GIFT OF CU M CLIY GREENE SAN FRANCISCO. Sept. 5. Clay M. Green, the first American child born in San Francisco and one of the city s most distinguished con tributions to the dramatic arts, died at his home, 113-5 Green Street, to day at the age of 83. Greene, who had been ill for sev eral months following a fall in which he sustained a fractured hip, made his last public appearance at the sixth annual presentation of "The Passion Play of Santa Clara" in April. A graduate of the class of 69, he had written the play when he was at the peak of his form as a dra matist. It was first presented in 1901 and has become a traditional California production. Greene s distinctions in the thea ter were many and varied and reached from San Francisco to Lon don. He was the first Shepherd of the Lamb s Club in New York, the oldest member of the Bohemian Club in San Francisco, and an hon orary member of many other or ganizations. He was still in his teens when he wrote his first play, "Struck Oil" in which Maggie Moore and J. C. Williamson acted all over America. Miss Moore was a native San Fran ciscan and the tour took her to Aus tralia where Williamson remained to establish a theater chain and be come the most important figure in Australian show business. The list of great successes in Greene s output of some seventy- five plays inolttdfcs "M liss," a dram atization of the Bret Harte story which was made for the uses of Annie Pixley; "Chispa," which was written for Marion Elmore; "Sharps and Flats" for Robson and Crane, and "Wang" in which De Wolf Hop per had his success. * It was on a story of Greene s that David Belasco built "The Girl of the Golden West" in which Blanche Bates triumphed. In his lifetime he was an active participant in the theater and age did not dull his in- | terest. As a dramatist, actor, poet, critic and bon vivant Greene was a vivid personality and a prodigious worker. Funeral services have not been announced. Clay M. Greene, 83, Dies; Famous in City s History Voted Playwright One of First White Babes in San Francisco Be fore U. S. Flag Clay Meredith Greene, 83, grand old man of the American theater, one of the first American children born in San Francisco and oldest living member of the Bohemian Hub, died at his home, 1035 Pine street, yesterday, following a pro longed illness. Actor, playwright and critic, au thor of the Santa Clara Passion Play and 75 other stage works, Greene had been bedridden since early last May, when he broke a hip in a fall, his injury barring the possibility of ever regaining the use of his legs. With him at his bedside when he passed away were his wife, his daughter, Mrs. Marion Bryant, and his two grandchildren, Barbara, 11, and Frederick William Bryant, 14. BORN HERE IN 1850 Mr. Greene, who held the distinc tion of being elected shepherd of the Lambs, New York s famous actor group, on 11 different occa sions, was born here March 12, 1850, six months before California was admitted to the Union. His father was Colonel William Greene, presi dent of the city s first Board of Aldermen. NONIN jo Stiyqiou ABS oq^ssaap eqi PUB a.in^Bu ui PABJ^ pue si auo aoj S^BOO q;oq ao; op sauos JO las auo aMBtu QI amigsori aoj 9qj q^ JSAO JBQAV q HIAV xoj 9Uiq aqx -004 puooas B P-IOJJB UBO noA SUTUUHJ PUB u.wo? aq^ qSnojq; A of panunuoo aq HIAV auin^soo auiBs srq; puy JO -SOD PUB siq; jnj aq-} anoA aq HIM PUB ^Bq pa.i B PUB 3J Ut P3J q^lAV 3JOO.IJ 333rd -auo uanooM A ^a.-vou som B A nq i -;s^3 aq^ ui J^UIAV SiiTTrm A ftf -in TT.ii ERSES OF ^ l LOVE SENTIMENT AND FRIENDSHIP BY CLAY M.GREENE PRIVATELY PRINTED SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA 1921 COPYRIGHT, 1921 By CLAY M. GREENE SAN FRANCISCO TO ADOLPH B. SPRECKELS IN GRATEFUL APPRECIATION OF THE FRIENDLY ENCOURAGEMENT THAT INSPIRED THE MAKING OF t J e> THIS BOOK t> *> e> 461989 Clay M.Greene, 81, Fetes Birthday - (.-Hrr: :...., Still young in spirit and active in literary work, Clay M. Greene, play wright and critic, yesterday cele brated his eighty-first birthday and twentieth wedding anniversary at his home, 1135 Green street. The author was congratulated and his work extolled by a host of friends who gathered at the Greene home last night at an impromptu party. Chief speakers were James Swinnerton, president of the Bo hemian Club, and Edward F. O Day, writer. Greene was born March 12, 1850. He has been a member of the Bo hemian Club for fifty-five years and is the author of half a hun dred plays. FOREWORD This collection of varied reminiscences along the devious pathways of a checkered career is published merely because my friends wished it and my vanity yielded ^J^f V^^o -**eSks~*~*-S . ~~3^~U*i^>c>*. o*s\4uZ* ~. c^c. CONTENTS A BASKET OF FLOWERS . A BIRTHDAY SONNET . A FANTASY .... A MEMORY A PARAPHRASE A PROTEST .... A RETROSPECT A REVERIE OF BOHEMIA . A SENTIMENT .... A VISION ..... ABSENCE A FRAGMENT . AD FINEM ADELE AH, PRETTY JANE! ALIBI AN ACROSTIC .... AN ADVENTURE AN ANSWER .... AN AWAKENING . ANTICIPATION AT A BACHELOR S DINNER CIRCE COME, BE THOU MINE! . COMPENSATION . . . CONDOLENCE .... CONFIDENCE .... DISSATISFACTION . ENCHAINED .... FANCY S PROMISE FAREWELL TO A FRIEND . Page 6 9 73 72 40 62 FRIENDSHIP FORGIVENESS ... FULFILLMENT GOODBYE, JOE COYNE! . . . . . GRATITUDE HER .... ..... . IF EVERYONE IN A GIRL S ALBUM IN SYMPATHY INVITATION ... JEALOUSY . LOVE S ANGLING . . . . . . . ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL JO. WHEELER QUATRAIN . . . . . . . . SECRET LOVE . . SEPARATION SENT WITH A BOTTLE OF WINE . . . SHE ......... . SINTA MAZA ..... ... SOMETIMES . . . . . . . . SOME DAY ...... . .. SUZANNE ....... .. SYLVIA ... THE ACTOR . . . . . . . . THE BACKBITERS THE BLOT THE BRIDAL THE BUBBLE THE COMING OF VIRGINIA THE CONVERT Page 3 6 38 84 4 4! 33 49 80 103 6l 95 82 34 12 53 55 68 14 13 42 105 21 89 IO6 17 IOy THE DREAM THE FOUNT OF YOUTH THE GIRLS, THE OTHER GIRL AND THE BOY . THE GROUND-BREAKING 7 THE HONOR ROLL 5 THE REVELATION 24 THE SEASONS 86 THE SIGH OF THE SURF 22 THE SILVER WEDDING 76 THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL IOO THE TRIFLER II THE TRYST-BOWER 75 TIME AND TIDE MUST WAIT 3$ TO A FLIRT 34 TO A LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY 48 TO A LITTLE GIRL 58 TO ALEXANDRA CARLISLE 46 TO A YACHT 43 TO FRANK UNGER 28 TO GEORGE T. BROMLEY .44 TO HENRY WATERSON 8 1 TO I. S. H ... 92 TO VICTOR HERBERT . . . . . . . -JO TOMMY QUINN IOI UNSATISFIED 59 WE TWO 65 WHAT SHALL IT BE? 87 ? ) /ff9t \Aasr , ! (Lenient in AM come from the Spirit of Sweet Content In search of that Golden Fleece That s shorn for the shoulders of Sentiment In the region of perfect peace. I know there are men who are deaf to aught But the sordid demand of pelf; I know there are those who are ever taught That there s nothing worth while but self. I know there are thousands who ve played and lost, Despising the hosts who ve won, And millions dream not as the bridges they ve crossed, Of the risks that the builders have run. Now I hold and believe That the good we receive, The success of brave effort reflects, While the failures that sting, And the fortunes awing Are the fruits of unwitting neglects So why curse the wealth of the wiser than we, When, alike for us all, Nature s treasures are free. II I wandered last night through the fragrant shades Of Bohemia s forest domain, And I searched through the mist of the shadowy glades For a thought that was evil in vain. There was never a sob in the sighing winds That swept through the mighty trees To summon the tear that the vision blinds When we call back old memories. And then, spirit wraiths from the bygone days Led my way through the friendly shades, And spoke but of the gladness that comes of praise In the kinship that never fades. And the tears we have shed For our friends that are dead, Were forgot in that King of Nights, As we wandered along Full of old time song, And old jestings in whispering flights. And those voices of wraiths were as true in tone As the thrill of a soul when its sighings have flown. VERSES OF LOVE, SENTIMENT AND FRIENDSHIP FRIENDSHIP THERE is a chord that beats in every soul With endless melody. Its music thrills The heart of ice; its rhythms can control With graceful cadences life s sorest ills. No pen that man has made can half extol Its priceless worth. The waves of Fate may roll With reckless fierceness on the Sands of Time, Wrecking men s lives on Disappointment s Shoal, Yet, still this chord will twang its song sublime. Tis endless as Eternity, it cannot die; For, when the spark of life has died away, Twill sing in Spiritland its sweet refrain. This song is Friendship, boy, and you and I Must place our souls beneath its mighty sway, That it may sigh concordance twixt us twain. F CONFIDENCE AR better to battle the blows of Fate Than embark on Despair s dark stream; For there s never relief that can come too late Whilst the promise of Faith may gleam. There is never a right but is braver than wrong, Nor a sorrow whose sting can endure so long That the feeblest and frailest may not grow strong If he trust in Illusion s dream. OME, Retrospection, till I lift the veil That shields a checkered life, And woo my memory to many a tale With song and revel rife. Thro disappointment, anguish and despair, And loves grown stale and cold, There shine fair visions far past all compare In Lambdom s merry fold. I wandered and ye opened wide the gates To give me rest within, Where Manhood scorned the malice of the Fates Nor frowned on worldly sin. I prospered and ye placed within my hand The scroll of leadership; I failed, yet still ye gave me fresh command Midst praise of speech and quip. Then sickness, debt. Ye turned not yet away, But made me Friendship s child; Thwarted unrest; Ambition, long astray, Once more my hopes beguiled. Now thro the cloud-rifts gleams my gratitude For ye my dream time s best, And I would on some idle hour intrude, This message from the West. THE HONOR ROLL Charles Frohman, Charles Klein, Lionel Walsh, Ernest Lambart, Norman Tharpe, Walter McCutcheon, Reginald Barlowe, Lewis A. Stone, Earl Metcalfe, William Harrigan, Everett Butterfield, Basil Broadhurst, Robert I. Aitken, John Willard, Oscar Leiser, John Devereux, Robert Warwick. M IDST the music, and the glitter, and the laughter of today, Hold in reverence brave brothers who shall come not here to play. Who amidst the deadly carnage of the seething battle line, Pause between the blinding volleys to their memories entwine With the scenes of Lambs at Gambols midst the plaudits of the fair, That can soften madd ning echoes belched from out the cannon s blare. Some are gone away forever, laid away in honored graves; Some are sleeping that dread silence neath an ocean s cruel waves. Some in pained and fevered day-dreams find their solace midst the gloom, In mind pictures of the homeland, mirrored in a barrack room. [5] There are others, who, responding to the call of chivalry, Are in cheerless tent lines waiting for a summons o er the sea. So, for all of these a heart-throb and an orison I pray, Midst the music, and the glitter, and the laughter of today. FORGIVENESS SAFER the soul that can slights outlive; Stouter the heart that can wrongs forgive; Happier the conscience that buries deep The recollections that made it weep. Evil must fail in the battle with Good; No sin that excuses the shedding of blood; Far better to lighten the burdens of Hate With mercy that s ever inviolate. For Vengeance is ever a sightless thing That sees not the rue in its cruel sting, Nor the certain remorse full of Pity s glow For the bleeding one writhing beneath its blow. [6] THE GROUND-BREAKING To Mr. and Mrs. A. B. Spreckels on the laying of the corner stone of the California Palace of Honor SNG to me, Muse, for I would twang my lyre In tuneful harmony with roundelay, Anent a mother fair, and noble sire, Who gave to History and Fame today What stirred my soul to patriotic fire, And sentiments that never shall away. Upon a height majestic, where the sea Murmured upon the shore its soft refrain, Gathered a city s throng that seemed to be Full of soul-praises for this honored twain, Who reigned in undisputed majesty, O er wealth s great realm of power not won in vain. For power too oft is wielded for the strong; Too oft denies the weak the strength to live. But these two ever sang the soothing song Of Charity, that liveth but to give, And poured from out their store not filled through wrong, Nor leavened by deceit s prerogative. I saw these two honored with reverence, Upon that wondrous height, by those who came To bow in thanks untinged with dull pretense, For that their gift to Memory s fair fame Might live forever, in proud evidence That they revered each fallen hero s name. And when their son turned that first spade of sod, I saw their faces flush with love and pride, That one with rocky path of life untrod, With no hope unfulfilled nor whim denied, Had done his mite for those who rest with God, And who, in spirit, smiled on that hillside. Then when a mother, through a soldier, gave A silken banner unto her I knew, In memory of a son s unnumbered grave, I saw the best a shattered heart could do, To give to her, who held in awe the brave, The starry symbol of fell battle s rue. A nation s gratitude unto this pair, For this vast monument to bravery! A city s love, for that they make more fair That beauteous height beside the sighing sea! And holier, too, for here each mourner s prayer Shall find its solace in fond Memory. COMPENSATION WE BOTH are all wrong," said my loved one to me. Had she thought that if we had been , There d be many a day, With two hearts all astray, And two natures despoiled of delight? Two souls torn apart that were made to be one; Two lives with their hopes all awry; Two minds that have thrilled With hopes unfulfilled, Two passions to languish and die? How oft are we right in this world, O my own, Save in giving our souls what they crave ? Why should hearts that have sighed Have their blisses denied, When despair can be laid in its grave ? Let us ever be wrong, when to hunger is right; Let our secret with each other dwell; If my Heaven must be But to steal you from me, Let me live in our bliss-builded hell. Mi) I OIL w AN ANSWER LOVE ? WHY, know you not that I ve forgot More than you ve known, except in dreaming? That flood of blisses streaming Across life s page without a blot Is better known to me Than ever yours can be. Love! Tis never happy when tis deep, For its today doubts of the morrow, And with the doubts come dread and sorrow That cause the dearest joy to weep, And smiles are only sighs; Know you this love of lies ? Love? Tis never unalloyed and pure, For every throb has had its staining, And known its jealousies so paining To those who seek its tempting lure Of fond caress and kiss. Know you a love like this ? Love! Why, girl of mine, did you but know How this my heart bleeds when it doubts you, And yet would break were it without you, [10] II. You d never wound it so, By smiles on others cast. Is your love half so vast ? Love! There is some power can point the way To love that hath no cloud portending, And bliss that never finds an ending. And it will only come that day When doubts have drowned their strife In two sweet words: My wife! THE TRIFLER A\Y with sighs when we can conjure smiles; Welcome the laughs that scoff the Canter s wiles ! Strew we our pathways ever with the flowers That spring from seeds sown in those midnight hours Midst wine s inspiring showers. This beauteous world is all too full of stress On deeds, and words and aims of soberness. So fill we up our lives with trivial things, Lest seriousness interpose its flings. And clip Good Nature s wings. SECRET LOVE WAS it a sin to love, my love, When none might know of our deep devotion ? When naught but the peeping stars above, And the plaintive sighs of the breeze of ocean Were told of the wealth of our secret love ? Was it a sin when the lonely heart Hungered and sighed for the sweets of affection ? When the fathomless depth of the Love God s art Baffled custom, and form, and forebade reflection, And appealed alone to the passionate heart? Was it a sin when thy lips met mine On that mossy bank neath the moonlit willow? When my sensuous soul was commingled with thine, And thy throbbing breast was my cheek s soft pillow, And thy burning kisses were merged in mine? Was it a sin, love, that wild embrace, That entrancing hour in the throes of passion ? Was it a sin when I covered thy face With the kisses of lust in the old, old fashion, And we tightened, and tightened that wild embrace? [12] There was no sin, O my love, my dove, And what if there were ? Let us revel in sinning, And live in a Heaven of secret love, Prolonging the sweets of that fair beginning, Be lovers till death, O my love, my dove, My darling, my idol, my secret love! SOMETIMES SOMETIMES, when hope seems all but dead, Our minds to bitter words are led; Sometimes the jealous soul s deceived, By thoughts that else were not believed. Sometimes, again, the heart tells lies, To find what often trust denies. But there s another sometime, dearie, When souls doubt not, nor grow aweary. Come this sometime, somewhere, some day, Uniting hearts too long astray. l/r [13] SINTA MAZA The Moving Spirit of The Huckleberry Indians SING to me, O Muse, in that staunch man-song That is sinew and bone of a Friendship strong. That is loyal as light to the dawning of day, That hath wanderings long which go never astray Like the amorous sighings of youth. But are stronger and firmer as years roll on, With nothing but man-lore to dwell upon, With hearts that can thrill with the might of men, And souls all aflame to inspire the pen That is dipped in the ink of truth. Those only can share in this song with me, Who ve quaffed of its strains on a mimic sea Which bears on its bosom a rock-bound isle, All astir with the hearts that know only the guile Of a good pal in search of another. Where there is no voice but s attuned to glee, And never a soul but hath seemed to me To throb like the pulse of a thing of might, And shout but the peans of wild delight That come with a new-found brother. Afar, midst the throngs of a stranger land, I ve dreamed of the feasts of this brother band, And seen in the visions that thralled me then, A promise that soon it must come again, And bid sluggish veins awaken [14] ry/ To pleasures that spring from the friendly seed Which those only sow who are dead to greed; Who ve builded their revels from stones of youth, And sealed every soul with a bond of truth That Time hath not moved nor shaken. To the infinite joy of this winter s night Hath an exile returned and his heart is light; For it giveth a promise of joy to me, When the summer hath wakened that slumbering sea, With the bloom of long days of revel. And I read in the faces that smile on mine, And hear from warm lips that are moistened in wine, The welcome to be on that wonderful isle, Where there s nothing but play and the welcoming smile That scorneth both fame and the devil. Ye never shall know of the meaning to one Who was clinging to life that was all but done, To be bidden so oft to those merry times On that Island of Revel where manhood rhymes With the palpitant hearts of friends. For there never was one but the lesson has taught, That the burden of years which our fates have wrought, Can be lightened anew with the youthtime thrills, And the strengthening balm of the cup that fills With a man-love that never ends. [is] But alas! there were those of that magical isle, Who will greet me no more with the hand-clasp and smile That were wont to make stronger the thrills of a day, Driving all of the clouds of misfortune away. And leaving me youthful again. So, memory s thrall shall be always there, And keep ever its spirit smiles everywhere, To gladden the hearts of the gladsome throng, And leaven their cups with wine that s strong As the passions of manly men. Now my heart close to your hearts would nestle alway; My thoughts and my pen shall be lured into play, So that what I have learned may be given to you, For I wot of no band that s so loyal and true, Be your orgies as deep as they may. My trust and my manhood I ll barter for yours, For I know that your hearts are aglow with the lures That bring to the weary that comfort and rest Of a life that but lives for the joys that are best, And the thrills that die not in a day. Let me pledge ye this toast, merry tribesmen of mine! Drown the sighs for the sleeping in flagons of wine, And drink to that wakening certain to be, When we revel no more on that isle by the sea, And are met on Eternity s shore: [16] BWTS To the well cherished dead we ve entrusted to God; To the brothers He touched with his chastening rod, That some might be spared for our revelling nights. And the summer days wedded to strong man s delights And Friendships to live evermore. THE BLOT A JEM hast thou in brilliant mind Whose radiance floodeth far and wide; Thou rt beautiful, and rich, and kind, And Charity hast ne er denied. Thou hast a lustrous, melting glance Whose magic fire drives doubt away; Thou rules t with sweet arrogance, And gather hordes, proud of thy sway. Ah, thou st an hundred charms, and still Each one is tarnished by a blot. Sincerity s majestic thrill, Mightiest of all, thou hast forgot. [17] A REVERIE OF BOHEMIA HERE in my study, looking o er The broad Atlantic s gleam, Lit by the silver summer moon, I sit alone and dream. An hundred voices raised in song, Entrance the bustling strand, And pairs of lovers glide along Like spectres hand in hand. Whilst many a pleasure, freighted shell Floats o er the silent deep, Lulled by inspiring music s spell I seek the peace of sleep. And in that sleep not scenes gone by, But those that be today, I see beneath my native sky, Three thousand miles away. Fanned by the soft Pacific breeze In California s clime, I stand beneath her giant trees Majestical, sublime. The very linnets pipe again That cheered my boyhood s ear; It is the selfsame wood and fen That memory brings me here! [18] O mighty forest of the West, O sighing spires of God ! grand Cathedral, full of rest, O flower-bejewelled sod! My spirit wanders forth to ye, And present in my dream, Are shifting scenes of mirth and glee, And revel s tireless stream ! In thy vast chancel poets sing Of Friendships firm and true; 1 hear enfeebled voices ring With manhood come anew. And songs in cadence low and soft, And songs that swell with mirth, Float through thy columns and aloft, To cheer the God of Earth ! An hundred spirits, brothers all, Are gathered at thy shrine, To sing in praise of absent ones, And pledge their healths in wine. Then are the voices hushed in sleep; Stilled are the sounds of glee, And back my spirit comes to weep That dreams can never be. [19] ANTICIPATION A.ITTLE longer, love, and I am thine! Ah, let me linger yet a little while. In this sweet dream of fond anticipation, Be patient soon thou shalt be mine, all mine, And I would these my last free hours beguile With blest expectancy of fascination. I ll lay me down and ask, can this be true; I ll ponder o er your burning pledge of love Exchanged for mine when we were lovers dreaming. I ll live our blissful trystings all anew, And, gazing in the jewelled vault above, Dream that deep into mine thine eyes are beaming. And when my muse bids me to dream no more, And I begin to crave the tempting truth, Then will my passion-secrets, self-revealing, Become thine own to love thee o er and o er, And yield the loyalty of pulsing youth, With sweet resignment, not one thought concealing. [20] SYLVIA WE LOVED each other once, fair dove, So deep, that we were held in sway By what did seem the maddest love That ever led two souls astray. We sailed afar across the blue Wafted by passion-freighted wind; We read each other s thinkings through, And left all earthly cares behind. We lingered long on every kiss, And sighed, and nestled face to face, And knew that all there was of bliss Was centered in each wild embrace. You married. But I lingered still With trysts that our two loves begot, And every dream awoke the thrill Of youth-love that is ne er forgot. And then you wrote that we must meet As friends; we d been too long apart. Ah, temptress ! Once more at your feet I lay my all;forgiving heart. Friends ? No ! The gods that rule above Created love for such as I, And, living in our world of love, We ll dream, and kiss, and kissing die! [21] THE SIGH OF THE SURF ROLLING, rolling, rolling, In from the boundless deep, Freighted with mighty secrets Entrusted me to keep. Bearing upon my bosom Shadows of many a past, Yet can no human read me, History deep and vast. Rolling, rolling, rolling, Oft in the twilight gray- Pass I the scores of maidens Gamboling in my spray. Listening, I hear them prating, Each of some lover bold; Revealing sinful secrets That never should be told. Rolling, rolling, rolling, On to the glist ning strand, Pass I two dripping sinners Standing hand in hand. No room to pass between them, But, circling them, I found That both were secret lovers Treading forbidden ground. Rolling, rolling, rolling, I splash another pair, [22] * unw *^N I/T And clouds of strife and passion Have darkened faces fair. Hers for the curt refusal Of a fretful woman s whim; His, that she d cast on others The smiles denied to him. Rolling, rolling, rolling, Hear I the gossips say How, nearly all about me In something is astray. Strange, too, they are mostly women Who ill of woman speak; And, bitterest among them, Those who themselves are weak. Rolling, rolling, rolling, My ever-changing tide Thinks of its earthly mission And nothing else beside. Whilst thou, O world, unkindly, For thoughts of gain or pelf, Lay bare the faults of others, Unmindful of thyself. 5f THE REVELATION Ah, dearest one! IF, in the silence of those mystic hours When conscience holds communion with the soul, and woos the heart to pity, You d pause awhile and wrest from fate its secret, hid so long, Perhaps another heart you lured from where it wandered, Might learn to know why she has been so pitiless; Why it has loved, and loved, and loved so much, That other loves, once truly deep, are all forgotten, Even although those loves were happy ones, And this is not. Ah, dearie mine! Mistake me not, when I confess that in this love, So deep, that if I knew I d never look upon your face again, I d love you none the less; So deep that even memories of other loves are dead as flowers that winter s blasts have withered, I have found all but peace. As widowed ones love on thro years of endless wooing, And love the dead that once have made them happy. Ay, all but peace! And this I never knew from that enthralling hour when first my love was born, [24] Till now when it is fierce as fire and deep as are the boundless heavens. Who lures a love like this Should yield unto that love more than a mere share of love returned. And yet, two loves that loved, two other loves betraying, Perhaps should bear the sting of loving when the world may never smile upon it, And let its secret slumber until the fate I spoke of wakens it To that one blest existence that brings peace to love. So, sweet beloved! Kiss we our kisses that are lies to all but us ! Live we in those embraces that are mysteries save to you and me, And, if some other love must still endure to blemish its perfection, Live we two on until that one other fade away, Or Hymen bind us two in one. But be it only one. Let there be never semblance of another love, Nor even woman s dearest pastime born of coquetry. For my poor heart doth hurt enough already, And I do love you so, I love you so! [25] m THE GIRLS, THE OTHER GIRL AND THE BOY "^HESE do I covet far beyond All other earthly things I know; For every thought that s pure and fond, Seems builded on the endless glow Of blessed peace that comes to me, Wherever they may chance to be. These do I love a thousand times More deeply than all other loves. My heart with theirs beats tuneful rhymes Of endless melody that proves How Fate was kindless in that she Reserved them not for only me. This have I hope for that is fair Above an hundred springtime gleams; And if but Destiny be fair, Or God be just, then shall the dreams I dream of them all truthful be, And find fulfillment sweet thro me. The girls and boy were then a tide Upon ambition s mimic ocean; The boy became his nation s pride, The girls enslaved by that devotion Which even tenderer can be, Than the deep love they won from me. [26] <L~: Then, were the other one alone, Of girls and boy by love bereft. But I would place her on the throne Hope builded for the last one left. Again the blessed first to be, For them, for faith, for love, for me. ADELE GOLDEN hairs have turned to silver Since we parted, you and I ; But the years have not been sad ones As they slowly glided by. For a face was ever near me In my musings and my dreams; Giving life to things of fancy, Wreathing care with golden gleams. Thine the face that lingered near me Since the moment that we met; This the only cloud that haunts me: Hast thou learned how to forget? *y J ^ \V f*^ ) JJ TO FRANK UNGER On hearing of his fotal illness AST night I lay upon a couch amid peaceful atmospheres that were full of messengers from out of the past. My head was pillowed on fragrant flowers of memory. The coverlet whereon I lay was cushioned with soft fabrics fresh from the looms of friendship. Into the warp and woof of it there were strands of recollection, threaded in graceful knottings to the tales of many loves. These glistened under the soft lights from the atmospheres above them, and, as if by some magic unbelievable, they sang into my soul a sweet refrain which told me that no memory was dead. In my soft musing I lived again each of the memories here spread before me. They seemed as clear and vivid as though they had grown into being only yesterday. Some of the loves were sweet, and thrilled my veins with the same throbs that came at their birth. [28] Some were idle and flitting as the lives of hive drones, and their footprints upon the path ways of time were just as valueless. Some were blind and foolish, and I sighed to remember that they had ever been at all. But there was one that outshone all the others, and had grown stronger and deeper amid the sunshines and disappointments, the shadows and the unfulfillments of the years. So, too, it was with the friendships that peopled this filmy thought-dream of memory. Some were strong and true; instinct with the brawn and muscle of big manhood. Some came and went, now as in the past, and, leaving, wrote upon my soul the truth that selfishness had created them. Many, just as some of the loves had been, it were best they had never sprung into ephemeral soullessness. But one of them, like that love which never passed out of my life, shone brightly, resplendently above them all. In his face there shone the soft light of a woman s soul, yet in his hand was the firm grasp of a giant. [29] V* > % On his lips there never trembled the words of blasphemy, and his soul was as free from evil as the kiss of the godly from sensuousness. Yet he was man in every fibre, and his every heart-beat kept stalwart harmony with those of manly men. Now as I gloried that I had builded this friendship about my soul in walls of flint, there came a message writ by a friend almost as true as he. He was sick unto death and I could not fly to him. His head was heavy and my hand was helpless to raise it. His lips were parched and I could not give them drink. His hours were lonely, yet I could not be there to people them with merry beings from out that bustling world of hallowed memory. If I were only there I could make him laugh or weep at will. If I were there I could make him to forget that there was such a thing as pain, with that unerring balm that comes with man-love for man-love. God of the good and the evil, the just and the unrighteous, give me to feel that this exile be not eternal. [30] X c ^r /W -&im Give me to say what only I could say and bring us both contentment. Shone there then, strong through those atmos pheres above my couch, a shining star that broke the silence with my shout of joy. Its name, O friend, was Hope Fulfilled! O beloved pal of mine, that star bids me hope. We shall again foregather with the best; be merry with song and drunken with wine, then give unto all to know that only you and I were perfect friends. ******** Weeks then of silence and foreboding, and when I sought my couch again, lo! the Star of Hope was dull and darkened. The atmospheres above it were heavy with the clouds of doom, and out of them poured rains of tears. Flashed on the wires came then the message to say the end had come, that Hope Fulfilled had lied again, that my friend was dead. The voice that had sung a thousand songs of love and friendship was hushed forever! Nature s tears of rain and dew fall from the giant trees he loved, for he was Nature s son. She loved him as he loved her, for he was loyal to her as she to her best beloved. The heart that had sown the seeds of an hundred fond affections can beat no more, but its throbs shall live in the memories of those who cherished them and loved them, as doth the flowers their morning dew. The fingers that have strummed through days and nights, sweet strains of melody from home and stranger lands, are stiff and cold, but who shall say that they are not graven upon the ears of those who listened ? Yea, my one friend that was perfect, is dead! Gentle hands laid him to rest beneath the skies he loved best, and the sweet songs of Christian and Pagan united in requiems for him. These words George Sterling wrote and read above his bier, and I who knew him best of any man can say amen, sweet friend, farewell until we meet again! "A voice is mute, that had no word of hate, And one gone forth who shall not come again; A comrade true, a friend compassionate, Tender and true, a soul without a stain." cl: [32] IF EVERYONE IF EVERYONE meant all that everyone says, What a dreary old world this would be! If everyone knew all of everyone s ways, Why, everyone always would be in a haze Of doubt and distrust, don t you see? If everyone knew all in everyone s mind, What a life this would be of distress ! If everyone were not a little bit blind, Why, no one could be unto anyone kind, Nor hold him in blessed duress. If everyone tore away everyone s mask, What a sorry awakening, dear! If everyone worried thro everyone s task, Why, no one would dare aught of anyone ask, For doubt is the nestling of fear. If everyone were but to everything true, Why, there d never be need of a lie; If everyone everyone s faults could undo, Then everyone s kiss would drown everyone s rue, And all the world s sorrows defy. I [33] GLft n. TO A FLIRT I HAVE wondered, oh, so often, in these wanderings of mine, If there really be a woman with the vaunted truth of wine. With a heart not tired of loving, and a conscience all revealed, And a soul that s never praying for its evils to be healed. I have wondered, oh, so often why it never yet could be That the kiss of her I love most hath not always been forme; That there s always been some chasm for my path of bliss to span, And the last most cherished idol s mindful of some other man. x. (! QUATRAIN ABLOSOMS love the sun, as stars the night, Old age peace undisturbed and youth delight; As pain loves balms that heal, and sighings glee, And sorrows laughter, sweet, so love I thee. [34] TIME AND TIDE MUST WAIT AN ALLEGORY Characters TIME TIDE MYSELF TIME ( To me) Come, come, you loiter. Art not satisfied? MYSELF No, something s lacking. I appeal to Tide. TIDE My heart s with his. Like me it comes and goes, And life to him, like mine s, all ebbs and flows. TIME That moves me not. Flotsam and Jetsam, too, Were his to search. MYSELF But all my lifetime through, Hath neither brought me what my star foretold. Hopes were destroyed; searched I in vain for gold; Those that I loved best died, Ambition, too. And well-aimed purposes all went askew. Give me to try again. TIME Not young enough. Success awaits but those of sterner stuff. ^"D [35] Your day is nigh. Remember Time and Tide Wait for no man. TIDE That I have denied. As far as I m concerned, I ll flow tonight And ebb again tomorrow. Now we two Appear to go together. Play dice with Fate ? TIME What wouldst do? TIDE Ay, life is but a toss; Man wins, he loses, but there is no loss Ambition can t regain. TIME But his is dead. MYSELF True, the ambition that to greatness led, But there s another dearer far to me. TIME What is it? MYSELF I would have my life set free From ogres that have clouded it with doubt; [36] Worms that have gnawed my heart within, without. There are destroying evils I d dispel, To make a Paradise of what is hell. TIME You mean the world? MYSELF Of course. TIME You made it so. MYSELF That s true enough, but listen: There s no woe But there s a joy to heal it. There s no sorrow Without the laugh to dry its tears. Tomorrow Hath good to down the evil of today. Not young enough ? Leave that for one to say If such there be alive who hath the power To cause me to forget that dark ning hour When once again I loved to find I d erred; I d breathed a prayer that but a wanton heard, And led me into hells of doubt. She lives ! As there s a God who mortal sin forgives, So must there be some power, Time, to decree That what Fate hath denied my destiny Is mine to win. TIME Thou art in love again ? [37] MYSELF I am afraid so, but, like other men, Terred in that too. I shall err no more. TIME And is your heart still young? MYSELF Yea, to the core. TIME Then luck attend you. I will wait with Tide, For hearts that hunger should not be denied. (Exeunt.) FULFILLMENT Is THERE a woman to adore, Even though truth be dead ? Beats there a heart to drown the score Of loves forgot and fled? If such exist, lead me, O Fate, To her, and bid me cast Aside all memory; the mate I ve sought were found at last ! [38] A PROTEST AITTLE more of faith That breeds no wraith, A little more of courage from her soul; A little more of bliss Born of her kiss, And I shall soon have reached Ambition s goal, For twould seem hardly just That loves can rust In cruel separation s bitter gall, When only one command, One trustful hand, Could place us two neath Love s eternal thrall. Justice indeed is blind, And Faith unkind, If soulless ones can laugh when lovers weep; If those who live through sin Can proudly win, While for the blameless ones Hope lies asleep. O God who rules above! W 7 ho counselled love, Why grant success to those of pelf and lust, W r hen mated ones, apart, Bleeding of heart, Have nothing for their travail and their trust? [39] ,"> ^ <-</ ^(^ s Jj 1K^ ^1 i/lfrv /T^ \\ A MEMORY IN AWESOME thrill, thrice met mine eyes her own; Thrice touched my fingers hers, then passed away Life s fairest vision into memory. Then comes back retrospection, for I see Again the face that thrilled my soul one day, Lit by the fairest eyes that ever shone! Our lips are wide apart as earth from sun; Our hopes forefend a kindred recompense, Still am I thrilled, musing again on her, Picturing blissful hours that never were, And then, misleading reason, fact and sense, Paint me a stream of bliss that cannot run. Men live to die, hopes come to be dispelled; Dynasties fade away and nations fall. But this soul-dream of mine, scornful of these, Buildeth its fabrics, airy as the breeze Of summer s morn, and grieveth not at all For that her hand may ne er in mine be held. Strange art thou not, O love that hath no wound; That needs no kiss to seal thy bond of faith, Nor a caress to drive mistrust away? Yet thou rt as true as is the night to day; Without a longing, fearing, pang or wraith, For thou rt a grail that was not sought nor found. [40] f\ ] Thou shalt endure, strange love, while yet we live, Albeit she nor I may never know What each doth of the other feel or care, Yet thou rt a love as potent as thou rt rare; Thou know st no envious pang nor jealous flow, Hath nothing to forget, none to forgive. HER THERE is no thought of mine For things that were; There is no dream divine But is of her. There is no other kiss My soul can stir; There is no dream of bliss But is of her. Close in her arms I lay, My soul awhir; My sighings are astray Whene er with her. Staunch as the rugged pine, Or graceful fir; Make her, Gods, ever mine, Give me to her! [41] rr SOME DAY SOME day it will come, The loving with believing; When she will rest Upon a breast That she fears is deceiving. Some day it will come: The trusting with devotion; The ins and outs Of burning doubts, Now baffling true devotion. Some day it will come: When but one voice will call me; And only she Will come to me To hold me and enthrall me. Some day it will come, With all its thousand blisses, Its ripened hours Now only flowers Of thrills, and throbs, and kisses. Some day it will come, When days are years without me; I ll patient be If only she Will learn no more to doubt me. [42] TO A YACHT f } /**& \j\ M%*Jnt PROPHETIC name thou surely hast, Fair Goddess of the summer sea; From keel to truck thy lot is cast, Good Fortune s sprite to ever be. Fond fantasies of cheer thou lt bear To balmy shores where Revel s king; Decks manned by all who scoff at Care, Thy cabins freighted by the ring Of laugh and song, The whole day long, Fortuna! Ah, not alone thy name portends Thy never failing wealth of bliss; Thy destiny is one that ends But with the chill of Time s last kiss. For once thy pleasure cruises o er, Then shall thy merry mission cease; But Fortune blessed thee with the store Of Friendship, revel, rest and peace, That shall be thine While stars can shine Fortuna! [43] ft \^ TO GEORGE T. BROMLEY On his Eighty-fourth Birthday THRO years that never aught but manly lustre shed, He whom we feast today has laughed at Time, And, with the reaper in his hand, lopped off the head Of each conspirer gainst the bond sublime That seals man s heart to man s. Thro days, and nights, and weeks, and months of merry years, That rugged heart of his has only beat For Friendship and for Friendship s cause, nor sighs nor tears Have stilled its endless flow of nature sweet, That held Bohemia s clans. Thro countless revels that were big with song and wit, His voice rang out, the blithest of the best; His tongue framed words as sage as Plato s greatness writ, His soul enlisted to an endless quest For natures lost to joy. On every atmosphere he breathed the life of cheer Wreathed all in smiles. Men loved him better far Than ever woman loved her lord. For none sincere As Friend-love, which no jealous lust can mar, Nor passion s thrill alloy. [44] Thro orgies that have youthful vigors drowned in wine, And strong man s wits transformed to tongueless things, His wine-proof mind, as though controlled by hands divine, Poured thro his lips as smoothly as on wings His quips of jest and song. Then, when the nascent day dethroned the waning night, And glared on Kings of Revelry laid low, This King of Kings reigned, sleepless victor of the fight, And wit and song rang still in joyous flow, All thro the whole night long. Thus, thro these merry years from one to eighty- four, This good old man hath lived without a foe, Save him who laughs at Friendship s care destroy ing lore, Or closes mind and ear its thrill to know, Or rails at all emotion. And thro the coming years, please God, a score at least, Let us each natal day in revel meet; Unite our merry souls with his in drunken feast, And, till the next, his joys be full and sweet, And boundless as the ocean. [45] TO ALEXANDRA CARLISLE COULD I but crown thee beauty s best, Then were its dearest diadem Already thine. Now doth the quest For womanhood s most radiant gem Find in thy glance the peaceful tide Of thrall forever satisfied. When Nature, bountiful, bequeathed The mirrored splendors of her spell Upon her chosen queen, she wreathed Its flowers on thee; ringing the knell Of vaunted rivals, in an age When beauty rules the mimic stage. Now dost thou rule with matchless grace While dignity vies with thy art, To limn the glory of a face Bright with the glow from woman s heart, And who doth win that heart ? Ah me ! That worthless man so blest can be! Time was, when in the crowded stalls I echoed plaudits of a throng That, fettered by a woman s thralls, Crowned her with admiration s song; Enthroned her queen of beauty, then Enchained the memories of men. : - [46] Then earnest thou, and harking back Far in the maze of Memory s mist, There stood another in the track Of her once by perfection kissed. I woke, I thrilled, I knew that then The faultless Neilson lived again. AH, PRETTY JANE! A, pretty Jane, ah, pretty Jane! I fear I ve loved thee all in vain. I fear thy heart knows no pulsation Responsive to my fascination. And often I have had a thought While struggling with this wild unrest, That my fond love, although unsought, Deserveth not thy flippant jest. Ah, pretty Jane, ah, pretty Jane! Doth there no hope for me remain? Come! Be thou frank and all confiding; Tis time my fate thou wert deciding; Whate er it be, I promise this: To love thee though my heart thou lt sever, And, dreaming of a phantom bliss, Rest happy in that dream forever! J [47] m TO A LADY ON HER BIRTHDAY A GLEAM of sunshine came one day Z\ Suffused a home with light, ^ And on its golden bosom lay A jewel brought from far away Enrobed in pink and white. O bounteous sun ! O day benign That gave that priceless gem For gentle hands to intertwine Midst other pearls of rare design In a mother s diadem! *\ A^Ck. Twas but a day mongst other days, For often, o er and o er, The same sun s joy-encumbered rays To happy homes brought songs of praise. Such gems were made before, But this day to one loving breast Was fairest of its kind: This jewel was of all the best The guerdon of a lover s quest By hope and faith designed. The day came every year again, Sometimes brought with it tears, And then the sun shot shafts of pain, Like cruel, blinding floods of rain, To drown the hopes of years. [48] Dead? No! A lover true and bold Brought to the jewel rest, And offered peace and love untold, Then showered it with affection s gold And pinned it on his breast. No day now but is bright and fair, The sun sheds only light, And bears no shadow on his brow, The jewel beams upon us now, And cheers our hearts tonight. That day, sweet friend ? It gave you birth. The sun ? Devotion true. The lover? Fie whose manly worth Made you most blest of all the earth. The jewel? It was you. IN A GIRL S ALBUM TF THY maturity the sweet charm brings Which now so nobly ornaments thy youth, Thou wilt be worthy to be sought by kings, A very queen of womanhood and truth. And when that day has come, I hope to see The consummation of my fancy s whirl: The little friend, admired at Sunapee, As grand a woman as she was a girl. [49] AT A BACHELOR S DINNER Given to William F. Humphrey THERE S power in criticism made in fun, And who d condemn equivocation s jest? But neither criticism, joke, nor pun Has ever gotten " underneath the vest." For there equivocation s heart s concealed; Into its depths no flippancies intrude, And there cheap wit sleeps, ever unrevealed, Beneath the throbs of Friendship s gratitude. We write what we are told to write sometimes, And think what we are asked to think, because Incisive prodding is best done in rhymes, And there s some glory in amused applause. But in the dignity of Friendship s call There tolls the knell of Ribbald s epitaph, And I were rather dumb beneath its thrall, Than moved to noise impelled by Humor s laugh. So whispers Conscience to my heart tonight, When bidden to this merry feast of friends Foregathered in the strength of Manhood s might To further seal the bond that never ends, But is as boundless as the round of Time; Sealed unto trust inspired by Fealty s word; And so, I ever keep in tuneful chime Sweet Memory s cadence by affection stirred. [So] f /r sy^r^ t He whom we honor here with manly lust To show what loyalty can do or feel, Was chosen for his seat of power and trust, Where he might Wisdom s plentitudes reveal. And I have chosen him to stand supreme Amidst the memories that cannot fade, For when tired effort languished in a dream He spake the words from which sweet hope was made. And even though that hope were not fulfilled For hopes are vaunting things oft leaped in vain,- I ll not forget keen disappointment killed When he awoke ambition once again. I d not these cumbrous platitudes impart To merry minds, foregathered but to jest, Save that I d voice what s in a grateful heart, For that he sowed new courage in my breast. He softened age, brought smiles into its home; Now I would spread that heart with Friendship s pen Upon the pages of fond Memory s tome Where are remembered only worthy men. Now let me laugh with you, and drink with you Till I be drunken with inspiring wine; Stand unabashed on Revel s brink with you, Where Cant s unmasked and only Truth may shine! V* > Where envy can forget the greeds of Trade, And thro whose hazards only truth were won; For here are only friend-communions made, So now, a toast to Bill, and I am done; Live he as long as Worth and Wisdom live; Be there no lull in Fortune s winning strife; Come there no wrong that he cannot forgive, And find he woman good enough to wife! ABSENCE A Fragment THERE S a chill in the heart when we say good-bye, And a palpitant throb of pain; There s a hungering soul, and a lonesome sigh When we look for the face in vain, That has beamed with delights Thro the days and the nigRts, And yet, never a day nor a night can die, For in absence we live them again. [52] 1 It WILD as a lion in leash I sighed for freedom, So burst my duty s bonds that held me fast, And, with a bound, stood in the world again With naught to stay me. There within my sight The beck ning summits of the city s hills Dared me to mount their sunny battlements, And with a laugh I bounded at their gage. O hallowed God of earth ! How all my soul Throbbed then to know that I was free again To hold communing with myself alone ! How every nerve thrilled new to know that I Was for a time to scape the palling gloom That hung about a chamber wooed by death ! Now should the memory of sweeter things, The tuneful thoughts of an unbridled mind, Lull me to day-dreams long since strangers to me, But ah ! No thought save one, no face save one, No dreams save one, and all of her Appeared to light my freedom s fantasy. For every sun ray seemed to be her eyes, And in the sun itself I saw her face. The gentle breeze that sang down from the sea Fell on my cheek and seemed to be her kiss. Alone I walked and yet was not alone, For everywhere there seemed a voice from her To cheer my loneliness, and in my soul Inspire the thought that she was at my side. [53] Then, when my feet grew sore I sat me down And once again revealed my soul to her. "Loved one of mine," I said, "again, again, And yet again, let me declare to you That, till the day I told you of my love, No other woman e er was loved before ! Until that madd ning hour when first I held You close against my heart and burned your cheek With that first kiss of passion long asleep, No man or woman knew what passion meant. And in the days that ripened into months, And through the months that broadened into years, That love and passion grew, and grew, and grew, Until it seemed that we must conjure death To waft us into undiscovered worlds Which teach of other passions, other loves." "I love your hair, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips, Your ears, your throat, your shoulders and your breasts, And oft, to prove the ardor of my love, My lips have pressed them all a thousand times! And I do know I wasted not my passion, For all these kisses I have had from you, Upon my body, every one in kind. If there were times when, in my jealous rage, I hurled against you words to cut and wound, [54] mrW- They only proved the ardor of my love, And passions that were grandest when they stung. ******* A steeple clock rang out the evening hour, So I kissed back the soft caressing breeze, Then came again into my saddened home. But it was fairer, sweeter, brighter now; For Fd brought with me from the city s hills The spirit presence of my absent love. SENT WITH A BOTTLE OF WINE TGETHER we sipped at the wine one day, ^e chatted and trifled the hours away, But you never knew As we revelled them through, That something was stealing my something away. Ah, was there a spell that was subtle and fine, A charm that was hid in that bottle of wine? Or was it your smile That was heavy with guile: The something a-stealing my something away ? Your blessing bestow on the tribute I send, And let it all manner of somethings portend. Something like unto bliss, Something sealed with a kiss, Be it something to cause all my somethings to end. [55] j I DREAMED of you last night, Ah, such a dream! Bright visions of delight Enslaved my wond ring sight, And it did seem I held a velvet hand, And glided through Some rapture-laden land Whose joys I could command If there with you. For you and I were there. Fond lovers we; We wandered everywhere, And pictured fancies rare Of ecstacy. The hours grew into days, The days to nights, And we thrilled through a maze Of love s ten thousand ways To lure delights. Then I awoke and sighed That phantoms lie, And leave naught else beside An ever-shifting tide Of memory. [56] !il ^^ This dream must never die, But live anew; Have I the faintest gleam Of hope to live the dream I dreamed of you? AN AWAKENING SPEAK to me, conscience, leave no truth untold, For if I love her not, then would I know Why all my lifetime s wraiths have turned to gold; Why day and night is one sweet, sighless flow Of fond delirium; why full of glow This blood of mine, but yesterday so cold, That every heart throb seemed a sigh of woe. My conscience answers not my heart s too bold. Nay, then, I know that silence e er consents. Mind, to thy work! Brain, hasten thou to prove That, all else dead, twill be enduring still: This mad wild passion that s the reverence, The all in all of an eternal love, That time, nor law, nor fate can ever kill. [57] TO A LITTLE GIRL I WONDER why, sweet little girlie. That when we meet I seem to see A something midst life s hurly-burly That draws you very close to me. I wonder why your eyes are bluer Than any little girl s I know; Why every glance of them is truer Than all I see where er I go. I wonder why you find me staring At eyes, and face, and sunny smile, And longing that I might be sharing The love you re shedding all the while* I know, sweet one, for I remember A little girlie just like you, Who promised for my life s December All of the loves sires ever knew. She is an angel now in Heaven, And that s so many far-aways ! But there s not one day out of seven But back to me her spirit strays. And only yesterday while dreaming Of what she was, you smiled on me, And through your eyes that spirit streaming Recalled what once she used to be. [58] JM And that is why, sweet little girlie, I can t help staring at you so, And why, midst this life s hurly-burly, You bring back that blest long ago. UNSATISFIED WY is my only joy my deepest sorrow; Wiy must my wildest hopes be unfulfilled? Why this bliss of today leave for the morrow But anxious doubts refusing to be stilled? Ah, love of mine, she whom thou lovest never Paused to reflect upon how mad thou art, Or she would stab thee not with words that ever Disclose that all mine own is not her heart. O hope of mine! Why must this burning sorrow Be all the keener when thou seemest bright? Why send me pain when every throb I borrow Brings never hope in dreams of day or night ? There is one hope: that what is now foreboding May be but, after all, my burning soul Mad with the fire of what is only goading And tempting me to find her own hope s goal. If this be so, then shall I bear my sorrow Until the struggle end, and I receive What she hath promised for the sometime morrow, And till that come, Fate, teach me to believe. [59] I A VISION AEWEL set in nebulae of gold, All sparkling in the radiance of youth; A flower whose glory never yet was told, If ever sage or poet spake the truth. A girl far fairer than I ve seen before, A woman worthy of a thousand loves; A charioteer ne er matched in ancient lore, A beauty spotless as the breasts of doves. An idler I, looks from a gaping throng, Upon that vision bright of white and gold, Whose lack of years denies the wooer s song, Whose adoration must not yet be told. If, in this tribute to a living gem, I have exceeded modesty s demand, If plucking you from Nature s diadem Has been impertinent, why, here I stand Upon the right of Fancy s dreams to live, And ask you to forgive. [60] I N JEALOUSY WHY is it, love, the more you err, The more my soul s afire ? Why, when my jealous rage you stir, The greater my desire? Why is it, love, when other men Are happy neath your glance, That I seek your embrace again, And flaunt their arrogance? Why is it, love, when I have known That you were false to me, I placed you still on fancy s throne And loved in ecstasy? Why is it, love, I ve said good-bye An hundred times, and still Returned to you to drown your sigh In trustful rapture s thrill? Because, my love, that jealous woe Must ever conquered be, When what you taught me long ago Is told again to me. [6.] COME, BE THOU MINE! CME, be them mine, mine, mine alone, For by the Gods I madly love thee! Thine eyes within my soul hath shone Far brighter than the stars above thee, Come, be mine own! Come, be thou mine! Within my breast I ve found a love that s just beginning. Twere thine but for one faint request, And though tis love that dreams of sinning,. It is my best! Come, be thou mine! I will not say I ve loved no other long before thee; But memories past I ll drive away, If thou lt but bid me to adore thee By night and day! Come, be thou mine! Was that a blush Upon thy waxen cheek soft creeping? Ah, was it the responsive flush Of yielding love that hath been sleeping? Hush, darling, hush! For thou art mine, mine, mine alone, Bound by a tie but death can sever; Chained by a sin love can atone, If thou lt live in my heart forever, My all, my own ! [62] NS A (<fg N* I K fert kf) A RETROSPECT IT HAD been for the best, O dearest one of mine, If, when we met that day, you had not touched my hand. Then we d have never heard Fate s pitiless command To seal a bond of love before another s shrine. It had been for the best when, once, I bowed my head And touched my lips to yours if you had turned away, For then would not have come this warning of today That two loves like to ours, alas ! were better dead. It had been for the best, that night, afar, alone, When you shrank not beneath my first enrapt embrace, If you d not let me rain my kisses on your face, For then nor you nor I had filched another s throne. It had been best, perhaps, but then nor you nor I Could have been glad to thrill beneath forbidden bliss, Or revel in the thrall of every stolen kiss, Created by untruth, and glory in the lie. 33 A EAR for thee, Laura, as full as can be Of the joys that true happiness knows; Of sighings, and sorrows, and cares ever free As fair Caribbee s shores are of snows. Come there never a hope but is fitly fulfilled, Nor a wish that is ever denied. Come there never a sigh by Love s magic unstilled, Nor a care by Love s kiss undefied. Be thy faith never blind, nor thy trust undeserved, Nor the love that thou givest misplaced; Be thy wooer the kind whose stout heart never swerved From the paths that staunch loyalty traced. In the sleep-dreams thou hast be there never a sigh; In the day ones no cloud of regret; Through the wearisome hours be there one ever nigh Who can prove there are true lovers yet. I dare not tell all that my heart could reveal; I would not say less than is here, For I sigh for consents that will bid me to steal Every hour of each Happy New Year! > v ^ WE TWO A AIR of dancing eyes aglow with passion; A pair of lips that tempt the lover s kiss. Which, if but nurtured in the old, old fashion, And taught the raptures of affection s bliss, Might drive from out my life Care s every trace: This is thy face. A pilgrim to the shrine of wild desire, Alas ! too oft defeated in his quest, Hath found in you the latent spark of fire That stirs the smould ring flame within his breast, And bids him hope for one responsive sigh: This, love, is I. Two souls new burning with the same hot shafts, And arms that scorn each wild embrace to shun; Two mouths that sip at once the same sweet draughts, Two lives foresworn to merge them into one, And dream of ecstasies no power can leaven: This, this is Heaven! c^C: g fit THE FOUNT OF YOUTH Huckleberry Island, N.Y. I LANGUISHED, a slave to the city s greed For the things that are foes to health; I chafed neath the sting of the galling need That inspires not the Kings of Wealth. I loosened the fetters of toil s fell grip. And fled with a joyous bound, To the riverside, and a waiting ship, And sailed for the Merry Sound. There were breezes there, and the swish of waves; There was cheer full of Friendship s truth; But I couldn t escape from the deep ning graves That were yawning for dying youth. And I cried aloud in the waning power Of a vigor that daily sped. Ye Gods ! Have I come to the last fell hour When the things that are new are dead? And is there no place where new fancies dwell; No Fount where there s youth on draught? No shore for a rest from the toiler s hell, That s afar from the lusts of graft? I ask not the pride of a golden fame, I scorn vapid form s duress; God give me abandon that s lost to shame, And the freedom that laughs at dress! [66] s *\ , r* 4: O My bark, sped along by the summer breeze, Drew close to the dim outline Of a rocky isle topped by pigmy trees, That were dwarfed as this hope of mine. We nearer drew till we touched the shore; I stood midst the sounds of glee; My ears were thrilled with the magic roar Of Friendship in revelry. It was found at last, and I sighed no more For the days that were passed and gone; Here were fairer days than I d known before, And as wild as e er looked upon. And I pledged my love to this friendly band, For they taught me that youth can live So long as there lies in the true man s hand, The best that a heart can give. I shall give my best on each summer s day When we sail to that pigmy isle, For I now am one whom they taught the way For the sigh to become a smile. Here s a health to you and big wealth to you, And a youth that shall never end; For the youth I d lost was inspired anew When you lured me to make me friend. SHE SHE met my glance, I felt a thrill, She smiled, all thought of others fled; She touched my hand, my heart stood still; She kissed me and the past was dead. She told me I might come again, And, all compliance when I came, She gave my wooing hope, and then My sadness bore another name. She bade me flee with her afar; She guided me from prying eyes; She taught me what true blisses are, And weaved the spell that never dies. I pressed my lips close to her face, She pressed my head close to her breast; She lingered long in my embrace, I learned all that in life is blest. She has been all in all to me; She taught me what I d never known; And promised then to ever be The Empress of affection s throne. [68] A BASKET OF FLOWERS AASKET of flowers that were fresh and fair As the promise of childhood s dream, They placed in my hands, and I held it there Till its fragrance enveloped the lamplight s glare And sweetened its festal gleam. They told me the blossoms had come from you As a tribute to gathered years, That garnered life s pleasures, its friendships true, And learned all that goodness and evil knew, Midst its dreamings and blessings and tears. Tis sweet in the shadows of growing age To learn that the fair can remember How truly their gifts can the cares assuage Of a youth that hath fled, and adorn the page Of fair Memory s gray December. And down thro the years I shall keep those blooms You sent me that birthday night, Just as fresh as they were in the lighted rooms, In Memory shrined to besweeten the glooms Thro the gloam of life s gathering night. > (fa. TO VICTOR HERBERT On his Fifty-first Birthday A r EAR ago, Victor, in vintages mellow, We pledged your half century run; Tonight, friendship s cup we have filled and to spare, With hearts in the wine and a thrill in the prayer That God bring but peace and success to a fellow Who hath honored Fame s years fifty-one. Blessed fifty-one years! Each a page in the story Of a soul Genius juggled from Fame, Then filled full of melody sweet, and the art To thrill and to throb with the beat of a heart Attune with ambition to fight for the glory That lies in the power of a name. That name has been writ on the book of the ages, It will live till our greatest be dead; But the heart that must die we have filched for our own, For tis filled with a power that is sweeter than tone, And tempered with tune-lore from dreams of the sages, Whilst fifty-one years gaily sped. There are loves, Victor friend, that are revels of blisses; There are others that live upon sighs; [70] fuf*^? /r^iiu f ^^j&ii j Some are sweeter than flowers, others fiercer than fire; Yet there s never a one but some day must expire. But man s love for his pal, that s not builded on kisses, Can live till Eternity dies. From the Friendships as deep as the bed of the Ocean, Victor boy, we have culled the most true; And the gift, pledged in wine, that is pure as the glow Of your fifty-one years, and as sweet as the flow Of your languorous melodies full of emotion, We offer tonight, boy, to you ! I THE BUBBLE BLIND as the throb of a love that s dead, Still as the voice of the skies; Beauteous thou wert as thou onward sped To a realm that is built of sighs. For thou diedst as soon as thy being came; Were destroyed by an atom s thrust; Ah! then, is life s bubble an empty name, And hope but a fleck of dust? A FANTASY I VE loved and lost, then loved again, Till it has seemed to me That loving best were love in vain And loveless I must be. My wildest fancies came to naught, No woman e er was true; I steeled my soul gainst love that s bought, And then then I met you! And, meeting you, came back again The hungerings of yore; Fate seemed to link our souls, and then, My heart was light once more. Then I began to dream a dream That made me long to live Within that never ending gleam That only love can give. I fancied scenes where you and I Lived in a world of bliss; Blest by a love that cannot die; Strengthened by passion s kiss. And every time our two lips met, We d pledge our vows anew, And closer weave Love s tangled net In meshes close and true. [72] \ V Oh, tell me not I hope in vain; Say not your heart is chilled With thoughts of coldness and disdain For him whose soul you ve thrilled. But place my image in your breast, My soul beneath your sway, I ll be a slave to each bequest And love my life away! A BIRTHDAY SONNET Sent to an elderly lady, with a miniature of Youth A. those purloining years from Father Time To their own age diminish, really steal The very keystone of that arch sublime That spans the glory of a lifetime s weal. For if that life is pure and full of leal Too many years there cannot be, for youth While teeming with delights but youth can feel, Knows not the joy of ripened trust and truth. Thus has it ever been, dear friend, with you; None of your years has felt the blush of shame, So every added one but whets your pride, And in your woman s face there s more that s true, Than hath this girl within its golden frame For your life-trust is proved and hers untried. 1 NX/. [73] FAREWELL TO A FRIEND FAREWELL, farewell! Affection s sigh Was never breathed with more regret. The bonds of Friendship s holy tie, Were never stronger, firmer met Than now, as I bid thee good-bye, Good-bye ! Farewell, farewell! Life s turgid stream Shall wend its fitful journey through; The glory of thy youthful dream, May fire ambition s soul anew, But ne er forget a friend s esteem. Adieu! Farewell, farewell! You must fare well, For new-born ardor fires your soul. Fear not if ill luck s flimsy shell Should clog thy path to fortune s goal. Remember, industry must tell Farewell ! Farewell, farewell ! When I am nigh, Within thy thought, consult thy heart, And know that lovers love s a lie, For tis a bond a word might part, But Friendship true can never die, Good-bye ! [74] THE TRYST-BOWER AD this the world of bliss if dreams could be, In which forever I would live with thee: A blest existence born of youthtime fire, Devoted each to each, brain, heart and soul; Foredoomed disciples of a mad desire Which two warm natures place beyond control. A mirrored chamber hid from Scandal s storms, Reflecting each position of our forms; Portraying fair hope-pictures which would change With every new caress and every kiss; Painting love vistas wondrous fair and strange, One vast kaleidoscope of pulsing bliss. And here we d hide away from prying eyes, Midst garnered stores from loveland s argosies. We d feed each heart-thrill from this goodly store, And fan to flame love s embers o er and o er. Then, even though we never met again, Time would recall a tryst not kept in vain. *3 [75] THE SILVER WEDDING RING out the bells with a joyous peal! A joy that no thought of care is dreading; A joy that is fraught with the brightest weal, And the Star of Love its rays are shedding, O er the happy throng That with gift and song Have come to the Silver Wedding. Ring out the dreams of the years of bliss ! Awaken the spell of the magic potion That came with the joy of a lover s kiss; That was leavened and sweetened by Youth s emotion, Then found its goal In a woman s soul And the strength of a man s devotion. Ring out the thread of this lovers tale, So wondrous and fair in its dreamy telling! Ah me! That this feeblest of pens should fail, When my Friendship s soul with a wish is swelling, To sing of the life Of the faithful wife Who graces this happy dwelling. Ring out a toast to the honored twain! Ring out the bliss of a love undying; [76] J.v Lost be their future to Sorrow s stain, As the flakes of snow on the white drifts lying; Be their coming hours All bestrewn with flowers And their souls ever free from sighing. Ring out the thought I would fain impart, Where the Silver Wedding bell is swinging! Pealing the pride of a husband s heart; Out of the past fondest memories bringing The mem ries of youth, The mem ries of truth, And the songs of affection singing. Ring out the bells with a joyous clang! As the path to a Golden One they re treading, They dream of the love that from children sprang, And stronger and bright through the long years spreading, Until soul unto soul, They have come to the goal Of this wonderful Silver W T edding. [77] I WONDER when twill end, This life of hidden sorrow That seems to bliss portend, Yet hath no morrow But bodes of hopes defied, And dreams fulfilled denied, I wonder when? I wonder when twill cease This struggle, cruel, bitter, That never soul gives peace, Nor thrall its glitter, But something steps between To dull its gladsome sheen, I wonder when ? I wonder when twill close Its chapters full of lying; This love-tale sad that shows But Destiny s decrying Of that fair fabric built Of passion, bliss and guilt, I wonder when ? X e FANCY S PROMISE THEY tell me your eyes are as black as night, That your hair hath the color of molten gold; That your hand can respond to the lover s clasp With the passionate thrill of a lust untold. That your bosom will heave with a thrill of delight In the sensuous flush of a love that s new; And this was the vision of longings bright, When they told of the joys I could find in you. And so I have lived in this wonderful dream, And fancy hath made me your lover bold; And oft in the night it would almost seem I held you tight clasped in mad rapture s fold. And ah, how I love in those dreamings so fair, That are cheering my soul on its wandering way! If they were not lying, those phantoms so rare, How madly we d revel the night into day! 1 Ip [79] IN SYMPATHY WHAT is there pity s bleeding heart can say To soothe the sorrows of this darkened day, Unless it be to lift the heavier pall Of stricken souls that have been robbed of all ? What is there in the eyes that weep with you, To staunch the flow of tear showers ever new, Unless it be to look with them afar To that beyond where waiting lost ones are? What is there lulled ambition can decry, Thro heavy clouds with every roll a sigh, Unless it be to seek ambition s lures Amidst the wrecks of others lost like yours? What is there manhood s master hand can steal To prove how keenly manhood s heart can feel, Unless it be to filch for you from Fate, Thrills of new courage ere it be too late? What can the voice of sympathy uplift From out the mires where hopes have gone adrift, Unless it be to speak with you as one, Those words so hard to say: "Thy will be done!" [80] :ffi ^1 c^ p TO HENRY WATTERSON I ASK thee not to weep not, friend, For tearless hearts are those that sever And leave behind sighs without end, For stricken souls that bleed forever. I bid thee not say, "It were best," This blow that dimmed thy closing page, For it denied thee peace and rest To ease the burdened hours of age. I pray that God may give thee power, If there indeed be power Divine, To lighten every coming hour Of her whose wound is deep as thine. For it were sad indeed to know That two lives with all gladness flown Must fade beneath a kindred blow, And bear their throbs and stings alone. I ask thee, friend, but only this: Ere that first pang of grief expire, Take from my heart the pitying kiss Of one Fate made a childless sire. Perhaps twill weave a gentler tie Between two souls all dark within; For Friendship s thrills can never die And Friendship s tears breed hearts akin. ) ON THE DEATH OF GENERAL JO. WHEELER E5T to the bugle, O heroes in blue, Hark to the death-roll, O sons of the gray ! Weep for the chieftain, long tried and found true, Whose name s writ on memory s tablets today. Droop, droop, starry banner, for him who once fought you Defending a right that he bled to maintain, Then, when a foeman s spite threatened, he brought you The might of a sword never wielded in vain. Forgetting the gray in the call of the blue; Remembering naught but that soldiers are true. March, grizzled comrades of old, to his bier! Halt, Federal braves with palmetto in hand! For he that did honor to both lieth here, Bestrewn with the flowers of a sorrowing land. Ah, read in that silent form bravery s story; Ah, hear in the beats of a throng s muffled tread, The tribute of love to a patriot s glory, Enrolling a soul midst the great that are dead. Forgot he the gray in the call of the blue; Remembering naught but the danger to you. Hark! From an isle in a tropical sea, There cometh a wail that is tearful and deep; [82] No one more deserving of honor than he, In freeing a people who knew but to weep. Borne soft on the breezes this message of sorrow, Sped swift o er the waves of a murmuring sea, Entwining the yesterday into the morrow, To mourn for a hero who battled them free. Forgetting the gray in the call of the blue; Remembering naught but that soldiers are true. AN ADVENTURE ONLY a glance that was arch and shy, Yet it told a volume as I passed by, Looked at her And wondered if that was a smothered sigh. Would it were! Only a smile that was meant to kill, And it filled my soul with a madd ning thrill, And a pang. For she d murder hid in the depths of her eyes, Neath her bang. Only a smirk! Not a word to say, As she lifted her satchel arid passed away, Out of sight. But would she allow me to lead her astray? Not tonight! te& [83] GOOD-BYE, JOE COYNE IT S too bad to make light of good-bye, Joe, In the revel and souse of a " bat," But twould seem the best way One s excuses to play On the thirsts that old Bacchus begat. And perhaps it were best, after all, Joe, To enliven the sighs of the years, With communion of friends That so very much lends To the drying of impotent tears. We have bid you good-bye oft before, Joe, You were chasing the bubble called fame, But nobody dined you, Nor flattered nor wined you, For you d never a gloss to your name. But conditions are different now, Joe: Success lit oblivion s gloam; For when you came back You d made a good crack At becoming an idol " at ome." You had captured the hearts of the best, Joe, Princes begged you to make them your pals; Wealthy dowagers, too, Sized your date-book anew, Not forgetting some donahs and flals. They were poor fish that came to your net, Joe, [ 8.4 ] But the fishiness didn t offend; For you knew, in your heart, Some of them didn t start, And all means never win the same end. You were bidden at last to New York, Joe, To amuse and enlighten your own, And I heard many say In a jocular way That Joe Coyne had grown haughty in tone; That you d been Piccadillyized hard, Joe, And forgotten old Time s retrospect; That your monocled eye, And bored ennui sigh, Gave eclat to a Strand dialect. But you answered our welcoming homes, Joe, Just as though you d been never away; And your speech was as true, To the Chair s bally-hoo, As the fountain is true to its spray. And the monocled eye was a myth, Joe, And your hand-clasp was shot at short range; Were it not for the sight Of your name writ in light, We should never have seen any change. Now good Yankees don t give a gol darn, Joe, If a fellow be true to his own; [85] r>: & Whether he clinks his glass With some millionaire ass, Or some crown-laden boob on a throne, So long as he ll clink it with friends, Joe, Who ve shared in those struggles that tell; Who can chat with a joke Of the days we were broke; Of the summer weeks gloomy as hell ! And that s what we ve found you to be, Joe, And that s why we ve bidden you here, To pledge you Godspeed On that mission of greed And to hold you to memory dear. For we know that you ll never forget, Joe, Who you are, what you are, where you re at; And that when you return You ll have welcomes to burn, Wearing still the same size of a hat. V (! THE SEASONS MY SPRING came with hope that was full of light, With Summer the hope grew strong; In Autumn twas dull as the pall of night, And the Winter s mournings long. But beneath the chill of that Winter s sting, The hope left seeds for another Spring! [86] WHAT SHALL IT BE? WHAT shall it be, what shall it be, The result of our first flirtation ? Was it a passing dream to me Of a new infatuation ? Or did it foretell of a world of bliss; Of a feast of love unsated; Or was there a sign in that telltale kiss That our two hearts were mated ? What shall it be, what shall it be ? The love that is ever flying Like a restless zephyr from tree to tree, Which is born but a breath then is dying? Or shall it be free as the rock-bound shore That walleth the home of the billow ? Shall I know that twill bring to me joy evermore, When your head on my breast finds its pillow? What shall it be, what shall it be ? Oh, let me the truth revealing, Disclose you a heart that is warm and free, Full of thoughts I d refrain from concealing. Let me teach you a love that is one wild dream : Then, all visions of rapture disclosing, Our souls, full of doubt and its sighings would seem In a world of sweet bondage reposing. A PARAPHRASE To LOVE, or not to love, that is the question. Whether tis better for the swain to suffer The sighs of solitary loneliness, Or take at once that heart upon his hand, Load it with gold, and leave for maids to play for. To love, to like, no more, and in that liking To say we end the heartaches and the sighs That loneliness is heir to tis a state Devoutly to be wished. To love to like; To like, perchance to dream! Ay, there s the rub. For, too much like a woman, dreams may come To picture her so plainly what she s not, And paint the hues of virtues ne er to be, That life becomes a myth. In that respect We make calamity of married life; For who could bear her likes for other men; Her coquetries that foster jealousies; The pangs of promised love with its delays; Feeble excuses for engagements broken, When he himself might endless comfort make By loving no one? Who d the burden bear That comes to all who live a double life But for the rapture-laden passion-land: That love-discovered country from whose bourne No man has yet returned unchained by bliss, Nor in regret for those fair ills he s won, And feeling there are more he knows not of? Thus passion doth make weaklings of us all, [88] And thus the bachelor s weak resolution Is sicklied o er with woman s selfishness; Becomes a thing that s but a feeble toy, To squeak and strut whene er it suit her humor; To wink askance at all her indiscretions, Until one s very thoughts must turn awry And lose the name of action. THE ACTOR WHO am I, do you ask? Why, goodness me! Most anything that you might like to see, Or hear, or think about, seek or invent, And that s an actor. Thing of discontent Or joy or sorrow, in their many stages, Oft times produced, alas! for promised wages. And even promise kept, to be exact, Leaves much to be desired, for tis a fact That no vocation underneath the sun Demands so many talents merged in one. But and I m sure you never would suppose it, The manager is he who very, very seldom knows it, For when he lays his next production s pipes, His cast, he thinks, must be made up of types. Why on the actor s art put such restraint, When type s a thing of powder and of paint ? Now he s no type of true dramatic art Who cannot typify most any part. Today I am a doctor giving pills, And feeling pulses for a score of ills; And though no school of medecine F ve been through I must deport myself as if I knew. Tomorrow I m a lawyer, lashed to fury, Defending innocence before a jury; And I must move my audience to tears, Else that dread two weeks notice surely nears. Now, I m a beardless youth, to hold in sway Acres of beauty at a matinee; With agony of soul in sorrow s cup, Because some ladylove has passed me up. Next I m a burglar, masked, forbidding, bad, Robbing a maid after I ve killed her dad. Then a detective, keen, alert and sly, With icy mien and calculating eye, Foresworn, however hard, to do or die ! A gladiator now, of giant frame, Risking his life for some patrician dame, With shield and sword in most inspiring dash, Which must be good, or play all gone to smash. Then must I be O strange reverse of art! Senility personified, whose flimsy heart Must crack and break, and clothe from top to toe A tottering frame in thrill-inspiring woe. I cast my daughter out: Hence, erring one! Into the streets, I say!" Then, when that s done, Tomorrow night, along the beaten track, I play the hero bold who brings her back. [90] A villain next, refined and debonair, Who drags the heroine by her back hair Into a wood where, silent, all serene, I burn her to the stake with kerosene. Now comes my turn at comics, full of chaff, And all expedients that make them laugh. I am a Fenian, weeping thro his smile, Massing his clans to free the Emerald Isle. " Up, boys, and at em ! Down with Redcoats mean!" Pausing, of course, for " Wearing of the Green." I am a Frenchman, born to taking ways, Thrilling my audience with La Marseillaise, Or, with much s avoir f air e, earning my cash By dashing deeds, or dancing Les Apaches. A German now, inspiring laugh or pain, With "Hoch der Kaiser! Hoch! Auf Wiedersehen! In fact, I must be any race or tongue, Creed, sect, or politics, or I am stung. So ask me not again, friend, who I am, For your opinion I care not a cuss; Because I know, they know, and they, and they, That he who makes to order every day, Miser or spendthrift, vassal, Prince or King, Old age, strong youth, banker or underling, Is greater far than he who never knew, Or ever cared, more than one thing to do. The barber shaves, the broker talks of profit, Taking good care there s very little of it. [91] The lawyer pleads, the doctor sometimes cures, But there s no art or trade that so ensures That much in little as the trade I follow. Beside it, all the rest seem vain and hollow! Be what you will, I ll be man s benefactor, Which is, in short, my notion of an actor. T TOLS.H. HERE is a sweet somewhere For such as you, In which all that is fair And womanly and true, Must shower their blessed gifts Upon the strong, And sing thro sorrow s rifts Love s tireless, endless song. And there will come a time Not far away, When loving souls in rhyme Must throb and beat alway, To speak of gratitude, And to extol That dominating good Of sterling woman s soul. And there is made a place Where you shall reign; Where there can be no trace Of sigh, or care or pain; [92] And where the days and nights Of dreamings blest, Shall yield you those delights That come but to the best. But there will be no friend Stauncher than I, Who borrows but to lend Of thrills that cannot die. And who, amidst the throng Of spirits true, Must sing an endless song Of faith inspired by you. ^i I THE COMING OF VIRGINIA THE day that gave you birth Brought an imperfect earth From out its shadows, tenantless till then, A sweet prophetic face Destined to shine apace Upon the souls of women and of men. The day when you were born To woman s sphere adorn, Came there a wondrous influence for good, Which, as the days sped on, Left sighs and sorrows gone, Beneath the magic spell of womanhood. [93] wr; The day when first you smiled, All manhood seemed beguiled With some sweet influence, to hold in sway Souls born to love of you, And, whether false or true, That thralling power waned not nor passed away, The day when we two met, Meseemed I could forget A hundred raptures won from other girls; Then day-dreams came anew, And each one visioned you Most lustrous of my memory s rarest pearls. AN ACROSTIC EVER and ever may fortune attend you, Let all the joys of a lifetime be yours. In every thought that may please or befriend you, Zeal be my guide with its memory s lures. And in the hours when my pen groweth lazy, Be sweet thoughts of you the ideas to inspire. Even the best mind is oftentimes hazy, Till someone like you wakes its slumbering fire,- How ever with you for my guide could I tire? [94] LOVE S ANGLING TWAS not in rippling crystal brook I angled; Not in Diana s shaded nook, All verdure tangled, And yet my troutlet pliant was and rare, Eager to strike, and oh so passing fair! All banged and bangled. Twas not upon the mountain lake I angled. Not in my wherry s shining wake All glist ning drops bespangled. And yet excitement mounted just as high, Wild,. eager expectation lit mine eye, And every passion jangled. Twas not upon the bounding sea 1 sought her. Not on the billow-battered lea I found and fought her; But when my troutlet, pliant as a willow, Lay calm, resigned and smiling on my pillow, I knew I d caught her. Twas in the tapestried boudoir I angled. And I, as all true lovers are, Was all intrigue entangled. [95] I And so I found my queen, and cast, and caught her; And when of blisses ne er to end I taught her, Our souls no longer wrangled. Can there be nobler pastime found Than fishing; Than score of troutlets plump and sound For breakfast dishing? Ah, what excitement doth the fisher feel, When anxiously a plying rod For two-pound grilses wishing? Ah yes, there s fishing greater far Than trouting; Sport that no wind nor rain can mar, That scorneth scoffers flouting. Tis angling for the fair and pliant dove, Who eager strikes the goodly bait of love, Resignedly, undoubting. CIRCE PARDON for hardened breakers of the laws; Pardon for those who slay from feeblest cause; But pardon s not for thee who blasted youth, Defiled the laws of Faith and murdered Truth! [96] CONDOLENCE BE SURE, dear friend, there is some recompense Nor is it far away to soothe thy sorrow. For there be those whose fond obedience Can make this dark today a brighter morrow. Lone one, crushed as thy heart is, tis not broken; Deep as thy grief be, it can find its end; For there lies balm in soft words aptly spoken, Thrilled through the pitying loving of a friend. Say that this friend, or many friends that knew him, Can prove thy lost one happier in his peace; How what hath chilled your soul, was ending to him, Of travail sore, that never seemed to cease. Say that in hours of solitude, so lonely, That it would seem as though thy heart must break, These friends could make you think him sleeping only, Until that day when all the dead shall wake. Believe, dear friend of mine, religion s scoffers Find never aught that can with sorrow cope; For nothing else that consolation offers, Can weave a recompense for shattered hope. [97] >,x x 1 And, little woman, some day when your sighing Hath lulled a little, even such as I May teach that after all what seemeth dying Is but creating some blest bye and bye. Some day and come it soon we two together May look from out the shadows through the past, And find, as ships the angriest storms may weather, That grief can check its flood of tears at last. Be brave, O widowed one! Take courage, knowing That thy soul s burden was his peace and rest; And find in days to come resignment growing, Until your heart shall learn twas for the best. DISSATISFACTION I AM not satisfied, O Love ! There never comes a day But there are doubts I cannot prove, With fond hopes swept away. But, in the days to come, I seem To see portents of light Which now seem all a fitful dream, Cloud-rifts thro envy s night. Bear with me for that trust denied, I am not satisfied! [98] I am not satisfied, my dearie; There never comes a night Away from you but I am weary Of this long, patient fight Betwixt what is, yet may not be, What is not, yet must rise, Or else my soul were never free From jealous fantasies. Bear with me till Fate shall decide, I am not satisfied. I am not satisfied with trust That is not sealed by truth. Tis not enough, that dreams of lust Restored the flush of youth. Tis not enough, O girl of mine, To hasten when I call; For I must weld that bond divine Which makes you all in all. This cannot be, till you re my bride, Then were I satisfied. ALIBI IT CLEARETH innocence and guilt alike; Its plaints equivocal disarm divorce; It counters blows that otherwise would strike At mortal sin to check its baneful course, But it must semblance bear of shining truth, And this of thine sheds no such light, forsooth! [99] THE SOUTHERN SENTINEL To the Southernmost Redwood Tree in California ENE guardian of thy kin s historic past! Staunch at thy post when young Portola came To solve the problem of the darkness vast, Stirred by adventure and his country s fame. Time honors thee! Thou stoodst there, first of thy Southern horde, When Serra s legions of the Faith sped on To spread in Pagan lands the softening Word That taught untutored minds of good undone, Truth honors thee! When young Fremont first scanned the Western sea, Wert thou not there, breeze-stirred, to proudly bow Upon the chief that gave to History Lores of a land, the whole world s fairest now, Whose science honors thee ? Hail! Silent sentinel, whose bond to Time No storm, nor temblor, nay, nor fire shall sever! Reign on thy throne in dignity sublime Down thro the ravages of Time forever, Whilst ages honor thee! TOMMY QUINN Written in commemoration of Lord Dunraven s amazing withdrawal from the second race with the Defender, because the Regatta Committee decided the first race against him, Valkyrie having fouled the American boat. (Air: "Baby Mine.") TT y ow unsportsmanlike, Dunraven, Otherwise Tommy Quinn, Was Valkyrie s funk so craven, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn ! Where s the name they say you won As a sport in races run ? What is this you ve been and done, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, Was it your idea of fun, Tommy Quinn ? Too polite to call you foolish. Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, I m inclined to think you mulish, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, For in truth it seems to me, That although a Lord you be, Only God can rule the sea, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, And he chose to make it free, Tommy Quinn. Did your sailors fear immersions, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, [101] At the hands of those excursions, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn ? Surely now, your mascot goat Could have kept them all afloat, It s a farthing to a groat, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, That you had the slower boat, Tommy Quinn. I m afraid the truth is mellow, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, That you re not a reg lar fellow, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, Never steamboats half enough, Never seas that were too rough, Were you made of proper stuff, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, What a cheap and flimsy bluff, Tommy Quinn ! You may mail us your excuses, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, You may ventilate abuses, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn. You may sit you down to dine, Drown your woes in vintage wine, But your star has ceased to shine, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, So you d best take in your sign, Tommy Quinn. [ 102 ] m M From some future Irish eyrie, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, You may contemplate Valkyrie, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn; But Defender s fleecy ghost, Will be standing off the coast, Giving Memory a toast, Tommy Quinn, Tommy Quinn, For she left you at the post, Tommy Quinn. INVITATION SHIPMATES ahoy! The voice of Manhood cries For forbears of the summer s pleasantries. Out of the lumbered shipyards flecked with snow, Each mimic ship yearns for the soul that flies From indolence to labor. And the glow Of Springtime s sun lures them from winter s sleep Lo! where the frosted spars no longer weep Chill tears, thawed by the sun athwart the clouds; But glow with warmth as sprightly sailors creep, Cheered by the breeze of promise, up the shrouds. Captains ahoy! Your summer s course is laid Pipe crews to quarters! Leave is overstayed. ^^4* V*h\(( Now Neptune s wind-sprites long to thrum the tune Thro lines and halliards: "Joy too long hath strayed," For there s but chill beneath the winter moon. Vast idling there! But ere the capstan sings, Gather we all at winter s feast, that brings Brave hearts at rest together once again, To bid Godspeed to winter taken wings, And show that Friendship s tongue speaks not in vain. Landsmen ahoy! So are ye welcome too. Our weathered mariners shall lead ye through The maze of vapors shed from fragrant pipes, Tempered by sparkling vintage poured anew, To pledge the yachtsman s mimic stars and stripes. The place, the Astor, in whose banquet hall Song, speech and cheer shall lift the winter s pall. The night, the twelfth of March no more be told, Save this: that revel s hand shall lead us all From leaden hours to bright ones, cast in gold. [ 104] IF FATE had so decreed and I were lonely, A smileless, cheerless man, Meseems that my despair would seek thee only, Thou merry soul, Suzanne! If I were deep in grief and bowed with sorrow That seemed an endless span, I know that I could bridge it with a morrow Somewhere with thee, Suzanne. And if my life were full of lovings broken, With Fancy s stream outran, I feel one word of promise by thee spoken Would breed new hope, Suzanne. But, since I m wed to infinite devotion Which no new love shall ban, I needs must foster only friend-emotion And yield thee that, Suzanne. Some day thy widowhood will seek its ending, But where, O where the man Whose worth and ardor were not base pretending? Choose wisely, sweet Suzanne! [105] THE BACKBITERS AONG the drift-ways of all human things, How often human tongues are armed with stings That indiscriminately deal their thrusts Under the spells of envy s biting lusts! How often, for that one hath gained renown. Another who hath failed would drag him down Into the mires where jealousy and spite Deny achievement its invested right! How often beauty s reputation s blot When judged by feeble souls that have it not, And, that its glory shall not hold its place, Seek to enshroud its glamours in disgrace! How often friends are insincere with friends, Whose popularity to others lends That friendship kin to love, which should not be The victim of insidious jealousy! How often scandal spreads its ruthless pall O er sinless lives from no just cause at all, Save that its monger s path itself is stained, And so must virtue s bulwark be profaned! Alas ! that evil conquers over good, So often clouding lustrous womanhood, And manhood s best, when God wrought blessings rare, For man and woman, each an equal share. [166] ng (A^XI <p ~ THE BRIDAL G\ZE in my eyes, my love, and read The story of a soul; How thro a life of Fancy s greed Cloud-rifts of peace may roll, And yet their gleams shot quickly past Till you were mine at last, Sweet one, my own at last! Here on my breast I hold your face, To dream a little while Of how it came to find its place Away from sin and guile; How, shutting out oblivion vast, I made you mine at last, Dear love, my own at last ! Here on your lips I press my own To seal Love s endless bond, Then lead you to that shining throne That knows no dark beyond; Our faith hath won, the die is cast, You are my own at last, My wife, my own at last! [I0 7 ] Til* & THE CONVERT BEFORE no graven image bow!" My childhood s mentors gravely said, Yet told not when, nor why, nor how The living and the hallowed dead, Anointed there before the Cross, A holy sign that promise shed, Should count the soul s infinite loss, Whilst the dissenter s shineless dross To doubt and darkness led. "Before no graven image bow!" And, as my conscience older grew, I shunned those symbols hallowed now, Which youthtime s teachings never knew. Thousands I saw before that shrine Of graven, shining, painted things, Receive that miracle Divine; Then knelt, as Faith began to shine And doubt had taken wings. Before those images I bowed, Inspiring symbols of a faith That banished sin. Then prayed aloud, Forswearing doubt and every wraith Of penitence forgot. They shed The blessed radiance of Truth Taught by the Son of God, who bled That faith and reason might be wed Unto my darkened youth. [log] Before those images I bow In adoration and content, Still with that sign upon my brow That vanished disillusionment. No more does clouded retrospect Bring to my soul the doubts that grieve; For now I know that they reflect The lessons that supplant neglect And teach me to believe. AD FINEM Wtf EN life shall face its end and stands revealed, No wraith can stalk again I d have concealed. For none left any sigh, cloud or regret, Nor retrospect that Conscience would forget. [ 109] HERE ENDETH THE BOOK OF VERSES OF LOVE, SENTIMENT AND FRIENDSHIP BY MR. CLAY M. GREENE, AND PRINTED BY RICARDO J. OROZCO, IN THE MONTH OF OCTOBER, NINETEEN TWENTY-ONE, AT NUMBER 509 SANSOME STREET, IN THE CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, AFTER MANY DAYS OF PLEASANT TOIL WHICH RIPENED INTO MUTUAL ACQUAINT ANCE THAT SHALL BE LONG REMEMBERED. THE FRONTISPIECE AND DECORATIONS WERE DESIGNED BY MR. RAY F. COYLE O I 4G1989 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY