LYRICS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 JOHN H. FLAGG 
 
 r* 
 
 20 
 
Jo 
 
 kA 
 
 

LYRICS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 AND OTHEE POEMS 
 
LYRICS OF NEW ENGLAND 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN H. FLAGG 
 
 THE TORCH PRESS 
 
 CEDAR RAPIDS, IOWA 
 
 1909 
 
COPYRIGHT 1909 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN H. FLAGG 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
To Edward Quintard, by whose skilful 
 service as a physician and unfailing devo 
 tion as a friend I have been made a double 
 debtor, these pages are inscribed in lasting 
 gratitude 
 
 ]. H. F. 
 
 M19185O 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This volume is the outgrowth of a smaller 
 one, privately printed, in 1902, under title of 
 the "Monarch," and intended solely for pre 
 sentation as a Christmas salutation to personal 
 friends of the author. Bequests for copies hav 
 ing long since exhausted that limited edition, 
 he has been urged to publish a new volume, to 
 embrace not only the numbers contained in the 
 former one, but others that have since been 
 written. Hence the present volume. 
 
 The author hopes that whosoever may honor 
 him by its perusal will deal charitably with 
 its admitted shortcomings, in view of the un 
 toward conditions under which the work was 
 undertaken conditions well understood by 
 those for whom the book was primarily intend 
 ed. The continued request for copies of the 
 earlier edition is accepted as an assurance that 
 hitherto this has been graciously accorded, and 
 it is now asked that only like indulgence may 
 be extended to this later work of 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 114 West Fifty-eighth Street, 
 New York, October, 1909 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHILDHOOD S HOME . . . ^>. ; . - . 11 
 
 THE BROOK 20 
 
 ODE TO VERMONT ,.-,./ -;j 24 
 
 A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT . . y^j -.,;] . 27 
 
 THE TESTY DEACON :?-,.* 30 
 
 THE AWAKENING .... ^--ijfcj., *; 43 
 
 JUSTIN S. MORRILL . . . . <.*. f. 46 
 
 THE WOODS 49 
 
 THE RETURN ,, a > 54 
 
 THE PATRIARCH OAK .... >:/;-,. ,.i> 59 
 
 SLEEP ..*;*.,*-,;/ V-*.xr 4 74 
 
 THE MONARCH 76 
 
 ON A DEW DROP 82 
 
 ODE TO A BULLFINCH 83 
 
 A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I KNOW .... 85 
 
 AN AMORETTE 88 
 
 CAPTIVITY 91 
 
 I THINK OF THEE . 93 
 
8 CONTENTS 
 
 A MEMORY ..., , . . 95 
 
 THE SLUGGARD . . . . . > , . 97 
 
 UNDAUNTED . , . 99 
 
 ACROSS THE STREET . . ... . . 101 
 
 CLARK AND THE OREGON ...... 106 
 
 CHILDHOOD S DREAM . . . . . . . 113 
 
 WILLIAM McKiNLEY . . . \u:*. - ; 117 
 
 DESTINY . * . . 119 
 
 THE OLD YEAR ^ . . 123 
 
 GOD S HOROLOGUE 125 
 
 DISILLUSION . . 126 
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 130 
 
 MONT BLANC . ^ i 132 
 
 COLUMBIA ... . . . . * V ^ H -. 134 
 
 To MARJORIE . . . . . . . . . 136 
 
 THE ALCHEMIST 138 
 
 THE FINAL VOYAGE m . . . . 139 
 
POEMS 
 
CHILDHOOD S HOME 
 
 I drempt of busy childhood days, where sun 
 shine ever clung, 
 
 Back in my country home again, when this old 
 heart was young 
 
 Through one brief hour of ecstacy, when every 
 thought was bliss, 
 
 With every care forsaken, what spell could be 
 like this! 
 
 My ravished eyes sought every place each 
 object they once knew 
 
 With nothing changed in all these years and 
 nothing added new 
 
 Transfixed I stood amid the scenes so long ob 
 scured from sight, 
 
12 CHILDHOOD S HOME 
 
 As through the windows shone, methought, a 
 consecrated light. 
 
 I saw my mother s flower-pots upon the win 
 dow-sill, 
 
 Wherein grew sweet geraniums that drooped 
 with thirst until 
 
 At sunset she would sprinkle them, and fondle 
 each with care 
 
 Methought, to gladden my return, their frag 
 rance was still there. 
 
 I saw the old melodeon that many an eve I d 
 heard 
 
 In hymns led by my mother s voice that hal 
 lowed every word. 
 
 This, long since, joined the choir unseen, in an 
 thems sung on high : 
 
 I sometimes think I hear it now, through cloud- 
 rifts in the sky. 
 
CHILDHOOD S HOME 13 
 
 In yonder nook its customed place stood 
 
 father s old oak chair, 
 Descended from ancestral lines a gift from 
 
 heir to heir: 
 As if to stay each stranger hand, and shield it 
 
 from all harm, 
 A spider here had spun its web, outstretched 
 
 from arm to arm. 
 
 How often here I d clambered to my father s 
 
 waiting knee, 
 To hear his thrilling stories of brave deeds on 
 
 land and sea 
 Of Indian scalpers on the plains, of pirates 
 
 fierce and bold, 
 Of hunters daring for wild beasts and those 
 
 who delve for gold. 
 
 Here was the book-case just as when, at restful 
 evening time, 
 
14 CHILDHOOD S HOME 
 
 I searched the well-worn volumes through for 
 
 picture or for rhyme, 
 Since for plain books I did not care they 
 
 baffled me with lore 
 And every one I tried to read I found to be a 
 
 bore. 
 
 There hung the quaint old mirror still, just 
 where it hung before, 
 
 When I had gazed on my first suit, bought at 
 the village store; 
 
 And donning once my brother s clothes to it 
 I straightway ran, 
 
 To see how big and brave I d look when I be 
 came a man. 
 
 There stood the same old kitchen stove, where 
 
 many a nipping day, 
 I d held my freezing, outstretched hands when 
 
 I came in from play. 
 
CHILDHOOD S HOME 15 
 
 This good old friend had one grave fault it 
 
 burned out wood so fast 
 I hourly lugged an armful in until the cold 
 
 months passed. 
 
 Here hour by hour would mother give her 
 patient, willing toil, 
 
 To make the good things for us all that care 
 less cooks might spoil; 
 
 Who made for me plump turnovers, and cookies 
 by the score, 
 
 And yet I claimed I grew so fast, I needed just 
 one more. 
 
 There peered the old remorseless clock that 
 watched me, argus-eyed, 
 
 And when my bed-time hour arrived my pati 
 ence oft had tried. 
 
 Twas then I knew it ran too fast, while mother 
 claimed twas slow ; 
 
16 CHILDHOOD S HOME 
 
 Whatever my contention was, I always had to 
 go 
 
 Go to my far-off, attic bed, when mother led the 
 
 way, 
 Whose candle and assuring words my fears did 
 
 not allay. 
 She bore away the candle, after kissing me 
 
 good-night, 
 But all through life I Ve felt that kiss, and seen 
 
 that vanished light. 
 
 There hung the same old ample shelf that we 
 
 called "father s own," 
 Where he kept Bible, pipe and pen, yet all "odd 
 
 things" were thrown, 
 Plus "The Old Farmer s Almanac," where we 
 
 were blandly told, 
 To "Look about this time for 
 
 squalls" which prophecy controlled. 
 
CHILDHOOD S HOME 17 
 
 When lo, I heard the rattling hail upon the win 
 dow-pane, 
 
 Forewarning that dread winter days were steal 
 ing back again: 
 
 Thanksgiving was approaching, too that boon 
 from old Cape Cod 
 
 Ordained by pious Pilgrim sires, in gratefulness 
 to God. 
 
 And whistling then for dear "old Jack," he 
 bounded to my side 
 
 That noble, true, confiding friend my com 
 rade and my pride ; 
 
 Where er I strayed, he, too, must go I al 
 ways felt his touch 
 
 Twas hard to call him but a brute, he knew 
 and felt so much. 
 
 Together then we wandered down through our 
 old sugar-place, 
 
18 CHILDHOOD S HOME 
 
 Towards the brook and old mill-hole, where oft 
 
 I d bobbed for dace, 
 And once had "hooked" a wise old trout, and 
 
 quivered with delight, 
 Until my line caught on a snag, quite hidden 
 
 from my sight. 
 
 Throughout that summer, day by day at 
 dawn, at noon, at eve 
 
 I vainly angled for that trout more hours than 
 you d believe; 
 
 But while he thus outwitted me, I learned be 
 yond a doubt, 
 
 That if on earth there was a sage, it was that 
 wise old trout. 
 
 I woke to find these vanished scenes of child 
 hood s cherished hours 
 
 A dream of what they once had been, and only 
 perished flowers; 
 
CHILDHOOD S HOME 19 
 
 Yet grateful am I e en to be thus led through 
 
 memory s path, 
 To pluck with joy such perfumed leaves from 
 
 Dreamland s aftermath. 
 
THE BEOOK 
 
 I am the brook, the nimble brook, 
 Born in my lone, sequestered nook, 
 Mid God s untrodden mountain-peaks 
 Where Nature every language speaks. 
 
 Unlike the footed beasts of earth 
 So frail and helpless at their birth 
 At first I creep, then straightway run, 
 Ere my first day has scarce begun. 
 
 On then I rush with quickened pace 
 And force my way from place to place, 
 While other brooklets to me flow 
 To swell my volume as I go. 
 
THE BROOK 21 
 
 The alders nod when I pass by; 
 The reeds and rushes courtesy ; 
 And where the lilies rise and float 
 I suck rare nectar from each throat. 
 
 And when I m wearied and depressed, 
 I loiter at my pools to rest, 
 But soon press on with doubled haste, 
 To catch the hours allowed to waste. 
 
 When lo, I m halted on my way, 
 And shackled lest I break away; 
 Then like a convict made to toil 
 Man deeming that his rightful spoil. 
 
 Thus forced, I tread his endless wheel ; 
 I grind his grist, and mould his steel; 
 His looms I work with tireless hand, 
 And all his varied arts expand. 
 
22 THE BROOK 
 
 If once I break from servitude, 
 I still am sought, am still pursued ; 
 Where er I turn, or whither flee, 
 Man first is there to harness me. 
 
 At last, howe er, I rend the chain 
 That bound me for his sordid gain, 
 But not until I ve grown ten fold 
 Since down the mountain-side I bowled. 
 
 And soon I wake, as from a dream, 
 To find myself a tidal stream, 
 With brackish taste upon my tongue 
 Unknown to me when I was young. 
 
 And whence this plight; how can it be 
 That I, impelled towards the sea, 
 Am forced to turn about each day 
 And backward trace my former way? 
 
THE BROOK 23 
 
 Bewildered by this constant change 
 (To me so meaningless and strange) 
 I scarce can tell, howe er I try, 
 Just what I am each day, or why. 
 
 But hark ! I hear the ocean roar 
 And wonder at my fate in store; 
 erwhelmed I d be with doubt and fear 
 Had I not faith that God is near. 
 
 My destiny, thus far benign, 
 Was fashioned by a Hand divine; 
 On that I always have relied, 
 And with it every ill defied. 
 
 So now, when doomed henceforth to be 
 A plaything of the fretful sea, 
 That Hand, found ever at my side, 
 Will not forsake me, but abide. 
 
ODE TO VEKMONT 
 
 Thy very name doth symbolize 
 
 Thy verdant peaks that proudly rise 
 
 As if to buttress with their might 
 
 The unpropped dome of heavenly light. 
 
 Thy Druid forests still conceal 
 The eagles that high o er them wheel, 
 And shelter well the panting deer 
 When driven from the open near. 
 
 The beauty of thy matchless hills 
 The ravished eye with rapture fills, 
 While meadows nestle in between 
 As if too modest to be seen. 
 
ODE TO VERMONT 25 
 
 Thy fruitful fields and fertile plains 
 
 Bear flocks and herds and bounteous grains; 
 
 Where er the gladdened eye may rest 
 
 The husbandman seems doubly blessed. 
 
 Thy hillside homes and hamlets all 
 Proclaim content and thrift withal 
 Won by the hardened hand of toil 
 From thy well-tilled, though rugged soil. 
 
 No trembling slave yet breathed thy air 
 And felt his shackles bind him there. 
 For by thy ancient Bill of Eights* 
 All men stand equal on thy heights. 
 
 Sons of thy birth, such land is thine ; 
 
 Where first thy sires reared freedom s shrine; 
 
 * Vermont, in July, 1777 fourteen years anterior to admis 
 sion into the Union was first of all the states and territories 
 to prohibit slavery by constitutional provision. 
 
26 ODE TO VERMONT 
 
 Who vanquished each invading foe, 
 And swept him back, or laid him low. 
 
 Thus to the fittest can we trace 
 Thy present sturdy, virile race, 
 And may it ever there remain 
 To rule as now o er thy domain. 
 
 And for that land, by Heaven caressed, 
 Where all are free, and none oppressed, 
 Thank well those sires whose master hand 
 Built from thy rock, and not thy sand, 
 
 And guard with more than pious care 
 Thy heritage, as trusted heir, 
 So that forever here shall be 
 The mountain home of liberty! 
 
A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT 
 
 Tis Nature s chosen hour for rest, 
 When all is calm within her breast ; 
 When Day still leaves a friendly light 
 To guide the footsteps of the Night; 
 
 When, one by one, a silent star 
 Peers through some portal left ajar, 
 While languid beams the pallid moon 
 As if reviving from a swoon. 
 
 The cows, long since, in lagging train 
 Came browsing down the pasture lane, 
 To yield their tribute unaware, 
 In turn for scanty keep and care. 
 
28 A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT 
 
 The housewife spreads the frugal meal; 
 The pigs for theirs are heard to squeal, 
 While from her stall the old gray mare 
 Neighs loudly for her well-earned share. 
 
 The hat, which all the day hath hung, 
 Unhooks himself from where he clung, 
 And with the swallows debonair 
 Flits here and there and everywhere. 
 
 The whippoorwill now comes to fill 
 
 Our souls with deeper rapture still, 
 
 Whose song, suppressed throughout the day, 
 
 But sweeter makes his evening lay. 
 
 The turkeys take to roost like troops 
 In dressed-up lines not huddled groups 
 While night-hawks far above them fly 
 The sole explorers of the sky. 
 
A NEW ENGLAND TWILIGHT 29 
 
 The orchestra of croaking frogs 
 Strikes up among the lowland bogs, 
 Whereat the fire-flies now advance 
 And take their partners for the dance. 
 
 At length, as darkness deeper grows, 
 All creatures nestle to repose 
 Save night s weird sentinel, the owl, 
 Kobed in his monkish cope and cowl, 
 
 For Nature s curfew has been rung, 
 And songbirds have their vespers sung; 
 No sound the freshening breeze now brings, 
 Save hurrying midnight s rustling wings. 
 
THE TESTY DEACON 
 
 Twas down in the old Pine Tree state 
 Where chanced to pass what I relate ; 
 Where pie at every meal is found, 
 And Yankees at their best abound; 
 
 Where, too, they serve their pork and beans 
 In methods fit for kings and queens, 
 But where French gastronomic art 
 Is not in vogue in any part. 
 
 Twas in a rural farming town 
 That never yet had won renown, 
 Where dwelt a farmer Ephraim Hale 
 The "hero" of this touching tale. 
 
THE TESTY DEACON 31 
 
 Now "Deacon Eph," as he was called, 
 Wore well his years, though long since bald, 
 And led a fairly righteous life, 
 Though always testy with his wife. 
 
 But she the counterpart of him 
 Indulged his every peevish whim; 
 So meek and humble had she grown, 
 That lasting feuds were seldom known. 
 
 He therefore found domestic life 
 A blessed boon with such a wife ; 
 But had she been a grumpy dame 
 That life might not have been so tame. 
 
 Long deacon in the village church, 
 His name thus far had known no smirch; 
 This being so, folks thought that he 
 Was what good deacons all should be. 
 
32 THE TESTY DEACON 
 
 With Yankee thrift lie money made 
 By raising geese which often strayed 
 E en to his neighbor s very door, 
 And wrecked his garden o er and o er. 
 
 One day this neighbor Moses Slade 
 Espied them, while in ambush laid, 
 Each delving like a lusty Turk 
 To ruin all his spring-time work. 
 
 Enraged, he seized each poaching goose, 
 And ere he turned one of them loose, 
 Slit through the web between its toes, 
 And made one foot just like a crow s. 
 
 In panic then they hustled all 
 To get beyond the garden wall, 
 And chose the shortest route for home, 
 With no desire to further roam. 
 
THE TESTY DEACON 33 
 
 They sought at once by instinct led 
 The near-by pond, where they were bred, 
 And then proceeded, one by one, 
 To navigate as often done. 
 
 But lo! all calculations failed, 
 And their aquatic ardor quailed 
 When round and round their bodies spun, 
 With not an inch of headway won. 
 
 Now one more fault the Deacon had, 
 Which was a temper, always bad; 
 And this he lashed with passion s whip, 
 And made it sting at every clip. 
 
 So when he saw his injured geese, 
 His rage foretold a breach of peace; 
 He swore that for this dastard trick 
 He d have revenge, and have it quick. 
 
34 THE TESTY DEACON 
 
 Now he had known for many a day 
 Just where his geese were wont to stray, 
 For sore complaint had oft been made 
 Of their foul work, by neighbor Slade. 
 
 So, well disguised, the first dark night, 
 He sought that neighbor s barn for spite, 
 And from the tail of his old mare 
 He shaved off every blessed hair. 
 
 Now Slade, when piqued, raged like a bear, 
 (Some thought because he had red hair) 
 And would the least affront resent 
 And visit with dire punishment. 
 
 And he avowed that he alone 
 Knew by whose hand the deed was done, 
 For he d pursued the freshest trail, 
 And that led straight to Deacon Hale. 
 
THE TESTY DEACON 35 
 
 "My turn," he said, "has come at last, 
 To even up for all the past, 
 And now I ll tan his tough old hide, 
 And drive him from the church beside." 
 
 He therefore sought a magistrate 
 To whom he did his object state, 
 Which, (keeping mum about his geese) 
 Appeared to be the "public peace." 
 
 He then on oath charged Ephraim Hale 
 With crime, in that he did assail 
 And mutilate his old bay mare 
 By cutting off her caudal hair. 
 
 He further swore that the offense 
 Arose from malice, called "prepense," 
 And that the act did violate 
 The peace and dignity of the State. 
 
36 TEE TESTY DEACON 
 
 He therefore prayed the Court to grant 
 A warrant for the miscreant, 
 Which, with a grave, judicial air, 
 Was signed and issued then and there. 
 
 Twas with much craft that neighbor Slade 
 
 On Saturday, this charge had made, 
 
 So that arrest, if on that night, 
 
 Would make still worse the Deacon s plight. 
 
 Just at the hour of evening prayers 
 Went forth the Sheriff unawares 
 To mate arrest of Deacon Hale 
 And take him to the county jail. 
 
 The Deacon answered his loud knock 
 As struck the hour of eight o clock, 
 And warmly bade him enter in, 
 As if he were his fondest kin. 
 
TEE TESTY DEACON 37 
 
 His mission being soon explained, 
 The sheriff, as if deeply pained, 
 The warrant read, in doleful tones, 
 Oft punctured by the Deacon s groans. 
 
 Then Ephraim, who was much enraged, 
 Tore like a tiger first encaged, 
 And charged upon "that viper, Slade," 
 The outrage of this dastard raid. 
 
 Though "Mother Hale" for mercy pled, 
 And grievous tears abundant shed 
 All proved to be of no avail 
 To save her raving spouse from jail. 
 
 Pull half that wretched night was o er, 
 When swung the Jailor s ponderous door, 
 Through which the Sheriff quickly passed 
 Together with his charge, held fast. 
 
38 THE TESTY DEACON 
 
 The Deacon still with anger burned, 
 Yet meekly to the Jailor turned 
 As if his mild, though searching eye, 
 Betokened welcome sympathy. 
 
 "How can," he shrieked, "one in my plight 
 Get from this den this very night?" 
 "Until you re tried, you must get bail," 
 The Jailor said, "or stay in jail." 
 
 "That," he rejoined, "I ll do straightway, 
 And leave this hole ere break of day, 
 Then with my wife to church I ll go, 
 And no one of this scrape shall know. 
 
 "You can t do that," the Jailor said, 
 "For Justice lies asleep in bed; 
 Besides, the Sabbath s now well on, 
 And that, in law, is dies non." 
 
THE TESTY DEACON 39 
 
 The Deacon closing not his eyes 
 Throughout that night tried to devise 
 The means whereby he might get bail 
 And quit, for good, that cursed jail. 
 
 That Sabbath day he gave to prayer, 
 
 And thoughts of sacred things elsewhere; 
 
 His waiting home, his weeping wife, 
 
 And church he d missed not once through life. 
 
 When bail, at length, had been obtained, 
 And Ephraim had his freedom gained, 
 His homeward journey he began 
 A sadder, though much wiser man. 
 
 But from the first, in church and out, 
 Were those who never had a doubt 
 That somewhere there was evidence 
 To fix on him that grave offense. 
 
40 THE TESTY DEACON 
 
 Therefore a meeting of the church 
 Was called to instigate a search, 
 And members chosen by "the chair " 
 Were sent to view the hapless mare. 
 
 They found, indeed, an ancient brute 
 Bereft of caudal growth hirsute, 
 But not one fact to prove withal, 
 Who plied the art tonsorial. 
 
 And so, their mission having failed, 
 (A fact which some no doubt bewailed) 
 There seemed to be no earthly clue 
 Which they with hope could then pursue. 
 
 But while no headway had been won 
 To show by whom the deed was done, 
 A Tramp came sliding down the mow, 
 Who told by whom, and when, and how. 
 
THE TESTY DEACON 41 
 
 He stated that, "On one dark night 
 While in the barn, appeared a light," 
 And that he "watched and saw old Hale 
 With sheep-shears slash that hoss s tail." 
 
 "He knew," he said, "the old cuss well," 
 And divers instances did tell, 
 When from his watch-dogged house he d fled, 
 While foraging for needful "bread. 
 
 From what they thus had seen and heard, 
 Their souls were shocked and deeply stirred, 
 And all agreed, with prompt accord, 
 To put the culprit to the sword, 
 
 For now the church was up in arms, 
 (And for just once, omitted psalms) ; 
 Their Deacon was in deep disgrace 
 And in the church, was out of place. 
 
42 THE TESTY DEACON 
 
 From office he was then deposed ; 
 His name was dropped, his pew was closed, 
 And neighbor Slade, more strange than all, 
 Was chosen deacon through his fall. 
 
 That tranquil town had never known 
 Such tumult as was now upthrown, 
 And long it was, in church and out, 
 Before its peace was brought about. 
 
 But peace unto these life-long foes 
 Has also come to end their woes ; 
 Not peace begot of passions cooled 
 In hearts where once a vengeance ruled, 
 
 But from their being laid to rest 
 In the old churchyard s well-scarred breast: 
 "Tis just because they re dead, you see, 
 That now they dwell in unity ! 
 
THE AWAKENING 
 
 At length the mystic touch of Spring 
 Awakes the slumbering forms of earth, 
 
 When Nature, neath her warming wing, 
 Imparts her semblance of rebirth. 
 
 Each bud now yearns to be a flower 
 While yet its form is scarce revealed, 
 
 And visited by sun and shower 
 Is fondled by a Hand concealed. 
 
 Tis now that sympathizing Spring 
 Eestores what Autumn bore away, 
 
 And in her lavish hand doth bring 
 The blossoms of exultant May, 
 
44 THE AWAKENING 
 
 Whose breath infuses every breeze 
 With odors and perfumes divine, 
 
 Drawn from the blossomed apple-trees 
 And every fragrant bud and vine. 
 
 The wild-geese drag, on tireless wing, 
 Their steedless harrow through the sky, 
 
 And thus make known that jocund Spring 
 Her apron filled with flowers draws nigh, 
 
 The robins vie with sweetest song 
 
 The bobolinks and orioles 
 Sweetest because suppressed so long 
 
 Their carols burst from brimming souls. 
 
 We hear the chirp of building birds, 
 And cawing of the high-perched crows, 
 
 While from the far-off browsing herds, 
 The cow-bells drowsy tinkle flows. 
 
THE AWAKENING 45 
 
 The blackbirds from the meadows cry; 
 
 The plover pipes from yonder bogs, 
 And from the stagnant pool hard by 
 
 Eise languorous murmurings of the frogs. 
 
 And all these mingled sounds create 
 
 A soul-enchanting harmony, 
 As one by one they undulate 
 
 Through Nature s throbbing symphony. 
 
 The odors breathed, the sights we see, 
 The sounds we hear, by day, by night, 
 
 Hold us enthralled in reverie, 
 And in a spell of glad delight. 
 
. 
 JUSTIN S. MOBEILL 
 
 (A SENATOR OF THE UNITED STATES FROM 1867 
 TO 1899). 
 
 BEAD AT A GATHERING OF HIS FRIENDS AT HIS 
 
 RESIDENCE IN WASHINGTON 
 
 ON HIS EIGHTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY, 
 
 APRIL 14TH, 1893 
 
 Like some o ertowering forest oak that still 
 Withstands the blasts of four-score years and 
 
 more, 
 
 While growths of younger years uprooted fall ; 
 Hoary with ripened leaf, yet valiant, strong; 
 Those rapturous days are once again thine own, 
 When virgin buds, kissed by the vernal sun, 
 From joyful lips speak gratitude. 
 We hail thee now, with fonder, firmer grasp, 
 
JUSTIN 8. MORRILL 47 
 
 Thankful to Him who rales all destinies, 
 That, well-nigh shivered by the furious blast* 
 That bent thee low, and made fond hearts de 
 spair, 
 
 Thou rt left but stronger by the gale, and still 
 Canst with thy friends rejoice, this natal day, 
 To stand on earth, though gazing into heaven! 
 
 Thy rest has come. And with thy worth and 
 
 fame 
 
 So justly earned, nought can enhance thee more. 
 Twas when thy country, looted of its hoard 
 When treason sapped its heart-blood and its 
 
 life - 
 That thou didst touch the well-spring with thy 
 
 wand, ^ ; 
 
 And from it gushed the vital stream that saved. 
 And though thy country s deepest, foulest stain 
 Must needs be washed away in blood and tears, 
 
 A serious illness. 
 
48 JUSTIN S. MOERILL 
 
 The fettered have been freed, and hushed the 
 
 din 
 
 Of cursed war, whose awful uproar once 
 Convulsed the troubled land from sea to sea. 
 Saved is the State, and hostile cannon now 
 Are moulded into pyramids of peace ! 
 And lo, the temple thou hast helped to rear 
 To justice long by fate denied, now marks 
 The uplift of a race enslaved 
 Toward the birth-born, blood-gained rights of 
 
 man. 
 
 Old friend, 
 Thy well-earned rest has come. A grateful 
 
 State 
 Whose weal was known, and served so long, so 
 
 well, 
 
 E en now would lay fresh garlands on thy brow ; 
 But needing nought to make thy fame endure, 
 It prays that thou shalt have forevermore, 
 That lasting peace thou hast for others won! 
 
THE WOODS 
 
 Fain to the vaulted woods I go, where solitude 
 
 doth reign, 
 And seat me on some lichened rock a brief 
 
 surcease to gain 
 From turmoil of the market-place, where greed 
 
 with covin vies, 
 And human souls are bought and sold, as well 
 
 as merchandise. 
 
 Here would I breathe the balsamed air, the 
 
 freshness of the trees, 
 And listen to the song of birds, and hum of 
 
 gathering bees ; 
 Ah, here is peace, supernal peace, a paradise 
 
 regained, 
 
50 TEE WOODS 
 
 Where every care of life is lost, and blissful rest 
 attained. 
 
 Here spread the hemlock s feathery wings ; here 
 
 lift the stately pines ; 
 And here the birches whiter seem, by ruddy, 
 
 clinging vines; 
 Here, too, the fruitful chestnuts tower, and in 
 
 the lengthening year, 
 With bursting burrs and shining nuts the 
 
 scampering squirrels cheer. 
 
 On yonder spruce, now spectral grown, and aged 
 
 with countless ills, 
 The lone woodpecker urgent raps then listens 
 
 where he drills 
 To hear the toiling insect stir, where strips of 
 
 bark yet cling, 
 Then raps again till one is found, then flies on 
 
 fleeter wing. 
 
THE WOODS 51 
 
 I hear the cawing crows above, that fly against 
 
 the breeze, 
 And then the locust s ceaseless chirr that comes 
 
 from distant trees; 
 The nimble chipmunk s call I hear, that brings 
 
 her wandering young, 
 To share with her some early nut, now dropt 
 
 from where it clung. 
 
 Where yonder tasseled alders grow, with pussy 
 willows near, 
 
 A gurgling rill meanders by to lull the wearied 
 ear, 
 
 Whose murmuring voice is half suppressed by 
 low, overhanging banks, 
 
 Which marvel at its tortuous course, and other 
 playful pranks. 
 
 The trillium and anemone, throughout each 
 summer day, 
 
52 THE WOODS 
 
 Waft their sweet kisses back and forth across 
 
 the rippling way; 
 And thinking they are quite unseen, they give 
 
 the world no thought, 
 But mirrored in that tell-tale brook are all 
 
 their amours caught. 
 
 But hark ! I hear the partridge drum, to call his 
 
 absent mate; 
 And then the silver-throated thrush his ecstacies 
 
 relate. 
 The veeries and the vireos make all the woods 
 
 rejoice, 
 And rapture comes when whippoorwills add 
 
 their exultant voice. 
 
 Thus Nature s untrained orchestra doth cheer 
 
 the pensive soul, 
 And countless other joys are found to comfort 
 
 and console; 
 
THE WOODS 53 
 
 And while a grateful memory clings to trans 
 ports that have passed, 
 
 If some, perchance, shall be forgot, these sure 
 shall be the last. 
 
THE EETUEN 
 
 From native village, years away, 
 I once more trod its lonely street 
 
 The morning of a summer s day, 
 Nor saw one face to know and greet. 
 
 And here, anon, I paused to view 
 Some once-familiar spot, but lo, 
 
 No trace remained of what I knew, 
 For all had vanished long ago. 
 
 I crossed the bridge where once the stream 
 Ean deep and dark and hurriedly, 
 
 But now I saw how like a dream 
 Its waters ripple languidly. 
 
THE RETURN 55 
 
 I sought, near by, the school-house where 
 
 In torment of captivity, 
 The droning, dawdling days spent there 
 
 Were to me like eternity. 
 
 Though here I d bent to many a task 
 Throughout my boyhood, year by year, 
 
 Desertion stared, and seemed to ask: 
 "What stranger is now sauntering here?" 
 
 Hard by, the " meeting-house" still stood 
 Where on each Sabbath old and young 
 
 Met as in common brotherhood 
 
 To worship God with reverent tongue. 
 
 How memory now brought to my view 
 
 Those childhood friends I here had known 
 
 All seated in the same old pew 
 As if, since then, no years had flown. 
 
56 THE RETURN 
 
 Of these, methought, how many score 
 Had, in their last majestic state, 
 
 Been borne from out its ample door 
 
 To pass, nay more, yon churchyard gate. 
 
 I entered there among the dead, 
 
 And strolled past many a chiselled stone 
 At which I paused and slowly read 
 
 The name of some remembered one. 
 
 Such caravan of years had passed 
 
 Since I this hallowed ground had trod, 
 
 Twas now a teeming city massed 
 With those whose souls repose with God. 
 
 With sadder heart I wandered through 
 The neighboring aisles still narrower, 
 
 That I might find, and once more view, 
 The sacred spot where kindred were, 
 
TEE RETURN 57 
 
 When lo, I saw uprising near, 
 A shaft from spotless marble hewed 
 
 Pure as an angePs frozen tear 
 Fit emblem of their lives renewed. 
 
 Though sadder made by lingering here, 
 
 Begretfully I onward passed, 
 The more, because I could but fear 
 
 That this brief view might be my last. 
 
 Yet be it so, tis joy to know 
 That here such benedictions rest 
 
 Where flowers of sweeter fragrance grow, 
 In tribute to the loved and blest 
 
 Where blithesome birds that gladden spring, 
 Eenounce their earlier-chosen ways, 
 
 And hither fly, on fleeter wing, 
 To sing their sweetest roundelays ; 
 
58 THE RETURN 
 
 And where, forsaking other bowers, 
 The humming-birds and honey bees 
 
 Bring sweets first drawn from other flowers 
 To dwell more blissful here with these, 
 
 Where mingled with the birds of song 
 They find delight unknown before, 
 
 And my entreaty would prolong 
 Their visitation evermore. 
 
THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 Surmounting lofty crags and cliffs, 
 And bent by Time s remorseless blast, 
 
 An ancient oak its form uplifts, 
 Defiant now as through the past. 
 
 And here, on Horicon s wild shore, 
 
 It gazes back on centuries, 
 And through a life of twenty score 
 
 Of years replete with memories. 
 
 Hard by, a younger oak doth stand 
 Fit offspring of this noble sire 
 
 Prepared to stretch its helpful hand 
 Should failing strength its aid require. 
 
60 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 And tongued with Nature s mystic words, 
 They closer lean as they commune, 
 
 While in their shade the grateful herds 
 Eepose through afternoons of June. 
 
 One day, the scion speaking, said : 
 "Thou, sire, dost seem the oldest here; 
 
 Bent is thy form and gray thy head, 
 And death, e en now, may loiter near, 
 
 "For in the last relentless storm, 
 Oft didst thou groan as if in pain; 
 
 Enraged it shook thy quivering form, 
 And well-nigh laid thee with the slain. 
 
 "While yet thy thews are tough and strong, 
 With mind composed and memory clear, 
 
 Eelate at length, in prose or song, 
 The early scenes enacted here, 
 
THE PATRIARCH OAK 61 
 
 "When in that primal solitnde 
 
 Which knew no voice, nor scarce a sound 
 Throughout its vast infinitude 
 
 All Nature seemed but more profound." 
 
 "On such a theme I fain would dwell," 
 
 Eeplied the Patriarch of old, 
 "And ere I m called to bid farewell, 
 
 My willing story shall be told." 
 
 And it spoke not a language rude 
 Like that of wild-men it had heard, 
 
 But one the Dryads understood, 
 Which bore no sound, yet never erred. 
 
 So, on that reminiscent day, 
 
 The Patriarch its silence broke, 
 And in a grave, impressive way 
 
 Discoursed at length, and thus it spoke : 
 
62 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 "Long ere the white man found his way 
 To these forbidding solitudes, 
 
 The baneful savage here held sway 
 Involved in ceaseless tribal feuds. 
 
 "And here he fought his mortal foes 
 So long as yet survived a brave, 
 
 And every root beneath me knows 
 And wanders to some sachem s grave. 
 
 "So if till now I have been spared, 
 (Though centuries I can retrace) 
 
 It is because my sinews shared 
 The vigor of that virile race. 
 
 "Then, silence here was so profound 
 That even Nature seemed oppressed, 
 
 And as if grateful for the sound 
 That roused her from that languid rest, 
 
THE PATRIARCH OAK 63 
 
 "As when some towering forest tree 
 Long rent by tempests, year by year, 
 
 Fell prostrate mid the earth s debris, 
 And crashing, startled every ear; 
 
 "Or when some furious wind-storm swept 
 The slumbering lake with loud uproar, 
 
 The waves, like frenzied chargers leapt, 
 And broke in fragments on its shore ; 
 
 "Or when some famished wild-beast caught 
 The trail to which a scent still clung, 
 
 With prey at bay, it snarled and fought 
 To rob some mother of her young, 
 
 "For where in safety children share 
 
 Their joyful pastimes of to-day, 
 Then roamed the panther, wolf and bear, 
 
 Eelentless in their search of prey. 
 
64 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 "But fiercer than the famished beast 
 Whose lust for blood no hand could stay- 
 
 Were those red demons, when, unleashed, 
 They sprang from ambush for the fray. 
 
 "And through those years of endless strife, 
 Scant was the spot on this fair shore 
 
 Which tomahawk and scalping-knife 
 Had not oft stained with human gore. 
 
 "But long at rest, those warring braves 
 The Algonquins and Iroquois 
 
 Have slumbered in their sunken graves, 
 No more their ambush to employ. 
 
 "The first white man to venture here 
 Was Father Jogues, by Jesuits sent 
 
 A missionary pioneer 
 
 Who called the lake Saint Sacrament. 
 
TEE PATRIARCH OAK 65 
 
 "And here that pious man long dwelt 
 To teach the Indians Christian faith, 
 
 Not knowing, when in prayer he knelt, 
 What hand might deal an instant death.* 
 
 "Long here the French and English fought 
 Their royal standards to uprear 
 
 But by vain struggle they were taught 
 That empires were exotic here. 
 
 "On yonder field their legions met 
 And clenched like athletes for the fray, 
 
 Where Dieskau gained the first onset, 
 But Johnson later won the day. 
 
 "And leading where no other dared, 
 Intrepid Williams, ambushed, fell, 
 
 Of whose brave men scarce one was spared 
 The horrors of the scene to tell 
 
 *He fell a martyr to the faith in 1646, being brutally 
 murdered by the Mohawks, among whom he was then laboring 
 as missionary. 
 
66 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 " Where noble Hendrick, too, was led 
 
 To perish in that slaughter-pen, 
 Where he was found strewn with the dead 
 
 Which filled, breast-high, that sombre glen, 
 
 "I saw the valiant troops of France 
 Sail through the lake in proud array, 
 
 When Montcalm made his bold advance, 
 And savage allies led the way 
 
 "The way to where they saw afar 
 Fort William Henry, bastion-walled, 
 
 At whose unsparing massacre 
 Humanity has stood appalled; 
 
 "Where thirst for blood was only quenched 
 
 By tomahawking every brain, 
 Until the death-strewn soil was drenched 
 
 By dripping piles of mangled slain. 
 
THE PATRIARCH OAK 67 
 
 "I later saw the buoyant troops 
 
 Of Abercrombie s mighty fleet, 
 When through the lake his crowded sloops 
 
 Bore on his men to doomed defeat. 
 
 "That spectacle no pen forgets, 
 Where banners waved with flags uprun 
 
 Mid flashing arms and bayonets, 
 Eesplendent in that July sun. 
 
 "No eye discerned that awful fate 
 Which soon, too soon, they were to know, 
 
 When those who now were so elate 
 Were to go down before the foe, 
 
 "Where thrice, those legions strong and 
 brave 
 
 Gainst Montcalm s serried lines were thrown, 
 To meet repulse and find a grave, 
 But make that field a Marathon. 
 
68 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 "And where thine eyes are resting now, 
 Near yonder field of waving grain, 
 
 All England s pride the peerless Howe 
 First fell among his gallant slain. 
 
 Ticonderoga that stronghold 
 Was won and lost, and won again, 
 
 And by its fate alike was told 
 
 The gain or loss of Lake Champlain, 
 
 " Where Allen won immortal fame 
 By taking with his doughty band 
 
 (And in the Great Jehovah s name) 
 The fortress and its whole command; 
 
 "When England first was made to feel, 
 In that brief hour of dawning light, 
 
 What blows Green Mountain Boys could deal 
 When armored in the cause of right. 
 
THE PATRIARCH OAK 69 
 
 
 "Hard by, were Arnold s vessels built 
 
 (If built they were when half complete) 
 With which that traitor, ere his guilt, 
 
 At Valcour fought the British fleet ; 
 
 "Where, manned by those intrepid sons, 
 E en with a fleet so crudely wrought, 
 
 He well-nigh silenced Carleton s guns 
 Near twice his own for Spartans fought 
 
 " Fought to the last expiring breath 
 To rend their shackles and be free, 
 
 And welcomed nought so much as death, 
 If vassals they must longer be 
 
 "Nay, fought as only those can fight, 
 Who, writhing neath a despot s heel, 
 
 Rise up at last in awful might. 
 And make to God their last appeal. 
 
70 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 And later still I heard the roar 
 Of distant guns that anxious day, 
 
 When England sought, as at Valcour, 
 To worst our fleet at Plattsburg Bay, 
 
 "But where her vaunted ships instead 
 Were crushed as tigers crush their prey, 
 
 Till torn and tattered to a shred, 
 They struck their colors in dismay ; 
 
 "Where scornful England soon was taught 
 
 Her impotency on the wave, 
 And that where er McDonough fought, 
 
 There, too, she d find a waiting grave. 
 
 "War s ugly sound so constant here 
 Throughout those tragic days of yore, 
 
 No longer plagues the harassed ear, 
 For peace now gladdens every shore, 
 
TEE PATRIARCH OAK 71 
 
 "And where imperial armies fought 
 
 To gain this virgin continent, 
 A providential Hand hath wrought 
 
 A free, benignant government, 
 
 "Whose sovereign is the people s will, 
 Expressed by all, denied to none ; 
 
 And here the conflict raged until 
 
 That righteous cause at last was won. 
 
 "And here was planted and enshrined 
 
 The sacred tree of Liberty, 
 Whose outstretched branches, intertwined, 
 
 Are sought by all humanity. 
 
 1 l Q(\ TlPTO 
 
72 THE PATRIARCH OAK 
 
 "But death s approach I feel is near 
 
 (For now my strength is waning fast) 
 And when I go will disappear 
 
 Those sires of whom I am the last. 
 
 
 
 "Thou shalt live on, and living see 
 
 The baneful savage nevermore; 
 Where curled the smoke from his tepee, 
 
 From workshop now it doth outpour; 
 
 "And where his dreaded war-whoop broke 
 
 The spell of Nature s reverie, 
 There now is heard the anvil- stroke, 
 
 And ceaseless whirr of industry. 
 
 "Nought, nought remains where once he trod, 
 
 To tell that he abided here, 
 Save the rude flint, turned with the sod, 
 
 And soon this, too, shall disappear. 
 
THE PATRIARCH OAK 73 
 
 "Farewell! May Heaven thy years prolong, 
 
 Yet not more cursed war to see 
 Save to redress some grievous wrong, 
 
 But lasting peace thy country s be!" 
 
SLEEP 
 
 Sleep, whose subtle anodynes 
 Doth drug the sentries of the soul 
 To hold an hostage for repose ; 
 That with fresh-minted coin doth fill 
 Exhausted Nature s empty purse, 
 Thou art life s sovereign comforter, 
 That respite brings to drudging toil, 
 To brooding care, and throbbing grief. 
 There is no pain thou canst not soothe; 
 No anguish thou canst not assuage. 
 Impartial, too, thy boon is given, 
 For both to peasant and to king, 
 To those in gladness or despair, 
 Thou art the equal almoner. 
 Inconstant as the rainbow s hue, 
 
SLEEP 75 
 
 And moved by nought save thy caprice, 
 
 No malediction can coerce, 
 
 Nor supplication lure thee on. 
 
 But when thy visitation comes, 
 
 The sceptred soul abjures its throne 
 
 And kneels a vassal at thy feet. 
 
 The boisterous pulse of life is calmed; 
 
 The tumult of the world is hushed ; 
 
 Oblivion throws its mantle o er 
 
 The graven tablets of the brain, 
 
 And fancy s noiseless loom then weaves 
 
 From languor s skein of tangled thread 
 
 The wondrous tapestry of dreams. 
 
THE MONAECH 
 
 Tempus edax renew 
 
 Behold ! the Monarch, Time, am I, 
 Whom none shall balk, nor dare deny. 
 The oldest sovereign of the earth 
 Found me entrenched here at his birth, 
 For long ere mortal crown was worn, 
 Or king or potentate was born, 
 The mandates from my ancient throne 
 Eesounded here from zone to zone. 
 Thus I m supreme in every clime 
 Though deeds like mine are made a crime 
 If done, perchance, by human hand 
 An outlaw made throughout the land. 
 And though man execrates my deeds, 
 
THE MONARCH 77 
 
 And piteously for mercy pleads, 
 What care I what his praise may be, 
 Or his anathema of me! 
 Since neither blandishment nor curse 
 Can ever coax me or coerce. 
 
 My mission here is to despoil 
 
 To do it well, my only toil 
 
 So well, indeed, that nevermore 
 
 Shall that thing live that lived before, 
 
 And envy tells no rival how 
 
 To snatch the laurel from my brow. 
 
 And would st thou know what I ve achieved! 
 Ask the despairing the bereaved 
 Eecount the races, puissant, vast, 
 That roamed the earth in ages past, 
 The outlines of whose crumbling tomb 
 Are lost in ever-deepening gloom. 
 
78 THE MONARCH 
 
 That I am partial to no friend 
 
 Or spite a foe, none will contend. 
 
 I have no friend, but half my foes 
 
 Would outcount flakes of Arctic snows. 
 
 Because my victims well obey, 
 
 (Oft with scant time to kneel and pray) 
 
 No armies I employ to awe, 
 
 Or force submission to my law, 
 
 Yet Christian lands denounce me when 
 
 Their thrones drip with the blood of men. 
 
 I delve at noonday and at night, 
 (For my vocation needs no light) 
 And on with muffled feet I stride 
 As noiseless as the lifting tide, 
 And wake not those who, if they sleep, 
 May cease for one brief hour to weep. 
 And since hale youth is ever mine, 
 Of weariness I show no sign 
 At close of day, nor yet the year, 
 In loading death upon my bier, 
 
TEE MONARCH 79 
 
 Nor reaching down into the grave 
 To turn to dust what Nature gave. 
 
 Behold my work already done 
 "With yet my purpose scarce begun ! 
 Where tropic suns now smite the earth, 
 Gleamed icebergs once, of ponderous girth; 
 Where ocean billows once lept high, 
 Now Chimborazo cleaves the sky; 
 Where primal Rome was hewn and reared, 
 Five Romes in turn have disappeared; 
 Where Carthage held imperial sway, 
 Wild forest beasts now seek their prey, 
 And where loomed Karnak s mighty walls, 
 The sluggish reptile creeps and crawls 
 All ages past to me appear 
 Like yesterdays, and quite as near. 
 
 The lord of skies and seas and lands, 
 
 I spare no work of human hands. 
 
 The sculptured forms by genius wrought, 
 
80 THE MONARCH 
 
 The monuments where heroes fought, 
 
 The courts where kings look down from thrones, 
 
 The pantheons where lie their bones, 
 
 The fanes upreared by pious hands, 
 
 The pyramids on Egypt s sands 
 
 Where mouldering Pharoah mummies lie 
 
 Concealed to cheat my searching eye 
 
 Man s castles and his rustic homes, 
 
 His temples with their gilded domes, 
 
 His campaniles and his towers 
 
 Where tolls the knell of passing hours; 
 
 His treasures, trophies, battle-won, 
 
 His states and empires, one by one, 
 
 Alike shall perish with the rest, 
 
 And turn to dust, at my behest. 
 
 Yet mark, withal, what still shall be, 
 And nought can frustrate my decree. 
 Proud ^Etna s flames no more shall burn, 
 Nor glaciers freeze and melt in turn ; 
 
TEE MONARCH 81 
 
 Unfathomed oceans, dark and drear, 
 Shall vanish like a transient tear; 
 To nebulae I ll change the earth 
 And thus restore its primal dearth; 
 I ll pluck the planets from the skies, 
 (Which dazzle now man s wondering eyes) 
 And then blot out the blazing sun 
 And turn to vapor, whence begun ; 
 Then, midst the ruin I have wrought, 
 And desolation nothing aught 
 Behold me seated on my throne 
 A Monarch still though left alone! 
 
ON A DEW DEOP 
 
 What is that chaste, that sparkling thing, 
 Which to the rose at dawn doth cling, 
 And nestled to its throbbing breast, 
 Plays ardent lover while a guest? 
 
 Tis but a tear of weeping night 
 The weeping of a glad delight 
 Till startled by obtruding day, 
 Night, fearing capture, steals away. 
 
ODE TO A BULLFINCH 
 
 A captive made, as if some baneful beast 
 And not the inoffending thing thou art, 
 "Tis strange that thou shouldst still have heart 
 
 for song, 
 
 Or evermore disport, or blithesome be, 
 Afar from groves that sheltered thee when 
 
 young, 
 
 Where still thy kindred in their freedom dwell 
 And harken for thy voice thy fate unknown 
 Disheartened at thy absence, so prolonged. 
 Full much my guilty heart doth me reproach 
 When I reflect what unprovoked wrong 
 My selfish greed has done thee, gentle one, 
 The more because thou knowest well my deed, 
 
84 ODE TO A BULLFINCH 
 
 Which deeper makes regret that not atones. 
 Yet, no resentment plagues thy placid breast, 
 Such as, for half thy cause, man would avenge, 
 But, unlike him, a guerdon thou dost give 
 By gladdening all the day with such rare song 
 As would dishearten sirens should they hear, 
 Or nightingale mistake for some lost mate. 
 But lo, the tranquil twilight hour has come 
 All-hallowed by the vesper thou hast sung 
 And I must bid thee loath farewell till morn. 
 Till then, may peace pervade the downy breast 
 Which folds that all-forgiving heart of thine 
 Peace undeserved by that one robbed of me ! 
 
A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I KNOW 
 
 A gentle maiden do I know 
 Who so bewilders human eyes, 
 
 That when beheld, it seems as though 
 One angel less dwelt in the skies. 
 
 In her so much of the divine 
 Is shown in her seraphic face, 
 
 Twere fitting that by Heaven s design 
 Her home should be some holy place. 
 
 Her smile is like a radiant flower 
 The blossom of her blithesome heart 
 
 One unconstrained, and borne each hour 
 By native grace that knows no art. 
 
86 A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I KNOW 
 
 Her lips are like two rosebuds grown 
 
 In touch upon a single stem, 
 Which, when she smiles, burst forth full 
 blown 
 
 Sunshine itself seems born of them. 
 
 Her voice is softer than that heard 
 When doves croon to their helpless young, 
 
 With pathos of some mate-lost bird 
 Whose plaint till then had been unsung. 
 
 Her eyes are that celestial blue 
 
 That deepens with the summer shower, 
 
 And would by tenderness subdue 
 All threat of dark and evil power. 
 
 Her blush is like a damask rose 
 Concealed in some vine-tangled wall, 
 
 But when exposed, benignly throws 
 Its prisoned glory over all. 
 
A GENTLE MAIDEN DO I KNOW 87 
 
 In her all graces are so blent 
 
 In one embodied loveliness, 
 That on her one could gaze content 
 
 Through life if he could not caress I 
 
AN AMOEETTE 
 
 The favoring stars shine o er my head, 
 For now the lingering day hath fled, 
 Whose loitering hours seemed years to me, 
 Because they held me far from thee. 
 
 Behold, and with compassion s eyes, 
 Thy lover who with longing sighs, 
 And hear the message of his heart, 
 Which of thine own seems but a part. 
 
 That message is its fervent prayer, 
 Which long repressed, still smothers there, 
 Yet shouldst thou hear it with disdain, 
 Love s quenchless fire would still remain. 
 
AN AMORETTE 89 
 
 But helpless as Prometheus bound, 
 And like him, bleeding with my wonnd, 
 I bring to thee a heart aglow, 
 That my wild passion thou shalt know, 
 
 Which thirsts thee as the burning plain 
 Thirsts for the long-belated rain, 
 With love as pure, and strong, and deep, 
 As Gulf Stream currents where they sweep. 
 
 Some fairy would I gladly be, 
 To serve thy bidding constantly 
 To shield thee from all evil eyes, 
 And guard thy self-made paradise ; 
 
 I d lure the birds from chosen climes 
 To sing for thee their sweetest rhymes, 
 For thy rare beauty would inspire 
 Their raptured souls with that desire. 
 
90 AN AMORETTE 
 
 Unseen, I d watch the gathering bee, 
 And where he sipped I d pluck for thee 
 The sweetest flowers that bud and bloom, 
 To shed round thee their rare perfume. 
 
 I d guard thy slumbers through the night, 
 And prompt for thee dreams of delight 
 Dreams of some far-off world of bliss, 
 For thou wert made too pure for this. 
 
 harken, I implore thee now 
 
 To that heart-longing I avow, 
 
 Then but one favoring smile bestow, 
 
 And teach me heaven s own joy to know, 
 
 Or if, when thou art wrapped in sleep, 
 One tender thought of me may creep 
 Into thy visions, unsuppressed, 
 In rapture, then, this heart shall rest! 
 
CAPTIVITY 
 
 Thy tender, thoughtful, earnest eyes 
 Within their tranquil depths there lies 
 A magic power, unknown to thee, 
 That chains me in captivity. 
 
 The morning light the brighter grows 
 Wherever their effulgence flows, 
 And e en at night, their potent ray 
 Converts the darkness into day 
 
 A day so bright with their own light 
 That should each star and satellite, 
 Nay, every planet cease to blaze, 
 Night s darkest hours would rival day s. 
 
92 CAPTIVITY 
 
 So would ones pathway through the years 
 Of life s contending hopes and fears, 
 Be made one blissful, hallowed spell, 
 Should such supernal light there dwell. 
 
I THINK OF THEE 
 
 I think of thee when, dim and gray, 
 Belated, drowsy night is roused, 
 And loath to go, half-clad and slow, 
 
 Kecedes before advancing day. 
 
 I think of thee when anxious care 
 
 Enslaves me through the drudging day, 
 But toil were sweet, with joy replete, 
 
 Could I for thee my burdens bear. 
 
 I think of thee with fonder heart 
 When Day, embracing timid Night, 
 Prolongs his kiss of rapturous bliss 
 
 Like lovers when enforced to part. 
 
94 / THINK OF THEE 
 
 And when, at last, I seek repose, 
 
 On thee my craving dreams still feast, 
 Yet when I wake and dreams forsake, 
 
 My yearning but intenser grows. 
 
 Thus throbs my heart unceasingly 
 From dawn to dark, from dark to dawn, 
 In wild desire, a quenchless fire, 
 
 Till smothered by eternity! 
 
A MEMORY 
 
 I gazed on such a beanteons face, 
 And form of such surpassing grace, 
 That had some genius e er portrayed 
 The peerless creature I surveyed, 
 Then would the lustre of his name 
 Have brighter made the page of fame. 
 
 While thus I gazed, intent, beguiled, 
 The face, as if unconscious, smiled, 
 When o er a harp flew two white hands 
 Like mated swallows o er the sands. 
 Methought what wondrous magic brings 
 Such melting strains from those mute strings 
 
 But Nature had no gift denied, 
 
 Or grace, where countless others vied, 
 
96 A MEMORY 
 
 For when she sang, methought such notes 
 Could only come from angel throats, 
 Since nought but those could ever hear 
 The sweetness of the ones heard there. 
 
 First came the warble of a bird; 
 Then but a human voice was heard; 
 Then some still more impassioned strain 
 Infused my pulse, and thrilled my brain 
 As o er the strand the billows roll, 
 These lapped and laved my raptured soul. 
 
 But vain indeed it were to ask 
 
 Of artist hand unequal task 
 
 To counterfeit the grace divine 
 
 Embodied there in every line, 
 
 For e en had Eaphael sought to trace 
 
 The beauty of that form and face, 
 
 The vision would have dazed his brain, 
 
 And moveless must his hand have lain! 
 
THE SLUGGAKD 
 
 God help the man, in all whose days, 
 No worthy deed is found to praise; 
 Who has in life no aim or end 
 Beyond the pleasures it may lend ; 
 Who never soiled his palms by work, 
 And never will, if he can shirk ; 
 Who with no useful calling learned 
 Has never yet a dollar earned; 
 Who shifts and shirks whatever he can, 
 Imposing on his fellowman 
 The burdens they alike should bear, 
 And have for him no thought or care 
 Who wears the latest cut in clothes 
 And for each stitch, his tailor owes; 
 Who asks you for "just one more loan, 
 
98 THE SLUGGARD 
 
 Yet to repay one, ne er was known; 
 Who deems life a consummate bore, 
 And each day worse than that before, 
 Yet, like a spendthrift, seeks to borrow 
 For use to-day, hours of the morrow; 
 Who every font of pleasure dries, 
 And no voluptuous sense denies 
 A drifting hulk on life s high sea, 
 Attain! with moral leprosy 
 God help, I say, this worthless man; 
 No other will ; He only can ! 
 
 , .1 
 
 K ->. ; 
 
UNDAUNTED 
 
 Day, lingering in the darkening West 
 
 Lifts high the taper in his hand, 
 Whose purple rays benignly rest, 
 
 Where hurrying Night shall straightway 
 stand. 
 
 Throughout the heaven s vaulted height 
 Hang twilight lamps, now burning low, 
 
 Which, as they spy the goddess, Night, 
 Salute her with their brightest glow. 
 
 She, stealing from her curtained bowers, 
 Where resting she hath hidden lain, 
 
 Eesumes her vigil through the hours 
 To guard, in turn, Day s vast domain. 
 
100 UNDAUNTED 
 
 Together, they, like sentinels, 
 Patrolled the centuries that were, 
 
 Which, huddled in their mouldy cells 
 Now rest in Time s vast sepulchre. 
 
 Since parting at primeval dawn 
 When last he saw her beauteous face, 
 
 Day hath pursued this nimble fawn 
 With longing heart, and eager pace. 
 
 Unwearied by his futile chase ; 
 
 Undaunted, too, by cruel fate, 
 But yearning for one fond embrace, 
 
 Each morn he bursts the Orient gate. 
 
 His passion now resistless grown, 
 He throws his arms from roseate bowers, 
 
 But timid Night, alert, hath flown ; 
 Behold! her tears drip from the flowers. 
 
ACEOSS THE STEEET 
 
 To club-house loiterers who, en masse, 
 Stare out at maidens as they pass 
 That noonday throng, just out of bed, 
 Which turns its eyes, but not its head- 
 All prinked and plumed for the parade 
 In tailored suits half " ready made 7 
 To prurient loiterers such as these, 
 No earthly pageant could so please. 
 
 But now and then a clubless man 
 May have his day Elysian, 
 For as he trudges home at night, 
 There may from off the car alight, 
 Just at the corner where he dwells, 
 Some Aphrodite who excels 
 
102 ACROSS THE STREET 
 
 The Grecian goddess, both in grace, 
 
 And beauty of her classic face; 
 
 And then since things have turned his way - 
 
 May learn, perchance, that very day 
 
 That this rare maid lives in the suite 
 
 That faces his, across the street. 
 
 Yes, once I met a celibate 
 
 (That thing old-maids so deprecate) 
 
 Who vouched the truth, as well of this, 
 
 As other forms of worldly bliss 
 
 To which his fancy strangely clung, 
 
 Until the fateful denouement, 
 
 Which showed well how, when came the test, 
 
 A maiden played the game the best, 
 
 And just how well she knew the art, 
 
 He thus proceeded to impart: 
 
 "Once from my window, hour by hour, 
 I gazed on Nature s fairest flower; 
 
ACROSS THE STREET 103 
 
 A creature far more shy than bold, 
 
 With glowing cheeks, and hair of gold, 
 
 Whose eyes returned the sky s own blue, 
 
 Whose lips would shame the poppy s hue, 
 
 Whose form, so luscious, ripe and rare 
 
 Twould animate the very air 
 
 Through which she moved, with faultless grace, 
 
 To hide, at times, her roguish face. 
 
 Who smiled in most bewitching ways, 
 
 And each month flirted thirty days 
 
 Most ardently, yet so reserved, 
 
 That had my bread been likewise served 
 
 I should have starved, and no regret, 
 
 While gazing on this rare coquette. 
 
 "So while this maid, in that coy way, 
 Thus tortured me from day to day, 
 I realized how very fine 
 Grandmother Prude had drawn the line 
 
104 ACROSS THE STREET 
 
 That tolerated half her wiles 
 
 But held us dumb as two gargoyles. 
 
 "But science, ah, that wondrous thing 
 May peasant serve, as well as king; 
 And since dame Grundy, be it known, 
 Had quite overlooked the telephone 
 (As I had mine, where on the wall 
 It long had hung without a "call") 
 This, I employed from day to day, 
 (But in no interdicted way) 
 To sup the nectar, sip by sip, 
 In accents from her honied lip, 
 Until my brain took wings and flew 
 To realms whereof it never knew, 
 Where sweet communion was maintained 
 And more than former joys attained, 
 Till, Icarus-like, the heated wires 
 Got melted by our amorous fires, 
 And when one day, quite unawares, 
 
ACROSS THE STREET 105 
 
 I dropped to earth to make repairs, 
 My charmer, with her back-hair down, 
 And in plain view of half the town, 
 Serenely stood at her front door, 
 There flirting with my janitor!" 
 
CLAEK AND THE OEEGON 
 
 The Oregon at anchor lay within the Golden 
 Gate, 
 
 And far remote from surging waves a thing 
 inanimate 
 
 When came an order urgent, brief to 
 "Make for Callao," 
 
 And there await, for war might be, and with 
 no dastard foe. 
 
 "All hands to anchor \" shouted Clark; then 
 tugged each groaning chain, 
 
 And ere the night that battleship was plough 
 ing through the main. 
 
 And from that grave and anxious hour, for tid 
 ings still to learn, 
 
CLARK AND THE OREGON 107 
 
 She rushing, left her foaming wake for nigh a 
 
 league astern. 
 Along Pacific s coast she sped, as ship ne er 
 
 sped before, 
 Led by the Southern Cross whose beam each 
 
 wave in sequence bore. 
 Callao reached, late orders read, "At once for 
 
 Rio sail," 
 Then on she swept like mountain mist before 
 
 a furious gale, 
 And through Magellan s hungry jaws more 
 
 dreaded than armed foes 
 Till safe beyond their reefs and rocks, three 
 
 lusty cheers arose. 
 What, though Cervera s fleet were met? 
 
 what, though in wait it lay ? 
 This made him but more daring, and more 
 
 eager for the fray. 
 What, though the crew keen hunger felt, and 
 
 knew nor sleep nor rest, 
 
108 CLARK AND THE OREGON 
 
 If yielding what they needed most, would serve 
 
 their country best? 
 The sturdy stokers, nigh outworn, still fiercer 
 
 kept their fires, 
 And not a man, though parched with thirst, 
 
 once stopped to quench desires. 
 The North Star now, from realms afar, intenser 
 
 made its ray 
 That beacon which the brightest burns when 
 
 lighting Freedom s way; 
 And toward its beam, through battering seas, 
 
 the battleship swept on, 
 While Clark stood constant on the bridge, and 
 
 watched for lurking Don. 
 At length she entered Bio s port, where late 
 
 dispatches bore 
 News that the dogs of war were loosed, and 
 
 bayed along our shore, 
 When like a meteor she swept on to join our 
 
 fleet that lay 
 
CLARK AND THE OREGON 109 
 
 At Santiago s armored gate, where it held Spain 
 
 at bay. 
 The engineers, unconscious grown by stifling 
 
 air, alack, 
 Borne to the deck and half restored, tried hard 
 
 to stagger back; 
 
 And though this sovereign of the sea, five thou 
 sand leagues had run, 
 This paragon of battleships, as fresh as when 
 
 begun, 
 With Clark at helm, and crew elate this more 
 
 than welcome guest 
 Unhalting, pushed to Sampson s line, then 
 
 proved herself his best ! 
 
 That Sabbath morn had calmly dawned, and 
 
 through the languid air 
 Came far, faint sounds of convent bells, that 
 
 called to anxious prayer; 
 
110 CLARK AND THE OREGON 
 
 But Oh! what crashing thunders break, when 
 
 now the f oemen meet ! 
 For look you there, on swiftly comes Cervera s 
 
 doughty fleet, 
 Defiant, and with war-like mien, out through 
 
 the narrow bay! 
 All-desperate now, they open fire, and force the 
 
 awful fray, 
 But Sampson s roaring guns reply, "You re 
 
 welcome here, come on!" 
 When furies of a thousand hells were gathered 
 
 here in one! 
 Through smoke and fume the battle waged, and 
 
 every missile sent, 
 Was planted where it counted most, and where 
 
 the gunners meant, 
 When, leading all, the Oregon dashed swiftly 
 
 to the van, 
 And raked and riddled with her shells each 
 
 deck where dared a man, 
 
CLARK AND THE OREGON 111 
 
 While Clark forgot his conning-tower where 
 
 danger was the least, 
 And on his forward turret stood where danger 
 
 never ceased. 
 The Spaniards read their tragic fate in their 
 
 doomed cruisers light, 
 Which all aflame, dashed on the shore, glad to 
 
 give up the fight. 
 
 Henceforth, on fame s eternal page, the Oregon 
 
 will shine, 
 And Clark that brave "Green-Mountain 
 
 Boy" will be in every line; 
 That hill-born hero of the waves, whose name 
 
 revered will be, 
 So long as valor has a place in annals of the 
 
 sea! 
 
 Elsewhere ones rank depends on kings, whose 
 whim makes "noble blood, " 
 
112 CLARK AND THE OREGON 
 
 But Clark was not that way endowed Ms 
 
 knighthood came from God 
 The kind that captured old "Fort TL," and 
 
 won at Bennington, 
 Where grand old Stark the Hessians fought, 
 
 and drove from every gun. 
 And so where Clark shall have command that 
 
 leader true and brave 
 From every mast, on every breeze, "Old Glory 
 
 still shall wave ! 
 
CHILDHOOD S DEE AM 
 
 Ah, blessed was that childhood day 
 When with sweet Alice, blithe and gay, 
 We tripped adown the country lane 
 Her hand in mine her gallant swain. 
 
 0, she was more than Saxon fair 
 With sunbeams nestled in her hair, 
 While from her tranquil, deep-blue eyes, 
 Outshone a gleam of Paradise. 
 
 Her lips were like twin rubies set 
 With pearls between I see them yet 
 As when she, blushing bashfully, 
 Said: "I love you, if you love me." 
 
114 CHILDHOOD S DREAM 
 
 I answered in no doubting way, 
 Down in the lane that joyful day ; 
 And our two hearts thence beat as one, 
 And few were hours they beat alone. 
 
 No threatening cloud or gathering mist 
 E er darkened this our childhood tryst, 
 But every sun shone full and fair, 
 More than content to linger there. 
 
 We loved as only children love 
 When mated first in Heaven above, 
 Whose gracious smile was on us cast 
 And in whose beam our joys were passed. 
 
 Life then was one sweet reverie; 
 Its rhythm one fond melody ; 
 That melody one gentle voice 
 Whose accents bade my heart rejoice. 
 
CHILDHOOD S DEE AM 115 
 
 But lo ! what grief soon pierced my heart 
 And sent its pang to every part, 
 When illness came, and Alice died, 
 And wondering angels turned and sighed. 
 
 And since that day, how anxiously 
 
 I ve tried to solve that mystery 
 
 To learn why buds are made to bloom, 
 
 Then, ere their fruitage, reach their doom 
 
 Why childhood, fresh and fair and pure, 
 Should be the one for death to lure, 
 While age is left to totter through 
 Allotted years concealed from view. 
 
 Life s noon had passed ere once again 
 I wandered through that hallowed lane, 
 But lo, how changed ! few signs it bore 
 That I had known the place before. 
 
116 CHILDHOOD S DREAM 
 
 I sought the humble cottage near, 
 Which all my childhood was so dear, 
 But found it not; where once it stood 
 Were tangled weeds, and fire-charred wood. 
 
 With saddened heart I turned to go, 
 But spied, hard by, a headstone low, 
 Whereat I paused, and through my tears, 
 Bead "Here lies Alice: aged ten years." 
 
WILLIAM McKINLEY 
 
 True to each trust, and best when trusted most ; 
 For country first, though facing war or peace ; 
 Making in peace its greatness greater still, 
 While yet in war, his young, intrepid breast, 
 On many a blood-soaked, death-strewn battle 
 field 
 Was bared to shield a Nation s heart from 
 
 harm. 
 Gentle, strong; courageous, just; he walked 
 
 erect 
 
 The paths of righteousness whereon was thrown 
 The radiant light of his unsullied soul 
 The emanation of creative Heaven. 
 This peerless man, by fate ordained to lead, 
 
118 WILLIAM McKINLEY 
 
 And lift mankind to more exalted heights, 
 Alas! by Anarch s venomed fang lies slain! 
 And when he fell, a Nation mute with woe 
 Stood dazed and awestruck at his bier, and lo, 
 Beyond the seas, e en to remotest lands, 
 Unbidden tears and solemn-tolling bells 
 Bespoke an anguish deep as was our own. 
 That blameless life; that apt, sagacious tongue, 
 (Which ne er was heard save for his country s 
 
 weal) 
 
 Though hushed on earth f orevermore, yet speak 
 As with an angel s trumpet and declare 
 That, in the precious lesson he bequeathed, 
 The better life is lingering with us still. 
 
 September, 1901. 
 
DESTINY 
 
 As I strolled past an ancient hall, 
 
 With ivied tower, and vine-clad wall, 
 
 A beauteous rose peered through the maze 
 
 Whereat I paused and fixed my gaze. 
 
 Though tremulous, as if through fear, 
 It seemed to whisper to come near, 
 And bending low to catch each word. 
 This was the touching plaint I heard: 
 
 "Once I with happy comrades dwelt 
 Where ne er a stranger s hand was felt 
 In far-off fields where wild- woods twine 
 Companioned with the herds and kine. 
 
120 DESTINY 
 
 "Forever free from toil and care, 
 With naught but pleasure for our share, 
 We dreamed the tranquil hours away, 
 Throughout each languid, summer day. 
 
 "Of danger then we had no thought, 
 For by no others were we sought 
 Than by the birds and honey bees, 
 And butterflies, and friends like these. 
 
 "But now, how changed! Where er we bloom 
 We re sure to find our early doom ; 
 No more for us the happy hours 
 Once shared in those secluded bowers. 
 
 "Here did I have a gentle mate, 
 Whose love for me was passing great, 
 But ere it had become half grown, 
 I was despoiled and left alone ; 
 
DESTINY 121 
 
 "For while the thorns that guard each flower 
 True to their trust, enforce their power, 
 Yet would some ruthless hand each day 
 Pluck off and bear our best away 
 
 "Away to where some care-worn face 
 Familiar at the market-place 
 By waiting long, and selling low, 
 Prolongs a half -fed life of woe; 
 
 "Or where, within the footlights glare, 
 Tis nightly hurled in places where 
 Some soubrette holds a motley throng 
 With flippant jest and ribald song; 
 
 "Or where it droops in worse despair 
 When tangled in some harlot s hair, 
 And through a long, revolting night, 
 Would languish, fade and die affright; 
 
122 DESTINY 
 
 "Or where it decks the trembling bride, 
 When kneeling at the altar side 
 Fit symbol of a purer love 
 Descended here from realms above; 
 
 "Or where some heart-crushed mother weeps 
 For her beloved, who lifeless sleeps, 
 It fain would have her silent prayer 
 Ascend on incense it sheds there. " 
 
 Thus spoke that inoffending rose 
 Which told its pleasures and its woes. 
 But of its mate, what fate befell, 
 Or good or ill, what tongue shall tell! 
 
THE OLD YEAE 
 
 The Old Year, burdened with his spoil, 
 
 Stole off, and staggered as he strode, 
 For he was wearied by the toil 
 
 By which he d gained his ponderous load. 
 Yet, never halting in his quest, 
 
 (As if his victims were too few) 
 He forward on his mission pressed 
 
 As if fresh fields were still in view. 
 He bore a desperado s mien 
 
 As he stalked on exultingly, 
 For in his demon eye was seen 
 
 The marks of sleepless revelry; 
 Nay, everywhere his visage told 
 
 The tale of long debauchery, 
 Yet with a lust still uncontrolled, 
 
124 THE OLD YEAR 
 
 He hungered for satiety. 
 His field had been that one wherein 
 
 All seasons bore but ripened grain; 
 Where youth and age, where alien, kin, 
 
 Alike were garnered in his train. 
 Unmoved by prayers, or sobs, or tears, 
 
 He sought to make his carnival 
 The mightiest far of all the years, 
 
 And count his work the best of all. 
 Begone, thou heartless reveler, 
 
 And hence remain forevermore; 
 Thy work is one vast sepulchre, 
 
 And thou hast closed and sealed the door! 
 
GOD S HOEOLOGUE 
 
 God tells the hoary age of earth 
 In strata formed about its girth : 
 This horologue, wound by His hand, 
 Is such that all may understand. 
 
 But in its workings wondrous, vast 
 Kecurring seasons as they passed 
 Were as mere seconds in the score, 
 And centuries counted scarcely more. 
 
 And after eons shall have flown, 
 Its age shall even then be known, 
 For found beneath this mundane sod, 
 Will be that same time-piece of God. 
 
DISILLUSION 
 
 could I once bring back again those happy 
 
 childhood hours, 
 Made joyful by a sweet content, amid youth s 
 
 budding flowers, 
 Till in my sleep, some roving nymph sought my 
 
 confiding ear, 
 And whispered there enchanting tales that 
 
 dazzled me to hear. 
 
 Ere then, no restless discontent had plagued 
 my tranquil peace, 
 
 Or ventured to molest the spell where joy had 
 no surcease ; 
 
 For life was at its morning then, and its be 
 nignant light 
 
DISILLUSION 127 
 
 Encompassed me at noonday, and tinged my 
 dreams at night. 
 
 But I was promised power and fame, and cof 
 fers piled with gold, 
 
 And palaces as gorgeous as the Doges had of 
 old, 
 
 Adorned with treasures, quaint and rare the 
 spoil of every land 
 
 With retinues and willing slaves, to serve my 
 least command. 
 
 Nay, that henceforth my life should be like some 
 
 luxurious dream 
 One never known to those who toil, o er whom 
 
 I was supreme 
 For I to princely rule was born confided to 
 
 me then 
 Because my veins coursed noble blood, not that 
 
 of common men. 
 
128 DISILLUSION 
 
 Nay more, that kingdoms I should have vast 
 
 empires in domain 
 O er which, like potentates of old, in glory I 
 
 should reign, 
 And that my courts and pageants should in 
 
 splendor far outvie 
 The proudest pomp of other lands, and dazzle 
 
 every eye. 
 
 But lo ! I was not told the cost of all that pomp 
 
 and power; 
 That I d be robbed of all my peace from that 
 
 ill-fated hour, 
 Or that I nevermore should feel my childhood 
 
 heart aglow 
 With transports which till then I d known, but 
 
 all be changed to woe. 
 
 No kingdoms yet have come to me, nor palaces, 
 nor gold, 
 
DISILLUSION 129 
 
 Which on that night were plighted me, though 
 
 now I have grown old. 
 Yet patiently IVe waited through the unre- 
 
 quiting years, 
 And watched with eager, longing eyes, and often 
 
 through my tears 
 
 Tears for those heart-remembered joys that 
 sweet contentment gave 
 
 Before ambition bound me, as its helpless, cring 
 ing slave; 
 
 For dearer far than kingdoms, or palaces, or 
 gold, 
 
 Were those lost days of sweet content, the 
 childhood days of old ! 
 
AN EPITHALAMIUM 
 
 Since Eden s pair, that primal morn, 
 First kindled love s consuming flame, 
 
 The millions that have since been born 
 Have played, in turn, the same old game. 
 
 It matters not that Eden lies 
 
 Amid a far-off hemisphere, 
 Since love alone makes Paradise, 
 
 Where springtime lingers all the year. 
 
 Eing out the merry marriage bell ! 
 
 Twine garlands round the bride to-day, 
 For none who heard her vows shall tell 
 
 That this fair one balked at "obey "I 
 
AN EPITHALAMIUM 131 
 
 All hail with glad and joyful hymn; 
 
 Drink health and luck to bride and groom, 
 And fill your beakers to the brim, 
 
 Then every ruddy drop consume ! 
 
MONT BLANC 
 
 Eternal mount, whose brow serene 
 Is pillowed on the clouds, half-seen, 
 What longing thy abode inspires 
 In human hearts what vast desires ! 
 
 Tis not decreed that mortal clod 
 Should dwell on earth, and still with God, 
 But thou, reared from an earthly vale, 
 Dost in supernal realms regale. 
 
 And then, as if thou hadst a soul 
 Pervading the celestial goal, 
 Thou hast attained the crown which now 
 Triumphant rests upon thy brow. 
 
MONT BLANC 133 
 
 And lo, throughout the silent night, 
 The drifting snows pile height on height, 
 And thus renewed from day to day, 
 It ne er shall fade, or pass away, 
 
 But brightly from those realms divine 
 Shall ever and forever shine 
 A beacon, beaming far and wide, 
 For weary, wayward feet, a guide. 
 
COLUMBIA 
 (AN APPEAL FOB CUBA) 
 
 O Goddess, turn thy beauteous face 
 To that fair Isle where dwells a race 
 Whose plaintive voice, upraised to thee, 
 Pleads but for righteous liberty! 
 
 For since the travail of thy birth, 
 
 Of freedom thou hast known the worth, 
 
 And at its altar vigil kept 
 
 While foes intrenched, and sluggards slept. 
 
 The girdle neath thy throbbing breast 
 Was forged from chains of those oppressed; 
 And stripes upon thy stola these 
 Are blood-stains of thy votaries. 
 
COLUMBIA 135 
 
 The spangled cap that crowns thy head 
 Was hallowed by the martyr dead, 
 Who braved and bled, who fought and fell, 
 That Freedom might survive to tell. 
 
 Stretch, then, thy helpful arm to aid 
 That hapless race, by fate betrayed, 
 And tear away their loathsome chains, 
 And tyrants teach that God still reigns! 
 
 June, 1898. 
 
TO MAEJOEIB 
 
 (A DEBUTANTE) 
 
 Marjorie, with brow so fair, and heart so 
 chaste and pure, 
 
 The world adoring thee beholds thy fit investi 
 ture, 
 
 For thou dost stand in queenly robes a bride 
 to coming years 
 
 As smiling Future beckons thee, but leaves the 
 Past in tears! 
 
 goddess of the present, thou! vision of 
 the morrow, 
 
 Thy younger comrades bid adieu, with pensive 
 heart and sorrow. 
 
TO MARJORIE 137 
 
 May every fond, enchanting dream of child 
 hood s golden hour 
 
 Bring forth its glad reality, and every bud its 
 flower. 
 
 But as life s pathway thou shalt tread, and up 
 its steeps shalt climb, 
 
 Choose for thy comrades Charity, and Hope 
 and Faith sublime; 
 
 Then thou hast taught humanity how justly 
 thou hast earned 
 
 The heavenly radiance from above, that on thy 
 head is turned. 
 
THE ALCHEMIST 
 
 That peerless Alchemist the heart 
 Transcending the magician s art, 
 Imbues each tear, by passion wrought, 
 With distillations of our thought. 
 
 Hence one emotion-laden tear 
 Knows more than wisest sage or seer, 
 Or oceans vast, that ebb and flow, 
 Of human joy and human woe. 
 
THE FINAL VOYAGE 
 
 The night was starless, bleak and drear, 
 And through the rigging one could hear 
 Discordant and unceasing moans, 
 Like those of some dread monster s groans, 
 As rolled the ship from side to side 
 Through sea and storm she still defied. 
 
 And bravely battling, day by day, 
 What first was fear, became dismay, 
 When braver hearts the faint would cheer 
 Could they suppress their own sad tear, 
 Lest kindred on the distant shore 
 Might wait, alas, forevermore. 
 
140 THE FINAL VOYAGE 
 
 Beneath the cabin s creaking beam, 
 In calm repose and joyful dream, 
 An aged mother, lone and ill, 
 Throughout the tempest slumbered still, 
 Whose lamp of life, with fading ray, 
 Foretold her near and final day. 
 
 Long widowed, she had lived to toil 
 On Scotia s unrequiting soil, 
 For, one by one, at man s estate, 
 Their pulses strong, their hearts elate, 
 Her boys had sought Columbia s shores 
 Where Plenty smiled from open doors. 
 
 And thus, with all life s sunshine lost, 
 Time touched her with its wilting frost; 
 Then years grew long, as shadows stray 
 And lengthen with departing day, 
 And fondest of her dreams were fain 
 To greet her precious boys again. 
 
THE FINAL VOYAGE 141 
 
 Though tossed by that relentless sea, 
 She slumbered on in ecstacy 
 Still dreaming of her darling boys 
 And future years of waiting joys, 
 But ere the long-lost sun arose, 
 Her soul had fled all earthly woes. 
 
 With morning light, in steerage lay 
 Its spirit fled the mortal clay, 
 And soon the sailors heavy tread 
 Bore to the deck the humble dead ; 
 Its shroud an outworn, offcast sail 
 It mattered not what might avail. 
 
 And then, submissive to command, 
 Those brawny sailors, strong of hand, 
 Committed to the famished wave 
 That which its hunger seemed to crave, 
 And lost was that in its embrace, 
 Whose sepulchre no kin can trace. 
 
142 THE FINAL VOYAGE 
 
 For her no tolling bell was heard, 
 Nor yet by friend a spoken word; 
 But elsewhere will be tolled a knell 
 In hearts that still remember well 
 Their slumbers and their blissful rest 
 Upon that mother s loving breast. 
 
 No pealing anthem there was sung, 
 Nor praiseful chant of human tongue; 
 But heard instead will ever be 
 The murmur of the murmuring sea, 
 Whose billows will forever roll 
 A requiem for her peace of soul. 
 
Ml.91850 
 
 1 ft gg - .Trtbn 
 
 F5742 
 
 Lyrics of liew Enland 
 and othor 
 
 M191S50 
 
 
 y 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 YC158171