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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ^rr v-i iL:D A !\i 'r:y ^ A-v . -.y. / RHYMES AFLOAT AND AFIELD BY WIIaTaIAM t. jamkh TORO.NTO: William T. James, Printer and Publisher. 1891. Entered, according to Ad of the Parliament of Canada. in the year 1891, by William T. James, at the Department of Agriculture. •^i-Pcbtcatcbi^- To PROFESSOR GOLDWIN SMITH, LL.D., D.C.L. -%S AN EXPRESSION OK THE ADMIRATION OK THE AUTHOR KOR THK CHARACTER AND INTELLECTUAL QUALITIES OK AN EMINEXT CITIZEN. WHOSE REPUTATION IS THE BEST TESTIMONY TO HIS LITERARY ABILITIES AND EXCELLENT CONTRIBUTIONS TO CANADIAN LITERATURE. an CONTENTS. Proem A Reveille A Drifting Iceberg Waiting A Yachting Song . . The Squire's Rookery The Stowaway The Woods "All Hands on Deck!' Dreaming Seagulls Resurgam The Wailing Sea . . Wild-Flowers . . England, Farewell Shifting Shadows "Land Ho! " PAGE 9 I 13 H 17 19 20 30 31 33 36 37 39 41 42 44 45 vi CONTENTS I ^ "Boots and Saddles!" When Love Keeps Watch Sorrow Washed Asho'rk A SOXG OF To-DAV THii: Mariner's Prayer ,. The Mirage The Cruise of the Will-o'-the-Wisp Shakespeare Sanctified Solitude Tennyson Forestalled Longfellow Adrift Montgomery The Song of the Siren . . Sir John A. Macdonald At the Creekside Harvest Home . . Collision at Sea . . The Month of Spring Heave the Anchor O ! . . The First Fratricide Betrayed The Trysting-Tree PAGE 47 49 50 53 55 57 59 60 6G 67 69 70 73 74 78 79 81 82 84 86 89 90 92 96 97 CONTENTS. Vll Homeward B^und . . Bigotry and Truth . . A Negro Melody Deaf and Dumb The Suicide • • • • When Buds Burst Forth Lines to the Memory of Brave Father Christmas Fidelity Life in Death Cambria Love and Faith The Faint-Hearted Troubadour The Highwayman "Some Day" • • • • • • The Ragman Immortality.. • • • • • Glory • • • « ■ The Madman ' " • • • • The Printer's Devil Empty Houses A Plea for the Poet Men PAGE 99 102 XO5 107 109 III 116 117 121 125 124 125 127 128 135 139 141 M3 f '^^Vw^OST of the following poems have appeared in various ^r*Mb Canadian and American magazines and newspapers. To those readers of this book who have read any of them as they were so published fmm time to time, I wish to state th:ii, in the final revi?ion of the manuscripts, some of these have been con- sideiably altered and, I think, improved. i Before going to press, the copy and proof-sheets were submitted to the criticism of my good friend, Mr. Bernard McEvoy, of the editorial staff of The Toronto Daily Mail, in whose judgment I place great reliance. For his friendly interest evinced in this venture, and for many valuable suggestions, I feel indebted to him, and tender this grateful acknowledgment of his kindness. W T. J. Toronto, December, 1891. in various )apers. To ;m as they tb:ii in the been con- 3 submitted /OY, of the udgment I ;ed in this ndebted to indness. W. T. J. Kl';yn)e? ^floa^t aQd ^Sfield PROEM. ^H^^HE Stream of song still blithely flows 1|& Through channels deep and shallow, Refreshment spreading as it goe.i In cultured field or fallow. The peasant's daily toil it cheers, Moves kings to laughter or to tears. Its source is lost to modern ken In prehistoric ages; It bears a fragment now and then Of songs of ancient sages ; Commingled in its changing tunes Are legends from forgotten runes. 9 I i 10 PROEM. A vagrant runnel, to this tome Diverted l»v much labor, Sings modestly of heart and home, Of good-will to one's neighbor. And scenes where sympathy will find The revels of the author's mind. In rippling narrows, quiet nooks, Cascades of plot or passion ; In places where the current crooks. To divers ballads fashion, Some simple lilt among these rhymes May please poetic souls at times. 3 A REVEILLE. XI A REVEILLE. ^WAKE, the slumbering love, ^^^ Canadians, for your land ! They who the seas do rove, Behold no fairer strand. Lo ! in this broad domain — Her sons in freedom bred ; Her prospers, how immane !— A nation lifts its head. Saved from a foreign yoke. When, armed, our fathers i)ore Her flag through battle's smoke. In darker days of yore : Our frontiers we will guard From treacherous seizure still, And keep both watch and ward. Lest any work us ill. 12 A REVEILLE. I A bribe may cravens tempt, Their loyalty to sell; Shall these escape contempt Who in our borders dwell ? Lives one who would despise This land, where he was born, In peace or war's emprise, That shall not feel our scorn? I Whatever strife may come, Resolved we are to save Our country and our home F'rom foe or traitorous knave. Hold fast we will till death Our portion of the earth. Then bid, with life's last breath, Our sons defend their hearth. A DRIFTING ICEBERG 13 A DRIFTING ICEBERG. J CRYSTAL mountain on the azure wave, _ Bald as to verdure, but enriched by hues Resplendent in the wane of sparkling sun, It glows — it scintillates with gleams, which run Athwart the liquid path of its lone cruize Like smiles, beamed forth from each translucent cave Set in its rugged face, as eyes, to peer Through the clear distance of a plain of sea. So cold — so pregnant with quiescent awe, It drifts, in warmer latitudes to thaw ; And fades the Northland in obscurity. As it grim Boreas does southward steer : At times in view of travellers' raptured eyes, And often insulated by the skies. f !! 14 WAITING. I , M WAITING. )H ! me. The day, for years desired, is spent- -^311 This festival, that should my love restore. O love-lorn heart, who wooed with blandishment, Is lost to thee — is lost for evermore: The reckoned time is o'er. The beach the hour appointed knows, and yearns To feel the cooling torrent on its breast ; Not once it ebbs, but duly it returns At turn of tide, and will not be suppressed. Untrue my plighted guest. The earth, how eagerly it waits the sun. And doffs its garb of shadow to attire In mantle green, with blossoms interspun, And wakes to melody her matin choir. When the faint stars expire. WAITING. All throu^jh the term of waiting have I kept A patient vigil for the meeting-day; In dreams to him still faithful when I slept; In sleepless watches sighing time away, Expecftant of to-day. To-day, alas! is almost yesterday, And he — false one — in absence lingers yet. Nor comes his debt of promises to pay. Could he in life that solemn pledge forget ? Or other fate have met ? O jealous heart, in mercy make excuse, Nor let thy passions riot o'er this slight. Why sharpen words to weapons of abuse? • Hope yet a little till has taken flight The eleventh hour of night. Bethink thee of the neap-tide's fickle flow — How many leagues of strand await in vain The sulky tides, that half-way come and go. Until by moon propitious swelled again. Judge harshly not thy swain. 15 Remember seasons, too, of rain and gloom, When clouds obscure the sun, and earth is drear; i6 WAITING. ! Blame not the orb that sliould the sky illume: It shineth constantly ; the atmosphere The morrow maketh clear. Who knows what hindrance may have thwarted haste? Oft trifles have a journey long delayed. I'll trim the lamp within the casement placed, Lest he shall say he in the darkness strayed, And bide me, undismayed. What sound was that — the opening of the gate ? A footstep? Yes. It halts — I hear a knock! O love! thrice welcome, though thou comest late, And chimes the midnight from the steeple clock. I will the door unlock. A YACHTING SONG. 17 A YACHTING SONG. ^pf^RiM the sails, the breeze is fair! SJP" See the white-caps o'er the bar ! Who with me to start will dare, They the sons of Neptune are. Ho ! for yonder breaking foam ; Ho ! for where the billows swell ; Ho ! for this our heaving home. Where but jolly sailors dwell. See, the fluttering canvas fills; To the leeward she careens, — So adieu, ye purple hills ; Now for other sport and scenes. Ho ! for where the driving spray Soon shall sprinkle on the deck ; Hearties, can we not to-day Laugh at aught that threatens wreck ? i8 A YACHTING SONG As the sheltered bay we clear, How she curvets to the waves! Straight before the wind we steer, While the froth our bulwarks laves. Ho! for such a vessel staunch; Ho! for such a spread of sail; Ho! on such a sea to launch; Ho ! for such a lively gale. » Here's a cheer for whence we came ! Here's a cheer for where we are ! One more yet, to waft the same Right across the harbor bar ! Ho! for maids and wives ashore; Ho ! for lovers here afloat ; Ho ! my lads, and swell it more, In a high, stentorian note. THE SQUIRE'S ROOKERY. 19 THE SQUIRE'S ROOKERY. II ARD by the Manor Hall there stood Some score of trees, known as " The Wood," Where dwelt a colony of rooks, Parishioners of old Saint Luke's. For generations they had there Obtained, molested not, their fare; Built yearly nests of sticks and straw, And croaked incessantly ''■ Caw ! — Caw ! " The genial squire is now no more. Humane, beloved, lamented sore, He lived and died; his honored place A scion of a kindred race Usurps to its disparagement. Ignores the tenants' discontent. And slaughters with his gun the rooks, Parishioners of old Saint Luke's. ao THE UTOWAWAY THE STOWAWAY. :6Tf'HREE days secreted in the hold %\^ The stowaway had kept, When griping hunger made him bold, And on the deck he stepped. Amazed, the skipper eyed the lad, . As aft he timid came, With sallow features, pinched and sad, And eyes that drooped for shame. **An' who be ye an' where were ye Sin' we at sea have been ? No blubb'ring now; — come, answer me, If yc would favor win." **rm seeking of my father, sir, An' I have been below; My father, he's a mariner, — My mother told me so. 4 m 1 4 THE STOWAWAY. " Six year agone to sea he went, Nor ever yet returned; An' long ago for food was spent The money that he earned. "My motlier frets an' pines, while I Could help her not ashore. So I believed, if I should try, I'd find him somewhere sure. "An' this is why I stowed away. O pray, sir, let me work My passage, an' I'll ask no pay. An' nothing will I shirk." The burly skipper turned his head To hide the rising tears, Then in a husky voice he said : "Yer father's dead, I fears. 21 *' I never knowed a voyage yet For six long years to last, Though I've heard yarns, which I forget, Of crews on islands cast. §,' I ' 22 TH£ STOWAWAY. "Where was he bound for when he sailed ? The Sandwich Islands, eh? That's where we're bound, — but ye have ailed O' sickness, did ye say?" "Ahoy there, cook! This stowaway's A sailor's orphin boy. Who aint seen grub for cevcral days, — Some lobscouse he'll enjoy. "Now treat him like a father. Bill, As if he was yer son ; An' see that, when he's had his fill. No harm to him it done. "I'll overhaul niy locker soon, An' find him warmer clothes, « Which ye can rig him with at noon. He needs 'em, goodness knows. "An' he's yer mate, an' I will see That, when the crew is paid. He gets a pound a month, so be Ye are by him obeyed." THE STOWAWAY. 23 Thus was the boy both fed and clad ; With each he daily grew In favor, for his story sad Had touched the seamen too. Day after day, a steady wind The prosperous voyage sped, Until Cape Horn was left behind. When blew a gale ahead. By many devious tacks, at length The barque forsook her course. And scudded 'fore the tempest's strength. Subservient to its force. So long the hurricane prevailed, Her sails in ribbons tore ; And oh ! the skipper's visage paled When leeward loomed the shore. But, scathless, through a channelled reef. By skillful steering brought, The vessel passed, to their relief. And quick an anchorage caught. 24 THE UTOWAWAY. While raged the sea, she, sheltered, lay In an enclosed lagoon, Where lustily the blast did play A weird and plaintive tune Upon the shrouds and ratlines, strung From bulwarks to the mast, And fluttering shreds of sails among The rigging holding fast. Anon, on ebon wings, the night Swooped down upon the barque, And hid the sombre land from sight With shadows drear and dark. As morning broke, the islet seemed Of coral growth and small ; The beach with pearly shingle gleamed,- A reef encircled all. Hushed was the turmoil of the storm ; A cloudless welkin spread, Serene, cerulean, deep and warm, Its canopy o'erhead. THE STOWAWAY, Beyond the ridge the sea was smooth, And heaved with gentle swell ; The sounding sun but seemed to soothe The ear with langourous spell. And not a furtive zephyr blew, So drowsy was the calm ; It was the boy attention drew To something on a palm. A strip of canvas idly trailed Midway upon its stem ; But who it to the tree had nailed A mystery was to them. No hut or other sign appeared That man had ever dwelt In exile there, and thus had reared Proof of the hope he felt. n As, while becalmed, a search would not Their voyage thence prevent, The captain vowed to find out what That tattered signal meant. 26 .THE STOWAWAY. A boat was launched and manned, and soon The pebbly strand was gained ; When back it came again at noon, Three strangers it contained. For in a cavern, fast asleep, They shipwrecked sailors found, Who, lashed to spars, afloat did keep When all their mates were drowned. And years ago, in dismal plight (How long they could but guess), They landed on that isle at night, To dwell .in wretchedness. f f From rags of sails that washed ashore, They often had renewed The pennant that the palm-tree bore, And for them succor sued. Their food of fish, and eggs, and birds, Abroad they daily sought ; At dusk they said together words Which one his comrades taught : THE STOWAWAY. 37 "God, bless the little uns at 'ome! Oh ! spare us 'em to see ; And likewise, Lord, Thy kingdom come. Amen — so let it be," With what surprise and wild delight They heard themselves addressed In gruff sea-phrases, impolite, But cheerily expressed ! O how they leaped upon their feet. And grasped each outstretched hand ! O what a pleasure thus to greet Men from their native land ! On board, the havoc of the gale No leisure left the crew, For splicing ropes and mending sail Gave each enough to do. Before that task was fairly done. To blow the wind began : Up piped the boatswain everyone. The capstan brisk to man. 28 THE STOWAWAY. And when the barque her anchor weighed, By boats she then was towed, And through the gap her exit made, "When back the flood-tide flowed. The dangerous reef in safety cleared, And all her canvas spread, The breeze abaft her quarter veered, By which she forged ahead. Erelong the open sea was gained, Where, sailing fast and free, The skipper asked and ascertained Who might the rescued be. Lo ! strange to say, among the three One as the boy was named. Who proved his real paternity So clearly, none disclaimed. He who had heard the humble prayer Of lorn, untutored men. Did each to see his darlings spare, And reach his home again. I THE STOWAWAY. And she who mourned a husband dead, Wept for an absent son, Yet still, though broken-hearted, said: * *' My God, Thy will be done," One day. in brawny arms was clasped, Wh(en — overwhelmed with joy, — "O God be praised!— it is," she gasped, " My husband and my boy ! " Not more triumphant was the lad Than he should rightly be. When quoth he: "Mother, I'm so glad I ran away to sea ! 39 "You know you always shook your head At what I said about Some folks being wrong who thought him dead : You see, / found him out ! " ; i I I 30 THE WOODS. THE W00D5. iiTHiN the solemn stillness of the woods, There is a solace for the harassed mind ; There, too, a sandtuary for one inclined To meditative or to doubting moods. Of yore, the Druids, in an oaken grove. Made oft oblation to their wicker god. And practised incantation, rude and odd. Eke divers rites, by bards in verses wove. To-day — as they of eld — who would not turn His feet to sylvan fanes, where every creed Is tolerated ; linger, dream and read From other leaves than those of volumes ; learn The colle(5ls of the flowers — the wild-birds' psalm, And talk with Nature till his soul grows calm? 'ALL HANDS ON DECK/" 31 n ALL HANDS ON DECK!" HEN clouds brood on the sullen main, Black with the portents of a storm ; When growls the furious hurricane, Hoarse cries the watch below alarm. And flights of slumber rudely check : "Ahoy, below! All hands on deck!" Inured to aught, at duty's call, In haste they man the tilting yards. To furl the canvas ere the squall That oft disastrous task retards. When hailed, they comfort little reck : "Ahoy, below! All hands on deck!" From dreams of dear domestic joys. These words have roused reludtant men To dreadful scenes, whence they, like toys, Were swept away, — and then — ah ! then, Weep, orphans, on your mother's neck ! "Ahoy, below! All hands on deck!" 3a ''ALL HANDS ON DECK I" The hulks submerged in every deep, Whose timbers sailors' bones bestrew, From centuries of halcyon sleep, Shall muster each its gruesome crew, When summoned from the foundered wreck "Ahoy, below ! All hands on deck 1 " III I! DREAMING 33 DREAMING. I^/'HE shuttered panes no light admit, "JJIg* The flickering embers dimly glow, As near a vacant chair I sit, And watch the shadows weirder grow. The clock has struck the midnight hour, The house is wrapped in still repose ; The owl hoots from the belfry tow'r, The bat skims through the cedar rows. In retrospecflive mood, my mind Recalls the scenes of other days, Releasing phantoms, long confined In Memory's cell, to go their ways. One takes the seat where, empty, stood, A moment since, my mother s chair ; And all that in me tends to good. Salutes its author, sitting there. 34 DREAMING. Although no sound the silence breaks, A voice, to me familiar, speaks — A voice, whose very accent makes Affe(ftion's fount o'errun my cheeks. O blessed moment, fraught with bliss! O blessed guardian angel ! Thou Hast proven much — hast proven this : Whoever lived, is living now. i Vague Unbelief shrinks from my side. That vexed me oft with dubious fear, And did my wavering hopes deride Anent the end of man's career. Full sorry now I feel that e'er I lent an ear to aught it said. When with fair words it sought to snare The faith which should my steps have led. No more in grovelling paths my feet Shall travel to uncertain bourn; Henceforth I know that I shall meet The dead whom erstwhile I did mourn. DREAMING. 35 The morning dawns. Alas! Its beam Shines coldly on an empty chair. An empty chair ! Did I but dream I saw my mother sitting there? "Dreams — morbid dreams!" the sprite replies, That me, unbidden, haunts again, And what appeared so real, decries As folly of a mystic's brain. Dreams — only dreams? Then let me sleep. Once more to court Illusion's spell ; However long the trance or deep, Disturb me not. I dream — 'tis well. •36 SEAGULLS. I It SEAGULLS. f'LEET bird, that wanders in our vessel's wake, A hundred leagues from land, above the waves, And, with persistent cry and following, craves The food for which your eyrie you forsake; Had I such wings — oh ! days of bliss at stake, — What hungry longing now my heart enslaves ; What fervid passion fierce within me raves. Would quit my breast, when thus equipped to take A flight so swift, I could the distance scorn. That pricks impatience unto yearning keen. Ah ! me. The night should find me with my love. O pinions broad ! What freedom thine ! The morn Should bring me surcease, that, forsooth, I e'en Would ask no more their use to farther rove. Ill 'III] RESURGAM. 37 RESURGAM. ^jg^HouGH I shall droop, when comes the drought IJ^ That withers strength and drugs'defies, Life lurks within when Death's without : Resurgam — I again shall rise! Lo ! water, spilled upon the ground, Ascends in vapor to the skies; Shall spirit in the grave be bound ? Resurgam — I again shall rise ! A heritage of hope is mine. Immortal life to realize, And it is based on God's design : Resurgam — I again shall rise! This God-implanted hope speaks peace, When Doubt Faith's argument denies ; It promises, though Earth shall cease, Resurgam — I again shall rise! 'if ill!' ^ iii^i 38 RESURGAM. My P'ather, when in mouldering dust This mortal image lowly lies, In Thee for future life I trust : Resurgam — I again shall rise! Whose worldly prospedls are secure ? Here one may miss his rightful prize ; But God is just — His word is sure: Resurgam — I again shall rise ! For earth alone I was not born ; When to its joys I close these eyes, I'll wake to an eternal morn : Resurgam — I again shall rise! Not spent at death the impulse strong. To grow more pure, and good, and wise ; Not always here Right conquers Wrong: Resurgam — I again shall rise I Not here is found the end of all. Still groping for the truth, man dies. What boots it in the quest I fall ? Resurgam — I again shall rise ! THE WAILING SEA. 39 :il THE WAILING 3EA. VILLANELLE. isccNTENTED, wailing sea, ^l^i Murmuring at the shore's confining, How aUke thou art to me ! Chafing to be wholly free, Is this the cause of thy repining. Discontented, wailing sea ? Strong the Hand restraining thee, — But folly all thy weak designing : How alike thou art to me ! Thy rebellious passions He Beholds against His will combining. Discontented, wailing sea. Wilful — selfish is thy plea Of continents thy bounds defining : How alike thou art to me ! -f ii! ^1- 40 TH^ WAILING SEA. Thy lot little pleaseth thee;— Thou would'st God's plans be undermining; Discontented, wailing sea, How alike thou art to me I WILD-FLOWERS. 41 WILD-FLOWERS. s % LYsiAN days ! when fragrant blossoms blow (y^^ Where'er the birds and zephyrs seed did sow, And lift their petal-censers to the breeze, With incense laden, to perfume the leas. Ye deft embroiderers, in comely hues, Of Nature's vernal mantle, tell me whose Inimitably wondrous art you ply To conjure from the mellow sward the shy, Blue violet — the myriad-hued display Of summer flowers, each in its own day? Their advert bids reliicftant foliage shoot, And chides to shame the sloth of ripening fruit ;: When fades the last, the clouds weep long, and spread A shroud of frozen tears upon their bed. I }■ a ENGLAND, FAREWELL. ENGLAND, FAREWELL. (^i?AREWELL, O Land, wherefrom I drew my all ! jp. The voice of Venture lures me o'er the main. Although thy Memories vehemently call, Saying, "Come back, come back, and here remain," Yet I must snap their tendrils, holding fast The strong affecftions of my wistful heart. I have no cause to spurn thee for the past, — The anchor's weighed, and I must hence depart. Farewell, my Country ! Dimples in thy breast, When seen afar, thy verdant valleys seem ; Ne'er pilgrim left an oasis' sweet rest With more relu(5lance to be gone, I deem, Than now I bid adieu to thee, to cross The ocean, trackless as Sahara's waste, Upon its thousand leagues a week to toss Before is sighted where my hopes are placed. Lol now we part, Ancestral Land and I, And distance wraps thee in its veil of haze ; ENGLAND, FAREWELL. 43 Each long-watched landmark sinks below the sky ; Grief's mist my vision blurs, yet still I gaze. What but experience can translate the scroll Whereon are writ life's chapters yet unread ? Oh ! shall I say, when I have conned the whole, By a mirage I was not from thee led ? Farewell, dear England ! Bear, O winds, the words, On your swift pinions, to my vanished home; And ye, O seagulls (most adventurous Lirds, Now hovering in our wake of churned foam). When ye to English cliffs return to-night. Still outward bound, I'll be upon the deep. Oft wishing I could imitate your flight, On that same isle to fall, content, asleep. Farewell once more ! I never can forget The tenderness home-thoughts elicit now ; No other pain could make my cheeks so wet ; — His heart is bleeding when a man's tears flow. The dear departed and the living friend, The numerous scenes that linger in my mind, Are part of thee, thus thou wilt ever blend With all I cherish that is left behind. Farewell! I, absent, love thee none the less. Good-bye ! — good-bye ! God prosper thee and bless ! 44 SHIFTING SHADOWS. SHIFTING SHADOWS. ^^ENiTH past, the sun is stooping ^^ In the occidental sky; Parched with drought, field-flowers are drooping^ Earth and grass are bleached and dry. Down the lane and through the meadows, Quaintly limned of shrub and tree, Stretch across my path the shadows, Shifting, lengthening changefully. Just without the straggling village. Where the brooklet's drone is heard, There our tryst, whence robins pillage Vineyard harvests, undeterred. Close beside me, longer growing. Till it interweaves with mine, Looms a stately shadow, showing Whose the semblance? — Dearest, thine LAND HO!" 45 ♦♦LAND HO!" ^^y^HEN, homeward bound, the ship has passed i^M; Through drowsy calms and baffling gales, How cheering 'tis to hear at last The seaman, as he lusty hails A filmy streak, but scarce in sight, With inward feelings of delight : "Land ho! Land ho!" At once, a throng of eager men, With wistful eyes, the distance scan From east to west to east again. Nor cease their search till every man Perceives the outline of the shore, Then joyful swells the loud encore: "Land ho! Land ho!" 46 "LAND HO!" What pleasant visions fill the mind, While at the wished-for land they peer, Of loved ones, left in tears behind. Ere Time begat the waning year ! No phrase more welcome than the strain, Heard only on the dangerous main : "Land ho! Land ho!" While throb their bursting hearts with joy. Impatient grow their longing souls. That they must artifice employ And tack, to clear the treacherous shoals; Still of the breeze they more would court, To faster waft their ship to port : "Land ho! Land ho!" Ill How fond the rapturous embrace ! How sweet the happy greeting-kiss ! How gladness beams upon each face ! How little short of perfeift bliss ! When, meeting on their native beach Their waiting wives, at length they reach "Land ho! Land ho!" BOOTS AND SADDLES!" 47 BOOTS AND SADDLES! ^WTg^HAT trooper ever mustered on the field '*P^' Where battle wrests the trophies lost and won. Exposed to peril, with but Fate to shield — A living target for the foeman's gun, Has felt no thrill when, on a darksome night, When forefelt omens — why, he can't account — Seem unto him predidting a fierce fight, The startling trumpet sounds the call to mount ? It may be for some venturous raid or, worse. The interception of a midnight march ; He seldom knows the risk : commands are terse. No time has he to guess. The lantern torch Illumes familiar things as he equips; His eyes rest tenderly on those from home. Perchance he lifts a keepsake to his lips. Remembering one he left, in youth, to roam. 48 '•BOOTS AND SADDLES/' While saddling for the expedition, he Forgets he ever had a home; but when The squadron forward trots, and thought is free To conjure up old memories again. He then bethinks him of the journey's Ci j, From which alive he never may return To camp, to home, to mother or to friend, Nor to that one for whom his heart doth yearn. War's but a game of chance — the wager, life. As some must lose and others win at dice. So some must die and some survive the strife : . The bullet finds its billet in a trice. Among the dead or dying have been foi Both steed and rider that obeyed the call Of "Boots and Saddles" near the marshalling ground, With corpse for comrade — darkness for a pall. But there's exhilaration in its notes For him who has to warfare been inured ; The pulse of courage recklessness promotes. Nor lets him flinch when hardship is endured. Music hath more in it than soothing charms: It can arouse as well as lull to sleep; Its brazen tongue can trumpet war's alarms, And eyes it oped to laughter cause to weep. WHEN LOVE KEEPS WATCH 49 WHEN LOVE KEEPS WATCH. DREAM of thee on surging seas, I Where stormy petrels cry, And vivid 'thwart the heightening breeze The quivering Hghtnings fly. What though the billows round me roar, Thy spirit guides my bark to shore. I dr am, and on thy face benign I fa*^e thy virtues glow; Those yes, O wife, with yearning shine. And well the cause I know. Though loud and wilder raves the storm, The powers of evil thou canst charm. To startling sounds abrupt I wake, And pace the slippery deck ; While winds and waves the vessel shake. And messmates speak of wreck, Thy face serene I still can see, Nor fear, so thou keep'st watch for me. 50 SORROW. SORROW. AN ALLEGORY ^^NE aay, when I was sad, my spirit went, •^^ In quest of Sorrow, to the autumn woods. Wherein the Frost- King's myrmidons had camped^ To wait the expiration of a truce. Agreed between the Seasons yesternight. The desolation oi their brumal march Was everywhere apparent, far anc' near. For wide the first fierce stress of skirmish raged. Despoiling of its emerald hue the sward, Thick strewing banks of moss with sorrel leaves. And driving hence the summer warblers south. I found her at the runnel's rush-lined side. Sauntering among the sodden leaves and weeds. Her trailing robes, in half-negledled style, Bespoke the absence of her thoughts from things. Which mortal women, in all moods, regard. Resigned she looked and given to musing much Anent the miseries of her lone life; SORROW. 51 Yet, when I'd gazed awhile at her calm face, I Law that she was not betroubled aught With moping melancholy's grievous fits. But by them was enhanced in beauty, pure And heavenly as her own exalted soul. In its benign expression I could see Signs of a ripenmg harvest of that grain Sown by God's Spirit in such fertile hearts As can receive and nourish tender truths. Which would not thrive in rank or barren soil. Life was with her a time of frost or drought, Cheered at short intervals by genial terms, And dews of consolation, shedding sweet Refreshment on her tried and drooping faith ; And hers it was to tend, through bale and bliss, The due fulfilment of her sacred trust : To ward off each inclement blight and save. With her own vital warmth, from withering chills The hundredfold attainment of the crop. Which, r*- its reaping, recompenses care. No solace sought she from the earthly side, But that same influence she broadcast spread. Tuning her words to each poor sufferer's woe, As if she drew from some mysterious source A balm for every ill, and it dispensed With liberal hand to whomsoever grieved. 1 ^ 52 SORROW. And thus became God's minister of peace. Where'er she moved, a blessing seemed to come, And they on whom it fell, believed, as she. What comfort she bestowed was not her own. I pensive grew, and inly seemed to feel The better that I had with Sorrow met. I turned to speak — but turned to find her gone, No shadow leaving on the path she took. A new-found gladness, welling from my heart, As I returned, did permeate me through ; It shone, like a bright halo, o'er my mien And lighted up my face; I felt as one Permitted for a while with angels speech. Who quits the hallowed spot transfigured by The fulgent rays of their sublimity. Since then, though Sorrow meet me in disguise, I know the matron of the sombre woods, And strive to greet her with an outstretched hand. Remembering the benison she brings. And that the sweetest charatfters are those Who know her in whatever garb she comes. !T WASHED ASHORE. 53 WASHED ASHORE. ?(f|^^ossED amid the surf that smothers fjl' It and others With an effervescent spume, Is a spHntered part of rudder: Think and shudder At the shipwrecked sailors' doom. Relic of that hapless vessel That did wrestle With the tempest's fury long, Ere upon the rocks it stranded And disbanded Where the surges shoreward throng. This, beneath the surface hidden, When the bidden Helmsman turned the steering-wheel. Shaped her course and held her steady, Trim and ready Every gust of wind to feel. 54 WASHED ASHORE. But the ship, with rudder broken, Was, when spoken By a craft that passed her by, Helpless on the billows tumbling Near the rumbling Breakers on the coast of Skye. Yonder flotsam, leeward floating. And denoting That an argosy was lost, Was her cargo when she drifted, And was rifted On the rocks where she was tossed. ■iff' Strewn with driftwood from life's ocean Of commotion, Reaches are of Stygian shore, — Token of what fate betided Men unguided By a purpose strong and sure. Aimless ones, avast your drifting With the shifting Breeze of fatal circumstance, And the undercurrent, folly! Melancholy Is their end who trust to chance. A SONG OF TO-DAY. 55 A SONG OF TO-DAY. ^(gp?>HROUGH the gloom of terrors grim, '5|^ See ! — a fulgent ray has dawned ; Sing a new, exultant hymn : Chasms that for sinners yawned, Close, and men such docftrines shun : Hope for all — despair for none ! Furl the crimson flag of hate! Loose the azure folds of love ! Open wide the mercy-gate ! Point, with faith, to joys above! Superstition's reign is done: Hope for all — despair for none ! We of latter days exist In an age of love and law; We have cleft the blinding mist — Seen as others never saw. This hath Reason for us won : Hope for all — despair for none I 56 A SONG OF TO-DAY Reason, Science and the Voice Whispering in the soul of man^ Did in unison rejoice When their amity began. This expound to everyone: Hope for all — despair for none ! :|| III :!': I i THE MARINER'S PRAYER. 57 THE MARINER'S PRAYER. 1 ^^' REAT King of the Universe, mighty to save, ^^ For succor we suppHcate Thee; Protecfl Thou our ship from the wild winds that rave, And quell now the rage of the sea. Thy chariot, the hurricane, who can withstand? When trample its coursers the main, The spray from the billows, like dust from the land. Denotes where its pathway has laki. The daylight is waning, and fearful are we. For perils the darkness betide. Pilot, the night is as day unto Thee; Stand Thou at the helm now and guide. In anxious suspense, there are waiting at home, To meet us, our children and wives ; For them, in all weather, the ocean we roam. And precious to them are our lives. 58 THE MARINER'S PRAYER. Hf' Then spare us irom death 'midst the darkness and storm In safety the harbor to reach ; Stretch forth to our aid, O Almighty, thine arm, And save us, we humbly beseech. THE MIRAGE. 39 THE MIRAGE. %^CR0ss the arid stretch of desert sand, -^^ Fatigued with leagues of travel, moves a band Of Moslem pilgrims, bound for Mecca's shrine. The hour precedes the glaring sun's decline. A beauteous scene, limned in the distance, looms, Of limpid springs and date-groves' waving plumes. Of verdant patches, shrubs and grateful shade — A green oasis in the desert laid. Thus cheered, they on the cumbrous camels urge With shouts of joy, and thither now converge; They hasten still, though far as far before The vision seems, till — disappointment sore ! — Fades the mirage. Their strength with labor spent. They spread their mats for prayer, then pitch their tent. ill i| 60 THE CRUISE OF THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP. THE CRUISE OF THE WILL-0'-THE-WI5P .m ';! A YARN OF THE NORTH SEA. J FAIR wind favored the coaster, Kate, Off Shetland Isles, on a starry night; The watch below in a circle sate, Enwreathed with smoke in a murky light. Their yarns of wrecks were End sirens false, And mermen seen to with mermaids waltz. Ben Bluff — a reticent, gruesome man. Whose weird eyes beamed with mysterious fire- Spake not a word since the talk began, So they did why he was mute enquire. "Spin us a yarn, Ben," a messmate said; "You're pale enough to be sick or dead." "Mebbe I am," and he made a pause, That plainly proved he was ill at ease; **I don't git white, though, wi'out a cause: I knows a yarn as yer blood ud freeze — Summat wot 'appened in this 'ere sea, An' 'ere it is, if ye'll list to me. THE CRUISE OF THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP. **Mark you, before I the yarn beij^in, It'll give ye chills, cos it's rather queer; 'Taint all about wer I aint abeen. Nor one ye've 'eard fur this forty year. It's true, I'll vouch, as the Phantom Ship Seen round the Cape a'most ev'ry trip." As condiment to the yarnster's speech, His messmates kindled their pipes anew, Then gathered closer each unto each, While Ben his hand o'er his forehead drew, And posed to them as a ghost-crazed man, Ere thus his narrative he began : "It's gone ten year sence the Will-o'-the-Wisp (A schooner, well found an' taut an' trim). In ballast sailed, with the weather crisp (Jim Jones was skipper — ye've 'eard o' him), Fur sev'ral ports uv this Northern Sea : A smugglin' cruise, sich as used to be. "She carried seven uv a crew, all told: The skipper, mate an' two boys an' me, A Roosian Finn an' a wench as bold As ever follered a man to sea. She was the cap'n's niece — an orphin lass; In my opinion, Al she'd class. 6i ■ i :; i ''■ i ■ ! -'1 i ill 1 { i 1 ■1 f '■' 1 63 THE CRUISE OF THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP. "We'd been out, mebbe, a month or more, Wen summat worried the Roosian Finn, P'ur at the time w'en 'e'd ought to snore, 'E'd jabber jest like a himp o' sin, Start up, asleep, in the topmost bunk. An' cut sich capers, ye'd think 'im drunk. " 'E'd bawl the name o' the cap'n's niece 'Most loud enough fur to make 'er yeer; The more we bid 'im to 'old 'is peace. The more 'e gev us a cause to fear. We told the skipper 'ow matters stood ; E on'y laughed, as we knowed 'e ood. "One night ('twas blowin' a spankin' breeze; We'd let out every reef we dare), The Roosian Finn at the wheel I sees, With heyes, like two red-'ot coals, aflare. The binnacle light it was gone clean out, — 'Ho-ho! Ther's mischief,' sez I, 'about.' "Afore I turned in, I 'urried aft, An' asked 'ow 'e steered "^''^^ 'E looked as wild as a r ' An' savage, as if 'e l to . 'I say,' sez I, *wot d'ye ..lean t' do? You jest steer right, or I 'ails the crew.' THE CRUISE OF THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP. 63 " *E grinned, the fiend, but 'e didn't speak. I went below fur to call the mate Ther was a crash — she *ad sprung a leak ! I saw *is scheme w'en it was too late. The mate an' skipper they rushed on deck To find the schooner a 'opeless wreck. • "The bows was jammed in betwixt two rocks; 'Er foremast, snapped an' clear overboard, Was swimmin' round with the ropes an' blocks, An' sich like tackle, which 'eld it moored. The surf an' spray, w'y it dashed as 'igh As the mizzen crosstrees or pretty nigh. ***You furrin lubber!' the skipper cried. An' whipped a pistol from out 'is belt Before the Roosian 'ad time to 'ide. An' banged away with the gun 'e 'elt. But safe 'e stood on the windlass still : It's 'ard the Devil's own son to kill. "The girl then come up the cabin stairs, Calm as yer please, though a trifle scared. ('Taint alius women wot satin wears As flinches least in the danger shared. The girl for pluck I ud rather choose Who dresses plain an' wears low-'eeled shoes). 64 THE CRUISE OF FHE WILL-O'-THE-WISP. **Now, mates, this 'ere is the stridtest truth: The rnadnian made fur the tremblin' girl, An' grabbed the harm uv our little Ruth, — That was the hend uv our hocean pearl. The cap'n fired with unsteady haim, An' shot 'er. Poor man, 'e warn't to blame. • "Down fell our pet with a muffled thud; 'Er features blanched as she gasped an' died. We raised 'er corpse from a pool o' blood, An' buried it in the rock's bleak side. The madman dove with a dyin' yell; Next took the skipper a crazy spell. "That day, the hull o' the ship broke up; The mate an' cap'n they both got drowned. Fur three long days not a bite nor sup 'Ad we, w'en timely a smack us found. Right glad to sail from that rock so dread. In God's kind keepin' we left the dead. *' I passed that same rock five year ago, One summer night, w'en the moon shone clear. The wind 'ad dropped; we was sailin slow, With 'ardly 'eadway enough to steer. I quit my trick rd the wheel in fright. Fur haunted ^twas by a ghost in white ! THE CRUISE OF THE WILL-O'-THE-WISP. 65 *' Upon the mound that still marks Ruth's grave, I saw distinc5\iy ihe madman stand; At first 'e moaned, then began to rave, An' tear 'is flesh with a bony 'and. 'Twas hawful, mates! I can see it now. As on that night o'er the starboard bow. **A cat's-paw tautened our flappin' sails, An' bore us far from the spectre grim ; But dreadful echoes uv rhrieks an' wails, Caine from the rock, in the distance dim. Aint been ther sence; but again, to-night, At eight bells, mates, it'll heave ifi sight!'' I 66 SHAKESPEARE. SHAKESPEARE. Mail! Avon's Bard, of intellecfl sublime, Whose legacy of letters we enjoy; Th) wit and wisdom hath the least alloy Of any wrought in verse at any time. Not a mere juggler, thou, of words to rhyme, But wizard, who could rhetoric employ To speak a purpose — mirror grief or joy, The subtilty of wit or craft of crime. What favored years the world thy visage saw, It fathomed not thy deep, ingenious mind; Then captious critics grudged thee laurel-wreath To-day thy book to every bard is law; He who would flout thee nowhere can we find. Still liv'st thou. Poet — Fame denies thee death. SANCTIFIED SOLITUDE. 67 SANCTIFIED SOLITUDE I. J LONELY walk across a sun-bronzed wold, Among sparse bushes of gold-blooming furze; Upon the wind the sound of Ocean's surge, In which the voice of Sadness chants a dirge ; White-feathered sea-fowl wheeling round the spurs Of jutting cliffs, precipitously bold. Aslant the bald and rugged foreland crags, A flash of sunlight, brightening their cold dun ; Seaward, a million-fathom stretch of blue, Profound, as if the warder of a clue To all of Nature's secrets, who would shun Approaching Science, that so ruthless drags Internal things to daylight, thus to find The knowledge in them hidden from mankind. 68 w SANCTIFIED SOLITUDE. II. Reclining on the cliffs, to dream and gaze In endless space, through sunset's glimmered shade; To feel the pulsings of Infinity O'erwhelm the soul with awful mystery, And — nothing hampered with a world of trade — Emerge, enfranchised from chaotic maze Of thought, and rise with Intuition's wings To grand conceptions of the Universe, Of its Creator and His kind intent, The end of suffering — for what good 'twas meant, Man's destiny, the better and the worse Of him, his circumstances and all things; Then, in a reverie, to homeward move. Convinced of that sweet truth that '*God is Love." • :i[i :ii!ii TENNYSON. 69 TENNYSON. ■5|5) XEMPLAR of poetic art, I bring ^^g^ To thee this tribute of a grateful heart ; However much of merit falls it short, I in sincerity this sonnet sing. Thy lute hath never a discordant string; Thou handiest it with something more thin art. Its chords are blent where intuitions start ; With symphonies of thought thou mak'st it ring. Thy genius strikes the poetaster dumb. Unless, by borrowed inspiration, he, Half-fledged, should rise in higher flights of song, Else few would brook the ditties he would thrum. Expositor of pure psychology. Thou seest what divideth right from wrong. 70 FORESTALLED. I '"?! FORESTALLED. 5fp?^RiPPED a damsel, blithely singing, "31^ To the hamlet's common well, While her natural grace was flinging Over me a sensuous spell. Like the well's transparent surface Was her tranquil, hazel eye, And my pulse, as from a furnace, Hotly throbbed as she drew nigh. "Prythee let me draw the water; Some I crave to slake my thirst." " If you will," said Nature's daughter. Blushes on her features burst, Like a rose to sudden blooming, As she handed me her pail In a manner unassuming. And a cup took from a nail. FORESTALLED. Pausing with the bucket tilted SHghtly on the fountain's brink, Mused I : " Maiden, none were jiUed By thy artless wiles, I think. Innocence thy christian name is; But whate'er thy surname be. If not Modesty, I ween 'tis Surely Peace or Purity." Quaffed I then to satisfacftion Of the cup and of her eyes, And for her, my heart's attradlion, Yearned as one to win a prize ; While a rapture, past the telling, Thrilled my soul with ecstacy. O to be with her adwelling Somewhere in soul unity ! Conscious that my amorous glances Sieged her beauty with desire, With a frown she checked advances Which, encouraged, might aspire To usurp another's troth-right, Which, alone, he claimed entire. Much abashed, the fancied love-light In her eyes I saw expire. 71 72 FORESTALLED. Soft as angel she departed; As she turned our shadows blent, — Blent, and hardly could be parted : Thought she what the symbol meant ? Roused to see her form receding, Nevermore to charm my sight, I with bolv'ness, superseding Prudence, strove to stay her flight. ** Leave me not!" I cried imploring. Vain appeal — she tarried not ; But, as I stood still adoring. Quick she went toward her cot ; And a something glistened brightly On her left and dainty hand. Would that I had guessed not rightly That it was a golden band. Love, how wast thou sorely outraged When discerned the thwarting truth ! Oh ! that one in whom was imaged All the loveliness of youth. And whose melting soul, I fancied. Intermingled with mine own. Till her presence me entranced, Should be lost as soon as known. LONGFELLOW. 73 LONGFELLOW. (^pg'HERE lived a man whom much I wished to see; f 1^ Our ways were sundered, so we did not meet. He drew me to him by a charm more sweet Than which tempts to the flower the honey-bee. It was the gift of a rare minstrelsy, That hallowed him and made his song-retreat A literary shrine, which pilgrim feet Will visit, to embalm his memory. His speech was simple, thus the more admired; His characflers in home-spun garb he dressed ; His soulful songs with human passions fired; His thoughts are living now his mind's at rest. As does the lark, his spirit soared to sing, And nearer Heaven our aspirations bring. m 1 r w 74 ADRIFT. ADRIFT. These verses are founded upon a melancholy incident, which occurred Septemher yth, 1888, in which two youn^;,' ladies, of Toronto, lost their lives. They were spending a week's holiday with a friend in the neighborhood of Lome Park, and, in the morning of that date, set out in a small boat to row to the Park expecling to meet Iriends there. The wind was blowing off the land from the North-West, increasing to a terrific gale soon aftei they were seen to start. As they were never again heard of, it was conjedured that their boat was blown out into the open lake am' there capsized. ^; TROLLING to the breezy beach, {^^■> Out upon the sand and shingle, Went a twain of maidens gay. Early one September day, Purposing with friends to mingle At the Park, they wished to reacli. Thither bound in pleasure-boat, Rowing one, the other steering For the sighted trysting-place, Laughter rippled o'er each face ; What should either then be fearing ? O 'twas pleasant thus to float ! ADRIFT. Soft the breeze blew from the sliorc, Just enough to toss their tresses, And to ease the rower's task ; But the weather wore a mask — False the sportive wind's caresses, Though so easy on the oar. Leeward dr- -*ig, "n al. m. They perceived the widening distance Interjacent to the strand; Jdreezes that their faces fanned, Overcame them with resistance And presaged impending storm. Courage failed with failing strength, Vain exerted to diminish Miles of distance to the shore. Bitterly they did deplore What they tried but could not finish. Then succumbed to fear at length. In their ears the rising gale Shrieked in glee at their condition, Splashed the spray against their cheek As it would the fury wreak Of a devil from Perdition, Heeding neither sob or wail. 75 76 ADRIFT. On the erstwhile placid lake, Billows reared their summits, crested With white foam, that hissed and broke Into humid, blinding smoke. As the wanton wind divested Every white-cap in its wake. All the day till falling night, Rocked the shallop on the surges, Waterlogged, with oars adrift; Seemed to them each yawning rift An abyss, whence nought emerges, From the billows' dizzy height. Well might they, with tearful eyes, Watch the gloomy foreland vanish. As they did the setting sun, Ere the dismal night begun. And all hope of rescue banish, Till the dav i illumed the skies. As the darkness denser grew. Fiercer raged the wind and water ; But within each troubled breast Whispered harbinger of rest : "Soon will cease thine anguish, daughter; Angel escorts wait for you." ADRIFT. Then the fatal struggle came, For the boat no more could weather Such a buf!etting of waves. Into twenty-fathom graves Thrice they sank, enclasped together, Calling on the Saviour's name. >(« 'Is i): '.'i s!: Not upon some sunny slope. Where the loved in life may sorrow. Slumber they the dreamless sleep ; But beneath the restless deep They await the last to-morrow. And the Christian's final hope. 77 78 MONTGOMERY I i MONTGOMERY. ^^ MAN whom fiirting Fortune oft annoyed '^m!^ By anxious .epochs in a fight for bread. Though faltering when hope had well-nigh fled, A poet's solace on life's w^ave upbuoyed, Nor suffered him despairingly to drown Ani'd the surgings of inclement need, For on the fruits of Paradise they feed Who c&^irt the Muses more than Earth's renown, 'Twas his to ask at high Elysium's gate Admittance lo ii:s preciinfis when he would, And walk with angels, in exalted mood Of inspiration, which would him translate. Companion of the blest, their psalms he learned, And sang to those who for such comfort yearned. THE SONG OF THE SIREN. 79 THE SONG OF THE SIREN. 'Y N spacious halls, J|i Whose coral walls Afford me a retreat, With flowing hair And features fair, I madrigals repeat. A harp I play The livelong day ; So ravishing its strains. That seamen steer Where reefs appear, Nor think of drowning pains. Enamored, they Aly spells obey, Nor to evade them try; They seek my bow'r. But — fatal pow'r! — I win them — and they die. 8o THE SONG OF THE SIREN. Bold buccaneers And mutineers Lie buried in sea-caves ; 'Twas I beguiled Their spirits wild To rove no more the waves. I know a rock, Where penguins flock, Bestrewn with human bones, Once lured to wreck At my weird beck. With ships from other zones. ''O sailors all," I sweetly call, "Why live unhappy lives? In groves below A world of woe, Choose mermaids for your wives!'" SIR yOHX A. MACDOSALD. 8i i SIR JOHN A. MACDONALD. %lCy K liveth still who slumbers in that sleep 00^\ From which the voice of mourning cannot wake Wlio drop a tear for old acquaintance' sake, Will see the man in benefits tliey reap, Of his own sowing or transplanting deep Within the policies which he did make. The aftermath of statesmanship may shake The institutions of his time, and sweep From pracflice, but not record, some of these: The present need is Legislation's aim ; What suits to-day, to-morrow may displease. Despite his faults, he fairly won his fame. O where's the one, in this Dominion bred. Who'll bear no kind remembrance for the dead? r I 82 AT THE CREEKSIDK. AT THE CREEKSIDE. i '\ y^jgi-iHERE the creek winds tlirou<,^h the leas, ^mf Miles above the misty mill, I'nderneath the willow trees. Stretched in indolence and ease, With his fancy but to please, Lies the farmer's son, yclept I)ill. >sOW he scans the minnows' dart. Round the boulders in the shade. Listens to a clattering cart, Going to a neighboring mart. Cross the stream where human art At the road a ford has made. There a bloated frog, to croak, Squats grotesquely on a log ; P^om a hole in yonder oak Peeps a squirrel, just awoke; Coaxing him its head to stroke, Crouches Bob, the collie dog. AT THE CKEEKSIDE. Bluebird, robin and a jay \'enture near him to aliglit ; Perciies one upon a spray, Looks askance, as if to say : Why in idleness to-day ? Are you not a lazy wiglit ? Ah ! Two trout ! O for a line, IJarbed and baited, them to snare! How the speckled gamesters shine ! All intent on his design, Hears not he the lowing kine, Like a distant trumpet's blare. 83 Think you that his freckled brow Should a poet's wreath adorn. That to dream he shirked the plow ? What's the matter with him now? Why the haste and why the row ? Guess he heard the dinner-horn! W r 84 HARVEST HOME. HARVEST HOME: A THANKSGIVING ODE. II ']!,' ORD of the fields, whose ripened grain j^ Fills our depleted barns again, 'Tis meet we should ascribe to Thee The producft of our husbandry : Thou gav'st that which at first was sown,. The needful rain-drops showered down, And quickened it with vital glow. Lest we in vain our seed should sow. Hear, by a joyful people sung, Thanksgiving loud with tuneful tongue, Concordant with a grateful soul. In waves of music Heavenward roll, For that Thou blessed the lesser part By mingling Thy mysterious art With man's receptive work, for Thou Didst deck the furrows of the plow. HARVEST HOME. We are as wheat — are tilled and reaped ; We droop if not in Thy love steeped ; Oft beaten by life's adverse gales, And dwarfed vv^hen blighting sin assails. Thou know'st how much each stalk should yield : O bless with plenteousness Thy field ! Then, when the harvest-time shall come. As laden sheaves, O bear us home! '■"i. ' ■ , H H III S6 COLLISION AT SKA. COLLISION AT 5EA. ijjavf'u.nT prisons Twiliglit in her dungeon-keep; W^ Impervious to beams of moon and stars, A fo<:^ o'er tumblin<; waves begins to creep About a ship, with ahnost naked spars, Whicli, outward bound, has weatliered such a sfjuall As put her timbers' stamina to test; Her captain, whom no tempest could appal, Now walks tlie deck in ill-concealed unrest. Her spectral outlines, swathed in shroud of murk; The muffled tramp of footfalls on the deck ; The sea -song chorus of the tars at work; The creak of straining cordage, lield in check, Suggest the semblance of a shadow-ship, By phantoms manned — an immaterial thing, Wliich, while beheld, might from the vision slip^ And capture thus elude by vanishing. COLLISION AT SEA. Sj Tliou{,^h drowsy, slccpkss are the seamen's eyes, With wary watcliing their precarious plight, Lest they some sudden si<^nal, to apprise Of craft or iceber;^^ that their sliip may smite, Should see too late collision to avert — A dire misfortune, frauj^ht with wreck and death. Disaster finds all cautious men alert. In terser phrase the sailors' maxim saith. More densely doth the fog on them descend, With sable pinions brooding o'er the sea. When man is helpless, Thou who dost defend His helplessness, O hear him cry to Thee! For through the blinding vapor — seen too late — A steamer, like an apparition, looms. It needs no prophet to foretell what fate Awaits the ship the ponderous impa(5l dooms. "Save either life or soul, O gracious Lord!" With fear-blanched lips this muttered prayer is said Amid the crash, while yard locks unto yard, And upper spars fall, tangling overhead; And whelms a deluge in the cloven hull, That lurches as it slowly settles down, As man would stagger from a stricken skull ; And one by one the hapless seamen drown. «p 88 COLLISION AT SEA. Anon the danj^ding topmasts disappear, And with them sinks the hist poor, gasping wretch. Impelled by love a homeward flight to steer, The crew impalpable their hands outstretch, And glide, unseen, to dreaming ones at home. When moans the restless child its sire at sea, The mother wakes and whispers, " lie will come." Lo! he h-is come; but him they cannot see. THE MONTH OF SPRING. 89 THE MONTH OF SPRING. [inter's rime and ice are gone, Snowflakes cease to bleach the fields; Gladsome Springtime flecks the lawn With the violet blue, that yields Fragrant odors, and, in turn, Trims the forest with the fern. Gales of boisterous March, that threw Trees to earth in wanton sport, Now their cruel mischief rue. And with zephyrs April court. Wafting genial showers abroad From the reservoirs of God. Mating birds now build their nest, Sprouting trees put forth their leaves ; Busy ants the grass infest. Promise shows for harvest sheaves. Hail this harbinger of Spring, Every conscious, living thing! 6 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) V V i^y Ua fA 1.0 I.I 1.25 m 1112 us 140 |M IIIM 12.0 1.8 LI III 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 # ^^ V V \ \ ^ w n «ih 9^ BETRAYED. BETRAYED. fHE stood upon the river's brink, aghast. I, Sounds as of many torrents multiplied A thundrous undertone maintained, awhile An impetus, increased by every mile. Exerted sinews of the boisterous tide For that abyssmal plunge — the overcast Of Erie's surplus water — unsurpassed In grandeur wonderful and amplitied. There lurked among her thoughts a wicked wile. Bred of insanity, that did beguile Her frenzied mind and whispered, "Suicide! Why live a life that shame will ever blast ? Already hath Suspicion flouted thee." A leap! — a shriek! — a splash! Thus perished she. THE TRYSTING-TREE. 97 THE TRYSTING-TREE. SONG. tifp/'ELL me, whispering leaves, and truly, "3|^ Has my love been here to-day ? Since we loved, have 1 not duly Kept the tryst ? Then, tell me, pray, Wherefore does my darling tarry ? Dove, to her this message carry : Come, my love, to me! Tell me, guardian of our secret, — Tell me, have I waited long ? She shall yield a kiss for forfeit, Should she loiter overlong. Hark ! the hour but now is pealing ; Dusk is o'eir the landscape stealing : Come, my love, to me! »i! I Ik • rt Hill ^^M I-; 98 THE TRYSTING-TREE. Dove, now to thy nest returning, Built in this our trysting-tree, Does she know I Unger, yearning, Here her bonny face to see? Rapture! I behold a fairy! Tripping with a step so airy. Comes my love to me ! HOMEWARD BOUND. 99 m! HOMEWARD BOUND. ((gl^/'HE sun goes down below the sea, ^|§^ Soon twilight will be fading; The seagulls to their eyries flee; Deserted now the little quay, And ceased the shrimpers' wading. I ' t The sky with clouds is overcast. And, rising from the valley, Dank, chilly mists are gliding fast O'er roof and steeple, wha'-f and mast, O'er road, ;. nd street, and alley. Save one, the fishing-fleet is in, And stranded on the shingle. Hushed is the net-reels' creaking din ; The men make merry at the inn ; Their wives knit by the ingle. 200 HOMEWARD BOUND. Upon the cliffs, with straining eyes, A maid is seaward gazing; By noting signs grown weather-wise, Now fearfully she scans the skies. And now the fog upraising. For lover, brother, father, too — Who claim her whole affecftion, — The Seawaif man — a thrifty crew, Whose love for her, so kind and true. Makes sweet its recollecflion. The nightfall settles on the deep. All landmarks dimmer making; A storm will from its lair soon leap, For it is muttering in its sleep, As if in anger waking. Beyond the bar, a fishing-smack. By hindering calm belated. With many a short and labored tack, Comes slowly in, with ropes aslack And sails but half inflated. HOMEWARD BOUND. lox iir With cautious skill her helmsman steers To make the narrow haven, And often through the gloom he peers, For indications that he nears The rocks, just ripple-laven. He trusts experience more than sight, Where few would dare to follow. Until a welcome beacon-light Gleams o'er the breakers from a height Above the thorp-built hollow. Beside the flame he sees her stand, (His own, his only daughter); She holds aloft a blazing brand, To light their dangerous course to land Across the rock-strewn water. M Nor moves when bursts the storm at last, Of rain a deluge pouring. Till every danger they have passed. And, sheltered from the hurtling blast, Find at the quay a mooring. I,; II ▼»- ^02 BIGOTRY AND TRUTH. BIGOTRY AND TRUTH. Mow often, with perverted zeal, More error than the truth wc preach ; But half instrucfled, still we feel An inward call to talk and teach. Possessed of inklings vague, we dare To pose as oracles and prate Of heretics, whom we declare Shall meet an awful, endless fate. Intolerance ne'er improved the mind, — Never from error's bondage freed; It is a winding-sheet we bind About a decomposing creed. Not once for all was truth revealed. Then still the treasure humbly seek ; Should we but search a barren field, The very stones themselves would speak. BIGOTRY AND TRUTH. Truth asks no bigot to defend Her cause against a false belief; She patiently awaits the end, When troubled souls shall find relief. 103 i And, lest her followers go astray, Or miss the path that leads aright, She holds a lamp to show the way. Which brightly burns through darkest night. When seen through intervening haze Of dogma and tradition, gleams Its ray uncertain to the gaze, And but a will-o'-the-wisp it seems. N'f At times it shoots athwart the skies, And pilgrims, stumbling in the dark. Behold new things with dazzled eyes, UnusecJ but to light's feeblest spark. For years they testify in vain, Nor heed the scoffing voice of cant ; Let men the flowing tides restrain Ere they such faithful souls shall daunt. 104 BIGOTRY AND TRUTH. The soul that Godward ever yearns, — With reverence pursues its quests Despite its devious progress, turns To that bright beam that lights to rest. A NEGRO MELODY. 105 A NEGRO MELODY. (^jJ^Y bawk am driftin' down de stream ^|p|!^ Shout, brsddren, hallelujah! Doh deep an' dawk de watahs seem : Sing, sistahs, hallelujah! I's gwine to see de hebbenly land, An' walk wid angels 'and in 'and Along de go'den, glist'nin' sand : Shout, dawkies, hallelujah ! What if de ribber's flowin' fast : Shout, breddren, hallelujah! It finds de jaspah sea at last: Sing, sistahs, hallelujah! Faith is de ruddah — hope de sail; Ole Satan he can't make me quail Bekase my little bawk am frail : Shout, dawkies, hallelujah! 7 io6 A NEGRO MELODY. De fadah shoah I most kin see: Shout, breddren, hallelujah ! At peace an' rest I soon shall be : Sing, sistahs, hallelujah! Froo stawm an' sunshine down de tide, I'll take de Bible fo' a guide, An' into glory safely glide : Shout, dawkies, hallelujah ! DEAF AND DUMB. lOf I DEAF AND DUMB. CORDIALLY INDITED TO THE BENEFACTORS OF THE DEAF-MUTE. N vain the woodland's feathered choir Ecstatic symphonies may sing; In vain the rapture of the lyre May issue from the quivering string; In vain the cadenced notes of song May songsters' tuneful tongues employ, When silence seals the ear among Delightful sounds it can't enjoy. ! i! w, i> I What boots musicians' cultured skill, Or rhetoric of gifted speech, To him whom music cannot thrill, Nor verbal sentences e'er reach ? The language that the dumb man talks. Expressed by gestures, looks and signs, Intended meanings often balks, Nor ever thoroughly defines» io8 DEAF AND DUMB. The prattle of his children's glee He can but understand by sight ; Upon each face he looks to see The signal tear or smile's delight. But when the wail of anguish breaks From infant lips, by pain impelled, Although his heart with pity quakes, How shall the weeping one be quelled ? Mute as a voiceless statue, he Can utter not the burning thought, Which, half untold, still struggles free From shackled silence, but unfraught With half the emphasis or sense Conveyed in every spoken word, By its magnetic eloquence. To those by whom its sound is heard. Both deaf and dumb ! Oh ! how bereaved Of Nature's twain of precious gifts. Were your infirmity conceived — Which leaves but mind-bedazing rifts, Wherein upon your mental gloom Intelligence may flicker through. Like sunbeams to a shuttered room, — My brother, we should pity you. THE SUICIDE. 109 tk THE SUICIDE. i^l^ROM out the bay's cold, turbid tide, Jm Wherein she plunged from men to hide, They took a graceful form — the bride Of scarce a year, a suicide. Can this be she, who often sighed O'er girlish trifles — whims denied. That courage had, though law defied, To risk the fate of suicide ? None other — she so tender-eyed. Sincere, and chaste, and dignified ! Oh ! that disgrace should thus misguide So pure a one to suicide. ti M Suspicion and her humbled pride The world's aspersions magnified. And raised the impulse to decide Her wavering will for suicide. t 1 '1 i ir^ T90 THE SUICIDE. Hushed now the tongues that did deride; No longer gossips talk aside In scandalous hints of her, who died The awful death of suicide. Farewell for aye to scorn's arride, To fickle friends, who did not bide When friendship by the test was tried, — Farewell, deserted suicide. WHEN BUDS BURST FORTH. Ill WHEN BUDS BURST FORTH. i HEN buds burst forth from Winter's thrall To greet the Spring, Then mating birds a madrigal Conspire to sing; All Nature gladsome seems to grow; On banks and meads the wild-flowers blow, Where honey-bees hum soft and low, On busy wing. When buds burst forth, the pallid cheek Gets rosy red; Cows, horses, sheep grow fat and sleek, On pasture fed. O then the days are warm and fair. New life seems pulsing through the air ; Mankind and cattle equal share The joys outspread. 1 j i ixa WHEN BUDS BURST FORTH. When buds burst forth, what inward cheer The blossoms yield ! We welcome Faith, abandon Fear, And watch the field Its resurre(51ion robe assume; Then doth an augury illume The portals of the gloomy tomb Of bliss concealed. i LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRAVE MEN. IIJ ii LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRAVE MEN. Written on the dedication of a Monument at Dayton, O., U.S.^ July 31st, 1884, eredled to commemorate the services, during the Rebellion, of the Soldiers and Sailors of Montgomery County. fuLL many a field and barren waste is sown with human grain, And many an emerald acre was bedrenched with ruby rain; And many a grass-grown hillock, where the slain most thickly fell, Suggests what — if the dead could speak — those under it would tell. t Perchance some loyal grandson of a veteran, passed away, May in the new-made furrow see a relic in decay, And rest upon his plow to think a life's blood stained that clod. For home, for right, for liberty, for children and for God. :i ia f IS4 LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRAVE MEN. A curious thought may lead him to peruse the living page Of history's truthful narrative of that eventful age : The bloody battles waged betwixt opposing blue and grey, And the courageous fortitude evinced in every fray. But, when through Dayton's streets, some day, the yeoman's steps shall rove, And he, in sculptured marble, sees the statue poised above The lofty, graceful pillar, at whose base the tablets bear Inscriptions, which the valor of Montgomery's sons declare : Then will his pulse-beats quicken with a patriotic glow, Then will he crave to emulate the deeds of long ago ; Then for those mouldering bones, which erst his plow- share rude upcast. He'll cherish reverent feelings, aye, as long as life shall last. i| Henceforth Montgomery's warriors — though scattered be their dust — Shall claim your fond remembrance by the image, held in trust LINES TO THE MEMORY OF BRAVE MEN 115 By you for your posterity, for none may e'er forget The great and glorious issues wrought by those whom Death have met. n Assembled here, now from the heart, ye who are hale and strong, Hail in united concord this, an emblem of that throng Who marched through fire to vicflory, and, as bulwarks of the land, Kept back the fiery tide of war with heart, and head and hand. i ihl i i '.i ii6 FATHER CHRISTMAS. FATHER CHRISTMAS. %^\ ARK ! — the Christmas bells are chiming ; ^^jf Let your voice with them be rhymin<; On this festal morn. Hear them heralding my coming ! Heard you not amid their humming Blast of bugle-horn ? 1 am patron of the season ! From my realm I banish treason ; Crown me Christmas' king! Unto children I am gracious, And for them in bag capacious Gifts of toys I bring. By my beard and hair so hoary, Ne'er was known in life or story Such a king as I. Christendom I rule supremely, And, though old I am extremely. Never shall I die. FIDELITY. 117 ff A FIDELITY. fHOT from the saddle as he rode, i While every nerve with frenzy glowed, And with his regiment charging, A colonel of the Lancers fell. Struck by a fragment of a shell, In scattered death enlarging. The battle ended with the day, Yet still the slain unburied lay ; The dev/ in mist was falling. The trampled fields deserted were. Save where remotely, here and there. The maimed for aid were calling. And save a charger, grazing near A form, that nevermore would hear The trumpet sound the rally. Or answer when the roll is called, Until he wakes from death, appalled At Gabriel's reveille. li I f:i- fit if'? ..I i. il8 FIDELITY. Afar, the fitful, ruddy light Of camp-fires lit the dreary night — The enemy's position; By sentries passed from post to post, The watchword circled round the host. With frequent repetition. The brute, with many a wistful glance Across the desolate expanse Of corse-encumbered acres. Beheld the cheerful prospedt spread ; But, faithful to its guarded dead, Ignored the cheer's partakers. Anon a trumpet's echoed blast Upon its drooping ears was cast, And then of arms the rattle. The fire of war pulsed through its veins, As if it felt Mars clutch the reins And spur it on to battle. An instant, fixed in mute surprise. It stood, elation in its eyes And nostrils wildly breathing; Then, ears eredt, it shrilly neighed. The summons with a bound obeyed, Its breath its form enwreathing. FIDELITY. In maddened onslaught 'cross the moor, The conquered to the conquerors tore, To win their wrested laurels, Resolved, though they in numbers few, To pay a debt of duty, due From those whose trade is quarrels. To meet them swift the charger ran. Wheeling to lead the squadron's van With wonderful precision. For well it knew the wonted place It kept before in such a race, And felt the first collision. A volley proved the foe alert. And ready to assault avert By stubborn, fierce resistance; From rifle-pits and trenches flew Their fire-winged shot, with dead to strew The intervening distance. Still forward spurred the dauntless troops, Though cut by grape-shot into groups. Unmindful of disaster; .With pointed lances firmly grasped. And bridle-reins as tightly clasped. They cheered and galloped faster. 119 I \A ii ^ With cheerful hues its little sphere, Whose beauty early frosts deface, And leave it blossomless and sere. With its destru(5lion, how bereaved The spot on which it thrived appears! That pretty flower had so relieved The barren look which now it wears. Yet consolation's in the thought That nothing can be wholly lost ; Some hidden germ, with life full -fraught, Survives the bloom despoiled by frost. \ V: In due time it unfolds — a plant, Whereon the clustering petals hang. As odorous and as elegant As those of that from whence it sprang. II I I 122 LIFE IN DEATH. Shall flowers possess this attribute, And God the same to man deny? Tliough life seems withered to the root, The germ-bound spirit sliall not die. 'li 1 f < ■ I : * >^t-, ;, *t:i 1 i'" 1- CAMBRIA 123 CAMBRIA. f LLUSTRious country, what legends and tales I Enliven each hearth in thine ever-srreen vales I The fame of thy warriors in story endures, Still fresh as the dew which thv verdure ensures. Thy mouldering castles with eloquence tell Their histories in language the bard knoweth well ; Of struggles for freedom, of bravery shown By heroes, who fought in defence of their own. Thy strongholds, the mountains, in majesty stand, O'erlooking the sea and protecting the land; Thy beautiful rivers with turbulence run From Britain's high ramparts in which they begun. Thou land of the valiant — thou home of the Muse, No Cambrian blood should that man's cheek suffuse Whose voice will not blend with the notes of the lyre, In songs which ancestral traditions inspire. iif'- I i i i t 124 L()]'E AND FAITH. LOVE AND FAITH. 'HEN crossed the frontiers of the Shadowland '^MK ^^y ghostly imniigrants from mortal spheres, Frail are the barriers Pessimism rears, And garrisons with doubts to Faith withstand. Should Love and Faith, in earnest quest, invade The upper realms, to trace a vanished friend, Though companies of weakly fears forefend, Resisting their alleged presumptuous raid, Such hostile force, equipped with useless arms, Retires, defeated at the boundary line. Faith, pledged as convoy unto Love, disarms The sentinels of Satan, whose design Has been and is to close obstruift the road That winds through mystery to tlie soul's abode. aatsm THE FAINT-HEARTED TROUBADOUR. 125 THE FAINT-HEARTED TROUBADOUR. ^fe^VER primrose banks and daisied leas I'm speedin^^^, ^Jl As the scarlet sun's at eventide receding, In the quest of love — unsanc'Uoned love I'm wooing; Frances, fair and with a queenly mien, eschewing For an artless, lowly maiden, born of peasant twain, West of yonder darkening hill-tops, frowning on the main. Let me think of what to say — How I best may homage pay. Shall I in a courtly speech Flatter first and then beseech ? Nay. My love is sweetly simple As her kirtle spruce and wimple. Heeding not her coy surprise, Blushes or averted eyes. Plainly thus will I unfold What I wish had now been told : 126 THE FAINT-HEARTED TROUBADOUR. Modest I jly of the Valley, You 1 love. O pray be mine ! Do not with my passion dally, Or my ardent suit decline. Mine's affection pure and tender; I to thee my heart surrender. Spurn it not, hut own it thine. I ;• Ah ! Here she comes — the damsel I adore. Yield, Memory, the speech thou hast in store! Our eyes have met. Speak, fool, nor miss the chance f: Words fail me — I am conquered by a glance. THE HIGHWAYMAN. 127 THE HIGHWAYMAN. A SONO K(1k A BASSO I'KOFl'NDO. r ooN, with clouds conceal thy face While I lurk in lonely place On the border of a wood, Fit for deeds of night and blood. Hither travellers I track ; Here I make the bold attack : Stop them with a stern command, — Rob or shoot them where they stand. Thus confronted, unawares. By myself, whom no one spares, " Money or your life ! " I cry ; "Speak or move, and you shall die!" What though gore the trinkets smear ? Yonder brook is running clear: Blood-stains water will efface, — Brushwood hide a dead man's face. > ItA SOME DAY" tat'-- fcfcjl SOME DAY." AN EPISODE OF THE COAL-MINE. li ^'|«^OMK in, my child; your father's late to-niijht. 1^^ His sleepy Kitty must be oft" to bed. ' All little children should be out of sight At seven o'clock,' your grandma often said. Come now; give father's kisses, dear, to me, And, when he comes, I'll give them all to him. So he will get them just the same, you see Fie! Why the brightness of those blue eyes dim? "You fretful chick, to cry for father so! And, just because he is not home for tea. You want, at bed-time, in the dusk to go To see if at the pit's-mouth he may be ! Come, Kitty dear; your dolly must be tired. That's a good girl! Now say your little prayer- Was that a cannon in the village fired?'' Another boom, and shrieks were in the air. ■> •SOME DAY.' The night-robed child, that prattled at her knee, She took, with nervous haste, in trembling arms, And flew toward the pits — ah, Heaven! — to see The hamlet roused with women's shrill alarms. All thither bound in terrified surprise, With white, wild faces and dishevelled hair, And frantic grief in their pathetic eyes, They pressed along the only thoroughfare: A throng of wailing women — widowed wives And swainless maids, with orphan children blent, Each in suspense to learn if any lives From her own heart or household had been rent (For scarcely one but had in either mine A husband, father, brother or the man Whose life, if spared, her own would intertwine). In dense confusion on and on they ran. t29 ^'The pit's afire!" a tottering grandam cried, Then groaned and swooned, unheeded, in their rear; Too well she realized how they had died Who not for years should fill a timely bier. From both the shafts uprose a cloud of smoke; None eager for their rescue dared descend; While down below the few alive must choke. For death — and only death — their pangs could end. I3P "SOME day:' ii Awed into sobs and sighing, through the night, An anxious vigil kept the wives and girls; The thick, black smoke ascending in their sight Hour after hour in slowly-circling curls. Nor on the morrow did they know the worst. H'^oe sees deliverance with its dying glance: None could survive, 'twas evident at first, Yet tarried they and argued still a chance. ' ;* i I Oh! for the mourners when they claimed their dead; Oh ! for the darkened rooms where dwelt despair ; Oh ! for the maids, who never, now, would wed ; Oh ! for the viclims, whom they ill could spare. Dust unto dust — life unto life. Amen. Though Kitty asks her mother when she may Expec^t to see her father's face again. And ponders o'er the meaning of "Some day." THE RAGMAN. ^31 THE RAGMAN. ^J^KiSTLY his beard and tangled his hair, \^l, Naked his brawny breast; Haggard and gaunt, a prey to despair. Plainly his looks attest; Covered with rags, yet ever alert Searching for more 'mid rubbish and dirt. Out with the dawn from nethermost slum Daily his steps diverge. Going the rounds ere scavengers come — Traffic uegins to surge. Quoting the proverb which doth affirm : Early's the bird that catches the worm. Refuse of factories, littering the lanes — T ifles by tradesmen spurned, Yield him a scanty (juantun of gains. Patiently, hardly earned. Scorned by a few that drudgery shirk — Shunned and despised because of his work. 132 THE RAGMAN. t Unto a Jew, o'erloaded, he goes, Counting its price in cents. Seldom that heir to other men's clothes Bargains and not dissents; Therefore he swears, and says of the Jew What of some Gentiles, also, is true. tM[ Honesty first, whatever the toil Done by a man for bread Better the hands at work to bemoil; Better go, tired, to bed. Than as a wolf to prcwl in a fleece, Preying on others, marring their peace. i ' IMMORTALITY. 133 IMMORTALITY. 5fp?^HERE is a bourn to which we all are wending — '^(^ The sure fulfilment of an inborn hope; There is a life both deathless and unending, For which, with hands outstretched, the nations grope. Blind is our mortal vision to its radiance. Like unto men who, sightless from their birth. Know there are flowers, but only by their fragrance. That bloom in beauty round them on the earth. Why should we doubt, though in the flesh return not The favored ones who have explored that clime ? A living faith needs neither chart or pilot, But steers lO Heaven at the appointed time. This Christ declared. Why seek for confirmation? Of many mansions in his Father's home He told us for our hope in tribulation; In this we trust, though through the dark we roam. ^34 IMMORTALITY. So let US each approach, with fearless pleasure, The door of death, through which we must depart, As one w^ho hath with (lod laid up a treasure. For where the treasure is will be the heart. m ' i GLORY 135 GLORY. ^^/ LOKY is — what ? The frenzied vidlory-shout ^^ Of savage conquerors, exulting o'er Their latest conquest, won by force of amis — ■ A few prized acres of a vaiitage-ground. Deflowered by devastation wrought in war, And cumbered with the wrecks of handiwork Both human and divine ? The eulogy Of famous heroes, who are laurel-crowned In recognition of a chance success Of brilliant generalship, which timely turned The course of hard-contested victory in Decisive battles of a great campaign? Who would withhold the soldier's only meed ? Yet seems the word more aptly used to name The after-glow of such a one's career As he who strove the noblest life to live, And made each opportunity subserve Benevolent designs for others' gojd; f) 136 GLORY. Who freely spent himself in righteous acfls; Who labored — whether understood or not, Through good and ill report — with steadfast zeal, Nor more acknowledgment e'er sought to win Than the consent of conscience to his deeds. Aye, glory gilds the path his spirit took, Nor smitten foemen curse what friends applaud, For he was brother unto every man, — Was kind and gentle, as became the tie That knit his heart to all in bonds of love. Let millions vaunt their sounding praise beside The sepulchre inurned v-ith martial dust. Yet shall the hero's glory be eclipsed By that of him who gloriously lived. And whose triumphant death was chiefly mourned By those who else were friendless, thus bereft Of God's own minister and their best friend. i I ; 'T' THE MADMAN. 137 THE MADMAN. E wintry winds that weirdly howl rAtS- Through yonder specT;ral copse of fir, Shriek wilder yet! Infernal owl Your gruesome lay I like to hear ! It suits my mood — that ghostly cry; I wot the whole world's gone awry. Gaunt trees, your leafless branches toss ! A moaning in the speechless air Create; proclaim aloud your loss, And, naked, revel in despair! Be mad with me — the Fates defy. Since Nature's wits are al ' awry. Ye ugly shapes, that haunt the shade, Grimacing at the bleared moon, J, too, from Bedlam here have strayed; Like me, ye dance to any tune. Distorted shadows, you and 1 Are witness everything's awry. 9 'i '' ?■ 138 THE MADMAN. And you, the bitter, biting frost. Ay, freeze the marrow in my bones; You hurt not me — myself is lost ; Hurl at this breast your icy stones! I would not live — I fain would die: The mocking world has gone awry. Ye driving ilakes, which, through the gloom, In wildering eddies reach the ground, Will make for me a welcome tomb. And leave no trace of man or mound. To find a cynic's fate I'll try. For all the sneering world's awry. i rt THE PRINTER'S DEVIL. 139 THE PRINTER'S DEVIL. pT wholly lost to grace — but nearly; The Printer's Devil may become a man Of some renown, although now merely Regarded as an imp of black-and-tan. «^-^Js: Not soiled his soul as his exterior: The chrysalis of character within May yet develop a superior Nobility than he of titled kin. Not mean the boy as his position; Such work as his may be as nobly done As what elicits recognition From those whose praise is often easier won. Not half his chums would know the devil When Sunday him dissociates from ink, Nor when by age he gains the level Of serious manhood and begins to think. i 140 THE PRINTERS DEVIL Not nurtured in the lore of scholars, But forced his mental pabulum to seek While scrambling with the rest for dollars, Nine hours a day and six long days a week. h Not least upon the scroll of story Appear inscribed the names of many, who From devils worked their way to glory : Rise, Imps Incarnate, and attain your duel EMPTY HOUSES. Ml EMPTY HOUSES. ■4 M saw a mansion, tenantless and closed, J| With windows shuttered 'gainst the light of day; And I was right when I at first supposed For years its occupant had been away. Within its crooked chimneys built the owl, •. At night about it wheeled and wheeled the bat ; In its damp rooms dwelt Ruin, old and foul. The doting mistress of the mouse and rat. I saw it once again on Christmas Eve, When every window shone with cheerful light ; Out of its chimneys did the Yule-log breathe An azure fume, which put to sudden flight Bewildered owls from their forsaken nests; White-berried mistletoe, shorn from the oak. From ceilings hung above gay groups of guests, And at the door the waits old carols woke. I4X I \ EMPTY HOUSES. So once I saw what erst had been a man : A stark, cold foim — a vacant domicile; And through my mind a recoUecftion ran Of my first ghmpse of that ancestral pile, Whose owner, banished for a term of years. Was forced to leave it in the Law's grim hands, And while beside him friends shed copious tears, His farewells said, he sailed for foreign lands. So sad it seemed, how could 1 help but mourn With those who wept o'er that which would decay, Since from it had the living soul been borne To Hades' exile till the Judgment Day? "Then to return," they said, i seemed to see Again the mansion when its lord came back, Nor marvelled when "Some day," said one to me, "That house of clay shall not a tenant lack. ' 4 :> A PLEA FOR THE POET. 143 A PLEA FOR THE POET. f HE poet as the skylark sings — (^ Whene'er his heart is full, And in imagination wings To regions beautiful. Song is his life. O mar it not By driving him to trade, Lest in distracftion be forgot The music yet unmade. 4 His choice is not in busy marts To barter for his bread ; It is to comfort aching hearts, And optimism spread. The Mind of minds, that tunes his soul And stirs it unto song, Ordained not as the poet's goal The haunt that scriveners throng. 144 A PLEA FOR THE POET. The rapture of the lark is quelled, - It has no heart to sing, When as a captive it is held, With prison-fettered wing. Against the bars, in mute dismay, Its dappled breast it beats, And pines for freedom day by day, To flee the noisy streets. Its sphere is in the lofty clouds, Or waving meadow grass; Transported midst the city crowds. Its life will quickly pass. Seek not to thrall the poet's flight. For like the lark is he: He sings more sweetly out of sight,- He, therefore, should be free. His haunts are in the green wood's aisle. Or nigh some purling stream, Wliere sylvan songs his soul beguile, — There let him muse and dream. le,