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 6 
 
DRI FT. 
 
D R I F 1 
 
 BY 
 
 DECKLES W'lLLSON 
 
 When the river onward gushes, 
 Bearing burdens on its tide; 
 Drift is garnered by the rushes . 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 GAY AND BIRD. 
 
 32, Bedford Street, Strand. 
 
 i:,0; 
 
Til 
 
To C. A. G-T. 
 
 WITH THE DBBPEST GRATITUDE 
 AND AFFECTION. 
 
^ 
 
DRIFT. 
 
 fjjy^ HEN the river onward gushes, 
 ^ ^ Bearing burdens on its tide ; 
 
 Drift is garnered by the rushes 
 Rescued from the ceaseless tide. 
 
 Spray from Huron, cones from Erie, 
 Hemlock from the Gatineau. 
 
 Grasses quaint from prairies dreary 
 Mocking at the ebb and flow. 
 
 Drift of weeds and drift of branches^ 
 Odd wisps from the blue-bird's nest, 
 
 Yellowed stalks from distant ranches^ 
 Sumac from the Golden West. 
 
 There are green and humble pages 
 Of our making which do sift 
 
 Life's grey river as it rages. 
 And leave hidden yonder — (Drift. 
 
 Pi 
 
 XI 
 
lONBOK ; 
 
 MIMTID BT THO.. WILtUM. 
 231, PBNTONTILM ROAD. » ' 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Pagt 
 
 ^ri'» I, 
 
 My Task 
 
 The Monk -a 
 
 The Progress of Light 3, 
 
 Frances: A Threnody 22 
 
 Madness _ 
 
 The Border ]* ^g 
 
 S°"« '.'. 30 
 
 Out to Sea -j 
 
 At Midnight ,j 
 
 The Motherland ,, 
 
 When O'er the Deep 
 
 Canada ._ 
 
 My Heart's with Thee ,. ., jg 
 
 The Ballad of Roderick Redde 37 
 
 Regard d'Amour ,q 
 
 The Last Chief 
 
 • • • • • • 41 
 
 Britain is not now a Tiny Isle ^3 
 
 Marah 
 
 My Soul 
 
 The Threadbare Cavalier .. .. .'* " ^g 
 
 The Doctors of Jacksonville .- 
 
 Madrigal * ^^ 
 
 The Land of the Maple Leaf ^g 
 
 They all could go -j 
 
 Notre Dame 
 
 The Rainbow 
 
 Ultro Oblatus [[ " J 
 
 Marie Antoinette g 
 
 Destiny 
 
 London _ 
 
 The Laureate 
 
 00 
 
 13 
 
i 
 
 CONTENTS-C<m«M«*rf. 
 
 Opportunity ^Jr» 
 
 With the World .. *' ^' 
 
 The World is Potent .. " ^^ 
 
 In the Closet .. *.' " ^4 
 
 Youth " 65 
 
 La Lutte .. .. *• ^ 
 
 Lost .. .. ** •• 67 
 
 You shall have your Ros^s " ^^ 
 
 L'Air Manquant .. .. *" ^ 
 
 Despondency .. _ " 7° 
 
 Smoking Song .. _^ 7i 
 
 Chanson a Marcher .. ," ^2 
 
 Sonnet .. _ " ** ** •• 74 
 
 Not England's Bended Knee .'.' ^^ 
 
 If my Heart had Wings.. .".' ^^ 
 
 Love and Lilacs . . . . "^7 
 
 Anachronistic .. , 78 
 
 A La Bibliotheque.. 79 
 
 To a Friend.. .. " ^° 
 
 The Sheriff.. " ^r 
 
 • • • • 
 
 Anagram (To Clarie) ®^ 
 
 Plain ' " 83 
 
 • • • • . . 84 
 
 '4 
 
 .4__ 
 
Page 
 
 6i 
 
 63 
 64 
 
 65 
 66 
 67 
 68 
 69 
 70 
 
 71 
 72 
 
 74 
 75 
 76 
 
 77 
 
 78 
 
 79 
 
 80 
 
 81 
 
 82 
 
 83 
 
 84 
 
 I 
 
 MOTHERS have watched tb^ir 
 fledglings wing 
 Higher into God's broad sky; 
 Others have sung the songs I sing, 
 Sweeter than I. 
 
 Only I thought that my song would reach 
 Up to where you 've built your nest ; 
 
 Lonely, I sought to put life into speech, 
 As I knew best. 
 
 Longer and duller the path I view, 
 Who will mark my feeble scrawl ? 
 
 Hunger I now for a smile from you, 
 Sweet, that is all. 
 
 «7 
 
THE MONK. 
 
 T CHANCED upon him while a summer 
 -■. shower 
 
 Drenched all the landscape, all save our 
 retreat ; 
 
 We felt the glow of knowledge, and the 
 
 heat 
 
 Of communing made to pass a pleasant 
 hour. 
 
 "I'm aged! "quoth he, "you think me 
 M'orthy now: 
 
 But I bear not my message on my brow. 
 
 " My virtues are not mine ; my sterile 
 youth 
 
 Laughs me to scorn. My later years 
 Are all I cherish ; and my childhood's " 
 tears. 
 
 The vale of my lost boyhood was not 
 smooth — 
 
 No soul strayed thither to admire the 
 vine ; 
 
 And if I virtues have, they are not mine. 
 
 i8 
 
hile a summer 
 
 » aJl save our 
 
 dge, and the 
 
 s a pleasant 
 
 ou think me 
 
 3n my brow. 
 
 my sterile 
 
 iter years 
 childhood's | 
 
 >d was not 
 
 admire the 
 
 not mine. 
 
 " My soul throve not at first— the feeble 
 twig 
 
 Put forth such blossom never. Yet the 
 soil 
 
 In which it grew was generous. Twas 
 the toil 
 
 Of constant grafting made the stem wax 
 
 big, 
 And caused the plant to burgeon. I 
 
 became 
 
 A part— the best— of others— yet the 
 same. 
 
 *' From them I borrowed sap, and bud, 
 and heart ; 
 
 And yet I scorned the world and all my 
 
 friends ! 
 I fashioned for myself my own ends, 
 And throve, or strove to thrive, apart. 
 So might the lake despise the creek and 
 
 rill 
 
 That feed it, and its void basin fill. 
 
 19 
 
f''- 
 
 ''I struck the world, and thought it 
 struck me back, 
 
 And parried fancied blows till I grew 
 spent ; ^ 
 
 While the world, unconscious, through 
 
 Its labours went. 
 Nor knew of my existence, until, alack' 
 I, witless, sank upon its bosom ; when 
 ' it kissed my cheek 
 
 And laved my fevered brow till I could 
 speak. 
 
 "And you are young, and mayhap be 
 of those 
 
 Who bear a grudge against your fellow 
 men, 
 
 And deem mankind is passing cruel 
 when ' 
 
 It caused naught ; your sorrows and the 
 blows 
 
 You dealt yourself. It gave the balm 
 alone." 
 
 And while I pondered, lo! the monk 
 was gone. 
 
 ao 
 
d thought it 
 
 s till I grew 
 
 ious, through 
 
 until, alack! 
 osom; when 
 
 1 till I could 
 
 mayhap be 
 
 your fellow 
 
 ssing cruel, 
 
 )ws and the 
 
 2 the balm 
 the monk 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF LIGHT. 
 
 ERE daybreak, out across the hills 
 I rode to meet the dawn ; 
 Past torrents, rivers, lakes, and rills; 
 O'er field, and moor, and lawn. 
 
 My horse sped on, and on, and on ; 
 
 Then fell, all foaming white. 
 Shrill shrieking, as the first ray shone, 
 
 I fled before the light. 
 
 Unhorsed and crippled, fled I back 
 
 To seek my love, the dark. 
 Beneath the dripping dew, alack, 
 
 The night lay stiff and stark ! 
 
 ai 
 
FRANCES: A THRENODY. 
 
 y 
 
 ■:^ 
 
 f i 
 
 I. 
 
 J MOURN for : ^ces; and the bil- 
 •■• lows mourn 
 
 And dash upon the rocks their briny 
 lears* 
 
 High on this giddy cliff I sit forlorn. 
 With no irreverent sound to vex mine 
 ears 
 
 Save the sad moaning of the wind. On 
 1 nigh 
 
 The pale moon glistens, half obscured 
 by clouds, 
 
 And quick, fantastic shadows on the 
 waters lie — 
 
 Patches of fleck which seem like 
 shrouf's. 
 
 It. 
 
 Out on this vast, wide, solitaiy sea. 
 No liuman eye but mine looks down.-. 
 
 w.' r.f""' ^' "''^ ""eht only be 
 When hell to burst its bonds has 
 nelpless grown — 
 A fearful hush, too grim to last- 
 A longer space than that from light to 
 
 22 
 
 - *»?r6.«JA. 
 
 ■»^»aC»^*«1»*^<A*<V'*.ii 
 
'', and the bil- 
 
 III. 
 
 Hark to the moaning of the querulous 
 wind ! 
 
 'Tis naught to me ; yet that it doth 
 so weep. 
 What destiny hath it, it dares be mind 
 To grieve with thinking? Has the 
 fickle deep 
 Pressed to its bosom some younger love, 
 That Caurus moans as with a sorrow 
 fraught ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 To others. Ocean, be that which thou 
 wilt. 
 To them who have the gift of dreams, 
 A sunny lawn of sea, all richly gilt 
 With gems. A maiden boisterous with 
 life, 
 
 A hoary sire— aught which them be- 
 seems. 
 
 But I, alas ! was never Fancy's slave 
 
 I see no lustre in thy distant wave- 
 To me thou art a grim, unholy grave. 
 
 83 
 
V. 
 
 And yet, as in my dead, lost youth I h,H 
 
 In churchyards dreams of iffe so „„ 
 J feel a touch nr o . ' ^° "ow 
 
 brow drear and giddy 
 
 Above^this .,-,Hty. f„„,,,33 ^^^^,^^^^_ 
 
 VI. 
 
 And while I own fh.'c • • 
 
 mine, ^'' ^''^°"' ^^^ch is 
 
 ' pray that this mav h^ 
 end. ^ ^^ '"^^ mortal 
 
 O God of Lifp r « 
 Nor to a ±ter dr°' """' ""'"'" 
 
 Nor go forth^ Te 'wS" """" ''"'' 
 
 Mv strfu^u • " ^Sain to weep I 
 
 ^rength ,„ passion did its flower 
 
 ''"% me down for ever, now, to sleep. 
 
 ill 
 
 # 
 
 "•i"* -» — 
 
t youth I had 
 'ife ; so now 
 and am glad 
 r and giddy 
 
 ^es smiling 
 sepulchre, 
 
 » which is 
 
 ny mortal 
 
 e repine! 
 ow bend! 
 to weep I 
 ts flower 
 
 to sleep. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Mine eyes are red with weeping, and 
 the breeze 
 
 Would fain assoil my grief, it moaneth 
 so. 
 
 Mine eye is red with weeping; yet it 
 sees 
 
 Something, Christ, upon the waves 
 below : 
 A swathed corpse, that calmly rides, 
 White as the primal snow. 'Tis she, 
 enfold 
 By frothy couriers of the polar tides, 
 With hair bleached to a silver hue 
 from gold. 
 
 I mourn for Frances; and I see her 
 
 there. 
 Drifting adown the flood like sweet 
 
 Elaine ; 
 Or if yonder be not she,— her hair 
 
 and form, 
 
 Her melting features and her snowy 
 hands, — 
 It is the presage of a nearing storm, 
 Or strip of seaweed from unhallowed 
 lands. 
 
 as 
 
!»' <Ji 
 
 breath did flee ' '' ''^^ ^'^'=«' 
 
 ^° m;t;:;e '■" "'■^*''- ■- -y "ean 
 Expired, or the world TM i . 
 ^o.'.W-.H.sre'/.ilJ.r- 
 
 36 
 
I think she 
 
 w^ithered, like 
 
 ' it denied; 
 
 ^er sweet 
 
 in my heart 
 
 ask of ye : 
 ^ead to me. 
 
 MADNESS. 
 
 I WATCH the sea-gulls as they speed 
 O'er the bleak and sullen waves; 
 And I watch the ravens, without heed, 
 Perch midst a thousand graves. 
 
 Wearily, as the moth at night 
 
 Its feeble life outfretting, 
 I strove with wings to touch aright 
 
 The radiance of forgetting. 
 
 •Tis deeply conned by mist at noon, 
 Conned in the heat and snow; 
 
 And I wistfully crave of the vacant mom 
 What only the night can know. 
 
 I dread the night, and dare not ask 
 It surcease from my sorrow. 
 
 It holds the secret of my task, 
 Yet— I will wait the morrow! 
 
 87 
 
"^fJE BORDER, 
 But ne-er tn " ""^ '■^"• 
 
 We'll :^^„ti7ih"'r"'^^^'^'™. 
 
 ^« »o the foe 7X2°T ^"^""S'- 
 --e^ -eo.et;-llt:e..,. 
 
 S»!i 
 
 xS 
 
^d pride of 
 
 til 
 
 » extending, 
 ice, 
 
 bending f 
 are warm, 
 t greeting; 
 m, 
 
 meeting. 
 5 Border, 
 
 'e order, 
 » and 
 
 There caitiffs be in every land! 
 
 And cravens be in our Dominion, 
 Who'd see yon bird of prey expand 
 
 And cover us with her grey pinion. 
 But little reck ye of cur hearts, 
 
 And little of our temper dreaming, 
 Could ye believe we e'er would part 
 
 With one green blade for all jts 
 screaming ! 
 
 o'er th;- 
 
 29 
 
; / 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1^ HO UGH dark the night, there is 
 a gem 
 I prize more than the moon. 
 Thy bright eye is a diadem- 
 To Love the night is noon. 
 And now I hang upon its glance 
 
 To make me sad or gay, 
 What need of speech the heart to reach ! 
 Am I to go or stay ? 
 
 Not with thy lips, but with thine eyes 
 Tell me the story of thine heart : 
 
 If I may win life's fondest prize, 
 Or if for evermore we'll part. 
 
 Oh! tell me what I long to know: 
 
 It is but yea or nay. 
 I can but stay, I can but go, 
 
 Tho' I would love alway. 
 Thy voice is soft, and sweeter far 
 
 Than lark of Acadie : 
 But words are vain, and bring. pain-— 
 
 My Fate I'd learn from thee. 
 
 30 
 
OUT TO SEA, 
 
 DRIFT we away from the shores 
 of youth — 
 Old-fashioned shores where a happiness 
 
 stood. 
 Drag us out, Life, from the boyhood's 
 
 good! 
 Drag us out, Tide, to the merciless 
 truth ! 
 
 Out, out to sea! — where the breakers 
 
 roar; 
 Where the fierce human waves, o'er an 
 
 ocean bleak, 
 Struggle, and clamber, and foam, and 
 
 shriek, — 
 Wretched and rudderless drift we from 
 
 shore. 
 
 31 
 
AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 ii 
 
 1 
 
 T has been always so : men love the 
 
 din 
 Of Life's artillery, and the pomp of 
 
 marts ; 
 Because the slow tear of charity, which 
 
 starts 
 It, dries ; and the soul silences within. 
 
 Yet there are times when this brave 
 
 show of pride, 
 These puissant mobs, dissolve to little 
 
 man ; 
 And that man leisure finds, himself to 
 
 scan, 
 At midnight— when the mask is laid 
 
 aside. 
 
 32 
 
THE MOTHERLAND. 
 
 TIS our birthright to see the light 
 While other tribes in darkness 
 grope ; 
 We low the knee 'fore no grandee, 
 Nor tyrant, demagogue, nor Pope. 
 
 And when fight we on land or sea. 
 For the love of the soil our blood we 
 
 shed. 
 And for the hawthorn white and red, 
 The heather, and the primrose bed. 
 Are English mothers, maids, and wives. 
 Not worth the peril of our lives ? 
 
 We do not dream of what we seem 
 To those we hold of meaner race ; 
 
 God gave us pride, to them denied, 
 And stamped our manhood on our 
 face. 
 
 33 
 
w 
 
 WHEN O'ER THE DEEP, 
 
 HEN o'er the deep our barks are 
 
 flying, 
 
 Strong arms the straining rudder plying, 
 There is no time for tears or sighing ; 
 Who cares for breakers or for foam ? 
 We sail for home ! 
 
 When o'er the deep Life's bark is 
 
 flying, 
 False skipper he who'd e'er be crying: 
 ** Put back, put back, the day is dying! " 
 Care we for daylight or for death, 
 Who sail for home ? 
 
 34 
 
CANADA. 
 
 IS 
 
 OUR Heritage, it was not bought 
 with gold, 
 
 But blood and valour paid for what is 
 
 here ; 
 So our loved country deem we doubly 
 
 dear. 
 Its newness, not so much unlike the 
 
 Old, 
 We built our strength upon. 
 
 They, too, were strong and stern, our 
 
 sires ; 
 Not upraised they in lands of mellow 
 
 light; 
 Their sinews also used to storm and 
 
 blight. 
 Ne'er knew they tropic gifts, or had 
 
 desires. 
 But what were hardly won. 
 
 * 
 
 , ».'-i 
 
 35 
 
MY HEART'S WITH THEE. 
 
 JVE grasped the friendly hands, 
 Our lips have said adieu ; 
 They'll seek their own in distant lands, 
 And songs of home ring o'er the blue. 
 No cote or hearth have I to boast, 
 
 My bark is ever on the sea ; 
 My home is there, Clarisse, where is my 
 heart — 
 It is with thee! 
 
 What matter where he toils 
 
 Who homelecs is as I ? 
 What's wealth and fame to kindred's 
 smiles ? 
 
 What's country, language, flag, or 
 sky? 
 
 And when I'm sought to name my 
 home. 
 
 Of Lucia's isle I'll choose to be 
 My home is there, Clarisse, where is my 
 heart— 
 It is with thee! 
 
 36 
 
 . 
 
. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF RODERICK REDDE. 
 
 A STRUGGLING young wit was 
 ■'■ *■ hight Roderick Redde, 
 Who seemed ne'er a jot to lose I,ope 
 
 with the years 
 Who laughed at his sorrows, and scoffed 
 
 at his fears. 
 Quoth he to himself (as he kept back 
 
 the tears) : 
 " In Life, what care I for the path that 
 
 I tread ? 
 *TwilI surely be soft enow when I am 
 
 dede ! " 
 
 He felt that the candle of merit would 
 
 shine 
 Through the bushel of hunger and 
 
 weutherbeat clothes, 
 Soiled linen, and pride, too, and 
 
 vagabond woes, 
 And divers devices that poverty knows ; 
 So he drank him this bumper, in absence 
 of wine. 
 
 In a garret-brewed tipple of Fancy 
 divine ; 
 
 37 
 
• 
 
 " I thank Thee, God, who hast 
 fashioned me strong 
 
 To plod my way through the mire of 
 Fate, 
 
 Of hunger, of want, of envy, of Hate, 
 
 That my soul may attain to the wide- 
 open gate, 
 
 To beat down the giants of folly and 
 Wrong, 
 
 And gallop the highway of Glory along!" 
 
 He drank him a bumper — this vassal, 
 
 this slave — 
 **To the health of the world!" cried 
 
 Roderick Redde. 
 *' It has thrust me in garrets, and fed 
 
 me on bread ; 
 But a good time is coming, and, after 
 
 I'm dede, 
 And this poor, feeble clay is at rest in 
 
 the grave, 
 I'll have smiles from the fairest, and 
 
 cheers from the brave. 
 
 38 
 
Prophetic young spark ! With a stone at 
 
 his head, 
 The world straight proceeded to open 
 
 its eyes ; 
 And the Critics, espying his tomes 
 
 with surprise. 
 Belauded his pathos and wit to the 
 
 skies ; 
 Thus, on the same spot where his heart's 
 
 blood was shed, 
 Great became Master Redde — who a 
 
 decade was dead! 
 
 r 
 
 Envoi. 
 
 O poets, if struggling! brothers in 
 
 art! 
 No longer attempt to gain here for 
 
 your pains; 
 Strive hungrily onward, play nobly your 
 
 part. 
 And dream of Fame smiling — upon your 
 
 remains ! 
 
 39 
 
REGARD D'AMOUR, 
 
 WE shall never, never meet, little 
 maid ! 
 
 Never smile and never greet, I'm afraid I 
 But your dainty, fleeting glance is 
 Queen of all my vagrant fancies: 
 It was shot into this bosom; and it 
 stayed. 
 
 True, such token is not mickle, little 
 maid ! 
 
 And it may not prove you fickle or a 
 
 jade ; 
 But an epoch must be reckoned. 
 That sweet fraction of a second, 
 For in it I learned to love you, little 
 
 maid ! 
 
 We shall never, never meet, little m.aid! 
 Neither in the sunny street or the shade I 
 Be the future blank or laden 
 For myself or for thee, maiden, 
 In my heart your glance is graven, nor 
 can fade. 
 
 40 
 
 r 
 

 THE LAST CHIEF. 
 
 ONTARIO! my father's land, 
 I bear thee still affection deep; 
 Yet pray I the great Father's wand 
 May never lull my sons to sleep ! 
 
 "The march of white, the doom of 
 red ! " 
 
 I muttered in despairing youth ; 
 And straightway vowed to bow my head, 
 Because the white increased, forsooth. 
 
 I now am weak, who then was strong; 
 
 But age the strength of hate returned. 
 I would renew th' ancestral song, 
 
 Revive the torch which once had 
 burned, 
 
 And with my single might recall 
 The martial spirit of my sires; 
 
 With action quick offset the fall. 
 And kindle back the smould'ring fires. 
 
 Chiowa! my wrist is like a twig— 
 My body trembles like a leaf. 
 
 What though my heart with deeds is big? 
 My bosom torn with hate and grief? 
 
 
 I ^1 
 
 
 ?^M 
 
 if] 
 
By Erie's banks I've wandered long, 
 And dying, here I'll lay me down; 
 
 There are none left to right the wrong. 
 The eagle to her nest has flown. 
 
 i. 
 
 4a 
 
 ' 
 
1 
 
 ng. 
 
 ) 
 
 BRITAIN IS NOT NOW A TINY ISLE, 
 
 BRITAIN is not now a tiny isle 
 Hemmed in by the rude North Sea, 
 But by the Ganges and the Nile. 
 Where the St. Lawrence 
 Heaves her torrents — 
 Where the South wind blows 
 And the Palm tree grows — 
 Britain is, and her sons be ! 
 
 Yonder is only the Jungle home : 
 
 The Lion's lair, that he leaves behind 
 
 Into the forest wide to roam. 
 
 And near or far, 
 
 Where Britons are. 
 
 Oft in their sleep 
 
 Their fancies creep 
 
 Back to the fastness of their kind. 
 
 Think you it matters what sky covers 
 them ? 
 
 Or what is the raiment Britons wear? 
 
 For the glint of the royal diadem 
 
 Pierces the shade 
 
 Of the African glade, 
 
 And the red of our flag 
 
 Is seen on each crag, 
 
 As it waves in the Arctic air ! 
 
 43 
 
MA RAH. 
 
 DO not despond, soul of mine I 
 Where Vr flio T?.,^ 
 
 Future is, there 
 
 Where *er the 
 will ye be. 
 By placid hill, or dismal lea, 
 Or eke upon the turbid sea : 
 Where'er I hear call Destiny, 
 There will ye be! 
 
 Wax strong ! fear not ! I seek a way • 
 O for a smgle ray, a glimm'ring spark,' 
 10 point my haven through the dark I 
 But ere these limbs be stiff and stark 
 1 II see the light, and list the lark 
 Proclaim me free! 
 
 For that! for that! what boot these ills? 
 
 This weary groping in the cheerless 
 
 gloom ? 
 Serve ye this flesh, whate'er its doom, 
 1 11 house me in the silent tomb ; 
 But ye sprang from no mortal womb, 
 O soul of mine! 
 
 44 
 
MY SOUL. 
 
 IN vain the dull webs are daily spun 
 Around the beacon of my soul. 
 'Tis not in that poor insect's might 
 To weave a web so firm and whole 
 As to quench all its light. 
 
 That faint blaze must never feebler grow, 
 Which now the sordid woof consumes ; 
 
 Thou madest this, my soul, to shine 
 Through webs of even greater looms. 
 
 Why should I now repine ? 
 
 It may be, my light will never burn 
 With flame so strong, and large, and 
 clear, 
 
 As to be seen by all who grope 
 Afield. But to the frail ones near 
 
 It may bring Hope! 
 
 45 
 
'i 
 
 :\l 
 
 THE THREADBARE CAVALIER. 
 
 MY Love, she lives in a mansion 
 great ; 
 My paths I tread alone ! 
 A slender purse my sole estate, 
 Yet she shall be my own. 
 
 Hail ! to my love in her silken gown ; 
 
 What though she noble be ? 
 Scorn to the scorn of a rival's frown, 
 
 When my Love smiles on me. 
 
 Away with the barriers 'twixt us both ! 
 
 Which keep two souls apart; 
 I'll have ye witness, world, our troth, 
 
 Or more than one spoilt heart. 
 
 My Love, she lives in a mansion great, 
 
 And I live in Ragfair ; 
 Yet I can wait — and I can wait; 
 
 And all mankind beware ! 
 
 46 
 
 *" "* "^wpff^^^-^fc. ji 
 
ion 
 
 l! 
 
 It, 
 
 THE DOCTORS OF JACKSONVILLE, 
 
 IT was their trade. No pomp was 
 theirs. 
 No public spoils or honours to be won. 
 Each went not out as he who bears 
 The sword of battle. These died alone. 
 
 Back to earth their forms are laid; 
 Or thrown, uncoffined. No last sacred 
 
 rite 
 Is done. Accustomed to the sight 
 No eyes have wept : few lips have 
 
 prayed. 
 No song is sung o'er them who nursed 
 With stoic brow, and their lot shared 
 When foul contagion loosed its worst — 
 The stricken. Not heroes they who dared 
 To stand when all their fellows fled— 
 "It was their trade" the people said. 
 
 ii 
 
 47 
 
ii; 
 
 This their sole requiem until Heav'n 
 
 cried 
 •* This trade shall last when mortal tools 
 Are rust-choked, and fame laid aside, 
 And lost are all Life's petty social rules ; 
 When War's high heroes have each 
 
 other slain ; 
 When Art and Statecraft warp their 
 
 souls away: 
 Still shall be seen such band Samaritan 
 Plying such deeds of God-like charity.'' 
 
 '' f: 
 
 48 
 
\ 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 WHEN skies are bright, 
 Man's heart is light, 
 And April buds match maiden blushes; 
 Then every swain his love would gain,' 
 Whose dimpled cheek with rapture* 
 flushes. 
 
 When skies are grey, 
 O maiden say 
 
 Is not man's heart an object fickle ? 
 
 Seek not to stop 
 
 The salt tear-drop 
 
 That from your violet eye will trickle. 
 
 When skies are black, 
 
 Man's heart, alack! 
 
 Like a plucked hedge-rose doth wither. 
 
 And Phryne's brow 
 
 Is sombre now 
 
 Her love has fled she knows not whither. 
 
 I Ml 
 
 'fcf ii 
 
 49 
 
\r- 
 
 THE LAND OF THE MAPLE LEAF. 
 
 •'T'WIXT the snows of the North Pole 
 
 X And the heat of the Caribbees, 
 There lies the land I here extol. 
 At East and West two oceans roll ; 
 The half is severed from the whole 
 By a row of Maple trees, 
 A-quivering in the breeze. 
 From Cape Breton to Vancouver's reef 
 The Border surrounds, and limits, and 
 
 bounds, 
 The land of the Maple Leaf. 
 
 There, men's hearts are like the sun ; 
 
 And the maidens all are fair. 
 
 A better clime than that there's none. 
 
 If work, or play, or war '11 be done. 
 
 You'll find the task is first begun 
 
 By a row of Maple trees 
 
 A-quivering in the breeze. 
 
 From Cape Breton to Vancouver's reef 
 
 The Border surrounds, and limits, and 
 
 bounds, 
 The land of the Maple Leaf. 
 
 50 
 

 THEY ALL COULD GO. 
 
 THEY all could go— I scarce would 
 sigh, 
 If you'd remain. 
 
 There is no pang I would not bear. 
 No grief I would not gladly share, 
 I'd smile at any change of sky. 
 If you were by ! 
 
 They best could go-that sad- faced 
 throng 
 
 With puny hearts; m whose cramped 
 
 veins. 
 And these, doth slowly course along 
 The blood, that crawled to us like brine 
 From some ancestor in the northern 
 
 fens — 
 If you were mine. 
 
 5X 
 
f 
 
 e ; 
 
 NOTRE DAME. 
 
 SOMETIMES, when the day draws 
 her mantle around her, 
 And I sit in the shadows with half- 
 closed eyes, 
 From the spire at hand comes a pealing 
 
 of grandeur. 
 The sound of the bells as it mounts to 
 the skies. 
 
 It is not for my ears that it seems to 
 be pealing ; 
 It is not for the folly that fills up the 
 hour ; 
 It is not for the sinner within the 
 Church kneeling; 
 It is not for the minions of lucre 
 and power. 
 
 Some voices are weak, and some souls 
 
 are oft pinioned 
 By chains, which self forges from 
 
 falsehood alone. 
 In vain do some tongues, by ambition 
 
 dominioned, 
 Cry the prayer which shall reach, in its 
 
 strength, to the Throne. 
 
 52 
 
to 
 
 Lo! there in the clouds are shapes 
 
 saintly and smihng ; 
 •Tis to them— 'tis to them that the 
 
 melody pours ! 
 Not for you, O vain world that an hour 
 
 beguiling, 
 
 This echo of penance from Notre 
 Dame soars. 
 
 Peal loudly! ye vespers; thy grand 
 tones are ringing 
 
 The prayers of the few to the saintly 
 array, 
 
 Who, higher and higher, to Paradise 
 winging, 
 
 Are lost in the mist of the white, 
 starry way. 
 
 ! •: 
 
 53 
 
THE RAINBOW. 
 
 A BLACKENED sky, a cloud of dust, 
 A row of shapes in doorways 
 thrust, 
 The rain beats down in savage gust. 
 
 A patter at first, great drops of rain. 
 Sheets upon sheets in ruthless train. 
 Drenched eaves and gushing lane. 
 
 And then a calm; the sky o'erhead 
 Grows less and less the hue of lead; 
 Away in the West is a tint of red. 
 
 And in the East a mist is seen, 
 
 Its middle a column of haziest sheen. 
 
 Blue and yellow, crimson and green. 
 
 It lifts to Heaven its wondrous bow, 
 The tide of light resumes its flow. 
 And slowly fades the arc's bright glow. 
 
 But babes have crooned in rare delight, 
 The toiler's heart has grown more light. 
 Life's task has grown a shade less trite. 
 
 54 
 
ULTRO OBLATUS. 
 
 OARCH disturber of my studious 
 calm, 
 
 Release me from thy coy entwining. 
 I couu thee not, nor need thy balm 
 To soothe a spirit far from pining. 
 
 I court thee not Love ; so heed 
 Where thou thy poisoned shafts are 
 flying: 
 
 Lest thou and not the swain should 
 bleed, 
 And Love so hit be speedy dying. 
 
 S5 
 
r 
 
 I 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 ! 
 
 i 
 
 'in 
 
 A CENTURY of years to-day is 
 heaped upon her grave : 
 The beautiful, the chaste, the noble 
 
 Queen of France. 
 What martyr fair as she in all the wide 
 
 expanse, 
 That is with annals sown or story ever 
 
 gave ? 
 One half so bright — one tithe so brave ? 
 What lesson ever taught of human lust 
 For blood, for power, or all-corroding 
 
 change 
 To equal this? What tale so strange 
 As of a queen flung headless in the dust 
 Because she fearless was, and kept her 
 
 trust ? 
 
 56 
 
DESTINY. 
 
 I NEVER seek beyond to rise 
 Life's vanity and common things, 
 But heaven, for some purpose wise, 
 Puts forth its hand, and clips my wings. 
 
 Once, when I writhed in torr^^^nt fierce; 
 
 Again foiled of my purpose wide; 
 Resolving yet yon clouds to pierce, 
 
 I heard a voice above my pride : 
 
 "Not all the strength ye have in ye, 
 Nor all the strength ye may implore, 
 
 Avails ye aught. 'Tis God's decree: 
 ' Your will, and not your deeds, may 
 sear!*" 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 57 
 
** 
 
 
 i- 
 
 i fi 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 HOW hast thou girded me, London, 
 and jeered at me, 
 Chid me, and tumbled me ? How often 
 
 sneered at me ? 
 How thy thick vapours have darkly 
 
 upreared at me ? 
 How in the night thy dulled moon has 
 
 peered at me ? 
 Was I afraid ? 
 
 No, for I loved thee, grey city, and 
 
 blessed thee; 
 Romped with thee, writ of thee, in gay 
 
 colours dressed thee. 
 Oft hath my fancy, o'erteeming, caressed 
 
 thee ; 
 And to thy bosom once more I have 
 
 pressed me. 
 When I have strayed. 
 
THE LAUREATE. 
 
 HERE is the scroll— dip ye the pen, 
 And write in grief— write, yet in 
 pride, 
 The last name in that minstrel choir: 
 He sang the hopes and deeds of men— 
 And died. 
 
 Sweet, mighty choir — whose tongue 
 
 ascends 
 To drown the din of daily woe. 
 It to our ears seems fuller— higher 
 Than that which sang our worthiest ends 
 Ago. 
 
 Nor shall his fame be less, I ween, 
 Because he trod the ways of grace ; 
 For that he scorned the gilded mire, 
 All Time shall keep his laurels green — 
 All race. 
 
 ^E [| 
 
 59 
 
ISOLE. 
 
 r 
 
 ALL mankind is moving round me, 
 With its restlessness of mind; 
 But Fate's mighty chains have bound me 
 In a prison from my kind. 
 
 Others have their pain and pleasure, 
 Others have their ends to gain ; 
 
 Moving to the world's great measure, 
 I, alone, have only pain. 
 
 Round me, millions, — happy, hoping,— 
 Feel all that Life has to give ! 
 
 In the darkness I am groping, 
 Hardly deeming that I live. 
 
 Is there no one, God, give answer. 
 Who knows solitude like mine ? 
 
 Is it that my soul is denser ? 
 
 Has my heart's blood changed to 
 brine ? 
 
 Heartstrings dulled, no chord respondeth 
 Save to touch of sympathy. 
 
 Surely others like despondeth — 
 Surely some are lone as I ! 
 
 te 
 
 ii * 
 
OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 I STOOD, at eve, in a great clock 
 tower. 
 And gazed at the throng below, 
 Piercing the dusk to the dialled hour. 
 Watching the minutes go. 
 
 And each time that the bell did sound, 
 Far down ir he street below, 
 
 A spirit sped t all around 
 Still watched the minutes go. 
 
 No hand was raised to lift the dead, 
 Nor eye was wet with woe; 
 
 But in the throng he made his bed. 
 Who watched the minutes go. 
 
 I wrung my hands in horror then, 
 
 And cried to those below — 
 " Why gaze ye still, sons of men. 
 
 At the fleeting minutes go? 
 
 " Turn, turn your sight to nobler things. 
 
 Forget this fleeting span! 
 Who counts dull time, life's treasure 
 flings 
 
 From him, a ruined man.*' 
 
 0X 
 
 1 
 
 
 J 
 
 'I 
 
 ( 
 

 They heede* not — ^with glassy eyes 
 Fixed fast, with fevered glow, 
 
 They cast from them the cherished prize, 
 To watch the minutes go. 
 
 62 
 
^ 
 
 WITH THE WORLD. 
 
 LAUGH with the world, old friend; 
 be gay. 
 
 Then seek thy lonely chamber, where 
 Thou may'st ignoble deeds forswear, 
 And there repent a misspent day. 
 
 Lust with the world, be base and small; 
 Then haste thee to the quiet brook. 
 From Nature's pure, reproachful look, 
 
 Learn, thou, thy degradations all. 
 
 Lie with the world, for wealth and fame; 
 
 Then, at thy bedside, hold it right. 
 
 Deem for thy hearth thy actions light, 
 Because it gilds who bear thy name. 
 
 Thus thou may'st sear thy conscience, 
 friend ; 
 
 By slow degrees crush out the spark; 
 And, godless, groping in the dark, 
 Deathward thy lonely journey wend ! 
 
 fl 
 
 I 
 
 63 
 
THE WORLD IS POTENT. 
 
 [I 
 
 THE world is potent when it has 
 offended. Make 
 Of the offender your master, not your 
 
 foe. 
 As master can ne*er slave insult, the 
 
 blow 
 Has little smart when the rod break 
 . Upon the flesh alone. Twould wound 
 the pride 
 Were mankind, as foe, your frail strokes 
 to deride. 
 
 Vassals the quicker learn the secrets of 
 
 the Manse — 
 Ye hold the priceless keys to go and 
 
 come ! 
 Jest when your master jests, speak, or 
 
 be dumb ; 
 Pamper his vain blood, that in his 
 
 heart's expanse. 
 Twill gush there ruddier, in that moment 
 
 blest. 
 When you can plunge the poniard in 
 
 his breast! 
 
 64 
 
il: 
 
 IN THE CLOSET. 
 
 \\r^ are all philosop!.ers profound, 
 V Y And sages deep, inscrutable ; 
 
 Yet. when we move abroad, I'm bound 
 To say we are refutable. 
 
 Within our closet we're magnanimous, 
 Contemnmg deeds uncharitable • 
 
 But there, ye Heavens ! how unan'imous 
 We are m being irritable. 
 
 0, brave and good we are in verity f 
 To the world, still small and asinine. 
 
 Anathema! hence his asperity, 
 Who wails in language saturnine. 
 
 A boon of Fate we ask : to be that 
 What we do seem in solitude. 
 
 Cannot the shallow world but see that 
 We are not what in ioWy viewed ? 
 
 11 
 
 I I 
 
 65 
 
YOUTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHEREFORE let sombre care 
 securely sit, 
 And have a haven, in a growing mind? 
 When Age and sore decrepitude knock 
 
 without, 
 'Twere but in nature both to greet 
 With mien resigned; but sunny youth 
 
 should lock 
 Its gates to a restraint and providence. 
 
 II. 
 
 It is decreed, by powers past our fitful 
 
 ken. 
 That youth must wait for what it seeks. 
 
 The flame, 
 Too early else, might spend itself in 
 
 wanton gl re, 
 Or lumine but a single spot, where else 
 
 its light 
 Would reach, in rays of steady pow'r. 
 All up Parnassus' still-beshadowed slope. 
 
 oo 
 
ii 
 
 LA LUTTE. 
 
 Vy ORE away night's shadows never 
 ^ V Into grey and fitful dawn, 
 But some one, in strong endeavour, 
 On his couch,-with features wan, 
 
 Wan with striving, wan with weeping 
 Heedless of the dark or dole 
 
 Hating the dull world for sleepiW.- 
 Fought a battle with his soul. 
 
 And the day comes dull or glowing. 
 And the warrior, tempest-tossed, 
 
 W>.T^^'^' '""^^ ^^^"^'^ showing, 
 With that battle won or lost 
 
 li 
 
 i\i 
 
 it 
 
 ^' I. 
 If *l 
 
 67 
 
 ft! iil 
 
 I 
 
LOST. 
 
 ORUTH is fair, and fair is her form, 
 And her eyes are a sight to see. 
 Her cheek is soft, and her breast is 
 warm — 
 So like a sylph is she. 
 
 Her cheek is pink, and her throat is 
 white ; 
 And her tresses are flax in hue. 
 Her heart (O her heart) is as black as 
 night ; 
 And her tender eyes are blue. 
 
 Her soul is the dusk of the day of wrath, 
 And her voice is low and sweet. 
 
 Her walk is as straight as a virgin's path, 
 Where once trod her dainty feet. 
 
 Ah, Ruth is fair, and her form is fair, 
 And her face is a sight to see. 
 
 Her cheek is soft as her silken hair, 
 And she is lost to me. 
 
 6S 
 
YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR ROSES. 
 
 \/'0U shall have your roses, sweet. 
 -I Life is your suitor, he'll bring 
 them you 
 (Not for you the struggle and blight : 
 Smiles and kisses and glad sunlight, 
 And the morning dew). 
 
 You shall have your roses, sweet. 
 Love's a gallant, he will choose the best. 
 Not for you the passionate dole, 
 Not for you is the chastened soul 
 And the wild unrest. 
 
 You shall have your roses, sweet. 
 Death's an old beau, he will lay them 
 
 there. 
 Not for you the storms dreary gust, 
 When your cold heart is up-heaped with 
 
 dust 
 You'll be as fair. 
 
 i:l 
 
 69 
 
L'AIR MANQUANT. 
 
 \'\ ■ 
 
 LIKE a lark in its flight empyrean, 
 Her voice rings out through the 
 room ; 
 And she sings of things, as she touches 
 the strings. 
 That scatter away the gloom. 
 
 She trills me the ballad of 
 
 Adair, 
 
 M 
 
 Robin 
 
 And the tropes of the '* Low-backed 
 Car"; 
 Passing fair is the air of " Wapping 
 Old Stair,"— 
 Passing sweet ihe wheezy guitar. 
 
 She runs through the time - cherished 
 melodies. 
 Sweet warbled by lassies of Rye; 
 Yet— unsung by her tongue is the song 
 to have wrung 
 A tear from out mine eye. 
 
 It lies — in my bosom — asleeping, 
 But some day it will wake to the light. 
 
 And the theme of my dream will glisten 
 and gleam 
 Like a radiant star at night. 
 
 70 
 
DESPONDENCY. 
 
 IS not the mind of youth— 
 
 1 When overcast with toil and early 
 
 care — 
 Like to a desert's arid path ? 
 No flowers are or verdure there. 
 
 Is not the goal of Life, 
 
 When won with grief, and misery, and 
 pain. 
 
 Like to a rose midst myriad thorns 
 Which, ghstening, shatters when we 
 gam ? 
 
 n 
 
SMOKING SONG. 
 
 AND when shall a woman come to 
 replace thee ? 
 I have known thee well, I have loved 
 thee long ! 
 When shall a woman come to erase thee ? 
 To blot out tobacco, good liquor, and 
 song. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 For a bottle and pipe, they make a 
 man ripe, — 
 They make a man ripe, stout- 
 hearted, and gay. 
 Then here's to the fellow who loves 
 the weed mellow, 
 And a plague take the woman 
 who leads him astray. 
 
 When shall a lassie seem sweeter and 
 dearer, 
 With a smile and a kiss for a bowl 
 of the weed, 
 A cluster of curls for a mug of Madeira, 
 A prisoner's lot for the life of the 
 freed ? 
 
 7a 
 
fond 
 
 woman ! woman, your 
 It^i alack! O 
 Your snowy white breast, and your 
 deep azure eyne, 
 Will woo us, despite us, from dainty 
 tobacco ; 
 And what, to your charms, is a bumper 
 of wine ? 
 
 ' i: 
 
 73 
 
CHANSON A MARCHER. 
 
 SING the poets, Love divine ; 
 And the tipplers praise their wine 
 To set the pulses beating, and the heart 
 
 strings thrilling through. 
 But these are enervating, momentarily 
 
 elating ; 
 And when the spell is over, pray confess 
 it, ye feel blue. 
 
 Now toast him to the dregs. 
 
 The god who gave us legs; 
 
 For when brooding melancholy comes 
 
 upon us unawares, 
 There is nothing half so bracing 
 As a league or too of pacing, 
 And the surest, best prescription is to 
 
 walk away our cares. 
 
 74 
 
J 1 
 i 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 DREAM on thy dream, nor wake, 
 sweetheart ; 
 The moonlight plays upon thy brow. 
 Soon salt drops from those lids will 
 start, 
 But now, my love, thou smilest now. 
 
 I would not see thee different ; 
 
 The change will come in its due hour. 
 Thy girlish laugh will hollow ring— 
 
 The world will have thee in its pov/er. 
 
 Dream on thy dream: and yet I weep 
 To see thy brow so sweet, so fair. 
 
 A little lapse and Life, not sleep. 
 Will hold its grey dominion there. 
 
 75 
 
NOT ENGLAND^S BENDED KNEE. 
 
 SHALL England stoop and yield her 
 ground, 
 And see the links of race unbound ? 
 Shall yonder Union Jack be furled, 
 And England from her heights be hurled? 
 England stands where England stood : 
 Britons, guard your brotherhood ! 
 And hand to hand, and blood with blood, 
 Face the phalanx of the world! 
 
 All loyal hearts, in every clime, 
 Up ! Drink a toast with me : 
 *'Old England's arm; her bended arm, 
 And not her bended knee!*' 
 
 While Britain rules on land and waves, 
 We will not stoop to truce with slaves. 
 Our fathers' blood was shed in vain. 
 If traitors strike these bonds in twain 
 Wave on, proud flag, by breezes fanned. 
 Wave o'er one Queen, one Heart, one 
 
 Land ! 
 Joined in love shall ever stand 
 All her children in the main. 
 
 76 
 
IF MY HEART HAD WINGS. 
 
 T F my heart had wings it would distant 
 ■*- roam, 
 
 If my love were a dove, it would seek 
 
 its home. 
 Though the winds of the ocean blew 
 
 fierce and shrill, 
 Love ne'er would rest, nor its wings 
 
 grow still; 
 Beauty its compass, and youth its chart 
 If my love were a dove-it would reach 
 
 thy heart! 
 
 What matter the night, were it dark 
 
 and drear? 
 What matter, if I'd wandered far or near? 
 If my love were a dove, and my heart 
 
 had wings, 
 I'd be like the lark that at Paradise sings 
 For an angel to open its portal of gold, 
 And thy bosom my wandering love enfold! 
 
 n 
 
LOVE AND LILACS, 
 
 THE south wind sped from a scented 
 isle, 
 Where Flora fair reposes. 
 Orchids it blew, and jasmine too, 
 
 And breath of tropic roses. 
 It stole upon m}' hufiirrv senpe 
 
 And left me faint iir«d reeling, 
 But ne'er a blosso.m*n odour rare • 
 Unto my heart was stealing. 
 
 O the Lilac's the flower I bring. 
 
 Kissed by the Bee and the Spring. 
 
 In sunshine and rain there comes Love 
 
 m its train, 
 There's magic and youth in the Lilac. 
 
 Upon my ladye's breast there lie 
 
 Sweet lilies in a cluster, 
 And in her hair beyond compare 
 
 Rest tulips full of lustre. 
 But in my ladye's heart there is 
 
 No hedge-rose from the gloaming, 
 A sweeter blossom lovers seek 
 
 When Love he goes a roaming. 
 
d 
 
 1^ 
 
 ANACHRONISTIC. 
 
 MAIDEN fair, O mistress mine, 
 A threadbare lover's dying; 
 Of riches, talent, beauty, none- 
 Only equipped for sighing. 
 
 You'd jostle in the crowded lane. 
 
 He'd dofif his shabby cocked hat. 
 And mistress fair, he'd sue to you 
 
 A scandal you'd be shocked at. 
 
 Yet blithely, too, he'd worship you 
 Without your gold and jewels ; 
 
 Take brave delight in scaling walls. 
 Or fighting lover's duels. 
 
 But maiden fair, no dream so bright 
 But Fate doth love to mock it. 
 
 In Eighteen Eighty Nine am I, 
 While you are— in a locket ! 
 
 79 
 
 ,Ji 
 
A LA BIBLIOTHEQUE. 
 
 NINE strikes the clock and the 
 miner is here, 
 N'er sooner ne'er later this many a year. 
 
 Look how he bends ; see his odd muffled 
 
 throat, 
 His dry, wrinkled cheek, and his 
 
 threadbare coat. 
 
 Out from his pocket he takes his pick, 
 And delves away till his sight grows 
 thick. 
 
 The live-long day he digs and delves 
 At the buried treasure beneath the 
 shelves. 
 
 But n'er a nugget or grain of gold 
 Could the simple pate of the miner hold. 
 
 Often, methinks, when the miner is dead. 
 He'll have books at his coffin and 
 books at his head. 
 
 His clay to a grave of books they'll 
 
 consign, 
 With Liber mortuum writ on his shrine. 
 
 80 
 
 ■ 
 
 MMhM 
 
A 
 
 TO A FRIEND. 
 
 FOOL'S Paradise? Who would 
 not abide, 
 Though Fortune did henceforth nothing 
 
 but chide, 
 In a fool's paradise? 'Tis your fashion 
 
 to scorn 
 At the careless young wit with a future 
 
 forlorn, 
 But the present's his own, and why 
 
 should he fill 
 The little he has with bodings of ill ? 
 If we pondered in Life on the shortness 
 
 of it, 
 On the folly of gilding a globe we 
 
 must quit 
 So quickly, — we scarcely can do more 
 
 than sigh, 
 Laugh, love, weep, in a breath, and 
 
 then die, — 
 We should poison God's air with our 
 
 cynical breath. 
 'Tis best to enjoy — Let's be fools to 
 
 the death ! 
 
 8i 
 
THE SHEHaFF. 
 
 A SHERIFF bode in a Kentish town, 
 -^^ His paunch as full as his H.-^ 
 
 was brown ; 
 Of mighty renown his Cimmerian frown. 
 
 And criniAnals of every kind 
 With fetters he would tightly bind, 
 In cells confined with vermin lined. 
 
 He jingled keys where'er he went. 
 That could be heard all over Kent; 
 His staff him lent a grim portent. ' 
 
 When children heard him on the street, 
 They turned full white as any sheet, 
 And scuttled fleet on shodden feet. 
 
 But in his house, C ;ad to think ! 
 This dreadful man scarce dared to blink, 
 And his frown of ink co the floor .vould 
 sink. 
 
 No more than a mouse his ife him 
 
 feared ; 
 His family, too, at his greatness sneered ; 
 And his babes were reared to pluck at 
 
 his hpar/l ' 
 
 82 
 
 . 
 

 ANAGRAM. 
 (To Clarie.) 
 
 CLEAR thy young brow of parting, 
 grief, and pain; 
 Lo, for the future becks thee with a 
 smik ! 
 
 And if unto these loved ones thou 
 
 iiould'st ne'er again 
 Return: sh brightly thou on them 
 
 awhile 
 In tropic climes. That sun, which, 
 
 rising there 
 E'en softer, will, than here, more fair 
 
 appear ! 
 
 83 
 
PLAIN. 
 
 PLAIN ? you ask. Ned wuz sartinly 
 plain — 
 
 The homeliest man from the coast of 
 Maine 
 
 To the Golden gulf; an' so fur from 
 
 vain, 
 Of vanity Ned hadn't nary a grain. 
 
 "Jest plain" wu^ his motto— all over, I 
 guess ; 
 
 Plain in his manners, an' plain in his 
 dress ! 
 
 *N' plain in his intellect,— quick to 
 confess 
 
 His ignorant "AT^," when another 'd say 
 " Yes." 
 
 One o' the plainest, ol' fashionest kind 
 'At ever I see; generations behind 
 The run o' the settlers you nowadays 
 find. 
 
 Alongside o' Ned, them settlers, they 
 shined ! 
 
 84 
 
He never did nothin' ! This here ain't 
 
 a tale 
 O' the way that Ned made a durn 
 
 villain to quail, 
 Or rescued a gal on the Indian trail, 
 Or give up his life for a comrade frail. 
 
 Yet, if they'd to do, he'd ha' done it 
 
 right 
 In the plainest way, yit with all his 
 
 might. 
 No; Ned wuz called home o' the fever 
 
 one night, 
 'N' we buried his body by a bonfire 
 
 light. 
 
 Jest shuffled off plain, 'thout nary show; 
 "Plain truth," says he, "is: I'm sorry 
 to go ; 
 
 But Him what's aloft will let me, I 
 
 know. 
 Turn down my blame lights in Paradise 
 
 —low:' 
 
 85