Him, yet He's near, For through each raging storm — He points the weary Pilgrim clear; And guides him with His arm. To every one He gives a work, Although we may not see — From His sweet call we must not shirk; He whispers "Follow Me !" THE VOICE. Sing on sweet one, who'er thou art, Thy lovely voice doth pacify me ; That song must come from the inmost heart, Praises of a soul set free ! — Yes (God be with you till we meet again,) My (When life's perils thick confound you;) Heart (Put His arms unfailing 'round you) Shall with thee sing. — "God be with you till we meet again." —45— IN MEMORIAM. (Mrs. L. E. Dorsey) Silent Reaper, stay thy sickle keen, As thou moveth on thy way ! Why reap the loveliest flowers green, And leave the others stay ? O departed soul — perfect Saint, If I could only sing Of thy noble life — its picture paint, To me 'twould gladness bring! Yet I can say — through burning tears, Without the least delay; Thou didst thy best — through trying years Until thy last day. Silent Reaper thou came not as a foe, I know thou art true and wise ; For while we sorrow here below, One reigns in Paradise ! TILL THEN. I do not seek for glory, I do not long for rest; I only want to see my God- Till then I'll do my best. —46— THE MAN He chose his work, And then With faltering steps he went Into the Cristian life, And sin, Temptations 'round him sent With sorrow, pain and strife. He kept the way, And when The clouds had all rolled by, Beyond, he saw the light, And sin No longer nigh — had fled, For Jesus was the light! A FREEMAN'S SONG. Out from a maze of Heathen doubt, I come, with arms outstretching; On civilization's sea I'm cast about, To my stronger brother beseeching ! 'Tis not for Fame and Friends I seek, Nor for some treasure hidden ; 'Tis for knowledge, grand and meek, That I may do God's bidding ! -47- THE COLLEGE HYMN OF THE FRESH- MEN. Let us come together Freshmen, On this beauteous Autumn day; And sing of dear old Howard With a spirit blithe and gay; And don't forget our numbers For we're 170 strong, As we go marching on! CHORUS. Shout and sing for dear old Howard Shout it o'er land and sea, Shout and sing for dear old Howard University ! From many distant places We have come to do our best, To get an education; That will stand most any test, And when we have completed Through life we'll do our best, As we go marching on ! —48- When you see us on the campus, Yes, one hundred and seventy strong; With our gallant banners flying ; And our voices filled with song, You cannot but join our praises As we raise our voices high, For Howard is our cry ! CHORUS. Shout and sing for dear old Howard, Lift your voices full of mirth ; Shout and sing for dear old Howard, The greatest school on earth. —49— TO THE NATIONAL NEGRO EDUCA- TIONAL CONGRESS. (St. Louis, Mo., Aug., 1910). To you who by the help of God divine, Doth meet to carry forward things sublime, Who journeyed here from many distant place To help the onward progress of a race — I extend this poem. The day has passed when men of our hue Must hold a second place as once we knew ; The rising Negro race shall take a share In all things great, and you must help him there. A pathway lies before, on which all heroes go, And you, dear sirs, must follow if you would know The plans of God to lift the Negro race From dire conditions upon a higher place. The world is calling for such men as you have here, To stand amid the conflict without fear; That know our progress, which they observe, Who place us in the light that we deserve. Dear Congress, from a peaceful throne above A Father looks and showers down His love; He knows it all, but only awaits His time, To place us at the top, to which we climb ! "lour tears, your prayers, your works, are not in vain, For we shall some day reach the highest plane. -50- THE HAPPENINGS OF LAST NIGHT. "Nature reposes on dewy beds, The birds fly to their nests ; The curtains of night are drawn, And the world is at rest." Congregated we stood in conversation deep ; Our hearts with philosophy and buffonery did leap ; When up the street ; relentless fate ! Came Roy, in a lazy meandering gait. His eyes from his unshaven head did stare — In a throaty voice he sang to the midnight air. He drew up close as he passed by us, And right into the conversation did burst. His voice rose high in argument clear, All unconscious of the danger near. Ere long we four sauntered down the street, Each one with thoughts of fun replete. There was John, Horace, myself, O joy! We decided to have some fun out of Roy ! And there quite near Mr. Blackwell's light We surrounded him ere he could make his flight. "Let's carry him out of town" said John. —51— Quick to the proposition we did respond — Each arm respectively, John and Horace had hold — I spurred him on with fluent oratory bold. And as we came to the Odd Fellows' hall, We bade him bid farewell to all. Straight down the road we marched in train ; Resist he did, but all in vain. Fun in Roy did not abide — "Gentlemen, what means this outrage," he cried : — Then muttered something about ruffians bold, And kindly we 'bade him his tongue to hold. Down by the Golden property we led our man And near the Gravel road, as philosophers can, Discussed his life, and asked with might, Why he was out this time of night. We argued long and much oratory did flow — 'Till suddenly we heard the 9 o'clock whistle blow! Then grabbing Roy in the same embrace, Gently we turned him right about face, And lead him down a dusty road, Wherein stygian darkness abode! The road was rough, caused by rain; Suddenly, it turned off into a lane. Right here we halted and off him took our hands, And straightway began to discuss our plans. Said Horace, "let's carry him on and on." Said I, "Let's turn him loose to run, And see him sprint with might and main !" Said John, "Let's carry him down this lane!" —52— "We will !" All shouted in a very loud voice — Poor Roy had not even a choice. "Down that lane you'll never carry me, No matter what the cost will be !" In vain he struggled and swayed to and fro, But John had spoken — he had to go ! Down the lane o'er ditches and mudholes sore — He did not ask to see — that is he lamented no more. Along the path by the way Tin cans hidden from view lay. You can easily imagine what a task, To lead a fellow through such a mass. Gloom its raven wings had spread; We could hardly see a foot ahead ! Tugging on, we held him close; Then turned up the road towards Horace's house. We asked him, "What now is the matter?" Said Horace, "I believe he wants some water.' At this he said, "No, not at all !" Said I, "I think he is trying to stall!" We led him almost to the gate, There our decision he did await. Said Horace, "Don't you all come in the yard ; "My dog on strangers is very hard. "He'll make you retreat without defence," "And perhaps tear your pants on the sharp spiked fence." The dog was barking and running to and fro, So we decided to let Roy go — We turned him loose and 'bade him flee — And down the road he shot with glee ! -53— LET ME LIE WHAR DE WATAH MIL- YUNS GROW. Ise travelin' along dis lonely life, An' I am dyin' slow; But when I die I want to lie Whar de watah milyuns grow. Whar de sweet delisus milyuns grow Along de ribber banks, Whar de chickens nebber plant dare toes — Oh lay me in dare ranks. I can heah among doze milyuns De angels singin' sweet an' low — Den when I die, let me lie Whar de watah milyuns grow ! —54— TO BUG-EYE. The sun was gently rising o'er the distant vales and dells, And 1 saw along tne horizon, shilouetted against the hills, A diabolical figuie crossing a sandy stretch; A kind of wieid feeling this uncanny being did fetch. Grallic as a Gran-daddy, with lengthy strides he sped ; — The persperation of burdens hard was issu- ing from his head. The wind blew swift and penetrating, and told of tales remote — Now lolls, now swells, now catches his placid frock-tail coat And carries it on its bosom for out in space beyond — Nor did he stop nor heed at all, but promena- ded on. In his hand he held a bucket, the lid of which was gone ; — He opened not his spacious mouth — I think he was forlorn. Six days, Alack ! I saw that man advance across the lea, — Nor did I moan, I'm not afraid — he certainly can't catch me! —55— FO' DE LAND'S SAKE, MAN, HUSH. G'way f urn heah, man, yo' missed it ! Whar was yo' at las' nite? Why wusn't you at de pahty? Why man, 'twus jes' out o' site! Yo' oughter seen doze beautiful gals, Dey look sweet enny how; But dat wus one ob dem times, Dey looked extra sweet, I vow. Dey flew around dare mightily, Playin' dis game and dat; — Why man dare wus a great big gang E'ben settin' dar whar I wus at. But dat aint all, listen heah; 'Bout 'leben o'clock doze eatin's came — One lady lacked dat cream so well She put three saucers to shame. But dat aint de question, yo' missed it man! We all went home in a rush — Why wusn't you at de pahty? Fo de Lawd's sake man, hush! —56- THE BROTHERS' CRIME. The day was chilly yet not too cold as down the road they went ; Two brothers and their sister dear upon an errand bent. The sister taught a country school and had to walk by rail. The brothers talked of strength they had and loud with noise did hail The beautiful scenes that 'round them was and boasted without fear ; Each one their sister's bundles had nor thot of danger near. Alas! they came to a trestle long and drew near the edge. "Forsooth," the elder brother cried, "I can- not cross that bridge!" He argued long about his affairs nor from his tracks would part ; ; So the sister took the younger boy and across the bridge did start. When half way across she stopped dead still, and sighed with a weariness sad; The 'brother at the other end her other bun- dle had ! —57— Then calling to the other boy as only sisters could, They sauntered back along the track to where the brother stood. She took the bundle from him and bade the other stay — Then turned around upon the track and went her lonely way. The brothers stood as meek as lambs and watched their sister true ; But ere she reached the other end a train's whistle blew ! The train was coming toward her fast and 'twas the sister's aim To get across the trestle before the engine came. The brothers at the other end now filled with disgrace, Sought to warn her of the train and urged her on in haste. The yunger boy whose voice was keen, did yell with all his might — The smoke from the engine drawing nigh had hid her from their sight ! The elder boy lamented much and urged with might and main ; The roaring of his mighty voice was heard above the train ! In chorus they did yell and shout and seemed a'bout to die ; They clapped their hands in agony and pray- ed to God on high. On and on the train came — the sister they could not see; -58— They thought her dead, and paralyzed stood to see what the end would be ! Alas, the train shot by them — the air with glee was. rent ; Far down the track all safe and sound the gallant sister went ! She lifted high her parasol and waved it as a lance — For joy the big boy jumped high in the air — 'twas said he tore his pants ! And light some darkened soul like mine. WHAT? What holds a man in deep suspense, As he passes by the garden fence ? Watermelon. What makes him hasten like the very old scratch To get among'st that melon patch? Love. What makes him retreat without defence And tear his pants on the barb-wire fence ? Bulldog! ■59- TO MY SISTER. Again dear one, our God above, Has bestowed on us His glorious love ; Another birthday He has let us see, And O the happiness, though parted we be ! Then sister dearest of all the world — Accept this gift, my dear sweet girl. RETURN SWEET SMILE. Behold, when I look in your dear sweet eyes, A cherished hope within me dies ; For you know I hoped that you and I, Would create a friendship that could never die. Yet when I look into your face, Behold I see not even a trace Of the sweet smile that once you had, That stirred my soul and made me glad. It filled my restless heart with glee, To know that you, dear, smiled at me ; Though not for me, let it shine, -GO- RETURN SWEET SOUL. List, do you hear a voice that is calling? Do you not hear it — a voice of love? The voice of some one that you love dearly, A voice of a Soul that dwelleth above. In sweet tones 'tis pleading — Come back to the Cross, And there in its shadow your sorrows unfold. The voice of a mother is calling her daughter, Return sweet soul. Will you not heed the dear words from mother? Why do you linger, why do you wait ? The voice of the Savior is calling you dearest ; Return sweet soul before it is too late ! —61- LEONAH There was an Indian name Kwasind Who loved a Dekota maid; He being a Creek to her could not speak, So near by her lodge he stayed. Once while he was standing near by her tent, She approached him with noisless tread ; "Though you are a Creek sir, I would you speak," And this is what he said : CHORUS. Leonah my queen, for nights I have been Standing out here in the ice and the snow ; My soul longs for you, I believe you'll be true, I love you, Lenonah ! Lenonah looked at him for awhile — Slowly he met her gaze ; The breeze through the tree-tops whistled a tune, A dog in the distance bays. Then smiling she lay her head on his breast — A bell in the distance rang ; Drawing her close up to his breast, This was what he sang : CHORUS. -62- WENONAH There was an Indian brave Who would travel near the wave, To a certain wigwam. He'd pick flowers on the way And stay there all the day. And at night with spirit bent, He would hover near the tent And sing this song : CHORUS: My dear Wenonah, listen to my song ; For you dear day by day My heart doth pine away. Will you not love me, 1 love no one but you ; give my heart some cheer Wenonah dear ! He wooed her in this way Till at last one gloious day He won her love. So they 'built a lodge to live in Near the big sea waters gleamin' And at times when things went wrong He'd sing their old love song And chase each care. CHORUS: -63— TELL HER FOR ME. winds that move from sea to sea, And wrestle the leaves in every tree, change thy course and swiftly go To the dear maid that I love so; In her sweet ear this song unfold — That I love her with all my soul. O birds that sing near her each day, In thy sweet song I would thee say, That I love her with all my heart — My love for her will ne'er depart ; Then will my restless soul be free — Ye winds and birds tell her for me ! 'Tis done, ye have made me glad, No more will my heart be sad ! You've carried my message to her sweet ear, And my soul need never fear, For in her eyes a light did shine That told of wondrous things sublime That showed a glowing love for me ; The winds and birds told her for me ! —64— MY SPRING. Spring is here, the birds are on the wing, Far and near from tree to tree they sing; And on my soul their melodies ring — Memories of thee sweetheart, they bring. Morning comes, again their songs I hear, The hours linger, Ah Love 'tis hard to 'bear ! Yet from afar echoes through the air Bid me to wait, sweetheart, I can but dare! Spring has gone, the little birds have flown, I lay upon my pillow tired and worn ; But in my dreams again the birdies sing — I see your face sweetheart, you are my spring — G5— ABSENCE. Fading day! — Pale moon o'er the distant way ascending, — - Twilight on the silent world descending, — Lengthy shadows to the eastward 'bending. — Far away. Hope Forlorn ; — Love-light on my highest wish ascending — Dark doubt on my pining heart descending. — One soul always breathes thy name unending, But thou art gone ! When in my dreams uplifted, Thy image love has drifted On its way ; Leave not my heart in sorrow — Stay till the coming 'morrow — ■ Endless day! —66- AH LOVE, I SIGH ! The hours I spent with thee beloved, Were as the 'wakening mornin' beams ; I see them ever, day by day — I count them over in my dreams ! As ages long they pass by me ! Ah love, I sigh ! Then too, Thine image, always sweet, Across my longing vision flows; Just for a moment, then gone complete; But leaves an aching heart that knows ! memories so sweet, so true ! precious hours so dear so few ! When twilight bids the fading day good-bye, 1 count the hours as they fly — Ah love, I sigh ! Ah I sigh ! -67— THE RuSE SONG. One little rose So sweet, so fair, That grows in a garden So rich, so rare ; God watches o'er it with love Divine — Radiant flower, art thou mine? One little hope So dear so true, That swells in my memory And calls to you ; One can unchain it and make it feee — Who knows — is it thee? One little song That comes to me, And tells of sweet visions That are to be ; God sends the visions and song from above- Heavenly carol, thou art love ! One little name I breathe each day; It comes to my lips At eve when I pray; God keep you holy, so fair, so free — One little rose — love, 'tis thee ! -6$— I SAW LAST NIGHT THE DAWN OF PEACE. Last night in my lonely cottage, A vision came to me ; In which I saw the dawn of peace, That came to set men free. I heard the trumpet's mighty blare, I saw the great war cease ; And from the fields all torn and bare, A cry went up for peace. The marshalled nations' guns had ceased, Their drums beat soft and low; As off the blood-drenched field they marched, To battle nevermore ! I saw you standing 'by my side, Your eyes with love aglow; And peace, sweet peace once crucified Had come to depart no more. I held your hand with tender care, As a light illumed the East; It joined our hearts forever there — It was the dawn of peace ! PART Ill—Stories AT MIDNIGHT. It was a miserable wet night. The rain poured down in torrents, and, borne by the strong winds from the northwest, beat sharp- ly against the window panes and rattled the casements. All parts of the old tavern screaked and groaned in irritating sounds as the mad winds threatened to shatter it to pieces. We were storm bound. All three sat at the table silent and glum — each occupied with his own weird thoughts. Suddenly the man at the farther end of the table raised his head from his hands and sat upright fac- ing the other gentlemen and myself. He was a small, pale, shabbily dressed old man. His face was cleanly shaven and bloodless. His head was extremely large. His eyes, which were deeply sunken, were large and dark. His appearance suggested a foreigner. In fact he looked to be of another century altogether. Looking keenly at each of us he said: "Feels pretty good to be here." "The swish of that rain reminds one of the wash of the sea, doesn't it? It makes me think of that strange scene I witnessed one night at Sea Breeze. Would the Senores like to hear of it?" "Go ahead," I said, pushing the box of cigars in his direction, we might as well hear a story or two while we wait." The other man sat silent and motionless, but his eyes looked his approval. "About six —70— months ago," he began in a low voice, "dur- ing my second visit to Sea Breeze, I witness- ed one of the strangest scenes I believe ever took place. What the meaning of this strange happening was, I cannot say ; never- theless, after I shall have given you a clear description of Sea Breeze and the remarkable scene which took place on the night of June 13th, you will heartily agree with me in say- ing it is strange indeed. "Sea Breeze is merely a name given to the marshes on the southern coast of New Jersey. It is, as is all the state of New Jersey, very sandy. Cutting up its surface here and there are large gullies — some shallow, some deep; winding their way swiftly to the Bay. On the banks of these gullies numerous reeds grow, to a height of three feet. They are so thick that one can, by stooping down, completely conceal himself from view. Toward the north and a little to the west, the marshes are covered with salt hay, a kind of grass that is peculiar to that part of the country, and which grows vey tall and thick. This salt grass is cultivated by the neighbor- ing people from which they realize a good profit. Beyond the marshes the ground is saturat- ed with water, forming one of the largest swamps in southern New Jersey. It is a tan- gle of gum and white oak, almost twenty miles square, most of it under water — a maze of jungle covered islands and black bayous. There are snakes and alligators, panthers —71— and bears. There was an old story told aiound that this place was the abode of the devils. One man had swoin that he had been chased for five miles by a black shaggy figure with a hay fork. The neighbors gave it the name of 'Green Swamp' because of its green appearance, and it is the name, I think, most appropriate. In general Sea Breeze with its great sandy marshes stretching fas as eye could eee along the bay — covered with salt hay; and the mighty swamp in the distance from which the beasts and reptiles, and above all, the world famous Jeisey "skeeters" emerge at night so enchanted me that I de- termined to visit it again at night. "This is why on the night of June 13th, I was standing all alone on the great marshes with my face turned toward the bay, drink- ing in the grandeur of the scene. The moon was full and its rays seemed to give to the scene a ghastly appearance. Solitude reign- ed — not a ripple came from the gullies; the bay slept; and even from the great swamp no sound issued. "Why had I come here at this time of night? It must be after twelve. It is in- deed picturesque, but O, the solitude. Those were the train of thoughts that ran through my mind as I stood there, and I was just thinking of making my way back, when I was startled by a yell that seemed to shake the very ground upon which I stood. I was very much mystified by the sound and decided to find out from whence it came. I started —72— across the marshes in what seemed to 'be the direction. About half way across I came up- on a deeply worn path. This I could see ran directly toward Green Swamp. I followed the path, and as I advanced deeper into the swamp the yell was repeated. I began now to walk rapidly. I could see now that I was on one of the small islands. Suddenly I came in contact with some tall reeds, and thinking that water was near, I began care- fully pushing my way through until I did come to one of the laige gullies. Just as I did so the moon glided behind a cloud and the yelKng which now sounded very near, ceased. I couli not see very far ahead because it was considerably dark; neverthe- less I could distinguish the dim outline of something moving about the opposite bank. I crouched back among the reeds so as to watch unobserved when the moon should emerge from the cloud. Suddenly the moon from the cloud issued and there on the opposite bank was revealed the strangest sight I ever witnessed. Al- most in front of me sat a man, no, yes, a man, on a rock. He was barefooted, with his pants rolled up to his thighs; one leg was crossed over the other and he was nursing a toe and mourning pitifully. His head was lowered; all of his attention seemed bent on his toe; so I crept a little nearer to get a clear view of him. I observed that his legs were very long and crooked ; they were bow- ed and strangely, both were bent the same —73— way. His arms too were very long and bare one dangled beside the rock on which he sat, the other was used in supporting one of his large feet, while his fingers caressed his big- toe. His head being bent down, I could not see his face, yet I could see that it was mostly covered with hair — long and shaggy. As he sat there, he presented a picture, not of a man, but of an inhabitant of hell, whom none could describe but a Dante. Suddenly he leap- ed high in the air flinging his arms and yell- ing at the top of his voice. His face was now in plain view and I must say it was diaboli- cal. His mouth, which consumed the princi- pal part of his face, was wide open, disclos- ing hideous fangs. All of the other portions of his head and face were completely covered by the thick mass of hair, save his eyes, which shown like mighty stars. This man, shaggy, half naked, leaping about wildly; yelling and screaming madly in the fast di- mming moonlight, presented only a picture of the infernal. Suddenly the moon shot behind a cloud and darkness prevailed. Simultaneously the man seated himself, on the rock and silence pre- vailed ; but only for a brief period ; for as the moon again emerged from the cloud, he began leaping and shouting as before. For hours I watched that man. As the moon shown brightly in view he would leap and shout wildly on the bank, but as it drifted behing some cloud out of sight, he would seat —74— himself calmly on the rocks — calm and se- rene." The little man ceased speaking and looked around as though half expecting to see the horrible vision again. "What do the Senores suppose this strange occurrence could have meant?" "I think," — 'but I got no further, for just at that moment the landlady came in with a tray of steaming supper and the strange hap- pening at Sea Breeze was forgotten. RATTLESNAKE PETE. "Whoa, thar ! — by gum ev'ry time I gets to this dam knoll them thar ponies gets skittish. Whoa, that, damye!" and old Dave jerked the lines with all his ruddy strength, bringing the stage coach to a halt with a mighty jar. We were perched upon a beautiful knoll which intercepted the old trail twenty miles from Elk's Inn. Old Dave had jumped down from his seat and was busy arranging the harness. There was a worried look on his face, and he was muttering to himself. "Anything wrong with the harness," I asked. "O no," he said quickly, "they need just a little fixin' up." "This is a very beautiful spot. What hills are those to the left?" "Them thar's part of the Ozark mountains and I dunno as how this spot is very purty, stranger." —76— "Pretty! Why just look at the view one has all around ; lofty mountains to the left, prai- ries to the i ight, stretching as far as the eye can see; in front the — " "Yas, an' if you knowed what I know' bout this har spot it would lose a lot of that pur- tiness." "Why, what's the matter with this spot man ! I can't see," — "It's the darndest spot on earth !" snapped old Dave, climbing back into his seat and tak- ing the lines. "Taint a thing but hell; that's all ! Giddap ! We got to make the inn afore night." Encouraged by his long whip, the little po- nies started out on the trail in a swinging trot. Soon the little knoll was lost in the dis- tance, and old Dave became more and more at ease. There must be something singular about that little spot back there to have so upset a man of this type. "Didn't mean no harm, stranger, the way I spoke back yonder. As I said afore, thet spot kind o' gets me ev'ry time I pass thar. Eve heered o' Rattlesnake Pete?" "No," I said, searching my memory for such a name. "Wal, I didn't think ye had, seeing ye had- n't been 'round here long as yit. He lives 'round these here parts." "That's a queer name for a man. Is it a nickname?" "Wal yas, and no. You see 'twas this way : Way back in the fifties these eer parts was —77— more wilder than they are now. Injuns roamed all loimd; but they didn't bother no one. This har trail was nothing but a foot- path. A stage came pass 'bout once a month. "It was on one of tnese trips that the stage biung to these parts a little woman fiom Michigan whose husband was out heer mak- in' good in minin'. She hadn't orter made the trip, seein' as how she was expectin' a visit from the old stork. "Eut she was a biave little woman, and she thought as how she could make the trip all light. At Cowan's Station she took the stage fer these parts. She was the only passenger. The diiver was an Injun — Hawk, a purty tiusty filer. He'd been driving the coach fer six year. 'The first part of the trip went alright. 'Bout three o'clock they reached that little knoll back thar what we jest left. It looked rliffrunt in them days. Some trees stood on it, and on the right slope there was a kind o' swampy stream, sometimes used fer a water- ing place fer the ponies. The grass was tall ana thick, and it was filled with varmints and creepin' things. "Hawk stopped the stage on this knoll and unhitched the ponies. He told the lady as how he was goin' to give them a little water ; then he lead them down to the stream.. "He hadn't been gone mor'e ten minutes afore he was skeered by a piercin scream. When he rushed to the top of the knoll he was struck dumb at what he seed. —78— "Ther little woman was laying half way outter the stage door dead-like — and wrapped 'iound her boddy was the ugliest and biggest rattler that's ever been seed in these parts. "My God! Had he bitten her?" I aske:;. "Yas, and he had throwed back his head fer to finish the poor gal, but Hawk was too quick fer him. There wasn't much left 'o that lattler when Hawk got through with him. The pore little woman wfs unconscious. Hawk hitched up and drove back 'bout two miles to an Injun village. The Injuns took care of the little gal, but she soon died, but the baby was born." "Was it alive?" "Yas, — the Injuns was skeered 'o it at the first. You see his skin was spotted all over like a rattlesnake, 'cept his face and hands. One old squaw took him and reared him up. The Injuns called him Rattlesnake Pete. We had reached the level country. The lit- tle ponies were trotting lazily along the dusty trail. Suddenly I was awakened from the spell by a lurch of the stage coach as it went over a fallen tree trunk. Old Dave was nearly thrown from his seat. The lines slipped from his han^s. He grabbed for them quickly, and in doing so, I caught a glimpss of his bare arm. The skin was scaly and spotted like a rattlesnake's. THROUGH AIR TO SQUASH BOTTOMS. If anybody asked you if you ever saw the Devil, I am sure that you would answer them in the negative. That is because you have never been to Squash Bottoms, for if you had you would have ceitainly seen the Rev. Josiah Fable, who leszmbles Satan in every respect save one — his title. He was the only preach- er in the neighborhood for twenty miles square, and there was nothing in the whole community that could take place unless he suggested or fostered it. On the 19th of August, when the people held their annual picnic, celebrating the death of one Pre-Varicator, who is said to have discovered the moon, it was the Rever- end who planned the festivals, and it was the Reverend who received the balance after all the expenses were paid. He was the sponsor of all projects and the receiver of all divi- dends. He seemed to possess a strange influ- ence which controled all things, which a de- scription of him will show. Josiah Bable was about eight feet seven inches tall, short of trunk and long of limb. His trunk did not exceed twelve inches in length while his legs, slender and shaky drop- ped eighty-four inches to his feet which —80— spread out over the surface of the giound like two vast Alluvial fans. Two long, limbery arms hung loosely from the upper end of his trunk, sti etching past his ankles. The Rev- erend was made up of muscle and gristle. There was not a bone in his anatomy, except of couise his head, which was of an adam- antine substance. His eyes were small and deeply sunken. They had no particular color, but had the power to take on different hues according to the disposition of the owner. The children while playing happily out in the commons on seeing Bable's ghoulish form emerging towards them across the field, dis- perse in every direction squalling and crying for their mothers. Still under this iron rule Squash Bottoms re- mained the filthiest, happiest and most un- complaining village in the world. It lay six mi/es from Punkin Bluff, half hid 'by a ridge of lofty hills that circled around it in endless waves of the green. These hills served as pas- ture lanes for the great number of cattle which grazed on their slopes. Life was hap- py in Squash Bottoms and it was never dull. Always there was something going on; a grand celebration, a barbecue or something which the wonderful mind of Rev. Bable had contived. Squash Bottoms boasted of two main build- ings, one was the church and the other was Ben Hauser's Saloon which was in the center of the main and only street in the village. The church stood on the other side of the —81— street directly opposite the saloon. It was a tall, shaky frame building, very spacious and capable of seating" the entire population including the dogs. Squash Bottoms kept in communication with Pumpkin E luff by a freight train which came and went morning and evening respec- tively each day. This made it very conven- ient for the business men of both villages and especially those who had any connections with the little biick 'tank at Pumpkin Bluff. It was for this very reason that we find Rev. Bable all diked out in his long black coat, which could have been used better as a tent, early Friday morning impatiently strut- ting back and forth in front of the box car depot. He had important business arrange- ments at the Bank of Pumpkin Bluff. After awhile the familiar shriek of the old engine came to his ears, and a few mo- ments later was rumbling on his way to the Bluff. The old freight moved slowly, for it was loaded with many machines for lifting and moving. These were to be unloaded at the Bluff, for the engineers who were blast- ing in the slope in preparation for extending a bridge across Apple Creek. About eight o'clock the train arrived at the Bluff and Bable swung out of the caboose and sauntered down along the track to the bank. It was a most beautiful summer day, howev- er, not the slightest breeze stirred, no birds sang in the bushes — all nature seemed to be waiting — expecting something. The eery —82— silence was only broken by the occasional bray of a lonesome mule which was hitched near the depot, and ever an anon the heavy blast in the ravine below. When Rev. Bable at last emerged from the bank it was nearly 6 :30 p. m. He looked tired and haggard; evidently for the first time in his long fraudulent life he had been beaten. But this was only the beginning. It was al- ready approaching time for the train to leave, and Babel was just thinking of hurrying a little when he was staitled by the toot of a whistle, and looking up was surprised to see his train leaving the depot and bearing down towards him on its way to Squash Bottoms ! Was he to be defeated a second time? That remains to be seen. Quick as a flash he darted along the track bent on catching the caboose as it went by. But poor fool! He was running in an opposite direction to that in which the freight was moving. He did catch the caboose alright, but the force of che swiftly moving train loosened his weak grip and slung him clear over the little depot, landing him on some soft manured ground at the heels of a rawboned, gigantic feminine mule. Though feminine, this mule was quite mas- culine when her temper was aroused. She had already been frightened by the noise of the old train, and when Babel dropped with a thud at her heels well — it didn't last long any way. She merely placed both iron-clad hoofs along his spinal chord and he shot headlong —83— over the bluff. Down, down, down he shot; catching and grabbing at the shoit shrubbei y which grew along the steep bank; yet he could not check his speed. Once his adamant head struck the tiunk of a tree, which impact had no effect on his speed. The tree was broken in three places and violently torn up by the roots. You will remmber I said some engineers were blasting down in the ravine ; well it hap- peii2d that they were just about this time pre- paring to blow up a great flat rock which in- terfered with their work, and which could not be removed otherwise. Consequently they planted dynamite under the rock, lit the fuse and scampered in every direction out of dan- ger. Just as the fuse was sparkling brightly there came a screeching, tearing sound from the slope above and Rev. Bable swung bird- like out over the ravine, then d: opped point- blank on the doomed rock below! Ah, what a look ! The fuse sputtered, a white puff of smoke shot in the air, followed instantly by a terriffic explosion. The hills re-echoed the sound — bounding and rebounding it back- ward and forward until the whole valley re- sounded like the fiery blast of hell. The air was filled with flying dust and rock in the midst of which was the Rev. Ba'ble clinging to a huge boulder which was shoot- ing up at the rate of a mile a second. Up, up went the boulder with Babel desperately clinging on. High above the surrounding —84— valley, high above the hills, high above the white clou is, high into the empyrean they shot! Eut at last the old man's grip weaken- ed — shutting his eyes he let go* of the rock. For a few moments he remained poised in the sky, then suddenly tu ning two summe: saults he shot downward like a bullet directly to- wards a large fleecy cloud. In a moment and the Reverend would have had for the first time in his life a bath — but it was not so. Just as he got in about twenty feet of the cloud, the lage black coat he wore unloosened its sixty yards of broadcloth; spreading out in the air like the wings of a monstrous aer- oplane, and Rev. Bable sailed horrizontally in space — 'beyond the cloud ! The sun was just sinking behind the west- en hills. Squash Bottoms was peparing for a big supper. Sweet, barefooted dusky maid- ens were sesn coming from the pastures lad- en with milk. From every house there came the burned odor of frying bacon or smoking goat meat. Suddenly the r whole village was aroused by someone yelling down in front of Ben Hauser's saloon. Everybody rushed out into the street to see what was the matter. It was Ben himself. He was standing out in the middle of the steet pointing frantically upwards yelling at the top of his voice. He was calling to the people to look, and when they at last understood him they turned their eyes heavenward and saw an awful sight. Not one hundred yards above, in plain view floated the f : amey form of Josiah Bable. Even at that distance his eyes showed like mighty stars and flashed a greenish hue. For a few moments the people could not believe what their eyes saw; but as the huge form diew nearer and nearer a great superstition fear seiz:d them and they fell on their faces, praying to God that they should not be de- sti oyed. In the meantime the Rev. Ba'ble floating 'ioun:l and 'round in a circle drew nearer and nearer to the eaith. The people of one ac- cord once more raised their eyes to see their coming doom. They saw the form make two complete circles and on the third come to an abrupt pause. For fully five minutes he remained poised in the air about one hundred feet from the gi ound. Suddenly the long black coat ceased to flap in the breeze and fell losely at his sides. His arms dangled downward and the Reverend, after describing a complete semicircle in the air, shot earthward like a meteor. He struck the roof of the church, disappearing through its rotten shingles! It was sometime before anyone could be induced to go in the church to ascertain the results ; but when Ben Hauser was half coax- ed, half pushed in the door by his neighbors he saw the Reverend seated astride the pulpit calmly brushing the dust and powder stains from his long black coat apparently as well as ever. JEANNE DE L'AIR. (Romance of the World War) It was twilight in the month of August. The cabin cringed upon the steep bank of the liver Clain, seemed lonely and deserted. Farther back from the cabin, and a little to one side, the dim outline of a long shed could be made ut; and encircled about all was a massive vineyard, — black and forbidden in the fast growing darkness. The entire site had an air of abandon ; and well it might be for hovering above this silent landscape a Death Angel lurked and waited. How long would she have to wait? flow long could this weakening soul continue its struggle against the inevitable? But this was a strong man; strong because he loved h's country, whose dire need of him was now ringing in his ears — and whose call he could not answer. The room in which the man lay contained, besides the couch, two roughly made chairs and a crude dresser. The floor was bare and the walls void of pictures. On the dresser was a lighted candle and a small oil painting —87— of a young woman — at which the man was in- intently gazing. There were two doo s in the loom — the fiont door which led to the road outside; and the rear door, leading to an ad- joining loom. The eamle gave a flickeiing though fairly bright light. The man on the couch slowly i aised himself to a sitting posture, and reach- el for the painting en the (Lessor. His effoit failed and he sank back on the couch with a loud groan. He was still gazing at the paint- ing with longing eyes when the rear door opened and a young girl enteied carrying a bowl of steaming soup. She was dressed in the garb of the French peasant girl, and at a glance one would have taken her for the exact duplicate of the paint- ing on the dresser. There was the same oval face, the large illuminating eyes, the mass of flaxen hair and the dainty red lips which were slightly parted as she stood there star- ing anxiously at the man on the couch. "Mon Pere," she cried, placing the bowl on the dresser and going to the couch. "You must not take it so hard. In a few days you will be well and be able to get around. Only you must be patient, — be patient." "No Jeanne, I will never be well again. I have only a few hours to live as it is ; and my only regret is that I must leave you alone in the world, and that this accident has happen- ed just when I was needed most by my coun- try/' "Qui, mon Pere, if there ever was a time when our beloved France needed every one of her sons, it is now ! Raccine tells me that the German invaders, are now within twenty miles of Paris, and that our soldiers are un- able to check their advance !" "Mon Diea!" ciied the old man suddenly sitting upright on the couch. "Helas, that I had the stiength! But Paiis must not fall! Jeanne, take the lantern and go to the shed and bring me that roll of blue prints in my chest; — the keys are there on the dresser. Preste, mon Cheie, we have no time to lose!" The old man sank uack upon the couch as Jeanne darted out of the front door, lantern in hand. The overwhelming news which had just been heard had almost brought the end that was very near. Being situated as he was upon the Gain river, it was seldom th:.t any news of the great struggle between his country and Germany penetiated this lonely and unpopulated region. Although the strug- gle was hardly two months old, many stait- ling things had happened since the kaiser's formal declaration of war against France. Jules Russeu had been one of France's les- ser noted wine growers. He had been living on this little farm for ten years, alone with his daughter; his wife having died before he moved to this part of the country. During his entire stay on the farm he had been se- cretly working on an aeroplane; his inten- tions being to make an aircraft that would be formidable in warfare. Three weeks ago while experimenting with his machine, he ac- —89— cidentally flew into a tree and was thrown fifty feet to the ground — sustaining fatal in- juies. The aeroplane was damaged only slightly. As he lay there grieving over his helpless- ness, he was aroused by a loud knock at the door. "Come in," he called weakly. The door opened and a tall, sturdy built young man limped into the room. "What, you he e, Ruccine? How long have you been from the front?" "Two weeks, monsieur. I was wounded near Soissons, and the Commander ordered me home as I could be of no use to the army now." "Too bad, my boy. We are both in the same predicament. But do you think, hon- estly, that Paris is in any real aanger?" "Danger ! Why it is only a question of houi s when Paris must fall into the hands of these invaders. They are pouring down from the north in hordes, and the outer forts of Paris are already being bombarded by them." "0, mon Dieu! What is the matter with our troops? Has General JofTre lost his nerve?" "It's not that. The soldiers are disheaiten- ed. They do not realize what the war means. It is too sudden. They need arousing — some- thing to awaken them up to the issue." "Old, you are right Raccine. They need a 'Maid of Orleans* — but where is Jeanne? I sent he- to the shed" — —90— "Je suis ici, Pere!" cried the girl cashing through the door. "0 Raccine — comment se va?" "As well as one could be who must limp around while his countiy is being crushed by a powerful enemy." "There now, you have done your part. You have served your countiy briefly but well. All France knows of your bravery around Soiscns. Do not grieve, but pray for our de- liverance." "We 1 ! said, Jeanne, my daughter, tut bring me those blue prints, for I have much to say to you ere it is too late!" Ici il y a' Pere," said the girl approaching the couch. The old man rose to a sitting pos- ture while Jeanne spread the papers out on the couch before him. Raccine drew nigh as the old man in a voice choked with emotion poured forth his geat secret to his daughter. It was not a dream nor a theory, but a method by which the now surrounded Paris might be delivered from the hands of the Germans. For more than two hours he talked — his voice growing weaker and weaker. "Jeanne, he said, faintly; you understand now to fly the machine — I have taught you well. Take these papers and follow your in- structions; I — "Old, mon Pere, I will do as you say. God will protect and help me ! — only you must be strong" — "Be strong? — yes be strong! cried the old —91— man sinking back on his pillow. You be strong, Jeanne, — deliver Paris; ha! — Maid d' Orleans — Jeanne, — Maid de i'Air!" These last words died away in a whisper as the old man slowly closed his eyes. The girl sprung up and bent anxiously over the couch. "0, mon Pere!, — Don't — don't — Dieu! Raccine he is dead!" The poor girl threw herself upon the couch sobbing and calling her fathe ; but the hove 1 - ing Angel had not waited in vain, for the to*n soul was even now being wafted to an everlasting peace. II. Dawn, gray, silent dawn — with noiseless tread had overtaken the little cabin on the Clain, and with it, came the songs of happy birds, the breath of new 'born flowers, and the hope of the breaking day. Inside the lonely cabin solitude re*'gned. Jeanne Russue was kneeling beside the de- serted couch — her grief -stricken face raised towards heaven in silent pi aver. Racc'ne sat in a chair nearby, his face buried in his hand. Very slowly he lifted his face and stared searchingly at the girl. "Jeanne, he said softly, it is morning — I hear our country calling. I cannot answer; but you — you can. — " "Out, and I will answer; It was my fath- er's wish, and I will never rest until it is done !" Rising up from the couch the girl gathered — 92— up the blueprints and went slowly into the next loom. There was no time to lose — for even now her dear Paris might have surren- dered to the enemy. In a few moments she reappeared. The tears from her cheeks had fled. The grief - toin face was transformed into one of stern determination. Raccine arose as she entered the room, and stretching forth his arms, drew her to him. ''Jeanne, he cried in a choking voice, how can I let you go — mine, — my own beloved — 0, the mockery of civilization, when women must fight for their country's freedom!" "Raccine, dear, there is no one else to car- ry out this mission. Two months ago I let them tear you fiom me, and now that it is my turn,, do not weaken me by your grief; but pray that I may have strength to do my dear father's bidding." "You are right, Jeanne," said Raccine, slowly releasing her from his embrace. I will attend to everything here. Now good-bye, and may God guide and protect you to the end." "Good-bye, Raccine," said the girl, tenderly kissing him on the cheek. Then crossing to the couch she took one last look at the white upturned face — and passed silently out of the door. Half an hour later, Raccine was aroused by the popping of a motor, and rushing to the door, he saw a gigantic aeroplane soaring up- ward. He watched it circle round and round —93— like a great eagle — then steer noithward to- wards Paris. III. All night long the great Geirmn siege guns weie pounding away at the forts around Pa- lis. All night long the frenzied inhabitants CiOwdei _n the cellars and basements, waited their doom which now seemed inevitable. Tioop after tioop of the defending aimy weie falling back behind the city and throw- ing up breastworks for the last stand. Shells were bin sting everywhere. The gigantic Howitzers were hurling their death-laden missies with superhuman accuracy into the lines of the French Aimy; and, as the morn- ing sun, blood-red through the smoke-laden atmosphere, soared above the eastern horizon the great Geim n war machine was steadily grinding its way into the heart of Paris. High above all, the huge Zepplins hoveling over the doomed city like hideous 'birds of prey, wore dropping bomb after bomb which were falling in the streets and on the build- ings, leaving death and destruction with their every impact. By noon the French army had fallen back upon its last line of defense, and the inhabi- tants of the city had given up all hope of de- liverance. The first great drive of the enemy had spent its strength and the German hordes were now preparing for their final on- slaught. The French commander issued or- ders to make ready for the last stand which were being carried out in feverish haste. It —94— seemed as though the Fiench army had lost control of itself. The men seemed dazed and half -heai ted. The officers were closeted in their head- quaiteis discussing whether it would be ad- visable to surrender the city or not; and af- ter a bitter debate it was finally decided to surrender to the Germans. "Howevei ," s:id the commandant, "w9 will go right along with our preparat'on as if we intended to hold the city ; but when the attack is renewed we shall then act on this decision." "Oui," answered General . "Ou * city is doomed. I can see no other w. y out of it; we must surrender." "But gentlemen," observed an African offi- cer who had opposed the idea of surrendering "do you real'ze what you are to do? Do you realize what it will mean to surrender to the Germans ! At this time to give up would lead to the destruction of all Europe." "Old, General Kufus, but what are we to do? Are we not now half encircled by those blood-thirsty Huns. There is nothing to do but to surrender." A murmur of dissent came from the other members of the staff as the giant African arose once more to speak. He stood six feet with perfect physic ; a true type of the great race to which he belonged. For a few mo- ments he surveyed the assembly of officers before him. His eyes never wavered as he looked into the stern faces of the men who were once his masters. A breathless silence —95— came over the assembly as the impassionate words of wisdom fell from the lips of the Negro. "Gentlemen," began Kufus, "you are in- deed about to commit an awful blunder. It will be disloyal to surrender Paris without a struggle. You say that it is useless to fight. Is it not better to die trying to defend your country than to surrender and see it laid in ruins? Sirs, we have so far been on the de- fensive and we have never yet been put to a real test of our strength. If we would reor- ganize our armies and carry the battle to the enemy before he resumes his attack on us, I am sure we could halt his drive. We must not give Paris up without showing a supreme effort to save her!" "There is good judgment in what you say General," said the Commandant rising. "If we could assume the offensive there is no doubt that the enemy would be halted. But how are we to do it? Our men are all demor- alized." "Sir," said the Negro, "we need some act to bring our armies back to the sense of their duty and responsibility. This can 'be done by a sharp thrust at the enemy. Some one of our divisions must charge the nearest enemy line — and take it!" For awhile the officers wrangled and hesi- tated, but in the end it was decided to adopt the suggestion of General Kufus, and fight to the last. Arrangements were quickly made for a —96— general chive on the enemies' lines, and Gen- eral Kufus' African Division was to lead the onslaught. By two o'clock everything was in readiness, and at a given signal the French guns began to rain a sheet of fire into the enemies' ranks. This was kept up for about an hour, and, when the guns ceased, the Af- i ican Division marched out of the city to face the Germans. This was the beginning of the end! The fate of France lay in the undaunted bravery of her Negro soldiers. What would be the outcome? Must France be crushed? Surely she had trusted her deliverance in the hands of the world's most fearless soldiers. Half way out on the field the black army was met by the murderous, fire of the enemy. They did not waver. Again and again the German artillery fire swept through the ranks of the marching Africans, but the black resolute line came on ; while all France held its breath !. Suddenly there came a sharp ring of a 'bu- gle, and the black men, transformed into a mass of howling demons, dashed headlong on the German line like a thunderbolt ! The on- slaught was maddening. The Germans fought bravely. At first it seemed that they would hold their ground in spite of the ter- riffic charge ; but they were no match for the Negroes. The ring of the clash of steel was deafening. The black men came on as the great German line began to waver. Reserves from the rear were rushing to the German's —97— rescue. Up to this time the Fiench armies had not closed up to support their black com- rades and they were obliged to fight the Im- perial Prussian guard alone. The German flying machines too were play ing havoc in the African ranks by dropping bombs. It now looked as though this brave charge of the blacks would at last come to naught. But still they fought; holding the giound which they had gained with stubborn defence. Suddenly high above the noise of the rag- ing battle, there came a shrill sound which set the blood tingling in the veins of the war- riors! For a moment they stopped fighting and turned their eyes upward. What a mar- velous sight met their gaze. IV. Directly over the heads of the battling blacks soared a gigantic aeroplane. It was the largest craft that had ever been seen at the front; and it was shaped like a monstrous eagle. No guns or any mechanism of defense was visible, yet this great aircraft was flying directly towards the German fleet of air- ships ! The^e was something about this strange craft which held the attention of the soldiers. All the field glasses from the vari- ous headquarters were watching its move- ments. What did it mean? What was its mission? The answer to these questions was soon to come. The aircraft was now directly over the fleet of German planes. Suddenly it darted —98— downward headlong into the midst of the fleet. There came a 'blinding flash of light and the entire German fleet was enveloped in flames. So quickly was this done that the soldiers did not at first realize what had happened. When they did come to their senses they saw the huge aircraft gliding swiftly over the German lines. This brought the Germans to the sense of their danger ; but it was too late. Already the death dealing flames of the air- craft was playing havoc in their lines. This was too much for the amazed French- men, who, seeing their enemy put to flight by the mighty aircraft, regained their lost cour- age and began charging in the wake of their black comrades. The airship did its part. Here and there it darted swift as an eagle, discharging its death dealing liquid on the panic stricken Germans. They were now in full flight all along their lines and the gallant African troops were hot in their wake. All the rest of the evening the battle ra^ed and the Germans were still falling back in dis order. Regiment upon regiment of the en- emy was almost wiped out by the terrible air monster. It was impossible to hit it with their guns, for they observed that when they shot at it the shell would invariably burst 'be- fore it reached the mark. Every German aeroplane was destroyed by this wonderful machine, and the retreat of the Germans be- came a slaughter. —99— Three times the German officers tried to rally their panic-stricken men, but each time they were carried away by the onrushing French and Africans. There was no mistake now — the French soldiers had regained their lost courage, and the German diive on Paris would fail. As evening came on General Kufus' men fell back and gave way for the fresh troops which were pouring in from the south. All Paris was rejoicing at the outcome of the bat- tle and discussing the action of the strange craft which had done so much to save the city. Kufus and his officers were discussing the same subject. "But that was the strangest aeroplane I ever saw, General. Where is it now? Do you see it?" "Yes, Kafir," replied Kufus, "there it is to the right. It seems to be headed this way too!" "Oh, indeed! I see it; but it is coming to- wards us — look, it is directly overhead, Gen- eral!" The general was already staring at the wonderful machine which was now directly above them. They could see it plainly. It was circling round and round like a giant Condor. Suddenly, it came to an abrupt stop. There came a 'blinding flash of light, follow- ed by a teriffiic explosion and the giant air- craft was rent in fragments ! "My God, General! What has happened?" shouted Kafir. —100— "The machine has bursted ! But look, man —what's that falling?" General Kufus was already rushing across the field in the direction of the falling object. Several of his men who recognized the situ- ation darted after him. They reached his side just in time to see him catch in his arms the falling body of a girl. "God," muttered Kuf us as he laid the white limp figure on the soft grass. "Dead — General," whispered one of the men. "Electrocuted," answered Kufus, "the fall could not have killed her." "Was she alone in the machine?" "I don't know — have the men search the wreck for other bodies. Look — what's this?" Kufus bent over the body of the girl and stared at the inscription on the necklace that she wore. He read it aloud : / am Jeanne, I Came to Save Paris." "And so have you done, Jeanne !" cried Ku- fus rising, "come men, bring a stretcher ; we shall bear this body into the city. The world must know of this noble maiden who has saved Paris."

19016021

Chaos; a vision of eternity,

Altair

chaosvisionofete00alta_djvu.txt

PS 3501 L7S&5 N^^P- /5 Ons^ ?S '^S Book J.. '■ -> I: COEffiSGKT DEPOSIT, ^ 3 ! Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/chaosvisionofeteOOalta CHAOS 'At intervals strange shapes in myriads." CHAOS A VISION OF ETERNITY BY ALTAIR ILLUSTRATED BY VICTOR PERARD From designs by the author 'It is an open secret to the few who know it but a mystery and a stumbling block to the many that Science and Poetry are own sisters. Sir Frederick Pollock NEW YORK DOUGLAS C. McMURTRIE 1919 Copyright, iqiq Douglas C. McMurtrie All Rights Reserved ^^0 m -7 \m 'CLA53518 DEDICATED TO THOSE ^'WHO THEMSELVES IN SOME MEASURE ALSO SEE VISIONS AND DREAM DREAMS.'' RUSKIN CONTENTS Vll Page Preface ix Introduction xi Prologue in two scenes: Scene 7. Birth of the Universe i Scene II. The Eternal Question 6 The Vision of Eternity : I. To-day lo II. To-morrow 20 III. The End of Man 28 IV. Disintegration 37 V. The Skeptic in Chaos 45. Index 53 Vlll ILLUSTRATIONS Opposite Page 1. At intervals strange shapes in myriads . . Frontispiece 2. The western hank of Hudson' s mighty stream . . lo 3. The steel-framed structures that once pierced the sky 28 4. Great bridges that once spanned the river's tide . 30 5. A library far-famed in all the land 32 6. The crumbling world is vitrified and bare .... 37 7. Art thou the famed Aurora of the classic age? . . 40 8. A peace-dispensing radiance filled the scene ... 45 PREFACE IX PREFACE Should any optimist feel disposed to object to the doleful picture of man's character, life and destiny de- picted in this drama, let it be remembered that it is — all a dream. Yet, dreams come true! Since this work was written a great war has devastated Europe and embroiled the entire world. In the midst of universal culture, when mankind was serenely contemplating an age of peace and enlightened development, the great storm broke. The barbarities of primitive ages were duplicated, and, even surpassed. Rapine and torture ; the taking and killing of hostages ; the bombardment and destruction of unfortified places and the ruthless murder of non-combatants — all of these brutalities were unexpectedly revived ; to the horror and amazement of a startled world. In the wake of all this came other ills hardly less dis- creditable to human nature: While the true men of the world were fighting the battles of civilization, other men, debased and sordid, preaching patriotism in the meantime at a safe distance from the zone of danger, were insidiously profiteering in all the necessities of life ; turning the sacri- fice of their brothers-in-arms to their own selfish advantage. And now, with the war over, the evil still continues. Even religious intolerance, suspended for a time, has reawakened and, while its blinded votaries are struggling for tactical PREFACE advantage, Paganism runs rampant with poisonous fangs aimed at the heart of all religion. Races, too, are stirred again to selfish rivalries. Imperialism, for the destruction of which the war was fought, still lurks in unexpected places and diplomats are still striving to solve international prob- lems by the methods of Machiavelli. In short, we are wearing the habiliments of civilization; but our culture is largely cold formula. We speak the phrases of the Twenti- eth Century; but cherish in our hearts the fears, the hates, and the passions of Medievalism. Sooner or later, it will be realized that there exists in the universe a law of retributive justice, akin to, and as inexorable as, the law of compensation. For thousands of years mankind has been fluctuating between the extremes of individual selfishness and race selfishness. It is only a short step from Emerson's philosophy of Self-Reliance to the arrogant Superman theory of Nietzsche. The indi- vidual must be taught that what is best for the community is best for himself; and races must learn that what is best for mankind is best for every race in common. In this lies the hope of the world. INTRODUCTION XI INTRODUCTION J\ FEW words as to the form in which this work is pre- sented, would seem to be appropriate. Though in the nature of an epic in conception and scope, its movement is inherently dramatic. Its theme is the creation, the culmination and disintegration of the material universe. The primitive simplicity of the plot and the vastness of its range seemed to call for a revival of the simpler methods of the ancient Greek drama. For this reason, the chorus has been introduced as it existed prior to the time of iEschylus. Thus the skeptic narrates his experience and the chorus makes appropriate observations from time to time expressive of the feelings which the stage pictures presented might arouse in an intelligent audience. According to Eschenburg, "the chorus is charged with the exposition of the fable" (plot), "it praised the Gods and justified them against the complaints of the suffering and unhappy; it sought to soothe the excited passions and to impart lessons of wisdom and experience, and in general to suggest useful practical reflections." The chorus is a convenient medium by which to express the author's opinions. As Professor Gilbert Murray says, in the intro- duction to his translation of Euripides (p. Iviii, Vol. Ill, The Athenian Drama), the chorus "is a method wonder- fully contrived for expressing those vaguer faiths and XU CHAOS aspirations which a man feels haunting him, and calling to him, but which he cannot state in plain language or uphold with a full acceptance of responsibility/^ In the performance of a modern drama, in which so much depends upon the scenery and action, there is no need for a chorus; but in the following poem it will be obvious that the expedient of resorting to the chorus is required by the nature of the drama and of the observa- tions which could not properly come from its sole actor. Under the law of the Grecian drama, the chorus was not permitted to leave the orchestra throughout the course of the drama. This called forth the following caustic com- ment from Sir Walter Scott, in his essay on the Drama: "when a deed of violence was to be acted, the helpless chorus, instead of interfering to prevent the atrocity, to which the perpetrator had made them privy, could only, by the rules of the theater, exhaust their sorrow and sur- prise in dithyrambics." Scott was not the first to find fault with the chorus. Aristophanes puts into the mouth of Euripides the follow- ing comment upon the chorus of -^schylus and Phrynichus: . . . "And on the chorus spluttered Through long song-systems, four on end, the actors mute as fishes." The chorus was retained in the early English drama; but was used chiefly for the declamation of the Prologue or Epilogue. In Milton's Samson AgonisteSj the chorus participates in the dialogue. It announces the entrance INTRODUCTION XIU of the actors and fulfils all of the functions of the early Greek drama. In answer to the possible objection that the want of action might militate against the use of the dramatic form in the following poem, it may be observed that the Per- sians of iEschylus is practically a narrative. Attossa asks for news of Xerxes. The messenger complies, de- scribing the Battle of Salamis. The chorus intervenes with running comment. The ghost of Darius is introduced; pats himself on the back, and condemns Xerxes. The latter enters and bemoans his fate. The chorus concludes with Strophe and Anti-Strophe and the drama closes with a procession in which actors and chorus march out wailing and rending their robes. Not a change in scene; not a single action. PROLOGUE PROLOGUE SCENE I BIRTH OF THE UNIVERSE Utter Darkness CHORUS Now Chaos comes, who rules the potent realms, Where Night and Death eternal vigil keep. From out his bosom all that lives shall spring; Into his bosom all that dies shall sink. In yonder depths, long, long before Time was. The primal elements all dormant lay — Profoundly resting in pre-natal sleep. Throughout the formless cavernous abyss,^ The infinite bounds were silent, dark, and still ; {Distant rumbling is heard) Now hark ! a murmur echoes from afar, A stir of life pervades the stagnant void. Anon a movement starts within the deep, And rolling thunder rises from the depths — The Elements in violent birth awake ; ^ Lights flash and joyous sounds reverberate. Partial Illumination {Disclosing three castles above the clouds. Lower stage still dark) ^ See note on Nebular Hypothesis, p. 17. 2 Referring to the chemical elements (eighty in number) out of which all forms of matter are constituted. CHAOS Centre. Castle of Hydrogen Right. Castle of Oxygen Left. Castle of Nitrogen Gates of the Castle of Oxygen open and two sturdy youths with wings appear dressed in armor. One flies toward the Castle of Hydrogen. Throws a spear against the gates which fly open and two beautiful girls with wings flutter out. The other throws a spear against the gates of Nitrogen Castle, which open also, and there appears a young girl with wings, dressed in white, flying slowly. {Full illumination) Enter, in wild confusion. Elements represented by young men and women with shouts of joy. {Music appropriate) Execute dance in pantomime. CHORUS Behold the birth of Love and Hate, As ancient sages taught,^ While some repel, 'tis others' fate To be by Cupid caught. 3 Empedocles and the Greek School of Philosophers which fol- lowed his guidance, taught that the elements of nature were brought into combination and separated from each other by the powers of Love and Hate, and that from the influence of these forces all things were created. PROLOGUE A vagrant beau called Oxygen,'* Impulsive strong and gay, Assails the Court of Hydrogen; ^ But soon is brought to bay. He's smitten by its daughters fair And two he takes to wife — The fiery damsels of the void Whose destiny is strife. Mid din and crash and rumbling roar And flashing, flickering lights, And laughter from the Titan host And countless scores of sprites — 4 Oxygen, named by Lavoisier, first separated and identified by Dr. Priestley. The chief constituent of water, in the formation of which, in combination with Hydrogen, it is approximately eight- ninths by weight. In combination with Nitrogen, in the ratio of one to five, it forms the air. It is the great supporter of combustion and animal life. It is the most versatile of the elements, and is not only the basic element of air and water but enters largely into the formation of all solid substances, even being approximately one-half by weight of the rocks composing the earth's sub- stance. ^ Hydrogen is the lightest of the elements and, perhaps, the most inflammable. Upon its discovery by Cavendish, he called it "inflammable air." The spectroscope reveals its presence in the Sun. It is one of the paradoxes of nature that this light inflam- mable gaseous element upon being chemically combined with Oxygen should form water, the eternal foe of fire. CHAOS Amidst the roar of Elements, The nuptials are a lark; They honeymoon in a crystal sphere Afloat on a crystal barque. (Loud explosion and sound of rushing waters. From the center of the group of Elements appears a large crystal globe in which the groom and his two mates stand with hands joined.) A brother of the sturdy groom Pays court to a damsel rare. Dame Nitrogen is fair but cold ; ^ Their union forms the air. Then other Elements unite According to affinity ; The partners join and dance in glee, And so on to infinity. 6 Nitrogen forms nearly eighty per cent, by volume, and seventy-seven per cent, by weight of the atmosphere. Nitrogen and Oxygen have only the feeblest attraction for each other. Their mixture to form the air is not a chemxical combination. The chief attribute of Nitrogen is to deprive all the elements, with which it combines, of the power of combining with Oxygen — that is, of undergoing combustion. It may be said, therefore, to be a damper upon affection or affinity. Yet it is indispensable to vegetation. Without it the world would be barren. PROLOGUE In spirals, circles, in and out, From chaos order settles, To outer realms the lighter jfloat Now in the centre, metalsJ And thus are formed the stars and suns And satellites attending, Which now bedeck the universe. Illumination lending. Scene darkens. Discloses the sky at night v/ith stars and planets brightly shining. Meteors and comets flash across the sky. Mists and clouds — The sun rises. CHORUS Hail ! mighty Sun ! to earth the King of Kings, Of all the suns the firmament upholds! About thy throne thy satellites attend, In solemn grandeur since their fiery birth Long years ago when all was nebulous. Thy potent rays have stirred the Elements To huge and infinite reactions and To Titan conflicts through long Geologic days. Thy forces set the earth and air apart And made the waters take their wonted course ; With verdure clad the inhospitable mass; Prepared the globe for divers forms of life. ^ See note on Nebular Hypothesis, p. 17. CHAOS Thou wert beholder of the birth of man And mothered then his infant helplessness. To thee in gratitude he raised his head In prayer, and decked his altars with thy fire.^ Thou hast beheld the world from chaos rise And into chaos wilt thou see it fall. SCENE II THE ETERNAL QUESTION A balcony overlooking the Hudson River. The Palisades in the distance. SKEPTIC You ask me how I know that death's the end And that 'Hereafter' is an idle myth — Because I've had the experience of sleep, Which is the living prototype of death. For if we gain release from pain and woe By grateful slumber's dead unconsciousness. Why not the more should death's eternal sleep Give final surcease to our mortal toil ; Extinguish mind, aye, soul — if such there be — Annihilate the future with the past? 8 Primitive man in all ages has had a singular respect for the sun as the source of heat and light. The worship of the sun as a deity was common and temples were erected in his honor. The stone ruins at Stonehenge are now believed to have marked a temple to the sun erected about 1680 b. c. PROLOGUE FRIEND Aye, you have slept, but have you never dreamt? Are dreams no hint of that mysterious state — Vague interregnum when the heartbeats cease? If we're to hold by that criterion, Which is but part of living man's economy, And say, because a sleep may be profound. Without suggestion of a mental act, That therefore death is one eternal blank; Then we might claim with equal show of right. That as our sleep is often wrought with dreams. The sleep of death may also have its form Of consciousness. And as the mind oft acts Without the body's aid, so may the soul. SKEPTIC Ah ! soul is mind and mind is not a thing. But consequence of Matter's interaction; For Matter rules — all else is inconceivable. FRIEND But why, I ask, why risk your future fate By snap decisions on so deep a question? Accept — at least do not deny the force Of intuition's sense, a sixth sense, if you please; 8 CHAOS The sense at which the great agnostic hints.^ As all mankind, in every age and clime, Has had some vague conception of the soul, Why not accord some basis to this faith Of deeper import than mere whim of man? SKEPTIC This talk of soul is trite and patience tries. For taking things on faith, I have no taste. FRIEND It is not faith, but that subconscious sense That most men feel but cannot analyze; For certain intuitions of mankind Lie deeper than the vulgar mind can probe. SKEPTIC Let sciolists and faddists have their way In building doubts from creeds or creeds from doubts. FRIEND I only urge the normal mind should take An attitude of sane receptiveness. It's well observed that those who rail the most 9 The great agnostic — Herbert Spencer. But he was not alone in his deference to the fundamental intuitions of mankind. Euripides wrote: "The simple nameless herd of humanity Hath deeds and faith that are truth enough for me." PROLOGUE At other's faith are oft the blindest slaves, Themselves, of faith in some new-fangled cult — And brains and culture seem to be no bar To this inherent weakness of the vain ; For all that's sought, it seems, is novelty, Or anything that marks them from the crowd. Another class are those half read, half trained, Who delve in mysteries beyond their ken And take for granted things that suit their whim, Or help uphold the folly they maintain. SKEPTIC What things for granted does the Atheist take? You know his cult is absolute denial. FRIEND No, no, my friend, although he cannot solve The simplest problem out of Euclid's book. He quotes the distances of every star With firm conviction, e'en their size and weight. And prates of things his mind could never grasp ; Now what, pray tell me, what is this but faith? But I perceive you weary of the theme Your drowsy lids but mock my argument^ — I'll say good-by and wish you pleasant dreams. {Exit, Friend) Skeptic, in reverie. {Scene darkens.) 10 CHAOS ACT I TO-DAY Scene. Overlooking the Hudson River. Sunset beyond the Palisades. Argument. The theme outlined. Sunset described in the purlieus of a great city. Reflections on the advance- ment of the age in things material. The failure of civilization to keep pace with the strides of Science and Art. The passions of men are the same in every age. The grandeur of the firmament and the insignificance of man. CHORUS Our theme is man's achievements and his end: The universe — its grandeur and decay. The art of man has weighed the distant stars; Deduced their orbits, distances and speed ; Divined some inkling of their origin. His skill has wrung her secrets from the Earth: Sounded her seas, explored their depths and scaled Her mountains; wormed himself into her bowels; Surveyed her strata, timed their place and age And made Creation comprehensible. But knowledge ends at that mysterious gate 'The western hank of Hudson s mighty stream." TO-DAY II Called Death. To that dread portal vistas clear Confront his vision — out beyond there lie The impenetrable shadows of Eternity. SKEPTIC (in reverie) The orb of day in gorgeous splendor sinks Beyond the Palisades that grimly guard The western bank of Hudson's mighty stream; And to mine ear there comes the hum of life, The murmur of the city's daily toil, Which fainter grows as traffic ebbs away: A distant drone in deep dull monotone, Soft crooning in the vibrant summer air; Now chiming into cadence with the trees As gentle zephyrs stir their dark green depths And rouse the leaves to rustling sibilance. Now, hark! the trill of birds the chorus joins As fluttering nestward their melodious notes Swell Nature's greeting to the reign of Night. CHORUS Great steamers cleave the waters with their prows And hurl the billows surging on the shores. While flashing in the sunset glow, the sails Of flitting yachts, like moths before a flame, Reflect the radiant glory of the sky. Anon is heard the clanking clash of steel; 12 CHAOS Huge red-eyed monsters, hissing steam and smoke, Resistless come with rush and rumbling roar. Like flying serpents loom into the view And pass into the twilight — bearing on Their various burdens to their different marts. SKEPTIC Methinks how great the age in which we live; How great to join this mighty continent, Its every part, with ringing ribs of steel And make the journey to Pacific's coast But three short days, which would in former times Have taken weary months. And then to send The human voice a thousand miles or more Through wires charged by lightning from the skies. And that deed done to send the message then Unaided through the ether that we breathe; To store by art on cylinders of wax, Or rubber discs of more enduring form, For future times to hear, the human voice And music's noble and enchanting strain; Create with ev'ry pleasing sound and note Of well-appointed modern orchestra, A symphony from work-day dynamos; Explore the source and mystery of light And vibratory waves of mortal sense unfelt; To penetrate b}^ Roentgen rays and see Through substances the human eye cannot; TO-DAY 13 Unloose the atoms from their wonted place — Weigh, count and clarify their deep intent; And by the spectroscope disclose the state, The speed and elements of distant stars. Of its achievements surely Progress can Must justly boast, save in the state of man. CHORUS While science, art, and manual skill improve, No sage has found the formula to change The primal moral weakness of the race. And those defects of character and heart, That men were taught in ancient times to shun. Are still the rocks that wreck his happiness. SKEPTIC For man remains unchanged throughout the years; The same, in love, in hate, in war and peace — The just, unjust, are quite the same to-day. As when the dawn of History began. ^° CHORUS Beneath the thin veneer and polish of the times, There lie concealed the passions of the cave. ^oWeil expressed in Kipling's 'General Summary*: "We are very slightly changed From the semi-apes who ranged India's prehistoric clay." 14 CHAOS But customs change — the crimson wrath of old Has been refined to cold and subtle arts. The body is no longer lashed — but, ah ! What thorns into tender heart are driven ! The basic thought that drove the primitive man To reeking altars with his sacrifice, Is that which raised the penal stake and cross, The torture chamber, wheel and pillory, And underlies intolerance to-day ! SKEPTIC Peruse again the page of History, Take heed the fate of mighty nations past That rose in ancient times, their zenith reached In full development of every art, Then sank in hopeless ruins on their plains. CHORUS The amethyst and turquoise of the sky, The carmine glow and topaz hue are gone ; The sunset colors melt into a gray, And one by one the orbs of night appear. SKEPTIC There Venus shines resplendent in the west; Her narrow orbit does not let her stray Far from the God of day. So when she comes. TO-DAY 15 As morning or as evening star, we know Her charms are destined not too long to last;^^ And even now she's sinking fast and soon Will drop into the gloom. But Jupiter, The steadfast friend of earth, whose orbit takes Him thirty years to turn, shines steadily — More like a beacon than celestial orb. While Mars, our ruddy neighbor of the skies, Provokes the dwellers of this earth to ask. If those strange markings, single and in pairs, That seem his world-like surface to indent. Can be the work of human hands like ours.^^ There Saturn with concentric rings appears And shows to man the way that worlds are made. ^^ CHORUS Now in the east the full round moon appears — Earth's satellite that rules the surging tides — Whose presence pales the mighty distant stars ; Its silvery rays lend beauty to the night. And beam benignly on the land and sea. Withal it is a whited sepulchre — 11 The orbit of Venus being between that of the earth and the sun, the angle which she may subtend during her annual revolu- tion is limited. Therefore she is never far above the horizon, either as an evening or as a morning star. 12 The lines discovered by, and named after, the Italian astronomer, Giovanni Schiaparelli. 13 See note on Nebular Hypothesis, p. 17. l6 CHAOS Celestial portent of the fate of earth. No atmosphere to soothe the solar wrath, Its arid plains all parched and waterless; Its sterile slopes and craters cavernous, Reveal to man the way that worlds shall die. SKEPTIC Out in the deep blue vault of Heaven shine Vast suns to which our sun is but a grain Of sand ; whose light it takes some thousand years To reach our human eyes; and yet beyond ^^ The limits of the faintest stars revealed By mighty telescopes there well may be, In depths remote, still other stars, and Nebulae, The womb of suns and systems yet unborn.^^ CHORUS Alas, how insignificant is man — An atom by the infinite overwhelmed ! How wide, how deep the universe; how grand, Magnificent the scale on which it's planned! ^^Astronomers estimate that there are approximately one billion stars within the range of human vision through the instru- mentality of the modern telescope. All of these stars are suns like the great orb which gives us day and night. But our sun is a mere pygmy compared to the stupendous bodies visible to us at night as twinkling stars in the heavens. The distances of TO-DAY 17 these stars stagger the imagination. To make the figures compre- hensible, astronomers have adopted a new unit of measurement, namely, the distance which light traveling at the rate of 186,000 miles every second traverses in a year. This is called a "light-year." Distances up to one hundred light-years have been measured with gratifying accuracy. Probably half of the stars visible to the naked eye are more than four hundred light-years distant; while as to the telescopic stars up to the tenth magnitude the majority are probably over one thousand light-years from us. In the plane of the Milky Way, the stars probably extend in all direc- tions to a distance of from eight to ten thousand light-years. At right angles to the plane of the Milky Way the stars seem to thin out considerably at five hundred light-years and none have been measured more than sixteen thousand light-years from the central plane. Our stellar system is probably a vast flattened aggregation of stars about fifteen thousand light-years in diameter and from two to three thousand light-years in thickness. The part most thickly set with stars appears to our view as the "Milky Way." The smaller Magellanic Nebula in the southern celestial sphere is said to be at a distance of thirty thousand light-years. 15 The Nebular Hypothesis. The presence of those mysterious clusters in the heavens not only suggests, but, by their form, con- stitution and movement, gives apparent confirmation to the most plausible theory yet advanced for the evolution of the universe. Nebulae have always been the subject of keen interest. At first they were assumed to be only clusters of stars; but the failure of the largest telescope to resolve them into separate bodies awakened the first doubt as to their constitution. Then came the revelations of the spectroscope which showed them to be, not clusters of remote minute stars, but chaotic aggregations of luminous matter showing clearly defined signs of spiral, ellipticixl and circular motion. The Nebular Hypothesis had its inception successively and independently in the minds of Swedenborg, Kant and Laplace. Let us extend its application by indulging in a corollary which l8 CHAOS the state of physical science in their day would not have justi- fied: Assume all of the primary elements lying dormant in the vast void of the universe. Without motion there can be no heat. In the intense cold of the great void the gaseous elements would be first liquefied, then solidified. (Oxygen, Nitrogen and Hydro- gen have been solidified by man by ingenious processes.) The moment that the process of liquefaction or solidification set in the law of gravitation would instantly become a factor in their destiny. Centers of gravity form; attractions are generated and movement begins. With movement comes friction, heat, com- bustion and light. With heat the gaseous elements are dissolved fronx solid form into liquids or assume their gaseous state. The heaviest elements, singly or in combination, will form Nuclei toward which the others will gravitate. Affinities assert them- selves and as the elements converge, cross or touch one another in the great maelstrom, chemical combinations are made and new substances take birth. The converging masses assume spherical forms. As more and more aggregations of matter impinge on the embryo spheres, it would be a miracle if they were all evenly distributed. The slightest irregularity would change the balance and set up a rotary motion — a motion which the surrounding atmosphere and particles within the zone of gravitation would quite reasonably follow. When the central masses condensed sufficiently they would mani- fest themselves as stars or suns with vaporous masses about them extending to the limits of their range of attraction. As condensation proceeded the central masses would be detached and the vaporous envelopes would divide into rings — each ring the progenitor of a planetary system. We may imagine the same process to go on in the condensation of the planetary rings in the formation of satellites. Saturn with his rings stands out to-day as an example of world-making fortunately vouchsafed for our study and reflection. The density of Saturn is less than that of water. The planet is in its formative state. It will, no doubt, TO-DAY 19 pass through the same process as the earth — Oxygen and Hydro- gen forming water; Oxygen and Nitrogen forming an atmosphere. The heavier matters contained in the surrounding envelope, attracted to the planet, will break through the atmosphere, impinge on the water, sink to the center and solidify in due course. The Nebulae in Orion, Andromeda, Lyra and Canes Venatici are visible examples of how solar systems are evolved. 20 CHAOS ACT II TO-MORROW Argument. The skeptic, in a dream, views as a spectator, apart from the world, its progress and decay through many ages. Beholds wars and internecine dissensions of the races. The improvidence of man and its punish- ment: sterility, plague and famine. Old age of the world. CHORUS Long ages seem to pass as in a dream. Before us panoramic visions rise : Of man, his life and growth, and future fate; Of earth, its changes in the course of time. SKEPTIC I seem to drift in upper air serene And view with vague delight the rolling sphere. Before me lies a virgin plain untrod Up sloping gently from the silver sea. ^ I gaze again — as if by magic*s art — There come the signs of life, the homes of men. And these increase in number as I gaze. Until the village has become a town; The town, a city of enormous size. TO-MORROW 21 CHORUS The city's streets encroach on farm and field; The wood, the dell, the babbling brook are gone, And nature's beauties, by the vandal hand Of highly wrought refinement, have been marred. The iron rails of traffic span the earth ; The smoke and steam of factories obscure The purple vault of Heaven with its stars; Their chimneys quite o'ercap the churches' spires; SKEPTIC Throughout the streets and avenues appear Inhabitants preoccupied with all The joys and sorrows of their narrow lives. And thus the world in every part becomes The home of teeming millions of mankind. CHORUS But yet man seems, though skilled in every art. To cling persistently to savage ways And scorn the gentle voice of Charity and Peace ; For moral sense still keeps in infancy, And foolish man has failed to grasp the thought : That though his wealth should rival Croesus' dream, And culture reach its apex in all arts; Though science penetrate through every veil, That keeps the unknown from his vision, yet. If not applied to help his fellow-man, The strides of knowledge and of art are vain. 22 CHAOS SKEPTIC Contending armies battle on the land, And steel-clad navies on the ocean clash. Upon their issue destiny appears To hang the fate of all the trembling world. Then greedy powers rob their prostrate foes; Assign among themselves and loyal friends Their so-called separate spheres of influence ! Thus nations rise and fall and maps are changed. CHORUS Grim war shall last while greed and hate endure; ^® So long as locks and bolts our treasures guard, Or watchmen pace the narrow dimlit street ; So long as oaths are taken in our courts Or bonds demanded to secure just debts; 1^ Since this was written the greatest war in history has been fought and twelve million of the manhood of the world and countless numbers of its womanhood have fallen in battle or died in consequence of its accompanying horrors. By so much has the potentiality of the human race for future civilization been de- pleted and impaired. In so far as paganistic ideas may have been crushed and higher ideals stimulated in the human mind, let us hope that the world is better for the sacrifice. Yet, judging from the attitude of some of the nations at the peace table — their greed, their selfishness — there is little ground for hope that they have taken seriously to heart the true lesson of the war. TO-MORROW 23 So long as vice impels the human heart And self's the mainspring of a sordid world. While kings for greed invoke the God of War So long must nations stand upon their guard. Against the curse of war there's one recourse — The sword is yet its own best antidote. Against injustice to resist is right — When Might offends the only shield is Might! SKEPTIC Internal strife embitters every land; The rich still richer grow, the poor more poor; The tyranny of Capital bears down Its yoke relentless on the toiler's neck — An ill much greater than abuse of kings. Injustice, Hate and Fear go hand in hand; Domestic strife divides the husband, wife; Their children often bitter foes of both ; The courts of law still gravely sit with pomp In technical denial of equity; CHORUS And votes are brazen bought and brazen sold. In every walk of life Corruption stalks With smiling face to coax the weakling man — Her right hand holds the shining cursed gold ; 24 CHAOS But in its midst is hid the canker worm of death And all who touch it fester at the heart — Both they and their posterity are curst. SKEPTIC Vast steamers swarm in every gulf and bay And streak the greater oceans with their foam. While in the air audacious man in glee Has shamed the feathered couriers of the sky. CHORUS The ten .commandments, which on Zion's Mount To Moses, prophet of the Jews, were given, Are idly mouthed or calmly laughed to scorn — The symbols of a better age overthrown And pagan idols in their places raised — Upon all sides decadence swiftly spreads. By paradox unique an attribute. Most worthy and sublime — the love of Him, The great first cause, the Father of Mankind, Has been transformed to anger, hate and fear. A thousand creeds divide the human race. Each claims its own, the only road to bliss. And vows all others doomed to Hell's Abyss. TO-MORROW 25 SKEPTIC The Christian creed in scores of warring sects Is split in vain dissensions o'er mere texts From the great book from which they all have sprung. As though a God all merciful and just Would spurn the longing of a single soul, Sincerely striving to attain His love, Obey His law and pay Him reverence. Thus foolish man vies with his fellow-man, To reach the goal of Heaven's Golden Gate By wrangling on diverging paths of hate. CHORUS In earlier days there had been some respect For virtue — heroes smiling gave their blood For freedom and uplifting of the race; But when the growth of luxury increased And competition keener had become. Both envious pride and selfish greed combined To make men fight like soulless animals For mere existence; then the good Samaritan Was banished from their lives, and in his place Were Hate and Fear and unfair Rivalry. Despite its noble past it is a dying race ; For white and yellow, brown, red, black are one, And all the divers tribes of each, which have, Throughout long ages, warred with varying fate 26 CHAOS In struggles for supremacy, are merged Into a common stream of mediocrity — The vices of the worst commingled with The vices of the best ; the virtues of The best dragged down to one dead average. And in their selfish aims, their lust, their greed, They quite forget there comes a day of reckoning. SKEPTIC The fertile land, that once so fairly bloomed With every blessing of the field and vine, Is desolate, and deserts mark the site Of splendid cities, populous and great. CHORUS The forest shade that dulled the sun*s fierce ray And tempered winds that blew from ice-chilled lands ; Whose gnarled and tangled roots upheld the soil And stayed the angry rivers' ruthless flood ; Whose verdure drew the welcome rain and made The earth to smile in beauty and abundance; Ungrateful man, unmindful of the past. Has burned in wilful waste, or hewed for greed To fill the gaping jaws of Industry.^^ ^7 There is no doubt that the beginning of the downfall of many ancient lands may be directly traced to their disregard of forest preservation. To-day the making of paper from wood TO-MORROW Oh, Man improvident! insensible that Fate Condemns the least infraction of the Law, That Wisdom throughout nature hath ordained. And for each trespass, soon or late, exacts, Without a qualm, her meed of punishment — Ye have lacked in every age the foresight to preserve The source from which your greatest gifts have come, And now behold your cherished cities meet. With all their art, their learning, and their wealth, The doom of Ninevah and Babylon ! Now plague and famine show their heads abhorred And sweep their countless millions off the earth. In vain the farmer tills the sterile soil; The roots are withered e'er the shoots have grown — The soil is barren for the world is old. pulp and the greed of industry in cutting down our forests en- dangers the future of man and requires that immediate steps be taken co-operatively by all the nations of the world to put into practice the wise precaution that for every tree cut down another should be planted. 28 CHAOS ACT III THE END OF MAN Argument. The skeptic, having witnessed the culmina- tion, now beholds the running down of progress — The gradual depopulation of the Earth. General desolation. The ruins of great cities described. The death of the last man. Observations on the futility of human achievements and ambitions. SKEPTIC The sun now shines with fainter light than when In earlier days it stirred a fertile globe With myriad forms of palpitating life; His feeble rays of reddish orange hue Diffuse on earth a hazy twilight glow. CHORUS The panorama now appears reversed — Instead of life, activity and growth. That in the former pictures were so marked, There seems to be a running down, as when A clock exhausted slowly tolls the hour. The icy caps that decked the poles "The steel-framed structures that once pierced the sky." THE END OF MAN 29 With narrow margins, toward Equator creep, In snow-white, fate-like, rings of death; ^^ SKEPTIC The towns and cities that once spread the plains Seem palpably to shrink before my view — Their buildings gently crumble into earth. CHORUS The steel-framed structures that once pierced the sky, And were the marvel of man's handiwork, Have tottered to their doom reluctantly. The brick and stone that cased their skeletons Have sunk into the dust about their base; While pier and girder web-like naked stand Sad relics of man's bootless industry. And when the earth revolves its back upon The fading sun, and twilight's feeble glow Has changed to inky night, the twinkling stars Gleam mockingly between the iron tracery. ^8 This refers to the return of the glacial period, which will probably be the precurser of the end of the world as a place of habitation. The next recurrence, ending the present geologic stage, may not, and most probably will not, end the world's life history. The finding of extensive coal-beds within the Arctic and Antarctic circles indicates a prolific vegetation in those regions which may be accounted for by the variation in the inclination of the earth's axis to the plane of the ecliptic during the course of the revolution of our solar system through the great nebula of which our solar system forms a part. 30 CHAOS SKEPTIC Great bridges that once spanned the rivers' tide — Colossus-like in towering majesty Of stone and steel — erected with a skill That taxed the ingenuity of man ; Beneath whose interlacing members passed The tallest masts of ships that sailed the seas; Now fallen and dismembered choke the course Through which the tumbling waters roar, and wake Resounding murmurs from the death-like shores. CHORUS Where once the streets and avenues have rung With human steps and traffic's noisy strain; With sounds of joy or mortal agony; A strange dread silence now pervades the scene. Anon the sparse inhabitants emerge From out their shelter in some ruined shrine And totter feebly, aimlessly about; Their footsteps echo in once busy streets Like heart beats in a dismal sepulchre. SKEPTIC My vision now seems limited to grow; Instead of broad expanse of land and sea. Diversified by mountain, vale and bay, I see a parching plain with many stones Of various shapes in great disorder strewn — 'Great bridges that once spanned the river's tide" THE END OF MAN 3I The ruins of some old metropolis. Unburied bodies lie in heaps around And bones of mortals bleaching on the sand. There is no sign of life save in one place, That seems the cellar of some ancient edifice. CHORUS Behold, within is spread a rough skin rug And on it lies a man in writhing agony. His breath comes fast and restless move his arms; Anon he plaintive calls a woman's name — ^^ Now all is still! SKEPTIC But, look! there seems to rise A mist-like thing or shape of shadowy form ; But yet of beauty undefinable; Mysterious, weird, and awe-inspiring: And, as it hovers for a moment by The body whence it seems to emanate, The air is filled with perfume of sweet flowers. Dread premonitions fill my tortured mind — I dare not question what it all can mean. CHORUS It means the end of man and end of earth! 1* Woman — the strongest and most enduring tie that binds man to earth. 32 CHAOS SKEPTIC Thus dies the race that aimed to pierce the veil Of things eternal and of things unknown! Yes, this the race perfection hoped to reach In youthful dreams of the millennium. CHORUS What counts ambition now, or miser's greed — What recks the toil by which their ends were reached? The power and pelf of all the world shall fade ! Where is the gain when all must pass away? SKEPTIC A library far-famed in all the land, Upon a hill in stately ruin stands; Resisting time and dissolution's force With utmost strength of massive masonry. A fungus growth half cloaks the crumbling walls- Kind nature's aid to hide the scars of time. The columns of the grand fagade Uphold no more the shattered pediment; The dome and roof have fallen to decay, And block the aisles and corridors in which The learning of long ages has been stored. Books! books! aisle after aisle and tier on tier — Unread, unopened, thick with dust of years! ,^ 'A library far-famed in all the land." THEENDOFMAN 33 I gaze in sadness, while upon me creeps, A shade of awe, unspeakable regret, That here man^s wisdom has its limit reached ! That here the fame of sage and poet ends — Between the covers of these musty tomes 1 What toil and mental energy were spent ! What pains, discouragements, ambitions wrecked, While their poor authors strove for name and fame ! CHORUS A fame, alas, not more enduring now Than that of those who lived without a thought Of present or of future praise or blame. Oh, Fame ! thou art a futile bubble blown. The toy of fate, the idol of great minds! SKEPTIC The hall wherein the Legislature sat (Vicarious symbol of a pygmy race), Pretentious capitol that was, is now No more. The ornate arch and sculptured vault, The columns, stairs, the rail and balustrade All richly wrought, lie broken and awry ; And midst the crumbling statues of the great The screech owl sits in solemn irony. 34 CHAOS CHORUS Here orators descanted on the times And tried to turn the course of nature back, In vain attempts to make man good by rule Until all sense of human liberty was lost ; Oblivious that by nature's higher law It is ordained that those who fall to vice, A prey to their own weakness, are not meant To flourish or perpetuate the race. Forgetting this their vain effeminate laws Destroyed all strength of will, all exercise Of moral force and quelled initiative — Pampered, humored, circumscribed as well — And thus upraised a coddled race of weaklings.^o SKEPTIC The high-domed Court where Justice sat enthroned, Coerced to blush as her gold-burnished scales Insidiously sank to either side, And wished the bandage from her eyes withdrawn To wield the sword her helpless hand engrasped; 20 You cannot legislate into the human heart the ten command- ments. They were written on stone. Think of that! You can- not make men good or sober or virtuous by law; but you may destroy the human will by law. If men cannot live cleanly nature sentences them to death. If nations do not live uprightly they too must die. THEENDOFMAN 35 Where lawyers quibbled, litigants forswore And truth discouraged trembled at the door. The shrine wherein the preacher marked the way, That man should go to win eternal life — • The narrow way which he himself hath sped — Oblivious of all other ways than his, Which might as likely lead to God's eternal throne; The school of learning where the restless seer, Tugged at the veil of the unknowable — All, all are sunk in crumbling ruined heaps! CHORUS In yonder field where once the willows grew, Were serried ranks of humble soldier dead — The graves of those whose only claim to fame Was that they fought the battles of their land. Above each grassy mound a modest slab But briefly told their date of birth and death, Their name, their Company and Regiment. Overshadowing these were huge majestic shafts, With graven records of more glorious deeds — As if 'twere nobler to give up one's life, In epaulets on horseback than on foot. The pride of birth and arrogance of place Are here reduced, in last analysis, To common clay from which they all have sprung. 36 CHAOS SKEPTIC Of what avail are monuments high reared Above insensate clay ; how vain the hope, That lingers in the breast of man, to keep, By crumbling stone and fading epitaph, Posterity apprised of mortal fame. That dies with the last man to read the tale. CHORUS The marble mausoleum of the rich ; The lofty shaft above the warrior's bones, No higher stand nor more conspicuous Than humble slab that marks the plowman's grave! And show — strange irony of human fate — The vanity of worldly ostentation, When none are left to profit by the lesson. Ki:; ''The crumbling world is vitrified and bare." DISINTEGRATION 37 ACT IV DISINTEGRATION Argument. The skeptic beholds a world vitrified and bare — no sign of vegetation or water. The seas have dried up. Suddenly the whole earth crumbles before his gaze. Is overwhelmed with horror at his isolation. The sun gradually fades and disappears. He now becomes conscious that he is without material form. Drifts through the universe. The end of gravitation and of nature's laws. The reign of Disintegration begins. The gradual disappearance of the stars. Hears the thunders and beholds the myriad scintilla- tions of their final disintegration. CHORUS Now turn your glance upon a purpled sky, Bedecked with constellations, and behold The solemn sweep of systems through the universe. Red comets flash on their erratic course Past stars that faithful keep their orbits' path — ^i The shining milestones of Eternity. 21 With respect to the earth and the solar system, the stars have no orbit. With respect to us pygmies in the vast universe, they are fixed and immovable. Yet they are doubtless pursuing 38 CHAOS SKEPTIC The desert world shines with a pallid light ; There is no sign of verdure on the plains; The streams are dried, the forests all are gone; The seas no longer lap the sloping shores ; The foaming cataracts at last are still — No breath of life bestirs the livid waste. CHORUS The human race has passed and left no mark Of its achievements, habitation there Throughout the countless years; nor yet the trace Of wondrous lower life, that was the spur Of thought to man, is seen. The spider's web; The hill of ants and labyrinths within ; The nests of birds intelligently wrought; And all the marvels of the living world Have long been swept into oblivion. SKEPTIC The crumbling world is vitrified and bare — Lo! while I gaze, from some internal force, their magnificent way in regular rotation — even as our sun and his satellites are moving onward upon their appointed path. Astronomers are generally agreed that there is a well-established movement of our solar system in the general direction of Vega, in the constellation of Lyra. DISINTEGRATION 39 Its surface breaks into a thousand forms, Which burst apart and scatter like a shell Ejected from some huge artillery! A flash of flame that marks the fateful blast, A cloud of smoke that follows in its wake Attract the eye a moment and dissolve. The fragments spread throughout the cavernous void And vanish like the dust before the wind ! CHORUS A deep resounding crash abruptly breaks In monstrous volume ripping through the void! The ether trembles at the awful shock, Then rolling onward rumbling into space It sinks into a murmur and expires. SKEPTIC 'Twas day a moment since, but now 'tis night. Without the vanished Earth's reflected light, A deep and solemn shade o'erspreads the scene. I seem transfixed and poised within The hollow of the great celestial sphere. The glittering stars make radiant the depths — Above, beneath, on every side they gleam With cold and calm relentless brilliancy And taunting mock my helpless isolation. 40 CHAOS Disconsolate I gaze in poignant grief. Up to this moment I have had some hope — An undefined and subtle confidence, That all these changing scenes were but a dream; That soon or late I should return to earth. But now when I perceive my refuge gone, Without a thought or hope of other port, A chill of horror overwhelms my heart — Such horror as might fill the mind of some Poor mariner marooned upon a rock To die alone out on the boundless sea. Like traveller returned from wandering, Who halts afar to gaze upon the scene Of boyhood's haunts and home he had so loved, And finds no trace of those familiar signs, His memory had cherished through the years; So I gaze vainly, anxiously and long Upon the void where once the world revolved. The sun, which for some time, has grown more dim. Now drowsily it drags athwart the sky, With molten metal's deep expiring glow. Upon me now there dawns the weird import Of that dull disc in heaven's darkling vault. CHORUS Art thou the famed Aurora of the classic age, Whose chariot swept the eastern sky at morn 'Art thou the famed Aurora of the classic age?" DISINTEGRATION 4I And touched the clouds and mountain tops with fire? Aye, this is the genial sun whose rising gleam, Once waked the birds to sing their morning hymn; Whose radiance hung the dew-clad trees with pearls, And warmed again the fecund earth to life ! To this sad state has sunk the bounteous source Whence flowed the vital force of many worlds ! Fainter and fainter grow the dying rays, At last its outline softly, slowly blends Upon the sullen background of the sky ! 'Tis but a spot, a ghastly blur — 'tis naught But one dead cinder more in heaven's mighty deep! SKEPTIC Anon my meditation is disturbed By consciousness of some o'ermastering force. That bears me irresistibly away. I feel the sense of inward struggle strong ; But seem to know to struggle were in vain. Then comes the shock, the fearful consciousness, That I am now without material form — A spiritual speck aswirl in space; An atom fluttering in the star beams 1 Then like an arrow darting to its goal Among the shining stars my path is shaped. But, ah, how changed! the Pleiades have lost Not one, but many orbs; Orion stands 42 CHAOS Shorn of his belt and shining sword; Rigel and Betelgeuse are fading fast. The Little Bear and Polar Star whose ray Has guided long poor mortals on their way; Vega, Arcturus and Capella's glow, That once did make night brilliant on old earth, Have sunk into the shadow of the past. The Sailors* Plow, Great Bear, and Southern Cross And all the constellations I have loved. Are crippled remnants of their former selves ; And that trite phrase philosophers have wrought About the 'Eternal' stars is proved awry. From star to star in ceaseless round I reel And at each circuit see some orb decay. Yes, one by one the stars recede and die. Or break in countless atoms on my view. CHORUS Disintegration now begins its reign And nothing seems to hold its entity. Cohesion and affinity that kept The molecules and atoms in their place And gave to matter its variety. Its properties and attributes, are dead; And in their place repulsion is the rule. The basic elements are now unloosed. DISINTEGRATION 43 Resolved into their primal form and fly Precipitate to outer realms of space. For gravitation's force has ceased to act And marks the end of nature's cherished laws. SKEPTIC 'Tis thus with matter, what now of the soul — If such there is — shall it too pass away? So I have thought, and still am doomed to think. It were a shame indeed if those great minds, Whose deeds advanced the welfare of the race ; Whose labors lent a halo to their age. Should be resolved at last to nothingness. Eternal justice wakes the pregnant thought, Whate'er the fate of things material. Oblivion shall not claim the human soul. CHORUS Now crash on crash alarms the silent void ; The infinite sphere is rent with shriek and roar — No mortal ear could bear the awful din — As thunders piled on thunders, far and near, Reverberate and echo from the depths. While lights fantastic gleam on every side ; From merest specks at first, they swelling grow Like trembling rainbows, lace and interlace ; Break into myriad forms and scintillate, Until the double arch of heaven's vault, Vibrates and thrills with weird supernal light. 44 CHAOS Then by degrees the violent glare abates ; The varied colors blend and slowly fade. As when the summer's thunder-storm is past, The fitful glow of lightning sweeps the sky; So now the lightning's flash illumes the closing scene And distant thunders mutter in the void — Then all is dark and still. "V '^' 'A peace-dispensing radiance filled the scene." THE SKEPTIC IN CHAOS 45 ACT V THE SKEPTIC IN CHAOS Argument. Cimmerian darkness realized. No light, no life, no sound. Awakening of the soul, rebellion. Ceaseless motion for long ages through the immeasur- able depths of space. A spirit derelict. Agony and despair. A cry for mercy. Consciousness of other souls' existence. CHORUS Now has arrived the all-enduring night! And in the broad expanse of universe No friendly orb remains to guide the way. Cimmerian darkness is at last conceived ; All light, all life, all sound has ceased — the universe Is silent, still, throughout its infinite extent — A silence deep and awful as eternity. SKEPTIC And I alone am left in the appalling shade — The only conscious speck in all the void • The only thing that keeps its entity; The only living atom in the wreck of worlds. 46 CHAOS Up to this moment I endure the pain Of my abandonment with stoic zeal And have not sought to question what I was, Or what my destiny; for soon methought This dream, infliction or whate'er it is, Will doubtless end in everlasting sleep. I seem to thread eternal fastnesses — Now falling from tremendous heights I sink Into the dark, the silent dismal depths; Again I rise in flights immeasurable. I strive to rest but find no pillow but — The yawning chasm of the frightful void And sink again to depths unfathomable. Now swirled in eddies of some hidden force. To unknown realms by ruthless currents driven- A human phantom doomed to endless life ; A spirit derelict in endless space. Hark! strange sounds become articulate; A solemn voice from out the darkness swells : — CHORUS Vain man, if thou'rt sufficient for thyself And matter only is thy hope, let it be so, Material is all thou'U ever know! THE SKEPTIC IN CHAOS 47 SKEPTIC At intervals strange shapes in myriads Of varied hue, self-luminous, athwart The darksome void incontinently sweep; And as they pass I seem to hear the wail Of human souls in dire agony. Then comes the thought, indefinite and dull — But whereat I rebel with conscious shame — The wonderful reflection that the soul As well as matter too may well survive ; CHORUS For nothing dies — nor deed, nor word, nor thought Although their memory perchance may fade — Somewhere, sometime, 'though in some other sphere, There comes from distant long-forgotten shore A whisper rising to sweet melody, Or murmur rumbling into dissonant Deep thunder peal to punish or reward. SKEPTIC And now the consciousness of soul creeps in, Commands my being and asserts itself: — 48 CHAOS CHORUS Matter resolved into its elements Or decomposed into its primal state To human eyes is imperceptible. Great though the power of lens to magnify, No eye has e'er discerned the atom's form; Nor yet the shape of larger molecule; Yet in a single atom you aver Electrons swim that taunt your chemistry .22 What then, O man, is matter that you know But visible forms of things you cannot see? Ye who believe that matter has no end, Why not extend your logic to the soul? Must sense e'er be the test of man's belief? Must he reject his intuition's guide And ever with negation stifle hope? Why drive it out from your Philosophy? Who taught the infant chick to break its shell? Who taught the busy ant its house to build? Who taught the spider weave its wondrous web? And last who taught your first forefathers bend The head in worship of the unknown God? He who ignores the spiritual side within 22 Electrons. The theory is advanced that electrons are the basic constituents of matter — that even the Atom is not the last unit into which matter may be reduced; thus tending to confirm the Monistic theory of Haeckel. They are said to have a mass equal to i-i 700th of an atoi?i of Hydrogen. THE SKEPTIC IN CHAOS 49 Is like the worm in egotist content, Too satisfied within his cramped abode To break the shell that keeps him from the world ; Not knowing that beyond the fragile wall There is an outer and a greater life. SKEPTIC What sounds are these; which less in words than waves Of thought home-pressing with compelling force, Bore into my being and arouse strange fears? CHORUS A disembodied worm within the shell Of prejudice upbuilt in former life. Alas, the awful truth has dawned too late There can be now no surcease from his fate. SKEPTIC My thoughts run back and mournful I recall The skill and wisdom of an age long past; An age that gained the mastery of matter ; That from the dead evolved new life and use. And from the waste the workmen did reject. Reformed and recreated other forms. Might not that Providence, that's said to rule. Perform with souls and immaterial things 50 CHAOS What man has done with things material? Recall the scattered ions from the void And recreate anew the universe? Endow again the indestructible soul With other forms more beautiful incarnate- So death and life shall constitute a chain In endless cycles of everlasting good? CHORUS Without the stars to mark the flight of time He cannot tell the ages that have passed, Nor yet conceive the ages still to pass Ere he shall be released from his unhappy plight. SKEPTIC With all the boundless stretch of universe At my disposal yet I seem to be A prisoner fast locked to endless motion. CHORUS The dark, the dreadful silence of the void; The cold, unfelt, but notwithstanding known; The sense of misery wrought by consciousness Of inability to rest or sleep; THE SKEPTIC IN CHAOS 51 The fearful lonesomeness of deprivation Of human company, o'ermasters pride; Weighs down his spirit and his tortured soul — SKEPTIC Oh, God have mercy! Hear my anguished cry! CHORUS Mark at the word the awful motion ends Sweet music falls upon his famished ears And to his eyes there comes the blessed light ; A peace dispensing radiance fills the scene. And then there comes from out the weary ages. The sound of voices; then the consciousness Of other souls* existence — voices that Salute with welcome and a cheerful hail : Rest^ rest at last in sweet eternal peace! SKEPTIC {awakens) Who spoke? Am I in Death's embrace or dreaming? Give me some token. Lord, to wake my faculties! The summer breeze across my fevered brow Blows gently, and, before my wearied eyes, The myriad stars, which Westward sink to rest, Flash out their welcome from the deep blue vault. 52 CHAOS The time perchance is near the Midnight hour; The sailor's constellation and Great Bear Have leaped a quarter circuit round the Polar Star. Thank God, I live! — have not been dead for ages; But, oh, more blest, the soul aroused within Apprises me that I shall never die. INDEX 53 INDEX {Numbers indicate pages. Notes are indicated by *) Aeronauts 24 iEschylus, Persians (Intro- duction) xiii Affinity 42 Agnostic * 8 Ambition 32 Andromeda, Nebula in * . 19 Aristophanes (Introduc- tion) xii Armies 22 Arrow 41 Atheist 9 Atoms 13 Aurora 40 Books .32 Bridges 30 Canes Venatici, Nebula in * 19 Charity 21 Cimmerian Darkness ... 45 City's Streets 21 Chorus, Greek Drama (In- troduction) xi Christianity 25 Cohesion 42 Constellations . . . . 41, 42 Corruption 23 Courts 34 Creeds 8, 25 Cults 9 Culture 21 Customs 14 Day of Reckoning .... 26 Death 11 Decadence 24 Deserts 26 Disintegration, Reign of . 42 Domestic Strife 23 Dreams 7 Eschenburg, Professor J. J. (Introduction) . . . . xi Electrons* 48 Elements, Chemical * . . i Elements 42 Empedocles * 2 Epitaphs 36 Euripides * (Intro, xi) . . 8 Factories 21 Faith 8 Fame 33 Fertile Land 26 54 CHAOS Fire Worshippers .... 6 Folly 8 Footsteps 30 Forests 26 Forest Preservation * . . 26 Glaciers . 28 Glacial Period * 29 Greek Drama (Introduc- tion) xi Haeckel, Ernst H.* ... 48 Heroes 25 History 14 Hydrogen * 3» 18 Immortality (see Soul) Injustice 23 Internal Strife 23 Intolerance 14 Intuitions * 8 Jews 24 Jupiter 15 Justice 34 Kant, Immanuel * .... 17 Kipling, Rudyard * ... 13 Laplace, Pierre Simon . . 17 Laws . 34 Lawyers 35 Lavoisier * 3 Learning, School of . . . .35 Legislature 33 Light ......... 17 Light- Year * ...... 17 Lightning and Thunder . 44 Luxury 25 Lyra, Nebula in * . . . .19 Magellanic Nebula * . . .17 Man 16, 21 Mars 15 Matter 48 Matter, Mastery of ... 49 Millennium 32 Milton's Samson Agonistes (Introduction) . . . . xii Molecules .42 Monistic Theory * . . . .48 Monuments ....... 36 Moon 15 Morality, legislating * . . 34 Moral Weakness . . . I3» 21 Moses 24 Murray, Professor Gilbert (Introduction) . . . . xi Navies 22 Nebulae 16, 17 Nebular Hypothesis * . . 17 Negation 48 Nitrogen * 4» 18 Novelty 9 Oblivion 43 Orators 34 INDEX 55 Orion, Nebula in * . . . . 19 Oxygen * 3, 18 Palisades (on the Hudson) 11 Passions of the Cave ... 13 Peace 21 Phonograph 12 Phrynichus (Introduction) xii Plague and Famine ... 27 Power and Pelf 32 Preachers 35 Priestley, Dr. Joseph * . . 3 Railroads 12 Reincarnation 50 Ruins 32 Samaritan, Good . . . .25 Satellites 5» 18 Saturn 15, 18 i * 15 Schiaparelli, Giovanni Scott, Sir Walter (Intro- duction) xii Self-sufficiency 46 Soldiers' Graves 35 Soul . . . 6, 7, 47, sc 51, 52 Spirit 31 Spectroscope 13 Spencer, Herbert * . . . . 8 Spiritual Side of Man . . 48 Stoic Zeal 46 Stars, Eternal 42 Stars, Orbit of * 37 Steamers 24 Stonehenge * 6 Structures 29 Sun 5 Sun, Death of 41 Sunset II Sun Worship * 6 Swedenborg, Emanuel * . .17 Telephones 12 Ten Commandments ... 24 Twinkling Stars 29 Unchangeability of Man . 13 Universe * 18 Universe, End of . , . . 45 Vega* 38 Venus 14 Venus, Orbit of * .... 15 Vice and Virtue 26 Void 45 War 22 World, End of 39 X-Rays 12

31001032

Book of poems; tales of the Hoosier traveler embracing the following subjects: travels through the United States and Mexico, Canada, Alaska, West Indies and the Philippines; The inferno, and essays on astronomy ...

Alter, James L.

bookofpoemstales00alte_djvu.txt

V'"^^. V: OF THE ■sisr. s^s^ Class^?Sl5:oi_ £ook_^L_aJ^£_G_ CopghtN"^ \d Of COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. James L. Alter, Author of this Volume Sfe MRi's 117, lis Snnk 0f Pn^ma TALES OF THE HOOSIER TRAVELER EMBRACING THE FOLLOWING SUBJECTS: TRAVELS THROUGH THE UNITED STATES AND MEXICO, CANADA, ALASKA, WEST INDIES AND THE PHILIPPINES; THE INFERNO, AND ESSAYS ON ASTRONOMY ILLUSTRATED When you read this story You will smile — Over land and sea Pve traveled A hundred thousand miles. JAMES L. ALTER, Remington, Indiana PRICE, ONE DOLLAR '1 UfeRuKY ^J CONGRESS Two Cwpies Received MAR 19 1904 l/l/t Copynghi £f>try CL^SS a- XXc. No, S^^ ^. '^ O COPY'S r Copyright Applied for February, 1904 By James L. Alter i BOOK NUMBER ONE INTRODUCTION. OWING to the solicitations of my many friends I was induced To pen this volume, hoping it will meet With the approval of the many readers of the same. This book is written mostly in couplets, As the following subjects present themselves: First the Fairy Garden, second a poem On each state and some of the principal cities, Also on Canada, Alaska and Old Mexico, The West Indies, Hawaii and the Philippines, Also on the Wonders of America, The fictitious names of the states and cities; Also a poem on the historical part of our country. A poem on the Spanish-American War, A poem on the End of Man, the Inferno, Poems on the Sun, Moon, Earth and Planets, Meteors, Comets, the Stars, Constellations, And the Clusters of the Stars; In other words, the Siderial Journey through The Skies, or Wonders of the Heavens. This book of poems, owing to the figures And many different subjects in each Poem, it is quite hard to make perfect Poetry, but success has crowned our efforts. Yours truly, THE TRAVELER'S DREAM OF THE UNITED STATES. AT the still midnight I lay in bed, Visions of beauty surrounded my head. While I thus lay in silent slumbers, Those visions then rolled into numbers; My thoughts ran along in a beautiful metre That I never beheld any poetry sweeter. I seemed in a garden filled with birds and bees, With flowers and fruits, with grasses and trees; And as I stepped in, I saw to my right The State of Maine, a pretty bonite; Next New Hampshire, there by her side, A very neat pansy trying to hide. "Here," said the gardener, "pass this way . And see Massachusetts, a pink on the Bay, And stationed there, just over her head The State of Vermont, a hollyhock red." As we turned to the left, I saw within reach The State of Rhode Island, a nice rosy peach. "Here," said the gardener, pointing ahead, "The State of Connecticut, a rose so red," And nestled there, close by her side. Stood New Jersey, the white bride. New York was an apple, so mellow and sweet; Pennsylvania, a pear, hanging near that retreat: ho O o CD b c3 And traveling near the trees so tall Delaware, a grape, running over the wall. "Here, near the sea so blue, Maryland is my fine pansy, too; And near by that secreted spot Is Columbia, a touch-me-not. Virginia, a violet. West Virginia, a princess feather. Were growing side by side, and look well together. "Come this way," the gardener said, "Is North Carolina, a cranberry red, South Carolina, a rice stalk of emerald green," Near by was Georgia, a large bunch bean. "Florida," said my friend, the guide, "The beautiful ferns that are my pride. Next comes Alabama, of a southern type, With my fine large blackberries ripe; Mississippi is a cotton stalk in that bed, Louisiana is my melons," the gardener said, Texas was a sunflower nodding in the breeze, And Indian Territory, a tomato by those trees, Oklahoma is a vegetable, growing so green A very fine cabbage head to be seen. Arkansas comes next, representing a currant, Missouri, a lily, came in its turn; "Next in the list," said he, turning to me, "Is a beautiful gourd we call Tennessee;" A large squash growing by the gate. He said was the old Kentucky state. Ohio, a quince, was growing so neat; Indiana, a poppy, delicious and sweet; Michigan is a great white pine, 9 Wisconsin a very tall hop vine. "Here," said my guide, as we passed on, <'Is Illinois, a large stalk of corn." Iowa was oats, Minnesota that of wheat, Growing together just by our feet. * 'South Dakota is a stalk of barley near by, North Dakota is a tall bunch of rye." As we turned we saw by the way Nebraska, a green bunch of hay. < 'Kansas is buckwheat, I raise for the bee; Wyoming is that broad silver maple tree;" Montana was a golden rod there we found, Idaho a snowball, so white and round. Hanging there, among those cedar trees. Is Washington, a fine swarm of bees. The next was a beauty, my fine cherry tree He said was the state of Oregon by the sea. "Utah is the roses that doth enchant, Colorado is my pride, the century plant; New Mexico, the cactus that grows on the plains; Nevada a fine raisin," the gardener explains; "Arizona is my fine, large nectarines; California, my figs, in their leafy screens." As I stood in amazement at those beautiful scenes I suddenly awoke from my peaceful dreams. 10 INDIANA. A FEW plain facts I'll now relate About the grand old Hoosier State — Its beautiful scenery that doth unfold, Its rivers and lakes and fountains of old, Its beautiful flowers and majestic trees, The singing birds and humming bees; Beautiful springs are bubbling there Among the hills and valleys fair. Here, in youth, I spent many happy days, In going to school and in childish plays. We have many rich fruits growing there: The cherries, and peaches, plum and pear, We ;-aise corn and wheat, cattle and hogs, We have oak and beech and poplar logs. Many beautiful birds along in the glen: The lark, canary, the thrush and the wren. Our game, the wild goose, pheasant and duck. The rabbit, raccoon, squirrel and woodchuck; The beaver and muskrat, skunk and the bear, The deer, the turkey and swan are rare. Our state is among the best of this great nation, Farming and fruit growing is the chief occupation. The minerals here seen as you pass Are coal and iron, petroleum and gas. The southeastern part is broken and hilly, 11 The northwestern part is rolling prairie. Many fine cities in the Hoosier state, Of which we'll name seven or eight: Indianapolis, Terre Haute, Fort Wayne, Vin- cennes, Lafayette, Logansport, Evansville and South Bend, Elwood, Crawfordsville, Marion and Remington, Muncie, Frankfort, New Albany and Bloomington. The silvery rivers with their scenery grand Flow in all directions in the Hoosier land: The Wabash and White, the Ohio and St. Joe, The Tippecanoe, Kankakee and White Water too. A further description we must decline, So now we pass on over the line. MY TRAVELS THROUGH THE UNITED STATES. ILLINOIS. IN Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-three We started out our country to see. The Illinois prairies there covered with farms Attracted our attention with their lovely charms, This is the garden of the world for corn — We saw the small grain while passing along. Of lakes and streams it has a large number, Along their green banks is the fine timber: There oak, and hickory, walnut and beech; 12 Also berries and cherries, apples and peach, Plums and grapes of the various kinds; Minerals, iron and lead, and the coal in the mines. The central part rolling, the southern hilly, Here in the winter it becomes quite chilly. The game is the opossum, badger and hare, The duck, goose, crane and pheasant are there. As among the wide prairie farms we roam We still see traces of the Indian's home. Then onward and upward is her banner unfurled, 'Tis the greatest railroad state in the world. CHICAGO. THEN we visit Chicago on our line. And about its progress we will tell: Masonic Temple and Auditorium fine, Jackson Park and Museum known so well; The stockyards and the waterworks next, Then the great medical museum nigh; Washington and Garfield Parks nicely fixed. Pawn shops on South Clark we pass by, Then through Union and Lincoln too, The piers and the boulevards. From elevated trains many things we view: Fine residences and beautiful yards; We rode a steamer out on the lake. Saw Montgomery Ward and Cooper's too. And the fine stores along on State; 13 The fine churches next we view, The cemeteries are next in our routine, Down through the tunnel under the river, From the top of the Temple a fine scene, Saw the fine hotels, — people were clever; Then next we visited the -Board of Trade, Then through the Court House next we find. And saw the factory where machinery is made. Saw the lumber yards with oak, poplar and pine.. MISSOURI. THEN on southwestward across the line Into Missouri, with her genial clime. Here was once the carnage of the Blue and the Gray- Each thought himself right in the heat of the fray. The northern part is rolling, with many a farm, The southern is mountainous, with the coal and iron; Lead and copper they sometimes find And other minerals are also mined. The products are wheat, oats, corn and hogs, Also buckwheat and barley, fine timber and logs;. The gum, oak, hickory and cypress prevails, And many old fences made of split rails; Many kinds of fruits there are found, Apples, cherries and plums there abound; 14 Plenty of game, if 'tis hunting you wish; The streams abound with many fine fish; The game is the mink, raccoon, the deer and bear, The turkey and pheasant and wild ducks are there. ARKANSAS ^^TILjL on southwestward, we cross the line, \_J To visit Arkansas, with its sunny clime. Its products are wheat and oats, cotton and corn: Their minerals are lead and coal, salt and iron; Also peaches and apples to suit every taste, Persimmons and berries are going to waste. We saw plenty of game in the fields and brush. The streams are lined with thousands of fish; Several kinds of timber along the line: Pecan and hickory, oak, spruce and pine. The game is the wildcat, raccoon and lynx, Otter, the deer and hare, the weasel and minks. Over this state are many beautiful scenes, The bubbling fountains and medical hot springs. The east is a level undulating plain. Western is rocky and mountainous in the main. Arkansas and Pecos, the Black, White and Red Are rivers that drain its great watershed. Principal towns are Little Rock and Washington, Also Russelville, Atkins, Fort Smith and Camden. 15 INDIAN TERRITORY TO continue our geographical story, We cross into Indian Territory. Then over this beautiful land, as we roam We see the hut and wigwam, the Indian's home. It has a fine climate and rich soil too — its products are rye, potatoes and also tobacco; The products of the mines we see as we stroll: Petroleum, salt and iron, zinc, copper and gold. The tribes are Creeks, Seminoles and Choctaws, Cherokee and Comanches, Osage and Chickasaws The country presents a beautiful scene; Its slopes are covered with living green; The principal products out this way, Wheat, cotton and corn, oats and hay. A great many men have leased them a farm — The tribes are civil and will do no harm. 'Tis against their belief to labor we also found. Their faith is fixed on a Happy Hunting Ground, About their amusements I will now relate — Fire, Sun and War dances of early date; To sorrie of their sports I'll now give space — Fishing and hunting, also the foot race. Many dress like Whites, though some yet Wear the original cloth and blanket. They sometimes sing: "You see me now, you know me here. You say, 'Poor Injun, never fear,' We mid you night and day, night and day." 16 The chief towns are McAllister, Wagoner and Muscogee, Pierceall and Paul's Valley, Norman and Cherokee. The chief rivers are the Washita and Cimarron, The North Fork and Red, Arkansas and Canadian. OKLAHOMA ONCE again we cross the line Into Oklahoma's sunny clime. An attempt to describe it would be in vain — Its hills and valleys, its fields and plains. Come, pass along with me, if you please, View its rivers and large forest trees; With its healing streams and balmy air. Cannot be excelled in the States anywhere. Touched by Nature's hand divine, Its songs of beauty are sublime. Flowers and fruits of an abundant yield, Their corn and wheat and cotton field. Their beautiful gardens of early spring, Their flowers the rich fragrance bring, The birds are warbling their morning song. The winters are short, the summers are long. Welcome, kind stranger: Why do you roam? Come to this land and seek you a home. You will find at each corner and at every station In bright letters of gold, our motto is PROGRES- SION. 17 We're blessed with health and wealth on every hand, And the banner of prosperity waves over our land, Many beautiful cities dot its plains, Guthrie and El Reno, Perry and other names; Over its plains the buffalo once roamed. 'Tis a commonwealth, our friends' cottage home. TEXAS ON southward, in our journey, we bear Across into Texas, the great lone star. Seven hundred and fifty wide is the state. While east and west, it now measures eight. In the west are the mountains, in the east it is hilly, In the south, warm in winter, in the north, quite chilly. Immense herds of cattle and ponies are found There grazing the grasses that richly abound; Tropical fruits of the various kinds. Grow down in Texas on trees and vines; 'Tis a great state for cotton and grain. But much of the west is a sandy plain. In the east you hear the shingle mills And see the large turpentine stills. Of large mills there are quite a number. Of the yellow pine they make fine lumber. On south in our journey we go Till we reach the Gulf of Mexico. 18 Branding on the Plains Bnll Fight on the Plains— AA^estern Texas I'll now give their sports in axidition, Hunting and oystering, also in fishing Game is the rabbit, antelope and prairie dog, The opossum and bear, raccoon and wild hog. The wild turkey and duck, the goose, brant and pelican. Settlers are white and colored, the Indian and Mexican. The beautiful flowers perfume the breeze. With its singing birds and humming bees; We hear the invitation as we pass along, Nature is singing its glad welcome song, The hills are dressed in living green. And the mossy banks along the stream; Its fields are like the fairy gardens of old, Their beauty surpasses the stories long told. Many lovely streams are threading the land. The Colorado and Red and the Rio Grande. The thriving cities are Fort Worth and Austin, Galveston and El Paso, Port Arthur and Houston Bidding the lone star adieu, we go Across the line into Old Mexico. MEXICO. THE Mexicans are of Spanish descent. Whose ancestors came to this government They number twelve million, black and white. Of which three million can read and write. 20 We see many plateaus, as southward we roam. People dress light, the adobe in their home. There are high mountains and the volcanoes Whose peaks are covered with perpetual snows. The landscapes are of living green, With fertile valleys along the streams. The tropical fruits are sweet and good. There's cedar and ebony, mahogany and dyewood„ Oranges and figs and cocoanut tree. Along the streams that flow to the sea, There are the castles and towers of old; The minerals are silver, copper and gold; They raise the burrows, goats, cattle and sheep,. Also cotton and coffee, rice, barley and wheat. They have a republican form of government, The house, the senate and the president. Thinking this far enough south to go, We turn and cross into New Mexico. NEW MEXICO. THE Spanish, in an early day, Came and settled at Santa Fe. In the Pecos Valley grand sceneries unfold. The minerals are copper, silver and gold; Much game is found on the mountain slope. The mountain sheep, the bear and the antelope. They raise wheat, oats and other grain. They use irrigation for want of rain; 21 They have many ranches on the plains, Fine sceneries we viewed from the trains. Thousands of acres of barren lands, The arid beds of the burning sands; Here the tree cactus and mesquit grow. The mountains are covered with perpetual snow; The timbers here along our line, The Cottonwood, cedar and the pine. Here we saw there while moving along, The Indians living in their wigwams. Rivers like silver threads upon the lands, Are the Canadian, Pecos and the Rio Grande; Albuquerque and Santa Fe are cities of note. Las Vegas and Las Cruces were on our route. KANSAS. WE take our leave of New Mexico, Across the line into Kansas we go. The western part of this state In many places they irrigate. 'Tis here we find some very good land, Yet much of the west is rocks and sand. Here horses and cattle and sheep are seen, In the east are waving fields of grain; There in minerals they are not behind. Salt and petroleum, coal and iron are mined. Their game is scarce, though there's yet Deer and jack rabbits — they're hard to get — The opossum and coon, the skunk and antelope, 22 The mink and wildcat, the badger and coyote; Many birds o'er the state fly to any fro, The hawk and the buzzard, the eagle and crow, Also the duck and goose, the turkey and crane, And a great many others seen from the train. Timbers are oak and walnut, hickory and gum. Also the maple and ash, cottonwood and pecan. In many parts there are beautiful scenes, Among the hills and along the streams. Still passing onward, making our rounds, Through many cities and thriving towns, Many streams through the state we see as we go, The Kansas, Cimarron and Arkansas flow. POEM ON THE DELAWARE SPRINGS. ONCE again we cross the Kansas line. Into Wilson county, to the Delaware Springs, Here among the woody hills the traveler may rest, From the Delawarfe Springs there quench his thirst. Here among the hills Nature's beauty doth unfold, 'Twas the home of the Delaware Indians, we're told. ''I have been singing for centuries past, I was discovered by the Red Man at last, I am bubbling beneath the rocky cliff." The first settler here was Joseph Smith. "A balm for all ailments, I stop the aching head, I run down among the rocks like a silver thread; How many faint hearts I've sent happy away, Forever smiling as 1 flow night and day, I laugh at diseases and smile at pain, My sparkling waters put life in your veins; I am like the fountains of immortal youth — Use the beverage, you'll find it the truth — Bring forth your riches, silver and gold, My price is above rubies the coffers doth hold. Roll on, checkered seasons; bring tempest or snow, Here forever Nature's God doth command me to flow." IOWA. ON northeastward we wend our way. Across the old Missouri into Iowa. This state also has its charms, Its wooded hills and prairie farms — Many resorts we saw from the train. The products are corn and other grain; Their timber is oak, hickory and cottonwood. Also berries and cherries and apples good. The game is the opossum, the rabbit and deer, Also the mink and weasel and other game here. Still on northeastward the scenery is fine. The minerals here are lead, coal and iron. For agriculture 'tis better than other states, Their fruits are apples, berries and grapes. The central is level, the east and west hilly; 24 bo o CD ft ft I 'So bO O The long winters here are cold and chilly. Threading the land and flowing forever Are the Des Moines, Iowa and Cedar rivers. I'll name a few cities just for luck, Des Moines, Davenport, Dubuque and Keokuk. Thence we fly eastward at a wonderful rate. Till we reach our home, the Hoosier state. • MICHIGAN. ON a journey once again we're bound. To see what wonders might be found. Into Michigan we cross the line, Visit the state of the white pine. Echoes ring from the lake to the hills, Bringing the sound of the buzzing mills; Hundreds of acres, by looking back, Of half burned timber along the track. In all these woods by looking round, Abundance of game can there be found: The wildcat and wolf, lynx and wolverine, The deer and bear and elk are seen. The polecat, weasel, the skunk and hare. Mink and muskrat and woodchuck are there, The pigeon and pheasant, the duck and rail, The goose and brant, the crane and quail. The hawk and buzzard, the owl and crow, Bluejay and blackbird, and others we know. The staple articles are flour and lumber, Fruit and grain and hogs a large number. 26 Mr-^~ ""^-^^^2^ -sj^fel^^ "'^^^^^ ~'^^^tB-~ 'L^m^ ^^^^^ -' r'^^^'^''' •''i^7^JB^t^'^'»'•~*'^s^H8fei(^^' '^^^^^^' i^^^; ^^■HHh^^^' j^ |^^^E>^^^^^_^^ # ^^gmsmm^^>mA (BS^^-sas^iraB^^«aaEJ^«!T.^alast4^ •*^:. ■;-i ^aii ^^^^^^^Si^^^am^^mBSmBmSl v i.y^'^Sls^^^^^^^^^^^sii^fS^^^^^^y ^^-^ '-^SV^-* . .^^^^ia^^^^^^ 1: v.*^^iy h^^:>^^^Pn ^j^^^M^PMg;J ^^^^. ^^^E^H ^^^^k'""!^^ '^^hII^^^^Sh iHh^^^kj^^p^ 'i^^^^H^HII^^H l^j^ iiiiiiiiijjiijj^^jjjj! »^ ^^^^E jIhBhI^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^HI r^Si|gBpMt|^M^^^^^^^MpBpPBBWF:'; v-^^- ^■^HHh&h^L.^^^^.^^^^j'^iw^ TMBIiniiiF' /jiiiilwIiB^^^^B^^BBBBllPlFr^TT ^(T^Sl^HKadHHI ^^H|i^^^^^'^^^H|^^^^Hp^P^fr'|>^^HHp ^^^^^^^^^^l^tev 3S HSHL'~"?N^^^^^^^^^^^#lr^E9H^ Mackinac Island, Northern Michigan Straits of Mackinac The rolling country with a sandy loam. Hunting and fishing many tourists come. Thence our course northward we take Till we cross the Mackinac Strait, Thence along Lake Superior's shore They find abundance of copper ore. Chief cities are Lansing, Detroit and Saginaw, Jackson, Grand Rapids and Mackinaw. WISCONSIN. 7j\ISCONSlN is next in the belt of White VL/ Pine, With its milling and lumber along the line; Plenty of labor without a combining. Through the state farming and mining. They raise potatoes and rye, tobacco and hops. Corn and wheat are the principal crops. Parts of the country are rolling and rough, While others are level and good enough. The game in the woods we find here Polecat and weasel, the skunk and hare, Mink, muskrat, the squirrel and woodchuck, The pigeon and pheasant, the quail and duck, The goose and brant, the crane and rail, The hawk and buzzard, the owl and quail. The bluejay and blackbird and others we know. The staple articles are flour and lumber, too. Fruit, grain and hogs we see as we roam. 28 r:) fl +-> -(-:> (11 n-) X ra ^ r-t UJ o ^ x^ ^ cd o Jd ^ (^ M n 5 Pi hjO ^ +i- ^ Pi cd o Oh W >> S 1^ fd v-( n OJ P4 CD > CO CD Cd O The country is rolling and of a sandy loam. Many hunts and fishing the tourists make. Then our course northwestward we take. MINNESOTA. ON into Minnesota the appearance the same. Milling and mining and plenty of game; All kinds of scenery here you wish, Hundreds of lakes and thousands of fish; The minerals are iron, copper and coal. St. z\nthony and Minnehaha Falls the waters roll. The city of Minneapolis is not far away, With the largest flouring mills of the day. The principal products are corn and wheat. The fruits are apples and grapes so sweet, Peaches and crabs and fine cherries, Pears and plums, quinces and berries. The game is the mink, badger and hare, The weasel, muskrat, the skunk and bear, The fox, the lynx and wolf in his den. The duck and goose, brant and mudhen. The pheasant and chicken, quail and snipe, Kingfisher and blackbird, pigeon and shrike. The cities are Minneapolis and St. Paul, Duluth and White Earth, — these are not all. This state is noted for the number of its lakes,. Here, its source the great Mississippi takes. 30 Scenes in Wisconsin Summer and. a September Breeze SOUTH DAKOTA. NOW, on leaving the state of Minnesota, The crops are good in South Dakota; Eastern part is the northwestern plains Covered with farms and beautiful claims. They raise potatoes, turnips, beans and grain; They have long winters and not much rain. Vineyards and berries as we passed through, And many fruitful fields and gardens too; In the western part are the Bad Lands, And along the Alissouri are the sands: Among the Black Hills grand sceneries unfold. They find lead, petroleum, silver and gold. In one cliff we find out through here There are three caves arranged in one tier, In their palisades and castle halls, Sparkle like diamonds on the walls, Crystalized rock, like silver sheen, In the different rooms of the caves are seen. The rivers are White, Missouri and Dakota too, The Vermillion and Cheyenne and Big Sioux; The towns are Pierre and Huron, Deadwood and Yankton, Also Chamberlain and Mitchell, Aberdeen, and Watertown. 32 NORTH DAKOTA. ^^TILL on into North Dakota we pass, J With its fine farms and buffalo grass; The products are flax, potatoes and grain, In the west is a vast and fertile plain. It has the coldest climate in the States, Sixty below zero in the winter it makes. In the northeastern part, along the line, Some very fine oak timber there we find. Through the northwest we see as we stroll. Along the rich valleys an abundance of coal. The chicken and duck and crane are found, Woodchuck and badger that live in the ground, The fox and squirrel, the wolf in his den. The lark and the quail, the robin and wren — Other birds and animals do here dwell Of which we have no time to tell. Many towns and cities its prairies dot, Bismarck and Jamestown, Fargo and Minot. A few good rivers find their way through its plains, There's the Missouri and Red, the Park and the James. MANITOBA. WE visit Manitoba, north of the States, Mostly level prairies, with rivers and lakes: 'Tis the greatest wheat country in the world, In English possessions their flag is unfurled. 33 Minnehaha Falls in Minnesota In the rich soil they raise berries of every sort, But the disadvantage here is, the summers are short. Also up through there is plenty of game, Ducks, geese, brants, and sandhill crane, Here the deer and moose have full sway. Along the streams the water rodents play. Back into Dakota, thence westward we sped. The prairies resembled a huge flower-bed. MONTANA. yy/l ONTANA is next as we travel along, ./ JL With its Indian huts and white wigwam; " Along these slopes the land is cheap, The people raise large flocks of sheep. Their occupations are mining and farming and making lumber. The plains are covered with cattle, a very large number. The minerals are copper, silver and gold, Also vast beds of the finest of coal. Wonderful scenes in the mountains display, Pillars and geysers and falls on the way. In the east and central part are wide, grassy plains. In the western part are the vast mountain chains. O'er rivers and valleys we peacefully glide, Then who would dare stop our pleasant ride? But, hush, hark, she's going to stop! Alas, our train, by bandits, held up! 35 ho Sometimes on the frontier it gets pretty hot, One car blown to pieces and three pistols shot, — They got seventy-five thousand, well I remember, And were captured at New Orleans in November. Safe once again we continue our flight, The grand old Rockies are coming in sight, — So majestic they stand, as if they were proud. With their snow-capped peaks above the cloud. On westward in our journey we go, A wonder we find, a stone buffalo. In the southern part Custer's monument stands, Where his soldiers were slain by Indian bands; 'Twas here that our brave hero fell. The Indians charged with a savage yell. Many beautiful rivers this state adorn: The Missouri, Yellowstone and Big Horn. Then we pass through Butte, Billings and also Helena, Deer Lodge and Stillwater, Boulder and Missoula are seen. Through tunnels and valleys onward Till in July when we are up in the sno^ Then down the mountains we glide. With greater speed on the other side, With the cars rocking to and fro. we )W, IDAHO. WE here viewed the scenes of Idaho. The resources there are few in number, Chiefly confined to mining and lumber. 37 Great Falls, Montana Over 250 ft. high The game along the mountain slope Are deer and bear and the antelope; Here also along the rough, rocky steep, The wolf and cougar and mountain sheep. Some lovely falls beneath our feet Come dashing down two hundred feet. In the south central part is a lava-bed. Four hundred miles long on the watershed. Their timbers are cedar, the spruce and pine; Gold, silver and copper are found in the mine. Idaho's rivers, how swiftly they run, St. Joseph and Salmon and the Shoshone. Among the cities of this rocky commonwealth Boise, Lewiston and Idaho are noted for health. Still on westward, with scarce time to wait, We then cross the line into Washington state. WASHINGTON. ZyXITH its beauty surpassing most other states VJL/ Its mountains and valleys, its rivers and lakes. There's game in abundance we find there, Out in the woods, the deer and the bear, The wolf and fox, cougar and wildcat, The lynx, the otter, beaver and muskrat. Now we again ascend the mountain grade And cross the crest of the great Cascade. Then up through valleys and tunnels we climb Till we again reach snow in the summer time. 39 Idaho Indian Dancers The train rushes on past the mountain's peak, At the great elevation of nine thousand feet — To describe its beautiful castles, words are vain, Or its towers and spires, we view from the train; In vain my fancies strive to aid In describing to you the Cascade, Words can't tell, or sentence be given Of that range towering towards heaven. He who did Nature's work on this ball, Is blessed forever and better than all. Down the valley the cedars we pass by. Some of them grow three hundred feet high; Fruits of all kinds deck the valley below. Berries and cherries and apple trees grow; Along the rivers and among the hills We hear the hum of the shingle mills; Minerals are graphite, lead and coal. Zinc and copper, silver and gold; Timbers are cedar, spruce, fir and pine, There's also many others of various kind. Now, once again, our train is in motion, Swiftly we ride on towards the ocean. Till safe in our journey we reach The grand old ocean's sandy beach. Many of the meandering streams we cross, Skikomish, Shoshone and Columbia we pass. Towns are Spokane, Walla Walla, Seattle and Dayton, Also Snohomish and Everett, Olympia and Wash- ington. Thence, for a change, a steamer we ride, 41 Cedar Tree near Snohomish in V^^ashlngton About 250 feet high And sail far out over the ocean tide, We saw the rolling billows as they sway, And there watch the porpoise in his play; We saw a combat between swordhsh and whale, The swordfish would pierce both head and tail; In vain he resented the best he could, And the sea was crimson with his blood, Then retreating with rapid flight They soon were far beyond our sight. OREGON ^^OON our ocean trip is done, yjy We land at Portland in Oregon, Out here along the coast the climate is good, We saw St, Helens and Rainier and old Mt. Hood; The average height of all these three Is thirteen thousand feet above the sea; To their peaks the tourists go, Where they find the perpetual snow. Oregon's products are well worth knowing,-- Mining, agriculture and the fruit growing; Minerals are iron, silver and copper ore. Also gold and lead and several more. Here the timber is very good, Pine, fir, the cedar and redwood, Wheat and barley, potatoes and corn. We saw fine gardens while passing on; And other products they also raise, 43 Apples and peaches, pears and cherries, Grapes and prunes, crabs and berries. The industries followed for an occupation Are wool growing and lumbering, And also the salmon fishing. The mountain scenery of terraced shelves, The Falls of Columbia and also the dales. Cities are Oakland, Salem, The Dalles and Port- land, Harrisburg and Ashland, Albany and Pendleton. Rivers Columbia, Shoshone, and others there be That, like silvery streams, roll to the sea. 45 PI o +J bo •.—I CO bo 'bo bO O BOOK NUMBER TWO -awrsgasap.^^fessj' O Oj CD O 'So ho o h1 ,,t^^ '^^ CALIFORNIA ^^ TILL on southward, past the mountain gray, \y^_y Through tunnels and valleys we find our way In our southward journey through, Safely we land in California too. Now, in passing, we glance to the right, There old Mt. Shasta appears in sight, — There above the ocean it rears its head, Fourteen thousand feet the mariner said; There we drank from its crystal fountain, The soda water gushing off the mountain. On leaving this mount covered with snow, We sped on our way towards San Francisco. 'Tis in California where you will find People from every country and clime. Then once again o'er the ocean blue, Southward we sail in a steamer true; — Then just before the day was done We saw the seals basking in the sun. Finally the end of our journey we reach, We saw the beautiful shell on the beach. We land at Los Angeles, a southern port. Where grow the tropical plants and fruit. Timbers are redwood, spruce and pine, Liveoak and fir, cedar, birch and palm. Many precious stones are found in this state, 4 49 "'M HHpi j| ^^Bw^HS ^ HhH^^'^ — ii^*i < ^^^^^ ■ M % ii o ho CD Ph O The opal and sapphire, the topaz and agate. California's resources in that region old, Lumbering and mining, also fruits and gold. Some great wonders are seen over here — The devil's shop, teakettle and arm-chair, The petrified forest in a lake so deep, The Yosemite Falls some two thousand feet, Witch's caldron, devil's oven, and kitchen, one sees, Besides the gigantic forests of redwood trees Thirty feet in diameter, three hundred feet high, And many caves and canons we saw near by. The lemons, dates and figs and pineapples grow. And many lofty peaks that are covered with snow. The ostrich farms we next passed through, Then saw the volcano and lava-beds too; And yet many other beautiful scenes we now pass by — Natural bridge, golden gate and crystal palace high; We cross the San Joaquin, Klamath and Sacra- mento, Also the Merced and American and the Colorado. We visited Sacramento, Oakland and San Jose, Stockton, Los Angeles, and also Santa Rosa, San Bernardino, the Needles and San Diego, Nevada City, Wilmington and San Francisco. 51 ARIZONA. 7V/I OVING on eastward, along the way, J_ A. We cross the line into Arizona. For agriculture in this state People through here irrigate. Closed in by mountains, like ancient gates, 'Tis the hottest climate in the United States. In the number of minerals this state excels: The people take from the mountains and hills The quicksilver and copper, lead and cinnabar, Gold, borax, the platinum and silver are there. Many tropical fruits are also found, Bananas, pineapples and lemons abound. The timbers are pine, cedar and redwood, The palm and spruce, larch and cottonwood; The precious stones, beryl, topaz and agate. Amethyst and opal, sapphire and garnet. Their picturesque scenery now meets the eye, Of the falls, eighteen hundred feet high; Now the great canon we see while passing on, One to thirteen miles wide and two hundred long, With its great rocky crags piercing the sky. Their vertical walls seven thousand feet high. Also to many other caves and canons we come, Beside the shelves of the cliff-dwellers' home. Game in the mountains, birds in the trees, Many barren tablelands far above the seas. There's a greater wonder than any of these — Eighteen hundred acres of petrified trees. Sparkling streams, a serpentine flow, 53 1- .J ^^^UMfH 1 ''^^^ii^ .;^HH (fr- ^' "' ^ilH ■w pill" -i J 1 i'mBi J n 1^,?^.. »i:/ n" Are the Gila and the great Colorado. Three good cities to this state belong: Prescott and Phoenix and also Tucson. NEVADA. THEN on our journey past crystal fountains, We climb the great Sierra Nevada moun- tains. Out here along the rough and rocky steep Snow falls in winter fourteen feet deep; The snow comes down in such heavy beds, Miles of track are covered with sheds. The sun was moving on his west decline As we crossed the great Nevada line. The people here follow mining and grazing, There is agriculture and also fruit raising. There in the mountains along the hne We find in abundance the yellow pine; Minerals are gold and silver, copper and tm, With platinum and zinc and nickel thrown m; The timbers are pine and spruce, cedar and fir, They quarry limestone, granite and marble here. The principal game on its mountain slope: The wildcat, jack rabbit and the antelope, Chickens and pheasants and cock of the plains. Out in these parts it very seldom rains. This is the poorest of all the states, Many mountain chains its surface breaks. 55 A few short rivers here that flow, The Reese and Walker and the Colorado. Cities are Reno, Eureka and Carson, Virginia City, Wadsworth and Dayton. On northeastward moves our train Across the great American plain, With nothing to see on the way as we go Except the sage brush and cactus that grow. The sand is piled by the winds that blow, There in moving heaps like drifted snow. At last the journey of the plains we make And safely arrive in Utah at Great Salt Lake. UTAH. aTAH'S great wealth here you will find Is in grazing, and fruit, and the mine. The Great Salt Lake along the mountain side, Is seventy-five miles long and thirty wide. We visit Salt Lake and Ogden of the central west. And it is quite hard to tell which city is the best. Here the Mormons their temple adorn. That cost three million dollars or more. The principal fruits in the orchards here Are the peaches, the plums, apple and pear. Here among the wonders of this state Is the Devil's Slide and Castle Gate. Some game is found along the rocky steep, The bear and deer, the wolf and mountain sheep. 57 Using irrigation, they raise upon the farm Wheat, oats and barley, potatoes and corn. Some beautiful rivers in this state are seen, The Jordan and Colorado, the Silver and Green. Eastward in our journey we go, Across the line into Colorado. COLORADO. WE pass the continental divide where our flag is unfurled Over the Rio Grande, the highest railroad in the world. There we stood with the mountains beneath our feet, At an elevation of ten thousand eight hundred feet; Thence down the mountain side far below, Through the valleys into the canons we go, — Their walls on each side seem to meet Far above our heads, seven thousand feet. Colorado grows wealthier day by day. From minerals produce the ores that pay. We visit Rocky Ford near the mountain slope Where they raise the melons and cantaloup. We visited Pike's Peak and Manitou And explored William's canon through Cave of the Winds, with walls so bright. With its crystal formation and stalactite; In the Garden of the Gods awhile we stayed 59 Royal Gorge, Colorado Viewing the formations our Creator had made. The iron, soda and Hot Springs too, Flowing from the rocks near Manitou. This state has north, south and central parks, Glenwood, Colorado Springs and other resorts. We saw the old terraces covered with moss. And the majestic Mount of the Holy Cross. The game we saw along our route: The otter and lynx, fox and coyote, The wolf and elk, deer and bear, The mountain sheep and cougar; The birds are sagehen, chicken and grouse. Wild turkey and duck, crane and wild goose. All Nature was singing in a voice so fair. The birds in the trees, bees in the air. The timber is pine, cedar and cottonwood, To cure consumption the climate is good. Mining and agriculture are the chief occupations, Colorado was admitted on the birthday of our nation. 'Tis here many beautiful rivers are seen, South Platte, Arkansas, Grande and Green. Some thriving towns in the valleys are seen, Pueblo and Denver, Manitou and Colorado Springs. WYOMING. ON northward our train goes humming. Till we cross the line into Wyoming. Here they follow mining and grazing, 61 CO Tl c:i a CD 5 O cd O O O S O 0) ^ Ti OJ ^1 bn 01 f1 O f_i (]■) f^ ,C UJ +-> o q-H Ti O rv( o O CD O O Also agriculture and garden raising. The climate is subject to various changes. The state is covered with mountain ranges. Many natural wonders do here abound, In the Yellowstone Park some are found, The crystal white terraces are seen around, Besides the palaces and the glistening mound, Many rocky canons and caves we pass by, Then the Devil's Monument piercing the sky; The Yellowstone geysers with springs near by, Some throw hot water three hundred feet high; Hundreds of springs do there abound. Hemmed in with the mountains around, Fifty-five miles wide, sixty-five long. Many snow-capped peaks glitter in the sun. The game is the elk, grizzly bear and porcupine, Caribou and mountain sheep and the wolverine, Mink and lynx, the otter and antelope Are hunted along the mountain slope; Black bear, cougar, deer and wildcat, Beaver and weasel, prairie dog and polecat, The duck and chicken, sagehen and grouse, The crane and quail, the pheasant and goose. Immense herds of sheep and cattle are seen, Ponies, caribous and buffalo on the green. Some of the principal timbers along the line Are the walnut and cedar, cottonwood and pine. Minerals are brown coal, iron, tin and gold. Summers are healthful, the winters very cold. Rivers, first. Big Sandy, next, Cheyenne, Sweetwater, Snake, North Platte, Shoshone. 63 We visited the city of Cheyenne, New Castle and Jasper and Sharon. NEBRASKA. PROM Wyoming we press our way Still on eastward into Nebraska. The western part is hilly and broken, we say — Here they raise thousands of tons of wild hay. The eastern part in the rich valleys along. They raise potatoes and barley, wheat and corn, Also rye and the vegetables, oats and cane; The central part is a vast central plain, Along through here are some Indian reservations. Agriculture and stockraising the chief occupations. Timbers are oak and hickory, black walnut and maple, Iron, coal and lead, the minerals that are staple. The prairies are dressed in a living green. With delightful meadows and lovely streams. Birds are the robin, cuckoo and wren. Chicken and duck, quail and sagehen. Cities are 'Omaha, Lincoln, Grand Island and Kearney, Also North Platte and Blair, Hastings and Conway. The rivers we saw while passing through. Were Missouri, Platte, Snake and Big Blue. Across Iowa and Illinois at a rapid rate. Soon we reach the grand old Hoosier state . 5 65 i^M^^ 1 1 1 1 m^^M H N ^Mm^^mmA 1 '^^^WJf^^tJT'^^Miilli ^ " '"""^'^''"^""•^H fl Ph KENTUCKY. THEN once again our journey we take And cross the river in Kentucky state. Here, with bluegrass the fields are lined, And many fine horses and cattle we find. In Kentucky we find as we go Corn and flax, hemp and tobacco. Its minerals are coal, iron and lead. Rich soil underlaid with gravel bed. The word Kentucky, we have found, Means the dark and bloody ground. This state, with its chasms and caves. Was once the home of the Southern slave. We visited the caves, in their rooms are seen, With their crystallized rocks like silver sheen; Streams of water in these caves we find. There's small fish that are totally blind; It's crystallized rooms and halls so fair, As though the fairies once had lived there. Timbers are oak, ash and hickory, very good. Also walnut and beech, maple and Cottonwood. The eastern is rough and quite hilly, The western a gentle rolling prairie. The beautiful rivers, like silver bands, Flow every direction through the lands: Rivers Cumberland and Kentucky there are seen, The Tennessee and Ohio, the Licking and Green. There are many large cities like Lexington, Covington and Frankfort, also Hutchinson. 67 We move south in our journey once more And bid adieu to the old Kentucky shore. TENNESSEE. THROUGH here the climate is good, we see, As we enter the state of sunny Tennessee. Many beautiful landscapes came to our view As across the fields and valleys we flew, With its eastern hills and mountain chains, Its western valleys and the fertile plains, Some caves in the mountains along the line, Here copper and coal and iron we find. There is some game in the mountains here: The opossum, raccoon, the fox and deer; The game birds are the pheasant and rail, The chickens and ducks, turkey and quail. More juicy fruits you'll never see, Than the people raise in Tennessee: There are apples and pears, plums and cherries. Persimmons, pawpaws and all kinds of berries. Many beautiful flowers and majestic trees, Where the lovely roses perfume the breeze. The timbers are oak, cottonwood and pine, Mulberry and honey locust along the line, The linn and gum, birch and poplar, Sycamore and maple, beech and box elder. Corn, wheat, hemp and the cotton grows. Tobacco and peanuts, flax and potatoes. The principal manufactures among the hills 69 ■■p ^>-^-5>vt^ Hp^^ ^'"1h 1^^^^^^'' V '^^ 1 r tiwWr wS^&L ^wP^i H^^ mm"' A 1 ^^^^H^%V^f> '- "'jf^mBgC f^^ ^9 ^^ 1 .v7 JH Point Lookout Near the Battlefield Tennessee Are flour and saw and the cotton mills. Lovely cities, both small and great, That cover the surface of this state: Nashville, Chattanooga, Victoria and Clarksville, Also Franklin and Kingston, Memphis and Knox- ville. Of navigable rivers there in Tennessee, Very few in number indeed there be, Cumberland and Tennessee and Duck River flow, And also Mississippi, the Wolfe and Buffalo. Now we leave the state with a deep sigh, So for the present we bid thee good-bye. MISSISSIPPI, TPIENCE on southward, among the pine, We cross then the Mississippi line. The scenes as viewed from the trains. Rivers and lakes and grassy plains; Along the Mississippi are the walnut hills, Here we find lumber and the shingle mills. Here in our travels along the way, I saw the minerals were iron and clay. The timber here is fairly good: Cypress, sweet gum and dogwood, Sycamore and cottonwood, and also mulberry, Black gum and live-oak, pine and cherry. Animals are muskrat and beaver, badger and otter, And many other animals that live in the water; Squirrel and rabbit, opossum and coon, . 71 The duck and goose, the crane and loon, The lizard and turtle, alligators and snakes, And other wild "varmints" of the canebrakes, Pelican and brant, seagull and swan, And others that in the water belong. The products are rice, cotton and potatoes. Cane, wheat and corn, tobacco and tomatoes. Before the appearance of our early leaves They ship north, tomatoes, beans and peas. We saw some good towns along the track. The majority of the people here are black. Their sports I will give in addition, Dancing and racing, hunting and fishing. A great variety of singing birds in the trees, Flowers in the meadows, covered with bees. We must move on, no longer to dwell. So, Mississippi, we bid thee farewell. LOUISIANA. THENCE on southward, into Louisiana state, Along the rivers we see the canebrake Where the live-oaks are covered with moss, Shells on the beach where the waves toss. Vines twine gracefully about the trees, The lily and roses perfume the breeze. Their timbers, the elm and cottonwood, Cypress, live-oak, pine and button wood. And many others that have no fault. The minerals are iron, coal and salt. 72 Along the streams are the busy mills, And near the Mississippi are the hills. They raise cotton, tobacco and sugarcane, Rice and early vegetables and small grain. New Orleans, the metropolis, near the river's mouth, Where molasses and cotton are exports of the South — There many ocean steamers, with flags unfurled, Visit New Orleans from all parts of the world. Many tropical fruits in this state are seen: Prunes and apricots, berries and nectarine, Also grapes and plums, pears and cherries. Peaches, persimmons, pineapples and mulberries; Other fruits to mention we have no time, That grow in Louisiana, the southern clime. Many large and sluggish streams are seen: Mississippi and Red, the Pearl and Sabine. Cities are New Orleans, Baton Rouge and Coving- ton, Franklin and Shreveporte, Vienna and Washing- ton. ALABAMA. ON eastward, into Alabama, we go. Again Mississippi we pass through. There are many beautiful and natural scenes-^ The Bland and Blout, and the Sulphur Springs. There is another spring Lll speak about, 73 Eight thousand gallons per minute flows out. This state contains a natural bridge, Fine caves and caverns along the ridge. Here we find the tall evergreen, Cedar, cypress and pine are seen, A number of others that are very good, Live-oak and hickory and the cottonwood. The climate here is warm and mild, Thousands of flowers growing wild. The minerals are lead and coal, Magnesia and iron, silver and gold; Some fine quarries here are known, Granite and marble and the limestone. At length, we the southern boundary reach, Visit the gulf with its fine sandy beach. Along the beach, where the tide waves swell, They pave the roads with the oyster shell; Beautiful cities in this southern clime: Mobile, Montgomery and Huntsville are fine. Many fine rivers have their flow Down toward the Gulf of Mexico: There's Tennessee and Alabama, Mobile and Tombigbee, Coosa, Tallapoosa, Apalachicola and Chattahoochee. They have fishing, agriculture and the mine, Manufacturing and distilling of turpentine. Also the game we see among the brakes: Alligators, lizards and the water snakes, The skunk and weasel, mink and deer, The fox and wolf, badger and hare. Pheasant and duck, turkey and quail, 74 Crane and snipe, woodcock and rail, Swan and pelican, buzzard and eagle, Kingfisher and owl, crow and seagull: The robin and thrush and canary are heard, The bobolink, cuckoo, linnet and mockingbird. There's a beautiful harbor in the Mobile Bay, To all foreign ports it sends vessels away. Birds in the trees, bees on the flowers, Who can describe this fairyland of ours, Sing of its beauty and to others tell! For the present we bid Alabama farewell. GEORGIA. ON eastward we find more to relate On a visit to the Georgia state. Georgia ranks first in the southern clime, Up to date and to advancement, there inclined. The principal occupations I now will number: Mining and agriculture, fishing and lumber. The Savannah Harbor is very fine, Ocean steamers are seen any time. The principal products I haven't forgotten. Are wheat, oats and corn, tobacco and cotton. Of the beautiful scenes I'll now make mention. Mountains and rivers attract great attention. The Red and Sulphur and Warm springs pass by, Also a number of waterfalls, many feet high; Many caves and canons may be seen Among the mountains of living green. 75 Minerals are zinc, coal, iron and gypsum, Copper and antimony, gold and magnesium, Graphite and asbestos, petroleum, in this state, The quartz and beryl, the garnet and agate. The animals are the bear, panther and wildcat, The fox, coon and mink, woodchuck and muskrat. The reptiles that crawl through the canebrake, Alligator and copperhead, moccasin and rattle- snake. Birds are the buzzard, hawk, owl and rail. Seagull and pelican, crow and nightingale; The ducks and pheasants and partridges abound, Bobolink, the blackbird and woodcock are found. The trees are live-oak, cypress and beech, Palmetto and cedar, sweet bay and birch, Wild orange and walnut, poplar and chestnut. The hickory and sycamore, the maple and tulip. The fir, the ash and elm, laurel and spruce, Pine, the gum, cottonwood and others of use. The beautiful streams there on every hand Flow from the mountains, through the land: The Altamaha, and Flint and the Chattahoochee, Oconee andOcmulgee, Broad and Witlelacoochee. Many beautiful cities with their spires. Reaching upward toward the bright stars: Macon and Thomasville, Bainbridge and Atlanta, Augusta and Milledgeville, Athens and Savannah. A sufficient description Fve given you, So now we will bid old Georgia adieu. 77 FLORIDA. THENCE southwestward to Pensacola Bay, Across the Florida line we take our way. Some natural scenery here is found, Ancient shell roads and many a mound. This great state of our sunny land Is nothing more than a body of sand. Still it is fertile, in many parts we see The orange, the lemon and cocoanut tree. Beyond the reach of snow and frost. The land of flowers it can boast. We gather fine shells of every hue Along the beach while passing through. Now we visit the old town of St. Augustine Old Spanish Fort and Slave Market are seen. Their beautiful lighthouse interested me. Casting its gleams far out on the sea. The palmetto with broad, green blades Fringes the borders of the everglades; A great many swamps and the canebrakes, Some lovely streams and very fine lakes; Near the coast where the tides ebb and flow Are hills of sand like mountains of snow. Along the mossy banks our boats we row And see the Spanish moss and mistletoe. The southern coast is like a bow And washed by the Gulf of Mexico; At Fort Tampa our banner is unfurled Over the Gulf, the warmest in the world. 79 CD CO pi ho pi X^ rd CO ■iH Pi Pi CQ r— I o Still northeastward our train is in motion, Along the eastern coast, washed by the ocean. I will name some exports if you wish: Oranges and pineapples, lumber and fish; Many other tropical fruits are seen, The dates and figs, apricot and nectarine. Timbers are live-oak, cocoanut and pine, The magnolia and spruce, the cypress and palm. A variety of game is found through here, Wildcat, the squirrel, the bear and deer; • The birds are the lark, linnet and wren. Bobolink, and sparrow, quail and mudhen. The rivers are sluggish and very slow With scarcely current enough to flow, Apalachicola, St. Johns and Kissimmee, St. Mary's and Perdoe, Peaos and Suwannee. The towns we find on that golden strand Are visited by tourists from every land: Jacksonville and Tallahassee, Pensacola and Tampa, St. Augustine and Orlando, Key West and Miama. Thence northeastward on our way. SOUTH CAROLINA. TILL we reach South Carolina. Of the population far and near The colored exceed in numbers^here. Principal industries along the line 6 81 Are fishing and farming, also the mine; They make the coke and rosin and turpentine, And a plenty of lumber from the yellow pine, Charleston, the capital, on the way. Fort Sumpter at the head of the bay, Sumptuous food the great oyster-beds yield; Near by is Spartanburg, the old battlefield. There's a number of wmter resorts in the state. Mountain trips for pleasure in summer they take. Products are cotton, corn and potatoes. The wheat and tobacco, rice and tomatoes. A harbor at Charleston we. see And near by is old Fort Moultrie. On north are the Blue Ridge Mountains, With springs, waterfalls and fountains. Many log houses in this region old. The minerals are coal, iron and gold. Game is scarce, but we find here Opossum and coon, the rabbit and deer, The skunk and weasel, badger and wildcat, The pheasant and quail, the duck and bat. There's some reptiles along the marshes and lakes, The alligator and lizard, moccasin and rattlesnakes. The cities are Columbia, Germantown and Charleston, Hamburg and Summerville, Florence and Darlington, The rivers run from the mountains to the sea. Edisto, the Black and the Great Pedee, The Ashley, and Cooper, Lynch's and Santee, Congaree and Savannah, Lumber and Wateree. 82 Still on northward through the land we fly, Then we bid South Carolina a long good-by. NORTH CAROLINA. THENCE northward on our way, Arriving safely in North Carolina. This state now I'll describe to you, Lakes and rivers and mountains too. The mountains in the west slope towards the sea, The climate is pure and bracing like Tennessee; The eastern part is low, swampy lands, Along the Atlantic is the white sands. There are also many colored folks here. The game the raccoon, wildcat and deer. The beaver and badger, bear and fox. Cranes, curlews, snipes and woodcocks. Morgantown in the mountains a fine retreat. And they raise here many fine fruits to eat: Fruits are apples, peaches, grapes and berries, Pears, plums, persimmons and fine cherries. The products are wheat, oats and hay. Potatoes, tobacco and rice, near the way. They make pitch and rosin and the turpentine, While limestone and coal and iron are mined. The principal seaport is at Wilmington, Where the ocean steamers make their run. The chief occupations are manufacturing and mining, 83 Fishing and gathering oysters and in farming. The principal cities are Fayetteville and Henderson, Raleigh and Charlotte, Newbern and Washington. Many rivers are flowing forevermore, Are seeking the old Atlantic shore: Cape Fear and Neuse, Roanoke and Haw, Yadkin and Lumber, Pamlico and Catawba. VIRGINIA. THENCE northeastward, across the state line, To visit the resorts and landscapes we find. Here's the natural bridge, the wonder of the world. And Washington's tomb, where our flag is unfurled, The Luray caverns are wonders there, too, The caves and tunnels we go through, — Here is a cave that is a hummer, Draws in winter and blows out in summer; The saltpetre cave and the Morris too, Well worth notice as you pass through. The Hawks' Nest is a pillar a thousand feet high, There are the medical and the mineral springs near by, Healing and hot and sulphur springs. And many other very curious things. Many kinds of timber in common use, 84 Hickory and walnut, the pine and spruce. We visit Point Comfort and Fortress Monroe, And the Norfolk navy yards as we go. Minerals are copper, iron and the coal, Zinc, lead and nickel, silver and gold, Mica and asbestos, antimony and cobalt. Saltpetre, the petroleum, mercury and salt, Red and brown hamatite and the pipe ore, Fine marble and limestone and several more. The products are wheat and potatoes, tobacco and hay, And many kinds of fruit along on the way. The home of our fathers in the Revolutionary War, And holds a prominent place in the union evermore. A number of presidents who are gone Were reared in their old Virginia home. The rivers on their eastward way Empty into the Chesapeake Bay: The James and Roanoke, the York and Potomac, Anna and Camunkey, Black Water and Rappa- hannock. The grand old towns through which we went Hold a prominent place in this government: There's Richmond and Portsmouth, Norfolk and Lynchburg, Alexandria and Germantown, Newport News and Petersburg. More about Virginia I've no time to tell. So, for the present, we bid it farewell. 85 DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA. THENCE to the District of Columbia we went And visited Washington, the seat of government. First the Capitol comes to our view, The House of Congress and Senate, too. Congressional Library and Supreme Court Room^ Also the Cabinet, thence up in the Dome; Then into the Postal Department we stroll. Situated on east of the great Capitol, Thence to the White House we wandered too, And saw the President as we passed through; Then we visit the great War Department, Next through the Art Gallery we went, Then to the Treasury, rustic and old, There're the silver and millions of gold; Thence to the Bureau of Printing we strayed. Where postage stamps and paper money are made, Then the Patent Office, with its models so great, Next the Post Office, a majestic building of late; We visit the Pension Office next on our way. Into the U. S. Printing Office next we stray; Thence through the Parks we also went, Then up to the top of the monument. The Washington Monument near by Which is five hundred fifty-five feet high. We visit the Agricultural Department, to see Its plants and flowers, its bushes and trees; We visit the Military Home so true, 8G Saw our brave boys, dressed in blue; Their words of welcome made us feel at home, We thought of our loved ones whence we had come. Thence to Arlington Heights, with its beds of green, With its flowers and roses, what a beautiful scene — Twas here that they laid our brave boys to rest, Who fought for our country, and saved it at last. Then Germantown we next passed through. Its beautiful hills and fortress too; The National Museum next we'll view, The Smithsonian Institute we go through — There're all kinds of shells that could be found, All kinds of birds from the countries around, The mounted animals from different climes. Fish, insects, and skeletons of various kinds. We saw the metals, marbles and granite. The diamonds, and sapphire, opal and agate, Other things that we haven't time to tell; So for the present we bid thee farewell. MARYLAND. THENCE on eastward, near at hand We visited the old state of Maryland. The climate is tempered by the ocean breeze, Where the winters are mild and seldom freeze. The soil is mostly of a sandy loam, 87 The I old state our grandfather's home. ■ The surface is hilly and mountainous too, Wild animals scarce where we passed through. There are resorts in the mountains and by the sea, In the trees the birds, on the flowers are the bee. The"Falls of the Cumberland there we pass by, Five hundred feet wide and one hundred feet high; This seems like a canon, with walls so high, With the bottom submerged and then left dry. The Deer and Oakland parks to see, With some very picturesque scenery. Here|they raise tobacco, corn and small grain; Copper, iron and coal are found in the vein, Magnesiafand galena and the hamatite. Wonderful forests of timber in sight: Oak, walnut and hickory are staple, Pine and cedar, cypress and maple. The chief large city is Baltimore, With its factory along the shore; Annapolis is the state capital, A fine place there to dwell, A fine harbor on the Chesapeake Bay, Where hundreds of vessels in safety lay. Maryland has fine colleges and schools, With strict discipline and best of rules. The rivers of Maryland are Susquehanna, Pantuxet, the Potomac, Nantucket, Youngahenna, The cities are Frederick, Baltimore and Hagers- town, Williamsport and Cumberland, Cambridge and Chesterton. 88 Chief points in the state I've given you, So for the present we bid Maryland adieu. DELAWARE. THENCE on eastward in our journey we bear Across the line into the state of Delaware, To talk about its flowers and trees, Its singing birds and humming bees. This state is bounded by the Atlantic coast, Though small, has scenery of which to boast. The surface unbroken, level almost. With fine resorts along the coast. They gather many oysters out in the bay, And to distant cities they ship them away; Plenty of fruit hangs within reach, The apple and grape, pear and peach. They raise oats, wheat, barley and corn And others we see while passing along. The southern sandy, the northern black loam. On which its many fine products are grown. They have a fine harbor at Wilmington, Where the ocean steamers go and come. Dover is the capital of the state, With all its improvements up to date. We have no time that we can spare. Will bid adieu to the state of Delaware. 89 NEW JERSEY. THEN still on northward by the bay, We cross the Jersey line on our way, This was the seat of the Revolutionary War, But now she sings of peace forevermore. The southern part level, and for farming very good, The northern is mountainous and covered with wood. Some watering places along the way, There're Long Branch and Atlantic City. Some wonderful scenery there we pass by, Hudson Palisades, six hundred feet high; Some fine lakes and waterfalls we pass, And lovely valleys of luxuriant grass. Its minerals are lead and granite fine. Timbers are oak, chestnut and pine. New Jersey is a manufacturing state, Its fruit productions are very great: Apples and plums, pears and cherries, Peaches and grapes, quinces and cranberries. Here they raise acres of garden truck For the cities of Brooklyn and New York. Trenton, the capital, is a line town, With other beautiful cities scattered around: New Brunswick, Newark, Jersey City and Paterson, Also Hoboken and Newton, Camden and Princeton. 90 Its rivers are the noted Delaware, Next the Hudson flows through there. In New Jersey we have not long to stay. So for the present we bid thee good-day, NEW YORK CITY. WE arrive in New York City, here The great metropolis of this hemisphere. Through Wall Street we passed along, Stood by the statue of Washington, Washington, a president first of all Conferred in office at Federal Hall. Through Central Park we wandered on, Saw Brooklyn Bridge, one mile long. In New York Harbor, national flags are unfurled On the vessels from all parts of the world; Then our lighthouse out in the bay — I mean the great Goddess of Liberty: On the elevated railway we then took a ride. Along o'er housetops so swiftly we glide. We saw the majestic building around the square, Also the Post Office while we were there. 91 o CD 5. CD QJJ m >i o o pq BOOK NUMBER THREE Black Canyon, Colorado CONNECTICUT. THEN for Connecticut we embarked, Bidding farewell to New York. We land at Hartford, the capital town. Many points of interest there we found: Beautiful streets, so neat and clean. Their parks with trees of evergreen. The northwestern part is covered with hills, With many fine pastures and the busy mills. There're some fine resorts along the coast, Of its many fine fruits it can boast; Some mineral springs we see as we go, The products are corn, wheat and tobacco; And many good factories here are seen, We hear the hum of the carding machine. They have fine schools and colleges too. Groves of good timber we pass through. • Of New England, Connecticut is a slice, The long winters bring plenty of ice. The southern coast of the state is bound By the sea and the Long Island Sound. The minerals are lead, clay, feldspar and silver. Granite and marble quarries on the Connecticut River. The towns are Norwich, Bridgeport and Stonington, Meriden, New London, Westportand Middletown. The silvery rivers that flow through the plains Are Connecticut and Housatonic and the Thames. At New Haven, Yale College that was founded of old, 95 Has a library of eighty thousand volumes, we're told; And also in their great museums They've thirty thousand specimens. Now with Connecticut we are through, Once more our journey we''ll pursue. RHODE ISLAND. THEN on eastward, across the line, Into Rhode Island, just on time. 'Tis the smallest state in the nation. Some points of interest I will mention: Many interesting ponds along the way, And the beauties of Narragansett Bay. 'Twas settled hundreds of years ago By the Norsemen; the antiquities show An old, ancient tower with inscriptions fine. Show that settlements were among the pine. The principal products are potatoes and hay, And many garden vegetables along the way. The town of Newport is the chief resort. Then at Providence we landed about dark — Tis one of the capitals of the state; Newport, the other, both up to date. The climate is tempered by the ocean freeze. In winter 'tis a check to the hard breeze. In the northeastern part is a waterfall, They've two principal rivers, that is all. 96 The facilities for fruits are very great, There're the apples, peaches, the pear and grape. The best college in the state to-day Is in Providence, on the Buzzard's Bay. Man-y other things we'd like to say. So bid the state a kind good-day, MASSACHUSETTS. THENCE on northward we cross the line Into Massachusets; 'tis a northern clime. The winters through the country here Are very cold and quite severe. 'Twas once a dark battlefield Where the English had to yield. Along the Connecticut river so grand Are the finest scenes in this land; In the northwestern part the pure mountain air, And some beautiful ponds and lakes so clear; There're some fine resorts along the beach That people in summer always love to- reach, Here the surface is rough and broken in two By the mountain chains that do pass through; There are some good farms along the way, Where they raise the tobacco, corn and hay; Butter and fine cheese, maple sugar and honey Are products by which they make their money. Some noted granite quarries do there abound, 7 97 Where monument and building stone are found, Iron, silver and copper are mined, The marble and coal we also find. There are many factories full of toilers, Making boots and shoes, guns and boilers, Saddles and musical instruments, also paper and locks, The cotton and woolen goods and the Rock- ford socks. Then the Falls of the Merrimac River, Where the sparkling waters like silver. We visited the old college there at Cambridge, Thence on towards Boston we cross the ridge. Boston is an ancient and historical town; Saw the arch, and Bunker Hill we found. Boston, for learning, is the national seat, None in the union can with her compete; Boston's library, with its many columns, Contains one hundred forty thousand volumes; It has the finest harbor on earth. There Boston's tea party had its birth. The principal rivers through Connecticut pass. And find their way to the ocean at last. The rivers there have the following names: Connecticut, Merrimac, Nashua and Thames. Massachusetts is a state that abounds In many ancient and historical towns: 9S Plymouth and Cambridge, Salem and Springfield, Lowell, Winchester, Waterville and Deerfield. All points of interest we cannot tell, So we bid Massachusetts a kind farewell. Then on a steamer we embark for a ride. And we pass many miles over the ocean tide. MAINE. THEN we land safe at Portland, Maine, We'll give a description of the same. This is the most northern of all the states, It is traversed by rivers and dotted by lakes. The climate in winter is very severe, 'Tis diversified by forests through here: The timbers are hemlock, oak and birch, Also hickory and walnut, pine and beech. This country is noted for its lumber. Of sawmills it has a large number. Their game is the skunk, opossum and deer, The wolverine, pine martin, the wolf and bear. The weasel and fox, beaver and muskrat, The polecat and mink, coon and wildcat; The birds are the duck, goose and quail. The brant and pigeon, the crane and rail — Other birds we saw from the train, Which we have not time here to name. The minerals are iron, zinc, the copper and stone, Also marble, and granite and slate are known. 99 The products are potatoes, barley and hay, And other cereals we saw by the way. Portland is the chief city on Casco Bay, A fine harbor where they ship lumber away. Some beautiful falls by the rocky steep, From seventy-five to two hundred feet. One of these is called the Austin, Then the Casco, Rumford and Lewiston, There're many resorts in our course we reach, York and Cape Elizabeth and old Orchard Beach. Penobscot and Androscoggin are rivers here, Kennebec and St. John's, St. Croix and the Deer. Northern part is mountainous, the southern a sandy loam. Again we turn our faces toward our Indiana home. NEW HAMPSHIRE. THENCE westward in our journey we bear On across the line into New Hampshire. It is called the Switzerland, Owing to its scenery so grand. Among the snow-capped peaks along. Are Lafayette and Mt. Washington; Gorges and canons are found there too, The lakes and waterfalls next in view. Portsmouth has a harbor so great, The only one within the state; Then for awhile by the river we tarry, 100 The Needle Mountains Southeastern California And saw forts Constitution, also McClary. The rivers from the White Mountains descend, The Merrimac, Connecticut and the Androscoggin. Fine towns nestle in the New Hampshire hills, Along the streams are a number of sawmills. Towns are Dover, Manchester, Nashua and Lebanon, Monadnock, Concord, Newport and Farmington. They have many factories up this way. Products are potatoes, barley and hay. The animals are deer and bear, badger and groundhog, Elk, wolf and the weasel, fox, wildcat and hedgehog; The birds are the ^ulls, ducks, geese and herons. Also brants and pigeons, the woodcock and bitterns. The state is noted for its health, Its schools and colleges and its wealth. All over the hills and the rocky steep. They raise some very fine flocks of sheep. One of the sources of making money Is raising bees and selling honey. This description is instructive and true, So we bid the state of New Hampshire adieu. VERMONT. THENCE on westward through New Hamp- shire pine. Into the state of Vermont we cross the line; 102 Ashland, on Lake Superior, Wisconsin The capital, Montpelier, is a lovely sight, And other good towns on the left and right. The principal products along the way: Potatoes and corn,, wheat and hay. Champlain is a large and beautiful lake Along the western line of this state; Many beautiful springs are gushing there Among the wooded hills and the valleys fair. There're many lofty peaks as we pass by. With majestic heads four thousand feet high. There thousands of sheep in the mountains graze, The people make vast quantities of butter and cheese. Minerals are gold and copper, iron and leads, Slate and granite and fine marble beds. The winters are cold and very long, The summers are short and quite warm. Some flouring mills along the beautiful streams. We pass sawmills too as our whistle screams. Large quantities of maple sugar there they make, For its health resorts this is a fine state. For good timber they have no lack: Maple and hickory, ash and the tamarack, Walnut and oak, chestnut and sassafras, Pine, beech and larch, fir and quaking asp. Of points in the Green Mountains I wish to speak: There're Mansfield and Killingston and Adam's Peak. Most of the rivers are southward bound. And empty their waters into Long Island Sound; Many fine streams of clear flowing water, 104 The Goddes of Liberty by Moonlight in New York Harbor White and Connecticut, the Salmon and Otter. Many pretty towns, with steeples and spires, Which are connected by the telegraph wires: Rutland and Montpelier, Windsor and Burlington, Newberg and Swanton, Brandon and Bennington. A few wild animals in the woods we find: Badger and wolverine, the skunk and porcupine. Many birds inhabit this northern clime. And warble their songs in the summer time. On southwestward now we pass And bid Vermont adieu at last. NEW YORK. THENCE westward in our journey we pass on Through the Hoosac Tunnel, five miles long; Safely we land at Albany, New York, On the Hudson River, a fine resort. We visit the State House close at hand, Which is the finest in all the land. Many noted falls in the state abound, There're more than twenty here are found; Also many fine lakes here to be seen. Whose banks are fringed with evergreen; The many snow-capped peaks we here pass by. Rearing their heads five thousand feet high. Many wonderful springs are bubbling there, How their waters sparkle in the sunny air; The Thousand Isles in the St. Lawrence river, 106 Where the waters move gently along forever. This is the greatest manufacturing state: Leather, rubber and woolen goods they make; Mining and agriculture are the chief pursuits, Also gathering oysters and raising fruits; Minerals are iron and copper, lead and sandstones, From the latter they make a large number of grindstones, We visit a number of cities as we go: Syracuse and West Point, Utica and Buffalo. I'll mention another important thing, That the state's prison is at Sing Sing. Along the hills are the vineyards fine. They raise grapes and make good wine; They have pears and peaches and plums so blue — It's noted for its apples and fine berries too. Fine timbers grow about the lakes, Filled with quadrupeds and snakes. Timbers are hickory and oak, walnut and birch. Pine and spruce, the maple, elder and beech. We bid the State of New York good-day, Then we take the train upon our way, After traversing through the states so many; Then we safely arrive in old Pennsylvania. PHILADELPHIA. 7t\E visit Philadelphia while on the move: Vs|>/ 'Tis called the City of Brotherly love; Then Franklin's grave next we pass, 107 And the City Hall twelve millions cost; The old Swedish church, built two hundred years ago, And the zoological gardens — there's a great show; We visited Liberty Hall, the Cradle of the Nation, Where our forefathers signed the great Declaration; Awhile at the United States mint we stayed And saw where our specie was being made; We saw marble columns standing there, And the marble steps most everywhere; In the library, founded by Franklin, here A hundred and thirty-five thousand volumes appear; Academy of Fine Arts next we come And saw much fine sculpture work done. Philadelphia is the third city of the States, 'Twas founded by the Quakers in early dates. PENNSYLVANIA. PENNSYLVANIA was settled by William Penn, In the Quaker religion, a leader of men. In the eastern part the great Alleghanies spread Between the Ohio and Atlantic a great watershed. We saw lead and iron, coal and copper mined. Many cliffs and gorges and canons we find. Mauch Chunk is a fine resort in the summer season, 'Tis in the center of the anthracite coal region. Through tunnels and around curves we go. The principal one is the Great Horseshoe. Many resorts on Lake Erie we see, 108 cd > CO CD o 'So 'cd o O Also in the mountains many there be. There're many fine springs along the line, Clear, warm and sulphur water we find. The state is mountainous, rolling and hilly, The winters are long, dreary and quite chilly. They raise buckwheat and rye, also corn and hay, We saw oil and salt and gas wells on the way. The Pittsburg steel and coal market here is the best. Where glass, steel and coal are shipped to the West. Principal towns are Altoona and Bedford, Allegheny and Scranton, also Harrisburg. They find the wildcat and lynx up among the rocks, Also the deer and bear, the wolf and the fox; They raise many horses, cattle and sheep, Along the rich valleys, by the rocky steep. We next view the Gettysburg battlefield Where the flower of Lee's army had to yield. The rivers that flow from the mountain side Travers*e the land, both far and wide: The Delaware and Monongahela, Schuylkill and Allegheny, The Raystown and Red Bank, Lehr and the Susquehanna. About Pennsylvania we've no more to say. So for the present we bid thee good-day. 110 Niagara Falls, Winter NIAGARA FALLS. WE visit the Falls of Niagara deep, Where the water drops one hundred sixty- five feet, The rushing current is dashed to spray, Then foaming and roaring, it rushes away; Cave of the Winds, just behind its sheet; Rock of Ages lies there at its feet; We glance over Niagara's walls From Goat Island above the Falls, In the sparkling waters down at her feet We saw in the mist a rainbow complete; The Three Sister islands are dressed in green With the turbulent waters there rolling between; A limestone slab, a solid block, Bravely stands old Table Rock. We cross this chasm on a bridge of wire With hundreds of feet suspended in the air. The maddening waves in frenzy roll Down o'er the rapids, beyond control, Till they reach a wall in their rapid course And turn to a whirlpool of mighty force; — This terrible maelstrom his vengeance to wreak Drilled a hold in the rock four hundred feet deep. Sing on, gentle river, and forever roll Away to the ocean, your final goal. 112 cti bO WEST VIRGINIA. THENCE on southward along the pine, We cross the West Virginia line. Listen to my story now, if you please, — I will tell you of its birds and bees, Its flowers and fruits, grasses and trees, And its golden grain that waves in the breeze. Some very interesting falls in the state to see: Green Briar and New River and Hughes, all three. There are some lovely scenes Along the Ohio and other streams: Green Briar and Sulphur springs are bubbling there, There's also a fine resort on the mountain here. Also many other springs, by looking round, In the different parts of the state are found. The minerals are coal, iron and petroleum, Salt, nickel and lead, also zinc and alum. Some elegant timber in the valleys we see: The oak, poplar, hemlock and walnut tree. The locust and chestnut, and willow and sycamore, The honey locust and ash,* the osage and several more. There are apples and quinces, plums and mul- berries. Peaches and pears, the wild and choke cherries, Grapes and service berries, currants and blue, The persimmons and pawpaws, haws and cherries, too. Charleston, the capital, there the laws they make. 114 This is a very productive and healthy state. Many fine cities among the West Virginia hills, Interspersed with the busy lumber mills. Next we crossed old Harpers Ferry, And saw the noted valley of the Shenandoah. The historical towns of this commonwealth: Wheeling and Charleston are noted for health; There 're Petersburg and Clarksburg and also Parkersburg, Lewisburg and Harpers Ferry, Morgantown and Martinsburg. The rivers are Shenandoah, Potomac, Ohio and the New, Monongahela and Green Briar, Big Sandy and the Hughes. Still we journey on in our homeward flight And bid West Virginia a kind good-night. OHIO. ACROSS the Ohio River then we migrate. The next in our journey the Ohio state.. Of its chief resources all combining Are agriculture, manufacturing also mining. Some wonderful scenes we find as we roam: Lake Erie and the Dayton Soldiers' Home; The ancient mound builders, it does appear. Made many mounds and earthworks through here. 115 Civilization with its magic hand Has changed the face of all the land — The clover fields and waving grain, Orchards and meadows show the same. The northeastern part is hilly and rough But the western part is level enough. The Muskegon and Black River Falls near by, And that of Cahoga two hundred feet high. Many Indian relics here are found, Bones, metal and pottery in the mound. The chief products of the day Are buckwheat, barley, oats and hay, The corn and wheat, sorghum and potatoes, Turnips, beans, peas and tomatoes, The apples and peaches, plums and cherries. Quinces, pears, crabs and service berries, Grapes and persimmons, apricots and pawpaws, Crabapples and huckleberries and black haws. The wool production is very great, As well as gardening in this state. The minerals are iron, coal and stone, Of the precious metals they have none. There is some game yet along the rills. And up among the rocks and wooded hills: The fox, the beaver, weasel and polecat, Mink, lynx and badger, squirrel and muskrat; The birds are wood duck and woodcock and the quail, Prairie chicken and pheasant, the plover and rail, Doves, pigeons and snipes, the goose and mudhen, Thrush and canary, the catbird and wren. 116 o o +^ P Some fine towns along Lake Erie, Cleveland, Toledo and Sandusky; Also Columbus and Cincinnati, Fores and Mays- ville, Springfield, Akron, Youngstown and Zanesville. The rivers of Ohio are short and deep, And a few of their names we'll now repeat: Ohio, Muskingum, Scioto and Duck, Miami, Maumee, Sandusky and Black. Timbers are white oak and burr oak, post oak and jack. The swamp oak and red, the yellow oak and black, Black willow and green, yellow willow and gray, The weeping and swamp willow along our way. White walnut and black, maple and beech. Honey locust and black osage and birch. White hickory and black, larch sassafras. Soft maple and silver, iron wood and quaking asp. White ash and swamp, sycamore and hackberry, Red elm and swamp, dogwood and mulberry, Still on westward we continue to roam, We safely arrive at our Indiana home. FICTITIOUS NAMES OF THE STATES. ALABAMA is the cotton state of the cotton belt, Arkansas is the bear state, taken for his pelt; California, the golden state, where they find gold, 118 bo •r-( (D CD o o o Colorado, the centennial state, which isn't near so old; Connecticut, steady habits, or nutmeg state, Delaware, the diamond, its importance is so great; Florida, the peninsular, Ipounded by the seas, Georgia, the empire of the south, with pine trees; Illinois, the prairie state and succor too, Indiana, the Hoosier state, — they're a jolly crew; Iowa, the Hawkeye state, name of an Indian chief Who ruled a savage tribe till old age brought relief. Kansas, the garden of the West, with level prairie found, Kentucky, bluegrass state, dark and bloody ground; Louisiana, the Creole state, also the pelican, Maine, the lumber state and the pine tree land; Maryland, old line state, from Mason and Dixon's line, Massachusetts, the bay state, from the bay we find; Michigan, the lake state, or state of wolverines, Minnesota, the gopher, full of lakes and streams; Mississippi, the bayou, from the bays it makes, Missouri, the iron state, from Iron Mountain takes; Nebraska, black water, from rivers that are stained; Nevada, the silver state, and sage, too, is named; New Hampshire, the granite, from the quarries of the same, New Jersey, the garden state, from gardens every- where. New York, the Empire state, with its scenery rare; 120 ^ CD ^ CO cd ^ pr' cci CO Pi 01 CO ^ n CD cd ^ O ^ f^ o North Carolina, the old north state, and turpentine beside, Where pitch and rosin are taken from the pine forests wide. Ohio, the buckeye state, where the buckeyes show, Oregon, the beaver state, where the beavers grow; Pennsylvania, the keystone, the center of the arch, Rhode Island, Little Rhody, we find in our march. South Carolina, the palmetto, where the green palmettoes grow, Tennessee, the volunteer, where the mountain rivers flow, Texas, the lone star, the largest state of all, Vermont, Green Mountain, with its trees so tall; Virginia, old Dominion, mother of states, West Virginia, Switzerland of America it makes; Wisconsin is the badger, the last in our list, Yet some have been omitted, overlooked or missed. FICTITIOUS NAMES OF CITIES. AKRON, summit city; Albany, politician; Allegheny, twin city, double one to mean. Atlanta, mound city; Baltimore, monumental, Boston, the hub, which is very sentimental. Brooklyn, city of churches, many there are seen; Buffalo, queen city on the northern lakes serene. Charlestown is the city of the great earthquake, Chicago, garden city, on the way we take. 122 Cincinnati, queen city, on the Ohio so grand; Cleveland, forest city, with trees on every hand. Columbus, railroadia, from its many lines; Dayton, green city, in Ohio one finds. Denver is called the city of the plains, Detroit, city of straits, itself explains. Duluth, zenith city, which means greatest height, Galveston is Texas. focus, to center the light, Hannibal, bluff city, on the Mississippi hills; Harrisburg, pivotal, with its iron mills. Hartford is insurance; Holyoke, paper city, near- Indianapolis, railroad city, from roads centering there. Jersey city, terminal town; Kansas City, Mush- roomopolis; Also Lafayette is star city, old Tippecanoe's me- tropolis. Louisville, falls city, from the Ohio Falls; Lowell, city of spindles, as everybody calls. Madison, lake city; Milwaukee, the beer and bricks, Minneapolis, city of flour, to make bread we mix; Mobile is shell city, Nashville is city of rocks; Newark, Brimingham of America, where they make clocks. New Haven, city of elms; cresent is New Orleans; New York, Empire City, Gotham, too, it seems. Lyons of America, is the city of Paterson; Pekin, celestial city; Peoria, whiskey town. Philadelphia, Quaker City, also Brotherly Love; Pittsburg, iron city, that is smoky from above, Providence, city of jewelry; Quincy, the gem city 123 we call; Racine is belle city, which means belle of the ball. Richmond, modern Rome, a city of seven hills, Rochester, flour city, with its flouring mills. Sacramento, the city of the miner's pocket-book; St. Louis, mound city, forms the great outlook. St. Paul, gem city; Salem, city of peace; San Francisco, golden gate there by the seas, Savannah, Georgia, is the land of the live-oak tree^ Flower city is Springfield, a lovely town to see. Streator, Illinois, a city of woods we tell; Toledo, corn city; Troy is laundryville, Washington, federal, capital D. C. , Of magnificant distances the fictitious name will be. ALASKA. A STORY now I will relate All about the great Alaska state. There near the artic circle is this point of view, Its mines, furs and fisheries, I'll explain to you. Also over this country our banner is unfurled, The greatest glacier region known upon the world. One of the glaciers is fifty miles long And eight miles wide, is still moving on — This immense stream of ice, like a river or creek, Is a great bed of ice three hundred feet thick; Another forty m.iles long, five miles wide, 124 o o o o o o o CD CD O CQ bo PI One thousand feet deep along the mountain side. Sixty-one volcanoes Alaska can boast, Some on the islands and on the coast, Ten are active, with their peaks in the sky, Throwing redhot boulders many feet high; Streams of redhot lava come pouring down. That can be seen for many miles around. Many geysers and hot springs do there abound — One of these caldrons is eighteen miles round. Mt. St. Elias, with crest in the sky, Is over eighteen thousand feet high. Furs and fisheries next in the scale: Sea otter and walrus, seal and whale; The game is the mink, weasel and fox. The elk and bear, deer and muskox, Ermine, the reindeer, squirrel and polar bear, Rocky Mountain sheep, wild goat and white hare; Birds are penguin and seagull, albatross and auks, Eider duck and eagle, geese and fishhawks. Cold weather in the west does but little harm. The Japanese Current keeps the country warm; It is quite moist up through here, The rainy season lasts most all year; In the northern part is the ice and snow, It is inhabited there by the Esquimau. The timbers are yellow cedar, spruce, pine, birch, Also the cypress and hemlock, the fir and larch. Fish are halibut and cod, the salmon and sword. Whale, shark, porpoise we saw while on board. People find employment all they could wish, In taking the minerals, also furs and fish. 126 Among the largest rivers to-day Is the great Yukon, of Alaska, The Cok, Copper and Koskaquin also. Porcupine, Coville and the Indian too. The towns through here I'll give you: Are Sitka and St. Michael, St. Nicholas and Shaktolik, Mission and Leatherville, Fort Yukon and Partolik. OUR ISLAND POSSESSIONS. REASONS why the islands out at sea Are now the possessions of Columbia: January i, 1898, The Maine was ordered to Havana coast, February 15, Was blown up, and two hundred sixty-six lives lost; April 9, Counsul General Lee left the Cuban coast, March 28, And war resolutions were then introduced. April 21, Our Minister Woodford left Spain for fears. April 23, Our President called for one hundred twenty-five thousand volunteers. April 23, The Spaniards fired the first guns at Matanzas. April 25, The declaration of war through both houses passed. 128 April 27, Matanzas was bombarded too, April 29, The Bill passed for revenue. May I, Dewey sank the fleet at Manilla Bay. May 12, San Juan bombarded by Sampson and Schley. May ig, Cervera's Spanish Fleet arrived at Santiago, May 23, And were bottled up — the men, boats and cargo. May 25, The President called for troops seventy thousand more; May 31, The first bombardment took place on the Santiago shores. June 3, R. P. Hobson and seven of his crew Then sank the Merrimac, at Santiago. July 3, As Cervera then sailed across the deep His boats were destroyed by Sampson's fleet. July 17, Then Santiago surrendered to the Red, White and Blue, July 18, The Spanish vessels were destroyed at Manxanillo. July 26, Then the Spaniards sued for peace; August 12, Thus the Spanish War did cease. August 13, The American victory at Manilla far away. August 25, General Shafter then left the Santiago Bay. August 26, The President appointed Commissioners of Peace. October i, And the Joint Commission then met at Paris; 9 129 November 30, 'Twas then Blanco sailed from Havana again; December 10, The treaty was signed by the United States and Spain. Thus the conflict ended amid storms and fears, Once again we give Old Glory three hearty cheers. Now this proved us the greatest nation on earth, And that none dare bother Uncle Sam in his berth. CUBA. CUBA, the largest of the West India Isles, From Key West it is about ninety miles, The shores are washed all around by the sea; From frost and snow its climate is quite free. Here's where the ocean tide falls and swells, And white sandy beach is covere;d with shells. The country is broken by its mountain chains. Has picturesque scenery, in valley and plains. The inhabitants are of Spanish descent, Also the negro to a large per cent. Fine timbers are lignum vita, rosewood and ebony The pine and cedar, live oak and mahogany. Rubber and palm, magnolia and dyewood Wild orange and fir, gumbo and corkwood. Over two hundred species of birds abound^ On both sea and land, where they are found: The pelican and loon, swan and seagull, The lyre and cockatoo, cuckoo and petrel. 130 Some wild animals are found there: Wild dog, the deer, squirrel and hare. There're many reptiles in the canebrakes: Alligators, lizards and large snakes. Many tropical fruits are raised in this clime: Grape fruit, maumee apple, the fig and lime, Lemons and oranges, nectarines and grapes, Pineapples and bananas, berries and dates. There is a great variety of fine fishes. Of which are known six hundred species. There're the herring and red snapper, the gar, and kingfish, Dolphin, the shark and pilot, sailor's choice and bone fish. The principal products the people raise Are cotton and cane, rice and maize, Coffee and rubber, yams and tomatoes, Tobacco, wheat, cocoa and sweet potatoes. The waterfalls and sulphur springs, The shady dells and other things. Now we leave these silver strands. And go to visit other foreign lands. PORTO RICO. OUR possessions, many islands there be In different directions, far out at sea, A brief description here will do. Of what we learned on the ocean blue. 131 Porto Rico, the most important of these isles, Is east from Florida, about one thousand miles. An idea of its size I'll give you here: Is that of Rhode Island and the state of Delaware. The population is nine hundred thousand in number. Its five hundred kirids of trees make fine lumber. There she sits, a beautiful queen; A lovely isle of living green. Fruit growing, lumbering and the mine, Are the chief avocations there we find. The chief products are sugar and maize, Rice, cotton and pineapples they raise. The minerals are copper and graphites, Oxides and yellow amber, salt and lignites. The granite and marble and other stone In many parts of the Isle are known. Many tropical fruits in this region old: Grape-fruit and oranges, yellow as gold. Of its wonders the sailor tells: Along the beach the beautiful shells. The capital of this fairy land. There on the coast, 'tis San Juan. Many beautiful birds sing in the trees, The climate is cooled by the ocean breeze. Now we must leave this lovely dell And about some other islands tell. Away to the west around Cape Horn, On a large vessel, we are swiftly borne. 132 HAWAII. HAWAIIAN Islands next come to view. Then safely we land at Honolulu. These beautiful islands are Uncle Sam's too, Where the golden sunbeams sink in the blue. Now these beautiful isles we are telling about From San Francisco are hundreds of miles out. All the islands do here comprise An area as large as Ohio in size. The principal exports here are found, Sugar, alone, six million pound; Coffee, forty thousand pounds here; Rice, six million pounds a year, The principal products we've told about. They raise vegetables, also fine fruit. Many volcanoes lift their heads Far above the flowing lava beds. The many wonders there doth unfold Like magic states and cities old. Chinese, Japanese and other nations too. Hunting and fishing the natives pursue. Many beautiful birds and butterflies And shells on the beach of every size. Long may our flag, the red, white and blue, Wave o'er these isles we now bid adieu. 133 WAKE ISLAND. /T"NOTHER of our islands, out here you ( _L will find, Over which our banner was raised in '99 By Commodore Toussing, of the Boat Bennington; Two thousand from Hawaii, three from Hongkong. This is a beauty that strikes the sailors' eye, Where they get refreshments while passing by. GATE ISLAND. ~P> ETWEEN the Philippines and San Francisco jLj Is the largest in the great Archipelago, Five thousand miles from the California coast. Of its wonderful beauty the sailors often boast. It has about nine thousand population; Agriculture is their chief occupation. Many tropical fruits do there abound And an excellent harbor is also found. The soil is fertile and well wooded through; It has beautiful springs and pure water too. 134 ffl PHILIPPINE ISLANDS. OF the Philippine Islands we'll write an essay. They are along the southern coast of Asia, About sixty-one hundred miles away; Out from the great San Francisco Bay. About their size we'll now relate: Equal to Ohio and Pennsylvania state. Twelve hundred isles are added to our nation; They have there about eight million population. Some of these islands that are quite unknown, Where live savage tribes of the torrid zone; For three hundred years they belonged to Spain. They have each year about nine feet of rain. The climate is very good and never cold. Minerals are lead, copper and gold. Fishing and agriculture are the chief occupation, And one-ninth of the land is in cultivation. The principal products the people raise Are cotton, hemp, rice, tobacco and maize. Many tropical fruits on the island we find: Bananas, breadfruit, the citron and tamarind. Also Java, dates and cocoanuts grow, Oranges, rose apples and the mango. Gold and limestone from along many a creek. And great beds of coal, four feet thick. Vermillion, saltpetre and copper too, With marble and iron and salt also. Ebony and ironwood and the cocoanut trees, Spicewood and gum are waved by the breeze. 136 CD CD cd >y. PI OJ. m There are lizards, snakes and crocodiles, White ants and mosquitos on these isles. Towns: Zamboanga, Sual and Sloilo, Also Lelangan, Apar and Manila. There are doves, parrots and birds of paradise, Petrels, tocans and larks that fill the skies. Many lovely landscapes spread out to our view, So now we bid the Philippines a kind adieu. AN HISTORICAL OF THE UNITED STATES. OF the first settlers, but little is known — Cliff dwellers', mound-builders' and Indians home — We find old inscriptions on a tower near the coast; To have builded this tower the Norsemen did boast. The year one thousand is the date they hold to. But our date is fourteen hundred and ninety-two. The first place settled was in 1562, At Fort Royal, in South Carolina, too. Next settlement, 1565, may be seen Away down in Florida at St. Augustine. In 1582 a settlement did grow In the southwest at Santa Fe, New Mexico. Then in 1607 is when the English went To old Virginia, at Jamestown, and made a settlement. Next, in 1620, the Pilgrims led the way And made a settlement at Plymouth on Massachu- setts Bay. 138 Mormon Temple, m Winter, ■ Salt Lake City Then at St. Marys in 1668 More people settled in Delaware State. 1683, next settlement then Was at Philadelphia, by William Penn. The first states admitted to the Union were, 1787, Jersey, Pennsylvania and Delaware, Massachusetts, Connecticut and Georgia grand. 1788 New Hampshire and Maryland, 1789, also in seventeen hundred eighty-eight South Carolina, Virginia and New York state. 1791 Rhode Island came in. Which ends the last of the first thirteen. 1788 Marietta was settled in Ohio; This state is just east of old Hoosier as we go; In the year eighteen hundred two 'Twas admitted into the Union too. At the mouth of the Potomac some people land;, 1634 settled St. Marys in Maryland; Along with others it passed the gate, 1787 it was admitted as a state. Georgia was settled by an English crew In the year sixteen hundred thirty-two; Then it was admitted as a state. In seventeen hundred eighty-eight. The next was Alabama, it will be seen, Was- admitted in eighteen and nineteen. In eighteen hundred seventeen Mississippi was also taken in. Eighteen and twelve was then the date When Louisiana was admitted as a state; Seventeen hundred ninety-six will be 140 Devil's Slide, Utah The date of admission of Tennessee; In seventeen hundred ninety-two Kentucky joins in the Union too;. 1818 was the time When Illinois state fell into line; In eighteen hundred forty-six The state of Iowa was annexed; Then in eighteen hundred thirty-one Missouri was admitted to the Union. Virginia first settled in 1607, Admitted to the Union in 1787; At St. Augustine the Spaniards arrived,. Settled in Florida 1565; Then her numbers were sufficiently great In 1 815 was made a state; The next one settled was New Mexico, Back in fifteen hundred eighty-two; Also next, South Carolina first, 1562 at Port Royal near the coast; In 1787 into the Union came. And from Charles I took its name. St. Marys in Michigan in 1668 Was the first settlement in the state; Till 1837 she did wait To be admitted as a sister state; Indiana then was first settled at Vincennes ; 1719 by the French and Indians; Her admission, as may be seen, In eighteen hundred sixteen; Massachusetts was settled at Plymouth rock. In 1620, by Puritan stock; 14^ In 1787 its admission gained. There once, at Salem, witchcraft reigned. In eighteen hundred sixty-one, Then Kansas became another one; Six years later we find the date When Nebraska then was made a state; In eighteen hundred forty-eight Wisconsin was made a legal state Ten years later you will find Minnesota state fell into line; Then in eighteen hundred ninety-six Then Utah with the states did mix; In eighteen seventy-six, they tell Then Colorado came in a centennial; Then also in eighteen forty-nine Oregon with the states combined; In eighteen fifty, the golden state Was next to enter in the Union's gate; In eighteen hundred sixty-four Navada was admitted at the door; Texas, the largest state we have Was admitted eighteen forty-five; Both Dakotas fell then into line In eighteen hundred eighty-nine; Then Montana and also Washington 1889, both states became; Then Idaho, also the state of Wyoming, . In i8go, came into the ring. Indian Territory and Arizona, New Mexico and also Oklahoma Are too light in population. To be admitted into the nation. 143 The Geysers, Yellowstone Park, Wyoming BOOK NUMBER FOUR Scenes in Yellowstone Park, Wyoming CANADA. WE visited Canada, north of the United States. Its beautiful scenery, the mountains and lakes. The Falls of Mt. Morencia, the greatest of all; Fifty feet wide, two hundred feet fall. Other cataracts here you will find, None are so majestic and so sublime. Through here it is rolling, broken and hilly, Through the central west, plains and prairie. The minerals are salt, gypsum, iron and some more. Copper, lead, zinc, the gold and silver ore. Turpentine, granite, marble and limestone. The soil is rich, we see, passing on. Now of this country, the greatest occupation Is mining, agriculture, hunting, and fishing The mackerel, herring, salmon and cod. Halibut and pickerel, trout and shad; Also oysters and lobsters, everywhere most. And the seal and whale on the northern coast. Birds are golden eagle, hawk, and crow too. The snipe and prairie chicken and the cockatoo, Chinese pheasant, the grouse and the sage hen, The robin and thrush, the sparrow and wren, The penguin, the sea gull and the loon, The crane and king fisher, heron and swan, The pigeon, wild turkey, duck and white crane too; The brant, the goose and sandhill crane also. 147 The game is the moose, elk and reindeer, The silver fox, sable, and sea otter there; The muskrat and beaver in the water are seen; The wolf, the mink, the pine martin, wolverine, The lynx and wild cat, coon and porcupine, The weasel, the squirrel and also the hare, Many other animals besides polar bear. Factories and ship building along the line. The trees are walnut and cedar, oak and the pine The box elder and willow, birch and cottonwood. Peaches, the pears and apples that are good; The plums and grapes and the berries, Siberian crabs and different kinds of cherries. The products are wheat and oats, corn and rye. Buckwheat, the barley, also potatoes and hay. This country was seen in year one thousand, For they find inscriptions of the Norsemen. The Esquimau live up around the north sea, A number of Indian tribes also there be. Many large rivers find their way Into the oceans and Hudson Bay: The St. Lawrence, Athabasca and Yukon, Mackenzie, Assiniboin and the Saskatchewan, Sebern and Frazer, Nelson and Hayes,^ And many others that flow to the bays. Towns: St. Johns, Quebec, Kingstown, Ottawa and Oswego, Fort William and Winnipeg, Lytton, Vancouver and Toronto; Also there're London, Brandon and Belleville, Fort Felly, Battleford, Yale and Brookville; 148 Mother Grundy, Monument Park, Colorado Thence to the westward we still move along. We visit Assiniboia, Alberta and Saskatchewan. Of their beauty we will sing this song: Their summers are short, winters are long, The eastern part rolling we see as we pass. The western is hilly and very mountainous. The soil is rich, they raise small grains, And large herds of cattle on its grassy plains. Alberta is noted for its rich grassy plains. In the mountains are the gold and silver in veins. The country is being taken up with claims, As westward moves civilization over the plains. Still, the Indian wigwam may there be seen Along the timbered nooks of many a stream. Thence on westward into British Columbia, The greatest state in western Canada, Noted for its fish and minerals most. And has fir and cedar along the coast. WONDERS OF AMERICA. THIS America is the bright star of the West. Of all the nations we think it is the best. A description of its wonders I will now give you, If you will read this story of my travels through. The principal resort and attraction we see Is out in California, the great Yosemite; Now the second wonder is the great Niagara Falls, Where foaming waters thunder over solid stone walls; 150 The next one is the Park, the great Yellowstone, Hot springs and geysers, the greatest ever known; The Arizona forests of petrified wood, Centuries ago the living timbers stood. Then the homes of the cliff-dwellers old Down in Arizona, where now they find gold. Next to Virginia we take our flight, Its natural bridge is a wonderful sight; Thence to the caves in the same state. Which are wonders, indeed, all very great. Arizona canon with its walls so steep, With its palisades six thousand feet. The next wonder is the Philadelphia zoo. And Washington's monument comes to view; Then the State House in New York, Next is New York City's Central Park. Then as through Montana we go We saw there a petrified buffalo; Next is the lighthouse out in the bay — We mean our great Goddess of Liberty. The next one is the Brooklyn bridge, The harbor by the city's edge; Then the Lookout Mountain and Gettysburg, Masonic Temple and Chicago boulevard; Then the Mammoth cave on the old Kentucky shore, The Devil's Tower in Wyoming is just one more, Then up in Wyoming, where our banner is unfurled, We find the longest natural bridge in the world. Superior is the largest fresh-water lake; Mississippi river will the next wonder make; 152 Hunting Moose in British Columbia Indian Burying Grounds Colorado for wonders is never at a loss: There 're the Royal Gorge and Mt. Holy Cross, Then another wonder, the greatest of its kind, The Hoosac tunnel on the East New York line. Another great wonder as you go — The earthworks and mounds in Ohio. Then through the Bad Lands of Dakota we ride. We saw a stone turtle that was five feet wide. The principal wonders, I have written them, So then for the present I lay up my pen. THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. TWAS the still hour of 'midnight while I was asleep. There were some wonderful visions did over me creep. I dreamed that I passed through the last dying throe, Then my soul took its flight to the regions below; Through the wide, yawning portals I passed— My passport examined, admitted at last, And then, being informed by a ghost on the way, My respects to Old Nick I straightway must pay. Forthwith to his throne I went and fell prostrate And then paid my respects to the Old Arch Apostate; Then, rising, he bade me follow his wake, A tour through his kingdom, then we'd take. *<I'll show you how my quarters are crammed 154 T}ie Mammoth Redwood Trees, From. 100 to 375 Feet High, and V^Taterfalls, 250 Feet High, In California, by Moonlight In various parts with ghosts of the damned." ''Enough said; go ahead, and I'll follow." Our pathway we took across a big hollow. As we wandered our way, I saw on my right A great palace of iron, of towering height. I viewed it with wonder, but as I drew nigher I discovered it was but a furnace of fire; Its apartments above, its basements below Were crowded with beings, the image of woe. "What's that?" was my query. The devil replied, '"Tis the place where the distillers are fried. They said on earth a man must not be Above taking a social glass; there you see The distillers are above, the drinkers below, The brimestone to stir, and the bellows to blow, But let us go on, you shall see as you pass The punishment dire of a still lower class. That palace on the left is the great fiery abode Of a class, who, by thousands, have trod the broad road, They are hireling watchmen who strive to increase The size of the flock, for the sake of the fleece; No care had they all for the men of their charge. Dumb dogs were they all while the wolf ran at large; They are speakers of all classes, divisions and names, Condemned to be boiled in the sulphurous flames. But the meanest, by far, of these miserable creatures, Those factors of Hell, the intemperance speakers 156 Mount of the Holy Cross in Colorado They say that the Lord made wine for man's strength, And that all good men of the Bible had wine to drink, Wines are a necessity, they made it so plain. To deny it, is taking the Lord's word in vain. But here a new light on their vision doth burst; Some one else besides wine drinkers are cursed. Just a few steps ahead I'll show you their station, Who, with the whiskey ring, would ruin the nation. " And now we stood o'er a precipice dire, We saw far beneath a great lake of fire. Like a sea in a tempest the surface was tossed, While it teemed with the pale ghosts of the lost,. Rock bound on all sides, the deep hollows roar,, The surges resound, while lashing the shore. The blackest of darkness, a sulphurous cloud. Hung just over the scene like a funeral shroud, Yet plain to be seen were the red waves at play, Lashing the grim crags and throw back their spray. Each wave, as it rose, displayed on its crest. Some dozen pale ghosts, there riding abreast, Till, striking the crags, they sank out of sight, And others rolled up, were on billows of light. '*'Tis here," quoth the devil, "we the rum sellers throw When they come down, and call for their lodgings below. As they never loved aught but broiling and strife, Were true to all drunkards and gamblers in life. 158 Ever cheating and swindling and watching around, Taking all honest men's money wherever found. So here they are tossing and writhing forever I^ike the driftwood afloat on the Niagara River. Here you will find all those wicked men Who devoted the power of tongue and pen To propagate whiskey and spread it abroad; They thus make mankind accursed of God, Who filled your prisons by the scores, And kept from crime by bars and doors; With the meanest of devils so low they fall To broil in the flames till eternity's call, The lying reporters, editors and speakers Who rush the can with of^ce seekers. But this class of sinners came some time ago — What to do with them, I'll swear 1 don't know, For of all who arrive here, day after day, None but the meanest come in by that way. Floating down stream, on towards the lake, A species of being, half man and half snake, Heads crowned with gold, their bodies wnth scales, Scorpion like, they have stings in their tails; They agree with each other like water and oil, In less than an hour had all Hell in a broil. So just now I am puzzled to know what to do With this whiskey monopoly, black-hearted crew, Fd be glad to see the whole world come to Hell. I am fond of mean men, but they please me too well; In their zeal for my cause and the good of this place, 160 A Visit Tnrough Hades -Drunkard's Dream They've brought the whole kingdom and cause to disgrace; Though loyal enough to my kingdom and throne, They have tarnished its honor wherever known. So I think Til just take them outside of the town Where the drainings and filth and offal are thrown — Toss the whole pack of them into a ditch, Then cover them up with sulphur and pitch, And just set it on fire and leave them to cook And writhe in the flames and strangle in smoke. This cursed crew to the ditch I'll consign, True to my cause, but I can't call them mine. When the National Whisky League and their host Shall drive at the gates of the home and the lost, rU meet and consign them a place near my throne, Their principal men shall be stars in my crown. 'Tis here also, I'm very sorry to tell, Are thousands that say there is no Hell, Infidels, scoffers, are confined to that cell, 'Tis the most loathsome pit in this end of Hell. 'Tis here the blasphemer and murderer are found. Also the defaulters and black legs abound. And thousands of rebels against God's govern- ment, To regions of woe from earth they are sent; Also those upon earth, who so often they tell, God's love is too great to send one to Hell. That company above were bad people too — Wore Christian cloaks to hide from view, To take well in the world, and gain wealth, they say; 162 They're not bound for Heaven, but coming this way. They are a staunch, hypocritical crew, To the bottomless pit they deserve to go; Also the Sabbath breakers, and the forgers too, I'll toss them in yon caldron and leave them to stew."" We saw those who love money instead of their God Were marching by thousands down the broad road; There riches are cankered and moth-eaten too. And now they must writhe in the flames of blue. Those novel writers who poison the mind Are coming to Hell, their errors to find. And then we pass to the Black Mountain's peak, Saw whirlpools of fire rolling under our feet; Here forked lightnings make their display And vain, proud people are coming each day. Those who derided the poor, just so. Have their proper place down here below, ''For those people, I've prepared a place, Who have assisted in damaging the race. The world believes that Hell is a fancy dream, But in these dark regions it changes the scene." Passing down the mountain where the sulphur dripped We saw the goody-good people whose feet had slipped. Who think themselves better, to hear them tell, But instead of Heaven, they slipped into Hell, **My gates are open to welcome trash." Hist, rip, rattle, boom, smash I 163 ^^Pray! What shall I ever in this world do! Here comes a crowd, that prize fighting crew!" As they stood there, bewildered, not far away, They sank through a rift, where crust gave way. The next striking picture presented to me Was a turbulent river falling into the sea. "'Tis here," raid the devil, "you will see full well Where case hardened sinners are floating to Hell. All over my realms, at every station, People still have the same inclination — Money fiends are counting their fiery treasures. Others play flaming cards for infernal pleasures." O, that place of despair, and darkness of night! Out of Hope's reach, and beyond Mercy's sight. Their wails of remorse reach every spot — We knew His will but we did it not; To their amazement and horror, now they find out, This is the second death God's word tells about. Then there came a messenger hastily down And cried: "Sir, your Majesty's wanted up town! Here's another great batch of the Alcohol Crew Have entered the Court and are asking for you," Then his majesty there grew black in the face, ''Pll go up and kick them with very good grace. Their stench I detest, I can't bear them near And I'll let them know they cannot stay here. " So saying, and wearing a terrible frown, A trident he seized and hurried up town; Then quickly I heard whining and shrieking, In thunder and wrath, Old Beelzebub speaking: ''Here! Get out of my court! You rascally crew! 164 You're too mean to stay where decent folks do!" And then, like a man of his reason bereft, Satan tumbled and pitched about right and left. They yelled and shrieked: ''Pray! Hold on! We're loyal to you!" Cries Satan: "Begone!'^ While blows he dealt out, so fierce did they scream. With their yells in my ears, I awoke from my dreams. AN ASTRONOMICAL FLIGHT. MOON. A DESCRIPTION of the moon I now give to you. • She's queen of the night, not always in view; She revolves'on her axis in twenty-nine days, The same time in her orbit she also displays. Her diameter, as shown in astronomers' files, Is nearly twenty-one hundred and sixty miles. It is a cold planet, as dead as can be. Flying through space, without air or sea. Its mean distance from earth, astronomers show, Eleven diameters to the path where she goes. It was once bright, just like our sun; The light it now gives is by reflection. Then an eclipse is caused by the moon: Along its path between us and the sun An eclipse of the moon is always the one When the earth shuts off the light of the sun. 165 The moon shall be given for seasons and signs, Saith He that holdeth the world in his hands. Then the moon causes the tides to be 70 at fondee, and 3 at sea. She's four thousand miles nearer at zenith height Than when at the horizon, at morning or night. It affects the animals and plants, so the story goes — Plant seeds in the moon, says the gardener, who knows. Its principal descriptions are given to you So now for the present we bid her adieu. THE SUN— WHAT IS IT? OUR brilliant sun whose atmosphere Is flames of fire, says the astronomer. And yet so cool, when we compare This glowing disc to this orb of fire. Which absorbs a portion of its heat and light That is consumed to keep it bright. Absorbtive effect of the sun is great. The spectroscope has a fact to relate Where, as the earth's dense atmosphere, Thus water vapors always appear To form clouds on the levels Uelow, And change to ice crystals of snow. The sun's atmosphere, with vapors, is dense. But vapors of copper, iron and magnesium, hence, 166 The elements of clouds are metallic drops, And metallic crystals where the vapor stops Returns to the sun's bright disc again A crystal shower, like falling rain. The molten metal, like a lava stream, Falls to the sun, with a fiery gleam. When a hurricane sweeps o'er the face of the sun The dark clouds are swept with great fury on, Or whirled around at a rate that would never compare With the speed of the storms in our lighter air. Imagine the sounds that one might hear If he could fly through the solar air! Suppose he could live in an atmosphere Where metals are vaporizing everywhere. Where reverberations constantly rolled Beyond those of earth, a million fold. O, thou mighty orb, so still in our sky, Thy works, unseen by the human eye! Man can't comprehend one sun at his door; Then how can he study a million or more? For the stars are all suns, we find to be true By the aid of the glass that brings them to view. SUN. THE great central engine, the sun we call, Causing light and heat on the planets to fall. It is larger than earth in all its climes, One million three hundred thousand times; 167 His great diameter is, as on us he smiles, Eight hundred and eighty-six thousand miles. We're the earth in the center, and the moon passing round, Just half way to the edge of the sun would be found: In just ten hours over twenty-five days Is when the sun around on its axis plays. Twelve thousand years is required by the sun For one revolution in its great orbit to run The sun moves around the Pleiades Or Seven Sisters, if you please. The light and heat we receive from our sun at noon Equals six hundred thousand times that of the moon; Then examine the sun with a smoked glass, You'll see the dark spots, storms that pass. They sweep o'er millions of miles in the torrid clime. Making about one hundred miles in a second of time. For a bullet to fly from the earth to the sun Would require ten years after leaving the gun. Truth, Wisdom, Justice, Power and Love In all their glory, are shown By Him who sits on the courts above And guides our world and sun. His hands the wheels of Nature guide With an unerring skill; And countless worlds, extended wide. Obey His sovereign will. 168 SOLAR SYSTEM. T HE planets and comets I'll describe to you. Vulcan is the first from the sun to view. MERCURY. THEN Mercury is the second out from the sun. Its distance is about thirty-six million. Its year will just eighty-eight days take, Three thousand miles its diameter make; Its specific weight is about thirteen, But a cold, dead world, where no life is seen. Thirty-one miles a second, it travels through space^ Yet it seems like a star that is fixed in its place. And it turns on its axis in twenty-four hours; Its light and heat are much greater than ours. But we must our siderial journey pursue, For the present we bid Mercury adieu. VENUS. VENUS, third planet out from the sun, Sixty-seven million miles to its run. Its year is two hundred and twenty-five days^ It is a bright star of magnificent rays. Sometimes 'tis morning star so bright, Then at eventide gives us light. 169 Its axis seven thousand six hundred miles long, Like our world, has land and water on. Its density is that of earth, it is said, The supposition is that it is inhabited. Twenty miles in a second it moves on its way. Takes near twenty-four hours to make it a day. Its movements are much like those of the world, It has summer and winter, also heat and cold; It has no moon in its skies to dwell Pointing out signs and seasons so well. THE HEAVENS. THE heavens declare God's glory to be, In millions of suns the stars we see; Night unto night His great wisdom is shown In the planets and comets, meteors and moon; All things in the skies on sea and land Showeth the works of His divine hand. While this mighty earth on nothing He hung, In the canopy of heaven His wonders were sun^ Study His works, for nature doth tell That, behold. He doeth all things well. THE CREATION. o EARTH, Earth, Earth, whence cometh thou! Ah, before the seas and terrestrial ball, 170 Tieaven's curtain of blue that covers all The face of nature was as one, if a face, Yet rather a rude and indigested mass, A lifeless lump, unfashioned and unformed, No germ, no seed, and justly Chaos named; No sun was lit up the world to view. Nor moon her blunted horns renew; Nor was earth suspended in the sky. Nor did she then on her foundation lie; Nor seas, its waves were thrown. Earth, air and water all in one. The air was void of light, and earth, unstable. The waters' dark abyss was unnavigable, There was no form of any impressed; All was confused, each disturbed the rest. There heat and cold were firmly fixed. There were soft, and hard, and heavy mixed. The God of Nature, while they thus contend. To these intense discords soon put an end. Seas from earth were quickly driven, Oross air sunk from the ethereal heaven. Dismantled, they take their proper place, They, all akin, by affinity embrace. Then the light of the sun blazed down from on high Through a rift in the clouds, to make the world dry; The air succeeds the element fire. Chaotic storms from earth retire. Above the coasts, foaming waters roar And rise in rage to insult the shore. 171 Thus the Great God, whatever He may be, Thus forming the whole, all parts agree, That unequaled portions could not be found. He moulded the earth in a sphere so round. With His breath He caused the winds to blow,. And commanded the sparkling waters to flow. EARTH. OUR world is the fourth from the sun Which we'll examine as outward we run. At sixty-eight thousand miles per hour, there Are three hundred and sixty-five days for a year. It takes twenty-four hours to make a day, It has but one moon for night's display. Its average distance away from the sun. Journey, in miles, ninety-five million. Its density is five times water's weight, Counting earth and rocks in solid state. Fifty miles high is the strata or thickness of air, Fourteen pounds per square inch is its weight here. About eight thousand miles the diameter will be, The shell, twenty miles deep to the molten sea. We have the tidal waves and ocean currents too And the various motions, all so exact and true. More about its descriptions we've no time to tell So then for the present we bid old earth farewell. We see from this world of ours There in the dark shadows of night, 172 The sparkling, silvery stars, Millions of worlds in their flight; Low in their beauty they sing, Around the center of gravity move, An homage of praise to their King Who reigns in the heavens above. Old Time will soon fade and die, The moon will refuse to shine, The stars grow dim as they fly. Porever is that kingdom divine. MARS. AARS is the next in this story I've begun, In our starry journey, fifth from the sun. Its distance we make by mathematical trials, One hundred and forty-one millions of miles. Fifty-five thousand miles per hour Moves in its orbit with wonderful power; 'Tis the God of War, with beams so bright, On account of its brilliant red light. Its specific gravity there, Is four times that of water, And is surrounded by air. Mars is four thousand two hundred miles through, 'Tis thrice as large as our moon, and warmer too. Twenty-four hours as on earth make a day; In two years on earth, one on Mars rolls away. This planet has two moons revolving about, 173 One is over twelve thousand miles out. Differing from earth, we understand It has much less water than land. Now on through space we take our flight, Then we bid old Mars a kind good-night. MINOR PLANETS. PROM Mars to Jupiter, in the space between, Two hundred thirty-five asteroids are seen. Three hundred millions of miles away From the sun, they make their display. Of miles 'tis one hundred million- Width of the belt the orbit they run. They go once around the sun in four to sixjyears: From twenty to four hundred is the diameters. O, those shining orbs that move Are a wonder to define; Their paths marked by Him above, Whose glory is sublime. He spans the heavens with a glance, Not one star is hid from sight. Their beauty comes not by chance — He holds them all by His might. Ah, they sing, while on their way Through heaven's arched dome, Among the constellations they fly. Around the eternal throne. 174 Their paths are silver lined, On the ocean of abyss they, float, As they among the galaxy shine. With every turn, their perfection note. JUPITER. THE next out from the sun, where Jupiter smiles, Is four hundred and eighty-six million miles. Jupiter, the sixth planet that flies Out from the sun, the largest in size; Then on its axis in ten hours like lightning is hurled, One thousand four hundred times the size of our world. Then twelve years of ours just equal its one, The time it takes Jupiter to move around the sun. Its diameter is ninety thousand miles, It has four moons that on it smiles; Its specific gravity, just one and a half makes, But its gravitation gives enormous weights; It's like Venus, there shining so clear. Sometimes the evening, then morning star. It's like the sun, would give its own light. But its dense clouds obscure it from sight. But our starry journey we now must pursue. With great respect we bid Jupiter adieu. 175 SATURN. ^^ ATURN is the seventh planet we've found \^_y In our study of worlds scattered around. In just thirty years it revolves around the sun, When those years are finished, it makes but one. It is eight hundred eighty-six million from the sun; The diameter is seventy-three thousand miles long. "Tis three-fourths times the weight of water, Altho' it's thought to have very thin air. It is seven hundred times larger than our globe, Moves twenty-two thousand miles per hour, on its road. The days and nights are equal ones. And five and a fourth hours long. 'Tis surrounded with three great rings of light, 'Tis called the God of Time in his swift flight. Forever in bright beauty, the planet Saturn sings, With his nine moons and three shining rings. What though no real voice or sound Amid those radiant orbs be found! What though in solemn silence, all Move round this dark terrestrial ball! In reason's ear they all rejoice And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing, as they shine — The hand that made us is divine. 17G URANUS. URANUS, the eighth planet next in order we find One and a third billion from the sun in a line. It moves in its orbit fifteen thousand miles an hour, And 'tis called one of the ancients' gods with great power. It moves round the sun once in eighty-four years, Thirty-three thousand miles in diameter it appears. Specific gravity one and one-half makes To turn on its axis, eighteen hours takes; It requires two moons to light up its skies As around in its path so swiftly it flies. Its volume is ninety such worlds as this. Of light and heat it receives much less. Still onward we go in our flight, Passing into the abyss of night. Our siderial journey has just begun At the outpost of our solar system. NEPTUNE 1^ EPTUNE is called the God of the Seas. 1 J Two and two-thirds billion where it flies. Takes one hundred sixty-five years in its run To make a revolution in its orbit around the sun. In thirty-six hours on its axis it turns, Which makes it a day, as every one learns. Its diameter is thirty-seven thousand miles; 12 177 It has one moon that down on it smiles. Its bulk, a hundred times our globe or sphere, Its density, two and a half, or something near. The planet Neptune is so far away. An express train, moving night and day At forty miles an hour, finally, the engineers Would reach their goal in four thousand years. A number of generations would pass away, Old Time, himself, would be turning gray. Twelve thousand miles in its run In its oibit, per hour, around the sun. The greatest problem ever solved Was finding where this globe revolved. Of other bodies we now must tell. Now we bid old Neptune farewell. METEORS. yyi ETEORS, like comets, as swiftly fly, L \. Leaving a bright trail through the sky. For a moment, in beauty, so vividly bright And then forever are lost from^sight. Composed of gas, minerals and stones, From a pebble in size, to many tons. Hundreds of meteors dash through the air Like bees flying through space everywhere. In eighteen hundred, near our land of flowers It rained black sand for fifteen hours. The various minerals that fall from the air Are iron and tin, copper and others are there. 178 At different periods of the year The meteoric showers do always appear. In eighteen hundred and thirty-three, The star shower reached from sea to sea^ You see aerolites have a solid form. In eighteen seven came a meteoric storm. They are minute bodies moving around the sun^ When within earth's attraction down they come. In seventy-seven one passed through the air, So near, that lighted the country far and near. In flying to pieces it made loud reports, Just like cannonading from the forts. Each day we receive many tons Of these redhot meteoric stones. COMETS. PAR beyond the great orbit of Neptune, Comets, through space, do go and come These bright, unexpected, swift messengers Told by ancients, forerunners of wars. Thousands within our solar system fly, Which qannot be seen with the naked eye. Some visit us once in their starry run, Then away they fly to some distant sun; Some are like a cloud of mist. Others of a solid mass consist. The periodic time of many comets is known> That is, their revolution around the sun. 179 Enckes' period, twelve hundred and four days Around the sun in its orbit, where it displays, Halley's comet flies far among the spheres And returns again every seventy-five years; In the year nineteen hundred and ten Is the time 'twill visit us again. Donati, the comet which has the curved tail, In two thousand years will return on its trail. There in the azure robe of night. As if piercing the deep blue skies, Behold yon beautiful train of light; In lightning speed she flies. It is a messenger, it smiles At its errands to perform; Traversing heaven's endless miles From distant parts unknown. Wonder in heaven, how it shines! She pauses not in her space As onward moves her endless trains. Like a legion in a race. She brighter grows as near the sun, And faster moves upon her road, O, 'tis a comet in her swift run. See, she flashes around that globe, She swings away among the spheres As if too great, their silvery light. Ah, see the horizon she nears And is lost in the abyss of night. Perhaps age on age will roll away, Old Time may stop and cease to fly. As that comet moves so swiftly on, 180 Ere she will again light up our sky. The comet of eighteen hundred and eighty-two In nine hundred years will again pass through. Biela's comet, in its long siderial run, Every six and three-fourths years will return. One million per hour they will run When in perihelion, or nearest the sun; When in aphelion, from the sun so far. Their speed is five or six miles per hour. Comet of forty-three, while still on its trail. After passing the sun, all turned into tail. One comet, as if driven by siderial monsoons Became entangled among old Jupiter's moons. Five and one-half years were experienced between. But since striking Jupiter has not been seen. For millions of miles along their track, The tail is seen as the comet comes back. In the years of sixty-one and eighty-two, The comet's tail the earth passed through. He who marke the sparrows' flight Will guide the comets and worlds aright. We are safe in our journey around the sun Until old time himself, his race has run. 181 STARS. 7-|-\E'RE far beyond the solar system too, VL/ Where float the planets in the deep blue. Yet our siderial journey is only begun, There 're distant millions of stars beyond; The spangled heaven's shining throng Their great original proclaimed, They publish forth through every land The work of an almighty hand: O, say, mortal man, have you heard of His fame Who telleth the number of stars and their name. Who fathoms the chasms of the dark abyss, And setteth the millions of suns in their place? There's Arcturus, Orion and Pleiades Andromeda and the Daulphin he sees; There're Castor and Pollux, those stars next In the great celestial globe are fixed._ Beta and Delta, Sigma and Pallas. In our siderial journey we pass The Lion and Boots and the Great Bear, Virgo, Libra and Scorpio are there; In the south we find the ship Argo, Hydra, the Cross and the Milk Dipper too; Stars of the first magnitude we see — They number in all about twenty-three, The second number, with regard to size. Also contains the number of sixty-five. In the third, two hundred stars appear; 182 The fifth, eleven hundred shining clear; The sixth, thirty-two hundred come to view; Seventh, thirteen thousand and ninety-two. The number of stars to the most piercing eye Is about six thousand to be seen in the sky. During the period of the last four hundred years, Thirteen were destroyed, ten new ones appears Stars rotate and revolve too. Just as all our planets do. Most stars are larger than the sun of our day, Yet they look smaller, being so far away. Each with its retinue of worlds, is found Among the constellations, moving around. Centuri, the first, in our siderial run, Nearest to us, half the size of our sun: Light is three and one-half years in crossing the abyss — Pray, what mind can comprehend such an immensity as this? A rifle ball moving one thousand miles an hour Would be over two thousand years in reaching that star. What shall we say of the North Star, if you please? It takes light fifty years to cross those dark seas. Also the Seven Sisters who wander- through space Take five hundred years to send light to this place. One hundred «fifty stars in that group descry Yet only seven are seen with the naked eye. The outpost of our starry system. Out at the extreme, like our Neptune, To reach us, it would take their light 183 Five thousand years in its rapid flight. It would take light ten thousand years To cross this immense cluster of stars. What shall we say of God's work round about? Shall we all the secrets of heaven find out? In every direction His glory is shown, [n the millions of worlds that are His own. Our cluster like a ball doth display, Along the outer edge is the Milky Way. There are a hundred million shining suns, Around the center of gravity, each turns. Now in our starry journey we've come To this outpost of our great system. Now we come to the gulf of dark abyss, Still on and on o'er its dark waters we pass, Then on and on, still on in gur flight. Till finally safe on the other shore There are six thousand clusters more. Now to reach us it would take their light Five million years in its rapid flight. Then on, still on and on, move our celestial cars- Many clusters we pass, some larger than ours, We stop in the center of a cluster again In thirty millions of years to reach our train. We see our cluster of stars, in their skies, A round ball of light like an apple in size. Shall we in our journey a bit farther ream? "O, no," says our guide, "we'll lose sight of home." There's the spot where the golden light is shone, ^he centefof the universe, the seat of God's throne, Bound on all sides by the specks of great light 184 Where the myriads of stars move round in their flight. How rapid th>e eye and the mind travel through Among the millions of stars brought to view! Homeward now through the vaulted sky, We bid the sun, moon, and stars good-bye. Roll on, ye globes of splendor and might, And of the great Creator sing; Ever shooting forth thy silver light. An homage of praise they bring! 185 INDEX The Traveler's Dream - A Poem on Indiana A Poem on Illinois - A Poem on Chicago A Poem on Missouri A Poem on Arkansas A Poem on Indian Territory A Poem on Oklahoma - A Poem on Texas A Poem on Mexico A Poem on New Mexico A Poem on Kansas - A Poem on Delaware Springs A Poem on Iowa A Poem on Michigan A Poem on Wisconsin A Poem on Minnesota - A Poem on South Dakota A Poem on North Dakota A Poem on Manitoba - A Poem on Montana A Poem on Idaho - A Poem on Washington A Poem on Oregon A Poem on California A Poem on Arizona - A Poem on Nevada A Poem on Utah - 7 A Poem on Colorado 59 11 A Poem on Wyoming - - 61 12 A Poem on Nebraska 65 13 A Poem on Kentucky - - 67 14 A Poem on Tennessee 69 15 A Poem on Mississippi 71 A Poem on I^ouisiana - - • 72 16 A Poem on Alabama 73 17 A Poem on Georgia - 75 18 A Poem on Florida 79 20 A Poem on South Carolina 81 21 A Poem on North Carolina 83 22 A Poem on Virginia - A Poem on District of 84 23 Columbia 86 24 A Poem on Maryland 87 26 A Poem on Delaware - 89 28 A Poem on New Jersey - 90 30 A Poem on New York City 91 32 A Poem on Connecticut - 95 • 33 A Poem on Rhode Island - ■ 96 33 A Poem on Massachusetts ■ - 97 35 A Poem on Maine 99 37 A Poem on New Hampshire 100 39 A Poem on Vermont 102 - 43 A Poem on New York 106 49 A Poem on Philadelphia - 107 - 53 A Poem on Pennsylvania 109 55 A Poem on Niagara Falls - 112 57 A Poem on West Virginia 114 A Poem on Ohio - 115 A Poem on the Inferno - 154 A Poem on Fictitious A Poem on the Moon 165 Names of States - - 118 A Poem on the Sun's A Poem on Fictitious Elements 166 Names of Cities 122 A Poem on the Sun 167 A Poem on Alaska - 124 A Poem on Solar System 169 A Poem on Our Island A Poem on Mercury 169 Possessions 128 A Poem on Venus - 169 A Poem on Cuba 130 A Poem on the Heavens - 170 A Poem on Porto Rico 131 A Poem on the Creation - 170 A Poem on Hawaii Islands 133 A Poem on Earth 172 A Poem on Wake Island - 134 A Poem on Mars - 173 A Poem on Gate Island - 134 A Poem on Minor Planets 174 A Poem on Philippine A Poem on Jupiter - 175 Islands 136 A Poem on Saturn 176 A Poem on History of A Poem on Uranus - 177 United States - 138 A Poem on Neptune 177 A Poem on Canada 147 A Poem on Meteors 178 A Poem on Wonders of A Poem on Comets - 179 America 150 A Poem on Stars 182 MAR 19 1304

06013322

Book of song poems,

Alter, James L.

bookofsongpoems00alte_djvu.txt

%.: ?> '*%^> ' zm^ff/n Class i> u O v' Book 'Lit CoipghtN" L COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. MY SELF. Many are the wonders that I have found In our broad land, and on the rolling deep, . Many are the beauties that are scattered round. In the rich valleys and mountain steep. l00k 0f §0n9 f 0^m0 THE HOOSIER RAMBLER EMBRACING THE FOLLOWING SUBJECTS: SONG POEMS ON NATURE OF THE UNITED STATES, CANADA, ALASKA, AND OUR ISLAND POSSESSIONS ILLUSTRATED When you read these stories Perhaps you will smile — Over sea and land Pve traveled A hundred thousand miles. COPYRIGHTED BY JAMES L. ALTER, HOOSIER TRAVELER iJeMINGTON, INDIANA COMPLETED DECEMBER, 1905 PRICE 67 CENTS LIBRARY of OONtlRESS Two Cooies Received MAR 30 1906 /iCopyrisrht Entry CLASS (5:' )CXc. No, COPY B. INTRODUCTION. Owing to the solicitations of many friends, I was induced to pen this volume. Hoping it will meet with the approval of the many readers, written in different styles of poetry on the following subjects: On each state, Canada and Alaska, our island possessions, on the canyons and caves, mountains and hills and volcanoes, petrified forests, lava beds, valleys, plains and forests, and many natural wonders; on the oceans, gulfs and bays, on the islands, lakes and rivers; The Drunkard's Dream; The End of Time; The Portals. With kind wishes to all, , : Yours truly, .^;'* James L. Alter, Hoosier Traveler, Remington, Ind. ^ ■^ >" BOOK NUMBER ONE Dear Friend: — If you think it is best Come with me and visit the West. We will stop as we go through And visit Pike's Peak and Manitou; The Cave of the Winds and canyon too; The Garden of the Gods we'll go through; Then we'll pass over the loop On the great Rocky Mountain Slope. The Royal Gorge next in our flight, With its precipice walls, what a sight! Then the Continental Divide our train will climb, And see the snow in the summer time. Down through Blftck Canyon next we'll fly, With Nature's walls hundreds of feet high. Through Castle Gate next we'll ride, We'll also find the Devil's Slide, Then the Mormon Temple in Utah state. And take a bath in Great Salt Lake; Thence northwestward over the lava bed Lying just west of the watershed. The Shoshone Falls are near by Pouring over the chasm two hundred feet high. The Pillars of Hercules next are seen Where our train will pass between. We'll view the Dalles of the Columbia river Where its sparkling waters flow on forever. We'll land at Portland, and while there We'll certainly visit the great fair. Then perhaps we'll take another notion And take a bath in the Pacific ocean. The fir and cedar we'll pass by Growing from one to three hundred feet high. ^ ^ *" jm'''^rr)i^*^'>m^jrn *"^: ^ North American Products Here are the beauties of the garden of the world, The lovely forests and plains are seen In this Union, where our banner is unfurled Over the rich fields and meadows green. And just for a change a steamer we'll ride And sail far out over the ocean tide. We'll see the rolling billows as they sway, And watch the shark and swordfish play. A further description perhaps will do In the next letter I write to you. I will continue my letter to you As on southward in our journey we'll go; We'll pass Mt. St. Helena and Rainier too Whose lofty peaks are covered with snow. We'll go through a tunnel under the mountain, And drink of Mount Shasta's soda fountain. We'll see the hot springs, and Seven Falls That comes rushing down over Nature's walls, And see California, the Golden State, Where grow the orange, lemon and date; We'll see the DeviTs Kitchen and Old Arm Chair, His Oven and Teakettle are also there. Then the Yosemite Valley there we'll see, The gigantic forest, the redwood tree, The vernal falls of that state And the beauties of the Golden Gate. Then the petrified forests in a lake so deep. And the evergreens on the mountain steep, And see the mines while traveling around Where our minerals there are found. We'll see shells on the sandy beach, And the Ostrich Farm we'll also reach. We'll also take our time And eat all the fruits we find. Thence toward home on our way, Across the sandy plains to Arizona. Korth American Animals Many are the animals, so we're told, That are found In this country of ours. Where its wondrous beauty doth unfold Among the forests, hills and flowers. Next the Grand Canyon, with walls a mile high, The old homes of the Cliff Dwellers we'll pass by, Then the sagebrush and cactus as we go And the mountain peaks covered with snow; Thence across the line we go And see the adobe houses in New Mexico. Many canyons and caves we'll pass And the large herds of cattle on the grass. There are so many things more, We could number them by the score. Home again our way we'll take, Then talk of our travels, and no mistake. Pueblo, Colo., July, 1905. THROUGH THE EAST AND SOUTH. COME with me if you've got the money, We'll visit Ohio and Pennsylvania, The military homes and falls as we go, The earth works and mounds of Ohio. The hard coal region and Allegheny, The Great Horse Shoe in Pennsylvania; Next in New York there we'll see The Niagara Falls and the Genesee. There is Sing Sing and Lake Erie And the state house there to see; There's the Adirondacks as we go And the military school where the Hudson doth flow. Through Hoosac tunnel next we're bound, Into Massachusetts we'll look around. 11 "hfi C CS t/i ■hs _ d D s ^ c P fl o 1^ ■kJ w cS Oi ■i-i ce S T Ih -kA crt P! « CD T n M "H o >. i^ •rH Cti h 0) 03 ^ H ^ s be S C O •" o "2 >, o ^ 53 03 -1^ El| •i-< OJ ^ 4-> ^ OJ OJ CC There's old Bunker Hill of which we boast And Plymouth Rock there on the coast. Then the White Mountains of which we'll sing, And the Great Lake of Champlain; The Soldiers' Arch at Hartford we'll note, Thence down the Delaware next we'll float. We'll visit Atlantic City on our way, And the wonderful scenes of New Jersey; We'll visit Philadelphia, the home of the brave, Old Liberty Hall and Franklin's grave. Thence to Washington we take our flight, With its stately buildings, what a sight. There's Arlington Heights I'll show you. Where sleep our braves 'neath the Red, White and Blue. And Washington's old home not far away, As we sail down toward the Chesapeake Bay; We'll visit Point Comfort or Fortress Monroe And the Norfolk Navy Yards we'll go through. We'll see Richmond on our run — ^Twas once the seat of our Rebellion; The caves and caverns we'll pass by. And the Hawk's Nest, a pillar a thousand feet high. We'll see the Natural Bridge, a wonder too; On towards Charleston southward we'll go; There's Fort Sumpter on an island true, High above the waves floats the Red, White and Blue. The old Spanish fort and gateway to be seen, The live oak and lighthouse at St. Augustine; Then on south, the orange tree And the Everglades in all their beauty. 13 We'll sail on the Gulf amid tropical scenes, We'll visit Mobile and New Orleans, There some of the islands too we'll reach And gather the shells along on the beach. Then through Alabama with its springs and fountains, We'll visit Chattanooga and Lookout mountains; Through the Southern battle fields then we'll go, Whose scenes filled the American hearts with woe. Then if we are quite lucky We'll view the wonders of old Kentucky; There's the Mammoth Cave and several more, The hills and valleys we'll explore. Thence on northward we'll migrate Across into the grand old Hoosier state; There is a 'oeautiful cave here to see, Many mines and quarries too there be. We'll see its beautiful streams like silver bands Flowing in all directions in the Hoosier lands; Then safe once more we'll reach our home. Then we'll talk of our journeys where we roam. INDIANA. I'VE traveled through Indiana, The grand old Hoosier State; And now of its wondrous beauties Here the story we'll relate. We'll sing of its valleys and woodlands fair, Once the red man's hunting-grounds, Before the tide of civilization Had made its western rounds. 14 We'll sing of the silvery streams, Its springs and fountains there, Of its prairies, hills and caves, And all their wonders we'll declare. We'll sing of its wonders Wherever we may roam; In power it sways the sceptre On our governmental throne. We see the many fine cities That dot its valleys and plains; The beauty of field and byways, And the great railroad lines. September, 1905. THE KANKAKEE. WE'LL sing you a song of a sluggish stream, Where its bright, sparkling waters roll; Where marshes and swamps and ponds are seen. As onward it moves to the goal. Along its banks the beautiful trees, With its wonders there untold; We hear the hum of the bees Where Nature's beauties doth unfold. And the rich fields of waving grain. What a lovely sight to behold! The orchards red and meadows green, How can all their beauties be told? 15 The brant and duck on the waves so blue, And the fish in the clear, silvery stream; So peacefully on floats our canoe, While we hear all Nature sing. August, 1905. THE TIPPECANOE RIVER. WE'LL sing of a lovely river, Marked out like a silver band, Where it plays in beauty ever. As it wanders along through the land. We'll sing of a lovely river. Among the rocks we see the foam, Where it is rolling there forever. As in beauty it plays there alone. We'll sing of a lovely river. Where all Nature there doth sing. We'll forget thy wonders never. From its banks rich treasures bring. We'll sing of a lovely river, The grand old Tippecanoe, Where the foe tried our armies to sever. Is now the home of the boys in blue. THE IROQUOIS. 7t\ E'LL sing of the Iroquois; VJL/ Along its banks a plenty of noise, • While on the green play the girls and boys. While we sing of the Iroquois. 16 Of the Iroquois we will sing, As from the marshes its waters bring, Along its banks are many a spring, While of the Iroquois we will sing. Sing of the Iroquois river, As it flows in all kinds of weather; On its banks grow the trees so clever. While we sing of the Iroquois river. Sing while the Iroquois doth flow, Along the banks its beauties show, Where the fields of grain doth grow, As we sing while the Iroquois doth flow. Sing of the Iroquois while passing by, Its rippling waters 'neath the sunny sky; Now we bid thee a kind good-bye, We'll sing of the Iroquois while passing away. August, 1905. ST. JOSEPH RIVER. WE'LL sing of the beauties there as we go Along in our path on the banks of St. Joe. There where Nature's beauties are spread, With its clear, sparkling water and the trees are its shade. We'll sing of the beauties there as we go And the wonders of Nature as we see the St. Joe. There beneath its banks are the bubbling springs, Down through the land it meets the wandering streams. 17 We'll sing of the beauties there as we go, While the years roll on flows the waters of St. Joe. Here through the summer are the bright sun- beams, The winter's blast brings the ice-crystal scenes. We'll sing of the beauties there as we go, Where our boat cuts the foam on the waves of St. Joe. Here once the Indian huts were scattered around, We see far and wide where its treasures are found. We'll sing of the beauties there as we go, And of the many towns along the banks of St. Joe, Where it doth there in majesty roll, We'll never forget the story long told. RENSSELAER. 1V7 OW, good people, if you don't care _L I I'll write you a poem on Rensselaer, Our roads are good, the way is clear To pay us a visit at Rensselaer That is built on the Iroquois. See our fine town while you are here And buy you a home in Rensselaer. You'll have good health, you needn't fear. There are plenty of doctors in Rensselaer, That is built on the Iroquois. Our groceries are cheap, I'll declare, You'll find it so in Rensselaer. Our goods are a yard wide or something near In the dry goods stores of Rensselaer, That is built on the Iroquois. 18 It is a good place it doth appear To raise your children in Rensselaer; So try your luck while you are near And stay a while in Rensselaer That is built on the Iroquois. August, 1905. JASPER COUNTY. WE'LL sing of our homes and native land, And their beauties while traveling on; And the many rich farms on every hand, Of Old Jasper we'll sing this song. We'll sing of our homes and native land: Of its meadows and silvery streams, Where its buildings and orchards stand, And the forests are dressed in green. We'll sing of our homes and native land; Here are the rich fields of oats and corn. And the highways with their scenery grand; We'll sing while passing along. We'll sing of our homes and native land, With its industries and great wealth, And its birds and bees form Nature's Band, With pure waters and good health. We'll sing of our homes and native land, How can all their beauties be told? While the sunbeams play on the golden strand Where Nature's wonders doth there unfold. September- 1905. 19 MICHIGAN. IVTOW my friends, if you'll attend, _L J. And listen till this story ends, We'll write you a fine description Of the state of Michigan. Here is where the white pine grows, Through winter they have their deep snows. Up through here the fruits are fine, You'll see rich fields of golden grain. Up in Michigan you'll find there still Many a saw and shingle mill; Many fine towns they have there, Along the rivers and lakes so clear. Some fine scenes along the streams. With its forests of evergreens, Also minerals here you'll find, Along the great Superior line. The fine lakes along our way, On their waves the sunbeams play; And some game you'll find there, Birds and squirrels, the deer and bear. September, 1905. MACKINAC ISLAND. WE'LL sing of the Island of Mackinac Where the waves in splendor, how they roll As they break on a rock-bound coast, — How can the wonders of the island be told? 20 ^ u M >» ^ G3 r« C S3 r/3 ^H b4 O a> ei 4^ ^ o ^1-) 4^ ^ o3 cd ho o •r-l CO CD CD O m Si 5 o o d *^ 03 ^ is Si SB 03 P O m O to ^ IS >> o ? o I ^ 0) I— a: We'll sing of the Island of Mackinac Where the archway of stone doth stand, While many other beauties we see On this isle out from the land. We'll sing of the Island of Mackinac, There encircled with waves in their flight, Here our boat is rocked in the foam, We see their spray like jewels of light. We'll sing of the Island of Mackinac, - A resort fanned by the breezes o'er; Now we leave these lovely scenes And the far-off lands explore. LAKE SUPERIOR. THERE'S a lake whose wondrous beauty Far excels your fancy dreams; The breezes are cool and refreshing Like the breath of early spring. There's a lake with all its beauties In this story we will tell, With its pure and sparkling waters, There we all remember well. There's a lake with all its beauties Fringed around in living green. And the many towns and cities Along its shores for miles are seen. There's a lake with all its beauties And with rich treasures hidden there We are sailing over its bosom Out among its waves so clear. 22 There's a lake with all its beauties With many a lovely isle so fair, There are many sparkling streams. O could we of its beauties share! September, 1905. WISCONSIN. WE'LL sing of a state by the lake, Where many pleasures we see; Boating, hunting and fishing. And many other sports there be. We'll sing of a state by the lake, Where many wonders are seen; With valleys nigh and hills so high, Its springs and mountain streams. We'll sing of a state by the lake, Its game there, the deer and bear; We hear the birds' song while passing on, We see its fields and valleys fair. We'll sing of a state by the lake. Its products are wheat, oats and corn; The garden too and pine forests grow: We'll tell of its wonders in song. We'll sing of a state by the lake: 'Tis a great commonwealth, they have good health. See its beauties and wonders as we go: Here many are its treasures and wealth. September, 1905. 23 Natural Bridge on Mackinac Island The Natural Bridge next we saw; Among the rocks the pines grow, In Upper Michigan on the Isle of Mackinac, Where the winters are cold, and pleanty of snow. LAKE MICHIGAN. WE'LL sing of the beauties once again As the waves of the lake we behold, Where the waves play o'er its beads of sand, There, forever, while the ages roll. We'll sing of the beauties once again As the steamers on its bosom play, While the fish are playing 'neath the waves, As we journey to the cities far away. We'll sing of the beauties once again, Where the silver streams reach their goal, Where the waves are sporting on the beach: How beautiful are the pictures enscroUed! We'll sing of the beauties once again. Along its banks the waters are stayed; There its fragrance like the flowers And the forests their beauties display. We'll sing of the beauties once again. As our boat cuts the foam of the waters blue; We'll ne'er forget all thy wonders. So now we bid thee a kind adieu. MINNESOTA. WE'LL sing of Minnesota state That is so very great. And its story we'll relate If we here make no mistake. While we sing, while we sing. 25 The Steamer Ferry Boat, Mackinac The boat with twelve cars on its way, Crossing the straits in all kinds of weather; 'Tis seen on her run, day after day. In the sunshine and when snow and ice gather. We'll sing of Minnesota state, With its streams and many a lake; Sing of its beauties as we wait. It welcomes all through its gate, While we sing, while we sing. We'll sing of Minnesota as we go; See its springs and fountains flow. Of its wonders you shall know: There's lots of game and fine fish too, While we sing, while we sing. We'll sing of Minnesota on our retreat: Many forests there we meet; Its fruits are juicy and sweet, Of its wild game there we'll eat, While we sing, while we sing. We'll sing of Minnesota once again. With its fields of golden grain. Iron, copper and coal in the vein. O could we all its beauties explain. While we sing, while we sing! September, 1905. LAKE ITASCA. LET us sing of the beauties Of valley and hill, Of the silvery streams And the lake so still. 27 Scenes along Lake Superior There's a lake whose wondrous beauty, Far excels your fancy dreams, With Its breezes cool, refreshing. Like the breath of early spring. We'll sing as we float Over its waters so blue; In its fragrance as the flowers, Around our canoe. We'll sing of the beauties That doth unfold, And its silvery leaves With pictures enscroUed. We'll sing of the beauties Of the Itasca Lake: 'Tis fringed with flowers Where its waves break. We'll sing of the beauties Of the Lake Itasca, While out on its waves Where the sunbeams play. September, 1905. RAINY LAKE AND RIVER. WE'LL sing of our boundary line, As the lake and river we see. And their beauties among the pine; O could we on their waves stay! We'll sing of our boundary line; There the countries they divide; There with its scenery fine, 'Tis the beauty of Nature's pride. We'll sing of our boundary line, While we float where the sunbeams play; 29 Ashland on Superior. Ashland on Superior for miles is seen, This is the largest fresh water lake, Many beautiful Isles of evergreen, One of the wonders it doth make. See its birds and flowers sublime, While we're moving on our way. We'll sing of our boundary line: So far from our homes we sail, Where the lake and river combine, Where we're floating with the gale. We'll sing of our boundary line. Where its beauty doth unfold, Where its waves in the moonbeams shine. Please remember the stories told. September, 1905. NORTH DAKOTA'S PRAIRIES. OUT on the Dakota prairies So peacefully we ride. Surrounded by its beauties As over the plains we glide. Out on the Dakota prairies, Among its beds of flowers, We hear all Nature singing, Of its bright and happy hours. Out on the Dakota prairies We hear the Qieadowlark's song; Out among the daisies so fair And the many wonders we see pass along. Out on the Dakota prairies. There as if in the Fairy Lands, Overspread by green carpets With their beauties on every hand. 31 Out on the Dakota prairies Where the days are long, We hear the humming- bees And the busy workers' song. August, 1905. THE RED RIVER OF THE NORTH. V E'LL sing of a wonderful river, There in our northern land, With, a rich valley grand, Where the waters are flowing forever. We'll sing of a wonderful river, Where its banks are dressed in green; There are the many fields of grain, Above where it smiles so clever. We'll sing of a wonderful river, The Red River, a silvery stream. Far around a rich valley doth drain, Along where the springs are bubbling ever. We'll sing of a wonderful river. As we all its beauty see, How sweet among its fragrance to be; We'll forget its wonders, no, never! We''ll sing of a wonderful river, Hidden there by winter's frost and snow; But still onward it doth flow. Till the spring its ice will sever. September, 1905. 32 The Dalles of Wisconsin. The Scenes In Wisconsin's summer time, The birds in the banks their nests do build, Along the rivers with their scenery fine, Ere the September breeze the air has chilled. BRIDAL VEIL FALLS. WE'LL sing of the falls in the wildwood; Of the beautiful Bridal Veil; Its wonders again recall our childhood, As it lies hid in its leafy trail. We'll sing of the falls in clouds of light, Where it makes its leap over the walls. While we admire this wondrous sight, We'll never forget the hidden falls. We'll sing of the Bridal Veil, As we hear its murmuring waters roll, Down among the rocks in the vale. So swift are they! Beyond control. We'll sing of the falls as we go, As it plays in the bright sunbeams; At its feet a circling rainbow, Its sparkling waters like jewels seen. We'll sing of the falls with pleasure. As the mists float 'neath the sunny sky; Where are all its hidden treasures? Now we'll leave thee; a kind good-bye. September, 1905. THE DEVIL'S LAKE. OF the beauties of the Lake we'll write^ With its waves like silver bands; It spreads out over the plains, There to beautify the lands. 34 Bridal Veil Falls, North Dakota. We'll sing of the fallb in the wildwood, Of the beautiful Bridal Veil, Its beauties again recall our childhood As it lies hid in its leafy trail. Of the beauties of the Lake we'll write, That is fringed with living green; Here the workers are the birds and bees, And it welcomes all the wandering streams. Of the beauties of the Lake we'll write As we float around in our canoe; See the flowers and roses gay, Where the trout play in the waters blue. Of the beauties of the Lake we'll write, There its wonders we behold, With its cool, refreshing springs; All its beauties can never be told. Of the beauties of the Lake we'll write, On its waves the sunbeams play, Surrounded there by green carpets; Oh, could we here longer stay! September, 1905. THROUGH MONTANA. VE are crossing Montana, Of its beauties we relate; With its inhabitants up-to-date. As we sing of a wonderful state. We are crossing Montana, With its pine forests wide That are Nature's pride, As through the state we ride. We are crossing Montana, With its many flocks and herds, And a plenty of game birds, And some very dusty roads. 36 Minnehaha Falls, Minnesota. Minnehaha Falls next to be seen With Its sparkling waters pouring clown; Among the rocks this silvery stream, Away to the ocean It Is bound. We are crossing Montana, There's the oats, wheat and rye, And the Rocky Mountains high, The rich valleys are near by. We are crossing Montana, Some wild animals are there, The wolf, deer and bear. With the squirrel, badger and hare. August, 1905. CUSTER'S MONUMENT. THERE is a spot that is so dear To all our kindred brothers. Where Custer's Monument doth appear, That stands afar from all others. Here is where our heroes fell While on the field of battle. The Indians charged with a savage yell; They hear their weapons rattle. Our brave boys on the plains Against a superior number. How dark the hour that terror reigns! When our boys were cut asunder. Hard was the fight, hand-to-hand; The struggle we'll remember. They thought of homes and native land; They never would surrender. The day was lost, we'll ne'er forget All the honors that are due those. The field was quiet at sunset Where lay our fallen heroes. August, 1905. 38 The Game in the Northwest. The game in these states what a fine dish, The geese, ducks and brants are seen on the lakes Whose waters abound with many fine fish, While in the streams they its surface breaks. THE MOUNTAINS. A Ay/E'RE traveling down the mountains, Among its pillars and castles great; Down along by the mountain walls With its high towers and gates,. We're traveling down the mountains Leaving behind the crystals of snow, Down among the rocks and boulders Where the sparkling waters flow. We're traveling down the mountains Shaded by the evergreens, Down among the rocks like fragments strewn, O could we describe these wondrous scenes! We're traveling down the mountains, Among the foothills now we glide, Along through the canyons hidden by the walls, Beneath the lofty crags there we swiftly ride. We're traveling down the mountains. Now we've reached the valleys gay, Down among the beds of flowers We see the rich fields on our way. August, 1905. IDAHO. WE'RE traveling through Idaho Where the pine forests grow. With its mountains covered with snow, As we go, as we go. We're traveling through the state Where its wealth is very great 40 The Falls of the Yellowstone River, Montana. The falls In Montana are so high. We see them as onward we go, It seems that they fall from the skies. But they are just coming clown from the snow. With its improvements up-to-date, As we go, as we go. Through Idaho now we're bound. Where the minerals are found, And plenty of game there abound. As we go, as we go. Through Idaho with a steady tread, Here we find the lava bed Lying west of the watershed. As we go, as we go. Through Idaho with its fine scenes. And its lovely mountain streams, With sheep and cattle on the green, « As we go, as we go. Through Idaho we're moving still We pass the saw and shingle mill, Also the mountains and the hill, As we go, as we go. August, 1905 THE LAVA BED. HERE are the great lava beds. Lying west of the watersheds Where the country is overspread, In the West, in the West. It is as hard as a bone, Composed of melted iron and stone And other minerals there known, In the West, in the West. 42 Idaho Indian Dancers. There are many Indians out through the West, We see their wigwams at a glance; Civilization and labor they detest But love their sports, the hunt and dance. Where it covers all the ground, There for many miles around, In the countries where it's found, In the West, in the West. In places broken like fields of ice, But is far from being as nice; Go and see if you have the price, To the West, to the West. What must have been the sight! When flooded with red waves of light, Like a tornado in its flight. Over the West, over the West. August, 1905. LAKE PONDERAY. LET us sing of the beauties of the day: Near the foot of the mountains are seen The gentle waves of Ponderay There fringed in living green. Over its waves the balmy breezes. On their crests the sunbeams play; How rich are all of Nature's prizes! See its mantles of blue and gray. O where are now the rich treasures, Do they in its bosom lie? O how we enjoy the pleasures Of its beauties while passing by! Along its banks are the lovely springs Where the cool and refreshing bubbles play, Here it welcomes the silvery streams That flow from the mountains far away. 44 Let us sing of the beauties of Ponderay As we sail over its waters blue, There among the flowers so gay Where we float in our canoe. August, 1905. THE FOREST FIRES. THE forest fires are raging And the flames are gathering 'round, For the destruction of the buildings That are within its pathway found. Do you see how the woodmen Stand firmly in the fight? And the more it doth oppose them The stronger is their might. See the smoke as it is curling Far above the plains of light; Now we hear the bugle calling All the woodmen to the fight. They are out with their equipments, See! The struggle has begun! How the flames are swiftly rolling,— Who can stand that fiery storm? It carries destruction in its bosom, Leaving Death within its track; See how fast the trees are falling As in vain they drive it back. Now the winds, they are arising. And the flames are leaping by: Our army is too few in number, Far, to face a fiery sky. 45 A Cedar 250 Feet High in Vy^ashington. The spruce and cedars we pass by, The majestic monarchs of the forests seen, Rearing their heads over three hundred feet high, With their beautiful foliage of green. The liquid flames are faster rolling: Yonder is a lake in sight. Now we hear the shouts of triumph: It will stop his dreadful flight. . A SONG OF SHOSHONE; IN beauty plays the great Shoshone^ Pouring over its granite walls; Its sparkling waters like jewels thrown In the sunlight around the falls. Of its wonders we will sing, As it doth in majesty roll; From other lands its treasures bring While moving onward to the goal. It.is enveloped in clouds of light, Its royal scepter, the rainbow, Forever singing of power and might As it doth its beauty show. As it pours down the great abyss, Dropping full two hundred feet, It is hidden by the deep mist, Over the rocks it makes its leap. O thou queen of Nature's hand! Above the tempest thy voice is heard; Thou boldest now thy reins in hand, Thy robes are like a white-winged bird. August, 1905. 47 Cedar Stump in Washington. Some of these stumps are twenty feet across, They have a firm foundation too; Some families use them for a house. So firm when the storms doth blow. WASHINGTON STATE SONG. WE are traveling through Washington state, With its resources are very great; Of its beauties there we'll relate, So we have no time to wait; As we go, as we go. Here the silver and gold are found, And other minerals there abound, Plenty of grain by looking around. And its fruits so juicy and sound, As we go, as we go. There's the fine, large distills By the beautiful, evergreen hills, With their brooks and rippling rills, A plenty of saw and shingle mills, As we go, as we go. With its cedars three hundred feet high And the many falls we pass by. The snow-capped peaks in the sky; A part of the state is very dry, As we go, as we go. There's the deer, bear and wolverine And a plenty of sea birds are seen; With many a beautiful ravine Shaded by the lofty evergreen, As we go, as we go. There's many a town and city great, We see the progress of the state. So much business our train is late To where the people do immigrate; Here we'll stay, here we'll stay. 49 Logging on the Pacific Coast. Of many fine logs this climate can boast, They are cut with band saws, 1 say, In these states along the coast- In Washington, Oregon and California. THE FORESTS. WE'LL sing of the lovely forests Where Nature makes her display; Where the birds build their nests, Where the trees are in beauty array. Chorus Sing of the lovely forests, Repeat the glad refrain. From the valley to the mountains Is a sea of living green. We'll sing of the lovely forests, Fringed with a leafy screen So gracefully waving in the breeze. Beneath their folds a silvery stream. — Cho. We'll sing of the lovely forests. Entwined with vines and mistletoe. Where are now its beautiful treasures? There we see them as we go. — Cho. We'll sing of the lovely forests, While we gather the flowers and mosses there, Near the many springs and fountains, With their beauty and fragrance rare. — Cho. We'll sing of the lovely forests; Of the beauties of the closing day. There how sweetly all may rest While the glowing sun is hid away. — Cho. August, 1905. 51 Scenes in British Columbia and Burying Ground. Moose hunting in British Columbia, By the sportsmen it is fine fun ; They wear snowsboes of a winter's day, And capture their game on the run. THE PACIFIC SLOPE. WE'LL just take a note Of the great Pacific slope: See the sheep and mountain goat, While we stay, while we stay. It is washed by the ocean deep, Bounded by the mountains steep, Where the rivers and ocean meet, While we stay, while we stay. Wonderful forests here are seen, The redwood, fir and cedar we mean. Here and there crossed by a silvery stream. While we stay, while we stay. They have corn, oats and wheat. The fruits are both solid and sweet, With fish and game to eat, While we stay, while we stay. We see the steamers in the bay, Loading with products while they stay. To go to distant ports away, While we stay, while we stay. Many precious stones are found. And rich minerals there abound. Fine stone and marble under ground. While we stay, while we stay. August, 1905. 53 Lake Ages, Alberta, Canada. There is a lake that is spread Far above the ocean tide, Fenced in with mountain's round; Its beauties are Nature's pride THE PUGET SOUND. WE are now on the Sound, As we sail on. And we'll take a look around, As we sail on; And see the beauties found, As we sail, as we sail. There many fish they catch, As we sail on; And the oysters, too, they fetch. As we sail on; The log rafts there they stretch, As we sail, as we sail. Some fine cities there are seen. As we sail on; Its banks are lined with evergreen. As we sail on; The hills are hid by a leafy screen, As we sail, as we sail. The Pacific Ocean soon we'll see, As we sail on; And among the waves we'll be, As we sail on; Where the shark and swordfish play. As we sail, as we sail. August, 1905. ^ssa Crater Lake, Oregon. We'll sing of the beauties on the mountains near by, Of Crater Lake, eight thousand feet high, Where the beautiful landscape in the distance Is seen, And the rich valleys of evergreen. Hercules Pillars, Oregon. Next we see the Pillars of Hercules, Near by the Columbia river; The works of God and Nature, if you please. Beautiful Monuments, they'll stand forever. THE CASCADES. OTHOU great Cascades so far are seen. In beauty aloft are thy snow-capped peaks; Thy hidden treasures beneath thy feet, And thy mantles are the evergreen. Thou dost wear a glistening cap of snow, Thy foundations are solid granite walls, With caverns, caves and their castle halls; Thou art girded with a bright rainbow. Thy pillars are made by Nature's hand, Yet thou dost sing as the years go by, Of summer's smiles and winter's sighs: For many ages there they firmly stand. Over the chasms pour many a waterfall. While they're singing around thy feet, Far, far below the great, rocky steep. And are hid away among the trees so tall. Thou must be proud of thy forests old. Now tell of my beauties if you can! Or of my greatness, who can span? And of thy many riches that are untold. August, 1905. CANADA. NOW we visit the Canadian Country, To learn of its wonders far away; With its treasures and its beauties, The rivers and falls make their display. 57 Now we visit the Canadian Country With its prairies, valleys and plains, There's its forests, lakes and rivers, And the wonderful mountain chains. Now we visit the Canadian Country, There's the oceans, gulfs and bays. And the beauties there of Nature; There the corn and wheat they raise. Now we visit the Canadian Country, To the Northern lands we go; There the minerals, marbles and limestone. The many wild animals and Eskimo. Now we visit the Canadian Country And the Arctic regions of old. Soon we must leave this healthful clime — O could we pen Nature's stories told! THROUGH OREGON. VE are traveling through Oregon, Where the trains so swiftly run; But you've got to have the *'mon," While you go, while you go. Here's the cedars and the spruce. The eagle, duck and goose, And wild animals running loose. While you go, while you go. Here's the corn, oats and wheat. Plums and cherries and berries sweet, And turnips, onions and the beet, While you go, while you go. 5S o ho (D o o o o I- -o o en n ii *-' rH in S o o U 25 Si m Oo CI® "I Here is the snow-capped peak, Many falls pouring o'er the rocky steep And are hid in the forest deep, While you go, while you go. Here the gold and silver abound, And other minerals are found. The saw and shingle mills around. While we go, while we go. Now the ocean tide we reach, And we're camping on the beach, And the oysters we can reach, While we stay, while we stay. August, 1905. THE Wn^LAMETTE RIVER. WE'LL sing of the Willamette River, Where its clear waters flow; We'll sing of its beauties ever. As over its bosom we row. We'll sing of the Willamette River, Of its sparkling waters so grand; Among its fragrants there so clever, See its waters like a silvery band. We'll sing of the Willamette, Of its waters pouring over the falls. All its wonders we'll ne'er forget: Along its banks the mountain walls. We'll sing of the Willamette As it rolls on to meet the tide. Its springs and streams we remember yet:. All these scenes are Nature's pride. 60 a Oi 3 S 14 (-. <D c 4-> ^ OJ u ,is! 1) 83 We'll sing of the Willamette — How can we its wonders tell? O could we of its treasures get! Now to its smiles we bid farewell. August, 1905. THE SONG OF THE PACIFIC. WE'RE sailing on the Ocean, Out among its waves so blue, Where our ship cuts the foam; With the brave boys of its crew! We'll sing of the Pacific Ocean; Its waves are rolling 'neath our feet, And the treasures in its bosom Are hidden by the waters deep. The waves are broken by the mountains. And the lovely island chains. Now our ship fast is sailing; For miles you'll see its white wings. We see out around our vessel, Where the shark and swordfish play, And the many other wonders That are seen far out at sea. Still on northward now we're steering;. Yonder is the whale in sight: See! he is spouting high the water. We see the mountains on the right. We see the Alaskan coast ahead, The volcanoes are in sight, Throwing high their smoke and cinders:. They're enveloped in flames of light. 62 Now we leave the Alaskan coast, Sailing to the southern strands, Where the orange and palm trees grow In their warm and native lands. MOUNT RAINIER. OTHOU Nature's mount of wonders, Dressed in green and white mantles around, The gems of frost is thy sparkling crown. Proudly laughing at the tempest and thunder. Like a monarch viewing the landscapes round. Above the chasms and rocky steeps, And above the hills, there dressed so neat. Where many falls and streams abound. Thy crown is fourteen thousand feet, And the forests doth thee surround, Where the rich valleys and fields are found Far above the waves of the ocean deep. Pray tell me when thou camest forth; Who laid the treasures at thy feet, Or girded thee around with walls so steep? Dost thou recall thy day of birth? I came forth when this world was made; There at my feet His treasures spilt; By Nature's God my walls were built: Of the day of my birth thou canst read. August, 1905. 6.3 MOUNT HOOD. OHOW good to stand on Mount Hood And view the landscape around. Long the evergreen has stood in the deep wood — With fields and hills it is bound. O the beauty of the hill, the brook and the rill, The plains there He far beyond; Hear the woods with music swell around the waters still, Far beneath its treasures are found. We see lovely springs and sparkling streams, How can its beauties be told? Here Nature sings of her wondrous things As she doth her book there unfold. The rich fields of grain and orchards show the same — This mountain has stood for centuries of old; We'll stop again and read of his fame, With foundations of silver and gold. He stands there a king, for many miles is seen, With his sparkling crown of snow; His rich gifts he doth bring, beneath his mantle green, As he doth his great majesty show. August, 1905. HERCULES' PILLARS. ^^ ING, O sing of the wonders \_J And of the beauties of Hercules; See! They stand so proudly yonder, Out among the evergreen trees. 64 Sing, O sing your songs so clever, Where the Pillars of Hercules stand Overlooking the Columbia River And the beauties of the land. Sing, O sing your songs so sweet Where the Pillars rear their heads, With the Columbia at their feet Moving over its gravel beds. Sing, O sing your songs of love; Of Hercules, built by Nature's hand, Who rear their heads so far above As if to view the sceneries grand. Sing, O sing those wonders again As we leave this lovely spot; Sing of the mountains and the plains And of Hercules' happy lot. September, 1905. 65 BOOK NUMBER TWO r\tW! o . ^ O o o o >, ® -s -S 2 .4i^ ro ►^ "^ ^ -C -Q t. t3 o i^ fl o ® o £ o s o Z, ^ o CO •r-t 1— I O rt Oj ^ Ph _ <D f^ ^ cd CO a u o o s "« .2 fl O 03 2 03 S t^ fa j:3 -4^ 11 <4H 'O O fl >5 3 "S -^ o o a> ^ ^ ^ +3 M .2 ^ ^ .-s ^^ SONG OF THE COLUMBIA. NOW we visit the Columbia Where its sparkling waters roll; By the mountains it is nourished With their waters pure and cold. Now we'll sing of the Columbia Where its sparkling waters roll Onward to the Pacific Ocean — It will reach its final goal. We will gather of its treasures (Some lie buried 'neath the sands). Of its flowers, shells and pearls — See its beauties on every hand. We are floating as a feather Out over its waters blue; In its fragrance as the flowers, Peacefully on glides our canoe. Its banks are like the mountain chains Towering 'neath th-e sunny sky; Now we're passing the silvery streams Pouring over the precipice high. Still we're moving toward the ocean As if borne on the waves of light; There's the fir, the spruce and cedar — The peaceful ocean is in sight. 69 THE CEDARS. WE'LL sing of the lovely cedars, Like a giant, with twigs so high; Sing'of its rich, green mantle Gracefully waving in the sky. See! They're monarchs of the valley, As for centuries they have stood Laughing there at the driving storm, A fine body of pinkish wood. It is used by the sailor On the vast, rolling deep; It is used by the woodman, A^shelter from the storms they meet. Near their feet are the silvery streams. Above their heads the mountain peaks, Where it stands there so firmly Within the great forest's deep. We^will sing of the lovely cedars As we leave them far away. As to other lands we're going We'll bid them a kind good-day. August, 1905 CRATER LAKE. THERE'S a lake on the mountains Far above the rolling seas. Where the golden sunbeams play. Let us sing of its beauties. 70 Ostrich. Farm in California. We view the large ostrich farm too, Where they have many birds together; Quite an industry we see as we go, They are raised for their fine feather. There's a lake on the mountains, Some eight thousand feet high, Where the air is pure and bracing On the mountains where it lies. There's a lake on the mountains — See its circling, silvery bands, Far above the streams and forests. As if to view the far-off lands. There's a lake on the mountains Whose banks are the rocky steeps. Where we're sailing o'er its waves. Its treasures lie buried 'neath its feet. There's a lake on the mountains, Spread out in beauty while the ages roll, In peace and quietude it rests. O if its beauties could only be told! August, 1905. THROUGH CALIFORNIA. WE'LL sing of California as we go; Of its wonders we will write. As we move on in our iiight. We see the mountains covered with snow. We'll sing of California as we roam. Of its fountains and medical springs. Its lovely valleys and mountain streams And of the mountaineers' happy home. We'll sing of California as we pass, The Devil's Kitchen and Old Arm Chair (His Oven and Teakettle are also there). And of the valley's rich carpet of grass. 72 « c: O) © *j © c£ u -O o 2 >? ^ s3 OQ « a, ^ T" tH fcH ^ fc^ a> « ^ ,Q S ■-H 3^ ^ T5 *" 2 CVS O •r-H rr. *^ ti -C isO ■^ ti ^ o •1— ( 1 — 1 2^ 06 < U PI •rH S J-. ^ <« (Ti fc. a> f^ M J: -o » +J s ■* •r-H !^ ^> ^ t« > >:-, 0^ ^ F^ 03 ^ We'll sing of California as we go on, Of the Seven Falls and the great redwood, Its tropical fruits that are very good. Who can tell its wonders in a song? We'll sing of California as we move, With its volcanoes and lava beds, The wooded hills and snow sheds, Of the many birds, the pigeon and the dove. September, 1905. MOUNT SHASTA. THERE'S a mountain far away There in the land of gold; O could you its wonders see As it stands in that region old. There's a mountain far away Whose wonders are untold, Where the spring and soda fountain play, Where Nature's book doth unfold. There's a mountain far away. Where the sun sinks in the deep, So high are its solid granite walls. It rears its head fourteen thousand feet. There's a mountain far away — Shasta is the name we sing- Its treasures are hid beneath its folds, Its dress is a mantle of green. There's a mountain far away That wears a crown of light; Its jewels are the frost and snow — We'll sing of this wonderful sight. September, 1905. 74 THE REDWOOD. ^ ING of the forests of the redwood trees, y_y As in beauty they stand all Nature to please. Sing of the forests of the redwood trees — What giants of the forests are like these? Sing of the forests of the redwood, So majestic they stand, both green and good. Sing of the forest of the redwood, That for long centuries there have stood. Sing of the redwood while passing by. As they rear their heads three hundred feet high. Sing of the redwood while passing by. So gracefully waving in the sky. Sing of the redwood with mantle green That stand in power dressed like a king. Sing of the redwood with mantle green, That for many miles they are seen. Sing of the redwood forests as they grow, We'll think of their wondrous beauty as we go, Sing of the redwood forests as they grow. In sorrow we bid them a last adieu. August, 1905. THE SEVEN FALLS. HERE is where the sparkling waters roll; 'Tis the beauty of the Seven Falls, Descending over the mountain walls, As they move onward to their goal. 75 Their robes are like the jewels rare, Their feet are hid by the clouds of light, Ever singing of its power and might, Brightly shown in the mountain air. Among the rocks its treasures are seen, As down the mountain it doth climb, A silvery beauty there sublime, Where it drinks from every spring. It is flowing through the land; See, it is hidden by the forests green. How peacefully flows the mountain stream; And will reach the ocean strand. Far behind are the snow-capped peaks. On the mountains there go by, With sharp- pointed rocks piercing the sky. Where it rolls on, the tides to meet. August, 1905. SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS. WF/LL sing of a mountain range Far away in our land of gold, 'Tis the Sierra Nevada we see — A wonder while the ages roll. We'll sing of a mountain range That stands in a region old; With their sparkling crowns so high. What a lovely sight to behold! We'll sing of a mountain range As we hear the story told; Its many treasures unseen, Where they laugh at the tempests and cold. 76 Needle Mountains, California. These mountains differ from others, A beauty In Nature for miles are seen, Their round tops decorated with snow feathers While their bases are covered with evergreen. We'll sing of a mountain range Where Nature's book doth unfold; Precious stones and minerals are found; Many are the beauties they hold. We'll sing of a mountain range, There they stand as monarchs bold; Where the palm and magnolia grow; They were formed by Nature's mold. We'll sing of a mountain range, Where Nature's pictures are scrolled; There the roses and lilies bloom — How can all its beauties be enrolled? YOSEMITE VALLEY. THERE is a lovely valley Withm our sunny land; 'Tis a beauty — the Yosemite — With its scenery grand. There in this lovely valley, With its great waterfalls; Near by is the redwood And the mountain walls. There in this lovely valley. Its beauties doth unfold; So many are its treasures And wonders there untold. There in this lovely valley, Its pictures are Nature's charms; The butterflies and roses Are gathered in its arms. 78 The Yosemite Valley, California. There is a lovely valley, That pictures Nature's charms, The butterflies and rose-^. Are gathered in its arms. There in this lovely valley Are gems and jewels rare, The palm and magnolia, And crystal fountains fair. August, 1905 THROUGH NEVADA. OF a state on the plains we'll sing, 'Tis the great state of Nevada, far away, With its mountains, hills and plains, And its streams where the sunbeams play. Of a state on the plains we'll sing, In our far-off southwestern lands, We'll hear the strains that Nature brings And see the great beds of sand. Of a state on the plains we'll sing, With its treasures hidden there; Its silvery streams and hot springs, The precious stones and jewels rare. Of a state on the plains we'll sing. Where fine marbles and minerals are found; Many fine timbers and lovely springs. The pine and the evergreen abound. Of a state on the plains we'll sing, There with its barren tablelands; The rich valleys their treasures bring, There on its golden strands. September, 1905. 80 ON THE PLATEAU VE stop as we go through On a great and high plateau Where they have neither rain or dew, While passing through, passing through. Here the ground is quite bare There's no trees or grass there, And dusty enough to make you swear, While passing through, passing through. Here the air is so light, And this is a wonderful sight. To see the mountains on the right, While passmg through, passing through. We see the pillars there so high The barren rocks we pass by, And we have no time to stay, While passing through, passing through; Now we leave the barren land. And go through the valley grand With fruitful fields on every hand. While passing through, passing through. August, 1905. A SONG ON THE PLAINS. WE are traveling over the plains Where it seldom ever rains And a cloud hides our train. We'll get there, we'll get there. 81 ? -6 C OJ t: <J=i "5 "2 u == CO fl ^ n hH CO ,— t Qh (D ^ -tJ o Jh' W) CD <D S CD 0) +J rt 05 0) CD O a fl •Pi m CO 1? ei *^ a 0) _ tj .S "J^ 't« ® = a 53 O — w r^ 03 1/ -. ■^ O •- 03 P o C 03 *^ H-l S H O Where the dust is in sight Just like a cloud of night: Civilization's lost from sight, We'll get there, we'll get there. We see the sagebrush grow And the cactus as we go; And the sands drift like snow, We'll get there, we'll get there. Where the sands are at play And the train men scoop it away And the train there must stay, We'll get there, we'll get there. Where the dust flies so high Like a cloud in the sky. And it will get in your eye. We'll get there, well get there. Where the dust gets down your neck And it goes through every crack And you wish that you were back. Before you get there, you get there. Now we've reached the other side With its fields and forests wide. And we'll sail on the ocean tide, We are there, we are there. THROUGH UTAH. OF a land in the West we'll sing, Where the sun is hidden by mountains gray; Where the Golden Eagle drops his wing. Nature's songs are hushed at closing day. 83 Mormon Temple, Utah. A beautiful temple with wall* so strong, It cost three million, we're told; Tis a wonder we see while passing on, Like the great buildings of old' Of a land in the West we will tell; 'Tis a great commonwealth, the Utah state. Came in, in ninety-six, the date we all remem- ber well. Since then its wealth has grown very great. There's a land in the West there seen, Where many rich minerals abound, And the forests of living green; Some rich valleys there are found. There's a land in the West on the plains, Of its many beauties we are told; 'Tis here peace and harmony reigns, Where Nature's wonders doth unfold. September, 1905. THE CASTLE GATE. AGAIN we'll sing of the wonders While we're passing through the land, We'll sing of Nature's beauties That are found on every hand. Again we'll sing of the wonders As the Castle Gate comes in sight, Whose walls are built by Nature's hand; We'll tell all the wonders in our flight. Again we'll sing of the wonders, How firm are old Castle's walls! As in monumental beauty it stands Built there like the ancient castle halls.. Again we'll sing of the wonders As for centuries they stand As if to view all the beauties In the valleys and foreign lands. August, 1905.. 85 The Devil's Slide in Utah. Here two rows of rocks are seen, On the steep mountain side, A railroad at the base, a narrow pass between— Tliis is called the Devil's Slide. GREAT SALT LAKE. THERE'S a lake in the West, So the story is told, Its beauties there you can see Where its wonders doth unfold. There's a lake in the West, On its waves the sunbeams play. Here it welcomes all the wondering streams That flow from the mountains far away There's a lake in the West, Pure are its streams, but alas! all in vain. Here they are lost among its waves, All their sweetness is turned into brine. There's a lake m the West, Where we sail out over its waters blue. Along its banks are the crystal flakes White as the driven snow brought to view There's a lake in the West That is bounded by the plains. Over the sands its waters roll. On the east by the mountain chains. August, 1905. SALT LAKE CITY, THERE'S a city on the plains Along by the mountain walls. The beauty of the Center West, With its towers and stately halls. There's a city on the plains With fine churches and temples high. S7 a> -M CO u. XJ fi 5j 03 *-' «)-( P O' oj 2 d M © b-i4 Oj ^ ^Hl ^ <1 m -M ^ ai" +-> cd C5 a) 1 — 1 4-> " CO cd o3 O 0.^ -« (D- 03 -^ fl dj ^ ^ ;h *^ U> O) 03 'd O S ^ 02 We see its solid granite walls In beauty there 'neath the sunny sky. There's a city on the plains, Its fine buildings there display. Broad are its streets and avenues With fine gardens and yards on our way. There's a city on the plains That sits there as a queen, In her wondrous beauty array With its foliage of living green. There's a city on the plains Where the sun sinks in the West There behind the mountains gray, While Nature's songs are hushed to rest. August, 1905. COLORADO. WE'LL sing of the beauties where Nature has been. Of Colorado, its wonders we'll sing; With its wonderful mountains there, so high, Our Centennial State we're passing by. We'll sing of the beauties where Nature has been. Of the waterfall and many a spring; Many are its beauties, treasures there found. And the lovely valleys in beauty abound. We'll sing of the beauties where Nature has been; Of its flowers and roses, their fragrance doth bring With its canyons and caves many wonders are seen From the snow-capped peaks flows many a stream. 89 • The Royal Gorge, Colorado. Then the Royal Gorge we pass through, Near the source of the Arkansas riv^er, Where the mountains are cut in two, Here its precipice walls stand forever. We'll sing of the beauties where Nature has been, With its butterflies and birds there on the wing. Its minerals and products are very good — Many are the wonders there on our road. THE ROYAL GORGE. LET us sirig of the Royal Gorge, With its towers and castles high; Of the rolling stream at its feet With its walls and pillars nigh. Let us sing of the Royal Gorge; Many crags and chasms there be; With its arches and gateways there, And the beauties of Nature we see. Let us sing of the Royal Gorge; There in summer what a fine scene! As we view its high granite walls, While among the rocks plays the stream. Let us sing of the Royal Gorge; There for ages so proudly it stands. Its beauties can never be told, Far away in the foreign lands. August, 1905. THE GARDEN OF THE GODS. WE will sing of Nature's wonders Where in power He laid His hands, Who built the Garden of the Gods, And the wonders in many a land. 91 The Garden of the Gods, Colorado. Here God and Nature centuries ago, What a wonderful work they wrought! He who created this world, we know, Must have decorated this beautiful spot. We will sing of Nature's wonders Who hath built the high granite walls, And the Balance Rock we see, Near by are the monumental halls. We will sing of Nature's wonders: See its crags and pillars high, There to view the landscape 'round, And Pike's Peak is there near by. We will sing of Nature's wonders As through the departments we stroll There is a group of the Gods yonder, Standing as monuments while the ages roll. We will sing of Nature's wonders, Like the ruined cities of old. There to laugh at the tempest And to sing of the beauties untold. September, 1905. BLACK CANYON. WE'LL sing of the wonders as we wander Where the Black Canyon comes in sight, With its towers and lofty pillars And mountain walls on the left and right. We'll sing of the wonders as we wander Where we're hid by the high granite walls, We see the foaming waters at its feet And the sparkling waters of the falls. We'll sing of the wonders as we wander: O where are thy treasures unseen? 93 Mother Grundy, Colorado. This great round-top monument— A wonder in Nature forever it stands Like a huge giant so tall, There in our western land. High are thy gateways and palisades — Their beauties are hid by a mountain screen. We'll sing of the wonders as we wander And listen to its story told, Here for centuries its walls doth stand Where Nature's beauties there unfold. August, 1905. WYOMING. OF Wyoming now we will tell, Where the flocks and herds there do well, And many products there they sell, While we sing, while we sing. Of Wyoming the story is told. Its wondrous beauties there unfold, About the mountains and ranges so old, While we sing, while we sing. Up in Wyoming there is found Many wild animals and birds abound. With its canyons and caves around. While we sing, while we sing. Up in Wyoming there is yet Many fine minerals there they get; O'er its plains the golden sun doth set. While we sing, while we sing. Up in Wyoming as we go. The mountains there are covered with snow And rich valleys their timbers show. While we sing, while we sing. September, 1905. 95 Mount Holy Cross, Colorado. Mount Holy Cross, with its deep ravines Filled with snow the cross to form, For tifty miles it can be seen. As the traveler wanders along. YELLOWSTONE LAKE. THERE'S a lake that is spread Far above the ocean tide, Fenced in with mountains 'round. Its beauties there are Nature's pride, Within its green folds was found. There's a lake that is spread Oat in our western land, Hid by the mountains gray. L'3t us sing of the beauties on every hand, There as we wander far away. There's a lake that is spread. Out on its waves the sunbeam plays, With flowers and lilies dressed in white. Ne.ir its banks the deer and antelope graze. its waves are like silvery bands of light. There's a lake that is spread Out beneath the starry skies. Out among its fragrance we row, Here its beauties meet the traveler's eyes. Now, alas, we must bid thee adieu! September, 1905. YELLOWSTONE PARK. LET us sing of the wondrous beauty That is within our pathway found: Of its forests, flowers and roses, There fenced in with mountains 'round. Let us sing of the wondrous beauty Of the Park, the great Yellowstone, 97 With its terraces and hot springs, Its many falls and geysers known. Let us sing of the wondrous beauty — On its fountains the sunbeams play, And the many snow-capped peaks As they their wonders there display. Let us sing of the wondrous beauty, As if in ancient fairy lands; See the lake spread out in beauty, Where the sunbeams play on its silvery bands. Let us sing of the wondrous beauty; Of its hidden treasures who can tell? Of its jewels, gems and rubies, Where Nature hath done all things well. September, 1905 THE BIGHORN RIVER. Tr-N ET us sing of the Bighorn River, I y While we travel to and fro; Bright are its sparkling waters, As through Wyoming it doth flow. Let us sing of the Bighorn River As it flows from the mountains, There among the rocks the spray, With its lovely springs and fountains. Let us sing of the Bighorn River, Of its falls in bright array; Far above are the snowy peaks — We see the beauties on its way. 98 o cd o 1 — I o O ^■" • a (D Ph ■1-H fin m ^ .-S o tC S-l •^ O I- bj) *s 2 5. o -Is el 5! O c, Oh M ^ a. ® <] Let us sing of the Bighorn River, As it wanders through the land, To cheer and cherish all Nature With many beauties on every hand. Let us sing of the Bighorn River, As it flows to meet the tide. O where are its hidden treasures? The flowers and trees are its pride. September, 1905. SOUTH DAKOTA. WE'LL sing of Dakota's fair land, Of its many wonders there; With its rocks, hills and sand, And the fertile valleys fair. We'll sing of Dakota's fair land, Of its mountains and grassy plains. Its rivers with their scenery grand, And the many rich farms and claims. We'll sing of Dakota's fair land. Of the many fine products seen. The forests and flowers on every hand; Here for ages its beauty hath been. We'll sing of Dakota's fair land — How can its wonders be told? Where many fine groves and buildings stand, Where the beauties there unfold. We'll sing of Dakota's fair land. Of its progress as a state, The grassy plains by the breezes fanned; — All its wonders are very great. September, 1905. 100 ^ ..>^;3i>u.-'<>i>hBiffiar»>»( • " ® a »-H ui :3 o M tB 03 « 0) ■^^Ph bb ^-t P! o 13^ >. t^ s- O) t^ > -c S 1 — c o „ 9» ;^ ^•r. f-l >,.2 cd cJ-a Ph ^H S P^ o 4-> CO ^ o 1 — 1 r 1 CD TS >H (D t^ ^ ^S +J c^ f^ o © • 1— 1 •;2fl eS O CO CD C c CD O i^ CO s^ Sh j_j £ oJ C 0) ::i t-i 'o M 'C a> 0^ eS*^ ai C! ^5 iD>. ^f^ H NEBRASKA. WE'LL sing of Nebraska on our route; 'Tis a great commonwealth there to be, And has many charms there to see, And the many fine cities round about. We'll sing of Nebraska on our line, With its fountains and fine springs And many other wonderful things; Many groves and trees there we find. We'll sing of Nebraska on our road, Where we see the many rich farms And the houses, orchards and barns. There by the Indians once was trod. We'll sing of Nebraska on our way. And of its western sandy plains, With the fine herds on the range; Where they ship many tons of hay. We'll sing of Nebraska on our tour. There with Nature's beauties around. Where many treasures there abound; In the west rocks and sand we pass o'er. September, 1906. 10^ BOOK NUMBER THREE Geysers, Yellowstone Park, Wyoming. The geysers and hot springs in the Park, By volcanic action they are formed. This is our national resort, Hemmed in with mountains around. CRYSTAL CAVE. OF Crystal's beauties now we will sing, There hidden beneath the mountains brave. We'll see the wonders of Crystal Cave, With treasures rare that are unseen. Of Crystal's beauties now we will sing, And the hidden treasures underground. Along its pathways have been found; We'll ne'er forget that lovely scene. It is covered by old Nature's cloak; Its stately rooms and castle halls With crystal paintings on the walls, Its pathways there are Nature's work. Its pathways there are many miles long, With picturesque scenery as we go, From room to room their beauties show; O could we sing the Crystal song! Along its pathways there are seen In its rooms, they are so bright With its jewels of the stalactite type, The rippling waters of many a spring. August, 1905. THE BLACK HILLS. THERE are some mountains far away There out near the Dakota plains, Where the falls and silvery streams play; Where in beauty Nature reigns. 105 There are some mountains far away Out in our northwestern land, For centuries have made their display As they in wondrous beauty stand. There are some mountains far away; There where their rich treasures abound Where they stand, they're wonders of the day; The minerals are gold and silver found. There are some mountains far away, They are the great Black Hills; They're dressed in mantles of green and gray; Among them are the brooks and rills. There are some mountains far away Where their beauties doth unfold; Here for ages they have had their sway. And their wonders can never be told. September, 1905. IOWA. A A /'E'LL sing of a great commonwealth While we are traveling around. Of its meadows and lovely streams, Where many rich valleys are found. We'll sing of a great commonwealth While we are passing by, And of its many fine cities there, And the trees waving 'neath the sunny sky. We'll sing of a great commonwealth, Can you count its treasures there? And the streams that traverse the land, And behold its wonders rare. 106 The Yellowstone Park, Wyoming. The white shelving terraces so fine Like the beautiful fairy gardens of old, With picturesque walls sublime, As if built in the City of Gold. We'll sing of a great commonwealth, It was once by the red man trod; But they will soon be forgotten Where they camped along the road. We'll sing of a great commonwealth, O could we all its wonders tell, Of its fountains and lovely springs! Now we bid thee a kind farewell. September, 1905. ILLINOIS. ILLINOIS, is the Prairie State In this great Republic; With its beauties very great, Here's many an ancient relic. Illinois is the Prairie State, In this our grand Union, Of its resources we'll relate; Its story is a true one. Illinois is the Prairie State With its many railroads grand. There many fine cities up-to-date Scatt*d"r6d over its fair land. Illinois, the Prairie State, It is now rich fields of corn. Its minerals are coal, iron and slate. Many are the wonders we see while passing on. Illinois is the Prairie State, Dotted with its groves so green, 108 To describe its beauties we can't wait; With its hills and silvery streams. September, 1905. THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER. THERE is a wonderful river Where its peaceful waters flow; Let us sing of its beauties there On its way to the Gulf of Mexico. There is a wonderful river Like the streams of a Fairy Land As it moves through fields and forest: Can you tell of its sceneries grand? There is a wonderful river On whose waves the sunbeams play; And we'll sing of its smiles While it is moving there on its way. There is a wonderful river That reaches to so many lands; Its fringes are of living green Where it moves over its golden sands. There is a wonderful river: Now we have its story told, Of its springs and silvery streams And of its fountains there of old. September, 1905. OHIO. WE'LL sing of the beauties of Ohio While we're traveling through the land; We see its relics and ancient mounds, And its wonders on every hand. 109 o CD 2>> OB t> O ^ >5 03-^ s ^ o cd ■ P We'll sing of the beauties of Ohio, Here you'll find the lovely waterfalls, The Lake Erie, and the Dayton Soldiers' Home,. And other cities with their palace halls. We'll sing of the beauties of Ohio, With its fountains and lovely springs. Here the many fine groves are seen. Its smiling rivers and silvery streams. We'll sing of the beauties of Ohio, A star on our banner there you'll see; Here the valleys and prairie farms, And many wonders too there be. We'll sing of the beauties of Ohio, Of its treasures along the way; Its meadows and orchards so fine. Where the beauties of Nature doth display^ September, 1905. DAYTON SOLDIERS' HOME. WE'LL sing of the wonders, There as we roam, Of the magnificent beauty Of the Dayton Home. We'll sing of the wonders, And our boys so true, Who fought for their country, Saved the red, white and blue. W^e'U sing of the wonders. Where the roses are seen, And the lovely trees. With the tall evergreen. in u -o-o dfl 3 o3 O cc ■^-^ fl CD V Mo (Ti !5 •r— 1 CO > o^ 1 F 1^ "P >, ■^ii CO ^i ^ s U « H) J^ Oh S^ G X3Ti """ *^fl o r •1— 1 hO cu p:^ 1 — ( c rr; 3 O o tlJ •■-i^ -M O C o cd Ph OJ > < 0) a) ^ •So tn ^ 01 Psi 0-^ «a a3<1 <l1 We'll sing of the wonders, There as we go. And we'll honor the boys, While we're traveling through. We'll sing of the wonders, And of the beauties we see With their lovely fountains, And forests there be. PENNSYLVANIA. PENNSYLVANIA is the keystone state, A bright star there is seen, Of its beauties we'll relate. Its meadows and fields of grain. Pennsylvania is the keystone state. Where its many treasures are found. Its majestic cities are up to date, With their telephone lines around. Pennsylvania is the keystone state, With its fine lakes and streams That flows from the mountain gates Through the rich valleys green. Pennsylvania is the keystone state, The center of the arch. With its wondrous beauties very great. We find there on our march. Pennsylvania is the keystone state, How can all its beauties be told? Its progress is of a rapid rate. Here its wonders doth unfold. 113 CD Eh CD o >H CD ® CO r — I I — I cd c6 cd ho cd -dp. THE ALLEGHANY MOUNTAINS. WE'LL sing of the Alleghany Range, So majestic and proudly theyjstand, While the ages on doth roll As if viewing the scenery grand. We'll sing of the Alleghany Range With its beautiful scepter to sway, Many are the lovely waterfalls And the fertile valleys along our way. We'll sing of the Alleghany Range Where its balmy breezes blow, Among the rocks and valleys so fine Its springs and sparkling waters flow. We'll sing of the Alleghany Range: That welcomes the first rays of the sun. Then all Nature sweetly sings At the coming of the morning dawn. We'll sing of the Alleghany Range: Many treasures lie hidden there; 'Tis the source of many a stream With its canyons and caves so fair. NEW YORK. WE'LL sing of a land of the brave, Many are the treasures there, And the beauties of the trees and flowers, With its towns and cities fair. We'll sing of a land of the brave, Decked with mountains and the many hills, 115 Niagara, New York, in Winter, We visit Niagara there as we go, Wliere the waters pour over the chasm; In winter the mist on the trees like snow, The crystals sparkle like diamonds on its bosom. With many fruits there in that land, With its springs, brooks and rills. Weil sing of a land of the brave, Who could all of its beauties tell? Of its highways and its vineyards, The lovely lakes we remember well. Weil sing of a land of the brave, No wonder the story is told, With its valleys, canyons and caves, Where their beauties doth unfold. ADIRONDACK MOUNTAINS. MERE'S the great Adirondack, Of its wonders now weil sing. Their wondrous beauties now we see. While the music of Nature doth ring. Here's the great Adirondack With its fountains and lovely springs; Many are its great waterfalls. Here so bright are its silvery streams. Here's the great Adirondack, With its canyons and caves, too. And with its high granite walls, The wooded valleys weil pass through. Here's the great Adirondack, There for centuries they have stood; In them are the beauties of Nature found, With the wonders there among the wood. Here's the great Adirondack, We see their beauties far away; But now we must leave them all behind, As we can here no longer stay. 117 The Goddess of Liberty, New York. The Goddess of Liberty, the Nation's pride. Her brilliant light one may see. Her beauty is known far and wide Inviting all to the land of the free. THE NIAGARA FALLS. WE'LL sing of the Niagara as we go, Where its wondrous beauties there doth show, There where the sparkling waters roll While moving onward to their goal. We'll sing of Niagara as we go, Encircled with mists and rainbow; O'er the chasm it makes its leap Of one hundred and sixty feet. We'll sing of Niagara as we go, — Along its banks the timbers grow; There in royal beauty array, On its waves the sunbeams play. We'll sing of Niagara as we go, — Beneath the falls our boat we row; The waters are pouring from its throne. Among the rocks like jewels shone. We'll sing of Niagara as we go, — See the rapids and whirlpool far below, From whence it doth its treasures bring. Of power and might it doth sing. THE FALLS OF' GENESEE. WE'LL sing of the Falls of Genesee Where it doth in beauty play; There in awe and wonder are the scenes Far below, where its jewels display. We'll sing you of the Falls of Genesee, As if touched by the Fairy's wand, 119 Brooklyn Bridge, New York. The Brooklyn Bridge is a wonder, Witli flve-incli steel cables one mile long. So high that the tall mast ships pass under. So wide it has Ave roadways on. There, while the ages rolled away, A lovely stream flowing through the land. We'll sing you of the Falls of Genesee: In winter its sparkling crystals seen, And in summer the flowers and trees Along its banks are the fringes of green. We'll sing you of the Falls of Genesee: In the old story by Nature told. We'll forget its wonders never, While the scepter of beauty it doth hold. We'll sing you of the Falls of Genesee: See the birds and butterflies on the wing! In the fragrance of the balmy air, How long in beauty there dost thou sing? MASSACHUSETTS. WE'LL sing you of Massachusetts, While we're taking our rounds: Many lovely scenes here are found, Fine fruits and products there abound. We'll sing you of Massachusetts, The first star in the blue; Many are the brave hearts there kind and true, Fine cities we see while traveling through. We'll sing you of Massachusetts, While we tell our fondest dreams. Of the lovely falls and silvery streams, The flowing fountains and bubbling springs. 121 Granite Quarries in the East. Many are the granite and marble quarries too In our country laere we find Among the liills and mountains as we go, Also rich minerals along on our line. We'll sing you of Massachusetts, On its shores plays the rolling sea; Many fine resorts here there be, In this great Union they hold the key. We'll sing you of Massachusetts, Of the grand old Bunker Hill; There are the lakes and rippling rills, — Its wondrous beauty our hearts doth thrill. BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. COME again and we'll sing Of the wonders, if you will, Of the memories we cherish, As we see old Bunker Hill. Come again and we'll sing Of thy beauties as we linger By the monument of the brave, — Thy dark days we'll long remember. Come again and we'll sing Of the beauties on our way, Of the streams and sparkling fountains, The lovely valleys there display. Come again and we'll sing, Here in peace our banner waves, There once reigned the arch enemy. Here sleep they who their country saved. 123 CD o CD O CD CO o o o ^ o £ .2 ^ P^ iiii •^5 O S 03 Cl o § 2 S -I u O o <1 H RHODE ISLAND. WE'LL sing of Rhode Island, Little Rhody is its name, you see; Many are the beauties that there be, With its fruits and flowers so fine, And its groves along our line. We'll sing of Rhode Island, With its cities and harbors fair. Some lovely springs and fountains there, There many fine grapes within reach, And the ocean waves play on the beach. We'll sing of Rhode Island, It is the smallest State In this Union that is so great; Through the valleys and meadows a fine scene, And the rich fields of golden grain. We'll sing of Rhode Island, Of its schools and colleges too. And of its lovely rivers flowing through; And some wonders, too, there we find. But alas, we must leave them ail behind. CONNECTICUT. OF a loyal State now we'll sing about, Here are the beauties we've found out. With its falls and mountain springs, With its caves and many curious things. Of a loyal State now we'll sing to you. We see the old landmarks as we're traveling through; 125 There are some wonders and fine scenery found- The State borders on Long Island Sound. Of a loyal State now we'll sing; Many fine resorts, where Nature's music rings; Here many fine towns and cities there be, The white sandy beach is washed by the sea. Of a loyal State we'll sing as we pass, Of its lovely forests, fine trees and grass; Now we must leave this healthy clime. And go sailing out over the brine. MAINE. WE'LL sing of Maine, the Pine Tree State,. And a visit there too we'll make, It has wondrous beauties and no mistake, We see as we go, as we go. We'll sing of Maine, the Pine Tree land, Of its fine harbors and rivers grand. Of the waterfalls and forests on every hand, We see as we go, as we go. We'll sing of Maine, the State of White Pine,. Fine springs and lakes there we find, Many hills and mountains along our line. We see as we go, as we go. We'll sing of Maine, of the evergreen. Where many birds and animals there are seen^ With rich valleys and fields of grain. We see as we go, as we go. We'll sing of Maine, washed by the brine. Where the sunbeams on the waves doth shine,. 126 Now we leave this healthy clime, We see as we go, as we go. NEW HAMPSHIRE. OF a state in the East we'll sing, Where the sun lights up our sky, Where the snow-capped peaks are seen, With their walls and pillars high. Of a state in the East we'll sing. Of the beauties of its waterfalls, And its valleys there dressed in green, Near by are the mountain walls. Of a state in the East we'll sing, And Nature's beauties are scattered there. Here the woods with music ring, With the bees and birds in the air. Of a state in the East we'll sing. Its luster on our banner is shown; There in prosperity she reigns, 'Tis our revolutionary fathers' home. Of a state in the East we'll sing, See its canyons and caves on our way; Now its story to you we'll bring, But alas we must bid thee good day. VERMONT. VERMONT, the Green Mountain State, Now of thee we'll sing, Many are its treasures fair, Their beauties here we'll bring. Vermont, the Green Mountain State, Here its wonders doth unfold, With valleys fair and mountains grand Long the stories have been told. Vermont, the Green Mountain State, She sits there like a queen, There with her snow-capped peaks And with a cloak of green. Vermont, the Green Mountain State, Dressed like the fairy land, Where the bright sun at early morn Plays on its golden strand. Vermont, the Green Mountain State, With its birds and flowers. With rich products and fine fruits. Within this land of ours. LAKE CHAMPLAIN THERE'S a lake whose silvery waves There in the morning light are shown, As they roll on the sandy beach; We'll sing as we're rocked in the foam There's a lake whose silvery waves, There in majesty they roll, Bordered by fringes of green, Where the streams reach their goal. There's a lake whose silvery waves — O where can its treasures be? In the trees and flowers there seen Near its waters far above the sea. 128 There's a lake whose silvery waves Play at Nature's great command, That sparkle in the glad sun's rays, \\ hile they roll o'er beds of sand. Tliere's a lake whose silvery waves Are quieted in the winter's blast, O'erspread by a coat of mail Till the gentle spring comes at last. WEST VIRGINIA. "pCTOW some notes on West Virginia: i. J, As through the country we are bound, We see the mountains on our way; Here are many wonders found. We'll sing of West Virginia, Where floats the red, white and blue Over old Harper's Ferry; Here are the homes of the brave and true. We'll sing of West Virginia, Of its many mountain resorts. Of its springs and fine streams And its high and rocky forts. We'll sing of West Virginia With its fine cities as we go, And the scenes along the way; In the rich valleys are fine timbers too. We'll sing of West Virginia — 'Tis a great commonwealth. O where are the beautiful treasures? They are its blooming health! September, 1905. 129 lo Atlantic City, New Jersey. We'll sing of the beauties that are far away, Along the white sandy beach the proud waves play; A fine resort where the young and old do bathe, 'And our ships sail far out o'er the ocean wave. SHENANDOAH VALLEY. WE'LL sing of the beauties on our way, As we travel through the Shenandoah: There are the majestic scenes Among the hills dressed in evergreen. We'll sing of the beauties on our way, Where the fountains in the sunbeams play; There's the bee and butterfly on the wing — Here in beauty all Nature doth sing. We'll sing of the beauties on our way. Where the mountains and hills make their display. This valley once wore a dark shroud, There beneath a sulphureous cloud. We'll sing of the beauties on our way. Where Nature its beautiful scepter doth sway; There are the rich fields and woodlands fair, The golden grain and fruits so rare. We'll sing of the beauties on our way: The lovely forests and the mountains gray. There are the treasures of N-ature's kind hands; In sorrow we leave these fairy lands. NEW JERSEY. THE State of New Jersey, a star in the blue. Of its many beauties we'll smg to you; Its beautiful cities and rivers we find, With its fruits and flowers along our line. 131 Ocean. Here in beauty thy proud waves roll Among the Island chains from pole to pole; Of thy many treasures thou dost boast. Where the waves are stayed on the rock-bound coast. Its shores are washed by the ocean waves, In the Revolution many were its braves; Here are the fine gardens and orchards too, We see the rich products as we travel through. There you'll find many fine scenes, The bubbling fountains and silvery streams, With many resorts here up to date, We'll ne'er forget the wonders of the State. There are the many treasures rare, The birds and bees and the flowers there; When you visit there, remember the story told. Where the book of Nature doth unfold. DELAWARE. OF Delaware, the diamond, now we'll write: Here its wondrous beauties, what a sight! A small State along our way, Yet in our government it has its say. Many fine sceneries also there be Where the State borders on the sea; Some fine resorts within reach. Where the ocean waves play on the beach. Some fine timbers out through here. Up and down along the Delaware, With its fine springs bubbling there Among the flowers of beauty rare. Here fine cities dot its plains Where peace, harmony in triumph reigns; It doth here its greatness show, But now, alas, we bid thee adieu. 133 MARYLAND. 'pCTOW we'll sing of fair Maryland, 1 J. A story of its beauties we'll tell as we go; That is an old historic land, Where the Potomac there doth flow. Now we'll sing of fair Maryland, A land noted for its fame In the great Revolutionary cause, Where it spread abroad its name. Now we'll sing of fair Maryland, Where its beauties doth unfold, With its cities and valleys fair And its wonderful stories long foretold. Now we'll sing of fair Maryland, Washed by the ocean waves while at play, Where the lovely islands there are seen In the waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Now we'll sing of fair Maryland, Where are the fine resorts we see. With its fruits and products there, We'll ne'er forget the beauties there be. WASHINGTON CITY. THERE'S a city whose beauty Far excels your fondest dreams, Where its wonders there doth display, Its palaces there are wonderful scenes. 134 There's a city whose beauty We've read in the story told, In lands that are far away, Its gardens of beauty there unfold. There's a city whose beauty, Of which our nation is proud, Where once the dark clouds hid the sight, While the guns were mouthing loud. There's a city whose beauty There shall never pass away; In. the midst of its trees and flowers, May peace and freedom have their sway. There's a city whose beauty, With its streets in costly array; Above its palaces floats our banner so true. Where liberty's sun is the beauty of the day. CHESAPEAKE BAY. WE'LL sing of the beauties That are far away, As we float around O'er the Chesapeake Bay. We'll sing of the beauties There as we go — By moonlight we sail O'er its waters so blue. We'll sing of the wonders, Among the waves so true. As our boat cuts the foam And the waters so blue. 135 Natural Bridge, Virginia. Again we'll sing of the wonders, As the Natural Bridge we see. Have you read the story of its beauty? How old this bridge must be! We'll sing of the beauties Where the water birds stay, On the orest of the waves Where the sunbeams play. We'll sing of the beauties — For the ocean we're bound; We will gather the treasures That are scattered around. ■ VIRGINIA. THERE'S a state that we call Virginia Along the east Atlantic shore, A state long noted for its fame And will be remembered evermore. There's a state that we call Virginia, So many wonders too there be: The Natural Bridge and caves around, The woodlands and valleys we see. There's a state that we call Virginia: Along its coast are the swamps, they say; Where the hills are dressed in green, And many other beauties on our way. There's a state that we call Virginia: Along its shores the islands lay, And also some ancient cities — To them our respects we must pay. There's a state that we call Virginia, Here its fountains and medical springs; Many are its lovely rivers And the silvery mountain streams. September, 1905. 137 Caverns in Virginia. AVe'll sing of the many wonders that there be, As we travel o'er land and sea; Among the hills the caverns and caves are found, Many wonders in Nature doth abound. THE NATURAL BRIDGE. AGAIN we'll sing of the wonders, As the great Natural Bridge we see. Have you read the story of its beauties? How old this bridge must be! Again we'll sing of the wonders, Far below we view the scenes; There are the hills and rocks there too And the foam of a silvery stream. Again we'll sing of the wonders, As we view Nature's walls there laid, The trees and flowers there surrounding. Like ancient castle by the fairies made. Again we'll sing of the wonders: Here's the treasures Nature hath brought, The birds, butterflies and the bees. We loathe to leave this spot. Again we'll sing of the wonders That stand while the ages roll away Through the sunshine, tempest and storm, But, alas, we must bid them good-day. NORTH CAROLINA. WE'LL sing of North Carolina, While we're traveling through. Now in this, our great Union, One star in our Red, White and Blue. We'll sing of North Carolina, Where the tobacco and cotton grows; Of its hills and mountains high, Where its crystal water flows. 139 We'll sing of North Carolina And of the many sights there be; Of the lovely island chains Where it borders on the sea. We'll sing of North Carolina, Its fountains and lovely springs; Of valleys and woodlands fair, Where its flowers their fragrance brings. We'll sing of North Carolina And the strains we'll prolong, Spread out before us in beauty We'll join in Nature's song. October, 1905. SOUTH CAROLINA. THERE'S a state down south we'll tell about Where its wondrous beauties there doth show. With the cypress swamps along our route, Where the rice and cotton there doth grow. There's a state down south we'll tell about. We see the beauties of the hills. Many pine forests as we look about; Here's the saw and shingle mills. There's a state down south we remember well, Its shores are washed by the ocean tide. About its falls and streams we'll tell, As among the hills there we ride. There's a state down south we remember well, Where many of our ocean steamers land. Along where the tide falls and swells We see the rich valleys on every hand. HO There's a state down south where once we did roam, Where they hoe the tobacco and the cane; And the huts along our line are the colored people's home. We saw the many scenes from the train. September, 1905. FORT SUMPTER. HAIL the stars and stripes! At early morning peacefully again, Over Fort Sumpter now she waves. May peace and prosperity ever reign! Hail the stars and stripes! Stop again to read their fame As above our forts she floats, There by the enemy it once was stained. Hail the stars and stripes! Of Fort Sumpter there so proud. By the enemies our banner was torn While the cannons were mouthing loud. Hail the stars and stripes! Ye nations all, let peace and freedom reign! No more shall the Fort be bathed in blood While its banner floats above the brine. Hail the stars and stripes! Above our strong fortress we see. But stronger are the hearts of its braves, There to defend our land of the free. Hail the stars and stripes! So proud there the gem of the seas. Long has it floated above the iron storm. May the enemies of our banner cease to be. September, 1905. 141 o a> c z^ r^ Oi tl ^ ■^ -i-> n^ M r! m O -c 83 C2 <D (Xi M !» 03 ■^ O •l-H ^ _, o ffl •^H ri A ■w Q. p j3 <:n, 13 ^ 4 da Scene ■^< ^ ' % o 1 1 — 1 OJ IB O '^ (X) o3 < ^ 3 J. "3 -a 3 s _, O ^ r -H Oi •,j fe I' <M *J U) O r^ j^ z 03 a o- ^ ^- q: 0) -S Ui T S A <f ^ .-S t- ® ^ ^ GEORGIA. THERE'S a state in our southern clime, Its beauties we remember well; With its roses, trees and vines, How can we all its wonders tell? There's a state in our southern clime, All its wealth cannot be told; With its many forests of spruce and pine, Many are the beauties that doth unfold. There's a state in our southern clime. Where many are the treasures found. See the fruits and liveoak on our line, And the rich minerals there abound. There's a state in our southern clime, The hills and mountains there we see; Here many wonderful springs we find, The silvery streams flow to the sea. There's a state in our southern clime. With its rich cotton fields and grain. And its wondrous beauties are sublime, As we viewed them from the train. September, 1905. FLORIDA. VE'LL sing you of Florida, In our southern clime far away, Where many wonders there be. And its beauties there we'll see, Far, far away. 143 >j ^ o fc< '-> n" C ^ 03 -5 1=1 d •'-' M - 2 ■S C> ct O n « eS cd ® X3 5 ^ f-i ■^ 2 o o .« 1 — 1 Oi *^ tv -^^ rH !>^ ^£ (Ti o ** ^ El 0) +-> crt C5 ,^ CO •1-1 ^ OJ ft >i w 03 ^ o -cJ (D M O M 2 r- 03 ?^^ 03 SS T3 a> O T3 a, 3 M *i «d a, 35 X There's the palm and palmetto, Where the orange and lemon grow, The banana and pineapple to sell, •Other tropical fruits do well. Far, far away. Here grows the cocoaniit tree; The singing birds and humming bee. Here you'll find the Everglades Where the Indians made tluir raids. Far, far away. Here's the city of St. Augustine, The oldest town in the country, we mean. There's the alligators and the snakes •Out among the canebrakes. Far, far away. There's the Spanish moss, )ou know. And the lovely mistletoe Where our southern rivers flow, As through our sunny land they go. Far, far away. September, 1905. PORTO RICO ISLAND. WE'LL sing again as we go, As out among the waves we roam; "We see the isle of Porto Rico. Where our boat there cuts the foam. We are nearing the isle so green, Where the orange and palm trees grow; Many are the beauties that are seen In a clime beyond the reach of frost and snow. 145 IT 4J cd CD cd Q) > 1 — I CO o CJ o a; 'O oi * 4J OD s is o <» a o bo 3 -c o »3 «. ;2i S 4) O QO c S.2 Many birds and bees are in the air In a lovely clime with perpetual spring; Many treasures around the isle so fair, Where its fragrance the breezes bring. Where the hills are like the fairylands, The sunbeams play on the waves so blue While we stay on those golden strands Spread fair around this isle, so true. Now we leave this lovely sight Where Nature's beauties doth unfold; Again o'er the waves we take our flight And leave this lovely isle so old. GULF OF MEXICO. MERE is another wonder That we'll read about. And some of its beauties There we have found out. Where its lovely waves In majesty they roll, Where many a laughing river There reaches its goal. Where the ocean steamers Among the waves play, There laden with products To distant ports away. The gulf is bounded With tropical forests great, The lovely island chains There around by many a state. 147 It is spread out in beauty In the rays of the sun, Fine shells on the beach Where its waves are thrown. ALABAMA. There's a state in the South That we call Alabam', Where they raise the cotton and the cane; With rich valleys and the pine tree land. Many beautiful rivers there are named. There's a state in the South. Of its wonders there you shall know, With its many beautiful springs And its fountains there as we go, The falls and silvery streams. There's a state in the South W^here rich minerals are found And fine fruits there doth grow; Many fine birds and animals abound — The cypress and palmetto as we go. There's a state in the South, On the Gulf of Mexico, Where ocean steamers there are seen; Where the many streams there flow; The trees with Spanish moss so green. September, 1905. 148 Scenes in the West Indies. Here the hills are dressed in green And the valleys with their lovely scenes. Where the tropical fruits are in reach And the many shells along on the beach. LOUISIANA. THERE'S a state of which we'll sing, And its charms to you we'll bring; With its lakes and rivers seen, And forests fringed with mosses green. This is called the Creole state, With its commerce very great, 'Tis washed by the waves of Mexico, Where the cotton and cane there doth grow. Many large vessels sail to and fro And great rivers there doth flow. Through here the pine forests and sawmills, With the large turpentine distills. Many tropical fruits are within reach. And fine shells along on the beach. Here is where the colored folks stay In the many log huts along our way. The balmy breezes of a southern clime-— Many are the beauties here we find; Here the game birds and the fish, Its early fruits make a fine dish. September, 1905. STATE OF MISSISSIPPI. WE'LL sing of the South, the fields of cotton. Where the pine grows along the bottom, Away down South. The liveoak and other timbers, Andjthe colored people in large numbers, Away, away, away down South. 150 CD o Pi .1^ rrl ft -i—l rr? r^ CO (11 1 — 1 <u +-) d -p cd ^ pq o n (1) in ^ >> ^ 53 We'll sing of the South, the fields of cane. And of the log huts along the lane, Away down South. Down where they the sugar make, Near the cypress swamps and canebrake, Away, away, away down South. We'll sing of the South, along the Mississippi river. Where the early fruits grow, and the gardens clever. Away down South. Here the many products the people raise Are tobacco, wheat, rice and maize. Away, away, away down South. We'll sing of the South, the turpentine distills, There the large saw and shingle mills. Away down South. There's some wild game by looking around, Birds and fish there abound. Away, away, away down South. September, 1905. TENNESSEE. WE'LL sing of a land in our sunny clime, Of its beauties the story is told. Of its bright streams and mountains gray, And the many wonders that doth unfold. We'll sing of a land in our sunny clime, Its inhabitants there grow old With its pure and balmy air While the scepter of beauty it doth hold. 152 Weil sing of a land in our sunny clime, Of its springs and fountains there. Of its rich valleys there we'll sing, With its fields and flowers so fair. Weil sing of a land in our sunny clime, Where many products and fruits doth grow; Fine marble and minerals there are found, And the lovely mountain rivers flow. Weil sing of a land in our sunny clime — How can we all its beauties enroll, And the many rich treasures there we find? There in majesty stand its mountains bold. September, 1905. 153 BOOK NUMBER FOUR Lookout Mountain, Tennessee. Lookout Mountain once wrapped in a shroud» On her summit a bright, sunny day. Where the battle was fought above the cloud In the carnage of the Blue and Gray. LOOKOUT MOUiNTAlN. THERE is where Lookout Mountain is seen, Among the hills and valleys fair, Dressed in beauty like a queen, Among the scenes of Nature rare. There is where Lookout Mountain is seen: Stop and read its history now; Although so beautiful and serene, The brave sleep beneath its brow. There is where Lookout Mountain is seen, While the ages roll away; Far beneath are the fields of grain, On its crown its sunbeams play. There is where Lookout Mountain is seen, With its^head above the clouds; Fire and smoke was once a screen, While the cannons were rumbling loud. There is where Lookout Mountain is seen, In the midst of this peaceful land. Where they shall learn of wars no more. The bloody strife is at its end. KENTUCKY. WE'LL sing of the old Kentucky shore; We've traveled for many miles away, And its many beauties there we adore. Among the hills and the mountains gray. 157 Lookout Mountain Battlefield, Tennessee. In sorrow we view the battlefield Where our fathers and brothers were laid low; Right had to win and wrong had to yield, Friend met with friend and foe with foe. We'll sing of the old Kentucky shore, Where in beauty Nature's treasures be; As down the mountains the streams pour, Hear the singing birds and humming bees. We'll sing of the old Kentucky shore, Of its forests and fields that are fine, Its sparkling streams murmur ever more, And of its treasures there in the mine. We'll sing of the old Kentucky shore, Of its wonderful caves along the line, And many of their wonders we'll explore. Among the mountains and the evergreen pine. We'll sing of the old Kentucky shore — Many are its products, we're told; With fine marble and the ores, Where its wondrous beauties doth unfold. September, 1905. THE MAMMOTH CAVE. WE'LL sing of a wonderful cave On the old Kentucky shore. While the hours we there while away And its pathways there we'll explore. We'll sing of a wonderful cave, Of its beauties there we'll tell: The crystal rooms and palace halls, The home where the fairies they did dwell. We'll sing of a wonderful cave. With its rooms like a silvery sheen. With crystallized rocks and the stalactite, And its glittering pictures are like a dream. 159 We'll sing of a wonderful cave, With streams there in its rooms we find, Along its archways as we go, In its rippling waters the fish are blind. We'll sing of a wonderful cave There touched by the fairies' wand; Its sparkling treasures now we bring — Its beauties are like dreams of the fairyland. CUMBERLAND RIVER. THERE is a lovely river Down in our southern clime; Its beauties we'll remember ever, There with its scenery fine. There is a lovely river That rises far, far away; Flowing down the mountain so clever, Among the rocks we see its spray. There is a lovely river Among the flowers and fields of grain Where its beauties fadeth never, There like pictures in silvery sheen. There is a lovely river, Its paths by Nature found, Our dreams of thee shall not sever, There the forests and hills abound. There is a lovely river. Its beauties are like a silver band, While it is flowing there forever Down through a beautiful land. 160 MISSOURI. THEN come along, make no delay, And we^U see the wonders of Old Missouri; Come from every state and from every way, I'll explain the beauties of Old Missouri. Then come along and you shall hear Of the orchards and forests there. Then come along and you'll find out Of the birds and animals we'll tell about. Then come along, make an early date, And see the mountains and caves in that state. Then come along and you shall know That down in Missouri fine crops grow. Then come along and view these scenes. The fountains and springs and silvery streams. Then come along and buy you a farm. The minerals here are lead, coal and iron. Then come along and hear me still. Here are the forests, the saw and shingle mill. Then come along to this state of old And see where Nature's book doth unfold. September, 1905. ARKANSAS. MA, HA, HA, don't you see We soon will in Arkansas be! Here they have lots of fun In catching the fish and using the gun. II The Cotton Fields. Here are the white cotton fields far, far away, There the sugar plantations too we see, In our southern clime where the colored folks stay The fields of tobacco manj' there be. Away down here in the cotton field The crops are good, a big yield. Here is where the fruits are found, Peaches and apples, juicy and round. Here is where the pine forests grow, And many a stream there doth flow, With many a thriving town so great Are found in the Arkansas state. Here are the corn and oats and wheat, The 'possum and coon there they eat. Cherries and berries to suit every taste, Grapes and persimmons going to waste. Here are the saw and shingle mills, On farther west the mountains and hills; Some rich minerals are found there, There's the deer, the wolf and bear. September, 1905. THE ARKANSAS RIVER. A A /'E'LL sing of the Arkansas That flows from the mountains far away, Through many a lovely valley Where the falls and sparkling waters play. We'll sing of the Arkansas, Where its banks are the granite hills, With its springs and many streams That come from the mountains and hills. We'll sing of the Arkansas, This greit riv er of note; 163 Branding on the Plains. Away out over the Texas plains. Is the buffalo grass and sand And the fine large herds on the range. Here Is where they also brand. A Bull Fight on the Plains. Out over these plains, what a sight! Among the herds there as we pass, Oft you'll see a fierce bull fight And the cowboys resting on the grass: Its wondrous beauties are seen As over its waters we float. We'll sing of the Arkansas Flowing through the cotton fields so gay;: Many are the treasures there be As it moves along its shiny way. We'll sing of the Arkansas With its sceneries so fine; Of its beauties we'll ne'er forget, Through its great forests of pine. September, 1905„ TEXAS STATE. THERE'S a state that is larger than this. Far away in our southern clime; There its wonders you should not miss, With its treasures and beauties sublime. There's a state that is larger than this, Where the palm and magnolia grow;; With its fruit and fine forest trees, The rich valleys their beauties show. There's a state that is larger, we find, Where play the waves of Mexico, With many tropical fruits on our line; O'er its plains the sands drift like snow^ There's a state that is larger than these, Where many large herds are found, And Nature's wonders the eye to please,. Where the rich minerals there abound. ir.3 Cliff Lwellers, Arizona. Let us tell the wondrous story Of the Cliff Dwellers of old. Far away among the mountains, There built in the land of gold. There's a state that is larger than all; Many birds and wild animals we see, And the sparkling waterfalls; The many fine cities there be. September, 1905. ARIZONA. THERE is a sunny land, far, far, away, Where the orange and palms we see, There's the redwood in beauty array; The singing bird and humming bee. There on its flowers. There is a sunny land far, far away, Where many rich valleys abound, With their silvery streams at play, And the many treasures are found There in that land. There is a sunny land, can, can it be? There with its canyon grand. And many a petrified tree. Many are the wonders in that land, Far, far from the sea. We see in that sunny land, as, as we go. There the many precious stones And the mountains covered with snow Where so many beauties are known. With its fruits and flowers. September, 1905 161 THE CLIFF DWELLERS. LET us tell the wondrous story Of the Cliff Dwellers of old. Far away among the mountains, They're built in the land of gold. Let us tell the wondrous story, Among the shelving rocks are seen, The ancient towns and forsaken homes Where the Cliff Dwellers have been. Let us tell the wondrous story As we scale the mountain peaks Along the paths of an ancient people Where in groups they used to meet. Let us tell the wondrous story Of the people that are gone; Along the cliffs and caves in the mountains^ Many are their pathways shown. Let us tell the wondrous story As we climb from room to room. O could we write all the wonders As we leave their mountain home! September, 1905, THE GRAND CANYON. ^^ ING of the wonders as we go, \^ As the Grand Canyon now we see. How came its wondrous beauty so? 'Tis the work of Nature's hand. We'll write of it now in song. And its wonders to others tell, 168 Of its towers and castles strong; Along its sides are the mountains gray. Its walls extend for many a mile, And their height is thousands of feet; At the storm and tempest how they smile. Along its banks are the high plateaus. With a beautiful river at their feet, And its banks are living green; Its rolling waters fast retreat, As along Nature's path they go. Here many precious stones abound: The sapphire, topaz and agate; In its walls the minerals are found: The gold and silver, and platinum too. See the petrified forests as we go, What wonders in Nature we find! In centuries past these did grow. With their verdure of beauty seen. August, 1905. PETRIFIED FORESTS. LET us sing of the wonders found In our great southwestern lands; In the fields, valleys, and the plains That were touched by Nature's wand. Let us sing of the wonders found. Of the stone forest near the Rocksteep^ Was once dressed in living green. But now in its winding sheet. Let us sing of the wonders found, Of a forest once so green and good, 169 Adobe Houses in the Southwest. We see the adobe there as we go. In Kansas, Oklahoma and New Mexico; This is the way they live on the plain. Till their lands are changed to rich fields of grain. Where the birds used to sing so gay, While centuries ago it stood. Let us sing of the wonders found. O why didst thou Nature's God offend, That thou wast turned to stone When touched by His angry hand? September, 1905. NEW MEXICO. THROUGH New Mexico we move To see how the state doth improve; It has some sceneries fine Out there along our line. Through New Mexico we go; The high peaks are covered with snow; Where gold and silver are found; Pine and Cottonwood abound. Through New Mexico we pass Over the plains of buffalo grass; There are some precious stones, And the lovely falls there known. Through New Mexico we travel, There's plenty of stone and gravel; Some rich valleys are there And many fruit trees that are rare. Through New Mexico we move on And see the rich mines along. Here cattle and sheep they raise And the many herds that pays. 171 THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. THE Cordilleras we are climbing — This is the great watershed, And the source of many a river Where the mountains rear their head. Sing of the beauties of the Rockies — Who can describe Nature's walls, Its mineral springs and crystal fountains And the many lovely waterfalls? Their foundations are silver and gold, There many other minerals are found; There the emerald and agate And many precious stones abound. There's the caves with crystal walls, And the caverns there so deep; There's the canyons with great walls, With the silvery streams at their feet. The hills are lined with evergreen Far above the valleys below; And the glistening mountains seen Are covered with the frost and snow. KANSAS. THROUGH a beautiful land we wander, — O could we all its beauties tell: The treasures hid in the valleys. Its fertile fields and flowery hills. Through a beautiful land we wander, Where fine cities dot its plains; 172 Many are the beauties of Nature. See its oil fields and coal veins. Through a beautiful land we wander, We see the rich fields of grain. 'Twas once a great wilderness, But now it shows its fame. Through a beautiful land we wander, With many springs and streams Like silvery bands through the land, With its timbers and grassy plains. Through a beautiful land we wander. Where its wonders doth unfold; We'll sing of its grandeur In this story that we have told. September, 1905. THE CIMARRON. TrxET us sing of the Cimarron, I / Where its crystal waters flow, With its white sands as we go, While we sing of the Cimarron. Let us sing of the Cimarron: Along its banks like snowflakes seen The crystals of a salt stream, While we sing of the Cimarron. Let us sing of the Cimarron: There in Kansas it doth rise On the plains, 'neath the sunny skies, While we sing of the Cimarron. Let us sing of the Cimarron, In Oklahoma a wide stream 173 Oklahoma Wind Mill. The Oklahoma farmers are jolly indeed, There by wind motors they grind their feed, For on the plains there's always a gale, A very few days but it will turn the wheel. Hidden by a wooded screen, While we sing of the Cimarron. Let us sing of the Cimarron: r\s it liows purer it doth grow Till it reaches the Gulf of Mexico, While we sing of the Cimarron. August, 1905. OKLAHOMA. WE'LL sing of our sunny clime, As we all its beauties see: The springs and streams so fine. With its rich valleys and trees. We'll sing of our sunny clime, Once by the red man trod, But now in rich fields of grain There we see along the road. We'll sing of our sunny land: — Could you count its wealth? — And of its industries on every hand, With its red roses of health. We'll sing of our sunny land As we write our fondest dreams, Where we hear Nature's band Let us paint all the lovely scenes. We'll sing of our sunny land: There's the beauties of early spring, Where the sunbeams play on the golden strand, And Nature her rich treasures doth bring. September, 1905 175 The Hawaiian Islands. Here the Hawaiian Islands are seen. With their tropical fruits and forests green, There's their beauties far out at sea, Wliere grows the palm, orange and fern tree. o OUR ISLAND POSSESSIONS. UT on the ocean so boundless we sail, Tossed on the waves of a rough, restless gale, We're sailing on, sailing on. Now we've left the ports of our native land, Rocked on the waves of the deep on deck we stand, We're sailing on, sailing on- Many are the birds near our vessel stay, On the crest of the waves the sunbeams play. W^e're sailing on, sailing on. We see the golden sun as it sinks in the west, The bright, silvery moon as it rises in the east. We're sailing on, sailing on. There's the Philippines, a thousand or more, With tropical fruits and forests on their shore. We're sailing on, sailing on. Now safe into port we sail once more, And the lovely isles we'll there explore. We're moving on, moving on. ALASKA. WE'LL sing of a land far, far away, Where the glittering mountains stand In all their beauteous array, There in that far-off land. We'll sing of a land far, far away, There's the iceberg and volcano, Where the seals and polar bears stay. We see the glaciers as we go. 177 12 Volcano in the Philippines. Here in awe and wonder we beheld the sight As over the waves conies the red light, The maddened waves are turned into foam, There far and wide falls the red hot stone. We'll sing of a land far, far away, The rich valleys with their scenery grand. Where the evergreens make their display, As if touched by Nature's hand. We'll sing of a land far, far away, Many are the treasures there found; We see the Eskimo with dogs and sleigh. And the fields of grain do there abound, We'll sing of a land far, far away. With its different kinds of birds around, Where the whale and swordfish play. O'er the waves again we're homeward bound. THE ALASKAN VOLCANO. WHAT wonder is this on an island green, So bright at night and far away It doth its wonders there display? Ah, it is Nature's greatest scenes. This is Nature's fireworks at night; The liquid flames the sky to meet Above the mountains some hundred feet; In awe and wonder we beheld the sight. The red hot boulders thrown high in air (There the waves of the sea are red As far around the island they spread) Are falling around the base everywhere. Ah, what is this in thunder-tones! See by the flashlight of heaven, From top to bottom the mount is riven; As we hear Nature's dying groans. 179 c6 CO CC! I — I o ih^Xl*^is'jSji^-\i.^ lki^i''tA^^^ <1) 03 m O >> X5 P (U ■i^ i? X3 n d o ^ u !$ Xi <t-i 43 O ■d m 0) T3 a O d bj d m •l-l <u X hfi a S-, o od ^ Vi •i-H M fa a> C J3 O H Tli oJ 1 1 Oj O M C3 <u ^ ^ ai 9} <S 83 •i-H o a rH T3 03 O m M 03 a> ^l^ 2 4-1 0^ fS 'A D u > 0) 1) ^ Si r/l :: ^ We hear the volcanic thunders roll, We see the red and fiery gleam, As down the mountain pours the lava stream, As if Nature were breaking beyond control. The maddened waves are put to flight, As the red hot lava turns the water to steam. The volcano is hid in a shrouded screen, While the bottom of the ocean is heaved in sight. August, 1905. THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM. TWAS the still hour of midnight while asleep, Some wonderful visions did over me creep: I dreamed that I passed through the last dying throe, Then my soul took its flight to the regions below. Soon through the wide yawning portals I passed, My passport examined and admitted at last. Then being informed by a ghost on the way My respects to Old Nick I straightway must pay, Forthwith to his throne I went and fell prostrate And paid my respects to the Old Arch Apostate. Then, rising, he bade me follow his wake, A tour through his kingdom for pastime we'd take. "I'll show you," said he, **how my quarters are crammed In various parts with the ghosts of the damned." •'Enough said,"I replied;"go ahead and I'll follow." Our pathway we took across the big hollow. As we wandered our way I saw on the right A palace of iron of towering height. I viewed it with wonder, but as I drew nigher 181 (U ^ S3 M 3 a si S3 *i a> i- ti 33 JJ (» OJ T3 ■!-> S3 ^ s ■ 2 a i ^ ^ t3 > \ fi *. CO CD 2.2 •1— t P4 ft *j fl 3 ■l-( , — 1 •1—1 O o Ph ft o 3 »^ -p ^ ft 3^ «+H SQ o CO CD ^ CO on ^ o •fH 00 w ft a> a ,i4 ;=! 03 (D r Ph ^ d S3 ai *^ CO S 3 O O ^< ^r O 3 O a ^ S3 >i H I discovered it was but a furnace of fire; Its apartments above, its basements below, Were crowded with beings the image of woe. "What's that?" was my query. The Devil replied, "It is the place where the first-class distillers are fried; As they said on Earth a man must not be Above taking a glass, so this is their end, you see; The distillers above, the drinkers below, The brimstone to stir and the bellows to blow. But let us go on, you shall see as you pass The punishment dire of a still meaner class. That palace on the left is the fiery abode Of a class who by thousands have trod the broad road. They are hireling watchmen who strive to increase The size of the fiock for the sake of the fleece; No care had they at all for the men of their charge, D umb dogs were they all while the wolf ran at large : They are speakers of all classes, divisions and names, Condemned to be boiled in the sulphureous flames. But the meanest by far of these miserable creatures. Those factors of hell, the intemperance speakers: They say that wine was made for men's strength And that all good men of the Bible had wine to drink. Wines are a necessity — they make it so plain. To deny it is taking the Lord's name in vain; But here a new light on their vision is burst. Some one else besides wine and beer drinkers are cursed: Just a few steps ahead TU show you their station Who with the whisky ring would ruin the nation." And now as we stood o'er a precipice dire, 1S3 ^ a k. o w be ^ o 3 S-l- CO (-1 0^ ft ® p. A 1 — I -rt •>-H 1-5 Ph ^ ® •r-t X2 J CD 1"! H 4J ^ f1 ■r-i (D CD Pi T3 H a o u cd cc 03 >. Oi ;h n !? ^ cd a> hft- m 4^ fl 03 crt <Xi >, u rl a 03 X5 CO ^ p 03 OP a <— I bO br ci jd o -«-> ^^ 0) «H J « N w We saw far beneath a great lake of fire. Like a sea in a tempest the surface was tossed, While it gleamed with the pale ghosts of the lost; Rock bound on all sides the deep hollows roar, The surges resound while lashing the shore; The blackness of darkness, a sulphureous cloud Hung over the scene like a funeral shroud. Yet plain was it seen the red waves were at play Lashing the crags and throwing back their spray; Each wave as it rose displayed on its crest Some dozen pale ghosts there riding abreast, Till striking the crags they sank from sight And others rolled up on billows of light. ** 'Tis here," quoth the devil, "we the rumsellers throw When they come down and call for their lodging below. As they never loved aught but broiling and strife And were true to all drunkards and gamblers in life, Ever cheating and swindling and watching around. Taking all honest men's money wherever found, Here they are tossing and writhing forever Like driftwood afloat on Niagara River. 'Tis here you will find all those wicked men Who devoted their powers, the tongue and the pen To propagate whiskey and spread it abroad, Thus making mankind accursed of God; Who fill your prisons there by the scores, Who are kept from crime by bars and doors; With the meanest of devils so low they have fell To broil in the flames of the lowest Hell — The lying reporters, editors and speakers Who rush the can with office-seekers. But a class of sinners came not long ago — 185 Indian V^igwam in Alaska. Up ill Alaska the Indian wigwam Is found, The home of the Indian and Eskimo; Where abundance of grain and fish abound, And their long, dreary winter brings the snow, What to do with them TU swear I don't know, For of all who arrive here day after day None but the meanest come in by that way, Floating down stream at their ease toward the lake: A species of being half man and half snake, Their heads crowned with gold, their bodies with skails, And, scorpion-like, they had stings in their tails. They agree with those here like water and oil, In less than an hour they had all Hell in a broil. So now I am puzzled to know what to do With this whiskey monopoly — black-hearted crew! I'd be glad to see the whole world come to Hell, I'm fond of mean men, but they please me too well; In their zeal for my cause and the good of this place They have brought the whole kingdom and cause to disgrace; Though loyal enough to my kingdom and throne, They have tarnished its honor wherever they're known: So I think I'll just take them outside of the town, Where the draining and filth and offal are thrown, Then toss the whole pack of them into the ditch Then cover them up with sulphur and pitch And set it on fire and leave them to cook. To writhe in the flames or strangle in smoke; This cursed crew to the ditch I'll consign, They are true to my cause but I can't call them mine. When the National Whiskey League and their host ShftU arrive at the gate of the home of the lost I'll meet and consign them a place near my throne, Their principal men shall be stars in my crown. 'Tis here also, I'm very sorry to tell, 187 Are the thousands who say there is no Hell. There's infidels and scoffers confined to that cell, 'Tis the most loathesome pit in this end of Hell; 'Tis here the blasphemer and murderer are found. Also the defeaters and black-legs abound, And thousands of rebels against God's govern- ment — To the regions of woe from earth they are sent. Also those upon Earth so often they tell God's love is too great to send one to Hell. That company above were bad people too, They wore Christians' cloaks to hide from view, To take well in the world and gain wealth, they say — They're not bound for Heaven, but are coming this way; They are a staunch, hypocritical crew, To the bottomless pit they deserve to go. Also the Sabbath breakers and forgers too, — I'll toss them in yon caldron and leave them to stew." We saw those who loved money instead of their God, Who were marching by thousands down the broad road; "Their riches are cankered and moth-eaten too, And now they must writhe in the flames of blue. And those novel writers who poison the mind Are coming to Hell their errors to find. " And then we passed to the Black Mountain's peak. Saw whirlpools of fire rolling under our feet, Where fork-like wings make their display, Where vain, proud people are coming each day; Those who deride the poor, just so, 188 Scenes of Alaska. We'll sing of a land far, far awaj-, The rich valleys with their scenery grand. Where the evergreens make their display, In the great wonder land. Icebergs in the North. Up around the poles, so we've heard. Are many a glacier and iceberg. Where lives the seal and polar bear, And the Eskimos in that frosty air. Have their proper place down here below. For those people I've prepared a place Who have assisted in damning the race. The world believes Hell is a fancy dream, But in these dark regions it changes the scene." Passing down the mountain where the surplus dripped, We saw those goody-goody people whose feet had slipped, Who think themselves better, to hear them tell. But instead of Heaven they slipped into Hell: "My gates are open to welcome such trash. " Hear! hist, rattle, boom, smash! **Pray, what shall I ever in this world do? Here comes a crowd of that prize fighting crew." As they stood in bewilderment not far away They sank through a rift where the crust gave way. The next striking picture presented to me Was a turbulent river falling into the sea: " 'Tis here," said the devil, "you will see full well,. There case hardened sinners are floating to Hell. All over my realm at every station People still have the same inclination: Money fiends are counting their fiery treasures, Others playing cards for infernal pleasures." Oh, that place of despair and darkness of night, Out of Hope's reach and beyond Mercy's sight! There wails of remorse reach every spot — "We knew His will but we did it not." To their amazement and horror they find out This is the second death God's word tells about. Then came a messenger hastily down And cried, "Sir, your majesty's wanted up town,. For another great batch of that alcohol crew 191 Have entered the courts and are asking for you. " His majesty then grew black in the face — "I'll go up and kick them all out of this place! Their stench I detest, I can^t bear them near, And I'll let them see that they can not stay here." So saying, and wearing a terrible frown, A trident he seized and hurried up town. Then quickly I heard mingled whining and shriek- ing, In thunder and wrath Old Belzebub speaking, "Here, get out of my court, you rascally crew. You're too mean to stay here where decent folks do!" And then like a man of his reason bereft Satan tumbled and pitched about right and left. They yelled and shrieked, "Pray, Satan, hold on! We're loyal to you!" Cries Satan, "Begone!" While blows he dealt out so fierce did they scream, With their yells in my ears, I awoke from my dream. THE END OF TIME. THE young men shall visions see, In the last days, sayeth the Word. I was in the spirit, then carried away, I beheld the wrath of an offended God. I looked and lo! the blazing sun A globe of darkness it then became, The glittering stars, while on their way. Through eternal space, had lost their ray. 192 iL. bt r^ 3 o n O u Si 4-> o ^ bj ^ s p:^ o CO o o 03 0. ^ t, en D 03 4^ j:3 fi ^ a> M O CD -!-> >3 33 tn 1 — 1 1' 4-) -!-> .-1 1< CO 0) cc on O 3 ^ 3 o Oi ■4-1 -^ a S3 3 03 tt) ^ ^ ■r 1 L ■■:f *■,•'. * .■J /, '■■;;. -■- I ,V".-.?'.V,- _-.i ta- " :•:. ,,^ 1^:.' il 1^ [-=-■■§. i ■ ■■ '''i^WM:--';^^' o o •I — * ^ o ■3 4-^ 03 o <V P. l^ S -1^ JU , — 1 03 3 03 S <1; c3 4-1 m 33 0; 0; T3 ^ rri Ml 3 OJ CD 4-5 0) b 0; 03 cd 0) en .w 5 j:3 Ph 0) C5 :f a> bo nt ID J3 Oh r| a> > r< J ^^ K The silvery mooji that shines so bright, Alas, refused to give her light; The darkened world in blackness hung, Creation stopped and ceased to run. The mountains asunder then were riven, From their places the hills were driven, The beautiful cities so proudly stand, Then crumbled to dust by His command. I beheld and lo! a tierce whirlwind Laid the beautiful forests to the ground; The earth's surface — alas, can it be? — Heaved to and fro like a troubled sea. I looked and alas Old Time had fled, The sea and earth gave up their dead; I saw in the east a dazzling throne. And the Glory of Him who sits thereon. Around Him, the angelic host, so bright, The beautiful saints in a cloud of light, Millions of quivering forms then before Him stood Awaiting their reward of an offended God. *'THE PORTALS." OH, that peace, joy and bliss That floats on the balmy breeze Of that heavenly shore, whose waves are carried along By angels and saints in triumphant song. Ten thousands times ten thousand then Sing praises to Him who died for men. Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, Who hath redeemed and washed away our st^in. 194 \ "'S-'MHJ ID IHjyHH| Mi 1 '^^Hj^^^^H R 'i^^^Kjc ^j^^l H H^^HH L^'i "I'^^k-M H i^H ^1 '^f^|l 1 mE H ^ ^^^^^ff 1 ^'mhIsI 1 v£ tSJEs^ K^^I^^K ■H I^.C^lHil^H *'^9l •ll^^^^^B 1 P wff^ ^^bI^SLb^^ ^^^ ^ BfiSi^ fe^.' ^m^ •' '^^WWK '"a J^K - V^oC In ij|l^pB|g.. •V ^Mm H 'j^Jfii^BRffl ■ ^ ' ¥ «^^^H H ^^^Vf^^fjC^fe,ifl|^^^^H 1 ^H n fi S i L^! n f,f . « H K *iW 1 ■ miwr '^^BL (i.^wBHM ^1 ^^^w jH^B .^^^-''^vVJeHHB 1 L t £ 3 2 «s §^ tn «« ■a o S -^ O fc» ^ P X ^ •t^ a; 11 J3 3^ *i H <t 03 -^^ a ' ^ -a ^ X a O >i a CO o TZJ 5^ Oj ?u a . £ » M * (ji K ^ ^ ai C 03 O aa '*3 fc. G OJ iS ■0 o ^0 *^ ® o5 bC CO •S < 3D Friends, do you see those dear ones Whose robes doth sparkle like the diamonds? With beautiful crowns that are so bright, They send forth waves of beauty and light. Their beauty surpasses all earthly things, In the glad sunlight how their faces beam! Ah, they are holding out their beautiful hands, Calling their dear ones to those heavenly lands. Hark! do I hear the echoes, back from earth there, Borne on the wings of solemn prayer? Yes, dear ones were coming that way To join in the praises of endless day. Our prayers by the angels are whispered to them, See those angelic smiles as they sing again. Sisters and brothers have gone before, Fathers and mothers are waiting on that shore. There^s our rosy-cheeked darling holding out her hands, "Come, papa and mamma, to these beautiful lands." There rests a husband or a wife. Watching the dear ones on the Path of Life. When we are done with time and our struggles are all o'er, Through God's grace we'll meet them again on that shore. 196 VERSES FROM MY Course of Lectures Lecturing on Astronomy. We see from this world of ours, In the dark shadows of night, Tlie sparkling, silvery stars, The millions of worlds in their flight. OUR WORLD. VE see from this world of ours, In the dark shadows of night, The sparkling, silvery stars, The millions of worlds in their flight. Low in their beauty they sing, As around the center of gravity move. Honor and praise to their King Who reigns in the Heavens above! Old Time will soon faint and die, The moon refuse to shine, The stars grow dim as they fly. — He forever in His kingdom shall reign. THE UNIVERSE. The Heavens declare God's glory to be, In the millions of suns, the stars we see; Night unto night His great wisdom is shown In the planets and comets, meteors and moon. PLANET NEPTUNE. Who is this ferryman on yonder waves, — Can the great depths answer me? With his fisher's spear so true and brave, He's called the God of the Seas. PLANET SATURN. Who is this with gray locks so fair, That wieldeth his power over all creation? He holdeth the cycle -'tis the God of Time — He cleaveth the forest and cutteth down the nation. 1!)9 Forever in beauty the Planet Saturn sings, With his nine moons and three shining rings, What tho' no real voice nor sound Amid those radiant orbs be found; There in solemn silence all, So swiftly they move around this ball. And in Reason's ear they now rejoice And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing where they shine, "The Hand that made us is divine." THE PLANETS. Oh, those shining orbs that move Are a wonder to define; Their paths marked by Him above, Whose glory is sublime. He spans the heavens with a glance, Not one star is hid from sight; Their beauty comes not by chance, He holds them all by His might. Ah, they sing while on their way Through Heaven's arched dome, Among the constellations fly Around the eternal throne. Their paths are silver lined, On the ocean of abyss they float, As they among the galaxy shine, With every turn their perfection note. STARS. See those sparkling gems above, Scattered like jewels in the skies, Shooting forth their rays of love On this dark world that flies. 200 In honor to their King, While obeying His commands, Behold, their sparkling lights are seen Off in the distant lands. From whence hath He gathered all the jewels That are scattered in the blue? They are the shining worlds, With their pathways all marked out so true. All things in the skies, on sea and land, Showeth the work of His divine hand. While this mighty earth on nothing He hung, In the canopy of Heaven His wonders were sung. Study His works, for Nature doth tell That, behold. He doeth all things well. THE SUN. True wisdom, justice, power and love In all their glories are shown By Him who sits in the courts above And guides our world and sun. His hand the wheels of Nature guides With unsurpassing skill. And countless worlds extended wide Obey His sovereign will. THE MOON. The mooQ shall be given for seasons and signs, Sayeth He who holdeth the world in His hands. See her in beauty, with a silvery light, Forever she's singing, she's the queen of the night, 201 PLANET MARS. What means this signal red light? 'Tis the beautiful planet of Mars — It is called the God of Wars, As he moves in his swift flight. THE SKIES. Behold the beauties of the night, When the sun is hid in the west. We'll sing of the worlds in their flight, And the silvery moon rising in the east. THE COMETS. There in the azure robe of night. As if piercing the deep blue skies, Behold yon beautiful train of light; In lightning speed she flies. It is a messenger; it smiles At its errands to perform, Traversing Heaven's endless miles Erom distant parts unknown. A wonder in heaven — how it shines! She pauses not in her pace, Onward moves her endless train. Like a legion in a race. She brighter grows as near the sun. And faster moves there on her road- Oh, 'tis a comet in her swift run. See, she flashes around that globe! She wings away among the spheres. As if to greet their silver light. Ah, the horizon she nears And is lost in the abyss of night. 20- Perhaps age on age will roll away, Old Time may stop and cease to fly While it moves there in its play, Ere she will again light up our sky. He who marks the sparrows flight Will guide the comets and world aright; We're safe in our journey around the sun Until old Time himself his race has run. THE STARS. Away far beyond the solar system true, There floats the stars in the deep blue. Yet our siderial journey is only begun, There're distant millions of stars beyond. The spangled heaven's shining throng Their great original proclaim, They publish forth to every land The creation of a mighty Hand. O say, mortal man, have you heard of His fame Who telleth the number of stars and their name. Who fathoms the chasms of dark abyss, And setteth the millions of suns in their place? There's Arcturus, Orion and Pleiades, Andromeda and the Daulphin he sees; There're Castor and Pollux, those stars next In the great celestial globe are fixed. There're Beta and Delta, Sigma and Pallas, In our long siderial journey we pass; Lion and Boots and the Great Bear, Virgo, Libra and Scorpio are there. In the south we find the ship Argo, Hydra, the Cross and the Milk Dipper too; 203 The stars of the first magnitude we see, Number in all about twenty-three. The second number with regard to size, Their number is sixty-five; The third, two hundred stars appear; The fifth, eleven hundred shining clear. The sixth, thirty-two hundred come to view. The seventh, thirteen thousand and ninety-two. The number of stars to the most piercing eye Is about six thousand seen in the sky. During the period of the last hundred years. Thirteen were destroyed, ten new ones appears There the stars rotate too, Just as all our planets do. Most stars are larger than the sun of our day, Yet they look small, being so far away. Each with its retinue of worlds is found Among the constellations moving around. Centuri, the first in our siderial run, Nearest to us, half the size of our sun; Light is three and a half years in crossing the abyss, What mind can comprehend such an immensity as this? A rifle ball moving one thousand miles per hour Would take two thousand years to reach that star. What shall we say of the North Star, if you please? Light is fifty years in crossing those seas. The Seven Sisters who wander through space Take five hundred years to send light to this place. One hundred and fifty in that group descry, Only seven are seen with the naked eye. 204 Now the outpost of our starry system, Out at the extreme, like our Neptune, To reach us it would take their light Five hundred years in its rapid flight. It would take light ten thousand years To cross this immense cluster of stars. What shall we say of God's works round about? Shall we all the secrets of heaven find out? In every direction His glory is shown, In the millions of worlds that are His own. Our cluster like a ball doth display, Along the out edge is the Milky Way. Now in our starry journey we've come To the outpost of our great system. Now we've come to the gulf of dark abyss, Still on and on o^er its dark waters we pass. Then on and on, still on in our flight, We're passing through the shadows of night. Till finally safe on the other shore There are six thousand clusters more. Now to reach us it would take their light Five million years in its rapid flight. Then on, still on and on, moves our celestial cars, Many clusters we pass, some larger than ours. We stop in the center of a cluster again, In thirty millions of years light would reach our train. We see our cluster of stars, in their skies, A round ball of light like an apple in size. Shall we in our journey farther roam? Can we measure the heavenly dome? 205 There's the spot where the golden light is shone, The center of the universe, the seat of God's throne. Bound on all sides by the specks of gray light The myriads of stars move round in their flight. How rapid the eye and the mind travels through Among the millions of stars brought to our view! Homeward now through the vaulted sky, We bid the sun, moon, and stars good-bye. Roll on, ye globes of splendor and might. And of thy great Creator sing; Ever shooting forth their silver light, An homage of praise they bring. INDEX Alabama 148 Arkansas 161 Arkansas River, Ark.... 163 Alleghany Mts.,Penn... 115 Adirondack Mts., N. Y.. 117 Arizona 167 Alaska 177 Alaskan Volcano 179 Black Canyon, Colo 93 Bunker Hill, Mass 127 Bridal Veil Falls, N. D.. 34 Black Hills, S. D.. 105 Big Horn River, Wyo 98 Connecticut 125 Chesapeake Bay, Md 135 Cumberland River, Ky.. 160 Canada 57 California 72 Cliff Dwellers, Ariz 168 Cimarron River, Kan 173 Castle Gate, Utah 85 Cedars 70 Colorado 89 Custer's Monament, Mont 38 Crater Lake, Ore 70 Cry&tal Cave, S. Dak 105 Columbia River, Ore 69 Cascades, Wash -. . 57 Delaware 133 Drunkard's Dream 181 Dayton Soldiers' Home, Ohio Ill Devil's Lake, N. Dak 34 End of Time 192 Forest Fires, Ida 45 Forests, Washin gton 51 Florida 143 Fort Sumpter. S. C 141 Falls of Genesee, N. Y... 119 Grand Canyon, Ariz 168 Garden of the Gods, Colo. 91 Georgia 143 Gulf of Mexico 147 Great Salt Lake, Ut 87 Hercules Pillars, Ore . . 64 Indiana 14 Iroquois River, Ind 16 Iowa 106 Idaho 40 Island Possessions 177 Illinois 108 Jasper County, Ind 19 Kansas 172 Kankakee 15 Kentucky 157 Lava Beds, Ida 42 Lake Ponderay, Ida 44 Lake Itasca, Minn 27 Louisiana 150 Lake Superior, Mich 22 Lake Champlain, Vt 128 Lake Michigan, Wis. or Mich 25 Lookout Mountain, Tenn. 157 Mount Hood, Oregon 64 Montana 35 Mount Shasta, Cal 74 Mississippi River 109 Minnesota 25 Missouri igi Mount Rainier, Ore 63 Mississippi 150 Michigan 20 Mackinac Island, Mich. . 20 Maryland 134 Massachusetts 121 Maine 126 Mammoth Cave, Ky 159 North Dakota Prairie ... '31 Nevada 80 New Mexico 171 Nebraska 102 North Carolina 139 New Jersey . . 131 New Hampshire 127 New York 115 Natural Bridge, Va 139 Niagara Falls, N. Y 119 Oregon 58 On Astronomy 199 Oklahoma 175 Ohio 109 Plateau, Nev 81 Pacific Ocean 62 Puget Sound, Wash 55 Pacific Slope 53 Petrified Forests, Ariz... 169 Portals 194 Porto Rico 145 Pennsylvania 113 Rocky Mountains 172 Rennselaer, Ind 18 Redwood, Cal 75 Royal Gorge, Colo 91 Red River, North Minn.. 32 Rainy Lake and River, Minn 29 Rhode Island 125 Shoshone Falls, Idaho . . 47 Seven Falls, Cal 75 Sierra Nevada Mountains Cal 76 St. Joseph River, Ind... 17 Song on the Plains 81 South Dakota 100 South Carolina 140 Shenandoah Valley, Va. 131 Salt Lake City, Utah. ... 87 The East and South... . 11 The Mountains, Mont... 40 Tennessee 152 Texas 165 Tippecanoe River, Ind.. 16 Utah 83 Virginia 137 Vermont 127 Washington City, D. C. 134 Wyoming 95 Willamette River, Ore.. . 60 Wisconsin 23 West Virginia 129 Washington State 49 Yellowstone Lake, Wyo. 97 Yosemite Valley, Cal 78 Yellowstone Park, Wyo. 97 MR 30 ly06 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS iiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'JiHinjJII!!!! |!!|{!!| 015 799 417 7

17011822

The dance of youth, and other poems,

Altrocchi, Julia Cooley

danceofyouthothe00altr_djvu.txt

.^VfH', %eD i*iA :^jj' Dance of 3outl Julia Cooley if ih' t-^^vvv^ Class xS350i_ BooIclzasJLl GopyiigtaN J^«7 CDPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE DANCE OF YOUTH AND OTHER POEMS BY y JULIA COOLEY Author of 'Toems of a Child," etc. BOSTON SHj:3ElMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1917 P53501 .L795II3 Copyright, 1917 Shebmax, Frexch &• Company APR 14 1917 6)aA-JG032' .*5 t TO MY MOTHER AND FATHER NOTE For permission to reprint certain of these poems grateful acknowledgment is made to Harper's Magazine, Poetry, Contemporary Verse and The Midland. CONTENTS PAGE Dance of Youth 1 The First Poet 3 The Dawning 5 Completion 6 The Poet Dispraises His Material . . .11 world-oldness is Determinism 14 The Beautiful Chance 16 To A Mother 17 Flood-tide 18 The Blossoming Bough 21 The Golden Flies 24 The Changed Moon 25 Entity 27 The Song of the Unwedded Woman . . 29 The Seeming Sea SO The Message SI The Anthem 34 The After-song 35 Interlude on Matter 36 Idleness S7 Of the Statue of Buddha S9 To THE Night-wind 40 Spring Sorrow . 41 A Query in a Garden 43 Certitude 44 The Mirror 45 Vide Astra 46 Experience 48 PAGE Attuned 49 The Shadow of a Tree 50 Magic Moonlight 53 Insulation 54 On the Shore 56 Into a Room 58 Success 59 Defeat 60 The Cloak 61 To AN Egyptian Maiden 63 The Rose of Now 64 The Dissembler 66 She Bends above a Flower 67 Morning 68 The Sun-grail 69 Passion 70 To A Woman in Her Garden 71 Contentment 72 The Poet to His Bodily Instrument . . 73 Laughter 75 Orion . 76 In Praise of Sculpture 77 In a Corridor of Statues 79 Vanita Speaks 81 The Quarrel 82 A Cry 83 Surface Snow 84 Petals 85 Uncloaked 86 The Dancer and the Dawn 87 PAGE Before the Dusk 88 The Turned Blade 89 Flame and Shadow 90 Sleep 92 A Prayer 93 Spring Stars 94 The Acolyte 96 A Wife to Her Husband 97 The Two 98 The Anomaly 100 Fancy 101 Love Life, but Not Too Much .... 102 The False Face 103 In a Grove 104 An Answer 105 Futility . 106 To A Soul Unprejudiced 107 The Burnt Offering 109 The Coquette Regenerated 110 The Woman Ill Hope 114 The Old Poet by the Fireside . . . .115 Beauty 118 Recapitulation in Heaven 119 The Builders of Walls 123 DANCE OF YOUTH The stars are aflare and the moon is white, And the wind blows over the grass ! Light is my youth and my feet are light, And swift are the years that pass. Come, all maidens, and bind your hands About your heads of gold. Swiften your feet and trip the sands Before the world grows old. Lais and Thais have gone from the noon. And Berenice bloomed of yore. Lesbia whiteTis beneath the moon. And Sappho sings no more. Come, while the life of you lifts in the day, And laughter through you slips. Supple and sweet is the leaping clay, From the feet to the fingertips ! Come, while love is a reaching fire, And never a flickered dream. Leap and dance till you touch the Lyre, And bathe in the upper stream ! Lais and Thais have gone from the noon. And Berenice bloomed of yore. Lesbia whitens beneath the moon. And Sappho sings no more. [1] A shadow lurks in the Milky Way, And behind the moon is Death. Dance, oh dance, till the night is grey, And the dew is a shuddering breath ! Ye are Lai's and Thais now. Ye are the fruit of the hour. Sway we and sing like a summer bough, Till another youth shall flower ! Lais and Thais have gone from the noon, And Berenice bloomed of yore, Lesbia whitens beneath the moon. And Sappho svngs no more. [2] THE FIRST POET Some say the first poet was the one who threw, From the brown, dancing ring of savage crew, The first wild cry of diff^erent pitch or sound, Or first new gesture, as they beat the ground With throbbing feet, and leaped in blue mid-air With arms defiant and with flying hair. Wracked as the twisted leaves of forest trees, — Then bent again on swift, resilient knees To spring with animal rebound ! They say That different cry, that different move or stay. First variant, where pregnant change began. Spelled the first, living, vibrant poem of man. Perchance. — And yet, wherefore should merest change, Unconscious shift of nerves in the wide range Of the organic tissue, so bespeak The poet ? 'Twas muscular reaction, freak Of Nature, wherefore should he bear the name Of poet, this mad-cap dancer, what his claim? Who shall not rather say that that first one Who paused beside his cave at setting-sun And watched the miracle with half -shut eyes For one bare instant, while the flaming skies Crowned his brown form and nascent soul with light. That he first pierced the overwhelming night Of savage sleep and animal desire, [3] And filled it with the first poetic fire. Or he again who, in some hunting-hour, Dropped his red spear and stooped to smell a flower ; Or he who paused beside some meadow-stream And listened, eyes a-gleam, to the brook's dream ; Or he who breasted the night-wind for glee. And laughed at drifting star and flying tree ! Such the first poets, not leapers on the knolls, — Not dancing forms, but dancing, dawning souls ! [4] THE DAWNING Beautiful is love in its low dawn, Before the word of wonderment is said, Or the soul's shutters are undrawn, When the first thoughts are incorporeally wed. love, touch not my lips or hands or hair. 1 would dwell with thee always in this wise. To find the dawn forever dim and fair, And promise, not fruition in thine eyes. CS] COMPLETION Completion, without hope of increase, empty thing Of marbled deadness, wintry silence, shorn of wing. Completion, laurel-crowned, stripped of the laughing stress Of assay, stilled of limb. Gaunt, destitute success I Completion, sterile, without seed to propagate. Pale, terrible and mute with terminated fate. Completion, dusty-footed, with no race to win. Completion, crumple-fingered, with no webs to spin. Cold loser of the springing step, the starward plunge of youth, From whose dead eyes has gone the gleaming quest for truth. Closed past the happy adolescence and light swerve Of the rounding, circle-striving, crescent curve. [6] Finished, filled, completed, fruited, towered, all wrought, Full smaller than the air-wide, great initial thought. Dead, dead, robbed of the golden, swirling dance of flight, Brought to a petty perfectness, a withered plight. Worn to a cold close in a world of warm, bright birth. Faded mid bud and blossom, imitating dearth. Completion, poising in a universe where End Is not, where all is birth, growth, flight, reced- ing End ! The runner leaps to the far, shining goal With surging sinews, jubilant with flight. The winds rush past him and the stars burn by ! Beneath his pulsing feet swift flowers arise; All lives, all moves, all radiates, all sings ! The world is one great trumpet, he the strain. But when the dwindled goal is reached at last. He sinks upon the dusty path foot-sore ; The fire within his seething soul turns ash. The winds die down, the splendent stars recede, The flowers decay, the living song goes out. [7] More glorious to chase the shifting dream That melts into the sky, from star to star And flies forever on, than find a compassed dream ! How fair is that first whiff of April flowers That stirs the senses to unmeasured loveliness, And that first step upon the leaning shore Before the winged ship puts out to sea. How fair are all things guessed and incomplete. And therefore infinite, before The girdle of the act encloses them. Wondrous Dawn, in whose cool silences The glory of the day lies all unspilled As in a pool before the water brims. There lie the yet unloosened, sealed wings Of butterflies, the silent songs of birds, The hidden fragrance of the sleeping flowers, The fertile wealth of day's futurity. O wondrous, drowsy dusk that lies in swoon, Rich with the burden of the yet unlighted moon. O Spring, a-dream with all the lurking year That follows after, flower and bird and tree, O Spring, poise there forever on the hills. Thine eyes filled with the dream of daffodils. Thy body thrilling with expectant fire, Thy spirit shedding promise and desire ! Man loves thee for thy promise and his dream. The Summer is too wide with blossoming. Exuberance of flowers and flocks of birds. [8] And full-blown spheres of weary, rounded moons, Too near exhaustion and the Winter's death. We must have essences that take our thoughts And draw them out to dim infinity, And form processions in our eager souls. We must have spirals like the nebulae. And roomy mists and laughing distances ! We must have buds that hint the perfect flower. We must have crescent moons that keep the whole Within the slim, prophetic, mystic curve; We must have Dawn and Dusk and Spring and Youth! What if, — it is a shuddering thought, — What if the world were one great finished whole, One closed round of doom; one ring of death; One globe of dark concavity, one tomb ; One empire of completion, one full sphere. Choked with the massive labors of the past ! No room for seeds or hopes or wings or dreams, No distances, no clouds, no stirring things, No skies to climb, no spinning universe. No stars ! Man, blest with the yearning eyes. Whose search can yet discern no verge, no end, No tottering rim, no withered boundary. Whose soul is mighty with pursuit, whose world Is measureless — plunge on to mysteries [9] Unsolved, into new paths, new seas, new skies. Never at seedless aim or fruited goal arrive ! — Yet if perchance, star-weary, you should wing At some dim day into a closing round Of dead completion, — bend thou the cosmic span With the living deeds and the deathless dreams of man 1 [10] THE POET DISPRAISES HIS MATERIAL Give me a mountain-side to carve, to blast ! I am forespent with trafficking in words. Words are but fragile things that flitter past Lighter than the light wings of humming-birds. They are faint aurae of the fleshless soul, Pale duplicates of paler, wanner thought. Give me a block of granite, huge and whole. Fierce to the touch, objective, hard, unwrought! So shall I bruise my flaccid palms against the rock And find it strong of substance, solid, sealed. So shall I sing with impact of the shock, And, singing, carve out beauty, real, revealed! And, by the gods, this statue shall have mass And shape and matter, curve and lift and line, And body that shall not take wing and pass, And flame more palpable than fire divine. We shall have beauty large and looming to the eyes. Beauty blocked in the world for men to see. To touch, to feel, to glory in, to prize. Beauty at last hewn from her mystery. [11] No more of flimsy fancies floating past, And words as light as lightest humming-birds. Give me a mountain-side to carve, to blast ! I am forespent with trafiicking in words. [12] WORLD-OLDNESS Lo, that strange thought swooped upon my mind again, That sense that I have lived through all the coursing pain And dancing pleasure of the years, — before the earth Was dreamed of in the womb of space or yearned towards birth, Before the stars struck fire within the vacant air, Or the dim nebulae spread out their misty hair. Know you not this at times, — this straining of a thought Too great to lodge within us, vastness-wrought, This sudden chaining of the pigmy human soul To all eternity, and the fuU, sweeping whole, — This instant parting of the clay, in flamed surprise. Which lets the roof of heaven into the brain's eyes ? [13] DETERMINISM Quite, quite secure and fast, philosopher, In this dark thought, — that all our deeds are fixed Within the shell of our identity ? Are we but pearls cast by the tide of time. Marked by some fire from the begetting slime? Are we indeed so closely, roundly set Within the swift-revolving wheel of things, To move as the wheel moves and not dance off Into the realms of unadventured space, And unconditioned, happy, happy search? Is it quite certain that we find our way By mounting paths our reaching forebears raised ? Are these our acts, so seeming-free, so swift. Deep down and rooted in the unyielding soil of past ? Do we but mimic in enacted deed The thoughts poured in our minds by past effects ? Are we bound hand and foot and heart and brain, Lashed blindly by that skulking genius, — Fate? Are these our tears brewed in the bowl of Fate? Is this our mirth foam-spilled from out its hand ? Are not our deeds our own ? — We're mastered then! [14] Automata ? — Ah well, if this be true, Let's laugh a Fate-brewed laugh, within the light, Rejoicing that we live to see ourselves Go dancing, at Fate's summons, down the way ! The way is bright, life moves with beauty on. Through all the years it moves with beauty on, — Through whirl of stars and flight of rounded worlds. Through foam of seas, and airy dance of motes. Through rise of life and glint of ocean-form. Through flash of fin and heavy growth of power. Through splash of beast and surge to open land, Through press of nerves and silent birth of brain, To breath of man ! — Oh sing, philosopher, That at this point our souls flame into space To watch the predetermined dance of hfe ! [15] THE BEAUTIFUL CHANCE What if the planets have no plan, The universe no aim? What if there's nothing worth in man, And in a God the same? What does it matter, after all. The sun will not unburn. The stars not from their spaces fall, The stream of life not turn. All lives and flames and moves and sings, There's beauty all abroad. From comet-sweep to meadow-wings, — As if there were a God ! [16] TO A MOTHER Woman of many motherhoods, I stand before you With my unscathed virginity, And I envy you all your body's pains and anguishes, And your soul's divinity ! [17] FLOOD-TIDE We meet each other, you and I, with smiles And shallow idiom of the mortal world. But well below the little, shimmering rill Of parley runs a deeper-surging tide. The tide that flows between our utter souls, Unfathomable thoughts that heave against the shores Of our small beings, waves of visioning That may not be translated into form Or mould of intercourse, strange, phraseless passions. Dim imaginings borne in from God, Or from the centres of the ranging stars. We feel them surging, but we speak light words. They are too vast for our young compassing, For in them are old thoughts of nebulae. Of contacts of the stars and births of moons, The vital processes of the blown earth, The stir of origins, the drift of spores. The golden flight of pollinating bees. The search of wings for wings, of flower for flower. Stamen for pistil, wind-borne seed for soil. And the eternal yearn of man for woman ! Courses through us the immemorial tide. With the resurgent retinues of love. The columns of all lovers who have lived [18] From the first dawn of beauty, through the years, On, on to the still-fertile present, And through the legions of futurity! And, tributary to the sea, the streams Of beauty which are ministrant to love, Through all the naught-withholding rush of time. Song and music, poetry, dancing, revel. Color and worship, painting, fire and light, Rose windows and the spire that springs to God ! And in the pulsing currents of the tide Visions and yearnings — and faces of little children. Once, as we fared together in the night. Speaking jocosely of the latest verse, Tossing our words above our straining hearts, We suddenly passed into an open street, And there, above the house-tops, loomed Orion. The eternal river smote us, with his fires. And we were mute. — Then, childlike, fearful Of the vast, open verity of heaven. And of the fullness of our souls, we laughed. "Vers libre," I said. "Yes. What a thing it is ! " Once, as we walked, you made unreasoned stay From speaking, — and the waves washed us both. Last night we met and touched hands in the dance, [19] Palm upon palm, vein upon vein, as soft, As lightly as two nestling butterflies, But there was conscious passion in the touch. Repressed and fierce, sufficient to destroy And crumple the ten fingers ! — Still we wait. In awe of the immensity of love. I wonder in what moment of great pause And loosened beauty, the on-coming sea Will sweep upon us, inundate the rills. And flood us with the resistless, radiant tide ! I wonder. — I anticipate. — I fear. [20] THE BLOSSOMING BOUGH Before the white shape of the soul of you dies, Brim you with life in the day ! Bask on the bough Of the blossoming Now A-scent with the warm sun^s ray, And breathe it and gather it up with your eyes. Linger, your body a-curve with the tree, Feeling it, sensing its wood Blocked in the air, Existent and fair, Knowing it salient and good. Linger, your body at one with the tree. One with the bark and the trunk and the hour, One with the branching of Time. One with the day, One with the spray, You at the tree's tip, the prime, You for a moment the climax, the flower ! Feel the sun of eternity drift through the sky, Filling your flesh with the light, Bathing you. Swathing you. Painting your blood in its flight. Bask you in beauty before you die I [21] Rest close upon the ridged bark, Sun-branded, yellow-warm. And let it press, Without redress. Upon your sentient form. Fluting you with its patterned mark. Flick it, too, with gay white hands, And let the essence blow. Unbind the scent, With wonderment. The spice and musk that dimly flow Beneath the dark and woody bands. Drink in the flaring, falling skies, O youth, until you drown ! Drink deep Of that blue sweep Until it sinks far down Into your avid pores and eyes. Let the sharp leaves enpierce your soul With every sky-cut line. And rounding joint And arrowy point And sun-illumined spine And poignant massing of the whole. And all the blossoms, youth, take these Into your hands and eyes. Your touch, your sight, With full delight And to your nostrils' brimmed surprise. Till you are satiate as the bees. Take all the tree, from crown to bole. All life, O youth, all light. Bask on the bough Of the blossoming Now, Till its beauty is dusked with the night. Take life with five-sensed body and soul! [23] THE GOLDEN FLIES I SHALL have none of this, this little love, This firefly thing that glints along the earth And knows not of the greater flames above, This that hath laughter and no dearth Of amorous words drawn from antiquity, And touch of hands and not the touch of soul. If so I cannot have immensity As large as skies, communion great and whole, A love that goes with splendid fire upwhirled, Up to the gates of stars and heaven's extreme, Above the insect-flickers of the world. Then shall I have no love, but live with dream. None shall I have of this, this firefly-flame. Flit elsewhere, elfin users of love's name ! [24] THE CHANGED MOON I USED to find you fair, O moon, Globed with enchantment, Ringed with haunting fire, Burning with wonderment. Creator of desire. Round and romantic, Necromantic, Drawing all beauty up into the air. To spread it with your strange, moon-colored hair. Nor white, nor gold, nor blue, nor dark, nor clear. Into the mesmerized atmosphere. I used to find you fair, moon. My blood ran wildly at the gleam of you, Strange phantasies of sight. Gold-colored streams and seas With fluid crests of light, And molten flowers and trees And planetary grove and glen And floating forms of men And Faun trooped to the crystals of my eyes. The world took beauty from the haunted skies, Absorbed your spirit to the least flower-root, Became, O moon, your glamorous, gold off-shoot. My blood ran flaming at the sight of vou, [25] To-night I look and find you changed, moon. When did your spirit die? Only a disc I see Set in an empty sky. Passed is the mystery. When did your spirit die, Or was it I? I strain to catch the slightest aural light, But there is only your clear globe and night, No shimmer of a dream, no horn of Faun, No fantasy. The aureole is gone. — I'll shut the casement to your vacancy, old moon. [26] ENTITY Smite, Life, that I may know you well ! Let bluebells pelt me with their indigo, And summer skies pour down their rain of sapphire On mine eyes ! Sunsets, Blind me with your fierce intensities Of golden fires ! Seas, resound within mine ears! Waves, break your white, thundered foam about me! Autumn rains, descend in splendor round me; Let me feel you lash my body and the hills. And drive the crimson leaves from off the trees ! Birds, sing poignantly Into the yearning silence of mine ears. Fill all my frame with your reverberant song. And strike your colored wings together in the sun! Winds, spread out my hair Above the tossing meadows. Grasses, press my feet with your cool, outstand- ing blades. Prick me, thorns and brambles, — let me feel the sting, The fierce solidity of life ! Exhale, deep roses ; fill the day with your per- fumed existence, Let your crimson glory float into my veins ! [27] Breathe out, low meadow-flowers, The sunny spices of your treasury. Friend, touch my hand, let me be ware Of the great stream of life in you, The leaping motion hidden in your limbs ! Let me look deep into your eyes. Wherein the wheeling stars drop down the image of their fires, Let me behold your mighty soul ! Smite, Life, and let me feel your fires ! Smite me even with pain, that all your joys May prick the air with sharper sweetness. Let me see the blue, bright sky Between two twisted trees of pain. Let breath of lilacs come to me. Enriched on a cloud of suffering. Let my ears hear the sharp, sweet morning-song of robins. Borne on the current of an agony, So only. Life, that I may feel your saliency 1 Smite, Life, with all your flaring essences, So pierce your way into my soul And bum me with your being, — That Death cannot pass through your living fire! [88] THE SONG OF THE UNWEDDED WOMAN I HAVE come in the dark night, dark earth, To lie against you and to seek reply. — Why did you bring me up out of your depths. From your great fruitfulness, to walk alone? I walk apart within a laughing world, A world of beautiful dualities. All things unite, all men and women join To brush your aisles together, side by side. And speak and sing in wondrous partnership. And bring forth children for your increment. But I alone, unfound, unblended, dwell. And unproductive in your glad domains. All the long, empty day I have withdrawn From the blithe songs of birds, for they have called One to another from the heights of trees In amorous antiphonies. — And now. Even within this darkness I am bruised By the soft sound of cricket-castanets As they make passion in the underbrush ! Why did you bring me up out of your depths, Out of your rich plurality, great earth. Into this unity of loneliness.? I am an error of your fruitfulness. I crave to be drawn back into your heart, Like all life's wasted seeds and sterile flowers. — [29] THE SEEMING SEA I STAND alone upon the shore. The wound net of life enmeshes me. As life has made me so I am, And so I look upon the sea. The blue of waves dwells in my eyes. Within my ears the sound is sweet. The breath of salt is of my breath. The press of sand is of my feet. — Could I but know the moving waves As beyond the touch they lie, And the essence of the shore As it seemeth to God's eye! — Without bedazzlement of thought, Sway of motion, flux of sound. Surge of color, sentient flesh. Toils of custom tightly wound. Free me, — mockery of sense ! Shed the color from my sight ; Pour the music from my ears ; Divest me of the patterned light ! So might I stand upon the shore, And of the heart of things be ware. Knowing if earth and seas be real. Or plots of space and tintless air ! [30] THE MESSAGE Message? — Would God I had a roaring message, And I would shout it lustily like Whitman ! Nothing exults as does the flame of faith, Mantling the soul and body with hot strength ! I too would glow with credent certainty ! I would put my yearnings and my faithlessness Into a loud cry, a trumpet-song, A great, sonorous faith ! — Would God that I Could plait the universe into a plan, A figured wreath, like other men, and find A spruce and pretty pattern in the maze. Would I could put my hands upon Design And find it firm and cosmic, not man-made. Would I could seek out bodies of brave causes, Bouquets of beautiful Effects and Ends, And Truth and Abstract Beauty and a God, Those things which men large-type and under- line And bring forth from their vision-brimming souls. I would gather up my tears and mix of them A cascade of pure joy. I would gather up My frayed and search-worn nerves and fashion of them A cluster of strength and irrefutability ! I would gather up my crescent interrogations And wind of them a glorious, golden circle, [31] Swirling around and around unalterably In utter and beautiful completion ! — Message? Ah you who talk of a message, you are either children Or angels, I cannot tell which. If I knew of a message, A message, not a concoction to solace sick souls, But a veritable solution, true as the core Of a star, I would sing it to the ends of time and space! How should I make dishonest, hollow compacts With my soul ? How should I bravely sing What I know not, only because your pale. Yearning, anxious ears are distended to listen? No ! All I can sing of is what I discern, — A few flying, drifting bits of color, A few straying sounds, — a little of beauty, Much of pain, much of sorrow, some joy, Hearts of men dilated with frantic hope, Marvelous hearts inured to mortal anguish, Marvelous brains up-grown through obstruc- tion and darkness. Marvelous men, fully as glorious as stars, Set in the world to glimpse angelic beauty, And die like ephemerae. — Only these frag- mentary things, [32] These colors, these sounds, these soul-lights, these beauties, these thoughts. Can I sing. — Oh gladly, exultantly would I shout A confident, puissant pagan ! Had I a message. Do you not think I would sing it with ecstasy? Do you not think I also yearn for an answer, Writhe and thirst and weep and reach for a solution ? You who long for a man-befitting cosmos. Go to some world beyond our universe. Heavy and gravid with Purpose, reeking with Reason 1 Bask in gardens of Design, in pools of Plan, In circles of Perfectness ! Ask me no message In this wild, jogging, reckless, irresponsible earth. Message? — I will sing you a few strains from her songs. The mad floatings of her minstrelsy. — None else. I have no message, — and I think she has none ! [33] THE ANTHEM " As it was in the beginning Is now and shall forever be.'* — So sings the church on bended knee, — While the nebulae are spinning ; Spinning, spinning into flower. Sudden patterns, shifting streams. Falling fire and starry shower. — New worlds, fresh souls, and undreamt dreams ! As they flame and surge and pour. On atom-earth the church is singing, — " It shall be forevermore As it was in the beginning ! " [34] THE AFTER-SONG Why should it be that when I walk with you I hide my love and gossamer my words, And smile into your face, as light-hearts do? But when you leave, my love lifts into space, Uprushing into singing syllables, like birds, — In beauteous memory of your soul and face ! [35] INTERLUDE ON MATTER It grew outside my door, An Autumn-golden tree ; — Through my dumb soul it tore With rushing ecstasy. I laughed, — and paused to dream How matter holds us still With its refreshing gleam. And interweaves our will! [36] IDLENESS I LIE in a pool of idleness, — like a leaf. The wind turns up a ripple here and there In momentary flame. But the ripple returns to the pool, Lost in its passionless quiet. I stretch out an arm or a thought. But complete neither gesture nor dream. My thoughts fall back, unformed, Into the frail images of the pool. The clouds pass and move their whiteness Into the water. The boughs bend and mirror their sprays Of still and poignant leaves. No word is spoken. No soul interprets. I am passive as the mirroring pool. I longed once, in my ardent youth, To cry out, To shape the impinging beauty in words. To give new form and being to the crowding loveliness ! The blue sky burned and sued For splendid utterance! The leaves pressed into space And smote the brain with their swinging clusters ! The birds dipped in mystic curves. [37] Even the still water Importuned the soul! Now I sit with folded arms by the pool. Full is the world of the futility of effort. — Perchance it is better to dream than to labor. [38] OF THE STATUE OF BUDDHA Calm as the deathless mountains is his face, Where brooding quiet sits with giant thought; Calm as some planetary sea unsought By savage winds ; calm as the sunset space That mellows into prayerful night apace ; Calm as the desert, with its teeming nought. Its unperturbed, concentrate stillness, fraught With power ; — calm as some lotus-breathed place. He is the God of Silence, from closed eyes To enervate feet, from Sphinx-like forehead To the tangent thumbs, arrayed in silence deep. Like fumes of incense it surrounds him, lies Close at his heart as life-in-death, — not dead, — But rich with thought, as potent life in sleep. [39] TO THE NIGHT-WIND You are my lover, O wind of the night, Beautiful, wonderful, cleaving and bright. No breath of a mortal might ever compare With the sweep of your splendor of measureless air. Carnal are mortals and slender and small. Their thoughts as their bodies are only as tall. They slave and they suffer; they lust and they die. You are the infinite flow of the sky ! Take me, wind, In your beautiful gale. Yours is the breath that my heart shall inhale. Yours the embrace that shall charge me with fire, Pure of all earthly, all wanton desire. Take me, O wind, in your radiant tide. Take me, O wind, for your substanceless bride. Wind that sweepeth the white stars apart, Blow through my spirit, blow through my heart ! Lift me up out of my being, the mesh Of my body, the lure of my flesh. Out of man's dreaming. — Efface me in flight. You are my lover, O wind of the night \ [40] SPRING SORROW There comes a time in the early Spring of the year, Before the buds have broken, When sorrow lays its hush upon the world. In syllables unspoken ; Sorrow deep as the spheres of darkened moons. The sorrow that blindly knows The futility of all unfolding, and the fading Of every flower that grows. Cool is the earth with the drooping of unspilled rain, And the imminence of tears. The buds lie under the stifling bark of the twigs. Suppressed with haunting fears. The flowers are too deep beneath the fettered earth. Too closely bound in coil To raise the delusion of their beauty Above the dreary soil. The mighty winds of the Winter have gone down. No breath of motion stirs. All is silence. There is no impulse anywhere. Not even a bird's wing whirs. Earth is weary of the empty tumult of Winter, Weary of the new weight That presses against her heart for large re- lease, Weary of futile freight. These buds will blow away in the Autumn twi- light, Borne on the wind's cold breath. These flowers will add the shining of their petals To the mould of death. The vast, grey tragedy of life lies bare. No Spring flowers cover it. No network of blossoms hides it from the eyes. No light lies over it. A sadness, a Spring sadness touches the world, The sorrow that blindly knows The futility of all unfolding, and the fading Of every flower that grows. [42] A QUERY IN A GARDEN I woNDEB, love, when you and I return Over the shining passes of the sky, After our seeming-death, when we shall yearn For just a breath of little plots that lie Here on this blessed earth, beneath the moon. Where our great love was wrought. I wonder, dear. Will these same roses burn with flame of noon, And shadows of our souls, when we walk here? Or will they be to our dead spirit-eyes Pale roses, robbed of earth's dear wonderments. Or yet, — ah God — will no dim flowers arise. And we not walk, — wrapped in our cerements ? Come, take my hand, that I may feel the pour Of life through you, forgetful of eternity. — Love, let us breathe the roses just once more, Within the sweet, warm current of — Reality! [43] CERTITUDE The Man Speaks : How deep the night is, — with not even a star to clutch! They say Arcturus is a trillion miles away ; And God, — who knows where God is ? — Press closer to my touch, Beloved, with your sweet body's certainty of clay! [44] THE MIRROR A MiSROE on the wall. — I saw a maiden pass, All eagerly and tall, And smile into the glass. It was not buoyant youth, Nor foolish vanity, Nor peacock pride, in sooth, Nor soft inanity. — But it was Life that stayed. And drank its own sweet eyes, In figure of the maid, — Life in its mortal guise! [45] VIDE ASTRA Say not so briefly that the stars to-night Are fair, as if to name them flocks of light, Those hosted stars that all unheeded ride, Unloved, unsought and unidentified. Though they be severed similarities, Say not they glint with sameness through the trees And flash alike before your sightless eyes. Say rather that you see blue Vega rise To cap the topmost wave of heaven with fire. Where flies, bright with her sapphire song, the Lyrel Say that Arcturus gleams with torrid red. And casts the image of his burning head. His giant, million-sunned intensity Into our minimizing earthly sea. As one red spark upon the smitten wave ! Say that the Crown, whose perfectness you crave. That mystic, radiant, half-unfinished Crown, Whose candles the deep seas of Heaven cannot drown. Shines like a nightly promise to your soul. Say that over the horizon's bowl Most lightly twinkles Berenice's hair, In ecstasy of beauty, — madding-fair. Say that the Lynx glows watchfully and near, [46] With burnished eyes, striking your heart with fear. Then turn, and fear no more ! The white Swan brings Tranquillity, flying with peaceful wings. Serenely, with the starred world, to the west. Say that bright Scorpius flashes without rest In the warm South, while scorched Antares burns Upon its heart, and near skies, as it turns, Are bubbling with the heat! Say that you see Great Pegasus plunge upward recklessly, From the abandoned East, and that near by Andromeda stands tall in the mid-sky. While Perseus arches guarding at her side. Then look once more, while the deep heavens glide. The North holds clusters other than the Bear, For there flames Cassiopeia in her floating chair. Say not, in loveless haste, the stars to-night Are fair. Blind joying! Know each leaping light! Behold each star, embarked in sundered flight. Name every flame! Rejoice the soul of sight! [47] EXPERIENCE I DID not know until this bladed day That thoughts are flesh and Life a sword, — but now I could describe the heft, the edge, the play. The calibre. — I know what swords are now! [4«] ATTUNED I FEEi. the caU of things that should be told,-— The pulse-beat of the earth; the heaven's gold, The turning of the wave, the moon's white wing: And yet, deep-stirred, I can but songless sing. Man is too small to comprehend the whole Of God's eternal plan, yet with his soul Leaps to the glory of it, in reply; Mounts in mute wonder to the star-bright sky, Falls back, with mute, ecstatic tongue, Yet knows himself a part and Heaven-sprung. [49] THE SHADOW OF A TREE I SIT and mark the shadow of a tree With worship, — as it were some holy thing. The great sun, onward-sweeping, sends it near With indeterminable pace. It moves Like the smooth, silent progress of all time, Pauseless and profluent and undeterred As is the pace of planets in their paths. Or the slow passing of the dusk of years Across the face of beauty. What may shadow Be? — Is it with meaning and with dream. Or is it darkness which we fill with dream.? Is it a thing of spirit or a void? Is it negation or a sombrous veil Drawn over the gold body of the light ; Or some misplaced, intrusive entity. Supplanting the fair element of flame? Has it a separate essence of its own. Or is it dark withdrawal of all light? I sit and mark the shadow of a tree With worship, — as it were some holy thing. Whatever it may be, it is most strange, Most beautiful, most cogent to the soul; An obscure aspect of reality, A subtle contrast slipped into the world. It is a magic offspring of the sun A million miles of reaching light away, And of the present, overhanging branches [50] Of an earthly tree ; — child of the marriage Of celestial flame and earth's dark substance. Yet it is not dark nor flame nor loss of light, But wrought of many tints and elements, Rich purples, deep as shadows in Greek tombs, And flickerings of grass-and-tendril green. And blues of seas and streams and greys of cloud And shimmering hints of softly-kindled gold. It is more luminous than light itself. My eyes swim with the worship as before a flame ! This is the stuffs which gives the world its shape, Which sets the contrast in the house of space, Draws color out, by mating it with night. Swerves contours into rounding reach, makes curves. Gives vista, distance and solidity ; So, wrapping its dark presence round the earth. Educes beauty, — rears Reality ! This hints all other shadows, seen and felt. Shadows of dusk and dawn, the dark eclipse Of moons, shadows of flying wings. Shadows of clouds across chameleon seas. Shadows of lifted hills and slender flowers. Shadows of faces, shadows of human lives. All shadows strewn through the great world of light. This holds the token of all mystery, [51] The dark, the hidden, the occult, the strange, All things which summon and provoke the soul, And draw the spirit from the manifest To the dim vistas of the undefined, Where lurks the magic of the possible ! This is the portal to the unexplored! Cross once the gates of shadow and the world Of death-past-life is gained. This is the door ! — Who looks at shadow looks at miracle. With worship, as it were some holy thing I sit and mark the shadow of a tree. [52] MAGIC MOONLIGHT In this white chamber of the moon, This earthly anteroom of light, This magic memory of noon. Enchanted sleep the songs of night. The enraptured breeze, with elfin leap. Brushes the leaves in silent sound ; The crickets whisper from their sleep Of charmed rays upon the ground. The pensive owl, with rippled troll. Murmurs fantastic, moon-mad lore, Like silver dreams from Circe's bowl The waves drip softly on the shore. [53] INSULATION Theee are spaces in my soul, O my beloved, Which you have never entered nor approached, Nor found the gates unto. — We are alone. We meet and merge in a few areas. And hear each other's dreams go by beyond, Unique and questing through the universe. Passionately I crave your supplementing thoughts, In some vast things, yet find no answering In you to my philosophy. Only In some stray passages I brush your thought. Some few small, sheltered crannies of the mind. — Yet they are sweet for our encounter there. And you, who knows what passages in you I fail to find, what undreamed, spreading tracts } Strangely, I thought that love discharged all needs, Filled up the intervals, supplied the voids. Furnished what friendship and what fondness missed. Perfected hope, made want and yearning whole, O'erbrimmed the vacancies, surcharged the soul. That there was glad replenishment, content, Superfluence, sufficiency at last, Impletion of the uttermost desire! [54] I did not dream that love was loneliness. I dreamed that love was fusion, perfectness. If this be love, then this is tragedy. In which our partial union aggravates Our souls' disunity. — Coming so near. We trace the distant ranging of our thoughts, As the tangent points of two touch-shouldered circles Feel the attendant lines slip swerving off Into a curved and vast divergency. — Is there no being in this teeming world With whom I may as crescent clasped to cres- cent Join, in perfect circularity, — Not tangent only, but completely wed, In body and in spirit and in mind ? — And you, should you not find your crescent too ^ Must we go lonely to our parted deaths, And incomplete and hungering through the years ? Life is but yearning, then, and even love Fills not the yawning chasm of our search.? Beloved, if we are wed in body, even, We shall be sundered, disespoused in soul.'' If death gives surcease to impassioned search. Why should I live to find the flaws in love.'' — I dreamed that love was fusion, perfectness ! I did not dream that love was loneliness. [65] ON THE SHORE I LIE on the warm, gold sand beneath the sky, My eyes look up through the wind-blown sword- grasses, The sun-steeped, gold-bladed, green-swaying sword-grasses. Up through the golden omnipresence of the sun- shine. Up past the white-sailing gulls, the clear, white gulls That stab the sunshine with their snowy wings, And glide like slow, poising curvate arrows On the invisible currents of the floating wind. Up, up to the blue, still heights. Up to the everlasting background of the sky! At my feet the sea roars with a thunderous din, The blue, white-furrowed waves rush in upon the shore With their running burden of shining, saffron sand. They burst in a whirlpool of flashing, oncoming foam. The foam bubbles dancingly up ; the shore sips it thirstily. In the light of the golden sun. The blue wave recedes. [56] To be borne in over and over again, by new strength, A perpetual procession and recession ! There is infinite change At my feet and infinite calm overhead. — Withal, I cannot decide which is the more majestic! [57] INTO A ROOM Though his thoughts have been riding the wind, Or shouting between the stars, His ecstasies unbind And his soul puts up its bars When he enters a peopled room. His eyes turn skyless and small. And fill with a curtained gloom. And the peaks of his gladness fall. The curves of his body shrink From the spaces of the skies And his hill-wide gestures sink — To the reach of human size. His voice that has throbbed in his throat With the splendid clamor of seas Falls chimeless and far remote And the flame of his spirit flees. Why, why are we full afraid To cherish the moods that loom. And lest our rapture invade, Subdue ourselves to a room? [68] SUCCESS I HEAED one say : I lay within the night, When mortal triumph caught me in its flight, Bewildered, filled with flashing song unheard, Each atom brisk within me as a bird! My thoughts were fire, my breath a colored draught. Within my mind a thousand echoes laughed, A thousand flowers sent out their perfumed spray, A thousand satyrs danced, — I saw them sway. The world grew narrow like a little ball And tumbled in my room, from wall to wall, — Until I took the world and cast it far. Rose up, — and went to meet the morning- star. — [59] DEFEAT The light of new defeat shines in his eyes, Yet will his future deeds deserve men's note. There stands the victor, smug with feigned sur- prise, Blind joy and suave speech trickling in his throat. The victor knows not joy. He is but mad With the dark wine, — success ! His is no dream. The vanquished hides the latent flower, full glad To check his bloom, until approval beam. Uncrushed, alert with hampered, straining power, Potential, whipped to action, stung to strength By bloated foes and scomers of his dower, — Defeat will laugh, sing, and achieve at length! [60] THE CLOAK Though I do say it You do wear a cloak Across your thoughts, — there. 'Tis a blinding joke, Mortalia. See, I cannot glimpse your soul, The cloak's so dense. — There, Yes, a spark of soul, Deep down in water. Like a drowning child. Ah, snatch it out now, — 'Tis a likely child! The cloak is stifling. Your big eyes are wide With great thoughts, longings. Hidden deep for pride. " 'Tis a lovely day," You said. " Lovely," " Fair,"— God's gold day stamped thus ? No more than, — fair ? Look. Between the clouds Eternity ! Stay ! There the gold stars beat Past the gates of day. [61] You see no star-light Through the daylight whirled? Your words you keep, then, In the solar world? You say " Good-morning," With a slippery air, " Farewell," " Good-evening," With your self elsewhere. As if it were not Wonderful to greet. Great God ! — A miracle When two,— souls, — meet I We all are faulty. Making great things naught. Pygmies. Hypocrites. Bottlers of spreading thought ! Friends, draw off your cloaks, I mine. We will aspire To truth and light. For we hide, — cosmic fire ! [62] TO AN EGYPTIAN MAIDEN O GIRL of Egypt, as we strive and dream, And probe the vasty secrets we would know. Are we more wise than you, beside the stream, Who filled the lotus with your thought, so long ago? [63] THE ROSE OF NOW ROSE, rich with the color of this hour, The poignant perfume of Time's latest flower, 1 fold within your petals, deep and wide, And full with the sweet plunge of life, the pride And vivid, glowing gladness of this day. I add the rainbow sparkle of the spray Freed from the crested wave of newest birth, The glint of the last sunbeam bounding to the earth, The joy of all new buds on the great bough, The surging of the great, potential Now, The essence of all things that now are young And shall be quickly old when Youth is sung. Take all my vibrant youth, my shining strength, My thoughts that thread the heaven's starry length And burn their way into the singing Lyre Beneath blue Vega, and the whirling fire Of the gold Pleiades, with that swift flame Of unquenched hope, in every human soul the same. Take these into your living leaves and close Your heart around them. Keep them there, O rose. Then, when at length the germinative Now Has fruited into Past, and the blue prow Of all those distant waves has broken into spray, [64] Then, when my youth has slipt away To that dim treasure-house where the sweet Past And all its retinue is kept. Then, then at last When I shall look at you in other wise. With tender, dim and reminiscent eyes, — Give back, O rose, from your frail, desiccated heart. Your grey and fragile leaves, your spirit-heart. Give back O rose, the magic crimson flower Of Now, the throbbing beauty of this hour ! [65] THE DISSEMBLER God, teach me the serviceable art Of hiding sorrow well, Deep in the utmost caverns of the heart. To-day I found grief rising to my eyes, Dimming the well-feigned light, And to my lips, where crescent laughter lies. Methought that pain crept from the soul of me And sat upon my face. And it and I were odious to see. Help me to cover from the world's sharp sight My bitterness. And smile, until Death sets the mask aright. [66] SHE BENDS ABOVE A FLOWER In the garden at moon-hour, Before dead darkness had slipped down, I saw her come with trailing gown, And lightly bend above a flower. Vast beauty of that earthly place ! — Above the stem and fragrant bowl, A burning breath, a human soul, — Sprung from the nescient seeds of space. Between the petals and the moon, A face, a consciousness, a soul. A mystic mirror of the whole, Between the petals and the moon. [67] MORNING Why does the world spring up so blithely at the mom, Exuberant with purpose, setting its face towards the light, As if there were wonders to achieve? The leaves rustle with fresh merriment, the birds sing with ecstasies not yet fulfilled, The clouds dance onwards as if to a goal. The sun climbs with splendid advance. And man, deluding himself, laughs and plans ! — But what has the sunset achieved. And what signifies the song sung in the morn- ing? O gods that drive the little earth on in its path. Tell me why all things laugh, at the dawn, And I will cast out the mistrust from my heart. And make music with the cardinal-birds ! [68] THE SUN-GRAIL I SAW the Holy Grail Hang crimson in the sky, Just as the day grew pale. I saw the Holy Grail Across my spirit sail. " It was the sun," you cry. I saw the Holy Grail Hang crimson in the sky. [69] PASSION You came too swiftly, with too clamant cries, Too eager to break down my spirit's bars ! You were all tempest, with no glimpse of skies, Low-running blaze, without a shaft of stars. You knew not love ; — the mystery, the calm. The pregnant pause, the mutual awe, the fair, Sweet hesitance, the bended knee, the psalm. The reverence, the vision and the prayer. Some flowers will blast, not bend, when wild winds roar. You were a flame, a storm, a gale of power ! Your love was passion. — Love is vastly more. — So I came not to be your prostrate flower. [70] TO A WOMAN IN HER GARDEN WOMAN, what dost thou do in thy garden all day, Sowing, sowing, sowing? What will the sun yield thee and the winds and the waters grey. Blowing, blowing, blowing? Is it for the flowers, the sheer, bright beauty of flowers That thou givest through all the days the stream of thine hours? O woman, look to the depths of thy soul, deep down, Then leap back up to earth, lest in horror thou shouldst drown. There shalt thou see the starkness of life, the pain. Knowing, knowing, knowing Wherefore with bright flowers thou fiUest the spaces inane, — Sowing, sowing, sowing! [71] CONTENTMENT When shall I be content, — content To sit at the white feet of dawn In nnimpatient wonderment And pray no future be forth-drawn? Content to watch the day unfold In shifting subtleties of light, And ask no blessing of its gold, Content to wait for stars and night ? When shall I cease to press my dream Into Life's slow development. And crave no splendor of the stream? - When shall I be content, content? [72] THE POET TO HIS BODILY INSTRUMENT I AM tired of sitting with my fleshless thoughts, In the dim tissues of the mind. Not Life Dwells here, but the faint vestiges of Life, Fetched from the throbbing centres of the world. How should they keep their ruddy essences And not grow white like ghosts .'* — being brought in To darkness out of light, to a small void Out of the brimming beauty of the earth? How should they keep their life, their entity.'' Here is faint duplication of the world. And not the world ! — Up, up and out, live body. Up to meet the contacts of event. And re-engage the flagging animal ! Up to meet fresh impacts and fresh blows, And send new streams of beauty through the blood! Re-charge the soul, re-vivify the flesh ! Better to let one tree invade the eyes. With unsymbolic, living, ligneous trunk, And vital branches and green, urgent leaves And press its way into percipience Then fashion fleshless concepts in the soul I Take trees and faces, flowers and circumstance. The flail of life, the scourge, — experience ! [73] Up, up and out, brave body, to the day. Lift up the flaming mirrors of the eyes. Throw wide the ears' reverberant corridors, Intensify and sensitize the touch ! Let the seas flood you and the earth oppress! Make way into the real, the corporal world. From whose resources all the thoughts are made. And from whose plenum rises the clear soul ! [74] LAUGHTER The child in the door-yard paused in play, Looked up and scattered a golden spray Of purest laughter through the heart of day. The woman heeded her work and smiled, Then caught the glory of the undefiled, And laughed with pain-touched gladness at the child. The rose in the meadow is fair With its petals unfolded there. But there grows a rose with a cup more deep Where the thorn-heavy flowers in the garden sleep. The brook in the meadow is sweet With its sun-shod, laughing feet. But the wave that tosses its heart in the sea Sings a song of more haunting melody ! [75] ORION Now, now am I full ready to pass out Upon the great winds of infinity. I have seen, in the pause of the midnight, Orion flashing his sword above the earth ! Day by day the rolling planet flieth Beneath his sky-path. I think his glory Would brush mine eyes, would strike them full awake Were I under that film of earth-surface Which men, with fearsome faces, call the grave, — Fancying that it shuts out the flaming soul Prom its companion-fires of the universe ! [76] IN PRAISE OF SCULPTURE Theee is no art like this. All else is void, All else is substanceless and vague and pale As empty voices fainting in the wind. Music pours out her swiftly-flowing notes And they are gone. Of her no traces live. She moves the yearning spaces with a song, A spreading ripple of blue air, a stir. And silence closes over the last swell. Art flashes into being for a trice With little painted plots that lightly dance And quiver in the tiny eyes of men. Until Time sweeps across his moon-grey hand And draws away the color and the life. Words flicker foolishly among the winds Without or form or shape or entity, The transient syllables of passing thought, That take new patterns as the races die. These statues, these are flung into the world To live, — until the last man lays him down Along the age-worn earth beneath the moon ! These are the shape, the very life of life. They need no rendering in viewless words, No sign, no utterance, for they are words In clay, inhabitants of shining space. Formed of the throbbing fingers, clear to the eyes [77] As carven moons, strong to the touch as rock. Tall, white, indubious, solid, strong. Corporeal against the splendent sky ! Poetry in stone. Soul inwrought with clay. Embodied vision. Shafts of immortal thought ! [78] IN A CORRIDOR OF STATUES They crowd about me, close and white and still, These statues. On their lips is vocal silence. They frighten me with the depth of their un- spoken wisdom And with the vast presences of spectral thoughts floating In the white, un-pupiled spaces of their eyes. They look down upon me with the penetration of Sphinxes. It seems as if in the depths of their soulless clay They held all the secrets which my living soul knows not. Yet for a moment, a sunlit while, I rise Above their white perpetuity ! I am rosy with life, dancing in the current of motion ! Their stillness vivifies my strength, my power. For a little the great world is mine completely. The Faun, chained whitely in his marble statue. Yearns to leap out into the world with me. He would rush, singing for joy, with me, down the street. King Arthur strains to march out into the city With his sword and his buckler, and his eyes filled with the Grail. But they are fast in their cases of clay, and I am free. [79] I will walk forth with the borrowed strength of their mastery. I will walk on and on, until my gladness, my motion, my life. Are sealed like theirs in the silent wisdom of clay. I will walk forth with the life-giving power of their beauty ! [80] VANITA SPEAKS I ONCE was fair, — as morning light. I once was lithe, — as bending tree. I walked with splendor in man's sight, And watched all faces fill with me, And brighten like a sunset sea. Where'er I passed. — Now comes the night. I walk alone in mystery. With changed beauty on the height. [81] THE QUARREL A STORM swept in and drove us out with pain From the still lake of peace, to the two poles, And their dark, severed seas. Our drifted souls Dreamed not that they should meet or merge again. But the great tides of being, full and vast, And our deep yearnings urged and pressed and drove. Until our mountainous waters reached the stars, and strove And climbed, — then flooded back, star-brimmed, at last. Tumultuous, towards each other, with desire! Then, huge, gigantic, with a larger lease We made our way to the still lake of peace, And found it small for our great, fluid fire ! As tides drawn out, seek back their basin-forms With cumulative swell and pour and surge. So we returned with vaster, passionate urge. And vehemence of love ! — Praise God for storms ! [83] A CRY Flame till I am one with all the skies, O blazing stars. Tomorrow death may darkly seal my eyes; Bum, oh stars ! [83] SURFACE SNOW You thought me cold and never came to know. For with strange pride I feigned frigidity. Around my heart I heaped the whitened snow And swirled the currents of the Northern Sea. Up to my eyes I drew indifference Lest my own face should tell my heart its tale, And bore myself from the least lure of sense That my false firmness might not faint or fail. I hid from the bright worship of your eyes, And from the sound and song and words of you. As from great lightning a gull lifts and flies So past the fervor of your love I flew. From the least touch I sheered myself apart. For had you brushed me with a single hand The snows had vanished, and revealed my heart ! So you went on, and did not understand. [84] PETALS I BADE you go and take love with you as you went, Denying you all lodgment in my heart. I shed light laughter on the flowers you sent, And closed the path into my house and heart. Only the gods, my soul in its profoundest deep, And the frail ghosts of a few roses, wan and spent, Know how I loved you and how close I keep. With tears, all laughterless, the flowers you sent. [85] UNCLOAKED Do you remember, you, who long ago Asked me to draw the clinging cloak that hid My thoughts? You said I wore a clinging cloak About my heart and soul. — And so I did. But at this latter day, too late for joy, Yet not too late for peace, I will unwear The cloak and slipping it from my soul away Let you look in upon your imprint there. Behold, how much I loved you. — Is it plain At last ? — Then, let us draw the cloak again. [86] THE DANCER AND THE DAWN 'TwAs at a dance. You said I slighted you. I tossed my head and smilingly denied. You said, " I go, I will not wend with you." " 'Tis well. Farewell," I carelessly replied, And sent a spray of laughter as you went. All night I danced and gave away my smiles, All night I danced, and burned with wonder- ment, I flamed with ardor, scorched men with my wiles. And brimmed them with my laughter. I was mad With youth, with ecstasy, with power, with play! I thought that I could nevermore be sad. That I could dance forever and a day ! Dawn came. — The dancers fled away. I fared into my house, but not to sleep. I fell upon my knees, but not to pray. — I fell, fire-spent, to yearn for you and weep. [87] BEFORE THE DUSK I WOUI.D give all the burnings of the noon, The shimmering sweetness of the dawning day, Yea, even all the wonders of the moon, If, dying now, I might re-find my way. Each sun-down, from the paths of death, To this brief hour before the falling dusk. Then would I ever with fierce, mortal breath Meet this same scent of meadows, warm with musk, Find these same shadows gathered on the earth. These shadows deeped with splendor of the light. All rich with promise of the day's rebirth, Before the immitigable gloom of night. Now is life full and maximal and clear* Perfect, by its own beauty justified. Earth melts into the skies and God seems near, And all the universe beatified. I would give stars and burnings of the noon, The shimmering sweetness of the dawning day, Yea, even all the wonders of the moon. If to this beauty I might find my way ! [88] THE TURNED BLADE Once, long ago, I spoke sharp words to you To speed you from my heart with a swift pace. You have forgotten, though the sword thrust through And gave you wounding for a little space. You have forgotten. You have found new day, New faces and a pangless heart. New hands and eyes have drawn your love away, — But I sit, with fierce memory, apart. For since that day the relic of the sword has lain Within my hands, so close I cannot fling It forth, so sharp I cannot lose the pain, Nor shift to other thoughts, nor smile, nor sing. And it has seemed of late as if towards me The blade were turning, to fulfill my lot. And give me death. So cruel is memory, So strong ! — Yet I am glad you have forgot. [89] FLAME AND SHADOW I AM young And I was singing, In a flame of rapture springing, With mj reaching arms upflung. And my feet with laughter winging ! Ecstasy Was I and gladness Full of triumph, far from sadness, With my life upcoursing through me, Full of mirth and merry madness ! Sudden, — as a shadow sweeping Came a thought upon my leaping. Thought of death and endless sleeping. Through the surging flame it tore. Through my lighted eyes it bore. Into my singing throat it sprang. Into my arms it plunged its fang. Down through all my body gay. Till the lifting heels gave way. I am young And I was singing. In a flame of rapture swinging, [90] When a shadow overhung And my heart left off its ringing. Those who lie In death declining Have strange thoughts and strange repining. Why, oh gods of blackness, why Send the shadow to the shining.? [91] SLEEP Slip through the loop of sleep with rne. From the giant world and its bruising ways, To meadows of mildness and fields of haze, Where nothing is real and all is a dream. And eternity lies like a silver stream ! There the soul unlearns in the truce of the brain The evil of life and the pungent pain, The pattern of things and the plan and the plot. All is soft-loosened and sweet-forgot. Slip through the loop, nor shall we return To the world, where hot colors seethe and burn, Where angles sharpen and objects pierce And sounds are brutal and passions fierce. From earth and her moon let us journey far And the night that lies between star and star. To the simple pastures of tender sleep, Clement, unwounding, dim, dream-deep! Slip through the loop of sleep with me! [92] A PRAYER When over that abyss I pause at last, Called Death, the temporary stay Twixt life and life's successor, — then when fast My soul resolves itself like spray Swirled from the firm companion-rock of sense, — Be with me, Christ, with your strong recom- pense. When my dim spirit wavers in the dark. And moves from the white gates of flesh, The throbbing caves of sound where sings the the lark, The rosy fingertips, the mesh Of life, the dazzling mirrors of the eyes, Be with me, Christ, and bid my soul arise. When, in that hour, my selfhood sinks away Beneath the palpitating screen Of sense, and struggles with the clod of clay Fear-spent, to be as it has been. Trembling before the strange, eternal sea,— Be with me, Christ, with your eternity. [93] SPRING STARS Spring mil break to-morrow. Spring is in the skies! Stars that love the morrow In the East arise. Tremulous of xvvng. Winter puissance, Winter storm, With Orion's giant form, Sink below the Western ford, Where he feebly swings his sword. Arcturus' eye is full awake. — To-morrow arbutus will break, And robins the green South forsake. Scorpius simmers now. Bright, below the East. Summer hastens now. Beating at the East, Where the gold stars sing. Roaring Taurus thunders past. West with Winter's blowing blast. Pegasus lies in his shrouds. Among the dying, starry crowds. The Swan rides in the trees to-night. To-morrow they will burst with light, And glow with unsheathed blossoms bright. [94] Spring will break to-morrow. Spring is in the skies! Stars that love the morrow. In the East arise. Tremulous of wing. Summer dreams within the flower, Spring is bursting buds with power. Spring will break to-morrow mom, Spring among the stars is bom ! Lo! Vega looks with ardent eyes.— To-morrow viblets will rise. And bluebirds sail in sapphire skies ! [95] THE ACOLYTE I ONCE held place within your thought Where now are other shrines. But I could see such treason wrought, And ask no other signs, If I might know that in your heart You visit memory, And sometimes dream and fare apart To that old shrine of me. [96] A WIFE TO HER HUSBAND Oh, see me not among these chattel-things, These little window-pots and curving chairs. And dusty shelves and pygmy furnishings, These stooping walls and trodden floors and stairs. I am not wrought of these, though all my ways Have moved among them, small and ventureless ; Though all my hours have touched them through the days. And they have crushed my deeds to littleness. Though thou hast seen my body harbored here, Anchored and moored within this little place, Think not my soul is tethered to this gear. — My selfhood is not tangent to this space. Canst thou not see me now as full of dream As in old days of fancy and of fire.? — How should my spirit dispossess the gleam. The spacious wandering, the vast desire.? Come, rend the daily web of circimistance. And see me, O my love, with freshened eyes ! Walk with my soul, in ways of young romance, Among the vast and unadventured skies. [97] THE TWO They are walking in the dusk Down the city's narrow street. They are arm-in-arm and smiling, — Thinking love is wholly sweet. As the city hovers over With its chimneys and its gloom So the future lifts in darkness, But they do not see it loom. She does not think of anguish. Nor of how his strong embrace Will fill her frame with travail, — So she smiles into his face. She does not think of struggle Nor the drudgings of a wife. Nor of duties sempiternal. Nor the three-score years of life. Nor does he think of burdens, Nor the toiling of his flesh. Till he lose his soul and body In the suffocating mesh. Nor does he think of labor. Nor of wheels and mills and plying, Nor of worry and oppression Till there come the day of dying. [98] They do not see the sorrow, Nor the tidal rush of tears, Nor the loss of each one's rapture. Nor the dull, drab line of years. They are walking in the dusk. Thinking love is wholly sweet. — Oh, send a little prayer for them To the empty Judgment-Seat! [99] THE ANOMALY I DANCED across the meadows yesternoon ; The glory of the day withdrew too soon ; I drained the brimming goldenness of sight, I danced, a swaying torch, a wave of light ! At end of day beneath the stars I ran, Myself a star, caught in the flaming span. I drank the blue, blue wine of Vega's fire. I heard the music of the spinning choir ! At dawn I rose to kiss the waking Day, Down the soft, flowering slopes I made my way. With unspilt strength, with life's unopened dream ! And lo, I found you, — Death, — beside the stream. [100] FANCY Give me not wisdom that dissects the flower And stoops above a rounded, dreaming pool Discerning rajs reflected by some rule ; That with steel pointers tells the golden hour, And chains the crystal magic of a shower ; That squeezes Nature into man's poor school And makes her majesty his puppet-tool, Depriving her of all her reachless power ! Give me the light and unimprisoned flight That journeys on the pathway of a star More swift than science, on a fleeter wing. And threads with unpretentious love the night. The glamorous day, the world; and passes far Into the mystic heart of everything ! [101] LOVE LIFE, BUT NOT TOO MUCH Love life, but not too much, for it will slay you as you sing ! Love it and laugh and play and glimpse and touch, but do not cling, For as you cleave in ecstasy, deep darkness rends the light. And as you love the more, more black and an- guished is the night. Love life and meet it lightly, with awareness in your eyes. Seeing where on the slopes of Spring a shadow lies. Love life, but not too much, with open sight, an even breath, A sound of mirth, — and a white, uncovered breast for the sword of death ! [102] THE FALSE FACE What are you doing down there, face of my flesh, Making the same deft patterns, the same apt lines ? The same white-glinting smiles, the facile curves Of quick reply, the runnels for light laughter, The old responsive rayings of the eyes? Yes, you were thrust and shapen to the world Of bone and flesh and shrewd motility And race-old habit and the present need. You cannot move in any other wise. Though all the thoughts be brooding in the mind. Though tears be at the neap-tide in its bays, Though there be heaviness in every curve, And lagging at each fold and nerve. Though there be mortal weariness diffused Through the vast, inner soul, your face must lift. And make its smiles, despite the irony. The bitter, the sardonic thought, — must flash, Up-curve its mouth, make gay its musing eyes. Give forth through laughing lips the jaunty jest And with some section of the mind make words. If this were not, the world would dub you mad. Oh, for some little time, to dwell unf alse Within the candid darkness of one's soul ! [103] IN A GROVE If I within this grove my days should spend, Where sunlight falls with such unsaddened gold, And leaves are green and young, and naught is old. And streams sing on and know no muted end. Were I to stay here through each day and night. And feast upon this loveliness of things. The permanence of trees, the flow of wings. The laughter of the wood, the deathless light, — Might not my youth forget to slip away, And life dwell with me always, stripped of fear? — How should death cast his shadow here, Where so much endlessness and beauty stay ? [104] AN ANSWER If I marry you, dear lad, You will lose the look of wonder, It will vanish from your eyes. Its beauty will go under. And its light will not re-rise. You will look at me as husband, Wonted, wonderless of sight. Blind and quiet and accustomed, Calm and passionless as night. Starry youth will slip away, Love and light surprise. Oh, I would not dark the ray That marvels in your eyes. I would keep their light forever And the present flame they carry. Till my soul and body sever ! — All the wonder would not tarry If I married you, dear lad. [105] FUTILITY I CRUSHED the roses in my hand, To save them from the breath of Time. Time breathed with instant reprimand From the dead perfume of my crime ! [106] TO A SOUL UNPREJUDICED This song I sing straight to the soul of you, The soul of you, deep down beneath the pride! Since the dark day when I bade you depart And found repentance when your footsteps passed, You have looked ever at me with harsh eyes, More dark than burned wood with the flame withdrawn. Your pride has charged your soul check well its fires As you have vowed a vow most fierce and strong Never again to let a spark upleap ! So I, likewise, am deep within my pride. And dare not yield to summon you again. We are world's beings, so, wrapped round about The blazing core with heaped complexities. Defences deep and strong, pride, self-respect. Timidity, esteem, those subtle faculties Which age-long intercourse has builded well About the too stark and outstanding soul. If you and I were pristine and unf alse We would leap towards each other, past resent- ment. Like two stars ! But no, your present attributes And mine, gathered from the long centuries. Our dignities, our flushed nobilities. Our massive honor will maintain their hold [107] And keep us severed as the sun and moon. You will go jour way and I mine, apart, Though our deep spirits yearn unceasingly Each towards the other. Is it not laughable.'^ Is it not tragic as the jest of life.'' I can not speak with you, nor you with me, Nor may I bear into your soul my thoughts, For stood we now together, face to face. The darkness would swoop down and change our eyes, The pattern of our visage and our words. Plunging the truth below among the fires We hide so well. We should at once be strange ! This being so, I sing this song to you. Whose purport my own lips would not betray. Straight to your soul my soul forthsings it now ! Down past the you of salon and of street, Down past the crust of artifice and pride, Down to the you that was before and is And shall be when we meet within the stars ! Read it, O soul, beneath the prejudice. Read it and know, for the whole song is, — love. [108] THE BURNT OFFERING Did you not guess it was for love of you I caused you less instead of greater pain ? I saw how your bright passion waxed and grew, And knowing that this might only bring us bane, I took my heart in sudden, desperate wise And covered it, and crushed it with constraint, And, holding my hands before my yearning eyes. Lest I should see your beauty and grow faint, I said, " Depart. I love you not." — My gate Struck open, — and you went. Your face was dazed. But your surprise grew to a sudden hate. And the fierce fires of enmity forth-blazed. Hate me! For I would rather suffer this. Than have you suffer for my love. Your ire I take, your hatred, — and account them bliss. See how I stand as to a forest-fire ! Sear me and scorch and cauterize and brand ! I take your hate as if you came to woo With flame! Beloved, do you not under- stand ? — I give my life, — burnt offering for you. [109] THE COQUETTE REGENERATED I WAS until these days what the world names " Coquette," a blithe and uncompassionate child, A little salamander in the flames, Unburned but burning, conscienceless and wild. There came to me one beautiful as prayer. I wove my spell and took away his breath. I thrust me deep into his heart, so fair, I thrust me down, — until I drew his death. Ah, God, if any come again to me. With love, — how true, how tender I shall be ! [110] THE WOMAN I SAID, — I will be strong, as strong as man. I will put off the winsome ways of woman. I will be strong in body and in mind. I will put off the futile charms, the grace, The comeliness, the comity, the lure. I will forego the feminine seductions, SnufF from my eyes the flame of blandishment, Draw from my lips the smiles and courting curves, And bring forth from my brain the mightier thoughts, To dwell upon my face. I will abjure The long inheritance of coquetry, The futile raptures and the sparkling laughter, The suavities, the vanities, the arts. The light conceits which steal into the souls of men And touch and blind them as with summer lightning. I will loose the soft, slight ways of woman And gird myself for strength. My thoughts shall be Of iron and I will fashion puissant dreams ! I will become a man and front the world ! The hills, the mountains shall be mine, the rocks, The crash of steel, the heave of mighty hammers, The blast of furnaces, the pour of smoke, [111] The tide of trade, the surge of enterprise, Power and gigantic roles and plans. Lo, I will leave the soft and futile ways Of woman and confront the world as man! So said I in the early days of dawn. In my contemptuous and stalwart youth ! And then I rose and faced the world, un- womaned. As a man the world received me, stern And harsh and truculent and unappeased ! The outer earth lost all its loveliness, For I found only the unbeauteous things. The understructure of vast strength, the force. The ribs, the sinews, and the solid base. No beauty slipped into my hardened soul. For beauty I had forfeited for strength. No lips curved smiling to my straightened lips. No eyes sought mine, for mine were passionless. So at last the old desires of woman Surged to my soul and vanquished the false strength. At last I knew the beauty and the charm, The power, the wonder of her fair estate, Even a vindication for her wiles. Her wooings, her devices, her soft arts. For are they not accessories of love, And is not love commendable.'* [112] At dawn, I knew not of the vital need for love, When I made cry for strength ! — I will put off At last my blundering virility And find my femininity again ! — I will acknowledge all my womanhood ! [118] HOPE I WAIT within the inner court of life For something wonderful to poise, to pass. To-morrow it will float above the walls In the bright shaping of a golden bird ; Or the wide gates will open both their doors For mystery to enter, strange of guise, — Perchance some visitant with magic wares Borne in his hands and beauty in his soul. Or yet the walls themselves will disappear And the great wonder of the heavens lie re- vealed ! This emptiness will overflow at last ! — But nothing happens. Day by day I wait. I nurse my flickering heart. I count the stones, And the up-croppings of the moss between. I watch the clouds float by and wonder well What beauty they imagine lures them on. What is it which induces me to hope And to endure, endure and yet to hope.? What is this strange expectancy of soul Which will not die and never will be stayed.'' Is it called Hope, Fatuity or Dream, . . . Or is it Life itself ? . . . [114] THE OLD POET BY THE FIRESIDE We have our thoughts, — God wot, — as we sit by the fireside, And let our fancies simmer, we old poets. You young singers, with the tide of life brim- ming in your eyes And the crests of joy breaking in your wave- white limbs. You with the rich, wine-bright thoughts in your veins. You with the motion and the laughter and the sunrise and the song. You with the running, leaping words in your throat. You with the dancing colors and the rampant images, And the fiery ideas that beat against the stars, O you young poets, with the strength and the glory and the arrogance. And the sphere of the world swinging in your hearts ! — Do you not know that our fingertips and our souls still vibrate with the memory Of all this, that the beauty of the world still flickers faintly In the iridescent hollows of our minds ? Do you not know That we also see with our burning mortal eyes The robin red against the darkened bough, [115] And the separate flutings of the leaves, and the blazing sky? Do you not know that the words quiver on our lips Like summer shadows to break the gates of silence ? Do you not know that our silence is wrought of many things, That it is wrought of some things too vast to nestle in the little curves Of words ? — And do you guess also, young poets, that grief is ours, That the thoughts may sometimes sway and flutter, and the words Refuse to come to our aching, yearning souls, That we stretch forth our hands in agony and find at the last That we move our arms in a mist? Do you know the pain Of an unborn thought, that finds no longer any body To bring it forth, and perishes in desolation In the waste and weeping places of the soul? O you young poets, with the wine-bright thoughts in your veins And the dancing colors and the rampant images, and the tide [116] Brimming in your eyes ! — ^We have our thoughts, — God wot, — As we sit by the fireside and watch you speak with the stars. [117] BEAUTY Beauty pours over us in constant flood, In flaming sunsets, mammoth tides of stars, Vast, iridescent seas and spraying streams, Billows of colored mist and sweeping winds. High clouds and sulphur storms and lightning- fires. Currents of showers and blinding falls of snow. Torrents of leaves and grasses, flowers and trees. Bevies of butterflies and waves of birds. Tempests of motion, flame and giant sound. And we, we lift our instruments of being To the world and let the beauty pour Majestic, over our white, listless bodies. And our unrapturous souls. God, make us great. As great as this our beauty-flooded world! [118] RECAPITULATION IN HEAVEN Come with me, love, we have been idle guest In heaven for so long. Let us slip doAvn, Between the jets of Ariadne's Crown, And find a little planet for our rest. Let us go down to that scant, elfin sphere, Do you remember, — Earth — where little ways Were once so sweet, and all the fragile days Were flung between the dawn and moon-appear ? Do you remember what a moon was there, How large it looked and plenteous with dreams, And with what strange, unutterable beams It drew all beauty up into the air.? Do you remember on a tiny hill The scent of basswood blossoms in the Spring That with the sprays of wind went eddying.? — It gives me poignancy in heaven, still! And those fair friends of rocks, red columbine? Rocks, — you remember.? — more than flowers in girth, The great, unmantled sinews of the earth, That lie and bask within the brave sunshine ? [119] We knew a sea there, too, that gave a sound Piercing and sweet upon the little shore. More welcome than the comets' lisp and roar, — Full of strange beauties all in heaven unfound. And there was many a shape of waterway, Of rill and river washing to the sea. Of lakes that clasped the world all silverly. And clamant brooks tossing the rock-blown spray ! And irised falls and many a stirless pool. And then, — the great, moon-lifted tides. — All fair. Not like these seething vapors of the air. But settled limpidly and deep and cool. Do you remember rain that smote the street, — God ! Streets ! — You wist ? — those little ways Laid out for human going, through the maze.^ Mind you of all that mortal gear most sweet. And of the very forms of men, their hands. Their smiling lips, their lighted brows and eyes ? — Come with me, dear, from this high Paradise Down to the little, human-peopled lands. [120] For I would offer all this skyey boon, My life-in-death, my chapter of re-birth, For one small sound of old, terrestrial mirth, Or one earth-cricket chirping to the moon. [121] THE BUILDERS OF WALLS A Masque DRAMATIS PERSONiE The Young Man Sylvius and his Three Fauns Sylvia and her Three Nymphs Silence The Soet Wind Two Fireflies Four Dune-Maidens Four Wave-Maidens Two Silent Human Beings Scene: An open forest glade. A path rims from left to right, foreground. Darky slim trees on either hand. Open space, centre, rich with the afternoon sunlight mellomng into sun- set. Sounds of joyous laughter and shouting are heard. A group of wood-creatures tushes in. Fauns and Nymphs. The Nymphs are clad in light, fluttering garinents of green. The Fauns wear the skins of pards and flaunt green leaves in their hair. [124] Sylvia [^Leaping in and tossing her hairl Oh, how golden the wind is ! Second Nymph I touched a cloud ! Sylvius I touched the evening-star behind that cloud ! Third Nymph I kissed the sun, and felt it bum my hair ! Second Faun I leaped ten willow-bushes in my path ! FIRST Nymph Did you not smell the daisies as we passed, How rich they were with pungent spiciness? [She sniffs in joyous recollection and tosses daisies at a Faun] Third Faun I could outskip the waves! What say you all? [125] Let's vault the foamy crests that dance below Upon the shining beach. Second Nymph No! No! Let's wait Until the setting sun has kindled them, And tipped their crests with roses and with fire ! Third Nymph Yes, till the sea is all one liquid flame! Second Faun Then shall we slant our bodies through the waves. Cleave the crimson water, leap and dive. And float beneath the gulls. [He makes the glad motions of swimming'] Sylvius Come ! Come ! You lovers of the sea, join hands, join hands, And let's bestow our love upon the earth. While yet the sun hangs golden in the day. [They cluster about him^ It is the magic hour of purest light. Before the day gives up her glowing soul To dusk. Now is the sunlight dripping gold ! Now all the streams that quiver to the sea Are drenched with fire, and ringed with yellow pools. [126] Now all the leaves on all the forest trees Are smitten with the slanting of the sun, And burned with clarity. Now all the glades Are warm with saffron moss. Now every flower With all the outpoured perfume of the day Is rich and odorous and sweet, before The sunset falls. Now in the golden fields The laden grasses stoop with dust o' dreams. Now all is gold, the earth and sky and sea. Now all is gold ! Come, circle in the dance. [The Fauns and Nymphs call out in mu- sical voices'] Come! Come! Come! Come! [They run together m a circle, and dam:e about, singing or saying rhythmically'] Fauns and Nymphs Come, come with the wind in your hair And the slipping earth at your feet. Come, while the golden day is fair, And the meadow-grass is sweet. Come, while the air is all a-wing, And the fields are all a-fire. Come! Come! Leap and sing! To the wheeling stars aspire ! Come, while the world is a tossing sphere. Afloat on the windy way. Come and dance till the moon is clear, [127] And the night has kissed the day ! \They break the circle swiftly, each Faun callmg to each Nymph'\ Come! Come! Come! Come! \_Each Faun circles each Nymph. Sud- denly Sylvius cries out^ Sylvius Cease ! Cease ! [They cease dancvng and liste7i\ It is a human foot that falls The heavy plodding of a human soul. Yes. On this path that winds before us here. A path ! A human path ! By all the ways Of space, a little, trampled, human path! A little, dusty track worn through the flowers. These creatures do not know the trackless ways. The yielding, windy ways of space. Their feet Are captive to the earth and weighed with dust. Their hands are stiff and have forgot to curve Over the billows of a summei: cloud. Or wings of butterflies. Their backs are round. That never braved the beating of the wind. Nor leaned in leisure 'gainst a poplar tree. If they but danced, their very limbs would laugh With all the rippling curveis of ecstasy ! \The Nymphs and Fauns caper a little, and cry out: Yes! Yes!] Sylvius They have forgot the rhythm of the world! [128] Back! Back! And let us hide beneath these trees, And watch the human being plodding by. [They hide behind the trees. An old man issues from the wood, carrying a bag of stones on his back. He never looks to right or left. Norn and then he wipes his brow. He passes across the path, without uttering a word, and disappears into the wood, left. The Second Faun dashes out from under cover, callkigl Second Faun Come! They are all blind and cannot see. They are as moles that tunnel in the ground, And never catch the shimmer of the sun. Let's weave a dance upon their dusty path. [The others follow him. Now, from the other end of the path appears a young girl of great loveliness, likewise bur- dened. They rush to surround her. She looks about with startled eyes, as if half-seeing them, and begins to run. She disappears into the wood. The Fauns and Nymphs are startled] Sylvius She almost saw us with her cloudless eyes. [1^9] Second Faun She ran so slowly, with so tired a foot. Where she could vault a stone, we'd vault the hills! We are not human, we, for we are, — free ! \_The Nymphs and Fauns echo: Free! Free!] Third Faun Let's run far out beyond the track of men, Until we pass the wind ! Second Faun And strike a comet's trail! \_The Nymphs and Fauns cr^ out'\ Beyond the wind! Beyond the wind! [They all rush into the woods, A slight pause. Now there appears a young man who looks all about hirBy at cloud, tree, and earth. He advances almost to the middle of the path, flings out his arms, and, with the movement, dislodges the bag of stones from his back^ Young Man Great God ! I'll carry no more stones And bend my body to the wasting earth. I'll not crawl, reptile-like, along the way And hear life singing high above my head Among the unreached clouds. [130] I'll not move on With this mad throng of sightless, toiling moles. Is this called life, this madman's pageantry, This rushing on the highway to and fro? The air resounds with all the petty furor Of the crowd. Their voices lash the heavens. Their fingers writhe and twine and pluck and grasp. Their feet despoil the earth and thickly tread Making crude echoes in her sacred aisles. Their eyes contract and narrow the sweet sky. This is not life, this is but mania. [He fdUs to his knees in griefs O God, uncoil my mind and all its ways, — Its burning thoughts, its colored jets and fires, Its rushing torrents and its checkless streams. Constrain the world that rushes through these doors. Close up the aching aisles of thought. Close up The stricken eyes and seal them from these sights. Silence the throbbing ears, make still the world. Smooth out the paths that life has wrought. Unbind The knotted ways of mortal thought. Let in The peace of primal silence, the great soul Of still and manless calm. — [He gradually falls and buries his head in the grass'\ [131] Take me, grasses, fold me with your peace, The cool, sweet tenderness of your green blades. Sheathe me in perpetual green silence. Take me from the world. \_He falls to weeping, then to silence. Sylvius emerges from the wood. He goes quietly over to the Young Man] Sylvius Come, come, you creature of the builded world. Why do you lie all shriveled in the grass? [The Young Man starts half-way up] Young Man Who are you, — man with the griefless eyes ? Sylvius I am Sylvius, — laughter and freedom and life ! And you, who are you that carry the bags of stones, And walk in the dusty path and fall in the grass Like a withered leaf when its veins are cold.'* Young Man [JRisvng] I.? Only a man am I with a back and a pack And a pair of hands and a bag of dusty stones. And what do I do with my fellow-men ? I build, [182] I build from the break of the morn to the dusk of the day The walls of the City of Life. Walls. Walls. They shut the spirit in, they build up walls About the yearning soul. — Oh travesty of life! — Hast thou ever been in the shouting cities of men.? There the silence of air is slashed with the swords of sound And the peace of the sky and the clear, white light of the stars Are choked with the blinding towers. In the paths they have cut For their scurrying feet, the traffic of commerce runs, Wagons that thunder, horses that struggle, motors That rush on the wind. Everywhere motion, everywhere sound. Nowhere is peace and the sky's great round. — [He falls on the sun-browned shoulders of the Faun] Sylvius Come, man of the world, lift up your eyes To the blossoming beauty of earth. Young Man What are you saying, [133] Faun of the woods, O Faun, in whose crystal eyes No shadow has darkened, no grief has e'erpassed ? What know you of tears that flow in the human heart? What know you of pain that wrenches the human form As the lashing lightnings split the white-riven trees ? What know you of fears that rise in the human throat With sulphurous fumes and smother the flame of mirth? What know you of madness that enters the temple of peace? What know you of shadows that lie in the path of the light? What of the hidden side of the mystic moon? Sylvius Come! Come! You are filling the golden places With dusk from your own dark eyes. What is there but joy? What is there but rapture and mirth and laughter and light? Where has the sun a shadow that does not dance [134] With ripples of lavender, lilac, damask, and rose ? What has the moon but a golden sphere? Young Man You are blind, Poor Faun. In all the pattern of the earth There is no tint, no color resting there. It shimmers in the gateways of your eyes. The rose is colorless, a mad mirage Of floating loveliness, without or form Or fragrance or design. Her petals are The shaping of your fingertips, her breath Your breath, her color rises in your eyes. There is no Dawn, no Dusk, no Autumn glow. No sapphire of the sea, no crimson wing, No green of meadow-grass, no blazing star. All is delusion, — emptiness, — delusion, — emptiness. Sylvius Poor man. You are mad with the ways of the world, — bruised. Battered, all but slain, your finer instincts Crushed from the round, sunny grapes of joy Into a mass of withered, purple skins. Your soul is clouded with complexities. — But we shall teach you joy and mirth and sun. And dancing feet and dancing ways of thought. Behold! I shall summon all my Fauns! [1351 Young Man No. No, good Faun, I would rather more That you should summon Silence than the Dance. I would feel the holy emptiness of Silence, And all the great, calm beauty of the sky Encircling me. Sylvius Then shall we summon Silence. [^He runs softly to the edge of the 'wood'\ Come, Silence, slip from the vast curves of the sky. And from the spans that lie between the stars. And from the silver circle of the moon. Rise softly from thy couch upon the moss. From all the resting shadows of the pools, From shafts of cardinal-flowers, and boughs of trees. From throats of lilies on the lake and folds Of fallen leaves, and mists upon the seas. Come, Silence, come, from all the soundless spaces Of the earth. [Silence emerges from the wood, a woman, tall and heawtiful, clothed in a long garment of grey, which trails for a long space behind her. She advances with slow steps towards the Young Man, who falls on the ground before her, kissing [136] the hem of her robe. She stands with perfect stillness over him, her head bowed. He gradually relaxes and lies as if i/n sleep. This still poise is re- tained for a full moment at least. Finally Silence moves away to the wood. Then the Young Man rises very quietly, with the spell of Silence still hovering over hinti] Young Man I have drunk of the motionless waters Of silence. My soul has wandered to starless spaces, Where no light flickers and no sound enters and no breath Moves from the fragrant world. All was a vast, white calm. My senses were drawn from my body. I became as a soul. No substances beat on the hollow sphere of my being. All was as empty as sleep, or as air. It seemed As if silence swept through me at first like a stream of beauty, And then like a stream of, — death. I pray you, O Faun, Bring motion again into these breathless places. Man cannot dwell in the temple of silence for- ever. [137] I would feel the soft wind blow about my hair, And gentle rhythm stray into my soul. [Sylvius spins very softlif on his feet twice, and waves his hand toward the wood. As he speaks y a very soft tune, like the rustling of leaves, arises from violms'] Sylvius Come, Soft Wind, that wanders over earth, And trips the laughing leaves, and droops the grass, And blows the perfume from the clustered flowers, And sprays the blue waves into whitened crests. Come, Soft Wind, with gentle motion swayed! [From the wood emerges a maiden, dressed in a soft, grey, fluttering, knee-length gown, with a grey scarf in her hands. The Soft Wind weaves a slow, delicate motion about the Young Man, while the Faun watches from the sidel The Soft Wind I come from the perfumed vales of space, On golden waves of air, And waters ever sweet. With incense in my hair. And laughter in my feet. From spicy pine, [138] And scented vine, And fragrant flower, And mossy bower. And freshened stream. And lands of dream, I shall blow the shadows away from your face ! [Gradually the Soft Wind unweaves, and makes her swaying way towards the wood. The Young Man stands happy and bewildered for a momenty then tries to foUom, but Sylvius intercepts hint] Sylvius Your joy returns, O man? Young Man It seems a light, A soft, low light as of the dawn breaks in Upon my soul. Oh, let us have more motion. Faun, a lighter step, a little sound Of laughter! Sylvius Fireflies then. The little fireflies Of a summer night that carry sparks of mirth Into the densest clusters of the hanging leaves. Ho, fireflies, stars of the underwood ! [He snaps his fingers and two skipping figures emerge from the wood. They are clad in tight jackets and knicker- [139] bockers, yellow in front, brown in back. They carry small electric flashlights.. As they run, they give vent to light. Puck-like laughter. They dance about the Young Man, very lightly, in a circle, flashing their lights the while. The Fireflies utter one after another, in bright staccato, these little phrases, as they dance'] Fireflies Sparkle ! Twinkle! Light o' feet! Fairy-fleet ! Make a star ! Glitter here! Flash a-far Flash a-near! Touch a leaf! Brighten grief! Pierce the shower ! Firefly! Flicker by! [It is seen that the Young Man begins to move his feet a little, as if in unconscious response. The Faun motions to the Fireflies, and they disappear suddenly into the wood] [140] Young Man More! More, magic Faun! My blood begins To dance like Spring sap twinkling in the bough ! More mirth ! More sound ! The mounting life in me Tilts softly open the shut doors Of all my senses for the inflow of the world. Sylvius Then listen, man of clay. Let all the conches Of your ears be vibrant to the earth. Attuned to all the hidden under-sounds, The unloosed voices of the earth. Behold, The world is straining with imprisoned sound! The forest lifts its branches with a sunlit Sound, The grass beneath our feet sings faintly Of the flower-roots tangled in its mesh, of streams, And swaying shadows and of meadow-things That brush its surface lightly as they pass. The very light is vocal, and the motes Of air laugh as they weave their golden maze ! — Let dunes and waves reveal their minstrelsy. [He leaps into the air, summoning the spirits of the dimes and the sea from the woods. There rtish from the woods [141] four maidens clad in longy sand-colored goitms, with green girdles about their maists. On their feet are sandals. In their girdles are sprays of sword-grass. They wave above their heads soft scarves. Their hair flies behind them. Back of them are four other maidens in short f very full indigo-blue dresses. About their shoulders clvngs a mass of foamy white scarf -material. They also carry white scarves. Immediately upon the svmvmons of the Faun, the maidens emerge and burst into speech. They svng or say as they advance^ Dune-Maldens Sing of the pour of the sunlight On the golden slopes of sand. Wave-Maidens Sing of the blue of the waters Caught from the blue of the dome. Dune-Maidens Sing of the sweep of the sea-winds That gather us up from the strand. Wave-Maidens Sing of the wings of the sea-gulls That dip through the bubbles of foam. [142] Dune-Maidens Sing of the willows and grasses That touch us with soft delight. Wave-Maidens Sing of the sun on the spray-crests That flashes with multiple fire! Dune-Maidens Sing of the desert silence That covers us day and night. Wave-Maidens Sing of the motion and laughter That ruffles our waves to desire 1 [^They cease singing and continue their separate rhythmic movement on the woodland path. Then the Waves, lift- ing their mhite scarves over the Dunes, pass by them, performing a running daU'ce in front of them, while the Dunes stand erect and silent. Presently the Waves turn and leap into the air before the Dunes, tossing their white scarves high. The Dunes became active, an- swering to the onrush and leap high in response, fluttering their sand-colored scarves. The Waves gradually subside lower and lower, the Dunes slowly drop down their scarves and lessen their mad [143] dance to the former swaying movement. The Waves break through their line again and dance away into the woodSy the Dunes following. The Young Man leaps after the retreating flgureSy then turns and shouts'] Young Man The joy has mounted to m}^ soul, and puts forth Flowers and leaves. 'Twill bourgeon to the clouds ! — O Faun, bring forth the essence of the woods, The veriest, maddest joy that all the world Contains ! Sylvius My Fauns, my Fauns are symbols of mad joy. The joy that dwells in Nature, and that man Has long forgot, the joy of growing things And singing things, and things that leap and dance Within the sunlit air, without a trace of grief, Without a stain of pride or vanity Or all the mad complexities and false Emotions of the little tribe of men. Free, free and glad, and pure as floating air. Glad even to die, with song upon the lips. As birds that drop with music to the earth, and lose Their little dream among the flowers. — Glad, [144] Glad as sunlight and as Life itself ! Come. Come, my Fauns, from all the wood- land ways ! [The Fauns and Nymphs rush madly from the woods. Sylvius joins them. They circle about the Young Man] Fauns and Nymphs We leap, we leap through the shining air, And through the floods of light. The winds spread out our flying hair. And lash us on to flight! We run, we run in the showering rain. And drink the melted skies. And then when the rainbow caps the rain, We dance with the butterflies. [The Fauns and Nymphs open out into a wide crescent back of the Young Man. They move rhythmically from side to side, while Sylvia skips forward, bends low before the Young Man, sways lightly before him, and addresses to him the following^ Sylvia Hast thou ever lain along a bough. And cooled the sunlight on thy brow, And brushed a passing robin's wing, And heard the peopled orchard sing? [14f5] Hast thou ever crouched in columbine, On some green hill-slope's soft incline, And felt the earth around thee grow. And life and beauty through thee flow? Hast thou ever in the night Bent above a flowering spray And waited for the moon's white light To fill the star-endrifted way? Hast thou ever come to dream Far from flaming town and mart, By a little, simple stream. And found the Universe's heart? [Sylvia returns to the Nymphs and Fauns, and they circle anew about the Young Man. He has raised his hand to his forehead, as if overwhelmed with a new sense of heaiity'] Fauns and Nymphs We vault, we vault like the bounding deer Over the rocks and trees ! We follow the streams where the water is clear, And wade to our sun-browned knees. [The Young Man, able to contain himself no longer, cries out, as they dance'\ Young Man Oh joy of laughter and of light, [146] Of leaping limbs and starry flight, Of windy dances, fetter-free. And souls brimful of ecstasy ! O Fauns, take me into your throng And fill the planet with your song ! \^He leaps mto their midst and joins their wheeling circle, hand in hand^] Fauns and Nymphs and Young Man We dive, we dive through the foaming spray, And down the slopes of sea! We capture the stars at the end of day. And sleep where the shadows be. We bound, we bound and brush the flowers, And pluck the fruit on the bough. We weave a garland of petaled hours From the living leaves of Now. We dance, we dance in the golden night. And spring to the stars of the sky. We laugh, we laugh till the stars take flght And the flowering earth shall die ! — And the flowering earth shall die. [The sound of a hell is heard from the direction of the city. The Fauns a/nd Nymphs, with half -startled glances, break the circle quietly. The Young Man separates himself from the group, listens for a moment with an expression [147] changing from perplexity to the calm- ness of decision^ Young Man I must return again. My soul cries out For human faces and for human hands, Men's yearning eyes, their seeking feet, the shadows Of their doors, the windings of their streets, The sad-glad music of their life. — But oh, The walls ! — I shall not help to build the walls. [The Fauns and Nymphs run over softly, capture the hag of stones which still lies upon the ground, begin to pelt each other lightly, and run off in this way into the woods^ There are too many walls twixt soul and star, Too many walls twixt soul and soul ! I shall Return with all the wonder thou hast poured Into my being, — silence, dreams and dancing. Stars and seas and dunes, and strike a gate- way Through the walls ! Farewell, exultant Faun. Sylvius Farewell, O man, and let the dancing tingle In your blood, and let the great, white stars Glow in your soul, until your little dream Be folded in the earth. — [148] Young Man Till then, O Faun, I shall have life in all its wonderment. No walls of living shall shut in my soul. My brothers build and build and build, — customs, Mad desires, machinery, gear. Trappings, wealth, complexity, — for what? They know not, but they build. And all the while Life stands afar and summons them Out into the broad, white fields of space. — O Faun, I go to strike a sudden gateway Through the walls, between the tight, blind stones. Into the open causeway of the stars ! [The Faun gives a gesture of farewell, turns and runs away into the woods, left. The Young Man walks down the path, right, towards the city] [149] »iiii 015 799 423 2 ^ >-'-^%: W .Kv\''A;.'i'->':':'fi^M«^'f i

04014884

The poems of a child; being poems written between the ages of six and ten

Altrocchi, Julia Cooley

poemsofchildbein00altr_djvu.txt

^^ KRIh Hi: THE l^jfl H POEMS 'IH^I H: OF A B CHILD ^^B^ ■'^M 1^ COOLEY" ^ Class Book .4^ CopightN" 904 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. JULIA COOLEY THE POEMS OF A CHILD BEING POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN THE AGES OF SIX AND TEN BY TnTK-u. JULIA ^cooley) Oxt^c CO(-uJU WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE NEW YORK R. H. RUSSELL PUBLISHER MCMIV ro 350 1 LIBRARY of OONGRPSS Two Cooies Recelvec; JUN 8 1904 Copyright Entry CLASS y5| XXo) No. COPY B Copyright, 1904, by Harper & Brothbrs. jIU rights reserved. Published June, 1904. I ^ Contents ^ PAGE Introduction i Untitled Poems 47 What Nature is Like to Me .... 50 My Lover 50 My Baby Brother. . . . ' 51 Sunset 51 Arachne's Home 52 The Happy One 52 The Clover . 53 Farewell 53 The Joyful Leaves 54 The Lightning 54 Dear Little Blue Grass 55 The Dear Little Buttercup .... 55 The Cheese Flower 56 Mother Hill 56 A Thought 57 The Little Brook 57 Jack Frost 58 The Woods 58 iii Contents PAGE Deeds of the World 59 The Little Brook ^60 The Raindrops 60 Harvest 61 A Quiet Home 62 Harvest 63 The Cornstalk 63 To My Valentine 64 A Fair Young Maiden 65 The Wise Wishes 66 March 67 The First Violet of Spring .... 68 The Fairies 69 The Night 70 Lament 72 The Poor that Give Happiness ... 73 New Year's Day 74 The Cloud 75 The Joys of Camping Out 76 The Seed that Grows and Dies ... 77 The Wild Rose 77 The Brook and The Trees 78 The Fairies 79 Pleading 80 The Elves 81 The Silver Moon 82 Summer 83 iv Contents PAGE The Fairies 84 The Apple Orchard 85 The Sunset 89 Sleep go Repose 91 The Lake 92 Sunbeams 93 Cupid's Dream 94 The Brook 95 The Stars 96 Baby Brother's Eyes 97 The Thorn 98 Morn 98 Magic Music 99 The Rustling Leaves 99 The Fairies' Boat ... .... 100 My Wish loi Day Dreams loi Daffodils 102 Violets 102 Poppies 103 Nasturtiums 103 Lilies 104 •*■■ — Dandelions 105 May 106 The Fairy Boat 106 The Bats 107 y Contents PAGE The Tear io8 Spring io8 Beauty Near the Lake 109 Lincoln no The Cave of Ice in The Silent Shore 112 The Poplar Trees 113 A Hilly Country 114 Evening 115 Gladsome Robins 116 The Lonely Vale 116 A Sweet Dream of a May Day .... 117 Song to the Wind 118 The Clouds 118 The Quiet Cemetery 119 The Woods 119 Woodland Tower 120 •t-The Old Orchard 121 The Country Church 122 The Brook 123 Sunset Meadow 124 Indian Chant 125 Nature 126 Nature's Argument 127 To Aunt Tess 129 The Silent Wood 130 Eventide at the Ocean 131 vi Contents PAGE The Marsh at Nantucket 132 A Happy Birthday 133 My. Little Followers 134 The Joy of the Country 135 Departure 136 What Time Brings 136 The Country Sublime 137 When Summer is O'er 138 Fall 138 Fall and Spring 139 An Anniversary 140 An Anniversary 141 The Moon 142 Sunset 144 Twilight 14S Youth i4S A Thought op a Lonely Damp Valley . 149 Introduction *URING the summer of 190 1 I was spending a few days with some friends who have a pleasant home in one of the green valleys of Con- necticut. Among the mem- bers of the household was a little girl of eight, a simple, happy child, as childlike as child can be, even more so than little girls of eight are apt to be in America. No child could possibly have less of the infant phenomenon about her, and I lived in the same house with her for several days without realizing the significance of little Julia Cooley, whose poetry I am about to introduce to the reader. The reader, doubtless, has a very natural The Poems of a Child dread of the infant prodigy, in which feel- ing I am entirely with him. But as Julia Cooley does not play the piano, or perform the usual unchildish marvels, perhaps he may waive his prejudice for once and give her a patient hearing. Julia Cooley is blessed with a relative such as too seldom goes with the infant phenom- enon — a sensible mother; a mother who in no way spoils her or encourages her to think that she is different from other chil- dren, while, of course, she is none the less happily conscious of the remarkable gifts of her little girl, and properly awake to her responsibility for their care and develop- ment. It was with great diffidence that Mrs. Cooley brought herself to speak to me about her little daughter's verses, and showed me the quaint little manuscripts, fearing that she might seem the usual fond, deluded mother. But I shall be much sur- prised if the reader does not agree with me in thinking that it is no mere mother's love which sees a remarkable gift in a child who could write such verses at the age of eight. As a matter of fact, many of the following 2 Introduction poems, and some of the best, were writ- ten at the age of seven, and all have been written before the age of eleven, for Julia will not be eleven till July 4, 1904. Julia Cooley was born in Seymour, Con- necticut, July 4, 1893, and it was the pious fancy of her parents to have her baptized with water brought from the Jordan. She is the daughter of Harlan Ward Cooley and Nellie Wooster, her mother being the daugh- ter of a well-known Connecticut manufact- urer, living at Seymour, and a descendant of one of the oldest New England families. The Cooleys live in Chicago, and are accus- tomed to leave the city every summer to spend their holidays in the old home at Sey- mour; and it was in the beautiful, green valley of the Naugatuck, with its romantic rock and woodland, that the passion for nature which inspires all little Julia's po- etry first awakened. There she wandered at large about her grandfather's meadows, drinking in the natural sights and sounds, and revelling like a gypsy in all the summer luxury of country life. In one of her later 3 The Poems of a Child poems (written when she was barely ten!) she speaks of **. . . the rock which in days gone by Was my throne while I learned the secrets of the woods," and in a poem written much earlier (at the age of eight) she happily catches the spirit of those rapturous summer days. The poem was written during one of my visits to Seymour, and I well remember her coming to me aglow from the meadows carrying her newly made manuscript in her hand. No one can ever have accused her of being a studious, in-door child, absolute tomboy of the fields as she is, but apparently she had got it into her head that she was liable to be so misunderstood. So she had written this poem , which she called "The Happy One" — her own title, for she always finds her own titles : "I'm not the silent one. I'm not the one that sits and reads the live-long day. I'm not the stone, the nesting bird or the shadow of the stone. 4 Introduction I'm the romping, scampering one. I'm the one who runs and sings among the flowering fields. I'm like the leaves, the grass, the wind, the happy little butterfly and the little scampering clouds." What a picture of a happy child — made by herself! Suddenly one day during these Seymour holidays, when she was only six years and two months old, and could as yet neither write nor spell, Julia came to her mother, asking her to write down a little song she had made. But the incident is best told in a letter which Mrs. Cooley wrote to her husband on this occasion, a letter from which I am privileged to quote. The let- ter is dated October 15, 1899. "Sunday is Julia's helpless day," writes Mrs. Cooley. "On other days she roams from one end of the farm to the other and asks no odds of any one. Yesterday she came in from the hill, where she had been husking corn with Hull and Henry, rosy and bright-eyed and beautiful. She said she had made up a 5 The Poems of a Child little song, which she thought I would like to write down in a book! So I got out pencil and paper and wrote as she sang or chanted in a stirring monotone : ' Walking on the hill I saw five little dande- lions with their yellow dresses on. They thought it was summer. Six of them had gone to seed and had their white dresses on. They knew it was fall. I was helping the farmers with the com, The blue sky above and the sunshine.' "Later again Julia came in smiling with the ecstasy of composition, and when my pencil and paper were ready, she sang: 'It was an autumn day The leaves had turned brown and yellow and red, And were gently falling. It was an autumn day.' " Here, in these two poems quoted by her mother, we see Julia, at the age of six 6 Introduction years and two months, and still unable to read or write, making nature-pictures out of words with a vivid simplicity of im- pression, an instinct of economy and direct- ness, and a native sense of form truly aston- ishing. In one of her many note-books (of which I shall have to speak again), Julia has a quaint little autobiographic comment upon this occasion. It is headed, " How I Hap- pened to Write," and is dated July lo, 1902 : "One day when I was six years old," she says, " I was walking through a beautiful meadow. I saw something that impressed me very much. It was a little dandelion that had gone to seed. The place where it once had given forth sunshine was now draped in white, because it thought that we would get tired of its yellow garment — so that is why she changed it. But we never do get tired of it. Because this im- pressed me I wrote about it, because I enjoy writing, so I wrote about all things that impressed me, and now I love to write because I wrote little stories and poems when I was small." 7 The Poems of a Child When I was small! Julia had been nine years old for six days when she wrote this. In other respects, I understand that Julia Cooley was not a specially precocious child. At six years and two months, as we have seen, she could not read, write, or spell — though this backwardness, it must be said, is accounted for by serious illness, she being at first very delicate — but here again she was presently to demonstrate a remarkable capacity. Within a year from that time she could do all three at least as well as children twice her age. When I first met her, she being then just eight years old, she could read the most difficult book glibly at sight, and with apparent understanding of its meaning — at all events, with intelligent emphasis and pause. This we tested one day by taking up a book that lay at hand and asking her to read. It chanced to be Stevenson's Letters. We opened the book at Mr. Colvin's preface, matter which, how- ever interesting to grown-ups, is not easy reading for a child. Nevertheless, she began it right away, without the least hesitation, and read on for two or three 8 Introduction pages without any difficulty, the big words apparently coming as easily to her tongue as the Httle ones. It was a surprising performance, and confirmed me in my opinion of the remarkable force and alert- ness of her mind. And with it all such an absolute child, not to say baby! It seemed almost impossible to believe, as one looked at her, that there was such a mature brain inside that little, golden head. Stevenson put down, she was off next minute to jump rope in the sun, happily unconscious of the almost uncanny feeling with which she had inspired her elders. Later I came upon her curled up in a chair on the veranda, busy with paper and pencil. She had prom- ised me a poem and was at work on it. I may say that she already practises the art of dedication, and many of her poems bear dedications, such as **To Grandma," "To Aunt Tess," "To Mother." There is seldom anything personal in the poems. They are usually nature-pictures, dedicated to one or other of her friends, as an artist gives a drawing to a friend. And that reminds me that she often illustrates her 9 The Poems of a Child verses with colored drawings, which of late have shown no little decorative instinct. She loves, too, to do up her poems in dainty little booklets, with decorations and illus- trations in crayon, and when she makes a copy of a poem for a friend, instead of making a mere copy she loves to think of some fanciful device in which to present it. Thus on Lincoln Day, 1904, she made a series of paper flags. Taking a folded sheet of paper, she elaborately drew and col- ored the American flag, flag-staff and all, then cut the rest of the paper away. When you opened the flag, as one opens a sheet of note-paper, you found a poem written inside. She has innumerable fancies of the kind, showing that she has the born artist's de- light in the mere physical tools of his craft. Julia began to attend school in the April of 1900, three months before her seventh birthday. Before this, of course, she had had the advantage of a home- training full of all gracious influences of culture and the humaner and more in- telligent influences of religion. Her parents are of those who, while being, indeed, no 10 Introduction old-fashioned religionists, have been wise enough to retain, in the bringing up of their children, the tonic elements of the old Puritan training purged of their severity; and thus Julia, in addition to that intel- lectual and artistic culture which is of the atmosphere of her home, has had the good- fortune also of growing up in an atmosphere which is Christian in the most gracious and fruitful sense of that word. Though, as I have said, Julia showed no special precocity of the usual sort, she yet, while still a very tiny child, gave evidences of that fancy which is so abundant in her little verses. Once she said to her mother: "Mother, aren't the stars beautiful? I used to pick them before I came down." To this her mother answered: "How did you get down?" "I told God," was the reply, "that I wanted to get down to my mother, and didn't know how I should get there. God said: 'The sky will bend down, and you can get off.'" One trait of her babyhood was that she could never memorize ordinary nursery rhymes, but she early took a delight in II The Poems of a Child chanting out little snatches of her own making. On one occasion, being out with her mother in the country, she suddenly- cried out, or, rather, lisped — in num- bers! — "O woods! I have stones, and I have grass, and I have everythings." None other of her infantile improvisations have survived, but this formless cry, in view of the passionate love of nature which was soon to possess her, is certainly not with- out significance. At school, and once she could read, she became a rapid devourer of books. Books of natural history particularly deHghted her. Olive Thorne Miller's Book of Birds was one of her earliest treasures, as was another book on Moths and Butterflies. Other early favorites were Pip pa Passes and Tennyson's Narrative Poems. The famous line in " The Gardener's Daughter," "The lime a sum- mer home of murmurous wings," particular- ly charmed her with its music — though, like many another poet before her, she doesn't care for music, technically so called, and has no ear for it, fine ear as she possesses for the music of words. 12 Introduction Apropos her natural - history books, the following minute description of a butterfly (written in July, 1901) is worth quoting as showing the intensity and thoroughness of application, as well as the fineness of observation, which she brings to her studies of nature. She calls it **An Essay on Butterflies": ''This is the description of a very in- teresting butterfly of my collection. It has very beautiful brown transparent wings with eleven dark orange dots underneath and around both sides of the neck and 22 light orange dots outlining the lowest part of the wings. Around both light and dark orange dots, distinguishing black lines. And in and out of the dark orange dots there are little touches of white, light and dark blue and silvery green. Under the light orange dots are curved lines of dark and light black, and between those lines of light and dark black are silvery green and silvery white. "When I look through the wings with the sun, I seem to see silvery orange, silvery green and silvery blue. Now I will describe to you the other side of his wings. The 13 The Poems of a Child wings are so transparent that you can see that on the other side there are orange dots, though there are not any orange dots on this side. Up by the neck there is a large half circle of very dark black, but it is not so black that you can not see two dark pink spots on either side of the neck and there too is a silvery dark blue stripe and a dark silvery green stripe running into the black. Under the stripes are 2 very silver green stripes, in the middle of the silvery green stripes a very black stripe with a little brown. On each corner is a little white. Under the green are two thin black stripes and between those is a little silvery green. And if you look through it with the sun, you can see the same colors as you can on the other side. I caught it with my net." Julia, it must be understood, aspires to write prose as well as verse, and among the following there will be found two of her little fairy-tales, the one entitled "The Wise Wishes" being a fancy most endear- ingly childish. Speaking of her "prose," she is already 14 Introduction a most natural letter-writer, and I cannot resist the temptation to make some quo- tations from a circular letter addressed to a cousin of hers, Miss Julia Canfield, of Bridgeport, but really meant for the whole family. She calls her cousin "Joo-Can." Her nickname for herself is "Joo-Coo." "Woos" is short for "Wooster," another cousin; and I must further explain that on December 15, 1899, a little brother came to keep Julia company. Two or three lit- tle poems to him show how tenderly she re- gards him. But here at last is the letter: " Chicago, Illinois, ''April 18, 1903. "Dear Everyone, — I am sure that J 00 -Can and Woos are very busy with school, as I am? but perhaps you will have time to read this little note. I regret not having written to you before, but I know you will forgive me when I say that I have had a little attack, but I have recovered altogether now. I write to thank you for the beautiful Easter gifts, brother just adores his little humpty-dumpty, and after 15 The Poems of a Child each meal exclaims 'have we any more humpty-dumpty candy eggs.' And I think that the little rabbit in the lettuce-leaf is the most appropriate present for me; and the sweetest too. I was going to send you something for Easter, but I have been so busy with a new poem. I think that you would like to read it, so you will find it enclosed in this letter. / hope this summer to do a great deal of writing, because there are such beautiful places in Seymour to bring out the imagination. You know that I really have a great wish to do something wonderful. I don't mean that I want to be greater than anyone, such as Shakespeare ^ Shelley, or Hawthorne. "Baby is so cunning, you never saw a sweeter baby (well not exactly a baby any more), but a dear little boy. My book about the sweet little things that he says has about five pages full. He is big enough now to get off dear little baby jokes, and he keeps us laughing all the time with them. "Mother has been to several plays this winter, which I am glad of. Just a few weeks ago I went to see The Tempest. It i6 Introduction was simply grand! The part of Ariel was played by a Kenwood girl. I am reading David Copperfield and enjoy it very much. Is not Dickens delicious. And it really is true he can make you laugh and cry, can he not? . . . To-day a man came in the midst of the [music] lesson, a perfect image, to my fancy, of Mr. Mirdstone in David Copperfield. He was black as night, and I could think of him as caning David. I hope all are well. Your Loving "Jog-Coo." I print this letter not as being specially remarkable in itself, though it is an un- commonly good letter for a child of nine, but for its illustrative value in regard to the little girl whom in my opinion the fol- lowing pages show to be very remarkable indeed. The passages that I have italicized are almost uncanny with purpose and the sense of vocation, written as they are in a baby's "pot-hook" hand. Elsewhere she has this remarkable and touching confes- sion: "I just love to write. Whenever I am ready for a new sentence it comes to 17 The Poems of a Child me as if I turned and saw an angel bringing it to me." Whether or not JuUa's gift will develop, or wither like a February snowdrop, it is quite certain that she feels herself in- stinctively called to be a writer, and that all her thoughts and studies are more and more consciously to that end. A letter to one of her aunts, dated February 21, 1903, shows her to be already enamoured and studious of words as only the born writer can be. "I wish you could see my lovely Synonym book that mother gave me for a valentine," she says. "It is a dictionary and more too. It not only tells what the word means, but tells what is opposite it. For instance, I am looking up 'transparent.' This is exactly what I will find. "Transparent, syn. Pellucid, crystalline, translucent, limpid, diaphanous, obvious, clear, indisputable self-evident. "Ant. Thick, turbid, opaque, instrans- parent, mysterious, dubious, questionable. Is not that fine, I just love it so. 'Your loving "Joo-Coo." 18 Introduction Imagine a child of nine so happy over a synonym dictionary — and yet remaining a real, little, human child. Her playful sig- nature, and touches here and there in her letters and verses, show her to be possessed of no little humor, and there is one poem which seems to show that she is alive to the quaint incongruity of herself. It is en- titled "The Clouds": "I see many forms in clouds. Angels guarding us — I'm sure that is a message from our Lord — And trees of many kinds. / also see a funny face Laughing because Fm just a speck, you see. Just a speck, indeed! Reverting to Julia's study of words, her mother has told me how almost two years ago Julia was observed to be particularly hard at work for some weeks at a new manuscript book. It proved to be a rhyming dictionary which she was mak- ing for herself. She called it "Words for Poems — that Rhyme." When I last heard 19 The Poems of a Child of it it had grown to forty-one pages filled with rhyming words arranged in alphabetical order. This she made entirely without sug- gestion or assistance from any one. I think the reader may care to look at its first page : Asleep Adore Arose keep implore rose deep for foes weep more goes sleep store glows repose grows close Air Away Ache wear stay lake care drake tare prayer there fair beware Are far mar star 20 Introduction Besides this book, Julia's desk contains innumerable blank-books, all systematically dated and inscribed with a title, her name, and age. We have already seen her ref- erence to a book about her baby brother. Actually she has made two, one entitled "Brother's Book, and All about Him," and another entitled " Baby Brother's Sweet Sentences." Then she has a book with the charming title of the "For Ever Book," in which are recorded clever stories told by members of the family. She credits each story to its proper source, and dates it, and then writes, "Loved by Julia Cooley." She has, too, a little box which she calls her "For Ever Box." In this she keeps her letters from her father. Other books bear the titles: "Difficult words and what they mean," "Sentences that I made up," "Lit- tle Poetic Sentences that I shall Write," "Poems about Flowers," and "Beautiful Things that I Read." The last-named was begun on August 2, 1902, and the first par- agraph copied in was this from Charles and Mary Lamb's Shakespeare: "Love is a thorn that belongs to the rose of youth; for in 21 The Poems of a Child the season of youth if ever, we are nature's children. These faults are ours, though then we think not they are faults." Her last and most imposing blank-book bears the beautiful title, " On the Pathway of Paradise," and in it she has written all her more recent poems. One other note-book of no little signifi- cance is entitled "List of Poems that I shall Write." Under this head are collected some sixty titles, mostly dealing with nat- ure, such as "The Sunset," "The Lake," "The Brook," "The Stars," but some more abstract in theme, such as "Sleep," "Re- morse," "Death's Shadow." Another list is headed, "Titles for Long Poems," an- other, " List of Little Rhymes that I shall Write," "List of Songs that I shall Write." The titles alone in these three lists are so characteristic and full of poetic possibilities that I give the lists entire: Titles op Long Poems. 1902 The Rustling Tree Never Ending Happiness THE Great and Radiant Sun The Moon's Veil 22 Introduction Forms in Clouds The First Violet of Spring • The Field of Daisies The Ice Mountain Key The Fragrant Flowers Forward March to War Where the Fairies go in Winter Do Fairies Grow? A Fairy's Dream The Pleasant Little Nook Oh, Speed Brave Knight Ring the Lily-bell The Mountain's Veil The Busy Rain Drops The Mossy Bank The Path that Leads to Roughness The Old Oak Tree The Sun Fairy The Merry Leaflets Baby's Mischievous Smile Thoughts on Passing the Church Going to School. List of Little Rhymes that I shall write. Hers is not Better than Yours Beware, Tipsy, if you do it again 23 The Poems of a Child Oh, Kitty, you have a Guilty Face My Heart is Broken A Grassy Little Mead I'd Rather be Myself than to be Queen. List of Songs that I shall write. 1902 Never ending Happiness Birdie's Song A Store of good Things is awaiting you Is There a Tare in your Soul? There, There, Pretty Miss A Maiden Oh, Stay, Robin, Stay Oh, The Sound of War Oh, Partake of the Fun with Me Oh, I am Bored to Death Happiness never ceases. There is also a list of "Stories that I shall Write," but the titles here are not so sig- nificant. One suggestive title, "A Travel through Childhood," from which much might have been hoped, has unfortunately come to nothing. The little blank-book stands empty save for these opening 24 Introduction words: "As I was a baby not long ago, I think I may know more thoroughly the visions of childhood than any one else. My experience has been with myself and many another baby ..." (May, 1902.) One of Julia's latest literary masquerades is to affect the nom de guerre, and one of her poems is written for an imaginary lit- erary club, " The Nile Club," under the pseu- donym of "Praecros Belmarz." Another is signed " Pronvae Valese." And these strange names remind me that, like other children who do not write poetry, Julia has her in- visible playmates, or, rather, in her case, commanding spirits. "When she was the merest baby she talked always of Gavyan, Sosie and Alta. Gavyan was her evil spirit, and exerted a tyrannical power over Julia which is now almost hypnotic; in the beginning she would disobey in the name of Gavyan, al- ways explaining to her mother that Gav- yan commanded her to do so and so. This was Gavyan 's special influence in the 2S The Poems of a Child early days. Now she has become a law in Julia's life, which she cannot resist. For instance, we find her rushing madly to accomplish some feat in a given length of time. Gavyan says, should she fail, she will die; should she succeed, live. She now says that Gavyan is continually dic- tating: ' Why, I prophesied it would happen just so.' Gavyan prompts all her naughti- ness, which is always delicious, and Julia does not dare to disobey her. Her mother is clever in realizing that her stem authority is nullified, and long ago gave up rivalry with Gavyan. Sosie was originally a good influence, counteracting that of Gavyan, but she soon became indistinct, and remains merely as a name in Julia's memory. Alta was merely a companion playmate to Sosie. She was an auxiliary in case of Gavyan 's overpowering evil. She is no longer even in Julia's memory." Before I turn to Julia's poems themselves, perhaps I may without indiscretion give one glimpse of her home life from one of her mother's letters, a glimpse to remind the reader once more what an absolute child in 26 Introduction the nursery this little poet and philosopher is, a glimpse which flashes on us, too, of that wise mother of whom I have before spoken. "Deeds of the World" and "A Few Lines," says Mrs. Cooley, "were written early in December. I had been making paper dolls for Julia and she was careless in her play with her brother and hurt him. So I put aside th6 paper dolls. The next morning she shut herself in her nursery, her sanc- tum sanctorum, and when she came out she roguishly slipped into my hand the lit- tle manuscript which she knows will soften my heart quicker than anything else. She explained the poem as meaning — the quick- ness with which one could repent, and the joy of repentance. She finished by say- ing: *It really means a great many things, and if I hadn't written it, I should call it very good. . . . 'The Little Brook' was inspired by the 23d psalm, which Julia had first learned by heart; that is, after recit- ing the 23d psalm Julia said: 'I think I'll put that into my own words ' — so she with- drew to the privacy of her nursery and this little poem was the result; the record of a 27 The Poems of a Child vision and a memory of Seymour and the summer. Then came ' The Raindrops ' com- posed in bed — and written off like a flash in our presence in the morning; and then this morning ' The Harvest ' — a poem not writ- ten from experience certainly. . . . This was written at the breakfast -table this morn- ing." And now to turn to the little manuscripts that soften the heart! I have not written so much about Julia Cooley herself in the least because I felt her poetry in need of the excuse of her childhood, for, had it been so, there would scarcely have been need to write about her at all. It is only because her verses, at their best, and as far as they go, are real poetry, poetry achieved, and not merely the promise of poetry, that she herself claims our attention — and astonish- ment. For, though the poetic gift is a miracle at all times, to find it already so active and mature in so young a child surely doubles the wonder. As she has grown older her poems have grown longer, but the best of them are usually tiny, seldom more than from four 28 Introduction to eight lines, usually unrhymed, and almost all pictures of nature, of her passion for which I have already written. One of her earliest verses, entitled "What Nature is like to me," shows her gift of picture-mak- ing in its simplest beginnings : "The sun is like a golden crown. The sky is like a blue and white knitted ball, The grass is like little pieces of silk thread, And the apple blossoms are like jewels." In this, as in many others of her verses, one is reminded of those tiny Japanese verses Mr. Lafcadio Hearn translates for us so exquisitely, and the imagery has often that naive concreteness which we find in the old folk-songs. Take two or three more examples: (I) "The grass is getting green, The daisies up are springing, And the hills are woven purple, While the birds commence their singing." 29 The Poems of a Child (2) "The pigeons are coming fluttering and twittering out of the pigeon house, How green the grass is! The leaves are fluttering down from the trees, How blue the sky isT* (3) "The buds have come and gone, And the leaves are falling, The floods of rain have not ceased, The light of morning has gone. And nightfall is coming on." Tiny and simple as these three little poems are, do they not show a remarkable power of conveying an impression, painting a picture, a power of selecting the vivid essential and leaving the rest which is all too rare among grown - ups, but which in a child of seven is little short of uncanny? These thumb-nails from nature — made on a mere baby thumb-nail — are, it seems to me, quite perfect and mature, within their limits, and are in no need of the writer's 30 Introduction age being attached to them. Would that certain Hving poets seven and eight times Julia Cooley's age could write so well! I will now quote several poems in which this pictorial quality of observation is blended with a sort of baby meditative- ness. The first is called "Dear little blue grass." It will be observed that Julia had just discovered "thou" and "thee" as po- etic pronouns, and was not yet at all at her ease in using them — but I leave the verse as she wrote it : "Little purpel blue grass Among the grasses I found thee growing, Dear little lass Thee grows where farmers all are mowing." She has the same difficulty with her pronouns in this picture of "The dear little Buttercup": "You are yellow as the sun. Thou growest among the tall grasses And out of thee I get pleasure and fun I findest thou in masses." 31 The Poems of a Child Again, this of "The Cheese Flower''; Thou art white and purple And shaped like a cup Your color is very simple And you are a flower of luck. Once more, best of all, this of "The Clover": " You dear little downy flower I foundest thee by the hill, I have played with thee by the hour, Why art thou so still? This last little poem seems to me par- ticularly striking, the last line especially. "Why art thou so still?" is a fine stroke of imagination such as older poets, once more, may envy. How charming is this little lyric called "The Joyful Leaves," how truly lyrical: " You merry little leaves, How can you be so happy? Always dancing from mom till night. 32 Introduction While you are happy I am sorrowful. You show that yoti are happy because green is a happy color. Merry little leaves, Merry little leaves, Merry little leaves." In regard to this poem the baby artist's comment on the fifth line should not go un- told. Coming with the lines to her mother, she said: " You know, mother, I don't really mean that I'm sorrowful. I only say it for the sake of the poetry." There, surely, spoke the artistic temperament in bud. Presumably, too, this little poem was writ- ten only ' ' for the sake of the poetry, ' ' not from actual experience. It is called " My Lover." ** Over the hills and far away Where my true lover lives. O'er the valleys have I searched in vain, Oh, my heart has sunk in griefs." As Mrs. Browning has said, young poets are always ** sexagenary at sixteen," but a 33 The Poems of a Child broken heart at seven is surely the height of precocious Wertherism. The really curi- ous thing, however, is that our little poet should be conscious that when she writes so she is sad "on purpose," sad for artistic reasons! Indeed, as we have seen, sad- ness is anything but characteristic of her sunny childhood, and here I would beg the reader to look again at that fasci- nating little poem, "The Happy One" — a poem good enough for any one to have written, but surely as the work of a child of eight little short of marvellous. Note the remarkably observed and selected images of silence in the third line, "the stone, the nesting bird, or the shadow of the stone'' — and the similarly fortunate images of happy, sunny movement in the last line. And, apart from separate lines, how alive the little poem is with the "romping, scampering" feeling to be expressed; what a lovely line is, "I'm the one who runs and sings among the flowering fields"; and, as well, note the remarkable sense of form, of prose rhythm, shown in the use of a formless metre — quite a difficult achievement, 34 Introduction Julia is at her best in these brief un- rhymed impressions, and though " The Happy One" is perhaps the most strik- ingly successful of all her pictures, there are many that run it very close. Take this of *'The Little Brook," for exam- ple: '* Little singing brook Babbling in and out between the spark- ling stones And singing in the tone of blithest mer- riment. See the rainbow shining from the shadowy nook. Do you slumber quietly at night and sing no more?" What a lovely stroke of child-imagination is that at the end? And though nature provides her with most of her subjects, Julia's eye is no less true, and her touch no less sure, with any human scene that strikes her fancy. Take these two cleanly drawn pictures — one might almost say a la Whitman: 35 The Poems of a Child (I) * * See the little children dancing to the merry music, See the poor music - girl reach for the money, Look at the clear sunset of crimson, pur- ple and pink, See the grass — it looks like embroidery. Doesn't it make her happy?" (2) ** Three little girls at play jumping rope. The clouds are black above them, but they do not see, They are so pre-occupied in their play. The shy squirrel knew that rain was com- ing on." And, again, this picture of "A Quiet Home": "Mama sits in her chair reading a book, Papa sits in his armchair reading the newspaper, Sister sits in her little chair with her doll, drawing, 36 Introduction And baby sits on the floor with his pict- ure-book and rag-doll: Such a happy family, all by the quiet fire And the great red sun seems just as happy." I hope the childishness of the themes — though they would not have seemed childish to Blake or Wordsworth — will not disguise for the reader the fine instinctive art with which these tiny pictures are made; the manner in which the significant detail, and that only, is seized, the economy of words, not one too many or too few, and the manner in which in each case the whole picture is rounded by some happy closing touch: "The shy squirrel knew that rain was coming on." Bless her! As was only to be expected, Julia's unrhymed poems are better than those in rhyme, though the reader will find her rhyming with success on occasion — and I confess to viewing with some disquie- tude her strenuous experiments with those "Words for Poems — that Rhyme." Many of her fairy fancies cannot but be maimed 37 The Poems of a Child for us in those experiments. Still, of course, the desire to rhyme was sure to come, and I have little doubt that the artistic instinct which has brought Julia so far will serve her here as well. Though she should prove a bad metricist, she could hardly be a worse than Mrs. Browning, in whose case the indifferent rhymes strove vainly to eclipse the divine poet. Indeed, as I write, a little poem comes to me entitled "Youth," a poem written so easily in rhyme as to make my misgivings already out of date. A story comes with it which must certainly be told. It appears that a certain maga- zine has been offering a prize for the best poem on "Youth" written by a child. Julia determined to compete, and produced these lines: "Ah! Youth, fair envy of hoary Time — I would that ever I could hear thy merry chime.. Thy laughter is a pleasure to old age. ..." Julia, having proceeded so far, showed the lines to her mother, who, while struck 38 Introduction by them, not unnaturally felt that no editor would believe them to be the work of a child, and said so. "Oh, I see," was Julia's comment, "you want a baby-poem," and thereupon produced, almost impromp- tu, the following: "When I was young I loved the birds and bees, I loved the sky, I loved the sighing trees, I loved the fields, I loved the babbling stream. And all day long I used to dream and dream Of all the lovely things I saw and heard, — The hill, the field, the little singing bird." This is what Julia contemptuously calls a "baby-poem "! Nature, it will be seen, is still her theme, and in this passionate love of nature alone, apart from the expression she has found for it, Julia would be sufficiently remark- able. Few are born that are so surely, to use her own words, of "the people who see nature visions"; for Julia's love of nature is, as will be seen, by no means 39 The Poems of a Child external, not merely a delight in the visible beauty of the world, but also a mystic religion, and her poems are no more re- markable for their verbal felicity than for their flashes of mystic insight. Take a thought like this — she herself calls it "A Thought" — "There are two of those pict- ures. One is reflected in the water, and one is the real one. I would like to steal the one that is reflected in the water." Or, again, this of "The Seed that Grows and Dies": "Babyhood is a seed. Childhood is a bud. Girlhood is a rose. Womanhood is a rose with three more petals but fading a little Old womanhood is the full grown rose withered but very sacred." Again, and particularly, this " Magic Music": "When I stand on the mountain top When I stand on the mountain top, I gaze 40 Introduction O'er the country wild, and wonder If some great thing will happen there, If some battle will be conquered there, If some spirit will alight in its woods." And once more, this "Woodland Tower'*: ** Rising out of supreme greenness every- where Towers a woodland mountain Like a cherished flower. Greeting ocean breezes with a courtesy of its trees. Oh, tower of beauty. Looking down upon the other steps or hills, What marble step of life are you Leading to all Heaven's celestial blue?" Here are no mere pretty, chiming words. It is less the form than the thought that is poetic, and the veritable stuff of poetic thought is there. However varied her success in expression, Julia never writes without having something to say, and some of her thoughts are "long long thoughts." 4 41 The Poems of a Child Along with this mystic apprehension of nature, the reader will notice, too, the closeness of her observation, and occa- sionally even the application of her budd- ing knowledge of natural science, as, for example, in "The Brook." What is the secret the brook is whispering, she asks : "Is it that some joyful morn You will find yourself Borne by the foamy waves to a far-off distant country Or that some day You will find yourself taken to the sky again By a gold-winged sunbeam fairy V^ And, again, writing of "The Moon," she says: "This dweller of the lofty skies a spirit seems Whose vibrating thread of intercourse with us is made by a thousand laughing beams,'' 42 Introduction Even her school-books she thus "turns to favor and to prettiness" with the alchemic touch of her fancy. As to her fancy, it is everywhere, Ariel-like, through- out her poems, exquisitely nimble and quaint, and yet exceptionally vital, and close to the truth and beauty of things. Beautiful single lines are everywhere, too, lines that personally I find haunting me like the lines of the big, grown-up poets, "When the beautiful Sun arrives at China," I said to myself yesterday, quite forgetting it was Julia's, and when the spring comes I know I shall go about saying: "Merry little leaves, Merry little leaves. Merry little leaves." Of course, the poems that follow are by no means without many a childish blemish. Some are very imperfect, and some one or two are cryptic, even incomprehensible, as though the child were struggling with some thought she could not quite master. There is also a measure of repetition of motives, 43 The Poems of a Child and Julia may perhaps seem somewhat over- occupied with the fairies, for frivolous grown- up tastes. Yet there is, I think, no poem or fragment, however imperfect, that does not contain something worth keeping, some suggestive thought, some happy stroke of fancy, or some attractive phrase. Finally, I wish to claim that there is no question here of a child of promise merely. Julia Cooley's little poems do not merely give promise that some day she may write poetry; they prove that she has already written poetry. We have all heard of Sir John Suckling's learning at five and Pope's lisping in numbers, but that learning and those lispings were merely indications of a coming gift. JuUa Cooley's poems are the expression of a gift already at work, and I am serious in asking for them a serious con- sideration. Richard Le Gallienne. The Poems of a Child ^\ICHJ. jU<>^ Jixi^ Q>AVX^ FAC-SIMILE OF A PAGE OF THE AUTHOR's MS. {Slightly reduced) ' ' ALKING on the hill I saw five little dandelions with their yellow dresses on. They thought it was sum- mer. Six of them had gone to seed, and had their white dresses on. They knew it was fall. I was helping the farmers with the corn, The blue sky above and the sunshine. It was an autumn day The leaves had turned brown and yellow and red, And were gently falling. It was an autumn day. September, i8gg. The grass is getting green, The daisies up are springing, 47 The Poems of a Child And the hills are woven purple, While the birds commence their singing. March, igoo. The little fish are romping in the sea, And the sky is blue above them. The little waves are romping merrily, The sea-gulls float above them. March, igoo. See the little children dancing to the merry music, See the poor music girl reach for the money. Look at the clear sunset of crimson, purple and pink, See the grass. It looks like embroidery. Doesn't it make her happy? March, igoo. Three little girls at play, jumping rope. The clouds are black above them, but they do not see. They are so preoccupied in their play. The shy squirrel knew that rain was coming on. March, igoo. 48 The Poems of a Child The flowers are blooming, the trees are getting green; The sky is like a piece of woven silk, The showers of Spring are coming, The ill will soon be well. March, igoo. The buds have come and gone, And the leaves are falling. The floods of rain have not ceased, The light of morning has gone, And nightfall is coming on. March, igoo. The pigeons are coming fluttering and twit- tering out of the pigeon house, How green the grass is! The leaves are fluttering down from the trees. How blue the sky is! March, igoo. 49 The Poems of a Child What Nature is Like to Me The sun is like a golden crown, The sky is like a blue and white knitted ball, The grass is like little pieces of silk thread. And the apple blossoms are like jewels. March, igoo. My Lover Over the hills and far away Where my true lover lives, O'er the valleys have I searched in vain, Oh, my heart has sunk in griefs. March, 1900. 50 The Poems of a Child My Baby Brother Sweet little tot Dear as a posy . Not yet able to walk Cunning and rosy. April, I goo. Sunset The sun is sinking low Everything is lighted by its brightness Very slowly does it go Everything shares its happiness. April, I goo. SI The Poems of a Child Arachne*s Home Little tiny silken spider's web Jewels and pearls you wear upon your breast A woven coverlet of silk for some fairy's bed. Don't you think that house is best? June, igoi. The Happy One I'm not the silent one. I'm not the one that sits and reads the live-long day. I'm not like the stone, the nesting bird or the shadow of the stone. I'm the romping scampering one. I'm the one who runs and sings among the flowering fields. I'm like the leaves, the grass, the wind, the happy little butterfly and the little scampering clouds. July, igoi. 52 The Poems of a Child The Clover You dear little downy flower I foundest thee down by the hill, I have played with thee by the hour, Why art thou so still? July, I go I. Farewell Farewell, dear hills, Farewell fore'er It really makes me cry. Just think I must leave thee forever and ever. *Tis very sorrowful Forever just think of it, fore'er Farewell Farewell, dear hills, Farewell. July, I go I. 53 The Poems of a Child The Joyful Leaves You merry little leaves, How can you be so happy? Always dancing from morn till night. While you are happy I am sorrowful. You show that you are happy because green is a happy color. Merry little leaves, Merry little leaves. Merry little leaves. July, I go I. The Lightning The lightning through the sky is flashing Some in stripes and some in dots. But now 'tis time for rain drops to come dashing. Upon the grass they look like little jots. July, I go I. 54 The Poems of a Child Dear Little Blue Grass Little purpel blue grass Among the grasses I found thee growing, Dear little lass Thee grows where farmers all are mowing. July 12, I go I. The Dear Little Buttercup You are yellow as the sun. Thou growest amongst the tall grasses And out of thee I get pleasure and fun I findest thou in masses. July 12, igoi. 55 The Poems of a Child The Cheese Flower Thou art white and purple And shaped like a cup Your color is very simple And you are a flower of luck. July 12, igoi. Mother Hill The fleecy clouds dressed in a soft dress of white Are resting in the green velvet lap of a loving lady hill, Soon 'twill be time for them to slumber. But where will the lady leave them? She will keep the little lambkins in her loving lap at night. August 4, I go I. 56 The Poems of a Child A Thought There are two of those pictures, one is reflected in the water and one is the real one. I would Hke to steal the one that is reflected in the water. The Little Brook Little singing brook Bubbling in and out between the sparkling stones And singing in the tone of blithest merri- ment. See the rainbow shining from the shadowy- nook. Do you slumber quietly at night and sing no more? September lo, igoi. 57 The Poems of a Child Jack Frost Jack Frost with frozen finger tips lightly touched the flowers so bright, When I was walking in the garden he was dressed in misty white, A cap of red upon his head he wore And silver slippers on his tiny feet. But when I walked in the garden today The flowers I found in dull colors. October i6, igoi. The Woods The solitary woods are a place of peace for everyone. Birds and flowers and all. Oh, the peace of the green green woods where fairies dwell. December, igoi. S8 The Poems of a Child Deeds of the World There was once a little girl who one day- said to her mother, "Why, the world seems so dark today." Her mother said "Think, have you done anything wrong?" The Httle girl thought. "Yes" said she. Then her mother told her that badness means unhappiness always. Oh, the world is full of badness. But wait, 'tis full of gladness What I said last was true. But what think you? December, igoi. 59 The Poems of a Child The Little Brook The little brook onward journeys never stopping In and out the shadow of the spreading oaks, Through the meadows velvet green, Through the marshy grasses tall, Like a bit of shining silver, Mirroring here and there a happy butterfly Blooming violets and daisies on their slender stems Dancing merrily in the summer breeze. January, IQ02. The Raindrops When at mom I saw the world in a dew- drop dress, I knew what had happened. The rain had kissed each flower lovingly. So sweet and so loving was the kiss That it shone like silver And the air was filled with fragrance. January 10, IQ02. 60 The Poems of a Child Harvest When harvest comes The merry working farmer With wife and babies three How happy he must be But some are old and weary With no wife and babes to comfort them When by the fireside they sit And think how happy others are And then a fairy comes to such a one and knocks And asks him what he most desires He looks in amazement and gazes Then says "I most desire My wife and child back again " But she answers "Ah, I can not grant it " Then he says " I can not think of joy unless you do " The hope gave him happiness for a minute only Then again he went his weary way. January ij, ipo2. 6i The Poems of a Child A Quiet Home [to dear daddy.] Mama sits in her chair reading a book, Papa sits in his armchair reading the news- paper Sister sits in her Uttle chair with her doll, drawing, And baby sits on the floor with his picture- book and rag-doll; Such a happy family, all by the quiet fire And the great red sun seems just as happy. January, igo2. 63 The Poems of a Child Harvest [to dear daddy.] When harvest comes the happy Uttle children Romp and play among the drying hay. And when at sunset mammas are looking for their children They are sure to find them in the haystack as happy as can be And then they rest their sleepy eyes Then they say adieu to hay and all. January, igo2. The Cornstalk At first we put into the soft warm mother earth a seed And week after week it gradually grew Till at last a small green leaf shot slowly upward And then the whole red and green corn- stalk appeared in full beauty. January 15, igo2. 63 The Poems of a Child To My Valentine Dear Valentine wilt thou be mine Ah, dear, sweet answer me now Thou art fairer than the flowers Come to me and tell me, dear. Dost thou love me as I love thee Tell me, dear, ah, tell me Thou art fairer than the day Thy locks are golden as the sun Thy cheeks blush like the sunset sky. February, 1902. 64 The Poems of a Child A Fair Young Maiden There lived a maiden yonder in the woods Her golden locks were like the sunbeams in the flowers Her eyes were like the violets just in bloom Her lips were like the summer roses. And when old Winter came she was bright and sweet As if the sun were shining still. But now she lies in a snow-white grave With the violets and roses over it And I suppose the birds guard it lovingly. February 15, IQ02. 65 The Poems of a .Child The Wise Wishes Once there was a little girl who was very sad to think of the wrongs of the world. When she was sadly gazing a fairy dressed in beautiful garments granted her three questions. She would give her a year to think of each one. In another year she came back and the little girl said that she would like best of all to have the fairy take down the names of all the people that were not good. And in another year she came and she said she would like a bible for each of them that had their names in the book. And the next year they all came together on a hill. It was sunset. Each one threw their sins on the setting sun and ever after that every one was good. March, igo2. 66 The Poems of a Child March March is a beautiful month, For it brings Spring flowers and green meadows. It brings bright blue skies and everything lovely. Spring is Summer's messenger. Summer is dressed in a robe of green With violets and roses in her golden hair Her slippers are red with golden buckles. March, IQ02. 67 The Poems of a Child The First Violet of Spring One day as I was walking in the silent leaf-draped wood Where the nymphs in their dells were sur- rounded by lillies, I saw beneath a spreading willow tree A soft small star of purple, With a net of dewdrops gHstening upon it. I stooped and picked the fragrant flower. Then a nymph appeared with her wand uplifted. "Ah, drop it" she cried, "It belongs to the Queen of Spring." I stopped and gazed in wonder for the violet had fallen from my hand. And thousands of nymphs came silent as the buds; And where each nymph stood a violet grew Some at my feet and others far away. And a faint cry could be heard from the place where the violet had dropped. Then the nymph silently touched the violet, And it grew again. March, igo2. 68 The Poems of a Child The Fairies Where do the Uttle fairies dwell? I know their secret well. Their home is down with the Wood-land Queen It is an invisible palace of velvet green. Their palace is enchanted so no one can see it but they They catch the sunbeams and use them for a light of a brilliant ray Their court is filled with perfumed flowers And vines of roses hang from their fragrant bowers. Their fence is of river grasses tall And a winding stairway leads to their golden hall And a little babbHng brook runs happily down the fairy hills, The fairies need not have the grinding mills. Spring, jgo2. 69 The Poems of a Child The Night The trailing garments of the night* appear As the rose-colored sunset disappears. The kingly Sun rides in his golden chariot around the earth With the rainbow for a cushion, And slowly sinks behind the guardian clouds, The turquoise sky is ready to greet him everywhere. The trees grow shadowy and dark, And the fairies join in their nightly dance with the woodland Queen Then the white-draped ghosts begin to creep about And frighten all who see them. But it is not the ghosts. It is the shadows of the silky leaves, Only the sky seen through the foliage Of the dark green of the summer trees. *This, of course, is a direct reminiscence of Longfellow. 70 The Poems of a Child When the beautiful Sun arrives at China, it scatters happiness everywhere Even upon unfortunate poor people Leaving dark behind him. But the thought and memory of him leaves brightness even though he were to stay away a year God, not forgetting us, sends the beautiful moon instead So if we do not forget the Sun, we may have happiness still. And then too He sends innumerable brilliant stars. He does not think that a half moon will do. But the people who see nature visions do not really need the moon though they love it. Even though the stars look small, Each one gives forth more blessings than one can count. When morning comes again we see the Sun robed in a different dress Wishing he were the Lady Moon, he some- times puts on the colors she loves to wear, 71 The Poems of a Child Which is the misty dress. He can not find the real color of the Moon. The place where she gets it is a secret Except to the Daisy, who is the only one she has told her secret to The Daisy to show her gratitude to the lovely Moon Puts a yellow star in the center of her robe. The Sun is still trying to find the place where the Moon gets her lovely silver. Spring, I go 2. Lament Oh, those sword-clad words, sword-clad words. Ah, if those words are true, I will watch the winged birds, The rainbow-colored birds. April, IQ02. 72 The Poems of a Child The Poor that Give Happiness Out in the cold, cold lamp-lit street the organ grinder stands, With his stiff and freezing hands. His happy yet sad music thrills us all. He brings cheerfulness to generous famiHes And sadness to the houses where one will not give. All hard-hearted people are discontented. The poor organ grinder never sees a vision of happiness. He does not dream of even a little cottage with one book Or anything that gives forth contentment. The Lady in the Moon gives the organ grinder some joy; But he is usually too sad to even look at her OP at the silver stars The moon is beautiful to kind and generous people, Even to the rich it seems beautiful. The music of the organ grinder thrills all people who can see visions 6 73 The Poems of a Child As for instance, the people who see forms of maidens in the clouds. Such think that the music of the organ grinder is beautiful. There is a magic touch of sadness to them in the music, Something lovely, something sad, some- thing too sad to tell. May ly, igo2. New Year's Day The joyous bells are echoing over hill and dale, And glad tidings to all are bringing. Even the poor feel something magic in the atmosphere And rejoice with the world. The old year passes away with a sigh of farewell to the beautiful earth And as he passes by, the infant New Year Bids him be happy wherever he may go In the memory of the great deeds he has done. May, igo2. 74 The Poems of a Child The Cloud As the dusky night approached A sight more marvelous and beautiful met my eyes Than I had ever seen before. A fleecy purple cloud embroidered with gold was resting in the sky Then two little guardian clouds Hovered over it, watching it. These also were embroidered with gold. Under it was the sun, dressed in a garment of opal. Out from it streamed brilUant rays And the whole sky seemed to be illumined by the wonderful opal ball. May i8, igo2. 75 The Poems of a Child The Joys of Camping Out To see where the Fairies danced the night before To see where the silver moon glittered on their gauzy gowns And to think where they were going to do good deeds on the morrow Where the nymphs rang the lily bells — for church in the hollow tree And the sunbeams were nailed to the walls when the Hghtning bugs . . . Unfinished, July, igo2. 76 The Poems of a Child The Seed that Grows and Dies Babyhood is a seed. Childhood is a bud. Girlhood is a rose. Womanhood is a rose with three more petals but fading a little Old womanhood is the full grown rose withered but very sacred. August J, I go 2. The Wild Rose [by praecros belmarz] In the wood stands the tall wild rose, Beautiful but still stinging with its thorns, It stands with them ready to face its foes. The beautiful rose means our wonderful and happy life And its thorns mean our few troubles which come in different forms. August 17, igo2. 77 The Poems of a Child The Brook and The Trees [by pronvae valese.] In the shady wood rushed a little babbling brook, And it happily sang all day long. At night the rustUng trees of its merriment partook And sang the same song, While the flowers watched them in a shad- owy nook, And the birds listened in their nests. The trees their friend never forsook, And the Brook and the Trees never cared because the birds and the flowers were their guests. August 25, 1Q02. 78 The Poems of a Child The Fairies There are Swamp Fairies and Wood Fairies and Sunbeam Fairies. The fairies we usually talk about are the fairies of the sunbeams. This is the way the Swamp Fairies make their wands. They skim the sunbeams from the water and put them into a golden goblet. Then they drop in silver sand and golden pebbles and set it in the sun till it becomes a golden liquid. Into this they dip river grasses and the tips shine like stars. The wands of the Sunbeam Fairies are sunbeams. The Wood Fairies catch the falling stars. August 26, I go 2. 79 The Poems of a Child Pleading Oh, beautiful sky so blue and sad Do not carry dear sister away Where happily resting are many a lassie and lad For tears and sad thoughts of her will reign over me every day Though she will be happy sailing in the woolen clouds away. I could not live without her, but yet I could not leave dear mother, So I think she'd better stay. I could not even hear the babbling brook sing loud. Oh, glittering golden Sun Oh, let her stay if she may. August, igo2. 80 The Poems of a Child The Elves The bright little Elves live in the woodlands green Where the silky moss grows most abundant. The Elves do not live by a brook as the Fairies do. They much prefer a stream. The Fairies love the babbling brook best. And the Elves love the winding stream best. The little Elves are as spry as squirrels. They know the place to find things just as Fairies do They find trees and flowers and jewels, but especially pearls. Just think, the Elves are fond of playing school. September 20, igo2. 81 The Poems of a Child The Silver Moon When the night came flitting from the East and West The silver Lady Moon softly arose from the still smooth sea At last it rose as high as to touch the highest mountain crest Then it opened a cave in the ice to see all its beauties With the key that it calls the Iceland Key. At last it disappeared behind the purple mountains, And the brook softly murmured "Ah, fair Moon, why do you disappear so soon So to express its sorrow, it emerged from the ground two little sad fountains. And so the brook seldom sings in the day- time Because it is lonely without its friend the Moon But at night it sings a merry song. September 22, igo2. 82 The Poems of a Child Summer When Summer comes laden with flowers She diverts the course of Spring And the messenger of Spring strews her path with flowers. And finds a lily for a bell to ring. Sometimes Summer goes to sleep and then it showers. Then the Fairies guard her and drape her with flowers And when she wakes again the sun shines. September 22, igo2. 83 The Poems of a Child The Fairies The Fairies live in the woodlands green where the flowers grow. They dance at night when the moon shines through the trees In winter they dance on the glittering snow. They are similar to the nymphs that live in the seas. The Fairies live in a beautiful cave. Their dresses are made of river grasses with rose petals woven in Their lamps are made of a little sunbeam nailed to the wall. They Hke the sunbeam best that comes from the dewdrop on the rose. September 22, igo2. 84 The Poems of a Child The Apple Orchard The crimson apples nestle in the green leaves of the apple tree, As Fairies rest in the petals of a rose. The beautiful emerald leaves add as much beauty as the rubies themselves. October, igo2. 8s Poems from a Manuscript Volume Entitled "On the Pathway of Paradise " The Sunset [H, sunset, is the rainbow your brother or your sister ? And are you the throne for the Queen of the Sky-fairies So that she may look the wide, wild world and waters o'er And behold the setting of the sun? November 7, igo2. 89 The Poems of a Child Sleep Oh, magic, fairy sleep. Upon the barren mount-tops And brooksides And on the grassy hill-tops where shepherds tend their sheep; Everywhere you wander touching every- thing you see And opening houses with a golden magic key. You only do your work when night comes skipping from the east and west, And people are at rest. November 8, igo2. 90 The Poems of a Child Repose Repose, sleeping both day and night While birds sing gaily. While grasses nod their tiny heads And butterflies play near your feet. At night the fireflies make a light for you At morning the sun for you its radiance sheds. You want for nothing, Ah, happy Repose. November 8, 1902. 91 The Poems of a Child The Lake Oh, beautiful, silver crystal lake A million dewdrops take refuge in your kindhearted breast And sparkle like the glistening snowfiakes On a golden day. You are kind to all the birds and beasts. The sea-gull darts in and out amidst your waters cool And the swan floats upon you Like a snowy cloud Upon a meadow blue. November 21, igo2. 92 The Poems of a Child Sunbeams Merry little sunbeams Glistening like the golden sand And playing like the leaves upon the trees; What could we do without you, little sun- beams ? You make our lives seem bright You dance and play amidst the wavy grass. You shine upon the gleeful butterfly And reflect your image In the calm celestial waters blue. November 2j, igo2. 93 The Poems of a Child Cupid's Dream Be quiet, for Cupid is asleep. Do not trouble his slumber. I am sure sweet dreams are prevailing over his thoughts For see the smile that covers his roguish dimpled face. What tiny footstep is that I hear? 'Tis the fairies, I'm sure Come to sprinkle flowers upon him, Yes, it is, see the roses they brought. Oh, they have wakened him What sweet dream did you have, Cupid? **I dreampt" answered Cupid, "That I shot a golden arrow Through the hearts of two lovers." November 23, igo2. 94 The Poems of a Child The Brook Little babbling brook Whispering to the birds and bees The whole day through In your silvery voice. As you run along Beside the tall rank river-grass You whisper little secrets In your native voice. What is the secret? Is it that some joyful morn You will find yourself Borne by the foamy waves to a far-off dis- tant country Or that some day You will find yourself taken to the sky again By a gold-winged sunbeam fairy? November 25, igo2. 95 The Poems of a Child The Stars The stars are numerous as the snowflakes white, And as distinct and clear as crystal, At night they glisten Like a million diamonds in the sky, And stand in an everlasting line Watching like guardians Over all the world To keep us safe from harm. November 2g, igo2. 96 The Poems of a Child _i Baby Brother's Eyes Baby's eyes are full of mystery. Baby's eyes look upward toward the sky To question God Whether or not he shall tell us yet What wondrous tale lies beneath their brown depths; And what wonderful secret Those bright eyes will seek and find. Baby's eyes are full of gladness and bright- ness, And when he laughs They sparkle Uke the sunshine glistening on the dancing waters. December, igo2. 97 The Poems of a Child The Thorn The little stinging thorn But very small, Can penetrate the whitest hand. The thorn is like a sorrow to you yet un- known But when it pierces you You know the sorrow very well. December 2j, igo2. Morn When the rosy morn brings forth Aurora With her chariot of sun or her chariot of rain We greet her with a happy smile Wondering which chariot she brings And if we are very anxious to know We consult the weather prophet To whom she tells her secret. December 2j, IQ02, 98 The Poems of a Child Magic Music When I stand on the mountain top When I stand on the mountain top, I gaze O'er the country wild, and wonder If some great thing will happen there, If some battle will be conquered there, If some spirit will alight in its woods. December, igo2. The Rustling Leaves The little leaves blow round in sprightly dance, When the moon rises high in the blackened sky And hold a council while the brook is their musician And the wind is their singer. December, igo2. 99 L.ofC. The Poems of a Child The Fairies* Boat The Fairies have boats as well as we And what do you think is their boat? It has no masts and it has no sails And the wind is its oar, Oh, I am sure You can never guess so I will have to tell you. Chorus It is a tiny leaf A tiny leaf is the fairies' boat. December, igo2. 100 The Poems of a Child My Wish I think that when I grow up I should like to be a painter, so that I could paint the rocky mountains and the wavy fields. Or perhaps I should like to be a musician and play as well as the birds sing, or perhaps I should like to be a poetess to express my thoughts about different pretty scenes in the world. December, igo2. Day Dreams ' There once lived a serene and beautiful lady. Her eyes were sky-blue. Her lips were a beautiful pale red. She was a poetess. She used to sit for hours and think beautiful things and that is why she was called Day Dreams. December, igo2. lOI The Poems of a Child Daffodils* THE golden daffodils flutter round In the frolicsome breeze; While the little leaves are not to be found Because the heads of the daffodils hide them if you please. December, igo2. Violets . Oh, little violets, what are you like? Are you like the purple sunset? Or are you like the purple mountains? Oh, little violets what pretty scene in nature are you like? December, igo2. * This and the five following poems about flow- ers were written for Christmas, 1902. 102 The Poems of a Child Poppies Oh, poppies red you are the guardian of sleep. You mischievous flower. As soon as one walks within your premises You throw the veil of sleep o'er him. December, igo2. Nasturtiums Pretty nasturtiums, you ai^ of all colors. The colors of the rainbow and the sunset You illumine the garden beds with your brilliancy. December, igo2. 103 The Poems of a Child Lilies Oh, lilies white, you signify purity. You grow amidst the tall rank grass of the meadows green. And down in the dells where the brook babbles loud. The Madonna chooses you to pluck and to stay with her, For you are as pure as she. December, igo2. 104 The Poems of a Child Dandelions Oh, little yellow dandelion You are but a ray of sunshine, When you are arrayed in your bright yellow dress You look like a tiny sunbeam fair}'- And when you have your white dress on You look like a little snow fairy. Oh, little dandelions, sometimes you look like summer And sometimes you look like winter. December, igo2. 105 The Poems of a Child May- May's bright beams bring May flowers. May's bright beams bring soft moss for elves to dance upon As flit by the night hours, May's bright beams bring as many blessings as one should wish. January 26, ipoj. The Fairy Boat The boat of a fairy is made by God, The boat of a fairy is blown from the trees Blown by the heedless autumn winds. The wind that takes no heed to the leaves But carries them off on his swift aerial steed. January 27, IQOJ. 106 The Poems of a Child The Bats [a shepherd's song.] When the moon in the starry sea shines brightly And the black-winged bats, dark as the opaque night Fly over the woods and silent rivers; Carrying a tiny fairy-maid upon their backs As sometimes does the butterfly; I watch them as I guard my sheep, I love to watch them from the hill-tops. January 27, 1903. 107 The Poems of a Child The Tear A glistening tear from baby's eyes Is like a drop of rain Just fallen from the gray mystery of the skies. January 2g, ipoj. Spring Spring is coming I can tell because The sun seems about To send his soft warm Rays upon the earth To wake the flowers. He seems so soft and bright now I'm sure it's neariy Spring. January 2Q, 1903, 108 The Poems of a Child Beauty Near the Lake Down by the cold blue winter lake Stand the staunch and stately birch In bare unconsciousness. Although their gown like Cinderella's Fell on the invisible wings of the wind, They are beautiful to my eyes With the signs of their many joys And their branches waving in the wind To salute and hail the coming Spring. And then the old old bridge, So true, so ignorant. That stands to face the infinite world And not a thing to support it in way of knowledge. In another form this masterpiece (Made a masterpiece by fairies' nimble fingers) Stands or rests against the ethereal dome, Inapprehensive of it. So many little feet trod upon this vine- covered antique bridge Ringing forth peals of melodious laughter Which echo in the distant canyons, 109 The Poems of a Child Like fairy church bells In childish merriment and innocence. Perhaps a pair of birds appear. And build among the shrubbery near by. At this place that is fit for the winged wonder, Pegasus Fairies come nigh ly to dance While lily bells serve as the music And owls give the signal of danger. April 3-22, IQ02. Lincoln When Lincoln walked the grassy paths The birds sang sweetly Telling of what he might be, And I think that Lincoln understood And so was still a better man. That is how Lincoln became so great Just through Nature's children. February 12, ipoj. no The Poems of a Child The Cave of Ice A cave of icicles is more beautiful than any fairies' dwelling The transparent icicles hanging low Like the choicest bit of crystal The smooth path of ice leading through the cave Like a wonderful marble floor And the translucent ceiling Letting through the sunbeams To shine on one of Nature's secrets Making it look like a palace of gold. February 14, igoj. Ill The Poems of a Child The Silent Shore At night when the heaven gleams with stars And the peaceful lady moon sits quietly guarding, In her ocean of opaque black The waves beneath her silently splashing In their dream sleep, I often wonder what they dream about Because they seem to feel the stillness of the night And do not play as much as in the sunshine But quietly splash Though they are little frolicsome waves Ever frisking, ever playing, God made them feel the stillness of the night. February 14, igoj. 113 The Poems of a Child The Poplar Trees Upon the hill-tops by the brook Grow the Poplar, tall and straight Nodding to the sunset O'er the westward hills, And nodding to the stream Meandering from the woods And down below, another poplar Nods to the fleecy clouds. May 4, 1903, "3 The Poems of a Child A Hilly Country Resting on the distant woody hills Are the fleecy clouds Catching glints of sunshine And there beside the lowland brook Rest clumps of lilac bushes And upon the summit of the hill Is a tall green poplar tree And farther down the hill An aged apple tree Sends its petals on the wind To the rose bushes way down beside the brook. ^^y 5. 1903- 114 The Poems of a Child Evening Evening's veil hung o'er all the land, O'er the distant purple hills, O'er forest covered places And o'er the brook which hastens 'Neath the woody hill. Sunset fell so quietly Save the murmuring of the brook. No radiant light we see And yet no darkness, But a yellow and purple sunset Faintly illumines the sky Above the distant hills. May 5, igoj. "S The Poems of a Child Gladsome Robins O'er hill and o'er vale On this bright summer day Ring the joyous clear notes of the robins O'er the trees of the hill They come fluttering And here in the meadow By ferns and by flowers They build their small homes. May 6, igoj. The Lonely Vale The valley lies in earthly peace and quiet, No sound can be heard But the lonely trill of the cardinal-fringed brook This desolate place may be occupied By dwarfs and fairies Who come to reign over gray veil land. May 13, 1903. 116 The Poems of a Child A Sweet Dream of a May Day [written for a wedding anniversary.] One glistening day, While Heaven smiled on earth below The lake lay quiet this sweet day of May When little blue-eyed Alice Came and sat beneath the tree, When she started and listened. It was imaginary angels singing for her wedding. May 21, igoj. 117 The Poems of a Child Song to the Wind Oh, mighty wind That tosses billows in the air And blows the fields Of quivering grain; That tosses snowflakes through the trees And plays so many tricks That we forget What good you do. June 2, 1903. The Clouds I see many forms in clouds, Angels guarding us. I'm sure that is a message from our Lord And trees of many kinds. I also see a funny face Laughing because I'm just a speck, you see. June 2, 190J. 118 The Poems of a Child The Quiet Cemetery In the quiet cemetery In the quiet church-yard, shaded by grace- ful fir trees Lie the dead; so many quiet faces Of soldiers and of friends. But most sad of all Their lips will speak not evermore. June 2, 1903. The Woods The darkest place of the green woods Evidences whence we were in the dark, Or our past days of lovely innocence. And sunshine nearer us Is the light of these more heavenly days When we are near the summit. June 2, 1903. 119 The Poems of a Child Woodland Tower Rising out of supreme greenness every- where Towers a woodland mountain Like a cherished flower, Greeting ocean breezes with a courtesy of its trees Oh, tower of beauty, Looking down upon the other steps or hills What marble step of life are you Leading to all Heaven's celestial blue? June 5, 1903. 120 The Poems of a Child V The Old Orchard In the orchard's silence Where the grasses tall and slender Grow to meet the hidden sun, Under shade of apple trees And the fir trees make a shade For lilies of the valley, There I feel a stillness And a wish to never leave it. June 5, 1903. 121 The Poems of a Child The Country Church Rising from the green depths of the woody hills Is the white ghostly figure of the pretty country church In marble eminence. And all around it are in fairy net work Fields and meadows, woods and dells. And far below in clearest mystery and innocence Flows a crystal river Babbling and dancing within its shaded dells. fune II, 1903. 122 The Poems of a Child The Brook Through clumps of tall green fern Merrily babbles a silvery brook, The guide of many a fairy's eye As it points for them a fairy's nook It tinkles and babbles as no lily bell could And meanders gracefully through the wood Then out into the shining fields again Through woods and shining fields it flows As if on the wings of the night. June 14, 1903. 123 The Poems of a Child Sunset Meadow When evening's veil hangs Hghtly over all the land Over this secret and lovely meadow Lighted by a beautiful soft mystic light, The grasses gently waver to the music of the song birds, To the brook's unconscious trill And to the vibrations of the poet's imagina- tion. July 5, 1903- 124 The Poems of a Child Indian Chant Once in these fields Moscow, the savage Indian Chief did roam. He, fierce of heart and fierce of mind with bow and arrow fixed aslant was called one day from sleepy thoughts of half-moon hunts to fight with Scowwatee, his enemy, chief of yonder woods' inhabitants. He quickly to the field did run. Glad of heart and still adream of happy times, he sat beneath an enchanted weeping-willow tree, so unaware that death's most painful scythe was near. He ne'er e'en saw the flowers of the field and wood. When Scowwatee*s unique form was seen on yon horizon line. Scowwatee soon was at his feet and slayed him in his dream of happiness. After Moscow passed away a wicked witch resided there. She did not love the flowers, so no pleasant life must hers have been without the quiet lesson of the modest heroines of the field and wood. July 10, 1903. 125 The Poems of a Child Nature My joy is in the ripened fields of harvest grain, And in the simple lesson of a modest flower, In the rest and sweet communion of the yellow daisies, Originally called "The Indian Peace Flower," My joys are also in the tranquil darkness of the woods And in the ceaseless laughter of the merry brook. And by no means can I say That anything that Nature touches with her placid hand Can be other than my joy. July 15, 1Q03. 126 The Poems of a Child Nature's Argument Oh, sons of men, ye are so unacquainted With the starry flowers of aromatic field and wood Ye ought many times a glistening day to adhere To Nature's pleasant friends. Betake thyself to placid lake or pond Where an unhappy fairy's snow-white lily cup lies waiting for her tears. And there as if a tiny water sprite doth spring up out of the lily cup And bringeth it to you. Ye will learn a lesson Unknown to many men of all this antique earth. Another lesson ye shall learn studying ancient rocks * Hid in the greenery of the topmost branches of an apple-tree in the old orchard, JuUa chanted this poem to the family assembled on the veranda. 127 The Poems of a Child Which show the signs of undreampt of miracles. Oh, sons of men Commune with the rythmic music of the silvery brook Where mermaid's hair blows round about The tranquil wood doth wait for you, Where squirrels dart in and out Like arrow heads innumerable. Ye can but love her for she is everywhere July 30, 1903. 128 The Poems of a Child To Aunt Tess The woodbird's notes can not compare with thine Which are Hke the soft weird tones of mermaids, A buoy floating, wavering, riding on the waves, A voice so soft and rare That a nymph's mirthful singing is your voice again. The angels' tones announcing the birth of Christ Are the same sweet notes as yours Their voice alone was heard And yours alone I hear in the dark silence of the night And still the glorious Star of the East must crown your fair blond hair And guide you into the realms of melody. August, igoj. 129 The Poems of a Child The Silent Wood [written after a morning spent in THE woods] Let me, oh, let me lay my weary head to rest. When the golden days of my life are o'er, When the merry waves of the river of life subside, Then let me lay my weary head to rest On the rock which in days gone by Was my throne while I learned the secrets of the woods. Let me lie beneath the azure skies Under the shelter of all the loving trees While they whisper tales of long ago. August 2g, 1903. 130 The Poems of a Child Eventide at the Ocean* At the close of day Evening gently throws her tranquil veil over all God's grateful earth And then in sweet communion both the peaceful sunset and the reflecting waters are found. The sunset's subdued kiss still visible and the rythmic words of the waves so full of mirth Are heard in a lull hushed by the coming of the sunset which also is the veil of dreams to them At almost first sight of her their words are hushed in awe. August 12, I go J. * This and the two following poems were written for the seventy-third birthday of Julia's grandfather, spent by him in Nantucket. 131 The Poems of a Child The Marsh at Nantucket Beauty rests under all our firmament on high, In the fields of waving grass She, the innocent of Nature, every day a new seed sows of art and beauty in her spacious garden nigh The woods, the hills, the trees, the laugh- ing, sighing, trees, daily nightly she doth pass. But last and most beautiful of all the low- land marsh more wonderful she makes. The tall swamp grass of many quaint dull colors bend in the whispers of the breeze ; And all are happy in the midst of so many splendors. August 22, JpOJ, 132 The Poems of a Child A Happy Birthday The sun is setting behind the purple hills At the close of a pleasant day And all the beauties round about with more than one rosy kiss he stills And one kind heart is happy as he climbs his tranquil way For he remembers days gone by with a peaceful smile, but moumeth not for them, For he is happy in his own kind way. August 27, 1903. 133 The Poems of a Child My Little Followers' I shall come back with the birds of the Spring. I shall bring with me in Beauty's bag The bright little songsters The stars of the night And the stars of the field. I shall bring summer with my song And speed winter by my touch. * This and the seven poems that follow were written as a leave-taking to the country at the end of Julia's holidays in September, 1903. X34 The Poems of a Child The Joy of the Country Such freedom, such joy in the country, half-veiled with the secrets of nature and art On our earth there is art as in Psyche's land of thought. From the hill's majestic stature to the meadow's dainty flowers arranged like stars in Heaven I love my dear own native country from the giant mountains to the tiny little rills. 135 The Poems of a Child Departure The little bird that flies away from the home so dear to her On wings of moments sad and glad, Some other day will come again to cheer the hearts of those whose kind deeds for- gotten never were. And when the thoughts of the dear home 'mong the hills come over her mind, then shall they make her sad. What Time Brings When Time with his scythe cuts sharp the air Like the ringing words of sorrow What then shall misery bring, some day lost again by Time in the river of life? " Enough for one September day," says Joy. 136 The Poems of a Child The Country Sublime When the bright summer days are o'er Then must I leave the country which dearly I love With its skies of azure and the mighty snow-white clouds which to the sunset's veil majestically do soar And to the mountain's crest above. With the country, the country unique, which is the realm of dreams Naught could compare — Its beaming beauty everywhere. The country, the country sublime. 137 The Poems of a Child When Summer is O'er When the summer days are o'er And the kites in the air do soar And by the North Wind's laughing words Like a herd of merry birds The golden leaves are blown about; And so your thoughts, please, blow about And let them reach me in the far West. Fall Oh, Fall, thy majestic doings. One mighty sweep of thy arm and the country is changed The ground is covered with golden and brown. The trees are bare in the sight of the sun. The hills are purple and cold. 138 The Poems of a Child Fall and Spring I go with the Fall, I come with the Spring I fade away with the glories of Fall I come with the tender green of Spring at my feet. The little dancers of the trees wave, a golden kiss send me as a token of farewell. And the birds and flowers a buoyant greet- ing give to me. 139 The Poems of a Child An Anniversary [Wedding] The silver moon seemed brighter than ever On the eve of that which is only an echo of the day when peace was won And all the world rejoiced; and before you was placed in one sanctified moment the crescent of Love which will never sever And then to you two Time brought the word that you were one September knew with her symbol of golden, purple and brown. She told the nightingale to sing of it, that you had won the crown. In whispers airy through the forest it was passed on word for word. And on Aurora's wakening she could not keep it secret and it everywhere was heard. September 22, 1903. 140 The Poems of a Child An Anniversary [Wedding] The sun glittered on a thousand children of the world; But far and wide it could not beam upon a happier pair Which that day I found 'neath God's azure skies. Though neither rich nor poor, contented in the world they were as is his mighty wish. From hour to hour they grew with nature And love grew also with their thoughts Their love was like the "Rock of Ages" To the mighty river in which it seeks communion. September 22, 1903. 141 The Poems of a Child The Moon [Christmas Poem for 1903] Preface. This poem called "The Moon," is only suggestive in a poetical way of the moon. It has some very beautiful thoughts in it for a short poem. Possibly if the author had not had to do it, that is, if she had thought the thought without compelling her mind to work as it did for the purpose so happily looked forward to, it could have been better. It is very true that if you imagine things beforehand, and that if you are fully prepared for the purpose and if your mind is in the proper mood, you can do much better than if you know that Christmas or birthdays, etc., are coming and you know you must write something for the person that you love and you just sit down and say 'Til do it " without fur- 142 The Poems of a Child ther preparation or inspiration. Perhaps the poem may be very good, but it could have been better if it had been thought about and done sooner. So the author may have some excuse for the hastily written poem. The Moon is Love's crescent lost in the heavenly seas. An eminent silver dream that floats with regardless ease Where to help her graceful vanity Love and Psyche with whom she would never part In a woven net of mystery catch the thoughts of all lovers of phantom art This dweller of the lofty skies a spirit seems Whose vibrating thread of intercourse with us is made of a thousand laughing beams She thinks profoundly of our beautiful but wicked world And of her lonely echoing caves. But she would rather be with her com- panions in the ethereal waves. September, iQOj. 143 \^ The Poems of a Child Sunset The sunset is the veil of eventide A curtain the sorrows of the day to hide And to reflect on clouds of silvery glow The past day's joys which into night will flow. The sky illumined with memory's gleam Is the speeding day's last beam Which fled on wings of mirth and care To mingle with the peaceful sunset air. October j, igoj. 144 The Poems of a Child Twilight Twilight wraps the fading day In folds of golden clouds And unrolls the dark night Noiselessly from the calm sky. October 20, igoj. Youth When I was young I loved the birds and bees, I loved the sky, I loved the sighing trees, I loved the fields, I loved the babbling stream, And all day long I used to dream and dream Of all the lovely things I saw and heard, — The hill, the field, the little singing bird. 145 From a Note-book Entitled " Sentences That I Make Up" . A Thought of a Lonely Damp Valley AMP in the valley Like the touch of a ghost. A thought of the trees as being so beautiful that they were banished from the kingdom of greenness. The stately boughs Of banished kings. A thought of the hills in a network of meadows and hills, woods and dells as — The architecture of Nature's placid hand. I just love to write. Whenever I am ready for a new sentence it comes to me as 149 The Poems of a Child if I turned and saw an angel bringing it to me. In sunshine or in shade The gossamer wings of joy- Are always to be seen. The pond-lily is the poet's cup from which he drinks his thoughts. A thought — that each star is stamped with one beautiful thought of a certain poet. AFTER-THOUGHT— The star must be the one he loves best. The clouds do break away from Lady Moon As waves that hide the deep-sea pearl. The little clouds that scurry by Do fan her heavenly cares away. The moon doth speed away the time Through latticed sky Swiftly on wings of Nebula she doth fly. The sunset is the veil of dreams. 150 The Poems of a Child Hope rests on the shadow Of the mighty wings of Faith. Love doth make stars to shine In the gray, grieving skies of care. Mirth beautifies all the rainbowed firmament of Hope. Youth is crowned with all the glories of Providence. Thinking of the days past as — Fallen to the waves of the river of life. The valley lies in earthly peace. THE END II IN ^ IHOti ^^H|; In ^ 1

tmp92002937

The rubáiyát of a rum-seller ...

Altschul, Ernst

rubiytofrums00alts_djvu.txt

3501 3 R8 L9 >y 1 5 » he Rubaiyat of a Rum-Seller Copyright 1919 9 9 The Rubaiyat of a Rum-Seller "We hold these truths to be self evident: that all men are created equal: that they are endowed, by their Creator, with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." From the Declaration of Independence. ERNST ALTSCHUL 1919 Copyrighted by ERNST ALTSCHUL 1919 ©ftA511702 -"vvC ) "Just a Short One" To the few who never knew the enjoy- ment or pleasures.-or only knew the evil and curse of drinking,- or to those who use drink-agitation professionally, this booklet is of no purpose. But to those of my friends, in all walks of life, with many of whom I came person- ally in contaminating proximity during my thirty-five years of handling that vile com- modity, these few silly verses are dedicated. And, friend or foe, "Wet" or "Dry", will ack- nowledge that the writer's experience in booze-ology exceeds the one in versification. 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52055587

Joseph A. Altsheler and American history.

Moore, Anne Carroll

josephaaltsheler00moor_djvu.txt

fS 3SO\ I V I PS 3501 .L85 27 Copy I Joseph A. Altsheler and American History '\ By Annie Carroll Moore ^tU 17 1919 ©CU561014 '^ y^'V \ 5^ Joseph A, Altsheler /f^ i^——^— —■■■■■■ nil 111^— —^^^^—^—i^— and American . IjIe looks young in that picture but he could have lived all through American history — he makes it so true. You couldn't do better than to read his books. You can even answer some of the Regent's questions out of Altsheler 's books. I read every one of them and I got an a-1 mark for history." The speaker, a boy of seventeen, stood with a group of younger boys before a table in the central chil- dren's room of The New York Public Library — the library built by the City — which stands at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street. It was the morning of June 7th, 1919. Many boys brought clippings from the newspapers; others had been told the sad news by their friends. "Altsheler is dead" they said. "Let's go round to the Library." All day long they came, and know- ing that it would be so, we had asked Mr. Altsheler's publishers to send to the children's room a complete set of his books for boys and a photograph of the author to hang above his books. The Trailers series, The Texan series, the French and Indian War series, the Civil War series, the Great West series — all were there to bear silent testimony to a man whose work had been his life. As I read my own morning paper, memory gave back two vivid pictures of Mr. Altsheler — the first, as he stood one evening, the night before Lincoln's birthday, 1914, in front of a blazing wood fire in the children's room of the 115th Street Branch of The New York Pub- lic Library — the second, as he sat alone in his office in the tower of the World Building on an after- noon in October, 1918. Copyright, 1919, by Annie Carroll Moore Page Three Joseph A . A Itsheler and American On the first occasion he had come to tell the History boys of one of the Library Reading Clubs about his Texan series. "I have made only three or four speeches in my life," he said in a letter to the club advisor, "but I don't feel I can disappoint a group of boys." With great simplicity he spoke that night of his own boyhood and its dreams ; telling how he would lie on his back by the hour out there in the woods of Daniel Boone's country, letting his mind dwell on the pioneer tales of America until they came to have for him the fascination that tales of Greece have had for other minds. "The Young Trailers" represented, he said, the realization of some of these dreams, kept alive by his constant reading and study of the best sources of American history. The boys of the club were impressed by Mr. Altsheler's sincerity and his modesty. "He doesn't praise himself or the char- acters in his books," said one of them. J— iAST October I went by appointment to talk with Mr. Altsheler in his office in the tower of the World Building. The hour of the appointment had been thus set in a note written and addressed by his own hand : "any time between 2.30 and 4.30." Mr. Altsheler also gave exact directions for reach- ing his office by a special elevator leading to the tower. I have spent so many hours waiting in offices that I carried a book with me, as usual. But Mr. Altsheler, although a busy editor of a news- paper, did not keep me waiting. He received me with the same courteous consideration he had shown to the boys of the reading club. Page Four Joseph A. Altsheler and I had several questions to ask and he answered American every one of them graciously and illuminatingly. History Parkman was the author who had meant most to him, he said. When I asked what books he had read as a boy, he replied that books had not been plentiful in the part of Kentucky where he had spent his boyhood and they were eagerly passed about from one family to another. The best of the English classics — Scott, Dickens, Thackeray, mingled with tales of the pioneers and Indians. Many of the latter he heard at first hand, for he was descended on his mother's side from the Ken- tucky and Virginia borderers, and in his boyhood continually heard the legends of Boone, Kenton, Harned, Logan and the other great woodsmen and fighters. As a boy, also, he knew many of the veterans of the Civil War, including both Union and Confederate generals. R yEADiNG had been very early an absolute necessity with him and in all his work his instinct was to get back to first sources to verify the inform- ation and the stories which had been passed on to him by word of mouth. He began to write for a newspaper as soon as he left college and served first in an editorial capacity on the Louisville Courier- Journal; later, and until his death, on the New York World, as editor of the Tri- Weekly World. He had written several books before he began to write for boys. His own son was eleven or twelve years old when he wrote the first and perhaps the best of his books for boys — *'The Young Trailers" was published in 1906. Mr. Altsheler told me that he allowed no thought of the age of his readers to Page Five Joseph A. Altsheler and American affect his treatment of a subject and he never for- History got that he was telling his stories against a back- ground of reality. This accounts, I think, for the number of fathers and older brothers who en joy- reading Altsheler. It was no surprise to Mr. Altsheler to be told that his books about the War in Europe were less popular than the other series. Although he had been "over there," he felt that it was too soon to write stories of the War. A T four o'clock I rose to leave Mr. Alsheler's office. We had talked for an hour about American History and its meaning, of the value of American tradition gathered at first hand from living people, as well as from books, and of story writing. "I want to thank you for the boys as well as for my- self," I said. "The boys who wait in line for 'an Alt- sheler.' While you and I have been talking on top of the World Building, long lines of big boys have been forming in libraries all over Manhattan and the Bronx. Just as the younger children line up for fairy tales to be returned to the always empty shelves, so do older boys line up for your books to be returned by other boys who have been reading them. For no other author do big boys wait in long lines in our libraries, refusing to be put off with other titles when bent upon securing 'an Alt- sheler.' " This was news to Mr. Altsheler and he seemed deeply impressed by the picture presented TO his imagination of the waiting lines of boys in New York libraries. "I would like to see them with my own eyes," he said. "And so you shall, but meanwhile what shall we say to the boys?" I asked. "If they like my books tell them to read Page Six Joseph A. Altsheler and the history behind them, above all, to read Park- American man; he has been my great inspiration." History Mr. Altsheler then walked with me to the elevator of the tower, still maintaining that air of leisure and regard for the other person's time and convenience so characteristic of him in business and personal relations alike. He was an indefatigable worker and always had one or more manuscripts ready for publication; but he was trained for his task, he wasted no time in impatience, he raised no barriers to free intercourse and he knew his sub- ject. I never saw Mr. Altsheler again. Some weeks later I received a letter from him thanking me for an appreciation of his work which I had written before the interview just described took place. This tribute I am now glad to feel was paid in his lifetime. W„ HEN Mrs. Altsheler returned from her sad journey to Kentucky last June, I called upon her in order to verify some points touched upon in this sketch and to assure her of the deep sympathy many New York boys were feeling for her and her son. As we talked, I knew that I had really met Joseph Altsheler, that I had been in touch with his Kentucky boyhood as well as with his New York manhood. The strong impressions he re- ceived as a boy remained fresh with him always. "There is one review of my husband's work that expresses more nearly my own thought of him, in connection with it, than any other. I do not know who wrote it, but you shall read it for yourself," said Mrs. Altsheler. The review had been clipped from an article and no name was attached to it, Page Seven LIBRARY OF CONGRESS Joseph A. Altsheler „,ii um i,,,, ,„„ i,,,, ,,, , „„ ,„ „ , , and 2 15 799 425 6 ^ Atnerican but I recognized it at once as a part of the article History I have just mentioned as my own, and since it seemed a true appraisal to Mrs. Altsheler, who so well understood her husband's work, it shall have place here in conclusion. *"It is very significant that the most popular author of boy's books in our public libraries today — Joseph Altsheler — should be writing over again, with a fresh sense of their reality, the tales of our pioneer life and struggle. *'VVhy don't the boys read Cooper? Some of them do usually after they have read 'The Young Trailers' and 'The Forest Runners' by Altsheler. But Altsheler is doing what neither Cooper nor any other author has been able to do — he is taking the average American boy into the wilderness that he may realize his heritage in the history of his country and take his place there more intelligently. Boys who clamor for Altsheler read history and bio- graphy as a natural and necessary accompaniment. Nor do they neglect 'Tom Sawyer' and 'Huckle- berry Finn', or 'The Boys' Life of Mark Twain.' "ISTever in the history of writing for boys has an author attained universal popularity on so broad a foundation of allied interests in reading. I be- lieve the secret of Mr. Altsheler's appeal lies in a deep love of nature; the ability to select from his- torical sources subjects of strong human interest, a natural gift for story-telling, and great modesty." From The Bookman, November, 1918. HoUinger Corp. pH 8.5

06023314

Rosaline Fay; a southern idyl ...

Ambrose

rosalinefaysouth00ambr_djvu.txt

Class _:E3Aii^A COPVRUUIT i)i-:fosi Rosaline Fay A Southern Idyl Copyright, 1906, by John Dwyer Brother Ambrose LIBRARY of CONGRESS TwoCoDies ReceivwJ JUN 16 1906 £\, Copyright tntrv . CLASS .'q, MC. ■■■ 5PY bT ::!= Press of = Louis F. Dow Co. Saint Paul, Minn. PART FIRST '■pi OWN in the land where the flowers are censers Irl ^"^ ^^^ °^ *^^ breezes are acolyte boys, '^ Swinging their censers and flinging the fragrance wherever they flit on their fond fairy feet, Down where all hearts are as warm as the roses that redden the flowery riots of June, Under the moon of the merry May heavens a baby girl came from the land of the Blest; Came when the lips of the cannon were speaking the thunderous phrasing of fire and shell; Came when the highways and byways and hedges, the meadows and cottonfields over the land Sprinkled had been by the High Priest of Battle with hyssop branch dipped in the blood of the best. Warm on its lips the last kiss of its father, his footfalls were echoing down the lone street. Set was his face where the breath of the cannon hung heavy and grey o*er the dry, fallow fields. Set for the pallet and tent of the soldier, where patriots pray in the language of deeds. That was the last of him, — last of the father; — his shadow ne'er fell on the threshold again. Sleeping, he slept on the mountains of Georgia, the stars peeping down at the blood on his breast. Hushed were the bold, brazen lips of the cannon, and broken forever the rank and the file; Tattered and bloody, the bonnie blue banner was laid in the grave o'er the hearts of its dead. Hundreds came back from the battles and prisons, all wasted and wounded and scarred to the bone; Thousands remained with the sod for their tenting, awaiting the final reveille to sound. Scarce had the embers of tent-fires blackened, than God sent the Angel of Vengeance abroad. Run, O ye maidens whose lovers have perished, and run, O ye mothers! whose husbands are dead! Fly, little children, whose fathers and brothers are sleeping the sleep that the swift bullet brought! Speed away! Speed away! Speed while ye can or may! Fever, the grim Yellow Fever has come. Spectre of Evil! O Grim Yellow Fever! Away with your ominous vomit of black! Off with your jaundicing, skeleton fingers! Away with the glare that delirium brings! War, with his sabres and bullets and battles, took pity on women and children at least! Heartless One! Grim Sulphur Devil, I call you, O dread Yellow Fever! no pity have you! Stretching his arms like a skeleton demon, he held the lone mother close, close to his breast; Pressing his fleshless mouth hard to her ruby lips, — kissing, he poisoned her heart with the plague. Out *mid the roses and lilies the little maid romp'd in her merriment, played in her glee. Down by the flower-beds out through the gate-way, the mother was borne, and the nurse followed next, Left in the lilies amid the red roses, the sweet little orphan-girl, Rosaline Fay. Perished a neighboring household beside her, all, all, save the mother, were dead in a week. Surfeiting sorrow in deep desolation, she snatched to her bosom maid Rosaline Fay; Took her to love her, a pattern of beauty, a something to fill up the void in her heart. Then she arose from her sorrowing hearthstone, she the kind neighbor, the gentle Mathilde; Down to the courts took the fair little Rosaline, told how had perished her kindred and friends; Brought cdl the papers bespeaking her fortune and pleaded in guardianship named she might be. Then went the order that made her the guardian, yea, made her, the gentle soul, keeper in trust. Home then with wondering eyes took she the maiden the dear little elf-child, the sweet Rosaline, Gave up her life to the growth of the flower the grim Yellow Fever had dashed at her feet. She would be mother, and tutor, companion, and playmate, — yea, everything best to the child; Straight then departing she left the great city, went down to a village all quiet and quaint, Down to a village and into a mansion where first she had heard the lone mocking-bird sing. Seating herself where a muscodine screening kept softly the balcony clear of the sun, Spake she, the gentle, to Rosaline Fay, while the wondering-eyed maiden stared into her face; "Heaven has left me alone in the wide world, has sent the Dark Angel to gather my flowers; Battle and fever the wild work accomplished, — my husband, my children, my kindred are gone. Mother and father of yours they have perished; and you are alone, — in the wide world alone! You, little cherub, I take to my bosom and all that I have when I pass shall be yours. Now, dainty maiden, I ask but a little from you in return for the love that I give: Try but to love me; — I love you already, — and call me your mother from henceforth and on." Then did the pretty eyes, swimming in liquid, look love that a human pen never can tell. Through the red rosy lips floated a music half spoken, half whispered, that came from the soul: "Mother" and lo! the light arms were uplifted, and clasped round the neck of the gentle Mathilde; Lips that had muttered it lay on the kindly lips, tighter and tighter she clung to her neck; — Clung as her soul would rush out from her body to leap to the soul of the kindly Mathilde. Down the soft cheeks rolled the dews of two sorrows, the lone childless mother's, — the motherless child's; — Clasping each other in half-spasm fashion, their spirits rushed into afi&nity there. "Ask,** spake the mother, "whatever you wish, and yours, little daughter, at once shall it be.*' "'Mother,'* the little lips quivered and quivered, "Oh! teach me to be just as kind as are you." Thus to the mansion upon the black bayou, she came, the sweet maiden, the child Rosaline, Thus to the heart of the woman who sorrowed, the child of affection, sweet Rosaline came. Soft passed the May months and she was eleven; beneath the sweet teacher how kind she had grown! Never a wish, nor a thought but for others, who did her a favor by taking her deeds. Beautiful soul in a beautiful body, a wonder of gentleness, sweetness and grace. Bright was her hsdr, — like the gold of the yellow moon, flowing adown as a waterfall flows; Splinters, and needles, and streaks of gold gleaming a-through it, and up it, and down when she moved. Tinted her face like the wheat when it's ripened and waits for the sickle to lay it alow. Liquid her eyes like blue agates in water, her lips perfect bows that a cupid might use. Dressed in a changing silk, standing in sunlight, a fairy incarnate some poet had dreamed. Beautiful soul in a beautiful body, she knew not her sweetness so good was her heart. Down to the village church passed she each morning for now was the Cure preparing the young; Making them ready for childhood's sweet moment when Jesus should first lay His Heart on their breasts. Soon neared the day; and the joy of the mother had brought whitest silks from the city for her. Gently she asked for the simplest of garments; for why should she shine far above all the rest. Others would feel all the sting of their poverty.. "Please, let me be like my classmates for once." Gladder than ever and proud of her daughter, the mother bent down to the wish of the child; Bade her to follow the bent of her wishes, to do with the silks whatsoever she would. Scarce had the words from her lips half been uttered, when down to the village the riches were sent. Bright beamed the morning; — the best of all mornings that ever is met in the days of a child. Wonder of wonders! the sick widow's daughter is beaming in richest of satins and silks! Marvel of marvels! the rich lady's daughter angelic she seemeth in plainest of gowns! Onward and onward, the earth wheeling onward had seven times circled its path round the sun. Eighteen had come to the meek little maiden that played in the roses and lilies of May. All of the promise of personal beauty had ripened and blown to a fulness secure. Fair as the fairest, and tall as a lily; a lady-like lady, the sweet Rosaline. Looked she like one that had stepped from the pages that tell of the tournaments where fought the Cid. Stately she moved as a star in the Heavens and modesty mantled her face and her form. Often the mansion now throbbed to the music when twinkling toes stepped to a measured tattoo. Often the sons and the daughters of planters were gathered therein for an evening of mirth. Never a soul ever passed from her presence but holier felt for the smile on her face. Matrons and maidens, the young men and aged, not one could account for the spell that she worked. Hidden in earth are the roots of the rosebush, and they are the source of the rose's perfume. Right was the heart of the stately young maiden. — the fountain, the spring of her sweet, simple grace. Piety kept her as pure as a lily, and prayer made her spirit as warm as a rose. PART SECOND ^ft^ OSALINE now often sat *neath a plum tree, hJ% a-crooning and singing old melodies sweet; ^^^ Roses beside her; her feet in the mosses; a calico gown and sun-bonnet long Shading her face from the sun's stolen kisses, a-waiting and watching for Victor to come. There 'neath the plum tree that grew by the gateway, — ah! there they had made to each other their troth. Victor had wealth, and his acres were thousands; as black as the bayou each foot of his land. Proud was his father who boasted a lineage, reaching far back to King Phillip the Good. Never a stain in the stream of his people and never a blot on a deed he had done. Locked in the armour of honor and justice, his sturdy soul strong in the sense of its right. High set his frosty head; fearless his wrinkled brow; God did he worship first, honor came next. Deep had the father, his strong sense of honor, deep chiseled, deep cut in the soul of his son; Firm had the father set strong in his bosom a passionate love for his family stream. Victor still kept his bethrothal a secret; far down in his heart's deepest chamber it lay, Biding the time for the calmest unfolding, for, anxious and nervous, he doubted assent- She, at his bidding, kept locked in her bosom the troth they had made, *neath the moon of the May. Sweeter their secret grew, sweeter, more honeyed, for God alone knew, only God and themselves. Flowers were fresher and daylight was brighter, and all the wide world in a honey-dew steeped. Angels they heard in the rustle of branches, the beautiful world was an Eden to them. "Listen," one day spake the mother to Rosaline; "Listen, my child, to the things that I say. Never were you half so glad with the wide world, as lately youVe grown with this poor earth of ours. Brighter your eye than the gleam of the bayou; and redder your cheeks than a ripe mellon's heart. Scarcely a horse patters loud on the road-way, you flush as you rush to the window to peep. Tell me, my pretty one, tell me, my Rosaline, what is the meaning my child of all this?" Red grew her face as her head she hung lowly, — a huge double rose overgrown on its stem, — Tried hard to smile in the midst of confusion, then broke into tears at the futile attempt. Startled, the mother her arms wound around her, and held on her shoulder the wet, weeping face. Soothing, the voice that had wakened such sorrow, spoke words of regret and a kiss between each. Tell me, my pretty one, tell me, my Rosaline, I know what it is; won't you trust me, my child? Cupid has caught you! I'm sure that's the trouble, and Victor Le Grand is the choice of your heart!" Laughing, she laughed in the midst of her weeping, confessed the soft truth, "but," she said, "'tis the half." Harder and louder she sobbed in her crying; at last some control of her weeping she gained. Told all the truth, that her promise was given, and Victor Le Grand was her husband to be. "Then," quoth the mother, "may praise be to heaven! my prayer has been heard in its measure complete." Poured then the tears of the joy of two spirits, the soul of the maiden in whirligig flew; Joy in the sunlight and shadows and blossoms, and all the wide world in a Sea of Joy steeped. Oft to the city where bendeth the river that shapeth the crescent about the old town, Oft to the city long known as the "Crescent," intent on affairs went the lover Le Grand. There did he go to a friend of his father's; they romped in their childhood for many a day; — Often he went, for it savored of homelife; the curly haired daughters were sweet and refined. Laura, the eldest, had known him since boyhood; long, long was she smitten with love for the boy; Wondered why never she gained on his feelings, though lavish indeed of each womanly art. "Gain him I must!" she had sworn in her bosom, "my father is poor; but Le Grand is so rich. Nothing shall stop me — not all of the wide world for Victor Le Grand shall be husband of mine!" How she cajoled him! Oh, how she could flatter; she loved every flower he mentioned as fair; Artfully striving to gain from his heart but a look or a smile to encourage her suit. What was the matter! she wondered and wondered, for out from the depth of his fathomless heart Came not an echo to answer her shouting, though hung o*er its brink she was calling his name! Out from his pocket once fell a sealed letter, and writ on its face was, "Miss Rosaline Fay." Quick Laura stooped from the floor to pick it and asked, as she handed it, who was the maid. "Only a lady friend down on the bayou," — but Laura had sounded his fathomless heart! Curly-haired Laura that night in her chamber sat rocking and musing, and thinking of him. All of his feelings full current was sweeping away to another she never had seen. What could she do that the stream of his passion might set to her heart and away from this girl! "What can I do?" and she patted her little foot light on the rug by the fireplace near. Oh, but to rouse him! to sour his love-sweets! to fill all his soul with the acid of hate! "Who is this lady? and whence comes this maiden? this Rosaline Fay on the bayou below? "Who is her father and who is her mother? 1*11 ask him tomorrow before he departs. Hating, I hate her with all of my being; she stands between me and the king of my soul! Out from mj' path she must hasten away, or her shadow will darken my soul evermore!" Flashing, her eyes glimmered bright in the darkness; she shook all her curls, and she set her white teeth. Desperate, daring, her turbulent being grew brazen in purpose, grew steeled in resolve. Came the next evening, a warm tepid evening, — and Victor Le Grand called to say his good-bye. Laura was gayest, so airy and fairy like, — chiding and joking him althrough the eve. Standing, he stood; it was time he was going; and kindly he bade to each kinder farewell. Down to the gate with him Laura would go; so she walked at his side o'er the path violet-fringed. Then, as a parting word, laughing she muttered; "Today I was told of a lady who lives Down on the bayou, — a Rosaline Fay — and the blood of a negro inhabits her veins!" Startled, young Victor stood breathless and speechless! His wide open eyes stared her full in the face. \"What said you, Laura? I heard you not truly; there's \ negro bood flowing in Rosaline's veins!" *^ure'* said the maiden, who caught in his voice tone, Lthe measure complete of the blow she had struck; e" said the maiden and laughed a light treble, "There's negro blood flowing in Rosaline's veins." "Heaven forbid it!" half murmered, half muttered, then grasped he his forehead, like one dizzy grown. Said nothing more as in half-drunken fashion he turned from her presence and passed down the street. Stood she a moment, all trembling and watching him, leaning full forward as held she the gate; Saw him go staggering, swaggering onward, like one on the edge of the Sea of Deep Sleep; Slammed she the iron gate; wheeled on her dainty heel; ran up the violet walk, up to the house. Pattered her little feet, tapping each wooden step; turning, she reached the retreat of her room. Closed she the portal and quick shot the lock-tongue; all trembling and fluttering and chuckling with glee. Raised by the joy of a triumph unlooked for, she clapped her pink palms, as she danced in her mirth. What of the lie she told! what of the harm she did! what of the lady she wronged by her lie! Little cared she, for she snapped her frail fingers, and crushed out the thought as you'd crush a grey gnat. Rose the great golden robed, grand in its gleaming pride, gilding the tree-tops and flashing the dew. Waking the birds in old Houma to music and warming the black bayou's wrinkleless face. Smiled Rosaline; and the sky it was bluer, the sun he was brighter than ever before. Beaming he beamed on the steed of bright steel, with its red heart of fire and its breath of white steam, Speeding along o'er the thin threads of iron that led from the Crescent to old Houma town. Watched she the clock and she knew all the stopping points; now he was there; then in this place, and that. Bright eyes and rosy cheeks they were in Houma; but pure mind and laughing heart rode on the train, Rode on the train, until fancy made plain the sharp clickety, clackety, clickety, clack, — Rode till she felt she was swinging and swaying upon the red cushions within the long car. Oh! how the hours dragged! morning would never pass! "Noon and the train they will never reach here." Down to the plum tree that grew by the gateway, she went, there to wait as the time grew apace. There in the hush of the village noon stillness, the grasshopper grated his musicless tune. Shaking the leaves of the weeds on the roadside, as leaping he sprang on the dank, scraggy things; Then in the hush of the village noon stillness, afar came the sound of the whistle long blown! Rising amidst and above the live oaks, she could see the white smoke of the steel breasted steed, Bearing her Victor a-back from the city, a-back to the quiet of old Houma town. Turned she about and she sped to the gallery, stood on the steps looking where bends the road. Stood she in white, with a ribbon of blue on her long flowing hair, and blue bows on her dress. Stood she expectant and watched through the foliage, watched for the coming of Victor Le Grand. Then, as she saw his light sulky come speeding, she started a-down to the gate once again, Picking a red glory rose for a token to greet him, the handsome young planter, she loved. Reached she the gate as the trotter stood still; as he stepped from the sulky, she opened the gate. Full was the flood of her joy at the moment; she dropped her red rose as she grasped both his hands. He, for a moment, forgot his wild heartache beneath the angelical light of her eyes. Holy the joy that was writ in her features; — he felt that her being was heaven's, — not his. Then, like an avalanche, rushed on his spirit the word that had shaken his soul to its roots; Groaning, his agonized spirit outgroaned, 'neath the full crushing thought as it pressed on his heart. Speechless he stood; — in a stupor he stood; — not a word could he speak, not a sign could he make! Startled, — amazed, at his dull heavy eye, to a bench by the plum-tree she led him away; Up to the house for her mother she started; but grasped he her wrist, and his head gave her nay; Docily she at his motion obeyed; and beside him, took seat on a bench 'neath the plum. Then, with an effort that shook all his being, he turned and he spake to her slowly and low: "Proud is my father who boasts of a lineage, boasts of descent from King Phillip the Good! Pure as the sweet distillations of evening the red stream of life in our bosoms that flows. All of that life-stream, from all of the ages, is flowing this moment in my purple veins. Never the shadow of evil has crossed it. Now tell me, my lady, oh! whence do you come?" Then, in the marvelous tones of sweet candor, she told that she knew not and never could know; Told the strange story her mother had told her, the war and the fever that left her alone. "Then," spake young Victor, "mean rumor hath sprinkled a negro's poor blood in the blood of your heart!" Silent a moment, her angel soul rose to the height of its grandeur and made she reply: "Victor, I bow to the pure stream of life-blood imtainted that flows from King Phillip the Good; So do I love you, that not for the universe would I dare clash with the least wish of yours. If, ere the morning, I cannot plain show you from whence comes the blood in my poor purple veins, Free shall you be from the promise you've made me, and I all alone shall walk down to my grave. Go, now, and seek some repose and forget me; tomorrow will find me prepared for the worst. Freedom is yours if I fail to unravel the dark tangled skein of my ancestral line!" Trembling, his frame shook; he spake not a word; but he pressed to his lips the soft lily-white hand; Rising, he dashed away; sprang to his sulky seat, drove like a demon in chase of a soul. Slowly she rose in her gown of pure white, and she sought the retreat of her own quiet room; V/ent to her cabinet, took all the papers there, — waxen and yellow and stained by the years; Sat by the window, forgot all the sunshine, forgot all the grasshoppers' chirrups and songs. Read o'er the papers, and read and re-read them, but never a hint could she find, — ne'er a word, — Never a hint to betoken her lineage whence came her father, her mother nor theirs. Then to the kindly Mathilde straight the maiden, the gentle, the saintly, the sweet Rosaline, Praying, once more she reveal her the story of all that she knew of her parents and her. Slowly the wrinkled old lady began, and retold the sad story so often rehearsed. Dark and as black as the depths of the ocean, the mystery still unrevealed did remain. Rose then the maiden and under a live oak she sat in the shadow and white grew her face, — White as the soft snowy tint of her garment, with ribbons of blue all down the neat front. Musing and brooding! — ah! never before had a cloud thrown its shadow across her bright path! Then she arose, and her sunbonnet taking, she set her fair face for the church in the town. Where on her knees, like a penitent sinner, before the Madonna she knelt her to pray. Prayed, — for it seemed that the bitterest nightfall was rounding a day that had wakened in joy; Prayed, — for the earth had no comfort to give her and heaven alone could endow her with strength; Prayed, — for the light of her life was departing, the blackest of gloom spreading thick o*er her soul. Bent down her head and her heart, as accepting the clay of dead hopes that had late breathed so strong. Felt the full weight of the woe on her soul. And the Angels of God whispered comfort to her! Then she arose, and a-down the lone roadway o'er which in the morning so happy she looked, Faced for her home: And the bright sun was sinking, the nightbirds prepsiring their nocturnes to sing. Oh, the long weary night! Up came the mellow moon. Hung her soft yellow light over all things. Rosaline sat as it rose in the east; and its mild, softened beams kissed the folds of her dress, Rosaline sat when it sank in the west, and the first streak of dawn put a tint on the sky. Rising, she passed down the dewy damp road; and her face was as pale as the lily she plucked; Entered the church; and her lily she placed at the foot of the shrine of the Mother of Love. Prayed but for strength to sustain her lone heart in the moment of agony drawing so near. Passed from the portal, and made for the mansion where Victor Le Grand was the master supreme. Him did she find in a grove of pecan trees, a-seated and sad with his dog at his feet. Straight to him made she, her heart never failing. He rose when he saw the white figure approach; Rushed all the blood to his face; and his impulse was down on his knees in a reverent awe. Heavens! how fair she was! holiness dripping at every slov/ step and from every white fold! Queenly! — majestic! — earth never knew being sublime in such beauty as Rosaline Fay. Reached him, she put on his shoulders her hands, and the white chalky face set its eyes on the red. Then like the beat of a bell that is tolling, so measuredly fell the sad v/ords from her lips: "Victor, I cannot say nay to the charge that the blood of a negro empurples my veins. War -plague and fever laid low in the earth the sweet beings that gave me the blood in my heart. Tangled — nay, broken and lost are the threads of my ancestral line; and I know naught of it. Not for the world would I dare to betray you, nor ask you to wed me beneath this reproach. Take then your liberty, free from the promise you made *neath the May moon beside the plum tree. Take it; and with it I give you this token, I ne'er gave to man and I never shall give." Moving slight forward she kissed his high forehead; then turned on her heel, and she hastened away. Staggered, he saw her glide from him and vanish before the full weight of the deed she had done Fell on his mind; then, the sense of her virtue, suspicion all blighted, embittered to gall! All of the mystery wrapping her story, a ruse but to hide the dark taint in her blood! What! she had kissed him! a negress had kissed him! the high-blooded son of King Phillip the Good! Quick from his pocket his kerchief he snatched and the spot where she kissed how he rubbed and he rubbed; Dasihed on the ground the white linen and stamped it; and pale all his face, and indignant, he passed. PART THIRD WINGING in golden light, speeding and turning, the round rugged earth circled twice the old sun. Lightning had blasted and shattered the plum tree that heard the bethrothal young Victor had made. Weary of Houma, the stately young lady, the fair Rosaline set her face for the North. — Weary, oh! weary the gentle young creature, departed in grief from the home of her youth. Came to the beach where the crystalline waters of Michigan washes its pebbles and sands. There, in a cottage the moods of the sea, — when it glasses the stars on its rippleless breast. There, when it danced and its surface was freckled with patches of grey or of green or of blue, — Sat she and studied the moods of old Michigan; — else the wide void in her poor, lonely heart* Once on a sunny noon, — cool Sabbath sunny noon, — by the kind, gentle one, wrinkled Mathilde, Sat she regarding old wrinkleless Michigan, glowing with golden light, silent and still; — When from the east sprang an ominous leaden cloud, — Rolling and rumbling it rushed on, advanced, — Dragging its length, like a black dismal garment, that spread o'er the blue of the heavens its black, Hiding the face of the great garish noon sun, and flashing the sword of its lightning abroad. Airy the wind's rigid fingers uplifted the waves from the breast of the sea where they slept. Set them all racing and rolling and rumbling and curling and churning and splashing the foam; Stiff blew the eastern wind; down came the awful rain; colder and colder and colder it grew; Rattling and clatt'ring the flail of the hail beat a treble tattoo on the earth and the sea, Then when it passed came the white hissing snow; and it filled all the heavens and choked up the sea. Oh! it was awful! the day in its prime 'neath the wand of the Storm Spectre changed into night! Stronger the vnnd blew and blacker each moment grew; Came then the darkest night earth had e'er seen. Never a star nor a flash of the lightning, but only an ebon night filled with the snow. Midnight had passed; and the voice of the wind sank alow and alow as the morning approached. Breaking, the clouds drifted off to the west and the sun put a pale purple hue on the east. Slowly he rose from the waves of the deep just as Rosaline rushed from her cottage snow-crowned, Skipped o'er the wide scattered patches of white as she breathless made haste to the icy-edged lake. There was the deed that the midnight had sheltered! — Yea, there was the deed that the Storm King had done! Stranded, her nose beaten deep in the sand, and all battered and broken a noble ship lay. Dead on her deck; on the sand; in the sea;— oh! the ice-coated dead were around everywhere! Lashed to the rigid and hoar-gleaming mast, with her stiff gelid Hps drawn a-back from her teethe Eyehds uplifted, the glassy balls set on the fathomless blue of the sky over-head. Frosted in frozen spray, crusted her garments in stiff brittle mail of the gleaming white ice, There was the cold frozen form of a woman, her frigid hands grasping a casket of gems. Terrified, Rosaline gazed on the figure that moved when the hulk swayed to right or to left! Saw not the ice-covered jewels that flashed, or the eardrops and necklaces, bracelets and rings, — Saw but the glare of the sun on the ice, and the dead on the shore, and the dead on the deck. Turning about, rushed she back to her cottage, and sent the alarm to the neighbors around. Soon came they all, and they looked for a spark, for a gleam of life-light in the breasts of the dead. Down in the hulk one they found, and his pulse fluttered weak, but it beat and they bore him aloft, — Up to the cottage where Rosaline Fay and the gentle Mathilde had prepared to attend Those in whose veins but a ripple of warmth might be flowing and ebbing its slow course along, Those whom the searchers might find in the boat. And they found only him; and they bore him aloft. Stiff to the mast with her jewels upon her, the white, frozen face to the clear sky above, Bound in the bands of the ice she had perished, the wife v/ith the jewels she loved as her life! Here in the cottage, the husband unconscious, who dowered the wife with the jewels she prized. Here in the cottage, as pale as the linen that covered \ the pillow his head pressed upon! Yon was the curly haired lady who lied to the planter \who loved the sweet Rosaline Fay. Heije was the planter who loved the sweet Rosaline, trusted the liar and took her to wife. Day^ followed days; and he raved in his fever; le raved and he raved of the days that were gone; By Him she sat, the sweet, kindly young lady, and only her hand brought the drink to his lips; Cooled off the fevered brow, chaffed the hot fevered hands, heard him make love to her over again; Talk oiF the future as once he had talked ere the snake-tongue of Laura had poisoned his heart. Then would he break into passionate fury and call down the curses of heaven on high. "Liar," he'd cry in the storm of his passion, "you lied to me, Laura, you lied for my gold! Liar, you've wronged her whom heaven meant for me! Accursed be your fate wheresoever you roam!" Then to her knees would the golden haired lady, quick fall as she lifted her pure heart in prayer. Praying that heaven might soothe his wild ravings, while swelled out to whipcords the veins on his brew. So passed a week, and the fever abated; one morning he opened his eyes, and amazed, Gazed on the face of the liquid eyed lady who sat there beside him so patient, so kind! Spake not a word only looked in her face; and he looked, and he looked, — and he wept as he looked. Spake not a word for the long week that followed, but looked all his thoughts through his eyes into hers. Slowly the poor weakened frame won its strength back and Victor Le Grand from his bed then arose. Told she to him how the vessel had perished, and how she had found the cold corpse of his wife; Told how the crew had all died in the water; and he, — only he, — lived to tell its sad tale. Thrusting his hand in his pocket one morning, he drew out a photograph warped and awry, Handed it straight to the golden haired lady, the saintly young maiden, the sweet Rosaline. "Tell me," she said, "how you came by this picture; 'tis I when a baby of four dainty years; Mate of it have I" — but ere she could finish he fell on his knees and for pardon he craved,— Pardon because of the wrong he had done her that morning beneath the pecan trees alone; Then he unravelled all, all that had happened, and told how he wedded the adder-tongued maid; Sailed to the fair realms of flowery France for the honeymoon time with the maid he had wed. There he had met an old silver haired Cure who lived in the Sugar State long e'er the war. Told how he left when the mouth of the cannon first uttered its groaning of passion and rage, Leaving behind him a sister who wedded a friend of his youth, ere they left home and France. "Six weary years with her letters were sprinkled, and then came a day when he heard nothing more. Showed me a picture that sister had sent her, and asked were there hopes of his meeting with them. Saw I the semblance; I knew it full well; for you often had shown me your baby-hood type; Then did I tell him I knew you, fair angel, and promised to lead him to you, happy one; Promised myself to your grandeur to bow, to bend down my knee when your pardon I craved. So were we homeward bound, sailing a-down the lake, nearing the port when the storm came apace. He, the old Cure, took out from his pocket this picture of you and he gave it to me, — Gave it when all of the death chill had struck him, and perished with prayers to his God for his niece! Sleeping, he slept in the ice and the waves; and she, the deceiver, the lover of gold. Perished before you, a spectacle grim by the bands of the frost held aloft to the world! Storm that had struck one to death in the sea, and the storm that brought death to the one in the mast. Cast me before you and dashed me a suppliant, begging forgiveness and pity from you. Then with a smile that was saintly, angelic, the golden haired lady his hands took in hers; Spake she, a glamour of holiness flashing and filling the glorious blue of her eyes; — "Now I can prove that no taint of the negro inhabits the veins of your Rosaline Fay! Free you are not from the promise you made her a-down by the plum tree beneath the May moon/ Back to the Southland a-down by the bayou and into old Houma town went they again. All the world merrily laughing in gladness and heaven itself with its gates wide ajar, Flooding the air with the thrill of its music and scenting the flowers with odors divine, Teaching the birds how to warble new madrigals, making the black bayou brighten and beam! Through the green muscodine saw the old mellow moon Victor and Rosaline singing again; Heard the sweet harp at her fingers* touch thrilling, — the angels of heaven the harmony hummed. Ere had that yellow moon wasted in waning, th£in down the long dusty road, down in the church, — Stood they and uttered the vows they had whispered beneath the fair May moon, beside the plum tree! FINIS. ilUNtetMt^

20004201

Poems,

Ambrose, Daniel T.

poems00ambr_djvu.txt

POEMS >ANIEL T. AMBROSE n POEMS BY DANIEL T. AMBROSE Copyright 1919 Mrs. Ida J. Ambrose ©C1A563409 SAN MATEO TIMES PRESS SAN MATEO, CAL, JAN 16 1320 Samel 5L Ambroa* PUBLISHED BY MRS. IDA T. AMBROSE AND CHILDREN IN LOVING MEMORY OF Samel ® Ambrose Died September 10, 1916 SOME DAY Some day in the spring, the thrushes Shall carol with might and main, And lark, from the reeds and rushes, Soar high with triumphant strain. Bright beams in the dawning early, Shall race o'er hill and mead, In the hawthorne hedges pearly, And I shall give no heed! And some day when the splendor Of summer is on the land; When the scented lillies slender In their snow white robes shall stand. The clover shall flush the meadows, And the blue sky hold no shadows, And I shall not know or care. Some day, though the fruit be mellow, Shall hang in the orchard old, Corn changing from white to yellow, And the tall wheat like to gold. Though strong as song-birds rally Shall ring out the reaper's voice, From hilltop and sheltered valley My heart shall no more rejoice. God grant where the stars gleam brighter Some night when the church bells ring, When the snow drifts seem much brighter And choirs unnumbered sing, I'm safe from peril and danger In the midst of heaven, may see That Babe, Who laid in the manger And who died on Calvary. FRIENDSHIP There's a rose proves fairest to all that we see, In color and beauty the dearest that be, It's priceless in value its bloom never fades, The gem of the garden untainted by shades; It's the rose of martyr's, their precious life give, As Christ the anointed that others might live, It blooms in the shadows of sorrow and pain, Sweet-scented and fragrant its virtues remain. The sweetest in Nature no mind can forget, When troubles surround you with presence beset, It bids you take courage, new prospects pursue, With friendship assisting and brotherhood too; It blooms in all seasons for aged and youth, Well essenced and flavored with virtue and truth, Its essence is godly humane and divine, The rarest that left us in records of time. It's noble endearing sunshine and shade, Love's beautiful rosebud by the hand of God made, The dearest that's favored, no thorns to pricK, 'Tis rooted in friendship where brotherhood stick. Oh fairest and rarest the sweetest that bloom, When true to its virtues no gold can consume Unfading in glory no winter decay, The sweet rose of friendship that never betray. No equal on footstool its sublime divine, Its fragrance is vibrant to victims in line, Like incense ascending, extolling God's name, Is the rose of true friendship ever the same. Through winds of adversity, darkness of night, An angel consoling to make troubles light, Divinely she blooms though no thorns appear, The rarest of roses to give hope and cheer. THE GENIUS OF MAN Greeks may boast of ancient wisdom, And Rome likewise of supreme power; Modern age of genius' freedom, Still makes man her dearest flower. Land and air he's doomed to conquer, With submarines explore the deep, Wireless 'phones and untold motors, Which man acclaims and genius sweep. Marvel at the great inventions, Through God inspired to human soul. Thought being first infinite's section, Next motive power guiding the whole. God of all infinite, powerful, Transmitting light to man below, Soul concealed in body doubtful, Through that veil we scarcely know. Great that being who can conceiveth, Before whose presence man can't live. Christ anointed, all believeth, Who profess that name He's give. Were it not for God-man, master, The world would do as done before, Betray their God by lusting after, Destruction's balm to heal the sore. Thus it was that God loved man-kind, Gave him spirit, genius, light; Commanded him not be unkind, For love, not hate must be your fight. Man made free to good and evil, And by our deeds we rise or fall, While balance swings to God or devil, Begotten son, he sent us all. By this know God's spirit in us, Without the same we'd be as brute; With no reason to discern us, With no regard for age or youth. If what Darwin taught so frankly, Both Tindal, Drake and Huxley, Hume. Centuries past man proves what's godly, While monkeys still their place resume. CHRISTMAS Anointed Son from Virgin come Though in flesh concealed still God He came to free the bounded from The power that Satan had He came with sound of peace good will Which His angels round him sang From bloodshed too the world was still While joy-bells from heaven rang. Today the woes of sin and strife As the world hasn't seen before Again they seek each others' life For more of the golden store The golden age predicted then Causes Europe kill and slay Great missies made for killing men On this Lord's anointed day. Aren't we blind to our infamy If unrighteous name and fame Polluting soil with blood we see And our Saviour's name to shame Intelligence the gift of God To man alone was given Shall we betray for earthly sod And renounce way to heaven. Probation's time is passing fast And from bloodshed gore must part The trenches where your millions cast Pray God with avenging heart With all this gore for golden store Must peace from earth be driven By rulers high whom God defy Pollute the road to heaven. Oh pray you sons of liberty For that peace that God brought men That no worldly phase or haughty craze Shall disturb our peace again Peace will the cannon shell defy Peace will all murder cease Peace will assist us all enjoy This day may our efforts please. WOMAN Centuries you've suffered in silence, Neath brutal passions of men, Waited with patience and prudence, To regain your place again. God in his mercy ordained it, Woman from bondage be free, Mary His mother obtained it, Virgin and mother was she. Clouds that hung o'er their prestige, Thousands of years that had past, Disappeared, no trace or vestige, By Queen of heaven at last Boundened made free by the woman. Title was mother of grace. Oh woman the chosen of human Condemned by vile man as base. Bearer of natural childhood, With patience her burdens bear, Toiling in valley and wildwood, Nursing her fondlings with care. Gentle and kind and helpful, Spreading the gospel of light Man thought more stern and more forceful Woman the seed of God's might. Woman that fell by the serpant And brought to mankind first sin, Redemer gave for atonement Now queen of angels and men. Woman exalted of creatures, Nature's adornment and pride Behold her embibing new features Bearing her banners to guide. Teachers of virtue and patience Sublime in tenderness, love, Prone to contrition and penance, Hoping in father above. God in His boundless creation Made man from slime of the earth, More choice in woman's formation, From rib of man gave her birth. THE FALLEN SISTER When a poor forlorn sister, Whom we give a fearful name, From that lustful life that led her Shudders back with woeful shame; When her weary soul is yearning For God's light beyond the skies, And far off is hope discerning Where a purer morrow lies. There you'll find a goodly spirit. Though besmeared with lurid shame, There a heart-pulse beats with merit, Though her colors know no fame; There's the human as Magdalen, Shedding tears of love for thee, Washing feet with tears that streaming, For her guilt and infamy. There she'll stand before redeemer, Broken down with sorrow, shame, Begging Jesus not forget her, Though His Christian name defame. Give me balm, sweet loving Jesus, Cleanse my soul with sacred oil; Cleanse the stains of lust within us, Grant us mercy yet awhile. Will Jesus sister calling? May I answer that; He would Adulterous and lepers crawling, Yes, for all He shed His blood. Pity, then, those sisters fallen, 'Twas man made her what she is. Don't exult until the morrow, Will her shame outrival his? All remember that we're human, It's the strong, the weak enslave. Incarnation from the woman, Man not chosen there to share. Pity, then, that fallen sister, Take her sorrows as your own; Both sin and shame taste the bitter, Man, beware the cause you own. TO MARY AND MAY (According to ancient Christian history, the month of May is dedicated to Mary.) How sweet is the mantle of nature, Reserved for the fair month of May; The symbol of grace chosen creature, Blest of all, nations today, Her spirit created for glory, Stainless her body from clay; Anointed one born of Mary, Blest name of Mary and May. Blest tributes of nature we'll give her. 'Neath rose and lily so fair, This queen that the angels all greet her, Grant her affections may share. The earth in effulgence of splendor, Ermine and floral display; Best tributes of beauty and grandeur. We'll honor Mary and May. In Mystery was Virgin created, Mystery her spirit within; In Mystery that son incarnated, That mankind be born again. In Myestery the loaves and the fishes, Likewise all nature's display; In mystry is life's and death's issues, Both Virgin, Mother and May. Rejoice with the Lord of creation, With queen of angels and men, And hail His communion relation, Last supper symbolized then; First miracle performed through Mary, Son's mercy we ask her pray, Lo mountains and valleys so pretty, Bedecked for Mary and May. PORTOLA King Don Gasper De Portola And Conchita, festal queen, Come to honor 'Frisco for her, Where all Nations may be seen. Fifes and drums beat loud and rattle, Cannons too will loudly roar, For that King- whom fate did battle, Our land-locked harbor did explore. Visitors from foreign climes, Armored ships with flags a-flying, Statesmen, captains, regal primates, Eager for this great sightseeing. Scenes unrivalled in stage station, Land exhibits to behold, Loveliest city oi the nation, Golden Gate her portals hold. Dancing at the Hotel Fairmont, Lights of beauty, grace and fame, Festal King and Queen Conchita, Lead grand march in pride of name. Balls unceasing most exquisite, Where our guests can happily, Unite with Maidens charmed elite, Queens of Beauty there shall see. The Electric Bell at Third and Market, Both artistic, rare, sublime, Streaming sunbeams from each socket, Mirrors on the masses shine. "Van Ness, Kearny, Fillmore beaming, Incandescent lights true great, Million candle power extending Through famed city — Golden Gate. Marathon from Sacramento, Swimming feats across the Bay, Aquatic sports from Spanish Junto, Coronation's grand array. Tens of thousands in line marching, China's dragons, rich Cathay, Native Daughters, rich chrysanth'mums, Fraternal floats rare and gay. Spanish airs and Spanish salvos, Padres chiming faith and state, Nations riding in their autos, To acclaim her future great. Raised again from quake and ashes, To regain her fame and fate, Pride of time is San Francisco, Born again by Golden Gate. Newly baptised San Francisco, All are welcomed — young and old, E'n Viscaino, Cabarillo, Mission Fathers, brave and bold. Pacific queen she is the greatest, ( Resourceful now her empire state, Two Oceans link'd find her richest, Future tells by Golden Gate. LIBERTY BELL This Bell that tolled us freedom. Near seven score years ago, We cherish in our bosom, Baptised in blood we know. Our forbears bold undaunted To no king- bend the knee, Their flag of freedom flaunted This Bell proclaimed us free. First shot fired at Lexington Resounded -through the world, Stars and Stripes by Washington From belfry was unfurled. It speaks today of peace, freedom, Not kingly woes of war, And speaks to us non-wisdom Of King and Kaiser, Czar. Its chimes are ever voicing The justice of the hour, And that we're born equal Despite pomp and power. Abuse it and you'll suffer, Decrees of God can't trod, His covenant the rudder, While Bell kept voicing good. It thundered notes proclaiming To bold Patrick Henry, Proud Independence framing, Oh, Death or Liberty. Its voice by age now broken, Still tells of carnage then, Both faith and hope was spoken In hearts of fighting men. This symbol of attraction Kept tolling to the free, Take up your guns and sabers And fight for Liberty. In Exposition resting This emblem of the free, Oh, may we heed its chiming For true Equality. MAN'S INHUMANITY We should know our time is coming-, 'Fore the church bell tolls the knell, Not forget we're slowly moving, To the gates of heaven or hell; Love should be to sisters, brothers, Nor by evil genius plan, Or destruction to our neighbors — Inhumanity to man. What is pride in human station But the devil's working den, Spurned at Christ's exaltation, And from heaven cast out then. All the gold-dust of the ages, Can't extend one hour, life's span, Thinketh well from earthly stages — Inhumanity to man. Have we felt the pangs of hunger. Or the cold that pierced the heart? Have we caused them suffer longer, As revenge for doing part? Ponder well this hatred blindly, As you mete will measure span; Time is God's to judge supremely — Inhumanity to man. Mother earth is often shaken, By our lustful, shameless crimes; Quakes have told us to awaken, To the trend of evil times. "Millions face the slaughter pointing. Millions weep from hunger's plan, Millions face the judgment wanting- Inhumanity to man. Christ has told us love each other; Satan teaches hate and pride; As with Cane revenging brother, Weakened mortals side by side. Heed the voice of sheppards calling, Help your neighbor best you can; Don't rejoice misfortune's falling — Inhumanity to man. DAUGHTERS OF THE LIGHT High above the gloom and shadow Of this gray, cloud-covered world, We have placed our chosen motto, And our banner, white unfurled. On its folds we've traced the message In the conflict for the right It will be our magic watch-word — "Be ye daughters of the Light. As we stand, to heaven lifting Eyes in which youth's courage shines, Eyes that seek the guiding vision That unfolds God's great designs Will not He, from undimmed splendor- Far too great for human sight, Send His angels down to each "Be ye daughters of the Light!" Glorious aim! True inspiration Arming souls with power and might Shadows vanish at our watchword "Be ye daughters of the Light!" See the hosts of white-robed martyrs See the virgins, glory-crowned Down the ages runs the path-way Trod by brave souls, world renowned! See them clad in shining raiment Clad in robes of dazzling white! Here on earth they won their glory — They were daughters of the Light. Dare we claim relation with them? Yea, for human were they all — Power divine upheld their weakness Heaven responded to their call. So, too, with us is a Helper, One who'll lead our steps aright; List the words that once He uttered Here on earth, — "I am the Light!" Courage then, and onward upward! Where Christ reigns there is no night From his throne He bends to whisper "Be ye daughters of the Light!" CHILD OF MARY I'm safe when protected by Mary The Mother of grace, mercy, might. The refuge of sinners that weary God gave her power, Satan to fight. Most honored of creatures created, Preserved pure for incarnate son. Full of grace the angel related, Immaculate from stain of Sin. To woman gave Jesus preference By Spirit's conception and birth, No stain but full grace as prescience Her name is called blessed on earth. Both Virgin and Mother divinely This charm do all mortals see, Now Queen of Heaven sublimely Oh, pray for poor sinners and me. Unchristian the heart against Mary Who dare can God's honor ignore. Our misgivings to Him, she'll carry Please spare them His mercy implore. On earth was obedient to Mother. In Heaven likewise will He be; Oh Mary and Mother, no other Can plead for us all motherly. Please pray for me, pray for me, Mary, Name me by adoption your son, Though life be vain, foolish and dreamy, Oh plead that forgiveness be done; Oh Mary, true advocate, Mother, By the Spirit conceived, begot Son, The Saviour of mankind no other, By His blood on the cross it was done. KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS Hurrah for that gallant commander, Who gave us this land of the free; Hurrah for those K. C. defenders And shriners of true liberty. Hurrah for those Knights now observing Those truths that are sacred of God, With the fruits of Charity conserving To plane of humanity's good. This spirit we must keep within us Inspired by glory and fame, Until mountains of goodness instill us, For our faith and country the same. Hurrah for those memories reflected, His genius the ocean to explore, Hurrah for his sons now expected To sail on and on for the shore. We've Knights of the Red Branch and Garter Pythians, Templars and Cross; The choice of the nation we're after To regain our spiritual loss. A body divorced of its spirit, A nation that faithless must fall, Sail on and sail on for true merit, Which Knights of Columbus install. They stand for the freedom of mankind, The rights of free worship maintain; They stand by the widow and orphan Through Charity's findings entrain; With the star of hope peering forward Through darkness and shadows of shame. Sail on and sail on be the password To light us to glory and fame. Let's sail through the ocean of kindness, 'Neath compass and rudder and sail, Keep watch on the phases of blindness. Lest tempest destruction prevail. Hold fast to that faith that was guiding The chosen across the Red Sea, Same God and same faith now abiding, Columbian Knights of the free. For centuries we've waited in silence, And watched for results of the goal; We've waited with patience and prudence. While time was absorbing the whole. Awakened to spirit within us, Exulted to honor that name, So called themselves Knights of Columbus, And evermore honor the same. CAST THE WATER ON THE FIRE Its a virtue that much wanting. In the blast of human ire. What the human heart is panting: With a raging- hate desire. Don't forget that virtue, patience Nothing sweeter played from lyre Its the checkmate for imprudence Cast the water on the fire. Its the greatest blessing given In a home with thunder soars Its the sweetest rose from heaven Where rude passions sway and roars. With its mild and tender sweetness Conquers more than wrathful ire Wins the vicious heart by kindness Casts the water on the fire. But our minds are dark and narrow And the flesh to evil sown And for such we sigh and sorrow For transgressions of our own. We must conquer such with patience. Choosing love instead of ire. Where your tempted to imprudence, Cast the water on the fire. God will help us if we ask it With that peace no man can give God will check the evil in us Help and aid us while we live. Give and take for good example Show not children hateful ire And by patience stem the battle Casting water on the fire. KNIGHT'S DUTY Remember brave Knights of Columbus Your duties to honor and fame And view those great evils around us Where modesty blushes with shame. Remember Columbus with Red man His life was endangered for thee Let Members beware what's human Preserving in ranks, purity. Times are presenting this warning Swaying backwards from modesty Teachers of virtue, our calling Defending what's true womanly Young ladies of high degree, station Good breeding, attainments could spare Is lost to the lure of temptation With exhibits to lust laid bare. With split skirts and hose that's transparent Oh ladies' Thou fairest that be Please think of that Virgin and Parent You'll never disgrace your degree Bunny-hug, Grizzly-bear, Turkey-trot Hesitation latest we see "Woman supreme" wilt thou cast lot To forlorn degeneracy. "Oh Knights" can't you see the horizon It's murcky with evils that shame Divorces unnumbered to gaze on With children abandoned in name. "Oh" where is that Christ that created And where is that Christ that redeemed Meekness of heart segregated Modesty no longer esteemed. No wonder this shame and perversion With Journals presuming in strife Giving germ, atom, electron Creators of infinite life. Time chides those skeptical fakirs Descendents of monkeys wont stand Nor Hearst with his papers and capers Can change God-man's faith in this land. Stand firm brave Knights of Columbus With that faith that he crossed the sea Obeying those laws God gave us 'Neath Modesty's banner let's be. A press you should have to defend you In each state where money is God. Clergy to aid and assist you For manly and womanly good. 'EULOGY ON MY BROTHER' Oh, God in his mercy this time has sent sorrow, And took my fond brother from this earthly shore, And left me to ponder whom friendship should borrow, E'en wife of my bosom could not have done more. So oft through those years of my life undirected, Unable to chose between virtue and wrong His wisdom and counsel on me then reflected Strengthening my weakness and bidding be strong. Oh, shall I forget him in obstinate blindness, Or fail to remember his love that was strong Surely not, after his long serving kindness, And fatherly pleadings must ever prolong. In life were united, by Death now we're parted, The doom of all mortals from all earthly gain Hope to behold him with angels now wafted, Believing that Jesus cleansed him from sin. The reason I loved him, because he was kindly Likewise he was generous in hand and heart As chief benefactor to fatherless family, Convinced that from honor he would never part. Consoling the weeping and hating oppression, Before which all human misgivings gave way He has left all reflections of long lived affection, How can we forget him, now cold -in the clay. Oh, time has now left me a wreck of emotion, And time has swept from me a brother so true. To mourn for ever his fond loved devotion, Resolved all his teachings and counsels pursue. May God in his mercy, absolve and redeem him, And grant him that glory he's labored so well Friend of the oppressed and poor, how they'll miss him A father and brother, to all I can tell. He has gone from children and beloved kindred. He's gone from his neighbors beloved and much praised, He's gone from forlorn whom he forsook never; To enter earth's bosom until Judgment raised. His sweet smiles of kindness that once were so pleasing, By the cold sting of Death, with spirit now gone, To rest in the bosom of Jesus redeeming, So we by tomorrow same road travel on. GROWTH AND DECAY Nothing is lost forever, Only see their form a change, Force and essence they lose never, In that path where mystery range, Stars that shine so bright upon us, Sun gives heat and light of day, Earth producing to sustain us, All are solved by growth, decay. Adam, father of all races, Color changing — black, brown, white; Complex too, tradition faces, History fails to give much light. Take one hundred weight of surface, Encased therein grows huge tree, gay, Essence from the air must purchase, Mystery solved in growth, decay. Spirit matter, forces traveling, With conceptions gilded soul, Genius' rays of light unraveling, Man designer of the whole. Flames, destructive, that's a burning, Have not lost their force to sway, Still exists, to vapor turning, Nothing lost by growth, decay. Universe, infinite, endless, All from God, no loss can be, Life and death though cold and friendless. 'Tis our nature's destiny. Changing solids into ashes, Smoke and steam in clouds make way, Snow and rain where thunder clashes, Still no loss by growth, decay. If world's growth in past ages, Were subtracted, naught would be, Oceans dried by vapor stages, All returneth equally, Forms are lost, new ones returneth, So with man whom death hold sway, And death hall lose that power God giveth, 'Tis God decrees — growth, decay. SAY NO Dear children, when starting life's journey, Along the great highways of life, You'll meet with a thousand temptations, In places where evil is rife. This world is a stage of excitement, There is danger wherever you go; Beware of evil commitments, And where you are tempted say no. In courage, my children your safety, When you this long journey begin, So, trusting in God, do your duty, He'll keep you unspotted from sin. Temptations will follow unceasing As streams to large rivers flow. But if you are true and beseeching Your answer to evil is "no." Remember Gethsemane garden, Anointed shed bloody sweat. Crucified to gain our pardon; All suffer, don't ever forget. Be choice in your habits of living, Be frugal in life as you go, Give help to the weary that striving When tempted to evil say no. Discouragements met in life's journey. Some burdens quite heavy to bear, Compare them with Christ's, true not many, Where flesh from the bones they did tear. Be honest, kind, truthful and humble; Be gentle with all as you go. Should your road be thorny, don't grumble, To glare of temptation say no. Avoid those allurements that's tempting, The vicious will coax you to sin, The laws of God always respecting, Each morning the Lord's prayer begin. His grace all will have if they ask it, To all He will grant and bestow, Your reward will be as you make it — When tempted to evil say no. THE BLESSED VIRGIN God's hand-maid called Mary By grace was preserved For Christ the anointed Her womb was reserved. Queen of the firmament Of angels and men Let's hail her with angels God's chosen one then. 'Twas told in the garden She'd demons rule o'er And at feast of Cana From water, wine pour. Queen of creation Immaculate she The choice of Father His son's Mother be. Oh Children of Mary Whom Satan does hate Queen of the Universe Of Heaven the gate. For sinners she's pleading This daughter of Eve That we from the Father A crown may receive. Illumined with glory The stars may express Queen Virgin and Mother Whom all nations bless. What mind can conceive it Or tongue can extoll This proud name of Mary Made queen over all. LIFE'S LEDGER In the records of life all is printed •Till Death tells us lay down our tools With the good and the bad we're confronted Where wisdom of wise are as fools It's being told us through ages by sages Confirmed by Christ the God-man And to each shall be shown in those pages True Justice by Jesus who can He will Judge the proud Kings of the ages While bodies lay cold in their graves All their virtues he'll measure by gauges With Justice to masters and slaves. Though gold caskets may entwine their bodies Floral tributes, emblems and flags. Disappointed at the Ledger's tallies 'Neath bigger man buried in rags. Be cheerful you believers in Spirit, Bear trials with patience and might, Let your lives seek what's honor true merit, Else Eternity must lose in fight Through life's journey you'll find it pays better As righteous bid you must fight, Finding truth live it up to the letter, By banishing anger and spite. We're told by the Saviour anointed A record is kept of each word At the results we are disappointed When dark deeds are shown by the Lord Those millions that are slain for ambition Those Martyrs for faith with their blood, With Religion despoiled by perversion Life's Ledger shall balance, bad, good. CHRISTMAS A merry "Merry Christmas," is the joyful sound we hear, From hamlet, cottage, mansion, Christmas day gives cheer; From the Arctic to Antarctic, those welcome sounds pro- claim, In the highlands, in the lowlands, both inland sea and main. This heavenly guest that cometh, with His angels by His side, Sending messages to Israel, and a star to be their guide. Sending messages to rulers, rare gifts with Him they share, Ever practiced by the Christians as conditions should compare. This eventful merry Christmas, calls millions to unite, From distant climes and regions, to their native lands take flight. To Him who changed the water 'twas Mother did implore, Multiplied the loaves and fishes, to feed five thousand more. That Son who stilled the waters, and the wind obeyed His will, That Son who raised the dead to life, the blind their sight instill. The lepers healed, the lame did walk, the dumb their speech restore On coming merry Christmas day, let's hail Him more and more. That Son that gave to Moses, ten commandments to obey, Transfigured from the mountain, that immortal life dis- play Red Sea divide with Jordan dried, His people did pass o'er The manna bread by Heaven spread, their needs and wants restore. Ten plagues He sent on Egypt's soil, to stay the tyrant's hand From Horeb's rock a fountain gave, to cheer His chosen band. By Faith required, in Love desired, the bridge of life pass o'er Let's not forget this Christmas time, to hail Him more and more. The ancients took the Word as told. Redeemer was to come; Foretold it was, to Adam's face, by God Himself 'twas done. Heaven shut four thousand years, as faithful lay in prison, Until His Son did die for men to open gates of heaven. Let's not forget that Adam's fall, caused woe and death, destruction, And Jesus' blood for sinners all, is joy, or woe, perdition; With His part done, and ours to do, repentance is our gain And a merry, merry, Christmas, you surely will obtain. This sermon on the mountain, explained the road to heaven; Have mercy on the fallen, the weak and hungry driven, Blessed be the poor who shall endure, sufferings for His sake The meek reward with earthly gifts, to Father's Kingdom take. All things did He, by faith shall see, as Abraham of yore. The Lamb was slain in Isaiah's main, one thousand years before; Behold that Son, 'Anointed One," all evils try refrain And a merry, merry Christmas you surely will obtain. Should grief and sorrow find us, and afflictions mar our way, Let us think of Jesus' birth and the manger where He lay, Surrounded by His angels, giving praises by His side; The Lamb of God, Our Saviour, The Anointed One we pride. Let's give unto the needy help, this day to honor Him. Let's heal the wounded neighbor's name, so lately we con- demn; Resolve to do our duty and no envy still retain, And a merry, merry Christmas you surely will obtain. Let no Pride of Spirit bind us, neither vanity nor scorn, The Son of God in manger straw, so humbly was He born, For millions spent in gorgeous wealth, with millions hungry, cold; Much like the swine, with diamonds fine, mocked by both young and old. The proudest beings that ruled the earth, their bodies be- came dust, Why then we claim that pride our shame, for all men equal us. For gifts to poor will sure endure, when vainness saveth not; With merry joys, and Christmas toys, to every house and cot. THANKSGIVING DAY Thanksgiving day has come again, Let's chant our praise to God And seek his favors now and then — All hail our Lord so good. In Peace with all, Oh may it last, That wars and bloodshed may By evil doers be of the past. On this Thanksgiving day. Time has changed most wonderfully, Since redmen ruled the land, When wild beasts roamed promiscuously To feed the savage band; Now corn, wheat and cotton grow, Pine orchards, rare and gay, Where once had roamed the buffalo, On first Thanksgiving day. The ships that ride the ocean wave, The trains that sweep the land, Should sing their praise and ask Him save. Our nation's pride and stand. The Mayflower pilgrims brave and bold. The woods and wilds they took, Braved hardships many, — hunger, cold But Freedom's shores they took. O'er six score years have passed away, The silent grave entombs, The martyrs, patriots who gained sway, Their sons by millions come. All praise the Lord with fervent heart, For manifold display, Untold resources do our part, On this Thanksgiving day. With stars and stripes, true emblems might, Of freedom's ray recall, The mission of the pilgrim's flight For worship free to all. Two oceans meet our cherished stand, Two hemispheres obey, All give thanks for this happy land, On this Thanksgiving day. FAREWELL TO REV. FATHER CASEY Dear Father, you leave us in sorrow, With a memory that's dear to the mind; Your place, too, made vacant tomorrow Shall we find one so loving- and kind. To the classes and masses endearing, The young- and the old want you to stay, To orders of Bishop resigning May God bless your mission we'll pray. In Faith, you're a gem that's inspiring, For example a beacon of light; With Cross in the battle field fighting To sever the wrong from the right. To the sick and weary consoling, To the needy you gave of your fee, You cheered the sad hearts that were grieving; Oh, Father, we'll all sigh for thee. In vision we'll dream of your goodness, We'll long for that smile that shone bright; In midnight you ministered sickness, By Unction that led them to light. St. Catherine's Church will seem lonely, The Altar boys grief cannot tell; Your confessional crowds seek vainly, Dear Father, we bid you farewell. ODE ON LIFE'S CARES Quite often, life's troubles we borrow, From that deep sea of dread despair. One day of it's joy, next sorrow, Truly both we're burdened .to share. Should darkness surround us while grieving, With no visible hope to perceive, Take courage with on God believing, He'll your cares and your troubles relieve. Take courage and life's battles win it For all joys are commingled with pain. Success is as you pursue it, For temporal or spiritual gain. Don't waver in faith or in doing. Neither shirk from burdens that may, For success steers clear of those wooings In idleness, folly and play. Our lives are just as we can make them, Whether wicked or haughty or kind, If sinful make good and repent them, Both His Grace and His pardon must find. E'n this earth should tremble around you, And mountains would sink in the main, Be firm when evil does tempt you, And the sword of the spirit maintain. Time is too precious to waste it, For each moment accounting must give, By deeds and not words we can make it 'Neath that mantle where brotherhoods live 'Twas that crown that thorns left bleeding, And His suffering on the cross understood; Our harvest must follow the seeding In both spirit and water and blood. THE MARRIAGE VOW When man and wife on life's frail boat On God should trust for bliss, So many times in grief find both Because of joy they miss. Sail on, sail on, the Master cry, Be faithful to your vow, The storms of time you must defy, So keep your courage now. Should life be called to journey far. Leave sorrow, grief and pain Wafted beyond the evening star, Loved spouse may call in vain. Each day while walking side by side, To love and friendship bow, Inhuman failings try to hide. Too late to atone them now. How bright would life be everywhere If both their hearts could love, Sweet tenderness they both could share While keeping vows above. True honor, then, in life they give. When call comes where, when, how. In peace and love we both did live, How thankful for it now. All must remember life is short. Some day by Death must go. From evil pleasures we must part, Pride, vanity forego. With man and wife their labors done, To God have kept their vow, Come thou you blessed of my son, My mercy giveth now. Watch and wait with patient bliss, 'Twill heal those wounds made sore, Remember, too, the faithful kiss Will blend two hearts the more. As both once loved, keep loving still, And don't betray your vow, And bear your cross to suit God's will, We need His blessings now. ODE— CLASSES AND MASSES Do the classes hate the masses, As the peafowl hates the hen? Does the plumage make distinction From the eagle to the wren? Flesh and blood defined as equal, May we hope our spirits too, With God's gifts to prove the sequel By their light less evils do. True we know they are exclusive From the force of wealth and fame, Truly oftentimes abusive That a Christian name might shame. As we're children of the Father, By adoption of his Son, Should we lust for sweat of labor, Cheat or rob the fallen one? In distinction lies ambition, Whicb without we'd sure fall back To that barbarous situation With their woes and sorrows black. "Let's condemn that word "destruction" And conserve to righteous call With fair play for all the nation, Be those people great or small. POEM ON U. S. FLEET Our United States fleet, the pride of the ocean, In ports of all nations she's honored so well; Steaming, a beaming with brave dashing seamen Whose daring and courage no nation excell. The unconquerable Paul Jones laid the foundation, With Barry and Perry true heroes likewise, Farragut, Evans and bold Admiral Dewey, Were Uncle Sam's heroes beloved and much prized. Our battleships white as the snow on the mountains, With star spangled banners from mastheads a flying. Like sunbeams of glory from liberty's fountain, Bearing highest of standards the eagle sublime; With cruisers a sailing and dreadnaughts of danger, All nations proclaim them marvels of might, To poor and forlorn they're seldom a stranger To aid in defending the standards of right. Our fleet representing the mightiest of nations With modesty her pass-word, liberty her strength, Old Glory representing starry-night heavens Braves billowy ocean regardless of length. She ploughs the Atlantic as noble defender Of treaties established between man and man, Sweeps the Pacific to stem all pretenders Whose principles are tending to take all they can. Let's hail our fleet from invaders protecting, Let's hail it, enlarge it, our peace shining light. With a merchant marine to cope in resisting, Less battles encounter, less enemies to fight. Let's hail our commanders with pride and devotion, Likewise our young seamen who stand by their guns Old Glory for ever, the pride of the ocean, While defending justice all battles have won. MY EPITATH Here now lies, wrapped in Mother Earth An unfamed man of humble birth With soul consigned to God on high. Please pray for all as you go by, Please pray sincere e'er time is spent. Who can no more implore, repent, And you my friends on earth please say A prayer for us that passed away.

24001196

Fringe

Sherry, Pearl Andelson

fringe00sher_djvu.txt

GopigTit'N?—. HjL ‘A COPYKIG1IT DEPOSIT. * Series of Firfl Volumes : Number Four * FRINGE -3 For permission to publish some of the poems in this book, grateful acknowl¬ edgement is offered to the editors of Poetry : A Magazine of Verse, The Dial, and Voices. fit n Fy Copyright 1923 by Will Ransom Ore 3 i'23 ©C1A7G5546 To My Father and To Edna IN THIS BOOK Autumn Rain 9 Out of an Early Snow 10 To a Bird in a Cage 11 Steeples 12 Portrait of an Old Lady 13 To a Dead Love 14 To Felix 13 April Snow 16 Solace 17 Beach Song 18 Out of a Cavalcade of Dull 19 Eli! Eli! 20 I Take My Answer of a Sage 21 Legerdemain 22 Chapter 23 Madonna 24 At Elay 23 Tide Out 26 Expression 27 Spring Moon 28 Two Sue for Favor 29 Worker in Marble 30 Difference 31 Half-nun 32 Thin Refuge 33 To an ErHwhile Loved One 34 In All 33 Word 36 Out of a Weariness 37 A Trivial Day in Early Autumn 38 From a Sea-girl 39 Late Winter Wood 40 Circle-chase 41 Panel 42 Sehnsucht 43 The Philosopher 44 Woman in a Garden 43 A Miraculous Day in May 46 Philosophic Dialogue 47 Sixteenth Century Ghetto Pieces 30 Seaside 33 Excursion 34 Mishap 36 Autumn Trees 37 Connexion 38 Autumn Evenings 39 With that surprise Of one who Speaks To us and knows Wherein he lies. Yvor Winters Autumn Rain To eyes hollow With the gray distress The passing swallow Is all but a caress. 9 Out of an Early Snow I see the forehead of Moses In the autumn sky, The prophet who could look into this dream And prophesy. He will not say. Only rends White wisps of hair To go with the chipped tablet Down the air. io To a Bird in a Cage O little yellow bird, You are my soul, Repeating a note For which there is no word. n Steeples They gaily pass Within Who would be freed (en masse) Of sin. 12 Portrait of an Old Lady Up flutters a hand to caress Midway in the prayer— Her Sabbath dress, The frail gray of her hair. To a Dead Love Why, O love, Shall I cease to sing, Who above her child Would plant a flowering thing? To Felix Clear as water pooled in a cup I hear your thoughts Through all the spaciousness of my unrest. You have no place For the white bird at my breast, Or the face your hands lift up. i5 April Snow Oh, your words are bitter to me As these last flakes of snow are To the little shining buds; but no bud That glistens like a raindrop on a tree Is so fresh with love. 16 Solace Tap At my pane With your finger-tip, O rain. Beach Song What are they weaving under the water? They make sheer laces and drag them down. They ruffle a lawn with a great grieving. What are they making—what manner of gown? What are they weaving, caught here, Caught there on the thin-washed blue? Who is to be married or who is to be buried, Under the water, under the water? Out of a Cavalcade of Duff In such a white procession, In such a guise, The dead might return With pantomime of lips and eyes. 19 Eli! Eli! "Eli! Eli!” What is that echo of a cry? Tall and long-bearded and two by two They go with eyes cast downward, Walking before Egypt without sound. But those who have been given prior place For gray-beardedness talk to God mildly With their mind’s lips, expecting soon To meet him face to face; and one, Who is somewhat a fool, has been charmed By a glimpse of stars in a pool, Two and two in sacrificial garb. 20 I Take My Answer of a Sage O black-gowned philosopher that walks on the water, Precisely-cut as the evening star, All mysteries are in your profound eyes In one. Who tries to find you Therefrom is drawn down. Legerdemain While the cricket vaunted Our rain-brilliant eyes, A subtle thicket caught at Half-lies. 22 Chapter i How long ago since I brought you into my heart And you still stand, Cold effigy of love, Letting none pass. ii Shadows In a wind, Two contend for place — How shall I know my mind? hi Like an unhappy ghost I lingered In the dark corners Of his soul. IV Do not drop your head, So upon your breast — My eyes hold all it was best I leave unsaid. 23 Madonna My eyes are infinitely mild: Your hand, Lying against my breast, Is like a child. At Play My fingers Are merry children In the meadow Of your hair. 25 Tide Out But the hour comes, When you are snuffed out Like a ghost At dawn. 2 6 Expression Inept as the words That wait upon my mind These twigs and half-formed buds, Pecking the wind. 27 Spring Moon One fair Breast is bare. Your eyes caress This; mine the moon. My lips a red Flower; with a fine Thread Our souls are caught. As ever your thought Flees mine. 28 Two Sue for Favor One is young. Lonely his eyes. The kiss of his lips Salted with bitterness. One is old and wise With pale lips And brittle Finger-tips. 29 Worker in Marble So I begin — More bitter chiselled words. Not one soft word To ease my heart. 3o Difference So he: "Love is A lady, white as stone, Who stands alone Or passes by.” And I: "If one May not be Like a pebble spun Into the sea, Take this and This lightly: hand, Hair—where Love May not live.” 3 1 Half-nun Oh, believe me, I would rejoice, If you could tell yourself: "As well Caress snow.” 32 Thin Refuge Are you more than Man? Go! I can Say, Go! or I can Take the veil of Thought, fog-wall you Cannot cleave through. 33 To an ErStwhile Loved One Shall I, my friend, Who knew satiety In love and company, Cry at this welcome end? When I would breathe deep Breaths, because my Soul at last is mine, Shall I weep? 34 In All No bitterness remain, If in all, I have loved a passing shadow Cast on a wall. 35 Word How soon I, too, Have been left lonely, O pale moon. 36 Out of a Weariness O Love, Be Rest; be Calm. (For I am wise!) Come like Death With quiet palm and eyes. 37 A Trivial Day in Early Autumn A China lily cup Upon a pool Lifts up Its bowl. Over the pale sky Frail clouds; A butterfly About the garden flowers. 38 From a Sea-girl Star-light and moon-light Slip into the doorways of the sea All night. ii My hair is the sun-color Of the sand; but in an inland pool My eyes were cool As thin sea-air. 39 Late Winter Wood One cannot know What words they whisper who go, Unbeheld among the rooted deer That herd here, And without footsteps pass Across the hard grass. 40 Circle-chase 'See, thus the winds Before me.” Swiftly she Comes, veil of pale hair To pale knee. He, swiftly, bright thigh Among meadow-flowers, among tall grass. Following the winds, They pass. 41 Panel Slim birches make A wall along the way The women take, they With remote air Of eye and hand and Coiled hair. Long-throated, they That reach Out down the birch-walk In thought Too still for speech. 42 Sehnsucht In hooded procession Night enters here, Recession Of light, not of love, Not of the need of rest, Transcending lip and breast, Goad That in Them created God. 43 The Philosopher For hermitage: a grain Of rice. " Where assemble one’s selves again In all thy rooms?” Sits in the sun, assumes No airs. "If ye be too precise For bare shins, look not.” Sits in the sun. "One The beginning, and One The end. Both the One?” Willows bend in the wind. So pliant to the next thought. "God is good. One may see far, Demanding nought.” 44 Woman in a Garden Grey tulips; yellow tulips Walk in wide Companies beside The woman in her garden. She who walks thus apart, Whose garden Enters her heart, Whose steps go — Her eyes are dumb. They know: What miracle Can come? 45 A Miraculous Day in May Before this, One must have face, Indeed, to offer a flower In a vase. 4 6 Philosophic Dialogue lfi Figure: Mountains are simple— In the thumb-nail mind Of man illusion doubles to Illusion in semblance of Complexity to hide Confusion. 2nd Figure: None but knows Within Six Days He made the World And on the Seventh Sought Repose. The Evil, dying, Descend to Hell; The Good come Into the Kingdom. 47 m Figure: Infinite Logic Is too fine a Web for the myopic eye of a Fly. 2nd Figure: None but knows Within Six Days — Iff Figure: Cause follows cause without End. The hounds tear In a circle after a No-hare. 2nd Figure: The Good come Into the Kingdom. ltt Figure: For this is truth: the tail is Coiled back relevantly to the Teeth. 4 8 2nd Figure: Iff Figure: 2nd Figure: There is but This single beauty: In fear of God each Does his duty. Out of the logic of Compensation in a circle Autonomic, beauty to Spare, a girl's Breasts; her hair. . . fear. .... duty. 49 Sixteenth Century Ghetto Pieces The Sign Who wears The yellow cloth wheel, Mark of Jew, fares Not well Unless his heel Be swift. So through the night The flight Of thy bright Wheel. 50 II The Government Orders the Brothels Removed to JudenBrasse One has seen The meadows green As a green gem only in sight Of eyes dosing out the night. Holy As God’s word Bird- Notes heard There. Now the Will, hungry like their eyelids, Bids These abide At one’s side. 5i Ill Sundown Though the sun has not been In this street where Roofs bruise like the sin Of those who go To them, we know It has been, for one Comes with his hollow key To lock the Jew in. 52 Seaside Steam refrain to rain of gravel. Long division in the mind running about with hods carried over. Impossible to find an answer true if found. 53 Excursion I went from there, that place where I walked long gray streets as one speaks of food, dress, down other streets with less elation than turning in the conversation to other casual conversation. Gay cottages bloom on hill-sides of sand near Tamarack. Below on the octoroon beach, clustering like grapes, the bathers: purple, orange, and maroon. 54 In the sand woods inland a spotted antelope stands, and waits, and fluctuates among his spots. The vertical waters flowing horizontally with sky and hills and into this my going. Sun and moon one. 55 Mishap The rain arranged crystal berries for me to wear in my hair. By inadvertence one fell into the infinity of a bluebell. «. * Autumn Trees Like old men and women: simplified to a gesture. Connexion A phasma hare scampers in the chambers where, feigning not to see, I comb my hair becomingly. 58 Autumn Evenings Cleaving autumn from evening white north-south walk, imaginary line where we walk. On a park bench I quench I in gray air, while memories of autumn trees cry: "Bring spring!” Or savagely on the one sky die. But the moon is an eternal pearl. Or lake and sky a one and I go a curtain before the moon on. 59 * 4 The Series of First Volumes No. i —OPEN SHUTTERS Oliver Jenkins No. 2 —STAR POLLEN Power Dalton No. 3 —ORIOLES & BLACKBIRDS Hi Simons No. 4 —FRINGE Pearl Andelson H t * library Hlilllil!!!!!!!!!!!!! °i : CONG ■ill mu it RESS 1 Inn i lillliill ■i 0 015 799 437 2

23008268

Creation and other poems,

Anderson, Arthur Wellington

creationotherpoe00ande_djvu.txt

and other ^Ph&mS \ Digitized by tine Internet Archive in 2011 witin funding from Tine Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/creationotherpoeOOande CREATION and OTHER POEMS By Arthur Wellington Anderson I* f Jamestown, N. Y. 1922 Copyright 1922 by A. W. Anderson C1A706314 APR 27 '23 -^o \ T)edicated to zMy 'J)fCother Qreation BEFORE all things in earth's created realm A wat'ry waste, the world in chaos moved; And brooding over all, Jehovah's love Conceived in darkness all the works of light. Through countless aeons He His purpose wrought. And order came where only chance had been. He spoke the word, and lo, the infant light Knocked at the portals of chaotic night. Feeble at first, it struggled with the gloom. But brighter grew as ages came and went — 'Til looming through the mists the earth appeared, A shining disk; drifting in endless space. Again He spoke and night and day began Their ceaseless round of alternating reign; And still the earth was but a dreary mass Of heaving waters rolling wave on wave. With heavens high He arched the waters o'er Dividing all above from all below And made the "empty places" limitless For future glories of His handiwork. At His command the caverns of the deep Yawned, and the sea was downward drawn And then dry land appeared above the flood. For ocean's sway He set the metes and bounds That by His will it should not overpass And with a thundrous roar the mountains rose; The formless earth its primal shape assumed. The dismal light no shadows threw nor changed But amber glowed and faint, day after day. The Great Creator forth His fiat sent, And sun and moon upon their courses sped; And stars in an unnumbered multitude On nothing hung, and sent their brightness out. No more the melancholy half-light gleamed, A crystal radiance supervened the dusk — The air was pregnant with vitality — The world seemed waiting for a miracle ! A flaming herald lit the eastern sky And slowly rose the sun, a ball of fire. His genial rays the sodden earth did warm, Transmuting all her rugged form of wealth; Unlocking for the need of time to come The boundless treasure-houses of the soil. The thirsty land devoid of shelt'ring shade Sweltered and parched beneath his fervent heat. Down headlong rushing through heav'n's pathless void His chariots into the ocean plunged And 'neath its waters cooled their burning shards; Then to the heavens returned as vap'ry wraiths, In black'ning clouds o'erspreading all the sky. Now shot the lightnings forth, and thunders crashed. And deep detoning earth's foundations shook. While from the west, with mighty blast the wind Its besom blew, over a lifeless world. The air, once quiv'ring with the sun's fierce heat. Was laden with the moistened breath of clouds. Then broke th' impending storm in fury full. And rain descended on the thirsty ground. The naked earth before her maker lay Possessing naught of comeliness or charm; Divinest love encompassed her about. And clothed her in a robe of living green. Upspringing from the rough and barren soil, At His behest the herbs and grasses stood And giant trees their lofty branches spread, And forests swayed and tossed in every gale. Morning and noon in full effulgence passed And paled at eventide the sun's bright orb As nightly in His crimson bed He sank And left the world to his great counterpart. When faded from the sky day's afterglow And deep'ning night the world in darkness wrapped; A star from out the vault of heavens blue Glittered and flashed in pristine brilliancy — Fore-runner of stupendous pageantry. A thousand, thousand luminaries bright Like jewels studded the ethereal plains. Celestial systems centered 'round their suns And planets their appointed orbits kept. Upstreaming through immeasurable heights A strange new light dawned on the darkling earth And with majestic sweep night's ruler rose Ascending swift her throne among the stars. The world in silence 'neath her scepter passed Nor saw her glory any living thing. The firmament in astral beauty shone And cast its image in an ancient sea 'Til with the dawning of another day Its glory faded and dissolved away. The avenues of ocean's deep abyss No creature swam, no life did animate. The mighty God stretched out His hand forthwith And fish in teaming millions filled the seas. In forms minute and monstrous made He them Each fashioning according to his kind; And winged fowls to fly above the earth Beneath the open canopy of heaven. Caressed by all the minions of the air The fecund earth in glad response conceived And fruitage of the tree and vine brought forth In measure full, whose seed was in itself. And God said "let four-footed things be made ' And things that creep and crawl upon the earth And it was so; and God pronounced it good. And all the host of them created He — Both male and female He created them And said, "be fruitful thou and multiply. The earth replenish; and thy food shall be The grasses and the herbs that I have made," So wrought the Lord ; and yet no man was found To till the soil or dress the fruitful vine. Then in the council halls of Paradise The Great Creator thus to angels spoke : "Let us a being like ourselves create To walk in our own image on the earth. And unto him shall all things subject be Upon the earth and in the air and sea— And he shall have dominion over them." From common clay the Lord created man And in his nostrils breathed the breath of life. And man henceforth became a living soul — Majestic; Godlike in his attributes. And God a garden planted where the flow Of crystal rivers watered every side — Where nature all her richest gifts bestowed To make for man an earthly Paradise. The man at early dawn in Eden stood; Of aspect fearless and of manner mild; Perfect in body and in mind complete; Upstanding straight among the mindless beasts That round him moved, obedient to his will. Sweet to his senses came the songs of birds And odors of new nature flourishing In primitive abundance; bearing fruit And flowers intermingled ceaselessly. Daily his simple wants the earth supplied And passing hours with new delights were fraught. In awe and wonder he beheld the sun Each morning rise in dazzling brilliancy From out the vap'rous curtains of the sea — And when the night came on he watched the stars, And saw the moon sail o'er his native isle. And yet remained the man unsatisfied ! A longing vague his human heart possessed For human love; and dear companionship. "It is not good" — the Lord declared — "for man To be alone; a mate 1 will create." And Adam slept — and when he woke, behold The crown of God's creation near him stood — A woman — of his flesh and bone a part, To be through life his comforter and friend. In blissful state the first created pair Their lives began beneath God's filial smile. Instinctive love each for the other bore. And each in other's presence found delight. No care or sorrow marred their happy lot; But each new day new happiness contained — The unaffrighted beasts their presence sought And lovely nature constant joy bequeathed. Thus finished the Creator all His work. From all His labor resting satisfied. The Old ^yKCanse IN a tall, old fashioned dwelling Of an old New England Town Where the birds their joys were telling Underneath the gables brown, Happily we dwelt together. My two hostesses and I, And in fair or stormy weather Each did with the other vie In some kindly thought expressing Or some bit of cheerful news, Daily happenings redressing In the garb of private views. Like the mountain Oak that towers On the rugged rocky height Where the threat'ning storm-cloud lowers- Yearly adding to its might, Nearing four-score years, the Mother Still her youthful soul possessed And endeavored still to gather Truth from life that 'round her pressed. With a ready recollection Of the days that once had been When within the homes protection She the outer world had seen Through the medium of neighbors 'Round her father's country store Who, in respite from their labors Met and gossiped at the door. When the sun's last rays were falling On Wachusetts' lofty crest And the robin's mate was calling From the perch above the nest, She would tell us of her girlhood. Of the church, and school, and home. Of the pastures and the wild-wood And the fields she loved to roam — Tell in broken, halting phrases. Of a youthful love affair; Call from out the past's dim mazes Half in story, half in prayer Visions of her school-boy lover Ever faithful, ever true — Growing dearer to her ever As the changing seasons flew, Till in love's sweet consummation They their highest bliss had found And the sacred consecration Had each to the other bound. Children blessed them and they travelled On through life as lovers still With devotion that unravelled Tangled skeins that boded ill. Halted now the story's current As she told with eyes of love How her sweetheart crossed the torrent At the summons from above; Called her to his side in passing And his parting kiss bestowed Tenderly her brow caressing E'er he sought the Blest abode. Thus she ended, and sat dreaming; While the daughter to the guest Oracle of music seeming — Talked of this her constant quest — Of her years of preparation For the present days of skill And the golden compensation For the efforts and the will To achieve in largest measure Self-forgetting in the strife Naught to know of rest and leisure Through the early years of life. Far had gone her fame for learning In her chosen field of art And her worth, the youth discerning Came to listen and be taught All the precepts of the ages That to minstrelsy belong Told by muses to the sages In the artistry of song. In the evening, when the shadows Crept around our cottage door And the fog wraiths from the meadows Gathered over fen and moor. Up the stairway softly droning Is my attic door ajar Came the viol's tender moaning Like the forest winds afar. And the sound of merry laughter Floating upward through the hall Echoed back from beam and rafter Ceasing at the teacher's call. Round in order there they gathered Ruddy youth and maiden fair Each a string creation bearing. Tested now with patient care. Then the Tutor's hand uplifted, Poised the bow each neophyte. And from softest cadence sighing Mounting through crescendoes bright. Laughing, shouting, singing, sobbing. Or in tender tones of love. Swelled the mighty soul of music. And its wild enchantment wove. Thus the days were filled with gladness And the nights with music rang While the muses to my fancies Songs of wondrous beauty sang. September in a 3\[e\K> England tillage T ODAY I climbed the hill alone And stood beside an arch of stone. The landscape smiled beneath the sun ; The strong wind shook the ripened corn And silently went sailing by The fleecy navies of the sky. I saw their changeful shadows play Upon the mountains far away Each shape fantastic giving place To others in the onward race. Beneath me lay the peaceful homes And churches raised their lofty domes. The sunshine glorified the trees And roused to life the drowsy bees. Across the intervening vale I saw the tower on the hill Upraising high its massy eaves Above the tapestry of leaves; Confining in its oaken cell Its giant clock and sweet-toned bell. The river flowed the hills between. The birches o'er its banks did lean; And strewed their leaves — no longer green — Upon the water's silver sheen. Far down the valley's winding course I heard the heron's challenge hoarse And from a distant farm there came The sound of children at a game And cattle lowing at the gates; And horses neighing for their mates. Adown the waves of ether bright Came notes of wild fowl in their flight; And sweet on the September air Came odors from the pines afar. The blue jay's thrilling cry 1 heard And saw him coming from the wood In all his gay habiliments, To take the gardens' increments. The wild grapes hung, of sweetness full. In glowing clusters on the wall. And orchards, from the hills sent down Their fragrance on the quiet town. The frost had killed the pumpkin vines And passing through the garden lanes Had touched each plant with hand austere And left it standing brown and sere. But beautiful the fruit they bore; The crowning glory of the year. Around the country school-house rude The red leaves of the sumac showed While 'long the peaceful road arrayed The elm trees stood — a tall brigade. The flaming leaves of beech and oak Were mingled with the fir trees dark And near the maples' scarlet hood The yellow-mantled poplars stood. The alders bent above the brook And tints from nature's spectrum took Where farmer boys with line and hook Their quarry sought in shady nook. Thus lay the land in verdure fair And nature's music filled the air. The cCo'^ers UPON the old ancestral farm, Far from the City's noisome strife, 'Mid natures' grand symposium, He lived the Farmers' simple life. He felt the cool embrace of dawn E're Phoebus had his race begun And heard the first bright morning song Of birds that hailed the rising sun. For him the morning glories bloomed Anew when each new day was born, And shone, a matchless diadem, Upon the shining brow of morn. Through summer's heat and winter's cold. The ever-changing seasons wound In one continuous pageantry Their never-ceasing circles round. But incomplete the Farmer's life As passing days their voices brought With intermingling visions of The maiden fair whose love he sought. By stages imperceptible The cold and snow had passed away And rousing from her icy sleep The earth had smiled in blossoms gay. And hand in hand these lovers walked Under the glory of the trees Hearing the Robins' mating song Amid the busy hum of bees. The blue birds nesting overhead In silence heard the lovers' vows And saw the blissful pair caress Beneath the overhanging boughs. Then all the world seemed glorified And nature in a mood benign Listened while sweet the voices rang Of birds in symphonies divine. (glacier Galley ALONE I walked a recent morn In eager haste and happy mood To where, at a primeval dawn A mighty glacier frowning stood. And while I thought upon the past Of the fair valley spread below There 'rose beside me, white and vast A dazzling wall of ice and snow. The dismal arctic night was gone And rising in his might, the sun In warm eflFulgent glory shone; The ice king's giant task was done. For ages he his plows had sent Across the desolate expanse To till the soil ; and rocks were rent Or polished by their sidelong glance. The vision vanished when a bird From out his covert in a tree Upon the vibrant air outpoured The music of his matin lay. Long centuries have passed between The present and the ancient day And for the wealth of verdure green In passing have prepared the way. The heritage of icy mound Is vocal in a singing brook; And in the cloven rock is found Engraven, Nature's wonder book. Where once the awful glacier 'rose The little children romp and play. The happy school-boy laughing goes Where once the frozen peril lay. With all the ardor of a boy Fulfilling some long-cherished dream I scarce concealed my unfeigned joy As now 1 wandered down the stream. Between the grasses wild and rank And stately goldenrod that glowed At intervals on either bank Along its winding course it flowed. By devious paths its way it found Where reeds and rushes gently swayed. By mossy bank and grassy mound To pools where loit'ring cattle wade. From bush and tree the feathered choir. Each with his own unwritten score, A part became of Nature's lyre And each his richest vestments wore. Bright butterflies and humming bees Their meed of life and color brought And flowers, nodding in the breeze The sunlight's benediction sought. Here, where a primal ocean lay And unknown rivers rushed and roared In seething foam and feath'ry spray, The records of the past are stored. And generations yet unborn Shall wonder at the cryptic signs Upon the rocks asunder torn Where clamber now the running vines. <J)(Cemory THE Winter days are gone, dear heart, The Spring has come at last, And nature o'er the landscape brown A robe of green has cast. In gorgeous beauty bloom the flow'rs And perfume sweet distil While birds in ecstasies of song The list'ning senses thrill. But O, the days so slowly pass Since you departed, dear; A week its hours dragging by Seems strangely like a year. When shadows of the fading day Upon our dwelling fall. And feathered songsters from the trees Their gay companions call — When all the voices of the night Wake from the day's repose, And cooling counterpane is laid Upon the new-born rose — Our babies close 1 gather, dear, And think of you; and pray — And wish that you might be again As close to me as they. I call your name sweetheart, and try To think that you are here; As bright and joyous in my arms As you were yester-year. In fancy once again 1 walk The woodland paths with you Or wander by some silver stream That we together knew. Again as in a waking dream Your voice 1 hear, and see The glory of your smile, that once Was Paradise for me. What bliss attended as we planned About our future home. And saw the glowing visions of "The years that were to come." Our lives in sweetest unison Had blended into one And loves unfailing miracle His holy reign begun. Then fell like sudden night the truth That awful death was near To take from me earth's sweetest joy Oh God — how did I bear The bitter flood that swept my soul From all its moorings free, And cast the crushed and broken wreck Adrift upon life's sea? But life shall triumph over death And faith shall hold its sway- Within my heart, and we shall meet Again some glorious day. E'en now my love the days are blessed With memories of you That fall upon my waiting heart Like a refreshing dew. I will not say farewell, dear girl. But hail — forevermore — For still you are my sweetheart, dear, Just as you were before. (Dedicated to my friend, Mr. Harper Qatton, in memory of his loved comftanton). <J^orning iig""'^ morning bright! Oh morning glorious! II Who saw thee when thou mad'st thy first approach Announced by singing birds and waving fronds? An eve of wondrous calm preceded thee Hung with celestial lanterns great and small That lent enchantment to the spectral forms That rear themselves whene'er the daylight fades. The hours passed while creatures of the night Sported themselves or hunted for their prey. The wind its vespers whispered in the trees And brooks made music in the forest glens. The moon in full-orbed grandeur sailed her course And made at last her harbor in the west. A cock sent forth his challenge to the dark Prophetic of the day that was to be And then a hush fell on the waiting earth And nature lay in wrapped expectancy Sensing afar the advent of her Lord. In reedy pools and sedgy fastnesses The frogs had ceased their piping one by one And silence reigned where through the watches long An orchestra had played in many keys. Faint in the east an opalescent light Tinted the sky and flushed the loit'ring clouds. The low sweet twitter of a happing bird Presaged the waking of a slumbering earth And stirring in his lofty nest the hawk Essayed his daily flight to meet the dawn. A purple hue now tinged the eastern sky Turning to carmine as the morn advanced. Perched on the pine tree's highest pinnacle A robin sang his morning orison And the winged choristers of field and wood Joined in a mighty anthem to the day. The heavens brightened, and the king of light Rose in red radiance from his misty bed And turned each dew-drop to a glistening gem. A thrill ran through earth's myriad forms of life And gladness on the face of nature shone Rejoicing in her metamorphosis. In habitat remote from man's abode The wild rose woke and blushed in brilliant hues Casting its incense on the passing breeze; And anchored in the shallows of the ponds White fleets of water-lilies spread their sails And scattered far their cargo's fragrant store. With scent of trees and flowers redolent The west-wind brought a sound of festive joy— The songs of feathered minstrels merry-making. In various guise and bearing each his part They gathered where the herbage ranker grew In valleys cool, beside the winding streams. The oriole in the elm's high thatch of leaves Dropped swiftly from his hanging nest anon And spilled his liquid flute notes as he went, A yellow jewel on a field of green. The bobolink in gorgeous plumage dressed, Hovered on quiv'ring wing above the grass And poured a flood of music on the air In seeming exultation o'er his lot. But now a thousand voices smote the ear In concord of sublimest melody And all the place was resonant of Paradise — Of harmonies unknown to mortal choirs. Through symphonies and rhapsodies they bore In chord ecstatic and in passage grand, And all the voices of the universe Proclaimed the glory of a day new-born. The Forest <J^onarch OH Giant Tree! Thy mighty bole The passing centuries have seen, And unknown mornings have beheld Thy lofty canopy of green. The summer gale and wintry blast In vain have beat upon thy face And vainly weaker forces strove For ages to usurp thy place. Before the present race had found In this fair wilderness a home, Or rangers of the wide domain In gainful quest had hither come; The Indian saw thy lovely form And pitched his tent beneath thy shade. Gazing in wonder at the spread Of thy great limbs above his head. From immemorial time, the birds Have nested in thy quiet boughs. And strange nocturnal guests arrived. Through the long days to nod and drowse. Under thy far flung greenery The wild deer passed the scorching noon And 'round thy feet the gray raccoon Played in the light of the harvest moon. How oft, when heralds of the sky Their trumpets blew and roared amain. Creatures of field and wood have fled From seeming death, thy lodge to gain. The cleft that in thy side appears Befell thee in some hapless hour When strident winds unleashed from heav'n Bereft thee of an arm of power. But still thy robe of green itself Renews each verdant eastertide. And each returning autumn sees Thy leafy garments glorified. So live, thou ancient friend of man. For generations yet to be, A legacy beneficent And beautiful, — Oh Giant Tree! 'rn'M:^^-^""^ •^Hwy OF £?'^GRess II

21021226

Heart's ease,

Anderson, Florence Belle

heartsease00ande_djvu.txt

»S 3501 .N22 H4 1921 Copy 1 .iEART's Ease By FLORENCE BELLE ANDERSON Copyright 1921 By The Harmonial Publishers 4328 Alabama Street San Diego, California ^^arfa Sas^ BY FLORENCE BELLE ANDERSON cx/TTx l^-J uui>CKf€>^ LOo<U^., ^^ W-a C^Bcar J\,rtbcrson, 61I10 lyas tniexth tlje ijarbor of Perpetual ^eace, tI|CBe &erses are lo^m^ly bchtcatch hu one &l]om i|e ten- berig calleh Ijis "^i|ipmate 3lack*" ©ClAe31.153 iISHEN day is done, God sends the shades of night; I softly fold my hands upon nrjy breast, And then it seems one instant till the morn- ing light Breaks in the East. So doth my body rest. When life is done and I have said "Good night," I shall not know that time has passed awray; God keeps that hour betw^een the dark and light, I close my eyes, and wake in heaven's day. Idow'fi i>^aH0n0 ^ PLUCKED a rosebud for my love's adorn- ing* Fragrant and sweet, and fresh with pearly dew^. Dear bud, so lovely in the early morning. Surely no flower could be as sweet as you. I plucked a blossom in the scented twilight. Full blown, the promise of the bud redeemed. It, too, was fair; in morningtime or moonlight Love has no seasons, each was best it seemed. Love, you are sweet when youth is full of gladness, When life is beckoning through her open door; But when in autumn life is tinged with sadness — Then love, we need you, then we need you more. (Utinfxhmtt jjn ATHER, I used to pray for happiness; Sorrow and pain I thought were punish- ment, But now I see, and each dark day I bless — They were the growth-times that nsy Master sent. I've seen the oak bend with the mighty gale As if its strength the elements would dare. Fiercely the w^ind would tear, and madly wail — But leave the oak tree stronger standing there. This now^ I ask: Send w^hat is best for me. I shall no longer pray the coward's prayer; If I need pain, or grief, or poverty. Send it, O, Lord, and with it strength to bear. four Qllf0to ([IHINK evil, and as sure as God has wrought, Evil alone comes back to you again. Malice and envy sent on wings of thought Are to the sender boomerangs of pain. Sow seeds of love, your harvest will be sweet- ness, Sow seeds of hate, the law works just as well. You shape your life from start to its com- pleteness; You are the maker of your heaven or hell. You have the choice to make your hell or heaven, God leaves you free; He does not interfere. But there are laws He has in justice given; He watches you, but leaves your pathway clear. atif^ Qllimg (Boh Mnht A BREATH of life in an atom, A mystery enshrouding the place Where the Almighty God from His breath and the sod Made a form full of beauty and grace; A mind and a soul and a body He gave to this form called a man; But somehow the sin of the devil crept in This product of God's greatest plan. A love and a prayer and a yearning For something unseen and unheard; A surging unrest for the worst and the best — And something still deeper unstirred; A world and a hell and a heaven, And death as the gulf which divides; To some has the Buddha been given, To others the Christ crucified; A saddening weakness for sinning. An infinite longing for good, A song in the air and a cry of despair Meet and mingle together. Oh, God! A love that is stronger than either The sin or the sorrow or death; One hope that ascends and another that ends, And another hope born with each breath; Great God! What a thing is created! This mixture of devil and God; This thing of the earth, by your breath given birth; This magnified, glorified clod! I speculate, analyze, ponder; The world and its wonders I scan; But nature and God, and spirit and clod Merge into this being called — Man. 10 JUe are two travelers on a narrow way; You're from the East, and I am from the West, And we have met, and you salute and say: "Friend, travel on with me, my way is best." What matters it the way our footsteps trend? i question net the way your feet have trod; Our aims are one, and at the journey's end You'll meet your Allah, whom I call my God. And if Mohammed show the way for you Then I'll rejoice that He has lived and died; I'll learn from him — My friend, with vision true Come see my Light — the lowly Crucified. There is One Father, call Him what you will. We warp our souls with narrow, useless creeds; He but requires that we His way fulfill; That way is truth, in thought, in word, in deed. 11 g 3^aitl} iai OTHER Nature herself is my teacher; I hear the most wonderful things; At times when I sit in the silence I think i can hear angels' wings. I think of the life of the Master, As He taught on the hills and the sea, With the earth itself for His altar, And the sky for a blue canopy. His teachings were simple and tender; When He spoke of our Father above It seemed to those far away people Just a beautiful message of love. It's enough just to know that God loves me; I pray to be gentle and mild With a charity broad in its compass, And the simple, sweet faith of a child. When we get to the top of heav'ns mountain, And view^ the rough way we have trod, We shall meet there, so what does it matter, Which pathway we find to our God? 12 Jffragrattr^ 41 HELD a rosebud in my hand today, Thinking how dear life was; how sweet and fair: A message came which swept my joy aw^ay, Crushed was the lovely rosebud lying there. But) ah ! The fragrance of that poor, crushed rose! Poor little flower that lay a wreck complete; Yet only thus its perfume could disclose — I did not dream it could be quite so sweet. I, toO) am crushed; it may be by God's hand. To make me give my fullest sweetness out. Father, I am broken. Lord, I cannot stand; That it is best for me I will not doubt. I am thy rose. Thou hast selected me To teach a lesson, and thy way fulfill. If only thus thy lesson learned may be, O, blessed Gardener, crush me if you v/ill! 13 (HtnhB (ElME-WORN and useless are the faiths of creed. What have they done? But view the world today; Men hating men, and lust and selfish greed Struggling in hearts where love should hold its sway. We've turned from God. He lets us have our way, And we have learned how hard that way has been, For just as sure as night must follow^ day We reap in pain w^hat we have sown in sin. I would look deep and learn the reason why. Would you learn with me? Well, here is my hand. We'll learn together, humbly, you and I — Ask God to show^ and make us understand. We will go back to simple things — to love; We will learn much but keep an even mind; We will seek wisdom from the realms above, Our only creed — Be true, be just, be kind. 14 Karma ^O, Wise Astrologer, you've laid my future out! I must admit that you have wondrous skill; That much you say will come, I do not doubt, No matter what I do, or w^hat I will. I do believe that I have lived before. Perhaps in ages past, in foreign clime, And what I did in those dead days of yore Is on God's record, in His book of time. And I believe that record's in the stars. They show the karma which I must fulfill. All selfish actions, and all sin that mars, I must transmute; it is th'eternal will. Oh, yes. These stars point out what I must do To make my life a finely balanced whole, Astrologer, perhaps 'twas given to you To show and help the progress of my soul. 15 "Stjrr? 10 a ^iht in tlj? AffatrB of Mm" ^ACH day there is a tide; the mighty moon Waxes and wanes, and guides the moving sea. Flood tides come often; one is coming soon, And it may bear you to your destiny. Too late? Ah, me! As long as you have breath. Work on! Your God has said that it should be. He sets no limits, and the gates of death Are but the entrance to eternity! 16 Eift Paafiittg 31 LOWERS on the door. A soul has taken flight, Broken the fetters, freed from house of clay. Soul, may God speed you on to realms of light; Though we are lone wre would not bid you stay. No more we drape the door in hues of gloom. Why should we mock, if we believe and see That poor discarded body in the tomb Has served its purpose, and the soul is free? *Twas just a while, a little while ago, The soul was passing from the things of earth. We watched the struggle and were glad we knew *Twas but the passing to a higher birth. You are promoted, and we should be glad That you've gone on and reached the higher sphere; If there are heartaches, if we must be sad — 'Tis for ourselves, that we must linger here. 17 Sttj^ Snail **^ WILL have naught of you," to Love I said. "Henceforth I swear that I will Love abjure." Love answered as he sadly shook his head, "I go, if thus your peace you may secure." Love is a twin, w^hose name is Joy and Pain; I found a peace, but, oh, the loneliness! "Come back, come back, I pray thee, Love, again. My life is blank, my days but emptiness. "I'll pay; I'll suffer pain if it must be. Only come back to me; but hear my call!" Love heard my voice and he returned to me, And now I know that Love is all-in-all. 18 UJg Pmikg^ £ gives me friendship. He must never know That I love him. I'll hide it, oh so deep Down in my heart where God alone may know; But, in the silent hours, I weep — I w^eep. Others may have his love, his tenderness; My heart w^iii tell me when his faith grows dim, And I shall ask my God to guide and bless. He will not know — but I shall pray for him. 19 Iht 5F?0t ^QU have rejoiced with me when life wa» glad, And you have wept with me when life was sad. Could I ask more? You say I must not jest. Yes, there remains one thing to make a per- fect test. Should fortune leave you very far behind. But smile on me and give me of her best, Would you rejoice — or think fate was un- kind. And envy me? That is the test, my friend; thai is the test. 20 M^ irbt S AM your debtor always, friend of mine. You gave the richest gift a life can give; Something so great, so infinitely fine My debt grows greater with the years I live. My life was dark; there wais no gleam of light Until you came; but now with joy I see My God within — you cleared my clouded sight, You gave me hope, and then believed in me. I must be true, and worthy of that trust, if I should fail, your faith would fail you, too. I'll measure up, for friendship's sake I must, i shall repay the debt I owe to you. 21 QUfilJirrn ©0^0 Jl PROMISED a doll to my dear baby girl. 1 pictured a dolly most fair, With exquisite features, and teeth of pure pearl; Moving eyes, walking limbs — and real hair! We entered a shop, and the dear little niaid Clasped a cheap, tawdry doll to her breast. To make the exchange I was really afraid, Though I wanted to give her the best. I took it away, and the tears filled her eyes Till I gave her the one I had planned; Then the dear little face glowed in joyous surprise That a dolly existed "so grand!" Oh, baby! I, too, am a child in God's sight, I choose the Brst things that I see; I struggle to keep them, I do not know^, quite, Why my Father should take them from me. When I shall look back through the wisdom of years, When my faith is age-old and sublime, s Perhaps I shall see through a rainbow of tears That my Father planned best all the time. 22 3lu0t Alf^ain f^ ACK in the tender days of long ago I used to wander with my Father Dear, My hand in his; and, oh, he loved me so I feared no ill. There was no harm to fear. One day we wandered far, and lost our way; Well I remember what his dear voice said: "Child, I will find the path, and you must stay, I shall be just a little way ahead." I waited for him very patiently; I knew no fear, I was so confident He'd only gone to clear the way for me — He would return the very way he went. When he came back he found a tired child; He took me up and bore me on his breast; He spoke to me, his voice was soft and mild: "Dear little one, we're going home to rest." 23 Father, the years have borne you in their flight To God's own land. They say that you are "dead;" I know you're searching for the Path of Light. You've only gone a little way ahead. You'll come for me. Ah, very well I know. My feet are weary; heavy is my load. I'm waiting here; I know you love me so You'll come hack for me when you've found the Road. 24 irrtttttfi JS^aliji^b ^ USED to day-dream all alone, And build my castles in the air. The years have passed, and I am grown, And still I'm building castles fair. Those childhood dreams were very sweet; I builded better than I knew. I smile at times. You see I meet These little day-dreams all come true. There is a difference now, you see; I used to hope, but now I know That every dream sent out from me. Comes back again. God makes it so. 25 OP, FATHER! We poor mortals often won- der Why you have veiled the future from our sight. We speculate, vre analyze, -we ponder. We grope and say: "Creator, send us light." Dear God, perhaps 'tis well that much is hid- den. If we could know That Land's exquisite bliss We would leave Earth and seek That Land unbidden. 'Twould make our hearts dissatisfied with this. At times when some most precious one is leaving, God sees our grief and leaves the door ajar. He knows our hearts are purer in their griev- ing; We catch a glimpse of wondrous things afar. Then we go on, and for a little season Life is all changed; for higher things we yearn. "Why are we left?" we say. "God, show the reason." Here is the lesson that our hearts must learn: This is our learning place. It was intended By our Great Teacher, Who doth wisely rule. And when our course in earth-life shall be ended He will promote us to His higher school. 26 OU have finished your task and I thank yow, dear; Now, leave me alone with my Dead; I must commune with a presence here, That hovers over the flow^er-decked bier, Ere that presence from earth has sped. You look so placid, O, Dead most dear, As. I stand here by your side; But you do not respond to one burning tear. And you do not reply to the words you hear, Though part of me, too, has died. I look in your face, dear Dead of mine, And I fondle the lifeless clay. But a Magic Sculptor has changed its line, And an hour ago seems aeons of time, And thousands of miles away. Oh! What is this wonderful mystery? V/hat is this thing called Death? But an hour ago you spoke to me. Dear Dead of mine; but it cannot be That your love has gone with your breath. And then such a revelation came To the innermost soul of me! I saw no thing, and I heard no name; *Twas a holy hour, ah, you must not blame If I keep the mystery. 27 As our Saviour prayed in the long ago Ere He died on Calvary, The angels came, for He loved them so; But what they said Mre shall never know, In that sad Gethsemane. It is something hidden from mortal view, But perhaps in your hour of need This wonderful thing will come to you, And your innermost soul will feel it, too; And your heart will rejoice indeed. I stepped from the room and I closed the door. And I fell on my knees to pray. I can never doubt as I did before. And I'll never fear as in days of yore. For a Peace has come to stay. This much I can say from the lesson learned At the bier of one who died — Whatever way his feet were turned. No matter how much his heart has yearned, He w^as fully satisfied. 28 3In childhood days, when winter evenings came, We used to watch the embers burning low, And tell "ghost stories" — and the very name Would chill my blood. I used to fear them so. I didn't think there really were such things. And if there were, they had no right to be. I thought they prowled around, and shook their wings To scare bad folks; and good ones, too, may- be! When ! walked out at night, I'd look around; My heart would beat so fast, and seem to say "Scared cat! Just see those shadows on the ground ! They'll turn to ghosts before you get away!" Poor little child! I've left you far behind, Back on the street of Long-and-Long Ago; You did not think your fearfulness unkind, God will not blame, because you did not know. 29 Long is the road my weary feet have turned, But on my journey God has wisdom sent; My eyes are clear. This have I lived to learn: Ghosts are most real, but, oh, so different. Ghosts are our friends gone to the higher school. And they would teach of hope, and faith, and love; Of lovely lands where God alone doth rule, They link our lives to other worlds above. 30 JfatrQlanJi ^N childhood's days I lived in fairyland. My friend, I wonder if you've lived there, too? For if you did, then you will understand The ecstasy, the wondrous joy I knew^. And then the grief when disillusion came. Life changed; I saw its weariness, its flaws. For many years it never seemed the same; Gone were the fairies, and my Santa Claus. I lost my faith in many other things. Dark was the way, and rough the path I trod; My faith had vanished w^ith the fairies' wings. At times I lost, at times I groped for God. and then there came a glorious thing to me; God rent the veil and cleared my darkened sight. He said, "The day has come for you to see." I heard, I looked, and I beheld the light. 31 I learned that lovely being hovers near, But we, ourselves, obstruct the spirit's view; At times we see their forms, their voices hear, My childhood's fairyland is grandly true. I live again. Now that I see and know, My path is joy, my broken spirit healed; i thank my God, whose love has made it so. Joy, joy eternal, has His love revealed. <2 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 799 445 1 • 4328 Alabama Street San Diego, California

10001368

In love's garden, and other verses

Anderson, Ida Frances

inlovesgardenoth00ande_djvu.txt

3 so I fZj-;!^- y .^ ■:mM% 3n l^ofae'si #arben anir (©tfier IJers^e^ 3t>a Jf rante£{ i^n&erfiton Class ?"6 3 5 RnnV ,A/2^SIC Copyright ]»]?. COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. y^ IN LOVE'S GARDEN AND OTHER VERSES THIS IS THE AUTHOR'S AUTOGRAPHED EDITION In Love's Garden And Other Verses Ida Frances Anderson ARROYO GUILD PRESS LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 1 V^ Copyright, 1909, by IDA FRANCES ANDERSON Pasadena, California !CI.A253401 \ CONTENTS Introduction 9 The Heart and Its Messag^e 15 IN liOVE'S GARDEN liove's Garden 10 liove's Conquest 2D Liove's Spirit-Image 21 liove's Pride 22 liove's Messagre 23 -f— liove's Kiss 24 -^ — liove's Dream 25 .^^^. liove's Trembling; Joy 26 liove's Day. . 27 Iiove's Flowers 28 liOve Unfathered 29 liove's Ashes 30 liove's Refusal 32 liove's Waiting 33 liOve's Cost 34 Iiove's Pranks 35 Love's Discovery 37 liOve's Daivn 38 liOve's Despair 4D liOve's Hope 40 liOve's Unheeded liangruagre 41 liOve's Phantom Sorroiv 41 I.O ve's Joy 42 liOve's Expectation 43 liOve's Eyes 44 liOve's Remembrance 45 liOve's Measure 46 Iiove's Presence 47 liOve's lionging . ; 48 liOve's Way 49 liOve's Choice 51 liO ve's Pear 54 liOve's Late Coming; 55 iiove's Desperation 56 OTHER VERSES The Nearing Milestone 59 Sometime Pictures 64 Deatli's Transformatioii 65 Tlie Two Temples 65 The Idealist. . 66 Voiceless Humanity 67 The Death 68 -4«*.-^The Vision 70 The New Day 71 Liittle Brown Toadstools 73 Achieve 74 The Rain 75 The Captive Bird 76 Outward Bound 77 The Century Plant 78 Lost Vision 79 Beauty 80 The Poet's Child 81 The Mocking Bird and the Cricket .. . 83 Dream 85 The Coming Event 87 Thine Armor 88 A Passing Breeze 89 Gratitude 90 The Realms of Spirit 91 The InTvard Urge 92 ^^.^»^ Man's God-Like Gift 93 \.^. "'One Venture. 94 INTRODUCTION By George Wharton James OR many years I have believed and taught that California was destined to become the radiating center of the artis- tic, literary and inspirational powers of the world. I have contended that the freedom of the V/est was one of the essential conditions for the highest and best development. The soul of man must have absolutely free course to ex- press itself, regardless of rules, conventions and restrictions. The soul only is of God — godlike; — rules, restrictions, conventions, are inventions of man, and while they often appear good, they also often do much harm. In this age of conventionality and fear to do anything different from the accepted stand- ard, it is a delight and a gratification to me to meet with work that shows power and free- dom, and a complete ignoring of all conven- tional rules. In her verses Miss Anderson has cared for neither rhyme nor rythm. She has had something to say, however, that was worth the saying, and that is well worth the world's hearing. But the reader who expects to find ordinary poems, set to the music of jingling rhymes, will lay the book down, disappointed. In form these verses are purely individualistic, — ^more so even than Walt Whitman's. Yet there is a spontaneity to them, and a rythmic quality that recalls the improvisations of the old Saxon skalds, or the singers of the Sagas, a primitive power of utterance that is both tuneful and dignified. Anything in our com- plex civilization that denotes a return to the simple, the primitive, the genuine, the un- affected; — anything that is absolutely free from the taint of the conventional, is espe- cially welcome to me, because of what I be- lieve to be its leavening influence in the world. We are all the while saying what the world ex- pects us to say, in the words the world has chosen we shall say our thoughts in, run into certain set moulds. Here comes a young woman, who, without blare of trumpets, or 10 shriek of defiance, calmly, quietly, and se- renely, because thoroughly conscious of her God-given right, says exactly what she feels in exactly her own way. Not one word too many or one too few, in order to conform to the rules of rhyme and meter. Indeed, as one has already said of her verse : "It is as if a woman of mature years, with exalted conceptions of life, her youthful ideals retained in all their sweet, full freshness, has expressed her inmost thoughts with remarkable clarity and precision, yet with the quiet, powerful and fearless lan- guage of a precocious child." I have prevailed upon Miss Anderson to allow me to use as her introduction a few verses, entitled "The Heart," which she brought to me as her own spontaneous expla- nation of the "why" of the apparent formless- ness of her verse, and her refusal to obey the conventions of prosody. It is worthy a careful perusal and long consideration. Anyhow, for what they are these pages are now given to the public. Their author has 11 INTRODUCTION already expressed in *'Man*s God-like Gift," her calm acquiescence and acceptance of "the worst man may do." So with both pleasure and fearlessness I now commend them to ail who value a free, spontaneous, natural expres- sion of the inner feelings and thoughts of a singularly pure, clear, transparent soul. GEORGE WHARTON JAMES. Pasadena, October 1, 1909. 12 THE HEART AND ITS MESSAGE '£m^ I ^^l,<^Ks9|0W can we measure the heart, \^^^ By line or rhyme? ]ff JSSHI ^^^ rythmic beats not set to Of man's device ; Now fast, now slow, they move; Now stop for pause: E*en as the rythm of the wave That pulses free, unmeasured, Careless now to lose a beat. Careless now to measure full, But following true its own great law. O heart, shouldst thou be less? Hast thou no great law of thine own? Must the exact mind Measure thy beats by foot and line And cast thee in a mould of rhyme, — Thou, untamed and free? Not so! Yet many are the man-made rules. To twist thee out of shape. So that we know thee not. When thou art done thy voice. Rule would add another sound 15 mi^ir.^mf^^!%^^m m.cfjt^p^if^^mi^. AND ITS MESSAGE To fill the place prescribed. When thou wouldst pour another note To ease thy burdened self, "Stop!'' she cries, "It is enough, the line is full!" And when thou wouldst cry this, "Cry that,'' she says, "To make these sounds the same There must be two or more All dressed alike." O heart, full heart, How canst express thyself, — Thou loved offspring of the muse. Forever wild and free, That no man holds To tame and harness thee. But thou escapst, heaven-helped. And leavst thy shadow in the place? Glad am I thou of heaven art, And rules prescribed by man, If thou must brook. Thyself thou drawest hence, And leavst dead words in thine untenanted home. 16 IN LOVES GARDEN AND OTHER VERSES LOVE'S GARDEN N this garden Love's fair flowers Bloom apace. As they spring forth from the heart, Their root and chief resource. Fadeless flowers, Bom of hours In Love's life. Walk you in this garden. Your own garden. Live these hours. See these flowers Face to face; Your own hours, Your own flowers. 19 m/s^^.^m2f^^s h^^mm^>^m^f^^f^^^m IN LOVE'S GARDEN m LOVE'S CONQUEST Love came soft When sleep was on, And stole a look, And left a kiss On his closed eyelids. Then softly did she leave, As softly as she came. The kiss did sink into those orbs of blue, And wrought a vision there. Again Love came, And stole a look. And left a kiss On his dew'd lips. And this was wrought into a song. Yet once again came Love, And pressed her lips upon his heart. And there was wrought upon that heart Her goddess face. All full of tenderness and grace. And thus did love by stealth Woo and win him for herself. 20 LOVE'S SPIRIT-IMAGE Round about me lurks his spirit, Playing hide and seek 'Mongst the rifts of thought. Now I pause, and there his image. Back to work, — It sinks in darkness. There again! the very moment I lose hold the threads of tension. Hovering round in wondrous nearness. Pressing, drawing, and caressing. Yet, O darling lover mine. When I reach my hands to hold thee Close unto my heart, Nothingness I clasp unto me! Pained and shamed and all pride-riven. Foolish I, to let my eager senses Think to press thee. Spirit-lover, Close against this red-blood heart That may never, never fold thee. 21 i^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ I N LOVE 'S GARDEN LOVE'S PRIDE Will you go? Then go! I hold you not. Can you spare no love? 'Tis well. I would have it not! But my heart, my heart shall weep. What my lips deign not to ask, O proud spirit! 22 LOVE'S MESSAGE Would I send the impress of Love To lips I ne'er have touched? Would I fold in close embrace The heart that might recoil? Ah, yes — and more! [ For Love cannot withhold its love. It can but cast it forth, Though fruitless still it fall. But do the lips refuse? And does the heart recoil? Ah, no, not so, in this sweet dream, Not dreamed in sleep. But fancy-woven in the heart. 23 \j LOVE'S KISS The first kiss — ^when and where? All blessing on that time, When heaven shall descend And take the hour, To have its will, to have its way. No eye may look, — ^but angel-eyes! No form draw near, — but angel-forms ! To bless that sacred hour, When soul meets soul At the gateway of the lips. 24 y ^~ AND OTHER VERSES P V ^ LOVE'S DREAM And now, sweet sleep That wrests our troubles from us For so brief time, Fold me in thine arms. If not for all — sweet cruel sleep, Then for a space. The dawn! how it gilds the hills. How it floods the sky, How it makes new a world — Young and fresh and beautiful. From the sable night and the land of dreams. Love — tender child of Dawn, Roseate, fair and sweet, — That makes new a life From a faded day. I wake, and O the joy! Come I not forth Fresh from the touch of his circling arms, Radiant with light from his tender eyes, And drawn by that smile As the tide by the moon is drawn? 23 m^'^^^^M^s^^mM^^smsMssMim GARDEN r ^ '^ ^^^^^'^ ^^ m '^ mm^^'g^m This all in dream — in the dawn's first glow, At the birds' first note. Sweet dream ! faint shadow of the real. But, ah, the real — how can I know, If yet the real Be sweeter than the dream? LOVE'S TREMBLING JOY O thou day-star, thou night-star, Thou blessed lamp of life! O if I should lose thee — God cleave the dark And reach a hand! 26 LOVE'S DAY That sweet, sweet day; — Let it live again in mind. Here lie I, where he lay, Pressing this friendly grass. And gazing on that sky. Methinks this cold earth pulsates With a warmth of him. Whose form is now replaced by mine. I mingle in his being thus, And drink the sweets he drank, Of air and sky and sound. On that delightful mom. Now so changed, But yet the same. 27 ^^/^^^^^^^g^ ^^g^ ^g^-^?^^ ^ LOVE'S FLOWERS His spirit hovers round me ; — A circling zone of light: I breathe his being, And our souls spring each to each. These fair new blossoms I put forth Are not mine — ^all; But mine and his — sweet flowers, Born of our souls in Love's pure garden. 28 LOVE UNGATHERED The last rose on the tree Has shed its petals at my feet. The autumn winds have blown a blast, And summer's gone. How many a one has plucked his rose. And worn it on his heart: While mine was left to bloom and die, Its sweets ungathered. Now Death shall be my rose, And yield me perfume sweet. I'll have no fear I'll miss my flower. For Death blooms in the winter. 29 LOVERS ASHES Heap high the pile! Make bright the flame! What youth's rose colors In that flame! What tears, what sighs, What old time merriment! What memories tender, Clothed in youthful prattle, — Youthful ravings. Rainbow colored, in that flame — Incense spreading in that flame — Cold and gray in that blue smoke. But from the heap Snatch now that sheet. O haste! for there is yet another. Perishing with the rest. These would I keep. For they are sweet to me; Not sweet for love that was. But sweet for pain that was. What pitiful longings unfulfilled. What clinging, tender hopes, 30 Which I, the strong, The now matured, The tempered in the fire, Hold out before me To witness fade and die Yet once again. These are their courses, Fair, ah fair ! Lay them tenderly away, my heart. Deep in thy bosom! These fair, fair courses Of a youthful love. 31 IN LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S REFUSAL You think me chary of my kisses! I cannot tell you how My kiss is born of love! To press your lips in fond embrace Is Heaven's eternal seal! To you, 'tis but a pretty fancy — A fleeting golden moment. You care not to remember. Or if, perchance, you do remember, 'Tis but a passing thought of pleasure. Such knowledge chills The tendrils that would cling, And makes me hold from you E'en that I fain would give! 32 AND OTHER VERSES LOVE'S WAITING To wait! to wait! What fate! what fate! How drag the hours; How sink the powers: A god might sigh. Why chide my cry? To wait, to wait, What fate, what fate! The sweet hopes die As days go by; The eyes in tears, The heart in fears; To wait, to wait, What fate, what fate ! Then haste, haste on, Thou look'd for one! Desire of soul and heart, So long we part. Why wait, why wait? Sad fate, sad fate For me, for thee 33 IN LOVERS GARDEN All time to be! And so I wait, Though late, though late; And how I pray For thee this day! LOVE'S COST Why ever looked I on that face, Whose pure, sweet soul. Seen from those eyes, Heard from those lips. And felt through that majestic presence, Shall haunt me evermore? What god or demon willed it so: To give love birth, Then slip pain in its stead. And add immortal life? Ah! pain unending: For one look on love How dear a cost! 34 LOVE'S PRANKS List! Hark! Stop the work! Love is at the door, Low and light the tap. If I ope the door, Will he enter now, Or but look and listen as before. With one foot upon the threshold; Till the heart, all o'erwrought, I^eaves her work unfinished. Gathering dust. While she stands forlorn. Sighing, hoping, and entreating Love To enter and possess? But Love does not enter; But Love will not enter. To thy work, O heart deceived — O heart enchanted. Love's but stealing of thy sweets. As the thieving bee Pausing on the flower: He to other flowers will go 35 IN LOVE'S GARDEN Soon enough, soon enough! 'Tis the honey that he wants, Not the flower! But, O troubled watcher, Close not tight thy door; Yield some sweets to Love, While he lingers, while he stays. If he will not enter, If he will not earnest be, — Come to dwell with thee, Treat him as he treats; But yield not thy heart! That too sacred, too divine For Love's pastime! Keep that for a worthy hour. 36 LOVE'S DISCOVERY I found the home of my beloved, All hid in vines and flowers, All quiet in the moonlight. 'Twas e'en a temple, where my heart Bowed from afar in love and longing — A temple where my feet might never enter. O pain delicious! To worship at Love's shrine, But ne'er that love possess. O heaven found: O heaven lost! O joy of joys! O pain of pains! 37 IN LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S DAWN 'Twas in Love's dawn — the tender waking,- Love, all rose-colored, stole upon me. And stood, a smiling goddess, there. I kissed her garment's hem. Each thing she touched. Each thing she looked upon. Was wrought into an altar. Where my heart was wont to worship. All the world was then a temple For Love's sake! A sweet fane to linger in At night, at mom. And in each vagrant hour. Caught napping by the way. And then one only song I sang, As Time sweet wings did take: SONG All the world's a gala day, And the heart is out a-Maying; Sweet, sweet hours. Gathering flowers For to lay at fair Love's feet. 38 I When was ever life so rich, / When was ever earth so sweet, As these hours Gathering flowers For to lay at fair Love's feet? 39 ^^^/g3^^^*^^^g^?5^^«te^-^?«3^^!^^^ 1 IN LOVE'S GARDEN % >i£Km^^m^^s^^'i!^Mmm0^mk^'kmm LOVE'S DESPAIR I kiss you again, again, sweet, In dreams, in waking dreams, Be you alive, or be you dead. You know it not, sweet! Your soul is not of my soul, And hence no bridge can ever span The gulf that lies betwixt us. Whereon your soul might cross to mine, And feel that kiss, and know that love That burns for naught, for naught, sweet ! LOVE'S HOPE We dwell in different worlds, sweet: You cannot come to me. But when your soul is born Into the place I am, Then joy of joys, and light of light, You will be mine; And all the worlds will then rejoice At joy so great! 40 A W AND OTHER VERSES LOVE'S UNHEEDED LANGUAGE "I love you, I love you !" The heart o'er running speaks: "I love you, I love you!" The tell-tale eyes and cheeks repeat. "I love you, I love you!" The willing hands, and ready feet. And thoughtful mind in chorus join. "You see it not? You feel it not?" O blessed dullard you! LOVE'S PHANTOM SORROW Dost think I did not love thee? O that these tears might turn to flowers, These sighs breathe forth the breath of spring. And I might sink in this great sorrow, As on a bed of roses Suffused with sweetness. Though beset with thorns! 41 'mi^^m^s^^^mrE^m^^^i^iim LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S JOY "He loves me, he loves me!" The joyous heart outbursts. "He loves me, he loves me!" A thousand voices echo back From sky and sea, From wood and field; "He loves me, he loves me!" From bird and brook, From home and street; "He loves me, he loves me!" Until no sound that heart can hear From any voice in earth or sky, But — "He loves me, he loves me!" 42 LOVE'S EXPECTATION He is coming to me, my own! Night breaketh day by this much nearer: Day breaketh night by that much nearer: so near! 1 almost feel the clasp of his hand, I almost breathe the breath of his breath, As my thoughts rush out to meet him. O queen that I am. Though I see no crown. My throne here already And he beside me! 43 ^^i^^.^^m2^^^m^.^^m^m^^ ^ IN LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S EYES Two eyes I see in the mists of life; Two eyes I feel — two blue, blue eyes; Two eyes that ruleth me — Compel my thoughts to fly to thee, heart of mine, far, far estranged ! 1 know not when, I know not how. Thy fortunes, too, I know not of. Nor where thou art, — All hid from me, all veiled in dark: But eyes of blue, thou eyes of blue, From out this dark Thou lookest straight at me. And movest my doubting heart To thoughts of my lost love. Lest I forget, unconscious to myself. O eyes of blue, be ever such a light. To light me to thee, heart of mine! That my whole life May flow to thee. In thought born of this light. And draw thee back to me. LOVE'S REMEMBRANCE For thee I shall plant a rose! And wear it in my hair, Or breathe its fragrance from my bodice, Or look into its purest purity From a vase of Attic mold, While I muse, or while I work. In morning hours. Fresh from the garden cut. With dew upon its lips; Or in the evening, With the lingering blush of sunset on its cheeks. So shall it be — this rose. In place of thy sweet presence Loved and lost! And this shall be our secret! 45 IN LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S MEASURE My love no measure knew Until by chance, one day, My thoughts dwelt on a jeweled piece Hung round the neck of my beloved, That boded rivalry. It thrust my heart — a poinard sharp ! And dead in faint it fell. In vain all efforts made To start the springs of life. For still my heart lies prone, Lost in unconsciousness. 46 LOVERS PRESENCE His presence fills this place As incense sweet. This street he walked! That scene he looked upon! Here he labored, here aspired, Here tasted joy and pain. There, on that quiet hill, The grave of one he loved, Green by his hand And hallowed by his tears ; At the turning of this lane, Safe lodged his heart In the resting place of home; And round that home Twine memories dewed with joy And memories wet with tears : Fond faces looked on him, Whose love his eyes looked back; Words, gentle, tender, low. Were spoken from loved lips. 47 ^^ti/g^.^^^ssgf^?g^^^s^ga^^ IN LOVE'S GARDEN Now, all these gone, save but these shells Of house, and tree, and hedge, and road. And he, too, gone far from these scenes! Ah, gone? How false that word! How art thou gone? I see thee everywhere I turn. In street, in shop; by wood, and stream I feel thy presence always near, O heart most dear, most dear! LOVE'S LONGING Would I could impart my soul Bare of all words to you: — Words that confuse, impede The passage of the thought between. But could you then divine The thought I'd have you share? You! whom words have given no hint Of the soul-play underneath? 48 LOVE'S WAY If I do not much mistake, Love chooses a perilous way: In truth, she holds out all those charms For which my heart has longed: But with those long-sought joys Are mingled much of ominous mien, The which, would trouble me, Persuade my discreet mind, And judgment true, From taking Love for life; But Love so confidant, so pressing, So sweet, so all entrancing, says '*Fear not; If thou wilt go with me, I will transform these all So thou wilt see them not. But only me." Then hesitate not, timid heart. To follow Love's request; There wait thee all thy hopes If thou but give a trustful hand: 49 m^^^r.^m'i^mJjm^^^^^y^^^^^F'^^)^ ^ IN LOVE'S GAR DEN No trial thou canst not withstand, No sorrow sink beneath, No labor yet too hard for thee When thou in Love dost rest; For she will hold thee, she will fold thee, In her tender arms of strength. Invulnerable to things, and to thyself! 50 1 AND OTHER VERSES LOVE'S CHOICE Radiant with the glow of the west upon my face, Fresh with the scent of poesy upon my lips, Sad with the world-cares on my heart. The pencil moves my thoughts to light. From their dark recess in the mind: My soul confused by light and shadow, Rended by this sweet and sadness. Breaks forth in broken song. Music soft, help me to sing The song that lieth on my heart, To gather up its scattered chords In one full song of cheer, A fitting tribute to my Love. SONG My Love shall be a princess With eyes of Heaven's blue. And cheeks the tint of a tender west; With lips made fresh by rosy spring That wells from her young heart; Her hair of silken spider threads, 51 ^^^^.i^'=^^^^skm^m^yn^^^»F>>.^^\^ , IN LOVE'S GARDEN Kissed by the lips of light, And twined in many a wandering curl. Her form, that grace and sweetness mixed, The image of the queen to be; A voice 'twould vie with Orpheus', To call the trees and flowers ; And hands and feet the thrice delight. And thrice despair of artist eyes: All these shall dress my princess Fit for her princely Lord. Then from within a voice of doubt; — "But will she have a soul more fair Than one who loves thee well, Whose face is plain, Whose form no goddess fair might choose, But of that soul, — ^what words? Has it no eyes of Heaven's blue, And cheeks of evening sky : No lips made fresh by rosy spring, No gold spun hair to nestle in — Thine eyes, and cheeks, and hungering lips? No form of queenly grace, And voice of bird and brook; 52 No hands and feet the envy of A wandering spirit dropped to earth?" Wait, wavering heart, be quiet now: Love I the soul more, or the body? Then let me choose. 53 mi^'^^r^<''^S^^^^iMaim^^^^:bf''^=>,^^)^A IN LOVE'S GARDEN i >^^^'^:immsf^^ms^^^sm:£m^^'^m:^ LOVE'S FEAR O Love, have I lost your hold? Is it dark that I cannot see you? Am I dead that I cannot feel you? Are you there, Love? Press my hand for the answer, Touch my lips for a sign, So I shall know I have not lost you ! O to lose you would be death! Then truest, truest Love, Closer press my hand. Lay your lips now on my heart. So its beats shall feel Your warm kiss. — Now, I know, Love, you are there! 54 LOVERS LATE COMING Can I hope at the gates of sunset To gather a flower of dawn — Love, pride of the garden And queen of all? Can I hope to gather Love's fruit, Apples of Life, Whose taste will open the eyes of the taster To knowledge of joy? My own I claim, — The fruit that had no blossom; The luscious vintage of the noon, And of the western sun. Fruit of day without a dawn, Aurora's beauteous child of night. Twilight-countenanced, And draped in clouds of gold. And sunset glory. O voice within, O voice without. Raise not in accent 'gainst this claim, — My soul's true heritage. 55 IN LOVE'S GARDEN LOVE'S DESPERATION Why at this fearful cost? — These torturous uncertainties ! These heart aches, heart breaks ! Strivings to the death! Is there so much of worth in this one? Are there not others full as fair? For others there be other, But there is none for me, None other in the cycling worlds — My soul's true mate! 56 OTHER VERSES THE NEARING MILESTONE YOUTH SHALL weep that day Upon the neck of Youth, Who now has turned to view herself, And for the first time hides her face. For lo ! the roses withered and the color fled, She hastens from the circle gay Of nimble feet, and song and dance. To seek a spot apart To weep alone. She cannot find a place Among that busy throng, Who long have cast their flowers away, And found a sweeter recompense In gratitude won from a suffering world. To whom they minister, — For she has all this while Been busy with her roses. 59 m^^jgir^^mPi^iQ.mji^^%.^^^^)^^F^>^ IN LOVE'S GARDEN m %^^^^^gf?^m'i;3m^^'ssmm^^'f^^';m^ She cannot join the crowd That sit, serene and well content, Around their cheerful hearths, Pressing their withered flowers, And sighing, "True they die, But others here more sweet. Let's bless the gods of Time Who steal the sweet but leave the sweeter,' - For still upon her, cling The robes of maidenhood. She cannot join that shining band That say: "Lo! Youth, how empty, how deceived, These laurels better far Than all the roses Youth has worn,"— For in her hand she holds no crown. Alas ! where must she go, — This lorn, unhappy Youth? Her once spring-garments faded; She has no home in all the earth. Ah! she must die! unloved, unsung! A garland, stranger, for her bier ! A tear, O world, for her lone grave! 60 LOVE I shall weep that day, Upon the neck of Love; — That I have long pursued In pain and torture, Held by fascination of her charms. As one who chases rainbows. I shall weep because we part, For I have called her from afar. To stay her steps that may be weary, From fleeing long and hard: "Return, thou oft pursued. Thou longed for, yearned for, all in vain; Fear not! I will not harm thee; I will no more pursue; Come, give thy hand In sad farewell. But let me weep upon thy neck, In one long fond embrace : These tears have e'en a balm To sooth this heart that breaks. But, ah, can break no more. Immune forever from thy charms." 61 ^ ^^^^^^^^^^ggf^gg^^^^^^gig^^ Thus shall I weep upon thy neck, On that sad day, O loved, O lost! O dearest loss of all — On that sad day. So long to come, so feared. But all so quickly gone. For other days of toil and pain. And ah, perchance of joy, — A joy made new. Of different mien, Unseen, unknown, unborn. To that sad day. LIFE And I shall weep that day. Upon the neck of Life, — So poor, so all in rags. That started on the years With gold in hand — Those talents lent to all. That still lie in the hand, But small increased. 62 O Life, what hast thou done With all these years. That thou in rags Must still be clad. When costly garments should attire thee, And wealth lie in thy lap? O Life, we shall not part: Would that these tears Might waken thy dry heart. To put forth verdure fresh; That lo ! the years to come Might reap from this late spring A glorious harvest yet. O Life, let's look for this ! We two must still keep on. When these have gone their way. We cannot part. One cannot die without the other. And as I weep upon thy neck. On that sad day. My fondest wish, these acrid tears Give force to fill the unborn yecirs. Full to the brim. With winter's fruit. 63 ^ ^^V ^ W^^^C^ ^g^S^ Sf^^^^r rg^^^^ IN LOVERS GARDEN "SOMETIME" PICTURES These "sometime" pictures that come and go When the eyes are closed, And the mind is still, Ere the dream-land folds have closed it in. Such mountains, and skies, and plains. That break into landscapes fair, And come and go on the closed lids, In quick panoramic view! Such pictures, no artist ever paints; Such pictures, no poet ever dreams; Such pictures, no eyes have seen awake ! But enough — you know not what I mean, If you have never seen These pictures come and go. When your eyes were closed. And your mind lay quiet — though awake. On the border-land of dream. 64 DEATH'S TRANSFORMATION O blessed is that Death, That brings us closer yet than Life, As the years slip by ! That cuts all branches from the tree, But the limbs of Love, Until the tree at last Is left of Love entire. THE TWO TEMPLES At the parting of this road, Two temples stand: Stem duty points to one. But my heart is with the other. I go where duty points. Still my heart is with the other. O loved hills, and trees, and skies! sacred house of prayer ! 1 thank, thee. Father, for these both, For both are Thine. 65 IN LOVE'S GARDEN THE IDEALIST Past twelve ! past twelve ! The hands set towards the West, And day declines. What work progressing? Tools about, And the workman in his shop: What pieces done? No form complete; But the Master hopes to fashion, The pieces in his hand, Perfect in Truth and Beauty, Like the model shining before him. This is his dream; And he lives in his dream, While time slips away, Till death one day Takes hold his hand. And the dream comes true. 66 VOICELESS HUMANITY Alas! the poor mute lips, That cannot speak their tale of woe : Fixed like stone, without a voice, That need must wait, Dumb servitors of Fate, For a poet to give them voice! Some tearful Shelly Bemoaning upon the shore, May pour his voice to the answering waves ; But these dumb souls, With woes as heavy. And hearts as broken. Must suffer, standing mute, Like tearless stone! 67 IN LOVERS GA RDEN THE DEATH There was a death within our house, Last night! O how you'd laugh, If I should tell; And hold your hands In mirthful, mock derision, At one so puerilely tender. To call it death, — The agonizing of a mouse Caught in a trap. Yet, none the less, 'twas death, Which we, too, once must feel, And pain that makes us thus akin To creatures such as this. So scorned, that pain to them, or death, Is but a theme for cruel sport. Ah, Love! art so perverted? Or, are there different loves. One for our kind, — A great, broad, royal feeling, — And one for creatures such as this? 68 Then Love is not so much to me: For I dream higher things of Love. I would believe that Love Is all-enfolding, all-heart-reaching, That even to the meanest creature, It bendeth down In tenderness and pity, To feel a pain, to ease a wound, E'en though that creature Were an insect. E'en though that creature Were a noisome pest. This much of pity is its right. If Love be sent of God, If Love be God. 69 THE VISION Keep clear thine eye, Keep true thine heart, Nor faint, nor cease, Nor slack thy patience: Then in a moment, When thou thinkest not, The heavens will unfold. The glory will descend. The vision will appear; And overcome with seraph joy, Thou then shall faint. Thou then shall fall. But Gratitude shall wake unconsciousness, And Love shall lift thee to thy feet. 70 THE NEW DAY As I open my eyes, Day stares at me, And Night with a beckoning hand: "I relieved thee these long hours, And took thee to my land of dream, To wander free And rest thy labored limbs. Take up the burden now again. And travel this new day, — So like that yesterday: But ah! perchance so changed, Yea, thou thyself art changed, For I have made thee all anew — Have woven with my spell, All past experience and knowledge, Into a fabric different, So that, a stranger to thyself. Thou goest forth With each new day. Knowst thou what dost await thee In this day? No signs forev/arn thee, good or ill, 71 IN LOVE'S GARDEN In that bright sun, That blazes through thy window; Or in those boisterous shouts Of roused rejoicing life. Thou livest to the direst ill, But all unconscious; As moves the unwarned train, Upon the yawning gulf. Thou stumblest unawares On richest opportunity. As on a hidden treasure. Look not for either, In this day. But take thou hold the wheels of toil, Content, if only, at my call. Thou hast persisted hard. And earned thy hours of rest. Which I have given thee, And still will give again. 'Tis heaven's portion to the just and unjust, But sweeter to the just. List! now the wheels of toil are creaking. The air resounds with labor. 72 Stay thou not longer here With Night's receding spirit, But to thy work!'* LITTLE BROWN TOADSTOOLS Sweet little brown toadstools, Huddled all in a heap ; Nine bonny caps, Just pushed from the rain-softened mould. This picture I caught. In one rapid glance. And held, as I hurried along. While the soul of their soul Went into my soul. And breathed forth a gladness there; And I felt more akin. In a new subtle way. To the great loving heart of Nature, And I fain had caressed Those nine bonny heads. That nestled so jauntily there, On the lap of their warm earth-mother. 73 10 IN LOVE'S GARDEN ACHIEVE Achieve! achieve! O soul, thine own, God on His throne is keeping it Close in his hand for thee. Reach forth and take, Nor Fate, nor Death, nor worlds, Can wrest it from thee; For He holds it. — Thine own eternal portion, Bequeathed that day He did beget thee. And waiting, waiting. E'en though for eons, For thy claim. Why then a world between, Why then the flight of ages? This day thy right possess. This day achieve, O soul, thine own! 74 THE RAIN Methought — my mind absorbed in dreams — It was a drum I heard. 'Twas but the rain, Tattooing on the window-pane. The gushing rain, pell-mell it fell Upon the roof's decline. With here a drop, and there a drip, Down from the house's eaves. The poor grass laughed. And reached its head; The flowers spread wide their cups. Ah ! laughter was heard in the farmer's heart, Its ripples touched his face. And the whole great world of Nature round. Echoed back the sound. Of the drip, drop, on the house's eaves, The drum on the window pane. 7S mmf^SM^^S^^^^^SSM^m^^MCm IN LOVE'S GARDEN ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ THE CAPTIVE BIRD A prisoner he, In that tiny cage ; His song the color Of his lonely heart — Sad chirps, low trills, His birdling sighs. Yet sometimes he forgets his grief, And warbles forth a note of cheer, — A love song round and full. To a mate he feigns to see; Each atom of his little being, Vibrates with his birdling's soul. Quivering like a wind-touched palm; While the music bubbles forth. But soon, the rapturous flood of love Falls back to lonely chirps. And the tiny frame Shrinks tinier in loneliness. 76 OUTWARD BOUND Give me a ship — a big ship ! I go upon the seas; Be thou my captain, Maker of the worlds. The seas I do not know, Nor of that bourn I would arrive, Destined of thee, E'er the worlds were formed. Farewell, this land-bound harbor! Farewell, these placid waters! The ocean calls, the ocean calls. Haste, loose the anchor. And away, away. To the unknown waves. To the unknown winds. And the unknown shores beyond. 77 ^g^^r.^^^Saf^g^C^:^S^^^ THE CENTURY PLANT The time of fruiting has arrived! I must put forth In one year what I strove in ten: In one quick growth, The measure of a life: — The long, the dull, the tedious many. The strong, the rapid, glorious few. Without the first what then the last? Without the last, why then the first? Come air, and sky, and earth, and all. And yield a willing aid. For this last growth — this bloom,— My life — my death! 78 LOST VISION Who are these along the way, So quiet and so comfortable, Whom ambition stirs no more: Who watch the years* procession pass, As they who dally at the river's brink. Gazing at the purling waters move Onward towards the great sea's bourn? Gone the glowing flowers of youth ! Lost the blush from off the grape ! Stolen the sweet from out the honey ! Subdued they walk beneath the stars. No hands outstretched. Lo! these are they — with vision lost, — Whom Nature's anaesthesia has o'erpowered: They breathe it in with deeper breath At each new milestone's turn, Nor fight the death-fraught power. Content to sleep the years away. Content to lose their crown! 79 mii.^^..^m=^^i^iMm^^^.^^^^ IN LOVE'S GARDEN Shall I, too, be overcome, And let my birthright Gently loosen from my hand? Ye gods forbid! Infuse into my veins immortal youth, And rouse the dead'ning sense, By soul-awakening pangs of hunger: This continue till full-ripened life Drops from the stem. BEAUTY A boon, I ask, O loved All-Father! Beauty in all things to see, (So must the eyes of poets be) ; Beauty in all things to feel, (So must the hearts of poets be) ; No thing too small. Too common or despised. To 5rield its world to beauty. And fill the heart, day piled on day. More full of thee, — God, — One with Beauty. 80 THE POET'S CHILD I needs must let you go, Strange, unfathomed child. Form and likeness of my soul. Prayed for, brooded on, and wept o'er! Child of anguish and of toil. Child of love and hope. Aye, scorned at times and hated! I lose you from my heart at last, To wander in a stranger world! I cannot analyze nor understand you. Child of mine. More, mayhap, than they who meet you! If perchance your image May be like unto their own. Some comfort may be theirs, In sympathy and companionship. If not, you still must stand. My own true child, Unfathomed but by God! Who knows with what heart tremblings I now release your hand ; I, who all these years, 81 11 ^<4^g:-.^^gg^f^ggg^^ IN LOVE'S GARDEN Have held you here, Secreted near my heart, Part of me — ^mine own self, — Life of my life, Breath of my breath. I cannot longer hold you. Else you may perish in my grasp For other lives to live in. To grow, increase, be part of them. I now unclasp you from my heart. My own soul's likeness. Living by this breath from me! Go forth and live your life, For I to fuller life must haste. To breathe forth others such as thou. 82 .^^^-^:^^w^^«^ 1 y^ AND OTHER VERSES V^ ^-^P^ , —^SlO^ THE MOCKING BIRD AND THE CRICKET A night like this the mocking bird, Full drunk with love's red wine, Had flooded all the moonlit vale With the boisterous voice of spring. Now silent is that voice, Gone with the spring, the joy; But from his grassy tent. The cricket cometh forth. How soothing is his level chirp, That lies along the earth. Nor ever seeks to soar Above his leafy bower. He thrills me not, nor lifts me Heavenward, to wing among the stars, And revel in those wild delights, A feast for gods. But chirping cheerily through the night, Over and over, his one song. 83 '^^^^r.^mf^^^e^k^m^^S^.^f^^^^F^^^m Keyed to one droning note, As a viol of a single string. Drowsiness soft benumbs the sense. The moonlit earth fades out of view. And heavy slumber closes down Upon the world of sight and sound. O happy, cheery, humdrum cricket. Thou fellow of the earth. For tired out limbs and minds contented, Thou makest music in thyself. But thou, O bird of heaven and cloud, That casts in wantonness about Thy frenzied gladness ! For poets wast thou fashioned, That their tired souls. Held long in tensest strain By life's tight cords. Might thus relax. In exercise of joy. DREAM 'Twas only a dream, Such a beautiful dream, Sacred to him and me; He of a world unknown, Yet I loved him in this dream. But even in dream, A shadow fell O'er him and me, On the very hour of joy. To filch it of its sweet. But I said, Let fall, 'Tis ever so. Let's love And gather joy. Though it only last a day. Let's drink. Though it only be a sup. And live all life in this moment. Full knowing that crafty Death Will claim as his share the rest. But, crafty Death, Thou art somewhat riven 85 I N LOVE 'S GARDEN Of thy black glory, For thy ebon wings Are edged with light, The light of this one moment's bliss/' We drank, And lived all life in that moment! And gathered all bliss at a sup ! In this dream. This beautiful dream. So, even in dream. Love may still live on Its sweet, though partial life, Hot chased by pain. To glean what joy must lose (The greater share). Soul looks on soul. That deathless look. Then parts, nor looks again. But O sweet dream, I keep you back. And am loth to let you fade 86 Into the hosts of other dreams, Forgotten long ago! For you hold me by your spell. In that one moment's bliss, That reaches from dream unto waking. That reaches from night unto light. And shines as a star of the day. THE COMING EVENT Then, it was a month between. And then a week. And now a day: And soon an hour 'twill be. And O, the very moment follows on! What if this thing were Death, And Heaven so near. Would I be fearful of the moment's brink? 87 IN LOVER S GARDEN THINE ARMOR To work ! O youth, In thine own armor clad, And strike thou to the death! Assay not to adopt A ready armor to thy hand. For ease, or gain, or time. Or seeming best convenience. 'Twill play thee false! Then choose — ^and wisely, — Thy God-appointed armor. This only can develop thee, — Thy brain's true brawn,^ — Thy soul's true steel, — This only gives thy hand its surest cut, This only makes thee feel within The rising God, Strong-sheathed to conquer all. No David in Saul's armor. May fell the coming foe ! For Fear, thy archest enemy. Lies hid in every fold Of borrowed armor, 88 To strike thee from within, Before thou strikst without. Then up, O budding hero, to thy work, And in thy God-appointed armor! A PASSING BREEZE Soft a breeze comes down this way. How the poppies hold their hats. How the eucalypti bow. How each pepper-leaf salutes. Each its partner now. How ashamed the grasses totter, In uncertain poise; What a shiver in the palms, What a turning up of capes In the clover lawn. O you naughty breeze, Such a havoc and a stir You have made in leaf and blade. By your sudden sally Down our quiet way. 89 12 m^k^^r^^mn^Sk^^^m^^^^f^^^p^^ Rl IN LOVE'S GARDEN || m^^^^^^^^^^^^mf^^m^^m^i^m^ GRATITUDE I thank thee, Father, For that little sweet; 'Twas like a fresh spring draught To parched lips. 'Twas like a soft cool touch To a burning brow. 'Twas like a moment's pause In hours of pain. That little sweet, to think on. That little sweet, to dream on, More, more, to this starved heart Than ten-times-ten that, to the full! O sweet, sweet, tender thing of joy, Thou savest me from Death! 90 THE REALMS OF SPIRIT Youth, youth and roses stay, Stay in the soul and keep me young! Young to think with the youngest mind, Young to feel with youngest heart. Young to walk with the youngest feet, That lead the way, To regions unexplored, To worlds ahead; Worlds more vast, Than lay before Columbus' gaze ; Worlds whose shores Stretch onward to infinity. When all the soil of earth Has felt the tread of man. The highest point been scaled by him, The deepest depth by him descended, The farthest spot his common ground, Still shall he look for worlds. Worlds more vast, to conquer! Then to his inner eye. Shall loom those regions vast. 91 ^i^msSitwisf^m^wMJi^^Sffii^s^mm IN LOVE'S GARDEN ^ Unconquered, unexplored, And he shall rise unto the task, Shall rise and conquer. THE INWARD URGE The skies are brass ! The gods have turned to stone ! This clay has played me false! The will, shame-faced, A coward, slinks away. Rigidity sets in. As one gripped in the vise of death ; And yet, I may not pause. But on, and on, and on! A force within crowds up this cumb'rous mass To reach its God-appointed complement. I move, I still reach out. As a weakling blade of grass. Strong from a force within, Pushes forth for light! 92 MAN'S GOD-LIKE GIFT One thought the high born race of gods,- Who walk in pain this mortal world- Have left for solace. O glorious scorn ! They can refuse ! Fate may snatch from out their grasp. All things they would; But O, delusive Fate, Have they not looked on heaven E'er ever the worlds were bom? The cheap earth substitutes Thrust in their eyes, They can refuse; and still have strength To walk in god-like solitude their way. 93 mmm^/ms^^siM^^^^f^^^^i^^^^i IN LOVE'S GARDEN H m^^''m?^mn^^^m^m^?''?m^^ ONE VENTURE I've ventured all in one argosy! If the winds blow foul, Then all is lost, save this : To be called a fool by the hard-eyed world. That counts not the courage of the venture, Nor yields aught to him Whose Argosy fails its harbor. But be it a fool then, — or a god; (It cannot fail of one). The true heart can but venture His all in a noble cause, Else his conscience brands him fool within ; Or, losing — the world brands him fool without. The winds of Fortune Who can determine? The venture alone is sure! The highest reward is that! E'er ever the vessel moves ; For God counts the venture. While man counts the gain of the venture. 94 Yet sweet to him who has ventured Is the ladened vessel's return — The visible winnings of labor — Though it count not with God ; Though he care not the count of man — Yet sweet to himself, The success of his dear-bought venture, That cost him a world. Though that world be a bauble! 95 The writing of this book was done by Ida Frances Anderson. The designs of the headings were by Alma Cock, the typographical ar- rangement by Charles H. Smith, and the presswork by Arthur li. Jason. The book as a whole was de- signed and made by George Wharton James at the Ar- royo Guild Press, 201 Avenue Sixty-six (Garvanza), Los Angeles, California, in the year of grace, 190 9. DEC 18 m2 One copy del. to Cat. Div. ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 863 824 1

02005853

The nameless hero, and other poems,

Anderson, James Blythe

namelessheroothe00ande_djvu.txt

Class ,. ? S3JQf Copight)^". 9^a. COPYRIGHT DEPOSm Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/namelessherootheOOande THE NAMELESS HERO THE NAMELESS HERO And Other Poems BY JAMES BLYTHE ANDERSON NEW YORK A. WESSELS COMPANY 1902 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY A. WESSELS COMPANY THE LiaRARY ®P OONGRESS, Two Copiee Recbveb FEB. 15 1902 Cet^RIOHT ENTRY CLASS c\^ XXa No, 1. y a -^^ UNIVERSITY PRESS • JOHN WILSON AND SON • CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. TO MY FATHER These Poems are Lovingly Inscribed Contents Page The Nameless Hero i Lines 26 Eclipse 28 Arise and Be Glad 29 Present 31 A Ballade 32 Home Returning 34 To A Dear One 35 It Thanketh Him 36 Dear Silver Creek 37 The Haunted Hermit 38 Love Leadeth 47 Come Quickly, Spring ! 48 Rebecca O'Rear 49 Go Softly Stealing 52 Sherman's Heroic March 53 vii Contents Page O Liberty, Reign ! 55 Again a Boy 56 A Cardinal 58 God Will Guide Thee 59 Queen Victoria's Death . . . ... . 62 Time 63 When Baby Came 65 The Troubadour 67 To Night 69 Notes 70 Vlll THE NAMELESS HERO SAD, O Missouri, sad as tolling knell The tales of blood and death thy chil- dren tell. Beloved land, my heart with grief is torn O'er ruthless wrongs by thee so nobly borne. The demon War has blown his fiery gale, Blasted thy uplands, blighted every vale. Where stood thy busy hamlet wolves may roam, And ruins where once rose the happy home. Fair were thy plains, sweet Marion, where befell A deed that makes the pitying bosom swell. Fair are thy streets. Palmyra, where was done — That deed so foul and dark a fiend might shun. Unrazed by bounding shot or sputtering brand Erect thou stood'st o'er smouldering, fuming land. Though stilled thy flames, yet endless blazing fires Forever burn in breasts of sons and sires. I I The Nameless Hero It was that year when General John McNeil,^ Led by a cruel and fanatic zeal, Resolved to make the poor Missourians feel The galling weight of the oppressor's heel ; It was when rallying at Lexington Missouri's sons a valiant victory won, Making the swarms of Northern foemen yield Before their charge upon the gory field — As some undeviating hurricane Of prairie-fire o'erspreading the dry plain j Fiercely up-leaping, see it surge along. Driving before the fiery-footed throng — So Price's host swept o'er the trembling land And put to flight the panic-stricken band. Then hies the ghoul, Acadia's beast of prey — • Seeking the fold when shepherd is away For Marion's verdant valleys lay afar From ghastly strife and ruinous rush of war. Ah ! who is he on foaming, reeking steed Rides up the street with almost frenzied speed, Pressing his bloody spurs full oft applied To his poor panting charger's quivering side ? 'T is Andrew Allsman, ^ flying peril's reign, 2 The Nameless Hero Like wild coyote from bison's thundering train, Eager, when danger's flown, to be the tool To aid the General's stern, relentless rule. Now he draws rein in front of guarded tent Where prompt the Federal guard his challenge sent : " Admission quickly to the Chief I claim. Admittance promptly, in the Union's name." Spake thus the messenger — and then McNeil, " Ho ! What ! how goes it. Trusty, woe or weal ? Thy weighty tidings quick to me unfold ; Tell me the latest from these Rebels bold." " Ah, General, would I tales of joy might tell ! But tidings bring I desperate as hell. For Chieftain, know you that the battle's tide Again has set upon the Southern side." An evil gleam was in that look askance. And fierce despair lay ever in his glance — As when amid the thickest forest brake You watch the anguish of some wounded snake That twists and writhes and hisses in its pangs. And suffering, vainly shows its venomed fangs. " But two days since the foe, with fiendish yell. Upon our hosts so furiously fell 3 The Nameless Hero That with the volleys loud and sabre-stroke At last our serried ranks disordering broke : Never since Bull Run's bloody fight was fought Has there been such a sanguine havoc wrought." He ceased and on his master bent one look — No more than that his servile soul could brook. Oh, horrid was the scowl of wrath and hate That on his plotting leader's features sate ! Not like his vassal's face, revealing mind, Or giving play to devils that lurked behind ; But as the mad volcano's lava-tide, That rolls so fiery down the mountain side, While on the level broadening lands below Its boiling waves as ever fiercely flow. Ah, but they flow beneath a faithless crust Pledging a safety that we dare not trust ! So this bold man's deceptive mien. And now Although McNeil unbent his wrathful brow, With devilish joy his wicked glances gleam ; Revenge and murder are his wonted theme. The morning broke on Marlon's rosy plain Where tinted bud and blossom smiled again ; The morning broke, and touching street and spire, 4 The Nameless Hero Mantled them all in robes of living fire ; The morning broke, and all the winged throng Waked up, then forest rang with matin song. But scarce the purple east had paled away, Losing itself within the dazzling day, Than echoes now aroused to sound the strain Of sweetest melody over Marion's plain. More bright than twinkling dew on floweret wild The mirthful maiden that triumphant smiled ; Within the tints of dawn in vain you seek So deep a tinge as dyed her glowing cheek ; Even men could scarcely curb their pride and joy, And shouts break forth from many a careless boy. Wherefore this burst of bliss o'er vale and town That Blue-coat so resents with sullen frown ? It is the tidings come of victory grand Over invading hosts by Price's band. A year has flown away : each morrow's sun Has donned his regal robes his course to run. But ere dim twilight with its garment gray Had cast its pall upon this dying day. On many a merry heart a shadow fell That lingers still with its sad after-spell. 5 The Nameless Hero All the night through the quick and measured beat Of troops was heard upon the guarded street ; All the night through they marched, throng after throng, Conveying prisoners to the fortress strong ; All the night through the signal of assault Rang out by musket 'mid the sharp cry, " Halt ! " All the night through the soldiers, breathing low. Await with ready arms the approaching foe. But long ere morning, swift the news was spread Of Andrew Allsman — missing, taken, dead ! And when the new day dawned without attack They said the enemy had fallen back — Had fallen back who had not even advanced ! Guerillas bold on whom no eye had glanced. But see yon placard in the town's chief mart The eager citizens read — and shrink and start. And oh, how blanches cheek of passer-by When the sharp characters attract his eye ! Ah, yes ! well may your faltering wives grow pale ; Well may your mothers utter a low wail. Woe, woe to sire now from his children torn, 6 The Nameless Hero And woe to maiden who is left forlorn ; And woe to sad bride weeping in her charms, Her bridegroom wrested from her clinging arms.^ For here is ruin, murder, misery's dole In every mark and curve and line and scroll. Ha, who has there inscribed and made proclaim With pompous phrase — and in the Union's name — " That by unhallowed Marion's wicked strife A true man and a patriot lost his life? Or else a captive, reft by rebel hands. Unwilling bound in treason's loathed bands." McNeil then adds : " If at the third day's dawn No rumor of the Patriot that is gone. Then surely ten men's blood shall expiate This worthy Union martyr's barbarous fate." That building yonder, rising grim and still. Casting a gloomy shadow down the hill, A pile with grated bars and scowling wall, Tells plainly its dark tale of human thrall. All day and all the night there falls the sound Of sentry's tramp upon his ceaseless round. The slug is crushed by hundred feet and more : 7 The Nameless Hero Shut in that prison is a motley corps — Young men scarce twenty, veterans of four-score Cruelly crowded in the human cage, The locks of youth are pressed to those of age. And who are they, the weary, pleading throng Who sadly haunt this prison all day long ? By whom are all these loving dainties sent, Though never reaching their adored ones meant ? Ah, mothers, daughters, sisters, sweethearts, wives. Dark the horizon that engirds your lives ! The storm now gathering tendeth unto death. The rising gale bears blood upon its breath. And who is she whose heavy eyes like rain Shed woeful tears that fall on Marion's plain ? In vain her tristful features would I trace To find remembrance of a well-known face. Beside her comes a boy with golden hair, A tiny girl in arms, so sweet and fair. And oft she pauses in her deep distress. To give a mother's tender, fond caress. She seeks entreatingly access to gain. The Nameless Hero And weeps afresh to find entreaties vain. There 's mystic cadence in her plaintive tongue, Like half-heard notes of a forgotten song ; There is a softness in her downcast eyne, That carries thought back to love's sacred shrine. Sweet Helen Adair ! I remember her well ; She dwelt with her father in Cottonwood dell, In as lovely a valley as ever was seen, Hard by the green banks of the flowing Lamine. Ah ! rarely you light on so blithesome a pair As the Hero yet nameless and Helen Adair. It seems but a day since he stood by her side Where murmuring waters soft ripple and glide. Where faint flecks of light from the sun's golden sheen Flash bright from the bosom of flowing Lamine : Yet turned he from vision so passingly fair To gaze on the beauty of Helen Adair. Far-stretching beneath them rich verdure was spread With a green forest-canopy waving o'erhead. 9 The Nameless Hero The odorous grapevine all trailingly clung, And the clematis, white-fringed, in long festoons hung. Yet scarce for such vision one glance could he spare From the fairy-like beauty of Helen Adair. The jay gaily ruffled his wings in the breeze As he swept through the branches of lordly old trees. And the mocking-bird, joined by a wild choral throng. Poured out to the sunlight a flood of glad song : Yet less lovely those tones with their melody rare Than the low silvery voice of sweet Helen Adair. Sweet Helen Adair ! I remember her well ; She dwelt with her father in Cottonwood dell Where the wild roses smiled on the eglantine's bloom, And faint-blushing crab-apples breathed forth perfume ; Ah, well I remember that rippling gold hair — A crown of bright glory to Helen Adair. The Nameless Hero At last came a stranger, — ah, woe was the day ! — Who married sweet Helen and took her away. And she wept with the Hero, when lo ! they must part; " But a brother's place ever is thine in my heart." A brother's place only was all he held there; It was not so in hh heart for Helen Adair. A white rose she gave him with sorrowing sigh, As a sisterly pledge to remember her by. But a willow grew near with its branches quite low. Whence he secretly plucked fitter emblem of woe, A token concealed but treasured with care. Of long-blighted hope and sweet Helen Adair. Now sits she bewailing apart from the rest. She weeps and she sighs, she is bitter distressed, For her husband is pining in yon grim bastile, A prey to the vengeance of Tyrant McNeil. The day has now dawned undimmed in its glory — The day that will long be remembered in story; Not a cloud in the red east its homage to render To the sun as he rises in radiant splendor. II The Nameless Hero But in that gray building no faintest white gleam Of hope ever enters on morning's glad beam ; There reigns a black midnight of terror and gloom — Each mild ray of sunlight is signal of doom. No song of glad praise or aught else is heard there Save the deep wail of anguish, the moan of despair. Alas ! what is sunlight on woodland and glen To those who are fated to die with the ten ? But barken to the sound, as prison gray Glows warm in radiance of the new-born day ! With the first glance of the uprising sun Peals forth the fateful thundering signal gun. There is a stirring now within the wall, Of prisoners marshalled to the judgment hall To hear the names of chosen victims read, Whose souls, ere nightfall, shall be heavenward sped. The roll-call over, deep the silence then That fell, a deadly hush, o'er living men ! 12 The Nameless Hero So still it was it seemed as if the tomb Already gulfed them in its desperate gloom. Forward stepped Strachan,* provost of McNeil, Gazed round, then spoke in accents cold as steel : With swelling words proclaimed the time long past For hoping AUsman would return at last ; Therefore he would, in august presence, state Whose blood must now atone his cruel fate. Then from his bosom drew he a long scroll On which was writ in full the prisoners' roll, Each name inscribed in black on vellum fine, — But lo ! through some there ran a blood-red line. He called the ten forth, one by one, by name ; No sound, no murmur from the doomed men came, And scarce a cheek assumed a fainter hue, And scarce a man his breath more quickly drew. Suspense once ended, ends oppressive grief. For certainty alone brings some relief. Yet who can tell the dread fears that appall Those fond hearts throbbing now within the wall? And who, ah who, shall speak the dark despair That weighed down souls of loved ones standing there ? 13 The Nameless Hero Ah, well a-day ! sweet Helen, dost thou hear ? " O William," murmured she with failing breath, " O William, William ! " swooning as in death. There is an emerald glen that lovers know, Far from which the Mississippi's torrents flow : No lovelier, wilder view can one obtain In all the width and breadth of Marion's plain. It has a gentle slope on either hand Where lofty trees with twining branches stand, A glimpse of heaven amid the foliage there Is like a glimpse of hope through vistas fair. Within the dusky glen a tiny brook Goes gaily bickering in and out each nook ; Vale-lilies watch its waters as they run, And golden-rod points to the glowing sun. Upon the turf a mark may well be seen — A circle so distinct, of deeper green, Of deeper green in summer as in spring. And long ago was named " The Fairies' Ring." 14 The Nameless Hero How passing strange that this sequestered glen Should be so near unto the haunts of men. Yet is 't not stranger such a spot should be The scene of vile revenge and treachery ? But barken to those voices' distant hum, And barken to the roll of martial drum ; Closer and closer comes the sound of feet, Nearer the muffled drum's prophetic beat. Joined by the trumpet in that march so dread — With peal to summon, not to soothe the dead — Wailing its dirge on the clear morning air. Like dying cry of hope turned to despair. In mournful line did doomed prisoners come. Step keeping to the trumpet and the drum Each form erect, with dauntless, high-borne head, A firm step keeping to that march so dread. Beside them file the soldiers, two by two — A guard sufficient for the captive few ! And now the Acadian, in his pride of place, Stood forth exultant, hatred in his face. And with his brazen tongue and mien defied The ten whose hands so cruelly were tied. 15 The Nameless Hero In guileful terms with bitter phrases set, Canting he spoke, and told of the regret He felt at having to retaliate For Andrew AUsman's sad untimely fate ; When lo ! a rustling sound fell on his ear, A pleading voice that momently drew near. With startled look he turned and faced around To learn from whence it came — that sudden sound. He saw a tender woman make her way Between the close battalion's grim array, Flinging aside with desperate, mad force. The bayonets that barred her onward course. In sorrow bowed, the fond and weeping wife Besought McNeil to spare her husband's life. But when did serpent e'er his hold abate Upon the bird, for cries of fluttering mate ? Yet though each time repulsed with rude disdain, She, unabashed, renewed her plea again. And then a faltering voice came o'er the sod : '' Kneel not, my Helen, kneel but to thy God." Up went her hands her flushed face to conceal. Yet ceased not her wild prayer to hard McNeil. i6 The Nameless Hero " Remove this woman," haughtily he cried ; " She troubles me, remove her from my side." No arm was raised his order to obey, Not one man moved to take the wife away. A new thought flashed upon his subtle soul. An awful wile that gave him fresh control : " Soldiers," said he, " and yoii civilians too, I grieve right earnestly for what I do ; Yet, in discharge of duty, 't is my lot To order all these Rebels to be shot. A Union man has suffered murder foul At hands of traitors that around us prowl. Now, should we, of the ten, one weakly spare, Who then will prophesy what next they dare ? And yet my heart would fain find some relief For this poor woman's overwhelming grief. And so though ten men's blood must expiate Our Federal martyr's sad pernicious fate Before high heaven I solemnly do swear I will this woman's husband freely spare, — Within one half hour will his doom abate If any one be found to bear his fate." Thus spake McNeil, and cast around a smile ; The soldiers all approve these words of guile. 2 17 The Nameless Hero Yet there was one, a man of valiant mould, Upon whose cheek a furtive tear-drop rolled. One instant only stayed it glistening there — Blame not the captive spouse of Helen fair ! Ah me ! the appointed hour is hurrying on, A little space, and surely it is gone ; Yet still there not a man to show his face. To suffer in the fated prisoner's place. O Friendship, Friendship, thou 'rt a glorious thing ! The patriot's praises, too, all ages sing ; Yet is there friend, howe'er to friendship true. For friendship's sake has given the breath he drew ? And few, yes few the men, however brave. That willingly have filled a patriot's grave. But, above all, who ever gave his life To save a husband for a weeping wife? Twelve minutes more the respite lingereth ! Hard beats his heart, and slow he draws his breath. i8 The Nameless Hero Life is too sweet, and death is all too grim — Sure, there is no one who will die for him ! And now the men whose task it is to slay Confront the prisoners in dread array ; Now comes the last, last parting, awful, brief; A parting leaving naught but desolate grief. But who is this with such a lofty mien ? He crosses fleet the grassy meadow green, And just one swift compassionate look he threw Upon the stricken group which met his view ; Then with a haughty, bold, disdainful eye. Extends his hands and to McNeil says : " Tie ! " All eyes are turned upon the stranger's face. Upon that form of such commanding grace ; But the proud eagle glance, the scorching look Was more than even McNeil's seared soul could brook. " Who dares to brave us with a front so bold ? Thy name and mission, man, to us unfold ! If vengeance just thou seekest to evade Then fear my wrath ; it cannot well be stayed." " My name, McNeil, it boots thee not to hear, And I thy fiercest wrath do little fear. It is enough for thee, proud man, to know 19 The Nameless Hero That I Missourian am, so then thy foe. And for my mission, that is quickly sped ; I come to suffer in yon doomed man's stead." When he had spoke these words and taken breath He saw the Acadian turn pale as death. " Seize, seize the traitor ! " he in terror cried, " And be assured his hands are firmly tied ; For much I fear one of the desperate crew That war on us and on the Union too. Who knows but that he has a rescue planned By secret aid of predatory band ? Or it may be with bold assassin's art He seeks to send the steel to loyal heart." How mighty was the look of scorn serene That on the stranger's manly face was seen ! And oh ! how flashed his eyes with lofty pride When to McNeil he slowly thus replied : " General, in thee I had not thought to view A fiend so crafty and so valiant too. Calm, cruel Chieftain, gallant, grand, and fine, Fear not that I do harm to thee or thine ; Now, reassuring with an action strong, Again my hands I offer for the thong." Then on his wrists a cord they instant bound, 20 The Nameless Hero And drew its tightening circles round and round With such a brutal and demoniac force That the blood started all along its course. Yet he, unmoved, stood in his beauty there. With look sublime that only heroes bear ; Then turning, thus he spake to those around (Soft fell his accents, with a mournful sound) : " I see your tearful eyes that ask me why I venture for another man to die. So then, be this my answer briefly told, — Though life is sweet to me who am not old, Yet is it not too dear for Country's need. Nor all too precious for a Christian deed. No prostrate wife have I to moan my fate. No little darlings left disconsolate. I stand me all alone, nor part have I In woman's priceless love or filial tie. None, no not one, to weep when I am dead ; None, no not one, will grieve my spirit fled." He crossed the Fairies' Ring with quickened pace. Beckoning to William that he leave his place. William stood motionless ; he gazed around, Then on the stranger with his brave hands bound. " O noble, peerless youth," at last he cried 21 The Nameless Hero " Thou who to save another would' st have died, Think not that I to honor so am lost As to accept of life at such a cost. Live on ! for honor bright and fair renown Heroic life like thine must surely crown. So then, live on ! and if when I am dead, — " But no, the stranger slowly shook his head And turning quickly fell upon his heel. Again addressed the fell and dark McNeil : *' I am thy victim. Chief, in this man's room, And claim the place of his allotted doom." McNeil repents now of his hasty vow. And with an angry flush on swarthy brow, " Remove that man ! " in gruffest voice he said, " And let this braggadocio die instead ; For since the boaster is in love with death, I wot we soon can stop his bragging breath." His soldiers instantly the word obey; William unwillingly is led away. Then Provost-marshal Strachan, sword in hand. Stepped out imperious and gave command: " Our time is up, so let the men make clear 22 The Nameless Hero The ground at once, to do what brought us here." There on verdurous marge of thick-set wood The brave and tranquil ten awaiting stood ; Each man of them a hero was in truth, But greatest of the band the stately youth. There stood he like a tall majestic oak Which holds erect until the final stroke. There stands he with an ever peaceful air. While breezes fan caressingly his hair ; He looks once more upon the heavens fair. His lips he moves, yet silent falls his prayer — A holy blessing breathes for one who knows Of early blighted hope and treasured rose. But hearken to the roll of signal drum Proclaiming that the last sad moment 's come ! Oh, hear the sharp command and ringing sound Of muskets as they strike the grassy ground ! A moment more, and bright the sparkling sun Tipped in a garish light each levelled gun. And ah ! shut close your eyes while breath comes thick — There falls upon your ear an ominous click. And then — O God ! spare us that blinding flash, 23 The Nameless Hero That last command — and then the deafening crash ! Again, anon, reverberates the peal — Seven volleys are discharged by hearts of steel — ^ And when the heavy smoke is vv^reathed in air No man of all the ten is standing there. For on the glen they lie, those victims brave. Each ready for a martyr's hallowed grave j Each man a hero in his bloody pall. But yonder stranger greatest of them all. , The soldiers fall in line and still their hum, Returning to the place whence they had come. Marching with banner, bayonet and plume All flashing in the face of death and gloom ; Marching on merrily with well-trained feet. Marching in unison with the drum's quick beat. And thus in golden light of early day That gentle, noble spirit passed away To heaven, with the sweetly faint perfume Of springtime flower crushed in its radiant bloom. My tale is done, my story 's told Of murder foul, of martyr bold ; 24 The Nameless Hero Yet holds my harp its sad refrain As loth to leave its tragic strain. Harp of the South, thy numbers flow In accents sad and full of woe. And who invokes thy chord must deem That blood and death will be thy theme. Yes, blood and death and tears and sighs And women's wails and orphans' cries ; Yet ofttimes with a magic spell Exultant notes sublimely swell. And ofttimes too, with pride rebound Hearts Southern, as thy chords resound. With beating pulse for every strain That tells of noble patriots slain. That tells of the endurance brave Of those who fill a martyr's grave. And memory with triumphant peal Re-echoes at the name of Beall,^ Or chants in chastened mournful strain Of ten who died on Marion's plain. No costly tomb — a gentle swell Marks where the nameless Hero fell : Yet, no need here for sculptor's art — His memory 's graved on every heart. 25 Lines LINES Col. Frisby H. McCullough was murdered at Kirks- ville, Missouri, August 8th, 1862, by Gen. John McNeil. FAIR, O Missouri, deep thy rud Falling on Mississippi's flood. Sweet nestling vill in peaceful rest Reposing in a ravished breast, Ah such a deed as thy brow stains Curdles the blood in listener's veins ! Fair yonder upland. Sweet that mound With running roses trailing round ; The tender blossoms blowing there Show grieving hearts and loving care ; The cypress in that sacred spot Points that the sleeper 's not forgot j Is not forgot ! this patriot who Did die a dauntless martyr true; And yet, my tongue is loth to tell The deed of horror that befell. 26 Lines Could wreak my pen a pungent flame, Could be the fiend of lesser fame, — Perchance I might this act impart In fitting words with lighter heart. And in a minstrel strain reveal This hellish crime of John McNeil ! 27 Eclip se ECLIPSE THE weary sun is sinking, fades each lingering ray — The night is mildly mingling with the end of day ; A star is slyly glinting beneath a fleecy cloud, The moon is softly shining, innocently proud. The heedless breeze is romping headlong in its glee. The tiny rill is gurgling onward to the sea. But look ! the patient sentry stops his steady tread. And stands a-wondering, gazing with a lifted head. The moon so brightly shining, he sees to dim- ness fade. And now a darkness steahng, and now a thicker shade. Hear these accents falling from his trembling lips: " Life is everlasting. Death but its ecHpse." 28 Arise and Be Glad ARISE AND BE GLAD OH awake, you sluggard, awake and be glad, For God with beauty all nature has clad! No mist-wreath arises to dim with its fold The beams that are shedding their crimson and gold; Mildly glances each ray on plant and on flower, And diamonds of dew in myriads shower ; So arise, you sluggard, arise and be glad. For God with beauty all nature has clad. The bloom on the lily, the sheen on the trees Are brushed by the breath of morning's sweet breeze, And greeting the dawn is the babble of birds And the voice of deep welcome from far-lowing herds \ 29 Arise and Be Glad So arise, you sluggard, arise and be glad, For God with beauty all nature has clad. There is song of rejoicing — hear'st thou the faint quiver On the whispering tide of the deep-flowing river? Ah, fair is the morn ; with a song of glad praise Wakened nature rejoices in glad dawn's fair raysj So arise, you sluggard, arise and be glad, For God with beauty all nature has clad. 30 Present T PRESENT HE moon looks down to kiss the night And lovely is the mere, A star peeps down right through my sight To constant love's bright sphere. The soft winds winnow sweet and light — *' I love you, love you, dear ! " — The dew-drop trembled rare and bright — My darling answered, — " Here." 31 A Ballade A BALLADE WHEN roses strew the lap of May, And give their incense to the air, When songsters warble sweetly gay, Then joyous laughter everywhere ; But when the Winter cold and bare Lays snapping icy fingers tart — To shield thee from the biting snare Keep sunshine ever in thy heart ! When zephyrs kiss the budding day A-bursting forth so debonair. When merry chimes the brooklet's lay, Then joyous laughter everywhere ; But when the ragged lightnings glare, When rumbling tempests' thunders start — To guide thee through depressing care Keep sunshine ever in thy heart ! 32 A Ballade When friends are numbered as the spray That breaks on coral beaches fair, When lilies nod and bid thee stay, And joyous laughter 's everywhere, Nor less when first the starting tear Says riches go and friends depart — To lift thee upward from despair Keep sunshine ever in thy heart ! ENVOY Smiles now the earth like maiden rare ? Then joyous laughter everywhere. Would'st parry grief's destructive dart ? Keep sunshine ever in thy heart ! ZZ Home Returning HOME RETURNING '^ ■ ^ IS eve j the ploughman hastens to his I rest, ■^ With heart like bubbles dancing near a shore; His loving spouse, with lusty darlings blest. He seeks at humble cot as oft before. In shady viny nook his open door. Where now she welcomes him so blithely home ; His heart rejoicing greets her o'er and o'er And beauty buds like blossoms in the loam — By far most brilliant star in all the sparkling dome. 34 To a Dear One TO A DEAR ONE FOR thee may laden South-winds breathe Incense from ocean's tropic isles ; For thee may quiet brooklets wreathe The mirror of thy tender smiles. Oh let the stately lilies fair, And roses, proudest of the flowers. Bend till they kiss the maiden-hair When thou dost walk within their bowers. Ye song-birds, trill your music wild, Ye fountains, dash your sparkling spray. Ye sunbeams, shed your radiance mild, A-making bright for her the day. And then at night, O voices sweet. Ring out the gentle chimes of sleep; Let heaven's angel hosts entreat The God of all, love's vigil keep. 35 It Thanketh Him IT THANKETH HIM T "^HE snow-bird trips about my door And trims its glossy wing, The icy down is sprinkling o'er This darling little thing. No sorrow swells its quiet breast In winter's sleet and snow, The frozen world can not molest Nor drop a flake of woe. With joy up-peeping at the cloud, Whilst picking crumbs, it sings Content to breathe its thanks aloud And trim its sheeny wings. 36 Dear Silver Creek DEAR SILVER CREEK DEAR Silver Creek, fantastic fairies skip Across thy dimples ; weeping willows drip Their dewy fringe along thy limpid breast ; The wind comes wheeling o'er thy cedared crest With crimson streams of day in rivalship. The drowsy lolling May-flies loitering sip With bees the buds that o'er thy margin dip, Like bubble beads, in dancing beauty drest, Dear Silver Creek ! So long ago, and far away, yet slip Sweet memories where thy lapping pebbles trip The bruised toes a-dallying with thy guest ; Oh happy days ! no longing nor unrest ; Bright memory bears thy ripples to my lip. Dear Silver Creek ! 37 The Haunted Hermit THE HAUNTED HERMIT A DOWN the dale by rippling rills And o'er the rifts of rocky hills, Through all the summer's sultry day Alone I wend a thoughtful way. I bend my steps with eager pace To yon enchanting mountain's base, Wreathed on its summit far above, A halo of eternal love, As lagging streamers of the sun All mirror bright The Blessed One. Nature invokes with myriad calls, 'Mid varied voices darkness falls. And while I loiter at the spring I hear its purling waters sing. With rhythmic praise on leaps the brook. Threading the vale with curve and crook. Unwitting reel the tuneful words P>om thickets filled with thankful birds. The evening's murmurs all are blending, 38 The Haunted Hermit One grand Good-night, to God ascending. Then o'er me steals a gentle sleep Soft as the sighs when lovers weep ; From grayish blur to sable seems A transit sweet, with dawn of dreams. Low rumblings rise in far-off west Where black clouds hang on heaven's breast, Like islands dotting ocean's blue When distance turns to ebon hue. And through the fleeting shadows gray From marge of mountain cross the way While noise of summer ceaseless hums, With bending form a Hermit comes. Greeting his piercing, searching look, In friendliness his hand I shook. When thus he spake : " I wist, my son, A storm is gathering, hurrying on — I offer shelter to repose And nourishment at journey's close.'* Over his form a faded cloak — The garment of an ancient folk — Hanging adown in tattered folds 39 The Haunted Hermit Frail as the web a spider moulds. Scattered the breeze his grizzled beard, His ragged, grizzly breast appeared. His left arm shriveled, careless swings, Its sinews naught but flaccid strings. His right hand's bony fingers long Held firm a staff both stiff and strong ; His heavy tresses fell below His shoulders in a matted flow ; His piercing eyes were set beneath White, rugged brows as in a wreath. Far o'er the peaks, and plodding slow. With weary windings on we go Far up a cleft where whip-poor-will Pours out her song on echoes shrill ; The scream of panther, sough of wind. The shriek of eagle, wilding hind — All mingle in a dismal din. In darkness wrapped pale shadows thin. Wild shapes appear as from their lair. All hideous in the ghastly glare: The lurid sheets and zigzag streaks Of lightning blaze on bosky peaks. 40 The Haunted Hermit Here in a gorge the Hermit fell, But groping gained the cavern cell j His tinder finds, and with a flint He strikes a spark and lights his lint. The bats, in hiding from the storm, Dart out around the Hermit's form, And scattering sweep in circles wide ; Then startled dash from side to side : The gophers frolic round about. Now darting in, now darting out From fagots, 'gainst the smoke-stained wall The crickets caper, chirp and call : The ceilings' cones their clusters yoke And seem a phalanx in the smoke. How strange that scar upon his neck ! His cloak thrown off, appeared the fleck. No crucifix nor string of beads, No book of song or Saviour's deeds ; A hat, a wig, and dagger stern. Lay scattered on a couch of fern. And here we take our scanty food. Whilst out the storm's deep angry mood. 41 The Haunted Hermit The Hermit closer draws, and now I mark his wan and wrinkled brow. " Thus it is that I always live ; For years have been a fugitive. In nights of winter here I hug My fagot fire with shake and shrug. Then roves my mind in fancies wild — I see myself again a child — The snow beats fierce in gusts without, The wild winds moan or weirdly shout. But when the blossoms deck the trees And yield their sweetness to the bees, Then wander I afar and near And bask me in the sunbeams sheer. Look, look, my son, and note this mar- It is the everlasting scar That links my life with this deep dell, That houses me in dusky cell. This hat and dagger, weed and wig — I donned them oft when acting prig. And many times, as here I lie, I think of joy in days gone by ; But griefs more often break on me, Making my soul a stormy sea. 42 The Haunted Hermit The friend who shared with me my all Departed from me past recall ; So there is left not one to sigh And moan with me my misery." The tears up-welling, gush and roll Forth from the wretched Hermit's soul. " Hush ! What is that ? The bloodhound's bay ! Hist ! Closer — on my track ! Oh stay ! " But nothing save the Hermit's groan Pierced through the stormy tempest's moan. " There, John is coming now. Ah, dear. As natural as life — come here ! He is gone ! Yet he stood by me — Now, here — Gone, gone ! Good-night to thee ! A few more days and I join you, Sweet friend, so noble, brave, and true. I see him in the thickest fight. The Island Queen he now doth smite. — O God ! he falls within the night ! " A crash ! The lashing lightnings pale, Thunder a charge ; on leaps the gale. 43 The Haunted Hermit The fire now sputters scarcely blazing, The Hermit trims it, quiet gazing, Then on his withered elbow leans Whilst tangled hair his visage screens. " My friend betrayed," and then he said, '' Not even one dying spark ahead ; Canada's tempests sob and moan His requiem — his hope has flown. Who knocks ? How shakes his window-pane ' Yes, come ! ' John calls and calls again. And when the door they hasty ope. With joy elate returns his hope ; For now, with laughing spirits gay. Once more he sees the Southern gray. " ' And if you come. Confederate, We deem ourselves most fortunate ? * " Black grew the darkness, wild the blow; Yet poor John to them longed to go So through the night — the shade for sin — He passed along — and then passed in. 44 The Haunted Hermit *' ' Now out with glasses, out with wine — A toast to Captain ere we dine.' " . The Hermit shrieks, " O God, he '11 die ! " Twisting his hair in agony. " Oh, treachery ! Yes, I ken it all — Drugged, drugged ! the very words appall. Look, look at them ! they rush, they strive ! Impostors foul ! On, on they drive ! Finished ! Unconscious on the ground He lies while sentry guards around. He moves, he tries to walk again — Oh, reave from him that ball and chain ! noble, sweetest friend of mine A Judas hurled thee cross the line." The storm now roars and wreaks its irej The Hermit pauses, heaps the fire. "John's life to save I would have given My all — yes, even my heart have riven. 1 wept, I prayed he might be spared j I vowed he was beguiled ; I dared The fury of a nation's greed. " ' Go,' Lincoln said, ' assured Beall 's freed.' I left, rejoiced, and soon was sleeping. The sun came o'er the hill tops peeping 45 The Haunted Hermit And kissed John's cheek whilst I, deceived, Slept, lulled by lies I had believed. " Where am I ? Yes, I see — the Act ! Oh where, oh where that promised fact ? Oh where is he with loving grace — Look there ! My God, there 's Lincoln's face ! " Without the storm its fury waves, With sighs and moans and shrieks it raves. " Stop ! Those sunken eyes why haunt me ? Stop ! Those hollow cheeks why taunt me ? Demon devils o'er me gloat — Back ! My throat, oh loose my throat ! " How to save him, what can I ? The Hermit writhes in agony. King of Kings, oh heed his crying ! Help, O God ! the Hermit 's dying. List ! faint and fainter fades the roar, The storm is hushed forever more ; The mount is robed in russet beams By glinting gleams of truth through dreams.^ 46 Love Leadeth LOVE LEADETH nr HE shade on my life is falling, Ah, the twilight shadows creep ! "^ How pass through darkness appalling. How master the mountain steep ? Ah, the twilight shadows creep ! But Love now leadeth — I go Where a thousand shadows sweep To blot her delicate glow. But Love now leadeth — I go And pass through darkness appalling For bright is her delicate glow ; Her light on my life is falling. 47 Come ^ickfyy Spring! COME QUICKLY, SPRING H AIL, welcome birds ! exultant sing, And herald Spring advancing near ; The gladsome news to mortals bring, Our hopes to raise, our hearts to cheer. Come, dancing sunbeam, play and glance So noiseless, voiceless with thy glee ; Oh come, caress, coquet perchance. Nor vanish ere the blush can flee ! The earth will greet thy maiden kiss. And cloudless skies reflect thy love. And wordless songs and voiceless bliss Arise and fill the air above. Come quickly. Spring, disperse the gloom, Sweet messenger from God thou art; Come kiss the sleeping buds to bloom, Unfold the blossoms of the heart ! 48 Rebecca O'Rear REBECCA O'REAR WITH joy I revert to the beauty of yore, Turn back to the Elkhorn, the huge sycamore, The mill and the miller, the falls and the ford, The spray and the shallow attempting accord With the magical melody, ripplingly clear, Of my darling, my charmer, Rebecca O'Rear. The hum of the reaper, the ring of his scythe. With pipe of the partridge, come airy and blithe. The gloss of the martin with morn's rising glow In beauty outshineth the shade-covered crow. But rarer by far — there is not a compeer To thy shimmering ringlets, Rebecca O'Rear. The scent of the clover floats down from the hill. The trill of the thrush is sonorous and shrill To the far-away lark on the serpentine fence. Where ivy is running all matted and dense, 4 49 Rebecca O' Rear Oh, matchless the madrigal dropped on my ear, But sweetest of singers, Rebecca O'Rear ! The foam, scarcely kissed, gives a rush as to shun The ruddy kind grasp of the glorious sun. The oriole peers from the elm's bowing crest Unaware of the touch in its bright-tinted breast ; But milder, more tender, and trebly more dear Thy lithe waxen fingers, Rebecca O'Rear. The rain gently fallen on fallow and wood. The landscape bedecked with its sparkling new hood, The cloud in the west wears its corslet of gold, The bow in the east bears its diadem old, Yet rarer and fairer, I e'er shall revere. Thy enchanting brown eyes, sweet Rebecca O'Rear. Off westward the Elkhorn soft glimmering sped Engirding the land with a silvery thread ; The white-blossom dogwood leant out o'er its brink With bloom of the peach that was pearly and pink; 50 Rebecca O'Rear But brighter a blush that will ne'er disappear, — For it blows on the cheek of Rebecca O'Rear. The fish-hawk swooped downward, his wings newly pruned, With a shriek that was startling, so aptly attuned. The rain-crow cried loudly, foretelling the storm Yet the minnow was snatched from the river so warm. Oh flee to me, fair one ! and nothing 's to fear. My arm will protect thee, Rebecca O'Rear. SI Go Softly Stealing GO SOFTLY STEALING SWEET happy thought, go softly stealing, Where hope has sped, where hearts have bled, Where troubles are and phantoms dread j There kindly shed thy halo healing. Ah gently on, with joy revealing Thy balm within the bosom spread, Sweet happy thought, go softly stealing Where hope has sped, where hearts have bled. Nor dim thy light, nor cease appealing Till all the brooding night has fled. Till Hfe is bright and sorrow dead — Till then with mercy's tenderest feeling, Sweet happy thought, go softly stealing. 52 Sherman' s Heroic March SHERMAN'S HEROIC MARCH OH, captive of the South-land, slowly dying far from home. In dank and loathsome dungeon, frowning heartless, bleak, and cold ! No merry tattling brooklets gently laughing, leap and roam Through blushing morning-glories hugging roses on the wold ; No merry birds now twitter in the dingle, wood, and lea; No tender heart now hopeful, buoyant, happy, light, and free — The bold and noble General, he is marching to the sea ! Oh, fearless, hardy Southron in the raging battle's smoke ; Now breasting where Potomac's sanguine waters sadly roll; Sherman' s Heroic March Where piercing death's deep voices and the pounding sabre-stroke Are beating on the breastwork like an ocean on the mole ! Fair was thy happy hearthstone with thy romp- ing children's glee, But now gone, gone forever, and thy matron, weeping she — The bold and noble General, he is burning to the sea ! Ah, noble, brave, and dauntless Sherman, hearest thou the wail Of maid and mother and the tramp of devas- tation's train ; Or hearest helpless orphans on the homeless cheerless dale — With cherry blushes flecked ere wound in desolation's chain ; Or on the air the lilting flames a-tilting cap-a-pie ? The great and mighty General, O, ah me ! what heareth he ? That bold and noble General, he has marched beyond the sea ! 54 O Liberty, Reign O LIBERTY, REIGN! O LIBERTY ! divinest goddess, reign. Instilling justice as our nation's guide. Until the song-birds hush in their refrain, And sunlight fails o'er all this Union wide. Until the ocean's restless lashing tide Is lit by lapping flames on all the main, O Liberty ! divinest goddess, reign. Instilling justice as our nation's guide ! Until the angel hosts from heaven's pure fane Like stormy snow-flakes sweep this orbit's side ; Till heaven's astounding thunder rends in twain All princely powers that to oblivion glide, O Liberty ! divinest goddess, reign. Instilling justice as our nation's guide ! 55 Again a Boy AGAIN A BOY OVER the upland, down the hill, By the school-house, past the mill, To the wood my steps incline Where the beech the vines entwine. Mists of morning quiver round. Dancing weirdly o'er the ground As the ploughman, brown of hand. Gees and haws, and tills the land. There the blushing springtide holds Every bud and opes their folds. While the sweet May-apple bloom Sprinkles far its rich perfume. There the breeze beguiling sings Soothingly on rapid wings To the snowdrop's nodding head From its green and grassy bed. 56 Again a Boy There the robin sings away, Stops and bows to peeping day ; And the squirrel, shy of all. Gnaws a nut, then lets it fall. There the wren with tireless glee Flits about from tree to tree. As her young ones, loth to try, Flap their wings and learn to fly. There the brook, so sparkling gay. Leaps and laughs the livelong day. While the swallows twittering dip Where the oxen come to sip. All have flown, yet there is joy — I again am truant boy, Loitering where the beechwood shades Draw my sight, and sorrow fades ; Am again beneath the tree, Happy as I used to be. 57 A Cardinal H A CARDINAL IGH o'er the tips of yon cedars, a cardinal chants through his dream, Bright like the rosy-tipped ripple that vanishes away in a gleam. Bard full of sweetness and fleetness, uplift every heart of earth's throng Sing for the souls here in darkness, oh sing, with a passionate song ! Breathe on the moan of the cedars thy carol from glory and ease, Pilot for all, the dark river to rest with the Giver of these. 58 God will Guide Thee GOD WILL GUIDE THEE T HROUGH a deep and rugged hollow Flows a rill in dimpled play, Babbling as I pensive follow Where it winds its course away. Laughing, leaping, slipping, sliding Onward with a rushing tide. To the Schuylkill downward gliding, Joining it with hurrying stride. Listen as its water gathers. Gaily flowing swift along. Telling of the faithful Fathers, Clearly warbling sweet its song. " Here it was, in dead of winter. Here it was, those sires of thine Suffering plucked the icy splinter From the frozen mountain pine. 59 God will Guide Thee " Here it was, beside the river, Warming scarce their bloody feet, Sons and sires did quake and shiver, Patient yet with naught to eat. " Here it was in time grown olden. Dying mingled with the dead ; Hope the living did embolden Still to struggle, naught to dread. " Here I saw the Prince of Darkness, And the Angel clothed in Light Both contesting in their starkness O'er the souls that took their flight. " Here I saw them weary, falling, Dropping, dropping, one by one; Then I heard the Angel calling — Praising great deeds they had done. *' Here God's help was freely given In the fight at Valley Forge ; God the Spanish power has riven, He reproved the Tyrant George, 60 God will Guide Thee *' Heed and profit, faltering stranger, Hear a lesson thou should'st know God will shelter from the danger When the raging tempests blow. " Freedom's holy banner, praise it — Onward ever, never pause ; God is with it ; boldly raise it — Let it wave in Freedom's cause ! " 6i ^een Victoria's Death QUEEN VICTORIA'S DEATH O'ERWHELMING darkness gathers like a pall ; Deep in the brimming heart a sombre knell, And deep the pulsing cadences that tell The story of the sorrow over all. And now the bugles sound their piercing call, That rouses not the nation from the spell; And now the rolling organ-anthems swell, And speak the grief of cottage and of hall : O England, sad thy voice as sighing waters ! O mighty Mother of our mighty land. Our grief is grief of loving sons and daughters : We send it loyally from this far strand : Love's victory is worth a thousand slaughters — In heartfelt sympathy we press thy hand ! 62 Time TIME IT comes with the dusk and the rose-tinted dawn, It comes with the dew-drop on forest and lawn, It comes, will not loiter — ah, now it is gone ! With swiftness of eagle affrighted to flight, It stops not for sunshine nor darkness of night. Is first at the cradle, is first at the bier, From second to minute, from day unto year, It leaps ever onward, it bounds like a deer j It steppeth not backward, but forward must march To infinity's borders, to heaven's bright arch. It grasps all — the infant and tottering age. The fool, the pretender, the learned, the sage. All moulder and vanish like some ancient page. Aye, flowers of the springtime — all beauty sublime Must wither and crumble and fade before Time. 63 Time O Time, unrelenting controller of all, Before thy keen scythe even vanities fall. Possessor of griefs and joys great and small, Stretch out thy stern hand ever nearer the goal, Take my poor body, but touch not the Soul ! 64 When Baby Came J WHEN BABY CAME OY filled my heart when baby came — Ah, will he divide his mother's place ? How can I love them both the same ? As softly coos a dove, the dame Crooned joyous, and bliss lit up her face j Joy filled my heart when baby came. My bosom swells like leaping flame — Her image and mine in him I trace j How can I love them both the same ? The tender mother breathes his name — The name of my father — with sweetest grace; Joy filled my heart when baby came. And you who cavil, prate, or blame, I pray you withhold your wry grimace — How can I love them both the same ? 5 65 When Baby Came Here is no rivalry or shame — I fold both the darlings in one embrace ; Yes, I can love them both the same ! Joy filled my heart when baby came. 66 LoFC. The Troubadour THE TROUBADOUR THE Troubadour sleepeth, his harp is unstrung, For death, the cold-hearted, the adder, has stung. His fingers so nimble have crumbled to dust. His bright sword and helmet are cankered by rust. The song that was sweetest has failed from his tongue And Troubadour sleepeth, his harp is unstrung. The river may sing in the dance of the sun And mocking-bird chant to the numbers that run; The peasant may carol of freedom from care. Of the wife who is comely and child who is fair ; The maiden may warble of lover so bold. Whose hand and whose heart were like Paris of old; But the song that is sweetest can never be sung — The Troubadour sleepeth, his harp is unstrung. 67 The Troubadour O lips, why not lisp it, O voices, impart The song that is sweetest from depth of the heart ? O fingers so nimble, why touch not the strings Of the harp that is silent for joy which it brings ? Let the song that is sweetest in rapture be flung — But Troubadour sleepeth, his harp is unstrung. 68 To Night TO NIGHT O GENTLE messenger of peace, all hail ! Unwittingly art thou the cloak of sin — All hail ! Thou bring'st the close of clanging din : And weary warriors fling aside their mail. At thy approach the toiler rests his flail, And labor greets thy robes and creepeth in, And haughty matrons, proudest of their kin. Appeal to thee to soothe their infants' wail. O King of Slumber, come with kindly kiss ! Like eagle sweeping on his pinions bright Spread far thy shadowy mantle, and let fall Upon our drowsing eyes thy softest bliss. Both prince and peasant own thy gracious might — Hail Monarch Night, dear Rest-bringer to all! 69 NOTES THE NAMELESS HERO ^ John McNeil, born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, February 4th, 18 13. Of limited education. In Boston, Mass., learned the trade of a hatter. Died at St. Louis, Missouri, in or about 1887. ^ Andrew Allsman, of Marion County, Missouri, was employed by McNeil to inform on and lead Federal soldiers to the homes of his neighbors. Alls- man was captured by Col. Joseph C. Porter, but released, though afterwards thought to have been shot by Porter's men. " Captain Thomas A. Sidenor, of Monroe County, Missouri, and nine others, Willis J. Baker, Thomas Humston, John M. Wade, Morgan Bixler, Eleazar Lake, John Y. McPheeters, Herbert Hudson, Marion Lair, and , were shot at Palmyra, October 1 8th, 1 862, by order of General John McNeil. Cap- tain Sidenor was a gallant officer under General Sterling Price at the battle of Wilson's Creek and elsewhere. In preparing for death he recalled to mind the three 70 Notes hundred Spartans under Leonidas, at the Pass of Thermopylse. In his wedding suit, his hair falling in ringlets over his shoulders, his hand over his heart, where a beautiful young woman was soon to have rested as his bride, he called to the executioners : ** Aim here, please." ^ William R. Strachan was court-marshaled at St. Louis, Missouri, January, 1864, for embezzlement and rape, committed while he was provost-marshal at Palmyra. He was sentenced to imprisonment but released by General Rosecrans. He died in New Orleans, with the request that his tombstone should bear the inscription : " William R. Strachan ; born in New York ; died in New Orleans, February loth, 1866. The Union is preserved, and I die contented." ^ "Ready, aim, fire!" An irregular volley — only three killed. Morgan Bixler was not hit, but fell forward. Six men were mangled. The sight of the struggling, moaning victims was sickening. The reserves then stepped forward, discharging their revolvers into the writhing bodies. Willis J. Baker, seven times pierced, died last of all. ^ Captain John Yates Beall, the friend and college mate of J. Wilkes Booth, was born January ist, 1835, 71 Notes in the valley of the Shenandoah, and educated at the University of Virginia. He endeavored to liberate three thousand countrymen incarcerated at Johnson's Island, but failed, owing to a mutiny of his men. In escaping to Canada he was compelled to take and sink the Island Queen. Afterwards captured and hanged February 24th, 1865. To Fern Hill, in Greenwood, we might, as does the Author of his Memoir, point and say: "There lies a man who espoused a great principle ; who wrought for Hberty when God himself seemed dumb ; there a soldier who bears upon his breast the insignia of honor ; who fought and fell at Harper's Ferry, pierced by a minie ball ; who marched through the Shenandoah in Stonewall Jackson's im- mortal First Brigade ; there a prisoner who, though chained at Fort Lafayette, embraced the manacles as badges of honor ; there a patriot who died in the service and defense of his country ; there a philosopher pronouncing death a ' mere muscular eiFort ; ' there a Christian who, under sentence he believed to be unrighteous, and its execution murder, wrote his brother : ' Vengeance is mine saith the Lord ; I will repay.' Therefore do not be unkind to prisoners ; they are helpless." 72 Notes The author feels that it becomes him to crave the reader's generous indulgence, for whatever interest might attach to the publication must be due less to any intrinsic merit than to the exciting incidents upon which it is founded. It is for the most part a faithful narrative, with facts omitted too horrible for relation. Following the traces suggested by an old manuscript account, the writer made a visit to Palmyra, Marion County, Missouri, and sought personal interviews with many of the old citizens who were eye-witnesses of the terrible deeds of 1862. These recollections have supplied the materials of the poem. He hopes it may help to perpetuate the memory of Hiram T. Smith, Whose life was not too dear for Country's need. And not too precious for a Christian deed. 73 '^v. ra 15 1902 1 COPY DEL. TO CAT. 0!V. FEB. i5 J 902 FEB. 20 1902

13013923

The flame in the wind,

Anderson, Margaret Steele

flameinwind01ande_djvu.txt

THE FLAME IN THE WIND MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON Class _jeS2^Ca. Book .M?.sVS- GopightJi" ^Mi COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. The Flame in the Wind Margaret Steele Anderson JOHN P. MORTON & COMPANY incorporated Louisville, Kentucky 1913 copybight, 1913, By Makgaeet Steele Anderson. ©CU34 68 28 To THE Memory of Mt Brother WILLIAM HAMILTON ANDERSON THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED /REPRINT "Pain" and "The Dead Child" by permission ojt The Century Magazine; "Work," "Allurement," "The Prayer of the Weak." "Michael Angela's Dawn," " The Mystery," and "Not this World" by permission of McClure's Magazine; "Habit," "The Breaking," "The Victor," "Imagination," "The Dream," and "In the Image of God" by permission of The American Magazine ; "Whistler," by that of The Atlantic; "Conscience," by that of Lip- pineott's; "Childless," by that of The Cosmopolitan; "The Spring Afterwards," by that of The Criterion; "The Night-Watches," by that of G. P. Putnam's Sons; and "The Violinist," by that of The Independent. m 'i A CONTENTS. PAGE The Flame in the Wind 5 The Breaking 6 Pain 7 f — ^The Mystery 8 Habit 9 Not This World 10 In the Image of God 11 The Dead Child 12 , -The Prayer of the Weak 13 -Y^The Victor 14 "w— -The Dream 16 The Mystic 17 God, the Complement 18 Work 19 Michael Angelo's "Dawn" 20 Odes of a Boy 21 The Shepherd 22 Lines Written to a Translator of Greek Poetry 23 The Putto 24 Imagination 25 Whistler 26 A Stage-Figure 27 An Old Maid 28 The Sin 30 On a Ponipeiiian Bust called ' ' Sappho " 31 To the Fighting Weak 32 PAGE The Lesser Beauty 33 Childless 34 The Mother 34 The Italian Eenaissance 35 Donatello 35 Hawthorne 36 The Violinist 37 Thalia and Melpomene 38 Allurement 39 The Shadow 40 The Night- Watches 41 Courage 42 The Angel and the Child 43 The Spring Afterwards , 44 Beatrice 44 The Invalid Child 45 Conscience 45 The Trees 46 Lost Youth 47 To a Fighter, Dead 48 "Where There Is No Vision the People Perish" 49 The Flame in the Wind Dost thou burn low and tremble — all but die ? And dost thou fear in darkness to be whirled? Nay, flame, thou art mine immortality. The wind is but the passing of the world! THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE BREAKING. (The Lord Grod speaks to a youth.) Bend now thy body to the common weight! (But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn! Those proud young shoulders I myself made straight ! How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?) Look thou, my son, what wisdom comes to thee ! (But oh, that singing mouth, those radiant eyes! Those dancing feet — that I myself made free! How shall I sadden them to make them wise?) Nay then, thou shalt ! Resist not, have a care ! (Yea, I must work my plans who sovereign sit! Yet do not tremble so! I cannot bear — Though I am God! — to see thee so submit!) THE FLAME IN THE WIND PAIN. You eat the heart of life like some great beast, You blacken the sweet sky — ^that Gr^od made blue ! You are the death's-head set amid the feast, The desert breath that drinks up every dew! And no man lives that doth not fear you. Pain ! And no man lives that learns to love your rod ; The white lip smiles — 'but ever and again God's image cries your horror unto God! And yet — 0, Terrible! — men grant you this: You work a mystery; when you are done, Lo ! common living turns to heav'nly bliss, Lo ! the mere light is as the noonday sun ! THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE MYSTERY. This is your cup — the cup assigned to you From the beginning. Yea, my child, I know How much of that dark drink is your own brew Of fault and passion. Ages long ago. In the deep years of yesterday, I knew. This is your road — a painful road and drear. I made the stones — that never give you rest; I set your friend in pleasant ways and clear, And he shall come, like you, unto my breast; But you — my weary child! — must travel here. This is your work. It has no fame, no grace, But is not meant for any other hand. And in my universe hath measured place. Take it; I do not bid you understand; I bid you close your eyes — to see my face! THE FLAME IN THE WIND HABIT. So, then ! Wilt use me as a garment ? Well, 'Tis man's high impudence to think he may; But I, who am as old as heav'n and hell, I am not lightly to be cast away. Wilt run a race ? Then I will run with thee, And stay thy steps or speed thee to the goal; Wilt dare a fight? Then, of a certainty, I'll aid thy foeman, or sustain thy soul. Lo, at thy marriage-feast, upon one hand. Face of thy bride, and on the other, mine ! Lo, at thy couch of sickness close I stand, And taint the cup, or make it more benign. Yea, hark! the very son thou hast begot One day doth give thee certain sign and cry; Hold thou thy peace — frighted or frighted not; That look — ^that sign — that presence — it is I ! THE FLAME IN THE WIND NOT THIS WORLD. Shall I not give this world my heart, and well? If for naught else, for many a miracle Of the impassioned spring, the rose, the snow? Nay, iy the spring that still must come and go When thou art dust, hy roses that shall iloiv , Across thy grave, and snows it shall not miss. Not this world, oh, not this! ShaU I not give this world my heart, who find Within this world the glories of the mind — That wondrous mind that mounts from earth to God ? Nay, hy the little footivays it hath trod. And smiles to see, when thou art under sod, And hy its very gaze across the abyss, Not this world, oh, not this! Shall I not give this world my heart, who hold One figure here above myself, my gold. My life and hope, my joy and my intent? Nay, by that form whose strength so soon is spent. That fragile garment that shall soon he rent, By lips and eyes the heavy earth shall kiss. Not this world, oh, not this! Then this poor world shall not my heart disdain? Where beauty mocks and springtime comes in vain, And love grows mute, and wisdom is forgot? Thou child and thankless! On this little spot Thy heart hath fed, and shall despise it not; Yea, shall forget, through many a world of hliss. Not this world, oh, not this! 10 THE FLAME IN THE WIND IN THE IMAGE OF GOD. The falling of a leaf upon thy way, The flutter of a bird along thy sky, Thou God, to whom the ages are a day, Ev'n such, alas! — oh, ev'n such am I! So long the time, Lord, when I was not. And ah, so long the time I shall not be. So strange and small, so passing small my lot, I cry aloud at thine immensity ! Will not thy garment brush the leaf aside? Wilt thou, eternal, look upon the fall Of one poor bird? Or canst thou, stooping wide From thy great orbit, hearken to my call ? 0, little child— 0, little child and fool!— My planets are my gardens, where I go, At morn and eve, at dawning and at cool, To see my living green and mark it grow. I know the leaves that fall from every tree, I know the birds that nest those gardens through, I hear the wounded sparrow cry to me, I note that dying flutter on the blue. Hast thou a spot on earth to name it thine? Does any creature lift to thee a cry? Behold! Thyself my token and my sign; For ev'n as thou art — so, my son, am I! 11 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE DEAD CHILD. ("I believe . . . in the resurrection of the body.") How young you are, for such lone majesty Of silence and repose ! That lip was vowed to laughter and that eye, That white cheek to the rose! What age your spirit hath, who thinks to say ? If young, or young no more ; But all for merriment, oh, all for play, That new, sweet shape it wore! So, in His time, to whom all time is now, From flower and wind and steep, Shall He not summon you to keep your vow, Since He hath made you sleep? 12 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE PRAYER OF THE WEAK. Lord of all strength — behold, I am but frail! Lord of all harvest — few the grapes and pale Allotted for my wine-press! Thou, O Lord, "Who boldest in thy gift the tempered sword, Hast armed me with a sapling ! Lest I die, Then hear my prayer, make answer to my cry: Grant me, I pray, to tread my grapes as one "Who hath full vineyards, teeming in the sun ; Let me dream valiantly; and undismayed Let me lift up my sapling like a blade; Then, Lord, thy eup for mine abundant wine, Thy f oeman. Lord, for that white steel of mine ! 13 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE VICTOR. 'Thou hast not lived! No aim of earth Thy body serves — nor home nor birth; No children's eyes look up to thee To solace thy mortality. 'Thou hast not lived! Forbidden seas Shut thee from Beauty's treasuries; Not for those hungry eyes of thine Her marbles gleam, her colors shine. 'Thou hast not lived! Hast never brought To steadfast form thy hidden thought : Striving to speak, thou still art mute, And fain to bear, hast yet no fruit. ' ' So spake the Tempter, at Ms plot, But thee, my Soul, he counted not! Who mad'st me stand, serene and free, And give him answer dauntlessly. 'Yea, shapes of earth are sweet and near. And home and child are very dear; Yet do I live — ^to be denied These things, and still be satisfied. 'Yea, Beauty's treasures all are barred By one dark hand — so spare, so hard! Yet do I live — who still can be Their lover, though I may not see. 14 THE FLAME IN THE WIND 'Yea, it is true that I have wrought No form divine from secret thought; Yet do I live — since fain am I To work that marvel ere I die. 'And if I fruitless seem to thee, Yet hath my God some fruit of me; Since I can hear thee out — and bear A spirit still for dreams and prayer!' 15 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE DREAM. They sing the race — ^the song is wildly sweet; But thou, my harp, oh thou shalt sing the goal ! The distant goal, that draws the bleeding feet And lights the brow and lifts the fainting soul ! (And yet, I know not! — is the goal the place I dream it is the while I run the race?) They sing the fight — ^the list'ners come in bands; But tune thy chords, my harp, to sing the prize, That noble prize for which the fighter stands. And bids his body strain and agonize! (Yet, if I knew! 0, is the prize so bright As I have thought it, all this bitter fight?) They sing the work; the song makes labor fair; But thou, my harp, shalt sing the labor's aim, The gleaming light, the beauty throned there That calls the worker onward more than fame! (But oh, I pray the aim be what I sought And visioned ceaselessly the while I wrought!) Yet — hear me not, Watcher of the race! Forgive me, thou Giver of the prize ! It is enough — the hope before my face, It is enough — the dream before mine eyes! And this I dare: to think thou hast not wrought Or dream or ardent dreamer all for nought! 16 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE MYSTIC. When, wild and spent, I fly before Some steadfast Fate, serene, malign. Let me not think — Lord, I implore — Those dark and awful eyes are thine ! Oh, when the dogs of life are loose, And, raging, follow on my track, Let me not dream, by chance or use, The leash was thine that held the pack ! Nay — hunted, breathless, faint and prone, With my last gaze, ah, let me see The shape I know, nor shall disown. Thy shape, oh God, that runs with me! 17 THE FLAME IN THE WIND GOD, THE COMPLEMENT. ("Nor does being weary imply that there is any place to rest.") Yes, by your wants bestead, You come myself to know; For if I be not bread, Why hunger so? And if not water I, Your fountain last and first, "Why should your earth be dry? Why should you thirst ? Have you not read desire? Do you not know your quest? Spirit, why should you tire Were I not rest? 18 THE FLAME IN THE WIND WORK. Mine is the shape forever set between The thought and form, the vision and the deed; The hidden light, the glory all unseen, I bring to mortal senses, mortal need. Who loves me not, my sorrowing slave is he, Bent with the burden, knowing oft the rod; But he who loves me shall my master be. And use me with the joyanee of a god. Man's lord or servant, still I am his friend; Desire for me is simple as his breath; Yea, waiting, old and toilless, for the end. He prays that he may find me after death ! 19 THE FLAME IN THE WIND MICHAEL ANGELO'S "DAWN." Dawn — midnight — noonday? What are times to thee' Man's Grief art thou, that moanest with the light, And starest dumb at evening — and at night Dost wake and dream and slumber fitfully! Thou art Distress — that cannot cry aloud, That cannot weep, that cannot stoop to tear One fold of all her garment, but with air Supremely brooding waits the final shroud! Dust, long ago, the princes of this place; Forgot the civic losses which in thee Great Angelo lamented ; but thy face Proclaims the master's immortality! So sit thee, marble Grief ! this very day How burns the art when long the hand is clay' 20 THE FLAME IN THE WIND ODES OF A BOY. (At Keats' grave— Winter, 1909.) Fades the great pyramid, the blank walls fade! And thou, immortal boy, dost walk with me Along that grove from out whose deeper shade The nightingale sings living ecstasy. And where thy burial-stone so long is set With plaintive lines that tell a day's despair, Lo, now that urn with happy figures fret Which cannot fail, but go eternal fair! Yet — suddenly — the wind of death is blown On all earth's beauty, even at its prime ; The red rose drops, the hand of Joy is flown, And thou — oh, thou art dust this long, long time I TjHE FLAME IN THE WIND THE SHEPHERD. (On a fragment by de Bussy.) Thy slender form I think I see On winter hills of Tuscany, Thy slender pipe I think I hear, So very faint, so very clear. That lonely reed! It seems to me To sing thine own simplicity, For thou art but a child and young. How should 'st thou know a subtler tongue' Then, still a child, I pray thee pass ! I would not see thee with a lass, Nor follow thee, o'er grass and rock. As thou dost lead some larger flock. Ah no ! That little, wilding pipe I would not give for one more ripe; E'en glad were I to hear it spent Unchanged — and thou still innocent! 22 THE FLAME IN THE WIND LINES WRITTEN TO A TRANSLATOR OF GREEK POETRY. A wild spring upland all this charmed page, Where, in the early dawn, the maenads rage. Mad, chaste, and lovely ! This, a darker spot, Where lone Antigone accepts her lot. Death for her spouse, her bridal-bed the tomb. And this, again, is some rich palace-room. Where Phasdra pines : " woodlands ! 0, the sea ! ' ' Or some sweet walk of Sappho, beauteously Built 'er with rose, with bloom of purple grapes ! They are all here — the ancient Attic shapes Of passion, beauty, terror, love, and shame ; Proud shadows, you do summon them by name : Achaean princes — Helen — the young god. Fair Dionysus — (Edipus, who trod Such ways of doom ! Aye, these and more than these You call across the ages and the seas ! And each one, answering, doth dream he lists To the great voices of old tragedists ! 23 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE PUTTO. No child, no mortal child am I, No angel from the blue on high, And, though I gayly dance and shout, No Cupid, from a Bacchic rout. But I am all young innocence, So young I do not know offence, So very young I think that I Will catch that bird, that butterfly. Madonna — Lady — Queen of Heaven, Or Mother, whose red wounds are seven. Or waiting Virgin, mild and fair. See, I will hide behind thy chair! And round thy pulpit, friar gray, Lo, I will frolic all the day! My ways, perchance, are not divine. But cannot hurt thee — no, nor thine ! And thou, little darling Christ, 'Tis long ere thou be sacrificed; Do beckon me, thou pretty One, And we will sing and laugh and run! And at the last, why then will I The earthly darkness beautify ; Dead Son, upon thy mother's knee, "While Heaven weeps blood, I garland thee ! 24 THE FLAME IN THE WIND IMAGINATION. With the old gods thou walkest, 'mid the leaf And bloom of ancient morning and of light ; Thou die 'st with Christ, and with the nailed thief That dies upon his left hand and his right. Yea, thou descendest into hell — and then To the last heaven dost take thy road sublime ; Thine hostelries the secret souls of men. Thy servants all the fleeting things of time ! 25 THE FLAME IN THE WIND WHISTLER. (At the Exhibit in the Metropolitan Museum, March, 1910.) So sharp the sword, so airy the defence! As 'twere a play, or delicate pretence! So fine and strange — so subtly poised, too — The egoist, that looks forever through ! That little spirit, air and grace and fire. A-flutter at your frame, is your desire, No, it is you, who never knew the net. Exquisite, vain — whom we shall not forget! 26 THE FLAME IN THE WIND A STAGE-FIGURE. (A painting by Whistler.) A thing of flesh and blood? Not so ! Yet what yon are I do not know. A paper sword ? A pasteboard flame ? Ah no, I cannot find the name ! Whate'er you are, 'tis not of earth, Nor did high Heaven give you birth ; A marionette your mother? Well — But you were sired by Ariel ! 27 THE FLAME IN THE WIND AN OLD MAID. "Within her lonely garden What fruits and spices grew! The lily was its warden, The red rose knew it too. But "Oh," she said, "The master Comes never to the gate; In pleasure or disaster He tarries, tarries late! 'Comes not, with sweet devices, To pluck its flow'r and fruit, Comes not, to smell its spices, Nor hear its thrushes flute!" Then spoke the Lord of Heaven, "Unseen it does not fade; Do I not come at even To walk within its shade? 'Do I not come at morning To hear its thrushes flute 1 For comfort and adorning To pluck its flow'r and fruit? 'I have not stayed nor tarried, Nay, I have kept thy sward ; bride no man has married. Behold in me thy Lord ! ' ' 28 THE FLAME IN THE WIND Thou heardest, in thy garden, And sweeter grew that close, And whiter still its warden And redder still its rose. Thou heardest, thou lonely, And brighter all that bloom. For this, this master only, Such riches of perfume ! And when in pity talking, They called thy beauty vain. They did not see Him walking With His angelic train. But some who paused from labor To catch that breath of balm. And some whom thou didst neighbor Who knew thy garden's calm, They whispered of a presence Exceeding mortal kin, — 'This was no earthly pleasance, The Lord God walked within!" 29 THE FLAME IN THE WI ND THE SIN. That haunting air had some far strain of it, That morning rose hath flung it back to me ! The wind of spring, the ancient, awful sea. Bid me remember it. And looking back against the look of Love, I feel the old shame start again and sting; Such eyes are Love's they will not ask the thing, But I remember it! So this one dream of heaven I dare not dream : We two in your familiar ways and higli, "While you and God forget — and even I Cannot remember it ! 30 THE FLAME IN THE WIND ON A POMPEIIAN BUST CALLED "SAPPHO." Oh no, not this! This is a Roman face, Superb, composed, with such a matron grace As that of great Cornelia — never thee, Young princess of an ancient poetry ! Nor do I wish thy beauty from its grave ; Rather, one bird across the purple wave, Or the mere sight of that JEgean sea. Shall tell thy mortal loveliness to me ! Or I will find some slender, broken plinth, And mark it thine with wild blue hyacinth, "While some far fruit, upon triumphant bough, Shall say how unattainable wert thou! 31 THE FLAME IN THE WIND TO THE FIGHTING WEAK. Stand up, you Strong ! Touch glasses ! To the Weak ! The Weak who fight : or habit or disease, Birth, chance, or ignorance — or awful wreak Of some lost forbear, who has drained the cup Of passion and wild pleasure! So! To these, You strong, you proud, you conquerors — stand up! Touch glasses! You shall never drink a glass So salt of tears, so bitter through and through, As they must drink, who cannot hope to pass Beyond their place of trial and of pain, Who cannot match their trifling strength with you; To these, touch glasses — and the glasses drain! They cannot build, they never break the trail, No city rises out of their desires; They do the little task, and dare not fail For fear of little losses — or they keep The humble path and sit by humble fires; They know their places — all these fighting Weak! Yet what have you to show of tears and blood. That mates their blood and tears ? What shaft have you, To mark the dreadful spots where you have stood, That rises to the height of one poor stone Proclaiming some small triumph to the blue ? Ah, you have nothing ! Then stand up and own ! And yet you shall not pity them! They bear The stripe of some far courage that to you Is all unknown — and you shall never wear Such splendor as they bring to some last cup; You do not fight the desperate fight they do ; Then — to the Weak! Touch glasses! standing up! 32 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE LESSER BEAUTY. You are the first wild violet of the year; Green grass you are, and apple-bloom, and spray Of honeysuckle; you are dawn of day, And the first snow-fall ! It is you I hear "When the March robin calls me loud and clear, Or lonely rill goes singing on its way Like some small flute of heav'n; or when the gray Sad wood-dove calls and early stars appear. And you it is within the wayside shrine Carved tenderly; and in the folded wings On some neglected tomb; and in the vine And leaf and saint of old imaginings On some forgotten missal — ^little things "We would not barter for things more divine ! 33 THE FLAME IN THE WIND CHILDLESS. Up to the little grave, with blossoms kept, They went together; and one hid her face, And spoke aloud the boy's dear name, and wept. The other woman stood apart a space, And prayed to God. ' ' If only I, ' ' she said, "Might keep a grave, and mourn my little dead !'' THE MOTHER. Yes, Lord, I know! The child is thine. And in thy house he shall grow up, Nor know the lash of life, nor cup Of trembling, as if child of mine. But ah — forgive me ! — is he warm ? And fed? Or does he miss my breast? Oh, I blaspheme ! But can he rest. And never cry, in Mary's arm? 34 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE ITALIAN RENAISSANCE. How splendid and how vain in thee, The ancient quest, Italy ! Too strange that wreath, too strangely worn, Apollo's laurel — Christ's red thorn! DONATELLO. Child of the North, within thy Northern eyes. How brood and burn the restless mysteries! Blooded of Hellas — ^thy dark brows between. That spray of antique laurel, how serene ! THE FLAME IN THE WIND HAWTHORNE. Child — ^lover — servant — master of Romance, To you she showed, not splendid of attire. With gaud and grace, but all to your desire In lonelier hues of solemn radiance ! Long years you followed her, and at her glance. As at some word, divinely sweet or dire. Beheld the souls of men, in shapes of fire. Through veiling flesh look out to her askance. You saw the brand upon unbranded breast; From evil heart you saw the witches wind ; You saw dark passion breed in frolic youth ; And yet — 'a spirit delicate and blest — You knew the primrose of a maiden's mind, You took of shame the grave white flower of truth ! 36 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE VIOLINIST. But that one air for all that throng! And yet How variously" the magic strain went through Those thousand hearts ! I saw young eyes, that knew Only the fairest sights, grow dim and wet, While eyes long fed on visions of regret Beheld life 's rose, upspringing from its rue ; For some, the night-wind in thy music blew, For some, the spring's celestial clarinet! And each heart knew its own: the poet heard. Ravished, the song his lips could never free; The girl, her lover's swift, impassioned word; The mother thought, *'0 little, broken flow'r!" And one, who knelt in dark Gethsemane, Beheld his Lord, who watched with him that hour! THE FLAME IN THE WIND THALIA AND MELPOMENE. The night would sadden us with wind and rain — Let's to sweet Comedy and scorn the night! Let's read together: how, by silver light, The fairies went, a most enchanting train, Amid those clowns and lovers ; how the twain, Celia and Rosalind, as shepherds dight, Frolicked through Arden; or of that rare sprite, That Ariel, who could trick the mortal brain To strange beliefs. What! wilt have nothing glad? "Wilt read, while winds are moaning out regret, The fate of Desdemona — Juliet 1 Lovest the rain to come and make thee sad? Ah, well ! — I know ! — How sweet the tragic part ! I am grown old, but once — was what thou art ! THE FLAME IN THE WIND ALLUREMENT. From yonder hedge, from yonder spray, He calls me onward and away; Broad lies the world and fair to see, The cuckoo calls — is calling me! I have not seen nor heard of Care, Who used my very bed to share, Since that first morn when, airily, The cuckoo, calling, called to me! My sweetheart's face? I have forgot; My mother? But she calls me not; From that green bank, from that dim lea, The cuckoo calls — ^is calling me! And I must go — I may not choose ; No gain there is, nor aught to lose ; And soon — ah, soon ! — on some wild tree The bird sits long and waits for me! 39 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE SHADOW. Get you away! Is not the rose at fiow'r? And list that song ! The bird is in the sky ! Ah, foolish one, I know your final hour, I know the very place where you shall lie. Silence! The music, and the bridal-train! Do you not see the maidens in their white ? Along that whiteness, lo, I am the stain. And darken where the Lord of all shall smite! Yet leave me, Shadow, leave the day dear-bought, When the swift runner reaches to the goal ! That day is mine — and at the end, unsought, I ask the runner's 'body from his soul. Then hast thou all ! The beautiful, the brave ! Nothing untouched, dark Visitant, of thee ! Oh Minded Reason! Sweeter for the grave. And fair a thousand-fold 'because of me! 40 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE NIGHT-WATCHES. The laurel withers on your brow, victor, weary of the race ! And you, who sit in mighty place, How heavy is your scepter now ! Flushed with the kiss your lips have known. Woman, this is your hour to wake. And know that flesh and heart may break When love hath entered on its own. And you, who knew where angels trod. And marked the path for duller eyes. In this lone hour are you still wise ? Do you not quail before your God? God, to whom the dark is day. Forget not these, the strong, the right. The happy souls — for, Lord, at night They tremble in their tents of clay ! 41 THE FLAME IN THE WIND COURAGE. I thank thee, Life, that though I be This poor and broken thing to see, I still can look with pure deilight Upon thy rose — the red, the white. And though so dark my own demesne. My neighbor's fields so fair and green, I thank thee that my soul and I Can fare along that grass and sky. Yet am I clay! Ere I be done. Give me one spot that takes the sun ! Give me, ere I uncaring rest, One rose — ^to wear it on my breast! 42 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. ''0, was it on that awful road, The way of death, you came ? ' ' "It was a little road," he said, "I never knew its name." "Is it not rough along that road?" "I cannot tell," said he, "Up to your gate, in her two arms. My mother carried me." "And will you show me Christ?" he said, "And must we seek Him far?" "That is our Lord, with children round. Where little blue-bells are." "Why, so my mother sits at night, When all the lights are dim! 0, would He mind — would it be right — If I should sit by Him?" 43 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE SPRING AFTERWARDS. Ah, give again the pitiless snow and sleet — November's leaves — or raving winds, that beat The heart's own doors — or rain's long ache and fret! Only, not spring and all this delicate sweet ! Or not this vision of a girl, so set In April grass, in April violet! BEATRICE. Vision of light, above triumphal car — Vision of guidance — star of ev'ry star — And throned saint within the great white Rose, I follow thee : the book at last to close. And see again, while sun and stars grow less, A little girl, in little crimson dress! 44 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE INVALID CHILD. When I see other women's sons at play, God, pity me, lest I should turn away In rage and grief, and should not dare to look At my child, sitting patient with his book ! But when their sons hold all the world in fee, With young men's pride — oh, then think not of me! Load me with burdens, let me feel the rod, And give my son his manhood, my God ! CONSCIENCE. Wisdom am I when thou art but a fool ; My part the man, when thou hast played the clod ; Hast lost thy garden ? When the eve is cool, Harken! — 'tis I who walk there with thy God! 45 THE FLAME IN THE WIND THE TREES. When on the spring's enchanting blue You trace your slender leaves and few, Then do I wish myself re-born To lands of hope, to lands of morn. And when you wear your rich attire, Your autumn garments, touched with fire, I want again that ardent soul That dared the race and dreamed the goal. But, oh, when leafless, dark and high. You rise against this winter sky, I hear God's word: "Stand still and see How fair is mine austerity!" 46 THE FLAME IN THE WIND LOST YOUTH. (For a friend who mourns its passing.) He took the earth as earth had been his throne ; ■ And beauty as the red rose for his eye ; ' ' Give me the moon, ' ' he said, ' ' for mine alone ; Or I will reach and pluck it from the sky!" And thou, Life, dost mourn him — for the day Has darkened since the gallant youngling went ; And smaller seems thy dwelling-place of clay Since he has left that valley tenement. But oh, perchance, beyond some utmost gate, While at the gate thy stranger feet do stand. He shall approach thee — ^beautiful, elate. Crowned with his moon, the red rose in his hand ! 47 THE FLAME IN THE WIND TO A FIGHTER, DEAD. Pass, pass, you fiery spirit ! Never bland And halting never! Hosted round to-night, At the great wall, with spears of lifted light. Held by embattled seraphim, who stand To greet their friend, their comrade, and their own ! Doubtless, spirit made for burning war. Doubtless your God has need of you afar, To lead, for Him, some heavenly fight and lone. And therefore knights you — thus, before the throne! 48 THE FLAME IN THE WIND ''WHERE THERE IS NO VISION THE PEOPLE PERISH." Spare us, Lord, that last, that dreariest ill ! Thy wrath's grim thunder, and thy lightning-scorn For our iniquity — ^that we have worn Soft as a grace— Jthese, if it be thy will. But not unsouled darkness! Not the chill Dead air, in which men move a while forlorn And swiftly fail ! Oh, break us, make us mourn With tears of blood — ^but let us see thee still ! For we have visioned thee ! Once, long ago, O 'er sea and wilderness a cloud of fire. Thou led'st us forth; 'mid many a shame and woe, We still have dreamed apocalypse; at last. Ah, go not out, thou Flame of aU the past ! Burn, thou bright Ardor — ^burn, thou great Desire! 49 JUN 2 1813

22003142

A web of thoughts

Anderson, Marjorie

webofthoughts00ande_djvu.txt

PS 350\ |.Na5aVi/4 Class _£^_35DL Bonk .W ^.^ z\ </4f. CQE^ffilGHT DEPOSm A WEB OF THOUGHTS A WEB OF THOUGHTS BY MARJORIE ANDERSON Boston The Four Seas Company 192 1 Copyright, ig2i, by The Four Seas Company DEC 19 1921 ^CU5o4599 The Four Seas Press Boston, Mass., U. S. A. *W^^ I To My Mother and Father CONTENTS Page A Web of Thoughts 9 Three Friends lo The Haunted House . . ii "Yc^'re Like a Strain of Music" . . . . 12 Soapbubbles 13 The Three Trees 14 A Seventeenth Century Lyric 16 The Highroad 17 When Chopin Played 18 Four Scenes from Schumann's "Carnaval" . 19 Pierrot 19 Harlequin 19 The Coquette 20 Pantaloon and Columbine 20 A Dresden Shepherdess 21 The Three Woodcutters 22 Corot's "Dance of the Nymphs" 24 Names 25 Masks 26 CONTENTS Page Miracles 27 Truth and Beauty 28 In a Public Library 29 The Thinker and the Singer 30 The Lost Vision 31 Living Portraits 32 Travels 33 The Star-gazers 36 God's Answer 37 Treasures 38 Wishes 39 The Blue Hole .......... 40 The Sundial 41 Songs 43 Disappointments 44 Hollyhocks 45 To My Dog 46 Symbols 47 The Rainbov^ 48 Eyes 50 A Memory of the War 52 Dreams 53 A WEB OF THOUGHTS A WEB OF THOUGHTS I sit within the tower room Of my gray-walled Shalott, And weave amidst the magic gloom My web of thoughts, upon a loom Of memories half forgot. At times the thoughts are passing keen Like goodly errant knights, And then anon they lose their sheen, And hang, a tangled, misty screen, Like a spider web o' nights. Here comes in cap and bells of yore A merry, freakish thought, And now dull murmurings o'er and o'er, Waves lapping on a lonely shore. With wistful sadness fraught. And thoughts there are like chimes that peal From some cathedral spire. So far aloof; while others feel Like burning coals that half reveal The secrets of the fire. And so I sit within the room In my gray-towered Shalott, And weave amidst its magic gloom A web of thoughts, upon a loom Of memories half forgot. [9] THREE FRIENDS One friend I have who is to me A shining highway broad, Which stretches forward evenly, Up to the throne of God. Another friend is Hke the fire. Whose warm and merry flame Leaps ever upward, high and higher. Changing and yet the same. But you are Hke the wind which sweeps The cloudy mists away. You breathe upon my soul that sleeps, And waken it to day. [10] THE HAUNTED HOUSE Our house is filled with friendly souls Who haunt its many rooms, And linger like the fragrance born In delicate perfumes. One spirit is a dreamer, old With never-ending youth, Who Hstens to the harmonies We weave in search of truth. Another is a red-cheeked dame With kindly, genial face. Who from her fireside corner_, shares Our daily commonplace. Sometimes the spirits change. I know The lady, pink and gold. With silken gown and formal smile Who ruled one room of old. Has vanished quite, and in her place, A lad in student guise Lives with the past, the glowing love Of wisdom in his eyes. These spirits live; but oh! the rooms Whose closed doors once stood wide ! Their souls have flown away, and I — I fain would stand outside. [II] "YOU'RE LIKE A STRAIN OF MUSIC" You're like a strain of music in my heart, Sometimes a plaintive measure, hushed and slow, Then filled with fiery notes that throb and glow; But oftenest you're just a gypsy air, That, wandering aimless, haunts me everywhere. [12] SOAPBUBBLES Castles in the air! Watch them as they grow ! Rainbow-hued they stand Proof 'gainst any foe. Castles in the air! Whither have they flown? Only I am left Blowing bubbles all alone. ti3] THE THREE TREES Three trees stood on a lonely heath, Outlined against the sky; The wind swept through them ceaselessly With plaintive, whispered sigh. With dragging steps, a traveler sought Beneath their shade to rest; His dusty garments, sorely stained. Plainly his plight confessed. And as, exhausted, fast he slept, Lulled by the fleeting breeze. He heard three voices faint and far. The voices of the trees. ''Upon my boughs," the first one said, "Full many a year ago, A man was hanged." A shudder shook The sleeper down below. The second sighed, "Within my trunk Is hid a lady fair. Who at his death changed to a nymph, His resting place to share." The third voice laughed, "No mournful tale Of death or love have I, But 'neath my roots the gold he brought Deep buried still does lie." [14] The sleeper wakened with a start, And peered to left and right ; Upon the lifeless, empty heath No creature was in sight. The trees like silent watchmen stood, One tall and gaunt and dread, Another drooping, frail, the third With sturdy boughs low-spread. Upon the last he stared in thought. Then dug with feverish haste. Until he found the treasure-box The dead man there had placed. Then quickly and with buoyant step He started on his way. "He has left love behind him," soft The second tree did say. '*He has escaped my ruthless doom For this time," warned the first. **He did not hear," the third tree scoffed, **How the treasure has been cursed." [iSl A SEVENTEENTH CENTURY LYRIC I heard a bird a-caroling, Perched high upon a tree; His notes Hke merry chimes did ring, And scatter melody. Yet though he filled the air with trills, My pulses did not start; But when fair Cynthia sings, it thrills My very heart. HI might hear the angels' song Within the heavenly gate, I know my soul would find it long And wearisome to wait. Until I heard sweet Cynthia's voice In that celestial choir. Ah! then my spirit would rejoice With quickening fire. [i6] THE HIGHROAD (A Lyric) Winding up and winding down On a misty April morning, Like a queen in silver gown, Dewdrops bright her hair adorning; Winding down and winding up, Summer madness comes soon after, Like a gypsy now, her cup Filled with laughter. [17] WHEN CHOPIN PLAYED When Chopin played amidst the gloom Of some dim, candle-lighted room, Then men were moved beneath the spell Of golden notes that rose and fell, To dream of southern isles in bloom, And gardens full of soft perfume, Or moonbeams on some knight's carved tomb, Or raindrops in a sheltered dell, When Chopin played. But soon the dreams have met their doom, The pattern changes on the loom, For every cavalier and belle Now hears the magic waltzes swell. Ah! who could flirt with fan or plume When Chopin played? [i8] FOUR SCENES FROM SCHUMANN'S "CARNAVAL" Pierrot On quaint and deftly pointed toes. With noiseless step he comes and goes, As if with velvet he were shod, Or on some dew-drenched lawn had trod. His white face like a staring clock Is witless, but the red lips mock In silence, till with a laughing jeer, He's fled to the moonlight, ghostly and clear. II Harlequin Is Harlequin A sprite? The maddest of them all Is Harlequin. His tireless feet in circles spin. Casting weird shadows on the wall. Whirlwind in motley at the ball Is Harlequin. [19] Ill The Coquette With a flirt of her fan And a gay pirouette Her attack she began, With a flirt of her fan. Away she then ran, Every inch a coquette, With a flirt of her fan And a gay pirouette. IV Pantaloon and Columbine Pantaloon and Columbine Softly on their tiptoes meeting, Dainty measures intertwine With a hasty whispered greeting. In pursuit away they're fleeting. Like two bits of gay festoon, She disdaining, he entreating, Columbine and Pantaloon. [20] A DRESDEN SHEPHERDESS A little Dresden shepherdess, With gleaming, powdered hair. And dazzling smile, I must confess She seemed a thing so rare. Incarnate youth and happiness, I bought her with a song. — A song may be a brief caress, But smiles last long — too long. [21] THE THREE WOODCUTTERS (A translation of a French folk-song) There were three woodcutters on the green, (Hark, hark to the nightingale!) There were three woodcutters on the green, Who talked to a maid, the village queen. Oh, the nightingale is singing! The youngest said, (he held a rose) (Hark, hark to the nightingale!) The youngest said, who held the rose, "I love, but I dare not my love disclose." Oh, the nightingale is singing! The oldest cried, with an axe in his hand, ( Hark, hark to the nightingale ! ) The oldest cried, with an axe in his hand, "Wherever I love, there I shall command." Oh, the nightingale is singing! The third sang, bearing a flower blue, ( Hark, hark to the nightingale ! ) The third sang, bearing his flower blue, "I love, for your love in return I sue." Oh, the nightingale is singing! "My friend you are not, you who carry the r ( Hark, hark to the nightingale ! ) "My friend you are not, you who carry the r If you dare not, I dare not love disclose." Oh, the nightingale is singing! [22] "My master you are not, with the axe in your hand/ (Hark, hark to the nightingale!) "My master you are not, with the axe in your hand, For true love can never come at command." Oh, the nightingale is singing! "My love you shall be, with your flower blue," (Hark, hark to the nightingale!) "My love you shall be, with your flower blue, For all is given to those who sue." Oh, the nightingale is singing! [23] COROT'S "DANCE OF THE NYMPHS" Under the trees all misty and grey in the haze of the morning, Lords of the forest with ivy-twined trunks, and silvery birches. In and out gayly flutter the dancers, all secrecy scorn- ing, Light-hearted nymphs of the woodland, by mortal unseen if he searches Boldly, but sometimes revealed to the poet who watches enraptured; Hand in hand they encircle a satyr from slumber half- risen. Roused from his dreams of elysian freedom to find himself captured Fast in a net of shimmering beauty, a scintillant prison. [24] NAMES Like the hilt of a sword richly jewelled, whose sheen Makes the blade seem the straighter, the sword-hand more keen; Like a binding of vellum, old, priceless, renowned, Twixt whose covers the soul of a saint may be found ; Like the sign of an inn with its message of cheer. Or the door to a passage of darkness and fear. Like the blare of a trumpet, an ivory frame — Is the magical power concealed in a name. [25] MASKS Within a treasure-house whose marble halls Are heaped with riches gleaned from years gone by, Amid its glowing, beauty-laden walls, A group of Grecian masks arrests the eye. Behind that staring face, did men once hear The weeping of Antigone, the rage Of Oedipus? Did they applaud the leer Of these weird gargoyles of a classic age? To us who love to see the changing moods Reflected in a face, it seems unreal; But still behind stage-laughter often broods A troubled spirit, grief that will not heal. Perchance the Greeks were after all more kind; We have no friendly masks to hide behind. [26] MIRACLES I listen to God's voice among the trees, Mid whose arched boughs the sunbeams intertwine, The birds pour forth their worship half divine, Then take to flight upon the summer breeze. Above my head, like drone of countless bees, A birdman soars ; in yon cathedral shrine With myriad colors soft the sun's rays shine, The organ peals forth golden harmonies. The wonders of God's world not made with hands Man cannot reach, but he was given the power Of moulding beauty, and his handwork stands, God's seal upon it. In the creator's hour He follows humbly where his Master trod; Man's miracles are also works of God. [27] TRUTH AND BEAUTY Last night I watched the heaven's starry flight, Saw Jupiter with golden face serene, The rings of Saturn girdling him with light, The dazzling brilliance of proud Beauty's queen. And as I gazed my wonder grew apace. That such vast power was given to mortal man, To bring down truth from out the boundless space. And bridge the heavens with her mighty span. And yet I find more beauty in a sky Whose gloomy depths, unfathomed, are aflame With gleaming jewels of light, that shine on high Like flashing diamonds in an ebon frame. Grave truth has breathed her secrets in our ears, But must we lose the music of the spheres? [28] IN A PUBLIC LIBRARY Within its welcoming portals, open wide To all, they come and go, a motley throng, Some seeking wisdom, others with the strong And beckoning hand of fancy as their guide. 'Tis fancy leads them where the bluebirds hide And fill the heavens with happy-throated song, Or where the pounding hoof-beats fly along Some winding western trail which cowboys ride. She gives to each the keys of old romance, Which open doors their longing souls have missed. Shut in by darkened walls of circumstance; Beneath her sway they loose the baffling twist Of hidden crime, or seize life's winning chance, Fond lovers whom her magic lips have kissed. [29] THE THINKER AND THE SINGER A master of man's thought, he wields a pen So Titan-like in power, one hears the peal Of Thor's bold thunder, or the clash of steel When sword meets sword amongst earth's supermen. A singer of man's songs, in him again Apollo treads the earth ; we humbly kneel Before the beauty that his words reveal, A melody from worlds beyond our ken. , The thinkers and the singers of this world, Both richly gifted with a power divine. Too often have their banners wide unfurled In hostile camps, paid homage to one shrine Alone. Would that more often we might see Thor's strength linked with Apollo's melody! [30] THE LOST VISION A fisherman! And you were living when Herod ruled in Galilee? Ah! then You surely must have seen Christ walk Among the fields, and heard Him talk Beside the lake. Perhaps 'twas you He healed. Or were you one of those who kneeled To kiss His garment as He passed along, So calm amidst the adoring throng? Tell us who live so far in time and place, How felt you when you saw Him face to face? You're silent and your head is bowed. Too sacred is it to be said aloud? Forgive the violation of a shrine On which is laid a memory divine. But no, you start at last to speak ! You say you're not the man whom we would seek! And why ? Because when Christ was preaching there In your small town, you had no time to spare From mending nets that day, no time to run After some strolling preacher, none To waste with idle crowds. And so You missed the Son of Man. How could you know. As on the ground you gazed, that in the sky The glory of the stars was passing by? I3i] LIVING PORTRAITS A room of portraits old and rare, With silent lips and painted stare, Oppresses you? Then let me show You living portraits just as fair. That woman with the thoughtful eyes, Serene, wide-open, and all-wise. Her oval face tinged with faint glow. Is some madonna from the skies. And yonder man with sidelong glance, Where imps of laughter lurk and dance, Is but the "Laughing Cavalier," That dashing knight of old romance. And here's a nymph for Fragonard, As dainty as spring flowers are; And there's a classic face, severe, A flawless mask, without a scar. Many others I could add, Yet looking at them makes me sad. Live works of art! but did you see What stained and tarnished frames they had? [32] TRAVELS I was weary of known places, Sights so old they seemed akin To the fragile, dainty laces Which they used to weave and spin, Lying now, their worth forgotten, faded, wrinkled, and grown thin. Newer patterns I'd be wearing. Strange, exotic in design ; Brighter lights I'd gaze at, flaring Where sweet-scented flowers entwine. Rather than be ever watching burned-out candles at a shrine. But the flaring lights burned faintly When I tried to catch their gleam. And my garment, fashioned quaintly. With a charm in every seam. Would not let me fold it round me, but grew shadowy as a dream. So I saw I must put color In the faded dress I wore, Found the candles were no duller Than they had been oft before, Tried to fill my eyes with Stardust gathered out of fairy lore. [33] Since the places were unchanging, I must vary then the hour, Find new beauty in estranging Time and place, within my power. As by magic one might pluck in dead of winter some June flower. So I wandered in my garden When the snow lay on the ground. Saw the icy surface harden To a dazzling crust that crowned All the sleeping plants still waiting like myself for spring's first sound. And one night before the morning Dawned, I climbed the attic stair. Heard the dark's half-whispered warning Not to brave its ghostly lair, Felt strange shapes close in around me, with damp breaths of dismal air. Then the week-day sunlight stealing Through stained glass on empty pews, Finds me solitary, kneeling; While the Sunday rest I choose To spend wandering through some workshop ere the weekly roar renews. [34] Thus I put the needed color In the faded dress I wore; Saw the candles were no duller Than they had been oft before, Filled my eyes with magic Stardust found behind a half-closed door. [35] THE STAR-GAZERS From the city street we watched the sky, Between tall buildings a strip, dark-blue. With the stars behind it shining through Like watchfires on high. "The stars make me feel so small," I cried, "Like a traveller lost in a country strange; Beneath their eyes that never change, I have lost all pride." But he said, "They are signals that never set^ They always guide if we could but see. For me they spell my immortality, Gold framed in jet." [36] GOD'S ANSWER I cried aloud in my despair, "Why must she go from me? God knows they cannot need her there As I do, ceaselessly." God answered, ''Like the morning lark, Her soul brought radiant dawn. We did not know it could be dark In heaven, till she was gone. I called her home. New beauty lies Now in this sacred place. Your love reflected in her eyes Has glorified her face." [37] TREASURES I have a chest of cedar filled with ghosts, The ghosts of plays once seen, of music heard. Of all the wisdom that a classroom boasts. Of all the wealth stored in a lost friend's word. I see them sometimes through a mist half -blurred, But if, by chance, you looked at them with me, Nothing but dusty papers would you see. [38] WISHES "There are three desires in my heart," I said. "Only three?" "The first is to follow the sunset red, As it brightens each land from its crimson bed. And each sea. And then I would be like a singing lark In the sky. To rouse men out of the slumbrous dark; Like a flaming arrow to leave a mark On high." "And what other wish would you add to these two In your pride?" "Ah! never from me will you gain the third clue. Lest you see me so humble, that swiftly from you I must hide." [39] THE BLUE HOLE A magic pool, Within a ring of trees it lay. Its mossy sides sloped downward to the cool Unbottomed center, bluish-green. Like some huge crater sunk between Two shadowy walls, where sunbeams never stray. But as I lean Far o'er the edge like any fool. An elfin face returns my stare; I find my pool to be a fairy lair. [40] THE SUNDIAL In this deserted garden plot I stand, Half over-grown with clinging vines that screen Me from my lord the sun, whose face no more With bright and burning gaze looks into mine. In my poor ignorance once I thought myself A very chanticleer, without whose aid No sunshine e'er could find its way to earth. Then I was young, and in my strong youth's pride, Boasted, "I number none but sunny hours." Ah well, I keep my word! for since the hours Beneath these shading trees have lost the sun, I cease to count them, and they slip away Like pale, gray ghosts into eternity. 'Twas only from the birds that seek this shade, I learned the sun still shines, though not on me; He has forgot the many days I served him well. Those "sunny hours!" The garden then was trim. With straight-cut borders, and the flowers bloomed For very love of her who tended them. Even now at twilight when the soft winds blow, I hear her flitting by me, feel her hands Caressingly pass o'er my upturned face, To trace the words she used to love so well. [41] She too knew none but cloudless hours In that far happy time, and then like mine, Her life too lost the sun. So now she haunts This place of former joys. A silent pair We wait together, she and I, until The shadows fade before the sun's bright touch, And we can count the "sunny hours" again. [42] SONGS I sang out in the woods today All the songs in my heart, But only the birds could hear, and they Waited for me to depart. In the city tonight where I long to please All who care for the music I bring, I find — the pity of it! — for these I have no songs to sing. [43] DISAPPOINTMENTS I will make a web of my disappointments, Weaving their faded strands Into a dull, monotonous pattern. When I spread it on the grass at my feet It will look lifeless, But when I lift it before my eyes, Shining through it I will see the light of hope, As a moonbeam struggling Through filmy cobwebs. [44] HOLLYHOCKS My window overlooks a wilderness of hollyhocks, Their gayly colored bells, Wine red, shell-pink, or rose, Swaying with each passing breeze. Almost I hear the chimes they ring, But they are only meant for fairy ears and bees. I long to take canvas and brush And thus make them last forever, But my only canvas is this paper. And the only paint I can use is words. And I have lost my palette. Who can mix words. So that the color of my hollyhocks Will live upon this page. And never fade? [45] TO MY DOG Let's pretend That Vm a portrait painter, Very famous, with my studio Lined with lovely faces. Painted ghosts that watch me as I work. But I am sitting idle, dreaming, Waiting for another face to draw, And then you come in sombre black, Together with the cat in flaming yellow. With the artist's love of contrasts, I exclaim, "Here is my subject. I will paint you both together. The golden sun and its darkened shadow." The sun I find an easy model. For she seats herself serenely, With faintly supercilious air, A rather bored and blase beauty. But you, her shadow. How can I paint you. When you jump in my lap. And lick my face and hands To show how much you love me? Let's not pretend I am a painter any more. We'll go outside and have a game of ball, And leave the self-sufficient cat behind. [46] SYMBOLS A spray of crimson tulips In a carved jade bowl, Lay on a shelf, reflected Within a girandole. The warm glow of the flowers. The coolness of the jade. Upon the crystal surface Two pools of color made. I drank their cup of beauty, Yet barely touched its brim, Unhelped I missed the depths Hid in that goblet dim. For where I saw a mirror. There shone forth family pride ; And that cool bowl of green. For which a man had died, Spelt fame in burning letters — A priceless vase, to hold Symbols of greater worth. Of friendship tried and old. [47] THE RAINBOW At the end of the rainbow descending Deep into the crystalHne ocean, Slowly rocked by the sea's lazy motion, A fairy sits spinning all day. The bow's radiant colors she seizes And weaves into strands, which the breezes Waft over the world, gayly blending Their hues with the earth's duller gray. The red 'neath her deft fingers springing Leaps to life from the coal on the ashes. In the ruby with passion it flashes. Comes to rest in the rose's deep heart. And the violet thread, darkened, enriches The royal-hued iris, bewitches The throat of the hummingbird winging His flight like a shimmering dart. O'er the soft blades of grass, the green streaming From the hand of the prodigal fairy. Weaves a carpet of color, to carry The weight of the world's weary feet. The sea-foam that splashes and shivers. The wind-blown ivy that quivers. The emerald's sheen — all are teeming. With the color of springtime, replete. [48] The blue that the winds widely scatter Bathes the waves of the sea as it surges Towards the high-arching heavens, then merges Itself in the depths of the skies. While the threads that are woven of yellow Gild the rising sun's rays warm and mellow, Or hide in the rocks, till men shatter The vein where their rough beauty lies. At the end of the day very slowly All the colors are blended together Into white, like a snowy swan's feather; All melt in a silvery mist Like the dew when it lovingly showers The slumberous forms of the flowers. And the fairy herself, pure and holy. By myriad moonbeams is kissed. [49] EYES "If we could borrow other's eyes," I mused in moral tone, "what lies Beneath the broidered surface fair Might give us pause, or else some rare, Deep-water pearl to sunlight brought Might show us wealth beyond our thought.' As one for whom God did unroll The secret mysteries of the soul, I talked. My friend kept silent pace Beside me, with immobile face. "That man we passed," I chattered on. Saving my speech till he had gone, "To see him smile you would not know His heart was full of dead men's woe. That holds him tortured, without rest." "He does but show the world his best; You should not rob him," said my friend. Abashed I hastened to amend My speech and vision. "There's a girl Across the way, who in the whirl Of pleasure strives to be most bold, Flaunting her youth before the old. Yet I have found it but a dress To cover her tense loneliness. Why must men be so cruelly blind?" [50] "You cast your questions down the wind, And idle questions idly roam," My friend replied, "but in your home With my poor eyes I see a saint. One that a master-hand should paint. Vision like yours so keen and clear, Is blinded when the light shines near." [51] A MEMORY OF THE WAR I watched the children playing yesterday, And heard their eager voices, vibrant, gay. My thoughts turned toward the little ones of France, Who must be taught to smile, to play, to dance. And when the happy children's games were done, I saw them fasten hands and homeward run. The picture of a ruined street flashed clear, Marked with a cross, "My father's house stood here." Men needs must bear the war's cruel, grinding cost, Still they at least once had the thing they lost. But children, old from fear ! — what sight more sad ! — For they have lost the things they never had. [52] DREAMS Characters: Barbara, Agatha, Gertrude. Agatha Ah! Barbara, my child, why do you weep? Your eyes that look so strained from many tears Have not been used to mirror all your moods So plainly. Barbara You have given the reason there. In all my life I've known but passing moods. And it was rather fun to fool the world; You've never been quite sure, although I laughed. How gay or sad my heart was. Now I've found That I can play no more. This is no mood, To pass away as others have. I've lost — Agatha What have you lost? Barbara A dream. Agatha 'Tis better so. Barbara Better? You know not what you say. My dream Was all my life. It seems I should be dead Now it has gone, but I am only cold. It's strange I cannot laugh. [S3] Gertrude What was your dream? Barbara The vision of a perfect knight. Gertrude Poor child! Barbara Of one who had no fear in all the world Save only that of ever losing me. It was no idle dream. I could have sworn If you had asked me only yesterday, That I had truly found him. He seemed all My heart had longed for — till he ran away. Oh ! not from me ! I think he lacked that force. He fled from fighting in a losing cause, Because, he said, he wished to save his strength For better things, and this lost fight was none Of his own choosing. Who elects to lose? But I had rather watch my ship go down, Knowing her safety lies within my care. Than sail away to some bright tropic isle Where "better things" await me, leaving her Alone to beat her life out Against the waves. Some wind might bring her safe to port. Who knows ? Lost causes are not always lost, but dreams Once broken never find their wings again. [54] Gertrude They seem like fragile butterflies, my child, But I have found that dreams have eagles' wings, That bear you soaring to the heights of heaven. If you have dreams you live on mountain peaks. I lived there once, and then I clambered down By slow degrees till now the level plain Has swallowed up my life. If you have lost One peak, fly on to other heights. Your wings Are only bruised, not broken. Fly again. The air on eagles' wings is better far Than slothful valley ease. Barbara The air is cold. Gertrude Not colder than a burned out fire. Agatha My child, She counsels most unwisely. All too well I know how cold the heights are and how lonely. When I was young I dreamed (who does not dream.'*) As you have done, and I preferred to soar High overhead, to wander at my will Free from all petty cares. I made my choice And I have lived my Hfe above the clouds. [55] The air is clear and sight is doubly keen, But I know now the valley fire is better. Not broken wings alone can make one fall; Wings can grow tired for lack of place to rest. Besides, your dream was of a perfect knight, You say, who played you false. He may perhaps Through trusting in your faith, think that of you. You also may be but a faded dream. You spoke so bravely just a moment since Of standing for lost causes. Why not be The champion of lost dreams? Barbara My dream is dead. Agatha If it were dead it would not hurt you so. Barbara You think it is alive? Don't torture me With hopes that are not true. — His dream of me, I had not thought of that — is it quite dead? If I should try to give it wings again It might teach mine to fly. What do you think? Two dreams together would not fear the cold. Besides I would not fly so high again. ril go to tell him now. [56] Gertrude [To Agatha.] What have you done? You're proud of having tamed an eagle's wings? Agatha I'm glad of having warmed them at the fire. [57] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS illiilliliiilliiiiliillilllili 015 799 468 2 •

15026865

The child, and other verses

Anderson, Mary Louisa

childotherverses00ande_djvu.txt

The Child and Other Verses Mary Louisa Anderson Class ^ cJf j f- J QI p§ UUliO ¥ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. The Child and Other Verses Mary Louisa Anderson '> i » XTbe 1kn!cF?erl)oc??er press New York 1915 s ^ V Copyright by MARY L. ANDERSON 191S 3ClA4i49ll ^0 W. W. A. CONTENTS The Child These Things Come to Face " Montgomery Fell " Prescience -Wind in the Marshes The Return Sorrow . Night in the City Park The Golden Rose The Vermont Pine . Recessional The Tender Isles Resurgam Winter Twilight Intimations Sea Song The Moment . Rose Spring . The Name Liberation Me m My Mother's PAGE I 4 5 7 8 9 II 12 13 14 i6 17 i8 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 ^.J-J" |»v.„«.. Atonement An English Rose In Memoriam The Son Reveille . The Perfect Thing The Chimes . A Rose . On the Shore . A Dream . The Thought . Drifting . A Harvest Field Lost The Song . Winds The Call . Written in Bliss Carman's Book On the Sound . The Things that Are the Clearest Voices — ^A Cycle "Shut-in "Creek A Sunset PAGB 28 29 31 32 34 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 47 48 49 50 51 52 54 55 VI THE CHILD UP where mountain peaks are high, And purple skies are low ; Where whitest noons and whiter stars Look down on glistening snow, At midnight of a Christmas Eve — A bitter night and wild — Alone, along the wintry way, There walked a little Child. He was as tender and as fair As any drifting bloom Of inextinguishable Spring Against the frost of doom. And this was just the wondrous thing; He moved through cold and storm. The yawning dark, the fearftd height Safely and blithe and warm. THE CHILD The savage wind enfolded Him In tenderness complete ; The snow enrolled in softened depths Of ermine to His feet. One little touch of His deterred The crumbling hills of stone. He trod the stairs of riven ice, Like steps before the throne. And when He came at last where men In safety slept and fed, He summoned them and they arose And followed where He led. They followed through the fearful night, Nor questioned nor demurred, Foregoing each his fireside At that unspoken Word. And though the darkness did not pale, The tempest did not cease. They found that where they followed Him, There was a way of peace. THE CHILD The shepherds and the men of toil Who knew the region wild, Saw they had been but aliens till They journeyed with the Child. And when the morning dawned they told The vision of the night — About a Boy whose voice was love, Whose face was hid in light ; Of how they followed Him with joy Unspeakable, and how, Of all that followed, there was "none Durst ask Him, 'Who art Thou?'" THESE THINGS COME TO ME IN MY MOTHER'S FACE 1'^HESE things come to me in my Mother's face: A wind flower blooming in a shaded place, The sudden star that breaks a stormy night, And in her eyes a brown bird, quick with flight. Then, as I look, I hear a wood wren sing (Warm, unafraid, defenceless little thing!) A note so white, so wonderful, so far, I almost lose the brown bird in the star. (( MONTGOMERY FELL" (A tablet on the hillside of Vrhs de Ville, Quebec, marks the spot where General Montgomery was killed in his effort to take the garrison above early on the morning of December 31, 1775.) CLOSE to the city, but so far away! (The Past is 'round the corner from To-day.) Between the narrow roadway and the sky The hill is high, The rock is bold and steep, And strong to keep The memory of that footstep and that name, On its grey side the record of his fame. Little it says, and well — "Montgomery fell." However wide the glory, However full the life to fill the story, However long the grief. Death's word is brief. Came he so near to conquest? 5 ''MONTGOMERY FELL" Ah, so near The name is here ! And yet between the fortress and his dream, the letters tell, "Montgomery fell." The Dream? Had he a dream on his last night ? Look upward toward the height, Look long, and there discern An old fort rise whereon strange letters burn, Letters not touched by time or blood: "Within these walls Montgomery stood." PRESCIENCE THE hedge is standing sunk in night Across the lawn, Save (where I know its flowers are white) Is hovering a little light, Like dawn. The trees look graven in the air, So still they are, In high relief, distinct and fair, With, deep embedded here and there, A star. This shadowy garden where I move Is not my own. Its dim delight, its trees above. Its fragrance, are in fee to Love Unknown. The rapture that it does enfold I wait to claim ; A face the darkness would withhold And to my ear, as yet untold — A name. V WINDS IN THE MARSHES IN silver eddies move the winds Along the waving grass — So beautiful and yet unseen, Unfollowed, do they pass! They stroke the shining meadow there, And break it up like glass. Between the marshes, golden green, How blue the water lies, Upon the sunning breast of earth A pattern of the skies ; And both are stirred by summer wind To mood and mysteries. And now the Breath of Beauty, white, Brushes the willows' sheen. Then back again across the blue And back across the green. So walks the Wonder up and down, Still lovely, and unseen. 8 THE RETURN '"PHE little trees turn first with the 1 branches that are broken, The huckleberry bushes and the hardy meadow ferns. This is the fringe of loveliness, that ere the word be spoken Which fires the heart of forests, already lights and burns. Pale aster-purple fields are edged with tawny grasses, And flecks of down are clinging upon the yel- low broom. A breath of springtime subtlety returns as summer passes, The tender, faint penumbra around the win- ter's gloom. 9 THE RETURN 'Tis the twilight of the year — its pale and lambent gloaming, When life recedes in beauty from the surface of the land, And when the princely Wanderer comes, eager from his roaming. Lifts the latch and lights the fire and stooping, takes command. (Now the Httle trees have turned, and the branches that are broken, The huckleberry thickets and the hardy meadow fern ! So be still, my heart, and listen for the hush that is thy token And be thy grey hearth garnished for the fire that shall burn!) lO SORROW LOVE met me in the village And saw me not, " he said. "The look I craved just brushed my eyes And found the lad's instead. "Death passed me in the battle- So close — so close," he said. "I heard the ball go singing by And take the lad instead. "But there was One o'erlooked me not Who passed unnamed," he said. "More than the others had withheld, This One left me instead." II NIGHT IN THE PARK OVER the city park Steals the absorbing dark. The night has found the trees And rests at last in these. Incomparable night they make of him — Erebus Emerald — with outline dim, And heart as deep as his own sleep. And there, ah, there — How delicate and fair! What is it lends the lawn And its fastidious flowers, That fairy dawn. Fit for young love, like ours? It is the big white light beyond the fir, Spiritual as a star, But not so far, aye, not so far! In this like her Whose eyes upon me shine. Near as the night, and as the stars, divine. 12 THE GOLDEN ROSE SING the song of a golden rose! Sing the golden heart of a song! Sing the heart of a song that glows In fragrance and gold the glad day long — In beauty, the night and the deep day long! Heart of a yellow rose, heart of the noon, Why does the mocking-bird sing to the day? Why does he dream in his song of the moon While you are shedding the sunlight away — Shedding the moonlight and sunlight away? You who are loved of the sun and the moon, Gorgeous by day and beglamoured by night, Tender with shade to the passionate noon, To the passionate darkness as tender with light- Tender with shadow and tender with light ! Sing the song of a golden rose ! Sing the golden heart of a song! Sing the song of a heart that glows In fragrance and gold the glad day long — In beauty, the day and the deep night long! 13 A VERMONT PINE IN hot September's midday track Come to the edge of the wood, Where the victorious day falls back, By one surmounting pine withstood. Still saturate with midnight through. Moonlit and turbulent. It waves against the autumn blue Its rapturous signals of content. And every tender creature heeds The protest of those arms. Against its widened hour of need, Against the day's distinct alarms. From haggard field and heat above, The fugitives of light Find here the brooding heart of love, And know again the balm of night. 14 A VERMONT PINE It is the refuge of spent heart, Of furtive feathered thing ; The twiHght moth's ecstatic art Trailing soft, a quivering wing. Spices of earth more faint than flowers, Sweeten the grey-green air; Here rest is keeping timeless hours, And here is silence, thick with prayer. Here fettered hope, imprisoned dream, Stretch to their long release. All sweet and faded memories seem Fixed in the substance of its peace. While all day long the branches there, High in the vaulted tree, Rock in the shadowy tides of air — Fresh tides of an eternal sea. And till its latest wave has swept Beneath this sovereign pine, A covenant of shade is kept That here the sun may never shine. 15 RECESSIONAL THROUGH autumn's bravery I hear A plaint as soft as falling leaf, Sweet as the hunter's song, and clear, And mournful as the pine tree's grief. So does the heart of summer break? Ah me — ah me ! In vain the blood Of roses, shed for her dear sake? In vain the song ghosts of the wood? Listen again ! The sunlight falls On ragged field and purple hill. Southward a lone bird, wheeling, calls, And then the world is still. i6 L THE TENDER ISLES IKE molten silver is the sea, Bright, and stirring heavily. The shadow islands on it lie. (Islands of cloud are in the sky.) And white, between, the winter sun Is cold as loveless duty done. Only the islands soft and grey Are tender on the glittering day. Memories of one heart for me Are like the shadows on the sea. 17 RESURGAM A ROB IN singing in the rain, And through the mist a rose-tree burning ; Through years long past, forgotten, vain, One radiance again returning ! Love, is this all? Is there no more? I dreamed last night you came to me. Saying, "Upon this hidden shore Are all the things that used to be. *'01d springs blow faintly o'er the snow. And here old summers bloom and sigh. Octobers that we used to know. Kindle the world, and flame and die. *' Through our grey woods the snows still sift To settle on the fallen leaves. Cold winds, that drew us nearer, lift The same vines clinging to the eaves. * Then I may come and claim them all, You waiting in the dusk again! Else why the robin's ringing call, The roses burning in the rain? i8 WINTER TWILIGHT NOW the white day turns deep and grey, The snow, in hyacinth, slopes away. Upon it fine, in deft design Is limned soft each tree and vine, While sudden, rare, and super-fair, A lovely shadow fills the air. Obediently the earth and I Are drawn together with the sky. And so I see a mystery Where neither day nor night can be. 19 INTIMATIONS THESE are some of the things I love : Height ! And long black shadows on the grass at night, Leaning away From the fair ray That would deliver them to light. Silence — silence in the wake of sound — And the drear pound Of the remorseless wave on the relentless shore. These things — and more — and more Of the mute call and shadow-hand, That throng the strand Between the fabric of our land And that sea Man names "Eternity." 20 SEA SONG OH, little white sails on the dark sea rim, The blue sea rim so clean and fine, And fringing waves that leap and swim, That weave and gather and dance and shine ! There is nothing over the water to-day But the little boats with their glistening wings. Even the distance is wiped away, And I gasp with the nearness and touch of things. Even the distance is wiped away Over the floor of the wide dark sea. Empty it is, for the empty day. And the eager, questing soul of me. But none too wide were it all, nor fair, And the farthest way were none too long ; For the last and best my soul would dare. And my heart with the strength of the sea is strong. 21 THE MOMENT HOW strange the sunshine of the afternoon That turns one side of every green thing gold, Leaving the other murmuring in shade, Flinging the shadows long upon the grass ! The air is clear, and the clear wind is strong. Strong, for the rapture of the bending trees — Slim poplars, white and young, and soft In tumult of the gently crowding leaves. The river, purple-etched by passing winds, While the long hills lie black against the west. Now all is ready, keen and fresh and void. The eye is wide; the heart is beating high, For all is ready. Wherefore? Who may say? Even now while yet we ask it is too late, Since what was coming has already passed! 22 T A ROSE 0-DAY my heart is heavy with delight As this great rose with heaviness of June — The rose that has been steeped in summer night, In dew and darkness and the misted moon. I have been folded deep in dreams of thee — Only the rose may know thy words to me. 23 SPRING STILL white with snow, the sloping shore Lay lovely in the damp March day. Still white, save at the water's edge A broadening band of grey. The slant green lights were in the waves, A dusk of gold hung o'er the sea. No sun? I saw a seabird's wing Flashing mysteriously. Though nought whereof to be so glad My life could show me an3n;vhere, A joy beyond my dreaming pressed Close in the misty air. And oh, and oh to make it mine! Out into the mist I cry. The golden air, the melting shore, The flashing wings, reply. 24 THE NAME BETWEEN the tongues that praise and those that blame There walks Myself, imhearing and the same. Called many things by men, it has unknown a Name. The way is either dark or wildly lit. Myself is blind, and nothing knows of it. Somewhere, upon a Stone, the Name is writ. I know no more the Name than friend or foe, Nor how Myself, both deaf and blind, can go, But He who gave the name, and called Myself, doth know. 25 LIBERATION OH, gulls upon the gale, Oh whitecaps on the sea, Oh, distant, shining sail. Ye are all akin to me ! For my spirit follows, too, O'er the water green and grey *Neath the sky of white and blue. On this wild October day. I would follow on and find — Taste the secret of the free ; Of the wings that lance the wind, Of the winds that lift the sea. If I trusted to the ocean Should I feel such fair release? On the breast of its commotion Should I know such wing6d peace? 26 LIBERATION Oh, gulls upon the gale, Oh, whitecaps on the sea, Oh, white and shining sail. Ye are all akin to me. And my spirit follows, too, On the water green and grey, ^ Where the sky is white and blue On this far October day! 27 ATONEMENT WHAT is so cool as a fresh springing violet? And yet its life is part Of fire, hidden at creation's heart. Who has not warmed his soiil before a flam- ing rose, Although its crimson leaf Be cooler than the summer rain against his grief? So do there lie upon the lap of mystery Silent, in fold on fold, 'Gainst tropic noons, the snows of time, per- fect and cold. 28 AN ENGLISH ROSE THERE is a dream that comes to me About a small white rose, That turns its shining petals out As soon as summer blows. Within an old-time garden grown Between the crumbling wall And unkempt hedges, dark and high, Where heavy shadows fall. The sunlight pierces gaily there, The bees and crickets sing, And little leaves drift idly by. Like flowers upon the wing. Sometimes I dream the daylight leaves My garden to the night. Then is the darkness lovelier Than all the world in light. 29 AN ENGLISH ROSE The night has made the shadows one, But where the hedges are I think I see the white rose shine Soft as a misted star. I dream — but oh, how distant now The little rose does seem, When you, white flower of my life, Bloom out upon my dream ! 30 IN MEMORIAM THERE is one dead of whom I always think When the red light is in the evening sky, And the dim hills in peace against it lie — One dear and dead, of whom I always think. It still is he, when the red light is gone And the cold mists from out the valley rise, Blending the pale hills and the faded skies — It still is he my heart is dwelling on. Dwells, and refuses to be comforted, For what avail the things that people say, The claim and clamour of recurring day? The quiet evening knows that he is dead! But when the dusk has deepened into night Wherein there throbs one white, intrepid star, I think the things that were touch those that are. And in that moment comes the Gift of Sight. 31 THE SON " Wist ye not that I must be about my Father* s business?'' A FIGURE sweet and luminous Across the night He came, All gentle in His loneliness But buoyant as a flame. Like one who feeling men's despair Yet knew their coming power, As to the darkened world He brought Its great predestined hour. 'Twas pity on His radiant face That lay, a lovely shade. (This was the dearest gift, I think, Which earth to heaven made.) 32 THE SON Where children laughed, and women prayed, And men in courage trod, He moved intent, participant, This little Son of God. And at the loom of life He wrought, The pattern and the plan — The pain, the labour, and the joy — He was the Son of Man. So what He saw, with hungry love. Upon the crowded earth. Were souls in travail glorious With the divinest birth. And what they saw was just a Lad Who moved about the land. With those all-understanding eyes They could not understand. But what the Father saw — the heart Falls blind before the thought ! Had not the Father known His Son Before the world was wrought? 3 33 REVEILLE OLD he was, as last I knew. I see the sHghtly stooping head, The tremulous step, but trained and true- He had the soldier's tread. I see him put his shoulders back Against the years that bore him on, And take the sloping, westward track Like one who faced the sun. His romance was a yellowed flower. History had made his wars her own. And just ahead was that pale hour Which each must pass alone. So wistful was his gaze, and dim. Toward the yet unfinished years, I wanted to turn back with him And save my heart the tears. 34 REVEILLE Last night I saw him as I slept. How young he was, and gladly fair! All that my heart for him had wept And he had lost, was there! And so my song is sung to-day Because of this one gleam of truth : When my old Soldier went away He found again his youth. 35 THE PERFECT THING TO-DAY I know there is no perfect thing Except the love that comes to us in dreams Of our dear dead, when once again We have them in our arms, and know — and know That all the anguish has been false and vain. In that calm flood of ease and perfect joy, That meeting without haste or fear, aware Of its infinity — Oh, sweet and safe! 'Twas such a dream I had. The thing he said To me I cannot hear, but I can see it In the memory of his face. It has nor name Nor sound, but only light. The same that burns Warm, through the whiteness of the common day. Transfusing all — and yet a different thing From any but the beauty of my dream. 36 THE CHIMES TWAS but a second since they passed — Those traceless flights of broken song, So strange and fast So sweet and strong; Not always glad nor always mild ; Not always sad nor always wild; Now far and clear; Now soft and near; Now gone ! and so completely gone That they would seem To be a dream Were they not ringing on and on Within my soul, As now they roll Along through evening's azure space To their last limpid resting-place Upon that glorious golden day Where they may moor their song — and stay. 37 A ROSE COOL is my red rose, as the dawn is cool. Against my cheek, its touch is delicate As the first Spring's first touch, initiate. And it is deep with colour as a pool — Clear, deep, and undivined as Truth. Joy-tipt it is — the sweet hurt at its heart Of bitter golden honey is to part, For it is passing ere it find its youth. Its crimson petals are like little wings, Shaken with sunshine and attuned to flight, But clinging to the shadowy soul of things, And captive to its mystery of night. A sweetness, of sweet things being bom, is in its breath — The freshness floating in with Life, and over Death. 38 ON THE SHORE IN the dense wide grey of the twilight at sea, In the deepening arch of blue, In each new-born light, trembling and white, Love of my dreams, is it you? Close! For my heart is lonely and cold. Soft ! For my heart is sore With wending of ways and coming of days, The sunshine and the shore. Here is the tread of the twilight at sea. The cry of the sea to the land. The depths above — but love, ah love. Never the touch of your hand ! Shall we never meet but as dream meets dream. Perhaps as life meets birth. Or time meets years, or grief meets tears, But not as we meet on earth? 39 A DREAM LAST night beneath the stars I dreamed of thee. Down shimmering ways, through shadow worlds I went, To find at last thine arms awaiting me, Just as the breathless span of night was spent. 40 THE THOUGHT 1 THINK no great thing is, but that must show Some sign of measure of its magnitude — Some hint of that which were, if it were not. The night is interrupted by the stars And the smooth sea is broken by the waves, The evening and the silent mountain view Have cow-bells, or the ax within the woods To sound the depth of stillness and of peace. And the vast height of sky shows here A tilting bird, or there a lonely tree Upon the hill, pointing the scale of its White altitude. So this, my joy In you, perchance could never know itself For all it is, without the thought of hours Ere you were here, or the chill dread — No, give it not a name, for you are come. And it could never be as once it was ! 41 DRIFTING IN the mist that is over the water (The mist that is under the sky) Are ships that move, Dim stars above And we that love — You and I. Oh, the wind that blows over the water (The wind that blows down from the sky) Is soft as the wings Of invisible things, Or the hope that it brings, Or the sigh ! I see no marge to the water, I see no line to the sky. Only I hear Your heart beat, Dear, Nor care — nor fear — To die. 42 A HARVEST FIELD (after millet) THE opulence of sunlight, The privilege of shade, The relish of the resting From the swinging of the blade — It is the golden harvest With trees about the rim ; The smitten straw's sweet savour Where little insects swim ; A yellow dusty dimness Around the reaper's way, Who reaps a year of glory Within a single day. 43 LOST THERE was a time cut out from Time And given over to thee, Fashioned of things too sweet and strange, Too beautiful to be. I cannot tell how long it was. I only know 'tis past. It covers all my memory, And yet it went so fast. And thou — in vain I look for thee Among the things that are. I cannot find thy place or time, Thy moment or thy star! Hadst thou no other dwelling, then, Save that I gave to thee — That time of things too wonderful. Too beautiful to be? 44 THE SONG SING!" said Love, and piped a lay- Under the tree, a Summer day. But Life his gay demand denied. "Joy is too sweet for song," she sighed. "Sing!" said Love, at a feast, "for see, I drain the cup of gods to thee!" But Life her lifted goblet quaffed. "Pride is too great for song," she laughed. "Sing!" said Love, "the night grows long While I grow weary for thy song, And if thou wilt not sing for me, I needs must ask of Memory." 45 THE SONG *Twas then a wondrous song there came, Cleaving the silence like a flame, Filling the wide and empty night With pain and longing and delight. The shivering stars grew still, to place The singer of that song of grace. But only Love's deep eyes could see If it were Life — or Memory. 46 WINDS THE wind that blows against the sea- Cruel it is and great and strong. It moves in fate and mystery, Heaping in serried lines the sea, (Grey trenches of grim tragedy). So many and so long! The winds that blow among the grass- Dear little winds, how well I mind When I was but a tiny lass, With head no higher than the grass, How sweet it was to feel them pass, How soft they were, and kind! 47 THE CALL IS it of flame or flower that you are, O Love of mine? Your luminous soul, white as a winter star, And your red lips, like wine. Of the strong earth you are so sure a part, And yet there lies A dream of radiant distance round your heart, And in your shaded eyes. So on the brink of an infinity I see you stand. Called by the pale lips of a misty sea, Held by the throbbing land. And I am waiting — whither lies your way, Dear Mystery? Out where the young night meets the passing day? Or through the fields — with me! 48 WRITTEN IN A COPY OF BLISS CAR- MAN'S SEA POEMS COME take a look in my little green book — Its covers hold the sea ; The far sea line, the sea-smell fine, The sea winds full and free. The ache of the heart when sails depart, Its joy when waves break near; The throb of the eye when gulls beat high, Ah, more than life is here ! My heart I gave to the heart of the wave — Pledged it, and pledged again! And still I wait by the sea's grey gate Nor count the vigil vain. Far the quest of the sea's unrest? Aye, but the sea is fair. And fair the place in its vanishing space For those who follow and dare — Who love and follow and dare! 4 49 ON THE SOUND THERE is no song for silence, nor brush to show the way The white ships move at evening over the quiet bay — Pale sky and water meeting where the night line meets the day. But see, beyond the headland there drops the reddened sun! Hark, the report and thunder that trails from the sunset gun! The day has turned to ashes, with the quest of the ships undone. 50 THE THINGS THAT ARE THE CLEAREST THE things that are the clearest, The deepest and the dearest, How very like they seem to me, and yet how far apart! A deep red rose at morning, A planet before dawning, And the deep, deep eyes of her who is the mistress of my heart. The rose there, swimming, burning, In depths beyond discerning, And clarity as fathomless and starry as the skies, Is as far from our unfolding In the secret it is holding As the unplumbed light of planets or the won- der of her eyes. 51 VOICES— A CYCLE HEART of the hills, your echoes fall So clear upon my dreams, I wake and follow to the call Along the woods and streams ; Finding the dear forgotten ways. Missing the dear remembered days. II Voice of the sea, your solace rings A diapason low Through all the clear and broken strings- Through songs that live or go — To sleep ! Without a dream at all On which a memory may fall ! 52 V \j L ^^ 12. zy .rt. \^ X K^ 1^ n, III Spirit of sky, in you the hill Loses its dimmest dream. The ocean's somnolence and chill Quicken beneath your gleam. While Memory turns to Hope, the sea Stirs in its sleep with Memory. 53 << SHUT-IN" CREEK THE shadows lie across the dusty road. Oh, Unforgotten One, do you remember How clear and beautiful the shadows were Upon that first September? The day on horseback at the mountain ford — I see the horses in the rocky stream ; I hear their ringing hoofs, plangent and clear, And buried, like a dream. Farther a little brook ran brilliant by. And some one murmured of the "golden sands." We drew rein silently, the while "the glass Turned" in the "glowing hands." At last the sudden twilight, when we wheeled And, wordless, went along the dimning way — Ah, Unforgotten, just to know that you Are living in that day! 54 A SUNSET MY love stood at the window, a red rose at her breast ; The red light of the setting sun poured on her from the west ; Of all the sunlight touched that hour, it matched the rose the best. The rose was red and amber ; the sunlight red and gold. (Who would have thought such dusky hair such yellow lights could hold?) Her eyes surrendered to the sun, because the sun was bold. Oh, rose, a ruby chalice brimming with amber wine — A golden goblet redder filled than red drops of the vine! Oh, crimson cup of Love, Lifers hand one moment pressed to mine ! 55

11000745

The happy teacher,

Anderson, Melville Best

happyteacher00ande_djvu.txt

< o ^^,..v cmuA^ "^^c.^"' ^'^m\ '^^<^ v-s^ 0- -^ *o-,o' ^ -» V '^ V> V •' * < o v-^' v-^^ •1 o .•iq / V^*/ V^-;/ v^*/ ,0*" % *'T77»' A .^ ^-'' <-*s THE HAPPY TEACHER THE HAPPY TEACHER BY MELVILLE B. ANDERSON NEW YORK B. W. HUEBSCH 1910 '/ Copyright, 1910, Bt B. W. Huebsch CCLA2T8747 TO THE MEN AKD WOMEN WHO WERE MY STUDENTS AND THROUGH WHOM I WAS A LEARNER MDCCCLXXVII— MCMX AUTHOR'S NOTE This poem was read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Leland Stanford Junior University, May 21, 1910, at which time the author com- menced emeritus. THE HAPPY TEACHER Who is the Happy Teacher? — Represent In his dimensions like himself, O Muse, His very effigy, his lineament Essential: yet, as painters ever use. Portray the happy guide of noble youth Ideally, — that is with inward truth! Thus without due premeditance Invoking with rash utterance The Muse (presumptuous son of Earth, Daring to summon as a slave The Goddess of celestial birth! ), I head my pinnace to the wave; But, look you! not a zephyr blows To clear us from the lee of prose: [9] THE HAPPY TEACHER "Be brisk there, hearties, man the oar. And make a shift to pull off shore! " Lo! scarcely under steerage- way, I feel a presence at the prow, — A thrilling voice commands me "Stay! '* We drop the oars, our heads we bow. "Follow," the Goddess bids, "the trace Of him who utter'd nothing base; Let Wordsworth be thy pilot, for He sang the Happy Warrior.'* "Be it far from thee to advise Me emulate that lofty song, Muse! — What verse-craft could dis- guise My fragile foil'd against his strong? Ah! cap and bells should crown th* em- prise. 1 cannot string Ulysses* bow, My grasp too weak, my reach too low." [10] HOW TO FOLLOW WORDSWORTH The Muse's answer how rehearse In rime thus unheroic? — Terse And stern to this effect she spake: **What boots it weigh the form of verse? Doth not the soul the body make? Deep counsel with thy Spirit take! Thence streams the right afflatus, — storm Of living utterance: for form (Her voice was edged with some disdain) If any poet there remain Yet uninform'd with instinct, — well. Let him aspire to doggerel! " The message, — if a little tart Tonic the more, — I take to heart; With trembling hand I string the lyre. And, prompted by that sneer, aspire: Touchstone will chuckle, if he hark it, "Right butterwomen's rank to market! " Beginning, plunge we if you please. As Horace bids, in medias reSf — [11] THE HAPPY TEACHER Words signifying Quite at random. As easy writers understand 'em; And if we treat, not as we ought to, Of what the Happy Teacher '11 not do, The Muse may later bid us pen her A rime less negative in tenor. He will not break the bruised reed Which feebly lifts its little spire; Nor will he quench the smoking flax Where Genius yet may burst to fire; The hungry he'll not underfeed, Weak appetite not overtax. He will not strive to loose or bind The bands that starr'd Orion wove; Precept may shake, not sever these Ethereal cables knit with love: Sweet influences of the mind Immortal as the Pleiades. [12] FUNDAMENTALS Counter to Mother Nature's course Task not the heart, nor cudgel brain Genial propensity to quell; Thou 'It have thy labor for thy pain: Inevitable thy remorse, O sire of Richard Feverell His basic principle thus flows When set to music; but to those WTio treat the soul as a machine. Small reason in the rime is seen. Their schools and systems, all and some, Seem founded on the axiom That gear of clock-work can direct The engine of the intellect. They deem, like alchemists of old. To find in their retorts the gold, Blind to the true transmuting stone, Only to Nature's bantlings known. The spirit bloweth and is still: Come, harness it to turn our mill! [13] THE HAPPY TEACHER No teacher, but mechanic tool, Who, when the angel moves aright The waters of Bethesda's pool. Would thermograph them by some rule Of R^umur or Fahrenheit. Our happy Guide, of Socrates' Athletic school, distrusts degrees. . WTiy dub the graduated ass Whose ne 'plus ultra is to pass, Honorificabilitudinitas ? O runner, fling aside the crutch! Is his monition; overmuch Our Capuan schools abound in aids. Diplomas, titles, badges, grades: Why titillate with bait so slight The hungry edge of appetite? Why tempt the torpid? Fat of rib Is fat of wit: shut up the crib! When from the mint the gold of Burns, [14] FRIPPERY Crisp with the guinea-stamp, returns, The gold's the gold, we understand, — Yet how the better for the brand? When did promotion come to knowledge From furbelows aflounce at college? Amid the courtiers glittering Stood rusty Franklin less a king? To boys leave bagatelles! Pray, what Avail'd the doctor's hood to Watt? If, pamper 'd like an Oxford don, The cause that made him lean forgone. And dubb'd D. D., how more divine Had been the Poet Florentine? Shall starry Galileo trail Initials like the comet's tail? What proud abbreviation beats In splendor the curt name of Keats? How choicelier had Horace writ Could he have sign'd his odes D. Litt. ? And what diploma, pray, invent For Master William Shakespeare, Gent ? [15] THE HAPPY TEACHER Commensals of the Table Round, Careless they sit about the board With bread of angels whitely spread, Churl, Seneschal, and Knight and Lord; Invisibly the best is crown'd: WTiere Arthur sits, there is the head. Ah! wouldst thou yeoman service do In that Republic where the great. Through strength in large endeavor spent. Achieve the Freedom of the State, Put childish things away, — pursue "The things that are more excel- lent.'* No flowery phraser is our hero. Like Seneca (they say) to Nero; Teaches to be a self -commander. As Aristotle, Alexander. [16] MANHOOD He suckles (for the teacher good Begins at least with babyhood! ) With milk of humankindness Byron; And, like Thessalians coach 'd by Chiron (That pedagogue quadrupedantic), His young barbarians grow less frantic, Their college yells and track events Well intersperst with wit and sense; While football stars, those padded giants, To letters condescend, and science. Unbought, unmortgaged, unsubdued To the commercial age's mood. He nourishes ambition higher Than that of Carthage and of Tyre; Nor presbyter nor pontiff he In temple of Publicity; Withholds from king of street and pit The tax that pays the hypocrite; Impracticable to refuse To truck and trim for revenues; [17] THE HAPPY TEACHER And setting little store by knowledge Of arts to advertise his college. Seldom his heart upon his sleeve He wears: not careful to relieve That organ of its perilous stuff By cuppings, innocent enough. Of frequent, brief communication To Athenceum or The Nation, As who should say, *'The deuce is in*t Unless I air myself in print! " Leaves unperturb'd the spirits vext That squeak and gibber through the text Shakespearean, — such matters nice Best left to Furness, Wright, and Dyce. Why prod our preciotis sqimre of sense, Not senselesse of the bob, from thence To shed upon confusion still No light, but darkness visible? *'Let bends adomings stand," he cries, [18] "THE BRAN OF SCHOLARSHIP" ^^ An arm- gaunt steeds runaway es eyes. To his owne scandle, — be it so; IVoo't drinke up Esill? — Goodness, no! Who rashly hawk from handsaw plucks Gets finger-bitten: crux is crux." **Ah! hold not to the hungry lip For bread the bran of scholarship, Nor to the thirsty spirit thus Commend the cup of Tantalus, And out upon those doctors who What wiser Shakespeare does, undo! 'Budge doctors of the stoic fur,' Who with their paltry glosses blur The authentic writing on the wall, The soul's fair parchment so bescrawl With futile warrant, fool's behest. That scripture turns to palimpsest. And indignation fires the verse When bungling meddlers, learning's curse, [19] THE HAPPY TEACHER Refashion youth's diviner feature In the smug image of the teacher. " A stronger breath was in that strain, But now I pluck the string again. Recalling Milton's patience scanty With wolves within the fold, — how Dante Turn'd upside down the pride of place Of Clement and of Boniface. Those Pastors — "Stop! " the Goddess cried, *'Thy wit to madness is allied! Why shouldst thou fare so far afield? Does not the time example yield? The elder poets why invoke To lift our spiritual yoke? Sir Philip put the case aright: *Fool, look within thy heart and write! ' And wouldst thou be a satirist Of prejudices that persist [20] DISCOMMODITY OF SATIRE In education, dying hard. Presume not to escape unscarr'd. Shalt see the friend become the foe; Thy fame a football, to and fro Bandied; no longer free to live The scholar's life contemplative, Thou must exchange for rancorous strife The sweet amenities of life. And in the arena force perforce Must battle amid bawlings hoarse; Perchance beneath calumnious stain Must die, — best effort spent in vain, For when was ever satire found To rail the seal from off the bond? Dost thou conceit thee to be steel'd To bear the brunt of such a field? Friend, let me whisper to thee that Thou'rt not the bard to bell the cat, For none has rim'd me such an opus Since Chaucer stinted of Sir Thopas: [21] THE HAPPY TEACHER False cadences and meter cramp. Allusion smelling of the lamp: Thy Muse should be a stocking blue I Now, as I point the path, pursue.'* Then to my song the Gk>ddess lent Numbers and nobler argument: — [22] n Who is the Happy Teacher one would choose To mould the plastic mind? — began the Muse. One first, to speak with Bacon, who, a brave Iconoclast of idols of the cave, Well knows the mind's insidious perils, knows To front undauntedly the inward foes; Who, since the young his prime attention claim. To make himself mature directs his aim; WTien most his commerce is with chil- dren, then Efficient most among his fellow-men; Scornful of badges, decorations, toys [23] • THE HAPPY TEACHER That prove men oft more puerile than boys; And smiling at each shibboleth and fad That show again much learning maketh mad. Wide as his commerce with his fellows, so World-wide his intercourse with those who know, Sages and bards of many lands: these three For choice, — Greece, England, Italy; The calm free soul of Gk)ethe; and in France Montaigne, who smiles away intolerance; Nor schooling mean at home here had he won From Franklin, Hawthorne, Whitman, Emerson. Happily born to manners, though but rude, [24] "THE HARVEST OF A QUIET EYE'* Sincere, he nourishes in solitude Instincts undreamt of in our social state Which civilizes but to enervate. Deep in the wilderness he steels his nerve The wild-brook's temper, strenuous to serve At call. Forsaking academic ease Reads vagrantly in Nature's libraries, A wandering scholar; from the evening sky Reaping **the harvest of a quiet eye.'* Surprising beauty finds an open door Into his senses, custom-blunt before; And with the quicken 'd vision of the brain. Genius beholds within the forest-fane Wing'd acolytes with ministry divine Light UD the candelabra of the pine. What though courageous, yet no man of blood, [25] THE HAPPY TEACHER He murders not the natives of the wood, Begrudging to no life beneath the sun Its harmless day: a fowler without gun, A fisher innocent of rod and hook, Friends with the citizens of bush and brook. From close communion with the forest clan Return 'd, he better serves his fellow-man; Imbues the young whom he instructs to bless, With holy pity, tender thoughtfulness: With reverence they look to him, and love, As having bread to eat they know not of. That art itself is nature, Shakespeare, who Deriv'd his sovran art from Nature, knew. And so by Nature tutor 'd and by Art, Our Master, catholic in taste and heart, [26] "THE ART ITSELF IS NATURE" Admires the virtue of the Greek no less Perchance, than Mediaeval holiness; A fugue of Bach, the forest wind or bird, Sad Beethoven, and singing river, heard With equal passion; truth and beauty he Sees blent in exquisite economy; Sees oak and obelisk and painted cliff All historied with speaking hieroglyph; Cell, feeler, hoof, claw, cunning hand en- scroll The legend beautiful that ends in soul. Such readings prompt his genius to stir Receptive hearts, a large interpreter Of letters, gathering from brae and brook Some pregnant comment bearing on the book, — The book, notation of the music heard First from the mother's tender lip, the Word: The word, a document wherein survives [27] THE HAPPY TEACHER The record of a myriad myriad lives; The word, the true foundation of the school. Logician's and philosopher's sole tool, The matrix of the idea, which, having not, We fail to level with the Hottentot: If there be any yet conceited wise In their own generation, who despise The word, be they to alien tongue con- fin'd. To learn the weakness of the wordless mind I The word, the pigment of the poet's art. The word, that speaks the fulness of the heart. The winged word, like arrow to the goal. Stinging to action the lethargic soul, The current word, the idiom of the street, The coin of quick exchange with all we meet; [28] "WORDS, WORDS, WORDS" The fitting word, high culture's final test; The pungent word of graphic tale and jest, The flavoring lemon in the punch of wit, So apt, — and yet so easy not to hit! But why should we, inheriting the tongue That Lincoln spake, the word that Shel- ley sung, The word that out of Milton's mintage sprang, Debase the coinage with the dross of slang. Whose pinchbeck lustre all is second- hand, — Not coin but counters, current with the band Of slavish spirits, to those chains resign*d That cramp the imperial stature of the mind! [29] THE HAPPY TEACHER I sing the word beginning once with God, Milestone of backward road from man to clod, The word ''whose fountain who shall tell?" and whence Pours Homer's ample flood of eloquence; The ballad word which, sung by crowder blind, Thrill'd like a trumpet noble Sidney's mind; The homely word of Paston Letters old, ; Wherein men pray, blaspheme, make love, and scold. Limning the features, as in sculpture rude, That witness to our common brother- hood; The liquid word whose music Chaucer woke In that vernacular of English folk; [30] "I SING THE WORD" The living word, redeeming still from death *'The spacious times of great Elizabeth": Wipe but the dust from parchment and from roll, The word leaps forth to life, a thing of soul. Working such wonders as, when rust and damp W^ere rubb'd away, the Genius of the Lamp. Hail then the word: the talisman, the key. Divining wand and open sesame, Blood pulsing through one mental lin- eage. Seal of one plastic spirit's heritage! The word, the fossil dead? Nay, these outlive Organic life, of lease so fugitive: [31] THE HAPPY TEACHER And as from fossil teeth, forgot of Time, For Cuvier woke the monsters of the prime, Awakes, at runic Hempl's charm, the tongue The Etrurian shades forgot when Time was young. Thus Nature, Wisdom, Poetry combine In words to touch the soul to issues fine. And as perspective art the landscape shows. The Master's pencil round the lesson throws Color, relief of distance, atmosphere. His virtuous euphrasy can purge and clear The inner vision for effect and cause; He points Imagination's lens, and draws [32] THE PLAY-HOUSE Into concernment close the past, the far: Turn but the glass, — the near becomes a star! The customary grows miraculous, WTiile Plutarch's heroes eat and drink with us. A mighty Play-House is the Universe Wherein we all our little parts rehearse: For footlights, planets, — suns the chan- deliers; The overture, the music of the spheres; The curtain is the all-concealing night: It rises, and the scene is infinite; Actors, spectators we; intrigues unfold Significant; we in the Deed behold A lineage unsubjected to the tomb Stretch out, like Banquo's, to the crack of doom; Incident, burgeoning from incident, Into the vast economy is blent; [S3] THE HAPPY TEACHER The villain foils the hero, and the theme Draws to a climax; is the Author's scheme Comic or tragical? We can but know The tragic moment of our present woe, Dimly forebode some dread catastrophe; Till, pity and terror purging us, we see Perchance with eye prophetic; hear the chime Heralding from the horologe the Time Foretold by seer and poet: life no more An aimless struggle in the dark; no war. No fetters but for selfishness; with awe Hear proclamation of the reign of Law, Deeming we faintly hear from far above The golden wedding-bells of Law and Love. So seeing, hearing, would he not, our Youth, '*Live resolute in wholeness, beauty, truth"? [34] KATHARSIS And in what after-apathy could choose A scene less haloed with ideal hues? So let each see and live, in view of All Until the Author lets the curtain fall! [35] m She paus'd, and holding forth the lyre, Bended her flashing eye on mine. "Dear Muse, far from thee to require My song to follow: more condign Were punishment on me for this, Than fell on blinded Thamyris! " So pray'd I. **When thy voice outspake That prophecy, my heart was stirr'd; Do thou again the chords awake, — Let mellower music now be heard. Against the night that glooms the Pole Auroral banners are unfurl' d: Fixt be the waverings, — my soul Stares blankly on the changing world. The curtain of the coming age Be parted for a moment! Purge The inward eye to view a stage WTiere Love shall be the dramaturge. [36] DE PROFUNDIS Reeling and dizzy here below A starless sky, we look above For light in vain: how can we know That Law shall ever mate with Love? With microscope we dimly scan One universe, — with telescope The other, — spying out for man What satisfying grounds of hope? For man here, like the burrowing mole With level aims and inchlong views, What vista of the mighty whole May be without the heavenly Muse? Tell, is the Happy Teacher blind To toil for human betterment? For Hope what warrant may he find?'* To my petition gave consent The Gk)ddess, with a kindly smile: And though the rime indignant rang With hoarse invective for awhile. Yet sweetlier afterward she sang: [37] IV *'0 BREASTS, where are ye, of all life the source?" Thus, with poor Faust, while Trade pur- sues her course, I hear the unborn generations groan. Who, crying out for bread, receive a stone. No longer underneath the forest thatch Flow waters (but the smoker has his match ! ) ; A sewer in the shrunken river's bed Festers (what then? the hungry press is fed: I venture no allusion, speaking thus. Comparison would be malodorous). Or else the torrent, mocking human toil. Sweeps to the sea the harvest and the soil. [38] TREASON TO POSTERITY Has Earth no vengeance, have the Heav- ens no curse For him who by destruction fills his purse? Let actuaries calculate the worth Of him who, dying, poorer leaves the earth: Carve the hard face, that coming man may see The cruel features of his enemy! Hark! by the noble soul distinctly heard. Out of those marble lips escapes the Word That sacrifice of self for those unborn Is worship which the gods will never scorn. Who makes the world his oyster, leaves it dead And done with, soon as ever he has fed, — Who sucks the juice and chucks away the shell, — Should find no fellowship except in Hell [39] THE HAPPY TEACHER Where Dante found the traitors winter- ing,— Congenial spirits for the Lumber King. Ofttimes our Master, haunted by the theme Of our unnatural unsocial scheme. With corded brow forwent his wonted cheer, Foreboding Revolution drawing near: Cast to the melting-pot in vision saw The time-worn brazen tablets of the law; Religion's reverend landmarks overborne; The metes and bounds of mine and thine uptorn; Fai*" arts of man's long, long endeavor, melt In one black hell-broth. This, he deeply felt, Is fault of those who throng the drawing- room [40] "THE MELTING-POT'' Of Empress Grundy, and applaud her doom On all who dare to think; the fault of those WTio batten upon superstition, foes Of all experiment; of those who exalt Their fortunes upon ruin'd hopes; the fault Of great industrial captains, skill 'd to roll Up dividends by scaling down the soul; Of statesmen strenuous to make the most Of public taste for moral tea and toast; Of Aarons with lawn sleeves wherein to laugh When bows the world before the Golden Calf; Of priests who point the penitent rich a road Around the Needle's Eye, — the poor a code [41] THE HAPPY TEACHER Of iron, rubricated Thou Shalt Not: These fan the flame beneath the melting- pot! Beyond such cataclysm, by faith he saw Freedom arisen, born of Inward Law, — It is unlawful, bard and prophet say. That he who knows, should other law obey! An age draws on of equal chance for all. Knowledge and gentle manners general, When Science lengthens life, — a peaceful death The lot of every being drawing breath, — The sting of death gone with the ghost of sin; Few courts of law, because the law within Prescribes the golden rule of equal rights, And Freedom quells destructive appe- tites; In wiser mating man and woman blent [42j A GLIMPSE OF THE FUTURE Harmonious like voice and instrument; Age when emancipated womankind No more a serpent in the garden find. No angel brandishing a sword of fire Above the Paradise of Heart's Desire; When common purposes, affection high Alone shall consecrate the nuptial tie; And parenthood shall know but one dis- grace, — To breed a child not bettering the race. Such vision through the gate of horn he saw, Elxulting in the true Utopia. "What," some will ask, "what of the life to come?'* He, like the kings of modern thought is dumb, Never affirming what he cannot know. Still less denying, for he hopes it so. To theologic warfare calls a truce, — [43] THE HAPPY TEACHER A different Bannockburn demands its Bruce, Blares forth to us another trumpet-call; On harder quest must go Sir Percival, By consecration to the race attest He guards the Holy Grail within his breast. No follower and no flatterer of the crowd. Not foremost in the synagogue is bow'd Our Teacher, giving alms unseen of men, — Shouts not upon the housetop his Amen I Yet when Hosannah to the Lord on High, With voice of many waters people cry. Than he, none feels the common impulse more: But, praying, goes within, and shuts the door. Deep in the heart he keeps a Holy Shrine: There looks he, not in vain, for the Di- vine. [44] ENTHEOS As one who owns a little plot of ground, Owns underneath as far as drill can sound, And downward howsoever far he go, Comes on fresh veins upwelling from be- low, While farther down, conceal 'd from hu- man sight. Are springs of power and riches infinite: Thus underneath our little minds we hold. Deep under deep, resources manifold, And man (all men, beneath their surface selves) Antaeus-like, grows stronger as he delves; If any one a deeper stratum tap. We term him Genius; could you mine and sap And tunnel till the deep of deeps you trod, — What then? You syllable sublimely, — God! Thence, in the solitude, an effluence [45] THE HAPPY TEACHER Streams up from fountains far beneath the sense. Monitions, from the roots of Being sent, Of issues growing to Divine Event, Impermanenee becoming permanent. [46] Such was the gospel, the good news Prophetical that sang the Muse; While yet the chords were sounding on, I lookt, and lo! the Muse was gone. So left, I cannot fitly word The mood whereto my heart was stirred; For who am I that I take up The lyre the Heavenly Muse let drop? No harmony could I command, — The strings would snap beneath my hand. Wanting the Muse, — these verses show it,— One may be rimer, never Poet; Nor do the wise the proverb scorn That poets are not made, but born; Nor yet that other commonplace, How bards their birthright oft disgrace I [47] THE HAPPY TEACHER To voices strange the Goddess grants The burden of her utterance: Half -frenzied voices, Blake or Smart, Their lucid madness passing art; Weak Coleridge or weak Rousseau; Sick Heine, Leopardi, Poe; Decadent Villon or Verlaine; Witness wild Byron's wondering strain,- "And must thy lyre, so long divine. Degenerate into hands like mine?" Her burden trembling in his voice. The saddest poet may rejoice; But when the Muse has passed along. The sweetest harp is left unstrung. So Peter, James, and John of yore Saw God transfigured; fishermen Poor, humble, had they been before. And after seem'd the like again; Beheld no more the raiment bright That in such hour the Master wore, [48] PALINODE Heard talking with him on the height Moses, Elijah, nevermore: But oh! the wonder and the awe Of what that once they heard and saw! Before the wonder cease to thrill (Hark to the cadence sounding still! ) Friends, pardon, while in minor mode. The rimer hums his Palinode. Alas! it is the Poet's shame That what he dream'd, he ne'er be- came. **I see, approve the good, the worse I follow, — " So the famous verse Doth moralize Medea's woes; And so our Portia, but in prose, — *'Were it as easy do the best As know it, — " wherefore quote the rest? A modern instance, — what we knew And lov'd, we mostly fail'd to do. A truant, I in Nature's school [49] THE HAPPY TEACHER Made no exception to the rule That thought no master-key to act is, Nor precept magnet to right practise; Could not through all my course con- trol The needle wavering from the Pole; Unlike the Priest who, poets say, "Allur'd to Heaven and led the way! '* To melancholy thought a truce! The Poet finds a better use In Parable, and finer grace. Recall the Athenian torch-race, — The race of the lampadephore: The start was from the fire-god's door; The goal. Acropolis; the night Moonless; the runners took their light From the Promethean altar: then Between the craning files of men, Along the glittering portico (But softly, softly here, because [50] LAMPADEPHORIA Of certain whiffs and gusty flaws 1 ), Through street, through Agora they go Racing, intent to keep the torch Symbolic, burning to the last; And while the foremost nears the hill. The hindmost, not the least in skill, Is striding by the Painted Porch, The flame defending with the finger. And curbs himself, appears to linger Reluctant, lest he run too fast: For, should the cresset, flickering dim, Be puft out by a counterblast. Runner, however fleet of limb. Halts, — Nemesis o'ertaking him! A band of seven, avoiding this, Run up the steep Acropolis, Steadily mounting high and higher; The Propylaea reflect the fire Until the polisht statues bright [51] THE HAPPY TEACHER Gleam out like specters through the night. *'Ah! could one name the sevenfold crew! " "Look! now there are but five in view! '* The others? ask the treacherous wind! "Now four, — now three, — and now but two!" But look again! One far behind Who crept by wall, and nurst his breath. Safeguarding still the flame from death, Now darts from hiding, grasps the chance. Gains on the foremost, — who (perchance Already clutching for the meed Which not so lightly Nike grants! ) Was flagging when supreme the need To run, to run! — and with a burst Of speed, behold, the last, now first, [52] "—THAT'S FOR REMEMBRANCE" Flashes along with lamp not dull, Enters the Gateway beautiful, And stands: — to him award the crown. Moral? What boot to write it down? — The race not always to the swift! To him who guards of gifts the gift, The fire, the fire Promethean The pitying Titan flung to man. The sacred torch, the mystic sign Of that within we call divine. Until the shining goal is won. To him the guerdon be, "Well done! " Oh! could some brave lampadephore Of tougher sinew, stouter soul. Swift flaming forward where I swerv'd. Have borne my cresset to the goal, — Amid the paean's wild uproar What praise had such as I deserv'd? [53] THE HAPPY TEACHER Few trace the record dim beneath The statue of the victor set, Where on the very plinth they write The name of one men best forget. Who, though the winner of no wreath, Once held the sacred torch alight. Explicit [54j )EC 31 1910 ■^^,.^* /Jfev ^.J" :Mm. %..^'' V<^' 'v/>«i- 3K ^^-^^^ • .^ v"" **v>: O N O , V 0^ -- ;.«• "^ a"* ►a^^-,*^ i^ «, ^wj^^^' •c^ A'' * ^ •<^ •*^*ii^mjr% <iv ^ 'f * Oy <?■ o^ ^ 'Ca. a'* »• ^0^ ^oV "oV" o^ t 0^ *\'S' > v^ .*r^% c> <v •!* > . » • • » /-N rk> . « • * * A ^ o V ^ — - ^. .^ .-y^lfe.-, *^^^/ ,^^, u^^^^ ,'

11032393

The voice of the Infinite, and other poems,

Anderson, Nels Dickmann

voiceofinfiniteo00ande_djvu.txt

PHE VOICE OF •ISKMj^i lllll ■m ■HI Hmw lllliil ii HIIHIiilmiHfi inn III II 1 8 II iiiiitii fill I Class L Book_ it GopyrightN?. COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: ' / THE VOICE OF THE INFINITE AND OTHER POEMS BY N. D. ANDERSON BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1911 t^ Copyright, 1911 Sherman, French <§^ Company •H frO ©CI.A3008 -3 CONTENTS PAGE THE VOICE OF THE INFINITE 1 ROSES OF THE DEW 2 REDIVIVUS 3 DEATH OF PHARAOH'S ARMY 4 PERDITA 5 THE THIN BLUE LINE 6 WHO COMPLAINETH NOT 9 THE HEART OF A TREE 10 BE FREE 11 THE BOASTFUL MARINERS 13 THE ROCK 16 IN THE WEST 17 THE FALL OF KHARTOUM 18 OMNIA VINCET AMOR 20 NAPOLEON'S GREETING TO ST. HELENA . 22 UNDERNEATH THEM ARE THE EVERLAST- ING ARMS 23 O, BUTTERFLY 25 SUPPLICATION 26 BIRTH OF MAN .27 BLACK BERTRAND AND FAIR EUNICE . . 28 BETWIXT THE NIGHT AND DAY .... 32 LUCY LINGERS AT THE GATE 36 EPITAPH TO A SOLDIER 37 "SERMONS IN STONES" ........ 38 THE LETTER FROM HOME 40 THE SUBMERGED 41 THE SHADOW CAST BEFORE 42 COMPENSATION 43 CONTENTS PAGE THE RED ARTIST 44 THE PORTRAIT 47 THE THREE SPIRITS 48 THE PRAIRIE 49 DAUGHTER OF JUDAH 50 THE TAJ MAHAL 51 THE SEA-DOG OF THE FARALLONES ... 54 WHITHER THE OLD FRIENDS 55 THE ROSE MYSTERIOUS 56 FAITH 61 THE WOUND . . 62 HARP O' THE WIND 63 KING CODRUS 64 FAME 66 LOVE'S SERENADE 67 HYMN TO THE SOIL . . 69 LIFE IS BORN OF DEATH 70 TO DAME NATURE 71 THE FOUR ANGELS 72 THE GAME OF LIFE 74 THE TRIUMPH OF MICHAEL 78 THE FISH OF PARADISE 79 HOMO 81 THE CORN . . 85 HOME SONGS 86 VALHILDA 87 THE CROOKED LITTLE BOY . . . . . .89 THE FOREST FIRE 90 CONTENTS PAGE FREE WILL 92 THE TORCH-BEARERS .93 SEEKERS OF HAPPINESS 94 THE VOICE OF THE INFINITE Out of the Infinite comes a Voice Bidding my suffering heart rej oice ; This is the message it brings to me: "I chasten those that are dear to Me." Out of the Infinite comes a Voice Bidding my downcast heart rejoice, Promising rest in the sunshine and song Beyond the black forest's shadow and wrong. Out of the Infinite comes a Voice Bidding my weeping heart rejoice Over the thought that our fleeting tears Cleanse the soul pure for the endless years. Out of the Infinite comes a Voice Bidding my groping heart rejoice, Telling me that which we none understand Is the simple law of the Other Land. Out of the Infinite comes a Voice Bidding my fainting heart rejoice Over the Love that guards our days, Asking but faith for a little space. Out of the Infinite comes a Voice Bidding my doubting heart rejoice; This is the message it brings to me: "I chasten those who are dear to Me." ROSES OF THE DEW The delicate veins in the bloom of you, Little red rose of the morning! Herald the evening doom of you, Carry a message of warning: Petals of velvet glisten and glow, Decked in dewdrops of crystal and snow; Petals of velvet wither and die, When the hot winds run scornfully by. The horrible scales on the back of you, Glistening snake in the grasses ! Tell of the slippery knack of you, Coaxing of heedless lasses : Glitter and tinsel their souls beguile, Clammy and cold your touch the while ; Beautiful colors of precious stones Dazzle their eyes as you crush their bones. The roses, red roses, are falling, are falling, Petal by petal so gently, Covering the serpent, in silence appalling, Coiled to spring forth, intently — Little white hands to gather them in; Swift sharp fangs like the stroke of sin: Weep for the maidens, tender and true, Who seek 'mongst its petals the rose of the dew. [*i REDIVIVUS Poor heart ! Its bright plumes gone, and clothed in rags, It stumbles wearily through the forest black — Black with the night, and black with charred remains Of devastating fires — whose shadows hide The ravening wolves, and terrors more un- known ; Whose sentinels are fallen in the way, And on whose throne, usurping, sits the King Of Desolation. Poor heart! That thus alone And twice unguarded comes, what seeks it here. Choosing its painful path with trembling feet? Escape from Hate, or penitence from Sin? Lost Love, or Death, or rehabiliment ? Have pity then, ye clouds that hide the stars, The guiding stars of hope; ye jostling winds, Deal kindlier with the waif ; O wilderness ! Stretch forth thy might, and all this poor heart's foes Engulf and overwhelm! Then shall the Dawn With golden mantle wrap it tenderly, And on the Morning's chariot bear it far, The rosy clouds of bliss surrounding them. So back to its frail mortal house it comes, Bringing new cheer, and fresher hopefulness, Sunshine and song. [3] DEATH OF PHARAOH'S ARMY Down ! Down ! Down ! To the sands at the end of the sea, The East Winds blow from the Voice of God. And the waters before them flee. O walls that are built of stone May save from the wrath of the storm, But a bulwark of waves is the Voice of God, And it shields but the just from harm. O souls of the darkened land, Ye fight with valor of men, But the Children of Light have the Voice of God, Whose power is beyond your ken. Down ! Down 1 Down ! To the graves at the end of the sea; The cause of your fate was the Voice of God, That never shall cease to be. [4] PERDITA Flower of my soul! Growest thou here? Open thy petals when I kiss thee. The long knives of the wind dost thou not fear? The roses in Paradise miss thee. Spirit of the sea-foam! Seest thou not The face of the hurricane darken at sight of thee? To kiss thee the sun hath his duty forgot — But terrors are black to the left and the right of thee. Soul of the lark's song! Dost thou not know The dread eagle circles smaller and smaller above thee? Alone art thou midst the sounds of woe ; Only a heart frail that doth love thee. Yet dost thou smile up into mine eyes, Seest thou there the love to protect thee? Jewels are not all for the skies, The splendors of all of them — for me — perfect thee! [5] THE THIN BLUE LINE The thin, blue line that falters not, Though wavering like a fluttering veil Beneath the sun so burning hot, Shall it forget, that ne'er forgot, The flag whose stars can never pale Out of that sky whose bend of blue Is one triumphant arch and grand Where marches under warriors, who, Returning from the thin, blue line, Bring honors for their native land, And trophies for her Freedom's shrine. The thin, blue line that fights for right, That never bends the knee to might, Has ever since it knew God's light Fought dark Oppression in his lair, And routed Wrong from valleys fair, Sweet Peace and Plenty leaving there. O God ! The thin, blue line is Thine ; The man behind the gun is Thine; They've left their labors and their kine : The old, bowed man, the youth, the boy, Have left the implement and toy: Because their Father called them then — O God, the thin, blue line of fighting men! [6] The thin, blue line that falters not, Though wavering like the wind-tossed cloud, Beneath the death-cold sun forgot, Cries forth its battle-slogan proud, Nor shivers fearful of its lot. Let not Ambition on thy dead Rear palaces of pride to man; Let not thy blood, for Freedom shed, Enslave the darker-minded clan; Shall Nations laud to Heaven high The man who used thee for their death? Shall all thy warriors turn and die At Greed's mere beck, or Emperor's breath? No, never shall of thee be said: "The thin, blue line is hired to slay." The flag that waves above thy head Has never yet been borne astray ; The honored tomb is wide for thee — 'Tis better thou shouldst die than a foul traitor be! The thin, blue line that falters not — God's vengeance on thy Captains be ! Have they their fathers' wrongs forgot, To hunt their brothers' liberty? All men are equal born, those held; Shall these, the lesser, then in vain Hold all their fathers made so plain, And seek the slaver's chains to weld? [7] God's vengeance on thy Captains be, If they hold not their murd'rous hands ! The wilder race loves liberty, Leave then to them their native lands. Give back, give back, shall be the cry A million mothers' grief-wrung hearts Shall ask of ye when none knows why The thin, blue line the heathen starts And forces it to give or die. For know defeat is for the wrong, Though they who fight may never know, But go with laughter and with song Because their Captains tell them so. [8] WHO COMPLAINETH NOT Thou sayest naught is left to do, That someone else hath done all — Shall stars no more their lamps renew For that the sun begun all? Thou sayest themes are worn threadbare, And ended all invention — For that the good 's already there Shall cease the good intention? Thou sayest underneath the sun Is nothing new to greet him — What of the young life just begun Whose new soul turns to meet him? Thou sayest, at deep study's end, Some old Egyptian knew this — And who art thou who thinkest, friend, That only thou couldst do this? Thou sayest : Lord, Thy will survive On earth as in Thy Heaven — Then hast thou known the joy to strive Is life's most blessed leaven. [9] THE HEART OF A TREE A green and tender sapling in the sun Grew sheltered from the North-wind's biting blast ; Petted and coddled by that gentle one, It dreamed of shooting upward a tall mast, O'ertopping all that stalk the oceans vast : And so its heart grew hard with thought of pelf; The days grew into years, and as they passed They hardened with narrowing rings its soul of self. Yea, gnarled and aged, in the o'erwhelming gloom Of the great, trackless wood, it waits the end, Self-centered to the last, still dreaming fame: The keen ax of the woodsman knells its doom — When lo ! Its pride laid bare beyond amend, It first does good in sacrificial flame. [10] BE FREE Strike off the shackles ! Let thy Soul Unfettered roam Where Love's illumined fields unroll Round Heaven's dome. Bind not Her eyes with earthly veil; Nor make Her reel With world-red, furious wine's wassail, To which men kneel. Where blooms the blood-hued rose of Morn Near Heaven's gates, The paths by Angels' feet are worn, And Beauty waits. Here, dark the mist hangs bleak and cold O'er dungeons deep — Where doth Thy tenement grow old Within its keep. Burst then Thy bonds, wrench out the bars, There waiteth Thee A palace in the land of stars — My Soul, be free ! [ii] THE BOASTFUL MARINERS A good ship sailed on a summer sea, She sailed with her sails all spread, For the waves were calm o'er the ocean free ; For the winds in the heavens were dead. And the sailors they sang in a voice of glee, In a voice of glee sang they: "What life hath compare To the seaman's rare, From the cares of the world he is free! On the breast of the wave There are dangers to brave, But there are none there to say him nay !" Now the sun grew small and his beams grew fierce Till they twisted the white deck fair, But never did breath the dull air pierce, The sun waned red and bare. What ho! There watchman! O man at the wheel ! And sleepest thou at thy post? And feelest thou not thy good ship reel, O thou with thy wanton boast! [12] In their cups last night thy comrades sang, They sang in a voice of glee: "O what life so brave As the life of the wave! We never shall know but a pearl-lined grave; From cares we are free, No land lubbers we, From the foam of the billow we sprang!" The man at the wheel now rubbed his eyes, With his knuckles hard rubbed he, But league after league as the black crow flies Was never a wave of the sea! The dry sands with carcasses white were strewn ; And ships that long since had gone down, Gleamed in the new sun like statues hewn In gold marble from foot to crown. O a boastful song the Captain sang, And the sailors in their glee: "At the fetters of earth We laugh in our mirth, From the skulls in the ground they sprang; O'er the billows we go, Through their crests of snow, From the cares of the world we are free! [13] Even as they sang the voice of their God Spake forth to the waves of the sea: For even a wave is an earthen clod, So willeth the Lord to be. Full three-score days the good ship lay On her side in the waterless sea, And never a breeze there came that way, And never a night might be! A sorrowful song the Captain sang, With his sailors he sang in sorrow : "O Lord, we are naught, From the dust we are wrought, From the seed of the serpent we sprang; O God! We pray Forgive us this day, Give us water to sail on the morrow !" O watchman, ho ! O man at the wheel ! And sleepest thou at thy post? And feelest thou not thy good ship reel? O thou with thy wanton boast! Their God in His pity the sailors saw, And He gave them back their sea : O both in the desert and ocean is law, From his Maker no man is free! [u] Now a song of praise the Captain sang, With his sailors sang in glee: "O God of the wave! Thou art mighty to save, And man to his vanity is always slave; none shall be free Except in Thee, Though from the wild waters they sprang!" [15] THE ROCK O I am the rock, the self-same rock, The rock with the self-same heart, That centuries sat on the heaven's rim Afar above where the white clouds swim, Guarding the ways of the wind-blown flock From the wolves and the butchers' mart. The blood of a wounded eagle crept Into my fissured soul one night, And I from my lofty height was swept By the rending frost in my pride of might — But I yet am the rock, the self-same rock, That stood by the way of the wayward flock. O I am the rock, the self-same rock, The rock with the self-same heart: Though men have hewn me a corner-stone For a tower that upholds a Cross alone, That some may worship and some may mock, My strength is unmarred by art. [16] IN THE WEST An old man bending in the West Above a censer, heaven-blest, That swings by slender, golden cords Across the cloud-sea's ragged fjords. A black ship with a broken mast Upon a black rock breaking fast, The censer sinking to the sea, The old man dropping on his knee. Beneath great caldrons embers red, And billowing clouds of smoke o'erhead, The old man fallen on his face, Asleep in Twilight's camping-place. Great crimson tents, dark avenues, And vessels emptied of their crews, The old man dreaming of the feast, And Youth's awakening in the East. [17] THE FALL OF KHARTOUM Against fearful odds, And the call of their gods, We hurled back the enemy. Unswerved by our fears, Back upon their spears, We pushed the black enemy. But God, it was fearful! Mad weeping and tearful — And the shouts of the enemy! O'er stiff comrades stumbling, And to ourselves mumbling, And the shouts of the enemy. The whites of their eyes They rolled to the skies ; So close was the enemy. They hooted and leered, And false victims speared; So cruel was the enemy. A black sea appalling, Waves rising and falling, The heads of the enemy. It bursts through our barriers, O'er women and warriors, O'er soldiers and carriers; Hear the shouts of the enemy ! [18] Against fearful odds, In the face of their gods, We fell 'fore the enemy. For our blood we were priced To the Infidel Christ— The Christ of the enemy. Farewell! I am seeing, Pursuing the fleeing, The hordes of the enemy. Soon, the dust biting, I'll cease from the fighting — Pitted by the enemy. Ye who live after Cease once in your laughter, Avenge us on the enemy. Against fearful odds, And the call of their gods, We fell 'fore the enemy. [19] OMNIA VINCET AMOR Upon the jagged cobblestones he lay — Youth beautiful, and fair as dawning day: His cheeks with pallid roses o'er were strewn; His lips were set as if by sculptor hewn ; Pain's slumber deep had drawn his eyelids down; All matted clung his locks of golden brown — Thus was he found beneath the wing of Death, Who, ere that Pity sighed, had sucked his breath. But as the people wept and cried aloud, A Form in White moved through the surging crowd ; Who came and knelt down at the fair youth's side, And queried them how came it that he died. Then one spake up and said 'twas Error gay Had slain the youth while teaching him to slay. "Now Death shall loose his bonds if I but find One seed of Love within his soul enshrined, For from this seed — see to it that ye sow — Doth spring repentance, doth obedience grow, Which form the Tree of Life for man below." As thus He spake, before their wondering eyes [20] He bade the youth before them all arise — But ere the boy, bewildered, stood as fair As ever time before had seen him there, The multitude forgot the One in White, Nor knew they when He vanished from their sight. [21] NAPOLEON'S GREETING TO ST. HELENA Thy cold, black rocks are rooted in the sea ; Thou art a prisoner from the world afar; Exiled upon this liquid treachery; Held by the raging tempest's bolt and bar. Bound by the chains of distance, thou dost lie Far from the malice of the wily world; Far from the vaunting step, the velvet eye — Thou art from envy's blast securely furled. Strength hath thy loneliness, thy deserts power — Thou scar upon the fawning ocean fair ; Within thy naked heart no love may flower To grace thy scornful bosom, bold and bare. The white throats of the sea may mock thy woe — White throats have mocked at misery before — Yet though they would not they must have it so: Aye, all of them shall break upon thy shore. [88] UNDERNEATH THEM ARE THE EVERLASTING ARMS Ye Mountains grand! That guard the fertile plains. O ye that peer through mighty Heaven's veil! Thou on whose head are wisdom's snow-white hairs ! And thou yet young and wild; with fiery eye; Untamed and fitful! What answer hear ye, when In pride of strength ye ask the mole-hill low: "What holds ye up, when from our sides the flood That wet our skirts sweeps down upon ye?" Hark! "Underneath us are the Everlasting Arms." O mighty Sea ! Thou hast imprisoned Earth, And shackled all her host, O mighty Sea ! Thou knowest all her secrets ; at thy tread Her nations tremble and grow faint with fear: Thou reachest up to Heaven, and down to Hell; Thou traversest every path. What, when thy pride Unto the lowly lake within the wood [23] Shall say: "What power sustaineth thee, thou weak And timid one?" Shall not the sea-gull come, Who feareth not thy wrath, and say to thee: "Underneath her are the Everlasting Arms." And thou, great Sun! Thou soul of fair- haired Day! Thou Messenger of Time Eternity Sends forth each morn from Night's black cav- erns deep ; Thou who wast given and now givest life ; Remember, when the flickering star goes out Before thy fire, and at thy breath the moon Grows pale, the Voice thou heardest in the night : "Underneath them are the Everlasting Arms." O Mountains, Sea, and Sun ! Ye statured Kings ! A breath hath made ye and a breath destroys. Ye are but suckling babes ! Ye are but dust ! As frail as any painted butterfly. And those ye do deride are told of ye: "Underneath them are the Everlasting Arms." [24] O BUTTERFLY (From the Danish) O butterfly! As light of heart thou flittest From bush to bower, from leaf to flower bright, Beware ere thou take wing from where thou sittest, For flight against the light may bring thee night. Pride thee not on those glimmering hues that speak The beauty that inspires thy summer mirth, Thine outer dust, so tender, frail, and weak, Unseen the larva? hath of equal worth. O careful use thy spring and summer brief, Ere the white snows the withered fields o'er- crust, Ere thou shalt breathe age with each yellowing leaf, And lightly fade into a mouldering dust. [25] SUPPLICATION Akl of the lengthening days, O God! I have seen the Deep Breathe as a child, and all the world wild Sobbing itself to sleep. Thou that swingest the mighty Sun Like a censer burning, When Thy labors vast are done, Laborers all returning, Worshipping the loved, loved One, Terrible and yearning — All of the wonderful years, O God! I have dreamed of Thee, Asleep in the night, awake in the light, Toiling mournfully. Send not Thy reapers yet awhile, Leave us pick the flowers ; Ere the sickle's Judas smile, Laughter fill the hours ; Thus we pray Thee in our guile, Mindful of Thy powers. [26] BIRTH OF MAN The earth was once a garden spot Where angels paused to rest On journeys through the vast; Sweet flowers grew ; but man was not. There is the burden of yon tree Lowlaid within the glen Beyond the haunts of men; No life but fungi mayst eye see. Thou art the child of light, I wot. And yet perhaps earth's night Hath brought thy soul to light When earth herself began to rot. [37] BLACK BERTRAND AND FAIR EUNICE Where yonder monarch of the wood Stands guard alone, and lorn, Ere torch and blade his subjects laid, I at his side was born. First saw the light that breaks the night Within a hovel rude, Though from right royal loins I sprang, And came of gentle blood. The self -same moment Heaven drew My horoscope on high, Another soul to earthward flew — Followed by hue and cry. Followed by hue and cry was she, The weak and erring mother, O God have pity on the weak — Men are most hard who are most meek — Self-virtue knows no brother. Strangely spun the wheel of Fate, The sinister became my mate; Long since the monarch fell; And hand in hand we go, and stand, One of Heaven, and one of Hell. [28] Interpreter of Heaven's thoughts, High hope shone in my face; In that far realm the stars o'erwhelm I chose my biding place. Foul demons of the swinish gods Danced in my brutish soul; Imagination in me dead — Save pictures lewd and wassail red — Had I but known my dole! To fish the water of the sea, To birds the limpid air, To beasts the earth, to man his birth, And God be everywhere. Fair Eunice walked beside the river, A maiden pure if maid was ever, A queen unconscious of her crown, She ruled through innocence' renown. She came at morn, she came at even, As comes and goes the light of heaven, And O, to me The world loomed dark, and live things stark, If her I failed to see. My breast a Titan courage grew To wrest some power unknown From out the high Olympian blue To make her all my own! [29] Yet she to me a being was As sacred as high God; Around her form I threw no storm, I worshipped where she trod! The million-throated forest sang Her loveliness at dawn; That loveliness remained to bless When light of day was gone. Fair Eunice thus beside the river, And I, betimes, my heart a-quiver, Walked peacefully along its brink — And never evil did I think. How is it now? I seem to gloat As basilisk, or devil, Upon her palpitating throat, My soul grown black with evil! Fair Eunice now beside the river Shall walk no more as wont, forever! Love brought her to high Heaven's gate, Lust slew her where the angels wait. Reel forth into the dawn again From out the wicked night ; The wine-fumes go, the dregs remain, So of the wrong and right. [30] To fish the water of the sea, To birds the limpid air, To beasts the earth, to man his birth, And God be everywhere. [31] BETWIXT THE NIGHT AND DAY (A Sestina) I O, in that dim and mystic land 'twixt night and day Frail memory brings to age the hours of robust youth, And for the loveless builds fond booths of ten- der flowers ; Here fancy to the orphaned gives a mother's kiss, And to the friendless brings the joy of friend- ship's love — dim, mysterious country of the dawn and song! II The lark has filled its arching sky with rap- turous song That heralds the approach of some vague, wondrous day, A day whose dawning comes with smiles of those we love; The new sun fills its bounds with laughing, golden youth; The cheeks of night blush red with morning's ardent kiss, And all that dim and misty land is wreathed in flowers ! [32] Ill 'Tis here the tearless weep above remembrance flowers, The cold ear quickens to the heart's forgotten song, The dumb lips murmuring speak and leave a lingering kiss. Where sleep's voluptuous form stands beckon- ing to the day, The day with burden bowed, the day of pleas- ure's youth, Like bird in twilight's glow is poised the soul in love — IV Not caring for the storm if in enveloping love It basks among its dreams in gardens filled of flowers ! The hopeless drink again from fountains of their youth, Then spurn the lowly ground with lilt of vic- tory's song — For in that border land between the night and day Our deeds of might are done with lightness of a kiss. [33] The shadows come and go and greet with fleet- ing kiss Each undiscovered cheek where hides the rose of love; And they take heart who fear the near, oncom- ing day ; And they take heed who scent the smell of lotus flowers ! O in that twilight land between our tears and song, Our sweet imaginings rest on the breast of youth ! VI The weak forget they faint; old age recalls but youth ; And she whom most we love gives us her lips to kiss ; Harsh notes of wakening strife are softened into song; While those we think we hate we know we can but love — Then from green bower of vines, from bed of purple flowers, We rise regretfully unto the sterner day. [34] Betwixt the night and day, when age recalls but youth, Then all our thorns are flowers, our fondest hopes we kiss, All hate is turned to love, all tears are changed to song. [85] LUCY LINGERS AT THE GATE Lucy was a slender maid, Of pretty form and feature; Her hair hung down in one long braid, She was a youthful creature. Lucy lingers at the gate, For whom does Lucy linger? For handsome swain to draw his rein And stoop and ring her finger. Lucy has bright stars for eyes, And cheeks the hue of roses ; Upon her breast a wee thing lies; Its life her love discloses. Lucy lingers at the gate, For whom does Lucy linger? For father of her mother love, His ring upon her finger. Lucy's hair will be like snow, Her voice be low and tender, Her loneliness too frail for woe, And God His peace will send her. Lucy lingers at the gate, For whom does Lucy linger? For angel white to kiss good-night The ring upon her finger. [36] EPITAPH TO A SOLDIER And now the rain beats down upon his grave; The wild beasts snarl and sniff above the mound ; Aloft the vulture circles round and round; Deep in the bushes lurks the human knave. 'Twas such a place as this, and such a land, We laid him whom the Morn proclaimed her pride, A soldier battle-scarred and brave and grand, Who ere the day had wheeled sank low and died. Rest to his soul! He wrought the best he could, And doing thus had made him truly good. Peace to his bones ! He was a peaceful man, Though every battle found him in the van; In midst of evil, yet from evil free — Let him who reads pray thus he, too, may be. [37] "SERMONS IN STONES" Be not too smooth and even, like to the pave Where shoulder unto shoulder together lie The square hewn stone, each level with his brother. Across their unresisting surfaces, Sleek as new-frozen ice, the hurrying throng Rushes, regardless where its feet may stray ; Each soul intent upon its special lust. See now the cobble, with a spirit new Broke through its meekness, raise itself above Its sleeping fellows. No more the way is smooth, The roadway clear ; now doth the crowd divide Respecting it, the erstwhile humble stone. The haughty eye, upheld by stiff-necked pride, Sees not the lowly form, and straightway falls To ignominious shame ; the bloated glutton, Rotund with swinish appetite, perceives Beneath him naught, and rolls him down the dust; The sneaking, furtive, death-white face of ill, Darting its glances o'er prospective prey, Ignores the stubborn stone that brings it down, Cursing and fuming evil from its mouth. And yet the lowly and the upright pass Unnoticed by; their senses are not clogged By fierce desire, or pride, or appetite; [38] They see the danger, and its warning heed ; They pass on either side and are not harmed. Thus art thou honored, when from life of ease And even-laid contentment thou, a stone, Hardened, obtuse, and dull, doth lift thy head Above thy fellows. [39] THE LETTER FROM HOME A letter from home ! Quick leaps the heart, And quivers as flames that laughing dart From out the camp-fire burning high. The human circle's argus eye Each eager hand watches with care, As from the heap appears despair Or joy, as names are hardly read By the pale light now nearly dead. More wood is piled upon the fire, And soon a new flame blazes higher ; Each happy man now gathers 'round, And kneels or sits upon the ground, Drinking with eyes made big by night The loving words that greet his sight. From mother, sweetheart, friend, and wife Are thoughts they thought; and words of life And hope and love and peace they send To cheer the hearts that hardships rend, Who on the morrow may be laid Low in a grave by foeman made. [40] THE SUBMERGED Of life I've lived the little span That Fate allots the average man, But never yet the mist of gray That veils the face of shining day Has from my eyesight passed away. Within the murky gloom I see The bended figures black there be, Whose yellow faces grin at me; Upon their shoulders burdens lie That they will carry till they die; Great loads that they might easily throw If but they willed to have it so — It seems they rather would have woe. I have lived long, but longer yet My father lived this life of fret, And always thus it was to him — The bended figures, crouched and dim. [41] THE SHADOW CAST BEFORE O diver, deep down in the sea, When comes no more God's breath to thee, What fancies throng thy numbing mind Of skies and sun and fields and wind? O traveler, lost in desert drear, Whose sands shall be thy lonely bier? What visions crowd thy parching soul Of waters cool and shady knoll? O wayfarer, on the road of life, When overcome by weary strife, What angels gather at thy side To tell of Christ the crucified? [■«] COMPENSATION The measuring-worm shall measure thy small plot; A crooked tree shall in one corner stand And leer at thee; gaunt birds shall shun thy hand; A loneliness shall be thy endless lot Such, that were all the universe we wot Emptied of its bright spheres, and thou alone Placed in their stead, it would a multitude own, And be crowded for thee. Here shalt thou live and rot, For thou wast greedy of the world's domain ; Thy swift ambition maimed the stalwart son; Starvation stalked beside thee ; armies vast Obeyed thy slightest wish, till men aghast Fled to oblivion — and now the dance begun By thee shall whirl forever through thy brain ! [43] THE RED ARTIST An Artist stepped out of the gloom Into the middle of my room; Full tall was he and clothed in red From sole of foot to crown of head; His face ay turned he away from me, And never his features did I see; But I could read upon his back That his face was cunning, sharp and black- I read he had a singular grace That fit him for a fitful place ! I could not move ; I was as dead, Yea, riveted unto my bed. He drew forth from his mantle red A roll of canvas, which he spread Upon the darkness of the wall, And, like a dead face in its pall, It shined white 'round the Artist tall ; With swift, deft stroke he limned a face — Christ ! so fair ! And full of grace, He drew her form within its place. Forever, ever, I can see Those deep blue eyes look down on me ; 1 see her golden tresses fall Around about the Artist tall As with his hand of master skill He made to laugh and cry at will [44] The dimples sweet that chased about Her rosy cheeks in revelling rout ! Then oped her ruby lips to smile ; And arrows of light shot down the while From stars that shone in the eyes above — Aye, all of her he named love. Ah, such a face divine would move The ax and block to swear her love; The hangman's noose would shame to clasp A throat so white in strangling grasp ! Next, like a spirit's mould, there grew A wondrous form the Artist drew: Lithe as the bending willow tree, With tapering limbs and motion free. Ah, on that breast could gods forget ! Within those arms all joys were met. 'Tis such a face, 'tis such a form, That makes man brave hell's fiercest storm; 'Tis such a form, 'tis such a face, That makes forsworn all duty's grace. The crimson Artist, swift and fast, Around her form a spirit cast ; Her arms she stretched forth unto me, Her eyes all yearning pleadingly. I burst the bonds that held me wed Unto the silence of my bed And rushed headlong with joyful cry — Hold! Hold! My eyes grew hard and dry. [45] As, gazing o'er the Artist's head, I saw his swift strokes strike her dead ! With gasping breath I did behold Her eyes grow cruel and steely cold; I saw her yellow fangs drop bane, Her shrunken lips leer at my pain; I saw her withered form rot down, Reeking with sores from foot to crown — Yet was she once the fairest born, Who from my breast my heart had torn: With her it lies unto this day, And moulds, and rots, and bleeds away. The Artist, still with back towards me, Laughed then a laugh of hellish glee, And all grew black — the town-clock bell Tolled heavily as down I fell — And I was alone with the break of day ; Yes, I was alone with the morning gray. [46] THE PORTRAIT Pity the man who sees but with the eye ; Thou art to him a painted fabric frail; But envy him who can thy soul descry Beneath the lines where art and genius fail: He sees the living light behind the veil; He feels a pulsing heart within thy breast ; He hears within thy soul the nightingale That sings to him of thee from heavens blest. Love breathes the poet's passion through thy veins, And thou to glorious life enkindled art. Step forth, O Queen! for now thy beauty reigns ; Of God's great pulsing world thou art a part; Thy former house thy fragrance still retains, But thou now dwellest in a living heart. [«] THE THREE SPIRITS Out on the turbulent, tossing sea, O'er the moon-cast path, those spirits three, That rule the world from the throne of Him, Came up from the night-heaven's shadowy rim. Spirit of Life ! The days are long, Nor ever a flower, nor bird of song ; The nights are dismal tombs that hold Stark food for worms, fond hopes of old. Spirit of Death! Who harks the fall Of yon grand monarch, straight and tall, That in the forest's vasts alone Thou hurlest down, unsung, unknown. Spirit of Love ! Dost kiss the wave That whispers sweet, yet digs thy grave? Ceaseless and endless, pebble and piece, The rock succumbs ; the sands increase. Can the soul flung out on the kelp-clothed strand By the Spirits Three of the Unknown Land Be aught but a senseless plaything tossed By the angry sea that their moon-path crossed? [48] THE PRAIRIE The Prairie, O the Prairie, Where the footsteps, light and airy, Of the wandering zephyr fairy Trod so sprightly years ago ! Where her feet, a moment rested, Some wild flower the imprint crested, And a fragrance therein nested That returns my heart aglow — God hath made it so. The Prairie, O the Prairie, In my heart alone dost tarry, For the ways of mankind vary, And our children must have bread; Furled is all thy spreading glory, With thy roses liv'st in story, While these plotted fields of worry They have given us instead — All thy grasses dead. The Prairie, O the Prairie, Thy burrowing folk were wary, Thy winged folk ay contrary In the golden days of youth; I have seen white armies sweep thee, The fiery sickles reap thee, The whirling wild winds leap thee, But thy doom was not their ruth; 'Twas feeble man's, forsooth. [49] DAUGHTER OF JUDAH Daughter of Judah, dark-eyed and comely, Crowned with the mystery of ages art thou ; Chosen the people of God were thy fathers, Chosen of love their daughter is now. Daughter of Judah, gently, yet bravely Striking for freedom where error is truth; Sister to those who were daringly tender, Even as Judith, and even as Ruth. Daughter of Judah, sweet-lipped and loving, Mothers in Israel thy mothers have been; Fathomless now in thy soul lies the glory, Daughter of Judah, even as then. [50] THE TAJ MAHAL In India lies a wondrous bowl — Of beauty it is called the soul — Which, when the heavens cloudless bend And in no horizon seem to end, Can once be seen by mortal eye, Its crystal depths hewn from the sky. 'Tis brimmed with waters clear and sweet That silent sit at the lilies' feet, And far below the stars and moon Lie still and pale as those who swoon. Alone alive where all is sleep, The fishes play and dance and leap About one draped in ghostly pall, The silvered shade of Taj Mahal. Aye, who was like to the Shah Jehan, The son of the Caliph, Wonderful One ? And who so beautiful and blest As the Noor Jehan? God save her rest. There is no God but God — and He Was moved by a strangest jealousy — And He took the one so beautiful, The Noor Jehan, for His true angel. [51] As dead for days lay the Shah Jehan, The Emperor greatest beneath the sun, Then arose and knew ; then rent his clothes, Fierce tore his hair ; but his pitying woes Again in kindest slumber wound His riven heart with peace around. The winter passed, and the Shah Jehan Was sleeping apart from the flaming sun When a messenger came, all clad in white And crowned with a halo of dazzling light, Who spake in accents soft and low: "Come follow me, O son of woe !" They passed to a chamber of diamonds set In marvellous manner in marble of jet, And there on a couch as white as the moon Lay Noor Jehan in wakeless swoon. "Now kiss her lips, and thou shalt know What are her dreams, O son of woe !" The Shah Jehan knelt down and kissed, With passionate ardor, the lips so whist ; When lo ! to his ear a sweet harp played, And his eye beheld in light arrayed The vision of an angel's dream Such as no mortal man may scheme. The moon swung low in a depthless sky, The air was still as those that die ; [52] Perfumed of the Arabies, flowers in bloom, Arose in pride, like the soldier's plume, From the edges calm of a water-way That stretched from night to half-born day. And there at its end — no tongue of man May ever hope to tell its plan — Arose and descended a temple grand, Where worship the warriors of Israfel's band. Conceive, if thou canst, the ruby's rays In stratum laid with the new sun's blaze; The thundercloud's blackness here and there Mingling with snow from mountain lair; And over it all, draped beautiful, The strange, white light of the moon when full. This the Shah Jehan saw, then reeled and fell; But after that day he fast grew well. And thus it was the Taj Mahal, The tomb of the loveliest of them all, Was built by the hand of the Shah Jehan, The son of the Caliph, Wonderful One. Oh, ye who may see its silvered dome Arise from the depths of the twilight's gloam, Know this : 'twas seen by the Shah Jehan As he knelt and kissed his loved one ; And when that voice answereth, Noor ! O Noor ! O think then of those who have gone before, And offer a prayer to Allah above For the Shah Jehan and his beautiful love. [53] THE SEA-DOG OF THE FARALLONES I, on my rock here all alone, Out on the Farallone, Shall I cry to the keels that pass this way, That plow from the birth to the death of day, For a mate on the Farallone? The treacherous, sinister waves bemoan My fate to the Farallone ; But the gulls must ever wing over the wave, Or they sink into even a restless grave — This black rock is all my own. A terrible tusk is the one I own, Of the terrible tusks of the Farallone, That rise in the path of the ships of the sea, Unmarked in the fog and its mystery ; To all but myself unknown. Out on the Farallone, Like God, I am all alone; My rock is my throne whence I rule the deep ; The fish here swim fast, and the seal never sleep, When my cry to the night is known. [64] WHITHER THE OLD FRIENDS O where are the old friends, the old friends of yore, The friends who our youthful infirmities bore; The old friends, the good friends, the trusted and true, Whose worth in our heedlessness never we knew? The rose mist of morning has lifted and sped; The hot glare of noon-day now measures our tread ; The giants that strode through the dew and the clouds Have wasted to pygmies we lose in the crowds. O give me once more, then, the brave hearts that were; O bring back the old friends that memories stir ; For Night is approaching, the shadows grow long, And soon we must pass with the home-hurrying throng. [55] THE ROSE MYSTERIOUS Before I was my soul was not. I knew Nor cruel thorn, nor leaf of tender hue ; Had consciousness of naught, nor bad nor good; Nor claimed of God immortal brotherhood. Like to the rose is life. The seed is sown, And Nature, with her consort, Time, makes known The tender sprout, the thought we call the soul. When man first opes his eyes on heaven's scroll What sees he there? The babe not even knows It lives, the sprout that it shall be a rose. How sweet oblivious sleep to those that grieve, Have burdening cares, or children that deceive ; Who toil bowed down to live a noisome plan Not of their will or leave. Shall then mere man Sing praises loud because he's waked into A troublous life? The rose, of hours a few, Because the tempest weaves it to and fro And flings its petals to the winds of woe? So softly, one by one, the petals unfold, And show the world the beauty that they hold, Till from the formless bud escapes the soul Whose fragrance sweet men's anthems, rapt, extol. [56] The intricate machinery of birth, Through which from rest we woke to restless earth, Forgotten is ; the frost of winter, too ; The glare of summer sun ; because we knew Them not, in fair dress cloaked. But when the day Of consciousness arrives, when worms shall prey Upon our untried hearts, and ruthless hands Shall pluck us from our place in pleasant lands, Then shall we sigh to be as if we had Not been — unborn ; unknown of good or bad. And theirs, the common lot of everyone : To wake, to bloom, to wither in the sun; Each ever seeking for forgetfulness From memory's aches, existence' dire distress. Perhaps a rose is plucked by maiden fair And fondly kissed ; or woven in her hair ; Or bathed in tears and whispered of love's ill; Or pressed in book to linger many days Some token of a friend's remembered ways. Again, perhaps the blighting eastern wind Plucks out her smiles and scatters them at mind; Or parched and thin-lipped drouth destroys with thirst ; Or insect, like a festering care accurst, [57] Gnaws to her heart and kills both life and hope ; Or powerful forces, careless of her rights, Her beauty plucks, her innocence foully blights — But weal or woe, good done or evil made, Shall she be blamed who ne'er herself arrayed? Alike, alone, to meet the dust we go, Whate'er may be our lives, our death is so. The petal-strewn path, where walk the shades of morn, Is carpeted with corpses, while, new-born, Arched over it the buds hang bursting low, Waiting their cruel turn — for life is so. What though some few so rare that they may grace The Halls of Heaven, the Celestial Place, Cared for by angels, bedewed in Jordan's stream, Whose days are blessed, each night some happy dream — Aye, even so, these joyful in their lot Had known no difference, if ne'er begot, Betwixt their enviable state and the torment Of all their sleepless brethren earthly bent. [58] The senile plant, with senses still awake, Sees now her petals frail their stem forsake; Sees round her youth and beauty, gay and strong, While she decays in lonely days and long; Sees happiness go dancing round about With joyous song and loud, hilarious shout, Recalling to her memory her own youth, Which ne'er shall come again with joy or ruth. O, let them sleep who yet the light of day Have not discerned, and let the waking pay Their debt to Nature, and return again Into oblivion, where nor grief nor pain Can gnaw to them, and let them there remain! Great God! Thy inscrutable ways we praise; Thou knowest best, O Ancient of the Days ! But what, O Jah! before Thee was, or Who? If Thou wert always give us mind to grasp The portent of it, for we grope and gasp, Blind moles in darkness and bewilderment, Who know that we exist, not what was meant. Is there no end to space? Is there beyond A Something, endless, endless, to respond? Aye, little rose, of fleeting hour and day, To blossom thus, and then to pass away, Distilled to poison, or to odors sweet, A tool of hate, or lovers' fond deceit. ■[89] O soul of man ! Pray that thou findest peace ; From fruitless questionings pitiful surcease; That the kind darkness of thy flowerless state Claim thee again, for aye oblivion's mate — Oblivion, and all our questions known, These two are one, as God is God, alone. [60] FAITH When all the lights go out and the vast dark, Like a death-wounded, black, ill-omened bird Shall settle down to never rise again; When the sweet silvery laughter of the young, In merry cadence welling from fresh hearts, Shall cease its song, and the thin wind instead Sob out the grief of broken-hearted worlds ; When Chaos from his exile long returns And waves his crooked sceptre as before There Order was — O then, in that fell hour, The Soul that can perceive the Rescuer, Can still the light hold shining in his heart, Is blessed indeed. [61] THE WOUND The bow was drawn In careless twilight of a thoughtless day ; The bolt was shot as you unwitting came And passed that way. The scar is there. The finger tips of love won't rub it out ; Nor tender kiss ; nor penitential tears Of archer lout. The wound is healed; To find it now no boasting eye might brag Did not your heart remember and fling out Its crimson flag. [62] HARP O' THE WIND His nimble fingers delicate With swift emotion intricate, The Harpist, Tempest, wields Until, enraptured, yields The forest harp of thousand, thousands strings The melody that youth victorious sings. The whispering of the lisping innocent, The laughter of its new soul's wonderment, Low as the murmur of the wood, Rippling the river's placid mood — Such, when lithe branches dip, The song is on Tempest's lip. Wild riot unrestrained! Passion's elements unchained. The swaying giants of the forest twist And bend, dancing through weird Bacchante mist, To snapping strings' harsh thundering — As if the World were sundering! Rose-garlanded, 'midst pillars tall, The harp hangs mute on Heaven's wall, Its echoes trembling far into the dawn To where comes Phoebus' chariot rumbling on — Black Tempest's jewelled fingers Wave farewell where Night lingers. [63] KING CODRUS "My comrade, arm thee well, and bind About thy limbs thine armor kind; Gird fast thy sword upon thy thigh ; The toughness of thy bullhide try; Against thy heart now steel thy mind. "For Athens' King goes forth to die- Yet would he fall with the death-dry Of twice-ten Spartan heraldry ; Go pitted on the hostile spear That forms a Spartan's boasted bier: My comrade, Athens' blood is dear ! "Apollo's voice at Delphi rang, Amid the battle's deafening clang, That I or Athens free must die. And where is there so fair, so rare A queen as Athens anywhere? Look yonder, comrade, o'er the brow Of yon tall mountain Sparta now Ten thousand spears pours forth into This valley guarded by us two. "My comrade, now for Athens kill! With Spartan blood thy helmet fill And quaff revenge ere they shall spill Thy life upon their field of ill. [64] Ha, now they come ! My comrade, ho ! 'Tis thus we deal to Athens' foe ! Let them thy strength and valor know, My comrade, O my comrade, ho ! "Ah, comrade, is it over now? I feel Death's hand upon my brow ; His chill breath whispers in mine ear, While spurting up this Spartan spear My life blood leaps its touch to clear ! Why answerest not ? My comrade, ho ! Art dead? My comrade — blow for blow- Thus died we — men — tell Athens so !" [65] FAME O thou elusive charmer of my soul! Since first I thrust the petals open part, And bloomed a flower upon my mother's heart, Thy face through heaven's high inverted bowl Has held me bound to win thy kiss, alway ! The Night but wept that Morning's hope might dry Thy tears away; and hope's devouring eye Ne'er faltered from thy face while yet 'twas day! What might I not have been had I but known The empty honors that surround thy throne ; Had kindly clouds obscured thy dazzling face, Behind whose smiles lurks disappointment's sneer ; And I had sensed but for a little space That love alone is life upon this sphere. [06] LOVE'S SERENADE (A Sestina) Beneath this bower green, my loving heart, With song as soft as lute I breathe my love. Some sing in rhymes that like the storm-winds beat; Some glide with feet whose tread as shadows fade: In subtler verse I seek to hide the woe That eats my soul as worms devour yon rose. Thy damask cheek is redder than the rose ; Thy breath is scented sweeter than its heart, loveliest one! Hast thou ere felt my woe? Ah, let me die, if by my heart's great love Our souls could leave all woe behind and fade Into those realms where no storm-winds beat. 1 hear my heart in quickening measure beat ; My cheeks glow red like yonder shame-hued rose, Then to the marble of thy brow they fade — As if a wave of love came from the heart! There is no room for hate where all is love, Where all is bliss comes never any woe. [67] Yet gladly would I suffer all that's woe, If but I felt thy heart in pulses beat With the quick motion that is born of love. Ah, there are cruel thorns upon this rose, And there are thorns and stings in love; its heart May wither, too, but mine shall never fade. Before thy face the roseate dawn doth fade; Where far the lark in rhapsodies of woe Makes love to Nature, there doth soar my heart Till thy sweet frown doth pierce it : O, I'll beat This breast in anguish, and this blood-red rose I'll dye a deeper red, an' thou spurn my love ! Then come, my heart, and dwell with me in love. We'll bask in arbors green that ne'er shall fade ; Where grows the lily chaste, and amorous rose, Where all is joy and peace, and naught is woe. Canst thou not feel, loved one, the welcoming beat That throbs to us from' Nature's giant heart? O good, my heart ! When thou dost cease to love, . My pulses' beat shall sink, and joy shall fade To endless woe, and I wither as the rose. [68] HYMN TO THE SOIL The barren rock is clothed by thee; The water dipped up from the sea By the Sun's glistening hands In turn bedecks thy homely hue With colors rare as ever grew In happiest of lands. O, mother of the human race ! Bestow on us thy tender grace That we may reap and live ; Give forth thy bounty from thy breast That sturdy sons may call thee blest And strength unto thee give ! Not stripped by flood and wind, nor fool With a short breathing space to rule, Not shivering, bleak and bare, But green and strong and beautiful, Thy lap with plenty brimming full, We fain would see thee fair. Without thee must we perish all; Then shall we to thy warning call Turn dulled ears and cold? Because we know that at the end Thy love will seek us out and lend A covering of thy mould. [69] LIFE IS BORN OF DEATH Now all his books are shut and dusty gray ; His meagre light has set in Life's bleak West ; The crucible's o'ercrusted with spent clay; The spiders weave their webs about their guest ; His thin, transparent fingers, clasped in rest, No more shall eager delve in mines of lore ; Forgotten is the purpose in his breast, The sage enshrined shall feel his eyes no more. Beside him there, beside the empty shell, Beside the pitcher broken at the well, Held in the rigid hand, death-chained and mute, Lies crushed the history of a life toil-spent ; In mighty measures of his silenced lute, It rises now his lasting monument. [70] TO DAME NATURE If thoughts as fine as thine are I could weave From out the tangled meshes of my brain, I'd ask of thee to give thy servant leave To ease his heart of its dead weight of pain, To let him sever the imprisoning skein And find a newer end to start again: Then would I task of this old, worn-out loom A fabric that thine eyes might walk along As if it were a flowering field in bloom, Where joyous sings the lark, heav'n's soul of song. The shuttle flies not swifter than the light From thy deep eyes leaps through and through the woof — I would I could my love thus put to proof, And weave their sunbeams in a fabric bright. [ii] THE FOUR ANGELS The Four Angels shortly shall loose the Winds of Wrath ; The Judge of All is robed within the Solemn Halls ; Ho ! Ye of dancing footsteps along your pleas- ure's path, Be sure your deafness shall be cured when Michael calls. Cowards, Vandals, Ingrates, Bigots, Selfish Sons of Men, War ye now together, never shall ye then ; Soon across the Rainbow Bridge in shackles shall ye troop ; Haughty, proud, and steely souls, so lately shall ye stoop. Go to, ye weak and imbecile that glut The gutters of the old and crumbling world — The dead more than the living clog the rut — The groove is rotted out along which once it whirled. O, where is Love and Hope and Faith, and Mercy gently smiling? Where hide the beauteous Sisters, Truth and Righteousness? O, yonder — no, not yonder where the Judge sits stern in stress, [72] But farther, farther, farther, where the chil- dren are beguiling All the golden hours in romping with the One of Gentleness ! O, ye who steal, and ye who kill, and ye who break the trusting heart, Think ye this earth forever shall go on, your 'change and mart? Fools ! Ye have your little hour, short and lovely, tricked and gay, And ye'd always dance and drink, think ye, and ye'd never pay? Soon the vials shall be emptied, and the waters shall turn blood; Remember then the weakness of Abaddon's brotherhood ; Ye cannot cry for mercy then, for ye've never understood Nor ever it was Evil, nor ever it was Good. [73] THE GAME OF LIFE I A soul came forth from oblivion's gloom, And it walked by the banks of the river of Time; Ah, the world was fair as the flowers' bloom ; Oh, the waters and birds sang a beautiful chime. II Then out of the waves of the river arose A figure all black as the raven's wing; A long feather drooped o'er his dripping clothes, And a sharp, cruel sword in his hand did swing. Ill "Oh, soul !" spake he, "thou must play with me At the game of chess on Life's wonderful board, Or else shalt thou go where the unborn be, Go mourning forever thy broken gold-cord !" IV The soul looked up, and over that One A sweet Face of Sorrow 'mid the shadows did see; A voice like the murmurs of rivers that run Spake kindly and softly : "I will be with thee." [74] V And then the Grim One from his black mantle drew The chess board of Life where so many have played ; With his shadowy hand he beckoned unto Where the lists of the tournament stood ar- rayed. VI O, the Grim One was king, and Pleasure was queen, With Indolence and Anger and Falsehood and Pride And Avarice and Unbelief the officers mean Who guided the pawns of Doubt to Death's side. VII O, the Soul was king, and Religion was queen, And the officers were Innocence, Hope, Truth, and Love, Who leading kind Peace and Humility between, All guided Prayer's soldiers to heaven above. VIII The soul is not skilled in the terrible game Where the wager is death 'gainst immortality. The cock-feather droops o'er the player of shame ; Ay, a rigorous player is his Black Maj esty ! [TO] IX 0, the Vices are crowding the Virtues full sore ; The gleam of the victor shines forth from the eyes Of the player of Death as he reaches swift o'er And places dark Falsehood where Truth wounded lies. X The game is lost! By the river's side The gates of the tomb of oblivion lie; The Grim One doth leer as he opens full wide The portals of Death to the one that must die. XI The sad, sweet Face of Sorrow is there ; It watcheth the moves of the Soul in the play — O, if but the Soul loved the Face, pale and fair, The Grim One, defeated, would vanish away. XII The scene is changed ! I see where before Smoked the sulphurs of death and the forked lightnings played, A wreath of white flowers that the low bushes bore Upon the chess board in their purity arrayed. [76] XIII And the Grim One, defeated, hath vanished away; The cock-feather lies ragged and torn in the dust; Sweet harps of pure gold the bright angels play— O, the victory o'er Sin is the joy of the Just. [77] THE TRIUMPH OF MICHAEL Dead tree, that standeth in the plain, That never shall wear leaf again, Ere fell the lightning's flaming blade What lovers whispered 'neath thy shade? Dead tree, that sitteth there alone Amidst the desert's sand and stone, Hast yet a haven in thy breast Where the tired dove a space may rest? Dead tree, that lieth prone and still, Obedient to high Heaven's will, Hast yet a shelter from Its ire For those who at thy side expire? Dead tree, forth from thy mouldering bole Shall spring a green and living soul, Whose roots strike deeper than life's loam To waters of Eternal home! [78] THE FISH OF PARADISE Little fish of Paradise! Wondrous glow your big, round eyes, In your watery firmament, In no prison-house up-pent; Flashing, turning; dashing, churning; In your joyous merriment. Little fish of Paradise, Looking, O, so quaintly wise! Orange, red, and ocean blue, Every beauteous rainbow hue; Lining, streaming; shining, gleaming; Heaven rarely favored you. Build your little house of air! Never was there home more fair: Diamonds, rubies, glittering shine From the fabled coral mine ; Flashing, glowing; dashing, showing All their riches rare and fine. At the bottom of the sea, Where the mermaid angels be, In the mollusk's vaulted dome — Carved by gentle sprite or gnome — Mooning, cooing; spooning, wooing; Little fish that heaven roam! [79] Little fish of Paradise ! 'Neath the languid eastern skies: Crocus buds and lotus flowers Scent the dreaming, sleepy hours ; Waving, sighing; craving, dying; But reflections of your bowers. [80] HOMO In the Council of the Gods, Met together in their Halls at the centre of the Universe, Was decreed a marvelous thing By affirmative nods, With no One at odds ; And about it now I tremble as I sing. In the caldron of the Suns All the mixtures that inhabit us, and the earth, and all about us, Were thrown in and stirred by Angels — Since the Angels that are fallen from grace, For they knew beyond their place — Then, as if from guns Inconceivable in power, was shot the nebula into space, Whirling, cooling, crackling, as it settled into place. JEons upon aeons since the Council of the Gods met — Are They concerned about us yet? — Now we see in our brief view What Those saw in Their mind's eye When They blended our chemistry; How our atoms, all askew, Would at last resolve into What our poor imperfect lenses Throw upon our halting senses. [81] From the hot and seething, molten, burning, fiery liquid, Cooling gradually through the bitter cold Of the universal ether — Till at last we have grown old, Like a casting in its mold, Through each grade and stage and age, Every storm of stars and elemental rage,, Every cataclysm of Fate's fingers on Nature's zither ; Till at last we behold, Or our senses think we do, What was meant for me and you ; Till eventually forms and animals have evolved All the ages earth revolved — What was in God's mind when He began, The animal with a soul, known as Man. But one thing was not mixed in The first elements in the caldron of the Suns: 'Twas an attribute of the Gods, And impossible such odds: Thus, imperfect was the plan When the things that were evolving were ready for the Man; Man himself has called its results Sin — A reasoning soul was too recent for his de- velopment to revel in. [80] So the Gods again in Council met in the Halls At the centre of the Universe, And They proclaimed the freedom of the thralls They had formed out of the chemicals They had stirred In the caldrons of the Suns at the beginning of the Word: To the highest type erect They bestowed Soul and Reason; thus perfected, Man stepped forth From the birth-pangs of long epochs ; thus en- dowed, Bridged the gap between the Ape And his little lower than the Angels mind and shape. Some far day, then, the perfect will be abso- lute, And of the Gods' imagination we will be rip- ened fruit; We of perfected souls shall stand alone, Other things and worlds, the chips from our statue, Shall have fallen, passed back, and have gone Into the caldron of the Suns : Seeing, we shall see as we please any face In any multitude, in any place ; Hearing, we shall hear as we will any voice In any concourse, from lips of any choice; [83] Distance and Time shall be forgotten, When Infinity's and Eternity's understanding is begotten In the Beings that the Gods decreed should be evolved from chaos To replace the Angels who the caldrons stirred, Who rebelled, in the beginning of the Word. [84] THE CORN When March has swept the house all clean, And April washed the windows bright, Comes gentle May with smiling mien And lifts me from my cradle light. Then newly dressed in wide-starched green With Summer I run hand in hand, And all the Mothers o'er me lean, Caress and kiss me, bid me stand! I sleep beneath tall plumes of gold — My tender skin is white as milk — But when the nights grow chill and old, Good Autumn wraps me warm in silk. Then when Aurora's brow is cold, Her breath a shadow of the snow, My cloak about my breast I fold, And home with all my brothers go. And there, with cloaks thrown off, and clad In dress of yellow, white, or red, We dance, each merry lass and lad, Till Famine's shades of night have fled. [85] HOME SONGS How sweet are the simple songs ! The songs of our childhood, That drown in their melody The birds of the wildwood. Wherever the wide world through We're aimlessly roaming, Those strains, tuned angelically, Arise from the gloaming. They carry us back again To dear, loving faces ; The songs that our mother sang Time never effaces. [86] VALHILDA Valhilda of the silent North, To thy deep eyes are drawn my own ; O bid thy seneschal step forth And call me to thy crystal throne; For I would feast upon the fear That mortals know when thou art near. Valhilda, goddess of the calm, Aurora's gold waves in thy hair; The long lost sun 'midst date and palm Pines to return thy smiles to share — Raise not thy sceptre, goddess wan, Lest all turn stone thou frownest on. Valhilda, in thy bosom cold, There beats a tender heart and true ; Who win thy favor must be bold, Nor falter, lest their hours be few: What seest thou beyond the rim Of all the still, still Northland dim? Valhilda, bless these haunted men That hunt a thing they wot not of; Nor draw thy mantle closer when These seek to tell thee of their love — They saw earth's beauty 'fore thee pale; They heard grow still the nightingale. [«] Valhilda, round thee sobs the wind, The banished children kneel and weep, The ghostly lands fill with the blind, 0, call the sun from his long sleep! Unto thy halls lie thousand told Adorers mummied by the cold. Valhilda, art thou then of stone? Thy smiling lips the frozen's dream? But this we know — we are thine own, We love thy most delusive beam; Valhilda, of the silent North — All mankind at thy beck stand forth. [88] THE CROOKED LITTLE BOY There's a crooked little house on the corner of the block, And a crooked little tree grows in the yard, And a crooked little boy always sitting on a rock At the bottom of the tree that's in the yard. He is gazing at a limb ; is it gazing back at him From the branches of the tree that's in the yard? Is it laughing at the boy in the suit of corduroy Sitting on the rock beneath the tree that's in the yard? For the crooked little boy never will the joy enjoy Shinning up the tree that's in the yard, For he's crooked as can be and the silver- beechen tree Has not paler leaves upon it than the face of the poor boy within the yard. O, the crooked little tree and the crooked little house Are still standing in the crooked little yard, But the crooked little boy sits no more with broken toy, For he's gone beyond the shadows of the crooked little tree that's in the yard. [89] THE FOREST FIRE Trumpet the wild heralds of the wood! Bannerless they urge and forge ahead; They need no colors to be led Whom fear drives. These a brotherhood Of purpose have, as through the night They fly the forest all alight. Now roaring giants fling afar Great torches through the mist of smoke, As if they know beneath its cloak Their routed foes retreating are. And who so sturdy to withstand That fiery phalanx marching swift Against the forest's time-tried band, And Night's black legions? Man has no gift, Indemnity, nor host, that shall halt The fury of these fearful ranks, When, maddened by the wind's assault, They leap the river's shrivelled banks And sabre the protected there. O Desolation ! Scarred and bare Thy blackened bosom lies ; and Death Leans heavy against the Heaven's breadth. [90] Aye, fiercely their mighty armies rage, With terror palsy all their foes, And leave but wrack behind. Yet wage Vast forces mightier than those A greater warfare: the soft rain, Gently persistent and unsubdued, Comes steadfast on, till, his outposts ta'en, His fierce flanks turned, and all his rude And bloody soldiery routed far, The foe succumbs in blackening char! The while the soft hands of the rain Wash fair the faces of the slain And beckon the fleeing back again. [91] FREE WILL The world rolls on as yesterday it rolled ; For some meanwhile the parting bell has tolled, While some have been cast down, and some ex- tolled; Forgotten some, immortal some enrolled. The sun shines clear as yesterday it shone — Upon a man that perishes alone, Above a fearsome army overthrown, And a victorious legion haughty grown. There is no change of purpose wrought with Fate : Defeat, nor death, nor infamy, nor state, Nor love, nor life, nor victory, nor hate, Shall the Almighty's mandates abrogate! O we are billows rising from the deep ! Who sink to lowest depths, or skyward sweep ; Who rage a space; who sing and laugh and weep — Though the sea is bound, its waves have leave to leap. [92] THE TORCH-BEARERS O little, trembling, furtive band, Whose banner hangs in Midnight's land, Ye are descendants of the Night ; For conscience' sake ye fearless stand — Your sufferings victor more than might. Nor fire, nor sword, nor aught of blood, Are weapons of your brotherhood; The patience of the saints ye wield: The hordes of Hate by Love withstood Inevitably the victory yield. Bowed down to earth by pain and grief, Ye falter not in your belief; Though driven hard by Error's lash, Yet from your task seek not relief — Your labors live though kingdoms crash. The centuries have wheeled and passed In armies powerful and vast Across scourged Hellesponts in vain, If, from beneath their feet downcast, Your green leaves spring not up again. Aye, though to each devoted breast Shall Darkness' spears be clasped to rest, The breach is made, and all that see, O'er your dead bodies, loved and blessed, Shall rush to glorious victory! [93] SEEKERS OF HAPPINESS I One thousand, and another, grains of sand Beneath a human foot, don't understand The terror of their multitude beyond; The mocking of the sickly-looking sun; The hopeless heat that struggles in its bond — These learn some sweetness when their learn- ing's done. II A robe of gold-embroidered silk that's hung Upon a rock 'mongst heaving billows flung, A naked soul thrown blind-fold in the spray And given leave to swim and clothe itself, Or tear the bandage that obscures the way And turn to shore and take the easier pelf. Ill A thought alone upon the city's street, Where thousands trample with their leaden feet; Unsought, unheard, grasped by the hand by none, Left standing by a most unworthy crowd; In truth alone, a cloud-bespattered sun, That comes and goes, and glistens in its shroud. [94] IV The houses and the landmarks I have built Are empty save the mockery of gilt ; The bulwarks that I reared to hide behind, To lie in wait behind until the face That haunts the shadows melts away in wind, Seem made of cobwebs in a shaky place. A scented veil that floated in the night Swept o'er my face and staggered me with fright ; I strove, I strive, to catch its flimsiness, But only clutch the empty air instead; I hold my heart and wait for its caress — I know it is, and yet 'tis ever fled. VI Beginning, Time, and End — feeble mind! You cannot grasp what's not by these outlined, And yet you rear a temple and despair Because your children 'midst its ruins cry; You make a curse — it seems a breath of air — Then curse again because it will not die. [95] VII The wise their spokes do make into a wheel ; The fool makes fire with his short warmth to feel; The just yet roll the wheel beyond the fire — The brave fear not the fire, or wheel, or things, But fasten Chaos underneath Desire: The wise have birds they keep with clipped wings. VIII A heart I have not met, a love not known, A peace I have not felt, a little zone That's bounded by my sweet, untrammelled will, A music that I never understood, A fruit and wine and dance that never fill, A choice to sleep or wake — then were Heaven good. IX The seal be broken and the scroll unrolled, The memory all upon his fingers told, The soul be clear and tranquil as the glass, No fear-benumbed or cloud-enveloped brain, The infinite grasped while finite mortals pass — Then Heaven were good, and other heavens vain. [96] O break a heart, and bring cement, and go ! Or smite your mother on the lips a blow — Then given a rock, high waves, a brazen sky, To grovel on, to hear, to lift your face: And see if you rend pardon from on high, Or lure a hope unto your lonely place! XI The care-free urchin with his horseshoe nail And resined string makes window sashes wail, And thinks him happier than the happiest. How dare you cut a painting from its frame ! Or break the statue o'er a hero's breast! Or fling the manuscript into the* flame! XII Have you the mountains seen when they appear To rise from wavering mist? And when they rear A bold and rugged front on fitful feet? They are no less as stable as of yore. What if the passing clouds your vision greet? They try your faith — and you will trust the more. [97] XIII Perhaps the heavens have unnumbered forms, Uncouth and dark, that whirl in fearful storms In unseen orbits round our pitiful sphere ; Perchance a dazzling throng is there with song : What matters it? We do not know the fear; Unto our souls does not the threne belong. XIV A shackled wrist may drive the dagger home: You give the knife, and let the error roam — And all the hands that freedom ever clasped May pluck the steel and staunch the hole in vain. You're given little, and you've littler grasped, With which to leave your credit without stain. XV O fill your time, let not a moment pass Of which repentant you shall say, alas ! For when the portals open you're betrayed, And when they close they open nevermore: And you were gold you could not friends per- suade To drop their ease and storm your prison door. [98] XVI There is a watchman standing guard before — More beautiful than she whom you adore — And with his winning smile he lures you in ; You find his golden promises are lies ; You turn again unto your world of sin — A skeleton guards before that Paradise. XVII And will you lift your head out of the grass To strike the foot that happens there to pass — With poison make a monster of your God? O have you thought of your immortal soul? Where goes it when it leaves this earthly clod? And shall the wicked have eternal dole? XVIII The one-day infant that turns about and dies Ere light has known the color of its eyes Has then unsought of it a life for aye? Where is the soul when consciousness is lost In sleep, or fainting? Goes it up to cry: "Begrudge not rest unto the tempest-tossed!" [99] XIX And yet, when Time shall reach Eternity, When all the dead are from their prisons free, The righteous shall be clothed in shining robes Of immortality — then, only then? The mind of man forever probes and probes — The worms shall eat it ere it probes again. XX Then are you good? And would eternal rest? Your head lies pillowed upon your brother's breast That heaves in pain — eternally he's damned. O let the sinner die, and be you saint, And live forever when the door is slammed — But let the other end his poor complaint. XXI Beware to scoff! There is a principle That underlies the Empty and the Full. Despair or Hope have never laid it bare. The feverish heat of life has blurred our sight — Below the dancing waves we know 'tis there: Come, drink your wine, the dawn is born of night. [100] XXII Take from the least and give it to the most, Array the ant against an army's host, Repent of good and seek the evil out: And you may feel the worms crawl in your heart, Or you may hear the heavenly beings shout, But know the debt is there — a few years apart. XXIII Along the streets are mansions where within Whose empty halls in each there might have been Two golden vases — but there is but one. And it is made to hold a measure due — Upon the walls a finger has begun : "You fill the vase, the mansion is for you." XXIV Ah, well, you have a sieve to dip it up — The streets are just so long; so deep the cup; A countless multitude to vie with you — But they have built the city just so great, And for the crowds its mansions are but few ; If you can fill the vase don't hesitate. [101] XXV O make a fire, and with a net of gold, Go catch a fish and pity you its cold — Go get a guide, and catch a stumbling mole, And let your pity lead it o'er the earth — You don't return the same amount you stole: A man at least has peace before his birth. XXVI Eat quick your tongue ere that you let it say The doom of some is consciousness alway 'Midst various tortures for the crime of life ! And dare you make a Moloch of your God? You do not know the purpose of your strife ; Or who is straight, or crooked, by your rod. XXVII Break then the bird's wings, and the antelope's, Wall strength around, and bind you man with ropes ; Imprison flesh with chance and circumstance — You can't prevent the flight of memory; You cannot break the mind's soul-driven lance ; You can't imprison faith — nor treachery. [108] XXVIII A trampling of countless feet ; a sullen roar ; The dust of battles dense on every shore ; The crash of matter ; and the shriek of pain : Within the ocean's bosom breaks the heart Of nations for a little that is vain, A sounding word, a fool allowed to start. XXIX The breath of graves, the smell of reeking blood, The stench of rotting carcasses of mud! A chariot drawn by fiery horses flies, And plunges nowhere through the noisome mass ; A man, exultant, leaps aboard and dies. What took he with him when he came to pass? XXX Where Silence molded into mountain sits And holds the key that opens to the Pits ; Nor ever sound is heard but of the air That sluggish forces through the hard-breath- ing nose: Sweet Peace is fondled by a mother's care, And all's at rest that comes or stays or goes. [105] XXXI The unmeasured, the unfathomed, the un- known — The mind is crushed that wished to be alone : Here Peace that passes understanding 's found. They, all, that tumult love, that quiet seek, Leaping to death, or grovelling on the ground, Have end all one — who knows if bright or bleak? XXXII A narrow cup, and eyes a laugh apart, To drink a health and curse it in the heart ; A skull of blood and lipless mouths thereto, A soul of crawling worms to voice a toast ; So drink the health again, and curse anew: For you are seated with a thirsty ghost. XXXIII A cool, sweet hand upon your fevered brow, A soft, low voice that whispers to you, "Now." O it were happiness to be thus sick! To hear the sleepy murmurs Nature makes, To scent the flowers, to hear the insects click — Then pray for health that from such ill awakes ? [104] XXXIV O press this quivering beauty to your breast ! For Night's content, and Morning brings un- rest. A cooper makes a cask for each of you, And you're not happy till you fill it up ; Don't bore a hole to let the water through, The wine will go the same, nor leave a sup. XXXV You stand and dig your heels into the shale, Before the still and endless sea you quail, Suppose you see a ripple strike the shore And break in foam the snaky, twisting brine — You do not know there fell a meteor, You did not see the ship below the line. XXXVI You know as much of any other plan That has been made to run these things and man; You always see the cause of some effect, And from this tail-end you must figure out, And all your pretty schemes of life erect, And seek your pleasure, and the final route. [105] NOV 29 1911 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 One copy del. to Cat. Div. NGV £3 W3

20021075

Poems.

Anderton, Louise D.

poems01ande_djvu.txt

am& ^Louite' V. Ctudetti on cM ■o&md/ %?&* X°A v* ,M ^° Copyright 1920 Louise D. Anderton ©CI.A601559 NOV 16 1920 U <? Cjne/ JLoaI/ X\Ljbtim,aat timid Soul, yet unafraid, Has heard the Master's call, To journey on beyond Earth's realm, Where reigns the L,ord of all. The path is rough, the way is long, But at the end is rest ; For God is there amidst a throng Of Heavenly angels blest. Tier upon tier, all robed in white, Their song of praise they sing ; Wafted to God through day and night, The mighty Heavens ring ! "Fear not, then, faithful, weary Soul, An angel 's guiding thee ; There's many a step to reach the goal, So thou must patient be." Though dark the way at times must be, She falters not at all ; For well she knows that soon she'll see Beyond Earth's darkest pall. Behold ! A glorious light appears To speed her on her way ; For naught can now arouse her fears, Nor hold, nor bid her stay. With quickening steps, she hastens toward The vision she beholds, To find she's face to face with God, Whose love He thus unfolds. Overwhelmed with joy at sight of Him, Whose glory has no bounds, She falls prostrate, as one grand hymn Bursts forth in mighty sounds ! Then gently does the Father raise This Soul to heights of love, That she may join in giving praise, With all the Saints above. Triumphantly, with one accord, The music swells on high, In never ceasing love of God, Where nothing now can die. O final joy ! she now beholds Those dear ones loved on Earth, Who to her heart she thus enfolds, Iyike to a glorious birth. i^fesienkide/ 'BR lake and hill, the afterglow Of day's departing sun Breathes fragrant zephyrs soft and low, 'Till earth and peace are one. The birds their vesper song have sung, Of varied notes and trills ; Forgetful not to feed their young, They're off across the hills. In rapid flight they wing their way, To nest before night falls ; Awake again at break of day, With cheery woodland calls. AtKitchaivan Westchester C aunty § un/ci&e/ '^hb shadows of the night have passed, The mists are rolled away, When the sun, in all its glory, Comes up at break of day. Only a ball of red at first Appeareth out the sky ; Bursting forth in rays of splendor, Wending its way on high. There to wrap the earth in sunshine Where all may bask who will ; Unheedful what the morrow brings, Today, our hearts we fill. The day is spent ; it disappears, To throw its light elsewhere, And gladden other hearts like ours, With sunshine bright and fair. e)ne/ DenaiJh °w wlvlww ,ith steadfast hearts they march along, All eager for the fray ; A song, a cheer on every lip, They're off to save the day. From wanton lust and greed of gain That menaces our land ; They cannot choose the easy path, When country does demand. A fond farewell to loved ones dear, A promise to fulfill Their duty toward both God and man, E'en though it be to kill. They dare not take the backward glance, For brave as they may be, 'Twould break their hearts to see the grief Of those who set them free. Seems but a night to manhood grown, These lads with kit and gun, Ready to fight for Freedom's cause, And die to crush the Hun. September. 191$ Q>k tylLaiuk' (^HvKntly, among the hills, ^ Apart from toil and strife and ills, Serenely lies a spot so fair, St. Mary's ! rest from ev'ry care. Vale of all abiding peace, Where God's beauties never cease ; Angels watch by day and night, Under His unfailing light. Weeping willows, bending low, Cast their shadows as they blow O'er a lake so crystal clear, Heav'n and earth seem very near. Not for those who here must sleep, Do the weeping willows weep : But for those who in their loss, Seek not comfort from the Cross. At Greenwich Connecticut G/iW vjiook' GyAiNDiNG in and out along its rugged way, ***' Tumbling, splashing over rocks the live-long day, Through umbrageous woods and fragrant meadows green, Under rustic bridge, then down a deep ravine. There to swirl and leap as if in gleeful play, Scrambling out again, merrily and so gay, To the music of the woodland symphony, Rushing gladly on so blithesome and carefree. As if propelled by some unseen, hidden force, So rapidly does it wind upon its course, With unresisting speed it answers the call, To plunge over cliff in magic waterfall. At Greenwich Connecticut Cyo/yd' Cy 'tietiB' '^Twas sweet of you to call on me, When I should call on you ; For often times I lie in bed, A feeling sort of blue : When to my joy, in walks a friend, Of mem'ry dear and true ; We reminisce on summer days, Though past, still ever new. The Evening Post Job Printing Office, Inc. 154 Fulton Street, New York

17024882

Vagrant visions,

Andrews, Edith Fargo

vagrantvisions00andr_djvu.txt

■.V ■ ■'■'■'■''■'^l' VISI0>I5 tDlTH m,RGO /INDREWS c^... Class Book CXffYRIGRT DEPOSm BY EDITH FARGO ANDREWS BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1917 Copyright, 1917 Sherman, French 6» Company SEP 24 1917 PC!,A473645 'Wo I * TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOTHER Our tokens of love are, for the most part, barbarous ; cold and lifeless, because they do not represent our life. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Therefore, let the farmer give his corn; the miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; the poet, his poem. Emersok's " Essays." CONTENTS PAGE Which? i Spring — Out There, 1917 .... 2 Indian Summer 3 Compassion 4 To A Friendship 5 My Guardian Angel 6 The Transformation 10 The Tribute .11 Faith 12 Harmony . 13 St. John's Eve, by the Sea 14 The Voice of Twilight 15 Longing 16 Our Former Lives 18 The Lull 19 Phantasy 20 The Sea of Silence 22 Separation 24 A Dream Shape 25 Halcyon Days 27 The Road That Leads to Thee ... 28 The Pistol of Gavrio Prinzep . . . . 30 Adagio 32 At Break of Day 33 To the Future 34 The Blind Poet 35 Re-creation 38 An Afternoon 39 Reminiscences 40 The Song of the Paddle 41 Music 42 The Song of Life and Love .... 44 The Crossroads of Time 45 The Answer 47 After 49 PAGE June Song ......... 51 Exiles 52 On a Summer Night 54 The Sunset of Life 55 Silence 56 The Moon 57 A Desert Rhapsody 58 Speed Mania 59 Phantoms . . . . 60 The Flowers of Fate 62 The Eternal Melody 63 To Thee 64 November . . . . . . . . . .65 The Call 66 The Music of the World 67 Suppose 68 Somewhere . 69 Soliloquy 70 At Evensong 71 Your Question 72 Requiem 73 Allah 74 Just You 75 A Tribute 76 My Wishes 77 The Flowers of Time 78 Rest 79 The Hill o' Dreams 80 VAGRANT VISIONS WHICH? If thou couldst take Some moment of thy past, One moment — Perfect, fleeting — That is all; When thy zenith vast Of earthly joys Seemed to have been reached; When thy power for And wisdom of Life's exquisite Seemed to be attained, Laid at thy feet; And by a wish Thou then couldst bid That glimpse of heaven, That molecule of Time, Be fixed and made eternal; Out of all Life's sorrows, Joys, pains and pleasures — Which Wouldst thou choose To have made permanent? [1] SPRING — OUT THERE 1917 Spring has travelled round the world and come again to stir the heart Where dying is a gallant art — where shrap- nel banners are unfurled. Behind the bitter battle lines, behind the un- thawed barricades And through ear-splitting cannonades — through all the bullets^ seething whines They hear the mellow step of May; through strident streams of hurtling lead They hear her lissom, eager tread; they feel refreshed beneath her sway. She bends above a lonely grave — forgot in victVy's sudden joy, A lonely mother's only boy; — spring leaves a kiss, and wave on wave Of murmuring grass and fragrant blooms make this into a wayside shrine — The lad's red blood, the holy wine — the In- cense from their rich perfumes. [2] INDIAN SUMMER AN IDYLL Atmosphere hazy, Languorous breeze, Warm, calm weather, Coloring trees; Clouds, soft, ivory, Skies of strange blue, A smouldering sun — A day; — with you! [3] COMPASSION There is ever a joy That is born Of human grief; Each thought's tomb Bears a flower that adds Its beauty to the desolation; Else why cross the cold And dear dead hands — Symbolic? Why strew relentless waves With blooms Unless all woe Is lightened by compassion? [*] TO A FRIENDSHIP // / were /, and you were you. As others say is so, This bit of verse would he in vain — But they are wrong, we know. For I am you, and you are I — And that's the splendid thing! For in your eyes my daydreams shine And from my heart you sing. My wishes and my hopes are yours, In friendship we are one; There is no question of farewell — Our journey's just begun. And though you are not always near, I am not left afar; Your spirit seems to be with me — And mine is where you are. // / were /, and you were you, As others say is so, This bit of verse would be in vain — But they are wrong, we know. [5] MY GUARDIAN ANGEL Once I sat dreaming, long ago, Beneath an arbor Where the glow Of God's great sunset Lit the vines, Tinting grapes and columbines, Enveloping the vales and hills, Blushing on a streamlet's rills — When slowly sank the day In sleep : And I — alone — Mid silence deep. Was filled with wonder and with awe As, coming up the path, I saw Your form, familiar. As of old And heard your voice Of molten gold. Spellbound I sat While on you came — You softly, slowly breathed — My name ! I thought that my last earthly day Had come — I quickly knelt to pray; When on my lowered head You placed Your cooling hand. I rose and faced You, took you in my arms to hear : *' You see, I've come back To you, dear, 'Tween lights of day And twilight's haze. To help and guide you through the maze Of life. It is not what it seems, 'Tis but a labyrinth Of dreams! Although I've passed From earthly eyes, I still am yours in paradise; * Until death us do part,' they say, In such a weakly, human way. From this day forth You're not alone — From life, through death, Our love has grown. Your guardian angel I shall be Forever — through eternity. Whenever you are lonely, dear. Remember — I am always near; My hands will soothe you When you rest. Your head soft-pillowed on my breast. Then, When your grave is filled And passed And you are safe with me — At last — All heartaches, longings, Scars and tears Shall fade into the mist of years. Close by you on your daily way. Where'er you are, There will I stay To help you o'er Life's mountains steep And guide you through the valleys deep. And now ■■ — I go — But you must wait The call of God — - Dear Heart, 'tis Fate ! " So saying, From my arms you crept Before my very eyes. I wept And realized 'twas but a dream; But in the west You left a gleam Of life to come and strange delight; I wandered on Until the night Spread out her wond'rous sable cloak. With outstretched arms, I softly spoke Your name unto the passing breeze — When lo, [8] There whispered through the trees Your voice I It sounded rich and deep And soothed me Into blessed sleep. — A wistful prayer Surged in my heart That I might learn To do my part, That I might grow More worthy of Thy lavish and immortal love ! Sweet memories of you Came to me And lulled me — Like a wind at sea ; I felt your presence Everywhere, A peace that was beyond compare ! E'en though death's chasm's Gaunt and great, Not even that can separate Us ; through the years Our love endures, For you are mine And I — am yours I, [»] THE TRANSFORMATION I NEVER knew how love came ; I only know that naught's the same; The springtime's glowing fields are fairer And the joy of living rarer — I know not how it came. I never knew when love came ; I only know the sun's warm flame Is brighter now — the stars more soft, The trees and winds now sing more oft; I know not when it came. I never knew why love came ; I only know life holds an aim More lofty for me now; above, Below — -the whole earth dreams of love — I know now why it came ! [10] THE TRIBUTE If you have had One happiness In life, You are forever past The pale of grief, Deep and caustic. For he Who has been glad, E'en though It be But once, can bravely face The Reaper; For Time, Like the woman he loves. Has paid him sweet tribute And given him joy. [11] FAITH By all the signs of heaven and earth I know you'll come tonight ; The smiling moon has risen fair To guide you with her light. A star streams through the bending sky; A trail of light, the mark Of Love's bright fingertips, is left — A splendid, silver arc. Such cool and eager sounds I hear About me everywhere, The step of tiny roses climbing Up the trellis stair. Amidst this wondrous depth of night I hearken — once — again ! I count your footsteps as you come — My faith was not in vain ! [12] ' HARMONY For all the world's in tune, my dear, A melody comes from the trees, I hear the song of a trickling brook, A rhapsody floats on the breeze. But the sweetest music of all, my dear. Is the symphony of love As it comes down to us through the air From the choir of stars above I [13] ST. JOHN^S EVE, BY THE SEA Life is going on before mine eyes While I am here alone. From former years A bygone melody of smiles and tears Comes drifting through the midnight of the skies. Truant memories of the past arise, Of vain regret, of mighty pain, of fears, But now. Fate soothes my heart and there ap- pears Naught but a blessed peace that glorifies Each thing it touches; e'en the summer sea Is stilling all the little waves that dance. It seems as though some splendid mystery Might be revealed to me where'er I glance. For o'er the earth and sky — Infinity Sweeps with its vast, illegible Romance ! [14] THE VOICE OF TWILIGHT From the throats of hurtling birds And the hearts of popples gay, From the reddened roses' folds Comes a song from far away. From the ragged turf on the cliff And the curling stream in the glen, From the sandy, moistened sea-edge Comes a voice to me now and again. 'Tis the voice of the dizzy highlands. Singing to shepherds and sheep, 'Tis the lullaby of the meadows As they soothe the grass to sleep. This threnody of twilight Enweaves a mystic spell. The lake sings to the pine trees — The sea — ? to an echoing shell ! [15] LONGING (Written anonymously by a Russian serf to a lady of the nobility.) As a flower made drunken By the sun, Swaying in the tawny light's embrace, I look far, far above me Where lives your heart, Your soul that I do long for Most of all. Like a meager weed That's hidden low By all the splendors Of a gaudy rose, I watch you as you pass Along the way that leads Beyond my modest biding place. Your cheeks are tinged As are the clouds at blush of day; The color of your hair is claimed By earth; while the sea. Emerald at midday, lends Its deep enchantment To your quiet eyes. As the blossom towards the sun Does turn. From the lucent east Unto the livid west. So do mine eyes follow [16] Where'er you go, Mine arms outstretched Like wistful, pleading leaves Mine heart laid bare Awaiting your caress I [17] OUR FORMER LIVES I DO not know whatever I was, Or where I lived or when, I feel that you and I, though. Were one when living then. How oft I've watched your subtle face And known I've loved and lost. Because there's something I recall From ages passed and crossed. In this long life I've been debarred From any hope of you. Your smile is always bleak to me, Your heart as chill as dew. But everyone forgets the lives That have been lived before. Our God is kind and heals our hearts — He closes Memory's door! [18] THE LULL O'er sand-strewn stretches, Warm and smooth, The tired wind^s adream; The daylights fade And die away In one last fleeting gleam. The seaweed sways In currents young. White silence fills the seas; The sea-snakes coll Their shining mail — The sun floats past the trees. ti»] PHANTASY The filmy night is laced with gleams, With truant echoes of the streams Wandering in the deepening glades And chanting woodland serenades — The sun sinks with a sigh. Far o'er the lake's soft rhythmic crest I glide alone ; there in the west The fragments of a splendid day Are mirrored in the brilliant bay — One star sweeps through the sky. Beyond the world-edge floats a cloud, And there entwined as in a shroud Lie all my hopes and my desires, Their dross consumed by heavenly fires That flare up clear and bright. Wee ripples tinkle on the shore, Sink back again to rise once more ; So do my daydreams soar or fall. Some shattered far beyond recall In memory's hurried flight. A plashing sound, a glimpse of white. And through the darkness of the night I feel that you are drawing near. And then, your voice I seem to hear Upon the starlit wind. [20] I dimly see you standing there, The moonlight glinting on your hair, Your arms outstretched — I hasten on, The spell is broken — you are gone And I — am left behind I [21] THE SEA OF SILENCE My voyage through life Is a voiceless one Over a silent sea, No whirl of wind Past the flapping sails Nor of storm-bound waves set free; But here, And there. And everywhere. Are sparkling motions, Lithe and fleet ■ — • I see the sound Where breakers meet ! The soft companionship Of peace. Two kindred souls between. Is nearest heaven Here on earth And brings a joy serene; But oh! The loss When far across Love's vista glides A perfect word That only can be guessed — Not heard I [22] Shared laughter warms A lonely heart In need of sympathy — White silence reigns O^er all supreme Upon my soundless sea ; Nor Time, Nor Art, Can e'er Impart Life's music to My longing ear; I feel its cadence — ; Yearn to hear! Though much is thus Denied me on My voyage, stilled. Through life, I ne'er have heard Men's dull complaints. Nor angry words nor strife; So I Rejoice The only voice That In my heart Rings true and clear Is God's great love. And that — I hear I [23] SEPARATION Relentless, unyielding As oceans, opaque, There are vast, trackless mountains That screen us; And, instead of subduing. Increase the soulache By their o'erwhelming presence Between us. [24] A DREAM SHAPE By a star-white birch that held a gleam I gathered wildflowers in a dream, And shaped a woman, whose sweet blood Was the odor of the wildwood bud. I took the chanting of the breeze And water whispering through the trees. And shaped the soul that breathed below A woman's blossom breasts of snow. From dew, the starlight arrowed through, I wrought a woman's eyes of blue, The lids, like jasmine 'neath the moon. Were rose-pale petals born of June. Out of the woodland and the air I wrought the glory of her hair That o'er her eyes' blue heaven lay Like some deep cloud o'er dawn of day. Out of a rosebud's veins I drew The mellow crimson beating through Her fragrant lips, whose soft caress Filled all my soul with tenderness. A shadow's shadow in the glass Of sleep, my spirit saw her pass; And, thinking of it now, meseems We only live within our dreams. [26] For in that time she was to me More real than our reality, More real than earth — more real than I The unreal things that pass — and die ! [26] HALCYON DAYS With water-emeralds softly glinting, The streaming river whirls and bends Past feathered ferns and waving grasses Then, with the skyline faintly blends. Glistening paths of cool green mosses Trace the riVer's gleaming brink; All the water blossoms shimmer, Pure and scented, white and pink. Freshening winds sweep o'er the lowlands Near the swaying, shadowed sedge; Trees bend forward with caresses. Leaning from the water's edge. Halcyon days remain forever. Time and Tide are stilled, meseems. Here there's neither gloom nor tumult — All the world's aflood with dreams ! [27] THE ROAD THAT LEADS TO THEE MORNING When dawn-lights glint Through willow-woods Far in the quivering east, The bold road, The strolled road. Lures on when night has ceased; The one I oft have trod alone Across the meadows three, The old road, The gold road, The road that leads to thee. NOON The high-noon haze Enfolds the earth, White-stretched beneath the heat. The sun road. The shun road. Winds on through swirling wheat; The one I oft have trod alone Across the meadows three. The run road. The one road. The road that leads to thee. [S8] NIGHT Adown a glen, Through crooked paths, On to the burning west, The team road. The stream road. The one that finds me rest; The one each eve I tread alone Across the meadows three. The gleam road, The dream road, The road that leads — to thee ! [29] THE PISTOL OF GAVRIO PRINZEP (Suggested by a brief article in " Life.") The pistol of Gavrio Prinze p — Where was that weapon made? Whose were the intriguing fingers That fashioned it, undismayed? Where lurked a spark of war's cruel flame, One day a royal couple came ; And in that selfsame tiny town There came a youth who said a crown Was but the symbol of a greed For wealth and power past all need. Within dark schools of hate heM dwelt And, all engulfed in hate, he felt Resentment, strong revolt. And taught That e'en his country's soul was bought. Oppressed; his reason failed — he drew A weapon lithe, and then — he slew. I wonder — If In aeons past When all was new and strange and vast, Before their birth primordial The unwrought leaden fragments, small. Had dreams fantastic as they lay Enmeshed within a clot of clay? Before they paused within the hands Of youth, and while the brimming sands [30] Of Time were pouring In Its glass All of those burning years — alas, I wonder — • If those atoms knew The ghastly work they were to do ? Meseems It would not be amiss If now a weapon such as this (Like Shelley^s heart, or e'en the dust Of some anarchic saint) may rust Beneath a limpid crystal shade ; That through the ages, unafraid, All men may come and see It there — Impotent token of despair And all the horrors, red, of war Of which It was ambassador : No force divine, let It be said. E'er moulded that death dealing lead I The pistol of Gavrio Prinzep — Where was that weapon made? Whose were the intriguing fingers That fashioned it, undismayed? [31] ADAGIO Rainbow brilliant, Sunset bright, All the world does now forgive ; Lambent shadows, Darkening light, Stars the storm allowed to live. Virgin evening. Cooling streams, Night of velvet-tinted skies; Dusky hazes. Moonlit gleams. Glinting with a thousand eyes. Silent, thoughtful, Calm, serene. All the tired world's at peace ; Then Aurora Sinks unseen — Day's long motions cease. [32] AT BREAK OF DAY Through dawn's soft mist I hear a bell Tolling the hour to all mankind; The scented fragrance of the morn Is brought to me upon the wind. The sparkling air Is like the mead That graced Olympus* banquet halls; Wild roses sway far up the brinks Of darting, foaming waterfalls. Crisp shadows sweep across the streams, By sunlit pools I meditate ; The past is dim, the future calm, I am at peace with Life and Fate. Above the murmurs of the day Comes drifting through the pines to me The laughter of a happy child — The keynote of unfettered glee. An elfin face amongst the green, A hurried cry of pure delight, I plunge Into the woodland maze — My lass has found her errant knight ! [33] TO THE FUTURE The quiet night, all clear and cool, Invades the world; a star Smiles soft on me; within a pool I see it from afar. This lily-pond, with rich incense Rising in the mists. Veils its placid depths with scents Like ancient alchemists. Shafts of moonlight pierce the rim Of this calm well of blue; They leave soft rays like flowers, dim. White-jeweled with drops of dew. A wind-song through the swaying pines Soothes my heart to rest; The fragrance from the lily-shrines Soars to the hillock crest. Alone, apart from toil and care, I sleep — to dream of thee. Our days to come, all golden fair — One through eternity ! [34] THE BLIND POET With all my heart and soul Have I tarried, With all my strength and mind, That I might glean, mayhap. From earth the full measure Of its joy that is due Each mortal placed thereon; Else, far along Would I have journeyed The pathway ending By the throne of God: Often I watch The river of my life As it curves and ripples Over stones, bending first To this side, then to that. But, alas, in midstream Stands a rock, Halting undercurrent. Parting waves — Impassive and immutable ! The force of water 'Gainst this barrier rude Stirs and churns the limped flood To feathery foam. Lashes placed strips Of weeds and roots Into thongs more stinging [35] Than a curse ! The trees bend o'er this whirlpool Mocking me, with leaves outstretched Opening like a hand; Derision chokes the throats Of birds and beasts — Their raucous cries Swell the swirl of waters ; Jeering, madly shouting, Darting swiftly from the shore And circling near the rock, Telling all the world My darkened life ! When but a child, 'Twas told to me the tale Of how my ancestors were brave, Were strong and to this country came For Freedom's sake. I heard of how all wants Were met, the trials That men and women bore That they might love their God The way they chose ; I listened long To all the deeds of prowess, Valor, strength — of splendid manhood And of tender womankind. But, as I see the rock That ever bars my way [36] To any hope of reaching forward -. — on, I seem to lose my courage And my strength sinks As in a stupor; All my life IVe never seen the sun, Nor any light To aid me on my way. I live in dusk, In Night's cool clasp; My only helping hand has been My dreams, both day and eve — In them I live the life Of other men who see. I strive to pierce the gloom And move the rock That halts my stream of life; Of no avail are my poor efforts. That stone, it must have been Placed there by the hand of God Himself, that I might know and heed His lesson of omnipotence. Of omniscience. But, He has also put into my care That gift, more precious Than the sight of men to me — The gift of dreams. And telling them to others I [3T] RE-CREATION The crimson moon swings low In a cloudless sky, Quivering In restless after-waves of heat. In a rhythmic night song, far away and sweet, The parched trees and faded grasses sigh; When lol Within the twinkling of an eye There pours a blinding mass of lightening fleet — Pure, heaven-sent rain descends to earth to meet Her dusty lips with dew from out the sky; When all my soul for want of love was seared. Then didst thou come with all thy tenderness And bade me live anew. Then disappeared All sorrow and that sense of loneliness Within my tuneless heart; for thou hast cheered And made me know the whole of happiness! [38] AN AFTERNOON PASTORALE The air all stilled, with purplish haze Envelops vales and hills, The throbbing song of the breeze is faint, The sea-damp round me chills. Fair Daytime glides more softly now, Singing to the sun. While into lavender twilight fresh She fades - — the day is done* The Earth, bent o'er with tired thoughts, Shades her eyes from the light; ^ She soothes her weary heart and sleeps. Adrift on the stream of Night. [39] REMINISCENCES The breath of a sandalwood fan Takes me many years back to Cathay; I think of a girl in Japan When wisteria blossoms in May. The sight of a Spanish mantilla Recalls one dark night in Madrid, When I sang and played softly until a Large, swarthy Spaniard forbid! I remember a pretty, wee madchen Who lived by the harbor of Kiel, I swore I'd ne'er forget Gretchen — For oh ! how that girl made me feel I At Calais we docked in the morning And this time 'twas one named Lenore I But she certainly served as a warning — She'd been married, well — three times before! From there, we then set sail for Dover, My word ! 'twas a wonderful sight ! Here, I lost my heart over and over — And I foolishly promised to write ! Now, thinking about those quaint places We stayed but a moment; the whirl My poor heart had over those faces — I forgot my American girl ! [40] THE SONG OF THE PADDLE O'er silver streams, like a ribbon Winding beneath the moon, Our lissom skiffs are gliding — Our paddles sing a tune Of the forest's calm enchantment As it lies adream, sublime, In the radiant midnight's glory At the end of summertime. The grim, staunch pine trees whisper On the luring banks of moss; The lighted waves of silver Bear us in their arms across The white-tipped lake ; and fairy isles Of woodland bowers lift Their dew-dripped leaves to heaven As to them we softly drift. Our paddles, with their tinkling touch. Plunge into gloom and light. They sing a song of the Northlands, Of Love and Love's delight. Thus on, and ever on, we go. Forgetting care and sorrow. For in this joy of pulsing life There's e'er a bright tomorrow I [41] MUSIC {Sempre, legato, pesante molto sostenuto.) Crescendo, Pensieroso. Ben legato. Let loose the mellow flood- gates Of the soul, And music, soft or eager, Will float forth, Depending on the inner moods For time, for rhythm and for tone. Oft when joy befalls us. Then the tune in roulade gay Bursts from the heart And colors every hour With laughter, song and mel- ody. When calm and hallowed thoughts Enfold us — lullabies. Deep echoes from the heart. Clear Lydian strains. Slow and pure. Surge round us, bringing peace And comfort that is past All human ken — Like that which cometh From the souls of those we loved [42] Through all the lives We've lived before; Con passione. On silver streams of music As the fragrant mist of in- cense Rises — filled with prayers — So let my heart's desires Mount to God I [43] THE SONG OF LIFE AND LOVE From far beyond the sunset* s gorgeous glow There comes, upon the twilight-softened wind, A song from out the radiant west, entwined With memories — a faint adagio Of smiles and tears, forgotten in the slow And measured canticle of Time. Behind The molten clouds, the melody, enshrined. Pours o'er my vibrant soul, sways to and fro. Until its mellow, truant echoes seem To roam the golden pathways of the past. Like the impassioned prelude of a stream. When sparkling springtime wakens Earth at last. The beauty of this song is like a dream Of bygone days that ne'er can be surpassed! [44.] THE CROSSROADS OF TIME Softly caressing the cedars, Blessing the mosses and ferns, The night mists rise in the eager air Where the starlight glistens and burns. Up on the purple highlands, Beneath the curving skies, A luring roadway through the west Enthralls my wistful eyes. In seared and gloomy dullness There leads another way, A narrow path that calls to me — I falter, but obey. Over this dim, bleak byway. Whether I wish it or no. Through the drab muteness of the world I force myself to go. But that which has once been given Can never be taken away. And such was the love that you gave to me At the close of one wonderful day. My dreams are fair, but rarer Are the memories, soft and true. Of a glance that thrilled my inmost soul As it came from the eyes of you. [46] It lights my dreary pathway, Its cheering echoes span The silence — aye, like that which was Ere ever the world began ! [*6] THE ANSWER It does not matter What I e'er have asked, You've answered me too well, Dear Heart, and yet I fain would have you put in words Those things the which No human language can express! The supple speech of the eternal gods Can ne'er encompass the glad sound Of your sweet voice. That thrills me With its rich and vibrant tone. E'en by a glance You've lifted me unto the heights. Where I have tasted heaven's bliss: Ah, Love — I know what next You would reply. As surely as the morning knows the sun I For I have read it In your shadowed eyes — Where lies the lavish beauty Of an angel's soul — And I have felt it In your close caress, Your clinging arms. And on your warm, soft lips. The dew-kissed roses Feel the same as I — [47] They share the world-old secret Now with me. I know your fervent answer well, But still — mine eyes are dimmed And I can think naught else Until I hear you say : " I love you, Dear.'* [48] AFTER Come! Beat upon the battle drums Of Time And lead us forward Through the years of war With quickening step ; That we may pass along The writhing road of Hate And out into the vale of Peace, Where vanquished lie the gods Of lust and greed, Whose vampire breaths have sucked The vital blood from out The trembling, weakened hearts Of all the world. Prepare the camp For myriad womenfolk Whose childrens' souls are blasted By the sight of murder — And the other unnamed crimes Too vile to print On history's blotted page. Prepare a refuge for the men Who lost the light of morning sun. And make a place for those young lives Who lost their faith In man, in God — in everything. In this mad war. [49] Then, when this vale At last is reached, And all the tired armies Of the world have come Unto their final camping ground For rest — a lasting peace Will live amongst the hosts — And Christ Will walk upon the earth again ! [60] JUNE SONG The million-tinted fields are gay With flowers, buds and grasses That cover all the hillsides and Embower dank morasses. O^erpetalled are the woods and vales By daisies, violets, mosses; A shaft of sunlight glinting, bright, The landscape fair embosses. The joy of living thrills the soul When June her charm discloses — Our hearts unfold and blossom in This month of love and roses 1 [51] EXILES When Twilight fair disrobes and flings Her flaming garments to the west And lies, all-radiant, alluring, Within the close caress of Night — Then dost thou and I — alone. Wander o'er the moon-swept crest Of yonder fragrant knoll. In all This vibrant world of shade and light Naught seems to be save just us two; While through the dream-filled forest aisles We pass — into a wondrous land. So great, so vast, that we, exiles From all we ever lived or knew, Can scarce conceive or understand The deep enchantment waiting us. Without the portals of our realm. The sullen mockery of men Surges up to sadden us; Within the well locked gates — we laugh, We're free of man's soul-crushing yoke, We live and love — and laugh again I Through all our days the sun flares bright, The nights — more mellow as I quaff The wine of earthly paradise From out thy golden goblet rare, Replete with ravishments unborn. [52] Enmeshed within thy glowing hair, Held captive by thine eager eyes, I take thee for mine own — and scorn The sodden world beyond the stars! [53] ON A SUMMER NIGHT A MULTICOLORED garden sleeps, The branches gay are still, The only sound, a stream's soft song And the cry of the whippoorwill. The blossoms fold their splendor close, The world is all adream; Come thou, and share thy beauty with The moonlight's wondrous gleam. [54] THE SUNSET OF LIFE The heavens are stilled from the lull in the storm, So are we calm when the hush comes in life. Clouds of affection from memories old Conceal any emptiness, heartaches or strife. Stronger through weaknesses, wise we become As the sunset of life draws us nearer our home. * [65] SILENiCE (Suggested by a picture by F. S. Church.) The mummy's head Is seared and old And bound with wrappings Torn and thin; The eyes are closed And in a fold The cloth is worn Beneath the chin. A fresh young rose Is gently laid Upon the lips, Long still and cold, Its fragrance wasted And the shade Unnoticed by The mummy old. And all is silence As the rose Lies there upon The lips — the spell, The secret of The head, its pose Aye, who can e'er Divine or tell! [56] THE MOON Enchantress of the earth, Pale, silver goddess. Witch of the sighing waves — You reign supreme, With your phosphorescent scepter That dispels the limpid darkness Of an eerie night. Your supple, lissom sheen Invades the woods, the hills — And over all the seas A flood of quivering. Radiant moonbeams dance Like Grecian maidens On an ancient vase. Your power wanes As fast appears the day. But gracefully you drop the mantle That Dawn appropriates — And wears so well. Then, as the sunlight Fades away and dies. You resume your lambent throne And guide the waiting earth Until another day is come To speed us on the well-worn road Of time. [57] A DESERT RHAPSODY Far away from the glowing sands Comes a sigh of the siren breeze; I cannot hope to resist it As it calls me through the trees. This " wanderlust '' for the Arab lands Assails me sleeping, awake, And every thought is of that, from dawn Until the twilight opaque. Its golden glimmer lures me on. The long horizon enchants. The breadth and freedom inspires — I'm in love with its romance I Give me that desert at dim midnight, With the stars and moon above, With my campfire faintly burning. And ril tell you of my love. She is a wistful, sloe-eyed maid, With lips of a sunset hue, A skin as fair as a precious pearl's And the touch of her hand — like dew. Alas! She will not heed my pleas And I have wooed her in vain! (But just as an explanation — She inhabits my "castles in Spain"!) [68] SPEED MANIA Whirring^ lunging, Hurtling, plunging. Icy wind in my face ! Choking, gasping. Thin air rasping. Crushing me into place I Careening, dashing. Sweeping, crashing Over the ribbon-like track! Rushing, darting. Eyelids smarting, Speeding, maniac! Bounding, bowling, Spurting, rolling. Demon Speed at the wheel! Skimming, flying. Laws defying — Winning thrills to feel! [59] PHANTOMS THE DREAM My brain Is clouded by a fog, It blurs and dims the lights That otherwise are free and clear From such weird fancy-flights. I see the frail ghost of a sea That trembles on the strand, At the cold sea-edge It falters And sinks back from the land. The mingling tide and rustling beach Clash and surge In rage — The phantom of a ship I see Upon a pilgrimage. Her ghastly rigging's flapping loose. Hanging In the breeze. Deserted by the master hands That sailed her o'er the seas. The sky Is full of chilly clouds, The air Is choked with spray, I hear the gray wind moaning As It lashes o'er the bay. [60] An eerie moon o'ershlnes it all, The rocks, in bold relief Against a sodden, murky sea. Surround a jagged reef. How pale and mystic all the world Seems as the silver light Is trodden down by Phoebus' feet, Who conquers over Night. THE AWAKENING When golden gleam the sunny shafts Upon this phantom sea, I find these things were ghosts indeed That seemed so real to me ! [61] THE FLOWERS OF FATE The world, serene, majestic, holds Two brilliant blossoms of life in her lap; Within their flowery petal-folds Are pleasures, pain or grief, mayhap. With fragrant chalice, a jasmine pure, Cool and fresh in the evening dew, Lies waiting in the dusk obscure For me to choose or take, in lieu, A rose, full-fashioned by the sun, Warm-scented and of crimson touch — Life lets me choose to take the one Or other, each may please me much. If I but take the jasmine's heart. My life will glide like a mystic spell; If I take the rose — deep pain, the dart Of Love and bliss no tongue can tell! 'Tis a vivid question, sacred and deep, A peace or a passion that blooms and grows; The flower of bliss and pain I'll keep — I take from the lap of Life — the rose ! [62] THE ETERNAL MELODY The woodland brook sings to the ferns Of forest lands and lights, The birds call softly to their mates In soaring, circling flights. The rose breathes to the listening earth Of happiness and love — ■ The moon enchants the white sea waves From her silver throne above. When In your love-begetting eyes I gaze, as o'er the stream A fern bends low, I see your soul As if 'twere in a dream. Our hearts blend Into one sweet chord. Held through eternity — Two notes that, wedded, sound as one In God's great rhapsody! [63] TO THEE When first I saw thee And beheld thy face, Meseems I ne'er had seen Another fairer; Then, when soft lights I found Within the meshes of thine eyes Mine heart was all transformed; For thou hast come Forever afterward to me, In dreams, A glowing, perfect, sunset-tinted rose, Whose luscious fragrance wafts Like incense, rare. Across the flaming altar Of my life! [64] NOVEMBER The year is old and withered, The trees all gaunt and bare, Summer is sadly vanishing — Keen winds cut the air. The thick waves lash their fury Upon the weary shore, The piercing shrieks of sea-birds join The maddened ocean's roar. Wide fields are seared and frosty, The heavens, pale and wan. Bend o'er me filled with moanings, while Black thunder rages on. Bright summer is but now a myth, Both fair and winsome, too — For Nature has her golden dreams The same as I and you. [65] THE CALL From out the winding valley of the past Come faintly songs of lilies on the breeze ; Then, like an echo surging through the trees, I hear the luring river in this vast And mighty chasm. For I have, at last. Forgotten all of Life's demands and pleas That I might e^en return from o'er the seas To where a love that ne'er can be sur- passed Lies buried, covered o'er with blossoms pink. Near Lethe's stream the lilies softly sway. While guarding my dead hopes beside its brink; And so, I heed their call — I must obey ! [66] THE MUSIC OF THE WORLD What low song is sung to the hills By the hovering, sibilant breeze? And what is the message read by the sky In the sun's rays, warm through the trees? Who knows the swift waves' love for the land. Or the day's cool delight in the morn? Who hears the song in a streamlet's rills, Or the secrets of ages unborn? Who hears the smooth, sweet call of May As she sings to the budding trees? Or the voices of stars in the heavens above To the onward-winging seas? If all your heart is filled with love And all your days are glad. You'll hear this music of the world Where'er you go, my lad. [67] SUPPOSE Suppose the world were dying And the woods had lost their music; Suppose the sky too dark, too overcast To light the eyes of man or beast; What then? Aye then — though all the hills and vales But shadows be, and all the seas But fearful, yawning wastes, My heart would falter not. Nor my hands grope blindly for support; My soul could pierce This somber depth of gloom, For one small beckoning beacon-spark Of the fire of spring Would wind its way before me — Because my heart and soul believeth That Love is all I [68] SOMEWHERE Somewhere in this sunlit world, In the smile of a gentle rain, In the soothing call of a soft wind's trill, Is God's promise of life again. [69] SOLILOQUY The old moon shines On fresh-formed dreams, The old moon glows On newborn flowers, Yet man believes That Time, when dying. Takes with him all The sweet, past hours. But still the old years, Their keen pleasures, Fill our lives; Old joys, the past. Outlive our span Of life, and memory Keeps us young Until the last. UO] AT EVENSONG On the wondrous wings of even Comes a rich and solemn strain From the mellow organ, playing In the chapel down the lane. How oft I've stood outside and heard Those reverent, splendid, holy airs; My weary heart found peace and rest And joined the upward-winging prayers! Those few and tender words of comfort Uttered there at evensong And the gorgeous notes of music. Helped my weak faith to grow strong. [Ti] YOUR QUESTION You ask the measure of my love? I answer — prithee tell How many beats of a faithful heart Will all your doubts dispel? How many times do I love thee, then? This, my answer will show — Count the gleams in a summer rain And then you will surely know! [72] REQUIEM As thou liest there in sleep (Ah, do not call it death!, — The name instills a horror drear) Meseems I feel thy breath. 'Tis but the fancy of my heart, For thou art chill, serene; Thy dear face bears a smile for me Such as I've often seen. Would that I might keep thee, dear. As near as now thou art; Instead, the breast of Nature claims The haven of my heart. Where'er thou art, I feel assured Thou wilt remember me. And I shall find sweet comfort, dear. In going soon to thee. [73] ALLAH (Written after reading "Al Koran.") I AM All that mortals know — Belief and the Believer; When mourners pray, I am the Prayer, The Grief and yet the Griever. To me all things are known and plain, Morn and eve are one; I am distant and yet near — I'm Shadows and the Sun! I am the Doer and the Deed, The Giver and the Gift; Who dares refute my solemn Word Or any censure lift? My Power sways from sea to sea, My might is like the sand; My Glory like the rainbow stretched From flying waves to land. Let none incur my mighty Wrath, Let none stand unafraid — For I am Sovereign — I am All That's ever wrecked or made! [74] JUST YOU Entwined with gentle Twilight's Quiet shades, That in yon placid depths Are mirrored far, Thy voice floats out Upon the sparkling wind; The radiance from thine eyes Is like a star Emblazoned on the altar cloth Of Night; E*en to thy warm-sweet lips Can be compared the softness Of the quivering east at dawn. The glittering memories, Fresh and lambent, Of deep longings And the dream-song of thine heart - Aye, thou hast all encompassed Fully in the mad mosaic Of thy wondrous love! [75] A TRIBUTE TO MRS. E. H. SOTHERN Far greater bards than I Have often vied, Each with the other, To extol the charm. The mellow magic Of thy vibrant voice. I prithee bear with me Whilst I do add Mine humble scroll Unto the volumes, vast, That e'er bepraise thy name. For when thou didst live As " Bonny Kate " or '' Juliet," As '' Rosalind " or " Portia "— Aye, meseems thy voice Was like unto a coronet Of melody adorning Thespis' brow: Pouring o'er my eager, waiting heart, 'Twas like the fragrant, Mystic, southern wind. Sun-drenched and perfumed; Like all my rarest dreams Of moon-swept, pulsing nights In Arcadyl [76] MY WISHES FOR MOTHER May all the winds sing to you And ever bring to you Love from my heart, now that you are gone ; May their sighs through the grasses Tell you who passes Whene'er I am near, be it twilight or dawn. May raindrops be soft for you, Come for me oft to you Wet with my tears, now you are no more; May the sun always follow With lark and with swallow To comfort us both and to gild our grief o'er. May flowers e'er bloom for you, Dispelling the gloom for you. Telling you, dear, when the day's on the wane. Of my dreams of our gladness When all this vast sadness Is ended and we are together again! [77] THE FLOWERS OF TIME A LULLABY Sleep, my Little One, 'neath the stars, While lotus-blossoms sway And dance their way across the moon Until the dawn of day. Of softest, mellow silver sands My baby's bed is made, And for a shimmering coverlet The wings of Night are laid. The flowers of Time are opening fast, Each fragrant hour holds A dream for thee close-hidden in Their brimming petal-folds. So sleep, my Little One, *neath the stars While lotus-blossoms sway And dance their way across the moon Until the dawn of day. [78] REST The somber night Is filled with sounds All sweetly faint beneath the moon; The scented call of a pine-swept breeze Lulls me to dream with a haunting tune. The rhythm of the branches* swing Beckons me to stay and rest, And leads me from the sunset-lure To a fragrant, moss-bound mountain crest. A tired heart seeks solace there, A weary soul finds comfort deep, Forgotten are the world's demands When I am close enwrapped in sleep. [79] THE HILL O' DREAMS Yon far, majestic mountain heights, As seen through mystic Northern Lights, Thrill all my soul with wonder deep. For in their pathless forests leap The icy springs that grow to streams And course adown the hill o* dreams. The romance-woven lights and shades Enmesh the woodland. Serenades Of winging lark and swallow fleet Mingle with the brooks' heart-beat; I linger when the mountains call. For oh, the vastness of it all! O'er crag and boulder daylight glints, And in the valley finger prints Of God's fair hand show where the sun Has kissed the earth e'er day was done; The vales and hills now dimly blend As soft mists rise from end to end. When twilight comes from out the west The moon close presses to her breast The tired earth. And like a child That in a peaceful sleep has smiled. The weary world is bright with dreams — The only sound — the mountain streams! [80] LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 015 973 553 9 r-:'t^::-r' 7 1 jryi :^' ' %f lr<Sj(i^r

20018956

Out of the dust;

Andrews, Marietta Minnigerode

outofdust00andr_djvu.txt

.w '^ "^ » » « <v' Kf^ •t'* Ar <^^ •wo cr ft " • ♦ ^ ^^ •»>'•- ^^ o^ ft ■ • ^°^<j.. ■/ ; .4:^°^ *> V' •«. c** .* \/\ -^W- y\ '-^^- /\ '• ^°/^»k'°- y-:r^'% ^°-^^'"°-' -o^y ^v^*' ♦ *^ ^♦^ 4 o A . OUT OF THE DUST m iW ebition o! (2^ut of tfje ® USt onlp 1000 topics ftabe been printeb from tppe anti tfte tppe bfetriiiuteti mis cm is mmbtx-lim THOMAS CARLYLE ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT, CHELSEA ^.Sf 6CT 13 1920 ©CI,A597787 DEDICATORY In friendly sympathy you passed Through narrow street and sordid scene, Having a vision, through the dust. Of sweeter things that might have been. In rare serenity you saw Through superficial wordliness Those nobler moods, that, patient, wait Till love is more and self is less. The dust of crowded life was ours; You ever breathed a purer air; The while your feet trod all our ways You walked with Death, and found him fair. And they who speak of Dust to Dust, Speak not of you, but ws, who tread Foot-sore and. gray, the beaten track — Not you — oh young, immortal Dead! CONTENTS PAGE Dedicatory viii The Tenderness That Is 1 To My Children 2 The Blazing Log 4 Dust 6 The Ash-man 7 In the Attic 9 An XVIIth Century Portrait, in an East- Side Junk Shop 10 A Little Nigger 11 The Missionary 13 Miracles 15 From the Seventh Floor of the Shoreham, Washington 16 A Prayer 18 To Last Year's Leaves 20 The Road of Love 21 A Song of the Road 23 To My Daughter 25 At the Opera 27 The Mother 29 Night 31 Patiently They Waited 32 Responsibility 34 [ix] Contents PAGE The Hand of a Stranger 35 To A God-child 36 The Mistletoe 38 To AN Adopted Child 40 God's Baby 43 Thomas Carlyle 45 Piccadilly "Flower-girls" 46 In Old Bruton Churchyard 48 A Lost Talisman 50 To THE Wounded 51 In a Ripening Field 53 To My Grape-vine 55 To My Sister 57 Worship 59 The Soul of Your Mother 60 Even So 61 Out of the Dust 62 Babbling of Green Fields 64 Not While the River Flows 67 From Room 310, Providence Hospital, Wash- ington 69 My Daughter 71 To Death 72 Perspective 74 Could I Have Known 76 To One Invisible 78 Life and Death 80 Unity 82 An Invitation 84 New Fields and Fair 87 Shall I Learn to Fear? 89 [X] ^ =?*r. OUT OF THE DUST OUT OF THE DUST THE TENDERNESS THAT IS THERE was a time when all she thought or dreamed Was that the world might learn to know her name; When all that life might offer her, had seemed But trivial when compared with earthly fame. Brave eyes, calm eyes, just, gentle and serene, Looking on all the world with kindly light! She gazed into their depths and read, I ween, That they would guide her restless feet aright. Dear baby voices! small caressing hands. And sweet, mysterious, wondering baby eyes! Humbly and thankfully she understands In loving these her whole life's labor lies. Into her own full heart she dips the pen And proudly writes she down such words as these: All vain regret for aught that might have been Lies buried in the tenderness that is! ri] TO MY CHILDREN DEAR little people, do you forget How we roamed the fields when the grass was wet, Knee-deep in daisies and clover? How the pale arbutus, in the spring, Hid away like a guilty thing Under the brown leaves' cover? Can we not smell the fragrance yet, Of the mint in bloom, and the "bouncing Bet" All the old meadows over? The "butter-and-eggs" on the edge of the wood, And how bold the "Black-eyed Susan" stood, Awaiting the bee, her lover? And the purple thistle's downy seed, And the noble height of the "Joe Pye" weed, And how we would discover, After all other birds were flown. The gold-finch nest of thistle-down, When nesting time was over? [2] To My Children How we watched the wild-geese flying high Against the "water-melon sky" When summer-time was over? And the keen excitegent of a day When the air was chill and the sky was gray, And breathless, you ran to me, to say "Here's the year's first snow-flake, Muwer!" [3] THE BLAZING LOG I SING a song as I gaily die — Heigh ho! for the blazing log! A song o' branches that touch the sky, Heigh ho! for the blazing log! I sing a song o' many nests — Of an old, old tree and its timid guests — Of a cool, cool shade where the traveler rests! Heigh ho! for the blazing log. Come, little children, toast your feet Heigh ho! for the blazing log! I'll sing you a song that's true and sweet — Heigh ho! for the blazing log! I'll sing a song of a ship at sea — It's mighty ribs were taken from me. I'll sing o' the things I used to be! Heigh ho! for the blazing log. So little children, gather around: Heigh ho! for the blazing log! My crackling maketh a merry sound. Heigh ho! for the blazing log. My golden tongues are the lost sunshine, [4] The Blazing Log Stored up in those mighty arms o' mine. Their light and warmth glad I resign. Heigh ho! for the blazing log. I sing as my crumbling embers glow. Heigh ho; for the dying log! My song sweet children now is low, Heigh ho! for the dying log! I have done my part, I have filled my place, And I turn to ashes with goodly grace, And a last red glow on each lovely face. Good-bye! Good-bye! to the brave old log! rs] DUST AS motes of common dust, Seen in the sunshine, Seem dancing grains of gold, The day's dull doings, Touched with perfect patience. Rare values may unfold. Nor is the grain of gold More truly lovely Than that same merry mote. Riding upon the radiance Of a sun-beam — But watch it sail and float! r6] THE ASH-MAN THE Ash-man's face is rough and red, His hands are coarse; (Could they be otherwise?) His voice is hoarse Yet from the ashes on his rounds to-day I saw him take An artificial rose Shabby it was, for long had been the way It traveled, from a German factory Through dealers' hands, to deck Milady's charms. First, on an evening gown; Next on the hat she wore On rainy days; Then, passed on to her maid, Thence to the waste-basket. Thence to the dump. But no 1 saw the ash-man shake The ashes from it, brush it 'gainst his sleeve, A sleeve thread-bare and thin, And stiff with dirt [7] The Ash-man Then carefully Remove the battered derby from his head, And place the cast-off rose Safe in the crown. Perhaps he has a sickly child at home Who Sight find pleasure in the dingy thing. Oh, God! Who pluckest from the dust of earth Full many a faded rose Of human life! Oh! God! Is life so poor? Are real roses, Roses all red and sweet and fresh with dew So rare? The ash-man's rose has thorns unknown to him, That pierce my heart. m IN THE ATTIC THINGS useful long ago, broken and rusty; Portraits, forgotten, as the years have sped. Poor faces, veiled in cobwebs, dim and dusty, And letters to the dead, writ by the dead. My children love these darkened, queer recesses, And laughter shakes the rafters when they play, As, masquerading in their grandma's dresses, They storm the attic every rainy day! [9] AN XVIIlTH CENTURY PORTRAIT, IN AN EAST SIDE JUNK SHOP LAMELY you stand there, in your velvet coat, The lace frills dangling 'round your idle hands; Your haughty eyes turned on the dirty street. Through which none passes by that understands None, your pathetic history to trace. None, to restore you to some fitting place. The leavings of the stately centuries Scattered around you lie, grown foul and strange; Children's old-fashioned garments, gray with dust, Bear silent witness love and manners change; And broken and forgotten, two quaint fans, Tossed with old boots and shoes and pots and pans. Candlesticks, censers, 'broidered chasubles. Stolen long since from consecrated halls. Armor, rare carvings, ragged tapestries That might have graced your own ancestral walls, Scornful, superior — in this odd melee, You stand — poor ghost of a departed day. rio] A LITTLE NIGGER A CHILD is injured by a trolley car, A leg is crushed; Long months he lies within a ward, Skin from his mother's body grafted Upon his own. And little friends, Other small boys who have played with him, Stand chattering on the corners of the street, Their voices dropped, Their sunny faces grave, Speaking of him And how he cannot play! They picture him the long sweet summer day In his white cot No fishing, baseball, dusty tramps, For him; No fabulous, adventurous, grimy games For him And twenty, stirred by generosity, Offer of their own skin So many inches, as a gift to him. One colored child. Big-eyed and sympathetic, hears the talk. fii] A Little Nigger Perhaps the injured boy has been kind In some small, now forgotten way, to him; Taken his part, In some old boyish brawl. Or made a place for him, in soge brave game. He offers too To give of his bronzed flesh All he dare spare — all surgeons will accept. Days pass; they call not on him; Then he goes Straight to the mother, saying simply, "See! If my brown skin cannot be used I'll give the palms of both my hands- See! They are white!" ri2] THE MISSIONARY A FRIEND of every man, Servant of each; Not gifted with great gifts Or silver speech — Not over-learned and not over-wise I picture him, But to the brim Filled up with love and patient sacrifice. A figure slightly bent, Sharp-featured, tanned ; Neatly and poorly clothed; His pastoral hand To the sick, tender; to the erring, kind; But see him meet Waifs of the street. Tramps of the road, Each with his load To rich, to poor, he shows the brother's mind. A tranquil soul it is, This soul of his. God's great designs ri3] The Missionary Include his little work, And he combines God's plan with his, and sees them then as one; Even in his dreams, Heaven's kingdom seems The nearer, for such work as he has done. The dear illusions last. The while he lives; He reasons little, grumbles none, But gives — and gives Substance, vitality, love, labor, time; Reading his eyes We realize Life's lame achievements seeg to him sublime. To our hard world, he' shows A loving face, And in his scheme, its coarse discourage- ments Can find no place; Are, by his very innocence, disarmed; His child-like faith Even to dark death. Leads him all pit-falls past, serene, un- harmed. ri4] MIRACLES SIMPLE the evidences of God's care, And righteous will And love, that still Work miracles among us everywhere. At times the very soul is sick and numb, And famished. Begging for bread And then as if from Heaven, there falls a crumb. Humbly a grateful hand is stretched, to take That crumb, heaven-sent That sacrament With which new hopes in the worn heart awake. As miracles, the tenderer moments come; Through the hard years Kisses and tears. Like scanty snow-flakes in a wild hail-storm. One soothing touch can heal a world of pain. One magic word. Though rarely heard. Refresh the soul like sudden summer rain. [15] FROM THE SEVENTH FLOOR OF THE SHORE- HAM, WASHINGTON AN old-world picturesqueness Lies over Washington, Clubs and homes and rival churches In the golden evening sun. Catholic and Covenanter, The Cathedral's rising spires. Melt in one heavenly harmony In the day's funeral fires. One mellow sky above them. One glory on them all; It touches sturdy meeting-house, And sculptured gothic wall The red dome of Saint Matthew's, And The Covenant's gray tower Blend, a silhouette colossal In this still vesper hour. ri6] At the Shoreham And shall we giss the message. As distinctions fade away This Gospel, for our comfort, That the things eternal — stay? ri7] A PRAYER LORD, give to me that lump of clay Thy Master-potters throw away; Because my own so faulty mind Sees not the flaws that they must find; The coarseness their skilled hands reveal My clumsier fingers will not feel. So I might mould, with tender care, Some vessel in thy work to share. Lord, give to me that bit of ground For which no other use is found; With sunshine, water, love and care. Something worth while might flourish there; A patch of corn — a rose or two Where only weeds and thistles grew. Of thy green world, one nook redeemed. And shown more precious than it seemed. Lord, give to me that human mind, So dull, so crude, so unrefined, So uninviting and so rough That those who deal in better stuff Have not for it, the time to spare fl8] A Prayer Lord, let it be thy servant's share! Through all its warp and woof, to prove Room for thy golden thread of love! Lord, give to me that soul forlorn. To whom thy message must be borne; One, to whose self-accusing eyes Himself seems worth no sacrifice When he is swamped in deep distress, And conscious of his nothingness When he has touched the bottom, Lord, Send me, with Love's atoning word! [19] TO LAST YEAR'S LEAVES SAY! Wee men in khaki! Oh! whither away? Rolling ffiadly my lawn o'er. This blustering March day? More than all my computing, To the southward you sweep. The north-east wind with you, Your vanguard to keep! "Grey eyes at the window! We brown ghosts are driven Over the bare earth, Under the bleak heaven. Yet know not the wherefore. Nor the wild journey's end, As our armies whirl on To Eternity — Friend!" [20] THE ROAD OF LOVE FROM the first white love Of a babe for its mother, To a love for kittens — For dolls — for play; Then the nobler love For playmate or brother, And a love of fresh fields On an April day. And then — undefined- A something sadder, A longing for solitude. Silence, shade Then a flood of feeling Prouder, gladder. In the red, red love Of a man for a maid. To a new conception Of right and duty; A fine, impersonal Charity; Then a better standard [21] The Rood of Love Of work and beauty, And a godlike love For humanity. So, through its many Phases flowing, It swells at last To a mighty flood; All grace along its course Bestowing, Till it pours its all In the sea of Good. [22] A SONG OF THE ROAD IN the mirror of my motor What a fleeting world I see, From my corner of the back seat In my dust-coat of pongee All the background transient, shifting, In the foreground always — ^me Like an endless reel unwinding Little pictures never stop; Village street and cosy homestead, Shadowy wood and golden crop; From the sweet, low, briney marshes To the cloud-capped mountain-top. Set within this changing high-way Dimmed with dust-clouds that arise, I alone can see behind us. Thus renewed, the road that lies Past already, soon forgotten. Only clear to tear-washed eyes. On the front seat sit my children; Theirs, to watch the road ahead; [23] A Song of the Road Mine, to read, in small reflections, ^^ays our whirling wheels have sped; Theirs (and youth's) to scan the future; Mine, the things accomplished. r24] TO MY DAUGHTER THE snows have melted all away, The dear sun gathers strength each day, The wee buds swell on every tree, And my sweet daughter's home to me! The blue-bird's in the old fencepost, (Which of his colors love I most? His back and wings, of Heaven's own blue, Or breast, the warm earth's russet hue? The while his tender notes pulsate Through all the air, to reach his mate, What happy thoughts he can suggest. Heaven on his wings. Earth on his breast ! ) The apple-trees — all in the flush Of virgin petals' modest blush, The dafi^odils low in the grass. Bow graciously, to see her pass. The hyacinths are still more sweet For just a touch of her light feet. And all the leaves responsive nod. And every green blade of the sod [25] To My Daughter The gnarled old oaks with pleasure stir, The wrens and robins welcome her, And echo, from full, living throats, Her old piano's wheezy notes. ******* Added to April's melodies Her sweet, true touch upon the keys All better impulses awakes The cook her stove in rhythm shakes The laundress, bending o'er her tubs, HuBas Baptist hymn-tunes as she rubs- And Gertie wields her broom in time— And mother's moved to pen a rhyme — The straining horses on the hill. Prick up their ears, and stand quite still; The plow-boys whistle cheerily. The whole world's happy as can be This willowy, sweet woman thing Adds a new meaning to the spring; The light that shines in her sweet eyes Lends lustre to unclouded skies. The world, in chorus and accord. Unites in loving Mary Lord; And Nature's gladder, as I see. Because my daughter's home to me. r26] AT THE OPERA I SEE no face to equal hers, Among the wealthy dowagers; The physiognomies of such As love their bodies over-ffiuch. In "dog-collars" of precious pearls, In purchased pompadours and curls, Their double-chins massaged away, And jewels in a grand display, With backs and arms and bosoms bare, I note the cold and bored stare. As — lorgnettes leveled at the stage They fight 'gainst weariness and age. But of another world is she; A world of charm and poetry; Oblivious of time and place, I hold her hand, I watch her face. Unblushing in my ignorance, I do not ask for one small glance; Caruso sings for her alone She thrills to every glorious tone — She holds her breath, her great eyes shine- [27] At the Opera Each note of Farrar's is divine — She has forgotten earth — ^and me- Where we sit in the balcony. I know no pleasure equals hers, Among the rich old dowagers — I know no pleasure equals mine, Who see her lovely sweet eyes shine. r28] THE MOTHER AS the men go marching by, See her forward press, and scan With a mother's anxious eye, Every one, and man by man. Khaki-clad, alert and young, Swinging in unbroken line But she pleads, with stammering tongue, "Where is — he? Oh, which is — mine?" The quick feet pass: the streets are clear: Settled the dust: the echo dies: And one by one, the stars appear. And smile into her troubled eyes. In all that army, not to find Her son, her only and her own! Then Heaven sends to her sad mind The thought — ^he is not hers alone The selfish pain is swept aside- She sees him part of one great move; [29] The Mother Her heart is filled with sudden pride, And opens to a larger love. The sense of personal loss is gone She claims as hers, that vanished line — Each man of all those men, her "son" "Not one, oh God! but all, are mine!" *»^^^ [30] NIGHT WAR pauses not at sunset; nor does hate Turn, in the twilight's quiet hour, to peace; None of its cruel purposes abate. Nor deadly enmities at evening cease. Throughout the silences, the Rulers plot, Reckless of all but their autocracy; And 'neath the moonlight, sons and lovers rot The fathers of the world that was to be. How sadly, while their little babies sleep. Women sit wide-eyed, and in patience wait; Love staggers, at the thought of trench and field; Fear grips their hearts: they cannot speak nor weep. And hope grows faint, that once was strong and great. Night bares the pain the brave day had concealed. [31] PATIENTLY THEY WAITED PATIENTLY they waited, Till, the months completed, They might see your eyes; Little azure blossoms Lifted from their bosoms. Fallen from the skies. Now their souls are yearning For your quick returning, With what patient pain! Brave and uncomplaining. To their fears maintaining. You will come again! While your young feet wander, Theirs, to pray, and ponder All the meaning strange Yesterdays — to-morrows Joys and fears and sorrows Birth and death and change! All earth's mothers, giving Sons and substance, living [32] Patiently They Waited Underneath the rod; All red woe assuaging. War with evil waging, Bind the world to God. rss] w RESPONSIBILITY (Am I my brother's keeper?) E cannot bind our influence: it will roll, A steady stream, o'er-leaping our control, And touching lives of which we never dream. It pauses not, nor dies: indeed, 't would seem The one side infinite, of this poor life: Though we may pass beyond the stress and strife, Far out of reach, ourselves, forgotten — gone The work we did, or great or small, lives on. It must. The influence of other men. We pass unconsciously along, and then. By some strange process, imperceptibly, Or in a swift and terrible degree. Are all men harmed or healed, unclean or pure. Each, is his brother's keeper. This is sure. Unto this moving flood, not one may say. As spoke the Danish King, one by-gone day. To the wild ocean, seething at his feet To the white surf, that rolled his voice to greet — "Ho ! Thou in-coming Tide ! Here be thou stayed ! Here, at my will, be thy proud waves delayed!" r34] THE HAND OF A STRANGER HE could not see her face, only her hair Above the green back of her Pullman chair, And yet he felt profoundly, the strange charm Of one thin hand upon the cushioned arm. Oh, tell-tale hands! In every line, we trace Character often hidden in the face; Or generous or selfish, cold or kind; Outlines and texture that index the mind. [35] TO A GOD-CHILD AS some young mother, terror-stricken, sees The child that she in agony has borne, Too sudden weaned, too harshly from her torn. Yet finds a hungry changeling at her knees, And in its greater need, forgets her grief. And gives herself to it, and feels it drain At once away the fever and the pain Its clinging hands, its cool mouth's sweet relief. So holds it close, so rocks it in her arms. So watches it and learns again to smile, So counts in love its ever growing charms. And treasures all its graces infantile Even I to you, who in my hour of need Brought me your own young thirsty soul to feed. ******* We met, and you were but the merest slip Of immaturity, a little shy. Appealing thoughtfulness in brow and eye, And over-sensitive, the chin and lip. My mother-mind a lonely spirit felt. And loneliness and vouth companion ill: [36] To a God-Child Though steeled the self-command and strong the will, The will must sometimes bend, the courage melt, A kinship riveted, till then unknown; A comfort doubly precious, for unsought; A friendship between bud and rose o'erblown; A benediction undeserved, unthought. Dear child of choice! Show me your heart again- My own to-night is over-charged with pain. At times I find your words are over- wise: Often your judgments far out-strip your years: Those brown eyes see too clearly through the tears- Strange tears, that in your hot young heart arise. Why must the load of life your soul oppress? Burdens for older shoulders should not weigh On you: these years, your heritage of play, Will ripen all too soon in earnestness. But I accept the message you have sent Yours is the insight, though my head is gray. In all humility and good intent I will, please God, give youth "the right of way' Much that is unexpressed, you understand: On your dark head, God lays his holy hand. r37] THE MISTLETOE A PARASITE am I— the Mistletoe. Idly I cling and grow To this great tree; He struggles upward to the light Sorely encumbered day and night: Broken and beaten, fights the fight; His many scars Record his wars 'Gainst Time, Storm, Circumstance and Me. The dear sun sees his ripened beauty be Mere sustenance for me, For me, alone; His life, his strength, his all, I claim; His choicest branch, I lop and maim; I crucify this mighty frame Him hold I tight (The parasite!) For heart and mind and soul of him I own. I am the Mistletoe, and this my prey. He withers day by day, [38] The Mistletoe A grewsome thing No leaves of his with mine combine That crown of living green is — ^mine! Above the wreck I wrought, I shine! His lordly head Already dead His branches barren, dry and perishing. See how my clustering, pearly berries smile, And fleshy leaves, the while. Fatten on him. His life, to satisfy my greed; Remorselessly on him I feed. Nor all his giant wrestlings heed Slowly he dies A sacrifice To me— my passion and my whim. [39] TO AN ADOPTED CHILD OU say you came not as my others came — Not lineal to my blood, bearing my naffle- Though this be true, Let it not trouble vou. Son, I have marked and treasured, day by day, That mine, a mother-hand, has brushed away (A happy thought) All pain had wrought. And disappointments harsh, in your young soul. Now grown obedient to self-control, Now strong and clean, As I have seen. Therefore, dear child of mine by mutual choice, From open door and purse, from hand and voice. From heart and brain. Through me you drain Something to face the world with, something still That feeds the heart and nerves anew the will. That courage brings. That works and sings. [40] To an Adopted Child While in the flesh my others nearer stand, A kindred spirit from no stranger land They recognize A soul that tries In you, eyes that see clear — courage that dares — A brother born, and into all that's theirs, Unquestioning and true. They welcome you. The passing years, as slowly they unroll, Will bear you faithful witness that your soul Is born of me. This is maternity. Many fnay mother bodies. To impress Evolving souls is greater blessedness. We mothers may Work first in clay, But in that spirit stuff", if we are wise, A finer medium must we recognize. As artists know When colors glow On what was but cold canvas, just drawn in- What physical maternity, we win [41] To an Adopted Child That right, to work in mind. So nuns may find In this so orphaned world, young things to love, Hungry for home, their mother-mind to move! Without my name. You here I claim, A child of choice, who recognized his home The door stood open wide, and you have come— And I have won, Thank God — another son! [42] GOD'S BABY HIS head tipped back against the cushioned chair, A tired man, hurrying somewhere On the Congressional Express. The electric lights reflect in two small moons Upon his spectacles. He is asleep. A gentleman, no doubt a scholar too. Well-groomed, clean-shaven. With a pretty mouth now open wide In sleep. Across his brow a shadow falls. Some memory of pain, some scene recalled To spoil a dream. That passes, and the ghost of childhood steals. To take its place — dear gentle ghost! Smoothing the wrinkles out. Touching a furrow back Into the dimple that it was long years ago The man looks like a baby! God's baby, [43] God's Baby God's big, bald baby! The swinging train his cradle. The rumbling wheels his lullaby! "Last call for dinner!" Briskly he rises, moves to the dining-car- I see the empty sleeve God's soldier too. [44] THOMAS CARLYLE The Thames Embankment, Chelsea, London. IT seems that for a moment you have wandered From that familiar study in Cheyne Row, Where o'er so many problems you have pondered A quiet room, that all your readers know; Its double walls and ancient calf-bound volumes. The photograph of Goethe, on the wall Barren and still it is, and cold and lonely, A work-shop, in which Thought is all in all. In shabby dressing-gown and worn slippers. Towards the Thames Embankment you have strayed; And there you sit again, in contemplation. As when, in life, around you children played. Beneath your shaggy brows and tumbled gray hair. Your keen eyes pierce through non-essential things; And to the very core of life, your vision Swoops, like an eagle on unerring wings. Beyond this world's illusions, hopes and failures. Beholding Truth, in loveliness austere; Oh! what is left, but sad and patient tolerance Of this poor world, to eyes that see so clear? [45] PICCADILLY "FLOWER-GIRLS" THE shabbiest of old black sailor hats, The dingiest of shawls, This is their uniform. Red faces, knotted hands, And leering, cunning eyes This is the sisterhood of — ^flower-girls The Piccadilly flower-girls. Not graceful, young, alluring, As pictured in Romance, But lifting bloated faces to the crowds Who hurry past Halting the kindly ones with the refrain, "Buy-buy — my pretty Lydy For the love of God, sweet gentleman Buy, buy, buy, buy, buy." Age, rheumatism, poverty and vice Stamp them — who once were innocent and young. Above their fragrant wares they leer and grin. Their roses and carnations blush for them. The fumes of gin Defile their violets. [46] Piccadilly ''Flower-Girls' The world is gray, buildings and streets, are gray The atmosphere, heavy with smoke and fog, Is very gray. Enshrouded in gray shawls, With faces fiery red, These coarse old women importune the world To take, from their hard hands, Earth's gift, most fair, most fragrant, And most delicate, Most perishable, perfect and most sweet. [47] IN OLD BRUTON CHURCHYARD WHERE the patient dead are sleeping, Wander lovers fond and true; O'er these graves no eyes are weeping, All who wept are sleeping too. Mossy stones, time-stained and broken, Mark the green and level beds; And love's precious vows are spoken Over these forgotten heads. Older, wiser eyes escaping, Here Youth talks of work and joy, Murmurs plans the future shaping. Maid to fiian and girl to boy. A most charming spot for lovers! Through the trees bird-lovers flit, And a girlish bride discovers Some old maxim, sagely writ. Mingling with the choir's singing. Hear her sweet and wholesome laugh. Old brick walls the echo ringing. As she reads this epitaph: f48] In Old Bruton Churchyard "Like as the Bud Nipt from the Tree, So Death hath Parted You and Me: Therefore, Dear Spouse, I You Beseech Be Satisfied, for I am Rich." Simply thought and crudely graven, This antique philosophy Spans the space 'twixt earth and Heaven, Unites what was, is, and shall be. \m A LOST TALISMAN IT was but a little nugget of gold, Found somewhere in a barren field — Dearer to her than treasure untold, Richer than all that the gold mines yield. Out of her bosom it slipped, and fell. Lost — in the depth of a summer wave! Out of her life slipped — who can tell?- A dearer dream to a deeper grave. [50] TO THE WOUNDED |0 you, Blind Boy Whom I met to-day Let me pass on the thought Without delay, Which God gave to me, As I scanned your face: Those eyes, that closed so suddenly in pain, Scorched out upon some hellish battle-plain, Perhaps have opened in a sweeter place Than any known to us: To-day you see With those lost eyes. Blind to ffiy world and me, Far-reaching purposes and will of God. With head erect and valiant heart. You share The spiritual visions, passing fair, Of all victorious ones, who kissed the rod. And You, Whose hand can never more caress [51] To the Wounded Mother or child, the angels pause, to bless You, As they use the hand you thought had died. And You, The strong-limbed, laughter-loving, fleet If messenger of God, on your crushed feet Hurries some heavenly mission to fulfill. Your verv crutches Have been glorified! [52] IN A RIPENING FIELD BY what strange alchemy, dear little Roots, Draw you your sustenance From Earth's brown breast? By what sure impulse Do you seek, And find? Sucking the moisture like a hungry child. Stealing the sun, with fingers magical, And all th' invisible sweetness of the air, And rare strong gifts My poor thought may not name? Oh, by what synthesis. Here in your laboratory of green stalks, Combine so many elements for good, And turn the hidden treasures Of the soil Into the daily bread of all mankind? How work this miracle Before my eyes? Phosphate and lime. Hydrogen, carbon, nitrogen, become [53] In a Ripening Field Physical force and everlasting mind. Eternal life Blooms, from such roots as yours. You stir my heart With many harmonies! And as the wind sways all your golden heads A blade of grass Could strike me to my knees. In every stalk of you I meet my God. [54] TO MY GRAPE-VINE MEN wound you, with their pruning, ere the Spring Starts your young blood anew; Unmerciful and harsh it seems, the thing Their keen blades do to you. May comes, and all your climbing sap runs sweet The rough bark under; Sending young shoots, like eager hands and feet Intent on plunder. June comes, and in your foliaged cool recesses The pale abundant bloom Promises all the purple fruit, that blesses The harvest days to come. Through summer suns it ever grows more precious, And scented leaves protect And screen the burden, daily more delicious, Your clusters, sun-beflecked. [55] To My Gr ape-Vine October finds your hard-won treasure ravished. Naked and sear and torn You stand. Where is the love that you have lavished? The fruit, that you have borne? [56] TO MY SISTER WHEN we were children, You and I, And the days danced Innocently by, How all unthought Were Pain and Sin! Night came: our Mother "Tucked us in," And the friendly stars Winked from the skies, And all our songs Were lullabies. When we were girls. Gray-eyed and slim. Life's song was a lyric. Or a hymn The tragic notes Were still unknown. And the foreboding Undertone. We worshipped and dreamed, In gardens dim, [57] To My Sister Of a love that should fill life To the brim. When strong emotions Ebbed and flowed, And Anguish All her gifts bestowed, In birth, death, change, The spirit saw Of Pain The over-ruling law; Forces that beat us To our knees. Epics were wrung From years like these. Now one by one Each song has died, Leaving the soul Unsatisfied, Yet ever striving To express Some still un-voiced Inwardness. Blessed, sanctified. Through each of them. It grandly chants Its Requiem. [58] WORSHIP HAVE you builded an altar, Brother mine, To a God Unknown? Adorned it fair with fancies rare And precious stone? Wrought out its pattern with fervent skill And young delight? brought from far lands with tender hands Its gold and white? Have you lifted the soul of you, Brother mine, To a thing afar? Have you felt it smile on your pain the while Like a friendly star? Then know that each gem you set in love. Each step you trod, Each reverent care, each faltered prayer. Led you to God. [59] THE SOUL OF YOUR MOTHER NO stormy beating of a tide Wrecking itself with futile roar. But calmest flood, unruffled, wide, A generous River, flowing o'er. No fragile flower, to droop and die, Transplanted to a harsher clime; But searching root, crest lifted high. To face its fate or bide its time. No transient beauty of a flame, But far, clear splendor of a star; Nor needing praise, nor fearing blame; The perfect Thing no change can mar. reo] EVEN SO AS star-light on the desert's waste, As rare thought spoken to a fool, As jewel thrown in stagnant pool, Even so is love, Love, when mis-placed. As beacon light o'er treacherous sea; To new-sown seed, as summer rain; As sunshine is to ripening grain, Such is your love and more, to me. [61] OUT OF THE DUST A Woman of the street is passing by; Powder and paint have toughened her fair skin; Her sacred bosom bare to every eye, (Fountain of wholesome life that should have been!) With flagging step she plies her dreary trade; Her once fine draperies are soiled and thin; Excess and Want, grim rivals! These have made Guide-posts for her into the paths of sin. A younger sister at her side keeps pace; So pretty! And so strong of limb, and vain! Sorrow and sin have left as yet no trace On cheek or lip, or seared her silly brain. Waste not your pity — she enjoys the game! She may be loving daughter, loyal friend; Her tragedy lies not in open shame. But in bright beauty burning to its end. No scruples worry her; her candle still Burns merrily both ends, though flickering low; Excitement, dissipation, folly, will Soon dig her little grave, and she will go r62] Out of the Dust Blov*^n as before the gale, the fallen leaf- Gone — as the odor of a once fresh flower; Death soon will bind her in his harvest sheaf, Honestly sinning through her youth's short hour. The crucifix that hangs above their beds Looks calmly down on their debauchery; Keeps faithful watch o'er their dishonored heads. Purging their souls with mystic charity. These children of our Father, though they stray Far from the narrow path their feet should keep, These daughters of a king, know how to pray And o'er their failures Heaven's angels weep. [63] BABBLING OF GREEN FIELDS BROADWAY or Leicester Square — it matters not, An old man lies on an untidy couch. His face, expressive once and finely cut, Become the countenance of the chronic Grouch, Gray, faded, fallen: the little veins, A purple net-work like a railroad map On nose and cheek, have turned a deeper gray. He does his final "turn" to-night, poor chap A worn-out old comedian, you would say. Night falls. He neither hears nor heeds the noise Of children in the darkening street below. Pale little girls and rascally small boys Fighting or playing in the week-old snow. He hears a twittering Of birds that flit And flutter {are green branches O'er him bent?) Chirping and carolling In woods sun-lit: [64] Babbling of Green Fields A far-away suggestion Of content He hears the distant gurgle Of a brook He knows the sweet sound well, Knows well the spot Where, fretting 'gainst a pebbly shoal Or rock, Crossing his father's old green Pasture lot. The stream grows petulant Along its way. But in an instant, Its small anger spent. It bubbles on, To-day as yesterday. Singing around all obstacles. Content. The Janitor comes in, to bring the bill. He stands quite thoughtful, staring at the bed. "B' God! Ye looks fer this, in vaudeville," He gays, as dubiously he shakes his head. "And here's the steam, a-whizzling — I think Escapin', with a waste to thry a saint [65] Babbling of Green Fields He's left the watter rinnin' in the sink- ril make a light. The Meter's out. There aint A penny in his pocket for the slot. An' hear 'im talk — o' rinnin' brooks — and burrds- And blossoms over -head — and God knows wot — I call that too nonsinsical for worrds " Yet with a tender hand he smoothes the sheet, And spreads a blanket o'er the icy feet. [66] NOT WHILE THE RIVER FLOWS CLAIM her, Oh, River! wonderful Lover! Drag to thy deepest, encompass her, cover All of her weakness, her burden of pain; Fold her, enwrap her, rock her to sleep. Hide her and cover her deep, deep, deep, With all of her heartaches, her striving and strain. Silent and cool is the bed of the River: Past all the passion, the fret and the fever. Done with life's drudgery, there would she lie. Deaf to the surging of waters above her, Lost to the voices that chide her or love her. Spared all the effort, a world passing by. Hot throbbing pulses arrested and chilled. Brick-bruised feet to be smoother out and stilled: Oh, merciful River! gently receive her! Bury each sorrow, each memory stirred. Each clinging regret, each longing deferred. With thee, out of sight, may each haunting fear leave her! [67] Not While the River Flows Take the brave blood, where the fire of her dances- The quick, burning brain, with its teeming sweet fancies, (Though the flesh of her falters, the heart of her fights) Now once for all, to escape the confusions, Peaceful to lie, with her own dear illusions. To find, in thy arms, all her depths and her heights! [68] FROM ROOM 310 PROVIDENCE HOSPITAL, WASHINGTON UPON her snowy cot, propped up on pillows My darling lies, Her great soft eyes Following the sky-line over rippling billows Of Autumn foliage, russet gold and green. Standing for right and human brotherhood, The world's great temple of Democracy, Far-reaching in its purposes of good. Staunch in its broad and generous policy. The Nation's Capitol: its gray dome shining, (While the world reads) For Freedom pleads, Fair play and Liberty boldly defining Fit emblem of the PRESENT it is seen. ♦ *«♦**» The Library, its golden crown up-lifting, For Culture stands: All ages, lands Pour in their riches, which its wise are sifting. That to our children's children, may be brought [69] From Room 310 Knowledge: their treasure-house of what is PAST; Housing the legacies of all man's thought; The wisdom, weighed and tested, that shall last When much has perished which we dearly bought. *»***♦♦ And third, its cross borne high, an old church tower, Piercing the blue Between these two. Bears witness to the spiritual Power Eternal, and a FUTURE sure, serene. Law, Learning and Religion; lofty three, Facing my child across the tree-tops green; Oh God! Those dying eyes have faith to see. And soul to know what these fair symbols mean — • Thank God, her innocent, far-reaching mind, Can daily inspiration give, and find! [70] MY DAUGHTER AGAINST the open window In silhouette sits she, And her slender fingers wander From ivory key to key. Her little piquant profile Outlined 'gainst April green Beneath her filmy boudoir-cap Her soft dark hair is seen. 'Tis thus, this sweet spring ffiorning, In her flower'd soft kimono Singing her old-time melodies To you, dear friend, I've shown her! ^Tis thus my spirit sees her. In girlish, graceful guise, Her capable sweet fingers Her wistful, star-like eyes In song the dear lips parted- Young hope in every breath- Intangible, but living That life we mis-call death, [71] TO DEATH \\rELL met, oh Death! Old Friend! Well In this night's storm and blustering weather! The whole wide world with tears is wet Since we a vigil kept together. The avenging angel passing by Marks many first-born sons to die. I find you changed — You bow your head; Your back is bent — Your strong hands tremble. Death should rejoice in such brave Dead As the good host that you assemble. These chosen souls, in your command! This army, for the spirit-land! On toll of Age, and slow disease You need not wait for your recruiting. Genius invents new ways than these The burning, poisoning, drowning, shooting Thus shall your gray battalions grow. Thus, shall your serried ranks o'er-flow. Oh, Over-burdened and most Wise! Man's kindest friend, most tender lover! [72] To Death With depths of percy in your eyes, Spreading o'er sin a sacred cover; Opening the way to worthy toil, Sealing the Past in silence deep. Filling with what immortal oil The lamp God gave each soul to keep! Wiping out sorrow with a breath Well met, oh dear and weary Death! "Eloquent, just and mighty Death!" [73] PERSPECTIVE. DIM distances of purple hills, Seen through a veil of summer air, Disturbing details lost in mist, And what is clear, most wondrous fair So are the years, kind, lovely years, Of which the poet seldom sings, The years that bring the bird's-eye view. Dispassionate, of earthly things. Sweet years, in which we cease to war 'Gainst primal instincts, selfish sin- Great years, that in perspective place Trifles that were, or might have been. Still in the world, still of the world. Still full of joy in youth and spring. With keener faculties of mind. And love become a sexless thing Sexless and selfless — so, a tool For little miracles each day — [74] Perspective Time, when the soul, with clearer sense. Its long-loved idols, each may weigh Are glimpses of the great Beyond Now opened to us — tenderly? And can it be, sometimes we hear Far ripples of th' eternal sea? [75] COULD I HAVE KNOWN COULD I have known how brief your years, my Treasure, I had relaxed in many a little way; Asked less of tender immaturity, Given more gifts and longer hours of play. Could I have known how short would be your stay. Those little disciplines and self-denials Oppress my heart as blasphemies to-day; I pictured you mother of many children, And sought to strengthen you along the way Of this crude world, in which you did not stay. Perhaps in zeal for all the years approaching. Maternal pride (for which God hears me groan) Blind consecration to a far-off future, I pictured you as a fair corner-stone, And dreamed the building's plan was all my own! The Master-builder planned. The great Designer Whose purposes my poor faith could not read. Reached a strong hand and claimed what he had loaned me, [76] Could I Have Known Bidding it answer to a nobler need, Beyond my vision, futile dreams or creed. Mine was the earthly thought, mine was the error; All things obscure are clear to-day to you. You love me. God forgives my human blunders Perhaps his tests prove my foundation true Perhaps I builded better than I knew. [77] TO ONE INVISIBLE YOU have escaped the years of disillusion, Faded, tear-furrowed cheek and whitened hair, The dreams and hopes that end but in confusion. And heart-aches, harvest of right faithful care (Oh, little One with God, remember me.) You did not wait to see the buds of April Bloom, fade and fall and settle to decay; Nor rosy skies of early summer day, spill Each radiant hour, and turn to ashen gray. (Oh, sweet, immortal Youth, remember me.) You will not stand by open graves of daughters You longed to see with babies at the breast; Nor stem a tide of ever-deepening waters. Nor passionately plead with God for rest (Oh, Life grown perfect there, remember me.) So day by day, my Darling, God grows dearer For every glimpse through you vouchsafed to me, [78] To One Invisible You live in Him, and I, even I, am sharer In all rare services I may not see. (Oh, free and valiant Soul, remember — me.) i'-C?, [79] LIFE AND DEATH IN the midst of life we are in death." I have stood knee-deep in death To-day, As there fell to my feet The roses sweet That I trimmed from their stalks, In brown decay. The million buds Which a week ago Unfolded blushing one by one, Fragrant and fair, Each heart laid bare To rain and wind and dew and sun. In the midst of "Death" we are in life! High over-head in the sky of blue, Though veiled in cloud. There thrills aloud A lark's note, piercing my dull heart through! And the locusts, Seventeen years asleep, rso] Life and Death How they beat, with an air-ship's mighty hum, As they serenade their Pharaoh dead, In mad delight That their day has come! This is a song from a garden green, Where hand in hand (As doubt and faith, as peace and strife) Walk life and death Yea, side by side, As Love and Bride, Walk Death and Life. This is a song of a summer day. Sung by the wind to the answering reeds, Truer than all of the cruel creeds. That Life is Death and Death is Life, And that God is all that the spirit needs. [81] UNITY MAN plants his gardens far and thick, Builds up his homes of dull red brick, Of marble white, of granite gray; His clubs and universities, His temples where he tries to pray. Poor faulty clod! He tries to pray! God Pours his sunshine down on these, God spreads his glowing skies above, God sows, broad-cast, the seeds of love, God gives the wealth of all the trees. As evening falls, distinctions fade; Brick, granite, marble, take one shade; The jarring thoughts of many men, Their warring animosities, Are gathered all in tone again The details lost. In tone again God Speaks at eve, to all of these; God's still, small voice, in twilight hour, [82] Unity Commands us with paternal power, To note the leaves on all his trees. Each has its own identity. Yet all exist in harmony; Whatever discords storms may breed, In spite of all complexities, Race draws to race and creed to creed; Race draws to race. And creed to creed; God Binds in one our theories; Humanity, in every land. One — in the shadow of God's hand One — as the leaves on all his trees. [83] AN INVITATION WILL you come with me to my open spaces, And share my stretch of sky, my rolling hills? There are some quiet places In my kingdom Peace sits upon my everlasting hills; And the Beyond is ever beckoning to us : Between the trees, the distances invite The soul to ever wider journeyings. My Trees, Aristocrats, Conquerors of Pain, My trees will speak to you As long ago they spoke To One sore-pressed, in sad Gethsemane; Will show you the eternal laws that rule them. And teach you how, despite all circumstance, Storm and Disease and Parasite and Hunger, They bear themselves erect, Steadfast to seek their highest. '&* My Weeds, My dear plebeian weeds, [84] An Invitation Will smile at you from unexpected corners. Proving the beauty of the common thing; Will give their all, Nor know how poor their all is. Ask no return, Not one caress in passing. Even from your careless feet. They are "the roses of the wilderness," True to Isaiah's ancient prophecy: They are the ephemeral "grasses of a day," Immortalized in David's minstrelsy: They are "the lilies of the field," which met The calm, observant, kindly eyes of Jesus. My Birds, My harmless ones, Destined to swift and certain tragedy, My birds will be your friends! My pair of blue-birds. With breasts brown as the up-turned soil And wings Blue as the unclouded skies, will tell you How heaven and earth may meet In one small life! My crested cardinal Will sing his love-song Such madrigal as you have never heard! [85] An Invitation My stars, My sweet eternal stars, Will shine for you as long ago they shone O'er Bethlehem Will lead you to the thing you too Are seeking Shine for you Shine for you Till all the stars of all the heavens are yours! Will you come with me, To my open spaces. And share my stretch of sky, my rolling hills? [86] NEW FIELDS AND FAIR OH, tell me not, dear Friends, That Death is Rest: It is not rest I crave: Rather I ask to do and be, my best Beyond the grave. Tell me my passing out from things of earth Is death to sense and sin, But a new birth to Righteousness: Tell me my life may be Sacred and fervent there, in nobler energy: Tell me That all untrammeled, I may move Wherever led by loyalty and, love! Tell me This soul, from mortal bondage free. May find new fields and fair; New Opportunity. Rid of the freight of blood and sense and nerve, Unweariedly to labor and to serve. I need no rest: I only ask to be above defeat: Rich — in vitality. [87] New Fields and Fair Oh, tell me not, dear Friends, That Death is Sleep: For sleep could only mean Lost Power: So, for me, no slumber deep Beneath fresh boughs of green! My garments you may tenderly lay by- My body too. But, oh, that is not I! I shall escape, as wild bird from the mesh, When I have laid aside this cloak of flesh! I shall be up and doing! I shall find New, golden chances for my busy mind! New souls to love Old friends, to serve and bless When I am bom anew, to Righteousness! When I am strong and clean, and fit to be God's servant to my kind. Eternally. [88] SHALL I LEARN FEAR? AND shall I weaken? I, who am part of all that is, I, in whose veins run strong adevnturous gifts From knight and pioneer and old Crusader? Shall I learn Fear First, when my head is white? (Yet they who dread no sudden agony, Who laugh in treachery's face, Meet smilingly Death, battle-field, child-birth or swift disaster, Shrink from the thought of gallant blood grown chill, Of days inactive and of slow decay). Then must I weaken? Safe-guarded by the goodness of my God, And fortified by beautiful example, I, whose vast heritage Is all the world and all of man's achievement. All generous deeds, free speech and honest thought? I, unto whom are given The kisses of young children, and the faith Of men and women nobler than myself? [89] Shall I Learn Fear? The fields of green and gold, The autuffin's somber glory, Still waters, silent woods and open seas, And all the stretches of the starry skies? I, whose poor blundering steps Dear angels watch, lest I, even such as I, Should harm the human brother I would serve. Or bruise my heedless feet against the stone! To weaken? When the race is nearly run? When swallowed up in distances behind me Lie all the jungles where my youth was torn By flowering thorny impulses like tropic vines Entangled, the poisonous with the pure And stony hill-sides of experience, So hard to climb! Splendid, when from the summits The soul looks back along the way it journeyed, To valleys wrapped in mist. Dear God, I shall not weaken. Obediently I come, bringing my best. The gold of all the good Thou gavest me! With this small house of clay, which housed my soul, (And I have loved it — it has been my friend) [90] Shall I Learn Fear? I leave the self less worthy, and to Thee Bring but that better part. Lord, Let it be a tool Within Thy hand. [91] Wi3 0* o-..,-^o^ 4* .^^^si&h'. -f^. 9^ ...» ,/ "o^*^-f-*^0' •J- •A'^ ' I: ^^^ • *Ad< .^^^^^ <^^ ^ ^^-^^^ 0^ ♦• <*. »o.** .Cl^

17027639

Songs of a mother; a book of verses,

Andrews, Marietta Minnigerode

songsofmotherboo00andr_djvu.txt

pS msM^ ill ills i!:4 ' ■ ■i'i:;!"ii K Book, Kr^gS 7 N°. COKRIGHT DEPOSrr. Songs of a Mother Indian Stimmer <b^ Copyright, 1917 BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY DEC -5 1917 ©CI.A477844 Printed in the United States of America ELIPHALET FRASER ANDREWS, Jr. In memory of the months we spent together In solitude and slush and winter weather ; Our chafing-dish, our study -hours at night, Our confidential chats by log-fire light ; In thanks for efforts brave and work well done I dedicate this book to you, my son. CONTENTS PAGE Grandma Threads a Needle 13 Everywhere 14 The Reader and the Writer 15 Night Thought 17 Indian Summer . 18 My Mother's Photograph 21 Children along the Road 23 Dawn 24 To Be Lullaby 25 27 The Prosecution . 28 My Boy's Birthday 29 The Sunshine 'cross my Way 31 10 Contents PAGE Saved 32 Sleep with Mother .... 33 The Stepping-stone .... 35 The Man 37 Across the Sea ..... 39 A Wayside Chapel — Switzerland . 41 To my Boy 42 Visit to a Convent .... 44 Elsa 46 Morituri ...... 48 To One of my own Age .... 50 Mammy ...... 53 To my Daughter on her Ninth Birthday. 55 My Volunteer ...... 57 The Chrysalis 59 Maternity and War .... 61 The Old Brown Leaf .... 62 An Old Homestead .... 65 The Things we Get for Nothing . 69 A Sword Also ..... 71 Detachment ..... 72 The Tree and the Cloud 76 L'Envoi , 78 Songs of a Mother ^ *«M.*6i. ^i:i.j>\t.. GRANDMA THREADS A NEEDLE Snowy hair and snowy cap, Snowy muslin in her lap, Grandma threads her needle ! Spectacles upon her nose. On her brow a frown, that shows She will thread that needle ! Dear old hands are worn and thin. Eyes are not what eyes have been. Grandma threads a needle ! Do not try to help her — no, She's determined she will show Who can thread a needle I 13 EVERYWHERE Of Him a pale and star-like blossom speaks, Fringing the regions of eternal ice ; His fingers touch the highest mountain-peaks, And at our feet — behold ! the Edelweiss ! In tropic jungles where the shade is dense And human hand ne'er tears the vines apart, Fantastic growths and silences intense, The red hybiscus opens wide its heart. In vast unwatered tracts where all seems dead. The gorgeous cactus blossoms are unfurled ; And lily-like the yucca lifts its head, In the untrodden deserts of the world. He clothes the Highland heath with purple bloom. And sprinkles blue-bells in the English sod ; And spreads o'er all the autumn fields of home The matchless splendor of the goldenrod. 14 THE READER AND THE WRITER Thin hands hold an ancient volume, Handed down from days gone by, In whose pages a dead poet Tells of human tragedy. Mother reads ; her breathless audience Is one budding woman-thing — Gingham apron — hair in " pig- tails " — Note-book — pencil, with pink string ! As she writes with flying fingers, Ashes of old agonies Rise to haunt the older woman, Echoes of dead ecstasies. All her failures pass before her; Youth was filled with visions rare, Lofty Ideal — noble Purpose — But the years have blown them — where ? So she reads from the old masters ; Seeks wealth not in things, but Thought; Seeks to give one future mother All that she so dearly bought. 15 i6 The Reader and the Writer What in her of Aspiration Was but spark, or unblown bud, In her child may find fulfilment, Burn in flame, and bloom in Good. NIGHT THOUGHT Across the moon, the drowsy soft clouds creep ; My little ones have been an hour asleep ; Between them and their father rolls the deep. I know his heart with love fills to the brim, My thoughts do wing their way from home to him Beyond the far horizon's utmost rim. — If my weak faith can compass land and sea, And his thought, homeward bound, return to me, How all-pervading Love Divine must be ! 17 INDIAN SUMMER We have wandered in the Tyrol And in romantic Wales; We've explored unknown Ontario And have followed Indian trails ; We have idled on Lake Como And on beautiful Lucerne, But when October opens Our steps must homeward turn. The grim fiords of Norway, The fields of Devonshire, The Trossachs, Naples, Venice, For ten months of the year — The whole wide world is ours. And sweet is every clime. But take us to Virginia For the Indian Summer time ! The delicious dews of morning That bless like nightly rain; The veil of silvery vapor Over hill and wood and plain ; i8 Indian Summer 19 And as the dear day ripens How the sunshine in a flood Spills glad and golden glory On the sweet world of the wood I The stately shining poplars And the yellow hickories, The gum-trees, dog-wood, maples, In crimson harmonies ; Dark steeples of the cedars Festooned with scarlet vines, While on high-ways and on by-ways The blue-eyed aster shines. And when the air grows chilly And the lordly sun is low. The friendly lamps are lighted And the hick'ry log-fires glow. And the sausage and the cornbread Are placed upon the board. Then the hungry, happy wanderers Sit them down, and thank the Lord I MY MOTHER'S PHOTOGRAPH Her face, a little thin, and no doubt flushing — A flush the faded photo can't reveal — (Even when her hair was gray, we've caught her blushing) Sweet faithful eyes long lashes half conceal. Hands all unused to work, fine, dimpled, idle. Fit but to train her roses on the wall, Or to caress her pets, or hold her bridle Or volume of choice verses — that is all! Her white silk frock, with skirt of ample measure. Made by her mother's and her sister's hands; The full tulle veil, the pearls, her dearest treasure So, a Virginia bride, my mother stands! But eighteen years ! Unfit for Life's stern duty: Not knowing how to dress her own rich hair, Or to take off her little shoes at bed-time, Dependent on her " Mammy's " constant care. 31 22 My Mother's Photograph Used to a mob of friendly, dusky faces, All sizes, ages — shades of black and brown, — Used to protection in green, tranquil places. Plantation-bred, what knows she of the town ? Of narrow rooms, and crowds that rush and hurry, Of greed and competition, reaching far: Of "ways and means," poor child! of work and worry. In cities wrecked and ravaged by the War. Oh Mother ! Mother ! Little blushing blossom ! How soon you learned to do the woman's part! How pain-racked nerves were soothed upon your bosom, How many sons were carried 'neath your heart ! How many words of courage you have spoken, How many problems solved while others slept. Seeing so many idols rudely broken, How many bitter tears those blue eyes wept ! And here, among your dusty old love-letters, I find this faded picture, stained by time — With them, unto the friendly flames I give it — And paint your clearer likeness in my rhyme. CHILDREN ALONG THE ROAD One threw an ugly chunk of mud That struck the wind-shield with a thud, And shook an angry, grimy fist, He is a baby anarchist. Another kissed a dimpled hand And smiled the smile all understand; It warms the heart, as on we spin, That touch, that makes the whole world kin. All blessings on that curly pate ! How sweet is love ! How sad is hate ! And God in Heaven ! to him be good — That baby boy who threw the mud I Sow in his now unfolding mind The happy impulse to be kind — Give him that blessing he has missed — Dear, rosy, baby anarchist I 33 DAWN In the early, early morning When the summer day is dawning And the birds begin to cheep, Then my restless little lovers Kick away their sheets and covers As they waken from their sleep. In their sturdy arms they hold me, To their baby bosoms fold me. Lay their cheeks against my cheek ; With their fists my features pounding- Sounds of merriment resounding — While for joy I scarce can speak. I — an ordinary woman — Just a stupid, blundering human — Can such happiness be mine ? Oh! those bruises are entrancing! And these little feet, just dancing On my heart seem all divine I 34 TO BE To be, and not to seem: To do, not merely dream: Daily the pure gold from the false gold sifting; With eyes turned from the clod Toward the face of God A steady course to steer, nor trust to drifting I To make the Unseen real ! To make things seen ideal I And from the daily commonplace, be winning Some lesson high and pure, Some confidence secure, This canst thou do, whatever thy beginning! 25 36 LULLABY A rich golden glow lingers still in the west, And every wee bird seeks its own cozy nest: And Mother's wee birdie, on Mother's own breast Falls asleep ! But the rich west must fade to a sad, quiet gray, And the young moon, now rising, must soon fade away. And the birdie must rise, at the dawning o' day And be gone ! And the Mother's warm arms must one day grow cold, And the rosy sweet baby, grow thoughtful and old, And all of life's fulness, a tale that was told Long ago ! But thy voice, oh Mother! Thine own tender eyes And the thought of thine infinite self-sacrifice. All wealth of example — all dear memories — Will abide I 27 THE PROSECUTION " Baby, I hear you kicked your nurse ; That's mighty naughty, and you knew it; And then, you spit at her — that's worse — Did the old Devil make you do it ? " Promptly, her honest eyes meet mine ; She lisps her answer, without fear; " The Debbie thinked I better kick 'er— The th-spittin' was-th my own idea." 38 MY BOY'S BIRTHDAY The day my boy was five years old He left his nurse at early morn And thro' the hallways, dark and cold, Crept to the room where he was born ; And climbing in his mother's bed He wakened her — and laid his cheek Against her own, and then he said. In such sweet words as children speak, — " Muvver, I've come down here, you know, To fatik you that you horned me, dear; I fought I'd like to tell you so — I'm very happy — living here. " Then off again he skipped, before She thanked him for his visit sweet; And pattering to the nursery door We heard his little naked feet. Dear little loving heart! 'tis we Who bless the day that he was born, Praying, thro' cloud and sunshine, he May still be glad — as years roll on ! 39 30 THE SUNSHINE 'CROSS MY WAY When all day the sun shines brightly we little heed its glow ; But when the sky is turning pale and gray, And the winding road ahead is wrapped in shadows as we go, If there falls across the path one golden ray How it lightens all the darkness, how it brightens all the gloom, How it touches every corner dark and drear ; How like a heavenly messenger it really seems to come To bring the darkening world a word of cheer I As we climb some barren road-way, Oh! what a glad surprise To find there, in the gravel at our feet. Some dainty wayside flower, looking straight into our eyes 'Mid all its mean surroundings pure and sweet. You are my wayside blossom — my message from above — In my dark day, the one pure golden ray; And at the bitter moment when my poor heart most needs love I find in you, the sunshine 'cross my way! 31 SAVED Upon the beach there lies to-day A butterfly with crumpled wing, Freighted with sand and wet with spray, Poor fragile thing ! The glorious clouds float o'er the sea, The breakers, white with seething foam. " Poor summer toy! What tempted thee So far to roam ? " I spread it gently on my palm: Open its bruis'd wings to the sun; Quivering it lies, secure from harm: Lo! it is gone! 32 SLEEP WITH MOTHER "Oh Mother! may I sleep with you?" a childish voice said. "Oh Mother! may I sleep with you, in your own big white bed? I'm frightened in the nursery — it seems so far away, And dark, and cold, and lonesome! Say Mother dear, I may!" Oh Mother! Could I sleep with you, if only for to-night ! Hide my face in your dear bosom, while you told me what is right. I could own the disappointment: I could throw away the pride In the darkness, and the stillness, if lying by your side ! 33 34 Sleep with Mother I've learned so much of life, Mother, it isn't what it seems; Death comes to all our ideals, to our fancies and our dreams. You, you, could give me strength. Mother, to love the thing that's right. Oh Mother ! could I be with you, if only for to-night I Oh Mother, dear, your latest bed is very dark and deep. But I would share it with you and your long, un- troubled sleep ; I lost you, when I went from home: nothing, it seems, can be The same in all the big wide world, as you have been to me ; I think of my dead childhood — my dead hopes and dead desires; The spirit was so willing — but the human nature tires. Now all I ask of God or man is just the simple right To share your narrow bed. Mother, and sleep with you, to-night. THE STEPPING-STONE Only a Stepping-stone, or two, we lie Conveniently for every passerby : The bank is treacherous and the flood is deep, The mountain path ahead is hard and steep ! And some are hurrying ere the day's begun. And some move sadly toward the setting stm ; And heavy boots, and dainty, on us tread. For all mankind must cross our river-bed. And they, whose step is reckless, often slip. And one, whose eye is on the stars, may trip ; But all, with our humble help, may rise A little nearer to the glowing skies. So patiently we wait from day to day. Filling our place as long years pass away. Making our lowly sacrifice, unknown. Such is the fate of every Stepping-stone 1 35 36 THE MAN He has argued the case of another, And his own to-day are fed : He has built some inches of roadway For others' feet to tread: He has daubed a third-rate portrait : He has hung from a trapeze ; He has roared on the Stock Exchange : He has chopped down forest trees : He has kept the books, at a grocery : Has driven a cab about: He has hustled food at a dairy lunch : He has cut an appendix out: He has followed the plow since morning. He has danced in a cabaret: He has grubbed away in a coal mine : He has taught men how to pray. In his varied avocations He has worked for his daily bread. And a roof for the little circle Of which he is called the head. 37 38 The Man So girls dear, let's go easy In what we say of the man. He isn't as clever as we are But — God bless him I he does what he can I Let's warm and feed and pet him And see the creature smile ! Let him sit and hold the baby Beside the fire for a while. Let's just sit down beside him And love him all we can; He isn't as clever as we are, But — God bless him! He is a man! ACROSS THE SEA Across the mystery of the sea The souls I love commune with me ; Meeting in un-mapped tracts of space, I seem to find them face to face : Since Love knows naught of near or far, Hid in my heart my loved ones are. Across the mystery of the skies Our faltering spirits heavenward rise And reach beyond the remotest star, Since where God is, His children are. Oh Father ! naught in land or sea Can touch the spirit hid in Thee ! 39 40 A WAYSIDE CHAPEL, SWITZERLAND Oh sweet small sanctuary ! when the day Is done, thy little spire speaks peace, Calls tenderly to wanderers by the way, Foretells the time when sin and sorrow cease : The dear day dies : the summer twilight falls : Comfort the wounded thing, alone within thy walls ! 41 TO MY BOY I let you fight the biggest boy; I let you climb the highest tree ; You had a rifle for a toy, Tho' it was agony for me. I let you row and swim and dive, Until you equaled any duck ; I let you ride what horse you would To test your strength and prove your pluck. It almost crucified me when You skated, on the thinnest ice — You took ten chances out of ten, And oh ! you thought it all so nice ! I bought a Ford, I sat therein. My feet drawn under me with fear. Up hill, down dale, how we did spin! You drove it very well, my dear. 42 To My Boy 43 I know it all is for your good, Yet frozen stiff to-day with fright, I sat and shivered in the wood While you cleared stumps with dynamite ! VISIT TO A CONVENT Bitterly cold — the place so dreary — Its chill, impersonal air depresses me — The all-pervading sense of sacrifice Jars on my nerves. Joy has a right to be ! Back in the church I sit alone and shiver — Watching the nuns in solemn double file Trail in, with candle, cross and breviary. Under the great arch'd roof, up the long aisle. Their hollow breasts, their poor heads bowed so meekly. Their faces, stereotyped, as marble cold; Sterile — anaemic — starved — that sable drapery — God! They are Women — and they're growing old! Outside their church, the winter world is throb- bing— Ozone — sunshine — and crisp, hard-frozen snow; Nerves thrill, blood tingles, lips and cheeks are ruddy — The human animal is all aglow — 44 Visit to a Convent 45 And far below, down in the squalid village, Above the anthem, and the organ's tone. There rises shrill, the blessed " VOX HUMANA "— Laughter and cries from children like my own, Rumbling of wheels and hallooing of drivers — How pleasantly this discord strikes my ears — Then — glancing upward to the prisoned choir — I fall upon my knees in grateful tears ! ELSA When Elsa plays the violin The dimples in her cheek and chin Peep in and out, Her subtle smile Follow'ng the music all the while ; I follow it, and courage win, When Elsa plays the violin. When Elsa plays the violin Her little hands seem white and thin ; Her profile, 'gainst the mellow tone Of rich old wood, is sweetly shown; Her pensive face, in calm content. Lovingly to her task is bent; I see new heaven and earth begin. When Elsa plays the violin. When Elsa plays the violin I drift away from home and kin; My heart grows light, 46 Elsa 47 My soul expands, Floating in far-off fairy-lands ; I slip away from care and sin When Elsa plays the violin. MORITURI We who are growing older, Knowing ourselves immune, Love women and men and children, And find the world in tune ; Morititri ! Find all things beat in tune. For Life, itself, has rounded Into a thing complete, And we feel the lure of the ending In the glare of a mid-night street, — Or the dark of a rainy street. Fearless and sympathetic Treading ways that are strange and far. Rubbing elbows with our fellows Through crowds where the lost ones are, — Or the ultra-righteous are ! Will chance the knife, the ether, For the longest is not long; And yield to the anaesthetic As a babe to a mother's song; — To a low-toned, dreamy song. 48 Morituri 49 Will stake our all on a venture, With perhaps one chance in ten; For what is money, but servant To the growing souls of men ? — To the making and training of men ? We have touched so many sorrows. Traversed so many lands. Found selfish joys but shadows Eluding our eager hands — Till we give, with both our hands. So much is to us forgiven, Now we hasten to forgive ; In life's quiet twilight hour The harsh grudge cannot live, — Nothing but love, can live. Thoughtful, tolerant, tender. For us no fear exists. And the young world rushes by us. As we turn to face the mists. — The cold wide River, the mists I We step into the waters. Ready, serene, alone, And your world loses sight of us And the Unknown is the Known — Morituri ! And we know as we are known. TO ONE OF MY OWN AGE You seem so young, yet we were girls together. How have you held old Father Time at bay? All jauntiness and style, I wonder whether His icy touch has never come your way? No scar, at least, is on you, of his passing; Lithe is your figure and your step is light; (Is your heart light ?) Your costumes are bewitch- ing- Men say you dance divinely thro' the night — Your crown of white hair makes you more attrac- tive — A foil, only, to your flower-like face ! The debutantes hang shyly in the corners. Envy your wealth, your savoir-faire and grace I (Do you forget that money — ^your young earnings ? How far you stretched it, and the good it did? Has any other money seemed so mighty. Such magic worked, so helped and comforted ?) It cannot be that you have missed the riches That women of our age so ill can spare, Those tender memories ! I think the dancing, The men, the trivial talk, the noise and glare 50 To One of my Own Age 51 Are, somehow, not in keeping. Do old sorrows Never, within your heart of hearts, awake ? Old loves and griefs that haunt, but keep you holy, Calm and inviolate, for old sake's sake? That hold you tolerant and sweet and friendly, But lend a little touch of gravity ? Encompass you with just enough of sadness, A subtle trace of — dignity — maybe ? And, looking at you, dear, I can but ponder That all the years so lightly o'er you roll; And fear takes hold upon me, and I tremble, Wondering, where have you buried your sweet soul ? Sa MAMMY The years slip by; the old world's face and ways Are changing ever, all inconstancy ; Yet from our childhood's far and hazy days Remains one dear, unchanging memory — Mammy ! A broad and kindly face, 'neath its gay crown Of the bandanna, chequered gold and red, A so expansive smile, on cheeks so brown. And bosom soft and ample, where a head Of tangled, sunny curls loved well to rest — Where one might hear the steady, faithful beat Of one old negro's heart — for Mammy's breast Was in all childish woes, the first retreat — Mammy, Dear Mammy ! The slave-child was not taught to read or write, But Mammy had her own philosophy — " Ole Mistis " taught her early " what wuz right " And that, she hammered into you and me ! Told us rare stories in the fire-light. The superstitions of her childish race ; She kissed the poor bumped head and made it right, 53 54 Mamntiy And laughed away the tears from baby-face- She crooned the sweetest old revival hymns- Echoes of many a weird and ancient lay — "When, tired out, and full of childish whims. We scrambled to her lap at close of day — Mammy ! Dear Mammy. TO MY DAUGHTER (On her Ninth Birthday) What though the sweet white rose I plant to-day May never bloom for me ? What though I never rest beneath the shade Of this young tree ? This rose's breath may sweeten some waste place In days to come, maybe : Some weary brother pause and rest a space Beneath my tree I Let me but plant one rose along Life's way, Nourish one noble tree, — Faithfully cherish loveliness to-day Still in its infancy. Give to the race in my dear daughter's eyes The light of purity. Give in my boy, a soul that wills and tries, Force and integrity. Let me not hope and pray alone for mine. Those of my name and blood, But for the coming of that reign divine When even the least is good. 55 56 To my Daughter Let me not ask that to my own be given The choicest daily bread, But rather, train my own to work for Heaven, 'Til all Christ's lambs be fed ! MY VOLUNTEER And can it be, you are eighteen ? Are eighteen years so quickly flown ? It seems I feel your tiny heart Throb steadily beneath my own I And can it be, you are eighteen ? I think I see my baby still. Straining to reach the o'er-fuU breast, With rose-bud mouth to drink his fill. And can it be, you are eighteen ? Need I not guide you as you walk ? Nor hold your little dimpled hand ? Nor stoop, to hear your baby-talk ? Again, I feel you, 'gainst my knee With sister, by the open fire ; We tell old tales of chivalry; Our people never fought for — hire I With Cceur-de-Lion, Charlemagne, Our forebears bled for what seemed right; Knighted, on hard-won battle-fields. They neither shirked nor feared a fight. 57 58 My Volunteer Now, with the others, you would go ? And be a man, and bear a gun ? The fire of those old chevaliers Burns bright in you — my son — my sonl THE CHRYSALIS No sound, no motion, in this dry cocoon; No flutter of wet wings to spread so soon And leave their prison house, and mounting high To bear a radiant life toward the sun and sky. I wonder if this tiny thing can dread Its transformation ? Or can thrill instead With sweet expectancy ? Or realize Aught of the larger life of summer fields and skies ? There was a time when, all unconscious, I, Cradled beneath my mother's heart did lie. Nourished, protected, loved, I nothing knew Of the vast outer world, as day by day I grew. And yet methinks an instinct, vague and small, Stirred me to restlessness: " This is not all," Was whispered through the darkness. " Sun- shine strange Awaits thee, light, air, sotmd, and a stupendous change. " SB 6o The Chrysalis To-day, in body grown, part conscious, I, One of the many, strive beneath the sky. I breathe the air : I feel the sun and rain ; Have knowledge too of love, of joy, of pain. But times my timid spirit apprehends A summons from a distance and she lends For that far call, an all-attentive ear ; " Come ! for a more abundant life awaits you here ! " At thy first birth, thy Maker gave thee breath. Thy second birth-pangs men have written * Death. ' More light! More light! each but sets wide a gate Leading thee further to a nobler fate." MATERNITY AND WAR Him did I nourish with my life and strength : Him did I feed — oh, God ! how tenderly: Him I delivered to my love at length, Placing a baby son on a good father's knee. Proudly, how proudly, he looked in this sweet face, Seeing himself, and something, too, of me; Seeing the hope and promise of his race. Knowing I would have died, that this new life might be. And so it is, a man was made. To lay his well-beloved head Upon the blood-soaked sod. To die, before the fight was won: To die, and leave his work undone : To die, forsaken and alone. Save for his mother and his God. 6z THE OLD BROWN LEAF The Generations of Men are as the Generations of Leaves. — Homer. The old brown leaf, like a father's hand, Holds on to the twig with its crotch, While nestled secure, protected, sure, The bud hides away in its notch. Slow that young growth, while the days are cold, And through the blustering weather. So the young and the old. Thank God! may hold Still a little while together I Let the March wind blow by day, by night. And tug with a right good will; The leaf holds tight with all its might. And shelters its darling still! Skyward and sunward, the bud is thrust. Slow loosening that grip each day, — (For grow it must !) Then a sudden gust Tears the old brown leaf away — 62 The Old Brown Leaf 63 Joyous, forgetful, bursts the Spring — Woods ring with amorous strife — The world awakes — the forest shakes — The still earth teems with life — The pollen-dust blows everywhere — The flower and leaf unfold — Its place is filled — A world's to build — The staunch old leaf is mould I 64 AN OLD HOMESTEAD I remember an old homestead in a village In Virginia, many, many years ago ; 'Twas built of wood and fashioned very plainly ; Its roof was large, its ceilings quaintly low; It straggled back towards a generous kitchen. Presided over by a dusky queen ; And just outside there was an old brick dairy. Its dull red walls all splotched with mosses green. The sweep of emerald lawn, the ancient hedges Are clear before my vision here to-night; Row after row of dear old-fashioned roses. And then — the kitchen garden, out of sight I And back of that, the stable : two old sorrels ; A harness, pieced with shoe-strings here and there ; A roomy, rickety old family carriage That carried everybody everywhere. 65 66 An Old Homestead Stately and kindly, here one woman's presence Shed sweetest grace on every common thing; Mothering her own and everybody's children; Dear and unwearied in her ministering. Her children's friends poured out their troubles to her; The casual guest was welcomed, warmed, and fed Upon the best cured ham, the whitest celery. The stiffest jelly and the lightest bread. From one great roll of old-time " linsey-woolsey " She made for her small daughters all their frocks — And by the firelight, her swift knitting needles Clicked cheerily o'er endless mits and socks. Some told their sorrows, in that quiet hour; Some opened to her sympathetic mind The evil they had done — their wretched blunders — And her sound sense a remedy would find. And she grew old — and died. The house? " Re- modeled. " The telephone is ringing night and day. The gramophone grinds out new-fangled music — Not the old airs she heard her daughters play. An Old Homestead 67 Her dear old roses, too, are gone — the garden, Rigid and ordered as a graveyard seems, — Too clean, too up-to-date, too neat, too prosperous ! Its sweet disorder lives but in my dreams. The home-made stockings and the linsey-woolsey The rising generations will not know ; Motors replace the ancient family carriage ; Steam heat, the great log-fire's friendly glow. No more we live beneath the limitations That made the older life seem cramped and small. And yet — oh Mother ! It was your high spirit That gave such fine distinction to it all ! 68 THE THINGS WE GET FOR NOTHING Many have dared to say it, But who, I ask, can prove That " the things we get for nothing " Are the things we fail to love ? Friendships, that come unbidden. And love, that comes unsought, And the patient Christ in Heaven, Whom we have sold — not bought. And those gleams of generous spirit In the sordid souls and mean ; Those little god-like touches. That make the unclean clean. And unexpected beauty In the most unlikely place, As in tangled, rank fence corners. The stately " Queen Anne's lace. " As we stumble, with our sorrows, Through a dull world, that forgets. In the solitudes we seek for, Have we found no — violets ? 69 70 The Things We Get for Nothing Blooming there in sweet profusion, 'Round some fatherly old tree — Oh! Where's God's child, who loves not The gifts God gives him free ? A SWORD ALSO^ Humanity is fainting, Sin and Death are painting Shadows o'er our life ; But the love maternal Shines a light supernal, O'er the bitter strife. A halo still adorns The Mother's brow, though thorns Be on it pressed; Through shameful deed and word, Though in her heart a sword, She blesses, and is blessed. ' Translated from the German. 71 DETACHMENT As imperceptibly The sweet years vanish, And of them only hazy memories stay, From our own hands The things that most we cherished Fall silently and painlessly away. As day by day Our vision, more far-reaching, Has glimpses of imperishable things. We feel Life's roots Are loosening in the soil Of earth— We feel the straining of heart-strings. And eyes, From human ties and dear affections Are lifted to the everlasting hills. And Things Are seen at last In truer values. As the slow soul its destiny fulfils. 72 Detachment 73 Oh ! Have we bound the young world That succeeds us To Faith and Duty, With Love's golden bands — Oh ! Do we leave it generous and honest, Dare we let go. And fold our worn hands ? To it May we, in confidence, turn over A world that cost us blood And prayers And tears ; And will it build. Upon our firm foundations, A wider brotherhood for coming years ? Across the torn foreground Of this Present, Undaunted by the tragic ages past, Can our struggling sons Build up a kingdom For God ? And shall Right sit enthroned At last? We have not Bound the dear young world That follows Hard on our footsteps, in Love's mighty chain; 74 Detachment Nor could we give it scope, And breadth of vision, Knowing how few foundations firm remain. Knowing, With knowledge dearly bought. That brothers Stranger become than strangers, When their Faith Throws Will on Will, In cruelest confusion — And opens questions never solved by Death. Moved by old enmities And new conditions, Mingles young blood with blood In reeking trench, As History's bewildering transitions • Tear heart from heart, In agonizing wrench. Blind with the rage, The tumult, Of this Present, How shall our sons look steadfastly For Light ? How shall God's throne arise From out this wreckage ? And " What is Truth ? " Who shall define " The Right ? " Detachment 75 God ! In Thy lovely country of to-morrow May a fair future open to the race ! May men and nations master each old sorrow Till littleness and envy find no place ! Then, shall Thy brave, clean winds to shreds have torn The gray and tangled cobwebs of the brain; Then, shall Thy just sun have burned out the worn Grudges that fill the world's great heart with pain. Then shall the Vision, Now but ours in glimpses. Because our world is swamped In wastes of blood, Be vouchsafed our struggling sons More clearly, That where we failed, our children May make good! THE TREE AND THE CLOUD (The Tree to the Cloud) " Oh cloud I I stretch out longing arms to thee, So light, so bright, so infinitely free, While I, forever, rooted fast must be ! An hour ago, thou wast not: now on high Perfect, untrammeled, sail'st thou the sky; Thro' years of painful growth, still incomplete am I!'» (The Cloud to the Tree) " Oh noble tree! we live but as is meant; I float above, only as I am sent; Thou, rooted fast, standest by wise intent: An hour ago, indeed, I was not born: When the sun sets to-night I shall be gone. Firm thou shalt stand, while myriad clouds pass on. I die, a fleeting thing, as die I must ; An hundred years may lay thee in the dust. Yet know, strong tree, the One above is just! Be still and growl His purposes are plain. I thank Him my brief life is not in vain, Since I have spoken for Him, and may not speak again ! " 76 77 L'ENVOI Speeding your little ambulance Along the ruined roads of France, You will be far from home, my dear. Before these verses shall appear — Taking your chances, as one man — Doing as much as one man can. I see your firm hands grip the wheel. Whatever pain your heart may feel, While raging against cruelty. Still tender of the agony. And bearing safe each broken life To sheltering roof and saving knife. Those sweet brown eyes, that yet have seen Only the courteous and clean. Shall open wide with shame and grief, As eagerly you bring relief. You, and your little ambulance. To other boys in tortured France. Long have I prayed that I might see One fearless man, spontaneously Doing the right, nor counting cost — Acting — though he himself be lost — God, in God's time, has shown me one — God's servant — but my little son. 78 :»^?f?^^;i2s£Hi*H' t^b^^'ilr. 79 !\M;l!^Jjil'i!; 11. (Jilj ;!i) 'jiijl I'llii ;:.)iiM( 'iiniili; !j;ii^ ^^s^m LIBRARY OF CONGRESS llllllillllilllll 018 603 239 1

23008517

The voice of the wildflowers; a fantasy,

Andrews, Marietta Minnigerode

voiceofwildflowe00andr_djvu.txt

-^^0^ <^- "** ,0^ ^'•4J%''^o. ', ^ -^^0^ K^ Hq, ^oV"^ ^^-n^. v/^- l'^ (E^ : ^° ■''*•. s • nJ^N. ^ ^^ • -.^ •'.^ ^ <^^ o • » • "^ ' • "^ •1- V. 0^ s''^/. ^ f-1 - tv. ^- -^ ^9 o ^5:^IIIII1W^3^ <- .^^v G^ ^ .7^^, . V - ^ '^ A^ -^ THE VOICE OF THE WILDFLOWERS A Fantasy BY MARIETTA MINNIGERODE ANDREWS AUTHOR OF The Cross Triumphant, a Pageant of the Church in England and America WRITTEN FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE WILDFLOWER PRESERVATION SOCIETY Dedicated to PAUL BARTSCH Copyright f <^ Ji^ Marietta Minnigerode Andreivs ©CI.A683245 SEP 16 1922 C[l0mmittfr A ^ J 4?^ ^ V Mrs. James Parmalee ^^>*^ Mrs. Fairfax Harrison , h *. Mrs. E. H. Bouton 'f Mrs. Louis Hertle Dr. Paul Bartsch Mr. Charles Moore Mr. J. H. Small Mr. Ben A. Harlan Organizer and Producer Bess Davis Schreiner Director of Rhythm Carolyn McKinley Soloist Estelle Wentworth Director of Music - . Paul Bleyden and The Voice of the Wildflowers, Miss Opal Whiteley, Author of "The Story of an Understanding Heart" r!^^ Produced in honor of the GARDEN CLUB OF AMERICA at the NATIONAL RED CROSS BUILDING Washington October 25, 1922 3 THE PASSERBY Oh ! dogwood blossom by the way, Flaunting on high Your snow-white, pure and spotless spray Against the sky — I leave you ! Other thoughtless hands May bruise and break — But m}'^ sad spirit understands The risk you take. Oh, violet and blue lupine! Bloom on in peace ! Scatter your seed in warm sunshine, Spend and increase ! I spare you ! Other reckless feet May tramp you down — Crush to the earth your life-blood sweet. Your seed unsown ! I thank you for the message sent, As on I speed. I thank you for the courage lent Me in my need. Through narrow street and sordid scene You play your part — Your color, perfume, living green, Stay in my heart ! STORY An outdoor setting with trees and shrubs as background and wings. Little gnomes in green. The first gnome peers anx- iously around and finding the coast clear beckons to his mates who play upon the lawn. All shrink back against the foliage as steps approach. Mortals pass, portraying the friendship of the flowers and their part in the joy, love, grief and faith of men. These having passed, the gnomes return, until the en- trance of The Voice of the Wildflowers. Then they again shrink from sight, returning timidly as her speech attracts them, as if in sympathy with her, seating themselves at her feet, listening. Having told of some of the gentle offices of the wildflowers, The Voice calls them forth that they may express in color, rhythm and music their joy at being thus brought into friendly touch with man. The flowers appear in successive groups, each group attired in the variations of a single color of the spectrum, until the seven groups have formed a living rainbow, semi-circular, opening toward the audience, and then the white flowers, who have been a chorus behind the scenes, appear and group themselves around The Voice. In more simple form this can be done by seven single figures, in violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange and red draperies. . When the rainbow group is complete, the lullaby music is heard, and the flowers becoming drowsy, turn and look once more into the face of her whose Voice has been loaned to them, and sink into sleep at her feet. PANTOMIME Showing that the flowers are dear to man in undiscrimi- nating childhood, in ardent love, in broken-hearted grief, and in triumphant faith. That infancy, youth, age, and eternity know and love the flowers. 1. Lady walking in a garden, reading; her children come joyously to her, their hands full of flowers pulled up by the roots. The little happy group passes. 2. A young lover, in picturescjue costume, breaks a red rose from a bush, and kneeling before his lady love, offers it to her. They pass. 3. An older woman alone, in trailing black, gathers an arm- ful of white fl.owers, burying her face in them as she passes. 4. A priest, with dangling crucifix, and breviary in his hand, passes thoughtful through the garden. A single lily attracts his attention. He tenderly takes it with him to the altar. THE VOICE I am The Voice of the Wildflowers. Once in many years they find a voice. Isaiah spoke for us — the roses of the wilderness. David spoke for us — the flowers of the grass. Jesus spoke for us — the lilies of the field. Wordsworth spoke for us — "Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, its fears. For me the meanest flower that blows, can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. I, too, who am today The Voice of the Wildflowers, have an understanding heart and am a child of Nature. When I shall have spoken to you for these my little sisters, I shall call them forth that they may dance for you in all their rainbow colors. To man, we, the wildflowers, are an evidence of divine gra- ciousness. We give him the inspiration of beauty ; The charm of color; The perfection of design ; The solace of fragrance ; The peacefulness of silence. From rocky crag and lonely moor we smile. Into ourselves we draw the poisonous breath of pestilential swamps. Our rootlets stay the onslaught of destroying floods. Our sunflowers, iron-weed and primroses stand sentinel to screen the unsightliness beyond your city confines. 7 Where man ignorantly forces nature into lines of harshness, we steal, and in a season have brought back the van- ished grace. Our myrtle and morning glories creep tenderly over your for- gotten and neglected graves. To our frightened small brothers in feathers and fur, we the wildflowers offer protection. What though our petals be bruised? The fireflies cradle them- selves in our hearts. W^hat though our branches be broken ? The wee rabbits hide in the briars of the rose. To the bees give we pollen, borne mysteriously afar that need- ful things may multiply. To the goldfinch the silvery silk of our seed, that her naked nestlings may find ease. The brown Anosia lays her eggs on the leaves of our milkweed and her caterpillar babies find in us their nursery, nurse and nourishment. To the very worms we give the fresh food of our foliage. m\ If now and then my little sisters wander even as your own children do, into places not for them, it is but love excessive. There are no misers among us. Should our poppies red and cornflowers blue mingle with your golden grain, be merciful ! Grant us still along your highways our ungrudged habitations, permit us to increase along the embankments of your railways, for the joy of the passerby! Spare us the burning torch, the glittering scythe, that lay us low! Into the air we will pour our sweetness ! Into ourselves, draw your destroying gasses ! We will give you still the symbol of the white flower of a stainless life! 8 In death and dissolution, we will enrich your soil ! In our certain resurrection, we will uphold your faith ! Pause The Voice : Come, my little sisters, gather that your graces may be known ; Come in all the rainbow colors Nature makes your very own ; I>et our stronger human brothers whose protecting care we need vSee we too are living creatures, root and stalk and flower and seed. Enter the violet: The violet, hepatica, The iris, aster, blazing-star. The thistle's silky, downy seed, The stately purple iron-weed, The generous wistaria The little violet sisters are. The Voice: Men have seen our hungry rootlets seeking nurture 'neath the sod. Have they seen our sleeping babies cradled snug within the pod? Enter the indigo : Come we who wear the indigo, That deepest blue the flowers know — The larkspur, with its gallant spear, The ragged-robin, ever dear, The fringed gentian, sisters mine. And from the deep woods, the lupine. 9 The Voice : In the meadow and the forest still the blue flower survives ; Now from highways and from byways come to plead for harmless lives ! Enter the blue : My bluest blue, the chicory, Makes summer roadsides fair to see; The Quaker-ladies, in the grass. Bow as the gentle breezes pass ; And hair-bells on the mountain side Deck grimmest bluffs with azure pride. The Voice : We are threatened with extinction ; fire and scythe and idle hand Mow the ferns down, waste their treasure, ravishing Ui from the land. Enter the green : The background of all life is green ; Our laurel leaves with glossy sheen. Our Christmas ferns that pierce the snow, Our brake, turned gold in August glow. And trailing smilax in the shade. And in the sun, each grassy blade. The Voice : If you break us, we are broken; if you bruise us, how wc bleed! If you waste our hard-bought blossom, can we yield you ripened seed? Enter the yellow: The "cowslip by the river's brim," The evening primrose, prim and slim, The sunflowers, all brave and bold, 10 The dandelion's coin of gold, Sprinkle the world as gifts from God^ And widespread fields of golden-rod. The Voice: Our ripened seeds are offering to the birds a gift of love, Which the birds return in service, sowing seed in field and grove. Enter the orange : The milk-weed's gorgeous flame is spread Where lazy Susan lifts her head ; The lemon lily, stately, tall — The trumpet vine on roof and wall — And all the flowers as you pass by, Wink at you with a golden eye. The Voice : Our myriad roots are holding back the fury of the flood; Our chalices are yielding bees and butterflies their food. £nter the red: To clothe the rocks the ferns entwine With drooping, dainty columbine; And in the cool, sequestered nooks Lobelia blooms beside the brooks ; While o'er the world, the poppies spread A coverlet of gold and red. The rainbow has now been formed thus : Violet indigo blue green yellow orange red Indigo blue green yellow orange red violet Blue green yellow orange red violet indigo (etc.) The Voice : In man's vandal hands a-dying faded flowers are little worth ; Let us live, that we may gladden the waste places of the . earth. 11 Enter the white : The pure white flowers now will speak, From edelweiss on mountain peak. To water lily's stainless grace, And dainty, dainty Queen Ann's lace; To yucca, growing strangely grand In vast, unwatered desert land — The yarrow and the marguerite. The dear blood-root beneath your feet — But oh — the Queen of flower-world. When her white petals are unfurled In vernal, virgin purity. The blossom of the dogwood tree ! (At the close of this song, in which the audience could join, the music carries on a lullaby, which shall be sung for or by The Voice.) The soft golden glow dies away in the West And every wee bird seeks its own cosy nest, f i ^ m And Earth's flower-children, on Earth's mother-breast Fall asleep. Oh, turn. Little Sisters, your faces to me ; This hour brings blessing to humanity. Your beds are all waiting, and soon you will be Fast asleep. My voice is faijing, sleep touches my eyes ; Like you — I — am — drifting — on — dear — lullabies — To the dim world — of dreams and of — far-away — skies — So goodnight ! 12 3477-53 -^^0^ ^ Z^^,^^^', ^ .^"^ /.c^i^. > /,r>m^;^ ^ o 'o y ' <^. V -f .-^o^ ^, <-i^ ^ v^ :%:55^p> ^ o vO <^. < > s • • , O <^ ^^■n^. ■S^ .-^^^ -Jv^

18020884

Crosses of war,

Andrews, Mary Raymond Shipman

crossesofwar00andr_djvu.txt

CROSSES OF WAR POEMS BY A'AKY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS Class, " ?^ dS^ L Book. J\L£i B C ? ■ cjoexright DEPOsm BOOKS BY MARY R. S. ANDREWS Published bt CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS The Eternal Feminine. Illustrated net $1.50 August First net $1.00 The Eternal Masculine. Illustrated. net $1.50 The Militants. Illustrated". . . net $1.50 Bob and the Guides. Illustrated net $1.50 Crosses of War net .75 Her Country net .50 Old Glory net .50 The Counsel Assigned net .50 The Courage of the Commonplace net .50 The Lifted Bandage net .50 The Perfect Tribute net .50 CROSSES OF WAR Somewhere in France [Page 13] CROSSES OF WAR BY Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews Author of " The Perfect Tribute," " Her Country," etc. NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1918 ^\.u^ 4^0 \ t2> COPTEIGHT, 1917, 1918, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS Published October, 1918 Copyright, 1917, by THE NEW YORK TIMES COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE CO. COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING CO. OCT 30 1918 © CI. A 5 6 8 9 5 'VvO I THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY GENTLEST READER MARCIA SHANKLAND ANDREWS CONTENTS BAM A Godspeed 3 Vigil 4 A Call to Akms 5 Flower of the Land 8 The Baby and the Baby 10 Playmates 16 Camping 17 America Victorious . 19 The Boy in France 21 CROSSES OF WAR A GODSPEED God speed Old Glory when she takes the road to France ! Through the thundering of the legions where the bugles play advance God speak: "The fight is mine. Carry you my con- quering lance." God speed Old Glory on! God send Old Glory first and foremost in the fight! Fling her far, O God of battles, in the van, for the right. Lift our hearts up to our freedom's flag of red-and-blue- and-white. God fling Old Glory far ! God guard Old Glory clean through battle grime and sweat ! Consecrate the men who serve her so that none may e'er forget How the honor of the colors lies within his keeping yet. God guard Old Glory clean! God bring Old Glory home in honor, might, and pride ! Battle-black and bullet-slashed and stripes streaming wide. Gorgeous with the memories of men who greatly died — God bring Old Glory home! THE VIGIL Like some young squire who watched his armor bright. Kneeling upon the chapel floor all night — Where glimmering candles on the altar glowed. And moonlight through the Gothic windows flowed — And prayed, with folded hands, that God would bless His sword, and keep him true, and give success — So, kneeling, Lord, before Thine altar light A nation asks for help before the fight. Grant us the prayer of that boy knight of old — Strength to be steadfast, courage to be bold. Such passionate love for the dear flag we fly That each who serves it holds its honor high — Simple, large gifts that soldiers need, O, Lord, Grant the young nation for its unsheathed sword; And for our captains in the perilous way A vision widened to an unknown day. We keep our vigil; send to-morrow glorious; Let not the world go down; bring right victorious. Kneeling in prayer before Thine altar light The nation asks Thy help to fight Thy fight. 4 A CALL TO ARMS /» memory of Captain Philip Killburn Lighthall, who offered to his country, on the deck of the " Tuscania," " the last full measure of devotion." It is I, America, calling ! Above the sound of rivers falling. Above the whir of the wheels and the chime of bells in the steeple — Wheels, rolling gold into the palms of the people. Bells ringing silverly clear and slow To church-going, leisurely steps on pavements below — Above all familiar sounds of the life of a nation I shout to you a name. And the fliame of that name is sped Like fire into hearts where blood runs red — The hearts of the land burn hot to the land's salvation As I call across the long mUes, as I, America, call to my nation Tuscania! Tuscania! Americans, remember the Tuscania! Shall we not remember how they died In their young courage and loyalty and pride. Our boys — ^bright-eyed, clean lads of America's breed, Hearts of gold, limbs of steel, flower of the nation indeed ? How they tossed their years to be Into icy waters of a winter sea That we whom they loved — ^that the world which they loved should be free? Ready, ungrudging they went, each one thinking, likely, as the moment was come Of the dear, starry flag, worth dying for, and then of dear faces at home; Going down in good order, with a song on their lips of the land of the free and the brave Till each young, deep voice stopped, under the rush of a wave. Was it like that? And shall their memory ever grow pale ? Not ever, till the stars in the flag of America fail. It is I, America, who swear it, calling Over the sound of that deep ocean's falling, Tuscania! Tuscania! Arm, arm, Americans! Remember the Tuscania! 6 Very peacefully they are sleeping In friendly earth, unmindful of a nation's weeping. And the kindly, strange folk have honored the long, full graves, we know; And the mothers know that their boys are safe, now, from the hurts of a savage foe; It is for us who are left to make sure and plain That these dead shall not have died in vain; So that I, America, young and strong and not afraid, I set my face across that sea which swallowed the bodies of the sons I made, I set my eyes on the still faces of boys washed up on a distant shore And I call with a shout to my own to end this horror forevermore ! In the boys' names I call a name. And the nation leaps to fire in its flame And my sons and my daughters crowd, eager to end the shame — It is I, America, calling. Hoarse with the roar of that ocean falling, Tuscania! Tuscania! Arm, arm, Americans! And remember, remember the Tuscania! FLOWER OF THE LAND The land is like a garden with a blossoming of boys. All across a continent, from the wide Atlantic's boom- ing, To the hoarse Pacific breakers, shouting deep trium- phant noise; All across a thousand prairies; from the Rocky Moun- tains* looming; From the farms and from the cities, out of villages like toys Pour the boys! Everywhere — oh, my country, everywhere The flower of America has sprung to sudden blooming. Steady flowing, never-ending, never heeding rank or races. Eager faces set and sober, toward the cloud of battle lowering — Hear the swinging of battalions, see the young, unfear- ing faces. Thousands upon crowding thousands, iron muscles, steady faces, 8 Out of snows and out of bayous, out of fields and cities towering. Rich and poor, from lordly mansions, out of tiny homes like toys Stream the boys ! Everywhere — oh, my country, everywhere The harvest of the land we love has ripened to its flower- ing. For the God of Hosts has lifted up our soul to be a na- tion; He has silenced them who doubted that we knew his trumpet voice; He has set us on a mountain top to suffer for salvation. Has crowned us and has cleaned us with suffering and salvation. And — to answer if our hearts are fixed on riches and on toys- Lord, the boys! Not for gain — God Almighty, not for gaining We are offering our flowering for a bulwark to crea- tion — Lord — our boys! 9 THE BABY AND THE BABY SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA I AM The Baby. I own this room and everything that's in sight. I own the pink blankets and all the pillows and this brass crib that's so shiny and bright. I'd like to suck the crib, but I can't, because it doesn't come close to my mouth Like bottles and woolly blankets; anyhow it's mine, east to west and north to south. That couple of old persons around twenty who refer to themselves as "father" and "mother" — They're mine, too, and when I'm engaged with impor- tant thoughts they're a bother. Yet there's a dreamy satisfaction in owning them, and in seeing them make fools of themselves to amuse me. The Person in Skirts assures me often that nobody shall abuse me Because I'm her owny-wowny lamby-petty — I wonder why she thinks that sort of asininity Is appropriate to me, fresh from the stars and the whirl of infinity? 10 I fix her with a cold stare, but she only says: "Look, Teddy ! He acts as if he knew us, and owned us, and scorned us already ! " Yet I'm getting used to their queer games, and they be- gin to appeal to me. It seems it's they who soak me in pink blankets and adoration and every day deal to me Through my nurse and my minions in general the sundry warm bottles and such Which are the real facts of the universe and please me very much. The Person in Trousers — one day he was left alone with me And I stared up and he stared down, frowning hard, as if he'd pick a bone with me. So after a while I remarked: "Bh!" and he laughed, and he said: "You little cuss. Suppose we seize this chance for an interview, just us." And he bent over my crib and to my astonishment lifted me. Though I knew that, after he'd once gripped, not for worlds would he have shifted me. But he got me up safe in his huge claws, and held me, and, you know, it was nice. Though his hands were so gentle and terrified, they were comfy, and strong as a vise; XI Then he looked at me, very much as the Person in Skirts looks, which I didn't know he knew how. And he whispered straight at me: "Little cuss, there's going to be one horrid big row If you don't get all that's coming to you, love and care and food and chances. If you don't, it's your father will know the reason why, and such are the circumstances." Then he laid me down, as if I were trinitrotoluol at least. And I googled up at him, and laughed, much like a fish at a feast. And since then I like him to come, and to touch me, and I rather Am inclined to consider it's a good asset to have a father. Anyhow he's mine. And the Person in Skirts, which is perhaps the best thing I own, she's mine, too. And the nurse, and the half nurse, and the nursery and — ^you see that blue silk shoe.'^ I just kicked it off — that's mine; I'd so like it to chew. And all these woolly and silk things lying around, I own them and everything — the Person in Skirts said so — all the house down to the ground. I'm fat and rosy and stuffed and pampered and happy, and maybe There's anything you can think of better to be than an American baby. n n SOMEWHERE IN FRANCE I am The Baby. The Person in Skirts that I own says it that way when she comes home at night; She says it in French, and hugs me, and then for a min- ute I'm warm, and things seem right. And I gurgle and goo at her, but soon I begin to whimper a scrap. For I've been cold and lonely and hungry all day, and I want to tell her about it, as I lie in her lap. And she understands, for she rubs me nicely awhile, and holds me close. And then she puts me down and fusses about and cooks me the nastiest dose! Now what do you think ? Instead of a warm bottle of milk, white and delicious, She boils grass and such stuff — ^yes, she does — in water, and I hear her whispering; "It isn't nutritious." And she feeds it to me, and I hate it, and howl and kick and squeal. And then she cries into it, and I get tired — ^for it doesn't give a fellow strength, that meal. IS I get so tired I can't howl or kick any more, and so I lie still. And make a small whimpering noise, and try to beg with my eyes to be fed my fill — Which is what a baby's entitled to, else why did he have to come? Heaven knows I didn't ask to start living in this land of gun and drum. So the Person in Skirts — she says she's my mother, and she's thin and sad and white — She puts me to bed and lies down beside me, but neither of us sleeps much all night. ■■ Next morning she kisses me, and wraps me in a shawl, and steals out of the door and away. And then I'm alone, and vaguely scared, and it seems like a week long, all day. Maybe two or three times a kind person comes in and takes me up and comforts me and then tries to cram down me That nasty grass tea, till I wish I were an extra puppy and they'd drown me. I really can't drink that stuff. And the only reason I keep on going. Which I sometimes think is a mistake in a country where grass tea is growing. 14 Is because I'm glad, nights, when the Person in Skirts comes back, And also because, once in a blue moon, there's a large, deep-voiced Person in Black Called the Cure, who brings me real milk — ^just a little, but oh, isn't it fine! And when I see it coming, warm and white, I'm in such a hurry that I whimper and whine For pure joy, and the Cure smiles a bit, watching me, and says I'm the hope of France; But how can a chap be the hope of France when he can't get enough food to have a chance? And the Person in Skirts whispers things about my father, whom she calls her lost hero so sadly — Somehow I've gathered that a father's a thing that gives babies what they need badly. I wish I had a father. If I couldn't have that, then I wish some other babies' fathers would give me a place to stay — A warm, light place, with persons in it while the Person in Skirts is gone all day. And maybe they'd let me have some food that wasn't as bad as grass tea. Do you think, if their babies have plenty and some left over, the other babies' fathers would do that for me ? 15 PLAYMATES Time was when you were comrade to the old, Friend to the sorrowful, grown tired of breath; Now all the buoyant hearts and heads of gold Run to your arms, O Death! Time was when you could terrify the bold. When seasoned warriors shivered at your breath; Now boys go singing down into the cold Seas where you wait them. Death! Time was when loss and grief and dust and mold Were all the message of the parting breath; Now youth and gladness of the world enrolled Laugh through your veil, Death! Time was life seemed at end, the story told When the dear clay was emptied of dear breath; Now sudden vision lights a wisdom old — Life but begins with death. O grave, how may your ancient victory hold These bright, unconquered ones, careless of breath? playmate Death, whose hand they rush to fold. Where is your sting, O Death! 16 CAMPING Queer — three old pals like you and Bill and me, Who've camped so many summer moons together. Should get our camping half the earth apart. This August weather. Odd — when our tastes are very much alike. We've picked such widely different situations — ^Though Bill and I have hit the same old trail Among the hills which seem like close relations. You know the lake, the long, low house of logs; To every querying leaf you know the answer In light and shadow on these forest walls; You — off in France, sir! You know the AlUe Verte, the Golden Pool, The sunny sand-bar where your moose was standing; You know the way the boats lie up the bank Under the birch and alders 'round the landing. But Bill and I don't even know the town Where "A. E. F." means You, across the billow; Yet know it's home — because Old Glory waves Over your pillow. 17 A gray old port that Julius Csesar saw; Transports all brown with singing warriors, hailing From shores that Caesar never heard of; thus, — It's all I know — imagination's failing. I picture lines of barracks on a hill— Or is it in a valley? Horses tramping, Mighty guns rumbling, regiments at drill. Hoarse orders shouted — is that like your camping? Ours is another sort; the peaceful days. The smiling mountains; yet at any minute We'd leave this heaven for that hell, to be With you, and in it. We two can't fight. Though Bill, at fifty odd. Hankers to be an Ace, through clouds a-kiting; But War Departments scorn the likes of us; You'll do our fighting. We think it safe with you; we think Fow'll win The war, and personally nab the Kaiser; Yet — only come back home! We'll never ask Medals and honors — ^just your lifted visor. But if the Great Adventure calls you, lad. Cutting you free of Life's uncertain tether. You'll wait a while, beyond, for Bill and me? — And then, sometime again, we'll camp together. 18 AMERICA VICTORIOUS We shall go down at length to the gates of the sea. We who have waited and watched and prayed from afar, To welcome our fighting-men who have made earth free. Our boys, home from the war. Crowded the transports there, at the gates of the sea. Pouring out rushing figures, khaki-clad. Men roving of eye in the search for you and for me. Home at last, and very glad. The bands shall play in the streets of the gates of the sea. The crowds shall cheer, and the flags shall paint the sky. Wild bells shall peal, to the conquering lines, jubilee — But some shall be dim of eye. Oh you, standing desolate there at the gates of the sea. For a step not heard in the marching ranks, and a face Whose eager smile to your face on earth cannot be — Oh you, take heart of grace ! As his comrades come homeward without him across the sea — Guard him his glory of gladness in ultimate splendor. Render them honor whole-hearted and smiling — as he Would have rendered them honor, so render. 19 America beloved! Who shall stand one day by the sea Bright-faced for the sons who come to the meeting glorious. Wistful-eyed for the voices whose greeting may not yet be. Rejoice for your shining army forever free, America beloved — victorious ! 20 THE BOY IN FRANCE Steeped in hot haze of the August afternoon The garden dreams in a many-splendored trance; The locusts drone a long, insistent tune; And the boy — the boy's in France. Down the stone steps the rose-pink phloxes stand. Like delicate sculptures, through the breathless day, Brilliant yet shadowy, as the bright, vague land; And the boy — ^the boy's away. The dogs about the terrace listless lie. Waiting a springing step they used to know; We wait, we also — and the days crawl by; The boy — we miss him so. U Green fields reach over hills to fields of gold; Far off the city glitters, gay but wan; The radiant scene breathes loneliness untold; The boy — the boy is gone. Sudden his service flag's impetuous story Flashes a bugle note across the flowers; Sudden the aching loss is pride and glory; He is in France — he's ours! Lad of my heart! From all across your land One thought wings to that land of old romance; One proud America stretches a loving hand To the boy — the boy in France. S2 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proce: Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 Preservationlechnologie A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATl 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 012 240 034 7 "M t:^ii :-' " .-.i,- -*'>', ■..■,■5 \,-J'-.^.^,;,.-'-^

22000585

Jewels of happiness,

Angell, Ruth

jewelsofhappines00ange_djvu.txt

^^m ,l»'- 4 Kl'' Mt'il ,,Wfi ' i :?EWELS OF HAPPINESS T U ..-i K i .' (^^ * y\. \*: .-ft '■ fi JEWELS OF HAPPINESS BY RUTH ANGELL Age, Fourteen Years Published by the California Manuscript Co, San Diego, California ^j^^^^Ju, w Poetry is the sister of sorrow; Every man who suffers and weeps is a poet; Every tear is a verse; and every heart a poem. — Andre Affectionately dedicated to the sacred memory of my beloved Mother ! Copyrighted by The CaUfomia Manuscript Company San Dtego, Caltfornta ALL RIGHTS RESERVED DEC 23 1921 When the Children Come Home Ain't no costly celebration Half compares with one I've found. When the holiday vacation Brings the precious children 'round. An' it fills me full o' somethin' To see the love that's shown. When the holiday vacation. Brings the precious children home. Toys are brought down from the attic, Fer the son's kid — dimpled chap — Dad forgits that he's rheumatic. When he clambers o'er his lap. All the house is filled with laughter. An' the lonesomeness once known Disappeared when news came, sayin' All the children would be home. An' I can't help thinkin' sometimes. When those parents' souls have flown. If in Heaven they'll be waitin' Fer the children to come home. An' I can't help wishin' sometimes. That Heaven just might be A gateway to the dear old home. With Mother's love as key. An' instead o' angels harpin', I would hear my Mother sing Just a dear old hymn of gladness, Fer a sort o' welcomin'. I would like to hear her sayin' In that sweet way all her own, "Father, all our prayers are answered. For the children have come home." When Daddy Tells Stories Ain't no king in any castle That I envy and admire. Like a dad that's telHn' stories To his kiddies' hearts' desire. An' the fire is warm and cozy. While our Tabby's sleepin' near. An' the very air is thrillin' With the story-telHn' cheer. On the kiddies' eager faces Upturned smihngly to Dad, We may find the sweetest traces That a child's face ever had. When he tells of fairy castles. An' of giants an' ridin' knights. When he tells of elves and goblins. An' of other fairy sights, — Ain't no king that has his power. For he holds them in his gaze. He, the busy, tired-out Daddy, Who has time for childish ways. Mother's sittin' in her rocker, Mendin' tiny baby clothes, Listenin' while our Daddy's tellin' All the sweetest tales he knows. An' she smiles to see the faces All a-glow with childish fun, While she fondles each small garment, Happier, most, than anyone. An' I cannot picture Heaven Any sweeter than this Shrine, Built about the family fireplace. At the story-tellin' time. Now the little heads are noddin'. Baby eyes are not so clear. While the tiny footsteps falter. At the knee of Daddy dear. Here they find a peaceful refuge. Far from all life's troubled scenes, With the story-tellin' Daddy In the land of fairy dreams. * * * I Wonder Sometimes I wonder if the wealth I now possess Ever was, or ever will be less Than the wealth that brought me such unbounded joy. When but a simple care-free boy. Sometimes I wonder if castles rich and fair. Ever can, or ever will half compare With those I built in boyish reverie. Sometimes I wonder if the treasures I am hoarding now. Are really worth the hoarding, anyhow; Sometimes I wonder if they are as true, and pure As all those cherished treasures that were. Sometimes I wonder why the things I now call mine Bring only half the joy a fishing rod and line Did when a lad. Sometimes I wonder if I am as wealthy as when I used to tramp the wildwood and the glen; Sometimes I wonder if I really do possess as much As when I thrilled at the warm Spring's touch. I wonder if being rich in money I have lost that gift The greatest of all treasures, which can lift The soul up unto Paradise. Courage Lend a helping hand. Take courage. By a friend in need e*er stand. Give courage. Smile at him who seeks the beam Of the light that ever gleams. Increase your courage. If the storms rage all anew, Find courage. Pray to God and he'll give you, Faithful courage. Help the man who's down and out. Scatter sunshine all about. Help your brother who's in doubt. Gather courage. If the night seems dark and long. Seek for courage. Pierce the darkness with a song. Keep your courage. If you strive for what is right. There will come a dawning light. And you'll bid farewell to night, Regaining courage. If you're feeling kind of blue, Cling to your courage. Face the music — 'twon't hurt you. Keep your courage. Work until your task is done. And the light will surely come. And you'll find your goal is won, BY YOUR COURAGE. The Strand of Life A strand of beads is life so great, A rope from Paradise, And would you weave a feeble thread. Within this strand of hfe? Each day passed by in heedless thought. Without some deed of cheer. Will add no strength unto the strand. Which bringeth Heaven near. So when a chance comes, — take it ; And do some good each day. For you cannot let the chances Of life just slip away. So tie the knots of courage. At each end of the strand. And you will have the promise Of strength at either hand. So keep on weaving good deeds Within that strand of life. And you will win a ladder. To climb to Paradise. Camping Fun Cinders in your flap-jacks, Spiders in your tea, There's lots o' fun in campin' Tho at times it's hard to see. Tried to use a hornet's nest Fer a sort o' shelf. An' the boys all laugh and tease me, — 'Cause I'm swelled up on myself. Ole burnt hash fer dinner. In which we had a hand. An' some feller 'stead o' pepper, — Had to go and put in sand. Went in swimmin' later. An' any feller knows It ain't no fun to feel a crab A-hangin' on yer toes. Ole dried beef fer supper. It ain't a welcome sight. An' WOW! did you say salty? I guess you'd drink all night. Off to dreams you tumble. An' if yer chance to wake. An' hear a noise behind you, — It's jest a friendly snake. An' when vacation's over. An' you've packed yer trampin' bag. An' you've started off fer home, boys. You bet yer steps don't lag. An* when that night yer' sleepin', — In yer bed so snug an' warm. To dream o' Ma's fat doughnuts You'll have the comin' morn. Yer glad yer home agin', boys, With Ma, an' Sis, an' Dad, This time is best of all the rest, O' pleasures that you've had. No more cinders in yer flap-jacks. No more spiders in yer tea, There might have bin some fun in campin*. But 'twas surely hard to see. Lullaby Time There's a beautiful land, very near at hand To enter in, my dears, the fee Is only a kiss, to the dear gentle guide. And this beautiful land you may see. 'Tis not far away, at the close of day. One only, my dears, needs must lie at ease. On a kind Mother's arm, and be wafted away To the land of fairies and honey bees. Oh, dear little child, you are rich beyond words. For yours is a journey, the price — but a kiss. To the land where cares are never known. And hearts are borne on the wings of bliss. No safer boat than a mother's arms. No sweeter pilot than her love. No safer guide from all earthly harms, Than she — an Angel sent down from above. So dear little child, tho you may not guess What a wondrous amount of wealth is thine own. The sweetest of treasures you now possess. When lullaby time brings Mother and Home. Just You Our little cottage is humble and plain. The tumble down fence may need painting too. There are holes in the roof that let in the rain. Yet, what is rain, when I have YOU? Our little cottage is Heaven to me. When the toil and strife of the day is through. And 'tis beauty in all its simplicity, — For I have you. And I know that you'll always be waiting there. With a love that is strong and true, O ! even the humblest home is fair. If it brings me you! To be able to love you, to have you near. Is all that I ask to make life's sky blue. To know that forever I may hear The voice of you ! And when my time comes to go to Him, Tho I may not wish as others do. If I only may hope — God knows 'tis no sin, — That Heaven is you! Out Where the West Begins That place of mystery and childish wonder. Where on many an unseen treasure we blunder: Where only good will and honesty wins. Out where the West begins. There, where the world is one mothering soul. Where only true kindness is the goal. Where every man is his brother's kin. Out where the West begins. Where nature lies 'neath God's wide skies. Where the sunsets glow, as the night draws nigh: Where all seems to be in tune with Him ; Out where the West begins. And 'twill always remain a mystery to me. How any place so lovely can be. And I'll always love — tho life's light grows dim. Out where the West begins. sH * * Stick To It Tho the sun ain't bent on shinin' — Stick to it! Never stop yer work fer pinin' — Stick to it! Don't look like green persimmons taste, 'Cause that's yer time all gone to waste — , Jis take fer example — paste — Stick to it! Cling onter' jis* the slightest hope. Stick to it! Don't never sit aroun' an' mope. Stick to it! The sun is shinin' 'roun' the bend. Your hurts and hearts will surely mend. An' don't say quit, — until the end, STICK TO IT! When the Kiddies Play Shotu Ain't no high-class entertainment Half compares with one I know. When the eager little kiddies Start to playin' show. They most tear the house to pieces With their antics and their play. But tho the house is topsy turvy. We would have it just that way. Ain't no audience so admirin' Of the things the kiddies do. As the Daddy and the Mamma, Who enjoy the capers too. An' the shadows from the fireplace Flicker gently o'er each one. All are kids in truth and memory, Havin', simple, childish fun. Mother laughs to see her daughter Dressed in queer old-fashioned style, Daddy smiles to see small Billy, Tryin' to tease her all the while. Then the fiery villain enters. Graced by Papa's stove-pipe hat. How he swings his arms and threatens. Almost frightening the cat! Now the eager voices striving. Try to shout and cry some more, Ytet the little lips are smiling On the peaceful slumber shore. Tired eyelids are gently drooping. Little feet refuse to go. And night's curtain is descending On the little kiddies' show. Content I have sought for castles and found instead, small humble cottages ; I have wandered o'er the world seeking riches and have found only small flowers growing at my feet. I have sought for the biggest things that I may have content. And have met only with defeat. Then a weary, foot-sore traveler, come I back along my way. Searching with lost hope for that which I crave most. Spurning those shallow joys which once I loved. For each joy which once seemed real is but aj ghost. I see the small humble cottages, and come upon the one that we two called ours There, — but it is not the cottage I knew as our own. For there, in all its simple, unassuming structure I find a castle, and a home. There on our lowly door stoop I find you waiting — Thru all these years of toil, and want, and lonesorneness. Waiting to greet me, and to love me as before. Giving me all your soul and pent-up longing in that one caress. Then I look down and see the small flowers bloomin' 'round my feet. Yet, flowers they seem no more, — but riches of a kingdom I have found at last. So it is with life, — we find that sweet content In just the common things — those things which yesterday we passed. Mother Mine I have found a Heaven! — Nay, there is no sound of angel wings, no loud sound of Heavenly choir that sings, — No pearly gates to bar my passage thru, — only the loving voice of you To welcome me. I have found a Heaven! There is no starry crown to greet me there, — no sound of Angel trumpetings to stir the still, warm air, — Yet, starry crowns may lose their lustrous sheen — would that I might but gaze upon a dear lace cap I've seen When kneeling at your knee. Would that I my Paradise might gain, — unheralded by any white-robed Heavenly train, — Unsung by Heavenly choir, — theme of no sweetly echoing harp or lyre, — Yet happy, because I know that my Heaven here below Is all that is Divine. I've found a Heaven! I have sought and found it only in your arms, — where I may rest safe from all earthly harms. There I may see the love-light in your face, — see that dear smile that years cannot erase, — There I may look into those kind blue eyes, — and find my earthly Paradise, Mother Mine. Creed I see in nature the image of Him who changes dew to rain, I wander o'er the hills of time and back again, I see the tree, the flower, the bird, and in the very skies is heard The voice of Him. I seek the heights where no man walks alone, Shut out from all that greedy men have known, Travelling where wiser souls have trod, seeking the things of God, Far from all sin. Open our eyes, dear Lord, that we may see. Put in our souls, dear God, sweet thoughts of Thee; Let us be swiftly freed, from that thing men call creed. As e'en a child hath been. 1? ^4 t '^ -^ . :•** i:^. -^^i?*:''--". -* " jr : £-i J /^ r 'i A). asf- o::i;::i' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS II 018 603 245 7 ^ ■K^ • ^ % ,-' '.1* ■ Mrr' ?-.r^v-r> i lj4lC'.\^'u>-r^-^i ,. U.„ a;.:#S ^v'i 'V

22015771

"The curse",

Annesley, Maude

thecurs00anne_djvu.txt

PS 3501 ■N5697 C8 1922 Copy 1 "THE CURSE 99 By Maude Annesley New York Paget Literary Agency 1922 "THE CURSE" By Maude Annesley New York Paget Literary Agency 1922 Copyright, 1922, by Mrs. Brown low ©CI.A677775 AUG -5 1922 "THE CURSE M The sun was shining full on the face of a little man who came out of a porch and stood surveying his possessions with great complacency. Though he was a little man he had a very big name — Septimus War- rington Bennington. As he stood watching the gate, the postman came and handed him two letters. One he seized excitedly and tore open : "Dear Sir, "If all the new apples which you have succeeded in producing are as good as the specimens you sent us, we will give you 5/ (five shillings) each for them. "Kindly let us know how many you are pre- pared to send us and when. Also tell us the name you wish to give them. "Awaiting your reply, "Yours faithfully, "THE SUPERIOR FRUIT COMPANY. "M. A. Bentham, Secretary." Septimus was very pleased. He whistled a music- hall ditty and went into the house. Taking a key he opened the door of a large cupboard. In this were straw-covered shelves up to the ceiling. On some of these were apples. He mounted a pair of steps, counted the apples and made notes in a notebook, occasionally whitsling the same exceedingly cheerful tune. "I wonder how many more there are on the tree," he said aloud as he locked the cupboard door. Taking up a basket he went out of the back door, down a path, and opened a gate into an orchard. After he had shut the gate he stopped and listened. He thought he heard someone moving. Keeping by the hedge, he worked his way round and peered through the foliage at a very special tree, whose trunk was guarded by rails. He gave a loud exclamation and started to run. The cause of his excitement was an old woman 4 "THE CURSE" who was stooping down and picking up apples from the ground, which she placed in her apron. Septimus was horrified. When he arrived at the tree he was stuttering with fury. "Don't you dare come in here again, or I will call the police," he yelled before he reached her. The woman looked up, her old face was gnarled and marked like the bark of the apple trees round her. She clutched her apron full of apples tightly. "I want some apples for my sick son," she said obstinately. "They're my apples," cried Septimus. "I have been years getting them to grow. They're prize apples. How dare you come here?" Her face puckered up and she looked at him with bright black eyes. "My son wants apples," she reiterated. "My prize apples!" he spluttered. "Here, you give me those apples you have taken." He made a move- ment towards her. She looked for some time as if she intended to hold on to her apron, while her eyes met his with a steady stare. Then she shrugged her shoulders, dropped its corners and let the apples roll all over the ground. Septimus almost screamed. "They'll be bruised," he cried, as he grovelled, pick- ing them up tenderly and putting them in his basket, while the woman still stared at him. "Let me have some," she said, with a certain amount of pathos. He sprang to his feet and pointed at a distant gate. "Off you go," he said, and she turned and walked away, followed by the enraged owner of the orchard. "How dare you come here," he repeated. "They're my apples, and what I have I hold." Outside the gate the woman turned and looked at him. "What you have you hold, eh?" she said in a curious, far-away voice. Then she lifted her arm perfectly straight and pointed at him. "Well, what you have you shall hold when you least expect it. You shall "THE CURSE". 5 see! The curse of the gipsy is on you. You shall hold for minutes at a time !" She made a sign in the air, muttered a few words, under her breath, drew her shawl closer around her and went off down the path. "Damned impertinence !" said Septimus, proceeding to fasten up the gate securely. Then he went back to the tree, stooped down and carefully examined all the apples. He found two were bruised, and put them in his pocket. The others were perfect as far as he could see and he carried them to the cupboard to place them on the shelves. He took out the last apple to put at the end of the row, arranged the straw around it and then said, "Eh, what!" out loud. He threw down the empty basket and placed both hands on the apple, but it was stuck firmly to his right hand. He bent down and tried to see what was sticking. "Some beastly wax, I suppose, the old brute put on it," he muttered crossly. He put down a foot to back down the steps, and ttien came down with a crash, the steps across his knees. As he lay on the floor two servants came rushing in, a man and a woman. The man picked him up. "Did the steps slip, sir?" he said. "I suppose so," said Septimus, groaning with pain. "Where's the apple?" "Oh, dear, dear," said the servant sympathetically, "You must have fallen, sir, with it in your hand. Here it is and badly bruised, sir." "It had glue on it or something," said Septimus, "that's what made me fall." Biggins turned the apple over. "No sir, there ain't no glue on it." The cook examined it too, then Septimus. The apple, barring the bruises, was exactuly as it had come from the tree. Septimus looked at his hand, but there was no stickiness to be found. "Strange thing," he muttered. "I was certain there was something odd about it. It stuck firmly." Then he proceeded to tell the sympathetic Biggins and the cook the story of the gipsy woman. 6 "THE CURSE" In the afternoon he went to call at a house about ten minutes walk away. He was shown into a pretty drawing room where a little, fluffy woman was sitting reading. "How do you do, Mrs. Seaton," he said, holding out his hand. She shook hands languidly, smiling upon him. He held her hand tightly and got rather red. She also blushed, giggled a little and tried to pull her hand away, but she could not do so. Suddenly she became agitated. "Qukk, quick," she cried. "There's my husband coming. You know how jealous he is." She tugged at her hand. Septimus tugged too, but quite uselessly. There was a noise outside the door and in came Mr. Seaton, six foot three, very broad, with the appearance of a prize fighter on holiday. The smile faded from his face as he saw the clasp of the hands and he glared. Septimus stammered violently. "It — it's the muscles of my hand gone wrong," he exclaimed agitatedly. Mr. Seaton advanced. "Drop my wife's hand, sir." Septimus tried harder. Mrs. Seaton was nearly weeping. Mr. Seaton's right hand shot out, Septimus fell. Mrs. Seaton fell with him. Septimus still hold- ing her hand. A small table laden with ornaments fell with them. There was a terrible commotion. Mr. Seaton raged. Mrs. Seaton wept. Septimus stam- mered out half sentences interspersed with groans. Suddenly the hands came apart, and Septimus put his up to his bruised shoulder. "I tell you I can't help it," he stuttered. "The same thing happened this morning. There is something wrong with my hand." "Wrong with your hand," roared Mr. Seaton. "Yes, there is something wrong with your hand. Out you go, sir!" While Mrs. Seaton got up from the floor and sat sobbing on the sofa, Septimus was marched to the hall door by an infuriated husband, who looked as if he would like to kick his visitor down the steps. Septimus walked slowly down the road to his own house. "THE CURSE" 7 "What the devil is it?" he kept muttering. "It can't be anything to do with that old hag. I don't believe that sort of stuff." When he got home he called in Biggins and asked him if everything were prepared for the next day. "I want everything to be very nice, you know, Biggins," he said. "Mrs. Warrington is very par- ticular and I must keep on the right side of her." "Yes, sir," said Biggins. "I quite realize that, sir." He had been with Septimus for many years and he knew that his master had great expectations from the Aunt who was coming to stay. "Everything's nice, sir. I think Mrs. Warrington will be quite pleased." CHAPTER II. The next day Septimus' Aunt, a large lady with a well-preserved figure, arrived in the morning, before lunch, which was excellently cooked, much to the delight of Mrs. Warrington who was fond of her food. They went into the drawing room afterwards and Septimus was exceedingly polite, placing cushions for her back and giving her a little table by her side for coffee. "Are you engaged yet, Septimus," she asked, with a twinkle in her eyes. Septimus blushed. "No, Auntie, not yet," he said bashfully. "I'm going to propose as soon as I can screw up my courage to the sticking point, but I'm so afraid of her thinking that I want her money." "Nonsense, my dear," said his Aunt. "You're quite comfortable here and you know that you will have my money when I have gone." Septimus looked uncomfortable and made some in- coherent remarks in which the words, "Not thinking of that," "Should hate to have," "Quite a young woman" seemed inextricably mixed. However, Mrs. Warrington appeared to understand, for she purred. 8 "THE CURSE" "By the way, dear," she said soon after. "I sold that property. Here's the letter and the cheque. I received them this morning." "Five thousand pounds," said Septimus, as he looked at the cheque. "Good biz, I'm so glad." Then he read the letter, folded it and the cheque, put them into the envelope and handed it to her. She held out her hand for it. Suddenly Septimus got very agitated as he felt his fingers tighten on the envelope. "All right, dear, Fve got it," said Mrs. Warrington. "Er," said Septimus, "I— er— " "Give it to me, Septimus," said Mrs. Warrington rather sharply. "I can't," said Septimus, vainly striving to loosen his hands. His Aunt, a somewhat hot-tempered woman, rose in her wrath. "The cheque is not endorsed. It's no use your taking it," she said sharply. "I don't waint it," said Septimus, almost sobbing. Mrs. Warrington pulled. She got very angry indeed. "If you'd only listen, Auntie, for a moment. I tell you there's something wrong with my hand," he managed to get out at last. "Tommy rot," said Mrs. Warrington and pulled violently. "Please listen, Auntie," he implored. But Mrs. Warrington's rage was such that she was now beyond listening. She gave a sharp tug. The letter tore in half and she subsided very heavily and very ungracefully on the floor with Septimus on top of her. She rose as elegantly as she could under the circumstances, marched to the bell and rang it. Biggins came in. She turned to him, totally un- conscious that her toupee was very much on one side, and said in a voice spluttering with fury : "Tell my maid to pack. Order by motor round. I am leaving here by the next train." Septimus fell on his knees and tried to clutch his "THE CURSE" 9 Aunt's dress, which she swept out of his way. He implored her to stay, his pleadings being mixed with incoherent remarks, which included "Jealous hus- bands, " "Apples," "Gipsy women" and various other objects, which only confirmed Mrs. Warrington in her idea that her nephew drank. She did not vouchsafe one word of response, but sailed from the room. Septimus covered his face and groaned. Then he looked up at the ceiling and muttered, "WHAT YOU HAVE YOU SHALL HOLD WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT. YOU SHALL SEE! THE CURSE OF THE GIPSY IS ON YOU. YOU SHALL HOLD FOR MINUTES AT A TIME." "Is it possible?" he said, staring wildly at the wall. Soon he heard a motor at the hall door and he went out in the hall. His Aunt and her maid came down the stairs as he appeared. "I implore you, Auntie. It was not my fault. My hand goes wrong sometimes." She waved him off sternly, walked out to the motor and drove off without a single glance. Septimus sat on the door-step and buried his face in his hands. "There goes fifty thousand pounds," he said disconsolately, and when Biggins came out and muttered something, turned round and swore lustily and lengthily at him. After some minutes of absolute despondency, he got up slowly and went into the house, and with some difficulty composed a letter to his Aunt. Though he knew that she would not credit the idea of a "curse" (he did not himself really), he yet made up his mind to tell her the whole story from the beginning. After the history of Mrs. Seaton and her husband he remarked pathetically, "You know me, Auntie, too well, to think for a moment that I could have had any arriere pensee. I am far too much in love with Biddy to have the idea of any other woman in my mind. "Of course, I do not believe such absurd rubbish as the gipsy's words having effect on my hand ! I think that it is a mere coincidence that the muscles have 10 -THE CURSE" gone wrong, but I am going up to town to see a specialist about it. "I wish you would believe me when I say that I have told you the truth in every particular. I had no more wish to hold your letter than I had to hold the apple, or Mrs. Seaton's hand." "There," he thought sorrowfully, "That ought to calm the old lady down. Tomorrow I shall go up to town and see Sir James Jobson." He did go to town the next day. His hand was x-rayed and thoroughly examined with no result. Apparently it was perfectly sound. CHAPTER III. The following morning he was shaving very care- fully when, to his fury, he < ut his chin. He got a roll of plaster, cut a little piece out of it, which he placed on his chin. Then he went to put the roll away, and he found that he ^ould not let go of it. He sat down on a chair and said quietly, "Now let us be calm." He took hold of the other side of the roll with his left hand and pulled. It resulted in a large piece of plaster tearing off, the sticky side up, and, being a patent plaster which he had found very efficacious, part of it stuck to his left hand. He tried to tear it off with his teeth. After five minutes of strenuous exertion, the result was Septimus, with dressing gown, hands, face and head covered with small pieces of plaster, looking somewhat like a walking advertisement of somebody's or other's patent warranted not to come off. He was ashamed to call for Biggins, so he tiptoed to the bath-* room and proceeded to soak off the small pieces, while all the time the roll of plaster was firmly grasped in his right hand. Just as he was hanging head down- wards over the bath, dipping his face in the water, the roll fell from his hand to the bottom of the bath and was irrevocably ruined. Septimus, a very wet and draggled person, with a dribble of blood from his chin, returned to his bedroom "THE CURSE" 11 and stared at himself in the glass. He did not swear, it was beyond words. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "that is the end of it for today, I suppose, might have been worse." In the afternoon he called on Biddy's parents and, to his joy, found only the lady of his heart at home. He was a shy little man, but fully realizing that he would never have a better opportunity, he managed with some difficulty the asking of the great question. Biddy, a very pretty girl of the petite type, said "Yes" without any shyness at all, and Septimus heaved a sigh of relief and content. After an hour had passed he said joyfully: "Now, Biddy, how about the ring? Would you mind coming with me to choose it? I'm such an ass at that sort of thing." Biddy nodded. "I quite agree," she said, then she blushed. "I don't mean that you're an ass. I mean that it is much better for a girl to help. I simply hate some rings." "All right," said Septimus. "We will go tomorrow. Where shall we go? Bond Street?" "No," said Biddy, seriously. "We will go to Guild- ford. There is a very good jeweller there and Bond Street prices are simply absurd." "Couldn't we go now? asked Septimus. "There's plenty of time, it's only five." What girl could ever resist such a suggestion ! Today is always better than tomorrow where a ring is concerned ! "All right," she said gaily. "I will order round the car now and you can drive me. I shan't be two minutes putting on my things !" Twenty minutes afterwards, Septimus drove up to the jeweller's shop and they went in, she feeling some- what important, he exceedingly shy. He looked so embarrassed that she took pity on him and asked the assistant herself for the rings. Various trays were laid before them on the glass counter. He lost his shyness in the interest of the discussion. She hesitated between three rings, trying on each in turn, and 12 "THE CURSE" holding her hand up for the light to catch it. Finally she decided and held her hand up for his admiration. "All right/' said Septimus. "I quite agree. It is very pretty indeed," and he took out his pocket book. Then he picked up another ring that was lying on the counter and held it up. "I think this one is very pretty too," he said, "but perhaps you have made the right choice," and he started to put it down. With a terrible clutch at his heart he realized that the putting down was an im- possibility. "Er," he said, feeling very worried. It was no good holding the ring on the counter, so he lifted it again. "But I don't want that one, dear," said Biddy. "Mine is here," — turning her hand about like a gesticulating Frenchwoman. The shopman suddenly looked alert. Septimus wiped his face with his handkerchief in his left hand. He thought rapidly : "This is the moment for self- control ; it would never do to show myself a fool before her." He drew himself up and swaggered slightly. "Er, I think I will take this one as well," he said as calmly as he could. "I think you said it was twenty- three pounds?" The shopman bowed deeply and washed his hands. "Yes, sir." Biddy cried : "But why, dear, I have chosen this one." "I like this one," he said casually, "I am going to give it to you as well as the other." Septimus could not manage to take out the notes separately with one hand, so he handed the wad to the shopman saying grandly: "Just count these will you? I think there are a few more than are necessary." Fortunately there were, and the shopman handed him back some which he stuffed into his poocket. "Shall I put it in a case, sir?" "No, thank you," said Septimus. "I will put it in my pocket," which he pretended to do, closing his hand over it as well as he could. "THE CURSE" 13 "You are a dear," said Biddy, after they had been bowed out of the shop. "Do let me see it." "I will give it to you when we get back," whispered Septimus in her ear. "I want my reward for it." Then he was faced with the appalling impossibility of driving the motor whilst he held the ring in his hand. "Shall we walk a little?" he said in a lover-like way. "The car will be quite all right here. Luckily she agreed, and they turned down a quiet road which led towards the country. He could not enjoy the walk as he passed the whole twenty minutes in an agitated effort to loosen the ring. When they got home, Biddy's parents were still out, and he gave her the ring, not forgetting to take his reward. "It's too bad," he said sadly, "that you are going away just now of all times." "I quite agree," she said, rubbing her head against his shoulder/' but I won't stay one instant more than the week, I promise you. You will go to the station to see me off tomorrow, won't you darling, 11 :42?" CHAPTER IV. The next morning he cut nearly all his late roses, and took a bouquet down to the station with him, carefully holding it in his left hand. He was rewarded by Biddy's joy at the flowers, which he put on the seat beside her. He had got into the carriage, where they were alone, so was able to kiss her good-bye before he had to get out. He had been very careful not to touch her with his right hand and he slammed the door to with his left as the train began very slowly to move. Unfor- tunately she leant out and said something to him in a low whisper. Reaching up to hear her, he put his right hand on the handle of the door. Like magic his fingers clutched on it. He turned white with ter- ror as he walked quicker and quicker by the side of the carriage. Then he realized something desperate must be done. 14 "THE CURSE" "The muscles of my hand have gone wrong," he screamed. "I cannot let go." He was running now and had nearly arrived at the slant of the platform down to the line. The girl leant out of the window, shrieked and waved to the guard. Porters came tearing along the platform. The station master, a very fat man, tore too. Pas- sengers leant out of the windows to see what all the noise was about. Septimus, running fast, was hurled down the slant of the platform. The tips of his toes could just touch the ballast of the permanent way, while his hand, stretched far overhead, was still glued tight to the door handle. Two porters caught him up, running with him and holding him. The driver, realizing by all the noise tha.t something was the matter, looked out and quickly brought the train to a standstill. Biddy collapsed on the roses. Septimus was rapidly surrounded by a gesticulating crowd of porters, station master, guard and driver, besides several of the passengers, who had descended to in- vestigate the matter. White and agitated, Septimus tried to explain. It is to be feared that his veracity was somewhat over-strained at the moment, as he gave them to understand that Sir James Johnson had found something radically wrong with his hand. The train stood there whilst various strong men tried to unwind his fingers from the handle, and the station master became hysterical over the delay. Finally, adopting the brilliant suggestion of one of the porters, the door was unhinged and Biddy re- moved to another carriage. It required Septimus' ardent, imploring looks to make her continue her journey at all. The proces- sion that wound its way back to the station was peculiar. The station master, fat and exhausted, marched ahead. After came two porters, carrying the door, by the side of which was Septimus, holding on firmly to its now useless handle. The rear was brought up by various plate-layers and workmen who happened to be in the neighborhood. They reached the slant of the platform. The two perspiring porters "THE CURSE" 15 with the door gave little jerks at their burden as they mounted : Septimus, by this time very tired and miserable, hung slightly back, being more or less pulled with the door — just then his hand loosened suddenly and he spun backwards, indulging in an exceedingly ungraceful double somersault. When he got home he had a whisky-and-soda and then lay collapsed in a chair for the rest of the day. He finally decided to tell Biggins that his hand was injured and enlist his aid in a bandage of the effend- ing member. Thinking did not seem to help the matter at all. The more he thought, the more puz- zled, angry and despairing he became. CHAPTER V. For a few days after the train episode, matters went smoothly owing to the bandage which Septimus was very careful to keep on his hand out-of-doors. He had little incidents with forks and garden rollers, but, as these were at his own home, he did not mind. On the morning of the fifth day he received a letter from the Railway Company enclosing a bill which ran as follows: £. s. d. For delay of train 3. 15. 0. For workmen 17. 0. For damage to door 14. 0. 5. 6. 0. Septimus bound a handkerchief round his head and went to his writing table. Here he drew up the fol- Credit. 1 ( ) Apples at 5/ lowing : Debit. £. s. d. Aunt's Legacy . . 50,000. Ring 23. Railway Bill .... 5. Loss of 2 Apples. 0. 0. 6. 10. 0. 0. 0. 0. £50,028. 16. 0. £4. 15. 0. 16 "THE CURSE" He flung himself on the sofa and groaned. In a short time he fell asleep and dreamed with his band- aged hand flung out on the cushion by the side of him. It was a terribly realistic dream, about a gold mesh bag belonging to a customer in a shop. The subse- quent police court proceedings and imprisonment were very vivid. A noise in the passage partially awakened him, but alas it was only partially. He turned over on the other side and went to sleep again. This time the dream was far worse. It entailed the murder of a child, whose throat he had caught in course of a game of "blindman's buff." It ended with the chaplain coming into the condemned cell to comfort his last moments. Septimus waked up crying out with horror, his face was streaming with perspiration, and his hands were shaking. He wiped his head and face with a handkerchief and then sat on the edge of the sofa staring at the ceiling. Finally he got up and walked up and down the room. "I can't go on like this," he mused. "I must find her." He thought for a little. Then he went to his writing table. He made several copies of an advertisement, scratch- ing out words and adding others. Finally he made a clear one, which read as follows : "Old lady who wanted apples for sick son last week is begged to apply at same house. Gentle- man will pay all expenses for same son and give all fruit needed." Then he wrote a letter : To Wilson's Press Agency : Dear Sirs, Kindly place enclosed advertisement in all local papers. Also have a hundred bills printed of same and paste about this neighborhood. I enclosed ten pounds. If more is required, please let me know. Yours truly, SEPTIMUS WARRINGTON BENNINGTON. "THE CURSE" 17 After Biggins had gone with the letter he took out his debit and credit account and added ten pounds to the debit side, which made the total worse than ever. The business seemed getting worse, for that day he had three "Curse" incidents (as he began to call them) connected with a fork, a rose — the thorns of which pricked him very badly — and a bell push. The latter created a good deal of commotion in the house, Biggins and his wife being most indignant. CHAPTER VI. The next two days were very wet, and Septimus spent a good deal of his time, much to the wonder of Biggins, walking about his garden and orchard in a mackintosh and rubber boots. There was no sign of the gipsy and he began to wonder what he should do if the advertisement and the bills brought no result. A third day passed, fine and warm. He gave up two engagements as he did not dare leave his premises in case his advertisement might be answered in his absence. He began to despair. The short and rest- less sleeps that he had at night were disturbed by agitated dreams. On the fourth day, after his breakfast he walked into the orchard and sat down on a small bench. He could think of nothing else but the possibility of a future overshadowed by the Curse, and he became gloomier and gloomier as he thought of the possibilities. When he had been sitting there for about half an hour, he heard a sound in the hedge behind him. He turned languidly to see what it was, then he tore frantically to the small gate leading to the wood and wrenched it open. The old gipsy woman was coming along the little path by the hedge. He ran to meet her, stammering in his excitement. She seemed to take no notice of him, and he fell on his knees at her feet, to the great detriment of his trousers, and lifted up his hands imploringly. "I pray you to take off the Curse," he cried. "You 18 "THE CURSE" can take what you want. Here is money. " He fever- ishly tore open his pocket book and pulled out notes. She shook her head and waved it away. The perspiration came out in beads on his face and head. "Was she going to be adamant?" he wondered. He got up and touched her arm. "Won't you do anything ?" he almost sobbed. She walked on to the gate and stood there looking dreamily into the orchard. "You saw the bills?" he asked tremblingly. She nodded, still looking at the apple trees. "Well, then," he said. "May I do what I said? I will pay for the doctor. You can have what you want." Then she turned her face and looked at him. He was too upset to notice the twinkle in her little bla k eyes. "I want apples," she said quietly. "Apples," he almost screamed. "You can have the lot if you want them. Here, come and take what you want." She walked in, straight to his special tree, and stood looking up at the branches. "Just wait a minute," he cried, and he ran down to the other gate, returning very shortly with a ladder. This he placed against the trunk of the tree and mounted. "Hold open your apron," he called. The woman did so. He threw the apples down into it, and, even in that moment of agitation, he realized how badly he was treating them. She suddenly closed her apron, holding the corners collected in one hand. "That's enough," she said, and he came down. He stood shaking before her, looking at her implor- ingly. They stared at each other for an appreciable time. Then she slowly lifted her hand and made some passes over him. "You shall no longer hold what you do not wish," she said solemnly. Then she turned her back and trudged off to the gate. He ran after her. "THE CURSE" 19 "Can I do anything for your boy?" he said quickly, but beyond shaking her head, she took no notice of him whatever and walked on into the wood. Septimus danced a breakdown in the dead leaves. Then he ran to the house. On the hall table there was a letter awaiting him in his Aunt's handwriting. He tore it open, feeling very anxious and worried. After he had read it he danced another breakdown in the hall and waved the letter over his head. He looked round, to find Biggins staring at him with his mouth wide open. "It's all right, Biggins," he cried, "Mrs. Warrington is coming again to stay next week." Biggins shut his mouth and smiled. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS INlHi 018 603 251 2

04010939

Tristan & Isolde, a tragedy

Anspacher, Louis Kaufman

tristanisoldetra00ansp_djvu.txt

V* ^o & * V s r- % Tristan &P Isolde Tristan & Isolde aCragetrp Louis K. Anspacher New York: Brentano's MCMIV OONGRESS Two Couies Received • 1 904 ^ Copyright Entry d .- I ■ • . ' ; - ■ O C <~ CLASS £T XXo. No. r Copyright, 1904, by Louis K. Anspacher All rights reserved To My Mother and To Altera Foreword THE author wishes to make acknowledgment of his grati- tude to Mr. George Edward Wood- berry, whose patient and stimulating criticism has been a source of in- spiration to him in his work. Louis Kaufman Anspacher. New Tork, 1904 Poesy THE poet's soul is an iEolian lyre, On which far wandering airs can softly stray Waking the tones that slumber to a lay That stirs the embrous heart to rapturous fire. The west wind, rising from the sunset pyre Where flame the dolours of the dying day, Sweeps threnodies that weep, yet fondly say The dawn will burst again in carol choir, That augurs day will come. So, Poesy, To thee I turn when mourns my evening wind; Thou art my solace, pledge and prophecy. I turn to thee distressed and unresigned, In sunset anguish for the joys that flee; Thou art the glamour that is left behind. Dramatis Personam Mark, King of Cornwall. Tristan of Lyonesse, Nephew of King Mark, and Knight of the Table Round. S° E T 4 COTnishlords - Rual, Tristan's retainer. iENGUS ) Cathbad > Yeomen and hunters. Gervaine ) Arthur, a youth of the Court. Jean. Servant. Isolde, daughter of Gormun, King of Ireland, and wife of Mark, King of Cornwall. Brang^ena, a lady of the Irish Court, companion of Isolde. Isabel, Lady in waiting to Isolde. Servants, Attendants, Hunters, etc. Time: Late summer, 7th Century, A. D Place: King Mark's Castle Tintagel in Cornwall, and later Lionel's castle on the coast. Act I A HALL in Castle Tintagel. In the rear centre is a large, heavy round-arch portal, on each side l of which are heavy mullioned windows, all opening on a terrace. To the right can be seen the border of a heavy forest, dark with massive trees and the falling gloom of twilight. To the left, through the portal, the rear wing of the castle, with its high tower and ivy-covered sides, is visible. In the interior of the hall, high above the portal, near the arched and groined ceiling, there are three small round-arch windows, set with purple-stained glass. There are entrances right and left to the hall. Between the right door and the front of the stage, is a generous hearth-place, covered with a high overhanging hood. Against the left wall is a low oaken settle. Bows, arrows, spears and nets are lying about. Act I Late Afternoon The curtain discovers hunters, Gervaine, Cathbad, yEngus, Jean, and others, arranging spears, bows and trappings, preparatory to the chase. CATHBAD The afternoon grows late. ^NGUS 'Tis evening soon: Our markmanship will have its trial now. This spear has kissed the blood of many a boar; I sharpened it anew. CATHBAD 'Tis rusty with use; Mine has the better head. ^ENGUS Rusty but trusty, And tried in use. I'd rather have the shaft Seasoned with service, the bow that has been bent. All the hunters match spears and trappings. Enter Arthur, running through the gate from the right. ARTHUR Gervaine, Cathbad, saw ye my hound pass here? He broke the leash on entering the gate. GERVAINE He passed within; we thought he followed you. Exit Arthur across stage to the left. 14 Tristan Sf Isolde Act I CATHBAD A fine lad that. ^NGUS His father was a hunter; He runs as if he had been born to chase. CATHBAD Too slender in the thigh. GERVAINE Where's the king's bow? JEAN Here, fresh suppled, oiled and strung. GERVAINE Takes the bozv. It has grown stubborn with its long disuse. Bends it. Are all the spears new polished for the chase? JEAN They are. More hunters enter and converse to the rear of stage. Enter Arthur from the left, dragged in by the hound. ARTHUR I found him at the warder's post; he stood Awaiting bits; but then I brought him here. A hungry hound is keener on the scent: And so I dragged him off. jENGUS You dragged him off! It seems to me you follow where he leads. Gervaine, going to the gate to the right. GERVAINE The day is fainting into evening's arms, Act I Tristan &f Isolde 15 And dies as mildly as the aged sleep. The night will be too beautiful to hunt, Besides a little bright and clear for us; For million stars will shudder pityingly. We that mean death should choose a darker night. CATHBAD The moon herself has strung her silver bow, And means to hunt as well as we. So come, Be not so tedious; Diana once Did hunt the stag through fabled Grecian nights: Now she entices hearts by her chaste light, And slays them two by two. Her shaft is keen, And kills by very beauty. ^ENGUS Many a maid Hath had her honour slain by such a shaft. What would our lovers do without the moon, The stars and twilight, — yea and everything That makes the day wink to avoid the sight ? CATHBAD I would there were a truce to lovers' trysts, Just for this evening; let it then be dark. Those that are far in suits will bless the dark; Those that begin will chafe expectantly, And grow united close in separation; Because they suffer absence each from each. GERVAINE How well he knows the trail! CATHBAD A wounded hart Is easily tracked. I never yet have said: "The day is fainting into evening's arms," "The night will be too beautiful to hunt." 16 Tristan &f Isolde Act I 'rt grown too soft, and I can guess the cause, now, eh, fellows all, we know. I'll wager Thou' We know, My best knife that even now he carries Some treasured tress bound closely to his breast. Ah, you remember, Jean, we saw him slink About the lodge at twilight yesterday, Plucking the flowers for — which is it now ? And sighing at the moon as just before. GERVAINE Hush thy babbling prattle, fool, leave off! Thou hast affection for thy horse and dog; And this redeems thy callous pig-skin heart. And yet if there should come some burning arrow, Able to pierce thy hide, thou'dst heat thy breath With vows of love, like a house a-fire. ^NGUS The moon will shine in spite of all your words; And guide the beast away from the outspread nets, Which darkness might have hid. If ye can cloud The sky as darkly as your brows with words, Go on: if not, break off. The clash of breath Makes melee in my ears. I would ye had A decent cause for quarrel. 'Twould be sport To see ye both, that both so much denied, Be swords apoint in jealousy. If blood Will willingly be spilt for woman's love, Then wrestle for a man's, to end the spite; And I myself shall umpire in the bout. He that can throw the other most of five, I'll then proclaim the better man of arms, Or love, or whate'er title ye may wish. GERVAINE Agreed ; I'll throw him. Act I Tristan £§f Isolde 17 CATHBAD I'm willing to be thrown, If thou art man enough to lay me flat. GERVAINE Aside. Now, Isabel, it is for thee I fight; So thoughts of thee be near to gird my strength. Abstractedly takes a miniature from his breast and kisses it. CATHBAD Where got you that, sir ? Did you steal from me ? He opens his own bosom, and reveals an identical miniature. The hunters laugh up- roariously; but Gervaine and Cathbad are in great mortification and confusion. iENGUS The pot has called the kettle black ere this. GERVAINE Aside. Going to the left of stage. I would not injure him; he'd stay at home With Isabel to nurse him, while I hunted; And yet I would not have him win of me For the honour of my love. CATHBAD Aside. Going to the right of stage. I would not injure him; her pity then Would make up more than admiration lost; And, winning, I should lose. What shall I do ? I would not fail, yet would not beat him thus. ^ENGTJS So ho! ye both do tread each other's heels. 'Twill be a jolly match, and Isabel — 18 Tristan <§f Isolde Act I Is that her name? — the queen of tournament, Will be the prize. I had not thought that this Had made ye nettles for a mutual rose. I'll have her by my side to watch the sport. Who's Isabel ? JEAN She is Isolde's maid. ^ENGUS So, combatants, ye're ready now, I trust. GERVAINE It is too late, the hunt starts even now; And 'twould fatigue us; let us meet to-morrow. JEAN Aside, to AZngus. It is too late to-day. ^ENGUS Aside, to Jean. I know it is; But leave me to my sport. Aloud. The time hangs heavily before we start; And if ye do not now, upon the word, Fall to; I shall proclaim ye both for cowards, Take Isabel unto myself, and leave Ye both to gape. Gervaine and Cathbad fall to. Enter Lionel. LIONEL Peace, fellows, break ye off ! They cease. Your noise grows riotous within these halls. 'Tis unbecoming; meet beyond the lodge. Act I Tristan &f Isolde 19 And see, here comes Lord Melot, ready for the chase: He's lingering on the terrace's approach. Aside. He always comes so pat upon the time, As if he had some calendar of prophecy. ^ENGUS I like him not; too much the hypocrite, That snake-like sloughs, each day, another face, And takes a new one for each new event. LIONEL He seems a choking weed about the king, And yet his services are large. Men can, With selfishness at heart, oft do a deed That will redound in benefits to all; But yet be selfish when the end's disclosed. He seems most loyal to the noble king, And wields, e'en now, the strong right arm of power. Were heart and service both conjoined in him, He would be past reproach. Enter Melot. MELOT Good even, all. Is everything prepared? We start at night. GERVAINE It is, Sir Melot; readiness awaits The king's command. LIONEL Perchance some exercise Will lift the cloud of sadness from his face, And let it beam as bright as it was wont. 20 Tristan ftf Isolde Act I MELOT Why? Is the king depressed? I saw it not; And I have been a neighbour to his heart These many months. iENGUS Aside. No doubt, that is the cause. GERVAINE I know no reason, sir, but yet it seems Some melancholy broods upon his brow. I that have known him since I was a boy, Have never seen his visage so unhappy. MELOT The king is past his youth; he is not sad. Pray, would you have the middle-aged man As blithe and supple as the younker there, Who would outspeed his hound ? LIONEL It seemed he drooped When Tristan went away to Bretigny. He lives as if he were but half himself Since Tristan left; and he has had no news; No rumour of Sir Tristan's knightly deeds Has come to rouse his pride. MELOT Think you 'tis Tristan that the king now mourns As if in death ? LIONEL I do. GERVAINE So do we all. Act I Tristan Sf Isolde 21 ARTHUR With the hound. Sir Lionel, I've heard of Tristan's name; My mother used it as a prayer for me, That I should grow into a man, and be Most like him. LIONEL 'Twould be well, my lad, for thee To imitate such knighthood, if thou couldst. He was a pattern knight, so noble, gentle, And withal so strong. I can remember, Some three years back, about this time of day, When flowers yield most fragrance ere they close, Upon the road that leads within the wood, He slew grim Morolt. ARTHUR Who was Morolt, sir? LIONEL Isolde's uncle, and brother to the king, The warlike Gormun, king of Ireland. ARTHUR Why slew he him? LIONEL He came for tribute, lad. This land of ours had groaned beneath the tax Of yearly stipend unto Ireland; And Morolt, haughty in his dominance, Came with his insolent demand again. Then Tristan said to Mark : ' ' My liege, let me, Who am of Cornwall now, and of thy blood, Relieve this land of bondage and the tax." Not waiting for refusal then he rode Upon the giant Morolt and his troop. 22 Tristan &P Isolde Act I We heard his thunderous cry: "Hear ye," he said, "We shall no longer pay ye fealty, sir, Nor any tribute." Dark the giant frowned Upon the youth, and then a disdainful smile Curled up his beard, and Tristan set his spear And cried: "I am the tribute, sir. If thou Be bold enough to take me, here I am To meet thy capture. " And they met in fight. They crashed like frowning clouds in a thunder shock; And splintering lightnings shivered on their spears. But Tristan hurled big Morolt o'er his croup; Then leaped he to the ground, as light as falls The windless leaf of autumn to its grave. Morolt arose, with curses on his lips, Drawing his sword, he lashed at Tristan's helm; And Tristan hewed the hulky giant down Upon the second blow. The Irish left, And since that time have never come again; For we are now in peace and wedlock joined. But Tristan found he had been wounded deep In the encounter, with a poisoned sword. He drooped since then, although, 'twas said, Isolde Cured him of the wound. ARTHUR Was't honourable For one to fight with poison on his sword ? LIONEL No, my lad; that was the reason why Isolde undertook to cure the wound; E'en though 'twas done upon her enemy. But, since that time, Sir Tristan always failed, As if he had been spelled by magic art. He came to Cornwall, whole in body, but, I fear, not whole in spirit. He would once Act I Tristan §sf Isolde 23 Outride the boldest in the hunt or lists; But, since that time, he never rode again. ARTHUR Where is he now? LIONEL Alas,we do not know; Some say in Bretigny, or else in France; But nothing certain. GERVAINE Look, men, the shadows' ears are pointed thin; They slant now timorous from their lairs to peep And hear if day be gone. Come, fellows, hasten To see the horses and the hounds, if they Be ready for the chase. Come, all; We'll have our bout to-morrow, before noon. Exeunt all but Melot. MELOT So Tristan 'tis, as these would have me think, Has caused the whole of this abstraction. I dare believe the root lies deeper yet Of that dark gloom that grows to shade his face. 'Tis not dug up with guessing: "Tristan's gone." Tristan, while here, outstarred me; now, away, He seems to have grown brighter, as a comet, Quenched in the dark, still beams in memory. He sits so surely in the king's regard, Since he has gone, that mention of his name, Without his praise, or hope of soon return, Draws from the king a mild look of reproach, That turns all envy to confusion. He shines, anointed in the king's esteem, And my sharp calumnies glide off from him, Like drops from off a swan. Besides, the king, 24 Tristan Sf Isolde Act I Weak from very magnanimity, Will not believe; and looks upon my hints With mute command of silence in his pain. No flash of anger, as at first: — ah, true! If Mark felt no forebodings of the truth; Nor that my hints came but halfway to meet With his suspicions coming the other half, He would continue still in his rebuke. He answers not; this argues half belief. They both are noble, Tristan and the king; My guilt ought hush me. Cease, and man thyself. Ye scruples are the infants of my fear, Which I will strangle at your very birth. I'll think no more of it. To have him win, Where I have failed; to plant his growing tree Upon the soil, made rich with my defeat! No, no. Why stays he not in Bretigny ? What does he here, stepped in as Mark's successor, A mushroom that has sprung up over night? And Tristan is no nobler than myself; Yet still he grows in honour. He has done More deftly what I 'tempted oft to do; I rest now, as it is in Mark's disfavour; And fall to lower ebb in his regard. I must strike upward now, or fail in all. Enter Rual, stealthily, through further door at the right. He does not see Melot; but Melot, standing in the shadow of the gate, sees him. MELOT 'Tis Rual by his gait; but why so close? I'll hide me here to listen what is toward. I have a premonition of some news, To feed the king's suspicion and my cause. Act I Tristan &f Isolde 25 Rual knocks gently for the servant, but starts back at his ozvn noise. RUAL Did ever knocker make such noise as this ? 'Twould rouse the dead. No answer, — then again. Knocks, but door opens. Rual, startled, quickly recovers as servant appears. RUAL Yes, yes, 'tis Rual; gape not, but be quick; For I am still unseen, and would be off Before an eye can find me. Where's Brangsena? SERVANT She was with the queen, when I last saw her. They cannot have ventured far from here, for the queen has not been well of late, nor joyous; and, if one could trust what here is whispered by the gossiping maids about her majesty, — RUAL Enough ! See that thou find Brangaena. Swallow thy words; Go thou to seek her, I would speak with her, With no one near; so haste. Here is a purse To gag thy tongue withal. Puts purse into servant's mouth. SERVANT I shall call her hither; but, since purchase breeds advice, it were safelier to come within; for all prepare here for a hunt, and meet together, within the hour to start. I shall find the lady, and bring her to you. Come within. RUAL I fear a woman's room more than a tent, Where warriors slumber on their hostile arms. Exit within. 26 Tristan Sf Isolde Act I MELOT Surmise will prophesy that Tristan comes ! I'll venture all my favour with the king Upon this stake, and win beyond my hopes ; Or else lose all. The king has not looked kindly Here of late upon my services; And this will win or lose, for now I stand Unsteadily. And Tristan comes again; Isolde will receive him once again; I'll to the king. My star is on the rise; My plan is yet in ferment. I'll to the king. Melot goes toward left, as king enters from the right. KING Where goest thou, Melot ? MELOT Well met, my liege; the men Are all prepared, and wait for night to fall And your command to ride off on the chase; For everything is tip-toed for the start. KING My heart is not forth on the hunt to-night; Some brooding heaviness oppresses me. The evening seems too beautiful for blood, Too much of mocking peace, except within. My heart is knocking secrets in my breast, Which I cannot interpret to my sense. Some unnamed sadness, yet too deep for words, Has settled with the evening on the earth; And darkens all my thoughts from scrutiny: But yet I feel that all is not aright. MELOT My liege, 'twill do thee good to ride; 'twill rouse Thine all too nagging spirits. Thou broodest much. Act I Tristan & Isolde 27 KING Thy hints would have me brood the more; if that I listened with belief to what they pointed. MELOT My former duties to your majesty Will plead with many prayers 'gainst thy distrust. KING Be not so dutiful: so then, in turn, 'Twill not be so incumbent on my thanks To listen to thy speech. MELOT Wouldst thou prefer That I should fawn on thee, like some I know; And seek to rise in thy esteem by smiles, Hiding the malice, as a gloss upon it ? KING The truth is sometimes hard to hear, I know; But does it follow then, my lord, from this, That everything that hurts, perforce, is truth ? MELOT Nay, do not misbelieve me, liege, for 'tis As I have often said — hark, list to me; Now I shall speak more openly my mind. And wouldst thou have surcease of all thy fears, Hear and attest the truth of what I say: Tristan is secret come to Cornwall; sends His missives to thy lady queen by Rual, Whom I saw now, e'en with my eyes, slink in. KING Thou liest, knave! Were Tristan landed here, He would have sent announcement on ahead, To make expectancy a pleasure, ere he came. 28 Tristan Qsf Isolde Act I MELOT Hast thou heard aught of Tristan these long months; Why should he wake the ear of Rumour now ? Ah, true, I had forgot; perhaps he wed, As Rumour says, Iseult of Bretigny. But Rumour's parents never lived in wedlock; And she is a bastard, so we'll have no faith In what she says of other marriages: Her parentage is illegitimate. Perhaps he fathered that report himself To better win thy over-credulous ear, To indicate his love was elsewhere found. But be not gulled by that transparent lie; Thinking his love is elsewhere but in Cornwall. KING Art thou so pure of vicious taint, thyself, That thus art bold to slander all I love ? Art thou so proof and steadfast in thy virtue, That thou so surely canst condemn another ? Men usually condemn that vice the most Which they half fear themselves are subject to; And so buttress themselves in others' praise, Which always hesitates to join the man With what he says is most detestable. Complete thy virtues with some smack of mercy; They savour else too much of Stoic pride; Lacking th' ennobling touch of sympathy With what has fallen low. MELOT Aside. My Rubicon is crossed; I dare not fail. Aloud. It is as I have said, my liege. Act I Tristan ftf Isolde 29 KING Melot, Thou sayest that Rual is already come, And has not craved our presence ? MELOT Yes, my liege; And further secretly besought Brangsena For his lord. KING Darest thou avouch this, man, And put against it, in the balance, all Thy hopes of life and honour in this world, And grace hereafter in the next? MELOT I do. KING Call Rual and the servants forth. I'll see. I hope that I can prove thee false. MELOT My liege, Pray do not so; yield to my plan to-night. And, if I fail to prove thee what I say, If thou thyself add not thy seal thereto, There is a long time left for chastisement. KING Thou venturest well ; what wouldst thou have me do ? MELOT Go forth upon the hunt, and lead them on; And then let us return before the rest, And take an unexpected game within our nets. Tristan will come — 30 Tristan & Isolde Act I KING Enough, no more, I pray. How eager for my sanctity thou art! I would not bring her to the trial, Melot. Were it not that thou hast ventured all upon The sureness of thy prophecy to-night, I could not listen. I never heard thee speak Too well of any one; but marvel yet Thy bravery and daring in dispraise. Go, get thee hence, and call Brangama here; I will not join thee on the hunt before I've looked upon my queen. I'll see thee anon. MELOT Aside. I too have prayed Isolde for her love; I too have stormed the castle of her heart With flaming firebrands shot at her breast. Isolde dare not broach my suit to her; She knows I know of Tristan; and her honour Will never stand the shock of two assaults. Proving her false in this, 'twill force discredit On her truthfulness in all. KING Why stayest thou here? MELOT I wait upon thy further pleasure, liege. KING Thou hast served me with great pains; now call Bran- gsena. Exit Melot. My fears are armour for his calumnies. I cannot easily believe her false; Act I Tristan &? Isolde 31 And, Tristan, no, it is incredible; — All knighthood falls in thy disloyalty. Enter Brangoena, much excited at first. KING Aside. Turning from Brangcena. I cannot speak to her; I shame myself In thus mistrusting, — faugh, — and if there be some guilt, She too would shield it. Openly and calmly. Go thou, Brangaena, tell thy queen Isolde I rest within my chamber, ere I leave To hunt all night. I did not sup with her, And would bespeak her — go. BRANG^NA I shall, my liege. Aside. So close upon the footsteps of discovery, And yet so ignorant of any wrong. Exit. KING If she deny herself to me tonight, I shall misjudge no longer, but discover The questionable core of truth, deep hid In the semblable exterior of deceit. I hang all limp upon a rack of doubt; And each dry leering glance can pierce and wound me. Oh God, I am full loth to go; but yet I must once see her face to face, to scan If any shame lie hidden in her heart, If summer lust lie under this cold snow, Before I slander both our royal selves 32 Tristan ^f Isolde Act I In yielding to these infamous suggestions — When truth is got so easy, as it seems. The golden glory of a monarch's love Ought not so readily be misted, spoiled And tarnished by mere breath of hate and guile. Can she be both so lovely and so false ? I'll pluck the heart of truth from out despair, And live or die. Exit. Enter Gervaine hastily, knocking for the servant. Reads letter. GERVAINE Thou must be true to me, my Isabel; I shall not think thee faithless, though were all The courtiers in the kingdom, far and wide, Gemmed with thy miniature, as with a cross, To hang upon the breast; thy face a charm, To invite the mildest powers to intercede For their salvation. Love, I shall return Upon the morrow morn; be well till then. Let me possess thy thoughts, as thou dost mine. Enter servant. Take thou this to mistress Isabel, And take this fee for silence and for haste; I must be off. Exit Gervaine. SERVANT I go. I go. 'Tis a good business. A summary messenger with variable goodly and golden fees, ac- cording to the wealth of the sender. So speed me well. I ought to frame a petition of license to the king; — but that craves further thought. Ah, — but then, 'tis secret, and the matter has no tongue; why should there then be ears? Exit. Act I Tristan &f Isolde 33 Enter Cathbad by another door, stealthily, and in haste. He knocks on servant's door, and reads letter aloud. CATHBAD I would that I could steal thee, Isabel, As I have stolen thy miniature. Forgive, If one will tell of my dear loving theft. 'Twas love that stole, for thou'st stolen my heart; And 'twas a fair reprise; forgive me, fair, If I have dared to love and hoped to win. Disdain not all my love; each smallest part Were then enough t' excuse my suit to thee. Enter servant. Seeing Cathbad with letter. SERVANT Aside. Upon my word, another missive full of vows and blood. Is all the world in love? Is Venus (who, I have heard, is lit with lover's eyes) — is Venus in the ascendant; and am I made a Mercury general to the males ? CATHBAD Thou knowest the lady Isabel; take this Upon the silent wings of haste to her; And let this fledge thy wings and clog thy tongue. Gives him purse. SERVANT No more missives from Peter to the scullery. I serve now only the nobility. Business is heavy, and I shall soon keep a clerk. CATHBAD What sayest thou, fool? Haste and dispatch. SERVANT Yes, yes, I go. Exit. 34 Tristan £§f Isolde Act I Bugle sounded for the hunt to gather. CATHBAD They muster now anon. Hunters fill the stage with hounds and implements of the chase. Enter among others Melot, Cathbad, Ger- vaine, JEngus, and Arthur. Melot stands anxiously in the background, looking for the king. HUNTERS IN CHORUS The saddled steeds in the mews are stamping; The coistril asses bray. There is music of chains and of bits loud champing; And rattle of armour and buckles aclamping, Amid the shrilly neigh Of blooded coursers, that scorn the ground, With a toss of the mane and a springing bound. MELOT Where is the king? GERVAINE We wait for him. MELOT Perhaps he will not come; he seemed in doubt. CHORUS The armour is standing, all bright in the hall, Bows and arrows and spears. The leader is ready, awaiting the call; The huntsmen are eager for night to fall; Too slow the daylight wears A laggard pace through the waning sky; Were the day a hound, 'twould quicklier fly. Curtain descends on this tableau. Act II THE balcony of Isolde's room in the wing of Castle Tintagel. To the left rear is the large turret seen in Act I, from which wide circular steps lead down to the stage. To the right rear is the deep, dark forest. The left foreground has a large round-arched portico and entrance to the castle. The right foreground has a low marble seat, draped with dark purple cloth. There is a balustrade extending around the rear of the balcony; and in the right rear there is a flight of broad steps descending from the stage to the level of the forest below. There is no light save the warm, soft light of the evening, and the mild effluence of the crescent moon above the turret. Act II Early Evening As curtain rises, Isolde is discovered in her balcony, listening to the hunting song below. Chorus of Hunters. In a trice we are off, and our steeds shall wind us Through caverns of the night; Swifter than light, for the sparks rain behind us; We shall pass and return, ere the slow dawn can find us : Yea, swifter than the light. Our coursers pant fire; it flames in the eye, It flares in the nostril; they burn as they fly. Curtain entirely raised. Some huntsmen abroad are outspreading the mesh Of the finely woven snare. The hounds are straining with might at the leash, With nostrils astart for the smell of flesh; They sniff for a taint in the air. At a leap with each pulse they will skim away; Afar, in the distance, resounds their bay. ISOLDE The evening seems a winter dream of spring, So mild and soft, so mystic and unreal, Ephemeral as childhood's memory, When peeping through the vacancy of age. The air is full of strange enchantments now, Filling the senses numb with soft delight. Now were a time most fitly sought to die; 38 Tristan ^f Isolde Act II Half dreaming melt into the elements, When they seem most alive and beautiful: To fade into the purple of the west. Enter Brangmia with Isabel. BRANG^NA Isolde, Isolde, — ISOLDE 'Tis thou, Brangsena. BRANGJ1NA Yes, with greetings from the king, Thy liege and husband Mark. ISOLDE Aside. My liege and husband. BRANG.ENA Sends thus his pleasure to his loving queen. ISOLDE Aside. His loving queen. BRANGSENA He rests in armour, waiting for the hunt, Which starts at fall of night; and bids thee come. He lacked thy presence at the evening meal; And will be gone till dawn. ISOLDE Brangsena, stay. I shall send Isabel — To Isabel. Go thou, and say Unto my lord the king, I am not well : Tell him I have retired to my room. Act II Tristan &> Isolde 39 BRANG^ENA He can but spend a moment with thee ; go, I pray thee, dear, and use him not so hard. ISOLDE To Isabel. Thou hast my answer; bring it to the king. Exit Isabel. Brangama, come thou close; my heart is full Of strange forebodings and of portents wild. BRANG.ENA Bad dreams are said to augur opposites, And bring us joys in weeds of sorrow draped. I almost fear to tell my other charge. ISOLDE What is it ? BRANG^ENA Isolde, one more hasty message, Breathed in a secret ear from one thou lovest. ISOLDE Tristan! BRANG^ENA Yes, his avant courier waits, And bides thine answer. ISOLDE Haste thee, speak. BRANG^NA He brings his master's greeting from anear; And begs thee grant an audience for to-night. Sir Tristan lingers hidden in the wood, To hear thy word. 40 Tristan Sf Isolde Act II ISOLDE Is Tristan well ? Much changed ? Ah, tell me, sweet, how looks that knightly front ? BRANG^NA Isolde, hark, I have not seen thy love; Only his courier bides at the postern gate: Sir Tristan is not come; and Rual's horse Paws restlessly, and curvets many rods Under the outer barbacan, as if The brute could also share anxiety. They chafe to hear thy bidding, and the sign To tell the joyous news Tristan may come And feed his famished eyes upon thy face. ISOLDE I knew not why I could not bide the king; Some prophecy had whispered in my heart Its mute unworded oracle. Hunters singing below: CHORUS The hounds are off, and the flying steeds lag, As over the hills they go. Our arrows will fly to the heart of the stag, Caught wild in a leap from crag to crag, But for the hounds too slow. Our spears will pierce the frenzied boar; And the mildest grasses will drink his gore. Jubilant shouts below of "The king!" "Hail to the king!" CHORUS The echoes will rouse at the sound of our horn: Tan tan tara tara ta lira — 'Twill shiver the night like the coming of morn; Act II Tristan @>f Isolde 41 From the hills to the valleys 'twill rocking be borne: Tan tan tara tara ta lira— Heigho for the hunter that quarries the beast! A prize of the fell and first place at the feast. Isolde goes to the balcony and looks out. Horns, stamping, etc. ISOLDE The king has gone upon the hunt. Oh haste, Bid Rual speed and tell his master this: Were Isolde in her death's last agony, She yet would rise to find her life renewed In his embrace. Bid his retainer haste. BRANG^NA Isolde, pray do not receive him now. When Mark had spoken, I did think all well; But now, I would not have thee meet him. ISOLDE Peace ! Not risk as much for him as he for me ? BRANGJ3NA He knows not of the danger on his trail; And Melot, when he called me to the king, Looked gracious, more than was his wont. ISOLDE The more my risk, the greater sacrifice. BRANGiENA To-morrow will be safer. ISOLDE Brangsena, haste. If he dare come, shall I not dare receive him ? My happiness is hanging by a thread. 42 Tristan Sf Isolde Act II Brangsena, speed thy task, and bide within With Isabel; nor come to tell me later What thou hast said. I know that he will come. I send thee thus with no alternative, And will receive no answer; — go. BRANGSENA The signal, lady, when he may approach ? ISOLDE Ah, yes, almost forgot. My veil shall hang; He knows the veil, 'twas treasured since he left. 'Twill hang from out the upper turret's mullion; Where, long ago, it often hung before. He knows the place, too, the same balcony That overlooks the wood. Tell him when night, With precious darkness blinds his eager sight, I shall await him. Go, Brangsena, go; And I myself shall hang this evening star; — No other hands but these. Exit Brangcena. Isolde goes above to the turret. ISOLDE It grows already dark. I think that night, Always the friend of lovers, hears my prayer. Looking out from above. The cavalcade goes out the northern gate; And Tristan's message is already passed. Isolde chants. Song to the Night Come, night, and fold the world in thine embrace; On the yielding breast of earth sink in repose. Join waiting lovers at each trysting place; And each dull sightless eye of daylight close. Steal soft, but quickly. Act II Tristan &f Isolde 43 The gloaming is the day grown sick with yearning For his fond lover and eve's dewy bed: Oh come, thou night, the heliotrope is turning, And each earth flower hangs a weary head. Steal soft, but quickly. Each maiden lily weeps a tear of anguish, A tear of hope and disappointment blent; Come quickly, all the mournful earth doth languish. Who, envious of our joy, doth hold thee pent ? Steal soft, but quickly. The longing shadows stretch out toward the east; The dark moon in its crescent's arm is clasped. The dusky valley rolls in billowy mist: Day should, ere this, his golden last have gasped. Steal soft, but quickly. Come, Tristan, let the querulous day not hold thee; These arms will fold thee. Come, thou wanderer. Let daylight linger; can thy love not bold thee To dare a dying sun for sake of her, Who bids thee quickly ? &' Fly, doves, and wake the owls to hasten evening Invite the nightingale to her complaint: Perhaps the day's wan ghost is lingering For mournful obsequies ; but I am faint. Come, night, yea quickly. The horn of the hunter no longer wounds my ear; Even the chattering echo is asleep. Come, love, each wind doth murmur thou art near From bending heavens restless stars do peep. Tristan, — Tristan. 44 Tristan &f Isolde Act II How often, in my thought, I called thy name, And always didst thou come; why stayest thou now? However far thou wert, 'twas yet the same; Thou earnest at my bidding breathed low. Tristan, — Tristan. I call thee now in voice; my lips would press A burning kiss upon each syllable; Yet com'st thou not. Dost fear thy happiness ? Tristan, 'tis eve, I hear the vesper knell Vesper rings. The day's death, Tristan. Enter Tristan belozv, into the pale moon- light. Isolde sees him. Oh, Tristan, come not with the knell, pray wait — Oh come not, stay but one eternal trice; Some premonition — Tristan leaps up the turret steps. Isolde comes to meet him. They embrace. TRISTAN Love, Isolde, Fate, For once, is kind: I've paid the exile's price Of tears and hopes. ISOLDE I've borne thy kiss unsmirched upon my lips, Inviolate, since thou hast left. TRISTAN 'Twas long. I've hungered often for this moment, love: My soul seemed haggard, when removed from thee. Act II Tristan Sf Isolde 45 ISOLDE As mine removed from thine. Ah, Tristan, love, Thou art my sunlight; let me sheaf thee up And garner thee within my arms. TRISTAN My bosom Has been cold since thou hast left it bare. ISOLDE Fold me up within thine arms again, To feel thy wandering breath upon my brow; Let me be islanded in thine embrace; And let the ocean of humanity Reel and stagger in a waste beyond. TRISTAN Once more to have thee close to me, my love — 'Tis like a re-discovery of home: A welling fountain in a desert plain, When one had feared his hopes were a mirage. Thou art no dream, my love ? ISOLDE How pale thou art! TRISTAN I left my life behind me, when I went, And now return to living powers again: Once more I breathe the vital airs and live. ISOLDE Where hast thou wandered through these long sad months ? TRISTAN Through lonely deserts, for thou wert not there. The flowers had no beauty in my sight; The harvests waved for everyone but me; 46 Tristan £§f Isolde Act II The early winds were odourless for me. I lived but in the past, and in my hopes, E'en though they perjured my resolves and thine. Isolde, what deep vows we swore! I have seen thee, love, now let me go. My heaven is attained before my death; And let us both think this a gracious dream, Then vows and honour both would be intact. ISOLDE What spirit prompted us to take those vows ? My heart has never joined my hand in them; Thou hadst not gone beyond the threshold, love, Before I wished thee back again. TRISTAN Isolde, More faithless was I to my vows than thou. The further I withdrew from thee, the more I languished for return. At every step, A vow rebroken, and I wandered far. How does my uncle Mark ? What have I said ! Forgive me, God, for mention of his name. How does my liege the king since I have gone? ISOLDE Quite well. Why hast thou not sent messages These many months ? TRISTAN I could not send to him: He has become a barrier 'twixt our loves, No longer mine own kin, yet innocent. What do we here ? We both are outcasts, love, Shipwrecked in hope upon a desperate sea Of throbbing wholesome life about us both. I saw some holy men upon my road, Act II Tristan &f Isolde 47 Some palmers, happy in their purged lives; But I was all too happy in my sin To understand their bliss, or envy them; To be as blithe and innocent as they. I wished for death; I longed and prayed for death; I was in love with death, and tried to woo her soft; But hopes of seeing thee brought life again, And made me false to her. I never knew That men could have such life in their despair. My hopelessness gave courage still to live; For I had reached the lowest ebb of all; And any change, perforce, was betterment. The winter set a tombstone on the earth; Snow drifted in the hollows of my heart; And yet I lived. And then the summer came. No blossoms bloomed within my stony breast; But sterile hope began to stir again. Couldst thou not be far happier, were I dead ? ISOLDE I've lived with Mark, because he was thy kin. I tried to love him as I would have loved Thy child, if thou hadst died before my time, Leaving this remnant of thyself to me, To cheer my widowhood. The attempt was sick And failed, alas! Husband and child in one — He took thy place, — I did not raise him to it. How could it help but fail ? Alas, it failed, Because I always prayed that it would fail. Why speak we of what was, or what will be ? TRISTAN I've lived so long within the past, 'tis grown The only language I can speak. The runes, Glooming the infinite future, still are dumb And unintelligible. Here we stand 48 Tristan f§f Isolde Act II Upon the keen point of a mountain peak, Both sides abysses, past and those to come. No higher satisfaction than a fear Darkening the depths. ISOLDE Thou'rt come again; King Mark is on the hunt; the night is ours. TRISTAN Ah, yes, we ought be happy, ought we not ? But happiness is yet an unknown tongue, Too long forgotten to be reassumed With all the fluency of constant use. We'll speak about the past as if 'twere past. We should be happy, ought we not, my love ? Come, let us speak again of what has napped, As though 'twere buried, and could never rise As a ghost to fright us with unreal fears. We'll speak of what is gone, as 'twere a tale Others have lived, and lived unhappily. ISOLDE How earnest thou here, to Cornwall ? TRISTAN Abstractedly. Ah, time has brought again undreamed joys; And all is safe; my old retainer lurks Within the shadow of the king's approach. Oh, all the restless months I drave abroad, Since last we parted, now seem swallowed up In one abyss of painful memory — A nightmare brooding o'er a bed of pain. The past is joined again, and I awake, As doth the year from winter sleep to spring. It seems as if I never left thy lips; Nor pressed the unwilling hand in last adieu. Act II Tristan & Isolde 49 ISOLDE Speak not that knell again if thou dost love. Nay, Tristan, there will be no more adieus; For thou wilt never leave me, love, to die Forsaken of thy love; nay, not to die, — Far worse than death, to wander sinfully, Like an unshriven ghost, through all the toil Of desolate days and desert nights; to pine Through leaden moments sluggish as the years Of sunless aeons at the midnight pole. TRISTAN With slight scorn. Ah, love, mine was, perhaps, an easier lot: Through France I wandered, flitted through Provence; I shunned the garish day, and rode by night, Or else, in maddened heat, I lost myself, Vainly endeavouring to forget our love, As we had promised at our last farewell. I wandered thus, through dreary, dreary days; At length my heart failed; I could go no more. The tourney clarion sounded in my ears, Yet waked no courage echo in my heart; For I had lost my spirit and my name, The honour I achieved on tented fields, Won at the spear's point, in the enemy's midst, In many feudal wars and many lands. ISOLDE Tristan, no more ; was fate less harsh with me ? I lingered here alone; no deeds could help To rouse my drooping spirit from its dusk. The world seemed but one large and moveless shadow, Stretched from o'erhanging barren, naked boughs Over the winter's ice, opaque and chill. 50 Tristan £§f Isolde Act II I tried to summon hate to kill my love — To no avail. In vain, I often mused: 'Twas thou that slew my kinsman on my soil, Brave Morolt. Yet was all my fiery hate, The frenzy of my malice, turned to love, Intense, a pendular extreme swung full To the utmost swing; for I must love thee, knight, As once I hated thee, fervent and fierce: No placid middle course betwixt extremes. TRISTAN Tell me, Isolde, I know thou lovest me; Thou'lt answer me the truth, I know thou wilt. This also could avail thy former hate To help thee slay an outraged love. A babbling rumour brought the jealous news That Tristan, noble Tristan Lyonesse, Had wed the fair Iseult of Bretigny. ISOLDE Ah, Tristan, say not so, deny it. Rumour hath often fashioned lies before. Why pause? Thine arms release me: speak, — Oh speak the truth, the worst, the bitterest truth. Speak, Tristan, thou dost know . . . I, too, am wed. TRISTAN Isolde, listen till the end: In many lands I wandered, anguish driven, Until I came, at length, to Bretigny. My old ancestral home in ruins lay; But since its ruin imaged forth my heart, I thought that there I haply could content My few last days among its mossed walls. Iseult of Bretigny dwelt close near me. Act II Tristan & Isolde 51 She was a youthful love; I knew her long. There was a magic in the very name; And I betrothed myself to cure my grief, To turn it to some positive pain of woe, That I might then live down. I prayed that God Would blot thy hovering image from my mind; And aid me to regain what I had lost. One lonely evening, in the calm, there came A thought as wild as ever seared my brain: "Thou dost not love this Iseult; canst thou bring This innocent lamb, to quench a sinful flame With chaste and trustful blood ? Thou lov'st her not : 'Twere better one should die than both should live A mockery on life and love." Then, too, The desecration of thy love wrought so, I could no further wander in my suit. And so I broke it off, confessed my guilt; Told her the motive of dishonoured vows. Had she but scorned me, I could bear it well. Ah no, Isolde, no such joy for me. The drops, of pity stood within those eyes, Melting her pride. She took my hand in hers, Released me to the world again, to thee; Said she was proud to have occupied thy place; And, like a mongrel cur, I slunk away Whipped with her kindness. ISOLDE And then — TRISTAN And then I wandered with blind steps, As listless and as wild as are the paths The sorrowing wind makes through the waving grass At sunset, when the world is bowed in grief. Thou wert an unacknowledged beacon to my feet. 52 Tristan dP Isolde Act II I wandered here, as to the very place That I did once avoid; and when I saw The dream-familiar haunts I knew so well, I came to see thee once before my death, To throw myself once more upon my knees To beg thee— Isolde, hear, there is one saintly gule Beaming still white on my besmirched escutcheon: My tears have washed that spot and kept it pure. One bar of honour beams upon my shield; I've never lost my love for thee; I've often tried. ISOLDE Didst thou not love Iseult of Bretigny ? TRISTAN Isolde, hearken, love, when I was gored, Struck to the earth by Morolt's poisonous sword, It was Isolde healed me of that wound; But, in the healing, thou didst then inflict A deeper, subtler wound, deep to the heart. Thou couldst not heal the gash thyself didst make. I turned to Iseult for a second cure. I bared my breast to her; she had no spell, No soothing touch to balm away the burn. Wouldst thou, Isolde, that I had been cured ? A long pause, then Tristan, startled. What is that light, Isolde ? ISOLDE Where, my love? TRISTAN Above. ISOLDE Oh, 'tis Brangama in her tower room. Act II Tristan £§P Isolde 53 TRISTAN Aside. Love-making under shadows, once again; All love-joy slain with the first beam of day Impaled, perhaps, to be held up to shame. A life of guilty blisses bred in the dark: — Love-making, poisoned full of fears and conscience, While 'tis a-making — A cursed thing of sins Too deep to be confessed. ISOLDE What ails thee, love? TRISTAN A still-born joy, all moribund at birth; An aspen bliss, that quavers in the breath, Spent in professing it — Oh God! Rising. ISOLDE Thou wilt not leave me. TRISTAN No, not against thy will. I would abide with thee eternally; Share every breath with thee and die with thee, To moulder with thee till our dust embraced; And rise with thee to glory 'mid the stars. ISOLDE Oh, would that I had poisoned both of us; Or that the shrieking spirits of the storm Had never disobeyed my beck. I once Could charm the winds and seas; command their strength, As if they were my thralls. I summoned them To gulf the hostile ship that bore us both. 54 Tristan & Isolde Act II Three long wild nights I called, and the sea heard, Scourged like a brutish monster under the lash; But still the arch spirit laughed upon the wave; Shrilled through his frothy teeth, and hissed, "Isolde, Thou too art now controlled; we would obey, If thou wert free to give command. We serve None other but thy will, none other, none." And through the rigging shrieked the echo: "None." I knew then that my hate was almost love. TRISTAN Then willingly would I have died with thee. I felt no shame in that last wild embrace; I thought that it had been our last; for life Had terrors for me worse than death; and thou Hadst once before pointed a sword at me. ISOLDE But that is past, and thou art here again. I married Cornwall to be near to thee; I never loved the king. TRISTAN My uncle Mark — How long must I draw thus my breath in shame! Oh God, the worm within the rose again That seemed so damask fair; the beady eyes, Blinking like sleeping serpents on the brim Of my sweet cup of life. How long, how long, — Perhaps we might have lived too happily, Aspiring for a paradise on earth. ISOLDE Tristan, thou wert nearer when away from me. TRISTAN And I must go away again, Isolde. I would not have thee seem dishonourable. Act II Tristan @f Isolde 55 Shall tongues besmirch the name I love to hear, Clothing our loves in shame ? ISOLDE Sorrow and shame Have bowed me to the yoke I have to bear. Is it for this that I have prayed so long ? TRISTAN My prayer would have thee better than thou knowest. Pardon, my love, I would not hurt thy fears; But the very strength of love I bear to thee Seems brutal in its force and violence. I could not willingly do hurt unto The merest gossamer of thy fine-spun wish, Trembling with rainbow hopes under the sun. My love for thee would have thee pedestalled Above the possible abuse of men. Isolde, half my grief is grief for thee alone, Unshared by any thoughts of my own pain. ISOLDE Tristan, thy name is sadness, yet I feel I too through all this tearful time have earned A privilege to share that name with thee: Its spell has cast an ever-deepening shade Upon my life, until it grew my own. TRISTAN The honey time of breathed vows is past. What shall we do ? Love, thou must come with me. We cannot linger thus; King Mark must know I have thy whole heart; thou hast naught beyond To give to him. We can no longer lie. I would not hate my kinsman as my foe; Stealing in honour's theft what fate gave me. Isolde, speak, say thou wilt fly with me. 56 Tristan Sf Isolde Act II We take but what is ours; come, Isolde, Thou must come; for I take but that which is By thy confession all my own. Why wait? Time serves us with occasion; let us fly Quick as the time upon its aidant wing. Isolde is silent for a moment. Dost thou command me leave thee, love — thou'rt mute? ISOLDE Tristan, no, no. Nay, go not, go not now; And yet my fears command thee not to stay. I'll fly with thee, wherever thou wilt go; I've always been with thee. Calls. Brangsena, — hist — A noise. Enter Rual, driving in Melot at sword's point. RUAL Die, thou spying, smelling, sneaking hound. If I could make dispatch without my sword, I would not smirch its honour in thy gore. MELOT Look to thyself, thou Pandarus. RUAL Beware! Tristan, a spying dog! TRISTAN Put up thy sword. Brangcena, coming down hastily from turret. BRANG^NA Isolde, I saw the king approach the gate; I could not so mistake so high a crest. Act II Tristan £§f Isolde 57 There seemed to lurk aside him one whose step I am familiar with, seen in the dark o' nights. ISOLDE Brangama, this is he. This is the cur, Enter king behind, unnoticed by all. The mongrel hound who licked and fawned me first, With base and flattering tongue. I knew thee, knave. Now, like the dog thou art, thou show'st thy fangs, More like a snake that bites a scorning heel; When honour treads a shame in its own dust. Thou'rt waked again by envy to new life. The falsehood thou didst act against thy king, The treason to thy vowed allegiance, Thou heap'st upon another's honoured head To save thy own. Thou, his informer, Melot! Who dared once offer me the secret love That thou betrayest now, thy heat rebuked! Oh, shame, — let one that has no guilt at heart Be first to cast the stone. TRISTAN Drawing. Thou miscreant dog, Thy steel is drawn; defend thyself. MELOT I'll not cross swords with such as thou. RUAL Thou couldst do well to die by such a hand. Nay, too much honour for a skulking wretch; 'Twould save thee from deserved oblivion. To die by such an arm, 'twould be too much For such as thou. Come, spend no breath in prayer; Thou'lt need it all. If that thy coward legs, 58 Tristan £§f Isolde Act II Well trained to flee, had served not so well, Thou wouldst e'en now be groaning out thy last, Upon the highway where we met. TRISTAN Coward, One of us two must die; so guard thyself. They fight. KING Coming forward. Tristan! Tristan drops his sword, but Melot keeps on fighting. Rual interferes to guard his master, and disarms Melot; but Tristan has been wounded. KING Lay nothing more upon thy soul. RUAL To Melot. Cullion and coward, to strike at one unarmed And undefended! Tristan staggers into Rual's arms. KING Peace! throw down your swords — Then to Melot. Yes, thou didst speak the truth; but yet from such As thou I cannot hear it said. Thy tongue Doth blacken candour when it utters it. Thy treasonous heart puts on the mask of truth; What canst thou say to answer this, I charge ? Brang&na and Isolde are with Tristan and Rual on right of stage. Act II Tristan @f Isolde 59 BRANG^NA Aside. Ah, go, good Rual, lead him off. Bring him to Bretigny; all will be well. Tristan, stay not; all will be well, I know: There is as much of fate as fault in this. I'll venture on the presence of the king, And tell a secret to his majesty, Too sad for condemnation. Go, pray go. When he learns all, he must forgive us all; Or else I'll share the lot of sin with you. Oh, tarry not, but go immediately. I know thy fate; I was its instrument. KING To Melot. If thou canst clear thee of the very crime Thou standest now accuser for, I'll hear; Till then, be silent. Oft, ere Tristan left Our kingdom, didst thou pour thy venom breath In my unwilling ears; with words to hint That Tristan shaped succession for my crown By treasonous ways. I see thy soul Ambitious to outstar by foulest means The rising sun of Tristan soon eclipsed. Envy, whetted on malice, forked thy tongue; Calumniating others but to hide Thy nude, defeated guilt in others' shame; Building thyself in honour on the wrecks Of those whose fame and honourable name Thou levelest down. Melot, if, in three days, Thou hast not cleared thyself of what I charge Or, if thy shame, last remnant of thine honour, Banish thee not hence; I shall proclaim 60 Tristan Sf Isolde Act II Rewards upon thy head, dead or alive. Now go. Exit Melot. Is Tristan wounded ? BRANG.ENA [faints. Slightly, my liege; he RUAL That was a coward blow that Melot struck. KING The hunt is over, and the heart is slain. My soul misgives me, oh, how I fear to know The bald, entire truth. Exit into castle. Curtain. Act III THE king's audience chamber in Castle Tin- tagel. The hall is very high, round-arched and vaulted. There are massive pillars to support the arches; and, to the right, is a narrow aisle, between the pillars and the wall. There are en- trances to both right and left foreground. In the centre of the hall is an elevated throne, with a single throne chair upon it. The light is given by a burning cresset. Act III Late Night The curtain discovers King Mark alone upon his throne. KING A king should be his people in one man. I've tried to be; but am their griefs alone, And nothing of their joys. Ah, who would be A king! Whom can I trust? Deluded fool, Sport for the nearest of my heart's elect, Target for all the wandering shafts of shame. And must I spend my blood in blushes now, That once would give my every drop for them ? To learn the truth from sources that I hate, And would have died but to have proven false! That one I loved and cherished as a son Should turn the snake to sting my nurturing bosom. Did Fate need both of them to fail me now In faithlessness? Whom have I here about To solace now my life ? Its chiefest part Was spent to rear my kingdom up for him; Knocking heard at the door, to left. And now he fails me, and perhaps is dead. Knocking. Then enter Brangoena. KING Thinking it his servant. Tell everyone I will not be disturbed. 64 Tristan gf Isolde Act III BRANG^ENA Thy servant has withdrawn to let me in; I would not be refused. KING What — enter here! Thy shame ought take thee hence; ere my command Burst out and bid thee go. Darest thou so much As force thyself ? I cannot bear thy f ace — Begone. BRANG^ENA Oh, king, by all the love that once Did warm thy heart to those thou long hast loved — By all the hopes thou hadst of love returned, Hear me. KING Again be gulled by smooth deceit; And once again be buffeted by lies From one to th' other ? No. Those that I loved Have dallied with me ill enough till now: Can I expect the less sin, then, from thee, To whom I never leaned ? BRANG.ENA Dost thou prefer To thus believe all irredeemable? I cannot gloze it all, nor all the guilt Extenuate; I am too deep myself; But they were puppets both for grinning Fate. KING Art thou, too, one of Ireland's sorcerers, That play with Fate and destiny for sport ? I've heard Isolde came from such a stock. What witchcraft wilt thou practise now on me ? Their sin was patent, glaring, manifest, Act III Tristan &> Isolde 65 Open to view; wouldst thou then call me blind Or idiotic ? Go, my senses fail. Thunder is hovering o'er thy guilty head. Go, go; till now I always thought thee far Too small for punishment. Wake not my ire, Lest it burn thee too. BRANG^NA I fear it not. Thine anger could not hurt me half so much As silence forced, where truth could ease us all. KING Aside. I listened once to Melot for my pain; Why not to her for solace ? God, the truth — Give me the truth, e'en though the words be spears Each quivering in my breast. Aloud. Now, answer me. Upon thy life use no evasions, woman. I would not thus have brought thee to this pass; Thou'st made thy fate; I did not summon thee; Now thou art here, so answer truthfully: How long was Tristan here ? BRANG^NA He came at evening, when the hunt rode off. KING Isolde knew that he would come to-night ? BRANG^NA Yes, my liege, but not before this eve. KING How did she know that he would come ? 66 Tristan &P Isolde Act III BRANG^ENA He sent his old retainer, trusty Rual, To bring his greeting to Isolde and Announce his coming with the night. KING Have they met oft before in secrecy ? BRANG^NA They have, my liege, ere Tristan went away. KING Oh, faithless ones ! and thou didst play thy part, Always the sentinel to shamelessness, A looker-out to see the coast was clear, Doing the service of a withered bawd, Squat in thy watch-tower on the balcony ? BRANGJ1NA Oh, say not so, my liege, my lord, — KING Enough! Enough — I loathe thee; get thee hence. BRANG^NA I am, perhaps, in guilt; but not so deep. Hear my whole tale; 'twill win thee to forgive. KING What tale can take the blush from off their shame ? BRANGiENA Hear me, I pray. KING Why does Isolde speak not for herself ? What needs she such as thou to mouth her lies ? These miseries are meant for two alone; A third, and such a third, intrudes within Act III Tristan &P Isolde 67 What else were hushed in proudest privacy. What truth can come from one whose life, as thine, Was one long practise of deceit ? Oh, where Are truth and honour, faith and chastity? In Tristan all these qualities were met, And bowed in mutual grace before he fell. And Tristan's lily smirched, which was as pure In countenance as it was gold at heart, How wilted now! How shall I, then, trust thee, Whose business was a lie; whose only duty Lay in joining paramours ? BRANG^ENA My liege, I pray thee, list my tale; and then, If I in aught have lied, design what tortures, Punishments, thou wilt for me to endure. Isolde cannot exculpate herself; She knows not why she sinned, nor why she lacked Restraint from what she did. KING She knew full well Her book of self-defense in Melot's case. It were far better if those two had sinned, So all my trust in men would not have fallen When Tristan fell, and all my faith with him. Enter Tristan, wounded, slowly from the right. TRISTAN King Mark, I come here to condemn myself Of sins by far too deep for thy forgiveness. Turning away from Brangcena. But grant me, liege, to witness my own sin; And not that one whose office I did scorn Inform against me. I shall tell the truth. 68 Tristan & Isolde Act III KING Tristan, thine honour is in jeopardy. Dost thou stand here a suppliant at my throne ? TRISTAN I do. KING A suppliant ought never wear a sword. Tristan gives up sivord and gauntlet at foot of throne. r KING Twas never yielded to an enemy: And now he takes a traitor's sword away, Who was that traitor's father and his friend. I did thee wrong in listening to Brangsena; She pressed herself upon me. BRANG^NA Let me speak; Ye know not what ye do in ignorance. Enter Isolde from the right door. ISOLDE If both have sinned, my place is at his side. With him I fell, with him I will be judged. For me, love knows no higher law than love; If that be sin, I wait my punishment. KING To Isolde. I offered thee the whole of all my crown; Thou giv'st me in return thy total shame. To Tristan. In thee, Oh, Tristan, did I live again My whole youth's life, with all my better self Act III Tristan ftf Isolde 69 As Mentor. Oh, the pain, the grief, the sadness And the shame! TRISTAN The sin was mine alone; The weakness hers. Be just; and being just, Be merciful. Upon my knees I beg, If ever I have done thee services, Hear me, as thou wouldst listen to a friend; Condemn me, as thou wouldst thine enemy. KING Speak not to me of chivalrous exploits, Of nations conquered and of battles won. What boots the worship at my boundaries, When thou hast smirched the altars at my hearth ? I looked on thee, at first, as looks the sun Upon the earth upbrightening in his glance, That never sees the shadows to his rays. And then, it seemed, I saw thee not so bright: Still did I think my eye was dimmed, or that Perchance some cloud had crept between, and soiled The open candour of thine honest eye. I never thought that thou couldst prove me false; But now I see thy light was all my own. I have deceived myself in thee. TRISTAN Too true. I cannot exculpate myself; I know Too well the hellish depth of my disgrace. KING Oh, that thou hadst been not so noble once! There could not now be such a falling off; Thou couldst not be so base. For thou dost sin Doubly the more in sinning 'gainst thyself; 70 Tristan Sf Isolde Act III And then in sinning 'gainst expectancy. And treason in high places dims the mark Of other high achievement. There's a duty, Having been noble, to continue so; Else former nobleness seems but deceit. The buzzing rumours of Sir Launcelot's sin Have darked the glamour of his services; And Melot, too, was full of services — I hate the word. To Isolde. Did Melot lure thee, too ? BRANG.ENA He did, my liege, but never won response. KING So pure to Tristan, yet so false to me Who never killed her kin. ISOLDE King Mark, My wish is potent o'er the wills of men. No woman's frailty is my excuse, And where I've trespassed, thou canst make amends. My guilt was deeper far than Tristan knows. I never have proved worthy of his love. He pleaded with me often, begging me, Beseeching and imploring me to tell The shameless conduct of our secrecy. I would not tell thee, fearing for his life, And I was satisfied with half a joy, Intenser for its mad anxiety. He would not play the thief within thy halls, And so he left me never to return, But my enchantments brought him back again. Act III Tristan ftP Isolde 71 KING He would not play the thief within my halls! He stole my honour ere he left. What need For conscientious scruples after he took That which his absence never could replace ? Thou wert my wife, the sharer of my throne — ISOLDE The world has called me Isolde, Cornwall's queen; My heart has called me only Tristan's love. I sinned to Tristan; never sinned to thee. Where I loved not, I could not even trespass. KING Is marriage nothing but a hollow rite ? ISOLDE A loveless marriage is a harlotry, Allowed by law, but sinful, low and base. In this my love for Tristan was impure. KING Yet we were wedded, were we not ? ISOLDE We were; but answer me, my king: Have I, in all these months, dropped thee a word That might have been construed as love returned ? Have I not been as cold as icicles, Remote as winter snow in summer time, Distant and chill ? I've never lied to thee. Sir Tristan had my whole of heart; I had No little more to give; and if I had, I would have been too jealous of that little Ever to yield it up where love was not. 72 Tristan & Isolde Act III KING My pleas can touch thee not; yet know, Isolde, I loved thee once. To Tristan. I sent thee, in all trust, To Ireland, to woo my bride for me. TRISTAN Base Tristan went for thee and served himself. ISOLDE I hated Tristan, when he wooed for thee; And jealousy had killed him thrice ere this, Had love not conquered in its stead. KING Isolde, I was too proud to plead with thee for love; Not wishing love unwillingly bestowed, Or cold withheld. I could not, like a youth, Make every breath a hot petition fired Within the breast, and sealed with deathless vows. My love for thee was like a high respect. Sometime I hoped and prayed that love would come, Like unsought buds of spring, reburgeoning The boughs of last year's fall with new year's bloom. ISOLDE Alas! I cannot love but once in life, As I can die but once. Thy love for me Was beautiful and tender, like the love The waning summer feels for its last bud; When still that bud can never grow to seed. My heart was gone; I could not make response; I would not lie to thee more than I did; And so I held myself aloof from thee. Act III Tristan SP Isolde 73 KING My love was reckoned naught! ISOLDE My heart had leaped the barriers of hate; Think you 'twould scruple at the bonds of love ? TRISTAN I overbore her scruples by my sin. My guilty history is brief to tell. I slew her uncle Morolt, but was hurt By him in turn. The festering wound grew worse; For Morolt's sword was poisoned in the blade. And here I languished from my deadly wound, Until I heard there was one single hope, Isolde of Ireland, far famed for art And magic means to battle off grim Death. She knew the soothing balsams that could cure The cankered wound; for she had stilled the drops From midnight weeds to venom Morolt's sword, So like a snake it bit. And so I went To Ireland in disguise, pale and distressed, A wandering troubadour. ISOLDE Dreamily. He sang so sweet, And looked so melancholy large in eye, I pitied him in pain. He won my love; And since that time has never lost it, liege. It seemed his pain had made his lay more sweet, As I have heard the nightingale doth sing Pierced by a thorn; and that God pains the hearts Of poets most who sing the sweetest songs. I nursed him through my pity to my love. 74 Tristan §f Isolde Act III KING Would thou hadst died before returning home, With memory of thy deeds for monuments, To blazon forth thy chivalry to time. Where didst thou learn, Isolde, that 'twas he Who slew thy uncle in the tournament ? ISOLDE 'Twas whispered in my fearful ears by some Who were with Morolt when he fell, that this Same minstrel was the doer of that deed. I then remembered of the poisoned wound. None but the venom I had stilled could make So festering a sore. It troubled me — KING And couldst thou love him after thou hadst learned He was thine enemy, whom duty said Hate might avenge, but friendship never shield ? ISOLDE I loved him, ere I knew he was a foe. 'Twas not without a struggle that I loved My country's enemy. It troubled me, And preyed like a vulture on my guilty thought. My dreams were troublous and my sleep was vexed; And, one wild night, when frenzied by a storm, Madly I hastened from my couch, led on By unavenged Morolt from his grave. I took his battled sword and hastened off; — BRANG^NA I followed her in fear for what might hap; Yet feared to speak to her, she looked so wild, And muttered low, and moaned along the hall; As if the wind, torn loose from out the storm, Were wandering through a cavern. Treading soft And stealthily she opened Tristan's door, — Act III Tristan &F Isolde 75 TRISTAN Cease, cease, thou meddling gossip; leave thy tales. King Mark, I've told thee all there is to say. ISOLDE He knows not how the fates have ordered this : May heaven witness to the truth I tell. I left my couch, and opened Tristan's door; And there he lay, in bloom of growing health, Lulled like a babe, asleep upon his arm, Swung in the cradle of a lover's dream. The storm that rocked the battlements to fear Sang him but deeper in repose. It seemed He lisped some snatch of song from far Provence, Of falling rivers and the laughing sea. I swung my uncle's deadly sword aloft. There came a wandering smile to Tristan's lips : He called "Isolde," and murmured of his love. The vision fled ; the sword fell from my grasp : He, startled by the clang, woke up amazed; I sank in sobs upon his breast. BRANG^ENA I drew her gently by her nerveless hand, And led her to her chilly couch again. She followed like a child, or one in dream; So madly overwrought, she had no will. They knew they loved each other. KING Say you so, You loved each other, ere you came to Cornwall ? TRISTAN Too well, my liege, indeed, and yet too ill. I followed up advantages in love: She was a flower cloistered in the walls; 76 Tristan &? Isolde Act III And I was come, with all the great renown Of Arthur's court to plead in my behalf. I loved her in my dreams; and in the day I dreamed again the visions of the night. And when the avalanche of sin was loosed, My will was weak and guilty: I preferred To let myself be borne upon its drift, Rather than stem its constant growing might. What arts, what courtesies, a knight could use Against unarmed innocence, I used, And thrived in her affection. I grew base, Electing rather to be loved than honoured; Serving the goddess of the easier rites Than Chastity, whose worship is restraint, And not indulgence. This, oh king, is but The mildest name that weakness gives offense. I sinned and dragged Isolde down with me; My weakness sapped her strength, and so she fell. There is no more to say, no pleas to make, No fears that my guilt may be magnified; For 'tis impossible. BRANG^NA To Tristan. Be not so rash! Thou wrong'st Isolde in thy violent haste. To king. Until this time their love was saintly pure: I never shall forget the day it fell. ISOLDE I loved my enemy. Too soon there came A summons calling Tristan to his home In far-off Bretigny; for Rual came Deploring that his realm had fallen away. Act III Tristan @f Isolde 77 KING Was Rual always second in the plot? I thought that there was honesty itself Dressed out in roughness. Could he, too, play knave, And hire himself to play a part like thine ? Ah, yes, — he, too, was on the watch and guard, — Rual, Rual — TRISTAN He thought his master never could do wrong. Tristan feels his wound and seems to grow weaker. KING To Brangana. Nor thou thy mistress. Well wouldst thou have served, Hadst thou but been so daring for their love, When 'twas an honourable love; not now, Or since that time. To Isolde. Why did you not wed then ? All would have been far happier. ISOLDE I could not; For then 'twas whispered loudly who he was, This wandering minstrel in the castle walls. Fearing for him, I bade him flee my home; For Morolt's friends meant ill, and 'twas unsafe. He left with deep sworn vows, and promises Of soon return. Within a meagre year He came again to Ireland, to woo His mistress for thy spouse. My father heard With open pleasure all the offered plans: Tristan should woo Isolde for thy bride, And Cornwall join with Ireland in peace. 78 Tristan ftf Isolde Act III Tristan made effort to forget his love: My pride, touched to the quick by his reserve, Soon poisoned all my love to hate again. I felt that I had been betrayed by him; I could not love thee, never had seen thee yet; And yet loved Tristan though I tried to hate him. KING Why cam'st thou, then; did Tristan bid thee come? ISOLDE He brought thy bidding, added none of his. BRANG^NA 'Tis true. I was at court when Tristan came, And was Isolde's ear of confidence. Oh mistress, let me speak, I know the tale; And have recited it full many a time In restless nights, when fearful of thy fate. Isolde would not come at first, my liege; But then her mother reasoned with her thus: That thou wert brave and noble, much revered And lovable; and there were duties, too, Which ought to oversway the selfish choice. The marriage would bring peace to all her people. Further, the old queen whispered in her ear: "Isolde, here are potions rare and strong: The one for deadly wounds and injuries; The other is a poison, that will eat The very roots of life, and leave no trace Disfeaturing the trunk: this canst thou use To free thee from the galling weight of life, If it become too burdensome to bear. And last, most precious and of all the best, Here, in the casket, is a phial of love, A philter, culled from every amorous bud, Act III Tristan ftf Isolde 79 Opened at midnight under wistful moons. Its colour is the deep red of the passion rose; Quaff this with Mark and ye shall live and love." These were the last words of the mother queen. KING Is that the way ye love in Ireland ? A magic love of potions drunk and swallowed, Gulped at a wink; hearts in a cup of wine? ISOLDE I made a vow I would not drink the draught. Since Tristan failed in proof of love, I came, Half following the finger of my fate ; Half in a spite to show I had no love. My pride was boasting that it had no heart, When pride was but the voice of wounded love. We set out on the voyage. Tristan stood E'en at the helm, at far remove from us, Seeking a solace in the rolling seas; His honour putting bars between our hearts Which even then ought have been joined in love. He never spoke to me until we came In sight of Cornwall. Then on nearing land, — KING And were ye chaste until ye landed here; And then lost all your scruples at a trice, To shelter guile beneath my loving wing? ISOLDE What ails thee, Tristan? TRISTAN My wound has bled afresh. BRANG^NA Isolde asked that Tristan come to her Before they landed. 80 Tristan &> Isolde Act III TRISTAN I never should have come; And yet I came. If ever thou hast loved me, Grant me the boon of timely penitence; Be merciful to her whose life I wrecked, And let me die. My wound is keen, I go With nothing more to say; but shall return To hear my doom. KING Nay, rest to hear it now. We three can never dwell beneath one roof; Tintagel Castle, where king Uther died, The mighty founder of a line of kings, Is now too small to hold its three possessors. My human pity never learned revenge; There is no malice in my punishment. The pillory of public banishment Will not be pressed on thee; but thou must go, Parting as secretly as thou hast come. Thou art not pure enough to seek the Grail; For he who compasses that high devoir Must guiltless be, and pure as virgin lilies. Go, then, thy better self will pray for thee; Devote thyself to vows and blessed works; Until the saints, whose joy is saving souls, Absolve thy heart. I, too, in time, shall add What prayers forgiveness may find tongue to speak. My blessings go as wayfarers with thee. Go, go; I never wish to see thy face again. TRISTAN I thank thee for thy mercy, king and judge. If I have found thy clemency, though guilty, Be more than justly merciful to her Whom I have wronged. Act III Tristan & Isolde 81 Tristan bows to his knees, kisses the hem of the king's garment, struggles to his feet and, tottering, leaves the chamber. Isolde hesitates a moment, turns appealingly to the king, and then, looking after Tris- tan, goes toward the door. She turns to the king again and says: ISOLDE I follow him in wish, — why not in deed ? The king zvatches her in pained silence withdraw to the threshold; then she returns impulsively and says: 'Twere best that all be open now at last. KING What hast thou still to say ? 'Twere futile now To leave the tale unfinished as it is. ISOLDE 'Tis quickly told. We came in sight of land; Brangsena summoned Tristan from the helm. BRANG^NA Thrice I was sent to him and thrice refused. ISOLDE Unwillingly he came to me at last. She pauses. BRANG^ENA There glowed some dreadful menace in her eye; And when Sir Tristan came, she chided him For keeping far aloof throughout the voyage. Tristan replied his honour bade him stay Guarding the bride, yet speaking not with her. There sprang a scorned retort to Isolde's lips: 82 Tristan {§? Isolde Act III "Thou dost not think the king has aught to fear From thee ?" He blushed and bowed, and answered not; But acted haughtily. I saw the love Struggle to his eyes, yet faint upon his tongue. He knew too well that if he showed his love, Isolde would have never married thee. KING Was honour always in the way of love, Keeping you separate till thou wast a wife, That lust might have a freer license then ? ISOLDE 'Tis a long story both of love and pride, Honour and hate, 'gainst fate and destiny. The pride that aided Tristan in his duty, Flared to a hate in me. I told the knight How he had trifled with my happiness. Sir Tristan answered not; but love and pain Sat in the eye where pride and faith had dwelt. He listened, curbed like a restive, mettled steed, To my rebuke, without a word to say. I whispered hoarsely in Brangsena's ear, That I would far prefer to die with him That I once loved, than live my days with thee. Said hurriedly my heart could not be bartered, Bought thus and sold to make a petty peace: Murmured I loved Sir Tristan well enough To die with him in love; yet hated him Sufficiently to make him die with me. BRANG^NA Then turned she with triumphant scorn about, Saying that she would pledge her faith in wine : "One single cup to bury hatred in; I would no longer hate my husband's kin — " Act III Tristan ftf Isolde 83 ISOLDE And, pointing to the deadly phial, I said: "Brangsena, pour this in the chalice there; Say that my honour could not brook the sale." KING Wouldst thou have poisoned both ? 'Twas desperate ! BRANG.ENA Her eye burned on the casket; then she paused. I trembled, knew not what to do; some power Forced me to obey. To save them both, I poured The potent potion of the amorous phial. I knew the other would have killed them both. KING And did you drink of this ? ISOLDE We did, my liege. Tristan suspected that his death was near, And smiled at him upon the chalice brim. He read the meaning in my baleful glance; And said: "Oh, lose thy hate, let's bury all." So Tristan lifted it unto his lips, Drinking the goblet fully to the half. I snatched the fateful cup: I saw the red, The deep red passionate tint, looked wild at her, Pointing to Brangama. Cursed the deception, yet I drank the dregs. KING They drank the potion that was meant for me! BRANG^ENA She never would have drunk it, had she known Ere Tristan drained it, what the chalice held. They drank of death, yea, death to their hate and vows. 84 Tristan & Isolde Act III His honour drowned in that fell drink; her hate Expired. They fell into each other's arms; The love which they interred rose up reborn, Full winged, for all eternity. KING Oh, strange! Oh, heavy, heavy, heavy grief! Go on. BRANGiENA Isolde dimly knew what she had done. She stood as one in stupour waiting death; And Tristan knew not why he burned again. Isolde, when she saw 'twas life that came Instead of death, it seemed to her that heaven Had merely stooped to earth; no common air Was that she breathed. ISOLDE The rest thou knowest. KING Alas, too well. When did she learn the truth ? This is the very recklessness of love. BRANG.ENA She did not ask to know what phial she drank Until much later, on the very day That followed Tristan's going from thy court; When they had made their seeming last farewell. Perhaps she meant then to have quaffed with thee; But then I told her of the circumstance. She smiled through all her tears, said 'twas a star That beamed on Tristan's soon return from far. KING Knows Tristan aught of this ? Act III Tristan &f Isolde 85 ISOLDE Nothing, my liege. I scorned to tell him of the potion's power. Isolde withdraws to her exit; with a ges- ture of absolute despair, she says: My heart is bleeding in Sir Tristan's wound And thy disgrace. There's nothing more to say. The tale is told. Farewell. Mine was the guilt, His was the suffering and thine the shame. God give thee grace. Exit. KING Ere this did Isolde ever ask this drink for me ? BRANG^NA I broached it once on shipboard, but she said, She never would be medicined to love. She had one heart to give and that was gone. Her love was not requited; so to fill The empty aching space a frenzy grew. KING My love for them would have thee innocent; That love has asked belief from willing ears. Pray leave me now; I am not clear in mind Or heart or purpose; only know this, madam, Whate'er I do will not be in revenge, But in forgiveness. Tristan must away; The commons shall not cry that he has made A cuckold of their king. I cannot go. This place is blotted for him till he leave. Pardon will fall upon him like a grace When all his open penances are done; And he is shriven of his magic fault. Then will the people hail him for their king, Who now would smother curses under breath, 86 Tristan &> Isolde Act III And choke his hopes. Leave me now, and pray That Melot's sword was not too deeply thrust. Where's Melot ? Call my servant here. His life Will answer Tristan's lightest wound. Exit Brangcena; reenter, immediately, Bran- gcena with servant. Where's Melot, sir? Sawest thou him leave the castle in the night ? SERVANT Drunk. He left no letter, no missive and no purse. He's a stingy, blackguardly caitiff, is this Melot. He crossed my toll path many times and never left a single groat for toll. 'Twas only Rual and the hunters; and they may all have back their purses (drawing them out and feeling them). Oh, fie! they're empty; I drank them up, and I'll no letter-carrying further. The purses stuck my tongue to the roof of my mouth ; but since I have spent them I am free to speak again. I'll no let- ter-carrying further. I brought one to Lady Brangsena, and she received it by my word of mouth. Didst thou not, madam ? I never thought thy ugliness could hold so good a man as Rual is. But they did meet, and speak, my liege. Now deny it, lady, if thou canst. The other letters were to mistress Isabel. Oh, my liege, so much hot love it burned my hand; and I opened the seal to see what was contained in it, — for the safety of the building. Love had warped and twisted their brains. Insanity blew from out their gaping words, like hot air through a cracked furnace door. By my soul, I couldn't understand a word of it; so their purses bought them nothing,— not even my silence, — ha, ha! How could I speak of the contents, when no sane man could write nor read nor utter them ? Act III Tristan £§P Isolde 87 KING What letters, man ? SERVANT Two letters, my liege, by thy leave, for mistress Isabel; nay, without thy leave, for mistress Isabel. For the first I got an added fee, for it joyed her much; and she did smile and weep and droop with the eye; but for the second one I brought her — ough — I stood awhiles she read it, hoping for another purse for pleas- ant services — when, oh Lord! I hear a sudden com- mand of "Out, you rascal!" "Rascal," sir, she called the message bearer to the nobility of the realm, the Mercury of the Kingdom. And that foul slander was the beginning of my overthrow. I'll no more on the business. I thought to have kept a clerk, but no more, no more — KING Art thou drunk, man ? I asked thee but if Melot left the castle. SERVANT I am not drunk because Melot left the castle. I didn't see him leave. I've told your majesty he's a tight-fisted, miserly caitiff — an opener of doors — without fees. No one ever yet got drunk when he came or when he left. KING Go, get thee gone. Thy wealth has stolen thy wit. Exit servant. Brangsena, see That the seneschal procure this man's discharge. We shall learn later of Lord Melot's doings. Then get thee to thy chamber and repose. Night still is brooding o'er the darkened earth; And thou must be well rested for the morrow, Too big with all our future happiness 88 Tristan &f Isolde Act III To suffer weak essays. Good night. Calm dreams Will wander through thy purged conscience now, As angels wafting through the zones of heaven. Sir Tristan's wound will stay him till the dawn. BRANG^NA My will is servant to thy wish; but I, If thy permission grant it, would have spoken To Isolde yet this night. KING I shall consult with holy men till dawn. Send thou the chaplain to the oratory; And bid him rouse no others as he comes. Exit Brangcsna. KING Oh, God, that I brought pain where most I felt A joy in giving joy. Why didst not speak, Isolde or Brangsena, Tristan, all ? Ye might have found in me a willing friend; Who long through ignorance was made a foe. I should have known it, seen that I was old; The mystery and magic of young love Are passed from me. Had I not eyes to see ? I often felt that what Isolde gave Was only all the heaping love I offered, Returned again to me, with nothing more Added by her. Oh, Tristan, Tristan, son! I now forgive thee all, yes, freely all. Thou wast the heir- apparent to my throne; I loved thee not as nephew, but as son; And would have given thee thy lovely queen. There is but one allotment in our love. Let future be the health and remedy For ills the past inflicts. Curtain. Act IV THE throne chamber in Castle Tintagel. The architecture is of the same character as that of Act III. There are two entrances from the left, and one entrance from the right. To the rear there is a large portal opening on a balcony, from which the forest can be discerned. In the centre of the room there is a large elevated dais, with two throne chairs. A baldachin extends over the dais. In the right foreground is a long, low couch draped with royal robes. Next to this there is a console, upon which is placed a burning taper. Act IV Before Dawn The curtain discovers Tristan alone, lying on a low couch. TRISTAN Alone again. Was that a dizzy dream Of banishments, and partings, and of tortures, The wounds, the leech, Isolde, and the king ? No, no — too real, too sadly, coldly, real — My poor Isolde, what wilt thou do now ? Oh, sun, turn back again the steeds of day, Be pliant to the suppliant prayers of men; Bring yester eve afresh upon the world; Roll back the dragon chariot of night; And take me with thee far away again. Thou, like the past, art stubborn, fixed and deaf, Hard and irrevocable. Oh, harlot world, Thou hast grown aged over night; and yet Thy hollow semblable appears the same. I am like thee, yet still I can revile When anger gives me words. Oh, painted world! Oh, world, so nearly what thou wast before! Our grief ought bid thee make a greater change. Thy last night struck thee sudden into age. — Why com'st thou now to show thyself again, To woo man forth to heavy heart-sick joys ? And must I leave thee, Isolde, with the day — Oaths broken, honour shamed, the table round Disgraced and sullied with unchastity ? Launcelot and myself, twin-starred in honour 92 Tristan & Isolde Act IV When we rose; now joined in equal sin, Our sinking star is falling into night, And pales before the gray of this sad morn. Enter Isolde, unseen by Tristan. TRISTAN Joy is a bubble blown of vanity, That bursts when hands that clutch to reach it, touch Its fragile shimmering. It can live Only by being high beyond our grasp; Man is the Tantalus that yearns to it. ISOLDE I have thee yet and thou hast me again; The bubble is not burst. Art thou in pain ? When sleep lay nestled on thine eyelids closed, I left to see the leech who bound thy wound; He hath pronounced it trivial and slight, And easy to be remedied. TRISTAN Isolde, I feel no pain in it when thou art near; But if thou leave me, then it gnaws again. I slept because I felt that thou wert by; And I awoke upon thy going hence. How came we to this royal chamber, love ? ISOLDE I led thy fainting footsteps hitherward. TRISTAN Looking at the two throne chairs. This is no place for thee and me to be. ISOLDE Thy weakness pressed the choice of place upon me; Here must thou rest till daybreak. Act IV Tristan gf Isolde 93 TRISTAN And then leave. Isolde, Isolde, forgive the pain I caused; I tried to shield thee from entire guilt; Why didst thou speak of magic and enchantments ? Thou didst condemn thyself. ISOLDE Did it avail To lighten thine offence, it served me well. But know, oh, Tristan, that I meant it not. I ever wished to love thee and be loved As a mere woman. What enchantment gives, It takes away from me and from my love: I feel no debt to any means beyond The simple impulse of the native heart. I wish to love thee only as my sex Can love a man, but deeper; and be loved By thee as by the noblest of thy sex, But better; as more hopeful to be loved, Because I loved thee too so utterly. TRISTAN And so I love thee, and I wish to love. Thy love has been the loadstar of my life; Then comes the banishment, and, like a knife, Cleaves our united heart in twain. Isolde, Dawn will come and set his glowing torches On the highest hills whose bases gloom the west; And then will light the turrets of this keep, To flare our shame out to th' entire world: And I must go. ISOLDE And I shall follow thee. 94 Tristan &f Isolde Act IV TRISTAN My heart is galloping away with thee — Isolde, I cannot leave thee, yet I feel I cannot drag thee forth to sneers and shame. ISOLDE The shame is equal if I go or stay. TRISTAN King Mark's full clemency will never fail ; He is a tree that, wounded, yields a balm, Which like a benediction pities all. ISOLDE Could Christ's own pity fill me like thy love ? TRISTAN I am a sorrow-doomed man, a child Of sorrow born, to sorrow dedicate. ISOLDE There is no joy for me where thou art not; With thee all suffering is sublimed to bliss. TRISTAN The king, my foster father and my friend ! I have the sin and have his blessings too; And later come his prayers for me. Isolde, I've stolen away his love; and can we hope For God's or his forgiveness, when we keep The proceeds of my theft, which penitence Ought rather render up again to him, Than selfishness retain ? ISOLDE Render me up! As though my love were a commodity ? I never found thee selfish until now. Act IV Tristan &> Isolde 95 Think once of me. How can I linger here — And yet my pride ought never ask this of thee — How can I ever live apart from thee ? We would have fled together ere this dawn, Had Mark not come between to sever us. Why halt we now and tremble at the flight ? TRISTAN I cannot build my paradise upon The scattered wrecks of others' happiness. If I were dead thou mightest yet be saved. ISOLDE But, while thou livest, I will share thy guilt. TRISTAN Aside. "But, while thou livest, I will share thy guilt." To Isolde. And canst thou love me muddied as I am With foul disgrace and open obloquy ? ISOLDE And I — am I not muddied too ? Yet thou hast said thou lov'st me none the less; There's nothing more to lose but life itself. Death stands before me, like a huge Colossus, One foot upon the hopes, the other pressed Upon the wailing fears of men; and time Flows with a sluggard stream of days below To dark eternities. TRISTAN But leave me now. ISOLDE I'll share thy exile with thee; let me go. Thou art my rescue, my deliverance: 96 Tristan {§f Isolde Act IV I shall not leave thee till thou promise me That I may go. TRISTAN Isolde, torture me not, I leave thee with a deathless, timeless kiss. I shall be true to thee forever — go. I hear a stir upon the threshold! Slight noise. Farewell — thou shouldst not be discovered here. God will resolve it all — a last farewell — If ever thou hast loved me, leave me now. Kisses her, and presses her through the door. TRISTAN "There's nothing more to lose but life itself." My hopes for thee and prayers for thy soul, Beyond the perils of this life's last throe, Beyond the wild regret of earthly sin, Will nerve me to my death. I love thee, Isolde, With such a love as gives up all on earth In barter for the joy in lives to come. I will not wreck thee more than I have done; And dash thy chance of bliss beyond the grave. I look upon thee as a mariner, With sail struck for the sea, and swelling winds To scud him wildly from the sinking shore; Who sees gray distance widening as he looks; — And never will return. Enter Melot. Tristan falls on his knee be- fore Melot, who is in the disguise of a wandering friar. TRISTAN Clasping the hem of Melot' s garment. Thou art a holy man and welcome here, Act IV Tristan & Isolde 97 Where those of orders always are received Hospitably by him who rules this land. Thou comest pure from vigils of the night; Thy prayers have brought thee very near to God; So let me kneel to thee. Oh, shrive me, Holy father; give thy blessings now; Unload thy soul of all its saintliest goods; Thou couldst forever further onward go, And never find a man who needs them more. Melot turns away. Is there a sin contagious to the touch ? Oh, leave me not without thy prayers for me. Direct a sinner's footsteps to his God; And God will bless thee even though thou fail. Tristan looks up, and examines Melot more closely. Thou wear'st a crucifix stuck in thy belt As if it were a sword! Dagger in hand! Then rising suddenly , he strikes off Melot' s cowl. Melot!! MELOT I am he. Thou and thy paramour Have thus undone me; but I am not gone. I leave my traces when I go. I came To see thee here alone. TRISTAN Most welcome, Melot. Thou com'st to me as fate made visible; I do not fear thee. 98 Tristan Sf Isolde Act IV MELOT Thou hast escaped me once, When I had less a cause to hate thee; now, My banishment is added to thy score; And I am here to wreak my whole account. TRISTAN People have said thou wast mine enemy, Nursing against my life a constant hate, Sharpened with all the pangs of jealousy. I look upon thee now as on a friend. My life has been a sad accomplishment; Come, free from the long years of regret: Thou dost a charity and not a crime. Thy first attempt was but a schoolboy thrust. Thou'rt grown as old as I am in disgrace, We both are equals now and banished: So strike me deep: search thou the bursting heart Where I have treasured all Isolde's love, And kill us both upon a single blow. Strike deep, and I shall think thine emulous hate Is kindness turned a little from its path. MELOT I came not here to bandy words with thee : Thou ever hadst a poet's silken speech, Gilded and adulterate to seduce Successfully. TRISTAN Melot, wilt thou not strike! Oh, have no fears for empty Tristan now. Thou seest me here, dishonoured and unarmed, My prowess gone, my valiancy rebuked, Too cowardly to face my life again, And yet too cowardly to take my life. Act IV Tristan & Isolde 99 See, see, I offer thee my bosom bare, Prepared for thy best stroke; be merciful And make a swift dispatch. MELOT Dost think that I would favour where I hate ? TRISTAN Art thou turned coward too ? When I was armed, No hesitation locked thy scabbard — oh, Thou art a fighter when the king is near; His presence is thy courage; his applause Thy highest valour. An unarmed, wounded man, Brave in despair, outbraves the armed coward. Laughs. MELOT Hush, fool, thou art a flesh to feed my knife, Made hungry by its taste of carrion blood. Good fortune raised thee up above my head; Ambition made me equal; banishment Lowers again my hopes to thy despair. That shrew Isolde, she, thine Irish bitch, Whelped in a famine time of sorcery, Hath wrought this havoc. TRISTAN Thou hound, thou fiend of hell, Thou darest not mention such an holy name, 'Twould win for thee admittance into heaven: Hell's jaws are gaping for thee, damned curse! Tristan makes ivild gestures for a sword, forgetting that the king has disarmed him in dishonour. Oh, for a sword — a weapon — oh, for a sword — MELOT Laughing. The harlot could not thrive so well at home 100 Tristan {§f Isolde Act IV Among her kind; and so they sent her out A scourge upon her foes. TRISTAN Blaspheming dog, I'll choke thee for that speech. Tristan, though unarmed, makes for Melot. A Herce struggle ensues. Melot stabs Tris- tan with a dagger. TRISTAN Oh, I am slain — MELOT The air is freer now. Melot drags Tristan up to king's throne chair. MELOT I'll throne thee in thy death. Thou hast aspired, Turning all means to steps up to this seat. Thou hast bewitched the general tongue of praise. Isolde would have had thee secretly The sharer of her sway; the foolish Mark Appointed thee to be his sceptre's son; But Melot made thee king, and gave thee a throne ! Now mock thy station with thy pallid corpse. Throwing one of the royal robes from the dais upon him. I'll have thee habited as is a king. Thou'rt pale and anxious with new-gotten power; And newborn honour weighs thee pitifully. Isolde should be here to fill her seat ; And Cornwall would rejoice to see his death, So well anticipated. Exit Melot to the right. Enter Rual from the left. Act IV Tristan & Isolde 101 RUAL The king has told me Tristan should be here. Oh, master — sit not in the kingly throne! Wake, wake, the day is gray upon the eastern clouds — The ban begins at dawn. The king's at mass. I begged thy sword from him before he left: He sends it back to thee, yet must thou go Immediately upon a pilgrimage, To visit shrines and pray for absolution; For so the holy man has well advised. But as I came, hoarse-whispered treachery Seemed creeping through the echoing castle walls — Melot has minions that will serve his will — Thou hearest me, master, — thou must haste away — Why starest thou so stonily! 'tis Rual — Plucking the robe off. Blood and new wounds! Oh, treason! hadst thou no arms ? He's yet alive — Help! Help! I know the only man that could have aimed This undefended blow; I know the man! Help— help! Enter Isolde and Brangcena from different sides. BRANG^NA Help — help! Who did this hellish deed? RUAL Melot. No other sword thrusts in the dark Against defenceless valour. Here is Tristan's sword, fruitless and bootless, Useless, come too late. ISOLDE Tristan, oh, wake, 'tis thine Isolde calls; Take me with thee in death, I promised so. 102 Tristan (§P Isolde Act IV I'll journey with thee whither thou wilt go; But wake and bid me come. Smile only once Before thy death, and I shall follow thee. Isolde seises sword and would have made away with herself, but Brangcena restrains her. BRANGiENA He lives, Isolde. Isolde swoons over Tristan's body. BRANGJENA Good Rual, speed thee hence to embark with Tristan; Take him away — take him away — For secret murder has a million arms; And weakness is as trustful as a lamb That licks the slaughter knife. RUAL I'll bear him off As soon as I have staunched his wound. The king this morning summoned me to him, And gave me back my master's sword again, Which he had ta'en away, too late returned. BRANG^NA Some one will help thee bear him to the strand. If God be willing, ye may leave ere noon. And thou, Isolde, waken from thy swoon; And yet I would not waken thee to grief; Faint into sleep, Isolde. Now the day Peeps with his garish, staring eye about; And things grow desolately clear again: The kindly veil of night is rent; no shadow, Merciful to shield thee, lurks behind. Sound of horns: Brangaena runs to bal- cony. Act IV Tristan ^f Isolde 103 The hunters straggle from the wearied chase Homeward through the forest. ISOLDE Half in swoon. The horns, the horns! I hear a horn, the trumpet to our doom. Flee, Tristan, flee — I hear the horns again — Haste onward, onward, let me ride with thee; Thou must not leave me. BRANG^NA Hush, hush, Isolde. Enter Gervaine. GERVAINE We lost his majesty upon the hunt; Has he arrived ? BRANG.ENA King Mark is safe at home, And he commands the privacy of his room. All the time shielding Isolde and Tristan. GERVAINE We missed him in the heat and broil of chase; And wandered through the by-paths of the woods, Fearing he'd fallen or had met mishap. And then, upon the homeward way this morn, We met his charger riderless and loose, Treading the trail to find his master lost. BRANG.ENA The king is safe and well, adieu. GERVAINE God be with thee. Where is Isabel ? What! Tristan! 104 Tristan &> Isolde Act IV BRANGvENA Thy lady bides within; Go thou and summon her. Exit Gervaine. 'Tis Isabel's beloved; he has seen them, And knows no doubt the whole sad history. Enter Isabel and Gervaine. ISABEL Oh, lady, lady, what has happed again ? Gervaine, remain here, leave me not — my queen — BRANG.ENA To Isabel. Thou canst yet serve thy queen through thy beloved. Aid me in this; and let thy sanctioning love Be minister unto our mutual fates. To Gervaine. Hold, huntsman, thou dost know the readiest roads That shorten to the sea; 'tis but a pace; Wilt thou give hand to aid this wounded knight, And carry him aboard ? I shall requite thee. Fear not; all is right. GERVAINE Tristan, wounded! And art thou Rual ? What a bloody deed Is this! RUAL Give help, this is no time for gaping wonder. BRANG^NA Thy queen bids thee make haste. ISABEL Deserve my love by some such deed as this; And I am thine. Isolde is my queen; Act IV Tristan ftf Isolde 105 I rise or fall with her; go, we shall meet. But tarry not, know I am thine alone; And do this service here for love of me. GERVAINE Thy lightest wishes are my decalogue: I shall deserve thy love. Rual and Gervaine carry Tristan off. Isolde is aroused} and cries out. Curtain. Act V THE approach to Lionel's castle on the coast of Cornwall. To the right is the spacious en- trance to the barbacan, and exterior walls and battlements. In the rear is the large stretching view of the open sea. The path from the castle gate ex- tends across the stage to the left, and disappears in the low trees and shrubbery. There is a low mound of turf in centre foreground. The distant melancholy call of the sea is heard con- stantly during the progress of this Act. Act V Twilight of the Next Day Enter Rual and Gervaine from left, carrying Tristan. RUAL So, lift him gently, Gervaine. There is some hope; the wound has ceased to bleed. This is Sir Lionel's castle; we must rest. Go thou and ask him for his willingness To shelter Tristan; till his further strength Enable further going. GERVAINE I shall announce Our coming. RUAL Importune him; take no refusal Even from his most reluctant fears. GERVAINE He was a loyal friend of Tristan, And will not fail him now, I hope; though oft Calamity has turned a life-old friend Quick into a new enemy. We know That Time and Fate were ever alchemists, Turning the old to new, and new to old, By new events cast in the crucible; And few can stand the constant test and be Unchanged. 110 Tristan £&f Isolde Act V BUAL Words well said, but breath ill spent. My friend, Be this another test, and fail me not; Thou hast been strain-proof up till now. GERVAINE I go. Exit. RUAL Were Melot's throat once firm within this hand, I'd make him loll his treasonous tongue about Without the breath to feed it into words. Oh, what a blow! Struck without defence; Unknightly sped with desperate success; Malice and vengeance, jealousy and hate All giving strength against this noble breast, Wounded and weak. But God, oh, generous God, Give me this wretch within my sword's wide circle; Let him be armed proof 'gainst thunderbolts, I yet will cleave him down. How many men Better than Melot have been thrown to earth Unhorsed, chagrined, yet noble in defeat! Ought Melot thus in basest cowardice Escape ? He's banished, for he cannot clear His guilty soul of what the king has charged. To seek his death will be my pilgrimage : I'll hunt his fleeing shadow all the life That will be left, if Tristan be restored. Ye saintly ones in heaven, pray for him; Be not so jealous of the earth's last knight, To steal our star and leave us in the dark. My tongue has never caught the trick of prayer; But, God, spare Tristan; let his wound be healed. He breathes so lightly that the air scarce moves, It loves to hover o'er those parted lips; But yet so pale — Act V Tristan &f Isolde ill Hath said: Enter Gervaine. GERVAINE Rual, Sir Lionel RUAL 'Tis well and 'tis indifferent to me. He could not see him thus and then refuse; We must rest here, no matter what he said. We cannot bring him farther. Many thanks For thy kind service to my dying lord. GERVAINE I have told him what has happed. Good Lionel, The owner of this castle, bids me say That he will take upon himself the brunt Of braving the king's anger, should it fall On him for offering a refuge to the knight. He is an enemy to Melot, sworn of old. But see, he comes. I'll take me hence. Enter Lionel. RUAL Stay, thou mayest be of service yet, my friend; 'Twill be an honour to have served in this. Thy duties have deserved still higher trust. GERVAINE I'll back along the road again. 'Twas said, Before we left, that some would after us Attempt the road. We swerved from off the highway, Coming here. I'll post a messenger To announce where we are come. LIONEL So go; Let there be no more secrecy in this. Exit Gervaine. g 112 Tristan &f Isolde Act V Then thou art Rual. Is this Tristan here, Humbled in pain by such a treasonous sword ? Melot long hated him; he always feared For Tristan's influence with the loyal king. His envious ambition saw in him A step up to the throne on which it fell; And so he sought to crumble it away. He breathed foul perjuries against the knight, Before he found the deeds that could support them. Lord Tristan was beloved of us all. Raising his voice. I'll brand this Melot in the tourney lists Foul mouthed and slanderous. RUAL Soft, Lionel; he moves. TRISTAN Isolde, thou must flee with me; Deliriously. I die, if thou come not or stay too long. Sing once again the song I taught to thee Far off in Ireland. RUAL She's here, my lord; Have but a little patience. TRISTAN Rual here! What dost thou here ? Hast thou forsook thy watch ? Stay in the barbican! Isolde, love, Thou'rt long in getting ready for thy flight. 'Tis growing light, I smell the freshened dews; And we must speed ere dawn. Oh, haste thee, — come, come, come, come. It seems I faint in expectation, love; And all the world grows dim again and dark. Act V Tristan {§P Isolde 113 LIONEL What mystery is this discovered here ? RUAL His memory has lost its dizzy way; And wanders blinded and without a guide, Through labyrinths of a half forgotten past. TRISTAN I hear the sea; I see the sea, Isolde; And thy dark eyes o'erbrimming like the sun, Some dark red fluid at my glowing lips, That trembles in my veins and arteries, Like the tumultuous sea. I drown, I drown; And yet I hate the land, the cursed land — RUAL She sown will come, brave Tristan, never fear. TRISTAN Oh, how it rocks and storms! List to the wind shriek; all is dark. My fingers fall on some familiar lute; I sing to thee, yet dost thou never come. Enter Gervaine with Isolde, who kneels over Tristan. ISOLDE He lives — GERVAINE I found her wandering like a stricken fawn, As blindly in the day as if 'twere night, Lost in the tangled woods. Enter Isabel and guide hurriedly. ISABEL The queen is here. She mumbled eerie charms Of night and day, and chanted to the moon, 114 Tristan &> Isolde Act V That died and faded and could not be seen; And then we lost her; for she slipped away While we were resting. GERVAINE I longed for thee to come. LIONEL It nears the end, I fear; he wanders far; And yet the king should come, if but to ease His soul's last flight with his forgiveness. Rual, Wilt thou go, or shall I go myself ? RUAL Not I. Go thou the byways; Gervaine took the road, And did not see them. I must stay by Tristan; My place is by his side. ISOLDE Tristan, 'tis I; 'tis thy Isolde here. TRISTAN Deliriously. Here hast thou wounded me. Isolde, speak. I saw thee in my dream open my door; I heard melodious mutterings at my bed. Here hast thou wounded me, alas, too deep. Why that false, treacherous blow ? I saw the sword gleam through the murk of night, Like lightning in the clouds. Wakes slightly. Where is thy sword ? Ah, all is calm again ! I hear no noise; I feel thy breast on me Heave like the sea turned warm in clinging foam. Vesper sounded. But all grows dark and clear. Soft, soft, I hear Act V Tristan &P Isolde 115 The day rings out its knell again — Oh, happy, happy, happy knell! 'Tis I — Thy Tristan, come again — Isolde, all is dark and Rual waits. 'Twas long — 'twas long — long — long — Faints. Isolde embraces him passionately. Enter king and Brangcena, led by Lionel. ISOLDE Speak once again: 'tis I am here; Thine ever own Isolde. Speak, oh, speak. TRISTAN I never loved thee, Iseult. Spurn, if thou wilt; I have dishonoured love In thee and her. Another has my heart. My vows were treacherous breath. Isolde stabbed me with her barbed scorn; The wound is here — here — ISOLDE Tristan, awake; I hang upon thy lips. Thou dreamest not; 'tis I, Isolde, speaks. I gave up all for thy much richer love; I've followed thee — oh, cast me not away With wild and wandering words. TRISTAN Rising. Isolde, is it thou ! Come let us fly, we're off, the time is friend. It seems to grow forever darker; and no sun Will burst his hateful face upon our joys. Hast thou, enchantress, such a potent charm To bring on chaos once again ? 116 Tristan & Isolde Act V Our love shall be an Eros in the void. Oh, it is dark, so wondrous, wondrous dark; 'Twill be eternal night again: No day — and we shall never part. Our love is like a death, eternal As the doom — Dies. KING Oh, God! Too soon for my forgiveness. Sir Lionel, scour the road for Melot's trail; His ship is riding in the harbour now. Exit Lionel. To Tristan and Isolde. I loved ye both, and grieve for both again, In that ye were unfortunate in your loves; And I unwittingly did cause you woe. Oh, God! with what coercive blinding fate Didst thou oppress this bud of knightly honour Expanding in our favouring light, to blast And wither it like a common sprouting weed, Gendered in the world's rank desert places. And as for thee, thou mage, enchantress fair, Some mystery did shield thy heart from me; I barely knew thee, yet I loved thee too : Thou seem'dst elemental as a sprite. Lionel within. Sounds of a struggle. LIONEL Resist no longer, I have found thee out. Thou pestilence in penitential garb! Rual — Rual — one whom thou wouldst seek, And give thy life to find. Drags on Melot in monk's garb. Act V Tristan &P Isolde 117 RUAL Not seeing Melot. 'Tis all over; What flickering life is left for me to live, Will purchase naught. Seeing him. What! Melot! LIONEL I found him slinking toward the nearest coast, Too eager in his pace for his profession; And so I questioned him. RUAL Good king, let me Be judge and executioner — Draws sword and makes for Melot. KING Hold! RUAL Or when 'tis done, as 'twill be shortly done, I care not then if thou be both for me. To Melot Thou stain upon the scroll of chivalry, Thou wrinkled sneer of malice, die, — thou leer Of hateful guile, I'll blot thee out. And then will earn my death by thine; for then I shall deserve to die. Thy presence here Alive unsanctifies the place: thou dead, The uses of my further life are none; For they were sworn to serve thy death alone. KING Hold, Rual ! Art thou Melot in that guise ? 118 Tristan &? Isolde Act V MELOT I am, my liege. Give me a sword to fight; And I will cut this varlet's bursting breast, And ease his throat. RUAL Here, take my sword; 'Twere butchery else, though thou deserv'st no more. Yet Tristan would have scorned to kill thee thus Unarmed. Melot takes sword. Good, — if thou slayest me, 'Twill seem as if I fell upon my own sword's point, Not thine. I know no better place to die; And if I die, I'll never need a sword. But if thou diest, bury it as a cross; 'Twas worn by one that led a knightly life. MELOT Exceeding knightly, as we learned last night. RUAL Taking Tristan's sword. My lord, thy sword will be dishonoured now; But I will try to wield it well. Some one offers him a shield, for Melot has visible armour beneath his gown. Stand off! Make way! I'll have no shield but my own valour now, And Tristan's name. Oh, Tristan, be yet near; Hover a moment ere thou fly to heaven; And let thy vengeance speak through my right arm. Flash with the gleam of lightning on my sword; Strike lurid terror in this false black heart. They fight, and Melot is killed. Act V Tristan ftf Isolde 119 RUAL To Tristan's body. This is my offering to thy memory; And now my life is done. To king. My liege, thine utmost Can add no chapter to the book complete. Rual drops on his knee. I sink for thy rebuke; I've disobeyed; I've killed Lord Melot. KING Thou art the same old Rual. Nay, do not kneel to me for pardon, sir; But ask my generous thanks. Thou servedst well Him whom I did my best to serve; who sat Within the sacred'st precinct of my heart. Sir Lionel, thou wast a faithful friend; And always ruledst high in Tristan's love, As Tristan ruled in mine. For this last service To thy dying friend, and mine the most beloved, Ask what thou wilt; thy utmost wish Can never meet my willingness to thee. Thou hadst the loyal heart to dare my ire, Which would have been extreme; now take my love; Thou'lt find it equal to thy daring, sir. ISOLDE Deliriously. The night doth come; this was the latest day That ever thou wilt stay from me again. Thine absence kills me. Tristan, I am come. The night droops on — thou liest in my arms Yet warm with ebbing life — I come — 120 Tristan & Isolde Act V Thine eyes shall light the way — Thy song shall lead me through the pathless dark. Oh, Tristan, melt not, flee not from my arms; I come — Dies. KING Isolde, one last word of full forgiveness. BRANGiENA Dead — dead — my sweet, impetuous flower — The mild spring sun of joy had wooed thy heart, Like some too early blossom to unfold: Then woe came like a dull, relentless frost, And blasted all its petals ere they closed. KING Death, thou hast done the deed I came to do; Joined them at last. I loved ye both so much, I could have found a joy in yielding up My queen to one to whom she had been given By higher hand than mine could oversway; Your happiness would solace all my loss. Two infinite joys to them whom I most loved Would cure my self-inflicted pain. Oh, Rual, go thou not so quickly back, ToJBretigny again; stay for a while; My castle be thy home. And, Lionel, I'll lean on thee, as once I leaned on Tristan : And so farewell ; I go to hide my grief. Enters castle. Curtain. Epilogue Epilogue OH, let me sing one song before I lie Enfolded in my shroud. Oh, let me sing one song before I die And mingle with the crowd Of other mortals, quaffing Lethean sleep; And I shall be contented then to creep Noiseless to death, yet proud. Oh, let me sing one eager, throbbing song With words the heart hath found; I then, too, willingly will join the throng Of dead ones under ground. My song will be my soul and dwell Immortal in man's heart, and swell His pulses with its sound. Oh, let me sing one song before all cold I lay me on my bier, One simple, beauteous song, before I fold My dust in cerements drear: Then willingly will I descend, In peace with life, for at my end I leave a deathless tear. Arranged & Printed at The Cheltenham Press New Tori c ° vP< 4?

16004881

The unchastened woman; a modern comedy in three acts,

Anspacher, Louis Kaufman

unchastenedwoman00ansp_djvu.txt

M JNCHASTENED WOMAN 4 COMEDY &E*£8H&-\ S .KAUFMAN ANSPACHEK Book / ysy i /3~ ,o tajb CopyrightN c COFVRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN OTHER PLAYS BY LOUIS KAUFMAN ANSPACHER Tristan and Isolde. A Poetical Tragedy. The Embarrassment of Riches. A Modern Comedy. The Woman of Impulse. A Modern Drama. The Glass House. A Modern Drama. The Washerwoman Duchess. An Historical Comedy. Our Children. A Modern Drama. LOUIS KAUFMAN ANSPACHER From the Painting by August Franzen THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN A Modern Comedy in Three Acts BY LOUIS KAUFMAN ANSPACHER NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS Copyright, 1916, by Louis Kaufman Anspacher Copyright, 1912, as a Dramatic Composition All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved, in the United States, Great Britain and all countries of the Copyright Union, by Louis Kaufman \Anspacher. Performances forbidden and right of rep- resentation reserved. Piracy or infringement will be prosecuted in accordance with the penalties provided by the United States Statutes: Sec. 4966, U. S. Revised Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3. Application for the right of performing this play should be made to the author. Persons desiring to read this play professionally in public should first apply to the author. February, 1916 FEB 21 »9»6 SCI.D 43096 TO KATHRYN KIDDER ANSPACHER CAST OF THE FIRST PRODUCTION BY OLIVER MOROSCO AT THE Thirty-ninth Street Theater, New York City, October 9th, 1915. Hubert Knollys Mr. H. Reeves-Smith. Mrs. Murtha Miss Jennie Lamont. Miss Susan Ambie Miss Isabel Richards. Caroline Knollys Miss Emily Stevens. Lawrence Sanbury Mr. R. Hassard Short. Hildegarde Sanbury Miss Christene Norman. Miss Emily Madden Miss Willette Kershaw. Michael Krellin Mr. Louis Bennison. PERSONS OF THE PLAY Arranged in the order of their first entrances. HUBERT KNOLLYS. MRS. MURTHA, a Charwoman. MISS SUSAN AMBIE. CAROLINE KNOLLYS, Wife of Hubert Knollys. LAWRENCE SANBURY. HILDEGARDE SANBURY, His Wife. MISS EMILY MADDEN. MICHAEL KRELLIN. Time : — The Present. Place : — New York City. ACT I ACT I The play opens m a morning in October. It is about ten o'clock. The first act presents the drawing-room of the Knoljlys' house, situated on a corner in the fashionable fifties, New York City. The room is spacious, but a little old- fashioned. Up stage, at the right, is a large arch opening on a hall, which leads out to the front door off stage at the right. In the cen- ter of the arch there are three steps leading to a platform, from which a flight of stairs rises, gomg left, and leading to the rooms above. The balustrade continues on a level with the stage, and indicates that the stairs lead also downward from the front hall to the basement. In the middle of the right wall is a large marble mantelpiece, with an open fireplace. Above the mantel hangs an old family portrait. On the wall below the mantel hangs an ornamental Venetian mirror. In the rear wall of the room, toward the left, is a mahogany door, leading to the basement. Between this door and the arch stands a large bookcase, filled with books in ex- 3 4 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN pensive bindings. The left wall of the room is pierced by two large windows, with practical shades and blinds. A library table and three chairs occupy the center of the room, under a heavy chandelier. There is a large divan chair with cushions and a foot- stool placed down left of the room. Set on an angle in front of the fireplace is a Davenport. Below this, also on an angle is a settle. Several of the chairs and the Davenport are covered with linen slips or sheets, which mdicate that the house has not been occupied for some time. The size and visible appointments of the room must suggest the atmosphere of large, though rather formal, luxury. The curtain rises on an empty stage. Dim light sifts through the closed blinds. There is a pause, and then the front door of the house is heard to open and close. A moment later Hubert Knollys enters from the hall, through the arch, putting his keys into his pocket. He is followed by Mrs. Murtha. Hubert Knollys is a tall and distinguished looking man of fifty-three. He is dressed m a mornmg suit and a Panama hat. He carries a whisky and a couple of soda bottles under his arm. He also has a newspaper. Mrs. Murtha is an elderly Irish woman. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 5 HUBERT Phew ! It's close in here ! [Goes to a window which he opens and lets m the sunlight, then he turns and looks at Mrs. Murtha.] Is your name Agnes Murtha? MURTHA No. That's me daughter. D'ye see, Agnes was comin', the Lord love her, but she had a fall yister- day — HUBERT Oh, too bad. [He begins removing the slips from the furniture.] MURTHA [Undoing her bonnet and showing her white head.'] Yis — She's a f oine eddication, so she has ; but she bez a little weak in th' knee. So Oi came over me- silf, as soon as Oi heard from Mrs. Sanbury. HUBERT [Seeing her white hair.] Perhaps you're not strong enough — MURTHA Oi'm as shtrong as ivir Oi wuz. [She energetically takes a slip from a piece of fur- niture.] 6 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT The whole house must be got in shape. MURTHA Yis, m'am. [Awed.] An' do yez own th' whole house entoire? [He nods quizzically.] Ah, glory be to God fer that ! HUBERT [Going to open the second wmdow.] I'll tend to the windows on this floor. [Looking out, then turning.] Oh, catch that ice-man and get him to leave a piece of ice. MURTHA Now do you be shtandin' there, son, so he don't get away. Oi'll let him in. [She starts to go off through the arch,] HUBERT [Pointing to the door.] No, this way through the basement. [Murtha scrambles off quickly. Hubert pauses, looking out, sees the ice-man, whistles and ges- ticulates to him to wait and go down into the THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 7 house. During this, Susan Ambie enters from the hall through the arch. Susan is a woman of forty-five. She has the soul of a chaperon. She enters in nervous haste .] HUBERT Why, Miss Ambie ! [Shaking hands. ] Where's Caroline? SUSAN Get your hat and come right down to the dock with me. HUBERT I'm never missed unless there's been some trouble. What is it? SUSAN Your wife has been grossly insulted, as I was ! It's unheard of! HUBERT [Dawning. ,] Ah! trouble with the customs. Is that it? SUSAN [Indignantly. ] They have dared to suspect us, your wife and me ! HUBERT You mean they've found you out. You too! 8 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN SUSAN I'm not speaking for myself. When I saw they were going to be disagreeable, I declared everything. But suddenly I realized that a vulgar inspector woman had been watching Caroline. I saw her take Carrie off! All your wife's trunks are held! HUBERT [Grimly relieved.] Good! SUSAN [Recoiling with a stare.] Carrie's told me many things; but I never be- lieved that you could be so heartless ! HUBERT I've been prepared for this for many years. If she will do things in her own high-handed way, she'll have to stand the consequences. That's why I never meet her. SUSAN Then you refuse to go? HUBERT I refuse to be made a cat's-paw. That is, when I can help it. SUSAN Oh! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 9 HUBERT What is there for me to do? You must have made false declarations. SUSAN We didn't know they'd be so strict with us. We're not tradespeople or importers, or — HUBERT No, you're worse. Two women without even the wretched excuse of poverty, attempting to defraud the government! SUSAN Mr. Knollys ! HUBERT Ha! The cold sweat isn't worth the money. [Wipes his brow.] SUSAN I don't know what she'll do ! HUBERT She'll come home chastened in spirit, I hope, after having profited by this experience. SUSAN I really believe you're glad she's in trouble! 10 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Not that. But I shall be glad if this population of a hundred million citizens in their corporate ca- pacity are able, for once in her life, to demonstrate to my good wife that she can't do everything she likes with everybody. I've tried, her friends have tried, society has tried, perhaps the government will succeed. SUSAN Well, if I can't make you see your duty — HUBERT [Interrupting.'] The question of my duty to my wife is one that I do not care to discuss even with you. SUSAN It's none of my business, I suppose . . . HUBERT [Bluntly. ] Quite so. SUSAN [Fixes her hat.] Then I'll go back alone. Carrie's my dearest friend — [Then, m a bravado of accusing tearfulness,] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 11 And I can't help it if I'm not strong enough to stand by quietly and see her die of mortification 1 HUBERT [Sarcastic ally. 1 You might advise her to appeal to them for clemencyr SUSAN She can't find less of it there than here! [He turns and goes up. Susan is about to exit when Caroline Knollys enters from the hall. Caroline is a woman of forty, very young looking, handsome, commanding and self-pos- sessed. She is faultlessly gowned.] SUSAN [With a cry.] Oh, Carrie! CAROLINE [Entering.] Oh, there you are, Susan. How are you, Hubert? [Shakes hands with him. Then to Susan.] I didn't know what became of you. SUSAN I came right here. 12 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE You should have told me. Ninette and I looked every place. SUSAN I didn't want those men to see us together. CAROLINE Nonsense ! SUSAN And I thought — CAROLINE [Interrupting.] You didn't think. You went right off your head. HUBERT [Expectantly.] Well? CAROLINE [To Hubert.] You seem to thrive in my absence. [To Susan.] Doesn't he? HUBERT I return the doubtful compliment. The same to you, and many of them. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 13 CAROLINE Thank you. [To Susan.] You got through quickly, didn't you? SUSAN When I saw they were going to be disagreeable, I declared everything. CAROLINE What! SUSAN What could I do? CAROLINE [Shrugging her shoulders.] I told you exactly what to do. SUSAN But when that woman searched me, I — CAROLINE You lost your nerve. SUSAN Oh, Carrie, I'm not thinking of myself. What did they do to you? 14 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT [Expectantly.'] Yes, what did they do to you? CAROLINE To me? Why, what's the matter? SUSAN [Relieved.] Nothing, dear, if you're all right. How brave you are! CAROLINE Don't be absurd ! HUBERT [Breaking in.~\ I should hardly call it bravery. This was bound to come some time. I've always said so. I've al- ways feared it. CAROLINE [Calmly.'] Feared what? HUBERT Miss Ambie's told me everything! CAROLINE [With a sharp look at Susan.] Oh, indeed! Then there's nothing for me to say. [Rises to cross.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 15 HUBERT [Nettled.'] Caroline, I want to know exactly what has hap- pened; so if there's anything that can be done now, I — CAROLINE [Sarcastic ally.] My dear Hubert, I'm really sorry to disappoint you; but there's nothing to be done. HUBERT And how about your difficulty with the trunks? CAROLINE [Smiling.] Sorry again. There's been no difficulty. HUBERT Then why did you send for me? CAROLINE I didn't send for you. i HUBERT You didn't! [He looks at Susan inquiringly.] SUSAN I know, but — 16 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Whenever we are away from you, Hubert, we grow so accustomed to depend on the chivalry and cour- tesy of men, that on our return, Susan forgets, and has to learn her lesson of self-dependence over again. You must forgive her. Really, Susan, you gave yourself too much concern. SUSAN My dear, I was so frightened. Didn't that woman search you? CAROLINE Me? Oh, no! I very soon put her in her place. And then, besides, I was careful to have nothing dutiable on my person. HUBERT Where are your trunks? CAROLINE I couldn't carry them with me, all nine of them. They'll be here shortly, I suppose. [She stands before the Venetian mirror, takes off her hat and fixes her hair,~\ HUBERT Caroline, there's been quite enough of this banter- ing. Did you make a declaration? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 17 CAROLINE Sufficient for all practical purposes. HUBERT And what does that mean? CAROLINE I've done exactly as I've always done. I refused to argue the matter. I settled. Of course, as the law puts a premium on dishonesty, I found it ex- pedient to — HUBERT [Interrupting.] To what? CAROLINE [Smiling.] To pay the premium. HUBERT It isn't only a question of expediency. It's down- right lying! CAROLINE [Sarcastically.] Behold the moralist ! HUBERT [Contmuvng.] And it's a question of decent, honest citizenship ! 18 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE But I'm not a citizen ; and I don't care to be. If you were honest, you'd confess you're only irritated, Hubert, because you can't say : " I told you so." So don't moralize; it doesn't suit you; and don't talk like a husband the first day I arrive. That doesn't suit me. [Hubert is about to say something, but is inter- rupted by the entrance of Mrs. Murtha from the basement. Caroline looks at her with an amused smile.] MURTHA Mr. Knowllez, the motor-man from the taxi- cab is ashkin' if you'll be wantin' him to wait any longer. SUSAN Oh, that's my cab ! He's been there all this time ! [She flounces to the hall.] HUBERT Wait, I'll — SUSAN [With acerbity.] No, thank you. [Exits.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 19 MURTHA An' th' oice man will be wantin' twinty cints fer th' oice. [To Caroline.] Shure, it's the grand box ye have. HUBERT [Givmg her money.'] Here. [Murtha goes to door.] Oh, you can fetch up some glasses now, with ice in them; if you will. MURTHA Yis, sor. [Exits hastily.] CAROLINE [Amazed.] Where did you get her? HUBERT At a place that calls itself the " Co-operative Servant Agency." CAROLINE That must be the new name for the " Zoo." Have you a match? 20 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Yes. CAROLINE [Opening her cigarette case.] Will you smoke? HUBERT Thank you, I prefer my own. CAROLINE These are contraband. HUBERT The kind you like. CAROLINE Yes. [He strikes a match for Caroline. She lights her cigarette.] HUBERT Well, didn't you have a good time abroad? CAROLINE Certainly. [He sits at left of table, and lights his cigarette. She sits at right.] HUBERT But you changed your plans rather unexpectedly? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 21 CAROLINE I hope that hasn't inconvenienced you. HUBERT Not at all. [Susan enters from the hall.~\ SUSAN I hate America! HUBERT Eh? SUSAN When you sail up the harbor and see the Statue of Liberty, you feel a tremendous emotion of patriot- ism ; but when you see your first cab charge, you want to turn around and go right back to Europe. I told the man there was something the matter with his meter! It jumped ten cents while I was arguing with him ! CAROLINE Did you pay? SUSAN I had to ! CAROLINE Then don't complain. Pay or complain; but don't do both. It isn't economical. [Murtha enters, carrying three glasses awkwardly.'] 22 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN MURTHA Here ye are, Mr. Knowllez ! [Caroline opens the newspaper on the table and begins to read.'] HUBERT Thank you, that will do. MURTHA [Putting down the glasses.] Shure, they'll do. [She suddenly stares as she sees Caroline smoking.] Ah, f er th' love o' God ! [Caroline looks up. Murtha continues:] Shure, Oi do be fergittin' mesilf when Oi be passin' rhemarks wid your hushband. [Catching Caroline's eye.] Oh, Lord, yis, m'am. [She wilts away and exits to basement.] [Hubert opens the whisky bottle.] HUBERT Miss Ambie, will you have a Scotch and soda? SUSAN No, thank you, it always makes me silly. I'll go directly to my room. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 23 CAROLINE [Not looking up from the newspaper.] Take the front room on the third floor. SUSAN Don't worry about me. I'll have Ninette arrange your things. CAROLINE [Turning over the paper.] Thank you, dear. [Susan exits up stairs.] HUBERT She's going to stay here? CAROLINE Yes. HUBERT Oh, then, in that case — [He ostentatiously doubles his drink.] How do you stand her? CAROLINE She pays her own way and is very useful. HUBERT [Sarcastically.] I daresay; but to me she's simply an interfering nuisance. [Pours soda into his whisky.] 24 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Still reading.'] No. She's a constitutional altruist. That is, she has the soul of a servant. HUBERT A Scotch and soda? CAROLINE I never take it in the morning. HUBERT [Drinking.'] I always forget. CAROLINE [Looking up.] The Homestead stock at sixty-four? HUBERT It closed at seventy yesterday. CAROLINE What made the slump? HUBERT A series of muck-raking articles about Factory Re- form, and a lot of talk about Child Labor. CAROLINE I hope you're not embarrassed. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 25 HUBERT I've got to keep buying in to steady them. CAROLINE [Putting down the paper. ] I'll lend you, Hubert ; but I won't invest. HUBERT [Ironically.] Really, Caroline, your generosity overwhelms me. CAROLINE Not at all. I know you have collateral. HUBERT I still hope to worry along without placing myself under financial obligations to you. CAROLINE [Placing both her elbows on table and looking at him narrowly.] Hubert, I've often thought you resented my hav- ing independent means. HUBERT It's foolish of me ; but I believe it might have made some difference in our lives, if you'd been — 26 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Interrupting."] If I'd been dependent upon you for everything. If I had had no individuality of my own, or the means of keeping it intact. In other words, if I'd been poor. Is that what you mean? HUBERT No. But the superfluous wealth you've had has deprived us both of at least one of the real things. If we'd been poor together, there might have been something in our lives . . . something we've missed — something at any rate Vve missed. Some mutual- ity — some interest together. [Rismg.] Here we are, two people who have lived for twenty odd years together, and who have never really had even a trouble in common! CAROLINE [With a remote smile.] What trouble would you like to have me share with you? [Pause.] HUBERT [With a changed tone.] Oh, none. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 27 CAROLINE [Laughing.] Hubert, don't be romantic toward your wife. That's waste. You're neither old enough nor young enough to play that sketch convincingly. You're neither dawn nor twilight; and Romance needs some- thing undiscovered, something in possibility, some- thing not yet precipitated into noonday common- place reality. And you and I — we know too much about each other to really carry that off with- out laughing in our sleeves. You say it isn't money. Oh, then I fear something has gone wrong with some object of your affection. HUBERT Please ! CAROLINE Then what is it? HUBERT I — I was about to speak of Elsie and Stephen. CAROLINE [Carelessly.] Oh, yes. How are the happy couple? HUBERT I'm afraid our daughter's not very happy. Stephen is a fool. 28 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE I can't help that. HUBERT Have Elsie down here with us a little while — CAROLINE [Interrupting.] Impossible ! HUBERT She might occupy her old rooms. CAROLINE I have other plans. HUBERT But a little motherly counsel from you might — CAROLINE [Waving the discussion aside.] Oh, Elsie and Stephen bore me to extinction, — both of them. I did my best for her — gave her a coming out, a season in Newport and — HUBERT [Interrupting.] Then married her off, made her a settlement and got rid of her. Gad! A girl of nineteen married! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 29 CAROLINE How old was I? HUBERT Well, our married life is nothing to boast of. CAROLINE Pardon, my dear Hubert, we've made a brilliant success of marriage. We ought to be grateful to the institution. It has given both of us the fullest liberty — a liberty that I've en j oyed ; and you've — HUBERT [Interrupting.] Yes, you've always done exactly what you wanted. CAROLINE \Meanmgly.~\ And you? HUBERT It makes no difference where we begin, we always wind up at the same place ; don't we ? CAROLINE Because you have abused your liberty. HUBERT Yes, I admit, it's my fault — if you like, all my fault. It's useless to go back over the old ruptures 30 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN and recriminations. The prime mistake in both our lives was that we ever married. Well, we did. After about two years of doves, we had several years of cat and dog — and — CAROLINE I beg your pardon, in which class of animals do you place me? HUBERT We won't quarrel about the phrase. You refused divorce or separation at a time in life when we might have got one without making ourselves ridicu- lous. CAROLINE Divorce is always ridiculous. I made up my mind you'd never get free for anything / should do. HUBERT Yes, you've always been very careful about that. It isn't morality; but you never cared to relinquish an advantage. You refused divorce for your own reasons ; and I agreed with you for Elsie's sake: Then Elsie married — a great relief to you ; and we both agreed that the altitude of ideal husband and wife was too high for me to breathe in. You never cared about me; yet you were always very anxious that nobody else should. In the real significance of marriage, you have broken all your vows but one. I have kept all my vows, — THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 31 CAROLINE [Sharply.] Eh? HUBERT But one. CAROLINE Ah! HUBERT [Contmuing.~\ That one violation of mine has given you the whip hand over me for these long years. CAROLINE Have you broken with that woman? HUBERT What woman? CAROLINE That Madden woman — Emily Madden. HUBERT You know nothing whatever about her. CAROLINE Pardon, I have taken the trouble to gather all the intimate details. 32 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Indeed? CAROLINE And my friends have seen you every place with her. That's all I really care about. HUBERT And they will continue to see us; whenever Miss Madden does me the honor to accompany me. CAROLINE [Resuming her newspaper.'] Oh, very well. I shall continue to condone every- thing; because I do not wish the elaborate structure I have built for many years to be destroyed. Our marriage stands as a temple to the Gods of Conven- tion. The priests are hypocrites ; but be careful not to make the congregation laugh. That's all I ask of you. Quite simple, isn't it? HUBERT Yes, simple as all heartless things are. [Pause. She reads. Hubert walks up as Susan Ambie enters from up stairs.] SUSAN Carrie, I tried to 'phone the Intelligence Offices; but your 'phone isn't connected. [She looks accusingly at Hubert.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 33 HUBERT [Irritated.] Excuse me. [Goes to door, then turns. ] Oh, Miss Ambie, there's a prize of fifty dollars for the first good news that you announce. [Exits.] SUSAN [Sentimentally. ] I can see by your face, dear, you've had a scene. CAROLINE No. Just our annual understanding. SUSAN [Curiously.'] You don't have to tell me, Carrie. [Pause.] Has he broken with that Madden woman? CAROLINE [Smiling.] I hope not. SUSAN It's wonderful that all this hasn't made you bitter. 34 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Bitter? [Laughmg,'] I am very grateful to Miss Madden. SUSAN [Quickly.'] Oh, Carrie, you didn't tell him that, did you? CAROLINE [Laughs. ~\ Oh, dear no ! I never let him forget that at any moment I could name Miss Madden as a co-respond- ent. She is a weapon in my hands. SUSAN [Admiringly.] What a wonderful person you are ! Only — CAROLINE Only what? SUSAN Only be careful, dear. Don't give him sl weapon against you. CAROLINE In what way? SUSAN Of course you'd never think about it ; and it's quite as well you shouldn't, as long as I can do that for THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 35 you. But be careful, dear, about Lawrence San- bury. CAROLINE Don't be absurd. You were practically always with me. SUSAN [With a nervous whimper.'] Oh, no, I failed you, Carrie ; I should have dragged along no matter how ill I was. CAROLINE, [Bluntly. 1 Get that idea out of your head. SUSAN But if he should ever learn about your last days alone with Lawrence in the mountains . . . CAROLINE He'll never learn it. SUSAN And there is a Mrs. Sanbury, too! CAROLINE [Impatiently .] Of course ! Susan, I've known artists all my life, and I've never had to bother with their wives; at least . . . [Murtha enters excitedly from the hall.~\ 36 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Would you mind knocking on the door before you enter a room? MURTHA [Pointing innocently to the arch.~\ But there isn't any door, me dear. CAROLINE What is it? MURTHA Me great friend and sishter, Mrs. Sanbury, is here wid her hushband ! They be a wantin' to see you ! SUSAN [Frightened.] She's here! CAROLINE Tell them I'm at home. MURTHA [Gomg to the arch.~\ Why wouldn't you be? Shure, Oi told thim that already. SUSAN [Anxiously."] Oh, Carrie! She's here! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 37 CAROLINE [Severely. ,] Don't be an ass ! MURTHA [Calling out into the hall.~\ Come, Lord bless yer lovin' hearts! It's roight in here, yer to come ! [Re-entering.] Shure Oi'd trust her wid a million dollars. It was Mrs. Sanbury, it was, that sint me to you. CAROLINE Oh, I've her to thank for you, have I ? MURTHA Yis, m'am. Shure ye have. [Lawrence and Hildegarde Sanbury enter from the hall. He is a handsome vital looking man of twenty-five. He has a quick and ingenuous, volatile manner. Hildegarde, his wife, is a woman of thirty, of sympathetic and responsive nature, full of exuberant gratitude to Caroline, whom she has never met. In dress Hildegarde is the exact opposite of Caroline. She is scrupulously neat, but Caroline is a perfect conscience of every allure of fashion. They enter followed by Murtha, who goes up rear. Lawrence nods to Susan.] 38 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [To HlLDEGARDE.] I'm very glad you've come. LAWRENCE Hildegarde, this is Mrs. Knollys. [Hubert enters quietly from the door leadmg to the basement. He is unnoticed amid the greetings. He goes nonchalantly towards window at left.] HILDEGARDE When I heard Larrie was coming to you, I just couldn't stay at home. LAWRENCE She wouldn't. So we — HILDEGARDE [Interrupting.] Oh, Larrie, you must let me speak! You've had Mrs. Knollys all to yourself for six long weeks — [Hubert turns as Lawrence goes to Susan.] You see I've heard so much about you. Larrie wrote me reams and reams of letters right from the beginning. CAROLINE \Purringly.] Yes. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 39 HILDEGARDE Oh, yes ! I've followed you every step you've taken. [Susan looks anxious and laughs a little hys- terically.] CAROLINE [Noticmg Hubert's presence.] Indeed ! hildegarde [Seeing Caroline's face change.] I hope we haven't intruded ! CAROLINE Not at all. Oh, Hubert, let me present you to Mr. and Mrs. Sanbury. HUBERT Ah! How do you do? [They exchange greetmgs.] CAROLINE I've persuaded Mr. Sanbury to accept the com- mission to remodel the house. HUBERT [Surprised.] Oh, have you! [Pause.] 40 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDE GARDE [Continuing to Caroline.] Oh, it was wonderful for Larrie to be with you. You were eyes to him in Italy. CAROLINE Let me present you to Miss Ambie. [Pointedly. ~\ She was with us too. [Hubert notes this closely, though seeming not to listen.'] HLLDEGARDE [Surprised.'] Oh, were you? [Goes immediately to Susan.] Larrie wrote me you were taken ill in Switzerland, and that he and Mrs. Knollys went on alone. SUSAN [Nervously. ] Oh, dear no, I mean ... I ... It was really nothing serious. HILDEGARDE I hope you've recovered. SUSAN Oh, perfectly, thank you. I didn't miss much of the trip . . . You see it was really only . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 41 CAROLINE [Seeing Hubert's eye on them.] Oh, Susan, it's nearly twelve. [To the others.] Excuse me. [Again to Susan] You might hail a taxi and settle the matter of servants for me. SUSAN [Anxiously.] Yes, yes, but hadn't I better — ? CAROLINE [Decisively, going to the hall with Susan.] The club for luncheon. One o'clock. [Susan exits.] MURTHA [Coming up from rear.] Ah, it do be good to see thim together again, eh? CAROLINE Did you want to ask me anything? MURTHA If it's a chambermaid ye want, me daughter Agnes — CAROLINE Would you mind closing the door? 42 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN MURTHA Ah, not at all. [She crosses and closes the door, then returns.'] CAROLINE [Cuttmgly.] I mean behind you. MURTHA [Catching Caroline's eye and meaning.] Oh, yis, ra'ara. [She exits.] CAROLINE [Motioning Hildegarde to a chair.] Do I understand you run an Intelligence Office? hildegarde I've organized a general employment bureau in connection with the tenements. LAWRENCE But, my dear, it's hardly fair to Mrs. Knollys to send this old — HILDEGARDE [Interrupting.] We sent her daughter Agnes. You understand, only the derelicts come to us.; but you'll see, Mrs. Murtha will do her work well. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 43 CAROLINE Tell me, do you really live among these people ? HILDEGARDE Yes, at the model tenement. Have you ever seen one? CAROLINE No! HILDEGARDE I'd be delighted to show you around. CAROLINE Yes. Miss Ambie and I will come sometime to- gether. HILDEGARDE Do, and take luncheon with us at our co-operative dining-room. LAWRENCE [To Caroline.] I wouldn't expect too much. You see, it's a fad of hers — Democracy and the Underdog. HILDEGARDE Oh, no, that's my real work. HUBERT [Coming into the conversation.] What? 44 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE We believe in giving the poor people better living conditions first; so that then they will be better able to fight for other things. HUBERT Yes, and make them discontented all along the line. HIEDEGARDE [Fervently.'] If only we could make them sufficiently discon- tented ! HUBERT [Taking up the newspaper.] I should say you were succeeding very well. Have you seen this series of furious articles on Factory Reform ? HIEDEGARDE [Looking at paper.] Yes. HUBERT What do you think of them? HIEDEGARDE I ought to approve of them. HUBERT Why? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 45 HILDEGARDE Because I wrote them. HUBERT [Amazed.] What! You? HILDEGARDE Yes. They're mine. HUBERT You label these articles reform, but they read pretty much like anarchy to me. HILDEGARDE Do you know about our present factory condi- tions ? HUBERT [Grimly. 1 Somewhat, to my cost. You've made me one of your horrible examples. HILDEGARDE What!! HUBERT I own the majority stock in the Homestead Mills. LAWRENCE [Nervously.'] Good Lord, Hildegarde! Your crowd haven't been attacking Mr. Knollys, have they? 46 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE [To Lawrence.] No one was mentioned by name. [To Hubert.] Your manager refused to show his stock sheet to our committee ; so we simply wrote up the mill. HUBERT Our manager has to compete with others. We give these people work. We don't force our hands to come to us. HILDEGARDE That's it. The whole system is wrong. The state must remedy it. Individuals can't. You've got to resort to the means of your lowest and most unscrupulous competitor; or leave the field. HUBERT Do you mind answering a few questions ? HILDEGARDE Not at all. HUBERT [To Caroline and Lawrence.] Excuse us. [He and Hildegarde go toward the hall. He takes some clippings from his pocket. ] In the first place you stated . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 47 [They exit and pass out of sight, going toward the right, in earnest conversation. Caroline is sitting in the large divan chair at the left. Lawrence comes toward her.~\ LAWRENCE [Enthusiastic ally. ] Isn't she splendid! CAROLINE [Softly ironical.] You treat us all alike; don't you? LAWRENCE How? CAROLINE [Quietly.] She, too, is older than you. Isn't she? LAWRENCE Oh, a year or two. That doesn't matter. CAROLINE How chivalrous you are. But for your sake, she ought to be wiser. LAWRENCE What do you mean? CAROLINE Her radical theories about Democracy and — the great Unwashed. . . . Do you agree with them? 48 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN lawrence I'm an artist. I take no side whatever. CAROLINE But don't you see, you'll have to take a side? lawrence Why? CAROLINE People of our class won't support you, if your wife attacks the very sources from which they pay you. LAWRENCE [With sudden anxiety, ] Oh, perhaps Mr. Knollys will resent what Hilde- garde has done, and won't care to give me the work. Is that what you mean? CAROLINE I mean your wife mustn't add to my difficulties. LAWRENCE [Sincerely distressed.'] Oh, Lord! In wrong the first crack out of the box; and I wanted you so much to like each other! CAROLINE Tell me, — is she really as frank as she seems ? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 49 LAWRENCE Why, yes. What makes you ask that? CAROLINE I was a little startled when I learned you'd writ- ten her so definitely about our tour in Italy. LAWRENCE [Relieved*] Oh, that's all right. Hildegarde thinks nothing about that. CAROLINE But she mustn't give everybody credit for so much sympathetic understanding. [With a glance toward the hall,] LAWRENCE You mean your husband ! CAROLINE [Quickly.] Don't speak so loudly ! [With a change to a seductive, problematical man- ner.] I haven't told you everything about my life. I thought you guessed. LAWRENCE Why, surely, he wouldn't dare to misjudge you, would he? 50 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE We move in a society that does not trust itself, so it is always suspicious. LAWRENCE I hope you'll forgive me. I'm just a fool about these things. CAROLINE [Seeing Hubert and Hildegarde approaching.] Pst ! Say nothing more. HUBERT [Re-entering from the hall.~\ [To Hildegarde.] If I'm on top, I know I'll treat the laborer as well as I can afford. If he's on top, I can't expect so much in return. They get a living wage. hildegarde You'd better take a trip down South and see how well they live. HUBERT Perhaps I shall. And then I'll want to see you again. hildegarde Do! [To the others.] Until then we part, good, class-conscious, cordial enemies. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 51 HUBERT [Pointing to the news paper. ] Very well. And how about these articles? HILDEGARDE To-morrow we begin on your competitors. HUBERT Good! That's fair play. CAROLINE Hubert, would you mind showing Mr. Sanbury about the house? HUBERT Now? CAROLINE Yes. Mrs. Sanbury will remain with me. [HlLDEGARDE nods.] HUBERT We'll go this way. LAWRENCE Excuse me. [Lawrence and Hubert exit through hall and are seen mounting the stairs. ] CAROLINE [Points to a chair in the full light. ] You don't mind the light? 52 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Oh, not at all. CAROLINE [Speaking as she pulls up the shade full upon HlLDEGARDE.] I'm sure we shall understand each other thor- oughly; because we both want your husband to suc- ceed. HILDEGARDE It's fine of you to be so interested. He's never had a chance to prove what he can do. CAROLINE [Sitting with her bach to the light. ] My interest will excuse many personal questions. [Charmingly.] He being so young, we can discuss him and his future from the same point of view. HILDEGARDE Yes, Larrie for all his twenty -five years is just a great big boy. CAROLINE How did you come to live there in the tenements? HILDEGARDE Surely Larrie has told you! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 53 CAROLINE But I never trust a husband to tell me all about his home. {Insinuatingly. ] If the wife loves him very much, he never really knows his circumstances. HILDEGARDE We've had no secrets from each other. We strug- gled on together right from the beginning. I some- times got disheartened, but Larrie never did. CAROLINE Ah ! Did he decide to live there ? HILDEGARDE No. I lived there first, and when we married, we decided to settle there together, so I might continue my work. CAROLINE But do you think the tenement is quite the — ah — the atmosphere for him to work in ? HILDEGARDE He hasn't complained; and offices cost lots of money. CAROLINE Yes. 54 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Your commission will enable him to start in busi- ness for himself ; and then we hope to afford a better place. CAROLINE Yes. But have you ever considered how your very work in the world might hinder him? HILDEGARDE [Puzzled.] In what way? CAROLINE Art has always been the luxury of a leisure class. It has always been supported by the patronage of wealth; and you can't expect that the people whom you attack, and publicly attack, are going to reply by using their influence to promote your husband. HILDEGARDE Then Lawrence must work his way without their influence. CAROLINE [With narrowing eyes.] In the school of adversity, eh? HILDEGARDE [Proudly.] That school has brought out the best in many artists ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 55 CAROLINE And has killed thousands of others that we never hear of. My dear, the school of adversity is a very good school; provided you don't matriculate too early and continue too long. HILDEGARDE I'd rather continue just as we are now to the end of our days, than have him sell his soul and abandon all he's stood for. CAROLINE You would; but how about him? HILDEGARDE He would too ! CAROLINE Perhaps I know him better than you do. HILDEGARDE I don't think so. CAROLINE Then some day, you may have to reproach your- self for his failure. HILDEGARDE I? CAROLINE Yes. 56 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Why should he fail? CAROLINE Just because of his unusual qualities. The world at best is a cruel place. It gives its prizes to the ordinary. It martyrizes the exceptional person, be- cause it doesn't understand him, and what it doesn't understand, it fears ; and what it fears, it destroys, or worse than that, it allows to die unnoticed. The world will make your husband suffer, just because he is exceptional. HILDEGARDE I can't believe that ! CAROLINE [Sarcastically.] One must indeed be an optimist to be a fanatic. With your help I hoped to place him where I know he belongs. But I cannot ; if you oppose it. [Pause. ] HILDEGARDE I don't see how / stand in his way ! CAROLINE You have already made a difficulty with my hus- band. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 57 HILDEGARDE How? CAROLINE My dear, you can hardly expect my husband to give your husband an expensive commission; when you spend your time writing articles that lower the value of the most important investment he holds. HILDEGARDE Then Lawrence will have to choose. CAROLINE Oh, no. You mustn't put that on him. You mustn't bind him by his love for you. For if he fails to choose properly, you will be forced to bear the burden of his bitterness. And there's nothing so bitter in the world as an artist's bitterness. [Looking at her closely. ] It won't come now. I grant you a few years more of his hopeful illusions and youthful courage; but then your awakening will come . . . when you are gray — at heart, and he still in his prime ; but with the sources of his faith run dry — eaten with disap- pointments, sick with postponements, his inspiration festered by discouragement; while he still knocks listlessly at the doors, which would be open to him now; but will be closed hereafter, when his oppor- tunities have passed him by. 58 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE That can't be true ! CAROLINE [Continuing ruthlessly .] And in the cruel retrospect, then his awakening will come ; and he will see that it has been [Cynically'] what you call your " life-work " that has hindered him. And then, what will his love for you be worth to you or him? HILDEGARDE [Obstinately.] He has his work, I have mine. It's for him to choose. CAROLINE And is your muck-raking worth his career? Knowing that he loves you now, and will be in- fluenced by you, have you a right to make him choose ? HILDEGARDE No more than you ! CAROLINE There is this difference : — / do it for his sake purely. HILDEGARDE So do I! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 59 CAROLINE I doubt it. HILDEGARDE [Passionately.] Don't you think it would be easier for me to see him settled? I've walked the floor at night! I've agonized over his career, while he's been sleeping like a child ! CAROLINE [Quickly.'] Ah, then there have been secrets ! HILDEGARDE [Contmumg.] Yes ! I've made it a point of honor not to allow him to spend one cent on me! [Suddenly.] You're looking at this dress ! I know it's shabby — You've noticed it — He hasn't . . . CAROLINE My dear, you mustn't feel sensitive about your clothes ! HILDEGARDE [Choking back her tears.] It's the first time that I ever was \ 60 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE You must let me give you a gown or two. HILDEGARDE [Recoiling.] Oh, no ! I couldn't accept them — I couldn't ! CAROLINE But, my dear — HILDEGARDE [Proudly.] Excuse me, don't presume ! CAROLINE I hoped you'd understand. Your husband's pro- fession has a social side. There are people he must meet — people that will be of use to him. I want to arrange it. You won't object? HILDEGARDE Oh, no ! CAROLINE It's always easy for a man — a dress suit and there you are. But we women are at a disadvantage without the proper equipment, and . . . HILDEGARDE Please leave me out of all your calculations. I shan't complicate matters. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 61 CAROLINE My dear, I merely intended to save you from em- barrassment. HILDEGARDE I am very grateful. But I repeat, it's impossible I should accept anything from you. We belong to two totally different orders. CAROLINE Then as you're unwilling to meet the social re- quirements, you will understand perfectly, if you're not included in . . . HILDEGARDE Certainly. I shall not expect to be invited. CAROLINE I must compliment you, Mrs. Sanbury. You're stronger than I thought you were. [Pause. The two women look at each other. Hildegarde is dazed. Caroline is smilingly confident.] LAWRENCE [Coming down stairs.~\ We'll have a jolly job introducing Queen Victoria to the Renaissance. You've plenty of room ; that is, if you'll let me smash the conventional partitions. 62 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Meanmgly.] I always like to smash conventional partitions ; provided the outside walls remain intact. Have you explained to Hubert? LAWRENCE He couldn't follow the sketch. CAROLINE [With a 'veiled sneer. ~\ You'll have to build models before he can see. LAWRENCE [After a slight hesitation.] Will you really need models ? CAROLINE I am afraid so. How long would it take you? LAWRENCE Well, you know, I've left my old firm ; and I'll first have to look about for larger quarters. HILDEGARDE [Involuntarily. 1 Oh! LAWRENCE [Confidently.'] I've been thinking of changing. It's only been a question of the proper place. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 63 CAROLINE [Knowingly smiling at Hildegarde.] Oh, of course. But I've an idea. In insisting upon models, I appreciate I am asking the unusual; but I want to expedite matters. LAWRENCE Yes ... Yes .. . CAROLINE You've seen the fourth storey? LAWRENCE Yes CAROLINE Couldn't you build your models there ? LAWRENCE {Eagerly.} Splendidly ! [Relieved.] That would solve everything; wouldn't it, Hilde- garde ? [To Caroline.] And I could consult with you at every step. CAROLINE Yes. 64 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [To HlLDEGARDE.] And in that way, we needn't interfere with your plans at the tenement. HlLDEGARDE Oh! CAROLINE Perhaps you'd better advise with your wife before you decide. I'll speak with Hubert. Excuse me. [She exits through the hall.~\ LAWRENCE [Watches her out of the tail of his eye. As soon as she is off, his manner changes, and he comes to HlLDEGARDE in hushed excitement. He takes her hands and speaks quickly.] I'm glad, old girl, you didn't butt into any of my bluffs ! I got a cold sweat when she spoke about models ! [Wiping his brow.~\ Phew! That was a poser! But did you see me do it? [Imitating his former manner.] " Just looking for a proper place." [With a flourish of his hand.] Money no object. Did you see me? With not enough to the good to keep the sheriff off any place for a single month! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 65 [Sitting.'] That fourth storey is too good to be true ! [Devoutly.] God bless the ugliness of Queen Victoria! God bless the rich with big houses and small families ! Don't wake me ! HILDEGARDE Then you're going to accept her top floor? LAWRENCE [Flabbergasted to an echo.] Am I going to accept her . . .? Watch me! I've never told you ; but I haven't been able to work there in the tenements. This addre.ss alone will get me credit for materials. And right now, I'm in no position to deny her anything. HILDEGARDE Evidently. LAWRENCE [Rubbvng his chin.] Gosh! The old man was pretty mum about the plan. [Suddenly.'] He may be sore about those articles of yours ! I hope they haven't queered it. 66 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Oh, I fancy she'll arrange it. LAWRENCE I hope she will. [Suddenly.] Golly, you don't seem to realize what this job means to me ! HILDEGARDE Perhaps I do, even more than you. LAWRENCE [Intensely.] Money ! That's what it means . . . Money ! A thing we've never had, and a thing we've got to get ! HILDEGARDE Is money everything? LAWRENCE Yes, now — everything. . . . Money ! I want money — money to be free to do things — money to get things for you. Do you think I like to see you wearing rags like this? [Pointing to her dress.] HILDEGARDE [With a quick pain.] Oh, as for me — THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 67 LAWRENCE I've had enough of the tenements ! I've never told you — HILDEGARDE Larrie ! ! LAWRENCE [Excitedly. ,] That's all right, my dear. You're a fanatic about some things. I don't interfere with you, and you mustn't interfere with me ! [Chcmge.] Perhaps you'd better go. ... I mean if you're not in sympathy with the scheme, for God's sake, don't hang on. HILDEGARDE [Slowly.'] There's lots that I could say, Larrie. . . . LAWRENCE Yes, I know, but not here. Listen — Open your head! I've got to nail this job. I want to do it on my own hook. Then if I take it to a firm, I collar some of the swag and get some credit for my work. ... I may never wing a chance to start like this again. [She is about to say something but he continues.] 68 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN We're broke — and no instalment until the plans and models are accepted. Here I get a place rent free, materials on tick, with Lawrence Sanbury I-n-c upon the signs. . . . I'll incorporate my debts. Otherwise, back again into an old thirty a week job to sweat for the other fellow all my life. [Quickly giving Hildegarde her coat.] Hildegarde, here- — take; your rags and run. HILDEGARDE [Quietly.] Shall I wait luncheon? LAWRENCE Hang luncheon. I'm going to eat this job. HILDEGARDE But on your first day home, after*. . LAWRENCE There'll be lots of days like this coming. [Holding her coat.] Here — here she comes. Just say good-by. [Enter Caroline from the hall.] CAROLINE Well, I've spoken with my husband. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 69 LAWRENCE [Restrained.] Yes . . .? CAROLINE He thinks it an admirable plan for you to work here. LAWRENCE [Relieved.] Ah, then that's settled ! CAROLINE So we can begin immediately . . . that is . . . if — [Looks at HlLDEGARDE.] HILDEGARDE I was just going. [Caroline is silent.'] Good-by, Mrs. Knollys. CAROLINE [With feigned surprise.] Oh! [Then in a commonplace tone.] Good-by. I shan't forget your invitation to the tenements. 70 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE Excuse me, Hildegarde, I'll be home — ah — shortly. [Hildegarde goes quickly to the arch, and exits through the hall.'] [Lawrence makes a move to follow her, then pauses perplexed, Caroline watches him narrowly.] LAWRENCE [Scratching his head.] By Jove! What makes a fellow a brute some- times to the woman he cares for? CAROLINE [Slowly. ] It's the artist in you, Lawrence, that is instinc- tively unscrupulous toward anything that hinders its development. LAWRENCE But Hildegarde wouldn't hinder me! CAROLINE Not intentionally, certainly not. She's an excep- tional person. [Sittmg.] I'm sorry she doesn't like me. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 71 LAWRENCE [Fighting against his own conviction.] What makes you think she doesn't like you? CAROLINE She has her — ah — principles. Unfortunately they oppose everything I stand for. LAWRENCE You don't know her, she . . . CAROLINE, Perhaps not, and I'm so sorry ; for I hoped we should agree about you. LAWRENCE But she must see how much you mean to me, and — CAROLINE Perhaps you've been too frank with her. LAWRENCE I never conceal anything from Hildegarde. CAROLINE [Ironically.'] No. . . . LAWRENCE [Continuing.] And I'd hate any person that made me lie ! 72 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Sitting disconsolately.] What can I do? CAROLINE That you must decide yourself. You stand at a crossing, Lawrence. The one road means the old limitations and the commonplace: the other leads to freedom and opportunity. It's difficult to choose, because she loves you . . . dearly. LAWRENCE Of course she does ! CAROLINE Therefore it's quite natural she should resent any one having the power to do for you what she would like to do; but can't. I'd feel that way myself, if . . . LAWRENCE If what? CAROLINE If I loved you the way she does. If I weren't ambitious for your great work ! LAWRENCE But she wants me to do big work. CAROLINE [Shaking her head.] You feel things in you that she never dreamed of. That's why . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 73 [With a change. ~\ But I oughtn't make you conscious. LAWRENCE What is it? CAROLINE [With a show of reluctance.] That's why you aren't at your best, when you're with her. Now there, I've said it. LAWRENCE But I haven't had the chance of really explaining to her all I want to do, and . . . CAROLINE [ Unscrupulously. ] An artist justifies himself by doing: not explain- ing! Consider everything that helps you to your end as good. That is the conscience of an artist. His work is always greater than his life. LAWRENCE By Jove, I always see clearer when I talk to you! CAROLINE [Passionately.] I am unscrupulous for the best in you ! 74 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Taking her hands.'] You're wonderful ! CAROLINE I mustn't be mistaken in you ! LAWRENCE [Kissmg her hands.] You won't be. CAROLINE I have a problem too, because of you. LAWRENCE [Dropping her hands.] Yes, I know. CAROLINE And you must justify me as well. We made a compact. Have you forgotten it? LAWRENCE The afternoon we left Florence. CAROLINE And climbed the hills toward Fiesole . . . alone. LAWRENCE [Rapt.] In the flaming orange scarfs of mist, with the whole world behind us in the valley. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 75 CAROLINE Where you said the world should always be for the artist with the vision and the will to create a new form of art. You were splendid then! LAWRENCE And afterward, the long ride on to Brescia and Como and — CAROLINE Psch! That lies behind us. [Pause. With a change. ] I thought that memory belonged to us alone. LAWRENCE It does ! CAROLINE [Raising her finger.] You shared it. LAWRENCE Forget that, please. CAROLINE I hope the others will. [Up stairs.] Will I hang the things up here, sir? 76 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN Hubert's voice [Up stairs.] Yes, just put them in the closet, please. CAROLINE [Quickly to Lawrence.] Sit down. [He starts to sit m a chair near her. She povnts to one at right of stage.] No ; over there. [He goes quickly to the other side. She continues.] We'll lunch together. The Colony Club at one o'clock. LAWRENCE I thought that Hildegarde might — CAROLINE [Interrupting peremptorily.] I must see you. LAWRENCE But on my first day home — CAROLINE [Impatiently.] Between Susan's nervousness and your thought- lessness, I . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 77 LAWRENCE Very well. [Enter Hubert from the hall.~\ HUBERT H'm ! Still talking over plans ? LAWRENCE [Rising, embarrassed.] Yes . . . yes . . . and I want to thank you, Mr. Knollys. HUBERT Me? For what? LAWRENCE The fourth storey. It'll be a great help to me. [Hubert looks perplexed.] CAROLINE You know, I have asked Mr. Sanbury to build his models there. HUBERT [Grimly.] Ah . . . have you! I didn't know. LAWRENCE [Filling m the awkward pause.] Then you can see exactly how the rooms will look. 78 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Oh, as for me . . . [Smiles. ~\ Quite so. Very kind of you — very. Where's your wife? LAWRENCE She's already gone. HUBERT [Sarcastically.] If you should see her again, you might tell her that I've decided to go South immediately. LAWRENCE [Jerking at his watch.] Yes — ah . . . She'll be delighted to hear that . . . and ... ah ... I was delighted to meet you, Mr. Knollys ; and if you'll excuse me — I'll — I'll ... be going now. [He stands awkwardly. Hubert goes to the hall, then turns to Lawrence.] HUBERT Good morning. LAWRENCE Oh, good-by, Mrs. Knollys. [To Hubert.] Good-by, Mr. Knollys. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 79 CAROLINE Good-bj. [Hubert nods. Lawrence exits. Pause. ] HUBERT [Laughmg softly.] Caroline, I think your latest is a light-weight! CAROLINE [Changing the subject.] You're going South? HUBERT I hope you'll endure my absence. [Pause.'] What was your object in giving your young man the impression that you had to consult me in any- thing? CAROLINE I generally consult you. HUBERT Yes. After you've completed your arrangements. It's your house. I've nothing to say. But I see now why you needed Elsie's room. [A furious knock is heard in the hall. They both start as Murtha enters.] 80 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN MURTHA [Proudly.'] Ah, did ye hear me knock? CAROLINE What is it? MURTHA A young lady's in th' front hall. [To Hubert.] She wants to see you, Mr. Knowllez. HUBERT To see me? MURTHA [Hesitating.] She says she's from th' Cushtoms office, so she says. HUBERT [Grimly to Caroline.] I fancy it's about your trunks. CAROLINE [TO MURTHA.] Send her in here. MURTHA Shure Oi will — whoy wouldn't Oi ? [Exits to hall.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 81 HUBERT Why should the young lady want to see me? CAROLINE Have you money with you? HUBERT [Taking out his bill case.'] Yes. CAROLINE [With a smile.'] I gave her my card. HUBERT But — CAROLINE [Taking his bill case and going to window.] Let me see. All she's come for is more money. [Hubert during the above goes toward the hall. Caroline's bach is to him. Emily Madden enters nervously from the right. She is a young woman of about twenty-eight. Hubert makes a quick recoil of amazement and a half- smothered exclamation: " Emily ! " She, see- ing Caroline, gives him a quick gesture of silence.] EMILY [In a breathless staccato and a forbidding manner.] This is Mr. Knollys, I believe. 82 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Yes. CAROLINE [Turning and coming down.~\ I hope you've had no difficulty. EMILY You evidently did not understand. CAROLINE Oh, I see. In that case, why, of course, I wish to pay you for any further — EMILY [Violently.] Please ! HUBERT Caroline I CAROLINE Oh! EMILY Mrs. Knollys, all your trunks are held. CAROLINE [Savagely.] The insolence ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 83 EMILY It was the only way to save you from a charge of smuggling and . . . CAROLINE Indeed ! EMILY I couldn't make you realize it. That's why I've come to see your husband. CAROLINE [With a smile. ,] Thank you very much. HUBERT Caroline, you'd better let me settle this. CAROLINE [Crossing to the hall.] By all means. You always settle things so ade- quately. [To Emily.] Good morning. [She starts to go up stairs, then turns and says sig- nificantly to Hubert:] Oh, your purse ! [She throws it gracefully over the balustrade. He, standing below, catches it. She continues up 84 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN stairs. He matches her out of sight, then turns and comes down to Emily.] HUBERT [Giving way to his astonishment.] Emily ! I'm all in the dark ! How are you mixed up in this? EMILY [Quickly.] I left the newspaper and got a position in the Customs. This morning I saw her name on the list of passengers. She fell into the hands of one of the sourest old inspectors. He found some jewels in a sachet bag. Then he caught her in a lie. As usual, he asked her to reconsider her declaration. She refused . . . HUBERT [ Unconsciously. ] The damned fool! EMILY Then he insisted she be searched. HUBERT Naturally. EMILY As I was standing there, the officers deputed me to look her over. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 85 HUBERT [Appalled.] But she didn't know who you were, did she? EMILY Oh, no, but I took the chance to tell her of the penalty: ten thousand dollars' fine, or two years' imprisonment, or both. HUBERT I hope that sobered her ! EMILY Judge for yourself. She said she had a list, and gave me this envelope. [Giving him an envelope out of her bag.~\ Open it. HUBERT [Opening it.] Two one hundred dollar bills. EMILY One for my partner. There were two of us. HUBERT [Putting envelope on table.] The same old game. 86 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN EMILY I felt like throwing it into her face; but then I thought of you, and held my temper. The inspec- tors were waiting. HUBERT What did you do? EMILY I told your wife I'd tend to everything, and got her off. Then I reported for her that she had re- considered, had nothing on her person, she was ill and didn't know what things were dutiable; and therefore wanted all her stuff to be appraised. HUBERT Good! And then? EMILY Then I tried to 'phone you everywhere, and finally I had to take the chance of even meeting — her again, and come right here to tell you. HUBERT You little thoroughbred. EMILY Hubert, do nothing until you hear from them. Dispute nothing, but make her stick to the story that I framed up for her, and pay on their appraisal. I hope I've done right. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 87 HUBERT Right ! I don't know how to thank you. EMILY Return this to your wife with my compliments. [Pomts to envelope.'] HUBERT I guess you're all in, Emily. EMILY Oh, don't mind about me. HUBERT Filthy business, this. [Suddenly anxious.'] There'll be no consequences for you? EMILY I guess not. HUBERT [Walking about.] I don't know how it is. She never learns. She does exactly what she pleases. Experience means nothing to her ; because in some way she always man- ages to get protected, no matter what she does. She's skated over thin ice all her life — she courts the danger signals ; and j ust when anybody else 88 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN would fall through, an unknown somebody reaches her a hand out of the universe and lands her safe ! Gad! and to think that it was you that helped her! EMILY I don't think that would appeal to her sense of humor. HUBERT Did she bring over much stuff? EMILY They said about six thousand, off hand. HUBERT Six thou . . . Phew! Well, that's her affair. But sit down a moment. [He puts her on settle, then sits at right of the table.'] Tell me, how did you get into the Customs office? EMILY I got tired of the paper. My friend Hildegarde Sanbury suggested the customs, and helped me get it. HUBERT Oh, Mrs. Sanbury's a friend of yours. EMILY Yes, why? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 89 HUBERT They were here this morning. EMILY Were they? Isn't Hildegarde fine? HUBERT Tell me about him! EMILY You mean Lawrence? HUBERT Yes. EMILY They say he's a genius, full of all wonderful things, and just waiting for his opportunity to ex- press them. HUBERT Yes, just the type! EMILY What type? HUBERT Do you know where he and Caroline met? EMILY I've no idea; except that they spent some time to- gether in Italy. 90 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT What was he doing there? EMILY Studying and making sketches. Hildegarde slaved and saved every cent she could to send him over. HUBERT So this is her latest ! EMILY What do you mean? HUBERT I wonder if I can explain it. Caroline has a mania for depredating the next generation. She poses to herself as the heroine of a belated romance. EMILY But she knows Lawrence is married; doesn't she? HUBERT She prefers them married. Takes all the perfume and the blossoms, and lets the wife grub at the roots. She likes to be the destiny and let the wife assume the utility. Does he love his wife? EMILY Why, of course, devotedly. That's the finest thing about him. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 91 HUBERT Better yet. She enjoys making a test of her power. EMILY [Impulsively.] Hildegarde's the best in the world, Hubert, and . . . HUBERT Then I pity her. EMILY You don't mean your wife will hurt Hildegarde, do you? HUBERT {Bitterly.'] She won't bleed; that is, outwardly. She'll just wake up and find her happiness evaporated. EMILY You mustn't allow it. She's just a child before a sophisticated person. HUBERT [Desperately.] What can I do? Caroline has done this all her life; and as she operates under the protection of my name, I've had apparently to stand by and sanc- tion it. 92 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN EMILY Can't you stop her? HUBERT [Agam walking about. ~\ How? You'd respect her if she showed one real emotion. She's physically chaste; but is absolutely unchastened in soul; and yet she feeds on the souls of others. That's how she keeps young. She's a mental Bluebeard, and I'm the hotel clerk for her castle ... I know where all her miserable relics hang . . . What rooms and what days of their lives they've offered her ! EMILY Why, this is horrible, Hubert! HUBERT [Contimung,"] I'd give my eyes to stop her! If not for the sake of others, for my own sake! She's broken me! I tried to get free for years at the beginning. But she plays so absolutely safe . . . She protects herself so completely that she is unassailable. EMILY Can't he be warned? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 93 HUBERT Not if she gets him first. Her kind of poison strikes them blind. There's nothing to be done for him. Just you keep out of her way. EMILY Don't worry. I will. Well, I must get back to work. [She starts to go again.] HUBERT My dear, why will you work? Why won't you let me take care of you? EMILY I wish to earn my own living, Hubert. You know that. HUBERT Yes. But I want to ask you . . . Why have you avoided me for this long time? EMILY Hubert, I didn't want to write it; but it's over between us. HUBERT [After a pause.'] Yes, I've realized that. 94 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN EMILY [Very tenderly.] Hubert, I've no reproach to make you ; and I don't want you to reproach me, or to feel any bitterness. What we gave was a free gift from both — a free gift and no regrets. A break had to come some time, I suppose ; and as soon as I met him, I — I realized that it had to come right away. [Looking away from Hubert.] He asked no questions ; but that's why you haven't seen or heard from me. Hubert, I'm going to marry Michael Krellin. HUBERT [After a pause.] Good luck to you. [He takes her hand in both of his.] But I thought you didn't believe in marriage. EMILY Neither did he. But I'm afraid we both believe in marriage now. I can't tell you how it happened; but it's different, Hubert . . . That's all ... I know you'll understand. [Hubert nods and releases her hand. She goes to- ward the hall.] HUBERT Emily . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 95 [She stops and turns.'] We've been good chums for a long time; and, do you know, you've never allowed me to give you any- thing? EMILY That was our agreement, Hubert. HUBERT Yes ; but I want you to promise me this. If you should ever get into a blind alley, and need anything, a friend or money, and need it without strings, I want you to think of me. I'd like to feel you'd do that much for the sake of Auld Lang Syne. EMILY [Coming to him.] All right. I promise. [Extends her hand.] Good-by. HUBERT [Quietly, as he takes her hand.] Krellin's a very lucky fellow. EMILY That's like you, Hubert. HUBERT I'll call you a cab. 96 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN EMILY Never mind. Don't come with me, please. I'll run right along. [She turns and says very tenderly:] Good-by. HUBERT Good-by. [She exits through the hall. After she is off, Hubert stands looking after her until the front door is heard to close. He drops his hands dis- consolately and walks mechanically to the table at center. His eyes fall upon the envelope still lying there. He takes it up. His mood changes. He gets a sudden idea. He looks up, throws the envelope down on the table again with an angry gesture, and goes with vehement determination toward the stairs. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, shakes his head per- plexed, and then decides upon a different attack. He calls very pleasantly :] HUBERT Ah, Caroline! CAROLINE [Up stairs.] Yes. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 97 HUBERT I'd like to see you for a moment. CAROLINE Are you alone? HUBERT [Still pleasantly.] Yes. Oh, yes. CAROLINE I'll be right down. [Hubert walks round the room gathering his confi- dent anger with every step. He hears her com- ing, controls his humor, and stands with his hands behind him, full of exultant exasperation, as she enters. ] CAROLINE Did you settle it? HUBERT [Deliberately giving her a chair.] One moment. CAROLINE Susan is waiting me for luncheon. HUBERT [Decidedly.] Very sorry. 98 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Inqtwrmgly.] Well? HUBERT Very sorry, but I'm afraid Vll need some of your time this afternoon. CAROLINE [After sitting, looks up demurely.] What for? HUBERT [With great distinctness.] The Customs office. CAROLINE Oh, no. You ventured to criticize me. You asked me to leave it to you. I do. HUBERT [Losing control.] About six thousand dollars' duty for you to pay ! CAROLINE I ? Perfectly ridiculous ! I settled it. Of course, if you . . . HUBERT [Angrily.] You did, eh? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 99 CAROLINE \LaughmgJ\ If you were fool enough to let that woman — HUBERT If " that woman " treated you as you deserve — CAROLINE I think I treated her very well. HUBERT It was only out of consideration for me that she — CAROLINE Oh, for y<m! HUBERT Yes, for me. If " that woman " didn't happen to be a friend of mine, you might be publicly disgraced by now as well as I! CAROLINE [Laughing.] A friend of yours ! Why, really, Hubert, I must say you have strange friends — A woman that would use her friendship to extort money . . . HUBERT [Enraged.'] Listen to me! Your trunks are in the hands of the appraisers. You've been caught in a ridiculous he ; and she — 100 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [ Triumphantly. ] She can't say that, because I bribed her! Your friend ! HUBERT [Flinging the envelope on the table.] There's your two hundred dollars, and you'll have to pay six thousand dollars on your trunks, and be grateful to Miss Madden for having saved you ! CAROLINE To whom? HUBERT [With great confidence.] Miss Emily Madden, the woman you maligned. CAROLINE [In a moment of rage.] She looked me over! She dared! HUBERT [Gloating.] It was Miss Madden. [He walks away from her, turns with supreme ela- tion.] Yes. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 101 CAROLINE [In a peal of laughter. ~\ Then I understand perfectly why she came to you ! But I'm not so easy. The matter of the trunks was settled. [Walking to the hall.'] Of course, if you feel that you are subject to her extortions, or that perhaps you want to give her a token of your gratitude, that's your affair. [Turning to him.'] It would really be indelicate of you to insist that J should pay your mistress! HUBERT [Foiled and following her furiously.] You . . . [Chokes.] CAROLINE [Very pleasantly.] Good morning. Susan is waiting. [She exits as the Curtain descends.] ACT II ACT II The stage presents the combined kitchen and living room of the Sanbury -flat in the model tene- ments, New York City. The whole atmosphere betrays great neatness, but equal constriction and narrowness of quarters. At the first glance, the room is apparently all doors. The walls are done in waterproof white. There is a window in the rear wall, a little to the left. This opens on a fire-escape, and gives a view of other tenements in the rear. There is a shade over the window, which is further hung with chmtz curtains, that are visibly cheap, but in good taste as far as the design is concerned. In front of the window is an upholstered win- dow-seat. To the left of the window is a small serving table, with cruets of vinegar and oil, and a salad-bowl upon it. Below this table hang sundry cooking utensils. Next to the table stands the gas-stove with a coffee-pot upon it. High on the wall above the gas-stove is a gas-meter of the kind commonly in use in the tenements. It is automatic, and releases a 105 106 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN supply of gas only when a quarter is dropped into it. At the left of the stove and in the corner of the room is a combination sink and wash-tub of white porcelain ware. The dwell- ers m the tenements use the wash-tub as an ice- box. At the opening of the act, a four-fold screen hides both the sink and the stove from view. However, above the screen, a towel rack with clean dish towels is visible. In the upper left wall of the room is a door leading to Law- rence's bedroom. Below this, there is a com- bination wall book-case and mirror. The book shelf is jammed with well-used books. Directly underneath the book-case stands a flat table upon which are a typewriter and a telephone. In the rear wall of the room, to the right of the window, is the door leading from the hall. To the right of this is the dumb-waiter shaft, with a sliding panel door. In the right wall of the room is the entrance to Hildegarde's bedroom. A little below this, is the door leading to the bathroom. There is an electric bell above the hall door, another electric bell above the dumb-waiter. Next to the dumb-waiter is a speaking tube, which re- joices in a very shrill whistle. Running around the whole room is a plate shelf with colored plates upon it. There are framed pic- THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 107 tures of Tolstoy, Ruskin and Prmce Kropotkin conspicuously hung upon the walls. At the center of the room is a large mission table, set with a plate, knife, cup and saucer, napkin and a bowl of fruit. The morning newspaper lies opened. Between the dumb-waiter and the door to Hikdegarde's room is a large mission cupboard. There are five chaws m the room. Three are around the table, and one is placed before the typewriting stand. There is a hat- rack upon the wall next to the hall door. It is about eleven-thirty in the morning, some weeks after the preceding act. The blind is up, and the room is very light. [Off rear a hand-organ is heard playing. Hilde- garde is discovered at the typewriter. She works on, disregarding the hum of incoherent tenement life about her. The organ stops. A street vendor is heard hoarsely crying his wares :] vendor's voice Apples ! Apples ! Ten cents a qu-a-art ! woman's voice [0#-] Hey -hey ! Epples ! Yas — you ! Noomber seven ! A helfft quart! 108 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN >or's V All right, number seven! woman's voice lOff-l I Schick de nikkel down. [The Vendor's voice ceases. Suddenly the sound of a window crashing is heard quite close. Hiede- garde pauses attentively. Lawrence bursts into the room from the left. He appears in a dressing gown, with a ball in his hand. He is shaved, but still has lather on his face.} LAWRENCE Look here ! HIEDEGARDE Was it your window? LAWRENCE Almost my head. Say, does anybody own those brats ? HILDEGARDE [Goes quickly to the window, throws it up and calls out:~\ Vincent! Joey! Don't run away. I told you, you mustn't play ball in the court. I'll have to tell your mothers. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 109 LAWRENCE [Giving her the ball, which she puts on a shelf. ] A lot of good that'll do. HILDEGARDE It's hard to be severe with them. [Lawrence goes toward the bathroom.] They oughtn't play in the street. Little Jamie Kirk was killed by a car last week. LAWRENCE There's plenty of them left. [The dumb-waiter whistle gives a piercing scream.'] What's loose again? [He opens the tube, listens and yells down.] No ! We don't want any apples ! HILDEGARDE [Opening dumb-waiter.] Wait, Lawrence. [She calls down quietly.] Mrs. Pannakin is number seven on the other side. [Shuts dumb-waiter door.] Will you have breakfast now? LAWRENCE What time is it? 110 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE [Taking screen away from stove.] About half-past eleven. [She tries to light gas-stove.'] LAWRENCE We've got to hurry. [Turning.] What's the matter now? HILDEGARDE The meter. Have you a quarter? LAWRENCE [Giving her a com.] No credit there, eh ! [He goes into bathroom.] [She gets up on chair and puts coin in the meter, winds it and proceeds to heat the coffee.] HILDEGARDE [Calling to him.] It'll be ready in a moment. You finish dressing. [Lawrence enters from the bathroom with a towel, drying his face.] LAWRENCE What have you ordered for lunch? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 111 HILDEGARDE I told Mrs. Pannakin to take especial pains to-day. LAWRENCE [Grimly disgusted.] Mrs. Knollys will enjoy one of Mrs. Pannakin's co-operative dinners; where all the last week's vege- tables co-operate to make this week's soups ! I wonder why they want to come here anyway. HILDEGARDE [Slowly.] I can't imagine. LAWRENCE [Reproachfully.'] You invited them. I tried to head it off. HILDEGARDE They are your friends ; and you know I never miss a chance of interesting rich people in this philan- thropy. Go, dear, and finish dressing. [He exits to his room.] [She takes a script from the typewriter, folds and signs it, then addresses it in an envelope, and stamps it. She hums while she works. Law- rence re-enters carrying his collar, tie, coat and vest. He wrestles with his collar and then throws the other things down.] 112 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE This life is killing me! I'm as nervous as a cat! HILDEGARDE Didn't you sleep well? LAWRENCE [Pointing to the typewriter.] Sleep ! What time was it when you began banging that instrument of torture? HILDEGARDE I had to get my copy ready for this evening's edition. LAWRENCE [Continuing to dress.] What is it? HILDEGARDE A report of last evening's Labor Meeting for Krel- lin's column. LAWRENCE You know, you'll have to stop this kind of thing. That's if you care anything for me. [She gets butter out of improvised ice-box m the wash-tubs. ,] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 113 HILDEGARDE [Cheerfully.'] My little writing and my job here are at present our only means of support. [She puts butter on table.] LAWRENCE Oh, don't rub it in. [With a change.] I'm sorry enough to see you slave the way you do ; but Krellin and your friends are attacking the very people from whom I'm going to get my living. HILDEGARDE [Cheerfully.] Yes, Mrs. Knollys took the trouble to inform me of that some weeks ago. LAWRENCE Well, they don't like to hear how their money is made. HILDEGARDE There's very little danger of their listening to me. LAWRENCE And how about Mr. Knollys? 114 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE He and I understand each other completely. LAWRENCE Yes, no doubt. But this is how it's worked out for me. I've finished the preliminary plans, and should have got the first instalment to begin my work three days ago. HILDEGARDE Well? LAWRENCE [Contmuing.] Your articles have driven him down South, to look over that factory of his. HILDEGARDE Oh, I'm glad of that. LAWRENCE I'm glad you're glad. But I get not a cent till he O.K.'s the plans. HILDEGARDE [Cutting bread for him.] When does he get back? LAWRENCE He was expected yesterday. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 115 [Turning away.~\ Oh, I don't want a lot of breakfast. I'm rickety ! I'm all in! Just give me some coffee! HILDEGARDE [Getting coffee from gas-stove.~\ It's ready now. [Pouring it.~\ Where do you go to-night? LAWRENCE Mrs. Millette. HILDEGARDE Mrs. Who? LAWRENCE Millette, — what's the difference what her name is ? Mrs. Knollys says she wants to build a house. HILDEGARDE Good. LAWRENCE I'm invited to dine with her and go to the play to-night to talk things over. HILDEGARDE Any prospects? 116 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [With a tone of justification, .] There's a social side to my job. You must see that. I've got to make that solid first. HILDEGARDE Yes. [Pause.] LAWRENCE Why ? You're not offended that you're not asked, are you? HILDEGARDE Oh, dear no ; I'm thinking only of what they'll think of you. LAWRENCE In what way? HILDEGARDE I don't want you to be known as the kind of man these women can invite without his wife. LAWRENCE And I don't want to be known as the kind of man that always drags his wife about, either. [He opens the newspaper.] HILDEGARDE It's an affront to you, not to me. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 117 [The bell rings over the hall door. Opening the door.'] Oh, thank you. [Takes letters from some one outside.] Wait, will you drop this in the mail for me? [She fetches her typewritten article and an orange. As she passes Lawrence she says:] These are for you. [She gives him some letters. Then she returns to the door and gives the letter and the orange to the little girl evidently standing outside.] Here, Annie. Thank you. [She closes the door.] LAWRENCE [Reading a letter which he has opened during the above business.] From my old firm. [Proudly.] They offer me a raise of ten a week if I'll come back. HILDEGARDE [Looking through her mail.] Bills, bills, bills. [She sits at her typewriting table.] 118 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE They'll have to wait. I've got to. [Showing his letter.] How would you answer them ? HILDEGARDE That you must decide yourself. LAWRENCE [Pointing to the bills humorously.'] Say, ain't it the devil how the money goes ? HILDEGARDE [With a smile.] I can manage the necessities; if you'll keep down the luxuries. LAWRENCE [Looking at a bill.] Seven dollars and fifty cents for flowers. [Looks up at her.] HILDEGARDE To whom did you send them? LAWRENCE Mrs. Knollys, of course. She needs flowers. Al- ways has them. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 119 [With attempted justification.'] I eat two meals a day on her ; I've got to keep my end up some way. HILDEGARDE Certainly, by all means. LAWRENCE [With another letter.] Tailor's bill. One hundred and twenty-five cold plunks. [Boyishly.] That's the swell dress suit, all right. [Looks at her.] Do you know, I'm sometimes tempted to drop in and see my old firm ; not that I'm aching to go back to them, but — HILDEGARDE You might call on them, and tell them what you're doing. LAWRENCE What do you think? HILDEGARDE I'd play the game out for all it's worth. It's no use weakening now. 120 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Pointing to bills. ] What will we do with these? HILDEGARDE [Enc ouragingly. ] We'll meet them with your first instalment. [The bell over the dumb-waiter rings loudly.] LAWRENCE [Going to dumb-waiter. ~\ I'll open. [He opens door. The bell continues its ringing.] VOICE [Below, yelling up.] Sanbury ? LAWRENCE [Shouting down.] Yes. [Roaring.] Take your finger off that bell! [Bell stops.] VOICE [Cheerily.] Thought you might be a-hangin' out the wash ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 121 LAWRENCE No, I'm not hangin' out the wash ! What do you want ? VOICE Look out ! It's coming up ! ! [Lawrence just ducks back as the dumb-waiter shoots up.] HILDEGARDE It's the grape-fruit and salad from the grocer's. [Lawrence takes it off.~\ Put them in there. [He puts them as she indicates inside the wash-tubs.] LAWRENCE What time is it now? HILDEGARDE After twelve. You'll have to hurry. LAWRENCE [Suddenly.] Say, can't we have the screens up? [Putting them hastily back before the stove.] And you know, there's nothing very handsome about this view. [Jerks down the blind over window rear.] 122 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Larrie, please don't fuss. [He has gone quickly for his coat hanging on a peg behind his door. He re-enters struggling into his coat.] LAWRENCE Say, my room looks like hell ! HILDEGARDE Agnes will clear it up while I'm setting the table. LAWRENCE [Nervously.] Where is she? You know she never comes when you want her ! HILDEGARDE [Clearing table quietly.] She'll be here. LAWRENCE [Attempting to ftcc a picture straight on the wall.] Have all your orders come? HILDEGARDE Yes. Please don't get nervous. LAWRENCE [Turning nervously.] Well, I'm only trying to help you out. I pass the grocer's. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 123 HILDEGARDE [Pausing.] You silly boy. I guess you can't help fussing. LAWRENCE I like things to be right. [Suddenly.] Are you going to wear that dress? HILDEGARDE What's the matter with my dress ? LAWRENCE [Dubiously.] Oh, I suppose it's all right; only I thought your green — and honestly now, your feet aren't as big as that. It's those Consumer's League boots, just like your gloves ! You'd wear anything with a Trade Union label on it, wouldn't you? No matter what it looked like! HILDEGARDE They won't see my feet. LAWRENCE Won't they? [Exploding.] That skirt hikes ! ! 124* THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE [With an obvious effort to be patient.] I'll be all right; if you'll only get out before you make me nervous. [A bell rmgs. He goes toward dumb-waiter again.] [Lifting the blind he has pulled down.] No. That's the door. I guess it's Agnes. LAWRENCE I hope so. [He opens the hall door and Murtha bounds into the room,] Oh, Lord! MURTHA [Effusively.] Th' top o' th' marnin' to you, Mishter S anbury ! [Seeing Hildegarde.] Ah, Sishter! Shure, yer hushband do be lookin' loike a capitalisht to-day. [Shakes both her hands.] LAWRENCE Where's Agnes? MURTHA [With feigned surprise.] Ah, Agnes, is it? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 125 [Cunningly.] Shure, she's all roight. She do be havin' th' gran' good loock to-day ! LAWRENCE Where is she? MURTHA She's got a job to-day, yis, wid Mishter Curtis, her auld boss. HILDEGARDE Why didn't you tell me she couldn't come? MURTHA Oi wouldn't dishappoint ye. Oi know yer goin' to have a shindy; and is it any wonder that Oi'm here before th' wind. HILDEGARDE [Practically.] Then go right to Mr. S anbury's room and clear it up. MURTHA Shure Oi will ; whoy wouldn't Oi ? [She exits left with aged agility.] LAWRENCE Can't you get rid of her? 126 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE I've got to have somebody. LAWRENCE Mrs. Knollys hates the sight of her. [To the ceiling. ] Oh, we're going to have a lovely party ! HILDEGARDE [Nervously.] Then call it off entirely. LAWRENCE I tried to. But she was determined to come here to-day. HILDEGARDE [Abruptly. ] Then stop complaining ! I wish you'd go ! [Seeing the futility of chiding him, she changes to a very reassuring manner, .] Now go, dear. You look very handsome. [She adjusts his necktie and goes with him toward hall door. He has his hands in his pockets.] LAWRENCE Do I look like ready money? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 127 HILDEGARDE [Laughing. 1 Yes. LAWRENCE [Shamefaced.'] Well, I haven't got any. Mine's in the gas meter. HILDEGARDE How much will you need? LAWRENCE I've got to get those dames here, haven't I? And I might be stuck for a taxicab. You know, such things have happened! HILDEGARDE [Going to cupboard.] Wait. [She brings out a china bank and shakes it.] LAWRENCE What's that? HILDEGARDE My linen bank. [Shaking it.] There must be several dollars in it. [She breaks it with a knife; and a mass of small coins is exposed.] 128 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Sweeping up the coins.'] I feel like a man that's robbed a nursery. [As he puts them uncounted into his pocket, some of them roll on the floor.] HILDEGARDE The grocer will be glad to give you bills. LAWRENCE It 'ud take me an hour to count up this chicken feed. [Suddenly.] There's some on the floor. [As he starts to lean over, his soft hat falls from his head. He steps on it.] Gad!! Sure thing! This is my lucky day! [He punches his hat savagely.] HILDEGARDE I'll pick it up. [She does so.] Larrie dear, will you let me say something? And you won't get angry? LAWRENCE [Defensively.] Well . . .? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 129 HILDEGARDE [Going to him.~\ Dearest, first try to be calm — for your own sake, don't be irritated. It's unbecoming. LAWRENCE Oh, I'm all right; but all these little things . . . HILDEGARDE I know, dear, it is hard; but for the sake of my pride in you, be careful about showing any impa- tience to me, particularly in front of Mrs. Knollys. I don't care how angry you get when we're alone. I understand. She doesn't. And judging from the last time she saw us together, she might think . . . LAWRENCE Please don't refer to that again. I thought you had forgotten it. [Contritely. ] I lost my head. HILDEGARDE If you remember it, I shall forget it. [She kisses him.~\ Now, good-by, dear. LAWRENCE Good-by. [He exits through the hall door, as Murtha re-enters from his room at the left.] 130 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN MURTHA That's done. HILDEGARDE Then you can lay the table. MURTHA Shure Oi will, me dear. [She goes quickly to the cupboard for the necessary things.] [While Murtha is busied at the table, center, Hildegarde gets the salad and grape-fruit from wash-tubs. She cleans and prepares them dur- ing the following scene. ~\ HILDEGARDE You know, Mrs. Murtha, it isn't quite honest for you to say that Agnes will go to places, and then you go to them yourself. MURTHA [Busymg herself at table.'] No, ma'm. [She crosses herself with a mechanically devout ex- pression.] HILDEGARDE Then why do you do it? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 131 MURTHA Whoy wouldn't Oi? There's Aggie, th' Lord love her, can hardly keep herself, and Tim's no good at all, and Mary in th' hoshpital, and Joey wid th' haughty lady that he's married and th' twins! HILDEGARDE But aren't you getting a little too old for . . .? MURTHA [Interrupting savagely. ] There yer sayin' it ! And d'ye see, if Oi wuz to tell thim: "It's me, ma'm, that's lookin' fer th' job," Oi'd nivir git it! And a little loi loike that doan't hurrt. [Wheedling.] Fer Oi'm as shtrong as ivir Oi wuz. HILDEGARDE [With a sigh of futility.] The knives on the right side. MURTHA [Very gently.] Yis, ma'm. [Pause.] HILDEGARDE Have you ever waited on a table? 132 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN MURTHA Me ! Naw, ma'm. HILDEGARDE [Pausing. ] Then perhaps — MURTHA [Confidently, while Hildegarde works at straight- ening out the table.'] Ah, ye jusht tell me what to do, and Oi kin do it. Shure, Oi'm not wan av thim thick Micks. hildegarde Then first of all you must roll down your sleeves. MURTHA [Obeying like a child.] Yis, ma'm. Yer a laidy. Oi can't say naw liss than that. HILDEGARDE [Smiling.] What is a lady? MURTHA Ha ! A laidy is wan av thim that has all th' beer an' skittles, an' doan't have to do no worrk. [Laughing.] Shure, Oi alius says moy auld man's th' loocky laidy av our house. Me an' his chilthren does th' THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 133 worrk fer him ; an' he schmokes in th' corner all day long. HIKDEGARDE Well, / don't smoke in the corner all day long. MURTHA Ah, doan't ye be lishtenin' to me gush ! HILDEGARDE You just bring the things from Mrs. Pannakin to me. MURTHA Yis, ma'm. HILDEGARDE And if there's anything you don't know how to do, you just ask me quietly, and I'll tell you. MURTHA Yis, ma'm. [She pricks up her ears.] What wuz that ! ! ! [She makes a dive for the window rear and looks out.] That's Mickey Doolan ! Shure it's Doolan ! ! [She -flings open the window. As she does so, a violent quarrel in Irish between a man and woman is heard. Murtha yells out:] Mickey! Mickey!! You lave her be! 134 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Solemnly. ] Moy Gawd! He's hit her, th' poor woman, and she wid th' young un comin' ! [She jumps up on the sill.~\ Mickey! Mickey!! You lave her be!! Fer th' love o' God and th' shame o' man, you let her be!! You dhrunken pesht! [During the above speech, Hildegarde has tried vainly to hold Murtha back and stop her yell- ing; but Murtha has got speechless with rage. She tears loose from Hildegarde, goes through the window and is heard clattering down the fire-escape execrating Doolan.] HILDEGARDE [C ailing. \ Mrs. Murtha!! Wait — Mrs. Murtha!!! [Murtha has disappeared mto the melee. The row is heard suddenly to increase with Murtha's advent. A woman's shrill scream is heard, and then a man's growl. The row increases. Hildegarde, seemg the futility of trying to con- trol things at a distance, decides to follow. She also exits over the fire-escape, and descends. Murtha's high voice is heard above the noise, calling for " Tim," Then some other women's voices are heard in high excitement calling. A hushed subsidence due to Hildegarde's appear- THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 135 ance follows. Finally an absolute pause of silence. Then a hey is heard turning in the lock of door from the hall. The door opens. Whistling is heard on the steps. The whistling evidently is paced to keep time with some one climbing slowly up stairs. Lawrence enters.] boys' voices [Outside, heard as the door opens.] Give us the ball ! You got it ! LAWRENCE Go on, boys, chase yourselves. [To Caroline.] Come in. [Caroline enters.] boys' voices. [Derisively.] Git a hair-cut! Git a hair-cut! G'wan, you dude! LAWRENCE [Closing the door.] This is the living room. Plain living and high thinking. CAROLINE [Laughing.] I should admit it's rather high. 136 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Calling.'] Hildegarde ! We're here ! [To Caroline.] Sit down, please. CAROLINE [Not sitting.] Are you sure that she expected me ? LAWRENCE Certainly. She may be in my room. [Crosses left and opens his door.] CAROLINE [Crossing.] I want to see where you sleep. LAWRENCE Behold my couch of dreams. CAROLINE [Murmuring.] You poor boy ! LAWRENCE [Closing window rear.] I don't care where I sleep, as long as I've a place to work in. [He starts to pull down the blind.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 137 CAROLINE What's there? LAWRENCE [Cheerfully.] Excellent view of a fire-escape and Mrs. Panna- kin's kitchen, where our nectar and ambrosia are prepared; which later you are to be privileged to taste. CAROLINE [After looking. ] Ah! LAWRENCE [He pulls down the blind. Then he goes toward Hildegarde's room at right, calling.] Hildegarde ! CAROLINE [Insinuatingly. ] Do you object to this little chat with me alone? LAWRENCE Of course not! But I wanted to leave you here with Hildegarde, while I looked for Miss Ambie. She may have trouble finding us. CAROLINE I hope so. [He looks at her.] I have trouble enough in losing her. 138 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Laughing.'] Do you know, you sometimes perplex me terribly? CAROLINE [Sittmg.] Do I? '[Smiles.'] Sit down and let me look at you. [He sits and looks at her inquiringly.] I want to see if I can fit you into this environment. How do you manage it? LAWRENCE Oh, Caroline, you're so used to luxury, you can't understand how a little plain living rather helps a fellow to dream true. That's why I didn't want you to come down. I was afraid it would discourage you. CAROLINE [Slowly and with a caressing glance.] . It has made many things about you very clear to me. LAWRENCE There's nothing complex about me. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 139 CAROLINE Yes, if you can do what you have done down here, what will you do, when — ? Oh, it's only because you are you that all this squalor hasn't killed your genius ! LAWRENCE [Humorously.] Oh, come now, Caroline, it's hard for me not to agree with you when you speak of me as a genius and all that. I tell you frankly I adore it ; but I'm really quite an ordinary sort of a chap. I've got enough ambition and enthusiasm to draw cheques on my future. I hope I've learned my job; so if the big things come along, I'll be able to measure up to my opportunities. And — when I'm with you, I feel my luck is with me. CAROLINE Then my faith in you does really help you, does it? LAWRENCE How can you ask that? CAROLINE Keep your confidence, Lawrence, but remember that patience is a virtue of the underlings. / don't possess that virtue; and you cannot afford to. LAWRENCE What's that to do with it? 140 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Vehemently. ] Oh, I can't bear to see you in circumstances like these ! I can't lie to you ! It's useless to disguise it. I hate to see you pulling down the blinds ! I hate anything that ties you here ! The world is full of people that can plod and wait for opportunities. We've got to make them and before it is too late! I knew that you had wings the first time that I saw you. I hate the idea of a half a loaf, when by the right of the power in you, you are entitled to the whole! I hate even the patchwork you're doing on my house ! [She rises.] LAWRENCE Don't say that! The work you've given me has enabled me to leave my firm with a free conscience. CAROLINE [Smiling. ] What have you to do with conscience? People have conscience only when they fail. LAWRENCE [Rising. ] By Jove, you have a liberating way of saying things ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 141 CAROLINE Have I helped to liberate you? LAWRENCE I've chucked a lot of litter since I've met you. CAROLINE That's right. I love to hear you say that. Oh, I want to see you free — free from all the petty scruples that would hinder you! That's my work now. For while you're building houses, / shall be building your career. [Lawrence takes her enthusiastically and im- pulsively into his arms, and kisses her full on the mouth. He looks at her as if hypnotized. She is full of the disguised triumph m her se- duction. They pause. Lawrence becomes thoughtful with a disturbing realization of what he has done.'] LAWRENCE I beg your pardon. CAROLINE For what? LAWRENCE Forgive me. I had no right to — 142 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Interrupting.] You have a right to everything if you only want it enough! [Passionately.'] I want you — [Quickly correcting herself.] I want you to succeed; and we shall find a means. [Suddenly.] You must get that studio immediately. LAWRENCE [Dazed.] What—? CAROLINE [In a low voice.] You can't work any longer at my house. [He looks up.] Hubert arrives to-day. LAWRENCE [Absently.] Good! CAROLINE A little less enthusiasm, please. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 143 LAWRENCE I mean, then I can get his O.K. on the plans. CAROLINE You'll get your first instalment to-morrow. You've got to draw up plans of an Italian country house for Edwalyn Millette. LAWRENCE She has decided? CAROLINE She will. She has money; and I can tell her ex- actly what she thinks she wants. [Humorously.] There I can help you too. You'll need your studio. [Dreamily.] I know exactly how we'll furnish it. I know just where I shall sit and pour your tea. [The bell rmgs over the door. They start.] And we won't have bells like that! LAWRENCE That's Hildegarde. [Turning.] I'll tell her of the studio. 144 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Quickly.'] Not a word. Leave that to me. [He hesitates.] Oh, we drive to Edwalyn's Long Island place this afternoon. I want you to see the grounds before you dine with her to-night. LAWRENCE Oh, all right. [He opens the door to the hall, and discovers Susan Ambie.] Come in, Miss Ambie. SUSAN [Entering, her hat awry.] Oh, there you are! [Grieved.] Well, Carrie, I must say — CAROLINE We decided you weren't coming. SUSAN [Looking at her watch.] I thought I was on time. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 145 CAROLINE Think again, my dear. LAWRENCE Did you have trouble finding us? SUSAN [Straightening her hat and speaking to Lawrence.] You oughtn't let those children play ball in the street. Their ball just missed me! CAROLINE Too bad! Too bad! SUSAN Carrie, I've something I must say to you . . . [Looks significantly at Lawrence.] LAWRENCE Excuse me. I'll hunt up Hildegarde. She may be in her office. [As soon as Lawrence exits Susan betrays a most uncontrolled and nervous anxiety. She is nerv- ous almost to the point of incoherency.] CAROLINE Well, what is it? SUSAN Carrie, I'm sorry . . . but I haven't slept! I can't take any more responsibility. That's all. 146 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Then don't. SUSAN [On the raw.~\ They ask me if I'm blind!! CAROLINE Well, if you're not, what do you care? SUSAN [Giishily.] People are talking about you and Lawrence. Of course, / understand — but . . . CAROLINE [Interruptmg. ] If you give your time thinking about what other people say, you'll never have time for anything else. SUSAN [Impatiently.'] But people know that Hubert's been away . . . and they see you and Lawrence together everywhere, and . . . CAROLINE There's comfort in that. Just think what they imagine when they don't see us. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 147 SUSAN My dear, you can't stop wicked tongues from wagging. ... Of course, I tried to defend you all I could. . . . People are saying that you've lost your head over this young architect that you have living with you in your house. Everybody's talking — CAROLINE Everybody has nothing else to do. SUSAN Where is his wife? Perhaps she's heard things and means to be rude ! CAROLINE Rude to me? She couldn't be. SUSAN You know, Lawrence tried to discourage our com- ing. What can you and she have in common? CAROLINE [Meaningly.] Nothing! Lawrence sees that already. When she realizes that we can have nothing in common — not even her — well, the rest is easy. SUSAN [Alarmed.] Carrie ! You're up to something mad ! 148 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Caroline laughs. ] I haven't seen you look or act like this, not since . . . Italy! [Suddenly with a cry.] Yes, they're right! It's true!! CAROLINE [Calmly.] What? SUSAN You've lost your head about him. CAROLINE [Recklessly.'] Oh, there's no law against a woman losing her head. SUSAN But his wife ! What do you mean to do ? CAROLINE I? Nothing. SUSAN Carrie, come back with me. We'll leave our cards ; and we'll have done our duty. CAROLINE Go if you like. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 149 SUSAN [With a nervous whimper. ] I won't desert you, Carrie! CAROLINE [Rising. ~\ Oh, then shut up ! SUSAN Don't be rash, dear, she may know more than you think. CAROLINE In big things I do nothing underhand. [There is heard a fearful shaking of the window.] SUSAN What's that ! ! CAROLINE I'll see. [She goes toward window rear, pulls up the blind. The person outside on the -fire-escape flings up the window and scrambles into the room.] SUSAN [Tearfully.] [During Caroline's movement.] I don't know what we're doing here anyway ! 150 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [Seeing Murtha.] The gorilla ! SUSAN [Frightened.] Carrie, this is the way out ! [Murtha has scrambled into the room talking inco- herently to herself. She looks rather damaged, and is carrying her apron and purse in her hand. Her hair is tousled and her eye is red.~\ MURTHA [Recognizing Caroline.] Ah, fer th' love o' God, Mrs. Knowllez, is it you! D'ye see me oye! [Pointing to it.~\ That's phwat ye git whin ye come interferin' be- tween a hushband and a woife! Shure, it wuz her that guv me that. [Laughmg.~\ Hah, there wuz wigs on th' green! I licked him wance before, and Mrs. Doolan she knows it, moind ye ; and whin I wuz trou' wid him, a dog wouldn't ha' lapped his blood! [Caroline and Susan have tried in vam to retreat before Murtha's stream of hysterical verbiage.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 151 SUSAN [Completely appalled.] Yes, that's all very interesting . . . ! [Retreats around table.] MURTHA Now doan't ye moind me. Shure O'im only talkin' to mesilf, and Oi couldn't foind a bigger fool to talk to. [She opens a purse she still carries in her hand, sees her money.] Ah, that's all roight. [She puts purse down on the table. Caroline and Susan are chasseing toward the door, which is suddenly opened and Hildegarde is heard talk- ing to some one at the entrance.] HILDEGARDE [Calling in.] Mrs. Murtha, go bathe that eye in cold water. MURTHA [Subdued immediately.] Yis, ma'm. [She goes to the sink and does so.] 152 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE [Continuing to some one outside.] No, Doolan; if you're sobered up at four o'clock, come to my office. The ejection officer will be there. [She closes the door sharply as she enters, then sud- denly sees Caroline and Susan. She continues with complete composure.] Oh! [Shakes hands with Caroline.] I'm sorry I wasn't here to receive you. [Shakes hands with Susan.] I hope you'll forgive me. There's been an un- fortunate difficulty with a couple of our tenants. Excuse me! CAROLINE Certainly. [Hildegarde exits into her room.] [Caroline and Susan look at each other while the noise of running water is heard at the smk, where Murtha is bathing her eye, Susan is frightened. Caroline is enjoying her usual parasitic amusement. ] SUSAN What do you think, Carrie? CAROLINE The worse it is, the better I like it. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 153 [Hildegarde immediately re-enters with a small bot- tle and some Imt, which she puts down on the table.] HILDEGARDE [To Caroline and Susan.] Won't you lay off your wraps in Larrie's room? [Pomting left.] [Susan passes and enters the room at left.] [Continues.] I'm sure there's more excitement than real in- jury. [Caroline goes toward room. Hildegarde takes a bowl from plate rack and moves to Murtha.] CAROLINE [To Susan whose tram is still visible showing the smallness of the room.] Susan, go in. SUSAN [Excitedly.] I can't walk through the wall, my dear. [The train is however snatched in, and Caroline enters, closing the door behkid her.] MURTHA Oh, me oye — me oye ! 154 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HIKDEGARDE [To MURTHA.] Now quick, let me look at that eye. MURTHA Shure Oi will, me dear ! HILDEGARDE Bathe it with this stuff. Here, use this too. [Going to table to get the lint pad, she sees Murtha's purse.] Oh. you've found your purse. Where was it? MURTHA [Guiltily .1 I must ha' dhropped it runnin' down. HILDEGARDE You see you were wrong to accuse Mrs. Doolan. That only made more trouble. MURTHA [Cannily.~\ It wuz th' loocky thing thim Polacks didn't know 'twas loyin' jusht outside their window. [Lawrence enters from the hall door.~] LAWRENCE [To HlLDEGARDE.] Where have you been? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 155 MURTHA [Groaning.] Oh, Mother! Me oye ... me oye. . . . [She sits wretchedly at the left.] LAWRENCE What's the matter ! MURTHA [In a loud regretful tone.] If I had only hit him whin he thripped!! HILDEGARDE There's been trouble with the Doolans. LAWRENCE In here? HILDEGARDE No. And everything is all right now. LAWRENCE Yes, but where are the ladies? HILDEGARDE [Trying to quiet him by her tone.] In your room, laying off their wraps. [During the above, Murtha has been fighting over the battle in pantomime, while bathing her eye, and mumbling to herself.] 156 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE Did you get anybody else to help you? HILDEGARDE [Barely holding her nerves.] I've been quelling a riot ! LAWRENCE [Pointing to Murtha.] What are you going to do with her? HILDEGARDE Go to Mrs. Pannakin's, and see if she won't serve the dinner herself. LAWRENCE I was just there looking for you! I asked her then. . . . HILDEGARDE Well . . .? LAWRENCE [Throwing up his hands and speaking to the ceiling.'] She can't come ! She isn't dressed ! And dinner's ready ! ! HILDEGARDE [To Murtha.] Go to Mrs. Pannakin's, smooth your hair, borrow an apron and bring in the dinner. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 157 MURTHA [Rising. ,] Oh, yis, ma'm. [With a savage gesture.'] The durrty A.P.A. ! [She crosses to the hall door muttering.] Oh, Lord, I'm as blind as Doolan's goat ! I'll nivir see out o' that oye again. ... To hit me whin Oi wasn't lookin'. . . . [She exits.] LAWRENCE Good Lord! [He swmgs around the room in an ecstasy of ex- asperation.] HILDEGARDE [Going to him.] Larrie, no matter what happens, don't be betrayed into any rudeness to me before Mrs. Knollys. [The door left opens and Susan enters.] HILDEGARDE The excitement has subsided. Won't you sit here ? [She fixes a chair at her right.] [Susan sits with her bach to the door. Caroline enters.] 158 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Continuing.] And, Mrs. Knollys, won't you sit there? [She motions Caroline to the chair at Lawrence's right. He helps her. She faces the door. Hildegarde faces the audience. Lawrence has his back to the audience. Note: the Ladies have just removed their wraps. Caro- line has not taken off her gloves.] Don't mind my jumping up. [She gets bread and butter from the wash-tubs. ,] How is Mr. Knollys? CAROLINE Well, thank you, the last I heard. HILDEGARDE [Puts the bread on table and helps them to but- ter.] [To Caroline.] Let me help you. We hear the Homestead Mills are going to begin work again. I'm glad. Su- gar? CAROLINE [Waving a " no."] And the percentage on investments lowered again. [They all, except Caroline, eat grape-fruit.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 159 SUSAN [Changing the conversation.'] Mrs. Sanbury, have you any nerves left? HILDEGARDE This is by no means a typical day. CAROLINE No? HILDEGARDE Many of the workmen living here are idle. Un- fortunately, they drink. CAROLINE If that is how they spend their leisure, why agi- tate for shorter hours and bigger pay? SUSAN [Vigorously.] What good bread I HILDEGARDE Many laboring people drink because they have to work, and — CAROLINE [Interruptmg sarcastically.] Precisely, and they don't like it. I agree with you so far. 160 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Perhaps. But oftener they get the habit of drink because they haven't decent food. LAWRENCE [Rising. ~\ That being the case, ladies, I propose we fortify ourselves against the possible vagaries of our co- operative cook. [He goes to tubs and takes out bottles. ,] SUSAN [Looking.'] Your what? HILDEGARDE [To Susan.] Perhaps Larrie has told you, this is a co-operative dining-room. Several of the people living here chip in to pay the rent. LAWRENCE [To Caroline.] A little Scotch? [She refuses it. He helps Susan.] CAROLINE [TO HILDEGARDE.] A sort of socialistic mess. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 161 SUSAN [Incredulously. ] But you're not Socialists, are you? [She drops her bread and knife.] HILDEGARDE Not all of us. SUSAN [Reassured and beginning to eat again.] Oh, that's better. HILDEGARDE But then we've got an Anarchist or two among us. SUSAN [Anxiously, pausing in a mouthful.] Oh! HILDEGARDE [Continuing.] All interested in improving conditions. SUSAN [Approving charitably.] Ah. [She resumes eating.] LAWRENCE [Rising. ] Psch! 162 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Mysteriously.] It's coming! [Susan is apprehensive, as he goes to the hall door and opens it.] I've got a long distance nose ! The soup ! ! [He returns to his chair as Murtha enters carrying four soup-bowls on a very presentable tray. She never takes her eyes from Hildegarde, Murtha is very neat and important. Hilde- garde motions her to serve her first. Murtha does so.] SUSAN [Seeing Murtha.] Oh, she's all right again. I'm glad. HILDEGARDE [To Murtha.] Then serve Mrs. Knollys. CAROLINE [Waving a gloved hand.] I never eat soup. [Murtha goes to Susan and helps her, then Law- rence. She stands awkwardly for a moment, but very quietly.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 163 HILDEGARDE [To MlJRTHA.] You can come back in a moment and clear off the bowls. MURTHA Yis, ma'm. HILDEGARDE Leave the door ajar. [Murtha is about to exit, carrying the tray with Caroline's bowl of soup on it, when she is passed m the door by Michael Krellin. Krellin is a Russian by birth, but speaks Eng- lish with a scrupulous, scholarly exactness, though with a slightly foreign accent. Physi- cally, he is of medium height, lithe and slender in figure, rapid and exact in his movements. His dress is clean but careless. Everything about him betokens a fearless definiteness of mmd. He has a shock of curly hair. His face is pale, his eyes are very keen; and when he looks at a person, he is likely to peer a little closer into their faces than the usual man. His speech is fluent and mcisive. He is mentally a combination of the political dreamer and the practical meliorist, who has saved his optimism by fighting for the next reform at his hand. His manner is above all things humorous and 164* THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN easy, with a sort of detached impersonal im- pertinence. He has the assurance of the plat- form orator.] MURTHA [Meeting him at the door.~\ Good marnin', Mishter Krellin. KRELLIN Good morning. Eh? Wait! [Stops Muktha and peers into the tray.] LAWRENCE [To Caroline.] There's our Anarchist. [HlLDEGARDE HseS.] KRELLIN [Continuing to Murtha.] Here . . . Hello — - Hello ! I'll take that soup. [He has already deftly lifted it from the tray.] MURTHA Doan't let yer modesty wrong you. [She exits.] KRELLIN [Joyously.] Hildegarde, Hildegarde! I've news for you! Good news ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 165 [He goes immediately to the cupboard, puts down his soup-bowl deftly, pulls out a drawer, finds his napkin with a cheap ring on it, picks out a knife, fork and spoon, puts the napkin in his mouth, takes the bowl, with knife, fork and spoon in one hand, then picks up a chair with his remaining hand and advances toward the table.~\ HILDEGARDE [Hesitatingly.] Yes, Michael . . . KRELLIN [During the above business.] Just wait. I'm as hungry as a wolf. All night at the office. HILDEGARDE You must be tired, Michael. KRELLIN [His voice is merry, but his body is relaxed.] Not very. [He puts down his chair between Susan's and Hil- degarde's, and places his eatmg paraphernalia on the table. Susan draws away, as he sits down. Caroline is imperturbed. Lawrence is annoyed.] 166 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN KRELLIN [Peering nearsightedly at Susan.] Oh, you're having a party. I didn't see. [Rising.'] Pardon, I am very near-sighted; and I have broken my glasses. [About to withdraw.] I'll step in later. HILDEGARDE Wait, Michael. [To Caroline and Susan.] Mr. Krellin is one of our friends. KRELLIN Yes, yes. I only wanted to ask; did you finish your article? HILDEGARDE Yes. It's gone. What's the news? KRELLIN You'll have to write a special. Despatches from the South tell of the final settlement by arbitration with the Homestead Mills. Another victory ! [He shakes Hildegarde's hands enthusiastically.] THE TJNCHASTENED WOMAN 167 HILDEGARDE Splendid, but — [Turns toward Caroline.] KRELLIN [Continuing.] A ten hour day, and a dollar ninety cents ! LAWRENCE The Homestead Mills ! those are . . . [Turns to Caroline.] CAROLINE Yes, I'm interested. HILDEGARDE My friend is one of the reporters on the "Echo." He's just had news. May I present him? CAROLINE And which way has the strike been settled? KRELLIN [Coming toward her.] You will be glad to hear in favor of the shorter hour and the living wage. Another milestone passed ! HILDEGARDE Mrs. Knollys, this is Mr. Krellin. A member of our co-operative club. We don't usually have the pleasure of seeing him till dinner time. 168 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN KRELLIN [Has leaned toward Caroline.] Mrs. Knollys . . . Knollys? [Peers at her, then at Hildegarde, then again at Caroline.] I am delighted to find you here. [Laughs softly.] God is a great dramatist! CAROLINE Why? KRELLIN I've seen you before, Madame; and I've heard of your husband. HILDEGARDE [Quickly.] And this is Miss Ambie. KRELLIN [Bowing.] Ah, yes . . . Miss Ah . . . [He goes toward her,] SUSAN [Frightened.] How do you do! . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 169 [Krellin sits between Htldegarde and Susan. Pause.] KREEEIN [Partially rising with his knife in hand and peering. ] Is that the butter? [He takes some and puts it on bread. To Caro- line, as he settles back m his chair.] Mrs. Knollys, I put you on your guard. Before you know it, Hildegarde will persuade you to invest in tenements and make you a five per cent, philan- thropist. LAWRENCE [Decidedly.] No, she won't ! She — KREEEIN [Interrupting.] Wait ! She will induce you to put up better dwellings for the poor ; so they can live a little more decently on their miserable wages. You will feel charitable toward them, because they will give you a steady five per cent. ; and the workingmen will be made more contented with conditions, that otherwise they might be encouraged to radically change. SUSAN [Horrified.] But don't you believe in charity? 170 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN KRELLIN [Throwing up his hands. ] Ah, I see! Another sentimentalist. I surrender! SUSAN I'm no such thing! KRELLIN [Gracefully looking at Susan and Caroline.] But neither of you is old enough to be the real conservative. CAROLINE [Smiling.] You're a radical? KRELLIN I am a social physician, whose prescriptions no- body respects, because I do not believe in wasting time disguising or trying to cure symptoms. Pov- erty is the real disease. CAROLINE Other people have a name for your kind of man. KRELLIN They call us lots of names. Which one? CAROLINE They call you " muck-rakers." THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 171 KRELLIN [Good humoredly .] Oh, that never offends me. To make all beautiful things grow, there must be some one to stir up . . . ah . . . unappetizing things about the roots. We do that. [Pointing to Caroline.] Unfortunately, however, it is the " other " people s that wear the flowers. So 1 [He eats his sowp.~\ LAWRENCE You mustn't take him seriously, Mrs. Knollys. KRELLIN Never listen to the artists. They must take noth- ing seriously; else they could find very little beauty in anything. They are spiritual toy-makers and seducers. They gather the flowers and forget the roots. At least don't take them seriously when they speak. Admire them when they do; because they are permitted to do, and don't know how to speak. Listen to us when we speak; because the government will allow us no other liberty. [Eats.'] LAWRENCE Nonsense, Michael. 172 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN K REE LIN [Appealing to Caroline.] You see, that is my great misfortune. My friends never know when I am in earnest. What else is there to eat? [At this moment Murtha appears with a tray on which are chops and vegetables.] HILDEGARDE [To Murtha.] Take these things off before you serve the chops. [Murtha, without a word, puts the tray on the cup- board, and deftly removes the empty soup- bowls.] KRELLIN [To HlLDEGARDE.] Em»my will be late. [Murtha during the next speeches serves chops.] CAROLINE [Resuming.] Do you take yourself seriously, Mr. Krellin? KRELLIN [With a quick glance.] That means you don't. But I did once. That's why I left Russia. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 173 HILDEGARDE Mr. Krellin wrote a book for the Radical move- ment, and the government didn't like it. CAROLINE Wise government. [Henceforward Lawrence and Caroline form a party agamst Hildegarde and Krellin.] KRELLIN Yes, my friends, the enemy, were making Russia too hot for me; and Siberia has always been too cold ; and — CAROLINE [In,terrwptmg.~\ So you decided to make trouble over here. [Susan has got an eating devil and is despatching food.~\ KRELLIN Precisely. CAROLINE And in that work, do you take other people seri- ously ? KRELLIN Sometimes. You see, I am neither an artist [Bowing to Lawrence] nor a sentimentalist [Bow- ing to Susan]. 174 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN SUSAN [Putting down her knife and fork.] Now he means me again, Carrie! CAROLINE [To Krellin.] Then you and I might understand each other. KRELLIN Ah, — you mustn't ask me to take you seriously, Mrs. Knollys; that would be too much to ask. CAROLINE Why? KRELLIN You see, I know you. You're a spoiled American woman ; which means you take neither our govern- ment nor yourself seriously. I don't blame you; neither do I. In other words, we have a sense of humor. And then you are a Saxon woman; which means to a Russian, that you have elevated hypoc- risy until it takes rank with a virtue. Otherwise you could never do as you do. [He eats.] LAWRENCE [Growing nervous.] For heaven's sake, stop him! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 175 HILDEGARDE Please, Michael, eat. LAWRENCE [To Caroline.] He's our interminable talker. HILDEGARDE [Laughing a little nervously and speakmg to Caro- line.] People say anything they think here. KRELLIN [In the midst of a mouthful.] Yes, when they think ! [Then to Susan.] When they think!' HILDEGARDE But we try to argue about principles, not persons. CAROLINE But I'm not interested in principles. KRELLIN [To Caroline.] Right you are! Only involve people in princi- ples, and you keep them harmless. 176 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE [To Krellin.] But do go on. You said you saw me once before. KRELLIN Yes. I was detailed at the dock when you arrived. CAROLINE [Not so pleasantly. ,] Oh. [Susan puts down her knife and fork again.] KRELLIN [Continuing. ~\ And a dear, a very dear friend persuaded me to lose fifteen dollars on your account. CAROLINE That was a very dear friend, indeed. KRELLIN Ah, yes, I had a beautiful article written, which for her sake, I was weak enough to drop ... an article about the humor and hypocrisy of the Ameri- can woman, — with special reference to yourself, Mrs. Knollys . . . [Lawrence is fearful, pushes back his chair. Caro- line has waved aside the chop and peas that Murtha has offered her.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 177 [TO MlTRTHA.] Bring that to me. I've had no breakfast. [During the next speeches he has the business of taking Caroline's chop, etc.] Shall I continue? LAWRENCE [Decidedly.] No! CAROLINE By all means. KRELLIN [To the others.] You see, she already treats me as an artist. I amuse her. CAROLINE Immensely. KRELLIN That's why I permit myself to speak. Well, to resume: strange to say, I wrote that the people whose fortunes have been made in industries pro- tected by the government are always the very ones most eager to evade the customs imposed by that government to protect their industries. SUSAN [Fearfully.] Carrie! 178 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN KRELLIN [Impatiently.] Miss Nambie — Miss Pambie — Miss . . . SUSAN Ambie is my name. KRELLIN Pardon, quite so. I do not include you; because on that day you personally lost your sense of humor. [To Caroline.] Your money is made in protected tin plate. Your husband's in protected woollen mills. [Laughs.] You see, you have a sense of humor and a genius for hypocrisy. [Seriously.'] You don't respect a government that will let your factories work the poor the way they do. Neither do I. And so you refuse to pay the customs to sup- port that government. No more do I! LAWRENCE Michael ! KRELLIN [Contmuimg unperturbed.] I admire you! Your personal discernment and your sense of humor were almost worth six thousand dollars to you. I admire you personally — fifteen THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 179 dollars' worth ; and that's a great deal for a man who is saving up in order to get married. CAROLINE [Quietly leading him on.~\ Oh, you still believe in marriage. That's inter- esting. KRELLIN You mean, as soon as we are inconsistent we are interesting. [ Wisely. ] You believe in conventions that you do not ob- serve ; J for a time observe conventions in which I do not believe. SUSAN [Horrified.] Don't you believe in marriage? KRELLIN [Bowing to her.] Oh, yes, as all the zmmarried people do. SUSAN I'm sure I don't know what you mean, but it makes me very uncomfortable. LAWRENCE [Laughing.'] Gag him! 180 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE I'll mix the salad. [She gets the salad bowl. Murtha helps her.~\ CAROLINE Then you believe in women too? KRELLIN Boundlessly. And in every capacity of citizen- ship. [Susan pushes bach her chair with an exclamation of disgust. Krellin continues to Caroline.] I believe especially in one, the one I'm going to marry. I believe in eugenics and endowed maternity — in everything that makes for a superior human- ity. [To Susan.] I believe that by our foolish laws we can some- times save people from doing what they'd like to do. [To Caroline.] I should like to save people from being what they are. I believe Oh — I believe that I'm a stupid fool for telling you sincerely all that I do believe in — and — [To HlLDEGARDE.] Don't put too much vinegar in the dressing. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 181 SUSAN [Outraged.] I've listened long enough! CAROLINE Why, Susan! What's broke loose in you? SUSAN I'm bound to protest ! KRELEIN Ah, then there's hope for you. SUSAN [Scathmgly.] Oh, I'm not clever! but I think your ideas are perfectly ridiculous and detestable — all of them ! KRELLIN Thank you. I would have doubt of them if you thought otherwise. SUSAN [Continuing.'] And as for women as citizens — women voting and doing the work of men . . . Well, it's bad enough now as it is, when they happen to hold office under the government . . . KREEEIN [Amused.] I remember. You had difficulty. 182 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN SUSAN [Unheeding his interruption,"] Yes, we had an experience at the customs ! CAROLINE [Warningly.] Susan ! SUSAN [Impetuously.] There was a hussy there when we arrived . . . Of all the insolence in office . . . Hah! If I had my way . . . [Stops breathlessly.] KRELLIN You didn't have your way. That was the trou- ble, wasn't it? SUSAN Well, I'd like to meet her some time face to face — That's all; when she didn't have her little badge upon her; and without the authority of the govern- ment behind her — I'd . . . KRELUN Yes — yes. Excuse me. [The door to the hall has opened and Emily Mad- den appears. Krellin has risen alertly.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 183 SUSAN [Bewildered. ~\ What's the matter? [She continues to talk to Caroline.] KRELLIN [At the door with Emily.] Ah, Emmy, you're late. [He starts to bring her down. She resists a little, seemg strangers present.] CAROLINE [Seeing Emily.] Susan, you're a fool! SUSAN [Seated with her bach to the door, doesn't see Emily. She continues to Caroline, mournfully:'] I had no right to drink that whisky. It always makes me silly. [She suddenly turns, following Caroline's glance, and exclaims, terrified:] There she is ! ! Don't you see her? [Crumpled.] Oh, Carrie, it's gone to my head ! ! [She makes a mad clutch at her head.] 184 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Keep quiet! LAWRENCE [To Caroline.] I'm so sorry. [Then savagely to Hildegarde.] Now, you see! . . . [He becomes incoherent and swings up rear, sees Murtha, stops short and goes to window.'] KRELLIN [Bringing Emily down.] Emily, there is a lady here, who has just ex- pressed a great desire to meet you. EMILY [Advancing a step.] Oh, then, I'd be deligh— [She stops and recoils as she recognizes Caroline.] SUSAN [Waving her hands.] I've had quite enough! I've had quite enough!! [She rises as if to go.] KRELLIN [Gallantly.] Mrs. Knollys, Miss Madden is the reason for my belief in marriage. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 185 CAROLINE [Amused and pausing. ,] Oh! That is remarkable. [She suddenly realizes that a weapon has been placed m her hands; she immediately becomes calm. Emily is in silent desperation.'] KRELLIN [Proudly.] It was due to her persuasion that the article I wrote about you was never published in the papers. CAROLINE [To Emily.] I am glad of this opportunity to thank Miss Mad- den for that, and [Significantly] for many other favors. EMILY [Uncertainly.] Oh, I am sure . . . I . . . KRELLIN [To Emily.] I needed you, my dear, to save me from Miss Ambie and defend the government. Miss Ambie agrees with you about the government. [To Susan.] No? 186 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN SUSAN [Vehemently.] I don't ! KRELLIN [To Emily.] She does not! Another convert! [Gesture of amusement.] While Mrs. Knollys and I maintain the govern- ment is ridiculous. [To Caroline.] No? [Suddenly remembering.] I'll get a chair. [He looks for one, but there are no more.] CAROLINE [To Krellin.] Don't bother, please. Miss Madden can occupy my place. EMILY Oh, no! HILDEGARDE [To Caroline.] Please don't disturb yourself. [To Lawrence.] Larrie, get a chair from your room. [Lawrence immediately exits left.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 187 CAROLINE It won't be a new experience for Miss Madden. She has already occupied my place before this, many times; and for a long time, I have been accustomed to yield to her. KRELLIN [Perplexed.] Is that so! How? EMILY [In terror.] Oh, Michael, why did I come here ! ! KRELLIN What's the matter, Emmy? CAROLINE [To Emily.] Have no fear, Miss Madden. Your intended hus- band believes in women " boundlessly," and " in every capacity." He has a sense of humor and ad- mires hypocrites. He will be consistent to his views ; but I am sure he will allow me to be equally con- sistent with mine. KRELLIN Carte blanche! [Seeing Lawrence re-enter with the chair.] Here we are. Now we can listen. 188 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE I have no principles, but I have some prejudices. And either Miss Madden or I must leave the room. SUSAN Oh, Carrie! KRELLIN What do you mean! That isn't argument. That is evasion! LAWRENCE [Quickly.] Emily and Michael, you've said about enough! Now please go ! [He bangs down the chair. ] HILDEGARDE [To Lawrence.] By no means. Mrs. Knollys will be good enough to explain herself. KRELLIN What is your reason, Mrs. Knollys? CAROLINE [Charmingly.] Since you insist, it is simply because I refuse to sit at the same table with my husband's mistress. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 189 Ha!! Oh! KRELLIN [Dawning.] HILDEGARDE [Simultaneously. ] KRELLIN [Fiercely. ~\ That's a lie ! A black, malicious lie ! I CAROLINE Oh, no ! KRELLIN [Continuing. ] She doesn't even know your husband ! CAROLINE [Confidently tauntmg.~\ Ask her! KRELLIN Madame, I am not here to insult her myself; but to defend her against your attempt to do so. CAROLINE Ask her, and you will learn it was for my hus- band's sake that your article was suppressed. But he, no doubt, has paid Miss Madden for any loss you may have suffered. Come, Susan. 190 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [To HlLDEGARDE.] I've had a most delightful luncheon. My wrap, Lawrence. [He exits left.~\ KRELLIN [Quietly aggressive.] Mrs. Knollys, of course you cannot go until I have relieved your mind from any misapprehensions you may have concerning your husband. CAROLINE But unfortunately I seem to affect Miss Madden disagreeably. [Lawrence re-enters with wraps. ] MURTHA [Suddenly coming up from rear.~\ Fer th' love o' Gawd, th' poor gurrl's goin' t' faint ! ! [She takes Emily in her arms.] EMILY [Weakly.] Take me home, Michael. ... Oh ... 1 MURTHA Now there, there, there, dearie, doan't ye moind. . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 191 KRELLIN [To MlJRTHA.] Yes, take Miss Madden home ! ! EMILY No! Not without you, Michael!! SUSAN [Terrified.] Carrie, Carrie! Come with me! Come home!! I'm sorry we ever came! These awful people!! [Gets mto her wrap.] LAWRENCE Come, Mrs. Knollys. [Then to Krellin and Emily.] If they haven't sense enough to go! KRELLIN [Fiercely to Caroline.] You cannot go ! LAWRENCE [To Krellin.] What do you mean? krellin I have something to say to Mrs. Knollys ! 192 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN SUSAN [As he comes forward.'] Carrie, if you don't come, I . . . {Weeps in fright.] God knows what they will do ! HILDEGARDE [Beseechingly.] Michael, go with Emily ! KRELLIN [Shaking his mane.] Mrs. Knollys has permitted herself to utter a filthy, vicious lie ! And I — HILDEGARDE [Going to him.] But this is not the time to — KRELLIN [In fury.] A filthy lie!! LAWRENCE [To Krellin.] See here, you can't use that kind of language to my friend! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 193 KRELLIN [Savagely to Lawrence.] Your friend! You little lap-dog! I want noth- ing from you! Just look to yourself!! [He flings Lawrence aside.] HILDEGARDE [Imploringly.] Michael, go with Emily. She needs you. [She turns him around, and he sees Emily being helped to the door by Murtha.] EMILY [As she leaves with Murtha.] Michael. . . . Michael. . . . KRELLIN [With suppressed vehemence.'] Mrs. Knollys, I shall give myself the pleasure of continuing this conversation in the presence of your husband. [He bows and exits, after Murtha and Emily.] SUSAN [Incoherently.] Carrie, here are your things ! Here ! Of all the frightful experiences ! 194 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Spinning around.'] Where's my glove ? You must get out of this ! ! HILDEGARDE Mrs. Knollys, / must have a word with you. SUSAN [Dizzily. ] Now she's going to begin ! Why did we ever . . . ? LAWRENCE [Angrily.] Hildegarde, don't you think you'd better drop it? HILDEGARDE [Meaningly.] It isn't only in reference to Miss Madden that I wish to speak. SUSAN [Hysterically.] I knew it, Carrie ! [To Hildegarde.] But you're wrong! No matter what you think. . . . People have such vile minds ! [Specifically.] I was with Mrs. Knollys all the time, except once when I took sick. . . . Your husband knows it — and so does Mr. Knollys. . . . THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 195 LAWRENCE What are you talking about? SUSAN [Continuing.] And if her kindness is to be misinterpreted — then — LAWRENCE [Angrily.] Say, Miss Ambie, what's on your mind? CAROLINE [To Lawrence.] Psch t SUSAN [Collapsing.] Oh, everybody's crazy! LAWRENCE [Disgusted.] You're right there. [He turns helplessly.] Hildegarde, I hope that. . . . Oh, what's the use ! CAROLINE [Abruptly.] Quite so, Lawrence ; get Susan home. [Susan has got rapidly to the hall door.] 196 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE But, Hildegarde, I — CAROLINE Please go. I wish to talk with your wife. [Lawrence takes his hat.~\ Send the motor back for me immediately. [He crosses to the door. There is a look full of crowded meaning between Hildegarde and Caroline; then Caroline continues to Law- rence.] Oh, and remember, you have engagements for this afternoon. [Lawrence exits with Susan. Hildegarde closes the door after him. There is a pause of sizing up between the two women.~\ [Amused.] You're not going to lock me in ; I hope. HILDEGARDE [Gravely. ~\ No. But after you leave this room, I want you to pass out of our lives forever. CAROLINE Your life? That's very simple. You have some- thing else to say to me ? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 197 HILDEGARDE So many things, — I hardly know where to begin. CAROLINE Let me help you. We'll eliminate Miss Madden. HILDEGARDE We will not eliminate Miss Madden. We have a different sense of values, you and I ; but we both are married women. Emily is different. She has nothing but her friends, Michael and me. And we together will force you to retract. CAROLINE Retract the truth! What else? HILDEGARDE And make a full apology to her. CAROLINE I have never apologized in my life. HILDEGARDE Then you have a new experience in store for you. [Pause. ] What was your purpose in coming here to-day? CAROLINE [With charming frankness.'] You know. My interest in your husband. 198 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE And now, you think you can eliminate me. CAROLINE Why ? Your husband has his own career ; and you are sensible. HILDEGARDE It's a dangerous thing to interfere with other people's lives. CAROLINE Yes. We discussed that some time ago. HILDEGARDE You told me then that I might hinder him, — that my very work in the world might be an obstacle. Since then I've left him free. I haven't influenced him — CAROLINE Oh, don't make virtues of your inabilities. HILDEGARDE You mean? CAROLINE Don't boast of what you couldn't do. You know you couldn't keep him here. Don't say you didn't want to. That would be weak. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 199 HILDEGARDE I don't wish to speak of Lawrence. I wish to speak of you. I am told the world of art needs women of your kind. You have everything — wealth, influence, position. You hold patronage and opportunity in your hands. CAROLINE [Interrupting.] Why don't you add : " You hold my husband too "? In other words, that you regret your bar- gain ; and you want me to send him back to you. HILDEGARDE [Scornfully.] Oh, no! But don't make the price for your patronage so high, that a man must sacrifice his self- respect to gain the prize you offer. CAROLINE [Quietly, after a look.] I never dreamed that you'd be jealous; are you? HILDEGARDE [Fervently.] Yes, I am jealous — jealous for him, but not of him! CAROLINE I've given him the opportunity. He has chosen. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE He hasn't! CAROLINE Then why are you so anxious? HILDEGARDE [Continumg.] To choose, one must be independent. He isn't. He thinks he dare not choose against you. He fears to jeopardize commissions. There's where you make unscrupulous use of your advantages ! CAROLINE [With a smile.] My dear Mrs. Sanbury, I may be mistaken; but you seem bent on telling me your husband doesn't care for me. Is that what you mean? HILDEGARDE No. [Suddenly.] What are you trying to make me think? CAROLINE Think what you like. I make no disguises. But I marvel at you. HILDEGARDE At me! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 201 CAROLINE I thought you weren't a feminine woman. You're interested in so many things beside your husband. I've interested myself in him. If, in that interest, you think that he has gone beyond what you ex- pected ; why not speak to him? HILDEGARDE He's lost his senses ! You've* blinded him ! CAROLINE I thought I had opened his eyes. You see, Love isn't blind. The trouble is, it sees too much ! [Obliterating her with a glance. ,] It sometimes sees things that aren't there at all. It isn't my fault if now he sees things as they are. I open everybody's eyes. That's my profession. [Significantly. ] I've opened yours, I hope. I've opened Mr. Krellin's. [She laughs. ~\ HILDEGARDE Yes, and tried wantonly to destroy his faith in Emily, as now you're trying to destroy my faith in Lawrence. CAROLINE Ah, then you are afraid! 202 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE [Uncertainly.] Afraid of what ! CAROLINE You fear to lose your husband's love. Of course, you'll struggle. HILDEGARDE I never struggle for what is mine. CAROLINE Hum. HILDEGARDE [Nervously.] I'm not afraid of Lawrence. Your insinuations don't affect me — you . . . CAROLINE Indeed. Then why this argument? HILDEGARDE [Amazed.] You'd like to make me think my husband is your lover ! [She draws a sharp breath.] CAROLINE And if that were the case — What then ? [Pause.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 203 HILDEGARDE Oh, no! You wouldn't boast of it! CAROLINE [Quietly. ,] I never boast. Only the insecure do that. HILDEGARDE It's a lie! It's a lie!! It's a lie!!! CAROLINE Ask him. HILDEGARDE You mean you would have me ask my husband such a question? CAROLINE Why not? HILDEGARDE [Suddenly calm, and seeing through Caroline.] Because it isn't important enough, Mrs. Knollys. CAROLINE You mean, your husband's fidelity isn't important to you? HILDEGARDE Oh, yes, but there's far more at stake. For his sake, I've stepped aside. I've given you every chance with him ; because you may have helped him. 204 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN ... I don't know. You've taken his time, his mind, his work, his energy. He has amused you, fed your vanity and gratified your sense of power over people. I've been patient. I've left him free to choose. For if a woman like you can take the rest of him from me ; he isn't worth my energy to keep. I don't want even a part of him ; if anything is withheld — CAROLINE [With an amused sneer. ,] And what have / to do with your ideal of mar- riage ? HILDEGARDE I don't approve of the way that you make use of the protection of your husband's name! CAROLINE Then you'd better see my husband. [She goes toward the hall door.] HILDEGARDE Perhaps I shall. CAROLINE He'll be delighted to discuss Miss Madden. Mr. Krellin also wants to speak with him. He'll welcome you both; I'm sure. [Turning casually.'] He's just back from the South. He'll be in splen- THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 205 did humor after all you've done for him in shutting up the mills. Good-by. [She exits in smiling good humor. ,] [Hildegarde stands by the table and slowly sinks into a chair. The hum of tenement life becomes audible. A baby is heard crying; and every de- tail that can be developed, pointing to the bar- ren squalor of her life is emphasized as in con- trast with the elegance of Mrs. Knoeeys'. Hiedegarde sits lost m thought, while the hub- bub swings around her. Suddenly the telephone begins to ring. Hildegarde doesn't notice it at first. The bell continues. Hiedegarde seems to come to her senses with a start. She goes to the 'phone, takes receiver and listens mechanically. ] HIEDEGARDE Yes. . . . This is Mrs. Sanbury. . . . Who is this? . . . Oh, Miss Ambie. . . . Yes. . . . Mrs. Knollys has just left. . . . [Coldly.'] I quite understand. Yes. . . . Good-by. . . . [Suddenly.] Wait! Hello! [Quietly.] Is Mr. Sanbury still there? 206 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Murtha has entered softly from the hall, and goes to clear up the table.] . . . Yes. ... I should like to speak with him. [Pause. She speaks very tenderly.] Is this you, Larrie? . . . I'm sorry; but it couldn't be helped. . . . She's just left. . . . Yes. . . . Nothing has happened. . . . I'd just like to speak with you; as soon as you can get here. . . . Larrie! . . . What? . . . You can't? . . . [Long breath.] Then I'll wait for you. . . . This evening too . . . ? . . . Well, listen, Larrie, you must come. . . . No. ... I can't speak of it over the 'phone. ... I must see you ; and as quickly as possible. . . . But this is important too ! [Pause.] No ! I can't wait ! . . . Do you understand, Larrie, I won't wait ! ! ! [She claps up the receiver and crosses to her room exclaiming hysterically: " / won't wait! I I won't wait!! " Murtha goes on quietly clear- ing up the dishes at the table. Hiedegarde is heard pulling out drawers violently and pushmg them bach again. Murtha shakes her head sorrowfully. She has cannily sensed the situa- tion. Hildegarde re-enters, carrying a small satchel, which she places on a chair next to the THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 207 table. During the following scene she packs it with a dressing gown, tooth brushy hair brush and comb, slippers, night gown, etc. Several times during the scene she exits rapidly to her room for these toilet articles, and returns, with^ out interrupting the dialogue.] MURTHA [As Hildegarde enters carrying her satchel.~\ Ye ain't goin' away ; are ye ? HILDEGARDE [Jamming things mto the grip.~\ Yes . . . yes . . . MURTHA [Suddenly. ~\ Ah, where's me head! I saw th' Doolans. They've got a date wid you, they say. HILDEGARDE [Going to her room.] I don't want to see them. MURTHA [Calling after Hildegarde.] Th' agent says he's goin' to throw him out. HILDEGARDE He deserves it. 208 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN MURTHA Ah, but jisht a word from you. . . . Moy, th' poor woman an' th' fambly. . . . HILDEGARDE [Entering and continuing her packing.'] I can't help them. MURTHA Doolan wanted to come here to apologoize; but Oi told him he'd bedther not. He'd be met on th' door-shtep wid a lump av his death ! HILDEGARDE You can tell them the ejection officer will tend to them. [She exits again and immediately re-appears.] MURTHA Shure, it's not you that's talkin', dearie; and Oi can't go down there ! Th' avvicer would see me oye, and know th' Doolans done it. . . . Oh, where's that shtuff? They say it's goin' blue on me. . . . An' you wouldn't have thim turned out in th' shtreet. . . . HILDEGARDE [Point mg to the shelf above the sink.] It's over there. You'd better take it with you. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 209 MURTHA Thank ye. [Tenderly coax'mg.] Go on now, you. Go on now, shishter. . . . Take him back and let him shtay. HLLDEGARDE After what they've done to you; it seems queer that you . . . MURTHA Shure ye can't be angry wid th' min folks. . . . They're chilthren all av thim. [Piling up dishes.] Some gits crazy over the booze, and some gits crazy over polyteecks . . . and some gits crazy over wimmin . . . [Pickmg up all the dishes] and th' resht gits crazy over nothin' at all. [Coaccmgly.] Go on now. . . . Give iviry body anither chanct. That's what I alius says. [Singing out.] Ha ! Now there's moy Tim — Ha ! Oi could ha' left him any toime this forty years fer what he done to me — and what he didn't do. . . . G'wan now, dearie, give th' man anither chanct. [Hildegarde leaves the grip.] 210 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN Th' Lord love ye, that's roight . . . and it's th' gran' good heart ye have. [Hildegarde goes toward door of her room. Murtha continues with a wise and tender canni- ness.~\ And . . . ah . . . ye'll not be needin' these things roight away. . . . [She throws the grip into her room.~\ You'd bedther shleep here fer to-night. . . . [Hildegarde has eocited sobbing brokenly. Murtha returns to the work of clearing up the table. She shakes her head and exclaims :] Shure, they're chilthren ! Ivery blessed wan of thim — just chilthren. {The Curtain descends on the Second Act.] ACT III ACT III The scene is the same as Act II. It is about eight- thirty of the evening of the same day. The table has been cleared and everything is restored to order. The door of Hilde garde's room is open. There are no lights on the stage, but the scene is dimly lit by the glow of lights from the flats in the rear. After the rise of the curtain, Krellin enters from the hall door, and goes immediately to the telephone on the typewriting desk. KRELEIN [With the ' phone. 1 Hello — give me seven-one-one Plaza — yes, if you please. No, seven-ow-one. [Enter Lawrence from the hall, flinging the door back.'] KRELLIN Say, be quiet, will you? 213 214 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Nervously.] Oh, that you, Krellin? Where's Hildegarde? [He turns on a light over the table.] KRELLIN Psch! [To ' phone.] Hello, seven-one-one Plaza? Yes. Mr. Krellin of the " New York Echo " would like to speak with Mr. Knollys. LAWRENCE [Startled.'] See here, Krellin, you'd better drop it. KRELLIN [To 'phone.] Then I'll ring up again — yes, later. [As soon as Lawrence has gathered that Hubert is out, he makes a gesture of relief and fimgs into Hildegarde's room. He finds her bag and im- mediately re-enters carrying it. Krellin, in the interim, has hung up the recewer.] LAWRENCE What does this mean? Where is she? [He drops the bag and goes uncertainly toward his room at the left, and opens the door.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 215 KRELLIN Have you been drinking? LAWRENCE [Fiercely. ,] That's my business ! KRELLIN H'm! Have you any other? LAWRENCE [Coming towards him.~\ I want to know where my wife is; and I want to know why you're telephoning my friends ! KREELIN Because I won't let your friends treat my Emmy the way you let them treat your wife. LAWRENCE Don't you interfere between Hildegarde and me ! Because, if you do, by God, I'll — KRELEIN I don't mix in with you. I have my own score to settle with Mr. Knollys and his wife. LAWRENCE [Seriously.] Krellin, I advise you to leave Mr. Knollys out of it. 216 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN KRELLIN Ah, you are afraid, eh? LAWRENCE It isn't me — it's — [He hesitates.] KRELLIN [Violently.] So ! You too ! ! That woman has made you be- lieve that Emmy — [He goes toward Lawrence angrily, but stops and laughs. ] I don't wonder Mrs. Knollys thinks all women are like she is! LAWRENCE [Violently.'] You — ! KRELL1N [Quietly.] All the more am I determined now. LAWRENCE [At his wits' end.] There'll be an awful mix-up ! I don't know what to do! [Sits down blankly.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 217 KRELLIN Don't think that I don't know why you're afraid of Mr. Knollys. It isn't business — it isn't Emmy — it's you. [Scathingly.] I am ashamed of you! You'd let this lie rest on my Emmy's shoulders, rather than have the truth revealed about yourself. Of course you don't want the truth to come out. But you see, I'm different. I don't fear the truth. And if your conduct with Mrs. Knollys cannot stand her husband's or your wife's investigation, I am sorry. That is all. LAWRENCE Get that idea out of your head! I don't fear the truth. It's Hildegarde I'm thinking of, and only Hildegarde. KREKLIN [Scornfully.] You've thought so much of her these last four months, since — LAWRENCE I have. We're down to rock-bottom, Krellin. We're full of debts — even my life-insurance is gone. I've given up my job. We've pawned everything that we could raise a cent on ; and Hildegarde's stood by me. That's why you can't go on and spoil things now, by dragging Mr. Knollys in. 218 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Kreeein laughs scornfully.] I know it looks as if I had neglected Hildegarde; but she understands. I've had to hold on to this one chance, tooth and toe-nail. [Desperately.] I won't let anything interfere with it! Not you, nor Hildegarde — nor Emily — nor — KREELIN [Interrupting.'] Is that so ! Well, no matter what it costs to you or anybody else, we make Mrs. Knollys eat those lying words she said about my Emmy. So. [Kreeein exits through the hall door.] [Lawrence stands perplexed for a moment, then goes decidedly to the 'phone and rings up.] EAWRENCE Hello — give me one-four-three-three Plaza — yes — in a hurry, please. [Pause.] Central, they must answer. It's a private wire and they are expecting me to ring them up. [Pause* Then with an exaggerated change to a very polite manner.] Oh, hello — Is that you, Caroline ? I've been very busy — yes — all afternoon. Yes, I'm so THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 219 sorry, but I shan't be able to get back — Nothing's happened to my voice; but — ah — the fact is I've had an accident . . . only my ankle — Oh, nothing serious — I'm sure, so don't be alarmed. . . . Yes, getting out of the cab. . . . I'm telephoning from a drug store. . . . Yes, it is painful; but I'm sure it's only wrenched. . . . Yes, I'll ring up my doctor as soon as I get home. ... I shall be quite alone. . . . Please don't worry. . . . Oh, I can tend to everything. [Pause.] I've already telephoned to Mrs. Millette. . . . Mercy, no, I wouldn't have a nurse touch me. . . . Yes, I'll telephone in the morning . . . yes, then as soon as he has left, I'll ring you up and tell you what his diagnosis is. . . . Hildegarde? . . . No, I haven't seen her. . . . Oh, not because of anything that happened here. . . . She's — she left this aft- ernoon to spend the week-end with some friends — yes — somewhere in the country — Westchester. . . . No, I shan't send for her. . . . Yes, if there's anything — but — Oh, thank you so much. . . . Good-by. [He rings off. During the last part of the above speech, Hildegarde has quietly entered from the hall door.] 220 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Relieved and confused.'] Oh — Westchester! — I mean, I've just been tele- phoning. HILDEGARDE I didn't expect to see you this evening. [She goes to her typewriting desk for some letters, etc.] LAWRENCE Well, there was something in the sound of your voice over the 'phone that made me nervous; and I lied out of my engagements. As usual, said the first foolish thing that came into my mind. Now I'll have to stick to it, I suppose. HILDEGARDE Why do you always lie these days? LAWRENCE I never lie to you. HILDEGARDE Is that really the truth? LAWRENCE Why, yes ! HILDEGARDE Why did you say I was in Westchester? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 221 LAWRENCE I didn't know where you'd gone to, and — HILDEGARDE Didn't you say I'd gone to Westchester because you were afraid that Mrs. Knollys would be jealous of your spending an evening alone with me? LAWRENCE What have you got in your head? [She looks at him. He contmues.] I had to say something to get out of things. Then I come home and find your bag packed. Where are you going? HILDEGARDE I think it best I go away a little while. LAWRENCE Away? Where to? HILDEGARDE I haven't decided. I was going to leave a note for you ; but Michael told me you were here ; so I — LAWRENCE [Bursting.'] Michael! Do you know what he's doing? And just now, of all times ! When everything depends on Mr. Knollys? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Yes, I advised him. LAWRENCE What! [Pause.] Hildegarde, suppose what Mrs. Knollys said about Emily is true? HILDEGARDE [Turning sharply.] Larrie ! LAWRENCE Well, I said, suppose it's true. HILDEGARDE It's not. And even if it were, she's not the one to make the accusation. LAWRENCE Why not? [Pause.] What's in your mind? Krellin's been saying things ! HILDEGARDE Oh, no. LAWRENCE I know it. Why, just a moment ago he said that I was afraid to meet Mr. Knollys. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 223 HILDEGARDE Afraid? Why? LAWRENCE He thinks that I — [He hesitates.'] HILDEGARDE [In a level tone.~\ What—? LAWRENCE That I've forgotten you. [Recklessly.'] Oh, I don't care what he thinks, except that I don't want you< to get wrong-headed. I thought at least, you'd understand. There's not a thing I've done that anybody can't question. HILDEGARDE That's ambiguous, Larrie; but I shan't question you. LAWRENCE I mean that anybody can't investigate. I've never really lied to you ; have I ? HILDEGARDE No — not lied exactly — just disguised things to make it easier for me. . . . Oh, yes, Larrie, my 224 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN clothes, my work, our home, our life together, your work and all the circumstances and people that have come between us. LAWRENCE Oh, those things ! I don't mean them. HILDEGARDE What do you mean? LAWRENCE [Blurtmg it out.] I mean Car — Mrs. Knollys. That's what you mean ; and that's what Krellin means. HILDEGARDE [Tremulously.'] Yes. [She turns away.] LAWRENCE I want to explain everything, right from the be- ginning — everything. [She moves away. He follows.'] I want you to know the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; and then you can judge for yourself. Oh, I'm not proud of what I've had to do ; but there isn't a single thing that you can't know about — or that I'm really ashamed of — I swear ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 225 [There is a knock at the hall door. Lawrence,, after a gesture of impatience, continues:] If that's Krellin, tell him I want to be alone with you. He can't telephone. He's got to leave Mr. Knollys out of this. I don't want Knollys to get wrong-headed too ! [He has followed Hildegarde who has moved up to the door.~\ HILDEGARDE [At door, to Lawrence.] Please ! [She opens the door and discovers Hubert Knollys standing there. ,] HUBERT [To Hildegarde.] I couldn't find the bell. LAWRENCE [Retreating.] Oh, Lord ! HUBERT Mrs. Sanbury, I'm very glad to see you. [Extends his hand. She takes it.] HILDEGARDE I've been hoping you'd come. [Lawrence is surprised.] 226 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Thank you. LAWRENCE Yes — we — HUBERT [Laconically to Lawrence.] Oh — how are you ? LAWRENCE [Embarrassed.] Oh, finely . . . been pretty busy since you left; but — HUBERT [Abruptly .~\ Yes, so I hear. [He turns to Hildegarde and points to a chair.] May I? HILDEGARDE [Nodding. ~\ Let me take your things. [Lawrence takes his hat and coat.] HUBERT [Sittmg and speaking to Hildegarde.] I've just got back from the South. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 227 LAWRENCE [Effusively.] Yes, we heard you were away. HUBERT [Turning quietly.] I was rather of the opinion that you knew I was away. LAWRENCE Yes, to be sure — of course. Did you have a suc- cessful trip of it? HUBERT [Ironically.'] Have you had time to read the papers? LAWRENCE I was interested and all that; though I haven't followed the strike very closely. A little out of my line, you know. So if you're going to talk eco- nomics, hadn't I better — ? [He starts toward his room.] HUBERT [Interrupting.] There are some things I wish to discuss with your wife. I'd rather you'd be here. That is, if you don't mind. 228 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Vaguely.] By all means — not at all. [Hildegarde turns anxiously to Hubert.] HUBERT [TO HlLDEGARDE.] You know, it was due a little to your suggestion, I went South. HlLDEGARDE And? HUBERT We've increased the operative's salaries and killed the child labor. HlLDEGARDE We know about the splendid settlement you forced. HUBERT [Grimly.'] I couldn't have done it by myself. You opened fire on my competitors. That made it easy. It looked like a general lock-out ; so I called a committee of the managers, and we all agreed to meet the strikers' terms. Alone, I would have made a Quix- otic failure. Well, we've yielded. You've kept your word; I've kept mine. Now we'll see what the workers will do with more money and shorter hours. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 229 Personally, I think they'll invest in more phono- graphs and liquor; and their children will continue to go barefoot. HIEDEGARDE Perhaps. But the use of time and money must be learned. HUBERT They'll have their chance. Now, for the matter that brings me here immediately. [He takes out a letter. ] I received this by messenger this afternoon — from Miss Madden. HILDEGARDE Yes. HUBERT Miss Madden urges me to see you. HILDEGARDE She told me. HUBERT So I am here to do anything I can in the way of reparation. HILDEGARDE There's only one possible reparation. Your wife must withdraw her statement absolutely. The cir- cumstances are such that — 230 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT I know. HILDEGARDE What can have been her motive? HUBERT There is no question of Miss Madden's innocence. She suffers from two misfortunes. Firstly, she is a very dear friend of mine; and secondly, she was of service to my wife. Gratitude makes some natures resentful. I, however, feel a great obligation to Miss Madden for averting a scandal, that my wife's ignorance of the law nearly precipitated. HIEDEGARDE Mr. Krellin helped her hush the matter up. But now, unless your wife withdraws her statements, he is determined to publish everything. HUBERT So his telegram informed me. But Mr. Krellin's threat could have very little weight either with Mrs. Knollys or with me. HILDEGARDE Why? HUBERT You must surely see that after doing all he could to keep the matter from the press, it would be ridicu- THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 231 lous for Krellin now to make an exposure. His own conduct couldn't stand investigation. [Pause.] Will not my personal apology for Mrs. Knollys to Mr. Krellin and Miss Madden suffice? HILDEGARDE Considering the accusation and the way you are involved, I should say not. HUBERT Perhaps you're right. [Rises. ] I suggested it merely to show you how really powerless we are. A money damage for defamation is out of the question — HILDEGARDE Quite. HUBERT Then what do you propose? HILDEGARDE [Firmly.'] That right here, and before the very people in whose presence Mrs. Knollys made the accusation, she must retract and with full apologies. Nothing less. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT [Involuntarily. ] I'd love to see it ! LAWRENCE Hildegarde ! HUBERT [To Hildegarde.] Your husband's exclamation proves that he and I know my wife much better than you do, Mrs. San- bury. He appreciates her force of will. [To Lawrence.] Don't you, sir? [Lawrence looks on guard and says nothing. ,] HILDEGARDE Is your wife absolutely indifferent to the social consequences of her own conduct? HUBERT [Sitting.'] Ah! Why do you ask? HILDEGARDE Because immediately after having accused Emily, she did her best to make me believe my husband had become her lover. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 233 HUBERT [Attempting to be surprised.] What!! LAWRENCE [Bounding out of his skin.~\ Hildegarde ! ! [To Hubert.] This is outrageous ! HILDEGARDE Yes. [Lawrence is open mouthed.] HUBERT [To Hildegarde.] Are you sure you're not mistaken? HILDEGARDE Oh, no. On the contrary, she took the greatest pains to impress it on me with all the malicious inso- lence of triumph she could command. HUBERT But — why do you tell me this ? HILDEGARDE To ask you to use it as you think best, to help me to force your wife to make just reparation to my friend. 234 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE [Finding his voice. ] It's all a damnable lie! A whole-sale rotten — ! HUBERT [Interrupting.] Pardon, I should reserve such language until you have a better right to use it. LAWRENCE Wh-what do you mean? HUBERT Remember, sir, the lady you are speaking of is still my wife. LAWRENCE [Wildly.'] I can't help that! I have my wife to consider, Mr. Knollys, and — HUBERT [Scornfully.] Indeed ! LAWRENCE [Continuing.] And with all deference to your wife, I must repeat that if your wife said those things to my wife, your wife uttered a lie ! ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE So I told her myself. HUBERT [Promptly.] You did that to shield your husband. LAWRENCE [Vehemently.] And I protest that if your wife — HUBERT [Sternly to Lawrence.] Keep quiet ! LAWRENCE [Spinning about.'] For God's sake, some one do me the favor to tell me that one of us is blind or deaf or — HUBERT [Severely.] Sit down!! LAWRENCE [Landing into a chair and wailing.] She's old enough to be my mother! HUBERT [To HlLDEGARDE.] Did she say anything further ? Come ! 236 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE She wantonly taunted me with my failure to hold my husband. When I told her I did not believe her, she even urged me to question him. I refused. Please to observe I have not questioned him. LAWRENCE [Imploringly, ] Oh, why didn't you? HUBERT [To HlLDEGARDE.] Why did you not question him? HILDE GARDE Because — simply because I did not believe your wife. LAWRENCE [Fervently. ] Thank God ! HUBERT But if you do not believe her statements, why repeat them to me? HILDEGARDE To serve my friend, I shall deliberately choose to believe your wife ; and if you will help me — THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 237 HUBERT [Interjecting.] Rely on that. HILDEGARDE Then I shall act as if everything she said were absolutely true. LAWRENCE Oh, Hildegarde! How can you!? HILDEGARDE [To Hubert.] In that way we can turn her arrow against Emily into a boomerang to recoil upon herself. HUBERT Hum. Then you will name her as a co-respondent? HILDEGARDE [Genumely frightened.'] What ! You mean divorce my — divorce Larrie ? HUBERT Yes. LAWRENCE [To Hildegarde.] See here ! Vm the one that your damned boom- erang is hitting! 238 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT [To HlLDEGARDE.] That is unavoidable.. LAWRENCE See here ! — HlLDEGARDE [Eocpostulatmgly to Hubert.] But don't you see that I do not believe her. She did it to provoke a jealous quarrel; and if I judge her rightly, she will withdraw her insults rather than endure disgrace. It won't have to go that far! D-Don't you see that? HUBERT Thank you for your assurance, but I must differ with you. LAWRENCE [To Hubert.] Why? — do you think that I — ? HUBERT [Calmly. ~\ I think there is an important person that you both have so far overlooked — myself. [To Lawrence.] You have chosen to protect my wife by calling her a liar. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 239 [To HlLDEGARDE.] You protect your husband by calling her a liar, too. It seems my attitude has been neglected. [Hildegarde is appalled.] LAWRENCE [Bravely.] Well—? HUBERT Yes. Here's where you come in. LAWRENCE [Crumpling.'] What do you intend to do? HUBERT I choose to believe these statements for my own sake. HILDEGARDE You can't ! You can't ! ! LAWRENCE [To Hubert.] You don't mean to say ! — [To Hildegarde, wildly.] He believes it! He believes it! 240 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT [Quietly. ] I always believe my wife when she affirms, never when she denies. HIKDEGARDE [Stupefied.] But, Mr. Knollys, you don't really think that . . . HUBERT [Interrupting.'] My dear lady, you are too gullible. [To Lawrence.] Now, I want the truth, and I expect it manfully. [He approaches Lawrence, who retreats.] LAWRENCE This is perfectly ridiculous ! HUBERT [Taking out a note-book.] Please have the courtesy to remember that it is you who has made us both ridiculous ; and don't thrust it down our throats. [Consulting his book.] You spent at least a week with Caroline alone in Italy. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 241 LAWRENCE That isn't true! Susan Ambie . . . HUBERT [Promptly.] I have seen Miss Ambie. She did more than con- fess. She attempted to defend it. LAWRENCE Miss Ambie is a fool? HUBERT Quite so. [Continuing.'] Do you admif being alone with Mrs. Knollys? LAWRENCE [Pausing. ] Why — I — HILDEGARDE [Gone white.] Doirt deny it, Larrie. HUBERT [To HlLDEGARDE.] I heard you say some weeks ago you had letters to that effect. LAWRENCE [Imploringly.] Hildegarde ! 242 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE Yes. I have them. HUBERT Very good. I trust you to produce them at the proper time. [To Lawrence.] You crossed on the same steamer. LAWRENCE [Grasping at a straw.] Miss Ambie was with us ! HUBERT Yes; and since your arrival on October 5th you have devoted all your time, practically day and night, to each other. LAWRENCE [Angrily.] I won't stand here and have you say such things about your wife ! HUBERT Am I to be the only one who does not say them? LAWRENCE She simply — THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT [With feigned anger. ] Pray do not explain my wife to me. [Continuing from his note-book.] On October 7th you actually installed yourself under my roof — a most tasteless procedure, which I refused to countenance. I went South. You thought, no doubt, that openness would disarm sus- picion. It doesn't work. As part of that same plan, my wife openly confesses her infatuation to your wife, boasts of her power, and then further openly denounces an innocent woman, in order to produce the impression that her own actions are not subject to criticism. Truly, this is the very blind- ness of infatuation. [Laughs.] I admire your brass — but really it won't do. The rest of us are not so blind. I compliment you on your conquest [Ironically] . But how long did you imagine I would allow this to continue? LAWRENCE Mr. Knollys, all that I can say is — HUBERT [Scathingly.] At least, sir, have the courage of your actions. 244 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Snapping his book closed, and looking at Hilde- garde, who sees she has awakened a Franken- stein.] I have a further list of rendezvous, which I shall not ask you to verify in the presence of your wife! LAWRENCE My wife knows everything that can be said about me! HUBERT I doubt it. In any case, your protection until now has been your wife's credulity. We shall see. When my lawyer — LAWRENCE [Interrup ting. ] All right. Get your lawyer. Now I'll thank you, Mr. Knollys, to leave me alone with my wife, who's never doubted me, and has no reason to doubt me now. I have the courage of my actions ! I'll bring the whole thing right into the open — and if you can stand it, I can. [The two men look each other squarely in the eye. Suddenly the bell rings over the hall door.~\ HUBERT [Turning to Hildegarde.] Is that your bell? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 245 [Hildegarde goes directly to the hall door, opens it and discloses Mrs. Knollys. She is mag- nificently dressed in a long opera cloak over her evening gown. She has also a heavy veil about her head. Caroline enters swiftly, then stands appalled. ] HUBERT [Recognizing her.] Ah, Caroline! [Surprise of all. Caroline undoes her veil and faces him.] You come most apropos. [Sarcastically.] Did you call to see Mrs. Sanbury? CAROLINE [After a pause.] I ... I have called for you. [She comes into the room.] HUBERT Indeed ! How is that ? CAROLINE I am on my way to the opera. I assumed that Miss Madden had summoned you. I thought I'd pick you up. 246 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT How kind of you. But may I ask why you as- sumed that I'd be here in Mrs. Sanbury's apart- ment ? CAROLINE Quite naturally. Mrs. Sanbury is the only other person interested with you, in deceiving Mr. Krellin and whitewashing Miss Madden. HILDEGARDE Mrs. Knollys, my husband telephoned you that I had gone to Westchester; so you couldn't have ex- pected to see me. [Lawrence is desperate.] HUBERT [To Caroline.] Oh, you expected to find Mr. Sanbury alone. [After a glance at Lawrence, he turns to Hilde- garde.] Well, then, Mrs. Sanbury, let us no longer in- trude. Will you direct me to Miss Madden? HILDEGARDE [Moves to the hall door, then turns.] Mrs. Knollys, I think it only fair to tell you, that I have repeated to Mr. Knollys the whole substance of your conversation with me this afternoon. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 247 [Hubert opens the door. Hildegarde exits; and he follows, closing the door behind him. Law- rence is standing stupefied down left. Caro- line is at center. Pause. ~\ CAROLINE [In an unsteady voice.] I think I'm going to faint. LAWRENCE [Putting her into chair at the table, anxiously.] Oh, don't! For Heaven's sake, don't do that. [She sits.] I'll get you a glass of water. [He goes quickly to the tubs and pours one out of a bottle. Coming to her.] Here, drink this. Is there anything else I can get you? [She sips the water.] Shan't I send for some one? CAROLINE [Ironically.] For whom? [She drinks the water.] 248 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN LAWRENCE You feel better now, don't you? Shall I get you some salts? [He moves quickly toward Hildegarde's room.~\ CAROLINE No. I'll be all right. [Suddenly.'} You walk very well. LAWRENCE [Stopping. ] Why, yes, I — Shall I get you home? CAROLINE [Caustically.] No. I have no trouble with my ankle. LAWRENCE [Suddenly remembering.] Oh, forgive me, Caroline. CAROLINE [In a rage.] Don't call me Caroline! I imagined you here alone, in pain, too ill to telephone — I thought you might be glad to see me. I lost my prudence. [Lawrence turns away.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 249 How much of what you've said to me for all these months is true? What did you mean by taking me into your arms to-day and . . . Agh — !! [She turns from him.] LAWRENCE [Simply.] I've done a great wrong. CAROLINE [Sarcastically.] And when did you discover that? LAWRENCE After I kissed you to-day — the way I did. CAROLINE That's why you left so suddenly. IiAWRENCE Yes. CAROLINE And came right back to her? LAWRENCE I tried to find her, but I couldn't. I was frantic. I looked every place. I really thought that she had left me. [In a low voice.] .250 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN And I thought that I deserved it. Then I tele- phoned to you ; and she came in. CAROLINE The kiss that woke your prudence put mine to sleep. How strange! And you were thinking all the time of her! [She laughs hysterically.] LAWRENCE Why, yes. Always I My work, my ambition, — even my gratitude to you has been for her sake. CAROLINE Then I was merely the ladder on which you pro- posed to climb and pluck the golden fruit for her! LAWRENCE I've been a miserable cad ! I know what you must think of me! CAROLINE And what do they think of you? LAWRENCE Oh, how can I tell you? Your husband insists upon putting the worst interpretation upon every- thing ! CAROLINE You mean? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 251 LAWRENCE I did all I could to make him see that he was wrong in doubting you. [A withering look from Caroline.] Oh, but what made you tell those outrageous falsehoods about us to Hildegarde!? CAROLINE [Rismg in a cold rage.~\ The word falsehood can only be applied to your attitude to me. I took you for an artist, eager to rise above and to be free from the commonness and squalor of your surroundings, and I was willing to help you. But I find you only a little entrepreneur, afraid of your conscience, and satisfied with your mutton ! Well, return to it ! [She moves away, then turns.] I have one more direction to give you. Kindly refrain from any further defense of me. I wish to speak to my husband. Will you tell him I am waiting? [Lawrence exits through the hall door.~\ [Caroline pauses in intense thought, then gathers herself together, takes her vanity-box from her opera bag, opens the mirror and scrutinizes her- self closely. She adjusts her hair, smooths her eyebrows and puts a little rouge on her lips. 252 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN She regains her absolute composure by a su- preme effort. Hubert enters. He is very self- possessed. ] HUBERT You wished to see me? CAROLINE [Charmingly.] I have been waiting. HUBERT For what? CAROLINE If you've quite finished your visit, I thought per- haps you would enjoy an hour at the opera. [She gives him her cloak.] HUBERT [Taking the cloak.] No, thank you. CAROLINE You wish to go right home? HUBERT For the present I have decided to — ah — live at the club. CAROLINE Very well. Can I drop you there? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 253 HUBERT No. [Putting her cloak on a chair.] I shall need you here. CAROLINE Oh, then our meeting was most fortunate. HUBERT Yes. I was wondering how to get you here. CAROLINE As it is probably the last time I shall ever come, if there's anything that you would like me to do for you while I am — HUBERT [Interrupting her, admiringly.] Caroline, you're magnificent! We'd better get right to the point. [Looking at his watch.] I needn't detain you very long. I've told Miss Madden and the others to — ah — come downstairs in five minutes. CAROLINE [Acting as if perplexed.] I wonder what she can have to say to me ; or [In- credulously] do you want me to meet her again? 254* THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT I am afraid I shall be obliged to insist upon it. I have already satisfied Mr. Krellin. CAROLINE, Dear, dear 1 That must have been fatiguing ; but how very nice ! I believe he wants to marry her. HUBERT Yes. CAROLINE A very amusing man. Too bad! But how am I concerned? HUBERT In the presence of all the people before whom you made your accusation against Miss Madden, I should like you to retract it and apologize. CAROLINE [Very graciously. ,] My dear Hubert, I consider that you've never had any fault to find with me in any of your former affectionate waywardnesses. Of course, I have re- gretted them, but my pride has never been involved till now. This adventure is different. You might at least have chosen a woman of your class. I closed my eyes even to this, until the unfortunate woman was forced upon me in a manner I felt obliged THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 255 to resent. I'm very sorry. I know so little of how these people act. You might have put me on my guard. Now you wish me to apologize to her for having said the truth. [She laughs. ,] Really, Hubert, don't you think you ask too much? HUBERT I have assured them you would do so. That was the purpose of my visit. CAROLINE [Still smiling.] I'm very sorry to disappoint the audience and perplex the impresario. [Distinctly.'] You may cut my salary if you like, but I give no performance this evening. [Rises.] HUBERT [Gracefully.] Having heard you once, the audience refuses a substitute. CAROLINE Then I suggest you reimburse them. 256 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT No, that won't do. CAROLINE Have you tried? HUBERT I explained that you came here with the best in- tentions, and that you would fulfil their expectations. CAROLINE [Merrily.] I couldn't keep my face straight in the tragic parts. HUBERT I must really insist that you be serious. CAROLINE It's no use my trying. HUBERT [Looking at his watch.] We're wasting time. CAROLINE Hubert, you're so good-humored, you almost make me feel that you're in earnest. HUBERT I am. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 257 CAROLINE And if I still refuse? HUBERT Then you force me to resort to measures that we both decided were ridiculous. I have waited for this moment for twenty-five long years. For all that time you've held the whip ; I've had to canter to your wish. But now, my dear, if you do not retract your statement and protect Miss Madden absolutely, / shall sue for a divorce and name your — latest as a co-respondent. CAROLINE [Calmly. ] You can't. HUBERT I have persuaded Mrs. Sanbury to allow me to assume the suit. CAROLINE [Slowly. ,] So, you stand with her. HUBERT Precisely. CAROLINE I compliment you on your associate. HUBERT You left me no choice. 258 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Well? HUBERT It's been your policy to overlook my trespasses; but note I have not condoned either in private or in public. That is why I do not wish to appear with you in our box to-night — that is why I left your house, as soon as ever I discovered the — intrigue ; and I shall not return. Whatever was lacking in my evidence, Mrs. S anbury and others have supplied. CAROLINE Go on. HUBERT I should like to settle matters amicably, but really, my dear, it's no longer in my power. If / do not sue for the divorce, Mrs. Sanbury will; and she will name you as a co-respondent. That might be more annoying. CAROLINE I have done nothing 1 HUBERT You have always told me that our society deals in appearances; and you have done sufficient here and abroad to create a prima facie case. The bur- den will rest upon you to prove that we are wrong. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 259 CAROLINE [Snapping her fingers.] That for your appearances ! HUBERT They are far more damning than any you may know about me and Miss Madden. Come, you're too much a thoroughbred and too wise a woman not to know when you are beaten. CAROLINE [Leanmg forward.] Let me understand you. If I give Miss Madden a certificate of virtue, you will withhold the suit. That is your price, is it ? HUBERT As far as I'm concerned, yes. I can make no bar- gain for Mrs. S anbury. CAROLINE Then what's the use of my withdrawing anything, if she — ? HUBERT You will have me with you instead of against you. CAROLINE And what of that? 260 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT If I stand by and make no objection to Sanbury's attentions, who else can? They become immediately innocent, and her proceeding is discouraged; but if I join with her — which I mean to do unless you meet my terms, you become immediately defenseless and every suspicion is justified. [A movement from Caroline.] Without me, to whom can you appeal for help? To Society? It would rend you and rejoice in it, as you have rended others. You can ill afford to have your name publicly coupled with this young San- bury's in any dirty proceeding. CAROLINE [Sharply driving a bargain.'] In other words, if / protect Miss Madden from the truth, you will protect me from a lie. HUBERT Precisely ; and we all enter into our usual, polite conspiracy of silence. I advise you to reflect. CAROLINE [Rising.] I shall. I'll think it over. [She sits in the chair down left.] THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 261 HUBERT [With his watch,'] You've just two minutes to decide. CAROLINE [Ominously.'] Hubert, I advise you not to humiliate me before these people. HUBERT It's either these few people here, or the grinning congregation you will be forced to face alone, in your temple of Convention. [Pause.] I know what this must mean to you. [Caroline shudders.] You've been hard hit to-day. [He goes toward her.] With all your bravado, I know you're covering a wound. I believe that you seriously cared about this young man. For the first time in your life you've cared about anything outside of yourself. That's why you forgot yourself and went so wrong. [She looks up at him.] Oh! There's hope in that. I didn't think that it was in you. You made yourself vulnerable for 262 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN him, and the disillusionment has come, and hurt you far more than you will ever confess. [He turns away.] And then I'd like to spare you for another reason. After all, you are the mother of my child, and we've negotiated something of a life since we were young together. [Pause.] CAROLINE [Rising.] Send them in! [He goes to the hall door, opens it and makes a ges- ture to them outside.] HUBERT [To Caroline.] They're coming now. CAROLINE [A malicious expression crosses her face. It passes. She turns and asks:] Do you want to stay and see me take my medicine ? HUBERT [Bowing.] I know that you will do it gracefully. [Lawrence enters from the hall. Caroline turns immediately toward the audience. Lawrence THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 263 is very uncomfortable as he passes Hubert. Lawrence is followed by Krellin and Emily. Krellin is uneasily defiant. Emiey looks down. Hildegarde is the last to enter. She looks uncertainly at Hubert. Caroline is the only one who is completely self-possessed. Hildegarde closes the door. The others have gathered awkwardly around the table, center. Caroline stands in her position down left. There is an awkward pause. Hubert turns to Caroline, who shrugs her shoulders gaily and turns away.~\ HUBERT [To all.] Hum — As I explained to you, my wife so much regretted her unfortunate mistake that she was un- willing to allow the night to pass before she came down personally to rectify it. [To Krellin and Emily.] You have assured me that her personal retraction will be satisfactory. My wife desires to make it. KRELLIN [Taking out a paper.] Mr. Knollys, I have drawn up a paper for your wife to sign. HUBERT But — 264 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN CAROLINE Hubert! [She passes him and goes to the table, center.'] KRELLIN I think that she will find it accurate. [Krellin puts the paper on the table, center, and takes out his fountain pen, which he lays care- fully next to it. Caroline sits at the table, takes the paper and reads aloud.] CAROLINE " November twenty-ninth, nineteen-fifteen. I, Mrs. Hubert Knollys, having permitted myself to make a certain disparaging, slanderous and criminal statement [Hubert would interfere. She contin- ues] on this date, concerning the chastity of Miss Emily Madden, — in the presence of Mr. Krellin, Mrs. Sanbury and Mr. Sanbury, do herewith wish to recant it absolutely, and to state over my signature that my statement was groundless. To wit: I said that Miss Madden was improperly intimate with my husband, Mr. Hubert Knollys. I now declare this statement to be absolutely false, mistaken and un- warranted. Signed " — [She looks up questioningly.] [Krellin points to the bottom of the page.] Here? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 265 KRELLIN Please. CAROLINE [While writing.'] In addition, I wish to make my humble apology for any misinterpretation I may have made in re- gard to Miss Madden's . . . generous services to my husband and to me. At least I've learned that lies are futile, and that truth crushed to earth will rise again. [She rises. Emily sinks down into a chair at the right. The rest of them shift in an embar- rassed way. Caroline folds the signed retrac- tion, leans toward Krellin and asks gently :] CAROLINE Is there anything else? [Pause.'] LAWRENCE [Coming forward.] Mrs. Knollys . . . [Caroline passes him, disdainmg to reply. He then turns to Mr. Knollys.] Considering the circumstances, I think it bet- ter that I resign the contract for remodeling your house. 266 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HUBERT Very well. Then — ah . . . Caroline, if you've quite finished . . . that is . . . CAROLINE [Taking her cloak, which he holds for her.~\ Yes. I told Morgan to wait. [With a little shiver. ~\ I'm afraid it's raining. Hubert, will you please see if the motor is at the door? [Hubert gives her a swift, suspicious look. She meets his returning glance with an assuring smile. Pause. ] HUBERT Yes, certainly. [He quickly takes his hat and coat from the hat- rack at the door, then turns. ] Good night. Good night. KRELLIN [Picking up the signed paper. ] Good night. [Hubert exits, .] [Caroline sweeps around as if to follow Hubert, but pauses a second to look mockingly at Emily, who is still seated at the right, with THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 267 bowed head. Caroline's soft laugh is inter- rupted by Krelein, who speaks just as she has got to the door.'] KREELIN Mrs. Knollys . . . [She turns in the door, with her hand on the knob.'] You have signed this paper. [ Triumphantly. ] But I wish you to know that, for me, this was not in the least necessary. I had no belief whatever in your assertions. It was only because they dis- tressed Miss Madden that I exacted this satisfac- tion. CAROLINE [Graciously.] Quite so . . . Quite so. It's a pity that I can- not go further and silence all rumors about a little trip on the Chesapeake, Miss Madden made with Mr. Knollys on his yacht . . . [Looking at Emily.] Or any malicious innuendoes about my husband's too frequent visits at odd hours to her apartment in East Thirtieth Street. [A movement from Kreeein.] Don't be alarmed! When rumors of this kind come to you, I want you to feel sure that I am al- 268 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN ways at your service to help you to discredit them. [Emily has cowered under Caroline's speech. Krellin starts for the door with an inarticu- late cry of rage and surprise.] CAROLINE [Very graciously.] Good night. [She closes the door behind her.] KRELLIN Stop! Wait!! [Emily has quickly risen, and intercepts him.] EMILY Michael ! Please ! KRELLIN But, Emmy, this is worse!! EMILY You can do nothing more! KRELLIN This time I'll . . . ! EMILY No, no ! I'm done for ! I've got to give you up ! What she said is true ! ! THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 269 KRELLIN What!? HILDEGARDE Oh! EMILY I couldn't have stood it any longer ! I'm glad the truth is out ! ! . . . I'm glad . . . [Krellin makes over to her, takes her by the shoul- ders and peers into her face. She sinks under his gaze. He recoils with an almost savage ex- clamation.'] HILDEGARDE Stop, Michael! KRELLIN [Tearing up the retraction.] Women ! Women ! [Then, with a bitter cry.] Faith is a virtue only when it is blind; and then it makes a fool of you ... a fool ! EMILY No, Michael, Tm the fool! I should have trusted you ... I should have told you everything. You would have understood. But how can you forgive me for the lie I've acted! [She goes toward him.] 270 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN But don't . . . don't lose your faith in other, women, because I've been a fool . . . [She turns sobbing toward the door.] Yes, I'm the fool . . . I'm the fool . . . [She exits.] HLLDEGARDE Michael, go with Emily. KREMLIN [With infinite pity.] So, my poor little Emmy. Oh, we primitive males ! We create idols, and when the truth comes, what do we find ? Only pitiful humanity ! [He goes to the door and turns with a wry smile.] But you see, all of us together, fighting blindly, were not strong enough to fight against the truth! [He suddenly breaks out into an hysterical laugh.] God is a great humorist ! . . . A great humorist ! ! [He exits through hall door.] [As soon as the door closes on Krelun, Hilde- garde also break's out into a bitter laugh of disillusionment. ] LAWRENCE [Frightened at her laughter.] How can you laugh? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 271 HILDEGARDE Because I too have been a fool! And when one's faith is dead, one needs a sense of humor. [Grimly. ] So, she spoke the truth, your friend Mrs. Knollys — the truth about you as well. LAWRENCE Hildegarde, if she told you that I had ever been unfaithful to you, she lied. HILDEGARDE Did she lie when she said your nature couldn't stand poverty — that you couldn't work in this en- vironment, — ' that you had to court the rich to get your chance to rise, — that I, with my principles and my work stood in your way ? Did she lie about your character? Oh, no, she showed me the truth. LAWRENCE Hildegarde, you frighten me! How can we live together if you believe such things? HILDEGARDE Do you think that I could speak like this, if I didn't realize that we can't live together? LAWRENCE [Terrified.] Hildegarde ! 272 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE I see it now. It's been a huge mistake, our mar- rying. I've got to leave you. LAWRENCE Why — why ? HILDEGARDE You can't live my way any more. You've got an- other call. I won't live your way. I try not to judge; but I can't approve of what you do, LAWRENCE Then you really believe all that she said about me ! HILDEGARDE How little you understand! LAWRENCE But she lied — she lied ! ! HILDEGARDE I know she's neither big enough nor small enough to really give herself ; but there's much more at stake than physical fidelity. She's seduced you away from your self, — from every ideal I built my faith in, — from everything that consecrated us. LAWRENCE But you're my wife; aren't you? THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 273 HILDEGARDE You're not the man I married; and this isn't the kind of life together that we contemplated. LAWRENCE [Agonized.] But you love me; don't you? HILDEGARDE How far off that sounds ! LAWRENCE [Imploringly.] What are you saying!? HILDEGARDE Larrie, you've become a stranger. Something in me has withered. I believe it's dead. LAWRENCE No — no, — will you listen ? HILDEGARDE Oh, don't explain. I've had my fill of that. I'm not blaming you. LAWRENCE [Choking.'] Listen ! 274 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN HILDEGARDE You'll only end by asking for something that I cannot give. I can't help it, Larrie; but the truth is, we don't need or want each other any longer. LAWRENCE But I want you! I can't live without you. I'd give up everything I ever hoped to get, to have you happy as you were! HILDEGARDE We never used to think about happiness. It just came. LAWRENCE [With a cry.] I wish I'd never met her ! It's all been futile ! HILDEGARDE No. It hasn't been. She's taught us both a great deal. LAWRENCE What's the good of that, if I've lost you? HILDEGARDE [Continuing.] And then I like to think the factory people are a little happier for our knowing Mr. Knollys. THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN 275 LAWRENCE [Reproachfully and helplessly.'] How cruel you are! What do I care about all those things? It's only you, Hildegarde! [Gomg to her.] You! You! [Tearfully.'] You're all I want ! [ Weeping. ] If I lose you, what will become of me ? [Clutching her childishly and accusingly.] I'll just lose myself! [Shaking her.] Don't you see that I belong to you? Don't you see that!? Don't punish me any more. [Hoarsely shaken with sobs, he falls and clutches her knees.] You can't treat me like this ! I can't stand it ! I've been wrong; but don't punish me for what I couldn't help ! [Lawrence has delivered this last speech in a tor- rent of choking tears and with a sobbing inco- herent vehemence.] HILDEGARDE Larrie — Larrie. . . . Don't be absurd. 276 THE UNCHASTENED WOMAN [Comforting him.'] Don't cry, Larrie, — you foolish, foolish boy ! LAWRENCE [Still holding her tightly."] And you won't leave me? HILDE GARDE [Helplessly.] How can I? You're such a child. [She takes him in her arms.] curtain LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 012 383 232 2 O m m ,.; tv.--.-v ■ ■ ■ ■

21016506

Merry-go-roundelays,

Anthony, Edward

merrygoroundelay00anth_djvu.txt

Class 2S_lil^ Book. Mr Copyiigtals' JO COFlfRiGHT DEPOSIT. Merry-Go-Roundelays Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/merrygoroundelayOOanth Merry-Go-Roundelays By Edward Anthony 'And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky." A. E. Housman New York The Century Co, 1921 TiT-)[[iTriiifni^i -~T-^Ji ^^ ^^ \l Copyright, 1 921, by The Century Co. SEP 22 (92J r/. ^'^ riA622892 A ACKNOWLEDGMENT For permission to reprint most of the poems contained in this volume, the author is indebted to the editors of Harper s Magazine, Life, Judge, The New York Herald, The New York Evening Post and The New York Tribune. CONTENTS PAGE A Hardware Romance 4 Cigar Bandits 8 An Overworked Understudy's Tribute to July 10 The Movie-Haters 11 Remonstration 12 At the Height of a Certain Craze 14 The Advertisers' Mother Goose 15 Triolet 17 The Gay Young Shavers 18 Concerning Office Boys 20 Ballade of Indigestion 22 Speculation 24 Concerning a Maiden 26 Zoological Doings 27 Hungarian Rhapsody 30 Concerning Mr. William Binks 32 The Old-Fashioned Ball Park 34 World Series Yarn 33* Joyous Piping 36 The Contents of My Lady's Handbag 38 Chicken Yarn 39 To a Chicago Friend 41 Toy Music 43 The Golden Age 45 vii iSBI Contents PAGE The Modern Poet to His Love 47 Rondode to May . ., 48 Remodel That Suit ! 49 Ambition 51 The Subway : Land of Democracy . 52 Subway Yarn 53 Dear Mr. Disher 54 March Song 56 Ballade of Potential Poems j'y Very Moving Pictures ^g "Begin the Day with a Smile" 62 The Ineluctable Lure 64 Any Lover to His Lass 65 The New Luxury 66 A Drug-Store Romance 69 Obregon Opera 74 "A Many Years Ago" 77 Paradoxygen 78 Duel Personalities 80 Within the Law 83 The Mirage of the Purchase Price 84 A Pipe for Milady 86 The Sour Cynic to His Love 88 "Parsifal" 89 Vital Statistics 90 Advice to the Wicked 92 Song 93 Bacchanal 94 viii Contents PAGE Criticism 96 Rondeau for Arguers 97 Nursery Rhyme 98 The Unsuccessful Trout- Angler 100 The Indomitable Bard 101 Ballade of an Ancient Bromide 102 A Recruiting Story 104 How It Happens 105 Barrack Ditty 107 Jeannette Malone and Private Green 108 Educating Royalty 109 Song of the Wide Open Places 112 The Bard Writes a Practical Rondeau After Leaving the Army 114 Ballade of a Sorrc^vful Singer 115 Beaten at His Own Game 117 The Story of Danny O'Doone 119 New Cure ! 1 24 A New Year Card 126 TOMEVILLE ANTHOLOGY Publisher's Ante-Room 129 The Publisher 130 The Author (1) 131 The Author (2) 132 The Bewildered Manuscript Reader 134 Orlando Sconce, the Child Author 135 To an Editor 136 ix Contents PAGE True Memoirs 137 The Poet Aroused 138 A Contest 139 The Lie Is Passed , 140 Epitaph for a Deserving Lady 141 SONNETS OF A BOOK REVIEWER I "Humorous Essays by Leander Scott" 142 II "Come for a Walk Down Melancholy Lane" . . 143 III "Anthology of Modern Verse" 144 IV "Tell Me, O Traveler" 145 V "How to Develop Personality" 146 VI "Suggestive Sexy Stuif" 147 VII "Another Small-Town Novel" 148 VIII "A New Detective Story" 149 IX "I Wonder What 111 Draw To-day" 150 Atonement 151 MERRY-GO-ROUNDELAYS .ji Y WORK on a merry-go-round^ Contributing sound To the jolly hand. I play on a battered lyre. Minus a wire^ At your command. There' s a horse (and he doesn^t need hay)- A brown or a grey. For each of us. Though I ride him poorly, mine Is a nag divine Old Pegasus! A HARDWARE ROMANCE T UELLA Loranna O'Shaughnessy Firth '■--' Is a clerk in a hardware store, Where she sells pots and dishes and bowls for gold- fishes, And dozens of articles more, Like mouse-traps and razors and skillets and bolts, Shovels and wrenches and forks, Harrows and hillers, potato-bug killers, Pump-handles and beer-bottle corks. (The enumeration of which you m_ay think Decidedly needless and queer, But I don't agree, for it seems to me That a poem needs Atmosphere.) Ricardo Persimmons O'Callaghan Wright Is the utterly sprucest of males. He enters the place for to purchase a case Of unbendable hand-made nails. WK 'A Hardware Romance (Either that or a ball of unshrinkable twine, Or a saw or a barrel of pitch, — Or was it an axe or a package of tacks ? I've completely forgotten which.) Be that as it may, he enters the store, (Of that I am perfectly sure) And his heart is gone when he gazes upon That sweetest of maids, the demure Luella Loranna O'Shaughnessy Firth, The most beautiful hardware clerk He ever has met, an engaging brunette With a smile (or is it a smirk*?) That has the effect, as I've hinted before, Of setting Ricardo awhirl, (As sometimes occurs when a maiden purrs) And soon he is telling the girl Of his prospects in Life and his Favorite Book, And his Love for Beautiful Things, While Luella smiles and the time beguiles With dreaming of solitaire rings. Orlando Themistocles Perkins O'Day Is the boss of the hardware store; 5 A' Hardware Romance These billings and cooings and general doings Must vex the old gentleman, for He hollers — or, rather, he shouts in a huff, ("Hollers" is vulgar, I think), ''Luella, stop shirking, it's time you were working, Ouit flirting with that there gink!" "Have you anything nice in a hammer, miss*?" Says Ricardo with wonderful guile; And the grumpy old boss is no longer cross. In fact, he commences to smile. Having purchased the hammer, Ricardo resumes His wooing of lovely Luella. He stays there for hours; the boss again glowers And curtly announces, "Young fella, "This isn't a lounging-room, kindly vamoose I" Serenely Ricardo then Says, "Lady, I wish a nice chafing-dish," And the owner is smiling again ! And again Ricardo is courting the maid. And whenever the boss complains He purchases something (however a bum thing) And pretty soon nothing remains. 6 A Hardware Romance In the store that Ricardo does not own, And he turns to the boss and declares, "I have bought you out! Now vanish, old lout!" The proprietor, saying his pray'rs, Makes a grab for his hat and in terror departs. The lovers emit a ''Hooray!" And kiss once or twice, or it may have been thrice, And that is the end of my lay! CIGAR BANDITS The Belgian Government has presented to the League of Nations a hill for cigars amounting to 80^000 francs. The hill says: ''These cigars were smoked or carried off by members of the various delegations at the Spa Conferences^ — News Item, T^HE delegate from Argentine, * The one from Transylvania, The gen°tle-man from Hindustan, The member from Roumania; The representative from Spain, The deputy Vesuvian, The guy who hails from New South Wales, The diplomat Peruvian; 8 Cigar Bandits The emissary Portuguese, The personage Sicilian, The delegate from Congo State, The dignitary Chilean — ■ They puffed a lot of fine cigars, Did these and other folks, And Belgium read the bill and said, (No kidding) "Holy smokes ! "I guess they think we're millionaires. They went and smoked our best And when they left, in manner deft. They went and swiped the rest! "We'd gladly buy the world's cigars If we but had the metal. But we are broke and other folk That bill will have to settle." I'm sorry for the Belgians, but I think that indignation Will get 'em naught, I think they ought To try cigarbitration ! / AN OVERWORKED UNDERSTUDY'S TRIBUTE TO JULY I\ A ONTH of July, I pine for thee ^ ' -^ As for no other month I pine. The boundless joy thou meanst to me Thou never, never canst divine. In fervent homage do I bow To thee and for thy blessing give A thankful prayer; for not till thou Comest do I begin to live. 'Tis not the glory of thy days, (Though glorious, indeed, they are.) That bringeth forth this song of praise, 'Tis something that to me is far More consequential; thy debut Each summer is the trumpet-call That tells me I don't have to do Friend Sister's lessons till next fall. 10 THE MOVIE-HATERS OUPERIOR beings, how they sneer ^ When movies are the theme. Mention Miss Pickford and they jeer, There's not a star they deem Worthy of praise, or photoplay At which they do not balk. How do the critters get that way? I'm weary of their talk. O Movies ! I am different, I Am mindful that you bring Real blessings; till the day I die Your praises I shall sing. You keep my family out at night Where they can't bother me When that I sit me down to write My deathless poetry. 11 REMONSTRATION Looking glasses removed from elevators in Bank of Com- merce Building because males block doors to admire them- selves.— N, Y. Sun, T NFAMOUS libel ! I protest ! ^ Who says that man is vain? I'll slay the author of that jest! The fellow is insane ! — Attributing to man, who's shy, Conceit and self-devotion, Because he stops to fix his tie. Well, what a silly notion I Why, I myself — and I'm a guy Who's modest as can be — 12 Remonstration Whene'er a gum-machine is nigh, Gaze in the glass to see Whether I'm tidy; business men Have got to, or they'll rue it. It isn't quite the same as when Those fussy women do it! A story like the one above Can do a lot of harm By spreading false impressions of Us men, whose greatest charm Is modesty. It isn't fair That man should thus be treated. Why, soon some folks will think that there Are men who are conceited ! 13 AT THE HEIGHT OF A CERTAIN CRAZE II OUDINI can wriggle his way out of chains, '■■ ^ He laughs at a strait jacket, too. He can slip out of handcuffs without any pains, There isn't a thing he can't do ^ In this line, but I'm betting a bottle of grape, Or a hat, or a couple of shirts. That Mr. Houdini can never escape From one of those funny tight skirts! H THE ADVERTISERS' MOTHER GOOSE THERE was a man in our town (20 minutes from Broadway; up-to-date schools, low taxes, etc.) and he, having attended Forest's Busi- ness College, was wondrous wise. He jumped into a bramble bush and scratched out, both his Perfection Brand Glass Eyes. SIMPLE SIMON met a pieman Going to The Apollo Movie Palace ("Fate's Doormat" now showing). Said Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me have one of your FEATHER KRUST lemon meringues." 15 The Advertisers' Mother Goose T ITTLE Bo Peep has lost her sheep, ■^ And doesn't know where to find them. But she should worry ! her property will be returned to her In tomorrow morning's mail if she telephones THE INFALLIBLE DETECTIVE AGENCY, Murray Hill 89,000, Before six o'clock tonight. 16 TRIOLET NIBBLE, when the days are hot, Triolettuce salad. Something light that hits the spot Nibble, when the days are hot, Sitting in a shady grot Carolling a ballad. Nibble, when the days are hot, Triolettuce salad! 17 THE GAY YOUNG SHAVERS Students at barbers^ school have regular college yells. News Item, I STEPPED into a barber shop * To have my locks removed, An act of mine which I opine The barbers all approved, For as I sat me in the chair This joyous chorus rent the air: Sharpest razors! finest lather! Here the better people gather! There'' s no luaiting! Rah! rah! rah! Twenty barbers! Sis! boom! a-ah! 18 The Gay Young Shavers In silence did the barber work, Nary a word said he, Until in joy I thought, "Oh boy! I'm dreaming! This can't be! He doesn't even say. Tine weather !' " And then ten barbers yelled together: Pleasant day! The air is bracing! No more rainy days we're facing! Makes you cheerful^ don^t it, hey? Lovely weather! Ray! ray! ray! At last the barber's work was done And I stepped off the chair And paid my check and said, "By heck. The man who cuts my hair Deserves a tip; here, have a dime," And here is what I heard this time: Piker! piker! stingy miser! You're no kid! Why ain^t you wiser? Don't you know a dime's no tip? Tightwad! tightwad! hip! hip! hip! 19 CONCERNING OFFICE BOYS T F you would win your office boy, * Make it your business to deco The lad into believing that The only thoughts beneath your hat Are thoughts of baseball and of scrapping. Tell him the way The Babe's been slapping The pill has filled your life with pleasure, And praise Jack Dempsey, for good measure. Then, for additional effect, A monument to Cobb erect ; And gravely vow ('twill have no slight weight) That Leonard is no piker lightweight. You might toss in the observation That this is the most athletic nation, As proven by the Belgian games. (Mention Foss, Ryan and other names.) These thoughts and others just as sage Will prove you read the sporting page, And he'll be glad to work for you Until his place in heaven is due. 20 Concerning Ojfice Boys^ That's what I thought until one day I heard my office urchin say To Simpson's boy, his favorite crony, "I like my boss, he's all right, on'y He don't know nothin' but sportin' stuff, I'm sick of hearin' that there guff. I'm gonna chuck him soon's I can And look for work with some smart man." 21 -J^i BALLADE OF INDIGESTION T WHO have specialized in spuds and steak, ■■■ By way of victualage, since three or four, Gasp when I see a lovely lady take Her lunch in some apothecary store, And wonder, and shall wonder evermore, What there can be (O mystery!) to tickle Her palate in these items maids adore: A soda and a cruller and a pickle. When Henrietta, (what a bride she'd make!) The young enchantress who resides next door. Complains of — well, a little stomach ache All solemnly the knowledge I deplore. And tell her how the maids in days of yore Unto their constitutions were less fickle. Eschewing chow that evil record bore. Like soda and a cruller and a pickle. O heed my counsel for your family's sake ! Eat if you must, green apples to the core. Consume a parrot or a pickled hake, 22 Ballade of Indigestion Devour leaden biscuit by the score, Aye, every one of Nature's rulings floor, Let moonshine whisky down your thorax trickle, Do anything you please, so you ignore A soda and a cruller and a pickle. L'ENVOI: Prince, cast me on your darksome isle ashore, Life on this planet isn't worth a nickel. For I have downed — and, oh, my days are o'er ! — A soda and a cruller and a pickle ! 23 BBBlBKaHKiai^itti^^JSBSHi^ SPECULATION Train travelers can spend their time interestingly by trying to figure out the occupations of their fellow travelers. — News Story. nPHE gentleman beaming and fat, ■■' With the cane and the silken cravat, And the spats and the ten-dollar hat. Is a banker, I'll bet. The girl with the riotous socks (Vermilion, with lavender clocks) Is an actress, — she plays in the stocks — •On that I am set. The person away in the rear. With the very much amplified ear, 24 Speculation And the optic all puffy and queer, Is a boxer, I'd say. The lad who is reading in bliss That copy of "All for a Kiss," Is a messenger boy, or I miss. There's no doubting it, nay. The chap with the faraway stare. Who never stops smoothing his hair, Who's carrying flowers, I dare Say, is somebody's beau. The fellow whose shoes need a shine. Whose apparel is seedy; in fine. Whose appearance is something like mine. Is a poet I know! 25 CONCERNING A MAIDEN 'T'HOUGH a poet untalented I ■■' And pallid the lyrics I write, I am going (rash fellow I) to try A poem to Sue to indite. (If you doubt I am lacking in skill, The stanza above re-peruse, And you'll note — all observant folk will — The needless profusion of "to's".) Need I say, as is frequently done, That her eyes are Like Stars — ^need I tell That her hair's like the gold of the sun? On the curve of her mouth need I dwell? Need I say, to be brief, that the girl Is a beauty sans blemish or taint? A — to coin an expression — a pearl? No, I needn't. The reason : she ain't. 26 ZOOLOGICAL DOINGS Elephants, oxen and other animals dream, asserts natural- ist. — News Item, Chorus of Elephants Rocking Their Children to Sleep: OLEEP, little elephants, sleep, ^ Roll over and close your eyes, For the pachyderms who keep Late hours, aweary rise. Dream, little elephants, dream, As healthy elephants should. Of the days to be when you'll fly with me To our home in the Indian wood ! Chorus of Baby Elephants : First tell us a Bedtime Story, As is the fashion these days, With a moral or two, as humans do, Showing that honesty pays. Say, the story of Robert Rabbit Who stole a carrot and learned 27 JH Mi l llTMl M HlH I IIII'^'T nt n ini Zoological Doings That his ill-gotten gain brought nothing but pain For everybody concerned. Mrs. Ella Phant Undertakes to Tell Them a Story: All right, ril spin you a yarn, but a better one than that — The story of Ivory Ike, who was slain by a Maltese cat. Ivory Ike was a bad one, an elephant sour and cross, There wasn't an animal living he didn't try to boss. One day he met Maltese Mary, the nerviest cat I've known. She was perched on top of a mango, chewing a turkey bone. "Throw me that bone," Ike hollers. "You make me laugh," says she. Which gets that elephant's goat, and he scrambles up that tree (Enter Keeper) The Keeper: Enough of this prattle ! Climb into your beds Or I promise to rattle This stick on your heads ! 28 Zoological Doings (He extinguishes the lights) And they went to sleep that instant and dreamt of wonderful things, Of a glorious elephant heaven where the pachyderms have wings, Where there are no sign-boards reading, "DON'T FEED THE EL-E-PHANTS," And an animal can gobble whatever fortune grants, Where there are no chains on the feet and a beast can go for a walk. And there are no keepers to growl when a fellow wants to talk, Where there's heaps and heaps of peanuts and "eat your fill" is the code. And an elephant, like our poets, can take to The Open Road ! 29 HUNGARIAN RHAPSODY Hungary wants king. None but monarch can rule coun- try, is belief of people. Worship of pomp still strong, — News Item. REPUBLICS aren't bad at all, we thought of starting one, But having a democracy is not a bit of fun. It isn't colorful enough, we're very much afraid; We want some dignitaries royal in purple robes arrayed. We want a boss who wears a crown and sits upon a throne, In other words, a government that has a little tone. None hut a king can rule us. For a sovereign we beg 30 Hungarian Rhapsody He needn't he much else if lie Has got a decent leg. For monarchs wear knee breeches and their limbs must be correct^ Not but a man with shapely ones we're going to select! We're reasonable people, we do not expect too much, We do not ask a chief who knows astronomy and such, Political economy, biology and Greek. A guy who looks like something is the personage we seek — A feller who can fence and dance and play upon the lute. And cut a dashing figure in a pretty velvet suit. A man of regal bearing Is the person we'll endorse^ Whose blood is blue and also who Looks handsome on a horse. A ruler whose appearance isn't good upon a steed Would never suit our citizens and fill our crying need I 31 CONCERNING MR. WILLIAM BINKS V\7HENEVER Mr. William Binks ' ^ Would quarrel with his wife He'd grab his hat and leave her flat And run for all his life Until he came to Mike's cafe Where he would sit and brood, And drinking late, he reached the state That is commonly known as stewed. Then prohibition came along And wrinkled the nation's brow, And soon (it was awful I) all booze was unlawful, All liquor was seized, so that now Whenever Mr. William Binks Quarreleth with his wife He grabs his hat and leaves her fiat And runs for all his life 32 Concerning Mr, William Binks Until he comes to Mike's cafe Where he's wont to sit and brood, And drink till late till he reaches the state That is commonly known as stewed. 33 THE OLD-FASHIONED BALL PARK /^H, how I mourn for the vanished days ^^ Of the Yankee baseball park, Where I used to sing Jack Kleinow's praise And in wonderment remark The doings of Elberfeld at short And of Chesbro on the mound. Ah ! those, my friends, were the days of sport, The untrammeled bliss I found At the old Yank field I cannot find At the Polo Grounds at all; And I say this not as a rap unkind At the present-day brand of ball, Which excels the old. And though this I yield I stick to my preference For the good old Yanks of the old Yank field Where a feller could hop the fence! 34 WORLD SERIES YARN OAYS I to a pal, "Are you gonna take in ^ The Big Series^" He putteth his hand In his pocket and sighs, and there's tears in his eyes As he says to me, "Here's how I stand: "I've a dime to buy peanuts and also a card On which to mark down all the plays, And all would be nice as could be if the price Of admission I only could raise. " 'Tis more than a dime that I'll need for a seat When them Giants and White Stockings play. So I'll spend it on liquor and stand by the ticker In Micky McFadden's cafe." 35 |\gpi]\pfig(i^g> ^mrmn JOYOUS PIPING The corn cob pipe is coming back. — News Note. r\ LIMITLESS blessing ^-^ For thousands of folk I O bringer of gladness and chaser of sadness, Wherever men smoke ! O item that heartens A people forlorn! O bliss without measure for mortals who treasure The pipe made of corn ! O rapturous tiding! O wonderful news 36 Joyous Piping That soon, I am betting, will have us forgetting The passing of booze ! Go ring all the church-bells ! Sound bugle and horn! To-day is the day for to holler hooray for The pipe made of corn! Do everything mirthful And giddy and gay, Ecstatic, oh-boy-ous, exuberant, joyous, Your glee to display. rd join you myself In a minute, dear folk, If I had any cause to give vent to applause. But, alas ! I don't smoke ! 37 THE CONTENTS OF MY LADY'S HANDBAG A POWDER magazine, a puff, -^ *• A handkerchief of lace, (A gift from me — it cost enough To fix a pennant race) ; Some postage stamps all glued together, A nickel and a dime, A piece of useless ostrich feather. Some "fruit" drops (flavor, lime) ; A hairpin and a mirror and A silver pencil, some Vermilion rouge, a rubber band, A stick of chewing gum ; A shoe horn and some peanut shells, A street guide of the city. Some smelling salts she never smells And a clipping of this ditty ! 38 CHICKEN YARN Chickens fooled by scientific Long Islander. After dark he gets a flashlight, takes it out to the hen-house and flashes its rays on the sleeping chickens. They think it is day- time, wake up and commence to lay. — News Item, I F you would make your chickens work, -■' Don't feed 'em patent lotions, Or fill their crops with pills and drops; Eschew these ancient notions. Science with flaming torch in hand (Or flashlight, should I say*?) Advances now to show you how To make the critters lay. 39 Chicken Yarn Go to the nearest hardware store And buy a little flashlight, (You'll get one for a buck or more), And then proceed to splash light At midnight on your leghorns and Your Plymouth Rocks and so forth ; They'll think it's day and right away A hundred eggs will flow forth ! (Instead of being serious, Were I a wag I'd say You flash a light at dead of night, And quick's a flash they lay!) Oh, thus have many wealthy grown, I mean it — cease the laughter. You might do worse than heed my verse And shrewdly follow after. 40 TO A CHICAGO FRIEND T 'VE often said, when I have read ^ About your famous Chi., "I'd like to hand that city grand My card before I die. "Some day I'll crook a mileage book And make the joyous trip" — (The book alone I'd need. I own Pajamas and a grip) — "And folks back here for many a year Shall gaze at me in awe As I narrate the many great And wondrous things I saw." But now no more do I deplore That on your well-known village I ne'er have gazed. If it were razed, I might go there for pillage. But that is all would ever call Me Chi ward- — ^here is why: 41 To a Chicago Friend The other day, to my dismay, I happened to espy Within your most respected "POST" A motion-picture ad. About a show that months ago I saw right here,''* begad! * Bullfrog-on-the-Raritan, N. J. 42 TOY MUSIC E'S there in the morn and he's there at night, Peddling his toy violins, A queer little raggedy whiskered wight, Emblazoned with safety-pins. He fiddles a tune for the passing throng And nothing disturbs his poise, Not even the silencing of his song In the city's commotion and noise. Oh, I've watched him play for a decade or more, And though you hear never a sound, He fiddles away in the rumble and roar. Content, though the music be drowned. No one can chase him, a license has he. And, looking supemally wise. He plays whatever the tune may be . . . And sometimes a lady buys. A toy musician I've also become, Tve a little toy lyre with strings, 43 mm Toy Music And the noises I make as I strum and strum Are drowned in the rush of things. And as with the fiddler, no mortal can drive Me away, though my playing be A cacophonous kind of music, for I've A poetical license, you see. So I plink away on my little toy lyre, It's wonderful exercise. What more can a tupenny singer desire? . . . And sometimes a customer buys. 44 THE GOLDEN AGE Historians will never call this the Golden Age of Litera- ture. — College Professor, in magazine article, T AM a humble citizen ^ And hate to disagree With obviously learned men, And yet it seems to me . That college prof, is hardly fair. His reasoning is queer, For Harold Wright's a millionaire, The Golden Age is here I Professor, you don't know the facts, You ought to read the news, 45 The Golden Age Instead of dry and dusty tracts Devoid of any clues To Modern Litrachoor and sich, And then you'd know, old dear, That one Zane Grey is very rich, The Golden Age is here ! To contradict a man who knows A good deal more than I Is insolence that, I suppose, Most people will decry. Yet ere they lay me 'neath the sod I wish to make this clear : George Barr McCutcheon has a wad. The Golden Age is here I 46 THE MODERN POET TO HIS LOVE T^HE poems I sent you you coolly rejected, -■■ You called 'em poor piping, Not knowing that eight of the flaws you detected Were errors in typing, A science that ever for me has had terrors. (O dark circumstance I) You oughtn't to let typographical errors Bust up a romance. 47 RONDODE TO MAY OHE makes good fudge. Although I eat ^ Seldom of anything that's sweet, Fudge, when the stuff is made by May I munch with pleasure any day, The make is one that can't be beat. Bonbons (Fm not of the elite) With less of pleasure do I greet Than May's confection. Pass the tray! She makes good fudge ! xt s true the maiden has big feet, It's true her hair is never neat. It's true that rag-time makes her sway, It's true that she's a perfect jay, But these are trifles. I repeat, She makes good fudge ! 48 REMODEL THAT SUIT! MOTHERS — Have us remodel father s or elder brother's out-grown clothing into a modish suit for your younger son. — Advertisement in English newspaper. /^H, do not throw those pants away ! ^^ Be thrifty, Mrs. Jones! I know they've seen a better day And that your husband owns Another pair or two but, then, Think of your little son. He'll have a lovely outfit when The renovator's done ! Fie on you ! Mrs. Percy Root ! Oh, worst of all disgraces ! Throwing away that handsome suit Because it's worn in places ! 49 Remodel That Suit! Go see The Salvage Tailors, where For seven dollars, silly. They'll make you (Guaranteed to Wear) A Sunday suit for Willie ! Unselfish is this tattered bard In helping this campaign, For it is going to hit me hard. And let me make it plain : If folks stop throwing duds away And save 'em, understand me. When I go begging clothing, they Won't have a thing to hand me ! 50 AMBITION /^H, I am not a selfish guy, ^-^ Here's all that I desire: Some candy-shop ablaze that I May call a bonbonfire. 51 THE SUBWAY: LAND OF DEMOCRACY TJERE maidens democratic let *• ■■■ You sit upon their knees, And whether rich or poor, you get The onion-scented breeze. O radicals and such like chaps Who preach that ancient stuff — "There's no democracy" — perhaps You look not deep enough ! P SUBWAY YARN T^HE subway guard announced the street. ■■■ I did my best to hear him ; My failure being quite complete, I ventured, coming near him: "To foreign languages, good man, I offer no objection; But being plain American, I have a predilection "For English, sir; you might do worse Than formally adopt it." The subway guard began to curse, And when at last he'd stopped it, Said I, "You show great disrespect, That's pretty talk to hand me !" Said he, "How strange you should object Since you can't understand me !" 53 DEAR MR. DISHER A party of adventurers, headed by F. F, Rhodes Disher, fellow of the Royal Geographical Society, have decided to spend the rest of their lives on a tropical island away from excessive taxation. They will start for the South Seas in a schooner, the Medora. — News Item, T^HE humble fedora I wear, ^ My shoes (I have only one pair), The ties that with father I share Are taxed (they're luxurious!) The taxing of soda abides, The taxing of pills and of rides, And they're taxing my patience besides, So, mister, I'm curious To know if there's room on the boat 54 Dear Mr. DisJier For a sufferer minus a goat. Say yes and Til take off my coat And scrub all the decks, sir I There's no huskier lad in the land, There's no vessel I don't understand, I'll work for the joy of it and I'll be hand}^ in wrecks, sir. And, oh, when that island you sight And your passengers (bless 'em I) alight, You'll need a young man who can fight, To keep off the savages. And if lions attack, I'll elect To see their ambitions are wrecked, I'm a marksman and vow to protect You from animal ravages. I'll cook for the party and sew, I'll get up an amateur show, I'll work like the devil ! Let's go! Let me join your new nation! You've a place in the steerage, you say*? Do I mind the discomfort? Nay! Nay! I'll go get my baggage ! Hooray For the end of taxation ! 55 MARCH SONG HO ! for the winds of the month of March That whistle through beam and rafter. But a louder ho! I'll emit when they go And the breezes of spring follow after. 56 BALLADE OF POTENTIAL POEMS r CLOSE my desk and leave the town * For pleasures of the countryside, Where nature wears an emerald gown, (A bit of knowledge which I pride Myself upon), where gaily glide The butterflies o'er roses rare, And nature's joyous whims provide Potential poems everywhere. It's true that poets of renown Immortalized before they died The items I am setting down. But what of that? I'm gratified To think that famous men descried The beauties that I now declare. Like posies that 'neath boulders hide Potential poems everywhere. No wonder that I cease to frown, — A trout stream, look! (I'll have mine fried, 57 Ballade of Potential Poems With new potatoes for a crown.) Regard the cherry tree — a bride Decked out in white. Ah ! see, untied, The cows, (they must be tame for fair,) And hear the birds and their implied, Potential poems, everywhere. L'ENVOI: Fm taking Ethel for a ride. Here's stationery and a chair. You write 'em, friend, those undenied Potential poems everywhere ! 58 VERY MOVING PICTURES A Denver dispatch quotes a famous detective as saying^ "Most of the crimes committed to-day are the work of novices and boys who are influenced by melodramatic motion pic- tures ^ OTILETTO TOMMY, sometimes known as ^ Nick the Gizzard-slicer, Once tried as Dave the Dip and once as Lou the Loaded-dicer, It's charged you burglarized this man and hit him on the head, And did a dozen other things," His Honor gravely said. Attorney for defense arose, a person debonair. And offered these remarks the while he stroked the prisoner's hair: 59 Very Moving Pictures ''He was the nicest gentleman That I had ever seen Until the time he saw a crime Depicted on the screen. A'Stealing's not his business^ sir, 'Tis just an avocation That he acquired when movies fired His young imagination!" "There's something in your argument; release the man, attendant. And now we'll hear the Pinto Kid. Well, what's your plea, defendant'? You're charged with robbing twenty banks and hold- ing up a train. These wretched improprieties I wish you would explain." And when the Kid's attorney made the moving plea below I knew the kindly magistrate would let the prisoner go: 'He learned it in the movies^ sir, The chap was minus malice 60 Very Moving Pictures Till led astray the other day In Blooey' s movie palace. 'Twas poison to his gentle soul. Temptation came a-leaping! Ah, set him free, poor fellow; see How tenderly he's weeping!" 61 "BEGIN THE DAY WITH A SMILE" JV/lY desk-mate Jones was known to smile ^ ' ^ From morn till night — that was his style. At five he wore the self -same grin With which the day he would begin. He smiled whatever might betide, He even smiled when people died. One day I says to Jones, says I, *'Jonesey, I'm not a grouchy guy, I like to see a fellow smile. But you — you do it all the while. Doesn't your grinning ever end? How can you keep it up, my friend?" Says Jonesey then to me, says he, "You think that life's all joy for me? You think I grin because I'm happy? You do? Then guess again, old chappie. In magazines I daily read How people smile — and then succeed. They smile — and that is all there's to it. And that's the reason why I do it. 62 "Begin the Day with a Smile' By grinning ten or twenty days I figure that I'll get a raise, And if I keep it up, old dear, ril own the business in a year!" 63 THE INELUCTABLE LURE TTHE girl I wed, for aught I care, -■■ May have a nose like Punch's. She may have artificial hair In big offensive bunches. No ruby lips may be her boast, No eyes that brightly shine. She may be paler than a ghost. Her voice may be a whine. Her teeth may only number three. She may be fat or thin, But there will simply have to be A dimple in her chin! 64 ANY LOVER TO HIS LASS "\ A /"HY do we osculate'? What is the cause of it? ^ ' Who started kissing? And what are the laws of it? What is the meaning when lips come together? Is it a sign that there's spring in the weather? Is it a habit you learn from your mother? Or is it a sign that we love one another? 6^ THE NEW LUXURY Alarm clocks included in luxury tax lists. — N. Y. Herald. JOANNA, let me warn you that you'll wind up ^ your career As my stenographer unless you come in early, dear. I overlook your grammar and the way you punc- tuate, Though either one would warrant me in giving you the gate. Come, come, explain your tardiness, — and no pre- varication." The maiden brushed away a tear and said in explanation : "My father is a watchman and My mother takes in wash. 66 The New Luxury I spend on gum the little sum You call my pay^ begosh! Alarum clocks are luxuries Which we cannot afford^ And so Vm late and beg to state Yd like a raise ^ me lordT^ The richest person on our block is Jeremiah Brown, In fact, Fve heard it whispered he's the richest man in town. He's bought a big alarum clock on which the tax alone Is ninety-seven cents, I hear; it gives the family- tone. They lord it over everyone as though they owned the city, And caused this bard to grab a pen and write this little ditty: O^, hear it ring! A-ting-a-ling I The Browns* alarum clock! A sign of riches countless^ which is The envy of the block I 67 The New Luocury They set it going morn and night Their opulence to prove. Ah, woe is me I It's plain that we Shall have to pack and move! 68 A DRUG-STORE ROMANCE T SUPPOSE on perusing my title you said, * "Romance in a pharmacy *? Tut! The prospect is bleak; why, one might as well seek For romance in an Eskimo hut." Now, if that's what you said, — Fm not saying you did— But supposing you did, old dear, It simply would show that you do not know What happened in Sickle's last year. And where is this Sickle's^ On State, comer Elm. You remember that druggist shop With the window display showing bunions at bay. And the ice cream announcement on top. If you still do not know where the pharmacy is. Let me say that the Davidson barn, Painted purple and white, is a rod to the right, And now I'll proceed with my yarn. 69 A Dimg-Store Romance One morning Lem Hackel, a clerk in the store, Was brushing the counter, I think. Or making some pills for to banish some ills, Or preparing a strawberry drink. When a maiden — her name was Lenora O'Shea — Approached and announced, "I desire A package or two of that wonderful new O'Hillery's Face Beautifier." Now, Lem had a dozen assortments in stock — Rigardo's and Muller's and Brown's, O'Reilly's and Winkle's, Mezetti's and Finkle's, McFadden's, De Laney's and Towne's — But he had no O'Hillery's (that was the best) And fervently Lemuel swore, For the chap was afraid if he told her, the maid Wouldn't think very well of the store. So, inspired, he tells her, '^O'Hillery's'? Sure!" And adds (how the fellow was l5ang!) "But I'd like to observe, if you won't deem it nerve, That I don't think you need beautifying!" 70 -^ A Drug-Store Romance "Now, really!" Lenora exclaims with a smile, "You surely can't mean what you say." Lies Lemuel, "Ma'am, you're the prettiest lamb I've encountered in many a day." She throws him a kiss as she bids him farewell And leaves with a song in her heart To tell father and mother and sister and brother Her scorn for cosmetical art. A year has elapsed. And Lenora, poor maid. Has discovered she isn't so pretty. For she comes to the store, as she did once before. For O'Hillery's. Gosh, what a pity That Lem, who has finally put in a stock Of this article, should have forgot The occurrence last year! When he says to her Here," And sells her a box on the spot. She cries, "I perceive that last summer you fibbed When you said I was fair as a rose And didn't require your old beautifier," And, lo! she is tweaking his nose. 71 A Drug-Store Romance Oh, Lemuel's small and Lenora is tall And sinewy muscles are hers. She boxes his ears till the fellow, in tears. Cries, "Mercy!" and then it occurs To Lem that a maiden as sturdy as this Would make him an excellent spouse. He muses, "She'd wash all the clothes and, begosh. Do all of the work in the house !" So he says to her, "Lady, I've fallen in love With those sinewy muscles you own. Stop beating my head and let's go and be wed !" And into his arms she has flown ! " 'In strength there is beauty,' the poet observed," Says Lemuel then to his dear, "And you're certainly strong, so unless I am wrong, As a beauty you haven't a peer." And soon they are married and Lemuel still With his passion for beauty possessed Bestows on his bride, with professional pride, A case of O'Hillery's best! 72 A Drug-Store Romance And I hear, for good measure, he threw in a gross Of Rigardo's and Muller's and Brown's, O'Reilly's and Winkle's, Mezetti's and Finkle's, McFadden's, De Laney's and Towne's ! 73 OBREGON OPERA Mexican generals lose their jobs. . . . Many discharged. . . . Given choice between farm ownership and good jobs in factories. — Headline. "^ A 7E used to have a general for every dozen men, ^ ^ Which made our army beautiful, for nat- urally when You have a gang of generals all standing in a line^ And each of 'em is gaily clad and all their buttons shine, The spectacle delights the eye — and that is why we'd hire 'em, But generals are luxuries and so we're going to fire 'em! 74 Obregon Opera General Fandango^ Take off your pretty pants! Here's overalls! Your duty calls You to the plow. Advance! O General Piazza^ Remove that brilliant shirt! You'll hardly need it planting seed And digging in the dirt! A hundred thousand generals a-standing in a row. With ribbons on their bosoms, make a fascinating show. And when they wear their medals, and the same are polished bright, You'd have to travel many miles to see a finer sight. But times have changed and Mexico's to be a thrifty nation, And so our doughty generals are due for a vacation. O General Bandanna, The factory whistle blows! So hock your dirk and go to work. And doff your army clothes. 15 Obregon Opera O General Siesta^ Ere long you^re going to carry A dinner pail and earn your kale^ Like Tom and Dick and Harry I 76 "A MANY YEARS AGO" O AID my dad, "Be a lawyer, that's my suggestion, ^ The qualifications are your'n, You've debated with me on every question Ever since you were born." "He'll do better than that," my mother objected, "A banker he's going to be. He saves all his pennies, I've lately detected; He'll open a bank, I foresee." High hopes did they have in those days when their sonny Showed promise. O how they would gloat I They thought he had brains and would make lots of money — Alas ! the young man is a pote. 77 PARADOXYGEN {Provoked by G, K. C.'s American Lecture Tour,) nPHE atmosphere is decidedly queer, "■- It's evident everywhere. Fm not feeling well, and the reason : I smell Paradoxygen in the air I This rarefaction agrees with some, But I, who am bourgeois, find It hard as the deuce on the lungs — and a truce I seek with the Chesterton mind I Oh, Gilbert, I know there are many who like Your talks on "The Darkness of Light," "The Shortness of Length" and "The Weakness of Strength," And the one on "The Lowness of Height." They tell me you're simply immense, old dear, In that speech on "The Upness of Down," And I also have read that you're knocking 'em dead In the one on "The Blueness of Brown." 78 Paradoccygen My neighbor keeps telling me, "How I adore His 'Legality of the Illicit,' And I've also a liking intense for his striking 'Obscurity of the Explicit !' " Yet I am unmoved. And the reason^ Oh, well, The same I intend to expound Some evening next week, when I'm going to speak On "The Shallowness of the Profound." 79 eniBttes DUEL PERSONALITIES Recently Lord Henry Cavendish-Bentinck challenged Sir Hamar Greenwood to mortal combat in the House of Com- mons, . . . Within the past few months there have been other challenges of a similar nature in England^ but in each case it has not been difficult to persuade the disputants not to fight a duel, — News Item, LORD ALEXANDER RUPERT ROCHE was taking lunch one day With his distinguished fellow-peer, the Earl of Halloway. Said Alexander Rupert Roche, "I think the pheas- ant's great." Said Halloway, "Not pheasant, boob. That's quail upon your plate." Said Roche, "I say it's pheasant, sir! How dare you contradict me^" 80 Duel Personalities Said H., "We'll fight it out and see; no man has ever licked me!" Pistols and coffee at seven! There^s going to he a duel! Someone is going to heaven! (They say lords do^ as a rule,) When a breach cannot he mended A peer must have his fling! There's honor to he defended! And honor is no small thing ! Scene: Dueling-ground. The lord and earl and followers appear, The lord is rather shaky and the earl is acting queer. Yet, thaugh they do it timidly, each brandishes a gun, And it begins to look as though there'll be a lot of fun, When someone cries, "No Englishman should ever slay a brother!" Whereat the lord and earl embrace and warble to each other: ''The gentleman is right, I like his attitude, 81 Duel Personalities Ifs incorrect to fight. Improper, vulgar, rude. We owe it to the nation To be more dignified. Think of the desolation If one of us had diedT 82 WITHIN THE LAW (After looking into Walker's Rhyming Dictionary) I 'D any day prefer to starve Than have to live on quince preserve. My righteous anger it provokes To see folks read H. B. Wright's books. They should not be allowed to vote Who waste their time on such darned rot. 'Most anything I can endure, But not the scrambled metaphor. I often used to buy a pint Of beer my innards to anoint. ^tr ^c ^}c ^tf ^{f ^{£ ^k ^Ac How dare one use such rhymes "? . . . Oh, well, Walker says they're allowable ! 83 THE MIRAGE OF THE PURCHASE PRICE AyU^HEN I was very little I ^ ' Received each week or so A quarter from my dad to buy A ticket for a show. The quarter bought a gallery seat Away up near the beams, Whence I would gaze at the elite And wrap myself in dreams Of days when I, a grown-up lad, Should slap a dollar down And get the best seat to be had In all the merry town. After ten years of worldly strife I've managed to fulfil My dollar dream, but — such is life ! — I'm in the gallery still. The Mirage of the Purchase Price And when I'm able to shell out Four dollars for a chair, I haven't got a single doubt I'll still be 'way up there. 85 A PIPE FOR MILADY English society women smoke pipes, — News Item. COME, Arabella, and fill the bowl I— The bowl of my pipe, old dear — And puff away the livelong day Like the wife of a British peer! Oh, do not be an old-fashioned girl, Away with that cigarette ! A pipe for you ! And you'll smoke it too! I'll make you a lady yet! That pipe of mine has an odor, dear. As doubtless you have found. But I'll make you a present of one that is pleasant When your birthday rolls around. 86 A Pipe for Milady Do you wish a stem that is straight or curved? Shall it be a meerschaum, pray*? Or do you desire a little French briar, Or one that is made of clay? Oh, a perfectly stunning tobacco pouch You shall knit for yourself, my own, With trimmings of blue and of scarlet too That I promise will give you tone. And we'll go to smokers, my pretty one, And fill the air with a haze. And puff together in fair and foul weather The rest of our mortal days ! 87 THE SOUR CYNIC TO HIS LOVE A LTHOUGH you're pretty as can be, '**' I sing not of your charms, my love; Your splendid generosity, Sweet fay, is what I warble of. Try as I may, I can't compound A simple that would express Appropriately my profound, Immeasurable gratefulness. Your kindness tears me all to bits ; Accept my hereby given thank. Since you deserted me for Fritz I'm putting money in the bank. 88 "PARSIFAL" A T one the curtain rises, ^**- And then till half past five The singers sing, the rafters ring. And then you— well, revive. Great stuff— but, oh, so endless! — Proving, unless I'm wrong. The fellow knew his business who Observed that art is long. 89 VITAL STATISTICS Girl vote clerk town terror. Since election she knows ages of all women in her neighborhood. — Headline, T AM the village ballot-clerk, my name is Tessie *- Brown, I hardly need remark that Fm the terror of the town. I know the age of Adaline, of Sue and Elinor, (The latter claims she's twenty-three, I know she's thirty- four.) And since a girl can do some good with all this information, I'm starting Brown's Emporium of Age Investiga- tion! 0^, learn your sweetkearfs age^ And save yourself some sorrow! 90 Vital Statistics For all you know your dashing Flo Is forty-six to-morrowl Oh^ come and sample Brown^s Perfection Brand Statistics! They're guaranteed ! You do not need Those fortune-telling mystics! Statistics given while you wait, and prices very fair, If you can't call, we send a man to see you anywhere. All consultations confidential, she won't know you called. (I hardly need remark that if she did she'd be appalled.) 'Phone for appointment right away, we've got a private wire, And make it doubly certain that the maid's your heart's desire! To'day a gal of fifty Resembles twenty-two^ sir. Cosmetic art may win your hearty Investigate your Sue^ sir! She may he sixty-five For all her rosy tint age ^ So come to-day without delay And learn the maiden's vintage! 91 ADVICE TO THE WICKED OTOP a minute, ribald dancers, ^ Shimmying to hours late ; Harken, all ye wanton prancers, Hear this poetizer prate. Have you in your mad gyrations Thought of all the time ye waste? Thought of aught but hesitations, Thought of hours you've erased? Have you ever, crazy dippers. Thought of Hades and the Styx? Know ye that for midnight trippers Meeds of Higher Kinds are nix? Know ye hours spent in wooing Terpsy till the night is done Might be better spent in doing Pomes immortal, like this one? 92 SONG COR years Fve been trying to get up a scheme -*■ For suppressing the hard-lucky wight, — The fellow who has a perpetual stream Of sorrowful tales to recite. And I wish to announce Fve discovered a plan That is sure to bring sufferers bliss. And the same is quite simple: as soon as your man Commences, salute him with this: CHORUS: If you me your troubles you're gonna hear mine, — I warn you before you begin. You're not the one bird with a crick in the spine, Nor the one guy who's pocketbook's thin! Your trousers, you tell me, are worn at the knee*? Why, look at the patches in mine ! And, say, if you tell all your troubles to me You can bet that you're gonna hear mine I 93 BACCHANAL Great deposit of hootchite or hootchspar^ a mineral rock containing a large percentage of alcohol, found in Nevada, — Mining and Scientific Press. T MET a man the other day * Licking a piece of rock. Said I, "What are you doing, prayl You puzzle me, old sock." He licked that rock until I thought It soon would melted be, Then whispered, "Hush! I may be caught. This rock is boozy, see?" And when he'd finished with that stone, He took another piece, 94 Bacchmial And as a puppy licks a bone, He licked without surcease, And shouted, "Merry days ahead!" And handed me a chunk, And slapped me on the back and said, "Let's you and I get drunk I" Upon his back he had a sack Of rocks of every sort, And some were Scotch and some were gin, And some were beer and port. "Hurray!" he cried, "for nature's gift! While other mortals weep Who have no means of getting spiffed, We'll rock ourselves asleep!" 95 CRITICISM T QUITE agree with you," says Jinks, * "That Gilbert's funny as can be. But how can anyone who thinks Waste time on such buffoonery^" "O.Henry? Yes. I like him well, His stories never want for tang; But nearly anyone will tell You that he uses too much slang." "You're right," he'll say, "his stuff's not bad," When Old Bill Shakespeare's cause I plead ; "Although you must admit," he'll add, "That parts of him aren't fit to read." ^^ %t^ xL^ >!/• «1^ >1^ xl» ^^ *j* *j> *y* ^j^ ^j^ *j» Whene'er there's talk of Jinks, and my Opinion is solicited, I say, "He's quite a decent guy. Although there's nothing in his head." 96 RONDEAU FOR ARGUERS COMEBODY'S wrong. Who can it be'? ^ The trouble lies with you or me. That much I know, and would I knew Whether I err or whether you When we agree to disagree. My arguments you cannot see, And I — I shout excitedly, "You're wrong — you know it! — through and through!" . . . Somebody's wrong. We argue. Why? Because it's free? No. Don't we lose our time when we Stand cussing till the air is blue? What prompts us then ? Search me ! I do Know this: When all is s. and d., SOMEBODY'S wrong. 97 NURSERY RHYME A bath a day keeps the doctor away. — N. Y. Sun. AjK OTHER, may I go in the swim^" 1 V i "You may, my darling daughter; Don't stand upon the ocean's brim, But plunge into the water." "Mother, the water's very chill." "Suppose it is, my dearie? A bath to-day will save a bill From Dr. Hiram Leery!" II "Mother, may I go in to bathe?" "You may, my precious Emma." 98 Nursery Rhyme "The breakers toss, the sharks are cross, Fm in a great dilemma." "Be unafraid, my pretty one," And in the sea she knocked her! "A bath a day will keep away That profiteering doctor!" Ill "Mother, may I go in to wash"?" "You may, my sweetest daughter, Yes, any time, my darling; Fm An advocate of water." "Mother, there's lobsters in the sea." "Then watch 'em, love, be stealthy," And ducked the miss and chuckled, "This Is going to keep you healthy!" 99 THE UNSUCCESSFUL TROUT-ANGLER T 'VE got the kind of bamboo pole -^ That anyone would prize, And there is not a bloomin' soul Who's more, and better, flies. I've got an automatic reel That — well, it can't be beat; A dozen leaders and a creel, A line on which I'm sweet; I've even boots, a landing-net And O. Smith's book of rules, Preferring to be deep in debt Than minus needed tools. Despite which trappings, and some more, No trout's been in my net — Which isn't so surprising, for I ain't been fishing yet! 100 THE INDOMITABLE BARD 'T'HE fashioning of verses * When the nation is at war Is a crime that earns me curses, Yet I keep on writing, for The people who denounce me as we prime ourselves for battle Cussed my verses just as roundly ere the drums began to rattle. 101 BALLADE OF AN ANCIENT BROMIDE "When spring and young love meet, then the birds sing." -From "The Freelands," by John Galsworthy. 'HPHE platitudes are not "■- All made by Harold Wright, Full many the giants plot Upon the lofty height Where J. G. in his might Says birdies sing, "Tweet I tweet!" (A pleasant picture, quite) When spring and first love meet. Nor is the thing a blot Upon his 'scutcheon bright, He's only saying what Most authors, great or slight, Say when they must indite Some observations sweet Anent the moment trite When spring and first love meet. 102 Ballade of an Ancient Bi^omide What else to say? A lot Worse did "the sunbeams light With golden shafts the spot" Or "flowers their joy recite By dancing day and night." (Why tire their little feet*?) Pity the author's plight When spring and first love meet! UENVOI Oh, once I used to fight, Now undismayed I greet The old bromidic flight When spring and first love meet. 103 A RECRUITING STORY THE Recruitin' Sergean' he did say, "How tall be you?" Says I, "Six-four; I know because the other day I measured my length upon the floor." "Too big," says Sergean' with a sigh, "The trench your size ain't yet been foun'." "That ain't no hindrance," then says I, "Why can't I marry and settle down?" 104 HOW IT HAPPENS Readers on trains provoke conductors. Bookworms ride past their stations, then blame conductors. — News Item, O'NEILL has seized her by the throat, She screams ... to no avail. He flings her in the waiting boat, And down the stream they sail. He gloats, 'You're cooked, my pretty one: . . . I'm filled with indignation, — Not over what O'Neill has done — Tve passed my station! " 'Your love no thrill in me awakes, I'm seeking for romance ; 105 How It Happens ril never wed a man who makes His living pressing pants.' He hangs his head and heaves a sigh, Then cries in aggravation, *You little snob !'"... Conductor, I Have passed my station I "Midnight. The sky is black as pitch. A struggle . . . then some cries, And at the bottom of a ditch Poor murdered Hector lies. Oh, was the culprit's aim to rob. Or was the motivation ...*?"... Conductor, you^re not on the job, Fve passed my station! 106 BARRACK DITTY 'T'HE barrack is cold, the iire is low, * Who's gonna get the coal? The sky is gray and it looks like snow. Who's gonna get the coal"? The sergeant says, "Let the corp'ral go," The corp'ral heatedly answers, ''No!" And so The private is chased for the coal. 107 JEANNETTE MALONE AND PRIVATE GREEN (Camp Merritt Song) JEANNETTE MALONE picked up the 'phone ^ To spoon with Private Green, A soldier lad who boldly had Deceived this little queen. To win the lass he tried to pass As a lieutenant — so When Miss Malone picked up the 'phone And whispered soft and low : "Put on the wire my heart's desire, His name's Lieutenant Green," The answer came: "Don't know the name; But, lady, if you mean "A private, well, I'm glad to tell You that I know the sinner; But sorry, gal, can't call your pal — He's cooking the captain's dinner." 108 /fisienut EDUCATING ROYALTY Yankee teaches duke dice game. Royalty snubs erring nobleman. — News Item. TPHE Prince of Aramanda is a-shooting craps one -■• day With Edward Alfred Algernon, the Earl of Citronella. "Seven to five I roll an eight !" exclaims the Prince of A. When Adolph, King of All the Realm, a very strict old fellah, Comes trotting by on Suzerain, his celebrated steed, And, jumping off the same, emits a horrified, "Indeed!" 109 Educating Royalty ''Forgive usT^ plead the prince and earl^ ''We know how this must hurt you. A Yankee lad with habits had And no idea of virtue., Taught us the game^ he claims it is His country's national sport. We'll quit it, though, for gambling's low; Don't banish us from court!" "Ah, ha! you plead for mercy," cries the angry Adolph then. "Well, gentlemen, I needn't say I've got you in my power. And I intend to treat you as I treat all wicked men. Oh, Keeper of the Prison, put these villains in the Tower I" And in the Tower he puts 'em — yet they like it very well. For no one's there to hear 'em as they roll the bones and yell: "I'm shooting ten." "All right, I'll fade. Say, what's your point?" "i five!" "Well, two to one it can't be done! Come, roll 'em! Act alive!" 110 Educating Royalty "A five! I win! Now shoot the roll! I win again ^ old scout I Yll say thafs neat. If I repeat Yll buy the kingdom outT III SONG OF THE WIDE OPEN PLACES {Lament) SING me a song of the wide open places, Chant me a lay of the road, Memories bringing of lovable faces, Hovey and Carman — an ode Full of the joy of the wandering aimless Poets for ages have done, Stevenson, Masefield — and some who are fameless. Sing it in stanzas that run Over the tongue with the grace of a ditty Gilbert, in form, might have penned — Happy-go-lucky, ecstatic and witty — Then, ere your power you spend. Sing me a song of the wide open places, Chant me a lay of the road — Houses, if any, where lager still graces Bars in the vanishing mode. Hoi for the wide open places where Burton Heartens the blistery throat, 112 Song of the Wide Open Places Phantom cafes where undrawn is the curtain, Visions that only a pote Sees in his dreams when the summer sun chases Joy and a fellow perspires, Singing in vain of the wide open places In tune with the saddest of lyres. "3 THE BARD WRITES A PRACTICAL RON- DEAU AFTER LEAVING THE ARMY T is a job when one has spent A twelvemonth as an army gent To write a poem full of fizz. (What gems I used to write to Liz!) My muse a change has underwent. (My grammar too.) There's quite a dent In both. And I shan't rest content Until they're mended, though, gee whiz, It is a job To do a come-back. If my bent For o. f. lyric merriment Would but return ! My muse has riz Against all fluff. It's growing biz- Nesslike. Its theme, friend'? (This you scent!) It is— a 114 BALLADE OF A SORROWFUL SINGER AD are my days as ne'er before, ^ Great is the grief that visits me, Mortal has never suffered more, My raison d'etre has ceased to be. Before I plunge into the sea 1 offer prayers to Heaven above — (May they be granted speedily!) 'Tis summer and Fm not in love! Jimmy has copped an Eleanor, Artie a Grace (a pippin, she !) Charlie a Sue with tresses d'or^ (To gaze at her is to holler ''Whee!") Bill has an Edna on his knee, Davie, I hear, boasts a "Follies" dove, But I alone must sip my tea — 'Tis summer and Fm not in love! I weep for the kissful days of yore When I was a lover sorrow-free. The days, f'rinst, of the well known war 115 Ballade of a Sorrowful Singer When D and I sat 'neath a tree^ I reading my latest j apery In the camp's gay sheet, she thinking of Flowers for her bard . . . Return, fair D ! 'Tis summer and I'm not in love ! L'ENVOI Fm sad as Bill Hohenzollern. Gee, I'd welcome a tap from Dempsey's glove; This cheerless life I yearn to flee, 'Tis summer and I'm not in love ! 116 BEATEN AT HIS OWN GAME Woman is barber shop talker now. Milady, getting her hair bobbed, out-talks tonsorial artist. — News Item, QCENE: fashionable barber shop. o Enter milady, who Desires to lose her precious crop Of tresses. "How-de-do," The barber greets her, "Hair-cut, missT' "What then — a shave?" says she, "Barbers, I've heard, are talky; this Is proof enough for me ! 'Be careful how you bob my hair; Remember that, good sir. 117 Beaten at His Own Game I don't want everyone to stare, And say, 'Just look at her!' Done right I think it's nice, don't you? It makes a maiden chic. And anyhow it's something new, Let dad and mother kick. ''Goodness! The scissors tickle so! Yes, that is better; thanks. Ouch ! I believe you cut me ! No? Aren't we women cranks ! Brush off those particles, they itch. Brush harder! How they cling! O that is fine !" . . . As2de fro?n which She didn't say a thing I 118 THE STORY OF DANNY O'DOONE M going to tell you the fanciful tale Of Motorman Danny O'Doone, Who took out his trolley and journeyed, by golly, The distance from here to the moon. Some say that he rode to the sun, not the moon, Some people contend it was Mars, And others declare v/ith a knowing air That he landed on one of the stars. I even have heard it observed (and by folks Whose opinions I've cause to respect) That he's journeying still and eternally will, Providing his car isn't wrecked. There are versions and versions, and mine's not the task Of this one or that one espousing, But of telling the tale of a motorman hale, And how he went trolley-carousing. 119 The Story of Danny O'Doone Oh, Danny O'Doone was the rarest of chaps, A gay little dreamer of dreams. With a shock of red hair and of blue eyes a pair. And a headful of whimsical schemes. A passion for travel had Danny, he yearned For a chance to envisage the things That he'd read of for years, like Arabians, peers, The pyramids, ostriches, kings ; And mountains all covered with snow at the top, And the rivers they tell of in maps; And the faraway lands of the tropical bands Where the hunter the tiger entraps. And a thousand and one other marvelous things That only a dreamer can think of. And often he'd say, "There is coming a day When those wonders I'm going to drink of." Each time that he'd ride to the end of the line. At the country before him he'd gaze. With despair in his eyes, till one morning he cries, "A plague on these colorless days!" And opens the throttle as wide as she'd go Till he's shooting through space like a shell, 120 The Story of Danny O'Doone And with power divine past the end of the line He zips to the tune of this yell: "Oh, trolley la la for a wanderer's life ! For a life that is merry and free ! Who'd laugh and be jolly and chase melancholy, Come trolley la la-ing with me !" The trolley was empty, excepting for Jim- Jim Black the conductor — and he Joined Dan in the song, being equally strong For a bit of a rollicking spree. "Oh, Jimmy," says Dan, "we're escaping the world, And all of the problems that vex, And we'll have heaps of fun (though it's likely that one Of these days we'll be breaking our necks.) "Don't you think it is fair that this fun we should share With mortals who peace would secure? Philosophical folk who are harassed and broke, Let's offer to take on our tour!" And they put out a sign: ALL PHILOSOPHERS, HEAR! 121 The Story of Danny O'Doone WE OFFER A PROJECT SUBLIME! TO ELYSIUM THE KEY, IN THE FORM OF EXCURSION THROUGH TRACKLESS TIME! And soon there are passengers getting aboard — - A poet a-strumming his lyre, A butcher, a sailor, a grocer, a tailor, A plumber, a hosiery buyer,— And others who proved that they'd been through the mill, And had found this existence too solemn, And yearned to embark on a bit of a lark Ere gracing the obit, column. And soon they are singing, "Oh, trolley la la For a life minus worry and fuss ! Who'd laugh and be jolly and chase melancholy, Come trolley la la-ing with us !" And again they are bounding along at a pace That is certainly sixty an hour; And now they're in Spain or Japan or Lorraine, Or skipping past London Tower. 122 The Story of Danny O'Doone How'd they travel the seas ? At the bottom thereof There are cables, dear reader, there are ! Which they rode on in bliss — and I might say that this Was the start of the cable-car! They thrived on this life and most corpulent grew; Yes, even the skinny and* slight. Which proves, as I hear was remarked by a seer, That travel is broadening, quite. And for ages and ages they sped through the world, Till bored with terrestrial things. They heavenward pointed and joined the anointed, Then weary of angels and wings, They hopped to the sun, from the sun to the moon, (A wandering crew you'll allow). A planet a day was their schedule ; they may Be in lands Betelgeusean now! And I'm sure they are singing, "Oh, trolley la la For a life minus worry and fuss! Who'd laugh and be jolly and chase melancholy, Come trolley la la-ing with us !" 123 emma NEW CURE! Physical shock cured headache, — ^A^". Y, Sun, 1\ yi Y head was athrobbing to beat the band, ^ ^ ^ And feeling aweary and sick, I went to the doc and I cried, "Old sock, A couple of pellets quick!" ''Oh, pills are old-fashioned, the method I use Is better," the medico spoke. And hit me a lick with a hickory stick, And I hadn't a pain — till I woke ! I called on the Doolins not long ago, I'll never forget that day. His missus and Pat had a bit of a spat. And once, at the height of the fray, 124 ■^ New Cure! As the missus hit Pat with a ponderous vase, She said, "You are greatly mistaken If you think that I do it to hurt you ; I threw it A-thinkin' your head might be achin' !" Old Perkins was troubled with headaches for years, His case was a pitiful one; His pains would abide though the gentleman tried Every remedy under the sun. But to-day he has nary a pain nor an ache, No more has he reason to chafe; A neighbor assured me the fellow was cured The day he was hit by a safe ! 125 A NEW YEAR CARD A NOTHER year! Again the din -'*■ Of crowds atooting horns of tin, Again confetti in the air And bells aringing everywhere, As once again the months begin. Again the jokes — they're growing thin — On resolutions not to sin. Let's laugh, as though we thought them rare, Another year! . • • Here, friends, acquaintances and kin, — A New Year rondeau — and my fin ! I know the poem's only fair. Next year a good one I'll prepare. I'll be a better poet in Another year! 126 TOMEVILLE ANTHOLOGY PUBLISHER'S ANTE-ROOM nPHERE'S a fellow outside with a volume of "■' pomes, (The title, I think, is 'The Beautiful Gnomes'), He says it's the best of poetical tomes." 'Til see him next Christmas," the publisher said. "There's a gentleman waiting to tell you about A novel of his, which without any doubt (So he says), will make critics with happiness shout." "Oh, tell him I'm ill or in prison — or dead." "There's also a lady who's just come away From Russia; she says that the Reds are at bay, And she's willing to write it at so much a day." "I've just left for Portugal, China and Mars." "And then there's a bookseller — looks like a gink — From somewhere out West; Indiana, I think. I'll tell him you're out buying authors a drink." "A bookseller? In with liiml Boy, the cigars!''' 129 THE PUBLISHER OPEAK kindly of the publisher, ^ Cease aiming jabs and hooks. He spends his days devising ways Of landing worthy books. And granting that he spends his nights Coralling lesser writers, And stoops at times to make some dimes By peddling books by blighters. Like Charlie Cheer and Jennie Joy, And other slushy Biddies, Remember, please, that books like these Support the Wife and Kiddies I ^ blessing on his graying head ! Speak gently as he passes. Whose job it is (O thankless biz !) • To please all shades and classes. 130 THE AUTHOR (i) (As some readers see him) IT'S nice to be an author ^ And sit and smoke a pipe, And nothing do the seasons through But type and type and type. And have your picture printed In papers everywhere, And when you pass, hear lad and lass Shout, "That's him over there !" And daily open letters Containing wads of pelf. And live on steak. Some day I'll take The business up myself. 131 THE AUTHOR (2) (As he frequently sees himself) /V A Y neighbor is a lucky chap, ^ " ^ His livelihood is plumbing. At five clock (O perfect snap I) I see him homeward coming. His work is done, Fm never through, To-night ril ruminate Until eleven on what to do With Jones in Chapter Eight. And then there's Joe, the butcher- boy. Who lives across the alley, And nightly knows the boundless joy Of calling on his Sally. While Joe, a free man, woos his gal, I sit and dope a way Of making it seem logical For Brown to shoot O'Shea. Ah, would that I had had the wit To listen to my dad, 132 The Author Who — (well do I remember it!) — Said, "Learn a trade, my lad." Ah, then perhaps my work would stop At five or six o'clock, And rd be free as any cop Or tailor on the block. 133 THE BEWILDERED MANUSCRIPT READER /^H, there are many, many times ^^ When I am puzzled quite. Now, here I have a book of rhymes That seem to be all right. The author is a likely poet, Though certain things displease. I think I'll hedge. But how? I know ! "// Has possibilities F ' And here's a novel— rather good; But is it good enough? Search me ! There is a likelihood That I shall have to bluff. ril say — and what could be politer, Or easier to distill, Than a report like this: ''The writer ■ Is not -without some skillF^ 134 ORLANDO SCONCE, THE CHILD AUTHOR A T eleven Orlando his first volume penned, -«*^ Entitled ^'The Growing Karl Marxian Trend^'' An opus you'll like from beginning to end, It's so brimful of knowledge. O wonderful thing ! Here's a slip of a boy Who's able the weightiest terms to employ, His polysyllabical work you'll enjo'^' (If you've been to a college.) While other — and less cerebelle-lettred — ^brats Are tossing their baseballs and wielding their bats, He sits giving Plato or Emerson rats — Or indorsing 'em, maybe. Orlando's a child I should like to adopt, (I'd kidnap the lad, but, alas! I'd be stopped) And see that inside of a well he was dropped, The scholarly baby! 135 TO AN EDITOR nPAKE it from me, dear sir, if thou but knew- '■ Est with what pious zeal I worship you, (I should say "thee," but "thee" and "you" don't mate) I make so bold as to asseverate That stuff of mine thou'dst ne'er again taboo. And this affection, sir, is honest, true; Aye, true as that the well-known sky is blue Or that the thoughts are few in Bryan's pate — • Take it from me. . . . Most mighty master, I have penned a beau- Ti fully rippling rondeau, such as few. Except, perhaps, old Austin might create. And that thou better understandst how great My love for thee I shall permit thee to Take it from me I 136 TRUE MEMOIRS nPHESE memoirs," the notice declares, * "Are truthful as memoirs can be; The author (V. Racity) swears The book from deception is free* No coloring here, not a jot; No gullery, clever and bold; No tricks that the charlatans plot — = Aye, only the truth has been told." Oh, I am a stickler for truth, I frequently tell it, I do; It's an excellent habit, forsooth. And I venture you practise it, too (On occasion). But, oh, in a book Beguilement is all I desire. And I wear a much happier look When the author's a rattling good liar! 137 THE POET AROUSED TTHE hat that I had bought that very day -■• Some villain pilfered while I sat and lunched; "Which means the writing of another lay," Thought I, as angrily my teeth I crunched. And then and there I sat me down to write A poem that would buy another hat, And, summoning all my poetic might (Of which there's plenty, let me tell you that), Composed a lyric with a lilting strain That Editor Bill Perkins promptly bought. Showing that in the poet's desp'rate brain His power lies. And ever since I've thought, Ah, me ! What gems I'd fashion if by chance I lost my overcoat or, say, my pants. 138 A CONTEST T^EN poets send me verses," said Louise, *• "Or is it twenty'? (I've forgotten which.) And all these Pegasuspirations please, Making it difficult for me to hitch My cart to any one of you. The lines you sent Last week were sprightly but no better than The ones I got from Mills and Scott and Trent. The quality's the same. I therefore plan A test of quantity. Each man his quills Shall keep propelling for a fortnight. He Whose verse the largest stack of paper fills Shall have my hand in marriage." . . . Woe is me! Writing a dozen poems every minute, A free verse poet won. I wasn't in it. 139 THE LIE IS PASSED '\ A Whence comes the myth that poets do not eat? ^ ' Who manufactured the atrocious lie? The fabricator I should like to meet And ask the wretch how he can justify His statements. Only yesterday I ate. This month, not once, but half a dozen times In gilded cafeterias Fve sate (Oh, there are editors that buy my rhymes). Partaking, while the player-piano played The latest rag, of food as caloried As any man's. O mock not at my trade! False is the ancient jest, O false, indeed! Why, this was written, yes, this very lay, In Max's Busy Bee the other day. 140 EPITAPH FOR A DESERVING LADY OHE never wrote a book, ^ She wasn't literary. She stayed an honest cook, She never wrote a book, Contented not to look Beyond the culinary. She never wrote a book! She wasn't literary! 141 SONNETS OF A BOOK REVIEWER IT UMOROUS essays, by Leander Scott. ^ ^ Essays at humor one might call 'em too. Three hundred drowsy pages, but why not*? If sleepy, pleasantly so. My review — And this is only fair — shall praise the thing. There are two kinds of sleepy books, the ones By fourth-rate realists that nightmares bring. And those that pleasant sleep induce — ^by sons, Innocuous sons, of good old Charlie Lamb, Like this Leander Scott. If doze I must. Let me doze sweetly; worshipful I am Of him who knows that it is only just To lull The Gentle Reader painlessly. Leander, you are good enough for me! 142 Somiets of a Book Reviewer II Come for a walk down Melancholy Lane, Where someone dies in Squalor every hour. Oh, meet the Grand Viziers of Strife and Pain, Who write with what is classified as Power. I'll introduce you to the dwellers all. From Jeremiah Grim, who wrote "The Bum" To Mollie Murk whose "Sound the Trumpet Call !" Exposes evils in an eastside slum. Nothing escapes this gentry wideawake. They know that life's no picnic, yes, they do. They've just discovered Poverty; they'll make Other discoveries before they're through. Including this: that novelized despair Is bad at PoUyanna. . . . Give me air ! 143 Sonnets of a Book Reviewer III "Anthology of Modern Verse," compiled ^By Roger Canto. Roger, you are brave. Your guerdon shall be this : by fifty wild Unmentioned bards you shall be branded knave, (Including me; you might have run a few Of my pentameters, they're not so worse.) He who anthologizes (job to rue!) More trouble gathers than he gathers verse. If ever I become anthologist I'll mention everybody, good«or bad. I shall not take the chance of being hissed. Poets are dangerous persons when they're mad. "All Comers' Manual of Verse" I'll dub it, And though you may, I'm sure the bards won't snub it. 144 Sonnets of a Book Reviewer IV Tell me, O traveler, where have you been^ What is the land you write about to-day? What island paradise? What fair demesne? What tropical Elysium far away? Whate'er it be, write on ! Write on, I beg ! Tell me about the nose-ringed girls and all, Who promenade the forests bare of leg, (Showing that styles are universal.) Call To mind the natural beauties : streams and hills That shame the Occident. And tell of beasts That must have chased you and provided thrills. Tell of the tribal dances and the priests. Tell all, in fact! I am not one to say, "Tut! Saw it in the movies t'other day." 145 Sonnets of a Book Reviewer "How to Develop Personality," By Tad Tobasco, author of "Success," "Keep Smiling, Brother I" "Be a Busy Bee," And ten or twenty others, more or less. A personality, the author tells. May be achieved by all. Despair not, then. Acquire a snappy hand-shake. That's what sells Your wares. Be breezy in your talk with men, And never fail to slap 'em on the back. Keep your teeth clean and show 'em when you smile. (Five minutes' practice daily gives the knack.) Stand straight, walk gingerly and dress in style. And in no time you'll be a sprightly lad, As trig as any in a collar ad. 146 Sonnets of a Book Reviewer VI Suggestive sexy stun enveloped in A mist of mysticism. Little sly Approaches to the garbage can. How thin This slobber that Bohemians glorify! Author, what is your aim? To entertain? It can't be that. The stuff is far too dull. To teach the unsophisticated brain Sex hygiene or eugenics? They might cull Some information on these topics if You'd be explicit, but you only hint, And hinting merely leaves a fetid whiff. My guess : you like to play Bad Boy in print, You're catering to the natural desire Of every little boy to play with fire. 147 Sormets of a Book Reviewer VII Another small-town novel showing that The burgher is a poor benighted sort, Needful of rescuing. His talk is flat. The latest movie, how to cure a wart, Or baseball, is his topic. It is time We started a crusade to save his soul That wallows all these years in lowbrow slime. You give him Einstein lessons, I'll cajole Him into an appreciation of Good poetry. (I'll read him some of mine.) All kinds of learning down his throat we'll shove. Until he is no longer dull, supine. Until he knows as much as you or I And people take him for a City Guy. 148 mBOBMHOM Sonnets of a Book Reviewer VIII A new detective story, "Dirty Work," 'By Clarence Clue. A banker, Oscar Tuck, One morning dead was found. A bloody dirk Was in his gizzard. Someone must have stuck It there, is my deduction. Yes, but who? Was it the butler James or Tom the cook? It's rather difficult to say. I do Know this: somebody went and took The victim's famous Purple Amethyst. It must have been the man who killed him. Sure! And who was this assassin? I know. Hist! The man who copped the gem ! It's logic pure. There's not a mystery, however thick. We critics cannot guess — and bloomin' quick! 149 Sonnets of a Book Reviewer IX I wonder what I'll draw to-day. I hope The editor remembers this is spring And gives me nothing full of highbrow dope. I want a book of pomes with birds a-wing And blossoms blossoming and bees a-humming, And all the other silly details. I Insist not that it be inspired strumming. Tunes by a member of the smaller fry Will suit me nicely, so they tinkle well. Oh, sound is all I'm asking, pleasant sound, I'll even stand for rhymes like "bell" and "dell.'* (Sweeter the better.) Can the book be found*? I thought I saw one like it on the shelf. It's gone. ... Ye ed.'s reviewing it himself ! 150 ATONEMENT (After reading an essay on the nobility of labor) /^H, there are buildings waiting to he reared^ ^^ And there are highways waiting to be laid^ And new-built vessels waiting to be steered^ And farm tools waiting to be handled — spade And hoe and harrow. Oh^ the things that wait For eager hands! And here I sit the while. Making this tinkly word and that one mate. Adding and adding to the pointless pile, Stacking up verses till the flooring groans. Triolets, villanelles, ballades and odes. Light-hearted roundelays and plaintive moans. Free verse, rhymed verse — a dozen wagonloads. Oh, how atone for wasting all this time? No use to go to work, I don't know how, (We poets never could get used to grime). Yet will I make atonement — here and now. , . . Boy, bring the matches! Pile the poems higher! We'll fill the city with poetic fire! 151

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A souvenier,

Apperley, W. H.

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-<V * 4? * "W *«# v0 v r : < v ^ - " - A x ^*- \/ J' ^ 0v *°-v ,^q ^^ xs ®*/ <p* X ' <&* o ° N ° * "<^ fi* • '■'** *V> i 4°* *u •'"' ^ ^><* °^v> -*>A * «* '.^>* ^^'> ^\i^% ♦**• A SOUVENIR Each man has a message for his friends; hut fortunate the man who can sing his message in verse and song ! DONAIiD KENT JOHNSTON. sWq Presented to With the Compliments of W. H. APPERLEY A Souvenier By W. H. Apperley, D. M, Loot ni, Utah Ear % l fy England Publishing Company May. 1910 . *>■*%<- *%*> Copyright 19 JO by Tke Author \ ©CU264626 Contents To The Agricultural College of Utah. To The Brigham Young College. To My Fellow Workers. To The Angel Moroni. Work. A Bunch of Sweet Peas. To Fred Turner. The Builders. To The Prophet Joseph. To Hon. Moses Thatcher. I Can and I Will. To President Brigham Young. My Prayer. To President John Taylor. Our Country. To President Wilford Woodruff. To President Budge. To President Snow. To Bishop B. G. Thatcher. To President Joseph F. Smith. To Apostle Charles C. Rich. To J. V. Allen. Day Break on Temple Hill. To Margaret. If We Knew. Rest. What We Love. To Aaron De Witt, We Reap as We Sow. To Ida on Receiving Her Picture. To Walter. To George L. Farrell. To Fred. A Recent Incident. St Illustrations Author's Portrait. Agricultural 'College. Brigham Young College. Introduction To My Dear Readers: When you read my verse, may you find some thought expressed, that is in keeping with your own h'gh ideals, is the wish of your fr'end, W. EL APPERLEY. To the Agricultural College of Utah YES, we have a College — the pride of. all our land; 'Tis here to bless our nation as long as it shall stand ; It has gathered strength in silence, while na- ture : eemed to sleep, And now it stands in glory and will while true hearts beat. There is no other spot in all our favored land, Where our College on the hill in security could stand. And we thank the Cod of nations for plant- ing it aright, And loyal hearts will never try to find an- other site. Our rich and happy State proclaims to every nation That we stand for truth and right and higher education. For here 'mid Nature's beauties, where virtue fills the air, Our College rears its spires, its light goes everywhere. 'Tis here our rons and daughters, real kings and queens of earth, May tread the path of wisdom and find their real worth. The siren's -voice is silenced; the Master's voice is heard. With a daily inspiration their hearts of hearts are stirred. Send out the joyful tidings to nations far and near; sing, our College prospers, there is noth- ing now to fear. It is planted safe and strong upon the solid rock, To bless the unborn ages in God's most fa- vored spot. LABOR IS LIFE AGRICULTURAL COLLEGE OF UTAH To the Presidents of the B. Y. C. Miss Ida lone Cook. You were the first to win our love, Prom Father's home you came, Direct from mansions built above, In golden deeds to write your name. J. Z. Stewart. O kind and trusting son of light, You live and work for truth and right. In love you taught the Golden Rule, With love you warmed each heart in school. J. M. Tanner. Your mind could penetrate the depths, Your soul could mount the^ skies; A purpose strong and deep and true, Gleamed from your dark brown eyes. J. H. Paul. Observing mind so quick to grasp. And read from Nature's book. Your soul will store whole volumes there From bird and flower and brook. W. J. Kerr. Erect like sceptered king who never knew defeat, You work and carve your way to victory complete. Like "England's greatest son," you smile on friend and foe; You have our thanks and love where ever you mav go. J. H. Linford. Dear faithful one in you we see the hour brings forth the man Who was reserved by Father's care and came through Father's plan; Bright angels give you joy and peace, and guard you day and night, -While all the mighty ones above, still aid you in the risrht. CD ^\ <5 m ac 1 To^My Fellow Workers COMRADES, listen to my story, Listen to the song I sing ; We must fight the battle bravely, We must soar on eagle wing. While the Morning stars were singing, Ere the earth received its birth, We were chosen by the masters, Now we live to prove our worth. Father. Mother, blessed us yonder, \\ lien we lived in realms of light, There we vowed to live for others, Here we stand for truth and right. Yet we do not all remember, What we did on yonder shore, But our faithful silent teacher, Will reveal the light once more. Deeply hid within our being, Is the record of the past, When we learn to love and listen, It will give us all we ask. Let the stars sing on forever, Let the living waters flow, Let the angry tempests darken, Let our hearts with kindness glow. Hear the music in the distance — Father's summons, mother's song; "Come our children we are waiting Join again our happy throng." Wait a moment, we are coming, Coming home with songs of cheer. Father, Mother, we are coming When we see our pathway clear. Comrades, let us stand united, While our hearts beat warm and true. We must work a moment longer, Ere we wing our flight anew. To Angel Moroni. ANGEL of light, of peace, and of love, The gospel restorer from realms above. You tell the Truth like the Dear One of old, The sweetest story that ever was told. Awake, O blind world from thy long dull sleep, Come out of the darkness so cold and deep; The shadows of night are passing away, And morning's sweet promise gladdens the day. And the fountain of love unsealed again, Now warms the hearts of the children of men, The voice of Moroni circles our sphere, And warm loyal souls the glad message hear. Moroni, Moroni, Angel of light, Thou gavest to man new spiritual sight; The veil of Isis was parted by thee, No more to be closed till all men are free. Work (To Dr. W. B. Parkinson.) OBK, work, work, brother, strong and free, And I would that my pen could awaken A new love for work in thee. Iffl 'Tis well for the man with the hoe, To sing* at his work all day; To sing and work, to work and sing, Drive care and want away. Your brothers with faith work on, They carve their way with skill. With a magic touch of a master hand, You, too, may work your will. Work, work, work, son of the brave and free, And the grand success of a day that is dead, Will soon come back to thee. Win by kindness and by silence. — Bishop L. A. Merrill. A Bunch of Sweet Peas (To Mr:-. D. L. Hendricksen) /Sg S I sat Last night on my lawn so green, £i Mid shadows dark and sunlight siheen, I heard the voice of a real queen. Her voice so sweet on the balmy air, Spoke out "I've just a moment to spare, To see your room and how you are." With step so light she sprang from her seat; In welcome tones I tried to speak, As I looked upon a face so sweet. Again she spoke and said, "If you please Accept these flowers — a bunch of sweet peas" — As the light of the stars fell through the leaves. The flowers were put in a golden vase, On a little stand in a cosy place. Just near a mirrored angel face, A moment passed — the flowers spoke And told of love and joy and hope, And friendship strong as ribs of oak. "With morning light my eyes first fell Upon the flowers I love so well, When I heard the sound of a tiny bell, It said, "Awake from slumber deep And write in verse the thoughts I speak Of flowers rare and lady sweet." Up from my cot — and I felt the thrill — As I put the peas on the window sill, While angels seemed my room to fill. But my poor words can not reveal One half of what my heart can feel; The deeper thoughts they but conceal. Let flowers speak and warm hearts love, And thoughts divine come from above, Borne on the wings of the morning dove. And now I kneel and ask for light That I may walk this day aright, And meet my friends and flowers tonight. To Fred Turner You're sixty-two today my friend Happy young and free, We get an inspiration When e'er we look on thee. Live on, work on, smile on for aye In thy eternal youth, No frown can sit upon thy brow coul of love and truth. We add Friend Turner's Sentiment: "Speak of your fellowmen as you have found them, not by what the babbling tongue hatli said." — Fred Turner. The Builders. (To Dr. George Thomas and Wife.) S2S E are building for the future, For the race that is to be, For the unborn sons and daughters In this land so broad and free. We build with all our wisdom, We build for truth and right, We build upon the solid rock. With the stars and stripes in right. We build for all the ages, That shall crown our land with peace, We build for those who love us, As our years of life increase, We build with faith and courage, We build by day and night, We build beneath great freedom's dome, With the stars and stripes in sight. We build for every nation, We build for every race, W T e build w'th strength and virtue. With a smile upon our face. We build with song and laughter, We build with all our might We build upon fair freedom's soil, With the stars and stripes in sight. We are building for the Master. Whose voice we daily hear, We are building for our God. We have nothing now to fear. We are building — always building,. Beneath a new born light. While we keep the hammers ringing. And the stars and stripes in sight. To The Prophet Joseph. >rf* PROPHET of Zion, our joy is in thee, \£P^ The hero of ages, so wise and so free, We welcome the message you gave unto men; We welcome the light that is shining again. All nations will honor and men will revere Our • prophet and martyr, the Saint and the Seer ; soul of the west, a bright crown you have won, bearer of light from the Father and Son I The moan of the ocean, the song of the rill, The vine in the meadow, the pine on the hill, The rose in the garden, the moss on the shrine, All image the glories that symbolize thine. Sweet prophet of Zion, so tender yet bold, Nlow mingles thy voice with the sages of old. In love and devotion we live for the right, We turn unto thee arid we follow the light I Our pleasure comes from service to others;. — Miss Agnes Cassidy. To Hon. Moses Thatcher jffff O-S'E-S Thatcher, we have listened to the JjTW music of your words; We have felt our hearts grow warmer at the magic of your voice, We have felt our lives grow brighter in the light your life has shed; We have felt the Holy Presence when your eye in silence spoke. When the lightning gleamed about you and the mighty thunders rolled, Like a god with soul undaunted, freedom's champion calm you stood. Let us tell you how we love you for the free- dom that you 'brought, Let us tell you how you've helped us stand erect and trust in God. You have lived to bless your 'brothers and the cause you helped to win, Tou will live through all the ages in the hearts that beat for you, "You will live through all the aeons in the lives that are to be. You will live when empires crumble, you will live while God is love. You have been a loving father, you have been a leader true, You have trod the path of sorrow, you have conquered mortal pride, You have fed the crying orphans — you have dried the widow's tears; You* have opened wide the portals unto fairer realms than this. O my brother, how I love you — how my heart- strings round 1 you twine, You have made my life worth living by your generous thoughts and deeds. In the early days of Utah, when I scarce had bread to eat, And my soul died out for knowledge, you supplied my every need. You brought blessings to our parents — you bought sunshine to our homes, You brought manna from the heavens, sweeter than the bread of old. In our hearts you live forever— love en- — throned can never die, Love and wisdom, truth and virtue, gem your crown for evermore. Once upon a distant mountain — we remember^ well the spot, "Where you gave the gospel message to the Red Men gathered there ; "When you spoke of love and virtue, when you told of Christ the Babe, How their savage nature melted and their eyes irpoke love divine. Let the holy angels witness what we say and feel for you, Let the sacred records answer what you've said and done for man; Iiet the people of our nation know the stor^ of your life ; Iiet the future give the verdict, son of free- dom's cause sublime. I Can and I Will (To Joseph Quinney, Jr.) TTf CAN and I will is the song of my soul, 31 I ride on the waves where the dark waters roll. No dangers can daunt me, I welcome the blast, The war-guns are booming, no quarter I ask. My heart is of oak, my ribs are of steel, A strength in the depths of my being I feel, That surges and urgei me on in the fight, In the battle of life for the good and the right. I can and I will is the birth-right I claim, My soul is unfettered, this truth I proclaim. join me, my brothers, speak the great word, And break all your shackles, be free as a bird. 1 can and I will my life-work complete, Though briers and thorns grow under my feet. The pathway of roses is not for the brave, The cowar&l may walk it, direct to his grave. I can and I will is the cure for the blues, try it and prove it and spread the good news. Let the magical words leap warm from the heart, Then laugh as you see all your sorrows depart. 1 can and I will is the motto of MEN, Go sing it aloud again and again. The ring of these words new courage will give, I can and I will is a song that will live. To President Br i gharri Young jQr REAT Biigham Young, thy honored name XX? will live While gra~s grows green and stars give light ; Thy wisdom came direct from realms above, A soul of truth and honor bright. O leader of a people tried and true, A ray of light, star of the West, Thy name is carved athwart the clear blue sky, man of God, we love thee best. From exiles chains the saints were led by thee Into a Land of Promise rare, And here you raised your Country flag so dear; With friend and foe thy gifts did share. Now bright around thee, play the beams of light. Our prophet true and hero King; Let thy great name resound for ages long, While all the stars thy glory sing. ^ Humanity is one great mutual improvement association. — A. E. Cranney. My Prayer (To Rose.) Infinite source of love and light, Guide now my weary steps aright; lead me up from self to Thee, 1 beg thi ; boon on bended knee. Fill me with love for all created things, Attune my soul to the voice that ever sings - Thy matchless love — the music of the spheres,. As weary time glides on through endless years. Thy trusting child, I breathe Thy love divine,. And in thy presence roam from iclime to clime, No place in this wide universe is found, But that Thy love and light doth there- abound. While I remain within this form of clay, May I learn all my lessons day by day. give me strength to bear my load aright, Whene'er my star shines not in darkest night- My mother earth needs sun and rain, My soul must pass through joy and pain. 1 thank Thee, God, my will resign; Thy will be done to me and mine. I pray Thee ble^s each friend, each foe, For all are Thine — both high and low; And all are mine in Thy great plan, Thy love gives life to flower, beast, man. teach me, Father, to be good within. To shim the downward path that leads to sin, And, as I ba~k in Thy Effulgent l : ght, Onward and upward may I pursue my flight. To President John Taylor jn ROTHER Taylor, thinker, author, y& Ripest scholar of thy day ; Faithful preacher, Great Law teacher — Thee, will loving friends obey. Tender father, loyal leader — Thee we trust; wise one of earth! Warmer heart has never beat — Since the human soul had birth ! Golden crown thou wearest yonder, R arest light illumines thy soul. Priceless gems, around thee gleaming — Shine while endless cycles roll. Poet, prophet, dreamer, worker — Wear the crown you nobly won; Teach the Gods in yonder planets. Near the light of Koleb's sun. Great men leave their impress on the gen- erations that follow. — Congressman Joseph: Howell. Our Country To Prof. J. H. Paul, Mjy Ideal Teacher, 3jj} BJBATHES there a man with soul on fire, jUP Whose thought and word and deed inspire, Who always to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land, W'herever human foot may tread? If such there breathe go crown him now, And place the laurel on his brow, For he is king of all his race, And with the Grods deserves a place. Boundless his wealth, his titles high, A true born son of earth and sky. Go seek this man from shore to shore, His name will live for evermore. And long as our old earth shall stand, And moon and stars revolve and shine, O sing his praise from clime to clime. & The man who is cruel to an animal may some time have to be imprisoned in an animal form to meet the law of justice. — Charles M. Harris. President Wilford Woodruff *j»!%EAK Brother Woodruff, Z'on's modest one "!& So constant, wise and true, a friend to man, And near and dear to thy great loving heart Stood the Gospel plan. gifted son of light, in vision clear You saw flowers bloom neath fairer skies than ours ; And walked and talked with ancient prophets wise, Under nature's bowers. Thy voice so sweet and clear and full of life, Was like the breath of God, relieving pain; It woke the hills and vales on England's, shore — Music's sweetest strain. On thee, and such as thee, we build our trust, Accept our love, our hearts are thine, sweet one, Our hopes, our faith are centered all on thee, Father 's faithful son. J*. All good things come from living a clean life.— A. M. Fleming:. To President William Budge (On His Eightieth Birthday.) MAN of God, 0' soul of truth, You wear the crown of immortal youth. The light of your eye, and the song of your soul Grow clearer and sweeter as swift the years roll. brother, friend, and defender of right, You have brought to the world both freedom and light. You have trod in the steps of the Master we love, Your wisdom and strength have come from above. The years and the cycles may all pass away, The sun and the stars may die and decay, But you will live on — you never can die, son of Immortals, the earth, and the sky. To planets celestial your spirit may soar, And earth or her children may see you no more, But a lay of your love will cast light on the road To lead us all back to our Parents' abode. A better system will give better success. ^C, Z. Harris. To President Snow *J[ ORENZO Snow, thy name can never die, J^> poet sweet — prophet of the Most High Thy voice was heard in nations far and near, So like the sound of music sweet and clear. The Scattered sheep of Israel knew it well, A roft and deep and rich-toned silver bell; Into the fold of Christ the great ones came ; All thanks to thee — thrice honored be thy name. And now, in thy bright home of joy complete, Dost thou still sing the Gospel song so sweet? tio peace, and love of truth still fill thy breast ? In thy bright phere do faithful ones find rest? jYfethink.S' I hear thy answer soft and clear, "The Saints of God have nothing here to fear. Still burns within my breast the love of truth, "Fis here we find and prize immortal truth. " Do it now and do it right. — B. F. Riter To Bishop B. G. Thatcher (Read by James A. Langton in Farewell Party.) 3|jJ ROTHER Thatcher, list a moment ;KP To a parting word tonight • In our heart of hearts we love you, And we know our hearts are right. You were born with many graces Born with a prophetic sight; Born to bless your distant brothers, Born to lead them to the light. You were chosen by the Masters In the royal courts above, To fulfill a mighty mission, To receive the crown of love. Onward ever be your motto, Faith and works will win your crown- Kind in thought and word and action, Till your course of life is run. Grand-son of a mighty prophet, Fathered by a noble sire; Taught by mother all the precepts, That a Christian life inspire. We shall miss your song of gladness, We shall miss your word of cheer; But we oft shall see your image, In our mental vision clear. Friend and brother, speed yon onward. Take onr love and keep it warm; Angel footsteps guide you evei, God protect you from all harm. To President Joseph F. Smith -^UTURE bards will sing thy praises, Tj Prophet whom the world has sought, Unborn nations will revere thee, And sing thy deeds so nobly wrought. Last one of the mystic seven, All their virtues in thee born, Let thy great example teach us, And keep our hearts both true and warm. Let thy golden precepts teach us, Let thy honored name long live, Let the nations hear thy message, And take the gift thou has to give. Lion-hearted brother Joseph, Like an oak-tree thou dost stand, Yet thy heart is full of blessings, greatest prophet in our land. In the teachings of Jesus is the key to all the problems of life. — Jos. E. Cardon. To Apostle Charles C. Rich (Read by President Joseph It. Shepherd in Paris, Bear Lake, on His One Hundredth 3KK Anniversary.) E part the veil of Isis and ~peak to thee today, ( hVro of the ages, freed from thy form of clay. j.a thy new home of ether where other suns give light, Thy soul is mounting upward, contending for the right. Thy deeds will live for ever, writ in the hearts of men; To-day we chant thy praises, join in the glad refrain. Ten thousand hearts beat warmly at mention of thy name; O prophet, saint and soldier, the world shall know thy fame. O father of a nation of loyal sons so free, And daughters clothed in 'beauty, we give our thanks to thee For parentage so noble in father true as steel Thy name shall be our watchword thy pres- ence to reveal. Shine on, star of splendor, still plead with gods for men, 7 Till With thy Elder Brother yon come to earth again, In trailing robes of glory with the redeemed of earth. When man shall be exalted and claim his higher birth. To J. V. Allen ^IJROTHER Allen, I remember, /& When yon opened wide your purse Giving freel} T without asking, All I needed of your store. I Avas then almost a stranger. But the spirit warmed your heart. And you listened to its promptings. As your better nature, spoke. I can never pay you. Brother, I can only love, and pray Tihat the Father's choicest ble*s r ngs. Mtay be yours for evermore. Every one should be honest because it is right, not for the reason that it is the best policy. — H. E. Hatch. Day Break on Temple Hill, Logan (To Dr. Weston Vernon and Wife) fffHEi stars are fading one by one the \£J/ clouds are tinged with red, The light gleams on the mountain peaks, as night and morning wed. A thousand lights from windows shine, ten thousand hearts beat warm, All nature wakes from sweet repose to greet this perfect morn. The sleeping fields of glistening snow above the meadows green, Are Nature's royal diadem — the fairest ever seen. And the winding Logan river like a thread of silvery light, Reflects the full orbed dreamy moon, the fairy queen of night. And now the glorious king of clay with heal- ing in his wings Just peers above the mountain tops, as all creation sings. The Temple spires, the College Dome, the firesides of the brave Lie nestled neath the giant pines, whose lofty pennants wave. And now the lazy white fleeced clouds, that float athwart the sky, Reveal the mystic depths of bine to the up- turned grateful eye. wondrous scene ! beauties rare ! land of light and love. Smile on through, all the years to come, fair Eden from above. 3^ To Margaret «jM|NDER England's leafy bowers, 123- When you played so free from care. Child of promise in the gloaming, Of your morn so rich and rare. All your future passed before me. All your joys and sorrows too, Blended in a picture perfect. Under arch of softened blue. Then you fed the birds and fishes. Then you placed your hand in mine ■ Age and youth then walked together. All my being wrapt in thine. Year- have glided on their mission. Bringing all I saw for you. Now transformed into the woman. Classic features kind and trite. Sk Be an Optimist. Work and play — Joseph OdelL If We Knew (To Mjiss Agnes Cassidy.) If we knew just who we are, and where we've lived before, If we knew the home we're reaching upon the Golden shore, Our eyes would see more beauties, our hearts would feel the thrill, And our minds would be in tune with the Universal Will. If vv 7 e knew the wealth within us — the mines of purest gold, The sparkling gems of wisdom and the poems new and old, We would let our lives unfold as the petals of the 'rose, That glows in richest roil where the silvery founta'n flows. If we knew the cause of pain and the language that it speaks. If we knew the wounds we give when our better nature sleeps. We would always act in kindness and dry our brother's tears, While our hearts would be attuned to the nnis : c of the spheres. If we knew just why we came and why we cannot slay, If we knew the angel voices that speak to ns each day, We would work and wait and listen for the Master's loving call. As we fill life's holy mission with love to one and all. If we knew the Christ within us, that is waiting to be born, If we knew the friends so near us with loyal hearts so warm. And the mystery of our being and God's eternal plan, We would see our image growing into the Perfect man. Rest (To E. W. Robinson.) EST, rest, rest, And gather up strength for the day, Or the tired nerves and the aching brain Must die and pass away. The greed for fame and for gold, Kills love and joy and peace; Then rest your limbs and quiet your brain, And the years of your life shall increase. Strive not for wealth or for fame, But drink from the depths of your soul, And quiet your mind in silence so deep, And read, from the unwritten scroll. Hest, rest, rest, And all that is yours shall come ; The wind and the waves as you rest and sl'J.ep Will surely bring your own. * What We Love (To the School Children of America.) w, E love the trees, the flowers, the birds,. lie running streams, the lowing herds,. We love the ocean grand and great, We love each mountain, star and lake. We love our parents kind and true. We love our daily tasks to do. We love our teachers, every one; We do not sl : ght our books for fun. We love our school-room made of brick Its lofty towers and walls ~o thick. We love to hear our schoolroom bell. We love to drink at the flowing well. We love our land so broad and free, The stars and stripes we love to see. We love to sing and talk and play, We love to drive dull care away. We love our Grod with all our might. We love the good, the true, the right. We love all things below, Above; Our hearts are filled with boundle rs love. We should be governed by principle rather than by emotion. — J. T. Caine, Jr. # To Aaron DeWkt. OD'S choicest gift is thine, dear friend, Sweet bard of modern days ; The healing balm found in thy lines, Calls out our warmest praise. When hours of gloom fall on the heart, And the bitter cup is near. Thy loving words and soothing lines. Dispel all pain and fear. A thousand 'hearts in our loved land, Beat warm for one so true. Ten thousand souls set free from earth. Have smiles and love for you. Live long, sweet bard, to bless thy kind. Sweet peace be ever thine. No truer bard w T ill ever sing Adown the stream of time. *& Do it yourself and reap the reward. — John A. McAlister. We Reap as We Sow (To Prof. Wilhelm Fogelbeng and Family.) 3F we would reap a harvest of ripened, golden grain, We must sow the golden seed, and give the sun and rain; For 'tis a law of nature, that we reap whale 'er we sow, And if the seeds are useless, the weeds and thistles grow. We sowed in Old Atlantis, some seeds of Truth and Light, And now we reap the harvest with .sickles gleaming bright, But still we must keep sowing, for ages yet to come, And we may reap the harvest beneath some unborn sun. Then let us sow in kindness, good seeds from a loving heart, And keep the soil moistened — in patience do our part, And wa ; t to do the reaping in ages yet to be, When Love shall be the watchword and hu- manity be free. Then sound the joyful tidings to nations near and far, "Send out Love's warm vibration from earth to every star, And let the Great Life pulsate till every world shall know, That men and angels everywhere must reap just what they sow. <& To Ida on Receiving Her Picture. RAY of light, star of Love, angel sweet and fair; No other one in all this earth, With thee can e'er compare. I sit entranced before thine eyes; They speak again .to me. As oft they spoke in earlier years, When you danced upon my knee. I live aga'n those happy days, When e'er I look on thee. Fond memory to her record true, Brings all the past to me. Shine on, O Star, and yet thy light, Still guide my erring feet, Until that happy day shall come, When I my star shall meet. And may the other stars above, Still give their light to thee, And fill thy life with love complete, My daughter dear to me. J** We can't afford to do a mean act. — E. P Bacon. To Walter. MILINlG, charming Walter, Man of wide renown, Truthful, honest, Walter, Worthy of a crown. Walter is a songster, Graceful as a knight; . Calm in times of danger, Champion of the right. Waiter is a lover, Heart as true as steel, Constant, faithful, Walter, Woman's true ideal. Walter never gossips, Walter loves his queen ; Walter's words are golden, Walter's life is clean. Have you met my Walter? Have you heard him speak? Music never sounded Half so clear and sweet. Allien you see my Walter. You will sing his praise, Walter';; form will haunt you All your happy days. We can afford to be liberal minded. — Supt. A. Mijlyne.au. To George L. Farrell (On His 81st Birthday.) HO earns Irs bread by honest toil? Who brings great wealth out of the soil? Who always smiles and 'goes his way. And has a loving word to say .' (1. L. Farrell. Who loves his sons and daughters too. A nation of the brave and true? Who loves the truth, the good, the right? Who always walks toward the light? G. L. Farrell. Who does each day his dally task? Who always gives to those who ask? Who keeps his youth though years may roll? Who is a self -progressive soul? G. L. Farrell. J^ Now is the time to aid the cause of educa- tion.— Dr. I. P. Stewart. To Fred. jttft Y FRiED is a charming fellow, jT^l As true and ai kind as a Knight, He lives in an ideal world, The champion of truth and of right. His step is the step of a man, His song is the song of a bird, The music that comes from his soul, Is the sweetest that ever was heard. My Fred is a lover so true, Devoting his life to his queen, My Fred is king among men, His equal may never be seen. A father of true boys and girls, A friend in the hour of need,- A worker, a thinker, a carver Of many a golden deed. My Fred wears an angel smile ; He wears it by night and by day, No cloud can ever arise, That will drive his sm'le away, You may call on Fred in the morning. You may call on Fred at noon, You may call when day declineth, IT's smile will banish a'l gloom. My Fred w'll be pleased with the e lines, He will know they are written for him, His soul will set them to music. And the greatest of singers will sing. The queslion wil never be a-ked AY hi eh .Fred gave birlh to these l'nes ? Ti the Fred who has smiled on you The lovor of my poor rhymes. A Recent Incident. (To Attorney George Q. Rich.) 3N rumination deep and strong, The lawyer stood upon his lawn. When lo ! a friend came ntrolling by ; At this the lawyer raised his eye, And said' in accents kind and clear : "Come in and drink a glass of beer;'' For all is well with me to-day, And while we drink this hour away. The world may spin and men may fret, While all our sorrows we forget. Now drink again ; this glass is warming. We'll be 0. K. to-morrow morning. My wife is out and yours in Frisco ; Well, good-bye friend, if you must go." I believe that the soul of nature answers every true prayer. — Ira A. Cole. IUN © »S10 To Our Friends Everywhere Look upon Cache Valley the beautiful, with her gardens, fruits, and flowers; list to the melody of her mountain streams, the song of her birds, and' the hum of industry in all her vil- lages and towns; feel the warm heart-throb of her liberty loving people, then join her in her march to a higher civilization. COM5M3ER(EAL*B0OSTERS CLUB. Logan, Utah. One copy del. to Cat, Div. ff 2 43 7 5?2 > -vvV^v ^ *♦ -vater- V^/ ;k^°- W I*-. "-W "^1* a°* J>- 6* ^ V %^--/ v^-> %-^v • ■or °^ ^0* <*-. <* L. ^ o° *c^ °o o V '■W c * -o ^v 4 *°^ 4 *G O *o . . - /\ cr • l ' • * O J> © ° " ° * <^

19011509

Colonel Rockinghorse, a book of paraphrases,

Applegate, William Edward

colonelrockingho00appl_djvu.txt

Class Book.. A iO^ng a COPYRIGHT DEFCSm Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/colonelrockinghoOOappl Copyrighted by the author 1919 OPie^ -^ COI,ONKI< ROCKINGHORSK COLONEL ROGKINGHORSE Colonel J^ocfeingijors^ A Book of Paraphrases By William Edward HASTINGS & BAKER Publishers 22 ThamEvS Street, New York .0 <b P''^\ c Kp K \^ JUN 30iS!9 ©CI.A530058 ^ o Chapters I One Day Out, in an Easterly Storm, I Met the Colonel. II The Colonel^s Racing Story. III Pharaoh's Gaming Table. IV An Entertainment on Shipboard. V The Colonel's Romantic Esca- pade. VI More About Colonel Rocking- horse. VII A Letter from a Visitor to our Planet. VIII An Awful Dream. IX A Premonition Come True. X The Inquest. Foreword The chapters which follow owe their exist- ence to no literary ambitions and the writer confesses to no pride of authorship. He has sought to picture with some accuracy a lov- able and unusual personality; to preserve in some manner a record of homely philosophy and good sense. If the good Colonel's frail- ties appear it is because he would himself have preferred to be painted as he was, for he held no man to be worth writing of who was not worth the truth. The purpose of these pages will be served if the reader finds beneath eccentricities and old-school manner the real Colonel — very human but very wise, a simple, kindly gentleman. W. E. CHAPTER I. One Day Out, in an Easterly Storm, I Met the Colonel. /^N MY first trip abroad, struggling ^^ against seasickness and unable to keep footing on the deserted deck, more than half convinced that no ship could withstand the seas we were weathering, I sought refuge In the smoking room and found companionship and the beginning of a lifelong friendship. They welcomed me with the ready com- radeship of fellow travelers — Livingston, an Englishman whom I had seen about Wash- ington, Count Hirosaka, a Japanese, and Colonel Montelth Rockinghorse. I know him now for what I thought him then, a Southerner, dignified, virile, a gentleman through and through, and an Inveterate story- teller. His homely philosophy and his keen insight privileged his display of contempt for Insincerity and overshadowed all his faults. Livingston had noted my evident nervous- ness and reassured me. Our boat was the [7] One Day Out, I Met the Colonel staunchest In the service and he knew our Captain and placed entire confidence in him. At the mention of the word "confidence," the Colonel settled back in his chair. "Young men," said he, "with all due re- spect to the Captain, do not place too much confidence in mortal weaklings. I admit that confidence, when not abused, is a source of a great deal of satisfaction, and lack of con- fidence is the cause of much unpleasantness. Many men who are now behind iron bars would still be living a life of freedom, had not their employers placed confidence In them. You have only to read the daily papers. It is always the trusted employee that absconds. "It is the confidence that lovers place in each other which allows them to partake of the sweets before the wedding bells that are never to be sounded. Confidence Is so blind that it cannot distinguish between friend and foe, allowing human parasites to gain the true and earnest friendship of a^^ victim, then to insert their blood suckers, which are not with- drawn as long as there Is a drop left. [8] \9le.i^ — - THE COIvONBL WOULD TAKE A MUCH CHEAPER DRINK" One Day Out, I Met the Colonel *'We must realize that until the unity of man has been established we must be careful, as confidence Is such a glutton for punishment that it will stand wholesale abuse, wherever established, and I have also read In the book of Psalms that 'It is better to trust In the Lord than to put your confidence In man/ " The bugle sounded, and we rushed to our cabins to change for dinner, without giving the Colonel's words the least consideration. The cabin steward had unpacked my trunk, put my buttons In my shirt, and laid out my dinner jacket and trousers, nicely brushed and ready to be put on. In less than ten minutes I was dressed. Like all travellers taking their first ocean trip, my one great desire was to be at the Captain's table, and I was highly elated when I found myself among the fortunate ones. Socially, the Captain and his table were all that could be expected, and we were the envy of many; but for some reason or other, we made no impression on the custodian of the larder. I soon learned that the Captain of [9] One Day Out, I Met the Colonel the ship was Captain in name only, and that the real head was to be found In the person of the Chief Steward. Gosslpers are to be accosted in all walks of life, but the sea is their haven; here they come from all parts, and, if they should neglect you the first day, have no fear, they will not over- look you the next. The steamer had scarcely left its moorings when these scandalmongers began wagging their tongues. There was aboard a well- known steel magnate, Mr. G., accompanied by his family. Also aboard was a lady who had been seen in the company of Mr. G. ashore. This lady was so congenial and liberal she was soon looked upon by the young men of the boat as a benefactress. Paint became her face so well she was actually good look- ing, and though I had been told that constant handling will wear out solid iron, strange to say, she showed no ill effects from it. She saw to it that every escort led her past Mr. and Mrs. G., always having a witty remark ready, so as to afford her an opportunity of laughing in the face of Mrs. G. She never missed a chance, when in sight of Mr. G., to [10] One Day Out, I Met the Colonel make assiduous love to some young man, much to Mr. G.'s annoyance, though he tried his best to appear unconcerned. Upon seeing Mr. G. in the smoking room; in a lit of melancholy, the Colonel said : "Morality produces contentment and immor- ality discontentment. Show me a man who attempts a dual life and I shall show you an ass who has sought a burden heavier than he can bear, and as he staggers along beneath the ponderous double yoke, he will encounter difficulties and perplexities that will rack his brain and plague his heart, and finally, broken down in health and mind, collapse ignomin- iously in despair." Thus did the old gentleman ever point out to us the disadvantages of the wrong side of life, yet he was not so narrow minded that he objected to anyone enjoying life, which you will perceive as we go along. [11] CHAPTER II. The Colonel's Racing Story. T HAD intended spending quite a bit of my ■*■ time in reading, but between deck games and frequent trips to the smoking room, I found little time for books. Our circle took active part in everything, deck golf and tennis, quoits, shuffle and buck- board, and, in the tournaments entered all events, whether proficient in them or not. Becoming overheated, we frequently retreated for cooling drinks. The bar man made the most delightful champagne cocktails; the price, two shillings, I thought quite reason- able. The Colonel would invariably take a much cheaper drink, at the same time taking some small silver from one pocket and putting it into another. I did not consider him stingy nor frugal, and growing inquisitive, I asked why he did it. Instead of taking offense at my rudeness he seemed rather pleased. He said every time he drank a bottle of expensive [12] The Colonel's Racing Story wine, he could not help thinking how much good the money would do among some people he had seen in an unfortunate condition. Therefore, he now made a practice of drink- ing a very moderately priced wine, which his doctors claimed agreed' with his stomach, and at the same time allowed him a goodly saving which he could use to the advantage of others. On this trip he had found a mother in the steerage with a baby only a few hours old, and the little silver would be as helpful to her as the alcohol injurious to us. Immediately every one in our set began to follow the Colo- nel's example, and, in the morning between ten and eleven, we would make pilgrimages to the steerage, giving to those in need, though always careful not to offend. So occupied were we with various interests, the days passed before we could realize it. After dinner some would go in for dancing, others for social chats with the ladies in the salon, but the majority would find their way to a large table in the smoking room, where the Colonel held sway. We had heard of a remarkable thoroughbred mare that he had [13] The Colonel's Racing Story owned, and he had agreed to tell us all about her, from beginning to end. "Yes," he began, "I Intended to have a race horse. I mean a race horse, no plater. So at the annual sale, I stepped Into the arena of the American Tattersalls, and patiently waited until they led my choice before the auctioneer. She seemed to have filled the eyes of others as well, and a large crowd began to gather around her. I said to myself, 'Old boy, here is plenty of contention,' as I noted among others August Delmountain, the elder; A. J. Assetts, W. W. Blithers, Pierre Barreloflard, and the famous Pitchfork brothers. "She was too large of barrel to be called good looking, but deep chested and well mus- cled, with an Intelligent head which she car- ried neither too high nor too low, but In a straightforward, business-like manner that won for her the admiration of all; in fact, she had the remarkable individuality that only runners have, a breeding that no thorough- bred could excel, an eye that would attract anyone and drive a horseman Into ecstasies of eagerness and expectation. [14] The Colonel's Racing Story ''The auctioneer began: 'You know her sire, the great campaigner "Old Glory," that never met defeat, and her famous dam, "Lib- erty," that has produced so many sturdy sons and daughters. Come closer and feast your eyes on what is to make some fortunate owner an excellent racer. She needs no extolling; her breeding and looks speak for her. Who will be the first to say ten thousand?' "Any one of us would readily have given that much for her, but there is a certain amount of finesse required at a sale that takes years of experience to acquire. I realized that I was surrounded by a flock of hawks who could hold their own with any camp of no- madic gypsies in the world. As usual, no one seemed to want her. At last there was an offer of ten thousand, followed by the cus- tomary shaking of heads, and it looked as if the auctioneer would have to knock her down, when someone ventured 'eleven.' "Now was my oportunity, and I shouted 'twenty thousand' ! So many walked away that when the required time was about to elapse, I began to think I could have bought her cheaper. [15] The Colonel's Racing Story " 'Twenty thousand once, twenty thousand twice, third and last!' " 'Five hundred,' suddenly piped out a weazen-faced individual, whom I could have strangled on the spot. "Now warmed up, I yelled, 'Twenty-five thousand!' That did it. She was mine, and I was so pleased with my purchase that I helped her future trainer, Beau Jingles, lead her over to my barn. "I lost the opportunity of winning many valuable stakes by not racing her as a two- year-old, but I did not intend to jeopardize her future by early racing. The pleasure of owning a horse is not in the money it earns, but in seeing it successful in defeating all com- ers, at all distances, under all conditions. "Thus could I go on in one continuous strain, talking horse, but I shall make this story as short as possible by telling you that I performed the hat trick with her, in winning the Metropolitan, Brooklyn, and Suburban handicaps, all in the same year. She merely a three-year-old, and the only horse that ever accomplished this feat at any age ! [16] The Colonel's Racing Story "She began to attract attention when she won the Metropolitan, and at once became a public favorite. When she won the Brooklyn they went wild, and her return to the judges' stand brought forth round after round of applause. Thousands and thousands rushed to the winner's circle to cheer their idol. "Then came the unpleasantness which in- variably follows in the path of great achieve- ments — whispering remarks of 'impossible' — 'something wrong.' Finally Gottlieb Wunbun could restrain himself no longer and said he did not think she had carried her allotted weight. That was all that was needed, as the clerk of scales and myself had been seen talking together, and it was no longer a sup- position but a fact. I was too proud to make a statement or a denial. The Suburban was soon to be run and then I should drown for- ever their vile accusation. "Through penalties and the handicapper, the filly was asked to carry one hundred and thirty pounds. On the date of the race, so that there could be no doubt of her carrying her full weight, I put up Will Gerdes as jockey. In spite of this handicap, the mare The Colonel's Racing Story literally rolled In, many lengths in front of her field, with Jockey Gerdes standing up in his stirrups and looking back over his shoulders. "Although I had won enormous sums on her in these races, I now had a desire to make a killing that would make all past winnings seem trifling. I had in mind the Melbourne Cup, well knowing the advantage of keeping my plans unknown if I desired to get long odds against her. "One night, when all about the race course were asleep, we quietly led the mare out of the barn, to the ship that was to carry us as far as England on our way to Australia. "How it did rain ! Never since the days of Noah had so much water drenched the earth. Every other step we would land in water and mud up to our knees and, when enormous Jockey Gerdes stepped into one of these holes, the water would rise above the curbstones on either side of the street and strike against the houses with such force that the frightened occupants, funny to behold in their night caps, would throw open their windows and anx- [18] The Colonel's Racing Story iously peer out to learn what terrible calamity was visiting them. "At last! We reached the pier so tired out and bespattered with mud that we were hardly recognizable. It was daylight and we sailed away a short time afterwards on a tire- some trip to Dover. We were fairly com- fortable considering we were on a cattle ship. Gerdes was a bit inconvenienced at first, owing to the fact that I had not let him in on my plans and he had not provided himself with extra clothes; but through the offices of the good natured Captain (who weighed no less than two hundred) and artistic tailoring, two pairs of the Captain's trousers were made into one which made the jockey quite comfortable during the remainder of the voyage. "We were at Dover only long enough to change from one boat to another and steamed away the same afternoon on a turbine steamer for Calais. Much to our disgust, upon arriv- ing at the French port, we learned that we could not get a car suitable for our charge before midnight. I looked after the mare, while I allowed the boys to stroll around the quaint old citv, to see the French and their [19] The Colonel^s Racing Story mode of living. Fearing some one might recognize Gerdes, I suggested to him on his return to follow the fashion of the country and grow a beard. To this he objected most bitterly, but I persisted and finally he threw his razor away. "A fast express carried us to Marseilles several days ahead of our schedule. This afforded us an opportunity to run over to Monte Carlo, where I had but little trouble in demonstrating to Gerdes, after he had made several futile attempts to beat the bank, how much costlier was the entrance to hell than heaven. ''At Algiers, I showed him the statue of the little lieutenant, McMahon, and kept him in trim by compelling him to walk up to Musta- pha twice a day. In Port Said, he and Jingles were like two small children turned loose in Toyland — they saw so much that was strange and interesting to them. We then took a steamer that was to carry us to our destina- tion. We made one stop only, at Aden, where we picked up a cargo of camels. It was too hot to go ashore and so unpleasant [20] The Colonel's Racing Story even In the harbor that we were all pleased when we weighed anchor and sped away. "Now, gentlemen, I shall tell you of the most sensational horse race ever known. *'There was nothing startling In our trip to the Flemlngton race course, unless we may speak of the riot caused by the entrance of Gerdes to the paddock with a jockey's badge. "The Australians never having heard of America's premier rider nor of my mare, I could wish for no better conditions. After the professional scouts and the runners for the betting ring had sized up my mare and Gerdes' whiskers, the bookmakers began to offer odds of a thousand to one against the Yankee. With a few pounds, I soon quieted such outrageous quotations, though the by- standers jeered each time I took one of them up. In quick succession I stopped all offers of a hundred and of fifty. When they reached twenty to one, I succeeded In getting on a thousand pounds. From then on, as fast as they would offer any odds, I snapped them up and by starting time only a few of the largest bookmakers would offer evens. [211 The Colonel's Racing Story ''As the horses paraded to the starting post, I felt sure that the next few minutes would add several years to the bookmakers' lives. "The start was fair, all being as if in a clus- ter, but my mare was unfortunate enough to be caught between two slow horses and when the field straightened out she was last. " 'Look at the Yankee. Ten thousand guineas to a farthing about the Yankee,' jibed the onlookers, and the whole multitude laughed; but, when the mare got clear and passed one after another, the laughter sub- sided and the cry arose, 'Watch the Yankee, she is gaining! She is third! Second! She is in front and only galloping!' They were now entering the straightaway and she was breezing in front. "Gentlemen, though I had never been ill a day in my life, I became deathly sick, as my mare faltered. 'She has broken down,' I sighed, and horse after horse passed her. " 'Broken down? Bosh! Yankee courage. That is her trouble !' railed my neighbor. "The whole field had left her behind. I felt like a man facing death. My head began [22] The Colonel's Racing Story to swim and I became so dazed that my vision failed me. I rather fell than sank back in my seat, and for a second my consciousness was quite lost. Just when despair was chok- ing me to death, I heard the most glorious sound I had ever heard in all my life. Above the roar of a hundred thousand voices, above the beating of twenty thoroughbreds' hoofs, I heard the music of my mare's. "Gentlemen, that mare, that marvelous mare, bred in the purple, the mare whom I had named Columbia in honor of the country that bore her, had in the stretch, mind you, stopped, dropped a foal, and had come on and won the Melbourne Cup ! And, by blazes! her colt finished second, five lengths in front of the best horses in Australia." [23] CHAPTER III. Pharaoh's Gaming Table. A T THE end of an evening spent at cards, •^^ a discussion arose regarding whether the game was called "faro" or "pharaoh" bank. As usual, Colonel Rockinghorse was called upon to decide the argument. Not only did we get the answer to our question, but we heard, also, a most remarkable story in connection with the subject. "During my travels In Egypt," related the Colonel, "I met an Egyptian named HI Ero- glyph. He was certainly a relic of the past, having outlived dynasty after dynasty of kings. He told me of the time, centuries ago, when he had played against Pharaoh. This Is the story just as he told It to me : "The Story of Hi Eroglyph, the Egyptian. " 'King Necho was a man of great learn- ing, having taken his degrees at the sacred temple of the white robed priests. Like his [24] Pharaoh's Gaming Table forefathers and their predecessors, the Ram- eses, he had made a special study of tortures, and he whiled away his leisure moments in- flicting cruelties upon others. He was al- ways amused at one in pain and he saw to it personally that he had plenty of amusement. He enjoyed so much the twitches a victim made when flagellated that he often had the operation repeated. Still he derived more solid comfort in refusing a loan to a poor un- fortunate who had lost his all at one of his gaming tables than he did In his other sports and pastimes. " 'I remember that he had certain court favorites keep tab on those who had accumu- lated sufliclent money to be worth while, and they were asked to the royal table. After dinner, the lay-out was spread and they were Invited to play. " 'I can still see that rancorous vulture sit- ting In what was known as the look-out chair, his hawk-like eyes so keen and alert that noth- ing escaped them. Often have I seen him slyly nudge the dealer to rake In a winning bet that some player in his excitement had neglected to take down. And for as many [25] Pharaoh's Gaming Table years as he ruled, he was never known to over- look a losing bet nor overpay anyone. " 'A certain cross-eyed Arab who risked but little, invariably cashed in a huge stack of chips. He went to the well once too often and the Eliminating Angel of Egypt clipped him behind the ears and he was no more. A warning was sent out that severe punishment would be meted out to any one caught "tip- ping the stacks," that is, stealing chips off the stacks of others by means of a suction device concealed in the palm of the hand. " 'Though Pharaoh kept the whole king- dom in straitened circumstances his greed was not satisfied and when a Greek, Kirie Rouletto, came along with a device for in- creasing the bank's percentage, his apparatus was installed at once. Ignorant of his new advantage, we continued to play and con- tinued to lose. " 'Mohammed Squealer, who had been losing steadily and heavily, finally let out a squawk that he did not think the game was on the level. The King was on his feet in a jiffy. "Squealer," said he, "you are sallow and bilious-looking; surely you are not well. [26] Pharaoh's Gaming Table Dr. Croaker, have the guards carry him to the river Nile and open his bowels with the royal boat hook." " 'About the time that I had lost my all and was borrowing from everyone, I discov- ered that those who would be contented wMth winning small bets could always do so simply by playing opposite the large ones. Thus I was slowly recovering my losses when sud- denly I glanced toward Pharaoh. I was not unobserved, for he was looking directly at me with the same look that sent poor Squealer to his doom; a look that spoke wonders and told me to change my system or take a fare- well look at the pictures. '' 'For the first time in many years I kept away from the gaming room and found no little enjoyment with the fair sex. We passed many pleasant hours lolling among the silken stuffs of the tempile and rejoicing to our hearts' content in the scandal of the temple, such as the story of how the Queen boxed the Princess's ears in the presence of all the royal servants, when she caught her in the arms of Rasputin, an attendant of the bath, one whom the Queen had chosen for her very own. [27] Pharaoh's Gaming Table " 'One morning, while hastening to that part of the temple where I had an apartment, I was surprised to see a man sneaking into the club room, taking every precaution not to be observed. I recognized him as Nebuchad- nezzar of Babylonia, and I had such a high regard for him that I thought anything this genius was about to do would be worth watch- ing. I saw him go directly to the table, and, to my surprise, pull out a network of wires which he clipped into small bits and put in his pockets. Next he got the cards and worked most industriously on them for a short time, then hastily put them back in the box, then quickly and noiselessly passed by me as I stood hidden behind the curtain. " 'I could hardly wait until the opening when I could follow this foreigner and play everything he did. Instead of the doors being opened at the usual hour a notice was posted that the Club was closed for the evening. " 'The King was in a terrible frame of mind. It was dangerous for anyone to go near him, so I took a walk out to Gizeh, thinking I might find Carlos de Loieville, [28: Pharaoh's Gaming Table from whom I could always get the loan of a few pieces of silver. " 'I must take this opportunity to state that this same Carlos was the most efficient pha- raoh-bank dealer known, yet he w^as so poorly paid that he was forced to resort to other means to make both ends meet. He knew the King's weakness for dancing and, when the money drawer was bulging with coarse notes, he would give a signal to the leader of the band whose very touch of his instrument sent a thrill through one's body from top to toe, and on these occasions would play a very pop- ular ditty of those days, entitled "Turkey in the Straw." " 'At once there would begin a swaying, humming and shaking of feet, and the whole royal guard could not restrain his Highness from jumping over the lay-out and jigging. This afforded Carlos such an excellent oppor- tunity for annexing several of the larger bills, that he soon became a man of means and affluence, and those who had originally snubbed him now arose at his approach and stood with uncovered heads. [29] Pharaoh's Gaming Table " 'While I did not find Carlos, I met Neb- uchadnezzar. He inquired if I had ever known a man by the name of Rouletto, at the same time showing me an advertisement in the "Evening Goat Skin" in which the King was offering a substantial reward for infor- mation as to his whereabouts. I told him I knew Rouletto and my description pleased him so that he chuckled aloud and he in- formed me that he also knew the man, but not by that name, and that Necho would not be able to reach him, as he had the gentleman safely confined in a tower in his land, work- ing out the plans of a new game of hazard to be called the "bird cage." " 'Now the King would have to open his club and deal on the square, as no other man in the world knew how to install the "high lay out" but this same Rouletto. " 'Neb and myself became very intimate, and he confided in me that he was a king in his own country and had taken under his wing the guidance of several other nations. One of these had taught him how to make money and multiply it, and had told him how a [30] Pharaoh's Gaming Table nephew had tricked his uncle out of certain lambs and had been blessed. *' 'Catching his drift, I broke in and ap- prised him of having seen him in the club room and offered my assistance providing I was to share in the spoils. He agreed and explained to me that he had removed the nec- essary mechanism to the "high lay out" ?nd had put in what was known, in the parlance of the Greeks, as the "tell," and all that was necessary for me to do would be to follow his play and bet the limit each time. " 'That night, the yelps of the tiger could be heard on either bank of the Nile from its source to its mouth as we unmercifully twisted the tail of the beast. As a climax, when Pha- raoh was nearly mad with rage, there v/as heard the clashing of steel and the beating of drums, and Nebuchadnezzar at the head of his own army struck at Necho and put him asunder.' "Then," continued Colonel Rockinghorse, "I asked the Egyptian to tell me more of gambling and the best way to abolish it. [31] Pharaoh's Gaming Table "He said that gambling was so firmly allied with business that the two had become inter- woven and not even such capable scholars as the ancient Greeks had been able to point out where one began or the other ended. So long as we continue to transact business, gambling will exist in some form or other. It has its advantages, in so much as it shows up man in his true colors. It is here we learn that the man who complains, has nothing to complain about, and another would be basking in for- tune's smiles if given the same opportunity. "He said that he had known gamblers who were men of their word and liberal to a fault; they would live up to an agreement no matter how disadvantageous and give to all charities even to the straining of their purse. Still, the professional gambler who does nothing but gamble for a living, thriving on the prod- uce of others without producing anything him- self, is a detriment to any community unfor- tunate enough to harbor him. "He was about to leave when I stopped him with another question. I inquired if life was not monotonous to him, having lived so long. He replied, that as he grew older and [Z2] Pharaoh's Gaming Table reviewed his past life, he found all a mis- take; his vast experiences had taught him nothing but that he had always erred; that now he was leading a different life and desired to live not only to blot out the past, but to be good and do good in such a manner as to reach and benefit those who would ignore his endeavors in any other form. He did not wish me to believe that he was afraid to die, as he was satisfied that his soul without bodily form lived apart from all that was corporeal, and that it merely used this composition of salts and water, called man, to express its thoughts. " 'One can build a house,' he said, 'and in my day I have seen many crumble away, but once create a thought, and it will live for- ever. I beg of you to not even think of evil.' "I asked him if he believed in God. The manner in which he looked at me showed his disappointment. He half mumbled to him- self, 'What can be expected of a people who stood idly by, seeing a great man weep and die for them, and looked askance?' Then he spoke aloud: 'One afternoon when I stood on top of the large pyramid marveling [33] Pharaoh's Gaming Table at the sphinx and the tall obelisks in the dis- tance, I was startled by a voice, like distant singing, saying, "For without me you can do nothing." On looking below I saw a man surrounded by a multitude loudly proclaiming that to him was due the credit of the discov- ery. I at once looked above, and caught the sun winking at the moon, and the moon wink- ing back {Nihil est sub sole novum). " 'You have among you clever architects who can draw the plans and skilled workmen who can build the temples, yet their combined powers cannot construct a simple little flower or aught else that breathes and grows. How can a man who knows that the proof of a thing is in itself and has sense enough to know that he has not created himself, be igno- rant enough to ask if there is a God?' "He turned as if to walk away, but stopped and again looked at me in a most pitying but solemn manner. 'Look up at the sky,' he said, 'you are underneath a huge ball of fire that controls this earth and other plan- ets and if your eyes were as mine, you would see in the distance millions of suns that con- trol billions of planets; that, compared to [341 Pharaoh's Gaming Table these, not only you but the earth you live on and the sun above you, is as a grain of salt. Stop and consider how small you are and what greatness you assume in asking such a ques- tion, and do not become awe-stricken at this immensity, as I say unto you that two non- entities, space and emptiness, are not only larger but are of sterner stuff. " 'My dear sir,' he continued slowly, 'the human eye cannot discern anything that really exists. What is, has been and always shall be. From nothing can anything arise, to nothing can anything recede. These wonder- ful works that many of you attribute to Nature and not to God, will disappear at the snuf- fing out of the candle; they never were and never shall be.' — I was surrounded by sym- bolical figures and picture writings, but Hi Eroglyph had disappeared." [35] CHAPTER IV. An Entertainment on Shipboard. TJTE DECIDED to request a gentleman ^^ whose name appeared on the passen- ger list as the Right Honorable Charles E. Titmouse to open the entertainment for the benefit of the widows and orphans of the sea- men and sailors with a short address. Colonel Rockinghorse, we agreed, was just the man to make this request. Imagine our surprise when the usually even tempered Colonel re- turned from his mission, boiling with rage. "The very honorable gentleman you sent me to interview," exploded Rockinghorse, hadn't time to spare and referred me to his secretary. While I was too busy to find his secretary, I found time to express myself about one who had used collusive means to gain his end and despicable enough to seek shelter beneath the cloak of sanctification. "The Lord abhors a deceitful man and the Goddess of Fortune must be stone blind to waste her laurels on such an one. I suppose it [36] An Entertainment on Shipboard has puzzled others as well as myself how anyone In humanity's garb could vote for a stubborn, melancholy, thankless egotist, who has never succeeded in accomplishing any- thing while in office but what he has tried to avoid. "I agree with Poe that a reformist instead of being a demi-god is a devil turned inside out; and I told him that, when one became so important that he had no time for others, others had always made it their business to find another who had more leisure." The exasperated old man, who had never stopped talking long enough .to take his breath, dropped into a chair utterly exhausted. Some time after this occurrence, this same man whom many thought shelved for good, broke into the limelight and ran for a great and important office; but, probably on ac- count of his self-importance, he was beaten by an avalanche of opposing votes. He so for- got himself when conclusive proof of his de- feat was broken to him that he shattered the telephone receiver against the wall and bit- terly cursed those around him. [37] An Entertainment on Shipboard We had arranged a series of characters to represent their Individual states, and the cur- tain arose upon an artistically set scene where two tourists were climbing one of California's picturesque mountains. Suddenly a deep rum- bling came from the mountains, resolving It- self Into these words: "I, the keeper of the Golden Gate, know you to be strangers and I demand In the name of the mighty order of the N. S., your Inten- tions. I have been told my vegetation has no taste, my flowers no fragrance, my women no virtue, my men no honor, and that I am three thousand miles from Broadway! Why do you come to this detestable spot, where Spring met Autumn, and Autumn met Spring, and they settled down and made It their home?" This scene elicited great applause from the enthusiastic Callfornlans present. Next came the Colonel with a rousing eulogy of his own Kentucky. "The men of Kentucky trace their ancestry back to the times before the English were a nation and their learning to the gods. From early youth, they consume an elixir dis- [38] An Entertainment on Shipboard tilled from corn which makes them stalwart and strong and has nourished such men as Lincoln, Clay and Breckenridge. I must say, however, that I love and respect a real man, whether his birthplace be in the highlands of Kentucky or the wilds of Patagonia. "Kentucky's great and only vice is vanity. She is proud of her verdant rolling hills; proud of her thoroughbred horses; proud of her beautiful women; proud of the bold and courageous men who first settled her hunting grounds. They feared no danger and bowed to no obstacles. Among them there was not one drone nor one of a calibre of which any country could not be proud." After almost every State had been repre- sented, the entertainment was brought to an end by a gentleman from Indiana who admit- ted there was nothing he could say in favor of his State. We kept the audience in their seats for an auction pool of twenty numbers on the run of the steamer. A Mr. William Prime acted as auctioneer and he proved both proficient and entertaining. He succeeded in getting [39] An Entertainment on Shipboard much more for many of the numbers than they were worth, and even shamed Titmouse Into buying one. Juan Palmetto had just equipped Dr. Chef's lunar expedition. While he had no doubt that the doctor would reach the moon, what worried Juan was, would the public believe it? He anxiously bought a number for luck. Si Comslow, a man of sixty whose youth- ful appearance was attributed by others to the use of a nepenthe distilled from poppy leaves, had floated into wealth on the good ship Pet- ticoat. He bought a number and gave the cashier an order on his wife for the money. Col. George Frog was one of those men who when successful forget their friends, but when they meet adversity run back for favors from those whom they have treated with arro- gance. Colonel Frog bought a number and was so elated with its possibilities that no one could talk to him. When he found he had lost, however, he was looking on all sides for sympathy. [40] An Entertainment on Shipboard A great enthusiast was Colonel James, whose eloquence had fascinated many, and he had never allowed money to fascinate him. This gentleman, having been a frequent visitor at the races, had become skilled in the art of handicapping. He sought the log book of the steamer's previous runs and dug into the works of Euclid, books of calculus, and those of the Arabian chemist Geber, from whom Algebra derived its name. Finally, he came to the remarkable conclu- sion that, as one good turn deserves another, with favorable weather and no engine trouble the steamer passing through the same latitude and longitude should make the same run as she had made on her previous trip. The wily auctioneer got wind of the result of his calcu- lations and made James pay the record price. When poor James's number proved the worst of the lot his disgust knew no bounds and he let out a bellow that was likened unto the braying of ten thousand asses. In his excitement, he admitted he had been greatly Influenced by the barber whom he now denounced In no mild terms. It was not so [41] An Entertainment on Shipboard much the loss of money that disturbed him as his poor handicapping. This gentleman was one of the very few public officials whom I have known that never had midnight visitors nor occasions to step aside and whisper, though the bombarding of Verdun would be a lulling sound alongside his nearest approach to a whisper. The fact was, however, that he never had business that could not be transacted in the open and in the ear- shot of all. Fenzy Cahners bought the low field and in a sudden fit of philanthropic liberality he sought out the ship's engineer and offered him half the pool if the low field should win. When it failed to win, he called the engineer a scoundrel and threatened to have him dis- charged for his reckless driving of the engine. Mr. of Boston won the pool and quietly donated the entire purse of $8,200 to charities. The stewards and others who crossed the ocean frequently stated this to be the record pool. As a finale, a prize was to be given away to the winner of a bridge tournament, but [42] An Entertainment on Shipboard this plan went astray. Miss Playfalr, who was official scorekeeper, had been leading by what seemed to be a safe margin but, towards the end, Miss Matilda Goodsoul, a shock- ingly poor player but possessed of remarkable ability of holding aces and kings, suddenly overcame the lead and the score was lost over- board — an accident which brought forth many apologies from Miss Playfair. She said that although she had undoubtedly won, she could not think of accepting the prize without the evidence, and the only thing to do was to play over again or to call it off. The latter course was unanimously agreed upon amid uncontrollable sighs of relief. Then the band played "God Save the King," and the majority stood up and sang '^My Country, 'Tis of Thee." [43] CHAPTER V. The Colonel's Romantic Escapade. T ATE one night, I discovered the fascinat- •■"^ ing Colonel surreptitiously sneaking from his cabin to that of a very charming widow. I admit what I did was not very chivalrous but I told my friends, who at once agreed to have some sport at the expense of the pair. Naturally we feared nothing from the Colonel as we knew he would be willing to bear the brunt of a joke. On account of the lady in the case, however, we decided to be very cautious. Of course we knew there was nothing dishonorable in their meetings, simply a case of timorous bashfulness causing them to seek each other's company at an hour when they were least likely to be observed. The next night we waited until the gentle- man was making his nocturnal visit, then we stretched a wire outside of the door at the height of one's ankles, and clipped the elec- tric light wires that led into the cabin. We then stood beneath a small aperture for ven- [44] The Colonel's Romantic Escapade tllating purposes, and listened to the follow- ing: "If you, fair lady, had lived in the days of chivalry, you would have changed the whole world's history. There was no Venus until now. Never before was skin so soft, form so perfect and true. Every flower straightens up, and the buds burst their bindings to get a better view, as they all pay homage to you, who was never designed for mortal man. Yet I, who am held tight in the vise of old age, have the boldness to hope that some day you will be mine." "No more of that. Colonel dear, you are just in your prime, and like Othello, need only to tell a lady the story of your life, to win her heart." "Madame, when I become so old that I have to resort to a lying tongue to win my way to a lady's heart, I shall wear a drivelling bib and resign myself to senility." "Chide me not, Monteith dear, as my heart can wait no longer, and demands that I follow you through life's trials to the end." [45] The Colonel'''s Romantic Escapade I had secured two cats, a dog and a parrot, all tied on a string a short distance apart, and I now held them ready. As the Colonel gently fondled and caressed his lady-love and just as she gave him permission to kiss her and thanked the stars that darkness shielded the blushes of a soon-to-be bride, I dropped the small menagerie through the opening, all in a heap, on the Colonel. Instantly the cats began to scratch, the dog to bark and snap, and the parrot to screech. The Colonel, at the top of his voice, ordered the lights to be turned on, at the same time trying to free him- self of his enemies and groping in the dark to find the door. In the meantime a cat got beneath one of the Colonel's arms, the dog under the other, the parrot on top of his head, jeering at him, and the other cat clawing into his back. "But turn on the light and allow me to get my hands on him and I shall drown your lover in his own blood!" roared Rocking- horse. "Pray, what is it? How did two of you get in here? I beg of you, gentlemen, con- sider my honor," anxiously pleaded the lady. [46] The Colonel's Romantic Escapade ''Cowards have been known to fight, but, as brave as I am, I am not brave enough to run away. So here, Madame, I make my stand, even though it shatters the reputation of all the ladies in the land. Turn, assassin, turn!" cried he, "and meet me face to face. A demon of a thousand heads is not too much for me. Ouch! Madame, I think you have entered into a compact with the devil, to have enticed me here. Ouch ! Ouch ! Oh ! Oh ! Open the door ! There never lived man more valiant, ouch ! than I, but this biting and gnawing from behind is too much. Ouch ! Mercy! I cry." At this moment, finding the door, he burst it open and rushed forth with a force so strong that when his legs struck the wire he was thrown, still entangled with the animals, many feet down the corridor. Between the Colonel's howls of pain and the widow's cries of fright they had brought many of the passengers to their cabin doors. I at once found the switch and turned off all the electric lights before any one could be recognized, but not before Mr. Toby Tomp- kins, a Harlemite, who had often been awak- ened by cats, still half asleep, opened his door [47] The Colonel's Romantic Escapade and let fly his bootjack, striking the Colonel on his pate with a thud, leaving a bump which reminded him of the Incident for several days later. I have taken the liberty of telling this little escapade not so much to amuse as to fulfill the wishes of the Colonel, as I heard him say, "If a man is worth being written about he Is worth the truth." So do not extenuate or pass hurriedly over his faults, but rather ex- tenuate and study them, so if there should be anyone who thought enough of him to attempt to follow in his footsteps he may know all his faults and profit by them. [48] CHAPTER VI. More About Colonel Rockinghorse. T WISH some wonderful artist could have •^ painted the picture which I beheld on the ship's deck one day. There sat the Colonel in the midst of a bevy of children, his beam- ing face looking over the little ones as the^i climbed on his knees, clung to his arms and shoulders and sat at his feet. The old gen- tleman never seemed so happy as when tell- ing them stories of Brier Rabbit, fairies, kings, princes and princesses, or of the knights of the older days. Apparently he had no purpose in life but to give pleasure to others, for after we had arrived in London I have often seen him sac- rifice something to the poor. It seemed im- possible for him to enjoy luxurious comfort while others were in want, and he never lost an opportunity to benefit his fellow man, yet he believed in rigid enforcement of justice, and caused the arrest of a coarse, burly man for begging whom he knew to be able to earn [49] More About Colonel Rockinghorse his living. Remarking that he could not tol- erate a healthy brute feigning sickness to en- croach upon the privileges of the genuinely helpless; for not only do such undesirables take what should go to others, but they fur- nish an excuse to the selfish who, to justify themselves, point to such instances of alms finding their way to the undeserving. Probably Colonel Rockinghorse's most striking characteristic was his habit of express- ing at every opportunity his homely but sound philosophy in a manner which was singular, to say the least. I still remember a few of these sayings: Until the realization of God, you are "it" at "blind man's buff." Never play at "tag" when your shoulders are sunburned, nor ever find fault with an- other for doing what you yourself would probably do. When fool meets fool, they fool each other ; but when knave meets knave, the game is blocked. [50] More About Colonel Rockinghorse Flattery is the bait used by the knave, and wise is the man who can unhesitatingly pass this tempting morsel. Men who thrive by their wits reject an honest victim. It is absolutely necessary for them to find a creature who has no scruples against taking advantage of his fellow man. When such an one is found, the artful trick- ster entices with a show of an enormous re- turn, a never-to-come-to-light, and a sure get- away; then the gullible one steps in and inva- riably finds himself in that predicament in which he had expected to put another. I admit the luscious juice may be extracted from any simpleton, but the full-fledged, blub- bering booby called the "sucker," chucked full of the fluid and larceny, voluntarily places himself on the altar and assists in the cere- mony. Victims of green goods, wire tapping, and similar swindling games, are ones who have entered into agreements to defraud their fel- low men. Had they lived up to the Golden Rule, their consciences would be easier and their pockets fuller. [51] More About Colonel Rockinghorse Turn the damper on your passion before you are scorched by its heat. Do not waste your time on impossibilities, but never allow failures to discourage you, for among the most successful are some that have made many failures. If you have really tried today, you have planted a seed that will sprout tomorrow. Do not forget that one accomplishment only paves the way for a greater accomplishment. Your work is never finished, so long as you are sound of body and mind. Envy is a cancer that finally destroys the life it feeds upon. The "good fellow" gained the sobriquet at the expense of his own family, and is mere- ly serving himself as a choice pudding. When the platter is cleaned, he will be left to his own meditation. Give to the poor liberally, but purchase the respect and friendship of all through your manhood. It is not necessary to say that one is "a brave and bold man." The fact that he is a [52] More About Colonel Rockinghorse man denotes these things, and a person that does not possess these qualifications, while he may be called a gentleman, is no man. Knowledge is the only priceless thing that does not require a safety deposit. It is the most faithful of friends and is a bargain at any price. The more freedom you give it, the safer and better. Do not go broke borrowing, but enrich yourself extending favors. An honest pacifist takes up arms and ban- ishes the intruder that threatens his peace and liberty. That creature who will not fight for these rights is not a pacifist, but a coward who shirks his duty and denies an obligation he owes to humanity, and he does not nor shall he ever enjoy peace. Remember that no matter how narrow the passage, or how^ deep the pit, or how thick the walls, you are not alone. My eyes have been known to deceive me, my ears have misunderstood, but I have such control over my tongue that I swear by it at all times. [S3] More About Colonel Rockinghorse Destroy evil by feasting your eyes only on that which is good, as evil requires so much attention that neglect will soon cause it to shrivel up. Each rising sun ushers forth a new day, overflowing with golden opportunities; be one of the first at the distribution of the plums. [54] CHAPTER VII. A Letter from a Visiter to Our Planet. TVTE WERE sitting in the smoking room ^^ one evening, having a social chat, when Colonel Rockinghorse entered the room. "Gentlemen," said he, "here is a letter that substantiates Hi Eroglyph in many ways." He then proceeded to read this remarkable document : " 'To the people who inhabit the planet Oblivion, by them called the Earth, or to anyone it may concern : " 'My dear friends: " 'My name is Jeremiah Comet, Jr., only son of Jeremiah Comet, Sr., known to every inhabitant of a million planets as Jeremiah, the Great, inventor of the comet which bears our family name, and the originator and pro- prietor of the Comet Line of Jitneys. " 'In certain sections, business had become so dull that father was thinking of dropping [55] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet some of the stations from our route. As we were nearing this planet, he called me to his side. *'Jerry, my boy," said he, "I have been looking over my books and find that Oblivion has given us but few passengers. It is fully stocked with people, whose knowledge is so limited that they are satisfied with earthly things and know nothing of the many attrac- tions we can offer them at our various inter- planetary stopping places. " ' ''Jeremiah," continued he, "you are fifty thousand years old. I have spent a fortune on your education, and you have travelled more than any young man living. I think it is about time for you to bear fruit. Stop off at this planet until I return. Point out to the inhabitants our advantages. Let them know our attractions are manifold; and at the same time impress upon them that if business does not pick up, they will be dropped from our route." " 'I alighted at Broadway and 42nd Street, in the City of New York, and although I was a stranger, instead of being received in a courteous manner, I was compelled to use all my physical strength to protect myself. I was [56] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet shoved one way, then another, and not once did any one offer an apology; nor could I find one who would listen, much less answer a question. I at once discovered that you wor- ship the wicked little dancing demon and live solely to obey him; and Instead of your brains catering to your heart, they give their entire attention to your feet. " 'After mastering the language of this sec- tion of your planet, I decided the only way you could be reached was through the pen. " 'While life may not be so serious as a few of you try to make It, you must realize It Is for some purpose Inasmuch as you have brains and qualities superior to the ass, which were not given to you merely to find your way to the feed box and watering trough. You were given power over your senses, but you are so weak that you allow them to dominate over you. " 'You are full of good resolutions which you will never keep. You are so afraid of the truth that you deny what you have done, and claim to have done what you have not. You agree to do that which you have no in- [57] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet tendon of doing, and agree not to do what you fully intend to do. '^ 'These things are beyond me, as I can not imagine how any one could prefer lying to having others know the truth. The truth is the truth. It needs no shaping. There are no corners or rough edges to be taken off, in fact, it is so delicate and refined that the least tampering will break it. " 'Unity is the secret of advancement in other planets. You never hear anyone say, "I did it," or "that is mine." It is always, "We did it," or "That is ours." No one desires to achieve success over his neighbor nor to neglect him during his sorrow. " ' "Cleanliness is next to godliness'' there, as well as here. As our streets are cleaned, clean yours. I am told yours are flooded every night, but I find them dirty during the day. As often as they become dirty, so often should they be cleaned. While you are at it, sweep out calumny, spite, avarice, and others of their ilk, that are hanging about. " 'The fact that some of you, like the beaver, prefer work to any other form of [58] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet amusement, is no reason why others should not have a fair part of the day to enjoy them- selves in a manner pleasing to them. Though many of us are a hundred thousand years old, or more, each day seems shorter than the one before. *' 'As sure as cowardice is one of the tribu- taries of ignorance, courage is one of the trib- utaries of knowledge. Therefore, through your intellect, be brave enough to overcome sensual desires of youth, and become men free from its stains. " 'Have you ever stopped to ask yourself the question, "Why am I here?" "Why has man been placed in a new world, absolutely pure and clean, and been allowed to turn it topsy turvy, driving out good and introducing evil?" Did it ever occur to you that you may stay here until you are worthy of a better place? The school boy who fails in his les- sons today, must try again tomorrow; and if you do not fulfill certain requirements this time, you may have to try once again. " 'How disappointed must Oblivion be in itself, to have been equipped with so many [59] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet clear running streams, beautiful valleys and dales, green timber-covered mountains, and a rich plenty producing soil, merely to feed and fatten the parasitic fungi. " 'Imagine that you were my father, and had visited many planets bordering on per- fection, and as you sat in the pilot house of the Comet, looking down on the earth, you saw the people backing vice with all their might and power, as she bleeds decency white ; all practicing deceit; the strong oppressing the weak ; the rich the poor ; and committing mul- titudinous errors ; wrapped in malice, envy and covetousness. Very few of you would show the consideration that my father has. You would turn your heads in disgust and hur- riedly drive away from these abominations and a people content in their own ignorance. You are too cowardly to tell the truth to men ; yet brave enough to lie in the presence of God. " 'Your morals were better at one time, but you have gone from good to bad, and from bad to worse. " 'What you should desire and look for- ward to, is a state of perpetual happiness. I [60] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet have no desire to make you dissatisfied with your present abode by telHng you of a better one; I simply wish to Impress upon you that you can improve the conditions here, as we have In Veracity. You actually fear death, while we consider natural death as much of a blessing as birth. In truth we know it is a birth. You have only to overcome your antagonistic disposition to develop more quickly. " 'You do not seem to realize what we learned centuries ago, that to be other than just was to our own disadvantage. Do not think honor is destitute because your dim eyes cannot fathom Its riches. Be not too ambitious, as ambition to honor Is as the boa constrictor to Its prey. But keep yourself occupied, as Satan has such contempt for the Industrious that he ignores them. By avoid- ing bad, you will meet good. I once heard of a man who jumped aside to avoid hell and found himself in heaven. " 'In you I have found a strange people. Indeed ; although you know right from wrong, you continue to grope in the dark. On all sides there is nothing but confusion and con- [61] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet tentlon. You are so Inconsistent that what you today consider to be a fact, tomorrow you will doubt. You are like lint In the air; you go whichever way the wind blows. You jump through the first loop-hole that offers itself. Because I am here today, do not say, "Well, I suppose he Is right," but compare what I say with what someone said yesterday, and what another will say tomor- row. If you have riches, give. If you have brains, think. Either is beneficial. Your whole life has been one of deceit, yet you have deceived no one but yourselves. " 'You were given Good, but grew tired of it, messed it about, and finally flung it aside for Evil. You dressed up your new plaything in all the gay colors of its depravities, and gloried in it, but when you were pained by its sting, you could not throw It aside as easily as you had Good. " 'I find that you favor justice, unless injustice Is to your advantage. You will give, so long as you do not miss what you give ; and look to all sides for commendation. Why, even the highwayman will give his old clothes to some one In need. The meanest [62] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet criminal in the world, providing he is not in a hurry, will fetch a glass of water to one dying of thirst. True charity is parting with something you will miss. " 'You only take that stand which con- forms with your selfish motives. A woman in the same building where I am lodging had for thirty years lived with her husband, and had no fault to find with him, but when he had lost all his money she suddenly discov- ered him to be a tyrant and divorced him. You require nothing of yourselves, but expect much of others. '* 'While you can prove nothing, you are egotistical enough to think you know all. You have been given an opportunity to play at living, and you do not know how to take advantage of it; you are as helpless as a par- venu making his first appearance in a draw- ing room. " 'The desire to excel, retards. You must work together, and as for one of you attempt- ing to steal a march on your neighbor is the same as digging a ditch in your own path. God loves team work, and in Veracity they [63] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet advance together, shoulder to shoulder, stride and stride alike. They pick up those who have fallen by the wayside, no matter what their condition, nor how deep in the gutter they may lie, for they are essential parts, and when all the parts are collected together they will form a solid V whose rush to heaven nothing can block. " 'Not only have you figured out the origin of the world, but you speak of its predestined future, saying that just as the consolidation of gases, molecules, etc., formed the planets, so there would be a final consolidation of all Planets into one large Sphere. I can give you an idea of the enormity of such a sphere by giving you the report of a pilot who had quite a long ride on a runaway comet. " 'The comet began to skid at a point near the center of the bowl of the great dipper, and finally darted off in a straight line towards what we term the "huge Nebulae." The pilot was almost helpless, only being able to guide his comet the least bit to the right or left to avoid collisions. He was gone ten thousand years before he gained sufficient control to enable him to return with her. At no time [64] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet was the speed less than a thousand miles a second, nor was there any diminishing of the planets which were on her right and left, in front and behind, and above and below her. So we generally agreed among ourselves that if the comet had doubled her speed, and had been gone for a million years, yea, a hundred millions or more, it would have been the same. " 'I understand how you can make one mass out of a known number of balls, but how can you make one ball out of a limitless number of balls which have no starting nor ending? This is beyond us, and we reckon in myriads, whereas you reckon In units. " 'We have decided that Infinity and eter- nity are far beyond our conception and no concern of ours. If we succeed In doing what is right and abstain from doing what Is wrong, we are doing God's will, and I think that should suffice you also. Let your philoso- phers first find God, then they will have suc- ceeded in finding the truth. Instead of being in a strange land, they will find themselves at home. And the pilot said, "Through all the [65] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet vast space I felt, as I do here, the presence of God, omnipotent, omnipresent, all In all." " 'At home, I have heard them speak of war, but during the fifty thousand years I have lived, and the thousand of planets I have vis- ited, I have never seen a war. I have always thought war was legendary, but here on the planet of Oblivion I find It a reality. Even as I write, I hear the loud blasts of the trum- pets, calling more to arms, more to the front, more to swell the river of blood, more to the stockyards of Europe to help squelch the ambitious spleen of the barbaric potentate of the Huns. " 'I see the foes facing each other, knee deep In blood. Their bodies are lacerated, and their heads battered, and the loss of blood from their open wounds almost throws them Into each other's arms at every lunge. Still they fight, still the hacking and hewing con- tinues, reeling and stumbling over the slain like monstrous beasts. They are depopulat- ing the world, and paying homage to that merchant In flesh and blood, "The God of War," whose Instruments make equal the [66] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet wise and the fool, dragging civilization back to the barbaric days of long ago. " 'Of what flimsy texture is the covering of man's brain composed, that it admits such thoughts as those of war? Let the beasts gore one another, and the elements battle in their continual strife, — man is for a different purpose. " 'The very old and learned men of Ve- racity say, however, that since the unprepared are merely targets for the enemy, the best and only way to assure peace is to build up your navy, strengthen and extend your forti- fications, and be in a state of perpetual pre- paredness. Thus, by equipping the dove with the beak and claws of the eagle, keep the bird of prey away. The only war justifiable is one to suppress tyranny — never one for conquest. " 'Are you always going to be like the bar- nacle and cling to matter, rendering abortive my mission? Even the caterpillar longs for the time when it can spread its wings and soar. Our requirements are quite simple for the worker; they only seem drastic to the drone. It is only necessary to try, to qualify [67] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet for a ride, and the seating capacity on the comet is sufficiently large for the entire pop- ulation of the Earth. Do you care so little for liberty that you are willing to lie forever enslaved to gravity? '^ ^Is it possible for you to picture the joy of my father, if on his return I could say, "Make room for the people of the Earth, for they are with me?" How bounteous would be his blessings. With what pride he would look upon his son, as he would open wide his arms to welcome the long-sought-for passengers. " 'There is a higher order of things than I can explain or demonstrate, and untold riches awaiting you. But my father warns you that it is generally understood that any- one who expects a reward for doing what is right, could probably for a consideration be induced to do what is wTong. A man who justifies a fraud would, in all probability, commit one. Such persons are not wanted. " 'There was a time when we were as blind as you, and I am not a Seer nor a Sweden- borg, but a plain, simple man, possessing only [68] SHOT UP THROUGH THE SKYI,IGHT A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet that amount of knowledge which enables me to realize the great advantage of a planet of equality and happiness. It would be absurd, indeed, for me to claim aught but what my conduct would bear out. Individually, I have accomplished little, but I am a member of a huge congenial body that has accomplished wonders, simply by being on the level. I beg of you to benefit by the experience of Verac- ity, for she was in your condition, but she now ranks as far above you as the difference of the squares between you. Yet she longs for you, and stretches out her hand to welcome you, as she herself is welcomed by the planet of Perfection.' "Here," said Colonel Rockinghorse, "this unusual letter comes to an end, and the fol- low^ing is attached to it: " 'Note. — The undersigned was employed by Mr. Comet as a man servant. My master subsisted on vapors, and his sudden and unex- pected departure was caused by partaking too ravenously of gaseous corpuscles that as- cended from a suffragettes' meeting which was being held directly below our lodgings. He was so interested in his writings that he [69] A Letter from a Visitor to Our Planet did not discover his predicament until he began to rise. He called upon me to hold him down, as he tried to relieve himself of the inflation. This he found impossible, and each second found him lighter and more dif- ficult to control. I thought if I could reach and close the window I might shut off his supply, and in attempting to do so I slackened my hold on him just a little. He immedi- ately tore loose from me and, like a rocket, shot up through the skylight. " 'This I solemnly swear to be the truth. (Signed) '' 'Newton Gravity.' '' [70] R< ^ COUNT HIROSAKA HAD NO I.IKING FOR the; coi<onbi, ' ' CHAPTER VIII. An Awful Dream. /^OLONEL ROCKINGHORSE seemed ^^ to dislike Count Hirosaka, who for his part had no liking for the Colonel. The smoking room was divided into two sets, one headed by the Colonel, which spent most of its time in drinking, the other by the Count, which spent its time in gambling. Livingston had chosen the side of the latter. His losses had amounted to a considerable sum, the enormity of which suggested that all might not have been fair. I thought he should have been put on his guard, and declared to the Colonel my intention of doing so. I was immediately told of a certain Mr. Stonefel- low, who had accumulated a colossal fortune and who attributed his wealth to his habit of minding his own business. Nevertheless, the next day, when I again heard of Livingston having made another heavy loss, I called the Count aside and begged him to use his influence to keep Liv- [71] An Awful Dream Ingston from playing this the last night aboard. He was pleased that I should take such an interest in one of his followers, and promised to do what he could. After dinner while I was seated at a table next to them, I overheard the Count tell Liv- ingston not to worry about his losses ; that he himself was wealthy, and to seal their friend- ship he forced on Livingston a roll of bills that doubled the amount of his losses, at the same time asking him not to play any more. The Count motioned me to join them, and as I took my seat at their table, I noticed with concern the changes that had come over Liv- ingston. At the beginning of the voyage, without the least hesitation, I should have voted him the best looking man aboard; now he was haggard and sallow, with deep, black circles beneath his eyes. His hand shook so that he could not carry a glass to his lips without spilling half the contents. As the poor fellow leaned on his elbows and buried his face in his hands, the Count whispered to me, "We must watch him closely, his mind is in that state which drives one to distrac- tion, perhaps suicide." [72] An Awful Dream Unfortunately, Livingston overheard him. "What!" cried he. "What manner of beast do you think I am, that such a thought would enter my head? No, gentlemen, I am not worried over my losses, but I have had such a dreadful warning in the shape of a horrible, terrifying dream which has so upset me that it keeps me awake at night. I can think of nothing else and I have only been playing at cards to free my mind of agonized forebod- ings. As for the money, an Englishman may lose more than he can afford, but never more than he can pay. I shall return this money the first day we are in England, and shall find some way of proving my appreciation and gratitude in an appropriate manner." Thinking that it might relieve his mind, I suggested that he tell us of his dream. "Gentlemen," said he, "I am also under a terrible mental strain, for I carry a verbal message in code, to my Government. I am ignorant of its meaning, but I know from the manner and warning of those who gave it to me, that it is vitally important. I was warned to keep it clear in my brain, but not [73] An Awful Dream to repeat It aloud, even to myself, until I had reported It In the royal diplomatic cham- ber. I shall, nevertheless, take some com- fort In unfolding my strange dream to you who are, I am sure, my sincere friends. This Is my dream. "I lay awake, shivering with fear, sur- rounded by a multitude of masks and faces and shadowy forms. One came apart from the others and addressed me : 'Oh, neglectful one, thy carelessness shall bleed a nation bare !' Just then the clock struck twelve and there bounded Into the room one blacker than the rest. 'It's my property,' he cried, 'as the measurements prove.' and he flung himself upon me. 'See, there is not a jot's difference from finger tip to finger tip, nor from head to toe; he is my own and to my home must go.' "He forced me through my berth, down through the bottom of the boat to the very depths of the sea, and on downwards through submarine labyrinths. We stopped for noth- ing, nor could anything have stopped us. The deeper we sank, the tighter the hold on me grew. [74] An Awful Dream " 'Who are you? Where are we going?' I cried in terror. " 'I am the one on the other side called the "Shadow," ' he cried. 'I have been led by you for years, into many places that were distasteful to me, though I was never con- sulted, I never complained. Now it is my turn, and you are going to my domains, where are garnered the riches of the world. You will appreciate the life there, as it is shorn of hypocrisy and safe from the necro- mancy of that old sham "Sol" who has hood- winked you so long. I was before, and shall be after him.' "On the Shadow swept with me, making his own path as we went deeper and deeper, forcing huge boulders and solid rocks to open like clams, to receive us at one end and pass us out at the other in a like manner. As I was dragged through niches in the wall, the rattling of the dried bones, which we shoved aside, would cause my flesh to creep, and I kept the fingers of one hand pressing together my nostrils to avoid the rank odor that arose, as we passed through what had been a sepulchre. [75] An Awful Dream "We passed a stratum that must have been the surface of the earth thousands of centu- ries ago, and we saw burled cities of the strangest architecture. The ways had become darker and darker until now they were like pitch. Suddenly my guide stopped and lis- tened. He asked if I heard the striking of a clock. I answered Yes, as I counted twelve. 'We are nearing the city,' said he, 'and soon you shall have a light that is illu- minating indeed, and your greatest expecta- tions will be humbled by magnificent reali- ties, and each new exhilerating incident will be shattered by an event greater still.' "We came to a dropping off place, which filled me with fear and caused my head to swim. Just before taking the plunge we were stopped by an old hag, who had driven up the perpendicular wall of the chasm in a golden chariot, drawn by two huge snarling rats. She offered for sale a ticket to Pro- serpine's midnight ball and spat at me when I refused to buy. Her sputum, missing me, struck a rock which at once became as the refuse of a dissecting table, and wherever she stood she polluted that spot. I thought [76] An Awful Dream to myself that If at this point things are so virulent and pestilential how horrible and intolerable they must be at the centre of the earth. "The next second we were off In space, going down, down, lower, lower, each second doubling our speed. Little did I think we would survive this terrific plunge, but we alighted as if drifting on a snow-flake near- by what the Shadow called the City, but what seemed to me more like a cesspool. " 'We shall soon be there,' he said, 'and for the present you must content yourself with admiring the exquisite infamy of these pastimes.' "We swiftly sped through the now crowded lanes that led to the city's gate. I heard the weird tolling of the bell and counted twelve, and asked, 'What was that?' He answered, 'Midnight.' Again I heard, and asked. Again he answered, 'Midnight.' Again and again I heard the same tolling, and asked the same question, and as often he answered, 'Midnight.' 'Why,' said I, 'It was midnight many hours ago, when I first heard the striking of the clock.' [77] An Awful Dream " 'Here,' said he, 'Is proved that dark- ness is natural and light artificial; it was midnight at the beginning, it is midnight now, and it will be midnight at the ending.' "Still the everlasting ringing, chiming and striking of midnight did not prevent me from hearing lugubrious wallings, bowlings and gnashlngs of teeth, and peering down through an opening I saw a roaring, crack- ling world of fire that scorched my very cheeks and singed my hair. Suddenly I was startled by a peal of thunder that shook the earth, resounding and echoing back and forth, unloosening huge stones from their fastenings. " 'It is the crack of doom,' I cried. "'Pshaw!' said my guide, 'It Is merely the baaing of the old sheep that guards the gate.' "In the centre of the gate was a platform and on the platform stood a giant with the head of a goat and the body of a man. He saluted us most blandly and said: " 'I am the doorkeeper. While I could if I chose, I never have been so mean as to [78] An Awful Dream refuse entrance to any one, and I am kept so busy receiving guests that I never get a wink of sleep. What a city you are enter- ing! How majestic in appearance! How superb in reality! In possibilities how re- sourceful ! In entertainments, how elabo- rate ! With what foresight were the archi- tectural plans ! An entrance so large that it will admit all, and an exit so small that it will emit none !' "He now held out the filthiest and coarsest paw that I had ever seen, and said, 'This, my right hand, accepts all, and my left is too polite to refuse anything, and though blood is our mammon and blood our toll, we shall be content with just your soul.' "I was so entranced by a bevy of beau- tiful women that surrounded him that I paid little attention to what he w^as saying, but like one stricken with fright, I stood glued to the spot. "The poor nude creatures seemed to real- ize their shame and covered their eyes with their arms and bent their heads to the very middle of their bodies, allowing the ends of [79] An Awful Dream their long jet black hair, glistening like dia- monds, to trail in the dust. "The beast continued: 'There are a great many handsome and clever men about, but I am so indulgent and tender, my kiss so inviting and entrancing, and my beard tickles so joyously that they will have no other.' "And this demon, old, worthless and worn out by debauchery, proud of his holdings, totally without consideration for the happi- ness of these poor women, egotistic in the belief that it was his own personality that held them, began to strut about, his chest expanding more and more. As he gloated and ranted, his whole body began to swell to an enormous size, all out of proportion, and in swaying back and forth he lost his balance and fell from the platform to the ground below. His grin and leer changed to a look of fright and pain. He wriggled and twisted, his eye balls glared; he sputtered and spat and became a monster horrible to behold. Suddenly, all his wives, screaming wildly, rushed in between his wide opened jaws. [80] An Awful Dream Immediately the beast was thrown Into con- vulsions, and as he rolled and twisted, he plowed up several acres of land. Amid his groans, there was a deafening explosion with- in, and he belched forth a million shapely and bewitching little flappers in the brightest colors, blushing and smiling as they scurried off in different directions, as if each had a mission to perform. At first, their beauty seemed only to cover still more fascinating charms, but as they flittered by, I was hor- rified to discover that their faces were made up, their finger tips were tiger-like claws; their tongues long and forked, and each wink discharged a stinging dart of fire. " 'As you perceive,' said the Shadow, *these are the breeding grounds of vice. Did you note how the young ones were passed through the living furnace to advance their maturity, and to dry their cherubic wings, which otherwise would have been wet, as they arose from their larvae. Now as dry as the Arabic sands and fully developed, they burst forth In all the splendor of the allurements of hell, and they are like bees. [81] An Awful Dream There are a million or more, and every one will return and not one alone.' "As we passed through the gate the time- piece of eternity pealed its chimes, 'Mid- night.' I beheld suspended in the air, long bony ghostly hands, grasping blood-dripping arrows that pointed to skillfully-executed pic- tures which were on either side of the walk. Pictures of church yards yawning and grue- some murders being committed- On the top of the tarnished frames of these master- pieces, like sentinels, perched ravens, heralds of woe and black as soot. The attendants of these galleries, for the sake of harmony, wore death mask hoods and on their long black coats of crepe were paintings of skull and cross bones, and of the flames everlast- ing that arise from the grates of hell. "An ugly little devil, to satisfy a loath- some snake, gored a maiden, and held her until the reptile had quenched its thirst. Here all derived their sustenance through the blood of the weak. " 'The earth,' said my escort, 'Is a huge nut with the usual rough and unkept outer [82] EVERY ONE WIIvIv RETURN AND NOT ONE AI.ONE ' ' An Awful Dream shell, with the luscious kernel within, which grows richer as you near the centre, but these are dull times and this mere trivial play. If you were passing this way at the end of the harvesting, when the division be- gins, you would see real life. Each demon demands all or nothing. Mutiny and insur- rection hold sway. They unchain the hounds of hell, and remove the stopper from the sink of iniquity, flooding the whole region with crime. Luxurious rape, murder and carnage abound, and blood flows so freely that the old and young come rushing in from all parts and remove their shoes and stock- ings to wade and splash in the puddles it makes, and all will seem so exquisite that you will readily pay for it with your soul.' "We were now near the busy section of the city. Considering the mountains formed of dead bodies, charnel house would be a more fitting name. While my heart had not weakened, the stench that arose so irritated my stomach as to cause incessant vomiting. I heard shriek after shriek of pain, and the most uncanny and sickening laughter. There [83] An Awful Dream was that about this laughter that was fa- miliar, but to save me I could not place it. "Here misery gloried in its work, as the inhabitants wallowed in iniquity- Each one to his favorite vice, giving vent to the great pleasure derived by their hideous faces be- coming more frightful still. "The denser the darkness, the better grew my sight, which now penetrated my closed lids. Amid doleful cries and weird chimes I saw infants strangled without the least show of pity; one-eyed cyclopic giants snatch up children by their heels and after smash- ing their brains out against the walls, eat bones and all; rough, uncouth and unshaven men, wearing muddy, hobnailed boots, drag young girls aside by their hair and, in ac- complishing their desire, tear them beyond repair. The wretched victims pleaded in vain for mercy, finding relief only in unconscious- ness as they fainted away beneath the rum- soaked breath and boar-like caresses of their assailants. "How I tried to free myself! I had no fear, but a mighty desire to make a stand [84] An Awful Dream against them all. With all my strength I tried to break away from Shadow, but all in vain. I turned my head and at the top of my voice begged of God to take away my sight. "This cannot be real! I must be labor- ing under a loathsome fever. 'There is no hell — I am dreaming!' I cried, and plowed my nails into my flesh to find if I were awake. I paid no attention to a big burly brute, who called out to his comrades at our approach, 'Look, fellows, here comes the Shadow with another candidate for death.' Yet I could not prevent a cold shudder from running over me at the never ceasing pleadings of blood for more blood like a spoiled infant for its milk. Though we had passed through multitudinous strata, though we were now covered by mountains of granite, still no depth nor covering could shut off the agonizing sounds of midnight that now came from every quarter. Some- times harsh and loud, other times soft and faint, a mere whispering, but always gloat- ing In my ear, 'Midnight.' "A horrible individual called our atten- [85] An Awful Dream tlon to a weird creature wabbling under a heavy burden. Pointing his finger at him, he said: 'Poaching has been so good of late that old faithful, Death, has enlarged his game bag.' This so pleased my guide that, holding me tighter than ever, he stopped and watched Death dump the dead from his sack, and even shivered himself as he saw Death tread over the bodies in his haste to return to his hunting grounds. "A sudden commotion in the heap brought to an end the feasting of the dogs and vul- tures. The bodies began to move and squirm, still entangled like a tank of reptiles. Finally extricating themselves, they arose and encircling old Faithful, began the weird dance of the dead. The honored one did not seem to cherish the attentions that were being showered upon him. On his glutton- ous face eagerness gave way to consterna- tion, and consternation to fright. His hair straightened and stood on end and he broke through the lines in flight that took him through the main thoroughfares with the rejuvenated bodies at his heels, some with [86] An Awful Dream their heads half severed flapping up and down as they ran. *'Now I was roughly carried to the very centre and laid down with my head resting on a large block, which reeked with blood. The very stalactites above became writhing, hissing serpents. Suddenly, above the tu- mult, above the hissing, howling and wail- ing, a clear, ever-to-be-remembered voice of warning cried out, 'Place thy confidence In the Lord.' As this voice spoke, everything was hushed; not even the hiss of a snake nor the ripple of blood could be heard. '' 'Too late!' yelled the executioner, as he shook his gory locks and raised his axe aloft, uttering the same chuckle that I had heard before. I knew it belonged to one whom I had reckoned among my friends, but to save me I could not remember whom. With a quick, powerful stroke, my head was severed and I at once passed from the ordeal of the Shadow to a blaze of glory, and was about to feast my eyes on celestial affairs, when I awoke in a dripping perspiration. "Now, gentlemen, I have told you the cause of my depression, and still feel the [87] An Awful Dream same as I did when I was being carried downwards, and saw horror after horror, and pinched myself to learn if I dreamed. I now ask you, ^Am I really awake, or do I still dream?' ''We answered, 'You are surely awake now.' "But that miserable Shadow answered in just as positive a manner as you, and I thought I felt the pain of the pinch as I do now. I cannot help thinking that misery is a short dream before eternal felicity, like a disagreeable medicine before the cure, and that tomorrow I shall awake and find my- self resting in my couch on high, and as I rub my eyes shall say, 'I have had a dream and in that dream many smaller ones.' " I here ventured that he was too bright a man to be so worried about a dream. I, myself, had experienced an unpleasant dream the night we had the late supper, but had paid no attention to it. At the suggestion of the Count, we strolled around for a half hour or so, then decided to have our "night-cap" and retire. [88] An Awful Dream since we were to be awakened at seven In the morning and disembark at ten. We en- tered the smoking room and found it occu- pied only by Colonel Rockinghorse, who sat sleeping in his chair, snoring, with his mouth wide open. The Count, Livingston and myself did not take our usual seats, but chose a table just back of the door. We ordered our drinks, and, as we were about to raise them to our lips, the Count suddenly discovered a speck in Livingston's glass. With his usual suave politeness he insisted that Liv- ingston change glasses with him. In an- other moment the drinks were finished. Glancing towards Rockinghorse, I noticed the old gentleman had aroused himself, and, as he sat with his back to us, he was peering intently into a small pocket mirror as if admiring his whiskers. I could not refrain from a little good-natured raillery at his conceit. By this time Livingston had braced up considerably. The Count, nevertheless, in- sisted that we see our friend to his cabin and [89] An Awful Dream help him get ready for bed. He even made Livingston promise to bolt his door on the inside, and waited outside until he heard the bolt slide into place. Even then, he was so much afraid that worry might drive our friend to something desperate that he paid the steward to watch the cabin during the night. \'X)\ CHAPTER IX. A Premonition Come True. T AROSE early the next morning and, as •■■ I was making my way to the bath, I heard an unusual commotion on the other side of the steamer. I hurried over and found the Count, with several stewards, at Livingston's cabin, calling his name • and pounding on his door. The Count was get- ting more and more excited, yelling at the top of his voice and expressing a fear that something terrible had happened- "It is very strange," he said, "he an- swered my first knock, now we can get no response at all." "Get an ax and chop in the door!" sug- gested Colonel Rockinghorse. "Yes, yes! We must get in there quickly! Something has happened to Livingston!" wailed the Count. "Here, help me to the transom." [91] A Premonition Come True *'That is not necessary," protested the Colonel, "we will have the ax in a moment.'* He spoke too late. With the aid of sev- eral passengers, the Count had already mounted to the transom and crawled through. There was a thump as he jumped to the floor on the inside. Then a shriek of horror from within the room told us the worst had happened. The Count unbolted the door and stumbled out, sobbing hyster- ically that our poor friend had taken his own life. We rushed into the room and discovered the ghastly figure lying on the bed. There was my friend of yesterday, his throat cut so deeply that his head was almost severed from his body. My senses reeled at the sight. I thought of his dream. So the Count was justified in his fears and Livings- ton had come to the awful deed which, I felt sure, was far from his thoughts when I left him the night before. **It is brooding over these things that drives one to such acts," said the Count. "One of us should have remained with him. [92] A Premonition Come True I will never forgive myself." And he broke down and wept like a child. The Captain had just appeared, and was pushing his way through the crowd to the bed. "Suicide?" he asked with a shudder. 'T am afraid," muttered the Colonel to him, ''that you have more to deal with than a mere suicide. And since we are in British waters, you'd better summon the coroner." There was a rushing to and fro, a ring- ing of bells and a blowing of whistles, and the whole steamer was in an uproar as, simultaneously with the above Incident, the ship, which had been slowed up for the pilot, came to a standstill at the cry of "Man overboard!" A seaman. In lowering a ladder, had lost his balance and fallen Into the sea, but he was picked up in an uncon- scious condition by the crew of the pilot- boat and we proceeded on our way minus a seaman. [93] CHAPTER X. The Inquest. TVTHEN several of the fellow-passengers ™ of Colonel Rocklnghorse were, through his instrumentality, summoned to the coroner's inquest as witnesses, they were not a little annoyed and expressed the opin- ion rather emphatically that the old gentle- man was a bit over-industrious. Neverthe- less, a number of us who were stopping at the same hotel walked to the court with him on the morning of the inquest. An irrascible Mr. Barton in our party was very much put out, for his enforced delay caused him to miss a week-end's shoot- ing in Scotland. He was rather on the look- out for some object upon which to vent his wrath, and consequently, when a careless young man trod upon his foot, Mr. Barton grabbed him by the collar despite his apol- ogies. *'Oh, you apologize, do you? D< think that will relieve the pain you Do you have [94] The Inquest caused me? Do you think for a moment that I shall be content with an apology? For fifty years I have been passing through thoroughfares as crowded as this, and I've never trod on another's toe because I am al- ways looking at what I am doing, and, if I should be so stupid, I'd be expected to be treated thus" — and he planted his foot in the seat of the young man's trousers with such force that it seemed to pass entirely through his body as it lifted him several feet in the air. We had proceeded only a few steps far- ther when we were brought to a halt by the following : ^'Who'll buy my heggs? Freshly lied heggs! Guinea heggs, goose heggs. Lords and Leidies, by heggs hoff hof me. If you don't care to heat heggs, put em in your hincubators. Ha guarantee goes with heach hegg to 'atch han 'ealthy blumin' duck. What's more 'omelike than ha flock of ducks in your garden? 'Heven 'is 'ighness loves ha blumin' duck" "Thank you, mum, teik the word hof 'onest Habe, you will be back for more." [95] The Inquest UT)1 Til buy four dozen of your eggs/' spoke up Mr. Barton, "but I wish to pick them out myself." He then had the peddler fold his arms, and when he had finished filling them with forty-eight eggs, he suddenly began to pour upon the fellow a stream of abuse, fully qual- ified with a profusion of adjectives that only Mr. Barton possessed, calling him a swindler and cheat for charging such prices, while the surprised and indignant peddler stood help- less and unable to move lest he break his eggs. Finally, as a parting blow, though in the very heart of May fair, he quickly unfast- ened the poor fellow's braces, allowing his trousers to fall to the ground, and left the helpless vender protesting wildly, with the tails of his shirt being wafted to and fro by the spring zephyrs, amusing the passers-by, who laughed gleefully. Now our attention was diverted from this horseplay to something more serious, for we had arrived at the coroner's where an au- topsy had already been held over Livings- ton's body. We learned that Colonel Rock- inghorse had been very anxious that an ex- [96] The Inquest aminatlon be made to ascertain whether or not any poison had entered Livingston's stomach. The autopsy had revealed no trace of poison, and the Colonel's theory of murder seemed badly shaken. In consequence, the case was about to be dismissed when orders came from Scotland Yards to Investigate the case thoroughly and hold and question all witnesses carefully because new evidence had just been secured. While these proceedings were extraordinary, they were not contrary to the laws of England. Several witnesses, including Count Hlro- saka, the cabin steward and myself, were examined, but nothing Important was brought to light. Finally, Colonel Rocklnghorse was called to the stand. "Colonel Rocklnghorse," asked the Cor- oner, "when and where did you last see Mr. Livingston alive?" "On Wednesday evening, July ninth, at eleven o'clock." "Please describe the circumstances." [97] The Inquest "I was sitting alone in the smoking room of the steamer when Mr. Livingston, accom- panied by Count Hirosaka and some others, entered the room, sat at a table behind me and ordered drinks. I became interested because I had learned of the many favors the Count had extended this same man. How he had loaned him his money, and how earnestly he had endeavored to stop him from gambling, and I had begun to think the Count not such a bad one after all. "Still, I could not help thinking it strange that he should shower these unusual atten- tions on one who had been a complete stran- ger a few days past. Besides, there were other young men who had lost heavily at the game and he had shown no inclination to extend his benevolency in their direction. Recalling that Livingston was in the diplo- matic service of England, and having seen the Count catering to this set about Wash- ington, I said to myself, 'the Oriental has some fish to fry, and will bear watching.' "In fact, my suspicions were so aroused that when the next moment I saw him ex- change glasses with Livingston, I attempted [98] The Inquest to warn the young man not to drink, but he had finished the glass ere I could speak. I was very much worried over the incident and when the gentlemen left the room I followed them to Livingston's cabin and watched them assist him to retire. Sud- denly, Hirosaka, unobserved by the others, turned to the dresser, hurriedly took some- thing from it and slipped it into his pocket. They left the room then, the Count insist- ing that Livingston bolt his door on the inside, and hired a steward to watch out- side." "Did you go to bed and sleep that night as usual?" asked the Coroner. "No. I was worried over what Livings- ton had drunk. I got up In the middle of the night and engaged in conversation with the steward who was watching so that I might listen to Livingston's breathing. It was a little heavier than normal, but did not seem serious.'' "Have you any reasons for suspecting foul play?" queried the Coroner. "There was that about the whole affair 199] The Inquest that was unusual, and when I see anything out of the ordinary I ask myself, 'Why?' I was satisfied that something was sure to happen. I was the first of all the passen- gers to arise the next morning, and went direct to the deceased's quarters. While I stood there, I saw the barber open up his shop and immediately took advantage of this and was shaved ahead of the rush. "As I was passing from the shop, which was just opposite Livingston's cabin, I saw Count HIrosaka go up to the door and knock. He claims that Livingston an- swered. I claim that, though I am a little advanced In years, I still am as able to hear as the Count or any other living man, and when he says he received an answer to his knock, he lies. "I am satisfied that Livingston was encour- aged to gamble until his losses were so enor- mous that he did not have the money to pay, and that the required amount was thrust upon him to humiliate him In the belief that if It did not drive him to suicide. It would establish a friendship that would help shield the perpetrator of a villainous [100] The Inquest plot already laid as a last resort. The vic- tim's confidence gained, friendship estab- lished and thoroughly advertised, the possi- bility of suicide well circulated, all that now was needed was a sound sleeping potion and to be the first in the cabin. The carrier of a dangerous message would be destroyed, and no suspicion against anyone but the mur- dered." ^'Colonel Rockinghorse, did you know what message the deceased was carrying from United States to England?" 'Tt was a verbal message — one of such immense importance, as I have learned since arriving in England, that, had he delivered it, there would not have been consummated the alliance between Great Britain and Japan which was signed yesterday morning." Just as the Coroner had finished question- ing the Colonel, Inspector Cough of Scot- land Yards entered, leading a sailor who was Immediately put In the witness box. "What Is your name?" questioned the Cor- oner. [101] The Inquest ^'Timothy Flaherty," answered the wit- ness. "Are you a seaman aboard Her Majesty's Steamer ?" "Yes, your Honor.'' "Then tell us In your own way what you saw Thursday morning, the tenth day of this month." "I was lowering the rope ladder when it became caught on the side of the steamer. I climbed down to unfasten it and, as I passed by the port hole of Cabin A, I saw a man jump from the transom, hurry across the room, jerk the covers off the occupant of the berth and violently draw a razor across the throat of the occupant. I screamed in my excitement, lost my balance and, striking my head against the side of the steamer, fell Into the sea." The inspector looked directly at the Jap and motioned two officers to seize him. The Count struggled to his feet, greatly agitated and pale as death. He made his decision Instantly. With all the power and agility of [102] ._ The Inquest his race he tore himself free from his guards. He crossed the room with a bound, forced his head through the center rods of the office ralHng and drove his body In a back somersault over the top, breaking every bone in his neck. There he hung, with his eyes bulging from their sockets, his purple tongue protruding from his mouth and a fixed, taunting grin of triumph on his face- We turned away from this horrible spectacle, but it mocks me to this day. "He was a murderer," muttered Colonel Rocklnghorse brokenly, "but not an ordinary one. What he did he did for the country he served. While he is a foul murderer In our eyes, in Nippon he will be praised and remembered as a martyred hero who lived and died for his country. This is the way of the world — what one condemns another upholds; what one repels another attracts, giving the earth its equilibrium as it goes whirling through space, but holding human- ity in the same old place, as the village pump." The End. [103] Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservatiofiTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111

12008957

The quiet courage, and other songs of the unafraid,

Appleton, Everard Jack

quietcourageothe01appl_djvu.txt

PS 3501 P65 08 1312 Copy 1 w- tmnmm AWD OTHER S0W6S OF TffE UNAFRAID S^-^sw/zi k%%^%%vc«i i'w £V£RAHII JACK APFLBTOW s ^L- Class T^^g Ol Book :?_?^^ GopyrightN". •^'2.. COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. THE QUIET COURAGE AND OTHER SONGS OF THE UNAFRAID BY EVERARD JACK APPLETON STEWART & KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS - - - - CINCINNATI du COPYRIGHT, 1912. STEWART & KIDD CO. ^ h CCI.A309894 / L- -C To the men who understand — or think the^ do. These songs originally appeared in Ains- lee's, The Ladies' Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, the Cincinnati Times- Star, the Cincinnati Commer- cial Tribune, and the Ob server. The author wishes to thank the publishers for their permission to reprint the verses in the present form. CONTENTS The Quiet Courage, ------ ±1 Steadfast, 12 Unafraid, --------13 A Christmas Prayer, ------ 14 The Woman Who Understands, - - - - 15 My Love in the Garden, ----- 17 You, --------- 18 The Christ Day. - - 20 Best of All, -------- 21 Till Then, -------- 22 The Mother Faith, ------- 23 The Gray Day, ------- 24 Day by Day, --------25 The Fighting Failure, ------ 29 The Way of the Man, - - - - - - 31 The One, - - -- - - - - 33 Ambition, --------35 The Driver, ------- 36 The Legacy, - - - -- - - -38 The Two, -------- 39 The Astronomer, -------41 The Scout Ship Speaks, ----- 42 The Soul Captains, -------44 He is Not Dead, 46 What Dark Days Do. 47 Meeting Trouble, ------ 48 7 The Courageous Clover, ------ 49 The Believer, _---___ 50 When June Gets Here, ------ 51 And I Have You, __--_. 53 Sometimes, --------54 The Call of the Mild, - 55 Hold Fast. - - 57 Valentines, _---___ 59 Bred in the Bone, -------60 * Jaybird Ain't No Singer," ----- 62 An Answer, --------63 "Mindin' Baby," 67 Compensation, -------69 The New Overcoat, ------ 71 The Dancing School, - - - - - - 73 The Growing Girl, -_--__ 75 The Busy Handy Man, ------ 76 The Letter to Santa Claus, ----- 78 The Baby and the Burglar, - - - - - 80 The Little Fellow, 82 8 THE QUIET COURAGE THE QUIET COURAGE WITH gentle patience that no man might boast She does her daily task, year after year. Meeting her v/orries as they come, she waits — In her brave smile there is no sign of fear. Putting behind her each white, little ghost Of longings that were once so dear, so dear. She lives her life to-day — to-day and here! Not always speed those days on happy wings. Not always from her heart trills out a song; Sometimes it trembles on the tender lips. Yet in the brave eyes courage lingers long. Seeing — and understanding — still she sings Nor feels that life has been all sad, all wrong — To her a wondrous faith and strength belong. Perhaps some day, the one who knows her best Will know how through the storm and stress and strife She stood steadfast through troubles multiplied. When every day dull doubt and pain were rife. Smothering all within her faithful breast When he had turned his back on hope, on life — She showed the quiet courage of a wife! 11 STEADFAST IF I can help another bear an ill By bearing mine with somewhat of good grace — Can take Fate's thrusts with not too long a face And help him through his trials, then I WILL! For do not braver men than I decline To bow to troubles graver, far, than mine? Pain twists this body? Yes, but it shall not Distort my soul, by all the gods that be! And when it 's done its worst, Pain's victory Shall be an empty one! Whate'er my lot. My banner, ragged, but nailed to the mast. Shall fly triumphant to the very last! Others so much worse off than I have fought; Have smiled — have met defeat with unbent head They shame me into following where they led. Can I ignore the lesson they have taught? Strike hands with me! Dark is the way we go. But souls-courageous line it — that I know! 12 UNAFRAID 1HAVE no fear. What is in store for me Shall find me ready for it, undismayed. God grant my only cowardice may be Afraid — to be afraid! 13 A CHRISTMAS PRAYER ON this glad day God grant that we may find The good which we have missed in other men; To their small faults and errors make us blind, Show us the way to help them — not condemn. Give us the grace to realize that we Are not from imperfections wholly free. Grant that we cheer each other on the way When it seems dark and Doubt would question "Why?" Help us to find contentment day by day To live with courage — ^and fear not to die, Give us a strong man's strength to fight — and then A child's pure heart for evermore! Amen. 14 THE WOMAN WHO UNDERSTANDS Somewhere she waits to make ;^ou win, j^our soul in her firm, w^hiie hands — Somew^here the ^ods have made for ^ou, the Woman Who Understands ! AS the tide went out she found him ■**• Lashed to a spar of Despair, The wreck of his Ship around him — The wreck of his Dreams in the air; Found him and loved him and gathered The soul of him close to her heart — The soul that had sailed an uncharted sea. The soul that had sought to win and be free — The soul of which she was part! And there in the dusk she cried to the man, "Win your battle — you can, you can!" Broken by Fate, unrelenting. Scarred by the lashings of Chance; Bitter his heart — unrepenting — Hardened by Circumstance; Shadowed by Failure ever. Cursing, he would have died. But the touch of her hand, her strong warm hand. And her love of his soul, took full command, Just at the turn of the tide! Standing beside him, filled with trust, **Win!" she whispered, "you must, you must!'* 15 Helping and loving and guiding, Urging when that were best. Holding her fears in hiding Deep in her quiet breast; This is the woman who kept him True to his standards lost. When, tossed in the storm and stress of strife. He thought himself through with the game of life And ready to pay the cost. Watching and guarding, whispering still, **Win you can — and you will, you will!'* This is the story of ages. This is the Woman's way; Wiser than seers or sages, Lifting us day by day; Facing all things with a courage Nothing can daunt or dim. Treading Life's path, wherever it leads — Lined with flowers or choked with weeds. But ever with him — ^with him! Guidon — comrade — golden spur — The men who win are helped by her! Somewhere she waits, strong in belief, ^our soul in her firm, white hands: Thank well the gods, when she comes to ^ou — the Woman "Who Understands! 16 MY LOVE IN THE GARDEN IT is n*t the robins' coming That makes the spring seem near, It is n*t the brown bees' humming The soft air, sweet and clear, It is n't the violets* blooming. The buds on the dogwood tree, It 's just my love in the garden Singing a song for me! It is n't the roar and rattle Of strife that does not cease; It is n't the daily battle That will not give me peace. It is n't the fame or fortune That urges me endlessly, It 's just my love in the garden Singing a song for me! When I have finished the task, dear. When all of the work is through. For heav'n I will not ask, dear. But only for you, for you. There 's joy in the thought of resting Under the tulip tree, With just my love in the garden Singing a song for me! U YOU GIVE me your hand ... I have need of it now. Need as never before, For the strength that was mine is utterly gone — A part of my Kfe no more! I have walked through the valley of Dead Desires Tasting the dregs of despair; I have sought for a sign that should give me peace, Sought, — but it was not there. For some, there is Faith that illumines the Path For some, there is hope, ever strong; But the touch of your hand is the need of me now — The sound of your voice in song! Shaken and numb is the soul of me, yet It shall triumph, if yours be true. Brain and hands shall create and build But only for you! for you. And even that apple of dust. Success, Shall come, if that is your will. Give me your hand, — ^with the song on your lips, — And the ache in my heart is still! All that is worthy in me, is yours — What if my dreams be dead? Fires of faith still burn in your heart. Unbowed is your regal head. 18 Only your love and the light in your eyes Can save me from self-defeat. I am done with the Game . . . but your calm, white soul Shames mine when I think of retreat! Give me your hand , . . And the strength that is there Shall waken my own anew, — I can force the fight and win, by the gods! But not for myself — for You! 19 THE CHRIST DAY THE Christ Day dawns — that clear, white day of days When Love unfolds within the soul those flowers That set the heart to singing songs of praise For happy moments and for useful hours — This is the day we cross the threshold where Love, and the joy of childhood fill the air! If I have wrung with pain no woman's heart; Have caused no little one to shrink. If men Doubt not my earnest will to do my part And bear my burdens with some courage — then Let me draw near! . . . I Ve won my right to share the Christmas cheer! 20 BEST OF ALL SO like a rose, her cheeks, her dimpled chin; So like a lily white, her forehead fair. So like the poppies red, her perfect lips. So like the mist at dawn, her filmy hair. So like the very sweetest flowers that blow. Love is her natural heritage, I know! So like the whispering wind, her thrilling voice Sweeping my heart strings, lighting love's white fire. So like two star-born violets her eyes That look into my soul and see — desire. So like a graceful goddess, set to song. Love is her right, withholding it were wrong! So like a Princess, gracious, dignified. From useless pomp and ceremony freed, So like a Queen, crowned with her loveliness. Her soft, strong hands no golden scepter need. Who could not love her, be he Prince or churl? For best of all, she is so like — a girl! 21 TILL THEN THEN this is all? . . . The way we came no longer glows With daffodils; no more the robins call, Beside the path there blooms no sweet wild rose. To see what lies ahead, I dare not try; — Sweetheart, good-bye! Yours was the choice . Within your hands, so quick to give. Life's balance trembled once. Do you rejoice That, broken on Fate's Wheel, to-day I live. Still loving — still unworthy, though I try? — Sweetheart, good-bye! Somewhere, some day . The darkened way will lightened be. I know — I do not hope, nor wish, nor pray But wait — for what is mine must come to me. Then — happiness! . . . Until there dawns the Light. — ^Sweetheart, good-night! 11 THE MOTHER FAITH YOURS were the hands that held me first of all, Yours were the lips that taught mine own to* smile. Yours were the eyes that watched my every step. And yours the heart that showed me Love worth while; Whatever good men see, in part or whole. Is but the dear reflection of your soul! When others laughed at all my dreams, you held Those dreams — and me — close to your loving breast. Giving me strength to try, and when I failed. Your faith alone stood firm above the rest. For you believed some day I would succeed — The finest spur that any man could need! And so, to-day, though far from what I 've sought. The goal unreached, the prize as yet unwon. Your hands still hold on high Belief and Trust, As once they held my baby self — ^your son. $ ^ $ ^ ^ ^ ^ The Mother-Faith knows naught of doubt or fear. But goes serenely on, year after year! 23 THE GRAY DAY RAIN, and the mist, and lowering skies. An opaque haze that will not lift; And yet I remember her wondrous eyes. Her velvet eyes, in which love lies. As into the past my dream-boats drift. So, what if the rain falls ceaselessly? My heart can sing of that memory! The damp leaves shiver, the great trees nod In the silent wood, where the wet winds sigh; And yet I remember the paths we trod. Together we trod, on the sunlit sod. In the past that is ours, my love and I. So what if the skies are dark as night? There were other days that she made bright ! The twilight comes ere ever the sun Has pierced the gloom of the clouds that cling; Yet I remember her smile, that won Me back to hope when I thought life done — That wonderful, sun-filled day in spring. So, why should I care for a day that is gray — When memory holds that day, alway? 24 DAY BY DAY GIVE me my tithe of strength to walk the way. By practice, not by tinkling platitudes, to show A steadfastness that, growing day by day. Helps others, and the inner-me, to grow; A sturdy will, before my course is run. To see beyond the shadowings, the sun! Who does not sometimes feel life not worth while. Or curse the fight that wearies brain and soul. Is dead indeed! . . . Those triumph most who smile When mists of doubt obscure the Final Goal. Then give us strength, when in the valley's gloom. To note that on the hills the flowers bloom! Again, and yet again, my work will fail To measure to the simple standard set; Despite resolves, the calmest soul must quail And care so little, it grows numb. . . . And yet Grant me, with other things, one touch of mirth — And I will make my heaven here on earth! T!> II MAN VERSE THE FIGHTING FAILURE HE has come the way of the fighting men, and. fought by the rules of the Game, And out of Life he has gathered — ^What? A living, — and little fame. Ever and ever the Goal looms near, — ^seeming each time worth while; But ever it proves a mirage fair — ever the grim gods smile. And so, with lips hard set and white, he buries the hope that is gone, — His fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting on. Out of the smoke of the battle-line watching men win their way. And, cheering with those who cheer success, he enters again the fray. Licking the blood and the dust from his lips, wiping the sweat from his eyes. He does the work he is set to do — and **therein honor lies." Brave they were, these men he cheered, — theirs is the winners' thrill; His fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — ^and yet he is fighting still. And those who won, have rest and peace; and those who died have more; But, weary and spent, he can not stop seeking the ultimate score; 29 Courage was theirs for a little time, — ^but what of the man who sees That he must lose, yet will not beg for mercy upon his knees? Side by side with grim Defeat, he struggles at dusk or dawn, — His fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting on. Praise for the warriors who succeed, and tears for the vanquished dead; The world will hold them close to her heart, wreathing each honored head. But there in the ranks, soul-sick, time-tried, he battles against the odds. Sans hope, but true to his colors torn, the plaything of the gods! Uncover when he goes by, at last! Held to his task by will The fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting still! 30 THE WAY OF THE MAN From the singin' hell of the iightin' top, to the stokers* hell below, We hear th' news, the sorrowful news : " Th' jRghtin* man must go!" WHEN earth was new and life was true, And men went brown and bare. They fought on land, and they killed by hand, — • Their scrappin' was on the square. 'T was blow for blow, with never a show Of bands or banners unfurled. And th* strong men lived ^whilst th' weak ones died — For that was th' way of the world. (And it war n't so bad, when you stop to think, Fer the health of a bran' new world!) As th* ages passed, man learnt, at last, The value of strategy, And he fought his fight with skill, not might. Whether on land or sea. It was swing and smash, — a stab and a gash In th* back, — ^if a back was near — Yet th' "rules** of the game was jest th' same; T* lose was his only fear. (Th* man who fights ain't thinkin* of rules — T' lose is his only fear!) 31 Then th* Twelve-inch came "to silence th' name Of War, that belongs to th' Past." But th* armor-plate growed thicker than hate, An* th' smokeless foUored fast. Bigger and better they built their guns. And bigger th' warships gray, Till they measured their strength by weight and length, And not by the men — not they! (Peacefully fightin' their wars, at home. But not with th' men — ^not they!) And now they swear that up in th* air The nations will settle their scores; So it *s "Good-bye, lad," to th' ironclad, **So long!" to the black 12-bores. "The airship fleet will never meet Save only to arbitrate. For war is done, as it should be done!** Mebbe it is . . . But wait! (For somethin* tells me it ain't QUITE through As long as two men can hate!) So this is th' waj? I fii^er it out: Man is a savage still: He likes to eat and he likes to love — but better than all, f KILL ! 32 THE ONE I KNEW his face the moment that he passed Triumphant in the thoughtless, cruel throng, — Triumphant, though the quiet, tired eyes Showed that his soul had suffered overlong. And though across his brow faint lines of care Were etched, somewhat of Youth still lingered there. I gently touched his arm — he smiled at me — He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! Where I had failed, he 'd won from life, Success; Where I had stumbled, with sure feet he stood; Alike — ^yet unalike — ^we faced the world. And through the stress he found that life was good. And I? The bitter wormwood in the glass. The shadowed way along which failures pass! Yet as I saw him thus, joy came to me — He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! I knew him! And I knew he knew me for The man HE might have been. Then did his soul Thank silently the gods that gave him strength To win, while I so sorely missed the goal? He turned, and quickly in his own firm hand He took my own — the gulf of Failure spanned, . . . And that was all — strong, self-reliant, free. He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! 33 We did not speak. But in his sapient eyes I saw the spirit that had urged him on, The courage that had held him through the fight Had once been mine, I thought, "Can it be gone?' He felt that unasked question — felt it so His pale lips formed the one- word answer, "No!" Too late to win? No! Not too late for m< He is the Man that Still I Mean to Be! 34 AMBITION *D like to be a scientist For just a little while; I 'd search until I found the germ That makes a human smile. And when I 'd found it, I would get A law passed, broad and firm. Whereby the world should be inoc- ulated with that germ. And when the world was all a smile, I 'd earn uncounted wealth By finding one more bacilli — The Microbe of Good Health! 35 THE DRIVER This is the song of the man vrho drives his 'plane through the silent night, Whose fear is dead, Tvhose fate is sealed, ere ever he starts his fUght! THERE'S seven seas that *s charted, but there 's one that will not be, (O, what 's the use of knowin* things, unless you know 'em all?) There 's eighty billion stars, accordin' to As-tron-o- mee — But what 's the use of namin' 'em — if there is more to fall? With my hand upon the lever. And my eyes upon the gauge, I gotter drive this 'plane all night To reach the landin' stage. The air is boilin' ugly, though th* engine 's running strong ; But the boss won't know what *s happened, if anything goes wrong! *'It takes a nerve that's steady and an eye that 's clear," they say! (O, what 's the good of knowin' things that 's mostly guff and guess?) It takes a nerve that's reckless, and an eye, blind in th' day, ^ To operate a 'plane at night — and not land in a mess! 36 With the outcome, if I blunder, I 've no thin' much to do; They '11 bury what they find of me — And of the others, too! Zing! I nearly clipped his rudder. . . . Hear his siren curse and drool, I wonder if he thinks he owns this streak of air, the fool ! There 's the Night Mail's hum above me and th* French Express below (O, you get to know the tunes they sing while learnin* how to drive!) There *s a wrecking storm ahead of us — my indicators show — And there 's goin' to be some trouble in Strata Number Five! The game is full of trouble. And the end is hard and short; But the Lord do n't like a quitter Accordin' to report! So I try to keep her steady, and you '11 hear my engine hum Till some night I miss the current — and wake up in Kingdom Come! For this is the song of the man who drives b^ night through the Sea of Air, Whose fears are dead as the moon itself, vtrhose watch- word is : ' ' J dare. " 37 THE LEGACY I HAVE looked my last on joyous youth; days of the white dreams gone, But I purpose to walk the rest of the way with never a longing thought; Courage is not of an age nor a time — ever it struggles on. Growing in strength and building true on all that the past has wrought. Then Courage shall go the way with me — An heritage — and my legacy! I have striven, in vain, for the greater things; for goals that my youth desired. Hotly following will-o'-the-wisps, born of Fire of Hope ; But now, in the cool of the quieter day, what if the soul be tired? Courage will help defeat the ills with which I have yet to cope. Stripped of my youth, I still may find Help in the years I have left behind. Leaving the course to the swift and sure, through by-ways I will fare, Hearing at times the joyous call of the runners upon their way. Learning, though late, to know the flowers, learning at last to care For the birds that sing, and the stars at night- — the sun-filled, wind-swept day! Learning that Youth may leave in its place A Courage that bears a smiling face. THE TWO NOW, if aught be true, then this holds true — The man who dares is a Flame: Setting the blood in our veins afire. Lighting the blaze of the Great Desire — Burning his way to Fame. Yet the man who keeps the ground he wins, Though his words be calm and his pace be slow- The man who sees that the Jest begins Where the Tragedy ends — ^he is good to know- Few are there better than he to know! The man who dares cuts a furrow wide: He sows on a broad-cast scale And cradles the crops on the uplands high. Where others may note him, against the sky — But what of the grain in the vale? He knows no law but his own, self-made. That daily he bends to his feverish will, — A meteor flashing past worlds more staid, — But the North Star guides the mariner still- Steadfast and true it guides men still! The meteor-man is ever blind To aught but his will to win. Through the choking smother of battle-mist He glimpses the world — but it's all a- twist And wallowing deep in sin! 39 While a little way off, with courage calm The other fights on, in his quieter way. Steadfast his brain and strong is his arm At finish as well as start of the fray — - And he holds all he wins in the fray I 40 THE ASTRONOMER HE goes through life discovering new spheres- Computing distances between the stars; His name on every Hp the world now hears — And yet there is one thing his triumph mars; He lives so much above the world that he Its ordinary beauties can not see. Grave scientists aver that through life's span His name will shine with luster, as to-day; But ask them how he 's helped his fellow-man Along the weary road— they can not say! He sees the glories of unmeasured space — But misses that found in the human race. man of science, though your studies deep Have made the secrets of the heavens plain, 1 am not envious. Your triumph keep. And count it, if you wish, unequaled gain; Your humible neighbor has a better plan — He finds the good points in his fellow-man! .41 THE SCOUT SHIP SPEAKS {The Yankton, the "scout-ship" of the U. S. fleet that circled the ilohe, slipped quietlj^ into Hampton Roads ahead of the war vessels.) GOD of War, I have done my work, I have plowed the Seven Seas; Now give me rest! For I 've need of rest, more than any of these. Grim they be, and full of strength, ready to fight their kind, But I have led them 'round the world — they have followed behind! Built for battle, they fought their way when waves were black with storm, They laughed at Neptune when he roared, their hearts with trust were warm. For I, the shuttle that weaves the web of safety 'round the fleet, Have done my work as it should be done, and now my task 's complete. Where they have done ten thousand miles, of thou- sands I 've done a score. Back and forth, by seas o'erwhelmed, courier-ship — and more — Watching and guiding, never at rest, I was the hand in the night To feel if the way were clear for them — their sense of touch and sight. 42 Racked and strained in every bolt, yet true to my inmost soul, I Ve led them home! Let Neptune rave, he has not levied toll! They ride to-day in the Roads, flag-trimmed, while I, at last am free To take my ease, my hard-earned ease, if you but grant it me! God of War, I have done my work, I have followed the Seven Seas; Now give me rest, for I Ve need of rest more than any of these; They ride at anchor at home, at last — peers of their fighting kind, But I have led them every mile, while they — they followed behind! 43 THE SOUL CAPTAINS nPHE Guardian of the Gate looked down and watched •^ them coming on, A close-knit rank of new-born souls treading the star- lit dawn, Shoulder to shoulder and step by step — sturdy as shades might be — And the Guardian of the Gate, perplexed, wondered whom he should see. "What souls are these?" he asked at last, "who hold their heads erect: Who bend no knee, whose eyes look up, — are they without respect?" The Captain lifted a steady hand, saluted and thus replied : *'We are the souls of the Men who Dared, — who lived with courage — and died ! ** We asked not why; we cared not why; we gave of our best in the fight; The bitter or sweet; the cruel or kind — each as he saw the Light: We did not wince when the whip-lash stung, but strove by the rules we knew, If you would have us on bended knee, none of us will go through." 44 The Guardian of the Gate, wide-eyed, nodded his haloed head. "This is the talk of the living," he said, "and not the speech of the dead." The Captain smiled. "We are dead, indeed — but habit is strong in the soul And the God we seek cares not to have men crawling to reach the Goal. **We lived and loved; we wrought and laughed; we did what was given to do. Not for rewards, and not through fright, but each to his standard true: That the Master within grants peace and joy to humans made good through fear We won't believe, and we can't believe — else why are we summoned here?" The Guardian opened the Gateway wide. "Enter!" was his command, "The depth and breadth of the Master's love at last ye may understand!" The Light of the Endless Peace shone down as he opened the judgment roll And found their names. They had earned their rest — Captains of heart and soul! 45 HE IS NOT DEAD L_IE is not dead! For Death can only claim * ■'■ Those who have lived their lives for self alone Or walked with Sin; and he whose very name We love, had naught for which death should atone. He is not dead! For when the sunlight fills The world, I see it in his happy face; The blue sky with his reawakening thrills, In every gentle breeze his voice I trace. "There is no God!" we cry, when, wrung with pain. Our hearts rebel, and eyes with tears are dim; Yet his own life was refutation plain — No one but God could have created him! He is not dead! The violets that were dear To him, shall tell us plainly that no death Can touch his soul, as each succeeding year They stir, to life renewed, in Nature's breath. Beneath a shelt'ring elm, upon a knoll. There rests, in flowers, the Garment that he wore; In sunlight, love, and peace, his calm, white soul Guides and protects those whom he loved before. The circle of his life was small, but bright — So golden were his deeds, his thoughts so rare, — And now it is a halo of God's light That any Angel would be proud to wear! 46 WHAT DARK DAYS DO 1 SORTER like a gloomy day, Th' kind that jest won't smile; It makes a feller hump hisself T' make life seem wuth while. When sun's a-shinin' an' th' sky Is washed out bright an' gay. It ain't no job to whistle — but It is — When skies air gray! So gloomy days air good fer us. They make us look about To find our blessin's — ^make us count The friends who never doubt. Most any one kin smile and joke And hold blue-devils back When it is bright, but we must work T' grin — When skies air black! That 's why I sorter like dark days. They put it up to me To keep th' gloom from soakin' in My whole anatomy! An if they never come along My soul would surely rust — Th' dark days keeps my cheerfulness From draggin' In th* dust! 47 MEETIN* TROUBLE TROUBLE in the distance seems all-fired big — Sorter makes you shiver when you look at it a-comin' ; Makes you wanter edge aside, er hide, er take a swig Of somethin' that is sure to set your worried head a-hummin'. Trouble in the distance is a mighty skeery feller — But wait until it reaches you afore you start to beller! Trouble standin' in th* road and frownin' at you, black. Makes you feel like takin' to the weeds along the way; Wish to goodness you could turn and hump yerself straight back; Know 't will be awful when he gets you close at bay! Trouble standin' in the road is bound to make you shy — But wait until it reaches you afore you start to cry! Trouble face to face with you ain't pleasant, but you '11 find That it ain't one-ha'f as big as fust it seemed to be ; Stand up straight and bluff it out! Say, **I gotter a mind To shake my fist and skeer you off — ^you do n't belong ter me!" Trouble face to face with you? Though you may n't feel gay, Laugh at it as if you wuz — and it '11 sneak away! 48 THE COURAGEOUS CLOVER BETWEEN the street car tracks up in the park A cheerful little clover rears its head And gossips with the bees that fly its way To rest, when they are over honey-fed. The grass grows there, but cowers to the ground Frightened and limp, when rumbling swiftly over The street cars pass; and dust-grimed, greasy trucks Knock to the earth the cheerful little clover. Its dainty head is battered ruthlessly, Its smiling face is soiled, day after day. But every time it bravely rights itself And greets the rising sun with laughter gay. What though the grease and grime drip from its leaves? What though it daily suffers untold pain? It knows the gentle rain will come once more, And freshen it into glad life again. I take my hat off to that little flower — It does n't talk, but ah, the lesson great It teaches, by the hopeful way it lives — A lesson that we often learn too late! Though circumstance has placed it where each day A juggernaut, relentless, passes by, Each morn it lifts its bruised but plucky head And, undefeated, smiles up at the sky! 49 THE BELIEVER A SONG to the man who says, "Old chap, *~* Your time is coming some day; Just keep on hoping and doing your best, For that is the only way!" Mayhap he is talking straight through his hat. Mayhap his words are not true. But, nevertheless, a health to the chap Who says he believes in you! Knockers are numerous nowadays, And flatterers seek their own ends; You scorn the first, and the second, you know. Are nothing but fair-weather friends. But the man who helps is the man who sticks. It matters not what you may do; He does n't talk much, but when you lose hope, He says, "I believe in you!" When the last race is run and you've won — or lost. He shares your triumph or pain. He presses your hand — or steadies it while The Cup of Defeat you drain. And when the End comes, I know there's a place Reserved with the Favored Few In Paradise, where he will get his reward — The Man Who Believes in You! 50 WHEN JUNE GETS HERE WHEN June gits here I cal'culate t' take A day or two, an' lay around th' farm, Jest listenin' to the birds an' bees an' things That work so hard — it won't do them no harm. I 'm goin' to loaf a few days of the year When June gits here! When June gits here Th' craps kin grow awhile Without me gittin' up afore daylight An' urgin' them to hump theirselves, I guess, Fer weeds do n't never need no help — that 's right ! Th' corn an' wheat won't have my hand to steer When June gits here! When June gits here. Seems like a man finds out That this here world was made fer work AND fun. An' that, ef he should quit work fer a spell Th' universe would manage, still, to run, It's true, although sometimes it may seem queer. When June gits here! 51 When June gits here, I '11 drap my hoe and hunt The shady side of that old creek an' fish An' dream, — an' eat, — an' sleep — an' be As lazy as a man like me could wish. Fer I am sure the Lord kin run this sphere- When June gits here! 52 AND I HAVE YOU IF you had never come into life — Had never let me look into your eyes, Reading therein the hope that never dies But glows resplendent through all bitter strife — Then I had never known what Faith can do-^ Had I not you! If you had never walked close by my side, And with those wondrous eyes, seen in my breast The tiny flame that I had never guessed Burned there, what little good I do, had died! You had such faith, you faltered not. You knew, — And I — had you! If you had never shown me life is just Living this day to-day — not far ahead; That love is best, when all is done and said. Then would I still be trudging through the dust. Lifting your own pure soul, you lift me, too, While I — ^have you! 53 SOMETIMES SOMETIMES I hesitate which road to take when walking out; Sometimes concerning rain or shine I entertain a doubt ; Sometimes I do n't know what to smoke, cigar or cigarette ; Sometimes I speak to many men I 'm not sure that I 've met. But when I have to buy a hat, My pocketbook decides all that! Sometimes I can't choose what to eat for breakfast or for lunch; Sometimes I like my joys spread out, and sometimes in a bunch; Sometimes I do n't know which to wear, my heavy coat or light; Sometimes I do n't know what to say, "Sublime!" or "Out of sight!" But when it comes to buying clothes My pocketbook knows what it knows! In short, I hesitate so much at times that it would seem I 'd hesitate to hesitate — I 'd dare not scheme to scheme ; It 's only when a question comes that has to do with cash That I can settle it off-hand, and still not be so rash ; For, from an empty pocketbook You only get one kind of look. 54 THE CALL OF THE MILD CAN I roll a cigarette if the paper 's damp with sweat? Can I roll and light and smoke it, with one hand? Can I take a bronc. and bust 'im till with babies you could trust 'im? Can I do it? You just bet — to beat the band! As a puncher I 'm a scream (so my bunkie lets me dream), I have herded cows for half a dozen years. But I'm tired of the prairie, — the darned, old sun-dried prairie — And I 'm sicker still of chambermaiding steers! So it's back, back, back Along the dear old track — I 'm going to hit the East Trail in the fall. Where there's something bright and new, (And a little music, too!) I hear the mild life calling and I '11 answer to the call! I took a fool degree at my college, but, you see. They thought I 'd shine some better in the West; So they shipped me off out here (and forgot me, never fear!) With the hope that I would "do my level best!" Did I do it? Well I did, though a soft and verdant kid, I 've learned the biz., with trimmings on the side. With a handy bunch of dough, I 'm going back to throw Some ginger into those who have n't died. 55 So it's hike, hike, hike Along the iron pike — I 'm going to hit the East Trail in the fall; With my "breezy. Western way" (That I 've paid for, day by day,) I hear the mild life calling and I '11 answer to the call! When I left 'em years ago, everything there was to know I was wise to (Little Johnny-on-the-Spot!) But I found that half I knew was n't useful, was n't true — For the West can always teach you quite a lot. Every man here plays the game on the level, just the same, (If he does n't, he 's not in it very long,) But the novelty is gone, and the years are trekking on — And I 'm thirsty for the Wine of Life and — ^Song! So it's back, back, back On the homeward track — I 'm going to hit the East Trail in the fall. And 1 wonder if SHE 'S still Unmarried? . . . If — she — ^will ... — I hear the mild life calling and I 'II answer to the call! 56 HOLD FAST WHEN you 're nearly drowned in troubles, and the world is dark as ink; When you feel yourself a sinking 'neath the strain. And you think, "I Ve got to holler 'Help*" just take another breath And pretend you've lost your voice — and can't complain ! (That's the idea!) Pretend you ' ve lost your voice and can't complain ! When the future glowers at you like a threatening thunder cloud, Just grit your teeth and bend your head and say: "It's dark and disagreeable and I can't help feeling blue. But there's coming sure as fate a brighter day!" (Say it slowly!) "But there's coming sure as fate, a brighter day!" You have bluffed your way through ticklish situations; that I know. You are looking back on troubles past and gone; Now, turn the tables, and as you have fought and won before. Just BLUFF YOURSELF to keep on holding on! (Try it once.) Just bluff YOURSELF to keep on — ^holding on. 57 Do n't worry if the roseate hues of Ufe are faded out, Bend low before the storm and wait awhile. The pendulum is bound to swing again and you will find That you have not forgotten how to smile. (That's the truth!) That you have not forgotten how to smile. 58 VALENTINES T MIGHT, of course, send violets by the score, dear, * (And stretch quite to the breaking point, my credit) In verses, tell the story o'er and o'er, dear — But " really" poets have much better said it. I might send candy, books or songs, I know. But all of these seem stupid commonplaces, I 'd rather be a kid again and show My love in gorgeous hearts and paper laces! "If you love me as I love you — " Is best of all, when it is true! You might disguise your hand and shyly send me A dainty volume, filled with sentiment, But that would not be yours! . . . Dear heart, just lend me The right to love you daily — I 'm content. Saint Valentine may do as a reminder For those who say, '* I love you " once a year; My love is blind, and daily growing blinder To special days — I love you ALL days, dear! " No knife can cut our love in two — " My Valentine for aye — that's you! 59 BRED IN THE BONE HE went to live in far Japan, where life is like a dream; Where cherry blossoms scent the air and care is dead, 't would seem; Where sweet wisterias climb the porch up to the tiny roof And fling their flowers to the air; where trouble holds aloof ; Where geisha girls and jinrickshas and fans and love and tea. Make up the life of ease he sought, from worldly troubles free. He went to live in far Japan, and there one day he bought A little doll-house for himself — at least that 's what he thought — And settled down to rest himself; the years of grinding work Had made him feel at last as if he 'd really like to shirk. The work he'd done had been so hard, so strenuous and strained That sometimes he had welcomed death. Now in his heart peace reigned. He went to live in far Japan, and for a year or more He was content to dream, and eat, and sleep upon the floor, 60 To wander through the countryside and watch the flowers bloom. To steep his soul in laziness, and banish earthly gloom. And then a sloe-eyed musmee came across his path one day, And love got in his clever work in just the same old way ! He went to live in far Japan, where people do not swear. And yet he swore she should be his, she was so young and fair; Ambition woke again, for him, and though she was content To marry him, and stay right there, back to the States he went To make a bigger fortune so that she might shine above The other musmees. . . . That 's the way we Occidentals love! 61 "JAYBIRD AIN'T NO SINGER" JAY-BIRD ain't no singer, But his clothes is gay; Flies up in er tree an' yells All de livelong day. Soun's des lahk a dorg-fight When he 'gins ter squawl, Othuh buhds dey stands aside — Lets him do it all! Jay-buhd ain't no ahtist — Dat don't bodder him! Finds er place to holler On de highes' limb. Prop he mouf wide open. Howl des lahk a cat; Thinks he 's doin* wondhers — Will you look at dat! Odder buhds don't lahk him, Dey des leave him be. Go erway and let him think He done bought dat tree! Ain't he lahk some folkses — (Find 'em Norf an' Souf)? Might mek people b'lieve in him- Ef he'd SHET HE MOUF! 62 AN ANSWER T WATCHED her lovely head bend low; '^ Her misty hair, so soft, so bright; I watched her color, warm and deep. And in her blushes took delight At last 1 said, "Give me your heart; You've stolen mine!" . . . She breathed a sigh — "Love me!" I cried, "Love me alone!" But all she answered was just " Y?" Closer I came and caught her hand; She laughed and slipped away from me. And down the rose-lined pathway ran, A fairy, sweet and fair to see. At last I found her, "Now," I cried, *' You can't escape, for I must know The man you love — his name, his name!'* But all she answered was just "O!" Into my arms I took the witch, (Deep in my heart she 'd reigned for years) : And kissed her lips, her red, red lips. Despite my doubts, my doubts and fears. "His name!" I cried again, "speak quick!" And then, somehow, I knew, I knew! ^ $ $ $ ^ ^ ^ Her answers spelled it out for me For tremblingly she whispered "U!" 63 Ill THROUGH YOUNGER EYES "MINDIN' BABY" MINDIN' baby ain't much fun When the other fellers say, *'Goin' ter have a game of ball; Do n't you wisht that you could play?" Then it seems like baby gets Jest so heavy I can't hold Her no more! Gee, do n't I wisht She would hurry and get old! Hafter «?et and see 'em go With my bat an' glove and ball Out into the alley, where I kin hear 'em laugh an' call.- Mindin' baby ain't much fun When you wan ter play, by gee! Still — I guess when I was small Some one had ter care fer me. When I think of that I jest Pick her up and make her smile; Poke my fingers in her cheeks — Brings a dimple after while. Then she puts her leetle arms Tight around my neck an* tries To explain it ain't HER fault — Looks so pleadin* with her eyes! 67 Mindin' baby ain't much fun Fer a lively boy, you bet, When he'd ruther play baseball With the other boys — and yet When she coos and pats my cheeks, I jest can't keep bein' mad. When she loves me that a-way, Mindin' baby ain't so bad! 68 COMPENSATION (the little invalid's confession) MY Head hurts orful bad, and when I lay- Flat down in bed, and see the birds and sky, I wisht that I could run out doors and play — Or leave my body here and fly — and fly! I gotter pain 'most every place what is, And when I try to set up, somethin' goes Jest like a pin-wheel in my head — sizz! — sizz! — And I kin feel it clear down to my toes. Yet bein' sick is not so bad, someways — Nobody has said, "Do n't!" to me for days! Ma moves around the room jest like an elf. Till sometimes I don't know she's really there; And then I tell long stories to myself Until she comes and smooths my cheeks and hair. **What is it, dear?" she asks me, soft and low, And then I ketch her hand and kiss it — quick — And tell her I don't 'member — or don't know. What makes her turn so fast and look away? She 's never once said, ** Do n't!" to me to-day! The doctor telled her some day I 'd be well, And said that I was -good to lay so still; He ain't that pleasant always; I kin tell That ma has ast him if I " truly will,'* 69 And so, when I hurt worse — ^sometimes I do — I do n't say so to her — 't would make her get Discouraged with me, and feel awful blue; So I jest keep my mouth and eyes tight shet. Ma is so good to me! She has n't said "Do n't I" to me once since they put me to bed! 70 THE NEW OVERCOAT IGOTTER overcoat, I have! A real one, an' brand new. My ma, she buyed it at a store; it's color is dark blue, An' it's got buttons made of gold, 'at shine jest like th' sun 'N I can wear it every day. O, gee! But I have fun! Ma got it all fer me — and it Ain't brother Bob's '*cut down to fit." I gotter overcoat, I have. It 's warm as any toast, I wear it when I go to school, and when I skate or coast; 'N all the other boys, they say, *'0, lookee, here » comes Jim — He 's gotter overcoat that fits — it must feel strange to him!" For it 's the first one, do n't you see, Bought 'specially an' jest for me. I gotter overcoat, I have! When ma sends me to bed I take it, too, an' lay it on th' piller by my head. So when I wake I can reach out an' touch it with my hand. An' know it was n't jest a dream — that makes a boy feel grand! The boys at school can't say THIS coat Is old enough to walk or vote! 71 I gotter overcoat, I have; an' when I get t' be A man and marry Bessie Jones, my children — ^you will see — Won't hafter wear each other's clothes. Most ev'ry week I '11 say "Go buy yourselves jest what you want — throw those ol' things away!" I bet they'll think I 'm awful good — If pa said that to me, I would! 72 THE DANCING SCHOOL |N ev'ry Friday afternoon my ma makes it a rule To dress me up and send me off to this old dancing school, Where ev'ry girl I ever knew, and some I do n't, get's smart And giggles when I try to waltz, or learn the steps by heart. I wish the folks that like it so Would come and dance — and let me go! I never asked to come up here; I hate it, yes, sireel And what 's the good of doing it, no one can make me see; It 's well enough for sissy boys and little girls, I guess That like to laugh and talk a lot, and comb their hair and dress. But boys as big as I am, know There 's heaps more fun in playing "show." Most ev'ry girl that I **invite" knows that I 'splse to dance; I step upon their feet and knock their knees, they say, and— PRANCE; And when I make my bow to them, sometimes I slip and fall, And then the whole room laughs at me, but I do n't care at all. Some day the teacher '11 put me out And when she does, O, won't I shout! 73 There ain't a boy goes to this school that I can't lick, I know, For all they think of is their steps, and how to two- step slow. And then — and then, the only girl that does n't laugh at me Can't come at all, although she's just as nice as she can be. She's lame for life, I heard ma say — But she's the NICEST, anyway! 74 THE GROWING GIRL I'M not a little bit of girl no more. An* do n't talk baby- talk like I did when I had to have nurse put on all I wore — I 'm never goin' to be small again. I 've got a teeth that's loose — a baby teeth. That I can wiggle jest as easy — see? An' there's a new one coming underneath That will be jest as white as it can be! An' I am growing so that mamma says She just can't keep me in nice-lookin' clothes; An' Uncle Bob said, ''There's other ways — Jest buy her rubber skirts, and waists, and hose;" He uster to make me cry, he teased me so. But now I know he meant it just in fun. He takes me walking now, he "likes to go With grown-up folks," he says — an' I am one! I know I 'm getting big, but that ain't all — When company comes to dinner, they can see That I am growing old as well as tall. An' none of them talk baby-talk to me. The chair I sit in is jest like the rest Although my feet do n't reach down to the floor. Of all the nice things, this I think 's the best — I do n't sit in a high chair any more! 75 THE BUSY HANDY MAN MY pa*s an awful busy handy man about th' house; He 's got a chest o' tools that he won't never let me touch; An' when ma tells him something's broke, pa jumps right up and says, **I '11 git to work and fix it now — it won't amount to much." An* when he takes his plane an' savv^, an' puts on his old clothes An' rolls his shirt sleeves 'way, far up — I tell you, my pa knows The way a thing should be repaired, an' he will plan and plan — I 'm proud as I can be that pa is such a handy man I Last week he fixed a table that had lost its right hind leg; He took it to the kitchen, an' he sawed an' ham- mered till He jarred the plaster off the wall — at least cook said he did — An' let me stay to watch him, pervid-ed I kept still. It was n't very pretty when he got it done, I know, But pa, he ain't responsible, when furnishure acts so — So when it would n't stand alone, ma says, " I guess I can Make use of it for kindling wood!" Ain't pa a handy man? 76 But yistiddy he fixed two chairs, a window an' a door. An' broke his saw an' bust his thumb, an' my, but he was mad! An' then he went to fix the lock, but said he guessed he'd stop, Cause ma would not encourage him — an' then he looked real sad. When he had gone, ma shook her head, an' says, "John, run an' get The carpenter down street, an' we will have things fixed right yet," An' when pa came back home at night, 't was done! Then he began To ask ma if she was n't glad he was a handy man? 11 THE LETTER TO SANTA CLAUS 1WRITED a letter to Santa Claus and give it to ma to read, And when she was through she laughs and says, "My darling, you do not need Half of the things you have put down here — ^had n't you better do It over again before we send it on up the chimbley flue?'* She ast me that, but I 'm sure she knows (As well as a mother can) That Santa Claus is what pa calls A very lib-er-ul man. And when we send him our letters each year, the biggest things always lead; We ask for the things that we want, we do, and not for the things we need! I writed that letter to Santa Claus, and writed it plain as I could; I asked for an ottormobile and a dog, and a tent and some scroll-saw wood; A 'lectric car and a pony cart, like Jimmy Jones got last year; A gun and a ring and a sled — and some skates, and two of his best reindeer. When pa read my letter over he says, "Are you sure you have n't forgot Something you want? There 's no request In this for a house and lot! 78 I feel kinder sorry for Santa Claus and his ever-willing steed — You 've asked for the things you want, that 's plain — and not for the things you need!" Then I writed another to Santa and said, **The list that 1 jest now sent May be too big, my father says — at least that is what he meant; So if you are poor and have n't enough to go around, just leave out The skates — 1 have got three old pair here, and they will last no doubt." I showed it to pa, and he says, "My son That 's truly kind of you; Santa appreciates unselfish boys — And I fear there are very few." Then he smiled at ma, and she says, "Never mind; he is a good man, indeed; He '11 bring you this year the things you want — and next year the things you need!" 79 THE BABY AND THE BURGLAR (with variations) ONE nigKt I woked up quick — I 'd Keard a sound Like some one moving through our downstairs hall. It was too late for folks to be around And so I thought at first I 'd better call — But then I 'membered 'bout a book I read Of how a girl had gone downstairs one night And found a burglar there, and what they said — And after that the burglar 'haved all right! So I got up and tiptoed down the stairs And there he was! A really burglar-man! He had our silver piled up on the chairs Out in the dining-room, so I began: *'0, Mr. Burglar, please do n't make a noise. My mamma 's got a headache, and she 'd be Most scared to death — ^you can have all my toys If you '11 just stay down on this floor with me!'* He sort of jumped when he first heard me speak. And then he grumbled, '* Blame the sassy kid!'* And when he grabbed me up, I kissed his cheek — (But still he did n't ACT as if I did!) For he just tied me in my little chair And stuffed a napkin in my mouth and said, "You should n't butt in — after this, take care! You can't believe the stories that you 've read." $ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 80 Our cook, Miranda, found me there asleep, When she came down next morning. O, dear me But I was tired! After this I '11 keep Still in my bed — and let the burglars be! 81 THE LITTLE FELLOW I AIN'T afraid to lay here in the dark And listen to the hall clock tickin' slow; I ain't afraid to hear that old mouse run And gnaw the wall — he can't get out, I know. I ain't afraid to shut my eyes an' hold Them tight. But I just can't help feeling queer; I get so lonesome, ma, I 'd like to cry — I would n't feel so bad if you was here! I like to hear you laughing on the porch. And always when my pa smokes a cigar I get a little smell of it up here — And that's the way I know just where you are. He 's sittin' in the corner, where it 's dark, And you are close beside him — just as near As I would get to you if you would come — I would n't feel so bad if you was here! Of course, I know I 'm just a little boy And have to sleep a lot, so I will grow Into a great big man, like pa is now — But sometimes it is awful hard to go! I like to hear you talk, and I could be Lots quieter than you think I could, O dear! I wish, ma, that you'd married oid^ me — I would n't feel so bad if you was here! 82 APR 15 1912 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLEaiONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS lllliiilllii 018 603 263 9 ^

15020147

The quiet courage, and other songs of the unafraid,

Appleton, Everard Jack

quietcourageothe00appl_djvu.txt

[^■^^ PS Class faiyrightN" / j IS COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr ■JWP ^ THE QUIET COURAGE AND OTHER SONGS OF THE UNAFRAID BY EVERARD JACK APPLETON STEWART & KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS ... - CINCINNATI COPYRIGHT. 1912. BY STEWART & KIDD COMPANY COPYRIGHT. 1915. BY STEWART & KIDD COMPANY All rights reserved COPYRIGHT IN ENGLAND Y'o'^ First Impression, October, 1912 Second Impression, September. 1915 nri -41915 C|.A41i835 „ ^ i ^O the men who understand ? JL — or think the^ do, J These songs originally appeared in Ains- lee's, The Ladies' Home Journal, Good Housekeeping, the Cincinnati Times- Star, the Cincinnati Commer- cial Tribune, and the Ob server. The author wishes to thank the publishers for their permission to reprint the verses in the present form. FOREWORD 'T'HE generous reception given the first edition of this Httle book has en- couraged the author and the pubhshers to add to the second edition a few more Songs, with the hope that these, too, may prove helpful and pleasing to the uncritical reader. The Author August, 1915 CONTENTS The Quiet Courage, __-_-- 11 Steadfast, 12 Unafraid, -------- Ij A Christmas Prayer, ------ 14 The Woman Who Understands, - - - - 15 My Love in the Garden, ----- 1/ You, --------- IS The Christ Day, ------- 20 Best of All. - - - - - - . - - 21 Till Then, -------- 22 The Mother Faith, ------- 23 The Gray Day, ------- ^4 Day by Day, -------- ZO The Fighting Failure, ------ 29 The Way of the Man. ------ 31 The One, -------- oo Ambition, -------- ^35 The Driver, -_--__- Jt) The Legacy, -------- oo The Two, -------- o9 The Astronomer, -------41 The Scout Ship Speaks, ----- 42 The Soul Captains, - - - - -- -44 He is Not Dead, - - . - . - 46 What Dark Days Do, 47 Meeting Trouble, ------ 48 7 The Courageous Clover, - - - - - - 49 The Believer, ._----- 50 When June Gets Here, - - - ~ - - 51 And I Have You, _----- 53 Sometimes, --------54 The Call of the Mild, 55 Hold Fast, 57 Valentines, ._-_--_ 59 Bred in the Bone, -------60 " Jaybird Ain't No Singer," ----- 62 An Answer, --------63 "Mindin' Baby." 67 Compensation, -------69 The New Overcoat, ------ 71 The Dancing School, ------ 73 The Growing Girl, ------ 75 The Busy Handy Man, - - - - - - 76 The Letter to Santa Claus, ----- 78 The Baby and the Burglar, - - - - - 80 The Little Fellow, ------ 82 Forever, ----«--- 85 Out of the Sun, ------- 86 Dear Heart-o'-Mine, - - - - - - 88 When Spring Came, - - - " - - 89 The Cave Man's Valentine, - - - - - 90 The Soap Box Garden, ----- 92 The Rose and the Dinner Pail, - - • - - 94 The Test, 96 He Didn't Like Dogs, 98 THE QUIET COURAGE THE QUIET COURAGE WITH gentle patience that no man might boast She does her daily task, year after year. Meeting her worries as they come, she waits — In her brave smile there is no sign of fear. Putting behind her each white, little ghost Of longings that were once so dear, so dear. She lives her life to-day — to-day and here! Not always speed those days on happy wings. Not always from her heart trills out a song; Sometimes it trembles on the tender lips. Yet in the brave eyes courage lingers long. Seeing — and understanding — still she sings Nor feels that life has been all sad, all wrong — To her a wondrous faith and strength belong. Perhaps some day, the one who knows her best Will know how through the storm and stress and strife She stood steadfast through troubles multiplied. When every day dull doubt and pain were rife. Smothering all within her faithful breast When he had turned his back on hope, on life — She showed the quiet courage of a wife! 11 STEADFAST IF I can help another bear an ill By bearing mine with somewhat of good grace — Can take Fate's thrusts with not too long a face And help him through his trials, then I WILL! For do not braver men than I decline To bow to troubles graver, far, than mine? Pain twists this body? Yes, but it shall not Distort my soul, by all the gods that be! And when it 's done its worst, Pain's victory Shall be an empty one! Whate'er my lot. My banner, ragged, but nailed to the mast. Shall fly triumphant to the very last! Others so much worse off than I have fought; Have smiled — have met defeat with unbent head They shame me into following where they led. Can I ignore the lesson they have taught? Strike hands with me! Dark is the way we go. But souls-courageous line it — that I know! 12 UNAFRAID T HAVE no fear. What is in store for me * Shall find me ready for it, undismayed. God grant my only cowardice may be Afraid — to be afraid! 13 A CHRISTMAS PRAYER ON this glad day God grant that we may find The good which we have missed in other men; To their small faults and errors make us blind, Show us the way to help them — not condemn. Give us the grace to realize that we Are not from imperfections wholly free. Grant that we cheer each other on the way When it seems dark and Doubt would question *'Whyy' Help us to find contentment day by day To live with courage — and fear not to die, Give us a strong man's strength to fight — and then A child's pure heart for evermore! Amen. 14 THE WOMAN WHO UNDERSTANDS Somewhere she waits to make ^ou win, ^our soul in her firm, w^hite hands — Somew^here the gods have made for j^ou, the Woman Who Understands ! AS the tide went out she found him '^*' Lashed to a spar of Despair, ^ The wreck of his Ship around him — The wreck of his Dreams in the air; Found him and loved him and gathered The soul of him close to her heart— ^ The soul that had sailed an uncharted sea. The soul that had sought to win and be free — The soul of which she was part! And there in the dusk she cried to the man, "Win your battle — you can, you can!" Broken by Fate, unrelenting. Scarred by the lashings of Chance; Bitter his heart — unrepenting — Hardened by Circumstance; Shadowed by Failure ever. Cursing, he would have died. But the touch of her hand, her strong warm hand. And her love of his soul, took full command. Just at the turn of the tide! Standing beside him, filled with trust, **Win!'* she whispered, **you must, you must!" 15 Helping and loving and guiding, Urging when that were best. Holding her fears in hiding Deep in her quiet breast; This is the woman who kept him True to his standards lost. When, tossed in the storm and stress of strife. He thought himself through with the game of life And ready to pay the cost. Watching and guarding, whispering still, "Win you can — and you will, you will!*' This IS the story of ages. This is the Woman's way; Wiser than seers or sages. Lifting us day by day; Facing all things with a courage Nothing can daunt or dim, Treading Life's path, wherever it leads — Lined with flowers or choked with weeds. But ever with him — ^with him! Guidon — comrade — golden spur — The men who win are helped by her! Somewhere she waits, strong in belief, ^our soul in her firm, white hands: Thank well the gods, when she comes to ^ou — the Woman Who Understands! 16 MY LOVE IN THE GARDEN TT IS n't the robins' coming ■*■ That makes the spring seem near. It is n't the brown bees' humming The soft air, sweet and clear, It is n't the violets' blooming. The buds on the dogwood tree, It 's just my love in the garden Singing a song for me! It is n't the roar and rattle Of strife that does not cease; It is n't the daily battle That will not give me peace. It is n't the fame or fortune That urges me endlessly. It 's just my love in the garden Singing a song for me! When I have finished the task, dear. When all of the work is through. For heav'n I will not ask, dear. But only for you, for you. There 's joy in the thought of resting Under the tulip tree, With just my love in the garden Singing a song for me! 17 YOU GIVE me your hand ... I have need of it now. Need as never before. For the strength that was mine is utterly gone — A part of my hfe no more! I have walked through the valley of Dead Desires Tasting the dregs of despair; I have sought for a sign that should give me peace. Sought, — but it was not there. For some, there is Faith that illumines the Path For some, there is hope, ever strong; But the touch of your hand is the need of me now — The sound of your voice in song! Shaken and numb is the soul of me, yet It shall triumph, if yours be true. Brain and hands shall create and build But only for you! for you. And even that apple of dust. Success, Shall come, if that is your will. Give me your hand, — with the song on your lips, — And the ache in my heart is still! All that is worthy In me, is yours — What if my dreams be dead? Fires of faith still burn in your heart. Unbowed is your regal head. 18 Only your love and the light in your eyes Can save me from self-defeat. I am done with the Game . , . but your calm, white soul Shames mine when I think of retreat! Give me your hand . . . And the strength that is there Shall waken my own anew, — I can force the fight and win, by the gods! But not for myself — for You! 19 THE CHRIST DAY THE Christ Day dawns — that clear, white day of days When Love unfolds within the soul those flowers That set the heart to singing songs of praise For happy moments and for useful hours — This is the day we cross the threshold where Love, and the joy of childhood fill the air! If I have wrung with pain no woman's heart; Have caused no little one to shrink. If men Doubt not my earnest will to do my part And bear my burdens with some courage — then Let me draw near! I Ve won my right to share the Christmas cheer! 20 BEST OF ALL SO like a rose, her cheeks, her dimpled chin; So hke a Kly white, her forehead fair. So hke the poppies red, her perfect hps. So hke the mist at dawn, her filmy hair. So like the very sweetest flowers that blow. Love is her natural heritage, I know! So like the whispering wind, her thrilling voice Sweeping my heart strings, lighting love's white fire. So like two star-born violets her eyes That look into my soul and see — desire. So like a graceful goddess, set to song. Love is her right, withholding it were wrong! So like a Princess, gracious, dignified, From useless pomp and ceremony freed. So like a Queen, crowned with her loveliness. Her soft, strong hands no golden scepter need. Who could not love her, be he Prince or churl? For best of all, she is so like — a girl! 21 TILL THEN •T-HEN this Is all? . . . A The way we came no longer glows With daffodils; no more the robins call. Beside the path there blooms no sweet wild rose. To see what lies ahead, I dare not try; . — ^Sweetheart, good-bye! Yours was the choice . Within your hands, so quick to give. Life's balance trembled once. Do you rejoice That, broken on Fate's Wheel, to-day I live. Still loving — still unworthy, though I try? — ^Sweetheart, good-bye! Somewhere, some day . . . The darkened way will lightened be. I know — I do not hope, nor wish, nor pray But wait — for what is mine must come to me. Then — happiness! . . . Until there dawns the Light. — ^Sweetheart, good-night ! 22 THE MOTHER FAITH YOURS were the hands that held me first of ail. Yours were the Ups that taught mine own to smile. Yours were the eyes that watched my every step. And yours the heart that showed me Love worth while ; Whatever good men see, in part or whole. Is but the dear reflection of your soul! When others laughed at all my dreams, you held Those dreams — and me — close to your loving breast. Giving me strength to try, and when I failed, Your faith alone stood firm above the rest. For you believed some day I would succeed — The finest spur that any man could need! And so, to-day, though far from what I Ve sought. The goal unreached, the prize as yet unwon. Your hands still hold on high Belief and Trust, As once they held my baby self — ^your son. $ $ ^ ^ ^ $ ^ The Mother-Faith knows naught of doubt or fear. But goes serenely on, year after year! 23 THE GRAY DAY RAIN, and the mist, and lowering skies. An opaque haze that will not lift; And yet I remember her wondrous eyes. Her velvet eyes, in which love lies. As into the past my dream-boats drift. So, what if the rain falls ceaselessly? My heart can sing of that memory! The damp leaves shiver, the great trees nod In the silent wood, where the wet winds sigh; And yet I remember the paths we trod. Together we trod, on the sunlit sod. In the past that is ours, my love and I. So what if the skies are dark as night? There were other days that she made bright ! The twilight comes ere ever the sun Has pierced the gloom of the clouds that cling; Yet I remember her smile, that won Me back to hope when I thought life done — That wonderful, sun-filled day in spring. So, why should I care for a day that is gray — When memory holds that day, alway? 24 DAY BY DAY GIVE me my tithe of strength to walk the way. By practice, not by tinkling platitudes, to show A steadfastness that, growing day by day. Helps others, and the inner-me, to grow; A sturdy will, before my course is run. To see beyond the shadowings, the sun! Who does not sometimes feel life not worth while. Or curse the fight that wearies brain and soul. Is dead indeed! . . , Those triumph most who smile When mists of doubt obscure the Final Goal. Then give us strength, when in the valley's gloom. To note that on the hills the flowers bloom! Again, and yet again, my work will fail To measure to the simple standard set; Despite resolves, the calmest soul must quail And care so little, it grows numb. . . . And yet Grant me, with other things, one touch of mirth — And I will make my heaven here on earth! 25 II MAN VERSE THE FIGHTING FAILURE HE has come the way of the fighting men, and fought by the rules of the Game, And out of Life he has gathered — What? A Hving, — and little faine, Ever and ever the Goal looms near, — seeming each time worth while; But ever it proves a mirage fair — ever the grim gods smile. And so, with lips hard set and white, he buries the hope that is gone, — His fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting on. Out of the smoke of the battle-line watching men win their way, And, cheering with those who cheer success, he enters again the fray, Licking the blood and the dust from his lips, wiping the sweat from his eyes, He does the work he is set to do — and * * therein honor lies." Brave they were, these men he cheered, — theirs is the winners' thrill; His fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting still. And those who won, have rest and peace; and those who died have more; But, weary and spent, he can not stop seeking the ultimate score; 29 Courage was theirs for a little time, — ^but what of the man who sees That he must lose, yet will not beg for mercy upon his knees? Side by side with grim Defeat, he struggles at dusk or dawn, — His fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting on. Praise for the warriors who succeed, and tears for the vanquished dead; The world will hold them close to her heart, wreathing each honored head. But there in the ranks, soul-sick, time-tried, he battles against the odds, Sans hope, but true to his colors torn, the plaything of the gods! Uncover when he goes by, at last! Held to his task by will The fight is lost — and he knows it is lost — and yet he is fighting still! 30 THE WAY OF THE MAN From the singin' hell of the fightin' top, to the stokers' hell below, We hear th' news, the sorrow^ful news : " Xh* iightin' man must go!'* WHEN earth was new and life was true, And men went brown and bare, They fought on land, and they killed by hand, — Their scrappin' was on the square. *T was blow for blow, with never a show Of bands or banners unfurled. And th* strong men lived ^whilst th' weak ones died — For that was th' way of the world. (And it war n't so bad, when you stop to think, Fer the health of a bran' new world!) As th' ages passed, man learnt, at last. The value of strategy, And he fought his fight with skill, not might. Whether on land or sea. It was swing and smash, — a stab and a gash In th' back, — if a back was near — Yet th' ** rules" of the game was jest th' same; T' lose was his only fear. (Th' man who fights ain't thinkin' of rules — T' lose is his only fear!) 31 Then th' Twelve-inch came "to silence th' name Of War, that belongs to th' Past/* But th* armor-plate growed thicker than hate. An' th' smokeless follored fast. Bigger and better they built their guns. And bigger th' warships gray. Till they measured their strength by weight and length. And not by the men — not they! (Peacefully fightin' their wars, at home. But not with th' men — not they!) And now they swear that up in th' air The nations will settle their scores; So it 's ** Good-bye, lad," to th' ironclad, **So long!" to the black 12-bores. **The airship fleet will never meet Save only to arbitrate. For war is done, as it should be done!" Mebbe it is . . . But wait! (For somethin' tells me it ain't QUITE through As long as two men can hate!) So this is th* wa^ I fi^^er it out: Man is a savage still: He likes to eat and he likes to love — but better than all, t' KILL. I 32 THE ONE T KNEW his face the moment that he passed ■■• Triumphant in the thoughtless, cruel throng, — Triumphant, though the quiet, tired eyes Showed that his soul had suffered overlong. And though across his brow faint lines of care Were etched, somewhat of Youth still lingered there. I gently touched his arm — he smiled at me — He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! Where I had failed, he 'd won from life. Success; Where I had stumbled, with sure feet he stood; Alike — yet unalike — we faced the world, And through the stress he found that life was good. And I? The bitter wormwood in the glass. The shadowed way along which failures pass! Yet as I saw him thus, joy came to me — He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! I knew him! And I knew he knew me for The man HE might have been. Then did his soul Thank silently the gods that gave him strength To win, while I so sorely missed the goal? He turned, and quickly in his own firm hand He took my own — the gulf of Failure spanned, . . . And that was all — strong, self-reliant, free, He was the Man that Once I Meant to Be! 33 We did not speak. But in his sapient eyes I saw the spirit that had urged him on, The courage that had held him through the fight Had once been mine, I thought, **Can it be gone?' He felt that unasked question — felt it so His pale lips formed the one- word answer, **No!" ^ ^ :^ ^ ^ ^ Too late to win? No! Not too late for me — He is the Man that Still I Mean to Be! 34 AMBITION I'D like to be a scientist For just a little while; I 'd search until I found the germ That makes a human smile. And when I 'd found it, I would get A law passed, broad and firm, Whereby the world should be inoc- ulated with that germ. And when the world was all a smile, I 'd earn uncounted wealth By finding one more bacilli — The Microbe of Good Health! 35 THE DRIVER This is the song of the man who drives his 'plane through the silent night, Whose fear is dead, whose fate is sealed, ere ever he starts his fUght! THERE'S seven seas that 's charted, but there 's one that will not be, (O, what 's the use of knowin' things, unless you know *em all?) There 's eighty billion stars, accordin' to As-tron-o- mee — But what 's the use of namin' 'em — if there is more to fall? With my hand upon the lever, And my eyes upon the gauge, I gotter drive this 'p^^^^ ^^^ night To reach the landin' stage. The air is boilin' ugly, though th' engine 's running strong ; But the boss won't know what 's happened, if anything goes wrong! **It takes a nerve that's steady and an eye that 's clear,'* they say! (O, what 's the good of knowin' things that 's mostly guff and guess?) It takes a nerve that's reckless, and an eye, blind in th' day, To operate a 'plane at night — and not land in a mess ! 36 With the outcome, if I blunder, I Ve nothin* much to do; They *11 bury what they find of me — And of the others, tool Zing! I nearly clipped his rudder. . . . Hear his siren curse and drool, I wonder if he thinks he owns this streak of air, the fool ! There 's the Night MaiFs hum above me and th* French Express below (O, 3^ou get to know the tunes they sing while learnin' how to drive!) There 's a wrecking storm ahead of us — my indicators show — And there 's goin* to be some trouble in Strata Number Five! The game is full of trouble, And the end is hard and short; But the Lord do n't like a quitter Accordin* to report! So I try to keep her steady, and you'll hear my engine hum Till some night I miss the current — and wake up in Kingdom Come! JRor this is the song of the man who drives b^ night through the Sea of Air, Whose fears are dead as the moon itself, whose watch- word is ; " / dare. '* 37 THE LEGACY T HAVE looked my last on joyous youth; days of «■ the white dreams gone. But I purpose to walk the rest of the way with never a longing thought; Courage is not of an age nor a time — ever it struggles on. Growing in strength and building true on all that the past has wrought. Then Courage shall go the way with me — An heritage — and my legacy! I have striven, in vain, for the greater things; for goals that my youth desired. Hotly following will-o*-the-wisps, born of Fire of Hope; But now, in the cool of the quieter day, what if the soul be tired? Courage will help defeat the ills with which I have yet to cope. Stripped of my youth, I still may find Help in the years I have left behind. Leaving the course to the swift and sure, through by-ways I will fare, Hearing at times the joyous call of the runners upon their way. Learning, though late, to know the flowers, learning at last to care For the birds that sing, and the stars at night— the sun-filled, wind-swept day! Learning that Youth may leave in its place A Courage that bears a smiling face. THE TWO NOW, if aught be true, then this holds true — The man who dares is a Flame: , Setting the blood in our veins afire. Lighting the blaze of the Great Desire — Burning his way to Fame. Yet the man who keeps the ground he wins. Though his words be calm and his pace be slow- The man who sees that the Jest begins Where the Tragedy ends — he is good to know- Few are there better than he to know! The man who dares cuts a furrow wide: He sows on a broad-cast scale And cradles the crops on the uplands high. Where others may note him, against the sky — But what of the grain in the vale? He knows no law but his ov/n, self-made. That daily he bends to his feverish will, — A meteor flashing past worlds more staid, — But the North Star guides the mariner still Steadfast and true it guides men still I The meteor-man is ever blind To aught but his will to win. Through the choking smother of battle-mist He glimpses the world — but it*s all a- twist And wallowing deep in sinl 39 While a little way off, with courage calm The other fights on, in his quieter way. Steadfast his brain and strong is his arm At finish as well as start of the fray — And he holds all he wins in the fray I 40 THE ASTRONOMER LJE goes through life discovering new spheres- ■'■ ^ Computing distances between the stars; His name on every Up the world now hears — And yet there is one thing his triumph mars; He lives so much above the world that he Its ordinary beauties can not see. Grave scientists aver that through life's span His name will shine with luster, as to-day; But ask them how he *s helped his fellow-man Along the weary road — they can not say! He sees the glories of unmeasured space — But misses that found in the human race. man of science, though your studies deep Have made the secrets of the heavens plain, 1 am not envious. Your triumph keep. And count it, if you wish, unequaled gain; Your humble neighbor has a better plan — He finds the good points in his fellow-man! 41 THE SCOUT SHIP SPEAKS (The Yankton, the *^ scout- ship'' of the U. S. fleet that circled the 0ohe, slipped quietly into Hampton Roads ahead of the Tvar vessels.) GOD of War, I have done my work, I have plowed the Seven Seas; Now give me rest! For I 've need of rest, more than any of these. Grim they be, and full of strength, ready to fight their kind. But I have led them *round the world — they have followed behind! Built for battle, they fought their way when waves were black with storm, They laughed at Neptune when he roared, their hearts with trust were warm. For I, the shuttle that weaves the web of safety Vound the fleet, Have done my work as it should be done, and now my task *s complete. Where they have done ten thousand miles, of thou- sands I Ve done a score. Back and forth, by seas o'erwhelmed, courier-ship — and more — Watching and guiding, never at rest, I was the hand in the night To feel if the way were clear for them — their sense of touch and sight. 42 Racked and strained in every bolt, yet true to my inmost soul, I 've led them home! Let Neptune rave, he has not levied toll! They ride to-day in the Roads, flag-trimmed, while I, at last am free To take my ease, my hard-earned ease, if you but grant it me! God of War, I have done my work, I have followed the Seven Seas; Now give me rest, for I Ve need of rest more than any of these; They ride at anchor at home, at last — peers of their fighting kind. But I have led them every mile, while they — they followed behind! 43 THE SOUL CAPTAINS T^HE Guardian of the Gate looked down and watched •■• them coming on, A close-knit rank of new-born souls treading the star- lit dawn, Shoulder to shoulder and step by step — sturdy as shades might be — And the Guardian of the Gate, perplexed, wondered whom he should see. "What souls are these?'* he asked at last, "who hold their heads erect: Who bend no knee, whose eyes look up, — are they without respect?'* The Captain lifted a steady hand, saluted and thus replied : **We are the souls of the Men who Dared, — who lived with courage — and died! "We asked not why; we cared not why; we gave of our best in the fight; The bitter or sweet; the cruel or kind — each as he saw the Light: We did not wince when the whip-lash stung, but strove by the rules we knew. If you would have us on bended knee, none of us will go through." 44 The Guardian of the Gate, wide-eyed, nodded his haloed head. **This is the talk of the living," he said, "and not the speech of the dead." The Captain smiled. '*We are dead, indeed — but habit is strong in the soul And the God we seek cares not to have men crawling to reach the Goal. **We lived and loved; we wrought and laughed; we did what was given to do. Not for rewards, and not through fright, but each to his standard true: That the Master within grants peace and joy to humans made good through fear We won't believe, and we can't believe — else why are we summoned here?" The Guardian opened the Gateway wide. "Enter!" was his command, "The depth and breadth of the Master's love at last ye may understand!" The Light of the Endless Peace shone down as he opened the judgment roll And found their names. They had earned their rest — Captains of heart and soul! 45 »aiBi^8g ^»LU l iJU-» !g»iPa W.J I JVJlJJJlJ»-_ll]l,i|lJiJ!l> l .t-gJ'M»li^iJB t j»llllJJlLla«aiM)L ^ HE IS NOT DEAD LJE IS not dead! For Death can only claim * * Those who have lived their lives for self alone Or walked with Sin; and he whose very name We love, had naught for which death should atone« He IS not dead! For when the sunlight fills The world, I see it in his happy face; The blue sky with his reawakening thrills. In every gentle breeze his voice I trace. **There is no God!" we cry, when, wrung with pain. Our hearts rebel, and eyes with tears are dim; Yet his own life was refutation plain — No one but God could have created him! He IS not dead! The violets that were dear To him, shall tell us plainly that no death Can touch his soul, as each succeeding year They stir, to life renewed, in Nature's breath. Beneath a sheltering elm, upon a knoll. There rests, in flowers, the Garment that he wore; In sunlight, love, and peace, his calm, white soul Guides and protects those whom he loved before. The circle of his life v/as small, but bright — So golden were his deeds, his thoughts so rare, — And now it is a halo of God's light That any Angel would be proud to wear! 46 WHAT DARK DAYS DO 1 SORTER like a gloomy day, Th' kind that jest won't smile; It makes a feller hump hisself T' make life seem wuth while. When sun*s a-shinin' an' th' sky Is washed out bright an' gay. It ain't no job to whistle — but It is — When skies air gray! So gloomy days air good fer us. They make us look about To find our blessin's — make us count The friends who never doubt. Most any one kin smile and joke And hold blue-devils back When it is bright, but we must work T' grin — When skies air black! That 's why I sorter like dark days. They put it up to me To keep th' gloom from soakin' in My whole anatomy! An' if they never come along My soul would surely rust — Th' dark days keeps my cheerfulness From draggin' In th* dust! 47 MEETIN* TROUBLE * TROUBLE in the distance seems all-fired big — Sorter makes you shiver when you look at it a-comin' ; Makes you wanter edge aside, er hide, er take a swig Of somethin' that is sure to set your worried head a-hummin*. Trouble in the distance is a mighty skeery feller — But wait until it reaches you afore you start to beller! Trouble standin' in th' road and frownin* at you, black. Makes you feel like takin' to the weeds along the way; Wish to goodness you could turn and hump yerself straight back; Know *t will be awful when he gets you close at bay! Trouble standin* in the road is bound to make you shy — But wait until it reaches you afore you start to cry! Trouble face to face with you ain't pleasant, but you '11 find ^ ^ That it ain't one-ha'f as big as fust it seemed to be ; Stand up straight and bluff it out! Say, *'I gotter a mind To shake my fist and skeer you off — ^you do n*t belong ter me!'* Trouble face to face with you? Though you may n't feel gay. Laugh at it as if you wuz — and it 'U sneak away! 48 THE COURAGEOUS CLOVER TIDETWEEN the street car tracks up in the park ^— ^ A cheerful Httle clover rears its head And gossips with the bees that fly its way To rest, when they are over honey-fed. The grass grows there, but cowers to the ground Frightened and limp, when rumbling swiftly over The street cars pass; and dust-grimed, greasy trucks Knock to the earth the cheerful little clover. Its dainty head is battered ruthlessly, Its smiling face is soiled, day after day. But every time it bravely rights itself And greets the rising sun with laughter gay. What though the grease and grime drip from its leaves? What though it daily suffers untold pain? It knows the gentle rain will come once more. And freshen it into glad life again. I take my hat off to that little flower — It does n't talk, but ah, the lesson great It teaches, by the hopeful way it lives — A lesson that we often learn too late! Though circumstance has placed it where each day A juggernaut, relentless, passes by. Each morn it lifts its bruised but plucky head And, undefeated, smiles up at the sky! 49 THE BELIEVER A SONG to the man who says, "Old chap, Your time is coming some day; Just keep on hoping and doing your best. For that is the only way!*' Mayhap he is talking straight through his hat. Mayhap his words are not true, But, nevertheless, a health to the chap Who says he believes in you! Knockers are numerous nowadays. And flatterers seek their own ends; You scorn the first, and the second, you know. Are nothing but fair-weather friends. But the man who helps is the man who sticks. It matters not what you may do; He does n*t talk much, but when you lose hope. He says, "I believe in you!*' When the last race is run and you've won — or lost. He shares your triumph or pain. He presses your hand — or steadies it while The Cup of Defeat you drain. And when the End comes, I know there's a place Reserved with the Favored Few In Paradise, where he will get his reward — The Man Who Believes in You! 50 WHEN JUNE GETS HERE Wl 'HEN June gits here I cal'culate t' take A day or two, an* lay around th' farm. Jest listenin' to the birds an' bees an' things That work so hard — it won't do them no harm. I 'm goin' to loaf a few days of the year When June gits here! When June gits here Th' craps kin grow awhile Without me gittin' up afore daylight An* urgin' them to hump theirselves, I guess, Fer weeds don't never need no help — that's right ! Th' corn an' wheat won't have my hand to steer When June gits here! When June gits here. Seems like a man finds out That this here world was made fer work AND fun, An' that, ef he should quit work fer a spell Th' universe would manage, still, to run. It's true, although sometimes it may seem queer. When June gits here! 51 When June gits here, I '11 drap my hoe and hunt The shady side of that old creek an* fish An' dream, — an' eat, — an' sleep — an' be As lazy as a man like me could wish. Fer I am sure the Lord kin run this sphere- When June gits here! 52 AND I HAVE YOU I F you had never come into my life — Had never let me look into your eyes, Reading therein the hope that never dies But glows resplendent through all bitter strife- Then I had never known what Faith can do — Had I not you! If you had never walked close by my side, And with those wondrous eyes, seen in my breast The tiny flame that I had never guessed Burned there, what little good I do, had died! You had such faith, you faltered not. You knew, — And I — had you! If you had never shown me life is just Living this day to-day — not far ahead; That love is best, when all is done and said. Then would I still be trudging through the dust. Lifting your own pure soul, you lift me, too, While I — have you! 53 SOMETIMES SOMETIMES I hesitate which road to take when walking out; Sometimes concerning rain or shine I entertain a doubt ; Sometimes I do n't know what to smoke, cigar or cigarette ; Sometimes I speak to many men I *m not sure that I Ve met. But when I have to buy a hat. My pocketbook decides all that! Sometimes I can't choose what to eat for breakfast or for lunch; Sometimes I like my joys spread out, and sometimes in a bunch; Sometimes I do n*t know which to wear, my heavy coat or light; Sometimes I do n't know what to say, "Sublime!" or **Out of sight!" But when it comes to buying clothes My pocketbook knows what it knows! In short, I hesitate so much at times that it would seem I 'd hesitate to hesitate — I 'd dare not scheme to scheme ; It 's only when a question comes that has to do with cash That I can settle it off-hand, and still not be so rash ; For, from an empty pocketbook You only get one kind of look. 54 THE CALL OF THE MILD CAN I roll a cigarette if the paper 's damp with sweat? Can I roll and light and smoke it, with one hand? Can I take a bronc. and bust 'im till with babies you could trust 'im? Can I do it? You just bet — to beat the band! As a puncher I 'm a scream (so my bunkie lets me dream), I have herded cows for half a dozen years, But Tm tired of the prairie, — the darned, old sun-dried prairie — And I 'm sicker still of chambermaiding steers 1 So it*s back, back, back Along the dear old track — I 'm going to hit the East Trail in the fall. Where there 's something bright and new, (And a little music, too!) I hear the mild life calling and I *11 answer to the call! I took a fool degree at my college, but, you see. They thought I 'd shine some better in the West; So they shipped me off out here (and forgot me, never fear!) With the hope that I would **do my level best!'* Did I do it? Well I did, though a soft and verdant kid, I Ve learned the biz., with trimmings on the side. With a handy bunch of dough, I 'm going back to throw Some ginger into those who have n't died. 55 So it's hike, hike, hike Along the iron pike — I 'm going to hit the East Trail in the fall; With my ** breezy, Western way*' (That I Ve paid for, day by day,) I hear the mild life calling and I '11 answer to the call! When I left 'em years ago, everything there was to know I was wise to (Little Johnny-on-the-Spot !) But I found that half I knew was n't useful, was n't true — For the West can always teach you quite a lot. Every man here plays the game on the level, just the same, (If he does n't, he 's not in it very long,) But the novelty is gone, and the years are trekking on — And I 'm thirsty for the Wine of Life and — ^Songl So it's back, back, back On the homeward track — I 'm going to hit the East Trail in the fall. And I wonder if SHE 'S still Unmarried? . . . If — she — ^will ... — I hear the mild life calling and I '11 answer to the call! 56 HOLD FAST WHEN you 're nearly drowned in troubles, and the world is dark as ink; When you feel yourself a sinking *neath the strain. And you think, **I Ve got to holler ^Help"' just take another breath And pretend youVe lost your voice — and can't complain ! (That's the idea!) Pretend you've lost your voice and can't complain! When the future glowers at you like a threatening thunder cloud. Just grit your teeth and bend your head and say: **It's dark and disagreeable and I can't help feeling blue. But there's coming sure as fate a brighter day!" (Say it slowly!) **But there's coming sure as fate, a brighter day!" You have bluffed your way through ticklish situations; that I know. You are looking back on troubles past and gone; Now, turn the tables, and as you have fought and won before. Just BLUFF YOURSELF to keep on holding on! (Try it once.) Just bluff YOURSELF to keep on — holding on. 57 Do n't worry if the roseate hues of hfe are faded out, Bend low before the storm and wait awhile. The pendulum is bound to swing again and you will find That you have not forgotten how to smile. (That's the truth!) That you have not forgotten how to smile. 58 VALENTINES 1 MIGHT, of course, send violets by the score, dear, (And stretch quite to the breaking point, my credit) In verses, tell the story o'er and o'er, dear — But "really" poets have much better said it. I might send candy, books or songs, I know. But all of these seem stupid commonplaces, I 'd rather be a kid again and show My love in gorgeous hearts and paper laces! **If you love me as I love you — " Is best of all, when it is true! You might disguise your hand and shyly send me A dainty volume, filled with sentiment. But that would not be yours! . . . Dear heart, just lend me The right to love you daily — I 'm content. Saint Valentine may do as a reminder For those who say, *' I love you " once a year; My love is blind, and daily growing blinder To special days — I love you ALL days, dear! *'No knife can cut our love in two — '* My Valentine for aye — that's you! 59 BRED IN THE BONE HE went to live in far Japan, where life is like a dream ; Where cherry blossoms scent the air and care is dead, *t would seem; Where sweet wisterias climb the porch up to the tiny roof And fling their flowers to the air; where trouble holds aloof ; Where geisha girls and jinrickshas and fans and love and tea, Make up the life of ease he sought, from worldly troubles free. He went to live in far Japan, and there one day he bought A little doll-house for himself — at least that *s what he thought — And settled down to rest himself; the years of grinding work Had made him feel at last as if he 'd really like to shirk. The work he'd done had been so hard, so strenuous and strained That sometimes he had welcomed death. Now in his heart peace reigned. He went to live in far Japan, and for a year or more He was content to dream, and eat, and sleep upon the floor, 60 To wander through the countryside and watch the flowers bloom, To steep his soul in laziness, and banish earthly gloom. And then a sloe-eyed musmee came across his path one day. And love got in his clever work in just the same old way! He went to live in far Japan, where people do not swear. And yet he swore she should be his, she was so young and fair; Ambition woke again, for him, and though she was content To marry him, and stay right there, back to the States he went To make a bigger fortune so that she might shine above The other musmees. . . . That 's the way we Occidentals love! 61 **JAYBIRD AIN'T NO SINGER" JAY-BIRD ain't no singer. But his clothes is gay; Flies up in er tree an' yells All de livelong day. Soun's des lahk a dorg-fight When he 'gins ter squawl, Othuh buhds dey stands aside — Lets him do it all! Jay-buhd ain't no ahtist — Dat don't bodder him! Finds er place to holler On de highes' limb. Prop he mouf wide open. Howl des lahk a cat; Thinks he 's doin' wondhers — Will you look at dat! Odder buhds don't lahk him, Dey des leave him be, Go erway and let him think He done bought dat tree! Ain't he lahk some folkses — (Find 'em Norf an' Souf)? Might mek people b'lieve in him- Ef he'd SHET HE MOUF! 62 AN ANSWER 1 WATCHED her lovely head bend low; Her misty hair, so soft, so bright; I watched her color, warm and deep. And in her blushes took delight At last I said, "Give me your heart; YouVe stolen mine!" . . . She breathed a sigh — **Love me!" I cried, "Love me alone!" But all she answered was just ** Y?" Closer I came and caught her hand; She laughed and slipped away from me. And down the rose-lined pathway ran, A fairy, sweet and fair to see. At last I found her, "Now," I cried, ** You can't escape, for I must know The man you love — his name, his name!" But all she answered was just "O!" Into my arms I took the witch, (Deep in my heart she *d reigned for years) : And kissed her lips, her red, red lips, Despite my doubts, my doubts and fears. "His name!" I cried again, "speak quick!" And then, somehow, I knew, I knew! ****** ij Her answers spelled it out for me For tremblingly she whispered "U!" 63 Ill THROUGH YOUNGER EYES "MINDIN' BABY" MINDIN' baby ain't much fun When the other fellers say, **Goin' ter have a game of ball; Do n't you wisht that you could play?" Then it seems like baby gets Jest so heavy I can't hold Her no more! Gee, don't I wisht She would hurry and get old! Hafter ^et and see 'em go With my bat an' glove and ball Out into the alley, where I kin hear 'em laugh an* call. Mindin' baby ain't much fun When you wan ter play, by gee! Still — I guess when I was small Some one had ter care fer me. When I think of that I jest Pick her up and make her smile; Poke my fingers in her cheeks — Brings a dimple after while. Then she puts her leetle arms Tight around my neck an' tries To explain it ain't HER fault — Looks so pleadin' with her eyes! 67 Mindin' baby ain't much fun Fer a lively boy, you bet. When he'd ruther play baseball With the other boys — and yet When she coos and pats my cheeks, I jest can't keep bein' mad. • ••••■ When she loves me that a-way, Mindin' baby ain't so bad! 68 COMPENSATION (the little invalid's confession) MY head hurts orful bad, and when I lay- Flat down in bed, and see the birds and sky, I wisht that I could run out doors and play — Or leave my body here and fly — and fly! I gotter pain 'most every place what is. And when I try to set up, somethin' goes Jest like a pin- wheel in my head — sizz! — sizz! — And I kin feel it clear down to my toes. Yet bein* sick is not so bad, someway s — Nobody has said, **Do n't!" to me for days! Ma moves around the room jest like an elf. Till sometimes I don't know she's really there; And then I tell long stories to myself Until she comes and smooths my cheeks and hair. "What is it, dear?" she asks me, soft and low. And then I ketch her hand and kiss it — quick — And tell her I don't 'member — or don't know. What makes her turn so fast and look away? She 's never once said, ** Do n't!" to me to-day! The doctor telled her some day I 'd be well. And said that I was good to lay so still; He ain't that pleasant always; I kin tell That ma has ast him if I ** truly will.** 69 And so, when I hurt worse — sometimes I do — I do n't say so to her — *t w^ould make her get Discouraged with mc, and feel awful blue; So I jest keep my mouth and eyes tight shet. Ma is so good to me! She has n't said **Do n'tf to me once since they put me to bed! 70 THE NEW OVERCOAT 1G0TTER overcoat, I have! A real one, an' brand new. My ma, she buyed it at a store; it's color is dark blue. An* it's got buttons made of gold, 'at shine jest Hke th' sun 'N I can wear it every day. O, gee! But I have fun! Ma got it all fer me — and it Ain't brother Bob's **cut down to fit." I gotter overcoat, I have. It 's warm as any toast, I wear it when I go to school, and when I skate or coast; 'N all the other boys, they say, **0, lookee, here comes Jim — He 's gotter overcoat that fits — it must feel strange to him!" For it 's the first one, do n't you see. Bought 'specially an' jest for me. I gotter overcoat, I have! When ma sends me to bed I take it, too, an' lay it on th' piller by my head. So when I wake I can reach out an' touch it with my hand. An' know it was n't jest a dream — that makes a boy feel grand! The boys at school can't say THIS coat Is old enough to walk or vote! 71 I gotter overcoat, I have; an' when I get t' be A man and marry Bessie Jones, my children — ^you will see — Won't hafter wear each other's clothes. Most ev'ry week I '11 say **Go buy yourselves jest what you want — throw those ol' things away!" I bet they'll think I 'm awful good — If pa said that to me, / would! 72 THE DANCING SCHOOL ON ev'ry Friday afternoon my ma makes it a rule To dress me up and send me off to this old dancing school, Where ev'ry girl I ever knew, and some I do n't, get's smart And giggles when I try to waltz, or learn the steps by heart. I wish the folks that like it so Would come and dance — and let me go! I never asked to come up here; I hate it, yes, siree! And what 's the good of doing it, no one can make me see; It's well enough for sissy boys and little girls, I guess That like to laugh and talk a lot, and comb their hair and dress. But boys as big as I am, knov/ There's heaps more fun in playing "show, " Most ev'ry girl that I ** invite" knows that I 'spise to dance; I step upon their feet and knock their knees, they say, and— PRANCE; And when I make my bow to them, sometimes I slip and fall, And then the whole room laughs at me, but I do n't care at all. Some day the teacher *11 put me out And when she does, O, won't I shout! 73 There ain't a boy goes to this school that I can't Hck, I know, For all they think of is their steps, and how to two- step slow. And then — and then, the only girl that does n't laugh at me Can't come at all, although she's just as nice as she can be. She's lame for life, I heard ma say — But she's the NICEST, anyway! 74 THE GROWING GIRL I'M not a little bit of girl no more, An' do n't talk baby- talk like I did when I had to have nurse put on all I wore — I 'm never goin' to be small again. I 've got a teeth that's loose — a baby teeth. That I can wiggle jest as easy — see? An' there's a new one coming underneath That will be jest as white as it can be! An' I am growing so that mamma says She just can't keep me in nice-lookin' clothes; An' Uncle Bob said, "There's other ways — Jest buy her rubber skirts, and waists, and hose;" He uster to make me cry, he teased me so. But now I know he meant it just in fun. He takes me walking now, he ** likes to go With grown-up folks," he says — an' I am one! I know I 'm getting big, but that ain't all — When company comes to dinner, they can see That I am growing old as well as tall. An' none of them talk baby-talk to me. The chair I sit in is jest like the rest Although my feet do n't reach down to the floor. Of all the nice things, this I think 's the best — I do n't sit in a high chair any more! 75 THE BUSY HANDY MAN MY pa's an awful busy handy man about th' house; He 's got a chest o* tools that he won't never let me touch; An' when ma tells him something's broke, pa jumps right up and says, ** I '11 git to work and fix it now — it won't amount to much." An' when he takes his plane an' saw, an' puts on his old clothes An' rolls his shirt sleeves 'way, far up — I tell you, my pa knows The way a thing should be repaired, an' he will plan and plan — I 'm proud as I can be that pa is such a handy man I Last week he fixed a table that had lost its right hind leg; He took it to the kitchen, an' he sawed an' ham- mered till He jarred the plaster off the wall — at least cook said he did — An' let me stay to watch him, pervid-ed I kept still. It was n't very pretty when he got it done, I know. But pa, he ain't responsible, when furnishure acts so — So when it would n't stand alone, ma says, **I guess I can Make use of it for kindling wood!" Air^t pa a handy man? 76 But ylstiddy he fixed two ehairs, a window an* a door. An' broke his saw an' bust his thumb, an' my, but he was mad! An' then he went to fix the lock, but said he guessed he'd stop, Cause ma would not encourage him — an' then he looked real sad. When he had gone, ma shook her head, an' says, ** John, run an' get The carpenter dov/n street, an' we will have things fixed right yet," An' when pa came back home at nirjht, 't was done! Then he began To ask ma if she was n't glad he was a handy man? 77 THE LETTER TO SANTA CLAUS 1WRITED a letter to Santa Claus and give it to ma to read, And when she \tas through she laughs and says, *'Niy darhng, you do not need Half of the things you have put down here — had n't you better do It over again before we send it on up the chimbley flue?" She ast me that, but I 'm sure she knows (As well as a mother can) That Santa Claus is what pa calls A very lib-er-ul man. And when we send him our letters each year, the biggest things always lead; We ask for the things that we want, we do, and not for the things we need! I writed that letter to Santa Claus, and writed it plain as I could; I asked for an ottormobile and a dog, and a tent and some scroll-saw wood; A 'lectric car and a pony cart, like Jimmy Jones got last year; A gun and a ring and a sled — and some skates, and two of his best reindeer. When pa read my letter over he says, "Are you sure you have n't forgot Something you want? There *s no request In this for a house and lot! 78 I feel kinder sorry for Santa Claus and his ever-willing steed — You Ve asked for the things you want, that 's plain — and not for the things you need!** Then I writed another to Santa and said, **The list that I jest now sent May be too big, my father says — at least that is what he meant; So if you are poor and have n't enough to go around, just leave out The skates — I have got three old pair here, and they will last no doubt." I showed it to pa, and he says, "My son That *s truly kind of you; Santa appreciates unselfish boys — And I fear there are very few/' Then he smiled at ma, and she says, "Never mind; he is a good man, indeed; He '11 bring you this year the things you want — and next year the things you need!" 79 THE BABY AND THE BURGLAR (with variations) ONE night I woked up quick — I 'd heard a sound Like some one moving through our downstairs hall. It was too late for folks to be around And so I thought at first I *d better call — But then I 'membered *bout a book I read Of how a girl had gone downstairs one night And found a burglar there, and what they said — And after that the burglar 'haved all right! So I got up and tiptoed down the stairs And there he was! A really burglar-man! He had our silver piled up on the chairs Out in the dining-room, so I began: **0, Mr. Burglar, please do n*t make a noise. My mamma 's got a headache, and she 'd be Most scared to death — ^you can have all my toys If you '11 just stay down on this floor with me!" He sort of jumped when he first heard me speak. And then he grumbled, ** Blame the sassy kid!*' And when he grabbed me up, I kissed his cheek — (But still he did n't ACT as if I did!) For he just tied me in my little chair And stuffed a napkin in my mouth and said, **You should n't butt in — after this, take care! You can't believe the stories that you've read," ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 80 Our cook, Miranda, found me there asleep, When she came down next morning. O, dear me But I was tired! After this I '11 keep Still in my bed — and let the burglars be! 81 THE LITTLE FELLOW 1 AIN'T afraid to lay here in the dark And listen to the hall clock tickin* slow; I ain't afraid to hear that old mouse run And gnaw the wall — he can't get out, I know. I ain't afraid to shut my eyes an' hold Them tight. But I just can't help feeling queer; I get so lonesome, ma, I 'd like to cry — I would n't feel so bad if you was here! I like to hear you laughing on the porch. And always when my pa smokes a cigar I get a little smell of it up here — And that's the way I know just where you are. He 's sittin' in the corner, where it 's dark. And you are close beside him — just as near As I would get to you if you would come — I would n't feel so bad if you was here! Of course, I know I 'm just a little boy And have to sleep a lot, so I will grow Into a great big man, like pa is now — But sometimes it is awful hard to go! I like to hear you talk, and I could be Lots quieter than you think I could, O dear! I wish, ma, that you 'd married onl^ me — I would n't feel so bad if you was here! 82 IV ADDED SONGS FOREVER INTO the immeasurable reaches of the still Unknown, * A little space ago you took your smiling way, Led by a radiant, splendid Faith and that alone; Lighted by love, the Path to you was bright as day. You had no fear — as ever your one lack — But took Death's kindly hand nor once looked back. Whether you found the Great Adventure all you thought; Whether or no that Life to your belief squares true, The legacy you left to us — yourself — has taught, What creeds, however good, could never do. This world is better for your being here; That world grew brighter when it felt you near. You could not cease; the flow'rs, the song-birds, and the sun Borrow some of your spirit — sweet, and true, and free ; You loved them all; and now in ev'ry joyous one There is a part of you, for all eternity! You are not far away. . . . Help us to understand The nearness of your love — to feel your gentle hand. 85 OUT OF THE SUN IT'S a dreary sort of business, this living day by day In a murky, shadowed Pain- World, when just across the way You can see the sun is shining and can hear the bird- songs ring — - While your whistle is a little squeak — and not another thing ! It's a dreary sort of business, but grin as others do If you can't suppress your grumble — for your pain's not really ^ou ! It's a weary sort of business to wake each smiling morn To find you have a **mis'ry" like a red-hot, pointed thorn, But the one that had ^^ou yesterday, is dead ; and this may not Last quite as long — or dig as deep — or keep on being hot! You've got a grumble coming, but look up at the sky. There's lots of sunshine somewhere, and the birds are flying high! It's a teary sort of business, this keeping on — and on — But the chap who is a quitter hates himself, at last The dawn 86 Was hustled out of being by midday — and that, by night — Yet the^ came back — and didn't quit the Game, in sullen fright! «{» 2k ^£ sis sif If we all walked in the sunlight every day, why, don't you see We'd throw our own dark shadow on some better men than we! 87 DEAR HEART-O'-MINE ALONG way off you hear a song-bird trill; At hand the city hums its endless song, Till longingly you vision some green hill And fret because the day seems over-long. Dear Heart-o*-Mine were you not there before — And, looking back, wished you were here once more? The silent shepherd in the distant vale Dreams not of peaceful days or calm, white nights. He hears again the traveler's wondrous tale Of life resplendent in the city's lights. Cursing the fate that makes existence drear. He hates the hills, the dales, the shadowed mere! So, to our secret reasons for regret Each gives full rein and longs to change the plan; The city dwellers for the country fret. The shepherd would he were a city man! Dear Heart-o'-Mine, I neither sigh nor care; While you are near the world is very fair! 88 w WHEN SPRING CAME HY won't spring come?'* asked the little maid As she wistfully watched the gloomy sky, The cold, gray clouds were scurrying by, And the soft, sweet voice was weary — aye, But the man saw no gray clouds! Not he — Her eyes were blue as the summer sea! Why won't spring come? It's time 'twas here!" And she sighed like a tired child at play. But his pulse beat fast and his heart was gay — And he thought of kissing her frown away. For the world to him was wondrous fair — The sun was caught in her golden hair! 'Why won't spring come? I want it now!" She pouted and laughed . . . What brook could sing Like that? The flash of a blue-bird's wing In her lovely eyes — and it was Spring! If Love came, too, without a sign. What business is it of yours — or mine ? 89 THE CAVE MAN'S VALENTINE WOMAN of mine, I have sought you long. Through forest and field and fen; I come my way with the Stone Age throng, Besting the best of its men. Alone, I conquer the dinosaur, The hydrosaurus I train; And yet it is you and the thought of you That troubles my heart and brain. Woman of mine, I have wandered through Silurian silt, waist deep; I have forced my way to all — but you. But ever your distance you keep. I have laid my kill where I knew you crept When the night had smothered the sun. So you might eat of the game in peace — This have I gladly done. I have cut in the hardening clay, your name; I have sung, in my raucous tones Of your wondrous eyes that make me tame, — While scraping diplodocus bones! But now — I have gathered the last trilobite To lay at your bare brown feet! You notice me not, in your haughty way — With laughter my oflFerings greet. 90 So, woman of mine, no more do I try To win you with manners polite; No more will you hear my lover-like cry Disturbing the Neolith night! For this is my Palaeozoic vow, Sworn, as my shaking knees rub: To-morrow I banish all civilized ways And woo you, my dear, — with a club! 91 THE SOAP BOX GARDEN T^HERE are gardens filled with flowers that are •■■ worth their weight in gold; There are gardens where the dainty blossoms bend, and nod, and blow In such glorious profusion that you never need be told That a good sized fortune has been spent upon each brilliant row! Yet I know a little garden that is better than them all- Hidden in the city where life's cross has not a crown — And the joy it brings its owner is a thing that's good to see It's the little soap box garden here in town. In an unpretentious courtyard it is growing day by day — A row of boxes filled with earth, and placed against the wall — And the strings that lead up from the blossoms seem, somehow, to say To the struggling flowers, *'We are here — climb up, you can not fall." There's a white-faced little cripple boy who watches o'er the plants, And waters them, and sings to them and pats the soft earth down, 92 And his eyes glow with such happiness when each new leaf appears In his Httle soap box garden here in town! There are no priceless blossoms, such as those we often see Displayed in rich surroundings, in the florist's win- dow gay; But those straggly little flowers are as dear as they can be To one who lives his life apart, ^ — who can't go out and play. And though the buds he gathers may be small and over-frail. Each one that grows will straighten out the deepest sort of frown. So the little cripple proudly picks and gives his flowrs away — Love rules his soap box garden here in town! 93 THE ROSE AND THE DINNER PAIL LJIS hair is gray, and his wrinkled face ^ ^ Is marked by the fingers of Time, And his back is bent as he shovels and digs, Or mixes the water and lime. But there's an hour that comes each day When care lifts her darkening veil. And he sits in the shade of a near-by tree To open his dinner pail. It isn't the food he sees in it Which brings the smile to his face; It isn't the sandwiches, coffee or pie That he takes from their regular place; It isn't the dinner that makes his eyes Grow dim for a moment and fail; It's a flower that's stuck in the battered cup, That hangs on the old dinner pail. His hands are calloused and dirty and red, Yet he lifts it with tender care. And kisses it clumsily, if there is none Close by, to smile and to stare And he sees, with the eyes of a lover, the wife Of his youth, whose love does not fail. She sends every day, with his noon-day meal, A rose on the old dinner pail. 94 And when he has finished the frugal meal He takes up his tools again. While a smile that is tender lurks in the face Where worry and wrinkles have been. In the torn buttonhole of his faded old shirt He places the blossom frail; And wears it there, like a true knight of old — The rose from the old dinner pail. 95 THE TEST IS life worth th' livin'?" says I unto him, * "I'm durned if I know," says he, **Fer th' trials of life air as wide as th' worF, An' double as deep as th' sea. An' whether th' joys that we gits tops 'em off Is doubtful, dum doubtful, t' me!" **An' yet there is times, you'll grant it," says I, ''When life ain't a dull dreary plain. In th' spring of th' year — and when you're in love- There's moments you long fer again." **I grant it," says he, "but spring never lasts. An' half of your lovin' is pain!" **From debts and distractions, and trials and bills; From wimmin an' wine," says he, *'From troubles that's past an' sorrows to come Deliver us! 'Specially me! Now that's what we pray for every night, Do we git what we ask for? Not we!" "I fear," he concludes, and his smile, it was sad, *'That I shocks you, my friend, fer you sigh. But alas! I hev lived — I hev loved — I hev drempt- (An' there's nothin' much wrong with me eye). So I answers you now — an' I'd welcome th' end — Life is worth th' livin' — to die!" 96 '*I knows how you feel," says I, *'fer th' same Emotions hev stirred in my breast; We've seen all of life and we now long t' find How it feels to be dead — an' at rest." * * * * An' then, him an' I, we jumps off th' track As th' Special wizzed by fer th' West! 97 HE DIDN'T LIKE DOGS HE was th' kind of a man, you know, that looks like a three-time winner, Breezy an* brash, but onto th' job; alius right up an' doin*. Smooth in his talk, as a gineral thing; but horrible stern with the sinner That didn't square up t' th' standards he set; trouble fer him was brewin' ! A * 'prominent man" with a aim that was high, But he didn't like dorgs — an' I wondered why. Strong in th* civic spirit game, an* given t* public SF>eakin*, Hammerin' down his arguments with fists that was fat an' steady; Hollerin' big fer th' Great Uplift, an' frownin' on folks that weaken In th* battle o' life or ain't all set fer th* fight — an* willin* and ready. An* ^it, whenever a dorg come by, That dorg would growl — an' I wondered why. Got good men t* back up his plan; listened t' all he told 'em; Give him money whenever he ast, fer th' sake of th' good he was schemin'. Until one day * * * Well, he didn't show up. Gone with the cash! He'd sold 'em 98 A fine little gold brick — just like that — while they was asleep and dreamin*! He didn't like, dorgs. And somehow, I Ain't disposed now t* question why! 99 iJjgA^^^^^^ CONGRESS g 018 603 264 •

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With the colors, songs of the American service,

Appleton, Everard Jack

withcolorssongso02appl_djvu.txt

PS 3501 P65 M6 Sv>NGS OF th; AMERICAN SERVIC ammmmmmitA ■ ERARD JACK APPLE M' .ri>;|-^n m mm m M'W'W:. WM m\u M, iiil lii/- liO^'^li:f■^'!I!^l''^^'^'!^^'tv^V,'lJ' ■ p«iWf!!''jj]i;ii^^ii'-|i';i;'':iflr;;>''^r..i:.'^: r Class. Roolc / ifi^^r t"^ Qdim§iW. ■ -■7 '■' / COFJiRIGKIT DEFQSHi With The Colors SONGS OF THE AMERICAN SERVICE BY EVERARD JACK APPLETON Author of "^TKe Quiet Courage" CINCINNATI STEWART & KIDD COMPANY 1917 ^0' /^^'^/^V^^ ,vri \\s <^r A A' Copyright, 1917, by STEWART & KIDD COMPANY All Rights Reserved Copyright in England / OCT i8 iiji? ^GlA477097 TO THE BEST FLAG OF ALL: Tlie Stars and Stripes. CONTENTS I— WITH THEfCOLORS PAGE The Colors 9 Loyalty --------- 10 The Old National Guard 11 The Alien 13 The 'Skeeter Fleet 17 Little Mother i8 Soldiers of the Soil -------20 The Lady's Man 32 Cookie Jim --------- 2^ The Sandwich Girl ------ 25 Bugler Bill zi Heinie the Hostler ------- 29 Our Job -----.---31 Her Johnny -------- 35 The First Fleet 34 Briggs of Base No. 8------ 36 The Penguin Driver -------35 Waitin' -------- 40 We're All Right Here 42 Reprisal _--_---- ^ The Soul of Sergeant Todd 45 The Busy Lady ------- 47 Overdoing It -------- 49 The Givers -------- 50 Hullo, Soldier, How's the Boy? ----- 52 Beans --------- 5^ Behind the Lines - - -- - - - 56 The Disappointed ---.-_ jg Good-bye, Boys! ------- fio That's All - - - 61 An American Creed ------- 63 5 II— IN OTHER KEYS PAGE Youth o' the Year 67 Unfinished -------- 69 Paid in Advance -_-__-- 70 We Rode at Night 71 Now — and Then --------73 Understood -------- 74. The Christmas Spirit -------75 The Reason -------- 76 The Modern Way -------77 Because ! -- - - - -- 79 That Smile 80 The Gift of Gifts 81 The Neighbors --------8a Uncle Bill's Idea 83 'Lizabeth Ann's Picture 85 The Small Boy Explains 87 The Bold Lover 88 Imagination -------- 89 Willing to Trade 91 The Lonely Child 93 Th' Little Feller's Gone 95 The Fisherman's Son ------ 97 The Dog Confesses -------99 Br'er Rabbit in de Bresh Pile - - - - loi When ---------- 104 WITH THE COLORS THE COLORS TT isn't just colors and bunting — -*■ The red and the blue and the white. It's something heaps better and finer, — It's the soul of my country in sight! There's a lot of ceremony 'bout the Flag, Though many half-baked patriots believe Salutin' it and hangin' it correct "Is only loyalty upon the sleeve." But we who work beneath the Flag to-day, Who'll honor it — and die for it, perhaps — Get a slightly different view of the old red, white and blue Than is visioned by th' criticisin' chaps. It isn't just for decoratin' things. It isn't just an emblem, clean and bright, No matter what its "hoist" or what its "fly," To us it means our country — wrong or right ! The sobby stuff that some good people spout Won't help a man to understand this view, But: Wherever that Flag goes, the man who follows, knows That a better, cleaner citizen goes too! It's not just a banner to look at, — For which we're expected to fight; It's something that represents freedom; It's the soul of my country — in sight! LOYALTY npHIS is no time to quibble or to fool; -*- To argue over who was wrong, who right ; To measure fealty with a worn foot-rule; To ask: "Shall we keep still or shall we fight?" The Clock of Fate has struck; the hour is here; War is upon us now — not far away; One question only rises, clarion clear: "How may I serve my country, day by day?" Not all of us may join the khakied throng Of those who answer and go forth to stem The tide of war. But we can all be strong And steady in our loyalty to them! Not with unfettered thought, or tongue let loose In bitterness and hate — a childish game! But with a faith, untroubled by abuse, That honors those who put the regt to shame ! There is no middle ground on which to stand; We've done with useless pro-and-con debates ; The one-time friend, so welcome in this land, Has turned upon us at our very gates. There is no way, with honor, to stand back — Real patriotism isn't cool — then hot; You cannot trim the flag to fit your lack; You are American — or else you're not! 10 THE OLD NATIONAL GUARD 'V^OU pull a lot of funny stuff about us, when -* there's peace, The jokes you spring are sometimes rough, and make a guy see red; But when there's trouble in the air you "vaude- villians" cease. And them that laughed the loudest laugh, salute the flag instead! Oh, it's kid the boys along When there's nothing going wrong; But when your country's facin' war. You sing a different song! The khaki that they doll us in ain't seen war service — no ! The most of it has been worn thin a-loafin' 'round the mess; Folks think it's great to josh us when things are goin' slow. But when the country's all het up — ^we ain't so worse, I guess! Then it's, "Look! The Guard is here; Fine set of men, muh dear." . . . (We'd like it better if you spread Your jollies through th' year!) II We're only folks — th' reg'lar kind — that an- swered to th' call; We may be dumb and also blind — but still we'll see it through! Just wearin' khaki doesn't change our insides— not a'tall ! We're human (Does that seem so strange?) waitin' to fight — for you! We mayn't be worth a cuss In this ugly foreign muss, But when the nation needs some help, Why — pass the job to us! 12 THE ALIEN (Of course, this didn't happen, But if it had — Would you have been shocked?) SHE was a pretty little thing, Round-headed, bronze-haired and trim As a yacht. And when she married a handsome, polished Prussian (Before the war was ours) Her friends all said She'd made no mistake. He had much money, and he wasn't arrogant — To her. Their baby came — Big and blue-eyed, Solemn and serious. With his father's arrogance in the small. She knew how wonderful a child he was And said so. The husband knew it, too — Because the child looked like him. And they were happy Until the Nation roused itself, Stretched and yawned And got into the hellish game of kill. Then the man. Who had been almost human. Dropped his mask. And uncovered his ragged soul. 13 Having no sense of right or wrong — No spiritual standards for measurements; Feeding upon that same egotism That swept his country Into the depths of hate — He sneered and laughed At her pale patriotism And the country that inspired it. There was no open break between them, For a child's small hands Clung to both and kept them close. Shutting her eyes to all else Save that she was his wife, She played her part well. His work — his bluff at work, instead — Was something big and important (Always he looked the importance) That had to do with ships — Ships that idled at their docks to-day Because they were interned. And there was always money — More money than she had ever known, — Which he lavished — on himself And his desires. Not that he gave her nothing. For he did. . . . They lived in a big hotel, And the child had everything it should have And much it should not. She, too, was cared for well, After his wants were satisfied. 14 Then — The silent blow fell. Secret service men called upon him, And next day he was taken away To a detention camp For alien enemies. Interned like the anchor-chafing ships That once had flown his flag! The woman, up in arms, dinned at officials Until (so easy-going and so slow to learn) They told her what he had done. That night she stared long at their child, asleep, And at its father's picture, On her dresser. . . . Did the wife-courage that transcends All other kinds of bravery Keep her awake for hours. Planning, scheming, thinking? A week later she and the child — A blue-eyed, self-assertive mite — Were at the camp, She carrying it (the nurse was left behind) And the passports that allowed her to see him One hour, with a guard five yards away. Some of his polite impudence was gone. Yet he threw back his head and shoulders And shrugged as his wife and boy came in. "Always late," said he, after a perfunctory kiss, "You — and your country!" She stared long at him, holding the child close, Her own round, bronze head bowed. 15 Then, with a swift glance at the guard Thoughtfully chewing a straw and looking At the city of shacks, She spoke. "Did you know, Karl," she whispered, "That my brother was on that transport— My only brother — a soldier — my only blood? If it had gone down — that transport — been sunk—" "Well?" said he. That was all. "My brother — my only — Karl!" "Well?" said he again. "What of it?" Then — her little head lifted, her eyes gone mad — "This!" she said. "Rather than give Life to another human scorpion like you — Man in form only! — Lower than the floor of hell itself; Rather than have my blood mingle with The foul poison that is yours, To make a child of ours — This : I give him back to you — And recall my love — all of my love!" Again he shrugged his shoulders, Yawned — and saw, too late. Swift as the eagle that drives a lamb to death She whipped a hat-pin from her dainty hat. Drove it with steady aim Into the baby's heart And handed back to the gulping man All that was left of what had once meant joy — A dead baby with red bubbles on its lips! i6 THE 'SKEETER FLEET A/i IGHTY little doin'— yet a lot to do— IVr While the navy's standin' guard, we are lookin' out; Patrol boats in shoals, good old craft and new Hustle here and skitter there — what's it all about? Speed boats and slow boats Loaf around or run, But ev'ry unit of this fleet Mounts a wicked gun! Pleasure craft a-plenty, all dolled up in gray Grim and ugly war-paint dress, we're a gloomy lot, Slidin' in and out, never in the way. Gosh! It's wearin' on the nerves, waitin' round — for what? Some boats are bum boats, Layin' for the Hun — But ev'ry boat that flies our Flag Mounts a wicked gun! Stickin' for the Big Show! Will it ever start? When it does, Good night, Irene ! We won't make a squeak. "Boy Scouts of the Sea," watch us do our part If a raider or a sub. gives us just a peek! Tin boats and wood boats — Ev'ry single one Longs to get in action with Its wicked little gun! 17 LITTLE MOTHER T ITTLE mother, little mother, with the ■*-' shadows in your eyes And the icy hand of Fear about your heart, You cannot help your boy prepare to make his sacrifice Unless you make yours bravely, at the start! He is training, as a million others train; He is giving what the others give — their best; Make him feel your faith in him, though your troubled eyes grow dim; Let him know that you can stand the acid test! Because he's joined the colors — he's not dead! Because he's found his duty — he's not lost! Through your mother-love, my dear, keep him steady, keep him near To the soul he loves — your soul — whate'er the cost! You're not alone in heartaches or in doubts ; All mothers feel this burden newly coined; Then call your trembling pride to your colors — to your side — "Be a sport!" and make him glad that he has joined! i8 Little mother, little mother, with the shadows in your eyes And the icy hand of Fear about your heart, There is this that you can do: "Play the game" ; there honor lies. Now your hoy and country need you — do your part! 19 SOLDIERS OF THE SOIL TT'S a high-falutin' title they have handed us; -■- It's very complimentary an' grand; But a year or so ago they called us "hicks," you know — An' joshed the farmer and his hired hand I Now it's, "Save the country. Farmer! Be a soldier of the soil I Show your patriotism, pardner, By your never-ending toil." So we're croppin' more than ever. An' we're speedin' up the farm; Oh, it's great to be a soldier — A sweatin', sun-burnt soldier, — A soldier in the furrows — Away from "war's alarm!" While fightin' blight and blister, We hardly get a chance To read about our "comrades" A-doin' things in France. To raise the grub to feed 'em Is some job, believe me — plus! And I ain't so sure a soldier — A shootin', scrappin' soldier, That's livin' close to dyin' — Ain't got the best of us! 20 But we'll harrer and we'll harvest, An' we'll meet this new demand Like the farmers always meet it — The farmers — and the land. An' we hope, when it is over An' this war has gone to seed. You will know us soldiers better — Th' sweatin', reapin' soldiers, Th' soldiers that have hustled To raise th' grub you need! It's a mighty fancy title you have given us, A name that sounds too fine to really stick; But maybe you'll forget (when you figure out your debt) To call th' man who works a farm a "hick." 21 THE LADIES' MAN DILLY is a ladies' man; Billy dances fine ■'-^ (Always was a bear-cat at the game) ; Billy pulls the social stuff all along the line — But he knows this business, just the same. He can march; he can drill As hard as any rook; And he knows his manual Without his little book. Maybe he was soft at first — ev'rybody's that; Golfing was his hardest labor then; Now he's in the Service (where you don't grow fat), Digging, drilling, like us other men. He can eat, he can sleep Like any healthy brute — And the Captain says that Billy-boy Is learning how to shoot! When he joined the Training Camp, Billy says, "No doubt, I will draw some clerical position;" But he's shown he can command; so — the news is out — He will get a regular commission! He can talk; he can dance (He is still the ladies' pet) ; But the way he barks his orders out Gets action, you c'n bet! 22 COOKIE JIM 'T^HE capting says, says he to us: ^ "Your duty is to do your best; We can't ALL lead in this here muss, So mind your job ! That is the test O' soldierin', O' soldierin' — To mind your job, while soldierin' !" When Jimmy joined the colors first, he knowed that soon he'd be A non-com. officer, — oh, sure, he had that idee firm; But Jimmy got another think, fer quite even- tually They had him workin' like a Turk, th' pore, astonished worm. The rest of us, we gotta eat, and Jimmy — he can cook! (He makes a stew that tastes as good as mother used to make.) An' when he starts to flappin' cakes, why, every hungry rook Is droolin' at the mouth for them, a-waitin' fer his take. He's ranked a sergeant, but he don't mix up with no recruits; He rides a horse when we parade (which ain't so often now) ; 23 But where he shines is when we eat; the grub that Jimmy shoots At hungry troopers every day is certainly "some chow." He's jest a "dough-boy," of a sort; it's Jimmy's job to cook; Don't hafter drill, don't hafter tote a lot of arms with him; Jest messes up th' stuff we eat, and we don't hafter look- — It's always clean! So here's a good luck and health to Cookie Jim ! The capting says, says he : "You rooks Have gotta lot to learn, I'll say, 'Cept Jimmy; he's the best o' cooks Troop Z has had fer many a day While soldierin'. While soldierin' — He does his work, while soldierin' !" 24 THE SANDWICH GIRL npHIS is the story as told to me; -*- It may be a fairy-tale new, But I know the man, and I know that he lies Very infrequently, too ! When the boys in khaki first were called to serve. Guarding railroad bridges and the like, Bob was just a private in the old N. G., Fond of all the work — except the hike. When they sent his comp'ny down the road a bit, "Gee!" he said, "I'd like to commandeer Some one's car and drive it — marching gets my goat!" (Bob was quite a gas-car engineer.) Lonesome work, this pacing up and down a bridge. Now and then a loaded train goes by; But at night — just nothing; everything was dead; Empty world beneath an empty sky. Then the chauffeur lady got into the game, Drove her car each midnight to our tents, Bringing us hot coffee, sandwiches, and pie ; All the others thought that was immense. 25 But Bob, ungrateful cuss, he would never say, Like the rest, that she had saved their lives ; He was too blamed busy, like the one-armed man Papering — the one that had the hives! Bob would eat the lunches — eat and come again, Silent, but as hungry as a pup; Finish with a piece o' pie, swallow it — and go ; Never had to make him hurry up I Then one night we heard him talking to the girl, Like he was complaining to her: "Say! Can't you change the stuffing? I am sick of ham! Have a heart! I'd just as lief eat hay!" Did we all jump on him? You can bet we did: "Who gave you the right to kick, you steer, Over what she brings us ? She's a first-rate pal ; Talk some more and get her on her ear!" Bob was somewhat flustered ; thought we hadn't heard. Then he said, "Well, ain't you tired o' ham?" "What of that?" says Wilcox. "Think of how she works! Spends her cash . . . !" (All Bob said then was, "Damn!") Grabbing up his Springfield, "Listen, you!" he snaps, "That's my motor and my gasoline. Sure she's spending money — but it comes from me; She's my sister, and her name's Irene !" 26 Then, as he marched himself into the night, We looked at each other a spell. "We've ditched our good luck — he won't let her come back," Says Wilcox. "Now isn't that hell!" 27 BUGLER BILL IDUGLER BILL — mild-mannered, shy — ■*-' Is straight. . . . But I wonder if Bill would lie? Bugler Bill is a pensive lad, Whether he's workin' or not; Serious-faced an' pitiful sad — (Think he was goin' t' be shot!) Whenever he bugles, some of us cry — Reveille, taps, or mess— With musical sob-stuff Bill gets by, Plaintive and full of distress! Bugler Bill is never real gay, But built on a sour-face plan; Bill wouldn't laugh, whatever you'd say; Looks like a love-poisoned man. "Grin, ye hyenas," he'll say as he smokes; "I ain't a frivolous guy — " "Thinkin' of all of the pain you caused folks While learnin' to play?" asks I. Bugler Bill, he sighs as he turns, Shakin' his head at me. "A long while ago th' bugle I learns — So don't you git funny," says he. "My audience laughed till it cried salty tears. An' everyone called me a joy. / was a clown in a circus for years — That's why I'm solemn, my boy!" Bugler Bill come "out of the Draft" — D'you s'pose at that joke he actually laughed? 28 HEINIE THE HOSTLER JLJE'S not very handsome or clever, ■^ -^ He's slow in his wits — and he's fat, And yet he's a soldier of Uncle Sam's — Now, whaddy you know about that? We always called him Dummy, And thought he wouldn't fight; We sneered at him and jeered at him — He was — and is — a sight! His feet are big, his head is small. His German blood is slow. But at the call for volunteers. Why, didn't Heinie go? He's workin' as a hostler (He used to be a clerk) ; He don't enjoy his job, that boy, But Heinie is no shirk. "This is my country just as much As it is yours," says he; 'Tm gonna do what I can do To keep it mine I . . . You'll see ! "My father, he come over here To get away from things; He couldn't abide on th' other side — Aristocrats and kings. The Stars and Stripes mean liberty, I've always understood; So gimme the right to work — or fight- I betcha I'll make good. 29 "As a chambermaid to horses In a battery that's new, The work is rough and mean enough And wouldn't appeal to you; But I've got my place and I'll stick to it- Can any man do more? I've never had a chance, like dad. To prove myself before." Perhaps he won't get a commission; Perhaps he IS dull, and all that; But somehow I feel that he's better than me- Now whaddy you know about that? 30 OUR JOB YOU mustn't hate the enemy — that wastes a lot of "pep"— The Colonel passed the word around the training camp to-day. The Captain says with modern war we gotta all catch step; "Cut out the rough-necked rage and talk, and don't you think or say: " 'Pirates, rapists, murderers; poisoners and lying thieves; Super-vandals, run amuck — black devils quot- ing sermons; This world was mostly Heaven-made, our Chaplain, he believes; But Hell itself conceived and spawned the Military Germans ! "The enemy is good at killing kids, and old folks, too; Torpedoing hospital ships and blowin' up our plants; But cogitatin' on their line of wicked things won't do; We'll never hate 'em off the map — just give the guns a chance!" 31 So we don't go in for loathin', and with anger we don't burn; We're drillin', and we're diggin', and we're workin' all the while; To put 'er in the target is the trick we hafter learn — And ev'ry man's a better shot when he can shoot — and smile ! The folks at home will spend their time a-broodin' over all The nasty devils do and on the details they can dwell; It's up to us to learn this game, and then — when comes the call — Pump lead into the enemy — and send him back to hell. 32 HER JOHNNY SINCE Johnny has joined the Marine corps, Of course he will do what he's told, And Johnny will be at home on the sea The day he is eighteen years old. Just what they expect of my baby Ain't clear to his maw; my, oh, my! But Johnny's a-wearin' the blue — and ain't carin' — He's gone! Is it wrong if I cry? It ain't been so long, I remember, That Johnny, my baby, was sick Whenever he'd get on a boat, and he'd fret Till we'd land — which was usually quick. But now, with his gun and his kit-bag. He's answered the call, bless his heart ! And he'll square out his jaw and think of his maw And go in to win from the start! My Johnny's not fightin' for pleasure (I know he'll be sea-sick, pore kid!) ; But he said, "If I stayed, they'd call me afraid; I gotta sign up" — and he did. So now I sit here, sorter dreamin' Of the days he was mine. They are done — I'm proud; but I wish — I could fix up a dish Of doughnuts for Johnny, my son ! 33 THE FIRST FLEET \T7E slid into the harbor here, ' '^ A line of battle-cruisers gray, With hungry guns as silent as The bands aboard that did not play. The fog was soft, the fog was damp, The hush was thick and wide as space, But ev'ry man was standing at Attention in his given place. We'd made the port, with time to spare — And Uncle Sam's first Fleet was there! Then came those other navy men — ' Our allies in this troubled cause — Weary of holding back the Hun, Clipping, too slow, his cruel claws. Our Admiral, a few-words man, Greeted the visitors. . . . "We're here," He said, and that was all. They smiled — And said they hoped the weather'd clear. But still those men with tired eyes Felt mighty grateful, I surmise ! Around our Fleet — not very large — We took them, thoughtful faces set; And then back to the fog-soaked town They went — ^uncomfortably wet; 34 But In those eyes a happier light, That told him what they'd like to say — That they were glad he had come back, As he had hoped to do some day. Another fleet, with fresher men, Gave them a chance to breathe again! Before they left to go ashore (A crowd had gathered on the quay), "When can you start to work?" they asked. "How many hours will it be Before you're ready?" With a smile Our fighting Admiral replied (And there was joy in what he said, Mingled with pardonable pride) : "Soon as the enemy we meet! . . . We're ready NOW — men, guns, and Fleet." So that is how we started in To do our share — the Navy's "bit"; They were surprised, but Admiral Sims Had surely made a three-base hit With what he said. . . . And now it's up To us to do our hearty best To make the seas the old-time seas; Till that is done there'll be no rest. It is a job to stop the Hun, But — it's a job that must be done! 35 BRIGGS OF BASE No. 8 TT may be that you know him. A slim and ■*■ likely kid; Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and glance. He never took a prize at school (his talents always hid), And yet he's got a medal from the Govern- ment of France! He didn't kill a lat of men; He never injured one;' He didn't hold a trench alone; He never manned a gun; He drove an ambulance — that's all; But those above him knew He'd take it into hell and back If he was ordered to ! That night (he'd been right on the job For twenty hours or more) They telephoned again for him — And as he cranked — he swore. Half dead for sleep, he drove too far. Straight into No Man's Land, And there he gathered up four men Who didn't understand Or care what happened. . . . Then a chap Sagging with gobs of mud He shoved into his throbbing car That smelled of drugs and blood. 36 The other roared, but Briggs, sleep-deaf, Stared at the moon on high — 'Twas like some spent star-shell glued on A blue-black, tired sky — And didn't try to hear or think; He only tried to keep His car from sliding off the road — And not to fall asleep. The ambulance went skidding back (His chains had lost themselves). While now and then a growl came from Its stretcher-ladened shelves. Briggs never stopped, but when the groans Were punctured with a curse He told the weary moon, "At least This flivver is no hearse!" And slowly yawned again. ... At last They rounded Trouble Bend, Base Eight before them — and that ride Was at a welcome end. . . . The blood-stained orderlies came out To take the wounded in. Opened the doors to lift the wrecks . . . Before they could begin There tumbled out the mud-caked man, Whose mouth was shot away; A man who stared like some wild beast Finally brought to bay; For Briggs, Base Eight, American, Had brought (beside his four) A German officer, half drunk For need of rest! who swore 37 And cried, and then sank back again And fell asleep. . . . That's why They've decorated little Briggs — Red-headed, tall, and shy! "I didn't do a thing," he growls; " 'Twas just a fool mistake. And he'd have captured me, of course. If he had been awake. He tried to talk (his battered mouth Was just a shredded scar) ; But we were wasting time, and so I pushed him in the car And came on back. . . . Now, what is there About that sort of stuff To make a fuss for? I am not A hero. . . . Fm a bluff!" The surgeon smiles. . . . "If he can make A capture in the night When doing Red Cross work, what would He do if he should jightf He asks, and looks a long way off To where the pounding guns Are making other harmless wrecks Of one-time hellish Huns. I wonder if you know him ? A slim and quiet kid. Red-headed, tall, and soft of speech and glance ; He doesn't like to have you talk about the thing he did — And yet he's got a medal from the Govern- ment of France. 38 THE PENGUIN DRIVER A T home, he drove a taxi, -^^ A job he'd now disdain; He's learning (on a queer machine) To drive an aeroplane. It doesn't fly — it glumps along And bumps him, ev'ry chance; His tumbling, rumbling "Penguin" Out there — Somewhere in France. It isn't fun to drive it, But he's not out for fun; He's going to learn to drop good bombs Upon the no-good Hun! And so, until he graduates, He makes his Penguin prance — His bumping, jumping Penguin Out there — Somewhere in France. As soon as he's a pilot, (And earned his Golden Wings) He'll take the air on high, you bet And do some bully things ! The Prussians will be sorry He ever learned to dance With a rearing, tearing Penguin Out there — Somewhere in France. 39 WAITIN' T> ACK of the Front in this durn trainin' camp, ^^ Day after day we are stuck, an' we swear Whenever we hear th' regular tramp Of th' men who are through and are goin' somewhere. We're all of us willin', but why keep us drillin' Forever? . . . Just waitin' for somethin' to do ! # At home they are readin' th' outlandish name Of a battle that's won or a hero that's dead Of a stunt that had won him a place in this Game — But all that I've won is a cold in my head! While others are fightin' we're readin' or writin' — An' the censors will see that it don't get to you! We long for a scrap that will sizzle the blood ; We hone for a chance to bust in a head; This marchin' an' diggin' in acres of mud Ain't as excitin' as bein' plain dead. War may be a curse, but this here is worse — This dreamin' th' dreams that never come true. All set for a mix-up that we can't begin ; Ready and anxious for whatever comes. We're linked to the side-lines. . . . Ain't it a sin, 40 Spendin' good hours a-twiddlin' thumbs? Seems like a crime to waste so much time A-waitin' — an' waitin'! You'd find it so, too. My bunkie is peevish, and I'm out of tune; The Capting's a grouch whenever we hike; If we don't get into this muss pretty soon, We fellers are likely to go on a strike! We signed for a scrap, not a tea or a nap, Or to wait. And to wait. And to wait — Till it's through! 41 WE'RE ALL RIGHT HERE! \X7 HAT'S th' meanin' of the look you see ' ' in soldiers' eyes? Some of them you thought would kick an' stall around an' howl; But just listen (if they'll talk) an' hear, to your surprise, A lot of laughs, a lot o' tales — but never once a growl! Business man and bell hop. Farmer boy and clerk; Easy-going spendthrifts, Men that have to work; \ Firemen and brokers. Chauffeurs still "in gear"; The army is the melting pot — We're all right here! Desk men and road men. Men who sweep the street; Coal men and plumbers (If they have good feet) ; Showmen and film stars, All have mislaid fear. Funny crowd; but we should fret — We're all right here! Keen men and dull men. Razor-edged or dumb. High-grade and low-grade, Some, plain medium; 42 ^ Feet upon the drill-ground, Hearts all beating high; You are glad that you are here, And so, old top, am I! That's the meaning of the call; ev'ry man is proud He is in the common cause, with a bunch of men Fighting for democracy, lined up with this crowd — God ! It's pretty nifty just to be a man again! 43 REPRISAL CISTER Susie's sittln' knittin' ^ Sweaters, wristlets, scarfs, an' socks; She ain't "sewin' shirts for soldiers" 'Cause she got so many knocks From th' papers 'bout her sewin' — Now she's knittin' pounds of yarn Into things to send away. . . . Well, I don't care. Don't care a darn! Hasn't knit no scarf or sweater, Hasn't made no socks for me; Little brother, he can rustle For himself alone, you see! Maw is on the Help Committee, Paw is drillin' with th' Guard; Brother's soldierin' — and sister's Knittin' fast An' awful hard! No, they won't pay me no 'tention, So I'm goin' to run away. Join th' army as a — as a Bellboy, may be, without pay. Then I'll get a scarf an' sweater And some socks, soon as I go. From some other feller's sister That I do not Even know. 44 THE SOUL OF SERGEANT TODD T wasn't so much of a soldier," said the soul ■*• of Sergeant Todd, (Fumbling at his medal, that statement sounded odd.) "I wasn't so much of a fighter, but when they came, and came, Yelling and shooting, I just got mad, and I reckon I did the same. Into my trench they piled — just boys — Making a most outlandish noise." A Corporal's soul beside him nodded and mus- tered a smile: "You handled a dozen at once," he said; "they didn't come single file. If you wasn't *much of a soldier,' or shirked in your duty — well, say. What sort of a chance have other men got when tested on Judgment Day? You fought them all, you did; and when They quit, you started in again!" "Shut up!" said the soul of Sergeant Todd?" "you're still in my squad, McQuade, I say that I lacked what you did not lack — courage to die, unafraid. I was a coward, a trembling coward, deep in my craven heart; 45 I fought with the fear of that fear at my soul, playing no hero's part! You can't understand it — ^but I Had none of the courage — to die! "And now that I'm dead," said the troubled soul of the one-time Sergeant Todd, "It didn't seem right that those who live should think I have met our God As a brave man does : his honor clear, with his courage unscathed and whole. On this high plane there is no room for a fear- troubled human soul; "So Sergeant Todd" (he bowed his head) "Fears no more — for his body's dead I" 46 THE BUSY LADY TIIT'E meet ev'ry week to make surgical dress- ^ ^ ings — And one woman does it dead wrong; I watched her a day — then I just had to say, "My dear! If I may — that's too long!" While I was explaining the teacher came by — She's so crosss that her mouth's just a line — And found fault with me and my work. . . . After that I'll mind no one's business but mine! To-day I was filling my neighbor's slow mind With War-Garden ideas and lore, When a dog I don't know just ruined mine — so I'll not advise her any more ! Then a talk that I gave to the Home Service Group On "Waste" was quite spoiled — though 'twas fine — By my bread burning up while I talked. . . . After this I'll mind no one's business but mine! At a lecture on "Hospital Units at Work" A woman (who looked fifty-three) Ere the talk had begun started crying Her son Has gone, she confided to me. 47 "But you should be hrave and 'buck up'," I re- marked. "And yours?" she asked. . . . How did she divine That / am not married? . . . Oh, well, after this I'll mind no one's business — ^b-but mine! 48 OVERDOING IT ^ I "'HIS horrid old war is right in our house -*• Making itself at home, goodness sakes ! The scraps from our table won't feed a mouse We've cut out desserts, salads, and cakes. Monday is meatless and Tuesday is dry, Wednesday is sugarless , too, gee whiz! Our plates must be cleaned, they tell us. That's why We eat the garbage before it is! So I bought a melon the other day When ma was 'tending a Red Cross tea. I wanted it awful bad. . . . Anyway It wasn't so h'lg — just right for me — And then, just to keep from wasting a drop, I ate it all up I . . . Our colored Liz Says Pa told the doctor, "My fault, old top — " 'We eat the garbage before it is.' " The doctor was writing a 'scription note When I come to, turned over and grinned. And he frowned at Pa, as he wrote and wrote. Till Pa grew red like his cheeks was skinned. "Eating the garbage? Now, listen, man. If that's your game it's good for my biz. But if / was you, I surely would 'can' " 'We eat the garbage before it is I' " 49 THE GIVERS T 'VE given a lot of my time and work -* To helping my country," says he; ''No one can tell you that I am a shirk In the great cause of Liberty!" (Perhaps you have met him? Well, then, forget him!) John Lampas was a Greek, John Lampas isn't now; He's just a plain American And eating soldier chow. He joined the army recently, But first — he gave away His touring car, his watch, his cash To the Red Cross one day, And then enlisted. "That's all I can do," He said; "and I'm glad to give it, for true!" He doesn't ask for praise. For jollies, or for guff; He gave because this land gave him A chance — which was enough I He hasn't got a dollar; He's just a khakied man. But, somehow, he seems mighty like A true American! His cash and his watch and his auto he gave. And then himself. Was that foolish, or brave? 50 So when I hear that other chap Congratulate himself because He gave "some time" — I'd like to rap Him once across his selfish paws I (Because I have met him — / want to forget him!) 51 HULLO, SOLDIER 1 HOW'S THE BOY? WE'RE not a bit deluded by the notion That this is just a picnic, or that we Enlisted for a trip across the ocean — There's work ahead, not just a joyous spree. Of course we sing and talk and sometimes dance ; But get this in your mind — that when we hear "Hullo, Soldier I How's the boy?" as we dis- embark in France, They will hear us answer, "Ready 1" Loud and clear; They will see that we are ready, Never fear. Don't you think that we are just a bunch of flivvers ; We've measured up the job that must be done And we know what we are facing, though the shivers Don't turn our spines to rubber — not a one ! The Prussian scorned the world. Well, let him scorn it (The world exchanges loathing for that scorn) ; We haven't put on khaki to adorn it, But to make the Prussian sorry He was born; And to send him back, his "Kultur" Banner tornl 52 So it doesn't matter that some foolish people Bemoan the fact this Army's on the go; Unless it is, the harvest they will reap'll Be slavery or death, they ought to know. It isn't what they want or what we'd like — It's what we've ^ot to do. . . . When others say, "Hullo, Soldier! How's the boy?" as we drill and shoot and hike, They must hear us answer, "Ready!" Ev'ry day, It's this nation's debt to France we've Come to pay! 53 BEANS A SIMPLE ditty Private Smithy sang for me, Entitled "Beans." . . . The tune was not a joy; The words were commonplace as they could -be, But just to hear his earnest voice — ^"Oh, Boy!" When first I went a-sojerin' I couldn't eat the stuff The cookies gave the bunch of us, For it was rough and tough. But since I've been a-sojerin' And learned what livin' means The grub we get tastes mighty good, E-special-lee th' beans, Especially th' beans! We all were soft and flabby — Our hands and muscles, too — We had been used to easy things To eat, to think, to do. But when we tackled trench work. With all that diggin' means. We learned to like the sojer grub, E-special-lee th' beans. Especially th' beans. So now we're very diff'rent When mess-call comes around; We've got our appetites all set A-waitin' for that sound; 54 It's always "second helpin's" Behind the mess-tent screens; We're glad for Uncle Sam's good grub, E-special-lee th' beans, Especially th' beans ! A very simple ditty, you'll agree with me; A commonplace production; but the joy And unction that he puts into the melody, The splendid appetite he sings — Oh, Boy! 55 BEHIND THE LINES V^T'E number hundreds of thousands, and '^' we're nowhere near the front; We're pen and pencil pushers, or "serving" the adding machines; We'll never reach the firing-line, nor bear its hellish brunt — But where'd they be if it weren't for us, workers behind the scenes? Book-keeper, paymaster, spectacled clerk. Doing our bit, though it's every day work — We're all of us part of The Service ! We're the backwash whirl of the pool of War gathering in the men. We cannot fight as others fight, though just as loyal and true; We're the silent corps of the Men Behind, over and over again Doing our part in the war for Right, small though it seem to you. Figuring, checking-up, testing all day. Knowing no hours — and not too much pay — We're all of us part of The Service. S^ If it takes ten men behind the- front to put one on the Line, (We all remember the speech that cheers the backwash, anyhow!) We're putting them there — and do not ask for furloughs . . . That's a sign We're not the guests of the Government — we're in The Service now. A cog in the big machine? Maybe — But a cog that doesn't complain, you see — We're all of us part of The Service! 57 THE DISAPPOINTED 'T^HERE'S a Red Cross Button on his left ■*- lapel, And a Liberty Bond pin on his right; There's a U. S. flag above the Red Cross, too; His patriotism's never out of sight! His loyalty is spread on his hollow breast (And sometimes he's pathetic, I confess), But the button that he's most ashamed to wear Is the one that reads EXEMPT U. S. There's an aching heart in his 28-chest, There's a look of deep longing in his eyes; Behind his heavy glasses there gleams a hope That maybe he can grow an inch in size ! There's a hero-throb in the heart of that boy, Though he wears too much "scenery" — ah, yes! — But the badge that hurts he really tries to hide — It's the one that reads EXEMPT U. S. You fellows that are in — have a heart for those Who want to be, but can't! For they must know A bitterness of soul you can never feel — They haven't got a chance on earth to go ! 58 So it's, "Stay back home with the old and unfit," (There's nothing else to do but that, I guess ! ) The badge he'd be glad to throw a mile away Is the one that reads EXEMPT U. S. 59 GOODBYE, BOYS I T INE after line, you swung along, "*— ' You men, who only a while ago Were just a part of the city's throng Working for self, sedate and slow. But now — what a diff'rence ! Living throbs Of the Nation's heart! Her reborn men; And some who saw you gulped back sobs — And wished you were marching home again ! Our eyes were dim as you went past. For we knew you — at last! We felt that every senseless joke About a soldier, wherever made, Would make us ashamed. . . . For now we choke Whenever the Colors and you parade! Wherever that O. D. uniform Shall gladden the eyes of we useless men We can't forget who is meeting the storm — That some of you won't come home again! You went. . . . We talked. . . . God blot the past! For we know you — at last! 60 THAT'S ALL ^TpO take this trouble seriously, -*- But not to gloom or whine; To never overestimate Our strength, or to decline To see this is no picnic. But do our earnest part With brain and muscles, newly trained- To keep a steady heart I To fight, but not to lower Our standards in the dust; To meet a savage enemy Whose words the world can't trust. To guard our foolish tempers — Or keep them out of sight! To never falter, doubt, or fear The outcome will be right! To laugh — whenever laughter Is best to keep us fit; To shake hands with privation When face to face with it. To give without complaining Or boasting what we give; To make this world a safer world For those who have to live ! 6i To part with old traditions That hampered in the past; To see that heart-wrung "aliens" As enemies aren't classed, But treated — while deserving it — As human beings, too; Just to ^^ clean — in mind and soul — That's all we have to do! 62 AN AMERICAN CREED CTRAIGHT thinking, ^ Straight talking, Straight doing, And a firm belief in the might of right. Patience linked with patriotism, Justice added to kindliness. Uncompromising devotion to this country. And active, not passive, Americanism. To talk less, to mean more. To complain less, to accomplish more, And to so live that every one of us is ready to look Eternity in the face at any moment, and be unafraid! 63 IN OTHER KEYS YOUTH O' THE YEAR WRITE me," she ordered, nodding her head, "A song of the rippling Spring that is gone — A song that's different from songs that are dead — Different as sunset is from the dawn. Sparkling with happiness, heavy with dew, Trilling and thrilling, all the way through; Fill it with heaven's own laughing blue — Write it!" she said. So I wrote it — "Love's Pawn." I spoke of the sunshine caught in her hair; I sang of the peach blossom's pink in her face; I mentioned the heavenly blue with great care That colored her wonderful eyes. And her grace 1 likened to that of a slender young tree Bowing and laughing when breezes blow free; In fact, there was naught in the Spring I could see Save this girl who with Love would ever keep pace. She took it and read it, that poor thing of mine — Old as a saga, young as the year — Drank in the similes (flattering winel), Then gave her verdict, "You are a dear; 67 Surely no girl ever had such a song Written for her; I will treasure it long; It's so original — clever — and strong; How could you know me so well — in one year?" I read it myself — and grew red, I confess, As a good workman should, when a poor job is done; But the joy of her laugh and the sweet, swift caress Overpaid me, a hundred to one ! . . . And then as she stood on the brow of the hill And swayed in the wind, as Youth ever will, I think that I heard her silv'ry laugh trill . . . But perish the thought that she'd spoken in fun! 68 UNFINISHED '' I ^HE radiant dawn flows up the empty sky, -■- Its singing colors heralding the day, And yet, before the tardy sun Is high. Unfinished morning fades and slips away. While Nature holds her fragrant breath at dawn Watching the loveliness she's made — it's gone ! From dew-drenched garden thrills a thrush's call- That liquid note that all night long was stilled — The living chalice, brown and bright and small. Seems with the joy of living overfilled — Then suddenly, unfinished, clear and sweet The song is drowned in noises from the street. So at the edge of dusk my love for you Would speak to your white soul, would humbly come To tell the age-old story, ever new — But in the pulsing twilight Love is dumb ! Oh, heart of mine, within your quiet breast Unfinished dawn — and song — and love — find rest I 69 PAID IN ADVANCE 1X7 HAT is the cost of a day in Spring — ^^ A wind-swept, rain-washed golden day? A day that with joy is bubbling — And dancing adown a world mad-gay? You've paid for that day with days gone by — The gloomy days and the days of rain; The days that you'd like to forget — and try — Days that were tuned to a note of pain. Others there are who will never forget The lowering clouds and the sodden world, But — though you paid as they paid, eyes wet — Your banner of courage was still unfurled! That was the price of this day in June, Paid in advance with a shrug and a smile — While others complained, you heard a tune. Making the gloomiest day worth while! 70 WE RODE AT NIGHT WE rode at night, and the cut-steel stars Daggered the black of the quiet sky; Yet Venus had taken the place of Mars In the Scheme of the Silent Worlds on high. The ribbon of road ran straight ahead; The night air whipped your hair and your face, Our hearts kept time to the horses' pace. And we were alive, and our blood was red ! We rode at night. . . . Though you did not speak I nearer drew — ^there was none to see — Love lent me strength to an arm not weak. And I swept you out of your saddle — to me ! I rowelled your horse and he thundered on. While in my arms you cuddled, and sighed; And I kissed your hair and lips — and lied When you asked if the coming light was the dawn? We rode at night; and our love, new-found. Gloried our way, as the pace slowed down; Heart against heart, your fingers wound Close about mine, ere we reached the town. You cared, you cared! Though your firm white hand Was cut by the reins you had held too long, "Dear Cave-man, I love you," you said; "is it wrong?" O, wonderful night in a wonderful land! 71 We ride no more, for the years have fled, The wine of hot Youth is down to the lees; Broken in body, I dream, instead. Of the gold-shot Past that age ever sees. We ride no more. . . . Yet the scar is still there On the brave little hand that I kissed that night. And my love is as strong as the hand is white ; But I wonder — I wonder — do you still care? 72 NOW— AND THEN A THOUSAND years from now, how will •^^ this earth Conduct itself? Will there be wars, and men Inventing things ? Or will there be a dearth Of ideas (such as we feel, now and then?) Nobody knows. We can surmise, perchance — But glancing that far off is quite some glance ! A thousand years from now — in Time's swift flight— The areoplane itself may be passe, And transportation on a beam of light The natural and the ordinary way. Men may have bodies made of metals cold To match the hearts and brains those bodies hold! A thousand years from now — why should we care What Science then brings forth — we won't be here To worry over things or to compare The present with our past — won't that be queer? But men, as now, will hope (as we have done) That each new year will be a better one I 73 UNDERSTOOD /^UT of the ruck and the roar of life ^•^ He stepped aside to rest one day, And the flowers that grew along the way Lifted him out of the wearisome strife That had claimed his every waking thought For years . . . and a miracle had been wrought ! "Why have I never seen the rose Just as a rose before?" asked he. "Always its cost was the point to me, And not its sweetness ! Do you suppose That all these years — how long, God knows I — I really have not understood the rose?" Walking along the quiet street He noted a sick and fretting child; And he waved his hand and paused and smiled Till the baby laughed — and its laugh was sweet. His eyes were dim as his hand he kissed To the child, and he whispered, "And that I have missed!" To the end of the day that was full of care The song in his heart was strong and new, And the woman who loved him heard it too : "Now that his soul is awake, I dare Hope that he understands me," she said; But I fear he didn't — until he was dead I 74 THE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT '*A MERRY CHRISTMAS!" You who ■*^^ make each day A little less unhappy for some soul Weighted with sorrow ; you who have been gay For others' sake — although you paid the toll In the still watches of the weary night, Fighting despair. You who have faced the world With spirit and put cowardice to flight; You, with your rugged banner still un- furled — "A Merry Christmas I" For in you I see The Vision of the Man that I would be ! "A Merry Christmas!" Through the winter chill. The singing spring — hot summer and drear fall, You go your way, seeking for good, not ill, Remembering life's joy and not its gall; Clasping the hand that trembles, when you may. Spending your love whole-heartedly the while For those who need it now, nor wait that day When they no longer care for word or smile. Doing your part with all sincerity — A Vision of the Man that I would be ! 75 THE REASON ** I ^HE fetching airs ybu have; the way you ■'' sing, dear; The pretty uplift of your round, firm chin; Into my heart the sunshine daily bring, dear; To be downcast when you're here were a sin I Yet ev'ry motion, ev'ry smile and word, dear, I know full well — and lost are their effect. All of your bell-like tones you see, I've heard, dear, . When they were meant for me — and came direct. That golden hair! How well you know its worth, dear, To draw enraptured praise from lovers bold ! I, too, know well that from its very birth, dear. Its meshes have entrapped the young and old. Yet, when I watch you laughing, teasing — ^you, dear. Who have been given such a hold on hearts, I do not thrill as all the others do, dear; Lost on me (in a manner) are your arts! Not that I'm jealous, indifferent, or cold, dear; Not that I don't approve of all your charms ; Not that you're "just a little bit too old," dear; Nor that you are a tiny babe in arms! No, no ; you're sweet, and fresh, and fair, dear, Unspoiled, delightful — really "all the rage." But somehow I can't seem to rightly care, dear — I wooed your mother — when she was your age! THE MODERN WAY OF tender missives— decorated treasures — Of violets and roses, passing sweet; Of throbbing heart-songs, tuned to lilting meas- ures ; Of fervent verse — with somewhat halting feet; Of every dainty Valentine that's fashioned You've had a rather goodly share each year ; So will you take, in place of love-impassioned Epistles, something quieter, my dear? Three words I'll send — that is, if they're enough To take the place of all that flossy stuff ! Throughout the year life is so full of trouble, Saint Valentine, alas! is shoved aside; Beneath grim work the lover's back must double, And then he lets poor sentiment go slide 1 We try to think of what you'd have us say, dear, But when we've coaxed a good thought half way out, A money-making idea's in the way, dear, And then Love's gentle troops are put to rout. So — ^with a business missive in each hand — Will three words do? Or do you more de- mand? 77 Gone are the days when troubadors sang daily Of hearts and flowers, Jips and eyes and hair ; We take (I fear) our deep emotions gaily, And think we haven't time to love or care. Yet once a year it shouldn't be impossible To Valentine a little, that is true; Then gloss the faults of mine you think are glossible. And I will troubador a bit for you; So, by the stars that shine above you. Hark to my valentine, my dear, / love you! 78 BECAUSE—! npHIS thing of writing "homely verse," -■■ With country phrases, jokes and slang ; With "jiminies!" "by hecks!" and such, With "backwoods" odor, taste and tang — This thing, I say, of making light Of country life is funny — not! I'd like to know where we would be If farms were all to go to pot! We talk a lot of "backyard farms," "Intensive gard'ning" — "how to raise All vegetables that you need On ten square feet in twenty days." We figure fortunes that six hens Will bring us — if we keep 'em penned; And yet, when farmers are the butt Of jokes, who rises to defend? I'm weary of this silly pose, This pseudo-humor, sickly wit; I will not laugh or even smile When at the farmers jokesmiths hit. Especially this time of year I do denounce it! (Uncle Jim Out on his farm lives well — and he Has asked us all to visit him!) 79 THAT SMILE T SURE do like that kid, although I know ■■■ He's rotten spoiled, and ought to be sup- pressed. He's boiling over with boy-nonsense I So The neighbors have no chance to get a rest. Not bad, you understand; just "some unlucky" In getting caught at things, once in a while; Yet when he does, he never runs — he's plucky! But plays that smile of his, that flashing smile. Sometimes when he has done a foolish thing — Like "hoeing weeds" with our best garden hose, Or in the rose bed "built a min'rul spring," He's bound to make me peevish, goodness knows 1 Yet when he tries to " 'splain it all" to me, I don't succumb a moment to his guile; I'm stern, as stern, indeed, as I can be — Until he smiles that mother-given smile! Perhaps he doesn't understand how strong A weapon he possesses — Gracious me! Disarmed by it, I can not right the wrong By scolding him, however forcefully. I do believe, if Fate itself were bent On breaking him, 'twould hesitate a while And feel ashamed! . . . He wins without in- tent Because — God bless him! — he knows when to smile. THE GIFT OF GIFTS T F Antoinette were sitting here before the -*- cheery blaze, And she should ask me what I'd like to-mor- row — day of days — Would not my heart leap to my mouth, as any chap's would do. While leaning down to her pink ear, I softly whispered, "You!" If Antoinette were just to give me half a chance to say What gift of gifts I'd like the best, how long would I delay In taking her into my arms and keeping her there, too, While earnestly I answer her with one brief, heartfelt "You!" If Antoinette, dear Antoinette, were simply to suggest That question, don't you think that I would quickly do the rest? Well, you'd be wrong, because, alas! a year ago — or two — She asked Jim what he wanted, and the lucky chap said "You!" 8i THE NEIGHBORS T70R years and years I practiced — ■^ Tum-tum, tum-tum, tee-tum! Pounding up and down the scale, White keys, black keys — They all fell beneath my faithful hammering; And then — my pretty neighbor across the street Put in a player-piano that could tear a hole Through classics that I'd never learned even to dent! I was mad — hopping mad — But I got even with her. (She was studying for the operatic stage.) I bought a phonograph — cheap — And some records — not cheap. They made her gargling voice Sound like an imitation with a small i. Then we both laughed — rand quit our exercises. To-day she's a moving picture actress, Using her big eyes in a financially-effective way, While I write things in prose or jingle Or verse that is free-on-bail. Sometimes I get by with it; and Sometimes she doesn't spoil a film — Isn't the public lucky that we didn't Stick to our callings ? 82 UNCLE BILL'S IDEA I'VE figgered out that worryin' don't pay a little bit, Fer every feller's got to have some trouble in his day ; An' wonderin' what's comin' next don't help to sidetrack hit — You can't foretell afflictions, or stop 'em, thataway ! It's better jest to take what's sent And stand it, ef you ain't content I Looks like to me that every one has got a large amount Of things to bear that he don't like, as through this life he goes; And though of happy days we're apt to lose the rightful count, Things even up before we die, as every old man knows. There ain't no great monopoly On sickness ner bad luck, I gee! We've got to stand our share of pain and meet a heap of sorrow; We've got to shoulder burdens that no one likes to tote; But worryin' about the load, and thinkin' of th' morrow Don't make it one mite easier, er cheerfuller, I note! 83 Th' way to do is jest t' grin And hope for better times ag'in; "But I can't grin I" some people say. Then don't — ^but bear it, anyway! 84 'LIZABETH ANN'S PICTURE A/TA wanted a good, new picture of me; so -*-^-*- pa says, " 'Lizabeth Ann, You come down town at noon to-day, and we'll go to the picture man; But don't tell mother — we'll have a surprise for her on Christmas day. And give her a real nice photograft — I know just what she will say." "Oh, goody!" I says, "I am awful glad! I'll be there at noon, you see." (I like to have a secret with pa — it's awful much fun for me.) I runned away at 'leven o'clock, and ma didn't see me go. Although I had dressed in my very best — and that takes time, you know — My party frock, and my best kid shoes; my furs and my "picture" hat. And my new red coat — the one she says, "Be careful, my dear, of that." And when I got to his office, pa looked awful surprised, and said, "Dear me, what a dressed-up little girl ! Why, really, you turn my head!" And then we went to the picture man. He's nice enough, I s'pose, But what do you think he said to me? "You seem to be mostly clothes !" 85 So pa and the man made me undress, till all that I had on me Was my shirtwaist slip — my arms and neck was bare as they both could be! It made me feel umbarrassed! And then I guess that I nearly cried, But pa just patted me on the head and said he was satisfied. And now the pictures are finished up, and one is already framed; But ma'll be mad, I am pretty sure — I know that / feel ashamed; For all that you see is my head and neck — and not a bit of my dress — She'll think I was funny to go down-town with so little on, I guess! Yet pa says, "Never you mind, my dear — ^blame it on me or the man; But mother will like it, you see if she don't — she wanted you, 'Lizabeth Ann." 86 THE SMALL BOY EXPLAINS COME people say the sky is blue ^ Acause it's warshed by rains up there; I dunno if 'at's so, do you? And I don't care — -and I don't care ! I ' I ain't no sky, an' I don't like To have my face warshed, anyhow; My nurse says I'm a "naughty tike To run away" or raise a row. But ef she daubed mud on like this A-purpose, so's the boys would play With her — and not call her a "sis," She'd hate to warsh it all away! That's why the blue sky'll never mean A in-spi-ra-tion er a "joy"; A-course it can be nice an' clean — It won't be called a "sissy-boy." 87 THE BOLD LOVER T_T E held her hand, and joy shone in his eyes ; ■■■ ^ The world and all therein to him was fair; What mattered now the gloomy, lowering skies ? For what the future held he did not care! He only knew he loved her and that she Was everything a real sweetheart should be. He held her hand. . . . The car was crowded, too; The passengers could not suppress their smiles. The love he felt, perhaps, obscured his view, So wrapt was he in all her pretty wiles. And when he kissed her rosy lips, a hush Fell on them as they saw her slowly blush ! He held her hand and gazed about with pride. As though to challenge those who'd say him nay; He held her hand — and nestling to her side, The interested audience heard him say; "Oh, Momie, dear, you're sweet as any rose — '■ I love you more dan anybody knows." IMAGINATION /^NCET, when I was a gret big man, I got ^^ mad at the way 01' nurses bossed the childruns an' so I wouldn't stay; I jest got up and pushed my house right over — yes, I did; An' then I turned the streets all round, and runned away and hid! When I come back, my childruns was cryin' awful loud, Fer nobody knowed wher they lived, an' there was such a crowd. I says, "Now, folks must shet their eyes — don't open them a crack!" — An' then I straightened out the streets, an' put the houses back. 'N oncet I was a neluphant, as big as all out- doors, 'N every time I turned around it shook the roofs and floors; I walked down to the river, and I drunk it up — ALL up, Jest like it was some cambric tea in my ol' silver cup. An' when the people come fer me, I jest set down, kerplunk! An' squashed 'em flat — an' picked them up — an' packed 'em in my trunk! 89 'N then I twist my trunk off, an' throwed it all away — You better let me go, Louise — I might do that to-day ! You won't? All right — you'd better did, for one time long ago. Before I gotter be a boy, I was a bear — oh, no — I was a snake — a yaller snake, an' I was ten MILES long, 'N all I et was nurse girls — yes, I DID, although 'twas wrong. That was a million years ago, but something — inside me — Tells me I'm goin' to be a snake again — jest watch and see! You don't believe a word I say? Well, I don't care — I DO — How could I 'member all these things, unlessen they was true? 90 WILLING TO TRADE '' I ^HE doctor brung a baby up to our house -*- last week — A little bit of thing it is — ^but my! it's gotta squeak I It makes a noise that's twice as big as you ex- pect to hear, And then ma says, "Go right away — you mustn't tease him, dear!" She seems to like it more than me — But I ain't jealous, no, siree! I told the boys, and Billy Black, he says, "Well, that is nice. But I would rather have my dog — ^they're worth more at the price. For pa says babies cost a lot to feed and dress and train, And Rover, he is smart, he is, and gotter splen- did brain!" I kinder feel that very way — But ma says baby's come to stay. Frank Brown has got a billygoat that pulls him on his sled. And Kenneth's got a ponycart; but pa looked cross and said I mustn't talk so foolish when I asked him if I might Go trade our baby for a pony or a goat, last night. 91 I s'pose he knew nohody'd trade A goat for any baby made! I wouldn't mind it, I believe, if any boy I knew Would envy me for what we've got, but that's what they won't do! 92 THE LONELY CHILD TT takes so long to grow up big and get to ■'■ to be a man, I wisht sometimes that I'd been born as old as Mary Ann; (She is the cook, and she's so old her teeth come out at night), 'Cause then I wouldn't want a boy to play with or to fight. But now I go upstairs and down And get in people's way, Because there ain't no children here To play with every day. The house next door is big and fine, but nobody lives there; And all the winders, like big eyes, just stare at me, and stare, Until I run back in our house and 'tend like I can't see, And feel my way around the rooms till ma, she says to me : "My goodness, Rob, what is this game? Pretending you are blind? Dear me I The child has surely got A most peculiar mind." I've ast my pa to go and buy a brother for me, too; But he jest shakes his head and says that it would never do; 93 And then he takes a book up quick and reads to me and tries To make me laugh and talk to him ; but some- times ma, she cries. But even then I seem to see The empty house next door And all those big, dark window-eyes That stared at me before. Some time I'm going to run away and find a father-man Who has whole lots of boys and girls — for I am sure I can — And when I do, I'm going to ast him please to come and take The house next door and live in it — and — do it for my sake ! And if he does, oh, won't it be A happy day for me? I'll get a lot of brothers, then, Without no bother — see? 94 THE LITTLE FELLER'S GONE npH' little feller's gone ! Since he was so big, -*- him an' I Have been like good old cronies, agreein' on the sly To skip the years between. He was jest goin' on five years — an' I am "Grandpa Brown," Although he named me "Santa Claus" when fust he come to town — An' my white beard he seen. But now it seems to me a'most As soon as he was born, Th' little feller's gone. He won't be standin' by the gate to holler to me, "Hi! Wait fer me, Santy I" like he done when I went stumpin' by T' fetch the cows back home. We'll never sit agin an' argue which way we should go; Or figger if that bird was jest a blackwing er a crow. Nor through the meadows roam. Fer he has found a place up there Where it is always dawn — Th' little feller's gone. 95 He was so full of fun I uster feel my heavy years Drop from me when I went with him. Some- times he'd pull my ears And say, "Hear dat Bob White? Dat is a quail a-whistlin' in de woods, some- where — le's go An' ketch him— we can sprinkle salt upon his tail, you know!" And then he'd laugh outright; But now, I don't take int'rust in A thing that's goin' on — Th' little feller's gone. It must be right, but somehow I can't look at it that way — Why should he go, so young and good, and me — so worn out — stay? But mebbe up in heaven he will think of me and wait And holler "Hi !" when he seems me a-limpin' to the Gate, And mebbe (where is my old han'kerchief a-got to now?) He'll say to Peter, "Let him in — I like him, anyhow 1" 96 THE FISHERMAN'S SON WHEN pa comes back home from his trip, All brown and freckle-faced, He's fatter than he's been for months — There ain't no cloth to waste When he puts on his old fall suit And sits out on the lawn, And tells about the fish he caught — But my! how ma does yawn! Pa smokes a puff or two, and then He says, "You ought to see The one I caught on Thursday — long As 'tis from you to me. I had him on the bank; yes, sir, As sure as you are born, And then he jumped right back again — " But ma — how she does yawn! I got a hook and line that ain't Like pa's, but still it's fun To go down to the creek and fish And keep out of the sun. Ma gives me sandwiches to eat, And when the last bite's gone I guess I go to sleep, sometimes — At least I know I yawn. 97 But one day I did ketch a fish; Ma took it, and it weighed A pound, she said; but pa looked cross And said, "It must have strayed." We had it cooked for supper, too, And ma and I ate some; But pa, he wouldn't, and ma laughed; But all she said was "hu-u-m!" 98 THE DOG CONFESSES T AM a lucky dog, I know, and all my friends ■^ agree The people that I live with now are good as gold to me Because three times I saved a life — and that is why they give Me everything a dog could want — and will, while I shall live. But I've a conscience, and I must Confess the truth — or else I'll bust! One day the cart that Bobbie drives ran up on pony's heels, And off he bolted! I went, too, and mixed up with the wheels. Until the cart came to a stop, and Bobbie-boy was saved — Then folks wept o'er the noble way that I, a dog, behaved. (The truth is, I got in that mix Avoiding pony's vicious kicks ! ) Another time, when Bobbie went to play out on the dock He fell into the water there, (he'd stumbled on a block) ; 99 I sprang in after him, of course, and dragged him back to land — Then everybody said the way I acted was "just grand." (The rat that I was chasing when I plunged, I never saw again!) You see this stubby tail of mine? I got that when a car Came near to crushing Bobbie-boy — it gave us all a jar; I knocked him off the track in time, but one wheel caught my tail And cut it short; it hurt, of course, and I let out a wail — (The cur that I had hoped to fight Across the street, was out of sight I) So, though I haven't meant to be a noble brute at all, I have to take the praise they give, and hear them patiently; But there is comfort in this thought — although it may seem small — There are some human heroes who are "pos- ing" — just like me I 100 BR'ER RABBIT IN DE BRESH PILE BR'ER RABBIT sorter snoozin' in de Big Bresh Pile, Years laid back an' pink eyes shet up tight, Snow a-layin' deep an' gittin' deeper all de while — Br'er Rabbit glad dat he is outer sight. Pretty soon he hear a noise — dat's Br'er Fox, he know, Gropin' th'ough de quiet woods, out in de cold an' snow; "Is dat you, Br'er Rab?" he say — but Br'er Rab lay low An' never let on dat he heerd him right. "Come out an' take a little stroll," seys Br'er Fox, seys he, Sniffin' at de bresh pile an' walkin' all aroun' ; "Much obleeged," seys Br'er Rab; "but dis will do fer me — Hate ter walk when snow is on de groun'." "Woods is lookin' pretty," says B'rer Fox; "de sun Is shinin' jest like diamon's — come on, and have some fun!" "Hafter thank you kindly, but my diamon' days is done," Seys Br'er Rab, "dey huhts my eyes, I foun'." lOI Br'er Fox, he lick he chops, an' set down where he at (Gotter git some plan to bring him out) ; Den he say, "Dere's lettuce here — make you nice an' fat!" But Br'er Rab lay back he haid an' shout: "Oh, Br'er Fox, you surely is a liar — dat you is ; De lettuce days is done gone by — an' all de leaves is friz; You'll hafter try anudder way — mah name is Leery Liz!" (Or Br'er Rabbit slangy, widdout doubt!) "Dar comes a man!" seys Br'er Fox; "he gotter dog an' gun! Br'er Rab, you better come wid me!" "Ef dat is true," seys Br'er Rab, "you orter jump an' run — He gwine t' shoot when youah red haid he see!" "I got a better house dan dis," seys Br'er Fox; "come on And live wid me — I treat you well — de man and dog is gone!" "An' s'ply you wid fresh meat? Oh, no, I hasn't jest bin bawn," Seys Br'er Rab; "you make me laff," seys he. 102 Den Br'er Fox, he slink away, and bahk like he was sad, An' Br'er Rab, he shake he sides wid laffin' — ain't he bad? He small, but still, he gotter mind — an' jest fer dat he glad — or Br'er Rabbit, in de Big Bresh Pile ! 103 WHEN WHEN to the tired heart and soul and brain There comes, at last, the Unrepeated Call, Where Silence and Eternal Rest are all Ahead of me, without one touch of pain — Pause at the edge of this desired Dawn, Turn down a glass, and then — Be glad I'm gone! For what the Future holds who knows, or cares? The Past is done, the Now is here alway — So, lighten it for those who needs must stay. Breathe no regrets for him who onward fares. Back to the Night, face to the coming Dawn, Bid him God-speed, and then — Be glad he's gone ! 104 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724) 779-2111

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My first book ...

Aray, Langston Parker

myfirstbook00aray_djvu.txt

PS 3501 .R3M8 1905 "-n^.o^ ^P- * o « o ' <;,^ ^V^' -n^o^ rO' o'^ . . • • , --> '^nV .^ V^ > ^^•^^. :<^' ^<^,'^:^'\/' '^V^^^V "v'^^*\^''^^ V^'^^'V ■:^^^^*' <j>^^\. ^^K*' '^^^'"'^^ °''%^** 4-^'^'^%. ''•-^^*'' 'e^^^^ °- \./^ ■^^ - . . « ,0 « - .,0-' ^^--^ .'^<^^ ^^o^ .0^ .0^ -'^ ^ A^ '^^0^ '-^..^^ o V .-i^^ My First Book By L. ARAY There Is truth in poetry. Price Twenty-Five Cents UIBRAHV of OONQRESS Iwu Copies HtxtuvKj .J UN 16 1905 Jupyrittiii Liiiiy GLASS CZ. XAc Noi /fCS3 if COPY B. -, - II ■■ - COPYRIGHTED 1905 BY LANGSTON PARKKR ARAY. INDEX. PAGE Sketch of Author 5 Childhood 7 Don't Knock 8 A Punished Pun 8 Keep on 9 Good Friends 9 The Trusts 9 The Ivy 10 Some People 10 My Kitty 11 Local Markets 12 The Spider and Butterfly 15 His Girl and Boy 17 The Trolly Car 18 Kansas City Flood, 1903 19 The Wauchita 20 Butter Fly's Life 22 Rain Drop Round Trip 28 Corn 24 My Old Home 26 Man Is But Mortal 27 A Dream 28 My Little Peacherine 28 Stepping Stones 29 It Pays to Look Behind 31 Time 32 The End 33 The Straight Truth 33 Parted by a Sea 34 The Negro and His Flag ^ 37 Crazy 'Bout My Chicken 39 "That Gal" 40 The Monster Flea 41 (3) SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. I was born in the city of Nashville, Tenn., on the Cumber- land river, June 29, 1875. My parents were of moderate cir- cumstances, my father was a practicing physician and a graduate of Ann Arbor Medical College, also a graduate of the Cincinnati College of Medicine. My father died at the age of 63 in Earlington, Kentucky, where he had gone to take charge of a village school for his health. I was just eight years old when he died and left mother with six children to clothe and care for. Later in life, I went to Mississippi with my mother, where I enrolled as a student of Alcorn Agricultural and Mechanical College, a school for the colored male youths of Mississippi. I continued as a student for a few years until force of circum- stances compelled me to start into the world for myself. (5) 6 MY FIRST BOOK. I traveled from place to place two years and drifted about until I came to Ohio and accepted employment with a firm in Columbus in the year 1898 and am at present employed by the same firm. My second book will follow this publication, after having thoroughly put this one before the public eye. Writing so that all may understand, Is one great thing some writers do not do ; But in these simple lines I weave a band So clear that childish eyes see through and through. Trusting that the reader may find pleasure in the perusal of my first book, and hoping I may receive a helping hand from you, I am, Yours sincerely, Langston Aray. MY FIRST BOOK. CHILDHOOD. It's fun To run In sun — When young And stroll when morning's new. Air fills The tills Of nature's ills Like flowers sprayed with dew. While young Make one Example done And close to nature be. Let face Be bright The heart Be light With childish joy and glee. Then play And work But never shirk Your duties through the day. With ease Of breeze, That moves The leaves, Have patience all the way. 7) MY FIRST BOOK. DON'T KNOCK. O Man ! O' Man ! Most worthy son Of decryology ; You should be made of better stuff Than science of "knockology." A PUNISHED PUN. A story of the butter And a story of the fly : Would give you comprehension. If someone would reply. The fly was on the butter And the butter on the fly : If the butter had the wings on it It couldn't help but fly. They say the little wooly worm, Or caterpillar spry — That creeps along the trees of shade, Make every butter-fly. Now, if he makes the butterfly He ought to be a fly : But if he haSiu't got the wings, Where does the butterfly ? On buckwheat cakes, hot biscuits. On batter cakes, in pies ; This pun is understanding The fly in butterflies. MY FIRST BOOK. KEEP ON. Where there's no fault, There is no cause to falter; While you are doing well. Shun the halter. GOOD FRINDS. Mone}- and "good friends" go hand in hand; They number to millions, as oceans to sand.. The grains are the friends And the ocean is you — When your money is gone You can't borrow a "sou." Though the ocean recedes And the waters, so blue. Go out in the distance And leave sands anew ; It returns with a welcome From whence it did come. But your money, when gone. Seldom comes back to vou. THE TRUSTS. They shall drop as old Lucifer dropped from above; With a wonderful crash, they shall crumble to dust. While now they are Joying Like the swift-winged dove. Far over the heads of the people — unjust ! In obscurity they shall be classed with the c^iaff. In the depths of a bottomless pit they shall slumber; There they shall pay equal for their thieving wrath. They shall know no waking to life's untold number. (to MY FIRST BOOK. THE IVY. Creeping along the ground With leaves so green and round, Not seeing a sight Not hearing a sound While creeping along the ground. Close to the fence it grows Or down where the brooklet flows The little blue eyes Look to the skies While creeping along the ground. It grows with a smiling face And the roots to the soft earth lace; Hiding heads so low Little flowers do blow While creeping along the ground. Aray. SOME PEOPLE. There are people who think they are wise; They have many things to learn. There are people who have many eyes, Seeing everything that turns. There are people who would not retain Their good prosperity If you could stamp it on their brain 'Twould fall with swift velocity. Trhere are people who are prying For some flaw in you to find; And you find them ever sighing If your business they can't mind. There are people, many people Who'd take every cent you had "And inake a jackass of you sure, They'd put you "to the had." MV FIRST, BOOK. There are people like a leaky pail, Their capacity is air; Their daliy toil of jabber gail - Is blowing, going everyvvliere. There are people with the coming styles For the season, e'er they be. There are people with the Chadwick smiles ■■ Dame innocent par fee! There are people that are like you, There are people that are like me. There are people that we know not, These are people that there be. MY KITTY. I have a girl named Kitty, She's only a country lass ; Some people say she's giddy, But she's not of that low class She's not much of a beauty, Or a night owl, don't you see, That's why I love my Kitty She's the only girl for me. When I take her to an opera, Or on a social call, She dresses neat, from head to feet. And smiles a smile on all ; The boys all do adore her She's as loving as can be. That's why I love my Kitty. She's the only girl for me. 12 M\' FIRST P.OOK. LOCAL MARKETS. FRUITS. The apple hangs upon a Hmb In yonder orchard's tree, And moves its httle shiny face As if it could hut see ; The heav}' winds are blowing And the rain is pouring down, That apple is seen to falter — Breaks loose ! — falls to the ground. From Southern climes, far, far away, Far from Ohio's banner, There comes the most delicious fruit, The yellow skinned liananna. Old California has the lead In fruits — by million crates — Lemons, mangoes, limes and oranges, Pineapples, pears, malaga grapes. In any of our states of note. We find the lucious cherry; And in the State of Illinois, The finest of strazvherrics. Then we come to the cranberry — In the Northern States it grows ; This is all I have to tell you, The fruit story now shall close. VEGETABLES. The butter beans, The kidney beans. The beans I do not mention ; The sweet, snap beans. And Navy beans, All have mv kind attention. MY FIRST BOOK. I3 The blood-red beets are growing" With their bodies in a row, And the cabbage head is coming. And the leftitee is aglow. When the summer breeze is upon you And the wind is still and low. Carrots, radishes, and onions. Sage and mint and squashes grow. Wlien old winter's chill is upon you And we feel so worn and blue, Give to us a stalk of eeler\. For it makes our nerves feel new. Our dear old friend — s:ceet f>otato^ In its warm bed l)eneath the vine, Grows with a multiplying ratio — Where }ou plant one. you may find nine. Through our gardens of Ohio, There's a plant that grows about. It's a plant I never tasted And we call it Brussels sprout. Oh ! that slimy, sticky okra. ( )n a stalk of green they grow ; Like a glue it fastens to you. This is true, because I know. And the rhubarb is expressly For those pies T can't describe, They will make you very restless If you get too much inside. I shall end all in a trio. Staple things T shan't leave out ; Turnips and the Irish potatoes And tomatoes — our devouts. l4 MV FIRST BOOK. BUTTER^ POULTRY AND EGGS. O the butter, the chickens, the turkeys. The ducks and the most precious eggs Are ever our needful artick^s. And the oysters without eyes or legs. GRAIN. The com we can not do without. And the oats are forever in use. The salt must be put in the bread, And the meal makes our appetites stout. GROCERIES AND PROVISIONS. Sugar in the coffee. Biscuits in the pan, Bacon on the table. Lard is in the can. HIDES. Steer and coze hides in a row. Stags, sheep, ealf skins, horse hides go. GAME. English and French Partridge, English and French Plover, French Grouse and Egyptian Quail, Hunting season is now over. FISH AND GAME. White, Lake Erie Pickerel and Trout, Perch, Lake Herring and Cat Fish about Blue Fish, Ocean Trout, Lobsters and Crabs, Sea Trout, Salmon. Halibut. Shad. VENISON. Roast and steaks — Steaks and roasts — But common "cow" is good for most. MY FIRST BOOK. i«J*, FLOUR. Patent, cooped or well prepared, Straight or clean makes us feel glad. HAY. Timothy, Timothy always in need. And many a farmer buys back his own seed. THE SPIDER AND BUTTERFLY. The insect flits 'Midst flowery pits. Sweet fragrance to be taken ; With fluttering wing. They softly sing Sweet songs — their own creation. THE SPIDER. While thus they sip, The spider sits Upon his bright webbed mansion ; His feet entwined And eyes that shine, Stretch open their expansion. In shady spots Ruthless they stop. Their homes to build so neatly, On vines so lush The sweet scents rush And fill the air completely. Those little limbs. Those little eyes, As vicious as old Satan's, Strike with a weight That cannot make The lives of insects orladdened. l6 MY FIRST BOOK. THE BUTTERFLY. The butterfly May flutter by, Forgetting all its beauty ; Into the trap Its fans do flap, All moist with dew and honey. All but to gain Free life again. In sweet, quiet solitude ; All worried out No sound about, Life — stilled in dying mode. THE SPIDER. He moves about His web so stout ; Fears he not, the intruder ; The yarns wound round The prisoner bound. Cease wings — that were resisting. Back to his place He slinks with grace. When life is all exhausted ; Then in a rave That cures his crave He bounds upon the victim. THE BUTTERFLY. Life blood ebbs away. While spider gay Is cutting ofif the pleasures Of nature seen, The insect queen Witli lives too short to measure. -MV FIRST BOOK. HIS GIRL AND BOY. 17 His heart is filled with gladness When his daily work is done ; For he's thinking of his loved ones His daughter and his son. The little girl is Esther With eyes that dart and gleam ; And the soul is never restless Of the blue-eyed bov Eugene. The little girl runs forth to him And jumps clear off her feet; She knows her papa loves her For she kisses him so sweet. This little girl is full of love. She is full of life and light ; She never goes to bed without The parting words — Good Night. I've tokl you of his little girl, His little fairy queen ; List now, and I sheill tell you Of his little boy, Eugene. There are two little eyes of blue And a heart that is always clean ; In this oile little soul he loves Of his little boy, Eugene. He's a shining light through dav Greater than all earth he weens; And he never forgets his prayers Does his little boy Eugene. Wfien his father sits in a chair The boy looks at him so keen On papa's knees with both eyes peed Slumbering is his boy Eugene. l8 MV FIRST HOOK. THE TROLLEY CAR. I have such funny feeUngs When I board a Trolley Car, In our chief Ohio city Which is known both near and far. Sometimes the car is jammed and packed; The seats full to the end; And not quite standing room for one, Not room for one to bend. The "Con" he won't forget the "ticks" He speaks so loud and clear. Fare, please! Fare please! Cling! Cling! CHckJ To him that's very dear. Sometimes it's very tiresome To hold onto the straps ; But still the people pile on. Says "Con": "Close up the gap!" His car is never crowded ; "Step forward!" is his cry. You push and squeeze together And could but swear. Oh My ! Now when the "Con" has all the fares And sure he has them all. He elbows to the rear end. Then some more streets he calls. Sometimes he calls them loudIy> Sometimes he calls them low. Sometimes he calls your street — 'tis past 1 Nobodv knows, no. no. MY FIRST BOOK. I9 And even if you get a seat, It's very hard to hold : Some lady sure steps on your feet, Excuse me, sir! they say. (I'm told.) To make this little story short, As to the end we taper : If you wish to hold a street car seat, Keep both eyes on a paper. KANSAS CITY FLOOD, 1903. From Lincoln, Nebraska, on Mav 25, Comes news of a cyclone, just out a few miles. The village of Pauline, by fierce winds was stormed; Six people left dead on that furious morn. The buildings were wrenched from foundations strong; Left woe and devastation in Pauline's small throng. Next, Norman, another town struck by the same. Left seven, all told, dead in wind and in rain. Many towns did it strike, throughout this broad land. By its plunder and blunder, left death by its hand. Our sweet home, Ohio, was not entirely forgot ; With destruction it bore us forget-me-nots. We heard from old Kansas on May 29, From the town of Topeka, on the 'Kaw' River line. The river is rising inch by inch every hour. Soon lives in that district will lose all their power. Next the thunder! then started its groans to resound. With glittering flashes of lightning all round, The rain then poured down, with a pattering thud, And we are left on the scene with death and the flood ■20 MY FIRST BOOK. Many dead, floating bodies, marked unknown were found, Who had lives, just as we, before they went down, A mother found drowned with her last breath she gasped, "I'll never give up." died with child in her grasp. Kansas City's flood will never grow cold. For it brings back memories of Noah's Ark, old, Not a sign of an Ark to escape in was there Left to the Almighty, to God and His care. The, crisis has passed, danger's line has been crossed, Though many a heart bears tl"te burden of loss — Some, mother; some, father, sister or brother gone From this world to another, without funeral or song. So it is through this life, as onward we go. Let us try to do good on humanity's road. When our time shall have ended, we will rest with sweet ■ peace, By God's mighty power, our souls be released. THE WAUCHITA. There's a river in the Southland, As clear as the sunshine in June;' It flows 'neath the beautiful heavens, Flows neath the clouds, when gloom. When the lucid sun is shining. When the stars are gone to sleep, It runs with a rippling murmur ; Air through the day long, it creeps. Moss covered trees that border On each side of this crystal stream. Wave their blossoms to the sunshine. Cheat tears of the dewdrop. it seems. MY FIRST BOOK. 21 The branches of old weeping willows Tip the water's surface edge; And it runs on unmolested, Runs on past the cane and the hedge. There's where in youth I was happy. Where I spent joyful days of my life; 'Way down South — on that rive'r, No worry, no care and no strife. The name of this river I mention, Is known as the old Wauchita ; Yes. many an evening I've watched her As she glided before the boats prow. And well do I now remember The bunks on the old Sterling White ; The main and the boiler and monkey, Those decks were a curious sight. Above — on the hurricane, stilly Sat the shaky old pilot hall. The bells were always kept clinging When they ding donged their signal call. The side v/heels were always so clumsy, But without a mistake as to might ; For the water they splashed, 'twas a wonder How we all stayed aboard Sterling White. This river still flows with its grandeur. Full of life, full of shoals of gar Under water, five feet, you can see them While they canter and play by the score. Pleasant tlays of the past are all over. These days I shall see never more : They've past, they've past, they've ])ast, they've past. Future davs shall not be lorn. 22 MY FIRST BOOK. BUTTERFLY LIFE. A little egg is laid Upon a leaf of green ; When all the air about Is silent and serene. Then comes the life, so short, For life it yearns ; And soon becomes a weaver — A hairy, wooly-worn. He toils through summer days With patience — on a mission. To please the buyers of his work, To brighten window visions. Always on a shining leaf, At work, he's found; Never gazes on the earth Nor breathes a frown. Not even does he sigh; Though gain is loss — But toils without a grief — Knows not his cost. When days of sleep come on, He's in his nest ; All spun and wove and wound In silken vest. Shaped like the moon In her last quarter; And in a stillness — From our eye-lit sight All wrapt in silk. With threads so neatly woven, The silk-worm rests in peace Through winter's night. MY FIRST BOOK. ~ ^3 When spring time comes The larvae wakes ; And from dark casing To the Hght it breaks; The wings are closed — Is that dear life deposed? The sun beams on the sight — The butterfly has made its flight. RAIN DROPS — ROUND TRIP. The da}- is wan, Dark clouds come on When earth below is still ; Above they roar, As on they soar, 'Bove many plain and hill. The clouds then break, The thunder shakes The rolls have lightning spears; The rain begins And mizzles thin. Then like a torrent pours. Down hill and dale Through flum it sails. With but rain drops to utter Soft words that cheer Their lives so dear, Mav some day steer the rudder. They all join one As on they run. To watery fields of pleasure; Thev flounder on. As ofif they bound, With their own time and leisure. 2^' MY FIRST liOOK. A creek they meet And in they sweep. All hnngled up together.. They swell the stream With hubbies beam, Until they form a river. They swiftly glide On with the tide Without a care or worry, They slip and slide They try to ride Each other in the flurry. ( )n. on they go, So do they grow. From wee drops, then to rivers, Till when at last They give one blow And tum]:ile into (lulf of Mexico. The ocean reached '(iainst hull tlie screech. They splatter in the water, "Till atmosphere Dries up the tear And draws them back to clouddom. CORN. Out in the field there lives A stalk, so bright and new, With flags of green — So bright and clean ^- We love them kindlv, true. MY FIRST BOOK. __ This plant is ever loved By poor, by rich, by great; Without our toil And labored moil Its life would be at stake. From little grains so small, • We hear them as they call; Through earth they creep - While on we sleep — - We are coming — that is all. A horn-like shape is seen Through broken ground about, Although so still. They have a will, They have a way, they're out. • One tiny root holds fast The life into the plant; 'Till blades are made, And earth is laid Around the limbs so scant. They strengthen as they grow When worked by nature's hand. From stalks so thin, More roots begin. Around the lower band. With roots so thickly set. Their veins are spread awide; Growing in grace. They find a place. An ear shoots up on side. 26 MY FIRST BOOK. A rod grows on the top. A yellow chaff it furls ; The corn is there. With silken hair. And ripe with golden curls. The tassels on the stalk Wave to the skies so blue ; By day and night. They grow in might, For nature's sake — for vou. MY OLD HOME. There's a little cottage — yonder Through the woods not far away ; I was born there and it's fonder Than all mansions of this day. I remember when a laddie As I played in woodlawn — there The breezes that would pass me Seemed to drive away all care. When a youth I loved to listen To the old folks nuisic sweet, While the stars at night would glisten Sweet notes — echoes would repeat. There's the same old chair in which I — sat And watched the cows while grazing, 'Till they'd come at evening tide To fill the pails with rich milk glazing. In that doorway I have stood 'Till the midnight hours closed ; Till the raincrow in the woods Shrilled a sound of saddest woes. MY FIRST BOOK. Soon it was the old folks left me Father and my mother dear Then left alone was I to see The ups and downs of future years. Since they have gone, not quite a score, But time it seems much longer; I know they've reached the golden Shore, That blissful shore o'er vonder. 27 MAN IS BUT MORTAL. Man is but mortal, no more, The life is all in breathing; Man's troubled life is never o'er Until this earth he's leaving. Man is but mortal, no more, Do not misjudge his doings Why cast him out on danger's shores Not all are disapproving. Man is but mortal, no more, His looks may be deceiving; But there's a little sparkling core That burns when good wall's leaning. IMan is but mortal, no more, For great things he is pining; With" might and money and high lore Man should not be decrying. Man is but mortal, no more, Why not hold up each other; Why not on him your good will pour? For man is mortal and no more. 2$ MY FIRST BOOK. A DREAM. I hear a sound ! A sounding sound ! That sounds like sounds all sounding, Together as they sound the sounds That sounds like sounds resoun.ding. Is it the thunder in the skies That shakes the clouds wide open, Is it a sound I never heard. Or is it God's will spoken ? I can not see through frost and fog, A thing but flashing lightning ; Whence come those sounds — through icy hills ( )r from the snowdrift mountains? All Iceland was in darkness ; But the Eskimoes don't know, Only dreaming of those icebergs Made me shake and shiver so. MY LITTLE PEACHERINE. There is a little maiden in this town I love ; To me she's brighter than the stars that shine above ;. She's not like other girls. Nor has she auburn curls. But she's the girl I love, ni}- queen. She's my little peacherine — Sweeter than all maidens seen ; I love her dearly and sincerely. Yes, I love her all the time; She's my little columbine — And my heart is ever thine — I love her truly, she will not fool me, She's my little peacherine. MY FIRST BOOK. When we walk along together, sweet as she can be, I know there is no other girl on earth for nie ; She's always so polite, Keeps my heart a feeling right, \Mien in her comi)anv. She's my little peacherine — Sweeter than all maidens seen ; I love her dearly and sincerely, Yes, I love her all the time; She's my little columbine — And my heart is ever thine — I love her truly, she will not fool me. She's my little peacherine. 29 STEPPING STONES. We are on the stepping stones, Lined up one by one ; What shall our harvest be. When after day has come? Can we spare our hours? Can we spare our days? Can we spare our future years. With no goodness done? We, as little children, All should do some deed. While we're young and healthful, Let us learn to read. Nature as a subject, Nature as a rule, Learn to be observing. Learn in Nature's school. 30 MY FIRST BOOK. In this land of beauty, Don't erase your name, Other men have conquered, You may have a fame. Don't reject the chances, That you may command, Though Hke avalanches. On you they may stand. Stand on good foundation, Step across the stones ; None can ever drive you back. If you'll stand your own. Make your will to equal That of any man ; They may some day speak well, With a helping hand. Learn to be your own man. Learn to be no fool, Learn to be original Pattern models never rule. Never think you know all; More than any man; Never think you have all That's not in your hand. All that you may master, Do it with a will; All that you may conquer, Never let it spill. Though your brain be larger Than the mighty sun, It can never help you Without using some. .\IV FIRST DOOK. 31 Catch the sunshine, gentle reader, As you pass along its way; For there is a day coming, \\'hen no chance befalls your way. Let us live and let us learn ; Let us labor, let us earn. Short is time on earth of sin. Let us trv now to begin. IT PAYS TO LOOK BEHIND. It pays to look back, sometimes, As we journey on life's way ; If your road is full of progress It pavs to look behind. It pays to look back, sometimes, Some knowledge you may lose ; Regain it by the wayside It pays to look behind. It pays to look back, sometimes, Danger may be lurking near ; All through life's path of daily strife, It pays to look behind. It pays to look back, sometimes. Some faults you may discover ; Put them aright and travel slow, It pays to look behind. It pays to look back, sometimes, Wherever you may go ; Don't keep your eyes always to the front, It pays to look behind. 32 MV FIRST DOOK. It pays to look liack, sometimes, No life is there unblotted ; If you should be the better still Don't fail to look behind. TIME. Time is the great wheel of ages Tliat travels with never a stop. Time knocks — only once — on the pages For us, as it does on the clock. In youth never spend your time idly, Let the minutes, and hours, and days Be hitched with some little liridle. Some knowledge time can't take away. Let time travel its journey still onward, It will travel on past our goal ; « But grasp some treasures it offers. Some deed or some honor extol. The great monarch — time — is fast flying; 'Round, 'round, 'round the world it does go, AVhile many a youth that has scorned him. In obscurity bends to the bow. (Death.) O Time! as you roll by my doorw^ay, As you roll past my hours in sleep Shall I, shall I be forgotten? Or shall T a fair harvest reap? O Time of ages roll on ! O Time of ages soar To Time of far beyond us. To Time of evermore. MY FIRST BOOK. 33 THE END. The day is drawing nearer ; Soon we'll in the earth repose; .Soon we shall sleep in slumbers, With our eyelids ever closed. Lift out the deadened embers From our lives, which, filled with mold Lie deadened and decayed there, Like frozen icebergs — cold. Let our hearts be brightened up; Let our eyes be lightened up, Let the stains of by-gone pages Leave behind no lives corrupt. The days of play and pleasure In time will all be o'er : Then we must lay our l)urdens On the brink of earthly shores. O man, of might's creation, We come — and then we go Prom earthly fields of sorrow, To where no man shall know. THE STRAIGHT TRUTH. I chewed tobacco for many years. Till my stomach walls were rusted ; I tried to stop the habit once. But I never could be trusted. I chewed and chewed and chewed and chewed, And J just kept on chewing; 'Till r could eat the filthy weed, The same as cows chew cotton seed. 34 MY FIRST BOOK. The other day I got a pack, Just to take another "chaw ;" The first thing that I Hfted out Was a piece of human "paw," Now you may have all of the scrap, You may take all you can "chaw ;' What cured me was not Quit-to-bac, But a piece of human "paw." PARTED BY THE SEA. Years have come and years have gone, Since her face I looked upon. Though she still loves me to-day. While her form is far away. I loved her and she loved me, But we parted by the Sea.* Of no water 'neath the sun. Or by mountain's chainy run. She is where I know not where. May be where, she does not care. She is where she cast her lot She is where I am forgot. Many times do I rethink, If the chain has lost a link. Is it covered with thick dust, Or is it corrode, or rust? Can the links e'er be renewed? Are her eves on me askew'd? MY FIRST BOOK.- 35. Has that name in silence wound Lines across my forehead bound? Have those recollections dwindled? Can they never be rekindled? Are there left no sparkling coals That would burn as love of old? Oh, what bliss I have been missing, Fondling arms and sweetest kissing! Can those days e'er be regained, Shall I ever them reclaim? Is there something seems so near In that heart I loved so dear ? Or is it the sounding name That brings thoughts of her again. Must I live in vain despair? Shall my arms ne'er hold that spare? I can not forget those words Of our parting that I heard. "Nothing but cold death shall part !" Was stamped upon our wooing hearts. Haunting eyes before me run On my face that I can't shun. Little hands so soft and warm Sad to me, they are forlorn. Love not lost, but like the grain It shall sometime sprout again. Though we parted by the Sea, It shall not be eternally. j6 MY FIRST BOOK. Seem'st I hear that old, old song, Coming from sweet lips along. "We are lovers loud. Our hearts our proud. How long shall it last? I can never range Your heart — it may change Like so many of your cast." "In the days of old, We are often told Of lovers blithe, always, Until death would speak And chill the warm cheek "Of its reddened hue and braze." "Is your love but a Mart. If so let us part ; Tho our hearts may one ever be. One last kiss let me press On your lips, then I'll rest. But I cannot my lot cast with thee." As she stood in idle grace, While her heaving breast would pace. With melodious tune she sung, Back ! — The past my vision rung. Light of heaven on her shine, Tho I know not of her clime. In dreams T hear her soft voice swell And lull, as streamlets of the dell. So, on the soil of lover's lea, We parted by unwatered Sea. But I do not hear her parting song. To me the bell has lost its gong. MV FIRST BOOK. 37" I would gladly sleep at rest In her arms — were 1 caressed. Though she'd fallen like a grain, On the soil to wait for rain. Would that 1 could pour a dew On that form and make it new. There would he an episode Likened to no, idol god. Sweetest flowers hright and fair, On her hosom she would wear. On her hair the .Marechal Xeal Would rock its pedals, wave and reel. Diamonds, ruhies, pearls and gold I'd thrust upon her many fold. But go to her would never do. While the sea divides the two. ^Matrimonial Sea. THE NEGRO AND HIS FLAG. Beneath the mighty face of Sun Lies a country we all love; With lands adorned in beauty, With mortals born to love. This country is LTnited States. In it we love to be ; Old Uncle Sam, we love him true, By his flag we were freed. ■38 MY FIRST BOOK. O Flag of Might ! Beneath you Stand men with fault nor stain ; Who love the peace and freedom For them, that you have gained. 'Twas Abraham Lincoln's pen that stilled The curse of blood and slavery; Negroes in need did die and bleed To save this flag and country. A brave soldier never donned Blue uniform more gladly, And marched to war, behind the drum, Nor left his home more sadly. The negro died in war for you. The stars and stripes he honors, O flag! He loves to represent The country he belongs to. Since his few short years of freedom, Onward, onward he goes ; As a race and as a nation. Let his history never close. He labors in the cotton fields, On farms, and in the shops ; Instructs in schools and colleges, ■ His labor never, never stops. He's gained an honor for himself Like adamant • — unbroken ; On books of fame he stamps his name, , It shall be ever, ever spoken. Give him the chance that's given To any other man. Give him the space and freedom — Let him show he is a man. MY FIRST BOOK. 39 Then down in Southern worn hills. Where lay the old clay deadened By steady, steady toiling on For years and years, till reddened. Let negro votes be cast On ballots that shall count; And in North and South 'Olinas Let the negroes' votes be found. The Negro's name shall then resound As thunder on the water : The sounds will echo earth around One flag — shall be our motto. Let all the nations bow to one — The Flag — with inspiration, Let all the sons live to rejoice The stars and stripes creation. And when our days so weary, Have all been counted and summed, Under Stars and Stripes and banner. We shall live as one. Then let the dear flag cover us, Whether it be old or new, Those stars, those stripes — red, white and blue — Will cover me, will cover you. CRAZY 'BOUT MY CHICKEN. There is one thing in this world To me that is so dear; It is not money, wealth nor mansion grand. Not a pretty maiden is it. Or the sound of music sweet, But it's chicken that I love ■ — That holy meat. 40 MY FIRST BOOK. 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout my chicken all the time; For that fowl's meat, to me, is mighty fine. When I'm picking on that breast bone, You had better let me alone, 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout my chicken all the time. You may talk about your pork chops. Your kidney stews, divine. There's none so good as one I love the best; Well, the turkey is not in it ; Quail on toast falls in behind ; There's no meat like the chicken In this world — for mine. 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout my chicken all the time; For that fowl meat, to me, is mighty fine ; When I'm picking on that breast bone. You had better let me alone, 'Cause I'm crazy 'bout my chicken all the time. THAT GAL. Oh that gal of mine loved me one time, She called me honey and she treated me fine. She bought me all my shoes and clothes. And I spent her money as I chose. I went away one day on business delay And forgot my mail to lay away — When I come back she had my clothes all packed She done set 'em outside the door. She didn't give me time to breathe — Backed away back and rolled up her sleeves Says — Mr. Coon — you leave, for MY FIRST BOOK. 4I Cho. I have other fish to fry You was once my honey boy but now I'll pass you by, You told me how you loved me ; But that con's got old and stale — Since I found in your coat pocket that side order mail.. I left that very night, but I looked a holy fright With my clothes all tore and my heart feelin' sore, I lived six months at a free lunch stop. I was missing my hot Java and my fresh "pok" chops, Lost my home all out and down, I said with a frown Now I see my finish if I don't leave town. I will to some other climate go Where these words don't sound so bold : "You done been here long enough You can't ring in no more bluffs The pipe of peace to you 111 puff." — THE MONSTER FLEA. The flea belongs to the class called the pulcidae. The flea is a nuisance to begin with ; you can find the rascal on most any part of the globe — inhabited or uninhabited — wherever the climate is susceptible to his livelihood, for lively is his hood. Fleas, in some respects, are like people. They are of different kinds. They are of different color. They are of different tribes, so to speak. They are of different nature, different specie, ac- cording to the class and climate in which they live. For instance, here in America we have many kinds of fleas. One is the flea that is found on our old "Tom" cat and his family. His nature is to stay on pussy because the fur of the cat hides him from the light ; there he rambles down the soft downy fur, without being disturbed and there he lives the life of a nymph until his days are ended in sweet peace or degradation by the cat's mighty jaw, then in silence he remains. 4-3 MY FIRST BOOK. The cat flea is the smallest flea of which I know — I do not ■deny that there are not smaller kinds than the feline kind, but I don't pretend to give the history of all the fleas in the world, or I would never get them all described, because they are too numerous to begin to count in words. Another specie of the flea is the dog flea, still larger than the cat flea, and of a more vicious character. This flea some- times becomes of such a numerous majority that poor "doggie" can't compel them to stay with him, hence they hunt for new quarters and fall upon the next best thing of flesh and blood that comes in their way, for their path is wide and their victims are many. When the flea becomes discontented with doggie's hairy realm, and begins to explore, then is the time when the disagree- able "insecto" begins his wicked work upon the household beings at large. Then comes the time, as many of my readers are aware, of flea fighting and flea biting. There is one thing sure — when this little, quiet creature lays his small, hard shell upon you and puts his little invisible, hairy paw against your flesh and sinks his beak of love into your ruddy skin, it's a sign for you to jump, and he jumps with you. You may stand ofif the ice man. the coal man, the grocery man, the rent man, and may be the furniture man, but when this little pesky flea lays his hand on vou, it's the law. you can't stand him oflF — N-e-v-e-r-. You might grab at him, but it's nine out every ten times you miss him, and if you catch the little pest, it's ten to one he gets away. Then — where is he ? There are others, but the flea which I am about to introduce to you now is the largest one I ever saw, the greatest, the mightiest and the most grateful of all flea tribes. At least I think so. I think I am the only human being that has ever been so fortunate as to learn so much of this monster flea, though only by a mere accident it happened. Years ago. when I was traveling through the wilds of Africa, where the sun beamed down on the beautiful river Nile, in Sodan, and with the brightness of a transparent screen, where the great boa constrictor coiled their noble selves into unnumbered clans ; where the beautiful bird of paradise swelled its shrilling notes from the cocoanut woods and the fierce African lion, with the MY FIRST BOOK. 43 vellow turf covering his kindly face, roared his sound through hollow forest from his untrodden lair, treaded only by foot-steps of his own. This is where 1 found myself all alone. In the wilds of Africa, in a big. lonely forest ; surrounded by wild animals of every description. Bears, tigers, monkeys, gorillas and badgers ; snakes large enough to swallow a twenty-four-horse team and a wagon thrown in for good measure. Snails larger than giraffs, glaring their eyes at me and eating fruit from the top of the trees one hundred feet high. I was dumbfounded ! Was it a dream ? Had I been linger- ing under the impression that I was still on the old American soil, where all, or most of the wild, carniverous animals had been exterminated? No! It was a reality! You, reader, may imag- ine in w^hat state of curiosity my bewildered frame of mind was. I was daunted ! My heart seemed to freeze between my teeth ! IsLy lips seemed to quiver to the old familiar tune of "Home, Sweet Home.'" But that helped me — none ! My legs trembled and my whole body shook with fear. What was I to do — be swallowed at one gulp by the cunning boa constrictor? Be put to death by one blow of the fierce lion's mighty paw, and torn to atoms by his vicious and powerful jaw? I had no weapons of any sort ; I was perfectly helpless ; something must be done and done quickly. I scanned the varmints and beasts that en- circled me, I saw one among them that made me think of the old American flea, the resemblance was the same, the actions were the same, for this monster was sitting on the back of an elephant, and as I supposed, sucking this elephant's blood. A thought struck me like this : — If I could only mount that flea (as I supposed he was: though I had never seen any of so great a build as he was) he might hop with me to safety or to where I would be at more ease than I was at the time being. Well, now, thought I. if I can only get on his back ; but if I should happen to fall off. I would be dashed to atoms or be carried away to some place or destina- tion. I know not where. One thing I surmised and that was this : — His sleek, black shell was slippery- and to hold a seat, once I was on his back, would be a hard proposition. But it was •death either way. so I took the chance of holding on to this creat- ure. Before I got on his back. I knew my move would have to 44 MY FIRST BOOK. be quickly made, so I climbed a small sapling which stood near the elephant and having done this, I made one leap and in less time than it takes you to say "go," I was on and gone. For as soon as I had mounted this mighty monster, he bounded away with me on his back. After I had got a good hold on him, I found that in place of his back being of such a slippery nature as I had surmised, he was covered with little blunt horns, which gave me a good footing and a fair hold. I breathed a sigh of relief — I had now lost sight of the jungles of old Africa's beasts of prey. Where I was situated at the time of my flea-mounting pro- clivity, so to speak, was in the eastern part of Soudan, in the lonely valley of Occar, situated between the two branches. of the Nile river proper. The two streams of which I speak are the White Nile and the Blue Nile, two tributaries of the Nile river. This flea took a southeasterly course and we (the flea and myself) were up in the chilly atmosphere on the first jump and remained in the air for 24 hours. His first jump took us from Oscar Valley to the shores of Lake \'ictoria, a distance of 800 miles in twenty-four hours. Just thmk how I felt. I was too much affrighted to loosen my hold, for I knew the flea was hungry and he would devour me with a will of his own and by his self. When this monster had settled himself down upon the soil of Uganda, a state bordering on the beautiful and gorgeous scen- ery of Lake A'ictoria, to rest his weary self, it happened to be fortunate for me as he was just tall enough for me to reach the beautiful, the sweet, the most delicious of fruits. What felicity ! What joy! What mirth! My appetite was satisfied, my stomach was attended to but "I" was not. Still I was afraid to move away from the life-saving friend, this monster flea. Now. for the first time in all my life, I found out one thing" about a flea. I had always had the idea that fleas only hopped. This I now found to be a mistake of my knowledge of fleas. This flea crawled, he ate heartily of a few animals for his meals. A monkey and three cub lions, I counted them and I know it to be a fact. Who can dispute it when I was the only eye witness to« the scene ? Not a living being ! L. 0! a- MY FIRST BOOK. , 45 The next day, after I had spent a sleepless night on the back of the flea, I found myself high above the calm and sultry climate of which I had come in contact the day preceding. We were soaring over the mountain peaks of Kilimanjoro, the highest mount of all Africa, the snowy crests of the peak were very hard on my constitution, but I held on. The jump was a much longer one and of a greater height, which caused untold misery for me, but I still hung on. We landed on the shore of Mozambique, four days after the flight began, I was hungry again ; so was the flea, but as luck would have it. there happened to be a fisherman coming along the shore with fresh fish, just caught from the channel. Sad to re- late, but this monster was no respecter of any living animal, even the highest type of animal, which is man. This monster threw a powder of some kind from his mouth that caused everything about to become as if the earth around us was enveloped in a dense volume of smoke. The fisherman, of course, stumbled and fell, and his fish fell on top of him, except one that flew wild in the scuffle, that one is the one I got, for it fell directly in my arms. The noise it made and the slight jolt on the flea's back caused him to become more vicious. This ■monster flea spat on the poor old fisherman and washed him into the Mozambique channel and he was drowned. The flea then proceeded to devour the fish which weighed no less than seventy- five pounds. He then laid himself down on the sand to rest again. Well, he laid there and slept for three days without mov- ing. I got plenty of rest and had fish enough to last me for a week or more, but it was a long time for me to be on such a kingly throne without a crown — only the fair sky that hung above me. Again I learned something of this monster. Instead of jump- ing across the Mozambique channel, as I presumed he would, he swam across with the alacrity and agility of a racing yacht that knows no fear, with the ease of a wild goose he treaded the waters of the channel so blue, and landed on the Island of Mada- gascar on the same day. Madagascar is an island in the Indian Sea, separated from Africa by the Mozambique channel. Mada- gascar is about I, GOO miles from Cape St. Mary, on the extreme southwestern point to Cape Amber on the extreme northeastern 46 MY FIRST BOOK. point. Its width is about 400 miles across from Mozambique channel to the Indian Ocean. The island lays northeast and southwest. We stayed on this island for a short time only, about three hours, as I would judge. It might have been only five minutes, but I was without any thought except one, that was this : The first chance that I should see to slide to safety on some other quiet spot other than the "flea spot" of which I was a rooster, I would gladly slide. Even if it was on other soil than old America's. But a thought came into by mind that if I held my place as T had. I might perhaps learn something more of the world. I might learn of more things that I knew not of, and still come out of the many traveling experiences a well versed and well informed adventurer. So I took some more chances. The flea then took a northeasterly direction through the In- dian Ocean, not by foot, nor did he jump. He had performed many feats before, feats that no living being could have caused me to believe if they had told me of them, but I had seen for myself and I knew what this monster had done, therefore I had reasons to believe he would do more than I had already seen. Friends, believe me if you will, the truth is, this monster flea swam the distance from Madagascar to the island of Ceylon, which is south of India, the distance being more than 2,100 miles, and he swam it in three days without rest or one single stop, and landed at Ceylon with as much vim and unconcerned actions as he did the day he left the African forest shortly before. I looked around and saw the beautiful garments of nature, the trees, the fruits, the swarthy natives and everything seemed to be in a most glorious progress, but the natives, the animals and all living that came in sight of this monster flea, turned their eyes to him with vehement antipathy. Though like all fleas, he saw danger in their eyes, and before he could be done any harm, he gave one bound and was miles away in the twinkling of a serpent's eye. With one leap from the Island of Ceylon to the Island of Sumatra. This leap was made in less than six hours. The dis- tance is over 1,000 miles. A mighty flea was he. He could hasten his speed in jump- ing and swimming, or he could slacken his speed by crawling. It was all according to how he chose to go on his way. MV FIRST BOOK. 47 After landing^ with nie- on the coast of Sumatra, which is about the same length as the distance from the Island of Ceylon to the Island of Sumatra, he crawled and glided with the grace of a tidal wave, imtil he came to the Strait of Sunda. which separates the Island of Sumatra from the Island of Java, then instead of swimming the Strait to Java (as I thought he would), he jumped clear over to Java and landed on the Island of Australia. He ho])pe(l across this island in the course of one night by making si.x short stops, thence to the Island of New Zealand. I now became excited, my thoughts were only of one thing:; — How long shall this exj^loration continue. I was getting very an.xious to quit this monster flea, but I dare not, for before me lay the great water of the mightv I'acific Ocean, many miles from the shore of South America. And I plainly saw by the direction in which he had his head turned the way he was bound to go, and off he swam. Taking a northeasterly direction from New Zealand, we passed the sultry climate of the tropic of Capricorn, we passed the Friendly Islands, we passed the Society Islands, we passed the Marqueses Islands, all of beautiful scenery and of untold grandeur : the sweet perfume of sea driven fragrance from the islands was exhilirating and I was still sitting and holding with all my might and main to this monster that I commanded. When we had crossed we landed on the northwestern coast of South America, on the Cape of Parina, which is over five thousand miles from New Zealand. After arriving on the coast of South America and without rest he gave one mighty jump and split the winds with his pointed "beak of love," and jumped over the hilly heights of the great Andes mountains. Then came the most delightful ride I ever had or ever expect to have. When he settled himself down amidst the soft zephyrs of the Maronon river, a branch of the mighty Amazon, and assured himself that was in the right direc- tion of his homeward travel, he slowly floated down through the valleys of w-ell irrigated soil and swampy lands to the Atlantic Ocean. After this monster had crossed the country of South Amer- ica, and had g-iven me such a great ride, he continued without stopping and went straight on into the Atlantic Ocean. 48 MY FIRST BOOK. He then swam across the Atlantic Ocean to the coast of •old Africa once more and landed at the Cape of Verde, where beauty shown all around. Knowing now that I had gone around the globe and also knowing that it was not safe for nie to venture any farther, as I had learned much more than I expected to and I thought that I had learned enough, I was now convinced that I had gained some good information and this monster might take me back to the wild and fierce jungles from which he had rescued me and of which I cared to see nothing more. Now was the time to make my escape ; now was the time to quit this monster and now was the time to relieve him of a burden (myself) which he had so greatly favored. As he stood on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean with his glassy eyes shining like the setting sun on a calm evening (the monster's eyes measured one foot in diameter), and headed to- ward the valley of Occar from whence he started, I took the chance for my life. Just as this monster was about to make his homeward bound, I slid, yes, I slid on solid land once more. I had done the distance I desired to go and further still, but he had not gone the distance he had to go, nor did I care to know his distance, for I was satisfied with what I had seen and also for what he had done for me, although I asked him no more favors, and he got none from me. I was now at ease. I had encircled the globe, which is over 25,000 miles in circumference. I had traveled around the globe on a free pass and I rode all the way with this mighty flea as my protector and conductor. I had now struck dry land and when I looked up to see if this mighty monster was still about, I was mistaken — he had jumped, he had risen to a height of over 2,000 feet in the air. I looked, I gazed, I watched him until he had become as a small particle of ground pepper away up in the clouds. He be- came undiscernible ; I looked but he had gone, yes gone. I took the first steamer out of port for the United States and arrived safe and sound and none the worse for my adventures. I told my friends of my travels and they called me an unmitigated liar. Friends, do you believe this story? AR AY- WRITES! WORDS FOR SONGS Sentimental, ragtime or any old time DROP CARD, BUT DON'T CALL 47 EAST STATE ST. COLUMBUS, O. N. C. HAGER L,. C. COULTER WE CAN PLEASE YOU Che Uirglnla Dairy Cmtcli No. 49 East State St., COLUMBUS, O. HOME COOKING SOMETHING NEW SEPARATE AND DISTINCT TO MAKE IT A SUCCESS YOU SHOULD ENGAGE ^'XTdrTs: 52 E. Town St.. COLUMBUS, 0. jrt I !-• H243 78 522 V* -L\L:* ^ vO' ^ ^ ^^^sfe^'. "%. A^ .>^^/>:^ ^^ A^ ^^Qfe^ >o c-^"^ '^ ^^^c,<^" : -^^^^^ ^^ " s • • » r\ r\' t • o « ^<^ -' r^ , ^-^ :^-'v^^- / %'^--*/ V'-^\*^ 'V*^--'/ \ ''^^^ /*>i^'% ^°^^<>- /^>;;^'\ ^° 4 o 0' 73 1^5^ N. MANCHESTER ^^^^ INDIANA LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 269 A

12011218

Ballads of Blue River,

Archer, J. D.

balladsofblueriv00arch_djvu.txt

P s 35 1912 J t..-!?^-- I V / Hrcher Class T^S Book qS B^ Copight}I°_ (m COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER • J. D. ARCHER Copyright, 1912 J. D. Archer, Chicago ' Contents i *^ -o 'x. .1^5 ft 1^ A Hoosier 'Coon Hunt . . . . . . 5 Sugar Makin' Time . . . . . . . . 7 When We Was Boys . . . . 11 Sentiment Versus Improvement . . . . ..15 The Old Foot Log .. .. .. 18 Eli . . . . . . . . . . 20 To a Violinist . . . . . . . . 21 Evening on the Farm . . . . . . . . 22 Sherwood's Pond . . . . . . . . 24 June . . . . . . . . . . 26 To a Pink Petaled Rose . . . . . . 28 To the Toiler . . . . . . . . 30 The Family Fireside . . . . . . 32 Dame Nature's Caprice . . . . . . 34 A Boy is a Boy . . . . . . . . 36 At Rocky-Faced Ridge . . . . . . 39 The Song of the Spirit Primeval . . . . 46 The \^''ood Path's Challenge . . . . . . 48 Pressler's Band . . . . . . . . 30 Telling Them Over . . . . . . ..51 Love, a Problem . . . . . . . . 34 The Lost Rose . . . . . . . . 36 Laugh Instead of Swearin' . . . . . . 57 The Messenger to Garcia . . . . . . 38 A Winter Evening . . . . . . 60 When " Bub " Comes to Our House . . . . 63 CCU30972S Lovingly Inscribed to My Mother T^HE grandest thing God ever made, — And he made many that were good,- Sublimest pattern e*er portrayed. Your own sweet type of womanhood. " You see 'im Bub ? Jist show me ! Oh, yes, on that big Hmb, I see." BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER A Hoosier 'Coon Hunt T T EAR the frost a crackin' in th' trees ^ ^ In th' wood-lot. Law, it'll freeze Tonight. Crisp an' still as the light O' a full moon. Hummin' night Fer coon. Bill, load th' old shotgun. If you're a goin' along. Bub, run Git th' lantern an' th' ax right quick. Pete, you loose old Sail an' Trick An' start 'em out. Hi ! Aye ! Hear 'em tear an' beller. They're a gitten close ont' that old feller. Come along, boys, foller me. They'll soon have him up a tree. Hi ! There ! They've got 'im now. Golly! Don't they raise a row? On a basswood saplin', too, I jing. Bring th' ax. Bub, fell th' thing. See! It's kindo' swayin' some. In a minute down it'll come. Bill, hold Trick. Pete, you ketch Sail. Hold 'em, mind now, tight as whale. Keep 'em back there in a row An' when it falls jist let 'em go. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Thoc it goes! Let 'cm loose. Nofir JHt waidi diat oooB Hip! Wkiop! HearHsqaalL That *are oaam aia*! jiit so wmaJL Sc! Sic mS^ Bfe BTikL Latw. diat oooB 6^ Eke Ke^ bac^ BoK aa* give Thcyll sooB se^ Ubi to Us Grab <JilSaaB0«r. Pete. Am* let Tddk do Ik' UKa* fesiL ?tf|Bam llnmijli, oiHitiie, Ske a calL Tkem dogis dbB*t do dMqgs Iqr hall Theie di^ go off O»iso«tia^ BeHer'a wmmcm Aey Ai afore. di'ax» For bell be ticed k pst a idviL Tieed yon sagr? Yon bet. be*s i^ Listed maw at diat 'aie popu l^ am cdd adi tiee dss tne. Kkdo'euyOelDcUbL YoBsee mBdb? JiitdioirBe! Oh7a.«diatl]^UkI Fdl pst Eke a ton o' bncL Sbnke. hit diat old gv dU WdL dogi. I gpes di^ *« win do Fcrtnaii^ We w got dxse tivo la jilt an boiv; s» well qaii Ab* take avidier wi^ fer k. Git *cflii> hays, pot oa dieir nBgs Am bnig di* coGDs an* odicr Akgs Am' well go BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Sugar Makin' Time VVTHEN you hear th' March winds blowin' ^^ An' the wheat begins a kindo' growin', A lookin' green along th' hillsides far an' near. You know that sugar makin' time is here. Th' snow's all gone 'cept now an' then Deep drifts in some secluded glen; In the trees with branches wide A sugar bird sometimes is spied. When th' farmer sees all these 'ere things Hears a robin, first come, as it sings; Sees th' woodland thaw today an' freeze Tomorrow, he goes an' taps th' sugar-trees. At night while th' tired farmer sleeps Jack Frost through th' moonlight creeps, An' tinkers in th' camp alone awhile A hangin' little icicles onto every spile. He freezes sap that's in th' pails Hung to th' trees with hooks an' nails. He'd come out there on mischief bent An' didn't realize how fast time went. But soon th' moon drops out o' sight. An' Frost steals off when streaks o' light Begin to kindo' push up in th' east An' keep on risin' jist like yeast. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER An' then th' sun, a rosy ball o' fire Appears an' keeps a risin' higher Till o'er th' old farm-house it shows. Lights th' outline o' th' river where it flows. Soon in th' camp th' sun's begun To undo all that Frost has done. He draws th' ice-plugs from th' wooden spiles. For he is mos' familiar with Frost's wiles. An' now at last th' sap begins to run. Big drops that sparkle in th' sun. Th' farmer comes out with his team An* leads 'em down to water at th' stream. Then next th' boys come with th' dogs A chasin' chipmunks 'round th' logs. They hitch th' team up to th' wooden sled An' bring th' sugar barrels from th' shed. Then with th' dogs an' team an' all Drive here an' there 'mid bark an' call An' pour th' sap from pails unhung An' fill th' barrels to th' bung. Then they drive back with their load Along th' wiggly, giggly, windin' road An' stop at last before th' boilin' place Where th' kettles hang in space. r do" o c 5' n 3 o BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Under these they build a roarin' fire An* pile th* back-logs up a little higher. Until th' old log-house is bright An' rosy with th' glowin' firelight. Th' kettles then with sap are filled An' while th' boys a hotter fire build. The farmer skims th' boilin' sheet An' leaves th' liquid only, pure an' sweet. And while he at the sugar camp remains To kindo' poke th' fire when it wanes. The youngsters drive off through th' camp agin An' haul another load o' sugar-water in. When all th' sap's been gathered for th' day They unhitch an' put th' team away Or else haul sugar-wood from far an' nigh. An' pile it up agin th' shed to dry. Then as long as there's any sun in sight. An' sometimes far into th' night, They watch th' sugar-water boil an' foam, — Watch th' smoke rings curl an' roam High up in th' chilly evenin' air An' like th' silent fairies, vanish there; An' when th' darkness settles all around Watch th' shadders playin' on th' ground; 10 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Or watch th' shadders up among th' trees A flittin', ghost-like, anywhere they please. While th' dogs that should watch most Are seen sleepin' at their post. After a while th' sap boils kindo' low And its color changes to a golden glow And a savor sweet an' good falls 'round That nowhere else on earth is found. Then there is hurryin' 'round about. The syrup's taken off an' th' fire is put out, And all then homeward wend their way Glad th' work is ended for th' day. And thus they work day after day Till th' season wears itself away And the grasses start to growin' in th' spring. An' frogs in th' catswamps begin to sing. When th' buds on th' trees begin to swell It's mighty easy for the farmer then to tell That another run, maybe two, th' last And th' sugar makin' season will be past. Pretty soon th' flies come buzzin' 'round An' daisies peep up from th' ground And now it's time th' pails th' boys must gather Before th' hoops is loosened by th' weather. And thus it ends, the work as well as fun. For both in this are kindo' mixed in one. Here Labor is Fun's sober brother; You can't know one and not the other. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER " When We Wat Boys T VE got three brothers big as me. An' say what sport there ust to be When we was boys. On rainy days we stayed indoors. Run an' jumped, went on all-fours, — Made awful noise. Then Ma come in an' scolded us; Said we'd made a horrid muss. It was a raft O' fun. We'd look scared an' pout While she was there; when she went out We all jist laughed. We played War an' horse an' bear Pretended there was Indians there, — Out in th' hall. Earl would put on Ma's fur cape An' growl an' scratch an' snarl an' scrape An' fight us all. Then we played Waterloo one day: Charged an' banged an' slashed away Till Father called. But we fought on as we'd begun Till he come in, — spanked ever' one, — Then we all bawled. 12 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER We never cared when Ma would scold But Father's voice would turn us cold Most, when he spoke. When Ma would call us up at dawn We'd lay still an' sleep right on. But we soon 'woke When Father came towards the stair An' said, "You boys climb out o' there." We'd up an' dress An' Bill would rub his eyes an' say, "Lordy ! Could jist sleep all day. Short nights, I guess." And Oh, them drowsy summer days When the sun poured down its rays Most like profusion spilt. When the birds jist couldn't sing Fer breathin', and ever'thing Seemed like, would wilt. Then those evenin's when the day Jist like sweet music died away When you didn't want it to. The breezes softened down someway Kindo' zif they'd like to stay The whole night through. One day Father went away 'Specting to be gone all day. That's what he said. Said we should stay an' chore around An' cut weeds in the new corn ground. Sooner been dead BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER is Than to cut weeds. Sun hot an' bright. Eve said he thought the fish would bite. We thought they might An' got our poles, us three an' Bill Slipped down the crick beyond the hill Clear out o' sight. Gee ! but we caught fish that day. An' such ole whoppers, I should say! Jist seemed to wait Fer us to put bait on the hook Then in about a wink they took Their dose o' fate. Had quite a string o' fish by noon But Father come about that soon And found us there. Bill held up the string we'd caught. Said that we'd done well, he thought. Short time we's there. Father's face when he first come Was awful stern, but softened some When Bill said that. Bill's way of sayin' things, seemed like Most always somehow 'peared to strike The spot jist pat. Well, we got scolded quite a bit An' promised what we'd prob'ly git Another time. Bill gethered up the string of fish And said them suckers in a dish Would look sublime. 1^ BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Us other boys all said "You bet" Picked up the poles that we'd jist set An' follered Bill. Father looked up at the sky And said if he could profisy Them clouds would spill Some water down that afternoon And then them weeds would soon Drownd that com out. But Earl said, "Oh, mebby not In jist that little time it's got. Corn's pritt}^ stout'* Well, we went to school some, too. When there was nothin' else to do Out on the farm. Stand it all right up to June When we could go barefoot at noon. Gee! What a charm The ole crick had fer us. So still, Ripplin' lazy-like at ^vill On Magley's place. Where we could wade an' chase green frogs; Watch turtles ka-plunk off the logs Along the race. Jist seems like but yisterday That I heard "Bub" Magley say, "Now fer a swim," When off we started, ever' soul Makin' fer the swinmiin' hole In the growin' dim Of evenin' while the whip-por-will Somehow kindo' haunted Bill With its song. And an old owl yelled out "Who-o-o'* And jist as if he thought he knew Laughed loud an' long. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 15 Sentiment Versus Improvement A CUR'OUS feelin' comes a-tuggin' at my heart That ends up in a kind o' half-hke shiver When I reflect that they're goin' to start Next spring an' dredge down ole Blue River. Of course it will redeem some land Which as it is ain't wuth a Continental ; But, Lor' a' Mighty ! You don't seem to un'erstand — It ain't no question o' jist cost an' rental. Maybe you never played along that stream In blouse an' bluejeans when you was a boy; Or cast a line athwart th' sunshine's gleam An' watched th' cork bob up an' down fer joy. Maybe you never slipped away at noon With Sam an' Bub an' Jud an' Bill An gladder'n a brown thrush's tune. Spent hours in th' swimmin' hole beyont th' hill. 16 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER It does a feller jist a heap o' good To saunter down that hooky-crooky path agin That winds through flags an* dense brushwood That your fish-Kne ust to git all tangled in. Most ever' nook an' turn in that old stream Has a warm place in my recollection spot. But that 'are tarnalation dredgin' scheme '11 up an' spoil it all, jis' like as not. Picturesqueness is th' life o' Art, An' old Blue River surely had her share An' Bub an' Jud an' us jist knew by heart Ever' nook an' crook 'round anywhere. But then I s'pose it's got to go, — Th' neighbor's all got their heads set. Yet deep down in their hearts, I know They're smotherin' down some huge regret. It won't seem like th' same old place When they git th' stream-bed all dug out. An' drain th' water from th' old mill-race, — Spoil all th' beauty of it, jist about. Th' Deep-hole will be all filled in, Th' knotty foot-logs all be cut away. Gee Whiz ! Th' old creek won't begin To have th' beauty of that gone-by day. Won't be no fishin' grounds no more With drifts cut out an' deep-holes gone; No hidin' places like they had before. An' like a grasspike's always countin' on. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER i^ Seems like thwartin' Natur', sure. To up an' twist her plans around Jist to make improvements and insure Redeemin' of a foot or two o' ground. Oom! Jist give me one more fleetin' chance At childhood down on them old banks; Let us do jist one more Indian dance While that 'are red-bird whis'les thanks. Or dive off in "old Deepy" 'nother time, A startin' 'way up there above th' bend. An' hold my breath till my ears chime — Come sputterin' up down at th' other end. Hide all our clothes, as them boys did. An' let th' deerflies bite like sin; Mud me up from head to foot till I'm mos' hid, N'en up an' douse me in head first agin. I'd like another chance about last o' September To go a nuttin' with th' boys awhile, — Takin' th' path they all would remember, Jist go along old-fashioned, Indian style. Start a rabbit somewhere in th' swamp An' see 'm skite off through th' brush. An' see old Shep yelp out an' jump, An' scare th' daylights out o' some brown thrush. But then folks says th' dredgin' will be done. An' true, I s'pose it mos' jist must. So give me one more look, jist one. Long — lingerin' then let 'em do their wust. Oh well, th' boys ain't there no more. Time's bound to change things more or less. While dollars shines so th' world o'er. Sentiment don't count fer much, I guess. w BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER The Old Foot Log T IKE Ae lustre that peers fondly Tliroagh the portals of a dream Of long ago, looms a YisioD glad Of a great tree f alkn o'er a stream Where in childhood's gusty moments We oft loitered at noonday; In the crystal dqpths beneath os ^ atched the shining minnows play. whirled away beneath us Bearing moments all imseen; And in ^cmous oblivion Of the sonbeams homing sheen Did we watch die armored fishes 0*er the pd)bly bottom ^Ue Showing at each dart and ang^ A clear, tuning, silver side. Hats hmig high up on a limb ; Bare feet pending o'w die tide; Cheek to cheek with glad ^oyment Saw the rq)ples hither ^ide. Hour after hour drifted 'Neath Aat old foot-log each day. Hurried onward o'er the surface All nnhpfdpd on its way. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 19 Drift and sparkle, Recollection, With the sheen of each past day When we hugged Dame Nature fondly In our own untroubled way. The future then all expectation Told no surer Life's next trend Then told it when the next swift eddy Would whirl from above the bend. » BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER EU 1VJ OW, Eli was a rugged pioneer ^ ^ That ust to live in our neighborhood. He fished an' fished th' live-long year, — Jist in his glory when th' fish bit good. And then he liked to hunt some, too. Law me! Oft-times he'd take his houn's an' old shotgun. An' any quail or cottontails he'd see. He'd up, — off hand, — an' two or one. Somehow Eli would git 'em. Jist lots o' times I've seed him stand Somewhere out in our woodlot, while th' rain Come pourin' down, an' unconcerned like, scanned Some dead tree-top, when it seemed mighty plain To me that there was nothin' there, an' yet. First thing I knowed up went his gun, an — bang ! 'I Jing, jist Hke th' whole world was upset. And then I'd see a fox squirrel hang Then drop an' Eli'd git 'im. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 21 To a Violinist T HAVE often wished I could '■' Play a violin as good As some players I have heard. Notes as pure an' sweet an' clear As ever fell on Triton's ear ; Trills light as a mockin' bird, Sometimes dreamy, soft an' low. Then th' notes would swell an' grow Then throb an' sob, then change to gay An' gladsome trill, then writhe in woe. Next in a ripplin' rill tune flow In liquid sweetness fall and die away. Jist seem th' sweetest e'er they're gone When I would hold them on an' on Same as I'd hold th' last bright gleam O' sunset e'er th' twilight's thrall Falls round about an' hides it all. Like sad-glad cadence of a dream. 22 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Evening on the Farm CVENIN* has come. The day's work is done. You're free to do anything under th' sun. With Pup at your heels you go to th' woods Where th' moon shinin' through th' weather-worn hoods O' th' elm trees that stand on th' river bank Makes ghosts of th' stumps an' snags so lank. In th' swamp th' last drum o' th' pheasant is heard; Mother White is a callin' for Bob, poor bird, Who has hid away from th' hawks all day In th' deep grass that stands by th' way Of th' windin' path that th' cattle have made ; Up out o' th' water th' flock o' ducks wade An' go waddlin' off in single file Up hill, all noiseless, Indian style. By th' same windin' path all rock-strewn an' hard That leads from the river's edge up to th' yard. Pup bristles up to th' bank in a spunk As a muskrat slides into the water ka-plunk. An' all that he sees where th' thing disappeared Is the laughin' old Moon there calmly mirror'd A smilin* as though he had swallowed it up. An 'thought he had played a good joke on poor Pup. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 23 But after a while th* woods becomes still. Your mind with queer fancies seems somehow to fill While over you steals an insistin' desire, — A longin*, in fact, for th' old kitchen fire Then fear come on tip-toe an' says, "Don't look back For goblins an' wildcats is smellin' your track," And a few minutes later you're back at th' house With Pup at your heels and as meek as a mouse. When you've had you're supper, read th' news o' th' day. An' pulled off your boots, — ^put th' boot-jack away. When th' folks are all nappin' an* nothin's bein' said. Slip away in your stockin'-feet upstairs to bed. 24 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Sherwood's Pond TVTEIS'LEX) snugly an' serene In a quiet vale that stretched bet^veen Two hills, on the eastward orchard crowned. On th' westNvard woodland bound. Where crooked pathways wind and creep And fleecy patches mark the browsing sheep; Banks with green grass fringed an' lawTied, Memory veiled, Hes Shens'ood's Pond. We ust go acrost lots to school Through th' fields an' orchards as a rule An' had to pass by the pond on our way An' I tell you, on a summer day With sunshine floodin' things all over. Fish a-flouncin' an' bees in th' clover. It WcLs jist hke drivin' Swigart's mule To git our feet to go t'ward school. Seems like only jist last year. With sunmier come an' dog days near. That us youngsters, pleasiu^e bent. To that 'are pond at high noon went. Sailed our boats an' fished an' swam In th' deep hole by th' dam. > 9 a. n a o o a o CO BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 25 After we*d swum an hour or more, Some, shiverin* cold, would wade ashore. Quiet-like, an' start a-puttin' on their clothes. When someone in th* pond would hold his nose. Dive an* bring up clay-mud from th' bottom. If th' fellers on shore wasn't watchin' — swat 'em, — Smear 'em with mud till there was nothin' else to do 'Ceptin' wade back for another plunge or two. Seemed like ever'body in the country knew 'Bout that 'are ix)nd, an' knew Jud Sherwood, too. He liked to hunt nuts in th' fall In Foust's woods, an' th' tree was mighty tall* That he couldn't shin up to th' very top An' slash till th' last nut would drop. Could make bows an' arrows out o' hick'ry wood ; Shoot 'em, too, straight as any Indian could. Jud was always makin' somethin' new Like divin' boards an' rafts fer floatin', too. An' many a time we worked away till dark To float some new concern that he called Noah's Ark, Till his mother, kind o' worried, would call "Judd-e-e" about then An' he dim upon th' fence an "Whoo-whoo-ed" back again. In winter-time the ice was a foot thick Then broke an' over-run an' re-froze slick. Th' whole Beech Chapel crowd come down With skates an' sleds; some come from town An' after tumblin' 'round a heap a-tryin' fancy whirls Th' big chaps kind o' edged around to walk home with th' girls. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER In \Ninter's cold or summer's heat That *2Lre old pond was hcird to beat An' when I ponder o'er them days gone by When Jud an' Sam an' Eve an' I An' Bub an' Bill jist lived down there. So to ^>eeLk, Lords o' earth an' free as air, I jist natur'ly can't help a thankin' God For that 'are p)ond o' water an' them hills o' sod. June \ T tide of mom in bud o' June ^^^ ^Tien Life seems fresh and balmy-lined. When all the birds their lyres tune As though they kind o' half divined Th' way of things; the sun half shines. Half gloams, an' no breeze stirs; Th' droopin' leaves jist sort o' pines An' Nature Ustlessly defers The things of Earth an' lets 'em steep; The cricket seems to drone his lay. The spiders reef their webs to creep Into an' sleep a lazy spell away; That 'are is June. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 27 Then after while that gloom thicks up. The air hangs heavy, hot an' low; Each flower droops its little cup An* seems ter wait; the roosters crow Then slip away on tip-toe like Toward th' shed an', one-legged, there Make prophesy; the breezes strike Up soft an' balmy ever' where And darkness seems someway to drop Down on th' earth. Just then th' rain Comes sprinklin' through the old tree-top — Like prelude to some fuller strain — That 'are is June. Then dark — and darker — darker still. The air gits more an' more menacin*. Then zif some sea'd upset to spill An' come down ever'thing defacin'. And all the Furies had got scared An' had let loose of ever'thing. Then when they'd doneit, kind o' cared. Relented, did their best to bring Back peace o' the Elements — and then the Sun Looks out an' smiles a smile so good An' seems so glad at what they've done; The Brown Thrush laughs loud in th' Wood — That 'are is June. » BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER To a Rnk-Petaled Rose r^ TELL ^^ So pare and HowdUjon^dkose tints of HeafOft's boiis? The qfueens of every realm in secret pine Your tints and sweetoess, Yoiir racfiaiit onvlriaes. Yet ne'er fivcd cpKoi wA bet iMt Was k bnn tk GanlcB of dK Godi 7« Im^bt Perfumed And pelab fair anc - i:— Jumaly li MWwjil ? I ivonder iii^ the ivbole iiRodd loves joa so. Vrhy snobeaBBS kwiL Ac 9^ wiieiisaa yvm 90if . WIqt palace boA and !■« are pravd to be Spots of yom ^iwwMii^ Yov pebJ-bnrst at n)annDg s Dear perfecbon as can be. Your land has bloomed throng countless ages Alwmf% ELach year wilk bker bloom-bant ikas Ae hdL BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 29 Your perfume spreads a dream- veil over me. Which stirs me queerly, — Bids me love you dearly. Drives sorrow herice and gives the world to me. Oh tell me, radiant, rare, pink-petaled Rose, Drooping so divinely. Smiling so benignly. How have you kept those tints of Heaven's bows? 30 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER To The Toiler "VE SONS of Labor, why this turmoil, ^ Why this unending, fierce disquiet? Why this so violent commotion, — This ever growing lust for riot? The end you aim at. Oh my Brother, Is not brutal mobilation. What can you hope from wanton bloodshed,- What wreak you of annihilation? Who envieth a richer brother Breeds but ferment around his soul. You know not how his coffers grew, — Whose lifeblood wrought his talent roll. The womb of Poverty doth breed Not only fair, angelic mould. Nor that of pampered Wealth bear forth Lone Devil-monsters fierce and bold. Have you not seen of times untold Fairest of lilies from dunghills spring And richest of soil from substance pure But rank growth of thistles bring? Who of you would not bravely bear The smite of Wealth if you but found Rolled 'neath the hand that dealt the blow Its millions done in Sterling pound? The fancied evils we behold Are oft but the fruits of idle mind. Ripened by Envy's gentle warmth. Plucked by a reason goaded blind. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 3i The grandest handiwork of God, — An honest man whose daily cup Stinks not of greed or malice raw. But with contentment welleth up. He who can say when the day is done, In truth, **I did the best I could." Reaps a contentment bom of God, Who, seeing it, pronounced it good. Though it be not our lot to own Goods of this earth measured in gold. Let us, child-like, use what we have. Making of it a wealth untold. He who can look up to his God Delighting in some good deeds done Is richer far than millionaire Who dreads the light of each new sun. Pause then, a moment. Brother mine. Ponder the ends you aim at well. What of the goal for which you strive, — Having but the one soul to sell? Oh that the daily deeds you do Be done to brothers as such should And hand in hand in each day's strife Make him to think that it was good. What though your days be days of toil Enshrouded at times in damps and mud, — Strive on, with soul all clean of spoil; Hands unstained with your brother's blood. In that day when we shall be judged, — When the Great Judge shall say, "Divide." We will not be judged by gold in store. But by deeds to those at our side. 32 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER The Family Fireside A MID evening shades of an Autumn day When the sun had hid itself away Beyond th' forest's darkenin' screen. Where grim gray trunks are dimly seen In shadder, you kind o' feel a strong desire To pile th' wood high on the kitchen fire An' there toast sides an' cheek an' nose In th' heat th' big blaze throws Out ever' where. It's logic to get pretty near If someone's claims don't interfere. Though laws of cige-right in th' home Are bindin' as th' laws o' Rome: Father sittin' yonder with th' news Has let his paper drop to snooze An' mother's there on t'other side a-knittin' On someone's woolen sock or mitten With now an' then a nod an' jerk An' wakin' up to resimie work An' pick up stitches that she dropped At th' time her knittin' stopped. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 83 Pup lays there behind th' stove A-dreamin' of a whole big drove O* coon an* possum, while on th* mat, A purrin' in contentment lays th' cat; Through th* winder there th* sinkin' moon Shines cold an* calm. Poor night fer coon To be out, and th* lurin', cracklin* blaze Flashin' out its genial rays. Keeps you there. Oh th' joys of them evenin's, th' cheer Of that fireside a long ago so dear, And those warm, delightful rays Still through Mem*ry's portals blaze As at times I pull them open wide An* bask agin by that old fireside. Let th' moon jist wink an* blink ; Let Jack Frost play rinky-tink In th* trees, while th* coons jist scream An' th' possums hang an' dream Where they are; let th' night-larks flitter; Let th' screetch-owls screetch an' twitter; Pup an' me are mos' content To let things lean th' way their lent, — To rough it on the present fare With coonpelts hung 'round ever'where. While th' evening slips away An' hastens in the' wake o' day. 94 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Dame Nature's Caprice T\ AME Xatu.r :.:- {:.t ;;■-.:.. ..;:.ngs,. ^*"^ If 1 ime but stops to prune kis wiags Or turn the sane :n ni: r:rnt s^ass. And X ::::.i j senmcl. It \^•as late in October grown No c: - • /- ' ^ e'er this day had blo\N-n. The sun v, ; :rr.L. the day was warm, The whiows green, no signs of storm. They say, were seen. All o'er the land sti.. :;: ;. :t seen Both trees and cusr.es dressed in green. There still the robin peri-rTi: ?nd sang, The dove as ^vhen r.r;: :;:.:ng notes rang Cooed in content The orchard yet de&ed the fiosL T e ' - ^ trees the breeze sbll tossed. A solitary :.;:-: :m peeped \^'ith tints fr:ni an old rainbow steeped From shaded ho\s-er. Then night came on, the sun still bright Went d: .. ;,nd hid the earth from sight; Dame Nature came forth m the dark, She s : ; and meadowlark« /.-..e 1 ime knewnoL BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^ She cast o'er earth a robe of snow And made the cold, chill winds to blow; Built white pagodas for the hare And o'er the foxes' lair Raised portico. The storm she hurled through elm and oak And maple, which but moaned, then broke The lone bud's stem, and loud complained. Its lovely rainbow tints disdained. And cast it down. At morning Time was quick awake. He thought there must be some mistake When people said, " 'Tis Winter cold." But half the days his accounts told Were done of Autumn. But when he'd cleared his eyes of night The truth dawned with the morning light. 'Dame Nature has been here, I see," He said, "And wrought a joke on me. Few are as she." * BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER A Boy is a Boy HE'S BUT a boy." folb say. "AD he's fit for is play." But Sk Doy noiif , inclrra, Afi^hacve a wofse cataac to plead, ihofigli a boy has nis Halfof^rfiicliBOOM Nopir, im dodies may not fit. But he doesi't bmI iL It is his own affair ShonUhe I naJi not his hair Wide he's a hoy. His bioafl face may be smeared, tfis hands faioiVM aad seared. He's BO lime to keep dean WheB dme's woifc to he seen ; C^ die faim or m %amm FiOB sD»«p to ^m - <1liw I^ fivk anfthMg to «lo)> — Somedmig novel and new To a boy. Then diose maudlin fists Both leem hiose at the wiids. And diat li Mil iiiiL talk Aad diat -ISdEfaB" walk Ashe dnows a^ his chest And heals it wilh zest Of a boy. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 3? Then fishing time came. He must go just th' same So he hid the big hoe And let the weeds grow. He acted from reason: There is but one season For good fishing, they say. Weeds would grow anyway To worry a boy. He could ride that colt, Nell, With a wave and a yell ; Every tool on the place he He could wield with fine grace; Any piece he could speak. Though his voice oft would squeak. And then when he sang With that bullfrog-like twang — But why should he care? There was nobody there Better'n a boy. Tell a story of war. Though it date back to Thor, It would stick in his brain Like a link in a chain Were he a real boy. He looked manly and bold Oftentimes when told Of the deeds he would do When to manhood he grew; How in far distant lands He would fight the "brigands," Aye! And win him a name Twined with garlands of fame So dear to a boy. 38 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Then why should you scold? Soon enough he'll grow old. Let him build castles gay. Time will clear them away. He must have room to build. Let those hands become skilled. Who has more need of sway? He's heard all of you say, — Read in song and in rhyme. That there shall come a time When he won't be a boy. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^ At Rocky-Faced Ridge A tale of war, as related by a soldier of the late Rebellion while we lounged by a campfire on the banks of Blue River one evening in springtime, after we had **8et our fish poles" and waited for the suckers to bite, as they traveled up stream, which they usually do during the month of March, lurking in the deep holes of the channels. T T was in spring in sixty-four. '^ The war waged on with ramp and roar, And Sherman with his armies three Was marching boldly toward the sea. As morning sun streamed o'er the vale. Quick sounded drum taps from the dale Which roused the soldiers from repose; A noise of martial tread arose And many came for last roll call E'er in the throes of war they'd fall. On Georgia's sunny slope a town Called Dalton, then of small renown. Was guarded by the Southern foe. And north from this more strength to throw About this city small, a band Upon a towering ridge took stand. This ridge fell off to northward down Six hundred feet and seemed to frown Upon the Union host. Then on Afar to northward as a lawn. The ridge with summit narrow grown 40 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Found end in mammoth crags of stone. Here Thomas with his army lay. And quiet waited dawn of day. A quiet that foretold a storm: The sun forth coming bright and warm. Saw tented host gleam o'er the dale; Part on the ridge, part in the vale. Some wrapped in sleep, the prelude sweet To that deep rest Time would repeat. And when at length the camp awoke. High rose a thousand campfire's smoke; Then loud and clear the bugle peal Announced the soldier's frugal meal. No orders yet had been received. And those from duty last relieved Lounged in the camp to rail And jest or tell some thrilling tale Of war or chase. Now in one place A youth of noble form and face. Whose furlough ended had returned. Whose heart for fame and rank deep burned. Before his tent sat all alone, While o'er his form the sunbeams shown: A dreamy, listless, faroff gaze Shown in his eyes, the wonted blaze Of humor gone, that had before Made felt the good will there in store. He drew a package from his breast. Which to his mother was addresed. In silence looked he on it long. "Today will tell, if right or wrong," At length he said and it replaced And to his duties fell in haste. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^i Tipped back upon a mass of light. Soft hair, a veteran cap of bright. New shades he wore. Lieutenant was His rank and as wise warrior does Took time to poHsh his good blade That keener edge his cause might aid. As thus he sat, another lad Approached, exchanged the hat he had For that Lieutenant Ehlers wore, (For this the name the young man bore) , And through the camp went on parade While busy Ehlers no heed paid. At length an omnious boom was heard. The bugle screamed like angry bird The call, "Fall in." Quick all obeyed. The army stood in force arrayed; Lieutenant Ehlers hailed the youth Who wore his cap and said, "Deluth, I want my cap, please." **Oh, let me Wear it just today," said he. "No," Ehlers said in grave, firm tone "The cap I wear today, mp oTpn Must be, for something says within That though in strife we loose or win. Upon the field today I die. That cap must croTvn me where I lie,** The lad in awe returned the gear. The Colonel, Mcllvane, stood near By chance and overheard the last. His mind recalled their boyhood past; He quickly stepped to Ehler's side. Strong gush of feeling could not hide. And said, "Lieutenant, you have been ^ BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Found true to duty and your men And if in truth you feel this way. Retire to the train and stay Until this dark day's work is done. Thy widowed mother needs her son" "Colonel,'* the soldier said, the grave Look still in tone and eye, "The brcn^e Should never swerve from Dut^*s call. Though danger point them to their fall; Nor would my mother wish to see A vacant post w^here I should be. I leave this package. Sir, with you. And if be this presentment true. Give it to her, say for the most, *He died a soldier at his post.* " The colonel knew not more to say. The package took and turned away. E'en now the movement had begim. The seige guns came and one by one Toiled from the north through narrow lanes Which winding upward from the plains Found passage through the craggy wall Like entrance to a convent hall. Through this one piece was drawn by hcmd. Round it brave gunners took their stand. Like hail the bullets round them tell Like tenpins fast the gunners fell. No mortal strength could stand the storm, No gunner could his part perform. E'er leaden missile true to aim Reeked ghastly impress on his frame. Then quickly was the piece withdrawn. As quick the infantry came on BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^ Out through the gap like swarming bees. Like rushing torrents of the seas Rush o'er that table land of death With flashing eye and measured breath; They form and make a gallant dash 'Mid rain of death and blinding flash. Dense clouds of smoke envelop all. By scores they see their comrades fall. A moment more and they had won. To scale the wall they had begun When o'er the fortress wall of stone. On foeman gun a white hat shown. '*Cease fire, cease fire," the siege men cried, 'Cease fire," was echoed far and wide. 'Their strong defence doth not avail." Like sudden lull in mighty gale The firing ceased, the smoke-clouds rose And rolled away, but to expose To surer aim the seething mass Forthcoming through the narrow pass. Woe, woe to life when paused they here With victory waiting them so near. For quick the foe made this avail To hurl again their leaden hail. Changed exultation to despair; Besiegers fell by hundreds there. Till mortal could endure no more. And then they fled like deer before The scorching flames of prairie-fire To gain the pass — their lone desire. « BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER The few survivors rushed pell-mell. Left dead and d>'iiig where they fell. And refuge sought behind the row Of friendly crsigs, and dared but Aow A hmb, e'er musket-bullets true Quickly pierced it through and through. Then Mcllvane forth came and said, "W'Tiere's Elhlers, Wolf?" but qfuickly read The answer in the captain's eyes: *'Out vonder. Colonel, Ehlers Hes." Another man for Wolf repHed "Come, boys; we'll carr>' him inside," The Colonel said, and strode the way. A dozen forms his progress stay. "It means sure death to venture there — Few more today our cause can spare,** He waved them back and in deep tone Cried, "Stay, Fll bring him back alone." Then stayed he not to hear reply. Then heeding not the warning cry. Went forth. Ten paces scarce he made When hfe the debt of valor paid- A bullet felled him in his track. "Drag me hack, boys; drag me hack," He cried. A dozen comrades came. They drew him back, they spoke his name. Silent, pale and weak he lay While strength and Hfe fast ebbed away. Thus on the field in ill-starred fray Two noble lives went out that day. Like loyal knights, in days of yore. True friendships stood the test once more. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^ That night the foemen stole away And on the field at break of day Lay many forms so cold and still. Devoid of strength and life and will. Their comrades laid them in their graves In battle dress, like Sachem braves. There resting calm from war-throes free. They await a grander Reveille. BALLADS : " LLAI PL AIR The Song of the Spirit Primeval T^HE]RE*S a sweet, majestic miisic ^ In the silence of the gloaming. An asBDiance in the wing-beat Of die swallow's evening homing. There's a si^endiH- in die heam-ny Of die son-nse of die inoiiDng» And a ^hckess in die Uoom-bmst Of each lose's fair adorning; There's a heait-duob in die noon-day Of a Jane-day gendy wanning And a nqitnre m die dood-ioQ And die dmnder's wiMesI stonning; There s a sympadietic shnrer In die dew-diop's silent dinging Like nnio a tear-diop's qoiiFer 'Neadi die lash idxre smow's wiinging; Someone's singbig scxnevdiere alway And some sool is ever dnilling. D :e airing, wond'ni^ hoping; Ever We some heart is filling. Ever izA: in pure primevaL E e: : :eadi of sin in smiting, Se a: s = r. z r. i: :: ens its first heauly, ~ = s ^ : c: s :iz 3.2 e for its lifflitiiig. Li^e unto a sea-didl singing SoDg of sea from whence in <joming It : = ug-: _; the wavdcls' Wesong IX^di its cfistant, dreamy ■■■wnwg; BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER *7 But as shells are worn by motion And their songs are ever changing. Changed by waters ever waring In their wide and endless ranging. Oft-times lost their songs forever. So the soul with sin surrounding Loses both its song and song-tune In the midst of Life's confounding. As the Lotus freshly blooming Looks to heaven, ever smiling. With heart bared of all save beauty. With no hint of thoughts defiling; Is by nature pure and spotless. Fairest with its blooms new bursting; Petals white as angel's robing Radiant as when donned in ersting. Lives a simple life of quiet. Dreaming, waiting, wond'ring, musing. To each breeze's sonnet listing. Incense of its heart diffusing. So the soul's first simple song is Sweet and pure and fresh and growing. Bearing in its golden bosom Love of God to overflowing. Happy is that soul which growing Keeps on ever blithely singing; Life's first impulse ever loving. Faithful to it ever clinging. As the lover to his first love Turns again with tender longing. Turns and tells again the story. Sings again his heart's old songing. So the spirit turns it backward. Turns and lists imto the calling To the unchanged voice primeval With its music sweetly falling. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER The Wood Path's Challenge /^~^ VER joa IiiDs die woodbmds are calling; ^-^ Scent of wood bunuiig Kindes heart yearning; Whisiles the qpiail ivlieie hrown leares are falling. Tkmgjbis of die picsent are bedDoning wildly To scenes most aDiiring, My pteasme insuring; Pictmes die lagoon sUnuneniig imkD^. Bhab of the dik^ei: deqiens peice|iiiblf As sunset is neaiiiig; Sirmiqweeds aie sealing; Cat-tails are browning yonder acceptably. Beckons diat pathway tngh 9 the naomtain Abostle with fsie trees. Whose fragrance is mindsease; Thcie. too, at rock-base mmnmrs the fountain. Far in the lowlands ripe nuts are clattering Down from the tree-tops Wet with Ae frost-drops; Hig|i in die branches squirFels are chattering. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 49 In the depths of the brooklet minnows are playing Their sides flashing sunshine. Disdainful of angle-line And worm-baited hook in the crystal depths swaying. Lead then, O Pathway, through bough shade and sunshine To overgrown heights and un- trodden By ways boulder strewn and grass-sodden. And upward Fll follow Thee, even to source of thy life-stream. 50 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Pressler's Band T^ALKIN' about music in a kind o' off-hand way, ^ The kind that bears repeatin*, as Father ust to say. There ain*t none any better*n a drum-band any^vhere. If I was needin' cheerin' and inspirin', I declare, rd jist like to take a walk down town an' stand An' hear old Yankee Doodle played by Presslers' Band. Durin' campaign season that 'are band was sure to play An' then you'd see the crowd begin a-movin' that-a-way, Boys would come a runnin' for four blocks or more And old soldiers come a "heppin' " that could hardly walk before. You knew th' Thomcreek Delegation was a goin' to be on hcmd When you heard old Yankee Doodle played by Presslers' band. Douglas Pressler was their fifer an' allays led th' band. And his half a dozen brothers played the snares on either hand. Lordy! How they made that old "Six- Eight" tune hum. While Henr\' Egolf beat th' stufEn' out th' old bass drum. Any feller that edn't heard 'em ain't supposed to understemd The glory o' th' music played by Pressler's bcind. Presslers' band! Seems Hke I kin hear 'em yet A playin' martial melodies, the kind you can't forget. If I could choose my music for jist a single time I'd say it was a pri\ilege mos' pleasin' cm' sublime To elbow into Thorncreek's crowd an' stand An' hear old Yankee Doodle played by Presslers' Band. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^i Telling Them Over Scene: Love's Boudoir. Characters: She and I. HOW many sweethearts had I, Love? Well, I'm surprised at ^ou Asking a question such as that ! Why, just as if one really knew. I've had so many. Let me see. Begin with the very first, shall I? Well then, her name was Dessie Jay, A perfect darling, but so shy. We wandered over hill and dale Together, she and I (Just so). As happy as the birds in air. Or breezes listless where they blow. But just as birds and breezes do. Flit and with evening's coming part. So she from me forgetting went Leaving but image in my heart. Then next came pretty Roselind. Her eyes, I think, were blue And sparkled 'neath their silken lash Like June-morn drops of dew ; Just then it somehow seemed to me She was perfection through and through. I swore by all the stars that shone Hers was the only love I knew. ^ BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER What! Pouting? So soon. My Dear? I am quite sorry, but it's true. But why should }fou be jealous. Love? Have I not told all thai to i;ouP Shall I tell more? Yes? Very well. Then followed Jane, Lurene and Kate, All of them jewels I must admit. And yet, — each went the way of Fate. Then Genevieve, a glorious dream Was she. Her every move was grace; A being such as gods adore. So jewel-brilliant was her face. But just as lustre lights a dream With glimpses of scenes that woo So she with all her charms and grace Proved hke most dreams — untrue. You are not angry, are you. Love? You asked that I tell them to you. I merely comphed with your bidding, you know. Pray tell me what more could I do ? Cheer up, now. Try to look pleasant. For I've told you of all save just one. That frowning doesn't become you at all. And surely you'll smile when I've done. She tmns to the piano, renders a short interlude, dreamily* then turns again to him. Ah! Smiling? Eager to hear of that one Who was radiant, splendid and fair With lips pink hke as a rose-bud. Like spray of the ocean her hair? 'A Thousand Pardons I Crave of ^'ou For Bringing those Tears to Your Eye." BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^3 How well I remember that evening When I first saw her standing there With dark, melting eyes and dark lashes, And that blood-red rose in her hair. Yet another rose pinned at her bosom Which rose, gently heaving, and fell. Each word that she uttered made music Of incidents that she would tell. E'en now it somehow seems to me That she is standing near, — so near. With that same rose-gemmed bosom; That those sweet accents still I hear. And my heart beats fierce within me And I can but listen on still Held by their power and magic, — By laughter like ripple of rill. Till I tremble lest it be but dream; Till I marvel that it could be true. And dread lest I shall 'waken. While it thrills me through and through. That hair, — like the gold-washed sea-spray. And that rose-bud nestled there, — I really think I loved her. She was so queenly fair. And that is the end of my story. Sweetheart, have I made you cry? A thousand pardons I crave of you For bringing those tears to your eye. So come to my heart, now, Darling. Come. Do not be angry and care That last love that moved me so deeply Was yours. Darling. Now. There! There! 5* BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER Love, a Problem T OVE. What is it, who can tell. It*s round about us everywhere. Makes the possessor happy for a day. Then flees — and loneliness is there, Lopc It is a problem, by die way. In fact, it is a teasing mystery. Those are who comprehend it, so they say. It certainly is puzzling to me, Lape. It comes alike to plain and fair And puts the heart to utter beat-rout ; Makes man, rejected, tear his hair. And woman weep her pretty eyes out. Lcve. That tender, fragile cord That oft-times bears so little stretching. Yet draws its victims each toward The other with so gentle fetching. Lave. That thing that queens have spumed And kings have scoffed and laughed at; For which die peasant maid has yearned And smirking swain has chaSed at Lave. When Cupid spreads the feast, TTiat toner of the heart and blood ^W^thout which man becomes but beast And women fade in bloom and bud. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^^ Love, Undying love. What is it? Woe to the heart that never knew Its touching, tender pangs exquisite In all the years its journeyed through. Love. The gift of God invisible ; Life's sweetest, purest passion. By two most commonly divisible Regardless of the place or fashion. Love. What is it? Can you tell? Called beautiful, yet never seen. Comes unexpected, undeserved as well ; Crowns peerless, crowns alike the mean. Love. Man's marvel and his ponder. The poet's theme, the warrior's thunder; The World's unchanging food for thought And woman's constant source of wonder. ^ BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER The Lost Rose A ROSE-BUD grew beside a garden wall. '^^ I watched it grow amd bud and bloom at last. I know not why I choose that one of all The rose-buds there in clusters massed. Something in its beauteous tint and hue Quite marked it from each other rose. To me it seemed perfection bom anew With its so rare and queenly ix>se. At length I said, "Another day And then I'll pluck this flower rare. Till then from it my hand I'll stay, — Leave it to bloom in beauty there. Alas! Alas! E'er morning came, — E'er dawn had blossomed into day, — Another hand in stealth (O Shame) Had borne my peerless rose away. TTie other roses bloomed there still, — The hand had plucked but that lone one. But none of these, somehow, could fill Place in my heart as it had done. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^7 Laugh Instead O' Swearin' T^HERE'S a funny side to farmin', ^ Just as lots of people say. But there's sides that ain't so charmin'. If you farm to make it pay. If you strike a stump or stone When you're breakin' up new ground. When a shin-stroke makes you groan. It ain't so easy, I'll be bound. To laugh instead o' swearin*. In summer when you're makin' hay Folks thinks 'at it's all meadow-larks. Kind o' fairy-land all day. But storms come on and lightnin' sparks Foretell a rain, hay cut and dry; When you've hustled, worked and sweat. Are ready for the bam to hie — The load falls off, — you most forgot To laugh instead o' swearin*. But when the ploughin's done at last. Corn's growed up an' hid that stump. The storm with rush and dash is past. The larks jist pouch their throats out plump. The hay is in, though turned some black. All mishaps of the past forgot. The soft breeze rolls the wheat waves back. At least when things go right, why not Laugh instead o' swearin'. 58 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER The Messenger to Garcia ^/7HERE is the hero. Brave Garcia, ^^ Bulwark of Freedom in Cuba?' Questioned the voice of the Nation. Liberty waited, breathless and fearful. For in the Island's interior. Far in the depths of the mountain; There in the fastness of Nature, Hoarding their strength for the issue. Strong in their knowledge of right. Were her defenders. Answer came none to the question — "What can be done for their succor?" Anxious again spoke the Nation *Who then will find the brave leader. Bear him our message and cheer him?*' Nature then answered and straightway Brought forth a man for the purpose; Modestly took he the message. Safely and securely he wrapped it, Placed he it under his garment, and Went on his mission. Rowan, the man with a purpose; Rowan, the trusted, the fearless. Dreamed he nor stayed single moment, — Glance of his eye told a story ; Moved he a Spcirtan determined. BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER ^9 A poem of graceful precision As without thought of the future, — Glancing not back as he wended His armor of will girded firmly With good sword of Damascus courage He guarded the message. Not of the way did he question. Fearless to southward he wended On from the seat of his Country, — Onward he sped o*er the waters, — Landed at last on the Island E'er a fourth day had departed. On through the land of the foemen, — Far through the thorns and the tangles. Threading his way through the sand plains,- Found he at length the Great Leader, and And gave him the message. Found then, at last and so nobly Found by the will of a knight Nature dubbed, armed and equipped,— Nature Herself his attendant. Hail him, ye lovers of manhood Armed with a bold independence; Hail ye this conquering hero, — Questionless, dutiful, fearless, — Who at the call answered quickly. Who urged by duty to fellow men. Carried the message. «o BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER A Winter Evening A FTER a zero spell's abated Leavin' th* weather moderated. It does seem strange an' no mistake When a feller lays awake Of an evenin' in the winter, Hearin' rain fall hinter-splinter On th' roof with mighty roar An' like a young Niag'ry pour Torrents down th' long eave-spout For th' old rain bar'l enroute. All th' household sound asleep; Blazes up th' chimley leap; Wind a moanin' an' complainin' As if witches was profanin'. Sweeps 'round corners; drops o' rain Dash agin th' winder pane, — Runnin' down it, makes a sight Like comets f allin' in th' night. On th' wall th' clock's a tickin', Givin' Father Time a lickin' For not movin' on his way To catch th' dawn of another day; You jist settin' there a thinkin'. At th' Fire Genii blinkin' BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER «i As they dance in highest glee In th' blaze that sets 'em free. Stir th* embers an' they rise, Snappin', snarlin', ever' wise, Up th' wide brick chimley, Lightin' their way dimly In th' sooty darkness there; Rushin' t'ward th' open air. There to vanish evermore As th' fairies did of yore. Readin' "Heroes of th' Plain," Of th' "Red Men" by 'em slain; How they killed th' buffaloes Till now they're only seen in shows; How th' mountain lions screamed. Wolves awoke 'em when they dreamed, "Braves" with gun an' tomahawk Through th' woods an' wildgrowth stalk An' catch th' hero in th' night. But — ^he gits away all right. Workin' problems now an' then; Tinkerin' with your grammar when Clauses fill up ever' line. Verbs an' adverbs intertwine, Hidin' all th' thought there be Like wild grapevines hides a tree When th' summer's growth o' leaves In a mass around it cleaves. es BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER !■ ., Then let th' rain jist pour For people must all things endure. And by th' blazin' light \\ithin Equal up things cis they kin. And in summer or in >NTnter Let th' rain fall hinter-splinter On th' roof with mighty roar An' like a Young Niag'ry p)our Its torrents dov,Ti th' long eavespout For th' old rain bar'l enroute. -'A BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER 63 When Bub Comes to Our House ID LUE RIVER flows in its still, windin' way '^ Down from th' woods as it did on th' day Long time ago when we played on its shore Clad in th* bluejeans we most always wore When Bub come to our house. Often we fished for th' sucker an' chub. Baited with fish-worms or crickets an' grub; Often ketched bullfrogs an' turtles an' clams — Shut off the stream on the shallows with dams; Lots o' times fried all the fish we had caught In a small skillet we'd slipped out an' brought Down from th' house, over a fire that we made. Built in a furnace that we once had laid When Bub come to our house. Bub was a neighbor of our'n an' come Mostly on Saturdays, stayed all night some. Ust to hunt nuts in th' woods all around. Filled up th' sacks, let 'em lay on th' ground. Got our "Express" with th' side-boards on, — Side-boards we'd made when father was gone, — Hauled th' sacks home. We hauled sand other days; Done all kinds o' things in all kinds o' ways When Bub was to our house. 64 BALLADS OF BLUE RIVER "Giminee Krismas" you'd oft hear Bub say "I ake fer a swim in that old hole today." Then s\\Tmmin' we'd go maybe three times or more. Then when we went up to supper before Dryin' our hair Ma would say, "Your hair's wet. ^Tiere have you been?" We'd say, "Runnin' cin' sweat" Then she'd say, "Such wild boys," an' dien smile Jist zif she knew" where we'd been all th' while. Bub bein' to our house. •Bub. Blue River flows in its same windin' way. Ain't changed a bit, but then Bub has someway. He's growed now an' tall with a digni- fied air; Wears his fine clothes when he goes anj'Avhere ; Business-like look in his eye when he talks; Same kind o' look to hi'self when he walks; Boyhood with him has most come to an end. Now he most always brings out a friend When he comes to our house. Though we're older now ein' can't play th' scamp; Can't play hide-an'-seek in th' old sugai camp; Though that old bucket o' fun is upset; Its genuine pleasure fer all of us yet When Bub comes to our house. MAF 80 1912 ti^ UBRARY

12026235

The satin bow, and other poems,

Archer, Sara F.

satinbowotherpoe00arch_djvu.txt

:;iARA I ABaHEB Class _J^ Book CopyiightI°_ CQ£VRIGHT DEPOSm Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/satinbowotherpoeOOarch AND OTHER POEMS ^ Sara F. Archer ^ IL.1_USTRATED BY BERTHA E. A. WINDUST i a aSC'iU ? at «2 A SATIN BOW. /|P| LITTLE shining satin bow Vit/ From off my lady's wedding-gown, Where, 'mid the folds like driven snow, You held some fractious ruffle down! I saw thee not that happy day, — I only saw a mist of white, My darling's eyes, an orange spray, — And felt my heart throb with delight. But somehow, somewhere, thou didst hold High carnival for one glad hour. Now, limp and yellow, crushed and old, Bereft of all adorning power. Your mistress dropped you on the floor. And at my feet you idly lay : — ■ ''My love, some trash Til keep no more; I wore it on my wedding day." The little woman, you must know, Could make no use of such a thing. Most of her ribbons long ago Made baby's sash or bonnet string. And so, she threw you quite away, Poor victim of her happy pride ! She wore you on her w^edding day, — A gleeful, girlish, bonny bride! They tell me she is faded, too, Is growing thin, and worn, and wan; But gazing in those eyes so true, I dare you prove it if you can. I bid you mark her sunny face Enthroned my household gods among; I see a rare and matchless grace Though she is now no longer young. And, as she lays her work aside To dress a doll, or mend a kite. She's fairer than my own fair bride, — You'd saj^ so could you see the sight. And you, — poor, little, speechless thing, — A bit of finery she wore, — Have touched some sentimental spring That makes me foolish as of yore. ril keep thee for the mute appeal That gave my blood so quick a start, And proved Time had not set his seal Upon the romance of the heart. And, hidden in this secret place, With other treasures past their prime, A ring, a rose, a pictured face, I'll hold thee sacred all the time. SHE FINDS IT. ^1 WAS sitting today, all forlorn, worn and weary ; W And my life seemed so desolate, darksome, and dreary ! At my dead husband's desk I had sadly been writing, A long letter of love to my daughter inditing. When my wandering fingers quite aimlessly pressed it,— - The spring to a drawer where I never had guessed it. A rose, withered and dead; a ring, gemless and broken; A portrait, a paper: the vanished had spoken! A rose that I wore on the night we were plighted; A ring that had pledged to affection requited, 6 (It was wrecked in an accident, well I remember, One cold, star-lit night in the month of December) ; And a portrait of me in the days of my glory. When I read the first page of a life-long love-story. And then, with a pain in my heart, I unfolded A paper that held what my fingers had molded To wear on the night when I promised forever To stand by his side ''until death do us sever." I was dumb with amazement and anguish unspoken. And yet I thanked God that the silence was broken. For it seemed that a message from over the river Had come my sick soul from its pain to deliver. How I threw down this little old gew-gaw, expecting To be gaily bantered by such an inspecting And mimic relation of falsest pretenses, To close with a comical bill of expenses ! For, in fun, he could make most astounding disclosures, And fabricate slyly the direst exposures. He said not a word, but sat, thoughtfully thrumming The time to a little old tune I was humming. The wind, through the leaves of the closed morning- glories. Was balmy as Italy's airs in the stories, And down through the ranks of the corn-field it wandered And talked to my soul of my soul as I pondered. The afternoon sun in the western sky stooping; The hollyhocks down in the garden were drooping; The marigolds, poppies, and old-fashioned posies Consoled me in part for the death of the roses. On a green, grassy slope, little children Avere playing. With a four-o'clock necklace the baby arraying. And, while I was feeling so fretted and jaded. He dared to pretend that I never had faded ! 7 And little he knew that the doll I was dressing, I longed to throw down for one moment's caressing. And while he was quiet, indifferent seeming, I knew all the while he w^as tenderly dreaming. Oh ! an angel I'm sure was in mercy presiding, And guided the hand that was lovingly hiding Just a soiled satin bow, such a crumpled old treasure! But 'tis haunted for aye by the ghost of a pleasure. And I found it, I know, by the same intervention When my hand touched a spring without thought or intention, And a panel flew out as in joy at unfolding The tokens it long had been secretly holding. Like a rock in the desert some prophet hath smitten, The pent tears gushed forth at the words he had written. 'Twas the gleam of a sail to a soul tempest driven. That long, with an agonized blindness had striven. Oft baffled by doubt, in a fruitless endeavor To find some safe port where to anchor forever. Now I feel and I know that, in some nameless glory, I shall take up the thread of an endless love-story. CONSOLATION. JjplFE'S labor ended, to lie down and rest >mr With quiet hands upon a pulseless breast, — This is thy portion ; it is ours to stay And stumble on in tears a little way; To miss the touches of thy tender hand And dear companionship ; no more to stand With thee upon the upland slopes of life, Serene and calm above the stress and strife; To see our daily duties come and go Nor seek thy counsel, and forever know The voice that cheered us cannot wake again To check our folly, or to soothe our pain. The loving ministry is ended ; still Its influence lives on. It is God's will. Our eyes are dimmed; but thine are opened wide Upon the raptures of the glorified. The little mound holds not in its embrace The dauntless spirit that had run its race With courage undiminished to the end, — Of hope, the Angel, of despair, the Friend. We cannot look beyond the veil and see. But it is surely ahvays well with thee. But how with us who must not wait to weep Beside the portals of thy dreamless sleep? Thy life's sweet inspiration leads the way; We meet again Avhen dawns eternal Day. [The preceding poem was read at the Memorial Exer- cises conducted by the ^Spokane teachers in honor of Miss May Boydston, a much loved member of their organiza- tion, recently deceased.] AN EASTER REVERIE. 3 STAND, dear Lord, above the silent tomb, And lay my treasures down in bud and bloom Of Easter lilies, fragrant with the breath Of tropic climes; their symbol, life in death. And sweet, quaint hymns come to me o'er and o'er, Of ties united on some distant shore. I hear the twitter of a blue-bird's song, And know full well an eager, trembling throng Of waxen blood-roots, trilliums in state, Dicentras, bell-worts, violets await Thy bidding to come forth. I fain Avould know If buried hopes will rise to meet me so. Passive I stand above the lowly bed Where lie my loved ones with the silent dead. I have grown quiet for I called in vain; Time may have dulled, it has not stilled the pain. And O, how can I give them up as yet, I have so much to grieve for, to regret ! T faltered often, Lord; I would go back. I would be gentler, and I would not lack Patience almost divine, if I could speak The word unspoken. I was proud and weak. I long to take the hands I dropped too soon : I meant to do the task, to grant the boon. It is too late? Then give me grace to be Gentler by far to those thou leavest me. Let me not keep the loving words unsaid To sorrow over when the soul has fled. Give me the power to yield to Life's behest, And hasten now to honor the request. And shall we meet in some bright world above, And clasp those hands, and speak those words of love? So many wrongs are never righted here, And God is good. I cannot, dare not fear That sometime, somewhere. He will give relief. Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief. 10 SOLITUDE. JjpIFE has its solitudes, silent and holy, >J' Shrines of the soul where the spirit may rest, Leaving its agonies, sordid and lowly, Taking an outlook on life at its best; — Knowing that pain, persecution, and sorrow, Pleasure and joy have their varying sway. Always conspiring to make us tomorrow Something diviner than knows us today. Life has its solitudes ! Blessed tribunals Where we may test every motive obscure; No one to chide in our free self-communals, No one to doubt that our motives are pure. There we can settle our inmost convictions. Choose between truth and a plausible lie, Seeking the clew to our own derelictions, Letting the fault of our neighbor pass by. Thrice blessed solitudes ! smiling to hail us When we have missed what we perish to gain ! Proving that, wholly, no effort can fail us, None without recompense, none without pain. There we can fly when our poor hearts are broken. Health, hope, or happiness wounded or dead. Weep away pangs that must never be spoken, Reinforce courage that faltered and fled. Beautiful solitudes ! where, to the vision, Reach out the prospects that ravish the sight, — Fields of beatitude, gardens elysian, Raptures of fancy and glories of light. Day-dreaming solitude ! Land of completeness ! Land where the water of life turns to wine ! Possible land of impossible sweetness ! Goodness and gladness and glory are thine. 11 "(§ WHICH 'OTHERS"? WAD some PoAver the Giftie gie us To see oursels as ithers see us, It wad frae mony a blunder free us, An' foolish notion. What airs in dress an' gait would lea'e us, An' e'en devotion !" (Robert Burns, "On Seeing a Louse on Lady's Bonnet in Church.") Which ''ithers' " view, my bonny poet. Would benefit us, could we know it? Not his, I'm sure, who sees us rarely; Who takes no time to judge us fairly: Who, thoughtless, airs his own opinions On others' manners, dress, dominions; Who, from his throne within a palace, Would scorn the bee poised o'er the chalice Of some sweet flower, — whose hoarded honey Will grace his board, and cost his money. Not his whom we have served unkindly. In some mad moment rushing blindly Into a folly past retrieving. Why spend our days in idle grieving? He saw the worst, the blackest feature Of one poor, sinning fellow creature. Not his opinion — never, never! Ambition, hope would fly forever. We know enough to crush and shame us Tho' he should never deign to name us. Not his who takes his seat behind us, And seeks some sorry chance to find us Remiss in something he can gaily Hold up to ridicule us daily. And who could write a heartless sonnet On what invades a lady's bonnet. O, Robbie Burns, most favored laddie That ever wore a Scottish plaidie ! 12 On one dumb mouse you wasted pity, And pained a woman in a ditty! Not his whom we have oft befriended, Confided in, beheved, defended; Who knows our faults, forgives our weakness, Accepts our worst excuse with meekness ; Who knows where we would faint or falter, Or where refuse our course to alter. 'T would damp our friendly satisfaction, And taint our most unselfish action. No, friend, we rest, content in knowing You trust, despite our saddest showing. Not his who views us as a lover ; Whose asking eyes would fain discover Some hitherto unmentioned graces With which to animate our faces; Who paints our cheeks with unseen roses, And even eulogizes noses ! Who finds a dimple in a wrinkle. Nor dreams that Time will surely sprinkle Our fading brows with tresses hoary, And dim the eyes' revealing glory. Not one of these, — -fond, flippant, jealous! Then whose, I prithee, poet, tell us ! Whose view would make us wiser, better, Could we but know it to the letter? Rouse from thy lowly, voiceless slumber. And wake thy harp of tuneful number! Till youVe defined a clear position. We'll struggle tow'rd the best condition We can attain. When hearts are sinking. We'll raise their drooping courage thinking, — Thank God ! not all the powers can gie us The gift to see as ithers see us ! 'Twad not frae ithers* blunders free us, — Their foolish notions ; 'Twad but confuse, — not even lea'e us Unchecked devotions ! 13 THE AMERICAN QUEEN. SID I hear someone say, ''An American queen Is something no mortal eye ever has seen. We're a grand old Republic. No royalty, please, To bring our Democracy down on its knees''? Stop! I'll prove you're mistaken. But don't be alarmed! Her court is a circle both charming and charmed. You have sat at her feet. You have gazed in her face. She has m_agnetized you by her womanly grace. She sits by the cradle, and hums lullabies ; In the kitchen, she deftly manipulates pies ; She enters the parlor with duster and broom, And leaves the apartment a bower of bloom; She delves in the corners, and digs out the dirt; She kisses the bruises, and binds up the hurt. When the housework is done, and the children at school. She whips out a needle — the feminine tool ! When the stockings are darned, and the patch looking fine, She works on a d'oyley with intricate vine. An open book lies at her side in a chair While she reads for the "Club" with an erudite air. A visitor calls, and society's due Is paid with a courtesy, simple and true. She sees a sweet babe or a picturesque spot, Produces a kodak, and takes a snap shot. If she fingers the typewriter's voluble keys, She spells her words right, — minds her q's and her p's. She plays the piano, and sometimes she sings. Her bicycle flies like a creature with wings. 14 In the schoolroom, she rises to regions subHme. There is nothing she fears when she dabbles in rhyme. When disaster o'ertakes her, — the banker succumbs, — Right into the midst of the ruin she comes. With courage undaunted, she faces about, And turns into triumph, a possible rout. If left unprotected her course to pursue. She cheerfully paddles her own stanch canoe. With her faith in her Maker, she enters the van, And gallantly proves herself equal to man. In sickness, she stands at the bedside of pain, And coaxes the roses of health back again. She knows just the pillow to soothe the hot head, Just the right way to move with her calm, noiseless tread. And when life is over, she smooths the gray tress. Or robes the hushed babe in its last snowy dress. If her country is threatened, her first trembling tears Return to their fountains when danger appears. She buckles the sword belt, and knots the bright sash, Tho' in fancy she hears all the battle-field's crash. She smiles on the lover, the husband, the son. Just as brightly as if all their glory were won. The hospital knows her soft, resolute hand ; She works and she prays for her dear native land. If a rifle ball pierces the heart she loves best, How bravely she bears all her grief unexpressed ! Her lips dumb with anguish, she looks to the skies Where the Star Spangled Banner in victory flies. The American women! God bless them today! God give them the wisdom to hold their proud sway Right royally ever, and still undismayed. Hold rank where the queens of the earth are arrayed ! 15 THE GIRL I SAT BY IN CHURCH. J^OT an angel surely; £^ Roguish little minx, — Eyes as bright as buttons ; Cheeks as sweet as pinks ; Tipsy little dimples Hunting round the lips Red as any rose bud Honey-bee sips; Nose just a little Turning to the sky; Hair inclined to ripple, — Doesn't know why. Gazing at the preacher With those funny eyes, Trying to be solemn, Trying to look wise. Proud of her decorum ; Just a little grand; Holding up a prayer-book In a twitching hand. Very prim and proper! Wouldn't even glance At that dandy yonder, Eying her askance ! I am just a woman Full of homely cares That will not forsake me Even in my prayers. But the olden romance Gushes forth anew As I weave a day-dream Out of gold for you. Never name Til give you, Never time or place. But you charm me vastly. Little Funny Face. And you'll read the praises I have wandered through, x\ll the time unconscious They were meant for you. 16 ONLY A NAME. A NAME, a name, and that was all! Out of the skies it seemed to fall, — A whispered name I used to know In dreamy days, long years ago. Only a name ! yet such a glow Of old emotions touched me so It caused a blush of youth to start Quick from the pulses of the heart. It filled my soul with vain regret. My eyes with sudden tears were wet. Out of the mist, two starry eyes Seemed fixed on mine in swift surprise. The lips were mute. A face divine Flashed with the thought that answered mine. From, out a dim, vague sense of pain. An olden romance bloomed again. A hand touched mine. A ghostly crew Of dear, dead memories rushed to view. A boat went drifting with the tide; Two in the boat sat side by side In gay content; some songs were sung, Much nonsense said; and both were young! Two heads, one black and one of brown, Above the selfsame book bent down To read some love-tale of renown. Some rare nooks in the woods they knew^; The stars named in the vaulted blue. A long, long year estranged, ah me! Then friends, — no more to ever be. Only a name ! It thrilled me through With a strong sense of something true, — Mine and not mine forever more! Vainly I search, weep and implore. I see my daily duty here ; No time for idle wish or tear. Rise to the present. Live today. Turn life's romances all away! — But chide myself, as well I may, I cannot chase the charm away. One wistful vision of the Past Will Love's illusions o'er me cast. 17 Holiday Hill, mentioned by ''Mark Twain'' in "Inno- cents Abroad," and selected by him for the site of the home of the Widow Douglas in "Tom Sawyer'' and "Huckleberry Finn," is on the west bank of the Missis- sippi River at Hannibal, Missouri. It commands a beau- tiful view beginning with the bold bluffs of "Cave Hol- low" on the south, and extending north until the spires of Quincy, Illinois, are visible above the treetops. To the east lie the w^ide fertile levels of the Sny and the villages of Payson and Seehorn. The river front of the town stretches between Holidav Hill and a precipitous bluff, known as Lover's Leap, on the south. "Jackson's Island," the rendezvous of the young pirates in "Tom Sawyer," gems the bosom of the river. The Holiday house was a typical southern home, flanked by the old-time negro quarters, and contained a central hall, large rooms wntli a fire-place in each, and deep verandas. It w^as sur- rounded by a grove of locusts with a small peach orchard at the back. Among the negroes it bore an unsavory reputation as a haunted house. It was the writer's home for three years, but has since been destroyed by fire. 18 HAUNTED HOUSES. T[# LIKE some houses, old and quaint and queer, e!l With breezy rooms suggestive of good cheer; High, dusky mantels; chimney-mouths, all dark With legacies from dying flame and spark ; Strange paneled doors ; small, twinkling window-pane: Of glass uneven, washed by winter rains For many years, while Fortune's whirling wheel Has spun its dizzy round of woe and weal. I like the crazy porches, old and deep. I like the sounds that through such dwellings creep. Haunted? O, yes! Before you muffle floors. And drape the wmdows, all the gusty doors Give forth strange sounds. A stealthy step replies To every turn ; still when you pause, it flies When, flying, you retreat in doubt or fear — "I wonder! Is it well to enter here!'* Then, hang the walls with pictures ; fill the rooms With modern household gods ; bring buds and blooms, Books, vases, statues, keepsakes, frail but dear, A hassock there, a coaxing sofa here ; Let little feet of children patter through The halls and stairways ; paper and renew The time-worn paint ; bring music ; bid the glow Of fresh young life its cheeriness bestow. When all is done, I dare you to intrude LTpon a certain sacred solitude, — A spirit, vague and dim, from out the past That hovers o'er you, rides the fiercest blast. Moans from the eaves, and from the chimney shrieks, Sobs at the doors, and down the stair-case creaks, 19 Peoples the house with shadows, thin and stark, That rustle past you if you brave the dark ! The little drops that ^elitter on the pane — Are they some human tears, or only rain? How many feet before my own have stood Right here — or here? I could not, if I would. Stand anywhere but some one else beside Has stood and thought, and henceforth has defied My right to claim one spot as all my own Exclusive of the others it has known. I like such haunted houses, I repeat. I like to hear the sound of viewless feet; To fancy echoes of an unknown tongue. Or misty shadows from the twilight sprung Of some dead past; and in the dead of night To conjure up the visions of delight That must have been, since, through whatever woes Our heroes plunge, they triumph at the close. Imagination? Call it what you will! Around such houses, there will linger still Some subtle hint and flavor, rich and rare. Of hope, of love, of life that centered there, — As when, in prying haste, you open wide Some grandame's chest where ancient costumes hide, An odor greets you from their hush'd repose, A faint perfume, musk, lavender or rose. So, while one stone upon its mate remains. An air of mystery the house retains. And, though the forms have fled that graced the rooms. Like the crushed leaves that shed the rich perfumes, A something lives, intangible, complete. And all immortal, though the tripping feet That trod the floors, or bore the stifif brocade, All still and cold in death and dust are laid. 20 A PROPHECY. A LITTLE nest upon the hill, Perched o'er the town, Home-like and calm, and lined within As warm as down ! No gaudy panoply of wealth, No tinseled show. Proud of its restful, airy height, Its love-lit glow. Home ! this is home ! The pilgrim's shrine. Where all of life and all of love Is sweet as wine. O storms, that sweep o'er other nests To scath and loss. Rock us but gently on thy breast, Toward Heaven toss! O skies, grown black for other homes, Grander than this, Tender and true, send to our hearth The sunbeam's kiss ! Give us enough of shine and shade, O God above, Our earthly nature to restrain. Our baser love! Within the nest upon the hill, Two happy birds. Wingless, perchance, but humming o'er Dear, loving words. 21 One in his daily work with men Never forgot ; Always a wistful prayer for him In one bright spot. And one whose eyes his coming watch Through bHssful tears, Hoping to share the comer's lot F'or many years. Avaunt, vile passion's serpent fiend! O, Spoiler's hand, Touch not the dearest heart to me In all the land ! Distrust, keep back thy poisoned barb, One victim spare. And yet, my hand fast locked in his. Your thrusts I dare! When human fears and frailties cease, Life's dreaming done. Give to the wingless angeFs wings, True life beeun. AFTERTHOUGHT. jn| EAR little Afterthought sits on my knee. Jt* Brown-eyed and wondering, happy is she ; Filling the house with her chatter and noise. Strewing the carpet with pictures and toys, Dragging a kitten around by the paws, Firmly believing in old Santa Claus, — Bertie we call her, she calls herself Bee ; Born in December: age, just over three; Climbs to my knee to be kissed and caressed. Are not the afterthoughts sometimes the best? 22 HOMESICK. /|T OME! Let me see the world once ere I die, \LI^ The matchless sweep of river, earth and sky ! Penned here within the city's dreary bound, How sadly lonesome do the days go round ! I long to see some Avide extended view That only ends where earth can touch the blue. My love, we lived thus once, long years ago, Thro' one brief summer's blush, one reign of snow. We saw the sunlight slanting up the sky When all below in shadowed sleep did lie ; We saw the clouds take shapes of Fancy born, And glow with all the rosy tints of morn ; We saw the river bridged with golden light. And all the gloom of darkness put to flight ; We saw the sun drop down the silent west, Like weary soul that seeks its promised rest, And yet can leave a prophecy behind Of what the waking hours of morn will find. What fragrance met us at the very door, — The perfumes that the freighted breezes bore ! Can I forget how the white clover blooms Sent honeyed odors through the wide old rooms? Or how the wafted breath of vines concealed The promise of the future grape revealed. The rar^est, subtlest, — stay! I will repent The effort to describe that dainty scent. 23 I'd like to feel that mocking-birds can still i\waken morning with their liquid trill ; One reckless warbler chose the swaying bough That swept our window, — I can hear it now ! I'd like to cull the roses wild and sweet That down the hillside lured our stumbling feet. And I would walk down the rude quarry road, And bring me back a rough and dirty load Of rocks that show w^here coral forests waved, And encrinites an ocean's floor have paved. And then, the evenings ! when the sunless sky The gorgeous trappings of the day put by; When stars shone out in twilight's airy calm, And wearied senses drank the breath of balm That, like some stealthy spirit of the breeze, Stole in and out among the locust trees ; And when some pulsing star so clearly beamed, Across the wave, a steel-blue pathway gleamed. Have you forgotten — nay, could you forget — The moon-lit evenings, when the last regret Of day had faded, and the lover's queen Held tender sway above the tranquil scene? Or how, between the hills, the mist-like frown Turned to a halo o'er the distant town? And from a shady nook, far-off and dark. The music floated upward from the park? Sometimes the storms their wildest fury spent. And all the clouds to ruthless rage gave vent. Safe sheltered till the wrath and wreck swept by, We heard the wailing winds of heaven cry. The patt'ring drops, the ''finger-tips of sleet" That on the doors and window-shutters beat. We saw the first wee rift of shining blue That braved the storm, and let the sunshine through. 24 You tell me I am homesick. Let it go! That I am sick of this, full well I know. I walk in solitude the busy street, While all around me, rush the restless feet. I see the faces, and the absent air That the unrecognizing strangers wear. And I would rather pass an apple tree All gay with blossoms, or a daisy see, Or dandelion, or a luscious peach That dangles on a twig just out of reach. I see high walls, a smoky strip of sky. Some dusty trees, a crowd that hurries by. And pine for one long, sunny afternoon To sit and listen to a wild bird's tune ; To clasp my hands, and stay my weary feet Where friendly echoes would our songs repeat ; — With no neglected duties standing by. No sad, reproachful tears to dim my eye ; Untrammeled, free from cares that hedge the w^ay, And, face to face, behold a summer day ! 25 THE GIFT OF A MAHOGANY CHAIR. [Lines written to accompany a gift from the Spokane Teachers to Mr. D. Bemiss upon his resignation as City Superintendent, 1899.] SEAUTIFUL wood from a tropical cHme, Keep all your dreams of a sweet summertime. Open your arms when our Friend would repose, Then all your rapture of sunshine disclose. Spread overhead all the blue of your sky, Languidly limitless, heavenly high. Breathe in your depths from the slope where you stood Balm of the spices and odorous wood. Let the bright birds of your habitat sing, Fanning his cheek with a magical wing. Flowering fancies and slumberous vine Bowers of beauty around him entwine. Then, may the faces of friends he has known Flash in the light of thy Memory's zone. Be like the islands of Araby blest, — Life's ''Sleepy Hollow," a haven of rest! 26 ONLY A PARAGRAPH. [Read at the Hotel Spokane at a reception given by the Spokane Teachers to welcome the new City Superin- tendent, J. F. Saylor, 1899.] /|P|NLY a paragraph — ''Gone to Spokane"! VJl/ Then all the fun and the music began. All of the school-ma'ams were on the qui vive, — Those he would come to, and those he would leave. What was the town, and O, was it so queer? Did they have bear meat each day in the year? Did they have beets, — one could fill a whole pot. Hundred-pound pumpkins, big trees, and what not? Did all the rivers run teeming with trout. Begging the angler to just fish them out? ''Wonderland" circulars boasted of fruit; Deer stalked about and implored you to shoot ; Silver and gold fairly sprouted and grew; Cloudless the skies of cerulean blue ; Fabulous fields w^aved the wealth of their grain. Did I hear somebody call it Spokane? Did the men dress in those leathery things. Picturesque leggins with numberless strings? Did they have street-cars, or sidewalks, or lights? Did he expect to see Indian fights? My ! but the West was so woolly and wild, — How could they ever become reconciled ! We — who imagined ourselves civilized — Hearing the questions might well be surprised. Most of our queries in one key-note ran, — Is he, oh, is he an unmarried man? 27 Second to this was the problem, no doubt, Would he propose that the Board turn us out? Would he be pleasant, or pompous and grim? Would we be crushed when we dared look at him? Providence favored us, so did the Board ; All apprehensions were promptly ignored. Feeling assured of a friendly support. We are encouraged to still ''hold the fort.'' Meeting the aflfable glance of the eye, We faced about, who at first thought to fly. And to avoid matrimonial strife, Heaven ordains he possesses a wife ! Bright be the hearth where her genius presides. Though all the world may be dreary besides. Dropping the wanderer's stafif at the door, Loosen the travel-stained sandals once more, Lay down the burden of Pilgrim, and rest. Sheltered and safe as the birds in a nest. Then may it be your good fortune to find New friends as dear as the ones left behind ! 28 n- NIL DESPERANDUM. ILL I give up the ship and be satisfied? Never! will cling to the deck of my one hope forever. It will sink 'neath the wave? Let it sink! Where's the glory Sailing over smooth seas till you're worn out and hoary? I could coast near the shore if T only would choose it? But I venture and lose, — if my fate be to lose it. Better ships have gone dow^n in a hopeless disaster? Will the fact pull my ship to the bottom the faster? I sail my own boat, and not one that is stranded, And my crew is a crew that will not be disbanded. ril essay the deep sea, I will toss on the billow, If I sink to my rest with the wave for a pillow. In the teeth of the gale, tide and tempest before me, I will never despair till the waters close o'er me ! 29 OF WHAT AVAIL? "Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past that she cannot destroy That come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear. Long, long, be my heart with such memories filled, Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled! You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will. But the scent of the roses will linger there still." — Thomas Moore. TlTATE has done her worst! and the relics of joy, -^f The dreams unfulfilled that she cannot destroy Come back in the dark like the ghosts of the dead, Unbidden, unwelcome, the spirit has fled! Could the loved ones who passed to the echoless shore Come back to the desolate hearthstone once more. In the garments they wore in their last dreamless rest. The hand loosely holding the rose on the breast. With the coin- weighted eyes and the poor, pallid feet — O, say! w^ould you hasten the vision to greet? As 3^ou pressed the dumb lips with your piteous kiss. Would it solace your heart for the lost living bliss? The cold, pulseless fingers you clasped in your own — For what perished glow could their death-chill atone? O, sweet breath of roses that never will die, Why cling round the spot where the heart fragments lie? Why haunt with the visions of what might have been When the faintest regret were a shame or a sin? Why gaze on the features that joy used to wear? No vestige of hope for the future is there. Return, O, return to thy breathless repose Till the last trumpet call shall thine eyelids unclose. Till the glad thrill of life through thy being shall run. And we know and are known in the new life begun. 30 THE GREATEST FAITH. TTTllERE is a faith that yields a trembhng hand w' With fainting heart, — consenting to be led, Shrinking with fear, along a desert sand While blazing skies arch o'er the dizzy head ; — A faith that dares not falter though it would, Holds on to Christ simply because it must. Treads anxiously along the way it should, Weary, complaining, ankle-deep in dust. There is a faith, in tempest and amaze, Follows the voice of tenderness and love; Trusts as it could not in the noon-tide's blaze, Hearing the guiding accents from above ; Which plants its feet along an untrod path With firm resolve, yields to the wall of God, — That fears no skies of fury and of wrath, But w^ith calm courage greets the humbling rod. A greater faith is that which just holds still, Stands like a rock in darkness and alone. No hand-clasp strengthens, and no love-tones fill The empty silence; yet it makes no moan. There is no promise upon which to rest, — Only a blank of motionless despair. A tender child, torn from the parent breast. Obeys the mandate, /'Till I come, stand there!" 31 FOR SOME OF THE GIRLS. [Read at a Reunion of former students of Rockford College, held in Seattle.] Jtf (JT that wise book away we were reading last night, — IfP With our glasses inside ! We've attained second sight. For those rubbishy slippers, we care not a fig. And you never would guess that gray hair was a wig. With their Frenchified heels, bring the dainty bootees. And with braided brown tress we'll appear, if you please. A pencil will make all the crow-feet we wore, — Turn the gas down a little ; you'll see them no more. That sober alpaca, that serge, or that silk Is muslin or Suisse or a robe of that ilk. Those false teeth we left in a mug on the shelf. And these are our own for we cut them our self. Those matronly forms have grown lissom and slight. We are girls, only girls, on a frolic tonight. Young ladies and gentlemen, step to the wall. We'll turn a deaf ear if you venture to call. Your mothers? O, no! we are girls once again. And view from afar those incumbrances — men! I hear the bell ring. Catch your book up, and run ! If you're late to your lessons, you'll find it no fun. There's the call to reports to be follow^ed by prayers. You'll not be excused if you run up the stairs. You answer the roll-call with courage sublime, For you sat on the book for the requisite time. If taken to task, you will settle the score, — ''Why, I spent on the lesson two hours or more !" In our rooms, on the shelves, just survey all the books. How stupendously learned that lexicon looks ! The psychology stares, and the logic looks glum, And that horrid translation refuses to ''come." Just hear those pianos ! Each one plays a key And a tune all its own with demoniac glee. 32 There's the tiresome beginner in old Number Nine With ''one-and-'' and ''two-and-" for line upon line; In the basement, an alto is toning to ''sea"; In the library, some one is trilling to ''la"; From somewhere or other, an unearthly yell Proclaims the aspiring young vocalist. Belle. There's a soft ting-a-ling, and 'tis somebody's beau Conceals his identity in "Cousin (?) Joe." We tease. She explains : — "We've a family tree Dating back to old Adam. Now, girls, don't you see? But hush ! and don't lisp it, and don't make a noise ! He's one of the Junior Beloit College boys !" The supper-bell rings. Grab your napkin and run. You must be in your seat ere the grace is begun. In breathless devotion, you lower your head, But look out askance when the first word is said. 'Tis a man that is speaking! Your finger tips thrill As you see the phenomenon there by Miss Sill. You growl at the food. Why, all girls do the same. It relieves the monotony, — makes it less tame. Tonight we will feast at recess, if you please ; In our room, we will have toasted cracker and cheese. There are crumbs of a fruit-cake, some apples and things, And we'll banquet on these till the tardy-bell rings. And if we have dreams most unpleasant to tell, If eyes without glasses conspire to rebel. If gray hairs come back as intending to stay, If the weary feet leave the French heels by the way. If our new teeth drop down in a tumbler to soak. If diaphanous dresses just vanish in smoke, If young men and women will call us mamma, And dub that strange gentleman there as papa. We'll say 't was the cheese that we ate on the sly, — Any old physiology '11 tell you just why! 33 A FRAGMENT. *'Sleep that knits up the raveled sleave of care." — Shakespeare. ^jr HE editor dreams at appropriate season, w^ And writes out his dream without much rhyme or reason. The butcher hears bleatings,— the slain kids pursue him. Were the baker's dream true, such a loaf would undo him. The hotel-keeper madly is chewing on beefsteaks. The jockey lad rides his nightmare for a sweepstakes. In unparsable English, the school-teacher mutters, And the radical signs kick their heels as she sputters. The doctor is forced to accept his own doses While his numerous patients hold grave diagnoses. The lawyer is followed at night by his clients. Geological ghosts haunt the pillow of science. Even ministers own an occasional vision That hails from a region not strictly Elysian. O, Sleep, balmy Sleep ! why confuse us with errors. And weave round our pillows unspeakable terrors? Knit up "raveled sleaves" with some stitches of beauty. Let us know once a day that old Care is off duty ! 34 3Fflr ilg Olljtlbr^tt TO MY DAUGHTER. (Bertha Elizabeth Archer.) /|j\ LITTLE maiden with the nut-brown eyes, VJl/ Whose childish lips can frame such sweet replies,- Whose dimpled hand against my cheek is pressed, Thy young head pillowed on thy mother's breast! What is in store for thee, my pretty bird. Whose advent in my daily life has stirred A depth of hol}^ tenderness and love, — A joy all other earthly joys above? Who, who shall give thy outlook into life Only a blur of weariness and strife? May none! The rather let thy dreaming be That life is one glad, joyous mystery. The world is beautiful, my darling child. Bright skies await thee as have ever smiled; Joy shall attend thee on thy onward way, And fond words many loving lips shall say. And thou canst make thyself a honey bee To cull the sweets from every flow'r you see. Whatever path these cunning feet shall tread, Humble or high the roof-tree o'er thy head, That lot, that home, seek to adorn and bless, And life can be not all quite comfortless. Do good, unmindful of the time and place, — 'Twill keep the wrinkles from thy sunny face. Be thankful if the Lord has given thee A w^arm, true heart, brim full of sympathy. Then, when thy mother's eyes are dimmed and dead, A few poor feet of earth above her head. Her pulseless heart, no loving to bestow, Methinks, e'en in my grave, that I shall know One sleepless eye eternal vigil keeps About my baby while her mother sleeps. And wheresoe'er thy lot in life be cast, Keep happy-hearted, darling, to the last. And let no gladness pass thee overhead That thou mayst make thy very own instead. Thou wilt be cared for in some loving way : God heeds I know, and something human may. 37 FOR MY LITTLE QUESTIONER. (George Bryant Archer.) An Old Story Re-told. jj||t Y little boy, with eager, asking eyes, ZWI Climbs to my knee in smiling confidence. ''Mamma, and what is God?" he, fearless, cries, — A puzzle surely to our finite sense. ''God is your Maker, darling; and he holds The ocean in the hollow of his hand. He sets the glittering worlds in starry folds, And angels guard us at his least command." "I never saw him, mamma ! and the stars Have always been. I cannot understand!" "There is a Ruler. There is nothing mars The perfect working of a perfect plan. Last Christmas when you, laughing gaily, w^ent To search my stocking after yours was done, You found this watch, big as a copper cent. That still keeps time as duly as the sun. You never thought it happened to be there. It always was, it never had been made ! Even a child would know a loving care Placed it on purpose where 'twas safely laid, — That some one made it, though you could not find The hand that set the tiny wheels in place. So is there a Creator. We are blind. Our earthly eyes cannot behold his face." 38 THE FIREFLY DANCE. ^Z| IT on the doorstep, blithe blue eyes, S^ And see the dance of the fireflies. Night comes down on the little farm, Dark and quiet and dewy and warm. Now are the firefly lamps alight, Flashing uncertain, surprisingly bright. Over the grass and the teeter log. Timing the tune of the jingling frog; Threading the maze of the apple boughs. Over the backs of the lazy cows ; Dazzling old Dobbin's eyes at the bars With the vagrant gleam of their fitful stars ; Down in the depths of the currant bush ; — Over the poppies and pinks they rush ; Crossing the sun-flower's yellow disc; Into the pansies' eyes they whisk; Round by the well and the garden wall ; Here on the top of the roof-tree tall ; In and out of the breathless swing, — Noiseless, tireless, and swift of wing! Crossing the road and into the lane ; Round and about the dizzy vane; Into the dove-cote; out of the hay; Through the hedge where katy-dids stay; There by the hawthorn, two or three deep ; Into the nook where the willows weep ; Into the w^ood-pile ; into the vine ; Dodging the evergreen needles of pine ; Under the grindstone ; over the churn. Just wherever you chance to turn, There the glimmering torch you see Where you the least expect it to be, — Only an instant ! Then out of sight. More to the left ; no, more to the right ! All night long their dance they keep While we lie dreaming and fast asleep. Giddy old revelers ! night after night They silently whirl till the dawn of the light. And the band of frogs plays merrily through. By way of refreshments, a bumper of dew. Now, run to bed; and if your eye wakes, List to the music the orchestra makes. 39 WHAT HAPPENED TO BROWN BEE. ^i HAVE nothing to doT' buzzed the little Brown Bee, 31 As he flew toward his home in the old hollow tree ; *'Do the asters hold honey? Ji^st try them and see. Or the gentian and golden-rod? Ask any bee. The autumn has blossoms righ royal in hue, Not w^orth one white clover bloom's sweet drop of dew. My nose is most frozen : my business is lost ! The nectar is gone, and the dew^ is all frost. Dearie me! but my feet are quite stifif with the cold. And my wnngs are so blue that they scarcely will fold. I am glad I have honey to last until Spring, While w^e stay snugly housed, and cannot try a wing! That's the jolliest tree, and my honey is gold. We'll be safe from the tempest and bitterest cold." And what did he find when he came to the tree But his wife and his children as scared as could be. For while he had been on this journey — the last, — It chanced that, in search of a meal, there had passed An old, lazy, horrid, contemptible bear With a fearfully impudent, swaggering air. AND HE ATE EVERY DROP! What a monster in- deed! And devoured the comb with unsatisfied greed. So the little Brown Bees were all huddled together. And were turned out to starve in the Thanksgiving weather. And they grew very numb with the frost and the fear. 'T)um, bum !" cried a voice ; ''What's the matter down here? 40 So, ho! Mr. Bruiii has robbed the Brown Bee. Wake up, brother Brown! You shall share my own tree. I remember so well when the ants bothered me, How 3^ou patiently helped me. Wake up, brother Bee !" And he beat the Brown Bee till you'd think he was frantic, And laugh till you cried at each furious antic. But he Avoke them all up, and he made them all follow In the truest bee-line to his home in the hollow. And there they are, tip to their noses in honey. With their hearts full of love, which is better than money, And if they don't have a good time this Thanksgiving, Another bear robs them as sure as Fm living. The moral is easily, speedily told. Kind Avords and kind actions are better than gold. The happiest holiday his is, I know, Who spends part of his substance to make others so. THE BUTTERCUP. /ATHE bright golden buttercup! lifting its face Vll/ To gladden the eyes in the lowliest place. 'Tis the type of contentment. It laughs from the sod- 'Tis the child of the sun ! 'Tis the smile of our God ! 41 (§ "TEE WEE." YES ! our "Tee Wee'' is dead. She met her fate, a broken head ! Her gaiter boots and tiny feet, Her hands and arms so pink and sweet, Departed life some months before. But while the legless body bore Its pretty head, you could but see 'Tw^as dear as doll could ever be. 'Twas sung to sleep in cradled ease ; It never missed a kiss or squeeze, A loving pat, or brand-new bow Because it lived dismembered so. A tinkling crash, a-lack-a-day ! And Tee Wee's head in fragments lay. The first great grief, my little girl's, To see the shattered golden curls, A pert, retrousse roguish nose, A half a cheek like half a rose, A dimpled chin and mouth in two, In atoms wondering eyes of blue, — Not e'en an eyebrow w^hole and fair, Or china lock of golden hair. With hosts of dollies gone before. To swell their ranks with one doll more, With countless throngs, our Tee Wee slept. But not, oh, me! unsung, unwept. Come, darling, dry those streaming eyes. Another doll you soon will prize. You had the toy for many days. It shared your sleep, your joys, your plays; 42 It always lent a ready ear, Your tales of childish woe to hear. A poet found, at painful cost, *' ^Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all." You'll find it true whatever befall ! Your pain at childhood's woes and fears Is prophet of your later years. We hold our treasures close and warm, We shield from shame, from wrath and storm And when we part, as part we must, For living love, or death and dust. We find a sweet, consoling thought In all the happy past they brought. Come, sweetheart, sob no more, I pray!. These words I calmly smile and say Possess no meaning in your ear. Then hush, another tale to hear ! ril bring another doll complete, With head and arms and hands and feet. Run skipping down that grassy way, And join the other girls at play. 43 TO MY GRANDSON, George Bryant Windust, Age One and One-Half. With the gift of a silver knife and fork. IT up at the table; Don't spill all your broth , Look sweet if you're able ; Don't spatter the cloth; Look well to your manners ; Don't poke out your eyes ! If babies win banners, You're bound for the prize. Don't squall for your dinner. But patiently wait ; A squaller 's a sinner, 'Tis sad to relate. You're the daintiest darling E'er came from the storks, — But remember your fingers Weren't ''made before forks"! And then, in due season. You'll flourish a knife; Don't use without reason, Or lick, for your life. And don't be forgetting You never must pout. And there'll be no regretting When you are about. Grow strong, wise, and healthy Whatever the fare. And have, poor or wealthy, Enough and to spare ! 44 THE STAR. /jpi LITTLE star in yonder wide expanse, vll/f Whose blinking eye is watching me askance, What art thou seeking in the reahns of space That thou has time to scan my upturned face? What duty holds thee to thy endless round Among revolving spheres that make no sound, Yet still their ceaseless avocations ply Beneath the blaze of one unsleeping eye? A Avorld? a sun? O, no! be just a spark That I am watching in the speechless dark, — A twinkling star! a diamond in the sky Upheld by angel lingers far on high ! Unfathomed mystery of childhood's dreams, Undimmed, unquenched, save by the morning beams ! THE ROSE. ^ ^1 LOVE the wild rose with its chalice of sweets, 31 The perfum.e it breathes, the welcome it meets ; Its satin-like leaves traced with delicate veins; Its soft, silky cobwebs; its gems after rains. The wayside wild rose with a beautiful cheek, — Its dimple as deep as a humming-bird's beak, — Its heart full of honey, its eyes full of dew, — Oh ! who'd be a wild rose? I would ! Wouldn't you? 45 A A REVERIE. (Clara Bell Goodlander, a niece.) LITTLE girl sits on her grandmother's knee. As blithe as a bird, and as rich as a bee. She has two bonny eyes, And such bonny brown hair ! Her lips are like honey, Her cheek like a pear. Her limber, lithe limbs And her slender child-form, As I think of them now, Make my eyes wet and warm. She's a dear little thing! And her sunshiny face Brings summer-like comfort About the old place. O, my sweet little Belle! How my heart turns to you On this morning of sunshine Of balm and of dew ! And I long for a glance From those two bonny eyes, A sip from the lips. And the child-like replies. O, would that soft cheek Were now pressed against mine, — That the loving young arms Round my neck could entwine, — That these tear-drops might fall, Like twin pearls on your hair. And could crown you with joy As they hung trembling there ! 46 Between the Rockies and the Cascades. THE PEERLESS SPOKANE, Prize Poem. One Hundred Contestants. "The Spokesman-Review." Auspices of (§ BEAUTIFUL river, sweep into the west With the shadow of cedar and fir on thy breast ; With the ghnt of the green in thy cool, crystal wave Thou hast stolen from hills that thy swift waters lave. In the lake, hill-encircled, thy rushing rills meet, — Down, down from the heights come their hurrying feet. The heart of the mountains, thy bright torrent drains, Thy sources lie deep in the dim Coeur d'Alenes. Convulsions volcanic thy stern bed have made. In basalt and granite, thy couch has been laid ; 'Tis veined with the onyx and 'broidered with gold, And into its gorges, thy liquid life rolled. High over thy head, croons the sentinel pine. Deep into thy bosom, the Avatchful stars shine. The tamaracks gaze on thy foam-covered face. And shivering stand in the breath of thy race. Columbia thunders ; its echoes invite ; Deep answers to deep in the cataract's might. Speed on to thy nuptials, exulting in pride, i\nd the peerless Spokane is Columbia's bride! 49 V ODE FOR THE GODDESS OF PLENTY. Spokane Fruit Fair, 1897. JfcrROUD Inland Empire of the great Northwest, Jkl Throw wide thy portals at the Queen's behest! Thy teeming fields wave with their wealth of grain. Thy orchards hoard the sunshine and the rain. With flashing fin thy foaming waters shine. Deep in thy rocky bosom waits the mine. The cattle graze upon thy thousand hills. Abundant game the sportsman's fancy thrills. Thy forests fan the air with breath of balm. And Heaven above thee bends, serenely calm. I, Plenty's goddess, step from Grecian lore To view the land that owns my sway once more. Come from the hills and vales to join my train, — I pause to more than bless thee, — to remain ! My halls are open to each welcome guest. The half has not been told. Seek thou the rest. — Given by Miss Blalock of Walla Walla. 50 ODE NUMBER TWO. 1898. ANOTHER year of garnered hopes, Of bending boughs on orchard slopes. Of stubble fields where Ceres reigns, Of bursting barns, and staggering wains. The tardy sun seeks southern skies, And Hesperus is quick to rise. When all Creation's work was planned, And Nature tried her master hand, In the far Occident she played A thousand pranks by Fancy made. She sent her fires with lurid glow To lift the hills to meet the snow. And back the crumpled rocks unrolled, — She veined them with her molten gold. She cleft the rampart rocks in two. And poured her dashing waters through ; Hollowed the mountain tarn its bed ; And raised the pine tree's stately head. Through centuries of patient toil. She ground the rocks, she spread the soil. Frost, fire and flood, their duty done. There lay beneath the setting sun The Inland Empire's proud domain, — Hill, river, forest, fertile plain. Unoccupied for ages still. Awaiting Mother Nature's will. No idler, she ! her patient grace Evolved at last the chosen race. 51 From alien sources, blood she drew To course its sturdy manhood thro'. She mingled in its crimson tide The purest strains of truth and pride ; To the far west its steps beguiled, And all the land looked up and smiled. What Marcus Whitman prophesied. He won us by his winter's ride. Brave martyr priest! thy anxious cares Have blossomed into answered prayers ! We know no boundary marks today, Sordid distinctions melt away. There waves the gallant Unioli Jack; The Stars and Stripes wave answer back. Imaginary lines are run: We hold the Inland Empire one. -Given by Miss Kate Hogan, ''Katherine Ridgway," of Colfax, Washing^ton. 52 ODE NUMBER THREE, 1899. "In the myth of the 'Sleeping Beauty/ the earth-god- dess sinks into her long, winter sleep when pricked by the point of the spindle. In her cosmic palace, all is locked in icy repose until the kiss of the golden-haired sun-god re-awakens life and activity." — Myths and Mythology, John Fiske. JAR in the wxst a princess grew With shining eyes of heavenly blue, With wind-blown locks of golden tress, And sun-kissed cheek of loveliness. But cruel spirits rode the blast. And icy fetters held her fast. One lancer poised his ready dart. And aimed to strike the maiden's heart : A fairy turned the stroke aside. And so she slept who must have died. Soft ermine canopies of snow Wrapped all the breathless w^orld below. The guards were hushed. Eternal Love Set countless stars to watch above. In his good time, the Prince drew nigh. The Princess breathed a happy sigh; She stirred her coverlet of snow; Her frozen pulse began to glow. His warm, red kiss on brow and lip Let every icy fetter slip. She sprang to life as fair as free, And all her court held jubilee. The sentries started from repose ; In every glade, green lances rose; The ilowers their finest dresses donned; The birds their sweetest love-notes conned; The nodding warders of the wood Proclaimed the tidings, — 'Tt is good!" The mountains doffed their hoods of snow ; The mists held carnival below; The fountains wove a bridal wreath; The clod stirred with the life beneath; The rivers on their errands ran : The miracle of spring- began. Hand clasped in hand, the lovers walked. Heaven bent and listened while they talked. Their tripping feet but touched the sod, — It lifted thankful hands to God! They looked with eyes love-lit and bright, And all the fields were bathed in light! They sighed, they breathed their mutual prayers,— You read them in the scented airs ! And Hermes,"^ herdsman of the skies, To the celestial milking hies; His cloud-like cattle heard his call, And rains and dews Began to fall. The earth ran o'er with bud and bloom And blushing fruits that pushed for room. The shimmer of the panting noon Beheld the world with bliss aswoon. But now the fields are reaped and bare. A threat of frost is in the air. The Princess draws her mantle's fold. And shivers, shrinking from the cold. She sees her subjects steal away, And hide them in their coats of gray. She gazes in the Prince's eyes With eloquence of mute surprise. He smiles, and waits the lancer's dart To ward the blow aimed at her heart. She'll sleep the dreamless sleep of death : He'll wake her with the April breath. Of Prince and Princess both bereft. Take thou the bounty they have left. Our land with milk and honey sweet. Let Plenty crown the year complete. ''Note: ''To the ancients, the clouds were no vaporized bodies of water : they were cows driven to the milking by Hermes, the summer wind." — Fiske. — Giyen by Miss Goldie Amos of Colfax. 54 '0ng0 ARBOR DAY SONG. Tune: ''Battle Hymn of the Republic/' 3N the ground we plant the rootlets of the future forest trees, And we leave the slender saplings to the sunshine and the breeze. And the gentle rain of Springtime ; — and we trust that all of these Will make the trees grow on ! Chorus. Let us plant the trees together, In the mild and balmy weather. May their branches wave forever ! God make the trees grow on ! In the friendly mould we muffle all the tender little feet; They will creep into earth's bosom, finding juices, strong and sweet, That will pour life-giving currents, making twig and leaf complete, While the trees are growing on. God will send his gracious sunshine and his benisons of dew. And the sky shall bend above them with its depths of arching blue^ And the rain refresh their life-blood with a richness ever new, — The trees will still grow on. Let the raging storm but strengthen, as the branches toss on high ! Let the trembling leaves as praying hands be lifted to the sky ! Let the little birds that haunt them swell the chorus jov- fully,- And the trees grow grandly on ! 57 FLAG SONG. Tune: '^Marching Through Georgia." JrtRlNG the good old banner boys, the emblem of the Bi free; FHng its starry folds abroad, that all the world may see : So, it floated proudly o'er the sons of liberty, When they were fighting for freedom. Chorus. Behold! behold! the flag that floats above, And cheer, and cheer the stars and stripes we love ! How the Revolutionary soldiers won the day. When they were fighting for freedom! Here we see the scarlet stripe that tells of gallant blood, Poured on many a battle-field, a patriotic flood, Dewing with its gushing tide the heroes of the sea When they were fighting for freedom. White betokens purity, the emblem of the brave, Dying for a principle that all the world may save, Pure in heart and purpose sank the heroes to the grave, When they w^ere fighting for freedom. Blue the skies above us are, and gemmed with starry light; Blue for truth to God and man, triumphant for the right. Red and white and blue they chose, those heroes of the fight, Chose for the badee of a freeman. 58 HI CLASS SONG FOR COMMENCEMENT. Dayton High School, 1893. Tune : ^The Old Oaken Bucket." Motto: *'Out of the harbor, out on the ocean." HEN out of the harbor, we sail on the ocean, Fond memory follows us over the seas ; It laughs at the wind and the waters' commotion, It rides on the storm, and it sings in the breeze. It broods with dark wing o'er the mariner's pillow, It brings back the visions of youth to the soul, It breasts the bold front of each foam-crested billow, It silences fear when the mad waters roll. O, sad is the day when the farewells are spoken, Tho' favoring breezes waft out from the shore ! The hands fall apart, and the heart-links are broken ; The old times and places will know us no more. And when life is over, our frail barks are stranded. Where, where will the port of each mariner be? In Heavenly havens may each one be landed Who sails from the harbor and out on the sea ! 59 '£ CLASS SONG. Dayton High School, Class 1909. Motto : ''We have launched, but not harbored." Colors: White and gold. Flower : White carnation. Colors of outgoing class (1908) : Crimson and gray. Air: "Schooldays.'' AUNCHED on a bright, smiling ocean, Coasting along the shore, Out on the sea, For you and for me, Loudly the waves may roar! Here's to our gallant companions, — Hail to the crimson and gray ! In cap and gown. They'll do it up brown. We'll follow suit some day. Chorus. Hello! Well, O! Be a jolly fellow! We are all comrades of nineteen-nine. Facing the music, and all in line. Here's to the stuff we tried to know — Algebra, bot'ny, Cicero, And to physics, geom — we love you so, When we are a-making our grades ! (Air to chorus repeated to following:) Admiration For the white carnation ! Seniors and juniors and sophomores. Freshmen, who vote all the rest of us bores ; We'll lead the line with white and gold Nailed to the mast when sails unfold. And we'll steer far away to ports untold. When we have done making our grades. 60 ul CAMP SONG, NO. 1. Tune : *^OId Kentucky Home." II HE sun shines bright on the shores of Newman Lake; i5r 'Tis summer, vacation is here. The pine trees nod to the music that we make. And the lake lies mirror-like and clear. The mountains stand with their heads against the sky, Old Baldy looks over them all. The snowy clouds drift their fleets of fleeces by, And the wild loon laughs his crazy call. Chorus. Weep no more my lady, weep no more today! We will sing one song for the shores of Newman Lake, And for Rosebank Cottage on the bay. On moonlight nights o'er the waters we will row, And gaily our voices will chime. While the banjo thrums, and the echoes seem to know How to follow the tune and the time. When the nights are dark, and the mountain air is chilled, The starlight uncanny in ray, On bold Beaupoint, such a camp-fire Ave will build That the glow makes bright Diana Bay. The painted boats ride at anchor in the bay. Inviting the stroke of the oar, And Lynx Point beach holds the bathers in its sway Lr the afternoon just at four. The twin-flowers bloom in the dells of Tanglewood, And perfume the wood-scented air. The princess pine droops its pearly-tinted hood, And the woodland ways are passing fair. 61 CAMP SONG, NO. 2. I'une: ''Solomon Levi/' ^l|t[| E'RE camping up at Newman Lake ; lUt* We rustle for our grub; We row across to Muzzy's ranch In Mrs. Archer's tub. It's there we buy our milk and eggs And vegetables so fine, Our peas and beans and chicken, too, For Sundays when we dine. Chorus. O, Stella and Ada, tra, la, la, la, la, la, Harold and Clara, tra, la, etc. There's George and Bertha Archer, O, And Mrs. Archer, too, Miss Peters, and so many folks We don't know Avhat to do. And twice a week with flour-sacks, We seek the lower lake, — And make a raid on Wendler's ranch To see what we can take. We teeter on the joggly log. And scamper along the road For butter, jelly, bread and ''stuff," For every one a load. The sand-bake just across the lake. Where "hunks" and "gobs" are spread. Potatoes, chickens, sandwiches, And pickles and cake are fed. 62 A freezer full of cream appears When everything else is done. We sit right down and gobble it up Beneath the setting sun. We soon shall say good-bye to this, And travel along to town, And lay aside our rags and tags, And sit in a Sunday gown. We'll black our boots and crimp our hair, To civilization hang, The bath-tub take the place of the lake, — We'll struggle to drop the slang. Note : Written by request of the young folks, embody- ing some of the favored camp expressions. ''Miss Peters" was the one wdio never passed things at the table. She was always there. 63 STRIKE FOR CUBA. (Written at the request of the late Professor Franz Muller, who set the words to inspiring music of his own composition. Sung during the Spanish- American War.) ©HERE'S a mad clash of arms That is borne from afar; There's a wild wail of woe 'Neath a flag's single star : And the heart of the nation Repeats the refrain, Crying- — Help, help for Cuba! Defiance to Spain ! Chorus. Strike ! strike ! strike the blow for Cuba, Gem of the southern seas ! Fling the starry banner out to catch heavenly breeze, — Bring the foe to freedom down upon his haughty knees ! Strike for the freedom of Cuba ! Her fields are unreaped. For the reapers lie low Where they fell in the fight. Or they crouch for the foe. From the desolate land, Cries the blood of the slain. And its crimson tide clamors Defiance to Spain. Where the sugar-cane stood, vStand the ranks of cold steel. And the cotton-fields lie 'Neath the patriot's heel. In her harbor is sinking The wreck of the Maine, — Her avengers are screaming Defiance to Spain! 64 (iMfec^Ikn^aus WHITTIER. SEAR poet, dead, but living still In every v^ritten word, Thy fancies woven into song. Our better thoughts have stirred. With thee, we tread the breezy hills. Or walk the lowland sod. We learn to read from Nature's book. And look to Nature's God. We see the dazzling skies of blue. And feel the breath of flowers, Or wander over snowy ways In winter's icy hours. The cottage hearth is wide enough To warm us with its blaze. The country school-house lets us in, — We know it 'Tn Schooldays." 67 ASPIRATIONS. ^1 T is, oh ! to be a poet, 31 And to let the people know it! With the tingle Of a jingle In a quiver on my tongue-tip all the while ! To be seated at the table With a novelist like Cable, And with laughter Shake the rafter, With Mark Twain to make us audibly asmile. It is, oh! to have the lasses Making pretty little passes With the lining Intertwining All the dainty little motions of the hand ! Their distinct articulations. And their crude gesticulations. With their poses. And their roses, Making mine the sweetest poems ever planned. And to have the latest paper Taking up my fancy's caper. No post mortem As they sort 'em. And no terrible waste-basket holding mine ! And no typo dare to blunder, Sound and sentiment to sunder, Which he scatters, Torn to tatters By the merciless disjointing of a line. But however much a poet, There will no one ever know it. Fancies thronging, Love and longing. And heroic deeds of sacrifice all fail. So I will not waste my passion In a wild, regretful fashion. But retiring Non aspiring. Find some other line of action to prevail. 68 THE SOLDIER'S BIRTHDAY. (1862.) ** j[J WAS brought to the hospital not long ago, ^ And my birthday comes round in this hot-bed of woe. 'Tis my twenty-first birthday. I now am a man. IVe scarce seen the sands of my life as they ran. Unlike the fond dreams that have ravished my thought In days long gone by, this birthday is wrought With moans from the dying, the wounded, the ill, — And patterned in phantom-like forms, ghostly still. *'I long for a word of my father's advice ; For my mother to season my portion of rice ; For my sister to smooth with her little soft hand The brow of the soldier, once youthful and tanned But strangely old now, wrinkled, sallow and thin, No beauty without and a sharp pain within. How I wish that my darling wee brother were here ! (It cannot be foolish, this one burning tear!) The dauby old whitewash would bloom as it smiled At the clear, ringing laugh of an innocent child. ''Well, well ! is this life to lie sorrowing here, Familiar with anguish, with death and the bier? Is it manhood to lie all day long, with my face Turning tow^'rd that high window — the only bright place ? That patch of blue sky has told stories to me Till I longed to be out with the glad and the free. And sometimes a bird darts across the light space, And a swift, restless shadow sweeps over my face. 69 ''Mother told me last year I was always too wild, A daring, unsteady, impetuous child. Ah ! could she but see her poor soldier boy now. She would think he was sobered in earnest, I vow ! And this is my twenty-first birthday, indeed ! On the thread of my life lies another dark bead. Another sad year is begun — and to end God only knows where. May his goodness defend! ''I shall walk in the dark with thunder overhead. Wrath, ruin and wreck fill the path I must tread. What a baby I am! — Hark! Did the drums beat? — Oh !— a funeral march and a winding sheet ! My eyes — they are dim ! — In the thick of the fray — I — must— sleep^ — " In a half-puzzled, wearisome way, His head with its tangle of short, auburn curls. Fell aside ; his cheek, smooth and white as a girl's. Grew pink for an instant, — a spasm of pain Swept over it once, then vanished again, A dreamy smile chasing it swiftly away. A sunbeam came, kissing his lips as he lay. His blue eyes slept well, for they never awoke. Those were the last words the poor soldier-boy spoke. None knew when the Angel came quietly by. He died with his face tow'rd that patch of blue sky. 70 (§ JUNE. MONTH of roses ever sweet, O skies where shade and sunshine meet, O dusky woods so cool and rare, Ye lifting hillsides green and fair, Ye waters dimpling on the sand, Ye starlit evenings, still and grand, Gay, warbling bird with sweeping wing, Breathe beauty to the song 1 sing! While none can hope for cloudless life. Free from all care or toil or strife. May some fair seasons still attend When June's ripe roses nod and bend ; When skies oft shaded, still are bright With the warm sunshine's golden light ; When woods once leafless, dead, and brown. In silence sift the sunbeams down; When hillsides, sloping from the skies. Shall greet the eye in pleased surprise ; When evening's pensive shadows weave A calm o'er days we're loth to leave ; And when some bird we love to hear Sings soothing measures to the ear! Oh ! never may the life grow cold To tender dreams, or new, or old. But ever may the heart's quick beat. The tell-tale cheek, its sudden heat. The sparkling eye, the burning palm, The voice disdaining to be calm, 71 The teardrops rushing to upstart. The eager Hps throbbing apart Attest some new sensation crossed Or old emotion never lost. But not the less, O God, may we Draw nearer in our lives to thee ! And though the storm of care and pain Beat pitiless as bitter rain, May we in hope and faith draw near, — Though oft, perchance, half faint with fear, Weary with disappointments sore, Sighing for dreams now ours no more. Through darkness, woe and dropping tear, O, Father, let Thy face appear ! Let Thy great love, like one bright star, Beam on us kindly from afar! To heav'nly harps our songs attune, And lead where life is always June. 72 THE MORNING OF LIFE, AND THE NIGHT OF DEATH. JTf HE sunshine streamed through the open door, VSr Weaving fanciful shapes on the oaken floor ; There were crosses and bars, And sparkling stars ; There were laces of gold and showers of gems That flashed in their shadowy diadems. The tree-tops swooned in the glowing air, For noon-day's oppressive heat was there. By the door-stone white Fell the burning light In ripples and waves of molten gold, In sheets of brilliant splendor unrolled. All was still as death, and the amber hue Of silence had softened the heavens' own blue. And Quiet, supreme, Itself in a dream, With its drowsy breath on the noonday air Seemed a burden of heat and light to bear. In a large arm-chair, a stool at her feet, Sat a little child, her face so sweet! Her eyes were closed. Her head reposed On the dimpled hand, all plump and white, By a cloud of curls half hid from sight. Round her cherry lips, played the dimples wee. Now dancing in two, now flashing in three. 73 Her fair, round arm, Her cheek's soft charm, Her supple form in muslin dressed, — No wonder the child was so much caressed! 'Neath her fairy limbs, one foot was curled In the daintiest shoe in the wide, wide world. The other, bare. Was hanging there; The stool was just touched by the tiny toe; — What other stool was e'er favored so? The years passed on in their hasty flight, Now, flecking with shade,— now gilding with light. There were smiles and tears ; There were joys and fears; There were happy days, and days of despair, With their deepening shades from the hand of Care, The moonlight streamed through the open door, Weaving fanciful shapes on the old, oak floor. There were crosses and bars And shining stars. There were silvery laces and glimmering gems That sparkled in shadowy diadems. The tree-tops hushed in the glist'ning air, For midnight's chilling breath was there. By the door-stone white, Fell the ghostly light. In ripples and waves of a haunting gleam. Through the misty air came the soft moonbeam. All was still as death. On the hushed air, Not an insect winged its pathway there. Not a breath was heard, Not a leaf w^as stirred. 74 Not a cricket chirped, — not a katydid's note, And not even a thistle-down afloat! Sat an aged saint by the open door. Her knitting-work idly lay on the floor. On a patient face. In that lovely place, Fell a veil of shining, silvery light That toyed with gray hairs on the forehead white. In each snowy thread, w^as a weight of age ; The marble face like a written page.- The withered hands, Like broken wands. Were folded together in peaceful grace, A world of bliss in the pure, pale face. The Angel of Death had visited there. His victim sat in the old arm-chair. His fearful spell Over everything fell In the corners dark of the old, low room, And shrouded the quaint, high chairs in gloom. Those ashen lips, half-parted in death, The ruby ones, warm with youthful breath Belong to the same. The ancient dame Is the child who smiled in the noon-day dream. Now lying dead 'neath the midnight beam. (1862.) 75 THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. JJlJERE I can see a country graveyard, where 1^ The rank, ripe grasses toss their plumy heads. I clasp my hands, and through the preacher's prayer My eyes are fixed upon those lowly beds. The little church that stands so still and white, With shining corn-fields waving all around 'Mid fertile farms, is such, a peaceful sight With its small square that forms the burying ground. A prairie breeze sweeps through the single pine That nods, and breathes a little shivering sigh ; It passes on to toy with yonder vine And sweep o'er mounds where dreamless sleepers lie. A shadow flits across the deep, cool grass, — A cloud is floating overhead you know ; The field flowers lift to see the wand'rer pass. And wave a welcome to its fleece of snow. The butterflies atilt among the flow'rs With noiseless wings their ceaseless motions ply, — The fitting emblems that these souls of ours Shall burst the cerements where the mortals lie. The little birds last spring built in the hedge. And reared their broods in undisturbed content; Deserted nests hang trembling by the edge, — Frail, empty shells, their mimic Easter spent ! All in and out in that snug corner there Wild roses clamber with their cheeks abloom ; And some are shattered by a breath of air, Some wear bright colors, others push for room. So white, spent lives await the breath of doom Beside these others in their manhood's prime ; And buds of promJse that would burst in bloom Crowd with pink faces in the ranks of Time. But I forgot! The singing has begun. How far away my thronging fancies seem ! O, worshippers, the prayer and reading done. Sing me sweet songs of Zion while I dream. 76 '® A FAREWELL. (After a course in Byron. Supposed to be Byronic.) IS over! The dreams we cherished of old, The love we had promised should never grow cold, Have perished, alas ! in the midst of the woe We had vowed should no wavering falsity know. 'Tis over ! The vision I hugged to my breast, The love that had lulled all my torment to rest Have fled from the aisles of my desolate heart, And left but the pangs that shall never depart. Tho' fainting and sick with the struggle it cost, Tho' feeling the depth of the joy I have lost, I would not woo back to my bosom again The balm that but eased to embitter the pain. I regret not the hour that revealed to my eye The knowledge that ruptured that delicate tie. It were best to be thus ; and the Lethean sea Must cover the bonds that have linked me to thee. I do not feel angry and bitter within. I freely forgive thee the sorrow, the sin. Still, I cannot define it — this sinking at heart, The aching that tells me we ever must part. I know I have loved thee, and love thee no more, That all I have felt and have cherished is o'er. 'Tis so; and I look at the beautiful years With no wish to recall, with no sorrowing tears. 77 And yet, we've been happy together. The Past Holds a tender remembrance deceit has o'ercast. And now, it comes back, all this withering pain To teach me the respite was truly in vain. I bear no ill-will, nurse no smothering hate To supplant the affection I bore thee of late. I hate thee not, love thee not, scorn thee not now With that treacherous lip, that perfidious brow. 'Tis done ! and if ever fond memory brings One thought of my life, may no torturing stings, No biting remorse at thy treachery cold Awaken one sigh for the injured of old. We part ! Not forever, I trust ; but below A meeting in friendship we never may know. In yon beautiful world, where the troubling shall cease, May we meet in the sunshine of infinite peace! 78 A THOUGHT IN SPRING. A FAIRY has come to this dull world of ours. Her feet touch the meadows: they blossom in flow'Vs, No nook so secluded, no corner so sly But some little posy peeps out to the sky. They herald the spring. May their bloom never die Till the sere autumn leaves in the forest paths lie; Till the gentian and golden-rod yield to the blast, And the breath of the frost is the doom of the Past ! But remember, O Death, when you gather the flowers, And they lie down to die in their own native bowers, They are only asleep, and they w^ait a new birth When a glad resurrection shall dawn on the earth. Though their frail heads may bow to the stress* of the storm, Dow^n under the sod, they are sheltered and warm. And the fingers that loosen the fetters of frost Will thrill them to life. Not a blossom is lost. Neath the mouldering leaves and the blanket of snow Is treasured the instinct to waken and grow. 79 CONTENTS. 1. A Satin Bow. 2. She Finds It. 3. Consolation. 4. An Easter Reverie. 5. Solitude. 6. Which "Ithers"? 7. The American Queen. 8. The Girl I Sat By in Church. 9. Only a Name. 10. Haunted Houses. 11. A Prophecy. 12. Afterthought. 13. Homesick. 14. A Mahogany Chair. 15. Only a Paragraph. 16. Nil Desperandum. 17. Of What Avail? 18. The Greatest Faith. 19. For Some of the Girls. 20. A Fragment. 21. To My Daughter. 22. For My Little Questioner. 23. The Firefly Dance. 24. What Happened to Brown Bee. 25. The Buttercup. 26. Tee Wee. 27. To My Grandson. 28. The Star. 29. The Rose. 30. A Reverie. 31. The Peerless Spokane. ^ 4 -^ 32. Ode for the Goddess of Plenty, 1897. 33. Ode for the Goddess of Plenty, lS98. 34. Ode for the Goddess of Plenty, 1899. 35. Arbor Day Song. 36. Flag Song. 37. Commencement. 38. Class Song. 39. Camp Song, No. 1. 40. Camp Song, No. 2. 41. Strike for Cuba. 42. Whittier. 43 Aspirations. 44. The Soldier's Birthday. 45. June. 46. The Morning of Life. 47. A Country Churchyard. 48. A Farewell. 49. A Thought in Spring. Copyright applied for. ,H?P^f^Y OF CONGRESS 018 603 274 3 il9 !]9 1 m ¥■' i''':' q m ■ i>'

20006894

Silver wings, and other gems of thought and verse,

Archer-Burton, Mary Ela Denne

silverwingsother00arch_djvu.txt

^^ 5' A. • '1 ^ .^^ v-^ > ,0^^ ^"-^^^ v^^ . * ^^ ' -^^^^ ,^.^.^^>^\^^^ ^ A. 4o^ ^ '^^ Silver Wings and Other Gems of Thought and Verse h E. A-B. (Mrs. Archer-Burton) 1 <*'-^iZ^'i^ J i \ Silver Wings and Other Gems of Thought and Verse by E. A-B. (Mrs. Archer-Burton) Printed by The Roycrofters East Aurora N. Y. 1 ©CIA 5 5 7 4 (I FEB 1 4 Ml o Foreword HIS little book of verses, is dedicated, to one who inspired many of them, and who, all unconsciously, furnished the incentive, without which they never would have been written CONTENTS Page A Bit of the Brogue 19 A Catastrophe 33 A Cure 42 A. D. 1919 12 A Friend 58 A Meeting 29 A Message 37 A New Year's Greeting .... 37 A Pagan Wish 26 A Plea 52 A Problem 12 A Question 40 A Recipe 27 A Soliloquy 17 A Summer Idyll 39 A Summer's Night on the English Coast 48 A Toast 21 A Toast 40 A Voice! 43 A Wail 34 Affinity 43 Again 30 AiDiMi! 41 Aloes 17 Alone 19 America! England! 55 Amicus Vitae Solatium .... 25 An Angelus 53 And Should You Know . . . . 17 Armenia 55 Ashes of Roses 21 Aspiration 35 At Last 53 Awake, America! 52 Barred Gates 32 Bien-Aime! 43 Cave! 12 Come Over And Help Us • • • 53 Compensation 29 " Could Ye Not Watch With Me? " 53 Cowards All! 34 Cupid's Jest 30 Cynthia 44 Darkness and Dawn 41 England 49 Eternal Peace 43 Eternal Peace 50 Page Evanescent 40 Even There 55 Ever True 41 Exit Amor 41 Fanchette and The Gargoyle . 37 Farewell Summer 36 Farewell to Love 29 Fleeting 13 Follow the Flag 49 Foreboding 15 Forgotten 31 Freedom 49 Friendship 53 Gates Ajar 47 " God Giveth His Beloved Sleep! " 54 Goija 22 Good Friday 1918 51 Gott Mit Uns 34 Gray Days 38 Guiding Star 21 Heart's Desire 57 He Comes 37 He Knoweth Best 47 Hooverizing 47 How Many More? 19 If Wishes Were Horses Incantation ... 45 . . . 20 Kaiserliche, Almaechtigkeit ... 32 Kettle Drums 45 Kiss Me Summer 24 " La Donna e Mobile " .... 38 Lass mich Hinein! 32 Laughing Love 4I Let There Be Light 43 Lotus Buds 21 Love and Youth 27 Love at Dawn 29 Love is King 15 Love Laughs 37 Lover of Mine 57 Love's Eyes 36 Love's Greatest Gift 43 Love Spurned 24 Messengers 12 Mine 28 Modest Wishes 57 Morituri Te Salutant! .... 44 Page Mother Love 39 Mr. Hoover Again 33 Musica 32 My Garden 56 My Lady 28 My Lassie . . ._ 28 My Lord's Palanquin .... 58 My Own Land 46 My Son 14 No Limit 42 On the Road to Camden ... 28 Our Boys 54 Out of the Mire 27 Pan Pipes 24 Parted 39 Perquisites 13 Phantasies 27 Pin-Pricks 46 Please 25 Purposeless 43 Quantum Sufficit! 23 Quidam? 18 Reassured 22 Reincarnated 41 Retrospect 31 Ripples 42 Rose on the Wall 16 Roses on the Wall ! 24 R. S. V. P 32 Sand of the Desert 51 Silver Wings 11 Sea-Birds 13 Smouldering Fires 46 Somewhere In ****** 35 Song 27 Spring Comes 22 Spring Comes . . -33 Springtime from My Window 26 Star Flies 45 Sunset on the River 29 Sweetheart 13 Tanjore 20 Temples 5° Temperamental 16 The Answer 40 The Answered Prayer .... 46 The Daughter's Lament .... 34 The Dawning 23 The Dream Child 14 Page The Fairy Prince 26 The Gift 19 The Gracious Hand 40 The Guardian Sea 42 The Heart's Answer 59 The Line 51 The Local Paper 33 The Long Wall 22 The Mirror 56 The New Day 25 The New Moon 41 The Full Moon 41 The Night Wind 58 The Nook 42 The Optimist 18 The " Oriflamme " of France 31 The Peacocks 36 The South of Other Days ... 44 The Sun Has No Glory .... 26 The Summer Moon 46 The Street 23 The Time is Coming 28 The University Gate 17 The Vision 52 The Vote! 36 The Watchman 5° Three Words 30 To a Photograph 12 To Bubastis 18 Together 15 To Love 30 To M. C. C 47 To My Grandson 12 To My Muse 39 Too Dear 16 Too Late! 38 To Pan . . 25 To the Little Ones Coming from School 19 To the World 42 Unafraid 54 Valentine's Day 1919 . . . 29 Victory! 55 Voters 15 When? 29 Who is Pan? 24 Winter in Minnesota 44 Winter Twilight 18 Worship 48 Silver Wings "^m ^^^^^ W/ ^^ ^ i||4^ ^]^^^^^ % ^^^^ ^^^ 6^^^ -^^yjV%3 ^;^i^ ^^< ::^^u^^ :=r^^^^^ Silver Wings To a Lieutenant in The Lafayette Escadrille High, high, up in the sky, Over the mountain's crest. Low, low, swoop on the foe. Beating the hawk, at its best! Silver wings. Wonderful things! Borne on a brave boy's breast. Dart, and dash! quiver and flash! Swifter than eagles' flight. Sending the enemy down with a crash! Now hiding deep in the night. Silver wings. Wonderful things! Guide my brave boy aright! Silver wings, wonderful things! Soon may the glad day come. No more to rove, from the land of his love. When you bring my brave boy home. Silver wings. Wonderful things! To his mother's arms, and Home! 12 Silver IV i n g s TO A PHOTOGRAPH To think that once, I knew vou, knew you well! Called you by name, danced with you, and could tell The color of your eyes — and knew By heart, each feature of your dear, tanned face, Your splendid figure's strength, and manly grace! That heart to heart, and lip to lip, we stood. Once in the shadow of a scented wood — My heart was yours, your boy heart, mine I thought. Dear days of early youth; experience taught — Full many a lesson, hard and new — Ere Life's course ran so straight and true. To its real goal. My friend I give to you — A friendship, true and deep and warm — Filled full of memories, that can not harm Us now! CAVE! I PRAV you Antony, my Antony, beware^— Of black-browed Lucrece, and Aspasia, fair! With gilded locks! Entangled in her hair, I dream, your fingers toy in soft caress — Beloved — you are mine; you may not dare. To seek love's solace, in another's eyes. For Cleopatra, none may lightly care, Then turn aside to snatch a lesser prize! The murmuring Nile, in full flood of the Bears not as strong a torrent, on his breast. As Cleopatra's heart of love shall bear, To Antony — but let him jest — with love — Forgetting what the hours have seen. Then death to Antony, had kinder been. Had held less bitterness, than she who was his Queen! MESSENGERS The birds are here! Oh! dainty messengers of spring, I live to see, the golden chalice Of the year unfold — Again I see you bring — The promise, of glad days. And hear you, joyous pour — To earth, and sky, and air — Your roundelays — Of love, and life, and joy. And my glad heart. Echoes your praise! MY GRANDSON Son, of my son! Upon my breast. How soft and warm, he lies — Close, close, my heart, his baby form — And looking in his eyes. Again I see the little son, God gave one day, to me — So short a time ago, it seems — That could it really, be — My grandson, I was holding — Just now, upon my knee! A PROBLEM Two pairs of eyes, look up, and down, Blue eyes and brown — Each drawn, as tho' a magnet drew Brown eyes to blue! Seeking unconsciously to find How deep, how true The thought, the heart, the soul, behind Both brown and blue. A. D. 1919 A TORN and reeking world. Banners of hate unfurled. Murder and lust and fear! Is the end near? Rapine, blood, and unrest. Life, and death, unblest. Filled with pitfall and snare! And God is — where? Silver Wings 13 SEA-BIRDS To L. T. Sea-bird, sea-bird, flying south; Tell me, have you seen my love. Far beyond the river's mouth — Flying northward? You are leaving ice and snow. Far behind you. Summer's joys again for you — If no foes find you! He I love, on swifter wings. Soars and dips, and dipping lower — Outward, on the tide, he swings — Skims the Ocean, shore to shore! Sea-bird, sea-bird, were I you. In upper air, My wings should cut, the bonny blue. True flyer he who meets you there — And flings a challenge; Sea-bird, he — Can also beat you on the sea! Where the Ocean flings, its spray — Seek out those " Golden Wings," and say — " Brave brother Gold, wings — You who dare — The Ocean skim. Defy the air! Conqueror, tho you live, or die! Fare you forth, to Victory!" Note: The Seaplane Service Badge is Golden Wings. PERQUISITES By an outsider A little child; bright-eyed with smooth round cheek. And happy, eager, laughing, loving lips. Bestowing kisses! Soft, clinging arms and dimpled finger tips. Ah! well, such blisses — Are rightfully, but childhood's perquisites. And yet tonight Some imp within, cried out with envy — Of your childish right! FLEETING The down on a butterfly's wing. Is not a more fleeting thing — Than the God-given look, in a child's dear eyes. Ere fools or brutes, have made them wise. SWEETHEART A HEART of gold, A tongue of flame! Not beauty, tho' in beauty's name, I greet you. For you *ve a grace. Of form and face — And when you care to win the race — There 's none to beat you! A will to conquer, and command, A brain to plan and dare. No coward you! But bold and true — Tho' you deny me there. That 's Nowl But long ago a baby dear — I held within my arms, And tried to fashion names for her — That would describe, her charms! In the golden meshes of her hair — My heart she held a slave. And my life lay in her tiny hands To forfeit or to save! * 41 * * Ht « Sweetheart of mine, Within your eyes, So loving deep and true — I sent my soul a-seeking. To find the real you. And having found you, know you — In spite of " War's alarms " For the very selfsame, " Sweetheart " That loved a mother's arms. Long ago! H Silver JF i n g s THE DREAM CHILD E LITTLE snow-flake, paler than the dawn — Ere coming day had stained its virgin face! A small frail spark of life, that flickered low. Upon my breast you lay, so white, so still— ^ ^ I did not dare to weep, hardly to breathe — Tho' down my cheek, unchecked the tears would fall. And all the world, its gladness and its fears — Were held for me, within that room so small. ****** A flower face, so sweetly, white and pink — With eyes as dark and lustrous, as the night — You stand and smile, at me — under your bonnet's brim! And in your cheeks, the little dimples play — Dimples that laugh at me, from every place, Knees, hands, and all your lovely baby form — My little snow-flake, now to childhood grown! With all of childhood's charm and win- some, grace — ****** Still like a sweetly blooming, lovely rose — The color flushing pinkly o'er her cheek — My tall shy girl, a smile upon her lips, She stands and looks at me — the little dimples still, On her sweet face are playing " hide and seek " — And in her eyes, as dark as deepest pools, Still lives the child's dear look, of trust, of purity! Still in her heart, the simple old time love — Of birds and flowers, and every living thing — Each one a gift, to her, from heaven above From God himself, from whom, all pure joys spring! MY SON A TINY, helpless, new-born babe, Within my arms, he lies — And heaven is here on earth for me — Held in his wondering eyes — A year or two my bonnie boy. Tosses his golden curls, A sturdy lad, (his father thinks) His hair too like a girl's! A little while, and three or four — Dimpled of hand and knee Such loving little hands, and lips — My darling has for me. Working and playing, years go by — My boy is still my own, A slender youth, with dear dark eyes. Nearly to manhood grown. So young is he, in many ways — My baby still he seems. But he can wake to sudden life. In the manhood of my dreams. He 's big, and strong and wonderful. He fills my heart with pride — But I must share my splendid man — For now he takes a bride! Dear tiny child, dear boy of mine — I hold you in my heart — No wife, no bride, not anything. Can tear our love apart. And always in my heart a prayer, Is ever night and day, " God keep my boy, from war and death. Nor force his hand to slay! " I would not have him shirk his " bit " Nor turn his face away — But " God in mercy end this strife! " Is ever what I pray. So may I keep my boy with me — Nor see deep in his eyes, The memory of hideous things, That ever lives, and lies A leaden cloud to hide away, the The glory of the sun — And kill the joyousness of life. Till all its^days are done! Silver JV i n g s 15 TOGETHER Dear heart, do you remember, How far away, it seems! A thousand ages — long ago, Off in a land of dreams! We sat (a lover and his lass) — And watched an earthquake, rage — With terrifying truthfulness — Across a painted stage. The tears, were in your eyes " Dear heart" And they were on my cheek — Our hearts were torn with tragedies. We could not even speak — But hand in hand, we sat and gazed — Until the play was done! And now, we're watching, Life, go by — As the years race, swiftly on. This play we saw begin " Dear heart " Held much for you and me — Now night is closing in " Dear Heart " Still, hand in hand, may we Watch till it draws, unto the end — Together, till Time sounds, " Lights out!" And present, past, and future, blend, Forever — without fear or doubt. FOREBODING Look to the East, my Antony, and see, The flaming sunset, fill the quivering sky! As your love fills the quivering soul of me. Just now, " Oh long desired " I heard you ^igh' . • , „ At our first meeting, " Long admired! you breathed — And then I saw, your eyes — and in them lay — While smiles your strong lips wreathed, The same bold look, that holds me here today! Beloved! — pillowed on your heart, my head — I turn my eyes towards the glowing sky, Why shrinks my soul, with overwhelming dread? As on your lips, and in your eyes I see. The growing weakness, born of love for me. How smooth and slow, beneath our gilded prow. Glides the dark Nile! Emblazoned here and there — With gorgeous colorings, of red and gold, and now — One long embrace, my Antony; Oh, hold me near Your heart, beloved! This our last fare- well — No more to lie upon your breast, so dear — Osiris, calls us both, to heaven or hell! VOTERS! One man, one motor — Let him mote! Watch him, when woman has the vote! LOVE IS KING Love warms my heart, As the tropic morn Is warmed, when the sun Flames up at dawn. And flings across the radiant sky. The magic of his wizardry. Lord over night, a conqueror, he, As love, is King and Lord of me. Love fills my soul. As the Ocean fills Its wondrous bed, From shore to shore, Driving all else resistlessly, Before its overwhelming power. So Love alone, is King of me. Supreme in His sovereignty. Do not boast of your immunity, where Love is concerned, For if Love has passed you by, you may be sure that there Is some serious defect in you, mentally, morally, or physically. i6 Silver Wings ROSE ON THE WALL Rose on the wall, hanging so high, I must possess you Tho' I should die! Rose, rose, rose on the wall! Beauty — you flaunt it. Flinging afar. Sweetness, to vaunt it, Splendid lone star! Gorgeous, uplifted. High over all! My Rose you must be — Rose on the wall! Destined by Fate, To lie on my heart. Shall fear of Death's terrors Keep us apart? You may hang high. Rose on the wall. Win you I will, tho' I should fall! Imperious, exquisite, Far, far, above — Mine — by the right Of predestined love! Upward I reach — what tho' I give all? Rose, rose, rose, on the wall! At last! — on my bosom. Where I have pressed. The thorns that surround you — Lie here, and rest! Through all eternity, MINE — on my breast! Will I wear you forever, tho' dynasties fall. Rose, rose, MY rose on the wall! TEMPERAMENTAL See how with tender touch, Eolus stirs The fluttering gauze of Spring's light draperies And like a sleeping infant's fleeting smile, Ripples the lake from quiet shore to shore; Ripples that come, then vanish, to return once more. And now more sportive grown, with stronger breath. He tosses fairy blossoms, here and there. Flings far the waving tendrils of June's hair And twists her rosy garments round her feet! Filling the summer night with attar sweet. Then feigning wrath, the blusterer turns on me. Adding a danger signal to his warning note; Flings back my breath into my gasping throat. Roars in my ears and brings me to my knee Ere torn and trembling, I have time to flee. Strips all the trees, until they leafless stand. The ripples too, to flying foam he churns. Drives in my face an icy sleet, that burns. Earth rocks before him, nature bends and reels And my heart faints before the awe it feels. But rage, and roar, and tear me as he will, I love him and his furious wooing still. For soon I know, his softly pleading sigh. Will barely stir the leaves against the sky! TOO DEAR Life! What is Life? Penance, and prayer. Bright dreams that fade, Hopes, dissolved in air! Love pure and priceless. Pearls, cast before swine — As assets worthless. But lees of wine! A heart — Oh, no, thank you, A stone for mine — I Silver Wings 17 AND SHOULD YOU KNOW And should you know, at some far distant day, How much I love you. How oft with you I 've longed to stray — Far from the hard frequented way. On which we meet from day to day, Great trees above you — Where I might gently take your hand. To lead you into fairyland, A Paradise in Maryland — Nor fear to show you The treasures, both of us might find — Within the other's heart and mind — When thoughts, and words, and lips, are kind. And learn to know you — I think altho' you pass me by — With just a smile of lip or eye, I 'd like tho' you may wonder why — My heart to show — you! A SOLILOQUY How the wind rustles the dry stems, tonight — Of tall papyrus in the river bed! They rattle as the dry bones might. Of men, the Pharaohs, once had led! How short a time ago it seems, that he, My conquering Antony, was by my side; And the full flood, flowed under me. Of the old Nile's great tide! As in the gilded barge we dreaming, lay — My head upon his breast! And then his chariot, stood before my gate. Oh, Antony! — you gazed at me, beneath Your brows, and said, " I 'm old, my Queen, and Fate May soon destroy this earth-bound, human sheath; That once was Antony, but my spirit, giving Itself to you: and through all ages living Seeking again in every age its mate. Proves Love triumphant over Death and Fate," ALOES And every hundred years the aloes, bloom — Each blossom time, a hundred years apart, Oh, lovely aloes in a smiling garden fair! So love each hundred years, wakes in a heart — And seeking, seeking — sometimes finds a mate! More often lonely, and the sport of Fate, It wanders thro' the years; or all too late. Finds of itself, the perfect counterpart. Condemned, again, a hundred years, to sleep — Ere it once more, its trysting time can keep! Awake, O perfect hour, within this heart Ere fate's stern hand, shall tear our lives apart! THE UNIVERSITY GATE Bonn on the Rhine, Germany, 1877 An Incident A DARK haired youth, plain featured, sal- low, slim! He stood and gazed at me, and I, at him! Within the opening of a narrow gate. His eyes, (as corn-flowers, in the grass) were blue — They seemed not aught, but gentle, kind and true. Why did I know, when all at last too late. That in these slender, girlish hands, there lay — The fate of empires! That the world today — Would in those hands, collapse — disinte- grate! And had I known — another Corday, I — Could I have struck the blow, that bade him die! Have lent my arm to meet the ends of Fate? I know not! This alone, I truly know — Forever might my hand have laid him low. As to my side, so close he pressed. When I passed through the gate! i8 Silver Wings WINTER TWILIGHT The cold white moon, hangs bright, and high— And frostv stars, fill all the sky, No roses bloom, upon the wall. They lie beneath the snow's white pall — The frozen roads ring to my tread. And all the singing birds have fled — But still my heart, sings soft and low — I love you so! I love you so! The summer days, were bright and fair. Bird voices filled the balmy air, So warm and soft the languorous night. Bathed in the glowing, radiance bright. Of summer moon's, mysterious power. But oh, I know in this lone hour, My heart keeps warm through cold and snow — For still it sings, I love you so! QUI DAM? Position for this one, Exemption for that — A niche that the other can fill — Widely beneficent, Almost omnipotent — I wonder his name is n't Bill! This one adores him! That one — deplores him! A joker from A unto Z. If you could blink at him. What would you think of him? You who, at least, know me! Some shake in their shoes. When he has the blues, And his frown takes the place of a rod. When he has a grouch — My goodness — Oh! — Ouch! Don't wait for a wink or a nod. And so we kow-tow to him. Smile on him, bow to him — And give him at least, his due — The hand that can bless Can chastise, or caress — Is the one that the world will woo. TO BUBASTIS My blue Bubastis! — sitting here today — I move my hand, to where you used to lie. As close to me, as I would let you stay, And there you slept, so safe and warm — while I Would read, or write, or stroke your silky fur. And make you purr! Dear loving heart! Your splendid golden eyes — Sought mine, so full of love, and trust in me — You always looked so wonderfully wise — As tho' into the past, those eyes could see! Or, out into the realms, (if that might be,) Of dim futurity! The future! Ah, how might I, could I, tell! Altho' reproachfully, you looked that day — That when I saw you next, the Gates of Hell- Could hold, no crueller torture, as you lay — Hate's victim — Forced your harmless, life to pay — That summer's day! How piteously, your eyes implored, in that dark hour — The help, that ne'er had failed to come before — So I — I used, the gracious God-given power. And to death's peaceful sleep, flung wide the door! Upon, a fairer, friendlier, safer shore — Oh, peaceful sleep, for evermore! THE OPTIMIST Tomorrow is another day! All hail, tomorrow! Should today, prove very sad, Each turn dealt to us be bad — There's the chance we may be glad — tomorrow. Silver Wings 19 A BIT OF THE BROGUE A crowd of girls! all fair, light-hearted, sweet — With youth and laughter, dancing eyes and feet, But one there is, than all the rest more fair; Blue-eyed, the raven's wing would match her hair. She speaks, and on her rosy, gaily laugh- *"S lips , r T 1 J Liquid and sweet the tongue ot Ireland trips. As dew, and honey, from some flower heart drips. Search your own soul unsparingly, Ere passing judgment upon others; For therein are memories of many hidden deeds and thoughts. ALONE The sunset's flaming glory— upon the water lies. Reflection, of the gorgeousness That fills the western skies, And mirrored in the lake's clear pool— The trees have cast their shadow cool. Each tiny blade, and leaflet near— Is doubled in the waters clear. And liquid notes of rnusic fall. As robin answers robin's call — Swiftly, the shadows change, and deeper he. The color fades, the glory leaves the sky. The day is ended, and one gleaming star- Looks down in silent mystery from afar! Where is that other soul, that once with mine — Walked 'midst this loveliness, so near divine? Answered each thought, and felt each mystic lure — Of Nature's beauty — tender heart and pure As nature is! How sad, each must alone. Travel a starlike pathway of its own! TO THE LITTLE ONES COMING FROM SCHOOL Dear little ones, with shining eyes. And lightly tripping feet. Who smile at me half shyly. As I pass down the street; If you could know, how in my heart, I love you! — love you all! Dear boys and girls who greet me, You would not pass at all — But crowd into my open arms, And cling about my knees. For I know that the " Kingdom of Heaven " Is just of such as these! HOW MANY MORE? At death's door. Of loves a score! Before you pass — How many more? THE GIFT What was it then that you gave to me — That day as we rode along — A lift and a gift, a wonderful gift— The gift of youth, and song. You cared not a jot, if I had it or not— The fact is you did not know — But you opened wide, a lantern slide. And gave me a picture show! And the song and the picture, that came that day — Filled my life with the zest of youth— The hardest of work, seems only play, I am telling you nothing but truth, I want you to know, tho' I can't tell you so — (You 're elusive as desert ram — ) In the moment or two, that I spent with you— You gave me my youth again. 20 Silver Wings TANJORE Against the purple, starlit sky; how minaret and tower, Gleam softly white, and radiant, in mid- night's mystic hour! Upon each lacey wonder, transparently aglow — The light falls like the starlight, upon the fabled snow! Oh, gorgeous walls encrusted, with jewels, flecked with gold! Into the slavery within, my body has been sold — But I have looked in Love's dear eyes, and I am his alone. 'Tho my body may be captive, my spirit will have flown. Within this gilded litter, outside, the Palace gate — While the silken curtains gently stir, the signal I await — The signal, that shall call me, to the foot- stool of the King! There, to await his pleasure, if 1 should favor bring! I hear the distant trampling of steeds, within their stalls — And the trumpeting of elephants, as each to the other calls — The clash of spears, the fall of feet — a sudden trumpet blare! Shouting, and then the open gate, the flaming torches flare. My litter, swaying gently, now swiftly moves along — Thro' prostrate, and kneeling slaves — a great, obsequious throng! And now within a small dim room, I stand — Who is this, meets me? — reaches forth a hand? Oh, wondrous night! My heart will break — 't is He! My Love; my own; the king and lord of me! O'ercome by love, for love has stolen all, Supine, resistless, at his feet I fall A willing sacrifice — while in my heart there sings A glorious refrain — like to some bell that rings Within a temple lifted to the sky, " My Love is mine, and His alone, am I ! " Then strong arms lifted me, and on his breast I lay! And as he holds me there, I hear him say — "Look up. Beloved! I would see your face — I am your humblest chattel in this place! " And now my face, he gently draws to his, And my lips feel, the glory of his kiss. INCANTATION Oh, Love awake, awake! and as before, Send the blood pulsing thro' my veins once more, Bring to my eyes, the fire of radiant youth — Tint my pale cheeks, and make them soft and smooth — Bring lightness to my feet, as in those days. When scarce they seemed, to press the flowery ways — And trod with dancing step, a joyous path; For Fate — unstinted gives to him that hath. Once more my heart would feel Love's throbbing bliss — Once more my lips would tremble at Love's kiss — And in my ears his voice, again should plead — His cause, already won — nor should he need, As now a last impassioned, wild appeal. To him, to give, what I once more, would feel- That Love is all — the world indeed well lost! And winning. Love — what need to count the cost! '\ Silver Wings 21 LOTUS BUDS The lotus buds are lying, on thy waters, oh, Tanjore! And the longing of the night-wind is sighing, down the shore. Why do the moonlit waters, seem to bear upon their breast. In rise and fall, my Love's white limbs — while a fever of unrest Seethes thro' my blood — Thro' all the hours I see — Her lovelit eyes — each winged thought, brings to me — Those passion maddened moments, lying broken at her feet. While the Bulbul, sang his love songs, where the stream and river meet! And my heart calls to the lotus, to the night-wind, and the sea, To give again, lest I should die — my loved one back to me. GUIDING STAR In the eye of the wind. In the teeth of the gale. Steer, steer, for the star. Straight for the light, that never will fail. For we 're nearing home once more! Steer straight for the star, Tho' the waves be high. And I hear the surf on the shore, Steer for the light, tho' we we live or die Amid the tempest's roar! Dear star in the night, my guiding light! — No other hope have I! Oh, soft white breast. Where my head shall rest Sweet lips so warm and red! Keep the star tonight in the window bright. Lest the deep should be my bed. Steer! steer! for the tiny spark. That shines out over the sea. There, life and warmth, and my true love's arms. Are waiting to welcome me! A TOAST Fill the cup to the brim! Now drink to him. Who lives — tho' his years are not few! Then why not to her — Who our pulses can stir! At forty, or forty-two? YESTERDAYS Where are the yesterdays that once were ours? Dear days, so glad and gay. So full of sunshine, and of flowers — When all the months were May! And even now 't is yesterday, That ever seems most fair — But life is always, just today, And yesterdays — not there! ASHES OF ROSES Something's wrong with the world! The gladness of summer Has fled, and all brightness Seems gone from the land. Loved faces are missing. Gay laughter is silenced. And oh, how I long. For the clasp of one hand. Something's wrong with the world. And ashes of roses. Are all that is left Of the summer's sweet dreams — ■ A handful of rose leaves; A voice full of music; Only mem'ries to tell us, How hopeless all seems! Something's wrong with the world. That / should be hopeless. That Life should be wanting In beauty and joy! Come back summer sunshine! Come again, scented roses; Fill my heart beloved voice, Such sweets do not cloy. 22 Silver PF i n g s REASSURED Each roseate morn with golden promise rife. Slipped down the paths, of summer's scented ways — Each perfect day, filled with the joy of life, Merged in the stream of swiftly, passing days — On to an unseen, unknown, all unheeded goal! Still each glad day, the world but seemed, more fair! And yet; oh; smiling, glittering, dew- drowned morn — What stab of sudden fear, what chilling, cold despair Strikes at my heart — What warning, devil-born — Wakes from its slumbers, in my shudder- ing soul! Sudden — the stream of golden days is done — No more with love's all radiant presence, filled— The swiftly passing hours, from sun, to sun — Entranced shall move — Some evil thing has entered in and killed, All that was life; stolen my joy from me! Or do I dream ? Once more the days are fair- Once more hope lives, and love is all my own. In very truth — I find again his presence everywhere — The fear and doubt was mine, and mine alone — Oh, love, my love! faithful — eternally! THE LONG WALL The long, long wall, ivy and rose beclad, What dreams of love! what meetings fond and glad, Upon the way that runs so closely by! What handclaspings! — Here all unan- swered, why — I ask — should it be that I lose? All hope! that friendly nature, should to me refuse The joyous comradeship, that I have elsewhere known. It seems as tho' when on that path I tread, I leave all love, all life behind me — and the dead, Dead hopes and joys, dead loves and fears, Crowd round me from the bygone years, Halting my footsteps, tearing at my heart — Till all the world of which I am a part. Seems full of empty husks, of idle words, Ambitions unfulfilled; dark thoughts in hordes Push fiercely in, and follow close behind, To weary me in body, heart, and mind — Now tell me, you, who know the path I mean, What spirit haunts it. What the power unseen ? SPRING COMES Through the woodlands. Spring is sweep- ing, Tinting them a tender green — Laccy fringes of her mantle Touch the stems, and hang between — She leaves them hanging; magic maker. Dropped from her o'erflowing store. Misty as a summer moonbeam. Floating o'er a southern shore. Spring! the wonder of your coming. Thrills me newly through, and through. Love and mating, song and sunshine. Glad! my heart shall welcome you! GOIJA Blue are her eyes as summer skies. Love's laughter on her lips. And the beauty of the wild rose clings, To her dainty finger tips! Youth like health is never fully appre- ciated until it is lost. Silver JV i n g s 23 YESTERDAY AND TODAY Yesterday, the skies were dark. Today, my heart sings like the lark! Yesterday was cold and drear — Today love's warmth, is in the air! Last night, I was crazed with fear — Now — life again is sweet and fair Say where can the difference be? My dear love has smiled at me! TO As spark to tinder, so your mind in mine — Kindled the fire of genius, gift divine! QUANTUM SUFFICIT! The world seems empty, purposeless, and cold, And suddenly, my heart and I are old ! I would not longer wear Life's faded crown. For I have had my full, full share, pressed down — And running over, of the things that are! Love, Power, Happiness, Sorrow, death disease! Wealth, poverty; The joy of living, and the lees — Of pleasure's cup, filled to the brim ! High as a star My hopes have soared! Despair has flung them down. Now let me go; Life holds no more for me. My spirit cries enough! It fain would see — Some other world than this! Adventures new — A higher plane, and other work to do, Or if perchance this can not, may not,be — Then sleep and rest, beneath some spread- ing tree. For all that's left! The dear and friendly Earth — Shall keep me; till at last rebirth — Shall set once more my soaring spirit free — And give new worlds again to Love, and me! THE STREET Dante to Beatrice How full of life the new spring day! Joy and adventure seem to play, About my steps; each hidden turn May hold, undreamed of possibilities! The birds are singing, songs of happy love. And fluttering softly in the trees above, How full of surnmer's promise, soft, and warm — The Sun God's smile, cheers and revivi- fies! And then you passed, smileless, unseeing, cold — Why is the street so sudden dark, and bare? The birds seem dead, all j oy has fled — And a dark emptiness is everywhere! THE DAWNING Sing my heart, the glory of the dawning! Phoebus rises golden, from the sea! The world awakes; and the new summer's morning Flings all its scented sweetness over me! See how the little waves, in rapture trembling, Are rosy red, beneath his fiery glow. As Day, casts off, Night's somber cloak dissembling, To greet the Sun God! Waking Earth below — Stirs gently, for she still, is surely dream- ing, Of hidden things, that she, alone can know! Great God of day! How gorgeous is the waking! That brings you back to longing Earth and me — In the new day, all other loves forsaking, I worship Phoebus — rising from the sea! 24 Silver Wings LOVE SPURNED " No hate hell holds, as hot as woman spurned! " So runs the tale — And Love's warm heart, to hatred turned. May sometimes fail, To feel that ofttimes, fearful of her power. Full many a man. May turn away, in Love's most perfect hour — While yet he can! WHO IS PAN? And who is Pan? You'd like to know, you say — Why — Pan is Pan — The same who used to play. Upon his pipes to me! In that dear far off day Beneath our trysting tree. He found me here, as young and gay — At heart, as when I used to be — A dancing Nymph, so wild and free! Oh, no! I can not, dare not tell You who is Pan, For you might say — You knew him well — As just a man! PAN PIPES Upon the shores of ancient Greece, Pan wrought his pipes of reed — A golden voice stole o'er the land. And Love — was all its creed. A powerful human head was Pan's — But for his sins, the curse — A goat-like body bound his limbs In brutish ways, or worse! A little maid, with tender eyes And heart untried, but true — Trod gaily those enchanted shores — When all the world was new! No harm feared she — A dainty maid — So slim and soft, and white — Dancing, with rosy tinted toes. Where crept the evening light! There roamed no Pagan Nymph, more fair — The depths of forest green — And Pan enraptured, thought the child The loveliest thing he *d seen. So soft he blew; the liquid notes Of love, she paused to hear — Thro' dancing, light and deepening, shade — She followed without fear. And soon within his arms she lay — Deep in that forest dim! Today, the same sweet notes Pan blows. Upon his pipes of reed — The golden voice is calling yet And some still give it heed! So sweet, so free, across the land, Its echoes sweep to me — I can hear the Satyrs calling To the Nymphs, beneath the tree — And the Pan-pipes, wooing — wooing. In the moonlight, by the sea. KISS ME SUMMER! Kiss me Summer, kiss me sweet! I am ever at your feet, All your rosy beauties lie Bare to me, 'twixt earth and sky! Sing sweet Summer, sing to me! From every bush, and every tree. Tuneful voices fill the air, Summer! Summer 's everywhere! Blended with the roses hue. Lilies, deck the water blue. Golden sunshine, scented air! Summer, you are sweet and fair! Not a hint upon your breath. Of old Winter's frozen death, See! I still am at your feet. Linger with me. Summer sweet! ROSES ON THE WALL! Roses on the wall. In the sky above Stars, and the night, The night and Love, Love over all! And roses on the wall! 1 Silver Wings 25 TO PAN The day is closing, night is drawing near — And softly piping — Again Pan's voice I hear. Whispering, so gently to my listening ear — " Follow; Love follow! " Oh, Pan! I hear you softly, calling me — To our old tryst, beneath the forest tree — But only in dear dreams, again I see — The days of long ago! I may not come to you, nor if I could — Dance to your piping, thro' the moonlit wood — Or watching stand, where I once waiting stood. In the moon's pale glow. I hear the echo of your voice today, I hear it often, but I may not stray — Adown those wild glad paths again, nor stay Where the Pan pipes, blow! Lest even watching, wild, and glad, and free— You draw my longing heart, from out of me. To the old tryst, beneath the forest tree That we both know! As diamonds on the neck of an Indian Maharanee; so do little acts of courtesy, stand out, in the dull monotony of middle age! PLEASE! Your hand, oh, Mr. Hoover please do stay. With " Heatless. Meatless. Wheatless!" You are so very near the end of " eatless." I fear, (I 'm most ashamed,) you '11 say, Our garments must go seatless! THE NEW DAY Dance Nymphs! dance in the moonlight. Dance once more for me! For there's a new day dawning, And few there '11 be who see Again, the Satyrs frolicking, With the Nymphs, beneath the tree! While Pan is piping gaily. On the shores of Attic's Sea! Gone are the gods of ancient days, Lost in the new day's dawn! The Nymphs who danced so merrily. With Satyr and with Faun, But now and then, out of past days, A joyous heart is born — Whose eyes can penetrate the blaze — That lights the modern morn! Whose ears are tuned, to Pan's sweet lays. And still can hear his voice — When on his pipes he softly plays. And in that power rejoice! AMICUS VITAE SOLATIUM (A Friend is Life's Consolation) I WAS alone, my tired feet. Trod wearily the empty street, When right before my aching eyes, I glimpsed the gates of Paradise! Then, looking in his face I saw, A friend stood at the open door. A friend whose strong hand reached for mine — With clasp so warm — that like new wine — It filled my heart with joy divine. Time was not — years had rolled away. And golden youth was mine that day — Then Fate, passed by and closed the door — My dream was gone, to come no more! The dream was fair, as such dreams are — I wept that it was ended — Then Fate (a strange, uncertain jade), A wonderful amendment made — By giving me till life shall end. That perfect gift, a faithful friend! 26 Silver Wings A PAGAN WISH Brightly on the river gleams the moon- light, Chasing the little ripples to the shore — Where Pan is lying piping in the rushes — Calling — calling on his wonder pipes, once more! Oh, to dance again, where lies the moon- light, Tripping scented grass with flying feet! Oh, to watch the breeze among the leaf- lets, Tossing all the tender blossoms sweet! Joyous! — my soul Pan's drawing from me — His golden voice is throbbing thro' the night! Again, Love's arms are folded close around me — To keep me soft, and warm till morning light- So — let me sleep, forever — knowing nothing, But the glory of life's joyous love and youth! Let me sleep — where, Pan pipes by the river — Where bloom Narcissus and the Dragon's Tooth! THE FAIRY PRINCE Oh, long ago, so long ago, I once was a child like you. And I dreamed day dreams, of a fairy Prince, Fair haired, with eyes of blue! I knew he would come, that wonderful Prince! For my nurse had told me so. My nurse, who seemed to know every- thing. That children want to know! And did he come, my fairy Prince? Who filled my dreams by day? Oh, children dear, I can not tell. But I think, perhaps, he may! I knew his face but not his name. In those days of long ago. And he who came to me, was not the same. That 's why I do not know'. He was faithful and true, and he loved me well, As everyone's Prince should do — But don't you see why I never can tell For his eyes are black, not blue! SPRINGTIME FROM MY WINDOW Lovely, dainty, tender green — Fine as filmiest lace I 've seen, A sprinkling of copper, here and there. And a bluish gray, that looks old and rare Pink as of flower gardens aflame. White — that would put a snowstorm to shame! And down by the edge of the clear blue lake— Where the ripples and shadows, play " give and take " A tiny child with a tousled head, And an innocent face — burnt rosy red, Is sitting and playing in careless joy, With the whole of the new-born earth, for a toy! THE SUN HAS NO GLORY I MAY sing of a bird, a flower, a tree — The moon on the river. The sun on the sea! Of love, or of sorrow, whatever my song, 'T is you that I think of, the whole day long! The sun has no glory, no sweetness, the night Life's j oy has departed. And no more the light Of the moon, on the river, the sun on the sea. Unless I am with you, brings gladness to me. Silver Wings 27 PHANTASIES Holla! Holla! Holla! mon gar, What would I not have given, when today, I saw you driving, racing by. To shout this greeting, and to say — Holla, holla, holla, mon gar! You had a smile upon your face. And passed me at a swinging pace, I wished that I was in your place! A friend, a comrade, ah, how few there are, And yet if we should meet upon a star, I might perhaps call to you, " He, Holla! Holla, Holla, Holla! Oh, He mon gar! LOVE AND YOUTH Come to me Love, come thro' the mist. That decks the early morn. And hides the river, still unkist By the sun; that like the dawn Your presence, may my being fill With love each day new-born! How radiantly the rosy light. Creeps thro' the fading grey? Come love and change my long dark night. To Love's own roseate day! The thrilling bird-notes fill the air, The mists have rolled away. You 're coming thro' the dewy grass, With dancing steps so gay! And I will whisper in your ear. The whole of Life's great truth. And the golden morn shall wake once more. To the voice of Love and Youth. Daring often succeeds where caution would be an utter failure. The calmest exterior often hides the most passionate nature. Youth is merely a matter of tempera- ment, but wrinkles are the death of sentiment. OUT OF THE MIRE I SING of him, who casting off the bonds. That once have held him captive, bound and tied, Shall rise, and conquer self, and win again, A name — that 's honored, far and wide — Unto the farthest, the most distant star There is great joy, when he who falls, shall rise Out of the mire. The word fling near and " He 's born anew, of whom 't was said: ' He dies! ' " A RECIPE Take flame of fire, glean the snows From mountain tops, add one red rose; Mingle, set in slender mold, A silver chime of bells enfold. Take the wind, the restless deep. And all the dancing things that keep The leaflets waving in the breeze. Or softly move the tops of trees. That to her form, and to her face. May come the lithesome, dancing grace Of youth, and joy, and for her eyes. Take mountain pools wherein there lies The blue reflected from the skies; Then place a laughing sparkle there. Weave sunbeams for her flying hair. My Lady's ready for Love's mart. You say I have forgot her heart! In modern maid that has no part! Youth dreams, maturity strives, old age regrets. Time takes account, and we must pay our debts! SONG If you could know! If you could know! Your eager arms, would closely fold Me to your breast, nor loose their hold; If you could know! If you could know! My head would be upon your heart, No power, or Fate, us two, could part. Could you but know! Could you but know! 28 Silver JV i n g s THE TIME IS COMING The time is coming, when a skirt will be Naught but the badge of immorality, When those who wear it, hold the dubious power. Of ruling manhood, in his weakest hour! Give me the garb that sets a woman free. From sex enthrallment, so that she may Strong as is man, the God-given force within. To use unshackled, free to fight and win! No brainless fool is woman, more than he. Who claims such large superiority, Why fetter then, her limbs, or cramp her mind? Knowledge and freedom, she will surely find. And in that day, the day that is to be. When Womanhood, from bonds of sex set free. Shall help to guide, to rule, and, yes, to lead. Then shall Life, Love, and Peace be ours indeed! MY LADY A VERY gracious lady you — A gentlewoman thro' and thro' — From well poised head, to slender foot. So tall so graceful, sweet, and rare, You make me think of a garden fair, A page and lute! Peacocks and greyhounds, sycamore trees. And lilies swaying in the breeze — That stirs your hair! A smile so sweet, no spoken word — Or any music, I have heard — I can compare. To you when on your lips, there lies — The smile that trembles, in your eyes — My lady fair! ON THE ROAD TO CAMDEN (Sotto Voce) What ho! Sir Knight, This morn so bright. Oh, whither are you wending? I 'd like to change your lonesome plight, And share your journey, if I might, Riding down to Camden! What ho! my lord, Upon my word. You look so fine and fancy, I really wish that you would say, " Dear lady, 't is a lovely day, ' Come ride down to Camden! ' " But the modern Knight, howe'er bedight. Or doughty as a chauffeur, Is not as ready with his steed. To succor womanhood in need, As once he was in Camelot. (Viva Voce) What did you say? A lovely day, And do jump in beside you, Oh, no, of course, I do not mind! I really think you 're very kind To spin me down to Camden. MINE Mine! My beloved! — Forever my own! Mine, while the ages, roll ceaselessly on, Mine — tho' stars fall, worlds be born, live and die — Mine — Mine alone, for eternity! MY LASSIE Cynthia's lovely, Doris sweet — Love lies bleeding at Kate's feet. Watch them all, as they pass by — My lassie has the laughing eye! To live, is to love, but in this sense, love embraces Charity, as well as Passion. Silver Wings 29 FAREWELL TO LOVE Gone is the light from the river. Fled is the sun from the sea — Dead is the sweet joy of living, For Love has departed from me! The birds call again, but I heed not, As they flit, in the evening light. In my heart all is dark and I need not, The darkness to tell me 't is night. Be still, oh my heart, cease thy longing, For the past, it can never return — Love is dead, or I know he 'd be waiting. At the altar, where his fires still burn. A MEETING The other day, I met Pan on the street. How did I know him! Did I see his, feet? Ah, no! Pan wore the outer garb of man! But I could tell, as all who know him can — Thro' all the ages, and the long gone years, He could not change his eyes or hide his ears. LOVE AT DAWN Come out and greet the dawn, with me- r m waiting here for you! I long to see your rosy feet — Wet with the glistening dew, I 've roses, for your hands and hair, I 've kisses for your lips. The early morn is sweet and fair — As your dainty finger tips. Come out my love, the birds await — Your coming with a song — Come thro' the mists of early morn. The night has been so long. Come out and watch the rose and gold Sweep thro' the quivering sky — And I will watch the dawning love. That springs within your eye. While roses, fair as any dawn. Your cheeks with blushes, dye. COMPENSATION After the drought, the rain — After the freeze, the thaw — And after rain comes sunshine — What can we want with more! VALENTINE'S DAY 1919 Cupid, oh, you foolish child! Why is your aim so very wild — Not an arrow in the mark. Can it be you 're in the dark! Fix your arrows with more care. Take good aim, and hit right there — Time is flying, you should worry, I 'm the one that 's in a hurry! SUNSET ON THE RIVER Today, I saw the sun go down. Two balls of fire — above — below! One in the river seemed to drown. (The river that contrives, to throw Its glittering girdle, round the town!) The other floated overhead. And in my eyes its glory shed! Dear heart of me! Your soul and mine Were made for beauty as divine. For glory as entrancing, fair! As those two globes of splendour were — Living alone, if both are there — Each must the other's being share. And now behind the farthest rim Of trees, that shut the river in. That gorgeous, flaming, orb has sped! Dark lies the water! Overhead, The skies are hung, with silver mist. Lifeless the lake, erstwhile, sun kissed! WHEN? In the spring a young man's fancy Turns they say, to thoughts of love, Tell me Lydia, Kate, and Nancy! Just what time, an old man's fancy — To the same sweet goal, should move? JO Silver fV i n g s THREE WORDS Three words, " Je vous aime! " I heard them first. From the lips of a boy cadet. A child with dreams, full of romance — The very first time, we met! The boy — ? He died for his loved France! What — ! tears — ! Are my eyes wet? " Ich Hebe dich! " At a later day — The same three words I heard — Those wonderful three, but not for me, I could not answer a word — And he — The Kaiser's boyhood friend? What happened to him? You say! I heard that he died on Egypt's sands. In a duel he fought, one day! And you — , have you ever thought to yourself, What those three words, might mean — ? " I love you! " " I love you! " of all the world! And tho' hell shall intervene — Two souls, shall meet, and love one day. In a land, no eye, hath seen! When the effort needed is taken into consideration, how small a thing it is to give happiness, and yet, how most of us begrudge the gift. TO LOVE Oh! great begetter of all things that are, From smallest atom, to the farthest star — Love the Creator, Infinite, Divine, Whose are we then, if we should not be Thine! Peace, and the purple of the midnight sky, Are over all, Oh! wondrous One, draw nigh! The Altar waits, the fire burns pure and bright, Accept, Oh, Love, my sacrifice, tonight! AGAIN! Once more insistent, just one face — Is all that I can see. You, whose dear presence, lost so long, I thought had gone from me! Again your voice is throbbing, thro' the silent night, Stay with me now! — Stay till the dawn. Shall make the morning, light. Dear Pan, your voice, your tender voice! So vibrant, wondrous sweet — A world of lovelit melody, seems lying at my feet. The whole of love's fulfillment. All that my heart desires! But stay, oh Pan! What would you? Don't seek to kindle fires! So great that they must burn and sear. And may perchance destroy! For loving's always madness. Always madness, more than joy! CUPID'S JEST Cupid in a merry mood. Found two hearts, (perfectly good) And tied them both together, Threw them in an empty car. Saying pertly, " There you are! " Once in balmy weather! Impish Cupid! Did he know, Both the heads wore age's snow? She, fancies silver more than gold! He does n't know, she's growing old! Said Cupid, this is greater fun. Than anything, that I have done — Since the rising of the sun. In any place, whatever. He dimmed the light, with zealous care, But could not hide the silver hair. Of " him " the he heart of the pair! And chuckling, " This a crush, is! " He finished up his merry jest. Turning the sunlight from the west. Upon her face, where like fine lace. Wrinkles showed thro' the blushes! Silver IV i n g s 31 THE " ORIFLAMME " OF FRANCE A STRIPLING, sunny-faced, and fair, Scarce more than a child was he. His smiling eyes were blue as a girl's, Like a girl's, his golden hair, But the sword he wore on his hip, that day. Was the sword that a man should wear. He sat his horse, like the man he was. Though of such tender years. For he bore the " Oriflamme " of France, Despite his mother's tears. " Weep not for me, sweet mother mine! " (As he kissed away a tear). He said, (and he spoke with smiling lips) A Coursen, may not fear! All through that day, where the fiercest fight Was waged, and the struggle worst, A slender lad, shook the banner of France, In the face of the foe accursed! "A Coursen! A Coursen! A moi! " he cried, " For the Oriflamme of France! " Broken he lay, at the end of the day. On the sodden, blood-stained grass. His girlish curls, were wet with the dew. But, when the foe sought to pass, He sprang to his feet — "A moi!" He said "A Coursen! A Coursen! " (his battle cry) " For France! Though the grave should be my bed," And the " Oriflamme " held high! RETROSPECT Once, long ago on the shores of Time — A people there was and a place! And I lived with them, and I spoke with them And met them all face to face. I laughed and I worked and I wept, with them — These people of little ways, I mourned their dead and I prayed by their sick. Ah me — these many days! I gave my heart for a piece of stone — And my brain, and my soul, to the blind; They used me awhile, then passed me by— For the one goal, they sought to find — For the piler of golden coin, on coin. And the light of life's social blaze! So I shake the dust, from my feet — " Farewell! " Small town of little ways — And I laugh, as I think of my hard won niche, In the light of these happier days! But if out of the crowd that passed me by- In the whole of that small way town, I catch the gleam of a friendly eye — Or the sound of a voice I have known, I will say to myself — " If one heart is here, That does not quite forget — All I gave, all I wept, all I suffered, to earn. Is worth remembering yet! " FORGOTTEN Like a last year's bird's nest that hangs on the tree, Like the hive that once sheltered the new queen bee, Like the cast-off skin of the sinuous snake, That lies in the heart of the new sprung brake. Forgotten; cast into obscurity. Torn out of the heart that once held me! But perhaps, like the bird that came back to the nest. In the spring and still finds the old home the best. The heart that was mine will return to me, As the wandering bird to its nest in the tree. And again in that heart, my own shall rest. Sheltered and safe, like the bird in its nest. 32 Silver Wings BARRED GATES Ever the closed door, And the barred gate — Have held, for me — An air of mystery! Within the place denied, I long to roam, To see flung wide — The gate! To own The right, to enter there! I long to pass one day — And hear the guardian. Of those closed gates say. " Enter Beloved, enter! In his halls, the Master waits Thy longed for coming — These barred gates — Are not for Thee! Enter, and — share! " And then my feet would press. The velvet smoothness Of that emerald grass. And high above my head would pass. The birds among the tree-tops! They would mate, and sing — More early there, as they do every spring — Among the scented flowering, shrubs I 'd move — Touching each blossom, with the hand of love. Linger a moment at the open door — Then joyous enter, barred without, no more! MUSICA! The " Spirit of Music " came to me last night, And oh! but her voice was sweet! She played on my heartstrings. And swept them with song; The gamut she ran was complete. The warm thrill of love, the cool heights of a star. The peace that the blessed shall know! Ambition — Despair — all, all of them there — And visions of wild lands afar! R. S. V. P. When you have come to thirty-eight. Or forty, you are at the gate. That leads to age! And so you seek the skilled masseuse, Or masseur is it, that you choose? And scan the page. That advertises things to do. To keep you young, and pretty too. The ice cold bath, Seems just the best — the only way, To make your fading beauty stay! You tread that path! They promise you, a pleasant glow And greater thrills, than love can know, Alas, for truth! / only know about the glows, They always get me on the nose! I still seek youth! So if you know a thing or two. That I can do at f-o-r-t-y-t-w-o! To bring it back! Don't hesitate a moment more. But write, and leave it at my door In white, and black. LASS MICH HINEIN! A PERSONAGE knocked at the Golden Gate, *" Holla! Holla! — Lass mich hinein! " He stormed and thundered, he thought he was late. He shouted " I 'm cold and can not wait." *" Dummkopf! " he yelled " I 've come to stay! " Said Saint Peter, " We 're not taking Germans today! " *Hello! Hello! Let me come in! *Blockhead. KAISERLICHE, ALMAECHTIGKEIT Some time ago, not yet forgot: The Kaiser sang the happy lot. Of peoples, ruled by " ME — und Gott! " In this mad war's, ensanguined revel, (To place him on his proper level). His boast should be, " I and — the devil! " Silver JV i n g s 33 SPRING COMES There 's a ripple, and a sparkle, to the river — And a mist of green seems lying on the trees — And the willows, lovely willows, first to know it. Are hanging, leafy streamers to the breeze! Spring is coming! Life is waking! Hearts are beating! In all the forms, that live and love and grow. And my heart beats fast with joy of living, loving. And happiness, in knowing, what I know! Spring is here! A bird calls from the branches — Spring is here! My glad heart echoes too, Oh, singing bird! My heart is also giving^- Glad praise to Him, to whom our praise is due. THE LOCAL PAPER (Sotto Voce) " Memorial Lodge of Elks at Three! " Speaker, the Hon. W. B. Two nurses graduate, and I see — Diplomas presented, by W. B. Liberty bond boosting, Y. M. C. — A. Chairmanned, too by W. B. In how many places at once, is he? *Ubiquitous, brilliant W. B. What 's next on the list? A debutante's Pink Tea — Speeches by some one, It 's torn — I can't see! But it's no one of course — but W. B.! A colored folks meeting, Is on the " tapis " — For the Red Cross, They 've captured W. B. To speak? — Why of course, yes it seems to me! The man of the hour is W. B. For congressman, also two or three Are mentioned, but " silver tongued " W. B. Seems the one worthy foe. Of " Democracie " — It certainly looks, as if Salisbury, Md. Is greatly indebted, to W. B.! Our Orator, Chairman, our Arbiter — he, Certes! Salisbury, " banks " on W. B.! *Look in the dictionary and you will see. What some of it means, to be W. B.! A CATASTROPHE! Travelling along, in heedless bliss, Adown the shining rail. Was a 'tater bug, that measured — Half an inch, from head to tail. He meant to join a colony, Where many more abode — Of his own kind; a rod or so — Beyond, the public road! The pleasant, polished, pathway. Was soothing to tired feet, He thought it kind, to put it there — Walking was quite a treat! A whistle shrill! a rush, a roar — Now would n't it be best. As little bug is there no more. To let this matter rest? MR. HOOVER AGAIN! Oh, Mr. Hoover! — now you 're teasing me — I 'm not a bit of good at figures don't you see? I can't remember, which meals, of the three, Must on each day, wheatless, or meatless, be! But you can't faze me, in this game, you play! Although perhaps; you really think you may! For I 've decided one meal, (while you stay) Shall be entirely EATLESS, every day! 34 Silver Wings GOTT MIT UNS The Kaiser, calls upon his God! He shrieks it near, and far — " God with us! " Yes, of course, he is: The murderous, God of War! THE DAUGHTER'S LAMENT (First daughter critically) Why don't you put on more style. Mother? I wish you could see your hair — Can't you see to powder your nose, mother? And your skirt is quite threadbare — Mrs. Dash, who lives on the next street, Is so stylish and up to date, I always wish, that you looked like her. Whenever we chance to meet! You should wear your skirt, much shorter Mother! And not that kind of a shoe! And your gloves! they are all wrong — Mother! Oh — I don't know WHAT — I can do — ! I really can't make you look right. Mother — But maybe, you '11 pass — as it 's YOU! (Second daughter complainingly) Oh! — So you are going out, Mother — There 's dust on the cellar stair! And the chairs on the porch, are crooked. Mother! But I really don't think you care! I 've scrubbed and swept all the morn- ing — And the windows are still to do! There 's a cobweb up in the attic. Mother! And I really do think, that you Might keep the sparrows from using. The porch for their " menage a deux." Oh, well! If you 're going out. Mother! There 's nothing more to be said — But you 've left the hoe and a bucket, On the foot of the spare-room bed! COWARDS ALL! What cowards love can make of us. Who think ourselves so strong, So dignified, so up to date. That we can do no wrong! And then one comes, who speaks to us. Or possibly does not; Where is our vaunted dignity? And why do we turn hot — Then cold — our minds a blank. Our famous perfect poise — Gone, like a Hun beneath a tank! Smashed! like a child's old toys. They speak; we say the thing that we — Would give worlds not to say! The very thing that He, (or She,) Quite surely scares away! And afterwards. Oh! afterwards — What things we could have said! Had not the sight of Her, (or Him) Quite chased them from our head. It is no good to make a list, Of things we mean to say. In case we should meet Him, (or Her) Some more propitious day — For everything would happen then. Just as it did before, It never fails, and if we care — It happens more and more! A WAIL A SONG rang thro' my brain last night. But fled away at morning light. What it might be, I can not say, All of it was gone next day! " Bob-white, whistling in the corn — Blue-bird, singing to the morn — Jolly Bull-frog, in a pool! " I can't tell, is there no rule — I could follow, that would keep — A verse alive, yet let me sleep? Or must I snatch paper, and pen — Turn on the light, and write it, when — I wake, no matter at what hour — There comes to me, the word of power, " Write this or that! " Why can't I stay. Asleep and write it down, next day? Silver Wings 35 ASPIRATIONS! I WANT to be handling the brush and the pen, I want to be stirring the great hearts of men, I don't like to handle the dustpan, and brush, I don't like to stir the morning's mush! But it 's dust, dust, dust! The song of the duster and broom. And it 's wash, wash, wash! Dishes, morning, night and noon! I 'd love to be thrilling the whole outside world, While standing beside some great banner unfurled! I don't want to be washing great tubsful of clothes, Or cooking boiled dinner, and holding my nose. But it 's scrub, scrub, scrub! At the same old tasks, each day. And it 's rub, rub, rub! Till it 's time to hit the hay! Oh, why do I love the wild wind as it sighs. In the tops of the trees, and why should my eyes. Seek beauty in all things; and my beating heart Long to be of the world a great recognized part? When it 's bake, bake, bake! With eyes and nose, burnt red — Muffins, and meat, and cake, For folks that have to be fed! Why was I not born with the eyes of a mole. That only sees well in its own little hole. Where it digs out its runs, in its blind eyed way. And cares not a jot for the glory of day. Then I 'd dig, dig, dig. And creep and shuffle and crawl, And not care a single fig. For anything else at all. But I long to be handling the brush, and the pen — And I know I could waken the dead souls of men, So here 's a farewell, to the dustpan and brush. Let those who must have it, come stir up the mush! Let them stir, stir, stir! Let them polish, and scrub, and shine! But I 've bid farewell to the whole darn lot. There 's not any more for mine! SOMEWHERE IN ***** (Marie teasingly) Dis done, Gaultier, comment ca va? Take me ridin' in ze car! — Pourquoi, ne reponds tu pas? — G-r-o-u-c-h-y ? why of course you are! Gaultier! Mais si tu m'aimes, Si tu m'aimes, Dis done Gaultier, Pourquoi pas! Perhaps, you think to " get my goat! " But if you do, you 'd best take note. It is not wise, to rock the boat — When on uncharted streams, you float! Gaultier! Mais si tu m'aimes, Oui si je t'aime, Dis done, Gaultier, Pourquoi pas? Allons! Tu sais, que c'etais toi! Who made the running, ce n'est pas moi! Merci Monsieur! Une autre fois! Mais dis done Gaultier, Pourquoi pas — ? Oh, si tu m'aimes, Et si, je t'aime! Dites alors Gaultier, Comment ca va! 36 Silver IV i n g s FAREWELL SUMMER In winter's arms, dear summer dallies long — Her dancing feet — Are shod with golden days. Ah, summer! you are fair and sweet. But hoary winter's ice and sleet. Will drive you out, tho' in his hair You 've twisted fingers, rosy-fair! His frosty breath is fierce and bold, The Southern wind is turning cold. To trifle with his silvered hair It seems to me you will not dare — As he grows stronger. Sweet one, he '11 stand your flirting ways. No longer! LOVE'S EYES What matter if the rain comes down, In torrents as it came today! Careless I walked and watched the play, Of lightning flashing — Then thunder roared, seeking to drown The frantic tearing of the wind. While I — You know I did not mind — The thunder's crashing. For tho' my footsteps, wetly splashed — In rain pools, as I sped along, I thought of you — thought turned to song, And I walked singing! " What matter, if the summer sky — Be grey or of an azure hue — I only know, Love's eyes are blue," And my thought winging — Its flight to you, I sang again — " What matter, tho' the tempest's roar. Should sweep the world, from shore to shore, Swirling around me! " If still I see your eyes, my own — Smile on me; eyes, so deeply blue — All else is naught, if they are true — Love's eyes, that found me! THE VOTE! " What do you want.'' " St. Peter said, When he could get his breath; (The woman soul that he saw there. Had frightened him to death!) " I WANT THE VOTE! " she yelled, and flung Her body at his head! " Take it! " he said, and slammed the gate, " / wish you would stay dead! " THE PEACOCKS The peacocks cry beneath the wall. Misty and soft the air! The sun has gone behind the trees, But Earth wakes everywhere. The mystery of love, and life. Is stirring in her heart — Dear Love, I think of you, and what Has kept us still apart. And then at last your footsteps, fall — Upon the silent street. And you are swiftly coming — Wildly my pulses beat! Sitting quietly, in the shadow, I can see your head held high — A little smile, upon your lips. As once in passing by. Your fingers, touch the little leaves That bud upon my hedge. You pluck one, how I wish that I — Dared now, redeem that pledge! Shall I always, see you coming. When the dusk is in the sky? Shall I think of you, and you of me, When we hear the peacocks cry — Still must our hearts be ever bound, And may our lips not meet? Must I always seek the shadows. When you walk down the street? Scream! Peacocks, scream! Your voices shrill. Fill all the air and sky. Birds of ill omen! was it you. That killed my dream or I? Silver Wings 37 FANCHETTE AND THE GARGOYLE A fantasy Beneath the parapet, all hunched and queer — The Gargoyle sits! Upon his lips, and in his eyes a leer — That ever flits. And flickers, in the moon's pale beam ! Side-wise, he peeps — his twisted smile — Is not unkindly. Under the roof Fanchette, meanwhile — Is singing, and sewing, blindly — She never heeds, the bended head That hovers o'er her trundle bed — Against the window pressing, The ancient monster hanging there. Is nothing — Fanchette does not care — If he should watch her dressing. And so the Gargoyle, sits and smiles — And Fanchette, sings while sewing! Could an old Gargoyle have a heart? And could Love, find it with his dart? Alas! there is no knowing! The snow lies deep and white and cold — The day is dying! Under the eaves, sits the Gargoyle, old — Ah! me, how time is flying — Who lies upon the trundle bed? 'T is Fanchette, all her youth is sped. Beneath the Gargoyle's spying — Shrivelled, and toothless, withered, grey! She weeps, that she loves the Gargoyle today. For he is lying — Broken and flung, from his ancient seat — By a ruthless hand to the cobbled street! 'Tis a fact, there 's no denying. (And the saddest part of the tale is this) Love came, cruel love, so very late — They failed to snatch a single kiss. From the hand of Fate! LOVE LAUGHS Love laughs at locksmiths, and at many more. Who linger longingly, outside — the door! A NEW YEAR'S GREETING Success, and honor without end. Health to use them! New Year's wishes from a friend, Don't refuse them! HE COMES The night wind sighs on the hill-side The moonlight lies on the sea — And the river that meets it, is bearing My love on its breast to me. How slow are the hours of longing. As they drag thro' the summer night. Unreal, mystic, and stifling, They seem to pause in their flight! Oh, Love, will the rushing waters. Bear you safe on their breast to me — To sleep in my arms, on my longing, heart. Love — that the night makes free! A MESSAGE On a tree near a grave, a wild bird was singing, Singing of Life, and of sweet endless love, No care for tomorrow, as the clear notes are soaring — Up, up, from the earth, to the blue sky above ! Oh! bird, to my heart you seem bringing a message, A message of hope, from the grave at my feet. That tears from the tomb, all its ominous presage. As it fills the whole world, with its music so sweet. For it seems that a soul, sings of great joy, unending — That rose from the grave, to the bright realms above. And the message dear bird, that in music you 're sending. Is that death's, but the gateway to Infinite Love! 38 Silver Wings " LA DONNA E MOBILE " Down the long road, one summer's day, A woman trod the dusty way, And as she plodded mile on mile. She thought, and her face wore a sneering smile, For she thought upon the shortcomings of man! And somewhat this way, her musings ran. As car after car sped down the street, While she groaned as she rested her aching feet. "A man! what 's a man? A selfish beast. He 'd watch you starve, while he sat at a feast. Ten cars and one man alone in each car — With a satisfied smile, and a fat cigar! I can not imagine, what some women see In a man, they don't cut any figure with me! " A vulgar person, you '11 think she was. Although perhaps not, as you know, because, She spoke her thoughts, and between you and me, When you 've lost your temper, your speech is free. And as each toe gave her a separate jab. She 'd have given her eyes for any old cab. Silently, softly, up to the roadside Rolled a handsome car, with the door held wide. And a deep voice in courteous accents said, " Can't I give you a lift, you are tired» I 'm afraid?" Good heavens! a man; and a strange man at that, She thought as he gracefully lifted his hat. " I am sure you had better ride with me, You are nearly exhausted, as I can see." It was terribly tempting, so in she hopped, How quickly the pain in her tootsies stopped! And not only that, but her charioteer. Spoke flatteringly, in her prejudiced ear! When they stopped at her door, it seemed all too soon, And her suffragette doctrine, had changed its tune. For when someone said " How late you are! " She murmured " Deus ex machinal " GRAY DAYS Beloved! beloved! what day-dreams are fading, As the grey days of winter, go dragging along. What memories are lying, Where the rose leaves are dying, Yet my heart like the robin still hits a gay song! Beloved! beloved! the glad days are coming, And bringing full measure, of sunshine and flowers, And time — Time is flying, With my hand in yours lying. Grey days, will have vanished, while Love, counts the hours. TOO LATE! There were Tom, and Jack, and Alex, and Fred! And Dick, and Jim, and Joe, Dear playmates all, and we danced through youth. To the lilt of the fiddle and bow. And there was one, who was faithful, and good, Faithful, and good, and true — Then out of the shadows, another came. And oh, that other was you! It was Alex, and Dick, and Tom, and Jack, And Fred, and the one who was true — So late you came; Love's radiant flame! Oh, why were things ordered so? Silver Wings 39 TO MY MUSE Come back to me, back to me, muse of the morning! Sing of the joy of Life's glad early years! Youth and Love in hand in hand, in that wonderful dawning — When Hope is triumphant, and the heart knows no fears. Sing to me now; oh spirit of night-time — Sing of the peace of the evening hour; Of the glory of sunset, the soft tender twilight. And the sleep that shall come, as a light- falling shower! Sing of tired eyelids, closing, worn out with long watching — And waiting fulfilment, of dreams that have failed. Sing of great things accomplished; of failures forgotten — And the joy of one love, before which all else paled. Then leave me, dear Spirit — for I too am passing, On — on, to the rest at the end of the day — To the sleep, that shall end in most wonderful waking — A step further on, in the soul's upward way! YEUX BLEUS Beloved, but your eyes are blue! Blue as the sky at noon. I saw them as you smiled at me. Beneath the summer moon! I tried to pierce their azure depths, For oh, I longed to see, The secrets you had hidden there, And what they meant for me! Beloved, but your eyes are blue. Blue as the summer sea — Yet deep and dark, as pools that lie. At the foot of some forest tree — I 've seen your eyes, (and loved them so) When they have smiled at me! MOTHER LOVE Out of the west, out of the west! Wind cloud in the sky! Bird in the nest, bird in the nest! I fear for you, ere it goes by. Safety is best, safety is best, Spread your wings wide and fly! Deep in the nest, under my breast. Warm my little ones lie! Here I must rest, here I must rest. Even tho' I must die! PARTED The one love, the great love, the love past expression Love never crowned by the joy of pos- session; Fate seized it and tore it, in fury as blind. From my heart, as a storm cloud, is torn by the wind — Witheld from my lips, the loved lips I would press — In the passionate moment of Love's first caress. Beloved! Beloved! What madness of long- ing — Fills my soul; and what dreams, are unceasingly thronging — The years that divide us; till death sets us free, Soul to soul, heart to heart — for Eternity! A SUMMER IDYLL In the summer twilight Floating — she — and I — Down the river, on our oars. Quite content to lie. Music of the wild bird In the trees above — Singing in an ecstasy. An ecstasy of love! Slipping down the river, In a golden boat — Love and Life, together. On Fate's tide afloat! 40 Silver Wings A QUESTION The toiling masons bent their backs, under the heavy stone, Or polished marble piers to set, about the massive throne; A splendid Temple slowly rose, before their reverent eyes, A Mystic Shrine, to lead and guide, their spirits to the skies. So clean, so pure, so strong, were they — no weakling found a place. Working beneath JEHOVAH'S eye, and almost face to face. Perfect in body, was each man, as well as pure in heart, And working joyously — while piece by piece, and slowly, part, by part — The wondrous Temple rose, holding God's Mercy Seat, Upon whose folded wings, ofttimes there beat — The glory of the Lord; or other time alone, and dark — Waiting, behind the four fold veil, stood Israel's Ark! Within a Temple's walls once more, gathers a crowd of men, A throne in there exalted, and an altar, now as then — But is there still a Mercy Seat, above the folded wings, JEHOVAH'S glory, in their hearts, or more material things? Are hands as strong, and hearts as pure, as in those far off days? And do the Temple builders still, give to their God the praise? THE ANSWER And while I questioned, swift the answer, came; "A brotherhood of men, in whom still burns the flame, Of love; bound in that brotherhood, by great JEHOVAH'S name." THE GRACIOUS HAND For five long years, I wandered up and down — The cold, unfriendly streets, of a small eastern town! And here, and there, the hand of welcome met. The fault I doubt not, must have been, my own — A stranger in a strange land, and un- known — I sought some gentle heart, that might forget — That this was so! — giving to me — Such kindly welcome, that I might feel free — To come, or go — and there to find — A friend possessing, both a heart and mind — Seeing beneath the surface — who might know — That flowers can blossom, underneath the snow! And then a gracious hand, flung wide, a door — And bade me enter; in that place and hour — I found, all I had sought — and more! A TOAST Come — here 's a toast to Love, and Death — The two great, powers that be! The two great powers that rule the world, That rule thee, world and me! Drink first to Death, for what is Death? New Life, for you — and I ! Now drink to Love, the greater power — For Love can never die! Silver fV i n g s 41 THE NEW MOON Tonight I saw the new moon lie — A thread of rose and gold, Upon the sky. Bedded on warm translucent grey. Where the colors of departed day. Had touched in passing by! THE FULL MOON A month ago I saw the new moon lie, A thread of rosy light upon the sky — Where late to rest, Phoebus had dropped, From out the flaming west! Eastward, I turned my longing eyes tonight, A golden radiance, filled the sky with light! A misty veil around her flung. Not white, or cold, or chaste — Diana, hung — Wrapped in the soft, mysterious tender light- That fell from her. Dreaming alone, I stood Enthralled and permeated, like bejewelled night Which decked the river and the sleeping wood! DARKNESS AND DAWN And this I dreamed at crow of cock today; Dead in our trespasses and sins we lay — I — and the one to whom my love was given! A scanty hand's-breadth, all I knew of heaven Lay from my frozen heart — While I, who had from him, no life apart Knew he had died, my soul to save; That for my soul, his soul he gave, Hoping thereby, the shame, and curse, to bear. Unknowing this — that I too, dead — lay there. Then the glad dawn, a blaze of glory, broke — And in his arms, oh, blessed morn, I woke! LAUGHING LOVE Laughing Love, came to my house — A thing of smiles and joy. He stole my heart, from out of me, Bonnie, laughing boy! AI DI MI! Dead hopes; dead dreams; dead flowers; and more than these — Haunt the long hours, of empty sodden days — Stretching in endless dreariness, like dankly dripping trees. While my beloved's face is hid from me. And Life's dull stream, slips down unheeded ways. EXIT AMOR Upon the long wall, the roses hang dead, Faded and sodden, summer has fled. Joyless the noonday, frost in the air. Love from the roses has turned in despair! REINCARNATED Your daring eyes again meet mine, I hear you murmur, " long admired! " It warms my heart like strong, new wine, I live once more; Oh! " Much, desired! " I know not how, or when, or where, Our lives entwined, — Nor do I care. Out of the past, — ambition fired. Your eyes, have called me, " Long desired! " Again my heart warms to the strife. Of that strange state, that we call " life " I laid it down one day, so tired — It 's yours once more; Oh, " Heart's desired! " EVER TRUE! Like some wild bird, that hears a well known voice And gladly finds again the Master's hand, So is my heart, to Love forever true — As Pan, or Antony — or you! 42 Silver Wings A CURE A FRIEND, who can understand — A love that always thrills, A kiss, and a clasp of the hand, A cure for all life's ills. NO LIMIT Come; hitch your wagon to a star. It matters not how high, or far, The goal you set, so that you keep. Your vision clear. Aim high, press on, go straight and true! Success at last! Vict'ry, for you! Life gives to every man his due — And he's no fear! RIPPLES Ripples, to show which way the wind is blowing, And in my eyes, ripples of laughter too; Surely, you know which way the breeze is going, Ah, well! it 's really very fair for you. Ripples to show which way the wind is blowing. And on my lips, ripples of laughter too; To tell you that my heart is overflowing. With love that lives, alone belov'd for you! Tell me, tell me, my own — my heart's btflovcd. Do you care at all which way the wind should blow? Whether loving eyes, or frozen looks, should greet you? June's tender warmth, or winter's ice and snow! THE GUARDIAN SEA The soft warm wind is in the south. And the waning moon hangs low — Clouds bring the promise of an early rain, A sweetness, as of roses, fills the air — Wild roses crown the tangled hedges of the lane! Distant and dim, the hills lie to the West — The setting moon reveals them mistily! Clouds silver-edged, are lying on their crest. Below the hill where lies the rose-clad lane, Nestles the slumber-sated, silent town — And over all, the ancient church tower keeps — Its faithful watch. Upraised a mystic crown. Above the place where love enfolded sleeps — So much that I and mine hold dear! Southward there lies, that strip of silver sea, That narrow strip, that kept our land from fear Of crafty foes; in ages past. Again, and yet again. On wings of wonder, they have sought, to pass — And have passed, death in the murderous rain — Of bombs and other hatefulness. Alas! Defiant of the ancient guardian sea — Great God, of all — who makest all things safe, Guard Thou, this place, so loved and dear to me! Altho' the wicked round it rage and chafe — In Thy safekeeping, let it ever be. THE NOOK Deep down, I know a leafy spot! The birds and conies know it. A sheltered nook it is, God wot! The hunter's footsteps, enter not. To Love alone I '11 show it! TO THE WORLD Tho' you should pass me by — Why should I care, Glad in my heart am I, Free as the air! Silver JV i n g s 43 A VOICE! Was that your voice. Oh! Pan, that plead with me? Or was it Antony, whose voice again I heard? When he, whose pleading lured my heart today. Like some wild bird, that gladly comes again. To find its master's hand— tho' long astray I can not tell, but this is strange and true — My heart awoke, my soul was born anew In those few moments — Love, with you! LET THERE BE LIGHT! Out of the infinite murk and gloom, came light! Oh blessed Light! That tore the veil of darkness from the earth. And cast out night! Amid the lightning's play, God spake and said; " Let there be Light! And forth there leapt; the day! ETERNAL PEACE What if the hours be weary? What if the night be long? Soon shall a glad new morning, Open with light and song. Oh! for the glorious dawning. Of a day that shall never cease. When there shall be no more mourning. In the light of eternal peace! BIEN-AIME! I KNOW no other love than you, Bien-aime — I see your face, the long day through — Bien-aime. Yet on the street. If we should meet, A brief " Good-day! " Is all that either has to say, Bien-aime! LOVE'S GREATEST GIFT Oh! give to me — The fairest gift, That Love can give — In Earth, or Air, or Sea! Wildly I prayed. Love answered me, / Look up and live! ' I give to thee — The gift supreme. In all the three! And then no more, I seemed, to hear. No answer came. And a wild fear. Beat down Love's flame. Oh, Life! Oh, Love! The gift today Is mine — I pray. Love let me keep — The little babe. That lies asleep, Upon my breast, Love's greatest gift, And — best! AFFINITY As night calls unto day, As the moon draws the sea. Beloved! Beloved! Your heart calls to me. And draws me resistless. I care not to know. Aught save that you need me! Straight as from a bow, The swift flying arrow, speeds on to its goal — So my heart answers yours. And soul draws unto soul. PURPOSELESS Wind cloud in the sky — Desert sand, tempest blown; Man! What is man. In the world scheme — Alone? u Silver fV i n g s THE SOUTH OF OTHER DAYS I SING of the South, of a vanished South, Of the South that used to be! With the dear old dusky, " Mammy " And the white child on her knee. While the darkies, in the gloaming, Sang beneath the homestead tree. Laughing, laughing, laughing, Lazy, lovely South! Hot of heart and gay of eye. With a kiss for every mouth! I sing of the South, of its heroes. Of its wonderful women and men. Oh! why did the stars in their courses. Not leave us as we were then! Laughing, laughing, laughing — Dear laughing, loving. South! Warm of heart, love in your eye. Oh! kiss me on the mouth. Blow softly, southern breezes. For on your breath, you bear — The sweetness of all the magnolias. And the dogwood scents the air As lily-white and fragrant. As the southern women are. Loving, loving, loving. Lips of the smiling South! I long for you eternally. Sweet lips, and perfect mouth! WINTER IN MINNESOTA Across the lake, longdrawn, and wild and clear — The wolf call rings! The listening children, crouch, or hide in fear; The great grey shape, nearer, and yet more near. His challenge flings! How weird, how wild! How splendid is the night! With boom and roar. The lake makes answer, radiant in the light. Of moon and star! Unearthly, glittering, bright — From shore to shore! But to one heart, the wild clear call appeals. With joyous thrill; 'T is she, who answering calls, and swiftly steals Across the snow to where her mate, she feels — Has made his kill! And I, who listen to the clear wild call, The lake's weird roar. The notes so plaintively, that rise and fall. Rejoice, in the great beauty of it all — On this wild shore! CYNTHIA Who is Cynthia? Don't you know. / have found her! Roses blow On her cheek, Eyes as blue, As a child's Sweet and true. Look at me — Smiling softly, fVho is she? I think ^0« know! MORITURI TE SALUTANT! And so you know! — Ah, God! But youth was sweet! And Love has laid his fairest at my feet. But all his passionate tribute I would give. For this one chance, again belov'd to live! Oh, Love take all! then give to me just this; Death, and oblivion; that I may not miss Too much, of what life meant from day to day; The life, that You, and Time, have snatched away! Silver IV i n g s 45 STAR FLIES Pure child mind, to whose tender fancy came — The fairy " Star-flies." Dear enchanted name. Filled with sweet memories of you, my " heart's delight." Where are you? — What your dreams tonight? IF WISHES WERE HORSES If wishes were horses, Then I should be riding, Down green lanes in summer. And you would be there! Scent of rose in the hedges, And sweet tuneful pledges Of love, from glad birds, Would be filling the air! Your eyes would seek mine. And no newly pressed wine. Would thrill my whole being. As your lips on mine! We would wander together, Where pinkly, the heather Lies thick on the downs. That look over the sea. Hand in hand, close together. In the grey misty weather; Lighthearted, enchanted With life we would be! If wishes were horses! The breezes of England, Would blow on my face Over Kent's lovely shore. And you would be with me. To tell me you loved me! And swear that our hearts Should be parted no more. The hours should be care free, Our eyes, gay, unsaddened. As in those dear days. On the hills, by the sea! KETTLE DRUMS Across the hills and fields of Kent, The kettle drums are calling, Down the narrow streets the fife notes fly, Just as the night is falling! Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r- ! A little child in the nursery a-bed, Sleepily lifted her curly head, " There go the drums and fifes " she said. Oh, music most enthralling! Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r- ! The echoes so fitfully, drifting down The wide nursery chimney, from the town; Were to the child but a fitting crown, To her day of simple pleasures! Tr-r-i r-r-r-r-r-r-r- In dreams she hears, the drums again, And treads Kent's hills, in sun or rain, But through the dreams there runs a vein. Of grief for vanished treasures! Tr- r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r- Do the drums still pass down the narrow street. And the children listen with dancing feet? Or, only in dreams do the kettle drums beat; And fifes through Kent's towns, go call- ing! Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r- ! Oh, boys, who left the downs of Kent, When the drums and fifes were calling. At Aisnes, or Soissons, do you lie, Awhile the night is falling! Tr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r- ! No more you '11 hear the fife and drum! Or shout for joy " Victory's come! " Beneath the sod your hearts are numb ! Waiting the " Last Trump's " calling! 46 Silver Wings SMOULDERING FIRES Men call you old, they only see The whitened hair; but as for me, I 've looked into your eyes, and know What smouldering fire lies 'neath the snow. MY OWN LAND Far are the shores of my own land, my homeland, Primroses carpet its wildwood and lea — Soon the wild roses will wave from the hedges, And all of it, all of it 's calling to me! Nightingales pour forth their song in the gloaming — The fountain still flings jewelled dewdrops afar — But the home of my father, no more knows my footsteps, Tho' its beauties, my heart's treasured memories are — Sunshine, on the meadows; moonlight, on the breakers — Voices of youth, full of laughter and song; Love's tender whisper, with music entrancing. Fills my ear — " Oh! my spirit,' ' I murmur " How long! " Were I free, I would speed, to my home- land, my own land. Roam thro' the wildwood, and dance o'er the lea — Mingle my soul, with the spray of the fountain. And once more my own land, return unto thee. PIN-PRICKS It is the little things in life, wear out our heart strings. Kill love, and turn once happy hours, to hours of strife! It is the pin-pricks, mar the whole of our existence. And kill the joy and happiness of Life. THE SUMMER MOON Gorgeous, glorious, golden moon, That fills the fervid sky Of night in summer. Shedding a radiance, warm as love itself — Upon the sleeping earth! My heart turns to you, full of love's desire — And longing for the days, when youth's warm fire — Burnt in my heart! And all love's world lay at my feet. Are you the same cold moon, I saw one night. Shine down upon a lake, that glittered, bright — With frost, upon the snow? While long and clear — The distant wolf call fell upon my ear! A woman's nature surely clings to you. So cold, so distant, glittering, in the blue. But warmed by passion, filled with love's desire. The glittering coldness, turns to radiant fire! THE ANSWERED PRAYER All through the night in bitter grief I lay, A burden on my heart — nor did the day — Bring surcease of my pain, nor any prayer Seem to have pierced, the heavy, dead- ened, air — Of unresponsive, deaf indifference, that tore My soul with grief; but still my sad heart bore This hope — that HE — who heeds the sparrow in its fall. Would turn his ear, to heed my anguished call. jj, jj, jjj jj, ^ jj, jj, And then as tho' a shining, pure, white flame Had touched my soul, there softly came — As night once more in dawn was slowly ending. The answered prayer — Peace — passing understanding. Silver fV i n g s 47 TO M. C. C. A GREAT enthusiasm fills wide-open eyes, Deep flashing pools, wherein a shadow lies; The rosy blush of youth is on her cheek, And eager, fast flung words, she hastes to speak! Faith in the world, despite its devious ways. Is hers, in human friendship's golden days- Responsive to love's lightest, gentlest touch. Child friend of mine, your life holds very much Of joy and sorrow. Heaven grant you may, Ever awaken to a glad today! HOOVERIZING I wonder! Shall we ever Hooverizc, on sleep! And so have nightless days? It seems to me we have to keep Most everything, for use in some new ways — So why not sleep? I sleep the sleep that comes, but to The just they say — yet still I could Keep wide awake, the whole night through — And give my sleeping hours To one who needs them — You! I do not dream, I do not even know. When Somnus closes fast my willing eyes; I know that I am safe, and glad, and warm ! Then, in a moment Chanticleer's alarm. Is ringing to the morning; clear and far. The moon has gone, the fading morning star. Has sought the West! Ah, yes — if I could ever give. To some poor heart, the power to rest — In peace upon Love's dear, warm breast — I would not selfish strive to keep. My whole night's sleep! HE KNOWETH BEST Oh! doubting ones weep not. Be of good cheer! Grieve not for those our lost ones, do not fear — God, of His mercy called them; He knows best — Begrudge them not His gift — eternal rest; For Life is cruel, tho' our hearts should break, 'T is better far, that God in love should take Our best beloved, than those, once our own. Should turn and rend us! Prostrate, at Thy throne, " Not my will Lord, but Thine! I pray. Thou knowest best! Guide us from day to day! " Lest all the riven, anguished, tortured, years. Be filled with hate! — And bitter, useless tears — The sole return, for all the tender care. Of motherhood — No loving touch, to cheer — The tremulous footsteps, nearing death's long rest! "Thy Will be done, My God, Thou knowest best! " GATES AJAR Then Love, shall hold those gates ajar, for you — And guide your trembling footsteps, safely through. Shall sweeten all of Death's, dark bitter cup — And lift to God, your fainting spirit, up — Death is the great, the good, the ultimate release — Eternali Love's reward! Eternal Peace! 48 Silver fV i n g s A SUMMER'S NIGHT ON THE ENGLISH COAST " Heart of my heart," be silent! " Light of mine eyes," be still. The velvet dark is soft and warm, Night lies upon the hill. A thousand men are watching, To keep my babe from harm. Sleep soldier's son, sleep peacefully Upon thy mother's arm! Beyond this strip of silver sea, And the cliffs of dazzling white, Thy father's sword shall guard his son. (And his arm is strong to fight!) What can you see or hear " My heart? " What do you seem to fear? Are there sights and sounds for a new born soul, That a mother may not hear! God! — What was that? A falling star! What floats upon the cloud? This awful fear! — Ah! little son. A crash so near and loud! I saw thy father weeping stand, But now beside my bed — What ails thee " Glory of my life " Why are my hands so red? A moment since " dear heart " I prayed, For sleep to close thine eyes. And now — how still, and strange he looks! Hushed are his restless cries. Brightly across the silent sky, The golden glory steals, Another day dawns o'er the earth, And as it grows reveals — Upon a hill that looks to France, Across a silver sea, A shattered cot, and a slaughtered babe Upon a mother's knee! " Vengeance is mine! " Why this delay? Stretch forth in might thine arm! Lord turn this hideous night to day. The helpless keep from harm. Remember NOW, thy promised word It was, " I WILL REPAY! " And " Oh, deliver us, Good Lord;" Stretch forth Thine arm TODAY! WORSHIP Ablaze with light, adorned with brass, and gold! With cross, and vestment, this, Thy house and fold. Lord, how the music throbs upon my heart! Exquisite, beautiful, perfected, finished art! The tenor's pleading voice, so passion sweet; Responses, flute-like, that the choir repeat — Thund'rous; the bass takes the melodious note. Then soft again the tenor's pleadings, float! The jeweled lights! the warm, soft, scented air. The men and silk clad women, sitting there — Enthralled and thrilled, each sense alive, awake To so much beauty. Lord, this does not make A holy, place for me! Torn, bleedmg — through the briars, I force my way — To where tall trees, shut out the glare of day — But leave long, flickering trails of dancing light. And silvery moonbeams filter through at night. Prostrate, supine — my heart, pressed to the sod. Alone — in silence, would I worship God, Who died for me! Silver Wings 49 FREEDOM Free as the bird on the wing, Free as the wind in the tree. Bound by no power, I sing, The song of the free! Carry me wings, to the East! I would stand with my feet in the sea! With LucuUus and Bacchus, I 'd feast — The wine flowing free! Carry me wings, to the West! No more am I bound, I am free. And Liberty, fairest, and best. Is calHng to me! Love! ah, your kingdom is gone, Vanished your scepter, and crown. Freedom has come with the dawn; And cast your supremacy down! Do you glory in freedom my heart? Rejoice that of bonds you are freed. That Love shall no more be a part. Of Life's need. I know not, I know not, I see — Only the bird on the wing. And the wind as it stirs in the tree, I am free, seems to sing! But something is gone from the breeze, And the sun has no warmth any more. And the song of the bird in the trees. Is not as before! Come back Love! come forge me a chain. Bind me fast, for I would not be free. Life holds nothing of worth, I would gain. And lose Thee. ENGLAND Oh, England! my country, great mother of men ! The bravest, the noblest the world ever saw. They are gathering by thousands from valley and glen. From mountain and meadow and far distant shore. England calls them, what matter tho' death be the goal; They are hers, and give freely both body and soul. Great wonderful land, that has mothered such sons. Who can face with closed lips the foul, murderous Huns. Who boast not of prowess, by land or by sea, And seek not applause for each victory. But silent and steady, and faithful to death, Fight on for their country, and with their last breath. It is " England! My country, my dearly loved land! For you, and for freedom forever I stand. I am yours, soul and body, on land or on sea, In death, through disaster or in Victory! " FOLLOW THE FLAG! To A. D. The dogs of war have broken loose. Hell's legions are unchained! And the German dogs are rabid dogs. Accursed with crimes unnamed. They are clinging fast to the Lion's mane — And their slaver and slime, pollute. But their doom is near, and they shrink in fear. Of the noble and lordly brute! For England (the Lion) is strong and brave. With a heart that is loyal and true. A heart no foeman can ever crush down No matter what he may do! So follow the flag, and conquer the foe. And glory in England's might! My heart will go with you wherever you go, . And watch o'er you while you fight! 50 Silver JV i n g s TEMPLES Where the voice of the surf, with its sonorous roar, Sets the wild echoes flying, on some rocky shore. As it flings itself vainly, Almighty! I see The hand that restrains it; my soul turns to Thee! Where the storm wind in fury, is lashing the earth, While thunder roars back in its terrible mirth. And fire splits the heavens! In that stricken hour, I feel, and I worship, thy wonderful power. In the depths of the forest, where the soft summer breeze, Whispers and sighs, in the tops of the trees. Alone; save for Thee, my glad heart shall sing. Songs of thankful delight, to my God who is King! Oh, worship! my soul, in these temples, apart — God's temples of nature, not temples of art; Rise to heights, far beyond the last farthermost star; Seeking God the great Father, whose children we are! Night is here! purple skies, where the stars gleam above. Enfolding the world like God's infinite love; And the calm solemn peace of the wonder- ful night, Draws my worshipping soul, up to Heaven's pure height. So out in the forest, my soul cries to God, In a temple of trees, as I kneel on the sod; Or alone on the shore, beneath the night's pall, I worship, and wonder and praise God for all. THE WATCHMAN Watchman! Watchman! high on the tower. Tell me, what of the night? Blows the west wind; what is the hour? And does the moon shine bright? Watchman! Watchman! whisper to me, What is that travels so fast? What cloud is that high over the sea, Are the " devil-birds " here at last? Women and children are their prey, " Dear watchman, take good aim! " Rend them, and tear them, and turn their play. To a crashing and roar of flame! Twenty or more they boldly fly. Over a country town. Watchman! up in the air so high, I wait to see them come down. Pity! Ah! no, my heart is dead. And pity has taken flight! So tear them down — those " Hell-Hawks" dread, Nor give them a chance to fight. They have taken my mother, they 'vc taken my son! Why should I fear their fall? Speed then to death the " unspeakable Hun," Watchman, high on the wall! ETERNAL PEACE What if the night be weary. And the hours of darkness long? Soon shall the glorious morning Open with light and song, Oh, for the wonderful dawning Of a day that shall never cease. When there shall be no more mourning, In the light of eternal Peace! Silver PF i n g s 51 THE LINE Oh! splendid line, that holds the flowing tide— Of hate that beats against it, strong, and wide. Oh! men, whose brave hearts beat, in breasts they bare To cruel torture, and whose only care — Is that the line should hold! They go to death, (not all unknowing, now) Nor count the cost — tho' full well know- ing how The awful agony, of throbbing life that's torn — Freeing the soul, may soon by them be born. Are our hearts cold? God succor them! Surely this little prayer. Within our hearts, could be prayed every- where! Not once or twice but thro' the night and day — This simple prayer, should fill our hearts alway! " God help the line to hold! " " God give them help! " not any needless word. But we must mean them if we would be heard. Steady their hands, and keep their courage high. Kill fear and grief, and oh! if they, must die- Make death, to them, so painless swift and kind — That only happier life, at once they find — Within Thy fold. SAND OF THE DESERT The sands of the desert are scattered, afar! Oh! but the world is old — And they shall be blown to the farthest star Ere they find the sheltered fold! Thick as the sand on Sahara's plain. Lie the dead on the battle-field, Whose hand shall garner that broad-cast grain? And what will that harvest yield! Dust to dust — Oh, the dust, of the thousands there! From the North, South, East, and the West! What God was it, flung all it meant to the air! And how do we know it was best? Oh, God! Our God! whose knowledge holds count — Of the sands on the shore, and the plain. Who fills the infinite; and numbers the stars — Give us each back our " own one " again; That not one — may be missing, and teach us to see, That " all 's well " with the world. For it's ordered, by Thee. Every human soul, craves definite, knowledge, of God's purpose in the Crea- tion, and unquestionable proof, of a future life. GOOD FRIDAY 1918 In blood red splendor, rose the moon tonight! Blood red, the sun, stained all the river's tide — Oh, blood of ages! shed for you and me — Flowing a crimson tide, to death's dark sea! Oh, Christ! whose blood for us was shed today — Guard those who crucified, today with Thee, Give their heart's blood, that we in peace may live! Priceless the gift, and glorious, they who give— Dear Saviour take them to Thy loving breast, And give them Life, Eternal Life, and Rest! 52 Silver Wings THE VISION I DREAMED I SEW two sou's Stand bare, Before the Judge of all — A blinding glare Fell on them — Lifted the lid From each thought's hiding place- nothing, was hid! Then a voice spoke, and all around took heed. So full of love, it seemed to urge and plead — Ceaseless, resistless; filling all the air — With earnest pleadings, for those standing there. " This soul " it said, " was broken, tried, and torn. It fell, but oh! it was reborn — And all it had, it gladly gave — Beggared itself; that it might save — A few — (or many, as might be.) And give them life; glad, strong and free!" The pleading voice at last was still. And then a clear note seemed to fill — The whole of space, and say. " Well done, My faithful servant; — no — My Son! " The other soul had no great thing to give. No utmost sacrifice to make, that men might live — The better — no noble deed, so high and great — Whereby it might atone for sin — (tho' late,) Yet it had tried to fill a smaller part — Singing glad songs, from out a thankful heart. To make men's hearts rejoice, keep courage high — Knowing "All 's well! " tho' they should live or die! A whisper comes, " Be glad. Oh! tremb- ling heart. " Fear not! for you have likewise, done your part! " A PLEA Written for the Red Cross Drive Down, down, to the bottomless pit, I go. What takes me there? — My will to do. The' I should die! Of my free will I go — I will not live — A slacker! So my all I give, And should I lie — Face to the sky, and limbs outspread. Then say — " The one laid here, is dead, " Died in great fear! " The terror of the grave, was his, before " He died, he feared to live, far more, "And, Coward! hear." Oh, send to him, and those like him, who give Their utmost, that the world may peace- ful live. The blessed Red Cross, when their end is near! That it may bring them Comfort, and may cheer, May soothe the agony, the endless pain, Bringing to many, strength to live again! \i they, " Our boys " unfaltering can face, The hideous terrors of that awful place, Are we too cold, too mean, to give. Of all we have — (that they may live) A trifling part! How small the loss, That fills their need with the Red Cross! AWAKE, AMERICA! Awake! Awake! America! For the whole world awaits. The War Lord and his armies. Are marching for your gates — Awake! Awake! America! Fling free the glorious Flag! Your enemies are pressing on, Don't let your armies lag! Awake! Awake! America! And show the waiting world. That you are not a laggard. When once your Flag 's unfurled. Awake at last! Go shake your fist. In the Kaiser's hideous face! So shall you win eternally. In the sun, your rightful place! Silver Wings 53 COME OVER AND HELP US! Poor weary creatures, bound and cursed by sin, And its foul mate, repulsive, dread disease. We are responsible, we — whom God has blessed — Who live our lives of pleasure and of ease. And helpless children too, they, who should be — As fairest blossoms on the tree of love, God's treasures lent to us, to keep for Him— Until matured, perfected, they 're recalled above ! The task is yours and mine, dare we not do— The thing we ought, but leave them in the grime And filth of sin, to which untaught they've come. God will accuse us. " This thing is your crime! I gave you truth, and knowledge, faith, insight — And you have let this hideous, nameless, blight. Destroy and tarnish, all that should be fair — " Make reparation, now — or everywhere; Far-reaching arms, of retribution sure — May seize your own — the tender-nurtured pure! Note Written after reading the report of the Home Service Workers in the Wicomico News. FRIENDSHIP Friendship — that perfect gift from man to man — Must I forego it — ? (My hand on this, my friend!) Not if I know it! A woman I; but still no less a friend — And yours, till death (perhaps) — Shall friendship end! "COULD YE NOT WATCH WITH ME?" Could ye not watch, one hour with me? " Yea, Lord: my soul is Thine! And through the watches of the night and day — My inmost thoughts, are Thine alway, I watch with Thee! My body's presence, may not always be — Within Thy shrine — But all my thoughts, and hopes, and all of me — Is ever Thine! I feel Thy presence, know Thy wondrous love, Dear Lord forgive, and from Thy throne above. Look down, and see! That ever in my inmost soul, and heart. I watch with Thee! Good Friday, 1919. AN ANGELUS Across the river, steals the evening light! Homeward our faces turn, the day's work ended — Soon over all, the cloak of deepening night, Enfolding sleep, again will have de- scended — A bell! a church bell, flings its music wide. An angelus — ? Yes — four our boys out there, For them — the trenches, have no even- tide, Of peaceful homecoming — whisper a prayer, " God keep them safe, for us who care! " AT LAST Green is the leaf — bird on the bough — Spring at last is with us now! Herrings, freckles, flies, and fleas. Spring-time joys, are all of these! 54 Silver Wings " GOD GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP! " Why should we murmur, or futilely weep? For those we love, yet could not with us keep: Surely we know and in our hearts believe " God giveth his beloved — sleep." The paths that all must travel here, are dark and steep, The narrow way is hard to find and keep. Why should we sorrow when our loved ones leave? " God giveth his beloved — sleep." Dear, happy one! I can not, will not weep For you; nor even wish that I might keep Your joyous Spirit; God has called it home. To where He " Giveth his beloved sleep! " I shall not lose you; always I shall keep Your lovely face before my eyes and deep Within my heart. Comfort and peace will come. " God giveth his beloved — sleep! " UNAFRAID! "Oh, day of wrath! Oh, dreadful day!" The old hymn tune To my child heart, brought terror: But so soon. As childhood passed, I feared, not any more: For love hnd cast our fear, and long before My life had reached its zenith, well I knew. I feared the world's cruel way, and men — a few! But GOD, I feared not! Even in the day When Heaven, and earth, at last should pass away So safe I felt, within HIS sheltering arm. I knew HE would not work me any harm. Tho' Heaven, and earth, in flames, should pass today, I would not fear; no, not if I mught stay. Where I could clearly see — HIS FACE ALWAY! OUR BOYS With shout and yell. They tumble pell-mell — Into the water! A sudden splash. And a swift pink flash. Just boys! That 's how I know, When from my window — I watch them dash, down to the river. (Say boys! Do you shiver, You boys?) That summer's come — In the blazing sun. Their fair young bodies, so clean and strong — Gleam white, as they play, or race along. Happy boys! Will they be here soon, In the golden noon — To play like young river gods, out for a spree. Or have they gone from their river, and me? The boys! To fight and die. Or wounded lie. In the muddy trenches, of distant lands! Away from the river's golden sands! Oh, boys! What can I give. That they may live? That is the question, that each must ask — And then fulfil the appointed task. For our boys. So that once more. On the sandy shore, Of the sunlit river, at high noonday. They may race, and scamper, and frolic and play! Dear boys! Silver fV i n g s 55 AMERICA! ENGLAND! On seeing the " Stars and Stripes " unfurled. Fung out its silken folds, and let it wave! Under the sky! A beacon to guide, our heroes brave, To victory! England! America! America! England! May these two countries ever stand. Shoulder to shoulder^ hand in hand! It is not my flag, yet would I, Serve it ever faithfully — Though " over there," Even the very dust is dear! England! America! America! England! This is my prayer. May our two countries ever stand, Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand! It is not my flag, but I love it well. Long may it wave! and ever spell, VICTORY! for us, who stand. Shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand! VICTORY! Victory! Great God! and Peace with Honor ours. Victory! and for our heroes flowers; Crown them with glory, shower them with praise When they come back to us, and let us raise A monument of love to honored dead Who will return no more, to tread The paths beside us, but who reap The fruits of sacrifice. Forever keep Their memory sacred, for they died that we Might live our lives unshackled, glorious, free! ARMENIA Armenia! Oh, Armenia! Deported, tor- tured, slain. Westward your eyes are turning, and they fill with hope again. Four hundred thousand! Orphaned! Hungry! Cold! Through their poor rags the bitter winter wind Chills their thin forms. Babes, like the one a tender mother holds — So soft and warm, upon her happy breast — Are homeless, starving, with no place to rest Their shivering bodies, save the bare, cold ground — While we, draw round the fire and thank the powers, that be; That ours are amply fed and safe at home and warm. What hand shall feed and shelter these poor babes? And who will keep them safe and free from harm? Great God of Mercy! give us grace to see In this glad moment of our victory. That if we would not ingrates all, be found, We give to these. — Lest in our direst need, God turns His face away, and takes no heed. EVEN THERE Sink sun, sink in the river! Hide in the mists that lie — Like Ghosts, (they make me shiver!) Between the river and sky! Oh! for the glory of manhood — Swept by the tide away. That flows in a stemless torrent. To the gates of Eternal Day! Heart do not break with aching. Lips! do not faint in prayer — God in His mercy and glory. Is with them, even there! 56 Silver Wings THE MIRROR A MIRROR hung on a chamber wall, As high as a man who was straight and tall. And a tiny child each time they would pass On his shoulder perched, as she looked in the glass. In her heart with a sad little sigh, would say, " I wish my eyes did not look that way! " Great brown eyes in a small white face, Whose drooping lids seemed scarce held in place, Frail little hands too tired to play. Passed and repassed the mirror that day. Only a year or two older grown But able to play and walk alone, A child climbs up to the glass on the wall, And smilingly thinks, as her face she sees. Those eyes I once saw, were not like these. A little shy elf, with long brown curls. Dainty and sweet — cheeks of rose, teeth like pearls. Again she climbs that the mirror may tell The budding woman, that all is well. And as eyes are raised, half-roguish, half- shy Once more, she is lifted shoulder high. Radiant and fair with the glamor of youth, To the mirror again, she goes seeking the truth. Woman, or goddess, she walks on air. For she has entered love's garden fair! Why should she think of those eyes of pain As she sees her face in the mirror again! " My love is mine! I am his! " she cries. Then startled, she veils her passionate eyes. A broken mirror stills hangs on the wall. High as a man that is straight and tall. And a woman, withered, and white and wan. Pauses to gaze, ere she passes on. " Mirror! " she says, " I am all alone. For father, husband and sons are gone! None is there here who is straight and tall, So I turn, broken mirror, your face to the wall! " MY GARDEN I MADE me a garden of roses fair. Each rose it was tended with love and with prayer, I made me a garden of roses fair! The first to bloom was a rose so red. That I thought as it lifted its splendid head; Never was rose as this so red! Oh, lovely rose that I thought my own, Ambition soon claimed you when you were grown; Dear red rose that I thought my own! My next splendid rose, grew so tall and strong That a woman snatched it, as she passed along — Striking my heart, with my rose so strong! But one lovely rose was left of them all! Fair as was any, sweet scented, and tall — Beautiful rosebud, last of them all! Then a whirlwind raged, and a hurricane blew, A great tidal wave swept my garden through — You were there sweet rose, when the hurricane blew! Now the floods have passed over, but no rose is there, My garden is empty, clean swept, and bare, All my roses are gone from my garden fair! Silver Wings 57 LOVERIOF MINE Lover of mine! Lover of mine! For we love tho' our heads are grey — It may not be long ere our bodies lie, In some little graveyard, by the side of the way. While youth flaunts by, in such brave array; But that youth holds all of Life that is best. Who shall say till they 've tried the rest? Lover of mine! Lover of mine! Youth's love is tortured by doubt, and by fear — And flutters unstably throughout the year. Like a butterfly seeking a fairer flower. But the love our hearts know, ever grows in power — The best of Life's gifts, since the vivid hour — That gave us each other — most wonderful dower! Lover of mine! Lover of mine! The love that is ours, as the years go by. And the knowledge that tho' all else may die — Love is eternally the same. Life's per- manent bond and surety — For Love is not faith, nor is passion Love, nor worship of purity. Love is itself, and belongs to youth, no more than to life's maturity — Death can not break love's endless spell, nor ever tear down his divinity. Lover of mine! Lover of mine! HEART'S DESIRE Two things I dream of, two things I desire — With a longing that burns like a flaming fire. Your lips my love, and the heart of the world! Ere my dream is dead, and Life's wings be furled. Not honor, nor fame, nor yellow gold, Nor would I as monarch, the world-power hold- Only your lips, and the heart of the world: For my own, ere Death's arrows at last be hurled. Only your lips, at the close of the day — Beloved I 'm dreaming of them alway! Only your lips, my heart's desire — Ere in my heart dies, youth's radiant fire. And for the songs that I sing today, I ask of the world no golden pay — No laurels or honors, no banners unfurled, Only your heart. Oh! most wonderful world! MODEST WISHES With apologies I WANT to be an author. With my hand upon my brow, I want to be an author. And I want to be it now! I want to be an artist. With brushes and with paint, I want to be, and don't want you, To tell me that I ain't — I want to be a beauty. With lovely eyes and smile. Run off upon the fil-lum screen. For dazzhng mile on mile. I want to be so popular. That when down our long street, I take my daily promenade, Beaus crowd around my feet. I want to be so much admired. Each man will stop his car. And ask me on his bended knee. If I am walking far? And with it all I want to be. So good, and kind, and true. That all the world, will love me so. You can but love me too. ss Silver Wings THE NIGHT WIND Tell me, night wind; whisper, night wind, Softly blowing on my breast. What fragrant gardens have you passed Ere you came here to rest? Magnolias and Mimosa, and the tall Aloes scent. Are on your breath. Oh! night wind. So I know where you went. You softly stirred the curtains On my love's window, where She is sleeping like a wood nymph. With flowers in her hair. Like a fair rose in summer My Love is sleeping there! Night wind, murmuring night wind. You passed across her lips Bringing me their dainty fragrance. And you touched her finger tips! Tell me, night wind, are her eyes blue. When she opens them at night? As they are in my dreams of her And in the morning light! Oh, night wind! Warm, soft night wind! Linger yet awhile, and rest — Then turning, take my heart to her And lay it in her breast. MY LORD'S PALANQUIN At noon I saw my Lord go by; Hidden, to watch him pass. Then turned again to see my face Look from the hanging glass. Surely a lovely face, so young. So fair, so full of joy. And yet although my heart was his 1 was but his last toy. Not many moons ago, he held Another in his arms, I passed his gate! Flamed the desire To own my youthful charms. And now, without a thought of me His chariots pass my door. As forth on sport or pleasure bent. He journeys through Tanjore. Beloved — I would call you back. Had I the Yogi's skill — But in my arms, unwilling held, I would not keep you still. What is my crime that love no more Greets me within your eyes ? Am I less fair? My lips less warm? Lacking in what am I ? I loved you not, I knew you not, Thought not of you at all — Till that dear day you carried me To my gate without the wall. How ardently you sought my love. And strove my heart to win; As you bore me through the city's streets. In your own Palanquin. The moonlight gleams as fair as then. On Tanjore's marbled beauties, The sunsets paint the river, with The rainbow hues, of yore. But my Lord, is over-burdened By his pleasures, and his duties. And I travel in his Palanquin no more. A FRIEND A SMILE on your lip, and a glance of your eye. Is the greeting I want as I pass by — The hand of a brother, the clasp of a friend. Where nothing is broken, there 's nothing to mend! Be, " hail fellow! well met," With the world and his wife — You will gather more joy, in your journey through Life, But true friendship's clasp, is the closest of all When we stand at the last with our backs to the wall. So give me the glance of your eye, friend of mine — Straight, and true; of our comradeship, be it the sign — That down in the depths of my heart I may say. True friendship is mine, for ever and aye! THE HEART'S ANSWER Flint on steel! Flint on steel! Oh, living spark! I feel! I feel! Flint on gold, flint on gold No spark is there; flat, dead and cold. So your heart calls to mine and I Flash back the answer to your cry. Not pulseless gold, but flint on steel. Beloved heart, I feel! I feel! H251 78 525 v^. ^ m ^.....^- / ,^^ ^^ ^yi^"^^' > ^V '>. ^ .^^ '^^ •^^ "o V*^ -^^0^ CP \ *.,,. ^^ O ^ V" O^ * o - o ' ,0 <. Jv , O " O ^ ^ Q^ ^ .r "o V^ // ^^ V * .V A ^^•^<^, <^„ * ' ^^ V *^ " » " " i^ .' ?.«" ,G ■^-^ ,o' % ' vO 0* .-?.- -^ ...o. . . ^ ^ ,G' \pc,- ,-JV . o ^°-^<^, .f' J7f; 7 ^ N. MANCHESTEI INDIANA .0 vv - ^■ ^^ -^

16006641

Idols,

Arensberg, Walter

idols00aren_djvu.txt

^ PS350I 3501 ^p IDOLS T&Z-L^ F^By Walter Conrad Arensberg THE NEW POETRY SERIES ^^1 fe^^l Ej 4jik »w^ 1 i.TOVT^^S:2 BlEN OV IhRlEN ^^^1^^ I^Bd^ C^kjh ^^k.IAi ^K^.j^^k,£^^^^^l9 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Boston and Ne'vr York Class r^ iso L Book_ Copyiight}!^. iqiJ^o COPYRIGHT DEPOSrc ®fte jQeto |)octrp ^tvita IRRADIATIONS. SAND AND SPRAY. John Gould Flbtchbr. SOME IMAGIST POETS. JAPANESE LYRICS. Translated by Lafcadio Hbarn. AFTERNOONS OF APRIL. Grace Hazard Conk- UNG. THE CLOISTER: A VERSE DRAMA. Emile Ver- HABRBN. INTERFLOW. Geoffrey C. Faber. STILLWATER PASTORALS AND OTHER POEMS. Paul Shivell. IDOLS. Walter Conrad Arensberg. TURNS AND MOVIES, AND OTHER TALES IN VERSE. Conrad Aiken. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY Boston and New York IDOLS IDOLS BY WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY <S.ht iMttt^itt pre^itf Cambtiboe 1916 COPYRIGHT, I916, BY WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG ALL RIGHTS RESERVED Published March iQib 4o\ ii 'CI,A428185 MAR 20 1916 FOR LOU CONTENTS CLOUDS FOR FORMS THAT ARE FREE II VOYAGE A l'iNFINI 12 DIRGE 14 THE VOICE OF ONE DEAD I5 JUNE 16 TO THE GATHERER 1 7 AT DAYBREAK 18 AUTOBIOGRAPHIC I9 STATUES THE NIGHT OF ARIADNE 25 HUMAN 26 THE DIVINE COMEDY 27 AU quatrieme: rue des ecoles 28 landscape and figures 29 dialogue 30 to a deserted temple at p^stum 3 1 CRYSTALS PORTRAIT 35 JOHN DAVIDSON 36 [7] TO HASEKAWA 37 SONG OF THE SOULS SET FREE 38 AN OLD GAME 39 AFTER-THOUGHT 4O FALLING ASLEEP 4I CONSIDER THE LILIES 42 TO A POET 43 TO A GARDEN IN APRIL 44 THE INNER SIGNIFICANCE OF THE STATUES SEAT- ED OUTSIDE THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY 45 A DYING SERVANT 46 FOR THE SAKE OF PEACE TO THE NECROPHILE 5I AM TAG 52 INFINITE MERCY 53 TO LOUVAIN 54 THE WAR LORD 5^ INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE SUBMARINE THAT SANK THE LUSITANIA 56 TO BELGIUM 57 NEUTRALITY 58 TRANSLATIONS THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN 61 FIFTH CANTO OF THE INFERNO 69 CLOUDS IDOLS CLOUDS FOR FORMS THAT ARE FREE Loosen the web, Arachne, and we will waltz. Loosen, Arachne, The spider-web that has ensnared The feet in such a struggling bergamask. [ " ] VOYAGE A L'INFINI The swan existing Is like a song with an accompaniment Imaginary. Across the glassy lake. Across the lake to the shadow of the willows, It is accompanied by an image, — As by Debussy's " Reflets dans Peau." The swan that is Reflects Upon the solitary water — breast to breast With the duplicity: " The other one I " [ 12] And breast to breast it is confused. O visionary wedding ! O stateliness of the procession ! It is accompanied by the image of itself Alone. At night The lake is a wide silence. Without imagination. DIRGE Make of the moon a motion. You Who are laid to rest, Make of the moon about the eaves of space. You who upon the earth Are doing nothing, The circles of the swallow In the twilight, You who have left above the empty house The night In suspense. [ H] THE VOICE OF ONE DEAD Of the relented limbs and the braid, O lady. Bound up in haste at parting, The secret is kept. [ '5] JUNE These breaking buds, These buds in a nest of leaves . . . What wings have covered them. And the warmth of what brooding mother, That the roses. The roses themselves. Come out ? The roses are trying their petals . . . Fly away, roses, after the wind. [ i6] TO THE GATHERER Heavy with the life among the leaves The bough Is heavy with your hands . . . It yields. And will the yielding bough at the last Break ? Or at the last made light By hands that gather and cannot hold, Will it swing away as it used to swing, Out of the reach of hands. High with one apple ? [ ■?] AT DAYBREAK I HAD a dream and I awoke with it, Poor little thing that I had not unclasped After the kiss good-bye. And at the surface how it gasped. This thing that I had loved in the unlit Depth of the drowsy sea . . . Ah me. This thing with which I drifted toward the sky. Driftwood upon a wave. Senseless the motion that it gave. [i8] AUTOBIOGRAPHIC Permanently in a space that is anywhere here While I am I, I am temporarily Always now. And at the eternal Instant I look — The eye-glassed I At the not I, the opaque Others, Eye-glassed too. And I who see of them Only the glasses Looking, See of myself In looking-glasses Faces Distorted. [ 19] And throughout the transparent Spaciousness, Which is so extensively The present Point Located personally — A solid geometry Of vacancy Bounded by the infinite Absence, I Foreshorten To the end Of me . . . Walls and ceilings Of my cellular Isolation Wrecked by perspective. Habitable cubes Of static Surfaces of plaster Prolonged in flight. And it is I who hold them back, " And it is I who let them go. These gray planes plunging [ 20] In an emptiness Blue, These rampant sides of pyramids That converge To nothing While I am I. STATUES THE NIGHT OF ARIADNE She waited in a grotto by the sea The vital visit of the Minotaur Untouched. The night had grown oracular With tongues of licking heat that were not he, She knew not how she knew, reluctantly. The entrance of the grotto was a scar Of heaven, and in it lengthened, star by star. Stalactites to her credulous chastity. Heavy the darkness that she lay beneath ; The tide was swelling ; and a rosy wreath She vowed to an old pagan monolith. Her god, if it would send against the myth A man. . . . And in a dream she seemed to sheath The dripping blade that he would enter with. [ 25 ] HUMAN In a cathedral that aspires in thought I am , . , and I perhaps am not alone ! I am an altar to a God unknown. And with the candles I am clear and hot. And if He cannot be it matters not ; A reaper of the whirlwind who have sown, I think a God and so I am my own ; And toward myself so long in me forgot I take the ancient attitude of prayer. Yes, even as by the crib, beneath the flame Of the familiar face ... Or was it where I thought of one too strange who never came. And closed my empty arms about the air. Feeling the nakedness of her first name. [26] THE DIVINE COMEDY And if it was a dream it was enough — It lasted like a world, it kept awake The ghost of Beatrice ; and to that break Of day which brake at last the dreamy stuff, Breaking to death the forest wild and rough. It lit the night, and by the troubled lake It spake as with her voice that never spake : " O peace, be still I " to all the winds thereof. The comedy of Dante Alighieri ! For dreams he left his birthright of despair. The lives that stiffened into statuary In the cathedral of his proud poor prayer. For him the bride beside the mother Mary Let down the heavenly ladders of her hair. [ 27 ] AU QUATRI£ME: RUE DES ECOLES I HAVE a memory of a lonely room . . . The walls of it were as a garden wall. gardens of the world, O lost perfume ! Outside the world I read the Fleurs du MaL Ah me, I seemed to understand it all. Till in the door I saw I know not whom. She said: " What are the flowers that you let fall?" She seemed to say : " It 's I, it 's I who bloom." Was I at last afraid to be alone ? " Who are you, woman whom I have not known ?" 1 asked, and as she gazed: "Are you a child ?" Gravely she gave her lips and she was gone . . . Gone with her wistful answer which she smiled : " I am the deepest valley to the dawn." [^8] LANDSCAPE AND FIGURES The twilight is returning — come away! It gropes among the trees, it is confused About the golden bodies that we used In earnest and a little while in play. The twilight that has yielded up its day Clings to us now like some poor thing seduced Who on the hilly bosoms has unloosed The long disheveled sunlight growing gray. Hide from the haggard touches of the sun Your yielding body, that it may be one With all the dark ; and for the breathless bed Gather the quiet that the Lyra shed. When for the tryst supreme that no one knows The night had the consent of a pale rose. [ 29 ] DIALOGUE Be patient, Life, when Love is at the gate, And when he enters let him be at home. Think of the roads that he has had to roam. Think of the years that he has had to wait. But if I let Love in I shall be late. Another has come first — there is no room. And I am thoughtful of the endless loom — Let Love be patient, the importunate. O Life, be idle and let Love come in, And give thy dreamy hair that Love may spin. But Love himself is idle with his song. Let Love come last^ and then may Love last long. Be patient, Life, for Love is not the last. Be patient now with Death, for Love has passed. [ 30*] TO A DESERTED TEMPLE AT P.ESTUM Is it a hushed good morrow to the sea Or a good night, if night shall be for good. That thou art holding in thine attitude, O faithful Grecian fane in Italy ? Wrecked is the god who went away from thee ; Thou takest the shadows for thy widowhood; Thou hast not fallen when the winds have wooed; Thou art the patience of Penelope. So dost thou hold the attitude of Greece Toward one who wanders now the wood obscure. Yea, though the moss be thine entablature. The stars at last thine only mysteries, Amid the winds that will not let thee be Thou art a gesture of eternity. CRYSTALS PORTRAIT She has a gas-lit glitter of cold stones. She lives, and she makes light of lingerie; And she has suffered not the little ones To come to her, suffering you and me. The flesh is pretty about the gentle bones. And these at least — you feel ! — have modesty. These of her naked life the last Unknowns That she 's afraid as death to let you see. [35] JOHN DAVIDSON O NOT for him the shore crepuscular. The waning house, the slow obscurity; For him the sudden setting of a star . . . He has gone out like light upon the sea. His are the rights of memory in all lands ; A lord of life too haughty for a crown Laid on with hands of God, with his own hands He laid it on his head and laid it down. [ 36] TO HASEKAWA Perhaps it is no matter that you died ; Life 's an incognito which you saw through. You never told on Hfe — you had your pride ; But Hfe has told on you. [37] SONG OF THE SOULS SET FREE Wrap the earth in cloudy weather For a shroud. We have slipped the earthly tether. We *re above the cloud. Peep and draw the cloud together. Peep upon the bowed. What can they be bowing under. Wild and wan ? Peep, and draw the cloud asunder. Peep, and wave a dawn. It will make them rise and wonder Whether we are gone. [ 38] AN OLD GAME Is it heavenly hide and seek. Playmate, that you have to play ? When I closed my eyes to pray You were breathless where you lay On the bed, and you were weak. When I opened them at length It was you who had the strength. You the earthly runaway. Is it Seek and ye shall Jind On the way that you have run. Playmate, past the setting sun? Or does pale Oblivion Say her gentle Never mind? Through the emptiness of sky If I call no glad I spy. Will you care, O hidden one ? [39] AFTER-THOUGHT O WHAT can I be breathing for. Wasting the world by being sad? O for a breath of life ! Once more My life is willing to be glad. Even her grave is growing glad With grass and with the flowering suns ; Nor in the grave can she be sad To miss the waking clarions. She '11 not be sad if I forget — Hers is the way of being glad. Of her I need not think. And yet . . . It is not I, the world is sad. [40] FALLING ASLEEP O THE dream that dandles Sleepy Head ! Lay aside your sandals T^hat have fed Down a night of candles By the bed. O the changing pillow- That is bare! Be a weeping willow With your hair Long . . . And on your billow Lift me , . . where f [41 ] CONSIDER THE LILIES Lilies are the beckonings Of a world of lilies fallen. Yielding to alighted wings Secret pollen. Yesterdays are ghostly sheaves. Noon is golden on the bough. Life is ripe among the leaves . Beckon thou. Wave a handkerchief of prayer. Keep a secret in a gown. When the wings are in the air. Bow down. [42 ] TO A POET What are you doing like a naughty child To the original non-entity, Without a wedding and a little wild, Those moments when you say of beauty : " be " ? [43] TO A GARDEN IN APRIL Alas, and are you pleading now for pardon ? Spring came by night — and so there is no telling ? Spring had his way with you, my little garden . . , You hide in leaf, but oh ! your buds are swelling. [44] THE INNER SIGNIFICANCE OF THE STATUES SEATED OUTSIDE THE BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY How natural the way that they have greeted Each other, like two girls excused at school : " Sister of bronze upon the granite seated. Hast thou an easy stool ? " [45] A DYING SERVANT At last there was to be a time of rest. Even before she died, the very best Time that at last was to be all her own. When she should not be holding back a groan Just for the sake of some one else, and when Among the ladies and the gentlemen. At last being out of pain, she should not run Back to the duty that was left undone. She was left to herself. The old alarm Clock had run down for good, and the lukewarm Hot water bottles that were lying where They lay all day no longer mattered — her Cold feet did not feel cold or anything. But there was something of the evening Which she had now the time to feel. It smiled Upon her idleness, and like a child She said a " Now I lay me down to sleeps Left to herself, what had she left to keep Of her spent self except a final tryst For dreams, where even she might yet be kissed. [46] So when at last the mistress came and lay A hand upon her brow to ease away The difficult life, the servant, who in duty Without complaint had found her only beauty. Complained about that hand upon her brow : "Don't bother me — it is all over now." FOR THE SAKE OF PEACE TO THE NECROPHILE After reading of the affectionate desire of Germany "to get closer to France,''^ as expressed by the German Secretary of State to the British Ambassador at Berlin. With love are you gone mad, O lover of France, That you should be embracing with your arms Her gory body for the gore that warms Only a monster in his dalliance ? Alas ! she is alive with her alarms. Unwilling yet for the enraged romance. Assault her sacredness of Paris, lance Her flank with such a wound as has its charms For you who want for your obscene amours The body of a soul that is not yours, For you who want a wound to enter by. For you who want a corpse upon your heart. Coupling with France if France would only die. Not yours the human vow : " Till Death us part ! " [51] AM TAG! William of Germany, is this the day For which you have been drinking — or a night Which is awakened by the dynamite Clearing the darkness in your drunken way ? The deeds of darkness are not yours — you light Louvains about the beds of children. Yea, And in the churches where the women pray For some conception of the divine right. Them you enlighten, too — the right divine Is yours ! And from a heaven above the Rhine Your visitation ! And immaculate Is the conception as the women wait. Beneath the dove-like wings of aeroplanes. The pleasure that you feel in their remains. [52] INFINITE MERCY Can He who heard the plea for ignorance : ** Forgive them, for they know not what they do ! Stooping to the uplifted cross of France, Forgive the Germans — they who know and knew ? [53] TO LOUVAIN Old city that ascended in a cloud. You dropped the ashes which the earth is proud To wear for you while all the mouths of Krupp Are mocking still : " Go up, bald head, go up T' [54] THE WAR LORD ** My heart bleeds for Louvain.^' Whom the lord loves he chastens. And he bleeds That you, Louvain, are burning in his hell. And there is not a Christ that intercedes. The lord is in his heaven. All is well. [55] INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE SUBMARINE THAT SANK THE LUSITANIA Rise to an infamy, take a breath and dive, And to the children drowning in the sea Prove that there is a way to keep alive Beneath the level of humanity. [56] TO BELGIUM LiFEWARD at last, some day. When no one shall be left to say Alas, Children shall follow along the trodden way The lure of the reviving grass. [57] NEUTRALITY Not by a dirge or a psan Breathe of the wrongs of France ! Watch, Laodicean, And wait upon the chance. The game is for the great — And whose the sacrifice ? Laodicean, wait And watch the loaded dice ! TRANSLATIONS THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN Eclogue by Mallarme THE FAUN' Those nymphs, I would perpetuate them. Even so clear Their coloring light, it dances in the atmosphere Heavy with leafy sleeps. Was it a dream I loved ? My doubt, a mass of night primeval, is removed In many a subtle branch which proves, being still these very Woods, that, alas, I gave myself all solitary For triumph the default ideal of the rose. Let us reflect if women of whom thou thus dost gloze Image a longing of thy senses fanciful! Faun, the illusion is escaping from the cool Blue eyes, even as a spring in tears, of the more chaste : The other, though, all sighs, thou sayest is to contrast Even as a daytime zephyr warm upon thy fleece ! Not so! through the exhausted swoon and motionless ' See the note on page 78. [63] Stifling with heats the morning fresh if it rebels. Murmurs that water only which my flute expels On the grove sprayed with notes; and the one breath of air Out of the two pipes prompt in its exhaling ere It scatters all around the sound in a dry sprinkle. Is, over the horizon that has not one wrinkle. The visible and tranquil breath illusory Of inspiration, which once more attains the sky. O ye Sicilian borders of a quiet swamp Which, to the sun's despite, is plundered by my pomp. Tacit beneath the flowers of sparkles, celebrate ^'How I cut here the hollow rushes subjugate By skill ; when on the glaucous gold of verdurings Remote which dedicate their vine unto the springs. Billows a whiteness anifnal in the repose : And how in the preluding slow where the pipe grows. That flight of swans, ah no I of naiads springs away Or dives . . ." Inert, all is afire in tawny day. Not showing by what art dashed off in company Too much of hymen wished by one who strikes the key: [64] Then shall I waken to the primal zeal, upright And solitary in a flood antique of light, Lilies ! and of you all the one for artlessness. Other than that soft nothing which their lips express, The kiss, which keeps the faithless safe by its low sound, My breast, virgin of proof, bears witness to a wound Mysterious, occasioned by some august tooth; But hush ! there needs for confidant of such a truth The large and double reed performed upon by day : Which, as it sucks the trouble of the cheek away, Dreams, in a long extended solo, of amusing The beauty of the neighbourhood by a confusing False of that beauty and our song infatuated ; And that as high as love itself is modulated It may make vanish from the common dream of thighs Immaculate or backs pursued by my closed eyes, A loud and ineffectual monotonous line. Try then to flower again, pipe of the flights, malign Syrinx, upon the lakes where thou for me must wait ! I, of my rumor proud, will at great length relate Of goddesses, and by idolatrous imagery Remove the girdles yet from their obscurity : [65 ] Just so, when from the grapes I have sucked out the lustre. Laugher, I lift to summer skies the empty cluster To banish a regret by trickery dispersed. And blowing into the translucent skins, athirst For drunkenness, until the evening I look through. nymphs, let us inflate some memories new. " My eye, piercing the reeds, transfixed each heavenly Neck, which beneath the river drowns its ardency With cries of anger to the heaven of the wood; And the resplendent bath of tresses is bestrewed In glitterings and quiverings, O diamonds! 1 run; when, at my feet, are coupled (with their wounds Of languor tasted in that pang of being twain') These slumberers in just their arms at hazard lain; Without unclasping them I lift them, and invade This shrubbery, detested by the frivolous shade. Of roses spending in the sun all fragrancy. Where likewise in the day consumed may our sport beP Curse of the virgins, I adore thee, O delight Ferocious of the naked burdens blest that fight To shun my lip afire which, as a flash of lightning Trembles, is drinking from the flesh the secret fright- ening : [66] From the unkind one's feet to bosoms of the shy. Who yields at once an innocence, all watery With foolish tears or with less doleful vaporing. " My crime, it is that I, glad to be conquering Those traitorous fears, divided the disheveled heap Of kisses, which the gods would well cojnmingled keep; For hardly had I tried to hide an ardent smile Under the creases glad of one (^holding the while By a mere finger, so that thus her plumy white Might color at her sister s passion now alight, The little one naive who never blushed at all i) When from my arms, undone by deaths equivocal. That prey ofmine,forevermore ingrate, gets free. Pitiless of the sob intoxicating me'' Well ! to the bliss by others shall I yet be led With their hair knotted to the horns upon my head: Thou knowest, my passion, how, all purple and full grown. Each pomegranate bursts and with the bees makes moan; And blood of ours, possessed by what it would ac- quire, Flows for the whole eternal swarm of the desire. [ 67 ] Now when this wood with gold and cinders is iU lumed, A festival is raised among the leaves consumed. Etna ! it is in thee by Venus visited With her ingenuous heels posed on thy lava bed, When rumbles a sleep unhappy or fades away the glow. I hold the queen ! O certain castigation. No, But empty of words the spirit and this body aswoon At last surrender to the haughty hush of noon : Sleep now in the oblivion of the blasphemy. Stretched on the thirsty sand and as I love to be Mouth open to the potent wine-star ! Couple, adieu ; I am to see the shadow into which ye grew. FIFTH CANTO OF THE INFERNO FIFTH CANTO Thus I descended from the primal zone Down to the second, which less space embraces. And so much greater pain as stings to moan. There Minos stands and horribly grimaces ; Inspects the sins about the entrancy, Judges, and as he girds himself he places. I say that when the soul born evilly Comes in his presence, it confesses all ; And that appraiser ot iniquity Discerns for it the hell proportional ; He girds his tail as many times about As the degrees that he will have it fall. Always before him stands a mighty rout; They go, each in its turn, for the decree ; They speak, they hear, and then they are cast out. "O thou who nearest the dolorous hostelry," To me, when he beheld me, Minos cried. Quitting the act of that great ministry, [ 71 ] " Look how thou enter, and in whom confide; Deceive thee not the wideness of the gate." And my guide answered : " Why dost thou too chide ? " Do not impede his course predestinate. Thus is it willed where is the potency For what is willed ; and make no more debate." Straightway begin the notes of misery To make themselves be heard ; straightway I come Where much lamenting makes assault on me. I reached a region of all radiance dumb. Which howls like ocean in a hurricane. When it is fought by winds grown quarrelsome. The hellish tempest, which will never wane. Impels the spirits with its violence; Whirling and buffeting, it makes their pain. When they approach the broken eminence. There are the shrieks, the plaint, the lamentation ; There they blaspheme at God's omnipotence. I learned that into such a castigation The evil users of the flesh are cast, Who reason subjugate to inclination. [ 72 ] And as their wings do bear the starlings past, In the cold season, in a great dense pack. So bears the spirits maledight that blast. It bears them up and down, and out and back; There is no hope to comfort them for aye. Not of repose, but even of lesser wrack. And as the cranes go chanting forth their lay. Forming themselves in air in a long trail. So I beheld those spirits, on that fray Of winds borne up, approach with sounds of wail ; Whereat I questioned : " Master, who are these Folk whom the murky air doth so assail ? " " The first of those about whose histories Thou longest to know," he answered thereupon, "The empress was of many languages. " With vice of luxury she was so undone. Illicit she made licit by decree, To take the blame in which she had been drawn. " She is Semiramis, and we read that she Succeeded Nimus and had been his spouse; She used to have the Soldan's empery. [ 73 ] "The next is she who broke for love her vows Unto Sichaeus' dust and took her life; Then Cleopatra the luxurious. " See Helena, for whom an age so rife With wrongs revolved ; and see Achilles grand. Who with his love at last fell into strife ; " See Paris, Tristan " ; and with pointing hand He showed and named a thousand shades and more. Whom love had out of our existence banned. When I had listened to my counsellor Naming so many an olden dame and knight, I was bewildered with the grief I bore. And I began : " Poet, would that I might Speak with that couple who together fly. And seem upon the wind to be so light." And he to me : *< Thou 'It see when they be by Us closer, and to them do thou then pray By love which leads them, and they will draw nigh." Soon as to us the tempest makes them sway, I raised my voice : " O spirits wearied. Come speak with us, if no one doth gainsay." [ 74] As doves that are by love solicited. Toward the sweet nest with wings held still and high. Come through the air by their volition sped, So these withdrew from Dido's company. Towards us approaching through the air malign. Such was the force of my affectionate cry. "O living creature, gracious and benign. Who through the purple air goest visiting Us who with blood made earth incarnadine, " Were friend of ours the Universal King, To him would we be praying for thy peace. Since thou dost pity our perverse suffering. " Of what to hear and what to say thou please. That will we hear and say to both of you. The while, as now, the wind relinquishes. "There sits the city wherewithin I grew Upon the shore to which descends the Po, To be at peace with all his retinue. " Love, which in gentle hearts is soon aglow. Caught him with the fair body of which I be Bereft, and still for me the way works woe. [ 75 ] " Love, which from loving leaves no loved one free. Caught me with the so great delight therefrom. Not yet, thou seest, does it abandon me. " Love led us onward to a single doom ; For him who slew us doth Caina wait." Away from them to us did these words come. When I had heard those spirits desolate, I bowed my head, and bowed I let it be Till the seer said: " What dost thou meditate? " When I made answer I began : "Ah, me ! How many tender thoughts, how great a yearning Led these unto the pass of misery! " And once again I spake, and toward them turning. Began : " Francesca, this thy mortifying Moves me to tears with pity and with mourning. " But tell me : at the time of the sweet sighing. What way and at what sign did love dispose That ye should know the longings mystifying ? " And she to me : " There are no greater woes Than the remembrances of happy days In misery ; and this thy teacher knows. [ 76] " But since to learn about the earliest ways Of this our love thou hast a wish so dear, I will do even as one who weeps and says. " Upon a day we read for our good cheer Of Lancelot, how love held him in thrall; We were alone and without any fear. " That reading urged at many an interval Our eyes together and paled the cheeks of us ; But it was just one moment made us fall. "When we had read how one so amorous Had kissed the smile that he was longing for. This one, who always must be by me thus. Kissed me upon the mouth, trembling all o'er ; Galeot the book, and he 't was written by ! Upon that day we read in it no more." So sorely did the other spirit cry. While the one spake, that for the very dread I swooned as if I were about to die. And I fell down even as a man falls dead. NOTE TO "THE AFTERNOON OF A FAUN" What is the sense of " L'Apres-midi d'un Faune," a masterpiece that is almost popular — in so far as it is known as the poem by Mallarme — as a " miracle of obscurity"? The better known music which interprets the poem for Debussy and the dance which interprets it for Nijinsky are independent works of art ; and the critical interpretations of Gosse and Remy de Gourmont are certainly either groping or a little superficial. The obvious love-story which seems to be what they see in " L'Apres-midi d'un Faune " is in re- ality a philosophic allegory. " L'Apres-midi d'un Faune " is one of the great dream-fictions, the greatest of which is the Divina Commedia. It is a dream within a day-dream — a sort of solipsistic drama in which the dreams are the symbols which the dreamer has invented for his desires, and which he strives by all the human means of logic, art, and action to endow with actual existence. The faun, the solitary dreamer, is a compound of sensu- ality and imagination ; and he is so divided by his double nature that, both in the long soliloquy which he dramatises by addressing himself and replying to himself and in the pa- thetic fallacy of the act with which the drama culminates, he mistakes himself for two. And thedoubleness which he finds in himself he finds in that compound of the actual and the illusory which is his world. It is not the poem, however [ 78 ] difficult it may be, which is obscure. The poem is a clear picture, always coherent and precise, of a mind humanly obscure to itself in the presence of the natural confusion. The remarkable duplicity with which almost every word in the poem is made to express a double meaning is an index to the ingenuity of such a mind in its attempt to reconcile the inherent contradictions. When in the first words of the poem the faun exclaims: — " Those nymphs, I would perpetuate them," he is half awakened — as I think — from a dream which he is still mistaking for the reality, so undisturbing is the tran- sition from the brilliant dream itself of rosy nudities to the sun and roses of his Sicilian solitude. In a moment, how- ever, as the nymphs who have already excited his passion seem to be melting away, his waking certainly is troubled by a doubt. Were they real or a dream or a waking halluci- nation due to physical desire? They were not a dream — as he argues, naive in his error — since he imagines now that he had simply mistaken for his victims the flesh-colored roses in the wood. And they were not an hypnagogic hal- lucination — as he naively continues to argue — for the simple reason that as he plays upon his flute he is com- pletely engrossed in the pure inspiration of his music. Baffled in his attempt to understand the true nature of the nymphs who have now disappeared, the faun, with a sort of hedonistic scepticism, resigns himself to his memo- ries of the wonderful experience as the only truth available. [ 79] Invoking to his aid the quiet swamp where grow the rushes from which he makes his pipes, he remembers — his memo- ries are recorded throughout the poem in the italicised pas- sages — how, as he was tuning up, he startled into flight a group of nymphs whom he at first mistook for swans ; how he spied on them as they bathed in the stream ; and how, as he followed them again, he came upon two who were clasped together in amorous sleep ; how he carried them off into a thicket of roses ; how he delighted in their struggles ; and how, just as he was kissing one and holding the other by a finger which was not, perhaps, so simple as he says, they finally escaped, leaving him still unsatisfied. This record of his memories the faun interrupts from time to time by a running commentary in which he deter- mines that the only trace of the vanished nymphs — since they have left no trace in the environment — is the invisible wound in his breast. The pain which they have left behind he immediately attempts to assuage by diverting it into music. The diversion, however, is in the end unsatisfying ; and throwing away his useless instrument, he attempts by poetising to inflate the remembered past into a sort of falla- cious present, which is indeed the essence of the descriptive arts. But in spite of all ingenious use of memory and imagi- nation the departure of the nymphs leaves him still unsatis- fied ; nothing imaginative can satisfactorily substitute the reality ; and under the domination of his growing passion, he attempts to realize his dream by action. Deceived by the remarkable vagary about Etna into a belief that he has [80] actual possession of Venus, he is betrayed into an act which brings with it the final disillusion. From the tragic self- defeat of that high dream of perpetuating nymphs there is now no refuge but sleep — a drunken sleep in which he may lose himself completely. When the faun, as he accordingly falls asleep, exclaims at the end of the poem: — " Couple, adieu ; I go to see the shadow into which ye grew," — it is noon, and the attempt which he has made throughout the morning to perpetuate the dream of the preceding night is finally abandoned. " The Afternoon of a Faun " is the afternoon of sleep which follows — the afternoon which is never mentioned in the text and which is only for a moment foreshadowed as " the oblivion of the blasphemy." It is as if the poem began as it is ending. The words ad- vance as far as the threshold of unconsciousness. " The rest is silence " — a silence in which the dreamer and the dream, after the essential separation, are reconciled at last in a common extinction. •M LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 282 2 §

21018112

In His service,

Arent, Leonora

inhisservice00aren_djvu.txt

I^'S 3501 .R525 :5 1921 Copy 1 [N HIS _ERVICE By Leonora Arent, Ph.D. IN HIS SERVICE By Leonora Arent, Ph. D. :}<^ \Op.eC^ ,3 =^ ■ j'^'^*^^^ <->' Copyright, 1921 by Leonora Arent OCT -7 '2 i g)ClA6247a3 To the little sister who went out into eternity this book is af- fectionately dedicated. IN HIS SERVICE IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIItllllllllllllllllllltllllllllUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIinillllllllllllllllllirillMIIIIIIIIIII.'IIMIIMIIIMII TO LILLIE With vivid clearness have I seen your face Each passing year ; Eternity with all its boundless space Has kept you near; T send this message from my earth-bound place Of smile and tear : For all the times you thought for me, For all the good you sought for me, For all the love you brought for me, — God bless you, dear. • When I have passed through death's deep mystery You will appear ; But in that greater gift of God to me, Your love more clear, I shall remember through eternity Your sweetness here. For memories you sent with me. For sunny ways you went with me. For joyous days you spent with me, — God bless you, dear. Page Three IN HIS SERVICK IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIMIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIUIIIIIIMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIItllllllllllllllll A PRAYER The mornins-V)reak ! My poor life take : And make it vital, for Clirist's sake. Protect my soul from sin's decay and fill it with yonr grace, I pray : Direct my feet upon the way where I am needinl most today. Make keen my mind to meet the need which each day's tangled factors breed ; Uplift my hands with hands that plead, attnne my heart to hearts that bleed. To find the woe poor stumblers know and point them to Gethsemane. yo hear the cry of those who die and tell them of yonr Calvary.— Lord, this T pray At break of day. The noon-day flame I My weak life claim ; And give it vigor, in Christ's name. The still, white faces of the dead, the mourning lives nncom- forted. Bruised hearts that all too long have bled, sick souls from which all hope has fled. The challenge of the l)attle cry. the ringing courage of reply. The willingness to live or die if only yon yourself are nigh. — These meet my way the livelong day. Give grace that 1 may meet aright. The heat and stress and deep distress — give strength to bear until the night. Lord, hear my prayer At noon-tide glare. Night's peacefu^ness ! My frail life bless: Give slumber, in Christ's tenderness. My failures of the day you see.— small faith, weak hope, faint charity ; May those I faiVd held blameless be and consequences fail on me. But, if in pity you think best, grant me tonight a dreamless rest ; I would forget the woes that pressed, perplexities, wrongs unredressed. Let night's deep spell your power tell, the white moonliglit your glory gleam : But, spent and weak, your love I seek. Give sleep to me without a dream. Lord, hear my call As night-shades fall. P.Tffe Four IN HIS SERVICE IIIIIIIMIHIirilllllllllllllllllllllinilllllMIIIIIMIIIIIIillllllll Illlllll llllllllltlllllllllllltllllllllltlllllMIMIIMHIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIII NIGHT Night of the sobbing, throbbing wind Strains with its burden of quivering tones, Agonized pleading and shivering moans, — All the heart break of a world that has sinned. Suffering souls in a night of tears, The God of the night wind hears. Night of star-beaming, gleaming flame Thrills with its praise of Christ's glorious might, Marvelous love and victorious fight, — All his great thoughts for a world in his name. Worshipping souls in a night of prayers, The God of the star flame cares. Page Five JN HIS SERVICE "JinMiiiiiiiriiiiiiMitiMiiMiitrii iiiiiiniii iiiiiiiiiiiiiii iiiiujiiniiiiiiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiii nun i MOMENTS Moment of living, the gift of eternity, Life throb vouchsafed by the infinite heart. Drop of time's torrent all swift on its way to sea, Welcome I give you through pleasure or smart. Your coming brought breath, Your going draws death, And death will bring life in which time has no part. Moment of leaving, the flight to eternity. Death pang allowed in the infinite sight. Onrush of weariness mighty in mystery, Welcome awaits you by day or by night. What though in your dark Must flicker life's spark ? Your darkness but leads to his luminous light. Page Six IN HIS SERVICE iiiiMiMiiniiiMiiiiMniniiinMiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuitimitiiiiiiimimiiiumiHUHit OMNIPRESENCE Death in his right of way journeys near ; Ravaging agony works his will ; Pulsing of pain and of fever thrill Torture the sufferer we hold dear. But close by the death bed death's Conqueror stands. see the pierced side and the nail wounded hands ! Why do we weep ? Christ is but putting our loved one to sleep. Sorrows of other hearts grieve our own ; Nerve racking vigilance drains our strength ; Endlessly stretches the hard day's length ; Under the pressure of cares we moan. Then swiftly the Bearer of burdens appears. infinite pity dispelling our fears ! Why ever sad ? All the long day this great help may be had. Joyousness permeates shade and light ; Obstacles vanish and hardships fall ; Victories gather and triumphs call ; Fears do not hinder nor woes affright. And always the glorious Guide clears the way. radiant leadership blessing the day ! Why must day end ? Merciful Comrade, compassionate Friend. PafiTf^ I^ovon

02024914

Songs from the Carolina hills,

Armfield, Lucille (Armfield)

songsfromcarolin00armf_djvu.txt

'0^ .0 JiK" .^ °^c: ""'^^R^' .0*°'^t£.. ".^fe'/ ^ ^ - >. J. « • * '^O d^ r " « ♦ '^ j> , t » * . -d*^ o> O N ' -o*^ )t^ ^i^i^^fe^ ^P^. .4* .^ ^ ♦TXT* .^ " " ^ A*" ^iiiiP^W^*' C Songs from the Carolina Hills SONGS FROM The Carolina Hills BY LUCILLE ARMFIELD » , » i DOXEY'S Ai the Sign of the Lark NEW YORK THF LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, Two COPIcS Recsiv€0 OCT. ?S too? C»- ASS CU^-Xo. No. A^ 3 / 1 3 cpyy 8. Copyright, PY DOXEYS, 1901. CONTENTS. PAGE To H. S. J II Carpe Diem 12 The Prodigal 14 Satyrs All 15 Middle Age 16 The Two Roses 17 Unsatisfied 18 The Making of a Poet 19 Freedom 20 To-morrow will be May 22 Noon and Night 23 The New Planet 24 s CONTENTS. PAGB The Same 25 Mine Own 26 The Miracles of May 28 The Heavy Change 29 On Beaufort Beach 30 "You Know and I Know/' 32 I Thank Thee, God 33 Hope (A translation) 35 The New and the Old 37 Two Lullabies 39 The Prayer of the Woman 40 The Crimson and the Gray 41 The Way of Love 43 The House on the Sand 45 In an Old Italian Garden 46 To a Friend 48 The Tree of Gold 49 6 CONTENTS. PACK To DOMIDUCA 50 On the Unveiling of the Mecklenburg Monument 51 The Maiden from the Far Country (A translation) 54 Faustina 56 White Butterflies 59 From Lookout Hill 62 The Prince and the Fool 66 Songs from the Carolina Hills TO H. S. J. I spread to-day my humble wares in view Of all who chance to journey past this way. With anxious heart and trembling hand I lay My handiwork before the false and true, And o'er and o'er arrange it all anew: For some will praise, now this, now that ; some say That this were better left undone, while they, Who pass indifferently, will not be few. But you will look with love on every line And see the joy and agony in each; My soul will lie a book within your hand. And all the deeper feelings that are mine, — The inner thoughts I could not frame in speech, — Your heart alone will read and understand. II CARPE DIEM. Wake, wake, my heart, How slow thou art. Ten thousand living things awake; Be glad and gay An hour, a day, If only for sweet April's sake ! The ivy leaves Beneath mine eaves Like careless children clap their hands; While in and out. Around, about. Birds sing wild songs of foreign lands. Oh, do not miss The lover's kiss That lurks in spring's caressing breeze ; The peach-tree's blush Foretells the flush Only the happy sweetheart sees. 12 CARPE DIEM. The whippoorwill Sets heart athrill — An old, old friend returned at last; The dove's low coo Proclaims anew That Peace prevails when storms are past. Hopes lost and dead, White dreams long fled Now bloom in lilies fair and sweet ; Full well I see Eternity In living green beneath my feet. Ah, snatch the joy Without alloy That everywhere the glad Spring throws; No thorn e'er yet Made one forget The bloom and perfume of the rose. Hearts young and old, Come hoard your gold 'Gainst cheerless Winter's hopeless day; Nor ice can chill, Nor sorrow kill, The heart that knew its month of May! 13 THE PRODIGAL. "My years of youth lie waste, alas !" wept I, "And spent the riches of my love for naught That satisfies the soul, and I have fought With swine for husks. In low despair I lie, Remembering still the maiden,, pure and high, Who to my soul true love and faith once taught. Now I will rise, and with this one vain thought, Will fall repentant at her feet, and die." And so, weighed down with mine unworthiness, Yet pressing on for many a weary mile, — Reproaches everywhere and naught to bless — While yet a great way off I saw her smile. Her hands were held to greet me ; all forgiven, I gazed into her eyes, and found my Heaven. 14 SATYRS ALL. With breathless wonderment and deep delight I muse on that grotesque, long-vanished band, Silenus' flock; and dancing, hand in hand, The merry, romping satyrs greet my sight. Yet thoughtful demi-gods, their mirth despite, Celestial forms on cloven hoofs they stand ; On brows divine, goat-horns set deep their brand. Till fades the olden dream, half dark, half bright. What multitudes of complex men abound — Their brightest wit by saddest sin debased, Divinest love with hellish hate oft found. Their souls' best hope by earthly soil effaced. Like chrysalis still clinging to the clod ; The veriest satyrs all, part beast, part god ! 15 MIDDLE AGE. Gray, changeless skies oppress with leaden load Dead, level plains with ne'er a hill upthrown; Two radiant forms tread, wondering, the road. Where bravest souls grow hopeless, if alone. i6 THE TWO ROSES. She gave me a rose at the dawn of day, At dawn when we had to part. That its beauty might cheer the weary way, And shut from my sight the skies of gray Which threaten the bravest heart. Tis evening now, and I hold the flower, All faded and withered and torn ; But its fragrance sweetens the twilight hour. For it conquers my soul with a subtler power Than that of the rose of morn. She gave me her love in the days of youth, O my heart, how fair was she ! In her eyes' fond light I beheld the truth, And ever it gladdened my heart, in sooth. To know that they shone for me. Now the love of my youth, and my faithful bride, With her hand close-pressed in mine Is doubly fair as she seeks my side — For her soul's light waxed as her beauty died Until she became divine. 17 \j UNSATISFIED. The world's sweet praises thrill my being through, For Fame, long-sought, has come to me at last. Upon mine ears now fall the plaudits vast, Unknown to all, save her immortal few. Upon this glorious height I stand and view The mountains and the valleys overpast; Earth's dearest prizes at my feet are cast ; The golden dreams of youth are all come true. Yet it is all forgot whene'er I think Of one who, unregretting, left my side. In tearless grief low on the ground I sink — A soul that made one prayer and was denied. No cup of joy my thirsting heart can drink. But aches and throbs and is not satisfied. i8 THE MAKING OF A POET. For years he walked amid the human throng, Unseeing and alone; for, fixed and far, His gaze was set upon a wondrous star. He yearned to catch some echoes of the song The spheres sing in the heavens ; strove full long To shape in flaming speech the thoughts that are So great and high that words their beauty mar ; But ever failed, for he was weak and wrong. At last among the toiling ones he wrought, To earn life's simple bread with sweat and tears, And learned to feel their common woes and mirth. Then straight the words were wedded to the thought, The strains divine resounded in his ears, And lo! the star had come to dwell on earth. 19 FREEDOM. Oh, I am free! I need no longer trouble so To think if he be pleased or no, Nor joy to see his efforts crowned Nor weep that fickle Fortune frowned, I come and go without restraint. Or word of praise or yet complaint, For I am free! Yes, I am free. Free as the condor that can rise As high as God has hung His skies; That stoops not to the valleys green Where smoke and mist and soil are seen; But spurns, its heart with scorn aglow. The joyous, grieving earth below. Am I not free? 20 FREEDOM. Now free to roam, Like to the wanderer o'er the earth Who knows not homely cares or mirth. With quiet heart, untouched to tears, Of countries' weal or woe he hears Strange tales, wherein he has no share. Forever drifting here and there, He finds no home. Oh, I am free! Free as the mother wild, dear God 1 Who leaves her first-born 'neath the sod. Ah ! nevermore to feel close-prest The dear warm burden at her breast. No cry to hush, no weight to bear ; No hope or fear, no joy or care; So am I free! 21 TO-MORROW WILL BE MAY. I must not shed another tear, To-morrow will be May. No room is left for doubt or fear; The gladdest time of all the year, The dearest time is almost here, — To-morrow will be May ! I will no more be calm and cold, There is no cold in May. But let the warmth my heart enfold, Like loving arms in days of old, When lover spake the tale oft-told That made the whole year May. What happy greetings shall I bring To welcome smiling May? Oh! I shall laugh and dance and sing, And flowers fair about me fling; I shall not care for anything For oh ! there's but one May ! 22 NOON AND NIGHT. At noontide's hour amidst the noise and glare, The strife of worldly men and hot debate, I sometimes think of her I loved, and straight My heart grows hard and stern ; I cannot bear To think she went away and did not care ; And yet I know 'tis true. And so fierce hate And pride do conquer love; I curse the fate, The hour, that brought me one so false and fair. But then comes night with peace and healing, too, And cools my burning brow with gentle breeze ; The moonlight, soft and fair, around, above. Brings back that glorious night when she was true. Then, sobbing low, I fall upon my knees. And breathe my old-time prayer; — "God bless my Love." »3 THE NEW PLANET. For years a lost, wild star from Chaos' shore Whirled on, no orbit fixed nor any aim, Through blinding dark, keen cold, and fierce white flame. To all it passed it brought destruction sore ; Till drawn by magic force, ne'er felt before, At last to its one kindred star it came.^ — One comet less, a planet calm and tame Revolved around its sun forevermore ! So I, while onward whirling, found my sun The one great force my soul could not resist. And now I rest from wandering mile" on mile, Henceforth a narrow, changeless course I run. Nor Freedom nor Infinity is missed. The Universe all centered in her smile. 24 THE SAME. I cried: — "The soul desires the heights above, And ever nobler things our hearts beguile. To hear the nightingale for many a mile He wanders who has only heard the dove; So we shall change and know no cause thereof, Now we must part; 'tis fate, a little while Our sundered hearts will ache, then we shall smile To think again of our first foolish love." Ah ! many a mile between us twain now lies. And long, long years our lives have been es- tranged ; Our love is as a half-forgotten name. But, yet, last night in dreams I saw his eyes That sadly asked: "O Love, has thy heart changed ?" And mine replied, "It is the same, the same." 25 MINE OWN. For me no flower has blossomed in vain! For me no songster has sung unheard! I feel humanity's joy and pain, And hear its every sigh and word ; For a time I seem To forget myself when my heart is stirred. Yea, thousands of gorgeous blooms have I seen Whose memory sweet will ever prevail ; Beside their royal splendor and sheen How would my plain little daisy pale! Yet it is mine, And its beauty fair will never fail. Sweet-throated birds from strange, foreign lands With rapturous singing delight mine ear. Their melody rich what heart withstands, Their exquisite tones, so full, so clear? Still the turtle dove Sings the sweetest song my soul doth hear. 26 MINE OWN. A thousand places allure my feet With glorious pile and stately dome, Where beauty in Nature and Art is complete, Where angels, even, might delight to roam ; But there is one spot That I love the best, for it is my home. Though countless faces, radiant and fair. My glad, wondering eyes have oft-times blest, (For I have beheld the beauties rare That bud and bloom in the east and the west) Yet, I know not why. One face still charms more than all the rest. Ah! many a tale of love have I heard. And women's glad eyes for me have shone ; I love each lover's passionate word And tremble with joy at his tender tone. Yet I thank thee, God, For the one love-tale that is all mine own. 27 THE MIRACLES OF MAY. Like magic spell The clove-pink's spicy smell Winds through the brain from cell to cell, And into life doth every thought impel. The soft air now, Although I know not how. Smooths all the wrinkles from my brow, That Time and Grief have drawn with cruel plow. And light and swift. The gladsome wind doth lift From off my soul its cares, that drift Like clouds when sunbeams bright their curtains rift. Down in yon dell Where joy must ever dwell. The bell-bird rings the eternal knell Of all the woes that e'er this heart befell ! 28 THE HEAVY CHANGE. Ah! in that far-off, happy long ago, Whene'er a word of doubt our bliss would blight, Or look that showed distrust obscure the light Within our eyes ; then ere a tear could flow, A tender word or two, though whispered low. Dispelled the gathering gloom, the fear-filled night ; And straightway passed each threatening cloud from sight. And Love suffused our skies with rosy glow. But we have wandered into other lands. And now we sit apart — hopes unfulfilled; Shut off from smiles, beyond the touch of hands. How hard on dead, cold words my faith to build! The mists of doubt toward the sun arise. And showers of tears half blind my hopeless eyes. 29 ON BEAUFORT BEACH, JUNE, 1898. The cannon roar, the bugles blare, Fierce shot and shell shriek everywhere, Brave men are falling near and far, And woman's heartache finds no ease; Oh! God of Justice, Vengeance, War, Where is the Prince of Peace? Those starve who did not raise the strife! These weep who lived a harmless life ! O Gk)d, how men have yearned and toiled To mount to heights of brother-love. Yet now sink back, their efforts foiled, Nor cast one glance above! 30 ON BEAUFORT BEACH. Upon this lone, unquiet shore The great sea sings forevermore Of other countries far from this. Whose tranquil waters ne'er complain, Where Peace our anguished brows shall kiss And make us smile again. Our feet those shores shall surely tread. When these brief, troubled days are dead. The blue heaven's calm steals over me And all my passion sinks to rest; War, war throughout the land and sea, But peace within my breast. 3T "YOU KNOW AND I KNOW." In flowery May mid daisies tall, My love and I went straying, The breezes mocked me merrily With her brown tresses playing. My boyish heart did leap with love; I cried with cheeks aglow, "Oh ! will you be my sweetheart, dear ;" She smiled and answered low : "You know and I know." Again in dark December's day We met with quiet greeting, A little cloud obscured the sun. My heart was calmly beating. "Are you tired of me so soon?" I asked in accents slow. Behold the whole wide world was changed; For oh! she whispered low: "You know and I know." 32 "YOU KNOW AND I KNOW.'* Ah ! true, true heart, would God that I Could e'er have kept her near me; I had not killed her maiden love Nor made her doubt and fear me. O false, O foolish heart of mine, How couldst thou treat her so? O foolish heart, how couldst forget Her words of long ago : "You know and I know." But empty words from shallow hearts, And smiles that have no feeling Have taught me how to prize the tones Her deep, deep love revealing For truer far than vows of love, That others' lips bestow. Her girlish voice rings through my soul Across my sea of woe: ''You know and I know." 33 I THANK THEE, GOD. For all the pain that I have ever known ; For cold and dark ; for cruel childhood's hour, Neglect and want; for curse and blow; for power To scorn them both ; for yearning heart and lone That found few friends; for Misery's dying moan, Despair and Doubt that could not make me cower, I thank Thee, God ; since through these, like a flower The soul in grace and beauty oft hath grown. Yet not for all. (Forgive ingratitude!) Not for the false, weak one I loved in vain ; Shame breaks my maiden heart, untamed and rude. And Reason cries against such useless pain. I cannot see the good — not yet, not yet — Nor kiss Thy hand. Oh, let me first forget ! 34 HOPE. (From the German of Emanuel Geihel.) Though winter rave with threatening mien And scatter ice and snow, Yet gentle Spring comes back again However the winds may blow. Though heavy mists may press around And hide the sun's dear light ; We know that Spring awakens soon The world to new delight. Blow, raging storms, I fear you not, Blow ye with all your might; She comes, she comes, with velvet shod And scatters all our night. Then wakes the earth and dons her green — She knows not how it is — Up into Heaven she smiles as though She fain would die for bliss. 35 HOPE. She twines her hair with garlands gay, With wreathes of fruits and flowers; The little fountain sparkles clear As tears in joyful hours. Be still, my heart, and rest content. Though coldness make thee bleed; For sure there is a day of rest For all the earth decreed. When thou art filled with fear and dread. Trust God, forget thy pain. For though 'tis drear as hell on earth, Yet Spring will come again. 36 THE NEW AND THE OLD. (Two Sonnets.) I. To-night with honeyed words and studied art, With stories old of love forever new. My latest lover comes from far to woo, And, laying siege to my proud woman's heart. Pierces its armor strong with many a dart, — Can all the wondrous tale he tells be true? His earnest accents all my doubts subdue. His boldness bids each maiden fear depart. As royal prince he takes by right divine What other men have sought with prayers and tears, While one heart, hopeless, did not dare aspire ; Or as explorer bold with sure design. He heeds not frowning rocks nor freezing fears. Until he gains the land of his desire. 37 THE NEW AND THE OLD, 11. But visions sweet of olden days arise ; Once more I see, by time made doubly dear, A strong, fair youth. True love's expression clear, That knows no counterfeit, is in his eyes Whose look is a caress. Him, boyish-wise, I see confused to mark me coming near. But timid take my hand with words sincere, Untaught to woo, yet innocent of lies. His passion strong he has not learned to hide, But ever speaks my name with trembling voice — His lips fast quivering with the love untold. Remembering thus, how, then, can I decide ? Ah! happy heart, that needs not make a choice, Since they are one, the new love and the old. 38 TWO LULLABIES. The mother holds the child on her knees, While the dreamy twilight draweth nigh; Her song is borne on the evening breeze, While she coos this lullaby : "Safe, safe and warm, Safe from all harm. Close, closer pressed On mother's breast, — Mother will watch over her wee birdie's nest." The old man leans on his mother's breast — Dear Mother Earth's, where all must lie ; Her singing soothes his soul to rest, As she croons this lullaby: "Now safe at last The danger all past, Your fears have fled, Your tears are all shed, — Mother will shield her weary child's bed.'* 39 THE PRAYER OF THE WOMAN. O P'since of all the maiden dreams That gild my path with sunny gleams. Wherever you may be, (Perchance I have not seen your face Nor shall behold your youthful grace.) I pray you earnestly: Be good, my Prince, e'en though You be not good to me. O Lord of my great woman's soul. Whose wishes all my life control, Though you I do not see, (Among so many that deceive Yet in one heart I must believe.) I pray you fervently: Be true, my Lord, although You be not true to me. O Knight of this proud Lady's heart That yields but once to Cupid's dart. Let no temptation lure; Tis not enough to right the wrong And do great deeds that live in song; Still make this purpose sure: Be pure, be pure, be pure — O everywhere be purei 40 THE CRIMSON AND THE GRAY. Youth proffered both. I joyous cried: "O Crimson bright, forever may Thy beauty cheer me far and wide !" The gloomy hue I threw aside. What cared I then for gray? Ah ! long, long years have flown away. The shadows to the east are turned ; But toiling up grief's rugged way Or basking in joy's warmest ray One lesson I have learned: That all we know and all that is Our lot upon life's chequered way, — Our hope, our fear, our pain, our bliss- That life itself consists of this, The crimson and the gray. 41 THE CRIMSON AND THE GRAY. The red, red rose, abloom on earth, With gloomy, lowering sky overhead; The rosy night of wine and mirth To vain regret's gray dawn gives birth. When warmth and cheer have fled. Warm, glowing love, more prized than gold. Burns bright, burns red, despairs and dies. The old pathetic tale is told — The ashes gray of love grown cold Show where the dead heart lies. The long, dull day of toil is blest With peace and beauty at the last; For sunset's glow will bring sweet rest And drive us to our dear warm nest, When day and toil are past. 42 THE WAY OF LOVE. {Two Sonnets.) I. They wandered by the river's constant flow; The patient meadows hosts of daisies bore, The wide skies smiled on Space's star-strewn floor The while he told his love with ardent glow. And with a ring he pledged, for weal or woe. His life, his all. And many vows they swore To love and trust till streams should run no more. Till skies should fade and winds no longer blow. To-day one stands upon the self-same spot, The steady stream flows seaward as of old. And daisies still gaze upward to the skies; The old glad days are dead and long forgot. And naught remains beside the ring of gold To tell the tale of love that blooms and dies. 43 [THE WAY OF LOVE. 11. Another olden scene now fills my sight ; Low trees and clinging vines caress the eaves, While moonlight falls upon magnolia leaves That gleam like silvery waves, and queenly Night Wears on her breast Orion's jewels bright, Two lovers sit in silence sweet; he weaves No tale of passion wild, for deep love heaves Their happy breasts and fills their eyes with light. And now this twain abide on distant shore, J And many moons and stars have risen and set. While Fate has marked their hearts with many scars ; And yet I know, full well, that nevermore Will either heart cease grieving, or forget That moonlight night, the silence and the stars. 44 THE HOUSE ON THE SAND. A woman loved with love that ne'er could cease, But soon her vain, unhappy love bewailed ; For he was false. — Ah ! what hath yet availed To keep the heart that changes oft with ease? Then on her mother's breast she sought release From that great grief which o'er her heart pre- vailed, And in that love — one love that never failed — She found sweet strength and everlasting peace. Poor heart ! that built her palace on the sand, That had no other place whereon to rear Her wondrous house of love and hope and mirth ; Then seeing no fixed thing in all the land And naught but desolation far and near. Did weep with joy to feel the solid earth ! 45 IN AN OLD ITALIAN GARDEN. In an old Italian garden fair we were sitting, The stately palm trees trembled and whispered o'erhead, And ours were the moments of bliss so sweet and so flitting; The future unknown, the past forgot and dead. From dark, azure skies the summer moon was gleaming. The singing fountain on high bright jewels flung, Yet darker, yea brighter, too, were his black eyes beaming, As he spake of love in the golden Italian tongue. "Mia carissima," came the words full of sighing, And trembling fast he whispered: "I love thee alone; Wilt thou be mine ?" And my hands in his were lying, "Mia carissima, mine own, mine own." 46 IN AN OLD ITALIAN GARDEN. Now days full of toil, and nights devoid of sweet sleeping, And common cares make up my commonplace life; With small time for joy and less for quiet weep- ing, I fill my little place in the great world's strife. But to-night the moon shines fair and white through the gloaming, Alone am I on a far-away western shore ; Like an old dream are many days of my roaming, But that night of love is mine forevermore. "Mia carissima," the words are still ringing, The palm trees tremble again at the olden tone ; "Mia carissima," the fountain is still singing, "Mia carissima, I love thee alone." 47 TO A FRIEND. I cried when parting some ten years ago: "The red, red rose succeeds the dais^ pale ; And e'en the morning star must fade and fail Before the day-king's coming, sure though slow ; So shall a greater love be ours, and lo, Regret and tears shall be of ho avail; For like the mem'ry of a fairy tale. Shall be the friendship sweet we treasured so/' But yesterday I walked the well-known ways. Where every tree and vine and grass-blade green Was eloquent of pleasures that had been. I heard a precious voice of other days That asked: "Hath greater love made thee forget?" And all my soul replied: "Not yet, not yet." 48 THE TREE OF GOLD. Oh! a tree of gold by my threshold stands With a thousand thousand leaves so fair; They tremble and quiver and wave their hands At the lightest touch of the gentle air. All day they v^hisper of love, perchance, As the winds their airy forms embrace; While the sunshine kisses them as they dance And the glory lights my face. And a slender tower of ivy green Stands tall and dark against the gold; While the blue, blue sky o'erhead is seen, Though ever changing, the same as of old. O ivy, green till thy heart is dead ! O heart of mine, that can never die! What shall we do when the gold has fled. And the blue has left the sky? Yet one more day and the leaves are gone, And the limbs will stand all bare and brown; Yet one more day and summer has flown And the queen will lose her golden crown. Since the life of love is but a day, And love from life must one day part; For the leaves and for my love I pray Yet one day more, my heart ! 49 TO DOMIDUCA. O goddess fair! who guides o'er hill and lea The wanderer's footsteps home; dear mother mild, — Who led me home each night, a little child, Though far and oft I strayed in childish glee — Lo! I have journeyed far on land and sea Through dangers manifold and waters wild, Yet on my safe home-coming thou hast smiled ; Thy grateful child here renders praise to thee. Behold me on life's longer journey now. Where I must go alone and find my way Along the road no foot of man has passed. Bend, bend in love, and touch my anxious brow ; For I would fain not walk in doubt astray, O Domiduca, lead me home at last! 50 ON THE UNVEILING OF THE MECK- LENBURG MONUMENT. May 20th, i8p8. The century ends, the curtain falls, While plaudits shake surrounding walls; A heavenward-rising shaft appears, With hosts of joyful pilgrims round The fairest scene of all the years With fairest deed is crowned. Sweet self-approval's silent voice And strangers' praise our souls rejoice; The Veil, that hides the Unseen, parts, Our fathers' forms rise one by one; While louder, deeper to our hearts Resounds their glad "well done!" Oh, we have yearned and planned and wrought To make our deeds fulfill our thought. Now Freedom, Justice, Peace, Content, And Plenty reign from hill to coast; Here Art, here Science spreads her tent, — And yet we may not boast. 51 ON THE UNVEILING OF A MONUMENT. One hundred years and more agone, A grander picture here was shown ; A little band of patriots true Oppressed by giant foreign power, Declared their Freedom, — daring few! — And pledged their lives that hour. With greatest men they rank as peers. In Freedom's march were pioneers; No braver knights deserve men's praise, No martyr's requiem rings more clear; Like heroes bold in fabled days, They scorned the dragon Fear. For others' good they nobly wrought. For unborn children's peace they fought. They are not dead, they live and move And in our complex lives hold sway; Their spirit free, their faith and love We celebrate to-day. The spirit true of Freedom fair Fills every swelling heart with prayer. O God of Freedom, keep us now. Who yield our wills to thee alone. In silence eloquent we bow Before thine awful throne. §2 ON THE UNVEILING OF A MONUMENT. A thousand creeds, a thousand ways, Fill up our brief, distracted days. Give us to know our fathers' God, Who holds the future as the past. To walk the simple path they trod And sleep with them at last. 53 THE MAIDEN FROM THE FAR COUN- TRY. (From the German of Schiller.) Every spring-time in a valley, Came to shepherds dwelling there. When the larks bid songbirds rally A maiden wonderful and fair. Not in that vale was she begotten And whence she came no man could say ; Yet straight all vestige was forgotten Soon as the fair one went away. Blest were they who lingered near her And every heart upbounded, great ; Yet young and old could still but fear her, So dignified and so sedate. Brought she fruits and fairest flowers, Which far in other fields did grow, Bedewed with softer, kindlier showers And kissed by warmer sunlight's glow. 54 THE MAIDEN FROM THE FAR COUNTRY. On each the maid bestowed a present ; On some fresh fruits, on others flowers, Till each youth, each tottering peasant. Went home to spend delightful hours. Thrice welcome there was every comer. Yet to one pair within her call She kindly gave e'er came the summer, The sweetest, fairest flower of all. 55 FAUSTINA. I gaze adown the stately corridor Where stands a line of earth's most honored dead, Marbled — assured of immortality. Here is the orator, with golden tongue And heart of gold, who moved great multitudes, As summer's wind moves waving fields of grain ; And there, the poet crowned with laurel wreath. And sceptred with the love of many men. Whose hearts his songs have touched to music's beat. The calm, broad brow of the philosopher; The high and mighty gaze and haughty head Of emperors divine of all the world ; And one with slanting brow and sensual lips Whose name is a reproach in every tongue. I see the placid features and the look Of calm content of one who held the world But as a play wherein he had no part. For he was far above the fleeting show. 56 FAUSTINA. Among these images one face looks out, An eager, upturned face that seems inclined To speak and smile to every passer-by. With dazzled eyes, a smile upon my lips I stand, transformed to marble, worshipping ; For oh ! it is Faustina the Divine, The wonder of the world, supremely fair ! What other woman ever had so fine. So delicate a profile, or so sweet? Her waving hair flows backward from a brow That never could have frowned or been less glad. From shapely neck uprears a dainty head — A capital upon its Grecian column. How softly melts the cheek into the throat! How oft the sculptor must have kissed that curve ! Though all so cold, I could caress it now. I gaze adown the corridor of time. And all these marble beings live and breathe. They are not dead, the centuries are dead, That have divided this from olden times. The ages are forgot, the years swept back Like flimsy scenery from the stage of life. And I can see these great ones at their tasks, And at their play, each in his separate turn 57 FAUSTINA, Sustaining his own part with faithfulness. But she was only fair, 'tis all we know; I do not care to hear that she was good ; It is enough to see that she was fair. The best, the greatest, wisest of mankind, Although all Rome did doubt, the world deride, He yet believed her gold; he knew her best. And so her fadeless beauty conquers all ; The wit, the wisdom and the power of kings Are all as naught unto my captured eye. They fade, they melt away ; there still remains That wonder-woman with the angel-face! 58 WHITE BUTTERFLIES. This morn I see where sunlight lies, Among my morning-glories, A host of snow-white butterflies, Like fays in fairy stories. White butterflies, white butterflies, How careless is their motion ! Now dancing free, they fall and rise Like white-caps on the ocean. A shower of apple-blossoms sweet. In fickle April weather, Ne'er seemed to speak of joy complete As these white wings together. Are they the souls of my dead flowers That bloomed within this garden? Of blossoms rare from foreign bowers That knew me not as warden? 59 WHITE BUTTERFLIES. Are these the ghosts of daisies bright, I gathered with my lover? That early love, all pure and white. May angels 'round him hover! Ah! there's the pink that came to life Within the garden olden, Of Shakespeare's gentle sweetheart-wife. So rich with memories golden ! And now the violet comes to mind I plucked with tender feeling, From Shelley's grave, where grief doth find, In that sweet spot, sweet healing. Is this the rose that lay one night Upon the death-cold maiden? Did that adorn the bride in white With love and flowers laden? White butterflies, white butterflies. How careless is their motion! Still dancing free they fall and rise Like white-caps on the ocean; 60 WHITE BUTTERFLIES. Till my dead joys on wings arise. And shame all fairy-stories, And live and bloom in butterflies Among my morning-glories. ^ FROM LOOKOUT HILL. Serene and fair and sweet the valley lies Outspread in peace beneath our loving gaze. There runs the changeless river as of old With many a curve of beauty in its course, As if an artist's master-hand had drawn A line of silver on a green background. Upon the meadow's breast the Indian pink Burns bright and red and shames the Autumn sun. From valleys low to woodland heights afar There stretches out a field of red-brown earth, The while the tender sky bends down in love. And over all a fine pale mist is drawn, That, like a painter's brush, now blends these hues, Till all the sharp contrasts are softened down. The evening breeze steals up to kiss my face And murmurs of the night which follows all. Here let us rest, O thou, my best beloved. Take thou my hand and let it lie in thine. 62 FROM LOOKOUT HILL. See how the smoke curls upward from yon cot Where Love is king and Peace his gentle queen ; Where only shouts of happy little ones Disturb the tranquil evening atmosphere, While distant cow-bells' silvery tinkling faint Suggests the mad brook's happy tremolo. How changed the scene some forty years ago! A band of wild-eyed, haunted men stood here And watched the dwindling road for many a mile, As though expectant, both by night and day. And when they saw the conscript officers, And heard the dreaded hoof-beats on the road. Towards their lair they fled like frightened beasts. And scrambling headlong down the rocky bluff, They braved the stream and straightway swam across To gain the thickets on the other shore. At times a rifle-shot rang out ; and then One hunted man, perchance, no longer feared. Here Indians lived a fierce and cruel life And waged eternal war on other tribes; Or slaughtered men as beasts, and beasts as men. The white man came. Then dying women's screams 63 FROM LOOKOUT HILL, And little children's cries were melody To them and theirs, and blazing homes Made incense sweet unto their God of Hate. A hostile army came from foreign shores And once swept through this valley like a scourge, With Death and Terror stalking in their train. Then came the remnant of a shattered band, Worn out and crushed and bleeding, as they dragged Their heavy feet unto their ruined homes. But wherefore now have these things been, dear heart ? That you and I might sit at eve in peace, (Here where our fathers lived and toiled and died) And look with love upon this tender spot Whose breast has raised our sainted ancestors From olden times until this happy day? Nay, not for this alone ! For I can see Glad men and women in the years to come, With little children running on before. Approach this lovely Hill at eventide, And gaze upon the same enchanting scene. 64 FROM LOOKOUT HILL. So when the darkness deepens and we go Upward and onward, to the starht place, It will be sweet to think that other hearts Will still be glad in this dear home of ours. And let us trust that none will ever be Less happy here than we this golden eve. But, hark ! the bells are silent ; and the night, The bride of Death, is coming; let us go. 6s THE PRINCE AND THE FOOL. A fool there was in the olden time. In the castle of a king, On a rocky steep in a far-off clime Where it was always Spring. There knights were always brave and strong, And all their ladies fair; And men would die for a kiss, or a song, Or a lock of silken hair. The fool was taking a stroll one day. In the garden of the king, When he found by chance beside his way A wonderful pearl in a ring. "So!" said the fool: "Here's a trinket bright!" And he gave the ring a twirl ; "I will wear this shining thing to-night, And make them think it a pearl." L.ofC. 66 THE PRINCE AND THE FOOL. The fool that night was witty and gay, His bells and his head awhirl, And all men laughed at the things he did say, But no one noticed the pearl. So he cast it off and it lay unseen. The fool 1 he did not know. And it lay for years where it once had been. While the crowds passed to and fro. A prince there was in that golden time, And he found the pearl at last! Then his face grew glad with a joy sublime. And all his sadness passed. He knew and prized its wonderful worth, — A prince, ah ! none can deceive — And never more on the great round earth Would he that jewel leave. So he wore it above his royal Heart, In the presence of lord and earl; And the people said as they fell apart: " Tis truly a princely pearl." 67 THE PRINCE AND THE FOOL. Ah! the knights are dead and their ladies true. And their swords are eaten with rust; And the castle and king and courtiers, too. Are crumbled and less than dust. But the prince and the pearl lie side by side Within a minster old, And all that's left of their beauty and pride, Is the simple tale here told. The end of the fool? Ah, who shall say? In sooth, how could we know? For oh ! it happened so far away, And it happened so long ago. 6S X107 > *^^^<^,* > ^^ - « • o , "^ cy r o " o 'v° -^°'^<*'^ '• • /•.* ,-1°^ -ov^ jp-ni

17005830

The play of life, in seven acts ...

Armstrong, Alta Florence

playoflifeinseve00arms_djvu.txt

Class. k.. Gopyiiglitl?, s^ CSPmiGaT DEPosm American Dramatists Series The Play of Life In Seven Acts "All the world is a stage, And all the men and women merely players ; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages." — Shakespeare : "As You Like It." BY ALTA FLORENCE ARMSTRONG BOSTON THE GORHAM PRESS MCMXVII Copyright, 1917, by Alta F. Armstrong All Rights Reserved The Gorham Press, Boston, U.S.A. FEB 17 1917 )G!,D 46159 TO MY MOTHER ^^ Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law. Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw; Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight. A little louder, hut as empty quite; Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, Aftd beads and prayer-books are the toys of age; Pleased with this bauble still, as that before; Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er." — "An Essay on Man" — Pope. PROEM THE WORLD, A STAGE: MAN, THE ACTOR. In the beginning, the Omnipotent gave the won- derful, interesting, beautiful WORLD as a magical stage for the Play of "Life" to be acted. Later, he gave MAN, the Actor in the Play of "Life": Even as you, — even as every Man has been given to act his part. Seven distinct Age Acts there are in the complete Play of "Life." No complete "Life" drama has less. No Play of "Life" has more. All of Life's Ages are in them. It has never mattered, and it will never matter, when Man lived, where he lived, what color, who he was, or what he did: These Seven Ages are acted out in a full drama of "Life" — always, on the same old, broad, wonderful stage of the WORLD, — in the days that were, in our days, — in the days that are to be! And so you act your part, and I act mine: You in your way, I in mine, — even as ancient man acted his part, future man will act his part, — always: "His acts being seven Ages." "One generation passeth aiuay, and another generation Cometh: but the earth abideth forever" — Eccl., i:4. 'All the world's a stage' "All the loorld's a stage, And all the men and 'women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first the infant. Mewing and puking in the nurse's arms. And then the ivhining school-boy, ivith his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard. Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even at the cannon's mouth. And then the justice. In fair round belly with good capon lined. With eyes severe and beard of formal cut. Full of ivise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon. With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice. Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And 'whistles in his sound. Last scene of all. That ends this strange eventful history. Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." 7 am the vine, ye are the branches." —John, 15:5. "ALL THE WORLD'S A STAGE "And all the men and luomen merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts. His acts being seven ages." THE STAR OF LIFE'S PLAY. First Age: "The infant, Meiuing and puking in the nurse's arms." Second Age: "The ivhining school-boy, nvith his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unnvillingly to school." Third Age: "The lover. Sighing like furnace, ivith a ivoeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow." Fourth Age: "A soldier. Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard. Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even at the cannon's mouth." Fifth Age: "The justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined. With eyes severe and beard of formal cut. Full of wise saws and modern instances." Sixth "Age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon. With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound." Last Age of all: "That ends this strange eventful history. Is second childishness and mere oblivion. Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything." 'All the world's a stage' THE PLAY OF LIFE Programme Time: Past, Present, Future. Place: The Stage of the World. Cast: The Nazarene: Star of "Life." Man : The Actor. Manager : The Omnipotent. 'For me kind nature ivakes her genial povier, Suckles each herb, and spreads out every floiver; Annual for me, the grape, the rose, reneiu The juice nectareous and the balmy deiv; For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; For me, health gushes from a thousand springs; Seas roll to ivaft me, suns to light me rise; My footstool earth, my canopy the skies." — Pope: "Essay on Man." "I am the ivay, and the truth, and the life: no man Cometh unto the Father, but by me." — John, 14.: 6. THE PLAY OF LIFE "^All the world's a stage' — Shakespeare: "As You Like It" The World as a Stage invites, fascinates, inspires Man to Life's activities. The World, so wondrous in its mystic grandeur, its beauty, its loveliness, its marvelous ensemble of nature, its myriad forms of life, its extravagant scenic wonder, furnishes innumerably fashioned stage settings for Man's wonderful, individual Play of "Life." The whimsical and fantastic mood of Dame Na- ture, when she moulded, folded, grooved, watered, painted, perfumed, lighted and shadowed this gor- geous region for Man's play-ground, truly appeased all desires of Man. The Omnipotent, in his won- drous generosity, made the Stage — j^ours and mine, an Annex to Heaven ! The arena for "Life's" panorama is from the East to the West; the North to the South, even in the aeronautic realm above and in the deep, dark caverns of the earth, while a few play their part on the pearly, coral bed of the ocean deep. 'Tis a Hippo- drome for untiring, advancing, adventurous Man ; a 13 "All the world's a stage' setting for every actor, whatsoever his individual in- clination may be. To adequately convey the least conception of the sumptuousness of the maze of splendor, Nature, in her lavish mood, poured out of her cornucopia of inexhaustible beauties on this broad stage, "it would require a quill pen from one of the most gorgeous hued birds that ever lived, dipped in a fluid of con- centrated mixture of a thousand selected rainbows," dissolved in millions of variegated smiling blossoms^ delicately tinted by hundreds of exquisitely colored sunsets: All this — and more, to give the slightest pen analysis of the bountiful floriculture array that drapes the globe in royal garment. Taking a panoramic view, we find spreading over the center of the World Stage that unfolds before man, a carpet of velvety emerald, shadowed and color-toned by the everchanging season's thermome- ter. This green expanse, figured in varied vegeta- tion designs, as unexpected and numerous as the grain of veneer wood, sufiice to excite constant ad- miration and anticipation. This tropical carpet of huge dimension, spreading out as plain, rolling hills and rumpled mountains, has promiscuous lake-rugs of crystal clearness that mirror their borders of multi-colored mosses and flowers, as if to send forth to our heavenly neighbors a reflected picture of our Setting Sublime! Spreading sheets of shimmering sand, here and there on the broad World Stage carpet, shine in jewel radiance like the blazing Sa- hara Solitaire that sparkles on the earth's equatorial ring. 14 'All the zvorld's a stage" This highly colored carpet is bordered by the wrinkled, misty ocean of generous spreading ex- panse. Its creeping fringe of waves interweave into the green expanse, making one immense world-rug. By art's supreme touch this rug is fitly finished on either end by a beautiful, broad, snow-white fringe, — and these ice-fringe threads that trail to the extreme limit of the platform, north and south, are made paths by Man! The roof rising high above Man's stage is an immeasurable vault of mystery, forming architec- ture's perfect dome, kaleidoscopic in splendor, — from blustering dark storm clouds to the prismatic display of sunset's daintiest tints. It is an arched roof draped in festoons of velvet clouds; studded by millions of twinkling incandescent lights, that peep at Man through waving banners of mist, — with the Solar luminary swinging across the arch, — a chandelier of radiance. "Hoiv beautiful is earth! my starry thoughts Look down on it from their unearthly sphere, And sing symphonious — Beautiful is earth! The lights and shadows of her myriad hills: The branching greenness of her myriad woods; Her sky-affecting rocks; her zoning sea; Her rushing, gleaming cataracts; her streams That race below, the winged clouds on high; Her pleasantness of vale and meadow!" — Mrs. Browning. With such an array of Glory above Man, of which one glimpse at the sublime envoys of na- ture's beauty should be sufficient to inspire him to 15 'All the world's a stage' aspire to Life's highest activities, it seems impossible to favor him, in his brief visit, vv^ith more, — yet, the bowl of beauty is made to run over, when on fes- tival occasions a brilliant rainbow is ushered out: an arched window into Paradise. And to each Man, the veil back of the "Rainbow Arch" will rise, — the final curtain. i6 'All the world's a stage' "And all the men and ivomen merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages." —Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Man, the Actor. How wonderful is he, to be so bountifully fa- vored with such sublime Stage Settings ! Consider the minute, accurate perfection of the multifarious variety of Stage detail; the unob- structed course of the light beam in its years and years and years of travel, the countless complex mineralogical formations, the aroma of every flower, the flavor of fruit, the music of nature, the mould- ing of the icicle, the freshness of the dew-drop. Let imagination roam back, back ages upon ages, and dwell on the millions and millions of years that gave the "Nebular Hypothesis" to decorate the roof of Man's Stage in a fiery mist of mystery; the cen- turies upon centuries involved in unfolding the Om- nipotent's wonderful laws; the myriad years of de- veloping geology, in preparing the incomprehensible grandeur and perfection vested in the Stage of the World, to serve, only, as a back-ground for Man, — the perfect fruit of God's evolution; the highest conception of God on earth! 17 "All the world's a stage' "Floiver in the crannied ivall, I pluck you out of the crannies; — Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flonver — but if I could understand JVhat you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know ivhat God and Man is." — Tennyson. Look further, and ponder on Man's capability of wondrous thought that leaps out into the immeas- urable, mysterious realms that surround him; the serene communion that is perpetual within him, — a seething of far-reaching ideas, — comprehensive, practical and reverential, mathematically proving his every thought and act! Man, who thrills with the emotions of joy; who is depressed by fear and grief; who radiates love, — all governed by his individual will! We may then justly wonder at the incredible mar- vel of Man, however low his state, for through the veil of mystery that floats around evolution's "Miss- ing Link" may be seen the divine ember that is lit in Man by the eternal fires. "God keeps his holy mysteries Just on the outside of man's dreams; In diapason sloiu, ive think To hear their pinions rise and sink, While they float pure beneath his eyes. Like snvans adown a stream." — Mrs. Broivning : "Human Life's Mystery." Man thus enters on the Stage at his given time, to play his role in "Life," accepting the precarious- ness of his stay to participate in the "Seven Ages." i8 "All the u'orld's a stage" "Through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are ividened ivith the process of the suns." — Tennyson. He realizes, that whether he makes his debut early or late in the lengthy play, that his part is impor- tant; that of all the actors who preceded, or will follow, he is identified in the caste as the only Alan to act the part assigned him by the Omnipotent Manager; that there never was, nor never will be, another Man exactly like him, for he is a link in the chain of the caste of men in "Life" ! "O dear Spirit half-lost In thine oivn shadoiu and this fleshly sign That thou art thou — to//o ivaitest being born And hanish'd into mystery, and the pain Of this di-visible-indi'visible nj.wrld Among the numerable-innumerable Sun, sun, and sun, thro' finite-infinite space In finite -infinite time — our mortal 'veil And shatter'd phantom of that infinite One, Who made thee unconceivably thyself Out of His ivhole World-self and all in all — Lime thou, and of the grain and husk, the grape And ivyberry, choose; and still depart From death to death thro' life and life, and find Nearer and ever nearer Him ivho ivrought Not Matter, nor the finite-infinite But this main miracle, that thou art thou. With poiver on thine own act and on the ivorld." — Tennyson. Intellectual, rational and mortal man, a phe- nomenon of mind and matter, with his inexplicable 19 "All the world's a stage' language, sleep, emotions, dreams, conscience, sex, we cannot analyze: rather, we tell what Man does than what he is. Libraries are full of historical records of the activities of man, playing his part, in his time, since the rising of "Life's" curtain. Each Man, in his turn, appearing in the consecutive Age Scenes, governed by the same rule of develop- ment. Each man a link in the woven mesh of "Life," striving ever to play his assigned role effi- ciently, and thus contribute his part to the climax of the Play of "Life": To Live^ Love and Hope! Man, who has leaped thus far, may then ponder on his realm — back of the "Rainbow Arch" ! "The Ponver that hands the Rainbow in the shy — Pledge of his constant care — Dost paint tlie beauty of the Crimson dye; He hides thy treasures there." 20 THE STAR OF "LIFE" The Nazarene Of all the stars in earth's constellation Or shine in glorious wide arch of heav'n, 'Tis He, who on the lost earth stage Life's realm Entered, the Star Divine at Bethlehem ; The Nazarene, who, in God's brief full time Entered into Life's every Age and clime, Encompassing all roles of Life on earth Giving quintessential grace to Life's worth. For the infant found on Life's lonely stage We have the New Bethlehem Manger Babe; For the boy in his eager search for truth. There is the wisdom revealed in Christ's youth. The Actor in Life's bright garden of love Is o'ershadowed by His Grace from above: Christ in battle for Man's eternal Life Set the world standard for upholding right, And the justice of His power divine Has been Man's Life long task just to define. Shorn by toil, physical strength may decline Still with hope to complete Life's divine plan, Age is cherished. Life is panegyrized Till the rising curtain to Paradise. Not a throb of Man's Life but Christ the King Rules in all Life's problems on earth supreme; 21 'All the world's a stage' Be they inwove in places high or low^ Christ the Star Illuminative may go And plant hope and faith in tired human hearts And lead them up to higher thoughts and lives. All salient aspects of human Man, Whatever be his time, place or race clan. May turn to the Nazarene Star for light. E'en far ignorant Man errs in the night. The perfect, spotless, sinless Star of "Life" Bore in Gethsemane Life's sorrow strife. And entered Death's dark gloom at Calvary To give Man the hope resurrection ray Of infinite truth of Man's salvation. For eternal Life's emancipation. — Alia Florence Armstrong. "When the fullness of the time came, God sent forth His Son, born of woman, born under the laia, That He might redeem them that laere under the laiv, that we might receive the adoption of sons." — Galatians, 4: 4-5. 22 SCENE I FIRST AGE "The infant, Mewing and puking in the nurse's arms." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Programme Time: Past, Present, Future. Cast: "The Infant." Scene: Fairyland on the World Stage. Lighting: Radiance of Dawn. Orchestra: (Heard in the distance.) Choral by Angels. Gentle Zephyrs hum; Birds sing. Stage Supervisor: The Nurse (Mother). Manager: The Omnipotent. Supporting the "Star of Life" The Nazarene 23 SCENE I FIRST AGE "The infant, Mewing and puking in the nurse's arms." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." All is dark. At the peep of morn, just before the veil of night is lifted^ distant melodies float in across the stage, yet heavily shadowed, as if shrouded in a blanket of darkness, — submissive to the entrance of its su- perior — Man. Presently, in unison with a silver throated chorus far away, a shaft of delicate golden light penetrates the dark veil as a beacon of an- nouncement to the waiting stage! Then, while Angels bombard the stage with golden arrows, tipped with dew-drop jewels, the lips of Morn, in bird chanted song, seem happy to send in with the drift- ing zephyrs, to the staid, sleeping old World, a serenade of flute notes^ full of freshness, glory and might, while, in the Eastern wing of the stage, the Angels engage in meditation over the gift that is to be made for a season to the World. So, with the musical message and light that flashes forth in veiled solemnity, we discover our Hero, — a dainty, dimpled, diminutive pearl of purity, 25 'All the world's a stage' ushered by God's Angels on the Stage of the World, which is at once glorified by the presence of Man, the Spark of Divinity. In all the grand old World the nearest to God is this tiny actor; in him "Life," in all its purity and truth is vested. As if to rival Heaven's glory, M/hence the infant came, the World-Stage takes on an atmosphere of exquisite delicacy and envelops the Dreamer in a fairyland of dainty elegance, — a miniature perfec- tion that charms. Yet, while he is haunted by a delicate revelry of fancy-lore's fancifulness, and tiny elves fan him with the beams of dawn, the lit- tle visitor smiles over some secret the Angels must have whispered to him : a secret that has never been told! Have the Angels told him he possesses the estimable quality of winning the glories of "Life" in an humble, resigned way, or have they revealed that his "Spark of Divinity" will ignite the world in a fire that will blaze on the history pages of the drama of "Life"? Does he smile serenely over the knowledge that he is to be a "King Cheops," and play his part building Pyramids to awe Man; or possibly the "Emperor Ming," and contribute to "Life's" drama by founding a Dynasty? Yet, it may be he is anticipating the role of an "Alexander the Great," a "Shakespeare," a "Gladstone," a "Washington," — aye, the infant dreamer may be any of these, and more, playing his part in the "First Age," — for they all flash the Secret Smile! "Nobody ^weighed the baby's smile, Or the love that came with the helpless one. . . ." 26 'All the world's a stage ''No index tells the mighty ivorth Of little baby's quiet breath, A soft, unceasing metronome. Patient and faithful unto death. Nobody WDeighed the baby's soul. For here on earth no nveight may be That could avail; God only knoijos Its value in eternity." — Mrs. E. L. Beers. Is he encouraged by this intuition to take a peep at his stage? He does so, and alas, the little actor suffers from an acute case of "stage fright." With most plaintive notes he plays on the emotions of Man. The tiny physical bundle that wraps his Spark of Divinity seems conscious of its utter helplessness, and touches at once the heart of the strong by his tender appeal, made in the most sor- rowful notes on the harp of pathos. The cry of a babe, in its weakness, its sincerity, its lonesomeness, — not yet attune to the vibrant waves of "Life," touches the heart strings of the earth's most hard- ened and calloused Man, — striking the lost chord therein, making it vibrate anew in sympathy for the helplessness of the infant that is launched on the stage of "Life" : The infant, who, without the care and love of Man, would perish. So, en- throned : "Mewing and puking in the nurse's arms," — Shakespeare. he is saturated with the incense of love, the suprem- est gift that floated in from Heaven, — the saving 27 'All the world's a stage' grace of Man. By this stimulating gift, the least, the strangest, is soon encouraged to trust. By the "nurse's" generous outpouring of this strengthening tonic of "Life," — Love, spectrumatized in kindness, patience and generosity — the little actor is encour- aged, and gradually emerges from the land of dreams to demonstrate, feebly, his desire to be iden- tified with Man, following precisely the pattern of development his predecessors used, prompted by the spontaneity of being. The infant, the dearest and newest of all "Life's" caste^ is yet too much aloof from Man's tenacious exertion, spent in playing his advanced roles in "Life," to be at once recognized as an active partici- pant in the tense drama that is going on. He is the delicate bud of folded petals of Mind, Heart and Will; the bud of Man, that must be bathed in the sunshine of Love, that petal by petal he may unfold and develop into World's crowning flower! Gradually, he is coached in the elementary cues of "Life," his "First Age" developing into a series of feature acts. Having been convinced by Nature's intuition that he IS; experimentally, he timidly tests, one by one, his presentative powers. How he blinks and squints with those first peeps, as if coquetting with sight. The little curtains rise and fall that he may re- treat, intermittently, into the "Land of Dreams," until he becomes accustomed to his surroundings. Yet, while he is privileged recesses from the sensa- tion of sight, secretly, unconsciously, he records on the clean slate of his mind the waves of sound 28 'All the world's a stage' that beat on his miniature organ, varying up and down the scale, from the pelting, unharmonious waves of an earth's tempestuous storm, to a mother's soothing song. The current of contact develops wonderful confidence in the new actor : the magnetic current of touch seems the satisfying link to hu- manity. How delicately, yet with all his strength, he cleaves to anything that passes his way. A weak grasp on the world, but who can tell how strong that "grasp on the world" may ultimately become! The flavors of life that tickle his senses of taste and smell are introduced so gradually, and with possibly less force, that he is less demonstrative in their recognition. We, however, enjoy his evi- dent relish of his "Milk of Life," and observe his keen detection of substances of foreign flavor. From constant exercise of his discovered senses, we notice his representative power feebly develop. He recognizes a touch : the fondling of his Nurse at once contents him; her voice is soon discriminated from other sounds that float in on his tiny drum. He associates the touch and the voice, then he wit- nesses its source by seeing. Gradually, these powers are registered in faintest imprint in the index of his intellect; at first, not for what they are, but as es- sential elements for "Life's" intellectual cues. Spontaneously, as physical strength is poured into his little body, he toys with these interesting at- tributes of "Life," exercising them madly in one round of confusion. Every color entrances him, every movement invites him to ecstasy, every sound attracts, and in response his movements are jumbled. 29 "All the tvorld's a stage" He wiggles and kicks in all directions. These re- flective flashes of observation prove the appendant of knowledge in Man. This intellectual petal of the bud of Man is the first that attracts us by unfolding; then. curls back, slightly, the petal of the Heart, the sensibilities. Buoyed by the intoxicating spirit of existence, he begins to vibrate with emotions, and bubbles forth from the delicate temple that encases him joyously cooing, gurgling in laughter and exploding in tears. These waves of emotion that play over him find expression in unregulated bouncing and flouncing. Then the development of physical control is quite noticeable. He discovers his extravagance in movements, and uses reserve, confining his move- ments to those that prove sufficient for the occa- sion. Attracted by an alluring object, we see him reach for it with definite aim; so, by repetition of this satisfying experience, his fluttering movements are subjected to a precise orderly coordination. We see him venture totteringly, fearlessly forth on the path of "Life," giving his exhaustless inter- est, absorbingly to the matter-of-fact settings that border his entrance. Vivid, penetrating impressions are made on his delicate mind by his first contacts with the World's wonderful offerings for instru- ments in working out "Life's" plot. How he ac- cepts unhesitatingly as his (as the Omnipotent in- tended Man always to do), the beautiful flower by the way, the shining pebble in the path, or the equally wonderful inorganic substance of a clod of dirt ; — all, to the trustful, fearless child being equal- 30 'All the world's a stage' \y attractive, until he has them famih'arized and defi- nitely catalogued. His initial contacts with impor- tant essential objects — the home, the horse, the dog, the machine — stand out impressively by their mar- velous significance, only to be, by repetition, indeli- ble facts that link the actor to the Stage of the World. Thus, he darts restlessly here and there in eager pursuance of the bewildering stage furnish- ings, — learning their names and uses in supporting and promoting his activities. How the playthings of "Life" attract him! A stick, a ball, a pool of water, bewitch him, while a wiggling fish, a flying bird, a grazing horse, charm him. We witness him in ecstasy over the quiver- ing movements of a singing bird that pours forth floods of delirious music; pensive as he visits the pelting waves that roll in on the sunny, sandy sea- shore, innocently dissolving all mystery. The moon and the stars furnish an animation of study. The blink of his trustful, appreciative, observing eye seems the only true understanding of the magnani- mous! He proves himself a scientist in the truest sense by the startling rapidity of his comprehen- sion and definite indexing of the World's innumera- ble settings. So^ the untiring, undoubting investi- gator, prompted ever by his instinct for adventure, pushes persistently on into "Life's" buzzing, hum- ming, widening field. The infant, who thus expands in the simple lux- ury of being in the first hours of "Life's" morning, is not exaggeratedly prolonged, for from exercise of the higher faculties the young actor consciously 31 'All the world's a stage formulates his knowledge and soon develops a com- prehensive understanding that "Life is real, Life is earnest," which sinks deep in his fancy free, un- tarnished soul, where inconceivable secretive emo- tions soliloquize and confidences seethe, making him a child. This fresh^ unencumbered, non-resisting child proves the most fertile soil for mental growth in the garden of "Life." The harvest from his un- cultivated mind, with but an oasis of wisdom, is, with a little irrigation, bountiful in the fruits of simple abstractions, clear reasoning about concrete things, mastered and comprehensive languages, math- ematical estimates, the understanding of social laws and the ethics of his day. The ease with which he masters and comprehends "Life's" cues, during the successive child years; his display of perfect logic and mature faculties astound the adult observer. His precocity for "Life's" essential knowledge about his Stage of the World, in certain ways, is equal to that of any later Age, for during the few brief j^ears of his childhood his physical and mental foun- dations are substantially constructed of the com- mon, matter-of-fact stones, all cemented in perfect symmetry, with the mortar of experience, with all the skill of an accomplished mason of knowledge. On this foundation he constructs the complete frame- work for "Life's" building, which he sheaths and decorates during his following Ages, as the "Man" architect indulges his will. 33 SCENE II SECOND AGE "The 'whining school-boy, nvith his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Univillingly to school." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Programme Time: Past, Present, Future. Cast: "The whining school-boy." Scene: The World in miniature. Lighting: First clear rays of Morning. Orchestra: Selections from "Nature." Stage Supervisors: Coaches. Manager: The Omnipotent. Supporting the "Star of Life" The Nazarene 33 SCENE II SECOND AGE "The 'whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." A gentle, sympathetic harmony peacefully throbs from Nature's varying symphony; a piping solo of a bird's cheery morning greeting; a sonata from the tuneful breezes and vibrating leaves; an or- chestration of sorrovv^ful lamentations of Nature's wailing vi^inds and melancholy vv^aves, gathering, svi^elling and soaring to the frenzied anguish of a tempestuous hurricane! Then, sinking, gradually, to the gentle rhythmical patter of a crystal rain shower, — penetrated by a far-off gleam of morning's crimson banners, to light the wavering path of: "The whining school-boy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school." — Shakespeare. Thus, we are greeted by the Actor that graces the "Second Age," — the veriest mystery that appears under the curved theatrical dome, he, the heir to "Life"! 35 "All the world's a stage' With his worldly estate and cues to his activities fairly well charted, we see him, in a perfectly sure and familiar manner, venture leisurely forth to sur- vey the "How and the Why" of the allotment "Life" holds for him: "Why tivo and ttvo make four? Why round is not square? Why the rock stands still, and the light clouds fly? Why the hea^vy oak groans, and the ixhite ivillotvs sigh? Why deep is not high, and high is not deep?" — Tennyson. — to be, during this excursion of inspection, a bless- ing, a trouble, a rest, a burden, a torment, — and yet the bubbling joy of "Life's" Play that is in fuH swing. Life's song would lose its charm without the mischief, wit and glee of the carefree, indolent, ever idle, always busy boy. He seems far more interested in the Stage proper- ties than the theme of "Life," and in this indif- ferent, self-confident, unpretentious state, we have an actor truly natural. Artificial activity is for- eign to him. He acts independently, catering not to applause of Coach, Audience or Manager, but will- ingly loses himself among the by-ways of Nature, as her reverent student. The glow of curiosity seems continued from his "First Age" to anchor him securely in his "Second Scene." He instinctively feels himself kin to all life, organic and inorganic, and hungeringly grasps all unvarnished truths, — those that are not enameled by the sham of "Life." Thus, he recedes to the 36 'All the world's a stage' shadow and shelter of Nature to be an integral part, intensely interested in all that is "awfully vast and elegantly little"; learning the habits and ways of the plants in the World's garden, that saturate the atmosphere with their sweet, penetrating perfumes, their ever-varjdng dress; studying the system of the waters, their rise and fall, their ebb and flow in the nervous throb of "Life"; makes acquaintances and comrades with the animals of the woods; examines the mineralogical and horticultural formations of the earth ; meditates over the fleeting meteors of the sky, — so closely associating himself with these inani- mate substances that he steals Nature's heart and penetrates the mysteries over which his scientific eld- ers deliberate. So harmoniously is he blended with Nature that he grows freely with the young plants, busying himself with a hundred nothings ; beginning many things, finishing none ; forgetting on the mor- row the plans of the previous day; a term of idle- ness, a term of revery, — the primitive state of a savage, without his labors, without his anxiety, — lost, repeatedly, in soliloquy over Nature's workings, possibly the going and coming of an insect, the ca- prices of a beetle; indolent, yet busy, without object, but leading, nevertheless, indirectly, to a thought, and, "The thoughts of Youth are long, long thoughts." — Longfelloiu. In the Springtime of "Life," the seed planting season, seeds of Truth are imbedded in the broad, 37 'All the world's a stage' fertile, untilled field of the boy's mind by direct and indirect sowing. Multitudinous seeds, like those of the earthy each having a peculiarity of form and purpose, which, after being imbedded in the mind and nourished with time, blossom forth in "Life's" harvest time in myriad forms. Like the vegetable species, seeds planted in differ- ent soils and climates propagate in proportion to the quality of the soil and zone, some developing into perfection, others shriveling to death ; seeds sim- ilar in appearance, yet the off-springs are so differ- ent, — from the fairest flowers to great sturdy oaks. So it is in planting the seeds of Truth in the boy's mind; some may take deep root and grow, others struggle along, possibly die. Some Truth may cause him to blossom into a beautiful poet, rising to gen- eral and transcendental truths, while other truths may make him a strong, sturdy pine in the forest of Men, swaying not with the winds of sin. The boy, with his wild strange ways, his queer remarks and odd replies, sometimes foolish, often wise, is now invited to the directed planting of the tiny seeds, which contain within them the root of "Life." The Stage Supervisors of this Age are now linked with his activities, as he is coached in "Life's" truths that have aided his predecessors. His field of mind is plowed, harrowed, and in definite direct lines, the seeds are planted, nurtured and cultivated by whatever instruments and tools peculiar to his time and place, so that at the harvest season there will be no barren places, no weeds, but straight ac- cessible rows of ripened fruit, easily harvested. 38 "All the world's a stage' Eagerly he accepts from "Life's" older partici- pants the threads of knowledge that serve in the toils, problems and needs of "Life," that are un- raveled for him by diverse ways, tutored according to the peculiar custom of his day, whether in an edi- fice of knowledge that offers an assimilated, classi- fied routine of development, where he is coached by blackboard, globe^ map or book; or he enjoys this blissful scene by letting experience suffice as Coach. Nevertheless, in either event, aided or un- aided, this term of learning about things, this ab- sorbing state of being, throws a glow around the lad, — an aureole that emphatically distinguishes this period from others so closely associated, yet so for- eign. He soon feels burdened with his conception of things as they are, and in the conceit of his percep- tion of the practical assets of "Life" (for he feels that he knows all worth knowing), with yet no hint as to his later wonderful participation in the Bat- tle of "Life," his thirst of curiosity seems tempora- rily quenched, which causes the glow it supported to vanish. So, self-confident in his beautiful ignorance, he indulges in an adolescent recess in the Springtime of "Life," without glow, care or doubt, — deliber- ately "w a i t i n g," a dormant volcanic Man ! The lad, small and unpretentious, neither receding nor proceeding, is s t i 1 1, like the surface of a quiet lake, high on a pinnacle of a mountain, sheltered from the winds by a giant granite wing: a lake so small an elk might leap across; so still, its mirrored sur- face, by transparency deception, invites exploration 39 'All the world's a stage' of its smooth, sandy, apparently shallow bed, yet to one probing the depth of such an unpretentious, tiny, quiet pool, unfathomable depths are revealed which plumbing line cannot reach! So it is with the boy, enjoying the placid years of adojescence, without revealing a ripple of the wave of enthusi- asm, apparently spiritually asleep, shallow, crude, earthy, — yet, the depth of a boy's soul cannot be fathomed! The latent powers, physically, intellec- tually and spiritually, that might be unearthed from the unattractive, coarse, ruggedness beneath the .quiet surface of the boy, by the pressure of time and friction of battle, may be wrought the finest gems of the world. There may be in the calm, secluded lake of the boy's soul, buried treasures that he will dig out, refine and polish and offer them as a gift to the world; possibly in the form of a voice that will thrill the Stage of "Life" with ecstasy, ju- dicial power that will enable him to wield the scep- ter over man, — some richness that will glisten in its pureness and hold the record for art's perfection. , Thus, the boy's stream of "Life" flows gently on from this quiet lake, flowing over the rock-ribbed mountain-side, eroding and adjusting its path to the least resistance and in the sweeping progress of the flow, particle by particle, all in the same direction, growing in size and strength, his "Life" develops into a peaceful, well-directed stream of pronounced current to press on the lock of youth, which, when unlocked, results in a torrent of force in the cur- rent of the stream of "Life." 40 SCENE III THIRD AGE "The lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Programme Time: Past, Present, Future. Cast: "The Lover." Scene: Valley of Dreamland. Lighting: Splashed in Shimmering Sunshine. Orchestra : Song on the chords of the Heart. Stage Supervisor: Love's Mistress. Manager: The Omnipotent. Supporting the "Star of Life" The Nazarene 41 SCENE III THIRD AGE "The lover, Sighing like furnace, ivith a nvoeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebroiv." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." "All the world loves a lover/' so v^^ith what eager- ness we anticipate the entrance of the actor who is to play this fascinating role. The curtain scarcely lowers on the boy enjoying his recess of "Life," un- til it rises again, and, as the caterpillar is trans- formed into a brilliant-hued butterfly, so the dull, quiescent actor of the closing act of the "Second Scene" appears before us clothed in the beautiful airy wings of Youth, the "Lover" of "Life," "With a dream 'neath his ivaking eyelids hidden And a frequent sigh unbidden." — Mrs. Broivning. The song of his awakened heart is the tuning fork by which the melody of "Life" is keyed. "Quick with youth's strong, sweet story, — thirst- ing now to play the Man" — his thrilling interpre- tation of the song of his Heart instantaneously por- trays the perfection of his being. As the petals of 43 "All the world's a stage' the flower open out to drink in the rich rays of the sun's radiance and pour out in return its rare fra- grance and adorn by its perfection, so Youths the brightest flower of the world, basking in the sun- shine of "Life," unfolds before us in this act his beautiful petals of Mind, Heart and Will to full- blown blossom. In sympathetic response we follow him, as he ad- vances, buoyantly, on the stage, which is for a sec- ond time, a "Fairyland on the World Stage," — a Valley of Dreamland, dotted by fountains of Hope, studded by springs of Purity, threaded by streams pressed with currents of Energy, strengthened by glaciers of Courage, — a Valley where the realities of "Life's" difficult tasks roll ofif into indistinct mountains, hazy on the distant horizon, framing the dazzling picture of Youth's Dreamland! To Youth, possessing the temperament in the June of Life, the stage is perennially gay ; he bubbles over with the enlivening spirit of happiness, Youth's chief ornament ; "Happy, not in ivhat it has, but in nvhat it is: Not in possessing much, but itt hoping and loving much," Indifferent things are pleasant to him, sad things are soon driven out of his mind, care and misfortune rest easily upon him, — he lives in the future, build- ing for the climax of "Life," and this hope, this an- ticipation, paint everything for him in their gorgeous colors, hiding the displeasing things of "Life." The actor of Scene III, having drunk from the cup of "Life" during the placid ages, is now in- 44 'All the world's a stage' toxicated with it, and we see surging upon him the inevitable tide of Youth's bubbling activities to follow the pattern of tradition. Like the waves of the ocean's indefatigable tides, pressing and break- ing in shattered sprays, filling full every channel and arm of the sea, so the spirit of Youth comes gleaming and roaring irresistibly on the shore of time, grad- ually advancing, filling and overflowing all our actor's channels of "Life" with Love, Faith and Hope. From the splashing onrush of the tide of Youth, we see the frothy foam thereof wafted helter-skelter, but the essential strength is anchored in the stirring of the deep waters of Life, the turbulent power of enthusiasm, the backbone of effort, making " 'Youth' another way to spell 'Life.' " During this age of "Life," man makes of himself a storage battery of enthusiasm, love, courage, faith, religion, — the vir- tues of "Life," that support him for the remainder of his time; his future activity depending virtually on the strength of his battery of Youthj for Youth is concentrated life. This stimulating tide of enthusiasm that rises in Youth brings to the surface many different elements, traits and emotions that lend at once a flourish to his acting, riveting our attention. We are held spellbound by his extravagant expenditure of life's vitalities. The unruly whirlpools of rationalism, melancholy and gay moods, inchoation, impulsive- ness, venturesomeness and radicalism, each in them- selves danger signals and sink holes, awe us with fear for our actor's safety until they are sucked in 45 "All the world's a stage' by the strong current of "Life" that is pushed on by the force of knowledge of "Life," love of "Life" and will to live, which harmoniously blend the actor's widely varying tendencies info a directed power on its endless course, daringly competitive in its inexhaustible strength. The actor of this age of untranslatable yearnings, of confused vehement emotions, of all sorts of spir- itual awakenings, with his wealth of energy spilling in whatsoever action his temperament prompts in- dulgence, nibbles hungrily the fruit of the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil. Eagerly, he seeks to experience the whispers of his phantasm and pur- sues the fancy of his hope. His optimistic view of the present and glorious hopefulness for the future blossoms into the flower of love, the pure, ethereal love of life, its living; — the love of ideals, love of cause, love of art, religion, love of his fellow actors in the cast of "Life," and it is this magnanimous love that proves the leaven of "Life" that ferments and makes this Age rise to the highest! This illuminative truth is strikingly exemplified in the actor's sincere, fervent, unselfish love for the "Queen of his Age." It exalts him into sanctity and in celestial mystery he bows submissively. "One pair of eyes are worshiped, one voice is all there is of music." "The lover, Sighing like furnace, ivith a ivoeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyehronu. —Shakespeare: "As You Like It." 46 'All the ivorld's a stage' We see an age robed in the warmth of love, cover- ing all blemishes, transforming them into beauty, leveling all inequalities. This wonderful warmth of love — would that it would never cool! With the full unfolding of the petal of the Heart, the ". . . . Loving thoughts that start Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart." The winds seem to blow balmier, the skies seem to wear a softer blue, the sunsets seem more gor- geous, the moonlight seems purer, the birds seem gayer, the flowers brighter, the brook's song sweeter as it dances along over its pebbly bed. This hallow- ing melts all "Life's" realities in sympathy with the joyous, rosy-hued realization of "Life" and its wondrous value. By this Love, which is the moral law of man, the actor's every gesture, every phase of "Life's" philosophy of expression, is tempered. As at a loom, on the chains of knowledge and ignorance, the youthful actor, rich in his inheritance of "Life's" wonderful threads, experimentally starts weaving them, using some threads extravagantly, others sparingly, with no apparent definiteness of outline or uniformity of texture. With the fine silken threads of joy, hope, love, he weaves homespun yarns of grief, fear and hatred, ravelings of tempta- tion and sin, twisted with golden strands of religion. Gradually, as the threads unwind from the shuttle of selected occupation, a pronounced pattern de- 47 'All the world's a stage' velops, being governed primarily by the woof of circumstance, drawn by the tension of his will. The "Life" Scene of Youth, which the child dreams of, is the cherished "Age" of "Life." Youth, the radiant Age of man, that "psychologists have scrutinized, philosophers have discoursed upon, cynics have sneered at," pessimists have fought against, artists have painted, poets have exalted in rhyme, musicians have sung about, has never been completely caught, except as we catch a glimpse of the intangible and fleeting scene as played by Man on the broad stage of "Life." This evasiveness furnishes the real charm of "Life's" supreme scene, acted in the quintessence of living beauty. "The tissues of the life to be He iveaves ivith colors all his oivn, And in the fields of destiny He reaps as he has sonun," 48 SCENE IV FOURTH AGE "A Soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard. Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even at the cannon's mouth." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Programme Time: Past, Present, Future. Cast: "The Soldier." Scene: Battlefield of "Life." Lighting: High Noon. Orchestra: March of Time. Stage Supervisors: The World of Actors. Manager: The Omnipotent. Supporting the "Star of Life" The Nazarene 49 SCENE IV FOURTH ACT "A Soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. Seeking the bubble reputation Even at the cannon's mouth." —Shakespeare: "As You Like It" Simultaneously, with the penetrating bugle call of life's need, that floats out over Youth's valley of tranquillity, we see the actor in the distance respond, and advance toward "Life's" Scene of Battle that lies so near. He rapidly approaches, leaving Youth's radiant "Dreamland" in the background, gradually dimming and fading into a luminous vapory halo circling the youthful actor. He turns and gazes back over Youth's playground for one fond caress of the sunshine he basked in, the rich fruits he feasted on and stored away, — sweeping the invitingly smooth lay with one lingering glance of love, which proves only to emphasize the raw, rugged, glaring, gigantic mountains of life's precariousness that jut up appall- ingly before him — "Life's" Battlefield, so closely hugging his beautiful valley! Thus, on the brink of his Fourth Age, he pauses to survey the rough, jagged, treacherous, rocky 51 'All the world's a stage' mountains of tribulation, disappointment, evil, dis- ease, catastrophes; the sharp blades and snags of "Life's" accidents, to scar, wound, deter and destroy Man walking "Life's" path. As poison is poison, possibly in differently-shaped vials, under different labels, so "Life's" adversities in all the shifting scenes of time, past and present, are the same, clothed differently. Decision is thrust upon him. Either he is to oppose or relax, tragically waste his strength or end the battle in joyful exuberant victory. The tenseness of the hour of decision, how it thrillingly electrifies ! Over and above the stair-step mountains of Ad- versity he sees the soaring, invincible, immortal peak of infinite Truth that always prevails, whatsoever his point of view, directing, inviting Man to put on the armor for adversity and make the peerless climb. After taking in the "setting" of the Battlefield of "Life," we see him experiencing the soliloquy of "Life" : "To be or not to be, that is the question." Thunderingly, dawns upon him the realization of his individual responsibility to his Manager, the Omnip- otent, and how he has heretofore been privileged the easy, delightful, beautiful roles of "Life," and that the perfection, exaltation and perpetuation of the "Play of Life" depend solely on the heroism of its actors in the Age of strife, service and tragedy, — the Age he now finds himself in. This over- whelming conviction induces all that is within him — the virtues that have been growing during his pre- vious Ages — to blossom forth in unison to a con- 52 'All the world's a stage' sciousness of his enormous endowment to be a crea- ture of Eternity rather than of Time, — no longer a parasite, but privileged an opportunity to engage in the performance of "Life's" difficult tasks, in his given time, "Now," the narrow isthmus between two eternities, the past and future. "Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard — " — Shakespeare. His quest of Truth determined, he enlists on the muster roll for War against the enemies of "Life" that tend to warp Man ; to battle with Nature, men and with himself; a War from which there is no discharge, selecting his armor with care from the resources of his accumulated virtues: "Girdle of Truth, Brestplate of Righteousness, Shield of Faith, Sivord of the Spirit, Helmet of Salvation, Feet shod nvith Readiness, — " — Ephesians, 6: 13-17. and with the ammunition of Youth, ignited by the spark "Dare," the conflict of conquest is on! His high appreciation of his newly assumed role in "Life" weaves itself into a well-defined virtue of Duty, that links the actor to his Omnipotent Man- ager, stimulating his effort to play his part in fullest veneration. In assuming, the role of the Soldier in "Life," he enlists to give his life; to give back that which "Life" has given him; physical aid to the weak, cheer to the weary, knowledge to the dull, courage to the 53 'All the world's a stage fearfng, hope to the faithless, — gives of his heart to Man and Manager, in sincere appreciation of "Life's" participation, by striving passionately to perfect and exalt his role, — pouring out his contri- bution to sustain, produce, perpetuate and perfect the plot of "Life." Whatsoever may be his rank in the army of men, whether "Private," "Lieuten- ant" or "General," he enters equally into the spirit of the cause, selecting from Life's armory any one of the commonly used weapons, and. by exercising confidence in his skill, may push to the front rank, a Man of Men. He mav select a pen, like Milton, and with a drop of ink make millions think; a chisel, like Michael Angelo, and transform rugged rooks into lines of symmetrical beauty and expres- sion ; a brush, as Apelles, and with art's supreme touch deceive the beasts of the fields with a splash of paint. He may, through the strength of his enthusiastic determination kept constantly burning in a hard gem-like flame, register himself on "Life's" stage a genius, — a King of Achievement, taking his part in the battle as a "Caesar," to rule; a "Demos- thenes," an "Antony," oratorical canons, whose powerful utterances, good and bad, echo over the stage of man, age after age; a "Copernicus," who blazed the path leading to astronomy ; a "Descartes," the father of philosophy; a "Confucius"; an "Isaac Newton." Aye, he may be any one of "Life's" Gen- erals in the varied spheres of man's activity, in any of the different countries, under their peculiar cir- cumstances and conditions; be he a prodigy in the realm of science, philosophy, anatomy, geology, the- 54 'All the world's a stage' ology, poetry, music or literature, since all of these capabilities are in him, more or less, his participa- tion depending on his volition as to which one or more he may select to contribute his power in mak- ing his fight, in his battle, in his way, following the banner of Truth, as he sees it. Yet, "The world knows nothing of its greatest men," — for, no less, in promoting the Manager's plan of "Life" are the faithful fathers of these wonderful men that lead in "Life's" battle; the "torch-bearers," those men that pitch the tents for shelter, shovel the fort embankment for protection, build the bridges for "Life's" army to pass over; those great men of no renown, who, lost in the vast number of men, as a pearl in a strand of perfect beads, one so like another, loses its identity in the circle strand, yet of itself holds a priceless premium for its intricate perfection. "They have no place in storied page; No rest in marble shrine. They are past and gone ivith a perished age; That died and 'made no sign.' But ivork that shall find its ivages yet, And deeds that their Manager luill not forget. Done for their love divine — "Oh seek them not nuhere sleep the dead. Ye shall not find their trace. No graven stone is at their head; No green grass hides their face. But sad and unsceen is their silent grave — It may be the sand or the deep sea wave, Or a lonely desert place — 55 "All the world's a stage' "They healed sick hearts till theirs ivere broken, And dried sad tears till theirs lost sight; We shall know at last by a certain token ■ Hoiv they fought and fell in the fight. Salt tears of sorroijo unbeheld, Passionate cries unchronicled, And silent strifes for the right — Angels shall count them and the earth shall sigh That she left her best Actors to battle and die." — Sir Edwin Arnold. The heart of every man, first and last, is haunted by an ideal, an aspiration to achieve that bends all that is within him to a purpose, galvanizing him. It is the clustering of his daily deeds to a clearly defined focus that enables him to play his part to completion. "Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even at the cannon's mouth." —Shakespeare: "As You Like It." The flash of vanity in him has to be satisfied. He wishes to distinguish himself in performing "Life's" tasks, whatsoever vocation he elects to follow, whether weaving a basket, digging a canal, building a house, writing a song, — according to his Idea, will and time of acting. To the fulfillment of the possibilities of his manhood in the Army of "Life," he fights on, continually plodding, moment by mo- ment, day after day, all through the Age. He per- sistently strains to the point of fatigue the forces within him, at the sacrifice of body and brain, — ^yet husbanding health, driving steadily toward his 56 'All the world's a stage "Mountain-Top" of Truth, ultimately, by fortitude and persistence, to achieve! In this Age of distinction, it is difficult to discern any single man actor; he may be any one of many, since no two actors play their parts alike, therefore observance of any one participant would not coin- cide with the activities of another. Each man so different, j'^et all so much alike, each fighting so dif- ferently, yet all so much alike, portraying vivid con- trast by their varied manifestations, for man's will predominates, shaping his destiny. He enacts his aspirations, his emotions, his dreams, according to his vision, acting: ". . . In the living Present, Heart ivithin, and God o'erhead!" — Longfelloiv. So, our Actor distinguishes himself in this Age, in a way peculiar to himself, yet his "distinction" in the fight may be good or bad, with or without Glory. He who links Glory with his distinction, whatsoever his rank in the army of "Life," is he who is evej mindful of performing his part in act and spirit to approach as nearly as possible to the Perfect Actor of "Life" ; as the Star of Life's Stage would perform the same role, according to the actor's knowledge thereof. This battle for "distinc- tion," which, if not all of "Life's" plot, is an all- important part of the drama. The actor's gain of "distinction," be it wisdom, wealth, culture, skill, fame or power, his laurel of Glory and heroism in the fight is measured by the one given standard: 57 'All the world's a stage' his knowledge of "The Star of Life." As the potter may from clay make mud or trans- form it into the finest china of moulded vases of rare beauty, so man, the potter of his role in "Life's" Fourth Scene, enjoys free volition to make "mud" of his role, or refine, mould and burn it in the heated strategy of battle into rare crystal beauty. As the mysterious, tremendously valuable radium substance is contained in the very mire, so should the potter of this scene will to make "mud" of his role, by violating social, moral and natural law^s, and in his low state of being, deliberately spatter "Life's" stage with his mud of injustice, greed, lust, perfidy, dishonesty, selfishness, hatred or inhumanity, we must not forget that smothered deep in his slimi- ness smoulders the radium "Spark of Divinity" to blaze up with the first inviting current that tends to draw it from the bog. "No life is ivasied in the great nuorker's hand; The gem too poor to polish in itself We grind to brighten others." — Philip James Bailey. "China" or "Mud," beautiful or scarred, each re- sult will be according to the determined purpose of the potter of the role. Good or bad, each act of man will be as the intent of the deed, either to adorn "Life's" stage with an ornament of beauty and use- fulness or smear and smudge with mud. "As much eternal springs the cloudless skies, As man forever temperate, calm and wise." 58 'All the world's a stage Yet, in "Life's" play, an accident may happen. The potter may with earnest effort and great skill mould and refine a rare and fine china ornament that, by some accident, through ignorance, becomes cracked, shattered and spoiled. So our actor's pur- pose, be it ever so well defined, may be broken and thrown into chaos by "Life's" accidents. The good, innocent, honest and courageous may, by ig- norance, misdirection or betrayal be thrown into the lurid turmoil and become derelicts in the sea of "Life." It is in the derelict actor that we see the sting of existence portrayed; the ignorant in his pitiful state; the scoundrel in his infamy; the pious in his jealousy; the hypocrite in his pretence; the fool in his grotesque interpretation of "Life's" plot; — "Life's" shivering, disinherited, villainous out-cast that ac- tively weaves his hindering acts in and out, menacing "Life's" plot. Yet, this malicious character, who clings tenaciously to his villainous role, in the "Play of Death," is no less interesting than he who battles earnestly with the army to support "Life's" plot. In fact, the derelict's participation excites constant attention. We are alert, watching for his treachery; awed by his complete badness ; pitying his ignorance ; sympathizing with his foolishness; keyed to a high strain of suspicion of every act of the dynamite destroyer that plants himself on "Life's" battlefield to explode and destroy man's highest purposes. Thus, we may see our Soldier actor in the Fourth Scene of his time, according to his individual mindj heart and will, acting his part in the Battle of 59 'All the world's a stage' "Life," using whatsoever weapon that meets the emergency of his time and place, stimulated ever by the same spirit that lives in every soldier's heart, weak or strong, as the case may be. Be he: "John, Peter, Robert or Paul, God in his ivisdom created them all; John a statesman, Peter a slave, Robert a preacher and Paul — a knave. Evil or good, as the case might be, White or colored, bond or free — John, Peter, Robert, and Paul, God in his ^wisdom created them all. "Out of earth's elements, mingled ivith flame, Out of life's compounds of glory and shame, Fashioned and shaped by no ivill of their oiun, And helplessly into life's history thronun; Born by the laiv that compels man to be, John, Peter, Robert, and Paul, Born to conditions they could not foresee, God in his wisdom created them all. John the head and heart of his state. Trusted and honored, noble and great; While Peter 'neath life's burdens did groan, Robert, great glory and honor received, While Paul, of the pleasures of sin took his fill. The purpose of Life ivas fulfilled in them all." — Anonymous. The harsh clamor of the firing-line strife gives the soldier a secretive zest for living. The tossing about in the tempest battle, the problems solved, difficulties unraveled, perplexities endured and ene- 60 'All the world's a stage' mies conquered, toughens him. The grinding of "Life's" spears against his shield of welded virtues, the frictional rubbing of his onward battering pres- sure toward his purpose elect, polishes the precious gem of his manhood, making him a radiant jewel, to reflect the shining light of the Perfect Soldier, — the Hero of the Battle of "Life," — The Nazarene. 6i SCENE V FIFTH AGE "The Justice, In fair round belly ivitk good capon lined, fVith eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of ivise saivs and modern instances." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Programme Time: Past, Present^ Future. Cast: "The Justice." Scene: Mountain-top of "Life." Lighting : Afternoon. Orchestra : "Victory." Stage Supervisor: Himself. Manager: The Omnipotent. Supporting the "Star of Life" The Nazarene 63 SCENE V FIFTH AGE "The Justice, In fair round belly laith good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saivs and modern instances." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Viewing the masterful rocks and desolate cliffs that build themselves, stanch and secure one above another, into gigantic mountains, to soar aloof in majestic strength, we see the scene, which in the blazing sunlight of "Life's" Battlefield appeared gruesome, now wonderfully softened by the shadow- ing tints of the sun's golden rays that slip over the Mountain-top, penetrating the grotesqueness of the scene, painting the picture in royal shades of purple and gold, a gorgeous array of "Victory" in har- mony with the "Justice," who appears in the Fifth Scene of "Life," as the acme of things accomplished, having victoriously climbed to the apex of his role in "Life." He, the heir of the Ages, stands on his Mountain-top of "Life," in the acting of his time and place. His time may date back to the early swing of "Life's" rude, crude, barbaric day, — to the dim-distant, aboriginal activity; the "Cliff Dwell- ers" in their caves; the "Tribes"; the scenes during 65 'All the world's a stage' "Life's" "Dark Ages"; the "Christian Era"; the "Mediaeval Period," or he may be a character actor in the immediate weighty age, when the entire cast of actors on the stage of "Life," from the east to the west, the north to the south, through the throbbing mechanical hearts of telegraphy and telephone, are linked closer and stronger together, so that man's every act, instantaneously, as it were, penetrates through the entire system, subjecting "Life's" stage of action to be daily shaken by man's modern ac- tivity: thunderbolts of science, theology, philosophy, commerce and tragic barbaric slaughter. In what- soever age and whatsoever place, — be it among the northern crystal bergs of ice, the swaying orange groves of the "Holy Land" or in the sleeping south- lands, — anywhere; on island, continent or sea, we may find the "Justice" on his individual "Mountain- top," whether his summit be a pinnacle of the average, irregular range, or one of the high peaks that loom up sublimely. In a semi-state of tranquillity, he watches from his station on the lofty wall the troubled sea of "Life" that flows beneath, looking afar to those Ages that have slipped away; those Scenes of "Life's" twisting and turning roads that he has stumbled over and made: "Footprints on the sands of time." "Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipnjurecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again." — Longfellow. 66 'All the world's a stage' His high, distant view of former scenes of "In- fant," "Boyhood," "Youth" and "Soldier," with the gladness of their good and the sadness of their bad, now seem, through the veil of the past, other than they used to appear ; good not so good ; ill not so ill. Withdrawn from "Life's" clamoring activity into the rarefied atmosphere of the azure world, he medi- tatively examines himself, objectively and without illusions, inquiring into the success of his elected purpose in the grand drama. He searches his en- cyclopedia of experience; measures his spent re- sponsibilities and weighs his role's true worth that built up toward his highest aspiration for exalting Truth, as he saw it, that he may, judiciously, pre- scribe a pattern thereof: "Full of ivise saws and modern instances" for those actors who follow. The recapitulation of his accumulated resources, suitable for supervising "Life's" younger actors, re- veals the acknowledged fact that he knows about many things foreign to his immediate activity, but that he only knows in a true sense, the cues to his elected "Life" role, which have been written in the ink of personal experience. He knows how to weave "Life's" threads of dreams, loves, and religion with the cords of ignorance, knowledge and temp- tation, mingled, good and ill together, into the tissue of his traditionally shaped role, — woven in 'pattern and color all his own. This knowledge of his ex- perienced cues that crystallized his purpose in "Life," 67 'All the world's a stage' In the isolation of his being, proves only the "A B C" knowledge of the grand drama being played by men on the broad stage. The innumerable roles in the cast of men in the whole drama of "Life," from the rising to the lowering of the World's curtain, by the Omnipotent Manager, are to him, in all his self-exalted wisdom, as the algebraic unknown quan- tity! Yet, Man labels the crystallization of his deter- mined purpose in "Life," good or bad, "Success," though "no man knows his true success," and im- mediately assumes therefrom a self-laudable manner that has been potent at terms in former ages. We see the "Justice" of "Life," "JVith eyes severe" in the egotism of his power ^ tempered, however, with the precaution of experience. This life-thirst for power, that invigorated his former activities and kept "Life" from being stale, now, that it has been quenched with the soothing liquid of efficiency, stimu- lates a stern, deep satisfaction, a static role of semi- independence from men. We see him in his hour of efficient "Victory": — "His tongue luas framed to music And his hand ivas armed luith skill, His face ijvas the mould of beauty, And his heart the throne of ivill." —r-Emerson. 'All the world's a stage' His performance, that crowned his role with "dis- tinction" may be that of an efficient hunter of the primitive era; a tiller of the soil; a body-servant; a tradesman in the market-place ; a seaman ; a manual laborer; a professional man, whatsoever focus for distinction he may have aimed, in his effort to sus- tain, produce and perpetuate the plot of "Life." To achieve was the goal. Some men's achievement, in the eyes of the stage participants, appear more satisfactory than the achievement of fellow-men high on a neighboring "Mountain-top" of different range, their efficiency being made more conspicuous by the spot-light of the World's stage, shifted by the fickle public clamor being momentarily flashed upon them, and in the glare of this revealing light their accomplishments, apparently, supersede those of their fellow actors, who in surrounding shadow are participating with equal efficiency. The measure of man's "Success" is for the Omnip- otent Manager alone to determine, from the motive of man's works, which is secreted deep in the inner-soul of the actor. Whether or not his motive is in harmony with that of "Life's" plan, which grants him grace of soul peace with men and Manager. "The bird that soars on highest loing Builds on the ground her loiuly nest; And she that doth most sweetly sing, Sings in the shade 'where all things rest; In lark and nightingale <we see What honor hath humility. 69 'All the world's a stage' "The saint that wears heaven's brightest cronun In deepest adoration bends; The nueight of glory bo<ws him doivn Then most, luhen most his soul ascends, Nearest the throne itself must be The footstool of humility." Worldly actors may appraise their fellow-actors "Good" or "Bad," according to their point of view, their limited observation, their interpretation, their prejudice: be the actor a Monk, a Sailor, a "Croe- sus," a "Dante," a "Rousseau," a Preacher, a Merchant or a Gypsy^ — his True Success in "Life's" acting is accounted, only, by him and his Omnipotent Manager. We cannot see it, it makes no difference what havoc or clamor, what praise or censure his outward actions may have reaped from the on-look- ing world of actors. The style of acting, arriving at the same climax, varies according to his position on the broad stage: he who achieves fame for efficiency among the tribes of the Dark Continents engages in a performance distinctly foreign to the role of the man in a more advanced civilization. The African on the Congo rug; the Hindu on the Indian rug; the Alaskan on the frozen northern fringe of the World's stage carpet, each in his traditional way, arrives at this Age of dignity. With all its limitations and with all its magnanimity, an age of dignity, it is. Man poised on the uppermost cube of the pyramid of immeasurable time! Of all past eternity that has been spent in nebular hypothesis, evolution, geology, — the "Justice" is the ripened fruit! Unreservedly, 70 'All the world's a stage to the "Justice," in all his goodness and all his badness, in all his wisdom and all his ignorance, in all his perfection and imperfection. Life's struggling actors, unitedly, bow in solemn homage to his acknowledged superiority in the art of "Life's" act- ing; he who has made his ins and outs; he who has learned his lessons (whether he follows them or not) ; he who knows the unbending general laws of "Life," against which he has ground his frictional way up "Life's" rocky road to the "Mountain- top." "Faithful and friendly the arms that have helped me. Cycles ferried and cradle, rowing and rowing like cheer- ful boatmen; For room to me stars kept aside in their oivn rings; They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. ... All forces have been steadily employed to complete and delight me; Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul." — fVali Whitman. 71 SCENE VI SIXTH AGE "Age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side. His youthful hose, ivell saved, a ivorld too luide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice. Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound." —Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Programme Time : Past, Present, Future. Cast: "Age." Scene : A Mirage of "Life's" former Scenes, be- fore "THE RAINBOW ARCH." Lighting : Sunset. Orchestra: "Harmony" from Minor tones of Memory. Manager: The Omnipotent. Supporting the "Star of Life" The Nazarene 73 SCENE VI SIXTH AGE "Age shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, JVith spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, ivell saved, a tvorld too luide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice. Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound." — Shakespeare: "As You Like It." The real beauty of a picture is revealed by the last strokes of the artist's brush. So the Stage of "Life" is made most beautiful by the last touches Nature gives her picture as day declines, when with her lingering, loving caress, she kisses the fleeting, foamy clouds with sunshine's golden gleams, vivid, yet as delicate as morning's silver shafts, spraying the heavenly vault with a prismatic display of color, as if the Rainbow mist had been shattered for deli- cate heavenly adornment. The slipping "westering sun," that coquettishly plays hide and seek behind her feathery fan of mist, delights the sparkling lakes until they dimple in shifting shadow. After the frolic of the eve Nature's solemn love-light, in deepest hue, lingers delicately, in a tender mellow glow of golden calm over her painting of a day, — 75 "All the world's a stage' her finished picture; — "Sublimity," throwing soft and silent rays on Man's, now, smooth earth-path that leads to Peace. Yet, with far surpassing beauty, more delicate, intricate, infinite and wonderful; "Age," grand and profound, enters on Nature's stage of "Sublimity" to paint, with a master-hand, the last vivid strokes of "Life," giving subtle, delicate, veiled finishing strokes of an artist, obliterating and retouching, until we see the finished picture of "Harmony" in act and spirit. The stream of Time holds now, only the golden liquid of Life, the ills, the wearinesses, the uglinesses have been drunk, and are gone, "with the sorrows that are theirs," and only the beauty, the sweetness of "Life" are left in the stream for him to sup. We see him, all through "Age," drink sweet and beau- tiful memories from the river of Time, until the last molecule passes on with the current of Time into the ocean of Eternity, — back of the Rainbow Arch! "Age" wrapped in his blanket of years, "Shifts Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side, His youthful hose, ivell saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound." —Shakespeare: "As You Like It." Yet, beneath his shrunken, faded, wrinkled, threadbare temporal robe, that has been worn over 76 "All the world's a stage' the flowery paths of youth, the stormy fields of bat- tle, the pinnacles of success, hides the perfect nur- tured roots of Youth's sentiments, illusions and vaga- ries. Though the man be shriveled and warped, physically, by the snow of years, the distilled per- fume of Youth's unfolded flowers is with him to sweeten "Age." Minor tones of "Memory" play a melody, sweet in echoes of "Life's" former scenes, as glimmering mirages of his innocent Childhood, radiant Youth and stern Manhood, float in from the "Sands of Time," making "Age's" irradiant, retrospective scene one with poetic glamour. He — "Stealest fire From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present," — Tennyson. As the glowing, beautiful scenes of "Life's" gar- nered harvest float vividly into realistic view through the misty glimmer of Memory's mirage, all despond- ency of Age's physical decrepitude vanishes and in illusion he lives without exertion, for "To dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine^' when truant fancy wanders to the old sweet scenes of time. "Hardly lue learn to ivield the blade, before The ivrist groins stiff and old; Hardly <we learn to ply the pen, ere Thought And Fancy faint ivith cold." — Burton. 77 'All the world's a stage "Last Age of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion." Yet, "Life is as long as each man has a 'Today' " this side of the Rainbow Arch! In the tranquil evening glow of twilight, when the lips of night whisper messages of rest, and earth's sweet lilies inactively close their delicately frail petals in sweet repose, Man, too, in his physical fragility, closes involuntarily his withered, faded and failing presentative and representative petals: "Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste." They sink in sleep, leaving Man richer and fuller in the power for which he used them during the Play of "Life"; the power to reason, to hope, to discern truth, to love, to think, to will ; Man's soul- power, and in deep soul-communion, he dreams! Man of men, a member of "Life's" acting com- pany: ". . . The human race. Of every tongue, of every place, Caucasian, Coptic, or Malay, 78 'All the world's a stage' All that inhabit this great earth, Whatever be their rank or luorth." — Longfelloiu. has always acknowledged, since he became a re- sponsible being, conscious of the "Spark of Divinity" within him, that he is allied to a superior power, an Omnipotent God and Manager, who has his highest reverence: a "Zeus," a "Jupiter," an "Allah," a "Jehovah," God, — named to suit his time and place. He interprets his part in "Life" accord- ing to his understanding of the Omnipotent's will, until his grand earthly rehearsal is finished for his true Life eternal role beyond the canopy of the Rainbow Arch, when he passes in peace, out of the stage-world's wing of time: 'Sans everything! Yet: "Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; 'Dust thou art, to dust returnest' Was not spoken of the soul." — Longfellow. For the Nazarene left his rainbow-circled throne of light for wonderings sad and lone, in weariness and woe of earthly night : "God," the Omnipotent, manifest in the flesh of Man; the perfect, spotless, sinless "Star of Life," who came, according to God's incarnation plan, to save and to redeem per- plexed, distracted and lost Man for the emancipa- 79 'All the world's a stage' tion of "Life" eternal — back of the Rainbow Arch, where : "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, Neither have entered into the heart of man, The things which God hath prepared for them that love him." -^I Corinthians, 2:g. "fFHEN EARTH'S LAST PICTURE IS PAINTED" (Back of the Ratnboiu arch!) "When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are tivisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died. We shall rest, and, faith, ive shall need it — lie doivn for an aeon or t<wo. Till the master of all good ivorkmen shall set us to ivork anew/ "And only the master shall praise us, and only the master shall blame; And no one shall ivork for money, and no one shall ivork for fame; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star. Shall draio the Thing as he sees it for the God of Things as they Are!" — Rudyard Kipling. 8i Deacidifled using the Bookkeeper procs: Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: ... Mi: JAN 1909 RKEEPB m

31001033

Naiya-Janam, a play

Armstrong, Louise Van Voorhis

naiyajanamplay00arms_djvu.txt

A PLAY By Louise Van Voorhis Armstrong o\ r 4; Copyright, 1915, by Louise Van Voorhis Armstrong, All Rights Reserved NOTICE: Application for permission to perform this play must be made to Louise Van Voorhis Armstrong, Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois. No performance of it may take place without consent of the owner of the acting rights. » - t^ ©GI.D 40932 JUN 14 1915 iSaij>a=3fanam z HIS PLAY was written for and first produced by the Girls' Life Class Association, at the Art Insti- tute of Chicago, April 14, 1915. The music of the play was composed by Mr. Frederick P. Hart. The scenery and costumes were designed and executed by members of the Association. (Reincarnation) By LOUISE VANVOORHIS ARMSTRONG PROLOGUE SCENE— The Home of The Girl. Characters THE GIRL Dorothy Hope Smith (Before the curtain — Dorothy Phelps) THE MAN Alice Paine THE SIREN Helen Munsell ZAHIR-U-DIN, an East Indian servant Mildred Chamberlain THE DJINNEE Marian Gahan GUESTS — Mary Napier, Portia Jacobs, Garada Clark, Alice Harvey, Isabel How- ell, Elsinore Girton, Ruth Larson. THE PLAY ACT I. A FOOL FOR A DAY Scene — The Hall of the Sieur de Beaulieu's Chateau Characters THE LADY YOLANDE Dorothy Hope Smith ARNULF DE VERMANDOIS Alice Paine SIEUR DE CHATEAU BEAULIEU, father of Yolande Florence Hunn FLORIMOND DE CHASTELLET, a young courtier Helen Munsell ODO, a jester Fay Turpin A PALMER Dorothy Todd A SERF Laura Brey MUSICIANS I Katherine Strode I. Elsinore Girton TIREWOMEN | Blanche Dalton \ Helen Wallace FOLLOWERS OF THE CROSS— Constance McMartin, Frances Bulot, Ruth Burger, Adona Conklin, Margaret Huntoon, Marion McKittrick, Victoria Shekelton, Beatrice Link, Katherine Foster, Juanita Carter, Nancy Alexan- der, Mary Berg, Margaret Hickman, Cateau Rolff, Sue Seeley, Vera Mun, Marjorie Willsie. Costumes and setting for this act designed by Helen Munsell. Page 8 NAIYA JANAM ACT II. THE GIFT FROM PHOENICIA Scene — The Palace of Pharaoh Sesokhris Characters TARURU, the favorite of Pharaoh Dorothy Hope Smith PHARAOH SESOKHRIS, ruler of Egypt Alice Paine HERKHUF, his Councillor Florence Hunn BAURDEED, commander of the Elders Alice Harvey ZAZAMANKH, a soothsayer Dorothy Todd THE AMBASSADOR FROM PHOENICIA Frieda Helle THE GIFT Margaret Caldwell NUBIAN SLAVES f Marguerite McCabe (, Ella Ruckle FAN BEARER Sameera Attijeh ATTENDANTS, worshippers of Ra, etc. — Garada Clark, Evylyn Lyon, Olive Ashbey, Helen Sawyer, Katheryn Swartout, Mary Napier, Hildegarde Kirkwood, Ruth Burger, Vera Mun, Sue Seeley, Frances Bulot, Constance McMartin. Costumes and srfting for this act designed by Fay Turpin. ACT III. THE SLAYER'S REWARD Scene — A Primordial Village. Characters THE REWARD Dorothy Hope Smith THE HUNTER Alice Paine THE SLAYER Charlotte Markham THE FATHER Florence Hunn VILLAGERS — Laura Brey, Elsinore Girton, Katherine Strode, Portia Jacobs, Constance McMartin, Ella Ruckle, Frances Bulot, Mildred Chamberlain. Scenery for this act designed and executed by Thilda Olson. Properties by H. IV. Armstrong. ACT IV. THE SOUL OF THE DRYAD Scene — An Enchanted Grove. Characters THE DRYAD Dorothy Hope Smith THE SHEPHERD Alice Paine THE SIREN Fay Turpin NAIYA JANAM ^ ?!^? p.^ Bess Devine PRTDE 1 ( Katherir.e Strode NYMPHS— Garada Clark, Hildegarde Kirkwood, Margaret Caldwell, Mary Napier, Evylyn Lyon, Florence Ware. Scenery for this act designed and executed by Elisabeth Gibson. Costumes by Louise J'an Voarhis Armstrong. EPILOGUE Scene — The Home of The Girl Characters lll^l^ ::\\\\-::::::::::::;;:::':°'°*^ArelT;* ZAHIR-U DIN.' .'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.' .'•*•'•' Mildred Chamberlain II NAIYA J AN AM Page 11 FOREWORD (spoken before the curtain by 7Mhir-u-Din) Give us your dreams for an hour; we only strive To give brief hints, to make this story seem A far, dim, fragrant memory, once alive, Whose broken threads now mingle in a dream. Judge not by our performance, but our aim, * Whether our little play is worth your while : And if you find our girl-like heroes tame, Give them at least, we pray, a kindly smile. But if our words, the little that we do Can give your fancies some new, pleasing trend, Can make old dreams, once lovely, live anew. It is enough. We have achieved our end. NAIYA JANAM Page 13 PROLOGUE Characters The Girl. The Man. The Siren. Zahir-u-Din, an East Indian servant. The Djinnee. The Guests. Scene: The curtain rises on a sitting room. Fireplace left, large table right. In the room beyond several couples in evening dress are seen dancing. Zahir- u-Din enters from left, iinth a punch bowl, which he places on the tabid and makes ready to serve. Enter from center back all tlie dancers except The Girl and The Man, The Siren among them. They gather around the punch table, chattering happily. Zahir-u-Din serves them. 1st Man: I say, you know, this stuff is just going to save my life. 1st Girl: You're such a fervent dancer, it's no v^^onder you're all worn out. 1st Man: But see who I've been dancing with! She fairly runs away with me. The Siren: Now I'll never dance with you again. 2nd Man (to Siren): You'll dance with me, won't you? 1st Man (to 2nd Girl): I say, my next one is with you, isn't it? 2nd Girl: Yes, ours is the next! I promise not to run away with you. 2nd Man (to 2nd Girl) : Maybe he wishes you would ! 1st Man: Yes, yes, of course! I was going to say so in just a minute. I always have wished you'd run away from me ! (Much laughter by all and confusion by hint.) Oh, I say, you know, that wasn't what I meant at all. Just a slip of the tongue! The Siren: A slip of the tongue already! I'm shocked! 1st Girl: Oh, now don't tease the poor boy any more! 3rd Man: (to 1st Girl): Our's is the next! I've been looking forward to it for a long time! 1st Girl: You're right! Our's is the next. I know what I wish they'd play. (She hums something softly.) (The music starts and all exit except The Siren and the 2nd Man.) 2nd Man: May I have the pleasure of the next? The Siren (looking around as if zvatching for someone) ; I think I have this one. (At this moment The Girl and The Man enter. The Man is very attentive. The Siren watches them covertly.) The Man: If you're tired, suppose we sit this one out. The Girl: Oh, I'm not tired. I'm just warm. Let's have some punch. (Zahir-u-Din serves punch to them.) The Siren (to 2nd Man): I— perhaps I was mistaken. I don't believe I have this dance after all. 2nd Man: Good! Let's not waste a minute! (They exit. Zahir-u-Din closes the curtains and exits. The Girl, having finished her punch, hands the glass to The Man. In doing so their eyes meet. Electric moment. The Girl draivs aivay confused.) Page 14 NAIYA JANAM The Girl (in a desperate attempt at conversation): It's — it's really quite cold tonight, isn't it? Oh, I don't mean the punch. I mean — I just mean that it's — well — just cold. The Man: (looking at her still, intently, almost yearningly) : Quite cold. Is it always going to be cold for me? The Girl: Try the fire. That's what it's for. The Man: I don't think the fire will do any good. The Girl: Why — why how queerly you talk! Are you ill? Oh, I'm sorry if you are! The Man: Really, truly sorry? The Girl: Yes, truly! (Another electric moment.) I — I am always sorry for people who are sick. The Man: Sorry for — ^just everybody? The Girl: Well, nearly everybody. The Man: How sorry? The Girl: Why, as sorry as — as a person ought to be. Perhaps I'd better call someone if you feel very ill. The Man: Don't you know you're the only person in the world who can do any good? The Girl: Just I! Oh, you can't mean that! Come, sit down by the fire. You'll feel better soon I'm sure. The Man: Mine is an illness only you can cure. The Girl: But I don't understand. Don't talk like this. The Man: I'll make you understand. Give me a kiss. The Girl: How coul'd that help? Oh, no! Not yet! The Man: One kiss — and all my sorrow I'll forget! The Girl: But after that, what then? The Man: Then you will know What all my being says — I love you so! I love you so! The Girl: How strange! Your voice! Your word! Deep in my memory these things I have heard It seems! But no, it can't be true! The Man: Sweetheart, You hear the song I've sung for you Through all the ages. In the world's sweet youth Our hearts have been at one in very truth. It's meant to be. Tell me you know — you see! The Girl: Oh, let me go! A mist surrounds me quite! The Man: Come with me, come, my love, into the light. Into the joy of life. The Girl: Tomorrow — perhaps tomorrow I will go! The Man: Now! Now! You've been mine since the world began. The Girl: How could that be? I've never loved a man, Not any man at all. The Man: But your heart says that isn't true. There must be an image in your heart — an image of the man of men. Your image is in my heart. It has been there for a million years. The Girl: How can you know What happened siicli a long, long time ago? NAIYA JANAM Page 15 The Man: It's not hard. For years and years I've been going all about the world trying to find the girl who matched the picture. I've seen — oh, ever so many girls — The Girl: Very many? The Man: Hundreds, but none of them mdtched the picture, so I saw that they wouldn't do. But, isn't there a picture in your heart? The Girl: I don't think so. I've never found it. The Man: I'm afraid you don't houseclean your heart often enough. Some- time you'll find it. Oh, find it soon! Please find it soon! The Girl: I'll try. Soon — very soon! Oh, don't look so sad! You see, I've never gone around hunting for pictures like that before. The Man: I wonder if I'll match the picture when you do find it. Do you think you will remember how I look while you are searching for it? (They look searchingly into each others eyes. She is almost in his arms when the others enter. The 3rd Man rushes up to The Girl.) 3rd Man: Our's is the next. I've been looking forward to it for a long time. The Girl: Yes, our's is the next. (She looks longingly at The Man.) The Siren: (to The Man): You are not dancing much tonight. The Man (rather shortly): No, not much! 1st Girl (to The Girl): My dear, this is such a wonderful party. We're hav- ing such a good time. The Girl: I'm so glad. I'm having a good time, too. (She again glances at The Man.) 2nd Man (to 3rd Girl): I'm going to be selfish. I want the next dance and the third from this one. 3rd Girl: We'll be talked about. 2nd Man: But think how dreadfully stupid it would be not to be talked about. 1st Man: Oh, I say, who's being talked about? 3rd Girl: We're afraid we will be if we dance together so much. 1st Man: But what difiFerence would that make? You've always been talked about — favorably, I mean — favorably. 2nd Man: Come, there's the music. (All exit except The Man and The Siren. The Man gloomily strolls to the fire and slumps into a chair. The Siren joins him.) The Siren: This is a most inviting fire. I trust I'm not intruding? (Silence. Suddenly The Man realises that she has spoken to him.) The Man: Eh? Oh, no, certainly not! The Siren: You might be taken for a man in love just now — or, shall we say a child with a new plaything? The Man (starting up): What do you mean? The Siren: What is the use of heroics? Haven't I seen enough of your antics to — well, to recognize the symptoms. The Man: This is something I will not discuss with you. The Siren: There is little need of discussing it. Have you the same for- mula for all of them? The Man: All of thern! I wish that I had never seen any other. I wish I could have come to her like a simple shepherd boy of old, wandering into enchanted woods to the call of a dryad. Page 16 NAIYA JANAM The Siren: But I doubt not that the shepherd boy found a large and thriving population of dryads in the enchanted wood. The Man: Perhaps he found one siren, who robbed him of his dreams and left him wandering alone and desolate until the dryad whispered a secret to him, the secret of happiness. The Siren: Is it my fault that you were born a fool? The Man: No! Neither is it your fault that I did not continue to be one. The Siren: Is that a boast? Remember, "Pride goes before a fall." The Man: Oh, why keep on talking like that? I've learned my lesson. The Siren: Do you think a brainless child can satisfy you now? The Man: I can see that you are determined to make me say things I will be sorry for. You can't rekindle the love you threw away, therefore you try to arouse my temper instead. Undoubtedly you will succeed. I will give you the victory by default, by leaving the field of battle. (He rises to leave. The Siren hastily glances through the curtains into the hall-room, then comes to him and puts her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him mockingly.) The Siren: So you're afraid of me, poor, little weakling? The Man (snatching her wrists and holding her azvay from him): The cat's claws have lost their grip upon me, I tell you. Also the wounds they made are healed. You no longer have the power to do me harm. (Just then the music stops. The Girl's voice is heard. "That was a lovely dance!" Just as she parts the curtain, The Siren gasps out "Oh, let me go! Let m.e go!" With a quick action she makes it appear that she has just broken away from his embraces. She staggers across the room, staring at him as if terrified. Tableau — The dancers just entering, The Girl looking horror stricken from one to the other. The Man filled with rage. The other girls all gather quickly around The Siren.) All: Oh, what is it? What did he do? Oh, you poor child. Tell us what has happened! What does this mean ? Did he dare? Oh, tell us what's the matter! The Siren: Let him tell you! (All look at The Man. The Man looks beseechingly at The Girl. She turns away weeping.) The Man: I refuse to say anything. I will explain only to our hostess. The Siren: He will not dare to tell the truth. The Girl: Go, please, everyone! You cannot know how this has grieved me! (Exit all except The Man and The Girl.) The Man: Let me explain. The Girl: To explain is quite impossible. Please go! The Man: Give me a chance. Please don't say no! The Girl: Perhaps to her those very things you said You told to me so short a while ago! Give me a kiss! Give me a kiss! you said. Deep in your eyes the secret of all love I read, Or so I thought ! NAIYA JANAM Page 17 The Man: Sweetheart, you read aright! Now your words plunge me into blackest night. She played a trick upon me. This is true. My love, my very soul belong to you ! Say you believe me! The Girl: No. that I can't believe. The Man: Oh, that the day should come I made you grieve! Let the past go. Only the future see. No hurt can you remember long with me, Safe in my arms. The Girl: Your arms held her the moment I was gone! The Man: That is not true. My love, you do me wrong. The Girl: I tell you, you must go! The Man: You can't mean this. Don't let one moment make our whole lives sad. The Girl: You must leave me. The Man (catching her in his arms): No! No! Let my kisses tell you that I speak the truth! The Girl: It is your fault. No other man I love. You were untrue. The Man: By all the heavens above I love no one but you. I love you so. T beg your mercy, dear. The Girl: I tell you, go! (Exit The Man. The Girl collapses iceeping into a chair by the fire. After a brief motncnt, Zahir-u-Din enters. She stops zveeping, but sits gazing into the fire, the picture of woe. Zahir-u-Din, after a few furtive glances at her, seems to understand the situation.) Zahir-u-Din: The Memsahib is sad. Pardon the dust under thy feet for noticing. The Girl: Yes, I am sad. Zahir-u-Din: I fear the Heavenborn is in the clutches of the great illness. which all sufifer from, yet seek, even as precious gems are sought for, aye, and fought for. The Girl: I wish this night had never been, and yet. something has wakened in me, wakened only to die. Zahir-u-Din: Love cannot die, oh dispenser of delight! It comes into the world with us when we are born in the morning of creation, and re- mains with us through all our lives unto the end of time. The Girl: Do you believe that, Zahir-u-Din? Zahir-u-Din: Would thy servant dare lie unto the flower of flowers, the little moon, whose light puts out the sun? The Girl (half to herself): When he spoke to me — it seemed as if his voice had been in my heart forever. Oh — and it will be forever. Zahir-u-Din (quietly, as if ansii^ering her thoughts rather than her zvords) : The voice of thy true love has been in thy heart forever. The Girl: I seem to see him as in a twilight long ago. Zahir-u-Din (speaking almost monotonously) : You did see him in the twilight long ago. The Girl: How can I part from him? He must be mine. It seems as if he has been mine. Zahir-u-Din: He has been and must be thine. Page 18 NAIYA JANAM The Girl (sinking back into the chair dreamily): When was it? Where? Zahir-u-Din: All thy lives lived in the past could tell thee. Thy love hath been ever by thy side through the long journey of thy Naiya-Janam, the weary process of thv reincarnation. (He squats just where the curtains meet, at the hack of the 'room, and, taking a little flute from his clothes, begins piping upon it softly.) The Girl (dreamily): What shall I do, where lind my happiness? Oh, if the future I could only guess! Dim voices of the past, tell me I pray, Into what path my weary heart must stray! (The piping turns into a crash. Darkness and long roll of thunder. Spot- light. Zahir-u-Din has disappeared, and in his place stands a radiant creature, the D jinnee. The Girl starts up, fascinated by him.) The Girl: Strange creature, who are you? Why are you here? The Djinnee: Thy summons reached me in the far dim vastness! The winds brought me! A song guided me hither To do thy will ! The Girl: My summons brought you? Are you the voice of all the yes- terdays, the spirit of the mystic sometime I feel but cannot see? The Djinnee: A spirit sprung from out the white-hot fire Am I. Centuries I have roamed the whirHng space Between the planets, my flame blood racing through my veins. All the tales I know of all the loves of all the many earths. And thine among them! Wouldst thou see thy little lives, Repeating each the other like the links Of a great chain? The Girl: Spirit, I fear to look upon those lives. What shall I see? The Djinnee: Thine own predestined lover calling thee throughout the ages; Thine own heart ever answering the call. The Girl: And our great happiness, oh Spirit? The Djinnee: Thy grief as well. For when they destiny was in thy hands Always a lingering evil creeping into thy path Cast shadows over the brightness of thy joy. Such beings Hurled to earth by shooting stars, flung by any angry God, Wander forever through life's dismal wastes. Lurking in darkness, feasting upon lies. The Girl: Your words take all my courage from me! Are these evils ever by my side? How can I hope for happiness? The Djinnee: Listen unto the voices in thy heart. Believe them! The Girl: No voice but his is in my heart. I hear only his pleadings, yet I am lost in a dark sea of doubt! The Djinnee: Come with me! I'll lead thee through the land of yesterdays! Thou shalt see thy other lives and know Whither to seek thy happiness. The Girl: I'll go! With you into the shadow land where first I knew The love that's meant to be, the love that's true! The Djinnee: My mystic veil shall cover thee! My hand Lead thee into the past's forgotten land. (He throws the veil over her, and takes her hand. She follows him wonder- ingly as the curtain falls.) NAIYA JANAM Page 19 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The Djinnec leads The Girl through the curtains and they pause a moment in in the center of the stage.) The Djinnee: Far have we wandered. Now before our gaze Fair Chivalry arises like the rays Of sunset in the twilight of the past! Wouldst see brave knights, wouldst hear the trumpet blast Of tournament and battle? In this age Did the true soldiers of the Cross engage In holy wars. Raise thy veil! Thou shalt see The little self that in those years was thee! (He leads her to the right of the stage. She sits doimi and he stands behind her as the curtain rises on the Mediaeval Scene.) NAIYA JANAM Page 21 ACT I. A FOOL FOR A DAY Characters The Lady Yolande. Arnulf de Vermandois. SiEUR 0E Chateau Beaulieu, father of Yolande. Florimond de Chastellet, a young courtier. Odo, a jester. A Palmer. A Serf. Followers of the Cross, Musicians and Tirewomen. Scene: The hall of a Norman castle. To the left is a slightly raised platform on which stand two high-backed chairs, not exactly a throne, but a seat of honor. On the floor of this platform sits Arnulf. He has on a jester's head-dress and ruff, and holds a bauble in his hand, but he is shrouded in a big cloak, which quite covers him. He is watching the Lady Yolande. zi^ho is dancing a gavotte with Florimond. The Sieur sits in one of the high- backed chairs, also zvatching. To the right of the stage stands Odo, the jester, in full jester's costume. Beside him are two musicians, playing for the dancers. As the dance stops, Florimond stoops and kisses the lady's hand. Florimond (lisping): In thooth ath thprightly a meathure ath ever tripped knight and lady! Yolande (turning to one of the musicians): 'Twas a merry tune, and well played ! Thou hast magic in thy bow. Odo: 'Twas the grace of thy dancing bewitched him, my lady! Sieur: What ho! A fool making pretty speeches? Odo: Better a fool making pretty speeches, my lord, than pretty speeches making a fool! Florimond: Well thaid, thir fool, well thaid! Sieur: Well said, indeed! Play yet another tune! T would have mirth within these halls, for verily, my ears are tired of the continual prating and preaching, and the everlasting "On to Jerusalem!" Florimond: Ay, the cruthades ! Truly a fool'th buthineth to my thinking! Arnulf (rising and glaring at Florimond): Dost thou think? 'Tis beyond belief. (There is a sudden silence, then the Sieur bursts into uproarious laughter.) Sieur: By my hilt, he had thee there. Sir Florimond! Who art thou? Why hast thou not spoken before? Thy wit likes me well! Arnulf: I am but a strolling clown, my lord. Sieur: How camest thou here? Yolande: My lord, 'twas at my command that he was admitted! Lo, as I returned with my hawks after this morning's hunt, I found him shiver- ing and half starved by the highroad. I bade him follow me. I trust that my father is not displeased. The priests say that we do acquire grace through acts of charity. Sieur: Speak to me not of priests! The whole country's turned priest! The whole land is mad, crazed with this new fad, the crusades! But Page 22 NAIYA JANAM thou didst well to bring the fool home with thee! What wast thou said, sir fool? Arnulf: Unlike good wine, a jest retold, Gains not in flavor when 'tis old! Sieur: Right again! Thou hast a ready tongue! Florimond (suddenly brightening) : He had thee there, my lord, I think! Sieur: Think! (He bursts into laughter again.) Now I remember! What canst thou do besides talk, sir visiting fool? An thou art as clever as doth appear from thy beginning I shall never have thee parted from me. Odo (rushing forward in great alarm): Have I not served thee well, my lord? Forget not the japes I have japed for thee these many years! Sieur: Oh, thou fearest for thine exalted position, dost thou? I but thought thee'd like a brother in folly! Two fools within one household is not too many in these woebegone days! (To Arnulf): How thinkest thou? Are two too many? Arnulf: Methinks two would be but a moderate supply, my lord! Per- chance more might be found! (He glances at Florimond.) Sieur (laughing again): Truly thy tongue is as sharp as is the point of my lance. The more fools the better, say I, in these mad times ! Marry, I had rather the whole country turned fool than priest ! Yolande (hastily crossing herself): My father, thou speakest sacrilege! Sieur: Eh? Thou dost enough praying for us twain! Come, sir nimble tongue, a roundelay! Let it be a lilting ditty to drive whining church- men from my brain. Mind! I'll have no chants! Florimond: Aye, thing uth thome ballad of knightly deedth! Arnulf (turning to Yolande): What would my lady have me sing? Yolande: What thou wilt; whatever is in thy mind. Arnulf (singing): This glad today my love was born; My heart is filled with early morn! Today I learned love's secret lore, My eyes see her whom I adore — Her whom sweet graces do adorn. Though she may laugh my love to scorn, May cast me out — alone, forlorn. Ever shall memory restore This glad today! They say that each rose hath its thorn; Tell me, will my heart soon be torn? Must I leave thee forevermore? Throw wide, my love, thy dear heart's door, Say that thy true love ne'er shall mourn This glad today! (There can be no doubt that Arnulf is singing his song to the Lady Yolande. She seems to understand, and not to be altogether displeased.) Arnulf (to Yolande): How likest thou the rondel, my lady? Yolande (haughtily): Methought 'twas well enough rhymed, though I heard not all of it. Sieur: 'Twas not to my liking! Love's ever dismal. Sing to us of war, sir fool. T do yearn for cheerful subjects to banish these days of gloom! NAIYA JANAM Page 23 Odo: Let me tell thee of wars, my lord! Many a tale — (They are interrupted by the hasty entrance of a serf.) Serf: My lord, there may be seen coming in this direction a great company of persons, whether they be knights or no, we cannot yet see. Bertrand of the Guards hath bid me bring thee word! Sieur: Perchance it be those crusaders! Come, Sir Florimond, let us look from the window of the tower! Florimond: Yea, perchanth it be the cruthaders! Leth away! (All exit except Arniilf. Just as Yolande goes, she drops a rose zuhich she lias been wearing. Arnulf picks it up and kis\ses it. He is sitting on the edge of the raised platform, looking very sentimental and sad, when Odo returns. Arnulf does not see Odo at first, but Odo soon breaks in rudely upon his dreams.) Odo: How now, thou bundle of melancholy! What are thou mooning over? (Arnulf does not hear him at first, and Odo taps him on the shoulder.) Odo: Thou wast spoken too, Sir Glum Despondency. Arnulf: Who spoke? Oh, only thou! Odo: Only thou? This from an intruder who worms his way into my lord's castle, and then would usurp my place! Arnulf: I want not thy place. Odo: So? Then why art thou here? ^ Arnulf: I would look upon paradise! Odo (looking at him shrezvdly and seeing the rose for the first time): Oho! So thou dost cast sheep's eyes at the Lady Yolande! Arnulf (jumping to his feet): Have a care! One word of disrespect, and thou shalt be split to thy miserable weazand ! Odo: I spoke no disrespect! I spoke no disrespect! But thy words, sir fool, fit not thy station. Thou dost speak as speaks a lord, not a servant! Arnulf: 'Tis idling time to speak with the like of thee at all. Odo: Then will I leave thee to thy sentimental dreaming! Yet one thing I tell thee — thou shalt not have my place! Arnulf: And I tell thee I'd not have thy place for a dukedom! Within a few days at most I must be upon my way! Yet — yet, tell me — can it be possible that the Lady Yolande sees aught in that simpering jacka- napes, Florimond? Odo: Belike she sees more in him than in a painted clown! (He strikes an attitude and mimics Arnulf's song): This glad today I do forecast Thou'lt wish in sooth could be thy last! Do cap and bells and painted face And jesting tongue win love's embrace? The age of miracles is past This glad today! Arnulf: The eyes of true love should be able to penetrate through any mask. Odo: Mask? Mask, sayest thou? Now are my suspicions confirmed. Thou'rt no wandering clown. Thy cap and bells are but a disguise! Who art thou? Arnulf: Thou hast guessed aright, sir fool! Now do I command thee that thou shalt keep my secret. I am of noble birth and did but don these Page 24 NAIYA JANAM clothes for a jest, that I might wander about among the people and amuse myself as one of them. Last night I was returning to my brother's castle, when into the highroad sprang three cut-throats. I kept them at bay for a while, until one slipped behind me, and smote me a shrewd buflfet on the head. This morning I awoke, to find myself sprawling in the bushes, with a broken pate and no purse. I had just picked myself up when the Lady Yolande passed, with her hunting party. In- stantly she saw that I was in sore need, and commanded her henchmen to bring me to the castle. Ah, surely there did never live another so fair and kind as is the Lady Yolande! Odo: Yea, she hath a kind heart. She doth bind up the wounded foot of her hound with fine, soft linen, and she doth weep over the broken wing of her hawk; yet, she is the daughter of the Sieur de Chateau Beaulieu, and that she ne'er forgets. If thou would'st woo her, sir — whoever thou art — I do advise thee to dofif thy cap and bells, and appear before her in all the splendor of thy wealth and position, for such things will greatly strengthen thy arguments! Arnulf: That I'll not do! I tell thee her eyes did dwell upon me with pity — nay — and with a something more than pity! An I am not man enough to make my way into her heart with my pleading, methinks my little worldly wealth would avail me naught. Odo: 'Tis not wealth, but pride! The Lady Yolande would not stoop to love one beneath her position any more than she would forsake the church. Arnulf: Nay, but love should seek nobility of character, not the empty honor of titles. Odo: Mayhap thou'rt right. There be many "shoulds" in this world, that turn hot into "woulds." But I tell thee, thou'lt never win her in thy jester's garb. Hist! 'Tis the lady herself returning! I'll leave thee, and good luck to thee, sir lover. I would wish thee well, now that I see thou dost not seek for my place with my lord! (The Lady Yolande enters, left, just as Odo exits, right. She is a bit startled at finding herself alone ivith Arnulf.) Yolande: Hast thou found a rose hereabouts, sir jester? I did but just now lose that which was in my hair! Arnulf: Yes, my lady, I have found thy rose. Yolande: Then give it me! (Arnulf makes no move to do so. There is a long f'ausc. They look into each other's eyes, and the lady hastily looks away. Arnulf draws nearer to her.) Arnulf: My lady, this morning as I lay by the roadside, and thine eyes did gaze down upon me my heart leapt within my breast, and it seemed that I lived for the first time! Such kindness as thine is of heaven, my lady! Never will I forget this day. Therefore do I beseech thee that thou wilt permit me to keep this little fragrant memory of thy loveliness. I will cherish it even as a sacred relic! Yolande: Thou art bold, sir fool! Thou dost ask a favor of Yolande de Chateau Beaulieu such as few knights have received! Arnulf: Is the favor granted, dear lady? Yolande: Does it mean so much to thee? Arnulf: More than all else in the world, my lady! All the manhood within me doth cry out with joy at the knowledge that in thy heart there was for one moment some little thought of me, some sorrow at my distress! NAIYA J AN AM Page 25 Ah, how T do now bless the hand that smote me last night, for it was that blow which led thee to my side! Yolande: Thou dost lay too much importance upon the deed. Could I leave even the lowest serf to die by the highroad? Arnulf: Nay, my lady, take not my great joy from me! When thine eyes did rest upon mine, I did read, dear lady — dare I say it — I did think perchance I read a something more than the look which thou wouldst have bestowed upon a serf; even thou, whose heart hath the gentleness of the holy angels! Let me at least believe that thy pity was for me alone — not just for a wounded creature! Yolande: Why should my pity have been for thee alone? Arnulf: Thy pardon, my lady, but thy loveliness did so completely fill my heart, it seemed impossible that I could feel so strongly and not kindle in thee some little answering spark to the — to the love that overpowered me! Now I have said it! Forgive me if I have presumed too far! Yolande: Thou hast presumed far indeed to dream that I would have one thought of a fool in cap and bells! Art thou mad, sir jester? Arnulf: Is it impossible to believe that under a patchwork garment a true heart throbs? Yolcinde: Oh, thou art annoying me! I bid thee be silent! Arnulf (suddenly springing toi^'ards her): Thou dost bid me be silent when every pulse within me is crying out my love for thee, for thee, the one woman in all this world, the one for whom my soul has sought in vain. I have found thee! I have found thee! My heart says "She is there!" Look into my eyes, beloved, not at my jester's trappings! Look into my eyes, and the love in them will tell thee that nothing matters save only our love! Give me thy hand and together we will seek the mountain top of all the world. (Yolande is completely taken off her guard by this outburst. She looks at him, half frightened, half yielding. He looks steadily at her, hardly knowing Xi'hat to believe. Suddenly she remembers. Her e.vpression changes into one of cold pride again.) Yolande: Sir fool, I would have my rose! (Arnulf takes it from his jacket and hands it to her. She throws it on the floor. At this point voices are heard off stage. "We would see the Sieur de Chateau Beaulicu!" Enter the Sieur. followed by Florimond, Odo, and the Serf. He sits down, in one of the high-backed chairs. From outside: "We li'onld enlist the Sieur de Chateau Beaulieu in the war of God!" Serf: Shall I admit them now, my lord? Sieur: Aye, admit the rabble! Yolande: My father, what is it? (She goes and sits beside him.) Sieur: It is the crusaders, the half-crazed mob starting on their fool's venture. Florimond: Ay, the cruthaders on theiy way to Jeruthalem, the holy thity! (The crusaders enter. There are among them peasants, palmers, men, zvomen and children of all stations, wearing a cross on their left shoulder. A palmer is spokesman for them.) Palmer: Long life to the Sieur de Chateau Beaulieu! All: Long life to the Sieur de Chateau Beaulieu! Sieur: For what reason must the lord of Chateau Beaulieu be intruded upon by the like of these cattle? Page 26 NAIYA JANAM All: We would have a captain to lead us to Jerusalem! We would have a leader! Palmer: My lord, these be men and women who go to do God's work in the holy land, to deliver the tomb of Christ from the infidel! They be true and worthy in the sight of God, yet do they greatly need one who is versed in the work of war to take command of them, to direct them, both on their long journey to Jerusalem, and when they are face to face with the Saracen. Thou art a knight of prowess! Men do respect thee, and all know thee to have performed full many a noble deed in the wars of our king. Therefore do these servants of the Lord beseech thee to accompany them. It is the will of God ! Sieur: Dost take the Sieur de Chateau Beaulieu for such a fool as thyself? Verily, thy crusade is reducing the land to ruin! The fields lie untilled. The men go far away, leaving the country unprotected and open to the assaults of barbarians! Palmer: Thy opposition is now but a voice crying in the wilderness, my lord! Dost know that Count Raymond of Toulouse, the most powerful prince of Southern France, hath pledged himself to go forth with a great host? Sieur: Yea, and dost know that at Chartre a company started out, led by a mad woman, and yet another followed in the tracks of a goat? I tell thee the country is mad! (Grumbles of anger among the crusaders.) Palmer: Hast thou heard the words of Peter the Hermit, the holy man, who hath been in our midst, who hath seen with his own eyes the destruction which the heathen have wrought in the land where Christ lived and was crucified? All: Ay! Thou hast not heard the words of the beloved of God! Thou hast not heard the words of Peter the Hermit! Sieur: I'll not heed the words of a fanatic! Yolande: My father, wouldst thou insult a holy man? Palmer: Thus ran the words of Peter the Hermit: "Put all the love of earthly possessions behind thee. Let thy ceaseless war at home come to an end. Start upon the way to the Holy Sepulchre! Wrench the land from the accursed race! Christ Himself shall be thy leader, and great will be thy everlasting reward!" Sieur: I shall not go upon thy mad venture with thee. All (kneeling) : A leader ! A leader ! We would have a leader ! (Suddenly Amulf steps in front of them. He zuhisks off his jester's head- dress and ruff, throuis aside his cloak, and tosses his bauble to the floor. He stands revealed as a you}ig knight.) Arnulf: Then gladly will Arnulf de Vermandois, brother of Count Hugh, be thy leader! All: Our leader! Our leader! The blessing of God upon our leader! Yolande: Thou? Arnulf de Vermandois? (She starts towards him appealingly as if asking his forgiveness. He looks long at her and then decides.) Arnulf: Pride rules thy heart. Thou didst see but my dress. Now when we part, I cannot love thee less! NAIYA JANAM Page 27 Thou hast said no; I must endure thy loss. Farewell, my love; I go They way of the sword, the Cross ! (He raises his sword like the Cross and exits, followed by the crusaders. Everyone follows them except the Lady Yolande.) All: It is the will of God! It is the will of God! On to Jerusalem! (The Lady Yolande looks after them sadly, then sees the fester's bauble, which Arnulf has thrown on the floor. She picks it up and kisses it cts the curtain goes doivn. The hymn of the crusades is heard off stage.) IJ NAIYA JANAM Page 29 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The D jinnee leads Tlie Girl hack to the center of the stai^c.) The Djinnee: Now thou hast seen thy love go forth from thee To battle for the Cross in that far land, Leaving in thy heart bitter memory. Only too late didst thou then understand. What evil spirit was there by thy side? The Girl: Spirit, I listened to the voice of Pride! (As they go through the curtains, the ciil sl^irit of Pride stalks across the stage and follows them.) NAIYA JANAM Page 31 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The Djinnce leads Tlie Girl through the curtains, and they f^aiisc a moment in the center of the stage.) The Djinnee: Into the farther dimness have we gone, Where dark, majestic Pharaoh's haughty smile Made Egypt blossom in the crimson dawn More lovely than the lotus of the Nile. And thou didst know the secret thoughts that hid Deep in the heart of Pharaoh. Thou shalt see How in the shadow of the pyramid Plis love did Egypt's lord reveal to thee! His proud, imperious heart was all thine own, And thou didst share with him his very throne! (He leads her to the right of the stage, and the curtain rises on the Egyptian scene.) NAIYA JANAM "" Page 33 ACT II. THE GIFT FROM PHOENICIA Characters Taruru, the favorite of Pharaoh. Pharaoh Sesokhris. ruler of Egypt. Herkhuf, his Councillor. Baurdeed, Commander of the Elders. Zazamankh, a Soothsayer. The Ambassapor from Phcenicia. The Gift. Slaves, Priests and Priestesses, Attendants, Guards, Etc. Scene: The council room of Pharaoh's palace at Memphis. An elaborate dizvaii over zvhich is hung a canopy stands to the right. The center of the stage has a broad arch looking out upcn a terrace. A statue of the god Ra is seen silhouetted against the orange-colored sky. The council room is dark except for a brazier to the left, near which tzvo men, Herkhuf and Baurdecd are standing. Music is heard off stage, and a procession of urorshippers is seen passing along the terrace, chanting a song of praise to the god Ra. The worshippers raise their arms in salutaticn to the god as they pass the statue. The song of the worshippers: Divine disposer of man's destiny, Ra, god of light; Ra, god of gods; Thine altars shall stand until eternity, Ra, god of light; Lend us thy might! Kings shall bow down unto thy majesty, God, sun-disc crowned, Ra, god of gods; Ruled by thy sons shall all Egypt be! Ra, god of gods; Thy praises sound! (This is repeated in a monotonous chant, finally dying azvay in the distance, when the entire procession has passed. Baurdeed drazi's the curtains across the arch. The stage becomes lighter. The two men drazv near each other. Herkhuf i^ in the prime of life, a subtile, capable man of the zvorld. Baur- decd is an old man, saddened by the zueight of his years.) Baurdeed: It was the worshippers of the sun-god! Daily do they become more powerful within the realm of Pharaoh. Herkhuf: Yea, their numbers increase, and their priesthood are become strong, strong — and I fear ambitious. Baurdeed: What says the King to this? Herkhuf: The eyes of Pharaoh are blinded by a light powerful even as that of the sun-god — in the dazzling radiance of his love he sees naught but the face of the Lady Taruru. His ears hear naught but her words. Yea, though all Egypt call out to him, he hears not. Baurdeed: Today has come the Ambassador from Phoenicia, bearin" unto our lord a gift — a princess of matchless beauty, the daughter of Abdosir, Page 34 NAIYA JANAM Prince of Tyre. May it be the will of Osiris that she shall fascinate the Lord of all Egypt. Herkhuf: It is hopeless. He sees naught but the face of the Lady Taruru. She holdeth the heart of Pharaoh within the hollow of her hand. Baurdeed: Thrice hath the Prince of Tyre sent maidens of manifold charms unto our master, and even thrice hath Pharaoh refused to look upon them. Herkhuf: Aye, and thrice have the altars of Astarte been bathed in the blood of these maidens. Baurdeed: I tell thee, oh Herkhuf, it is not wise thus to anger a nation with whom Egypt hath a commerce so profitable. Fine cloth of their weaving doth encircle the limbs of Pharaoh. From their crystal goblets doth he drink his wine. They are a powerful and a wise people — these Phoenicians. Herkhuf: Yea, even of these things have I spoken, oh Baurdeed; yet do I tell thee that the Lord of all Egypt, the descendant of Osiris, sees naught but the face of the Lady Taruru, hears naught but the music of her voice. In the harem is wailing and desolation, for none have found favor in the sight of the King save only the Lady Taruru. (They sliake their heads. A Nubian slave enters and prostrates himself before Herkhuf.) Herkhuf: Speak, slave! Slave: My lord, at the gates of the palace is one with gaunt countenance and burning eyes, a soothsayer, whom men call Zazamankh. His words do shake the foundations of the pyramids, and drown all Egypt in a sea of darkness! He would have audience with Pharaoh. What is thy command, oh councillor of the King of Kings? (Trumpets are heard off stage.) Herkhuf: It is the hour for the attendance of Pharaoh in the council chamber. Do thou bring hither the soothsayer. (Exit slave.) Baurdeed: Perchance the soothsayer's prophecies may awaken our lord from his dream of love! Herkhuf (shaking his head doubtfully): The descendant of the gods is young, very young! He will be loath to awaken from dreams of the Lady Taruru. (More trumpeting and music is heard, and voices crying "Make way for Pharaoh Sesokhris, King of Kings, Descendant of Osiris!" Pharaoh's pro- cession enters. Among the attendants are guards, courtiers, court beauties, slaves, etc. Pharaoh comes at the end of the procession, followed by tzvo guards. The attendants group themselves around the diivan and Pharaoh ascends and seats himself amid the cushions. He is about tzventy years old, a man in his build and his manner, but zvith a touch of the boy still to be seen in his face, in spite of the passionate glozv of his eyes and the firm set of his jaw. Herkhuf comes forzvard and kneels.) Pharaoh: Speak, my councillor! The ears of Pharaoh await thy words! Herkhuf: Oh. King of Kings, Lord of the Two Worlds, live forever, that the brilliance of thy countenance may lighten the burdens of all Egypt! Thy humble servant would speak to thee of a matter which shall come to thy notice this day. Thy servant would advise thee, would place the wisdom of his years at the disposal of thy young mind. There comes today an Ambassador from the Phoenicians. He brings as a gift to Pharaoh the fairest daughter of a great prince. Thrice have the gifts from this land been despised by thee, oh my King. This time, I NAIYA JAN AM Page 35 do pray thee in the name of Egypt, anger not by thine indiflference those with whom thy merchants would carry on successful commerce. Accept the gift, oh Protector of Egypt! Pharaoh: And has Pharaoh become the slave of Egypt? I have told thee that I will have none other for my consort than the Lady Taruru. She shall be the divine one — the royal wife of Pharaoh! None other shall the eyes of Pharaoh behold! Herkhuf: Oh, thou living light of all Egypt, the Lady Taruru is beautiful even as the Nile goddess, yet is she from the people. I do entreat thee to despise not the Princess of the Phoenicians. (The curtains at the back of the room are suddenly parted, and the Lady Taruru stands there, accompanied by her slave girls. Pharaoh starts up from the dnvan, and stands upon the steps of it. He extends his amis to her.) Pharaoh: Oh, thou beloved of Pharaoh, draw near that I may look into thine eyes. Taruru: Oh, thou chosen one of the sun, by the love that thou bearest me, I do demand of thee the life of Herkhuf, thy Councillor! Pharaoh: Nay, these words come not from the golden heart of my lotus flower. Herkhuf hath ever been my friend and kindly adviser. Taruru: He would snatch me frome thine arms! Pharaoh: Nay, that he shall never do! Come hither, thou moon of my delight! Thou shalt sit by the side of Pharaoh, his queen!. (She ascends to him, giving Herkhuf a look of hatred. She reclines on the cushions, Pharaoh beside her, nozv utterly oblivious to everything^ else about him.) Taruru (looking fixedly into the eyes of Pharaoh): I would have the life of Herkhuf, for he would poison thy mind with his words, even as he would delight to poison the cup of Taruru, an he dared. He would steal from us our happiness! Herkhuf: My Lord. My King, I seek only to remind thee of Egypt! As thou art all in all to Egypt, so may Egypt be all in all to thee, that thy name may go down unto posterity as the ruler of rulers, such as the like has not been known since the beginning of all things. Pharaoh: Must Egypt steal from Pharaoh the crown jewel of all his realm? Must Egypt take from Pharaoh the food for which he hungers, the wine for which he thirsts? Has Egypt not thrived under my hand? Are not her fields golden with grain? Are not her hills white with vast feeding flocks? Do not her cities rise towards the sun-god, seek- ing to rival his blinding light with their splendor? Have I not caused to be built a tomb such as will defy the centuries, such as will make the name of Pharaoh Sesokhris echo throughout the ages? Thou whinest of "Egypt!" "Egypt!" Am I not Egypt? Herkhuf: Aye! Thou art Egypt! Thou art all that is majesty! Yet, Lord, would I bring to thine ears whispers which threaten Egypt, as she sleeps in the luxury of her greatness! Be not blind, my King, to restless ambition within thy kingdom, and ever watchful enemies without! Taruru: Let the hand of death be placed over the mouth of thy prating councillor, oh Pharaoh! Herkhuf: Pharaoh, who would stop thine ears to the call of Egypt, loves thee not! Pharaoh: Silence, lest T be tempted to take thy miserable life! (Herkhuf zvithdrazvs. just as the shwe returns zmth the soothsayer.) Page 36 NAIYA JANAM Baurdeed (hastily coming forward): Is it the will of Pharaoh that Zaza- mankh, the soothsayer, be admitted to the royal presence? Pharaoh: Yea, admit the soothsayer. He shall make thee recant thy messages of gloom, oh Herkhuf! He shall tell the tale of Egypt's greatness and of her greatness to come! (Enter Zazamankh. He prostrates himself before the ditvan.) Pharaoh: Speak, thou wise one! Zazamankh: Now do the splendors of Egypt gleam like a dazzling jewel upon the breast of the desert. Yet in a brief space shall the sun-god hide his face, and darkness shall descend upon all the land. Then shall a priest of Ra, god of gods, god of the sun, god of light, bring forth from darkness three sons, who shall be the offsprings of Ra, the divine disposer of all things. And they shall reign over the land of the Nile. They shall glorify the god of light! They shall rear unto him temples of stone. On altars of alabaster shall he receive sacrifice, and his fol- lowers shall drive forth the enemies of Egypt, and restore all the land unto power. Pharaoh: Thy words are false, thou lying prophet! No sons of priestlings shall usurp the throne of Pharaoh. I tell thee Egypt is at the summit of her power! Zazamankh: Aye! Egypt is at the summit of her power, and there she lies motionless, drunk with contentment! Pharaoh: Away with thee, thou vulture! Thou hast presumed to mock at Pharaoh, the descendant of Osiris! (Zacamaiikh is dragged away by the guards. From outside drifts in the chant of the worshippers of Ra. Pharaoh covers his ears, and then turns and clasps the Lady Taruru to him.) Pharaoh: Let Pharaoh forget all else save the amber light of thine eyes, save the soft coolness of thine arms! Baurdeed (dolefully) ; The King of Kings heeds not the cry of Egypt! Herkhuf (prostrating himself before the dizvan): The Ambassador from Phoenicia doth crave admission to Pharaoh. Yet, though my words should mean my death, I do once more entreat thee, anger not Phoe- nicia by thine indifference, oh Majesty! Pliaraoh (absently, and gazing into the eyes of Taruru): Let him enter into the divine presence of Pharaoh of Egypt! (Enter the Ambassador from Phoenicia. He is followed by tivo pages, and behind them come tzvo slaz'es, carrying a rug, zvhich is rolled around the gift.) Ambassador (kneeling) : Oh, Pharaoh, Lord of the Diadem of the Vulture and the Serpent, living light of the land of the Nile, thrice hath Abdosir, Prince of Tyre, sent offerings unto thee, and thrice have his offerings offended thy sight! Yet once again doth my master send a gift unto the descendant of Osiris, a treasure more precious than emeralds as green as the fields of the Nile, than amethysts more purple than the distant hills, than turquoise as blue as the skies of Egypt. May the eyes of Pharaoh look upon the gift with pleasure! Pharaoh (indifferently) : Display thy master's gift, oh Ambassador from Phoenicia! Taruru (drazmng Pharaoh fozvards her): Nay, my Lord, look not upon the gift from Phoenicia! Look upon thy slave! NAIYA JANAM Page 37 Pharaoh: Say not that thou art the slave of Pharaoh, for Pharaoh is even thy slave! (The music of the dance starts. The slaves unroll the rug, and the gift, a beautiful girl, arises. She first prostrates herself before the throne of Pharaoh, who does not look in her direction at all, and then dances. At the end of the dance, she again prostrates herself before the dizvan. Herkhuf comes forward.) Herkhuf: What is the pleasure of Pharaoh? Pharaoh (not looking at him): Pharaoh would be alone! (All form into a procession and leave. The dancing girl waits until all have gone except the tzw slaves who are waiting for her. She then rises and starts to follow them, but at the doorway, turns, and once more runs to the diwan, and sinks dozmi in a forlorn heap.) Taruru: What am I to Pharaoh? Pharaoh: Without thee the heart of Pharaoh virould be like unto Egypt without the Nile, a desert! I would feel thy warm lips on mine! (They are in a close embrace, their lips almost touching, when the voice of the dancing girl breaks in upon them.) Gift: Awah! Awah! Awah! The eyes of Pharaoh have not looked upon me with pleasure! Death awaits me upon the altar of Astarte! Awah! Awah! Awah! Pharaoh (looking up quickly): Into the heart of Pharaoh strikes a cry of human suffering! Taruru: What matters the whimpering of a slave to the King of Kings, whose ears have heeded not the call of Egypt, but only the pleadings of his love? Pharaoh: Egypt is strong! This is the cry of some weak, tortured thing! Gift: Awah! Awah! Awah! Death awaits me on the altar of Astarte! (Pharaoh rises and looks down upon the prostrate form of the girl. Taruru tries to attract his attention back to herself.) Taruru: Pharaoh has said that he could forget all else in the light of my eyes! (Pharaoh pays no attention to her. He descends from the diwan, and the dancing girl crawls to his feet, abjectly contmuing her wailing.) Pharaoh: What mean thy words — that death awaits thee? Gift: Pharaoh has scorned me. The King of Kings has no eyes for the gift from the Prince of Tyre. Therefore am I disgraced. Therefore shall I be sacrificed upon the altar of Astarte! Awah! Awah! Pharaoh: Thy words do fill the heart of Pharaoh with pity. Lift up thine head! (The girl lifts up her head and gases pleadingly into Pharaoh's eyes. Taruru, who has been zvatching the scene with growing jealousy, now creeps torvards them.) Pharaoh (to the gift): Thou art like unto a frightened dove! (He looks down at the girl pityingly. Taruru springs tozpards them. A knife flashes in her hand. She is about to bring it dozvn into the back of the girl, when Pharaoh turns suddenly and grasps her hand, preventing the blow. Taruru looks terrified, then holds out her arms to Pharaoh. He turns away from her zmth a groan of horror and disgust. Realizing that she has killed his love for her, she turns the dagger towards her ozvn heart. Just as the dagger descends, the curtains at the back of the room part, and Herkhuf stands there, zvith a slow, satisfied smile, zvatching the tragedy as the curtain goes dozvn. Off stage is heard the chanting of the zvorshippers of Ra. NAIYA JANAM Page 39 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The Djinnec leads The Girl back to the center of the sta^^e.) The Djinnee: Thy dagger took thy Hfe and love as well, Thine own deed hurled thy precious life away. What voice within thy heart could so compel Thy hand to evil? Whom didst thou obey? What vile, distorted being prompted thee? The Girl: 'Twas Jealousy that took my love from me! Still farther would I go into the past! The Djinnee: Then be thou not aghast At what thou next shalt see! (They exit, followed by the Evil Spirit of Jealousy.) NAIYA JANAM Page 41 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The Djinnee and The Girl come through the curtains, lite house is in darkness with light flashing like lightning.) The Girl: Spirit, I am afraid ! All the world's black! Come to my aid! The Djinnee: Would'st thou turn back? The Girl: No, spirit, I shall dare To follow thee! The Djinnee: Then thou shalt see the glare Of lightnings. Hear the groan And split of tearing rock! The splintering crash of stone, And beast-like yells that mock Screams that shall pierce the air! Thou shalt shudder for man in the making. Cringe in the horror of seeing! Thou shalt feel the convulsion, the shaking Of the world in the labor of being! (They go to one side of the stage and the curtain rises on the cai'c-man scene.) NAIYA JANAM Page 43 ACT III. THE SLAYER'S REWARD Characters The Reward. The Hunter. The Slayer. The Father. Villagers. Scene: The home of the cave-men. When the curtain rises, a solitary cave-man is seen, seated and monoto- nously beating a tom-tom. The Father, chief of the tribe, and an old man, enters from his cave. He shambles to the center of the stage, then lifts u[> his arms, and gives one long drawn yell. It is the summons for the cave- people to assemble. From all sides the cave-people troop in, and begin circling around the tom-tom in a clumsy dance. They are stooping, awkward creatures, not far removed from the monkey stage. They keep up a monotonous, ivord- less chant as they dance. Among the dancers are the Hunter and the Slayer. The Hunter is by far the most handsome of all the cave-men, a husky, stal- wart, young man. The slayer is an ugly, much scarred, brutal creature. Presently The Girl enters from the Father's cave. She is about to join in the dance when the Slayer seises her. She cries out in terror and the Hunter rushes to her rescue. He pulls the Slayer away from her, and the two men clinch, and roll on the ground, snarling and biting. The Father rushes up and kicks them apart, assisted by other cave-men. The Hunter and the Slayer both begin gabbling to the Father, each trying to plead his cause. They gesticulate totvard The Girl, strike themselves on the chest, and shake their fists at each other. The Girl watches them fasci- nated. The dance has stopped and the cave-people gather around much interested. The Father refuses to arbitrate the matter, and indicates to The Girl that she sitall choose between them. The Girl looks at them both, and then rushes into the arms of the Hunter. The Slayer, zvith a hozvl of protest, claws at her garments to attract her attention to him. Failing in this, he hastily goes into his cave, and returns immediately, bringing his possessions — skins, necklaces, and various other trinkets. These he throws at the feet of The Girl, and with ivhimpcrings and whinings, finally attracts her attention. When The Girl sees the Slayer's possessions, she leaves the arms of the Hunter, and fairly falls upon the things. She picks up each article, examining it and admiring it. She puts on the jewelry, crooning and cooing over it with joy. The Hunter at last attracts her attention back to himself. She looks longingly from him to the trinkets and back again. She seems to demand of him zvhat he can offer, but he has nothing to offer except a few trifles he has about him, and his undying love. She is about to embrace him, but the Slayer angrily pulls her back, starting to gather up his things. She wants the things — yearns for them. She cannot decide. The Slayer takes his pos- sessions back to his cave, then returns grunting defiantly. The cave-people gather around and begin to take part in the affair. The men are all in favor of having her choose the Hunter. They point to him in admiration and seem to tell of his bravery. The women, on the other hand, shake their Page 44 NAIYA JANAM heads, and, pointing tozuards the cave of the Slayer, remind her of his treasures. Finally, the Father, tired of this seemingly endless argument, flings The Girl roughly aside, and seems to have a method of his own for solving the problem. He steps fomrard between the tzvo rivals, and indicates that they shall go forth to the hunt, the Hunter in one direction and the Slayer in the other. Whoever shall bring home the largest kill before sundoivn shall have The Girl. The rivals give their oath to the Father to abide by this. The Girl agrees to it too. As they depart the Hunter looks to her for encouragement. She holds out her arms to him, and seems to tell him that she hopes he will zvin. The two men exit, one right and the other left, the cave-people trail- ing after them. The Girl is left alone on the stage. She sits down by the entrance of her Father's cave, and begins zvorking at pottery making. Her mind is not on her zvork. Presently she gets up, looks cautiously in all directions, steals into the Slayer's cave, and comes back zmth his trinkets. She plays zmth them and pats them. Then as voices off stage are heard, she hastily runs and puts them back in his cave. Two cazre-zvomen enter, carrying water jars zvhich they place at the entrance of the Father's cave. They chatter zmth The Girl for a moment. In their talk zuith her, they seem to be discussing her tzvo lovers. They point in the direction in which the Slayer went, then toward liis cave, and again indicate their admiration of his property. Then they point in the direction in zvhich the Hunter went and shake their heads. The Girl looks thoughtfully toward the Slayer's cave, then points in the direction in zvhich the Hunter left. She smiles and clasps her arms to her breast, indicating that she loves hint. The cave-zvomen depart, shaking their heads. It is beyond them to conceive of her not zvanting to be the rich wife of the Slayer. The Girl, alone again, seems to be pondering deeply. She looks in the direction in zvhich the Hunter zvent, holding out her arms imploringly, but even so, she keeps glancing towards the Slayer's cave. Suddenly she rushes into the Slayer's cave, comes out zinth his things, and runs into her Father's cave zvith them. The Slayer returns. He has a very small kill, a rabbit, and he looks disconsolate. His gestures indicate that he remembers his oath to the Father, and he bozvs to his fate. He sits doznm at the tom-tom, beating it and hozvling dismally. The Girl is seen furtively watching him from the entrance of her Father's cave. Presently the Hunter returns. He has a big kill and is yelling zvith joy. The Girl sees him and rushes into his arms zmth a glad cry. The Slayer, quite distraught, decides to make one more trial at tempting her zvith his zvealth. He goes into his cave, and discovers the theft of his things. He comes out in a rage, rushes at the Hunter and kills him. He then seizes The Girl and drags her to his cave. Just as one long drazvn scream from her pierces the air, bringing the cave-people rushing in, the curtain goes dozvn. IJ NAIYA JANAM Page 45 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The Djinnce leads The Girl back to the center of the stage.) The Girl: Spirit, my heart grows sick. Guide me I plead! The shadows, the clouds are thick. 'Twas Greed, vile Greed That haunted me! The Djinnee: Then banish Greed from thee! The Girl: Oh, spirit, lead me from this hateful night! Far in the distance I can see dim light. The Djinnee: The light thou seest is the faintest glow, The flush of this world in its early morn! Into that fragrant dawning wouldst thou go? The Girl: Show me, kind spirit, how my soul was born! (They exit, follozved by the Evil Spirit of Greed.) NAIYA J AN AM Page 47 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (Again The Djinnce and The Girl come before the curtain.) The Girl: Spirit, a sweet contentment seems to steal Over my weary being. I do feel As if I wandered through some fragrant wood, From out whose pathways I should never roam. The Djinnee: Thy mind recalls this once dear neighborhood, For now dost thou draw near to thy first home! Lift up thy veil and see The comrades who were then so dear to thee! (They retire to the right of the stage and the curtain rises on the Dryad sc^ne.) NAIYA JANAM Page 49 ACT IV. THE SOUL OF THE DRYAD Characters The Dryad. The Shepherd. The Siren. Pan Pride 1 Jealousy S- Evil Spirits. Greed J Nymphs. Scene: The cttrfaiii rises on a luoodland scene. The Nymphs are gathered about a little knoll near a pool. The 1st Nymph sings, assisted by the others. 1st Nymph: What is the secret the woodland tells? What is the song she sings? Whence come her wondrous, magic spells Woven of a thousand springs? Love! Love! Fill my shadowed aisle With the gay, glad echoes of thy play! 'Tis love, love makes the spring to smile, Soft I hear the woodland say! (The pipes of Pan are heard in the distance.) 1st Nymph: Whence comes that piping? 'Tis Pan! 'Tis Pan! 'Tis his merry notes we hear! Oh, frolicsome god, half beast, half man. Can it be thou art near? Pan: Dance! Prance! Let the woodland ring With the mirthful madness of thy play! Drink! Drink the gladness of the spring. For Pan comes capering thy way! (Enter Pan. Dance of Pan and the Nymphs.) (There is a pause in the dance.) 1st Nymph: Oh, happy, happy Pan, thy pipes do play The very shreds of sadness from the world away! 2nd Nymph: Pan, Pan, what art thou but a laugh, a smile? Pan: A jest, a living jest made in this clumsy style To please thy fancy, and thy fancy and thine! Laugh! Sing then! Thy song is like sweet wine To make the pulses leap and the heart glow! With me make war against old crying Woe! Drown all his groans with laughter! 2nd Nymph: Caper thou, Pan, and we will follow after! Pan: Here, there, everywhere in a mad dance we'll go! (They dance and come gradually to a pause again.) 1st Nymph: Goat-god, when thou art near joy rules us all! 2nd Nymph: Tell us, do mortals answer to thy call And follow thee? Pa(..e 50 NAIYA JANAM Pan: Oft to this glade Do mortals wander, charmed and yet afraid. Its joy they strive to find. Their half-blind eyes Do burn with eagerness! 2nd Nymph: Should we surprise Some mortal shepherd, Pan, then should we know A mortal love? Pan: Thy quivering heart would grow Into a tortured thing, a burning pain. 2nd Nymph: If that is true, then what would be the gain Of knowing love? Yet voices all about Do whisper 'Love! Love!' Pan: Nay! Laugh and shout! Love's dangerous! Play's the thing! Dance, lovely comrades, heed the call of spring! Hers is the voice of revel, of the birth Of strange sweet madness over all the earth! 2nd Nymph: Pan, in thy heart must that sweet madness glow! Pan: 'Tis joy, joy strangling the cries of woe! Turning his sobs to laughter! 2nd Nymph: Caper thou. Pan! And we will follow after! Pan: Here, there and away into the woods we go! All: Heigh-ho, and away and away into the woods we go! (The Nymphs frolic away off stage and Pan crouches down by the pool.) Pan: (Sadly, as the echoes of their words reach him): Heigh-ho! And away and away — And the voice of our hearts must silent stay. The pains and the tears we must banish away! Heigh-ho! And away and away! (Voices of the Nymphs off stage echo the last line.) Pan: Heigh-ho! And away and away — Pan's but a jest, a thing made to play! Why, Pan has no heart! Ah, well an a day! Heigh-ho! And away and away! (Pan casts off his sadness and once more begins to play on his pipes.) (A Voice from down in the pool takes up Pan's song.) Voice: Heigh-ho! And away and away — Poor Pan had a heart. It was wont to stray. And the loved ones it sought for had naught to say But heigh-ho! And away and away! (Pan crouches down, trembling.) Pan: Thy words are true, thou lovely evil thing! Can my poor sorrow to thy cold heart bring A taste of pleasure? Is it worth thy while To cast on my poor follies thy slow smile, The smile that turns thy victim's blood to ice? Voice: Thou ugly prancing beast, I tell thee thrice And more times yet have I seen thee pursue Thy fleeting love! NAIYA J AN AM Page 51 Pan: And thy mean spirit drew From my despair, a jest! My pipes I'll play, I'll have no more of thee! Voice: One moment stay, Thou capering goat. If thou thy grief wouldst kill Let revenge be the salve to cure thine ill. Let others grieve. Rejoice while they do weep! I still do please men's eyes. My pool is deep And filled with magic liquid. Those who taste Its bitter sweetness in love's reckless haste, Are turned to loathsome beings! Play, Pan, play! Let thy pipes make some mortal's feet to stray Into this grove. I'll turn his heart to flame! And he shall drink! Drink, Pan! 'Tis a game! A jest to make thy foolish heart forget Its hopeless love, its aching, vain regret! Pan: Thy cruel words arouse the beast in me! Oh, that I were all god, a spirit free From mortal passions! Voice: Wouldst thou laugh agai>: Pan: Tell me, thou fiend, can pain rejoice in pain? I grant thee for all joys we have to pay A price — the memory of the yesterday! I will be glad ! I will be glad ! Say on Thou temptress! Shall I now be gone To find for thee a lover? Voice: Go thou, Pan! We shall make sport of poor, weak, mortal man! (A man's voice is heard off stage.) Visions do greet mine eyes, then quickly fade. Into what mystic ivoodland have I strayed?" Listen, goat-god, a mortal voice I hear. Hasten, and with thy magic draw him near! (Pan capers about ziith his pipes and softly takes up his old song.) Pan: Heigh-ho! And away and away — Come hither, thou wanderer, come and play! Thy love is calling to thee today! Heigh-ho! And away and away! (The voices of the Nymphs off-stage echo the last line. Enter the Shep- herd. He seems in a daze and looks about wonderingly. Pan crouches azvay so that the Shepherd does not see him.) Shepherd: Faint music do I hear. Sweet melodies Do haunt these woods, borne by the fragrant breeze They come to tease my senses, to awake New longings in my breast. The very trees do shake And quiver with expectancy. What grove is this? (The Siren rises from the pool in a glozv of light. She stretches her arms tozvards him. He stands transfixed by the vision.) Siren: Here shalt thou learn the meaning of love's kiss! Shepherd: Surely I dream! My eyes deceive me quite. Thou radiant, wondrous vision of delight, What art thou? Page 52 NAIYA JANAM Siren: Draw thou near and see! The love deep in my eyes is all for thee, For thee alone and thou dost so desire! Shepherd: Thy beauty burns me with a living fire! Thine eyes hold mine. I may not turn away! Siren: Thine whole desire is thine and thou dost stay! My arms yearn for thee. Pray draw nearer still. My lips are thine, thine only! Do thy will! (He bends over her, not daring to kiss her.) Shepherd: Thou art too beautiful! I fear to taste such bliss! I fear thee, yet would crush thee, kill thee for one kiss! My heart cries out for all that thou wilt give! Yet could man know that heaven and still live? (He draws away from her, hut she clings to him.) Siren: So thou'rt afraid! To love thou dost not dare! Shepherd: Thy magic holds me in a golden snare, Quivering and faint for love, for want of thee! Take thine enchantment from me! Set me free! This is but burning torture' Siren: Wouldst thou go? Then love's sweet ecstacy thou shalt not know! But love's despair shall reign within thine heart Forever! Mortal, farewell! We part! (She draivs away. He clutches to7vards her frantically.) Shepherd: Thou shalt not go! I tell thee thou art mine! And I shall kiss thee! Drink thy lips like wine, Red wine, throbbing and beating through my veins like fire The life within me's but one mad desire For thee! Leave me not! Pity my deep pain! Let mine eyes see thy loveliness again! (She reappears a bit farther away from him. He reaches towards her pleading.) Siren: So love has made thee brave, strong to endure The cruel white heat of passion! Art thou sure Thou dost desire me? Shepherd: More than the breath Of life! Without thee, there is naught but death Within me! Siren: Then, mortal, shalt thou know Love's secret, love's fulfilment ere thou go From out this woodland. One thing thou must do Before thy glowing, golden dream comes true. Drink thou one draught of magic water cool From out the crystal clearness of my pool! If thou wouldst have my love, I beg thee this One act to do. Then my embrace — my kiss! Shepherd: Were it the vilest poison, still I'd drain Its bitter depth if only I could gain One kiss, one clinging, close embrace with thee! (He drinks from the pool, and rises, turned info a hideous creature. The NAIYA JANAM Page 53 Siren is mad with joy al what she has done. Site jeers at him, gloating upon his misery.) Siren: Thou fool! Thou fool! Thou monster; Pan, come see Our jest! This mortal did aspire To know my kiss! Led by this mad desire, He drank, drank deeply from my magic pool! Behold him now! Vile, ugly, loathsome fool! Shepherd: What mean these words? I do not understand! Did I not drink that draught at thy command To win thy love? Why dost thou turn from me? Siren: Gaze in the pool's still surface. Thou shalt see Thy face. 'Tis beautiful indeed! I yearn for thee! Thou art my love's great need! Thy loveliness doth make the birds to sing! Entrancing mortal! Shepherd: Thou hast done this thing! It is not true! 'Tis but an ugly dream! Siren: Thy face is truly ugly. It would seem Not to be that of beast, nor god, nor man! 'Tis but a freak at which to jeer! Come, Pan! Laugh with me! Jest with me! We have played our game! (Enter Pan.) Shepherd: Thou hast done this thing! Pan: Yea, I do almost pity thee, and yet ' Mine own repulsive form I ne'er forget! All mock at me. None there are who believe That my wild heart, half beast, half god, can grieve! One thing remains for Pan — to laugh, to sing! Then let these pipes throughout the woodland ring! Pan's but an elf, a living prank, set free To romp! How should he pity thee! (Exit Pan, capering and piping.) Shepherd: Stay, Pan, stay! Leave me not here alone! I know thine heart by the pain in mine own! Gone! He is gone! He heeded not my cry. What matters it? Better alone to die. (The stage becomes dark.) Darkness comes! It is the kindly night Whose shadows hide my shame away from sight. Is this the end of all my life? Oh, why Should I have found this dreadful place to die A loathsome death? Let me forget That ever I did live, and love — Art thou there yet? Do thy cruel eyes the darkness pierce to see The horror that thy beauty wrought for me? (The siren has gone, but the faces of the evil spirits spring out of the dark- ness, now appearing close by the Shepherd's side, now farther azvay.) Thou dreadful grinning phantoms, art thou sent To bring new terrors to me, to torment My tortured brain to madness? Speak, I say! (The evil spirits mock his zvords: "My tortured brain to madness! Speak I say!" Then they squeal and chortle in glee.) Page 54 NAIYA JANAM Shepherd: Oh, let the darkness cover me away! There is no pity in this ghastly glade. I am myself a loathsome creature made To mock. No kindly spirit hears My grief. Oh, earth, drink thou my tears Of bitter, bitter shame! (He collapses weeping at the foot of a big tree. The evil spirits exit. Sud- denly light comes and the tree opens, revealing a beautiful little Dryad.) Dryad: What mortal tears Fall on my tree? What haunting fears Have set me free? Mortal, thy strife Hath wakened me to life! Hid in this oak I heard thy woe! When thy heart broke Mine own did grow Within me. See! Thy tears gave life to me! Unhappy youth. Lift up thy head! Tell me in truth Why thy heart bled? Arise! Awake! I live for thy sweet sake! (She bends over him pityingly.) Shepherd: Dear dryad, if my tears have done for thee Some good, if from thy prison thou art free Through any act of mine, I welcome this Cruel punishment as if it were sweet bliss! Only I beg thee, leave me. Go thy way! Join thou thy sisters in the woods at play. Yet know thy sweet and gentle words do lend A comfort which shall last unto the end Of all my sad existence. Dryad: I'll not go And leave thee here alone. Shepherd: It must be so. Dryad: Ah, no, but lift thy tearful eyes to me. In mine thou shalt read comfort. Thou shalt see That joy still lives. Happiness is not dead. Dear shepherd, I implore thee, lift thy head. Shepherd: Thanks for thy tender pity. Should I raise My head, a sight would meet thy gaze Such as would cause disgust and fear in thee, A sickening vision which thou shouldst not see! Dryad: Then would that I could weep here by thy side! Alas, that tears should be a gift denied To such as I. Would I were mortal too. Shepherd: An thou wert mortal, what then wouldst thou do? NAIYA JAN AM Page 55 Dryad: Love thee, love thee — Love? — what do I feel Clutching my heart, making my senses reel? Voices everywhere whisper strange things. Mine ears do faintly hear soft, fluttering wings! What secret hangs like fragrance on the air? Love! Love! Thy sweet enchantment I would share! Sing me thy song! (The Nymphs begin singing off-stage, and come slowly into viezv. They sing the first stan:;as of the song at the beginning of the scene.) What is the secret the woodland tells? What is the song she sings? Whence come her wondrous, magic spells Woven of a thousand springs? Love! Love! Fill my shadowed aisle With the gay, glad echoes of thy play! 'Tis love, love makes the spring to smile, Soft I hear the woodland say. (The Dryad listens fascinated. Dreamily she repeats the last t7vo lines.) 'Tis love, love makes the spring to smile Soft I hear the woodland say! (She looks tozvard the prostrate form of the Shepherd and then ffies to him.) Dryad: I love thee! I love thee! Shepherd: How can this be? The pain, the horror's gone! I wake from ghastly dreams to love's fair dawn! Sweet, tender words are whispered in mine ear. The past's all dim. Love! Love! 'Tis thou art near, And I will look on thee! (He rises. His disfigurement is gone, and he is once more beautiful. He and the Dryad stand gazing into each other's eyes in silent joy.) Shepherd: Thou art a pure, bright light Folding my being in thy silver gleams! Thou art the very flower of all delight The lovely blossom of my realized dreams! Dryad: And I am thine, thou dear one, only thine! The love within my heart is all for thee. And thou shalt find me like the tender vine. Clinging in fond caress to yonder tree. (They are almost in each other's arms when the 2nd Nymph runs forivard and kneels before the Dryad, clinging to her and trying to draw her away.) 2nd Nymph: I pray thee, sister, one brief moment wait Before thou give thyself to love's embrace. One mortal kiss and it will be too late! Never thy wandering steps canst thou retrace. And mortal love is very hard to bear. I have been told this by our comrade, Pan! Of love's consuming flame we should beware! Thy precious hfe of freedom just began. 1st Nymph: Would'st bind thyself with fetters thus so soon? Stay with us. Dance to Pan's sweet, merry tune! Page 56 NAIYA JANAM (The Nymphs gather around her and Pan enters, but the Dryad turns zifist- fully to the Shepherd.) Dryad: Thy words are kind, dear nymphs, dear sisters all, Yet must I harken to my true love's call. Pan: Would'st thou become a mortal, foolish one? Follies committed may not be undone. Here thou art free! Thou canst forever play! Thy life will be one long delightful day Within these woods. Dryad: Tell me if I do go What shall befall me. Pan? Pan: Thou'lt know The sins of man. They shall pursue Thee all thy many, weary lifetimes through. Shepherd: Heed not his words! Our love is of the weave Of heavenly things. Believe, my dear, believe! Dryad: I do believe and yet he makes me grieve! Pan: Grieve! Yea, grieve — already thou dost feel Tormenting mortal passions o'er thee steal. Wouldst see these evil sprites of mortal woe Who shall be at thy side if thou dost go? Come Pride, come Greed, come Jealousy into the light! (The evil spirits come trooping into the light. The Dryad and the Nymphs draw away from them and huddle together. The Shepherd never turns his eyes from the Dryad. Pan and the evil spirits prozcl and caper about in a weird half-dance, punctuated with Utile shrill squeals.) Dryad: Vile phantoms thou dost fill my heart with fright! Thou shalt not grasp me in thy cold embrace! I'll shake thee off! Pride: Nay, do not scoff At me, staid, self-torturing Pride, Writhing from tearing wounds made in my side, Placed there by mine own hand. Forlorn, alone thou'lt stand With me for company! Dryad: I fear not thee! Now will I go With thee, my dear, I love thee so. Pan: Nay, Dryad, wait! Green Jealousy would whisper in thine ear! Dryad: Thy wicked messages I will not hear. Jealousy: I'll show to thee another in the embrace Of thy false love, robbing thee of thy place! I'll make hate fill thy heart! Dryad: Cease thou thy dreadful art! Shepherd: Come, my beloved, I plead! Greed (catching at her): Nay! Listen to the whimpering of Greed! I clutch, I gobble, lie, desire Another's blessings. I conspire NAIYA J AN AM Page 57 With loathsome creatures that I may attain My wants. I live for love of gain! Pan: These phantoms shall pursue thee if thee give Thy love to him, through all the lives thou'lt live! 2nd Nymph: Dear Dryad, do not go! Such mortal suflfering tliou shouldst never know. The woods are sweet! Follow us then with gaily dancing feet! Shepherd: Dear love, do thou thy will. My heart's but a sob for thee! Yet stay in thy woodland still If there thou wilt happy be. And if I must fare alone Through life's tedious while, I shall smile, for I have known The light of thy smile. (The Dryad looks at him long, then turns to the Nymt^hs. The evil spirits have gone.) Dryad: Sweet Nymphs, farewell! Thou lovely woodland glade Forever must I leave thy kindly shade. For thee, my dear, Fll dare all mortal strife! Did not thy heart's cry waken me to life? Thy sorrow from my prison set me free? Now thy love gives a mortal soul to me. Farewell, my sisters! Capering Pan, farewell! No longer in thy woodland may I dwell! Pan: My poor beast's mind can never, never see Clearly into love's mystic twilight land. Yet your words seem to thrill the god in me! Partly my foolish heart can understand. I know love sings, The love that dares all things. 2nd Nymph: And thou wilt all thine own companions leave, Live endless mortal lives each filled with woe? Surely the time will come that thou shalt grieve For this cool woodland home if thou dost go! Dryad: Yea, for this forest oft times will I yearn. While the harsh lessons of my life I learn. Yet one thing do I need all else above! My heart's a voice, a cry — love answering love! 2nd Nymph: Farewell, I am loath to lose thee, sister sprite, Yet dimly do I know that thou art right! Dryad (to Shepherd): Give me thy hand! Far, far away In some new land We'll be today! The birds do sing. A soft light glows above, 'Tis dawn, sweet dawn! Shepherd: It is the dawn of love! Page 58 NAIYA JANAM (They kiss and stand clasped in each other's arms while Pan and the Nymphs steal slowly away singing.) Heigh-ho! And away and away — Tell me, oh tell me what love doth say! I am thine forever and ever a day! Heigh-ho! And away and away — Heigh-ho! And away and away! Curtain. •<>• NAIYA JANAM Page 59 BEFORE THE CURTAIN (The Djinnee leads The Girl to the center of the stage as before.) The Girl: Spirit, the burden from my heart has gone. Things which did greatly trouble me seem clear! The night is past. 'Tis dawn, sweet, radiant dawn! I would return to him I hold most dear. Spirit, wilt thou still linger by my side? The Djinnee: Go, and forever with thy true love bide, Throughout this life and all thy future lives. All things are well if only love survives. xAiud now farewell! Far into space I go! The Girl: Farewell, dear spirit — spirit, I would know That thou art near me always, lest I grope In darkness still as in the long ago. Thy presence fills my heart with love and hope. The Djinnee: Then in thy time of need. The lessons of thy other lifetimes heed. Farewell! The Girl: Farewell! (They exit different sides of the stage.) NAIYA JANAAd Page 61 EPILOGUE Chayacici's. The Girl. The Man. Zahir-u-Din. Scene: Same as the prologue. The Girl « seated in the big chair by the fire, asleep. Zahir-u-Din sits at the center back, close to the curtains, piping, as he was just before the appearance of the Djinnee. A door-hcU off stage rings. Zahir-u-Din rises to his feet, and listens. Zahir-u-Din: What summons breaks upon the hush of dawn? What weary wanderer through the lonely night, Calls out to us before the stars are gone, Before the elves of darkness are in flight? (Just as Zahir-u-Din exits, the bell rings again,, and The Girl wakes. She looks about her in a daze and puts out her hands gropingly.) The Girl: Spirit, where are you? I have lost my way. About me hovering shadows of the night Are gathering. All my senses sway. Lead me, I pray you, spirit, into the light. (She opens her eyes, and starts at her surroundings.) There was a kindlj'- presence by my side! Where was it? Through what distant, shadow land Have I been travelling with my mystic guide? Was it a dream? Ah, now I understand! Now I remember. Oh, my love is gone. Snatched from my hungry arms, leaving me all alone! Nothing but misery comes with this pallid dawn Nothing but loneliness. Maybe the fault was my own. Yet through the mist of my sorrow a something arises Elusive, alluring. My memory catches the gleams Of a moment of ecstasy such as the fancy devises, Creates from the shimmering fabric of beautiful dreams! (She stands looking dreamily into space as Zahir-u-Din enters. He sitlaains to her.) The Girl: Oh, Zahir-u-Din, what brings you here? I'm confused, half asleep still. Oh, why did I wake? Zahir-u-Din: 'Twas the ringing of the bell that woke thee, oh my mem- sahib. The Girl: What bell, Zahir-u-Din? I heard no bell, but music and voices seem to echo in my ears from far away. Have 1 been sleeping long? Is it near morning? Zahir-u-Din: Ai, the new day is drawing near, oh my mistress, and there is one whose face is wan and white, even as the dawning light, who comes to thee from long wandering through the lonely hours of night. The Girl: Here? Zahir-u-Din, is he here? Zahir-u-Din: He is here, even he whom thou boldest most dear. The Girl: I will see him. (E.rit Zahir-u-Din.) Page 62 NAIYA JANAM The Girl: I sent him way. It was her fault. Somehow it all seems unreal, far away. But there is a haunting reality somewhere — what music comes to me? What sweet voices whisper in my ear? (l^ery, very faintly from off stage comes the melody of the Nymphs' Song— " 'Tis love, love makes the spring to smile," etc. The Man enters. He is haggard and wretched, and turns to her in a heart-broken appeal.) The Man: Your voice I seemed to hear close by my side. I felt you calling me, and so I came. . Vainly to reason with myself I tried. My love and grief have banished all my shame. Laugh at me if you will, I've lost all pride. Only I know I felt you by my side. The Girl: My dear one, in a dream I called to you, And you have come to make that dream come true! It seems as if I've travelled far away. Into a someplace far beyond, above. Now all my doubts and fears have gone astray! Such evil spirits could not live with love! The Man: My love, my love, can it be you are mine? Such joy is almost more than I can bear! The Girl: Come, all your sorrow you must now resign. No longer need your weary heart despair. No longer shall you be forlorn, alone! The Man: Such happiness, such joy I scarcely dare To realize! Oh, my love! My own! (They embrace, and she leads him gently towards the fireplace. She sits down in the big chair and he kneels beside her, his head in her arms. Off stage the voices of the Nymphs are heard in the song.) The End. Curtain. Press of Stovel-Stevens Company- Chicago LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 299 8

tmp92001495

The light of inspiration ...

Armstrong, Nora

lightofinspirati00arms_djvu.txt

P s 3501 R57\-5 v 1910 1 (0^1&$©jilliil 1 %*?£) Hk ^^WjjJjSsjg^^ 'jM Wm Class ,_ Bodc_ GojpghtN? COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Wi\t ^Ctgfyi uf ,3In0ptratt0n. PREFACE. It's not the mountain peaks I seek But the valleys green with their flowers sweet. It's not the eagle but the dove I would send to bear my message of love. For in his flight so wild and free he might forget my message to thee. But the dove with its nature faithful and true will bear my loving message to you. Dedicated to my family and friends and the ever- green hills of Oregon. Mrs. Nora Armstrong. Portland, Oregon, Copyright 1910. Press of Bulletin* Publishing Company, Portland, Ore. ©CI. A 25 IF I WERE THE EARTH AND YOU WERE THE SUN. F I were the earth and you the sun, We would woo and wed together, And unto royal heirs give birth, Forever and forever. If I were the spring and you were the showers, We w r ould wed and woo from heaven such flowers As never angel hands could bring, If I were the showers and you were the spring. If I were the field and you were the grain, How gladly we would grow; And oh, what abundance we would yield To all who plant and sow. If I were the earth, the sea and sky, And you a beautiful tree, How rich and rare and sweet The fruits would grow, for you and me. And so through all the kingdom wherever we met as one, I the beautiful broad green earth, and you the glori- ous sun, How rich would be the harvest of flowers, and fruit, and grain, Bringing the Garden of Eden and joy back to man again, Filling all life with gladness, blending all souls as one, If I were the broad green earth, and you the glorious sun. THE SECOND BIRTH. Long years ago when I was young and innocent as a dream, A wealth of flowers seemed on my brow and colored every scene. Far down the beautiful valley of time and all of hope and joy was mine. And when a thorn lay in my path, I knew its sting could never last As long as the fragrance of the flower That bloomed for me in youth's bright bower. But tho' sweet hope was kind to me, My bark was drifting o'er life's sea And I knew no quiet haven of rest Where peace could hold full sway in my breast. Until I received a second birth and then a light on my vision burst. Brighter far than the rosy scene Viewed by me in youth's bright dream. For it did not contain just my lover and me But was broad as the universe and deep as the sea. And now when the waves roll mountain high, The Father's face reflects from the sky. And when they gently roll at my feet, I hear the sound of voices sweet, And I know the words that are wafted to me Across the waves of the rolling sea Are sweeter by far than those of earth, I heard before my spirit birth. For they speak of a life eternal and grand. Progressing for aye in the summer land, Where the perfect love that rounds out the soul The reality of a dream doth hold. And here and now we can feel the joy Of the hopes of youth beyond the sky That are renewed at the second birth, And flood with sunshine all the earth, And fill the heart, the soul and mind With a tender love for all mankind, Which is played upon, like the lofty trees Are played upon by the passing breeze. And caused it to whisper soft and low, To the buds that burst and the flowers that grow, "Receive, receive, from the world on high, From the gentle breezes passing by, To the earth beneath and the sky above, For all is sent in the name of love." MY INVISIBLE TEACHER. Oh guide my bark I pray thee Across life's storm tossed sea For somehow I fall to drifting When the guiding is left to me. And then a fear comes o'er me When the storm clouds gather fast That if I do the guiding My barque will go down at last. And I ask in the name of the darkest wave Thy guiding hand my barque will save And bring me into a heaven of peace Where I may sit down to a heavenly feast. And know that the love That guided me here Is the love That casteth out all fear. .And the waves that wash The sun-kissed shore Will drive my barque On the rocks no more. Then I can throw out the life line To ones on the storm-tossed waves And may through love and patience Lend a hand to save. TO THOSE IN SORROW. I, too, have had sorrow, but glimpses of light Would flash through the darkness like star gems at night, And out of a rift in the clouds I could see The faces of angels smiling at me. And when I was silent I knew I could hear Their sweet words of comfort, of courage and cheer, That lifted me up when I fain would lie down In anguish and grief with my face on the ground. And when all my sorrow was carried away I could see precious flowers on the ground where I lay. And the fields that in winter were barren and bleak Are now filled with promise that makes life complete. WHAT ARE WORDS f What are words, and where do they start? Do they come from the self-same place in the heart? Some are so gentle, low and sweet, Like fragrant flowers that bloom at your feet; And their sweetness wreathes your lips with a smile That shortens the length of the wary mile; And you cherish them in your heart like a gem, And you long to hear them over again. But some of our thoughts, when put into words, Cut into the heart like a two-edged sword, And you shrink away with deep surprise, Till the teardrops rise and fill your eyes; And your heart seems crushed, bleeding and sore, While you hear their harshness o'er and o'er, As your eyes grow dim and )'ou cannot see; It may be a friend that is speaking to thee. That has not learned just how to unfold And speak the language of the soul, That is ever gentle, true and sweet, Like the fragrant flowers that bloom at our feet. To give us comfort when life seems sad, And help you forget the words that were said, And make you know that perfect love Is gentle as the voice of a dove. And soothing as the summer breeze That floats away among the trees, Cooling the heat of the mid-day sun, Bringing sweet rest to everyone. THEY SAY I WAS ONCE A PRINCESS. Yes, I must have been a Princess In the ages long gone by, For a scene of royal splendor Oft times floats before my eye. For I feel the robe upon me And the crown upon my head, And see the light around me By the flashing jewels shed. As I sit in royal grandeur, While the couriers around me stand, And list to catch my slightest word And heed my every command. And thus the life around me Was to take and never give, And in that cramped surrounding All my earthly days I lived. And when my reign was over And they bore my body away, To lofty Pyramids of old Where kings and princes lay. My spirit was but an infant In the higher realms above, And they taught me as a little child My first sweet lessons of love. How the heart was the royal palace And the soul the ruling power, And Love in the Garden of the Gods, The only perfect flower. All else is but the glitter Of earthly pomp and fame, And except you carve it out in love, Ye will have no lasting name. And so with that sweet lesson I am back again on Earth, Bearing my share of its burdens, Content in an humble birth. As long as the bright cheeks glowing In every land and clime, Be fed by the warm blood flowing From the same great Fountain as mine. A LESSON FROM NATURE. (This poem is said to be an account of the last days of Robert L. Stevenson.) There's an island far out in the ocean I dreamed of one night in my sleep, Where the blue waves forever are rolling Along on the beautiful beach. And one day I sailed from the main land Far out to that beautiful isle, Where the sun kissed the waves in the morning And faded at night with a smile. Like the bidding adieu of a lover Whose absence would last but an hour, Then return with a bright smile of greeting With all of love's magical power. And out on that island of beauty I made me a home on its breast; And I thought that of all God's kingdom This isle was the fairest and best. And there I lived hours in the sunshine, Watching the waves on the beach, Knowing that every bright ripple Some precious lesson could teach. And I prayed that some power from heaven Would teach me to read as I run, And write down some lesson from Nature I learned from the waves and the sun. And there on that beautiful island, Far out from the dark haunts of men, I learned to commune with the angels And write down their words with my pen. And the world knows well the story Of Robert Louis Stevenson, Who lived far out in the ocean And an author's laurels won. Who longed ofttimes in the twilight, In his own native birth-place to be, Yet could not remain in the body, Except on that isle in the sea. So health that one ever is seeking, li he has not that jewel of his own, Let me out to that beautiful island Away from my own native home. And there in the sound of the billows When earth life was ebbing away, I saw a bright vision of heaven, And heard all the songs that they play. And their notes were the same as the robin, Caught up from the musical spheres, And rolled out upon life's broad billows Throughout all eternity's years. And I asked of the angels in heaven, If they had any lesson for me, That I could not glean out of the sunbeams And out of the waves of the sea. And they answered : "Just Nature's our teacher. No matter how high you may go, It's the same that teaches the robin, And no other the Archangels know." THE SYMBOL OF THE SUN. Far down o'er the sloping hillside, And out o'er the mountain crest, The sun, in all its glory, Has silently sunk to rest. And its beams, still red and golden, Light up the western sky, And linger along the hilltops, Kissing the flowers good-bye. And, w T ith the selfsame sunbeams That linger and then are gone, Is the sky on the other side of the earth Lit up with a golden dawn. 10 And the eyes that were closed in slumber Awake to a newborn day ; And the darkness that was around them Silently rolled away. And thus does the soul awaken To the light of the new-born day, And thus is the darkness around them Silently rolled away. And the spirit walks forth in its freedom, And views the tinted sky, And catches the sound of voices Silently saying good-bye, And knows as much of its meaning As the flowers on the green hillside, For not the smallest part of the soul Through the darkness and dawn have died, But awakes in the fresh, new morning, As bright as it was before: With the snow-capped waves of the ocean of life , Washing the golden shore Of times that had no beginning And never an ending will know, For the soul of man in its upward flight Will need all time to grow — Will need the beautiful symbol Of the sun sinking in the west, Marking the dawn to the world beyond, Like the sun on the mountain crest. As it paints the flowers all golden Along on the green hillside; So love tints the memory of friends Whenever the form has died. 11 THE SPIRITUAL ROCK. How grand it is to stand alone And watch the waves dash their foam Wildly upon the ocean beach, And know that you stand beyond their reach. And thus my friends I feel to-day, When the Ocean of life dashes up its spray, Of turmoil and strife around my feet That I stand on a rock beyond its reach. As I lift my eyes to the rising Sun And feel that my mission has just begun, For the place on which our feet doth stand Is a settled rock and not one of sand. The waves that are dashing their foam aand spray Can never wash this rock away; For this rock is Spirit and Spirit alone Cannot be reached by the Ocean foam. As it cannot be moved by a little spray Of the troubles of Earth and be washed away ; For Spirit is all there is of Life And this knowledge will lift us above Earth's strife. And open our souls to the realms above Where w T e live in the joys of Truth and Love. And Truth walks ever by our side As sweet and pure as a new made bride. And the Star of Hope, high over the way, Shines brighter and brighter for us each day; And in that haven along the shore We may guide our barks to be tossed no more. For he that is conscious that Spirit is Life Is lifted above Earth's turmoil and strife; .Although the waves roll close to his feet He catches sounds of voices sweet. 12 And reaching a hand to the ones long gone He joins them in their Heavenly song, Until its echoes roll far and wide And we know that the angels are by our side, To give us courage and strength each day And love to last us all the way. A joyful thought, how firm we can stand And reach out to all a helping hand. And throw out the Life line upon the wave And try some storm-tossed soul to save; And bring them into this Haven of Peace, Where the Knowledge of Spirit is God's Holy Feast. TIME AND L Time and I are just as happy As two old chums could be, For he told me not to worry And the truth would set me free, He had soothed so many sorrows, Dried so many bitter tears In the hours and days of practice He has had these long, long years, I could count upon his presence To do as much for me If I'd tarry just a moment And my blessings try to see. Try to feel that he was present Every moment of the day; And would help my eyes in seeing All the flowers along the way, 13 All the wonders he was working, Not with sickle by his side, As the mind of man has pictured When some precious one has died, But the mowing down of error, Weeding out all thought unkind, Sowing seeds of love and kindness In the heart, the soul, the mind. Gathering up the heartstrings broken Binding them with golden cord, Brought to him in tender mercy By the angels of the Lord, Then we took a little journey back In all the ages past, And I found that no great sorrow In the mind of man could last. For he came and took it from them, Planting little seeds of joy That would grow when least they dreamed it, And would bless them by and by. BUTTERFLY COLORS. Some people I know think that butterflies gay Were made with bright shades since the very first day. But a secret I've learned from fairyland bright — The first butterflies were all perfectly white, Till a rainbow exploded one showery day, In butterfly fairy land, far, far away. And some of the colors arched over the sky, Fell down here and there on the white butterfly. 14 And ever since then, in color and shade, They have carried the colors the rainbow made; And they sport in the sunshine, happy and free, So all little chidren their bright wings may see. And know what was done one sweet summer day, In butterfly fairyland, far, far away, When a rainbow, in forming an arch o'er the sky, Exploded all over the white butterfly. MY WEAVING. I was touched by the beauty of heaven, And wooed by the Spirit of Love; To fix my hopes on Eternal things In the realm of the Spirit above. For we know this life is transient, Death' speaks, and we must obey; And then we live in the Spirit, And not in this house of clay. O ! to be true to that knowledge ! O! to be strong and brave! And cloud not the soul with a habit We would blush for beyond the grave. For there we're stripped of earth's garment And stand in the Spirit's pure light; We see and are seen in our glory Or in the soul's shadows and blight, That is made, O, my brother and sister By the life we are living to-day. And the garment we are weaving this moment Is the garment we'll all wear away. 15 And oft time the privilege of weaving Comes sweeping in joy o'er my soul, And I try to weave only the whitest O'f threads into every fold. And while that sweet spell is upon me I know what I weave is pure white, And fit to be worn in my bright spirit home In the strongest and clearest of light. But what is the color of weaving When doubt throws a cloud o'er my mind ; And the thoughts that I think are unholy, And the deeds I do are unkind? And love is just given in portions To this one, or that, as I choose, Is it then that spots cloud my garments And some of its brightness I lose? Is it then that I feel all unworthy To weave what through time I must wear, And know that no matter how dark they may be, The spots on my robe I must bear? Then in love I pity my weaving, And in love I try to do right; Helo other souls with the knowledge To weave all their garments pure white. THE CALM IN MY SOUL. There are times when I'm lonely, And times when I'm sad, There are times when I'm happy And joyful and glad. But the times I love most Are the times I am calm As a fresh, rosy morn At the first hour of dawn. 16 Ere the last gentle breeze From the South Seas have passed To stir but a leaf Or a green blade of grass. As a lake in a quiet forest glade reflects The scene that Nature made From the trees and ferns and flowers bright To the stately mountains' peaks all white. Each one alike, from the mountain peak To the tiny flower, reflects in the deep Its own true self, in the quiet calm Of the beautiful lake in the summer morn. And thus, Dear Father, would I the same, Reflect myself, in Thy real name, True to nature in every part, With just pure love to rule my heart. Not on the waves of emotion wild, But trust as a calm and gentle child, Faithful and kind as a wife and mother, True in my soul to my sisters and brothers. Obedient ever to Nature's will Just like the beautiful waters still Reflects the forms of the mountains and trees, Ne'er a leaf was marred by a passing breeze. Or a cloud lias swept the rosy sky And hid the crest of the mountain high, And this is my prayer from day to day As the moments come and pass away. That the calm in my soul That I love best, Will rock me forever On Nature's Breast. 17 MY ANSWER. A sweet sister asked me in kindness one day, If I'd heard how they talked of a friend o'er the way. And meekly I hung down my innocent head, And told her I knew not a word they said. But I thought that one going as oft as you do, Some, if not all, of the scandal you knew. A.nd quickly I answered her back with a smile, The bird flies forth daily o'er many a mile, But when it lights down it is careful and neat, To not carry off any soil on its feet, To burden its soaring and hinder its flight, Back to the nest where it rests through the night. And thus I go forth in the soul life to feed, On the thoughts and the things that my spirit must need. Like the bee that sips honey from each open flower, And carries it with it through sunshine and shower. Back to the home it has builded so well, To hold its sweet burden in cell after cell. Caring not what all the other bees do, Just so it rounds out each cell sweet and true. That nature has taught it so well how to make, If only the best from the flowers it will take. 18 LIFE AFTER DEATH. Life after death — is it sunshine or shade, Is it what God hath given, or what man hath made? I have listened to catch every sound from Life's sea, And this is the answer that was wafted to me. By the Angels of Light from the bright spheres above, That life after death is the essence of love. Garnered up from the deeds we have done upon earth And saved for the soul at its spiritual birth. To help speed it upward and onward for aye, Through the laws of progression and life's endless day. That is open alike to the children of earth Regardless of name, or nation, or birth. Where the lessons we learn when the spirit is free, Will grow brighter with love through eternity. As little by little we find that all good In the realm of the spirit is true brotherhood. Endowed with a wisdom, so noble and grand Your light will descend from the bright spirit land, And whisper to mortals tender and low, That life after death is w T here they will grow The fruits of the spirit, loving and kind And bless and be blessed by all of mankind. Unconscious of aught but the fact that we live Beyond the dark grave, and have power to give Praise to the Father of Wisdom above That our growth, and our gladness, must come through our love. 19 FRIENDSHIP'S FLOWER. Tribute to Senator Mitchell. On the form of our Senator, old and gray, A simple white flower in pity I lay, Amid the blossoms, rich and rare, Others had sent to cover his bier. And I ask of the angels in that hour To bless with love my little flower, And whisper to him when they meet in heaven, That my spotless flower to him was given. In memory of the days gone by, When no cloud of suspicion darkened his sky. And now to earth's sorrow he is dead, No cloud shall rest on his honored head. For love will roll them all away, And the sun will break forth in endless day, Over friendship's lovelit sky As we feel his gentle spirit nigh. And our memory lingers long and sweet Over the time when we shall meet, And walk together on that shore Where grief and parting will come no more. And the little white flower that in pity I lay Upon his silent form today, Is for those that could not understand The noble soul of such a man, Who worked in love for all he knew, Strong and steadfast, brave and true, As he climbed, as it were, from the very ground Until he reached the topmost round, Where he ever reached down with love's magical power To pluck and cherish sweet friendship's flower. 20 DO WE REAP WHAT WE SOW? They tell us each day that we reap what we sow. Now tell me, I pray, when it ripens to mow. And if wheat is the symbol of our daily deed, Who cares for the chaff and who garners the seed ? I have pondered quite often this question, my friends, And I trust that some wise one their counsel will lend, And help solve this problem that I do not know, Of when and how much do we reap what we sow? What becomes of the chaff and the straw that must grow To strengthen the grain ere it's ready to mow? Is the grief in our hearts, the sorrow and pain Just the chaff and the straw, or the real ripened grain? Is the pleasure we oft times so long to live in The straw in the stack or the grain in the bin? The one that can answer my question aright Will throw on my pathway a much-needed light. To aid me in seeing how much that is sweet Is the chaff I should burn or the wheat I should eat To strengthen my limbs for the journey ahead, When sifting out wheat for my heavenly bread. SWEET GRATITUDE. The fairest flower that blooms in the human heart, Tell me, I pray you, where you grow, For I've searched and found you not. In the places where I thought you grew. I've worked and searched the long years through For just a tiny bud or stem, growing in the breasts of men. 21 And sometimes I sit me down and weep, For I've searched o'er hill and mountain steep, And have never shirked a duty, Where I thought your blossoms, sweet and rare, Bloomed for every human heart, That takes a true and honest part, And sends out love to every one, From early morn to set of sun. For, in the sunshine and in the rain, We love sweet gratitude the same. I care not where that soul may be, He is never from thy magic free. For that rare flower doth sweeten life, And soften all its toil and strife. And if there blooms no flower for me on land, I find it in the sea, on some fair island far away That my frail bark may reach some day, And from that isle I bring some seed, And plant it for- the soul's great need, And raise its blooms sweet and rare, And wreath them into garlands fair, To cheer the lonely on their way, And strengthen them from day to day, For here on earth each soul doth need The flowers that grow from that rare seed. THE ROSY DAWN. Dear friends, if I stood before you, Robed in garments of white, With a radiant crown of wisdom, Shedding its golden light Far down o'er the coming ages And back o'er the years that are gone, I would ask you to lift your faces To catch the Rosy Dawn 22 Of life and light and beauty In an era born of joy, Through the wisdom, hope and knowledge Brought from the world on high. By the spirit of man in his freedom, By the soul on its ownard march, Bearing the healing balm of love To soothe the wounded heart. For this is the glorious mission Of the angels from on high, That comes with sweet compassion To dry the tear-dimmed eye. Nor lingers not in the shadows Till hope and joy depart With just a little word of faith To fill the empty heart. Oh, countless tears of sorrow, With your endless tale of woe, Why did ignorance tarry so long And make us suffer so? Where were the white-robed angels In all the ages past? How did they come to hear our cry And come to our home at last, And rap to gain admittance, And linger by our side, To whisper words of comfort When some dear one has died, And make us know that living Is not confined to the form, But death is the birth of the soul of man To life's eternal morn. 23 And so we have met together To celebrate the hour When the world awoke to the knowledge Of a mighty spirit power That is rolling away the darkness That covered the sea and land And is parting the veil that we may see The ever-beckoning hand. Of love that is greater than darkness, Is greater than sorrow or night, And she waits long at the portals To let in the golden light Of truth o'er the field of knowledge So none need wander alone, Crying for bread when our hopes seemed dead, And ever receiving a stone, In place of the sweet assurance That spirit and life are one And we only lay down our bodies When our earthly work is done. And take up a larger mission Of drying the mourners tear, Of giving them hope and comfort, Oif giving them joy and cheer. Like we feel today dear pilgrims, Brothers, sisters, and all As o'er our heads in gentle love Their benedictions fall. 24 For' meeting and greeting each other On this anniversary day, When the angels of light, to dispel the night Rolled the stone away From the graves of all our loved ones In all the ages past, That the Rosy Dawn of the glad new morn Might break o'er the world at last. THE CALL OF THE DREAMER. The call of the dreamer. O ! list, do you hear How it rolls down the ages and falls on the ear, In tones loud as thunder, yet clear as a bell, The history of life's earnest workers to tell. For the call of the dreamer is not what it seems Just fancy and fiction and bright fairy scenes, Of fields white with lillies and the hill sloping sod ; As fair as the sunshine with bright golden rod. But the call of the dreamer in ages gone by Was a call to the warriors to conquor or die ; Was a call to the heroes, though many were slain ; In the dark field of battle to heed not its pain. But to keep ever floating above the brave dead, The purpose for which all the warm blood was shed; This call of the dreamer of ages long gone, Is written in story and chorused in song; And painted by artist for every great scene; Put upon canvas, first lived as a dream, In the mind of the artist ere the colors and shades Were touched with the brush and the great pictures made. 25 And thus in the present as in the great past, The things that will live, and forever shall last, First came as a shadow, a dream of the mind ; To bless and uplift, and redeem all mankind. Like the world's soul communion what mind could have seen, The strength of its mission, except as a dream, As vague as a shadow and dim to the eye As the bright golden sun when clouds fill the sky. And yet round and round, the broad earth it has run Warming the hearts like the rays of the sun Kisses the dew on the sweet summer flower; And melts its way in the fresh morning hours. Silent and sweet, earnest and true, Is the voice of the dreamer calling to you ; To fields that are vernal and heights yet untrod, Guiding and leading our souls unto God. For beyond all the sorrows and trials of today We have our great Tolstoy pointing the way; To a time that is now, but a dream of the mind, And yet it will come to the lives of mankind If each will go forth without any fear, When the call of the dreamer falls on the ear; To work in the vineyard as all workers should, With an unselfish love for a true brotherhood. For all that has come to this great world of thine To bless it, first lived as a dream in the mind; An ideal, a picture, a light on the hill That we in our wisdom may fill out at will. 26 THE POSTMAN'S WHISTLE. Oftimes I think, in the silence Of the grand old Liberty Bell. Of the wonderful story of freedom Its mighty tongue could tell. And I love in the Summer's twilight, Nature's sacred hour, To hear the silvery church bells Speak of a higher power. And I love the grand old organ, When its music floats along, Melting the voice like sunbeams Into the holy song. Sweet music of earth and heaven, In the spheres beyond the sky, You fill my heart with pleasure, And lift my soul on high. Though high and holy your mission, Though grand and noble the thought, You melt like snow in the sunshine, You sink into life as naught. When we hear the sharp, quick whistle Of the postman on his way, Spreading sunshine and shadows Patiently day by day. For I care not what their nature, Their color or their creed, They love that kind of music, And its sound they gladly heed. 27 And when I enter the portals Of heavenly joy and bliss, The soul-stirring sound of their whistle, I know that I shall miss. For of all the stories of heaven I have read or ever heard, Of the grand old army of postmen They have never breathed a word. The foregoing poem after appearing in a daily paper, called forth the following postal card: Cleveland, Ohio, June 4, 1904. Dear Madam. Your poem in the Postal Record, of June, was very nice, all but the last part of it, you say you will miss the soul-stirring sound of the postman's whistle, when you enter the portals of Heavenly joy and bliss. Do you not think there will be letter carriers in Heaven, and are you just dead sure you will squeeze through the portals yourself, or if we go there do you think we will leave our whistles here? Yours, W. E. Boynton, Carrier No. 289, Cleveland, Ohio. REPLY TO THE POSTMAN. Forgive me Mr. Postman If you deem what I have said, That I would enjoy more heavely Bliss, than you when we are dead. 28 But really in all my writing The truth I tried to tell, And not the slightest falsehood To make my verse look well. And of all the stories of heaven I've seen or heard about, I never heard of a postman Taking his daily route. And sounding his sharp whistle At the pure white palace door, Until it startled the Angels Along on the golden shore. Or seen a man with Angels Wings, That in the heavenly chair sings, Or heard that any man was there, The glory and bliss of heaven to share. But I did not make the other life, Or this one with its toil and strife, Or man would surely had a place With glory shining in his face And wings as large as any bird, That we of earth have seen or heard, For heaven would not be heaven to me If not a postman I could see. Or have my soul's sweet raptures stirred By the sweetest sound I ever heard, O'f your whistle in place of the golden Harp, that always takes the leading part. 29 ORIGIN OF MAN. This morning I took a journey Far back in Nature's field, And some of its hidden secrets Were unto my soul revealed. And I saw the form of spirits Descend upon the earth And clothe themselves with the mortal, And that was mankind's birth. But the world has called them Adam And sinful mother Eve, That let a snake beguile her And all mankind deceive. But we know those souls were sinless When they planted the tree of life Amid earth's dark surroundings Filled with Nature's strife. For Love in the life descending Upon the new-made earth Gave to the world its power To give unto all life its birth. And Eden is here in its beauty Inborn in every one, The same God-given spirit Since first life's force begun. Growing amid the brambles, Blossoming here and there, Out into full-grown spirits, Grand and wise and fair. Proving the God of Progress Is the father of us all. Leaving in doubt the story Of Adam's awful fall. 30 THE THOUGHTS I THINK O'ER MY DISH WORK. The thoughts I think o'er my dish work, While washing each dish sweet and clean, Might be prized by a weaver of patterns, To weave into a robe for a queen. For they bear in their tints glints of sunbeam, On a background of blue from the sky, With a star here and there in the distance Shining out from white clouds drifting by. And the Moon, with light turned to silver She borrowed one time from the Sun, Like the course of a clear swimming river, Thru all the fair pattern would run. And methinks that a flower from the hillside, And vine from the valley below, And a few fern gathered out of the woodland, Worked out on a border of snow. Would bear some faint trace of my thinking, While working in love for my own ; In doing the things that are needful, In pleasure, for those in the home. For it keeps not my feet from ascending To heights yet untrod by the world ; Or the banner of truth in my being To all fair breezes unfurled. And I stand on the mount so transfigured, While yet my poor feet press the sod ; That the voice of all nations seems speaking, One word, and that sweet word is: God. 31 MY DAILY LIFE. Amid this world of toil and care, I plucked sweet blossoms from the sky And filled my vases to the brim With flowers that ne'er on earth can die; And when I meet a friend that knows And loves the place where my flowers grow, I gladly give them from my vase, For others will come to fill their place; That breathe to us of worlds on high Where Angels dwell, and from the sky They come to us, with words so sweet, Thev are to our souls both bread and meat. MY PRAYER AND ITS ANSWER. I cried aloud to the raging sea, To send the Angel of Peace to me, And I moaned one night to the desert sand, That One might lead me by the hand. I whispered one morn, on my bended knee, That the blessings around ; my eyes might see, When lo ! a voice from across the sea And the desert sands spoke sweetly to me; And said, my child cry out no more, For the Angel of Peace is at thy door. And he will daily unseal thy eyes To sweeter thoughts and greater joys. As long as thou made so wise a choice And asked it meekly in humble voice That thou thy daily blessings might see My child ; thy prayer shall set thee free. 32 Free to love God ; and free to love man, And all the lessons understand. The Angels of Light will bring to thee As daily the blessings of life you see. THE CROWN OF MOTHERHOOD. I saw a crown descending For some saint or holy one, I thought; for the jewels in that crown Shone brighter than the sun. And I asked the Angels bearing it Who was so holy and good As to win such a crown As they brought down. And they answered it is "Motherhood," As they meekly bowed before me, And laid it at my feet, And said in accents soft and low, Like silver bells so sweet, That all through the countless ages The Angels had worked on this, To make it shine as brightly As the love in a mother's kiss ; And now they were loath to bring it, Feeling they needed more time To have it reflect the glory of Motherhood divine. THE WORLD OF SPIRIT LIES ALL AROUND They tell us the world of Spirit All around us lie, And if we keep on growing We will sense it bye and bye. 33 That we need not take a journey Across the River Styx, And alike with beggar from hovel And a King from his palace mix. That we need not take the journey, That seems so lonely and long, In order to catch the music Of Life's Eternal Song. But that here, and now, in this body, We say is made of clay; We can feel the joy of the spirit And hear the songs they play. That heaven with all its glory Is not beyond the sky; But here in this soul and spirit Is the heaven for you and I. And that all around and about us, Is a beautiful sea of Love, That has no bottom to measure, No width or heighth above. Where no ill can enter and harm us, For none can find the gate, That has his eyesight darkened With the shadows of envy and hate. So let's try and sense its glory, From near, and not from afar, And oft we may catch its beauty, When the gates are a little ajar; And we may hear the echo Of the Angel's lovelight song; And in the joy of the spirit Carry the music along. 34 THE BITTER WITH THE SWEET. My husband was home from work last week, And that to me is always a treat; For he is so gentle, loving and kind And likes to help, to ease my mind. So we put the bedding all out to air, And fixed up the rooms we had to spare, And worked upstairs, till everything Was as neat and tidy as a pin. Then to the kitchen we hied our way, To put in what was left of the day ; For everything else in the house was fixed, Without the slightest bit of a hitch. Then I slipped away for a little while With a happy smile, Thinking how nice it was to be quiet, and calm As a beautiful lake on a sweet summer morn ; And with my mind and heart the same, I returned to my work in the kitchen again; Where my husband had stayed, while I was gone, And most of the work in my absence had done. For there on the wall, all neat and clean, Hung the pan I'd had my jelly in; And I asked, in a voice that was strangely low Where is my jelly, I'd like to know? He spoke, calm as a summer breeze, That hardly stirs the leaves of the trees; And he said — while I suppressed a scream: "There was no jelly that I have seen." 35 While I cried: "Speak quickly to me, man! I had it cooking in that pan." And he said : "Oh, now that I come to think, I poured that stuff out into the sink." IN THE SILENCE OF THE SOUL. Oh! how bright is my brightest vision, How fair is the fairest scene, How sweet is the scent of the roses, I see, in the golden dreams, That fell on my soul, in the silence — The silence so holy and sweet ; That the joy of all ages seems o'er me, And around me, to make life complete. And I feel that my soul is its Savior, My spirit, the council and guide, That teaches me how in the silence Of love, I may ever abide, Secure from the storms that sweep o'er us, Secure from the sorrow and pain That falls on the soul in life's turmoil, Like a tempest of wild wind and rain. For the value of silence, Oh! Father; No spirit or mortal can know, Except what we see in all nature, How in silence all the bright flowers grow. In silence the hills and the valleys Are clothed in their garments of green, And in silence the bright sun of glory Floods all, with a soft golden sheen, 36 And whispers at morn, to the dew-drops: "Come back to your home in the sky," While I silently kiss every blossom With the sunshine of love from on high. THE GOLDEN THRONE. I have a little golden throne Where all my loved ones sit, And when the lights are all turned down, I softly and quietly slip over to them, And do you know, I can see by the light they shed Just where to place my laurel wreaths gently upon their heads. They never know I am near them, I come so very still ; But if they knew the love in my heart Their very being would thrill With the blessings of joy and gladness, Of love, and hope, and peace ; I ask the Angels to bring them In the leaves of my laurel wreaths. 37 AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER? Am I my brother's keeper? My mind hath often asked. And when my soul awakened it quickly answered, yes! And showed me in a thousand ways, The part our thoughts and actions play. If we be strong and brave and true, It helps some one to be that, too. If we be strong and true and brave, Who knows how many souls we save? If we keep this spark of God divine Burning brightly, brother mine, It would light some one upon the way, Whose feet some downward path might stray. We cannot see, we cannot know How much we help each other grow, But in the ages yet to be It will be shown to vou and me. THE LIGHT THAT SHINES FROM AFAR. Oh! Ye shepherd of far-off Egypt, that watch your flocks by night, Tell us of the glories and wonders of that light That must have lit the sky that day; To make it shine so far away, That we on the western shores of time, Can clearly see its light divine, 38 And try to walk in its golden ray, Of truth and love from day to day. As it leads us close to the little child, Whose nature was loving, sweet and mild. Whose glory now fills the earth and sky As we feel His loving presence nigh. With peace on earth and good will to man, Sounding in every clime and land; Echoing forth from mountain and plain; And then returning to us again ; Laden with the heart's best love, To lift our souls to realms above The thought; that pomp and pride and any earthly gain Can come to us through the precious name Of the Christ, that spoke to man and said, "I have not where to lay my head ; But the Father and I have ever been one ; Since first the creation of life begun; Since first the light was on sea and land ; 39 And unto Him all praise is given For the glory that fills all earth and heaven.' MY BLESSING. This morning I sat in the silence, With my hand uplifted in prayer; And there came a vision before me, Of a scene so bright and fair, I scarce could breathe for a moment, Or dared to touch my pen ; E'er the vision would vanish from me, And never return again. And the memory now is so hallowed, I scarce can write it down ; Or disturb that sacred silence With the stifled earthly sound. For as I sat in the silence With my hands uplifted in prayer I saw a band of angels Plucking flowers so fair; That the dewdrops in the lilly Seemed as spots in the mellow light, Near the flowers the angels brought me; So spotless was their white. And they wove them into a garment Of fragrance, soft and sweet. And placed it around my shoulders, And it fell in folds around my feet. And on each flower was written Some good that I had done ; In sending out my blessing To each and every one, -iO For that is the work of the angels The silent work of the soul, And that is the way their garments Grow white in every fold. By sending out a Messing To the children of earth below ; And helping them in the knowledge Of love and peace to grow And the lining was rainbow-tinted Like the bow of promise o'er head ; Saying the flood was over Of tears, that I have shed. Of hopes that had long since vanished Because I need them not; For the angels knew if granted, My garments would bear the spot And the blessings that seem so hallowed, When in the soul-life I live; If tarnished, by selfish desire; To others, I could not give. And the silence I felt around me, So hallowed, so holy and sweet, That I scarce could breathe for their presence E'er the vision from me would sweep, Would ne'er be mine in the morning; As at the set of sun, If I did give my blessing To each and every one. 41 THE REWARD. To the true and the brave, the fair goddess gave Treasures from ever)' land. As a balm to the heart, for the soul's faithful part, In the trials they did withstand. For she said as she bowed to the true and the brave; "Ye have tested the strength of the soul ; And nothing is lost, neath the weight of 5'our cross, But the dross; and the rest is pure gold." INSPIRATION. Through inspiration's glorious light, Whose rays shot forth a gleam so bright, That by its glow my eyes could see The road to all soul's liberty. It is by walking hand in hand, By mountain streams or desert sand, Through sun-kissed valleys, or the sea Whose waves cry out, "sweet liberty." Nor pause to ask consent of man To dash their waves upon the sand 42 For who but God hath power to free The waves in such grand liberty. And thus the mind and thought can soar Out into space from shore to shore And wash its waves upon the sand Of golden truth, through love for man, Until there is no space above, Around, beneath, that is not love, No power but spirit anywhere That covers the earth and fills the air. For spirit is life and life is love, And this is the light that shines from above To illume the path of the children of God As hand in hand through life we trod. Oh, lift your souls to the sphere above Where they live in the spirit of perfect love And down upon your hungry hearts They will pour such love that life will start. To grow within your love-kissed breast And overflow- all the rest Until there is no border line And everything will seem divine. 43 And God will whisper in your ear, "That perfect love will cast out fear And know I have no choice in thee But in my love all souls are free." Free as the stars in yon heavenly sky, Free as the breezes passing by, Free as the waves upon the beach, Whose power a lesson from God doth teach. For by that great Eternal light That in my soul doth burn so bright; I know that love is all of life Though tasting of its toil and strife, Or basking in the golden light of day, That has no clouds in sight; And now, while writing 'neath the power Of inspiration's holy hour; My soul goes out to every mind, With thoughts so true, so sweet and kind That angels might come here to live; And have no sweeter love to give. For angelhood, my precious one, Is made up from this central sun 44 Of love; the essence of all life, That knows no sorrow, pain or strife. That radiates a force so fine It penetrates the inner mind, And makes us conscious of a life That's free from mortal toil and strife. Where Justice sits upon the throne, And reigns as King and King alone ; And at his side, a fair young Queen Of Love, can evermore be seen. And in this Kingdom of the Soul, With Love as Queen ; we ne'er grow old, But heart to heart, and hand in hand, We make this life the summer-land. We grow its fruits all rich and rare, And give to each a brother's share And thus we lead him day by day Into truth's clean, broad highway. 45 NOW. I know not the day or the hour, That shadows may darken my way; But I know that the spirit of love Has filled me with sunshine today. I know not the day nor the hour, When sharp thorns may pierce my lone feet; But I know that the present will hold Ever, some thoughts that are sweet. I care not what lies in the past, Or what the veiled future may hold ; It's the present, I'm living for now And the image of love I must hold. With thoughts that are pure As the stars that shine in heaven's own blue, And sparkle like diamonds at night, To let the Lord's glory shine through. And thus, I'm living the Now, Regardless of future or past; And putting in thoughts that are sweet With love that forever shall last. 46 inSfiSLSE C0 NGRESS iininiinii 018 603 301 2

30029711

Louisianais;

[Armstrong, Thomas Crittenden]

louisianais00arms_djvu.txt

^<J>'^ ^co" *t^ <^ 'O , i V o > c ° " " ^. .<c^ .^.^slfe^^ ^^^^^/ y^^. u^^^"^ y^^% \^ > 0^ . -i . LOUISIANAIS. A general vie\v' of the great interior valky of North Amen ca may noi be inappropriate as an introduction to this work, as that valley is about synonymous with our theme, the former Province of Louisiana. For that reason the following ad- dress, delivered by the writer some time dnce, be- fore the Teachers' Institute of Sabine Parish, La, may not be considered out of place. Tho's Ignotus, Sunnyside, Pleasant Hill; La; Mar. — 1904. y » .L LOUISIANAIS III The Western Foreland; Or, a View of the Vale of Vales and it<: Relation to the State of States. Ladies and Gentlemen: — It may s^em a lit- tle nn usual for me to resort, not to philosophy or art, reh'gion or politics, but to the plain science of geography for a subject on this occasion. But as that subject is the greatest of earthly valleys it may not be devoid of interesting features, or un- worthy of public discussion. The great Vale of Vales to which I will call your attention to-day, is not without elements of grandeur and sublimi- ty, being greater and mightier than any other val- ley of earth, and in these particulars presumably second 0UI37 to that one visioned by Milton through his sightless eyes, the paridisian valley: ^ Where the river of Lif^, through fields of Heaven, Rolls o'er Elysian flowers its amber stream." This greatest and sublimes t of vallevs is the one in which we live; the one which extends through ihe heart of this continent from the 30th parallel of latitude to the Artie Circle, a distance of 3000 U/iles as the wild goose flicS, and of 6000 miles as the waters run: while from each of its IV LOUISIANAIS extremes to its far eastern outlet into the At- lantic the distance is equally as great. This val- ley of our iheme and our home, although but re- c mtly reclaimed from its savage state, is already spoken of as ''the Garden of the World'-. In minor details and qualities it may be rivalled by many. Its climate is not the nicest one imagina- ble, but De Tocqueville a greater philosopher than any of us, saw, even in its variable clime an influence that would prevent the lassitude of the tropics, and promote the progress of its people. In beauty and floral luxurance it is often ex- celled by the real or unreal subjects of the pain- ter's art or the poet's song. We would hardly dare to say that in these respects it would com- pare for instance, with that palm-sheltered one, in which Tom Moore located the finale of his im- mortal poem, Lalla Rookh, especially as viewed by him through the flattering medium of a poetic fancy; the vale of Cashmere: 'With its roses, the loveliest that earth ever gave.' In these respects it might not compare either with the enchanting valley of the Damascene, from which, it is said, the prophet withdrew with the exclaui ation that it was too lovely for mortal man. In this connection I am reminded of an- other valley, so called, also lying between hillocks LOUISIANAIS V of snow, where the lovely Katrina wore her silver crucifix; from the sight and thought of which the author of Knickerbocker, a pious bachelor, like myself, withdrew with a similar exclamation, that it was too lovely. In startling ^grandeur, our theme may not com- pare with the Australian abyss, a mile or so in depth, into which the frightened Govett leaped; or with the wonderful valley of Yosemite, on our western coast, with its shimmering cataracts pouring apparently from the skies and its precip- itous mountain-walls from half a mile to a mile in height. In antiquity it may not compare with the Greek's purpureal Tempe nor with the an- cient valley of the Nile. It may be well, in passing, to pay a deserved compliment to that far-famed valley nestled in the heart of the plateau of Mexico, known anciently as Tenoctilan, and where, it is said, the good omen of the American eagle, with a serpent in his talons, caused the wandering Aztec tribe to found the historic city of the Montezumas. Watered by its chain of glittering lakelets, and warded by those twin mountain peak<=:, of unpionounceable names, the Smoky Giant, and the shrouded White Lady; that famous valley, the pride of Mexico, is well-entittled to rank as an earthly paradise. VI LOUISIANAIS A similar beauty-spot perhaps, is to be found a little further to the south, in the Andean valley of Cauca, in the South American republic of Columbia, which was made by Geo. Isaacs, the setting jf his romantic story of Maria. But these picturesqe mountain valleys, with their narrow fields, can campare wfth the theme of our dis- course only as the lakelet compares with the ocean. In the combined elemrivts of beaut}^ and gran- deur, our subject may be excelled, in the opinion of some, by the vale of Oratava, in the Isle of Teneriffe, which was given the palm, I believe, by the not 2d traveller, Humboldt: that valley of surprising beauty and startling magnificence com- bined, extending from the sea that laves its low- er extremity, by a series of gradations, through all temperatures and all flora of earth, from a torrid to a frigid clime; flanked on either side by mountain-walls and extending upward to the base '>f the sublime volcano of Teneriffe. I think how- ever, that Humbolt would have admitted, that on a comprehensive view, Oratava would have been more sublime if its mountain-walls had been placed, S3me hundr^-ds of leagues apart, like our own; if its romantic fields had been extended suf- ficiently to allow them, to maintain, like ours, a great propDrtion of the present population of the LOUISIANAIS VII earth; and if it extended from ?un-land to snow- land, not on account of ascending a mountainsic^e, but, by over-laping zone after zone of the earth s surface; like the valley of our theme; which ex- tends from the realm of orange-groves and sugar- cane to and beyond the realm of wheat-fields and rose-gardens; t*^ and beyond the realm of potatoes and barley-corn; and while one of its extremes is washed by the tropic gulf, the other is lost amid arctic snows and hyper-borean gloom. In historic interest, our great vale is excelled of course, by almost any noted locality of the old world, which has heretofore been the seat of civi- lization. From Scotland's Dundees and '^bonnie Doons", to the blood-stained Jezreels of Holy Land, are many localities of more extended his- toric associations. Passing between those limits, we would be compelled to acknowledge the supe- riority, in this respect, of the "castkd rhine" and the ^'storied Guadilquiver". In sunny Italy too, wc would perhaps pause in involuntary ad- miration. In Val D'Ema or V^al D'Arno, in view either of La Certosa, with its towers like dreams in stone, or of beautiful Florence, of glorious mem- ory, we would seem transported bodily into the dreamlands of the past, and would live, as it were, in the age of chivalry. Nevertheless, were I to turn poet, and undertake the writing of an epic VIII LOUISIANAIS I would choose as my locale, none of the historic valleys of the east, but instead, the great valley of the west, thronged as it is, not with shadows of the past, but with visions of the future: I would stand, as did Henry Clay, on its rocky boundaries, would stand upon the Foreland of our theme, and, overlooking its expansive plains, would listen like that inspired patriot, to the ingress of its coming millions: would paint the prospective beauty and glory of the Garden of the World, marked as it is by all the signs of progress; tilled by unremit- ting science and industry; its encircling hill-tops aglow with the coming day, and its fields over- arched, and filled with reflectrd beauty by the glittering bow of peace and promise. As already stated, ours is the greatest and most productive valley in the world. The hills that constitute iis confines and boundary lines are as far distant from each other as the midnight from the sunrise. The most extensive river systems, including that of the Father of Waters himself serve to drain its basin, which contains besides a mighty chain of inland sea? without a parallel upon earth. It is said to be a fact that we have here in this region, more than half of all the fresh -water on the globe. It is a misnomer^ how- ever, to speak of this iumiense region as the Mississippi Valley, simply, for that river basin. • LOUISIANAIS IX constitutes in fact only part of a great three-fold, or perhaps I should say, four-fold valley, embra- sing the basins of the Great Lakes, and those trending northward into Hudson s Bay and the Arctic, as well as the Mississippi Valley; w^hich properly-speaking, includes only the region lying between the Rockies and the Alleghanies. In faci all of North America that is outside of the great valley may be ranked as the porticoes and vestibule s of a temple, of which that great basin constitutes the inner court and principal apart- ment. Influenced, I presume, by the grandeur of this valley of the west; by its well-deserved title as th'- Garden of the World; and supposing, I presume, that the Creator would naturally have selected the richest region of earth for His expe- riment at gardening; some wise westerner ha^ advanced the idea that cur great west was perhaps the quondam paradise, the Eden of our first an- cestor '^. The fact that ours is geologically the oldest of the contingents; that some of the eastern nations had traditions relating apparently to America, may lend soUiC color to this idea. The t adition ' »f the lost Atlantis indicates that our country was kn( wn to the Egyptians in prehistoric times and may have supported one of the first civiliza tions. X LOUISIANAIS Add to these considerations tli^ fact that the com- monly accepted location of Eden does not corres- pond with the biblical description of that favored spot; the fact that there were traditions of the Edenic Garden suggestive of our thundering Niagara, or of the giant ge3'sers of our national park, which, as I will shov/ presently, bears a peculiar -^-elatioj. to our great valley; and the further fact that Dr. Talmige has recently found, in the last-named locality, the veritable throne of God Himself; and we have, perhaps, as good a claim to paradise as almost any* land. At all events, this greatest and greenest of earthly par- adises, is one of the sublimest objects in nature, with its ocean of verdure a thousand leagues in length and breadth; and the fact that it is at other times a snow-field of equal extent, may be ex- cused in accordance with the philosophy of De Tocqueville, on account of the moral benefit of climatic changes. According to the Bible statemeiit '*'God planted a Ga den eastward in Eden.'' If that be so, we may still say whether the fact be ( f record or not, that He planted a greater garden westward in America. We note in passing however that He planted the Garden westward in Eden, which is the position '»f our Garden of the world with ref- erence to its continent. LOUlSlANAIvS XI *'x\nd a river went out of Eden to water the garden, and thence it became divided into four heads." The wise man of the west, above re- ferred to, who considered the national park the Ed?.n (^f our ancestors, may have been influenced b}' this peculiar statement. It is a fact that the sev- eral river systems v/hic"^^ water our great valle}^, all of which however are so interlocked and inter- mu^gled as to make them but one in reality, have a common source on the dome of our continent, anr^, we may Eny, in or about the national park. This statement as to their common origin may be considered true even of the Great Lake or St. Lawrence system, for that system is interlockedi witJi Lake Winnipeg and the Saskatchewan river, and the last takes its rise along with the Missouri in the neighborhood I have mentioned. It is also a fact that the waters of that valley are discharged in':o the surrounding seas by four great mouths or outlets, each of them ranking among the larg- est rivers of tlie world. The mighty McKenzie drains it into the arctic: a twofold estuary cf like prop3rtions, int^ the Hudson Bay; the mighty St. Lawrence into the gulf of that name; vvhile the majestic Father of Waters drains it in- to the Gulf of Mexico. If it is a fact that our Garden of the World was really the Garden of Paradise, these great streaiiis would have borne XII LOUISIANAIS and liave dignified the God-given names of Pison, Gihon, Euphrates, Hiddekel; and their teeming productions would have been worthy of the at- tention of the Lord God Himself, while walking among them in the cool of the day. But if it cannot be shown that our great valley has given us a Paradise Lost, its advantages and present tendencies indicate that it may enable us to real- ize a Paradise Regained, T')gain an adequate idea of the grandeur and immensity of that vallc}-, let us imagine ou;^- selve^ in the Rocky Mountain country, say on some of the beetling heights that crown the Pla- teau of the Missouri. We would there find our- selves on the uppermost step ( f a teriaced table- land that extends from the Rocky Mountains far out into the great valley about midway its length, being opposite the transverse extension of it which includes the Great Lakes. The snowy a id Shoshone ranges above and behind us, capped b}^ the fairylands and obsidian cliffs of the Nation- al Park might easily take the form of a rock-walled paradise or a seat of grandeur worthy of the King of kings; while the tableland of our position, with its rounded extremit}^, and its successive steps or pLiteaus, liiight as easily be considered either the terrace in front of His temple, or the dais before His throne. LOUIvSIANAIS XIII From that elevated position, with the aid of a snpposable telescope that would adjust itself so as to make up for the convexity of the earth's sur- face, we might obtain a serie? of most im- pressive views. Thus located and equipped, on glancing about, we might find ourselves in a more commanding position than that of the poet: ''By magic casements, looking on the foam Of perilous seas in fairylands forlorn." We might obtain on one hand a view of the most romantic mountain region of earth, with its towered and castellated rocks and parti-colored cliffs looking down upon the rolling cloudlands at their feet; and on the other hand a still more wondrous view of the great valley or garden of our theme. With the aid of the supposablf- tele- scope mentioned, we might command, to the east, a view of the chain of inland seas known as the Great Lakes, constituting the largest bodies of fresh water on the globe. The entire panorama of that immense valley of almost a thousand leagues in extent, with its wide outlet to the ocean beyond: its thundering niagara turning to give us a view of its inexpressible grandeur: with its foaming seas; its teeming capitals, and its boundless fields of commingled corn and grain; would burst upon our startled vision. Turning to the south-east and south, we would XIV LOUISIANAIS tliere behold a scene of equal sublimity in the southern extension '>f that great vale. In that direction we would look down the wide basin of the Missouri to the Mexican gulf beyond, over almost limitless fields that justify this region's title as the Garden of the World^ by their almost incalculable product of the world's' breadstuffs and a great proportion of its clothing besides, for the snow c f the southern cotton-fields would there meet our view, and on the limit of the horizon in that direction, a hint of the luxuries and sweet- nesses of life in ihe glint of orange groves, and the sheen of rustling cane-fields. Turning to the north-east and north, we would witness the continuation of the great valley in that direction. Would there behold a silent and slumbering ocean of green; the level and limitless prairies constituting the great lone land of Canada, the natural home of the wheat-plant, and which while uninviting as yet to the settler on account of its remotenes and supposedly severe climate, will yet justify its position as a componant part of Lhe world s garden, by its fabulous product of whsat, the staff of life itself. In that direction we would also witness a chain of mighty lakes, being in fact a continuation of the chain of inland seas we have mentioned, ex- XIV LOUISIANAIS extending northward 2000 miles to the shores of the frozen ocean, the swash of their waves only breaking the silence of the solitude, and their verdant shores capable of boundless development on bein^ opened to settlenirnt by R. R's and con- necting water-ways. From that position, along the main valley, we might view to advantage the teeming produce of that region, which even in its natural state, as the uncultured prairie, or the unbroken woodland, would sweep by us like a mighty stream of ver- dure, foam-flecked with flowers; or 'neath the au- tumnal sun, would roll at our feet in waves of molten gold. The advance of civilization has embellished the ;^cene by adding to it myriads of happy homes, enlivened it with the shriek of the steam-goblin, and annihilated its immense dis- tances b}^ telegraphic and telephonic communica- tion . From that elevated position, which seems to have been intended as a post of observation, even a God might have enjoyed such a glorious vision of beauty in the light of the rising, or of the set- ting sun. Prom that position we might realize the accuracy of the poet's picture of it. "Rich prairies decked with flowers of gold, Like sunlit oceans roll afar; Broad lakes iis azure heavens behold XVI LOUISIANAIS Reflecting clear each trembling star. And mighty rivers, mountain-born, Go sweeping through it, dark and deep. xA.nd we might join him in his appropriate con- clusion: "Still may her flowers untrammelled spring. Her harvests wave, her cities rise, And 3'et, till Time shall fold his wing, Tvemain earth's loveh'est paradise. ' Whether the wise man of tlie west be correct in his surmises or not, I am disposed to think that the great Creator, the JeLovah of Moses, the Jove of Phidias, in the midst of angelic and jubilant hosts, must have occupied that point of vantage? or the cloud capped fairyland beyond, and have looked on with .-^atisfactior, wh^n the Missouri, the fountain-head of the father of waters, issuing from the paradise of the west, and communicating, possibly b}^ extinct channels, with the Winnipeg system; began to pour its accumulating floods in- to the plain beneath, and under the magic of Heaven's sunlight, and that immense system of waters, the rainbows began to o'er-arch the scene, and at their feet the flowers began to gleam and the fiuitage to glisten throtighout the Garden of the World. A recent event shows the continuity and the vast extent of that valley. The city of Chicago LOUISIANAIS XVII by reopening a former river-bed has connected the systeniS of the Mississippi and the St. Law- rence, and 'ere long even ocean-steamers will pass from the Gnlf of Mexico to the far off Gulf of St Lawrence, by way of that unequalled all-inland water-route; passing on their journey into the very heart of this continent, and then moving out through its eastern portal to th^ ^ea. No doubt similar engineering feats will soon con- nect these systems with those trending north- ward nito Hudson's Bay and the Arctic: The Great Lake and the McKenzie anci Katchewan system can be con^ected easily by canals aggre- gating about one hundred miles in length; while the Mississippi system and its northern counter- part are separated from each other by merely a short portage in Brown's Valley, Dakota, which divides the fountain-heads of the Minnesota River, and the Red River ( f the north; which slight ob- strtiction can be easily removed. The total extent of this vast network of streams is almost beyond calctilati-'U. the Mississippi s^'S- tem alone aggregating some fifteen thousand miles of navigable water-ways, while its northern counterpart is of almost equal extent; and the third, or Great Lake system, makes up in volume what it lacks in linear measure. The agricul- tural product of this well-v/atered and greatest of XVIII LOUISIANAIS gardens, consisting of all the necessaries, and, in minor degree, of the luxurie s of life, already amount, in value, to thousands of millions of dol- lars annually; and its output in the future will be increased beyond all computation. The busi- ness men of the east have a sa3dng to the effect that all prophecies fall short of the truth when they attempt to forecast the growth and devel- opment of th>: mighty west; by which is meant the great interior valley of this continent: and it is probable that few of us have realized, even yet, tliL vastness and future importance of our rapdily unfolding and developing Garden of the World. Within its bounds are included some twenty American states, and about as many British provinces, each one of these possessing the nat- ural riches and resources of an empire; the agri- cultural product of most of tliem already com- paring favorably with that of the average King- dom of the Old World- Thrse coiiimon wealths are increasing rapidly in vvvialth and population; and on a moderate cal- culation, they could maintain half of the present population of the earth. "Population", says De Toqueville, "moves westward as if driven by the mighty hand of God." To this a recent writer adds: "From the mountain-valleys of Asia, com- LOUISIANAIS XIX monly supposed to be our origin, a ceaseless pil- grimage has moved ever on and on. But on tlie western coast of this great continent, the time- long journey wiil at length be done: here in the great west the race will reach its final home. Here have been grouped as nowhere else in all the world, mountain, and valley and plain, river and lake and sea. Here have been stored illimi- table wealth in mine and forest, sea and soil, and to the^e broad foundations for a sure prosperity, has been added a climate adapted to produce the highest possible development of the individual and of the race. Such are the physical features of the world's 2"reat orarden. I would now call attention to the fact that under the hand of Providence it has be- come the seat of a national fabnc which is the fitting counterpart of its physical grandeur: of political institutions as noble and sublime as its natural scenery. In furtherance of divine purposes no doubt. Providence has peopled this great region v/ith the proudest and most progres- sive of the human race and has made the great Garden of the World the basis c.nd broad fainda- tion of the Great Republic of the world and of the ages. The simultaneous unf( Iding of the greatest of c ^/Untries and of nation?, was the work of Fate. XX LOUISIANAIS The blessings that have attended that nation's advent indicate its providential origin. The history of the fairyland wc have been discusj^ing has been fruitful in prodigies. A recent historian of France attributed more importance lo the few month? included in the French revolution, than he allowed to the seven- teen centuries of her preceding history, on the g^'ound that the revolutionary period constituted the fruition period, when the results of her form- er experiences became manifest. The same re- mark might be made of the history of the United States as compared with the antecedent history of the world. Ours has been the world's fruition period and our land alone being sufficienily en- lightened to profit by experience, our brief history is 3^et an epitome of the boundless past. It presents the flower and fruition of tlie world's experience in all ages. This is especially true of the opening chapters of our political history. The science ofgoverment, that plant of centuries, burst into bloom and disclosed the beauty of its hidden heart only when transplanted into Ameri. can soil. I imagine that soil and clime had been preserved for the purpose of fostering the wonder- ful developments we have witnessed there. I imagine- 'the Garden of the World was seques- tered and kept apart as the only fitting basis LOUISIANAIS XXI of the state of states, the republic of republics; that its gateways were guarded by as many an- gels, like those of the apocalyptic New Jerusalem. This gem of the natural world, of wealth surpass- ing the riches of Aladin's cave, was not to be , lightly bestowed on aj.. unworthy object or govern- ment. It was not intended that despotism should there take root, to flourish amid barbarism and gloom, like those of Egypt and the east. So, when Eric the Red landed upon our coast, doubtless with the blood-stained sword of mur- der in his hand, I imagine it was the angel-guar- dian of the shore that drove him thence, with the exclamation perhaps, that the time appointed for its settlement had not yet come; that the race had not yet undergone the nece^^sary apprenticeship nor acquired the needful wisdom. But in the full- ness of time, after mankind had been sufficiently schooled in affliction, after long-continued op- pression had prepared the sens of Eric for the en- joyment of political liberty; after a Tho's Tor- qiiemada, with the hell-torch of persecution, had 2^repared the way for a Tho's Jefferson and the God given mandate of religious freedom: I imag- ine the same angelic warden received and tender- ly watched over the pilgrim fathers, when in their flight from persecution, they landed on Plymouth Rick; that he extended one hand in welcome to XXII IvOUlSIANAIS the Catholic Baltimoreans a;nd tlie other in bleps- ing over the Hugenot Carolinians: that, in ac- cordance with a divine command, he opened to these classes of men, and to their successors, and to the oppressed of all lands, the barred gateways of the long hidden and mysterious Garden of the^ World. At any rate, the nature of the institutions that have been founded there, the only worthy pro- ducts we have of the experience of ages, inculca- ting equa] rights and the brotherhood of man, y/ould justify us in believing that angelic and di- vine agencies were instrumental in their adop- tion; in believing that iu one American political convention at least, the hand of God was mani- festedv In that one which was presided over by Geo. Washington, and which devised ( ur form of g<^verninent; that one, which was the first in- stance in the history of the world when the rep- resentatives of a people met, and voluntarily se- lected their form of government; that one, which consulted histor}^, in extenso, and went to primal Greece for a prototype of the government best suited to our conditions; and then wisely and de- liberately founded our confederate republic of co-ordinate states. Under the supervision of a greater architect than liiram of Tyre, or Merlin of the magic wand:. LOUISIANAIS XXIII with its materials ready prepared from the quarry of a world's experience: that greatest of political structures rose mor« sublimely than Solomon's temple, or Arthur's mystic hall in Camelot. The inspired builders then raised a- bove i:liat fabric of their love and pride, a ban- ner that suggests the beauty of the rainbow and the imujUtability of the stars. They be- queathed, as it'-<^ appropriate emblem the bird of good omen, the royal eagle of Jupiter; that, on it's first fiescent from heaven, perched ou the en- signs of conquering Rome, the great republic of the ancients; that, on its second visit to our sphere, graced the war-galleys of Venetia, the great republic of the dark ages; and, on its last and final visitation, has transferred its allegiance to America, the great republic of the moderns; As the most precious legacy of all, the builders placed upon that temple, as a national motto, a cabalis- tic phrase which suggests the solution of the problem of democratic government; e pluribus iinum; a dearly bought idea, which, with us, is embodied in the potent form of the Union, wield- ing the sword of an archangel for the protection of an otherwise helpless band of sister-states. The vale of our theme now constitutes the cen- tral court of that edifice, the nave and transept of its temple. XXIV LOUISIANAIS It may be observed, in passing, that the flowers of the world's great garden, which decorate that inner court and holy of holies, cannot surpass in beauty, the divine figures of liberty and her attendants, which ornament that superstructure as with ' 'flights of angels;" and that its basic principles, like the mosaics of Tennyson s Palace of Art^ hav2 embodied suggestions caught from the cycles of human experience-, and are, as the bard expressed ii. ''So wrought, they will not fa:"^." It may be observed besides, that in spite of its growth and grandeur; in spite of the vermin that occasionally inftst its dark-placts; its trusts, monopolies, boodlers and ballot-box stuffers; th^s seat of superlative grandeur may still be con- sidered the home of freedom, and the hope of mankind. We are justified in holding such views with reference to a land and nation that in the short period of a century and a quarter, in accordance with the views of the historian we have mentioned, has done more for the good of mankind, I might ahnost say, than all preceding ages C'»ijibined; that within the sphere of its influence, has freed, not only man but the mind of man from oppres- sion; that has glorified the earth with the splendor of its scientific inventions; and beneath whose LOUISIANAIS XXV influence we may truthfully say: "The world's great age begins anew, The golden years return". The part our great valley will take in perpetu- ating this govenvuient has alread}' been indicated by its influence in the past. Knitting together and consolidating the country, and giving the great majority which inhabit its basin, common interests and common views, it acts as a bond of union, and tends to prevent our dissolution as a nation. This was actually the part it played in the great civil war. But for ihe stern determina- tion of the people of the great valley to keep its waterways open, and it's commerce unobstructed, the federal union would then hav 3 been destroyed. That sublime valley extending thrmghout the continent acts as an indissoluble tie that may for- ever unite our band of sister-states, and yet con- solidate the continent politically. That may be a desirable event. According to one of the fathers of our country, the broader our domain, the great- er our stability. Liberty, in the infancy of intel- ligence, was guarded w^'th difliculty, and flourished only amid the mountain valleys of Switzerland and Greece: but in our land and time^ she thrives and expands, till in the form of a Columbia, she wields the sword of an archangel and stands in» vincible as the guardian-spirit of a hemisphere. XXVI LCUISIANAIS No doubt Canada will yet be made to realize, ma}'^ be by the touch of a mystic wand, that our destiny is her destiny, and her fivmily of Provin- ces will yet enter as colleagues into the great American sisterhood of state;^. This may be ac- complished peacefully, and England mor^ than compensated for her losp, by the realization of her fondest dream; by a re-union of the Anglo-Saxon race in an alliance of such magnitude and power that it will disarm opposition and establish the reign of perpetual peace. In the mean time, our great Garden- Valle}^ the gem ( f the civilized world; with a possible pop- ulation of a thousand

18020653

My first buffalo hunt,

Armstrong, Thomas R.

myfirstbuffalohu00arms_djvu.txt

Author Title Imprint". xo- o ^UUFfilt0 %/ By T. R. Armstrong ' That whole vast herd was coming toward us on the run. ' M. A. DONOHUE & Co. Chicago New York A FOREWORD enting this boo . tat< hi Days" much has been their enormous abundan d herd ol buffalo between ] Platl Republic that it not be estimate id that a far ; ide and ' thi hills were dotted with dark form in con tinu< for miles and miles. • ibing the abundai oi the old d u : in »nc< aid, < country Only those who have een lit the stories toM 1'iitlif ill accotii: like ■ . o • i - .. : b< n on tl ■ Oftei ' d • ' ■ ■ ' I ! i . what won done naddc Tin tells what the writer di< The THE AUTHOR THOS. R. ARMSTRONG As he appeared ten years after the Hunt. Copyright, 1918 BY T. R. ARMSTRONG (A 11 • rights . reserved.) "Our Mutual Friend from Kentucky," As he appeared jo years after the Hunt. BUFFALO HUNT -Ci N-, ^-, So "2 Cq My First Buffalo Hunt. CANTO I. June, eighteen hundred seventy four, I stood beside Arickaree* And saw its sparkling waters pour, In grandeur outward for the sea. A charming landscape was outspread, Beneath a dome of azure blue, While shimmering sunbeams overhead, Disclosed the glory of each hue. No fairer spot it seemed to me, Could e'er be found beneath the skies, Unspoiled by man, such scenery, An artist would most highly prize. Two companions, there were with me, One, a true type, of Southern grace, No truer friend, in need than he, Of splendid form, with handsome face. "Kentucky blood," and that the best, From the "Old Stock," flowed in his veins, And seeing him, you would have guessed, He was a Knight, or one who reigns. So noble was his poise of head, And graceful too — his dress was neat, "Proud Man!" you say, ah no, instead, He was a gentleman, complete. Kentucky then, of him was proud — For his, was famous ancestry, Their names and deeds, books' pages crowd, Which prove him heir, of Chivalry. *A beautiful river of "the plains." BUFFALO HUNT His wealth was ample and his mind With college lore was filled ; his style Was of the unassuming- kind — But best of all, he had no guile. He's living yet, so I am told — Away out West beyond the "plains," Whereon we hunted — mining gold, I trust he'll find, the richest gains, To compensate him, for his toil And patience : should he see these lines, Perhaps they'll stop him from his moil, To rest awhile beside his mines, And scan the more than forty years, That's intervened, since then and now, I'd say to him, "I've shed some tears Meanwhile — have wrinkles on my brow. I've not forgotten you, my friend, Through all those years that's come and gone ; Those distant days, enchantments lend, To reminiscent pictures, drawn." The other was a Plains-man old, And a "dead shot," 'twas said of him, Around our fires, the tales he told, Wrought on our nerves, by shadows dim. Of Indian raids and wolves' attack, He would our evening hours beguile — Perhaps our blankets would unpack, And note our torture, with a smile. Or from a "keg" he'd brought along, Of "inspiration"* draw enough, To dance a jig, or sing a song, And then "turn in" — oh ! he was rough *"An antidote for rattle-snake bite," the old man said. BUFFALO HUNT Apparently; but for a friend, His, was just like a woman's heart- Would die, if need be, to defend His honor, or take his part. "Old Captain Bang, our one-eyed guide," in his buckskin pants. He had one eye, — the other lost Fighting, with Red Men, of the plains, And if those Red Men, his path crossed — The wolves took charge of their remains. BUFFALO HUNT And when he after them gave chase, Both whip and spur, he then applied; His one eye brightened and his face, Lit up the valley and hillside. He never could them, quite forgive, For "blowing out his lamp;" he said, "I'll take thar scalps, long as I live And scare 'em, as a ghost — when dead." He'd follow deer or buffalo, Afoot or horse-back, weary hours ; Was not estopped by rain or snow, Nor, seemed aware of lessening powers. And when by his unerring aim, The quarry lay low at his feet, He'd build a fire beside his game, And then proceed, to cook and eat. For, often from the early morn, He'd ranged the prairies far and near, His only drink, "John-Barley-Corn," Its giving out, his only fear. And when the day was fully spent, 'Round him his blanket he would roll, Beside his fire lie down content, And let "The Wild" have full control. "My Winchester, is my best friend/' He said — and called it by that name — "She will at all times me defend, And, keep my larder full of game. When redskins try my scalp to take, She never fails me at that time, When I'm asleep, she is awake, And always ready and in prime, BUFFALO HUNT She loves me more, than did a wife, She is the pardner of my joys, She seems, to me, a thing of life, Now this is true ; believe me boys. Some day my body, will grow cold In death ; that fact can't be denied, And this, I have, to some friends told, / want her buried by my side. Who knows, but that will be for aye, While this old earth shall make her rounds? Maybe, there'll come another day, Upon some happy hunting grounds." CANTO II. One morning, in the early , dawn, We held a council for the chase, The prairie 'round, seemed like a lawn, With countless flowers on its face, With here and there a buffalo — Some bunches, now and then, appeared, Skirmishers there, which went to show, We were approaching the Main Herd. Never before, we boys had seen, The shaggy "Monarchs of the plains," Some of them fat, and others lean, But, Monsters all — and that explains, Why I felt wobbly in the knees ; And as with ague, then I shook — I looked around — there were no trees To climb ; in sight, no covert nook. We sure had reached the hunting ground, Where roamed the bison, free as air, And deer and antelope were found, Tn numbers great and everywhere. BUFFALO HUNT Soon the herd was growing bigger "Why don't you shoot?" our captain said; Ah! I could not pull a trigger — Three minutes more — and I had fled. Our old frontier's man raised his head, And cast his one eye on the scene, Then with his Winchester, he "led"— A lovely doe, dropped on the green. a . i .. lying lov\ "Some of them fat and others lea. Then bringing his "best frier- 1 Upon a bunch of buffalo. She rang three times upon the And three "M anarchs" were Can you imagine what occurred? Above the roar made by that gun, Ten thousand times, that whole vast herd, Was coming toward us on the run. And from all sides, for miles around, It seemed an earthquake shook the ground, It rocked and trembled, till my spleen Was running quite, my whole machine As one at sea, when billows roll, And on the foam has poured his soul, So, by such feelings, sore distressed, I, gave up all that I possessed 10 BUFFALO HUNT 'Twas not the trembling, of the earth, That caused me to regret my birth, But 'twas my fright, that came so quick, Which made me then, so deathly sick. But low above, and over all, A cloud of dust hung, like a pall, The herd "was hidden from my sight, And day had given place to night. While cries of fear, were on my lips, The sun came back, 'from that eclipse, And in the light, made by the rift, / got away with movements swift. A thunder storm with pounding hail — A cyclone, twisting in its gale, Ten avalanches in a row. And scores of blizzards flying snow — Were all combined — would seem as still, As an old graveyard, on the hill, Would seem as still? It would indeed, When as compared — to that stampede. Where was my friend from old Kaintuck, While those wild creatures run amuck ? Was by my side, when they began ! Why, he was one who also ran. Out-ran me to a wild wolf's den, Under a bank, close by the fen, And out of breath, was lying prone, Securely there, and all alone. I did not wait for him to say, ''Come in and visit me today," But to his body stept inside, And found a chamber long and wide! BUFFALO HUNT 11 Not high, but there was standing room, And soon I saw amid the gloom, Some treasures which you ail would prize- While other things there met my eyes — Which being there, mute witness gave, That we were in a robber's cave, And not the den of a wild beast — Some rendezvous to say the least. The Author Giving Public Readings of His Hunt A mass of dollars, hard as rocks ! Were half concealed within a box ! And as some passed, my hands between, My eyes were dazzled, by their sheen. Then as my fears began to rise, That we might meet with a surprise, Which we'd not reckoned on before — A shadow fell, within the door ! 12 BUFFALO HUNT I whispered to my friend, "Arise, We'll soon be butchered here as spies, We are entrapt, in this vile den, • And ne'er will see our homes again." Great Daniel Boone ! ! He sprang upright, And in his eyes, there came a light, That drove the darkness there away — He seemed like a wild beast, at bay. His face was pale, but not from fear, He'd past that stage, which had been near, Determination, by his look, Could then be read, as in a book. His flashing eyes were cast around — Grabbed his repeater from the ground, Quick at full cock, the hammer hung, His finger to the trigger clung. Again, a shadow crossed the hole, A human form therein-at-stole, Then, "young Kentucky" showed his blood, As in stern tones, came out this flood. "Lie down-, you dirty dog" — he said, "Or I will fill you full of lead, If you attempt to raise your gun, Your race in life is fully run." I stood in horror, cold as ice, And tried to speak then, once or twice, But not a sound, in my distress, And there ! I lost all consciousness. CANTO III When I "came to," there by my side, Were my true friend ; our one eyed guide, Who by their efforts — those two men, Had brought me back, to earth again. BUFFALO HUNT 13 "You's scairt to death," our captain said, As gainst his knees, I leaned my head, "And Kaintuck thar, a hour ago, Scairt me to death, or nearly so. Ah ! never in my life before, Had I approached, so near the shore, Of the unknown-^the border-land. When I complied, with his demand. "Them Injuns Claim We Have No Right. " Fer in the dark, I couldn't see, The one who had just spoke to me, But from his tones, I knowed quite well, I'd better to lie down a spell. I felt thar, was but one choice — I did not recornize his voice, But when I shouted, Do not shoot! He recornized, this old Galoot. And then he rushed to me and said, 'You're not a robber, but instead, My dear old friend. Our Captain Bang — ' Then this yer cave with gladness rang'. 14 BUFFALO HUNT He kindly raised me to a seat, Knocked off the dirt, down to my feet, His arms around my neck, he flung, And like a lover thar he clung, "That Red Cloud is a Sly Old Fox" Beggin' my parding for his act, (Which would have been my death in fact, If I'd not tumbled at his call, And throwed my gun against the wall.) BUFFALO HUNT IS His arms, then gently, I unclasped, With my right hand, his own I grasped, And said, my friend, you're not to blame, In your place, I'd a done the same. With these surroundin's, as they air, To enter here, would be a bair, To anyone, who this way wends, Unless I knowed, all war my friends. And then I said, Where is the boy? — Your pardner, out from eelinby?* Was he run over by the herd? And then my sight was kinder blurred. Caused by the thought, you might be crushed, In that wild storm, as on it rushed, I blamed myself, that you two boys, Had tried to outrun that'ar noise. I should have told you what to do — To stay by me, I'd see you through — Almost sure death, to one who runs In a stampede ; stand by your guns, And if the mob bears down on you, The only thing fer you to do, To save yourself (upon my word) Shoot quick, at leaders of the herd. Pour into 'em a full broad-side, And that will cause 'em to divide, Into two columns — and around You, thar will be a strip of ground, Quite wide enough, you may depend,_ "'To give you breathin' room, my friend; And that is just the thing I done— They kep' dividin' on the run. *The author is a native of Illinois. 16 BUFFALO HUNT And jumpin' side-ways left and right- Oh Boys ! it war a purty sight, To watch 'em bowin' thar to me, As if to say, 'Good Bye' — you see? "And Spotted Tail in Feathers Full." Thar tails, fer banners, rose and fell — A wavin' me. 'Farewell, Farewell.' — Thar's nothing more, could me amuse, As / returned thar kind 'Adieus.' I kep' a pumpin' my best friend, Until she had no more to send, She failed to kick and then I seen, I'd emptied her whole magazine. BUFFALO HUNT 17 I didn't need no more — at last, That panarammer then was past, And I begin to look around, To see, if you boys, could be found. I hunted 'long that marshy place, But seemed I couldn't git no trace Wharby, to find you — bless you soul ! Until I tumbled in this hole." CANTO IV While he was talking thus, to me, Our mutual friend, from Kentucky, Had left awhile, the cave to rove — And soon he'd found my Treasure-Trove. His eyes were still a shining bright, But with a diff'rent kind of light, From that they had an hour before, When Death seemed standing at the door. And then he said, "My friends I've found A fortune, as I looked around, In this old cave. Now come with me And I am sure you will agree — " Just then from the out-side — Bang! Bang! While scores of guns in chorus rang, And with the roar — an awful yell! (Like Demons just let loose from — Mexico.) We all three ran toward the door, But Captain Bang was in the fore, And looking round, bade us return, Till he could 'sbmethin' f ureter learn.' 18 BUFFALO HUNT He soon came back and with a smile Said, "We will here remain awhile, Two Indian tribes, out thar, have met, And had a 'scrap' — air fightin' yet. "Chief Sitting Bull in Feathers Fall." One tribe's Pawnee, the other Siou, And they are both good fighters too, They air well matched, but Chief Red Cloud, Is at the head of the Siou crowd. I also saw Chiefs Settin' Bull, And Spotted Tail, in feathers full, Along with Red Cloud and his band, And lendin' 'em a helpin' hand. BUFFALO HUNT 19 That Red Cloud, is a sly old fox, He'll give them Pawnees, some hard knocks Before it ends; I'm not surprised That he is nghtin' undisguised. Fer, he strikes terror to the hearts, Of redskins found, around these parts, The' Otoes run, if him they see, But that's not so with the Pawnee. Fer he's as brave and cunnin' scamp, As ever carried scalps to camp, They'll give them Sioux a real 'Ghost-Dance' If only they, have half a chance. I'd like to leap into that fray And raise some scalps ! What did you say ? "Don't leave you boys?" No, I'll stay whar I am until the. coast is clar ; I mout git killed! Then what of you? Whar would you go? What would you do? With them red rascals harabout, They'd kill, or capture you, no doubt. And of the latter 'tis their law, To make you marry, some young squaw, And should you have a promised bride, She would be humbled in her pride. To larn a Minnie haw! haw! sprout, Had over-reached, and 'Cut her out' Them laughin' gals, enjoy such tricks, They with the pale-face love to mix. Although oft-times, it shows poor taste, They'll jump the broomstick, in great haste, And that's the reason, now and then, You see them fellers, called c Squaw-Meri. 20 BUFFALO HUNT I once was ONE, but am ashamed To tell it; but should not be blamed, Fer livin' near 'em, when quite young, I larned to talk in their own tongue. And when arrived to man's estate, A Ha ! Ha ! maid became my mate, She was the daughter of a chief ; And purty, too, past all belief. Light-hearted as the birds that sing ! Hair, as black as the raven's wing! Teeth, white as pearl, and eyes that shone Like diamonds from Victoria's throne !" Right there, the old man bowed his head, And {seemingly unconscious) said, Twas — long — a-go — seems — yes-ter-day, She — from — my — zvig-wam — went — a-zuay. Quick changed his features to disdain! And harshly spoke to hide his pain, "But what's been said is over much, Upon that subject, we'll not touch"* *He never mentioned it again nor (prudently) did we; but from another source learned that she eloped with a young and powerful Chief of another and distant tribe. She became infatuated with him while he at times was visiting her father, concerning tribal matters. Her duplicity embit- tered our old guide against the whole Indian Race and he became its implacable foe. He led a wild life on the frontier and excelled as a Buffalo hunter and Indian fighter. Rising to a captain's command in the war between the states, he rendered efficient service to the government by his knowl- edge of Indian warfare and great plains of the West at that time. BUFFALO HUNT 21 Should we be found in this old den, Surrender not, but die like men, As fer myself, I'll git a few, Before I bid this world adieu. The days ahead of me, dear boys, Are few to count, and fewer joys, But e'er they end, I'd like to find The VERY ONE, who put me blind. I shore would quickly douse his glim, If ever I git sight of him. And if I knowed that he's out thar, I'd go right now and lift his har. Them Injuns claim we have no right, To this their land, so us they fight, And when white men, in hunts engage, It shorely makes them heathens rage. You asked me once, Why that Stampede. It was the noble ( ?) redman's deed — Back many miles they made the charge, Upon that herd, you saw so large. And scairt the critters (plain to see) Over on the Arickaree, And doin' it, they made such fuss, They run 'em over onto us." By this time night was falling fast — 'Twas growing dark within the den, The roar of guns had ceased at last, And we were tired and hungry men. Old Captain Bang then rose, and said, "We must have somethin' now to eat, Since early morn, we have'nt fed, And you are both worn out complete." 22 BUFFALO HUNT 'Worn out ?' ah ! we were sick and tired, And scarcely able to stand up, That strenuous day, just 'bout expired, Had furnished us a bitter cup. I could have eaten a raw mule, It seemed to me / zvus so faint, I scarce could rise from the old stool, Whereon I mourned out my complaint. "It was the Noble (?) Red-Man's Deed. "Them hosses boys I cla'r forgot, I left 'em in that old stockade, Run, down and see, fer like as not, The redskins on 'em made a raid. I'll have some supper, for you sure, When you come back upon the hill, And that will all your troubles cure, When you have et it to your fill. BUFFALO HUNT 23 I've cut from out a buffalo, The finest steak you ever et, 'Twas just about ten hours ago — The time you lads will not forget. We'll camp close by them critters, killed By me, before that big stampede — In servin' wild meat, I am skilled, And you shall have one great big feed!' Thus spoke our hardy Pioneer, Then as he left us there, he said: "Them skunks have went, you needn't fear, Them thar thets left, fer they air dead." CANTO V An half hour later we returned, From the stockade, hard by the stream, And on the hill a hot fire burned, Which cooked a meal "that was a dream." Full justice can't be done in verse, To such repast: such tender steak! Such juicy steak!! No rich man's purse, Could purchase better; and the cake, Made of corn-meal and baked on coals — Those glowing coals ! yes, angel food, I'd eaten, and the sweetest rolls E'er baked; yet nothing half so good, Had ever passed within my lips — It thrilled me to my finger tips; Indeed both, were most nourishing, With clear cold water from a spring. I quickly lay upon the grass, And stretched my feet toward the fire, Nor cared for what might come to pass — To sleep, was my one great desire. 24 BUFFALO HUNT I heard the wolves' discordant howl, Along the stream not far away, Also the mountain lion's growl, As he was feasting on his prey. From fear of wild men, or wild beast, Henceforth I was to it immune; O'ercome by fatigue and the feast — Was wrapped in slumber, very soon. Next morning, Captain Bang prepared, A duplicate, of night before, For breakfast; but, for it I cared Nothing — my appetite was poor. We went out where the fight had raged — Where Siou and Pawnee warriors bled, And for sometime, we were engaged, In looking 'round among their dead. A tomahawk was here and there, Some bows and arrows (strings were gone), A scalp or two, with long black hair, Some useless guns, still further on. Creech-clouts, robes, blankets, feathers, beads, And necklaces, of bears claws made. Some moccasins among the weeds, And tepee poles, of every grade. One Indian among some trees, Where he had crawled, our Captain found, His tribe, he said was the Pawnees — It seemed his, was a mortal wound. He asked our guide, to give him drink — Twas very faint, he was so weak, He was just hovering, on the brink Of the beyond — could hardly speak. BUFFALO HUNT 25 But the old man his language knew, (Could speak it as his mother tongue,) Down to the stockade then he flew, And wide, the keg's old faucet flung. And while he was away, I ran Down to a spring, beside the stream — Got some water, in a tin can (That measured grain for our guides' team.) But Captain Bang was back, when I Returned, to quench that poor man's thirst; Poured down his throat some of his "Rye" — Which he "allowed, would be best, first." And then I gave him water — pure As God gave it, to every Race, And for a time, we felt quite sure, That he'd survive; but soon, his face Gave evidence, his end was near ; He looked intently, at our guide, But as his words were hard to hear — Old Captain Bang knelt by his side. The Pawnee said, "I fight with you, Some long ago, down further East, It was on river, Little Blue, Where tribe was holding a big feast. The pale-face take our land and game, We have no place wherein to live, My tribe is nothing now — but name, But all is past, I will forgive. Great Spirit calls me now ; and soon My tribe on earth, will not be found; 'Twill not be very many moon, 'Till meet, on our own hunting ground. 26 BUFFALO HUNT You now heap scalp me for that eye, I take — from you in fight — that — day, My — squaw and — pappoose both — have die, And — I — with — them — shall — be — away." His lips were dumb, his eyes were closed, (Our Captain gently raised his head) At once his stalwart form, reposed In, dignity, and — he was dead. As he lay there, his mighty frame, Bespoke the strength, of once his tribe, These ''Plains" were his, so was the game, He, at his death, tried to describe. We felt condemned ! He had complained Of great wrongs borne by the red men, — Far back as when the Caesars reigned, They owned this land— and NOW as THEN. God's Word contains a better law, Than mortals make for life's short span, Which, by compare, we clearly saw, "Mans inhumanity to man.' 1 We briefly there, in silence knelt, While tears a down, our faces ran, For, in Death's presence, we three felt, That this was our own brother man. We buried him beside the stream, Where weeping-willows sadly wave ; And where the fire-flies' nightly gleam, Lit up our pathway, by his grave. Old Captain Bang, was changed all o'er, And 'mong the hunters, it was rife, "That, beside that lone grave, he siuore, He ne'er would take a human life." BUFFALO HUNT 27 Soon afterward our brave old guide "Passed in his checks." In sleep profound, He, with his "Best Friend" by his side, Awaits "Some happy limiting ground." * * * * * You ask what of that "Treasure," found In that old den, far under ground? Oh ! that was nothing you would crave — // zvas a counterfeiter s cave. The end of my first Buffalo Hunt. BUFFALO BILL ON HORSEBACK. William Frederick Cody was born in Scott County, Iowa, February 26, 1846. His father was killed in the "Border War" in Kansas. He was a pony express rider in 1860 and 1861 and a government scout and guide and a member of the Seventh Kansas Cavalry from 1861 to 1865. March 6, 1886, he married Miss Louisa Frederici. Mr. Cody contracted to furnish the Kansas Pacific railway with all the buffalo meat required to feed the laborers engaged in construction and in eighteen months, 1867 and 1868, he killed 4,280 buf- faloes, earning the name "Buffalo Bill," by which .he is best known. He was a government scout and guide from 1868 to 1872, serving in operations against the Sioux and Cheyennes ; was a member of the Nebraska Legislature in 1872 and joined the Fifth Cavalry as a scout in 1876. In the battle of Indian Creek he killed Yellow Hand, a Cheyenne chief, in a hand-to-hand fight. From 1883 to 1913 he was at the head of a Wild West show. He was judge advocate general of the Wyoming National Guard. Buffalo Bill's Latest Photograph Col. W. F. Cody (Buffalo Bill) died January 10th, 1917, in Denver, and his body was placed in a receiving vault until Sunday, June 3rd, when it was transferred to its last resting" place in a grave blasted from solid rock on top of Lookout Mountain, twenty miles from Denver. More than 10,000 people went from Denver to Lookout Mountain by automobile and electric train. For hours before the ceremony at the grave there was a steady procession of automobiles winding up the mountain side toward the sum- mit. Several thousand persons who had gone by trolley to Golden, at the foot of the mountain, climbed steep trails or trudged along the automobile road to Wildcat point, where the burial was held. The ceremony at the grave was not elaborate, only the Masonic ritual being used under the direction of the Golden Masonic lodge. A delegation of Knights Templar from North Platte, Neb., where Col. Cody held his membership, acted as an escort. The three following articles called "Machine Verse" Were written for the Author's Drug Journal, and published therein. The author of this book * 5 a pharmacist, and these three are his observations in that profession. They have no bearing on the Buffalo Hunt, but are thrown in for good count for his brother druggists. A DOCTOR'S EXPERIENCE. The worn physician laid his head upon his pillow clean and white. "Here's where I rest," he drowsily said. "I'll have a good sound sleep tonight." And 'mid his drap'ry cool and soft, he dreamed of sweet Elysian bowers, but soon his 'phone rang loud and oft, which called him from its scented flowers. "Is this the Doctor Quickam's 'phone?" "Yes ; this is Doctor Quickham, too." "Well, come at once, for I'm alone and near death's door. —Phil Mickadoo." The doctor sprang into his car and cut the air ten miles, or more. The night was dark, for every star was hidden by the clouds all o'er. And soon the rain began to fall with blinding lightning all around ; the stoutest heart it would appall, but Mickadoo's the doctor found, and soon had him in quiet sleep. To be prepared, should Phil grow worse, he watched the hours slowly creep to morning's dawn, as would a nurse. The patient woke and then he cried : "Your face looked like an angel's then, I'll double pay you for that ride. How glad I am that you came out and saved my life right here last night, for there was no one hereabout to help me in my awful plight. And now, dear doctor, just as soon as I can ride down to the town I sure will crave it as a boon to pay you fully, spot cash down." * * * Twelve months or more had passed and Phil, who'd often sought the "lower levels," said when the doctor sued his bill, "His old face looked just like — Mexico." The inference we may draw from this — to leave out here 'twould be amiss — Chameleons can change their hue, and — so did Phil his point of view. THE TRAVELING QUACK. Old Doctor Quackem has come down— got the parlor at our hotel. Now all Neurotics of the town will flock to him to make 'em well. Testimonials by the score, of those he's cured in days that's gone, are lying thick, on each porch floor, or scattered out upon the lawn. They tell the tooth-less, old and gray "While there is life there still is hope," (if they will only come dock's way) and take a portion of his dope. So out comes Limpy on his staff and old Dad Wheezy down the pike, and old Miss Grouchy had to laugh to see the dozens his way hike. "How's your bowels? Let's see your tongue?" then feels their pulse (Woks very wise). When all these changes he has rung, then to his old valise he flies. Some of their necks he fills with swill and others— stuff, in powdered form; to some weak sister gives a pill, "which is to keep her stom- ach warm." "Elixir of eternal youth," the doctor (?) says, and when he's done, although his language is uncouth, the hearts of all he there has won. Old Quackem now presents his bill. To each it is, "Ten dollars, please." His liquid dope— aqua distil— powders and pills — limburgcr cheese. Our old Neurotic's hard earned plunks, Dock Quackem quickly stores away. His smiles and thanks bestows in chunks and bids them one and all "good day." Old Barnum was quite right. He said, "The people like to be humbugged." They rush to strangers to be bled, especially, when to be drugged. THE DRUGGIST HELD UP. "Throw up your hands," the robber said, as he drew forth his gun, and pointed at the druggist's head, who had not time to run. "I've waited long outside your door to catch you all alone; the rushing traffic in this store must make your drawer groan. I am a Count in this disguise and I am come to wed an heiress in New York; surprise now seems to fill your head. But I must have a little mon, to last till I am tied to her vast wealth; tomorrow's sun will show her as my bride. That wad in your cash register, you must transfer to me, and to oblige me now, kind sir, move with celerity. Did you not hear? Step lively, now, or by Saint George I'll shoot. Delay means death to you'I vow — come, out quick with that loot!" The deaf old druggist put one hand behind his north-east ear, and shouted : "I can't understand, your words I fail to hear. Come nearer, so that I may catch the import of your woe, or better still, on this pad, scratch it down, so I may know, then I will help you all I can — you've come to the wrong place, for this is not a pawn shop, man ; now what's that on your face?" The hold-up was thrown off his guard, the pad took with a frown ; the druggist promptly landed hard and knocked the rascal down. Then his artillery he took and tossed it to one side and sent some "sweet words" by the "Crook" to his intended bride. He pasted. him a few times more, when "hold-up" gained his feet, and straight- way shoved him to the door and kicked him in the street. A Cop arrived about that time (for Coppers never fail to come along — after the crime) and took that pad to jail. Moral: — Now foot-pads, you should all refuse into such traps to fall. That druggist quickly planned a Ruse — He was not deaf at all. TAI O buffalo in t le world is now owne to be purcha >ver the part linwright, a city mi n if the bison were id before American it they had 600 fro 1 Pablo •tected them near Ravalli. rhe histoi irgest in the world, in captured four little bison calves by i impeded n the Flathead reservation ii question gave them to the Mission of St. they were kept became as domesti- lly increased in number, xl, finding the care the mission > sell them. >r $250 •■ Pablo, who was of what was even animal would eventually become \ \BLO MADK A FORTUNE. ie her> ased under n, and in a few prices, ■rank Oliver, thei ter of the ut an O] ior $200,000. T« s 2,077. RANGE OF 107,00' the reserve the Their stamp- 107,000 acres — 165 square n miles in an air line the longest way an :e miles long ' nffalo paradie. The grounds days they have been a favorite monarchs of the pi \ where are out- of old buffalo trail*? -md walld 'Almost sure death to one who run. a stampede; stand by your guns V u<& 1 'We got away with movements swift. " LIBRARY OF CONGRESS iiunmiii 018 603 304 8

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Poems, complement love-lyrics and others, copyright ...

Arnesen, Alfred M.

poemscomplementl00arne_djvu.txt

3^0/ t t~ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 306 1 # i i HoUinger Corp. ^ PS 3501 .R582 P6 1919 Copy 1 anil (itljpra *• COPYRIGHT 1919 BY ALFRED M. ARNESE^J^ THE MAGIC OF THE WILL To My Best Friend, Miss S. R. There's a truth for every error, A good for every ill ; There's a way to heart's desires, Thru the magic of the will. There's a smile from you can offset The frowns of all the world ; There's a way to win it from you, Oh loveliest little girl. There are words that you can speak, That'll thrill me thru and thru; And every discord can be banished. Thru sympathy with you. There's a life of growing splendor. Ahead of you and me ; And perfect Love, oh. Sweetheart, Shall make all that is to be. ©C1A557055 NOV 10 1919 THE GRAND PURPOSE Let us move within the purpose 1 hat moves the world along-, Unerring- keeps its orbit The heavenly hosts among. Like the sun and earth that keepeth 1 he greatest use relation. Let's hil with this great principle ( )ur every kind of station. It will move us ever onward In the glorious march of time. Till soul to soul shall touch In the most delightful clime; Where scenes are all enchanting .\nd nature yields her best, Where love is freely flowing .And raptures thrill the breast. \Ve'll exchange our growing goods With neighbors and with friends ; And heartfully enjoy the blessings That our Father always sends. ( )ur feeling hearts and minds Shall purest channels be For the sweet ambrosial waters That courseth down eternity. Let us keep this vision si)lendid Of the future that's to be. 'Twill sweeten all our present Till its reality we'll see. .And while we're moving forward In the ever-pleasing new. Each day will be delightful .And in growing measure too. Li celestial joy unspeakable Thru our sweet lips shall flow. Life's sweetest of elixirs Love's ever-best to know. One taste of its great sw-eetness Transforms the life for vou. And its daily drinking Both mind and bodv will renew. TOO MUCH MR. BILL One da_\- upon the ri\'er side A girl and fellow met, It seemed to her a case of love That neither should regret. How wondrous sweet that meeting was There by the old red mill ; But soon she found he was a case Of too niucli Mr. Bill. This -world could he a paradise, \\'it]i beauties everywhere. And life could be a wonder-song In sweet, melodious air; And love could flow from e}-e to eye And our whole beings fill; If we met not so oft a case, Of too much Mr. Bill. CHORUS: But everywhere some Bill is there. No matter where you go. " With cunning words, the sweetest heard. You'll find he's never slow. But in his heart you'll have no part, And that you never will ; For on his mind, as soon you'll find, Idiere's too much Mr. Bill. How oft a girl will meet a man Most promising to her ; Who with his smiles and honey'd words. Is making quite a stir. But when she learns the reason why Her heart would sweeth- thrill. In pain she'll find he is a case. Of t(K) much Mr. Bill. CHORUS: But everywhere some Bill is there, etc. THE PROFITEER IS UP TO UNCLE SAM There's profiteers in factories, There's profiteers in stores; And thru their manipulations The price of living soars. And now it's got to such a point Where something must be done: Where profiteering must be fought. And fought till victory's won. God's world is full of everything To satisfy all needs ; And all could live in Joyland And on earth's best could feed ; If man to man would be more kind. Would have a feeling heart ; And each would do his proper work, And each be paid his part. CHORUS: Uncle Sam, it's up to you To prove what you can do ; You've got a worthy task To rid us as we'll ask Of profiteers. You know they're in the wrong And we've had them all too long- So get busy with your power For now has struck the hour To rid us of the profiteers. There's many men who a-i-e working now From morn till late at night : And many loving mothers work Far from their children's sight ; Because their husband's underpaid And has been so for years. And people manywhere are underfed, Because of profiteers. You turned the tide across the sea 'Tween warring nations there ; And in this crying need today, I know you'll do your share. A word from you is power enough To fix man's working day; You've power to handle profiteers. And regulate man's pay. CHORUS: Uncle Sam, it's up to you, etc. Oh ! what's the use of all our strikes WMiile profiteers exist; Although you gain the very wage On which you will insist? F'or what you gain in higher pay, Your money's power lose ; I"or prices in proportion rise. So, tell me, what's the use? MY SWEET IRISH NELL Miss S. R. I've seen the sweet Parisian girls And London's charming belles ; The Andalusian beauties too ( )t whom the traveler tells. I've been with Norway's fairest, Italian maids as well ; But I've ne'er seen a girl so fair. As my sweet Irish Xell. CHORUS: Oh! Sweet, sweet Irish Xell! There's none like her I know. Her sweet, smiling face and dear winning ways Keeps ni}- whole being aglow. Love's thrilling light, most radiant and bright. Shines from the soul of this belle. My delight is forever in pleasing; My own sweet Irish Xell. She's been my bright, dear sun of life. Since her first smile was seen. And I'll adore her more and more. My charming sweet Colleen. She makes this world like heaven. In every place we dwell; Oh! God gave the best thing in life. When He gave me sweet XeU. (Reprinted with alterations from \'olume 2.) THE INCOMPARABLE Miss S. R. The millionaire may have his wealth And all that gold can buy. The traveling- man may well enjoy The scenes of earth and sky ; And move among the company Of girls both high and low, And pleasures may await him too, Where'er he'll choose to go. CHORUS : But there's a wealth that's dearer far Than all of earth's great treasures are. A loveliness that far excells The beauties of all other belles. A constant feast for eyes and ears, A company that life endears With goods all other goods above. And that's the girl I love. A smile from her's enough for me To set my soul ablaze. And every good of human kind. Is mirrored in her face. I share with her a million joys Thru sympathy of soul ; And live in growing sweet delight. In love the best of all. LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 018 603 306 1 # YOUR MEMORY SOME DAY Like the cloud of this morn That so quickly was l)orn And as cjuickly dissolved In the sunshine away; So the evils you've known Shall from memorv he gone. In the sunlight Of Truth some dav. And the places they've held Ne'er again shall be swelled With their presence So odious and drear ; But instead shall be filled With charms that have thrilled. And with beauties Most radiant and fair. /f/f ^ t t i LIBRARY OF CONGRESS llllllllllllllllllllli 018 603 306 1 #

12025191

The hermit of Lover's Lane,

Arnold, Cornelia Minor

hermitofloversla00arno_djvu.txt

.--4' HERMIT OF LANE - MUSftS ***i»'»i'i(«"fl«'.>»aw«tM«eMBi»»<!'i"«f««»ai* i«e»i«uiiK<Mr FtNEUA MiNOH kHiiOVO THE Hermit of Lover's Lane BY CORNELIA MINOR ARNOLD Author of "Stonefield Silhouettes," "Historical Saapbook," "The Laying of the Manor Ghost," Etc. "Glamourie slept in her eyes, terribly calm in the tumult. Hidden and secret and sweet was the smile of her crimson mouth." — Gjipsj) Verses. THE BILLINGTON PRESS Ossining, New York 1912 60\ ,t^r< <^^'^ Copyrighted 1912 BY CORNELIA MINOR ARNOLD ;^ - t Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/hermitofloverslaOOarno o c (0 o _o c (0 M CO .2' <u c C E e 1^ 1 ^ .Si U ns » E ■£ -o c 1> 4J ^-^ -a "— c bo 5 c •" _E c ji ii «I 3 # I -S - >. & THE HERMIT OF LOVER'S LANE. " Spring was sweet cind keen in his blood. Singing, he sought his mate. The wife for the life and time of his mood. Formed for his needs by fate." — Gypsy "Verses. Absalom Clabby halted his yoke of oxen in the furrow, while he lifted a torn hat from his brow and wiped therefrom the sweat of honest toil. The brow was white and well shaped though the spring sun had spread a healthy russet over face and neck. He passed a strong brown hand through his wavy hair, and leaned on the plough handles, while the sleek handsome red oxen, perfectly matched, and with marvelous breadth of horn finished with polished brass buttons, stood with eyes almost closed, and ruminated placidly. Absalom had followed the plough all day, beguiling his labor by singing psalm tunes in a sweet tenor. He had a good voice, and was popular at "singin' skewl," while in "meetin* " it rose strong and clear above the cracked and quavering tones of the congregation. Now as he looked over the spnng landscape green with tender buds, and the ploughed lands, with their promise of a rich harvest, he sang by strange contrast, a verse from "Habak- kuk" as the tune was called in "The Shawm," the old board covered psalm book used in the Congregational meeting. "Altho' the vine its fruit deny, Altho' the olive yield no oil — The withering fig tree droop and die. The fields elude the tiller's toil." It was one of those days filled with "the light that never was on sea or land," and a vague restless longing for something outside of his life, he knew not what, filled his breast. The odor of freshly turned earth, the high sweet monotone of peepers m the marsh at the foot of the hill, and the soft warble of a bluebird " — Shifting his light load of song From post to post along the cheerless fence." all appealed to the senses, and the sum total was unrest, a feel- mg which may be described by the paradox of "sweet sorrow." His eye rested on his matched yoke, and a thrill of pleasure moved him, as he noted their sleek hides and perfect points. But comforting as a fine ox team may be, they did not fill the void that ached in his bosom. "Dunno whut ails me. Cal'late I better take some yarb tea; reckon I'm bilious," he soliloquized. A warm April shower fell in sparkling gems, though the sun shone brightly; a robin, his red breast glowing in its late beams, burst into a jubilant song of praise. A rainbow curved its splendid arch, seeming to end behind a small white house on the adjommg hill, which stood out clear against a dark spring cloud. Charity Eels lived in that house, and Absalom had been seeing her home from "singin' skewl." In country parlance he had been "sparking" her. His discomfort grew. He wondered if his vague discontent had anything to do with her. Perhaps it had. " I reckon I'd better walk over tonight, an' clench th' bargain with Charity. She's a pretty gal, an a good one too," thought he. Having made this good resolution, he settled his hat. took the plough handles in a firm grasp, called to his oxen "Whoa- haw-gee-g'lang. Star an' Bright," and began singing another psalm tune suited to his resolve. 2 "Come my Beloved, haste away, Cut short the hours of thy delay. Fly like a youthful hart or roe Over the hills where the spices grow." Never again did Absalom sing these words; their associa- tion with that April day made them a song of sorrow instead of joy. The oxen leaned forward in the creaking yoke, and the ploughshare turned over a roll of the rich black soil. As he approached the stone wall along the country road, he glanced down the highway, and beheld a sight which excited his rural curiosity. Passers were always interesting in the country, even of the most ordinary character, and the approaching multitude was worth halting to look at. Several covered wagons painted red and green, were drawn by equines in a more or less perfect state of preserva- tion, while led horses, many dogs, a few goats, a riotous crowd of strange looking children, and stranger men and women, pro- claimed the party as a band of gypsies let loose from enforced winter quarters by the welcome spring. As Absalom watched them, a feeling of repulsion, a true Puritan hatred of the wandering Ishmaelites, their mode of life and lack of morals and religion seized his emotions. He could not refrain from looking at them however, and even the oxen opened their mild eyes wadely to stare at the clan. Withered swarthy hags peered out from the wagons, their repulsiveness accentuated by long pinchbeck ear-rings set with gaudy imitation jewels, heavy necklaces encircled bony and yellowed necks, bracelets and bangles clattered together, while large rings covered dirty hands. A dim idea, unformed in words, came to Absalom, of the need of youth and beauty to make such things endurable, and he remembered his mother's plain homespun gown and little quilted black silk bonnet with a measure of satisfaction. 3 Old men with gold hoops in their ears, jaunty young men with black loosely curling hair, embroidered jackets, and high black sheepskin caps, mingled with gaily dressed young women, making a bright dash of color in the pale spring landscape. Suddenly a woman separated herself from the crowd, and ceune boldly up to the stone wall. She was lithe, young and graceful, with olive skin like velvet, great eyes that one moment seemed of midnight black- ness, and the next held topaz lights in their depths, jet black hair in two massive braids almost to her knees, and scarlet lips. Those lips! They held Absalom's eyes as a serp- ent holds a bird. Never in dull pale New England had he seen such lips, such eyes, such color. It was as if a gorgeous midsummer day, all light and brilliance and bloom should suddenly burst into being from the cold gray fogs of February. How had he thought Charity beautiful, with her gray eyes, rose tinted cheeks, and simple Quakerish gown ? Charity had an old amethyst brooch, an heirloom, which she seldom wore, lest it should be too gay. Charity's gowns were of gray-blue to match her eyes. She suddenly seemed plain and pale as a windflower beside a full blown flaming peony. This girl's dress was of scarlet, with yellow trmimmg and gilt tinsel embroidery. Yet the scarlet gown paled beside those wonderful lips. She wore on her bosom a bunch of flowers gathered in the swampy ground at the foot of the hill, dull purplish red tnllium, with its strange ill scented bloom. Absalom had always thought "Wake-robin," as it was familiarly called, a noxious malodorous weed. Now it seemed rare and beautiful as an orchid, absolutely in harmony with the strange brilliant creature before him. Even the heavy jewelry which seemed so vulgar on the 4 older gypsies enhanced her eerie beauty. She stood a moment silently, a smile parting the wonderful lips, displaying teeth, regular and white as ivory. Absalom stood transfixed, oblivious to all the world except the Romany maid. Doubtless she fully realize^! his amazement and admiration, for the smile was tinged with scorn. She spoke in a deep rich contralto. " Sarshan, giorgio ! Rakessa tu Romanis ? '* (Greeting, Gentile ! Do you speak the Romany language ? ") Absalom stammered a few incoherent words. The gypsy laughed aloud, — a bubbling liquid laugh, like the song of the wood thrush. Verily, she was a scarlet sorceress. Then she spoke in good English. " Gilda, the Zmgara, speaks, oh son of New England. Cross the gypsy maiden's palm with silver, and she wall unfold to thee thy life; the past, the present and the future. Gilda is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter, and the veil lay on her eyes at birth, which when lifted reveals the future. Lo, Fate hath somewhat in store for thee ! " The topaz light faded from her eyes, and they glittered. Unwillingly Absalom stepped from the furrow, and came slowly to the stone wall. Gilda held out her hand, and Absalom, with reluctance in spite of his admiration extended his. As their hands met an electric shock seemed to pass up his arm; he drew away his hand, and put it behind his back. A chorus of laughter went up from the gypsy crew, and Absalom blushed like a girl. An old hag bedecked with heavy jewelry came forward, pushing Gilda aside, saying in a whining insinuatmg voice — " Goot efenin'! I lof you ferry well; 'ow de do! Let the Romany Dye (Gipsy mother) speak. The beautifool, lofely young man, he wants be dukk^red. (Have fortune told.) He no 'fraid ol' Dye. "Besh Alay; lei a hitti ral^l^erben. " (Sit 5 down; have a little talk.) She seated herself on the stone wall, and seized Absalom s unwilling hand. She glanced at his work hardened palm, and cast her eyes to heaven, placing her disengaged hand on her heart, " Oh, the lofely Giorgio ! He born under planets o' Venus an* Juno ! He have the long life line ! He two time rt/mmerec/ (married.) He be soon rummered, yes, — before this moon grow dark ! He no have seek gold, silver, jewels ; they come to him ! But ah, the sorrow, — the sorrow ! " Absalom's senses returned to him with a rush. He snatched back his hand, and returned to the plough, wheeled the oxen about and began his furrow across the long field. Looking back, he saw Gilda gazing after him, her eyes full of topaz lights. The old woman laughed shrilly, and called after him " Latcho ratti ! " (Good night.) Absalom sang no more ; when he reached the other side of the field, he carefully scanned the road before returning. Nothing was in sight except the covered wagons and caravan moving slowly up the next hill. Absalom drew a deep breath and retraced the field, thinking of a pair of scarlet lips and strange eyes. As he halted his oxen by the wall, suddenly there uprose from the ground the gypsy Gilda. She had been seated where the wall concealed her. She approached him, holding out both hands, with a smile no longer scornful and mocking, but full of allurement. Had Absalom thought her eyes black ? The eyes looking into his were no more black than were Charity's. They were a warm soft yellow, full of sunlight, clear as a mountain brook, tender as the budding spring. And those scarlet lips ! They stood speechless gazing in each others' eyes, Absalom with his Saxon face, deep blue eyes and fair wavy hair ; the gypsy girl, doubtless the child of Spanish blood, with olive velvet skin and long black braids — a strange contrast. I After a moment of silence the gypsy spoke. Her voice was as the murmur of a singing stream. " Beautiful Giorgio," she said, "Gilda could not leave thee. There is that in thy palm she must tell thee, and she could not speak in the presence of the Romany Rye (Gypsy gentleman) and the Romany Dye." (Gypsy mother.) She took his hand in both her own ; a mesmeric current seemed to flow through his arm. His head swam, and all the world seemed blotted out except those lips ! Gilda gently turned his hand so that the palm was visible, and continued, " What is the past ? — though Gilda could tell thee ! It is only the beautiful present and the joyous future that we need know. The Romany Dye Esmerelda was right ; — a long life, riches, and twice rummer ed." She sighed deeply, and repeated, "Alas, twice married ! Yet why should the gypsy weep that another chenshes his old age, when his youth and beauty are hers? The Zingara's life is short and merry. Let those drag through the weakness and infirmity of age who will. Spring and summer for the Romany, autumn and winter for the Giorgio. It is well ! " Absalom knew not what to say. At last he said hesitat- ingly — "Am, — am I to — marry ? Can ye see aught o' th* maid ? Is she hght complected with gray eyes, — or is she — ? " "A fair maiden ! " laughed the gypsy with an unpleasant ring in her mirth. " Nay, nay ! Thy wife is dark, she has eyes like a fawn, sometimes black, and again yellow, she has a torrent of jet black hair, she — " the girl paused significantly. "She will rest in thy arms ere that faint young fingernail of of a moon which lies on the western horizon shall wax and wane. Yea, she shall rest in thy strong arms, even as the new moon holds the old moon in her arms. Love is the only thing in this wide world. Gilda has sought it in many countries. Turn not away when it comes to thee ! " 7 Gently she drew his hand to her, and before Absalom could realize what was happening, his lips were pressed to hers, — wonderhil, warm, scarlet. Gilda sprang from him into the road, as he would have caught her in his arms, and with a radiant smile, said as the Romany Dye Esmerelda had done, " Latcho ratti ! " She was gone. He looked about him bewildered. The spring evening was falling, and there \n the west was the new moon, with the old moon in its arms. A tin horn was blowing at the farm house. It was "Aunt Nabby" as his mother was known, calling him to supper. Mechanically he unhitched the oxen from the plough, and took his homeward way. He sat down to the supper table as usual, but scarcely ate, in place of his customary excellent appetite. " What ails ye, Absalom ? " asked his mother. " Reckon your liver's upsot. I'll fix ye up some yarb tea. Did ye see that gang of gypsies go long a spell ago ? Ye better nail up th' barn door tonight, an* don't leave th' bosses out to paster. Nail up th* chicken coop, while ye*re *bout it, too. I sense it s a lot o' trouble, but it's better to be sure than sorry. Ther* aint nuthin' safe when that scum comes traipsin' roun'.'* Absalom felt a slow sense of indignation. Nothing was ever locked and bolted on the farm. " Nabby's right" added " Uncle Isaiah," as Absalom's father was known. " These here latter day Ishmaelites aint no good fer this worl' ner the nex'. Strange the Gov'ment lets 'cm stroll roun' like a pack o' jackals. They oughter be kelched, an' sot to work with a ball an' chain hitched to em. Ther* was one on'cm come trampoosin* past, arter th' bunch hed gone by, with a bright red gown. She reminded me o th "Scarlet Woman " mentioned in Scriptur'. " A dull wrath pervaded Absalom. Was beautiful Gilda an Ishmaclile, who should be hampered with a ball and chain ? 8 " Uncle Isaiah" was not misnamed for his prophetic pro- totype. He was a tall patriarchal man, with long white hair floating on his shoulders, and a beard like that of the prophets. Had he dressed in flowing robes, he might have served as a model for Moses himself. He was deeply religious according to his lights, and the language of Scripture was to him as his native air. Much of his spare time had been spent in poring over the Old Testament, and its majestic language fell from his lips as naturally as his daily conversation. Strangely enough, while he spoke the prevailing vernacular ordinarily, in Scriptural quotation and in prayer, his English was pure and undefiled, untainted with provincial colloquialism. His imposing presence, knowledge of Scripture, and eloquent delivery, made him an object of surprise and admira- tion to strangers. After supper Absalom nailed up the buildings in accord- ance with instructions, and in spite of his day's ploughing, wandered about with unrest. He was the only child, and there was none in the family to whom he could open his heart about the events of the afternoon, since he knew without doubt his family's sentiments toward the gypsy race. He reasoned that their camp could not be far distant, as it was so late in the day when they halted at the field. A vsald desire to see those lips overwhelmed him, and he at last yielded to the temptation to search for the gypsy camp. Hastily changing his working clothes for his Sunday gar- ments, he met his mother as he left the house. "Be ye goin' over to Charity's ? " asked she. " Ef ye be, ! wish ye'd fetch me the pattern o' the block fer thet new kind o' quilt ; she promised to let me hev it." Absalom started guiltily. "Yes, I'm goin' over to Charity's," he said slowly. His mother went in the kitchen where her husband sat 9 reading, holding a tallow candle close to the page. "Absalom gettin' ruther thick over to Charity's" said she with a pleased smile. " I do hope its suthin' more'n puppy love. She'd make a good wife fer our son, an* she'll hev means one o' these days.** " He's alius hed good sense," said his father placidly. "Absalom's got too much Clabby blood in hirn to pick up one o' them 'ere highty-tighty fly-away gals, all ribbins, an' hoop skirts, and folderols. When he ondertakes to ' lead about a wife,' as saith St. Paul, he'll do credit to hisself an' to us too, mark my words ! " " Wal, I do hope so, I'm sure," replied his wife. " The kind o' marriage a man gets into makes or mars his hull life. They do say that a man hes to ax his wife's leave to git rich." " Blood will tell ! " responded the old man proudly. "An* th' Clabby blood came over in th' Mayflower ! " Meanwhile Absakxn pursued his expedition of discovery, regardless of his aiKestors, both remote and recent. A pair of scarlet lips and saffron eyes were his lodestar and goal ; he saw them in the sunset sky, and through the gloom, " so softly dark, and darkly pure" of the spring evening ; he heard that rippling laugh in the wayside brook, and the pleasant noises of the night. Never was mariner rrwre swiftly and completely captivated by siren, or Rhine voyager by the Lorelei, than was Absalom Clabby, the descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers, by the vagrant daughter of the Romany tribe. Presently he caught the odor of wood smoke, and saw the gleam of camp fires in a glade at the edge of a wood. The twang of violin strings and the thrum of zithers mingled with the stamp of picketed horses. He withdrew behind the massive trunk of an oak, and stood absolutely without plan or purpose. He did not know why he had come; he only knew he could not keep away. The staid, sober young New Englander had 10 never before been so carried off his feet in all his proper, weB regulated existence. The old men and women sat smoking around the fires, while the young men thrununed on musical instruments, break- ing occasionally into a wild song, unintelligible to their listener. Suddenly the players burst forth with the music of the " Czardas," the national dance of the Magyars, one motif slow and stately, the other wild and rapid. The wailing of the violin and the clash of the cymbal spoke with the voices of ** love and rage, fierce passion, and unutterable sadness." Suddenly there darted into the circle of firelight a scarlet robed figure moving with the lightness and sinuous grace of the panther, now swaying with uplifted arms, now clapping her hands, and anon whirling dizzily with the abandon of a Nautch dancing girl, and finally moving with slow easy grace, and elegance of movement. It was Gilda. As she danced she gradually gained the outer edge of the circle of fire light, and at last passed beyond it, and was lost in the darkness of the wood. While Absalom strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of scarlet, a hand was laid on his arm. He started in sudden fright ; he had heard nothing, not the breeJdng of a twag, or a movement in the undergrowth. Gilda stood beside him. " Fear not, Giorgio," said she. "Did Gilda startle thee? Her heart called her, she knew not why. When the heart calls, Gilda follows. She is not deceived." Absalom stammered some incoherent words ; the strange spell of her personality crqDt over his senses. Gilda continued : — '* Soon the Romany Rye and the Romany Dye will go their way through the spring weather. Soon, too soon, will Gilda be torn from one whom she loved when she first looked in his eyes. Why should not the heart speak, when time is so short, and eternity so long? The 11 Romany speaks when the Giorgio is silent ; but though the lips answer not, the heart cries aloud." " Oh," cried Absalom, startled from his New England unresponsiveness — " Gild a, it is true ! It is true ! Do not leave me; do not go when they — these people, — do. Stay, and be my wife ! I never saw a woman like you. Tell me, you are not married ? " " Gilda is a Romany maiden, and of high birth," said she, drawing herself up proudly. " Gilda is a Gypsy princess. Her father is King of the Gypsies in another country. But she loves not the men of gyj)sy blood. She loves the fair hair and blue eyes of this cold country. Gilda fled lest she be married to a Romany she loved not." Absalom's heart expanded with sympathy. Her fascina- tion had woven its spell, and all else was forgotten. He caught her hand. " Gilda, you belong to me ! When will you marry me? She answered, scarcely breathing, — " In yeck, dui, trin, — yes, in one, two, three days, — in three days from now, Gilda will be thy gypsy bride. Meet me in three nights, here at this hour." Suddenly a step in the underbrush warned them that a gypsy was approaching on his return from some nightly raid. In an instant Gilda was gone, noiselessly as a dryad. Absalom stood in silence until the gypsy, a slouching, black, ill-favored fellow, had passed into camp. Immediately a dispute and brawl broke out between two young Romanys and the new comer ; a confusion of unintel- ligible language rent the air, and loud shouts of what was apparently the names of two of the men — " Rudi I Rudi 1 San- dor I Sandor I " ensued. In the confusion Absalom gamed the road, and the thought 12 came to him that he had told his mother that he was going to Charity's. Yes, he must go to Charity. He must tell her that his past attentions were naught. Absalom was straight forward and honorable, and he had no doubt led her to believe that marriage was in his thought. As soon as he knew, he must tell Charity. He strode toward her home with the determination to have the unpleasant thing over as soon as possible. She met him at the gate, in the sweet moon-lit eve, with a happy smile. She was dressed in her simple best, and wore the amethyst brooch. She wore a cluster of flowers also. Not purplish red trillium. but pure white blood-root. Plainly, she had expected that he would come. Absalom was no silver-tongued orator. He aimed bunglingly directly at the heart of the matter, " No, Charity, I wont come in. I come to tell ye — that I hoped — that ye havn't thought that I, — that is, I thought so myself until today — oh, what I want to say is that I'm afeard I've given ye reason to think that I meant to pop the question, but I can't, I can't ! I've seen the only woman I could ever love. I couldn't help it. Charity, — I told her so, — don't feel hard ! Forgive me ! " Charity turned white as the bunch of closed bloodroot on her heaving breast, and slowly turning went into the house without answer. Indeed, she was incapable of speech. Absa- lom, with a strange feeling that the world was out of joint, walked slowly home. His quiet sea of life had in a few hours become a whirlpool, and for a girl strange in every particular of birth, thought, and habit, whom he had seen but twice. As he passed through the kitchen on his way upstairs his mother called out from her bedroom : — "Absalom, did ye re- member to git that quilt pattern o' Charity ? " " No, mother," he answered. " I didn't think on't." 13 " Aint young fellers all alike, father ? " said Mrs. Clabby to her husband. " Gals in, wits out o' their heads. I s'pose he *n Charity's so wrapped up in the'r own affairs, ther' aint nothin' else on 'arth. Wall, I'm mighty thankful he's picked out such a nice wife ! " "A Clabby s head is alius level on both business an' love," replied the old man with deep satisfaction. The mistaken couple peacefully slept, while the son whose prudence had been extolled, tossed restlessly, with broken snatches of dreams in which he saw scarlet lips and topaz eyes. The three days passed like a dream to Absalom ; he moved through his usual duties in a daze which caused much comment between his father and mother. " I've seen young fellers in love afore, but it seems to me I never seen none quite so daffy es Absalom," said Uncle Isaiah. " Oh fly, father ! 'Pears to me I ricolleck when ye hed a spell o' th' same disease, " replied the old lady smiling slyly. "I sartin never wus so silly actin' es this, mother! ' said the old man. " Never in this 'arthful world ! " The fatal third day came, as all days good and bad have a habit of coming. At the appointed time Absalom's horse and buggy stood at the edge of the wood, he and Gilda had met at the rendezvous, and gone in search of a minister who would marry them, a somewhat difficult pursuit. Absalom had insisted on a marriage by clergy, while Gilda was not in the least troubled about ceremonial rites. Parson Kellogg refused pomt blank, nor could any one be found who would undertake the doubtful task, until the Millerite leader, old Elder Tweddle was persuaded to tie the ill-assorted knot. As it was late before this feat was accomplished, Absalom left his bride at the gypsy camp, with the intention of breaking the dire news at home in the morning. But when the clear 14 light of day shone on the matter, he found it impossible to open his mouth to his father and mother, though he still was as madly infatuated with the gypsy as ever. " Colors seen by candle light Do not look the same by day." However, that evening he gathered together his courage and told the tale of his folly. Isaiah Clabby sat in the kitchen reading as usual by holding a tallow candle close to the paper. His wife sat knitting by the firelight, for the spring evenings were still cool. Upon this scene of domestic peace Absalom's con- fession fell like lightning from a clear sky. When it had been made absolutely clear to their minds that their only child, Absalom Clabby, a Mayflower descendant, and a member of the Congregational " meetin'," had wilfully and with malice aforethought married a gypsy whom he had seen for the first time three days before, and the identical "scarlet woman" whom Isaiah had seen " trampoosin' past," they were at first too stunned to find words. Mrs. Clabby, after the way of women, first recovered her power of speech, and burst into wild reproaches. " Her manners had not that repose Which stcimps the caste of Vere de Vera." Mrs. Clabby talked long and shrilly, while her husband sat in silence, and Absalom stood sulkily by. She exhausted her vituperation on the Delilah who had led her son from the beaten paths of New England decorum, ending by saying: " Who married ye, or did ye jump over a broomstick ? I've heerd tell that was the way them wild gypsy folks got married, an' I mistrust thet when they git sick on't, they jest jump back agin, an' call themselves single ! " Mrs. Clabby folded her arms in her apron, and rocked in an abandon of grief. Presently she burst forth again : "A mis'able traipsin' trollope ! I don't s'pose she wus 15 ever inside a Congregational meetin' house, in all her born days, an' dunno even thet " In Adam's fall, We sinned all." " I s'pose she never heerd o' foreordination, predestination sanctification an' justification ! O, dear me suz-a-day ! Whut shell I do ? " Uncle Isaiah waited in silence until his wife's grief had spent its audible expression. His paper had fallen to the floor, and he set the candlestick on the table beside him. Then he arose, looking with his stately height, and long white hair and beard as one of the prophets might have done, when pronounc- ing doom upon a wayward nation. He raised one hand, and held it a moment in silence. When at last he spoke, it was in the majestic language of the prophets. "Arise, cry out in the night ; in the beginning of the watches pour out thy heart like water." " Suddenly are my tents spoiled, and my curtains in a moment." " Our inheritance is turned to strangers, our houses to aliens." "Now is my house left unto me desolate." "A foolish son is the heaviness of his mother." "And why wilt thou, my son, be ravished v\^th a strange woman ? ' " The mouth of a strange woman is a deep pit. He that is abhoried of the Lord shall fall therein." "And behold, I mourn as one mourncth for his only son, as one that is in bitterness for his first-born." " Gird thee with sackcloth, and wallow thyself in ashes ; make thee mourning as for an only son. most bitter lamentation ; for the spoiler shall suddenly come upon us." 16 " O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom ! Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son ! " " Let us pray." The old man fell upon his knees, and raised both hands to heaven. " Oh Lord, have mercy on our Absalom. Thou knov^^est that a strange w^oman hath led him av^ay from the path of our Puritan fathers, but wilt Thou put Thy hook in his jaw^s, and pull him back to Thee. Thou hast added one to our family ; it may be Thy will ; it would never have been mine ! If it is of Thee, do Thou bless the connection. But if the poor fool hath been and done it out of carnal desire, may the cold wind of adversity settle on his habitation ! Amen, and Amen." Uncle Isaiah rose to his feet, and the three looked at each other. Then Absalom turned sullenly, and passed out of the door. His mother was seized with a sudden revulsion of feel- ing. Was he not her only child ? She ran after him, crying — "Absalom, stay with us tonight. Give yer father an' me time to think. Ye're all we hev, an' this was so suddint, sech a blow ! " After much persuasion he finally yielded, and went up to his room. In truth, he knew not where to go, the whole thing had been done so upon blind impulse. He could not go to the gypsy camp, he had no place to take his wife. All night long his father and mother talked together of this sudden calamity. Early in the morning they sent for Parson Kellogg and laid bare their grief, asking his council. Finally natural affection prevailed, coupled with the peaceful advice of the minister, that since the misfortune had fallen, they should accept the wild stranger, teach her so far as possible, the customs of New England, and lead her in the paths of righteousness. So would their skirts be cleared of responsibility toward a heathen, and paremtal duty to their son would be fulfilled. 17 So it came to pass that the "scarlet woman" came from the woodland ways, and the long roads that stretch away over the hills, to the New England farm, and the straight and narrow path laid out as that of virtue. Now began the struggle of Aunt Nabby's life, the problem of fitting a square peg into a round hole. Gilda's manners, her thoughts, cmd her habits were a revelation to the unwilhng mother-in-law, and of nothing did she approve. She insisted that the gypsy bride should lay aside the offending scarlet dress, and wear the dull shades of homespun ; that her black braids should be pinned tightly around her head, and re-christened Gilda with the prosaic name of Sarah Ann. Mrs. Clabby took her reconstructed daughter-in-law to meetin', bitter as was the process of running the gauntlet of curious eyes, and shocking as were the gypsy's errors in etiquette, willful and otherwise. Even her beauty seemed in a measure laid aside with her native dress. Naturally she was absolutely without domestic instincts, and Aunt Nabby was a notable housewife. Even the food of the gypsy was strange, and she scorned the sacred baked bean. The only things the caged eagle was willing to do, were to play on a mandolin which she had brought with her, drink hard cider and roam the fields. Once Mrs. Clabby took her to a missionary meeting, hoping that some seed might fall in good ground in the heathen's heart, and Gilda at the most solemn moment had sprang up and danced the Czardas ! She seized the passing communion cup, and drank to the last drop its contents of homemade wine, to the horror of the deacons, the amusement of the congregation, and the mortifica- tion of Aunt Nabby. Also, dirty old gypsy women and impudent looking young men, especially one called Rudi, haunted the back door to the horror of Uncle Isaiah, and the terror of his wife. 18 The climax came when Gilda seemed ill and drowsy, and after a period of stupid seeming unconsciousness, Dr. Pumpelly, who was sent for in haste, pronounced her simply drunk ! Affairs in the Clabby family daily grew more strained, until at last they were indeed "on the knees of the gods." Absalom was still under Gilda s spell, and often secretly did foolish things which would have reduced his parents to the verge of despair, had they known of them. She persuaded him to bury all his money beside a stone wall under a tree in the pasture, telling him that money so planted would grow, and that Esmeralda had said he should be rich. She assured him that gypsies always buried money when they wished it to increase, and when he pointed out the im- possibility, she asked him if he did not always bury grain which he wanted to grow, and at length prevailed on him to bury his nest-egg, foolish as he knew it to be. Aunt Nabby faithfully endeavored to instruct her wild daughter-in-law in Congregational doctrines, in needlework, domestic ways, and all that made for New England virtues. One day she felt impelled to impress on Gilda the honor that had been bestowed on her in marrying a descendant of the Pilgrim Fathers. Gilda drew herself up with flashing eyes. " What were these Mayflower men ? Farmers, laborers ! She had heard of them before ! Gilda descends from k^^^gs^ — from King Zindl, from King Cristall ! Her line goes back hundreds of years before this skiff, this dory, called the May- flower brought over its load of peasants ! Gilda s fathers wore velvets and satins when Ab-so-leem's wore dornick! Gilda is a Princess ! The honor is all Ab-so-leem's ! " The sturdy New England woman quailed before the fury of her royal daughter-in-law, and thereafter ventured not to attempt the education of this descendant of kings. So life dragged on for weeks, and matters must soon have 19 reached a crisis, when one morning Gilda, who had a plebeian early morning habit, for a Princess, of sucking raw eggs, did not return from her customary raid on the hen's nests in the bam. As the day passed without her return, toward evening Absalom went up to the gypsy camping ground, only to find a vacancy where the wagons had stood. Nothing remained to tell of their presence except trampled grass with spots worn bare, greasy paper and dirty linen, bones and scraps of vegetables, feathers, and a few soiled and ragged garments left hanging on bushes. Sickness of heart filled Absalom; he was still fascinated by this strange woman, in spite of the problem and bone of contention which she had been in the family. Suddenly his thought reverted to the buried money, and stopping in the pasture, he found the earth newly disturbed, and the money gone. Slowly he returned home with the tale of their departure. His mother was unable to conceal her joy, while his father's sole comment was : — " Render them a recompense, O Lord, according to the work of their hands." Gossip and comment was naturally rife for many miles. The tale of Absalom's matrimonial venture had crept even over into "York State." People looked at him curiously, and whispered together before his back was turned. His mother, in feminine fashion, could not refrain from an occasional remark of satisfaction that the family was rid of the disturbing element. Absalom grew more reticent and secluded, and at last, as the pricks of home and neighborhood comment, and " the stings and arrows of outrageous fortune" became more annoying, he left the house, and betook himself to a little shanty used in maple sugar time, down a wood road in the depths of a sugar bush. He went nowhere, was social with none, laboring daily on the farm, and retreating to his lonely cabin at the close of the day. Soon the neighbors dubbed him " The Hermit, " and the 20 pretty wood road, "Lxjver's Lane." So Absalom became known as "The Hermit of Lover's Lane." Though often urged to return home by his father and mother, autimm leaves fell in their yellow drift, and snow blocked the road, yet Absalom remained. Spring came back with its sweet sounds and odors. A year had been rounded out since the fateful day when Absalom ploughed the upland field, singing as he went, and the disturber of his peace came up the road, and smiled with lips and eyes to his undoing. One night there was a wild spring storm. The south- wester whistled, shrieked and groaned around the little shanty, the trees rocked and writhed, and from time to time wild gusts of rain drove against the v^ndow, and shook the door like one determined on entering. Absalom sat leaning with his head on his hands, absorbed in bitter retrospect. Suddenly a wail was mingled with the shrieking of the wind, — a wail which had a strangely human intonation. Absalom started up and listened. Agciin the cry, mingled with a dash of rain. He sprang to the door ; upon the step lay a bundle which he hesitatingly lifted, and unwrapping an old shawl, a young child looked up from its folds. A lusty howl testified to the infant's disapproba- tion. Absalom dropped it as if it burned him. Here was a predicament which distracted him from his sorrows. Finally he decided that he must examine the clothing, as a horrid fear began to oppress him. Handling the fearful creature timidly, he found around its neck a locket suspended by a string, — a locket which he had given Gilda. On opening it, his own face looked out at him. Here was a new complication before which his past troubles withdrew to the background. He had not thought of such a possibility. What should he, what could he do with this mite of a few weeks, which 21 screwed up a funny little mouth, and blinked a pair of expres- sionless eyes, while it waved its arms eiimlessly about. He cautiously extended a finger, which was seized and held firmly. At last Absalom realized that something must be done for this little rain-drenched creature. He was as awkward as most men with the young of the human species, and he gingerly removed the wet shawl and wrapped the baby in his coat. The infant still howled. Absalom began to suspect that it might be hungry. Of course that was the matter! The only young things that he had experience with were chickens, calves and lambs, one of the latter reposing in a bushel basket of hay behind the stove at the moment. He had found the little creature chilled when the sheep were folded that night. An mspiration came to Absalom. Why not feed the baby with milk prepared for the lamb ? He was past master at nursing chilled lambs, and what was good for a lamb, must certainly be good for a baby ! Therefore very shortly the infant was lying beside the lamb in the basket, and placidly feedmg from the lamb's bottle, on warm milk, sweetened with molasses, and flavored with a dash of black pepper ! Absalom spent a sleepless night. What could he do with this new perplexity, fallen as lightning from a clear sky ? Verily he had sown the wind, and reaped the whirlwind. He would not ask his mother to undertake the infant's care ; she was well advanced in years, and he knew would regard the child as of the viper's brood, forgetting that her own blood flowed in its veins. A desperate thought of Charity crossed his vexed spirit, dismissed with a qualm of self reproach. At last in the cold gray of the early morning he came to a decision. He would take the child to the town farm, the overseer of which had been friendly, so far as Absalom permitted. He would leave it with 11 Mr. and Mrs. Hobbs, and pay for its care. He acted at once, wishing to run the gauntlet of the distance to the town farm before early risers were abroad. Ahi Hobbs listened sympathetically to Absalom's story, and his wife, a motherly creature, took the burden from the father's awkward arms. She chirruped to the mite, which opened a pair of wondering eyes and regarded her gravely. "Aint it a cute little creetur ! " exclaimed she. "An so knowin' ! See it look up an' breathe! Is it a boy er a gal, Absalom ? " Absalom started. The idea had not occurred to him at all. It was just a baby, his analysis had gone no further. He blushed like a peony, and stammered something unintelligibly. But Mrs. Hobbs was chucking the baby under the chin, and talking equally unintelligible language to it, in the midst of which Absalom made his escape. A few days later as he was working in the field, Mr. Hobbs called to him in passing, " Wal, Absalom, yer darter's a gal, an' a mighty peart un, too!" He drew nearer the fence, and said in a low voice: — "Absalom, come up clus ter th' fence ; I want ter talk ter yer." He told Absalom that Charity Eels had come to the town farm, and asked for the baby girl, promising to bring her up in the narrow path of New England virtue. " I cal'late Charity feels lonesome like, sence she lost her maw, an' nobuddy lef but her brother. Be ye willin' to let her hev a try ? " concluded Ahi. Absalom's heart gave a mighty leap. He had often thought of Charity and her sweet gentle- ness, and imagined her with his child in her arms. " I'm more'n willin', Ahi. I know yer wife's good es she kin be, but she hes so much on her hands, 'thout carin' fer a baby. But ther's one thing I must do. I'll pay ye reg'lar, an' you hand it over to Charity." 23 So it was arranged, and the village had another nine days wonder to gossip over. Time passed, and Absalom was still the Hermit of Lover's Lane. His parents were gathered to their fathers, but he did not return to his old home. The thrall of the gypsy was still at times over him, and he would often stand before his hut in the sweet twilight of the summer night, and look up and dov^ the grassy lane, shaded with the interwoven arch of forest trees, and out where its vista opened on the western sky, where the sunset waved its banners of daffodil, purple, and gold, watching for the woman he had married in a moment of madness. But Gilda never came, and as the years passed with their relentless tread, Absalom's hair became frosted, until at fifty he looked an old man. He had regularly left a sum of money with Ahi, long since retired from the poor farm, to be devoted to the child's upbringing. Ahi had several times attempted to tell him of her, but he would not listen. It recalled too keenly the mistakes of his youth, and the life of loneliness and sorrow he had entailed on himself. Another spring came, and one evening in the gloaming Absalom sat outside his hut, when he became aware of the approach of some one down the wood road. He gazed in surprise, as few intruders ventured on his solitude. But presently he saw this was a stranger, a woman, ragged but gaudily attired. Her face was withered and wrinkled, hard in feature and expression, and she walked unsteadily, as one under the influence of strong drink. She stopped before him, and laughed in a maudlin fashion. Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck, and laughing and weeping, demanded to know if Absalom did not recognize his wife, his Gilda ? He thrust her from him in a horror of repulsion. She knelt before him, crying — 24 " Rudi is dead, — poor Rudi ! True, he beat Gilda, but he did it because he loved her. Poor Gilda ! She has no one, now Rudi is gone, she comes back to the Giorgio. Ab-so-leem, he once loved Gilda. He will take her to himself? She is his gypsy bride." Her breath, heavy with bad whiskey came in his face, and he shrunk further away, saying, — " I don't know ye ! Ye re drunk ! " She moaned and lamented, and relapsing into a patois of English and Romany, exclaimed — "Ab-so-leem, the Giorgio, think Gilda matto ! (Drunk.) True, Gilda stop in the kitchema, (tavern) but she only been piin leoinor. (Drinking beer.) That not make drunk ! " " Go ! " exclaimed Absalom. " Ye are not Gilda ; ye're jest a common tramp ! " In reply the woman drew from her breast a cord on which was suspended the half of a silver coin. " Know you this, Giorgio? " asked she with a sneer. It was half of a silver piece which Absalom had divided as a love token during the brief madness which possessed him. "Ab-so-leem," she went on in a wheedling, cajoling tone. " Be kind to Gilda. You say not even to her besh alay." (Sit down.) She was becoming more under the influence of liquor. Her eyes, which had lost all their strange beauty, were dull and heavy. "Gilda sick, — sick! " she went on. " Gilda travel far to see Ab-so-leem ; to see her child, the baby Esmeralda, to give her a dowry, — before Gilda die. Where is the child ? Tell Gilda quickly, before she cry aloud through the country for her flesh and blood, until she find her." Absalom was chilled. He could not have Charity so troubled and annoyed, and the child must not see her mother. 25 Though he had never seen his offspring since the day when Mrs. Hobbs took her from his arms, though he did not even know by what name she was called, he would not have her thus humiliated, and again start the tongues of malicious gossip. He would quiet this creature by any means possible, and trust to fortune to keep her visit a secret. How dearly he had paid for his short folly ! He was completely disenchanted, his love turned to loathing. So, forcing a smile, he said, adopting her manner of speech : — " Will not Gilda rest in the house of Absalom, and we will talk more afterward ? " The woman staggered into the little room, and fell across his bed, where she was presently in a drunken sleep, only stirring to say before wholly under its influence : — " Under tree, — dig, dig ; jewels, — silver and gold." Again Absalom spent a sleepless night, as he had done often before on her account. At daybreak, as she still slept heavily, he slipped out to attend to the cattle, and on his return she was gone. He searched the woods, but there was nothing to prove that he had not passed through a horrible nightmare. Indeed, he was trying to persuade himself that such was the truth, when Ahi, who was almost the only one with whom he held conversation, told him that there was great excitement in the neighborhood, that a woman tramp had been found dead in a bam. He talked on garrulously, drawn out by a few questions, until Absalom was certain that it was Gilda. A wild emotion of freedom and relief came to him, as he learned that no one had been found who had conversed with the woman, though she had been seen hanging around the vicinity for some days. "Absalom," continued the old man, "I don't want ter hurt yer feelin's, but I sort o* suspected thet, — the woman wus, — 26 you know who, — an' I'm glad ye're free. She's safely buried in the poor farm corner o' th' Frog Holler buryin' groun*. Absalom, don't live in this shack the rest o* yer days ; ye're got es pooty a darter es ye need ter look at, an' Charity ! — " Then Absalom told Ahi of his night's vigil, and found great relief in speech after his silent years ; he cursed the folly that had sold his birthright for a mess of pottage. Absalom spent the next week in deep thought ; at its end he went to the next village, where he bought new attire, and after the pruning of his hair and beard was accomplished, he looked as if the clock of Time had turned its hands backward on the dial. Absalom was a man of decision, and he had decided. As he crossed the lots on his homeward way, he passed through the pasture where in days of folly he had buried his all at Gilda's instigation, and turned aside to look at the spot, as her incoherent words crossed his mind. To his astonishment, the earth had been disturbed, and on digging, he found a store of gold and silver coins, and precious stones, more in value than the farm on which they were buried. So this was Gilda's dowry for her daughter. That evening, the young spring moon shone softly, the peepers in the marshes sang their shrill song, and Absalom turned his steps to Charity's home, even as he had done more than twenty years ago. A figure stood at the gate, even as of yore. Absalom knew who waited, even before a word was uttered. " Charity," said he, " I have come back to ye, after years worse than wasted. Will ye take what is left o' my life, an' try to straighten out the tangled skein ? She is dead. I can only offer ye the last years of a life that should have been all yours, but for an awful mistake, — an awful mistake." She answered in the low sweet voice that he so well remembered, — 27 "Absalom, I have waited for you all these years. I knew the time would come when you would need comfort, love and sympathy ; I have waited that I might give when you sought. A faithful woman can wait a life time for the man she loves." A joyous young voice called from the doorway, — "Aunty, — Aunt Charity ! Where are you?" Absalom and Charity walked slowly up the path to the door. He looked almost in terror at the young girl who stood m the lamp light, fearing lest he should see scarlet lips and topaz eyes. To his joy and surprise a fair slender young girl looked at him with his mother's eyes, large serious blue-gray orbs. "Absalom," said Charity solemnly, joining the hands of father and child, " I give to you your daughter. I loved her first for your sake, and after for her own. I have saved for her every penny that you have sent for her care these twenty years. She is as my own to me, — and her name is — Hope! " Absalom stood as in a dream. Then, after the manner of old Isaiah, he spoke softly, — "And Hope maketh not ashamed! " He went on gently, " Charity suffereth long and is kind * * * seeketh not her own * * * thinketh no evil * * * beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth aU things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth." He paused a moment, and finished solemnly : — "But the greatest of these, is Charity." The farmhouse door closed behind them, bound together by that threefold cord, which is not easily broken. It shut out the sorrowful past, the mistakes and grief, and shut in Love, Joy, and Peace, 28 ^OT 26 1912

23015089

Poems of a Salvationist,

Arnold, E. Irena

poemsofsalvation00arno_djvu.txt

Class ~PS55Q 1 Book_ P.G Copyiight N°._\A2-3_ Go-*3la* 2- CORfHIGHT DEPOSrR Q POEMS OF A SALVATIONIST Poems of a Salvationist BY E. IRENA ARNOLD (MRS. BRIGADIER WILLIAM C. ARNOLD). 1 WITH FOREWORD BY EVANGELINE BOOTH / Commander Salvation Army Forces in the United States New York Chicago Fleming H. Revell Company London and Edinburgh Copyright, 1923, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY ~P 53501 19 2 S OCT 13 1923 ; New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 17 North Wabash Ave. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: 75 Princes Street To Miss Evangeline Booth, Commander of the Salvation Army in the United States of America. Foreword H ERE is another evidence of the singing heart of a Salvationist. Many of the verses have been suggested to the writer in the ^rucible of * ^ / painjand because of this we are not surprised to learn that already their message has been greatly blessed— chasing the shadows, comforting the loneliness, and in¬ spiring the faith of faint hearts and prostrate souls. They are woven and interwoven with threads of Blood and Fire experience, and are therefore valuable not only as tuneful testimonies to the victories of Divine Grace, but as mirrors of Salvation life and service. I am glad to preface the more enduring publication of these verses with a few lines of appreciation, and send them forth with the prayer that these expres¬ sions of a believing heart may be carried upon the wings of Divine influence, wherever their message may be needed. New York. Evangeune Booth, Commander Salvation Army Forces in the United States. [ 7 ] Contents I. Commander Evangeline Booth An Appreciation. 13 Welcome Home, Commander. 16 II. General William Booth Our Founder’s Eightieth Birthday, 1909. 17 III. General Bramwell Booth The General’s Birthday. 18 Welcome to the General. 20 IV. The Salvation Army The Salvation Lighthouse. 21 A Greater Salvation Army. 32 Woman’s Platform. 34 Back to the Army Again. 35 Up with the Flag. 37 We’ll Never Let the Old Flag Fall. 38 Welcome to Canada. 39 V. The Great Call Campaign ’Tis the Voice of Jesus. 40 For Fiery Fighters. 42 To the Slothful. 43 One by One. 44 Watch Your Step. 45 VI. Mother's Day All Silver and Gold. 47 Mother’s Heart is Young. 48 Mother’s Way on Mother’s Day. 50 [ 9 ] CONTENTS VII. Comfort and Encouragement Just to Be Satisfied. 53 Sometime! Somewhere!. 54 The Midnight Song. 55 For Me. 57 Beautiful Thoughts. 57 Faith../. 58 That’s All I Want. 59 Alone . 60 Protection. 61 All the Days. 62 How We Forget. 63 Pray. 64 Believe to See. 65 Perfect Peace. 66 Have Patience. 67 All Alive. 68 Do Your Best. 69 Face the Giant. 70 Fashioned by His Hands. 71 Heavenly Manna. 72 Look Forward. 73 Whom Else But Thee. 74 Get Ready for His Coming. 75 Content . 77 VIII. War-Time Verses The Salvation Army Doughnut. 78 The American Girl in France. 79 Our Two Flags. 81 Freedom . 85 Just for My Loved Ones’ Sake. 86 Thus the World is Born Again. 87 [ 10 ] CONTENTS IX. After the War Our Flag—A Living Tribute. 90 Freedom’s Answer. 92 The Same White Emblem. 94 Liberty’s Triumph. 96 Our Promise of Peace at Last. 99 X. Memoriae Day Living Monuments. 102 New Life Beyond the Grave. 104 The Bells, the Bells Are Ringing. 105 XI. Easter His Cross and Mine. 107 Easter 1 houghts. 109 A Voice from Calvary. 110 Easter Lily. Ill Easter Eggs. 112 To My Daffodil. 114 XII. Army Weddings Continual Comrades.... 115 A War Romance. 116 Children of the Army. 117 Their Silver Wedding. 118 XIII. Thanksgiving Say “ Thank You” to the Giver. 122 I Thank Thee. 124 XIV. Christmas They Followed the Star. 126 Have You Forgotten Christ is Born?... 127 Can You Hear the Angels Singing?... 131 The Bells of Christmas. 134 Were I But Home To-night. 135 [ 11 ] CONTENTS Playing Santa Claus. 137 A Real Santa Claus. 139 Birthday Gifts for Jesus. 141 XV. The New Year The Band of Beginning Again. 143 Come Back, Father Time. 144 Good-night, Old Year, Good-night. 145 When the Clock Strikes Twelve. 146 XVI. Miscellaneous I Heard Him Sing. 147 The Doctor’s One-Hoss Shay. 149 My Baby Sister. .... 151 Ruth Mabel. 153 Canada for God and Right. 154 Thank God for the Country. 155 No Washing in Heaven. 157 Take Care!. 158 Beware . 159 Don’t Let Him Get You at Last. 160 [ 12 ] I COMMANDER EVANGELINE BOOTH AN APPRECIATION W E may put our pen to paper and record some deeds of fame, We may paint a life-like picture that will bear her hon¬ oured name, We may make of clay a model to depict her noble bearing, But the life with others sharing, And the heart for others caring, Sculptor, painter, poet never can proclaim. Oh, we see her loving sacrifice in buoyant youthful days, As she donned a tattered shawl to seek sad slumdom’s heart and ways, Down in darkened wretched hovels changing sighing into singing, For her golden words went winging To their hearts the Saviour bringing; We can hear their voices mingling in her praise. At the festive Christmas season as the years pass one by one, How her heart so warm and tender through her kindly deeds has shone, [ 13 ] AN APPRECIATION As she aided human suffering, touched earth’s woes with heaven’s healing, Showed such sympathetic feeling, Her great heart of love revealing! And this kindness day by day she carries on. Like sweet music, pure, harmonious, lifting drooping spirits high, Like the fragrance of the full-blown rose to every passerby, Like the warm kind sun, the summer sun, somewhere ’tis always shining, So her life to God resigning, Round some needy heart is twining, Scattering sweetness for the Master far and nigh. Leader in the foremost rank throughout the Christian world today, Walking in the path of holiness upon the King’s highway, Her success in winning souls her true sincerity assaying, Courage, faith, and love displaying, Spirit, dash, and power portraying, And unfailing in her steadfastness alway. An exponent of the Word of God that evermore shall stand, On the Rock of Ages fixed, not moved with every breeze that’s fanned, Hear her strong impassioned pleading like Niagara’s rushing water! Worldly fame has never bought her, [ 14 ] AN APPRECIATION She’s our Founder’s fearless daughter, Always well equipped, the Sword of God in hand. She has served our land of freedom giving gladly of her best, She has raised our Army standard never flinching through each test, ’Neath these two great flags she’s standing, for their high ideals fighting For the world-wrongs that need righting, All mankind in peace uniting. Peace must start within the individual breast. Oh, the heart of this vast nation by her service has been moved, As in peace and war her trained Salvation Army has been proved. With her queenly grace and radiant hope and pulsing heart impelling, Well-known eloquence excelling, Voice and heart and mind compelling, By all classes she is honoured and beloved. Our Commander—though her name is loved in many another land, She is ours, and by her worthy counsel loyally we stand. We would follow her example, which doth all our hearts inspire, Lift the blood-stained banner higher, Raise the flag of Blood and Fire, Proud to fight for God and souls at her command. [ 15 ] WELCOME HOME, COMMANDER! Who can measure all the blessing of such leadership renowned ? Who can number all the broken hearts that have salva¬ tion found? Who can count the deeds of mercy such a brave life has afforded ? God has every one recorded, And they all shall be rewarded, When the “ Well done ” of the Master shall resound. WELCOME HOME, COMMANDER! [Written on the occasion of the Commander’s return to New York after a three months’ triumphant tour in the Western States and Hawaiian Islands.] Y OU’VE traveled far midst ferns and flowers, Through lovely fragrant-scented bowers; High honours did with love combine To crown your brow with garlands fine; ’Mid fruitful valleys, fields of pines, In pleasant places all your lines, Though greatest joy this would impart, Home-paths lie nearest to the heart, And East is home. They welcomed you some thousands strong, With ringing cheers and sweetest song, With eyes that looked their love to you, With hearts that warmed your own heart through, All sorts of men and women came At mention of your honoured name. Though grand your welcome through the West, Remember home-hearts love you best, And East is home. [ 16 ] OUR FOUNDERS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY , 1909 To highest heights your victories soared, God moved as man His help implored, We followed you with fervent prayer, And in your blessings felt a share. We’re Army soldiers through and through, We’ve kept the home-fires bright for you, And we would humbly make this boast: Home-welcomes touch the heart-strings most, And East is home. II GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH OUR FOUNDER’S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY, 1909 T ONG live our General, valiant in the fight, All nations in this song of praise unite; Though eighty years his hoary head doth crown, “ Go forward ” still our General cries, and leads us on. Long live our General! worthy of the name, Whose conquering spirit ever is the same; Knows no retreat, his watchword, “ Blood and Fire! ” We hear him say, “ Go forward, Soldiers, never tire! ” Long live our General! shout it o’er the land, Lift high the Flag at his word of command. Like him be brave and face the fiercest foe, Go forward in the battle and your colours show. Long live our General, how we need him here! His name all nations honour and revere ; [ 17 ] THE GENERAL 9 S BIRTHDAY Heaven-bom his purpose, and world-wide his field, “ Go forward! ” still his motto, “ with salvation’s shield.” Long live our General! crown his noble brow, With wreaths of victory and glory here and now; News of the lost and erring ones brought home, Is better far to him than roses on his tomb. in GENERAL BRAMWELL BOOTH THE GENERALS BIRTHDAY W E salute you, noble General, Far across the ocean’s blue We commemorate the advent, Of this natal day to you. For your years of one and sixty, Grateful hearts to god we raise, Praying that to you be granted, “ Wisdom, peace, and length of days.” Ho, the Stars and Stripes are waving, And the eagle’s flying high, And we shout a million greetings, ’Till our voices reach the sky! General of ten thousand battles, Hero, chieftain, warrior brave, Lead your great Salvation Army, Sin-bound prisoners to save. [ 18 ] WELCOME TO THE GENERAL! 'Midst the world's deep sea of sorrow, Ravages of hellish war, Best of manhood wounded, dying, Mothers’ brave hearts bleeding sore, Comes your Army of Salvation, With the Blood-and-Fire unfurled, Helping, cheering, blessing, saving, Pointing to a better world. Oh, America is loyal! “ Hearts of oak " are beating here, Hearts of love and truth and honour, Hearts of faith and not of fear. So we lift the Blood-stained Banner, And we’ll never let it fall. Proudly marching on, dear General, One with you at duty's call. WELCOME TO THE GENERAL! [Written on the occasion of General Bramwell Booth’s first visit to Canada, 1913.] ELCOME! Welcome! ▼ ▼ A shout in The Army's ranks we hear, The flag of the Blood and Fire we cheer. While fifty thousand as one unite To honour our Leader in the fight— Our General. Worthy of the name, Forgetting self, heeding others’ claim, This watchword grand to his troops he gave: “ Let us honour Christ and live to save! " His life of toil in this holy war Bespeaks our General gone before, [ 19 ] WELCOME TO THE GENERAL! So with fearless step the sword we wield, And follow his lead on the battlefield. Welcome! Welcome! Our loyal warriors in Newfoundland, Alaska’s dauntless Indian band, With Bermuda’s braves, send greetings true, Beneath our flag—Yellow, Red, and Blue. Welcome! Welcome! A voice we hear from a lonely shack— An aged couple are looking back. “ ’Twas General Booth,” they cry with joy, “ The dear old General, who saved our boy. May Heaven, attend his faithful son, Who carries the work of his father on! ” Welcome! Welcome! A whisper low from a bed of pain, Where a Soldier comrade has long since lain. “ Oh, greet The General for me—‘for me, His Army led me to Calvary, Tell him, when able again to fight, I’ll up and at it with all my might.” Welcome! Welcome! A dear old veteran, nigh run his race, Says, “ Some one must go and take my place; I can’t keep up with the march, you know, As back in the days of long ago ; Young man, get into the firing line, And welcome for me your General and mine. [ 20 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Welcome! Welcome! “ Please, sir, may I come and stand ’side you ? I’d like to welcome The General, too, My Daddy is saved, and we’re so glad, He drinks no more of what made him bad; He buys for us now nice clothes and food, The Army showed him how to be good.” Welcome! Welcome! Miss Canada echoes our volleys true, And proudly waves the red, white, and blue; The maple in gorgeous colours dressed, Bows low to welcome our honoured guest, While Jack Canuck shouts a “ Hip! Hooray! Three cheers for General Booth, I say! ” IV THE SALVATION ARMY THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE [Written for a Social Demonstration of the Salvation Army in New York City.] INTRODUCTION F AR across the raging waters Of a deep and angry sea, Shipwrecked souls were sadly struggling, In their sin and misery; Seemed no hand outstretched to help them, Seemed no light upon the shore; Sinking ’neath the dark deep ocean, Going down to rise no more. [ 21 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Down to depths of degradation, Souls were carried, tempest-tossed. Hope by them had been abandoned— Wretched, sinful, ruined, lost. Careless, godless, drink-soaked victims, Every breath an angry curse, In their low and vile surroundings, Going on from bad to worse. Oh, the evils of intemperance! Oh, what sorrows in its train! Man becomes a beast and lower, When the whiskey fires his brain. Worse perhaps and more degrading— Woman reeling on the street; Horrors follow such debauchery— Tales too ghastly to repeat. (This was back in eighteen ninety, When the whiskey king held sway. We thank God for Prohibition In America today. Oh, that nations all would follow, From the world this evil cast! Noble lives are wrecked and ruined Through this monster’s deadly blast.) Yes, they sell both soul and body, Pawn their clothes and home for drink; Poverty soon overtakes them, Lower into filth they sink. [ 22 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Children born in such a hovel— Cursed not born into the world— Bring another generation Soon in seething waters swirled. This and other kindred vices Soiled this sea with blackest grime, Gambling, theft, uncleanness, murder Filled the air with heinous crime. People with respect of person Passed these bruised and wounded by, Simply saying, “ They have fallen Through their own sin. What care I Good Samaritans were needed— Of the old-time Bible sort, And a Social Service Lifeboat That would guide them safe to port. Where were all the brave life-savers, Who would heed a victim’s cries? Where were kindly human beings, Who would help their fellows rise? General William Booth, our Founder, Saw their bitter woe and grief, Looked with love and pity on them, Found a way to bring relief. By his keen, far-reaching vision, He devised a wondrous scheme To uplift the sunken masses. Ho for General Booth’s great dream! [ 23 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE He observed this gross injustice To the human derelict— " When a horse is down he’s lifted. When a man is down he’s kicked.” “ Give him food and work and shelter This the basis of his plan— “ If a man falls in the gutter, Lift him up, a man’s a man. “ Help the women and the children, Snatch them from this earthly hell, Preach to all the living gospel, Practice what you preach as well. Set them all to work at something, Work’s an antidote for sin. Give them needed food and shelter Then their hearts for Christ you’ll win “ Go for souls, go for the worst ones, Never mind their race or creed, Down beneath the darkest rivers Go and find the greatest need.” And his great Salvation Army— Lighthouse for the underworld— Marched into the streets of slumdom, With the Blood and Fire unfurled. And the light they carried with them, O’er this dark tempestuous sea, Was the cleansing, healing, saving Light that shines from Calvary. [ 24 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Faith revived and hope was quickened, Where long dormant they had lain, Peace came o’er the troubled waters, Love received His own again. Thus this great Salvation Lighthouse Shines today o’er land and sea, Guiding weary wayward wanderers Into God’s own liberty. Day and night its light is gleaming, And its beams shine over all, Bringing life to broken manhood, Blighted, cursed by Adam’s fall. SHELTERS It is hard to preach salvation To a hungry homeless man, And with master mind, our Founder, Soon conceived this better plan: Started Shelters for the homeless, Filled with warmth and cheer and light; And this practical religion Brought them back to God and right. RESCUE HOMES Homes sprang up where girls are rescued From a life of sin and shame— Souls more sinned against than sinning, Yet the world holds them to blame. Broken hearts are soonest mended, Under kind protecting care. Shattered love finds sweetest solace, Seeking love divine in prayer. [ 25 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Many Rescue Homes are open, And a love-light shines therein, Where the wayward are made welcome At the cheery hearth within. Thus we heed the call to rescue Souls that perish ’neath sin’s wave, Telling out the blessed story, Of a Saviour strong to save. LOST AND MISSING Pleading calls have come to us from Lonely homes with loved ones gone, And we search through town and city, Running clues down one by one. Oft we find them sad, repentant, In a far-off foreign land, And we bring them home rejoicing To a dear one’s outstretched hand. PRISON WORK Prison walls hold priceless jewels, Were they not so spoiled by sin— Hearts of brave and noble manhood, Could we see their depths within. Though the criminal seems hardened, Tender spots may still remain, Which the human touch may quicken Into love and life again. So the Army helps the prisoner, Lifts him back upon his feet, Takes good care of all his family, Till his sentence is complete. [ 26 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Then we have a job provided, Meet him at the prison door, He becomes a man of honour— Worthy citizen once more. HOSPITALS Hospitals large and commodious, Fill a long-felt want today. For the sick are ever with us, Needing urgent care alway. Matrons thoroughly efficient, Hospitals equipped to date, Make these Army Institutions Helps to city, town, and state. White-robed nurses kind and tender. Hearts in Jesus’ blood washed white, In and out among the patients, Strive to shed a radiant light. Soothing weary head and heart aches With a loving, gentle touch, Doing all as unto Jesus, For His Word says “ Inasmuch.” Army hospitals are working, In our own and foreign lands, From far Java’s Leper Colony To dark India’s burning sands. Consecrated men and women, Who in schools of prayer are taught, Treat the soul and mind and body Miracles are often wrought. [ 27 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Two Salvation Army doctors From America have gone With their wives to far-off missions, Where a great work has been done. They have given up all for Jesus; God has blest their sacrifice Bringing joy and help to others Is the life that satisfies. Army surgeons in the spirit Of the Christ they emulate, Pleading for the suffering heathen. Pray before they operate. Cures are marvelous and these natives, Who can give no recompense, Kneel before the doctors, showing Gratitude of deepest sense. Army corps’ amongst the lepers Have been formed with good brass bands, Thus creating newer interests In these dark afflicted lands. Army officers work with them, Foul and loathsome though they be, Binding up their wounds and preaching Christ Who sets the captive free. INDUSTRIAL HOMES Many shiftless, workless creatures, Brought down low through drink and sin, Come to us with strong entreaties, Begging us to take them in. [ 28 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE And we plead for them God’s mercy, Lift them from despair and doubt; God’s great love endureth ever, “ Man may be down, but never out.” Our Industrial Homes are open, Where we give them work to do, And another chance is offered To begin their lives anew. Many hearts respond to kindness, Brightly gleams their star of hope, As we introduce them daily To “ Salvation, Soup, and Soap.” FRESH AIR CAMP “ See the grass so green and lovely! Smell the soup! Some dandy eats! Captain, can I go in swimmin’ ? ” Johnny thus the Captain greets. At the Fresh Air Camp he’s landed, From the city’s sunburned street, From the tenements so crowded, Stifling with foul air and heat. Mothers with their babes are taken, Cripples who require the sun, Children who are undernourished; And they all have packs of fun. Fresh Air food is good and wholesome, Fresh Air sleep is sweet and sound, All good things in great abundance, At the Army Camps are found. [ 29 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE SLUMS Women go with pail and scrub-brush— Army angels of the slums— To the sick and poor neglected, Cleaning up their dirty homes, Bathing, caring for the patient, Helping in the greatest need;— Serving, saving soul and body Is the Army’s only creed. CHRISTMAS CHEER Keep the pot a-boiling, people, Drop your dollars and your dimes; Christmas is the time for giving Christmas cheer with Christmas chimes. Sure they give their money gladly. As our Christmas bells we ring, And they keep our kettles boiling Till they all begin to sing. Baskets to the poor are given, Filled with hearty Christmas cheer; As we see their beaming faces, Lo! the Christ-Child seems so near. Happy Christmas for the Children, Christmas toys and Christmas joys! For the Christ-Child came to gladden Homes for little girls and boys. NURSERY “ Oh, me loves oo, Army Taptain, And me wants to live wif oo, [ 30 ] THE SALVATION LIGHTHOUSE Lots of pretty fings oo div me, Dess it’s cause oo loves me too. Let me be your ’ittle dirlie Hundred, fousand, million years ”— Touching, charming, childish prattle Captain of the nursery hears. Oft deserted we have found them, None to love them, none to care, Children are such innocent victims Of the parents’ wrong they share. How they love the Army nursery! Life is just one grand sweet song, Life is play, food, prayers, and bedtime, Life is loving all day long EVENTIDE HOMES Just to wait in peace quiescent, At the eventide of life. Just to rest in some still corner, Free from worldly care and strife, Only waiting for the Master, Who will come to bear us home, When our feet are weary traveling In the paths we used to roam. At our Eventide Homes we see them, Chatting ’neath a cool shade-tree. Dear old souls so reminiscent Tell their tales right merrily. For their hearts are young as ever, Love responds to love the same, [ 31 ] A GREATER SALVATION ARMY So they wait in peace complacent, While our daily love they claim. CONCLUSION Oh, thou bright Salvation Lighthouse, Shine till time shall be no more, Then go on, with thy great Founder, Shining on the heavenly shore. A GREATER SALVATION ARMY F AITH that will claim the victory won Ere the battle is well begun; Faith for the souls in greatest need, Faith for the worst with Christ to plead; Faith unquestioning, steadfast, sure. Faith that through trials will endure. Faith that walks where the Master trod, Deeper trust in the living God, Makes a greater Salvation Army. Hope against hope and still believe, So shall we in the end receive; Hope as an anchor of the soul Sees the grand, victorious goal. Hoping for that we have not seen Brightens and makes our vision keen. Lively hope through His wondrous grace, Hope for the seeming hopeless case, Makes a greater Salvation Army. Love unfailing, eternal, strong, Love that is kind and suffers long; [ 32 ] A GREATER SALVATION ARMY Love that will go to the man that’s down, Helping him up to win a crown; Love self-denying, pure, divine, Love that in darkest spots will shine; Greatest of all the graces—love 1 — Love that is born of God above, Makes a greater Salvation Army. Praise Him for faith, and hope, and love, Gifts that are sent from Heaven above; Praise Him for countless blessings here, Praise Him for all that life holds dear; Praise Him for victories of the past, Praises on all our future cast. Praise and thanksgiving day and night, Counting His will our chief delight, Makes a greater Salvation Army. Prayer-effectual, fervent prayer— Prayer that will our own hearts prepare; Prayer with many and with the few, Prayer in secret by me and you, Talking with Jesus by the way, In the spirit of prayer each day; Prayer that holds on, with God prevails, Prayer unceasing that never fails, Makes a greater Salvation Army. Work and our prayers the Lord will hear, Work with a song of praise to cheer, Work with persistent push and will, Work and God’s promise He’ll fulfil. [ 33 ] WOMAN'S PLATFORM Work that perfects the faith of man, Carrying out salvation’s plan. Faith, with works, love, hope, praise and prayer* Every comrade to do his share, Makes a greater Salvation Army. WOMAN’S PLATFORM O H, hear them march at the sound of the drum- These women tried and true! Oh, see them come as the conquerors come, Who fight the battle through! No limit to woman’s Army work, Her platform is the world, She marches on at the Master’s call, With Blood and Fire unfurled. She preaches and sings and prays and toils, In Jesus’ blessed name, She stoops to the deepest depths to lift The fallen from sin and shame. And never a task she counts too small, That any blessing brings, She scatters light through the darkest spots, As her song of hope she sings, And who can measure a woman’s worth, To bless a needy soul, Since God has given into her hands A daily helpful role? To woman is given the gentle voice, The winning tones and ways, [ 34 ] BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN Reminding the sinner deep-dyed in sin Of mother and childhood days. So oft they are won from their wandering ways— These souls for whom Jesus died, As woman-hearts full of love divine, Their feet to the Saviour guide. And who shall hinder a woman who takes The Christ to the lowest slum ? And who shall question a woman's call, Who follows the Army drum? BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN "/ will heal their backsliding.” —Hosea 14 : 4 . H E thought of his years of backslidings, So hard proved the transgressor’s way; His heart was nigh broken, the Saviour had spoken, Repentant he started to pray. He brought forth his guernsey and Bible, So long on the shelf they had lain; With firm resolution he sought restitution Back in The Army again! No peace to the soul disobedient. “ God’s ways are not my ways,” she said; “ All hopeless, despairing, backslider’s woes bearing, How often I wish I were dead! Why fight against God and my conscience? Why struggle and wrestle in vain? I’ll heed now His pleading, and follow His leading, Back to The Army again! ” [ 35 ] BACK TO THE ARMY AGAIN Forsaking the ship that had saved him, His heart lifted up in his pride, He sought fame and pleasure in unstinted measure, But never with soul satisfied. Mistaken he found his ambitions. His old post he longed to regain; In humble contrition he sought for admission Back in The Army again! “ O Daddy, please come to The Army, And let us be happy once more! Oh, won’t you start praying, and in the band playing, Just like you did, Daddy, before? ” The words of the child brought conviction, And tears which he could not restrain; The family uniting, for God were soon fighting, Back in The Army again! With heart full of sadness she listened, They seemed such a bright, happy band; The drum was a-beating, they sang “ No retreating ” And “ Shoulder to shoulder we stand,” Her memory quickened to action, She joined in the glad old refrain; O soldiers, keep singing, the wanderers bringing Back to The Army again! The bonnets, the badges, the guernseys, The uniforms hidden away, Were all resurrected, and duly inspected, And fitted again for the fray. [ 36 ] VP WITH THE FLAG! Their owners, with faces a-beaming, Hearts tuned in harmonious strain, A happy procession, to give God possession, Back to The Army again! UP WITH THE FLAG! TIP with the flag! ^ The world-wide flag of liberty, That waves to set the prisoner free From chains of sin and misery; That carries hope where hope has fled, That leads the soul where angels tread, Proclaiming life unto the dead— The flag of The Salvation Army! Up with the flag! The flag that bids sin’s warfare cease, That carries with it sure release From every sin, and bringeth peace; The flag that knows no race nor creed, But leads unto the greatest need; The flag that waves for hearts that bleed— The flag of The Salvation Army! Up with the flag! That flies alike for friend and foe, Its aim to banish every woe; The flag that none as aliens know; The flag that teaches God is love, That we on earth His grace may prove; The flag that points to Heaven above— The flag of The Salvation Army! [ 37 ] • WE'LL NEVER LET THE OLD FLAG FALL Up with the flag! The flag that waves through street and slum, And calls the sinners all to come; The flag that guides poor wanderers home; The flag that leads a conquering band To forward march at God’s command, And fight ’gainst sin in every land— The flag of The Salvation Army! Up with the flag! Oh, let its truths our hearts inspire To raise our glorious banner higher— The dear old flag of Blood and Fire— The flag of The Salvation Army! WE’LL NEVER LET THE OLD FLAG FALL R AISE the flag o’er every land and nation, Flag that stands for liberty and peace; We are pledged in high and lowly station, To do our best to make sin’s warfare cease. Blood and Fire our flag attracts the sinner, Saves him from the sins that would enthrall; Blood and Fire will ever stand the winner, For we’ll never let the old flag fall. We’ll never let the old flag fall. For we love it the best of all; We’ve taken the field for God and right, We’re in this war to fight, fight, fight! We’ll march to victory while we sing The praises of our Lord and King; [ 38 ] WELCOME TO CANADA Till the end of the world our flag's unfurled, We’ll never let the old flag fall Long our flag for freedom has been waving, Soldiers stand to fight at God’s command; All the hosts of sin and Satan braving, To stem the conflict raging through the land; Comrades brave, from ocean unto ocean, Send their sons to serve at duty’s cali; So shall we to show our true devotion, Never, never, let the old flag fall. Long our flag has stood for truth and justice, Welding firm the brotherhood of man, Friends and foes have known that they could trust us To carry on God’s great salvation plan. ’Neath this flag a union we discover, Hand joins hand, God’s love embraces all. We are comrades all the wide world over, And we’ll never let the old flag fall. WELCOME TO CANADA [Written for the welcome of Commissioner and Mrs. Wm. Richards to Canada as Territorial Leaders, 19d4}» T iO Canada we gladly welcome you, Our Leaders ’neath the Yellow, Red^ and: Blue; : Through your noble lives and victories past,, Our confidence is won. To our sacrecj trust, still holding fast, Together we’ll march on. Warriors of God, fearless and true, Gladly with heart and voice we welcome you, |oin hands beneath the Yellow, Red, and Blue % t«u ’TIS THE VOICE OF JESUS Fair Canada, with fields stretched far and wide, Golden the chances seen on every side, Broken hearts to heal, tears to wipe away, And precious souls to save; Let us work for Jesus while we may. His life for us He gave, Trusting in God, our comrades brave, Join heart and hand with you our land to save From all the sins that would our souls enslave. For Canada we pledge ourselves to you, Through every conflict standing firm and true, Our service here at your command, To seek and save the lost; May we ever be through our dear land A mighty, conquering host. Warriors of God, leading us on, Reckon on us till fighting days are done, Pledged to our colours till the victory’s won. V THE GREAT CALL CAMPAIGN 'TIS THE VOICE OF JESUS To-day if ye will hear His voice, Harden not your heart.” —Psalm 95 : 7 , 8 . H ARK 1 Hear the great call! Through the earth it is resounding, Where sin’s ravages abounding Bring to utter desolation Strength and youth of every nation; [ 40 ] ’TIS THE VOICE OF JESUS Sin of lowest type degrading All who yield to its persuading; Sin in circles that are higher, Dragging souls into the fire, For no sin with God is trifling. Man may live his conscience stifling, But such journey to the tomb Endeth in an awful doom. Hark! Hear the great call! Hear it echo through the nations, To mankind in all life’s stations, To the workman at his labour, To his idle next-door neighbour, To the fathers and the mothers, To the sisters and the brothers, To the weak and sick and dying, To the strong and death-defying, To the hardened, deep-dyed sinner, To the youthful new beginner ; Calling, calling everywhere, Calling people unto prayer! Hark! Hear the great call! ’Tis the voice of Jesus calling, Tenderly His accents falling. Hear that voice from Calvary pleading, By His thorn-crowned brow all bleeding; By His hands and feet nail-driven; By the cruel torture given; By the mocking, scoffing, jeering, As His death was slowly nearing; [ 41 ] FOR FIERY FIGHTERS By His long-drawn agony On the Cross for you and me! Oh, let all the world adore Him, Saint and sinner fall before Him! FOR FIERY FIGHTERS The night cometh, when no man can work ”— John 9: 4 . T HERE’S a call for fiery fighters In the army of the Lord, Who will buckle on the armour, Take the Spirit’s mighty sword, With the shield of full salvation Stand against the evil one. And the living God will help us Slay the giant with a stone. There’s a call for willing workers In the vineyard of the Lord; Working days will soon be over, Wasted time none can afford. Just as Samuel answered gladly, Who will say, “ Lord, here am I” ? Millions still remain in darkness, Who will save them ere they die? There’s a call for earnest toilers, Who for God will do and dare;; Souls are rushing on to ruin, We can see them everywhere. God is counting on His people Can He count on you and me ? j Let us now give Him our answer,, In the light of Calvary. w TO THE SLOTHFUL There's a call for red-hot Christians, Eaten up with zeal for God, Who with but one aim and purpose Walk the path the Master trod, With a settled consecration, His forever, signed and sealed, Then the Master-hand can use us In His great white harvest field. TO THE SLOTHFUL " Not slothful in business; fervent in spirit; serving the Lord” —Romans 12:11. T HERE’S a call to lazy labourers. Get you up! Come and drink from early morning’s golden cup. It is nectar sweet when tasted, But the morning hour that’s wasted, Through the livelong day will chase you, And in condemnation face you At the setting of the sun. There’s a call to weary workers. Oh, arise! Oh, arise and shake the slumber from your eyes! All the souls you might have won, And the good you might have done. Like a ghost will rise and haunt you And the devil’s imps will taunt you In the darkness of the night. There’s a call to fearful fighters. Take your stand, Face the foes of Christ and fight at God’s command. [ 43 ] ONE BY ONE Soldiers shirking duty, fearing, Shrink at last from His appearing, And you’ll wish you’d ne’er retreated, By the enemy defeated When you face the Judgment bar. There’s a call to lukewarm Christians. Seek the fire! Then your heart will burn to save souls from sin’s mire. Sinking, they are calling, calling, Oh, the need is most appalling! If you have not done your duty, When the King comes in His beauty, You will miss His glad “ Well done.” ONE BY ONE “ Till we all come in the unity of the faith ."— Ephesians 4:13. O NE by one God’s call comes to us, And its need we see; One by one responding find we Strength and unity. One by one the Throne beseeching With the same request; One by one in spirit joining North, south, east and west. One by one our Father hears us, Speaks to every heart; One by one He draws so near us, Though we’re far apart. [ 44 ] WATCH YOUR STEP One by one together welded In a world-wide chain; One by one, but undivided, Let us still remain. One by one we enter service, At our Lord’s command; One by one, and each one faithful, Makes a conquering band. One by one we raise our banner, And its truths uphold; One by one we bring the wanderers Back into the fold. WATCH YOUR STEP " Be thou an example — I Timothy 4:12. F ATHER, there’s a call for you, Watch your step! Little eyes see all you do, Watch your step! Little feet go daddy’s way, Follow you from day to day! Lead, oh, lead them not astray, Watch your step! Your example is their guide, Watch your step! “ Daddy does,” they say with pride, Watch your step! [ 45 ] WATCH YOUR STEP Children may do as you say, 4t As you do,” ’twill be some day; Lead them in the Christian way, Watch your step! Boys aspire to be like you, Watch your step! Is your path safe to pursue ? Watch your step ! If some day they stain your name, And on you should place the blame, Oh, how you will blush with shame! Watch your step! Walk the safe and narrow way, Watch your step! Let the children hear you pray, Watch your step! Would you ways of wisdom teach, With God’s truth their young hearts reach ? You must practise what you preach, Watch your step! Father, near your journey’s end, Watch your step! Let the Saviour be your Friend, Watch your step ! He will guide your feet aright To that land of pure delight; Would you walk with Him in white? Watch your step! ALL SILVER AND GOLD VI MOTHER’S DAY ALL SILVER AND GOLD [A tribute to mothers of the Army inspired by a visit of Mrs. Commissioner Estill.] Y OU are all silver and gold, mother, Such treasures your life doth hold. You are crowned with a beauty of silvery sheen, That speaks of the golden years you have seen. Your heart is like gold that is tried by fire. Your life would the heart of the world inspire. You are all silver and gold. You stand with the brave and strong, mother, Your courage lasts all day long. Though weary with household toil and care, Your officer-husband’s work you share, For you are a warrior staunch and true To the Flag of the Yellow, Red, and Blue. You stand with the brave and strong. Your children revere your name, mother, They are proud of your Christian fame. You have taught them from babyhood how to pray. You have guided their feet in the heavenly way, And whether they keep your flag unfurled, Or choose strange paths in this wide, wide world, Your children revere your name. As strong as death is your love, mother, ’Tis born of the God above. [ 47 ] MOTHER’S HEART IS YOUNG It reaches beyond the family hearth, To needy souls all over the earth. Your sons and daughters you freely give, That others may look to Christ and live. As strong as death is your love. None other can take your place, mother, You have won in the Christian race, You have given yourself, your time, your all, Your children as well at the Master’s call. The world is better because of you; Your daily strength may the Lord renew, None other can take your place. You are all silver and gold, mother, No sham in your life you hold, You have high ideals of truth and right, You live your life in eternity’s light. Your Saviour doth safely trust in you, The heart of you tested through years is true, You are all silver and gold. MOTHER’S HEART IS YOUNG OUTH and age are far apart, many years be¬ tween ; Children slighting mother here often we have seen, “ Fossilized and out-of-date ” epithets they’ve flung, They forget that through the years Mother’s heart is young. [ 48 ] MOTHER’S HEART IS YOUNG Youth goes bounding off with glee mother left behind— “ Someone must stay in to-night, mother will not mind.” While from thoughtless, careless lips words that hurt have sprung, Youth is slow to understand mother’s heart is young. Just a little kindness here, just a little care, Mother will repay it all and your burdens share, And as sweetest songs of yore, lullabys she sung, Sweetest shall her friendship be—mother’s heart is young. Maybe life to her has been as a tangled maze, And her mind is not alert as in former days; Still her love is far beyond power of mortal tongue, And she clings to you the same—mother’s heart is young. Mother’s near her journey’s end, oft her step is slow; Let her life the longest be, ’tis not far to go; She beyond her meagre strength to her work has clung, Anxious still to do her share—mother’s heart is young. Though her eyes are growing dim with the passing years, Lower tones once quickly heard fall on heavy ears; Joy-bells ring for her to-day as in youth they’ve rung, Love lives on and life is sweet—mothers heart is young. [ 49 ] MOTHER'S WAY ON MOTHER'S DAY MOTHER’S WAY ON MOTHER’S DAY W ILL was full of fun and frolic, Just a mischief-loving boy; “ Christians’ lives,” said he, “are doleful; Let me taste of worldly joy. Mother marks a path before me— This way, that way, I must be— Mother’s ways are too old-fashioned, Mother’s ways are not for me! ” So he left the dear old homestead For a city near at hand, “ Free from home restraint, yet often Home to see them,” he had planned. Fondly he would write to mother, Bid her never to repine; “ Some sweet day I’ll make you happy, Best of mothers, mother mine! ” But in vain she hoped and trusted, And the boy, so careless, gay, Little knew the inner heartache Of that mother day by day! When his letters came less frequent And his visits not at all, Promises so lightly spoken, Like the bubbles burst and fall. He had met with bad companions, Swiftly trod the downward road, Learned to drink and swear and gamble, Wandering far from home and God. [ 50 ] MOTHER’S WAY ON MOTHER’S DAY Oh, the broken-hearted mothers! Oh, the children led astray! Angels, look in pity on them, Bring them back to Heaven’s way! “ Mothers’ Day ” dawned bright and glorious. Day of all the days the best, When our Saviour is uplifted, Mother’s memory cherished, blest. White carnations, full of beauty, Emblem of a mother’s worth, Whisper cheer and peace and blessing To the careworn souls of earth. In the home of Wilfred’s childhood. We behold a pretty scene, As the children come with garlands, Crowning mother as their queen. All but one, and mother for him Breathes a deep and earnest prayer. Though a child forget his mother, Can a mother cease to care? As the shades of evening gather, Closing in that “ Mothers’ Day.” To The Army, with her family, This dear mother wends her way. At the door the Captain met them, Face aglow with heavenly light, And prophetic was his utterance; “ God has sent you here to-night! ” [ 51 ] MOTHER'S WAY ON MOTHER'S DAY Hoary age, and youth and maiden, Each a sweet, white blossom wore; Faces plainly told if mother Lived or had gone on before; And the flowers, shedding fragrance Freely from each wearer’s breast, But reminded us that mother Always gave us of her best. Tender memories were spoken, Bringing very near and real That One Love beyond a mother’s, Love that stoops to save and heal. Many hardened hearts were broken, Stalwart men forgiveness sought, Mother’s messages were heeded, Miracles of grace were wrought. No one saw the young man enter, Eyes were closed in silent prayer; Suddenly the cry of “ Mother ” Broke upon the stillness there. She with arms outstretched received him, Penitent Will knelt to pray, While with joy of heart he whispered, “ Mother’s way on ‘ Mothers’ Day! ’ ” JUST TO BE SATISFIED VII COMFORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT JUST TO BE SATISFIED [Suggested by the first visit of Mrs. Commissioner Estill to the writer’s home.] J UST to be satisfied with God’s will, Whether it seems to bring good or ill; From the beginning He knows the end, And all is good that His love doth send. Just to be satisfied—long, deep word. Earth’s richest treasures cannot afford; Only the hearts that in Christ abide Fathom its depths and are satisfied. Just to be satisfied with God’s way, Questioning neither His yea nor nay; Some called to labour while some must wait, All on the way to the golden gate. Just to be satisfied where we are, For discontent will our soul’s peace mar, Doing our best whether here or there, Satisfied only to do our share. Just to be satisfied, this pays best, Satisfied souls truly are thrice blessed; Heaven meets earth at the feet of those Who in the Saviour find true repose. Just to be satisfied—quiet thought, Soothing the mind that is overwrought, Satisfied here when we prove His grace, ' Satisfied there when we see His face. [ 53 ] SOMETIME! SOMEWHERE! SOMETIME! SOMEWHERE! “And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign forever and ever .”— Revo¬ cations 22:5. S OMETIME, somewhere, Twill all be light, The shadows vanished, no dark night; The sun forevermore will shine. Oh, may that lasting joy be mine! Sometime, somewhere, the mists will clear, Misunderstandings disappear; Life’s tangled threads shall be all straight. May we with grace and patience wait! Sometime, somewhere, there’ll be no pain, No shattered nerves, no wearied brain, No weakness known in that new land. Where strength and youth and health shall stand. Sometime, somewhere, there’ll be no sin, No ravenous beast shall enter in; There little children run at will, All safe from every harm and ill. Sometime, somewhere, no sad farewell, No last, long look, no tolling bell; Hand joined in hand and heart in heart, Through countless ages ne’er to part. Sometime, somewhere, faith lost in sight, My eyes shall see that land of light, [M] THE MIDNIGHT SONG And satisfied my heart shall be In that fair land prepared for me. Sometime, somewhere, it matters not Just when or where that sacred spot; ’Tis when my Saviour bids me come, ’Tis where He is that’s Heaven, my home. THE MIDNIGHT SONG u And at midnight Paid and Silas prayed and sang praises unto God .”— Acts 16:25. f pHEY sang their song in the dead of night, -■* And the doors flew open wide; ’Twas not a song that the worldlings sing, For lo, they prayed beside! They were fast with chains in a prison dark, Not guilty of sin or crime, But God Who knows and makes no mistakes, Had marked both the place and time. ’Twas a song of victory on their lips. They had done their Master’s will, It mattered not if the way were dark, His purposes they’d fulfil. ’Twas a song of faith from the heart of them For they knew in Whom their trust, They could wait their Lord’s appointed time, The end would be right; it must. ’Twas a song of thanksgiving unto God. From whence did they find their praise ? [ 55 ] THE MIDNIGHT SONG ’Twas an overflow of His love to them, When they sang their soulful lays. ’Twas a song of love to their God above, As they worshipped at His feet, And no prison bar could their soul’s peace mar, He had made their joy complete. ’Twas a song of pure and eternal joy, That springs from the inner man, When the soul is right and the conscience clear, In accord with God’s great plan. ’Twas a song of peace, of that perfect peace, That is undisturbed by foes, That lies as deep as the ocean’s depth, And as calm as a river flows. ’Twas the midnight song that the prisoners heard, And their hearts were filled with fear, Not one of them fled from his dreary cell, Though the way of escape was clear. ’Twas the voice of God in the song of praise. In that dark and dismal place, And the jailor heard and, with all his house, He accepted saving grace. Let us sing in the darkest hours of life, With a faith that will not despair, And our song may arrest some hardened hearts, And bring them to God in prayer. It’s easy to sing when the heart is gay, And we’re with the merry throng, But it takes a soul full of grit and grace, To join in the Midnight song. [ 56 ] FOR ME—BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS FOR ME “I will rain bread from Heaven for you ”— Exodus 16:1-18. ^ I ^ HE heavenly manna is for me, God gives it so unstintingly, And every morning fresh and new, To feed my soul the whole day through. His grace unfailing is for me, However dark my path may be, Sufficient unto each new day, To keep me in the heavenly way. His love so pure is all for me, His love so changeless, rich and free, I give Him mine and take His hand, To lead me to the better land. The holy Bible is for me, There precious promises I see, So surely for my comfort made, If on the Lord my trust is stayed. Then oh, my heart, be still, be still, And all His purposes fulfil; In quietness my strength shall be, He knows. He loves. He cares for me. BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS “Bringing into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ”—11 Corinthians 10: 5. B EAUTIFUL thoughts like the roses grow, Tender and sweet and fair; Blossoming kindly words and deeds, Spreading their fragrance rare. [ 57 ] FAITH Someone has wronged you, , tis hard to bear, Friend has proved so untrue; Think of the One Whom you wronged the most, Dying for love of you. Brother or sister has fallen low, Lend them a helping hand; Think but for grace you might take their place, Then you will understand. Thoughts of forgiveness, of love and peace, Choosing our Lord to please; Charity thoughts toward all mankind, Beautiful thoughts are these. Sow then the seedlets of priceless worth, In the garden of prayer; Ready the Heavenly Gardener stands To watch them with tender care. Watered and nurtured by His good hand, Beautiful thoughts will grow; Scattering petals of joy and peace Over the way you go. FAITH “Fight the good fight of faith” —I Timothy 6:12. I T’S easy to shout when the war is won, But the bravest man of all Goes shouting, “ Victory! ” “ over the top,” And dies at his country’s call. It’s easy to have a thankful heart When good fortune comes our way, [ 58 ] THAT'S ALL I WANT But the man of faith, with the last cent gone, Can believe and work and pray. It’s easy to offer grace before meat When we’ve viands rich and rare, But only the man with faith in God Gives thanks when the cupboard’s bare. It’s easy to sing a song of praise, With our loved ones by our side, But only faith when bereft of all, Can sing and in Christ abide. It’s easy to say, “ I’ll follow Christ,” When the path is strewn with flowers, But only the man with the deepest trust Goes through in the darkest hours. THAT’S ALL I WANT " The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.”— Psalm 23:1. E ACH child had recited a Bible verse In the Sunday-school one day, And each one with credit performed his part Till at last came little May. “ The Lord is my Shepherd ”—she paused to think. And her heart the faster beat— “ The Lord is my Shepherd, that’s all I want,” And she proudly took her seat. ’Twas a message new from a little child, And it stirred my inmost soul; Such a tender Shepherd is all I want Till I reach the heavenly goal. [ 59 ] ALONE “ The Lord is my Shepherd,” that’s all I want, He feedeth His flock with care; He carries the lambs in His bosom close, And nothing can harm them there. “ The Lord is my Shepherd,” that’s all I want, He numbers His flock each day; He knows all the lambs of His fold by name, And watches them lest they stray. “ The Lord is my Shepherd,” that’s all I want, And why should I covet more? The pastures are green where He leadeth me, And abundant is His store. ALONE! “ The heart knoweth his own bitterness .”— Proverbs 14:10. O H, come to my heart, blessed Jesus, Oh, come and abide with me here! Affliction hath laid hold upon me, And filled me with fear. Though loved ones and friends all surround me, And tenderest kindness have shown, Yet into my heart none can enter, And I am alone. Oh, come close beside me, dear Saviour! I need Thee in weakness and pain; In anguish of spirit I call Thee, Again and again. My head is all fevered and aching, A-weary and restless I moan, [ 60 ] PROTECTION For no one can enter my feelings. And I am alone. O comforting Spirit, come near me, For sorrows are surging around! In dreading the ills of the morrow No comfort is found. Through hours spent in doubting and fearing My heart hath its bitterness known; Its secrets are hidden from others, And I am alone. I come and Thou comest, dear Jesus; Abiding in me Thou art mine. Thy wonderful peace is my portion, Thy grace makes me Thine. Thy love hath my soul in possession, Unworthy, unworthy, I own; Rejoicing, my heart sings with gladness: “ No, never alone! ” PROTECTION “For I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will help thee .”— Isaiah 41 :13. H OLD Thou my hand— The way is dark, I cannot see. I’m traveling through an unknown land, O Father, be Thou near to me! Hold Thou my hand— The way is long, my feet might stray In other paths than Thou hast planned, And groping I might lose my way. [ 61 ] ALL THE DAYS Hold Thou my hand— The way is rough, and lest my feet Should stumble, lend me angel wand, Until I walk the golden street. Hold Thou my hand— Alone my strength is, oh, so small! Hold Thou me up and I shall stand; Unaided, I shall surely fall. Hold Thou my hand— Thou knowest well the path I take, And when I fail to understand, Help me to trust, for Thy dear sake! ALL THE DAYS “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life ”— Psai,m 23: 6. TT E does not ask me to wait and wait Till the end of my days has come For blessings my heart is craving here, As I journey toward my Home. He does not withhold His matchless love Till in Heaven His face I see, But all the days of my life are filled With His goodness and love to me. He does not ask me to wait for peace Till the end of the world’s great strife; His calm, sweet peace as a river flows O’er my soul all the days of life. [ 62 ] HOW WE FORGET I need not wait for the joys of Heaven And the pleasures at His right hand; His presence here brings me fullest joy All my days as the Lord hath planned. He does not ask that a soul must wait For His free and pardoning grace; He died for all and forgiveth all. Whatever the time or place. HOW WE FORGET “ Forget not all His benefits .”— Psalm 103 : 2. W HEN laid aside on lonely cot, How prone our hearts are to complain, Forgetting all our years of health, Remembering only present pain! When weakness shakes this mortal frame We murmur ’neath the chastening rod, Forgetting how our strength is lost By breaking laws of nature’s God. When dark clouds cross our azure sky, Seems burdens more than we can bear; How we forget the brighter days, Of which we have our goodly share! When friends are gone and funds are low, Our lot in life we oft bewail. Do we forget One Friend above And that His riches never fail ? [ 63 ] PRAY Then let us all our blessings count When shadows cast our joys aside, Forgetting not the benefits Which God our Father doth provide. PRAY “Men ought always to pray ”—Luke 18:1. T) RAY in the early morning ** For grace throughout the day; We know not what temptations And trials may cross our way. Pray in the gladsome noontide, When the day is at its best; Pray when the night overtakes thee To Him Who giveth rest. Pray in the silent midnight, If wakeful hours be thine; Pray for a heart submissive, That never will repine. Pray in the hour of sorrow, Pray in the hour of grief; In coming to the Father, Thy soul shall find relief. Pray when the sun shines brightest, Thy path with roses strewn; Pray that thy heart be ever With the Saviour’s kept in tune. [ 64 ] BELIEVE TO SEE Pray when the dark day cometh, And clouds hang overhead; In the secret of His presence Thy soul hath naught to dread. Pray for the Father’s guidance In all thy work and ways, So shall thy days be fruitful, Thy life be full of praise. Living in touch with Jesus, Keeping our own hearts right, Others will be attracted From darkness into light. BELIEVE TO SEE “I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living ”— Psalm 27:13. F AINT heart, look up, believe to see The goodness of the Lord, For strength, and peace, and life are yours, According to His Word. Hath pain and weakness dimmed your sight, And filled your heart with fear ? Believe, and glorious rays of light Transcendent shall appear. He promises no greater pain Than you and I can bear; Believe His Word, and you shall prove His grace and love and care. [ 65 ] PERFECT PEACE The clouds hang low, the sky is dark, The night obscures your view; Believe, the darkest night will pass, The morn bring blessings new. The signs you look for point to gloom, Your heart forebodeth ill; Believe in God, forget earth’s signs, Be governed by His will. Be not afraid, He knoweth all And holds you in His hand; Believe the midnight, mom, and noon All for your good are planned. Believe to see and you shall see The goodness of the Lord; His promises can never fail, Your faith He does reward. PERFECT PEACE " Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee .”— Isaiah 26:3. P EACE, perfect peace, while in His keeping, Be still, my soul, fear no alarm, Though dark and lone the path thou’rt treading, Still Jesus keepeth from all harm. Peace, perfect peace, in full surrender, Not half the price but pay the whole, A life-time in His service spending, And let His blood cleanse all thy soul. [ 66 ] HAVE PATIENCE! Peace, perfect peace, calm as a river, Unceasing in its tranquil flow, And onward through the great forever, This peace of God thou then shalt know. Peace, perfect peace, with sin surrounding, The subtle tempter at thy side; His power fails with grace abounding, And still thou dost in Christ abide. Peace, perfect peace, though waves are rising, And angry waters would o’erwhelm, In safety thou shalt reach the harbour, For Jesus still is at the helm. HAVE PATIENCE! " Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him .”— Psai,m 37: 7. H OW hard it is to wait, When we are laid aside, To bide the Master’s will, And just be satisfied! But if our hearts complain, And we impatient grow, We lose God’s best for us— Rich blessings He’d bestow. This rest is but to trust, And question not His will, In sorrow or in joy, Abiding with Him still. [ 67 ] ALL ALIVE To wait and murmur not, His law be our delight, For all His paths are peace, And all His ways are right. ALL ALIVE " Dead indeed unto sin, but alive unto God through Jesus Christ our Lord .”— Romans 6:11. B E not like the poor dead fishes,— Floating down the stream; Be not full of empty wishes, Thinking life’s a dream. Plunge right out in deepest waters, There your soul will thrive; God needs workers, sons and daughters, Workers all alive. God created us for action In His harvest field. Are we doing but a fraction Of His will revealed? All our service, none withholding, He requires our best; Sacrifice is love unfolding, Service is love’s test. All alive through Christ, our Saviour,— Spirit-life within, This the proving of God’s favour— Dead indeed to sin. [ 68 ] BO YOUR BEST Daily all His will be doing, In His chosen place, His own plan for us pursuing, Through His boundless grace. DO YOUR BEST We are laborers together with God ”— I Corinthians 3 : 9. D O your best, and leave the rest In your Father’s care; In your labour for your neighbour, He delights to share. No use fretting though you’re getting Disappointments here. Just you smile. A little while And mysteries shall clear. Dark your way may be to-day, God your Father knows. Clouds bring showers, and sweetest flowers Through the rain He grows. Sow the seed. Be this your creed: God your Father lives. Planting, sowing, your heart knowing He the increase gives. Do your best and then just rest For to-morrow’s task, All your powers working hours, This your Lord doth ask. [ 69 ] FACE THE GIANT FACE THE GIANT “David hasted and ran toward the army to meet the Philistine .”—I Samuel 17: 48. F ACE the giant! David faced him When a shepherd lad. Then the courage came to fight him. What success he had! Face the giant that confronts you. On your heavenly way! Fling the stone that God provideth For the souls that pray! Face the giant! Do you fear him ? Are you weak and frail? On your side is One Almighty Who can never fail. Face the giant! Be a hero! Weaklings always fail. Giants overthrow the fearful And the hearts that quail. Face the giant—face him boldly! Never run away; Though the odds seem all against you, Stick right to the fray! Face the giant! You will never, Never be alone— One, unseen, will stand beside you, Guiding well the stone. [70] FASHIONED BY HIS HANDS FASHIONED BY HIS HANDS “ For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of His good pleasure. —Phiuppians 2:13. UR lives are fashioned by His hands, Who never yet has been unkind, And mysteries deep He understands, Though hidden from our finite mind. Come weakness, sorrow, loss or pain, ’Tis best, for God lias willed it so; From clouds refreshing showers of rain Cause flower and fruit to bloom and grow. So daily we may grow in grace, With showers of blessing from above, If through the clouds we only trace The finger of our Saviour’s love. We plan our own uncertain lives, But He who can the end foresee In His way leads the one who strives To follow paths of purity. And no good thing will He withhold, If we uprightly walk His ways; As clay the potter’s hands doth mold, He works in us to show His praise. Then, though the world misunderstands, And life seems but a tangled maze, If we are fashioned by His hands Peace, perfect peace, will crown our days. [71] HEAVENLY MANNA HEAVENLY MANNA “Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteous¬ ness: for they shall be filled:'— Matthew 5: 6. H ERE we raise our Ebenezer, Hearts and voices praise the Lord, Priceless blessings He hath given, In our study of His word. Hallelujah! Praising Him with one accord. Present help and light we’re seeking, Hungering, thirsting more and more, Barriers breaking, fears forsaking; With our heart’s wide open door Thirsting, seeking; Boundless, limitless His store. While we further search Thy mandates, Lord of hosts our hearts inspire, Quicken Thou our understanding, From earth’s plane still lead us higher. Heavenly manna— Only this our soul’s desire. God of Love continue with us, Let us Thy sweet presence feel, All we have to Thee we’re bringing, For Thyself our offering seal. God be with us, Fill our souls with holy zeal. [ 72 ] LOOK FORWARD LOOK FORWARD “Remember Lot's wife ” —Luke 17: 32. OOK forward, not back, for the past is gone, And the wheels of time are turning, Oh, study the moments to improve, For the lesson’s worth the learning. Whatever of failure the past has been, The present is bending o’er you, With promises from the God above, For the future that lies before you. Look forward, not back. But one backward glance, And Lot and his wife were parted, She would not obey her Lord’s command, And that’s where the trouble started. She stopped to look at the old home town, That was sadly, quickly burning, Then her doom was sealed and she lost her life By that one look backward turning. Look forward, not back. There’s new life ahead, New strength in the path of duty, New power that will bring you new success, New love and a world of beauty. New peace—a glad peace with the whole wide world, New feeling that men are brothers, New stars of hope all aglow for you, New faith for yourself and others. Look forward, not back. It will do no good To spend all your life repining, And sighing over what might have been, If the sun had been always shining. [73] WHOM ELSE BUT THEE? Encourage your heart with a cheery song, For the day is what you make it, And though you wail when the wild wind blows, Your wailing will never break it. Look forward, not back. God forgives the past, Let your sins no longer bind you, Renounce them all, let Him have your heart, And your bridges burn behind you. Then you will be safe in the Father’s care, Your future in His providing, And on while eternal ages roll, In heavenly love abiding. WHOM ELSE BUT THEE? " Whom have I in Heaven hut Thee? And there is none upon earth that I desire beside Thee!'— Psalm 73:25. W HOM else but Thee? The dearest, best, On Thee my mind is ever stayed; Oh, let me lean upon Thy breast, And trusting Thee be not afraid; For if the way be dark or light, I need Thee, Lord, to guide aright. Whom else but Thee? My soul finds none To bear me up in life’s dark hours; For trouble comes to everyone, And over each the dark cloud lowers. To Thee, O Lord, my soul looks up, Thou’It share with me each bitter cup. [ 74 ] GET READY FOR HIS COMING Whom else but Thee? For earth’s friends fail, And passing by leave me alone To weather e’en the wildest gale; But Thou, dear Lord, art still my own. Then why should my heart ever fear When Thou, my Saviour, art so near ? GET READY FOR HIS COMING “Be ye therefore ready also: for the Son of man cometh at an hour when ye think not” —Luke 12: 40. A RE you ready for the coming Of the blessed Lord of light? Have you sought the cleansing fountain, Have your garments been made white ? Oh, remember, when you think not He will bear your soul away; Shall it be to fearful torment, Or to realms of endless day? In the hours of early morning, When the earth is fresh with dew, And the birds are blithely singing, Bringing naught but life in view, And your heart is light and gladsome, With no thought of future woe, Then it may be Christ will call you— When the call comes you must go. Or it may be in the daytime, When you’re busy at your work, That the dread death-angel may so Silently about you lurk; [ 75 ] GET READY FOR HIS COMING In the rush and whirl of business, With no thought of coming woe, He, with icy hand, may claim you; If He does, you can’t say “ No.” Or perhaps just in the twilight, When your busy day is done, And a well-earned rest you’re seeking By the fireside of your home, With the joys of life around you, And no thought of dread or fear; Suddenly He then may take you From the things you hold so dear. Or at midnight, when you’re sleeping, Dreaming not of that dread hour, He Who sleeps or slumbers never, May then manifest His power; And your spirit, all unconscious Of the danger that may come, May be carried swiftly, surely, To its everlasting doom. Pleasure-seeker, drunkard, swearer. You who love in sin to roam, While you’re rushing to do evil You are rushing to your doom. From the scenes of giddy laughter, Pleasures seeming gay and bright, He may take you, oh, poor lost one, To eternity’s dark night. [ 76 ] CONTENT CONTENT " I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content —Philippi an s 4:11. A LONE with nature and with God, I lay me down to rest; The leaves were falling all around, I pillowed on their breast. They told me of their Maker, God, Who kept them safe from harm, Through summer’s sun and wind and rain. So fresh and green and warm. Now dressed in new and glorious tints Of scarlet, green and gold, As one by one in silence fell, Their beauty did unfold. Their day had passed, and now cut down By autumn’s chilly breath; So beautiful in life they were, More beautiful in death. I learned a lesson in content, To let God have His way, With Him, through all its changing scenes, Live out life’s little day. That when my passing comes my soul May rise to higher sphere, And face to face behold the One Whom I have worshipped here. [77] THE SALVATION ARMY DOUGHNUT VIII WAR-TIME VERSES THE SALVATION ARMY DOUGHNUT A DOUGHNUT’S just a doughnut, boys, till you are “ over there.” And day and night you’re in a trench away in France somewhere: You get a fresh-made doughnut, seems it comes from Heaven above, That doughnut, boys, reminds you of a slice of Mother’s love. A doughnut’s just a doughnut, boys, when you are safe at home, But when o’er shell-torn roads and fields, and fields and roads you roam, And you are tired and lonesome in a far-off foreign land, That doughnut’s a warm friend from home, you grasp it in your hand. A doughnut’s just a doughnut, boys, when mother’s cooked your meal, And all the satisfaction of good, home-cooked food you feel; But when you’ve marched for hours and have a very empty spot, Just like a Waldorf dinner is that doughnut, fresh and hot. [ 78 ] THE AMERICAN GIRL IN FRANCE A doughnut’s just a doughnut, boys, when mother’s made you one, Here where democracy shines forth as bright as noon¬ day sun; But where autocracy’s fierce powers are daily ’gainst you hurled, That doughnut is a ring of hope for freedom through the world. A doughnut’s just a doughnut, boys, when times of peace prevail, But in the midst of worse than hell where devil’s powers assail, Where rage and hate and murder strike their hellish deadly blows, That doughnut’s a sweet-scented wreath which in God’s garden grows. A doughnut’s just a doughnut, boys, when round your mother’s hearth, And only at the battle’s front you know a doughnut’s worth; Made at Salvation Army huts some thousands in a day, By S. A. girls who love to help our soldiers on their way. THE AMERICAN GIRL IN FRANCE T HE soldiers were hungry and tired, They had hiked it throughout the night, Their own floating kitchen was gone, And their billets far out of sight. [ 79 ] THE AMERICAN GIRL IN FRANCE But look! There’s a Salvation hut! Their tread quickened soon to a dance: There, serving hot coffee, with doughnuts and toffee— The American girl in France! The perils by sea she had braved, And left all the comforts of home: The sacrifice freely she made, And by her own choice she had come. Not the girl of the powdered nose, Who’d but her own beauty enhance. The girl of the bonnet with “ Salvation ” on it— This American girl in France! She sleeps in the Salvation hut, By aeroplane breezes she’s fanned: The guns her loud lullaby sing, Her gas mask is always at hand. ’Mid dangers by day and by night, A “ Brave ’un ” we see at a glance: Her doughnuts she’s frying, with shells around flying— The American girl in France! What better reminder of home? What brings mother’s love-touch so nigh To American Soldiers in France As American Apple pie ? They get it from her at the hut, And salvation as well, perchance: She’s praying and baking, her own life forsaking— The American girl in France! [ 80 ] OUR TWO FLAGS She cooks, sews, mends, reads, talks and sings, To help our American braves: She honours the heroes who fall, And places a flower on their graves. She’s true to her country and flag, She fights not with gun or with lance; But give her an inning, the war she is winning— The American girl in France! OUR TWO FLAGS H ERE’S to the Starry Flag, And the Flag of the Blood-and-Fire! ” And the soldier’s cheer sounded loud and clear, ’Twould the faintest heart inspire. Wounded and sick he lay, But the heart of him still was brave, And he spoke with pride as his Flag he spied: “For this my right arm I gave! “ This the Flag of our land, Of the nation that gave me birth, For the truth it holds in its treasured folds Is the dearest in all the earth. Flag of the noble free, In the struggle for right ’gainst might— For my country’s Flag, for the people’s Flag, For Liberty’s Flag I fight. “ Feeling the stress of war, For a year I’d been over there; Flags of foreign lands, all at war’s commands, Waved around me everywhere. [ 81 ] OUR TWO FLAGS When deafening shouts were heard, For the Starry Flag had come, Oh, I kissed its bars, and I kissed its stars! They spoke of my home, sweet home. * Up went the dear old Flag, And our courage and hope rose high And no dark deep trench could our spirits quench; ‘ For Freedom! ’ our battle-cry. Down with the curse of war! May his reign of terror cease, And Democracy’s birth in all the earth Be hailed with the dawn of peace! “ Flag of the Stars and Stripes, You have won in the days of yore; Your principles stand for a righteous land, With peace and plenty in store. Stars of the Union, shine As bright as the stars above, Till the woes of the world to their grave be hurled, And nations as brothers love. “ Stripes of the red and white, You are narrow and clean and straight; Like the Christian’s way to eternal day, You point to an open gate. Justice and liberty Unflinchingly stand in view; We’ll follow your lead with a greater speed, Triumphantly marching through. [ 82 ] OUR TWO FLAGS “ Here's to the Blood-and-Fire, The world-wide Salvation Flag! The Army whose creed is the people’s need; In the rear they never lag. Ready for life or death, But to serve their Master best— So these soldiers brave live to serve and save, And in war they have stood the test. “ What have they done in war ? They are ministering angels all, Well trained in the fight for God and right, They answer their country’s call, Some to the firing-line, And from duty they do not shrink, But valiantly go to the fields of woe, And of war’s bitter cup they drink. “ There on the shell-torn earth We have seen these heroes die, And while facing death, with expiring breath, They would pray with a comrade nigh. Pray? Yes, we all should pray, Facing death and the Judgment Day; We envy the man of the praying clan And wish we had walked his way. “ First on the battle-field, To comfort and help and bless, To carry relief to Belgium in grief, And the foe’s cruel wrongs redress. [ 83 ] OUR TWO FLAGS Services great and small, For what do these soldiers plead, But to lend a hand to a stricken land, And to staunch the wounds that bleed? “ Salvation Army huts Bring cheer to the boys in France— Salvation and pie, as away we hie On our last long hike, perchance; Doughnuts and prayers to the trench, Heartening us up for the war; And if we come back from the bloody track, There’s rest in their open door. “ Flag of the Blood-and-Fire, With the colours you have donned, By eternity’s test you stand for the best, In this and the life beyond— Red for the Blood of Christ, Which was shed for all mankind; The yellow for Fire, the great purifier, The Holy Ghost Fire we find. “ Blue is for holiness, For the heart made clean and pure, And your fiery star in a world at war, For the peace of the soul secure. Flag of the Stars and Stripes, With the Flag of the Blood-an-Fire, Wave on together, ne’er show the ‘ white feather,’ Raising earth’s standards higher.” [ 84 ] FREEDOM FREEDOM THE WORLD’S GREAT NEED “If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall he free indeed .”— John 8: 36. T F every man were free from sin and love filled every breast, All war and turmoil soon would cease, the world would be at rest. If every man were free in Christ he would be free indeed; This freedom, peace and love divine for all mankind we plead, For this the world’s great need. If every heart were pure and true no man would be a slave; In loving service each for all the flag of peace would wave. If every heart were good and clean, would truth and right prevail, And “ Peace, be still! ” be spoken, for no foe would then assail, And love can never fail. Were every soul a righteous soul, according to God’s will, Who gave His Son a sacrifice this mission to fulfil. Then nations would be brothers all, each seek the other’s good, And over every flag would wave the flag of brother¬ hood ; For this He shed His Blood. [85] JUST FOR MY LOVED ONE’S SAKE If every man were but a man as God created him, Who filled his cup with pleasures sweet right to the very brim, This world would be an Eden then, a garden filled with flowers— No weeds, nor thorns, nor thistles here to spoil our happy hours, But just sweet-scented bowers. If every man were but a man—pure, true and brave, and strong, With lofty aim and heart of gold that would not stoop to wrong; If love divine would take the place of murderous hate and greed, And every man were free in Christ, ’twere Paradise indeed— And this the world’s great need. JUST FOR MY LOVED ONES’ SAKE D ECORATE my lonely grave, Away off here in France, And let my dear old mother know, Whene’er you get the chance, But keep in mind a wreath of flowers Can ne’er my life restore. And make the world a safer place Than it has been before. Decorate my grave to-day. And send word to my wife, But don’t forget no love or care Can bring to her my life. [ 86 ] THUS THE WORLD IS BORN AGAIN She made the sacrifice with me For freedom, honour, right, Now let war-makers have an end. The world rid of this blight. Place three rosebuds on my grave, For my sweet darlings three. And tell them that their father died To bring them liberty. But, oh, remember naught can bring Their Daddy home again; And work and pray that lives of men May not be spent in vain. Decorate my lonely grave, Just for my loved ones’ sake, For never of the sweets of earth Shall I again partake. And still let all your powers engage To banish hellish war, That nations join in brotherhood, For peace forevermore. THUS THE WORLD IS BORN AGAIN O N the gory field of battle, ’Midst the roar and din and rattle, Of the ceaseless heavy firing, Every soldier-heart inspiring, And the endless pounding, pounding Through the thickened air resounding, On the damp, cold earth there lying, Seemingly forgotten, dying, [ 87 ] THUS THE WORLD IS BORN AGAIN One who fought for liberty Fought to make all people free. While his hold on life was slipping, Death’s cold hand the firmer gripping, Came a vision clearer, clearer; Seemed a little Child drew nearer, Stroked his head, so fevered, aching, Gentle, soothing love-touch making, Kissed his cheek, all sore and bleeding, While the childish voice was pleading: “ Soldier-boy, come waken, waken! Foes of God the world have shaken! But the Christ-child came to save; Sin no longer shall enslave. God has sent Him down to earth To proclaim the second birth; Nations everywhere shall hear Him. Woe to them that do not fear Him! ” As the soldier gazed and wondered, And upon the Child’s words pondered, Lo! A halo shone about Him, And he could no longer doubt Him— This sweet, comforting Child-stranger Was the Babe of Bethlehem’s manger. Christmas Bells, Oh, start your ringing, Peace on earth His advent bringing! Seemed a Man then stood before him, Like an angel hovering o’er him: He, of wondrous grace and beauty, Spoke in words of sternest duty: [ 88 ] THUS THE WORLD IS BORN AGAIN “ To the world God’s voice hath spoken: Laws of God have all been broken. Where’s the nation in these days Walking strictly in His ways? People strive for fame and pleasure, Wealth and every earthly treasure. No man careth for his neighbour— All his anxious hours of labour Spent to gain the things that perish; Thoughts of God he doth not cherish. Precious truths the world is learning— Careless, heedless hearts now yearning For His long-neglected blessing, Wants revealing, sins confessing. E’en as gold by fire is tried, Man through war is purified; Sacrifice shall ne’er be lost— After Calvary, Pentecost. “ More than nations in this fight— Powers of might ’gainst powers of right; Might shall never rule the world, Freedom’s flag be never furled. War lords long have had their inning; Peoples of the world are winning. Not by might and not by power Cometh that victorious hour. David fought with sling and stone; God was on his side—he won! Soldier of the people rise! Freedom’s won by sacrifice! Gird your armour, take your sword! ’Tis the battle of the Lord! [ 89 ] OUR FLAG—A LIVING TRIBUTE This the war to banish others; Nations, races—all be brothers. ‘ Peace on earth, good will to men ’— Thus the world is born again.” * ***** * He awoke to life and power, To the battle of the hour. Christmas Bells, ring on—ring on— Till the world for Christ is won. Ring, to herald Christmas mom, Ring—till a new world is born! IX AFTER THE WAR OUR FLAG—A LIVING TRIBUTE IN MEMORY OF OUR SOLDIERS IN FRANCE HERE’S a consecrated garden in a lonely spot in ^ France— The Gethsemane of mothers, it is said— All adorned with wreaths of glory is this garden, once so gory, Memory brings the sacred story of our dead. There are rows of wooden crosses, quite as far as eye can see, And the names of valiant warriors they bear; There’s a flag that waves above them, there are mother- hearts that love them, For the selfsame sorrows move them over there. [ 90 ] OUR FLAG—A LIVING TRIBUTE Yes, the flag that waves above them is our own dear country’s flag, In the centre of that silent hill of God; High upon the flagstaff flying, “ Liberty forever! ” crying, Guarding well our soldiers lying ’neath the sod. Silent, yet a living tribute to their noble sacrifice— Flag that stands for freedom, peace and unity. For this flag they died while fighting ’gainst the wrongs that needed righting; Nations in one bond uniting was their plea. Loving hands may place their garlands on our heroes’ lonely graves, But a short day and their beauty none can see; While our flag keeps waving, waving, speaking of our comrades braving Battles fierce and long while saving you and me. Rows and rows of wooden crosses, with their arms outstretched in prayer— Their petition to the mother-flag above— Peace forever they are pleading, for the whole world interceding ; Naught can staunch the world’s wounds, bleeding, but God’s love. Tread the graveled walks there lightly, gently touch the verdant sod, Whisper softly and with tender, reverent tone; ’Tis God’s acre. He is keeping watch o’er all our boys there sleeping, And He comforts loved ones weeping for their own. [ 91 ] FREEDOM’S ANSWER FREEDOM’S ANSWER F ROM far across the ocean came a challenge fierce and bold— The right of might to conquer men and conquered men to hold, And freedom sent her answer to these autocratic powers; “ A son of mine will fight and die ere under this he cowers. All men shall yet be free, And war lords have an end; The God of liberty The tyrant’s power shall bend.” Came cries of little children and the ravished women’s sobs, The terror-stricken innocents, attacked by fiendish mobs; Then Freedom flashed her light across this dark, war- stricken world, And enemies of God from earth’s high pinnacles were hurled. Sweet peace came o’er the earth, The gift of God’s great love, And little children’s mirth As incense from above. Came urgent cries for succor from a shell-torn, war¬ worn land, And Freedom sent her noble sons—a gallant warrior band— [ 92 ] FREEDOM'S ANSWER And Freedom’s mothers bowed in grief, her fathers’ hearts were tom, Yet proudly was their sacrifice of patriotism borne. With steady step and true They rallied to the fight, Their battle-cry, “ Go through! ” And might gave place to right. There, wounded on the battle-field, our heroes help¬ less lay; How great the need for loving hearts to comfort, cheer, and pray! And Freedom’s daughters marched to war with ever- ready hand, And nursed and helped, as sister-hearts can help and understand. And Jesus met them there, On gory field and glen; He heard their earnest prayer, Spoke “ Peace, good-will to men.” From nations battle-scarred there came a powerful appeal, And Freedom’s Flag of Blood-and-Fire went forth to save and heal— True emblem of the Blood of Christ and purity of heart; Her soldiers, filled with holy fire, feared not the foe’s fierce dart. With faith in God their shield, The shell-torn fields they trod; The world’s deep wounds were healed. And nations praised their God. [93] THE SAME WHITE EMBLEM A cry of deep distress came from a bruised and bleed¬ ing world, And Freedom sent her starry flag, for liberty unfurled; And, as in ’76, she led her troops to victory grand— Her homeward march to-day has brought a brave, tri¬ umphant band. O Liberty Bell, again Ring as in days of yore! Ring out the glad refrain That wars shall be no more! THE SAME WHITE EMBLEM A PLEA FOR PERMANENT PEACE H, our flag has waved in battle on our own and distant shores! Has been carried home in triumph o’er and o’er; We would join with every other now encircling all the earth, Waving for the reign of peace forevermore. Peace the people long have sought for, nevermore the curse of war; Peace our valiant heroes bled and died to win, Peace our brave forefathers fought for, carry on from shore to shore, Peace unending with all nations gathered in. When we think of millions lying in a lonely foreign field— Foe and friend, one common end, in death unite— [ 94 ] THE SAME WHITE EMBLEM Every ancient grudge forgiving, men should now be brothers all; Place on every flag an emblem pure and white. Over all the world, low bending, mothers join in silent prayer; Motherhood knows neither colour, race, nor creed; They have paid the price of freedom with their dearest and their best, And one common sorrow brings one common need. Many little children starving through the cruelties of war, Orphaned, desolate, in anguish and in pain; How their feeble wailing haunts us, and their daily cry we hear: “ Daddy never will come home to us again.” Still we read of new inventions to be used in time of war, Though the best of manhood on its altar bleeds. Oh, that men would use their knowledge to create a new peace-world, Where not only tombstones write heroic deeds! Every country is God’s country, men created equal here; Fields and flowers and nature’s beauty are for all; One sun brightly beaming o’er us, stars in one blue sky above; Why not love and peace on this terrestrial ball ? [ 95 ] LIBERTY’S TRIUMPH We can never choose our birthplace ; only chosen ac¬ tions count, And we find God’s gentlemen in every land. Oh, that these in God’s own way would every country’s laws provide! Then the globe by this peace girdle would be spanned. God in man, the heart that’s stony changed into a heart of flesh, This the only remedy for all, unrest ; God the world’s acknowledged Ruler, Christ the Sav¬ iour of mankind; True religion never fails to stand the test. Yes, we’d place the same white emblem in the centre of each flag— Dove of Peace—a symbol of our highest aim. This was what our soldiers died for on the bloody fields of France, What our living veterans, maimed and wounded, claim. LIBERTY’S TRIUMPH TN the dark and distant ages when the people were oppressed By the evil tyrant, King Autocracy, Liberty arose triumphant o’er this cruel enemy, Magna Charta from their shackles set men free. But this king so full of selfishness, and arrogance, and pride, Cast a look of boastful scorn and proud disdain, [ 96 ] LIBERTY’S TRIUMPH Fought the progress of true liberty, and with malicious will Sought again his own ungodly ends to gain. Civil Wars and Revolutions tell their ghastly tale of woe, As one party and another disagree, But all people of the universe one common interest own, In their striving after peace and liberty. Liberty that’s born of righteousness will rise to fall no more, And a clear call came for freedom to this land; Loud and long her bells were ringing back in seventeen seventy-six, For a New World born to live at her command. There were men with high ideals, there were men with standards low, Causing many bitter conflicts by the way, But each struggle brought to liberty a triumph, and led on To our vast resourceful nation of to-day. Still autocracy, blood-thirsty, striking hellish, deadly blows, Stirred the weary, tortured, inmost heart of man, Crushed the people—God’s own people 1 —yes, the weak and helpless ones, And the terrible and great world war began. [ 97 ] LIBERTY'S TRIUMPH Nation that had warred with nation were united now as one, For great might against the cause of right was hurled, Knelt they side by side as brothers at the shrine of liberty, From autocracy’s hard hand to save the world. And the world was saved.' This is the bud of universal peace, Mankind wounded, bleeding, downs the curse of war, And from lonely graves in every land we hear this pleading cry: “ Let all wars be banished now and evermore.” See the long procession marching underneath the Stars and Stripes, Mingling all the human races into one! So united are their labours in the cause of liberty, Shall we not say world-wide peace is well begun ? When all nations lay their armour down and learn the law of love, When the world comes to a new and second birth, And God’s love is firmly welded in the brotherhood of man, Then shall liberty’s grand triumph fill the earth. [ 98 ] OUR PROMISE OF PEACE AT LAST OUR PROMISE OF PEACE AT LAST f~\UR sons went forth to the great World War, So sturdy and staunch and brave, The bugle sounded their own death knell, For freedom the world to save. They loved the joys of their own fireside, Their homes would have held them fast, They crushed their feelings and gave their lives, For our promise of peace at last. “ For this is the war to end all wars ”— On every side it was said, Thus mothers consoled their bleeding hearts, Over their mangled dead, And fathers aged in one short sad day, When their first great grief had passed, Cried out “ ’Tis for world-wide liberty, And permanent peace at last.” So millions of lives were sacrificed, The strongest and best of men, And women and children were left alone, To pick up life’s threads again. The horrible, brutal war went on, And the whole world stood aghast, But hushed its civilized conscience with A promise of peace at last. They fought to conquer a mighty power, Controlling the lives of men, A power that by force is but subdued, And falls but to rise again. [ 99 ] OUR PROMISE OF PEACE AT LAST And now men talk of a new World War With these victims’ shrieks scarce past, Oh, where, in the name of righteousness, Is our promise of peace at last? Have we kept faith with our soldier-boys, Who lie underneath the sod? They’re calling us from their blood-soaked graves Oh, answer as unto God! Have we kept faith with our veterans here, Wounded, and blinded, and gassed, Who daily suffer a living death For our promise of peace at last ? Have we kept faith with those parents true, Who gave of their own heart’s best, Whose lives must be spent with bitter grief Deep hidden within their breast? Have we kept faith with the widows’ tears, And the orphans lone, downcast, Deprived of a father’s love and care, For our promise of peace at last ? Yes, man in the image of God is made, And what’s he created for? To glorify God while here on earth, And dwell with Him evermore. What fired our soldiers with zeal to fight ? What nailed their flag to the mast? Not love of the bloody warfare but World-freedom and peace at last. [ 100 ] OUR PROMISE OF PEACE AT LAST Oh, Christians—all in the church of God— Arouse to the world’s great need! For we can prevent these cruel wars, But not by one sect or creed. Our efforts, and prayers, and faith combined— One body for world-peace massed; And God Who is on our side shall bring A permanent peace at last. For where is the gain in any war? Consider the frightful cost, And weigh it up with the side that won, As well as the side that lost. The loss no mortal can e’er recount, Earth’s best to the slaughter cast, And winnersfcand losers all agree In welcoming peace at last. Then shame on the man who says that wars On the earth will never cease! His soul is void of the best God gives, And his mind is spoiled for peace. Then shame on the deeds that cause men pain, And lives of innocents blast! And shame on the men whose efforts cease In their promise of peace at last! Oh, what is the reason for any war, And for all the world’s unrest, The greed and treacherous love of power, The hatred within man’s breast? [ 101 ] LIVING MONUMENTS Oh, why have nations not come to terms, In the years that since have passed? And why have we failed our gallant dead, ' In our promise of peace at last ? It is Christ left out—the hope of the world— Left out of man’s business life, Left out of his politics and laws, That causes the world’s great strife. It is science and knowledge with Christ left out; This learning we must recast, The soul of the world must find tfre Christ, Then we shall have peace at last. X MEMORIAL DAY LIVING MONUMENTS A TRIBUTE TO SALVATION ARMY OFFICERS T HEY have written their names on the hearts of those Whom they helped in time of need, And no monument here keeps the memory green Like a kindly word and deed. They have heeded the cry of the suffering world, And hastened relief to bear; They have stooped to the souls in lowest depths, And brought them from dark despair. t 102] LIVING MONUMENTS They considered no sacrifice too dear, Nor counted their time at all, For an Army officer’s day is long, And his nights at duty’s call. They have visited hospital, jail and slum, All eager to serve and save, And wherever the need was greatest there Were these comrades true and brave. They have dried the desolate widow’s tears, And given the orphans care; They have comforted sorrowing parent-hearts, And led them to God in prayer. So these are the monuments all alive, With a throbbing pulse and heart, And the blessings received from golden deeds To others they would impart. And where is the cold gray slab that bears A record that thrills the soul Like the man or woman redeemed by grace, And through Jesus’ Blood made whole? For they tell the tale of redemption’s plan, And the life of sacrifice Of the one who led them to Jesus’ feet, Who is now in Paradise. [ 103 ] NEW LIFE BEYOND THE GRAVE NEW LIFE BEYOND THE GRAVE IN MEMORY OF COMRADES GONE BEFORE W E linger long at Memory’s shrine, Our heads in reverence bow, “ Not our will, Lord,” we say, “ but Thine, For they are with Thee now.” They bravely ran the Christian race, They proved God’s power to save, For them through His sustaining grace New life beyond the grave. In marches long o’er hill and dale, With tired and aching feet, Their soldier-spirit did not quail, Though fierce the battle’s heat. Love, patient toil, and sacrifice, Unstintingly they gave, For these and purity the prize— New life beyond the grave. No more the enemy to fight, No more the shot and shell, No more the shades of darkest night, No more the sad farewell. The Soldiers’ Home is gained at last, The Home of all the brave; For them death’s mystery is past— New life beyond the grave. The dear old Flag they lifted high, Their hearts beat ever true; “ For God and souls ” their battle-cry, No other aim in view. [ 104 ] " the BELLS, THE BELLS ARE RINGING! ” In memory of their noble deeds Long let our colours wave; They won by grace—not sects nor creeds— New life beyond the grave. We would not ask the reason why, Though hard to understand; Enough to know we’re guided by A kind, unerring Hand; And though our ranks are broken here, Their presence oft we crave, We think of them in happier sphere— New life beyond the grave. New life with Christ is better far, Could we but feel it so; For just beyond the evening star The Morning Star doth glow. And glory fills that Holy Land— The glory Jesus gave; And love and peace forever stand— New life beyond the grave. “THE BELLS, THE BELLS ARE RINGING! ” [The above were the dying words of a Salvation Army Cadet.] “HPHE bells, the bells are ringing,” Their tones are sweet and pure, Oh, bring me nearer, nearer, Their sounds my spirit lure. ’Tis music, heavenly music— Sweet solace to my soul— It bears me onward, upward, To my eternal goal. [ 105 ] " THE BELLS , THE BELLS ARE RINGING ' » “ The bells, the bells are ringing,” I hear them over there, They’re giving me a welcome, Where all is bright and fair. I’m entering the harbour, Just on the other side, Where I shall dwell with Jesus, Forever satisfied. “ The bells, the bells are ringing,” They’re calling me to-day To join the blood-washed warriors, Where tears are wiped away. My mansion there is waiting, Wide open stands the door, And all is ready for me, For Jesus went before. “ The bells, the bells are ringing,” Hark! Hear the angels sing! Oh, grave, where is thy victory ? Oh, death, where is thy sting ? My soul on wings like eagles’ Mounts upward to the skies, Forever with my Saviour To live in Paradise. “ The bells, the bells are ringing,” For me a welcome home, I would not linger longer, Since Jesus bids me come. Dear father, mother, loved ones, I’ll watch and wait for you, [ 106 ] HIS CROSS AND MINE Where peace and joy abideth, Above in heaven’s blue. “ The bells, the bells are ringing,” Oh, do not hold me here, My robes are washed and ready, My way to heaven is clear. My work on earth is finished; Though short my earthly span, God knows the why and wherefore, ’Tis all in His good plan. “ The bells, the bells are ringing,” Receive my last caress, I’ll be your guardian angel, As you my memory bless. Oh, let this thought console you, While here on earth you roam, And bind your hearts still closer To our dear heavenly home. XI EASTER HIS CROSS AND MINE T HEY made Him a cross of the roughest wood, To climb the steep, rugged road, The cross was too heavy for Him to bear; He fainted beneath its load. [ 107 ] HIS CROSS AND MINE They pressed the sharp thorns in His aching head, Scourged Him, the Innocent One; Mocking, reviling Him, spit in His face, Though evil He had not done. They hammered the nails in His bleeding hands, Right through to the cross of wood; They fastened His feet with a spike secure, Nor heeded the dripping blood. They moistened His lips with vinegar sour, When His mouth was parched and dry; His life ebbing out, they laughed Him to scorn, And sitting there watched Him die. Is my cross too much when I think of Him, Who suffered that I might live? When I think of His sacrifice for me, Is my best too much to give? Through paths dark and lone must I wend my way, With the end far out of sight ? He felt the pangs of a lonely heart through Gethsemane’s long dark night. In weakness and pain must I lift my cross? He has borne much pain for me, And through the dark shadows I hear His voice, “ My grace is sufficient for thee.” Is my cross too much when the One I love Is beckofiing me ever on ? Will the toils of the journey seem too long, When at last the crown is won? [ 108 ] EASTER THOUGHTS EASTER THOUGHTS THE CROSS A T the Cross we see them weeping, Still watch o’er their loved One keeping, Fond hopes crushed and brave hearts bleeding— Mocking, jeering crowd unheeding— Lingering there, those women proving How they loved and kept on loving, Sneering, jibing crowd Him hating, Moved them not—still waiting, waiting— Listening heard His last words uttered: “ It is finished! ” Voices muttered, Gloating, as they watched Him dying, O’er His bleeding, groaning, crying, Fiendish rebels’ deed appalling, Still love at His feet was falling. THE GRAVE On the resurrection morning, Love and faith their souls adorning, Woman-hearts beat faster, faster, Seeking their beloved Master— Early hour of their appointing— Spices brought for His anointing. ’Twas the hour of keenest trial They had suffered all the while; In the sepulchre a stranger— Gone the Christ of Cross and Manger! Hark! A Voice, so tender, cheering, Christ Himself to them appearing. Risen! O’er His foes victorious! Lives again! Oh, message glorious! [ 109 ] A VOICE FROM CALVARY Love’s great price for our salvation, Love of God to every nation. Beck, ye rebels! Mock no longer; Hate is strong, but love is stronger! THE GLORY Mothers, in your hour of sorrow, Look upon the bright to-morrow; Life at best soon has an ending, Death is sure in his descending; Life beyond goes on forever, Saints of God no ties there sever; Union, peace and joy abounding, Perfect love Heaven’s hosts surrounding. A VOICE FROM CALVARY “ Who died for us, that we should live.” —I Thessalonians 5:10. D ARKNESS and shadows falling, On Calvary; Softly a voice is calling, Calling for me: Voice of the World’s Redeemer, Tender and true; Asking a full surrender Of me and you. Cruel the cross He’s bearing, All, all for me; All the world’s sorrow sharing, On Calvary. [ HO] EASTER LILY Still I can hear Him calling, Calling for me, Sweetly the accents falling: I died for Thee. EASTER LILY E ASTER lily! Easter lily! Fairest harbinger of Spring. Bursting from your darkened chamber. Sweet the messages you bring. Whispering of the glorious dawning Of that first glad Easter morn, When the tidings, “ Christ is risen! ” Swift on angels’ wings were borne. Easter lily, full of beauty, Breathing of that life divine— Precious Lily of the Valley, To this trembling soul of mine. Resurrection light and glory Beaming from the Cross afar, Shedding radiance on my journey To the gates that stand ajar. Lily, with your snowy petals, Teach me purity and faith ; None arrayed in spotless garments “ Such as these,” the Scriptures saith. Patient waiting in the darkness, Bowing to the Master’s will, This the secret of your glory, His good pleasure to fulfil. [ill] EASTER EGGS Teach me true and humble service, Lily, with your heart of gold; Lowly would I follow Jesus, That His praises be extolled. Outward show and false pretenses, All will crumble and decay; Truth of heart will stand the testing Of that great Eternal Day. Go to hospital and prison, Easter lily, pure and white; To the most despairing sinner, With your messages of light; To the sick and to the dying, Rich and poor, and great and small, Tell them, with the Easter dawning Cometh peace and hope for all. Easter lily! Easter lily! Silent messenger of God, Waft your fragrance o’er life’s pathway, Scatter sweetness all abroad, Teach the souls of men this lesson— “ Blessed are the pure in -heart,” They shall see the risen Saviour, Nevermore from Him to part. EASTER EGGS O NE Easter, Brother Jack and I Thought we would like to have a try To see which one of us could eat The most boiled eggs. I thought I’d beat, [ 112 ] EASTER EGGS And I said, “ Jack, I’ll go you two.” Said Jack, “ Is that all you can do? Why, I could get away with four. And maybe even eat some more.” “ All right, I’ll go you six or ten, Why, I could eat a whole big hen.” Then Ma came in. She said, “ For shame! Such greedy boys! Now, who’s to blame ? ” We both spoke up; “ Please, Ma, Ben Brown Says he eats all he can get down On Easter morning. Why can’t we? ’Twould be such fun, Ma, just to see Who’d beat.” “ Well, this once have your way You’ll learn a lesson on that day.” “ Pooh! I’m not scared; say, Jack, are you? Who’d sicken with an egg or two? ” On Easter mom I felt just fine, And thought I’d have a try for nine. (I said the night before, “ You wait,” When Jack had stumped me up for eight.) Dear Ma, she cooked the eggs just right. My belt began to feel so tight When I had only eaten four, And—Boo! Hoo!—Jack had had one more. I tried the fifth, but ’twas no go, Jack finished six and yelled “ Ho! Ho! ” But soon you should have heard me groan, And then from Jack there came a moan, Boo! Hoo!—we’d such a dreadful pain; We’d never eat an egg again. [ 113 ] TO MY DAFFODIL Ma cooked a chicken, too, that day, And there in bed we had to stay; Boo! Hoo!—What do you think we had ? Just castor oil ’cause we’d been bad! That chicken smelled so good—Boo! Hoo! I always got the wishbone, too! “ It really serves you right,” Pa said: But Ma just kindly stroked our head, And, Oh! that look when our eyes met! The lesson learned we’ll not forget. TO MY DAFFODIL T DRINK of your sweetness, oh daffadowndilly, I drink from your goblet of gold, A taste of your honey brings nigh your Creator, And sweets of the earth all unfold. Let the waters of Mar ah be ever so bitter, This sweetness my lone life shall hold. I drink of your beauty, oh daffadowndilly, Your heart’s hidden treasures I see, Your bright full-blown blossoms in purity golden Reflect nature’s grandeur to me, Uplifting my heart to the One Who has given Such beauty entrancing and free. I drink of your pleasures, oh daffadowndilly, You herald the advent of spring, When nature awakens and all the earth gladdens, And robins so merrily sing. I drink of the river of life everlasting, Sweet thoughts of its pleasures you bring. [ 114 ] CONTINUAL COMRADES XII ARMY WEDDINGS CONTINUAL COMRADES [Dedicated to officers married under the Salvation Army Flag.] OMRADES joined in holy union, Same deep purposes of heart, Sealed by love divine, eternal, Comrades “ until death do part.” Comrades joined in high endeavour To promote God’s Kingdom here, Seeking not earth’s vain ambitions, Counting Heaven’s wishes dear. Comrades when the shadows deepen, Comrades when all joys abound; Sweet and hallowed consolation In such comradeship is found. Comrades, then, for worse, for better, E’en in sickness as in health, Still to have and love and cherish, If in poverty or wealth. Comrades working in God’s vineyard, Each the other to inspire, In the great Salvation Army Fighting ’neath the Blood and Fire. Comrades made continual comrades, Perfected in God’s own love; Two as one, with Christ united, Heaven’s richest blessings prove. [ 115 ] A WAR ROMANCE A WAR ROMANCE [Specially written for the wedding of two young officers.] T HE bridegroom came from the great World War, To claim his happy bride, From the shell-tom shore, where the cannons roar, To peace personified. The bride came forth from the sunny clime, Where roses ever bloom, With her lamp all trimmed, nor the light bedimmed, To meet her glad bridegroom. They met in the Great Salvation War, Their purposes are one; For God and the world is their flag unfurled Till the setting of life’s sun. The bridegroom’s parents across the sea, The bride’s in the far-off West, With their blessings greet, as their children meet, At love’s all-conquering quest. So East is West, and the West is East, The twain made one to-night, In a land of peace, on a life-long lease In Liberty’s true light. Then blessings upon this war romance From overseas and here! In their love and peace be there no surcease Till the heavenly call sounds clear. [ 116 ] CHILDREN OF THE ARMY CHILDREN OF THE ARMY [Written for the wedding of two Salvation Army officers whose parents are officers.] C HILDREN of the Army, how we honour you to-day, Standing at the parting of the ways! Two roads you have travelled now are merging into one; God be with you all your future days. Children of the Army blessed with fathers’, mothers’ prayers, How their brave hearts yearn for your success! God e’er keep you fighting ’neath the yellow, red, and blue, God stand by you and your efforts bless. Children of the Army, you have had a noble birth, Higher than earth’s greatest riches give— Parents all devoted to the service of the Lord. God grant you His grace this way to live. Children of the Army, carry on your work for God, Carry on what you have well begun ; God give double blessings as your hearts in truth unite, Crown your daily lives with His “ Well done.” Children of the Army joined in holy bonds to-night, With the same deep purposes of heart— Working that God’s Kingdom be established on the earth; God keep you for His work set apart. [117] THEIR SILVER WEDDING Children of the Army, comrades bless you everywhere, Scattered far where sea and land divide— Comrades who have learned the worth of prayer in daily life, Pray that Christ may always be your Guide. THEIR SILVER WEDDING TO JENNIE FROM JONATHAN F OND memories carry me back to-night, Far back to the old sweet days, With you, dear Jennie, in youth and strength, And I with my boyhood ways. I’d given myself to the Army then, And gladly entered the fray, And they had sent me to Bunkersville, Where the devil’s dupes held sway. Oh, Bunkersville was a hard old corps, I nearly gave up the fight, Till you came into the Army hall; Oh,, that happy meeting night! I saw you enter, I saw you go, And chanced to see you next day, For I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. I’d never thought of a wife till then, My heart was all in the war, Somehow or other my views were changed, I thought and I thought some more. The regulations and rules I sought, And puzzled my brain that day, [ H8] THEIR SILVER WEDDING When I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. “ Two years to wait ”—and I heaved a sigh, I had been an officer one, It really seemed that my heart would fail, The long wait had just begun. If ever I prayed in my life, dear, It was on that very day, When I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. I led my meetings and open-airs, And visited door to door, I sold the War Cry from street to street, Looked after the sick and poor, But often when tired and all alone, My thoughts unto you would stray, When I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. “ You must not court in your corps,” they said, Between us there was a bar, I learned the depth of the saying then: “ Oh, so near and yet so far! ” I wrote my D. O.* the rules were stiff, He answered to my dismay, For I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. * Divisional Officer—One who is in charge of a number of Corps’ grouped together. [ 119 ] THEIR SILVER WEDDING My D. O. paid me a visit then, And we had an interview, He ’minded me of the vows I’d made, And urged me to still be true. “ A Captain should marry a Captain for The sake of the work,” he’d say, And I was Captain at Bunkersville, While you lived across the way. “ She’d make a good Captain, sir,” I said, (And my heart went pit-a-pat,) “ From my observations of her, sir, I do feel quite sure of that.” He gave me permission to see you then, My feelings to you convey, When I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. The Lord He works in a wondrous way, For in the meeting that night, You consecrated yourself to God— What joy to my gladdened sight! I owed you a “ shepherd’s ” visit then, Saw you—and your Dad—next day, For I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. I walked as it were in airy space, My troubles it seemed had flown, For when I’d spoken to you I found, That you had thoughts of yoUr own. Your Dad proved a sympathizer too, And wished us good luck for aye, [ 120 ] THEIR SILVER WEDDING When I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. But “ Man is born to trouble as sure As sparks fly upward ” ’tis said; A yellow envelope came by mail— The long ones we used to dread. I tore it open with trembling hands, And my heart it thumped away, For I was ordered from Bunkersville, While you lived across the way. IBs easy to boast of loyalty, dear, Till you’re put right to the test, Your Dad offered me a position there, And one of the very best. I’d put my hand to the Army plough, I’d never go back—Nay! Nay! So I said farewell to Bunkersville, While you lived across the way. The letters you wrote they thrill me yet, Encouraging me when down, The care you had for my soul will shine, A star in your jewelled crown. It mattered not if the fight were hard, I could shout a loud hooray, For I’d been Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. You went to the Training College soon, And left with the red braid on, With courage and faith you fought for God, And many victories won. [ 121 ] SAY “ THANK YOU ” TO THE GIVER I knew you’d make a good Captain, dear, Observing you work and pray, When I was Captain at Bunkersville, And you lived across the way. One day, though we’d been so far apart, We met—you and I—on the train, Both bound for the same old cherished spot, For the dear home corps again. The bunting fluttered, the banners waved, The little old hall looked gay. For we were married at Bunkersville, And just Dad lived across the way. And this is our silver wedding day, They’ve been golden years to me, United we’ve toiled ’neath the Blood and Fire— The flag that means liberty. And now we’re journeying down the hill, To our golden wedding day, Shall we celebrate that at Bunkersville, And both live across the way ? XIII THANKSGIVING SAY “ THANK YOU ” TO THE GIVER O give thanks unto the Lord, for He is good.” —Psalm 107 : 1 . O OME people sit and gormandize, ^ Around a well-spread table, Of foods rich, choice and rare they eat, As much as they are able, [ 122 ] SAY “ THANK YOU ” TO THE GIVER They satisfy their appetite, And overwork their liver, But they lack the common manners To say “ Thank you ” to the Giver. Some people own a coach and four, And ride with stately carriage, TheyVe butlers, valets, maids galore, (They’ve made good in their marriage). They buy what suits their fancy best,— A Cadillac or flivver, But they lack the common manners To say “ Thank you ” to the Giver. Some folks are fat and flourishing, Their head is never aching, Digesting food most nourishing, They’re giants in the making; In epidemic or in wreck, Escape without a sliver, But they lack the common manners To say “ Thank you ” to the Giver. Whatever comes in life to us, That’s good and worth the getting, Our home and children, food and clothes, And other treasures netting, The Bible says each perfect gift, Our Father doth deliver, Let us have the common manners To say “ Thank you ” to the Giver. [ 123 ] I THANK THEE Should some good man present us with A million from his saving, Our heart with gratitude would bound, Our tongue with thanks be raving. The gifts of God are broad and deep, And wide as any river, Let us have the common manners To say “ Thank you ” to the Giver. I THANK THEE r Giving thanks always for all things .”— Ephesians 5: 20. I THANK Thee, Lord, when laid aside, That I can still with Thee abide, That all Thy Presence fills the room Dispelling dreaded doubt and gloom. I thank Thee for my husband dear, Whose strong kind presence gives me cheer; I thank Thee for my daughter sweet, Who makes our home life so complete; I thank Thee for a host of friends, My chain of blessing never ends. I thank Thee for two eyes to see The goodness of my Lord to me, A voice to speak, two ears to hear, A heart that feels Thee ever near. I thank Thee for two lives sincere Still active in their eightieth year, To whom I owe my Christian birth,. Whose training was of untold worth [ 124 ] I THANK THEE Where happy childhood days were spent In love and peace and sweet content. I thank Thee for a good warm bed, A downy pillow for my head, And for my doctor’s kindly care, That eases all the pain I bear. I thank Thee I can see the sky, Its changing beauties passing by; My Master’s hand has painted me The prettiest pictures one could see, Their sunrise tints of red and gold Enraptured doth my vision hold. I thank Thee for the moon that beams, For every twinkling star that gleams, And for two windows in my room Through which these heavenly bodies loom. I thank Thee on the starless nights I see the Jersey City lights, Far distant seven miles or more They shine upon the Hudson shore, ’Tis like a glimpse through Heaven’s gate Where golden glories for me wait. I thank Thee for a tree outside So strong and stately, tall and wide, Where birdies perch upon a limb And sing to me their sweetest hymn. I thank Thee for the darkest hours, They’ve always brought refreshing showers, [ 125 ] THEY FOLLOWED THE STAR For stony paths and lonely ways— Thy hand I trace through all my days— They serve to lift my spirit higher These thankful verses to inspire. I thank Thee for Thy Holy Word— The Lamp of Life, the Christian’s sword— That all its promises are mine And o’er my daily life they shine. I thank Thee more than all beside That Jesus is my Light and Guide, That in my youth I gave up all To follow at the Master’s call; For Thou dost all my needs attend, My chain of blessing has no end. XIV CHRISTMAS THEY FOLLOWED THE STAR “ Lo, the star, which they saw in the East, went before them.” —Matthew 2:9. T HEY followed the Star o’er the Eastern plain, And it led them all the way, Till they reached the goal of their great desire. The place where the Christ-Child lay. They followed the path of the shining Star, And its brilliance gave them light, Its radiance outshone the dazzling sun, And pierced through the darkest night. [ 126 ] HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN CHRIST IS BORN? They turned not aside to the right or left, Perchance they might go astray, With a firm faith fixed on the fiery Star, They questioned not its way. They had one ambition, one thought, one faith, One hope that did not grow dim, One love that burned bright in their beating breasts, And that pure love led to Him. This wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Star Is blazing our homeward trail, ’Tis the light God gives to the soul of man, Its guidance can never fail. Then follow the Star be it dark or light, Be the pathway short or long, And your heart rejoicing will find the Christ, And echo the angels’ song. Oh, the foolish wait with a wavering faith, To follow the Christ to-day, But the wise men start with a purpose firm. And they follow all the way. HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN CHRIST IS BORN? “ Unto you is bom this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord ."— Luke 2:11. N angel-spirit earthward went— ■*** A messenger from Heaven sent— Just at the dawn of Christmas Day, When myriads in glad array, In notes of praise, both loud and long, Joined in the hallelujah song, [ 127 ] HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN CHRIST IS BORN9 And rang sweet bells of joy and peace, And love that nevermore would cease; For God’s great Gift to earth that mom Was heralded when Christ was born. The ministering angel came To rich, poor, high and low the same, With message so distinct and clear That could not fail the dullest ear; For seemed the world by sin so torn, Man had forgotten Christ was born. The room was dreary, dark and low, God’s creatures there knew naught but woe; For drunkenness was found therein, Grim penury, distress and sin. Scarce shielded from the bitter cold, Together huddled young and old; With gifts the angel-spirit came And spoke without a word of blame: “ There’s hope for you, O souls forlorn! Have you forgotten Christ is born ? ” A home of wealth, luxurious, grand, Alone for selfish pleasures planned; Within its walls rose revelry gay— No thought of Christ on Christmas Day. The angel-spirit entered in And thus rebuked them for their sin: “ Oh, seek a better way to live! This is the day to love and give, Help those of every comfort shorn; Have you forgotten Christ is bom? ” [ 128 ] HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN CHRIST IS BORN? While Christmas chimes rang sweet refrain, Sad, tolling bells, in mournful strain, So strangely mingled death and birth, And joy and sorrow o’er the earth; And heads were bowed in grief and pain— Seemed clouds would never lift again. Till angel-spirit, bending near, Spoke gently in each mourner’s ear: “ Tift up your head, O ye that mourn! Have you forgotten Christ is born ? ” The convict pondered in his cell; Though once so pure—oh, how he fell! In innocence he lisped a prayer When held in mother’s tender care. These memories brought him bitter tears, And deep regrets o’er misspent years; But hope, long crushed, revived once more, When angel-voice the message bore: “ O soul, by sin’s rough breakers torn, Have you forgotten Christ is born ? ” The battle fiercely raged all night, The slain were many in that fight; For days and nights the shot and shell Had made the earth an awful hell. What matter if ’twere Christmas time? Still war pursued its sin and crime! But man to man as brothers stood, And greetings spoke in brotherhood, When angel-voice was heard that morn: “ Have you forgotten Christ is born ? ” [ 129 ] HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN CHRIST IS BORN? His body quivered with the pain— So long in anguish had he lain, The bombs, so deafening in the air, Seemed more than mortal man could bear. He spoke—a smile upon his face— As he accepted dying grace: “ Tell mother—Jesus—came—to-day, And He—has washed—my—sins—away.” To realms of bliss his soul was borne, While angels whispered: “ Christ is born.” Yea, though the world is battle-scarred, And by sin’s cruel weapons marred, And men still writhe in discontent. With greed for wealth and power their bent, The day will come when man shall fall, And crown Him, Jesus, Lord of all— When they who speak His name with scorn Shall all confess that Christ is born. Oh, let us hail our Saviour’s birth— ’Tis Christmas over all the earth— And sing the grand old song again Of “ Peace on earth, good-will to men! ” His beauty may our lives adorn, While we remember Christ is born. [ 130 ] CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SINGING? CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SINGING? " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good •mil toward men ."— Luke 2:14. C AN you hear the angels singing, As they sang in days of old? Do you feel the joy they’re bringing, As they strike their harps of gold ? “ Christ is born,” they still remind us, He will dwell in every heart; Undisturbed by outward turmoil, Inward peace He doth impart. Can you hear the angels singing, Sufferer on your lonely cot ? Through the painful hours of waiting, Do you oft bemoan your lot ? Angels hover o’er your sick-bed, Singing carols sweet and low, Lift your fainting heart and listen. Catch their love-song ere they go. Can you hear the angels singing, Prisoner in your cell alone? Angels enter prison-chambers, Singing where all song has flown. Hear their hope-song, grasp it quickly, Join the chorus while you may— “ Christ is born to be your Saviour,” Prove it on this Christmas Day. Can you hear the angels singing, Mother with your little ones? [131] CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SINGING? ’Midst your daily round of duties, Can you hear those heavenly tones ? Rest a moment from your labour Cease your anxious fretful care, Listen to the angel’s peace-song, And a smile of peace you’ll wear. Can you hear the angels singing, Mother in your lonely home, Since the song-birds you have nested, Far in other fields now roam? Angels sing for you the sweeter, Lest your mother-heart should break, Lift your voice though trembling, join them, Of their glory-song partake. Can you hear the angels singing, Dear old Dad, they sing for you, On your toilsome, homeward journey, Angel-songs will help you through. Does the way seem rough and thorny ? Heavy is your load of care? Tune your heart to join the singing, And the glory you shall share. Can you hear the angels singing, Brother, sister, in your youth? Life holds many treasures for you, None so dear as God’s own truth. Hark! The angels sing the secret Of a blessed happy life— Jesus came to save His people, Keep them free from inward strife. [ 132 ] CAN YOU HEAR THE ANGELS SINGING? Can you hear the angels singing, Children at your merry play? Many gifts receiving, giving; More than this is Christmas Day, Christ is born our King forever, Ruler of the earth and sky, Children, join the angelic chorus: “ Glory be to God on high.” Can you hear the angels singing, Wanderer from the fold of God? Do you feel well-nigh discouraged? Hard is the transgressor’s road ? Singing angels all surround you, Hear their voices loud and strong. Let your heart receive the message, Join their holy, happy song. Everywhere are angels singing, Angels singing everywhere, We can hear their joyful anthems, If we walk in paths of prayer, Oh, that all the world would hearken To their song of peace and love, Kneel before the Christ of Christmas, And His wondrous mercy prove! [ 133 ] THE BELLS OF CHRISTMAS THE BELLS OF CHRISTMAS “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy” —Luke 2:10. L IST to the bells of Christmas! Message of hope they ring— Hope for the world’s redemption, Christ is born our King! Jesus, the name be given To Him, the angel said, Jesus, to save His people, Bom in manger bed. List to the bells of Christmas! List to their chimes again! Message of peace they’re pealing— Peace, good-will to men. If every heart would serve Him, Drive sin and fear away, Nations of earth would welcome Peace this Christmas day. List to the bells of Christmas! Playing their love-lit air! Heaven to earth is bringing Gift so sweet and fair— Jesus, the pure and holy, Gift of the Father’s love; Let us accept His offering, And His goodness prove. List to the bells of Christmas! Joy-bells for you and me— Birthday of our Redeemer, He Who set us free! [ 134 ] " WERE I BUT HOME TO-NIGHT! ” How shall we pay Him homage ? How shall we please Him best ? Give Him a willing service; This is love’s true test. “WERE I BUT HOME TO-NIGHT! ” T AM thinking of home to-night, * And the dear ones over there, Of the fireside cheery and bright, And my own long vacant chair. I suppose this is Christmas Eve, Though it does not seem the same; Oh, had I the courage to leave This life of folly and shame! Yes, to-morrow is Christmas Day, And the folks will all be home, Only I am so far away, A wanderer still I roam. I fancy I hear dear old Dad At the table saying grace, And see mother looking so sad, As she glances at my place. There’ll be turkey, plum pudding, mince pies, Enough for all and to spare; A joint that would gladden your eyes, And mother will save my share. For of all the days of the year, She looks for me Christmas Day, [ 135 ] " WERE I BUT HOME TO-NIGHT! ” And must have shed many a tear, Since I have gone far astray. I remember the Christmas tree, Just before I came away, And the Bible thereon for me; How I have forgotten to pray! There’s a blizzard raging outside, And my heart is sad and lone, At home would I be satisfied, Though my pillow were a stone. But, hark! ’bove the wind’s wildest roar, Sweet voices, oh, can it be? “ Peace on earth! ” I’ve heard it before, But docs it mean peace for me ? My soul is awakening at last, They sing “ Light to all He brings ”; My chances have not all gone past, For me “ healing in His wings.” Oh, Father in Heaven, I come, A sinner and all undone, Thy great love does welcome me home, A wayward, prodigal son. One word ’cross the sea will I send: “ Saved! ” Mother will understand; And next Christmas I hope to spend Away in the dear home land. [ 136 ] PLAYING SANTA CLAUS PLAYING SANTA CLAUS T THOUGHT I would like to play Santa When I was a little boy, It would give me a lot of pleasure, And bring some poor children joy. I asked Dad to lend me his whiskers, (I intended to paint them white) But what do you think he told me ? They were fastened on too tight. I hunted for Mother’s best clothes line, I got it and more beside, When I combed it like Santa’s whiskers, And put them on with pride. My brother Jack lent me his coon coat, It covered a pillow and me, I wanted to look like Santa, And dressed up in greatest glee. I knew there would be empty stockings, In some of the houses nigh, For somehow or other it happens The poor are often passed by. So off I went one Christmas morning, When all was quiet and still, I thought ere the children were wakened, Their stockings I’d find and fill. My brother went with me for company, And stood in a corner dark, I knew I’d be dreadfully frightened If a dog should happen to bark. [ 137 ] PLAYING SANTA CLAUS ’Twas cold and as dark as the midnight, The snow cast a glimmer ’round, Though we walked with stealthy footsteps, The frost made a crackling sound. When we went to the Widow Jackson’s, We found she’d unlocked the door, I had quietly told her the secret, A couple of days before. So gently I lifted the door latch (I really trembled with fear), And silently stepped in the kitchen, Lest the children wake and hear. I listened, for sweet childish voices, And sobs broke the stillness there, Above in the room they were praying, And this was their simple prayer “ Dear Jesus, our stockings are empty, We have just been down to see, And last Christmas morning we ’member, They were full as they could be. “ Our daddy—is ’way up—in Heaven We miss—him—so much—to-day— ” I had heard enough and their stockings I soon filled and ran away. The joy of the children that morning Was nothing compared to mine; The blessing that cometh with giving, Receiving doth far outshine. [ 138 ] A REAL SANTA CLAUS A REAL SANTA CLAUS W HAT do you think Nell Brown told me About a year ago? There wasn’t any Santa Claus, Not really real you know. I said, “ There is, there must be, sure! For every Christmas Eve, A great, big stocking I hang up, And say would you believe, “ Old Santa comes and fills it just As full as it can be And if he wasn’t really real He couldn’t do that, see ? ” Well, I thought, “ That’s all Nell Brown knows,” So I made up my mind, Before that Christmas passed away, I’d do my best to find If there was really any truth In what Nell said to me, Or whether she was bluffing me, Or teasing me maybe. On Christmas Eve I went to bed, But not to go to sleep; I thought if I would hear a sound I’d up and have a peep. I lay as still as still could be— ’Twas dark as pitch around— I was a little scared, and then, I heard a crackling sound! [ 139] A REAL SANTA CLAUS I jumped right out of bed and ran On tiptoe through the hall, And crawled so easy down the stairs. For fear that I might fall; And shivering with cold and fear, I reached the parlor door, And would you believe it, there he stood, His toys upon the floor. I ran and grabbed his whiskers quick, And held him there quite fast— “ O Santa, Santa, Santa, dear, I’ve caught you here at last! ” He tried to get away from me, I held his whiskers tight; And then I nearly lost my breath, I’d such a dreadful fright. His whiskers came out by the roots, His face fell on the floor; He grabbed me right up in his arms, Which scared me all the more. Just how the change all came about, It puzzles me to say, ’Twas daddy’s voice that said to me, “ My darling little May! ” But if you’d seen the lovely toys, I think you’d all agree, My darling dear old daddy was Quite real enough for me! [ 140 ] BIRTHDAY GIFTS FOR JESUS BIRTHDAY GIFTS FOR JESUS \/I OTHER, what will Santa bring me Oh, I cannot wait to see! Think I’ll find quite all I asked for On my pretty Christmas tree ? Dolly’s carriage and a dolly, ’Most as real as sister here, Such a lot of things I wanted, Think He’ll bring them, mother dear? “ Mother, tell me what is Christmas ? ” Thoughtful then the maiden grew While I told her of the Saviour— Old, old story, now so new— How there came to earth one Christmas, Many, many years ago, Such a precious little baby, Best the world could ever know. How He grew up into manhood, Always seeking others’ good, And at last they crucified Him On a cruel cross of wood. “ Christmas then is Jesus’ birthday,” (And her eyes were opened wide), “ Why do I get all the presents ? ” Then my little Eva cried. “ Oh, if I could give Him something! But, how can I, mother dear, When He is right up in Heaven, And I’m far away down here ? ” [ 141] BIRTHDAY GIFTS FOR JESUS “ Inasmuch as ye have done it,” (Jesus said this, dear, you see), “ Unto one of these, my brethren, Ye have done it unto Me.” “ There is poor old Granny Turner, In her cottage over there, All alone, no one to cheer her, Scant indeed her Christmas fare; And the little Thompson children, Mother ill and father dead; Oh, so many poor around us, Who have scarce sufficient bread! ” Christmas morning, bright and early, Eva trudged off through the snow, With a basket filled with goodies— Jesus’ birthday gifts, you know— While she would repeat the story, Sweetest story ever told, Of the Christ Whose coming brings us Safe into the heavenly fold. Bending o’er her baby dolly, Humming low a lullaby, Thus I found her in the nursery, When the shades of eve drew nigh. Then she hugged her dolly closer, Whispering softly in her ear: “ I’m so glad I’ve given Jesus Something on His birthday, dear.” [ 142 ] THE LAND OF BEGINNING AGAIN XV THE NEW YEAR THE LAND OF BEGINNING AGAIN [An answer to Louisa Fletcher’s poem of the same title.] “Marvel not that I said unto thee, Ye must be born again.’’ —John 3:7. rp HERE’S a wonderful place for the whole human race, Called the Land of Beginning Again, Where the acts of the past, in forgetfulness cast, Rise no more for God’s pardon we gain. And a Saviour we find, Who will always be kind, As the King of our hearts He shall reign, And though sin-sick and sad, we shall all be made glad, In the Land of Beginning Again. The old life we can stop just the same as we drop A shabby old coat at the door, With it all to be through. We can put on the new, And discard the old rags evermore. Standing there at the gates the Omnipotent waits, And His suffering we cannot disdain— Wounded hands, feet, and side, that we all may abide In the Land of Beginning Again. Aims to magnify self are all laid on the shelf, While our best to love’s service we give, As we seek so we find every chance to be kind, In the interests of others to live. And if unmeant mistakes should cause any heartaches, Their forgiveness we soon would obtain, [ 143 ] COME BACK , FATHER TIME For God’s love reigns supreme, in our lives it would gleam, In the Land of Beginning Again. Oh, how tranquil the earth with this new second birth! For all people would live “ on the square,” And each hold the other as he would a brother, And in all of his dealings be fair. Then all strife and unrest would give way at love’s quest, And sweet peace and prosperity reign, For the trumpets of war sound their call nevermore, In the Land of Beginning Again. There is no magic way that in sin we may stay, And this beautiful land hope to win. To us God’s Word is sent that we all must repent, And accept His salvation from sin. Oh, the sun is so bright and our hearts are so light, When we move from sin’s evil domain, And we start on the road to take up our abode In the Land of Beginning Again. COME BACK, FATHER TIME OME back, Father Time, how my life has been wasted! Too long of earth’s pleasures my soul has now tasted; Come back to the offers of pardon rejected, Oh, give me the chances I long have neglected. Come back, Father Time, to that night in December; The call on that Watch-Night, how well I remember! [ 144 ] GOOD-NIGHT , OLD YEAR, GOOD-NIGHT! The vows that I made, oh, how soon they were broken! Come back, I will render the vows I have spoken. Come back, Father Time, e’en to youth’s early morning, When mother’s dear voice sounded out my first warn¬ ing, When innocent childhood but knew the beginning Of darkness and death for the souls that are sinning. Come back, Father Time, I would live my life over, Sad memories to-day round my spirit do hover; Poor sinners have died all unwashed, unforgiven, While I might have shown them the way into Heaven. Come back, Father Time, art thou gone, gone forever? Those chances I missed, will they come to me never ? With bitter regrets and a heart full of sorrow, I seek pardoning grace for a better to-morrow. GOOD-NIGHT, OLD YEAR, GOOD-NIGHT! G OOD-NIGHT, old year, good-night! You gave us moments, hours and days, To honour God and show His Praise; You gave us weeks and months to live. To work, and pray, and love, and give; You gave us precious time to spend For others here. And now the end. Good-night, old year, good-night! Good-night, old year, good-night! The chances you have given are past, No hand so strong could hold them fast, No voice can call them back again: [ 145] WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE To our account dead loss or gain. You gave us chances by the score, For helping others. Now no more. Good-night, old year, good-night ! Good-night, old year, good-night! Oh, let us ask before we part, If we might make another start, Improve the moments passing here— For golden minutes make the year— In deeds of kindness, gems of light, To brighten others! Now, good-night, Good-night, old year, good-night! WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES TWELVE Vow, and pay unto the Lord your God .”— Psalm 76:11. F ATHER Time is ever pointing To the clock upon the wall, And our past in his ripe judgment Would the stoutest heart appal; So we grieve o’er our shortcomings, While our faulty past we shelve, And we make new resolutions, When the clock strikes twelve. Then we find, in January, Very much the same old life— Same old trials and temptations, Same old world of sin and strife. But there’s grace to help us conquer In the New Year just begun; We remember resolutions When the clock strikes one. [ 146 ] 1 HEARD HIM SING Of our vows we are reminded Often through the coming year; Time’s old clock keeps striking, striking, Loudly that we all may hear. But the months are swift in passing, Into work and play we delve Till the last day of December, When the clock strikes twelve. Father Time again is pointing To the clock upon the wall, That our years will soon be numbered, He reminds us, one and all. Let us, then, be ready, waiting For that hour we cannot shelve, When for us life’s day is ended And the clock strikes twelve. XVI MISCELLANEOUS I HEARD HIM SING I HEARD him sing. His voice was clear as a chiming bell, And every word I could plainly tell, His tenor notes were so sweet and high, His voice familiar seemed quite close by. I wanted to speak to him, draw him near, And whisper praise he alone could hear, But he was deaf to my longing speech, [ 147 ] I HEARD HIM SING Though thousands of listeners he could reach, Yet no applause could his audience bring, From far away did the music ring On radio’s wing. Heaven came so near. He sang of the brighter world above, Of mansions prepared through Jesus’ love Where “ storms with their blasts shall never frown,” And where “ the sun shall no more go down,” Of “ streets that are made of purest gold, Where nothing, no, nothing shall e’er grow old;” Till one could imagine a beckoning hand, And loved ones calling from that fair land, The words distinct and the tones sincere Were wafted far on the listening ear So loud and clear. It was full of life. The life that breathed from his inmost soul Swift over the waves to my lone heart stole. The way of his voice that is all his own Was the old, old way I had loved and known. He sang with his voice and mind and heart As if to others he would impart This truth of the life beyond the blue, And I listened in thrilled through and through, High lifted above the world of strife, Love, joy, and praise in my being rife, For I am his wife. [ 148 ] THE DOCTOR’S ONE-HOSS SHAY THE DOCTOR’S ONE-HOSS SHAY ’TWAS not like the deacon’s one-hoss shay, If appearances count for aught to-day, For the doctor had no pick and choice, And money at this time had no voice. ’Twas built not to last a hundred years, And one might be pardoned for doubts and fears. The snow was drifted from street to street, The banks were covered with ice and sleet, And Mr. Ford with his wonderful mind Is still in this matter far behind; An automobile we sadly need, That will push through the ice and snow with speed, For this is the age of rush and run, And the day of the old gray horse is done; But in a snowstorm, alas! alack! To the old gray nag we must still turn back, So each man needed his one-hoss shay, While some to the bone-yard hied away, And picked up the bones long resting there, And started them off to work somewhere. The doctor was in a sorry plight, For the snow was snowing all day and night; When his faithful Ford at the snowbanks balked, ’Twas the balkiest mule that ever walked, And the doctor might sit in the snowdrift yet, Except for that old gray mare he met. He smiled as he said in a doubtful way: “ That nag is a ‘ slow old coach ’ they say. [ 149 ] THE DOCTOR’S ONE-HOSS SHAY Well, she pulled me out of the snow and sleet, And landed me safely on my feet. But how am I going to get around ? ’Twill take her an age to cover the ground.” His wife with a shake of her dear wise head, Said, “ My dear, you had better go ahead, ’Tis better to go with an old jog trot, Than speed a little then stop in one spot.” So he mounted his time-worn one-hoss shay, And began at the rate of a mile a day, (Or so it seemed to his anxious mind, Compared with the car he had left behind.) He stepped on the throttle—it wasn’t there, Then he caught a glimpse of the old gray mare. “ Giddap! Giddap! ” But her step was slow. The word she understood best was “ Whoa! ” He pushed the lines and tickled her side, But she plodded on with the same old stride. Pneumonia, measles, and mumps must wait, She still trudged on with a steady gait. She turned her head and pricked up her ears. As if she would say, “ Oh, calm your fears, Young man, sit back and enjoy your ride, And learn a lesson from me beside. You’ll reach your patients as quick you know, Enjoying the scenery as you go. I may be a little out of date, But start me in time and I’m never late. As fast as you like your Ford will go, With no speedometer time to show, [ 150 ] MY BABY SISTER Eut she soon breaks down with this hurried life, While I plug on through the din and strife. The swift in the race may not always win, The sure-foot does at the head come in. “ I strive to obey my master’s word, Without the use of the whip and cord, As long as he doesn’t neglect my hay, I’ll keep on going from day to day, Do all the good that ever I can, And just as long as ever I can, For when time closes my earthly race, Some other old nag will take my place. I take it a slower and longer life, Would suit you better, young man, and your wife. The skill and knowledge at your command Are guided well by an Unseen Hand, So learn to rest and with patience wait— But -here we are at the measles gate.” The doctor patted the old gray mare, And dropped his burdensome load of care, Henceforth to do just his very best, And trust in Providence for the rest. MY BABY SISTER S HE’S the sweetest baby sister; Don’t you think the angels kissed her ’Fore they sent her down to me? Years and years it seemed I waited, Prayed to God ’most every day For a little baby brother, Till it seemed no use to pray. [ 151 ] MY BABY SISTER Guess He wanted to surprise me, And He heard me just the same, For when I got tired of praying, Then my baby sister came. Don’t you think it’s funny, Daddy, Tell me, can you tell me how, When I want a baby brother, I can be so happy now ? Seems to me no other baby Ever could be half so dear, She’s a real American beauty; I’m so glad God sent her here. See her eyes so blue and pretty, And she’s looking right at me! Does she know I’m her big sister ? There, she smiles! Oh, Daddy, see! Golden hair so soft and silky, Rosy lips just made to kiss, Tiny nose—here’s my best hankie, Think the baby can use this ? Cheeks that are as smooth as velvet, And so pink, just like a rose, Little hands so sweet and clinging, And the cutest wee, wee toes. I must go and fetch my Jippie, Jippie, doggie, come and see, Here’s a really truly baby, Come to play with you and me. [ 152 ] RUTH MABEL Oh, I love her so much, Jippie, But I love you just the same; I am going to call her Betty, Isn’t that a pretty name? Seems sometimes I must be dreaming, Oh, how dreadful I would feel, Should I wake to find some morning Sister isn’t really real! Sure she’s real—I heard her crying, Saw her take her dinner, too, She was hungry Mamma told me; Think that’s proof enough, don’t you ? She’s the sweetest baby sister, Don’t you think the angels missed her, When they sent her down to me ? RUTH MABEL A LITTLE cherub fair and sweet, My happiness is now complete, As you, O baby mine, I greet— My Ruth Mabel, Your dimpled cheeks, your eyes of blue. Your few stray locks of fairest hue, Your rosebud mouth—O kiss me, do. Sweet Ruth Mabel. Your darling little pinky toes, Your cutest tiniest pug nose; You’re pretty every way you pose, Dear Ruth Mabel. [ 153 ] CANADA FOR GOD AND RIGHT! To-day I laughed in greatest glee, I really think you smiled at me— The sweetest smile your Dad could see— Clever Ruth Mabel. How can I wait to hear you say: “ My Daddy ” in your own dear way, And watch you with your toys at play ? Darling Ruth Mabel. God sent you, dear, from Heaven above, As pure and gentle as a dove, You flew into our arms of love, Our Ruth Mabel. CANADA FOR GOD AND RIGHT! [Written for the “ Dominion Day War Cry,” Toronto, Canada, July 1, 1913.] TV/TARCH on! *■“ The clarion call to us is clear, No time to hesitate or fear, The need, the need is ever here, March on! Fair Canada, our vast domain, This natal day calls out again; Through verdant fields of velvet green, The need of workers may be seen; From fertile soil that lieth waste, The call is loud, “ Make haste! Make haste! ” Come, till the land and sow the seed, Abundance here for those in need. [ 154 ] THANK GOB FOR THE COUNTRY ' Her mines are rich in ore and gold, Her seas hold treasures all untold, Mountains in mineral wealth abound, Great lakes and rivers here are found, Dense forests towering toward the sky, For muscle, strength, and labour cry; Her years of peace and plenty past, Hope’s rays upon her future cast, March on! This land of liberty is ours, The fields, the birds, the bees, the flowers, Cry out with all their native powers, March on! Ye warriors of the living God, March in the path the saints have trod, Nor ever let your hands be slack, But Satan’s strongholds still attack; Our land must not be spoiled by sin, The people for our God we’ll win, And labouring on with all our might, Shout “ Canada for God and right! ” March on! THANK GOD FOR THE COUNTRY! T HANK God for the country, the vast stretch of land, Sun-kissed and by Heaven’s sweet breath ever fanned; Blue skies overlooking the grass and the trees, The singing of birds and the humming of bees. [ 155 ] THANK GOB FOR THE COUNTRY! ’Twas man made the skyscrapers, towering so high, That shut out the sunshine from all who pass by; The fields and green pastures, the brooks and the flowers, Were fashioned alike by omnipotent powers. ’Twas man built the tenements, crowding the poor, Where women and children foul air must endure; But God gave the open, the fresh country breeze, Where children may frolic and play as they please. ’Twas man made the movies, the picture and show That give to our children a death-dealing blow; But God made the country, real life on the farm, The beauties of nature for good and not harm. Twas man made the public-house gilded with sin, That beckons the youth of our land to come in; But God filled the country with beverage clear— Pure water and milk, and away with the beer! ’Twas man made the city, apartment and street, Where riches and poverty closely doth meet; But God gave the country, the rich fertile soil, And the fat of the land for all who will toil. Thank God for the country, the quiet and rest, The peace and the plenty with which it is blest, The ground and the grass for our pavement-tired feet, The honey and cream and the good things to eat. Thank God for the country, thrice blessed are they Who bathe in its glories and beauties to-day, Oh, short is our span in the city’s fast life! But hoary heads crowneth the farmer and wife. [ 156 ] " NO WASHING IN HEAVEN ” Then ho for the country, for summer is here! Its riches are plenty at this time of year; A breath of its sweet-scented life-giving air, Away to the wildwoods will scatter dull care. “ NO WASHING IN HEAVEN ” TVT O washin’ in hivin? ” sez Biddy to Pat, “ Now phwat is The Giniral manin’ boi that? Oi’ve washed till me finghers are blisthered an’ sore To kape the ould wolf might away from the door, Whoile you, Pat (Bad luck to yez), sit on yer sate Wid yer dirthy ould poipe, an’ a shtool fer yer fate. No washin’ in hivin? Indade it is me Will be glad whin the lasth bit o’ washin’ Oi see, They’re wearin’ whoite robes over there, too, they say; An’ shure Oi’d be washin’ yers, Pat, iviry day, Fancy you frum yer hed to yer fate all in whoite, An’ wid a black poipe, now ye wud be a soight.” “ Och, Biddy, dear; don’t be so hard on yer Pat, He’s yer own luvin’ hushban’ ye know fer all that; If ye’d listhen to phwat the good Giniral sed, An’ not think uv all yer ould washin’ insted; He shpake o’ the washin’ away uv our sin, It musth be dun here or we wud not git in; Och, Biddy, dear; Oi’m a poor sinful crayther (An’ ye are no bother thin Oi hev bin nayther). Here, Biddy, me darlint’s, moi heart and moi hand, Pet’s shtart us togither fer that hivinly land, An’ here is moi poipe, Oi will break it in two, An’ Oi’ll carry the hod fer the luv Oi bear you. [ 157 ] TAKE CARE! Yer washin’ is dun, its a ladhy ye’ll be, Oi’ll earn a good livin’ fer you and fer me; An’ shure whin The Giniral kums back nixt year, It’s Patrick an’ Biddy will wilkum him here.” TAKE CARE! AKE care of your pennies,” they tell me, “ The dollars will care for themselves.” And the pennies will grow Into dollars, you know, If placed on the uppermost shelves. Take care of your time, which is precious, Your years are made up of to-days. And each moment well spent Will bring joy and content, At the parting at last of the ways. Take care of your talents, God-given, For His glory use them alone, He will bless you the more, And add gifts to your store, And you’ll merit at last His “ Well done! ” Take care of your chances of service For God and humanity here, Count not one of them small, For the Ford giveth all, And rewardeth the true and sincere. [ 158 ] BEWARE l BEWARE! “ Take us the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines” —Song of Soujmon 2:15. T) EWARE of the sly little foxes, They ruin the prettiest vine; Just a nibble and bite, At first out of your sight, Till over spoiled branches you pine. Beware of the “ white lie ” so common, Of making things seem what they’re not; It will tarnish your name, You will blush with the shame, When you cannot erase such a blot. Beware of the world’s gay allurements, Though harmless they sometimes appear; Ask, “ What good will there be ? ” Not “ What harm there for me? ” Take heed to the answer you hear. Beware of that touch of the fashion, A frill here and furbelow there; Keep a distance away From the world every day; Beware of the sly tempter’s snare! Beware of the “ little sins,” comrade, Which only appear to be small; Like a canker they eat, Till your soul they defeat, And then, oh, how great is the fall! [ 159] DON’T LET HIM GET YOU AT LAST DON’T LET HIM GET YOU AT LAST A WARNING TO SALVATIONISTS O LD Satan is sly as a fox, He’s watching to give you some knocks; Then don’t be a-sleeping when he comes a-creeping, For he wants to get you at last. Old Satan dislikes all your zeal, You so often make him to squeal; The coals he is raking to give you a baking, If he only gets you at last. Old Satan he walks to and fro, He travels as fast as you go; A-tempting, a-teasing, he tries to be pleasing; Oh, don’t let him get you at last. Old Satan knows when you feel weak, And false words of comfort will speak; If you start a-whining, his face will be shining, For he’ll think he’s got you at last. Old Satan he offers you gold, “ You’ll need it,” he says, “ When you’re old; As poor as a church mouse, you’ll die in the work- house.” But he wants to get you at last. Old Satan he never gets tired, He stays on the job till he’s fired; His plans he is laying—you keep on a-praying— And don’t let him get you at last. Printed in the United States of America [ 160 ] V t * ■ * . , LIBRARY OF CONGRESS

20008222

The school of sympathy; reminiscences in essay and verse,

Arnold, Julian Biddulph

schoolofsympathy00arno_djvu.txt

Book.JB_SL_9^L_S ^ eopiglrtN" igj^« . CDE^IGHT DEPOSIT. ♦% THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY Need there groan a world in anguish just to teach us sympathy? R. Browning THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY REMINISCENCES IN ESSAY AND VERSE BY JULIAN B. ARNOLD AUTHOR OF "palms AND TEMPLES," ETC. BOSTON MARSHALL JONES COMPANY MDCCCCXX COPYRIGHT • 1920 • BY MARSHALL JONES COMPANY THE PLIMPTON PRESS • NORWOOD • MASS • U • 8 • A MAY 10 rb2u ©CU565897 To my Wife MY UNFAILING SOURCE OF SYMPATHY I DEDICATE THESE WRITTEN THOUGHTS PREFACE Horas non numero nisi serenas Shadows of our years go drifting by. Across the lawns of memory, where lie Leaves long fallen, whispering as they fly Of an eternal Sun. Shadows of our moods, seeking to belie The braver path and guide our steps awry. Rive^them with smiles; knowing in yonder sky Reigneth the Sun. Shadows of our souls which would deny That flowers grow by rain. Ah, cease to sigh At ills beneficent. Lift faces high. Kissed by the Sun. CONTENTS CHAFFEB PAGB I. In the School of Sympathy . 1 II. When Sympathy Walks Delicately 8 III. The Gamut of Sympathy . . 13 IV. In the Garden of Life ... 18 V. The Assurance of Genius . . 20 VI. Our Magic Carpets .... 32 VII. The Ascension of Song ... 38 VIII. Rheims Cathedral .... 47 IX. The Other Side of the Moon 50 X. When the World Was Young . 56 XI. Knowledge 65 XII. Beginning Our Year ... 69 XIII. The Veil of Astarte ... 75 XIV. The Brook of Revelations . . 84 XV. A Parable 88 XVI. A Romany Prophet .... 91 XVII. Where Life and Death Are Neighbors 97 XVIII. The Morning Sigh of Memnon. 103 XIX. Light and Shadow .... 108 XX. By Him who Sleeps at Phil^ 117 XXI. Play Out the Game . . . , 128 THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY T IN THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY The secret sympathy. The silver link, the silken tie, "WTiich heart to heart and mind to mind In body and in soul can bind. IN our welded language there are words, which, through long and careless usage, have acquired a variety of meanings ; while others show a native insularity, rigidly keeping to themselves. This is partly due to the in- herent disposition of words, for all words have their individual temperaments and not only in their features but in their traits betray their parentage, and their bringing-up. Who, for instance, would venture to trifle with the gra- cious but severe aloofness of the word home? It was born in an Aryan tribe, to whose body- politic the family unit was the soul, and it has never forgotten its lonely childhood in the glades of Gothic forests. Around its wild cradle were ranged highly developed civilizations striv- THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY ing for unification and the mastery of the world. To them the widening State was home. The thought implied by this fair-haired Gothic word could find no closer synonym on Roman lips than the dark-haired word domus — as if a house were necessarily a home — and Rome has bequeathed to the modern Spaniard only the word hogar (a hearth), while French lips cam- ouflage the idea under the expression cliez nous. Many words display this reservation of char- acter, and like Csesar's wife must ever be above suspicion. Other words are bolder. They go forth into the world and become accomplished in new uses, helping men to convey their thoughts in clearer ways; while others sink to levels so base that one sorrows to see or hear them. These latter were once able assistants of the mind, but they have suffered wrong by those who set them to unworthy tasks or crippled them and have lost their birthright. Occasionally a word grows frivolous. It becomes a buffoon, as in the modern misusage of "blooming" which bars it from sedate service. Only with extreme diffi- dence would one now hail the "blooming Spring" or invite his associates to "Up and follow him to win a blooming bride." _ _____ IN THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY In another category altogether are some words, patrician in their origin and born to destinies of power and helpfulness. Among them we may always recognize the title of this essay ; a word having great possessions yet ever bounteous to the poor. Since its birth in Greece forty centuries ago it has inherited much abstract thought and embraced many meanings. But they have always been generous and big-hearted. How should it be otherwise with a word that was born of such parentage as Syn and Pathos, with feeling? Whatever limi- tations this word may once have had, it has none now. For each of us it infers the founda- tion of compassionate thoughts and deeds. If there were truth in the adage that the purpose of a coat is to cover a multitude of sins, we may balance the equation by asserting that a cloak of sympathy covers countless graces. Like the rays of the sun which seem only to lighten the world in the daytime but live in the dark heart of coal or in the closed flower in its midnight sleep, so sympathy, in its variant phases, is the basic cause of nearly all our kindlier attitudes of mind. Indeed it would be difficult to aim, even distantly, at the fulfillment of that com- plex commandment "thou shalt love thy neigh- __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY bor as thyself" if evolution had not saturated us with sympathetic knowledge of what our neighbor asks. Some years ago in London at one of those salons where gather, by a sort of mental capil- lary attraction, the men and women famous in current history, I overheard an exquisite use of this word sympathy in its broader sense. I was conversing with the author of The Light of Asia, when our hostess naively asked him, "In which of all the many lands you have visited did you find and bring away your pretty manners?" "Madame, if I have any such possessions other than in your kind belief, I did not need to seek them in travel ; I found them nearer your- self." "Then you shall tell me where this mag- netized spot may be, and my children shall play there, for the benefit of posterity." "Truly it is a playground for children as well as for those grown up. But seriously, if I tell you, you will not betray my secret, will you.?" "Indeed I will not." "Very well. When I was a little boy I went to a school, still flourishing, which was kept by IN THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY a lady; and there I learnt a number of things which have been useful to myself and I trust to others." "Oh, do tell me her name, you said you would." "Yes, but you will not tell?" "No indeed I will not ; I promise, except that my children shall certainly go there. You could not mind that I am sure?" "Madame, they will go there I know, having so sweet a mother. The school was kept by Dame Sympathy." How much is hidden beneath that word. It had been the talisman of a long and varied career and had carried its wearer into the hearts of millions of men. Yet it was confided as a secret, for sympathy is curiously shy. Demurely it takes by-paths to its goal rather than the crowded roads, and is ever diffident of letting the left hand know what the right hand doeth. Its nature is so; but probably past centuries of narrow dogma, wherein more gen- erous ideas expressed themselves covertly, have helped to ingrain in men the habit of hiding their feelings. Like the Spartan boy bearing the fox in his bosom, the wounds of sympathy had, in past ages, often to be borne in silence. __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY Can anyone imagine that above the blood- lust which hovered like some foul miasma over the gladiatorial displays of Rome there did not ascend a radiant mist of sympathetic thoughts ; radiant as the arc of promise, misty as the eyes of Eon weeping for her slain Memnon? The Vestal virgins might turn their thumbs downwards dooming the fallen to death, but many a gentler wish went forth to spare, lead- ing to a dawn when the Coliseum should be remembered only as a madness of the night. So must it have been with many a dark page of history. Even a modern crowd is sometimes sphinx-like in betraying its real leanings until some sudden spark fires the impulse of its sym- pathies. And like the crowd, the individual too often wears an impassive mask, disguising the evolving soul. We hail the event which tears from us or from others the shadows of this mask, and shows the light shining in the eyes of the heart. Truth dwelleth not alone at the bottom of her well. But the writing on faces is not for all to read. A charming story was told by John Ruskin to show how blind may be even the most sympathetic eyes. He was traveling in a rail- way car and had taken his seat opposite a man IN THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY whose features distressed him by their plain- ness and even harsh lines. Presently his fellow traveler dropped his paper, and the great es- sayist picked it up and handed it back to him. As he did so his companion thanked him with such a smile that inwardly Ruskin said "Merci- ful gods, what a glorious face ; and what a fool I was." [7.] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY II WHEN SYMPATHY WALKS DELICATELY The more we know, the better we forgive, Who'er feels deeply, feels for all who live. A NOTABLE quality of sympathy is its proneness to walk delicately. It has been said that the sympathy which con- tains a vestige of pity is not true sympathy, and the phrase aptly indicates a desire to go about its compassionate business as quietly as possible. Like the violet it hastens to solace the hurts of winter, But hides the while under tender leaves Which must spread broad in other suns, and lift In later lives a crowned head to the sky. In the anxiety which sympathy displays not to be recognized it will screen its identity, or like Victor Hugo, when his little granddaughter was put into the closet for some delinquency, it will wait until the stern authorities are not looking and then slip a box of chocolates into _ SYMPATHY WALKS DELICATELY the wrong-doer's hand. For sympathy is an incorrigible contravener of the law. This solicitude of sympathy to escape atten- tion may be illustrated in the following recol- lection. The scene is a dinner party in London about twentj'-five years ago. Amongst the guests was John Ruskin, whom the cultured public knows as a great critic, and the sub- merged world knew as a man who gave his fortune away in charities. Ruskin had been saying that it was a mistake to give alms at random, and that men should imitate the gods and help only those who helped themselves. It was inevitable that Olympus, thus invoked, should hear and protest ; and the bolt of Zeus fell in this wise. Opposite Ruskin was sitting the editor of a great London newspaper, wielding in those days probably as large a measure of influence in British affairs as any Cabinet minister. With a grave face, but humorous twinkle in his eyes, he turned to our host saying: "What Mr. Ruskin alleges as the creed of charity is possibly practiced by some, happily not by many, certainly not by himself. If I may be temporarily shielded from the arrows of such a contestant, I will relate a little story THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY which may support my denial of his assertion and induce him to cry with Benedict 'A mir- acle, our hands against our hearts.' "Some years ago there was heard in one of our magistrate's courts a case affecting wide interests, sordid in its details but so important in its bearings that it drew to that minor court many men whose studies led them to take note of such things. There were, of course, sundry smaller eases to be dealt with before the cause celehre; the pitiful flotsam and jetsam of a great city washed into these magisterial eddies on the morning tide. *' Amongst the onlookers, thus induced to visit this clearing-house of sorrow, were two men seated together in the well of the court, keenly observant of all that passed before them. The minor cases were swiftly disposed of; drunken- ness, thefts, and the many discords of life; when a final delinquent was placed on the pris- oner's stand, a fine young fellow endowed by nature to be the builder of gladness for himself and others, but now ragged, blear-eyed and corrupted with evil communications. The charge against him was that of knocking his wife down and grievously assaulting her in a fit of drunkenness. With the abruptness of SYMPATHY WALKS DELICATELY justice thus dispensed the only witness was at once called — his wife. She took her place in the grim scene, a mere child in years, with her pretty face full of suppressed tears; and like some graceful animal caught in the hunter's snare she gazed frightenedly at those around her, the magistrate and the unknown crowd, and then her eyes timidly sought the prisoner's box — and met his ! "Who may know what thoughts of anger filled her heart when she stepped into the wit- ness box ; but neither heart nor face had anger in them now. Behind the tearful eyes there was a tenderness which lit their sadness and bade her heart forgive this her Calvary. Vaguely she heard her name called by the official of the court, and her evidence demanded. In silence she continued to look towards the place where stood the man she loved. "Then the magistrate asked, *Is it true that the prisoner knocked you down, and treated you so violently and badly? Do not be afraid; teUme.' "The gentleness of the tone awakened her from mental vales where love was blind with its own tears to the realities around her — to be transmuted by that love. For with an utter _ __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY abandonment of fear she suddenly stretched out her arms, crying, 'Oh, no, no, no, Sir, it is not true; he could not really mean to hurt me. It is not true ; give him back to me.' "And the wise magistrate gave him back to her. "But in the well of that court one of the two watchers of this scene whispered to the other, 'Friend, you are the editor of a great news- paper. Start a subscription for that pair. Set them up in a clean and happy life ; so shall the good God bless you. Here is my contribu- tion to the fund you will collect.' "Kind host, the man who started that fund which has given to that pair of lovers a useful and glad life in one of Britain's great colonies was Mr, Ruskin ; I was only the editor, the in- strument of a creed more gracious than the one he offered just now as the mask which sympathy ofttimes holds before her face." [ 12 ] THE GAMUT OF SYMPATHY III THE GAMUT OF SYMPATHY There is in souls a sympathy with sounds And as the mind is pitched the ear is pleased. SYMPATHIES which are aroused in us by scenes, colors, sounds and scents afford food for thought. I once took some care to ascertain what colors were preferred by lead- ing thinkers and artists of our time, and the results were curiously indicative of the chooser's mind. Several poets and men of science loved the clearer tints of yellow. The author of the Light of Asia had an Oriental passion for all colors, but rapturously praised, *'the melted gold of the morning sun, the yellow sheen of the Buddhist robe, the ochre of a waving field of wheat." The accepted color of intellectuality was strong in the sympathetic thoughts of such men. With novelists and dramatists I found that deep reds were favorite tints. The late Charles Reade saw life phrased "in the carmines of the [ 13 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY setting sun," Clark Russell sensed it *'in the pinks with which the dawn paints the sky,"while a popular lady novelist, Mrs. Lynn Lynton, gave me quite a lecture on the pageantry of history which to her eyes was conjured forth upon the sight of purple; "That royal, regnant purple," she said, "which is the color of the robes of princes, the imperial border of the toga, the gift of the sea-gods who gave pearls to queens but the treasure of the shells of Tyre and Sidon to kings." Of sounds the sympathetic powers seem still more subtle, and reach higher than the realms of mundane music. With some this gift is but slightly developed. Others are so responsive that sounds for them have close affinities with color vibrations and their ears are almost as sensitive as microphones. I have heard a noted violinist, Signor Romane, stop in the middle of an important solo because the almost inaudible rumble of a distant carriage marred the con- cord between himself and his violin. The same maestro told me that being overtaken by a storm he sought shelter in a barn, and whilst there was so impressed by the majesty of the thunder that he took his violin from its case and sought to reproduce the rolling tones. At last attain- -_ THE GAMUT OF SYMPATHY ing success he cried exultantly, "I have it, I have it ; now I can talk with God." The famous operatic singer, Madam Gomez, confided to me that there were certain notes in her voice which could never be happily wedded to French, and other notes which obstinately refused to speak in English, but that it had always been a delight to her to sing from her heart the vowels of Italian. Such instances are, perhaps, the expressions of physical enjoyment experienced by musicians in the exercise of their art, rather than expositions of sympathy. There are sounds, however, which reach us not always by the ear; delicate notes finding re- sponsive vibrations in our inmost souls which wake far memories or bear us to the skies upon the rhythm of eternal harmonies. And scents! Why have the poets, in their multitude of odes and sonnets, conspired to omit all mention of the nose? Lorenzo de Medici was as original in poesy as in the man- agement of Florentine politics when he wrote of Nencia, Her eyes! and twixt them comes the winsome nose "With proud pink nostrils like the pits in a rose. The nose is by no means negligible. Many THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY people are extremely sensitive to perfumes. The incense-laden air of a cathedral, the smell of pines and woodlands, or the scented gratitude of field and hedgerow when rain has fallen strike chords in their inner consciousness. Memories long dormant are aroused, or past scenes re- called by some chance encounter with a par- ticular odor. Persons with artistic tempera- ments are especially susceptible to perfumes, as if there were some sympathetic association be- tween the appreciation of beauty and the vi- brations set up by these elusive and delicate aromas. For myself I occasionally pass within the magic sway of some scent which instan- taneously wafts me to lands wherein I wandered long years ago. Wood smoke mingled with the breath of the sea, and what else I know not, bears me away to the Fjords of Norway; or the dust of a country road trembling in the sunbeams of a summer-day and charged with the pollen of clover, will whisper "Your feet tread again the sands of Egypt, and the Lord of thy Heaven is Ammon." Verily the field of sympathy has no boun- dary. Ultimately, it may prove to be the subtlest law of growth, boundless as infinitude, continuing as eternity, more omnipotent than [ 16 ] THE GAMUT OF SYMPATHY the faith which moveth mountains. No depths beneath us, no sanctuaries above deter it. Downward it carries us beyond the wraiths of earliest forms of life held in archean granites ; down to the buried silt of primal oceans grieved with such weight of superincumbent hills that out of pressure and dull pain this ooze evolves as marble, tinted as the mists of sunrise. Upward our sympathy has endless range. Upon the wings of the young-eyed soul it mounts unfettered. Across the silver-atoUed wastes of heaven it voyages unchallenged. With the spiral of the moving stars it climbs to that far vortex of time and space where dwells the brooding Power of Good. For surely if the lowest note in the cosmic scale entreats sym- pathy of us shall not the highest ask it also? If, as a law of physics, it be true that a child stamping on its nursery floor sets in motion vibrations which are sensed by the farthest planet of our system, shall not the forces fo- cused in sympathy aid not only all that is but also Him.? [ 17 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY IV IN THE GARDEN OF LIFE PRIVATE GEORGE HUBBS, late of the Ypres sector, lay a-dying in the base hospital. "Do you think, Nurse, that there is any chance for me?" he asked. And the Nurse, aware of his approaching death, an- swered, "Yours is a serious case but the Doctor never loses hope, nor would he wish you to do so." "I was not thinking of my body. Nurse. I saw the White Christ walking in the trench an hour before I got my ticket to the West and I will obey the Great Doctor and hope. Will you give me one of those flowers to — to take with me.?" WHAT THE FLOWER SAID TO PRIVATE HUBBS And She supposing Him the Gardener; Fool, as if God's Son, Cares for the fiowers that are done. Ah! But He cares; And in the garden of His heart __ IN THE GARDEN OF LIFE The humblest life finds tendence, and its part Is spaced, wherein it grows towards beauty. He watcheth How the Sower's hands Scatter the souls of men amid the lands Each in its fitting clime and time — Seedlings of Heaven, linking harvests past and yet to be — Clad in their husks and shells, Discarded ere the full bloom tells The guerdon of a season's life, And gain of strife. He knoweth The needs of aU within that garden wide And guardeth each. Ever what best betide That He bestoweth: Sending fair winds, the beat of angel wings. Filled with the hope that brings A zest to effort. Using the tears of life, like rain From passing clouds, to teach The buds of aspiration, seek and gain The sun-lit kiss of God. He Ufteth The drooping stem; the tendril sees And guides its weakling arms to heights above The tangled growths; And where the light and sunshine promise love Their small hands setteth. From weeds and briars His garden frees: Protecting and persuading till the tears Of storms are past, and each life rears Its heart of gold to face the golden Sun And smile in beauty toward the Light: Ah ! But He cares. [ 19 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY THE ASSURANCE OF GENIUS What is genius but deep feeling Waken'd by passion, to revealing? GENIUS has much conscience but little morality. Like the prism thrown upon a wall by the chance moving of a glass it enthralls us with the display of its own in- timacy with light ; yet in nowise will it endure obstruction. In the realms of its own expres- sion, whether of science, of literature or of art, fear is as foreign to its purpose as insincerity, but it suffers sorely under the conventionalities which constrain those who climb on lowlier paths. Biography sparkles with instances, for by grace divine the cycles of mankind's dark- ness have been lit by a myriad wayward stars of genius whose light evades the law of vibra- tory waves and is both instant and continuing. To the constellation that shone above my natal hour I turn my mental telescope and watch a single star, the late Sir Edwin Arnold. Some acquaintance with the assurance of his genius may not alone exemplify the title of this inadequate sketch but also prove of interest. It [ 20 ] THE ASSURANCE OF GENIUS may be said of most men that they are moulded by their environment and of a few that they bend their environment to themselves. In a marked degree the author of The Light of Asia belonged to the latter type. Reared in that atmosphere of dogmatic beliefs and dull con- servatism which obtained in the homes of Eng- lish country squires of the Victorian era, his earliest instincts freed him from its thralldom, and steeped his mind with tales of the enchanted lands of Asia. A pentecostal gift of tongues descended upon him. As a child he invested in a bilingual Greek and Latin testament, teaching himself to follow in those languages the epistles in his village church. Then he purchased a Hebrew grammar, learning a page of it each day until he could read the Talmud in the vernacular. Other languages were as readily acquired, until in the course of years he was eloquent in twenty. But always he had, in Elizabeth's phrase, foul scorn of grammars. Often he would say, "We learn the tender strength of language at our mother's knee and grow to love its beauty and revere its power. Then from the shadows of life creeps forth an assassin who stabs it in the back, and his name is Grammarian. If you must wrong language by [ 21 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY listening to the cold analysis of grammar do so, but as soon as may be throw the grammar over the garden wall and get back to some master writer of the tongue you would learn and follow him with a dictionary." Truly a rebellious scholar. So in poetry his orbit was elliptic. He lisped in numbers for the numbers came, and his earlier poems brought him into literary inti- macy with Victor Hugo, Emerson, Swinburne and others of the galactic plane he traversed. But his first public triumph (an instructive in- stance of the assurance of genius) occurred on his taking the Newdigate prize at Oxford with his poem, The Feast of Belshazzar. According to the Oxford custom it was recited by the author in the Sheldonian Theatre and its unusual vigor and wealth of expression at once secured for it wide acknowledgment. But in the circles of scholarship its erudition ap- peared so remarkable that the Wise Men of the University sought from the young poet infor- mation concerning the sources of the Akkadian and Babylonian names which add such racial colour to the verses. In complimenting him on the word-picture which he had painted of the fall of the Chaldean power one of his interro- [22] THE ASSURANCE OF GENIUS gators quoted the lines: No lack of goodly company was there. No lack of laughing eyes to light the cheer; From Dara trooped they, from Daremma's grove The suns of battle and the moons of love; From where Arrissia's silver waters sleep To Imla's marshes and the inland deep; From pleasant Calah and from Sittacene The horseman's captain and the harem's queen. To the conclave of learned Dons he suavely answered that the scattered nature of his read- ings forbade his remembering at the moment the actual sources of these references. But in after years he confessed to the writer of this tribute to his brilliant if unconventional mind that he coined all these Chaldean names to suit the scanning of his lines. It was worthy of a David Chatterton thus to beard the Assyriologists in their den. This poem made its impress also upon the mind of a young actor, afterwards to be known to fame as Sir Henry Irving. Of the many recitative pieces in his repertoire this remained his favorite, and it formed the initial link in an enduring friendship between the author and its gifted interpreter. During the residence of the poet in Japan he wrote for Irving the Samurai tragedy of Adzuma; sending the play to me to __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY arrange for its public rendering at the Lyceum. But in the conversations which I had with Irving on this matter we encountered numerous technical difficulties connected with the trans- planting to the boards of a London theatre a work so oriental in thought and setting, and the dramatic death of Irving at Bradford abruptly terminated our efforts towards its production. Amongst those also present at the first read- ing of the Feast of Belshazzar in the Sheldonian Theatre was Benjamin Disraeli, then just rising to fame and destined to become as the Earl of Beaconsfield and Premier of Great Britain one of the great figures of the Victorian age. On being introduced to the hero of the day the future Prime Minister said, in his somewhat florid diction, "Young Sir, I congratulate you. The heights of Parnassus call you; other heights call me. In the years that are coming both of us will answer to their summons, and from the benches of Literature and State we will wave again our salutations of this day." Verily the assurance of genius has at times the vision of prophecy. The pen of the young author was destined to prove a potent helper to the policies of Disraeli; and on the brows of [24] THE ASSURANCE OF GENIUS both these men was written the ultimate ful- fiHment of the promise to renew their saluta- tions. It happened in this wise. Long afterwards when the nations of the world awaited anxiously the outcome of certain intricate and dangerous negotiations arising from the errors of the Con- gress of Berlin there came a day when the bal- ancing of the conflicting national interests hung upon the decision which would be pronounced at the impending opening of Parliament. Upon the wording of the "speech from the throne" which would open the deliberations of Parlia- ment depended in large measure whether the dogs of war could be held in leash or whether they must be loosed and make a shambles of Europe. Two nights before the fateful date I was dining with Sir Edwin discussing the omens, for as the editor of the leading London newspaper and one of the keenest judges of his country's mood, no man was more eminently fitted to act as oracle at this hour. So must have thought the all-powerful Prime Minister, Lord Beaconsfield, for in the midst of our con- versation a messenger arrived from Downing Street inviting Sir Edwin to draft the history- making speech which should proclaim to the [ 25 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY world the British policy and still the storm. Clear was the vision which had foreseen the day when from the benches of Literature and State these two men, so different in temperaments yet so conscious of their innate strength, would wave again their salutations. In the paths of travel the assurance of genius bore our subject unscathed by field and flood. Touristdom was to him an abomination, and he objected to taking the same road twice if an alternative way might be found; but once en voyage no untoward circumstance could aifect his serene temper. It was my privilege to wander with him in many countries, and always he fulfilled his axiom that the man who does not live in heart a boy never was born one. I have seen him supremely at home in a native mule cart on the frontiers of Morocco ; saluting the viking-gods as he sailed his fishing smack through the angers of the North Sea ; quoting Tacitus as his authority for the building of a log hut on the marge of a fjord in Norway; sitting cross-legged in an Aleppo shop the whilst he discussed politics with a malignant and unturbaned Turk; seated at the campfire of a Bedaween village after our dahabeah had been wrecked on the Nile; tramping through [26] THE ASSURANCE OF GENIUS Wales with a couple of donkeys which we had commandeered to carry our knapsacks ; and in a score of other abnormal situations none of which might disturb the assurance of his phil- osophy. As a conversationalist he was, of course, noted for his brilliancy and depth, but always there lurked in his phrases some surprise, some happy radio-quality which saw profoundly, lit keenly, and straightway upset accepted the- ories. His wit had a rapier suddenness but ever carried a button at its point lest it should hurt. I do not think that anyone ever knew him to utter an ungracious comment of earth or sky or sea or anything that therein is. On one occasion I recollect that his fellow guests were laughing at the vagaries of dudes and mashers, and someone invited the opinion of the grave but kindly poet. He answered simply, "If a young gentleman thinks that it is the right thing to walk abroad with a large expanse of shirt front and an assertive diamond glistening in its midst — if he really thinks that this is the right thing to do, and does it ; how sweet of him!" In graver style he would courteously but logically defend large theories. To the too __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY sweeping demand of the late W. E. Gladstone, "Of course, Sir Edwin, you will grant that Europe was appointed for the Christians," I heard him reply, "Certainly, but on one con- dition." "And what may be your condition?" asked Gladstone. "That you will grant that Asia was appointed — for whom shall we say, Buddhists, Brahmins, Moslems, Shinto-wor- shippers?" "By no means can I grant you that." "Then, Mr. Gladstone, I fear that I cannot accept your major premises." Nor was his pen less ready than his speech. He scattered verses as a steel turning lathe showers its sparks. Countless graceful and un- published poems of his lie perdu in birthday volumes and autograph collections, while the hotel books of every land contain his variorum notce in witty and pertinent poesy. Thought with him clothed itself instantly in apt expres- sion. I once handed him an evening newspaper, pointing out a paragraph which mentioned that Mr. Colman, of mustard fame, had just been knighted. Taking a pencil from his pocket he wrote on the margin of the paper without a moment's hesitation. Oh, new-made Knight of Colman's mustard, The meaning of this badge we see, [ 28 J THE ASSURANCE OF GENIU How many a knight who fought and blustered. Hath wept and yielded meeting thee. To the usual accessories of a man of letters he was wholly indifferent. His books were mainly composed in the unconsidered trifles of time. They assisted to bind together the ac- tivities of a life built of large affairs. The Light of Asia, in its first rough condition, was written in odd minutes on the backs of en- velopes, the margins of newspapers and his shirt cuffs. If his pencil broke or the quill pen grew moody he turned it round and dipping the blunt end into the ink pot would proceed uncon- cernedly with the composition. In the absence of any such implement I have heard him re- mark, "What, no pen? well, bring me the kitchen poker." Books gathered unto him as cosmic dust settles upon our whirling planet; but though he absorbed literature, he would seldom read a book twice, and he gave away his libraries as fast as they accumulated. At the shrines of art, science, literature and scholarship he worshipped as an adept, yet to no dogmas would he subscribe, nor yield to prejudices. The wonder and charm of his versatility was that it gave no impression of feverish willingness, no sense of unnatural [ 29 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY strain. He passed easilj^ and joyously from one of his manifold intellectual activities to an- other without apparent fatigue and with a temper of imperturbable sweetness. Let me close this brief sketch of one who showed so well the assurance of genius, by re- calling a walk with him amid the ruins of the Acropolis at Athens. It had been one of those typical midwinter days of the ^gean coasts when the sunlight lies lovingly upon the altars of ancient Greece and the shadows of the cy- press trees speak of her modern sorrows. Wan- dering amongst some stone-work, tumbled by cannon shot in the war with Turkey, the poet chanced to see, peering at him from beneath a broken capital, the skull of a Turk. Seating himself upon a fallen column and using the white surface of the cranium as his tablet, he wrote, without effort or erasure, the noted "Dedication to a Skull," which ends with the lines : Call not me a thing of the clod! The Parthenon owned no such plan! Man made that temple for a God, God made these temples for a man! Handing to me the skull thus inscribed (I had it mounted as a vase) he picked up a piece THE ASSURANCE OF GENIUS of stone, some fragment cast down by time or siege from the Acropolis, and prompted doubt- less by its shape, proceeded to carve it with the chisel in a pocket knife, producing in little time an excellent replica of the helmeted head of Pallas Athene. As the shadows of evening lengthened he sketched, upon the fly-leaf of a book, the temple-crowned Acropolis, and at a later date, transformed this sketch into a large oil-painting, a masterful and sympathetic ren- dering of the scene, with the dark foreground of modern Greece contrasted against the white and ghostly temples enthroned upon the rock of the Acropolis, canopied by a cloud-flecked sky from which the silver orb of Diana peeped in watchful guidance of her daughters. No es todo plata que reluce. Recently I sent this picture to be cleaned and the dismayed expert notified me that the moon had incontinently come off in the cleaning! It had proved to be merely a torn disc of white paper pasted at the edge of a cloud, some after-thought of the artist seeking to give to his work the touch which seemed to him lacking. Ah, well; the moon, though a thing of beauty, is subject to eclipse, but the assurance of genius is a joy forever. [ 31 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY VI OUR MAGIC CARPETS Our thoughts are boundless as our souls are free. Byron TO each of us at birth is given a magic carpet, swifter and more wondrous than any described by Shahrazad. On the looms of thought it is woven; its woof is spun from memories, its warp is made from the many- hued skein of imagination. Summoned by the mental process of intent or by some uncon- trolled and momentary reminiscence it bears us instantly away. Its knowledge of all paths by land and sea and air grows with our own learn- ing and experiences, yet in no wise is it bound by limitations save the retarding weight of our own doubts. No frontiers bar its passage; no distance daunts it ; nor does it grant us time to consider the marvel of its speed and faithfulness. We think of some scene, some condition, and [ 32 ] OUR MAGIC CARPETS straightway we are there, environed by the colors, sounds and movements pertinent to the place. What is not true to the circumstances of our quest dies upon the rushing wind of swift passage, for our magic carpet derives its movement from a thought and jettisons all that is not of it. No possession in life is more gracious to each of us than this. It acknowledges neither wealth nor poverty. It obeys the bidding of the cripple as readily as the summons of the strong. It is the unfailing associate of childhood, the remind- ful comforter of old age, the inexhaustible teacher of our years of action. How else should the artist sense the depths of his unpainted canvas ; or the sculptor see the contours of his statue in the rough-hewn block of marble; or the dramatist fill his empty stage with living figures ; or the novelist witness the episodes of his unwritten story ; or the historian recall the smoke of burning cities sacked by the foe, the smiling landscape of prosperous days, the clash and havoc of war and the solemn conclaves of peace. Nay more ; the artist, sculptor, drama- tist, novelist and historian may bear us to the realms of their conducting thoughts. They point the path which we may follow, for all true [ 33 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY works of art are their own sufficient guide books. It has been my privilege to travel thus on carpets magical with many of the master pilots of my time in the fields of science, literature, art and geographical discovery. The late Sir William Crookes used to bring to my father's house his half completed inventions, and as a boy, my soul breathless with expectation, I watched him perfect his radiometer and in later years those delicate instruments which wrested secrets from the quiet lips of Nature. I have sat in studios whilst some of the notable pic- tures of the age were painted, such as "The Roll Call" by Elizabeth Thompson. I have assisted in the organization of the expeditions which enabled Sir Henry M. Stanley to map the heart of Africa, and the late George Smith to excavate the buried cities of Assyria. I have been an intimate witness of the writing of many famous books, like The Light of Asia, which today enrich our libraries. And ever at a sign from the master of tool, brush, pencil or pen, as the mahout wields his ankus, our magic carpets have borne us on the winds of science beyond the murky atmospheres of earth to the sun-starred meadows of light, or carried us __ OUR MAGIC CARPETS from peaceful studios to the grim battlefields of the Crimea, or transformed the sombre fur- nishings of a London home to the green and golden sward beneath the Bodi tree where sat the supreme and gentle Teacher of India. Perhaps the most striking instance that I can recall of the mind being, in Milton's phrase, **its own place," was evidenced for me in the writing of The Voyage of Ithobal, by the late Sir Edwin Arnold. That book, it will be re- membered, describes in verse the adventures of certain Phoenicians who undertook, at the com- mand of Pharoah Neco of Egypt, the first re- corded circumnavigation of Africa. The account is given by Herodotus who states, in his terse, quaint style, that "the Phoenicians, setting out from the Red Sea, navigated the Southern Sea; when autumn came, they went ashore and sowed the land, by whatever part of Libya they happened to be sailing, and waited for the harvest ; and having reaped the corn, they put to sea again. When two years had thus passed, in the third, having doubled the Pillars of Hercules, they arrived in Egypt, and related that as they sailed round Libya, they had the Sun on their right hand." Of this voyage, the poet builds the detailed THE SCHOOX OP SYMPATHY story. It was his last work and was dictated when illness had rendered him totally blind. Nevertheless, with the inward vision which is ours when we travel upon our magic carpets, he describes the preparation of the expedition on the shores of the Red Sea and follows its fortunes around the continent of mystery until the worn oars of his Phoenician sailors are shipped and the ragged sails of their boats flap triumphant at the Nile's mouth. Each fea- ture of the immense coast line is explored ; the different tribes are accurately portrayed ; their greetings to the mariners are interpreted from the viewpoint of those who worshipped Baal and Astarte; strange animals and birds move across the pages of the poem ; and all its world is clothed with the variant verdure of Africa. It is not so much a book as a canvas painted with words ; a changeful scape of land and sea, an epitome of African color, sound and life. So true is its sympathy with the setting that when Sir Henry M. Stanley quietly entered the library of the blind poet and heard him dictating some passages descriptive of the Swahili coast, he laid his hand upon the shoulder of his friend and said, "Arnold, it is you, not I, who know that land so well," and [ 36] OUR MAGIC CARPETS the poet answered as simply, "Stanley, I have learned that the eyes are keenest when they look within." Oh, Shahrazad, gracious guide in many an enchanted land, boast not of your magic carpets, for each of us possesses one. [37 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY VII THE ASCENSION OF SONG Now the daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne were nine and ever they sing of the deeds of gods and men. Hesiod Then sang Deborah, I will sing praises unto the Lord God of Israel, Before whom the earth trembled, yea, trembled when He went'st forth. The heavens and the clouds dropped water; And Kishon, the ancient river Kishon, swept them away; Even the kings who fought by the waters of Megiddo. Their horsehoofs were broken by means of the prancings. Oh my soul, Thou hast trodden down strength. Awake, awake, Deborah, awake, awake. Utter a Song. CAN we not still hear the song of Deborah, as, forgetting bodily weariness in her elation, she leads the cymbal players be- fore her battle-torn and victorious Israelites.? Who would seek the faint emotions which, like will-o'-the-wisps, flicker o'er the shallows of modern fiction, when from the cliifs of time reverberate echoes of episodes enshrined in song such as hers ; songs which have stirred, and for aeons will stir, the imagination of nations? __ THE ASCENSION OF SONG For had not Jabin, who reigned in Hazor, threatened to make a wilderness of Israel, and to that end had sent the captain of his hosts, one Sisera, with nine hundred chariots of iron and warriors in number as the sands of the sea? Dire was the need of the hour, yet whither should Israel turn? And one said, "There is a woman liveth under the palm-tree by Ramah and her name is Deborah. Let us go unto her. Peradventure she shall aid us, for she hath strange knowledge of the hearts of men." So they sent unto Deborah and she arranged with Barak an am- buscade by the stony little stream of Kishon. And, behold, a storm arose whereby Kishon was turned into a raging torrent, which swept away the nine hundred chariots of iron and their horsemen and the men-at-arms of Jabin. And it came to pass that Sisera, the mighty captain, fled on foot from the lost battle to the tent of one Heber, a nomad of the Kenite tribe. Now Heber was absent that day attentive to the bleatings of his flocks, seeking precarious grazing in these unsettled times ; and Jael, his wife, was in charge of his honour and his tent. And Jael met the fleeing Sisera and proffered him guesthood, giving him, in token of good THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY faith, as is the custom of the desert, milk from her own hands and butter in a lordly dish and she set a mantle over him; and, to the eternal shame of all the children of Ishmael, she slew him even as he slept. So Deborah led down from the mountain side her horde of wild warriors. Slow was their progress for they were burdened with much booty, "yea, to every man a damsel or two and a prey of divers colours of needlework on both sides, meet for the necks of them that take the spoil." And all the air was filled with the rumbling of the dying storm, with the neighing of horses, with the lowing of cattle, with the discordance of musical instruments, with the shouting of the victors ; whilst in the van, heard above the hubbub, like the motif of a frenzied orchestra, a woman crieth. The earth trembled before Thee. The clouds dropped water. Their horsehoofs were broken by means of the prancings. Oh, my soul, awake. Awake, awake, Deborah, Utter thy Song. In the galaxy of poesy thy song, Deborah, and such as thine, shall live. For is not the importance of song in the national and social [ 40 ] THE ASCENSION OF SONG life of all races attested by the chroniclers of every history. It is a truism to say that we care not who makes the laws of a land provided we may make its songs. The former are merely the dress of the body, changing with country and season ; the latter are the enduring memory, the beating heart and the nervous system. Countless thousands of men adjust their collars each morning with an assurance to the listening air that for "Bonnie Annie Laurie" they would lay them down and die ; yet how few would ven- ture to assist the recalcitrant collar stud with a quotation from Chitty on contracts or Black- stone's commentaries ? If an adage may be said to be the wisdom of one on the lips of many, do not these popular lyrics spring from our hearts with the sentiments and sympathies not only of our race but in large measure of mankind. Ofttimes they come charged with whispers to our subconscious selves, fraught with associa- tions which transform the words to beads of a musical rosary, tinted with scenic recollections that enframe the song, chorused with voices of another life, scented with perfumes lingering amid the dried rose leaves of memory. Perhaps a personal reminiscence serving as example may be forgiven. When I was about [ 41 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY twelve years old I possessed a voice so notable that it inflicted upon me the penalty of singing the solos to anthems in my college chapel and elsewhere. So befell it that I was in attendance at a certain stately Church of England when the bishop of the diocese was present and a congregation of over a thousand persons had gathered. The anthem chosen for the occasion was "As pants the hart for cooling streams so longeth my soul for Thee, oh, God" ; and in the immense choir I stood, a lonely little boy, to sing the magnificent solo of that anthem. I remember, as though it were yesterday, how the organ poured upon the air the power and grace of its theme, like the sweep of a cascade fretted with sparkling spray. Then came the moment for my solo, and another world claimed me. I forgot the church, the bishop, the people and myself. I could only think of that thirsty hart and its unquenchable longing. Into my interpretation of the appeal I flung my soul and, all unwitting of the earth, I watched my treble pass upwards amid the pillars and rafters of the church in a mist of prayer, as it were the ascending smoke of Abel's altar. "Like as the hart desireth — desireth — de- sireth the water brooks." High and higher sped [ 42 ] THE ASCENSION OF SONG in boyish treble the words, mystic, earnest, vis- ible; until, suddenly, I became aware that the bass-solo had joined me; that his message had climbed to mine ; that his grand voice outstrid- ing the pealing notes of the organ, had hurled aloft the words "So longeth — longeth — longeth my soul after Thee, oh, God." And still singing, well-nigh unconsciously, I watched the two voices mingle, the boy's and the man's, and the two songs entwine in a garland of vocal roses. Up, up, up beyond the carven capitals of the nave, beyond the ancient rafters and the groined roof; out, out, out into the blue sky where the summer clouds joined their lacery to the moving spiral of our song ; upward and on- ward sped the olden message, the ache of the heart for utmost knowledge, essenced in prayer, winged with music, buoyed by the organ tones, purged by space and time until it merged in the myriad sympathetic vibrations which tremble as a glory around the ultimate source of thought. I am no musician; but, in truth, I think that Polyhymnia, the Muse of sacred song, stooped down that day from her bowers on Mount Olympus and kissed an earthly boy. On another occasion "The Three Fishers" crystallized for me from vague solutions of the — — THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY mind into a gem laden with hidden lights. It was a moonlight night at Cromer on the east coast of England. The fishing boats of that quaint harbour were about to put forth into the North Sea, and the ceremony of blessing the fleet, alas now falling into disuse, was to be performed. The pastor of the little port, for in those days Cromer was but a humble place, stood at the end of the jetty and pronounced a few brave and simple words, such as men value at the edge of dangerous callings. Then in the hush of the night, with only the ripple of the sea for accompaniment, a lady, famous in the realms of song, sang "The Three Fishers." Out, far out upon the waters floated her lovely voice. The brown sails of the fishing smacks, rocking on the bosom of the awaiting tide, curtesied to its phrasings. The moon tarried amid her attendant clouds. The sea birds glided noiselessly upon their wings lest any mo- tion of theirs should mar the grace of her, who Uttered such dulcet and harmonious breath That the rude sea grew civil at her song. And certain stars shot madly from their spheres To hear the sea-maid's music. Now and again some song, like a divine tuning note, awakes the souls of men. None [ U ] " THE ASCENSION OF SONG may preknow the fortunate hour or the elected means. How should Ruget de Lisle have fore- seen the destiny of his "Chant de Guerre," as it was first named; the "Marseillaise" as it is called today. The story goes that he wrote both the words and the air in a fit of patriotic excitement after a public dinner, and well may this be so, for the inadequacy and bombast of the words are only saved from merited extinc- tion by the stirring melody and its inspired adaptation to the service of its theme. Yet to this martial tune the heart of a noble nation has throbbed for a century, and millions of men have marched to death as to the dawn of day. It seems to be a psychological law that great moments in the lives of nations beget notable and inspiring songs. So in the American Civil War, out of the flame and agonies of that time was born the superb battle hymn, "Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord." So also in the stress and tension of the Boer war, when the pent thoughts of a race, which is readily moved inwardly but outwardly is in- flexible in self control, sought for expression, suddenly "airy and excellent the proem came" in Kipling's Recessional, "Lest We Forget." In the same spirit America produced during [ 45 ] ' THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY the late war the unmellifluous strain "Over There," which, although hardly of an enduring type, unquestionably played a not inconsider- able part in drawing to her banners the earnest service of her manhood and womanhood. Considered in its evolution from humble be- ginnings to beatitude, perhaps the most re- markable of recent songs is "Tipperary," which in a few years passed from its inception as a music-hall ditty to the abode of the gods. In its words and air it belongs to the lowliest sys- tem of things. Its generic place might be classed amongst the invertebrates of music, having relationship with the sponges of the Archean rocks or with the foraminifera ; yet in its swift transition it has attained to a spirit- ual sphere whence its echoes must bring tears to the eyes of angels. In the red fields of the great struggle it grew from nothingness to sub- limity. To its tones millions of brave men gathered from lands far scattered amid the seven seas and marched at its bidding to hard- ships, wounds and death, upholding the torches of Light against the sinister flags of Darkness. Today none may hear it with covered head, for it has passed in the golden aura of its associa- tions into the glory and the Ascension of Song. [ 46 ] RHEIMS CATHEDRAL VIII RHEIMS CATHEDRAL Amid the dust and falling debris the wounded were hastily removed from the stricken Cathedral. Wae News A MoEN in Spring; Lifting the mists of sleep from silent towers Where Clovis, grim, implacable, was crowned King of the Franks. Its young light showers A rain of golden beams on littered ground, On arch uncarved, on column rising high To swelling roof where master-masons cry Commands to busy builders; and the place Echoes Christ's creed And Labour's need "Into Thy hands, O God! so may our work find grace." A Summer's Noon, Paints with its glowing brush embattled Rheims ; THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY Gilding the armed hosts, whose banners proud Herald the Maid of Arc. Her spirit seems To fall in sunlight o'er the acclaiming crowd Bordering her path to where, on either hand. The Chivalry and Church of France now stand, Tend'ring to Charles a crown ; to God a race; While choristers intone "Not us ; To Thee alone ; Into Thy hands, O God ! so may our land find grace." An Eve in Autumn, Sets with crimson stains on clouding sky. Cast not by sun but fires which tell The wrath and wrack of men. Wild lightnings Bringing their thunders in the bursting shells, Which scatter death ; e'en to the wounded 'mid the straw Spread in God's sanctuary — ruined, resonant with war. [ 48] B H E I M S CATHEDRAL Its altars desolate, save where, with lifted face, One to death near Murmurs in prayer, "Into Thy hands, O God! so may our souls find grace." [ 49 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY IX THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON As out of the crucifixion of One arose Mary, so out of the crucifixion of all the world has arisen all Woman- hood. IF truth hides in the cynicism that the part of Woman is to inspire Man with ideals and then prevent him from carrying them out, it might be urged that he never wholly compre- hends his teacher. As the sons of Ammon, men circle their father's golden throne each year and learn his behests in the glare of day; but long time agone, to the daughters of Isis, their goddess-mother whispered her counsel, "Show to man only the half of thy soul." Consistent in her teaching the Moon ex- emplifies her advice with a radiance that dazzles and with shadows that perplex. No object in the heavens has more tenderly encouraged man's intellectual growth than the Moon, nor is there one that has left him enmeshed in deeper wonderments. The ancient records show intimacy with her moods but seemingly de- -_ - THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON spaired of exacter definition. The astronomers of those distant dajs counted her steps across the clouds ; noted her ingoings and outgoings ; calculated the period which it occupied her ladyship to turn her face from profile and from the full to profile again ; yet withal they dubbed her "the orb of mystery." Nevertheless the data thus gained served men through number- less centuries as the basis of their calendar and enabled them to fix their civic reckonings, so that they called her, Me — the Measurer. And from that Sanskrit name were evolved the deriv- atives mensis, month, and Moon. From palace tower and temple pylon, the wise men of the East nightly watched her path across the spangled floor of heaven, and like courtiers at the passing of a queen, laid their petitions at her feet. Nor were their question- ings neglected, for down the silver wires of her rays came many a gracious answer which since has crystallized as myth. Yet still she told not aU. The half of her soul was hidden. Why, asked they, was her waywardness reflected in mankind, whilst she, the mutable yet passion- less, showed always the same changeless face. J* Nor was it until many centuries had passed that later wise men learned through the mazes [51 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY of complex mathematics, that barely six-tenths of the lunar surface has ever been seen by us. Through changes and moods her face remains sphinx-like in immobility. To what purpose also, asked they, does the Mother of the Night fill the minds of men with strange imaginings? And in a symbol was her answer given. Do you not see how the faint bow of the new Moon suggests its future full- ness by a delicate rim of gold traced against the sky; completeness of desire in a shining bubble. So builds she ever in our hearts the fairest castles of light which seem as verities. Nor until a Galileo had come might we under- stand that this circlet of gold is not of her making, but of ours. It is due to the light falling from the Sun on the Earth and reflected to the Moon. Some little touch of pride dwells here for us. To an observer on the Moon our Earth would present a surface more than ten times as large as the Moon offers, so that the light reflected from the Earth is ten times stronger and by its own reflection traces this luminous edge. If to our eyes the beauty of the silver Moon slipping between the white clouds passes the wit of a Shelley to describe, may we imagine what our Earth in its tinted [52 ] THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON glory would seem to this consort of the giver of light, whom we have chained to our chariot and call our satellite. And again these wise ones of the ancient towers sought to chart the wanderings of the Moon across the star-marked wilderness of sky. With each great age of astronomy the calcu- lations approached nearer to accuracy. Asia handed down to Greece her accumulated ob- servations, so that Hipparchus was able to work out that which is ungallantly known as the eccentricity of the lunar orbit. Yet he was conscious that in some illusive particulars his deductions were incorrect. Thereupon Ptolemy took up the threads and disentangled the celes- tial knot still further by discovering what is known as the errors of evection. Still, with feminine evasiveness, the pathway of the Moon was found to differ from its computation. So Tycho Brahe essayed the problem and gave us the lunar variations; and afterward Newton and Laplace continued the long investigations which might be open to an indictment for in- delicacy were they not prompted by an admira- tion so respectful and sincere. Yet, withal, the Moon eludes us. We know not half the true inwardness of this sentinel, THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY silent and still. We describe her whims with satisfied precision, but like the radiant coquette that she is, she smiles behind her fan of clouds and steeps us in new witcheries. It used to be thought that she was cold; a thing icy and without heart. Yet here also we are in error, for it would seem that she is far otherwise ; especially in her sunny moods. Has not a learned astronomer written that under Stefan's law of radiation her temperature dur- ing a certain observation must have been nearly at boiling point in order that the noted amount of heat could have been radiated? Let none, therefore, wrong the Moon again by calling her cold, for her attitude towards us, if not in- decorously warm, is obviously often of quite affectionate temperature. Hail then. Orb of Motherhood; Me, the prompter of Akkadian philosophies; Astarte, guider of Phoenician prows; Isis, giver of the dawn; Hathor, conductress from the Halls of Amenti; Diana of the Ephesians; Hail. Too well have thy daughters of Earth sustained thy teachings — ever willing to be partly under- stood, unwilling to yield more. Through un- counted ages men have gathered ideals from thee and from thy daughters and have warped [ 54 ] THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON and wasted them for lack of vision. Be these things of the past. As ruined fanes, once built in pride are transformed by the alchemy of thy silver rays into palaces beyond our utmost dreaming, so in the passion of our wishfulness to learn, we invoke thee to transmute our errors into grace, and to shine forgivingly upon the path whereby thy daughters and thy sons must climb together to the eternal light. [ 55 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY X WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG And the evening and the morning were the first day. Genesis AS a crystal holds a drop of that ocean upon the bosom of which the primal morning dawned, so in many of our fables and expressions of speech we recognize the imprisoned thought of our far ancestors. Large was their sympathy though their science small. In later ages the pure light of the stars shines in the Chaldean epic of "Gilgamash"; the forest-clad gorges of the Himalayas are pictured in the Vedantic story; the dancing waves fling their spray across the pages of the Sagas; and all Nature finds her mirror in the myths of Greece. But to the earliest races of mankind belonged the inestimable privileges of moulding our concepts of things, material and sublime ; and time has set the moulding beyond the power of later knowledge to wholly alter. Creation was as a Sphinx, propounding riddles too hard for answer, and measureless was the [ 56] WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG sea of perplexity whereon man's questing ar- gosies voyaged towards an understanding of the heavens and earth and all that therein is. The latent riches of the world shimmered as distant shore lines in the haze of the centuries to come ; the energies of nature were as fearful and perilous rocks; the elementary facts of modern science were reefs uncharted, indicated only by the white surf of consequence breaking restlessly upon shoals, hidden and mysterious. Yet how splendid the opportunities of those who moved under the opening eyelids of the world's dawn; how intuitive the sympathy which framed their picturesque, if erroneous, explanations of the problems which confronted them ; how transcendent their discoveries. They were the first that ever burst into those silent seas. Slowly their immediate needs, limited by environment, but spurred by each achievement, prompted progress. Fire, the red flower which bites those who would pluck it, became their servitor. Speech, struggling from the inco- herence of individual effort to the accepted utterance of the tribe, evolved until subtle gradations of tone and combination resulted in ever-widening vocabulary. Music passed from barbaric sounds to ordered rhythm until it [ 57 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY caught the notes of Pan and joined the eternal anthem. Art, unkempt in its infancy as the wild sources which gave it birth, ran laughing amid the flowers with beauty shining in its youthful eyes. And all life yielded its lessons and its treasures until, from experience to ex- perience, knowledge came though wisdom lingered. Beyond the conquered world lay realms un- conquerable; the wastes of the firmament and the wonders of cosmic force. Appalling must have seemed the puzzles presented to our earliest thinkers by such contrasting phe- nomena as the fiery pathway of the sun and the cool starflecked sky of night ; the moving terror of the lightning and the stillness of the frozen lake; the immobile peaks and the drifting clouds ; the sensuous warmth of summer and the icy shroud of winter; the wayward moon and the whispers of the rushing winds. Little cause for surprise is there that our nursery tales and daily phrases, our names for the days of the week and for the dispositions of men and women, stiU reflect the awe with which our for- bears worshipped at the altars of the unknown gods, until a braver vision transmuted the base metal of dread to the gold of a more promising. WHEN THE W O E, L D WAS YOUNG if but half-sensed kinship in the vast scheme, seen and unseen, of the universe. Doubtless curiosity has ever been the incen- tive from observation to deduction, but always the impatience of our minds outstrips our knowledge. Even in modern science this rule holds true, as when the writer as a boy watched Sir William Crooks perfect that delicate in- strument, the radiometer, and heard him pro- nounce that the movement of its fans, balanced in a vacuum, was due to the direct transforma- tion of light into motion. Long afterward he knew that the spinning of the talc vanes was dependent on thermal action; and from this beginning developed the theory of radiant matter, or matter in a fourth state, which led to the electronic theory. So when the world was young, man, fearless of error and seeking only the immediate and least obscure solution to some riddle of nature, did not hesitate to create a story which would serve to explain the matter in such terms as his own mind could compass. The ruder his degree of civilization the simpler would be its form, although its grace might surpass more erudite substitutes in later ages, and hold our remembering speech in thrall. His philosophy had at once the dar- __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY ing and the limitations of youth. Yet if it was his soul that spoke then his words should live through the long centuries and become the mental scenery of a religion or the folk lore of a race. It was probably in this way that the skies were mapped in times of yore into weird con- figurations of men, women and beasts. Races far removed from each other recognized the same shapes indicated by groups of stars. Within historic periods the wild bushman of Van Diemens Land and the artistic Greek saw alike the dancing feet of seven sisters in the Pleiades ; and, though so far apart and of such different culture, both the Australian and the Hellene thought of Castor and Pollux as brothers. The North American Indians dis- cerned the shambling gait of a bear in the con- stellation of Ursus Major; and most of the Zodiacal signs may be shown to have existed under their present designations, or in kindred forms, in widely separate lands for untold ages. Indeed the stars have been the source of many of our cherished symbols and superstitions, which, in various disguises, press in with the throng of customs which find acceptance at our modern festivals. Not always, however, would [ 60 ] WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG it be wise or charitable to strip the mask from off the wizened features of some of these per- sisting wraiths. Unspeakable crudities and cruel usages of long forgotten rites lurk in the laughter of apparently innocent observances. With some of these it is safe to be familiar, with others it were folly to be wise. It might even enhance the expectations of some young lady to know that when she curtseys to the new moon, and turns thrice around, and then spits over her left shoulder, she is making in her curtseys the pre-Akkadian prostrations to an ancient form of Astarte, the Spirit of Fertility ; and that in turning thrice she rejoins the very questionable dances which fair ancestors of hers were wont to indulge in around the altars of the Earth's Fecundity; and that in spitting over her left shoulder she adds to her other graces by assisting to drive away the demons which supposedly object to such ceremonials. Most of these remembrances deal with the attributes of the Sun and Moon and long since have retreated to the ruder regions of the earth. In some northern races the Moon is still viewed as a girl who has had her face spotted and scarred by hot ashes which the Sun, in a violent temper, threw at her. Courtesy forbids that we [ 61 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY should see here the unhappy suggestion of what might happen in an Eskimo hut; rather may we merely note an incident in the domestic re- lations of the Sun and Moon as mates. For in the earliest religions the Sun and Moon are always personified and generally viewed as the regnant and all-powerful pair. Their manners, as portrayed in myth, may be royal but they are not invariably models for mortals to copy, and seldom are they represented as having lived happily ever after. Amongst the indigenous tribes of India the pre-historic story ran that the Sun married the Moon, whose beauty was greater than all her rival stars. Alas, she proved faithless, and so the Sun cut her up into fragments, only relenting when he saw how lovely was the quarter Moon. Thereupon he allowed her to build herself up to the full, and every month he watches with pride the process and then in anger destroys her again. Nothing visible or heard or vaguely sensed in heaven or earth lacked its due chronicle in the early efforts of men to explain the environ- ment of their lives. The ceaseless conflict be- tween light and shadow; the destiny of all shown daily in the promise of dawn, the strength of noon and the decay of eve; the [ 62 ] WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG colours of the stars; the movements of the planets ; the terrors induced by eclipses, comets, and meteorites; the changeful winds and the beneficence of the rain; the flaming arrows of the lightning and the angry voice of thunder; the cold of winter and the bounty of summer; the mastery of fire and the service of water ; the marvel of birth and the dread of death ; all find their portion in these endeavors to express the complex grammar of the universe. Then dawns our prosaic age, wherein the fashion is to snatch the veil from every passing figure in the pageantry of time. Nothing may escape research; no illusion may claim rever- ence by reason of its white hair. In the lab- oratory of knowledge the book of Genesis lies upon the dissecting table; the atomic theory has shared the fate dreaded by Lamb for the Equator and lost respect; no star so distant but is constrained to tell its composition. Nor might mythology avoid the common destiny, and in the process of its examination many a kingly fable has been dethroned; stories which seemingly were founded upon the eternal hills have fallen into dust ; nomenclature and adages have proved as bright and enduring as gems. A nursery rhyme may transpire to have had [ 63 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY its origin in some celestial truth wrapped in metaphor when the world was in its swaddling clothes. On the other hand some honoured myth, apparently occult in its teaching, may have no greater claim to our respect than a passing interest in its historical application to the election of a Tribune of Rome for which occasion it was invented. Much that glitters in tradition is made of base alloy, yet much comes down to us weighted with truth from days misty with distance, but, in the morning of our world, clear as the eyes which looked into the wonders of heaven and earth and read their messages with brave simplicity. [ 64 ] KNOWLEDGE XI KNOWLEDGE THERE is an hour at the zenith of a summer's day when Nature rests. Its law is silence; beneath its spell all life is hushed. The birds rest their tuneful throats, the insects fold their wings of tinted velvet and prismatic gossamer, the glad trees sleep, the rushes at the margin of the mere forget to whis- per the secrets told them in the Grecian tale. In the glades of a primeval wood in Northern Michigan, wrapped in the quiet of this en- chanted hour, the shadows were bending east- ward. From the brazier of warm earth an ascending incense from flower and scented fern filled the aisles of the leafy cathedral, but the worshippers were invisible and unheard save for the murmur of small winged things couched in their myriad beds of green. In such environment dull seem the pages of philosophy and the volume in my hand grew heavy. Its lines began to melt and merge as the variant grasses of a field accept one pattern of light and shadow from the passing clouds. But the mind of man may never rest, awake or [65 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY asleep, and struggling to concentrate again upon the page I read, "Now Socrates went up to Delphos and asked of the oracle, *0£ all knowledge which is the highest?' And the oracle gave answer, 'Know thyself.' " Straightway my thoughts bore me to the altars of the Delphic oracle whereat it seemed that I was witness of my own initiation as one who sought the Knowledge of the Self. Thence voyaged I to the Nile and in the dark recesses of pyramid and pylon heard the teachers of Hermetic writings expound to the living the ritual of the dead. Thence passed I to the shrines of Indus, where white-robed Brahmins intoned the Vedantic law, "All knowledge dwells in the knowledge of thyself." Some priestly voice, lifted in fervor and echoing amongst the trees, broke then my reveries, and I saw beneath a neighboring fern where the golden light was tangled with the drifting shadows, crouching forms, the fairies of our youth, petal-clad, stamen-armed and capped with floral bells. For awhile they watched me. Anon one of the bolder, perchance a chieftain in the ranks of elfdom, advanced and cried, "Obey the woodland law." And my book slipped from my hand and I slept. [ 66] KNOWLEDGE Awake in Asphodel? No this must be Some vale of fairyland, or Pan-loved glade Where Shepherd pipes to Shepherdess in Arcady Under the willows; and the light and shade Weave golden nets around their feet To trip young hearts if time be missed. Or laughter's music stop. Could one but meet The dwellers of these dales, and they would list, 'Twere well to ask of what realms are these lands. And by what path one best might rise To yonder hill-top, where the wreathing mist Enwraps a mystic city buUt as an eyrie Of the gods; white-pinnacled beneath the canopy Of sky, like some translucent Din Perched on the heights in Dante's scheme Of life's embattlements. So in my dream I thought: and, with unguided steps set forth To climb the steep, encountering many a fall On treacherous ground, and stumble by the way. Till where the slopes had end, an outer wall Grafted on crag and precipice bade stay My further trespass. On the mountain crest Betwixt the restless earth and quiet firmament Loomed the fair city, distant, white, Veiling the stars in its own light As Pharos of a harbour — the far quest Of proffered peace; the peace of Knowledge blest And task accomplished. [ 67 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY Yet were my steps Stayed by the circuit of its walls. Fivefold and separate, rings of stone Winding implacable, immense, alone. Conjoint in purpose; massive bands Forged on the mountain's brow by God's own hands To be its diadem. Void of fault. In grim alignment ranged the mighty walls. Towered and buttressed to withstand assault By storm or man, or Time, That silent conqueror, who plans with Fate, Using for arms the sunbeam and night's rime The heat and hurricane, the patterned-lace Of dew, summoning from space The tireless legions of his Djins To fashion ruins for his chair of state; His sceptre swaying elements; his robe the winds; His ministers the hours, whose breath Was theirs unborn, passing undying into death. And I did mark That in the circuit of each stony zone A single gate was set, like Cyclop's eye, Pond'rous with brazen plates which shone Red in the fading light; Their sentinel Eternity. None there was to swing The gates of Knowledge open, and my call Echoed from frieze and bastion, turret and wall. Peopling the silence with voices answering, "Ask in thine self, there is no other Entering in." feil BEGINNING OUR YEAR XII BEGINNING OUR YEAR Life is not dated merely by years. Events are some- times the best calendars. — Beaconsfield. SWEET are the uses of anniversaries. Life is milestoned with these recurring dates which claim, in passing, a sigh, a smile, a thought of pride, a gleam of hope. They serve to draw our attention to the distance traveled, bidding us forget our weariness and gaze with courage upon the heights ahead. Some of these milestones are off the beaten road and are encountered only in the strayings of the individual. They belong to our personal calendars. Where they lie in the shadows of time they are weatherworn, o'ergrown with the lichens of years, screened by tangled growths of ferns and grasses, bowered in flowers strewn by the forgiving hands of God upon our memories that sleep. Their inscriptions are difficult to decipher. Others that stand out in the full glare of day and the dusty spacings of the wider path are clear, too clear perchance, as THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY though they found renewed engraving from the eyes of the heart. Most of the notable milestones of time, how- ever, are for the guidance of all ; and insistently ask notice from the hurrying crowd of hu- manity. Of these none proffer wiser counsel than the festival of the new year, radiating to the minds of all an impulse towards universal good will. From its incised face, white with the light of grace, rays beat upon our lives, which lift to heaven wreathing clouds of thoughts enwrapping the world in an atmos- phere of kindness, flecked with tear-laden clouds. If thoughts were visible, how complex would seem the maze of mental messages pro- jected at the close of each year. Yet rightly considered there is little reason to adopt a fixed date for the expression of good will or for the celebration of an era professing the Christian code of morals. Our year can have no true beginning or end. Time, as gen- erally regarded, consists of periods defined by expediency — hours, days, weeks, months, years, cycles — concentric circles, the lesser contained within the next larger measure. And since each of us may commence the drawing of a circle at whatsoever distance from the centre [ 70 ] BEGINNING OUR YEAR seemeth good, it follows that no moment of time can truly possess a fixed nature. Throughout the ages, men have differed in the commencing point of their measurements of time. The year which begins for us on the first day of January is then already well advanced in some countries, while in others the people have scarcely begun to prepare for its advent. With more justification than can be urged in support of our own arrangement of the cal- endar, the Egyptians, Phoenicians and Persians began their year at the autumnal equinox, ap- proximately on the twenty-first of September. The Greeks moved on a quarter of a year and commenced the drawing of their annual circle at the winter solstice, the twenty-first of Decem- ber. About the middle of the fifth century before Christ it occurred to the Athenians that it would be more comfortable to start all cal- culations from the middle of the summer rather than the middle of the winter, and so, by a simple process of law, and a public notice in- cised on a rock on the Martian hill, the year found itself beginning on the twenty-first of June instead of the twenty-first of December. The ancient Romans saw no just cause for this change and with the obstinacy of their [71 ] THE S C H O O li OF SYMPATHY race continued to celebrate the beginning of the year on the twenty-first of December. But the accumulating errors in their calendar gradually brought about such confusion in the official festivals that the whole matter was submitted to the astronomers obeying the nod of Caesar, with the result that the year awoke one fine Roman morning to find itself beginning on the first day of January. Paganism had difficulty, however, in trans- ferring its lares et penates to its successor, and Christianity required over fifteen centuries be- fore any agreement could be arrived at con- cerning the day when the New Year ought to commence its career. The Christians of the early centuries stoutly maintained that the cor- rect date was the twenty-fifth of March, and very valiantly, if a little impetuously, they fought in street and temple in support of their theories. The idea was probably due to the fact that the Jewish ecclesiastical year began with the spring equinox, and thus coincided with the story of the gospels. But the Saxons had their own opinions on the subject, and re- solved to combine the celebration of the birth of Christ with the birth of the year, observing both on the twenty-fifth of December. [72 ] BEGINNING OUR YEAR At the Norman conquest of England, William the Conqueror was crowned on the first of Jan- uary, and his attendant bishops, aware that the emperors of Rome had observed this date as New Year's day, advised its adoption, and for several centuries it was adhered to. Later England reverted to the views of the rest of Christendom and commenced her official New Year on the twenty-fifth of March. Still later the Gregorian calendar (1582) rectified the an- nual measurement of time and restored the first of January to its position as the New Year's day. This edict was accepted by most of the Catholic nations, while those countries which hold to the Julian calendar, such as Russia, and Greece, still celebrate the New Year twelve days later than ourselves. Such is the brief but complicated story of the adoption of our New Year's day. Its graceful custom of giving gifts on that date has an equally far-reaching history. The month of January takes its name from the Latinium god Janus, to whom the Romans were wont to offer sacrifices and gifts at the festival of his month, and to garland his statue with flowers. Con- sequently, when the calendar of Caesar enacted that the year should commence on the day which [ 73 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY had for centuries been devoted to the feast of Janus, the idea of giving gifts was extended from the god to his worshippers, and Romans bestowed upon their friends and neighbors small offerings in the name of Janus. These gifts were called strena, from the branches of vervain gathered in the sacred grove of Strenua, the goddess of strength — a word still surviving in the French phrase for New Year's day, le jour d'etrennes. It is obvious, therefore, that, save for com- pliance with civic and clerical conveniences, there is no true ending or beginning to a year. Each day is equally entitled to be viewed as its opening. Nor may any year grow old, for it is ever like the houris of paradise, beauteous and young, offering us its gifts of fuller oppor- tunity and endowed with the eternal benediction. [ 74] THE VEIL OF ASTARTE XIII THE VEIL OF ASTARTE WITH reflected glory from the Sun, made red by the mists of Earth, the cult of Baal encrimsoned the path whereby men stumbled through the centuries to nobler philosophies ; its fierce teachings softened somewhat by the willingness of man to woo the favors of Astarte, the moon-goddess. These balanced opposites, male and female, strength and grace, are derivatives of prehistoric types of worship; and the rayed influence of their gold and silver beams lit the creeds of Egypt, Persia, Crete, Greece, and Rome. Not even the Jewish lore, most conservative of spiritual con- cepts, could avoid the thralldom of these orbs of heaven, and in sympathy with the times of its evolving literature we find Samson (i.e. Shamesh, the Sun-god) forfeiting his strength, made manifest in the luxuriant locks of the [ 73 ] ~ THE SCHOOIi OF SYMPATHY solar corona, to the betraying shears of De- lilah (i.e. The Twilight); while nigh to the walls of the sacred Jerusalem proudly stood "the high places which Solomon, the king of Israel, had builded for Astoreth." For many generations the study of the Bible had filled western minds with pictures of the magnificence of the cults and achievements of the Babylonian and Phoenician civilizations, yet not until the nineteenth century was serious attention given to resuscitating the evidences of Chaldean traditions. Christianity had accepted the Hebraic writings as its architectural plan and to suggest an examination of the founda- tions was viewed as an unnecessary and possibly adverse criticism of the structure. Wherefore disturb the dust of ages? Were not all these matters sufficiently written in the books of the kings of Israel? But motion is the permeating and encom- passing law of the universe ; else The Ultimate were synonymous with stagnation and the in- finite manifestations of an afar and unthinkable Origin would be as green scum upon the idle mill pond of creation. So came it to pass that despite the covert protests of dogma and the objections of entrenched orthodoxy a new-born THE VEIIi OF ASTARTE race of analytical miners delved into the litera- ture of the Orient ; and the excavators of dead empires went forth to dig. Maspero and his compeers uncovered the monuments of the Pharaohs, while Champollion, guided by the trilingular Rosetta stone, translated the hiero- glyphs with which they were emblazoned, and bade the mummied lips of Egypt speak their story. Renan analyzed the Semitic traditions, Max Miiller and others traced the wanderings of the Aryans and the origins of the Vedic writings ; and from a hundred lands the children of the far-spread West retraced the centuries, coming again to learn from the Mother East. Nor might the buried secrets of Western Asia be longer ignored. Amongst the pioneers of this renaissance must always be remembered Botta and Layard, who drew the sand-shrouds from the mound graves of Kuyunjik and its buried sisters, and showed us Assyria in her zenith. Once more the Tigris and Euphrates bore upon their waters the effigies of Baby- lonian kings who erstwhile were as myths to us. Strange gods of Akkad ascended thrones in our museums, from whence they stared with stony eyes at modern crowds whose knees were un- bent before them, while children undismayed. THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY played around their attendant bulls of Bashan. Sheltered from London fogs beneath glass cases, and labelled like novels in a book-store, were ranged the state documents and libraries of Assyrian kings; cylinders and tiles and tablets of clay delicately incised with texts in cuneiforms, offering us the contracts, love letters, laws, epics, maps, and astronomical cal- culations written in days when Nimrud "glo- ried and drank deep." But. like the dumb figures of the gods whom they invoked, these clay volumes still withheld their messages from the few scholars who struggled to decipher their forgotten script. Of those who sought to give speech again to the lifeless tongue of Chaldea none were more persistent or deserve higher place than George Smith. As far back as 1867 he had translated the arrow-head writing on a Babylonian tile which mentioned an eclipse of the Sun, and this fortunate allusion enabled the astronomers to fix the date of the inscription. Again in 1872 he achieved universal reputation by his trans- lation of the Chaldean account of the Deluge. Portions of the chronicle were missing, but its similarity with the biblical story at once awakened general interest, and the art of print- [ 78] THE VEIL OF ASTAETE ing became the servitor of the original Chaldean scribe by reproducing in facsimile his incised tablets in nearly every magazine and paper in the world. The writer well remembers the earnest face and short strong frame of George Smith as he bent over some engraved tile of Sargon or Sen- nacherib at the British Museum, and how the grey eyes would light with triumph when he had pieced together the broken fragments of a difficult line and found his interpretation held reference to a name or incident of historic im- portance. At such moments he seemed the in- carnated spirit of an Assyrian handling his materials with the tenderness and exactitude which men are wont to use who do enduring things. The new field of literary research thus opened so appealed to the scholarship and editorial in- stincts of Sir Edwin Arnold that in January 1873 he arranged with George Smith that the latter should take charge of an expedition to excavate the mounds of Nimrud near the city of Mosul, and other sites in ancient Assyria^ at the expense of the Daily Telegraph of Lon- don. Many weeks were occupied in preparing this expedition and providing its stores and [ 79 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY special instruments for modern methods of ex- cavation. When all was ready the Turkish ambassador in London informed us, at the eleventh hour, that it would be essential to ob- tain a firman direct from the Sultan, since objections had been raised by the Sublime Porte to any further excavations in Mesopotamia. The Turks were convinced that the Giaour had knowledge of vast wealth hidden in these mounds of rubbish and they obdurately refused to allow the proposed enterprise to go forward unless they received their share of the gold and silver to be unearthed. Nothing daunted, Edwin Arnold resolved to travel to Constantinople and beard the viziers in their den. The journey down the Danube and through the Balkan States was full of in- terest, and after those interminable delays which are the salt of all Oriental negotiations, the object of our pilgrimage was accomplished. Whether it was the eloquence of the poet, or his ability as a man of affairs, or his undertak- ing to hand over to the Sublime Porte all the gold and jewels which might be discovered matters little now ; the Sultan relented and gave us a firman to dig where and when and how we liked, with special clauses to the effect that we [80] THE VEIIi OF ASTARTE were to retain all the stones and bricks which our spades might turn out, provided that the Sublime Porte should retain all the gold and silver discovered. It would be invidious to ask which party to the contract was conscious of the better deal. The Sultan smiled triumph- antly, and perhaps a little in pity, for doth not the Prophet ordain that thou shalt be lenient with those whom Allah hath bereft of reason? The expedition was a complete success. Nineveh and other famous sites had their shrouds of sand and rubble removed, and Nemesis in the shape of George Smith carried their kings, in granite and basalt, into cap- tivity in London. The missing fragments of the Chaldean story of the Deluge were recov- ered, and the museums of Europe and America were enriched with Babylonian treasures of art and literature. Silver and gold found we none, to the astonishment and discomfiture of the Sultan and his wise viziers, but such as the sands of time had to give us they gave with generous hands. I recall that amongst the sifted rubbish filling a palace passageway was hiding a broken ring of bronze to which was still attached an exquisite cameo of Alexander __ THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY the Great cut in carnelian. So delicate in skill and sympathetic in its treatment was this por- trait of the Macedonian genius that my ad- miration was unbounded, and George Smith set it upon my finger saying, "The Greek who lost this ring would wish you to wear it for him." For the sake of those who are interested in psychological research, I may permit myself here to relate the last meeting of Edwin Arnold and George Smith. During the summer of 1878 the latter was continuing his excavations at Kouyunjik on the Tigris, on behalf of the British Museum, when he was prostrated by fever. He was carried to Aleppo where he died on the nineteenth of August. Now on that day Edwin Arnold, wholly unaware of the illness of his friend, was walking down the Strand, in London, and saw George Smith a few feet away from him looking into the window of a shop at the corner of Arundel Street. Stepping quickly forward to express his surprise and pleasure at the unexpected meeting, he observed his friend pass round the corner and disappear. This corner of the shop was entirely faced with clear glass and devoid of doors. Consequently this sudden disappearance of the absolutely dis- tinct vision was as inexplicable as had been its __ THE VEIL OF ASTABTE appearance. Nor did the solution of the prob- lem arrive until he reached home and found awaiting him there a telegraphic message stat- ing that George Smith had died that day of fever in Aleppo. [ 83] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY XIV THE BROOK OF REVELATIONS BESIDE a path which girds a hill In Greece lingers an ancient shrine, Broken and desolate; its altars rifted, Scattered with dead leaves, drifted By remembering winds. Beneath its ruined portal an old man rested, White haired and wrinkled; Belike some Priest forgot By Death's quiet reapers in the fields of Time, Or Sage whose lot 'Twas to serve oracles. And, as chance straws Upon the stream of life meet and obey, In sympathy, the call which draws Each to the other, I left the modern day Which glared upon the path, and passed To where the old man sat within the shade Of centuries dead. [ 84 ] THE BROOK OF REVELATIONS Our greetings given The past usurped the present. Nor speak Would he of upstart races, Hun and Turk, But led our discourse unto days when Greek Was sung to Dian, and Pan did lurk Among the reeds. We spoke of Hesiod And his pageantry of gods ; of quests Odyssian; of the embattled ranks which trod Before the gates of Troy; of Pluto's guests; Of Ena, bringing from the underworld Her gift, each springtime, of the fairy flowers Which winter hides ; of Dana?'s golden showers ; And that strange fable of Narcissus, So wrapt in love of his own beauty That love of others and life's duty Were all forgot and, at a look. He sprang to his own image in the brook. "So runs the tale," my friend asserted, "But tales do ofttimes miss the sense, or feint At facts, misleading men, and Truth per- verted Leaves judgment false. 'Twas life, not death That came, when, prone beside the stream. [ 85] THE S C H O O li OF SYMPATHY Narcissus gazed upon its mirror and therein Descried his inner strife." "Is it not so?" I asked, "That his own face, so often praised in song, Bereft the sight by its own beauty?" "Son, they have told thee wrong. Faultless it was in seeming; alas, that mask should be So false in semblance ; for I was he. The fair Narcissus, son of Cephissus and Liriope, Foremost in Thesbian grace. "Yet not my face It was which then I saw reflected. Borne on the moving stream Beneath my wondering eyes. But to my soul's surprise. The sequence of the lives that I had lived ; Lives filled with powers neglected; Many and base and loveless ; stretching far Into the ages gone. Each life did pass Before me in pictured revelation, distinct fiel THE BROOK OF EEVELATIONS Like profiled cameo standing white Against its ground of blue, instinct With the feebleness and slight Of days amiss and aright. "And, in that moving glass Of Truth, 'twas shown how poor a thing Narcissus was; how graceless, false in ring. How most unfair his soul looked in the stream Of life. And from the dream Of that clear sight, fraught with its past, I learnt the aim of life, and that at last Narcissus should be fair. [ 87 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY XV A PARABLE SHE stood, like Rebekah at the well; a woman of the nomad Arabs, clad in the blue burnous worn by her race. Over her head was thrown, with careless grace, a fold of her garment screening part of the face ; empha- sizing the beauty of her dark eyes, pensive be- neath the smooth, brown forehead. Where water had splashed from o'er-filled pitchers the ground was russet colored, and trodden level by innumerable bare feet. Farther oif the sur- face was sun-bleached and seamed with gaping cracks, in and out of which glided the green and mottled lizards. At a few paces grew two palms, in the loom of whose leaves was woven a trembling fabric of golden light and sepia shadow, cast over woman and well. Overhead stretched the infinite blue of Egypt's sky. As I approached I noted that the woman sought to pour water into a trough for the benefit of two thirsty goats, but the vessel proving too heavy to be handled in this manner [ 88] A PARABLE by such slight arms as hers, the privilege fell to me of helping her; and whilst the animals drank, we spoke of the mute gratitude of beasts for service rendered. "If my intuition speaketh true, my sister, to you are known only the thoughts which are born from gentleness." "Not so, brother," answered this daughter of the desert, "I have known other thoughts, but Allah is merciful. Remembered are his teach- ings. 'Twas little time ago my husband and I quarreled, and in my anger I spoke to him in words that had been madness if used at any other time; aye, and were madness, for is not anger always madness? And in his rage he seized me by the wrist so hard that the impress of his fingers left a blue bracelet stamped around my wrist. It was not a bruise or time would have lessened it, nor did it hurt, save in my heart. I told him not of this badge of re- proof which I wore upon my wrist ; nor confided I in any. But Allah sees all. **Three days agone I was coming hither with an empty pitcher when I met two men quarrel- ing over the profit on a bag of dates. From words they came to threats and from threats to blows. fssT] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY "There was none to help so I laid my pitcher down, and ran between the quarrelers, imploring them to remember that only the dogs of the street fought thus, and that Allah gave reason to men that they might arrange in fair ways their disputes. The men tried to push me aside, but I would not go, and held my place between them; and the delay won them to laughter and friendliness again. "Brother, the end of my story shall answer your thought of me. The men went on their way together. I refound and filled my pitcher, and with glad feet returned to the village. There, as I lifted the pitcher from my head, the burnous slipped from off my arm, and be- hold the badge of anger upon my wrist, worn so many days, had gone; my arm had for- gotten ; only my heart remembered. Allah sees all." [ 90 ] A ROMANY PROPHET XVI A ROMANY PROPHET And this our life, . . . Finds tongues in trees, books in tlie running brooks. Sermons in stones. As You Like It IN every object dwells the still small voice which sympathy may hear. A picture, statue, vase convey to us the subtle mes- sages entrusted to them by their creators ; how should a leaf, a flower, a crystal be less eloquent? Sometimes the object speaks of itself and in our inmost selves we listen; sometimes it stirs our memories to responding tones which join the echoes of days agone; sometimes it wakes the superconsciousness which is latent in each of us. I remember an exceptionally intelligent workman engaged in fixing supports to the cover of an Egyptian sarcophagus refusing to continue at his task because of the strange voices he heard when at work inside this tomb. On another occasion I handed to a friend a small terra-cotta lamp of the age of the crusades. It had just been excavated from an fill THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY old site in Malta, and forthwith he gave me, psychometicallj, the story of this humble shard with details so dramatic and clear that they led to other interesting discoveries. Amongst many similar instances I have known a lady to suffer keen anguish and to ask protection from "a sea of angry faces and shaken fists and straw and blood and knives" when quite unwittingly she had taken into her hand a ring worn by Marie Antoinette at her execution. These thoughts are suggested by a small slab of peacock marble which the writer uses as a paper-weight. It was picked up near a Chris- tian shrine amid the Etruscan hills and now with mute insistence bids my pen pay homage to its place of origin. The mental scene is therefore Italian where the brown-roofed houses of Siena cling to their terraced slopes like rocks jutting from a cascade of peat-colored water, bordered by verdant banks and flecked with a foam of blossoms. Here, about forty years ago, a young English lady, then studying sing- ing under a noted Italian maestro and since famous on the operatic stages of England and America, was wandering through the by-ways of this town of Tuscany, and had sought tem- porary shelter from the glare of the noonday __ A ROMANY PROPHET sun beneath a wayside arbor of vine-clad trellis work. On one side of this shady refuge stood a broken shrine dedicated to Our Lady and on the other side trickled into its stone basin a small fountain. The girl had not rested long in this place when a man clad in the Italian peasant's style, with cloak thrown over the shoulder and a brilliant kerchief tied around his neck, ap- proached. In dress he was an Italian but in speech and features he belonged to the wander- ing family of the Gypsies, whose colloquial name of the Egyptians links them with the ancient cult of divination. After fulfilling his duties to the spiritual and physical man by bending in salutation to the shrine, and drink- ing at the fountain, he addressed the girl. Their conversation led to the golden sunlight, and from thence to the systems of other worlds which the stars denote, and how the prayers and aims of men must find somewhere in the starry vault the responses sought. Ultimately the Gypsy asked her if she truly wished to know what the stars had to tell her ; and half in curiosity and half for adventure's sake she promised to meet this wandering child of the Romany clan beneath the shrine of Our [93 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY Lady when the sky was dark and its script clear to read. Accordingly at the appointed hour she left the silent streets of the town and found her way to the lonely shrine; no longer the jealous focus of the Sun but bathed in the light of the Moon and its choir of attendant stars. The Gypsy was already there busily drawing with his staff sundry figures in the dust of the ground, while every now and then he would look upward at the sky and apparently bring back therefrom some note to add to his hieroglyphs or find cause to erase some sign not in harmony with his thoughts. After watching him some time she drew near, and he acknowledged her presence with a quiet gesture but continued silently his reading of the heavens and his writing in the dust. At length, his calculations ended, he studied them intently. Then, carefully obliterating all that he had written, he approached the wondering girl and spoke. "Madonna, thy life will shine with the bright- ness of the stars above, yet thy brightness must be short-lived. It will be the brightness of a shooting-star that calls the world to notice. The gift of song is thine. Numberless are the [ 94 ] A ROMANY PROPHET men and women who will come to hear thee sing, and in their hearts they will love thee. Yet there shall be one amongst them who loves thee most. He will be thy husband, and to him thou shalt bear three children; one shall die as a child, one shall die in a far land where palm trees grow, and the third shall dwell in a land where the snows are deep. "Not many are the years of thy wifehood, for the waters of the sea shall swallow him and his ship, and scarcely shall be known the place of his burial beneath the great waters. And thou shalt hide thy sorrows in thine art of song, and rapidly shalt thou attain fame and friends and wealth. "But thy course is then run. Thy last song shall kill thee. Even as thy hearers are ac- claiming thy genius, thy light shall end in death, in the seventeenth year from this hour." The entire prophecy, given in this strange way, beneath the watchful stars was fulfilled in every particular. The lady became a famous singer. She married the captain of an English ship which lies "full fathoms deep" with all her crew beneath the waters of the Atlantic. She bore him three children; one of whom died in infancy, another died in India; and the third [ 95 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY lives in America "where the snows are deep." Soon after the tragic death of her husband, when singing before an audience in England, she broke a blood vessel and died the same night, in the flower of her youth and fame, and in the exact year foretold by the picturesque seer, who, like Archimedes of Syracuse, used the sands as his writing board. Be quiet, little paper-weight; have I not faithfully set down your message.'^ [ 96 ] DEATH AND LIFE ARE NEIGHBORS xvri WHERE DEATH AND LIFE ARE NEIGHBORS Then God waked, and it was morning. Matchless and supreme. All Heaven seemed adorning Earth in its esteem. OVER the sleeping Nile hangs Egypt's night spangled with a myriad stars. Dimly we discern the mudbank to which we are moored, and the adjoining plain, bor- dered by the western desert hills. Across the broad river lies the tourist-burdened Luxor, now restful amid its palms and temples ; and beyond are the ghostly shapes of Karnak, scattered upon its embracing sands, wind-driven from Arabian steeps. Under the prow of our daha- beah the ripples are whispering secrets which the river learned in the land of Cush and the far wilds of Abyssinia. The silence is the si- lence of things dead and forgotten; for Savak, the crocodile-god, whose robe of state is the [97 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY darkness, and whose ministers are the gods of the underworld, holds nocturnal court. Hush! was that the cry of some priest of Ammon, 'scaped from his mummy-case hidden in a lonely tomb of yonder Lybian cliifs? Above our mast it sounded and now passes on soft wings towards the monoliths of Thebes, "proud city of No, the jackals and owls shall make their dwellings in thy palaces." In its flight it has disturbed the dogs of the near-by village, and their discordant protest, rising from solo to chorus, sinks, too slowly, back to solo and silence. Spirit or owl it knew the limi- tations of the night, for over the black ridge of the eastern hills a greenish light shows in the sky. It is the false dawn, the wolf's tail, as the Arabs call it, and warns men to prepare for the coming day. Slowly it dies, and the dark settles once more o'er the land, and upon eyelids dreaming of Cheops and his Pyramids, or Rameses smiting Hittites. Egypt sleeps. Again the sky lightens in tints of pinks and mauves ; shyly at first, and then in bolder reds and yellows, painting the desert in rosy chromes. Savak and his hosts of the dark are in retreat back to the underworld; his rear- DEATH AND LIFE ARE NEIGHBORS guard stealing away in shadow of hill and temple, while Ra, the new-born sun, mounts in his chariot to the fields of heaven to greet his father Osiris, and to pour his life-giving rajs upon the world. Upon the deck of our dahabeah the Arab sailors, with faces turned to Mecca, are making the seven prostrations and beseeching protec- tion through the day. From the village come trooping the wives and maidens with water- pitchers balanced on their heads. Chattering they descend the pathway to the shore, and stand ankle-deep in the stream, helping one an- other to fill and lift their ponderous vessels; and then move homewards in statuesque poses. The bank so quiet a few moments ago grows populous with brown-faced men intent upon our doings ; with large-eyed wondering babies ; with goats inquisitive and dogs in search of uncon- sidered trifles; while overhead the kites make up for noiseless wings by strident screamings. Awakened Egypt is astir. We ride through the village streets and among its dust heaps, passing to the fields which its good folk cultivate. It appears as though we were moving upon an enormous checker-board, divided into innumerable squares THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY of alternate brown arable and luxuriant crops of dourah, beans and lentils. The squares are separated by channels embanked about a foot above the level of the ground, down which run rills of water lifted from the river by the workers of the shadoofs or the patient buifaloes turning sakir wheels. Lovely are these fields in the lights of morn, carpeted with blossoming crops, and framed by lisping rivulets emprisoned within channels of chocolate-colored soil. Where the life-giving water passes all is green and tender ; and where it has been denied the skin of nature is cracked and sore; aching beneath the relentless sun. Agape with thirst its seamed surface is dan- gerous to the rider, yet offers refuge to innu- merable lizards which slip into the fissures at our approach. From verdant places white ibis mourn the days when temples were raised to Thoth, the ibis-headed scribe of the gods ; and flights of quail, those fat and queruleut burghers of the fields, rise protestingly from disturbed councils; while palm-doves and the crested hoopees play hide and seek amongst the flowering beans, and bee-eaters dart past in flashes of burnished copper. It is the realm of Life. ' [ 100 1 DEATH AND LIFE ARE NEIGHBORS With an abruptness emphasized by contrast, we emerge upon the desert, supreme in desola- tion. It is the domain of Death ; the shroud of mummied Egypt. In its grim folds, grey with the ages, are wrapped the dead of ancient Thebes. These wastes of sand, stretching away to the Lybian hills, form one vast grave. The ground we ride upon is littered with bones and shreds of mummy cloths and fragments of bitumized-flesh that were, perchance, long since, part of some fair maid in the court of Sethi, or formed the muscle of a soldier, far-travelled in lands he had aided to subdue. The wind dis- creetly smooths again the winding sheet of dust which the hoofs of our animals had disturbed. The place is filled with voices and every object tells of the living past. If your soul is so at- tuned you may listen to the laughter of her whom we thought a maid of Sethi's court, and hear the wheels of her lover's chariot bearing her back to the river from some ceremony; or softly comes the chant of singers leading Pharaoh and his courtiers to the temple; or again the wailing of hired mourners, the neigh- ing of horses, and the murmur of the crowd, crying, as they did for Jacob, "This indeed was a great mourning." The whole space vibrates [ 101 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY with suggestion until some trivial incident of the present breaks the spell, and only the desert is about us. It is the forecourt of Egypt's eternal home, motionless, save where the undying sun makes dance the air which treads upon the burning sands. [ 102 ] THE MOENING SIGH OF MEMNON XVIII THE MORNING SIGH OF MEMNON The voice of the god might be most nearly compared to the tender music of a harpstring. Pausanias AWHILE ago as we rode from a village of the Theban plain into the western desert, we passed from the fields of the living to the graves of the dead. Often I have stood upon this dividing line between the abundant life and fertility nurtured by the Nile and the implacable, yellow desert where all is death. The small lizards which have their home amid the verdant crops wear liveries of brilliant green, whereas their cousins who dwell a few feet away in the desert are clad in sombre browns and yellows. Woe be to the lizard who crosses from one environment to the other. In- stantly the sharp eyes of some kite, wheeling in the nether blue, perceive the green lizard on the desert, or the yellow trespasser amid the greenery of the fields, and straightway upon whirring wings descendeth kismet. It is not well to lightly cross the frontiers of life and death unless some knowledge is possessed of conditioned needs. [ 103 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY In the center of this Theban plain, betwixt the life-giving river and the forebiding Lybian cliffs, appear the famed colossi of Amenhotep ; two seated figures, dominating immediate space and thought. The hugeness of their stature — each seated figure is sixty-five feet in height — is magnified by the waste around, and solitude adds immeasurably to their dignity. What mean these giants, petrified upon lonely thrones ? What message stays unspoken on their lips.?^ It should be worthy asking, for in pose and place they are kings of more than the wilderness, regnant in a realm real although of the past. The erudite in Egyptology tell us that the warrior Pharaoh Amenhotep of Thebes erected these two statues of himself; that they were originally monoliths of breccia and sat before the pylon of a temple long since dis- mantled; that the more northerly of the two was partly destroyed by an earthquake in 27 B. C. and the upper part thrown down; that the Roman Emperor Septimus Severus restored the statue with blocks of sandstone in 170 A. D. ; and that ancient travellers referred in their writings to the northern statue as Mem- non. How insufficient sounds so terse a de- scription. It reads like the catalogue of some [ 104 ] THE MORNING SIGH OF MEMNON dealer in antiquities rather than an effort to hearken to the voice of these kingly figures who grant us audience. It were fitting to approach prepared. Let us therefore recall who Memnon was, and why ancient travellers bestowed his name upon one of these statues. In the pages of the blind poet of Attica we find related the encounter between Achilles and Memnon, the king of the Ethi- opians, before the walls of Troy. After brave words and mutual defiance, they fight and Memnon is killed. Then cometh Eos, his mother, who carries his body from the field and mourns his loss so passionately that Zeus, moved by her tears, awakens the dead Memnon and bestows upon him the gift of immortality. In the course of time this story came to have two renderings. To the Greek unversed in re- ligious subtleties, Memnon was simply a great warrior who came from the far East and was slain in the Trojan war. He was, however, re- puted to have possessed such superb physique and beauty that he became a favorite subject for picturing on vases and armor, whereon he was generally represented as black, being an Ethiopian. But to the cultured Greek the legend spoke [ 105 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY more deeply. The tears of Eos were not the tears of a mortal. Eos was the Dawn, and her son, Memnon, could be no other than the Light of Day. Each morning, therefore, his mother wept for his absence, and her tears are seen by men as the early dew-drops. The son of the Dawn might vanish for a time, as the night shrouds the day, but he could not be destroyed. He was immortal. Born in the East, the land of the rising Sun, the dewdrops fall from the eyes of the watching Dawn until she sees her son lift his awakened head above the world and run his course across the heavens to the west. Passing to Egypt the Greeks were instructed in the cult of Osiris and Isis, and how the Sun- god Ra nightly conquered the powers of dark- ness and came anew each morning to an eager world. With minds nursed on these legends, and intuitively conscious of their meanings, our wandering Greeks visited the Theban nome, and there learnt from the priests that a curious phenomenon had been discovered in connection with the more northerly of the colossal figures of Amenhotep. It had been noticed that every morning when the rays of the rising sun touched the statue it gave forth musical sounds like soft moanings or the twang of a harp-string. In [ 106 ] HE MORNING SIGH OF ME M NON keenest sympathy with Nature and prone to see in every unexplained movement and sound the presence of the unseen gods, the Greeks in- stantly ascribed this responsiveness of the statue to the morning Sun as the voice of the Spirit of Day. To them it was the reborn light, answering the maternal greeting of Eos. Gradually, as Grecian poesy was wedded to the involved Egyptian teachings, "the morning sigh of Memnon" became one of the accepted oracles of the world. Probably the sounds given forth by the statue were due to the pass- age of air through the porous stone, caused by the sudden change of temperature at sun- rise; although the modern traveller may watch, as did the writer, an Arab climb the monolith and produce dull and unconvincing tones from a sonorous stone which lies hidden in its chest. But to the ancient Egyptian and Greek the statue spoke in no uncertain tones. Venerated from the Danube to the sources of the Nile, it gave to its votaries, at the hour of dawn, ad- monishment, praise or counsel, bidding all who listened know that shadows are transient and light immortal. [ 107 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY XIX LIGHT AND SHADOW Throughout life, 'tis death that makes life live. Gives it whatever the significance. R. Browning GOD hath made the mountain for thy altar, proclaims Zoroaster, shaping his teachings to the needs of wanderers. To the ancient Egyptians, with their populous cities strung on the silt-laden Nile, such limi- tation to homage of the gods was unthinkable. Nevertheless, the amplitude of Egyptian thought could and did conceive, after its own kind, the Zoroastrian ideal and offer to light, as a fitting altar, the dark heart of a mountain. If the Sun would thus accept worship, it should be his ; but the mountain must first be rendered worthy. Its core should be hewn from it; its native roof should be upheld by giants of stone ; the walls of its cavernous depths should tell in ideograms the aspirations of the land; its shadows should teach the true meaning of light ; [ 108 ] LIGHT AND SHADOW and in the night of its chambers the groping souls of men should find far vision. Out of such thoughts was born the wondrous shrine of Abu Simbel in Nubia. Caves in many lands have been enlarged by men for religious purposes, or carved in the mountain sides of India and elsewhere, but none quite in the spirit or with the grandeur of this temple, marooned in the desert between the first and second cataracts of the Nile. What inspiration was it that bade the architect of Sesostris forget the columned courtyards of by-gone Pharaohs, sentinelled by lofty pylons lifting to the eternal blue, and conjure a lonely and inanimate moun- tain of Nubia into a living anthem to the Sun who is born each morn of the dark and passes daily from Death to Life. As I wandered years ago in the halls of this Nubian temple, I in- voked the spirit of its creator, biding him teach my heart the secret of his purpose, en- treating him to aid me catch some phrase of his enduring prayer echoing down the corridors of time. And measureless was his response. There are epochs in the lives of nations when the atmosphere is full of whispered innovations. We call them renaissances but they are born with a fulness of knowledge and with the in- t 109 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY spirations of maturity. So was it in Egypt thirty- two centuries ago, when the Ramesesan dynasty had made her mistress of the known world, and men sustained far hopes with strong endeavors. Let us sense how the heart of Egypt then could beat; let us go together to this quiet altar set in the mountain depths, and watch the Silences minister to the eternal veri- ties of life. ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ We will leave behind us the beaten tracks of Egypt; for tours distort and guide books dis- color the stream of thought. Our dahabeah has ascended the now forgotten first cataracts of the Nile; has passed the island of Philae, more beautiful in olden days than the Parthe- non, where a utilitarian age has buried beneath the sighing waves the sanctuaries and colon- nades of Isis. In our voyage southward we shall not share the fair fertility of the northern land for stern in its aspects is tliis Nubian river. The fields which stretch away till lost at the feet of the desert hills are gone, and no- where can be seen those bounteous crops which gave to Egypt the name of the land of plenty. In their stead rise craggy bluffs of granite or limestone through which rushes the deep river, [ no ] LIGHT AND SHADOW or, widening out, its waters travel between rival wastes of sand. Poverty is written on the face of this sun-scorched country, and its sparse population tills with care the narrow strip of ground which, as Herodotus says, is the gift of the Nile. Thereon the natives grow slender harvests of bean and millet and tend the pre- cious date palm which grows in the outskirts of every village. Between Korosko and Derr, there are miles of these palms, like an undula- ting fringe of green attached to the brown and golden robes of the desert. With tortuous course, its bed full of shifting shoals, its banks hemmed in or wide by turns, the river winds ; fit symbol of the path of life, to the riddle of which we seek answer from the oracle at Abu Simbel. Each day we sail and warp against the current, which reflects in its myriad glimpses the fiery eyes of the Sun until he sinks, weary as a god may be with purposes fulfilled, behind the western hills in whose shad- ows lieth Amenti. At night we moor the un- wieldy boat at some village ; and as the mooring pegs are driven into the bank the villagers troop down to watch us, bringing uncouth dag- gers, barbed spears and leather goods to barter for our simple gifts, amongst the most coveted [ 111 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY of which will be an empty bottle to hold the oil which your Ethiopian needs to give him a cheerful countenance. Shyly come the chil- dren, big-stomached and nude, with eyes of ga- zelles, gazing, thumb in mouth, at the big boat and our strange ways. They are joined by the mothers, living statues of unconscious grace, with babe on shoulder and black hair decked with a Dan« shower of shells and coins. Then follow the workers of the shadoofs and sakirs, and the elders, grave and reverend seigneurs of the wilds, eager to discuss the outside world. Darkness falls ; the village sleeps and all is quiet, save for the occasional protest of the dogs disturbed in dreams by owl or prowling jackals. tj? ^ ^p 9|r ?!? ^ ^ In the final miles of our journey the scenery grows sterile and desolate. On both sides are low hills over the broken edges of which the Sa- hara and Arabian deserts pour their golden cascades. Suddenly, as we turn a promontory, we obtain a distant view of Abu Simbel rising from the water's edge like some mystic dome poised between heaven and earth and dimly we discern the four colossal figures of Rameses which are seated before its portal. As their [ 112 ] LIGHT AND SHADOW dimensions develop, their majestic calm and utter solitude impress the attention vividly. Not even Karnak, with the heaped-up chaos of its bygone palaces, infuses such a feeling of awe as the Nile traveller experiences when first he comes before these enormous figures, throned before the rock-temple of Ra. Cut in the rock of the mountain, its fa9ade is over one hundred feet high, and on each side of the doorway sit two effigies of Rameses II who caused this unique shrine to be hewn in testi- mony of his conquests and in honor of his gods. These statues are sixty-six feet in height, each of their forefingers being a yard long. The figure on the southern side of the entrance has been broken off at the waist by an earthquake and lies, in itself an imposing ruin, at the foot of its tenantless throne. In a deep niche over the door stands Ra, the Sun-god, crowned with the disc emblematical of his cult, and fronting that east wherefrom each morn he bathes this astounding temple with his light. On entering we are appalled by the profound gloom. The darkness is peopled with the wraiths of other days; our voices are hushed, our feet as noiseless upon the invading carpet of sand. Above our heads the mountain [ 113 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY is upheld bj huge columns of native rock, against each of which stands a figure of Osiris almost as high as the roof, with hands folded across the breast, holding the signs of life and power. Impassively their eyes regard us as we pass down the aisles of their stately home ; eyes that are cold and quiet but watchful of men as are the centuries. Two hundred yards from the temple door, where the light of day was left, is an adytum or sanctuary, and in the centre of this inner chamber stands an altar — the altar of the Sun, whereon thirty-two centuries ago Sesos- tris, the conqueror of the world of his time, sacrificed to the gods amid pageants which filled these halls where now reigns solitude. In such a place the stillness speaks. Surrounded by the emblems of a faith which gave to Greece her mysteries and bequeathed many a tenet to our modern creeds, one senses deeply those con- victions which found such noble expression. On my first visits to the temple I wandered in its recesses, studied its mural writings, made myself familiar with its material aspects. Yet each time that I stepped forth from its gloom [ 114 ] LIGHT AND SHADOW into the brightness of day I knew that I had missed its message, that I had not heard the voices of its ministering presences. Therefore I resolved that I would sleep at night within the temple, and I bade my Nile sailors not to dis- turb me, despite their assurances that evil hap- penings would befall. And Isis smiled upon my resolution, silvering shore and seated Pha- raohs with her rays, but, wistful of my quest, she hung the velvet of her night across the portal. Within the temple the giants of the great hall greeted me with stony stare, and the pictured votaries seemed whispering to graven gods as I passed through succeeding chambers to the sanctuary. Here I called upon the soul of him who devised this temple, to teach me its purpose and his thought, and I lay down upon the altar of Ra and slept. Before the night of the outside world had turned to day I awoke. A beam of light had touched my face and as I sprang up it fell upon the center of the altar of the sun. All else around was darker than the darkness of a thousand nights. But I was aware that in the far distance beyond the Nile, at the meeting of two hills, the young sun peeped at his sleep- ing world. Across the intervening desert and [ 115 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY river, through the long corridors of the shrine, this first beam passed to lay, as its first touch of day, a ray of the eternal light upon this altar set in the eternal shadow. Wise architect, we sense the heart of thy philosophy. If the Sun is born each morn, at- taining to fullness of vigor at noon and declin- ing slowly to the west at eve; if then it seems that it is lost to the world of the living so that we know it only in memory, doth it not live in the realms of Amenti and come again to rebirth? If this be so of Ra, the Lord of Light, shall it not be true of Pharaoh, and if thus with Pharaoh shall the meanest of subjects share less in the great lesson? Wise architect, we thank thee. [ 116 ] BY HIM WHO SLEEPS AT P H I L .E XX BY HIM WHO SLEEPS AT PHIL.E IT is remarkable how unfailingly men, in all climes and conditions of evolution, have felt the magnetic influences of certain lo- calities, often with no apparent reason behind the traditions which gather round them. The veneration bestowed is not the source of our wonder; rather is it the surety and eagerness with which men discover and admit the forces emanating from such centres; using them to their uplifting. Scores of such potent places, scattered over the world, have, from different causes, swayed the peoples of empires dead and living. Most of them possess histories which clearly suggest the source of their power for good; or legendary lore through the mists whereof we faintly discern the far-off cause of the transmitted effect. But in the majority of cases only their latent influence remains screened, ofttimes by a veil of superstition, like a fair face hidden behind the mask of car- [ 117 ] T HE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY nival. The purpose and the power have been fulfilled, the story of their origin is lost. Such an example is the island of Philae which once gemmed the placid stream above the first cataracts of the Nile; the joy in the centuries that are dead of all lovers of the beautiful; the resting-place of Isis and Osiris; the "sa- cred-isle" of ancient creeds. In the days when Ptolemaic Pharoahs reigned in Sais, there were few expressions more revered in Greece or Egypt than the adjuration "by Him who sleeps at Philae." Contracts and vows of moment were made binding by the utterance of this phrase. In the mind of the speaker it invoked Osiris to bear witness to the oath thus attested in his name ; to guide its due fulfilling ; to pro- tect him whose promise was thus made in the name of the mighty Lord of life, whose realm was the universe, and whose resting-place was Philse in the far waters of the Nubian Nile. How came this small and distant isle to win a renown so widely spread and an influence so unquestioned? What benediction, forgotten amongst the myriad secrets of the Sphinx, first gave its protective radiations, and filled the early Greeks and Egyptians with the sense of this focussed power? In later ages, with the [ 118 J BY HIM WHO SLEEPS AT PHIL^ accretion of traditions and the consequent repe- tition of ceremonials, and converging thoughts one may understand the accumulated power of the island. But the early pages of the record are strangely mute. In the days when I assisted at its excavation the lowest strata of the ground yielded only the crumbled adobes of humble villages, the inhabitants of which may, perchance, have watched the granite blocks of Syene sent down the river to the builders of the Pyramids. And the subsequent ages piled up layer upon layer of uninstructive ruin, like the seared pages of a book which has passed through some fire. Then came the hour of acknowledgment, the time when men first whispered of this island, "take off thy shoes for the ground whereon thou standest is holy." And shrines arose; humble at first, yet sending forth their influence for good as tiny pebbles cast into the stream form concentric and ever-widening rings beyond all measure of their size. And the fame of Philae grew apace; and the great ones of the earth vied with each other in doing honor to its gods, so that rival kings stipulated in their treaties for permission for their subjects to visit its sanctuaries unharmed, and even bor- [ 119 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY rowed the images of its gods in time of stress or gladness ; while Pharoahs of Egypt and tyrants of Greece and emperors of Rome show- ered favors upon its priesthood until "Ailak," the angel-island, jewelled with its clustering temples, deep bowered amid its palms and gar- dens, and shining even as the face of Isis re- flected in her silver pool of Chelal, won the title "the sacred isle where rest the gods." In the ancient writings there is no distinct mention of Philae until the reign of Nektanebos, about 350 e.g., to whose time the oldest build- ings on the island belong. There can be little doubt, however, that long before that decadent period in Egyptian history the island had been held in veneration, and there are indications that some shrine existed as far back as 1580 B.C., when Amosis was waging his long fight against the intruding Hyksos, and restoring the earlier order of things in Egypt. Prob- ably some of these minor temples were removed to make room for later and more worthy erec- tions, while others being built too near the con- stantly encroaching water, the urmiindful river destroyed the sanctuaries of its own deities. But from the time of Nektanebos to a date comparatively modern the island must have been [ 120 ] BY HIM WHO SI.EEPS AT PHIL^ a hive of busy workers, resounding with the fashioning of granite columns, the chiseling of hieroglyphs, the sighing of ropes straining at mighty monoliths, the panting of countless laborers spent with their tasks, and the cries of master builders. It is probable that the peculiar sanctity of the place was first ascribed to the gods of the neighboring cataracts, but their worship was afterwards combined with that of other deities, and in the course of time the chief temples were dedicated to Isis and Osiris. Most of the im- posing buildings, which, until recently, lent the island its characteristic appearance, were erected by the Ptolemaic Pharaohs during the three centuries before the Christian era, and by the Roman emperors during the three subse- quent centuries. Long after Egypt had been Christianized, the ancient-worship still held sway in Nubia. Despite the edicts of Theodosius, the temples were not closed until the reign of Justinian in 565, when Isis saw the face of Mary painted upon her walls and witnessed her chambers, decorated with the symbol of the Moon, used for the creed of the Cross. Then followed the conquest of Egypt by the Arabs and Phil« [ 121 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY embraced Islam, whilst in the northern corner of the island flourished a Coptic town of sun- dried bricks, built like a swallow's nest under the eaves of the mighty fanes whose sculptured figures were daubed with plaster, and covered with presentations of the saints and the in- signia of Christianity. Let us visit Philse as it appeared in the glory of its old age some thirty-five years ago before the needs of a utilitarian age had dammed the waters of the Nile at Assouan. In that aspect of its ruins, and in the full sunlight of a Nubian noon, we may better sense the memories linger- ing amongst the white colonnades and note the shadowed wrinkles upon the time-worn walls. Then will we visit it lying prone and dying, choosing the hour when from her throne in heaven Isis weeps in tears of silvered light upon the shrines which sink forever beneath the ris- ing river. Our way from the Nubian town of Assouan will lead us across that portion of the desert which borders the cataracts on their eastern side; the rim of one of the waste spaces of the earth where granite boulders of all sizes and fantastic shapes litter the drifting sand. No vegetation may live here. We are treading the [ 122 ] BY HIM WHO SI.EEPS AT PHILuE threshold of the profound desolations of Arabia from which, verily, no barriers separate us. It is nothingness materialized — ^no life or move- ment save of the kites, wheeling under a dome of metallic blue, and an atmosphere that quivers beneath the pitiless sun. The banks of the upper river form a lake above the cataracts, where our boat, manned by its Arab sailors, awaits us, and embarking we put forth to the green paradise of Philae beckoning us to its palms and shadows. A short row against the current which swirls around many self-sub- merged rocks and we land on the sandy carpet of the sacred isle scattered with its fragmentary litter of history. Each separate ruin, studied for itself, was a gem, lighting one's mind with suggestions which still might sway the votary. These piled evi- dences of a great philosophy and of profound occult studies were numerous some years ago, but for most of them the river was already forming a sarcophagus which men might no more violate. A few still lingered above the tide. In all representations of Philse the ex- quisite kiosk built by the Emperor Trajan, and known as Pharoah's bed, uplifted its grace- ful canopy of stone, nor had the invading [ 123 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY waters taken from us the peerless colonnades which, with their forests of carved capitals, lined a causeway worthy the Queen of Egypt's heaven. Where much else was ruin, time had respected her sanctuary and the coloring on many of the sculpturings which covered the high walls and columns were still marvellously bright. In one room, called the "Chamber of the Ten Columns," lingered an exquisite ex- ample of decorative art. Here the ceilings of blue, picked out with golden stars, and the green and orange of the carvings, preserved the unchanged look of its former state, and furnished a feast of harmonious coloring. If Philae in its decay and dust, commanded such wonder for the vanished faith to which it bears deathless testimony, we may faintly pic- ture the scenes of pomp that once enlivened its halls and terraces, when the sacred isle was filled with royal and priestly ceremonies. The gorgeous barges, draped in costly fabrics, then came gliding to the sentinelled stairs, where their owners joined the glittering processions of priests and princes. The dimly-seen interior of the temple was brilliant with lamps and torches, while the proud knee that only bent to Heaven, knelt to Osiris and Isis, and paid [ 124 ] BY HIM WHO SliEEPS AT PHILiE homage, in the mystic forms of that religion which has stamped its liturgy on many creeds. The pageants have disappeared with the in- cense of their lamps but their wraiths of grandeur still proclaim the past. That view of Phila? was ours thirty-five years ago. Now let us see a great queen die ; a centre of magnetism surrender its powers when those powers have fulfilled their purpose? Modern science has done its work only too well, and today the grim barrage across the river buries the Nile gods beneath their waters. Once more let us make our way towards the sad rock of Philse, in the sympathetic company of Pierre Loti. The wind has fallen with the night, and the lake is calm. To the yellow sky of eve has succeeded one that is blue-black, "infinitely dis- tant, where the stars of Eg3rpt scintillate in myriads. A glimmering light shows in the east and the full moon rises, not leaden-coloured as in our climates, but straightway very luminous, and surrounded by an aureole of mist, caused by the eternal dust of the sands." As we row towards the now baseless kiosk, lulled by the song of the boatman, the great disc mounts into the sky and illuminates everything with a gentle splendour. All is very still; the boat- [125 J THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY men cease their Nubian song and the occasional call of some night bird suggests only the drown- ing cry of a spirit of the past. We glide be- neath the capitals of submerged columns and stay the gentle movements of the oars lest they should break too noisefully upon our thoughts. It is diflScult to realize that this is the Philae of a few years ago. The very air seems cold as if the life blood of the place no longer coursed within its walls, and the graven stones are clammy to the touch. We hear only the sighing of the wind and the lapping of the water against the columns and the bas-reliefs. Then suddenly there comes the noise of a heavy body falling, followed by endless eddies. A great carved stone has plunged at its due hour, to rejoin in the black chaos below its fel- lows that have already disappeared. Through the vista of these ghostly realms we pass in our boat. It is Pierre Loti who voices the dying magnetism of the place. "We are not alone ; a world of phantoms has been evoked around us by the Moon, some little, some very large. They had been hiding there in the shadow and now suddenly recommence their mute conversations, without breaking the pro- found silence, using only their expressive hands [ 126 ] BY HIM WHO SLEEPS AT PHIL^ and raised fingers. Now also the colossal Isis begins to appear ; the one carved on the left of the portico of her shrine ; first, her refined head with its bird's helmet, surmounted by a lunar disc; then, as the light continues to descend, her neck and shoulders, and her arm, raised to make who knows what mysterious, indicating sign; and finally the slim nudity of her torso, and her lips close bound. Behold her now, the goddess, come forth from the shadow. But she hesitates; she seems surprised and disturbed at seeing her feet, instead of the stones she had known for two thousand years, her own likeness, a reflection of herself, that stretches away, reversed in the mirror of water." "And suddenly again in the midst of the deep nocturnal calm of this temple, isolated here in the lake, comes the sound of a kind of mournful booming, of things that topple, stones that become detached and fall. Then, on the surface of the lake, a thousand concentric circles form, chase one another and disappear, rufBing indefinitely this mirror embanked be- tween the terrible granites, in which Isis regards herself sorrowfully." [ 127 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY XXI PLAY OUT THE GAME Practise what you know and you shall attain to higher knowledge, Matthew Abnold THE heart of man is a lake which reflects the mountains whereon God is throned. But the surface must be quiet, and the more profound its depths the surer shall be this condition of reflective peace. Gusts of worry and waves of mood break the image into trembling fragments. The water is troubled beyond its efficacy to heal, and ills which are hard to bear begin to prompt a longing for the imagined, because desired, oblivion of death. For those who would discard the labors of life for the seeming peace of death seldom are willing to ^'enquire curiously" if the relief sought may be gained in this way. They con- ceive the universe as an idle fantasy wherein a life, with its accumulated loves and hates and variant experiences, may be snuffed out like a candle, and darkness and negation follow. [ 128 ] PLAY OUT THE GAME Tears or fears have bred in them a despair which seeks redress not in eifort but in evasion or suicide, wholly disregarding the probability that effort is an essential of evolution, a privi- lege continuing as time, a right which may not be waived, and being used grows with enlarging powers. It is as if our lesson books were to prove unexpectedly difficult and in a rage we should throw them upon the schoolroom floor, refusing consideration to the obvious fact that sooner or later we must learn those lessons if we are to pass beyond them to a greater knowl- edge. The trials which they present are, as Zoroaster said, "merely the shavings in God's carpentry shop"; it is the carpentry which in- vokes our energies. These faint-hearted climbers to the heights of destiny forget the potentialities of life. Its unliquidated assets are ignored by them, its opportunities denied, its shadows so exagger- ated that their inherent beauty as the children of light becomes a source of dread. For surely shadows, if our vision is clear, are lovely and instructive? When Mohammed was asked what was the most gracious thing on earth he re- plied with superb simplicity, "the shadow of a palm tree." [ 129 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY All philosophies have taught this truth in various guises, setting forth in due equation the concordance of life and death. A remark- able example was discovered some years ago in Egypt. Its message is broken and any trans- lation must necessarily lack the colors of its original environment. Yet even in fragmentary form and with the colder rendering of our age its matter, pertinent and brief, should be worthy repetition without apology. The papyrus was found amongst the debris of a Nile tomb and purports to give us the dialogue between an Egyptian and his Soul. It is a document of unique interest ; and the profundity of thought which inspired its writer deepens our regret that the papyrus is so mutilated. The beginning of the manuscript in which this imaginary conversation is preserved is un- fortunately lost, but the subject is obviously connected with an evaluation of our mundane lives and with the nature of the life to which we are born at the event called Death. The Soul of the man has concluded an eloquent tirade on the opportunities presented by terres- trial life and its corroboration, death, but he complains that his Soul has not always be- friended him with counsel and encouragement; [ 130 ] PLAY OUT THE GAME has not sufficiently prompted him during the recent troubles which have come to him during his sojourn on the banks of the Nile. "Thou hast fled away during these days of misfortune, and thou shouldst have kept by my side as one who weeps for me, as one who walks near me. O my Soul, cease to reproach me that I mourn for the sorrows of my life, cease to thrust me towards death; how should I go towards it with entire pleasure?" And he proceeds to explain the various types of labour in which he is engaged, and the work he would leave unfinished and the affairs of the world wherein he is interested. Here the Soul interrupts : "Thou cursest the other world as if thou wert a rich man." What a shrewd thrust is here to test his courage. But the man is in no wise disconcerted by this at- tack and replies, "It's no good, your getting angry, I shall not go." Then the Soul pictures to the man the troubles of the life he is leading and shows him, amongst other incidents, that the child cut off in the spring-time of its life by being acciden- tally drowned in the Nile, or drawn under its surface by a crocodile, has lost the opportuni- ties of the physical existence, whereas the ma- t 131 ] THE SCHOOL OF SYMPATHY ture man has already been through varied ex- periences, and should be willing to face the new adventures of another life. After some further arguments urged by his Soul the man is convinced that he has nothing to fear in death, and he acknowledges that while he has not much more happiness to expect from living, he would gladly rest a little. What follows is evidently the principal part of the work, that over which the poet took most care. The man declares the misery and contempt into which he fell after experiencing those events which were doubtless related in the missing portion of this extraordinary doc- ument. "See, my name is more abused than the brave child about whom lies are told to his parents! See, my name is more abused than a town which is continually plotting re- bellion, but which is never found out! "To whom shall I speak to-day? No one remembers yesterday, and no one dares act at the moment. To whom shall I speak to-day.? The earth is a heap of evil doers! Death seems to me to-day like the remedy for a disease, like going out into the open air after a fever! Death seems to me to-day like the odour of the lotus, like repose on the shores of a land of [ 132 ] PliAY OUT THE GAME plenty ! Death seems to me to-day like the de- sire of a man to see his home after many years spent in captivity!" The Soul, delighted with his success, adds a few well-chosen words of congratulation to this profession of faith, and promises not even to seem to desert the man in any hour of trouble : "When you pass over and your body still be- longs to the earth, I will keep close to you, and yonder we shall dwell together." Such is this strange manuscript, one of the most extraordinary among the many left to us from those ancient days. The undulation of the poetry, the harmonies of colour, the spirit which inspired the work, may not be re- produced from this torn fragment of a dead philosophy, but it sends down the ringing grooves of time the echo of a brave and sympathetic appreciation of life and a readi- ness to meet the wider opportunities of death. THE END t 133]

23000593

Hurry, hurry, hurry; a comedy in three acts,

Arnold, Le Roy

hurryhurryhurryc00arno_djvu.txt

■ • mi wlfii BBS H ■ wm ■HI raran rani II iffl Hi ■H h ma H I^Bffl^HnHiiii mm HH ■ m m HH ffifiH :'f;:- 1 Son ..." .0* % *-H7i* A » ^ ♦ csSSfv,*.' O %s •• Z V^ v • r <J^*c N o* % V V"-*. ++# * * : *bv* ' ^ v ^ ♦ -v 7 . A ♦ o ^ 4°, v** .*&&• \/ •*«'* V** * -0 V ^b >^>. .• J% • ■ * Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/hurryhurryhurrycOOarno HURRY, HURRY, HURRY A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS BY LE ROY ARNOLD Copyright, 1915, By Le Roy Arnold Copyright, 1917, By Samuel French ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that " HURRY, HURRY, HURRY ", being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United State, is subject to a royalty, and anyone presenting the play without the consent of the owner or his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Application for acting rights must be made to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. New York IUEL FRENCH publisher fe Vest 38th STREET London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND ll 4 ^ PP 4 7878 SEP 25 1917 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY CHARACTERS Jack Crandall Cow boy -author Mr. Hooker Business man Stephen Hooker College freshman Ted Stone Football hero Alosius Bartholomew College professor Floy Hooker Vivacious debutante Letitia Brown Languishing dilettante Mrs. Hooker Modern mother Rita Pert housemaid Act I. Living room of the Hooker mansion, in the big American city, Middle West. Present time — late after- noon, a few days before Christmas. Act II. Same as Act I. Evening. Act III. Same as Act II. Just before midnight. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY ACT I Scene: Living room of the Hooker mansion. Late afternoon, a few days before Christmas. One large doorway, portieres open, discloses the hall with its stairway and a telephone con- spicuously placed. Another large doorway opens into the billiard room, and a small door opens into the study. The living room, with itz costly mahogany, consistent color scheme, paint- ings, hangings, and softly shaded lights, sug- gests luxury, if not individuality of taste. Mrs. Hooker, a big, aggressive woman of middle age, sits at a table, writing cards in mad haste, for a pile of boxes of various sizes in variegated Christmas wrappings. She has a mannerism of concluding her remarks with two little grunts, indicative of her good nature. Rita, a pert house maid, comes in from the billiard room, carrying a large bundle of pack- ages. She stumbles and lets them fall on the floor with a crash. Mrs. Hooker. {Helping Rita pick up the pack- ages) Rita, what an avalanche ! Rita. Mrs. Hooker, cook says Mrs. Hooker. Can't you see I haven't time to hear what cook says? Rita. But cook -■ 5 6 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Mrs. Hooker. Rita, you are exasperating. Here it is only three days before Christmas and I am fairly suffocated with responsibilities, and you keep coming to me with stories about cook. Now I haven't time Rita. But cook, she Mrs. Hooker. Rita! Did I tell you that Miss Floy and Mr. Stephen will dine at home this even- ing? Rita. No. Mrs. Hooker. Oh, Rita, when will you learn to say " No ma'am " ? Rita. I haven't time. I haven't time. (Exit Rita with a flounce, through door to billard room. Front door is heard to slam. Enter Mr. Hooker from hall. Short, with gray hair and moustache, slightly bald, — at first sight he would seem a con- ventional figure, but his gruff, mocking tone fails to conceal a naturally genial disposition) Mrs. Hooker. (Busily writing and not looking up) I thought you'd never come, Father. Don't you know we're dining out this evening at the Van Tyne- Aliens ? Mr. Hooker. I've been rushed to death all day, Mother. Office never in such a turmoil— telephone every second — everybody in a hurry. Mrs. Hooker. And I've been rushed all day, too — every day for that matter. Mr. Hooker. Yes, Mother, but there is a dif- ference between your philanthropy and my grain business. You may be sowing the seed, but I am reaping the whirlwind. (He sighs, steals back of her chair, and kisses her on the forehead) Mrs. Hooker. (Looking up for the first time) Why, Jim, what's the matter? Mr. Hooker. Matter? Mrs. Hooker. You haven't kissed me before for years. Not that I mind, dear. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 7 Mr. Hooker. (Sitting dejectedly) Suppose we haven't had time. Mrs. Hooker. And we haven't a minute now. Hurry and dress. You know, I can always dress quicker than you can. Mr. Hooker. Let's not go. Mrs. Hooker. But it's a dinner — the dinner of the season. They'd never forgive us for regretting at the eleventh hour. Mr. Hooker. Tell 'em I'm sick. Mrs. Hooker. Jim, what is the matter? Your rheumatism? If you'd only keep busy, you'd forget it. Mr. Hooker. No, 'tisn't rheumatism. Sally, I was thinkin' as I came in to-night — you so distracted with your Christmasing and our whole house stirred up like Bedlam all of the time Mrs. Hooker. What nonsense! There isn't a happier family in America than we are. Mr. Hooker. That's just it. There aren't any happy families in Amercia. , We're all too con- foundedly busy to be happy. Mrs. Hooker. Preposterous. The only way to be happy is to be busy. . I've heard you say so a thousand times. Now this is" no time for moralizing. Hurry up stairs, there's a dear. Mr. Hooker. Hurry, hurry, hurry ! That's it in nutshell. Everybody's hurrying and nobody knows why. I've been thinking I've made a mistake in pil- ing up money for us to spend. We were happier when we started on forty dollars a month, Sally, — now weren't we? Mrs. Hooker. What makes you so sentimental to-night, Jim? Is it the Christmas season? Really, there is something wrong with you. How could the four of us live on forty a month? Why, Floy spends as much for a pair of boots, and Steve for a supply of cigarettes. Really, dear, this is no time 8 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY to rhapsodize on the good old days when we were poor. They were good days, Jim, and I enjoyed cooking for you, — yes, and washing your clothes, too. And nobody could launder a collar better than I, if I do say it. But now we have something more important to do. We must get ready for that dinner, for one thing. I'll tell Seton to have the car at six forty-five. We'll have a few minutes on the way to decide what we are going to talk about. (She goes tozvard the telephone, but is stopped by her husband) Mr. Hooker. Sally, it's no use. We can't go. (He buries his face in his hands and she hurries to him) Mrs. Hooker. What is it, dear ? I hope you aren't going to have a breakdown. Mr. Hooker. Yes, that's what it is, a break- down. Mrs. Hooker. Oh, dear, everybody seems to be breaking down. Mrs. DeWitt Smith fell right over the bridge table the other day, just like that, flat, and they've carried her off to a sanitarium and she'll probably be there the rest of her life — but you are not like that, Jim. Mr. Hooker. No, Sally, my breakdown is going to be different. I am broke. Mrs. Hooker. Oh, everybody is, in the holiday season. But I have some cash. (Looking in her check book) Let me see, how much do you want? Mr. Hooker. You don't understand, Sally. Oh, I can't tell you. (He restrains a sob) Mrs. Hooker. You don't mean — the firm is going to fail? Mr. Hooker. Yes, to-morrow. It's been coming for a long time. W r e can't stave it off any longer. Directors' meeting this afternoon. We're busted. Mrs. Hooker. But surely we have some private income? (He shakes his head in dissent) HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 9 Mrs. Hooker. This home is ours, the law gives us that. Mr. Hooker. I can't live in a mansion, Sally, on other people's money. No, the home — everything has to go. . Mrs. Hooker. ^Oh, it's too terrible. Right at the time when the children need it. I don't care about myself, Father, I can get along. Life for me has been one perpetual readjustment, any way. But the children — Oh, Daddy — {The telephone bell rings, violently) No, I am not going to cry. Oh, I do hope there are no telephones in heaven. (Anszver- ing the telephone) Hello, yes, this is she. Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Force? So glad to hear from you. Yes, I remember you very well. Oh, I see. I'll take the matter up with Mr. Hooker. Yes, doubtless he will send you a check. Yes, worthy cause. Yes, thank you. Good-bye. {Hanging up' receiver) One comfort, we shan't be troubled with this incessant begging much longer. We'll be the beggars now, I suppose — Why, Jim, now I know. I have been trying to think of it all the time I was telephoning. There is Aunt Sophia's legacy, and that is something like a million, isn't it? Mr. Hooker. Yes, but we can't depend on that. It all goes to Floy, you know. Mrs. Hooker. Well, Floy will see that we don't starve, bless her. Now, Father, let's have a good time at the dinner party. Mr. Hooker. You are a good sport, Mother. But don't imagine that legacy is going to prevent the crash, a crash that will make a noise all over the United States. Guess I'll make a fine head-liner for the morning papers, — self-made, unmade. Probably call me a crook, too. (The telephone bell rings.) io HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Mrs. Hooker. Again! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! (Answering the telephone) Hello. Oh, is that you, dear? Yes, we were about to start to the dinner, but we >can't go. Will you explain? An awful thing has happened. Mr. Hooker — Oh, I can't tell you. Mr. Hoojker. Go on. Don't mind me. Tell her the whole truth. Mrs. Hooker. Mr. Hooker has had a — a stroke. Oh, no, he is alive, yes, quite alive. Yes, thank you, thank you, thank you. Good-bye. (Hanging up the receiver) Jim, where is Aunt Sophia's will? Mr. Hooker. Oh, it doesn't come into effect for a year or two. Queer thing, that will. I never told you the details of it, did I ? Not sure we'll ever get the money. Mrs. Hooker. What do you mean? Mr. Hooker. (Opening a secret panel and dis- closing a safe) Coast clear? Mrs. Hooker. (Glancing through the doorways) Yes. Mr. Hooker. (Opening safe and fumbling through some papers) Here it is. .Never told a soul about it, not even you. Suppose you ought to know, though. Mrs. Hooker. Jim, please ! Mr. Hooker. Well, you know how queer Sophia always was. Well, her will is queerer. Not so strange, though, either, when you remember her life — always pining because she didn't marry that chap she was engaged to. Guess she didn't get much pleasure out of being an old maid. Mrs. Hooker. Come to the point, Jim, before I expire. Mr. Hooker. This is the point. She left her million to our Floy, providing Floy is engaged to be married before she is twenty-one and marries the same man before she is twenty-two. HURRY, KURRY, HURRY n Mrs. Hooker. Outrageous!, Floy engaged be- fore she is twenty-one! Don't you realize she is twenty-one to-morrow ? Mr. Hooker. No, thought she'd be twenty. Lemme see, when was she born? Mrs. Hooker. Twenty-one to-morrow. Mr. Hooker. That's a fact! (Examining the will, Mrs. Hooker looking over his shoulder) Yes, that's the stipulation : engaged before she is twenty- one and married before she is twenty-two. (Read- ing) " In the event of her failure to comply with either or both of these stipulations, the entire prop- erty, without reservation, is bequeathed for the establishment of the Sophia Skinner Home for Spinsters, — the regulations governing such disposal herewith attached." Mrs. Hooker. I always thought Sophia was crazy, — half crazy. Mr. Hooker. Well, she was only my half sister. Mrs. Hooker. Crazy or not, I don't suppose you want to break her will? Mr. Hooker. No. No, I wouldn't do that. Mrs. Hooker. Oh, why didn't you tell me about this sooner? "Mr. Hooker. I thought there was a year yet — and Floy has so many men — and, confound it, Sally, you don't think I'd sell her, do you? Not for a billion. Mrs. Hooker. That is fine talk, Father, but Floy may soon be behind a counter and a well qualified candidate for that home for spinsters, if we don't do something. Mr. Hooker. What could we do? Mrs. Hooker. Do you realize that while we sit here the minutes are ticking aw r ay, and Floy must be engaged before midnight? Mr. Hooker. I'll never coerce her, not a bit of it. Mrs. Hooker. Nor I. But we needn't be like 12 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY most parents and go to the other extreme. After all, as they know in Europe, marriage is a family affair. Now Floy has, had half a dozen proposals Mr. Hooker. But she has turned them all down, and right she is. They're none of 'em good enough for her. Confound it, Sally, she's got to marry for love — million or no million. (Front door bangs.) Mrs. Hooker. Hush, there she is. (Enter from the hall Floy, a lovely, fluffy, pirouet- ting young thing, atingle with the adventure of life. Her muff and arms are full of Christ- mas packages.) Floy. (Running to Mr. Hooker with a kiss and perching on the arm of his chair) Hello, Dad. Forgive me my Christmases? (Mrs. Hooker goes to the telephone, and talks in a low tone) I've overdrawn my bank account again, but you don't mind, you're such a generous old dadkins. Why so grave? Do you mind? Mr. Hooker. No, Florodora. Floy. If you do, we'll economize. We'll cancel that ermine cloak you were going to give me for my birthday. Awful having birthdays and Christmases all at once. Really, Dad, I've cut down my Christ- mas list and cut it and cut it until I feel like a regular spug, but there are still one hundred and ten of my most intimate friends that I have to remember. And I have to get them nice presents, too. They'd think me stingy if I didn't. Mrs. Hooker. (Speaking loudly at the tele- phone) Can't you hear? Please tell Mrs. Jenkin- son that Miss Hooker and Mr. Stephen Hooker can HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 13 not attend the opera with her this evening. I will explain later. Floy. Why, Mother, we are going to the opera. Mrs. Hooker. Not to-night, dear. Floy. But I particularly want to hear this opera — it's so modern and naughty. Mrs. Hooker. Your father wants you. Floy. I never heard of such a thing. I haven't been home a night since my coming out in the fall. I'd hate to spoil my record now. What's the matter with Dad ? Mr. Hooker. Nothing, nothing. Go ahead, Floy, and enjoy yourself. Mrs. Hooker. Dad wants us all to break our engagements for to-night. Floy. And the four of us to be here together? Oh, that is a nice homey idea — and such a novelty. Mrs. Hooker. Yes, and I thought of asking one or two men in, just for an informal good time. Floy. Men ! ^ No, anything but men ! I'm sick of them. No, my 'head isn't turned the least tiny bit. .1 am disillusioned about men. They all get in line and propose year after year to one debutante after another. No, if we're going to have anybody, I'll ask Letitia Brown. The poor girl is never asked anywhere, and she's a dear. (Floy goes to the tele- phone, and calls tip Letitia in a lozv tone) . Mr. Hooker. (To Mrs. Hooker) Not a word about the failure. Let her enjoy herself to-night. Mrs. Hooker. But she can't be betrothed to Letitia ! Floy. (At telephone) I'm so glad you can come, Letitia. I'll send the car for you right away. No trouble. Good-bye, dear. Mrs. Hooker. Let's ask Mr. Pollard. Floy. Please, no, Mother, he has proposed to me at the last two dinner parties, and he is older and i 4 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY balder than Dad, and so stupid. But I love your bald spot, Daddie. Mrs. Hooker. Then there is Reginald Mont- gomery. Floy. Heaven preserve us from Reggie. He has been shopping with me all day, carrying my bundles. He's a faithful Fido, but I've had enough of him. Mrs. Hooker. How would you like to have him carry your bundles all your life? Floy. Mother, what is up? All of a sudden, you are an incorrigible match-maker. Mrs. Hooker. Well, faithfulness is a rare trait in man. Reggie has it. So had your father. Floy. Don't, don't put Father in a class with Reggie. Mr. Hooker. Thank you, my dear. Mrs. Hooker. Then if we're not to ask Reggie, what men shall we have? Floy. Why have any men? I'd like a rest from the male species. Mrs. Hooker. I know. I am going to ask Clinton Morgan. He's - a good boy. He has absolutely no vices. Floy. Did you ever think how absolutely damn- ing it is to describe a man negatively as having no vices ? t Mrs. Hooker. Your father never had any vices. Floy. Oh, Mother, Dad is a positive devil. That's why I adore him. Mrs. Hooker. Will you please select a— an- other devil for this evening? Floy. Mother, when I find a real man, I'll nab him. You leave that to mer- ■ - Mr. Hooker. By the way, I got a telephone call from an old friend of yours, Floy} Almost forgot. The young man we saw so much of the winter we were on the ranch in Texas. Mrs. Hooker. Last winter. You don't mean HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 15 John Crandall? (Mr. Hooker nods assent) A splendid fellow, don't you think so, Floy? Floy. I'd rather not express my opinion of Jack Crandall. Mrs. Hooker."* Why not? Floy. I think he is positively hateful. Mr. Hooker. That's funny. He said he'd like to call while he was in town, providing you wanted to see him, Floy. He sort of underscored the provid- ing. Floy. Well, I don't. So there. He is an egotistical, domineering, opinionated — ugh! (She stamps with rage and rushes up stairs) Mrs. Hooker. He is the man. Mr. Hooker. I don't follow you, Mother. Mrs. Hooker. " Egotistical, domineering, opin- ionated " — that is why I selected you, Jim, and now see how I have improved you. Mr. Hooker. Mother, is this a time for joking? Mrs. Hooker. Quick. Where is he stopping? The Carleton? (Mr. Hooker nods weakly. Mrs. FIooker at the telephone) Main 26 A. May I speak to Mr. Crandall— Mr. John Crandall? Hello, hello, hello. Oh, is that you, Jack? I can see your tan -aright through the" : telephorie. You say you're not accustomed to telephones ? When you get used to them, you. can see right through a conversation.'. No, this is her mother. Yes, Mrs. Hooker. That is. a compliment. Floy is crazy to see you. Yes, in- deed. So are we all. Come right up. Come up to dinner, can't you? Good, we dine at seven.- Good- bye. (She Jiangs up the receiver) Now for the cook. If the dinner is only a good one, I think we may consider the million remaining in the family. Mr. Hooker. Sally, you ought to have been the financier of this family. Mrs. Hooker. Don't think me heartless, Jim. I wouldn't have her tied to anybody but her heart's 16 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY choice, but now that I've found out who that choice is, she shall have him. Mr. Hooker. You couldn't have picked a finer man. But I don't think, with all your Napoleonic strategy, you can bring things to a head to-night. Mrs. Hooker. Any woman can be a Napoleon so far as strategy is concerned. We must turn de- feat into victory to-night. We have been going the pace that kills. I see it now — you with your busi- ness and I with my million interests, but we have a gambler's chance to-night. (Enter Steve Hooker in riding costume. He is a jolly, agile youth, with Jhe face of Michael Angelo's David and the spirit of Shakespeare's Puck.) Steve. Hello, folks. Had a bully ride on the boulevard. Just time for a shower before dinner. Gee, I miss the swimming pool at the dormitory. Glad to be home, just the same. (Half way up stairs, he leans over the banister and shouts) Say, Mater, met a college pal of mine and asked him to dinner. Thought you wouldn't mind. Mrs. Hooker. Not at all, Steve. The more the merrier. (Exit Mrs-. Hooker. Steve returns) Steve. He lives here, but not exactly in our set. But he's a prince. He's in my class — only a fresh- man, but there isn't a more popular man in college. Plays left guard on the first team. You mustn't show your ignorance about him, Dad, because every- body know he's made the all- American team. You may n6t like his looks. He's a sort. of a diamond in in the rough. ,T ^ave him an old Tuxedo of mine to wear. He hasn't any money. He couldn't have gone to college,' he told me, if the authorities hadn't paid his way. But he had his pick of colleges, I can HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 17 tell you, and he took ours. Won't it be great for the old alma mater? Mr. Hooker. Steve, I can hardly keep my mind on this paragon of yours. Do I understand your college paid him for coming ? That certainly hasn't been my experience with you. Steve. But I'm not an athlete. You don't under- stand these things, Dad. But if you'd been to col- lege, you would. Hello, what's this? (He picks up the will which is lying open on the table) Mr. Hooker. That is your Aunt Sophia's will. Give it to me. Steve. (Looking it over) Will, eh? Floy gets her money, doesn't she? Aunt Sophia never did like me, nor any man, I guess. Great lot of red tape, this. Mr. Hooker. Who gaye you permission to read that? Hand it to me. : Steve. Now, Dad, why don't you let me know anything, about business ? Jumping Jupiter, what's this? -I can't make this out. Engaged? Floy doesn't qualify unless she is Mr. Hooker. Unless she is engaged before mid- night to-night. . • t Steve. What a lark J y . Mr. Hooker. Not exactly my idea of fun. Steve. But it's such a big gamble. Does Floy know? Mr. Hooker. No, and don't you tell her. But since you are so anxious to know about business, I may as well inform you : your dad's a failure. Our firm is about to make an assignment. Steve. No, you don't <say so?' Well — what -can I do to help you, t)ad ? Mr. Hooker. There's only one possibility, and that's Floy's engagement before midnight. I wouldn't do anything to urge the little girl, but if i8 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY it should happen, it would be the best thing for her — and for all of us. Steve. Poor old Floy. I tell you what. I'll see that she is engaged. You leave that to me. Mr. Hooker. Would you mind revealing the name of her future husband? Steve. Ted Stone, the foot ball hero, now on his way here to dinner. . Mr, HppKER. Why, she has never seen him, has she? Steve. That doesn't matter. To see him is to love him. All the girls in the stadium go wild about him. Mr. Hooker. Preposterous idea, boy. Steve. You don't know how these things go nowadays. Love-at-first-sight, — that's the rule. Why, I'd had the experience several times already — once in Paris, twice in Vienna, and '■ Mr. Hooker. You have had too damn many ex- periences. Steve. Well, Dad, the real bang-up love matches come with a zip-pop. We haven't time for the old- fashioned long protracted courting. Mr. Hooker. And one in every five of your rapid fire matches ends in the_ divorce court. Floy. (From up stairs) Dad, aren't you going to dress for dinner? (Floy runs down stairs, hooking her gown as she goes) Steve. My, Sis, but you are a dream. I know somebody's heart that's going to be awfully wrenched, to-night. Floy. Then it will be Letitia Brown's, for she is our only guest. Steve. Is that prune coming? Help! Floy. Wish you had half as many brains as 'Letitia has. Steve. But there is somebody else coming— a foot ball hero — the foot ball hero, Ted Stone. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 19 Floy. Ted Stone? I've heard his name. Seen his picture in football togs. Big fellow, isn't he? Steve. Big, that's what he is. And a lady killer. You had better be on guard, Sis. Floy. Silly. (TchMr. Hooker) Please, Daddy, dress for dinner." Fwant Letitia to think we always do it. Your things are all laid out. Mr. Hooker..- (Going gloomily tip sttiirs) And I will be laid out soon, I guess. If you two narum scarums hear a pistol snot when I reach my room — Floy. Then we'll know you're on 'the marks, Dad, and you've only a minute to dress in. Hurry, hurry. Mr. Hooker. Do we ever have more than a minute for anything? You may decide to get mar- ried, Floy, all in a minute. Who knows? Who knows? {Exit Mr. Hooker up stairs) (Floy bites her lip in vexation:) Steve. I'm with you, Dad. (Steve disappears tip stairs, running after his father) {Enter Mrs. Hooker.) Mrs. Hooker, A terrible thing has happened. Floy. Mother, what? Mrs. Hooker. (With tragic emphasis) The cook has gone. Floy. Gone ? What f or ? Mrs. Hooker. For good — at least for the Christ- mas holidays. Floy. Can't the other maids cook? Mrs. Hooker. Not a bit. Floy. How terrible. Mrs. Hooker. Terrible. Floy. I can make a lovely omelette. Mrs. Hooker. No one could desire more for a 20 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY dinner party. No, child, I won't have you in the kitchen. I'll go out to get the meal. Don't tell any- body. It would be a scandal if it were known that I can cook. You tell thenrl hasve a headache, and you act as hostess. Floy. No, Mother, I know a better triek.J^fcet us call it a winter picnic and;.eat on the floor in front of the fire. Now that's a dear. You run and dress, and I'll arange the menu. I really can do something if you only give me a chance. Run and dress, that's a dear. Mrs. Hooker. All right. You always do have your own way. Floy. (Writing the menu) Let me see, what shall we have ? I know : baked beans — and brown bread — and potato salad at the Delicatessen, — and — Mrs. Hooker. (Starting to leave, . but return- ing) Floy, I have a presentiment. I — er — I had a dream last night. Floy. And you'll have dreams to-night, if you eat all the things I am going to have at our picnic. Why, Mother dear, aren't you well? What makes you look so queer? Mrs. Hooker. I have a presentiment Floy. (Writing) Wienies, dill pickles, lemon- ade, ice cream, angel food. What's that you are saying, Mother? Mrs. Hooker. I have a presentiment that you are going to meet your fate to-night — your — your future husband. Floy. Again ! Father and Steve and now you. Is this a conspiracy? (Exit Mrs. Hooker, with a gesture of abandon. Floy continuing to write and not observing her departure) W^hy have you de- cided, all of you, that I am going to plight my troth this night of all nights? Do you hear? I won't promise to marry anybody to-night — not if I never get married — never, never, never! HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 21 (While Floy is making this declaration, Rita has ushered in Jack Crandall. Rita retires. Jack, back of Floy, is much amused by her tirade. Ife is a big, clean cut, handsome youth, . deeply tanned, wearing evening clothes with a certain natural grace, and- yet moving slowly and a bit azukwardly amid luxurious surround- ings. He is whimsically unconventional and speaks with a pleasing drawl.) Jack. Almost sounds like the last words you spoke to me, out on the plains of Texas last winter. Your voice has a mighty powerful carrying, quality, little girl. Floy. (Who has slowly turned around) ' Jack, it is you! I — I didn't think you'd ever come — you were so proud and — (He opens his arms and she rushes toward them) Jack. When you asked me, honey, how could I help it? Floy. (Pausing haughtily) When I asked you! Jack. Well your mother -over the telephone said that you all wanted me. Floy. Oh, Mother has been calling you up. Jack. I reckon that's what you call it. Floy. As soon as you arrived in town, I sup- pose ? Jack. Why not, honey? Floy. That explains it. And did you,- Mr. Crandall, think I had anything to do with this — this trap ? Jack. Why, I was lead to surmise, Miss Floy, that you all wanted to see me, but if you don't, well, I reckon I'd better be movin' on. (He moves to- ward the door, but is intercepted by Steve, who rushes down the stairs into his arms) Steve. Well, well, Jack, you old bronco buster, welcome to our city. 22 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Jack. You had better put a halter on me, Steve, or I'll get lost in your city. Never was in a big city before — that is, since I could remember. Every- body seems in an awful hurry — wonder what they do with all the time they save? Just saw two auto- mobiles bump out here on the corner. No especial damage done, but even they didn't save their time. Floy. (Looking through the window) They're bringing somebody in here. Oh ! Oh ! It's Letitia. (Steve rushes to open the front door, and ushers in Ted Stone, carrying Letitia. Ted is fat, azvk- ward, bashful, taciturn. Letitia is a languishing aesthetic creature, gushing in garments as in speech. Ted deposits her on the divan, and she sits bolt upright. Enter Mr. Hooker, from the stairs, and Mrs. Hooker and Rita, both carrying thermos bottles and hampers of picnic provisions. Every one asks questions at once. General confusion) Letitia, are you hurt ? Letitia. Not a bit, my dear, but I am afraid your car is. While it was skidding, all I did was to sit still and squeal. I ought to have lived in the eigh- teenth century, Floy, when heroines were always squealing and fainting. Awfully bad form to faint nowadays. But I did — almost, and this man with- his strong arms — Oh, I am so grateful. Steve. Why if it isn't Ted Stone, good old scout, always in the center rush. Floy, Pater, Mater, this is Ted Stone. Letitia. Oh, to think I was saved by the great football hero ! Ted. There wasn't anything to save. I mean — Steve. Pretty close to a touch down, eh ? (Steve removes Ted's ulster, and reveals the latter 's pudgy figure almost bursting out of a suit several sizes too small for him) Ted. (Seizing Rita's hand and shaking it) Pleased to meet you, pleased to meet you. Steve HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 23 has told me a lot about his — his peach of a sister. (Exit Rita. Ted to Steve) What's the matter? When it comes to butting into society, kid, I don't score. How does your suit look on me? Pretty swell fit, eh? Steve. Ted, it is a swell fit. This is my friend Mr. Stone, Mr. Crandall. (They shake hands.) Jack. Sorry that I am leaving, sir, just as you arrive. Mr. Hooker. W T hy, you are not leaving now, my boy. We haven't seen you yet. Mrs. Hooker. Jack, sit right down here. We're going to have a picnic lunch around the fire, a winter picnic, Floy calls it, all in your, honor. Letita. (Springing forth, and clasping Jack's hand) Jack! I knew it was Jack Crandall. Jack Crandall, I have dreamed of you. Jack. - Sorry, Miss — er Letitia. Brown. Jack. Sorry I can't return the compliment. Letitia. Of course you can't, as you never saw me before, but I've seen your picture recently, in one of the recent magazines. Jack. What magazine ? It was without my per- mission. Mrs. Hooker. Are we entertaining a celebrity, unawares? (Mrs. Hooker and Rita are spreading the cloth in front of the fire, and placing the viands thereon) Letitia. Why, don't you know what a lion you have lured? Don't you know, Floy? Floy. We met Mr. Crandall very casually on our trip south last winter and Mother asked him here this evening. I did not know he was in the city until he arrived. We know nothing else about him. 24 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY But I always thought there was some mystery about you, Mr. Crandall. ' You seem like an escaped con- vict, or something. Letitia. Worse than that — a literary man. Jack. Please don't tell on me. Letitia. Oh, but I must. He writes stories, the loveliest and thrillingest stories about truth and purity and beauty — not a bit modern, you know, but I adore it. Do sit down here, Mr. Crandall, and you on the other side, Mr. Stone. Just think of having two lions to roar at one picnic. (All seat themselves except Floy. Rita passes the coffee, which Mrs. Hooker pours from thermos bottles. Ted and Steve eat ravenously.) Steve. What a lark ! I'll run you a race on the sandwiches, Ted. Ted. Ugh, huh. (Ted devours the food — a scream) Mr. Hooker. No, you don't, Steve. Take time to chew your food. People don't take time to eat nowadays. Jack. Nor to sleep, nor to walk, nor to talk. Letitia. Isn't it sad we have lost the eighteenth century art of conversation? Jack. And of letter writing. Floy. Telegrams are more to the point. Letitia. I have just been reading a volume of correspondence by William Cowper. In one of his letters — don't you adore them ? — he says something like this — it's so, so Cowperesque I can't help quot- ing it : "I have just time to observe that time is short," he says, the poor dear, living back in the nice quiet old eighteenth century — what would he say about the twentieth century? — " I have just time to observe that time is short, and by the time I have made the observation, time is gone." HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 25 Mrs. Hooker. But, Letitia, tell us more about Mr. Crandall. Letitia. I know all about you, Mr. Crandall. Jack. That is more than I do. Letitia. I read it in the magazine article. So it must be so. Mrs. Hooker. Do tell us. Jack. Don't. Letitia. " When Mr. Jack Crandall, the cele- brated young writer of idealistic fiction, whose novels are beginning to sell in spite of their idealism " Steve. Gee, never dreamed you were a high- brow, Jack, when you and I were swapping yarns out on the plains. Jack. How do you define a highbrow, Steve? Steve. A highbrow is somebody who writes something nobody wants to read. Letitia. By the way, Mr. Crandall, what is your opinion of Brieux? Ted. (In a hoarse whisper, to Steve) Is it a cheese ? Letitia. And of Schnitzler? And of — Jack. I prefer Mark Twain and O. Henry. Steve. Hooray for America. Letitia. But you must know Mr. Crandall's history. When he was a very little boy in New York City, and his father was a missionary in Smyrna or somewhere, his mother died, and so, as the boy's health was then delicate, he was put on a ranch in Texas with a lot of books and kind people Jack. - Where he has been until this minute, getting outside of a big bunch of health, and, thank heavens, far from the madding crowd. Letitia. Yes, they say that is why your themes are so naive, because you know nothing about civilization. Is that so? Jack. Well, until this trip I was tolerably 26 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY ignorant of sky scrapers, and telephones, and auto- mobiles, and all-night theaters, and smart sets, and frenzied finance and all the rest of the rush you all call civilization. Naturaly, I had read something about it, but there is a difference between reading of the European War and having your brains crazed by the breaking of shells over your head. Floy. Really, you preach as well as Father does — and most of the older generation — and along the same line. Personally I believe in this age. It is the age of progress. And I believe in America. It is the place where things are doing. Perhaps it won't do for romancers or sermonizers. Letitia. But tell me, Mr. Crandall, since you are such a hermit, such a recluse, such a — what shall I call it? — lover of the simple life, why did you abandon your sylvan solitude Steve. Not very sylvan. Letitia. And plunge into this seething crater of action Jack. I don't mind telling you, ma'am : I'm seek- ing a mate. Letitia. (Fluttering) Really, Mr. Crandall, you are charmingly unconventional. You mean, you are looking for a wife? Jack. The wife. Floy. Have you tried advertising? Perhaps you aren't aware that it pays to advertise — another hurry-up method. Jack. I reckon I will take a short cut method in lassoing my mate. I'll be leading her to the altar in a mighty few days. Steve. That's the talk. Ted. Isn't it getting warm here? Letitia. Then you have no faith in the old- fashioned, long protracted affaire de coeur? Jack. Not for me, ma'am. I reckon I'll be leav- ing this turmoil of a town to-morrow, and I HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 27 shouldn't be surprised if I took my mate with me. Floy. Really,' I presume you'll club her over the head and prove yourself the superman. You'll excuse me, please. (Rita summons her to the tele- phone) I should love to hear more of your plans, the egoist is always so refreshing. Ted. I guess we're going to have another snow flurry. Floy. {At the telephone) Yes, Alice. Oh, is it to-morrow you start? Oh, I've always longed to take the Panama trip. You're a dear to ask me. Yes, I'll do it. You and Ned will be the j oiliest chaperones. Has he the reservations? Yes, you can depend on me. To-morrow at seven, at the Union Station. Good-bye. Mrs. Hooker. Well, I must say, Floy, you might have consulted your parents before embarking on the Panama trip. . Floy. I suppose I ought, but by the time we could have called a family council, it would have been too late to decide. Besides, it would have been settled this way any way. You always let me have my own way, you dears. Afraid I'll have to say good- night. Sorry, Letitia, to run away, but I don't believe you'll miss me, you have such congenial company. And I must direct Lucille with the pack- ing. Good-night. {Exit Floy into the hall) Mrs. Hooker. Floy, dear. Floy. {Re-entering) Yes, Mother. Mrs. Hooker. Now, Floy, won't you please give up this crazy notion and have a pleasant evening with us? Floy. Sorry, Mother, but you know how up- setting it is to change one's plans more than once. Steve. Oh, Floy, be a sport. Here is Ted Stone come especially to see you. Floy. And I will go especially to see him play foot ball next fail. 28 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Jack. (Rising and detaining Floy) Miss Floy, I don't know much about etiquette, and I don't very- much care about it. I am not going to implore you, as the others have. I command you to come back and join this party given in your honor. It is the only appropriate thing for you to do, and if you don't, you'll regret it. I reckon you'll regret it. Floy. Mr. Crandall, I shall get one of your books to read on my trip. I am sure I shall enjoy it. Jack. I reckon you won't like my book any better than you do me. Floy. Oh, yes, I shall, because you have already proved yourself a master of fiction. (With a toss of her head, Floy disappears up stairs. Jack, who has been leaning against the table while talking to Floy, starts back, thereby upsetting the pile of Christmas packages which fall on the head of Ted Stone. All hurry to his assistance. General con- fusion) Curtain ACT II Scene: Same as preceding Act. No time is sup- posed to elapse between acts. All the char- acters, sitting about as at the end of Act I, look bored. A pause. Steve. (Funereal tone) The guests will kindly remain seated until the family have passed out. Not since Aunt Sophia's funeral have we had such a cheerful gathering. (Rita removes the dishes, assisted by Ted.) HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 2 g Mrs. Hooker. Stephen, won't you ever learn there s a time to weep and a time to laugh? Steve. A time to mourn and a time to dance. Let s have a dance. Letitia. Oh, let's. Ted. Where are the girls ? Letitia. I'm one. Mrs. Hooker. And I another. Steve. You're a good sport, Mater. Here vou fellows. Help me take up the rugs in the brniiard room) J LETITIA *•** the billiard 1 fe?{^T B \ t^"'' We get rid of this ^ble? Thf if, fi°" gh T Were attendin rnry own funeral. this is a fine preparation for to-morrow's ordeal Mrs. Hooker. Nonsense. Young people take our minds off our troubles. Jim, you and I are just as young as the rest of them. Nobody ever gets old Dad I^rV^A 1104 « t0 Z™ «P now. Dad If Floy should become engaged to-night V ou could prevent the crash, couldn't you? I mea„ with the will as evidence ' Mr^ Hooker. It's possible, Mother, possible if- h« rf . IS A" e USe ° f talking about «& ifsf F oy she 8 £g l S do y es m '^ r °° m t0 -^ ht ' - d ^ Mrs Hooker. So does her mother. If nothinV else will work, I'll tell her evervthing. S V0^won'r° K r R - v N °' y ° U fflUStn '' t d0 that - Pr omise Mrs H„ ^V 6 ? * WOuld be selIin S her? manage h T™' ^ e "' Z WOn,t tdl her . •>«* we'll ^SL/tTir going t0 g,ve up hope until the from the start, Floy with her society, Steve with ins 30 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY sports, you with your philanthropy and heaven knows what, and me with my business, — we've all been going the pace that kills. Mrs. Hooker. And when we are killed, Dad, they will race us to our graves in aeroplane hearses. Mr. Hooker. No, Sally, we'll escape. Only the wealthy can afford to fly to eternal peace. {Re-enter Letitia and Jack, she chatting briskly to him. Lively dance music is heard,) Mrs. Hooker. Oh, they've started the phono- ..graph. I simply can't make my feet behave when I hear that, can you? Letitia. (To Jack) You will dance with me, won't you? Jack. I don't know any of these new steps you all are dancing. Letitia. I'll dance anything you do. Oh, think of having a great author for a partner ! Jack. But I can't go so fast. Letitia. I'll show you. (She whisks him off into the billiard room) Mrs. Hooker. Come, Father, let's have a turn. Mr. Hooker. Well, Mother, if you insist. .(They also whisk off into the billiard room. Enter Steve and Ted.) Steve. The chance I've been looking-for. Got something important to tell you Ted. Ted. Tell away. Steve. We are good pals, aren't, we, old scout ? Ted. I'm broke. What can I do for you ? Steve. There is something you can do — now don't get excited when I tell you. You can propose to my sister to-night. Ted. Propose? What? HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 31 Steve. Marriage, of course. Ted. To-night ? Steve. To-night, before midnight, too. Ted. Your sister? Steve. Say, just let me sprinkle in a few dittos. Yes, my sister. Any objection? Ted. Is this a bet? Steve. No. On the square. Ted. Did you mean for me to marry her, too ? Steve, Sure thing. Ted. She wouldn't have me. Steve. She is dippy about you. Ted. She is? Well, I— I'd like to do what I can for you, Steve, but — well, I never proposed to a girl in my life. ►Steve. You'll never have a better chance. Ted. Chance? Why, she isn't here. She has gone. Steve. Oh, the Materll get her back all right. Trust her. Ted. Your mother wants me to— to do this, too ? (Steve nods assent) What kind of a game is this? What's the matter with your sister? Steve. You'll kindly leave Floy's name out of this discussion. Ted. Oh! I'm to marry her, but I'm not to mention her. Unmentionable Steve. I can't explain it all to you now, but I will later. It involves — I thought you were the one man I could ask such a favor of, and now you are showing the white feather. Ted. But don't you see, kid, this is out of my line? Worse than math. {Mopping his brow) It makes me scared to think of it. Steve. Brace up, old man. Every man has to come to it sooner or later. It might as well be now. Ted. No, you'd better not count on me. Say, honest, aren't you kidding me? 32 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Steve. Give me your hand. There's our fraternity grip. Now do you believe me? Ted. Yes, I believe you. Steve. It is unusual, I know, but (Mr. and Mrs. Hooker come in from the billiard room, dancing frantically. He sinks in a chair, exhausted.) Mr. Hooker. Help, Sally, have mercy on an old man. Mrs. Hooker. Why, father, can't you get your second wind? Ah, Mr. Stone, you're just the one. Let's have a good trot. Mr. Hooker is so easily discouraged. Ted. Thank you — er — but I don't know how. (He is seised by Mrs. Hooker, and off they cavort) Mr. Hooker. Steve, I am played out. Steve. Buck up, Dad. It's not so bad. Mr. Hooker. No use. Get me a whiskey and .soda, that's a good fellow. Steve. Here- you are, Dad, but go slow on the dope. Mr. Hooker. Can't go slow on anything. I've seen this coming for weeks, Steve. I've scarcely slept day or night. I've been watching for an op- portunity to stick the other fellow, fighting for a chance to rise to the surface, but all the while I've felt myself being tugged down, down into the whirl- pool. We do a lot of talk about cooperation, but the business war is on a bigger scale, that's all. Precious little of the golden rule about -it. Why, I could fix up my credit now, if they'd only give me a day or two. It's a great game, my boy, if you've got a fighting chance, but it's hell when you're sink- ing to the bottom — that's what it is, hell. Steve. Don't worry, Dad. Floy and I are going to fix you up all right. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 33 Mr. Hooker. Keep the little girl out of it. Poor thing, she'll suffer soon enough. Guess we've brought you youngsters up the wrong way. Steve. Whatever happens, Dad, you can't take , , away my year at college. Think of the prestige that , will give me. Why, if you hadn't sent me east to college, I never would have known Ted Stone ! Mr. Hooker. I can imagine worse calamities. Steve. Wouldn't you be surprised, if Ted pulled us out of the hole? Mr. Hooker. What are you driving at, Steve ? {Enter Rita from the hall, ushering in Alosius .,/■■' Bartholomew, a dapper bachelor, an up-to- date college professor, who speaks with stacatto precision and rapidity, and uses jerky gestures as though he zvere delivering a popular lecture.) Alosius. (Giving his card to Rita who goes up f 1 siairs) For the ladies. Good evening, gentlemen. Is this Mr. Hooker? I am Alosius Bartholomew, sometimes known as Dr. Bartholomew. Mr. Hooker. This is my son, Dr. Bartholomew. You are a physician? Alosius. Merely a physician to sick minds. I am a college professor, I must confess. I really prefer not to be called " Doctor." It is a Ph. D., you know, which I picked up in Germany before the war. Mr. Hooker. Oh ! What is your specialty ? Steve. Your department, sir? Alosius. Social science, the great department, the growing department. You, sir, as a man of business, must endorse the various phases of our work, — sociology, economics, money, banking. We even have courses in business. We are nothing if not practical, sir. Efficiency, efficiency, efficiency, — that is the watchword of modern education. All 34 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY the students elect courses in our department. I Steve. Which is your college, sir? Alosius. You don't know? Steve. I am just home for my vacation. I go east to college. Alosius. There is nothing like the east. I am an easterner myself. But I have to teach here, here in the big university. I (Re-enter Rita.) Rita. Miss Floy will be down directly, sir. Mr. Hooker. Are you sure she is coming ? Rita. Yes, — sir. (Exit^RiTA) Alosius. What was I saying ? Oh, yes, our university is a tremendous plant. Several new buildings are going up every year. It is not men but buildings — that is what makes the enrollment grow. We are close to the top in attendance, one of the largest institutions in the country, sir. Mr. Hooker. It must be very satisfactory to come in intimate contact with so many young minds. Alosius. Intimate contact? I don't know one student from another in my classes. All my work is lecture work, and my assistant reads the papers. No, sir, teaching is a mere incident in the day's drudgery. Me. Hooker. Afraid I haven't kept up with modern educational methods. Alosius. Apparently not, sir. But you are a business man and you know the advantage of organization. Mr. "Hooker. And the disadvantage. Alosius. Precisely. And the disadvantage. Our whole problem is one of organization, reorganiza- tion, systematization. We are growing, we need con- stant readjustment. We have committee meetings before breakfast, at midnight, any time, all the time. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 35 Whatever else you may say about our standards, we are not quiescent. Mr. Hooker. You must be glad of this holiday vacation. Alosius. Vacation? Ha, that is the business man all over again. Vacation? Why, sir, I am busier during vacation than any other time. Mr. Hooker. I don't understand. Steve. Whv 5 reading and preparing his lectures. Dad Alosius. Sorry to explode that illusion, my son. JL-never- have time to read, and my lectures were prepared years ago. No, aside from attending various national conventions — similar to those of the labor unions — my time is taken up with the writing of books. (Letitia dashes in from the billiard room.) Letitia. Oh, Professor Bartholomew, did I hear you say you are writing a book ? Alosius. Delighted to see you, Miss — er Letitia. Brown. Alosius. Brown. Yes, I know your face per- fectly — Brown. But I see so many faces. I Letitia. Yes, that is the way with all of us, don't you feel? We are adrift amid a sea of faces. You remember what Bacon says? Alosius. What Bacon? Letitia. Bacon says : " A crowd is not company ; and faces are but a gallery of pictures ; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love." Oh. Professor, don't you feel the truth of that? (Jack saunters in from the billiard room) Ah, here is another author man. Mr. Crandall, this is Mr. — Professor — Doctor Bartholomew. (Jack and Alosius shake hands.) 36 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Alosius. (Eyeing Jack suspiciously) You are a writer ? Jack. Yes, I write for a living, but Alosius. That's it. That's it. I, too, write for a living. We don't get our positions, we professors, because we can teach, but because we are the makers of many books. I am now writing ten thousand words a day. Do you wonder I am a nervous wreck ? I (Enter Mrs. Hooker.) Mrs. Hooker. Oh, Alosius, I am so glad to see you, and so sorry Floy can't see any one this even- (Enter Floy from the staircase, in another gown more ravishing than the preceding one.) Floy. Why, Mother, I am always at home to Alosius. Alosius. Tu me flatte, Mademoiselle. As I was just telling your father, — curious that we have not met before — I Mrs. Hooker. Not so very curious, Alosius. This is the first time in years that Father and I have been home at the same time. Not that we are applying for a divorce, or anything of that "sort, but he has so many clubs, conventions, banquets and what not, and I so many social obligations, that, although we sometimes manage to go out together, we're never at home together. (Jack jots down some notes.) Alosius. Precisely. Modern conditions. Every- body is a specialist — which reminds me of the book HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 37 I am writing. It is entitled, " The Quintessence of Americanism." Floy. Have you put me in it, Alosius ? Alosius. You, Floy, are the American girl, and therefore you defy analysis, but I have summed up the debutante, as follows: breakfast party, bridge, luncheon, tea, dinner, theater, dance, supper with a spectacular orgy while you eat, — all in twenty-four hours. Not exaggerated? Floy. You have left out an occasional shopping tour and a dash of philanthropy. A bud's business is to have a good time, and why shouldn't she ? I have had a pretty full schedule, but I love it. I am not bored. Jack. Do you realize what it will all lead to, if you keep up this wild pace? Floy. More good times. It's like a snow ball — the more you roll it Jack. No, I'll tell you the goal : insanity, crime. Floy. (Turning her back on Jack) Unfor- tunately you have hit upon Mr. Crandall's hobby, but I am interested in your point of view, because „ you know what you are talking about. Poor Mr. Crandall is like an Adam emerging from his Eden, or a Rip VanWinkle from his sleep. (Facing Jack) Please don't take notes. I feel as awkward as though I were posing for a moving picture, Jack. Beg pardon, I am not usually so rude, but this is all so extraordinary Floy. I presume you are going to put us in a novel. Jack. Yes. Letitia. Oh, what will be the title, Mr. Crandall ? Do tell us. Tack. I think I shall call it "The Driving of Jehu ". Floy. I am interested in your book, Alosius. 3 8 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Tell me some more about " The Quintessence of Americanism." Alosius. {Standing behind a table, as though he were deliverinc a lecture) I begin with statistics. There is nothing so impressive nowadays as statistics. It doesn't matter whether they are true or not, but statistics we must have. So I begin with our greatest extravagance. We prate about being a dry nation, while we are spending two billions of dollars a year for intoxicating liquors — that's a fact. TJaen comes tobacco, a close second, with a one bil- lion two hundred million dollar output. Tobacco is your genuinely American product. Strange, when we stop to think of it, how we all make chimneys of ourselves, in emulation of the red man, even our smart society women following suit. Third comes jewelry, with only eight hundred million dollars. Next, in order of expenditure, are automobiles, home churches, confectionery, temperance drinks, tea and coffee and patent medicines, while at the foot of the list, at a mere thirteen millions each, there is a tie between foreign missions and chewing gum. Jack. You all might like to add to your statistics these facts. First, immediately before the war, for every death from accident or violence in all Europe there have been six in the United States. Second, during the next ten years the cosmopolis of the world, New York City, will burn five hundred mil-f lion dollars' worth of buildings and their contents. Third, the single state of Arkansas for one year has reported more murders than the whole dominion of Canada. What does it all mean? Haste, waste, madness. Floy. Mr. Crandall, you should have been a preacher. Alosius. I'm going to put that in my " Quintes- sence of Americanism "J •■ In America, everybody is his own preacher; accordingly nobody goes to HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 39 church. Not bad, that, struck off at Rooseveltian random, as it were. Floy. . I know why you men — Father and Mr. Crandall and yourself — are all down on this age. You are all a part of the hurry — even Mr. Crandall from Texas — but you all rebel. That is because you are men. Women are more adaptable. Now Mother and I like to be doing things all of the time. Alosius. Yes, but I Floy. Let us go into the study, Alosius. It is quiet there and I want to hear more about your book. {Exeunt Floy and Alosius, chatting, his "1" reverberating amid the conversational din. Exeunt Steve, Ted and Letitia into the billiard room, where music and laughter are heard. Jack sits de^Af* j, jectedly in a corner) n^** Mr. Hooker. (To Mrs. Hooker, not noticing Jack) Suppose she should marry that Alosius of yours? That would be worse than the poor house. Mrs. Hooker. He is not my Alosius, but he is a very affable and efficient man. He has been direct- ing the dispensation of my charity funds and he has suggested what I should say at the Board of Directors' meetings at the Settlement House. Mr. Hooker. Yes, but Mrs. Hooker. Oh, there is no doubt about his efficiency, Father. I learned that word from him. He is director of the State Bureau of Labor, and — Mr. Hooker. For heaven's sake, Sally, don't tell me any more things that he does. You might as well name the fifty-seven organizations I belong to. What will I belong to after to-morrow? Sally, I — I can't bear to be a has-been. It would be better for you if you had my life insurance. Mrs. Hooker. Jim, don't talk that way. You/f are breaking my heart. (Turning to Jack) He is^/ tired, Jack. Fie doesn't know what he is saying. 4 o HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Mr. Hooker. Beg pardon, Jack. Didn't know you were here. Thought we were alone. Guess I will go to my room and rest a bit. Good-night, Sally. (He kisses her) Mrs. Hooker. Why, Jim, a second time to-day ! You are not yourself. (She almost breaks down) Mr. Hooker. Well, I won't offend again. Good- night, Mother. Jack. What you need is a rest, sir. Mr. Hooker. (Going up stairs) Yes, all I need is a rest, rest. (Exit Mr. Hooker up stairs) Mrs. Hooker. Oh, Jack — we got so well ac- quainted last winter, I call you Jack without think- ing. You don't mind, do you? Jack. (Taking her hand and sitting beside her) Nothing I like better. Mrs. Hooker. You are such a comfort. You seem just like a son to me. Oh, I didn't mean any- thing by that. I — we are so awfully upset to-night. I have half a mind to tell you all about it. Jack. I wish you would. Maybe I could help you all. Mrs. Hooker. Yes, I believe I will. No, no, I can't. Jack, I like you. You are not a bit like an author. Jack. Thank you. Mrs. Hooker. Why didn't you tell us you were one? Jack. Because that was an avocation. By pro- fession I am a bronco buster. Mrs. Hooker. There's nothing in your stories, I'll warrant, as queer as in our lives this minute. Truth is always stranger than fiction. That's why I don't take the time to read fiction. Jack. Tell me your troubles. Do you know, I almost call you " Mother " ? I never knew my mother and you Mrs. Hooker. There, boy, I will tell you. But HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 41 it is all so impossible. To begin with, Aunt Sophia is highly improbable. She was a spinster, a very spinsterish spinster. She had a warm heart. She should have been a mother. Jack. But what has Aunt Sophia to do with your husband's failure ? Mrs. Hooker. Failure? Is it known? Who told you? Jack. I couldn't help overhearing what he just said. Mrs. Hooker. Well, that is to-morrow. But to- night — Oh, I can't tell you, Jack. Jack. To get back to Aunt Sophia Mrs. Hooker. Well, Aunt Sophia is dead, and she left a will which specified that her fortune, something over a million, should go to Floy, if she is engaged before midnight to-night and is married before a year from to-night. . Otherwise it will all go to a home for spinsters. Aunt Sophia was engaged, but Jack. The will specifies that Floy must be engaged before this midnight ? Mrs. Hooker. Yes, because to-morrow she is twenty-one. Jack. Does Floy know about the will ? Mrs. Hooker. Nothing. Jack. And you all expect the financial crash to- morrow, you say? Mrs. Hooker. Yes. Jack. And is Miss Floy engaged? Mrs. Hooker. {Looking apprehensively at the study door) No, that is, not that I know of. Jack. I am afraid that I can't help you out, after all, Mrs. Hooker. Mrs. Hooker. Yes, you can. Jack, sit down. I am sick of being an American parent. Jack. I beg pardon? Mrs. Hooker. We parents don't dare say our kno J 42 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY souls are our own, in the presence of our children. We let them marry counts or no-accounts, and muddle their love affairs generally, when just a word from us might set everything right — just a word. Sometimes I wish I were French. Jack, you are an unconventional young man, you say. Let me be un- conventional, too. Why don't you propose to Floy to-night ? Jack. Don't you see that your revelation makes that out of the question? Mrs. Hooker. I see nothing of the sort. Now I am speaking frankly. I never can get any informa- tion from my own children, but perhaps you can tell me. Weren't you engaged to Floy last winter? Jack. Yes. Mrs. Hooker. Just what I suspected. And now the engagement is broken. Jack. How did you know that? Mrs. Hooker. Who wouldn't? Now, my dear boy, why not renew it? I think Floy really cares for you, but she is very impulsive. {Glancing at the study door) She needs a steadying influence like yours. Jack. Mrs. Hooker, I — I can't discuss this. Mrs. Hooker. You still care for her, Jack. I know you do. ack. Yes. And I intend to win her. Mrs. Hooker. Then you will. Oh, Jack, you dear boy, I am so happy. I feel as though I were engaged" myself. Jack. But not to-night. Mrs. Hooker. And why not to-night ? Jack. Surely you understand. It is a matter of honor. I could not take advantage of Floy in this way. I — don't you see? — I care for her, not her money. Mrs. Hooker. Why not have both ? Now, Jack, don't think me crafty and calculating, but ■ really i HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 43 aren't your southern ideals of honor and chivalry impractical ?. Jack. I'd feel a cad the rest of my life, if I urged my suit to-night, after knowing the real situa- tion. Mrs. Hooker. Then I made a mistake in telling you? Jack. Sorry, Mrs. Hooker. Mrs. Hooker. I gave you credit for more com- mon sense. Do you realize that you are sacrificing all of us — not simply Floy — but her family, yes, and your family, too, — all because of your perverted sense of honor? If you didn't love her, it would be different. Jack. That is why I can't urge her to-night. I reckon I'd better be takin' my departure now. Mrs. Hooker. And leave the field to Alosius? Hadn't you better hang around on the outskirts, Jack? Jack. I wish I could help you all. (Enter Floy and Alosius from the study, and Letitia, Steve and-^D from the billiard room.) Letitia. Oh, Mr. Crandall and Mr. Barthol- omew, learn the latest dance. The boys are teach- ing us. It is a dream. Steve. A scream. Letitia. It is called the Ice Slip. {Exeunt, chatting, Letitia, Ted, Jack and Alosius to bil- liard room) Floy. What is the matter, Mother? You look a bit fagged. n^ Mrs. Hooker. Not a bit, Floy, but I guess I'll „ go and finish that play of Shaw's I was reading, c/f*^ He always rests me, he makes me so mad. Speak- 44 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY ing of Shaw, why don't you imitate his heroines? Lots of nice girls do. Floy. Mother, what do you mean by that? Mrs. Hooker. Well, Floy, now don't be shocked. Why don't you propose to Jack ? Floy. Mother, I am not shocked, but I am surprised at you — disgusted. Please understand: I don't need to run after men, and as for Mr. Crandall, I shall have nothing more to do with him, nothing. If you have been giving him any false impressions Mrs. Hooker. I give it up. (Exit Mrs. Hooker in the study) Floy. What is the matter with Mother? Steve. Well, I don't know as that's such a bad idea of hers about a girl's proposing. Floy. Oh, Steve, what do you know about pro- posals ? Steve. I've received many proposals myself, Sis. But do you know there is a fellow here to- night, in this very house, who is sizzling, boiling, busting with — with ardor for you. Floy. Don't be silly. Steve. I am not the silly one. He is. He told me all about it. Floy. Why, if he is in such a desperate condi- tion, does he interview little brother? I could put him out of his agony directly. All you have to do to make a man perfectly happy is to say No. Steve. But he is too modest to pop the question. He — he doesn't think he is worthy of you. Floy. Who is this phenomenon? Steve. Ted Stone. Floy. Ted Stone? (Laughing merrily) Why, Steve boy, how could you get such a hallucination? It was only a few moments ago that I first set eyes on Ted Stone's imposing contour. Steve. His what? This is a case of love at first HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 45 sight. You're badly hit, too, I can see that. You can't fool me. All the girls are wild about him. There never has been such a left guard, Sis. Floy. Oh, brother mine, do you think that great big heart of his is cracked, shattered by little me? (She laughs delightedly) Steve. Yes, and I don't see anything to laugh about. No use of procrastination in these matters. Why don't you do the Shaw heroine act? Mater is right. But she picked the wrong man. Floy. Steve, I'd like to shake you. What do you mean, you and Mother, by pestering me in this way ? Trthought one night at home would be a rest. All I've had dinned in my ears since my coming out party has been men, men, men, marriage, marriage, marriage, hurry, hurry, hurry, — but I certainly ex- pected better things from you and Mother. What is your game, any way? Steve. Don't be frivolous, Sis. This is serious. Floy. Why serious? Afraid I'll be an unhappy old maid, as Aunt Sophia was? Just because I'm twenty-one to-morrow? There are lots of older girls. Don't you worry, little boy, about my stock on the matrimonial market. You and Mother are not exactly flattering. Dad wouldn't be so anxious to dispose of me to the first comer. Steve. You're right there. Dad expressly stipulated — Oh! I mean Floy. WTiat did Dad stipulate? Steve. Oh, nothing. Floy. Steve, I've felt all the evening there is something happening I don't know anything about. Nobody acts natural. Everybody is matrimonially crazy. What is in the air ? Steve. Sis, take my advice, and ask no questions. Ted Stone Floy. What does it mean? Steve. It means, Sis, you've got to be engaged 46 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY to-night. You may as well understand first as last, and you can't find a huskier, handsomer man than Ted Stone. I've lived in the same dormitory with him, next door, for a whole half year, and I know him through and through. He is a brick, solid, on the square, and, what's more, he is willing to marry you on the spot. Floy. He is willing? I am overcome with gratitude. Steve, you ought to be in the kinder- garten. What do you mean by this nonsense ? What has put this ridiculous idea in your head that I have to be engaged to-night? Twenty-one isn't too old, for matrimony, — no, nor sixty-one these days. Steve. If you aren't engaged before midnight, you lose Aunt Sophia's million. Floy. Do you think you are going to bully me into favoring this sausage-faced paragon of yours? As for Aunt Sophia, I happen to know that she left everything to me — not that it matters. Steve. Only on one condition. (He opens the desk, and shows her the will, pointing to the pas- sage) Steve. Read that passage. See for yourself. Floy. (Having read it) Poor old Aunt Sophia. Well I think the superannuated spinsters ought to have a good home. Steve. So ought we. Floy. We have. Steve. To-morrow — good-bye everything. Floy. Steve, please, don't joke like that. Steve. To-morrow the firm busts, and Dad says he won't have a cent in the world. No joke. Floy. Steve, it's cruel of you to — (She almost faints, but regains control of herself. Steve leads her to a chair) Steve. There, there, Sis, sorry I told you. I always make a mess of everything. Floy. You did right, Steve, old boy. I should HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 47 know. That is why Dad has been so disturbed all the evening and Mother so queer. That's what she meant about getting engaged to Jack. Ridiculous. He — he doesn't care about me, nor I him. Steve. But there is Ted Stone. He is right there with the goods. Don't look so scornful. He is pretty near as old as you. And you don't have to ask him if you don't want to. I'll do it for you. You see, he's too bashful. But I'll be the go- between, the way they do in Japan. {Calling from billiard room door) Ted, come here a minute. Floy. Steve, I'd marry a tadpole sooner than this Ted of yours. {Enter Ted Stone, blushing. Steve makes pantomimic insinuations, behind Floy. Ted tries to escape, but Steve pushes him forward and himself disappears.) Ted. Did you call? Floy. No. Ted. Neither did I, that is, I mean— Guess I started without the signal — You know when I came here I thought you was the pretty girl — of course you are pretty, too — but I thought you was that real pretty girl with the white apron and cap and curls and things. Gee, she is a peach. Of course you are a peach, too,— I mean, I thought you was her and she was you and I — I — say, I can't do all the talking. You've got the ball now— touch down! Touch down. Stone wall! Floy. # {Glancing at him icily from the will she is perusing) I beg your pardon, Mr. Stone? _ Ted. The pleasure is mine — er, I mean I'd like to meet the guy with a pail of water and a sponge. Time out. Say, I'm so floosy I don't know whether I am making a drop kick or an off side 48 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY play— I feel like a fly on the fly paper. I don't know whether I am going or coming. Floy. Will you do me a favor? Ted. (Mopping his brow) I'd like to — I — I'd like to, but, you see, I don't belong in this game. I am just a substitute. Honest, I don't think I am your man. Floy. Mr. Stone, will you do me a great favor? Ted. Well, since you put it that way, — yes. Floy. Leave me alone. That is all I ask. I haven't had a waking moment alone for months and months. I must have a chance to think. You don't mind leaving me ? Ted. Nothing I'd rather do, that is, I didn't mean that exactly. I mean, I'd rather do what you don't want me to do. No, I don't want me to do what you want me to do. I don't want to do what you want me to do. I — Oh, gosh! (Ted edges away sheepishly, then lifts his feet and vanishes) Floy. (Examining the will, unconscious of Ted's departure) Mr: Stone — (Alosius hurries in from the billiard room. Finding Floy alone, he poses himself back of her, leaning against a table) To- use your own figure of speech, aren't you still on the fly paper? (Alosius springs from the table in agitation, but regaining his poise, approaches Floy senti- mentally.) Alosius. Maiden meditation, fancy free. Floy. On the contrary, I am thinking of busi- ness. Alosius. Business, that's my motto. Efficiency, business. Floy. (Toying zvith the will) This is unusual business. It is a will. Alosius. Law suit pending? HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 49 Floy. No. Alosius. I take it that you are concerned. Floy. You take it correctly, Alosius. Perhaps you would like to examine this. Alosius. The law is not my specialty. We are all specialists, you know. Indeed, I treat only one small branch of my own field of investigation — I — Floy. There is something here which is your specialty. fiJL***^ Alosius. How so? Floy. " Business, efficiency." Just read that short paragraph. (He does so with amazement) You seem surprised. Alosius. Astounded. Floy. What do you advise me to do ? Alosius. When are you twenty-one? Floy. At midnight, to-night. Alosius. You are contemplating breaking the will? Floy. No, I shouldn't want to do that. Queer as Aunt Sophia was, I have respect for her wishes. Besides, we have no money with which to fight it. Alosius. You have no money ! Pardon my sur- prise. It is only college professors who have a right to such rash statements. Now if I had said that I had no money, I Floy. To-morrow you and everybody will know that Father has failed. We shall have nothing unless Alosius. Unless ? Floy. Unless I Alosius. I see. Bankruptcy — who would have thought it? Curious will, that, very curious. She must have wanted awfully to get married, your aunt, I mean. She must have wanted it as badly — as I have wanted to get married. Floy. You ? Alosius. Yes, as I do want to, if I can find the 50 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY right girl. Slow and sure has been my motto in these matters. I have been engaged three times already. Floy. Oh ! Alosius. Yes, three times. Each of the girls young, winsome, wealthy. A professor with no in- dependent income, with all of his wealth in his brains, as you might say, — well, a professor, I Floy. A professor must not neglect the money end of matrimony? Alosius. Quite right. Floy. Then why don't you marry one of the three elect? Alosius. All married and have babies. Floy. , Then their hearts aren't broken? Alosius. I've often wondered. Have you had — -• er — any such affairs, may I ask? Floy. Yes, you may ask. No, I haven't had any such affairs as you have had. Isn't there an old saying that women love but once ? Alosius. (Drazving the portieres) And "men were deceivers ever, one foot on land and one on shore " Floy. {Anticipating his intention) Oh, please don't take the trouble to kneel. Alosius. You have had experience too? Floy. Oh, yes, I have had proposals walking, riding, sailing, swimming, even one in an aeroplane, but kneeling is really out of date. Alosius. The youngest of mine liked it. Floy. But she belonged to another generation. Alosius. To come to the point. Floy. Yes, let us talk business, Alosius. Alosius. Why not mix a little sentiment with the business? Floy. Nonsense. I feel as though we were married already, Alosius, our relations are so prosaic. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 51 Alosius. Then you will marry me? Floy, you ■ Floy. I don't know whether I will or not. Let us talk it over. Alosius. Your moods are so disconcerting, Floy. How you have changed. Floy. Yes, I have been a silly young girl, but now I am a thinking woman. I want to strip off all sentimentality from this relationship, Alosius, be- cause there isn't any sentiment in it. Alosius. You don't like me? Floy. Oh, yes, Alosius, I like you well enough. Alosius. I adore Floy. Please don't use that word. It is passe. But it is getting late. {Glancing at the clock) Let's get right down to brass tacks. I am willing to marry — at least I am considering — marrying a respectable man, who — You are respectable, aren't you? Alosius. Why, — er— yes, I think I might be called respectable. _ Floy. Well, I am considering such an alliance simply and solely to save my family from financial ruin. You, on the other- hand, are looking for a nice girl with money. I am the nice girl and here {Holding up the zvill) is the money. Alosius. By gad, you are up to the minute. Floy. Well, time is flying. If you won't take up this proposition, I'll have to find somebody else be- fore midnight. Is it a bargain? Hurry! Alosius. We'll seal the bargain with a kiss. Floy. No, no, no, don't you dare touch me. i Alosius. What kind of a bargain are you talk- ing about? Flo^t. I don't know. Let me go. {Struggling against his embrace) Let me go, I say. Alosius. You have been playing with me long 52^ HURRY, HURRY, HURRY enough, you coquette. But I know how to tame you. Floy. How dare you — how dare — Oh! (Enter Jack through billiard room portieres. Alosius quickly releases Floy.) Jack. You blackguard. How dare you insult this lady? If it weren't for her presence, I'd knock you down, sir. (Attracted by the commotion, all hurry in, with the exception of Mr. Hooker.) Alosius. It is you who owe the apology to every- body present, especially to Miss Hooker, for she has just consented ,to be my wife. Mrs. Hooker. Engaged to you? (Mother and daughter weep on each other's necks. Awkward pause) Alosius. Well, this is highly complimentary. I feel overwhelmed by all of your congratulations. Letitia. Oh, I want somebody's shoulder to weep on. (She joins the weeping chorus. A noise, as though of a pistol shot, is heard up stairs. Everyone is alert with alarm) Mrs. Hooker. Oh, it is your father! (She totters and Jack catches her) Steve. (Springing toward the stairs) A pistol shot ! Dad, dad ! (Mr. Hooker in dressing gown comes down the stairs.) Mr. Hooker. (Yawning) Just started to take a little nap when the wind banged that damned door. Oh, I beg pardon, ladies and gentlemen. Guess I am not quite awake. Sonny, mix me a high ball. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 53 Mrs. Hooker. Jim, are you sure you are not hurt? Mr. Hooker. Hurt? What you all looking so sad about? Mrs. Hooker. Floy has just announced her engagement. Mr. Hooker. Announced her engagement? My boy, (Turning to Jack and clasping his hand) you deserveher. I congratulate you. Lemme see, what time is it ? (He looks at his watch, holding it in his left hand, while still gripping Jack's hand with his right) Half-past eleven. Bravo! On time, my boy, on time. (Jack seizes his hat and coat, and dashes out through the hall. The door is heard to bang.) Curtain ACT III Scene: Same as preceding Act. No time is sup- posed to elapse between acts. The characters are grouped as at the end of Act II. The outer door is heard to close as Jack departs. Letitia. Poor dear Mr. Crandall, he looked so- so unhappy as he left. I am so sorry for him. Alosius. Personally, I must say I feel no regret at his departure. Floy. Mother, dear, don't cry any more. Mrs. Hooker. The trouble is that this is so— so &lM> sudden. m Floy. Everything is sudden, you know, Mother m these days. Letitia. Our arrival here, Mr. Stone, was so 54 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY sudden. Teehee ! I skidded right into your arms, didn't I ? It makes me think of Tagore. I don't know why. Some of his thrilling oriental things, you know. It was so so elemental. Ted. Aw, you got the wind knocked out of you — that's all. Few minutes for time out, and now you're back in the game. Letitia. Your imagery is so — so futurist, Mr. Stone, you really ought to write poetry. Steve. Old Ted a poet ! Ha, ha ! Letitia. Why not. Modern poetry has so much dash in it, you know. Nothing is said. Every- thing is left to the imagination. By the way, Mr. Stone, would you mind seeing me home? I am sorry to trouble you, but — but I'm in such a hurry. Ted. It's not much trouble — it's no pleasure — I mean, it's a great trouble — delighted. Letitia. Thank you, funny boy. Good-night, Floy dear. It has been the loveliest party. Good- night, Mrs. Hooker, everything has been so — so beautifully unconventional. And where is Mr. Hooker ? Steve. Having a smoke, I guess. Letitia. Say good-night for me. Or is it good- morning ? It is nearly morning, isn't it ? Oh, Floy, dear, I almost forgot — The very best of wishes. Will it be soon ? I suppose so. You'll let me catch your bouquet, won't you? Floy. Let you carry it if you want to, in my place. Letitia. Floy, you are such a jester. I never can tell when you are in earnest. Won't it be some- thing of a strain on you, Professor Bartholomew, keeping up with her repartee at the breakfast table ? Good-night everybody. {Everybody returns the salutation. Exit Letitia into hall, abruptly. Re- enter Letitia) Come, my hero. {Exit Letitia. Ted marches after her) HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 55 Floy. Good-night, Mr. Stone. Ted. Nightie, nightie. (Exit Ted into hall. Enter Mr. Hooker from the billiard room. Steve sings, "Good-night, Ladies/') Mr. Hooker. Steve, stop that infernal noise. Steve. Gentle hint, Dad. When young love is enthroned, time for family to clear out. Alosius. Floy, may I have a word with you in the study? Floy. Yes, I want just about one word with you, Alosius. ( They go into the study, Alosius closing the door/) Mrs. Hooker. What does it mean? Did either of you tell him? Steve. Not I. Mr. Hooker. And I've been asleep — or trying to sleep. Mrs. Hooker. Is it possible that he just hap- pened to propose at this time of all times? Mr. Hooker. What beats me is, why did she accept him ? Mrs. Hooker. I haven't breathed a word of our affairs to Floy, and yet she acts just like a martyr. Mr. Hooker. I believe the little girl is sacrificing herself for our sakes. Mrs. Hooker. But how would she get wind of our predicament? (Steve begins to sing again/) Mr. Hooker. Steve, if you don't stop that, I'll have you muzzled. Steve. Why don't you break the engagement, Dad? Mr. Hooker. What next? 56 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Steve. Easy enough. Just open that door, and say solemnly, " It's all off." Then beat a retreat. Mr. Hooker. No, no, boy, you don't know what you are talking about. Steve. Dad, why not? It surely is not the mil- lion dollars you're considering? The more I think of it, I'd rather be poor but honest than to have Alosius for a brother-in-law. Mr. Hooker. And I'd rather have a* dozen fail- ures than to have that failure for a son-in-law. Mrs. Hooker. I am almost inclined to agree with you, Dad, but I don't know why. Alosius isn't a failure. He's unusually successful Mr. Hooker. He is too confoundedly success- ful. Mrs. Hooker. Well, dear, we must get some rest. If only it had been Jack. Steve. Jack is a prince. He's as fine as Ted Stone, and a little older, too. Mr. Hooker. Well, I suppose young people must manage .their own affairs. They do, any way. Come, Sally. Mrs. Hooker. Bedtime, Steve. Steve. No, Mater, I'm going to stay on the job. (Capering about) I am that merry wanderer of the night, who will sprinkle the magic juice of love- in-idleness in their eyes. (In Puck fashion he frisks about, while the parents sadly climb the stairs, arm in arm. They disappear up the stairs and Steve pirouettes into the billiard room. After a moment's pause, angry voices are heard in the study. The door bursts open and Floy rushes out, followed by Alosius) Floy. Let me go, Alosius. Let me go, I say. I never was so insulted in my life. Alosius. How is it possible for me to insult you when we are engaged ? Floy. If that is the way you feel about it, then HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 57 let it be understood we are not engaged. I never consented to your proposition any way. Alosius. Semper mutabile femina est. It was you who made the proposition. I accepted. Floy. You announced our engagement when there wasn't any. I made a strictly business proposi- tion Alosius. I accepted. Therefore we are engaged. Therefore I will have that kiss. Your coquetry is piquantly charming, Floy, but there is a a limit. Floy. There is a limit. If you come any nearer to me, I'll tear your eyes out. Oh r we are all beasts, beasts. Just a thin veneer of refinement. Comes a big war or a big passion, and ouf ! the civilization is stripped off like lightning. Now I have found out about myself. I'm a sleek sinewy tiger — that's what I am. Don't you come a step nearer. If you do, I'll claw you to pieces. > i >i Alosius. I am beginning to foresee a pleasant ' : domestic existence. But I like you all the better when you are in a rage. Floy. Alosius, see, I am sitting calmly in this chair. I am not in a rage. I repeat to you in the most matter-of-fact tone : our engagement — if we ever had an engagement — is broken, broken, broken. Alosius. I suppose I am now to learn once more of the feminine psychology which says No when it means Yes. It is a primitive method that a woman has of binding a man closely to her. Floy. Alosius, I never had any cannibalistic yearnings before, but I verily believe I could chop you up into little bits and eat you. Aloslus. You really must dote on me, my. dear. Well, here is my ultimatum : I am not going, sweet- heart, until you give me that kiss. At least one. You are a naughty girl and I Floy. Can I speak more plainly? I thought of marrying you as a coldly business arrangement, 58 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY simply to save my family from ruin. Forgive me that mercenary moment. At any rate, I have been frank. And I am honest with you now when I tell you that I joyfully choose ruin for my loved ones and myself sooner than endure your society for another moment. Alosius, you force me to be rude. Have I hurt you? Alosius. You are a delight. In my three other affairs, I had no experience like this. You are champagne to my jaded nerves, exhilarating, ravish- ing. This role you have assumed is too preposter- ous, but it suits you well. Let me see, (Glancing at his watch) it is not yet midnight. I can wait for the mood to pass, and I will have that kiss, little charmer. A man can't make too sure of a volatile spirit like yours. Why — I — (She stares at him in silent indignation, and he breaks off his voluble dis- course, as Steve enters from the billiard room, carrying a cue which he is chalking) Steve. Have a game? Alosius. No thanks. I never play games — waste of time. Floy. Alosius and I are playing a little game right, now. Don't go, Steve. You can help me. I — well, I suppose you would call it— I proposed to this man. Alosius. Yes, that is precisely what you would call it. Floy. On account of the will and the assign- ment. I explained it all to him as business, nothing but business, and now Alosius. Now I have decided that much as I should like to help you and your family,— it was an instinct of chivalry that prompted me to accept, I daresay, but hard as it now seems to leave you stranded, I must think of myself, my career: my time must all be conserved, not dissipated. And so I am afraid I must break the engagement. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 59 Steve. Shall I kick him out, Sis? Floy. No, Steve, let him keep his fondest posses- sion, his dignity. Alosius. As I was about to say, my home must be my workshop. You know what a time Carlyle had with a wealthy wife, notwithstanding his sound- proof study. I Steve. You will find your hat and coat near the door. Alosius. Thank you. I trust there is no ill feel- ing. I wish you both good-night. (Exit Alosius.^^ The door is heard to slam) Floy. (Bursting into peals of laughter, then imitating the heavy manner of Alosius) "I trust there is no ill feeling. I wish you both good-night. I — " Oh, Steve, switch off the lights, I can't bear to have you witness my humiliation. (Steve switches off the lights, so that, except for the moonlight through the' window and the fire- light, the room is in darkness. Floy puts a log on the fire and squats down in front of it. Steve lights his pipe and hugs his knees on the window seat.) Steve. Lucky escape, Sis. Floy. Lucky escape from a million dollars. Steve, I am actually glad we are going to be poor. Steve. So am I. Be a new sensation. Floy. Yes, and it is going to simplify life such a lot. No more responsibilities and complexities and subleties. We can do whatever we want to and not what other people want us to do. Steve. We'll find out who our friends are. Floy. It will be such fun to get a pay envelope instead of an allowance. I hate to lose our home, though. Suppose we'll have to room in a garret? Garret rooms can be awfully artistic. 60 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Steve. (Looking through the zvindow) Queer thing happening across the street, Floy. Suspicious looking man walking back and forth watching our house. Wonder if it is a burglar. Floy. (Joining Steve at the window) I hope it is a burglar who comes and burgles a lot. Then we can get the insurance. Steve. Mercenary. I am going to get a revolver. Floy. Oh, Steve, I saw his face under a lamp post. It — it is not a burglar. Steve. How do you know? Floy. Because it isn't a burglar's face. Steve. I can see him now, too. Why if it isn't — it is. It's Jack. I'll go and lasso the old scout. Floy. You'll do nothing of the sort, Steve. Steve. Why not? Floy. At this hour? Steve. That's just the point. There are only a few minutes before midnight, and you had better hustle and land him. Floy. Oh, Steve, is that what you think of your sister ? Steve. Highest compliment I can pay you, be- cause he is the finest fellow 1 know of, not excepting Ted Stone. And you do care for Jack. You did last year. You do still. Now, don't you? Floy. Steve ! Steve. He cares for you too. He wouldn't be mooning around like this if he didn't. Here, let me call him before he gets away. Floy. (Detaining him) Please don't. Steve. Why not? Floy. Wait. Steve. Now, Sis, the one thing we can't afford to do is to wait. It's the old game of consequences: Her name, Sis ; his name, Jack ; they met in her house just before midnight; he said, "Will you be HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 61 mine ? " she said, " Oh, yes ! " and the consequences were they got a million dollars. Floy. And the world said, " What a scandal ! " No, Steve boy, you don't understand. I couldn't make this a business proposition with Jack. I canit, I won't be engaged for money. I wouldn't be engaged before midnight, Steve. Nothing could induce me to. So you'll have to give up this little scheme. Steve. But there is nothing to prevent your being engaged after midnight. (While she is not looking, Steve pushes the hands of the, clock on the mantel ahead fifteen minutes, making it midnight, — this act only half visible in the firelight. Then he prances about mischievously ) Floy. What are you doing, Steve? Steve. Going to get Jack. Floy. No, no, no, no. Steve. That sounds to me, Floy, like yes,, yes, yes, yes. (Exit Steve through hall. The little clock on the mantel strikes twelve rapidly) Floy. (Sitting in front of the fire) Twelve o'clock! And now I'm poor. I don't care. (Re-enter Steve, followed by Jack.) Jack. (Removing his ulster in the hall) I just happened to be walking by. Lucky you saw me. You say you have something important to tell me? (Steve draws the portieres as he disappears into the billiard room.) Floy. Oh, is that you, Jack. How did you get in? Jack. (Entering) Steve — Where is he? He wanted to tell me something. 62 HURRY, HURRY, HURRY Floy. Probably that my engagement to Alosius is broken. Alosius broke it. Jack. Is this some more of your coquetry, Floy? Floy. Don't you dare use that word, coquetry. • Jack. Then — then you will marry me? See, it is after midnight, honey. Say yes. Floy. So you know all about it, too ? Jack. Your mother told me. Floy. Oh, I hate this love and money mixture. Jack. There's nothing left but love now, honey, and on that I'll kiss you. {He sits on the arm of her chair, but she escapes his embrace) Floy. No, we'll not begin this with kissing. Jack. I reckon it will be the penalty imposed by the judge. Floy. This is a serious matter. Jack. Kissing is a very serious matter. Floy. Marrying isn't a matter of kissing. It is a matter of temperament. I have a brain. Please give me credit for that. Jack. Item: credit for one dear little brain. Floy. You are almost as odius as Alosius. Jack. Puzzle : why did that little brain break our engagement? I can't remember. Floy. Jack, it isn't possible you have forgotten the cause of our rupture ? Jack. I remember you were terribly offended about something. Floy. And so were you. Jack. But I don't know what it was all about. Floy. It was a totally different interpretation of life. It was what they call in the divorce court " incompatibility of temperament." But since then I have changed. Jack. So have I. Floy. I have changed to-night. Jack. And I've changed my mind since seeing you here to-night. This is your environment. You HURRY, HURRY, HURRY 63 should enjoy life to the full, honey, it is your right. On my hermitage on the plains I have not known anything about the social side of life. And I pre- tend to interpret men and women in my books when I don't know anything about them. I want to lead this life of yours. I want to taste it to the full. I want to go the pace with you, honey. -We41 sip the nectar of existence, we'll Floy. Jack, you are delirious. You have lost your poise, lost all the good sense I have admired in you, and (A sob) just when I have had some sense knocked into me. I have gone this crazy pace and I know what I am talking about. I am glad to renounce it. _ I want poverty, work, fresh air . Jack. You little Epicurean, now you are romanc- ing. Floy. And you are philosophizing. With all of your southern chivalry, you are a Puritan at heart Jack. , ' Jack. Puritan? Fiddlesticks! I want the life. I want to do something shocking. Floy. Jack, Jack, don't you realize, everybody wants to do something shocking nowadays and that is why there is nobody left to be shocked ? Jack. But I have just come to realize, honev what you know: this is the biggest age of history and America the greatest country on the globe- why ? Because we utilize every moment of our time. I ve been thinking it out as I paced back and forth in front of your house. There is no leisure class here because there is no leisure, There-never was a time or a country where so much is packed into a ■moment—business, art, pleasure. That is what ^ives -zest and tang to living. That is what spells prog- Ploy. There never was a time or a countrv— you quoted statistics yourself to prove it— with such a horrible record of crime and insanity. There is a 6 4 HURRY,, HURRY, HURRY difference between r plishment and activity, Tack, between nerve *na nervousness Oh, Jack I do care for vou. Let's go back to the plains ot Texas and ride our ponies and be carefree. I hat is the way to live. , Tack Dearest, you wouldn't be carefree. You d be a drudge. We would grow stale. The monotony . Floy. But in the city you are a machine,— no, a cog in the machine, grinding day and night. Jack. A compromise, honey: half tiie year on my ranch, half the year in your city. Floy How silly we are to be talking about the place to live. Now we'll have to earn a living wherever we can, and I don't care where, so long as I have you. (They start to embrace, but they pause, as the chimes of " the city clock are heard tolling twelve) Why, Tack, it is just striking twelve now (Shaking her finger at the clock on the mantel) I never knew our old clock to be ahead of time beiore, but maybe Jack. Maybe— Now, honey, you 11 never have to worry and you'll never have to hurry. Floy. Hurry? Steve. (Sticking his head through the billiard room portieres and making an impish grimace in the firelight) Hurry! (Steve, laughing, disappear s behind the portieres. Floy and Jack laugh and embrace ) ' 0° * 3 V J-7- Aw A ** r.T« a A0 '*. * • . • " . V . „ <**_ ' kP*i ■>c? «*°<* ,<>^ ■=>^\ ** v % .** Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 PreservationTechnologies A W0RL0 LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 -S^E3^ \,j>> °^ **77V c5 Ay . . «• ' * * 0< -;,, BOOKBINDING H 0-» ' Crantville, Pa H Nov -Der IQSS H . . - ksy n 8S9N HlIB I ^H 111113 ffiSfill M ■flIH Iffi MS HI wm

12003821

Hang up philosophy, and other poems,

Arvine, William Brown

hangupphilosophy00arvi_djvu.txt

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Hang Up Philosophy AND OTHER POEMS BY W. B. ARVINE etVeritxti THE POET LORE COMPANY THE GORHAM PRESS BOSTON Copyright, 1911, by W. B. Arrine All Rights Reserved I 9!! The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A f,.^ )C|.A309249 CONTENTS Page Hang up Philosophy, Edgewood Stanzas 7 Evening Twilight 16 An Echo 17 The Whippoorwill 18 The Whippoorwill Nearer to 19 The Wanderer 20 A Song 21 The Lonely Road 22 Evening 24 The Nymphs 25 Ideal I 30 Ideal II 31 Euphrosyne I 32 Euphrosyne II 33 Euphrosyne and Dolorosa 34 Ignota 35 Charlotte 36 Ruth 37 Pergolese 38 Stradella 39 L'Envoi 47 Spinozan Echoes I 49 II 52 III 53 Lines 54 St. Patrick's Cathedral 55 Lines 57 A Hymn — St. James 61 A Song 62 Parting 63 Adieu 64 Song 65 3 CONTENTS Page Translations From the French of Verlaine 68 From the German of Heine 69 Sonnets Ik Marvel's Hill 72 Endymion 73 Night 74 Ave Maria I 75 n 76 Shadows Aberglaube 78 Lines 79 Woodmont Revisited I 80 Woodmont Revisited H 81 Lines 82 Christ's Love 83 Despondency 84 The Happy Dead 85 Watchman, What of the Night? 86 Lines 87 Oxford 88 Lines 89 Lines 90 Miscellaneous Dreamland 92 To Doctor G. With Some Cigars at Christ- mas 93 The Bird With Broken Wing 94 The Flower 95 To W 96 Lovely Women 97 Lines , 98 Lines 99 4 HANG UP PHILOSOPHY HANG UP PHILOSOPHY EDGEWOOD STANZAS From Reason's labyrinthine wrong, Save, heav'n-born Maid; — our mortal Gate Of the bright Mysteries of Song, Open till this dark maze of fate, Stark thought's vague prison, fill With fairer glamor than our upland lake Wears in the silence under a late moon The hour that sad, unreconciled queen, With far ethereal thrill. Charms night-walled surge, and, thro' jet branches seen. Shimmering inland-waters so they make Wanderers pensive as a tune Of mournful music will. Far-heard at dusk on lone, deep-wooded hill. The radiance from thy lips, that streams, Virginal, thro' the numbed brain, Is not of lost unchartered beams From veiled world-circling fires of pain, Like strange Selene's wile Of boundless yearning by hard fate outworn. Wan beauty of the hopelessness past tears, For dull oblivion waiting listlessly. No gleam of siren isle In deeps of sad eternal mystery. Thy splendor; no, 'tis heav'n's o'erflowing morn: Closed by the hot, impassable years. Yet undismayed the while. Ever thou hast thy rapt empyreal smile! Be thy wide waking my release; Not listless prayers for Lethe-flow, Long-baffling thought's last sorceries; — 'Sad cure' that gives me such a throe As cerements of death From rifled tombs of dark idolatry. Me, by a wistful hearth, benignly wake: Let my pent soul, unshackled, purely thrill With thine ecstatic breath Till vain, o'erwearied questionings be still — O smiling Poesy, come compass me With wings of magic proof to break Self-meshing Reason's teeth Whose wounds my 'guiled spirit sinks beneath ! My aery waking guard; save me Vain hurryings thro' havenless chance. Fleeing my natal destiny, Homeless mid the Old World's romance. Here let my heart abide, And only my adventurous fancy roam To link my being with our richer past — Our storied Motherland — that I may feel. After forgetful pride Of knowledge, secrets thought shall ne'er unseal. Let ancient calm, lovely as evening gloam. Enfold this hillside hearth at last; Where, not by fancy spied. Prattles a little damsel at my side. Yes, safe at home, for no brief hour, My waking be, far from the door Of solitude; no cloistral bow'r. Mossed ruin on shunned river-shore, Hide me, companionless. With this wee damsel — her wide, visioning eyes In Legend's festal glamor well content — These slopes let me in Old World joyance roam Till the low leafage kiss Her, whispering, where lays from Percy's tome Gave me, once, gaily timorous surmise Of winding horn and revelment — Lost solitary bliss — Deep in our rustling upland wilderness. We will not blame our harsh New World, Her intellectual storm and stress; Nor, though her fever has upcurled One faltering soul, love her the less. The youthful Titan throes 'Neath burdens wellnigh more than she can bear; Nor hath unchastened, hurrying self-will Confirmed her sad, illboding prophets yet. No, my worn heart well knows, Her shall, one day, her Sophist brood outwear; What time her spirit kens, as it doth fill, At last, the channel God hath set, The goal whither it goes, Loving with us the past from whence it flows. How arduous thy journeying, Thou, gentle Inward Eye, must know. Into this wildered brain to bring Charm of that jocund long-ago Haunting unbannered keep, Hoar sentinel of nestling grey-walled town ; And the great woods where echoed rousing staves O'er that bold firelight ring of Lincoln green. In filched ale pledging deep Their naughty friar, only by fairies seen; Haunting the towered meadows of The Gown Soft-mirroring Thames so sweetly laves — Now for thy native steep. Far-voyaging Inward Eye, dull not nor sleep! O rich the freight thou bringest me — Round our loved home I must unroll. For that dear maid's half-whispered glee, The brave enchantment of my soul. Too long her drooping eye For her dark-thralled votary doth pine. See, he returns, wrapt in that lost repose So innocent of this fever-thirst for vain Impossible how and why; Returns, without her, ne'er to roam again; Comes with a brimming largess for her shrine Of olden minstrelsy that flows Blithe as blue-winding Wye Past crumbling Tintern open to the sky. 10 By green hedgerows, o'er which bend down These cherished woods, sweet-lingering hours We'll gaze off on the learned town ; Like some faint glimpse of Oxford tow'rs From these high lawns she lies. Almost my own ideal New England seems This pleasant old hill-road. More, as I wake, I see the touch of a fond, vanished hand Which, with our hopes, did prize The mellow beauty of our far home-land. Up thro' the lane, whence the late sunlight streams Down on his stone cot, tow'rd the lake. Ere many moons shall rise. We twain will roam until the long day dies. We'll tiptoe the damp, cressed sward High-shaded hurrying streams along, Gay outlaws at our watch and ward; Anon to dance and wassail song. Safe in the high morass Forever locked to charm-dispelling day. Or, viewless elves, we thread strange fastnesses Till homing flocks forsake the lonely wold. There o'er the spangled grass. As walled curfew glooms far cot and fold. Thro' moonlit mists and streaking shadows grey, 'Neath Gothic elm, our revelries Unseen shall dimly pass. Faint-heard by startled swain late from his lass. II Nay, soon from world-forgetting shades And distant dreams, to violet-fringed Minstrel mid-May's deepening glades. Where heav'n thro' waving boughs hath tinged With sun-lace vernal sward. Spring's wilding breath is ever bounteous Here to late winter winds. A short climb hence, Slow-budding, serried oaks and chestnuts through, On the chill knolls that guard The violets from the north, glance in our view Bars of the lake's clear azure. Over us Kind skies crave thrilling confidence As welled from Rotha's bard That God is good, Earth fair, though life be hard. To thee, O sweet unhappy Earth, By loosed Fancy's bright sojourn In lusty morn of English mirth, Her being's cradle, I return: So hath my waking found The lorn hills of my birth-land beautiful ; — Found me thy praises singing, stately crag, Towering the dark-blue upland wave above With hoary firs high-crowned; Tall crag the low sun cheers with lingering love. While far beneath, in shadowy stillness cool. The heron lone, on gnarled snag. Broods o'er the smooth profound. And Twilight sheds her forest magic round. 12 See, ye self-'mured who will have man The sum and measure of all things ; A young land's seers who deem ye can Ravel with lifeless reasonings, And, to the All-in-All, Revamp this vast imperious riddle world, See, from your tangled catacombs of thought:— Day's ageless eye, pausing with softer fires Just o'er the crag's dark wall, Looks backward thro' the cedars' clustered spires. 'Tis my boon hour; and, from the past unfurled, On sovran Earth ye set at naught, Calm benedictions fall — Home of my fathers, not my spirit's pall I Up the crag's mossy flank we go Along soft-tinkling amber rills To watch the amber after-glow Fade over far-off purple hills: Silent we watch the dark — The deep, serene, all-shriving spell of night — Come starlit o'er the dreaming face of things With deeper secrets than the unborn morrow We wot not of. — But hark, The ancient, the ineffable charm of sorrow, Vintage beloved of all sure delight! Thy plaint with a strange gladness rings, O Whippoorwill, sweet lark Of hours when Day's red hearth lies cool and stark ! 13 By the dim margin of the lake At last we loiter, hand in hand, Bidding shy dryad Echo wake, Gazing adown the underland. So near, so far away; Of starry skies a trembled, stilly realm And fair, beneath abysmal foliage flung — Till, gathering my darling unto me, Lapt in sweet tire of play. Softly I hasten homeward, shrived and free. For nevermore may naked Reason whelm The longing of a song unsung. Nor harshly say me nay To youth-reviving memories for aye. H EVENING TWILIGHT The hour is come when tow'rd the west The day-worn spirit thrills — That ever-wondrous golden glow Upon the purple hills. The dews fall on the drooping flow'rs, And on my heavy heart Enchantment falls — O! nameless charm That shall too soon depart; Falls softly, as, from tufted crag, Fell upon moon-lit sea. In other times, the hoary harper's Dying melody. As in a dream, I seem to know There lies a lovely land 'Neath those far hills where silent waves Break on a lonely strand. i6 AN ECHO I lay beneath an aged tree Among the daisies on the lea While happy birds thrilled 'mid the leaves Their ancient minstrelsy. Yes, many an olden magic lay That seemed to come from far away The flow'rs and I in silence heard, That golden summer's day. And such a mist came o'er my eyes. As long ago with far surmise At whispered twilight fairy-tale And wondrous western skies. 17 THE WHIPPOORWILL Sweet bird, I know thy mournful ditty Wells from a hidden gladness; For I, too, love the forest twilight's Hushed, mysterious sadness. And, O, had I the pow'r to sing That amber after-glow. My tranced heart would utter just Such far-off strains, I know. Sing on, as thro' enchanted glooms I pass to pleasant rest With thoughts that cannot find my tongue, My head upon my breast. i8 THE WHIPPOORWILL NEARER TO Amid these fragrant twilight glooms Now all is strangely still, As tranced by thy magic woe, Melodious Whippoorwill. And, listening to thy heart's outpour. All breathless, too, am I — A traveller not unknown to grief — With rapturous ecstacy. For what boots pity, when from pain The spirit takes no wrong? — ■ O beauteous grief-born melody. Triumphant sorrow-song ! 19 THE WANDERER Wanderer, wanderer, Whither goest thou? Gleams not a lamp, lit by white hands for thee, Far thro' the darkness now? Wanderer, wanderer. Why droops thy head so low? Surely thy heart behind thee strays afar. Why else thy steps so slow? Wanderer, wanderer. Look up; above the plain. Dark-looming clouds are shot with winged fire. I feel warm drops oi rain. Wanderer, wanderer, This is no time to roam — I see a light that signals me to soothe An anxious heart at home. 20 A SONG The stars are shining brightly, The zephyrs fan us lightly, And round our bow'r the nightly Songsters sweetly sing. All else save love is dreaming, Thine eyes with joy are beaming, And my glad heart is teeming With songs I cannot sing. 21 THE LONELY ROAD I saw once in a ponderous book, While yet a little boy, A picture of a lonely road, That filled me with strange joy. The book with other loves has gone The heedless way of chance: I only know my mother spoke Vague words of "old, old France". The road wound past a tabled heath Along near, cresent hills; And vanished with the mystery Of high, deep-falling rills. Twilight seemed darkening with the hush The homing shepherds fear — I knew the place that, after dusk, No canny folk come near; The ancient place where battlements Rise up, then foil the sight; Where thralled maiden languishes For bugling errant knight. I've often pondered how that print So long has haunted me. Still lingering with such vividness In my worn memory. 22 Sometimes I almost wonder while The Sabbath twilight wanes, If there be some dim Huguenot Homesickness in my veins. Perhaps a spark of glamor lives In each o'erbusy brain, One spark the crowding years have tried To stamp away in vain. One thing is certain, now I live In "light of common day", With romance far as once did seem The sky-line on the bay. 23 EVENING Evening and home once more; Three hush'd leagues from the throbbing city, Here on this murmuring shore Again I hum the strange old ditty Sung mid deep waters' roar Long ere the world was with grave science blest. Gazing far out to sea, Singing, I breathe the sea air gratefully; And from old ocean's boundless breast And the vague arch of evening, come to me Inklings of puissant, deep tranquillity Which knoweth not our spent and sodden rest. The calmness unoppressed And welling zest Of youth return ; a short hour I am free, Lightened of the grim load With which a faithless world must test My soul on life's rough road. — Sweet heaven, long let it be Ere I, when given breath from the sharp goad Of a too wise, o'erheated work-day world. Can never, nevermore. While night's high starry silence is unfurled Along the windings of this loved shore. Feel what I was of yore. H THE NYMPHS An adaptation in verse from the prose of Turgen- ieff. Upon a flowery knoll high in a wood, At twilight, once, in beauty's thrall I stood; And saw, thro' ageless, clear-revealing gaze Of poesy, that glory in the west. Which young-eyed wonder hailed, in golden days, As sorrowless Elysium beauty-blest. And sorrowless were my first thoughts, this hour, Of universal Pan's unfaltering pow'r Ere the Great Wail of Sorrow rose on earth. — Listen, from shades of many a stirred bow'r The gathering choirs of night Send echoes of creation's morning mirth; Sweet- thrilling song of freedom without bound, The selfsame deep delight A dreaming world is pouring on my sight In lofty symphony too vast for sound! The ancient hills, a far-flung crescent round Earth's western brink, in lucent purple dight, Their potent, everlasting youth declare With smile prophetical. Kissed by departing king of day. So fair, so prodigal. 25 Soon came to mind a long-forgotten tale, Once meaningless as childish roundelays; But now of woeful import to assail The large-horizoned mirth of other days. It was the legend of a Grecian craft Among bright isles in blue Aegean sea — Too soon that bark did Notus thither waft After the morn of Christ's nativity. The drowsy helmsman wist of no alarm; It was high noon, and sea and sky were calm — "When thou shalt pass by yon unpeopled isle", A-sudden cried a voice high o'er his head, "Let not sleep thine obedience beguile; Steer close, and shout amain : 'Great Pan is dead' ". Now when the pilot passed that desert shore, All wide awake with dread. He gave the cry that echoes evermore: "He's dead. Great Pan is dead!" And all along that desolate strand Rose wailing wild on every hand: Great Pan is dead, is dead. 26 While drooping with that story old The wand of Hermes smote my eyes; And in a dream of marvel manifold I saw ecstatic pagan paradise. — Methought I gave the cry: "Great Pan is newly bom; Arisen in all his primal loveliness, And Earth's no more forlorn. Yes he again is nigh Beneath a happy sky To show his rapturous tokens numberless!" When lo before my 'mazed eyes A wondrous miracle was wrought: With mighty, universal laughter fraught, Those far hills were Olympic paradise. Each moment louder waxed that thrilling sound, So swiftly hasting near from far away, Till heavenly voices echoed all around. And in a chorus vast did seem to say: "Hear, hear our answering cry; Great Pan is newly born. Arisen in all his primal loveliness, And Earth's no more forlorn. Then breathe no sorrow-sigh. For we are hasting nigh. His lovely, living tokens numberless!" 27 The rush of countless feet Resounds on every side; The blossoming thickets show a wondrous light They cannot wholly hide; — Behold those glimpses fleet Of rosy limbs and flowing raiment white! Lo, all along the amber glades Now come to view great dancing bands Of wondrous fair, immortal merry maids With shining pipes and timbrels in their hands. Their dark, high-clustering curls toss in the wind; The face of Nature brightens to adore them. On, on they come in frolic unconfined. Rolling Olympian laughter on before them. First doth advance, in countenance And shape the loveliest of them all: With one acclaim The others name Her queen of that high festival. The silver crescent-moon is on her brow — O dazzling maidenhood! Diana, is it Thou? 28 But suddenly all motionless she stands: Ceases the dance ; the laughter dies away ; And strangely hushed those erewhile happy bands Gaze on their leader in a blank dismay. For she, with parted lips, averted head, Her trembling hands to her chill bosom prest, Gazes with eyes askance, all wild with dread. Into the distance. O then, sore distrest For loveliness that was not born for tears. In glorious merriment struck dumb with fears, Swift-following that horror-stricken gaze, I saw a stately, far cathedral spire Whose golden cross with heav'n's pure light ablaze Did seem in truth to be a cross of fire. Even as I looked a long despairing sigh Arose from souls that bled; And when I woke in longing sympathy, Goddess and nymphs had Hed. But thro' that lonely forest land The night wind sighed on every hand : He's dead. Great Pan is dead. 29 IDEAL I Ah lovely wife — and true as fair; Dear angel, glad mid earthly care: Just as our common hope and joy, Our pledge of love, our dark-eyed boy — Who oft comes weeping to thy side The pain of bruises to confide, And there, thro' kisses numberless. By faith sublime reaps full redress, — I, too, have faith that, come what may, Thou canst kiss darkness into day. We twain, thy darling child and I, All rapt in sacred ecstacy. Behold with favored mortal eyes The loveliness of paradise: Thy bosom, pure as unblown snows, Is our warm refuge of repose. 30 II There is a maiden of my dreams — they are dreams of bliss; She's luring as a siren song, Fond as an angel's kiss! Her smile bespells me while I sleep, Even as thrilling Morn With her own heav'nly splendour doth All darkling Earth adorn. An exile from the land I love, A land unguessed by care — Torn from my sweet dream maiden's arms, 1 wake in dumb despair. But soon amid my toil I raise My lay of conquering faith, Right sure she will one day to me Come, as in dreams she saith. O when the glory of her smile Upon me wakeful streams, Fairer this dreary world will be Than ever land of dreams! 31 EUPHROSYNE We chide not, bright Euphrosyne, Chide? — no, nor do we grieve to see. As, laughing thro' the world they go. Thine eyes undimmed by the world's woe. Nay, sweet joy thrills our hearts to find One breathes to whom the world is kind : — And, O, a mirth like thine have we When fools prate of thy cruelty! 32 II Yes, although their lot's perdition — Fools who wait thy heart's contrition- Still, methinks, thou hast a mission Which is one of beauty. Who demands of every flow'r Dreaded leech's healing pow'r: Shall not one delight the hour When folk prate not of duty? I fear not that winsome guile, It hath lulled my woes awhile; At thy heartlessness I smile. Child of lovely leisure. Ought I chide that morning mirth ?- Ne'er will I increase the dearth Of the merriment of Earth: Play on, thou May-day treasure. 3!3 EUPHROSYNE AND DOLOROSA Dearly I love two beautiful girls: One the own daughter of Mirth; The other a dark-eyed sorrowful maid, Child of the Second Birth. I love this beautiful pair as I love My body and my soul: Would that my luck had found them one 'Neath one sweet will's control. First I offered my mirth to the sorrowful one; She raised a warning hand: Then I told my grief to the maid of mirth; She could not understand. Since I of both sorrow and mirth am made; Though strange, true must it be That neither one of these beautiful girls Could happily dwell with me. So I drink to more fortunate mating for each; And go my way alone With a prayer I may live as true to them both As they were both my own. Yes, I must be true to this beautiful pair; True to the maid of mirth, True to the dark-eyed sorrowful one, Child of the Second Birth. 34 IGNOTA Ah radiant stranger, happy he Who shall have life recourse To that unfaltering breast! Even in this glance my heart throbs with new zest For life, and swells as with high glee Of fathomless resource. Strangers, alas, we go our ways: O that man's yearning heart Should build itself a wall Of desolate silence to stifle its love-call, When it perchance doth gaze On its dear counterpart! 35 CHARLOTTE Alas, alas, that heav'n sent me To earth some ten years after thee. In twenty lives where should I find Such charm of motion, speech and mind? Thro' the dead years, my brain a-whirl, I gaze and see a dazzling girl! So wondrous lovely and so lone! — Were men once blind or made of stone; Or must I think God made all men Ignoble and unworthy then? — ^Alas, alas, that heav'n sent me To Earth some ten years after thee! 36 RUTH Nay, though the fiery hopes of youth Too soon cease to be mine; Call not too wise the tired eyes Which gaze, dear heart, in thine. For mayhap the spent wanderer When he at last comes home. Will know to cherish well as one Who was not born to roam. 37 PERGOLESE A Prelude Hark how the gloam-wrapt Organ's voice With old-world passion throbs — "Have pity, Oh, have pity, Master!" Pergolese sobs. Lo, as by fairy lamps I see, Mid night of finished years. Deep-sunken, burning eyes that swim With penitential tears! Strange heart of man! When Earth was still A Father's school for thee, How hateful then the hollow vaunt Of human vanity! But now a homeless wanderer On a bleak stranger shore. Thou darest drown thy sorrow-song With fiercely proud uproar. 38 STRADELLA STRADELLA Bleak wintry dusk and candle-light, Red embers on an old hearth-stone, A rapt violinist mid the deepening shadows Of the next room, alone. Without, the sullied trampled snow, And strident twentieth-century din; High-fervent song of the lost Age of Faith Low-preluding within. "Have pity. Lord!" * * * At length recedes This loud new world of outward care — Lo, up the twilight ghostly arches soar From knee-worn pavement bare! Dark the unheeded hearth and cold — Where late the comfortable flame, Naught but stark stone and penitential gloom Re-echoing suppliant shame. Round us Stradella's travail wraps His world-defying spirit-fires: Now falleth from our souls the loathly dross Of base world-born desires. Swiftly still backward borne, we hail, On that far-thrilling music's flow, Heart of the climbing gorgeous Middle Age — One world-wide inward glow! 40 Once more the Lamb's Young Bride upturns Her streaming eyes so sweetly wild — See, though her virgin bosom fiercely heaves, Just now, methought, she smiled! Triumphant Bride ! We will not think She quenched the mad Pompeiian mirth; Only, with passionate harp, to pour mad grief On cloyed and stifling Earth. Almost we wish this were no spell, And that heart-sob might never cease: In anguish, yea, if need be, let us crave The inward boon of peace. II — The old-world song is hushed and dead; And dies in me that old-world thrill: Priests of the proud new world, resume your sway; Work your unripened will. Say on: "An unsubstantial world. Grotesque vague vision-realms within, Ev'n to this hour still from 'the masses' veil The fair real world to win. But dazzling Truth rives now the last Tyrannic, ashen gloam: too long Oblivion waits a dream-enthralled Past O'erwrought with sorrow-song." Say on : "Man's brutish primal birth Mocks the far-gazing toiler's moan: — Poor witless crowd, arise; at last we deign To help you seize your own!" 41 Yes, tell the scorned populace The lore that makes you wholly wise ; And say, too, that ye left them succorless With your half-opened eyes; That when ye cried : " 'Each for himself, France broke, for this, the despot's might". Ye had, this chaos of cross-purpose tells. Not fully seen the light; That when harsh Nature's chosen iew Became Earth's new nobility, Man's nascent freedom sank beneath the wheel Of deadlier tyranny." Ill Ah yes, by you our Second Hope Was quenched in a vast sordid rage; By you the noble anguish, born of that Fierce Wakening, with presage Of a true earthly brotherhood. Was jeered till, in a ruthless mart, The children of the new age learned to scorn The hunger of the heart; Till ev'n the beauty of the past — Still lingering thro' bewildered years — Fled a raw world of shallow certainty Sans yearning and sans tears. Already shorn of right to give One meaning to all mortal moil. The Lamb's high-sorrowful Bride, a blighted thing, Sank in the grime of toil. 42 Yes, freedom's bards had just divined The bigotry of quivering France, A noble sorrow hallowing the fire Still regnant in their glance. Thro' love for the lost Spell that built With stone such lofty ryme of strife Despairing, far yet thrilling hope they sang Of a glad inward life. And now with your last oracle, Proud priests, the mob is ripe for spoil ; The blighted Bride of Christ waits her last hour Amid the grime of toil. Yes, now a hideous, loveless world Rocks with a grinding, sullen roar; And they are dust who dreamed a fairer glory Should fold us than of yore. Rose their great paeans but to give A soulless Reason iron sway? — Alas, no puissant lyre of heaven's bright gold Heads the world-march to-day. O Shelly, Byron, Heine! Would Such lyric heralds of the light Might shame this power of gold, this slavish hate- This grim mechanic fight! Though yesterday beyond this rout We saw the happy, shining goal While Arnold sang, far now as ever seem Glory of mind and soul. 43 IV Unchastened by her proud contempt, Now Science boasts deep change of heart, Rushing at the eleventh hour to take The Sovereign Rabble's part. No palmer, militant she comes To strip the victors in a strife She said must rage, and Ate turns to lock The death-bound door to Life. Shall human misery end when ends The draggled mart's ignoble war? What oi that deeplier-dreaded spirit- thrall, The Jacobinism of law! Then will ye to the end, because 'Twere vain for a dead faith to grieve, With pride of work-day knowledge over-prized Your 'buried souls* deceive? When from his promised victories He comes unsatisfied and wan, How will ye minister, most haughty priests, To reawakening man? * * * Oblivion holds Stradella's harp And the lost Dream of Dreams for aye; To huddled lowering crowds their high priests cry On a drear, hopeless day: — 44 "Man is but son of man; beware To know the gaunt, self-tortured Past: The law of life is pleasure; pain is death; Be gay, be sane at last!" Proudly ye murmur 'mongst yourselves: "Now hath ecstatic Pan new birth!" Yea, wild the roar of laughter doth arise- The bitterest heard on Earth! Heathen without the heathen's charm, O Sophists of the Sophists ye, To dream a naked logic could awake Earth's morning minstrelsy! VI Ah yes, while still ye syllogize, This heedless world shall writhe again; Nor taste the heathen's mirth before she reaps A heathen doom of pain. By naught shall that fierce grief and shame Be changed to Earth's first gladness wild ; God grant they may, thro' beauty, love and truth, With life be reconciled! Alas that now while lingers still The agony of unbelief Ye face the faltering ranks with sapient scorn, Not with a poet's grief ! Well said, most learned priests and proud; The Future doth to Truth belong; But when, pray, did the dazzling Goddess doff Her rapturous robes of song? 45 Never, not She, pure voice of God; 'Tfs plain ye have not wholly heard: The children of her choice have ever breathed Music in every word. What but the loveliness of Truth Can make a darkling world rejoice; What but the deep, sweet spiritual ravishment Of that empyreal voice? Then Courage! From myriad hearts shall roll O'er life's inhospitable shore A mighty sursum corda, when it bears A songless age no more. VI — ^Well, ye have shattered one false hope; And may we nevermore make moan, Like dreaming children on the midnight waked In darkness and alone. Yes, ye have broke Stradella's harp. The hope that roused it as ye deem — O for a world-regenerating song Born of no fabulous dream! 46 L'ENVOI Hard ruthless power of gold, farewell; Farewell, deep slavish hate: Our futile voice was born too soon; Or else, alas, too late. Live we the lonely spirit life, A warring world abjure; Live in the aching hope our grief Shall after us endure. 47 SPINOZAN ECHOES I walked one night a moaning beach, Unhopeful of the morrow, When tow'rd a lonely inland light Sounded a rune of sorrow. It was an ancient Celtic wail I oft had heard before; But now its unresigned pain Throbbed at my being's core. Stubborn, yet O so sad it was, The very soul of grief; My eyes ached for the balm of tears, But could not win relief. Slowly this thought it seemed to breathe; "Our buried selves were one. But empty words divided us Beneath the pleasant sun. Yet they who proudly laid us low, — O yes, they too, shall fall; So they that level them, so on Till Fate tires of it all." Vanished the light, the music ceased; Sadly the moaning sea Seemed echoing that vain revolt Of human misery. 50 Still in an ununited world Men's buried selves are one, But empty words divide us still Beneath the pleasant sun. O God, shall ne'er our stubborn will Bow to Thee and set free Our prisoned souls, athirst for truth, In noble harmony? Hush, far adown my spirit sighs A low, yet puissant psalm — Some inlet of the vast expanse Of the Spinozan calm. 5» II COURAGE May my life be a glad serenity That still with clear and steady eye doth see The deep-encircling gloom of misery. Welcome, my soul, the terms of mortal birth, Sweet, all-containing, unrelenting Earth. Nor quench thy gladness to commiserate Untamed souls in burning close of fate: Thro' that, God's changeless will is the straight gate. Let not Truth's holy joyance, once, my heart, In pity or in my own pain depart. ■ I And may'st thou leave a house, kind, fearless, free, Blest home of a divine serenity, Amid encircling gloom which quelled not thee. Joyous he lives, and joyous passes he Who sees the world in God's eternity. 52 Ill AUTUMN Now do these rolling northern hills Like an enchanted land appear: What tropic child would guess he saw The passing of our year? Thro' sunny breaks in foliage, Sparklings of upland brooks are spied; Who cannot see their mossy banks With gold and crimson dyed? The martial sumac's haughty plumes Among low, scattered firs are seen, As in melee the doublets red Of old with Lincoln green. Thro' odorous amber glades there breathe Afar vague elfin murmurings: Listen, shy Echo whispers of The fairies' caroUings. 'Mid this wide forest revelry The frowning prophet pines decry The vanity of Autumn's pride Whose splendors soon must die. Prithee, dark prophets, great and small, Wliat have your gloomy warnings won, Forever dinning in our ears What surely shall be done? O Life's a puissant, wa5rward child, A darling she, both sad and gay: Curb that immortal liberty, Her beauty will away! 53 LINES The rapturous pagan long ago Thus hailed the twilight west: "See, for Earth's noblest children glows Elysium of the blest." A thousand years. Then fervently Men sang: "Behind the blue Calm sky, a golden city of bliss Waits all souls good and true." No more in yon aerial vault Or in the storied west, Though great and good, shall toil-worn hearts Put faintest hope of rest. Rest, Rest! Ah who's the prophet now That strongly trusts ev'n death To ease his aching soul from more Than gasped mortal breath? The prescient bard saith bravely: "How Shall naked spirit find repose Within a travailing universe?" 'Tis certain no one knows. If, then, man still shun his own soul, Where shall his refuge be? — Our feverish will must bend at last To labor tranquilly. To him that from false wajrward hope Doth vn-est his soul's release. His mite of even this world's work Will bring a saving peace. 54 ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL Lest the old faith be all out-worn Ere from the old the new be born, Long may this soaring shrine receive These last who in their hearts believe. In hallow'd gloom here let them kneel, Hid from the glittering rout and reel Of godless mirth and pride and trade That round without swirls unafraid ; Here 'mid our modern fierce unrest Still by the ancient Hope be blest. While thro' the bleeding window streams The splendor of the Dream of Dreams, And choir and organ glorify The Lamb's miraculous agony. Yes, well may these dim aisles receive The last who in their hearts believe; Who 'mid the endless sects have stood Earth's one firm beauteous brotherhood, Because their bond is hope, not grim Estranging theologic whim. 55 For here, too, wearier pilgrimage The spent sons of this outward age Shall make to breathe, amid these last Sweet twilight glamors of the past, A deeper grief and inward care Than ever these wan faithful bear. That passing Faith grave Truth may bless With her most holy loveliness. Let oft enwrap them unaware This beatific hush of pray'r. Long may these guardian spires maintain Calm refuge for the soul in pain, An oasis of spirit fresh Mid this day's desert of the flesh. Till man at last sees he must tread The path of Christ, though Christ be dead. 56 LINES Written after reading Benjamin Kidd's "Social Ev- olution" A modern seer with new-found light Doth past and present scan, And cries: "there's naught but groundless Faith Can lift the soul of man. No, truth shall never greet the hope That points our upward way; Yet woe to man the hour he says Blind faith has had its day. If ye doubt selfishness and vice Must follow thought's release From faith, ye need but scan the fall Of heathen Rome and Greece. Think not that righteousness e'er was Or can be, reason's child; Nay, reason only lets her live Because by faith beguiled. Idly the wise cry: 'wickedness Will sweep the race away'; Ev'n so, what do the wicked care So they but have their day? And in their self-indulgence deep, From warning faith unwed. They will not care — they will not know That their own souls are dead. 57 II "Yes, faith alone, not wisdom, spins This dream of right and wrong — Why? Simply lest the crowd pull down Nature's loved few, the strong. For would ye know the central power Blind faith has on our life? Learn, then, that human progress rests On endless human strife. 'Tis strife that raised man from the brute, This sordid strife for bread; The race will rot that day of sloth When all are bravely fed. The children of the lion's share Shall breed the perfect man; And, lest they soften, they must seize All this world's goods they can. Dreamers are they who will have peace On Earth religion's goal ; (Though true we stand no longer sword To sword, but soul to soul.) Faith lives but to increase the strife: She tells, with sleepless care, The rich of privilege put by, The mob of bliss elsewhere." 58 Ill For all that Reason e'er shall tell, Death is the end of all The multitudes that love and toil On this slow-dying ball. Yet, wonder of all wonders, see. The dauntless human race, A quiet joy in her tired eyes, Looks calmly in Death's face! Doth naught save hope, instinctive, blind. Of death-bought Paradise, Lend meaning, life, to righteousness Toil and self-sacrifice? Then screen us, magic Faith, from what 'Twere worse than death to see — The bleak, the freezing truth in all Its stark reality; Screen us, lest thy benighted hosts Who toil, hope, multiply. Staggering in their vast weariness. Pause once and wonder why! 59 IV Must we, at last, call peace and truth Distempers of the brain; Must human life forever more In gloom and strife remain? The hour man really knows himself, Is he then too astute, Must he then from himself depart Or sink once more, a brute? O peace, O truth, why have ye come So honied in our breath; Why have ye such a silver sound, If ye be words of death ? Glad voice of Greece, thou didst unveil The brighter eye within; And when the Christ came, never once Called He self-knowledge sin. Unheeded be the hateful cry: "O wax not too astute; The hour clear reason probes the soul Man sinks once more a brute!" Be resolute, O Inward Eye, This pain shall soon be mirth — Still, still the world doth agonize With new and glorious birth! 60 A HYMN— ST. JAMES Eternal, while I see so clear, For larger grace I pray: Forsake me not, if, pray'rless, from the Truth I fall once more away. Forsake not. Lord, thy suffering child. Lost in the world's wild night ; — Ev'n though my woes from hard self-will arise, For me let there be light. Let there be light: in my dark soul. Stubborn and passion-fraught, Wake sudden memories bright — let not this hour Come utterly to naught. For that the surging flesh may sweep Me from the light divine. Father, receive this fond, this fearful prayer; Forget not I am thine. For strayed ones, unvisited By Thee, shall hold afar, Almighty God, from the steep heavenly ways Where peace and duty are. 6i A SONG Out of a lonely chamber Into the lonelier night Thro' wind and rain and fearsome gloom Tow'rd a distant welcoming light. After the drear, cold darkness, After the wind and rain. Sweeter the warmth of a woman's smile Than balm that lulleth pain. 62 PARTING Yon lamp that rides in gusty gloom Beyond the roaring foam, Must gleam on distant hostile shores Ere anchor drop at home. Darling, I guess sweethearts too long May draw untroubled breath: Mighty's the life-flood that rolls o'er True love at odds with death. Dearer these wild, salt kisses are Than all the rest together: One life of love's already ours In spite of war and weather! 63 ADIEU If silent ditties of the heart Be of true poesy a part, Thou shalt not, radiant girl, go hence unsung. With stilly dulcet carolling, An harp not made by hands shall ring Within my breast, that ne'er shall be unstrung, Nor high uphung. Fleet-winged with thy gladdening smile, My soul hath soared with thine awhile Where I had fain been captive ransomless. For soother was I succored then, Than ever parched Bedouin, Lulling, in dewy, starlit oasis. His weariness. 64 SONG Oh the moonbeams play with silver spray As the billows break in foam, And a strong warm breeze from the southern seas Is wafting us merrily home. Chorus : — A night like this Breathes naught but bliss For loving souls on sea and land; Dost feel the pressure of my hand? Oh answer with a kiss! Through the limpid whey of the milky-way Do I see the star of love: Oh she reigns to-night with a wondrous might Though gentle she seems as a dove ! 65 TRANSLATIONS I FROM THE FRENCH OF VERLAINE Over the roof, heaven smiles So blue, so calm. O'er the high grating waves A lonely palm. I see, just o'er the sill, Yon sweet bell sway. A bird up in the tree Chirps his glad lay. Dear God in heaven, out there All's tranquil, free. The village murmurs, ah, So peacefully! What hast thou, sobbing wretch, Come, speak the truth; What hast thou, broken heart, Done with thy youth? 68 II FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE Thou lovely fisher maiden, Put back thy skiff to land. Come hither and sit beside me; We'll chat here hand in hand. Yes, close to my heart come nestle; Why shouldst thou feel afraid? Thou trustest thyself to wild ocean Daily, blithe fisher maid. My heart's just like the ocean. Hath storm and ebb and flow; And pearls of wondrous beauty Its silent deeps bestrew. 69 SONNETS IK MARVEL'S HILL The toiling city's din lost on the wind, Its spires and smoking chimnies still in view, An hour on this fair hill-top shall renew That healing calm which steals into the mind When all the senses to the soul are kind; And, gazing in the vast aerial blue. One feels the joy of living thrill him through, And his true, buried self again doth find. The mighty oaks above me, the soft breeze That dallies with the daisies on the slope, The distant drowsy low of kine content, The brisk near hum of bees, the honied scent Of June, the robin's song of rapturous hope — All tell of labor loved or puissant ease. 72 ENDYMION High-hid in lofty, Latmian wilderness, Embalmed with slumber by thy love divine, Soft-couched youth so fair, thou dost recline On downy moss in stilly, dim recess; Dream-leased from deepest sleep, while she doth press, All timorously, ambrosial lips to thine. Strew forest flow'rs o'er thy loved form supine. And languish with her mild-eyed tenderness. Ah, would were I, like thee, for aye at rest, Freed from despair, deaf to ambition's scorn ; And dreaming naught but dreams of purest bliss Wherein would my soul's eye be beauty-blest By visions of my white-armed love forlorn. And I have no sensation save her kiss. 73 NIGHT Thy child yearns for thy coming, gracious Night, As parching blossoms crave the gentle rain: On this hot brow press kisses cool and light; Receive and shrive my spirit once again. Thou knowest well that in this weary heart, Each restive plaint is none the less a psalm — softly let thy grateful raiment part To fold me to thy bosom's blessed calm! Full many folk thy darkling stillness fear, As little children dread the fabled gnome: 1 call thy boons prophetic, mother dear; And they at last shall know that thou art home. From thee I came; to thee I shall return. Thy wondrous secrets once again to learn. 74 AVE MARIA Westward, lo, the eye of Day Beckons his realm of care; Vesper the lamp of peace relumes; It is the hour of pray'r. We praise thee, Mary, queen of Heaven, Radiant mother of our Rest; The faithful, now, on land and sea Kneel to thine image blest. 75 AVE MARIA Hail, thrice blessed queen of Heaven, Star of sorrow's troubled sea; From the chill and angry surges Rise our aching hearts to thee. Pray, O pray, sweet virgin Mother, For Earth's mothers who make moan: Deep maternal Earth-born sorrow Thou hast suffered of thine own. 76 SHADOWS ABERGLAUBE Long since a wave world-wide, Time's mightiest spirit-flood, washed all the land: Look now, its shrunken tide Hath left but scattered pools along the strand. "Here, here", the preacher cries, "Are gracious drops, O world with doubt accurst!" Laughter and mingled sighs; Stagnant the pools, the world moves on athirst. 78 LINES Yonder the jaded city flaunts On high its lurid glare: Here only the mild stars illume The hushed, sweet country air. One only city sound I hear — The far-off church-bells ringing: Here no unworthy moil, yet here No white-robed Sabbath-singing. 79 WOODMONT REVISITED Sadly my tired eyes seaward roam From this lone cottage door; For me no lusty welcome now In yonder breakers' roar. Into the mist the wide, white beach Fades, where we sang together In years when salt, grey days like this Were j oiliest sailor weather. Farewell, once mirth-encircled hearth, And once enchanted shore; So desolate now, — and yet so fair In dreams, forevermore. 80 II Drift-wood glow, Salt winds blow, Waves on the dim sands Murmur low. Stars on high Smile as I sigh. Lonely for nights like this Long gone by. Calm stars, 'tis told On griefs long cold. Just as on mine ye smile, Smiled ye of old. Yes, trivial, vain, Shall be my pain Under the smile of thy Silent disdain. Right or wrong. To death belong All sorrows but those Living in song. 8i LINES Of Eve's fairer daughters surely Loveliest far woo I, Yet my heart is ill at ease. Dost Wonder why? In the ever-changing magic Of her dancing eye Gaze I ; on her lips' blithe witchery Gaze and sigh. Yes, her eyes have lured me till these Lips her lips have prest; Yet thro' all my joy there lurketh Strange unrest. Is it that those eyes were never Wet with tears of care; Is it that those lips have never Breathed a prayer? Must one pray to truly love as They must love who pray? — O, if so, how brief, alas, how Brief my day! 82 CHRIST'S LOVE O Love! — I shut mine eyes and see A lost, sweet, homeless child In desolate wastes of wrath and greed Most shamelessly beguiled. Say, did that mystic Lamb come forth From this world's brutish womb? — - One faint chance flash of purest light Amid eternal gloom? O Love! — I shut mine eyes and see A lost, bewildered child That cannot tell me from what home, Nor how, it was beguiled. 83 DESPONDENCY I feel my heart is bleeding To death here in my breast: Spent with the war of dream and fact It cries in vain for rest. Though love and truth and beauty Have each had me in thrall, Now, mid the bickering, aimless throng, On each in vain I call. I am weary, weary; So languid is my breath, 1 have no manly hold on life, No confidence in death. 84 THE HAPPY DEAD Ah happy, happy dead In dreamless sleep, Who never, nevermore Shall wake to weep, — Rest, rest, ye loved of The sun and rain: Not even in our memory Lives your pain. 85 WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? In Memoriam Thou calm of brow, alone on the prow, Deep slumber hath dimmed my sight; From a dream of fear I awaken now — watchman, what of the night? Toward the open we ride on an ebbing tide; Think not we are a-drift; Look up; in cloudland's lowering pride Our star hath found a rift. And tell me now, dear heart on the prow, From what haven we set sail; A waste of waters is all I know; O'er memory sleep draweth a veil. O ! true I say from not far away Dear heart have we twain come hence: Where yester-dawn opened the portals of day. Soul of my soul, O thence! And whither now, dear heart on the prow. Sail we o'er the waters wide? In mysterious gloom thou art lonely, I trow. Shall I come and dream by thy side? Still as deepest cave old ocean doth lave, Rest there while I tell thee whither; Where heaven kisses the western wave. Soul of my soul, O thither! — ^Wide heaven wept o'er his grave while I slept; 1 avroke in the storm with fright; And when to the tossing prow I crept, I was alone with the night. 86 LINES I One boon, they say this Christmas night Hath promised thee and me, Poor innocent, — the bitter end Of thy deep misery. Thy father's better soul, sweet child, — Into black night, my own. This freezing night, for all my prayers, Thou must go hence — alone. II Bleak Dawn came just as I arose Beside that bed — alone; O grim, inscrutable her smile At my heart-withering moan! The deathless gods have bound my heart With strings to sound ray woe; But never words of hope or dread From their calm lips shall flow. 87 OXFORD In this New World, fair Oxford, A gentle few there be, Lovers of beauty and the truth, Whose hearts go out to thee. Sweet balm hast thou, dear Oxford, For their deep doubts and fears. While this exultant New World roars Round their ill-fated ears. We love thee, dear, dear Oxford; Our mother, too, thou art. Yea, of all English-speaking youth, Thoughtful and pure in heart. In this New World, fair Oxford, A gentle few there be, Lovers of beauty and the truth, Whose hearts go out to thee. LINES How shall I quench within my breast This soul-consuming fire? Still, still I see those beckoning eyes; Feel their enchantment dire. I see them in the darkest night More clearly than by day; And, woe is me, I've lost the pow'r To turn my glance away. I have a fiend within my breast; My eyes are hot and dry — O for a flood of blinding tears, And long-hushed lullaby! 89 LINES There was a brown-eyed little boy, — Quenched now his honied breath; No more he plays by day, no more At eve his prayer he saith. The day he passed he woke and said He'd dreamt we sat again To watch the red sun hide behind The blue hills past the plain. His play, his prayer, his dreams are done ; And never more shall he. These lorn arms close around him, watch The sun go down, with me. Still, O dream-angels, on my face Oft lies his little hand — Keep, keep the bridge whereon we meet 'Twixt Earth and spirit-land! For now my only day is night. When in my dreams again We watch the red sun hide behind The blue hills past the plain. 90 MISCELLANEOUS DREAMLAND Hail, hushed fairy-land, The pure heart's peaceful haven; O grateful realm, O bright oasis golden! There gracious Respite rules with magic wand. Around her throne a smiling band. With arms outholden, Greeting worn pilgrims stand. Often in this sweet land, The faithful, the broken-hearted. Live blissful years among the loved departed, Protected by an angel's flaming brand. Ere smiling Morn, with gentle hand. Leads them, hope-freighted. Back to Earth's rocking strand. 92 TO DOCTOR G. WITH SOME CIGARS AT CHRISTMAS My prince of doctors, on this tide Of love's high plenitude, From one who's known thy balm, receive Embalmed gratitude. If my heart's blood could serve thy weal, A royal-red libation Thou'dst have ; yet here's my very soul In transubstantiation. Yes, still my heart's of just such stuff For all my long privation: I couldn't suffer worse in love From horrid palpitation. Heaven let thee puff in wicked peace; And ne'er exact a price In anchoritish days, like mine, Of prayer for future vice. 93 THE BIRD WITH BROKEN WING Poor mangled prince of minstrelsy, Alas, what skill may succour thee Of condolence or surgery, All tameless as thou art? Thy frenzied flutterings of alarm Are working thee most deadly harm. And none may teach thee patient calm; Thine own worst foe thou art. High-soaring with fleet wing and strong A blithesome lay thou didst prolong; But now thou hast no sorrow-song. All tameless as thou art. 94 THE FLOWER And must thou, too, loved balmy flow'r, Poor weakling of a little hour, Must thou, too, struggle to 'get on', And by sharp greed be set upon? — This day I read ev'n flowers must fight To win a few stray beams of light. It seems thy life's one strenuous race To hold this tiny breathing space. Now I had thought beneath these trees The live-long day thou took'st thine ease ; And here, alas, I wake to find The world is ev'n to flowers unkind. 95 TO W. Once my bewildered heart was filled With bitterness and hate; I said: "behold man's self-respect, The master jest of fate. Poor insect on a riddle world, Man yet presumes to pray; His petty soul might move me, should It pray to pass away." — Now in the Second Birth I share: Since I beheld that face This "unintelligible world" Doth seem another place. Ah me, those wise, sad, sinless eyes. And O, that gentle hand! — My heart fills with a childlike love I not yet understand. Is it that Christ I mocked as dead. My hero, dwells in thee? I feel that I am face to face With immortality. No more I loathe my fellow men, No^ more myself despise; For I have seen God's kingdom in Two wondrous human eyes. 96 LOVELY WOMEN Lovely women do I see As on my darkling pilgrimage I go; Fairies all they seem to me Within a wood whose bounds I may not know ; Spirits of good or evil coming, going, As I pass on nor whence nor whither knowing. Comes anon a sorceress, Bright in her lustrous eyes a wild desire; Neath the spell of her caress My blood full swiftly turns to living fire. And as with fear I haste my weary feet, She proffers lotus calling me to eat. Erewhile, in a sunny glade. Came I upon a gentle shepherdess. "Happy, happy sheep," I said, "Who know thy blue-eyed maiden tenderness!" — "Oh ! rest here with my lambs thou weary worn ; A safe path will I show the morrow morn." 97 LINES 'Tis oft the happy poet's whim To sing the praise of death: So sang poor Keats, I mind me, once, With his youth's balmiest breath. But when that singer came to die, How loath, alas, was he To leave his comer in the sun And his rich minstrelsy. Nay, tell me what unfrenzied will, Though lost its forward power; What baffled brain, what broken heart, Hungers for that dim hour; When, near the shores of mystery. His tattered canvass furled, Man sighs : "farewell, Life's surge, farwell, O sweet unhappy world !" 98 LINES Wakened at earliest dawn By the shrill, fitful bugle of the wind; Lying in my warm bed, I listened awhile with lax, unruffled mind. Slowly my roving eyes Found my east window — lo, the morning star ! Instant in the chill room I stood with flooding thoughts that called afar. 99 FEB 19 1912 I One copy del. to Cat. Div. FEB 20 19t2 ■nH'£^i!^SX O"" CONGRESS ■llllilllll 018 603 327 9 ;||>, m$ -111. ..^..■,:..,..-:-,<liii liiilii isiiiiiilPBii ;.:i:,:;,;:|:;;;.;.f,:;f{&i;':5!f::|M^

tmp92001304

Stray writings.

Ashburn, Joseph Nelson

straywritings00ashb_djvu.txt

<iy* .V :- -^^o^ r.0 ^<bv/^ ^^ A 0- .^^ "-^. ■rjo ^0 c ^^-v^. V *•-• .V .0' ^^^ .^^ ''^'^•''^•' ^°' .. "^^'^-°'\^^' %*^-'%°'' "V*r^\/ '^.^^ ;S- -^^o^ gtraV \yFiting8 By J. N. ASHBURN CLEVELAND, OHIO 1903 ^ T6 3^01 CjO 3 ^L \Qyl^ ittaib^n*0 ^ray^r* I lived with my aunt for a dozen years, From childhood to girlhood grown ; A maiden aunt who was mother to me, For I never knew my own , And much I revered that loving aunt, With her soft caress and tone. She heard me repeat my little prayer As I lay in my bed at rest, And always gave me a good-night kiss As she pressed me to her breast. And, after reading the good, good book. Deliberately she undressed. And then in the stillness of the night She meekly knelt at her bed. And modestly shading her earnest eyes She lowly bent her head, And thus in devotional attitude Her silent petition said. Once I remember asking my aunt If I should not kneel down At my little bed and say my prayer As she had always done ; She shook her head with a rogueish eye And a smile that resembled a frown. And I grew to notice her prayer was She simply had time to kneel [short ; And bow her head, and up again, Then a furtive glance would steal About as if the boon she sought The shadows might reveal. Again I asked my aunt one night As I had older grown. And being tired, my prayer seemed long, Could I not say her own? I kneel at my bed and say her prayer To God and myself alone? She pressed my cheeks with caressing And mid hearty laughter said : [hands "I hardly call it a prayer, my child. Each night as I bow my head, I'm simply peering to see, if perchance, A man be under the bed." And though my aunt was most sincere She hardly put it fair, As now I feel when maiden grown And loved by lover fair ; I think this constant watch for a man Is really the maiden's prayer. J. N. ASHBURN. Annual Qllub ^ong* As time is retreatingi Brings annual greeting Again to the members assembled to-night, We clasp hands in gladness, Without shade of sadness. And thank the good Giver for hearts that are light. We meet in firm friendship. The only true kinship That strikes without discord the key of the soul ; We sink self in others, True sisters and brothers. And pray no estrangement may dim our bright roll. While bright flowers are blooming, Their incense perfuming In dalliance fragrant the soft balmy air, We plight to each other Our friendship forever. And promise our sorrows and pleasures to share. J. N. ASHBCRN. ®ur ^rtiJxr, I asked its mother tother day if I was struck with simples? If other babies in this world had such sweet, cunning dimples? She said that I was mighty sane in all my observations, And that no babies had this charm except our own relations. And I believe the woman's right, for just think how distressing If every black-brown -yellow kid could boast this special blessing, I've heard Jemima's strutting boy blab furious and simple. But that wart sprouted on his nose can't pass for any dimple. It takes this fair-haired Eleanor with cheeks like woodland roses. With cherry lips that shower love in all their varied poses. With twinkling feet that have the charm of leading their posessor Into such 'witching antics that perforce we must caress her. Whose eyes have never seen a wart, whose nose will never wear 'em. Whose brow was never born to scowl at other kids to scare 'em — I say it takes this two-year-old, twice blest with love and duty. To show the world the genuine AMERICANUS BEAUTY. J. N. ASHBURN. ®itr ^ooh ^0^nt« O, she came in hesitating, and stood patiently awaiting Some attention from the Lordlings who keep books at our place, And she seemed a bit dejected when the Lordlings all affected Not to see the anxious pleading that suffused her pretty face. But she came from Mississippi, and was moderately lippy And she asked the Lords to purchase "New Alaska' neatly bound ; Said it was no stale old Nancy, but would please their cultured fancy, And she promised each a present when the holidays came round. Well, they bought ; and Christmas morning without further word or warning Came three handsome perfumed presents from the "Editress at Yale;'' And the Lordlings loud did clap her, vowing that this southern wrapper With Connecticut best filler, was assured a ready sale. And each morn they grab the duster, and "sleek up'' with pomp and bluster, Slily watching for an editress to call in some disguise ; And they swear with nerves quite steady that their money will be ready For the maid that sells "Alaska'', having pretty mouth and eyes. .J. N. ASHBURN. ©Ij^ ^atnxnoid^i Hammocky June : A dreamy lady in a lazy hammock swung 'Neath an elm so broad and shady that its cool arms overnung A grassplot so enchanting that I no excuses made, Nor another deemed I wanting for remaining in its shade. Yet a secret I'm confiding — a secret you would guess — Cupid can't stay long in hiding, we are lovers, nothing less. So I set me down beside her on the hammock's ample breast, And swearing I adore her, kiss the hand I've gently pressed. Oh ; those rosy lips so luscious, they suggest a fruit so rare. So ripe, so sweet, so precious, must be picked, and picked with care. And I feel that I am gifted, duty whispers I'm the one. Her head is gently lifted, we touch noses— it is done. Now I lay a contribution on the flower bordered walk. Picking buds in evolution that can smile and almost talk ; But in giving her the roses, once again those magic powers Compel our touching noses as her fingers touch the flowers. Yes ; from Adam down to Moses, and from Moses to this day, Lads and lasses have touched noses in the fervent selfsame way ; And I'm not the fellow creature to discard an ancient rite, Especially this feature— Ella, here's my nose— Good Night. J. N. ASHBURN. •'T^HIS Score Book is published for the convenience of those who -■- indulge in innocent games when the duties of the day are over, or when relaxation from labor is required. To them, a permanent record of this size, neatly kept by the owner's hand, faithfully chronicling the pleasurable gatherings of the household and its friends, will ever accumulate interest with age, hold an exalted place in the library, be a cherished Souvenir, and an exponent of their idle hours. In the blank space at the bottom of the page autographs of the players may be placed, sketches drawn or pertinent remarks written, which will be perused with interest in the far future, when the fleeting present has become a waning past. Never play for money. We grow bad fast enough without this additional allurement. Collection ! Whoop 'er up while you are young, in a quiet and orderly way., nor depart therefrom as you grow old. Keep your eye on the trolley and yozir foot off' the track. ^^Mcatory* When night has drawn her mantle And the quitting bell has rung, And the day's mad rush of worry Has stilled its busy tongue, Then court your own home fireside, Call genial neighbors in. Pull out the old card table, And let the game begin. Play for pleasure— yet in earnest, Take defeat with solemn grace ; Record your frequent winnings With a smile all round your face And when the game is ended. Add the columns fair and true, And may they prove that fortune Very often favored you. Let it be a merry party. With lady partners bright ; Your temper will be sweeter, And your wit of higher flight ; For we, by nature courteous, Will not deny a minute That the only game worth playing Is one with woman in it. Then may pleasant slumbers follow, And the morrow's sunrise find You bright and fresh for labor, And at peace with all mankind. J. N. ASHBURN. Nelamicot, January 1, 1897. c o ^ ■> ^%^ ,0^ .•J^ .<' .^' <^' r<y \,*^- v-^-'/ \-^^\y v^-/ % ^ ^IP"/ /^\ °-y^%^/ '^^ ^-^ \

17022281

Poems and essays,

Ashcraft, Jennings Bryan

poemsessays00ashc_djvu.txt

PS 3501 .S49 P6 1917 Copy 1 P i'oems and Essays ji i\ Composed by JENNINGS B. ASHCRAFT The Crude Poet ■m'm- P \^ POEMS AND ESSAYS JENNINGS B. ASHCRAFT Author of Poems and Essays Frazeysbur^, Ohio 2 POEMS AND ESSAYS To Readers: Owing to defective speech, it seems as though nature has granted me this medium of expressien. I am glad to accept it; and, as you can plainly see, this mode is in its infancy. My schooling consists of about six years, in a country school. There I managed to learn to read and write. Arith- metic and grammar, did not appeal to me, so I devoted most of my time to the study of history, geography, physiology and spelling. My associates are few. Most all the other boys run wild both night and day, in what they call Society. I seek consolation by the old family fireside, conversing with my father, mother, brothers, and sister. I enjoy the luxuries of farm life, owing to the fact that my father is a retired farmer. I have written several poems, but will place before you only those that I think best. If it were possible, I would rather place before you, one good poem, than one thousand pages of nonsense verse. I have never had the pleasure of being in company, with any girl, owing to the fact, that my actions are very crude, and the determined efforts of some people, to check the ad- vancement of certain men, because, they, themselves are un- able to crawl from the sea of misfortune. But, instead of cast- ing myself into the same stream, I strike out across the con- tinent, constantly repeating the saying of an old prophet— "Eagles Soar Alone." 4-. ^ S ^"^ ©CI.A47J1519 POEMS AND ESSAYS MEMORIAL PARK. I visited Memorial Park, And great was my surprise, To see huge forms carved in rock Facing the southern sky; Near by that beautiful cottage Where Baughman, the sculptor, dwells, I saw where magnets of Nature Had broken a magic spell. Confronted by the statue of Jesus, I paused a moment and thought Of His death — of the great crucifixion. Of the perils that time has wrought; And I thought of the mind of the sculptor. Who pictured his image there. The statues of martyrs and sages, As portrayed in heaven's lair. I thought of the past, of the trials Of the mother, now fast asleep. Dreaming not that her boy was a sculptor. With a mind magnificent and deep; And I thought of the gray-haired father, Who gazed with awe on. the sight Of Lincoln, Grant, and McPherson Carved in the rocks on the height. There in the gentle breezes. The statues seem to swell; There in a cozy cottage Ohio's sculptor dwells; Mankind will sure remember, And wonder long and well. How Baughman reached the summits And kept his place so well. POEMS AND ESSAYS WHEN IT'S MOONLIGHT AMONG THE PINES. The scenes of the past are serene in my mind, When it's moonlight among the pines; And I sit in the breeze of the mammoth vines When it's moonlight among the pines. I dream of my love, of the years rolling by, Of her golden tresses, her virtues so rare. Her fanciful features, her musical voice. All these are pinioned in the moonlight there. I think of those days when my sweetheart was young, When joys of this life from my bosom were wrung; I think of her promise that she would be mine, And sing her sweet praises in a sort o' rhyme. HER PLEA. Won't you, won't you come tomorrow? Ere "the morning dawns so fair;" We will walk into the garden, Pluck the morning glorys there. Won't you walk into the garden? Scent the fragrance of the air, Where amid the scenes of Nature You may seek my promise there. Yes, I'll come tomorrow morning, We'll walk among the flowers; There I'll seek to pluck the roses. There we'll spend the morning hours. I desire to pay a tribute To thy father old and gray; Would not he accept a treasure Of his past and by-gone days? Yes, said she, he will accept it, What is it you seek to give? Is it words, or is it marble. Or eternal life to live? POEMS AND ESSAYS I shall give to him his dear one, Who was once his life and pride, Who, through sorrow, and through sickness, Was his only trusty guide. I shall not present her to him, Until you have promised nie, That you'll follow me forever Through life's raging, boundless soa. What! will you bring back my mother? Place her in the vacant chair; Let her gaze into the moonlight Mid the pine trees standing there. Yes, I'll place her in this cottage, If you'll promise to be mJne; Promise me, and you shall see her, Ere it's moonlight 'mong the pines. Her Pledge — I will promise to caress you; Moments fast are fleeting now, If I only see my mother, I'll fulfill this promised vow. I will wed you ere the morning Breaks with all its precious light; I shall bless thee through all sorrow Until death these tokens blight. Then I spake unto the Heavens, And the angels coming near, Waked the old man from his slumber; Gave to him his love so dear. Then I led the lovely mother. To the maiden's chamber door; And the mother held her darling. In a fond embrace once more. 6 POEMS AND ESSAYS Then the maiden turned and kissed me; Thanlted me well for what I'd done; Said be sure and come tomorrow, Ere there beams the morning sun. So I left them there together; All were happy, all were smiles, The old man had apoplexy. And lived but a little while. Next morn while the dew was sparkling, I walked to the cabin door. And learned that the ones who loved me, Would v/elcome me here no more. Angels had taken the trio; Carried them to Heaven's home; Left me alone mid the flowers. In pain ever to roam. But my darling left a message, Fastened to a mammoth vine, Bidding me to sing her praises, When it's moonlight 'mong the pines. THE POET. The poet dwells where virtue shrouds the mind. Where Beauty, Love and Justice joy unwind; Obscure from falsehood's deadly silent thrust. He gives this world his all and sacred trust. POEMS AND ESSAYS He loves this life as well as all the rest, By God's own hand the poet's words are blest ; A prophet of the great sublime and just, We carve great fame beneath his humble bu:-.t. Born to endure the pangs of human hell, In solitude, in fields the poets dwell; They praise, they consecrate the human race, Vv'hile we the walls of ignorance deface. Though years have flown, the poet's name lives on: We idolize his works; though he is gone. We weave for him a chaplet that is just, He gave this world his all, and sacred trust. Oh, Jennings, I hate to answer you thus. But I must please papa, you know I must; Among the things I dread to do Is saying "no" to men like you. Mamma says you are a fine young man. Papa says j^ou don't amount to a damn; He says you will drink and spend your money, And flip around like a wounded bunny. Some say you're a poet, others say you're a fool ; Some say you're a fighter, many say you're a mule ; Mamma says, don't care what others may f.ay. Have hope and await the coming of May. I'll be of age — give dad the slip, And take a good long wedding trip; For the present I will live in disgust. For I must please papa; you know I must. POEMS AND ESSAYS SWEETHEART DOLLIE. Down beneath yon weeping willow, Where the old Ohio flows, There is where my darling's sleeping. Where the silvery waters flov/. Still stands there the little cottage, Once a home so dear to me. Sitting in the lonely twilight, While soft winds swept o'er the lea. Dismal scenes surround the cabin. Which once seemed a holy place; Flowers once bloomed, now are fading, With them fade all thought and grace. When I paused within the shadows. Of the dear old cabin walls, I stood there amid the flowers, With the fairest one of all. 'Twas the graceful form of Dollie, The dearest one to me; She has left me sad and lonely. Where the winds sweep o'er the lea. Some day, some pleasant morning. When I view the rising sun, I shall greet my sweetheart Dollie, When my own life's course is run. POEMS AND ESSAYS IS IT TRUE? They say we can't drink, They say we can't think, Matters not if we are dry; They say we go "roiin'," Pull their windov/s down, Murder them before they die. Jess James did not booze, Jined church like you'se. He shot people all the same; The devil ne'er drank, He always gave thanks. And played away at his game. The happiest men, Sure live in a den. Where there's whiskey, beer and wine. They're good to their wives. They fight for their lives, As well as the Great Sublime. Lot us all keep still, Let brewers distill, And drink as much as they please ; Let us all forget. They are living yet. And drinkers will live at ease. When peace is restored. We will all feel bored, 'Cause the drinkers fought like men; They charged into hell, For liberty, fell, The men from the gambler's den. 10 POEMS AND ESSAYS CAN BUT SHED A TEAR. The old chair now stands vacant, I sit here all alone; My mind filled with pent anguish, My heart has turned to stone. My darling is not with me. She's gone away to stay; Her smiles — her sweet caresses, I long for day by day. My dearest love was taken When she was young and fair, And now she's gently sleeping In Death's celestial lair. The shades of night have fallen, Our home is filled with gloom; I wait for Death to take me. And place me in her tomb. And there beside my loved one, I'll pass eternal years; Less lonely than the present, Alone with thought and tears. 11 POEMS AND ESSAYS A PLEA. Come yc, who love the sword of power And meet me at the appointed hour. To break the clasp of treason's ring And weld the links of Freedom's chain. Come ye, who love the sword of peace, Come ye, who falter in the least, Come ye, who love the human race And lift a Nation's fallen grace. Our fathers waved the Stars and Stripes In triumph o'er all human rights; They won the Freedom of the Seas And set the race of mankind free. And little did they dream that now. Their sons to England's crown would bow; Forsake their fathers' land and dwell Forever in a kingdom's hell. Arise! ye Sons of Liberty And still old England's voice. Send forth our gallant soldiers And conquer Canada's cross. Then sweep the restless ocean, And banish foes before; Then, shall our glorious banner Wave, from shoro to shore. 12 POEMS AND ESSAYS MY ENEMIES. My enemies are doomed to failure here; They speak not praise, they falsify in vain, They damn themselves, their friends, and all the world, Entwine themselves with idiotic chains. Subdued by Nature's all prevailing strength. Not gifted with her lust, they stand alone, Trembling in the presence of her might. I know how vain it is for them to think That I can write, conceive of Nature's laws; And that is why they seek now to destroy Those elements my great God hath given. I grin defiance at their mad-like thrusts; They can but miss the mark and wound themselves, I stand where Virtue marks the pace of all, They stand where falsehood crowns each mortal's life. They cannot pluck the sweetest fruits of life; The little birds heed not their scornful call; My enemies are but a life-long jest. For well I know their reckless course is fraud. They can but live and die — return to dust. 13 POEMS AND ESSAYS EVENING. The shades of consecrated laws are drawn, Ere daylight's days have kissed all worldly forms, And in the Heavens gleam ten thousand stars, Which represent the worlds of life afar. We see the solar system's glorious gems, Sparkling planets, shooting stars, and then The moonbeams falling softly o'er the lea Casting magic diamonds in a distant sea. Imaginations fill each mortal's mind with fear, When evening dav^ns the milky way seems clear. Mankind hears not the turmoil of the day, While Nature binds the volumes of our play. And weaves among the elements a place For such as we, the only human race. We see not that which surrounds us, When the daylight fades into dusk; Vast climes are gleaming above us, Arrayed in their splendors of -lust. The flocks are nestling in iraldew, The huge sky is dressed in its blue; The bees, the birds, and the toil-worn, Are free from the trials they have borne. Next morn, man with a newer life, Wakes to endure turmoil and strife. This change, endured for many years. Mixes each human's thought with tears. 14 POEMS AND ESSAYS SHALL WE? We have started on life's journey. Through time's narrow barren vale; Do we dare attempt a passage, Without either ship or sail? Shall we falter at the crossing, Shall we fold our pale hands, Shall we grasp the oars and bravely Steer towards the Sublime sands? Row! we mid the giant breakers; Where the billows heave and roll, Where the quiet evening sunset, Speaks repose to every soul. Shall we light the future's portal, With a torch which has no flame. That our children might dwell ever, 'Mid the corridors of fame? We shall weep not then or falter. We shall reach the farther shore; Where mingled with the Sublime sands We shall sleep forever more. 16 POEMS AND ESSAYS THE TITANIC. Gliding along 'mid the silv'ry waves, O'er Atlantic's fathomless grave, Gazing afar into Heaven's fair land; Titanic possessed of a glorious band. The sculptor pictures his images there, The poet dozed in his quiet la.r, Thrilled with the scenes of that cloudless night, Each thought of future peaceful and bright. The rich man dreamed of his lustrous gold, The lover thought of a love grown cold, The women dreamed of broken vows. While death crept near the great ship's prow. A sudden thud — and the great ship struck A huge iceberg — O, what dreadful luck; Two thousand souls then began to sign. No mercy or help— from sea to sky. Out of the din of the deep sea's roar. The wireless flashes from shore to shore, Spreading the news of Titanic's fate; But, Oh! the messages came too late. Life boats were lov/ered into the sea, The crew sang, "Nearer My God to Thee." Then comes a shriek, a thunderous roar— The life boats are full, they'll hold no more The great ship lists vv^ith a sudden roar. To sink 'neath the waves forever more. The waves sang clear, in unbroken tones. Stranger, come here- -I claim thee my own. 16 POEMS AND ESSAYS This poem is dedicated to four veterans who served their country during the Civil War — James Hamby, Captain John Evans, Joshua Moran, and C. M. Bell. I wish that I were better able to sing their praise. Let us review the tear-stained past, And hear once more the bugle's blast, The cannon's roar, the bursting shell. The image of a future Hell. The chargers, pressing ever on, Until the foemen's strength is gone. Awake to only see and feel, A ruthless stab, the cold blue steel. Their stiffened muscles quake with pain. But virtue quickens them again; Their manly hearts begin to swell — Hamby, Evans, Moran, and Bell. These heroes of the bloody past Were born to be, not always last; They sacrificed their only joy, [ . That we might not be Satan's toy. They faced the foemen in the field. They forced his bravest ranks to yield, They drove the rebels to the sea. And set the colored people free. They waved on high the Stars and Strii^es — The symbol of their country's rights; They sheltered reason in their breast, For home and friends, they feared not death. They fought and bled for freedom's sake, And we will follow in their wake. And God shall praise them long and well — Hamby, Evans, Moran, and Boll. 17 POEMS AND ESSAYS LIGHT VERSE. Oh, my dear, She is here. Love is near. Time's not drear. Kids away. Gone to stay, Love's in bloom, There's no gloom. Kissing well, Work like hell, Growing old, Age enrolled. Soon to sleep. Ne'er to weep, Heaven knows, End of woes. Good old times, Singing rimes. Lots of fun, Yes, by gum. 18 POEMS AND ESSAYS AMERICA'S BANNER. America's banner, the fairest on earth, By woman's neat fingers was given its birth; When war and destruction spread o'er the land, That flag made by woman led victory's band. Stainless banner, thy folds forever shall fly O'er the realms where freedom's great patriots lie. In valley, on mountain, mid-ocean or sea. That flag waves in honor to you and to me. How proudly we gaze on that cluster of stars, Which have carried us through our perilous wars; How gallant we fought, though our comrades fell fast. Red, white and blue won victory at last. When the roaring cannons sang death to our sires. That banner was carried through rivers of fire ; It waved in the Heavens like an Angel's sheet, Till the last arms of tyranny met defeat. May that symbol of love e'er wave in the sky. Where planets are girded with unfading dyes. And hold us united on land and on sea. The pride of our Nation, the hope of the free. 19 POEMS AND ESSAYS WHEN DAN AND I WERE YOUNG. It was the truest pastime, That ever I had known, When Dan and I went fishing. And heard the bul. :rogs moan. Hustling along while shadows, Clouded the atmosphere; Planning to go where forests. Abound with bear and deer. Telling stories of witches, How we would fight the ghost; And then we'd shy to one side. To escape a tree or post. Each expecting the other, To shield him from all harm; And with an oath we'd mutter, I just don't give a darn. We talked of being preachers, Of holeing in the groun'; Of going with a circus. To play our part as clown. We talked about our neighbors, Which ones were good or bad; And then about the girls — The ones that made us mad. We tried our voice as singers. And then we'd punch the bag; Prepared ourselves, as boxers. About our strength we'd brag. 20 POEMS AND ESSAYS We never dream't of old age, The sweetest songs we sung; All of these dear things happened, When Dan and I were young. OHIO. Ohio, my native land, Ohio, God's holy strand, I love thy hills — meadows green, Thy woodlands, and silvery streams. Home of Presidents long to be, I sure would give my life for thee, Thy splendors gleam on heaven's dome, Thy form was made for freedom's home. Thy name is immortal, thy presence is dear. To the ones who dwell ever, whose hearts are all here, Ohio, the portal of fortune and fame, "Ohio" shall ever be christened thy name. 21 POEMS AND ESSAYS "WAR IS HELL." From the land of Art and Science Comes a wail of human souls; Mothers wounded, sons aro dying, While the Kings divide the gold. Every one is sad and lonely, In the trenches or at home; Love seems ever, ever sacred, Sweethearts' faces gleam like foam. O'er the ramparts wave their banners, Pierced by many a shot and ball; Whilst the screaming of the mortars Stills the nerves of each and all. Through the midst of smoke and ashes, Soldiers charge into their graves. To protect their country's honor. And restore the throne to knaves. Day by day they struggle fiercely. O'er Flanders' bloody fields; While 'mid Poland's stormy mountains. Weeps there the man who yields. There the men defend their loved ones, Women turn the furrows wide; Each new crop and each new offspring Helps prolong the bloody tide. When our great Tecumseh Sherman Told his men that "War was Hell," Little did he dream that sometime Those bold words would prosper well. 22 POEMS AND ESSAYS War is Hell! We need not falter, Though 'tis true of every strife. Would not you gird on your armor During days of blood and strife? CEMETERY. Not far from town lies a sacred place, The future home of the human race; Their hopes are chained to the clinging mold. Their names in the spirit world are scrolled. Their bodies rest in eternal sleep, They feel no pain, not one can weep; Their spirits trail the unbounded space Flung by a power of thought and grace. They tower the heavens far and near, Mental telepathy makes us hear, Receiving their thoughts, transmitting ours, Reveals to the world the spirit's power. But here in this silent, ghost-like place Their slumbers are calm, their cold, pale face Blush no more in the presence of men. Spirits dwell in mortality's den. While old forms decay, new ones are born. Spirits await eternity's morn; Again they transform in realms of lust. Again they decay, return to dust. 23 POEMS AND ESSAYS MEMORiAM. We know the course they run; They see what we have done. Oh! where are they who sleep on Bunker's Hill? Oh! where aro they who \.l:i at Lundy's Lane? Oh! where are they who fell at Brandywine? Freedom they won, the laurels they sought in va":i. Old Glory guards the fallen hero's tomb; Around their graves the fairest flowers bloom; They died that wo might v/orship v/hat they gave, Ere sinking down into tlie'r silent graves. And now we disregard the rights they won; We seek not to respect the souls now gone; We bow to England's Crown, accept their clay As gold, and then for love and peace we pray. Shall we disgrace our fathers' sacred soil — The land they won by battle's crimson toil. And let our Flag be trampled in the dust. While Mexican tyrants laugh in greed for lust? Our fallen sires gaze down from Heaven's realm Upon the man who holds America's helm; They see him steering on tov/ards the shoals, As Buchanan did, v/hen colored babes were sold. They see him cling to the old Monarch's throne, Where children weep in agony unknown; Where they once dwelt, and served the King as slave:; The slaves of English tyrants, kings and knaves. 24 POEMS AND ESSAYS They sigh, they pray, that we might grasp the sword, And go forth to battle, without a word; But, instead of winning the laurels, we bow, And humblv grieve: IT'S UP TO WILSON NOW! A MESSAGE FROM GOD. Here is a message God sent to thee From across time's raging, boundless sea; He said to tell thee, "All is well," Except in the dungeon gloom of Hell. My friendly ones to thee I'll tell, I praise the German legions well; Thy Father's hand, thy Saviour's hand. Protect their children's holy land. We scorn th.e allies — they are wrong — Germany's force is grand and strong; We'll show the world that Christ can win Crowns of might from powers of sin. Von Kluck, Von Krupp, Mackenson, the rest, Tempered by God's own hand, were then blest, And thrown into the wreck, where victory Survives all storms. Where righteousness and glory deftly deals with all wrongs. That proud empire of the western hemisphere, Av/ait its due, they know victory is near; Though brave patriots have bit the bloody dust, Fame shall protect these worthy sons from rust. Lord Kitchener has sank beneath the waves. Where sleep his pals, the thirsty English knaves; King George will soon be thrown into chains, The laurels Germany then shall claim. Ye may not see the dawn of peace so near, Though it shall come ere autumn days are sear; The German legions undel'eated stand. While Christ accepts the Kaiser's sinless hands. 25 POEMS AND ESSAYS War's desolation soon will cease, And o'er the ruined tombs shall fly The symbol of eternal peace, Unfurled by angels in the sky. Life's course is rough and barren. Time marks the pace of all, Together we shall travel, Together we shall fall. Friendship is a lasting pleasure; Friendship holds the keys of life; May it ever hold our heart-strings During years of toil and strife. Lady, would not thou accept me, As a lover sweet and true? When all things are dark before me, I shall love no one but you. Oh! here's my love, a lady fair. At whom all human creatures glare; They look, they laugh, they act most queer, When she and I mix tea and beer. The hobble skirt — a ghastly thing, In sunshine or in rain- It always makes their steps so short. They can't get on the train. 26 POEMS AND ESSAYS AN AUTO TRIP TO WEST VIRGINIA. Mr. Editor: Our trip to West Virginia was made without any special occurrences. We saw no ghosts nor cannibals; but, however, we came in contact with the Great John Barleycorn, who is said to be the greatest criminal on record. We met John at Zanesville and left him at Bridgeport. We trailed along mid the towering hills, Where our forefathers' hearts were thrilled; And down the river, whose evening tides Unfurl its gems to the Heavens wide, Whose silvery currents once ran red. With the blood of Ohio's sinless dead. The distance between Frazeysburg and Short Creek is about one hundred and thirty miles. The country is extremely rolling but becomes rougher as we near the Ohio river. The Old National Pike, which con- nects Zanesville with Wheeling, is very much disfigured, and in some places almost impassible. When we crossed the river we were conirontod by great hills, whose majestic scenery appeals to the heart, and impresses imagination. We saw Jess Willard, the heavyweight champion fighter; Frank Gotch, the champion wrestler, and Miss Dollie Rollins, champion woman wrestler of the world. She refused to wrestle the writer because he was above her weight. We saw where Samuel McCullough made his leap down Wheeling Hill and escaped death at the hands of savages. A number of young people came to my brother's home Saturday eve- ning to bid the two Ohioans good-bye. The evening was spent in games, after which ice cream and cake were served. * Yours respectfully, JENNINGS ASHCRAFT. 27 POEMS AND ESSAYS SPIRITUALISM. Spiritualism is the essence of religion refined. It is true religion. It is not based on hearsay. It is based on facts. Mental Telepathy. The transmission and reception of thought messages are similar to the transmission and reception of wireless messages. No man who understands the mind faculties doubts the facts of mental telepathy. This is one of the powerful pillars upon which Spiritualism is based. V7:'reless telegraphy is based on mental telepathy. Spiritualism has proven itself true, transmitting by mental telepathy messages from the living body to the spirits of the spirit world. It has made itself the idol of the human race. It has made it possible for the living to commune with their dead friends. The mind of every human being is a dynamo within itself, generates its own electricity, its own thoughts, and hurls them through space. Other religions stop at the grave, and imagine a hereafter. Spiritual- ism trails the chaos of mystery, transmitting messages from the living to the dead, and makes it plain to all mankind that spirits dwell throughout eternity. The reason everyone cannot transmit and receive messages is because they have drugged their minds with unreasonable theories and have never sought to understand the refined elements of Spiritualism. 28 POEMS AND ESSAYS The following verse was written a few hours after Whitcomb Riley's death: A TRIBUTE TO JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. Thy form is now resting in the Crimean mold, Thy soul is now sleeping, in a mansion of gold, Thy works are immortal, thy name liveth on; Farewell to thee, Riley, thy spirit hath gone, To join the angels in heaven's domain, Where Nature forms life's elements again. Love is life — one holy union — Matters not if rich or poor. Greets the husband, greets the dear ones. With a kiss at every door. The world's greatest men have lived and died. We are but the off- spring of our great ancestors. The second crop is generally deficient. This rule may well be applied to the human race. ASHCRAFT DEFENDS JACKSON'S MESSAGE. My Dear Critic: Did not you say (?) the imaginary bunch of rot by Jennings Ashcraft was, for sheer nonsense, superfine? Infidels have criticised the Bible as being a bunch of rot. You have criticised Jackson's Message as a bunch of rot, therefore we see you are an infidel. Jackson does not say that they all met on the Moon. Jackson and Buchanan met Cleveland on Mars. What is wrong with your eyes, critic? Is your mind groggy from the long use of spiritual liquors instead of spir- itual messages? Webster says: Sit means to perch; to be in a state of rest or idle- ness. Safely means in a safe manner; without incurring danger or hazard of evil consequences. Why did not you sign your name? Are you ashamed of your own work? Suppose Jackson would allow a mistake to creep in? Would you expect a man who lived a hundred years ago to use the language of today? Can 29 POEMS AND ESSAYS you use the language that will be used a hundred years hence? In iho .spirit world spirits appear in the same form as they appeared on earth. Your verse is fairly good, though its meaning is false. All that you know concerning astrological realms is what you have learned from books written years after Jackson's death. Jackson speaks from experience; you speak from hearsay. Respectfully submitted, JENNINGS ASHCRAFT. SPIRITUAL MESSAGE FROM PRESIDENT ANDREW JACKSO.nI. A few nights ago I had the pleasure of conversing with the great Democratic President. He approached from the chaos of mystery and transmitted to m.e the story of his life since death claimed his body: Since 1845 I have been wandering from planet to planet; I have passed through the friction line in various places, and visited every con- stellation in existence. I was first carried to Heaven by the Death Angel, and there the Saints approved a verdict that I v/as not good enough to enter Heaven. I v/as then carried to the- Inferno, and the Sinners approved a verdict that I was not bad enough to enter there. I vras then given the liberty to travel from place to place, from realm to realm, and dwell among the asmosphcrlcal elements throughout eternity. One night, as I sit on a great mountain peak in the Moon, I became suddenly aware that someone was near. I gazed across to the opposite side of the peak and saw a form crouching as if in despair. Almost simultaneously a voice hailed me, "Who's there?" I responded, "Jackson," and returned the inter- rogative; and the name Buchanan reached my ear, as spirits can travel at lightning speed. In less than a second we were locked in each other's embrace, each asking the other how he came to be here. Buchanan in- formed me that he had been traveling for several years, and had been sentenced to atmospherical life by both Heaven and Inferno. He further stated that God had told him that he, like Jackson, had followed the wrong path through life, and was too bad to enter Heaven, and a fraction too good to enter the Inferno. Buchanan admitted that he was guilty of wrong-doing, and repeated often, that if he should live aga'n he would follow the same path as Lincoln, Grant and Garfield followed. We trav- 30 POEMS AND ESSAYS eled through this mountainous country in the Moon, and passed through the friction line between the Moon and the planet Mars, and landed safely on this famous astrological realm. Here we spent several years, often journeying to other climates, until a few years ago, when we returned and alighted on the banks of a great river, which we had visited often before. We were gazing into the silvery currents, watching the great white fish as they leaped above the surface of the water, when, from the opposite shore, we heard a voice hallooing, "Jackson! Jackson!! Jackson!!!" I answered, and a great clumsy form hurled itself across the wide span of water and clasped me in his arms, muttering, "I am Grover Cleveland." He said that he had been sentenced to atmospherical life, as Buchanan and myself were. We rehearsed the story of our past life, of our wrong- doing, and swore that if we should return to earth again, we would follow^ the path of the great Republican leaders. And now, before bidding you good-bye, I wish to inform you that God has requested us to assemble in the near future on the Great Orizaba Mountain, in Mexico; there we will be joined by another President, Wood- row Wilson. Young man, I beseech you not to follow the path that we have fol- lowed. Students of history know that we cannot be certain about things which happened three or four thousand years B, C. But we do know that during a period, which seems to drop into oblivion at the dawn of history, man had reached the highest step on the ladder of intellectual devel- opment. During that period, between the dawn of history and the birth of Christ, we find the human race, with all its arts, with all its magnificent principles, sinking rapidly into the fathomless deptlii; of illiteracy. Therefore, we see there must be a period of exhaustion and degra- dation following every great advancement. Then comes the most glorious time in the history of man — the birth of Christ, the Son of God; sent forth to inspire the people, and bring them back to the days of civilization — ^back to the grand arts of by-gone days. Had Christ not been raised from the dead there would have been no civilization, Europe would have been populated with savages, instead of a far-advanced intellectual race, as it is today. 31 POEMS AND ESSAYS Had the Savior failed to have burst the bars of the tomb, there would have been no Christian America, no schools, no churches, no devel- opment of the human race. If you have studied the history of Ancient Greece, of Rome, of Syria, of Arabia, of Persia, of Assyria, Babylonia, the Celts, the Scythians, you will find that all the Nations of the then known world had faith in the immortality of the soul. Now let us come down to modern times; let us search among that race, which has never seen a Bible, who knows naught of the resurrection of Christ, yet has faith in a future life. Here we find proof that through some agency the Almighty has informed them of His presence. Therefore, we see, with the birth of Christ comes the dawn of civili- zation. The words faith and hope were borne on the breeze; the shat- tered remnants of a once glorious race were inspired, and then and there began the development of mankind. Thousands of years previous to this date, Christ had appeared in our midst, on the same mission, and as I before stated, man advanced to the highest step on the ladder of intellectual development, only to crumble into ignc::.:ice again, or be wafted away to newer climes. Remember, there are as many dormant worlds as living ones. Only half of the constellations produce living matter; the other half lies dor- mant, and recuperates on the waste products of the living ones. Whil*^ one-half of the constellations are losing vitality, the other half is gaining vitality. This is natural philosophy; we must rely on our natural ability in this case. There are two extremes, one is to not go far enough; the other means to go too far. Between these two extremes we shall find the true channel of thought and reason, which will lead us through the dynas- ties of time, and explain to us every doubtful point. Before going farther, let me ask and ansv/er a few questions: Q. How long does the Bible say this world has existed? A. A period of about six thousand years. Q. Can this theory be relied upon? A, No, it cannot. Q. Why? A. Because, judging from the worlcs of Nature, the earth has existed for millions of years. At the present rate the water is defacing Niagara 32 POEMS AND ESSAYS Falls^ the earth has existed for more than seventy-two thousand years. Q. Has the Bible been translated, and revised? A. Yes. John Wycliffe made a translation of the Bible, about 1380. Tyndale translated the New Testament. Miles Coverdale, Bishop of Exeter, made a translation of the Bible about 1535. Cranmer's Bible appeared in 1540. King James revised the Bible about 1610. If the Bible were true in the beginning, why was it translated, and revised? If it were false in the beginning, revising only serves to make matters worse. The Bible in its true form would be undisputable. It has been revised, translated from another language, once destroyed — then a few fragments bound together with a tissue of human imagination forms the Bible of our present day. Education, obedience, justice and humanity are the greater elements in which we find true religion and all moral principles. Those who accept these principles imbibe from the glass which holds the greater elements, while those who reject them follow the path of misfortune to where Flowers never bloom. Mid the thorns of gloom. During that age, when the Almighty's works were new, the Bible gave to the race of mankind a true idea of all earthly elements. Those were the days when baser metals were turned to gold, the great pyramids erected, the finest tools were made of copper, and there seemed to be a constant flow of Nature's magical art. When the Bible was first presented to man, there was but one religion. Since then it has been altered. The result was that several religions sprang forth, and all are based upon the defaced volume. It's no wonder that four-fifths of the people of the State of Ohio are not church members. Remember, that every religion of the present day is based on the Bible, and that Bible consists of a few facts interwoven by the translators. Science has arrested the progress of religion and the development of the human race. It is based on Nature. What is Nature? It is nothing 33 POEMS AND ESSAYS more than the essence of all great elements, which, when combined, form planets and life. Therefore, we see free thinkers have done nothing but changed the word God to Nature. What is the difference between Science and Nature? Science starts in a frail bark, expecting to invent some powerful instrument which might insure safety during a storm. But, alas! the frail vessel springs a leak, and drifts helplessly on towards the irresistible rocks of misfortune, and the only thing we heat from her gallant crew is a heartrending wail. Nature starts across life's stormv sea in a vessel fully equipped U> withstand the billows of a rock-bound coast, and quietly casts her anclioi on the farther shore. Her vessel is true religion, her pilot is Jesus Christ, Savior of the world. Both the church and free thinkers are mistaken; they have resorted to foul tactics, left the realm of reason, cannot see beyond todaj^ or review the past. The church has defended its title by magnifying unreasonable the- ories. Free thinkers declare the world was never created that Nature is the base of everything and the. Bible not worth consideration. We know that some parts of the Bible are incorrect, and the more you try to force its unreasonable phases upon the public, especially those who are gifted with great instincts, the more they seem inclined to drift away and seek refuge in the crevices of free thought. If you have studied both sides of the question, you should have come to the conclusion that free thinkers gained their skeptical ideas through the mistakes of the translators, and for centuries the church has been the stumbling block of true religion. If the Bible was once true, why did it need to be revised? If the first revision was not correct, then a second and third only pulls it farther av/ay from its once trae form. If the great translators of the fifteenth century failed to produce a true volume, how can we, with our imagina- tion, make their correct? The translators had some dark object in view 34 POEMS AND ESSAYS when they allowed these mistakes to creep in. The following extracts are taken from the Bible. They prove to us that the translators were mistaken, or Christ was a fool: Christ said: Resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. St. Luke, 19:27: But those mine enemies, which would not that I should not reign over them, bring hither, and slay them before me. St. Luke, 19:25: For I say unto you, that unto every one w^hich hath, shall be given, and from him that hath not, even that he hath shall bo taken away from him. I dispute that a man endowed with the power to save the human race w^ould have been low enough in mind to have uttered such parables. According to the Scriptures, Christ taught one thing one day, another the next. Show me a man who will not resist evil, show me another who be- lieves in robbing the poor and giving to the rich, and I will prove to you that that man is the kind the Bible represents as a Christ. I defy the w^orld to disprove that statem.ent, and, furthermore, dispute that Christ was as represented. Don't mistake me for a liar; That's one thing I'll never tell, 'Cause the Bible's filled with briars And the scorching flames of Hell. Whether the Bible of today is true or untrue, it does not hinder us from seeking its once true form. All men who are capable of producing thoughts know that the Bible of today is not correct. SHALL WE LIVE AGAIN? This age was at one time thought to be eternity, just as we call ihe future years eternal years. We know that during that once eternal future, man existed; then why would it not be possible that he will exist always? We have proof that man has existed throughout the past, and this age will some time be spoken of as the distant par;t, and as well as we the generations of that day will know that man existed during the pre.ent day. 35 POEMS AND ESSAYS Life has never been extinct on this earth; it never shall be. Both man and beast have souls, because one could not live without the other. Life is life, only in various forms. We know that everything that now lives has always lived; and any- thing which has always lived will always live. MY RELIGION. I have but one Christ and one God. I deny the Bible of today because it is the work of man. Christ has been misrepresented; God's works have been torn into fragments and rebuilded by translators and kings. There will be vast periods of progress, followed by great upheavals, exhaustion, and degradation of the human race. Again Christ shall appear, and civilization will once more be restored. These difficulties shall be experienced at different intervals, until the now known worlds exhausted, and the Moon and other burnt-out climes have fully recuperated. The Almighty will blow the trumpet, and both man and beast will be trans- ferred to newer climes. We shall meet there the same as we meet here; there will be but one difference: The wicked will be left here to suffer as they mny, while the blest begin as they began in this world, and follow the changes until death. There in their graves they shall av/ait the day when every element of life will be transferred to newer worlds. The above theory is based on the Bible. "The clouds severed, and there descended to this earth beasts of all kinds." When Columbus discovered America, he came in contact with savages, and no doubt but what they were the offspring of sinners who were left behind in the last great transmigration of the souls. Christ was not born of woman. His body did not have to be incu- bated in a human body. He appeared the last time as He always appeared. He shall appear again and again, until the resources of this earth are exhausted, and then begin the same task wherever life may be tran.s- ferred. All that we know concerning our Christ is the fact that He was a man, endowed with superhuman mechanism, and the smartest man of that day. Christ was misrepresented by His Apostles, and the translators and kings misrepresented the whole, from beginning to end. Therefore, we see the Bible of today consists of a few facts inter- woven by the translators. God, the worlds, and all things, have existed throughout eternity. They shall exist throughout etornity. 3G POEMS AND ESSAYS LESSON IN VERSiFlCATiON Internal Rhynnes. The moonbeams fall, on cottage walls, Where children sleep, and mothers weep; Where evening shades surround the maids, And darkness shrouds the vaulted deep. Suggestive Words. The Withering Masses. The Invincible Farmer. The Celestial Sea. The Mysterious Heavens. Figurative Forms for (A). A Woman's Smile. A Glowing Charm. A Fathomless Sea. A Thought of Death. Trochee Poetry. We have started on life's journey Through time's narrovr barren, vale; Do we dare attempt a passage Without either ehip or sail. This sort of verse is best suited for spirited expression in such songs as "Yankee Doodle." The Same Meter Used on the Same Subject. (Evening — Iambic Meter.) The shades of consecrated lav/s are drawn, 37 POEMS AND ESSAYS Ere daylight's rays have kissed all worldly forms, And in the Heavens gleam ten thousand stars, Which represent the worlds of life afar. Anapaestic Tvleter. And the Stars) shineth forth) through darkness). Dactylic Meter. Common it is to us. Warlike Action. Charge! with the bayonet, double quick! Open fire! when they wink, No quarter! till the field is swept. And the soil with foemen's blood is wet. Flowing Water. Sound. We hear water rippling, 'mong the pebbles and the sand. We feel the minnows squirming, as they flip within our hand, And we hear a terrible splash — 'tis a bullfrog's sudden dash. Into the silv'ry waters, 'neath the willow and the ash. Tetrameter Verse. Same Style as Tennyson's "Memoriam." I love the man who always sings. To one true love in sweetest tone; That he can rise without one groan, And croon beneath an Angel's wings. Iambic Meter. (Fame.) Farewell, may I not seek thee now. To humbler elements I shall bow. And find a place among the rest, 88 POEMS AND ESSAYS Crooning in my lonely nest. I shall not seek thee, through those years Lost in the mist ol toil and tears, But I shall rise and spread my wings, Above the ramparts of the svv'ain, And choose thee, Fame, to be my own. After the years of strife are flown. POETRY. Poetry is an invention, a mechanism consisting of words — wrought by an inspired imagination, influenced by sublime elements, and governed by natural laws. The nearer we draw to Nature, the greater we find all things. Our ancient ancestors, who roamed at will, 'mid the jungletrees, chanting a continuous stream of thoughts, in which could be found participles of rhythni, were the vanguard of poetic development. Therefore, we say, primitive man was gifted with a poetic instinct. Because it seems to be his most natural mode of expression. Nature formed the elements, chance opened the doors of life, and Providence chose her idols. He who can weave among the elements a chaplet unknown to the multitude is a confidant of Nature, and to him she opens her mysterious multitude is a confident of Nature, and to him she opens her mysterious books of consecrated laws, empties the ingredients into her chosen idol, and he molds them into living gems. Blank Verse. The towering hills surround the lowly vale, The rippling streams partake of Nature's wealth, The elements of chance and fate unite. Where men unfurl the ghastly toil of years. One grent advantage in blank verse is that the writer's path is not obstructed with the use of perfect or imperfect rhyme. 39 POEMS AND ESSAYS The sentence is not regulated in length by the stanzas. Each line must contain the same number of feet. Always use short lines for spirited expression, as in warlike action. The ballad line consists of seven metrical feet, usually divided into alter- nate lines of four and three feet. Balla'd form, same meter as Macaulay used in his poem, "Ivry." A million soldiers marching on; a million foes before. A million women weep behind! for ones they'll see no more. An Iambic foot consists of two syllables, the first unaccented, the second accented. Example, The shades/ of con/secra/ted laws/are drawn. Ere day/light's rays/ have kissed/ all world/ly forms' Trochee Meter. Review Longfellow.'s Psalm of Life. It is just the reverse of the Iambic. The first accented, the second unaccented. Dactyl meter, or foot. Consists of two unaccented syllables, followed by one which is accented. The Anapaest foot consists of three syllables, the first two unac- cented the third accented. Q. What is prosody? A. Jt teaches the composition of poetic verse. Q. What is verse? A. It consists of a certain number of lines, governed by accent — divided into feet, and each foot contains from one to four accented and unaccented syllables. Q. What is meter? A. Meter consists of an equal measurement of lines, Q. What is rhythm ? A. Rhythm consists of the recurrence of similar vowel sounds, at the ends of lines of poetry. Q. What is mixed vene? A. Mixed verse consists of an intermixture of various kinds of feet. Q. Kinds of verse? A, Verse is named according to the number of feet contained in a line. See following table: Monometer — A line of one foot. Diameter — A line of two feet. 40 POEMS AND ESSAYS Trimeter — A line of three feet. Tetrameter — A line of four feet. Pentameter— A line of five feet. Hexameter — A line of six feet. Heptameter — A line of seven feet. Octometer — A line of eight feet. Q. Would you feel free to use an imperfect rhyme, if it appears in masterpieces? A. No. Because this use of imperfect rhyme would lead to the rejection of your poem by magazines. Q. What rule governed ancient verse? A. Each line contained the same number of syllables. Q. Modern verse? A. Modern verse is governed by accent. Q. What single influence has done most to raise the moral ideals of poetry? A. Some writers say Christianity, others say civilization. I say poetry itself has done most to raise the moral ideals of its beauty. Q. What is a trite or hackneyed expression? A. A trite or hackneyed expression is any group of words which are repeated too frequently. iSfearly every paragraph in the Bible has become a hackneyed expression. Q. Is it necessary to display the same number of syllables in each line of poetry? A. It is not ahvays necessary for a good writer to place the same number of syllables in each line, because a sudden change will sometimes cause the reader's mind to wander and dwell longer on the subject. 41 LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS ■■ 018 603 342 5 :SS OF THE ADVERTISER FRAZEYSBURG, OHIO

02023708

The captain's ward; a drama in four acts,

Ashmead, Henry Graham

captainswarddram00ashm_djvu.txt

^he L^aptaLn s Ward SJjrama Y in K:/'our ■yicts JOHN SP ENCER, F>niNTER ANO SOOH BINDER. CHESTER. P*. THE CAPTAIN'S WARB ^ Jl Drama in Four Jlcts 1 > > ] .■'.,•^iM^,'■';'^;;.''■ '•:■ BY GRAHAM ASHMEAD 1 Mn THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, T'«o CopitM Received ?F'-^ 2: 1902 A OnOVRIOHT FNTPV tii.Asg/5 xXo No. COPY B. '■ COPYRIGHT. 1902 BY HENRY GRAHAM ASHMEAD. JOHN SPENCER. NTER AND BOOKBINDER, CHESTER. PA. sDramatis J. e rsoncjs. Bessie Harrington, Ada Murray, Hannah Pennington. Captain Paul Graham, James Brownley. Thomas Singleton, Doctor Wright, Sergeant Gray, James, Filipino Assassin. Filipino Servant. , Captain Graham's Ward. - '^ A lady with a fortune^ Craliain'x Sj^iiistcr Aunt. Guardian for Bessie. Graham's Private Secretary. Clerk in Graham &• Co.'s Banking House. Surgeon U. S. Army. Of the Ninth U. S. Infantry. Butler at Graham's House. ACT I. [Scene.— i?oo>H of Paul Graham, U. S. A., luxuriously funtishcd. Door at back and at right, which, with the windozvs. arc handsomely draped. Fire in grate. James Brownley and Thomas Singleton dis- cot'ercd.] Brownley. Tom, the young Lieutenant is going it at a hand canter. He's in for a good time and lots of fun. iSiNGLETON. If I had had a grandfather drop off leaving me four millions well invested, I'd go in for a good time, too. But say, I never heard that Paul was "sucking the monkey," as the sailors say. Brownley. If you mean boozing, the Lieutenant has no inclina- tion that way. He's quick enough to take a hand in any sport and pastime, but he detests drunkenness and gambling. He is an honor- able, manly, straightforward young fellow. You see his mother lived until he was almost sixteen. He idolized her. Her teachings had much to do in forming his moral character. Singleton. Then he is not throwing his money recklessly away. Is he inclined to yield to designing women's fascinations? Brownley. I think not. He is liberal with his money. He seerns to have no particular fancy for any lady of his acquaintance. No, his expenditures are well within his income. Singleton. Is he forming questionable associations? You would best know that. In the bank, we hear very little about him, excepting his account there. Brownley. No. He is a good-intentioned chap, and considering the temptations that assail a young man of great wealth, his life is ex- ceedingly clean. The only thing that alarms me is his heedlessness in assuming responsibilities. Singleton. I do not fully comprehend you. Brownley. Why, he is now only a boy of twenty-four. During the Spanish war, you remember, he met a Captain in the Volunteer U. S. Cavalry — the Rough Riders — who was wounded in the assault on San Juan hill, and died shortly after the surrender of Santiago. The Lieutenant was then a Captain in the 71st New York, and when the Rough Rider Captain died, he made Captain Paul the guardian of his little daughter. The boy accepted the trust. He has never seen the child. She is at school at Hartford. The estate is worth about 80,000 dollars. Paul advances all the money that she may ask, through the principal of the school, for the maintenance and education of the girl. Sometimes the requests are for large sums, far beyond what, I think, is needed under the circumstances. 6 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Singleton. Do you think there is a leak at the other end? Brovvnley. I am inclined to think so. After the war, Paul, who is infatuated w'ith the life of a soldier, sought and secured a first lieu- tenancy in the regular army. That, in a measure, has prevented him from making a visit to his ward, as he should have done. Children feel slights as keenly as adults. Singleton. I did hear something of his accepting the guardian- ship of a small girl, but learned little beyond that fact. As I said, we seldom hear of the Lieutenant's personal affairs in the office. You, who are his private secretary, necessarily know much more than any of us, who are employed at the banking house. Brovvnley. I am not disclosing any of his personal affairs in what I have said. I merely suggested that a wealthy young man, an army officer at that, might possibly later find it burdensome and costly to accept the guardiansliip of a child, of whom he knows nothing, and who is wholly without known relatives. Paul Graham. (Sfcaking to persons zvithout.) I will he with vou gentlemen, presently. (Enters.) Oh, Singleton, you are here. Is there anything respecting which you must see me on business of the bank? Singleton. Nothing of importance. A telegram was received there for you just before closing, which should have been sent here. I was through work, and was going out on my bike, so I offered to bring it to you. Here it is. (Hands telegram.) Paul. Thanks. Brownley, I was talking of my ward to several ladies to-day, and when I told them I had never seen her, they de- clared I was remiss in my duty — that the little girl might feel that I had neglected her. I never thought of that. One of the ladies, as a peace offering, bought for me a half dozen pretty dolls and an assort- ment of toys. As I am on waiting orders now, I propose to run over to Hartford to-morrow and make her little ladyship's acquaintance. Make no engagements for me for several days. (Open's telegram.) By George, here's a go ! This is a message from Madame Delaplaine, stating that Bessie has left the school and her present whereabouts are unknown. Can you suggest anything I should do under these circum- stances ? Brownley. If you can avoid your engagement with the gentle- men who await you in the library, I would see Mr. Drake at once, and ask his opinion. He is a warm friend of yours as well as your legal adviser. Paul. That's a capital suggestion. I will act on it at once. (Looks at ivateh.) Our telephone is out of order. I noticed that a moment ago. Singleton, you have your wheel — will you oblige me by taking a spin to Drake's office and asking him to remain until I call there? Singleton. Gladly, sir. I will go at once. (Exit.) Paul. This matter rather interferes with my plans. The child cannot have run far afield. The anger of a mere tot like Bessie is will soon expend itself, and she will be only too glad to return home. The telegram states that if any news of the girl is received it will be prompt- ly wired. I will hurry down to Drake's office and be back presently. (Exit.) Brownley. This may be more serious than it at first appears. The little girl has a snug fortune of 80.000 dollars in her own right. (Looks out of window.) The Lieutenant is off. At all events, it may tc.-ich him a lesson, which may be fortunate in that it comes through a child rather than through a girl of more mature years. Possibly the THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 7 little one is safe at school by this time, although it might be that she has been kidnapped to exact a large ransom. (Enter butler.) Butler. There is a young lady downstairs to see the Master. She would not give her name, but said she would — (Enter Bessie Harring- ton.) Bessie. Wait the return of her guardian. (To Brownley) Are you Lieutenant Grahain, my guardian? Brownlev. No. I am his private secretary. You are — Bessie. Bessie Harrington, Mr. Graham's ward. I have made no mistake, I trust — Lieutenant Graham lives here? Brownley. Yes. (To butler.) James, when the Lieutenant re- turns tell him a lady is waiting to see him in his den. You need not mention her name. (E.rit butler.) Bessie. Oh, dear, how dreadfully unfortunate it is that he is ab- sent. I suppose I can remain in this apartment until his return? I sent away the carriage and my trunk will be here presently. Please pay the e.xpress charge. After I paid the hackman, I lost my pocket- book. It must have fallen into the street, for I looked for it every- where in the hack without success. The loss is not much. I had only four dollars and .some change in the pocketbook. Brownley. I will see to the trunk. You would know the Lieu- tenant if you saw him ? Bessie. No. I suppose he is a middle aged gentleman. The guardians for the girls at our school were middle aged or old men. All guardians are that, I believe? Brownley. Not always. Bessie. I do wish he were here now, although I dread to see him. I could not stay at Madame Delaplaine's any longer. I bribed one of the maids, who had a young man waiting on her, to get my trunk out of the house and e.xpress it here. Then I ran away this morning. I haven't had a bite to eat since breakfast, and I was then so excited that I had no appetite. I ain faint for lack of food. Brownley. I can promptly remedy that. I will have luncheon sent to you immediately. In the meanwhile, make yourself perfectly at home. Your guardian will be here present^'. (Exit.) Bessie. (Removing her zvraps and hat.) Well, I'm here, and as tired as I can well be. Hungry ! I think I never was so near starva- tion in all my life. (Yaivns.) When a little tot, I remember I once told poor Dad that I was tired, hungry, and sleepy, the three "worstest" things in the world. How dear Dad laughed. (Dra'vs lounging ehair in front of fireplace and scats herself.) Poor Daddy. I have never missed you so much as I do to-day. I don't know my guardian from Adam. Why, I didn't know Adam. I suppose he is a grumpy, dis- agreeable old man, and being an army officer, doubtless something of a martinet, who will direct all my actions by some miserable old code of military tactics. But I will never go back to school. If he makes my life unbearable, I'll drown myself. (Enter butler ivith luncheon.) Place the little table beside me. I'll eat luncheon here. Has Mr. Gra- ham returned ? Butler. No, Miss. Bessie. I'm his ward, Miss Bessie Harrington. I have never seen hiin. Tell me something about him. Butler. Mr. Graham is a fine gentleman. Bessie. Has he any daughters about my age ? Butler. Well, I don't know, Miss. I think noV Lieutenant Graham is not married. Bessie. An old bachelor, then? 8 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Butler. I suppose so. Miss. Bessie. I am glad you said that he was a fine gentleman. He has tasteful and sumptuous surroundings. Butler. Yes, Miss. Bessie. While I am eating, tell me something about him, without my questioning you as a lawyer does a witness. Butler. I don't know what to tell you. Miss. He has his horses, his country seat, his yacht, but since he entered the regular army, he has offered the Sylph" for sale. He has everything that will make a single gentleman comfortable. Bessie. Is he a woman hater? Butler. I don't know. Miss. I don't know what a woman hater is. I know that Lieutenant Paul Graham is a gentleman that every- body likes. Bessie. Does he growl and swear when things don't go just as he wants them to? Butler. No, Miss. He is easy enough to get along with. Bessie. Well, that is good news, at all events. I will not detain you longer. Please tell Mr. Graham that I am here as soon as he re- turns. Butler. Yes, Miss. (Goes ufi stage.) I haven't been put through such a cross-examination since — oh, I can't remember how long ago. (Exit.) Bessie. (Sttnggling herself in ehair. and pntting her crossed feet on fender.) Oh, t just feel too sleepy for anything. I'll sit here be- fore this fire for a little while, and — take — things — comfortable. My eyelids — are too heavy — for — (falls aslcef<.) (Enter Graham at right door. ) Paul. Doubtless Drake is a sound lawyer, but it seems to me he took about twenty minutes to advise me to do nothing, to let things drift, as it were. He will charg* for his opinion, but I'll be d — d if I'll follow his suggestions. Something must be done — (Sees Bessie's hat.) Well, I'd just give five dollars to see Aunt Hannah in that rig. An old woman of nearlv sixty in an outfit like that would be a perfect guy. But Aunt Hannah is a good, sweet old lady. She thinks there never was my like born. She pets me as if I were still a child. I shall never grow to full manhood in her eyes. (IJ'histles.) There is someone in that chair. (Goes to center door and beckons. Enter butler.) Whose things are these? (Points to Bessie's hat and wrafs.) Butler. The young lady's, sir. The young lady in the chair be- fore the grate. Paul. The what? What do you mean? A young lady in my den? What are you talking about? What young lady? Butler. The young lady over there, sir. She said her name was Miss Bessie — Miss Bessie — I forget the rest of the name, but she is your ward. Paul. You don't say that? My ward is a little girl, who, I fancy, wears her hair in a pigtail and is clothed in very abbreviated dresses. Why, I've half dozen dolls and a lot of toys in the house now, bundled un to take to her to-morrow. You haven't been drinking, James? Butler. No, sir. I have only told you what she said. The young lady in the chair declared she was tired, hungry and sleepy. I served her luncheon, but she's gone to sleep, I think, without any assistance. Paul. How do you know she is asleep? Butler. If she wasn't asleep, you'd know, sir. She asked me more questions in five minutes than any attorney could ask in a quarter of an hour. THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. g Paul. James, order the carriage to the stable. I'll not start for Hartford just yet, as I had designed to do. (Exit butler.) If it is that girl, I'll give her a piece of my mind. This must be one of her schoolmates, much older than Bessie, who has come to tell me news of her. I wonder how she got in my den? (Walks on tip toes around in front of Bessie.) By George! She's a pretty minx, anyway. There is surely some mistake. This sleeping beauty in the chair is eighteen. Captain Harrington always spoke of his daughter as his little girl — as a mere child. (Bessie stirs.) Good gracious! Why — (Bessie opens Iter eyes, looks at Graham, and sits up.) Bessie. Wnere am — oh, I know where I am. I suppose I must introduce myself. I am Miss Bessie Harrington. I came to see my guardian on important business. I'm Lieutenant Paul Graham's ward. (About to rise.) Paul. Please remain seated. You are sure you have not made a mistake ? Bessie. What mistake could I make? Isn't this Mr. Graham's house? Paul. Yes, it's his house all right. But I never heard that Cap- tain Harrington had two daughters — both named Bessie- Bessie. He never had but one daughter — but one child. I don't know what you mean? Paul. Mr. Graham is the guardian of a Bessie Harrington. Her father always spoke of her as a little girl. You are not that Bessie Harrington? Bessie. (Risin-g.) I am the daughter and only child of Captain Edward Harrington, of the Rough Riders, who was wounded in the storming of San Juan hill, and who died of his injuries at Santiago. His will made Captain Paul Graham, of the 71st New York Infantry, my guardian. Captain Graham has since been appointed a first lieu- tenant in the regular army. That is the whole story. Do you live here? Do you know Mr. Graham? Paul. Yes, I live here. I know Graham. I guess better than anyone else. Bessie. Then tell me something about him. Is he a cross, crabbed old fellow? I remember one of our girls at school had a guardian like that. I told her she ought to poison him. Sometimes I think Daddv couldn't have been altogether in his right mind when he made his will, leaving me in the charge of an old man who hasn't thought enough of the trust he accepted to come and see what manner of girl it was his dead friend had confided to his supervision. Paul. Graham didn't intentionally neglect the duty he had ac- cepted. He could not have refused the request. Captain Harrington had been kind to him, and it would have been ungenerous to have de- nied the wish of his dying friend, don't you know. Bessie. I know if I were a man, and a dying friend had placed his only daughter in my charge, I would have learned something of the girl, particularly if she were alone in the world, with no one to appeal to save a guardian who seemed to have been wholly indifferent, who did not make the least efifort to know whether she was happy or mis- erable. Paul. Don't you understand that Graham had no thought that his ward was anything but a small child, who would be most happy under the control of the school authorities where her father had placed her? Bessie. I don't understand it that way. Had a woman been my guardian, she would long ago have learned whether I was a baby in 10 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. long dresses, a girl in short skirts, or a young lady of eighteen. 1 am eighteen. Paul. But I don't know anything of woman's ways. Bessie. I dia not say you did. You are not my guardian. You are not more than three or four years older than I am. Mayhe you have a guardian ? Paul. Possibly I need one. I had a guardian once, but he never bothered about me. The most I know of him is that he drew with punctuality the commissions allowed him for the management of my estate. Bessie. You make your home here, I presume? I don't mind tell- ing you that I think wc will be excellent friends. I shall insist upon living here with my guardian. Paul. Won't that be jolly. (Hesitates.) But Graham isn't mar- ried, and would it be altogether proper? Bessie. Certainly. Several of our girls live with their guardians, and one, I know, is an old bachelor. Paul. Just suppose that I were your guardian. Bessie. (Laughing.) Why that would be too ridiculous. I will wager you a box of bon-bons that you are not more than six years older than I am. Paul. (With dignity.) Let it be ridiculous, but all the same I am Paul Graham, guardian of Bessie Harrington, daughter of Captain Edward Harrington, deceased. Bessie. (Anxiously.) Tell me true! Don't jest with me about this. It can be no jest with me. I have been very unhappy. I could not stay an hour longer at Madame Delaplaine's. I haven't anywhere to go save my guardian's home. I came here believing that he would receive me and protect me as he must have promised my dear Dad he would. Tell me true ! You arc not my guardian ! You are so young a man. Paul. Nevertheless, Miss Harrington, I am Paul Graham, and you, it seems, are my ward. I thought until now that you were a child of not more than eight or ten years at the most. (Rings hell.) James, fetch me immediately the bundle you will find on the window seat in the library. (Exit butler.) I know now that I have been re- miss in my duty, but I want you to believe that I am telling you only the truth when I say that I expected to find in my ward a little girl. (Enter butler, and lays package on table.) Butler. That is what you wished, sir? Paul. Yes. I have no further orders, James. (Exit butler.) This, I think. Miss Harrington, (undoing package) will prove that I believed you to be a mere child. (Picks up dolls and spreads out toys.) Bessie. You were going to bring me those dolls? (Laughing.) It is too funny. I'm going to accept one of the dolls, but the remain- der and the toys must find a more juvenile owner. You called me Miss Harrington just now. I'm going to be the best of friends with my guardian. Call me Bessie, as you did in your letters to Madame. Paul. Then you must call me Paul. Bessie. But would that be proper? You, my guardian — why that .would be too familiar. But (anxiously) you won't send me away? You can surely arrange it so that I can live here? I'll make myself useful and won't be in your way the least bit. Daddy trusted you, and he expected that I should trust you also. I can never remember living anywhere save in a boarding house, hotels, in the summer season at the seaside, in the mountains, or at school. I am heart weary of it all. I thought my guardian would let me live with him. Of course, 1 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. ii never imagined he would be a young man, only a little older than his ward. Paul. Listen to me a moment. I am an orphan. Eight years ago my father and mother were killed in a frightful collision on a rail- way. Since then Aunt Hannah, my mother's eldest sister, much older than mother, has been the head of this house. You see, I am a young man, much as that fact may alarm you, and I do not know whether that, in itself, will interfere with your plans. Bessie. No. I am your ward, and the law, for I had .'in old at- torney to give me an opinion, contemplates that you shall lake the place of my father until I am of age. A ward, he told me, can live with her guardian with the like propriety that a daughter can live with her father. Paul. If you can remain here, Bessie — it is a guardian's privilege to call his ward by her first name — without in anywise compromising your reputation, I want yon to stay and make this house your home. Bessie. I'll obey your orders, sir. You don't know how lonely my life has been. Paul. Bessie, already you have brought sunshine into this gloomy old dwelling. As your guardian, I think I can, w'ith all propriety, say that you will remain here, and that I am exceedingly glad you have come. Bessie. I told you we would be the best of friends. I'll promise to obey you in everything — that is everything that I want to obey you in. There are some things, you know, that I know better about than you possibly could know. Now, in those things you wouldn't expect me to obey you ? Paul. Bessie, I am not hard to get along with. I believe, with you, that we will be most excellent friends. (Rings bell.) I must ask Aunt Hannah to take part in our conference. (Enters butler.) My compliment to Miss Pennington, and I request her presence here. (Exit butler.) Bessie. You won't let her send me away? I am so utterly alone that I often think it would be a mercy to me if I could die. Paul. Believe me, I did not imagine that you were so unhappy. I condemn myself for my thoughtlessness. It was not the deliberate neglect of a positive duty. I want you to believe that it all came about because of my misapprehension as to your age. Bessie. It is only recently that I grew discontented. The Christ- mas holidays are at hand, to which all the other girls are looking for- ward as a season that will call them home. I dreaded to be alone at school. The Madame's nephew, a young man whom I just abominate, since last summer has forced his attentions upon me. It is only during vacations that he is an inmate of the house. You do not know how it annoyed me, so I ran away this morning. I could not stay any longer, I will never go back there again, where I cannot avoid that man. Rather than that, I will drown myself. Paul. You shall not return to be annoyed. (Enter Miss Penn- ington.) Aunt Hannah, this is Miss Bessie Harrington, my ward. Miss Hannah. Why, Paul, you told me your ward was a little girl. My dear, you are a grown woman. (Takes Bessie's hand.) Paul. Yes. But I did not know that until to-day. Aunt, Bessie is very unhappy at school. She desires to make her home with us. I am her guardian, and — Miss Hannah. A girl ward and a boy guardian. I don't — Bessie. You won't turn me away? Say you won't? Don't let my guardian send me back to that school. 12 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Miss Hannah. Sit down, and let us talk this matter over quietly. (All arc seated.) I am Paul Graham's aunt, and the head of this household until my nephew shall marry. That I think eliminates the question of propriety wholly from consideration. My dear, I am often lonely. I have sometimes thought that if I had a nice pleasant young lady to be with me, who will be tender to my failings, who will help me from growing old by keeping me alive to and interested in the happenings of the hour, I would be the better for such association. Paul is devoted to me, but he is a man, who must fill a man's place in the busy world. I shall be glad if you will stay with me. Paul, yo'Ur ward must come to this house at my solicitation. Paul. Aunt Hannah, I knew you could find a way. Bessie, Aunt Hannah is the dearest and best Aunt that anyone could imagine. Now, as it is all settled, you will have to find some children to give these dolls and toys to. Bessie. Oh, I propose to select one dolly that I shall keep in re- membrance of this day. Miss Hannah. Come with me, Bessie. I will show you the apart- ments that will be set apart for your personal use. (Broivnley enters hurriedly.) Paul. You evidently have important news of some kind. What is it? Brownley. It may be nothing very material, but the postman has just left this letter. It is from the War Department. Paul. (Opening letter.) I am assigned to the gth Infantry, and ordered to join the regiment in the Philippines. I must report at San Francisco in time to embark on the transport leaving that port on January 20th. Well, at all events, that will give me the holidays at home. Miss Hannah. Oh, Paul, my boy, I am so sorry. What will I do without you ? Paul. Aunty, you knew that this must happen, and you should have prepared yourself. Fortunately, Bessie has come to comfort you during my absence. My little girl {to Bessie) I seem to fall into your father's term of address — I have not been an attentive guardian to you. I want you to forgive my shortcomings, and I rely upon you to break the severity of the blow to my aunt. Bessie. {Slipping between Miss Pennington and Paul, and giv- ing a hand to each.) To you. Aunt, I promise the love of a devoted daughter, and to you, my guardian, I shall ever be a steadfast friend. (Curtain falls.) ACT II. [Interval of one year. Same scene as in first act. Brownley checking accounts at table. Curious arms displayed on side table.] Brownley. A most gratifying report to forward to Captain Gra- ham. The balance in the bank is unusually large. Mr. Drake should seek profitable investments for much of this idle capital. I must call his attention to that. Miss Harrington's estate is secured beyond the liklihood of loss, but that account is misleading. The principal and income are duly set forth, but for more than two years no charge is made for her maintenance in anywise ; nor have the commissions of heB guardian been credited. That is unbusinesslike and a mistake, I think, when dealing with a woman's estate. I have written Captain Graham several times, asking instructions as to that account, but he never al- ludes to the matter in any of his letters. {Enter Miss Pennington.) I THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 13 Miss Hannah. Mr. Brownley, you arc busy at your annual state- ment? That reminds me that it is nearly thirteen months since Paul left us. Brownley. Yes, time slips by rapidly. Miss Hannah. In this case, I am not so sure of that. Circum- stances have much to do with the measurement of time's flight. I am not reconciled to Paul's absence even now. I miss my boy to-day as much as I missed him the hour he left us. Brownley. I am sure you do. Miss Hannah. If it were not for Miss Bessie, I do not know how I could endure the separation. What a happy chance it was that made her an inmate of this dwelling. Mr. Brownley, in Captain Graham's absence, I, of course, must turn to you for advice. Not on business matters, but in things appertaining to the household affairs of the fam- ily- Brownley. I am always at your service. You know Captam Gra- ham makes ample provision for the maintenance of the house, indeed, you have hardly expended the half of the sum set apart for that pur- pose. Miss Hannah. It is not a question of money that I have now in contemplation. It rather relates to Miss Harrington. I often wonder whether she is dissatisfied or whetlier she is gradually failing in health. I notice that she frequently sighs deeply and appears self-absorbed. Brownley. You have consulted a physician ? Miss Hannah. No. I sugggested it to Bessie, but she would not consent, declaring that there was nothing the matter with her. Brownley. Possibly she is interested in some gentleman of her acquaintance (laughs). You have mentioned, Miss Pennington, some of the symptoms of that disorder, irrespective of sex, sighing like a furance, and the like. Miss Hannah. No, I think not. She is peculiarly indifferent to society's demands, and apparently is not attracted to any gentleman particularly. Bessie is a charming, warm-hearted, and affectionate girl, but in some respects she approaches eccentricity in her ways. I believe if she had been a boy she would have sought a cadetship at West Point. She enjoys many of the popular novels of the hour, but she studies diligently the map of the Philippine Islands, is familiar, with the movement of troops there, scans the daily papers for new?, from Manila, and reads carefully the Army and Navy Journal. Not an item in that publication escapes her attention. Brownley. I know Miss Pennington that she esteems Captain Graham highly. May it not be possible that she entertains for him feelings that may exceed respect? Miss Hannah. I am surprised at your suggestion, Mr. Brownley: Why he's her guardian. That relationship should preclude absolutely such a thought. Brownley. But Captain Graham is a voung man. A guardian- ship is a fictitious legal relationship that expires at an early age, and is limited in duration. I do not know that I ever heard of a ward falling in love with her guardian, but it is not an impossible nor improbable incident, under certain conditions. Miss Hannah. Really, Mr. Brownley, the whole thing is so ab- surd that I am astounded that a man of sucli clear judgment and busi- ness forethought as you are credited with, could entertain that thought, for an instant. Besides, I have set my heart upon Captain Graham's marriage to Miss Ada Murray. I may ask your assistance in accom- plishing that purpose? 14 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Brownley. Then you would object to Miss Bessie Harrington as a wife for your nephew? Miss Hannah. No, I would not. I love Bessie as though shi> were my own daughter. But I know neither Paul or Bessie entertain, even remotely, such sentiment towards the other. Brownley. Let us then eliminate the thought from further con- sideration. I shall, without Miss Bessie suspecting it, endeavor to learn what is wrong with her. Miss Hannah. I trust you will. I am glad this conversation has taken place. I shall be busy for some time, and I am expecting Miss Murray this morning. She promised to run over and inspect the col- lection of arms Captain Graham sent from the Philippines. Let me be told when she comes. (Exit.) Brownley. I will do anything within reason for the good of Paul Graham, but PlI be damned if, under any circumstances, I shall aid him to win Ada Murray's love. (Enter Ada Murray at back.) I love .'\da Murray with all my heart, but I dire not — Ada. (Advancing.) Pray finish your sentence, Mr. Brownley. I am sure I heard you speak my name as I entered this room. Talking to one's self is not a very encourageing sign as to one's mental condi- ■ tion. I once heard an eminent physician make that assertion. Brownley. I don't know what I said or intended to say. The fact is, Miss Murray, I know so little of what is going on about me that my mental balance may well be questioned. Ada. Well, you look as if you have had some surprising informa- tion communicated to you recently. Brownley. I have. It was not communicated to me as a secret. I don't think it was, and I do not consider I am violating anyone's con- fidence when I tell you that Miss Pennington a moment ago said her dearest wish vifas that Captain Paul Graham and you should become man and wife. Ada. (Sprightly.) Isn't that grand? It is not everybody who can have a marriage arranged for them by other people. That is not usual in this country, is it ? Brownley. (Angcrily.) I don'i know whether it is usual or nnl. but I do know that I will not assist in bringing that marriage about. Ada. Why not? Captain Graham and I — the high contracting parties, that's a newspaper way of describing the victims at a wedding—, are certainly suitable as to age, family, social position, and fortune. Of course, I do not compare favorably in the last essential with Captain Graham, but I have half a million in my own right. That is not so bad, is it? Brownley. I know you are rich in your own right. Ada. But I asked you, Mr. Brownley, why you will not assist in this proposed marriage negotiations, and you have not answered the question ? Brownley. I don't know, but I won't. Ada. Now you arc getting angry. Don't you think I would makw .some good man a good wife? Brownley. Yes. I think you would. He will be a fortunate man who wins you. Ada. That's better. I suppose you have noticed that I am very fond of Captain Graham ? ■Brownley. I cannot say I have. 1 know you admire him as a friend, but I had no thought that it went beyond that. Miss Murray. Ada. It seems to me that when I entered this apartment— Cap- tain Graham's den — I heard you — there was surely no other person here THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. IS when I came in — talking to yourself about Ada Murray. You did not give that young lady the formal title of Miss Murray, as you have done during the last five minutes, a half dozen times. Brownley. But I did not know that you heard me. Ada. For shame, Mr. Brownley. I did not suppose that you would speak of me in my absence with less respect than when I am present. Brownley. I was — I was — the fact is I was annoyed a trifle at .something Miss Pennington had said to me. Ad.\. Was it that she desired Captain Graham to marry me? Brownley. Yes. Ada. You won't get angry again if I ask you to aid me in escaping that fate? Would you aid me? Brownley. I will do all that you ask me, for I know you will not require anything that would be in anywise dishonorable. .\da. I thank you for your good opinion, James (ivatclics Iiini). I mean Mr.Brownley. Brownley. Why did you call me James? Tell me, Miss Murray. Ada. I don't know. Probably because you called me Ada, when you thought I was not present. "Evil communications." St. Paul says, generally have injurious consequences attending them. iSROWNLEY. 'V'ou are pleased to ridicule me. Ada. I do not ridicule you. There is no man whom I more es- teem, or whose opinion I hold in higher regard. (Gives him both her hands.) You will forgive me if I have said anything to wound you, Mr. Brownley? Brownley. Miss Murray, I — I — Ada. Tell me what you intended to say. You are not afraid of me? (Takes her hands aivay.) Brownley. I have no right to say — to tell you — what I was about to sav. But when Miss Pennington requested me to aid her in bring- ing about your marriage to Paul Graham, -I could no longer conceal from myself the truth — that I love you devotedly, and — and — Ada. Well, what then? Tell me. Brownley. You are not angry with me for what I have said? Does that mean that there is hope for me ? Ada. Jimmy — you see with what familiarity I can address you — don't you remember the evening about a \'ear ago — it was during the holidays — I was on my way home, when a brawny, rough man, some- what intoxicated, grossly insulted me at the corner of the street just below here, and you came promptly to my assistance. I was awfully frightened then, jimmy. You never mentioned the incident since that time. You remember that Bessie introduced us to each other the next day, in this house. You never, in anywise, suggested to me that I was under the least obligation to you for the protection you then rendered me. You were badly hurt, for a ring on his finger had laid your cheek open. Jimmy, I have been thinking that I ought to give you something in recognition of that kind act in my behalf. Brownley. I will not permit you to give me anything for that service. I can, at least, cherish the recollection of that incident, which I could not do if I were paid for it as a matter of barter and sale. Ada. Not a matter of barter and sale, Jimmy. But I want to give you something that you will cherish. I thought maybe you'd — you'd let me give you — Brownley. I cannot accept anything. Miss Murray. That would be an insult to my manhood. Ada. No, it would not. I am sorry, but I thought that as you had protected me so bravely — and I am such a coward — that possibly i6 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. you would consent to protect me always, that is if I gave (holding out her hands) myself to you. Brownley. You don't mean that, Ada? You don't mean that you love me and will be my w-ife? Ad.\. Yes, but you won't let me. I thought you might be willing to accept my gift, for I do love you and would be your wife ; that is if you want me. (He kisses her.) Don't you love me, Jimmy? Brownley. You know I love you, Ada. If ever a man loved a woman with all his heart, I so love you, my darling. But I lacked the courage to tell you so. Ad.\. No, that is hardly the fact. If I had been a girl wholly without fortune, you would have told me of your love long ago. It was my half million of dollars that stood in the way and kept you silent. You don't think me a forward, unwomanly woman for what I have said? Say you don't? I could not let my life be blighted because my fortune held you in awe. Brownley. Ada, I hold you the sweetest woman that ever made a man happy in giving herself to him. Ada. That's just it, Jimmy. I gave myself to you. You said you did not want me. You never asked me to be your wife. You never would have asked me. When I overheard you talking to yourself, as I came into the room, I determined to set everything right, if I could. Wasn't it just horrid in me? Brownley'. I loved you passionately from the night we werq thrown together by that ruffian's act. But, Ada, I was afraid to tell you of that love. Ada. It was all owins; to that horrid money. Why. if you had half a million dollars and I were a poor girl, do you think I would let, that stand in the way of our marriage? Then why should you let it separate us ? You naughty boy, you made me do the proposing, and when I was trying to give you all sorts of "tips" — that's a word they use on the street, isn't it? ( Brotvnlry nods) — you were just as blind as a three days' old puppy. You couldn't or you wouldn't help me a bit. Brownley. My darling, (embracing her) in my great joy, I have wholly forgotten to tell you that Miss Pennington requested to be no- tified as soon as you came. I never thought of what she said until now. Ada. And I am so glad you did not remember her request until now. I must glance at those arms Captain Graham has sent, for Miss Pennington will be certain to ask me my opinion of the collection. I shall tell her I have been looking at them, but I shall make no allusion to certain passages at arms which have taken place in this room this morning. (Ada and Brownley ivalk to table. Bessie enters at rear door.) Now you can promise (making a motion over her left shoulder) Miss Pennington your aid in bringing about a marriage be- tween Captain Graham and Ada Murray. You can do that since I have confided to you the truth, and you know how much I love Paul Graham, (Bessie /'laces hand on heart, then advances slozvly to front.) Bessie. Pardon me, Ada. Aunt Hannah has asked several times if you had come, (Staggers to chair.) Mr. Brownley, a glass of water — I am faint. (Brozvnley gives her ivater. Bessie drinks.) Don't stay. Ada. I am all right now. You will promise me that no mention shall be made of this? Mr. Brownley will consider the same request applies to him. Ada. Neither Mr. Brownley nor myself will mention this in- cident. I thought you knew us better than that. Bessie. I do not doubt you, Ada. What I said was merely pre- THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 17 cautionary. Mr. Brownlcy, I desire information respecting a matter of personal business concern. (Rises.) I shall return presently. {E.i-it.) Brownlev. Do you know, Ada, wliether there is any gentleman with whom Miss Harrington is particularly pleased? Ada. You imagine that she is in love? I think not. I am nearer to her, Jimmy, than any of her associates, and I would have discovered her secret, had she had one, ere this. (Giz'cs him her hand.) I musV run away now to Miss Pennington. I don't know how many or what fibs I will have to tell her to account for my delay. I am going, sir — I said, I am going. Brownlev. But not in that formal way? May I — Ad.\. Well, yes, you may. (Kisses her.) Good-bye. Will I al- ways have to be the forward one? (Runs to door, shakes her hand at him. goes out. and returns.) Jimmy, am I not just horrid? (E.vit.) Brownlev. You have made me the happiest of men. Ada was right. Her money would have forever kept my lips sealed, but now I am free to tell of my love for her. She, however, must decide when the world shall know of our engagement. (Enter Bessie.) Bessie. Mr. Brownley, I am utterly ignorant of business aflfairs. I an anxious to learn how much of my allowance is unexpended. Brownley. A trifle over five thousand dollars, I think, exclusive of a check for one thousand, which Captain Graham sent you as a birthday gift. You have not cashed that yet. Bessie. I shall not cash it. Could I draw the 1)alance in bank to- morrow? Brownley. It is yours to use when and how you choose. Bessie. I will be pleased if you bring it to me to-morrow. Large notes would be preferable. I will send you a blank signed check for you to fill in the amount. I trust you will say nothing of this to any- one? Brownley. It shall be as you wish. Bessie. Thanks. I need not detain you longer, Mr. Brownley. ^E.rit Broz^'nley.) I have decided. There now remains only to put that decision into action. (Rings.) I must confide in someone to aid me. Yes, Mr. Singleton can give me the assistance I shall need. (En- ter butler.) How long to luncheon, James? Butler. Luncheon will be served in half an hour. Bessie. Were there any letters for me ? Butler. I laid one on the table for you. Bessie. Call up Mr. Singleton, and say I wish to see him as soor- as convenient. That is all. (E.vit butler.) (Bessie pieks up letter and glances at address.) It is from Paul, dear Paul. (Kisses letter.) I cannot read it now — oh, I cannot read it now. (Puts letter in her bosom.) That is Aunt Hannah's step. She inust never know that T know her plans, that have blighted my life. (Enter Miss Pennington.^ Miss Hann.\h. I have found you, my child. I wondered where you had hidden yourself. Why, how your hands tremble ! What has alarmed you? Bessie. It is you who are unnecessarily alarmed. (Puts arms about Miss Hannah.) Would you miss me. if I were to leave you, .Aunty? Miss Hannah. You know I would. Paul and you are the dear- est ones to me on earth. Some day you will marry. Then I must give you up to your husband. (Bessie shakes her head.) Oh, the Prince charming will come, never fear. Bessie. I shall never marry. t8 the CAPTAIN'S WARD. 'Miss Hannah. All girls say that, but there will come a time when you will meet your fate. Bessie. (Aside.) That time has already come, God help mc ! Miss Hannah. Bessie, let us talk of Paul. You know he is twenty-five now, wealthy, good-lookins:, accomplished, and attractive. A man who would make any woman happy. 1 believe in early mar- riages, and I have been thinking it is time he should marry. Bessie. Yes, Aunty, but I did not know that Paul had honored any girl with his love. Miss Hannah. We must help him. I have selected Ada Murray for his wife. You are wholly disinterested, and for that reason can form a better estimation of the girl than I can. My preference may lead me astray. Bessie. But why should I do that ? That is ever the lover's priv- ilege. Miss Hannah, Marriage is largely the creature of propinquitvj often the mere outgrowth of association which ripens into love. Tell me, what is your opinion of Ada Murray? Bessie. I esteem her highly. A charming, pure girl. I have made no special study of her. certainly not in the character of Paul's wife. Miss Hannah. My child, you have unbounded intlucnce with Paul. Before he left us, I noticed that he seemed to defer to vour opinions in preference to all others. I understand the tendency of youth to be more frank with youth than with age. The relationship of guardian and ward, it seems, did not make you stand in awe of Paul. Bessie. Why, Aunty, I was not afraid of l^aul. but he. of course, regards me merely as his ward. Miss Hannah. Yes, I presume so. But you will help mc in for- warding this marriage? Bessie. I cannot promise that. But I will not stand in the way. Paul must choose for himself. There is nothing to deter him in woo- ing Ada. Some youn.g men might be kept silent because of her wealth, but that could not apply to Paul. Miss H.^nnah. I thought you would gladly aid mc in this mat- ter. Later, possibly, you may see how desirable this marriage would be for the young couple. We will, however, talk of this again. (Exit Miss Penningtmi.) Bessie. Never again, if 1 can avoid it, Auntv. I cannot remain here now. Life would be daily torture for mc. (Hitter Ada.) Ada. Bessie, w'hat do you think? I actually believe that Miss Pennington has a marriage scheme between Paul Graham and your humble servant in the incubator and hopes to hatch if. Bessie, Yes, I believe such an alliance would be pleasing to her. Paul Graham is a man wdiom most women would be pleased to call husband, Ada. I have not said he is not a desirable party. Did you ever hear him di.scuss mc as i''e possible assistant bend of his household? Bessie. Marriage, Ada. is the most momentous event in a wo- man's life. Ada, I guess it is. It's a serious thing for a girl to get married. Don't you know, I saw in one of the comic papers where a grand- mother made that remark to her granddaughter, and the pert miss re- plied that while it was true, it was much more serious for a girl not to get married at all. Bessie. I am not well, .\da, and you will pardon me if I ask you THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. lO not to discuss that subject to-day. But, I am sure that Paul Graham's wife could not be anything but a happy woman. Ada. In Ireland, I heard a proverb, that "the far off hills are green." But my experience of the world, and J'm not as old as the hills, teaches me that in all journeys there is more or less jolting, lei the road be never so good. I am annoying you with my flippancy. Bessie. I did not intend to be rude to you, Ada. Pardon me. Ada. You are never rude, Bessie. Sometime, dear, I want to tell you something. I am so ashamed of myself, but I am so glad thai it all happened as it did. Bessie. I am glad that you are happy, but don't tell me now. Ada. You are too dreadfully doleful to enjoy it in your present humor, while I was never so happy in my life. Bessie, if I did not know better, I would think you were hopelessly in love. Good-bye, till — well until I see you again. {Exit.) Bessie. To all of this household, save me, the future holds forth, some promise. I cannot continue here. I would go mad. There is no one to whom I can tell my troubles, while I must hide my torment with a soulless smile. {Enter butler.) Butler. Luncheon is served. Miss Harrington, and Mr. Single- ton awaits your pleasure in the library. Bessie.' Say to Miss Pennington I will not come to luncheon. I think if I abstain from food for a little while I shall feel better. You will, how'ever, send Mr. Singleton to me here. (E.vit butler.) I must make my preparations quietly, so as not to arouse the suspicions of anyone, for every obstacle would be interposed to prevent me carrying out my purnose. {Enter Singleton.) Singleton. Yon wish to see me, Miss Harrington? tSESSiE. Yes, but what I say to yon must be under the seal of sec- recy. Will you promise me, Mr. Singleton, not to disclose what I am. about to tell you? SixGLETON. I shall not abuse your confidence. Miss Harrington. If I can serve you in any way, command me. Bessie. Something has occurred which renders my continuance here impossible. Do not mistake my meaning. I have never known auf'ht bin considerate kindness ever since I have been an inmate of my guardian's home. Nor has an unkind word been spoken to or of me by anyone here. For reasons which I do not care to disclose, I have concluded to go to Manila, where I will enroll myself as a nurse in the military hospital there. This has been in contemplation for several months, and I have been under instructions to that end nearly the whole of that period. To-day, I finally decided to carry out that pur- pose. I ask you to help me in arranging for the voyage : to see to mj) luggage; and to in.struct me as to the disposition of the funds I shall take, so as to avoid the possibility of theft. You understand how that is done. My trunks will be packed at one of the large stores, and will be taken from there direct to the vessel. Will you do this for me? I may have to obtain a passport, and you understand how that document is procured. I will assume all responsibility. Of course, I expect to remunerate you for your trouble. Singleton. But will not Captain Graham object to this course? Bessie. I shall write a letter which will be mailed by the pilot, stating what I propose to do. When I reach Manila. I will notify Cap-. Iain Graham of what I have done. Secure my ticket in the name of Miss Harrington, so that in the list of passengers published in the npwsi)apers. it will pass without comment. Will you do what I ask, Mr. Singleton? 20 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Singleton. I will. Bessie. I will communicate further with you to-morrow. I will not detain you longer now, Mr. Singleton. You have been exceedingly kind to me. I will not forget it. Singleton. What you wish, I will do. Good-morning, Miss Har- rington. {Walks up stage.) I believe the girl is in love with Cap- tain Graham, and seeks this means to be near him. (Exit.) Bessie. Paul gave me a drawer in this desk for my own use. (I'nlocking draivcr and looking over several articles.) There is noth- ing that I cannot leave here, even if I should never enter this house again. Nothing that I care for. (Picks up bundle, unzvraps it, and discloses a doll.. .Weeps.) Dolly, Paul bought you for me when ho imagined that I was a mere child. It was the day I sought my guar- dian's care and the shelter of his home. I have kept you, Dolly, sacre(' from all eyes save mine, since that day when I first met Paul, and (kisses dolt) I will keep you as long as I live. Inanimate, Dolly, yet, you speak to me of him, and of a sweet dream that came into my lone- ly life, which now I know never can be other than a dream. Dolly, save Heaven and you, I have no one before whom I can lay my sor, rows. Dolly, I did not know how dear Paul was to me until to-day when I overheard Ada Murray ask Mr. Brownley to pledge his aid to Aunt Hannah's scheme to bring about a marriage between Paul and Ada. Ada loves him, Dolly. I heard her tell Mr. Brownley that he knew how much she loved Paul. To no one but you, Dolly, can I ever tell how much I love Paul, or how much I have missed Paul. For r, year, I have fondled you and told you my secrets. I could tell no one else. But I did not know until this morning that he was all the world to me. 1 have missed hin% but I looked forward to his return to me Now I know that I shall go through life forever missing him. I was a school girl when he gave you to me, Dolly ; now I am a wretched wo- man, for I have no hope. Paul never told me that he loved me, Dolly, yet when he went away, mine was the last hand he grasped, and mine the last lips that knew his kiss. He was the only man I can remem- ber, except dear Dad, that ever kissed me. He will never know hov; much that kiss was to me. He will never know how much I love him. (Kisses the doll passionately.) He sb.iU never know tint — that my heart is broken. (Falls on her knees, hugging the doll, and 7veeping '■assionately as curtain slowly descends.) ACT III. [Scene. — Handsome apartments in Manila. I.ari'c zcindow ■it'ith double sash opening to Aoor on right of stage. Double door at 'bacli and single door on left of stage. Sergeant Gray, in Khaki uniform assorting mail at table.} Gr.\y. The boys of Company G will be glad when they hear Cap- tain Graham is well on the road to recovery. Dr. Wright must think his patient convalescent \A'hen he orders him to occupy this ajiiirtment in the daytime, as a sitting room. The Captain had a close call. That swamp fever, in addition to his wounds, nearly finished him. Poor fellow, he will be permanently disabled. It seems like infernal rot to call a wealthy gentleman, such as the Captain is, a poor fellow. He likes the service, and a braver man never went into action. It will go hard with nim to be retired. (Enter Dr. Wright. Gray salutes.) Wright. Sergeant, I expected to find Captain Graham here. Gr.\y. He will be, presently, sir. Wright. Who is assisting him to this room? THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 21 Gray. No one, save Miss Harrington. She — Wright. That girl alone is not strong enough. It is absurd. She should have help. Gr.\y. It was her request that no one should aid her. It was made in such a way that we could not refuse to gratify her. Wright. But she will wear herself out. The strain upon her has been very severe. When Graham was delirious for four days, she never left his room, and never slept a half hour during all that time. Her gentle nursing, not my medical skill, brought him through that crisis. Gray. She is his ward, I hear. Doctor, but she cares for him more than is usual for a ward to care for a guardian. Wright. Sergeant, what causes you to think that ? Gray. You remember when the crisis was reached, for several hours you could not decide the probable termination of the disease? Wright. Yes, I was in grave doubt ; but what has that to do with the girl's love for the Captain? Gray. Once during that uncertainty you shook your head omin- ously. She was watching your every movement, and when you did that, I never saw a face that expressed such abject despair as did Miss Harrington's then. Wright. Her weakness, consequent on her long vigil, might ac- count for that. Gray. Yes, but it would not explain, when you were absent and I was in the adjoining room for a moment, why the girl should kneel at his bedside and cry "If you die, Paul, take me with you. Don't leave me, Paul." She does not know that she ever uttered those words. They were wrung from her in her agony. You are the only person. Doctor, to whom I have ever told that incident. Wright. Ump ! Sergeant, what made you enlist. Was it patri- otism alone ? Gray. In a measure, patriotism. ■Wright. I have seen much of you recently. Gray. You are an educated man. Gray. Yes. Business reverses and a heartless girl had no little to do with my entering the army. I think it was because I had known to my sorrow a woman so different from Miss Harrington, that her de- votion to Captain Graham attracted my attention more than it other- wise would have done. Wright. Graham is not married. All I have to say is that if he doesn't marry his ward, that is if she will have him, he's an ass. Gray. You are emphatic. Doctor. Wright. I am occasionally. I am a rough old bachelor. I'm. only an army surgeon — they never have any money — but if I can do you a favor, I will be glad to do it. There is something about you that pleases me. By the way, the Hong Kong steamer got in two hours ago. If you are going to quarters shortly, should there be any mail for me, will you bring it here? Gray. Gladly, Doctor. Will you remain here until the Captain comes? If so, I will go now? {Wright nods.. .Exit Gray.) Wright. That man has been hit hard. That blow drove him into the service. (Enter servant.) Servant. Two ladies and a gentleman wish to see Captain Gra- ham. Wright. Did you learn their names? Servant. The old lady says she is Captain Graham's aunt. She 22 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. gave me her card, sir. {Gives it to Doctor.) They were passengers on the Hong Kong steamer. Wright. Miss Pennington. That's the lady who wanted news ofi Captain Graham cabled to her, regardless of expense. I'm told she paid more than five hundred dollars for the message I sent. Of course, she must see the Captain, but it would be best for me to prepare him for her visit. Tell her I will advi.se when he is ready for the inter- view. {Exit servant.) Wright. Oh, here you arc! {Captain Graham enters from door on right, zi'all^'ing feebly, suj^forted by Bessie. Wright supports him also, and talks as they zi'alk slowly to large chair near zvindow.) Miss Harrington, thanks to you, we will soon have the Captain strong enough to bear the trip to San Francisco. A sea voyage will do much in building him up, and you too, my dear young lady. {Assists Graham into chair, ivhilc Bessie arranges the pillows.) Graham. That time seems very remote. I gain strength so slow- ly. I ought not to complain. Bessie never does, although I fear I am too exacting and she is overtaxed. Bessie. Paul, you mustn't say that. You are the most tractable of patients. You must hurry and get stronger, so that you can soon re- turn to New York. Aunt Hannah and Ada will be the happiest of women when you are homeward bound. Graham. Aunt Hannah will be, I know; but I cannot say as much about Ada. Bessie. I can, Paul. I know what you are to her. Graham. {Smiling.) Doctor, this young lady is my ward. But you see she has her own opinion and knows ever so much more than her guardian does. Wright. I can see as far into a millstone as others, I fancy. Now Captain, 1 have a surprise for you. You must be perfectly calm. You have some visitors waiting now to see you. Graham. Let them defer it. Bessie has promised to read to me. and I enjoy her reading so much. Her voice soothes me. That is true. {Takes Bessie's hand.) I do not say that merely in empty com- pliment. Wright. You must see these parties, Captain. They have jour- neyed half round the world to visit you. Graham. You must mean that Aunt Hannah is here. Dear old lady, Bessie knows she loves me with all her heart. Bessie. Others love you, loo, Paul. In that Aunt Hannah is not alone. Wright. There is a young lady and gentleman with Miss Penn- ington. Graham. I cannot guess who they can be. I would not be sur- prised if Brownley had come with Aunty. But who the woman is, I cannot imagine. Bessie. (Hesitating.) I believe it is Ada. Ada Murray, Paul. Wright. Miss Harrington. I was apprehensive lest you were not. strong enough to bring Captain Grahain here without assistance. I was right. Bessie. No, you were not. I am only a little excited by this un- expected visit. Paul, shall I go welcome Aunty and the others? Shan't I bring them here immediately? Graham. Yes. I am glad they have come, although, Bessie, I cannot but regret that our readings will be interrupted. Bessie. But .^da has come, Paul. She reads .so much better than THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 23 I. She can sit with you while Amity and I will Iiave many a quiet gossip to ourselves. Grah.^m. I never heard her read. If you do not find the ta.sk irk- some, I would much prefer that you should read to me. Then, your arrangement does not take the young gcnlleman into consideration. Wright. Possibly he is to fall to my lot. {Exit Bessie.) Cap- tain, that girl may at any moment break down. The trouble, I imagine, is more mental than physical. Deal with her with the most considerate gentleness and tenderness. She certainly deserves that from you. Graham. I don't know what you are driving at. I have always been kind to and considerate of my ward. Damn it. Doctor, I often wish that she was not my ward. I believe I am jealous of every man v^?ho pays her more than ordinary attention. Wright. I have learned that you and she are not kin. What is to prevent you from marrying your ward? Grah.'VM. Do you think — Wright. I think if those Filipino bullets haven't knocked all thq common sense you ever had out of your system, you'll ask her before many hours have passed to be your wife. I had best go meet your visitors. They may want to see me before they do you. (Exit.) Graham. Your last prescription, Doctor, is the best . you have ever given me. While he was speaking, in a flood of joy, the truth came to me that I loved Bessie ever since the day she came to demand my actual protection as her guardian. Bessie Graham. Bessie Graham — If I have my way, she shall so write her name before another fortnight has elapsed. (Enter Wright, Bessie. Miss Pennington. Ada, and Bro'i.vnlcy. Miss Pennington crosses to Graham, kisses and [^ets him.) Miss Hannah. I am so glad to see you, Paul dear. I thought our journey would never come to an end, I was so anxious to be with you. Graham. And I need not tell you how pleased I am»to have you here, on this, the first day I have been permitted to leave my room. Aunty, you have Bessie to thank that I am here to welcome you. I owe my life to her careful nursing. Miss Hannah. Yet, Paul, it is wicked in me, but I was dread- fully angry when I learned that Bessie had left, without apprising any of us of her intention to come to Manila. Graham. You did not know she was coming? Miss H.\n.\h. No. The first intimation w'e had was her letter mailed by the pilot. But, Paul, I thank God now that she did come. Doctor Wright told me that had it not been for her unselfish care you would not be here to welcome us to-day. Bessie. Aunty, you must not accept that as the unalloyed fact. Both the Doctor and Paul overestimate my services. But Aunty, have you not forgotten that Ada is here? Miss Hannah. I am not wholly responsible for my actions. Paul, here is Ada. (They shake hands.) Mrs. iMurrav was. with diffi- culty, persuaded to let Ada accompany us, and now she is here, she will be delighted to relieve Bessie in the task of nursing you back to health. The Doctor says your ward sadly needs rest. Ad.\. Captain Graham, I will be pleased to aid Bessie, but she must not transfer to me the whole responsibility. Then we have Mr. Rrownlej' with us. You know that he's just the handiest sort of a man to have about. Just think what he had to undergo, with two women in charge — we wouldn't be bothered with our maids — and he never whimpered. At least, if he did, we never heard about it. Why, 24 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. when I'm seasick, I'm just a circus, and I was dreadfully sick nearly half the time we were at sea. Graham. You were in excellent charge, Miss Murray. (E.rtcnds liis hand to Brou'iilcy.) Jiin, I am exceedingly pleased that you came, particularly as you are so well recommended. Brownlky. The ladies largely overpraise the slight service I ren- dered them. Wright. Pardon me, but this is the Captam s tirst day outside of his room in which he has been confined for nine weeks. You must let him rest now. This meeting, of course, has e.xcited him. .Ada. Paul — I got in the way of calling you by your Christian name in chatting with Miss Pennington about you — I'm just dying to talk to you all by myself. I promise not to violate any of the laws promulgated by his majesty, the Doctor. Can't I sit by you presently? I have so much to tell you? Graham. Certainly. I will be pleased, iMiss Murray, if you wish it. Ada. I do. That's so nice of you. (Walks to Bownlcy. sf^caks to him aside, zi'hilc Miss Pcnnigton talks to Graham, petting his hand. Bessie and Doctor seem to converse.) Oh, Jimmy, I'm going the pace. Just because we've decided not to announce our eng.-igement until a short time before the sacrifice, I find myself in no end o f trouble. I no more hesitate now in making a false statement than if I were a gas meter. Jim, remember how I shammed seasickness only that you could have a pretext to be with me most of the time we were on ship- board. I want to, I must, talk to Paul about Bessie. I told you onco I didn't believe she was in love with him. but I was wrong. Brownley. (Aside.) Ada, would it not be best to announce our engagement? Miss Pennington still hopes to marry you to Paul. Ad.\. (Aside.) Jimmy, you want a guardian. I think it must have been j'our innocence that first attracted me. Why, I've a dozen cousins who would much prefer to attend iny funeral than my wedding. If our engagement is known, they will make mother's life wretched in the endeavor to estrange us. They will swear, if necessary, that you are seeking me only for my money, and what will come to me at inother's death. I couldn't, you know, tell mother that I proposed to you. No. Our announcement viill be the invitation to the ceremony. Wright. You young people (to .-Ida and Brownley) seem to be engaged in an animated discussion. Ada. I should think so. It relates to some business of importance. Isn't that so, Mr. Brownley? Brownley. Exccedignly important, and Miss Murray is right, as she usually is. Wright. This house is one of the largest in Manila. Of course, you will be welcome here. Let me show the apartments that you can make your choice. Bessie. I will show the rooins. Doctor. Wright. I prefer you should remain with Captain Graham. Miss Pennington, permit ire to escort you. Mr. Brownley and Miss Murray will follow us. (Exit.) Grah.\m. Bessie. Bessie. Yes, Paul. Graham. Come nearer to me. In hardly more than two years, you will cease to be my' ward. I was not much of a guardian to you at first. I may never strictly have been your guardian. But I never deliberately neglected you. Let me make amends. Won't you let me THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 25 protect and guard you always? I was made your guardian witlinul, your consent, but I now ask your consent to be my wife. Bessie. Paul, you don't know wbat you ask. You don't know vvbat you ask. Graham. Yes, but I do. I love you, Bessie. We are not kin. 1 his guardianship does not preclude marriage between us. I ask you to marry me, Bessie, because I love you, and because I believe I could make you a happy wife. Bessie. Paul, you are still weak from your long sicknes'^, and — Grah.am. Would pay your unselfish tenderness and fnilliful atten- tion by an ofifer of marriage. I had hoped you held me in higher esteem than that. Bessie. Paul, I do not mean anything unkind, but I cannot accept your offer. There are others who must be considered. (Paul shakes head.) Yes. No mother could have loved you more than Aunt Han- nah does, and I know it would grieve her if she knew of this. Her dearest wish is that you shall marry Ada. Graham. But why should .Aunt Hannah stand between me and happiness? Besides, Ada Murrray is nothing to me. Bessie. But you are all the world to her. (Paul shades head.) Yes you are, Paul. I heard her confess that with her own lips. I heard her declare how much she loved you. She does not know I over- heard her confession. No, Paul, it would ruin two women's lives if jl consented to your wish. I am greatly honored in the proposal yon havi- made me, but my conscience tells me that I would do wrong if 1 answered you otherwise than I have done. Grah.\m. Then you do not love me, Bessie? That alone can justify your act? I had hoped otherwise. Bessie. Paul, I would do anything for you that would be honor- alile in me to do. But I cannot consent to be your wife. Aunt Han- nah — Gr.\ham. What richt has Aunt Hannah to be considered in this? Bessie. Paul, won't you understand? Ada Murray loves you. She would not have made this long journey if she had not. Aunt Hannah brought her in the hope that the girl she wished to be your wife might hear from your lips the words you have unguardedly .spoken to me. You have been Aunt Hannah's first thou.ght ever since you were a tiny infant, and your happiness is the first thought of her heart even now. Graham. But how about Paul Grahain? Is he not to be con- sidered at all ? Bessie. Yes, and because I do consider him, I ask you, Paul, if ever I have been kind to you, that you in turn will be kind to me. Protnise me that you will never mention this subject to me again. Graham. Never again, Bessie. I was mistaken. But as I have promised you that, you must in turn protnise me, that until you become of legal age, you will remain my ward, and make your guardian's house your home. Should I marry, then the promise is no longer valid. I promised your dying father I would protect you until the law dis- charged me of your guardianship, and I do not wish to break my pledge to the dead. Bessie. I hear them returning, Paul. Tell me before I leave you that you are not angry with me. I could not bear that. It is for your best interest. (E.vtends hand.) We shall remain as we were, before — Gr.\ham. Before I asked you to be my wife? It is a woman's privilege to accept or reject a suitor. Y'ou have rejected me, but I 26 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. - am still your guardian. You will never know any difference in that ^f,,^^ relation.sliip from what it was less than a y oar a.go. Bessie. (Kissing Paul on forehead.) You have never been unkind to me, Paul. I love you — I love you, as a grateful ward shoidd love an indulgent guardian. (Exit.) Graham. (Might eomes on, and the daylight fades from the great ivinaow. i I am a disabled man, indeed. Time will make nic ac- customed to my physical mishap, but this last wound will never heal. I ought to have known that a cripple has no right m ask a woman like Bessie to share his lot. The light has gone out of my life as the sun has gone out of these skies. (Enter Ada.) Ada. I am not yet acccustomed to these tropical changes, where day so quickly yields place to darkness, and where twilight is un- known. Paul, you are still here? I heard Bessie enter her room. Maj I talk to you now? I want to do that when Bessie is not likely to interrrupt our conversation. Gr.\ham. If you wish it .so. Ada. Of course I wish it. I am going to confide to you a secret that no one knows hut Jim and I. Graham. Who is Jim ? Ada. "I should have said Mr. Brownley. Now. Paul, you mustn't tell a soul, but Mr. Brownley and I are engaged to he married. I think you ought to know, because your Aunt, Miss Pennington, has an absurd scheme to marry me to you. Graham. I know. Ada. Who could have told you? It wasn't Jim, was it? Graham. No. I must congratulate Jim and you. Jim is a good fellow, and will make you a happy wife. But I never heard he was paying attention to you. Ada. He hasn't paid attention to any other girl, has he, Paul ? Graham. You have no cause to be alarmed. I never heard that he was attentive to any woman beyond what is retpiired from every .gentleman to a lady in whose company he may chance to be for the time being. Ada. Well. Jim was in love with me — I want you to understand this affair fully — ^liut he was afraid of mv money, and he never would have proposed to me. I gave him no end of chances, for I loved Jim. but he was blind, and would not see. So one day, well — I just pro- posed to him. That's the truth, and Pm not a hit sorry that I did. Graham. Then why did you say to Jim that he knew how much you, loved me, Paul Graham? Ada. How did you hear that? T did say it, but it was merely a jest. I said that because I had just told Jim that I loved him. What I said about you was because your Aunt Hannah had only just before asked Jim to help her in marrying me to you. Jim asked nic at that time if I thought Bessie was in love with you. I said no then, hut I know better now. I wanted to tell you, Paul, that Bessie is breaking her heart for you. Graham. You are the second person to-day, Ada — I must call you Ada — who has told me that Bessie loves me. But both were mis- taken. Ada. No, wc are not. Graham. I proposed to Bessie not ten minutes ago, and she re- fused me. Ada. Why, that cannot be. I don't comprehend it. She loves you — I know she loves you. If ever woman loved a man, she loves you. I must go to her at once and set this matter right. Ask her again, THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. ,27 Paul. She was worn out and ovcrwrmiglii. Slu- may not Iiavc under- stood what you asked her. Gr.aham. She did, and I promised her never to broach the sub- ject to her a-'-'in. Knowing that, I earnestly request you not to men- tion one word to her of this matter. Ada. My engagement was not to be announced to anyone until just before the wedding, but if it will bring Bessie and you nearer by its announcement, I will give it publicity to-night, if I must murde'- .tU father's nephews and nieces. They want the money father left to mother and me, which, by father's will, will go to them should I never marry. Graham. You are a woman whose energy carries her purpose to accomplishment. . fl C/ K\).\. Yet I amlha'^"". I fancy that in some way I have made you and Bessie miserable. Tell me, Paul, you do love Bessie? Graham. Yes, but now it is a hopeless love. .Xda, call Doctor Wright, I will go to my room. .•\d.\. Bessie would not call assistance. Nor will I. (Assists Paul to rise. He hlaccs his hand on her shoulder and walks across stage.) I'm a \\'oman with a mission now. Look there (Points to large win- dow) the moonlight is already streaming into this apartment. Love will light up your heart sometime as the moon illuminates this room. (Exit. Bessie enters at centre door, carrying doll in her arms.) Bessie. I do not know why this doll allays my anguish, why, when my heart is heavy and the future holds no promise for me, I turn to this doll for sympathy. It was Paul's first gift to me. It cannot be that which makes it dear to me. No, it is because I have been always alone, and have never spoken my sorrows or my joys to any- ^/»^ one. Paul loves me. I saw it to-i«»(^t in his pleading eyes, when I \/ ' turned from him and withdrew my hand from his grasp. I could not touch his hand and refuse his love. If he were to ask me now, I could not — I could not deny him again. (Seats herself in Paul's chair, ivith moonlight streaming nfon her. Holding the doll to her breast, her right hand falls over arm of chair. She muses in dcefi thought. Native en- ters at center door, at^froachcs her chair stealthilv. f'a:cs at her. and as- suming that she is sleeping, he kneels beside chair and attemfts to re- move gently a ring from her Anger of her right hand. Her eyes of en; she screams.. .He rises and strikes at her zvith knife. Bessie falls back in chair. Sergeant Gray enters running. Native drops knife, attempts to escape at li'indow, but is shot by Gray. People of houshold run in. Paul staggers across sta^e to Bessie's chair and sinks on his knees.) Wright. She has merely fainted. Thank God, the doll received the knife thrust in its body, and saved her life. (Curtain falls.) ACT IV. [Same scene as Acts I and H. Ada and Miss Pennington discov- ered.] Miss Hannah. Ada, you must exert your influence with Paul. Per- suade him to adandon this journey he has in view. It will consume two years at least. Ad.\. You must have noticed that Paul has greatly changed smce his return from Manila. I question if I have the influence with him that you credit me with. Miss Hannah. Occasionally I fancy some bitterness has come into Paul's life of which we are ignorant ; a greater disappointment than the 28 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. adandonment of his military career. He is ever gentle, yet I feel that lie is not so near me in sympathy as he was only a year ago. Ada. But Paul loves you. Only yesterday he said his only regret in leaving New York was his separation from you. Miss Hannah. Ere this, I had hoped Paul and you would be man and wife. Then your wishes would have been consulted as to the jour- ney. Ada. Paul never thought seriously of me as his wife. Miss Hannah. I never doubted that our visit to Manila would have brought about your engagement. Ada. Miss Pennington, have you never thought that Paul may have given his heart to another woman? Miss Hannah. No. I once suggested that to Bessie, but she turned the conversation, and I am sure she regarded my suggestion as of little inoment. Bessie has odd notions. Fancy her keeping that hor- rid doll wdiich saved her life in Manila. I should imagine she would prefer to have no memorial of that dreadful night. Ada. Paul gave her that doll. Miss Hann.\h. Yes, but it was when he thought of her only as a little girl. Ada. Yet she has kept that doll ever since. Why? Miss Hannah. A strange fancy : a morbid taste almost, that cher- ishes such a meinorial. Why, the doll's body is torn with the murder- ous knife thrust. Ada. Possibly there are other associations connected with the doll save those of Manila. Miss Hannah. What? That Bessie loves Paul with a stronger feeling than that of ward for her guardian? You arc wrong. They, I regret to see, avoid each other. Paul should renounce that trust now, for she will not come of age for nearly two years. (Enters hutlcr with letters. Hands them to Miss Pennington. Exit butler.) Miss Hannah. (Looking over letters.) These are for Paid. This is Bessie's. This is mine. (Opens it.) Why: .-Xda, you and Mr. Brownley to be married? I never was so astonished in my life. .\d.\. Mr. Brownley and I were engaged before we went to Alanila. Miss Hannah. And you never told me! Ad.a. I told no one except Captain Graham. I did not wish th.-U our engagement should be made public. That, I now believe, was a mistake. Possibly two lives might have been happier than they are now, had we announced it. Miss Hannah. I have held you in high esteem. .\da. and wished you were Paul's wife, but if you enter into this loveless marriage, I shall always thank Heaven that my wish was frustrated. Ati.\. (Langliing.) You have awfully inuddled my meaning. Mr. Brownley just believes that there never was a girl to compare with nic, and I know he is the best man in the world. Miss Hannah. Then what am I to understand of tho.se two lives that might have been happier than they are now? It is all a tangle to me. Ada. I would not offend you. Miss Pennington, but I cannot re- frain from telling you that if you had not attempted to arrange a cer- tain marriage, Paul and Bessie would not be as miserable as they are to-day. Miss Hannah. That is outrageous ! Why. I Ada. I did not intend to be so cruelly plain, but I have pondered over this affair until it has made me cross. It seems to me that you, and you alone, can right the wrong tliat has been done. I believe — THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 29 Miss Hannah. Paul and Bessie love each other? Ad.\. Yes. Paul Graham acknowledged hia love for Bessie to me. Miss Hannah. And Bessie ? Ada. Is uncommunicative, but I will slake everything I have in the world that she loves Paul with all her heart. Have you at any time spoken to her about my marriage to Paul ? Miss Hannah. I don't remember. {Hesitates.) I did ask her to use her influence with Paul to aid that marriage. Ada. She promised that she would? Miss Hannah. No, she refused. Ada. Is that all? A blank refusal? Miss Hannah. She said she would not stand in the way of the marriage. Ada. She never hinted of this to me. I found her constantly off- ering excuses to leave Paul and me together. On the steamer, on our return, she several times refused Paul's and my assistance. The girl was then so feeble, for she was still weak from her serious illness at Manila, that it was with difficulty she could walk unaided. I felt at the time her purpose was to throw us together. Miss Hannah. I must know the whole truth, no matter how hard that may be for me. Have I stood between Paul and his happiness? I would not willingly do that. I pm sure you will believe me, I would not do that. Ada. You acted with InU one thought, his happiness. Miss Hannah. I must go to him at once. He must ask Bessie to be his wife. Tell me. can Paul be exilin.g himself because of my intermeddling? I may tell him, may I not, what he told you about Bes- sie? I must brin.g them together. It must be made all right. Ada. Listen, Miss Pennington, Paul proposed to Bessie the after- noon we reached Manila. She refused him. Paul told me that. Miss Hannah. But he will ask her again? He can tell her how my mistake was responsible for their unhappiness. Ada. That would not help matters. Bessie made Paul promise that he would never again ask her to be his wife. He will, I am sure, never break his pledge. Miss Hann-\h. Why did Bessie, if she loved him, refuse him? Ad.\. I cannot understand. (Holds «/> hands in astonishment.) Yes, I do now. When Mr. Brow-nley and I became en.gaged — it occur- red in this room — he told me you had asked him to aid you in bring- in? about my marriage to Paul. Bessie came in just as I said to him "You know how much I love Paul Graham." She accepted that state- ment of mine as the literal truth. She believed that I loved Paul. Miss Hannah. Well, go on. Ada. I know she heard, because Paul repeated the words to me at Manila, and Bessie must have told him. I have no rfght to call you to iud'jment, when it is my own words that have put Paul and Bessie asunder. Miss Hannah. What can we do? T will abase myself in the dust, if need be, to make this right. Ad.a. Bessie could correct this hateful blunder. She is the only one who can. Miss Hannah. I will see her immediatelv. But what must she do? Ada. Let us reflect before we act. I see but one hope. We can appeal to Bessie's unselfish love for Paul. Paul's good must alone be urged for the girl has already sacrificed Ker heart in her blind worship 30 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. of him, and she may be iiKhiccd to act as we wish, if demanded lor Paul's sake. Here she comes now. (Enter Bessie.) Bessie. (Sternly.) Miss Murray, invitations have been issued for your marriage to Mr. Brownley. Have I Iieard aright? Ad.\. Yes. Here — (f'ieks up letter and hands to Bessie) — is one addressed to you. Bessie. I looked upon you as an exceptionallv stron'' character. I admired you for your fixedness of purpose. I read, I thought, be- neath the surface of your ordinary address, and in vou I saw one of the women whose price is above rubies. Hardly eight months ago. in this room, I heard you declare to this man — (holds out invitation) — with whom this asserts you are soon to wed, that he, Mr. Brownley, knew how much you loved Paul Graham. Miss Hannah. It was all a mistake, Bessie, indeed it was all a mistake. Bessie. Pardon me. Aunty, my tiueslions are addressed to Miss, Murray. Ada. I said that. But a moment before I had told Mr. Brownley I loved him. More than that, 1 proposed to 'Mr. Brownley. I tell youy Bessie Harrington, this ihat you may comprehend that I love Mr. Brownley so wholly that I ignored the time honored custom which keep women silent, and offered myself in marriage to him. Bessie. Miss Murray, you must indeed love this man. ^ Ad.\. Yes, T do. I love him so much that there is no place in mv heart for Paul Graham. That was the meaning of what I said. I did not imagine inv words could be given other signification. I fold Paul what I had said when I told him of my engagement to Mr. Brownley. Miss Hannah. You told Paul of your engagement? When? Ada. In Manila, the same night the woman he Invcd and still loves rejected him. He was still weak from wounds he had received in bat- tle, ana, noble fellow, he pled that disability in extenuation, in justifi- cation, of her refusal to be his wife. Bessie. You dare say that to me? You, who have made my life desolate? You, who now criticizes my acts, and yet kept your lins scaled as to your engagement, as lhou>j:h that wore something of which vou should be ashamed? You admitted Paul Graham to your confi- dence. Whv was I not told of this? I had the riedit to know. Ada. You refused my confidence. The day of my engagement I strove to tell you of it. but you declined to hear me. Since then, vou have studiouslv avoided opportunity for nic to tell yoti that which I desired you, above all others, to know. Bessie. I thought you wished to tell me of your love for Paul. 1 could not trust myself to listen to that confession. -Ada. You are not without fault. Paul Graham, unon whom the blow falls heaviest, who is absolutely innocent of all deceit, is being driven into exile through our acts. Bessie. Ke must not co. Ada. What will you do? You alone can bid him stay. Bessie. How? 'What cnn I do' Ada. Go to him. Confess your love. You arc ns brave — a braver woman than I. Offer yourself to him as T did to Mr. Brownley. Tell ''im the truth — for it is the truth — that vou will die. if he leaves vou. Tn no other wav can you break the silence you itnposed upon Pau! Graham at Manila. Bessie. I caimot — I caiuiot degrade myself in his eves. He would despise me if I stooped to that. I still command ...s respect. In inercy let me retain that. THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 31 Ada. I am mistaken. You do not love Paul Graham '1 Bessie. So much so that I would willingly lay down my lifi- if in so doing I could purchase peace and happiness for him. I have never known a selfish thought associated with . aul. Life has hcen emptv for me for many months, for I believed you loved Paul, and that you would lie his wife. For his sake, I would brave much, but T cannot deliber- .itelv earn his contempt. Ada. (Aside to Miss Hannaii.) She will do what we suggest for Paul's .sake. That is the only motive that will move her to our wishes. Miss Hannah. Bessie, I did both you and Paul wrong, but it was done in ignorance — not intention. I ask nothing lor myself, but I ask everything for Paul. On my soul, I am guiltless of deliljerate wrong to you both. Bf.ssie. i ou must not accuse yourself. I have never accused you. Miss Hannah. But I am driving Paul away. I am powerless to hold '•'im from his purpose. I have tried to do that and have failed. Bf.ssie. Then I will fail also. Miss, Hannah. I do not ask you to humbl'' "ourself. Only sjo to Paul and open your heart to him. For Paul's sake, vou must do th:>'. Bessie. I cannot. I feel I have not that influence you think I have with him. .Aimtv. Paul would not listen to me now. Let me think. .Ada. Someone is coming, (linlcr Paul, ivho walks with a s!ii;lil iim/'. and Brnivnley.) Paul. The ladies have possession of the den. Brownie}', we will defer (he examination of the map and documents for a time. Browniey. The legal papers I left at Drake's office. I will send for them. Some will need witnesses to your signature. Ada. Mr. Brownley, I have a favor to ask from you. Captain, I'm going to run away with Jim. (Paul laui^lis.) Only for a few min- utes. You'll not mind, will you ? P.MJL. He must obey, at all events, now. Two weeks hence — well, let time settle that. At present, all await the' pleasure of the bride- elect. .Ada. It is hieh time someone should make you obey and abandon that fool journey vou are contemplating. (Exit Brownley and Ada.) Paul. (Looking at letters.) Solicitiii.g subscription to all sorts of projects. Why. Aunty, here's a letter for you. .A man's hand- writinsT. and posted at San Francisco. You have not opened it. (Hands it to Miss Hannah.) Miss Hannah. I wonder who is writin.g me. (Ada at entrance lieckons energetically to Miss Hannah, who ivalks to door, contem/'lat- in.s envelope. ) Ada. (Aside to Miss Hannah.) Come. Bessie and Paul will bfi alone. They will not notice our absence. (E.rit Ada and Hannah.) Paul. (Glancing around.) Bessie, I wish to sneak to you on business. Within two years you will attain legal age. I shall be ab- sent then, but Mr. Drake will account for and transfer your estate to vou, in good dividend paying securities, which you will do well to re-' tain, and make no chano"e in the investments. Bfssie. Paul, don't talk to me of that. I don't care anvthin" about, it. (Rises and at^fmaches him.) 'lell me. you are not going away for two vears? Why. the separation will kill Aunty. Paul. Not kill her, Bessie, but Aunt will miss me. Bessie. Paul, you have never been cruel to me. Will Aunty be the only one who misses you? You do not think me so heartless as that ? 32 THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Paul. I did not intend to wound yon, Bessie. You know I would not. Bkssie. Yes, I know. You have always been considerate of me. But. Paul, why do you go? Have I anything to do with it? Why do yon contemplate shutting yourself out from all those who love you and to wnom you have always been .so good? Paul. I think it best that I should go. { Bessie sinks in chair and zvecl^s.) Bessie, I do not want to hurt you. hut I think my duty de- ni.Tnds that I .should tell you that it is not likely I shall return even in five years. When I see New York again it is probable that you will be a happy wife. (Bessie rises ivitli gesture of denial.) Do not be angry with me, I may never have mother opportunity to sneak of your future. Five years is a long time. You are an attractive woman, who will bv sought in wedlock, and I — ijESSiE. (.Indianantly.) A poor girl's path is so strewn with hap- piness that she may nick whatever pleases her fancv. Paul. You are not a poor girl. Bessie. Having money, I can cnnminnd the market. Paul Gra- ham, you are the last man who should urge me to buy a husband w-ith my hateful fortune. Pat'l. I do not urge you to marry anyone. I mentioned only the probability of "our marriage. Bessie. I was not a chiUi \\hcn I became your ward. .'\re you weary of your duties as my guardian? Once for all. I will not marry nt your dictation. I can seek a home elsewhere, if you desire it, hut no arguments will force me into a marriage in which love has no part. Paul. I am not blind. I know you are no longer the happy girl who won our hearts when you came to claim your guardian's protec- tion two years ago. A few days since I mentioned tuat change to Aunt Hannah, and she wondered if you were not in love. Bessie. Is that all she told you? Paul. In substance, yes. You must believe that my first wish is your happiness. Bessie. Then why do you not help me to secure that happiness? Paul. I have tried to do that always. Bessie. How? In exiling yourself from your home? Do you think I do not know that I am forcing vou to seek happiness elsewhere? Paul. You are vexed with me. Now listen. I am a wealthy man. Charles Howard is an accomplished gentleman, whose character is irre- nronchable. He has. I know, but little means. Your persoii;iI fortuno never, with my consent, shall be diverted from vour own control, if T, cnn prevent it. But for your sake. I will secure for Howard an interest in a well established lucrative business. Bessie. What then? Paul. That would give to Howard income sufficient to secure your happiness. iiESSiE. What nm I to Charles Howard? What is he to me? Paul. Is he not the man you love? The man you would marry? Bessie. Charles Howard is nothing to nie. Paul. Who is then. Bessie? ."Xunt Hannah believes that vou are interested in Howard. Bessik. He is no more to me than any of the gentlemen who are frequent visitors here. Paul. Then you are not in love? You do not love any man enough to be his wife. Bessie. (Ilesilaling.) I — why do you ask me, Paul? THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. .?,? Paul. I am your guardian. I understand then, that you do not love anyone? Then why are you unhappy? Bessie. I have not said I was unhappy? F.\UL. You may bhnd other people, but not me. Answer the ques- tion I asked you. Do you love any man enou.eh to wish to be his wife? Bes.sie. God help me, I do ! But I do not know how to win him, nor to let him know that he is everything to me. Paul, tell me who he is. I will help you to win him, if I can. Bessie. Do von want to make me happy? Then renounce thi<i preposterous exile. Is there no wav I can inriuence you to do that ? Paul. But— Bessie. Paul, if you must go, take me with you. Do not leave me. I am all alone in the world. Paui,. I do not .see how I can do that, Bessie. It would place us in a position in which we would be compelled constantly to explain our relationship of guardian and ward. Our ages too, uessie, would con- stantly excite connnent, and call forth sneers and doubts of the truth of that relationship. A woman's reputation is easily tarnished, and foul tattle holds firm lodgment in the memory of gossips. I do not see any way to accomplish your desire. Bessie. (Al>t>ruaching near to Paul.) But I — I think I do, Paul. Paul. You must tell nie. I cannot guess your plans. Bessie. I have no plan. But I might go. ( Hesitating. ) I could go, Paul, as — Paul. Yes, in what way? What character? Bessie. I could go as — ?s your wife. Paul. Indeed I mean it, Paul, if you will have me. You once askea me to be your wife. I loved you then, Paul. Oh, how I loved you. and it almost broke my heart when, thinking it to be my duty, I refused you. I believed that another woman loved you, and I know Aunt Hannah desired that you, and that woman, who is good and true and worthy of you, Paul, should marry. I believed that you could not help loving her, and when you asked me to be your wife, I thought it was the promptings of gratitude that I had cared for you when you could not care for yourself. It was wicked of me to have such thoughts of you, but, Paul, I was jealous madly jealous, for .\da had come that very day, and in my hearing had asked to talk to you alone. I wanted often to talk to you alone, but, Pual. I dared not ask it. Paul. I love you, but — I am a cripple now. It is for life. There is no hope that I can ever overcome that mishap. Bessie, I have loved you. I do love you, and because I do love you, I cannot selfishly accept your sacrifice. Bessie. Paul, it is no sacrifice. Indeed, it is not, for I love you with all mj^ heart. I have loved you from the time you gave me that doll, which has been my mascot. You were the only person, sa\-e Dad- dv, who thousht enough of me to give me anything, and then you were so youn.e, .so nice, so different from what I expected to find you, that I couldn't help loving you. and, Paul. I will always love you as long as I shall live. Don't despise me or turn from me. I am pleading to jou for my life's happiness. Won't you take me with you. Paul ? Paul. My darling, you have brought again into my life the sun- shine that came into this gloomy house two years ago. the day my ward claimed her guardian's protection, and accepted the doll he tendered her as a peace offering. Bessie. Tne doll that I have kept since, and will always keep, to my dying day. But you ha\-e not answered my question. Won't you take me with you, Paul ? L.ofC. 3^ THE CAPTAIN'S WARD. Paul. Until death do us part, Bessie. {She runs into liis urnis. He kisses her. She looks up into his face.) Bessie. Was I unwomanly in confessing my love for you, Paul ? I'm glad I uid it, and I will make you glad all your life that I proposed to you. P.-\UL. I did not refuse you as you refused me once upon a time. Bessie. I almost died when I did it, but I will not refuse you again. Paul. Well, to put that to the test, marry me in ten days. I will have the cards by to-morrow morning. Bessie. I could not get my trousseau ready in that tiine. Paul. .-Xunty can attend to that. It will give her occupation and no end of pleasure. .\re you going to refuse me this request? Bessie. •! don't know how I can get ready, but — I consent. Now, Paul, you will promise me to abandon this hateful journey? Paul. I will not srive no our wedding journey, but you can arrange the itinerary of that trip. (Enter Ada and Brownlev.) Ada. Well, well. Is it all well? Paul. I have dr -ided to renounce the charge of my ward, and — Ada. I'd like to hammer .some common sense into you two. Paul. Had you permitted me to finish my sentence, I intended to say will take charge of my wife instead. Ada. I'm so glad. To avoid all blunders in the future, you ought to be married, say .six weeks hence. Paul. Oh, no. We will be married in ten days. Wednesday week. Ad.-\. Why, that is the day before our wedding. I don't care, now thpt yon two have come to the best of understandings. (Enter Doctor IVrifhf and Miss Ifannah.) Wright. (Takim Paul and Bessie by hands.) I am so glad to see you, and so glad to know yon have come to the best of understand- ings. This little woman, when she left Manila, gave me three thousand dollars for Sergeant Grav. Well, his enlistment expiring, he became a buyer of hemp, and in a few months has become comparatively wealthy, for some other pood soul sent him twenty-five thousand. I think Gray was dead in luck that niffht in Manila, when he attempted to save a little woman from an ass^s«in's knife. Brownlev. Singleton is in partnershio with Gray. I wrote to him when we were in Maniln that considerable money could be made in buyine hemn there. Mis Harrineton presented Singleton with three thousand dollars. It seems he had aided her in some way, and she chose to remember it. Gray and Singleton seem to hnve known each other at school. They w-ill, at no distant day, be men of large influence and means in our new possessions. Paul. What about vou. Doctor? W'RIGHT I'm retired. Well. Paul, when I reached .San Francisco, I wrote to Hnnnali. asking her to be my wife. I thoup-ht I hadn't any- thinf but my pav when I wrote to her, but it seems that some stock I boueht at low fiffnres. more from charitv than as an investment, has become enorrnouslv valuable. I made eighty thousand. I couldn't wait at San Francisi-n for an ans\^•er to mv letter, so I came on here, and, you youn? scoundrel, I'm to be your uncle in a few weeks. (All gather around Hannah and Wright to cnnzratulate them.) Paul. Aunty, was that the letter I gave you a half hour ago? Miss Hannah. 'Yes, Paul, but I didn't know it would make such a chanp-e for me. For. Paul, I have accepted the Doctor. Bessie. Paul, what enchantment rests upon this den of yours? IHE CAPTAIN'S WARD. 35 Here I first met you ; here you gave me the doll that consoled me often in my misery and saved me from the assassin's knife. Here Mr. Brownley and Ada told their love. Ad.\. Hardly accurate. Here Ada told her love. Bessie. Here Aunt Hannah received Doctor Wright's written declaration of his love, and — here — here — All. Go on. Bessie. Here the Captain's ward oflfered to become the Captain's wife, and won happimess by her boldness, (Curtain falls.) ,,onutL. 10 CAT. 01V. SEP, V. 1902 5!5 i9o: LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 018 603 353 P 9

02025540

Miss De Courcy, a drama in four acts,

Ashmead, Henry Graham

missdecourcydram00ashm_djvu.txt

Miss DeCourcy «y M/ K Inuna in IFotrr Arts, AfllittteaJi. Miss DeCourcy, A Drama in Four Acts, ''•I- S BY Graham Jishmead. THE LIBRARY OF OOWGRESS, Two CoPtw Reosivet OCT. \i S902 CopvwoHT Brmv J^^ //- /^ <y ^. . 0I.AR8 /^XXa No COPY B. COPYRIGHT 1902 BY HENRY GRAHAM ASHMEAD. JOHN SPENCER, PRINTER AND BCOKBINDER, CHESTER. PA. ^JJramatls J. e ersoncE, Eleanor (Dolly) DeCourcy, heiress to a fortune. Maud Forrester, engaged to U'cUtei^ Campbell. Madge Spencer (Crawford), Amos Dean's grandchild. Aunt Sallie Dillard, spinster. Rachel Meadows, spinster. Frank Lloyd Eldridge, a legatee under conditions. Walter Campbell, a friend of Eldridge. Amos Dean, aged fanner. Mr. Lex, lazvyer. Dan Dunn, imbecile lover of Madge. Farmer. Kiss £Dea ourcL y- ACT I. [Scene — Late afternoon in August. "The Cedars," farmhouse of Amos Dean, on left of stage, zvith porch. Tlie background presents cultivated lands, from which harvest has been gathered. A fence, with gate, runs across stage in rear. A large tree, with seat at base, near gate, and zvithin the inclosure. When curtain rises, Frank Lloyd Eldridgc and Walter Campbell have just entered gate.] Campbell. Frank, it was just touch and go. Had you been one minute later, we would have missed the train. That is so unusual with you,^ who are always punctilliously punctual, that I could not account for 1t, nor did I care to speak of the matter in the cars. Eldridge. I was so amazed by something I learned to-day, that I could be pardoned, I think, for a breach of all rules governing my general conduct. Campbell. Something amazing? Eldridge. Yes, and annoying. Campbell. Is there a woman mixed in the incident? Eldridge. Two— an old and young maiden, but the eldest is dead. Campbell. Then the problem is simplified one-half. Eldridge. Mr. Lex, my counsel, advised me not to decide hastily. Campbell. Eaw and a woman^ — Frank, that is often a ruinous combination for young men. Occasionally that applies to elderly men, if they chance to be rich. Eldridge. I wish people would not interfere and attempt to ar- range marriages for other people. Campbell. You don't mean a breach of promise? Eldridge. Nonsense ; surely not that. Campbell. I have to guess. You are so indefinite in your state- ments. You know I will stand by you. Eldridge. It is a matter wholly for me to decide. You must have heard that mother's eldest sister, Eleanor Lloyd, died recently. Campbell. Yes. I heard some curosity expressed as to the dis- position of her estate. Eldridge. I really did not know that Aunt Eleanor had any con- siderable estate. Her will was not to be read until six months after her funeral. Things continued just as she left them until now. Her will was opened and read to-day. Campbell. I trust the old lady remembered you handsomely. Eldridge. That depends. Let me tell you something of her. Six- ty odd years ago, Aunt Eleanor, who was then a toddling child, was playing near an open grate, when her clothing caught afire, and befo're aid reached her, she was severely burned ; particularly about the face, 6 MISS DeCOURCY. which left frightful, disfiguring scars. That mishap doomed her for the greatest part of her life to isolation. My grandparents gave her su- perior education at home, for the girl could not endure the unpleasant distinction of her disfigurement. Campbell. She was indeed to be pitied. Eldridge. When T was born she quarrelled with father because he refused to call me Zachariah — that was her father's name. My great Aunt Grace, who died childless, made Aunt Eleanor her sole legatee. It seems that her estate, with what Aunt Eleanor received from my grandparents, has increased enormously, until at her death Aunt was worth considerably more than a million. Campbell. And you are the sole heir? Eldridge. Had she died intestate. You see she had held herseU so aloof from us that I never gave a thought to Aunt's money. Mother, before her death, was exercised because she believed that Eleanor was^ in straightened circumstances and withheld that fact from her relatives, Campbell. Thought she had been using the principal, whereas she had invested the income with good judgment. Eldridge. Exactly. About seventeen years ago a little tot whose mother died soon after her daughter's birth, and whose father, an offi- cer in the army, had been killed in an Indian outbreak in the Dakotas, strayed into Aunt Eleanor's house. The child, instead of being frightened at Aunt's disfigurement, clung to her with demonstrations of affection. The lonely woman, pleased with the girl's attention, be- came passionately fond of the little one. Finally she gained the con- sent of Eleanor's grandparents — the tot was named Eleanor also — for the child to live permanently with her. - She lived with Aunt until the old lady's death. Campbell. Who can wonder that the solitary woman grew to love that child? Eldridge. I'm glad she did. Well, by her will. Aunt has given one-half of her estate absolutely to Eleanor DeCourcy — that is the pirl's full name — when she attains her majority. The remaining half she left to me, coupled, however, with the odd condition that I should make Eleanor DeCourcy my wife on or before her twenty-first birth- day. My failure to conform to that condition forfeits my interest ir> the bequest, which then goes to erect and maintain an asylum for in- digent insane single women. Campbell. There should be no trouble in finding inmates for such an institution. Eldridge. Walter, leave such jests for the hack writers for comic journals. Campbell. I'm ashamed of it. Eldridge. You well know I am far from being a wealthy man, but certain it is I shall do my own courting and selecting my own wife. The chances are that that half million will be sacrificed in the cause of man's individual liberty. Campbell. Did you visit your Aunt at any time? Eldridge. Only twice that I remember, and both times I went at her special request. Aunt Eleanor received me in a darkened room, so that I did not see her face distinctly. I found her, however, a well informed woman and a charming conversationalist. I was abroad when she died. Campbell. You have seen the girl your Aunt willed to you for a wife? . Eldridge. Never. Nor is it likely we shall ever meet. She will be ot age in about a year. / MISS DeOOURCY. 7 Campbell. Then you need not hurry in announcing your final decision. Eluridge. But it will be the same a year hence as it is to-day. Campbell. Frank, would it not be the wisest course to see what fate has to offer you before you reject its present proffer? It's a big round sum that is at stake. E'ldridge. That is just what Mr. Lex advises. But don't you un- derstand? I can not deliberately inspect this girl as I could if a horse was offered me under conditions, and if I were not pleased with his points, reject the trade. That would be outrageous. But as I am not compelled to decide at once, probably it would be well to seek our rooms and remove the traces of travel? The ride this afternoon was exceedingly dusty. Campbell. In that I accept your conclusion without dissent. (Enter house by porch door.) (Enter Maud Forrester and Sally Dilr lard. Maud carries a book.) Sallie. Miss Maud, I am glad you ran out here to-day without notifying us of your intention. I thought you were to attend Mrs. Remington's reception this evening at the Elms. I imagined Mr. Campbell and you would be present, for the newspapers say it will be the most brilliant society event of this summer. Maud. I presume it will. I intend going to the city by an early train to-morrow morning, but at all events I shall not be at the recep- tion this evening. Sallie. Then Mr. Campbell will not be there. That is evident. Maud. I don't know whether he will or not. For all I care, he can go if he so desires. Sallie. Surely you and he have not quarrelled? Your— Maud. Yes, our engagement is off, and I'm glad of it. (Turns and puts handkerchief to her eyes.) Sallie. Miss Maud, I'm sorry. Mr. Campbell appears to be an honorable and courteous gentleman. I am sure he loves yau devoted^. Mr. Eldridge, I know, is of that opinion. A tiff, my dear, may drift you apart. Think, Miss Maud, what unhappiness that may mean to you both. I spoiled my life in that way. Maud. It would not matter to me. I don't care anything for him. I just think he is horrid. Sallie.' You are angry. (Mounts steps of porch.) What I said was with the best intentions for you both, for I am interested in you both. (Exit.) Maud. I'm glad she's gone. (Sits on porch steps.) If .\iint Sallie Dillard had continued talking of Walter, I should have cried from anger. It isn't because I love Walter Campbell now, for I don't care for him the least bit. (IValter enters at porch door.) I don't care for him the least bit in the world. Campbell. (Advancing to steps.) Pardon me, Miss Forrester. I assure you I did not know that you were here. I came rather uncx pectedly with Mr. Eldridge for a half day's outing. Maud. (Coolly.) I rather expected you would attend Mrs. Ren-- ington's reception this evening. {Pause, during z^'hich both exhibit embarrassment.) Campbell. Your sister, Mrs. Butler, I presume Is in good health? Maud. Thanks, Mrs. Butler is quite well. Campbell. And your Aunt, Mrs. Huntingdon? Maud. My Aunt's health has been excellent since you last saw her, which, if I mistake not, was yesterday. (Picks up book; seems to read.) • 8 MISS DeCOURCY. Campbell. I do not design to annoy you, Miss Forrester, but some one may notice that we are not conversing, and n:?-/ :;peak of it. The opinions of Mrs. Gvundy in the country carry more weight witli them and are quoted oftener than is the case in cities. Maud. This' book is quite interesting. Campbell. Is it Jules Verne's "Topsy-Turvy?" You are holding the volume upside down. Maud. (Tosses book on porch.) I presume I may do as 1 please. Campbell. Certainly. You usually do. Let's talk of something of little moment. Maud. Yes, the weather. That is as interesting a topic as any upon which Mr. Campbell and Miss Forrester can converse. Campbell. Very well. It has been a charming day. Maud. Yes, but I fancy it is rather cooler than is usual at this season of the year. Campbell. Particularly is that noticeable at this time. Maud. I did not allude merely to the present moment. Campbell. No. Do you think we shall have rain to-morrow? Maud. I cannot forecast the future. I know that weather, like individuals, can change very quickly. Campbell. Yes. Yesterday was not so chilly as is to-day. Maud. Suppose we confine our remarks more closely to the sub- ject we agreed to discuss; simply in killing time. Campbell. (Aside.) Damn the luck. I had nerved myself to go away jauntingly, but this unexpected meeting with Maud is making hard lines for me. I wish Frank would come. (Takes letters frovi pocket, replaces them, but drops a telegram, zvhich Maud covers zvith her skirts.) (Aloud.) I think. Miss Forrester, to-night a week ago we had much heavy thunder. Maud. I do not remember past weather. As with most things that are passed, it lacks interest. Like the sunsets that are no more. Campbell. I am not sure, but possibly there is a limit to weather as a stimulus to conversation ; certainly when the past must be eliminated. I trust to-morrow will be pleasant. Maud. I trust so. The patent medicine almanacs, I think, say of the season "Likely to be fair and pleasant." (Aside.) I wonder what that telegram is about? Campbell. I spoke prompted more by desire than from any actual knowledge. I detest making long journeys by rail on rainy days. Maud. Oh, you are contemplating a long journey? Campbell. Why, you see, the firm must send one of its members to San Francisco. If I consent to go, I must wire to-night. Maud. Are you going? Campbell. Very likely to-morrow forenoon. (Feels in pockets.) I certainly had that telegram. I don't what I could have done with it. But that is a breach of our understanding. We were to limit our re- marks to the weather. Maud. I don't care whether it is or not. You were to come to our house to-morrow morning. Campbell. Pardon me. I think not. I was to send for some ar- ticles you decided to retain no longer in your possession. Maud. And you are going away for an indefinite time without seeing me? Campbell. You said you never wanted to see me again. But really, I did not intend to allude to any topic save the weather. Maud. (Takes up lelegravi. opens and reads it.) You have noli MISS DeCOURCY. 9 deceived me in this. You arc going to San Francisco? Walter, it says also to Manila, for an absence of a year, at least. Campbell. I never deceived you in anything. (Seats himself ou- st eps.) I am glad that this opportunity has come when I could telf you that, for should we never meet again, I desire to stand, at least, fair in your memory. Maud. {Moving closer.) You propose to go away and talk coolly of standing fair in my memory. Hearts, you know, have been brokep by light words spoken only for something to say. Walter, I could not sleep last night, I was so unhappy. Campbell. I'm glad, Maud. Not that you could not sleep, but, that fate has thrown us together that I can assure you before I go that I am profoundly ignorant of any act of mine that justified you in an- nulling our engagement as you pre-emtorily did. ■Maud. TelJ me true. Didn't you kiss Kitty Brandon in the con- servatory last evening? Campbell. No. I merely spoke to Kitty as I passed her in thc» crush at Mrs. Meredith's. I was not with her. I was looking for yoij in the conservatory, and was astounded when you thrust our en- gagegment ring into my hand, and told me all was off between us, and that other gifts that had lost their value would await my messenger on Thursday morning. You repelled me — refused to hear a word in my defense. Until this moment I was wholly ignorant of any cause for your act. Maud. Walter, I thought I saw you kiss Kitty Brandon, and I was beside myself with rage. I have looked forward to to-morrow in the hope that this miserable affair could be explained. And now you are going away for a year at least. (Weeps.) Campbell. {Shozving ring.) No woman but you shall ever wear that ring, I mean as my gift. I don't know what to do with it. Let me leave it with you, in your keeping? You will? Won't you consent! to that? Maud. I could only wear it on my hand, as I have done for sev- eral months. Campbell. You will let me leave it with you? Maud. I don't know. It would not mean now what it once did. Campbell. (Petulantly.) Then give it to your maid. Do what you will with it. (Puts ring in her hand.) Maud. I wonlt have it that way. Campbell. What can I do with it, then? Maud. If you loved me as you said you did, you could put it on my engagement finger. I won't take it off. Campbell. But if I did that, what then? Maud. Why, wouldn't it mean that you forgave me my foolish jealousy, and that — Campbell. You will still be my promised wife? (Maud slips in- to his arms.) Maud. When I was a naughty girl and mother had punished me, Walter, she would kiss me to show that she had forgiven me my fault. Campbell. Am I to kiss you for a like reason? (Maud nods her head several times. He kisses her.) Maud. I'm so glad you came and compelled me to talk of the weather. I would have died if you had gone away without this re- conciliation. Campbell. Had there been no reconciliation, it would have mat- tered little to me had I never returned. I shall not go now. I shall wire Charley Woodland, who is all ready, to go instead. This morn- 10 MISS DeCOURCY. ing, when I said in his presence "I would as leave be in"" — well, a warm place— "as here" he thought I would be much the better for a short- stay in our Eastern insular possessions. Maud. I'm so glad you are not going. Walter, did you put that ring on my finger? {He docs.) It is all sunshine now. You have me awfully mixed with our weather talk. Did you ever meet Dolly De- Courcy, Walter? I believe I would be more jealous of her than of Kitty Brandon. Campbell. I do not know that I ever heard of her, much less that I ever met her. Maud. Dolly is a charming girl. She and I were chums at the Water Gap last year, but I have lost sight of her recently. If you meet her, I want you to be polite, but you woif't be more attentive to her, nor any other woman, except me, than is absolutely demanded from ?, gentleman in society? You won't, will you? Campbell. You have heard me whistle — I can't 'sing — "Just one girl," and that means you, Maud, when I whistle it. Maud. Some one is coming. I wonder if anybody saw us, Walter? I forgot that there was another soul on earth but you and me. Come. (Takes his hand and exit at right.) Enter Madge, car- rying Honwr in hand, through gate.) Madge. I've missed Mr. Eldridge. He must have come through the wayside gate. Everyone is kind to me here, but Mr. Eldridge is kindest of all. I can never repay him for his goodness to me. (Leans zvith her hand on trunk of tree.) It was Mr. Eldridge who found for me a home at the Cedars. But whenever I try to tell him, he laughs and thrusts my thanks aside with a jest. (Eldridge enters from porch, sees Madge, goes to her. and extends hands zvhich she takes.) Eldridge. Why, Madge, it seems to me that each day adds to your Stature. You are becoming a well grown girl, rosy and healthful. Madge. I gathered these flowers for you. (Presents them.) I am strong and well. I am growing so fast that Aunt Sallie Dillard declares she has no time to do anything but lengthen my frocks. Eldridge. They are kind to you, Madge? Madge. Why, it's just heaven here. I owe all my happiness to you. How can I ever repay you ? Eldrridge. Never mind that, little one. Grow up to be a true, good woman, and I shall be more than repaid for all I have done. Madge. But Aunt Sallie Dillard said the other day that you paid for my board at first, and for my clothing now. She said I had cost you nearly two hundred dollars. I cried all the night long, for while I might, I think, return you kindness with kindness, I can never repay you that money. Eldridge. Don't think about it, Madge. It has given me pleasure. So it is not as unselfish an act on my part as you imagine. M'\dge. But T was only a waif of the streets. I had no claims on you. I was nothing to you. I was never right bad, Mr. Eldridge. Why, when that policeman arrested me for taking those apples, I hadn't eaten anything for nearly two days. I was starving. Eldridge. Yes. Famine had put its stamp upon your face that day. I have never asked you, Madge, what you know of your former life. If you orefer, vou need not tell me anything, but I think if I knew all that you know, I may aid you, as a friend, more than you imagine. Madge. ;I will tell you all I know. If I cannot trust you, whom can I trust? I am nearly fourteen. I was only twelve when mother died. We were dreadfully poor. Mother, while she sewed, for all the money we had she earned with her needle, taught me, and I learned MISS DeCOURCY. II. from her lips much more than I could have done from books. I made letters on part of a broken slate, and did my sums. Why, when I went to school in the village here last winter, the mistress said I knew many things of which others in my class were ignorant. I tried to learn, for when I did, it seemed to give mother the only pleasure she had. Eldridge. Your mother was an educated woman? Madge. Yes. She was gentle in her manner, and her speech was so different from the other women in the wretched neighborhood whert. we lived that I often shudder now when I think of her and our poverty. Often we were without fire in winter, and sometimes we were without food for a whole day. Eldridge. If I can prevent it, the shadow of your past shall never again shadow your future. Madge. When mother died, I gave the undertaker her weddmg ring and a gold chain and locket she wore about her neck, withm her dress. In all our poverty, she clung to those treasures and would not part with them. /Eldridge. A locket? What was in it? Madge. Father's picture. They were his last gift to her. Ihe undertaker, for he pitied me. gave me five dollars of the money he re- ceived for the sale of the trinkets. When that was gone, I tried hard to get something to do. Occasionally I got work, but I was so young that no one would give me regular employment. I slept in wagons or wherever I could find shelter for the night. I was afraid to die. I was starving when I stole those apples. Had you not pitied me, Mr. Eldridge, I should have been sent to the House of Correction. (Snatches his hand and kisses it.) Eldridge. Don't do that, Madge. Have you nothing that is asso- ciated with your mother? Madge. Yes. The day before she died she hung a small silk bag about my neck, telling me never to part with it, and not to open it un- til I was a woman grown. Eldridge. Have you it still? Madge. Yes. There are only papers in it, I am sure. I will show you the bag. (.Takes it from her breast.. .Eldridge looks at it atten- tively.) ^ „„ Eldridge. These initials L. D. are not yours ? What was your mother's maiden name? Madge. She never told me. Her Christian name was Lillian. Eldridge. Do not mention this bag to anyone. Madge. You are the only person to whom I have ever shown it, and you are the only person to whom I shall ever show it. {Calls for "Madge! Madge'.i' from house.) Eldridge. Keep my secret and I shall keep yours. Madge. Your secret? I know no secret of yours. Mr. Eldridge. Eldridge. My secret is how you and I first met. Madge. I couldn't tell that. Shame would keep my lips closed. {Cries for "Madge' ) I must go now or Aunt Sallie will be cross. {Exit by porch door.) , t , , j Eldridge. Poor little girl. She does not know that I have learned much of her past of which she is ignorant. She has concealed nothing from me. Back of it all there is a cruel wrong of which she and her, mother were the victims. {Amos Dean enters through gate.) Dean. I am glad you are here, Frank. There is no man on whose judgment I so rely as yours. I am in sore trouble and I seek your ad- vice. .. . Eldridge. I will gladly aid you, if in my power. 12 MISS DeCOURCY. Dean. Be seated. (Sits on bench at base of tree.) Frank, I had a daughter who grew to womanhood. You did not know that, for neither my wife nor I have mentioned Lillian's name for nearly fifteen years. She became enamored of a young surveyor, who was then con- structing the railroad through this section. He was a bright young fellow, and I understood was well connected. I discouraged his at-> tention to my child, believing his love ephemeral- — a thing merely of the moment, and that he would never wed the daughter of a farmer. E'ldridge. What was the young man's name? Dean. Philip Spencer. (Eldridge starts.) Finally I forbade his visits. Lillian and he continued to meet unknown to me. Several weeks after he left this neighborhood, Lillian went ostensibly on a visit to her Aunt, a well-to-do childless widow, living in New York. Sub- sequently I learned that her Aunt was in California, and her house closed at that time. Eldridge. I am more interested in your narrative than you imagine, Mr. Dean. Dean. Lillian was absent three weeks. When she returned, she was despondent. She spoke of many things she had seen, but avoided mentioning her Aunt, who at times was peculiarly reserved. We as- cribed Lillian's silence to that cause. Eldridge. You are disclosing this family skeleton at your own suggestion, Mr. Dean? Dean. Intentionally on my part. Several months after Lillian's return, my wife made a disclosure to me that crushed me with the shame impending over this household. Lillian declared she was the legal wife of Philip Spencer, and in substantiation exhibited a wedding ring, which she had not worn until I demanded from her the truth. I spurned that as a thing proving nothing — something that could be had in the open market. Her marriage certificate, she declared, had been mislaid, but she gave the name of the clergyman who had per- formed the ceremony. I learned that he had died suddenly the day following the purported marriage. The church records were silent, no entry of the ceremony appearing therein. In my indignation, I turned my daughter from the home of her childhood. Eldridge. She may have told the simple truth, Mr., Dean. Dean. Yes. When Lillian stood for the last time on that porch, she said — I remember every word — "Father, may you live to know that you have driven me, a pure but wretched woman, from your doors. I am ns free from shame as my own mother." I never saw her again, nor did I hear anything appertaining to her since then, until this hour. Eldridge. She passed wholly out of your life? Dean. Yes. My wife and I never mentioned her. After my wife's death, I found that she had still treasured Lillian's first dress her first socks, her first shoes, and on the covering of the package she had written "Merciful God! can we have wronged our only child?" Eldridge. Why do you tell me this now? Dean. Because to-day, from the dead past, comes to me an ac- cusing voice. Lillian was Philip Spencer's wife. Soon after the mar- riage he was assigned to survey a road in the Rockies. He and Lillian decided not to announce their relationship until he returned, in a few months. Nothing was heard from the surveying party. Lillian had no proof of her marriage. Eldridge. The little she had you branded as false. Dean. The facts are that the party had been snowbound in the mountains, and when found by Indians, all were dead but Spencer, and he was insane, the result of exposure and privation. Because of his MISS DeCOURCY. 13 infirmity the Indians accepted him as a sacred charge from Heaven. About a year ago some of our army officers learned that a white man was with one of the Snake tribes. Spencer was then placed in an asylum, where in time he recovered his reason, but he was so broken in health that he died three weeks ago. Before his death, his statement was secured. His papers, which the Indians had preserved because of their association with the man whom they held as near to God, dis- closed my address. The documents were forwarded, and I receiver' them not an hour ago. {Takes out paper.) Here is the certificate of Lillians marriage. Eldridge. Listen, Mr. Dean, to the sequel of your story. Phi!'-. Spencer was my mother's half brother — the only child of grandmother's second marriage. In the disposition of grandmother's estate, nearly thirty thousand dollars were allotted to him. He never received the fund, which still remains in the control of our firm. I was reluctant to claim it, and Aunt Eleanor would not. The income yearly, after the legal charges were deducted, was invested, and this estate has al- most doubled in value. Will you ask Madge to come here? Dean. (H'alks fo porch and calls Madge.) What has she to do with this matter? (Madge enters from porch.) Eldridge. Come to me. Madge. Will you let me examine the con- tents of your mother's bag? Madge. (Hesitating.) Can I consent without breaking my prom- ise to mother? (Takes bag from neck and hands fo Eldridge.) I will do it. I trust you. You would not ask me to do a wrong. Eldridge. I shall not abuse your faith. I believe in this I am onh; carrving out your mother's purpose. (Opens bag and takes out papers.) As I thought. Mr. Dean, your daughter Lillian is beyond human con- sideratioit, but the child of Philip and Lillian Spencer is already an in- mate of vour household. Madge Crawford, as you know her, is actually Madge Spencer, your granddaughter. Ye';. Mad"'p. that is true. Your mother was Lillian Dean, Amos Dean's only child. Dean. Those papers! What are they? Eldridge. Letters from Philip to Lillian. Save one, all are prior to the marriage. The last was written from Chicago, and is addressed to his wife. Th^re '= no mi«'^ino' link in the chain of e\idence. Dean. Madge, I was unkind to your mother. I doubted her truthfulness— I— (Eldridge walks back of Dean.) Eldridge. (Aside fo Dean.) Do not tell her of that misunderstand- ing or your cruelty to your daughter. (Aloud.) Madge, your grand- father is overwhelmed with the suddenness of his great happiness. Comfort him as your mother would have comforted him, were she here now. (Madge goes fo Dean and pets him. He seems much affected. Enter Campbell and Maud from right.) Campbell. Are we intruding? Eldridge. No. You have come to witness a happy scene. We have inst learned beyond all doubt. Miss Forrester, that our little friend Madge is the granddaughter of Mr. Dean, the only child of his daughter Lillian Spencer. Madge has been restored to her grandfather to com- fort and cheer him in his declining years. Maud. (Kissing M.idge.) I'm so glad. Why, it is perfectly lovely. You dear little woman, we all rejoice with you. Madge. But I do not comprehend it all. (Goes to Eldridge.) In finding my grandfather, must I lose you? Will you not be to me the same vou have alwavs been? Eldridge. It will not make any change in our relationship, Madge, you and I are kin. 14 MISS DeCOURCY. Madge. Then I am content. Won't you leave me here for a few minutes — I want to think it all over. (All retire through porch door.} Yes, but it will make a difference between Mr. Eldridge and me. Grandfather must be consulted now about me instead of him. I can't help it, but I don't care for grandfather as I care for Mr. Eldridge. I wish it had never happened so. {Weeps. Dan Dunn enters, and touches Madge on shoulder.) Madge. What do you want? Dan. Send that city chap away. Send him away. Madge. Go home, Dan. Go home, please — (coaxing). Won't you, Dan? Dan. Send that city chap away, I tell you. Madge. There is no one here but me, Dan. You will go home to please me, Dan? Dan. Yes. (M'^alks through gate and turns.) Send that city chap away. Send him away. (Exit.) Madge. He will go now without my telling him. (Drops on seat by the tree.) I feel as I did when mother died — all alone — all alone. (Weeps, as curtain descends.) ACT II. [Scene — Woods of the Cedar farm. Autumn afternoon; large, tree near centre of stage, with protruding roots; fence in rear, showing stile; log on right near front. Dolly DeCourcy and Madge Spencer are seated on roots when curtain rises.] Madge. Are you very tired. Miss Dolly? Dolly. I am slightly weary, but not particularly tired. Don't worry, Madge, a few minutes rest here and all will be right. Madge. I had forgotten that you are an invalid. Dolly. Not an invalid. I am gaining strength rapidly each day. Probably I have overtaxed myself a trifle this afternoon. But every- thing was so lovely. The autumn foliage, sb beautiful in its colorings ; the air warm and balmy; while a charming peacefulness pervaded the landscape. It all had an influence that has soothed me as though it was nature's benediction. Madge. You have been quite ill ? Dolly. With typhiod fever, Madge, most people are quite ill. Dr. Fullerton, I am told, at one time entertained but slight hopes of my recovery. Madge. I'm glad he was mistaken. Why, I feel as if I had al- ways known and loved you, and yet you have been here only two weeks. Dolly. And I in turn am glad that you love me, Madge. We shall be the best of friends — I have so few friends. My whole life, that I can recall — has been passed in the companionship of a sweet old lady, who is now dead. Madge. And she loved you? Dolly. Better than I merited. She was ill several months before she died. I nursed her until the last.' Madge. That was too great a task for you. Dolly. It was my desire. No one ever had a more considerate or more generous, loving friend than she was to me. Madge. I am sure that nursing was the cause of your illness. Dolly. No, it was not. After her death, I was depressed, Dr, MISS DeCOURCY. 15 Fullerton, only a few days ago, said my illness was due to mental worry rather than physical exhaustion. Why, she was dead six months be- fore my health began to break. Madge. And you came here to get strong and well ? Dolly. Yes. Madge, dear, I am without any near relatives on either side. Madge. Mr. Lex, when he was here to arrange for your coming to the Cedars, said you were a wealthy young lady. Dolly. Don't talk of that, Madge. That is one of the things that worried me sorely before my illness. It is true that a large fortune has been left to me, but — well, we will not speak of that now. Madge. Why, I thought rich people were always happy. {Look- ing a round.) I must have mislaid those beautiful autumn leaves I gathered for you. Did you notice where I put them ? Dolly. No, I last saw^ them in your hand. Madge. I know every foot of the ground where we have been. If you don't mind. Miss Dolly, you can sit here and rest while I look for those leaves. It won't take me more than ten minutes — not more than fifteen at the utmost. Dolly. I can spread this shawl on the ground. This root will do for a pillow. I may possibly fall asleep while you are gone, for I am drowsy. Madge. {Spreading sJicn^'l, helps Dolly to arrange herself, then taps her^ approz'ingly.) There! Now you are comfortable. {Kisses her.) Be a good girl and go to sleep. I shall not be long absent. {Exit.) Dolly. I wish Madge had not recalled those bitter memories. I must be more tired than I thought. Forty winks will refresh me. {Falls asleep. Eldridgc enters, crossing stile.) Eldridge. Just the day of aays for a stroll. I should enjoy this outing could I rid myself of that horrid incubus. That infernal be- quest will mentally use me up, if I do not speedily reach a final deci- sion. {Lights a cigar.) Smoke, it is said, allays irritation and is an aid to cogitation. It may help me to the right conclusion. {About to seat himself on root, zvhen he notices Dolly.) A woman asleep! Dolly opens her eyes.) I beg your pardon. {Throzvs cigar azt'ay.) I did not know you were here. I regret that I have disturbed your slumbers. Dolly. {Aside.) Frank Eldridge. I know him from the photo- graph he sent Aunt Eleanor, at her request, a short time before her death. {Aloud.) Really, I have no better title here than you. I was resting a moment. I must have fallen asleep. {Attempts to rise.) Eldridge. Do not disturb yourself. Dolly. {Rising to sitting posture.) You are considerate. I am still claiming an invalid's indulgences. Have I met you before. Your face is not unfamiliar to me ? Eldridge. Let me introduce myself. I am Frank Lloyd Eldridge. Dolly. Oh! I'm Dolly DeCourcy. {Frank starts.) Frank. Dolly DeCourcy? Dolly. (Laughing.) I know one Eleanor DeCourcy, and I have heard of Mr. Frank Eldridge. My information relates to a gentleman who bears the same name as you, precisely. Eldridge. I am that Frank. May I ask you to tell me something 'Tf Miss Elennor DeCourcj^? I have never seen her. Probably you know that her path in life and mine have been strangely crossed re- cently. Tell me of her? Dolly. Eleanor, I think, is quite nice. That is a woman's word, i6 MISS DeCOURCY. and is exceedingly elastic in its meaning. But I am prejudiced in her favor. Eldridge. You know then of my Aunt Eleanor's peculiar will? Dolly. What, the extraordinary condition upon which depends a fortune? I know that annoys Eleanor. Believe me, she was abso- lutely ignorant, until recently, of the harsh term imposed upon you. She often wonders if there is no legal way to set aside that part of the will affecting yonr inheritance. Eldridge. But one. That is to establish the mental incapacity of Aunt to execute any will whatever. Dolly. (Startled.) That Miss Eleanor Lloyd was insane? No! ijever! never that! That must never be suggested. Eldridge. You have heard Miss DeCourcy speak of the odd be- quest ? Dolly. Yes. I know Eleanor's views and desires. As a matter of law, Mr. Eldridge, suppose Eleanor should refuse to accept the portion given absolutely to her by the will, would the effect not be to make Miss Lloyd die intestate as to that, and would it not go to yoi^ as the heir at law? , Eldridge. Miss DeCourcy must never do that. I should despise myself if I received any part of Aunt Eleanor's estate by depriving that girl of that which Aunt desired she should have absolutely. Dolly. Cannot you credit Eleanor with a like reluctance to de- prive you of your birttiright? Eldridge. But my claims are based upon consanquinity, whereas the girl's is founded upon an unselfish love for the dead woman. She gave to Aunt that affection which I withheld. I have given this matter much thought. Miss DeCourcy, for I cannot claim that wealth has no charms for me, but I am honest enough, I trust, to recognize that this girl's rights are superior to mine. She was a toddling child when she entered into the lonely woman's life, and that she loved Aunt Eleanor without a thought of the money will not admit of auestion. Children not only tell the truth, but they act the truth. I never saw Aunt Eleanor but twice in my life. Dolly. Eleanor did love Miss Lloyd. Eldridge. I may never meet Miss DeCourcy. You will. Pardon me, but will you tell her what I have said? Particularly as to her .sius- gested renunciation of the estate left to her without condition. Dolly. She will know. Why do you not meet her, Mr. Eldridge? Mr. Lex could arrange such an interview. Eldridge. Suppose. Miss DeCourcy, a dotinar old lady had pro- vided by her will a husband for you. a man you did not know, should you be pleased were that man to call upon you, view you as a possible wife, and then at his pleasure refuse to accept the conditions govern- ing his inheritance? Dolly. But I am not — Eldridge. Pardon me. I merely made it personal that you might better anpreciate the exceedingly embarra.ssing position in which it places Miss DeCourcv, leaving the man wholly out of consideration. Dolly. I know it is a source of much unhappiness to Eleanor. Eldrtdgf. I would relieve her of that did I know how it could be (Iniie without suggesting an insult to her. I cannot forget she was the only sun<=bine that ever entered into Aunt Eleanor's life. My con- science chide'; me that I was not more attentive. Dolly. But you are not a — Eldridge. No, I am not a wealthy man. I trust I am a gentle- men. Besides, I have never known anyone profit by a mean act. The MISS DeCOURCY, 17 loss in self-respect in such cases always exceeds the worth of the things acquired by those means. Dolly. But it is you who must act. Eldriuge. Mr. Lex, lawyer-like, advises that nothnig should be done to-day that can be put ofif until the morrow. Hence, I am drift- in"- If at any time before the expiration of the period named m Aimt's will, I could meet Miss DeCourcy, without offensively intrud- ing upon her, I should Ije pleased to do so. From what you have told me, I fear she may act unwisely. I shall strive to prevent her taking that step. ,, , , Dolly. I reckon she is drifting also. You know ample provi- sion was made for her support during the interval between Miss Lloyd's death and Eleanor's coming of age. Eldridge. The income from half a million well invested is a helpful anchor in the hour of trouble. Dolly. If it were not for that condition 111 the will, you would be enjoying a like income. Eldridge. Yes. Do not regard me as a mere interrogation point, but may I ask you if Miss DeCourcy ever mentioned why it was Aunt Eleanor desired this marriage? She knew so little of me. Then why should she fetter that girl, who was everything to her, with this ab- surd condition ? Dolly. It is to you that it applies, not to Eleanor. Eldridge. It is not all one-sided? I could not marry Miss De- Courcy unless she consents to be my wife. Dolly. (IVitli haughty manner.) You have, then, no doubt as to her consenting? . . -n \r ^ 1 Eldridge. She is likely to resent this disposition by will. Yet she might, inasmuch that her refusal carries a penalty for me, deem Aunt's reciuest a duty, and for that reason yield, prompted thereto wholly by her womanly sympathies, irrespective of any love for me. Dolly. Eleanor is not so weak a woman that she would barter her future for a shadow. Eldridge. I have bungled in presenting my meaning. Dolly. Were she to regard your attentions as addressed solely to the estate; that she was an encumbrance to be accepted with the fortune, might not that cause her to reject your suit? Eldridge. I never thought of that. By George! that assuredly multiplies the objection?! features of Aunt's bequest to me. Pardon me for intruding my personal affairs upon you as I have done. Are you staying in this neighborhood? Dolly. At the Cedars for a brief season. Eldridge. Why, I rni on my way there. I am almost one of the family. You have been ill. Let me assist you to the house. DoLLY'. I prefer to go alone, Mr. Eldridge. Eldridge. Why? Have I been presumptuous? DoLLY^ You have been considerate, but your introduction was too informal. This chance interview, like Van Winkle's occasional tipple, don't count. Madge. {Without.) I found them. Miss Dolly. (Enters, sees Eldridge. and goes to him, holding out both hands.) Mr. Eldridge! I'm so glad you came. You are always welcome. Oh, Miss Dolly, you don't know Mr. Eldridge? (Dolly shakes her head.) Miss DeCourcy, '-ermit me to present Mr. Eldridge. (They boiy.) That is the first time I ever introduced anybody. How did I do it? Eldridge. Well. You do everything well, Madge. Madge. Mr. Eldridge is the best friend I have on earth. (Aside .i8 MISS DeCOURCY. to Dolly.) Now you have seen my paragon. That's the word you used, wasn't it? Dolly. (Aside to Madge.) Yes. (Aloud to Frank.) You have a staunch champion in Madge. Eldridge. She accords me credit far heyond my merits. Dolly. Madge, lend me a helping hand. I fancy when I slipped a while ago I sprained my ankle slightly. Eldridge. May I offer my aid also. Miss DeCourcy? Dolly. (Extending hand to both, rises.) I have rarely heen so highly favored. (Limps.) Really, I must rest a moment. (Sits on log.) Don't let me delay you, Mr. 'Eldridge. Eldridge. Several years ago, while at the Cedars, I was hurt and . compelled to use a crutch. I will get it and return presently. (Dolly raises hand in dissent.) We will discuss that later on. (Exit.) Madge. Mr. Eldridge ! Mr. Eldridge ! He only shakes his head, laughs but will not halt. I should have gone in place of him. It is not safe for him. Dolly. What danger can threaten him? Madge. I don't know, but I fear for his safety. Dolly. Madge, you have a reason for your fears? Madge. Well, then, Dan, Mr. Dunn's eldest son, is an imbecile. He follows me about like a big' dog, and will obey my orders generally like a dog. But for some cause, he hates Mr. Eldridge, and Dan may do him serious injury. Dolly. Then Dan loves you and is jealous of any attention to you by Mr. Eldridge. Madge. I'm only kind to Dan. I pity him. But recently when Mr. Eldridge is at the Cedars, I cannot control Dan. 'He was in the lane only a few minutes ago. I did not know then that Mr. Eldridge was here. Dolly. Don't be frightened. Do you know, Madge. I recognized Mr. Eldridge from your description, (aside) and Aunt Eleanor's pho- togrnph of him. Madge. I would rather die than that any harm should come to him. Should I not go? I can restrain Dan, if anyone can. Dolly. If you think it is best. (Exit Madge.) So Frank Eld- ridge, Eleanor DeCourcy and you have met. It was all his mistake. He cannot have known that Dollv was his Atmt's net name for me, and that others have adopted it, until generally I am known by that name. Why should I explain his blunder? I should have m'^de it clear to him at first: now I would be ashamed to set him ris-ht. after our con- versation. I cannot tell him the exact truth. Chance alone must cor- rect the error. He is certainlv attractive, nleasant in address, more outspoken and honest than i. I regret tbnt I did not undeceive him. I want to command at least his respect. (Enter Campbell and Maud by way nf stile.) Campbell. I thought certainly that Frank would come. •Maud. The family will be disappointed if he does not. Campbell. I am not positive that he has any knowledge of this nnilting bee next week. I returned from Washington this morning and found your note. At his office, I learned that Frank had gone into the country for a fortnight, but had neorlected to leave his address. Maud. Do vou notice any change in him recently? That vivacity, whicli; vvas so attractive in him, is gone. At times he is even morose, Campbell. I have noticed that he is preoccupied, but Frank can never be morose. Maud. What is the matter with him? MISS DeCOURCY. 19 Campbell. I fancy it is that clause in his Aunt's will. Maud, 'i'hat was a foolish thing to do. Imagine a girl the sub- ject of a legacy. Campbell. No wife, no legacy. The poor fellow is denied all opportunity to exercise the right of choice. Maud. He craves the money, hut not the girl. Is that it? Campbell. I presume he would be glad of the money. Maud. He is a good soul. I honor him for his kindness to Madge. It was beautiful. Campbell. The sequel was not less so. Maud, Frank would re- nounce that bequest to-morrow if he did not think that would carry an implied insult to the girl. Maud. Now, if he'd only fall in love and become engaged to an-, other woman. Men can get engaged so easily. That would solve the puzzle. Campbell. If Frank should fall in love, trust us to put up a job that ^^■ould end in an engagement all riglit. That would let him out of the difficulty, Init it would forfeit the money. Dolly. I wish I could steal away without their knowing that I had been here. Maud. Two weeks ago, I met Dolly DeCourcy. She was coming to the Cedars. She is here now\ I thought that if Frank's Eleanor, l^eCourcy were only Dolly DeCourcy, he could bless his lucky stars. She is charmintr. (Turns, sees Dolly, and goes to her.) The old adage holds good. Talk of the angels and you hear the rustling of their wings. (Kisses her.) Dolly. A limping angel — I sprained my ankle slightly. I am waiting for a crutch. Maud. Miss DeCourcy, permit me to present Mr. Campbell. (They boiv.) Why not make a crutch of us? Dolly. Mr. Eldridge has gone to the house for one. Maud. (Laughing.) Isn't that funny? Frank waiting upon a Miss DeCourcy. Probably you donft know, but an old Aunt left Frank a fortune provided he married Miss Eleanor DeCourcy. Dolly. I have heard of that. Maud. Is she related to you ? Dolly. She is exceedingly close to me. Maud. Not your sister? Dolly. I have no sister. I must tell you that I heard what you and Mr. Campbell said, but I did not designedly play the evesdropper. I simoly could not get away. Campbell. The old adage failed there. The listener does occa- sionally hear something good said of her. Dolly. Don't let me detain you. I'll come hobbling along pres- ently. Maud. Isn't that tantamount to a dismissal? Well, day-dayj (Dolly shakes her hands to them as they exit.) E>0LLY. Fortunately, Maud knows me only as Dolly DeCourcy. How selfish I am. I'm not to be comoared with Frank. He thinks only of shielding me, whom he believes he never met. Can it be possi- ble that there is anv danger to Frank from Madge's imbecile lover? I recall reading that the jealousy of the insane or feeble minded generally, manifests itself in homicidal impulses, in the desire to slay the person of whom they are jealous. Frank must be warned. He'd only laugh at our womanly fears. Yet there is danger. (Enter Dan. carrying a heavy stick.) That is Dan now. I'm sure of it. He will not harm me. (Aloud.) Are you looking for anyone? 20 MISS DeCOURCY. Dan. Madge ! Madge ! Send that city chap away. Send him away. Dolly. Did Madge go that way? (Points to left stage.) Dan. (Acting as if uncertain, then going in direction Dolly has pointed , out.) Madge! Madge! Send that city chap away. (Exit.) Dolly. He is dangerous. Here comes Frank and Madge. If we hasten, we could reach the house before Dan will return, for he will re- turn. (Enter Madge and Frank, the latter carrying a crutch, zvhich he drops on stage.) Madge. (Speaking as if short of breath.) I met Mr. Eldridge re- turning. I took a short cut, got caught in a thicket of prickly vines, and it was so difficult to get my dress loosened that I almost missed him. Eldridge. Madge, I think, was trying to tell me of some threaten- ing danger from Mr. Dunn's imbecile son. Dolly. There is great danger to you. Eldridge. But the old saying tells us that threatened men live long. Dolly. (Rising.) Dan does not threaten. Hence the adage does not hold good. Let us go at once. I am ready. (Dan enters. Eld- ridge stoops to pick up crutch, and Madge to gather the bunch of leaves. Dan runs forward and raises his club to strike Eldridge. zuhen Dolly throws her shawl over his head.) Quick! Help! He will break from me ! Eldridge. I can manage him. Madge and you, Miss DeCourcy, hasten to the house. Madge. No, he would tire you out. His strength is enormous. You and Miss Dolly must go. I can quiet him, if you two will only go away. Eldridge. I will not leave you, child, to the mercy of that man. (Dan is struggling all the time.) Dolly. Madge is right. He will obey her and will do her no harm. Madge. (Taking hold of ends of shawl.) Go if you would not have him murder us all. The sight of you, Mr. Eldridge, infuriates him. I never told you a lie — I am not telling you one now. I can con- trol him if you leave him wholly to me. Now, go ! For God's sake, go! Eldridge. That would be cowardly in me. Dolly. She is right. She will be in no danger. It is your pres- ence alone that causes the danger. Come. I can get along without the crutch. (She takes Eldridge's hands and leads him reluctantly off the stage.) Madge. (Drawing Dan to the log, and remoi'ing the shazi'l. ) Now, (patting his shoulder) won't you sit here quietly with me, Dan? Thero is no one here but you and me, Dan. Dan. Madge, send that city chap away. Madge. He has gone. You wouldn't hurt me, Dan. You wouldn't hurt Madge. You are so good to me, aren't you, Dan? You gather leaves for me that are beyond my reach. Don't you remember yes- terday (taking his hand and patting it) how you climbed the chestnut, in the corn stubble and shook the limbs until I had filled my basket with nuts? That was so good in you, Dan. (He nods his head, and laughs as if pleased.) Dan. Madge, send that city chap away. Madge. Dan, lie here by this log and Madge will smooth your hair. You'd like that, Dan, wouldn't you? MISS DeCOURCY. 21 Dan. Yes. (Rests against log ivhile Madge sitting smooths his hair zvith her hands.) Madge. (Looking in direction Eldridge and Dolly ivent.) 1 hey liave reached the gate. He will be safe there from Dan. They are on the porch. They have entered the house. Safe, thank God, he is safe! (Curtain falls.) ACT III. [Scene — Sifting room at the Cedars. Door in rear left. — Interval of a zveck. Mantle rvith large open fireplace. Musket hung on chim- ney breast. Small window in rear right, and large windoiv on right side. Open door with staircase shozving on left side. When curtain rises, the zvomen are seated around a quilting frame, working. Light- ning flashes and distant thunder heard occasionally, which continues through act.] Sallie Dillard. Oh, this is a memorial quilt. Maud. What is that? Dolly. Years and years ago, I believe they were quite fashionable. At all events, in the country.^ Maud. But that statement doesn't make me any the wiser. Dolly. A memorial quilt is made from articles of clothing con- tributed by various persons, each patch having some personal history of the donor associated with it. Maud. Oh, I understand. Why, Aunt Sallie, (points) that is a part of the dress I wore when I first was sent away to boarding school. I mailed it to you at your request. I remember if there was ever a heart-broken miss in short skirts, I was that girl. (Dolly rises and, puts both hands to her back. Rachel Meadows. Miss Dolly, if your back is troubling you, \yhy don't you try a porous plaster? <1 have heard it said that Mariah Thompson, before she was married, was a weakly sort, and she put them plasters all around her waist instead of corsets. It done her a heap of good. She's been the mother of fourteen. Had twins twice. Maud. (Aside to Dolly.) Don't mind her. She is only remin- iscent. She is full of such stories. But she's a good old soul. (Dolly laughs and scats herself.) Rachel Meadows. Law bless us ! That's a piece of your grand- mother's frock, Sallie Dillard. How people do keep such things. Why) I was talking to old 'Mrs. Nash 'tother day — she was eighty-six last spring — when she showed me the socks she knit for her first child. It didn't live more'n three months, but as she smoothed 'em out her eyes filled with tears, thinkin' of that babe that had died more'n sixty year ago. Sallie. Talking about Mariah Thompson, when I was a young girl, Mrs. Thompson, that's Mariah's mother-in-law, was just drag- ging around the house, feeling miserable. I dropped in to see her. Old Dr. Jones was attending her. He was doing his best, but he never did know much. I persuaded her to take some home-made medicine that my great-grandmother gave to Uncle Tom- — ^that's his gun — (Points to chimney.) — when he came back from the war of '12, almost dead with janders. We always keep some of that medicine on hand. Maud. And it cured her? Sallie. I sent her a quart bottle of the mixture and told her to 22 MISS DeCOURCY. take a table-spoonfull every two hours. - The next day Mrs. Thomp- son died. Don't you think, old Dr. Jones spitefully told some of the neighbors that it was my medicine killed her and not his doctoring. I haven't spoke to any of the Jones since, and that's nearly forty-two years ago. Rachel. Why, Sallie, I disremember seeing you at Nancy Steer;> funeral. It was just lovely. She was dressed in white, but she kind appeared to fall in about the jaws. I'm pretty certain that under- taker Brown forgot to put her false teeth in when he 'laid out the corpse. He's the most forgetfullest man I ever knowed. Dolly. (Pointing,.) Aunt Sallie, isn't that a piece of the dress Mrs. Dean wore to the husking bee in returning from which Mr. Dean proposed to her? You showed part of it to me the other day and told me the story of that proposal. Sallie. Yes, and she was very happy in her wedded life. The only shadow that came into it was Lillian's secret marriage. If Mar-- garet could have lived to know that her daughter had not disgraced her family, she would have died without a regret for anything that hap- pened during the time she was mistress of the Cedars. Rachel. Amos Dean never had pity on those who strayed. But he is a just man. Dolly. Madge is now the very apple of his eye. He could see no fault in her. I am not sure that I could see a fault in her either. Maud. May he not be trying to make atonement in his devotion to her for his harshness to her mother? Dolly. Mr. Dean is an exponent of the austerity characterizing the training in Christian households in his youth. Beneath that, I think, I have caught glimpses of his inner self, and I am sure that he has a kindly and sympathetic heart. Sallie. Why, where is Madge. She hasn't taken part in the quilting, and she was so active in arranging for it. (Vivid Hash of lightning.) Girls, put your needles and scissors away. They will at- tract the lightning. Some of you help me carry this frame into the kitchen. The gentlemen will soon be here. Mr. Eldridge's room will be so full of smoke to-morrow that it will strangle me when I enter, it'. {•JVonicn help Sallie and Rachel carry off frame through hall. A knock at door.) Maud. I'm afraid to go. Dolly. I'm not. {Opens door, messenger delivers letter, Dolly signs book, and seems to speak to man zvho shakes his head; then closes door.) A special delivery letter for Mr. Eldridge. The man refused to come in for shelter. What am I to do with it ? Maud. Why, give it to Frank. We have stopped work, and it is time the men ceased smoking. Tell them so, Dolly. (Dolly ascends stair, meets Cam,pbell, seems to speak to him. He shakes head. She continues to ascend zvhile Campbell descends.) . So you made her take the letter? Campbell. Yes. I was thinking — that — (hesitates.) Maud. I will owe you a penny. You were thinking? Campbell. About Dolly and Frank. They are becoming the best of friends. Maud. An unconscious attraction. Wouldn't it be jolly to mar- ry those two? Campbell. You suggested that a week ago. Maud. I still think it would be ever so funny if Frank should marry a DeCourcy, but not Eleanor DeCourcy ; and Dolly's wealthy, MISS DeCOURCY. 23 I'm told. {Dolly and Frank descend stair.) Let us leave them. That will be a point made in the game. {Walk to door of hall.) UoLLY. Don't let us drive you away. Maud. I've impressed Mr. Campbell for dining room service. {Exit Maud and Campbell.) Frank. I must hasten to the village and answer this letter by wire. Dolly. The office will be closed. Besides, the storm will break before you can return. {Flash of lightning discloses to Dolly Dan Dunn peering in at the ivindow in rear] of right. She turns to Eld- ridge in alarm.) You must not go — there is danger to you apart from the storm ! Frank. You are needlessly apprehensive. Dolly. No. You are ignorant of much I know that makes me fearful for you. Frank. I thank you for that. Dolly. There is danger menacing you. Promise me you will not go? Frank. It cannot be from that imbecile Dan? Why, his assault was only a temporary outburst of causeless frenzy. Dolly. It was not. He is jealous of you. Frank. Jealous of me? Dolly. Yes. He loves Madge. Your attention to her has aroused in him murderous impulses. Frank. Surely you are mistaken. Dolly. I am not mistaken. Madge loves you, and this witless man has fathomed that girl's feeling for you. His one idea looks to your removal. Little more tnan an animal, he knows orily force to accomplish his ends. Frank. Miss Dolly, I know that Madge loves me, but her affec- tion approaches that only which a daughter holds for a parent, noth- ing more. Dolly. She loves you with a woman's love, which takes no heed of years nor circumstances. Frank. Not that ! No ! no ! you must not say that ! Dolly. You will not go to the village to-night? Put it off until the morning. Won't you believe me? The danger is nearer than you think. By the lightning flash I saw the face of Dan Dunn at that win- dow. It was no longer a human face, but that of a ravenous beast in search of its prey. For my sake, you will not go? Frank. {Aside, zvalking forzvard.) For your sake! If I dared to tell you what you are to me. You would not credit that I could love you as passionately as I do on so brief an acquaintance. You would resent my proposal as the folly of a weak man. {Aloud, returning to Dolly.) Is it not Madge who should be w\irned and means taken to protect her from this man? Dolly. Dan loves her and will not harm her. But you have not answered my request. Frank. I will not go, Miss Dolly, if I can put off my answer until the morning. May I glance at this letter. {She nods.) Were it mere- ly an affair personal to myself, I would not go. But this involves a possible loss to another, and whatever is done must be done early on the morrow. I regret, but I have no choice. It is imperative that I should answer this to-night. {Exit by hall.) Dolly. Why could I not go with him ? He will not propose it, and I dare not make the offer. The next half-hour will bring to me the 24 MISS DeCOURCY. agony of suspense. {Enter Eldridge, wearing a light overcoat.) You are armed? You will heed my warning to that extent, at least? Eldridge. In deference to your warning, I have taken that precau- tion. Yet I believe that in half an hour you will be amused at your fdars for my safety. I thank you for your consideration. {Takes her hand.) I will return speedily. (Exit.) Dolly. May Heaven prove my fears are groundless. (Dean, Campbell and the women enter from hall.) Maud. Why, Dolly, where is Frank? Dolly. He has gond to the village to wire an answer to that let- ter. Campbell. The storm will be upon us by that time. Ladies, while we were smoking, Mr. Dean entertained us with recitals of some of the traditions of this neighborhood. Maud. That was unkind, Mr. Dean. We women would have en- joyed your stories as well as the gentlemen did. Campbell. They were interesting. More so since we were famil- iar with the locations where they were laid. Rachel. Did he tell of Dick Scattergood's ride? Sallie. Because it has associations with a storm, you think of, that now, Rachel ? Maud. Tell it, Mr. Dean. Dolly and I have never heard it. Dean. I will, to please you. Be seated. Dick Scattergood was a wealthy, young fellow, who came of age the year ueorge HI was crowned, fhert were merry makings that day in the old stone house near the bend of thei road yonder, where Stony Brook crosses the high- way. Well, Dick was in love with a pretty girl in the village, and one night they had a tiff. A heavy storm was coming up as he mounted his horse to return. The girl sought to prevail upon him to remair* until the storm passed, insisting that it would break violently before he could reach his home. Maud. Just like a man. He sulked, didn't he? Dean. iHave it that way if you wish. Miss Maud. But at all events he started. The storm was the most destructive in many years. Trees were uprooted by the score. Just beyond this house, Dick, who had urged his horse to a wild gallop, rushed into a fallen tree and was thrown over the animal's head. He was found next morning, his neck broken, and the horse dead, impaled on a limb, which, broken in the crash, protruded several feet from the trunk. Dolly. That was horrible. Rachel. But you have not finished the story, Mr. Dean. Dean. The rest is merely superstition. The negroes — we had slaves in New York Colony at that time — and many of the whites de- clared that the ghost of Dick Scrittergood and his horse were often seen coursing along this road in the night time, particularly during un-/ usually heavy storms. (Noise of horses feet moving rapidly are heard.) Maud. I am frightened. What did the appearance portend? You must tell us, Mr. Dean. Dean. Superstitious people asserted that it foretold the violent death of someone before daybreak. Dolly. I do not, I cannot, believe such omens. That which we heard was only a belated rider hastening home. (Walks to front. Aside.) Should anything happen to Frank, I should go mad. {Madge, enters hastily. ) Madge. (Looking about the room.) Where is Mr. Eldridge? Don't sit as if you were stone images. Answer me. Where it he? Dolly. What do you fear for him? What have you heard or MISS DeCOURCY. ±5 seen, girl ? He has only gone to ihe village to send a telegram. He will return shortly. Madge. You should not have let him go. Dan Dunn has heen roaming about these grounds for two hours. I saw and spoke to him. I never knew him as he is to-night. I cannot control him. He will not obey me. I have tried to lead him home, but he broke from me many times and I have lost him. He will do Mr. Eldridge serious harm should they meet. He will kill him, for he has the strength of a giant. (To Dolly.) You should not have let him go. , Dolly. I tried to prevent his going, but he laughea at my fears. Madge. Then you should have gone with him. Others may not know it, but you cannot hide it from me. Mr. Eldridge loves you and you love him. I tried not to believe it, but it is the truth. He will do as you wish. Which way did he go? Dolly. The path by the wayside gate. I watched him from that window. (Pointing to large windozv.) Dean. All remain here. Mr. Campbell, the women must not be left alone. I will go and meet Frank' Madge. No, grandfather. I am the only person Dan will obey. He may listen to me. To you, he will not. Why, I know not, but he hates you only less than he does Mr. Eldridge. You would only add to his frenzy and increase the danger to Mr. Eldridge and yourself. Dolly. Madge, I will go with you. You will let me, Madge? I think I have the right to go. Madge. Dan saw you and Mr. Eldridge through that window. (Points to one in rear.) I had him then, I thought, under control, but; that sight maddened him. It was then he broke from me. I have sought him since, but have not found him. Dan will not hurt me, but you would not be safe. (Runs to door, opens it, exits, and closes door behind her.) Dean. (Starting to follow Madge.) I will go with you, Madge. Sallie. {Running in front of him.) Amos, would you endanger Madge's life, as well as that of Mr. Eldridge? You know that even Dan's parents send for her to control their son when they are power- less to do so. Come, let us go to the dining room. Dan has peered through that window once to-night. Should he do so again, the sight of us here might only infuriate him the more. Campbell. Mr. Dean, there is much wisdom in Aunt Sallie's sug- gestion. If anvone is to go, I am the one. Dan does not seem to hate me. Come. (Takes Mr. Dean's arm and leads him off. All follow except Dolly.) Dolly. I should go mad to sit there inactive. This chimney breast will hide me from anyone looking in through the window. (Stands at side of chimney.) No, I must warn Frank at every haz- zard to myself. (Feels on mantle.) Mr. Campbell laid his revolver here after our target practice this afternoon. (Finds pistol.) It is loaded, fortunately. I saw the way Frank went. They will not know- that I have gone. (Exit at door.. .Enter Campbell.) Campbell. Miss Dolly! (Looking around.) Miss Dolly! She is not here. Certainly she can not have ventured forth in search of Frank. (Maud peeps in from hall, then runs to Campbell.) Maud. Walter. I had to follow you, I am so frightened. I feel safer when I am with you. Why, where is Dolly? Campbell. Gone, I fear, to meet Frank. She loves him, Maud. I have no doubt of that now. Madge. Nor have I. She accepted Madge's statement of Frank's and her mutual love without denial. She made no effort to hide l.v. 26 MISS DeCOURCY. emotion from us. She even claimed her right to go to Frank. Walter, our little comedy will end as we planned it should. C.\MPBELL. Unless it shall prove a tragedy. Maud. It is outrageous that the authorities permit this dangerous imhecile to roam at large. Even Mr. Dean now recognizes that Dan is in love witn Madge and is madly jealous of all to whom she in any- wise shows attention. Campbell. It is that passion that has made Dan a danger to all at the Cedars. He saw Frank kiss Madge when he was last here. That was the cause of his violent assault on Frank a week ago. Maud. This afternoon Mr. Dean kissed Madge in recognition of something she did that pleased her grandfather. That then is the rea- son Dan now so hates Mr. Dean. Campbell. Not even you women are safe in showing affection for Madge. Measures must be taken to place that man under proper con- trol immediately. (Reaches to mantle shelf.) I put my revolver on this shelf this afternoon. It doesn't seem to be here now. Could Dan have it? Maud. No. It was there an hour ago. I touched it when I got one of the candlesticks. We all saw Madge. She didn't take it. It must have been Dolly. Campp.zll. She is a capital shot with a pistol. If her nerves are unshaken, she can make a bull's-eye at thirty paces nine times out of ten. Since she would go, I am glad she is well armed. (Noise of a blow heard, follozved by a pistol shot.) Listen! Only one shot ! Maud. I cannot stand this. I will be back in a moment. (Starts to door. Maud runs and catches his coat tails and clings to them.) Maud. Walter, I am afraid to be left alone ! You shall not go ! (Dean and zvonien hurry in.) Dean. I will not skulk here, when Madge may be in danger. (Exit by door. Campbell tries to follow, but is held by Maud. Eld- ridge enters, carrying Madge, whose face is smeared zvith blood, as is the front of' her frock. Dean follows supporting Dolly, ivho carries pistol in her hand. Eldridgc kneels on one knee, supporting Madge, zvhose head rests on his knee.) Eldridge. Quick ! Some of you bring water ! (Maud exits hast- ily by hallzvay.) She was struggling with Dan. He struck her down in his efifort to free himself from her. (Maud enters zvith basin and zvatcr. Dolly kneels and aphcars io apply the zvater to Madge's face. Madge moves zvith difRculty.) Madge. Mr. Eldridge — is he safe? (Looks up at Eldridge.) You are not hurt ? Eldridge. No, I am not hurt, Madge, my child. Tell us of your- self? How is it with you? Madge. I am dying. Dan did not mean to hurt me. Miss Dolly, is she here ? Dolly. I am here, Madge. Don't you know me? (Takes Madge's hand.) Madge. Yes. Won't you kiss me. Miss Dolly? (Dolly kissea her.) I was angry with you a little while ago, but you will not remember that when I am dead. Put your ear near my lips. (She zvhispers to Dolly.) You will promise me that, won't you. Miss Dolly? Dolly. I do promise you, Madge, dear, but you are not going to die — you must not die. Madge. Grandfather, you have been good to me, even before you knew I was your grandchild. Aunt Sallie has been good to me, also. It will please mother to learn how kind you have been to me. MISS Df.COURCY. 27 Dean. I sinned against your mother, Madge. God help me ! My sin has found me, and my punishment is greater than I can hear. Madge. {Speaking ivith dMculfy.) You have all been good and kind to me. (Puts her hand in lildridge's.) But you, Mr. Eldridge, have been the kindest of all. You were my friend when I had no other friend. I have loved you, I do love you, and I bless you. You will not forget me? {Falls back in Frank's arms and dies. Sound of stoim — noise of tvind and dashing of rain agai)ist the ivindo^ii's.) Dolly. No one can ever love you, Mr. Eldridge, more than Madge did, for she gave up her life for yours. (Eldridge. lays ^Madge in Dean's arms.) Campbell. Frank, where is the murderer? {Lightning flash il- luminates the stage. Sound of horses' feet heard, which stop suddenly.) Eldridge. He has escaped, I think. Miss Dolly met me as I was returning. As we neared the house, we saw Dan struggling with Madge. She was striving to hold him from attacking me, for he saw us, I imagine, before we saw him. He struck her down in his wild de- sire to be freed. As he came towards us, Miss Dolly fired. Dan halted <nnd then disappeared in the shrubbery. I brought Madge here in my arms, You know the rest. {Knock at door. Campbell opens it and one of the neighboring farmers enters.) Farmer. Can I get a lantern, Mr. Dean? A dead man is lying in the road. I saw the body by the lightning's flash and halted my team. {Sho2i.fs iron bar.) J found this near where he lay. Dolly. {Hysterically.) Great God! My hands are stained with human blood! It is Dan, and I have killed him! (Totters, then falls into Eldridge' s arms as curtain descends.) ACT IV. [Interval of eight months. Same scene as Act IIL Aunt Sallie in mourning, and Dolly seated at table.] Dolly. Aunt Sallie, it is all arranged as I designed. This letter from Mr. Lex informs me that the deed for the Cedars has been exe- cuted, and that he will bring it with him this afternoon. To-morrow it will be recorded. You are now the undisputed owner of this house and its contents. No one can molest you in the occupancy of the farm. Sallie. It is your generous gift to me. I cannot thank you. I do not know how. Those who had title to the estate at Amos' death were as strangers to me, as indeed they were to him. They had no associations nor love for the old place that has been my home for more than forty years. Dolly. You have in addition. Aunt Sallie, the five thousand dol- lars which came to you by Mr. Dean's will. Sallie. That was made four years ago, after Margaret's death. At that time, he was igorant that he had a granddaughter. Dolly. Poor, dear Madge. At her death, the estate of Philip Spencer, amounting to nearly sixty thousand dollars, I am told, was transferred to Mr. Dean by Mr. Eldridge. Sallie. But that mattered little to Amos. He never was wholly himself after that dreadful night. His mind became almost a blank. Dolly. Did he not remember Madge? Sallie. Yes, but all else save her death seemed to have been blot- 28 MISS DeCOURCY. ted from his memory. Even his wife's name he was unable to recall, nor Lillian's, but occasionally, I think, he knew Mr. Eldridge. Dolly. He remembered Madge, you say? Sallie. Her grave was the one link connecting him with his former life. All else was obliterated. I was as a stranger to him. This house, wherein he was born and where he lived for seventy years, was so unfamiliar that he did not, know the way from room to room. Yet whenever free to act. he would steal off to the churchyard and remain there by her grave until we led him home. Dolly. I received a letter from Mr. Lex in which he merely stated that Mr. Dean was found dead at Madge's grave. I was then in New Orleans. Sallie. You see, I had to attend to all the business affairs. I had gone to New York, and left there during the blizzard in January. We were five hours late in reaching the village. When I got home, Amos had been missing since noon. Dolly. You knew where to search for him? Sallie. Yes. He was found dead on Madge's grave, his body concealed beneath a huge mound of snow. Dolly. For the first time, I learn the particulars of his death. Sallie. Do you care to recall these sad memories ? I avoid them usually. Dolly. Let us avoid them now. Maud Forrester — two weeks hence we will know her by another name — and Mr. Campbell will be here shortly. They come to rejoice with the mistress of the Cedars. You don't mind? I asked them to come. Sallie. I'm glad you did. Why, I have almost forgotten to tell you that Frank Eldridge — I've known him since he was fourteen^ — ir, coming to-day. He is anxious to visit the old place once more. I regret that he is going abroad for so long a time. Dolly. (Startled). Going abroad? I had not heard that Mr. Eldridge contemplated leaving New York. Have you not been misin- formed ? Sallie. No. Rachel Meadows brought the message from Frank to me. Rachel — you remember her — has come into a nice bit of money lately. A nephew she raised from almost an infant made a lucky strike in Alaska, and left her over twenty thousand dollars. Tom was never robust and the hardships of a mining camp killed the lad. Dolly. I am glad he remembered the woman who had been so kind to him when a child. Sallie. I shouldn't tell her sisters that. They ain't glad. They were better able to care for the child than she was. Why, the way they abuse Rachel since she got that money is scandalous. You'd think she was a thief who had stolen from them what should have been theirs, and that she should be now in jail. Mr. Eldridge has invested Rachel's means with good judgment. She has now a clever income. Dolly. She can trust Mr. Eldridge absolutely. Sallie. iRachel is awfully worried about his going away. She never questions anything he advises her to do. She'd put her head into the fire if he told her to. (Glances out side zvindou'.) Why, here she comes now. (Rachel passes by zvindozv.) She ran over just be- cause she knows Frank will be here this afternoon. (Enters Rachel.) Rachel. Howdy do, Sallie. Why, I declare, if it ain't Miss Dol ly ! (Shakes hands.)) Things has changed considerable since you was here last. Dolly. Aunt .Sallie and I were speaking about sad memories. Do not let us recall then now. Miss Rachel. MISS DeCOURCY. 29 Rachel. No. I wa.s a thinkin', Sallic. as I came along, that there are lots of women born that could jest as well been spared. I don't mean old maids like you and me. for we try to make ourselves useful in the world in our way. Now what was the use of that old aunt of Mr. Eldridge's? The one what made that fool will. They tell me she was as rich as cream. Why, she had a nephew that any woman who wasn't a born crank should have been proud of — one what would have done her credit, and she just willed a pile of money to a girl what wasn't a bit of kin to her, instead of givin' it to him. S.\LLiE. We, Miss Dolly and I, know all about that will. Rachel. Then for her to give Mr. E'Idridge a fortune, as she did, provided he'd marry the girl she had set up for life. Why, it was too ridiculous. That's all there are al)out it. It is too bad. A better man than Frank Eldridge never walked this earth. That's as true as scriptur. Dolly. Miss Rachel, do you know this. girl? Rachel. No, and I don't think much of her comin' in the way be- tween Frank and what should have been his'n. I never was married, Miss Dolly, but it wasn't my fault. Nobody never asked me. Dolly. That is not so singular. Why, no one has ever asked me. Rachel. But your time's acomin'. I guess all the proposals of marriage had run out when it came my turn to draw. But I'll tell you what I've done. I've jest been at 'Squire Smith's office. I had the old man draw up my will, and I left every dollar I have M Frank Eld- ridge. Sallie. You used to say, Rachel, if you had money, you'd do well by Ebenezer Chapel. Of course, you wouldn't leave your sisters any- thinp- after the wav they've talked about you. Rachel. Well, I did think about the Chapel. Sallie. Then I. recollected how good and kind Mr. Eldridge was to Madge. He just saved that little girl from — ^God knows what. Nobody never he^ird him poin' around shoutin' it out to be talked about. You remember Pat Gorman, him what got killed in the quarry and left a widow and five small children? Yes, you must remember that, Sallie. Sallie. I do. It was more than three years ago. Rachel. You know Pat's wife — she was a Scotch woman. She often went to church. Well, the parson took up a collection for the family that footed up a little over twenty-two dollars. The parson, he spoke about the large amount what had been raised, in his next Sunday's sermon ; then the committee what took the money to the poor widow made a long winded report, which was read by the parson to the con- gregation : then in the annual report the whole thing w-as told over again. You remember it was published in the "Village Sentinel." Sallie. Yes, I read it. Rachel. Well, when I thought about that I jest concluded that I \\ould leave the charity end of my business with Mr. Eldridge, as I did my other affairs. By the way, Miss Dolly, don't you know I made UD my mind h'^f fall ihat Frank was gone on you. Yes, and that you were pone on him. Now I know what I'm talkin' about, and as sure as we're livin', you couldn't do better if you searched the wide world over. Dolly. You must not talk that way about Mr. Eldridge and me. Miss Rachel. He might hear it. It would be unpleasant to him, and if he were to le^rn that I was present when it was said, it might re- flect upon me. I want to hold Mr. Eldridge's esteem at least. Rachel. I'll never say nothin' about it if it will worry him. But I've a kind of notion that Mr. Eldridge is vastly disappointed about 30 MISS DeCOURCY. somethin'. It jest struck me. Miss Dolly, when I seed you, that may- be it was you who hadn't treated that young man exactly right. Dolly. What right have I to think that Mr. Eldridge cares any- thing for me? You both know that my hands are stained with human blood. Sallie. What is that? I didn't imagine that such a thought shad- owed your life. I know that Frank believes now, as he did that night, that twice wi'.'in a week you had saved his life. Miss Dolly, indeed you have nothing to regret in that brave act. Rachel. I'm only a plain, country bred, single woman, but I reckon, that men and women are much alike everywhere, no matter where you find them. Suppose'n Frank Eldridge had killed a man to save your life, if you loved him before, you'd love him the more, after he'd done that for you, wouldn't you? Now jest change places with him. Dolly. But Mr. Eldridge does not love me. Rach-el. I don't know for sure now, but if he didn't last fall, I'm a Methodist, and everybody who knows Rr^chel Meadows will tell you I'm a hard-shell Baptist, and sot in my ways. Dolly. I'm- — well — I'll go to my room. I'll not be long absent. (Ascends stair. Rachel and Sallie look after licr.) Sallie. She will be the better of a good cry, Rachel. Like you, I thought she was in love with Frank last fall. That, I thought, would make a happy marriage. Rachel. Well, I never did have no experience myself in love mat-, ters, so my opinion ain't of no account. But you had, Sallie, and I ex- pect you knows. (Maud and Campbell pass by window.) Sallie. Don't say anything about this. Miss Maud and Campbell are here. (Enter Maud and Walter. Maud carries flowers.) Maud. How are you both? (Kisses, then Campbell shakes hands.) We are so glad to be here, to congratulate you iDoth on your luck. You see. Miss Rachel, we are not ignorant of your good fortune. Campbell. In both cases, so justly merited. Rachel. Mine would have been better if Tom had lived and got home. But where is Mr. Eldridge? Sallie. Yes, Mr. Campbell, where is Frank? Was he not on your train ? Campbell. Yes. Mr. Lex and he are following us. They stopped at 'Squire Smith's for a moment, so Maud and I took the short cut by the wayside gate. Maud. Where is Dolly? She was surely coming? Sallie. She is now in her room. I will tell her you are here. Maud. No, I will go with you. (Gives flozvers to Campbell.) Campbell. I can lay these on Madge's grave while you are with Dolly. Rachel. If Mr. Campbell don't mind, I will go with him. Maud. I'll not be jealous. You two won't talk of anybody but Frank. R.\chel. I reckon that's nigh the truth. Campbell. Miss Rachel, I am at your command. (Offers arm, and Rachel and Campbell exit.) Maud. Aunt Sallie, I have learned something that makes me want to give Dolly a piece of my mind. Why, that girl would be the better of a good shaking. Sallie. She's a dear, sweet woman. That's what she is. Come, Miss Maud. (Sallie and Maud exit by hall and stairs. Eldridge and Mr. Lex enter.) MISS DeCOURCY. 31 Lex. 'i1iis is the first opportunity I liave had in some time to al- kide to your Aunt Eleanor's will. In two months, Eleanor UcCourcy will be of age. If the conditions governing the bequest to you are not. complied with shortly, you will be shut out by limitation from any par- ticipation in the estate. Eldridge. It is a matter of indifference to me. The bequest, so far as I am concerned, will assuredly lapse. Lex. You do not propose, Frank, to forfeit that princely inher- itance ? Eldridge. I cannot forfeit what I never had. There are really two conditions. Lex. Two conditions Eldridge. Yes. Miss DeCourcy's consent and mme to the mar- riae. Now, as I never saw Miss DeCourcy, and certainly, as I am totally unknown to her, there is little liklihood that those conditions will be fulfilled. Lex. Then I have been misinformed. I understood that you and she had not only met but that you were much interested in each other. Eldridge. The error is not difficult to explain. I have met a Miss DeCourcy, but it was Dolly not Eleanor. There is, I think, a close relationship between the two. Lex. Oh, that is it. ,W'-11, this Dolly, what of her? Eldridge. You were an intimate friend of my parents, and are still so to me. Hence, I do not hesitate to tell you, Mr. Lex, that I am exceedingly pleased with Dolly DeCourcy. I would esteem myself fortunate could T win her for my wife. At one time, I believed she was pleased with my attentions. Since Madge's murder she has avoid- ed me. Lex. I infer then\ that 3'ou are in love with Dolly? Eldridge. Yes. Lex. And would gladly make her your wife? Eldridge. Yes. T do love her. She is so dear to me that I could not contemplate marriasie with any woman other than Dolly. You now know why the condition in Aunt Eleanor's will is impossible of ful- fillment. Lex. That is to say that you, Frank Eldridge, are so enamoured of the wrong Miss DeCourcy that you are determined to forfeit a half million dollars because of your love for her? Eldridge. You can state it that way if you like. Lex. Haven't you proposed marriage to Dolly? Of course you haven't. When a bright, whole-souled, thoroughly good fellow is de- termined to make an ass of himself, there is no end to the blunders he will commit. Eldridge. You are complimentary. I was not a part of Aunt Eleanor's estate that she could dispose of me as it pleased her. Lex. You are paying a high price for this girl's love, as you will have it that way. Take my advice, Frank, as a friend? On the first opportunity, tell Dolly you love her and ask her to be your wife. Ei dridge. Take this ciear, Mr. Lex. (Hands him one.) Come, sit with me on the porch. I have a matter of important business which I wish to submit to you, and upon which I desire your professional opinion. The associations connected with this apartment are of a nature that might distract somewhat my thoughts from the details of this business. (Exit Frank and Lex. Maud and Dolly descend stair and enter. )\ Maud. Dolly, you are absolutely absurd. You cannot be ignor- ant of Frank's love for you. 2,2 MISS DeCOURCY. Dolly. He has never told me that he loved me. Maud. You never gave him the chance. You are sufficiently a woman of the world to know that no man ever proposed unless the girl made the opportunity for him to speak of that love. Dolly. I would permit no one but you to take me thus to task. Maud. I feel like giving you a good shaking. You are endanger- ing your whole fuUn-e. Worse than that, you are denying to Frank that happiness he sn richly deserves. I came near losing WaJlei through my absurd jealousy. The merest chance saved me from my foolish act. If I can prevent it, you shall not wreck your life, and Frank's, as well. Dolly. You have no right to talk so to me. I will not oermil it. Maud. Then answer this one question : Do you love Frank Eld- ridge? If your reply is in the negative, I will never mention this sub- ject to you again. Dolly. You have no right. It is impertinent, unwomanly, to ask me that. Maud. Notwithstanding that I have no right, that I am imperti- nent and unwomanly in so doing, I still press the question. Dolly. But suppose I — Maud. Is it yes or no? Dolly. You won't listen to me — there is an impediment — Maud. You are not a married woman ? Dolly. No. You know that I am not. Maud. You are not the promised wife of another man? Dolly. No. I will not listen to you further. Maud. There are no ties of consanquinity between Frank and you that would make a marriage incestuous? Dolly. No. Not that. But Maud, you surely cannot forget the love Madge gave to him? A love so wholly unselfish that she sacrificed her life that his might be saved. Maud. You jealous of the dead! Jealous of a child's love for the man who acted in a parent's stead to her? Dolly. But there is blood upon my hand. Maud. Yes, shed for the man you love, in the protection of his life as well as your own. Go back to that night. Under the like con- ditions presented then, would you do other than you did? It was Frank's life or that mad man's — your own life or Dan's. I envy you that deed. You are simply striving to find a reason that may justify you in the wrong you are doing Frank and yourself. Dolly. It is false. I will not listen to you. Leave me ! Maud. (Aside.) Yes, to meditation on what I have said. It was heroic treatment, but the malady would yield to naught else. {Exit by hall.) Dolly. {Pacing the staf^c.) It was infamous. It was brutal in Maud. I jealous of gentle, loving Madge. It is a base lie. (Pauses ns if in thou(iht.) No. It is the truth. God pity me, it is the truth! It is I that am a lie. Not one of all here, save Mr. Lex, knows me, for what I am. At my own suggestion, I sought the Cedars^ coming with the one purpose of winning the love of Frank Eldridge. I know now that that was my real motive. Like a curse, I have fallen across his path in life. I have robbed him of his inheritance. What other wrong will come to him through me, God only knows! (Throivs her- self on zvindozv seat. Enter Eldridge and Campbell.) Campbell. You have decided? When do you sail? Eldridge. Exactly three weeks from to-day. MISS DeCOURCY. 33 Campbfxl. Of course, you know where you will be stationed and how long you will be absent? Eldridge. My headquarters will be in London, and I will probably not return to America for two years, at least. I am to represent a large manufacturing syndicate, which will make London its Euroncan dis- tributing centre. Campbell. You had not this move in contemplation two weeks ago, or you would have told me. I returned from Washinr^ton this morning and learned of your intention to go abroad less than half an hour ago from Miss Rachel. Eldridge. To be honest with you, Walter, I want to eet away from New York, to get away from mvself, if that were pos'^ible. Campbell. You have not been yourself since the murder. You have nothing to reproach yourself with because of that frightful inci- dent. Eldridge. Poor, little Madp-e. She loved me with that affection she would have held for her father, had he lived and she had known him. Sometimes I think, Walter, that she and mother were the only •women who loved me, or will ever love me. Campbell. I thoueht at one time. Frank, that Dollv loved you. Eldridge. I hoped so once. But — well, T was flnttered l)y her kindness, which I mistook for a sentfment that I have failed to arouse in her. Campbell. Damn it, old fellow, it is too bad. It is that senti- ment vou long for that is clouding your life. She has trifled with von, played the coquett'e, wounded your heart, and made your life wretched. Damn such women. Eldridge. I will not hear a word in reproach of Miss DeCourcy. Twice she saved mv life. While I doubt whether it was worth the sav- ing, at all events, she saved it. I love that woman, and. Walter, I will ouarrel with my bc^t friend if he shall intimate anything that casts a doubt, upon her truthfulness or calls in anestion any art of hers. Campbell. I cannot doubt your love for that p^irl. N-^r will I n-iarrel with you. I shall respect your wishes. By the way, what about Miss Eleanor DeCourcy? Eldridge. I shall not be in; America when the limitation in my Aunt's will expires. Time will end that miserable affair. Campbell. As we came in I saw Mr. Lex, Maud and Aunt Sal- lie in the meadow field. I propose to join them. I am glad, old fel- low, that you ^'in remain for our wedding. In the spring, it is prob- able that I will have business that will take me to London. The Madam and T will assuredly look you up. Eldridge. I'd be offended if you did not. (Exit Cainhbell.) Thank heaven! Maud and Walter are haoov, and they deserve happi- ness. (About to foUo-iv Cainphrll. ivJicn Dolly rises and. evidently cm- barrnssed. apf>roaehes Eldridac.^ Dolly. Mr. Eldridge — one moment. Eldridge. Miss Dolly. (Extends his hand.) I did not know that you were here. Dolly. Yon are eoinr^ abroad. You must not go in ie-norance of the deception I have practiced towards you. I did not design to mis- lead you, but your mistake t^ave the opoortunity, and I permitted you to continue in your error, making no attempt to undeceive you. Eldridge. Do not accuse yourself of any wrong to me. Dolly. You shall hear the naked truth, should it even earn for me your contempt. ,4 MISS DeCOURCY. Eldridge. You are overwrought now. Defer this matter for the present. , ■ , i i j i DoLLV. I have masqueraded before you and this household long enoueh. You and they are ignorant of my true personality. Eldridge. You are not a married woman? Dolly. No. But I am Eleanor DeCourcy, the girl who came be- tween you and your Aunt ; who robbed you of your birthright. Dolly was Miss Lloyd's pet name for me, and gradually others adopted it until only in legal documents was I known as Eleanor. Eldridge. I have never accused you of wrong, either as Dolly or Eleanor DeCourcy. Dolly. No. You found justification, not reproaches, for your Aunt's liberality to me. On my honor, I had no knowledge of the pro- vision in her will making your inheritance contingent upon my mar- riage to you. Mr. Lex, after the will was read, told me of that condi- ti'^n. T never in my life spoke to your Aunt about the disposition of her property. Eldridge. I accepted the disposition Aunt made of her estate, and would not even now change it, only in that I regret she did not be- Queath to you absolutely all she had. I think there is nothing that needs explanation. Dolly. You must listen to me. I shall conceal nothing from you. (JVcet^s.) I am so unhappy. Eldridge. Then tell me briefly. (Aside) It is best for her. Dolly. When I visited the Cedars last fall, it was with the one purpose of meeting you, Mr. Eldridge. I came that I might suggest your acceptance of nine-tenths of the estate your Aunt had willed to me. Our first meeting was accidental. When you told me who you were, without thought, I used the pet name vour Aunt had Hven me. forgetful that it would not reveal to you that I was Eleanor DeCourcy. When I saw the mistake into which you had fallen by reason of the names, partly in jest I let you remain ienorant of my individuality. I have permitted that error to continue until now. Your gentleness and considf^rntion for the woman, who had unwittingly done harm to yni: pleased yet annoyed me at first. Afterwards I refrained from dis- closing the truth, fearing that my confession might forfeit for me your respect. Eldridge. It could not do that. While Frank Eldridge lives he \^-\]\ remain your debtor for the haopiest hours that have come intohi.s life. Dolly. I am not wholly dependent upon Miss Lloyd's bequest for my maintenance. From mv grandparents I received twenty thousand dollars. I want you, Mr. Eldridge, to promise me that when I am of age you will accept a transfer of everything I am entitled to receive bv your Aunt's will. Eldridge. You once before proposed to renounce your rights un- der that will. This is the same proposition in another form. Whv. should I change my resolution now? Dolly. Because T w^ant you to. Because I — Eldridge. I cannot promise that. ■Dolly. Then you will share it with me? Eldridge. (Coming close to her.) Share it with you? There is but one way I could share it with you. Dolly. And that is? Eldridge. If I were your husband. It is not the money I want, Dolly. It is you — you, I crave. I have loved you from the moment when we met near the old stile in the woods, the day you saved me MISS DeCOURCY. . 35 from Dan's first niurderoiis attempt upon my life. Will you give your- self to me? (Attempts to take her hand.) Will you, Dolly? Dolly. I did not, indeed I did not, anticipate this. E'ldridge. I was mad to say what I did — to hope that you could ever love me. Forget my words, as if they had never been uttered. Forget that I have ever crossed your path, or given you an hour's un- easiness. (Paces stage. Looks at i*.'atch.) Miss DeCourcy, I have barely time in which to catch the Southbound train for New York. Say to these people that I was so hurriedly called away that I could not. apprise them of my departure. Good-by, Miss DeCourcy. I regret that I have done aught to annoy you. (Holds out hand, zvhich Dolly ap- pears not to notice.) Good-by. (Picks uh hat and zvalks to door.) Dolly. (Extending her hand in entreaty.) Do not go. You •must not go. Frank, I shall die if you turn from me now. (Plldridgc embraces her.) Eldridge. You do love me, Dolly? Dolly. Yes. Never, I think, has woman loved man more disin- terestedly, more wholly than I love you. Eldridge. And you will be my wife? Dolly. Yes. (He kisses her.) Do not despise me, Frank, when I confess that I was jealous of Madge's love for you. Eldridge. If she were here now, no one would rejoice more in my happiness than Madge. Dolly. Frank, I think it was envy more than jealousy, for Madge filled the full measure of the apostles' test of love in that she laid down her life for yours. Yet, Frank, when Madge was dying, her last whis- pered words to me were to care for you, to love you, to be your wife. I promised her, and yet because she had sacrificed more for you than I could I was jealous of that dear e^irl's love for you. It was wicked in me. (He pets her. Enters Maud, Campbell, Aunt Sallie, Rachel and Mr. Lex.) Mr. Lex. Well, Frank, how's this? You assured me you did not know Eleanor DeCourcy. Yet I find you conversing with her as though you and she were most excellent friends. Dolly. But Frank did not know, Mr. Lex, until a moment ago that Eleanor and Dolly DeCourcy were the same individual. Maud and Campbell. You Eleanor DeCourcy? Eldridge. And w^hat is more, Mr. Lex, in order to prevent future uncertainties as to the dual Misses DeCourcy, this young lady has con- sented to become Mrs. Frank Eldridge. Maud. Walter, we shall succeed in marrying Dolly DeCourcy to Frank E'ldridge. (To Dolly.) I suppose I wall now have to forego the good shaking you so well deserved? Campbell. You both know how glad I am that the vexatious will question has at length reached such a happy solution. Dolly. Frank and I have reached this solution : We have decided that the estate left to me by dear Aunt Elean)3r shall be divided equal- ly between us. Aunt Sallie. But the other half million — will that go to the in- sane asylum ? Dolly. I suppose so. / Rachel. Well, now, I declare. That's just too bad-. Mr. Lex, ain't you lawyer enough to circumvent that. Lex. That depends. Frank, you still propose to go abroad? Eldridge. I have accepted the trust, and I must stand to my agree- ment. r^r^~r 1 A 1 nnO 36 MISS DeCOURCY. Lex. And you, Eleanor? Is Frank to go alone to encounter the temptations and allurements of London? Dolly. No— that is — Frank must decide for me. Lex. Well, Miss Rachel, if Frank Eldridge and Eleanor De- Courcy become man and wife at any time within the next two months the condition of Miss Lloyd's bequest to Frank will be fulfilled, and the half-million will be Frank's. Otli^rwise, the trustees of the asy- lum, named in the will, will receive certainly a snug sum of money. Eldridge. But Dolly must decide. I, Frank Lloyd Eldridge, am prepared to meet the conditions upon which my share in Aunt Eleanor's estate depends. All, (Saz'c Frank.) It is up to you, Dolly. Dolly. Well, under the circumstances, if I must decide: Three weeks hence there will be no Dolly nor Eleanor DeCourcy — but — but — {gk'es her hands to Eldridge) — all correspondence addressed to either of those ladies will receive due attention' from Mrs. Eleanor Eldridge. (Curtain falls.) 1902 „['^"ARY OF CONGRESS 015 973 566 7 •

ca25000327

The public spirit of the citizens of Chicago still lives and therein lies the promise of the future.

Chicago Plan Commission

publicspiritofci00chic_djvu.txt

NA 9127 .C4A5 1921 * (-S VT> - * V ^ • „ A * * vA V « ** 4/ ^ °. * A <* ' O S& yv^-i ¥ *r_ ^ -V * 6 K V* 0^ ° ^ vV *• A 1 ^ . •••’ ^ y % a> V p’*°- C\ - <£» A ' > A^>^a*„ T. %$, a r ♦ «A° c.? V^ x *mM°, * # * o o -* ^r«j^ o 4 * <f? *$*>, * <J. V ^ ^ <*V \d *v^T* A <* „ v .«"•. ^O jV . 4 - 4 . c ° W* .’ i- 0 ’’* » » ■» ° ^ ^ ^^U\\Vs^» h \ v a- Aa * • -CL* O ■*• V *...» y O 4 * Lil'* > V «* * °' c\ A>> A *A^S^„*.. *P AV * : v* v • c s */> * ^ fi* ^ ^W£//^^ 7 " 4 vD v / ' c ^ <\ v -r^ ’• # s \ > %> i v o° N 0 * ^O a& * 1 ' a ^ ^ - - r / ' o N£* A *> aV*^ o * A V ° <* "'o'• A - < 0 ' • %m$ov «5 ^ rA. ■* aF O a> ‘•.o’ ■<p ^ *'•<’• . *> v % .»••- V .0 %<> A v *((Cvs«A cy %^v * AWv? 5\//A O <Jy <-v o> p • \0 </, * 0 > ^ ♦•-- *? V , *p *!&**. * v *> y 77 * ^ \. y \ ■ A CV , 0*0 * ^ C° . 6 ^- % oV ♦ «7 ^ . _ , 4 4 XS *Aa •* <* '••»* jy % *■'..% • '■'•* % r cr »•?• •,%> * r Kj * -r^tv . ** ’ ^ ^ o V . 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A A ^ ^ ^ \Ky^* ♦ <L^ CV ^ /W 7 * r\ ^ ^ v *»»o’ a 04 . *■•<’• f° ,. % + > v a*°-. <^y ^ r * A ^rv -* * A y[j> e - 4 y % *, C 0* .*£?•* *9o > Aessy^^.^ ► o 1 o aV^ o A ^ ^ % A ^ *° mk 4k‘ J> v-^4a. V 0^ - 6 A vv ^ ♦' .0 V'% c> ^ *^ZAS~ <1 ^ J Ha * O Sn* aP rv r 5 • • /■ ^ ^ CV av ^ & o 4- °<« \ -»• / ,,.„.V"’'/°- \ \A 4& 0 . ^ * 4 THE PUBLIC SPIRIT OF THE CITIZENS OF CHICAGO STILL LIVES AND THEREIN LIES THE PROMISE OF THE FUTURE library of congress maySWi □ A SION c**?. A * 1 “To make cities is what we are here for. For the city is strategic; it makes the towns; the towns make the villages; the villages make the country. He who makes the city makes the world. After all, though men make life, it is the cities which make men. Whether our national life is great or mean, whether our social virtues are mature or stunted, whether our sons are moral or vicious, whether religion is possible or impossible, depends upon the city." HENRY DRUMMOND *E ARE HAPPY TO ANNOUNCE to the men and women of Chicago that Mr. William Wrigley, Jr., has contributed $50,000 toward a fund of $100,000 for a fitting treatment of the four Michigan Avenue bridge houses. This gift is especially generous because Mr. Wrigley, at the request of the Chicago Plan Commission, has spent already an extra $20,000 on the beautification of the entrance to his monumental building. Matching his public spirit, the Ferguson Fund Trustees have contributed the additional $ 50,000 for the bridge houses. The Chicago Plan Commis¬ sion expresses for both these gifts the appreciation which will be felt by all the citizens of Chicago. Through the money thus provided it will be possible to make the bridge houses architectur¬ ally beautiful and historically significant, a fitting cap-stone to the Michigan Avenue improve¬ ment. The site of Fort Dearborn and the spot where stood the first white man’s house con¬ structed in Chicago are both included in the plazas, and both will be commemorated. The Michigan Avenue improvement is already nota¬ ble for imposing views. The bridge houses will add artistic charm and a link with the past, elements that we shall appreciate more and more in Chicago as the city grows older. Not only for the direct result but also for its influence toward the finer and better city of the future, do we value these public spirited bene¬ factions. They cannot fail to point the way to others who will be called upon to aid in em¬ bellishing the improved South Water Street. Decorative features and sculpture must be pro¬ vided to make the Chicago River attractive, like European water-courses, and an object of beauty instead of ugliness. This treatment of the public thorougnfares will raise the standard of private architecture. It will have a decisive influence on the char¬ acter of the buildings along Michigan Avenue from Randolph Street to Chicago Avenue, as well as along South Water Street and eventu¬ ally along the entire north side of the river. Michigan Avenue and South Water Street, con¬ nected and beautified, will become as widely known as the Place de la Concorde in Paris, Trafalgar Square and Hyde Park in London, the Ring- strasse in Vienna andUnter den Linden in Berlin. Such accomplishment in the future will be only a logical continuation of the record of the past, because the history of Chicago is replete with achievement. The growth in eighty-four years, within the span of an extended life, from the swampy Indian village to a city of nearly three million people, is in itself almost a miracle. The world knows no parallel. There has been one advance after another. Early the city pulled itself out of the mud and made possible drainage, by raising the level of the streets fourteen feet. Later came the mag¬ nificent system of parks and boulevards encir¬ cling the city. The far-reaching desolation of the great fire was repaired within a few years. In 1893 rose t ^ le wonder-revealing World’s Fair with its vision splendid. The drainage canal reversed the current of the Chicago River to provide pure water and promote the public health. The Chicago Plan, conceived by the genius of Daniel H. Burnham and given to the city by the liberality of the Commercial Club, shows the greater city to come, more conven¬ ient for business,more comfortable and attractive for living, with incalculable benefits, economic and social, for all the people. The initial under¬ takings, Roosevelt Road and Michigan Avenue, are almost completed, and the city is moving toward the realization of the entire plan. What is it that has brought Chicago to this point and enabled it to weld together an un¬ broken chain of achievements? The answer is, men. Men make cities. Whenever needed in the past, men were not wanting, men of vision and foresight, stalwart men who recognized the potentialities of their city, believed in its future and were unafraid. Their example inspired others; obstacles were overcome and “I Will” was permanently emblazoned upon the shield of Chicago. The fine contributions now announced show that the public spirit of the citizens of Chicago still lives, and therein lies the promise of the future. Daniel H. Burnham knew whereof he spoke when he said: “What a wonderful lot of men and women Chicago has. Nothing remains to be accom¬ plished that cannot be done with our Chicago men and women as the power behind.” Every day the people of Chicago are doing things to justify this confidence. Men and women, we appeal to you, do not falter. The Chicago Plan is your plan, your ideal for the city that you love. Sustain it, bear it ever for¬ ward, and the prophecy of the great empire ‘Drawing by Graham , Andenon , Probst £r> White ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLL; WRIGLEY JR. AND FERGUSON FUN; MICHIGAN AVENUE BRIDGE HOUSJ THIS GATEWAY AS FAMOUS AS THE RS GIVEN JOINTLY BY WILLIAM > TRUSTEES TO EMBELLISH FOUR 5 , MARKS FIRST STEP IN MAKING PLACE DE LA CONCORDE IN PARIS builder of the Northwest, James J. Hill, will come true, that when the Pacific Coast has twenty million population, Chicago will be the metropolis of the world. THE EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE OF THE CHICAGO PLAN COMMISSION Charles H. WACKER, Chairman A. C. Bartlett Edward B. Butler Clyde M. Carr John J. Coughlin Frederic A. Delano John V. Farwell Albert J. Fisher Theodore K. Long Joy Morton Michae Frank I. Bennett, Vice-Chairman Wm. Nelson Pelouze John Powers Julius Rosenwald Daniel J.Schuyler James Simpson John F. Smulski Charles H. Thorne Harry A. Wheeler Walter H. Wilson Zimmer Sculptural treatment of four Michigan Avenue bridge houses commemorating Fort Dearborn and the first vohite man's house in Chicago — Donation of William Wrigley Jr ., and Ferguson Fund trustees. Chicago Plan Commission Room F, Hotel Sherman TELEPHONE FRANKLIN 2120 —LOCAL 123 OFFICERS Mayor William Hale Thompson . Honorary President ex-officio Charles H. Wacker. Chairman Frank I. Bennett. Vice-Chairman Eugene S. Taylor, Office Manager E. H. Bennett, Consultan ROSTER OF MEMBERS Adamowski, Max. Amberg, Walter Arnold Anderson, Albert O. Armour, J. Ogden Austrian, Alfred S. Baker, Alfred L. Bambas, James F. Bancroft, Edgar A. Bardonski, V. Barr, Alfred E. Bartlett, A. C. Bartlett, Frederick H. Beidler, Francis Beidler, George Bennett, Frank I. Berlin, Robert C. Billings, Dr. Frank Binyon, Lewis D. Boehm, John J. Bond, William A. Bradley, John J. Brooks, Robert E. L. Brown, Everett C. Budinger, John Budlong, Joseph J. Butler, Edward B. Byrne, Thos. F. Capitain, Henry D. Carlile, Wm. Buford Carpenter, Benjamin Carr, Clyde M. Carry, Edward F. Cervenka, John A. Chamberlin, Henry Barrett Chap, Ignatius Clark, A. Sheldon Clarkson, Ralph Cloidt, Frank X. Clow, William E. Cohen, Edward Connery, J. T. Conroy, John J. Coonley, Henry E. Coughlin, John J. Crowe, Albert J. Cuneo, Lawrence Dasso, Paul Davis, Abel Davis, Edwin S. Dawes, Charles G. Defrees, Joseph H. Delano, Frederic A. Dering, Jackson K. Dibelka, James B. Dixon, George W. Donnelley, Thomas E. Downey, Joseph Dunbar, Thomas Dunne, Edward F. Dwen, Robert G. Eckhart, Bernard A. Ettelson, Samuel A. Faherty, Michael J. Farley, Edward P. Mitchell, John J. Moran, Terrence F. Morand, Paul J. Morton, Joy Muelhoeffer, Edward Mulcahy, Robt. J. Murdoch, Alexander Nance, Willis O. Nering, John Nimmons, Geo. C. Norton, Charles D. O’Brien, Peter J. Ochsner, Dr. A. J. Oehman, John S. Olsen, Oscar H. Osborn, Grant C. Ostrowsky, Henry O’Toole, Wm. R. Ott, Herman A. Ottenheimer, Henry L. Page, Walter Palmer, Honore Palt, Frank J. Payne, John Barton Peabody, F. S. Pelikan, D. Pelouze, Wm. Nelson Pendarvis, Robert E. Peterson, Wm. A. Petru, Frank J. Pettibone, Amos Phelps, Charles A. Pike, Eugene R. Piotrowski, John A. Porter, George F. Potter, Edwin A. Powers, John Priess, Abraham Rawson, F. H. Rehm, William H. Revell, Alexander H. Reynolds, Geo. M. Richert, John A. Robertson, Dr. John Dill Robinson, Theodore W r . Roesch, J. Albert, Jr. Rosenwald, Julius Ryan, Daniel Ryerson, Martin A. SCHIAVONE, P. Scott, John W. Schuyler, Daniel J. Schwartz, U. S. Shanahan, David E. Shanahan, D. S. Shedd, John G. Shepard, Frank L. Siewert, Henry J. Simpson, James Skala, Frank J. Skinner, Edward M. Smith, Jos. H. Staver, Harry B. Strobel, Charles L. Strom, A. A. Stube, John H. Stuckart, Henry Sultan, Dr. George Sunny, Bernard E. Swift, Edward F. Szymanski, Walenty Taylor, Graham Teich, Max L. Teninga, Herman Thompson, John R. Thompson, Hon. Wm. Hale Thorne, Charles H. Tinsman, Homer E. Tobin, T. M. Toman,John Umbach, Frank L. Upham, Fred W. Vopicka, Charles J. Wacker, Charles H. Walkowiak, S. S. Wallace, Thomas O. Washburn, Edward A. Washington, Irving Wetten, Emil C. Wheeler, Harry A. Wieboldt, W. A. Wiehe, Christian F. Wilder, John E. Williams, Dr. J. F. Williams, Thomas Wilson, Benjamin S. Wilson, John P. Wilson, Walter, H. Woolley, C. F. Zander, Henry G. Zimmer, Michael Farwell, John V. Field, E. C. Field, Stanley Finn, John C. Finucane, Thomas J. Fisher, Albert J. Fisher, Walter L. Fitzmorris, Charles C. Foreman, Milton J. Forgan, David R. Forgan, James B. Fowler, W. A. Francis, Charles R. Franz, Matt Freund, Louis P. Furman, Martin S Gallagher, Thomas Getz, Geo. F. Gillian, Rev. John C. Glackin, Edward J. Glessner, J. J. Goetz, Fritz Gordon, Rev. Francis Govier, Sheldon W. Gray, W. A. Griesemer, Charles J. Grund, Charles H. Guernsey, Guy Gunther, Dr. Frank E. Haderlein, John Hafer, Henry Hagey, Dr. Harry H. Hall, Richard C. Harper, Dr. W. E. Harrison, Carter H Hartke, Emil A. Haugan, Henry A. Hebel, Oscar Hechinger, C. E. Heiser, A. C. Herlihy, Daniel Hertz, Henry L. Hill, Frederick A. Hill, John W. Hines, Edward Holabird, William Hooker, George E. Horne, John G. Hottinger, Otto G. Hrodej, Jos. T. Hulburd, Charles H. Hultin, N. H. Hunter, Thomas M. Hutchinson, Charles L. Jackson, George W. Jackson, Robert R. Janiszeski, Frank H. Johnson, George E. Q. Johnson, Nels Judd, Edward S. Kaspar, William Kavanagh, Maurice F. Kelly, Rev. E. A. Kelly, John M. Keyes, Rollin A. King, Lawrence F. Koch, Frank J. Kohlbeck, Rev. Val. Kohn, W. C. Kowaleski, B. F. Krabol, O. O. Krueger, William F. Krulewitch, Ernest Kruse, Fred Kunde, Ernest La Marre, Rev. Joseph V. Laub, Albert Legner, Wm. G. Leininger, Dr. Geo. LeTourneux, Edward D. Lipps, W. F. Littler, H. E. Litsinger, Edward R. Long, Theodore K. Lurya, Isaac Lynch, John A. Lynch, Thomas J. Mac Chesney, Nathan Wm. Mac Veagh, Franklin Mamek, Geo. Mamer, Christopher Mang, Albert G. Mark, Clayton Mayer, Levy McCormick, Alexander A. McCormick, Harold F. McCulloch, Charles H. McJunkin, Wm. D. McLaughlin, John J. McLaughlin, Robert J. McNichols, James, Meyerovitz, Dr. M. t> 9 I * *4U * 9 , y * * * o M o 9 ^ f • O A* ^ • • T \ i > V • O •f“* A* *-*W^' *\ .V^A, <• >#>„ <•. a'' ’i\\M/%.o < 0 «< XT*' A" *' ** - 0 * »•’* n * j&tfr/z?*: „ r. • ^ A^ *- ' yv : «* cS *J\. * <*/ v 0c> « ^ - ^ <?5 * 3 * * ^UvvS^ ' ftv~ * j. ^ • /it o ^ \ ♦».«* -V 5 ' °^. * ... 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