GIFT OF Mrs* Raymond 0» Wright \ ^^^^,0 M n^^^^fl^ SB AjJ/yy/IVO'MZ^ S ^^^^L^x^j^ 12 ^7/]^^^{^' ^ ^T7/7^ i:^S^j|i/'U^ J^ iS&I s 1 ai^^i^ ^f^ m^Wk ^-~r^ ?>^ '^-^Sl/^mw. ^ ^^ ^ ^5 ^^ ^^^ ^^-^^1^ ^S Sl^li!^^^ E ^^E ^B ^3fi '^^^^^^ ^^^ ^^fC^''--:^^^JC<^' i ^B^ ^^» ^^^^ ^^36 ^^S ^^Sj0^ ^m 1^^^ 0&g 36^ ^MrJ^l^^d. ^^o^^^l^^ ^^^ 1 &36 ^^M l/y^^^^'A !^^S ^^3 ^P ^? ^^^i^fO^ ^^6 ^/l^^^^^^V H 3^S ^r7/;^^^^*^=r7 3^^1 s^^mO^i^^s i^feg ^^S ^^& !^^S j^/ff^||i The Closing Scene 5 The Silent Messenger 8 Speak No 111 9 Terrors Of A Criminal On Awakening From A Dream. 10 War Eagle 12 Johnstown Flood, 1888 14 When We Were Boys 10 A Ramble O'er My Native Hills 10 Shipwreck 22 A Man From The Planet Venus 25 My Long-Forgotten Friend, Lenore 81 Consolation 84 The Store... 86 Oh ! Shall We Meet On Heaven's Shore? 87 Thunder 89 Mount Of The Holy Cross 40 O, Sinner, Turn ! 42 Colorado 48 The Deer Chase 45 Good Seed 48 xi Xll CONTENTS. PAGE Lazy John 49 Christian Soldiers 50 A Happy Dream 52 This World's Riches 54 PART II. Leno Belle 59 The Lonesome Chief 61 Eclipse Of The Sun, August 7th, 1869 68 The Warrior's Forest Home 65 In Heaven We Shall See Them 68 Autumn Days 70 Payton's Ride 72 The Lonely Window 76 The Answer— Song Of The Shipwreck 77 Dear Bessie Of Ohio 81 Centennial Years 84 Discovery Of Elk Creek 87 Son Billy 89 Kitty And The Mouse 92 On Receiving Her Picture 94 Lamentation 95 The American Eagle 97 'T is My Only Kitty, Mother 100 Mystery 102 The Man Who Never Stops To Think 104 A Lesson 1 05 CONTENTS. Xlii PART III. PAGE The Bride's Farewell 109 Mammoth Cave Ill Uncle Sam 112 South Carolina's First Ball 118 The Awakening Of The Soul 114 Strange But True 115 My Own Bronzy, Dear 117 Rosy Hill 119 To Mrs. J. Hamilton 121 One Hundred Years Ago 122 Niagara 1 24 Kiss Her, Quick, You Little Goose ! 127 Result Of Thought 129 Scenes Of Childhood 188 Conclusion 148 ENGRAVINGS. CoL. D. H. Davis Frontispiece Mrs. Emily R. Davis 80 Miss Leno Belle 58 Mrs. Josie B. Taylor 108 ii i- If 1 1 RKRX I. f Songs of the Rge. PIKE'S PEAK. Dedicated to My Only Son, B. H. Davis. Oh hoary peak ! Thou king of kings, Standest thou in thy matchless form, Commanding the snow-capped peaks around thee, Dazzling the eyes of men. And baffling the skillful pen, Thy wonderous grandeur to describe. Bathing thy feet in the rippling brook, And chanting weird songs on the silvery tongue Of thy snow-fed streams and misty falls. The cyclone howls around thy form. Dipping their smutty wings Far beneath the crowning peak Of thy time-worn massive walls. The lightnings flash and the thunder rolls. And the clouds drift on in silky scrolls. And the rain-drops dance on the silvery stone. While the king looks down from his sunlit throne. SONGS OF THE AGE. Eyes of the pre-historic cave dwellers Gazed upon thy wonderous altitude With adoration at the close of the day. Then lift thy crown to the skies, And catch the last glimmering rays Of the golden sunbeams ; And wrap thy golden mantle around thee, Then drop thy golden robe. And turn thy face and kiss the moon. And wrap thyself in nightly vales Of ghostly shades and silvery gleamings. The sun sweeps o'er the dark blue sea And burns the misty shades of night, And pours a flood of golden light Upon thy miscy, sparkling crown ; While the towering gods of the brook-worn gorge. And the sweeping fields of the distant plains. In their dewy robes peacefully slumber. Still wrapped in the misty shades of the fading night. SONGS OF T^E AGE. 6 This poem, by Geokge S. Phelps, took the first prize of one hundred and fifty dollars in the great contest where four hundred poems were sent in from all parts of the country. The poem on the same subject by the author of this book was not in the contest. PIKE'S PEAK. BY GEORGE S. PHELPS. (first prize.) At flush of morn, I stood upon thy heights Of granite gray ; bright thro' the parting mists The glowing sunbeams swept o'er distant peaks To reach thy rock-ribbed form ; a moment then, And the great " King of Day" hi^ glory flashed Above thy tow'ring head; the stars went out; The shadowy robes of silvery night ' Were touch'd to burnish'd gold ; the dew-wash'd rocks And massive boulders for an instant gleamed As flash and shimmer of a mountain stream. Above the horizon, in God-like majesty. The ris'n sun pour'd forili a flood of golden light ; The snow-fed purling stream, in silver tints. Crept down the mountain side, to foot-hill green ; A^own the rocky way the lofty pine-trees caught The Sun God's rising beams ; SONGS OP THE AGE. Swift as the lightning's flash The golden sunlight sped, to wake the smiling flowers That slept below ; while mountain range, and hills And dusky glens, and valleys far away, Touch'd with the splendor of immortal light, Blush'd crimson and gold ; beyond the "old time" trail, Far o'er the rocky gorge, bright fall and torrent wild In radiant beauty lay, luxuriant fields Of ripening grain ; pastures of living green ; Elvers and rivulets, lakes and rippling rills. That caught the sheen of morning's waking hour. Cities and plains I saw ; the " Garden of the Gods " — Creation's ghosts ! Gods of the ages past. That mock our puny strength and laugh at time. There, lofty monuments in stately grandeur stand; And weird " Glen-Eyrie " greets the waiting day. Close at thy base, in beauty's glen-home lies Fair Manitou, at Avhose springs the red man knelt To (juencli his thirst; w^hose healing waters lend To weary life Hope's fairy wings. Hail, royal peak ! Child of Eternity! on whose wrinkled brow The centuries mark their flight; friend of the stars, That through eternal years have watch'd with thee, Oh rugged monarch of " The Great Divide ! " SONGS OF THE AGE. THE CLOSING SCENE. Dedicated to Mj- Daughter, Lura. The rolling hills were robed in gold, And fringed with curtains, gold and green, And highland peaks stood grand and bold. With crimson valleys trailed between; Those golden robes hung from the sky, Like drapery from a kingly throne ; Which charmed the lover's faithful eye, And, spell-bound, held him to his own. Surrounding peaks propped all the sky. Both North and South, and East and West ; And heaven's dome, hung from on high, On golden pillars seemed to rest. The hills built up in fleecy trains, And waved in beauty, step by step. And brightening by the cooling rains. The dazzling sunshine o'er them crept. The sun went down o'er reefs of gold. And early in the new bright morn. His eyes seemed proud still to behold A world with scenes so bright adorned ; SONGS OF THE AGE. But Jack with snowy sickle came, And reap'd his harvest gold and brown, And wove a carpet of the same, And spread it o'er the highland ground. Then all the forest, grey and bare. Stood like dim ghosts scratching the sky. And forest birds, so sweet and fair. Began to plume and southward fly ; Red-wing, blackbirds, ten thousand strong. Had mustered for a long farewell ; In musical glee their farewell song ; Out on the breeze began to swell. Such music, though, is not for me Ever to picture with a pen; Their song was shrill, chords sweet and free, And charmed the stony hearts of men. The birds were gone. Jack came again, And wove a carpet, grey and brown. And scattered frost-thorns on the pane. And cut the blooming dahlia down. The farmer hewed his winter log. And drove his herd from field to barn; SONGS OF THE AGE. The boys skipped out with rabbit dog, Kind mothers knit warm socks of yarn; Sweet maidens all, with sparkling eyes, Stepped lightly o'er the kitchen floor, And baked the bread and nice mince pies. And placed the fuel by the door. Next night King Jack returned again, And wove a carpet glossy white. Without a spot, without a stain. And glistened in the darkest night. The woodsman to the forest hill, With gun and bowie, and dog beside ; The farmer jingling fco the mill ; The boys hunt crooked boards to ride. The lover, with his nice brown steed Hooked to the cutter, flies away To meet the one he loves indeed. And take her riding in the sleigh. The day is closed ; day's work is done ; The farmer from the grinding mill ; The lovers back, and they are one ; The woodsman's deer hangs on the hill. SONGS OP THE AGE. THE SILENT MESSENGER. There is a magnet charm, Or affinity, not form, That underlies The piercing eyes That speaks the lasting word. Yet never, never heard. 'Tis not the eye alone That makes our Avishes known. But something deep, That seems to sleep Within the mortal soul. Unseen, yet all is told. ^Tis not the midnight dream, Nor polished words, that seem To form this line Of heart and mind, But something ever still, And yet we know its will. SONGS OF THE AGE. SPEAK NO ILL. Nay, speak no ill of friend or foe ; And if you're driven to the wall, And there can find no good at all Unstained by tongue, best let him go. A kindly word is much preferred By those who seem to be in fault ; And if at fault, may call a halt. And straighten every crooked word. The slanderous tongue like bells are rung, * Where all the town and country round Can hear the slang echo rebound To sever hearts where friendship clung. The tattler's tales are like the sails Of pirate ships upon the seas. They always sail on evil breeze, Disguised by satanic veils. When fortune turns, and trouble burns The wreaking, pained and withering heart. How soon does friendship then depart ? To count his faults his virtues spurn. 10 SONGS OF THE AGE. Can we disown the seed we've sown When harvest comes and fields are' brown ? Is there one perfect to be found ? Let him alone cast the first stone. TERRORS OF A CRIMINAL ON AWAKENING FROM A DREAM. Great God ! is this my awful doom ? Yes, doomed to this dark, dismal cell. To dream of joy and peace at home. While haunted by the ghosts of hell ! Tormented by the blood I drew ; Tormented by that awful crime ; Tormented by the maid I slew. Who prayed me for an i] ich of time. She told me that her heart was true ; That she could love no other man — Oh ! cursed be the knife that drew Her precious blood upon my hand ! SONGS OF THE AGE. 11 For still I see that pleading look, As if her tender heart would break ; She kissed' me ; then my hand she took, And threw her arm around my neck. "Aw^ay ! " I cried ; " deceiver, stand ! I know of thy dishonest heart. Your love is for another man, . So death shall sever us apart." She sank beneath my wicked frown. Still glancing at the fearful knife, And cried for mercy, sinking down, To close the scenes of mortal life. But now the dreadful deed is done, A jealous heart must bear the blame ; For she was true, she loved but one. And he's now doomed to death and shame. Oh, yes ; in dreams I see my bed. Mid all the flaming fiends of hell. They're in my cell ! I see the dead I And soon must I their numbers swell ! 13 SONGS OF THE AGE. WAR EAGLE. When Southern war guns of the South Had set the mighty ball to roll, And hushed the tongue of Sumpter's mouth, Which chiird the nation's very soul Then warriors sprang from hill and dale, Throughout the bounds of freedom's land. And war ships flew by steam and sail, To crush the grand rebellious band. And all the nation, North and South, Then trimmed their lamps for civil war ; And death belched from the cannon's mouth, 'Till heaven and earth quailed in despair. Then came the mystic eagle spy. And joined a regiment of blue. To climb the stairway of the sky. And lead the battles of the true. And now^ the battle had begun ; , The eagle took the winding stair. And sailed beyond the Southern gun. Around and round, high in the air. SONGS OF THE AGE. 18 Ten thousand Southern bullets flew To kill the golden eagle spy ; But still he led his army through, On wings where bullets could not fly. And when the stars and stripes had won, And armies went in camp by night, They found the eagle on his gun, Hung in the tent for roost at night. He led each battle in its turn. Through all the din and clash of war. His regiment's pet, he soon had learned The men and stripes which bore the star. And when the cruel war was done, This bird went home with boys in blue, Who crowned him king of victories won For starry blue and armies true. And to the great Centenniarl Fair They took this wondrous kingly spy, Who made his throne high in the air, Above the din and battle-cry. 14 SONGS OF THE AGE. JOHNSTOWN FLOOD, 1888. They hurried to the garret ceiling, Six children and a lovely mother, But soon the deathly waves there stealing. Filled space, 'till all began to smother. And their doom was sealed ; no ray of light. But a foaming flood was passing by. And darkness of that fearful night Had cast its shades o'er moon and sky. They bent their way to the window pane, And the mother seized a floating board. And one of the band admission gained ; A kiss, good-bye, and was heard no more. ♦Six times, as the floating timbers passed. She placed them on, and a kiss, good-bye ; But worst of all was the dear one last — A father's pet, with mischievous eye. Just then a crash, and the building fell. And was swept away 'mid clash of sound ; But she clung to the roof, which floated well. And swift away from the floating town. SONGS OF THE AGE. 15 Out on the waves in the pitch of night, 'Mid shrieks and screams and dying groans, And not a l^mp, nor a glimmering light, As buildings groaned with a hideous moan. But away on the wings of the waves, With the star of Hope forever set. And just a span to the hissing grave, Where wrath of the waves its victim met. Down, down the wrathy current flying. Grinding, surging, hissing and roaring. Screaming, groaning, moaning and dying. The angry waves 'mid forests pouring. On the distant shore a signal light. But the forest trees walked through the flood With clutching fingers and arms of might. Wrecking the crafts and the floating wood. A voice was heard on the wave-washed shore. And a signal light was gleaming bright. And her craft rushed 'mid din and roar,* But was saved by men in pitch of night. 16 SONGS OF THE AGE. WHEN WE WERE BOYS. When we were boys, one dreary night, We made a pine torch for a light, And ventured up the silent stream. Which bent its course through evergreen. Our fishing party, brave as men. Bore torches and a gig in hand. An awful stillness now prevailed. The brook lay slumbering in the vale. The bluffs, and oft' the rocky ledge. Bathed their feet in the water's edge ; The pines, like ship masts, tow^ering tall. The hills built up like ancient walls. The mighty forest, ages old. Arched the stream o'er many a hole. And Nature, grand in her display. Still claimed hei* own that early day. The night was dark, 'tAvas understood, But doubly dark when in the wood ; But we were fishing 'long the coast. And had no time to look for ghosts, SONGS OF THE AGE. 17 And no one dared to mention dread Of panthers in the trees overhead ; But, like the dread torpedo's shock, A scream re-echoed from a rock Which hung its ledge high o'er the stream, To which our light had thrown a gleam ; That hideous scream, that wild hiss squall, Raised hair on end, and hats grew tall ; And I can never paint the sound. As down it poured and echoed round. But surely I shall ne'er forget — It seems just now I hear it yet. But this enough to fill our cup ; We then explored no further up ; We now went trailing down the stream. When Harry raised a maniac scream. And little music for his dance, A scream? a prance, a maniac glance ; And all the words we heard him say : " Take it away ! Take it away ! " It's cold as ice, and I shall die ! " And these words ended Harry's cry; 18 SOKOS OF THE AGE. A huge green frog leajDed from his throat, Had squeezed 'iieath collar of his coat, And when he jumped he gave a squeal. And Harry staggered back and reeled ; He climbed his leg beneath his clothes. And scratched the skin from feet to nose. All were scared, all in a flurry, Frog made passage in a hurry ; Aiiii Harry, gasping, pale as death. And wildly struggling for his breath. And we, recovering from the shock. Recalled the scream poured from the rock. Well, Harry lived, boys laughed and screamed, But all went gliding from the stream. SONGS OF THE AGE. 19 A RAMBLE O'ER MY NATIVE HILLS. Dedicated to My Daughter, Minnie. Long years have come and rolled away, Since here we roamed in boyhood days, When forest birds sang fnll and strong, In sweeter notes than human song. From this high peak, so calm and still, I trace the brook, and distant hill. Where ancient oaks our father slew, When these dark woods to whites were new. His axe was first in all the vale. When foot-prints marked the only trail. When routes were blazed for men to see. By chip or hack, from tree to tree. High on this mountain peak I stand. To scan again my native land, More dearly prized than fame or gold, Or even friends we loved of old. Afar in yonder distant vale. The soundings of the muffled flail Went out on wings of early morn. As well-timed music from the barn. 20 SONGS OF THE AGE. The golden wheat sent down to mill, Where burrs were run by drowning wheel. Made snow-white biscuit, soft and sweet, AVhich comes alone from new-grown wheat. The woodlands fringed around the plain, Where browning fields were minus grain ; The meadows, dressed in velvet green. With scythe-mown stacks to dot the scene ; The lark had led her brood away, Then sought a pinnacle of hay To blend her music with the ({uail. That whistling stood upon a rail. Unfading as the sun's sharp ray. Are sounds and scenes of that bright day ; Two miles away the woodland bell Banged softly, yet we knew it well. And all the herds, in woods around. Were known by bells of different sounds ; And, oh ! that sweetly singing bird. Where oft in woods we found the herd. Its notes were charming, clear and shrill. And rang in woods, from hill to hill ; ISONGS OF THE AGE. 21 How often did I hear that song When hill- top shades were growing long, And gold- tint clouds on summer eve, In fleecy trains rolled on the breeze, And in this golden leafy bower Was e'er its home in childhood hour. When hills were draped in green and gold, To charm the heart in days of old ; 8wamp-robin is our songster's name, With all her music never tame ; 8he flits away sweet songs to sing. You see her only on the wing. But, hark ! she comes with sweeter tone Than e'er in youth was ever known. My cup is full, I ask no more, * I've scanned the scenes of childhood o'er, And on this towering woodland hill Our hidden champion singeth still. Thus nature bound her golden chains Around my boyish heart. And evermore, while life remains. These charms can ne'er depart. 22 SONGS OF THE AGE. SHIPWRECK. The mighty deep Avas deathly still, All round the sky rests on the sea ; Our pilot drove his ship at will, The sailors sunning, lie at ease ; But soon we saw a drifting storm. And howling thunders loudly rolled, The heaving clouds were rent and torn, By flash and streaks like liquid gold. The sleeping sea awoke in fright. And, angry, lashed her sheets to foam ; 8he rolled her waves to mountain height, And wrapped the ocean all in gloom ; The heavens grew^ as black as night. The ship was tossed by Avind and Avaves, Still drifting, drifting to the right. Abreast the isle of sailors' graves. The last bright hope had taken flight, The rigging torn from stem to stern. The steam bleAV out Avith roar and might. The brilliant lamps refused to burn ; SONGS OF THE AGE. 23 The waves had gone high o'er the deck, And sunk our helpless vessel low, Which rose to meet a fearful wreck On cliffs where foam drifts white as snow. Our ship was tossed upon a rock, A shivered wreck on stony bed, While some recovered from the shock, Still others missing — they were dead. We drifted there upon the isle, The long ill-fated isle of gloom, Where ships lay mouldering all the while, And death was but the sailor's doom. There human bones lie on the sands. The ship's tall masts had crumbled down, Large diamond rings on skeleton hands, And trunks of gold were scattered round ; A safe there stood with open door, Large drawers filled with specie gold ; The inner safe ten thousand more Large diamonds, from the land of old. Large steel-bound trunks of silver-ware, And costly watches made of gold, 24 SONGS OF THE AGE. And diamond bracelets sealed from air, Were packed with skill just from the mold. But, oh I how small did all appear ; The star of hope forever set, The close of life then drawing near, The doom of others to be met. Three suns had set o'er western seas. When, lo ! just at the dawn of day, A sail came driving on the breeze Tow^ard the isle, though far away ; No ship had ever reached that shore, Save those by fearful storm and wreck ; Small boats were sent by sail and oar To bear the lost upon the deck. The change was all this world could give, 'T was simply raising from the dead. That we again should drink and live, Where nature's bounty should be spread ; How small does all this world appear. When close of life is drawing near ; One hope is of ten thousand fold More value than a world of gold. SONGS OF THE AGE. 25 A MAN FROM THE PLANET VENUS. A Broiigole Kell from Venus star Had sailed beyond its boundary line, Attraction lost, the man of air Was minus power to conHne ; So, like a boulder, through all space He dropped toward this rolling world. But miles above his resting place, The Brongole sails again unfurled. Yet far above the sea and land This aged man, just from the star. Beheld the world so broad and grand. With golden clouds hung in the air. He lowered his Brongole on a hill O'erlooking all the city crowd. There rushing to and fro at will. Like winds disturb the heaving cloud. He could not dare to venture there. In all that hurly-burly crowd; He put his Brongole in the air. And sailed away amid the cloud; 26 SONGS OF THE AGE. And then o'er hill and widening vale. He sailed upon the gentle breeze ; He saw the engine on the rail ; The ships and boats upon the seas. And all the world Avas on the tij, A rush ! a clash ! a roar of steam ! Till night shut out the golden sky, And twinkling stars began to gleam ; The cities burnt ten thousand lights, And ghostly shadows walked the streets ; The bell of time marked hours of night ; Tall steeples waved their national sheets. He sailed high o'er the city street. And lowered his Brongole on a hill. Where men of note he chanced to meet. And this strange story did reveal : A king there sat in golden chair. His kell around him in a fold ; His eyes were bright, but silvery hair. And he in years nine hundred old. His wond'rous scenes of day had closed With golden tints of sunset sky ; And sad was he to learn our woes, And know that we were born to die. SONGS OP THE AGE. 27 A tear stole from the stranger's eye, When he these burning Avords were told, , That he on e^rth mnst snrely die, For we of death have no control. "0, my dear Sir, I'm from yon star, And I'm in years nine hundred old ; I cannot die in lands afar, . For half my days can ne'er be told. ' Our world is bright as noon-day sun, A world where pleasure never dies ; Each day new pleasures, just begun, Ke-echoes gladness to the skies. "Our days are bright, our nights are clear, No cloud can ever dim the sky ; But silvery gleamings lill the air, Sweeping grandeur from on high. Ten thousand Brongoles swiftly fly. Ten thousand voices sweetly sing. Ten thousand harps float through the sky. With thrilling music, on the wing. "In yonder star there is no sin. No pain nor death can ever come ; A« time rolls on, new life begins To perfect life where'er we roam ; 38 BONG!;! OF THE AGE. There crystal streams forever flow, And ripple o'er the golden sands, And trees of life spontaneons grow- In balmy plains thronghout the land. ^^There cities stand aglow in white, With streets and walks of silvery pearl, And golden chandeliers of light Hnng in the skies all round the world ; And through the fields of boundless air, Upon the glittering winged Brongole, We sail around a world so fair That eyes of earth could not behold. ^^On gentle breeze the rich perfume Is wafted o'er the land and seas, And all the world perpetual bloom Throughout that paradise of ease." He put his Brongole in the air, On outspread wings of glittering gold, And sailed beyond this world of care, AVith scenes too grand for earth to hold. MRS. EMILY R. DAVIS. SONGS OF THE AGE. 81 IVIY LONG-FORGOTTEIM FRIEND, LENORE. Dedicated to My Wife. I met her when the evening train Came rolling from the highland wild. I loved her. I conld not refrain, Yet had not seen her since a child. When last we met 't was close of school, In the grand Exhibition Hall, When she was only ten years old. Yet wore a charm for one and all. 8ix years had passed, she was full grown. And robed in beanty, angel fair. I could not call this heart my own. When with a smile she met me tiiere. The train drew up. We, all aboard, Went gliding from each mountain bend, 'T was then she dropped the careless word By which I knew she was my friend. We met again in after days ; I loved her still, 't was very true, For she was lovely in her w ays. And all respect to her was due; 32 SONGS OF THE AGE. But half my heart belonged to one Whom I loved dearly long before, But thought perhaps her heart was gone. And I could win it back no more. For months had passed since last we met. And then I dreamed she loved no more. I tried to doubt her and forget, But still I loved as ne'er before. She then was nineteen summers old, And when we met love's cup was tilled. For I those smiles could then behold. And read in them she loved me still. 'T was not a word that she had spoke; 'T was not a sigh, 't was not a tear ; But in those eyes a tender look ; I knew she loved me, loved me dear. By magnet power love's golden chain Entwined my long divided heart. And by a pledge was bound the twain Through life to never, never part. So years rolled on, (fifteen or more,) Till old schoolmates were near forgot. SONGS OF THE AGE. 33 When in a dream I saw- Lenore Where last we met, or near that sj)ot. Oh! long-forgotten friend, Lenore, Hast thou no friend to soothe thy way? "Oh, no," said she, "but ask no more. And call on me another day." My heart grew sad, though all a dream, For still these words I pondered o'er, And still could see her by the stream. Where oft we strolled long years before. I dropped a note to friend Lenore, And soon received a kind reply. She wished to have me call once more ; She knew that she must shortly die. Oh, surely 't was not all a dream ; So I at once resolved to go. And soon I walked beside the stream Where in my dream I knew her woe. She met me at her father's door. With joy expressed in every smile ; But ah ! 't was not the once Lenore, Yet beauty lingered all the while. 34 SONGS OF THE AGE. And with a smile of calm repose She then referred to days of yore, Of youth's bright hope and cloud of woes, And then she paused and said no more. And w^hen the hour for evening train, As w^e stood by the cottage door. She asked me to return again. But a long farewell to friend Lenore. CONSOLATION. "Then He arose, and rebuked the wind, and the raging- of the water; and they ceased, and there was a calm.''— Luke viii, 2i. Oh, the Saviour speaks to me ! Lo ! He walks upon the deep ; Now He stills the troubled sea, At His will the billows sleep. Chorus. — We are sailing on life's sea. Soon w^e'll reach the golden shore ; Then, through all eternity, We shall praise Thee evermore. SONGS OF THE AGE. 65 Saviour, by Thy grace divine We escape the tempter's snare ; Precious Jesus, we are Thine ; Wilt Thou hear our humble prayer ? Cho. — We are sailing, &c. We have pushed from off the shore, Now to sail upon life's sea ; May Thy spirit guide the oar, For our strength must come from Thee. Cho. — We are sailing, &c. Oh, we praise Thy holy name. For the palm of victory, F^or the Lamb of Calvary slain. That from death we might be free. Cho. — We are sailing, &c. We are coming to Thy bar. Dear Lamb of Calvary; Faith beholds Thy glories there. And a crown laid up for me. Cho. — We are sailing, &c. SONGS OF THE AGE. THE STORE. In years past, twenty-two and more. My dreams led out to run a store ; And now, for thirty years and more, By day and night I've tramped the floor. I then was young, now old and gray ; Time like a dream has passed away. Some pages dark, some bright as day. With valued friends to cheer the way. •High on the shelf old ledgers pile Which fed on day-book all the while^ To mark the sales of city style For ladies, girls and baby child. Dishonest nature's own display Has left its index day by day. And strong bound ledgers stacked away Record the names who do not pay. Pen-holder brass, but peu-point gold. The brass worn through where fingers hold To charge the goods thus bought and sold. To rich and poor, to young and old. ^ONGS OP THE AGE. 87 The walmit desk is long on hand, Old show-case on new counter stand, New store room finished nice and grand, I now must leave to till the land. Friends, rich and poor, we hang the oar Upon the shore. To run the store 'Haps nevermore. The farm look o'er. By rake and mower, and timothy sower. . OH ! SHALL WE MEET ON HEAVEN'S SHORE? Presented to My Sister, Mrs. V. Langfitte. Oh ! shall we meet on heaven's shore Those loved ones who have gone before? My mother's star has never set, •Its beauty shines around me yet. The. harvest fields once brown and gold. There father reap'd in ages old. Alas ! his sickle falls no more ; Oh ! shall we meet on that bright shore ? 38' SONGS OF THE AGE. A brother, who had scarce known pain. Stood like a stalk of well formed grain ; Death's angel dipped his icy wing, And friendly hearts bled from the sting. A sister, with bright golden hair, A brother, bent with age and care, A host of friends, long since passed o'er; Oh ! shall we meet on that bright shore? A charming schoolmate, justly dear. Robed in her beauty, angel fair. Blooming in life's path like the rose That graces the stem on which it grows. Alas ! the reaper's sickle fell ; Alas ! a mournful funeral knell ; Alas ! my friend was seen no more ; Oh ! shall we meet on that bright shore ? I had a niece, with golden hair, And all who knew her loved her dear ; At noon of life I saw her fade. And on her cheeks a rose was laid. Which bloomed beneath the ringlets gold. Too charming fair for earth to hold. SONGS OP THE AGE. 89 We see that sweet bright face no more ; Oh ! shall we meet on that bright shore ? No tearless eye could view that face When death had closed her cheerful eyes ; Alas ! she slept with all her grace, As though death's veil were mere disguise. THUNDER. God heralds the lightning through the cloud, In tremulous tones and rolling loud ; Rolls on and strikes the ethereal bell, To ring the world's great funeral knell. The sun goes down like liquid gold, The cloud lifts up, and man beholds (irod's glory painted on the sky, Keflecting from the throne on high. 40 SONGS OF THE AGE. MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. Towering high in the western sky, Stands the Mount of the Holy Cross; And on this peak the cross so high, Stands like the world's diadem lost, Sculptured in traces bold and grand, ' In ages dark and all unknown. By Him who worketh not by hand. Yet set the eternal cross of stone. Set on this mount in silvery gray, Wrapped the golden sunset cloud. Unveiling at the dawn of day. With diamonds glitter grand and proud. On arms outspread the early morn Pours golden splendor from the sun, And all the ages yet unborn Shall find its course is never run. High on this pinnacle of stone. The kingly mountain of the world. There God has set His earthly throne. The Cross, His banner, there unfurled. SONGS OP THE AGE. 41 The Golden Gate now stands ajar, Men from the east are drifting by, And rays gleam from the golden star, Which leadeth to that Cross on high. The Cross of Calvary is lost; But Christ now sits upon the throne, Pleads for a world of sin and dross. And points it to the cross of stone. The unbelieving sinners, all. The Cross of Calvary disown ; Then gaze upon the mount so tall, And tremble 'neath the cross of stone, Which from pure ether grandly shines. To prove the holy written word. And on this seal the hand divine Has written, ''Holy is the Lord." Over the range to the Golden Gate, In splendor shines this living cross ; In sight of all men, small and great. The symbol of the sacred loss. ^1^^^ 42 SONGS OF THE AGE. O, SINNER, TURN! 0, sinner, turn ! why will you die, And lose a precious soul ? When there's a mansion built on high, Where streets are paved with gold. Our Saviour, who on Calvary died, Stands ready to receive ; His arms of love extended wide. And bids thee now believe. He died that sinful dust might live. And do we count the cost. Or will Ave souls to Satan give. Regardless of the loss ? Hqw bright the King of Glory shines. When sorrowing souls believe. Who hear the whisper, thou art Mine, From sin thy soul is freed. The cloud of darkness is removed ; Bright heaven shines around, And fills the soul with sacred love. And fits it for the crown. SONGS OF THE AGE. 43 The saints rejoice in heaven above, While angels hover o'er, The new-born soul, so full of love, AVhose God they all adore. Why will you, then, poor sinner, stay ? Salvation's offered free ; And God invites, while friends do pray, And this is all for thee. COLORADO. The world of nations haVe their kings. Where golden diadems glitter proud ; The King of States new glory brings. With crowning head high in the cloud. Colorado is the King of States, With crowns of gold wrapped in the sky, And from her w^alls the Golden Gate Is hinged on silver gleaming high. 44 SONGS OF THE AGE. Her mountain peaks are fringed with gold, Her walls are knit with silver strands, And silver brick just from the mould Are piled on pavements through the land. Her snow-capped peaks of purity Send health and long life through the vale. And ages of obscurity Are now the ages of the rail. With windings through the walls so tall. And grading up the mountain side, With power and room for one and all. Who on the rail may wish to ride ; Over the range they puff and blow. Ten thousand feet up in the sky. Pass all the clouds which drift below, And wrap in golden clouds on high. Tornado storms, in smutty sheet. Swift howl around the peak so high. But dip their wings beneath the feet Of those who may be on the fly. The golden rays flash from the sun, As nature sinks it down to rest. And when its course is fully run. All heaven is golden in the west. SONGS OF THE AGE. 45 The King of States, and king of all, With tallest peaks e'er crowned with gold, And deeper gorges, higher walls Than crown the Switzerland of old. Fertile valleys, crystal fountains. And many wide extending plains. Spread between her snow-capped mountains. Checkered with railroads and sweeping trains. THE DEER CHASE. The rolling hills were capped with snow, And deer were rambling high and low, A thunder's roar, mid timbers tall. When hunters lired the one ounce ball, A wounded deer had given chase. And not a man about the place. So mother took her curs and knife. To give the deer one chase for life ; The hills re-echoed music sounds. All different sounds from many hounds, 46 SONGS OF THE AGE. And louder, louder came the sounds, As forest hills they circled round. But centering to the crossing place, Where curs had often )von the race. Still louder bawled the trailing hound. And lo! the deer came bouncing round, Came loping, loping through the field, Where mother had her curs concealed. She loosed the chain, they scaled around. They seized and tore him to the ground ; She cut his throat, and stopped the sounds Of many yelping, yelping hounds. And o'er yon hill and through that vale The hounds came yelping on the trail. And lo ! a deer, with horns so tall. Could whip the trail hounds, curs and all ; Then brother and I down, down the vale ; The fight was up, he seized a rail, And with the yengeance of a fiend. He struck his horns ; his eyes turned green- And with more madness than before. He used his horns to plunge and gore. SONGS OF THE AGE. 47 Now all the dogs put in the chase. By this dread moment reached the place ; But he was champion over all, Eyes flashing green and horns so tall. Then brother rallied with his rail, His horns were splintered in his trail. And he came tumbling with a bawl. The dogs then seized him, one and all. Oh, could I live it o'er again. And hear the music of that train ! Long stretched across the hill and vale, All yelping, yelping on the trail. Now this recalls another scene, When summer spread her carpet green ; A smaller deer had given chase O'er field and fence, through father's place. The dogs were nipping at her heels, 'T was near the house just in the fields; I had two sisters there alone. But to the field they bravely ran. They reached the spot, the deer was down, And, in excitement, now said one : 48 SONGS OF, THE AGE. "Oh, cut its throat ! Be quick ! be quick !" IShe cut across, then tried to stick ; But, oh ! the deer began to bawl, 8he ran and screamed, climbed fences tall, And threw the bloody knife away. And lost her courasfe to this day. GOOD SEED. Presented to Mks. John Booth. (xood seed sown on the earth Shall ever bloom in heaven ; And while eternity rolls on Grow more beautiful and lovely. Variegating its tints With the golden skies Of the heavenly world. While the everlasting fountain. Which flows from the throne of God, Shall lift its golden spray In heavenly clouds. To fall like dew-drops On the never withering bloom Which shall live forever and ever. SONGS OF THE AGE. 49 LAZY JOHN. I met Miss Lily in the rain ; Her cheeks were fair and bright, And Cnpid's arrow caused a pain — I loved her dear at sight. She smiled a little as we passed ; My heart could not refrain, I loved her first, I loved her last, I loved her in the rain. I met Miss Lily's mother, then. Her friendship wished to gain ; I told her I was Lily's friend, I met her in the rain. She gave a look I'll ne'er forget ; " Do you mean to offend ? I fear, dear sir, you're too much set; Such rain-beau is no friend." 50 SONGS OP^ THE AGE. CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS. We're a band of Christian soldiers, Now enlisted for the war ; On the wheels of time are rolling To the land of light afar ; We shall fear no cannon's rattle, For our banner is unfurled, And our General rules the battle Through the nations of the world. Chokus. Then march along, happy throng, make no delay ; Call those by the wayside while it's called to-day ; Go tell them we are soldiers fighting for the Lord, And if they join our army they shall have the great reward. Yes, the teachers are our captains, And the school an army strong; Though our foe's arrayed in battle, Yet we fearless march along ; And we'll say to heathen nations : Come and join our army, too. SONGS OF THE AGE. 5^ Por this land is not our station, But we have a land in view. Cho. — Then march along, &c. From the heathen land of China To the wilds of Afric's plain, And through hills and vales of Syria, We should lengthen out our chain ; By the mission work our army May unfold her banners there, And the heathen souls of darkness May unite with us in prayer. Cho. — Then march along, &c. Then awake, ye that slumber ! Be ye always at your post. And we'll swell this happy number. Seeking heaven's boundless coast ; For our home's beyOnd the river. Where no sorrows ever come ; In that long and bright forever We shall rest with Christ at home. Cho. — Then march along, &c. ^2 SONGS OF THE AGE. A HAPPY DREAM. In shades of night a happy dream Once led me back to youthful days ; And in the ball-room beauty seemed To flash with smiles and grand displays. A cousin there I gladly met, With blooming cheeks and sparkling eyes A tender glance, expression sweet, And love which from all innocence rise. And we of course have not grown old ; We've simply slept thirty-tive years ; The love we knew has not grown cold, But wakes with joy and loving tears. IShe meets me with a loving smile. We dance as oft we danced before ; We love, but not in clipid's style — To meet the Parson on the floor. Yet we are single all the while, And talk of those we love so dear ; And have no secrets of a style Too good for each other to hear : SONCIS OF THE AGE. 53 And so we turn the golden page, And there we find a written line : ■^To my beloved I'm engaged ;" "And so," says she, "I am to mine." So at this little secret glance We both are more than happy still, The floor much softer for the dance. The music carries us at will ; But we would gladly leave the floor And talk of prospects sure and bright, When we should push from off the shore With double oar and boat so light. But, that fair angel, whom I loved. Had winged away to some bright shore, And in the happy crowd I moved. Was still alone, while on the floor. My hope was bright that we should meet On some fair shore of wedded bliss. Where golden sands might pave her street, And lips should meet no parting kiss. I then stepped back from out the dream ; My heart was beating quick and warm ; 54 SONGS OF THE AGE. The embers cast a timid gleam ; My angel's wing wrapped round my arm. The sands of life had rolled away, 'J'he years that stopped were in the dream ; They'd left their trail of silvery gray, In them my cousin had not seen. THIS WORLD'S RICHES. You may boast of your mountains^ Your valleys behold ; Of your herds and your fountains. Your silver and gold ; Of your million-built hall. Your cars on the rail, Your monuments tall, Your vessels on sail. Of your factory and mill, Y^our cities and town. Your gold in the hills. Where riches abound ; SONGS OP thp: age. 55 Of the smooth, fertile plains, Which spread in the West, And imagine all gains As riches and rest. But 't is all vain delusion ; Each gem has a snare, A fear of intrusion, A sting or a care ; For the only true wealth This world can define, With a share of good health, Is contentment of mind. RKRX I I. T 57 \ MISS LENO BELLE. Songs of the Age. LENO BELLE. Dedicated to Her Brother, Hon. William Jeffrey. The sun swept o'er hills far away. And morning splendor, bright as gold. Then painted nature with display Far as the eye can e'er behold ; The silvery dew-drops kissed the rose, Then slyly stole within its fold To wake it from its sweet repose And variegate with rainbow gold. The birds sang sweetly in the trees, And mournfully complained the dove — One representing life and ease. One representing loss of love ; All mingling sounds and lovely scenes Refreshed the shades on memory's wall. When school of youth was ever green, And Belle wore charms for one and all. 60 SONGS OF THE AGE. Alone I stood amid the tombs, Where sods were turned years long ago ; The heaping turf beneath the bloom Inclosed the sleeping dust below ; I read each stone with lifted head, Which bore each name in letters small ; But one I sought among the dead, Just one alone, and that was all. My search was long and seemed in vain, And I had changed my course to go ; Unconscious steps led back again. Ah ! why it was I do not know^ ; Impressions more than words could speak Then led me to a distant stone. And thus the name I there would seek Mysteriously to me was shown. What fairy hand had led me there, Ah ! I can never tell ; But 't w^as the name of the once fair In school, the charming Leno Belle ; And though the flight of time had marked Three years upon her lonely grave. And sealed that form deep in the dark. Yet felt a pang for beauty's slave. SONGS OF THE AGE. 61 THE LONESOME CHIEF. Ill days gone by, long years ago, A little crew sought for this land ; Their vessel sailed for weal or woe. Yet enterprise was great and grand ; And lo ! they found the gloomy shore, The home of unknown savage man, Which the dark forest clustered o'er From western gulfs to eastern sand. 'T was when the little winding streams. In lonesome murmurs, found their way Through shady groves, where sunlight beams Had never poured their golden ray ; And when the song of spring-time birds Were only heard by savage man. And when wild beasts, in groups and herds^ Were chased by yelling Indian bands. The chief then bartered with the whites, And sold his birthright for a bribe ; Released to them his forest rights. To seek the West with all his tribe ; <)3 S0NG8 OF thp: age. Tliev roamed the Mississippi wild, Exposed to death by winter's blast ; Their chief survived with but his child, Who drooped in spring and died at last. When he had hollowed out the bed That soon must hide that lovely face, He gazed upon the sleeping dead, The fairest bloom of all his race. Then kissed and laid her in the tomb ; She was his last and only friend ; And then he thought of childhood home. And what must shortly be his end. Again he sought the sea-wave home. The home his father's birthright gave. And there in tattered rags he roamed. Where once he sported with the brave ; And then, with bitterness of soul. His last and loud complaints were made, W^hile standing 'neath the oaks of old. Where wigwam beds in youth were laid : -" You drove me from my native wild. And slew the forest that I loved. SONGS OF THE AGE. 68 And now mj wife and only cliild Camp in yon moon, 'mid stars above ; And I, with burning tears, now stand To view my childhood's landscape o'er, Where all my tribe went heart and hand When first I knew this forest shore. *'You drove ns from yon seaside wave, That beautiful and lovely sea ; You drove us to the icy grave, Where all have sipped death's cup but me ; And soon I too must follow on. To scale the hills of yonder moon. Which is our destined hunting-ground ; There all must greet old chieftain soon." ECLIPSE OF THE SUN, AUGUST 7, 1869. The sun now hung a golden fringe Around the edges of the moon, And cast a shadow dark and dinge When shades of night were not in tune. 64 SONGS OF THE AGE. The stars looked through a gauzy veil, Dim shadows walked like ghosts at night. And darkness spread o'er hill and dale ; The heavens burnt a hidden light. The earth grew strangely pale and faint, The trees wore robes of millet green. The hills wore crowns like tints of paint, The rich-clad valleys trailed between. The birds now sung their evening song, The chickens bid the day good-bye, The night-owl hooted gruff and strong, Because the moon was in the sky. But soon swept on a daybreak scene ; The fowls and birds saw their mistake ; The earth awoke and dressed in green, The stars went out, 't was then daybreak. The owl Avent back to bed again. The rooster blew his daybreak horn, The birds sang sweet o'er hill and glen, And three P. M. was then the morn. SONGS OF THE AGE. 65 Mr. Wm. F. Davis, the warrior referred to in the follow- ing poem, was the father of the writer. He served in the War of 1812, in the command of General Harrison. THE WARRIOR'S FOREST HOME. Dedicated to President Harrison. The deathly clash of war had ceased, The Britain boys had left the shore ; The boys of ^12 were all released, The cannon's belch was heard no more. A soldier left the stage of war To seek a home 'mid forest gloom, Where oaks eclipsed the morning star. And savage beasts had made their home. A wild romantic woodland scene. Where crystal waters murmured low, And mountain peaks were ever green Through autumn days and winter's snow. No mark of skill in all that land, No woodsman knew the winding stream, But shadows fell so thick and grand. The scene was more a fairy dream. 66 SONGS OF THE AGE. That valley was the panther's home, And once the red man's hunting ground, Where squaws and warriors used to roam, And where their weapons still are found. There elk and deer, wild cats and bear. Grey fox and wolves were found ; The mink, the otter, coon and hare. Red fox and squirrel, also abound. And yet that lone ax-stroke w^as heard. And giant oaks fell to the ground. And soon a cabin-hut was reared Amid the gloom that hung around. The warrior, with his deathly gun, Ee-echoed thunder through that land ; But still the wolves refused to run Until they saw the fiery brand. With hideous howls they oft would come, When sheep were in their rugged pen, And force the dogs to seek a home, Then storm the fort within the glen. The old cock blew his daybreak horn. The hoot-owl heard his homespun note, And then away, in early morn. To seize and cut the stranger's throat. SONGS OF THE AGE. 67 But soon the varmints' grand retreat Were rolling fields of golden grain, And garden beds were blooming sweet Where giant oaks had just been slain. Though first to mark and pave the way In all that lonely vale of gloom, That Avarrior lived, when old and gray, And still that spot was then his home. 'T was my dear home in childhood's day ; There sweetly sung the lark at dawn. When all the fields were green in May, And frogs were croaking in the pond. The pheasant hid within the vale, And bravely beat his morning drum ; While in the stubble perched the quail That whistled round my cottage home. How dear those childhood scenes are now — The old gnarled oak, the grassy field. The orchard 'neath the mountain brow, The little brook and shady mill. The barn, the crib, the mossy well, The cottage home, the crystal stream. The song of birds, the distant bell — Kow seems as but a placid dream. SONGS OF THE AGE. IN HEAVEN WE SHALL SEE THEM. A beauteous child was Ida V., Whose dust now in the grave-yard lies ; Her rosy cheeks were fair to see, And bright as stars her dark blue eyes^ And softly curled her golden hair, Like gilded clouds in distant skies ; But sadly now her vacant chair Stands empty, since its owner dies. Like music soft, we heard her voice,. Like angel fair, we saw her form In childish play and sport rejoice ; Alas ! from us too soon she's torn. Oh! could we see that dimpled hand. Those pleading looks, which haunt us stilly As she asked her mamma, from the pan Her little painted cup to fill. Where are the toys with which she played. Where are her little hat and dress ? Her toys are in the drawer laid. With hat and shoes, and all the rest. SONGS OF THE AGE. I know for her we shall not weep, For doubtless she has gone to rest ; Her soul in silence doth not sleep — God called her home, He thought it best. Again, a dark and lonely night. When earth and air were hushed and still, In shades of gloom and dim moonlight, Again death's cup for us was filled. Around the snow^-white couch we stood. And w^atched the cheeks in death turn pale. And tried in vain to give relief, And call him back from out the vale. A lovely boy, two summers' old, Then passed from us and earth aw^ay ; How soon the treasures which we hold Slip from our grasp, and seek decay ! But faith beholds these loved ones fair. Those Jew^els which our hearts have worn. Transformed into a lovely pair Of angels, near the Father's throne. It sees them walk the gold-paved streets, In robes of glory, hand in hand, 70 SONGS OF THE AGE. And, with the sainted ones, there meet Who long before passed to that land. It sees their glory-gilded wings, Their golden harps and starry crown s^ And hears the peaceful songs they sing. Where toil and pain no more are found. AUTUMN DAYS. Dedicated to My Youngest Daughter, Ethel, "Oh ! sing to me of Autumn days, The crowning beauties of the year, Where eyes can feast upon the haze Of gold and crimson, green and sear."^ How can we sing of Autumn days. When Nature robes herself to die. Though beauty crowns the morning rays, And gold-tipped mountains kiss the sky ? But who could sing of beauty now, Without the sadness in the soul ? When hills must fade from foot to brow. And dross replenish crowns of gold. SONGS OF THE AGE. 71 True, beauty lingers on each hill, And fills the soul with pure delight ; But there's a thought, far deeper still : The brightest ray must end in night. The crimson hills and mountains high, With tints of gold and blendings green. The painter's art do all defy — 'T would blush to even sketch the scene. But Nature has an artist old. Who, with a finger's touch of snow. He sprinkles earth, tints it gold. And paints the hills and valleys low. But soon must all this blush of gold And fleecy robe, that touch the sky, Fall at the feet "of those of old. And Nature's beauty then must die. The author of the above lines resides in the mountains of West Virginia, the scenery of which- conduces to the lofty- flights of sublime imagery. The soul is there ever thrilled by those scenes which superinduce poetry and oratory. — Tom Wash Smith, in The Baltimore Herald. 72 SONGS OF THE AGE. PAYTON'S RIDE. Dedicated to Mr. Tom Wash Smith, Editor of The Baltimore Herald. Far up the stream a hero stood, While crushing, rumbling, came the flood ; With steed at hand he mounted high, Down, down the stream he raised the cry: ^^Fly for your life ! ' the flood is nigh ! The lake's death-w^ave is rolling high !" On, on he rode, with fearless speed, While frothing, foaming, flew his steed. Swift on his track came rumbling sounds ; High on the wav(3S came floating tow^ns, AVith living, dying, and the dead,- And shrieking, crying, on they sped. The hero's horse, wdth swdft-plied feet, Flew wildly thro' the Johnstow^n streets ; ^^The dam has burst !" he loudly cried, "And towns are floating on the tide ! "Fly for your life ! the river's wrath Is sweeping dowai a deadly path !" And onw^ard flew^ the hatless man ; "Fly for your life! the flood 's at hand!'' SONGS OF THE AGE. 73 The surging crowd rushed out to see Who this wild maniac could be ; No one knew him, and some few fled, While others, smiling, felt no dread. A clash ! a rush ! a sullen roar ! Down on the town mad waters pour. Strong buildings, like a flimsey shell, Went crushing as the current fell. And, in the twinkling of an eye, A myriad victims, doomed to die, Were struggling 'gainst the foaming wrath Which swallowed all within its path. Eine parlors, halls, and pleasant homes. Were swept like chaff out on the foam. Eich daughters grasped their bands and chains. And diamond rings, and life- time gains ; And lovely mothers, young and fair. And aged ones, with silvei-y hair — All struggling in the deathly waves Which dealt no mercy for its slaves. A rumbling roar, a grinding sound ; He turned his steed from ill-fate ground. 74 SONGS OF THE AGE. And urged him on for nearest hills — But waves had crushed the town and mills. And swept them on tornado speed, And swallowed up the foaming steed. Brave herald, horse, and all, went down With ruins of the late Johnstown. ''God save the rider !" the people cried. As he went flying down the tide. The prayer was heard — the angry wave Eelaxed its grip, gave up the brave Who risked his life to warn the town. That they might flee, tho' he be drowned. A nobler act, or famous d^ed, Was never known on ship or steed. America should stamp three crowns — One for Sheridan, one for Collens Gray, And one for Pay ton, who warned the towns When a myriad souls were swept away. Let history now record his name — A Paul Eevere, a hero brave. Who caps the pinnacle of fame By swift-plied feet before the wave. SONGS OF THE AGE. 75 Mr. Davis has a true harp somewhere in the reverberating valley of his mountain home. He writes poetry as naturally as a brook rolls along to a cascade, some of which will live when he has passed away. The fearless rider who carried the signal of danger to the innocent victims, all unconscious of impending woe, will go into history as imperishable as the unwritten law of human emotion. So long as the heart- beats count quicker numbers at the recital of deeds of daring,, just so long will this herald of danger be on the tongue of thrilling stories, and that means forever, or as long as time knows her calendar. Mr. Davis gives out a hint which no doubt is in crayon sketches in many a studio in this broad domain, even while he writes of it. We do not have on our walls the portrait of any hero of ancient or modern times. We worship God, and not man or mammon. But when the painter gives us the picture of that messenger riding to his death, for aught he knew, that others might live, we want a copy of that man on the foaming steed, whose deep pathos is the strongest evidence of the heart that is filled with rap- turous concern for the weal of others ; and that interest is above estimate, for it is the affinity, or kinship, of man with his Maker, or, as the theologian would tell you, the full corn in the ear. — Tom Wash Smith, in The Baltimore Herald. 76 SONGS OF THE AGE. "The Lonely Window" and "The Answer" is a por- tion of a play written by the author of this book, in which Mrs. Taylor Ward, (then about twenty-one years of age,) represented " Nellie," and in which she showed remarkable talent for the stage. The writer of the play represented "" Col. Whitaker ;" " Nellie " and himself taking the leading parts, assisted by twenty-two ladies and gentlemen. The play represented the separation, the absence of three years, and the return. THE LONELY WINDOW. Dedicated to Mrs. Taylor Ward. By the lonely window sit I here And listen to the autumn sigh, While shining hosts of stars so fair, Bedeck the soft ethereal sky ; Their beauties call to mind again The absent friend, so dear to me, Which fills my lonely heart with pain. And wafts my thoughts across the sea. I watch the slowly setting sun. And hail with joy the morning ray. Each moment nearing your return ; Thus time drags wearily away ; SONGS OF THE AGE. 7T And when alone, I think of thee, And pray that God may spare your life, And guide you safely back to me — Your lonely friend, your faithful wife. And in the silent shades of night. When gilded moon shines soft and fair^ In some bright dream again take flight To China — for my heart is there. But when I waken from my dream, I find a lonely, vacant chair ; Oh ! could I fly across the stream. How gladly would I meet you there. THE ANSWER. SONG OF THE SHIPWRECK. 'T was calm and still upon the sea. Blue skies without a cloud, x\nd all on board sang merrily. While through the deep we plowed ; But soon we saw terrific clouds. And vivid lightning flash ; 78 SONGS OF THE AOE. 'Xeath thunder's howl the ocean bow'd, And waves began to splash ; Then mid-night darkness Eclipsed the noon-day sun, While mountain waves came rolling back, And lo ! our sails were gone. But still we heard the thunder's roar Amid the wind-torn clouds, While rain in torrents downward pour'd. And every knee was bow'd ; We sank beneath the rolling waves Which swept our naked deck. Then rose again, and all were saved. Though but a fearful wreck. Then raging billows Swept us on the shore. It seem'd that all the timbers broke. Amid one crash and roar. We drifted there upon the shore. When starving seem'd our doom, It was an isle w^here long before A crew was left to roam. Their bleaching bones were near the wreck. Their sails had crumbled down. SONGS OF THE AGE. 79 And just beneath the shattered deck Their pearls and gold were found. Oh ! horrid picture, Which hangs on that dread shore, It seemed our doom was sure the ^anie, (Three hundred men or more). Por days we watched the rolling sea, With but scant rations drawn, When lo ! the flag of liberty Was seen in early dawn ; They were my faithful navy boys. In search of our lost crew. Whose hearts were glad and full of joy. When near our wreck they drew. Out on the ocean Again we quickly sailed, With milk and wine our bowls to fill. While we rove through the gale. We then returned to China's shore, With gems which we had found While on this isle, where long before A wreck was thrown aground. But now my thoughts return to thee ; Sure I would give my gold 80 SONGS OF THE AGE. To hear thee speak one word to me^ Or half thy charms behokl. Oh I clearest Nellie, Do not weep for me, The time is short when I again Your lovely face shall see. My dearest wife, weep not for me. My stay will soon be o'er, Then I shall plow the rolling sea. To my loved native shore. I long to meet with you, my dear^ Thy lovely features trace. And wipe away the briny tears That stealeth down thy face. Then, dearest Nellie, Do not weep for me. My vessel soon shall plow again The rough and rolling sea. SONGS OF THE AGE. 81 DEAR BESSIE OF OHIO. ^o\v, boys and girls, this is for you, And sure it is a story true, The cause for it we could not tell — Perhaps some owl knew very well. 'T was night, and I accompanied late Miss Bessie, of Ohio State. Dear Bessie was a pretty girl, I loved her best in all the world. As I was young, and knew no better. And she disposed to chat still later. My love grew deeper all the while — Por she was witty, and dressed in style — And on her smiles she wore a charm. Which plainly said she knew no harm ; So Cupid's arrow, first and last, Had pierced my heart and bound it fast. For hours the folks had gone to bed — Her mother's room just over head — The clock had marked the hour of ten. When flying, squalling, came a hen, Came dashing 'gainst the parlor door ; Then all was still, we heard no more ; 82 SONGS OP THE AGE. ^ A flying turkey thumped the wall, And on the ground we heard it fall. Another fell, thump ! in the yard. Her mother screamed, "Oh, my dear Lord I For God's sake, Bessie, go and see What all that clattering can be !" Then flying guineas made such a noise, Disturbed the slumber of the boys ; With lamp in hand, they all came down. Old lady in a long white gown. Then Bessie, dear, to my surprise. Hung her sweet hands close o'er my eyes ; But in the yard they hunted round, And turkeys, chickens, guineas found; Some were dead, and some were dying. Others squalling, others flying ; But, all in all, it was a time I never told, but now, in rhyme. But, as the ages creep along, I place dear Bessie in my song. And take a glimpse back in the past. When loved her first and loved her last. SONGS OF THE AGE. 83 Did I go back, yon mean to say ? Oh no ! ne'er saw her from that day, But often wished to be surprised By her sweet hands hnng o'er my eyes. But then, perhaps, if we should meet. The fowls might flutter at our feet, A sacrificial offer make. To mean their dying for our sake ; But let the cause be what it might, The trouble came that fatal night. And we took warning, there and then. To never, never meet again. Now, boys, this is a hint for you. And sure it is a story true. For Cupid's arrow, like a dart. Goes piercing thro' the youthful heart. But leaves behind a road of thorns, Never stops and never warns, But, like the story I have told, Oft leaves its victims in the cold. You know the welcome strains of our Highland friend, whose songs are so full of pathos and happy symphony. We wish he would write more frequently.— Tom Wash Smith, in The Baltimore Herald. 84 SONGS OF THE AGE. CENTENNIAL YEARS. Dedicated to My Son-in-Law, Attorney A. L. Taylor. As time moves on, from stage to stage, The great events of years gone by Live in the heart of this great age As treasured gifts from God on high. Centennial Year of Seventy-Six Was crowned with arts from all the world, And kings and statesmen intermixed 'Neath freedom's flag, proudly unfurled. And all the nations, far and near, Loaned helping hands to celebrate Events of that Centennial Year Which formed the great United States. Our flag, in years one hundred old. There waved o'er greatest skill on earth. While kingly nations, grand and old. Were dross beside our nation's worth. The Corliss, run by Fulton's steam. The nations spoke by Morse's wire ; Now Edison sends a wond'rous gleam More brilliant than the sun or fire. SONGS OI*' THE AGE. 85 The crown is due Columbia's land For use of steam and lightning wire, The telephone, from Edison's hand, And city lights by friction fire. The next in turn comes Eighty-Nine, The President Centennial Year, Events of which may now remind ' The Revolutionary tear. 'T was then the mighty hero came Who led the great victorious war — He figured high in national fame To shield the flag which bore the stars. He comes through towns ablaze with fire. His path is strewn with maiden's flowers. Triumphant arches fringed on wire. In honor of the eventful hours. He comes, the mighty Father comes. Vast armies crowd and cannons roar. The way is cheered by fife and drum And armies that he led before. He comes — he steps upon the stage, He takes the oath as Freedom's King, 86 SONGS OF THE AGE. Or Euler, of that happy age When freedom's songs began to ring. He comes — four million freemen stand To welcome him who victories won, And severed Britain's iron band — He comes — and lo ! 't is Washi:n'GTO]s^ ! And now the Century Year is done ; A sixty million nation hails With pride the day its years begun, When Federal Hall the Chief unveiled. From thence the national sky was clear. The ship, complete, launched on the seas, And now she's sailed one hundred years. With victory cf^owning every breeze. All hail ! Columbia's Freedom hail ! Let now another century run. And may the ship stem every gale And warlike storm that clouds her sun, 'Till kingly crowns shall rust and fall. And monarchs blush with national shame. And may the Goddess grow so tall That all the world may see the flame. SONGS OP THE AGE. 87 DISCOVERY OF ELK CREEK. Through dreamy woods two hunters strolled, Where man had never trod before, And through the forest, gray and old, A river bent around the shore ; And as they neared the silvery stream. They looked down thro' the mossy wood. And in the centre of the scene A herd of forest cattle stood. The woodsman fired ; one, bleeding, fell ; They slightly stirred, but no alarm, Whence came the roar they could not tell, But never dreamed of slightest harm. They knew not death by weapons small ; They often heard the thunder's roar. And rumbling timbers as they fell — But deadly rifles, ne'er before. Again they fired, and still they fell ; They heard their bleeding comrades groan. But how came death they could not tell. Yet all the herd was dead save one; SONGS OF THE AGE. He shook his woolly mane and fled. Affrighted by the odious smell, But circled round his bleeding dead ; The woodsman fired, the seventh felL And then they neared the river's shore. Which bent its course thro' forests deep. Where man had never roamed before. And all the forests seemed to sleep. The timbers bent far o'er the stream. And clustered down the rustic shore. The noon-day sun was but a gleam Through forest shades in streaks to pour. "Hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo, wah !" cried the owl. Arousing from his sleepy den ; The wolf had raised a hideous howl, The panther screamed at sight of men ; Thousands of years those vales had slept. Yet murmuring rivers still had flown. Bright Summer smiled and Winter swept O'er lands of mineral, oil and stone. SONGS OF THE AGE. 89 SON BILLY. When scorching fever seized my head, Son Billy kindly came to me, He thought it was my dying bed. And he a farm could plainly see. "Dear father, how are you ?" he said ; "Do you my aid or presence need ?'^ He knew of my unconscious head — He asked me then to make a deed. I knew not what my hand had done Until my raging fever ceased; Ah ! soon my troubles then begun, And long adieu was bid to peace. Son Billy came to me one day — ^T was at my quiet home of ease — He told me there I could not stay, But pull my stakes and leave the keys. I asked Son Billy what he meant, Thus driving me from friends and home ? "You have no means to pay your rent. So Tom, my son, has fixed to come." ^)0 SONGS OP THE AGE. I told Son Billy 't was my home, That I should never, never go. Said he, "My deed has sealed your doom. And I will shortly let you know." I asked him what he meant by deed, When from his pocket he withdrew A paper, and said, "Now take heed While I this writing read to you." ^^My God !" said I, "is that my hand ?" "Oh, yes," said Bill, " 't is even true." ^'So you are owner of my land, And not a cent to me is due !" I 'then revealed this to my wife. For she was old and feeble, too. And had no means to sustain life. And not a cent to her was due ; But yet Son Billy drove us out To seek a home where'er we could ; AYe knew not how to go about To beg for lodging, clothes and food. But friends then told us what to do : We sued Son Billy for our farm ; SONGS OF THE AGE. 91 And then he said, "Now, as 't is you, I'll feed and clothe yon ; fear no harm." So Tom gave up our house again, And gladly we returned once more ; Eut Billy still kept all our land. And used us worse than e'er before. For years we lived in sore distress, Half clothed, half fed ; and Billy said It cost too much to keep us dressed. And often wished we both were dead. My wife was good and kind to me. Provided meals as best she could, Eut tears would start sometimes at tea. When table scant before us stood. At last wife's son, who knew the way Son Billy always treated us, dame for my dear to go away. And rid her of the lasting fuss. I could not say, "dear wife, don't go"; ISTo, I preferred to die alone. That we might not grieve Billy so To dig both graves and spare the room. 92 SONGS OF THE AGE. My life was spent a home to gain, But now, because my head is gray,. A bed of thorns to ease my pain, A frown, a curse, a rent to pay. The heathen mobs respect gray hairs, The savage beasts have hearts within. But aged parents, bent with cares. Are drove from home without a sin. KITTY AND THE MOUSE. "Oh ! ma, my little kitty To-day brought in a micGy It never looked so pretty, And never played so nice. The mouse would skip around,. My kitty then would run And box the fellow down. Yet did it all in fun. "The mouse was swift to learn. And then it stood on end. SONGS OF THE AGE. 98 And tried to box in turn, Himself thus to defend. I wish you'd seen it, ma. For it from end to end Was less than kitty's paw. Yet ready to defend. •'I'm sure my kitty laughed. To see its tiny feet Half lifted, in behalf The fate it feared to meet. Then mousey bounced around, And kitty boxed his tail. But soon a hole was found. And mouse slipped kitty's nail. "Poor kitty looked so bad, I'm sure 't was almost sick. But I was really glad The mouse had played the trick, For cruel little kitty. It loves to skip and play, And never stops to pity Whate'er should be its prey." 94 SONGS OF THE AGE. ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. Dedicated to Mrs. Brell Corpning. Alas ! Earth^s brightest gem is gone ; And once again the tolling bell For her was rung, so loud and long, The mountains echoed back farewell. While sadness filled the dreamy air, And fields of nature seemed to mourn,. Because the belle of all the fair From earth and friends away was torn. Alas ! alas ! she sleepeth now. Amid the tombs beneath the clay. While golden locks bedeck the brow. So pale and fleeting fast away. This mirrored shadow of that form. Though sweetly fair, with ringlets gold,. Is but a feint of nature's charm, W^ith eyes revealing love untold. Oh, piercing eyes ! my very soul ^ow shrinks beneath thy ardent gaze,. SONGS OF THE AGE. 95 For all thy cliarms I still beheld, And read in them of gone-by days. The days when Cupid's magic power Had stamped this inrage on my heart,. And in return that blissful hour, She took with me a lover's part. Though lovers still were only friends,, Yet of a stamp forever true. But fate decrees and friendship ends,. Still forms appear in brighter hue. LAMENTATION. Dedicated to Mrs. Charley Hill, Gallipolis, Ohio.. We often shed a burning tear When thinking o'er the past ; While friends so dear doth linger near„ Sad thoughts come rushing fast. Amid the thorny branch we find Sweet flowers fresh and gay ; S6 SONGS OF THE AGE. So kindred friends, beloved and kind, Make bright the gloomy- day. There 's something in a kindred love That words cannot express ; We feel this pang when dear ones leave- Bound for the "Golden West" Yet, fated thus, it seems to be That friends most dear must part ; So chilling sighs are felt for thee. And sadness fills the heart. That merry birds may sweetly sing, And flowers look fresh and gay ; Yet painful partings leave a sting For time to wear away. The rose-tint cloud in beauty swells Beneath the starry gleam. Then vanish, like that hope which tells Us pleasure 's but a dream. SONGS OF THE AGE. 97 THE AMERICAN EAGLE. This nation's bird a liome doth seek Where craggy cliffs stand towering high, And honors bnt the hoary peaks That seem to kiss the distant sky ; And when she spreads her golden wings To bear her onward through the gale, She soars away beyond the ring Of village bells throughout the vale. This was her home when heathen gloom Had run its course from sea to sea, And nations dreamed there was no room To plant a flag of liberty ; But sons of England plowed the wave. And pitched their tent in heathen lands. While England followed to enslave. And bound them Avith her iron bands. In cabin homes for years they dwelt, While bowing to the British crown ; Oppression sore, long years they felt. Till yielding place no more they found. 98 SONGS OF THE AGE. With one accord they boldly spoke, And cried aloud for liberty ; Determined to throw off the yoke, And lighting, die, or else be free. With Washington placed at the head, The father of our happy land. The starry blue and eagle led That gallant little patriot band. They saw old Britain's flashing steel, And heard the cannon's sullen roar ; Yet dashed they o'er the gory Held With shouts of " Onward to the shore !" The God of Victory crowned their blows. They drove them back o'er land and sea. They humbled low our haughty foes, And gave this land to liberty. Thus brave and true, with numbers small. They drove the British from our shore. And raised our eagle banner tall. That here shall wave forever more. She led them through the cruel war. To victory's undying fame. SONGS OF THE AGE. 99 And then amid the thirteen stars She perched to rest and to remain. May God forbid that she shall fall Disgracefully and lose her trust, Or freedom's banner, shield of all, Be soiled or trampled in the dust. For it protects brave freedom's land, The proudest nation in the world. The States are knit by union band. And pledged to keep the stripes unfurled. The roaring tide of wealth rolls on From State to State, and sea to sea. And as the sun crowns each new dawn, New millions crown homes of the free. We envy our poet friend; his home is soul-inspiring, and we cannot wonder that he should occasionally strike his harp with metres akin to immortal bards of sculptured fame. — Tom Wash Smith, in The Baltijiiore Herald. 100 SONGS OF THE AGE. T IS MY ONLY KITTY, MOTHER. Tune— "Infant School." Now is it not a pity, For a little child as I, To send my little kitty Out in the cold to cry ? Chorus. — Oh ! I can't let it go, Out in the cold and snow ; I love my little kitty so, I cannot let her go. Oh ! mother, please to let it be. It sings to me so sweet. And in the morning you shall see It prance around my feet. Cho. — Oh ! I can't let it go, &c. It lays its feet upon my breast. And sleeps with me content. Now, mother, how could kitty rest. If in the snow its sent? Cho. — Oh ! I can't let her go, &c. SONGS OF THE AGE. 101 You know that kitty catches mice, Out 'neath the old barn floor, Then skips along o'er snow and ice, To reach my bed-room door. Cho.— Oh ! I can't let her go, &c. Then cover up your kitty dear, I could not make it go. And have my darling Avaste a tear For kitty in the snow. Cho. — No, I can't make it go, And grieve my darling so ; You love your little kitty so, I can't make it go. I thank yon now, my dearest mother, And kitty thanks you, too. For it will sleep with me and brother. While papa sleeps with you. Cho. — For I can't let it go, &c. 102 BONGS OF THE A(IE. MYSTERY. A Scene on the Writer's Farm. A little brook, with beauties grand, Comes rippling from a mountain spring. And winds its way o'er stone and sand Through woods where birds melodious sing. Through time unknown to days of man. This murmuring stream has found its way, And cut a ravine through the land, A link in nature's grand display. And interwoven timber bends In wreathy arches o'er the walls, Through which this little brook descends. To make its leap down o'er tlie falls. It rushes down its winding stair, A bold and sparkling silvery sheet ; It sends its mist into the air. And forms a rainbow at its feet. By little streams the chasm cliff Is worn to grains of drifting sand. And angry waters foam and drift Through wonderous wall not made by hand. SONGS OF THE AGE. 103 And man looks back throngh time unknown To date the wonderous streamlet hand, Which sculptured chasm wall of stone, And wore its chips to grains of sand. But could the work a life had done Be seen by eyes of mortal man. The sands that crumble one by one Could equal not the busy hand. Though life is short, man leaves the stage. As though his wonderous work was done. Another man, another age. Proves that his work has just begun. So like the mystic cataract stream Which flows a myriad years through sand, The world 's adrift by light and stream, The work of ages, brain and hand. 104 SONGS OF THE AGE. THE MAN WHO NEVER STOPS TO THINK. The man who never stops to think, Nor count the valued time that 's lost, Oft chews tobacco, smokes or drinks. Regardless of result or cost. The man who never stops to think Just how to manage business best. Rush heedless down the ruinous brink Of bankruptcy and un success. The man who never stops to think How much he spends or what he makes, Is apt to make a gradual sink Down, drifting to a ruinous break. The man who never stops to think That educated men must work. Is wasting time with all fools in Just learning how with ease to clerk. SONGS OF THE AOE. 105 A LESSON. A lesson might be learned from word : A large fine steer within my herd Stands near the stack, and never bawls, But watch the fork, when first it falls. He stands by the first bunch of hay. While others hook around and play ; He never runs and tramps around. And tramps the hay in muddy ground ; He eats, while others run and bawl. And seeks for bunches not so small. He's always fat, smooth, sleek and round. While others lank would seem unsound. A lesson here there is no doubt. If you will try to find it out. ■ M/. I RKRT III. Jin 107 MRS. JOSIE B. TAYLOR. Songs of the Age. THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL. Dedicated to Mj- Daughter, Mrs. Josie B. Taylok. 109 Fare thee well, my dearest mother, Love's strange fancy bids me go ; Sad to leave thee for another, Yet I could not answer no. Friends most dear now linger round me. Oh ! this pain words cannot tell ; Childhood's home, how dear I love thee, Yet I bid thee all farewell. Kindred friends and friends of childhood, And the scenes I loved so well. Cluster round me like the Avildwood Fringing round tlie little dell. Golden forest of the highland. Spring time birds Avith thrilling song, Bold rushing stream o'er bars and sand, Cheered my life when years seemed long. 110 SONGS OF THE AGE. The landscape painting 'gainst the wall, Beneath the frescoed ceiling, Which made impressions while yet small, Before my eyes are stealing. Yet I must leave thee, and forever. Trust myself to another's care. Yet our hearts we cannot sever, I shall ever love thee dear. Then, dear mother, will you miss me. When the well known lamps are lit, And will you wait for me at tea When the table chairs are set? Though I shall not hear thy sweet voice. While with new friends I may roam. Yet shall be happy with my choice. And wish for thee at my home. SONGS OP THE AGE. HI MAMMOTH CAVE. Beneath the rock, dark as the grave, Where endless rivers flow, Kentucky boasts the Mammoth Cave, And waters pure as snow. 1^0 eye hath seen its fountain rise. Yet fish swim in the stream — But destitute are they of eyes, For light hath never gleamed. It is a world within a world. And who can tell how vast ; Twelve miles exploring crews unfurled Their banner in the past. A voice of many waters speak Of danger 'neath the walls. And further man would fear to seek, 'Mid caves and roaring falls. What style of man beyond the shore Of that dark, raging stream, Is for the Fairies to explore. And paint in golden dream. 112 SONGS OF THE AGE. UNCLE SAM. Now, Uncle Sam a bride he took, To represent his wealth and pride ; She turns the pages of his book, And finds no nation by his side. She stands arrayed in bridal robe. The style of crown she there would bring, She looks out over all the globe. And plucks a quill from eagle's wing. She looks above our nation's head. The nation's emblem there unfurled ; She reads the lines — blue, white and red — The proudest nation of the world. The Goddess standing by her side Sends light of freedom o'er the world ; She looks away across the tide. To bless the flag that France unfurled. And so they standeth, three in one, Representing power, wealth and fame. To hold the Union as begun, But adding fuel to the flame. SONGS OF THE AGE. 113 Old England's envy liveth long, And Uncle Sam doth know it well ; He stands, with sixty millions strong, Her useless noise and boasts to quell. The Lion stands on England's shore, Growling at the American Bear ; The Bear fears not his hideous roar. While Stars and Stripes float in the air. SOUTH CAROLINA'S FIRST BALL. At Washington, in Relic Hall, Amid the relics quaint and old, We saw Carolina's challenge ball. Which set the war train, death, to roll. Two balls flew from two warriors' guns — One from the Gray, one from the Blue- Met in the air, weld into one, Symboling North and South anew. ^ 114 SONGS OF THE AGE. THE AWAKENING OF THE SOUL. Presented to Rev. J. L. Hoffman, A. M. The silvery dew-drops kissed the rose, Then slyly steals Avithin its fold, To wake it from its sweet repose, And variegate with rain-bow gold. The voice of conscience, ever still, Yet whispers to the sin-dark soul ; The soul awake, with love is filled. And heavenly pages unfold. The germ which seemingly was dead. Like rose-buds, which the dew-drops kiss. Awakes to feed on living bread And drink the wine of heavenly bliss. SONGS OP THE AGE. - 115 Had I the oratorical powers of a Webster, and the genius of a Shakespeare, I could, never paint the scene nor describe the sweet and charming ring of the song, as it appeared in this wonderful dream. It was simply beyond all human imagination. STRANGE BUT TRUE. Presented to Prof. Rufus Holden. Once in the silent shades of dream, I saw a strange but glorious sight : A silvery cloud hung in a gleam, The heavens burnt with golden light. The clouds moved slowly in the sky, But grading down, adown it came ; A moment then, and stopped on high, And disappeared like blown-out flame. It left a troop on angel wings. Who, like a cloud, slight seemed to rise ; They tuned their silvery tongues to sing. While floating through the golden skies : 116 SONGS OF THE AGE. "I will arise and go to Jesus ; He will embrace me in His arms ; In the arms of my dear Saviour, Oh ! there are ten thousand charms." Oh ! Lord, that I could sing that song ; That men of earth might hear the sound As it reached from that throng, While up they rose and circled round. » Their song is one we know so well. And often sung at church by choir. When new-born souls their glory tell, As light gleams from the heavenly fire. Their song grew loud, and louder still; My soul was charmed with sound and sight ; Their golden wings, slight moved at will. Their brightness burnt the shades of night. Then round and round, away on high. Their song grew faint, but sweeter still ; They climbed the stairway of the sky. To reach bright heaven's golden hill. SONGS OF THE AGE. 117 Their forms grew small, and smaller still ; Their song stopped with a bell-ring tone ; They lit upon the golden hill, Where silvery streets lead to the throne. Then of this vision all was gone ; The heavens closed the golden light ; Yet, tranquilly, the song went on, Through happy slumbers of the night. I saw no more, but heard the ring. And many days and weeks passed by, And still I heard the angels sing Behind that painting in the sky. MY OWN BRONZY, DEAR. Let me go, let me go. To my own native home. Where the light bark we row, And the wild forest roam. 118 SONGS OF THE AGE. Where my own Bronzy, dear, And our papoosey, Blone, Watch and wait for my care, Or they die there alone. There the bright, shiny moon Through the forest so deep. Sends the bear and the 'coon To our field while we sleep. And my own Bronzy, dear. Has no strength for the bow. The wild varmints to clear. So, dear braves, let me go. There the beautiful stream Flows through the wild glen, And the theme of our dream, No harm the pale-faced men. But we show friendly face, And we treat white man kind. And ^ve go to the place Where the game they do find. SONGS OF THE AGE. 119 And my own Bronzy, dear, With a heart pure as snow, Drops for them friendly tear, So, white braves, let me go. Go thy way, red man's son. Seek thy own Bronzy, dear, And with thee take my gun. The wild varmints to clear. ROSY HILL. Love thoughts come stealing o'er my brain, As dreams run back to youthful days, And wish to live life o'er again, 'Mid lovely scenes so far away. 'Mid rolling fields and widening plain, And golden forest fringed with pine. Near Kosy Hill there I'd remain. And that dear Forest should be mine. 120 SONGS OF THE AGE. I loved those shades, I loved those plains ; I loved that grove above the mill ; I loved the pines arching the lanes, But most of all loved Kosy Hill. There was a-bloom a sweet bower Eose, And of the form there was no ill ; The son there set, the son there rose, For that fair Kose bloomed on a Hill. And this fair Hill was just at home. Beyond the plain, with forest deep, Where moonbeams lit the path we roamed. When ghostly shadows seemed to creep. The rising son there kissed the Rose, And Rosy blushed like burnished gold, And then a hue of sweet repose Told more than shades or blush unfold. Ohio boasts of widening plains. Of rivers bold and sites to build ; But of them all, it still remains That I preferred the Rosy Hill. SONGS OF THE AGE. 121 I rambled o'er the mighty plain, With swamp and bog and rippling rill ; West Virginia stealing o'er my brain, I'd risked my life to gain a Hill. TO MRS. J. HAMILTON, Maysville, Kentucky. This mirrored shadow in the frame, A faint resemblance of thy charm. When beauty won for thee a name. Unstained by fault, unstained by harm. Thy youthful bloom, expression sweet, A loving glance from lovely eyes. Still bears a charm for those they meet, Which from pure innocence can rise. Oh, happy man who shares thy love, And blessed be thy daughters still. Who seek the power from above. To love thee more and do thy will. 122 SONGS OP THE AOE. And blessed be thine only son, Whose business life just now is new ; Long may his prosperous business run, And live for self, but more for you. Oh, lovely scenes so far away. When you and I were scarce nineteen. The pleasures of that youthful day Have lived like shades of evergreen. The years have dropped like golden sands, And left their trail of silvery gray, " Yet severs not the golden band Of kindred, love in youthful day. ONE HUNDRED YEARS AGO. 'T is but one hundred years ago Since daring white men sought this land ; Then here was found the buffalo. And savage Indian bands. The forest drooped o'er winding streams, The lonesome woods were calm and still, Presenting but a lifeless dream. Beyond the eyes of skill. SONGS OF THE AGE. 128 The hills were clad with giant oaks, The lovely vales were draped in bloom, When white man's gnn the silence broke " Amid the heathen's home. The red man showed a friendly face, And pledged his honor to be true, But, like the honor of his race, His pledge too soon was due. No mercy shown to prisoners then, No army stood to face the foe. But forts were built, thus to defend Them, ninety years ago. The Indian warrior scaled these vales. They trailed our hunters in the snow. And now we tell the warrior's tale Of ninety years ago. The years have dropped like golden sands, And every day brought something new. Till light of men throughout the land, Gleams through the nightly dew. The world is hooped with lightning wire, The rivers flow above the rail, The mountain swallows steam and Are, And trains sweep on the rail. 124 SONGS OF THE AGE. * The Avhite man's axe has swept the hills, And towns have grown within the vale; The mountain streams are lined with mills. The world 's adrift with mail. The Indian warriors westward drift. Like mist before the rising sun, Their puny arm once more they lift. Ere long their race is run. NIAGARA. I stood upon the wond'rous shore. Where foaming billows racing roll. And muffled thunder loudly pour From out the current gorge of old. The raging river down the steep. Rolling, foaming, roaring, boiling. And thence to take the mighty leap, Plunging down in mist recoiling. Canadian plains seem far away, The Oliftain House stood grand and bold. SONGS OP THE AGE. 125 The sun closed down on Canada With streaks of light and burnished gold. We climbed the winding time-worn tower, Which rose above the misty falls, Where rolling sheets with endless power Leap from the wond'rous curving walls. A ship-of-war there made a leap, Down, plunging like a spear of steel. Which could not rise from out the deep. The depths of wonder to reveal. Some flimsy splinters, brown and green. Rose to the surface with the foam. And of the wreck that 's all was seen Of what was once a warrior's home. There red men offered sacrifice, And lots w^ere cast among the girls, And f ringy wreaths and flowers nice. Placed in her boat to leave the world. It fell upon the chieftain's child, And she the last of all his race ; She took her seat 'mid flowers wild, While tears stole down the chieftain's face. 126 • SONGS OF THE AGE. Her boat was pushed from off the shore, 'Mid Indian screams and cheering loud, The chief then lit a boat with oar, And like a streak the current plowed. He reached his child above the fall. And there each other they embraced, Then waved farewell to one and all, While tears stole down each bronzy face. Yet they believed a hunting ground Was in the golden far away, Where blooming forests ere abound. And time is but an endless day. Each year they sent their proxy on, A blooming girl and boat of flowers. And worshipped at the early dawn, The symbol falls with endless powers. SONGS OF THE AGE. 127 KISS HER, QUICK, YOU LITTLE GOOSE! At sight I loved Miss Nellie dear, And Polly parrot loved her, too. I courted both for one long year. And Polly, too, was ever true. She said one day : "I is your friend. And Nellie, dear, does love you, too." So first and last, and to the end, Miss Polly's chat was ever new. She watched us close, she 'd steal our words. And tell them to a laughing crowd ; Yet I to others much preferred, And of her Nellie ever proud. My timid soul more timid grew. And oh ! I loved Miss Nellie dear ; But, then, if Polly only knew. She 'd surely tell it everywhere. The train I rode went half -past nine ; When parting, oft I wished to say : "Oh ! Nellie, dear, wilt thou be mine V But there was Polly in the way. 128 SONGS OF THE AGE. The last of June, a lovely day, The summer-house was sweet with bloom ; There we, as lovers, hid away — Left busy Polly in the room. But Polly stole within- a fold. And perched on trellis over-head, With eyes set in two rings of gold. And no deaf ear to what was said. Still as the ghost of thistle flowers. Our strutting little Polly stood. And caught each sacred word of ours. And all our secrets understood. The hour drew near "the parting nine," My stammering tongue refused to go ; At last I said : "Wilt thou be mine ?" "Oh, sir, I cannot answer no." "Kiss her, kiss her, quick, you little goose !" I kissed her, quick, the clock struck nine, And then my stammering tongue was loose. And Nellie, dear, was ever mine. SONGS OF THE AGE. 129 RESULT OF THOUGHT. Dedicated to My Brother-in-Law, Hon. Valentine Langfitte. Two bright-eyed boys were sent to school Through all their happy youthful days ; Were governed by the golden rule At home, in school, and in their plays. Their kingly mansion, near a town, Looked out upon a crystal stream. Which coursed its banks, the eastern bounds Of mills their father ran by steam. The fringe of wealth hung at the door. And two bright boys alone t# train. The craving heart could ask no more In point of wealth and earthly gain ; So wealth and pride great efforts made To train these boys for wealth and fame. And parents sought wise teachers' aid. Whose merits won for them a name. These twins, now sixteen summers' old, Sat by their blazing, cozy fire ; One talked and dwelt on themes of gold, The other sought a station higher; I'^O SONGS OF THE AGE. One spoke of gold behind the bar, And rich hotels in city style, The other spoke of church and choir. Renouncing evil all the while. They both grew up bright, happy men. Each launched his boat upon life's sea ; One took the Bible and the pen. The other took the hotel key. For one had watched the parson well. Who always dwelt on truth and fame ; The other's pride was the hotel, Where devils booked the drunkard's name. One preached of Christ, the heavenly star. And pressed his claims upon the soul ; The other stood behind the bar, To barter life and soul for gold. He painted charms upon the Avail ; He lit his house with brilliant lights ; A cordial welcome, one and all. To come and spend the pleasant nights. His bar was on the gilt-edge style. His billiard room was fringed with gold,. SONGS OF THE AGE. 131 His card room open all the while, The young and giddy there to mould. His house became an evil den, His family drifted with its charms, His death was at a tremor's end. His wealth was wrecked as by a storm. His brother, now a parson gray. Stands firm as in the days of youth ; His course is marked with grand display Of ministerial love and truth. His life is one continual ray Of brilliant gleamings from the throne, And souls that live in endless day Will wear the crown of seed there sown. Two flowers standing side by side. Each envious of the other's bloom. Day after day still grew their pride. Till both were changed and they were one. So thought and pride youth's bloom will guide. To variegate with good or ill. And should one choose the evil side. The heart is taus-ht to love it still. 182 SONGS OF THE AGE. 'T is thought that makes a man a name, l\o lazy brain can ever gain Great honors, wealth or sculptured fame, He merely drags a life in vain. Minds deep and great, great deeds have done To scan mysterious worlds on high. While thoughtless men their course have run, Like thistle blossoms in the sky. Thought is the keystone in the arch Which spans the door to sculptured fame ; There Morse and Fulton led the march. Their steam and lightning to proclaim. Now Edison speaks across the land. And Morse has laid the ocean wire. And Fulton placed in mortal hand The blaze which set the world on fire. SONGS OP THE AGE. 133 SCENES OF CHILDHOOD. Dedicated to My Brother, Mr. C. G. Davis. Oh, the long, long, dear long ago, Fifty years or more, I know, When I a child at mother^s knee Could read the love she had for me. She stamped her image on my heart And bid its charms ne'er to depart ; Her voice was music, soft and sweet, Stood slightly tall, handsome and neat. Oft' she sat by the spinning wheel. Spinning threads for the noiseless reel. Drawing flax from the distaff rest. Wound in shape of a hornet's nest. She spun the long rolls made of wool. And wound the large spools round and full. To feed the brown old-fashioned loom. Which stood just in another room. Then sister wove the whole dxj long. And trained her voice with lover's song ; And little sister wound the quill. And we repaired the flutter mill. 184 SONGS OF THE AGE. And built a dam across the stream, To use its power in place of steam ; But when complete, though strong and neat, We had no burrs to grind the wheat. But, like the noiseless spinner's reel. The mill consisted of a wheel, AVhich threw its rolling silvery spray In rainbow mist of grand disj)lay. The mill was all we claimed for it, But was not worth a phip'ny-bit, So then we left the worthless mill. And went out slightly on the hill. And there we cleared a little field. Small timbers fell'd, the large ones peeled. And dug the ground for early corn. And planted it one bright Spring morn. The ground squirrel took a little scout. And found the seed that we put out ; He knew I was too small to shoot, He dug my corn out by the root. Then, like an ape, sat on his heel. And of my corn would make a meal ; SONGS OF THE AGE. 185' This raised my boy ambition high, And then I planned that he should die ; I made wood triggers, neat and small, And set the well-known trap, " dead fall," And then again in early morn He came to steal the trigger-corn. But when he bit the trigger-thread. The trap -stone fell and he was dead ; The corn was saved, the victory won. And thus a farmer boy begun. And then away to valley field, With timbers dead and partly peeled. To heap dry logs upon the ground. And burn dead limbs that crumbled down. A cloud of smoke hung o'er the farm. The scenes of which a lasting charm Has followed to this distant day, Of care-Avorn head and silvery gray. Then boys and father tilling corn. Awaited calls of dinner horn ; There wigeons pecked the dotted tree. And built a nest no one could see. 186 SONGS OF THE AGE. They plucked the corn to feed their young, And paid their bills with songs they sung; The wood-peck thief, with blood-red head, Also in fields with timber dead, Would pluck the corn the whole day long, And then go home without a song ; When evening shades were growing long, Swamp robin, in a happy song. Oft' touched the sweetest chord e'er heard From any charming forest bird. His home was in the forest green. His golden plumage seldom seen, But champion of the world in song. He raised his voice so shrill and strong It touched the valley hills around, And echoed back the charming sound. Those charming birds and lovely scene All disappeared with Summer green ; Then golden forest leaves came down. And covered all the woodland ground. And often came the dread alarm. Of fence in danger round the farm ; Hark! hark! the woodland warning lire ! 'T is sweeping fast and flaming higher. SONGS OF THE AGE. 137 In angry flames it climbs the trees, And rides in wrath on every breeze ; It leaps across the ravine wall, Dead timbers piecemeal reel and fall ; It climbs the mountain like a steed, And sweeps through w^oods tornado speed, The fox and deer fly from the flame, Fly, swiftly fly, all kinds of game. The smoke and flame have raised alarm. And neighbors rushing to the farm, Kake fast, and fire around the field. The fence if possible to shield. The smoke rolls up in fleecy train, The sun shines on, but all in vain, The scene is but a smoky world. Which wraps itself in silvery pearl. The sun moves slowly through the sky. With deep red veil hung o'er his eye ; The silken curtain of the night Close moon and stars all out of sight ; The morning sun o'er mountains high, A blood-red painting in the sky. Moves all day long and passes by. But minus power to dim the eye. 138 SONGS OF THE AGE. Now after many years away, I sought the home of childhood's day ; But, oh ! a sad and wond'rous change — 'T was not my home, it all looked strange. A kingly throne with golden dome, Could not be valued with my home ; I wished no change, however grand, I wished no change in forest land. But wished it like the days of old, When forest draped in wreaths of gold ; I missed each bush and every tree. O'er farm and hills so dear to me ; Each carried sadness wdth its loss. And changes grand were only dross. The two grand oaks upon the hill. Were slain by axe and hauled to mill. The ground which once had claimed the barn. Was plowed and planted now in corn ; The sweep was torn down from the well. By windlass rope the bucket fell. The moss-grown walls were worn by time. Which formed slight steps I used to climb To wash and clean the bottom stone, Where nature's fountain held its own. SONGS OF THE AGE. 189 The old-time house was torn away, A new one made a grand disj)lay, With finished halls and stylish rooms ; But oh, alas ! 't was not my home. The rudest block in old-time walls. More dearly prized than rooms and halls ; Its walls were built of axe-hewn wood. Storm-proof, in forest lands it stood. To welcome hunter, brave and true. When inmates numbered only two ; There first the muffled axe was heard. Which startled all the native herd That roamed those hills and forest vale. And left the only dingy trail. There stood those walls mid fields of green, AVhen family numbered just fourteen. There stood those walls when all were gone. And no one prized its door as home ; Yet memories dear lived in the breast Of those whom that dear home had blest. And for its loss a tear was shed. Deep as the wails o'er loved ones dead ; The rippling brook from nearest hill. Where dams were made for flutter mill. 140 SONGS OF THE AGE. Was forced from nature's winding wall Through home-made channels deep and small. And not a bank nor e'en a trace Was left to mark its rightful place. The cabin cribs were both torn dow^n, And not a trace left on the ground ; The creek had worn its banks away — A w^ond'rous change since boyhood day. The woodland grove just near my home, Where pheasant beats his muffled drum, Was swept away, and now the quail Was monarch of that little vale. The highland peaks near home all 'round. Where golden forests once abound. Were stripped of all that grand display Which charmed my heart in childhood day. My' home bird 's gone to distant hills, To blend their songs with whip-poor-wills. And sing for settlers of the woods, The forest wilds of my boyhood. But now a hundred cottage homes Are planted where I used to roam, O'er lovely forest hills and vales, A wood for deer and varmint trails. SONGS OF THE AGE. 141 The wildwood land, home of the owl, Where wolf sneaked off with hideous howl, And panther slept on bended trees. Is now the happy home of ease. The old school-house is torn away. Ground sodded green once worn by play, Where game ran high by swift moved feet, And battle raged, fear of defeat. A thought came o'er me with a tear — This sodded play-ground, once so dear, Asked me the question sad and deep : How many of your playmates sleep Beneath a sod like this of mine ? The answer of: ten, perhaps nine. The new school-house of rustic wood, A ragged beggar quaintly stood, With moss-grown logs o'er window small. And birds had built upon the wall. The desk and seats had crumbled down, The floor lay mouldering on the ground. The rude stone chimney, lank and tall. Was bending from the school-house wall. And ruin hung o'er all the scene, Where old-time school was ever green. 142 SONGS OF THE AGE. The hills seemed tall and far away, Long mountain shades at close of day ; Green waving fields of grass and rye, Where forest peaks once propped the sky. The valleys spread their bine grass Avings, The little brooks were fed by springs ; The windings of the well known stream Were lost in grassy fields of green. The rolling fields of golden grain, Like sea waves drifting in a train, Rolled o'er the hills and mountains high^ Recoiling 'gainst the rosy sky. The sun went down o'er fields of grain, ^ Which spread o'er hilltops and the plain. Where unmolested forest stood. When father felled the first wildwood. His axe was first in all the plain. His gun w^as first the wood to stain, His rooster blew the first shrill horn To w^arn the forest herds of morn. All sounds were muffled by the trees, And slightly stirred the forest breeze. Sketched from those scenes of forest gloom. You have the painting of my home. SONGS OF THE AGE. 14:^ CONCLUSION. By a half-hidden charm, With beauties untold, Bright dreams have been led on. And grandeur unfold. Feeble steps have been made On that dreamy stage Where the foundation was laid For "Songs of the Age."