BY THE SAME AUTHOR The White Bees and Other Poems. $1.25 net. The House of Rimmon. $1.00 net. Music and Other Poems. $1.00 net. The Toiling of Felix and Other Poems. $1.00 net. The Builders and Other Poems. $i.oa net. THE GRAND CANYON THE GRAND CANYON AND OTHER POEMS Sy HENRY VANDYKE NEW YORK Charles Scribners Sons MCMXIV Copyright, 1914, by Charles Scribner s Sons Published October. 1914 CONTENTS Page THE GRAND CANYON 3 SIERRA MADRE 9 TEXAS 11 TURN O THE TIDE 27 RAPPEL D AMOUR 29 THE FIRST BIRD O SPRING 30 "GRAN BOULE" 32 HEROES OF THE "TITANIC" 39 THE STANDARD-BEARER 40 PEACE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC 42 CHRISTMAS TEARS 44 DOROTHEA 46 THREE PRAYERS FOR SLEEP AND WAKING 47 INSCRIPTION FOR A TOMB IN ENG LAND 50 THE TALISMAN 51 THORN AND ROSE 52 STAIN NOT THE SKY 53 <>, 1 > I L o *i > v> ^ - CARMINA FESTIVA Page How Spring Comes to Shasta Jim 57 Anglers Fireside Song 60 A Bunch of Trout -Flics 61 A Ballad of Santa Glaus 64 The Little-Neck Clam 67 Ars Agricolaris 73 vi THE GRAND CANYON AND OTHER POEMS THE GRAND CANYON DAYBREAK TT 7HAT makes the lingering Night so cling to W thee? Thou vast, profound, primeval hiding-place Of ancient secrets, gray and ghostly gulf Cleft in the green of this high forest land, And crowded in the dark with giant forms ! Art thou a grave, a prison, or a shrine? A stillness deeper than the dearth of sound Broods over thee: a living silence breathes Perpetual incense from thy dim abyss. The morning-stars that sang above the bower Of Eden, passing over thee, are dumb With trembling bright amazement; and the Dawn Steals through the glimmering pines with naked feet, Her hand upon her lips, to look on thee. She peers into thy depths with silent prayer For light, more light, to part thy purple veil. O Earth, swift-rolling Earth, reveal, reveal, Turn to the East, and show upon thy breast The mightiest marvel in the realm of Time ! "Tis done, the morning miracle of light, The resurrection of the world of hues That die with dark, and daily rise again With every rising of the splendid Sun ! Be still, my heart ! Now Nature holds her breath To see the vital flood of radiance leap Across the chasm; and crest the farthest rim Of alabaster with a glistening white Rampart of pearl; and flowing down by walls Of changeful opal, deepen into gold Of topaz, rosy gold of tourmaline, Crimson of garnet, green and gray of jade, Purple of amethyst, and ruby red, Beryl, and sard, and royal porphyry; Until the cataract of colour breaks Upon the blackness of the granite floor. How far below! And all between is cleft And carved into a hundred curving miles Of unimagined architecture ! Tombs, Temples, and colonnades are neighbored there By fortresses that Titans might defend, And amphitheatres where Gods might strive. Cathedrals, buttressed with unnumbered tiers Of ruddy rock, lift to the sapphire sky A single spire of marble pure as snow; And huge aerial palaces arise Like mountains built of unconsuming flame. Along the weathered walls, or standing far In riven valleys where no foot may tread, Are lonely pillars, and tall monuments Of perished seons and forgotten things. My sight is baffled by the close array Of countless forms: my vision reels and swims Above them, like a bird in whirling winds. Yet no confusion fills the awful chasm; But spacious order and a sense of peace Are wide diffused. [For every shape that looms Majestic in the throng, is set apart From all the others by its far-flung shade, "j- Blue, blue, as if a mountain-lake were there. How still it is ! Dear God, I hardly dare To breathe, for fear the fathomless abyss Will draw me down into eternal sleep. What force has formed this masterpiece of awe? What hands have wrought these wonders in the waste ? ID river, gleaming in the narrow rift Of gloom that cleaves the valley s nether deep, Fierce Colorado, prisoned by thy toil, And blindly toiling still to reach the sea, Thy waters, gathered from the snows and springs Amid the Utah hills, have carved this road Of glory to the Californian Gulf. But now, O sunken stream, thy splendour lost, Twixt iron walls thou rollest turbid waves, Too far away to make their fury heard ! At sight of thee, thou sullen labouring slave Of gravitation, yellow torrent poured From distant mountains by no will of thine, Through thrice a hundred centuries of slow^ Fallings and liftings of the crust of Earth^/- At sight of thee my spirit sinks and fails. Art thou alone the Maker? Is the blind And thoughtless power that drew thee dumbly down To cut this gash across the layered globe, The sole creative cause of all I see? Are force and matter all? The rest a dream? Then is thy gorge a canyon of despair, A prison for the soul of man, a grave Of all his dearest daring hopes ! The world Wherein we live and move is meaningless, No spirit here to answer to our own! The stars without a guide ! The chance-born Earth Adrift in space, no Captain on the ship ! Nothing in all the universe to prove Eternal wisdom and eternal love ! And man, the latest accident of Time, Who thinks he loves, and longs to understand, Who vainly suffers, and in vain is brave, Who dupes his heart with immortality, Man is a living lie, a bitter jest Upon himself, a conscious grain of sand Lost in a desert of unconsciousness, Thirsting for God and mocked by his own thirst. Spirit of Beauty, mother of delight, Thou fairest offspring of Omnipotence, Inhabiting this lofty lone abode ! Speak to my heart again and set me free From all these doubts that darken earth and heaven ! Who sent thee forth into the wilderness To bless and comfort all who see thy face? Who clad thee in this more than royal robe Of rainbows? Who designed these jewelled thrones For thee, and wrought these glittering palaces? Who gave thee power upon the soul of man To lift him up through wonder into joy? God ! let the radiant cliffs bear witness ! God, Let all the shining pillars signal God ! He only, on the mystic loom of light, Hath woven webs of loveliness to clothe His most majestic works: and He alone Hath delicately wrought the cactus-flower To star the desert floor with rosy bloom. O Beauty, handiwork of the Most High, Where er thou art He tells his Love to man, And lo, the day breaks, and the shadows flee ! Now, far beyond all language and all art In thy wild splendour, Canyon Marvellous, The secret of thy stillness lies unveiled In wordless worship ! This is holy ground, Thou art no grave, no prison, but a shrine. Garden of Temples rilled with Silent Praise, If God were blind thy Beauty could not be ! February 24-26, 1913. SIERRA MADRE MOTHER mountains! billowing far to the snow-lands, Robed in aerial amethyst, silver, and blue, Why do ye look so proudly down on the lowlands? What have their groves and gardens to do with you? Theirs is the languorous charm of the orange and myrtle, Theirs are the fruitage and fragrance of Eden of old, - Broad -boughed oaks in the meadows fair and fer tile, Dark-leaved orchards gleaming with globes of gold. You, in your solitude standing, lofty and lonely, Bear neither garden nor grove on your barren breasts ; Rough is the rock-loving growth of your canyons, and only Storm-battered pines and fir-trees cling to your crests. Why are ye throned so high and arrayed in splen dour Richer than all the fields at your feet can claim ? What is your right, ye rugged peaks, to the tender Queenly promise and pride of the mother-name ? Answered the mountains, dim in the distance dreaming: " Ours are the forests that treasure the riches of rain; Ours are the secret springs and the rivulets gleam ing Silverly down through the manifold bloom of the plain. " Vain were the toiling of men in the dust of the dry land, Vain were the plowing and planting in water less fields, Save for the life-giving currents we send from the sky-land, Save for the fruit our embrace with the storm- cloud yields." O mother mountains, Madre Sierra, I love you ! Rightly you reign o er the vale that your bounty fills, - Kissed by the sun, or with big, bright stars above you,- I murmur your name and lift up mine eyes to the hills. Pasadena, March, 1913. 10 A ] TEXAS A DEMOCRATIC ODE* I THE WILD BEES LL along the Brazos river, All along the Colorado, In the valleys and the lowlands Where the trees were tall and stately, In the rich and rolling meadows Where the grass was full of wild -flowers, Came a humming and a buzzing, Came the murmur of a going To and fro among the tree-tops, Far and wide across the meadows. And the red-men in their tepees Smoked their pipes of clay and listened. " What is this? " they asked in wonder; " Who can give the sound a meaning? Who can understand the language Of a going in the tree-tops?" Then the wisest of the Tejas Laid his pipe aside and answered: " O my brothers, these are people, Very little, winged people, Countless, busy, banded people, * Read at the Dedication of the Rice Institute, Houston, Texas, October, 1912. II Coming humming through the timber. These are tribes of bees, united By a single aim and purpose, To possess the Tejas country, Gather harvest from the prairies, Store their wealth among the timber. These are hive and honey makers, Sent by Manito to warn us That the white men now are coming, With their women and their children. Not the fiery filibusters Passing wildly in a moment, Like a flame across the prairies, Like a whirlwind through the forest, Leaving empty lands behind them ! Not the Mexicans and Spaniards, Indolent and proud hidalgos, Dwelling in their haciendas, Dreaming, talking of tomorrow, While their cattle graze around them, And their fickle revolutions Change the rulers, not the people ! Other folk are these who follow When the wild-bees come to warn us; These are hive and honey makers, These are busy, banded people, Roaming far to swarm and settle, Working every day for harvest, Fighting hard for peace and order, Worshiping as queens their women, Making homes and building cities Full of riches and of trouble. 12 All our hunting-grounds must vanish, All our lodges fall before them, All our customs and traditions, All our happy life of freedom, Fade away like smoke before them. Come, my brothers, strike your tepees, Call your women, load your ponies ! Let us take the trail to westward, Where the plains are wide and open, Where the bison -herds are gathered Waiting for our feathered arrows. We will live as lived our fathers, Gleaners of the gifts of nature, Hunters of the unkept cattle, Men whose women run to serve them. If the toiling bees pursue us, If the white men seek to tame us, We will fight them off and flee them, Break their hives and take their honey, Moving westward, ever westward, There to live as lived our fathers." So the red-men drove their ponies, With the tent-poles trailing after, Out along the path to sunset, While along the river valleys Swarmed the wild -bees, the forerunners; And the white men, close behind them, Men of mark from old Missouri, Men of daring from Kentucky, Tennessee, Louisiana, Men of many States and races, Bringing wives and children with them, Followed up the wooded valleys, Spread across the rolling prairies, Raising homes and reaping harvests. Rude the toil that tried their patience, Fierce the rights that proved their courage, Rough the stone and tough the timber Out of which they built their order ! Yet they never failed nor faltered, And the instinct of their swarming Made them one and kept them working, Till their toil was crowned with triumph, And the country of the Tejas Was the fertile land of Texas. II THE LONE STAR Behold a star appearing in the South A star that shines apart from other stars, Ruddy and fierce, like Mars ! Out of the reeking smoke of cannon s mouth That veils the slaughter of the Alamo, Where heroes face the foe, One man against a score, with blood-choked breath Shouting the watchword, " Victory or Death Out of the dreadful cloud that settles low On Goliad s plain, Where thrice a hundred prisoners lie slain Beneath the broken word of Mexico Out of the fog of factions and of feuds That ever drifts and broods Above the bloody path of border war, Leaps the Lone Star ! What light is this that does not dread the dark? What star is this that fights a stormy way To San Jacinto s field of victory? It is the fiery spark That burns within the breast Of Anglo-Saxon men, who can not rest Under a tyrant s sway; The upward-leading ray That guides the brave who give their lives away Rather than not be free! O question not, but honour every name, Travis and Crockett, Bowie, Bonham, Ward, Fannin and King, all who drew the sword And dared to die for Texan liberty ! Yea, write them all upon the roll of fame, But no less love and equal honour give To those who paid the longer sacrifice Austin and Houston, Burnet, Rusk, Lamar And all the stalwart men who dared to live Long years of service to the lonely star. 16 Great is the worth of such heroic souls: Amid the strenuous turmoil of their deeds, They clearly speak of something that controls The higher breeds of men by higher needs Than bees, content with honey in their hives! Ah, not enough the narrow lives On profitable toil intent ! And not enough the guerdons of success Garnered in homes of affluent selfishness ! A noble discontent Cries for a wider scope To use the wider wings of human hope; A vision of the common good Opens the prison-door of solitude; And, once beyond the wall, Breathing the ampler air, The heart becomes aware That life without a country is not life at all. A country worthy of a freeman s love; A country worthy of a good man s prayer; A country strong, and just, and brave, and fair, A woman s form of beauty throned above The shrine where noble aspirations meet To live for her is great, to die is sweet ! Heirs of the rugged pioneers Who dreamed this dream and made it true, Remember that they dreamed for you. They did not fear their fate In those tempestuous years, But put their trust in God, and with keen eyes, Trained in the open air for looking far, They saw the many-million-acred land Won from the desert by their hand, Swiftly among the nations rise, Texas a sovereign State, And on her brow a star ! 18 ni THE CONSTELLATION How strange that the nature of light is a thing beyond our ken, And the flame of the tiniest candle flows from a fountain sealed ! How strange that the meaning of life, in the little lives of men, So often baffles our search with a mystery un- revealed ! But the larger life of man, as it moves in its sec ular sweep, Is the working out of a Sovereign Will whose ways appear; And the course of the journeying stars on the dark blue boundless deep, Is the place where our science rests in the reign of law most clear. I would read the story of Texas as if it were written on high; I would look from afar to follow her path through the calms and storms; With a faith in the worldwide sway of the Reason that rules in the sky, And gathers and guides the starry host in clusters and swarms. When she rose in the pride of her youth, she seemed to be moving apart, As a single star in the South, self-limited, self- possessed; But the law of the constellation was written deep in her heart, And she heard when her sisters called, from the North and the East and the West. They were drawn together and moved by a com mon hope and aim The dream of a sign that should rule a third of the heavenly arch; The soul of a people spoke in their call, and Texas came To enter the splendid circle of States in their onward march. So the glory gathered and grew and spread from sea to sea, And the stars of the great republic lent each other light; For all were bound together in strength, and each was free Suddenly broke the tempest out of the ancient night ! 20 It came as a clash of the force that drives and the force that draws; And the stars were riven asunder, the heavens were desolate, While brother fought with brother, each for his country s cause But the country of one was the Nation, the country of other the State. Oh, who shall measure the praise or blame in a strife so vast? And who shall speak of traitors or tyrants when all were true? We lift our eyes to the sky, and rejoice that the storm is past, And we thank the God of all that the Union shines in the blue. Yea, it glows with the glory of peace and the hope of a mighty race, High over the grave of broken chains and buried hates; And the great, big star of Texas is shining clear in its place In the constellate symbol and sign of the free United States. 21 IV AFTER THE PIONEERS After the pioneers Big-hearted, big-handed lords of the axe and the plow and the rifle, Tan-faced tamers of horses and lands, themselves remaining tameless, Full of righting, labour and romance, lovers of rude adventure After the pioneers have cleared the way to their homes and graves on the prairies: After the State -builders - Zealous and jealous men, dreamers, debaters, often at odds with each other, All of them sure it is well to toil and to die, if need be, Just for the sake of founding a country to leave to their children After the builders have done their work and written their names upon it: After the civil war Wildest of all storms, cruel and dark and seem ingly wasteful, Tearing up by the root the vines that were split ting the old foundations, Washing away with a rain of blood and tears the dust of slavery, After the cyclone has passed and the sky is fair to the far horizon; After the era of plenty and peace has come with full hands to Texas, Then what then? 22 Is it to be the life of an indolent heir, fat-witted and self-contented, Dwelling at ease in the house that others have builded, Boasting about the country for which he has done nothing? Is it to be an age of corpulent, deadly-dull pros perity, Richer and richer crops to nourish a race of Phi listines, Bigger and bigger cities full of the same confusion and sorrow, The people increasing mightily but no increase of the joy? Is this what the forerunners wished and toiled to win for you, This the reward of war and the fruitage of high endeavor, This the goal of your hopes and the vision that satisfies you? Nay, stand up and answer I can read what is in your hearts You, the children of those who followed the wild bees, You, the children of those who served the Lone Star, Now that the hives are full and the star is fixed in the constellation, I know that the best of you still are lovers of sweetness and light! You hunger for honey that comes from invisible gardens ; Pure, translucent, golden thoughts and feelings and inspirations, Sweetness of all the best that has bloomed in the mind of man. You rejoice in the light that is breaking along the borders of science; The hidden rays that enable a man to look through a wall of stone; The unseen, fire-filled wings that carry his words across the ocean; The splendid gift of flight that shines, half-cap tured, above him; The gleam of a thousand half-guessed secrets, just ready to be discovered ! You dream and devise great things for the com ing race Children of yours who shall people and rule the domain of Texas; They shall know, they shall comprehend more than their fathers, They shall grow in the vigour of well-rounded man hood and womanhood, Riper minds, richer hearts, finer souls, the only true wealth of a nation The league-long fields of the State are pledged to ensure this harvest! 24 Your old men have dreamed this dream and your young men have seen this vision. The age of romance has not gone, it is only be ginning; Greater words than the ear of man has heard are waiting to be spoken, Finer arts than the eyes of man have seen are sleeping to be awakened Science exploring the scope of the world, Poetry breathing the hope of the world, Music to measure and lead the onward march of man! Come, ye honoured and welcome guests from the elder nations, Princes of science and arts and letters, Look on the walls that embody the generous dream of one of the old men of Texas, Enter these halls of learning that rise in the land of the pioneer s log-cabin, Read the confessions of faith that are carved on the stones around you: Faith in the worth of the smallest fact and the laws that govern the starbeams Faith in the beauty of truth and the truth of per fect beauty, Faith in the God who creates the souls of men by knowledge and love and worship. This is the faith of the New Democracy Proud and humble, patiently pressing forward, Praising her heroes of old and training her future leaders, Seeking her crown in a nobler race of men and women After the pioneers, sweetness and light! October, 1912. 26 TURN THE TIDE tide flows in to the harbour, - The bold tide, the gold tide, the flood o the sunlit sea, And the little ships riding at anchor, Are swinging and slanting their prows to the ocean, panting To lift their wings to the wide wild air, And venture a voyage they know not where, To fly away and be free ! The tide runs out of the harbour, The low tide, the slow tide, the ebb o the moonlit bay, And the little ships rocking at anchor, Are rounding and turning their bows to the landward, yearning To breathe the breath of the sun-warmed strand, To rest in the lee of the high hill land, To hold their haven and stay ! 27 My heart goes round with the vessels, My wild heart, my child heart, in love with the sea and the land, And the turn o the tide passes through it, In rising and falling with mystical currents, calling At morn, to range where the far waves foam, At night, to a harbour in love s true home, With the hearts that understand ! Seal Harbour, August 12, 1911. 28 RAPPEL D AMOUR home, my love, come home! The twilight is falling, The whippoorwill calling, The night is very near, And the darkness full of fear, Come home to my arms, come home ! Come home, my love, come home! In folly we parted, And now, lonely hearted, I know you look in vain For a love like mine again; Come home to my arms, come home ! Come home, dear love, come home ! I ve much to forgive you, And more yet to give you. I ll put a little light In the window every night, Come home to my arms, come home. 29 THE FIRST BIRD SPRING TO OLIVE WHEELER \X7INTER on Mount Shasta, April down below; Golden hours of glowing sun, Sudden showers of snow ! Under leafless thickets Early wild-flowers cling; But, oh, my dear, I m fain to hear The first bird o Spring ! Alders are in tassel, Maples are in bud; Waters of the blue McCloud Shout in joyful flood; Through the giant pine-trees Flutters many a wing; But, oh, my dear, I long to hear The first bird o Spring ! Candle-light and fire-light Mingle at " the Bend;" Neath the roof of Bohai-pan Light and shadow blend. Sweeter than a wood-thrush A maid begins to sing; And, oh, my dear, I m glad to hear The first bird o Spring! The Bend, California, April 29, 1913. "GRAN* BOULE" A SEAMAN S TALE OF THE SEA "17K7E men that go down for a livin in ships to VV the sea,- We love it a different way from you poets that bide on the land. We are fond of it, sure ! But, you take it as comin from me, There s a fear and a hate in our love that a lands man can t understand. Oh, who could help likin the salty smell, and the blue Of the waves that are lazily breathin as if they dreamed in the sun? She s a Sleepin Beauty, the sea, but you can t tell what she ll do; And the seamen never trust her, they know too well what she s done ! She s a wench like one that I saw in a singin - play, - Carmen they called her, Lord, what a life her lovers did lead ! She d cuddle and kiss you, and sing you and dance you away; And then, she d curse you, and break you, and throw you down like a weed. You may chance it awhile with the girls like that, if you please; But you want a woman to trust when you settle down with a wife; And a seaman s thought of growin old at his ease Is a snug little house on the land to shelter the rest of his life. So that was old Poisson s dream, did you know the Cap ? A brown little Frenchman, clever, and brave, and quick as a fish, Had a wife and kids on the other side of the map, And a rose-covered cottage for them and him was his darlin wish. " I ave sail," says he, in his broken-up Frenchy talk, " Mos forty -two year; I ave go on all part of de worl dat ees wet. I m seeck of de boat and de water. I rader walk Wid ma Josephine in one garden; an eef we get tire , we set! 33 " You see dat bateau, Sainte Brigitte P I bring er dh are From de Breton coas , by gar, jus feefteen year bifore. She ole w en she come on Kebec, but Holloway Freres Dey buy er, an hire me run er along dat dam Nort Shore. "Dose engine one leetP bit cranky, too ole, you see, She roll and peetch in de wave . But I lak er pretty well; An dat sheep she lak er captaine, sure, dat s me ! Wit forty ton coal in de bunker, I tek dat sheep t rou hell. " But I don wan risk it no more; I had bonne chance : I save already ten t ousan dollar , dat s plenty I s pose ! Nex winter I buy dat house wid de garden on France An I tell adieu to de sea, and I leev on de Ian in ripose." 34 All summer he talked of his house, you could see the flowers Abloom, and the pear-trees trained on the garden- wall so trim, And the Captain awalkin and smokin away the hours, He thought he had done with the sea, but the sea hadn t done with him ! It was late in the fall when he made the last regular run, Clear down to the Esquimault Point and back with his rickety ship; She hammered and pounded a lot, for the storms had begun; But he drove her, and went for his season s pay at the end of the trip. Now the Holloway Brothers are greedy and thin little men, With their eyes set close together, and money s their only God; So they told the Cap he must run the "Bridget" again, To fetch a cargo from Moisie, two thousand quin tals of cod. 35 He said the season was over. They said: " Not yet. You finish the whole of your job, old man, or you don t draw a cent ! " (They had the "Bridget" insured for all they could get.) And the Captain objected, and cursed, and cried. But he went. They took on the cargo at Moisie, and folks be side, Three traders, a priest, and a couple of nuns, and a girl For a school at Quebec, when the Captain saw her he sighed, And said: " Ma littl Fifi got hair lak dat, all curl ! " The snow had fallen a foot, and the wind was high, When the "Bridget" butted her way thro the bil lows on Moisie bar. The darkness grew with the gale, not a star in the sky, And the Captain swore: " We mus make Sept Isles to-night, by gar ! " He couldn t go back, for he didn t dare to turn; The sea would have thrown the ship like a mus tang noosed with a rope; For the monstrous waves were leapin high astern, And the shelter of Seven Island Bay was the only hope. There s a bunch of broken hills half sunk in the mouth Of the bay, with their jagged peaks afoam; and the Captain thought He could pass to the north; but the sea kept shovin him south, With her harlot hands in the snow-blind murk, till she had him caught. She had waited forty years for a night like this, Did he think he could leave her now, and live in a cottage, the fool? She headed him straight for the island he couldn t miss; And heaved his boat in the dark, and smashed it against Gran Boule. 37 How the Captain and half of the people clam bered ashore, Through the surf and the snow in the gloom of that horrible night, There s no one ever will know; for two days more The death-white shroud of the tempest covered the island from sight. How they suffered, and struggled, and died, will never be told; We discovered them all at last when we reached Gran Boule with a boat; The drowned and the frozen were lyin stiff and cold, And the poor little girl with the curls was wrapped in the Captain s coat. Go write your song of the sea as the landsmen do, And call her your " great sweet mother," your " bride," and all the rest; She was made to be loved, but remember, she won t love you, The men who trust her the least are the sailors who know her the best. HEROES OF THE "TITANIC" TLJONOUR the brave who sleep " Where the lost " Titanic " lies, The men who knew what a man must do When he looks Death in the eyes. " Women and children first," Ah, strong and tender cry ! The sons whom women had borne and nursed, Remembered, and dared to die. The boats crept off in the dark: The great ship groaned : and then, O stars of the night, who saw that sight, Bear witness, These were men! November 9, 1912. THE STANDARD-BEARER " TJfOW can I tell," Sir Edward said, " Who has the right or the wrong o* this thing ? Cromwell stands for the people s cause, Charles is crowned by the ancient laws; English meadows are sopping red, Englishmen striking each other dead, Times are black as a raven s wing. Out of the ruck and the mirk I see Only one thing ! The King has trusted his banner to me, And I must fight for the King." 40 Into the thick of the Edgehill fight Sir Edward rode with a shout; and the ring Of grim-faced, hard-hitting Parliament men Swallowed him up, it was one against ten He fought for the standard with all his might, Never again did he come to sight Victor, hid by the raven s wing ! After the battle had passed we found Only one thing, The hand of Sir Edward gripped around The banner-staff of his King. PEACE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC LORD our God, Thy mighty hand Hath made our country free; From all her broad and happy land May praise arise to Thee. Fulfill the promise of her youth, Her liberty defend; By law and order, love and truth, America befriend ! The strength of every State increase In Union s golden chain; Her thousand cities fill with peace, Her million fields with grain. The virtues of her mingled blood In one new people blend; By unity and brotherhood, America befriend ! 42 O suffer not her feet to stray; But guide her untaught might, That she may walk in peaceful day, And lead the world in light. Bring down the proud, lift up the poor, Unequal ways amend; By justice, nation-wide and sure, America befriend ! Thro all the waiting land proclaim Thy gospel of good-will; And may the music of Thy name In every bosom thrill. O er hill and vale, from sea to sea, Thy holy reign extend; By faith and hope and charity, America befriend ! 43 CHRISTMAS TEARS day returns by which we date our years: Day of the joy of giving, that means love; Day of the joy of living, that means hope; Day of the Royal Child, and day that brings To older hearts the gift of Christmas tears ! Look, how the candles twinkle through the tree, The children shout when baby claps his hands, The room is full of laughter and of song ! Your lips are smiling, dearest, tell me why Your eyes are brimming full of Christmas tears? Was it a silent voice that joined the song? A vanished face that glimmered once again Among the happy circle round the tree? Was it an unseen hand that touched your cheek And brought the secret gift of Christmas tears? Not dark and angry like the winter storm Of selfish grief, but full of starry gleams, And soft and still that others may not weep, Dews of remembered happiness descend To bless us with the gift of Christmas tears. Ah, lose them not, dear heart, life has no pearls More pure than memories of joy love-shared. See, while we count them one by one with prayer, The Heavenly hope that lights the Christmas tree Has made a rainbow in our Christmas tears ! 45 DOROTHEA 1888-1912 A DEEPER crimson in the rose, ^^ A deeper blue in sky and sea, And ever, as the summer goes, A deeper loss in losing thee ! A deeper music in the strain Of hermit-thrush from lonely tree; And deeper grows the sense of gain My life has found in having thee. A deeper love, a deeper rest, A deeper joy in all I see; And ever deeper in my breast A silver song that comes from thee ! Mount Desert, August i, 1912. THREE PRAYERS FOR SLEEP AND WAKING i BEDTIME "ORE thou sleepest gently lay ^ Every troubled thought away: Put off worry and distress As thou puttest off thy dress: Drop thy burden and thy care In the quiet arms of prayer. Lord, Thou knottiest how I live, Jill I ve done amiss forgive: Jill of good I ve tried to do, Strengthen, bless, and carry through: All I love in safety eep, While in Thee I fall asleep. 47 n NIGHT WATCH If slumber should forsake Thy pillow in the dark, Fret not thyself to mark How long thou liest awake. There is a better way; Let go the strife and strain, Thine eyes will close again, If thou wilt only pray. Lord, Thy peaceful gift restore, Give my body sleep once more: While I wait my soul will rest a child upon Thy breast. m NEW DAY Ere thou risest from thy bed, Speak to God Whose wings were spread O er thee in the helpless night: lx>, He wakes thee now with light ! Lift thy burden and thy care In the mighty arms of prayer. Lord, the newness of this day Calls me to an untried way: Let me gladly ta^e the road t Qive me strength to bear my load t Thou my guide and helper be / will travel through with Thee. The Mission Inn, California, Easter, 1913. 49 INSCRIPTION FOR A TOMB IN ENGLAND "DEAD here, O friend unknown, " Our grief, of her bereft; Yet think not tears alone Within our hearts are left. The gifts she came to give, Her heavenly love and cheer, Have made us glad to live And die without a fear. 1912. THE TALISMAN \7[7HAT is Fortune, what is Fame? * Futile gold and phantom name, Riches buried in a cave, Glory written on a grave. What is Friendship? Something deep That the heart can spend and keep: Wealth that greatens while we give, Praise that heartens us to live. Come, my friend, and let us prove Life s true talisman is love ! By this charm we shall elude Poverty and solitude. January 21, 1914. THORN AND ROSE richer than a thornless rose Whose branch with beauty never glows, Is that which every June adorns With perfect bloom among its thorns. Merely to live without a pain Is little gladness, little gain, Ah, welcome joy tho mixt with grief, - The thorn-set flower that crowns the leaf. June 20, 1914. STAIN NOT THE SKY gods of battle, lords of fear, Who work your iron will as well As once ye did with sword and spear, With rifled gun and rending shell, Masters of sea and land, forbear The fierce invasion of the inviolate air ! With patient daring man hath wrought A hundred years for power to fly; And will you make his winged thought A hovering horror in the sky, Where flocks of human eagles sail, Dropping their bolts of death, on hill and dale ? Ah no, the sunset is too pure, The dawn too fair, the noon too bright For wings of terror to obscure Their beauty, and betray the night That keeps for man, above his wars, The tranquil vision of untroubled stars. S3 Pass on, pass on, ye lords of fear ! Your footsteps in the sea are red, And black on earth your paths appear With ruined homes and heaps of dead. Pass on to end your transient reign, And leave the blue of heaven without a stain. The wrong ye wrought will fall to dust, The right ye shielded will abide; The world at last will learn to trust In law to guard, and love to guide; And Peace of God that answers prayer Will fall like dew from the inviolate air. March 5, 1914. 54 CARMINA FESTIVA HOW SPRING COMES TO SHASTA JIM T NEVER saw no " red gods "; I dunno wot s a "lure"; But if it s sumpin takin , then Spring has got it sure ; An it doesn t need no Kiplin s, nor yet no Lon don Jacks, To make up guff about it, while settin in their shacks. It s sumpin very simple at happens in the Spring, But it changes all the lookin s of every blessed thing; The buddin woods look bigger, the mounting twice as high, But the house looks kindo smaller, tho I couldn t tell ye why. It s cur ous wot a show-down the month of April makes, Between the reely livin , an the things that s only fakes ! Machines an barns an buildin s, they never give no sign; But the livin things look lively when Spring is on the line. 57 She doesn t come too suddin, nor she doesn t come too slow; Her gaits is some cayprishus, an* the next ye never know, A single-foot o sunshine, a buck o snow er hail, But don t be disapp inted, for Spring ain t goin ter fail. She s loopin down the hillside, the driffs is fadin out. She s runnin down the river, d ye see them risin trout? She s loafin down the canyon, the squaw-bed s growin blue, An the teeny Johnny -jump-ups is jest a-peekin thru. A thousan miles o pine-trees, with Douglas firs between, Is waitin for her fingers to freshen up their green; With little tips o brightness the firs ill sparkle thick, An every yaller pine-tree, a giant candle-stick ! The underbrush is risin an spreadin all around, Just like a mist o greenness at hangs above the ground ; A million manzanitas ill soon be full o pink; So saddle up, my sonny, it s time to ride, I think! We ll ford or swim the river, becos there ain t no bridge; We ll foot the gulches careful, an lope along the ridge; We ll take the trail to Nowhere, an travel till we tire, An camp beneath a pine-tree, an sleep beside the fire. We ll see the blue-quail chickens, an hear em pipin clear; An p raps we ll sight a brown-bear, or else a bunch o deer; But never a heathen goddess or god ill meet our eyes; For why? There isn t any! They re just a pack o lies! Oh, wot s the use o " red gods," an " Pan," an all that stuff? The natcheral facts o Springtime is wonderful enuff! An if there s Someone made em, I guess He un derstood, To be alive in Springtime would make a man feel good. California, 1913. 59 ANGLERS FIRESIDE SONG , the angler s path is a very merry way, And his road through the world is bright; For he lives with the laughing stream all day, And he lies by the fire at night. Sing hey nonny, ho nonny And likewise well-a-day! The angler s life is a very jolly life And that s what the anglers say! Oh, the angler plays for the pleasure of the game, And his creel may be full or light, But the tale that he tells will be just the same When he lies by the fire at night. Sing hey nonny, ho nonny And likewise well-a-day ! We love the fire and the music of the lyre, And that s what the anglers say ! To the San Francisco Fly-Casting Club, April, 1913. 60 A BUNCH OF TROUT-FLIES For Archie Ruttledge LJERE S a half-a-dozen flies, Just about the proper size For the trout of Dickey s Run, Luck go with them every one ! Dainty little feathered beauties, Listen now, and learn your duties; Not to tangle in the box; Not to catch on logs or rocks, Boughs that wave or weeds that float, Nor in the angler s " pants " or coat ! Not to lure the glutton frog From his banquet in the bog; Nor the lazy chub to fool, Splashing idly round the pool; Nor the sullen horned pout From the mud to hustle out! 61 None of this vulgarian crew, Dainty flies, is game for you. Darting swiftly through the air Guided by the angler s care, Light upon the flowing stream Like a winged fairy dream; Float upon the water dancing, Through the lights and shadows glancing, Till the rippling current brings you And the filmy leader swings you Where a speckled beauty lies Watching you with hungry eyes. Here s your game and here s your prize! Hover near him, lure him, tease him, Do your very best to please him, Dancing on the water foamy, Like the frail and fair Salome, * Till the monarch yields at last; Rises, and you have him fast! Then remember well your duty, Do not lose, but land, your booty; For the finest fish of all is Salvelinus Fontinalis. 62 So, you plumed illusions, go, Let my comrade Archie know Every day he goes a-fishing I ll be with him in well-wishing. Most of all when lunch is laid In the dappled orchard shade, With Will, Corinne, and Dixie too, Sitting as we used to do Round the white cloth on the grass While the lazy hours pass, And the brook s contented tune Lulls the sleepy afternoon, Then s the time my heart will be With that pleasant company! June 17, 1913- A BALLAD OF SANTA CLAUS For the St. Nicholas Society of New York A MONO the earliest saints of old, before the " first Hegira, I find the one whose name we hold, St. Nicholas of Myra: The best-beloved name, I guess, in sacred nomen clature, The patron-saint of helpfulness, and friendship, and good-nature. A bishop and a preacher too, a famous theolo gian, He stood against the Arian crew and fought them like a Trojan: But when a poor man told his need and begged an alms in trouble, He never asked about his creed, but quickly gave him double. 64 Three pretty maidens, so they say, were longing to be married; But they were paupers, lack-a-day, and so the suitors tarried. St. Nicholas gave each maid a purse of golden ducats chinking, And then, for better or for worse, they wedded quick as winking. Once, as he sailed, a storm arose; wild waves the ship surrounded; The sailors wept and tore their clothes, and shrieked "We ll all be drownded ! " St. Nicholas never turned a hair; serenely shone his halo; He simply said a little prayer, and all the billows lay low. The wicked keeper of an inn had three small ur chins taken, And cut them up in a pickle-bin, and salted them for bacon. St. Nicholas came and picked them out, and put their limbs together, They lived, they leaped, they gave a shout, " St. Nicholas forever ! " And thus it came to pass, you know, that maids without a nickel, And sailor-lads when tempest blow, and children in a pickle, And every man that s fatherly, and every kindly matron, In choosing saints would all agree to call St. Nicholas patron. He comes again at Christmas-time and stirs us up to giving; He rings the merry bells that chime good-will to all the living; He blesses every friendly deed and every free do nation ; He sows the secret, golden seed of love through all creation. Our fathers drank to Santa Claus, the sixth of each December, And still we keep his feast because his virtues we remember. Among the saintly ranks he stood, with smiling human features, And said, "Be good! But not too good to love your fellow-creatures! " December 6, 1907. 66 THE LITTLE-NECK CLAM A modern verse-sequence, showing how a native Amer ican subject, strictly realistic, may be treated in various manners adapted to the requirements of different magazines, thus combining Art-for-Art s-Sake with Writing-for-the-Mar- ket. Read at the First Dinner of the American Periodical Publishers Association, in Washington, April, 1904. THE ANTI-TRUST CLAM For McClure s Magazine "PHE clam that once, on Jersey s banks, Was like the man who dug it, free, Now slave-like thro the market clanks In chains of corporate tyranny. The Standard Fish-Trust of New York Holds every clam-bank in control; And like base Beef and menial Pork, The free-born Clam has lost its soul. No, more the bivalve treads the sands In freedom s rapture, free from guilt: It follows now the harsh commands Of Morgiman and Rockabilt. Rise, freemen, rise ! Your wrath is just ! Call on the Sherman Act to dam The floods of this devouring Trust, And liberate the fettered Clam. 68 II THE WHITMANIAC CLAM For the Bookman IVTOT Dante when he wandered by the river Arno, Not Burns who plowed the banks and braes of bonnie Ayr, Not even Shakspere on the shores of Avon, - ah, no! Not one of those great bards did taste true Poet s Fare. But Whitman, loafing in Long Island and New Jersey, Found there the sustenance of mighty ode and psalm, And while his rude emotions swam around in verse, he Fed chiefly on the wild, impassioned, sea-born clam. Thus in his work we feel the waves bewildering motion, And winds from mighty mud-flats, weird and wild: His clam-filled bosom answered to the voice of ocean, And rose and fell responsively with every tide. Ill IL MERCATORE ITALIANO BELLA CLAMMA For the Century Magazine O ! Fres Clam ! " How strange it sounds and sweet, The Dago s cry along the New York street ! Dago" we call him, like the thoughtless crowd; And yet this humble man may well be proud To hail from Petrarch s land, Boccaccio s home, Firenze, Gubbio, Venezia, Rome, - From fair Italia, whose enchanted soil Transforms the lowly cotton-seed to olive-oil. To me his chant, with alien accent sung, Brings back an echo of great Virgil s tongue: It seems to cry against the city s woe, - In liquid Latin syllables, Clamo! As thro the crowded street his cart he jams And cries aloud, ah, think of more than clams ! Receive his secret plaint with pity warm, And grant Italia s plea for Tenement -House Re form ! 70 IV THE SOCIAL CLAM For the Smart Set AIR Phyllis is another s bride: Therefore I like to sit beside Her at a very smart set dinner, And whisper love, and try to win her. The little-necks, in number six, - That from their pearly shells she picks And swallows whole, ah, is it selfish To wish my heart among those shell-fish? "But Phyllis is another s wife; And if she should absorb thy life T would leave thy bosom vacant." Well, I d keep at least thy empty shell ! V THE RECREANT CLAM For the Outlook TOW dost thou lie amid the languid ooze, Because thy slothful spirit doth refuse The bliss of battle and the strain of strife. Rise, craven clam, and lead the strenuous life! 72 ARS AGRICOLARIS An Ode for the " Farmer s Dinner," University Club, New York, January 23, 1913 A LL hail, ye famous Farmers ! ^^ Ye vegetable-charmers, Who know the art of making barren earth Smile with prolific mirth And bring forth twins or triplets at a birth ! Ye scientific fertilizers of the soil, And horny-handed sons of toil ! Tonight from all your arduous cares released, With manly brows no longer sweat-impearled, Ye hold your annual feast, And like the Concord farmers long ago, Ye meet above the " Bridge " below, And draw the cork heard round the world ! 73 What memories are yours ! What tales Of triumph have your tongues rehearsed, Telling how ye have won your first Potatoes from the stubborn mead, (Almost as many as ye sowed for seed !) And how the luscious cabbages and kails Have bloomed before you in their bed At seven dollars a head ! And how your onions took a prize For bringing tears into the eyes Of a hard-hearted cook ! And how ye slew The Dragon Cut-worm at a stroke ! And how ye broke, Routed, and put to flight the horrid crew Of vile potato-bugs and Hessian flies ! And how ye did not quail Before th invading armies of San Jose Scale, But met them bravely with your little pail Of poison, which ye put upon each tail O the dreadful beasts and made their courage fail ! And how ye did acquit yourselves like men In fields of agricultural strife, and then, Like generous warriors, sat you down at ease And gently to your gardener said, " Let us have Pease/" 74 But were there Pease? Ah, no, dear Farmers, no! The course of Nature is not ordered so. For when we want a vegetable most, She holds it back; And when we boast To our week-endly friends Of what we ll give them on our farm, alack, Those things the old dam, Nature, never sends. O Pease in bottles, Sparrow-grass in jars, How often have ye saved from scars Of shame, and deep embarrassment, The disingenuous farmer- gent, To whom some wondering guest has cried, "How do you raise such Pease and Sparrow- grass? " Whereat the farmer-gent has not denied The compliment^ but smiling has replied, " To raise such things you must have lots of glass." 75 From wiles like these, true Farmers, hold aloof; Accept no praise unless you have the proof. If niggard Nature should withhold the green And sugary Pea, welcome the humble Bean; Give it the place of honor at your table, - To speak for tself the Bean is amply able ! Even the easy Radish, and the Beet, If grown by your own toil are extra sweet ! Let malefactors of great wealth and banker-felons Rejoice in foreign artichokes, imported melons; But you, my Farmers, at your frugal board Spread forth the fare your Sabine Farms afford. Say to Maecenas, when he is your guest, " No peaches ! try this turnip, tis my best." Thus shall ye learn from labors in the field What honesty a farmer s life may yield, And like G. Washington in early youth, Though cherries fail, produce a crop of truth. But think me not too strict, O followers of the plow Some place for fiction in your lives I would allow. In January when the world is drear, And bills come in, and no results appear, And snow-storms veil the skies, And ice the streamlet clogs, Then may you warm your heart with pleasant lies And revel in the seedsmen s catalogues! What visions and what dreams are these Of cauliflowers obese, - Of giant celery, taller than a mast, - Of strawberries Like red pincushions, round and vast, - Of succulent and spicy gumbo, - Of cantaloupes, as big as Jumbo, - Of high-strung beans without the strings, - And of a host of other wild, romantic things ! 77 Oh, why should Starr declare That modern habits mental force impair? And why should H. Marquand complain That jokes as good as his will never come again? And why should Bridges wear a gloomy mien About the lack of fiction for his Magazine? The seedsman s catalogue is all we need To stir our dull imaginations To new creations, And lead us, by the hand Of Hope, into a fairy-land. So dream, my friendly Farmers, as you will; And let your fancy all your garners fill With wondrous crops; but always recollect That Nature gives us less than we expect. Scorn not the city where you earn the wealth That, spent upon your farms, renews your health; And tell your wife, whene er the bills have shocked her, " A country-place is cheaper than a doctor." May roses bloom for you, and may you find Your richest harvest in a tranquil mind. THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. 19 1033 DEC 10 1933 * *i 17 193$ APR 18 MAY 2 1938 AUG 1 1940 30Apr W G RECT LD 1960 938 2 196?- LD 21-50m 343 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORl^A LIBRARY