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1P>0€ 
 
 f-i 
 
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 C. VV. CO. 
 
IPoems anb ipastels. 
 
 1 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM EDWARD HUNT 
 
 (Keppei.l Strange) 
 
 •%'«' 
 
 TORONTO: 
 ^A^ILLIAM BRIGGS 
 
 WESLEY BUILDINOa. 
 
 C. VV. COATES, Montreal. S. F. HUKSTIS, Halifax. 
 
 1S96. 
 

 149048 
 
 ti 
 
 Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the yerr one 
 thousand eight hundred and ninety-six, by William Briggs, at the 
 Department of Agriculture. 
 
 
 %:.. 
 
 ^y 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Paob 
 
 DoMiNiox Square 7 
 
 In God's Acrk 9 
 
 Hu.maxity's Invitation - ----- 10 
 
 A Montreal Eclooue 12 
 
 The Sea's Influence 15 
 
 His Sin ig 
 
 TiioucHT AND Silence 16 
 
 Spring ' . -18 
 
 Bells - 21 
 
 Pessimistic - . . .' 22 
 
 Now— AND Then - - . ... . - 23 
 
 Firemen ^24 
 
 Alone - - 25 
 
 Abandoned - 25 
 
 SoNu OF Autumn - - - . . . • 26 
 
 Slumber SoNf} - . . . , * ^ . 28 
 
 An Old Sono Book - . . . . . . 30 
 
 A Lullaby . - . . . . . . » 32 
 
IV 
 
 Contents. 
 
 To THE First Butterfly - - - - 
 A Little Boy Afraid . . . . 
 
 A Serenade 
 
 Only a Little While, Only Once More 
 Your Eyes are Grey . . . - 
 
 If One Must Weep and One Foruet 
 
 FORUOTTEN NkVER 
 
 To A Fair Minstrel - - - 
 
 Flowers 
 
 Lily, Lovely Lily 
 
 Violet 
 
 Dandelion 
 
 Marguerite 
 
 The Wandering Wind . . - - 
 Where Thame Windeth - - - - 
 
 On Life's Pathway 
 
 The Avenoement . . - - ■ 
 The Christmas Bells of Long Ago 
 
 Paqb 
 34 
 35 
 37 
 38 
 40 
 41 
 42 
 44 
 46 
 47 
 48 
 48 
 49 
 50 
 56 
 62 
 65 
 68 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 Sonnets of Mount Royal — 
 A November Walk. I. 
 
 II 
 
 M 
 
 II 
 
 11. 
 
 It 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 in. 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Passing of Summer. V. 
 
 75 
 76 
 
 77 
 78 
 79 
 
Contents. 
 
 SoxNETs OF Mount Royal— Co/?^m?<erf — 
 TiiE Passinu of Autu.mn. VI. - 
 Winter— The First Snow. VII. 
 
 Worth 
 
 Doomed 
 
 Golden-Rod 
 
 Mutability 
 
 Pathos 
 
 Chrysanthemum .... 
 
 The Unutterable - - . . 
 
 Mej^ncholy 
 
 Romance 
 
 I'AUK 
 
 80 
 81 
 82 
 83 
 84 
 85 
 86 
 87 
 88 
 89 
 90 
 
 PASTELS AND SKETCHES IN PROSE. 
 
 A Damask Rose - - - . 
 From Night Till Morn - 
 In the Land op Shadows - 
 A Grey Day— Lake St. Francis 
 Dominion Square 
 Mount Royal— 
 
 I. The Passing of Autumn 
 
 IL A Winter Sunset 
 The Arrow Head 
 At Phillipsburg — 
 
 Under the Maples— June - 
 The Thousand Islands 
 
 93 
 101 
 110 
 121 
 123 
 
 126 
 130 
 133 
 
 135 
 137 
 
r 
 
^ 
 
 POEMS AND PASTELS. 
 
 ©omtnioii Square. 
 
 > 
 
 When afternoons merge into eves, 
 
 And nights glide by in stoles of grey, 
 The soft lights woo the tremulous leaves 
 (Streams quaver so in silvery play), 
 And shade-spun lace adorns the fair 
 Brocaded vesture of the Square. 
 
 No more in sunshine's yellow halls 
 
 Is spread the garish feast of light ; 
 Each blue-domed corridor enthrals, 
 Ethereal shades of peace invite. 
 There falls on retrospection's shrine 
 Libations of life's amber wine. 
 
 sesss 
 
icTsr' 
 
 8 
 
 Domlttion Square. 
 
 The wind is charmed with lullaby 
 
 (In silken shade sweet color dreams), 
 And now it whispers of the sea, 
 
 Of murmurous lakes and purling streams ; 
 It breathes a sighing sense of balm. 
 Of southern peace and groves of palm. 
 
 Here Music, masked as Laughter, brings 
 
 Her tribute to young Liberty ; 
 
 Care lieth gyved, nor Sorrow stings. 
 
 And Joy remembers he is free ; 
 
 While Time reweaves the days of old, 
 When all the world was blue and gold. 
 
5n (5o5*3 Bcre. 
 
 3n 6o&'s Here. 
 
 The rank grass was unshorn, — 
 Dishevell'd, tangled, torn. 
 The spectral winds mocked loud and low 
 The mouldering yews o' the long ago ; 
 (Many the dead lying there below) 
 
 They did weirdly whisper and grimly blow. 
 
 > 
 
 From out the pictured glass, 
 (A doomed and routed mass), 
 Warrior saints from the field they bore, 
 In mingled vailing, all lost and o'er ; 
 Music and color ne'er told before — 
 To mortal such tale never told before. 
 
 The moon leaned o'er the tombs, 
 Shredding the husks of glooms, — 
 Oh, eyes of earth and stars above, 
 They are forgotten and 'reft of love ! 
 (Oh, the toll of bell and knell of love !) 
 But who stole their eyes to make stars above ? 
 
lO 
 
 Ibumanits's invitation. 
 
 / 
 
 Ibumaiut^'s Juvitation. 
 
 Follow me, follow me ! 
 
 Strip from thy spirit the purple of pride, 
 
 Love, the white angel, shall walk by thy side ; 
 
 While thy brothers and sisters with misery dwell, 
 
 Wouldest thy way be my way 'tis through their dark 
 
 cell. 
 
 Wilt thou come ? 
 
 Then, follow me, follow me home ! 
 
 Follow me, follow me ! 
 Thy /esture is thin, thyself shalt be torn, 
 Fashion's lewd sneer and the Pharisee's scorn 
 Shall assail thee, nor plunder await thee for dole. 
 Thou shalt only be righteous, with peace in thy soul. 
 Wilt thou come ? 
 Then, follow me, follow me home ! 
 
 ;t i w »" Jw iJiiri ii ii ^ i iV.V i t ^ V ' .gVa H^ jj.'m ^^ ^ 
 
1bumanit\?'6 invitation. 
 
 II 
 
 Follow me, follow me ! 
 Out in the night to encampments of pain, 
 Out in the night to the shelters of bane, 
 Where the moments are ashes and dust are the years, 
 .And the well of life's water is bitter with tears. 
 Wilt thou come ? 
 Then, follow me, follow me home ! 
 
 I 
 
II 
 
 12 
 
 B /Iftcntrcal JEclOQue, 
 
 H /Hbontreal lEclooue, 
 
 Herbert : 
 
 I hate these dusty, noisy streets, 
 The garish Hghts, the swelteri.ig heats. 
 The thousand fusty, musty smells, 
 The coal cart's fiendish din, the yells 
 From eiich persistent hawker's throat. 
 Oh, give to me the wild bird's note, 
 The wind's sweet sighing in the trees, 
 The scent of flowers, the sough of seas. 
 
 I \ 
 
 Albert : 
 
 I dreamt last night that far away 
 On marge of silver lake I lay ; 
 Lush melilet composed my bed, 
 A maple waved above my head, 
 The resinous perfume of pine 
 Scented the air, the dappled kine 
 
B /Iftoiitrcal JEcloguc. 
 
 13 
 
 Prowled through the meadows lazily, 
 A tawny thrush sang on a tree, — 
 Its sweet notes floated from a dell : 
 "Vehu," *'v'rehu" and "viHillel"— 
 Upon the waters, crystal clear, 
 A dark eyed maid her bark did steer, 
 (Its white sail like a bird in quest) ; 
 I watched her glide into the West, 
 Where the grey waters meet the sky — 
 That way the jewelled islands lie. 
 Yet in mine ears I h?ar the bfeeze. 
 So soft and low it woos the trees ; 
 The water like a mirror lies. 
 Stealing the clouds from out the skies. 
 The dream has passed, it went too soon ; 
 Even as I saw the rising moon. 
 A blue jay into laughter broke, 
 I rubbed my eyes — and I awoke ! 
 
 Walter : 
 Your dream brings other days to me,— 
 In my old home across the sea, 
 A lark is singing in the blue. 
 The waving grass is wet with dew, 
 
 .£ 
 
 '•;,-. 
 
r 
 
 14 
 
 U /iBontrcal JEcloaue. 
 
 
 i 
 
 And in the woven grass is made 
 
 A pattern rare, like rich brocade, 
 
 Of buttercups and daisies pied. 
 
 A trout stream through the fields doth glide, - 
 
 It skirts Squire Jones's ivied wall, 
 
 Past spreading oaks, elms stout and tall, 
 
 And hawthorn hedges, snowy white, 
 
 Whose perfume gives the land delight 
 
 And charms the finch and thrush to song— 
 
 But this I may too much prolong ! 
 
 Herbert: 
 
 Not so ! All pleasant are such themes, 
 Sweet in the living, fair in dreams. 
 I am refreshed, nor more cast down, 
 You've brought the country to the town : 
 The streets are fields, the houses lanes, 
 Lakes linger in the window panes, 
 Those poles outside are surely trees, 
 Thos^ wires are humming just like bees. 
 Those sparrows like to thrushes sing, — 
 Oh, fancy is a pleasant thing, 
 And work is but a pretty play — 
 Tell me some more another day ! 
 
 ' 
 
t 
 
 !* 
 
 Zbc Sea*0 influence. 
 
 15 
 
 TLbc Sea's influence. 
 
 The brine is in our blood from days of yore, 
 And ever in our ears the tide's-tune rings, 
 The wave runs through our legends and our lore, 
 And permeates a thousand diverse things ; 
 The mem'ry of our race's island home 
 Is charged with salt-sea spray and ocean foam. 
 
 IfDis Sin. 
 
 He buried it in the fruitful land, 
 The flow'rs refused to grow ; 
 
 He buried it in the desert sand. 
 And al! around .>^as woe. 
 
 He cast it into the lonely sea, 
 
 Afar from mortal ken ; 
 'Twas borne by the tide, despite his plea, 
 
 Back to the haunts of men. 
 
i6 
 
 Cbougbt anO Silence. 
 
 .]( 
 
 XTbougbt auD Silence. 
 
 Imperial Thought queen Silence wooed,- 
 
 The scene a garden fair, 
 The incense of adoring flow'rs 
 
 Perfumed the charmed air ; 
 The Lily and the ruby Rose 
 
 Had built an altar there. 
 
 i 
 
 Her rich simar of woven gold. 
 
 Like alabaster white 
 Her form. From out her wondrous face 
 
 Shone two such orbs of light 
 As grace the starry firmament 
 
 On some rare northern night. 
 
 m 
 
 His robes they were of royal hue ; 
 
 His brow deep, arched and high. 
 With sweet content he gazed long 
 
 Upon her symmetry. 
 Her regal couch of violets ' >. 
 
 The azure of the sky. 
 
Cboufibt ano Silence. 
 
 17 
 
 It was her kingdom and she reigned. 
 
 The satellites of Sound 
 She bade to drain the Poppy's cup 
 
 (Nepenthe far renowned), 
 And drunken with the scarlet wine 
 
 They lay fast gagged and bound. 
 
 She led him over flow'r-strewn rocks 
 To Wisdom's lordly cave, 
 
 Whose dais is a diamond, 
 
 Begemmed each aisle and have. 
 
 And jewels priceless unto Thought 
 The willing hermit gave. 
 
 She wove them into patterns rare 
 
 Of color and of line ; 
 An aureole they were to him — 
 
 His subjects for a sign 
 To evermore her grace revere 
 
 And worship at her shrine. 
 
1^ 
 
 i8 
 
 Spring, 
 
 (I 
 
 I 
 
 Spring. 
 
 :\l> 
 
 The trees are bare upon the hill ; 
 
 In many an unfrequented way 
 The scrambled snow is lying still ; 
 
 Yet saw I Spring's fair face to-day. 
 
 IP. 
 
 I saw her where the blood-root grows ; 
 
 Each dainty bud she stooped to kiss, 
 Till white and wondering blossoms rose 
 
 To dole of purity and bliss. 
 
 
 The willow wands she gaily waved, 
 And shyly many a flower peeped out ; 
 
 Her feet the rimpling streamlet laved. 
 Then, laughing, leapt a boulder stout. 
 
 t,n 
 
^ 
 
 Spring. 
 
 19 
 
 I saw, where'er she sauntered by, 
 
 The emerald fronds of ferns unrolled ; 
 
 Her fairy-fingers touch the sky, 
 And azure palaces unfold. 
 
 'Neath last year's leaves, through all the woods 
 Did throb the pulse of lowly things ; 
 
 Love came, bedecked with tender moods, 
 And thrilled to song the world of wings : 
 
 They sang, those birds, for very joy, 
 They sang a song of love and gain, 
 
 Of happiness without alloy. 
 
 Of an old world made young again. 
 
 And backward throii'^h the years I ran 
 
 To find the boy I lost one day, 
 So anxious then to be a man. 
 
 So eager some grave part to play. 
 
 I found him not, but, in the quest, 
 
 I many a burden flung aside, 
 Of Shibboleth, too long a guest, 
 
 Of doubt and of despairful pride. 
 
90 
 
 Spring. 
 
 I -> 
 
 And as the purple buds expand, 
 As violet, pink and white unfold, 
 
 And, flowering so, bedeck the land. 
 When leaves of liverwort are old : 
 
 
 So, by my sere and fading leaf, 
 
 New hopes had birth and purpose high ; 
 Life's new-born joy assuaged old grief. 
 
 And promise filled the azure sky. 
 
 (, 
 
 I : 
 
 
 It 
 
Xclle. 
 
 ax 
 
 Fling to the winds the message old 
 
 Of joy and peace, ye bells, adown 
 The mountain pathway, o'er the wold, 
 
 Through village sparse and crowded town. 
 
 * 
 Bid the wide universe rejoice 
 
 That ill and error pass away, 
 Peal out with one triumphant voice 
 
 That love shall reign and hate decay. 
 
 Proclaim through all the world again 
 That charity is only good. 
 
 That peace is blest and strife is vain, 
 And man a mighty brotherhood. 
 
i 
 ii 
 
 I 
 
 fU 
 
 i 
 
 \, 
 
 22 
 
 pesdimietic. 
 
 pessimistic* 
 
 We are but phantoms in a shifting scene ; 
 
 We act a part, and vanish in a breath ; 
 We shatter cv'ry hope on which we lean ; 
 
 And rest find only in mysterious death. 
 
 We are as spectres of the gloaming time, 
 Born after sun and dying with the moon ; 
 
 We rend the chords of passion like the mime, 
 And vanish from the memory as soon. 
 
 ■ • 
 
 We pause awhile to dream of pleasant days, 
 And gild the present with a future bright — 
 
 Vain hope, fate leads us onward to a maze, 
 Amid whose 'wild'ring paths dwells endless night. 
 
 1 1 
 
 t 
 
 : 
 
flow— an& {Tbcn. 
 
 23 
 
 IR0W— apb Zlbeu. 
 
 Like to a plant upon a lone hillside 
 
 That grows and questions not and sinks to rest, 
 
 The while the summer glides into the West, 
 Makes richer mould where it has lived and died ; 
 A fuller soil for after leaf and flower. 
 
 For fairer blossom and for leaf more green, 
 More perfect form, more perfume and more power- 
 
 The living legacy of what has been : 
 
 So, if our toil and time be spent aright, 
 
 In upward growth, in our brief season's sun. 
 When we shall droop and wane, our life's sand run. 
 
 And deep oblivion lead us into night. 
 
 While all unknown we lie beneath the mould 
 A giant race shall walk a greener sod, 
 
 A people better for the ones of old. 
 Sweeter in life, and nearer unto God. 
 
w 
 
 
 ^It 
 
 w 
 
 >\i 
 
 i\ 
 
 I! 
 
 . 1 ! 
 
 24 
 
 jfireircn. 
 
 jfiremen. 
 
 Citizen soldiers who battle with flame, 
 Dwellers in peace in the midst of alarms, 
 
 Types of Crusaders and peers of the same, 
 Rescuers manful and quellers of harms. 
 
 Fighters of fire with the axe and the hose, 
 Chivalrous, daring, swift-footed and sure. 
 
 Scorning inglorious, ignoble repose. 
 First to encounter and first to endure. 
 
 Modest as valiant, and simple as brave. 
 Steady and cool in the midst of surprise ; 
 
 Life but a part in the glory to save ; 
 
 Duty the watchword, and honor the prize. 
 
 Tried in the furnace and proven of gold ; 
 
 Fearless as eagle and gentle as dove ; 
 Held in all hearts as the heroes of old — 
 
 As near in esteem, and nearer in love. 
 
1 
 
 alone. 
 
 25 
 
 Blone. 
 
 I 
 
 Thy pure spirit has fled 
 
 Away 
 From a world full of sorrow ; 
 
 To-day, 
 My sad heart is led 
 By the fear and the dread 
 
 Of to-morrow. 
 
 HbanboneC). 
 
 There was a lonely spot in that wild wood, 
 So lonely, in that place where all was lone, 
 
 The very trees would start in frightened mood, ' 
 And cling in close embrace while making moan. 
 
f 
 
 VT 
 
 ; 
 
 I 
 
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 »V' 
 
 
 I ( 
 
 i 
 
 y 
 
 ' I 
 
 h 
 
 ff 
 
 26 
 
 Song ot Butumn. 
 
 SoiiG Of Hutumiu 
 
 Come troll with me a merry lay, 
 
 And fill your bowl with right good wine, 
 
 I am old Autumn, always gay, 
 And rosy-cheeked, and bright of eyne. 
 
 Here's health to that young urchin. Spring, 
 My sister, flowery Summer, too ; 
 
 Of all good fellows I am King — 
 So here's a health to me and you ! 
 
 A vagabond's a lazy elf, 
 
 And groweth fat — that's understood — 
 By whining for another's pelf ; 
 
 But I grow fat because I'm good ! 
 
 I wave o'er all the lowly sod — 
 
 See how the royal banner gleams ! — 
 
 Illimitable golden-rod ; 
 
 I gild the rushes by the streams. 
 
 
 \i 
 
Song of Butumiu 
 
 27 
 
 I tint the leaves with Tyrian dyes ; 
 
 I ripen all the golden grain ; 
 I do it with my merry eyes, 
 
 All for your pleasure— that's my gain. 
 
 I wink : the berries scarlet go 
 And purple— they are full of fun ! 
 
 The lush grape's jovial juices flow, 
 Nuts swell and fatten, every one. 
 
 The apples' cheeks grow pink, with glee, 
 The red plums split their sides and fall, 
 
 And ('tis a glorious sight to see) 
 ^'he pf^aches twinkle on a wall ! 
 
 I know when brother Winter starts 
 
 He'll stop my pranks, but— never fear ! 
 
 Bid all good folk keep merry hearts — 
 I'll be as blithe, I trow, next year. 
 
 So troll with me a merry lay. 
 
 And drain a bowl of right good wine, 
 
 I'm gossip Autumn, always gay, 
 With ruddy cheeks and bright of eyre. 
 
'■r V 
 
 28 
 
 Slumber S^ong, 
 
 Slumber Song, 
 
 Sleep and rest, for it is best, 
 
 Slumber sweetly soon ; 
 Fold thy tired eyes and rest ; 
 
 Silver dreams shall to thee croon. 
 
 Sweet the time and soft the tune, 
 In thy nest ; 
 
 Fold thine eyes, and thine the boon. 
 
 Now the busy hours are gone, 
 With the work and play ; 
 
 Jewelled stars look down alone ; 
 Through the sleep-time pass away 
 Owl and bat and shape of grey ; 
 
 Sleep, mine own ! 
 Till the blue and golden day. 
 
Slumber Song. 
 
 29 
 
 Night will close her raven wings 
 
 With the dusky hours ; 
 Sweet the early carollings 
 
 By the brook and through the bowers ; 
 
 Grateful are the morning showers ; 
 Slumber sings : 
 " Morn shall wake thee with the flowers." 
 
 n 
 
 h 
 
 %.i 
 
r 
 
 M 
 
 30 
 
 Bn Qlt> Song JBooft. 
 
 I 
 
 Bn ®lt) Song Boofi. 
 
 Pages closed this many a year 
 (Lying in this ancient room), 
 
 Lines so faint and leaves so sere : 
 Letters on a mouldering tomb. 
 
 4 
 
 M 
 
 Rose within its pages pressed 
 (Powders in my vandal hand), 
 
 Once was lovely, was caressed, 
 Treasured, in a vain strange land. 
 
 In the lavender of time, 
 All it was of poignant vow. 
 
 Various melody and rhyme. 
 They are but as mummies now. 
 
an ©ID Song JBooft. 
 
 31 
 
 (Stars that sing eternally 
 
 Surely faint as they grow old ; 
 
 Luna's white-harp melody 
 Ever groweth languorous, cold.) 
 
 Nay, but they are less than those : 
 
 Ripples on a fossil shore, 
 Press of lily, cast of rose, 
 
 Footprints on abandoned moor. 
 
 Matrices of tune and life : * 
 Where the folly, guilt and pain, 
 
 Love and hope, and grief and strife ?- 
 Fugitive as April rain ! 
 
 Thus the various waves do pass 
 (Sounding on the shores of time), 
 
 Fleet as ripples in the grass, 
 Fleet as mimicry— and mime ! 
 
If '' 
 
 m 
 
 3r 
 
 B Xullabg. 
 
 'I 
 
 !'; 
 
 H Xullaby. 
 
 Now the woolly lambs are sleeping, 
 
 Safely gathered in the fold ; 
 O'er the world the dark is creeping ; 
 From the skies the stars are peeping, — 
 Silver stars and stars of gold ; 
 
 Night falls on the land and sea, 
 While thy mother sings to thee. 
 
 All the pretty flow'rs are dreaming, 
 
 Where the winds, melodious, croon ; 
 O'er the waters, softly gleaming, — 
 Rimpled waters, purling, gleaming — 
 Sweetly smiles the pleasant moon ; 
 Little bird sleeps in its nest, — 
 Sleep, mine own, on mother's breast ! 
 
 '^'fL'iX Wljll**"''. 
 
1 
 
 B Uullab^. 
 
 33 
 
 Sleep, my darling, till the morning 
 Drives the hours of dark away ; 
 Till the sun, the world adorning. 
 Opes the flowers with the morning, 
 And the birds rejoice with day ; 
 
 Sleep, mine own, till morning's light, — 
 Angels guard thee through the night ! 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
34 
 
 Zo tbc jfirat JButtcrne. 
 
 lufi 
 
 Uo tbe fflrst JButterfl^. 
 
 So blithe and brave ! 
 
 You quite forgot the earth was bare- 
 Indeed, you cared for nothing, save 
 That skies were blue 
 Enough for you — 
 The world was fair ! 
 
 
 You fragile fly ! 
 
 I'd laugh at your temerity, 
 Only so much I would that I 
 (Of envious kind) 
 Could match my mind 
 To trust like thee ! 
 
i 
 
 B Xittic 3B0S Bfraf&. 
 
 35 
 
 H Xittle 3B017 Htraib. 
 
 As I walked up the hill, last night, 
 
 As I went up the hill, 
 Tall trees arose to left and right. 
 The trees were dark, the moon was white, 
 
 And all the world was still. 
 
 As I walked up the hill, last night, 
 
 As up the hill I went. 
 Each tree (I closed my eyes in dread) 
 A giant was, with shaggy head. 
 
 Its hands so big and bent ! 
 
 As I walked up the hili, last night 
 (Because I had to go), 
 
36 
 
 il 
 
 B little JBos afcalO. 
 
 Of course, I knew the trees were trees, 
 Not ghosts, and yet, I seemed to freeze, 
 And oh, I trembled so ! 
 
 As I ran down the hill, last night, 
 
 As down the hill I ran, 
 I brushed away my foolish tears. 
 And laughed at all my childish fears— 
 
 As brave as any man ! 
 
 '1 
 
 
B Serenade. 
 
 37 
 
 
 21 Serenabe. 
 
 Over the water's rim 
 
 Sinketh the sun away ; 
 Night, dusky Seraphim, 
 
 Hideth the garish day. 
 List to the lute and song 
 
 Under thy lattice, greeting : 
 " Life is brief, love is long, • 
 
 Bliss all too rare and fleeting." 
 
 Stars in the azure sky. 
 
 Cloudlets that float afar, 
 Soft winds, that pause and sigh. 
 
 Fragrance of June's simar, 
 All the night's melody, 
 
 Crescent moon, lone sea and shore, 
 Crave precious glimpse of thee, 
 
 Sweet Sovereign — Queen Lenore ! 
 
 m 
 
-fr^ 
 
 ir 
 
 m 
 
 if, 
 
 38 ©nlB a Xittle Wbtlc, ©nig ©ncc ^oce. 
 
 :!' 
 
 ©nl^ a Xittle Mbile, Qnl^ 
 Once /IDore. 
 
 If I could see thee once again, 
 
 A little while, once more. 
 Thy tender heart I might regain 
 
 And my lost peace restore ; 
 You would forget the scorn you felt — 
 
 So penitent I'd be — 
 You would forgive, while low I knelt, 
 
 If I might only see 
 
 Thy dear eyes shine on me, 
 Only a little while, 
 Only once more. 
 
 If I should see thee once again, 
 And find thee strange and cold, 
 
©Ills a Xittle TOblle, ©iilg ©nee flSote. 39 
 
 
 And ever dead — ah, bitter pain ! 
 The bright, sweet love of old ; 
 Yea, even while I felt your scorn — 
 
 (All bitter though it be) 
 
 And my sad heart with grief were torn, 
 
 I'd choose such misery. 
 
 If I thy face could see 
 
 Only a little while. 
 
 Only once more. 
 
40 
 
 lt)our JE^CB arc ©reg. 
 
 l!)our ]£^C9 are (Brc^. 
 
 Your eyes are cold in the misty light, 
 
 Your eyes are grey and your voice is strange, 
 
 Your voice was sweet and your blue eyes bright, 
 But faith departeth and all things change. 
 
 Ah, no, not thus will I let you go, 
 Not thus may we part and, well-a-day, 
 
 Shall an idle word, tossed to and fro 
 By wicked lips, change yea unto nay ? 
 
 You looked at me with your cold, grey eyes. 
 You passed, and never a word said you. 
 
 With the calumny and the poisoned lies — 
 You questioned not that the tales were true. 
 
 No more shall sland'rous tongues bewray 
 
 The faith and trust which are love's strong right- 
 
 Ah, now your eyes are no longer grey, 
 
 Your voice is sweet and your blue eyes bright. 
 
 \ 
 
5t One /Hbugt Mecp mt> One jforgct, 41 
 
 3t ©ne /IDust Mcep aub ®ne jforoet. 
 
 Two meet, life's lonely path along, 
 Two part, and meet again no more ; 
 
 Yet, when they vanish in the throng, 
 Perchance, one heart may nevermore 
 Regain the peace it knew before : 
 
 If one must weep and one forget, 
 
 'Twere better far they had not met. 
 
 The careless hour, so quickly flown, 
 One never shall recall again ; 
 
 Each hapless moment, dearer grown, 
 The one, with never-dying pain. 
 Must mourn ; and peace no more regain 
 
 Since one must weep and one forget, 
 
 'Twere better far they had not met. 
 
 i 
 
 
f 
 
 42 
 
 Iforgotteu mevcr. 
 
 fforgotten merer. 
 
 Sheen flax of hair, an oval face, 
 Blue eyes, a sweet and child-like way— 
 Not much to lose, my friend, you say. 
 
 Though youth must have its time and place. 
 
 Not much to lose, ah, no— a thought 
 
 Of pity for the time so fled, 
 
 A wish, perchance, that one were dead ; 
 Yet are you right— perhaps, 'twas nought. 
 
 The roses now that deck the way 
 
 Are fair as those that bloomed last year, 
 Their ending full as soon and drear- 
 Why mourn the flow'rs of yesterday ? 
 
jfotQOttcn t\cx>cv. 
 
 AS 
 
 When the acute vibrations cease — 
 Not Hghtly touched by grief— to ring ; 
 Nor resurrect a buried thing 
 
 The future pleasant days of peace . . . 
 
 Ah — when your platitudes are past — 
 If e'er those days shall dawn for me, 
 Should I forget, nor cease to be. 
 
 May all my hopes be overcast. 
 
rl 
 
 
 i\ 
 
 44 
 
 tTo a 3Falr ^Inatrcl. 
 
 XTo a ffatt /lIMnstreL 
 
 Enchantress, sweep the golden chords, 
 And cheer my heart with noble words ; 
 
 A tilting tourney lay 
 Of mailed knights and prancing steeds ; 
 Recount my country's gallant deeds. 
 
 Enchantress, touch the silvern strings 
 Which rustle like an angel's wings 
 
 And bear my soul away 
 To hills and vales where reigns Delight ; 
 Sing me a joyous song to-night. 
 
 Enchantress, let thy sweetest note 
 Of harp and voice unite and float 
 In one resplendent stream, 
 
 ii 
 
Zo a ifair /Iftlnstrcl. 
 
 45 
 
 Weave into its melodious flow 
 
 The maid I love and fain would know. 
 
 Enchantress, lean thee to thy lyre, 
 Evolve from out the resonant wire 
 
 Soft themes for rest and dream, 
 That thy rich fancies I may keep 
 To soothe me in the realms of sleep. 
 
r 
 
 il 
 
 K 
 
 46 
 
 jflowera. 
 
 n 
 
 iil^ 
 
 !ii 
 
 fflowers. 
 
 Pairest of all earth's beauties 
 Are the flowers — 
 
 The scented, tinted flowers. 
 
 Fairest of all earth's flowers 
 Are the roses — 
 
 The regal, radiant roses. 
 
 Fairest of all earth's roses 
 Are the maidens — 
 
 The dainty, queenly maidens. 
 
XilSr lovely Xtts. 
 
 47 
 
 Xil^, lovely %\{^. 
 
 Fairest flower that blooms in garden, thou ; 
 Sweeter than the snowy hawthorn bough 
 Of tender Spring, with perfume overladen, 
 Or lush moss-rose. Pure art thou as a maiden 
 Just budding into womanhood j 
 As fragile, fair, as sweet and good. 
 The soft winds woo thee ev'ry day 
 And bear thy perfume far away ; 
 Amidst the fragrance of thy flowers 
 Glad bees hum in the golden hours. 
 Stately and majestically fair. 
 Emblem of a combination rare, 
 Of majesty and meekness 
 And overpowering sweetness ; 
 Pride and purity 
 Abide with thee, — 
 Lily, lovely lily ! 
 
lu 
 
 48 
 
 Diolet 
 
 n 
 
 i ( 
 
 IDioIet. 
 
 Earthward thy gracious head is bent, 
 In mood half shy and wholly meek. 
 
 Thy robes are woven azure bright ; 
 In thy breast is hidden a star. 
 
 i 
 
 If 
 
 S)an&elion, 
 
 The rays of glory from thy golden heart 
 
 Crown the mean comrades of thy place and birth ; 
 
 True worth is ever— humble though its part— 
 An aureole of honor to the earth. 
 
/Ibarducrfte. 
 
 49 
 
 /ll>aroucrite. ' 
 
 In her garments white and golden, 
 With the graceful columbine, 
 
 By the woodland pathway holden 
 Is my daisy, mine ; 
 
 Or, in fragrant meadows growing. 
 All amongst the dappled kine, — 
 
 Gentle zephyrs there a-blowing 
 My dear daisy, mine ; 
 
 There the woven, waving grasses, 
 Buttercups that brightly shine. 
 
 Insects gay and lads and lasses, 
 And my daisy, mine. 
 
 Songs of old are sweet with moly, 
 
 Amaranth and lotus fine, 
 But more fair, more sweet, more holy. 
 
 Is my daisy, mine. 
 
1 ^ 
 
 w 
 
 50 
 
 Zbc mm^ctiwQ WinD. 
 
 Ube Man^ering Mint). 
 
 JVb i?ian knoiveth 
 Whence it cometh, 
 Whither it goeth. 
 
 What though I question thee, 
 
 Thou wandering wind, these things to know ? 
 
 In the rose-garden of the long ago. 
 When thou wast gentle with thy love, the sea, 
 And stooped to kiss the daisy on the lea. 
 
 Thy voice was sweet and low. 
 
 Then, 'neath an old oak's shade. 
 
 Glad time, when all the hours were mine. 
 Life with the burnished buttercup did shine, 
 
1^1 
 
 Zbc lOflanDcring TKIlln&. 
 
 51 
 
 So sweet the sound thy passing made, 
 So lightly thou didst trip adown the glade ; 
 No music like to thine. 
 
 I was so near thee, then, 
 
 Could from the past those dreams recall, 
 Each little dream and my fond hopes of all ; 
 This broken reed may serve for pen : 
 "The petals fall, so fall the hopes of men ! " — 
 And laugh at that I scrawl. 
 
 As children scatter sand, 
 
 So stood I on the shores of time 
 
 Whirling the golden grains — was it a crime ? 
 
 The world lay in my hollow hand ; 
 
 It was not then to me a strange vain land, 
 With dissonance for rhyme. 
 
 Then, all was young and strange : 
 The pageantry of earth and sky, 
 Life, light, form, color, silence harmony. 
 
 Thrilled me with wonder and content ; 
 
 I questioned not — nor cared I what it meant- 
 I knew not that dread "Why?" 
 
^1 
 
 s« 
 
 Zbc IHflan&ering liming 
 
 Idle and happy hours ! 
 
 The crooked sequences of life, 
 The fear of living, never-ceasing strife 
 That nature masks with smiling face, 
 I knew not : youth is of a Pagan race, 
 With joy of being rife. 
 
 liu 
 
 Tell me thy secrets now ; — 
 
 Show me the ways I missed in youth ; 
 
 No profit I desire, teach me the truth ! 
 Methinks I hear a minor strain 
 Unknown in days of yore : is labor vain, 
 
 And bitterness and ruth ? 
 
 iii 
 
 As mortals be, art thou ? 
 
 And as the waves that seek the main. 
 That, baffled ever, still return again ? 
 
 Is life a Sisyphean dole? 
 
 One long apprenticeship of flesh and soul ? — 
 Is doing all the gain ? 
 
 Tell me, why dost thou rage — 
 
 Art thou like man, of passions strong ? 
 
 Thy fury blind, or waged against the wrong ? 
 
m 
 
 Zbc mandertud "mux^. 
 
 S3 
 
 Is it because ot changeless change, — 
 The irksome round of this mean earth for range ? 
 Dost thou too cry " How long ? " 
 
 When fruitful days are past 
 
 And leaves are falling, ev'ry tone 
 
 Thou utterest is dirge-like, fret and moan ; 
 
 Is it because thy playmates fade 
 
 And thou art lonely, tired and afraid 
 And never rest hast known ? 
 
 Whence comest thou, indeed ? » 
 
 Whence came of mine this mortal clay ? 
 And wiiither goest thou, so far away ? 
 
 Whence and whither ^ Can'st declare the goal 
 
 Of my mysterious, immortal soul ? — 
 As night, so sure is day ? 
 
 (My brother, dost thou ask 
 
 Thy soul what in thy soul shall dwell ? 
 
 Should it o'ertop the stars, search pathways fell- 
 Not what thou would'st, but what thou must ! 
 'Tis chased on pyramid ana scrawled in dust : 
 
 " What thou mus/ know is well ! ") 
 
54 
 
 Zbc Man&crins TKflin&. 
 
 Thy riddle is unread ; 
 
 I watch the weakest flow'r expand 
 And human life, so beautiful and grand, 
 
 And all my being feels in these 
 
 Companionship, and with the unceasing seas 
 I do not understand. 
 
 But, ever, more and more, 
 
 I mark the long procession, all 
 The things material, that rise and fall ; 
 Unnumbered legions viiat do pass, 
 That come and go, like ripples in the grass, 
 Like shadows on a wall. 
 
 II )i 
 
 Alway, the truth I seek, 
 
 Finding the best at one with right ; 
 
 Weary and faint, I grope toward the light, 
 A little nearer ev'ry day ; 
 Sometimes I almost know what thou would'st say, 
 
 The " Yes " I still may write. 
 
 A circle vast I tread, 
 
 My way beset with rock and thorn 
 
 And slough and darkness fell. Now, weary worn. 
 
ay, 
 
 »rn. 
 
 Cbe 1Kaan5crlna Win^ 
 
 55 
 
 Narrows the road toward the truth : 
 In those old places of my trustful youth, 
 Faith stays for the forlorn. 
 
 The flow'rs again will bloom, 
 
 When the long night is past and o'er. 
 
 And thy sweet melodies will float once more 
 
 Through leafy aisles, o'er verdant plain ; 
 
 Then wilt thou deem past labors not in vain — 
 And is this then thy lore ? 
 
 I 
 
 Is thus thy secret told : ,>. 
 
 That ev'rything is not in vain. 
 
 That loss is matched and overthrown by gain, 
 That peace will overmaster strife. 
 Death is the corridor from life to life, 
 
 That love is worthy pain ? 
 
 i. 
 
'ill 
 
 H\ 
 
 
 l\ 
 
 
 56 
 
 Mbcre n:bamc TiminDctb. 
 
 Mbere XTbame xain^etb. 
 
 The call to early morning prayer 
 Hath rung from grey church tower ; 
 
 The anvil-beats sound on the air ; 
 
 The forge-fire glows in Vulcan's bower — 
 The smithy's tree-clad bower. 
 
 The forgj-fire gleams as in a bower ; 
 
 The milk-pail chinks cnear ; 
 The sun is climbing up to power ; 
 
 The grass still hides a pearly tear — 
 
 Still hides a last-night's tear. 
 
 The grass still hides a diamond tear ; 
 
 The lark is in the sky ; 
 The squirrel through the leaves doth peer ; 
 
 The stoat doth prey and gambol nigh — 
 
 Doth play right merrily. 
 
WLbctc ^bame TIDl(n&ctb. 
 
 57 
 
 The stoat doth prey and gambol nigh ; 
 The thrush in thicket sings ; 
 
 The field mouse peeps ; the rat runs by ; 
 The scythe through all the meadow rings- 
 It swishes and it rings. 
 
 The scythe through all the meadow rings ; 
 
 The blackbird pipes a tune ; 
 Above the bank, where ivy clings, 
 
 The fragrant hedge doth speak of June, 
 
 Doth tell of coming June. 
 
 ^^1, 
 
 The scented hedge doth whisper June ; 
 The meadow banner waves ; 
 
 The sexton's spade spells out in rune 
 Its story drear of tombs and graves, 
 Among the tombs and graves — 
 
 Its irksome tale of tombs and graves ; 
 The idle lock is green 
 
 With lichen, moss ; the bent rush laves 
 Its broad leaves in the water's sheen — 
 In broken shade and sheen ; 
 
 In 
 
 y 
 
 r 
 
 iSiii 
 
 
58 
 
 mbctc Zbnmc Min^etb. 
 
 Its leaves in broken shade and sheen ; 
 
 The weir is white with foam ; 
 The kingfisher's among the treen ; 
 
 The stately lady sits at home, 
 
 The lady sits at home. 
 
 liH 
 
 '.M 
 
 lit 
 
 ; I 
 
 The stately lady sits at home, 
 The moments slowly pass ; 
 
 She sits as pond'ring o'er a tome ; 
 Her thoughts are far away, alas ! 
 Are far away, alas ! 
 
 Her thoughts are far away, alas ! 
 
 (Her lord rides o'er the wold) 
 It Cometh then and there to pass 
 
 She shivereth, as if a-cold — 
 
 Affrighted and a-cold. 
 
 A something turns her heart a-cold, 
 And chills her soul to. fear ; 
 
 As to herself she hath foretold : 
 Before her stands a shape severe- 
 A youth of mien severe. 
 
mbcrc ^bame TKHln^etb. 
 
 59 
 
 111 
 
 There standeth one of mien severe, 
 And moved by wrath and hate : 
 
 *'An hireHng's tale hath brought me here ; 
 Long years you left me to my fate, 
 My dark and dreary fate. 
 
 "So long the years and harsh the fate ! 
 
 (For shame is worse than crime.) 
 The secret hidd'n in wedded state 
 
 Bethought thee till the end of time, 
 
 Until the end of time. 
 
 " Bethought thee till the wrack of time 
 
 I ne'er might vex thy troth, 
 And all thy life a pleasing rhyme— 
 
 Nor did thy conscience rise in wrath, 
 
 In bitterness and wrath ? 
 
 i( 
 
 Nor did thy conscience rise in wrath, 
 Nor felt thy soul its shame ? 
 With wealth and power, in fashion's froth, 
 To me thou gav'st not e'en a name— 
 I bear an alien name. 
 
 4— 
 
 m 
 
6o 
 
 Wibctc Cbamc Min^ctb. 
 
 
 1 
 
 • 
 
 \l 
 
 \' 
 
 
 li' 
 
 1/ 
 
 ' 
 
 
 
 " Thou gav'st to me not e'en a name, 
 
 And I had none to own, 
 Had none to love and none to claim, 
 
 A pointed outcast and alone — 
 
 Despised and alone. 
 
 "An outcast I and all alone ! — " 
 The lady's cheek is pale, 
 
 Her eyes are fixed j she maketh moan : 
 Her haughty lord hath heard the tale- 
 The coarse-clad peasant's tale. 
 
 Her lord hath heard the shameful tale ; 
 
 His soul is hot with flame ; 
 His teeth are set ; he doth not rail ; 
 
 And oh, but for a word of blame — 
 
 Not e'en a word of blame. 
 
 Alas, nor e'en reproof nor blame ! — 
 A word of blame in sooth ! — 
 . The weir's wild minstrelsy doth frame 
 Her dying song of death and ruth, 
 A dirge of death and ruth ; 
 
•Wflbcre ^bamc TKflin^ctb. 
 
 6i 
 
 A requiem of death and ruth ; 
 The waters fret and yearn ; 
 
 The wind is sweet as love and truth, 
 It softly woos the moss and fern — 
 The stippled moss and fern. 
 
 It dallies with the moss and fern ; 
 The crescent moon looks down 
 
 (Remorse hath lessons one must learn), 
 And far away the lights of town — 
 The irksome lights of town ; 
 
 * 
 
 Across the leagues, the glare of town. 
 
 And one doth moan and stare 
 Where armor glints and dark brows frown. 
 
 And vesper bell doth call to prayer — 
 
 The sinner call to prayer. 
 
 s vk, 
 
 The vesper bell doth call to prayer, — 
 So sweetly doth it call. 
 
 We'll bow our heads and enter there. 
 And pray that God may help us all, — 
 That Christ will save us all ! 
 
 
 l!r 
 
: " 
 
 'T 
 
 I 
 
 62 
 
 ©n Xifc'B tatbvvag. 
 
 ©n Xife's ipatbwas. 
 
 Im 
 
 \Ai 
 
 \l' 
 
 A song to please a lady fair, 
 
 Preluded by a few low notes, 
 A sometime sad, unequal air, 
 
 Like to the wand'ring wind that floats 
 Through open bars at set of day, 
 The red sun dying far away ; 
 When on the world the mist uprises 
 
 Veil-like, and through the gloom creep out 
 Lank spectres, linked with drear surmises, 
 Paling the heart with fear and doubt ; 
 When the sun dies out with the voice of day. 
 And Silence reigns in the gloom and the grey. 
 
 But, lo, the moon's beam-weaving loom, 
 Set in the blue concave above, 
 
©n Xlfc'0 patbwag. 
 
 63 
 
 Fashions a nascent robe of bloom — 
 An amess chaste of peace and love ; 
 
 The stars look out to view the night, 
 The moor and wold, the hill and dale. 
 
 The stream, a quivering line of light. 
 The leaves in stoles of silver pale, 
 The lovers dreaming o'er the same old rapturous tale. 
 
 !*,i 
 
 And through the open window, the wind-wine, 
 
 Perfumed with distillations from the flow'rs, 
 Exalts the saddened soul with hope divine, 
 
 The golden possibilities of hours — 
 Of future hours — that will the brighter gleam 
 
 When set by the dull, leaden, gloomy age 
 Of loss and grief — a blighting, bitter theme — 
 
 That future solace may not all assuage. 
 
 
 Then cometh carolling of bird,"* 
 
 That sings his song at daylight's death- 
 Surely a psalm of praise each breath ; 
 
 The sweetest tones ear ever heard. 
 
 ♦ The Nightingale. 
 
 f'f '■ 
 
 m 
 
T 
 
 I 1! 
 
 64 
 
 On Xifc'd patbvvay. 
 
 I 
 
 ! 
 
 " I have," methinks I hear him say, 
 " Great store of wealth — a quiet mind, 
 
 Abundant food, a dress of grey, 
 A voice as sweet as summer wind, 
 
 The whole wide world wherein to roam, 
 A wife, dear children, and a home." 
 
 The fair moon pales and dies forlorn — 
 Her shade in azure robes bedight. 
 
 Aurora, goddess of the morn. 
 Opens the eastern gates of light ; 
 
 And, in her rosy chariot gay. 
 
 Gloom and dejection drives away. 
 
 '% 
 
 Then golden sunlight and glad chants of birds. 
 The sun athwart the yellow gorse doth stream. 
 His rays of orange in the waters gleam — 
 
 Waters that murmur, flowing, strange, sweet words. 
 
 And through the long, the bright and busy hours. 
 
 The path of life is wreathed with fairest flow'rs. 
 
XLbc 'BvcmcmcnU 
 
 6y 
 
 XTbe avenocment 
 
 His cheek was pale, and glazed, his eye — 
 I saw he was not fit to die ; 
 
 I was in merry mood. 
 We crossed the bridge ; he fain would stay ; 
 I, smiling, said, " This is the way, 
 
 The walk will do you good." 
 
 It was a perfect day I ween. 
 So pleasant was the river's sheen, 
 The sun was full and high ; 
 No stir in moorland, wild and vast. 
 Only the woodland (as we passed) .' * 
 
 Rustled and breathed a sigh. 
 5 
 
 in 
 
66 
 
 Zbc avenflcment 
 
 iia , I 
 
 M,l 
 
 t\l^i 
 
 '\- 
 
 
 The birds were nodding in tae trees, 
 From flower to flower the drowsy bees 
 
 Flit through the quiv'ring air ; 
 A purple haze the hill-tops kissed, 
 In all the hollows lay a mist, 
 
 And all around was fair. 
 
 We reached at length the water's edge 
 (An open pool, around the sedge 
 
 And purple rushes grow) ; 
 Upon his face the fear-drops stood, 
 I laughed to see his frightened mood — 
 
 I would not let him go. 
 
 I told him of a guileless maid. 
 
 By ruthless hands defiled, betrayed. 
 
 Of base deceit and crime ; 
 Her agonizing cry of need, 
 A villain's foul and bloody deed, 
 
 The silence of all time. 
 
 " For crime so foul and base," I said, 
 " A debt is owing to the dead. 
 Some retribution due ; 
 
Zhc Brcngcmcnt. 
 
 67 
 
 To have the villain here were meet, 
 To see him tremble at my feet, 
 And supplicate and sue." 
 
 Fear bound him fast, he could not flee. 
 I laughed to scorn, with wildest glee. 
 His shudder, and his moan. 
 
 Two wandered down the meadow way, 
 Two on the water's brink did stay ; 
 But I walked back — alone ! 
 
 \i 
 
 ■«i. 
 
 It ; 
 
• « 
 
 68 ^be Cbrietmae 3BcUs ot Xong Uqo* 
 
 »- 1' 
 
 it 
 
 lijl V 
 
 1 1 
 
 i I 
 
 Mi 
 
 XTbe Cbristmas ifSells ot Xono ago. 
 
 The smiling moon and stars look out 
 
 O'er leagues of snow, from azure sky ; 
 The sleigh-bells ring, the tuneful shout 
 
 Of youth, aye happy, passelh by ; 
 But clearer in mine ears to-night, 
 
 Than sounds of street and square below, 
 I hear, 'mid scenes of fond delight, 
 
 The Christmas bells of long ago. 
 
 I wake, and it is Christmas morn, 
 My stockings hang at foot of bed. 
 
 They overflow, like Plenty's horn. 
 With gifts from Santa Claus, 'tis said; 
 
 I 
 
 J 
 
Zbc Cbrl6tma6 JBcUe ot %ong Bqo. 69 
 
 Brothers and sisters, filled with gle j, 
 
 Recount their treasures — ah ! you know, 
 
 Gifts come like these no more to me. 
 Nor bells like those of long ago. 
 
 The boss upon a copper shield 
 
 Meseems the sun ; with blush of red, 
 Redpole and chaffinch flit the field. 
 
 The robin perches on the shed, 
 And with the sparrows wait the time 
 
 When from the window crumbs we throw, — 
 To fail in this we counted crime 
 
 In the dear days of long ago. 
 
 With songs of " comfort, peace and joy," 
 
 The carol singers greet the scene. 
 While our deft fingers we employ 
 
 In twining holly, red and green — 
 Self-gathered — in each cosy room. 
 
 With ivy, laurel, mistletoe ; 
 Christmas was then no day of gloom — 
 
 The bells rang gaily, long ago. 
 
 
I 
 
 f 
 
 i <^Mi 
 
 70 ^be Cbristmas aScUs ot Xowq B0O. 
 
 The while the morn grows on apace, 
 
 I hear the tooting of the horn, 
 The coach stays in the market-place. 
 
 Team changing at the Unicorn ; 
 In Sunday raiment, clean and neat. 
 
 Our fingers itch to clutch the snow — 
 Snowballing was a splendid treat 
 
 At Christmas, in the long ago. 
 
 The chiming bells o'er all the air 
 
 From the old church so sweetly call, 
 The villagers assemble there 
 
 To praise and pray, from cot and hall ; 
 And " Glory to the new-born King," 
 
 From rev'rent lips doth heav'nward flow ; 
 We seemed, somehow, to really sing 
 
 At Christmas, then — 'tis long ago. 
 
 In fancy once again I see 
 
 Our rev'rend pastor's kindly face, 
 I hear the sweet-voiced melody, 
 
 It floats through all the silent place ; 
 
 Im 
 
That warm, true heart and voice so sweet 
 Have long been cold and still, I know ; 
 
 He waits above, his flock to greet — 
 It seems so very long ago. 
 
 
 ttbe Cbtlatmas Sells of Xong ago. 7> 
 
 S 
 
 When shades of night are falling fast, 
 
 On lightsome feet we trip with glee 
 At ♦' Blind-man's buff" ("Caught you at last!") 
 
 Around about the Christmas tree ; 
 To " Postman's knock " attention pay, 
 
 At " Hunt the slipper" we're not slow ; 
 ** Forfeits," of course, we'd always play 
 
 At Christmas, in the long ago. 
 
 H^ 
 
 Then father, mother, uncle, aunt, 
 
 (Revered and loved each silv'ry hair), 
 With cousins, neighbors, maids a-jaunt. 
 
 Indeed, kind friends from ev'rywhere. 
 All gather 'round the cheerful fire 
 
 And read, within its ruddy glow, 
 Strange tales, where ghost and fay conspire — 
 
 This happened in the long ago. 
 
■I h I 
 
 72 
 
 Zhc Cbrtdtmas HBells of Hong Bgo. 
 
 I 
 
 : 
 
 mm^ I 
 
 Then, " Good king Wenceslaus looks out," 
 ** Let nothing you dismay," we sing, 
 
 *' Comfort and joy," the tidings shout, 
 
 \ " Mistletoe Boughs " all weirdly swing. 
 
 The guests are gone, 'tis time to start. 
 With prayer and kiss we bedward go ; 
 
 Ah, night will soon for morn depart — 
 Such was our Christmas, long ago. 
 
 Fair Canada, I love thee well. 
 
 And count myself a loyal son. 
 Beneath the maple leaf to dwell 
 
 Till all the sands of life are run ; 
 But mem'ry stretches forth a hand 
 
 And tender tribute I bestow — 
 To-night, I see the dear old land 
 
 And hear the bells of long ago. 
 
 
■? !' 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 
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SONNETS. 
 
 /IDouut IRoi^al. 
 
 A NOVEMBER WALK. 
 I. 
 
 Past street and square : the city lies behind — 
 (Within its walls we'll leave our cares to rest) ; 
 The roadway curves toward the gleaming West, 
 
 Whence comes, with song and dance, the merry wind, 
 
 To match the joyous freedom of the mind ; 
 'Tis true, the road in melting snow is dress'd, 
 That dead leaves vex the " gully " with unrest, 
 
 The ferns with frost are brown and interlined. 
 
 8 
 
 But when the branch is bare the view expands. 
 The lace-like twigs are strown with bits of sky ; — 
 A silver blue, in matchless harmony — 
 
 And strange new tints of brown bedeck the lands ; 
 
 And fairy shades of grey bestrew the strands, 
 Where, like a sword, the river flashes by. 
 
 I 
 
76 
 
 ^ount IRoyal. 
 
 II. 
 
 ( f 
 
 " The Pines " at length, and resinous perfumes, 
 (Like subtle incense flooding stately aisles) ; 
 Around, a wondrous landscape frowns and smiles ; 
 
 Above, the firs, like warriors, wave their plumes. 
 
 Now, like a sentient thing, the vale assumes 
 A lone, lost mood, and now the hill beguiles 
 Its winding path — a many varied miles 
 
 It searches for the peak the sun illumes. 
 
 Here Summer smiles with the declining sun. 
 And lingers coyly in the grass below. 
 And flashes where the sinuous waters flow ; 
 But Winter walks the woods in garb grey-spun, 
 And wrestles with the wind in bitter fun. 
 And lieth prone amidst the scrambled snow. 
 
 il 
 
Aount 'Koisal. 
 
 77 
 
 III. 
 
 One pathway of the many lures and leads 
 
 Through all the curtaining twigs; the wraiths of 
 
 grey 
 Start up like spectres, and so steal away ; 
 
 The birches amble by as milk-white steeds ; 
 
 Here flits a bird and there a squirrel speeds 
 Through groves of oak and maple ; sadly stay 
 Senescent flowers, where the woods array 
 
 Their aisles with carpeting of dusky weeds. 
 
 To left and right come glimpses of the vale ; 
 
 The western skies with orange-crimson gleam, — 
 As to thine ear Romance repeats a tale, 
 
 They match their glories in some favored stream 
 And Silence stalks, a knight in blue cold mail. 
 
 Through all this realm of solitude supreme. 
 

 78 
 
 ASount IRosaU 
 
 IV. 
 
 1' 
 
 > 
 
 Now, in the flutter of Night's raven wings, 
 The dead leaves palpitate, and all around 
 The air is pregnant with that mystic sound — 
 
 The deepening and darkening of things ; 
 
 The inquiet sense to ev'ry footstep clings 
 As of pursuit ; the moon lies on the ground 
 Awhile — a fay in tangled meshes bound — 
 
 Then, imp-like, on some pendulous branch it swings. 
 
 The white lights of the city ! — it is well. 
 Here cluster pleasant memories for dole 
 Through all dark days : so Beauty's sweet control 
 
 Pursues the blessed into meanest cell ; 
 
 Like to a vestal lily she doth dwell 
 Within the tender garden of the soul. 
 
 m 
 
H 
 
 ^ount "Rosal. 
 
 79 
 
 
 THE PASSING OF SUMMER. 
 
 V. 
 
 *' Summer is dead ;" — it was the wind that spake, 
 In the bronze mantle of the sombre pine — 
 " The sumach bush unfurls a scarlet sign ; 
 
 The sere rush signals it in stream and lake ; 
 
 Soundeth a requiem in gilded brake, 
 
 Where mateless b'^-ds a lonely fate repine ; 
 The sky is veiled in i<.ars ; each grey confine 
 
 Bespeaks the shrunken branch the leaves forsake. 
 
 *' I laugh with ruddy Autumn in the morn ; 
 
 I sound his praises in the golden light ; 
 
 But when high noon has passed and raven night 
 Comes rushing down, I wail with those forlorn : 
 The dying leaves, the lone flowers, pale and torn. 
 
 The multitudes confronting death or flight." 
 
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 i8!l|iaKnR|l»if*..f|»W^:S^15ifs»1^^^ 
 
I ! 
 
 80 
 
 ^ount "Kosal. 
 
 THE PASSING OF AUTUMN. 
 
 •f 
 
 VI. 
 
 Senescence reigneth over all supreme. 
 Save where, in these vast desolated halls 
 The lowly moss clings to the granite walls, 
 
 Or a lone weed dispels a barren dream ; 
 
 The golden-rod hath spent its latest gleam 
 
 On the sere grass ; the yellow bramble sprawls 
 Where the last petal of the aster falls, 
 
 And where the crisp fern rustles by a stream. 
 
 No more the joyous bird-notes trill and flow ; 
 A silence reigns — as in a city old. 
 
 Buried and still ; the glory of the leaf 
 Hath passed away ; life lies in overthrow, 
 Benumbed wth the nepenthe of the cold ; 
 
 The winds proclaim the bare world's silent grief. 
 
 :{l! 
 \ 
 
Tl^-^^TI 
 
 /Rount IRogal. 
 
 bi 
 
 WINTER—THE FIRST SNOW. 
 
 VII. 
 
 How tenderly this white-winged silence flies 
 From grove to grove ; upon this couch of down 
 A multitude of tired things are strown, 
 
 And some but rest and some no more shall rise ; 
 
 Where the wan maple boughs beseech the skies 
 A dead leaf shivers ; and the sun's last frown 
 Is purple in the distant woods of brown \ 
 
 The shadows lengthen and the daylight dies. 
 
 The silver billows and the silver moon, 
 
 The silver s irs, the shimmering silver shore, 
 Have charmed the winds and they forget to 
 blow. 
 It is a peace that passeth all too soon : 
 
 These voices threaten, skies are darkling, o'er 
 Yon upland strides the storm ; come, let us go ! 
 
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 82 Mortb. 
 
 Mortb. 
 
 For all (it hath been so decreed) must bring 
 Some tribute to the universal whole 
 Of that vast influence, the age's soul — ■ 
 
 It claims a part of ev'ry sentient thing ; 
 
 The one doth scatter largess as a king, 
 The other squeezeth out a miser's dole : 
 According to one's worth one pays a toll — 
 
 An uncut pebble, or a jewelled ring. 
 
 The mind doth at another's table fare 
 Responsive to its merit and degree ; 
 *' The light that never was on land and sea '' 
 Illumes the noble hall where those who bear 
 Thought's golden passport sit, — these manna share 
 For guerdon — Icve and truth bestown in fee. 
 
DoomcD. 
 
 83 
 
 Boomeb. 
 
 So long ago it seemed, that nameless deed, 
 So long, that, through the brier-tangled years, 
 The retrospect was strewn with craven fears ; — 
 
 The harvesting so certain from the seed. 
 
 His anguish rocks him as the storm a reed, — 
 That awful sentence ringing in his ears ; 
 (Commingled with "Too late!" "Too late!") he 
 nears 
 
 The portal where death hastes with flying speed. 
 
 He dwells thenceforward on a haunted shore. 
 Where all the soughing of a midnight sea 
 Repeats a dirge of doom continually ; 
 
 Ever the bat-winged wind flaps fast Hope's door. 
 
 Oh, if contrition could the past restore ! — 
 And shall death end the awful penalty ? 
 
m 
 
 
 84 
 
 (5ol&?ns1Ro&. 
 
 
 0ol&en«1Ro&. 
 
 t'Ml 
 
 Beshrew the coined gold ! — and so, take heed, 
 Nor palter with the dross to form a god — 
 Behold, the dandelion gilds the clod, 
 
 The buttercup adorns the dewy mead ! 
 
 Doth it not bring contentment to thy greed ? — 
 Then satiate thine avarice : the sod 
 Gleams with illimitable golden-rod, — 
 
 And, of a surety, ihou art rich, indeed ! 
 
 I 
 
 
 The burnished banner of the summer's prime 
 Waves happy mortals to a golden feast 
 (The largess rare of yon high Eastern priest !) 
 
 Unstained by goaded greed, or shame, or crime. 
 
 Oh, glorious yellow golden-rod ! — sublime 
 Free-off 'ring to the greatest and the ..ast. 
 
 
 'I 
 
:fti 
 
 /iftutabilitB. 
 
 85 
 
 /IDutabilit^. 
 
 So Nature weaves a chaolet for Earth's brow, 
 Purfles her dress, embroiders her low shoon, — 
 Golden sun-spun and silvern of the moon — 
 
 To welcome oonq'ring Spring, her lover now. 
 
 And celebrate stern Winter's overthrow ; 
 
 But when tired Spring in Summer's arms shall 
 
 swoon 
 And Autumn die on some dark afternoon 
 
 (Who stifled Summer), then shall Frost and Snow 
 
 And bladed Winds, dread Winter's satellites. 
 Strip off her finery and leave her bare. 
 
 Her rifled form the sport of bitter Nights, 
 Her nakedness a jest for the rude Air ; 
 
 The fickle Seasons ravish her delights, — 
 But constant Beauty tempers her despair. 
 
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 86 
 
 Ipatboa. 
 
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 patbos. 
 
 Her sad eyes move beneath the brows of care, 
 
 Plaintive and piteous in their appeal ; 
 
 She stretches forth a hand where suppliants kneel. 
 Her tones enforce the accents of despair ; 
 She pleads with ruthless famine to forbear, 
 
 With steadfast hope for adverse fate's repeal, 
 
 With health to conquer pain and sickness heal, 
 That sympathy may trouble's burdens share. 
 
 She wages war against a single foe, — 
 The callous heart, indifferent to kind ; 
 Her weapons are the weak, the halt, the blind, 
 The aged poor, the child of want and woe. 
 The broken-hearted, whom the fates o'erthrow 
 In the frail body, the estate, or mind. 
 
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Cbrgeantbcmum. 
 
 87 
 
 Cbrgsantbemum. 
 
 Like to the wand'rer in a spectral night, 
 Where grey and gloom alone are manifest, 
 Who — pacing through the weary hours' unrest- 
 Chances upon a vision of delight 
 In some high hall, a composite of bright 
 Color and form, in bountifulness expressed. 
 And lingers for a while to call it blest. 
 His heavy heart thenceforward gay and light : 
 
 So, in the dun hours of the dying year, 
 
 When retrospective thoughts my way pursue,— 
 A motley, ill-assorted retinue, — 
 And Winter reigneth, sterile and austere, 
 Luxuriant Chrysanthemum, sans peer. 
 
 Your beauties ban my cares, my hopes renew. 
 
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 88 
 
 Zbc IHnuttcrablc. 
 
 Ube 'Clnutterable. 
 
 There are some things that may not all be told : — 
 When all the riches that thy soul hath bought 
 Are trodden under foot and counted nought, 
 
 Thou wilt pretend a liking for thy gold ; 
 
 Thou canst not say thy warm love hath grown cold, 
 The life's devotion hateful and unsought ; 
 Some secret things there are by life enwrought 
 
 That even prying death may not unfold. 
 
 There are some things that never may be said, 
 So dark and dreadful is their secret pride ; 
 
 But, it is told, when warm blood floweth red. 
 The things inanimate, that stay beside. 
 
 Will take on sentiency, and shriek and spread 
 The fearsome tale the guilty fain would hide. 
 
/Ifcelancbol^. 
 
 89 
 
 <'Come" (sweet the calling) 'Meave the garish light, 
 Soothe thy tired eyes in the deep peace of mine ; 
 Adieu, these yellow halls, this amber wine !— 
 
 Have I not Wooed and won thee, in despite? 
 
 Dear love, see, yonder shadowy groves invite !— 
 My dusky wings shall bear thee to that shrine 
 Where Solitude and the Night Shades entwine 
 
 Wreaths and a ring to grace our marriage rite." 
 
 The maple bears autumnal leaves in spring. 
 Ere the key-fruited silken flight is o'er ; 
 
 Joy may not enter, gracile youth takes wing, 
 
 Where she hath bound him on that twilight shore ; 
 
 Ah, sooth,— begotten of her promising !— 
 The sounding of the sea of Nevermore ! 
 
90 
 
 IRomancc. 
 
 IRomance, 
 
 1./ 
 
 It chanced upon a memorable night, 
 
 Within the circle of a lamp-light's gleam, 
 A boy devoured a book — ah, book supreme ! 
 
 And in its pages found a new delight : 
 
 A wonder-woven land of Fancy bright, 
 
 That grew and evermore to grow did seem, 
 Till the old world he knew was but a dream,- 
 
 The common precious and the darkness light. 
 
 All shapes and climes, Romance, are one to thee, 
 The herald flower of spring, last fruit of fall. 
 
 The songs of birds, the four winds' mystery. 
 The whisp'ring of the leaves, the siren's call. 
 
 Past, present, future, sky and land and sea, — 
 The glamor of thy spell is over all ! 
 
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PASTELS AND SKETCHES 
 
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 B Damasfi IRose. 
 
 ii 
 
 Before the roses went last year their subtle influ- 
 ence strangely affected me. It was as if Mary herself 
 was present with them. Often in my room, where 
 the scented air floated in, I would start up suddenly 
 from book or reverie expecting to find her there. 
 With the fading of the roses came an indefinable 
 sense of loss, more than of the flowers themselves. 
 It exceeded the loneliness of a deep wood after the 
 sweet song of a bird, or the desolation of halls 
 charged with the memory of long-lost companions 
 — it was poignant and of the spirit. 
 
94 
 
 B Damask IRosc 
 
 The winter passed sadiy away, relieved with the 
 <:ares of school and study ; but, with the return of the 
 roses, a strange thing happened. My love for music 
 had found expression in training the voices of the 
 village choir, and, in the practice of a new anthem, 
 the hour had grown late. The clock struck nine as 
 I left the old ivy-caparisoned church. It was a deep 
 bass bell, and it reverberated weirdly amongst the 
 gnarled and mouldering yew trees, with their mantles 
 of sombre bronze. As I passed swiftly over the stone 
 flags, a strange clangor pursued my footsteps and 
 echoed, anear and afar, in that realm of tombs, even 
 to the remote corner where she lay. I closed and 
 locked the iron gates with unusual haste and noise, 
 and it was then I knew that I had been afraid. The 
 notes of the bell fascinated me, like the speech of 
 some fearsome, sentient thing. I clung to the iron 
 bars and could not move. All around me, else- 
 where, silence reigned — the silence of the grave ; 
 the next moment, and I was not alone ; in my hand 
 was a rose — one of her damask roses — the first full 
 blossom of the year ! 
 
 The wan moon leant over the valley and flung 
 mysterious shadows of the giant elms over the sward. 
 
B Damaeft tRosc 
 
 95 
 
 In my room the lamp was burning, and r. vase of 
 damask rose-buds adorned the table. As I sank 
 into a chair, Mary's raven greeted me and perched 
 itself upon my shoulder. I had sat there a minute, 
 or an hour — age is of actions not of minutes, and I 
 kept no count of time — when the purfled edges of 
 the roses began to coalesce, and, as they coalesced, a 
 human face grew there — the sweetest, saddest face — 
 the face of Mary ! So suddenly as it grew, it faded 
 away, but not before its unutterable appeal had 
 graven itself deeply into my very soul. When the 
 last faint image had died away and only the roses 
 remained, her raven nestled his head lovingly to 
 mine and uttered her name. 
 
 Three times that night, from dark to dawn, I arose, 
 environed with the same wild dream — if dream it 
 were. Clad in that last sad robe of all, she stood by 
 my couch and compelled my shuddering sense. She 
 was walking in the meadow, towards the pool, with 
 someone whose face I could not see, but whom I 
 knew. Darkness intervened, and with the dark came 
 a wild cry ; then that other one returned alone, and 
 I saw his face. I arose, with the cold dews of horror 
 upon my head, and flung open the casement. The 
 
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 peace of the moon calmed me, the cool night air 
 fanned my distempered brow. " This," I said, " is a 
 very fantasy ; it cannot, must not be ! " Yet, even 
 so, her spirit lingered near me, and I knew that I 
 had taken it for a sign. The damask roses she had 
 loved so well clung to the wooden walls and kissed 
 the eaves of thatch ; below me, sad-eyed pansies and 
 forget-me-nots were sleeping ; the stream moved 
 musically past the privet hedge and into the shadow 
 of the rustic bridge ; the nightingale's sweet notes 
 quivered in the hawthorn bush. Yes, it was beau- 
 tiful ; but what was beauty to me any more ? Deep 
 in my heart I hated it, this beautiful world — so 
 callous, so cruel and cold ! 
 
 The next night, and the next night again, and 
 three times each night, the tide of dreams enveloped 
 me : and ever with more of reality and less of dream. 
 At first, there had been question and doubt, and 
 travail for truth — but not so any more. Nearer and 
 more vivid it had been wrought for me, until, in that 
 last presentment, I could no longer question, for no 
 darkness had intervened, and in my very presence 
 the deed was done. With an unutterable cry ringing 
 in my ears, I awoke, and her raven was screaming in 
 
a Datnaaft IRosc 
 
 97 
 
 the room. A despairful scream it was, like an echo 
 to her own — and God knows what more than an 
 echo it might have been. For an awful second, he 
 pierced the darkness with that unforgetable cry, then 
 he fluttered to the carven post above my bed. Silence 
 intervened — and such a silence ! — then he called her 
 name, but softly, as if to himself : " Mary ! Mary ! " 
 The last faint sound still floated on the air when he 
 fell heavily beside me. I put out my hand to soothe 
 him — but he was dead ! 
 
 My hair was white — white as the mountain snow. 
 I had felt it so turning in the dark, while I lay in the 
 agonies of despair, powerless to aid in that supreme 
 betrayal. I took the poor dead bird into the garden, 
 and buried him under the cone-trimmed box tree, 
 near the jessamine-covered porch ; it was there he 
 used to watch her departures and home-comings. 
 The dawn was shredding the husk-like mist that 
 enveloped the undulating chalk downs ; a fiery cloud 
 hung over the uncovered Roman ruins. My thoughts 
 were clear and cold to bitterness. Heretofore, the 
 past had claimed my all of passion and of will ; but 
 now, while the hours stole on, a purpose for succeed- 
 7 
 
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 5 
 
 98 
 
 B S>amadh 'Koae. 
 
 PMi4 
 
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 ing days took shape — how and whence I have not 
 sought to know. 
 
 To the school-room I carried a bunch of her 
 damask roses, and placed them in the vase upon my 
 desk, as she was wont to do. He marked my 
 stricken face and hair with much concern and more 
 of fear. He drew near to the roses, and shrank 
 away and shuddered, and once I heard him mutter : 
 " Her roses stifle me." And it was as if I had been 
 listening to the grinding of the mills of God ; but I 
 spake no word at all. Nevertheless, I marked his 
 shudder and his moan, and so the days went by. 
 What came to him in the silent hours I do but guess; 
 only, I know, that more and more the subtle influ- 
 ence of her flowers compelled him ; only, I know, 
 he ' lew that that dark secret had been revealed to 
 m ,. So the days drew out to the one day, but no 
 word had passed between us. 
 
 This morning I sought to gather a bunch of her 
 roses for the last time, but only one blossom re- 
 mained of the many I had noted there last night ; 
 all the lawn was strewn with the delicate petals of 
 the others. He was waiting for me at the school- 
 house door ; it was unusual, but it did not surprise 
 
B Dam ask "Rose 
 
 99 
 
 me. We entered the school-room together, and I 
 gave him the rose. Then he said: "A year ago 
 tonight ; " and there and then I knew the night 
 would hold its charge. I took the sachet with the 
 dead rose she had carried from my breast, and it 
 seemed some other than myself had forced it into 
 his hand and left it there. He was haggard, and his 
 body seemed shrunken in its clerical garb. 
 
 The moon was at the full when he passed the gate, 
 and, at first, I did not know that he was unconscious 
 of my presence. We walked on together, side by 
 side — and we were not alone ! We reached the pool, 
 and that influence, or the hour, must have benumbed 
 me, for, once again, I was powerless and entranced. 
 The hoi ror of that supreme vision returned, but more 
 real, more vivid, until my soul writhed in bondage, 
 and my gyved heart bled with pain. When that 
 ghastly, phantasmagoric pantomime had ceased, he 
 sought to fly, as he had flown before ; and step by 
 step he seemed to fight with some dread, invisible 
 thing that urged him towards the pool. Agony had 
 stolen my strength, and I could utter no sound, 
 until, at length, the secret thing prevailed, and he 
 
I I 
 
 lOO 
 
 B Damaeft tRoec. 
 
 went down with a cry that has never ceased to ring 
 in my ears, and never, I think, will cease again. 
 
 He arose once, like some fabled horror, with the 
 viscous scum of a year enshrouding his face ; he 
 arose twice, with the slime of a terrible year's growth 
 all about him, like a green elephantiasis ; he, too, 
 was voiceless nov, but his eyes spake of infernal 
 fires through their slimy veil. Still spell-bound, I 
 waited for him to arise a third time, but the tumult 
 abated, the circles slowly passed away, and only a 
 few shell-like petals of the last damask rose floated 
 on the smooth, pitch-black surface of the water. 
 
jFrom "Wiflbt till /ftorn. 
 
 lOI 
 
 jfrom IWIgbt till /IDoru. 
 
 About five o'clock in the afternoon, the yellow fog 
 began to thicken in the city. When Cecil Farrell 
 emerged frc n his ofiice in Chancery t^ane, the street 
 lamps resembled yellow smears upon opaque, dirty- 
 grey streamers. The falling sleet and snow seemed 
 to hiss as it mingled with the churned, whitey-black 
 slush of the roadway and pavement — slush that the 
 footfall disturbed and scattered, and the clattering 
 vehicle flung in the face and upon the clothing, tena- 
 cious and disagreeable as liquid pitch. 
 
 "A pleasant evening, this," muttered the young 
 lawyer, as a hansom-cab dashed by, scattering the 
 viscous filth — some of which the malicious wind blew 
 into his eyes — "a truly charming evening !" 
 
 Even the Strand — that sentient whirlpool — had a 
 fit of the blues. The bedraggled mosaic of humanity 
 
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 ifcom fliflbt till /iBorn. 
 
 hurried along, like doomed sprites, from gloom to 
 deeper dismalness. 'Bus after 'bus, hansom-cab and 
 four-wheeler filled the roadway, in a never-ending, 
 variously-directed stream — dash and bustle and roar. 
 Only light and heat and forced laughter streamed 
 forth from gilded, flaring, mJrror-glinting saloons ; 
 rushed out, laden with alcoholic fumes, upon the 
 benumbed, depressed and fog-bound sinner — entice- 
 ment, lure and trap. 
 
 Cecil Farrell pursued his way through the motley 
 throng, the while the fog yellowed and blackened 
 and thickened — blinding, choking, poisoning him. 
 Faugh, it was sickening ! The murky, humid atmos- 
 phere had chilled him even to the bone by the time 
 that he reached the electric beacon that projects its 
 glare of light athwart the entrance of one of the 
 Strand's most palatial taverns, or restaurants. Within 
 all was snug, and warm, and nice ; without — fugh ! 
 He lingered and looked wistfully upon the magnifi- 
 cent and curiously-shaped lustres, glistering like 
 crowns of living pearls ; upon the red and gold cur- 
 tains, rich in color and elegant folds, draped over 
 walls of white marble, enriched with rosso-antico and 
 Algerian onyx ; upon the mirrors, the carving of 
 
jfrom Vli(ibt ttll /born. 
 
 103 
 
 whose frames was as of solid gold ; upon the curi- 
 ously chased, rich walnut cabinetry ; the palms and 
 ferns, set in magnificent majolica vases; upon the 
 well-dressed people, who sat chatting and smiling 
 and sipping their wines and hot grogs, the while 
 dapper, smirking, dressy waiters moved obsequiously 
 to and fro — looked upon it all a brief space ; looked 
 upon it long enough for desire to tempt and goad 
 him to enter there. 
 
 " It is true," he complained, " that I promised 
 Mary and that stern, ideai.c mentor not to drink 
 again, and I have kept my word until now. The 
 level round of dull content has brought its monot- 
 ony ; the petulance of the trivial has sung in a vary- 
 ing chorus of complaint ; clamant responsibility has 
 urged its extensive claims ; all that is comprehended 
 in the simple words, home and child and wife, have 
 exercised their prehensile powers — and I have kept 
 my word. And yet, and yet, 'What pleasure can 
 we have in ever climbing up the climbing wave?' 
 In wine is fashioned the roseate fantasy, the Elysium 
 of content ; stern reason abdicates to a more com- 
 plaisant monarch ; there is variety in the realms of 
 the Chalice j forgetfulness reigns in the kingdom of 
 
 I 
 
I04 
 
 ifrom 1Kli0bt till ^orn. 
 
 •i: 
 
 ■', 1 
 
 Nepenthe. Need the shght flux and inconstancy of 
 the moment mean perforce the empyrosis of virtue, 
 honor and sobriety ? Three years of rigid abstinence ; 
 three years of battle with appetite ; three years of 
 expiation for past folly and degradation. My will is 
 set : the wine-cup shall rule my assured strength never 
 again, but be as a slave to my pleasure and my moods. 
 Why should I stand without here, cold and depressed, 
 when warmth and merriment beckon me eagerly from 
 within ? Just one glass, then, for old sake's sake ; just 
 one, to drink everybody's good health in ; just one, 
 to cheer my drooping spirits and quicken my sluggish 
 blood ; just one — no more ! " 
 
 He had placed his foot upon the first marble 
 entrance step, when he was stopped by (me who, in 
 appearance, was very like himself, only — Farrell 
 owned it, even while be hated him — better than him- 
 self. He knev that, the while he taunted him ; per- 
 haps the memory of past services made him the more 
 bitter. " You here ! " he exclaimed, angrily ; *' you 
 here, dogging my footsteps and spying upon my 
 actions ! You here, with your eternal advice and 
 croaking of evil and disaster ! I thought I was rid 
 

 Pf 
 
 Jfrom IRiflbt till ^orn. 
 
 105 
 
 of you for good and for ever ; I'll have no more of 
 you — now go ! " 
 
 In reply, the other regarded him gravely and sadly, 
 and, Farrell thought — with rising anger — pityingly, 
 too. •' Don't go in, Cecil," he pleaded ; "keep away 
 from your greatest enemy ; remember your promise 
 to Mary, to yourself, to me — remember your sweet 
 girl child ; remember your past ! " 
 
 The days had crept along to purpose, to vain im- 
 aginings of "just one good time ; " and, yet, the other 
 might have conquered singly ; his power in single 
 contest had often proved mighty against Farrell's 
 strong desire ; but it was not so to be decided. The 
 drink fiend allows his victim little to do with the 
 shaping of his destiny. The wine-bibber marks out 
 for himself a future course, and thinks to follow it, in 
 spite of his tyrant's caprices — vain hope ! Fate, in 
 the form of his weakened will and diseased appetite, 
 the ubiquitous saloon and persuasive friends, takes 
 him by the hand and leads him to a maze, amid 
 whose bewildering, thorny paths he rarely finds the 
 road he wished to travel. 
 
 Two friends appeared upon the scene, with flushed 
 faces, thick of speech, breaths redolent of wine — 
 
11 
 
 mtm 
 
 1 06 
 
 Ifiom miflbt till /iBorn. 
 
 'fim 
 
 : i> 
 
 r: 
 
 I' 
 
 i/ 
 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 
 they had beer, celebrating a birthday ! With banter, 
 jest and insult they succeeded, for the time, in driv- 
 ing away Farrell's ascetic companion and persuading 
 P'arrell to take "just one glass of Cham." Just one 
 glass, that, ascian-like at noon, projects no shadow ; 
 just one glass, no more ! He who laughed but once, 
 at seeing an ass eat thistles, would surely laugh again 
 at the confident assumption of the traveller on this 
 caltrop-scattered path. 
 
 Just how the remainder of that evening was spent 
 Farrell could not tell ; even memory, after a time, 
 deserted him. The lurid details that he remembered 
 were unwholesomt enough ; each succeeding libation 
 brought a lower depth, until a self-abandonment was 
 reached that shrank from nothing abandoned. But 
 visions arose, even then, of places visited and vain 
 words spoken that brought the flush of shame to the 
 cheek and bitter humiliation to the heart ; and that 
 was not the worst — would that it were, then long 
 penance might have cleansed the stain. During the 
 wild revelry, that other one returned once and again ; 
 returned to urge the claims of wife and child and 
 home, of honor, respect for self; returned to be 
 repulsed with the greater ease and vehemence as the 
 
Jfrom Biabt till /Rorn. 
 
 107 
 
 night grew into morning ; until, finally, Farrell raised 
 his glass, and shouted wildly, " Here's success to 
 crime ! " The toast was drunk amid hilarious shouts 
 of defiance ; then, that othe — whom men call Con- 
 science — left him. 
 
 Farrell had confused recollections of leaving his 
 companions ; of being driven through nearly deserted 
 street after street ; of ghost-like bush and tree and 
 frost-laden wind on Hampstead Heath ; of paying 
 the cabman at the gates of home. He dimly remem- 
 bered stumbling along the carriage drive, sometimes or 
 the gravel pathway, sometimes on the turf of the lawn, 
 sometimes through the flower-beds. He remembered 
 the fumble with key, the stagger across the hall, 
 the confused lights of the room. He remembered a 
 face inexpressibly shocked, and the single word 
 "Cecil !" uttered in a voice charged with love and 
 pain. It seerr^d to him that he stumbled and would 
 have fallen ; that she sought to support his staggering 
 steps ; that he pushed her petulantly away ; that she 
 fell, striking her poor head against the marble curb of 
 the fire-place; then, all else was blotted out — horror 
 reigned supreme. God knows whether it happened 
 just so or not ; little booted the intent, since the deed 
 
 
s 
 
 m 
 
 I fi 
 
 '/ i 
 
 io8 
 
 3from IRiflbt till /Iborn. 
 
 was done : Farrell's wife lay dead at his feet, the 
 blood streaming from her hair — his hand had killed 
 her, and he was a murderer ! 
 
 There are some things that may not all be told, so 
 dark and dreadful are they ; some horrors that the 
 imagination shrinks to contemplate, that arouse a 
 deeper dread even in the category of the dreadful : at 
 such awful times human expression shrinks into 
 nothingness. Then inanimate things take on senti- 
 ency and shriek aloud the fearsome word the guilty 
 fain would hide. 
 
 Murderer ! The air was filled with clamant voices 
 that proclaimed it. The clock spoke of it sorrowfully 
 to the silent house ; dog howled it gruesomely to 
 <iog over all the neighborhood ; the wild shriek of 
 the flying engine sobbed it Out with piercing reitera- 
 tion to a slumbering world ; the wailing wind recurred 
 to it with fugue-like persistency ; it was beaten through 
 all his guilty being as gold is beaten to the leaf. 
 
 Then the red blood sprang into his eyes and upon 
 his flesh and garments ; it crossed the floor and 
 climbed the walls, and line by line it spread and 
 grew until every place and thing was dark and deep 
 with the scarlet horror. The flame of the yellow 
 
Ifrom tMQbt till /Iftorn. 
 
 109 
 
 w 
 
 fire deepened into purple, and its complaining voice 
 was attuned to the sound, in a murderer's ears, of 
 blood pattering upon leaves in a haunted forest. 
 Where the lamplight had shone, a thousand ruby 
 streams ran on and on into a great red, rising sea. 
 
 The dainty, deadly toy glittered and gleamed with 
 crimson, which dripped into its like upon the floor, 
 keeping time to the death-watch click of the skeleton 
 clock ; dripped and gleamed until the wreak of the 
 suicide's bullet proclaimed the passing of a spirit to 
 the Judgment Seat. 
 
 l! 
 
 V 
 
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 ii 
 
 
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 5n tbe XanD of SbaJ>ow0. 
 
 3n tbe Xan^ ot Sbat)ows» 
 
 It is always the same, always the same, always the 
 same — begins and ends and begins. 
 
 Through all the long hours I sit and brood — amid 
 the grated walls, the fiends that mock, the fools who 
 gibber, and the strong, cruel men — and the grim 
 walls vanish with the gibbering mimes and the curse 
 and blow, and into the light there comes a youth — 
 a happy, light-hearted child — with a future full of 
 bright possibilities. And every morning rushes to 
 meet the night, so quickly pass the days, amid scenes 
 so fair, and crowded, joyous life and mother's love 
 past comprehension. I see a lamp-lit room, with 
 that mother sitting there and that youth kneeling at 
 her feet as before a sacred shrine, their voices min- 
 gling in a simple, holy prayer, while the joy-bells of 
 love and sweet affection ring in mine ears, intense 
 
5n the XanD of Sba&ows. 
 
 Ill 
 
 almost as pain ; and in the night, from out fair 
 visions, loving eyes linger about the dreamer, and a 
 voice, sweet as angel's whisper, murmurs on the air, 
 *' God bless and guard thee, mother's dearest one ! " 
 Another youth appears by the side of him first 
 seen, and these two are knit together by the ties of 
 holy friendship and a common love for the beautiful 
 and the true. Together they watch the sun painting 
 the vaporous clouds with amber and purple and 
 dazzling gold, while the dew-drops ytt glisten in the 
 long tangled meadow-grass and the sylvan warblers 
 raise their glad voices to the morning sky. They 
 wander through miles of woodland, intermingled with 
 undulating hills, silver streams and pretty villages, 
 ivy-clad churches and moss-mantled tombs, rneadow- 
 lands and fields of waving corn. Propped on couch 
 of moss and fern, fragrant as amaranth and moly of 
 old, they lie in the long summer afternoons beneath 
 the cool, umbrageous foliage of the forest trees, where 
 the stately elm, the spreading oak, the patrician 
 beech and the other woodland monarchs have lived 
 so long in close communion that their branches 
 embrace and intertwine. And even so closely are 
 the souls of these two interknit, and the communion 
 
■ 
 
 i'Mk 
 
 112 
 
 Jn tbc 1Lan^ of Sba^ows. 
 
 li 
 
 I 
 
 ; 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 I : 
 
 of the trees echoes their soul-voices, while they build 
 fair cities and stately palaces in the domain of 
 thought, where only good prevails and all around is 
 fair. 
 
 Time passes, and the friendship increases with the 
 increasing years and the added cares of the day, and 
 maturer thought and moic defined aims. They are 
 working together, side by side ; their toil, their 
 pleasure, their hours are united — one roof covers 
 them in the sleep-time. A common vista stretches 
 before them of toil in the seed-time, of plenteous 
 reaping, and a well- filled garner of accomplishment 
 at life's eventide. But whatever betide, whether of 
 sun and shine or storm and stress, through placid 
 waters or storm-tossed seas, the silken cords of love 
 might ne'er unbind : nor dangerous reefs, nor jagged 
 rocks, cut friendship's bonds in twain. 
 
 The hours fly by, and another face appears — a 
 sweet, girlish face, with wondrous eyes, like soul- 
 windows, and fair, wind-kissed hair, and a mouth as 
 the portal of beauty's temple, whence issue sounds 
 divine. Exceeding fair and graceful she appears, 
 encircled with a halo of spotless purity — the type 
 of glorified maidenhood. Her goodness, sweet- 
 
5n tbc XanD of SbaDowe. 
 
 "3 
 
 ness and pity holy and unfathomable. Hating 
 nought but baseness and dishonor — and these with 
 an exceeding loathing. 
 
 She smiles on both the same — and these two sing 
 in chorus her unmatchable divinity — beneath the 
 broad sun, in the gloaming, beneath the moon and 
 stars, like a vision of light from some fair world far 
 away. 
 
 She smiles on both the same, and in sweet con- 
 verse the bright hours fly by all too quickly ; but in 
 the slow hours come reveries and visions — and two 
 only are walking in a pathway set with light. And 
 these two friends are the same, and yet not the same, 
 and they do not understand ; and then it is not the 
 same and they each know ; but no outward show 
 reveals the estrangement of the soul — and the 1 ours 
 go by. 
 
 In the circles of the moon there comes a time 
 when one is filled with an exceeding great joy — a joy 
 surpassing knowledge ; only that fading friendship 
 strikes a minor chord of sorrow ; that gain, so precious 
 to one, to the other brings loss and pain. And the 
 rift widens. 
 
 The hours fly by with woven wings for one— that 
 8 
 
 I 
 
PI 
 
 114 
 
 3\\ tbc Xati& of Sba&o\va. 
 
 W 
 
 \$ 
 
 ii 
 
 first youth — through dreams of love enchanting. The 
 unclouded blue of heaven's high dome deepens, and 
 the pale moon rides above amidst the myriad stars : 
 she silvers the tips of the rustling foliage, and mirrors 
 herself in the depths of a glassy lake, while the sweet, 
 clear voice of the melodious nightingale floats upon 
 the peaceful air of ni'^ht — and thus, and then, in 
 beauty's setting, is love revealed and glory glorified. 
 
 Is it but a dream, a fantasy : or do the angels 
 sometimes hallow a spot of earth and transform it 
 into a paradise ? 
 
 Out of the darkness rises an old-world home, set 
 in a garden fair, in the midst of a fertile vnlley 
 hemmed in by wooded knolls. Every line, every 
 character, each color and perfume and sound, every 
 fine gradation of light and shade, is graven deeply 
 into my very soul. I see the old rambling walls 
 overset with rough warm stucco, to which cling ivy, 
 jessamine, clematis and honeysuckle, roses, red and 
 white and golden ; the worn tiled roof, vari-colored 
 and gay with patches of lichen and houseleek and 
 moss ; the swallows circling to their nests beneath 
 the eaves ; the sparrows twittering in the spoutings ; 
 the pigeons cooing among the tall chimneys and on 
 
5n tbc %mt> ot Sba^owa. 
 
 IIS 
 
 the ridges ; the pearly smoke lingering in the massed 
 foliage of the trees ; and the windows reflecting the 
 dying glory of the sun. 
 
 It is a fair spring evening. The sweet, smiling 
 moon and the stars are out, and the garden is bathed 
 in opalescent splendor ; so peaceful, so calm, so holy. 
 The incense from the sleeping flowers lingers awhile 
 in its upward flight, perfuming all of earth. The 
 violet, jonquil, and daisy, the sad-eyed pansy and 
 forget-me-not mingle with the tall hollyhock and 
 quaint-cut yew, and plats of soft, deep gr; ss, smooth 
 as velvet. The pathways rise and fall, and wind 
 under avenues of laburnum, yellow and purple ; and 
 lilac ; and May, red and white ; past odd nooks and 
 shady bowers ; from light to shadow, from shadow to 
 light ; where the brook plays sweet airs amidst the 
 pebbles, and the trees murmur softly to the moon. 
 
 The hours fly by with woven wings in that en- 
 chanted garden. It is a summer night. Those two 
 I see wandering, with hands clasped, through that 
 fairy expanse ; and the voice of Philomel is less 
 sweet than that maiden's whisper, nor deems he that 
 Paradise contains more of bliss than is his. Upon 
 a rustic bench^they sit them down, and for a while 
 
M 
 
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 Jn tbc Xaiic) of SbaDows. 
 
 w 'I 
 
 I f 
 
 n 
 
 i 
 
 If 
 
 'I 
 
 m 
 
 f : 
 
 the silence is unbroken, save only for the subdued 
 harmonies 3f Nature's voices. The pearly moon 
 reveals the wondrous beauty of the maiden, and the 
 youth can do nought but gaze upon her face — thrilled 
 with the tender love-light of her eyes. To-morrow 
 she will be his bride. To-morrow ! Only a few 
 slow, creeping hours. Soon will the night close-fold 
 her raven wings, and with the first blush of the morn 
 they will meet again. Then, one other brief parting ; 
 then, a meeting for evermore. 
 
 There comes a time for parting, soon or late, for 
 those who love — happy those who only part to meet 
 again. Slowly they wander through the pathway set 
 with flowers. The branches of one fair rose-tree, 
 whose frail blossoms the moon-beams tip with silver 
 overset the narrow way ; here they linger, and each 
 for the other chooses a flower, as life's love pledge, to 
 nestle near each heart through all the future years. 
 
 And thus he passes into the night. 
 
 Is it but a dream, a fanta;.y — or was that friendship 
 all a seeming, a mockery and a lie ; the treacherous 
 garb of hate ? Was it all a seeming — or may love 
 turn to enmity, and trust to betrayal, and desire con- 
 
5n tbc Xan^ of SbaOowa. 
 
 117 
 
 quer ovc^r all? What is this foul accusation that 
 drags the brimming cuj) of joy from the lover's lips 
 and dashes it to the ground — this horror, that ends in 
 a prison cell ? Ah, devilish cunning of plot and j)lan, 
 web enmeshed and forged — unparalleled villainy ! 
 It burns like hot iron into the soul, and he dwells 
 alone in the night amid shapes that are horrible and 
 unreal. 
 
 I see someone in the dock, someone very like my- 
 self, with a face cold, white and drawn ; his hands 
 twitch and clutch the rails, whfile all around is a sea 
 of cruel eyes — eyes that wait and watch and stare — 
 like those of beasts of prey. At times, he has been 
 raving mad, but he *s calm now ; calm, with the sad 
 calm of resignation and hopelessness. They have all 
 forsaken him, one by one, even she — his guilt is 
 written against him so plainly. And that black heart, 
 he sits there and he knows, and they will not believe 
 — such fiendish baseness cannot be, they say ; and 
 the mother, only the mother remains. 
 
 Hush! The jury has found ^'m guilty. The 
 judge pronounces his doom. They are leading him 
 away to a prison cell. A woman screams and faints. 
 My God, what a cry ! *' Poor woman," he says, 
 "poor woman, perhaps she is his mother! His 
 
ir8 
 
 5n tbc XanD of SbaDows. 
 
 Ml 
 
 mother, his mother," he repeats, " why, it is my 
 mother! And I, I am that oiUcast !" And then he 
 beats the ground and shrieks aloud. 
 
 Then follow ten long years, when only impressive 
 memory-pauses relieve the suffering soul. Ten long 
 years of torture and degradation, and one purpose 
 only to feed his thoughts. The stake that fiend 
 played for has been won, and the wedding bells 
 jangle, jangle, ever in his chains. " Honored, and 
 happy, and married — and fiend, and traitor ; Judas 
 and devil, and honored, and happy, and married, to 
 her who loved you, to her you love so." Thus it 
 goes, always, and always, and always. Day, hour, 
 minute, insult, loaihing, toil, privation succeed and 
 fail, their acuteness dulled by the monotony of pain, 
 and the one thought that excludes all others — the 
 purpose wrought of wrong and bitter hate. And a 
 voice whispers, whispers without, within, in field and 
 cell, all the days and through the nights : " Your 
 mother is dead, he killed her : your mother is dead, 
 he broke her heart ; she died dishonored, in agony ; 
 your mother is dead, he murdered her ; he has stolen 
 your liberty, your honor ; he has stolen your loved 
 one, your wife ; he is a fiend, he is accursed — kill 
 him, kill him, kill him ! " 
 
5n tbc XanO ot Sba&o\vs. 
 
 119 
 
 And at length he is free, and once again he reaches 
 his boyhood's home. 
 
 I see a glorious mansion, set in a wide stretch of 
 valley, leading to wooded heights, where the waters 
 wander and the moon looks down. I see a figure 
 crouching in the shade, with the lust of hate and the 
 lust of blood in his eyes, and ever he mutters, over 
 and over to himself, " At last, at last ! " He creeps 
 across the lawn, slowly, softly, muttering, muttering : 
 " You within there, you within, at last, at last ! " 
 Ever and anon he pauses and^crouches behind a bush 
 on the damp grass, and feels and fondles a gleaming 
 blade of steel, and mutters, mucters : " Ten years, 
 mother, love, liberty, honor — pain, pain, ten years — 
 at last, at last ! " Slowly still and creeping, with 
 every nerve tense and in accord, he nears the case- 
 ment and the light, and glares into the room, where 
 the lamplight gleams and the ruddy fire glows, and 
 the happy family is gathered. He sees her sitting 
 there, as his mother used to sit, and kneeling at her 
 feet, in their robes of night, are three little childish 
 forms. Listen, they are repeating a prayer after her, 
 as he used to repeat it after his mother — the same 
 prayer ; he had almost forgotten it : " Our Father 
 which art in heaven," and " Forgive us our trespasses 
 
i 
 
 I20 
 
 5n tb: 'lLan^ of SbaDovvs. 
 
 I 
 
 ' 
 
 tm 
 
 1 1 
 
 1 
 
 as we forgive them that trespass against us," and 
 " Deliver us from evil. For Thine is the Kingdom." 
 And " God bless my papa, and keep him from harm 
 throughout this night ! " Ah, the innocent and trust- 
 ing, they cling about the father 'vith good-night kisses 
 and tender names, and the mother's eyes are filled 
 with love and pride and peace. 
 
 Ah, the innocent, the trusting, the innocent. 
 
 He cannot, he cannot do it. He knows not why, 
 but the tears fall thick and fast, like rain ; something 
 akin to joy and triumph transforms him as he turns 
 away ; and thus he passes into the night again for 
 evermore. 
 
 I see the grey dawn breaking, breaking, so cold, so 
 pitiless, on a poor man who is not old, as years are 
 counted, but, oh, so old in suffering — so old, so worn, 
 so grey. He is counting, counting, counting, always 
 ten, always ten. Hush ! His heart is broken and 
 bleeding — I know. They say he is mad, and they 
 take him to where the fools gibber, the fiends mock 
 and strong men are cruel, cruel — but they do not 
 know, how can they know ? But I know. 
 
 It is always the same, always the same, always the 
 same — begins and ends and begins. 
 
B (3rcB Dag-Xahc St. jfrancis. 
 
 121 
 
 H (Bre^ Da)?-Xa[?e St» ifrancis. 
 
 I watch the squirrel, the rufous-brown squirrel, free, 
 piquant and adorable as youth. Erect, he regards 
 me sidelong with his bright eyes, and I hold an acorn 
 in my hand. 
 
 I hold a tawny-brown ac i in my hand : the cup 
 majolica, bronze and creamy brown, exquisitely 
 modelled, glazed ; the nut a dome, warm, bright, 
 cr'>wned with a spire. I hold the acorn in my hand, 
 but I weary of the crimson tresses of the sumach. 
 
 I weary of the crimson tresses of the sumach, and 
 I remember the song of the sunset-thrush : " Sweet, 
 sweet, sweet ; sorrowful, sorrowful, sorrowful." 
 
 I remember the song of the sunset-thrush, the 
 plaintive ditty of the vesper sparrows heard in chorus, 
 the sweet, melancholy "villilel" of the veery, and the 
 
M 
 
 I 
 
 122 
 
 B (3rcB Das— Xalic St. jfraiicla. 
 
 !|{ 
 
 >v B 
 
 ■l^/l 
 
 flute-like tones of the oriole ; and I hear the wild 
 rapid. 
 
 I hear the wild rapid ; mark the mad swirl of 
 waters, the white-caps and the cruel rocks ; the lake 
 spread out before me, an indented mirror ; the coast 
 line repeating itself in waving shadows ; — and I listen 
 to the north wind. 
 
 I listen to the north wind, that shivers the shadows 
 into silver, bends the wild rice to a circle with its 
 shade, scatters the golden crab-apples, harries the 
 dead leaves, disperses the opalescent seeds, and 
 bears aloft the silken balloons of the thistle. 
 
 And, all aweary of the crimson tresses of the 
 sumach, I hold an acorn in my hand, and I regard 
 the grey day. 
 
Dominion Sqnare 
 
 123 
 
 dominion Square, 
 
 :| 
 
 Like an oasis in a desert, or a green island in a 
 waste of waters, seems the pleasant square to the 
 weary wayfarer. Its smooth' lawns are verdant with 
 the tint of spring and of hope ; its trees are reposeful; 
 its flowers are the satellites of peace. 
 
 Yonder meditative man passes many a quiet hour 
 in the square, and has found much to interest him. 
 He sees the last snows melt there, and he loves to 
 watch the opening tulips — those bannerets of spring 
 — waving in the April breezes. At the bedding out 
 of the plants, he is an interested observer ; he takes 
 a personal interest in their welfare ; and he knows 
 each component of those foliage designs whose bril- 
 liancy of color is so dazzling in the sunshine and so 
 pleasing in the shade. But, most of all, from his quiet 
 seat, he loves to watch the procession of humanity 
 
 1 
 
 1; ■: 
 
w 
 
 124 
 
 ©ominion Square 
 
 
 
 go by, so enthralling it is in its likeness and in its 
 diversity. 
 
 Through all the torrid days of summer, the old 
 people come there, to sun themselves in the after- 
 noons. So feeble they are, some of them, they can 
 hardly totter to their benches beneath the trees. 
 But, sometimes, strong, young arms support them 
 and bright eyes read to them, and the square seems 
 to know it somehow, and to be filled with a bright- 
 ness not all of the sun, and pathos gives place to joy. 
 
 The mother comes there, from the close room, 
 with her sick infant — for the mother is poor, and the 
 country and the seaside are, oh, so far away ! How 
 puny and frail the poor child is, and how much the 
 more beloved for that by its devoted nurse ! He 
 knows them not, but he prays for fresh, cool zephyrs 
 and the life of the sickly one, as if his own fate 
 depended upon the issue. 
 
 The workman seeks the square and rests there, if 
 for but a little while ; and goes on his way rejoicing 
 and refreshed. The old woman, whose bundle is 
 heavy, blesses the city for a dole of ease. There the 
 nursemaids bring their charges, and there glad youth 
 loves to play. 
 
rv'!.w«Wij 
 
 Dominion Square. 
 
 125 
 
 But it is at night-time when the square gives the 
 best of itself to man. Then every seat is filled with 
 youth and age, and the pathways are charmed with 
 ria7it life, as in a pleasing masquerade. Down the 
 blue-domed corridors walk the lover and his lass— 
 and those who would be lovers, and (alas !) are not. 
 The white lights fall among the leaves like the 
 quavering of streams in silvery jjlay ; ethereal shades 
 of peace invite to the recesses ; the flowers lie all 
 along the lawns like the richest of brocades; the 
 winds whisper of the sea, of southern peace, and 
 groves of palm ! 
 
 It is all so clean and sweet and dignified. And 
 the leisurely man thinks, as he walks in medita- 
 tion to his own roof-tree, that of all the bright jewels 
 a city wears, a beautiful garden is the brightest. 
 

 ' -li'f 
 
 •"If 
 
 126 
 
 /IRonnt 1Rov>al. 
 
 /IDount 1Ro\?al. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE PASSING OF AUTUMN, 
 
 'ft' 
 
 An October afternoon. The dome of the sky 
 perfect in outline, cloudless ; the crown brilliantly 
 azure ; towards the horizon, grey, pallid ; westward, 
 suggestions of purple and amethyst ; the sun, a 
 silvery, scintillating orb, ringed anc rayed with in- 
 candescence — unapproachable, whereat presumption 
 quails. 
 
 Upward, upon the mountain, the crimson flies 
 from bough to bough like a forest fire, and the com- 
 plemental mists haunt all the hollows ; not as, upon 
 yonder distant Laurentians, in the early mornings of 
 late summer, the vapors rush up all the valleys, 
 tumultuous, before the rising sun ; but sullen, stead- 
 
 ^m» 
 
/Ibcunt lRo\?al. 
 
 127 
 
 fast or striving foot by foot with senescent majesty 
 for recognition and dominion. 
 
 The burnt-out torches of the common mullein 
 stand erect, sentinel-like, near the borders of the 
 wood, and like the dying flames of lamps, a few pale 
 yellow blossoms still flicker upon their summits. 
 Some belated evening primroses and golden-rods 
 linger on, side by side ; but decay has touched them 
 with her fingers, and they hasten towards the realm 
 of withered things. 
 
 Asters and Michaelmas daisies (whose draperies 
 are bits of sky and snatches of cloud) wander, sad- 
 eyed and melancholy, amidst the revelry of the 
 madder-tinted vines and the luxuriant vermilion 
 tresses of the sumach. Upon an infrequent stem, the 
 china-blue succory stays cheerlessly crocketed. The 
 berries of the carrion flower are blue-black, bunched 
 and glum, and scowl at the riotous scarlet racemes 
 of the false Solomon's seal. A wayfaring bumble- 
 bee marks the pink-purple sign of the Red Clover 
 Head — a lone hostelry — which promises good cheer. 
 Everlasting flowers, aforetime pearly-grey, are now 
 cinereous. The grasshoppers whistle cheerily in the 
 sun and sadly in the shade. 
 
 I 
 
128 
 
 /IRount IRogal. 
 
 '\ 
 
 i 
 
 ( 
 
 ti 
 
 I 
 
 Where the purple and violet color-shadows linger 
 under the half-transparency of the yellow-green foli- 
 age, the humble self-heal reclines, the brown fern 
 rustles, the woolly achenia of the anemone protects 
 its seeds, the wondrously-fashioned acorn falls, and 
 the tawny leaves of the oak carpet the neighboring 
 sward. There, too, the squirrel loves to play ; and 
 where the sun smiles along the clearing, where the 
 waim sienna leaves lie amidst the cool, grey rocks, a 
 piece of nutmeg-scented, yarrow milfoil raises its 
 meek and pretty crown of flowers. 
 
 No fairer looked Proserpina, when she wandered 
 in the flowerless fields of Dis, than does yonder 
 burnished buttercup, lost in the indigo depths of 
 these woods, where no birds sing, and only a funereal 
 rook makes mournful dissonance in a neighboring 
 tree. The cheerless purple-grey blossoms of the 
 rattlesnake-root hang on a solitary stalk near by. 
 The fragrant white and yellow melilot is tangled in 
 the clearing ; there the austere thistle raises its purple 
 head, clad in mail ; and there, too, one last blue- 
 domed bell-flower remains to toll the knell of dis- 
 solution. 
 
 Sombre and inscrutable, companionable only to 
 
^ount 1Ro!?al. 
 
 129 
 
 the winds, the pines look down from yonder height 
 upon the kaleidoscopic glory of decay (the Masque 
 of Death) palest yellow to deepest amber, illimitable 
 gold, wealth of wondrous browns, purples, scarlets, 
 crimsons ; vivid, amazing ! They mark the sun burn 
 low down in the west, a ball of fire ; see the mists, 
 grown bolder, encroaching upon the plain, covering 
 the river, and picketing the hills ; the shades of night 
 foregathering in the fields and the recesses of the 
 woods awaiting their dusky queen, in whooe footsteps 
 shall follow winter's satellites, frost, and the bitter 
 winds, and, perchance, snow. Presently, they shall 
 see these rush forth, exultant, unrestrained, to a wild 
 night of slaughter, a revelry of red rain ; will view 
 the dawning of a morrow, when the brown, bare trees 
 shall uprise in a waste of white, and autumn shall be 
 no more. 
 
 I 
 
7T 
 
 1t^.:^ 
 
 130 
 
 /IRouiit "Kogal 
 
 
 I 
 
 II. 
 
 A WINTER SUNSET. 
 
 The sun arose angrily, blood-red, out of a cinereous 
 cloud— bedraggled with the smoke of a city. He 
 bedecked the cloud with royal purple and embroi- 
 deries of gold, until it trailed away, a robe of glory, 
 and disappeared beyond the horizon. Then the sun 
 put out a burnished silver shield, and all the day his 
 siivery and crystalline lances have shot athwart the 
 azure of his dominions, gleaming in their flight ; they 
 have fallen incessantly upon the legions of snow- 
 clouds — besiegers of the blue — keeping them at bay ; 
 but now his weapons are all spent, the bright, round 
 shield grows dull, misshapen and discolored ; the 
 cloud-hordes creep ever higher, above the horizon, 
 and a wind rushes forth to clarion their approach to 
 victory. 
 
i 
 
 ^ount "RoBal. 
 
 131 
 
 A great fear has fallen upon the trees, where they 
 uprise, tier upon tier-^they are ashy-pale, they 
 tremble. The slender birch and poplar sway wildly 
 to and fro ; the maples raise wan arms beseechingly 
 to the skies ; the monarchs of the glades, the giant 
 oaks and elms, bow their lofty heads in submission ; 
 only the dark pines wave their warrior-like plumes 
 and thrust a thousand subtle spears upon the air 
 defiantly. 
 
 The wind rushes over the mountain and sweeps 
 away, puot the sun-illumined peaks and the ice-bound 
 river, and now silenc stalks over the wastes of snow. 
 No sign of life is here, save for yonder solitary 
 woodman, who crouches near a blue wreath of smoke 
 and warms his chilly hands in a pink and cadmium 
 flame; save that the m^st about the bole of this 
 oak, torn and tooth-worn, tells of a squirrel's late 
 repast. 
 
 All the west is now aflame with orange-crimson 
 cloud— a serpentine fringe of green separating it from 
 the azure. The red sun tips the peaks of the hills 
 with gold, scatters rubies over the snow and bedecks 
 the trees with a purple mantle. There comes upon 
 the solitary a mystic sound, as of the deepening and 
 

 f .3 
 
 13: 
 
 /Iftount IRoxjal. 
 
 I 
 
 ji 
 
 ! 
 
 
 darkening of things, and, through the gloom, where 
 all the curtaining twigs and stems are, grey wraiths 
 start up suddenly, like spectres, and so steal away. 
 Veil-like mists arise and creep over the valleys. An 
 inquiet sense, as of pursuit, dogs the footsteps of the 
 wanderer through the woods. 
 
 The sun has gone now, and only a fitful gleam, 
 the zodiacal search-light, lingers in the sky ; the 
 shadows coalesce ; the woods grow ever deeper and 
 darker ; the burnt-out clouds are ashes of many-toned 
 grey. And now a wonderful thing happens : in the 
 afterglow the snow recovers its lost purity, and slowly 
 unfolds, like a great white rose, or a vast night-bloom- 
 ing cereus. Then, the stars rush out, flashing like 
 jewels through the rent clouds ; even the snow is all 
 bediamonded. But now the storm-winds laugh aloud, 
 leaping in their glee ; the presumptuous clouds scale 
 the topmost rampart of the stars ; and, presently, all 
 the air is a whirling white opacity. 
 
 IJl 
 
 
 ■■Nt-^- ,.: ■ V' ;:\ ^,4^f' 
 
Zbc Brrow 1bcnt>. 
 
 ^33 
 
 Zbc BiTow 1bca^» 
 
 I sing the praises of the Arrow Head {Sagiiiaria 
 Variabilis). It differs in development, as man differs 
 from man, but, at its best, it is magnificent. V wander 
 by the marge of some slow stream, or placid pool, 
 and I observe the beauty of the leaf — its grandeur of 
 outline, its antique glory of color, its regard for the 
 minutest detail, the marvellous finish of the whole. 
 
 I observe the beauty of the leaf, and of the flower 
 — perhaps, even more wondrously beautiful. And I 
 gather a few of the long tapering scapes, in bud and 
 blossom, and place them in a vase of water to adorn 
 my room. Around the green, inflected stem, the 
 flowers are whorled in sets of threes, and I count nine 
 sets. 
 
 I count nine sets, and I mark the enchanting birth 
 of these blossoms, born as triplets, beginning with 
 
f 
 
 134 
 
 Zbc Brrow fbcntf. 
 
 the undermost. With the early morning, the light, 
 bronzed, nut-Hke bud splits into three sepals, from 
 which peep the gauzy, crumpled petals ; the three 
 petals slowly unfold, like delicate, snow-white wings 
 of satin ; the golden centre of sepals is disclosed to 
 view ; and, in an hour, the three perfect blossoms 
 gleam forth with an ethereal loveliness. 
 
 For several days, I have passed this unique hour 
 with succeeding whorls of opening buds. 
 
 i} <■ 
 
Bt IPbtlUpsburfl. 
 
 135 
 
 at Ipbi»lp6bur0» 
 
 UNDER THE MAPLES-JUNE. 
 
 » 
 An emerald lawn, bejewelled with ginseng— three 
 and five leaved; buttercups— burnished, beaten gold; 
 violets— amber and amethystine; saxifrage— adorn- 
 ing a stone. 
 
 Reclining upon the grass, as irresponsible as the 
 flowers, as inconsequent as the pied butterflies, lazily 
 amused by the strenuous ants, the bustling bees, the 
 quick, iridescent dragon-flies,— n tramp ! 
 
 The plateau is an irregular oval, long and narrow, 
 encircled with trees. Lakeward, the pines descend 
 the precipitous rocks in serried ranks ; landward, the 
 maples mark the foot of an easy ascent. Beneath 
 the maples the warm shadows lie, and all is still. 
 Here are grey boulders, mantled with moss, and a 
 
136 
 
 m iPbdUpsburg. 
 
 congregation of wild-flowers : Columbine, Celandine, 
 Tall Mitrewort, Wood Mignonette, False Solomon's 
 Seal, Preacher in the Pulpit, Wild Ginger {Asarum 
 Canadense) and Herb Robert. 
 
 Upon an olive-green dais, arrayed in a motley of 
 scarlet and gold, the Columbine dances to music too 
 sweet for earthly ears. The assembly looks on, and 
 bows its approbation to the same seraphic melody. 
 Only, the Asarum Canadense hides its head under 
 the dried forest leaves and listens — for the Asarum 
 Canadense is a dwarf, with a brown, odd-looking 
 face, and it shrinks from companionship with its 
 fellows, lest it might be slighted. 
 
 1 
 
 sujui^lsj 
 
TLhc Cbou6an& 56lan50. 
 
 ^37 
 
 Ube UF)ousan& JslanDs. 
 
 Oberon and Titania, Puck, Peas-Blossom, Cobweb, 
 Moth, Mustard-Seed — where are they ? 
 
 Aurora skips over the waters, scattering the petals 
 of pink roses in the pathway of the sun ; my paddle 
 drips with emeralds and amethysts and pearls ; there 
 are rainbow-tinted jewels gleaming and flashing all 
 around me. 
 
 I know that some wizard has enchanted me, that 
 nothing here is real, and that all too soon the spell 
 will be removed. But, meanwhile, I miss the fairies. 
 
 .. jfilO