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Laa diagrammas suivants illuatrant la m«thoda. 2 3 5 6 MICROCOfY RESOIUTION TBT CHART (ANSI and (SO TEST CHART No. 2) ^ APPLIED IM^GE In ^^ 1653 East Main Street S^S RochsBter, New York 14609 USA ■^S: (^'6) 482 - 0300 - Phone ^S (^16) 288 - 5989 - Fa. 1736 ECHOES FROM [AGABONDIA '<. v| SIS i PS 8'66 1 ^'i BLISS / CARMAN ^ ■ 1 t ' •TI8 MAY NOW m^-tfl AND THROUGH- I SEE THE CRE^/ I HEAR THE HOL-4 I BACK TO THE GO- COMES SUMMER BUT 5T0T THE GO' WHO WAS THE SU- "t ECHOES FROM VAGABONDIA Bv Buss Carman and RiCHAKD HOVEY Stmt! St tm Vatfllumdu Um Sciiti/nm Vatabimdui Last Smis from Vataboitdia ^^.. t»nl». P«r volume, $j.oo ntl- bv ■Ml »i.os; sold Mparately ' ^ Lmp lather, boxedrpw Mt, 1, 7, «,. by mail, $3.90; sold o3y in sits " ' By Buss Carman ^ffJS ""pS'^. f'' "^ BOM' of I^a japan Boards, »i.so i«(; by mail, »i.6o 'tIBUSHKD BY - SMALL, MAYNARD i COMPANY BOSTON i f i ECHOES FROM VAGABONDIA BLISS CARMAN BOSTON SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY MCMXII i [-\ .'>^ Copyright, 1911 Br Small, Maynard and Company (iNCOKrORATSD) EnteriJ at Stationtri' Hall THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. TV 7. M. G.,a spirit uitJismayeJ, Bright as the Jay with warm and generous aid, Happy as morning tohere the river shines. Serene as sunset through her Belmont pines. Confronting fortune with a gentle mirth, mth equal love for Heaven and for Earth, Thinking no ill, going her duteous ways. Sheer loveliness about her all her days; Quiet to respond, unfailing to inspire. Loving the hearthstone with celestial fire ; mth tender strength she plays her quiet part, A child of transport with a woman's heart. CONTENTS SPRtKG'S SARABAND THB FLUTE OF SPRING DAFFODIL'S RETURN THE URBAN PAN THE SAILING OF THE FLEETS THE LAST DAY AT STORMFIELD THE SHIPS OF YULE IN ST. GERMAIN STREET IN ST. CECILIA STREET 'SCONSET THE PATH TO SANKOTY THE CRY OF THE HILLBORN MORNING IN THE HILLS PAN IN THE CATSKILLS THE DREAMERS THE COUNCILLORS A CONUNDRUM APOLOGIA A COLOPHON ON THE PLAZA DUST OF THE STREET BRONSON HOWARD TO A FRIEND TO A YOUNG LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY THE ANGEL OP JOY A LYRIC A WOOD-PATH NIKE BY STILL WATERS TE DKUM ON BURIAL HILL THE WISE MEN FROM THE EAST A WATER COLOR 8 ts 10 II II '3 >4 .'I i8 ai 33 "3 »4 36 28 29 30 31 3* 33 33 35 38 4' 43 46 EL DORADO A painter's holiday MIRAGE THE WINGED VICTORY TRIUMPHALIS THE ENCHANTED TRAVELLER 48 54 il vHi ECHOES FROM VAGABONDIA SPRING'S SARABAND. OVER the hilb of April With loft winds hand In hand, Impaiiionate and dreamy-eyed, Spring leads her saraband. Her garments float and gather And swirl alonjg the plam. Her headgear is the golden sun, Her cloak the silver rain. With color and with music, With perfumes and with pomp, By meadowland and upland, Through pasture, wood, and swamp. With promise and enchantment Leading her mystic mime. She comes to lure the world anew With joy as old as time. Quick lifts the marshy chorus To transport, trill on trill ; There 's not a rod of stony ground Unanswering on the hill. The brooks and little rivers Dance down their wild ravines. And children in the city squares Keep lime, to tambounnes. The bluebird in the orchard Is lyrical for her. The starling with his meadow pipe Sets all the wood astir, The hooded white spring-beauties Are curtsying in the breeze, The blue hepaticas are out Under the chestnut trees. I gjjjjli, The maple buds make glamor, Viburnum waves its bloom, The daffodils and tulips Are risen from the tomb. The lances of Narcissus Have pierred the wintry mold; The commonplace seems paradise Through veils of greening gold. O heart, hear thou the summons. Put every grief away, When all the motley masquer of eanh Are elad upon a day. Alack, that any riortal Should less than gladness bring Into the choral joy that sounds The saraband of spring I THE FLUTE OF SPRING. T ^^Py f shining meadow stream X That winds beneath an Eastern hlU. And ■< I year long in sun or gloom Its murmuring voice is never still. Tko summer Jies more gently there, The April howeia are earlier,— The first warm rain-wind from the Sound Sets all their eager hearts astir. And there when lengthening twilights fall As softly as a wild bird's wW, Across the valley in the dusk I hear the silver flute of spring. 2 DAFFODIL'S RETURN. WHAT matter if the tun be lost ? . V "*' "nat'er though the sky be Cray f There s joy enough about the house, For Daffodil comes home to^y. There 's news of swallows on the air, There 's word of April on the way. They 're calling flowers within the street, And D irfodil comes home to^ay. O wl: > would care what fate may bring. Or what the years may take away ! There "s life enough within the hour, For Daffodil comes home tchday. THE URBAN PAN. ONCE more the magic days s re come With stronger sun and milder air : The shops are full of daffodils; There 's golden leisure everywhere. I heard my Lou this mo. ning shout : " Here comes the hurdy-gurdy man ! " And through the o[en wmdow caught The piping of the urban Pan. I laid my wintry task aside. And took a day to follow joy : The trail of beauty and the call That lured me when I was a boy. I looked, and there looked up at me A smiling, swarthy, hairy man With kindling eye— and well I knew The piping of the urban Pan. 3 "J^f »*« He c«n|ht my mood ; hli hat wu off | I toaicd the ungrudged diver down. The cunning vagrant, every year He caati hia apell upon the town I And we muat fling him, old a;id young. Our dimea or coppera, aa we can ■ And every heart muat leap to hear The piping of the urban Pan. pe mualc awella and fadea again. And I in dreama am far away, Where a bright river sparklea down To meet a blue Aegean bay. There, in the springtime of the world. Are dancing fauna, and in their van, la one who pipes a deathless tone — The earth-born and the urban Pan. And so he followa down the block, A troop of children in his train. The light-foot dancers of the street Enamored of the reedy strain. I hear their laughter rise and ring Above the noise of truck and van, As down the mellow wind fades out The piping of the urban Pan. THE SAILING OF THE FLEETS. TVTOW the spring Is In the town, i ^ Now the wind is In the tree. And the wintered kerls go down To the calling of the sea. 4 Out from mooring, dock, and slip, Through the harbor buoyi they glide. Drawing aeawarri tiil they dip To the twirling oi the tide. One by one and two by two, Down the channel turni they go, Steering for the open blue Where the talty great airi blow; Craft of many a build and trim, Every itltch of laii unfurled, Till they hang upon the rim Of the axure ocean world. Who haa ever, man or boy, Seen the sea all flecked with gold, And not longed to go with joy Forth upon adventures bold l Who could bear to stay indoor, Now the wind is in the street, For the creaking of the oar And the tugging of the sheet I Now the spring is in the town. Who would not a rover be. When tlie wintered keels go down To the calling of the sea ? ^"^a^trLh-'^^/t stormfieid n, 1 , ^P"' sunrise poura Over the hardwood ridges f°""'"« and greening now In the first magic of spring The wild cherry treengmg across the hills), On-„ fu "P !■'" heartening book Opens the volume and reaSs _ ' Th^e''fr^°i^,™«eedCarijfe, i he dour philosopher ' ' Who looked askance upon life, i;Und, ironical, grim, ' Yet sound at the core. But weariness returns ; He lays the book aside With W glasses upon the bed, 6 And gladly sleeps. Sleep, Blessed abundant sleep Is all that he needs. And when the close of day Keddens upon the lulls And washes the room with rose, In the twilight hush The Summoner comes to him Jtver so gently, u.iseen, iouches him on the shoulder : And with the departing sun Our great funning friend is gone. How he has made us laugh ! A whole generation of men Smiled in the joy of his wit. But who knows whether he was not ^'t^'I'ose deep jesters of old Who dwelt at the courts of kings, Arthur's Pendragon's, Lear's, I'lymg the wise fool's trade, Makmg men merry at will, Hiding their deeper thoughts Under a motley array,— Keen-eyed, serious men, Watching the sorry world, A,-f,.S*H°y pageant of life, With pity and wisdom and love Fearless, extravagant, wild. His caustic merciless mirth Was leveled at pompous shams. Doubt not behind that mask There dwelt the soul of a man, 7 TAtLaa Day at /^vi Resolute, sorrowing, sage s>^mjs.u As sure a champion of loid As ever rode forth to frly. A„H trS*??""' »°d ShakesVeare wait And ^.°^^'! ''"S^ °" •'■■^ words, ' And Cervantes not far off Listens and smiles apart, He?sW-"'''"?'r^^'"'rawl He IS jesting witliDagonet now. THE SHIPS OF YULE. W"n ? ' V^ J"'' » ''«le boy, Ihadai''f',J''''"'°*':hool/' ;"*?»neet of forty sail I called the Ships of Yule ; Of every rig from rakish brig T^1,S"i"' barkentine, ^ Wu'^'XalWi^d^e^t M/Kit^tivi^r"'^- 8 They stopped at every port of call From Babylon to Rome, To load with all the lovely things We never had at home ; With elephants and ivory Bought from the King of Tyre, And shells and silk and sandal-wood That sailor men admire ; With figs and dates from Samarcand, And sfuiatty ginger-jars. And s. nted silver amulets From Indian bazaars; With sugar-cane from Port of Spain, And monkeys from Ceylon, And paper lanterns from Pekin With painted dragons on ; With cocoanuts from Zanzibar, And pines from Singapore ; And when they had unloaded these They could go back for more. And even after I was big And had to go to school, My mind was often far away Aboard the Ships of Yule. Tht Skiit nfYuU. IN ST\ GERMAIN STREET T^^OUGH the street of St. Germain J. March the tattered hosts of rain, While the wind with vagrant fife Whips their chilly ranks to life From the window I can see Their ghostly banners blowing free, r^J^'y P"s '0 where the ships Crowd about the wharves and slips. There at dav's end they embark To invade the realms of dark? And the sun comes out again In the street of St. Getmlin. 'N ST CECILIA STREET. il nVil^f "'1^ ^''^" ' ''«" the chimes TThiniTf T '''^"'y S'- Cecilia's ringine I think If I get up betimes ^ ** I, too, might hear the angels singing. Th^f "P I Jj-mp. with such a start That I am dressed before I know it. And such a gladness in my hear^ I m sure all day my face must show it 10 'SCONSET. DID you ever hear of 'Sconset, where there's nothing much but moors, And beach and sea and silence and eternal out- of-doors — Where the azure round of ocean meets the paler dome of day, Where the sailing clouds of summer on the sea- line melt away, And there 's not an ounce of trouble Anywhere ? Where the field-larks in the morning will be cry- ing at the door, With the whisper of the moor-wind and the surf along the shore ; Where the little shingled houses down the little grassy street Are gray wif i salt of sea-winds, and the strong sea-air is sweet With the flowers in their door-yards ; Me for there 1 THE PATH TO SANKOTY. IT winds along the headlands Above the open sea — The lonely moorland footpath That leads to Sankoty. The crooning sea spreads sailless And gray to the world's rim, Where hang the reeking fog-banks Primordial and dim. '■i The Path t9 Sankofy. VlTJ'^^ "■•" ««''«s currents, And the eternal tide Chafes over hidden shallows Where the white horses ride. The wistful fragrant moorlands Whose smile bids panic cease, Lie treeless and cloud-shadowed In grave and lonely peace. Across their flowering bosom. From the far end of day A fIf'T ■''u «"*' *°^' moor-winds All sweet with rose and bay. A world as large and simple As first emerged for man, Reared for the human drama. Before the play began. O well the soul must treasure The calm that sets it free — Tue vast and tender skyline, The sea-turn's wizardry, Solace of swaying grasses. The friendsiiip of sweet-fern — And m the world's confusion Remembering, must yearn To tread the mooriand footpath That leads to Sankoty, Hearing tl- . field-larks shrilling Beside the saiUess sea. 12 THE CRY OF THE HILLBORN. I AM homesick for the mountains - My heroic mother hills — And tne longing that is on me No solace ever stills. I would climb to brooding summits With their old untarnished dreams, Cool my heart in forest shadows To the lull of falling streams ; Hear the innocence of aspens That babble in the breeze, And the fragrant sudden showers That patter on the trees. I am lonely for my thrushes In their hermiUge withdrawn, Toning the quiet transports Of twilight and of dawn. I need the pure, strong mornings. When the soul of day is still, With the touch of frost that kindles The scarlet on the hill J Lone trails and winding woodroads To outlooks wild and high, And the pale moon waitmg sundown Where ledges cut the sky. I dream of upland clearings Where cones of sumac burn. And gaunt and gray-mossed boulders Lie deep in beds of fern ; '3 ^H^yVi.^ ?r»y and mottled beeches, imi. The birches' satin sheen. The majesty of hemlocks Crowning the blue ravine. My eyes dim for the skyline Where purple peaks aspire, And the forges of the sunset Flare up in golden fire. There crests look down unheeding And see the great winds blow, Tossmg the huddled tree-tops In gorges far below; Where cloud-mists from the warm earth Roll up about their knees, And hang their filmy tatters Like prayers upon the trees. I cry for night-blue shadows On plain and hill and dome, — The spell of old enchantments. The sorcery of home. MORNING IN THE HILLS. TTOW quiet is the morning in the hills! Tr,:! I s'ealthy shadows of the summer clouds L^nH r^'' ** ""°"' ^"'* "^« mountain stream bounds his sonorous music far below In the deep-wooded wind-enchanted clove H Hemlock and aspen, chestnut, beech, and fir Mor,m,m Go tiering down from storm-worn crest and ledec '** "*'"■ While in the hollows of the dark ravine See the red road emerge, then disappear Towards the wide plain and fertile valley lands. My forest cabin half-way up the glen Is solitary, save for one wise thrush. The sound of falling water, and the wind Mysteriously conversing with the leaves. Here I abide unvisited by doubt. Dreaming of far-off turmoil and despair, The race of men and love and fleeting time, What ife may be, or beautv, caught and held !• or a brief moment at eternal poise. What impulse now shall quicken and make live This outward semblance and this inward self ? One breath of being fills the bubble world. Colored and frail, with fleeting change on change. Surely some God contrived so fair a thing In the vast leisure of uncounted days And touched it with the breath of living joy, Wondrous and fair and wise ! It must be so. PAN IN THE CATSKILLS. THEY say that he is dead, and now no more „„ The reedy syrinx sounds among the hills, When the long summer heat is on the land. But I have heard the Catskill thrushes sing, And therefore am incredulous of death, Of pain and sorrow and mortality. 'S oSmiu' J" "•0"}>''« caflom, deep with hemlock ihade, i«««tt. j^ ,o|j,ude, of twilight or of dawn, I have been i»pt away from time and care By the enchantment of a golden strain At pure as ever pierced the Thracian wild, Filling the listener with a mute surmise. At evening and at morning I have gone Down the cool trail between the beech-tree boles, And heard the haunting music of the wood Ring through the silence of the dark ravine, Flooding the earth with beauty and with joy And all the ardors of creation old. And then within my pagan heart awoke Remembrance of far olfand fabled years In the untarnished sunrise of the world. When cleareyed Hellas in her rapture heard A slow mysterious piping wild and keen Thnll through her vales, and whispered, " It is Pan ! " THE DREAMERS. CHARLEMAGNE with knight and lord, In the hill at Ingelheim, Slumbers at the council board. Seated waiting for the time. With their swords across their knees In that chamber dimly lit. Chin on breast like effigies Of the dreaming gods, they sit. i6 Long ago they went to tleep, While great wars above them hnrled, Taking counsel how to keep Giant evil from the world. Ortamtrtt Golden-armored, iron-crowned, There in silence they await The last war, — in war renowned, Done with doubting and debate. What is all our clamor for ? Petty virtue, puny crime, Beat in vain against the door Of the hill at fngelheim. When at last shall dawn the day For the saving of the world, They will forth in war array, Iron-armored, golden-curled. In the hill at Ingclheim, Still, they say, the Emperor, Like a warrior in his prime, Waits the message at the door. Shall the long enduring fight Break above our heads in vain, Plunged in lethargy and night, Like the men of Charlemagne ? Comrades, through the Council Hall Of the heart, inert and dumb. Hear ye not the summoning call, " Up, my lords, the hour is come ! " ■7 THE COUNCIILORS. (Connecticut VAtxEv.) IN the purple heat haie ' X Of long mldaummcr Hays Lay the range, peak on peak, Till one thought, " Could they apeak Thoie old ones who heard The firit life-bringing word I " With the primal unroat Locked away in their breaat. Unperturbed they await The fulfilment ot fate. Seated there on the plain. Like King Charlemagne And his heroes who keep The long council of sleep, Until need and the hour Shall recall them to power. Once an age the King wakes. "Is it time?" his voice breaks The silence. " Nay, Sire." Then the echoes retire, And sleep falls again Gray and softer than rain. Thuo Mount Holyoke Overheard, as he woke. The yearn and the sigh, Between Low and High,— Toby speaking to Tom, " Thy distance of blue I can hardly see through, Proclaims the old story i8 Of pot>ible glory, The entrancement of raptura Our utmost may capture, A.lventuring still Led by vision and will, — Thou truth's Chrysostom I Thy beauty and glamor Above the world's cUmor Are aglow with a thought Urgent, mystic, untaught. Neither Christi-in nor Kom, Of escape and of flight To the spirit's lone neight, Beyond the last verge Of soul's strife and surge. The dominion past dream, Where acci. -d Is supreme. Undespairing and bold. Through what cycles untold Of calm, storm, sun and rain, Soared thy life to attain Its transcendence serene, — That victorious mien Over travail's maelstrom I " CmmHl m , Then Tom said to Toby, " In the farness divine Each hue, every line. Must inblend and suspire With the tone of desire, Till all flaws be recast To perfection at last. Whether lofty or low be Thy measure, what matters f When blinding noon scatters, '9 Tlu CoHmillori. And soul grows aware Of a soul through the glare, Convinced there must so be A reach and a lift Through the dusk's purple rift, To the large, fair, and new Where ideals come true, With no doubt of the end, Let heart hold its trend. Shall Potumcook disdain The deep corn-bearing plain. Through the slow-plowing years ? Thou art crowned with thy peers. When over thy crest The great sun from the West Bids the glory and glow be." Then said Holyoke, " It is well that you spoke Low and High are as one, When soul's service is done ! " Peak on peak lay the range, With no word to exchange, Not a hint to break through That soft stillness of blue,— All as silent as when God first whispered to men. tTJIV*, '■''* "■« g^ea* If'ng With his captains a-ring, These councillors sleep Untroubled and deep Is their rest. They abide Heat and cold, time and tide; 20 Their supreme heritage, To grow lovely with ->(>■«. How could they li;. ..'.o.,,, true With their head, s.i the blue ' And their feet ii the ilov- Of the river whe e fo Mirrored stories -'•'it ^e > While the world, out of chime And unheeding, goes by, They translate earth and sky These old mystics. Ah, theirs Are eternal affairs! Tie CaunciUart. CONUNDRUM. I AM Greek in the morning And Gothic at night; I change without warning From grief to delight. I 'm grim in November, I 'm gaudy in June, As warm as an ember. As cold as the moon. I 'm sober on Sunday, On Monday I 'm blue ; But what I do one day I don*t always do. I 'm Western in bearing, And Eastern in breed. The Occident's daring, The Orient's creed. tl A Conun- drum^ I camp or I travel, I triumph or fail, And who shall unravel The loops of my trail? The dust of the desert, The wind of the sea, The spray of the river Are mingled in me. I run the whole gamut From heaven to hell, And when I don't damn it, I say it is well. APOLOGIA. ("'Alb^J'™ * *°" °f fantastical fortune V_- With songs of elation and sighs of despair • Say he was carele.-.s, imp.tient, and moX,"^ ' Fickle as water and wilful as air j ' Say he would idle, procrastinate, dally Spend golden days without doing a thing, Plan while his fellows made mudi of thlpresent Smile as the opportune hour took wing ,• ' Aware of ambition, perfection, and power, Yet willing to loiter and let the world be- bay there was never a reed in the river More ready to bend to the current than he- 22 n?Lt copldnever refuse a companion Apo,.,u.. Bidding hirn in from the street to the bar Never resist the enchantment of pleasure - Joy was his captain and beauty his star ; Call hini a ne'er-do-weJI, harlequin, dreamer Flash of the rocket and froth of the sea: ' Say his whole life was a waste of endeavor - Never a moment unloving of thee ! Revel of April, or ravage of winter, worid?'" '"°''""""' ^'°^^ •""«=<• =>' 'he ^ turmoil,*^""' °*"'' '^"" '^''""^''ed by the When tempests unfurled ? are loosed and tornadoes Evl;v„»' ""^.t'y '"" ^^^<^^^i in heaven Eveiy time earth must revolve into night > Do tfie stars wheel to a faltering measure ' bhall not the morning return to the height? So thou dear heart, beyond folly or failure Undimmed by distraction, by doubt undismayed ThMf •' °i'' J"*" "'"' 'he "Im of an anTef ' Abides in the heaven thy friendship ha^ lade A COLOPHON. "\X/"HEN all my writing has been done " »' Except the final colophon, 23 «',"'*■ ^""^ ' '""'" *'■'' 'beloved verse Farewell for better or for worse, I-et me not linger o'er tlie jiage In doubting and regretful age ; Hut as an unknown scribe in some Monastic dim scriptorium, When twiliglit on his labor fell At the glad-heard refection bell, Might add poor Body's thanks to be From spiritual toils set free. Let me conclude with nearty zest, Laus Deo! Aunc bibimliim est.' ON THE PLAZA. ONE August day I sat beside A caf^ window open wide To let the shower-freshened air Blow in across the Plaza, where In golden pomp against the dark Green leafy background of the Park, St. Gaudens' hero, gaunt and grim. Rides on with Victory leading him. The wet, black asphalt seemed to hold In every hollow pools of gold, And clouds of gold and pink and gray Were piled up at the end of day, 24 iV It'l Far down tlie cross street, where one tower itill glistened from tne drenching shower. A weary white-haired man went by Coohng his forehead gratefully After the day's great heat. A girl, Her thin white garments in a swirl Illown back against her breasts and knees. Like a Winged Victory in the breeze, Ahve and modern and superb, Crossed from the circle to the curb OhH, We sat there watching people pass, Umking the ice against the glass And talking idly — books or art, Or something equally apart From the essential stress and strife That rudely form and further life, Ijljid of a respite from the heat, When down the middle of the street, I rundling a hurdy-gurdy, gay In spite of the dull-stifling day, TJiree street-musicians came. The man, With hair and beard as black as Pan btro led on one side with lordly grace, While a young girl tugged at a trace Upon the other. And between The shafts there walked a laughing queen wlf "I'rlf r 'TPy- ^'™"g and free! ^ ' What likelie. l.ind than ftaly Breeds such abandon .' Confident And rapturous in mere living spent tach moment to the utmost, there With broad, deep chest and kerchiefed hair, *5 piJi! ^'"' '"'"' thrown back, bare throat, and waist Supple, heroic and free-laced. Between her two companions walked This splendid woman, chaffed and talked, Did half the work, made all the cheer Of that small company. No fear Of failure in a soul like hers That every moment throbs and stirs With merry ardor, virile hope. Brave effort, nor in all its scope Has room for thoug'it or discontent. Each day its own sufficient vent And source of happiness. Without A trace of bitterness or doubt Of life's true worth, she strode at ease Before those empty palaces, A simple heiress of the earth And all its joys by happy birth. Beneficent as breeze or dew, And fresh as though the world were new And toil and grief were not. How rare A personality was there I DUST OF THE STREET. THIS cosmic dust beneath our feet Rising to hurry down the street, Borne by the wind and blown astray In its erratic senseless way, 26 Is the same stuff as you atid I — DMit/iHt With knowledge and desire put by. ^'"''■ Thousands of times since time began It has been used I'or malcing man, Freighted like us with every sense Of spirit and intelligence, To walk the world and know the fine Large consciousness of things divine. These wandering atoms in their day Perhaps have passed this very way, With eager step and flowerlike face, With lovely ardor, poise, and grace. On what delightful errands bent. Passionate, generous, and intent, — An angel still, though veiled and gloved. Made to love us and to be loved. Friends, when the summons comes for me To turn my back (reluctantly) On this delightful play, I claim Only one thing in friendship's r name; And yon will not decline a task So slight, when it is all I ask : Scatter my ashes in the street Where avenue and crossway meet. 27 No granite and cement lor roe, To needlessly perpetuate An unimportant name and date. Others may wish to lay them down On some fair hillside far from town, Where slim white birches wave and gleam Beside a shadowy woodland stream, Or in luxurious beds of fern, But I would have my dust return To the one place it loved the best In days when it was happiest. BRONSON HOWARD. OTHERS must praise him for the plays he wrote, Or criticise him in perfunctory mode. I only know our peerless friend is gone, Leavmg for us an emptier world where once This gentlest of all gentle men abode. Let us not wrong so genuine a soul — So modest after all his honored years — With high-flown eulogy and sounding phrase. It is enough that loss of him must reach To the profound sincerity of tears. 28 Many will see him still with dog and pipe Strolling through little 'Sconset by the sea, Among the happy bathers on the beach, Watching the sunset on the purple moors, Or on the way to lonely Sankoty. Brtmian Htwardt The courtly welcome from his cabin door, Far from the mainland on his isle of dreams, Must hold its spell forever in our hearts, To shame ungenerous credence or offense With faith in simple kindness and high themes. When last I saw him it was at his ease On the wide lounge before the blazing fire — The hospitable hearthstone of The Players. So free of spirit, so fine, and so humane. Kindly to judge and kindling to inspire ! Dear Bronson Howard ! Could mortal ever live More loyally for loveliness and riglit ? We shall not find him now by hearth nor shore, But all life long love must recall his smile — Immortal friend of sweetness and of light. TO A FRIEND, with a copy of the last SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA. DEAR friend, our comrade who left here His beautiful unfinished songs, With Shelley and the sons of light To the majestic past belongs. ^9 ;|J frind. By winter fire, by iummer sun, vve shall not have him any more. That courtlv leisure, that slow smile, Have found new countries to explore. He cannot lift you hand nor voice, In the old way to let you know He loves you and would have you elad He uses mine to tell you so. ■^O 4,Y0UNG LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY ■yHE marching years go by Tit u " J.'"'".*'' J*"" gannent's hem. The bandits by and by Will bid ycu 0,0 with them. Trust not that caravan ! Old vaeabonds are they j They 'ir rob you if they can, And make believe it 's play. Make the old robbers rive Of all the spoils they fear,— Their truth, to help you live — Their joy, to keep you fair. ' Ask not for gauds nor gold. Nor fame that falsely nng, j The foolish world grows old Caring for all these things. 30 *"• BirlA- A Nor sadness any more • Great Joy has kept my door. That angel of the calm All-comprehendinK smile. No menace can dismay, No falsity begui.e. Out of the house of life Before him fled away Languor, regret, and strife And sorrow on that day. Grim fear, unmanly doubt And impotent despair Went at his bidding forth Among the things that were,— Leaving a place all clean, Resounding of the sea To be a home for thee. 31 LYRIC. OH, once I could not undertUnd The tob within the throat of iprinc, - The ihrllllng of the frogs, nor why The birdi lo paiiionately aing. That waa before your beauty came And atooped to teach my aou! deaire, When on theae mortal Ifpa you laid The magic and Immortalfire. I wondered why the aea ahould acem So gray, so lonely, and ao old ; The sigh of level-driving snows In winter so forlornly cold. I wondered what it waa could give The scarlet autumn pomps their pride. And paint wirh colors not of earth The glory of the mountainside. I could not tell why youth should dream And worship at the evening star. And yet must go with eager feet Where danger and where splendor are. I could not g ess why men at timea. Beholding be.uty, should go mad With joy or sorrow or despair Or some unknown delight they had. I wondered what they would receive From Time's inexorable hand So full of loveliness and doom. But now, ah, now I understand t 32 i WOOD-PATH. AT evening and al mornine f .."y*" enchanted way . *?'^ "" "'°''''' '" wonder, And have no word to »ajr. I« ii the path we traversed One twilight, thou and I , Thy beauty all a rapture. My ipirit all a cry. The red leaves (all upon it The moon and mist and rain But not the magic footfall i hat made its meaning plain. NIKE. WHAT do men give thanks for? I K've thanks for one. Lovelier than morning Dearer than the sun. S..I ;-. <» head the victors Must ive praised and known, • it ■ tii.it breast and bearing, .^ Ike's very own As superb, untrammeled, Kbythmed and poised and free AS the strong pure sea-wind Walking on the sea; 33 Such a hand as Beauty Uses with full heart, Seeking for her freedom In new shapes of art ; M Soft as rain in April, Quiet as the days Of the purple asters And the autumn haze ; With a soul more subtle Than the light of stars, Frailer than a moth's wing To the touch that mars ; f Wise with all the silence Of the waiting hills, When the gracious twilight Wakes in them and thrills; With a voice more tender Than the early moon Hears among the thrushes In the woods of June ; Delicate as grasses When they lift and stir — One sweet lyric woman — I give thanks for her. 34 BY STl . WATERS, "he leadeth he be- side THE STILL waters; HE RESTORETH MY SOUL." MY tent stands in a garden Of aster and goldenrod, Tilled by the rain and the sunshine, And sown by the hand of God, — An old New England pasture Abandoned to peace and time. And by the magic of beauty Reclaimed to the sublime. About it are golden woodlands Of tulip and hickory ; On the open ridge behind it You may mount to a glimpse of sea, — The far-oS, blue, Homeric Rim of the world's great shield, A border of boundless glamor For the soul's familiar field. I In purple and gray-wrought lichen The boulders lie in the sun ; Along its grassy footpath The white-tailed rabbits run. The crickets work and chirrup Through the still afternoon ; And the owl calls from the hillside Under the frosty moon. The odorous wild grape clambers Over the tumbling wall. And throigh the autumnal quiet The chestnuts open and fall. Sharing time's freshness and fragrance, 35 'A 'atgrt. Here mW^'V^reat soul, To »;S ' "P'"' ""y "pen To wisdom serene and wfole. Shall we not grow with the asters - Never reluctant nor sad, No counting the cost of beinp- Lmngtodareandbeglad? *^' Shall we not lift with tie crickets A chorus of ready cheer, Su^tlSanTu^t:!::^-'--- Have I as brave a spirit, Th« P*^**"' Of passing days F^ll, ?.l\"'^ oracles Nature Fills with her holy breath, S^'he'nglory'ofcolo;, Transcending the shadow of death. Here in the sifted sunlight A spmt seems to brood In .^L^^m"->' ^^ "-""h of beina In tranquil, instinctive mood • ^ 36 And the heart, filled full of gladness Such as the wise earth knowsr Wells w,th a full thanksgiving For the gifts that life beftows : Th^ I, sp'enf i4 gospel of ?olor, 1 he rapt revelations of sound; tor the morning-blue above us For the chickadee's call to valo^ Bidding the faint-heart turn ; For fire and running water, Snowfall and summer rain • For sunsets and quiet meadows. The fruit and the standing grain- For the solemn hour of mlonrise' Over the crest of trees, When the mellow lights are kindled In the lamps of the centuries ; Le°d hv°fh' '^^° ''■'■°"«''" aforetime, Led by the mystic strain And [w°''.l''^'*'Ser freedom, And 1 ve for the greater gain • For plenty and peace anl playtime. The homely goods of earth, ^ ' And for rare immaterial treasures Accounted of little worth ; Wher'.' wi'^"''''^ ='r<^ friendship. Where beneficent truth is supreme — Those everlasting cities '^ ' Built on the hills of dream ; 37 By SIM iy;'- "'='' *"'' 8"°''i"S wi'h blended marvels, vermilion and dun «:"ucu Hung out for the pageant of time that passes alone an avenue of the sun I ^ The crown of the ash is tinged with purple the hickory leaves are Etruscan gold ^ ' ^KoVl'?i^'^^,';'^d^^"-''--"g-st the "■ mark'',yc''h^s"ra°s" "'"*'' '*^"'^' '' "y^'' »»■ In festal pomp and victorious pride, when the vision ofspring is brought to pass. Down from the line of the shore's deep shadows another and softer picture lies, ^ ^na^ows ^VdJeaTof ?a«lilf 1'" '"""""- ^''-"^ ""bor '?et: ai;^ fefer''''-'^^. -"""S the With the spell of an empty fairy world, where smew and sap are left behind. So men dream of a far-off heaven of power and knowledge and endless joy, ^ Ps divlSe' erpToy"'' '"' '""'°"' '"" '° «" ""honla^d felr!*""°'" ™='«*' "^o™ °' '=«'»»«= Of the very happiness life engenders and earth provides — our pri-/ilege herl. 39 r T.Dnm. Dare we dispel a single transport, neglect the worth that is here and now, Yet dream of enjoying its shadowy semblance in the by-and-by somewhere, someiiow ? I heard the wind on the hillside whisper, " They ill prepare for a journey hence Who waste the senses and starve the spirit in a world all made for spirit and sense. " Is the full stream fed from a stifled source, or the ripe fruit filled from a blighted flower ? Are not the brook and the blossom greatened through many a busy beatified hour ? Not in the shadow but in the substance, plastic and potent at our command, Are all the wisdom and gladness of heart; this is the kingdom of heaven at hand." So I will pass through the lovely world, and par- take of beauty to feed my soul. With earth my domain and growth my portion, how should I sue for a further dole ? In the lift I feel of immortal rapture, in the flying glimpse I gain of truth. Released is the passion that sought perfection, assauged the ardor of dreamful youth. The patience of time shall teach me courage, the strength of the sun shall lend me poise. 1 would give thanks for the autumn glory, for the teaching of earth and all her joys. Her fine fruition shall well suffice me ; the air shall stir in my veins like wine ; While the moment waits and the wonder deepens, my life shall merge with the life divine. 40 ON BURIAL HILL. WHILE the slow-filtered sorcery Of Indian summer lay Upon the golden-shadowed streets Of Concord yesterday, We climbed the rocky path that led Through hallowed air all still, Where Concord men first laid their dead To rest on Burial Hill. Her sages and her poets lie In Sleepy Hollow ground ; But here, unviJted, apart, Her good men unrenowned, Those vanished folic who greatly did, Because they greatly planned. Here in the slanting mellow sun Their sinking headstones stand. Close to the stone-walled village street It rises in deep shade, — This cherished place about whose base Their first homesteads were made. Here the first smoke rose from the hearth ro cheer them, great of soul; And here for all the world to see They set their Liberty Pole. O little, blessed, lonely plot Of our ancestral earth, What dreams are here as we draw near The dust that gave us birth ! Out of the ancient mighty dark These Pilgrims not in vain Proclaimed the good they saw, then turned ro dust and dreams again. 41 I ; Hiu ° "*'*'■ "y *''*''■ dream* are dead, Since West and South and North They sent their breed to prove their creed In verity and worth. Across the conquered leagues that lie Beneath their dauntless will, From tent and shack the trails run back To the foot of Burial Hill. Slowly w J mount the wooded crest, And there in golden gloom Stands simple, square, and unadorned. Our grandsire's altar tomb. Upon its dark gray slated top The long inscription reads. In stately phrase his townsmen's praise Of his deserts and deeds. Their " pastor of the Church of Christ," They wish the world to feel The " luster " of his ministry. His " meekness " and his " zeal." I doubt not he deserved it all. And not a word of ill; For they were just, these iien whose dust Lies here on Burial Hill. Perhaps we wear the very guise And features that he wore, And with the look of his own eyes Behold his world once more. Would that his spirit too might live, While lives his goodly name, To move among the sons of men, "A minister of flame." 42 So might his magic gift of wordi, Not wholly paucd away, Survive to be a sorcery In all men's hearts to-day, To plead no less for loveliness Than truth and goodness still. God rest you, sir, his minister, Asleep on Burial Hill! OnBurM urn. THE WISE MEN FROM THE EAST. (A LITTLE boy's CHRISTMAS LESSON) " Ti/^HYwtre the Wise Men three, " tnsteadof five or seven t" They bad to match, you see, The archangels in Heaven. God sent them, sure and swift. By his mysterious presage. To bear the threefold gift And uke the threefold message. Thus in their hands were seen The gold of purest Beauty, The myrrh of Truth all-clean. The frankincense of Duty. And thus they bore away The loving heart's great treasure. And knowledge clear as day. To be our life's new measure. 43 u 1 .1 I i i Arii/rZ They went b»ck to the Eait lit Sit. To ipread the news of gladnesi. There one became a prieit Of the new word to sadnes-s j And one a workman, skilled Beyond the old earth's fashion: And one a scholar, filled With learning's endless passion. God sent them for a sign He would not change nor alter His good and fair design, However man may falter. He meant that, as He chose His perfect plan and willed it, They stood in place of those Who elsewhere had fulfilled it; Whoso would mark and reach The height of man's election, Must stifl achieve and teach The tnplicate perfection. For since the world was made, One thing was needed ever, To keep man undismayed Through failure and endeavor — A faultless trinity Of body, mind, and spirit. And each with its own three Strong angels to be near it ; 44 Strength to arise and go Wherever dawn li breaking, Poise like the tides that flow, Instinct for beauty-making; Imagination bold To cross the mystic border, Reason to seek and hold, Judgment for law and order ; i°Vu^l ■"?■"» »" "''»8» well. > aith that is al|.availln| Each terror to dispel. And Love, ah, Love unfailing. These are the flaming Nine Who walk the world unsleeping, S.nt forth by the Divine With manhood in their keeping. These are the seraphs strone His miRhty soul had need of, When He would right the wrone And sorrow He took heed of. And that, I think, is why The Wise Men knelt before Him And put their kingdoms by To serve Him and adore Him; So that our Lord, unknown, Should not be unattended. When He was here alone And poor and unbefriended ; 45 M«n/r»m l»t ill. SijK: Tn\*^.'"" "="•«''« hw. thr« i»ttM. (Rather than five or Hven) To stand in their degree, Like archangeli In Heaven. •1 A WATER COLOR. THERE -S a picture In my room Ughteni many an hour of gloom, ■ Cheer* me under fortune's frown And the drudgery of town. Many and many a winter day w n my soul sees all thing* gray, Here Is vurilable June, Heart's content and spirits boon. It is scarce a hand-breadth wide, Not a span from side to side. Yet It Is an open door Loolcing bacic to joy once more, Where the level marshes lie, A quiet journey of the eye. And the unsubstantial blue Makes the fine Illusion true. So I forth and travel there In the blessed light and air, 46 * rom the dim and ro»y ihore, Of'l!l.*'LM''"^-"*?' »•«* draft 0« the old sea'i mighty craft. I am ,,tandlnhe rose and wondered- Gazed on the sleeping ' Face of her loved one. Alien and cruel ; Kissed her strange children. Longingly laying a hand In farewell on each. Crept to the door, and fled Back to the forest. aiDtndc. Only the deep heart Of the World-mother, i3 "^•~*- Brooding below the itomn Of human madness, Can know what desolate Anguish possessed her. Only the far mind Of the World-father, Seeing the mystic End and beginning, Knows why the pageant Is so betattered With mortal sorrow. A PAINTER'S HOLIDAY. WE painters sometimes strangely keep These holidays. When life runs deep And broad and strong, it comes to make Its own bright-colored almanack. Impulse and incident divine Must find their way through tone and line; The throb of color and the dream Of beauty, giving art its theme From dear life's daily miracle, Illume the artist's life as well. A bird-note, or a turning leaf, The first white fall of snow, a brief Wild song from the Anthology, A smile, or a girl's kindling eye, — And there is worth enough for him To make the page of history dim. Who knows upon what day may come The touch of that delirium 54 Which lifts plain life to the divine, And teaches hand th« magic line No cunnine rule could ever reach, Where Soul's necessities find speech ? None knows how rapture may arrive To be our helper, and survive Through our essay to help in turn All starving eager souls who yearn Lightward discouraged and distraught. Ah, once art's ^leam of glory caught And treasured m the heart, how then We walk enchanted among men, And with the elder gods confer I So art is hope's interpreter. And with devotion must conspire To fan the eternal altar fire. Wherefore you find me here to-day. Not idling the good hours away, But picturing a magic hour With its replenishment of power. Conceive a bleak December day, The streets all mire, the sky all gray. And a poor painter trudging home Disconsolate, when what should come Across his vision, but a line On a bold-lettered play-house sign, A Persian Sun Danct. In he turns. A step, and there the desert bums Purple and splendid ; molten gold The streamers of the dawn unfold. Amber and amethyst uphurled Above the far rim of the world ; The long-held sound of temple bells Over the hot sand steals and swells ; Si A Pminter't HM^'^ laiy tom-tom throbs and dronei HMiav j„ barbarous maddening monotones ; While sandal incense blue and keen Hangs in the air. And then the scene Wakes, and out step, by rhythm released, The sorcery of all the East, In rose and saffron gossamer, — A young light-hearted worshipper Who dances up the sun. She moves Like waking woodland flower that loves To greet the day. Her lithe brown curve Is lilce a sapling's sway and swerve Before the spring wind. Her dark hair Framing a face vivid and rare, Curled to her throat and then flew wild, Like shadows round a radiant child. The sunlight from her cymbals played About her dancing knots, and made A world of rose-lit ec tasy, Prophetic of the day to be. Such mystic beauty might have shone In Sardis or in Babylon, To brine a Satrap to his doom Or touch some lad with glory's bloom. And now it wrought for me, with sheer Enchantment of the dying year. Its irresistible reprieve From joylessness on New Year's Eve. S6 MIRAGE. H^5F hanes at last, you see, my row Of sketches, — all 1 have to show Of one enchanted summer spent In sweet laborious content, At little 'Sconset by the moors. With the sea thundering by its doors, Ji?.?^*"/ streets, and gardens gay With hollyhocks and salvia. And here upon the easel yet. With the last brush of paint still wet, (Showing how inspiration toils), Is one where the white surf-line boils Along the sand, and the whole sea Lifts to the skyline, just to be The wondrous background from whose verse Of blue on blue there should emerge This miracle. One day of days I strolled the silent path that strays Between the moorlands and the beach From Siasconset, till you reach Tom Nevers Head, the lone last land That fronts the ocean, lone and grand As when the Lord first bade it be For a surprise and mystery, A sailless sea, a cloudless sky, The level lonely moors, and I The only soul in all that vast Of color made intense to last ! The small white sea-birds piping near; The great soft moor-winds; and the dear Bright sun that pales each crest to jade Where gulls glint fishing unafraid. .57 ttirmp. Here man the godlike might have gone With his deep thought, on that wild dawn When the first sun came from the sea, Glow'nc and kindling the world to be. While time began and joy had birth, — No wilder sweeter spot on earth I As I sat there and mused (the way We painters waste our time, you sav I) On tne sheer loneliness and strength Whence life must spring, there came at length Conviction of the helplessness Of earth alone to ban or bless, I saw the huee unhuman sea; I heard the drear monotony Of the waves beating on the shore With heedless, futile strife and roar. Without a meaning or an aim. And then a revelation came. In subtle, sudden, lovely guise, Like one of those soft mysteries Of Indian jugglers, who evoke A flower for you out of smoke. I knew sheer beauty without soul Could never be perfection's zoal, Nor satisfy the seeking mind With all it longs for and must find One day. The lovely things that haunt Our senses with an aching want. And move our souls, are like the fair Lost garments of a soul somewhere. Nature is naught, if not the veil Of some great good that must prevail And break in joy, as woods of spring Break into song and blossoming. S8 Cut what makct that ereat eoodneu >urt Within ourselves ? When leaps the heart With gladness, only then we know Why lovely Nature travails so, — Why art must persevere and pray In her incomparable way. In all the world the only worth Is human happiness; its dearth The darkest ill. Let joyance be. And there is God's sufficiency, — Such joy as only can abound Where the heart's comrade has been found. That was my thought. And then the sea Broke in upon my revery With clamorous beauty, — the superb Eternal noun that takes no verb But love. The heaven of dove-like blue Bent o'er the azure, round and true As magic sphere of crystal glass. Where faitn sees plain the paeeant pass Of things unseen. So I beheld The sheer sky-arches domed and belled, As if the sea were the very floor Of heaven where walked the gods of yore In Plato's imaeery, and I Uplifted saw their pomps go by. The House of space and time grew tense As if with rapture's imminence. When truth should be at last made clear, And the ;;reat worth of life appear ; While I, a worshipper at the shrine, For very longing grew divine. Borne upward on earth's ecstasy. And welcomed by the boundless sky. 59 Mimgt. I A mighty preiclcnce itemed to brood Over that tenuoui solitude Yearning for form, till it became Vivid ai dream and live as flame, Throuch magic art could never match, The vAion I nave tried to catch, — All earth's delight and meaning grown A lyric presence loved and known. How otherwise could time evolve Young c'lrage, or the high resolve, Or gla(. .>s to assuage and bless The sc s austere great loneliness. Than L_, providing tier somehow With sympathy of hand and brow. And bidding ner at last go free, Companioned through eternity ? So there appeared before my eyes. In a beloved familiar guise, A vivid questing human face In profile, scanning heaven for grace. Up-gazing there against the blue With eyes that heaven itself shone through ; The lips soft-parted, hUf in prayer. Half confident of kindness there; A brow like Plato's made for dream In some immortal Academe, And tender as a happy girl's ; A full dark head of clustered curls Round as an emperor's, where meet Repose and ardor, strong and sweet, Distilling from a mind unmarred The glory of her rapt regard. 60 So eager Mary might have itood, In love'i adoring attitude, i^nd loolicd into the angel'a eyea With faith and fearleiineai, ail wiae In aoul's unfaltering innocence, Sure in her woman^ iupersenic Of thingi only the humWe Icnow. My vision looka forever so. In other years when men shall say, ..ru''*^*?? ""= P»in»ef'i meaninp unv? Why all this vast of lea and spa e ' Just to enframe a woman's face ?' Here is the pertinent reply, " What better use for earth and sky ? ' The great archangel passed that way Illummg life with mystic ray Not Lippo's self nor Raphael Had lovelier realer things to tell Than I, beholding far away How all the melting rose and gray Upon the purple sea-line leaned About that head that intervened. How real was she ? Ah, my friend, In art the fact and fancy blend Past telling. All the painter's task Is with the glonr. Need we ask The tulips breaking through the mould To their untarnished age of gold. Whence their ideaLs were derived That have so gloriously survived ? Flowers and painters both must give The hint they have received, to live, — 6i MSrft. Mh-tt- Spend without stint the joy and power That lurk in each propitious hour, — Yet leave the why untoid — God's way. My sketch is all I have to say. THE WINGED VICTORY. THOU dear and most high Victory, Whose hoane is the unvanquislied sea. Whose fluttering wind-blown garments keep The very freshness, fold, and sweep They wore upon the galley's prow, By what unwonted favor now Hast thou alighted in this place, Thou Victory of Samothrace ? O thou to whom in countless lands With eager liearts and striving hands Strong men in their last needliave prayed. Greatly desiring, undismayed. And thou hast been across the fight Their consolation and their might, Withhold not now one dearer gract; Thou Victory of Samothrace ! Behold, we too must cry to thee. Who wage our strife with Destiny, And give for Beauty and for Truth Our love, our valor and our youth. Are there no honors for these things To match the pageantries of kings ? Are we more laggard in the race Than those who tell at Samothrace? 62 / Not only for the bow and sword, O Victory, be thy reward ! The hands that work with paint and clay In Beauty's service, shall not they Also with mighty faith prevail ? Let hope not die, nor courage fail. But joy come with thee pace for pace. As once long since in Samothrace. Grant us the skill to shape the form And spread the color living-warm, (As thev who wrought aforetime did), Where love and wisdom shall lie hid. In fair impassioned types, to sway The cohorts of the world to-day. In Truth's eternal cause, and trace Thy glory down from Samothrace. With all the ease and splendid poise Of one who triumphs without noise, Wilt thou not teach us to attain Thy sense of power without strain. That we a little may possess Our souls with thy sure loveliness, — That calm the years cannot deface. Thou Victory of Samothrace ? Then in the ancient ceaseless war With infamy, go thou before ! Amid the shoutings and the drums Let it be learned that Beauty comes, Man's matchless Paladin to be, Whose rule shall make his spirit free As thine from all things mean or base. Thou Victory of Samothrace. 63 Th, Vktory. I"'.l TRIUMPHALIS. S°^^. ""thou sad again With the old sadnSs? Thou Shalt be glad »«"„ When April sun and rain Mount, o the teeming'brain With the earth madness When from the mould aeain Spurning disaster, """«»"•• ^P""« snoots unfold again Follow thou faster ' g?'°J."'e drear domain Of dark, defeat, and pain Praising the Master. ' Light for thy guide a^ai- AmpIeandsXdfd;^ "' Love at thy side again. All doubting endel; For nothing small or vain Michael contended !) Thou Shalt take heart asain No more despairing; ^*'"' Pla^ thy great part%ain Loving and caring. ^ ' Hark, how the gold refrain Con7dt!te^r°-«»^'". a«tle with wrong again, 64 Be truth's defender,— Of the immortal train Born to attempt, attain, Never surrender ! Tritlm0i^■ ^"\|NCHANTED TRAVELLER. V V With hearts all fear above, For we ate the bread of friendship We drank the wine of love. Through many a wondrous autumn, Through many a magic spring, We hailed the scarlet banners, We heard the blue-bird sing. We looked on life and nature With the eager eves of youth, And all we asked or cared for Was beauty, joy, and truth. We found no other wisdom We learned no other way, Than the gladness of the morning, The glory of the day. ?? a|' our earthly treasure ohall go with us, my dears. Aboard the Shadow Liner, Across the sea of years. THE STARRY MID- AS I MUSE BSPO- ON THE ASHE8- AND THE EMBE- «UFE HAS NO OT- AND TIME NO- THAN: 'I FOR Joy WHERE THOU Ft)R- ■-.iJ KtrdHT WHISPERS, O-JI^RB THE FIRE 58-fl-OF AMBITION E-4I-EB OF DESIRE, ■HER LOGIC, ■^THER CREED, -WILL FOLLOW, -I.OVE DOST LEAD!" m<1f!^ miii