LIBRARY) 
 
 ; .:RSITY OF 
 
 . CALIFORNIA I 
 
 SA.N 1 DIEGO j
 
 
 Co-/^Z*t y- 
 
 - 
 
 IN CLOYER AND HEATHEE
 
 IN CLOVER AND HEATHER 
 
 BY 
 
 WALLACE BRUCE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 LAND OF BURNS, THE HUDSON, THE YOSEMITE, 
 AND OLD HOMESTEAD POEMS 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MDCCCXCI 
 
 All Rights reserved
 
 TO 
 THE ABIDING FRIENDSHIP OF 
 
 WALTER SCOTT AND WASHINGTON IRVING, 
 
 WHICH HAS WIDENED 
 INTO NATIONAL AFFECTION, 
 
 THESE POEMS 
 ARE CORDIALLY DEDICATED.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PROEM IX BLOOM, ...... 1 
 
 IN CLOVER AXD HEATHER, .... 3 
 
 I. OXE WORD, 7 
 
 II. THE STRAXGER, 9 
 
 III. THE SXOW AXGEL, ...... 12 
 
 iv. TO QUEEX MARY S PICTURE ix HOLYROOD, . 15 
 
 v. SCOTT S GREETIXG TO BURNS, . . . . 17 
 
 VI. THE HUDSOX 24 
 
 VII. THE YOSEMITE, 35 
 
 VIII. THE LAND OF BURXS .40 
 
 IX. THE OLD HOMESTEAD, ..... 47 
 
 X. THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED, . 52 
 
 XI. ALPIXE SPRIXG, ...... 55 
 
 XII. A HAXD-SHAKE, . . . . . . 58 
 
 XIII. A NOOXING, 62 
 
 XIV. THE NUPTIALS, . . . . . . 71
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 xv. "INASMUCH," 73 
 
 xvi. THE PRINTER-BOY S DREAM, . . . 81 
 xvii. THE SLAVE S PRAYER, .... 85 
 
 XVIII. WENDELL PHILLIPS, 90 
 
 XIX. KINDNESS, 92 
 
 - XX. REPENTANCE, 96 
 
 XXI. LONGFELLOW, 98 
 
 XXII. DECORATION-DAY, 100 
 
 XXIII. THE CANDLE PARADE, .... 103 
 
 XXIV. THE SILENT SOLDIER 116 
 
 XXV. ON GUARD, . . . . . .119 
 
 XXVI. OUR NATION FOR EVER, . . . .123 
 
 XXVII. THE TRIP OF THE BELL, .... 125 
 
 XXVIII. THE MUSIC OF LIGHT, . . . .129 
 
 XXIX. THE FOREST BALLOT, .... 131 
 
 XXX. NOBBY ISLAND, RIVER ST LAWRENCE, . 134 
 
 XXXI. THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS 137 
 
 XXXII. AN ISLAND FANCY, ..... 140 
 
 XXXIII. JULIET TO ROMEO, 145 
 
 XXXIV. FERDINAND TO MIRANDA, . . . 147 
 XXXV. ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA, .... 149 
 
 XXXVI. PARIS TO HELEN, 151 
 
 xxxvu. TO A LADIES ART CLUB, . . . . 153 
 
 XXXVIII. A STAR-EYED DAISY, . . . .159 
 
 XXXIX. A RALLY, 161 
 
 XL. THE PIONEERS, . . . . .163 
 
 XLI. THE HARP OF TOM MOORE, . . . 168
 
 CONTENTS. ix 
 
 XLII. A HOLLAND BRICK, 172 
 
 XLIII. ANNIE, 174 
 
 XLIV. SMILE AND WAIT, . . . . .176 
 
 , XLV. OF AGE, 178 
 
 XLVI. MY CASTLE, 180 
 
 XLVII. DESTINY, 183 
 
 XLVIII. QUESTIONS, 185 
 
 XLIX. THE INFINITE, 190 
 
 L. GOD S HEARTHSTONE, ..... 192 
 
 LI. A WANDERER 195 
 
 -_LII. TO MY WIFE, 198 
 
 LIII. INCH-CA1LLIACH, LOCH LOMOND, . . .199 
 
 LIV. ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG, . . 203 
 
 LV. TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE, . 207 
 
 LVI. TO JUDGE CADMAN, . . . . .211 
 
 LVII. THE OLD ORGAN (1754), . . . .215 
 
 LVIII. LIFE S PAUSES, 220 
 
 A FACSIMILE OF THE MS. OF BURNS S "BLUE-EYED 
 
 LASSIE," 223
 
 PROEM IN BLOOM. 
 
 There are greetings the wide world over, 
 And blossoms icherever we roam, 
 
 But none like the heather and clover 
 To welcome the icanderer home. 
 
 Warm-hearted loith kindred devotion, 
 
 Twin sisters in sympathy true, 
 They whisper across the wide ocean, 
 
 Love-laden icith memory s dew. 
 
 In purple tints icoven together 
 
 The Hudson shakes hands with the Tweed, 
 Commingling with Abbotsford s heather 
 
 The clover of Sunny side 8 mead.
 
 PROEM IN BLOOM. 
 
 A token of friendship immortal 
 
 With Washington Irving returns : 
 
 Scott s ivy entwined o er his portal 
 By the Blue-eyed Lassie of Burns. 
 
 Their names by heather-bells wedded 
 With fondness Columbia retains ; 
 
 In freedom s foundation imbedded 
 The lay of the minstrel remains. 
 
 Ay, this their commission and glory, 
 In redolent bloom to prolong 
 
 Love, libei ty, legend, and story, 
 That blossom in ballad and song. 
 
 So here s to the clover and heather 
 Of river-side, mountain, and glen, 
 
 As I stand wi doffed bonnet and feather 
 At the yetts of my forebears again!
 
 IN CLOYER AND HEATHER, 
 
 ABOUT fifty years ago a cutting of Walter Scott s 
 favourite ivy at Melrose Abbey was transported 
 across the Atlantic, and trained over the porch of 
 Washington Irving s " Sunnyside," on the Hudson, 
 by the hand of Mrs Renwick, daughter of Rev. 
 Andrew Jeffrey of Lochmaben, known in girlhood 
 as the " Bonnie Jessie " of Annandale, or the " Blue- 
 eyed Lassie " of Eobert Burns : a simple and grace 
 ful tribute, from the shrine of Waverley to the home 
 of Knickerbocker, befitting the heroine of two songs 
 of the Ayrshire poet. 
 
 How far that little ivy now twines its tendrils ! 
 It not only binds together two rivers and clasps 
 two continents, but also affectionately symbolises
 
 4 7.V CLOVER AND HEATHER. 
 
 the enduring friendship of two golden-hearted men. 
 More than this, it associates in poetic fancy three 
 writers, poet, novelist, and essayist, who might 
 appropriately be considered the living links of a 
 century from the bleak January wind of 1759, 
 which "blew hansel in on Robin," to the quiet 
 November Indian - summer day of 1856, in the 
 peaceful valley of Sleepy Hollow ; for Robert Burns 
 looked in the face of young Walter in Edinburgh, 
 and Scott took the hand of Irving at Abbotsford. 
 
 That cordial greeting reached farther than Scott 
 or Irving dreamed. It was during a critical period 
 of the young author s literary career, and the kind 
 ness of the Great Magician, in directing early atten 
 tion to his genius, is still cherished by every reader 
 of the Sketch Book from Manhattan to San Fran 
 cisco. The hearty grasp of the Minstrel at the 
 gateway of Abbotsford was in reality a warm hand 
 shake to a wider brotherhood beyond the sea. 
 
 No wonder that Irving, in loving reminiscence, 
 recalled the days there spent as among the happiest 
 of his life "as if I were admitted," he says, "to 
 a social communion with Shakespeare, for it was
 
 IN CLOVER AND HEATHER. 5 
 
 with one of a kindred if not equal genius. Every 
 turn brought to mind some household air, some 
 almost forgotten song of the nursery, by which I 
 had been lulled to sleep in my childhood, and with 
 them the looks and voices of those who had sung 
 them and were now no more." In that realm of 
 romance nature had indeed spread a bountiful 
 table, and the Tweed and the Trosachs in the 
 genius of Scott were entertaining the Hudson and 
 the Catskills in the genius of Irving. 
 
 Twenty years ago, with his cheery essays for 
 a guide-book, I wandered in gentle companionship 
 along the banks of the Tweed ; and, in memory of 
 those August days, which have not yet lost their 
 purple, I have ventured to blend with the clover 
 of "The Hudson" and "The Old Homestead" 
 the heather of "Scott s Greeting" and "The Land 
 of Burns." 
 
 EDINBURGH, November 1890.
 
 The forests are not all felled, 
 
 Nor the flowers all swept from the sod ; 
 And the words are not all spelled 
 
 That declare the glory of God.
 
 I. 
 
 ONE WOKD. 
 
 me an epic," the warrior said 
 " Victory, valour, and glory wed." 
 
 " Prithee, a ballad," exclaimed the knight- 
 " Prowess, adventure, and faith unite." 
 
 "An ode to freedom," the patriot cried 
 " Liberty won and wrong defied." 
 
 " Give me a drama," the scholar asked 
 " The inner world in the outer masked."
 
 ONE WORD. 
 
 "Frame me a sonnet," the artist prayed 
 "Power and passion in harmony played." 
 
 " Sing me a lyric," the maiden sighed 
 " A lark-note waking the morning wide." 
 
 " Xay, all too long," said the busy age, 
 " AVrite me a line instead of a page." 
 
 The swift years spoke, the poet heard, 
 "Your poem write in a single word." 
 
 He looked in the maiden s glowing eyes, 
 A moment glanced at the starlit skies ; 
 
 From the lights below to the lights above, 
 And wrote the one-word poem Love.
 
 II. 
 
 THE STEANGEE. 
 
 AN EASTERN LEGEND. 
 
 AN aged man came late to Abraham s tent. 
 
 The sky was dark, and all the plain was bare. 
 He asked for bread; his strength was wellnigh 
 spent, 
 
 His haggard look implored the tenderest care. 
 The food was brought. He sat with thankful eyes, 
 
 But spake no grace, nor bowed he towards the 
 
 east. 
 Safe sheltered here from dark and angry skies, 
 
 The bounteous table seemed a royal feast.
 
 10 THE STRANGER. 
 
 But ere his hand had touched the tempting fare, 
 The Patriarch rose, and leaning on his rod 
 " Stranger," he said, "dost thou not bow in prayer 1 
 Dost thou not fear, dost thou not worship God 1 " 
 He answered, "Nay." The Patriarch sadly 
 
 said : 
 
 " Thou hast my pity. Go ! eat not my 
 bread." 
 
 Another came that wild and fearful night. 
 
 The fierce winds raged, and darker grew the 
 
 sky; 
 But all the tent was filled with wondrous light, 
 
 And Abraham knew the Lord his God was nigh. 
 " "Where is that aged. man ?" the Presence said, 
 
 " That asked for shelter from the driving blast 1 
 Who made thee master of thy Master s bread 1 
 
 What right hadst thou the wanderer forth to 
 cast ? "
 
 THE STRANGER. 11 
 
 " Forgive me, Lord," the Patriarch answer made, 
 With downcast look, with bowed and trembling 
 
 knee. 
 
 " Ah me ! the stranger might with me have stayed, 
 But, my God, he would not worship Thee." 
 
 "I ve borne him long," God said, "and 
 
 still I wait ; 
 
 Couldst thou not lodge him one night in 
 thy gate ? "
 
 12 
 
 III. 
 
 THE SNOW ANGEL. 
 
 THE sleigh-bells danced that winter night ; 
 
 Old Brattleboro rang with glee ; 
 The windows overflowed with light ; 
 
 Joy ruled each hearth and Christmas-tree. 
 But to one the bells and mirth were naught : 
 His soul with deeper joy was fraught. 
 
 He waited until the guests were gone ; 
 He waited to dream his dream alone ; 
 And the night wore on.
 
 THE SNOW ANGEL. 13 
 
 Alone he stands in the silent night ; 
 
 He piles the snow in the village square ; 
 With spade for chisel, a statue white 
 From the crystal quarry rises fair. 
 No light save the stars to guide his hand, 
 But the image oheys his soul s command. 
 The sky is draped with fleecy lawn, 
 The stars grow pale in the early dawn, 
 But the lad toils on. 
 
 And lo ! in the morn the people came 
 
 To gaze at the wondrous vision there ; 
 And they called it " The Angel," divining its name, 
 
 For it came in silence and unaAvare. 
 It seemed no mortal hand had wrought 
 The uplifted face of prayerful thought ; 
 
 But its features wasted beneath the sun ; 
 Its life went out ere the day was done ; 
 And the lad dreamed on.
 
 14 THE SNOW ANGEL. 
 
 And his dream was this : "In the years to be 
 
 I will carve the Angel in lasting stone ; 
 In another land beyond the sea 
 
 I will toil in darkness, will dream alone. 
 While others sleep I will find a way 
 Up through the night to the light of day. 
 
 There s nothing desired beneath star or sun 
 Which patient genius has not won." 
 And the boy toiled on. 
 
 The years go by. He has wrought with might ; 
 
 He has gained renown in the land of art ; 
 But the thought inspired that Christmas night 
 
 Still kept its place in the sculptor s heart ; 
 And the dream of the boy, that melted away 
 In the light of the sun that winter day, 
 
 Is embodied at last in enduring stone, 
 Snow Angel in marble his purpose won ; 
 And the man toils on.
 
 15 
 
 IV. 
 
 TO QUEEN MAEY S PICTUEE IN 
 HOLYEOOD. 
 
 WHEN I do note the beauty of thine eyes, 
 
 And think that they have long been sightless 
 
 dust ; 
 When I observe the warrior s envied prize 
 
 Helmet and corselet thick with yellow rust ; 
 When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls, 
 
 And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time ; 
 When panelled brass from stately column falls, 
 
 Well-graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme
 
 16 TO QUEEN MARY S PICTURE 7JV HOLYROOD. 
 
 Then I perceive how all things here decay ; 
 
 That this wide world is but a shifting stage, 
 Where faith and love, fierce pride and passion, play, 
 And narrow lines divide the fool and sage ; 
 "Where fame s brief candle flickers to its death, 
 And beauty s reign is measured by a breath.
 
 17 
 
 V. 
 SCOTT S GREETING TO BTJEXS. 
 
 [Scott s statue introducing Burns s statue to Shakespeare s, in 
 Central Park, New York, the night after the unveiling of Burns s 
 statue in 1880 : the three statues being within easy speaking- 
 distance of each other.] 
 
 WE greet you, Eobbie, here to-night, 
 Beneath these stars so pure and bright ; 
 "We greet you, poet, come at last 
 With "Will" and me your lot to cast. 
 
 We ve talked aboot you mony a day, 
 And wondered when you d be this way. 
 Reach out your hand, and gie s a shake 
 Just ance, for auld acquaintance sake.
 
 18 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 
 
 We welcome you from Scotia s land, 
 And reach to you a britlier s hand ; 
 A kindred soul to greet you turns 
 Will Shakespeare, this is Eobbie Burns. 
 
 We ve sung your songs here mony a night 
 Till that dear star is lost in light, 
 And Willie says the lines you wrote 
 Will even do for him to quote. 
 
 He likes your verses wondrous weel, 
 And says you are a glorious chiel ; 
 In fact, the only one that knows 
 The space twixt poetry and prose. 
 
 Eobbie, if we had a plaid, 
 
 We d quite convert yon Stratford lad. 
 
 He said, in truth, but yester-morn, 
 
 " I m Scotch in wit, though English born ;
 
 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 19 
 
 "And, Walter, it may yet appear 
 That Scotland takes in Warwickshire. 
 Let Avon be the border line, 
 Blot out the Tweed, or draAV it fine." 
 
 So, Willie, brew your peck o maut, 
 And set the board wi Attic saut, 
 For Rob has come at last, you see 
 We were a pair, but now we re three. 
 
 We need nae ither comrade now, 
 No modern bard o classic brow ; 
 Tis lang before anither man 
 Will be admitted to our clan. 
 
 In stormy nights twas lonesome here 
 When " Will " recited half o " Lear " ; 
 But now he quotes your eerie tale 
 In thunder, lightning, and in hail ;
 
 20 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 
 
 And says his witches can t compare 
 Wi those that chased Tarn s " guid grey mare. 
 He s even learned your " Deil Address," 
 To quote some night for good Queen Bess ; 
 
 For, Eobbie, this is haunted ground, 
 Where spirits keep their nightly round, 
 And when the witchin hour is near 
 You ll see strange beings gather here. 
 
 I saw Queen Bess the other night 
 Beside him, clad in vesture bright, 
 While kings and queens, a noble throng, 
 In dim procession passed along ; 
 
 And walls seemed rising from the earth 
 Like Leicester s tower at Kenilworth ; 
 And all the pageant that was there 
 Seemed floating in the moonlit air.
 
 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 21 
 
 Ay, beauty, jealousy, and pride, 
 In Dudley s halls walked side by side, 
 While Amy Eobsart seemed to stand 
 With fair Ophelia, hand in hand. 
 
 And, Eobbie, what a vision came 
 As Willie whispered Ariel s name ! 
 The towers dissolved, and round him drew 
 The stately, gentle, fair, and true 
 
 Miranda, Juliet, Imogen, 
 Hermione, and Katharine, 
 While Rosalind among them stood 
 The sunlight of sweet Arden s wood. 
 
 Twere long to pass them in review, 
 For still the circle wider grew, 
 Until the airy vision bright 
 Was lost at last in liquid light.
 
 22 SCOTT S GREETING TO 
 
 So let me whisper in your ear, 
 Never to tell what passes here. 
 There ll be a grand reception soon 
 To greet the lad frae Bonnie Doon. 
 
 "We ll gather up the j oiliest crew 
 Falstaff, Prince Hal, and Eoderick Dhu ; 
 And " a the rantin brither Scots 
 Frae Maiden Kirk tae John o Groats." 
 
 So, Robbie, mak yoursel at home, 
 Mang friends and brithers you have come, 
 And here s a land that s quite as fair 
 As that between the Doon and Ayr. 
 
 A land that glories in its youth, 
 That owns nae creed but living truth, 
 Where " pith o sense and pride o worth " 
 A refuge find frae rank and birth ;
 
 SCOTT S GREETING TO BURNS. 23 
 
 A land that s made your verses real, 
 Whose guinea-stamp is honour s seal ; 
 Ay, Robbie, here they ve quite forgot 
 To write the " Sir "just Walter Scott. 
 
 And here your songs will ever ring 
 Through a the years the centuries bring, 
 Till all are free, and every sea 
 Shall know nae shore but liberty.
 
 24 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE HUDSON. 
 
 GREY streaks of dawn are faintly seen ; 
 
 The stars of half their light are shorn ; 
 The Hudson, with its banks of green, 
 
 Lies tranquil in the early morn. 
 
 The earth and sky breathe sacred rest 
 A holy peace too sweet to break 
 
 A spell like that Divine behest 
 Which stilled the Galilean lake.
 
 THE HUDSON. 25 
 
 The circling hills, with foreheads fair. 
 Await with joy the crowning rays ; 
 
 All nature bows in grateful prayer ; 
 
 The templed groves respond with praise. 
 
 Ye trembling shafts of glorious light, 
 Dart from the east with golden gleam ; 
 
 Cleave the dark shield of fleeing Night, 
 And slay her with your arrowy beam. 
 
 Cities and hamlets, up and down 
 
 This level highway to the sea, 
 Along the banks sit grey and brown, 
 
 Dim shadows musing dreamily. 
 
 Adown the river sloops and ships 
 Float slowly with the lazy tide ; 
 
 And round the bluff a paddle dips 
 
 "Where once the storm-ship used to ride.
 
 26 THE HUDSON. 
 
 The vision widens as the morn 
 
 Sweeps through the portals of the day ; 
 
 Purple and rosy mists adorn 
 
 Mountain and hill-top far away. 
 
 n. 
 
 The Catskills to the northward rise 
 
 With massive swell and towering crest- 
 
 The old-time "mountains of the skies," 
 The threshold of eternal rest ; 
 
 Where Manitou once lived and reigned, 
 Great Spirit of a race gone by ; 
 
 And Ontiora lies enchained, 
 With face uplifted to the sky. 
 
 The dream-land, too, of later days, 
 
 Where Rip Van Winkle slept in peace, 
 
 Wrapped up in deep poetic haze 
 A twenty years of sweet release.
 
 THE HUDSON. 27 
 
 Ay, burning years ! a nation s forge ! 
 
 To wake to freedom grown to more 
 To find another painted " George " 
 
 Above the old familiar door. 
 
 Through summer heat and winter snow, 
 Beside that rushing mountain-stream, 
 
 Just how he slept we cannot know ; 
 Perhaps twas all a pleasant dream. 
 
 Mayhap in many a wintry squall, 
 Or howling blast, or blinding storm, 
 
 He thought he heard Dame Gretchen call, 
 And that sufficed to keep him warm ; 
 
 Or else that flagon s wondrous draught, 
 Distilled in some weird elfin-land, 
 
 Drawn from the keg old Hendrick quaffed, 
 And shared by all his silent band.
 
 28 THE HUDSON. 
 
 legends full of life and health, 
 That live when records fail and die, 
 
 Ye are the Hudson s richest wealth, 
 The frondage of her history ! 
 
 in. 
 
 And musing here this quiet morn, 
 I call up pictures far away, 
 
 Of fountains where thy wave is born, 
 Of rills that in deep shadows play ; 
 
 Of forest trail, and lake and stream, 
 Rich poems bound in green and gold, 
 
 Whose leaves reflect the autumn gleam 
 Ere summer months are growing old ; 
 
 Of camp-fires bright with dancing fiame, 
 Where dreams and visions floated free, 
 
 And Eosalind, with Annie s name, 
 Interpreted the dreams to me :
 
 THE HUDSON. 29 
 
 Like Avalanche with rocky wall, 
 
 And Henderson s dark-wooded shore, 
 
 Your echoes linger still, and call 
 Unto my soul for evermore. 
 
 Tahawas, rising stern and grand, 
 
 " Cloud-sunderer," lift thy forehead high ; 
 Guard well thy sun-kissed mountain land, 
 
 "Whose lakes seem borrowed from the sky. 
 
 Hudson ! mountain-born and free, 
 Thy youth a deep impression takes ; 
 
 For, mountain-guarded to the sea, 
 Thy course is but a chain of lakes. 
 
 And not alone thy features fair, 
 
 And legend lore and matchless grace, 
 
 But noble deeds of courage rare 
 Illume, as with a soul, thy face.
 
 30 THE HUDSON. 
 
 The Highlands and the Palisades 
 Mirror their beauty in the tide ; 
 
 The history of whose forest shades 
 A nation reads Avith conscious pride. 
 
 On either side these mountain glens 
 
 Lie open like a massive book, 
 Whose words were graved with iron pens, 
 
 And lead into the eternal rock ; 
 
 Which evermore shall here retain 
 The annals time cannot erase ; 
 
 And while these granite leaves remain, 
 This crystal ribbon marks the place. 
 
 The spot where Kosciusko dreamed 
 Fort Putnam s grey and ruined wall ; 
 
 West Point, where patriot bayonets gleamed- 
 This open page reveals them all.
 
 THE HUDSON. 31 
 
 From Stony Point to Bends Height, 
 
 From Saratoga to the sea, 
 "We trace the lines, now dark, now bright, 
 
 From seventy-six to eighty-three. 
 
 We celebrate our hundredth year 
 
 With thankful hearts and words of praise, 
 
 And learn a lasting lesson here 
 
 Of trust and hope for coming days. 
 
 v. 
 
 And sweet to me this other thought, 
 And more than fancy to my mind : 
 
 These grand divisions, plainly wrought, 
 In human life a semblance find. 
 
 The Adirondacks, childhood s glee ; 
 
 The Catskills, youth with dreams o ercast ; 
 The Highlands, manhood bold and free ; 
 
 The Tappan Zee, age come at last.
 
 32 THE HUDSON. 
 
 Tappan Zee ! with peaceful hills, 
 And slumbrous sky and drowsy air, 
 
 Thy calm and restful spirit stills 
 
 The heart weighed down with weary care. 
 
 Pocantico s hushed waters glide 
 
 Through Sleepy Hollow s haunted ground, 
 And whisper to the listening tide 
 
 The name carved o er one lowly mound. 
 
 Fair mansions rise on every hill, 
 
 With turrets crowned, and stately towers, 
 Which men can buy and sell at will ; 
 
 But old Van Tassel s home is ours : 
 
 A quiet, cosy little nest, 
 
 Enshrined and loved for evermore ; 
 "Where Geoffrey Crayon came to rest, 
 
 When all his wanderings were o er.
 
 THE HUDSON. 33 
 
 Thrice blest and happy Tappan Zee, 
 Whose banks along thy glistening tide 
 
 Have legend, truth, and poetry 
 Sweetly expressed in Sunnyside. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The twilight falls, the picture fades ; 
 
 My soul has drifted down the stream ; 
 And now, beneath the Palisades, 
 
 I wonder, " Is it all a dream 1 " 
 
 Below the cliffs Manhattan s spires 
 Glint back the sunset s latest beam ; 
 
 The bay is flecked with twinkling fires ; 
 Or is it but " Van Ivortlandt s dream 1 " 
 
 Hark ! Freedom s arms ring far and wide ; 
 
 Again these forts with beacons gleam ; 
 Loud cannon roar on every side 
 
 I start, I wake ; I did but dream.
 
 34 THE HUDSON. 
 
 Deep silence mid these glorious hills ; 
 
 Dark shadows on the silver stream ; 
 My very soul with rapture thrills : 
 
 " Is t heaven, or earth, or but a dream?" 
 
 Nay ! true as life, and deep as love, 
 And real amid the things that seem ; 
 
 For Earth below and Heaven above 
 
 Proclaim "truth stranger than a dream."
 
 35 
 
 VII. 
 THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 WAITING to-night for the moon to rise 
 O er the cliffs that narrow Yosemite s skies 
 Waiting for darkness to melt away 
 In the silver light of a midnight day ; 
 Waiting, like one in a waking dream, 
 I stand alone by the rushing stream. 
 
 Alone, in a temple vast and grand, 
 With spire and turret on every hand ; 
 A world s cathedral, with walls sublime, 
 Chiselled and carved by the hand of Time ; 
 And over all heaven s crowning dome, 
 Whence gleam the beacon-lights of home.
 
 36 THE YOSEMITE. 
 
 The spectral shadows dissolve ; and now 
 The moonlight halos El Capitan s brow ; 
 And the lesser stars grow pale and dim 
 Along the sheer-cut mountain rim ; 
 Till, touched with magic, the grey walls stand 
 Like phantom mountains on either hand. 
 
 Yet I know they are real, for I see the spray 
 Of Yosemite Fall in the moonlight play, 
 Swaying and trembling, a radiant glow 
 From the sky above to the vale below ; 
 Like the ladder of old to Jacob given 
 A line of light from earth to heaven. 
 
 And there comes to my soul a vision dear, 
 As of shining spirits hovering near ; 
 And I feel the sweet and wondrous power 
 Of a presence that fills the midnight hour ; 
 And I know that Bethel is everywhere, 
 For prayer is the foot of the angel stair.
 
 THE YOSEMITE. 37 
 
 A light divine, a holy rest, 
 
 Floods all the valley and fills my breast ; 
 
 The very mountains are hushed in sleep 
 
 From Eagle Point to Sentinel Keep ; 
 
 And a lifelong lesson is taught me to-night, 
 
 When shrouded in shadow, to wait for the light. 
 
 Waiting at dawn for the morn to break 
 I>y the crystal waters of Mirror Lake ; 
 Waiting to see the mountains grey 
 Clearly defined in the light of day ; 
 Reflected and throned in glory here, 
 A lakelet that seems but the valley s tear. 
 
 Waiting ; but look ! the South Dome bright 
 
 Is floating now in a sea of light ; 
 
 And Cloud s Eest, glistening with caps of snow, 
 
 Inverted stands in the vale below, 
 
 With tow ring peaks and cliffs on high, 
 
 Hanging to meet another sky.
 
 38 THE YOSEM1TE. 
 
 crystal gem in setting rare ! 
 soul-like mirror in middle air ! 
 forest heart of eternal love ! 
 Earth-born, but pure as heaven above, 
 This Sabbath morn we find in thee 
 The poet s dream of purity. 
 
 The hours pass by ; I am waiting now 
 On Glacier Point s o erhanging brow ; 
 Waiting to see the picture pass, 
 Like the fleeting show of a wizard-glass ; 
 Waiting ; and still the vision seems 
 Woven of light and coloured with dreams. 
 
 But the cloud-capped towers, and pillars grey, 
 
 Securely stand in the light of day ; 
 
 The Temple wall is firm and sure ; 
 
 The worshippers pass, but it shall endure, 
 
 And will, while loud Yosemite calls 
 
 To bright Nevada and Vernal Falls.
 
 THE YOSEMITE. 39 
 
 grand and majestic organ choir, 
 
 With deep-toned voices that never tire ! 
 
 anthem written in notes that glow 
 
 On the rainbow bars of Po-ho-no ! 
 
 sweet " Te Deum " for ever sung, 
 
 With spray, like incense, heavenward swung ! 
 
 Thy music my soul with rapture thrills, 
 
 And there comes to my lips " The templed hills ; 
 
 Thy rocks and rills," a nation s song, 
 
 From valley to mountain borne along ; 
 
 My country s temple, built for thee, 
 
 Crowned with the Cap of Liberty ! 
 
 country reaching from shore to shore ! 
 fairest land the wide world o er ! 
 Columbia dear, whose mountains rise 
 From fertile valleys to sunny skies, 
 Stand firm and sure, and bold and free, 
 As thy granite-walled Yosemite. 
 D
 
 40 
 
 VIII. 
 THE LAND OF BURNS. 
 
 ONCE more upon the Firth of Clyde, 
 Once more upon the dancing sea ; 
 From out the land-locked harbour wide 
 
 Our Anglia sails right merrily. 
 Old Arran rises on our right, 
 Her mountains bathed in sunset light ; 
 While toward the coast the vision turns, 
 And rests upon the Land of Burns. 
 
 The western sky is all aglow ; 
 
 The headlands bold are touched with light;
 
 THE LAND OF BURNS. 41 
 
 Eeflected beauty sleeps below, 
 
 Upon the waters pure and bright. 
 It seems indeed a fitting eve 
 Of Scotia dear to take our leave, 
 And in a sunset hour so fair 
 To bid " good-night " to Bonnie Ayr. 
 
 Eut now the mountains lose their gold, 
 And to the leeward sink from view ; 
 The distant coast can scarce be told 
 
 A line upon the ocean blue ; 
 On Ailsa Craig and Eathlin Isle 
 A single cloud attempts to smile ; 
 And toward the coast the vision turns 
 In vain, to find the Land of Burns. 
 
 Ruins and shrines where memories sleep 
 We leave behind on every side ; 
 
 Dumbarton s walls and frowning keep, 
 Which shield the beauty of the Clyde ;
 
 42 THE LAND OF BURNS. 
 
 Dunedin, darling of the N"orth, 
 "Whose castle guards the winding Forth, 
 And countless others, old and grey, 
 Between the silver Tweed and Tay; 
 
 Sweet Ellen s Isle in beauty framed, 
 
 lona s shrine and dark Glencoe, 
 Fair Melrose, and that valley famed 
 
 Where Ettrick, Tweed, and Yarrow flow- 
 They all come back this summer eve, 
 As we of Scotia take our leave ; 
 But more than all fond memory turns 
 And rests on Ayr, the home of Burns. 
 
 For there the " Daisy " was uptorn, 
 To blossom on a wider field ; 
 
 And there the "Mousie," kindred born, 
 Was first to poesie revealed. 
 
 The land of u Auld Lang Syne " is there, 
 
 The cotter s home, the evening prayer :
 
 THE LAND OF BURNS. 43 
 
 To these, in truth, the memory turns 
 To these, which make the Land of Burns. 
 
 And there his genius, Coila s maid, 
 
 In middle furrow stayed his plough, 
 And left her lustrous mantle plaid, 
 
 And bound the holly round his brow ; 
 And there love met the ploughman bard, 
 Ere life to him seemed " luckless starred " ; 
 And there most glorious hopes were born, 
 Ere " Mary " from his heart was torn. 
 
 He felt "misfortune s cauld nor -west," 
 
 And saw that " man was made to mourn " ; 
 
 The " Scarlet Letter " on his breast 
 "Was never in concealment worn. 
 
 With all his failings he was free 
 
 From shadow of hypocrisy ; 
 
 In grief he always felt the thorn, 
 
 But boldly answered scorn with scorn.
 
 44 THE LAND OF BURNS. 
 
 It seemed his mission to bestow 
 
 On humble things the highest worth ; 
 
 The streams that by his " shieling " flow 
 Ripple in song o er all the earth. 
 
 The little Kirk of Alloway 
 
 Shines forth immortal in his lay, 
 
 And, filled with witches, takes its stand, 
 
 The ruin of his storied land. 
 
 He hears the " Twa Dogs " at his door 
 Discuss the ways of human life ; 
 
 He meets with " Death " upon the moor, 
 
 With whom old " Hornbook " was at strife ; 
 
 He talks familiar with the " Deil," 
 
 As if he were a friendly chiel ; 
 
 And " Holy Fair " upon the green 
 
 Becomes a Sunday " Halloween." 
 
 He dared to use the pointed quill, 
 
 While others bowed the knee to power ;
 
 THE LAND OF BURNS. 45 
 
 And Scotland owes a guerdon still 
 
 To Burns, who left her fairest dower. 
 It was his wish, " for Scotland s sake, 
 Some useful plan or book to make ; " 
 And evermore the pilgrim turns 
 To Scotia dear, the Land of Burns. 
 
 The land of heath and shaggy wood 
 To him was bathed in roseate light ; 
 
 He knew each spot where heroes stood, 
 And dared to battle for the right. 
 
 True heroes of the olden time, 
 
 Whose names still ring in freedom s chime, 
 
 And make e en strangers fondly turn 
 
 Unto the field of Bannockburn. 
 
 His " Scots wha hae " rings out more clear 
 Than any song in field or camp ; 
 
 And others rise more true and dear 
 " The rank is but the guinea-stamp."
 
 46 THE LAND OF BURNS. 
 
 For there are grander fields to fight, 
 Where man proclaims his brother s right ; 
 And Burns of poets leads the van 
 In simple truth that man is man. 
 
 That little " cottage " thatched with straw 
 Still speaks the truth he loved to sing : 
 A glorious manhood free to a , 
 
 Which titles could not take or bring. 
 Mansions of rank are poor indeed 
 Beside this cotter s lowly shed, 
 And pride is humbled as it turns 
 To cross the porch of Robert Burns.
 
 47 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 WELCOME, ye pleasant dales and hills, 
 
 Where, dreamlike, passed my early days ! 
 Ye cliffs and glens and laughing rills 
 
 That sing unconscious hymns of praise ! 
 Welcome, ye woods, with tranquil bowers 
 
 Embathed in autumn s mellow sheen, 
 Where careless childhood gathered flowers, 
 
 And slept on mossy carpets green ! 
 
 The same bright sunlight gently plays 
 About the porch and orchard-trees ;
 
 48 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 The garden sleeps in noontide haze, 
 Lulled by the murmuring of the bees ; 
 
 The sloping meadows stretch away 
 To upland field and wooded hill ; 
 
 The soft blue sky of peaceful day 
 
 Looks down upon the homestead still. 
 
 I hear the humming of the wheel 
 
 Strange music of the days gone by ; 
 I hear the clicking of the reel ; 
 
 Once more I see the spindle fly. 
 How, then, I wondered at the thread 
 
 That narrowed from the snowy wool, 
 Much more to see the pieces wed, 
 
 And wind upon the whirling spool ! 
 
 I see the garret once again, 
 
 With rafter, beam, and oaken floor ; 
 I hear the pattering of the rain 
 
 As summer clouds go drifting o er.
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 49 
 
 The little window towards the west 
 Still keeps its webs and buzzing flies, 
 
 And from this cosy childhood nest 
 
 Jack s bean-stalk reaches to the skies. 
 
 I see the circle gathered round 
 
 The open fireplace glowing bright, 
 While birchen sticks with crackling sound 
 
 Send forth a rich and ruddy light. 
 The window-sill is piled with sleet, 
 
 The well-sweep creaks before the blast, 
 But warm hearts make the contrast sweet, 
 
 Sheltered from storm, secure and fast. 
 
 loved ones of the long ago, 
 
 Whose memories hang in golden frames, 
 Eesting beneath the maple s glow, 
 
 Where few e er read your chiselled names, 
 Come back, as in that Christmas night, 
 
 And fill the vacant chairs of mirth !
 
 50 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 
 
 Ah me ! the dream is all too bright, 
 And ashes lie upon the hearth. 
 
 Below the wood, beside the spring, 
 
 Two little children are at play, 
 And Hope, that bird of viewless wing, 
 
 Sings in their hearts the livelong day. 
 The acorn patters at their feet, 
 
 The squirrel chatters neath the trees, 
 And life and love are all complete 
 
 They hold Aladdin s lamp and keys. 
 
 And, sister, now my children come 
 
 To find the water just as cool, 
 To play about our grandsire s home, 
 
 To see our pictures in the pool ; 
 Their laughter fills the shady glen, 
 
 The fountain gurgles o er with joy 
 That, after years full three times ten, 
 
 It finds its little girl and boy.
 
 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 51 
 
 No other spring in all the world 
 
 Is half so clear and cool and bright, 
 No other leaves by autumn curled 
 
 Reflect for me such golden light. 
 Of childhood s faith this is the shrine ; 
 
 I kneel beside it now as then, 
 And though the spring s no longer mine, 
 
 I kiss its cooling lips again. 
 
 Unchanged it greets the changeful years ; 
 
 Its life is one unending dream ; 
 No record here of grief or tears, 
 
 But, like the limpid meadow-stream, 
 It seems to sympathise with youth, 
 
 Just as the river does with age, 
 And ever whispers sweetest truth 
 
 Is written on life s title-page.
 
 52 
 
 X. 
 
 THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER 
 PLAYED. 
 
 I HEAR the notes of the Whip-poor-will 
 As of old in the gathering shade ; 
 
 I sit by the rock on the quiet hill 
 
 Where in girlhood my mother played. 
 
 With cheeks out-blooming the morning flowers, 
 
 And with heart as light as May, 
 It was here that she came in the golden hours, 
 
 By the lichened rock to play:
 
 THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED. 53 
 
 A granite Avaif, by glacier borne 
 
 From a far-away northern sea ; 
 It seemed so lonely, from kindred torn, 
 
 That she kept it company. 
 
 Till all in fancy or witching dream 
 It shone with a glimmering light, 
 
 "While fairies trooped in the moon s pale beam, 
 To dance through the summer night. 
 
 And such was her tender grace to me, 
 As we wandered the forest wild, 
 
 That ever the fairies seemed to be 
 Her playmates when a child. 
 
 And she, a queen of the Sylphid race, 
 On her silvery throne held sway; 
 
 But alas ! I dream of her girlish face, 
 And the rock is cold and grey.
 
 54 THE ROCK WHERE MY MOTHER PLAYED. 
 
 For the fairies went when my mother died, 
 And my years were scarcely ten ; 
 
 I come to-night from wandering wide, 
 But they never will come again. 
 
 I love the garden and orchard old, 
 The meadows her footsteps pressed, 
 
 And the stately oaks that shook their gold 
 In the lap of their gentle guest. 
 
 I love the spring and the rippling rill, 
 Where in evening she often strayed ; 
 
 But dearer to me the quiet hill 
 
 And the rock where my mother played.
 
 55 
 
 ALPINE SPEING. 
 
 To my mother. Mary Ann Mac Alpine Bruce. 
 Dedicated at DC Funiak Springs, Florida. 
 
 I KNOW the mountain brooklets in the pass of wild 
 
 Glencoe, 
 "Where waved the MacAlpine standard a thousand 
 
 years ago. 
 I have heard the pibroch sounding by stream and 
 
 wooded fell, 
 And lingered in the gloaming beside St Ronan sWell. 
 
 I know the homestead fountain, where the waters 
 
 bubble bright, 
 
 Beneath the oak and maple, aglow with golden light ; 
 E
 
 56 ALPINE SPRING. 
 
 I listen to the music of the gurgling sylvan rill, 
 And the gentle mellow cadence of the wondering 
 Whip-poor-will. 
 
 I wander down the footpath, in memory here to-day, 
 With my mother to that springside in the hills so 
 
 far away ; 
 I hear the old-time stories, kneel again beside her 
 
 knee, 
 And the woodland s murmuring music through the 
 
 twilight speaks to me ; 
 
 With a love that knows no distance, though deep 
 
 shadows intervene, 
 Leading back the weary wanderer through the 
 
 meadows fair and green, 
 With a love that lifts her rainbow though the skies 
 
 be dark above 
 Sunshine from a sphere immortal, born of heaven 
 
 a mother s love.
 
 ALPINE SPRING. 57 
 
 In the glory of this sunshine we have come in glad 
 ness now, 
 
 In the light that veils her presence, reverend with 
 uncovered brow ; 
 
 Here beside the gentle music of fair waters flowing 
 free 
 
 Alpine Spring, my sainted mother, consecrates its 
 heart to thee. 
 
 Come, then, children, free and happy, for her laugh 
 
 was light as yours ; 
 Come, fair youth, Avith golden promise that abideth 
 
 and endures \ 
 Come, fond age, that now is waiting for the bliss 
 
 that she has won ; 
 Welcome to the Alpine fountain while its waters 
 
 greet the sun.
 
 58 
 
 XII. 
 
 A HAND-SHAKE. 
 
 TO A CLASSMATE, AFTER FIFTEEX YEARS. 
 
 WHAT ! fifteen years 1 No, not that long 
 The record, David, must be wrong. 
 Dear Mother Yale, correct your sight, 
 It s only sixty-seven to-night. 
 
 There s some mistake no jesting here 
 We re hardly out of senior year. 
 Dear mother, look again, I pray ! 
 Last June was our Commencement-day.
 
 A HAND-SHAKE. 59 
 
 The elms on old Xew Haven green 
 Have scarcely lost their russet sheen ; 
 It only seems an evening since 
 "We sat upon the college fence. 
 
 But tell me, now, whose bairns are these 
 Bright boys and girls, about your knees ] 
 Somehow they seem to look like you. 
 Old Yale is right tis eighty-two. 
 
 Ay, facts are chiels which winna ding, 
 And bairns are facts the decades bring. 
 Come home with me, I ll introduce 
 Another flock that looks like Bruce. 
 
 I think we ll have another pair 
 To take our seats in college there 
 Ah, David, how old Yale will shine 
 When she receives your boys and mine !
 
 60 A H AND- SHAKE. 
 
 They ll never sleep in Chapel ! no ! 
 Like bricks tipped sideways in a row ; 
 They ll never help each other through 
 Old Euclid, like some lads we knew. 
 
 It s our good-luck and dearest joy 
 To find more gold in each alloy; 
 For in each bright and childish face 
 We both can read their mother s grace. 
 
 Let others boast their gear and wealth, 
 These are our treasures, rich with health ; 
 The living gold that s coined above, 
 Fresh from the mint, and stamped with love. 
 
 Upon this truth we take our stand, 
 Two brothers of a scattered band. 
 Give us your hand, for words are lame, 
 I find you, David, just the same ;
 
 A HAND-SHAKE. 61 
 
 "With cheery voice, with generous heart, 
 With will to do the manly part ; 
 A noble leader now as then 
 Twas then of boys, but now of men.
 
 62 
 
 XIII. 
 A NOOSING. 
 
 YALE UNIVERSITY, 1887. 
 
 (Read at the Phi Beta Kappa Meeting of tlic Twentieth 
 Anniversary of the Class 0/1867.) 
 
 HANG up the scythe ! Yale s dinner-horn 
 Wakes hill and plain with echoes sweet ; 
 
 Again, as in the early morn, 
 
 The boys around one table meet, 
 
 To ask each other where and how 
 The sloping field or garden lies ; 
 
 To wipe the sweat-drops from the brow, 
 To brush the moisture from the eyes ;
 
 A NOONING. 63 
 
 To lay aside the coil of care, 
 
 To sit beneath the templed trees, 
 A quiet hour of rest to share, 
 
 And bare the forehead to the breeze ; 
 
 To speak, till eyes and words grow dim, 
 Of those who by the wayside fell 
 
 Fond memory floods the bucket s brim 
 "Which, rises from the homestead well ; 
 
 To sing in brief and simple strain 
 
 The swelling music of the heart, 
 A melody with sweet refrain 
 
 That sweeps beyond the bounds of art; 
 
 To note the lines upon the face, 
 
 Where sunshine plays though wrinkles delve ; 
 Their pointers mark meridian-place : 
 
 The college clock is striking twelve.
 
 64 A NOONING. 
 
 For us the forenoon s work is done, 
 We celebrate our twentieth year, 
 
 The elms shut out the blazing sun, 
 The drowsy " nooning hour " is here. 
 
 We started forth when glittering dew 
 Aladdin s tales did well repeat ; 
 
 The skies have lost their roseate hue, 
 The stubble crackles neath our feet. 
 
 We started when the fields were bright, 
 And shadows all behind us lay; 
 
 From noontide now till fading light 
 The shadows fall the other way. 
 
 We went with many a ringing shout, 
 With merry boast and lusty cheer ; 
 
 We come with love that conquers doubt, 
 With hope that triumphs over fear.
 
 A NOONING. 65 
 
 We ve earned at least an idle hour 
 To talk together in the shade 
 
 The boy who drew the diamond bower, 
 Or he who held the poorest spade ; 
 
 The boy who toiled with brawny arm, 
 The youth with fortune s spoon of gold, 
 
 Or lad, like "David," born to charm 
 "With plumed nights of genius bold. 
 
 "We see each individual man 
 
 Portrayed as in a magic glass, 
 When sixty-seven led the van 
 
 A royal, independent class, 
 
 Which kept its course through sun and shade 
 With grit that never knew defeat, 
 
 And wrote upon each ringing blade 
 " Macte Virtute ! " Hard to beat.
 
 66 A NOONING. 
 
 We had no leaders, so to speak, 
 Xo towering genius of control, 
 
 A new republic every week 
 
 A grand committee of the whole, 
 
 Which went its way, yes, different ways, 
 In that cosine and tangent year, 
 
 Twin Euclid-babes in solemn baize, 
 Borne on the old biennial bier. 
 
 We marched full front in battle line, 
 We never drilled in squad or file, 
 
 No colonel decked in sashes fine 
 High privates all in general style. 
 
 We read of Arthur s matchless sword, 
 And each one thought to try a hand ; 
 
 But visions fled when monthly board 
 Dispersed the brave and knightly band.
 
 A NOONIXG. 67 
 
 "We traced the bright inscription fair 
 
 " Who pulls this blade from out the stone ; " 
 
 But, ah ! no Merlin s skill was there, 
 And none might draw the sword alone. 
 
 And then we dreamed of Portia dear, 
 With towers and castles ready made ; 
 
 But no Antonio was near 
 
 To start us in the casket trade. 
 
 Till dawned the meaning of the tales 
 By Mallory and Shakespeare told 
 
 He must attempt who wins or fails, 
 And " all that glistens is not gold " ; 
 
 That there are other knights of fame 
 
 Than Galahad or brave Gawaine, 
 And other maids of sweeter name 
 
 Than Portia fair or dear Elaine ;
 
 68 A NOONING. 
 
 That patience does not always win, 
 Or genius dream its way to power, 
 
 But both united enter in 
 
 To take the sword and princely dower ; 
 
 That neither wins the race alone, 
 
 That patience pulls while genius steers ; 
 
 Talent is muscle, brawn, and bone, 
 Genius the master of the gears. 
 
 Ay, such the lesson of old Yale, 
 The crowning glory of her blue 
 
 That pluck and patience never fail 
 "With genius cockswain of the crew. 
 
 darling mother, loved, revered 
 By loyal sons in every land, 
 
 Proud of the temples you have reared, 
 We come to take you by the hand ;
 
 A NOONING. 69 
 
 To look into your loving face, 
 
 And see the roses on your cheeks, 
 
 To note the glow and matchless grace, 
 The living eloquence that speaks 
 
 Of native mettle in the man, 
 
 That sends him forth to do and dare, 
 "With " menu " spelled American 
 
 Our Alma Mater s " bill of fare." 
 
 And so we come from many a field, 
 From town and city far and near, 
 
 To trace again your storied shield, 
 And read once more our title clear ; 
 
 To hail the fair and crowning arch, 
 The widening portal of your fame, 
 
 To note the ever onward march 
 
 Of steadfast Yale with newer name ;
 
 70 A NOOXIXG. 
 
 A University, in truth, 
 
 That meets the people s high demand, 
 A fountain of eternal youth, 
 
 The pride and glory of the land. 
 
 So may we come for many a year, 
 
 Through smiles and tears with spirits blithe, 
 A loyal band of classmates dear, 
 
 Till Time for us hangs up his scythe.
 
 71 
 
 XIV. 
 THE NUPTIALS. 
 
 NEW YORK AND BROOKLYN BRIDGE, 1883. 
 
 THE nuptial-knot at last is firmly tied ; 
 A hundred bells ring out a merry chime, 
 A hundred wires proclaim to every clime 
 
 Manhattan takes fair Brooklyn for his bride. 
 
 In strength and beauty growing side by side, 
 Cities betrothed, you waited vigorous prime, 
 Like steadfast lovers of the olden time, 
 
 Ere greed and gain our early faith defied. 
 F
 
 72 THE NUPTIALS. 
 
 We wish you joy. N"o longer twain, but one, 
 For ever bound in links of triple steel ; 
 
 You need no marriage ritual to rehearse, 
 Which Venice chanted to bright Adria won ; 
 No golden ring ; the service now is real 
 " Each other take for better or for worse."
 
 73 
 
 XV. 
 " INASMUCH." 
 
 A CHRISTMAS STORY. 
 
 You say that you want a Meetin -house for the boys 
 
 in the gulch up there, 
 And a Sunday-school with pictur -books ? Well, put 
 
 me down for a share. 
 I believe in little children ; it s as nice to hear em 
 
 read 
 As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the 
 
 cattle feed.
 
 74 "INASMUCH." 
 
 And I believe in preachin too by men for preach- 
 in born, 
 
 Who let alone the husks of creed and measure out 
 the corn. 
 
 The pulpit s but a manger where the pews are Gos 
 pel-fed ; 
 
 And they say twas to a manger that the Star of 
 Glory led. 
 
 So I ll subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the 
 stalls ; 
 
 I always give the best I ve got whenever my part 
 ner calls. 
 
 And, stranger, let me tell you : I m beginning to 
 suspect 
 
 That all the world are partners, whatever their creed 
 or sect ; 
 
 That life is a kind of pilgrimage a sort of Jericho 
 road, 
 
 And kindness to one s fellows the sweetest law in 
 the code.
 
 "INASMUCH." 75 
 
 Xo matter about the nitials from a farmer, you 
 
 understand, 
 Who s generally had to play it alone from rather an 
 
 or nary hand. 
 I ve never struck it rich, for farming, you see, is 
 
 slow ; 
 And whenever the crops are fairly good the prices 
 
 are always low. 
 A dollar isn t very much, but it helps to count the 
 
 same ; 
 The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes 
 
 wins the game. 
 It assists a fellow s praying when he s down upon 
 
 his knees 
 Inasmuch as ye have done it to one of the least of 
 
 these." 
 I know the verses, stranger, so you needn t stop to 
 
 quote ; 
 It s a different thing to know them or to say them 
 
 off by rote.
 
 76 "INASMUCH." 
 
 I ll tell you where I learned them, if you ll step in 
 from the rain : 
 
 Twas down in Frisco, years ago had been there 
 hauling grain ; 
 
 It was just across the ferry, on the Sacramento 
 pike, 
 
 Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shan 
 ties scatterin like 
 
 Not the likeliest place to he in. I remember the 
 saloon, 
 
 With grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all 
 in one. 
 
 And this made up the picture my hair Avas not 
 then grey, 
 
 But everything still seems as real as if twere yester 
 day. 
 
 A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter 
 there 
 
 Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with 
 grief and care ;
 
 "INASMUCH." 77 
 
 And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of 
 chronic cold 
 
 Just the tone you find in children who are prema 
 turely old. 
 
 She said : " Two bits for bread and tea, ma hasn t 
 much to eat ; 
 
 She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all 
 some meat. 
 
 We ve been half-starved all winter, but spring will 
 soon be here, 
 
 And she tells us, Keep up courage, for God is 
 always near. " 
 
 Just then a dozen men came in ; the boy was called 
 aAvay 
 
 To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty- 
 niners say. 
 
 I never heard from human lips such oaths and 
 curses loud 
 
 As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless 
 crowd.
 
 78 "INASMUCH." 
 
 But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to 
 
 revels deep, 
 On a keg beside a barrel in the corner, fast 
 
 asleep. 
 Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one 
 
 at the bar 
 Said, " Hello ! I say, stranger, what have you over 
 
 thai?" 
 The boy then told her story ; and that crew, so fierce 
 
 and wild, 
 Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing 
 
 of the child. 
 The glasses all were lowered. Said the leader : 
 
 " Boys, see here ; 
 All day we ve been pouring whisky, drinking deep 
 
 our Christmas cheer. 
 Here s two dollars. I ve got feelings, which are not 
 
 entirely dead, 
 For this little girl and mother suffering for the want 
 
 of bread."
 
 "INASMUCH." 79 
 
 " Here s a dollar." " Here s another ; " and they all 
 
 chipped in their share, 
 And they planked the ringing metal down upon the 
 
 counter there. 
 Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from 
 
 his "belt, 
 Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the 
 
 sleeper knelt ; 
 Took the " two bits " from her fingers, changed her 
 
 silver piece for gold. 
 " See there, boys ! the girl is dreaming." Down her 
 
 cheeks the tear-drops rolled. 
 One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to 
 
 the street. 
 Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her 
 
 feet 
 "\Vith a dazed and strange expression, saying : " Oh, 
 
 I thought twas true ! 
 
 Ma was well, and we were happy ; round our door- 
 stone roses grew.
 
 80 "INASMUCH." 
 
 We had everything we wanted, food enough, and 
 
 clothes to wear ; 
 And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft 
 
 with fingers fair." 
 As she looked and saw the money in her fingers 
 
 glistening bright 
 "Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she 
 
 won t believe me quite, 
 How you ve sent way up to heaven, where the 
 
 golden treasures are, 
 And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery 
 
 bar." 
 That s a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought 
 
 you d like to hear ; 
 True to fact and human nature, pointing out one s 
 
 duty clear. 
 Hence, to matters of subscription you will see that 
 
 I m alive 
 Just mark off that dollar, stranger ; I think I ll 
 
 make it five.
 
 81 
 
 XVI. 
 THE PEINTEE -BOY S DEEAM. 
 
 ON a rickety stool by a rickety door 
 Of the editor s room on the upper floor, 
 
 In the inner sanctum of pen and shears, 
 Sat a printer s boy of uncertain years 
 
 Waiting for copy ; and all was still 
 Save the rasping scratch of a rapid quill. 
 
 The Carrier s Address was being born 
 
 In the old-time verse for the ~New Year s morn ;
 
 82 THE PRINTER- BOTS DREAM. 
 
 And the editor wrote like a man inspired, 
 But the hour was late, and the boy was tired. 
 
 Congressional Eecords, in binding grim, 
 And Patent Reports looked down on him 
 Plump volumes revealing the nation s health, 
 And of books the editor s only wealth. 
 
 Large files of papers, dusty and old, 
 In unswept corners quietly told 
 
 That his paper was somehow a thing of dates, 
 While the plums were reserved for happier fates. 
 
 But the books, and the files, and the editor grey, 
 To the drowsy boy were fading away ; 
 
 And the narrow room seemed a gallery grand, 
 "With rich wrought carvings on every hand.
 
 THE PRINTER- BOY S DREAM. 83 
 
 Beautiful volumes quaint and old, 
 Yellow vellums with clasps of gold, 
 
 Arranged in ebony cases rare, 
 Greeted his vision everywhere ; 
 
 And he noted the books in tens were placed, 
 And a hundred volumes each alcove graced. 
 
 Eighteen were closed with a brazen bar, 
 But the Nineteenth alcove was still ajar. 
 
 No parchment here ; the books were new, 
 And the last was registered Eighty-two ; 
 
 "VYhile a boy in feature resembling him, 
 Not ragged and soiled, but neat and trim, 
 
 Near the lower shelf, he seemed to see 
 Placing another marked Eighty-three ;
 
 84 THE PRINTER- BOY S DREAM. 
 
 And an angel sat in a golden chair, 
 Writing in characters bright and fair 
 
 With a noiseless pen ; and the volume bore 
 On the clear white margin Eighty-four. 
 
 But the vision vanished with, " Johnny, come ! 
 This to the foreman, and then go home. 
 
 " Wait, one line more a merry cheer ! 
 To each and all a blithe New Year ! " 
 
 Gone were the alcoves with carving old, 
 And volumes rich with clasps of gold ; 
 
 The Patent Reports came back again, 
 The whitewashed wall, the dingy den ; 
 
 And the angel that sat in glory there 
 Was the editor grey in his old arm-chair.
 
 85 
 
 XVII. 
 THE SLAVE S PEAYER 
 
 WE had tramped through field and forest, 
 
 the long and dreary way ! 
 With the stars alone to guide us, 
 
 Eor we dared not move by day 
 
 Jack and I, two Union soldiers, 
 Just escaped from prison-shed, 
 
 Squalid, ghastly, shoeless, starving, 
 And no place to ask for bread ;
 
 86 THE SLAVE S PRAYER. 
 
 Swimming rivers deep and swollen, 
 Crossing mountains grim and dark, 
 
 Wading marshes, crouched in thickets, 
 Trembling at the bloodhound s bark. 
 
 the chill nights marched in silence, 
 As the weeks crept slowly past ; 
 
 Leagues away the Union army, 
 Where we dreamed of rest at last. 
 
 But our strength was wellnigh broken, 
 When, one night, the Lord be praised ! 
 
 Eight before us, through the pine-trees, 
 Suddenly a camp-fire blazed. 
 
 Straight we turned, but stayed our footsteps, 
 
 As upon the evening air 
 Came the gentle, broken accents 
 
 Of a heartfelt, earnest prayer.
 
 THE SLAVE S PRAYER. 87 
 
 Drawing nearer through the shadows, 
 Creeping close from, tree to tree, 
 
 There a white-haired slave was kneeling, 
 Asking God for liberty. 
 
 And his words were sweet and touching 
 
 As the first prayer of a child, 
 And it seemed that God s own presence 
 
 Filled the forest vast and wild. 
 
 And the " Amen " that he uttered 
 Seemed to echo through the trees ; 
 
 But it might have been our voices, 
 For he started from his knees, 
 
 And he glanced in fear about him, 
 And his look was wild with fright. 
 
 " Save us ! we are Union soldiers ; 
 We implore your help to-night. 
 G
 
 THE SLAVE S PRAYER. 
 
 " Tell us, where s the Union army 1 " 
 And we stood before him there, 
 
 Wan and ghost-like, hardly human, 
 Haggard phantoms of despair. 
 
 Then we sat and told our story 
 While he served his simple food, 
 
 And the moaning pines above us 
 Whispered low in plaintive mood. 
 
 And the midnight stars were shining 
 Ere we rose to take our way, 
 
 And we knelt we all were brothers- 
 As he bowed again to pray. 
 
 From that heart by bondage broken, 
 From that son of toil and pain, 
 
 Rose a prayer more true and tender 
 Than I e er shall hear again.
 
 THE SLAVE S PRAYER. 89 
 
 And throughout the weary marches, 
 Through long nights of care and fear, 
 
 Those sweet words were ever with us, 
 Filling both our hearts with cheer. 
 
 And we reached the Union army, 
 
 And we told our story there, 
 And the " boys " were hushed and breathless 
 
 As we gave that old slave s prayer.
 
 90 
 
 XVIII. 
 WENDELL PHILLIPS. 
 
 HE raised his voice the scornful smiled, 
 A jeering rabble came to hear ; 
 
 The statesman mocked, the mob reviled, 
 Pulpit and press gave little cheer. 
 
 He raised his voice the scoffer frowned, 
 Disciples gathered day by day ; 
 
 In him the living "Word was found, 
 
 The light, the life, the truth, the way.
 
 WENDELL PHILLIPS. 91 
 
 He raised his voice the crowded hall 
 Answered to eloquence and right ; 
 
 And statesmen heard at last the call 
 Of freemen rising in their might. 
 
 He raised his voice the shackles fell, 
 And all beneath the stars were free. 
 King out ! ring out, centennial bell, 
 The living fact of liberty !
 
 92 
 
 XIX. 
 KINDNESS. 
 
 DEDICATED TO MRS JAMES A. GARFIELD. 
 (Head at Hiram College, Ohio, 1885.) 
 
 THE fountain gives birth to the stream, 
 
 The stream glides on to the sea ; 
 The sun looks down, and its beam 
 
 Lifts moisture to gladden the lea ; 
 The hills and the mountains rejoice, 
 
 The valleys with deep verdure lined ; 
 One chorus the elements voice 
 
 With love every law is entwined.
 
 KINDNESS. 93 
 
 The rose leans over the brook, 
 
 And blushes its beauty to trace ; 
 The waters, entranced in a nook, 
 
 Delight in the glow of its face. 
 Then onward through grasses and ferns 
 
 The rill laughs at stones in its way ; 
 New charm to the woodland returns, 
 
 The mosses are jewelled with spray. 
 
 There is nothing that lives to itself, 
 
 Be it ever so near or so far, 
 From the weed on the sea s coral shelf 
 
 To the fleck of the farthermost star ; 
 No atom removed or estranged, 
 
 No minute divorced from the hours, 
 Blind force is to sympathy changed, 
 
 And each link is enwoven with flowers. 
 
 No life is so strong and complete 
 
 But it yearns for the smile of a friend ;
 
 94 KIXUXESS. 
 
 A remembrance is always more sweet 
 When love and kind wishes attend. 
 
 Your red-lipped roses still speak, 
 
 Your blossoms, carnation and white 
 
 But alas ! my tribute is weak ; 
 I bring but a pansy to-night 
 
 To fade ; but your garlands remain, 
 
 Unwithered your chaplet survives ; 
 No deed can be idle or vain 
 
 That strengthens or sweetens our lives ; 
 And richer the token to me 
 
 From the dear alma mater of one 
 Revered from the lakes to the sea, 
 
 Your lover and brother and son. 
 
 His life has flowed down to the deep, 
 
 His record enriches the earth, 
 And memory s roses shall keep 
 
 Their bloom where the stream had its birth.
 
 KIJFDITESS. 95 
 
 The voice of our Garfield is still, 
 
 Eut the word of the man cannot die ; 
 
 His courage our pulses enthrill, 
 
 Our dreams to his manhood reply.
 
 96 
 
 XX. 
 KEPENTAffCE. 
 
 A CURSE was hurled into the air : 
 
 That God a brother s soul might blast. 
 The hot tears fell. Then rose a prayer, 
 
 That God might guard and keep it fast. 
 Swift sped the curse, but swifter far 
 
 The white-winged prayer on mercy s breath ; 
 While angels o er Heaven s crystal bar 
 
 Beheld the race of life and death. 
 The bat-like curse in dazzling light 
 
 Uncertain now its journey keeps, 
 AVhile up through heavenly radiance bright 
 
 The victor prayer in triumph sweeps.
 
 REPENTANCE. 97 
 
 The crystal bar wide open flies, 
 
 The prayer is safe in Paradise ; 
 
 It closes at the angel s nod, 
 
 The curse ne er reached the throne of God.
 
 98 
 
 XXI. 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 AGAIN I see him on the sunlit lawn, 
 
 As in the May-day of that final year, 
 With brow as radiant as the early dawn, 
 
 And eye transparent as the heavens clear. 
 With cloak o er shoulder thrown in careless grace 
 
 He stands enframed in budding flowers and 
 
 trees, 
 A genial Orpheus, with Olympian face 
 
 For ever fanned by pure Arcadian breeze.
 
 LONGFELLOW. 99 
 
 Ah, more to me than Prospero s magic isle 
 
 The paths and greensward where the poet 
 
 dreamed ! 
 
 The opening blossoms wooed his kindly smile, 
 The expectant flowers with richer colours 
 
 gleamed. 
 My soul still clasps the warm and generous 
 
 hand 
 Which wields the sceptre of a kingless land.
 
 100 
 
 XXII 
 DECOKATIO:N T -DAY. 
 
 WE deck to-day each soldier s grave, 
 We come with offerings pure and white 
 
 To strew the mounds of those who gave 
 Their all to keep our honour bright. 
 
 We cannot pay the debt we owe ; 
 
 They gave their lives that we might live 
 Our warmest words fall far below 
 
 The worship that we fain would give.
 
 DECORATION -DAY. 101 
 
 country ! fairest of the free ; 
 
 Columbia ! name for ever blest ; 
 lost " Atlantis " of the sea ! 
 
 Securely anchored in the "West ; 
 
 Unfold the flag their hands have borne ! 
 
 The shreds of many a well-fought field ; 
 The stripes alone are rent and torn, 
 
 The stars are there, our sacred shield. 
 
 Those stars are ours because they died, 
 
 The blue is dearer for their sake, 
 "Who sleep on many a green hillside, 
 
 In ranks that never more will break. 
 
 For Avell they wore the colour true 
 
 That holds our constellation fair, 
 And evermore the " Boys in Blue " 
 
 Shall have a day of rest and prayer.
 
 102 DECORA TION - DA Y. 
 
 Yes, martyred heroes of the free ! 
 
 We kneel beside your mounds and pray 
 That God our nation s guard may be, 
 
 And comrade s hope from day to day. 
 
 day baptised in blood and tears ! 
 
 The blood was theirs, the tears are ours ; 
 And children s children through the years 
 
 Shall strew their graves with sweetest flowers. 
 
 And May-day garlands all in bloom 
 Will quicken other verse than mine, 
 
 And decorate the soldier s tomb 
 
 From Southern palm to Northern pine.
 
 103 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 THE CANDLE PAEADE. 
 
 (Read at the Eighteenth Reunion of the Society of the Army 
 of the Potomac at Saratoga Springs, 1887.) 
 
 [One night, after the Army of the Potomac had returned from 
 the capture of Eichmond to its old camp on the hills of Alex 
 andria, a company, each man carrying a lighted candle in his 
 gun, began to march in sportive procession. Eegiments and 
 brigades caught the spirit, and the accumulated supplies of 
 caudle rations were soon utilised by dancing columns wheeling 
 and winding in every direction as far as the eye could reach.] 
 
 ONCE again Potomac s Army answers to the muster- 
 roll ; 
 
 Once again the old-time music thrills the soldier s 
 heart and soul. 
 
 H
 
 104 THE CANDLE PARADE. 
 
 Eank on rank, with cheer and gladness, rally at the 
 bugle-call 
 
 On the field of Saratoga, underneath its mountain- 
 wall, 
 
 "Where M Gregor s evening shadows fall upon the 
 crystal tide, 
 
 At the gateway of the cottage where the nation s 
 hero died ; 
 
 Where the streams in gentle music still our father s 
 requiem chant, 
 
 And the pine, the oak, the maple, and the laurel 
 echo Grant. 
 
 Xame revered, that clasps great rivers evermore in 
 loving thrall : 
 
 Queenly Hudson, fair Potomac, Mississippi king 
 of all; 
 
 Eivers three, that bind one nation from the Gulf to 
 Northern lakes, 
 
 From the Eockies to Virginia, where the loud At 
 lantic breaks ;
 
 THE CANDLE PARADE. 105 
 
 Arms entwined and interlocking, holding in their 
 wide embrace 
 
 Sweeping hills and lordly mountains of the Appa 
 lachian race ; 
 
 Fertile fields and rolling prairies with their wealth 
 of floral bloom, 
 
 Plucked and borne by loving fingers to the loyal 
 Logan s tomb. 
 
 Fruit of gold in silver pictures waving fields by 
 
 rivers framed ; 
 States discordant reunited, love and land and flag 
 
 reclaimed : 
 Fruit of gold a century s harvest, in war s reaping 
 
 rudely shorn 
 Garnered heroes, named and nameless, swift on fiery 
 
 chariots borne. 
 Rest in peace by stately rivers, martyred soldiers of 
 
 the free ! 
 Eest, brave captain, at our threshold, where the 
 
 Hudson meets the sea !
 
 106 THE CANDLE PARADE. 
 
 While Mount Vernon s sacred portal sentinels Poto 
 mac s waves, 
 
 Mississippi sends her greetings to the streams that 
 guard their graves. 
 
 Fair Potomac ! dear Potomac ! at thy name what 
 
 memories throng ! 
 Deeds of heroism blazoned in a nation s art and 
 
 song. 
 Onward sweeps the steady column to the sound of 
 
 fife and drum ; 
 Solid phalanx, proud battalion see the sun-browned 
 
 veterans come. 
 Forward, to the touch of elbow, as of old in long 
 
 review : 
 Missing comrades take their places in the ranks that 
 
 wear the blue. 
 " On to Richmond ! " " On to Richmond ! " swells 
 
 the old familiar cry. 
 " On this line " you know the context comes the 
 
 soldier s brief reply.
 
 THE CANDLE PARADE. 107 
 
 Southward now, with ranks concentring, reads the 
 
 order of the day, 
 "Wilderness and Spottsylvania marking halts along 
 
 the way, 
 Where the trees are mowed with bullets brothers 
 
 battling hand to hand 
 Blue and grey, with kindred courage worthy of one 
 
 fatherland ; 
 Both alike in silent trenches guarding now the 
 
 peaceful scene, 
 Waiting till the morn s reveille wakes the camps of 
 
 waving green. 
 Southward still across Xorth Anna, thirty miles from 
 
 Eapidan ; 
 
 Southward, by the left flank marching, gallant Han 
 cock in the van. 
 
 How each message, fraught with glory, taught a 
 
 listening land the names 
 Of the Old Dominion rivers, from Potomac to the 
 
 James !
 
 108 THE CANDLE PARADE. 
 
 How you kept the "Dailies" busy with their topo 
 graphic maps 
 
 One eye on the Shenandoah, one on Sherman s 
 shoulder-straps ! 
 
 Sheridan in rapid orbit, like a genuine son of 
 Mars, 
 
 Sherman on the outer circle, Saturn-like among the 
 stars ; 
 
 Here and there a warlike comet dauntless Custer, 
 dashing " Kil " ; 
 
 But they had to " get up Early " to compete with 
 "Little Phil." 
 
 Who can paint that panorama, clear and perfect in 
 
 detail ] 
 Who can trace the telling bullets in that storm of 
 
 leaden hail 1 
 Who can twine a fitting garland for each dear heroic 
 
 name, 
 Or untwist the strands of glory in the cable of our 
 
 fame 1
 
 THE CANDLE PARADE. 109 
 
 This sufficeth and abideth every thread is firm and 
 
 true ; 
 Homespun texture, double woven, colours fast red, 
 
 white, and blue ; 
 Knotted well at Appomattox, tied to keep the 
 
 threads in place, 
 Never more to be unravelled in the nation s onward 
 
 race. 
 
 Homeward now with flaunting banners, every heart 
 with triumph thrills ; 
 
 Homeward to the old-time quarters on the Alex 
 andria hills. 
 
 Once again a thousand camp-fires on the wide 
 horizon glow ; 
 
 Once again the canvas city spreads its tents of 
 drifted snow ; 
 
 All the long, fierce conflict over, day of Jubilee is 
 here ; 
 
 No more longing, no more waiting give us, boys, a 
 sons; of cheer.
 
 110 THE CANDLE PARADE. 
 
 Hail the bright-illumined city, with its crowning 
 
 dome of white ! 
 Hail Columbia ! hail Potomac ! All the land is 
 
 free to-night ! 
 
 What is that along the hillside? See a hundred 
 twinkling points 
 
 Starting up and gliding slowly, serpent-like, with 
 glittering joints. 
 
 Mark the sweeping curves of beauty as in waving 
 lines it breaks, 
 
 Holding all the wide encampment in its folds of 
 fiery flakes 
 
 Solid squares and ranks of twinkle putting phantasy 
 to shame ; 
 
 Phosphorous billows in the darkness gemmed with 
 drifting dots of flame ; 
 
 Ghostly folds of sable serge-cloth trimmed with glit 
 tering golden braid ; 
 
 Spirit-lights of weird battalions dancing all in mas 
 querade.
 
 THE CANDLE PARADE. Ill 
 
 You remember well the sombre silence of that vision 
 
 vast; 
 As a background for the pageant, all the sky was 
 
 overcast. 
 Then upon the stillness breaking came the old 
 
 familiar airs, 
 Choral links of home and camp-fire treasured in a 
 
 nation s prayers 
 "Home, sweet home" and "John Brown s body," 
 
 "Dixie-land" and "Old Camp-ground," 
 Swinging symphonies commingled in one bright 
 
 bouquet of sound. 
 Then from out the ruddy petals " Forward ! " came 
 
 the order shrill, 
 
 And the visioned scene was mortal twas the fa 
 mous candle- drill. 
 
 Xo one knew just how it started, how that strange 
 
 parade began, 
 Emblem of the nation s genius and the individual
 
 112 THE CANDLE PARADE. 
 
 Waiting not lieutenant s order, epaulette, or crimson 
 
 sash, 
 Blending in the ready impulse Saxon grit and 
 
 Gaelic dash. 
 Here, perhaps, a lighted candle in a musket, just for 
 
 Then a score, platoon, battalion all the scene is 
 
 under way, 
 And the chorus, proudly swelling, stirs the heart of 
 
 every corps, 
 " We are coming, Father Abram, fifty thousand 
 
 candles more." 
 
 We are coming, we are coming, as of old the army 
 
 came 
 " Wide Awakes " and " Little Giants," in one lava- 
 
 stream of flame, 
 Knowing but one common duty when the banner 
 
 was defied, 
 Stirred in every nerve and fibre when the gallant 
 
 Ellsworth died.
 
 THE CANDLE PARADE. 113 
 
 Steadfast Lincoln, Douglas greets you with his fol 
 
 lowers tried and true : 
 " Keep for aye the nation s honour, all the stars 
 
 within the blue." 
 ISToble hero ! generous rival ! both, alas ! too soon to 
 
 fall. 
 Lincoln ! still the Douglas greets you, "Dinna ye 
 
 hear the sloan call 1 " 
 
 more quickly sprang that pageant from the 
 
 silence of the night 
 Than the army of the people panoplied in freedom s 
 
 might ; 
 ~Sot more swiftly Concord s message flashed from 
 
 Boston s Old ISTorth spire ; 
 Xot more speedily the answer to Clan Alpine s Cross 
 
 of Fire ; 
 !Not more ready Eoderick s followers springing at 
 
 the whistle shrill, 
 Than the loyal yeoman soldiers starting up from 
 
 plain and hill.
 
 114 THE CANDLE PARADE. 
 
 Not more quickly Highland claymores sank in copse 
 
 and heathered glen 
 Than the grand old army veterans back into the 
 
 land again. 
 
 " One from many," reads our motto, wider, deeper 
 
 than before 
 jSTot of states, but individuals "We, the people," 
 
 evermore ! 
 Tell me not of servile soldiers who for king or 
 
 sovereign died, 
 Here a million kings and sovereigns marched to 
 
 victory side by side ; 
 Brothers all in sacred compact, file and captain 
 
 equal born ; 
 Comrade answering to comrade, waiting for the 
 
 promised morn. 
 Far and wide each gleaming taper, " like a good 
 
 deed," shines abroad, 
 Till the naming heights of freedom manifest the 
 
 will of God.
 
 THE CANDLE PARADE. 115 
 
 But the hillside s fading beauty tells us the parade 
 
 is o er, 
 
 Like the embers of the camp-fire dying out for ever 
 more. 
 Only now in distant windows gleams the candle 
 
 through the night, 
 And the camp-fires change to firesides, with their 
 
 cheery visions bright 
 Streaming out into the darkness past the lane and 
 
 wicket-gate, 
 Where the mother, wife, and sister, all the loved 
 
 and loving, wait. 
 Glorious land to live or die for ! Let Columbia 
 
 bend her knee 
 As she grants her proudest honours to the soldiers 
 
 of the free.
 
 116 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 THE SILEXT SOLDIER 
 
 [When Grant was dying, a ray of sunlight through the half- 
 closed shutters of his room fell upon Lincoln s picture, leaving 
 the General s portrait, which hung beside it, in deep shadow. 
 After lingering for a moment upon the brow of the martyred 
 President, it passed, at the instant of death, and played upon 
 the portrait of the great General.] 
 
 FROM gulf to lake, from sea to sea, 
 The land is draped a nation weeps ; 
 
 And o er the bier bows reverently, 
 "Whereon the silent soldier sleeps.
 
 THE SILENT SOLDIER. 117 
 
 The mountain-top is bathed in light ; 
 
 And eastern cliff with outlook wide 
 Its name shall live in memory bright 
 
 The Mount MacGregor, where he died. 
 
 A monument to stand for aye, 
 
 In summer s bloom, in winter s snows ; 
 A shrine where men shall come to pray, 
 
 While at its base the Hudson flows. 
 
 A humble room, the light burns low ; 
 
 The morning breaks on distant hill ; 
 The failing pulse is beating slow ; 
 
 The group is motionless and still. 
 
 Two portraits hang upon the wall, 
 Two kindred pictures side by side 
 
 Statesman and soldier, loved by all 
 Lincoln and Grant, Columbia s pride.
 
 118 THE SILENT SOLDIER. 
 
 A single ray through lattice streams, 
 And breaks in rainbow colours there ; 
 
 On Lincoln s brow a glory gleams 
 
 As wife and children kneel in prayer. 
 
 A halo round the martyr s head, 
 
 It lights the sad and solemn room ; 
 
 Above the living and the dead 
 
 The soldier s portrait hangs in gloom 
 
 In shadow one, and one in light : 
 
 But look ! the pencil-ray has passed, 
 
 And on the hero s picture bright 
 The golden sunlight rests at last. 
 
 And so, throughout the coming years, 
 On both the morning beam shall play, 
 
 When the long night of bitter tears 
 Has melted in the light away.
 
 119 
 
 XXV. 
 
 ON GUARD. 
 
 THE 150TH REGIMENT AT GETTYSBURG. 
 
 WE cannot consecrate this field, 
 
 Or hallow ground where heroes stood ; 
 Thus spoke the man whose words have sealed 
 
 Our lips in Freedom s Holyrood, 
 
 We cannot dedicate. Too well 
 
 Our Lincoln knew the Temple s cost, 
 
 He heard the nation s anthem swell : 
 Your deeds survive, our words are lost. 
 I
 
 120 OA T GUARD. 
 
 The brave men, living and the dead, 
 Who wrought the epic of the free, 
 
 Have consecrated here, he said, 
 The land, the world, to liberty. 
 
 And now amid the whirling years, 
 That punctuate the swift decades, 
 
 You come with blended joy and tears, 
 In peace beneath the gathering shades, 
 
 To contemplate from hill to hill 
 
 The line you held those bitter days, 
 
 Again to feel your pulses thrill, 
 
 Once more to take your meed of praise ; 
 
 With noble monument to mark 
 
 The spot where Duchess tried and true 
 
 Stood by the faith when skies were dark, 
 And stars were blotted from the blue ;
 
 OX GUARD. 121 
 
 A picket outpost here for aye 
 
 With watchword of the Hudson born, 
 To note the moonlight shadows play, 
 
 To greet with joy the early morn ; 
 
 A silent sentinel to keep 
 
 Its post along the quiet line ; 
 A Bannockhurn, where brothers sleep 
 
 A Waterloo, where roses twine. 
 
 Ay, Gettysburg, thy name at last 
 
 Proclaims the triumph of the race ; 
 
 Tis here the future greets the past, 
 And faith asserts her crowning grace. 
 
 Xo other battle-field like thine, 
 
 Where love joins hands across the way, 
 
 One flag, one land, a sacred shrine 
 Alike unto the Blue and Grey.
 
 122 ON GUARD. 
 
 Then rear the graven stone with pride 
 Along the line where freedom s van 
 
 Shall speak to generations wide 
 The final victory of man : 
 
 That love and law shall reign supreme 
 "Where er the starry banner waves 
 
 When stones that now in sunlight gleam 
 Shall lie in dust above their graves.
 
 123 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 OUR XATIOX FOR EVER 
 
 (Sung ~by six thousand voices at the dose of a Union Concert 
 of Northern and Southern Songs in the Chautauqua 
 Amphitheatre, 1883.) 
 
 RIXG out to the stars the glad chorus ! 
 
 Let bells in sweet melody chime ; 
 Ring out to the sky bending o er us 
 
 The chant of a nation sublime : 
 One land with a history glorious ! 
 One God and one faith all victorious ! 
 
 The songs of the camp-fires are blended, 
 The Xorth and the South are no more ;
 
 124 OUR NATION FOR EVER. 
 
 The conflict for ever is ended, 
 
 From the lakes to the palm-girded shore. 
 
 One people united for ever 
 
 In hope greets the promising years ; 
 
 No discord again can dissever 
 A Union cemented by tears. 
 
 The past shall retain but one story 
 A record of courage and love ; 
 
 The future shall cherish one glory, 
 
 While the stars shine responsive above. 
 
 With emotions of pride and of sorrow, 
 Bring roses and lilies to-day ; 
 
 In the dawn of the nation s to-morrow 
 We garland the Blue and the Grey. 
 
 One land with a history glorious ! 
 
 One God and one faith all victorious !
 
 125 
 
 XXVII. 
 THE TRIP OF THE BELL. 
 
 FROM Northern tide 
 To bayou wide, 
 With homage meet 
 The old bell greet ! 
 Uncovered stand 
 Through all the land 
 While chimes peal out 
 Its royal route !
 
 126 THE TRIP OF THE BELL. 
 
 King, Baltimore ! 
 Thy Ches peake shore 
 By nobler guest 
 Was never pressed. 
 With loyal pride 
 Swell free and wide 
 Thy chorus grand, 
 " My Maryland ! 
 
 Ring, Washington ! 
 The bell that won 
 Triumphant fame 
 In freedom s name 
 Waits at thy gate 
 In sovereign state. 
 With anthem sweet 
 Columbia greet ! 
 
 Ring, Richmond, ring ! 
 Warm tribute bring,
 
 THE TRIP OF THE BELL. 127 
 
 Dominion old, 
 "Where patriots bold 
 Oppression spurned, 
 "With words that burned 
 From Sumter s strand 
 To Plymouth s sand. 
 
 Atlanta, ring ! 
 Proud steeples swing 
 With welcome note 
 From brazen throat ! 
 The bell salute 
 "Whose lips, now mute, 
 Eade tyrants cower 
 To freedom s power. 
 
 Eing, New Orleans ! 
 Fair queen of queens, 
 The centuries share 
 Thy reverend prayer.
 
 128 THE TRIP OF THE BELL. 
 
 God guard the bell 
 Which rang so well 
 Our nation s birth 
 And manhood s worth !
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 THE MUSIC OF LIGHT. 
 
 THE joyous song of the morning stars 
 The poet caught in the dawn of time ; 
 
 He read the notes of the heavenly bars, 
 
 His soul was thrilled with the choral chime. 
 
 Through mystic years the Egyptian heard 
 From Memnon s statue a harp-like tone. 
 
 And marvelled at the elusive word 
 From raylit lips of lifeless stone.
 
 130 THE MUSIC OF LIGHT. 
 
 In Orphic and Homeric days 
 
 The god of music was god of light, 
 
 And strung Aurora s rhythmic rays 
 Across the vibrant lyre of night. 
 
 And savants now in the world s high noon 
 The visions of olden times rehearse ; 
 
 For rhythm of music and light are one, 
 And science reflects the poet s verse.
 
 131 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 THE FOEEST BALLOT. 
 
 WHEN the trees their ballots cast, 
 And the forests all are polled, 
 
 Which will win the suffrage vast 
 Crimson leaves or leaves of gold 1 
 
 In the radiant autumn days, 
 Silently on hill and wold, 
 
 Through the amber-tinted haze, 
 Fall the leaves of red and sold
 
 132 THE FOREST BALLOT. 
 
 Leaves that keep the cruel stain 
 Of the blood of brothers dead, 
 
 Symbols of a nation s pain : 
 
 Count them sadly leaves of red ; 
 
 Leaves that hold the mellow light 
 Of the stars on banner-fold, 
 
 Symbols of enduring right : 
 
 Count them gladly leaves of gold ; 
 
 Emblems those of dire defeat, 
 Emblems these of courage bold ; 
 
 Which will triumph, which is meet 
 Crimson leaves or leaves of gold ? 
 
 By the record of the past, 
 By that story proudly told, 
 
 By fair freedom won at last, 
 
 Crimson yields to leaves of gold.
 
 THE FOREST BALLOT. 133 
 
 By the faith that conqxiers doubt, 
 
 Right will triumph as of old. 
 See ! The red is fading out, 
 
 Clearer glow the tints of gold. 
 
 So, when all the leaves are cast, 
 
 And the forest vote is polled, 
 With a suffrage wide and vast 
 
 Victory crowns the leaves of gold.
 
 134 
 
 XXX. 
 
 NOBBY ISLAND, EIVER ST LAWREXCE. 
 
 You tell me you want a poem to-night, 
 A yard and a half of visions bright, 
 A Highland plaid for the Thousand Isles, 
 A rainbow scarf of forty miles 
 Something worthy the fairy dream 
 Of this rural Venice and sainted stream, 
 A modest request, when every morn 
 Your Thousand Island poem is born.
 
 NOBBY ISLAND, RIVER ST LAWRENCE. 135 
 
 I sit by the rock where the waters laugh, 
 But the Muse refuses her autograph ; 
 I mount to the summit of Pullman s tower, 
 But the picture transcends the poet s power ; 
 In Carleton s hammock I fondly swing, 
 But fail to find his magic ring ; 
 And all, perhaps, because the real, 
 Just here is greater than the ideal. 
 
 The same is true of the Hudson stream, 
 
 Illumed with the light of fancy s dream ; 
 
 But that is straightforward compared with this 
 
 Kaleidoscope of enchanted bliss ; 
 
 "With her I have taken my poems straight, 
 
 And never before have tempted fate, 
 
 For rash is the poet who has the cheek 
 
 With these islands to play at hide-and-seek. 
 
 So let these wanderers lose their way 
 Mid sunny islands where echoes play ;
 
 136 NOBBY ISLAND, RIVER ST LAWRENCE. 
 
 Our words are whispers, the purest gold 
 Is that which hearts of love enfold. 
 The simplest lines hold richest truth ; 
 The sweetest lives enduring youth ; 
 Let these abide and sunlight smile 
 For evermore on l^obby Isle.
 
 137 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS. 
 
 ONCE more on the shore of the Upper Ausable 
 We gather to-night the " Knights of the Table," 
 With purple-peaked mountains above and below us, 
 To drink to the " health " of the Club of TahaAvas. 
 
 Unloosen the knapsack, and ring out a chorus 
 
 To brothers and friends who have been here before 
 
 us ; 
 With greeting to streamlet and cascade that know 
 
 us, 
 We mingle our song with the voice of Tahawas.
 
 138 THE CLUB OF T AHA WAS. 
 
 The clan-word is sounded, the camp-fires are burn 
 ing; 
 
 Tahawas ! Tahawas ! your sons are returning. 
 
 Hark ! hear the response ! ay, the Gothics hurrah 
 us, 
 
 And welcome their children, the Club of Tahawas. 
 
 It was here we were reared in our earliest childhood, 
 
 In Panther-Gorge Lodge darkest glen of the wild- 
 wood, 
 
 In deep forest shadows, ere " Mountain Phelps " saw 
 us : 
 
 A pledge, boys, to Sky-light, high-priest of Tahawas. 
 
 Three cheers and a tiger ! Hurrah for the moun 
 tains ! 
 
 For Golden and Feldspar the Hudson s clear foun 
 tains ! 
 
 Love s lodestone magnetic for ever shall draw us 
 
 To bow in thy worship, wide-ruling Tahawas !
 
 THE CLUB OF TAHAWAS. 139 
 
 There is drouth in our canteens, ye knights of blue 
 
 flannel ; 
 
 Dip full to the brim from the pebble- white channel ; 
 Then up with the cup, and " May catamounts claw 
 
 ITS 
 
 The day we forget thee, dear Club of Tahawas ! "
 
 140 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 AN ISLAND FANCY. 
 
 WHICH is the fairest of Shakespeare s girls 
 The brightest, the dearest of all his train, 
 That shook to the breeze their dancing curls 
 
 In the sweetness and spring -tide of beauty s 
 
 reign? 
 
 Shall I answer you? Portia, in Behnont s bower] 
 Or fair Imogen in her Warwick tower 1 
 Dear Jessica, Rosalind, Isabel 1 
 Nay, answer yourself ; I cannot tell.
 
 AN ISLAND FANCY. 141 
 
 But which would you name for your wedded choice 1 ? 
 
 Pray, which would you marry ] tell me that : 
 Cordelia true, with her gentle voice 1 
 
 Sweet Anne Page, in her Stratford hat ? 
 Fond Juliet, gazing at trembling stars 
 From balcony, casement, and lattice bars ? 
 Would you rather be her Eomeo, 
 Or somebody s else 1 I hardly know. 
 
 For I like the moonlight on Belmont s bowers, 
 
 And the Annies that wander by Avon-stream, 
 And the maiden of Warwick s cloud-capped towers, 
 
 And the Capulet gardens where lovers dream. 
 But which would I marry 1 Which would you ? 
 First tell me the rainbow s loveliest hue. 
 Ah ! life would be of heaven a lease 
 With Viola, Celia, or Beatrice. 
 
 But answer me truly ! Well, dearer than all, 
 Than Perdita, Hero, or Hermione,
 
 142 AX ISLAND FANCY. 
 
 Is lovely Miranda in Prospero s hall, 
 
 In bright sunny island far out in the sea: 
 Miranda the peerless, the sweetest, the best, 
 In magical island far out in the west, 
 
 Where waves break in beauty on sun-tinted 
 
 strand 
 If I am mistaken, then ask Ferdinand. 
 
 Which is the fairest of all who came 
 
 At the word of the conjurer, Walter Scott 1 
 Princess and lady of titled name, 
 
 Lassie and maiden of lowly lot 1 
 Edith Plantagenet, royal by birth 1 
 Catherine Glover, the fair maid of Perth 1 
 
 Brave Jeanie Deans, with her eloquent 
 
 prayer ? 
 Eveline Berenger, Constance or Clare 1 
 
 Which would I marry 1 Edith of Lorn 1 
 Rose of Bradwardine, gentle and mild ?
 
 AN ISLAND FANCY. 143 
 
 Brave Alice Bridgenorth, Puritan born ? 
 
 Or bright Alice Lee, the Cavalier s child 1 
 Eebecca, Eowena, or Julia the fair ] 
 Edith Bellenden, with King Charles s chair 1 ? 
 
 Saxon or Xorruan or Jewess 1 Ah me ! 
 
 Thrice happy to win any one of the three. 
 
 But is there no choice 1 Well, dearer to me 
 
 Than Flora Maclvor of lineage high, 
 Than Bertha, who sailed over many a sea 
 
 To find her bold Hereward neath sunnier sky ; 
 Than Eobert s Brenhilda of Xormandy s soil, 
 Or the radiant daughters of bluff Magnus Troil 
 Fair Brenda and Minna who dwelt by the sea, 
 There is one of the " Galaxy " dearer to me. 
 
 Ay, dearer than all who have passed in review, 
 Than heart-broken Amy or sweet Eveline, 
 
 Than hoyden Die Vernon, with eyes grey or blue, 
 Is true Ellen Douglas of bonnie Katrine ;
 
 144 AN ISLAND FANCY. 
 
 And sunlight and moonlight in transport shall smile 
 For years, ay, for ever, on fair Ellen s Isle. 
 
 Ah, happy that island to bear her sweet name ! 
 
 If I am mistaken, then ask Malcolm Graeme.
 
 145 
 
 XXXIII. - 
 
 JULIET TO EOMEO. 
 
 OXE more fond kiss, my Romeo, and away ! 
 
 The eastern hills are touched with rosy light. 
 Ah love, with thee dun night is brightest day, 
 
 And brightest day, when thou art gone, is night. 
 How blest the hours swift-borne on starry wheels ! 
 
 How heavy waiting on the laggard sun ! 
 A weary void till day her eyelids seals, 
 
 And Heaven s high warders guard love s fortress 
 won.
 
 146 JULIET TO ROMEO. 
 
 Dear Eomeo, go ! Yet I would have thee stay. 
 
 pilfering morn, that robs the jewelled skies ! 
 Purloining gems within thy mantle grey, 
 
 Take all, but leave the one dear star I prize. 
 Alas ! that love from love should ever part ; 
 Yon sunrise brings wan sunset to my heart.
 
 147 
 
 XXXIV. 
 FERDINAND TO MIRANDA. 
 
 MIRANDA mine, thy beauty is more rare 
 
 Than May -day flowers that deck the meadows 
 
 green ; 
 Thy lips are sweeter than the lily fair 
 
 Plucked fresh at dawn from out the glittering- 
 sheen ; 
 
 The mantling colour of thy cheek s bright hue 
 Makes pale and shames the blood of damask- 
 rose ; 
 Thine eye preserves the violet s pensive blue, 
 
 Which, born of light, with heaven s own colour 
 glows
 
 148 FERDINAND TO MIRANDA. 
 
 Thy neck, full sweet, seems like a flowery lane, 
 
 Or garden pathway, to thy gentle breast, 
 "Where love, that knows not passion s earthly stain, 
 Has dwelt alone and wished no other guest. 
 Here Eden s flowers retain the morning dew, 
 And sweeter seem united all in you.
 
 149 
 
 XXXV. 
 ANTONY TO CLEOPATEA. 
 
 MY Cleopatra, queen, alas the day 
 
 Thy lustrous eyes proclaimed such bitter doom ! 
 That shame and Antony should live for aye, 
 
 An epitaph on Time s enduring tomb ! 
 Soft-coiling serpent ! Thy enticing wiles 
 
 Hold heroes captive in strong toils of grace ; 
 For power is lost in passion, as fond smiles 
 
 Light up the matchless beauty of thy face.
 
 150 ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA. 
 
 Cold duty summons ; but, enchantress fair, 
 
 My courage melts beneath thy glowing eyes ; 
 And in thine arms I neither reck nor care 
 If Roman honour lives or basely dies. 
 
 Let Fame s rich pearl dissolve in nectar 
 
 bright ! 
 Farewell to valour day is lost in night.
 
 151 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 PAEIS TO HELEN. 
 
 IMPERIAL beauty, born for Ilium s blight ; 
 
 Sweet, winsome Helen, paragon of earth ; 
 Would that our flocks were still on Ida s height, 
 
 And princely halls unemptied of their mirth ! 
 Alas ! proud Troy is tottering to her fall ; 
 
 Our promised joys are steeped in bitter pain ; 
 Kinsmen and Greek in deep derision call, 
 
 And every eye speaks loathing and disdain. 
 L
 
 152 PARIS TO HELEN. 
 
 Dear bribe of Venus ! why were we beguiled 
 
 By Cyprian words to walk in devious ways, 
 And leave our names as synonyms reviled 
 For evermore through unforgiving days 1 
 fruitless passion, won at honour s cost ! 
 Faith, courage, glory all for ever lost.
 
 153 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 TO A LADIES AET CLUB. 
 
 Accepting Invitation to Lecture on " Womanhood in 
 Shakespeare." 
 
 SOME pleasant day 
 
 In blooming May, 
 
 Though rather late, 
 "Will suit for date. 
 
 The classic song, 
 That " art is long," 
 
 Applies to this 
 
 Protracted bliss.
 
 154 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 
 
 But Time, alas ! 
 
 Just turns his glass, 
 
 And months go by, 
 As swallows fly. 
 
 The sands run swift. 
 
 And gently sift 
 
 Our locks with grey 
 Ere close of day. 
 
 Tis surely right, 
 And fitting quite, 
 
 That Art should wait 
 At Nature s gate. 
 
 When summer showers 
 Bring out the flowers, 
 
 She then will greet 
 Her sister sweet.
 
 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 155 
 
 But " Womanhood," 
 As woman should, 
 
 In dear Shakespeare 
 
 Blooms all the year. 
 
 Each flower that grows 
 His garden knows, 
 
 Immortal there 
 
 In summer air. 
 
 In every zone 
 
 Their names are known ; 
 
 Their love and worth 
 
 Enrich the earth. 
 
 The Arden grove 
 Breathes Eos lind s love ; 
 
 The pansy lives 
 
 Ophelia gives.
 
 156 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 
 
 Miranda s isle 
 Will ever smile, 
 
 And roses bloom 
 On Juliet s tomb. 
 
 The woman-queen, 
 
 Fair Imogen, 
 
 Preserves his dream 
 By Avon s stream. 
 
 The sweetest flower 
 In Belmont s bower 
 
 Still speaks of thee, 
 Dear Jessica, 
 
 And Portia fair, 
 Whose caskets rare 
 
 Still tell the truth 
 To heedless youth.
 
 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 157 
 
 Cordelia, too, 
 
 So fond and true, 
 
 Thy gentle word, 
 Through centuries heard, 
 
 Still stirs each heart 
 To do its part, 
 
 And bravely lead 
 
 In word and deed. 
 
 But song of ours 
 
 Don t match the flowers. 
 
 Ah, that the words 
 
 Were humming-birds ! 
 
 The lines are short 
 To write this sort, 
 
 So I will say 
 
 " Good-bye " tiU May.
 
 158 TO A LADIES ART CLUB. 
 
 But, when you read 
 This Shakespeare screed, 
 Include, I pray, 
 Ann Hathaway.
 
 159 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 A STAE-EYED DAISY. 
 
 SAN MARCO, ST AUGUSTINE. 
 (Tricentennial Anniversary, 1886.) 
 
 ENSIGNS of empires flaunt thy flanking wall, 
 Grim ancient warders guard thy storied gate, 
 Loud Babeled centuries at thy bastions wait 
 
 On Spanish, French, and English seneschal. 
 
 Eich yellow folds of Castile s haughty state, 
 Fair Fleur de Lys from proud Parisian hall, 
 St George s Cross triumphant o er them all,
 
 160 A STAR- EYED DAISY. 
 
 Eecall long years of fierce and bloody hate. 
 But now the star-eyed daisy lifts its form 
 
 From crevice, chink, and crumbling parapet, 
 Without one stain of battle s crimson storm 
 On snowy leaf with golden petal set : 
 
 Bright banneret which Xature kindly rears, 
 To deck with light the mould of bitter years.
 
 161 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 A E A L L Y. 
 
 (For the Scottish Games at Lyndonville, Caledonia County, 
 Vermont, July 4, 1884.) 
 
 THE Highlanders come in their gay plaided tartan, 
 
 The music of Scotia floats free on the air ; 
 Come over, brave lads, from Barnet and Barton, 
 
 From M Indoe s Falls and St Johnsbury fair. 
 Come over and witness the games of a nation 
 
 Whose prowess is noted in story and song ; 
 "We ll furnish you all a fine " muscle " collation 
 
 Come over, and bring your fair cousins along.
 
 162 A RALLY. 
 
 Our fathers who came here were fresh from the 
 heather, 
 
 Our county still bears the old name of the Gael ; 
 So up wi the bonnet and bonnie blue feather, 
 
 Sit down by our table and eat of our kail. 
 Welcome, ay welcome, dear clansmen and brithers ! 
 
 Hark to the bagpipe, and answer the ca ; 
 Come wi your wives, your sisters, and mithers, 
 
 We ll meet you and greet you, and welcome 
 you a ! 
 
 Come from the valleys, the hills, and the mountains ; 
 
 Gather as gathered your fathers of old 
 From clear northern lakes and bright crystal foun 
 tains, 
 
 The half of whose beauty has never been told. 
 Rally, like true, loyal Scottish descendants, 
 
 Over the Border, and answer the ca ! 
 And twine round this day of Supreme Independence 
 
 The bluebell, the heather, the thistle and a !
 
 163 
 
 XL. 
 
 THE PIO:N T EEKS. 
 
 (Read at the One Hundredth Anniversary of the Scotch 
 Settlers at De FuniaJc Springs, Florida, 1886.) 
 
 FROM lands of sunrise far away, 
 
 From Ural cliffs, from Caspian shore, 
 From Scythian deserts waste and grey, 
 From rose-decked Persia s floral floor, 
 One race has kept the western trail 
 The bonnie, braw, warm-hearted Gael : 
 The sturdy Gael who came from far, 
 Led onward by the morning-star.
 
 164 THE PIONEERS. 
 
 By many a stream their footsteps strayed, 
 
 From Indus to the Elbe and Rhine, 
 Before their ruddy children played 
 By bonnie Doon or crystal Tyne. 
 The music of Arabian rills 
 Finds echo in old Scotia s hills ; 
 The oriental thread remains 
 In warp and woof of Gaelic strains. 
 
 Onward and onward year by year, 
 
 By Thracian fields, by Bosporus Straits, 
 Through stormy seas their barks they steer 
 
 Beyond Gibraltar s frowning gates : 
 Impelled to seek the farthest shore 
 Before their wanderings are o er ; 
 Still onward, till before them lie 
 The Orkneys and the Isles of Skye. 
 
 They came the pioneers of truth 
 To bleak lona s pebbled strand,
 
 THE PIONEERS. 165 
 
 Bright guardians of fair Albion s youth, 
 
 The founders of a noble band ; 
 From out whose loins sprang martyrs brave, 
 Who gave their all their faith to save 
 The men who faced a living lie, 
 And for God s glory dared to die. 
 
 They came the pioneers of song, 
 
 Of courtly grace and minstrel art, 
 With lyric fire that slumbers long, 
 
 Then bursts like Etna s liquid heart, 
 And overflows the human bounds 
 Of thought with sweet seraphic sounds : 
 Like notes that stray from realms above 
 Electric sparks of heavenly love. 
 
 They came fair freedom s pioneers, 
 Xor cared for king nor tyrant s frown ; 
 
 Xo nobler record through the years 
 
 Since Gideon s sword was handed down.
 
 166 THE PIONEERS. 
 
 They saw the individual man 
 In Celtic sept, in Highland clan, 
 And from their hill-tops floated free 
 The thistle-down of liberty. 
 
 The " bairn," beside whom Hagar wept, 
 
 Ordained a hardy race to rear, 
 Uncradled, but by angels kept 
 
 A motherhood for ever near ; 
 The archer lad of deserts wild 
 Anticipates the Gaelic child, 
 And leads our souls on fancy s wing 
 From Paran s fount to Fillan s spring. 
 
 Gaelic fathers, yours and mine, 
 
 AVho came from lands beyond the sea, 
 
 Eejoicing still in Auld Lang Syne, 
 We bow to thee with reverend knee ! 
 
 Proud of thy faith and lofty fame, 
 
 Proud of each bright and honoured name,
 
 THE PIONEERS. 167 
 
 Our hearts respond with rapturous thrill 
 " Hail to the chief ! " Clan Alpine still 1 
 
 And here s a hand by Funiak Spring, 
 To Macs and Campbells all in line, 
 
 And all that Gaelic love can bring 
 Unto this bright and crystal shrine ! 
 
 While Katrine s lapsing Avaters smile, 
 
 And kiss the sands of Ellen s Isle, 
 
 So long will loyal hearts beat true 
 
 Beside De Funiak s waters blue.
 
 168 
 
 XLI. 
 
 THE HAEP OF TOM MOORE. 
 
 AT THE SCOTCH-IRISH CONGRESS, MAY 1889, 
 COLUMBIA, TENNESSEE. 
 
 THE top of the morning to Ireland 
 
 And the Scotch-Irish Congress to-day ! 
 All hearts respond at the banquet 
 
 When the Harp of Tom Moore leads the way. 
 The bells of the Shandon are ringing 
 
 Their music from over the sea, 
 But sweeter the Harp of her poet 
 
 In the mountains of old Tennessee.
 
 THE HARP OF TOM MOORE. 169 
 
 The sons of the Shamrock and Thistle 
 
 Still cherish the visions of yore, 
 And the Harp of old Tara awakens 
 
 Again to the voice of Tom Moore ; 
 Each string, with memories sacred, 
 
 Is tuned to Liberty s key ; 
 And the songs that float down the ages 
 
 Are always the songs of the free. 
 
 It sings of the "Exile of Erin," 
 
 But her exiles are exiles no more, 
 For the Isle of old Erin has drifted 
 
 Close under Columbia s shore. 
 " Where liberty is, is my country " 
 
 Has guided her over the way, 
 And Columbia holds in her borders 
 
 The heart of old Ireland to-day. 
 
 Manhattan and Plymouth and Jamestown 
 Can boast of their heritage true,
 
 170 THE HARP OF TOM MOORE. 
 
 But Mecklenburg s fame is immortal 
 
 "When we number the stars in the blue ; 
 
 The Scotch-Irish-Puritan-Fathers 
 First drafted the words of the free, 
 
 And the speech of Virginia s Henry 
 Is the crown of Our Liberty s plea. 
 
 The sons and the grandsons of heroes 
 
 Who fought for freedom and right 
 With joy hail the dawn of the morning, 
 
 " Mavourneen ! " Awake to the light ! 
 The maidens of Lome and Killarney 
 
 Are swelling the chorus to-day, 
 For the castles of Oban and Blarney 
 
 Are only just over the way. 
 
 Then welcome, a thrice hearty welcome 
 
 To legendry, lyric and lore, 
 With a pledge and " Guid Hielan welcome " 
 
 To the voice and the Harp of Tom Moore ;
 
 THE HARP OF TOM MOORE. 
 
 A toast to the Shamrock and Thistle, 
 And sunshine both sides of the sea, 
 
 As Erin clasps hands o er the ocean 
 With Columbia in fair Tennessee.
 
 172 
 
 XLIL 
 A HOLLAND BEICK. 
 
 FROM THE OLD VAN RENSSELAER HOUSE, GREENBUSH, 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 JOLLY brick, with kindly wrinkled face, 
 With ruddy cheek and hospitable look, 
 
 By Knickerbocker you shall have a place, 
 
 And on my mantle stand, my quaintest book. 
 
 Epitome of hearty, happy days, 
 
 When even bricks were honest, good, and true ; 
 A gentle humour o er your visage plays 
 
 With heart and hand I gladly welcome you.
 
 A HOLLAND BRICK. 173 
 
 For, truth to tell, I like old Holland well, 
 
 As did my sires en route to Plymouth Rock ; 
 
 Ay, Dutch Reformed pealed out the wedding-bell 
 My better half s from good old Holland stock. 
 
 Her thanks with mine for cherished antique gift ; 
 
 It comes fire-proof, to Holland lovers pat ; 
 I m glad it s heavier than my wife can lift, 
 
 And just too big to fit my Sunday hat.
 
 174 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 A Is T N I E. 
 
 1849. 
 
 WHEN all the hills were rich with gold, 
 And beauty bloomed on every tree, 
 
 One darling more was in the fold, 
 One treasure more upon the knee. 
 
 1866, 
 
 When all the fields were white with snow, 
 And seventeen Autumns passed away, 
 
 By Merry Christmas fireside glow 
 We met that winter holiday.
 
 ANNIE. 175 
 
 1870. 
 
 When all the fields were fresh and fair, 
 And bird and brook were all in tune, 
 
 Two hearts and hands were given there, 
 That quiet, lovely day in June. 
 
 1889. 
 
 And so the seasons are but three, 
 
 For Spring and Summer now are one ; 
 
 And Winter only comes to me 
 To mark the time of love begun.
 
 176 
 
 XLIV. 
 SMILE AND WAIT. 
 
 WOULD to-day were now to-morrow, and to-morrow 
 
 yesterday 
 Three days folded up together, in Time s basket laid 
 
 away ; 
 For there s one that waits my coming under fair 
 
 and sunny skies, 
 And I m yearning for the sunlight of her sweet and 
 
 loving eyes. 
 Change the hour-glass into minutes ! Let the white 
 
 sands swiftly glide, 
 Till our hands are clasped together, and our hearts 
 
 beat side by side.
 
 SMILE AND WAIT. 177 
 
 Let bright birds convey the message to the blossoms 
 
 of the South, 
 And love s light -winged gentle breezes waft my 
 
 kisses to her mouth. 
 Haste sweet dreams on rays of moonlight, whisper 
 
 gently smile and wait, 
 Till the hours and days are counted when I ll meet 
 
 her at the gate.
 
 178 
 
 XLY. 
 
 OF AGE. 
 
 18661887. 
 
 THE stars are fading in the grey, 
 
 Faint rosy light proclaims the morn. 
 Awake, my love, for love to-day 
 
 Recalls the hour our love was born. 
 It scarcely seems a summer-day 
 
 Since winsome lips were fondly kissed, 
 So swift the seasons glide away 
 
 When loving hearts keep faithful tryst.
 
 OF AGE. 179 
 
 And yet the figures on life s page, 
 
 From Sixty-six to Eighty-seven, 
 Declare our love is now of age 
 
 Just twenty-one since Home and Heaven 
 Were twinned within those loving eyes 
 Which led my soul to Paradise.
 
 180 
 
 XL VI. 
 
 MY CASTLE. 
 
 THE hill-tops are fair in the bright, cloudless day, 
 The valleys are sweet with the blossoms of May; 
 I gaze from the cliff where my Castle shall stand 
 The grandest and proudest of all in the land ; 
 
 With turrets and columns of Parian white, 
 Blocks seamless and clear as if quarried from light ; 
 With portal wide open to high arching hall, 
 And threshold emblazoning welcome to all.
 
 MY CASTLE. 181 
 
 No outlook so varied, no structure so fair ; 
 Neither Norman nor Moorish with mine can 
 
 compare : 
 
 The dreams of all artists from over the sea 
 Unite in one vision of beauty for me. 
 
 The richest wood-carvings from many a land, 
 The rarest of pictures are mine to command : 
 Ah, dreamer, whose vessels have voyaged in 
 
 vain, 
 Come, visit my Castle from Castles in Spain ! 
 
 ii. 
 
 The glow on the hill-tops is fading away, 
 The valleys, all garnered, are russet and grey; 
 I gaze from the cliff where I stood the fair morn 
 When the rose-tinted dream of my Castle was 
 born.
 
 182 MY CASTLE. 
 
 The turrets, the columns, the tapestries rare 
 Have faded and melted like mist in the air 
 Impalpable, vain, mortised beams of moonshine ! 
 The sun never shone on that Castle of mine. 
 
 Ah, well, but the ground-plot and title are clear 
 For others their Castles and mansions to rear ; 
 While I keep in framework of old tarnished gilt 
 The Castle of mine that never was built. 
 
 The fireside is bright in a dear cottage home, 
 One chimney sufficing for turret and dome ; 
 And, dreamer, your voyage has not been in vain 
 If you find at some hearthstone your Castle in 
 Spain.
 
 183 
 
 XLVII. 
 DESTINY. 
 
 I WANDERED down a brooklet bubbling bright, 
 
 Which slowly widened gliding toward the sea ; 
 A leaf aglow with Autumn s golden light 
 
 From restful bough was nodding dreamily : 
 Midway it hung, but, as my lifted hand 
 
 Would pluck its beauty from the listless bough, 
 A laughing breeze, so light it scarcely fanned 
 
 The unkempt silver of the poplar s brow,
 
 184 DESTIXY. 
 
 Bore it across. I followed in my quest, 
 
 And down the bank upon the farther side 
 I journeyed on into the purpling west, 
 The brooklet now a river deep and wide ; 
 J^o more to be recrossed, it might not be ;- 
 A drifting leaf and yet my soul was free.
 
 185 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 QUESTIONS. 
 
 WHEXCE, and whither, and what are we, 
 Tossed on the billows of ceaseless strife 1 
 
 Where is the shore beyond the sea ? 
 Where is the fountain of human life ? 
 
 Whence and whither ? Ah ! all in vain ! 
 
 We wait and listen. No tidings come ; 
 Darkness and shadows still remain, 
 
 The stars are silent, the earth is dumb.
 
 186 QUESTIONS. 
 
 We question the years ; they answer naught 
 Save this from the void we also came. 
 
 The circle widens of human thought, 
 But life s horizon remains the same. 
 
 "We pick with lenses the flecks of light, 
 We sift from nebulae sun by sun, 
 
 "We mark and measure the comet s flight, 
 We weigh the planets one by one : 
 
 From lowest germ to highest form 
 
 We trace the links of Nature s chain ; 
 
 But what is life this essence warm 1 ? 
 The same deep mysteries still remain. 
 
 Like children who rap on an empty vault, 
 And listen to hollow echoes there, 
 
 Material science is still at fault 
 
 The tomb of Nature is cold and bare.
 
 QUESTIONS. 187 
 
 Like travellers lost in forest vast, 
 
 Returning and crossing their paths again, 
 
 It reasons in circles, to find at last 
 
 That it reaches the point where the quest began. 
 
 Ah, fruitless search ! We learn no more ; 
 
 The wisest sage no knowledge brings ; 
 Xo step returns from the silent shore ; 
 
 " Rounded with sleep " the poet sings ; 
 
 "A narrow cape betwixt two seas," 
 
 " A swallow darting through the room," 
 
 A leaf that flutters in the breeze, 
 A moment s light, a rayless tomb ; 
 
 Phantasmagoria, thing of a day, 
 
 Born of the night, into darkness hurled, 
 
 Cunning compound of breath and clay, 
 Ashes and dust of a worn-out world :
 
 * 
 
 188 QUESTIONS. 
 
 Flitting shadows on cosmic screens ! 
 
 Silhouettes thrown from a juggler s hand ! 
 Phantom players in spectral scenes ! 
 
 Is this the enigma to understand ? 
 
 Or is there a breeze from the open sky 
 
 That wakens the harp of a thousand strings 1 
 
 A firm-built hope that a human sigh 
 
 Is borne through ether on angels wings 1 
 
 An inspiration that One is just, 
 
 "Who keeps the sparrow in His care ? 
 
 That this spark from Him, in a shell of dust, 
 His love and goodness shall also share 1 
 
 A final rest for faltering feet, 
 
 "Weary and pierced with cruel wounds, 
 Climbing to reach the golden street 
 
 Up ladders made of brittle rounds 1
 
 QUESTIONS. 189 
 
 Questions answered by Faith alone, 
 Not to be settled by words of strife ; 
 
 To be learned at last, to be fully known, 
 
 When the key of death fits the wards of life.
 
 190 
 
 XLIX. 
 THE INFINITE. 
 
 WITH measuring lines we reach from star to star, 
 
 On pinion bold we seek creation s rim, 
 The vast horizon mocks us from afar 
 
 With sphere on sphere beyond our vision dim ; 
 On weary wing our thought, from voyage vain, 
 
 Like that lone dove, with neither leaf nor bud, 
 Returns to find the windowed ark again 
 
 A floating refuge on a shoreless flood.
 
 THE INFINITE. 191 
 
 mystery vast which veils the sovereign brow ! 
 
 vergeless silence, depths by light untrod ! 
 Space without centre ! Time, eternal now ! 
 
 star-gemmed vesture ! Seamless robe of God ! 
 What word doth this vast Universe inthral ! 
 Bounded by nothing, yet embracing all.
 
 192 
 
 L. 
 
 GOD S HEARTHSTONE. 
 
 THE evening fires are burning dim 
 Along Chautauqua s western rim ; 
 The embers of a dying day 
 Are sinking in the ashes grey. 
 
 We lay aside our toil and care, 
 
 We bow to Thee in thankful prayer, 
 
 That round Thy hearthstone, wide and free, 
 
 The world is all one family.
 
 GOD S HEARTHSTONE. 193 
 
 Tis not in temples built by hands, 
 Or written scrolls from far-off lands, 
 But at the altars reared by Thee, 
 We learn the truest liturgy. 
 
 Thy voice was heard on Sinai s height, 
 On Horeb s mountain veiled in night ; 
 Thy voice is heard in every rill, 
 Thy glory glows on every hill. 
 
 Xight speaks to night, day speaks to day ; 
 Their world-wide language lives for aye ; 
 Their lines have gone through all the earth 
 The heavens declare Thy matchless worth. 
 
 So may Thy Word of Love more dear 
 To every age and race appear, 
 Until Time s narrow, restless sea 
 Is hushed in Thy eternity.
 
 194 GOD S HEARTHSTONE. 
 
 And oh, may faith still deeper grow, 
 Till peace from heart to heart shall flow ! 
 Till all the world, each even-tide, 
 Shall gather round Thy hearthstone wide !
 
 195 
 
 LI. 
 A WANDERER. 
 
 I HAVE wandered the wide world o er, 
 I have sailed over many a sea, 
 
 But the land that I love more and more 
 Is Columbia, the land of the free. 
 
 From the east to the western shore, 
 From the north to the southern sea 
 Columbia for me ! 
 
 I have lingered in ivy-grown bowers, 
 In minsters and palaces vast,
 
 196 A WANDERER. 
 
 Amid castles and crumbling towers 
 Whose shadows backward are cast ; 
 
 But the longed-for Atlantis is ours, 
 And freedom interprets at last 
 The dream of the past. 
 
 The rivers of story and song, 
 
 The Danube, the Elbe, and the Rhine, 
 Entrance for a day, but I long 
 
 For the dear old Hudson of mine ; 
 The Hudson, where memories throng, 
 
 Where love s fondest tendrils entwine, 
 Of beauty the shrine. 
 
 Like music entranced in a dream 
 
 Glide the Afton, the Boon, and the Ayr ; 
 
 But the Jansen the clear Jansen stream, 
 In one heart shall their melody share ; 
 
 And my soul still reflects its bright gleam, 
 
 For I played in my childhood there, 
 
 When visions were fair.
 
 A WANDERER. 197 
 
 I have heard the sweet chiming of bells, 
 From the Seine to the Avon and Dee, 
 
 But sweeter the anthem that swells 
 From the pine-clad Sierras to me ; 
 
 And the Sabbath-like stillness that dwells 
 In these mountains far up from the sea, 
 Lake Tahoe with thee. 
 
 I have gathered sweet flowers in the west, 
 
 Where the streams are embroidered with gold ; 
 
 But the blossoms that I love the best 
 Are those which I gathered of old. 
 
 The same that my mother s lips pressed, 
 The petals their sweetness still hold, 
 Her heart they enfold.
 
 198 
 
 LIT. 
 TO MY WIFE. 
 
 I HAVE in life but wishes three : 
 The first is realised in thee ; 
 
 The second you can surely guess 
 Sweet presents sent from Heaven to bless ; 
 
 The third some sweet and quiet nook, 
 To read the leaves of jSTature s book. 
 
 I could not make my wishes four 
 Love, children, home Earth has no more.
 
 199 
 
 LIII. 
 
 LNCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. 
 
 (The island burial-place of Clan- Alpine, resembling, from 
 Eossdhu, a reclining body with folded arms. ) 
 
 Xo more Clan- Alpine s pibroch wakes 
 
 Loch Lomond s hills and waters blue ; 
 " Hail to the Chief " no longer breaks 
 
 The quiet sleep of Roderick Dhu : 
 Enwrapped in peace the islands gleam 
 
 Like emerald gems in sapphire set, 
 And, far away, as in a dream, 
 
 Float purple fields where heroes met. 
 o
 
 200 INCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. 
 
 Inch-Cailliach island of the blest ! 
 
 Columba s daughter, passing fair, 
 With folded arms upon her breast, 
 
 Rests soft in sunset radiance there ; 
 A vision sweet of fond Elaine, 
 
 And floating barge of Camelot, 
 Upon her brow no trace of pain, 
 
 And on her heart " Forget me not." 
 
 Forget thee, saintly guardian 1 ^Tay, 
 
 From distant lands across the sea 
 To this lone isle I fondly stray 
 
 With song and garland fresh for thee ; 
 I trace the old inscriptions dear, 
 
 Fast fading now from mortal ken, 
 And through the silvered lichens peer 
 
 To read MacAlpine s name again. 
 
 My mother s name, a sacred link 
 
 Which binds me to the storied past ;
 
 INCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. 201 
 
 A rainbow bridge from brink to brink. 
 
 Which spans with light the centuries vast. 
 
 Two hundred years ! Clan-Alpine s pine 
 Has struck its roots in other lands ; 
 
 My pulses thrill to trace the sign 
 
 And touch the cross with reverent hands. 
 
 All ruin here ! the shrine is dust, 
 
 The chapel wall a shapeless mound ; 
 But nature guards with loving trust, 
 
 And ivy twines her tendrils round 
 The humble slab, more fitting far 
 
 Than gilded dome for Scotia s line ; 
 The open sky and northern star 
 
 Become the chieftains of the pine. 
 
 The light streams out from fair Eossdhu 
 
 Across the golden-tinted wave ; 
 That crumbling keep, that ancient yew, 
 
 Still mark a worthy foeman s grave ;
 
 202 INCII-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND. 
 
 But warm the hearts that now await 
 Our coming at the open door, 
 
 With love and friendship at the gate, 
 And beacon-lights along the shore. 
 
 Dear Scotia ! evermore more dear 
 
 To loyal sons in every land ; 
 Strong in a race that knew not fear, 
 
 And for man s freedom dared to stand 
 Ay, dearer for thy songs that float 
 
 Like thistle-down o er land and sea, 
 And strike the universal note 
 
 Of love, and faith, and liberty.
 
 203 
 
 LIV. 
 ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG, 
 
 AT CANOXGATE KILWINNIXG, JANUARY 25, 1890. 
 
 AGAIN Kilwinning s hearth, grows wide, 
 
 The tesselated floor is bright ; 
 A mother s heart with loving pride 
 
 Salutes her honoured Sons of Light. 
 
 They gather from the banks of Ayr, 
 From Ettrick, Yarrow, and the Tay, 
 
 A golden hour of love to share, 
 To crown with joy the natal day
 
 204 ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG. 
 
 Of bard and poet lowly born 
 
 To teach the brotherhood of man, 
 
 With skylark lilt of early morn, 
 
 And notes that thrill the patriot s van ; 
 
 With swelling song and living truth, 
 
 From hearts of fire and tongues of flame, 
 
 Fast binding in eternal youth 
 Fair Scotia s Pleiades of Fame. 
 
 They come a galaxy of cheer 
 In answer to the festal call, 
 
 Loved Willie Hay to memory clear, 
 And Lockhart of the Minstrel Hall ; 
 
 Aytoun and Stewart, Boswell, Blair, 
 Kit J^orth the master of the feast, 
 
 The Shepherd and the Lad from Ayr 
 Whose songs unite the west and east ;
 
 ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND JfOGG. 205 
 
 And girdle all the Avorld to-night 
 
 With chords that make the nations one, 
 A mystic grip of matchless might, 
 
 A cable-tow by genius spun. 
 
 genius ! Oracle of God ! 
 
 "We bow in wonder at thy shrine, 
 Through whom the daisy-sprinkled sod 
 
 Is rendered human and divine. 
 
 Through whom each form of life appears 
 To wear a brighter, holier grace, 
 
 His pity soothes the mousie s fears, 
 And halos dying Maillie s face. 
 
 He sees his love in dewy flower, 
 He hears her in the tuneful bird ; 
 
 He deifies the raptured hour, 
 
 And seals it with an an^el word.
 
 206 ANNIVERSARY OF BURNS AND HOGG. 
 
 He saw in man s uplifted face 
 The promise of a grander time ; 
 
 He sang the freedom of the race, 
 
 He boldly rang the century s chime. 
 
 The night was cold, he could not wait, 
 He left his message at the door ; 
 
 Ere morning came he took the gate, 
 We worship, we can do no more. 
 
 Ay, Eobbie Burns, not poor but brave, 
 Neglected long but loved at last ; 
 
 The laurel-wreath Kilwinning gave 
 "Was foretaste of the fame thou hast.
 
 207 
 
 LV. 
 
 TO PKOFESSOB JOHN STUAET BLACKIE. 
 
 COMMEMORATING HIS EIGHTIETH YEAR. 
 (Read at the Hellenic Society, Edinburgh, 1890.) 
 
 DAME XATURE, communing with Coila one day, 
 Eemarked, in a social, neighbourly way, 
 That she had been kept rather busy of late 
 Attending to poets and matters of state ; 
 
 That Eobbie had closed up the century well, 
 And Byron and Scott would hold out for a spell : 
 She was therefore inclined to take a vacation, 
 And, on her return, to startle the nation ;
 
 208 TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 
 
 Would visit, forsooth, Asia Minor and Greece, 
 And lay out a plan for her great masterpiece. 
 So she wandered unseen for a time among men, 
 Returning about eighteen hundred and ten. 
 
 Then straightway to Coila her way she betook, 
 And found her ensconced in a bright cosy nook. 
 "With swift-winged words her tale she began 
 I ve found the essentials for making a man ; 
 
 The proper proportion of genius and art, 
 Love, humour and pathos, mind, body and heart, 
 With habiliments, too, that are fit for a king, 
 Or better, for genuine princes that sing. 
 
 I met the nine muses, who gave me a piece 
 A delicate web of the old Golden Fleece, 
 Which they bade me to take far over the wave 
 To bright sunny lands where magnolias wave ;
 
 TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 209 
 
 To a fountain of youth, Ponce de Leon by name, 
 And I wandered for months without finding the same ; 
 The woes of Ulysses were nothing to mine, 
 But I stayed by the Fleece as I promised the nine. 
 
 Till there in a wilderness, silent and vast, 
 In a clear sparkling pool the token was cast ; 
 And lo, as I gazed, the Fleece took the form 
 Of a mantle well woven for sunshine or storm. 
 
 Be it Jason or Stuart, " Midlothian " still 
 Is the brand of this Greek-Scotch-American twill ; 
 And, Coila, the laddie will never grow old 
 Whose heart is enwrapped in this wondrous fold. 
 
 From the east to the west, from the old to the new, 
 From Helicon dry to Columbia s dew 
 I have wandered at will ; this staff in my hand 
 "Was found in the groves of fair Florida s land ;
 
 210 TO PROFESSOR JOHN STUART BLACKIE. 
 
 Aniid pines that embosom de Funiak Spring, 
 Where poplar and laurel the poets outsing, 
 Where children of Scotia in happiness dwell, 
 By a fountain as sacred as St Ronan s well ; 
 
 In gardens of lotus, with sunshine so clear 
 That the centuries glide without noting the year 
 So, Coila, adieu ! I go with the morn, 
 Guard plaidie and staff for the genius unborn ; 
 
 It may be a month, or it may be a day, 
 Look well to the infant that s coming this way ; 
 And, also remember, this mantle of joy 
 Will keep its possessor forever a boy.
 
 211 
 
 LVI. 
 TO JUDGE CABMAN, 
 
 A BRITHER CHIEL BEYOND THE SEA. 
 
 FOR thirty days I ve been your debtor, 
 Since I received your honour s letter ; 
 Henceforth I promise to do better, 
 
 Excuse delay ; 
 I ha e been bound as wi a fetter 
 
 This mony a day. 
 
 Not in the folds of fond caresses, 
 Fair auburn locks and golden tresses, 
 Or " withs " the consulate confesses 
 
 Of stately cares ; 
 But, on the knowledge he possesses, 
 
 Eespondent swears
 
 212 TO JUDGE CABMAN. 
 
 And prays for grace and absolution, 
 With full and ample restitution, 
 The case admits of quick solution 
 
 When Cadman learns 
 The facts without circumlocution 
 
 I ve been wi Burns. 
 
 I think your honour gets my meaning, 
 The Court has always had a leaning 
 To kindred spirit-souls convening, 
 
 Their hearts to share : 
 In brief, I ve had a blithe careening 
 
 Ayont the Ayr, 
 
 Where stands the cottage of his birth, 
 A sacred shrine for all the earth, 
 The humble room, the narrow hearth, 
 
 With lesson wide, 
 That love and faith and honest worth 
 
 Shall aye abide.
 
 TO JUDGE CADMAN. 213 
 
 I saw auld Alloway s roofless kirk, 
 
 Where ling ring " ghaists and houlets " lurk, 
 
 Wi ISTannie glintin through the mirk, 
 
 Queen of the ball, 
 And Satan sitting like a Turk 
 
 Arnang them all. 
 
 I traced the love-lit winding stream, 
 Sweet monogram of passion s dream ; 
 I seemed to hear the moonlight gleam 
 
 In loving croon, 
 So gently fell its fondling beam 
 
 On bonnie Doon. 
 
 Ay, more, I " lectured " down in " Killie," 
 Where Fame still " canters like a filly," 
 And cracked wi lads that were na chilly, 
 
 Till hours were sma , 
 And time was measured by the gillie, 
 
 Or no ava.
 
 214 TO JUDGE CADMAX. 
 
 And then the last, but not the least, 
 I wrote some lines for Robin s feast, 
 Where " raising " isna done by yeast, 
 
 But in a style 
 Which Brothers brought frae " way down east," 
 
 Fu mony a mile. 
 
 Kilwinning Canongate they ca it, 
 Lodge Number Two, lang love befa it, 
 By genius tyled, time canna thraw it, 
 
 Till Nature sleeps, 
 For Robbie there was wreathed the Laureate 
 
 With crown that keeps. 
 
 I therefore trust the Court s decision 
 Waiving the forms of strict precision 
 Will grant reprieve for Love s omission, 
 
 And draw it mild ; 
 Wi Burns and business in collision 
 
 We re both beguiled.
 
 215 
 
 LVII. 
 THE OLD OEGAN (1754). 
 
 LODGE CAXONGATE KILWINJfING, EDINBURGH. 
 TUNE "Scotland Yet." 
 
 GAE sit beside the organ there, 
 
 And touch the guid auld keys ; 
 "NVe want a dear familiar air, 
 
 And " Scotland Yet " will please : 
 A noble song our hearts to greet 
 
 From out the hallowed years, 
 An offering meet with music sweet 
 
 That fills the eyes with tears ; 
 For love is strong though time is fleet, 
 
 And love alone endears. 
 p
 
 216 THE OLD ORGAN (1754). 
 
 Ay, fond and full the swelling notes, 
 
 The pipes with rapture glow, 
 As vague and shadowy memory floats 
 
 From out the long ago : 
 The golden reeds can ne er forget 
 
 The nights sae fair and free, 
 When brothers met and " Scotland Yet " 
 
 Eang out with hearty glee ; 
 For love alone has no regret, 
 
 And love is throned in thee. 
 
 The pictured walls bend low to hear 
 
 The tender anthem rise ; 
 A gentle moisture like a tear 
 
 Bedews that Worthy s eyes ; 
 Old " Scotland Yet "the only air 
 
 To wake the silent fold ; 
 Our chief St Clair and Drummond there 
 
 Seem nearer than of old ;
 
 THE OLD ORGAN (1754). 217 
 
 For love is still the only prayer 
 That warms the lips when cold. 
 
 Ah, brothers, who have gone before 
 
 Across the silent sea, 
 Remembered still for evermore, 
 
 We raise our song to thee ; 
 And, in some lull of harmony 
 
 When pearly gates swing wide, 
 " My Ain Countrie," still dear to thee, 
 
 And " Scotland Yet " beside, 
 Will lead in sacred psalmody 
 
 Where love shall aye abide. 
 
 Then once again a ringing cheer 
 
 And pledge from every heart 
 To Canongate Kilwinning dear, 
 
 Ere friends and brothers part ; 
 A health to all on shore or sea 
 
 Who love the sacred fount,
 
 218 THE OLD ORGAN (1754}. 
 
 Where er they be, from Ettrick free 
 To Shasta s silver mount 
 
 Old " Scotland Yet," with honours three, 
 Up all ! coiint, wardens, count ! 
 
 Hark to the echo of the strain ; 
 
 The cable-tow is strong ; 
 Alaska answers the refrain 
 
 Which India s skies prolong : 
 To brothers near and brothers far 
 
 The hailing-sign is cast, 
 And sceptre-bar or jewel-spar 
 
 Cannot that Avord outlast ; 
 From Southern Cross to Northern star 
 
 The bond of love is fast. 
 
 So sit beside the organ there 
 And touch the guid auld keys ; 
 
 A golden hour we ll blithely share 
 And " Scotland Yet " will please.
 
 THE OLD ORGAN (1754). 219 
 
 Sing of her lakes and quiet dells 
 
 Close-fondled by the sea ; 
 Each hill that swells with glory tells 
 
 The story of the free ; 
 While broom and whin and heather-bells 
 
 Respond with three times three.
 
 220 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 LIFE S PAUSES. 
 
 A CURIOUS stranger environed in doubt, 
 An interrogation-point toddling about, 
 A bundle of questions, nothing more, 
 Cooing and creeping upon the floor. 
 
 A comma of sunshine, a playtime to see 
 The flower, the bird, the brook, and the tree ; 
 A vision of childhood, count one for the pause, - 
 A ripple of laughter, a golden clause.
 
 LIFE S PAUSES. 221 
 
 A stile in the pathway, a summer Jay, 
 A blissful moment too sweet to stay ; 
 Swift semicolon of youth divine, 
 Count two in tracing the raptured line. 
 
 An exclamation " You ! You ! " 
 The same old story, forever new, 
 An arrow s flight to a soul new-found, 
 A volume of love in a vowel-sound. 
 
 A song, a prayer, a marriage vow, 
 
 A compound-word in the chapter now, 
 
 Only a hyphen, but angels wait 
 
 And hush their anthem in heaven s gate. 
 
 A gleam of light in the gliding years, 
 A colon of joy in the font appears, 
 A point of hope in the fleeting text : 
 Our line continued in the next.
 
 222 LIFE S PAUSES. 
 
 The sentence finished, a gentle mound 
 By waving grass encircled round ; 
 A period here, but not complete, 
 Merely a rest for weary feet. 
 
 A rest for the night till the morning wakes, 
 Till the purpling east in glory breaks ; 
 Faith writes a dash for the great To-Be 
 Beyond Time s bracket Eternity.
 
 223 
 
 FA C SIMILE 
 
 OF 
 
 "THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE." 
 BY ROBERT BURNS. 
 
 SINCE the publication of first edition In Clover and 
 Heather, October 1889, it has been my good fortune 
 to secure the original manuscript of Burns s " Blue- 
 eyed Lassie," alluded to in my preface as a poetic 
 link between Scott, Burns, and Washington Irving. 
 I take pleasure in furnishing the following facsimile 
 for the second edition. 
 
 WALLACE BRUCE. 
 
 EDINBURGH, November 1890.
 
 On the back of manuscript appears in writing 
 the following endorsement : 
 
 Burns s Ms. 
 
 Song by Burns, Original Manuscript. 
 The Blue-eyed lassie, with address. 
 
 From Miss Attken, 1819.
 
 EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES 
 
 OF FIRST EDITION OF 
 
 IX CLOVER AND HEATHER. 
 
 "Wallace Bruce celebrates his country s heroes in his own 
 name, his country s soil in the name of his book, and his coun 
 try s virtues in every page." Academy. 
 
 " In Clover and Heather is a volume of lyrics that shows 
 considerable freshness and power. The title symbolises a pretty 
 sentiment, and not a few of the author s songs suggest very 
 agreeably the clover of the Hudson and the Scottish heather by 
 their spontaneous and natural grace, and a certain open-air 
 flavour that is at no time common to writers of verse." Satur 
 day Review. 
 
 "There is genuine pleasure in turning over the leaves of Mr 
 Wallace Brace s Clover and Heather. He has prepared a 
 fragrant little posy of song which should be as welcome in the 
 
 land of his forebears as in the laud of his birth He touches 
 
 smoothly and sweetly chords that have an echo on both sides 
 of the Atlantic." The Scotsman. 
 
 " The contents of his book amply show that Mr Bruce is a 
 genuine poet. His verse thrills with fine, free-flowing, vigorous 
 spirit, which imparts to it that feeling of reality and freshness 
 that gives to the poetry of Burns its permanent attraction." 
 Glasymo Herald. 
 
 " In Clover and Heather contains many fine poems and 
 lyrics, full of freshness and brightness, informed by ardent 
 patriotism, gentle sentiment, and domestic love." Graphic. 
 
 "His verses are musical, his rhythm is correct, and he 
 has always a pleasant rhyme ready at command. There is 
 thought, feeling, and an occasional touch of pathos in his lines,
 
 2 
 
 and he seems equally at home on the banks of the Tweed, amid 
 the romantic scenery of the Trosachs, by the broad waters of 
 the Hudson, or in the distant Yosemite valley." Glasgow 
 Citizen. 
 
 " Keenly alive to the beautiful, whether in art or in nature or 
 home-life, and draws his inspiration equally from one and all. 
 Full of delicate humour and nice discernment." Birming 
 ham Gazette. 
 
 " A dainty little volume both in form and substance. The 
 author possesses a genuine poetic inspiration and a happy simple 
 way of expressing his ideas." Northern Chronicle. 
 
 " A very refined volume of poetry, embracing in its sym 
 pathies the Old World and the New, much mature thought 
 
 and essential beauty, full of tender feeling delicately ex 
 pressed, humour, too, is not absent A truly welcome 
 
 volume of verse." Bristol Times. 
 
 " He is an ardent admirer of Burns and of Scott, and pays his 
 tribute of reverent praise to each of them. His power as a 
 writer of vivid descriptive poetry is shown in The Yosemite 
 and The Hudson, two poems not unworthy of the magnificent 
 scenes which form their subjects. The author already enjoys a 
 high reputation in the realms of poetry, and he is likely to 
 increase his transatlantic renown in this country." Dundee 
 Advertiser. 
 
 "At one time he stirs the soul like the sound of a trumpet by 
 a powerful patriotic appeal, at another he touches the tenderer 
 chords of the heart by an engaging picture of happy homely 
 affection, or the tale of a kindly and generous deed, and anon 
 he trips away on light and airy strain. He has an accent for 
 all moods." Perthshire Journal. 
 
 Whether Mr Bruce sings to us of our own purple hillsides 
 and rippling burns, or pictures for us the mirror lake and lofty 
 mountains of his own country, we are charmed alike by his 
 glowing patriotism and his faithfulness to nature. With all his 
 heart he strives to cement the brotherhood of the two great 
 English-speaking nations. When he sings of nature his touch 
 is light and effective ; when he speaks of his own country his 
 heart breathes in every line ; when he touches on things unseen 
 and eternal, it is with reverence and simplicity." Liverpool 
 Mercury.
 
 TRIBUTES TO MR BRUCE S POEMS, 
 
 LONGFELLOW, WHITTIER, HOLMES, BEECHER, 
 COLLYER, AND DR M COSH. 
 
 "I have read your Land of Burns, The Hudson, and 
 
 The Yosemite with much interest and pleasure I think 
 
 you have very successfully carried out your idea of the 
 Cathedral." HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 "Hearty thanks for thy excellent poem, printed in style 
 
 worthy of its fine and fitting verses Everything about Burns 
 
 interests me. I have never heard him too highly estimated, 
 and, as a true poet, I do not see how he can be." JOHN G. 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 " I have read your verses with great pleasure. They are very 
 
 easy, fluent, lively, and well compacted I thank you most 
 
 cordially for your pretty book, and wish you as many returns 
 of the New Year as may be welcome visitors." OLIVER 
 WENDELL HOLMES. 
 
 "I congratulate you on issuing such a charming volume. It 
 will be thankfully received by every lover of Burns. I thank 
 
 you as one The Hudson River is worthy of being celebrated 
 
 in verse, and you have touched the strings with melodious 
 
 results The Yosemite by its merit and beauty made its way 
 
 to all eyes, ears, and hearts ; there will be many, I take it, 
 
 who will carry your lines with them as they seek out these 
 places and adopt them as their own." HENRY WARD BEECHER. 
 
 " Your lovely little book came duly from the publishers, and 
 was read, as all things are that come to me from your hand and 
 
 heart, with great pleasure The Old Homestead is lovely 
 
 as a dream, and good as gold ; better, it will stay among the 
 household treasures safe and sure, and be treasured by the
 
 children s children, who will say the poet was my grandpa s 
 friend." ROBERT COLLYER. 
 
 " I take it very kind that you have sent me a copy of The 
 Land of Burns. The poem and illustrations are to me full of 
 the fondest memories. I was born and brought up on the banks 
 and braes o bonnie Doon, and I am familiar with all the scenes 
 yon describe and delineate so well. You can conceive how 
 much I value the little volume." JAMES M CosH. 
 
 "OLD HOMESTEAD" POEMS. 
 
 Mr Wallace Bruce, whose appointment to the consulate at 
 Edinburgh, Scotland, has been received with such marked 
 satisfaction by the best elements of all parties, is a literary man 
 of whom it may be said that personal association with him is as 
 
 great a privilege as his poems are a delight No American 
 
 poet, not even Whittier, has set to sweeter music the tender 
 memories of home. His Old Homestead poems have that 
 delicacy of fancy, sincerity of expression and depth of feeling 
 which give fitting utterance to the sanctity with which we hal 
 low the past The same truthfulness of motive is character 
 istic of all his verses, even when his abounding humour ripples 
 into song. This nobility of purpose and excellence of execu 
 tion are the qualities which make those familiar with his work 
 
 enthusiastic admirers His shorter lyrics, published in the 
 
 magazines, have always been widely praised and copied ; and the 
 fervent patriotism that pulsates through his poems has caused 
 his selection as a poet on many distinguished occasions notably 
 at the Newburgh Centennial in 1883, and at the Reunion of the 
 Army of the Potomac at Saratoga Springs in 1887. Happiest of 
 all these efforts, perhaps, was his masterly production in 1880 
 of Scott s Greeting to Burns in Central Park, New York, at 
 
 the dedication of the statue of Robert Burns The sincerity 
 
 and music of Mr Bruce s utterance cannot fail at any time to 
 excite appreciation. His popularity will increase with the years, 
 for his poems have the grace of the scholar, the heart of the 
 toiler, and the soul of the dreamer." Magazine of Poetry : a 
 Quarterly Review, October 1889.