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Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour 6tre reproduit en un seul clich6, 11 est film6 d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m6thode. 1 2 3 1 6 A WINTER HOLIDAY If? 'i) By bliss carman LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRt jjJi.as BEHIND THE ARRAS. A Book of the Unseen i . 25 BALLADS OF LOST HAVEN A Book of the Sea .... 1.25 BY THE AURELIAN WALL. A Book of Elegies 1.25 With RICHARD HOVFY SONGS FROM VAGABONDIA $1.00 MORE SONGS FROM VAGA- BONDIA i.oo Small, Maynard £sf Company Boston HH T WINTER HOLIDAY BLISS CARMAN 'H ■,5 Boston Small, Maynard & Company 1899 wT^^^^^rmm 4^.9?9 ? Copyright^ l8gg, by Small, Matnard & Company (incoxforatkd) THE DNIVKRUTY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. J 3 m To T. B. M. Scltuate, Massachusetts October, 1899 ■■ Contents Page December in Scituate 3 Winter at Tortoise Shell ... 8 Bahaman . . 15 Flying Fish ... * %$ In Bay Street 31 Migrants 35 White Nassau 38 A Winter Holiday KsassiB /( m T A Winter Holiday DECEMBER IN SCITUATE Under a hill in Scituate, Where sleep four hundred men of Kent, My friend one bobolincolned June Set up his rooftree of content. Content for not too long, of course. Since painter's eye makes rover's heart. And the next turning of the road May cheapen the last touch of art. Yet also, since the world is wide. And noon's face never twice the same. Why not sit down and let the sun. That artist careless of his fame. Exhibit to our eyes, off-hard. As mood may dictate and time serve. His precious, perishable scraps Of fleetmg color, melting curve ? 3 1 I i I A Winter Holiday And while he shifts them all too soon. Make vivid note of this and that. Careful of nothing but to keep The beauties we most marvel at. Selective merely, bent to save The sheer delirium of the eye. Which best may solace or rejoice Some fellow-rover by and by ; That stumbling on it, he exclfum, "What mounting sea-smoke! What a blue !** And at the glory we beheld. His smouldering joy may kindle too. Merely selective ? Bring me back, Ferbatim from the lecture hall. Your notes of So-and-so's discourse ; The ^st and substance are not all. The unconscious hand betrays to me What listener it was took heed, Eagei or slovenly or prim ; A written character indeed ! December in Scituate Much more in painting ; every stroke That weaves the very sunset's ply. Luminous, palpitant, reveals How throbbed the heart behind the eye ; How hand was but the cunning dwarf Of spirit, his triumphant lord Marching in Nature's pageantry. Elated in the vast accord. Art is a rubric for d'e soul, Man's comment en the book of earth. The spellborn human summary Which gives that common volume worth. K^ Y\ So at the pictures of my friend, — His marginal remarks, as 'twere, — One cries not only, ** What a blue ! " But, ** What a human heart beat here ! " And now, ten minutes from the train. Over the right-hand easy swell. We catch the sparkle of the sea And the green roof of Tortoise Shell. 5 • I r'^r'r^www'% If ) 1 A Winter Holiday (He guessed from slipshod excellence What fable to his craft applied. The tortoise for his monitor. And Cur tarn cito for his guide.) Here is the slanting open field. Where billow upon billow rolls The sea of daisies in the sun. When June brings back the orioles. It -I I i All summer here the crooning winds Are cradled in the rocking dunes. Till they, full height and burly grown. Go seaward and forget their croons. And out of the Canadian north Comes winter like a huge gray gnome. To blanket the red dunes with snow And muffle the green sea with foam. I could sit here all day and watch The seas at battle smoke and wade. And in the cold night wake to hear The booming of their cannonade. 6 December in Scituate Then smiling turn to sleq) and say, <' In vain dark's banners are unfurled ; That ceaseless roll is God's tattoo Upon the round drum of the world." And waking find without surprise The first sun in a week of storm. The southward eaves begin to drip. And the faint Marshfield hills look warm ; The brushwood all a purple mist ; The blue sea creaming on the shore ; As if the year in his last days Had not a sorrow to deplore. Then evening by the fire of logs. With some old song or some new book ; Our Lady Nicotine to share Our single bliss ; while seaward, look, — Orion mounting peacefiil guard Over our brother's new-made tent. Under a hill in Scituate Where sleep so sound those men of Kent. 7 i) \ A Winter Holiday ' V ■i i \ ¥ WINTER AT TORTOISE SHELL ** What wondrous life is this I lead 1 Ripe apples drop about my head." But as I read, that couplet seems The merest metaphor of dreams, — A parable from Arcady Refuted by this wintry sea. The summer was so long ago, I hardly can believe it so. Did we once really live o- idoors. With leafy walls and grassy floors. Through sultry morns and dreamy noons And red October in the dunes. With butterflies and bees and things That roamed the air on roseleaf wings ? ^< Winter at Tortoise Shell There's not a ^eaf on any bough To prove the truth of summer now ; There 's not an apple left on high To bear the red sun company. The sun himself is gone away, A vagabond since yesterday. And left the maniac wind to moan Through his deserted house alone. Over the hills we watched him forth From the low lodges of the North ; And then a hand we did not know Dropped the tent-curtain of the snow. This morning all outdoors is gray And bleak as dead Siberia. But what is that to lucky me ? Who would not love captivity. Where safe beneath their Tortoise Shell The Lady and the Tortoise dwell ? 9 I ,•/ A Winter Holiday I 1 1' ■I !l/ il The Tortoise is the Lady's son ; He makes procrastination A fine art in this hurrying age Of grudging work and greedy wage. An open air impressionist. He swims his landscape in a mist. And likes to paint his shadows blue. If it is all the same to you. If not, he does not call you blind ; He waits for you to change your mind. His cunning knows how color lies Eluding the untutored eyes. Perhaps within a year or two You may believe his pictures true. The Tortoise, for a pseudonym. Is very suitable to him. At Tortoise Shell the rafters green Mimic a shady orchard screen, 10 Winter at Tortoise Shell The kindly half-light of the leaves. And June songs running round the eaves. The walls are hung with tapestries Of gold flowers bending to the breeze. And pdntings, drenched in light and sun. Of Scituate shore and Norman town, — A mute, unfading fairyland. The glad work of a wizard hand, — A small bright summer world of art The winter cherishes at heart. Look, through the window, where the seas, A million strong, ride in with ease ! The mad white stallions in stampede. This is your wintry world, indeed. But summertime and gladness dwell Under the roof of Tortoise Shell. Color, imperishably fair. Is mistress of the seasons there. II A Winter Holiday And, ah, to-night the Gallaghers Will come in all their mitts and furs. Across the fields to visit us. Then Boston urbs may envy rus ! We Ml let the hooting blizzard shout ; We *11 pull the little table out ; And Andrew Usher, ever blessed. Shall comfort us beneath the vest. So trim the light, and build the fire ; Bring out your oldest^ sweetest briar. For half an hour, if you please. We *11 listen to The Seven Seas / Or Mr. Gallagher will sing — An opera or anything — About the Duke of Seven Dials, About his Dolly and her wiles. Then we will sit, but not for tea. Around the smooth mahogany. It winter at Tortoise Shell And watch while houses full of kings Are overthrown by knaves and things ; And hear the pleasant clicking noise Of triple-colored ivories. And Time may learn another trick To better his arithmetic. When wise content subtracts a notch For fuming weed and foaming Scotch. To-morrow, by the early train. Light-hearted mirth will come again To race across-lots with a crew Of St. Bernards, — contagious Lou. Who would not quit, for joys like these. All idle Southern vagrancies. By purple cove and creamy beach. And gold fruit hung within the reach ? Since friendship is a thing that grows To sturdy height in Northern snows, «3 A Winter Holiday Who would not choose December weather. Where love and cold thrive well together. And bide his days, content to dwell Under the eaves of Tortoise Shell ? - .3SSM i L:ji! ii B!i:£MiJfn i't mnHn am iii\ u i \\ u^m mmmmmft»t Bahaman 6AHAMAN In the crowd that thronged the pierhead, come to see their friends take ship For new ventures in seafaring, when the hawsers were let slip And we swung out in the current, with good-byes on every lip. Midst the waving caps and kisses, as we dropped down with the tide And the faces blurred and faded, last of all your hand I spied Signalling, Farewell ; Good fortune ! then my heart rose up and cried, " While the world iiolds one such comrade, whose sweet durable regard Would so speed my safe departure, lest home-leaving should be hard. What care I who keeps the ferry, whether Charon or Cunard 1 ** 1/ '^m i^ A Winter Holiday Then we cleared the bar, and laid her on the course, the thousand miles From the Hook to the Bahamas, from midwinter to the isles Where frost never laid a finger, and eternal summer smiles. Three days through the surly storm -beat, while the surf-heads threshed and flew. And the rolling mountains thundered to the trample of the screw. The black liner heaved and scuffled and strained on, as if she knew. On the fourth, the round blue morning sparkled there, all light and breeze. Clean and tenuous as a bubble blown from two immensities, Shot and colored with sheer sunlight and the rtiznc of those seas. In that bright new world of wonder, it was life enough to laze All day underneath the awnings, and through half-shut eyes to gaze At the marvel of the sea-blue ; ani I faltered for a phrase i6 A. Bahaman Should half give you the impression, tell you how the very tint Justified your finest daring, as if Nature gave the hint, ** Plodders, see Imagination set his pallet without stint ! " Cobalt, gobelin, and azure, turquoise, sapphire, indigo. Changing from the s >ectral bluish of a shadow upon snow To the deep of Canton china, — one unfathomable glow. And the flying fish, — to sec them in a scurry lift and flee. Silvery as the foam they sprang from, fragile people of the sea. Whom their heart's great aspiration for a moment had set free. From the dim and cloudy ocean, thunder-centred, rosy-verged. At the lord sun's Sursum Cor da, as implicit impulse urged. Frail as vapor, fine as music, these bright spirit-things emerged ; % 17 I -'".J.r^W.'SBf-.l.^!- ^'^'''•r^mimFmm 11 11 A Winter Holiday Like those flocks of small white snowbirds we have seen start up before Our brisk walk in winter weather by the snowy Scituate shore ; And the tiny shining sea-folk brought you back to me once more. So we ran down Abaco ; and passing that tall sentinel Black against the sundown, sighted, as the sudden twilight fell, Nassau light ; and the warm darkness breathed on us from breeze and swell. Stand-by bell and stop of engine ; clank of anchor going down ; And we *re riding in the roadstead off a twinkling-lighted town. Low dark shore with boom of breakers and white beach the palm-trees crown. In the soft wash of the sea air, on the long swing of the tide. Here for once the dream came true, the voyage ended close beside The Hesperides in moonlight on mid-ocean where they ride. i8 ^ Bahaman And those Hesperidian joy-lands were not strange to you and me. Just beyond the lost horizon, every time we looked to sea From Testudo, there they floated, looming plain as plain could be. Who believed us ? " Myth and fable are a science in our time.** " Never saw the sea that color.** " Never heard of fuch a rhyme.** Well, we *ve proved it, prince of idlers, - knowledge wrong and faith sublime. Right were you to follow fancy, give the vaguer instinct room In a heaven of clear color. Where the spirit might assume All her elemental beauty, past the fact of sky or bloom. Paint the vision, not the view, — the touch that bids the sense good-bye. Lifting spirit at a bound beyond the frontiers of the eye. To suburb unguessed dominions of the soul*s credulity. 19 J I '.\> \ II 1 A Winter Holiday Never yet was painter, poet, born content with things that are, — Must divine from every beauty other beauties greater far. Till the arc of truth be circled, and her lantern blaze, a star. This alone is art's ambition, to arrest with form and hue Dominant ungrasped ideals, known to credence, hid from view. In a mimic of creation, — To the life, yet fairer too, — Where the soul may take her pleasure, contemplate perfection's plan. And returning bring the tidings of his heritage to man, — News of continents uncharted she has stood tiptoe to scan. So she fires his gorgeous fancy with a cadence, with a line. Till the artist wakes within him, and the toiler grows divine. Shaping the rough world about him nearer to some fair design. ao Bahaman Every heart must have its Indies, — an inheritance unclaimed In the unsubstantial treasure of a province never named. Loved and longed for through a lifetime, dull, laborious, and unfamed. Never wholly disillusioned. Spiritus, read, hares sit Patria quce tristia nescit, -i This alone the great king writ 0*er the tomb of her he c\ -ished in this fair world she must quit. Love in one farewell forever, taking counsel to implore Best of human benedictions on its dead, could ask no more. The heart's country for a dwelling, this at last is all our lore. But the fairies at your cradle gave you craft to build a home In the wide bright world of color, with the cunning of a gnome ; Blessed you so above your fellows of the tribe that still must roam. ai ..^ ' ..V ' V ' / ^^' S: ; -- -':^VJ. A Winter Holiday Still across the world they go, tormented by a strange unrest. And the unabiding spirit knocks forever at their breast. Bidding them away to fortune in some undiscovered West ; While at home you sit and call the Orient up at your command. Master of the iris seas and Prospero of the purple land. Listen, here was one world-corner matched the cunning of your hand. Not, my friend, since we were children^ and all wonder- tales were true, — Jason, Hengest, Hiawatha, fairy prince or pirate crew, — Was there ever such a landing in a country strange and new Up the harbor where there gathered, fought and revelled many a year. Swarthy Spaniard, lost Lucayan, Loyalist, and Buccaneer, ** Once upon a time ** was now, and "far across the sea " was here. mK Bahaman Tropic moonlight, in great floods and fathoms pouring through the trees On a ground as white as sea-froth its fantastic traceries. While the poincianas, rustling like the rain, moved in the breeze. Showed a city, coral-streeted, melting in the mellow shine. Built of creamstone and enchantment, fairy work in every line. In a velvet atmosphere that bids the heart her haste resign. Thanks to Julian Hospitator, saint of travellers by sea. Roving minstrels and all boatmen, — just such vagabonds as we, — On the shaded wharf we landed, rich in leisure, hale and free. What more would you for God's creatures, but the little tide of sleep ? In a clean white room I wakened, saw the careless sunlight peep Through the roses at the window, lay and listened to the creep •J 'S^ A Winter Holiday Of the soft wind in the shutters, heard the palm-tops stirring high. And that strange mysterious shuffle of the slipshod foot go by. In a world all glad with color, gladdest of all things was I ; In a quiet convent garden, tranquil as the day is long. Here to sit without intrusion of the world or strife or wrong, — Watch the lizards chase each other, and the green bird make his song ; Warmed and freshened, lulled yet quickened in that Paradisal air. Motherly and uncapricious, healing every hurt or care. Wooing body, mind, and spirit firmly back to strong and fair ; By the Angelus reminded, silence waits the touch of sound. As the soul waits her awaking to some Gloria profound; Till the mighty Southern Cross is lighted at the day's last bound. . f r Bahaman And if ever your feir fortune make you good Saint Vincent's guest. At his door take leave of trouble, welcomed to his decent rest. Of his ordered peace partaker, by his solace healed and blessed; Where this flowered cloister garden, hidden from the passing view. Lies behind its yellow walls in prayer the holy hours through ; And beyond, that fairy harbor, floored in malachite and blue. In ihat old white-streeted city gladness has her way at last ; Under burdens finely poised, and with a freedom unsurpassed. Move the naked-footed bearers in the blue day deep and vast. This is Bay Street broad and low-built, basking in its quiet trade ; Here the sponging fleet is anchored ; here shell trinkets are displayed ; Here the cable news is posted daily ; here the market 's made, »5 I ^ -_.n_ A Winter Holiday With its oranges from Andros, heaps of yam and tamarind. Red-juiced shadducks from the Current, ripened in the long trade-wind. Gaudy fish from their sea-gardens, yellow-tailed and azure-finned. Here a group of diving boys in bronze and ivory, bright and slim. Sparkling copper in the high noon, dripping loin-cloth, polished limb. Poised a moment and then plunged in that deep daylight green and dim. Here the great rich Spanish laurels spread across the public square Their dense solemn shade ; and near by, half within the open glare. Mannerly in their clean cottons, knots of blacks are waiting there By the court-house, where a magistrate is hearing cases through. Dealing justice prompt and level, as the sturdy English do, — One more tent-peg of the Empire, holding that great shelter true. %6 I ^m Bahaman Last the picture from the town's end, palmed and foam-fringed through the cane, Where the gorgeous sunset yellows pour aloft and spill and stain The pure amethystine sea and far faint islands of the main. Loveliest of the Lucayas, peace be yours till time be done ! In the gray North 1 shall see you, with your white streets in the sun. Old pink walls and purple gateways, where the lizards bask and run. Where the great hibiscus blossoms in their scarlet loll and glow. And the idling gay bandannas through the hot noons come and go. While the ever sti/ring sea-wind sways the palm- tops to and fro. Far from stress and storm forever, , dream behind your jalousies. While the long white lines of breakers crumble on your reefs and keys. And the crimson oleanders bum against the peacock seas. *7 T A Winter Holiday . FLYING FISH Where the Southern liners go. In the push of the purple seas. When sky and ocean merge Their blue immensities, A creature novel and fine Will break from the foam and play. Swift as a leaf on the wind. Part of the light and spray. Will scud like a gust of snow. Silver diaphanous things. As if, when the sun gave will. The sea for his part gave wings. For aeons the Titan deep Forged and fashioned and framed. In the great water-mills. Forms that no man has named. a8 i «pa«i f Flying Fish With hammer of thunderous seas. With smooth attrition of tides. Shaping each joint and valve. Putting the heart in their sides. Blindly he labored and slow. With patience ungrudging and vast. Moulding the marvels he wrought Nearer some purpose at last. Not his own. Those creatures of his Were endowed with an alien spark. And a hint of groping mind That made for an unseen mark. For part was the stroke of force. Fortuitous, blind, and fell. And part was the breath of soul Inhabiting film and cell. Finer and frailer they grew ; Must dare and be glad and aspire. Out of the nether gloom Into the pale sea-fire. Out of the pale sea-day Into the sparkle and air, 29 J PT"*^ «■ ^i^^ I] A Winter Holiday Quitting the elder home For the venture bright and rare. Ah, Silver-fin, you too Must follow the faint ahoy Over the welter of life To radiant moments of joy I I T " mt mpvp r In Bay Street n-, I? << «( « «c <( IN BAY STREET What do you sell, John Camplejohn, In Bay Street by the sea ? " Oh, turtle shell is what I sell. In great variety : Trinkets and combs and rosaries. All keepsakes fr9m the sea ; 'T is choose and buy what takes the eye. In such a treasury. * * *T is none of these, John Camplejohn, Though curious they be. But something more I 'm looking for. In Bay Street by the sea. Where can I buy the magic charm Of the Bahaman sea. That fills mankind with peace of mind And soul's felicity ? 3 31 ' -IJB- i^r wm^lf^m m llKi ! A Winter Holiday '* Now, what do you sell, John Cample- john. In Bay Street by the sea. Tinged with that true and native blue Of lapis lazuli ? *« Look from your door, and tell me now The color of the sea. Where can I buy that wondrous dye. And take it home with me ? " And where can I buy that rustling sound. In this city by the sea. Of the plumy palms in their high blue calms ; Or the stately poise and free ** Of the bearers who go up and down. Silent as mystery. Burden on head, with naked tread. In the white streets by the sea ? "And where can I buy, John Camplc- john. In Bay Street by the sea. The sunlight's fall on the old pink wall. Or the gold of the orange-tree ? ** 3» In Bay Street ** Ah, that is more than I *ve heard tell In Bay Street by the sea. Since I began, my roving man, A trafficker to be. ** As sure as I *m John Camplejohn, And Bay Street 's by the sea. Those things for gold have not been sold. Within my memory. "But what would you give, my roving man From countries over-sea. For the things you name, the life of the same. And the power to bid them be ? ** '* I *d give my hand, John Camplejohn, In Bay Street by the sea. For the smallest dower of that dear power To paint the things I see.** *' My roving man, I never heard. On any land or sea Under the sun, of any one Could sell that power to thee.*' 3 33 ■TW^ ■mr -"»- 1 1 m U A Winter Holiday *' *T is sorry news, John Camplejohn, If this be destiny. That every mart should know that art; Yet none can sell it me. " But look you, here 's the grace of God There *s neither price nor fee. Duty nor toll, that can control The power to love and see. ct To each his luck, John Camplejohn, Say I, And as for me. Give me the pay of an idle day In Bay Street by the sea.** 34 mm ^ '■■ Migrants MIGRANTS Hello, whom have we here Under the orange-trees. Where the old convent wall Looks to the turquoise seas ? In his jacket of olive green He slips from bough to bough. With a familiar air No venue could disavow. Good-day to you, quiet sir ! We have been friends before. When lilacs were in bloom By the lovely Scituate shore. When the surly hordes of snow Came down on the trains of the wind. Two sojourners, it seems. Were of a single mind. 35 [I'i . I I It A Winter Holiday- Both from the storm and gray. The stress of the northern year. Seeking the peace of the world. Found tranquillity here. Here where there is no haste. Lead we, each in his way, Undistracted a while. The slow sweet life of a day. t Busy, contented, and shy. Through the green shade you go ; So unobtrusive and fair A mien few mortals know. It needs not the task be hard. Nor the achievement sublime. If only the soul be great. Free from the fever of time. And your glad being confirms The ancient Bonum est Nos hie esse of earth. With serene, unanxious zest, 36 \ L •fm > Migrants Whether far North you fare. When too brief spring once more Visits the stone-walled fields Beside the Scituate shore^ Or here in an endless June Under the orange-trees. Where the old convent wall Looks to the turquoise seas. 'S 37 "I I iMiuuimmmnmimmmmmmmmmmimmmmmmsM. r A Winte' jliday i^ » WHITE NASSAU There is fog upon the river, there is mirk upon the town ; You can hear the groping ferries as they hoot each other down ; From the Battery to Harlem there *s seven miles of slush. Through looming granite canyons of glitter, noise, and rush. Are you sick of phones and tickers and crazing cable gongs. Of the theatres, the hansoms, and the breath- less Broadway throngs. Of Flouret*s and the Waldorf and the chilly, drizzly Park, When there *s hardly any morning and five o'clock is dark ? I know where there *s a city, whose streets are white and clean. And sea-blue morning loiters by walls where roses lean, 38 I i.mm.:,.imit,.':m^X,... White Nassau And quiet dwells ; that's Nassau, beside her creaming key. The queen of the Lucayas in the blue Baha- man sea. She 's ringed with surf and coral, she *s crowned with sun and palm ; She has the old-world leisure, the regal tropic calm ; The trade winds fan her forehead ; in ever- lasting June She reigns from deep verandas above her blue lagoon. She has had many suitors, — Spaniard and Buccaneer, — Who roistered for her beauty and spilt their blood for her ; But none has dared molest her, since the Loyalist Deveaux Went down from Carolina a hundred years ago. Umnodern, undistracted, by grassy ramp and fort. In decency and order she holds her modest court ; 39 \h A Winter Holiday She seems to have forgotten rapine and greed and strife. In that unaging gladness and dignity of life. Through streets as smooth as asphalt and white as bleaching shell. Where the slip-shod heel is happy and the naked foot goes well. In their gaudy cotton kerchiefs, with sway- ing hips and free. Go her black folk in the morning to the market of the sea. Into her bright sea-gardens the flushing tide- gates lead. Where fins of chrome and scarlet loll in the lifting weed ; With the long sea-draft behind them, through luring coral groves The shiny water-people go by in painted droves. Under her old pink gateways, where Time a moment turns. Where hang the orange lanterns and the red hibiscus burns, 40 i V- White Nassau Live the harmless merry lizards, quicksilver in the sun. Or still as any image with their shadow on a stone. Through the lemon-trees at leisure a tiny olive bird Moves all day long and utters his wise as- suring word ; * While up in their blue chantry murmur the solemn palms. At their litanies of joyance, their ancient ceaseless psalms. There in the endless sunlight, within the surPs low sound. Peace tarries for a lifetime at doorways un- renowned ; And a velvet air goes breathing across the sea-girt land. Till the sense begins to waken and the soul to understand. There *s a pier in the East River, where a black Ward Liner lies. With her wheezy donkey-engines taking cargo and supplies ; 4« JCM»- fl ll .> i w i. A Winter Holiday She will clear the Hook to-morrow for the Indies of the West, For the lovely white girl city in the Islands of the Blest. She Ml front the riding winter on the gray Atlantic seas. And thunder through the surf-heads till her funnels crust' and freeze ; She *11 grapple the Southeaster, the Thing without a Mind, Till she drops him, mad and monstrous, with the light ship far behind. Then out into a morning all summer warmth and blue ! By the breathing of her pistons, by the pur- ring of the screw. By the springy dip and tremor as she rises, you can tell Her heart is light and easy as she meets the lazy swell. With the flying fish before her, and the white wake running aft. Her smoke-wreath hanging idle, without breeze enough for draft, 4* mmmmmmmmmmmmmm ■ White Nassau She will travel fair and steady, and in the afternoon Run down the floating palm-tops where lift the Isles of June. With the low boom of breakers for her only signal gun. She will anchor ofl^ the harbor when her thousand miles are done. And there's my love, white Nassau, girt with her foaming key. The queen of the Lucayas in the blue Bahaman sea 1 43 I This first edition 0/ A Winter Holiday is printed for Smalls Maynard ?jf Company at The Vnt'versity Press in Cambridge^ U. S. A., No'vember^ i8gg