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BALLADS OF BLUE WATER 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE 
 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 @bz fttoers'ibe pm$, Cambribne 
 
 1895 
 

 Copyright, 1895, 
 By JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Rivtrsidt Pr,-as % Catnbridgt y Mats., U. S. I. 
 
 Electrotypcd and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
DEDICA TION 
 
 TO MY CANOE, " WANDA " 
 
 Of distant deeds si?ig I who ne'er 
 Did anything, went anywhere; 
 
 Of storm and battle on the blue — 
 Whose total fleet is one canoe. 
 
 I might, had Fortune so inclined, 
 Have fought, and left my shield behind 7 
 
 Let him who takes his armor off 
 Boast if he willj and should he scoff 
 
 At us who never put it on, 
 
 Still may we praise the heroes gone, 
 
 And rest content that we have known 
 Some joys that go with peace alone. 
 
 The bark that carried Ccesar'sfate 
 Bore never such a precious freight 
 
 As thou didst bear, one day, when She 
 Sang, not of war, for thee and me. 
 
 M19IS99 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication : To my Canoe, " Wanda " iii 
 
 The Fight of the "Armstrong" Privateer . . i 
 
 The Kearsarge 8 
 
 "Albemarle" Cushing 10 
 
 At Sea 15 
 
 The Constitution's Last Fight 17 
 
 Reuben James 21 
 
 A Business Transaction 24 
 
 Summer is Past 28 
 
 Jack Creamer 30 
 
 The Flag 23 
 
 Sir Hugo's Choice 36 
 
 Gettysburg 39 
 
 The Men of the Alamo 42 
 
 John Boyle O'Reilly 47 
 
 The Last of the Druids 49 
 
 Washington 52 
 
 The Lay Brother's Story 54 
 
 Whittier 57 
 
 Woburn 58 
 
 Nature the False Goddess 61 
 
 Recantation 63 
 
 A Sailor's Yarn 64 
 
 Hope 68 
 
 The author acknowledges his thanks to The Century Company, 
 " The Atlantic Monthly," Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons, and 
 Messrs. Harper and Brothers for permission to republish several 
 poems in this collection. 
 
BALLADS OF BLUE WATER 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 THE FIGHT OF THE "ARMSTRONG" 
 PRIVATEER 
 
 Tell the story to your sons 
 
 Of the gallant days of yore, 
 When the brig of seven guns 
 Fought the fleet of seven score, 
 From the set of sun till morn, through the long 
 
 September night — 
 Ninety men against two thousand, and the ninety 
 won the fight 
 
 In the harbor of Fayal the Azore. 
 
 Three lofty British ships came a-sailing to Fayal : 
 One was a line-of-battle ship, and two were frigates 
 
 tall; 
 Nelson's valiant men of war, brave as Britons ever 
 
 are, 
 Manned the guns they served so well at Aboukir 
 
 and Trafalgar. 
 

 2 I ICIIT OF THE "ARMSTRONG" 
 
 Lord Dundonald and his fleet at Jamaica far 
 away 
 
 Waited eager for their coming, fretted sore at their 
 delay. 
 
 There was loot for British valor on the Mississippi 
 coast 
 
 In the beauty and the booty that the Creole cities 
 boast ; 
 
 Jhere were rebel knaves to swing, there were pris- 
 oners to bring 
 
 Home in fetters to old England for the glory of the 
 King ! 
 
 At the setting of the sun and the ebbing of the 
 
 tide 
 Came the great ships one by one, with their portals 
 
 opened wide, 
 And their cannon frowning down on the castle and 
 
 the town 
 And the privateer that lay close inside ; 
 Came the eighteen gun Carnation, and the Rota, 
 
 forty-four, 
 And the triple-decked Plantagenet an admiral's 
 
 pennon bore ; 
 And the privateer grew smaller as their topmasts 
 
 towered taller. 
 And she bent her springs and anchored by the 
 
 castle on the shore. 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE "ARMSTRONG" 3 
 
 Spake the noble Portuguese to the stranger : 
 
 " Have no fear ; 
 They are neutral waters these, and your ship is 
 
 sacred here 
 As if fifty stout armadas stood to shelter you from 
 
 harm, 
 For the honor of the Briton will defend you from 
 
 his arm." 
 But the privateersman said, " Well we know the 
 
 Englishmen, 
 And their faith is written red in the Dartmoor 
 
 slaughter pen. 
 Come what fortune God may send, we will fight 
 
 them to the end, 
 And the mercy of the sharks may spare us then." 
 
 " Seize the pirate where she lies ! " cried the Eng- 
 lish admiral : 
 
 " If the Portuguese protect her, all the worse for 
 Portugal ! " 
 
 And four launches at his bidding leaped impa- 
 tient for the fray, 
 
 Speeding shoreward where the Armstrong, grim 
 and dark and ready, lay. 
 
 Twice she hailed and gave them warning ; but the 
 feeble menace scorning, 
 
 On they came in splendid silence, till a cable's 
 length away — 
 
4 THE FIGHT OF THE "ARMSTRONG" 
 
 Then the Yankee pivot spoke ; Pico's thousand 
 
 echoes woke ; 
 And four baffled, beaten launches drifted helpless 
 
 on the bay. 
 
 Then the wrath of Lloyd arose till the lion roared 
 
 again, 
 And he called out all his launches and he called 
 
 five hundred men j 
 And he gave the word " No quarter ! " and he sent 
 
 them forth to smite. 
 Heaven help the foe before him when the Briton 
 
 comes in might ! 
 Heaven helped the little Armstrong in her hour of 
 
 bitter need ; 
 God Almighty nerved the heart and guided well 
 
 the arm of Reid. 
 
 Launches to port and starboard, launches forward 
 
 and aft, 
 Fourteen launches together striking the little craft. 
 They hacked at the boarding - nettings, they 
 
 swarmed above the rail ; 
 But the Long Tom roared from his pivot and the 
 
 grape-shot fell like hail : 
 Pike and pistol and cutlass, and hearts that knew 
 
 not fear, 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE "ARMSTRONG" 5 
 
 Bulwarks of brawn and mettle, guarded the priva- 
 teer. 
 And ever where fight was fiercest, the form of Reid 
 
 was seen ; 
 Ever where foes drew nearest, his quick sword fell 
 between. 
 Once in the deadly strife 
 The boarders' leader pressed 
 Forward of all the rest 
 Challenging life for life ; 
 But ere their blades had crossed, 
 A dying sailor tossed 
 His pistol to Reid, and cried, 
 " Now riddle the lubber's hide ! " 
 But the privateersman laughed, and flung the 
 
 weapon aside, 
 And he drove his blade to the hilt, and the foeman 
 
 gasped and died. 
 Then the boarders took to their launches laden 
 
 with hurt and dead, 
 But little with glory burdened, and out of the bat- 
 tle fled. 
 
 Now the tide was at flood again, and the night was 
 
 almost done, 
 When the sloop-of-war came up with her odds of 
 
 two to one, 
 
6 THE FIGHT OF THE "ARMSTRONG" 
 
 And she opened fire ; but the Armstrong answered 
 
 her, gun for gun, 
 And the gay Carnation wilted in half an hour of sun. 
 
 Then the Armstrong, looking seaward, saw the 
 
 mighty seventy-four, 
 With her triple tier of cannon, drawing slowly to 
 
 the shore. 
 And the dauntless captain said : " Take our 
 
 wounded and our dead, 
 Bear them tenderly to land, for the Armstrong's 
 
 days are o'er ; 
 But no foe shall tread her deck, and no flag above 
 
 it wave — 
 To the ship that saved our honor we will give a 
 
 shipman's grave." 
 So they did as he commanded, and they bore their 
 
 mates to land 
 With the figurehead of Armstrong and the good 
 
 sword in his hand. 
 Then they turned the Long Tom downward, and 
 
 they pierced her oaken side, 
 And they cheered her, and they blessed her, and 
 
 they sunk her in the tide. 
 
 Tell the story to your sons, 
 
 When the haughty stranger boasts 
 
THE FIGHT OF THE " ARMSTRONG" J 
 
 Of his mighty ships and guns 
 And the muster of his hosts, 
 How the word of God was witnessed in the gallant 
 
 days of yore 
 When the twenty fled from one ere the rising of 
 the sun, 
 
 In the harbor of Fayal the Azore ! 
 
THE KEARSARGE 
 
 In the gloomy ocean bed 
 
 Dwelt a formless thing, and said, 
 In the dim and countless eons long ago, 
 
 " I will build a stronghold high, 
 
 Ocean's power to defy, 
 And the pride of haughty man to lay low." 
 
 Crept the minutes for the sad, 
 
 Sped the cycles for the glad, 
 But the march of time was neither less nor more j 
 
 While the formless atom died, 
 
 Myriad millions by its side, 
 And above them slowly lifted Roncador. 
 
 Roncador of Caribee, 
 
 Coral dragon of the sea, 
 Ever sleeping with his teeth below the wave ; 
 
 Woe to him who breaks the sleep ! 
 
 Woe to them who sail the deep ! 
 Woe to ship and man that fear a shipman's grave 
 8 
 
THE KEARSARGE 9 
 
 Hither many a galleon old, 
 
 Heavy-keeled with guilty gold, 
 Fled before the hardy rover smiting sore ; 
 
 But the sleeper silent lay 
 
 Till the preyer and his prey 
 Brought their plunder and their bones to Roncador. 
 
 Be content, O conqueror ! 
 
 Now our bravest ship of war, 
 War and tempest who had often braved before, 
 
 All her storied prowess past, 
 
 Strikes her glorious flag at last 
 To the formless thing that builded Roncador. 
 
"ALBEMARLE" CUSHING 
 
 Joy in rebel Plymouth town, in the spring of sixty- 
 four, 
 When the Albemarle down on the Yankee frig- 
 ates bore, 
 With the saucy Stars and Bars at her main ; 
 
 When she smote the Southfield dead, and the 
 stout Miami quailed, 
 And the fleet in terror fled when their mighty can- 
 non hailed 
 Shot and shell on her iron back in vain, 
 Till she slowly steamed away to her berth at Ply- 
 mouth pier, 
 And their quick eyes saw her sway with her great 
 beak out of gear, 
 And the color of their courage rose again. 
 
 All the summer lay the ram, 
 
 Like a wounded beast at bay. 
 While the watchful squadron swam 
 
 In the harbor night and day, 
 10 
 
"ALBEMARLE" CUSHING II 
 
 Till the broken beak was mended, and the weary 
 vigil ended, 
 And her time was come again to smite and slay. 
 
 Must they die, and die in vain, 
 
 Like a flock of shambled sheep ? 
 Then the Yankee grit and brain 
 Must be dead or gone to sleep, 
 And our sailors' gallant story of a hundred years 
 of glory 
 Let us sell for a song, selling cheap ! 
 
 Cushing, scarce a man in years, 
 But a sailor thoroughbred, 
 " With a dozen volunteers 
 
 I will sink the ram," he said. 
 " At the worst 'tis only dying." And the old com- 
 mander, sighing, 
 " 'T is to save the fleet and flag — go ahead ! " 
 
 Bright the rebel beacons blazed 
 
 On the river left and right ; 
 Wide awake their sentries gazed 
 Through the watches of the night ; 
 Sharp their challenge rang, and fiery came the 
 rifle's quick inquiry, 
 As the little launch swung into the light. 
 
12 " ALBEMARLE" CUSHING 
 
 Listening ears afar had heard ; 
 
 Ready hands to quarters sprung, 
 The Albemarle awoke and stirred, 
 And her howitzers gave tongue ; 
 Till the river and the shore echoed back the mighty 
 roar, 
 When the portals of her hundred-pounders swung. 
 
 Will the swordfish brave the whale, 
 
 Doubly girt with boom and chain ? 
 Face the shrapnel's iron hail ? 
 Dare the livid leaden rain ? 
 Ah ! that shell has done its duty ; it has spoiled 
 the Yankee's beauty ; 
 See her turn and fly with half her madmen 
 slain ! 
 
 High the victors' taunting yell 
 Rings above the battle roar. 
 And they bid her mock farewell 
 As she seeks the farther shore, 
 Till they see her sudden swinging, crouching for 
 the leap and springing 
 Back to boom and chain and bloody fray once 
 more. 
 
"ALBEMARLE" CUSHING 1 3 
 
 Now the Southron captain, stirred 
 
 By the spirit of his race, 
 Stops the firing with a word, 
 
 Bids them yield, and offers grace. 
 dishing, laughing, answers, " No ! we are here to 
 fight ! " and so 
 Swings the dread torpedo spar to its place. 
 
 Then the great ship shook and reeled, 
 
 With a wounded, gaping side, 
 But her steady cannon pealed 
 Ere she settled in the tide, 
 And the Roanoke's dull flood ran full red with 
 Yankee blood, 
 When the fighting Albemarle sunk and died. 
 
 Woe in rebel Plymouth town when the Albemarle 
 fell, 
 
 And the saucy flag went down that had floated 
 long and well, 
 Nevermore from her stricken deck to wave. 
 
 For the fallen flag a sigh, for the fallen foe a 
 tear ! 
 Never shall their glory die while we hold our glory 
 dear, 
 And the hero's laurels live on his grave. 
 
14 "ALBEMARLE" CUSHJNG 
 
 Link their Cooke's with Cushing's name ; proudly 
 
 call them both our own ; 
 Claim their valor and their fame for America 
 alone — 
 Joyful mother of the bravest of the brave ! 
 
AT SEA 
 
 Shall we, the storm-tossed sailors, weep 
 For those who may not sail again \ 
 
 Or wisely envy them, and keep 
 Our pity for the living men ? 
 
 Beyond the weary waste of sea, 
 Beyond the wider waste of death, 
 
 I strain my gaze and cry to thee 
 Whose still heart never answereth. 
 
 brother, is thy coral bed 
 
 So sweet thou wilt not hear my speech ? 
 This hand, methinks, if I were dead, 
 To thy dear hand would strive to reach. 
 
 1 would not, if God gave us choice 
 For each to bear the other's part, 
 
 That mine should be the silent voice, 
 And thine the silent, aching heart. 
 IS 
 
l6 AT SEA 
 
 Ah, well for any voyage done, 
 
 Whate'er its end — or port or reef j 
 
 Better the voyage ne'er begun, 
 For all ships sail the sea of Grief. 
 
THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT 
 
 A Yankee ship and a Yankee crew — 
 Constitution, where ye bound for ? 
 
 Wherever, my lad, there 's fight to be had, 
 Acrost the Western Ocean. 
 
 Our captain was married in Boston town 
 
 And sailed next day to sea ; 
 For all must go when the State says so ; 
 
 Blow high, blow low, sailed we. 
 
 " Now what shall I bring for a bridal gift 
 When my home-bound pennant flies ? 
 The rarest that be on land or sea 
 It shall be my lady's prize." 
 
 " There 's never a prize on sea or land 
 Could bring such joy to me 
 As my true love sound and homeward bound 
 With a king's ship under his lee." 
 
 The Western ocean is wide and deep, 
 And wild its tempests blow, 
 
I 8 THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT 
 
 But bravely rides Old Ironsides, 
 A-cruising to and fro. 
 
 We cruised to the East and we cruised to the 
 North, 
 
 And Southing far went we, 
 And at last off Cape de Verde we raised 
 
 Two frigates sailing free. 
 
 Oh, God made man, and man made ships, 
 
 But God makes very few 
 Like him who sailed our ship that day 
 
 And fought her, one to two. 
 
 He gained the weather-gage of both, 
 
 He held them both a-lee ; 
 And gun for gun till set of sun, 
 
 He spoke them fair and free ; 
 
 Till the night-fog fell on spar and sail 
 
 And ship and sea and shore, 
 And our only aim was the bursting flame 
 
 And the hidden cannon's roar. 
 
 Then a lifting rift in the mist showed up 
 The stout Cyane close-hauled 
 
THE CONSTITUTION'S LAST FIGHT 1 9 
 
 To swing in our wake and our quarter rake, 
 And a boasting Briton bawled : 
 
 " Starboard and larboard we Ve got him fast 
 Where his heels won't carry him through : 
 Let him luff or wear, he '11 find us there — 
 Ho, Yankee, which will you do ? " 
 
 We did not luff and we did not wear, 
 
 But braced our topsails back, 
 Till the sternway drew us fair and true 
 
 Broadsides athwart her track. 
 
 Athwart her track and across her bows 
 
 We raked her fore and aft, 
 And out of the fight and into the night 
 
 Drifted the beaten craft. 
 
 The slow Levant came up too late ; 
 
 No need had we to stir. 
 Her decks we swept with fire and kept 
 
 The flies from troubling her. 
 
 We raked her again, and her flag came down, 
 
 The haughtiest flag that floats, 
 And the Limejuice dogs lay there like logs, 
 
 With never a bark 'in their throats. 
 
20 THE CONSTITUTIONS LAST TIGHT 
 
 With never a bark and never a bite, 
 
 But only an oath, to break, 
 As we squared away for Praya Bay 
 
 With our prizes in our wake. 
 
 Parole they gave and parole they broke, 
 What matters the cowardly cheat, 
 
 If the captain's bride was satisfied 
 With the one prize laid at her feet ? 
 
 A Yankee ship and a 3 'ankee crew — 
 Constitution, where ye bound for f 
 
 Wherever the British prizes be % 
 
 Though it *s one to two, or one to three 
 
 Old Ironsides weans Victory, 
 Acrost the Western Ocean ! 
 
REUBEN JAMES 
 
 Three ships of war had Preble when he left the 
 
 Naples shore, 
 And the knightly king of Naples lent him seven 
 
 galleys more, 
 And never since the Argo floated in the middle 
 
 sea 
 Such noble men and valiant have sailed in company 
 As the men who went with Preble to the siege of 
 
 Tripoli. 
 Stewart, Bainbridge, Hull, Decatur — how their 
 
 names ring out like gold ! — 
 Lawrence, Porter, Trippe, Macdonough, and a 
 
 score as true and bold ; 
 Every star that lights their banner tells the glory 
 
 that they won ; 
 But one common sailor's glory is the splendor of 
 
 the sun. 
 
 Reuben James was first to follow when Decatur 
 
 laid aboard 
 Of the lofty Turkish galley and in battle broke his 
 
 sword. 
 
22 REUBEN JAMES 
 
 Then the pirate captain smote him, till his blood 
 
 was running fast, 
 And they grappled and they struggled, and they 
 
 fell beside the mast. 
 Close behind him Reuben battled with a dozen, 
 
 undismayed, 
 Till a bullet broke his sword-arm, and he dropped 
 
 the useless blade. 
 Then a swinging Turkish sabre clove his left and 
 
 brought him low, 
 Like a gallant bark, dismasted, at the mercy of the 
 
 foe. 
 Little mercy knows the corsair : high his blade was 
 
 raised to slay, 
 When a richer prize allured him where Decatur 
 
 struggling lay. 
 " Help ! " the Turkish leader shouted, and his 
 
 trusty comrade sprung, 
 And his scimetar like lightning o'er the Yankee 
 
 captain swung. 
 
 Reuben James, disabled, armless, saw the sabre 
 
 Hashed on high, 
 Saw Decatur shrink before it, heard the pirate's 
 
 taunting cry, 
 Saw, in half the time I tell it, how a sailor brave 
 
 and true 
 
REUBEN JAMES 23 
 
 Still might show a bloody pirate what a dying man 
 
 can do. 
 Quick he struggled, stumbling, sliding in the blood 
 
 around his feet, 
 As the Turk a moment waited to make vengeance 
 
 doubly sweet. 
 Swift the sabre fell, but swifter bent the sailor's 
 
 head below, 
 And upon his 'fenceless forehead Reuben James 
 
 received the blow ! 
 
 So was saved our brave Decatur ; so the common 
 
 sailor died ; 
 So the love that moves the lowly lifts trie great to 
 
 fame and pride. 
 Yet we grudge him not his honors, for whom love 
 
 like this had birth — 
 For God never ranks His sailors by the Register 
 
 of earth ! 
 
A BUSINESS TRANSACTION 
 
 " IN THE DAYS OF VAN TROM1* " 
 
 To Amsterdam and its Commodore, 
 
 Over his pipe and his eau-de-vie, 
 A flibote skimming the Texel shore 
 
 Brought serious news for the Zuyder Zee : 
 
 Forty sail of the Channel Fleet, 
 
 With a high-born Admiral of the Blue, 
 
 Holland's bravest had come to greet 
 And settle an ancient score or two. 
 
 Frugal of speech was the Commodore. 
 
 " I will meet their wishes," he briefly said, 
 And straight to the offing his squadron bore, 
 
 With a broom at the flagship's mainmast-head. 
 
 Quickly to work, in a business way, 
 
 Went old Van Dam and his captains stout. 
 
 Broadside for broadside, half the day. 
 But the sturdy enemy still held out ; 
 M 
 
A BUSINESS TRANSACTION 2$ 
 
 Till about four bells in the afternoon 
 The English suddenly ceased their fire, 
 
 And Van Dam hailed : " Have you struck so soon ? 
 Is the score then settled, may I inquire ? " 
 
 And the answer came : " No ; we have not struck, 
 But our powder is spent ; we can fight no more." 
 
 " Ah, that is a matter of evil luck, 
 
 In a case like this," said the Commodore. 
 
 Then he stroked his beard and he closed his eyes : 
 " 'T were a pity to mar so sweet a fight, 
 
 On a beggarly question of supplies. 
 Diable ! it spoils one's pleasure quite." 
 
 With the thrifty blood of his Holland sire 
 
 A stream of a warmer fluid ran, 
 From a Norman mother with heart of fire — 
 
 And the mother it is that makes the man. 
 
 "To win or to lose," said the blood of France, 
 " Were a problem simple as life or death ; 
 
 But to win by an enemy's dull mischance ! " — 
 He damned the lubbers below his breath. 
 
 Then : " Send me your boat aboard," he cried, 
 " If you will not strike and you cannot fight. 
 
26 A BUSINESS TRANSACTION 
 
 Pity your stubborn bulldog pride 
 
 Should bark so loud, with so small a bite ! 
 
 The Admiral came in his gig of state ; 
 ptain by right of heritage, 
 
 Favor had made him all but great, 
 And Nature had never marred the page. 
 
 Dutchman all was the Commodore 
 
 At once when he saw his wondrous guest, 
 
 Marveling much and marveling more 
 As he listed the visitor's request. 
 
 Never was such proposal made 
 To sailor before, on land or sea : 
 
 " Twas awkward to dabble in vulgar trade ; 
 But have you some powder to sell to me ? ' 
 
 Dutch diplomacy struggled hard, 
 
 But Gallic chivalry won the day. 
 The sale was made and the bill was paid, 
 
 And the guns went back to their pleasant play 
 
 111 had it gone with the Commodore, 
 
 I lad pluck or fortune deceived him then ; 
 
 Bui 1)'- fought as lie never fought before, 
 And he brought his investment back again. 
 
A BUSINESS TRANSACTION 2J 
 
 The great States-General, solemn folk, 
 When old Van Dam came home next day, 
 
 With his prizes in tow, forgave the joke, 
 Or never perceived it — who can say ? 
 
SUMMER IS PAST 
 
 Half the race of life is over, and the breeze is well 
 abaft. 
 Do we lead or do we follow ? — naught it matters 
 to us now. 
 All the joy was in the battle of the windward-run- 
 ning craft, 
 In the squall against the topsail, in the wave be- 
 fore the prow. 
 
 Oh, the consorts who were with us in the opening 
 of the race ! 
 Ah, the daring shallops foundered as we sailed 
 into the wind ! 
 Oh, the sweet and foolish passions when the sun 
 •was in our face, 
 And we left the laggard Prudence league on 
 league away behind ! 
 
 Then a friend was had for loving, and we loved 
 without a thought ; 
 We saw OUT hearts were naked, and we shamed 
 not of the truth. 
 
 28 
 
SUMMER IS PAST 29 
 
 But the sober fruit of knowledge aye in bitterness 
 is bought, 
 And the flaming sword forever bars the Eden 
 gate of youth. 
 
JACK CREAMER 
 
 A TRUE STORY OF l8l2 
 
 The boarding nettings are triced for fight ; 
 
 Pike and cutlass are shining bright ; 
 
 The boatswain's whistle pipes loud and shrill ; 
 
 Gunner and topman work with a will ; 
 
 Rough old sailor and reefer trim 
 
 Jest as they stand by the cannon grim ; 
 
 There 's a fighting glint in Decatur's eye, 
 
 And brave Old Glory floats out on high. 
 
 But many a heart beats fast below 
 The laughing lips as they near the foe ; 
 For the pluckiest knows, though no man quails. 
 That the breath of death is filling the sails. 
 Only one little face is wan ; 
 Only one childish mouth is drawn ; 
 One little heart is sad and sore 
 To the watchful eye of the Commodore. 
 Little Jack Creamer, ten years old, 
 In DO purser's book or watch enrolled, 
 30 
 
JACK CREAMER 31 
 
 Must mope or skulk while his shipmates fight, — 
 No wonder his little face is white ! 
 
 " Why, Jack, old man, so blue and sad ? 
 Afraid of the music ? " The face of the lad 
 With mingled shame and anger burns. 
 Quick to the Commodore he turns : 
 " I 'm not a coward, but I think if you — 
 Excuse me, Capt'n, I mean if you knew 
 (I s'pose it 's because I 'm young and small) 
 I 'm not on the books ! I'mno one at all ! 
 And as soon as this fighting work is done 
 And we get our prize-money, every one 
 Has his share of the plunder — /get none." 
 
 " And you 're sure we shall take her ? " " Sure ? 
 
 Why, sir, 
 She 's only a blessed Britisher ! 
 We '11 take her easy enough, I bet ; 
 But glory 's all that I 'm going to get ! " 
 
 " Glory ! I doubt if I get more, 
 If I get so much," said the Commodore; 
 " But faith goes far in the race for fame, 
 And down on the books shall go your name." 
 
 Bravely the little seaman stood 
 
 To his post while the scuppers ran with blood, 
 
32 JACK CREAMER 
 
 While grizzled veterans looked and smiled 
 And gathered new courage from the child ; 
 Till the enemy, crippled in pride and might, 
 Struck his crimson flag and gave up the fight. 
 Then little Jack Creamer stood once more 
 Face to face with the Commodore. 
 
 11 You have got your glory," he said, u my lad, 
 
 And money to make your sweetheart glad. 
 
 Now, who may she be ? " " My mother, sir ; 
 
 I want you to send the half to her.'' 
 
 " And the rest ? " Jack blushed and hung his head ; 
 
 " I '11 buy some schoolin' with that," he said. 
 
 Decatur laughed ; then in graver mood : 
 " The first is the better, but both are good. 
 Your mother shall never know want while I 
 1 lave a ship to sail, or a flag to fly ; 
 And schooling you '11 have till all is blue, 
 But little the lubbers can teach to you." 
 
 JlftJs/iifwim ('reamer's story is told — 
 They did such things in the days of old. 
 When faith and courage won sure reward. 
 And the quarter-deck was not triply barred, 
 To the forecastle hero ; for men were men, 
 
 And the Nation was close to its Maker then. 
 
THE FLAG 
 
 AN INCIDENT OF STRAIN'S EXPEDITION 
 
 I never have got the bearings quite, 
 
 Though I 've followed the course for many a 
 year, 
 If he was crazy, clean outright, 
 
 Or only what you might say was " queer." 
 
 He was just a simple sailor man. 
 
 I mind it as well as yisterday, 
 When we messed aboard of the old Cyane. 
 
 Lord ! how the time does slip away ! 
 That was five and thirty year ago, 
 
 And I never expect such times again, 
 For sailors was n't afraid to stow 
 
 Themselves on a Yankee vessel then. 
 He was only a sort of bosun's mate, 
 
 But every inch of him taut and trim ; 
 Stars and anchors and togs of state 
 
 Tailors don't build for the like of him. 
 He flew a no-account sort of name, 
 33 
 
34 THE FLAG 
 
 A reg'lar fo'cas'le "Jim " or " Jack," 
 With a plain " McGinnis " abaft the same, 
 
 Giner'ly reefed to simple "Mack." 
 Mack, we allowed, was sorter queer, — 
 
 Ballast or compass was n't right. 
 Till he licked four Juicers one day, a fear 
 
 Prevailed that he had n't larned to fight. 
 But I reckon the Captain knowed his man, 
 
 When he put the flag in his hand the day 
 That we went ashore from the old Cyane, 
 
 On a madman's cruise for Darien Bay. 
 
 Forty days in the wilderness 
 
 We toiled and suffered and starved with Strain, 
 Losing the number of many a mess 
 
 In the Devil's swamps of the Spanish Main. 
 All of us starved, and many died. 
 
 One laid down, in his dull despair j 
 His stronger messmate went to his side — 
 
 Wo left them both in the jungle there. 
 It was hard to part with shipmates so; 
 
 But standing by would have done no good. 
 We heard them moaning all day, so slow 
 
 We dragged along through the weary wood. 
 McGinnis, he suffered the worst of all ; 
 
 Not that he ever piped his eye 
 ( )r would n't have answered to the call 
 
THE FLAG 35 
 
 If they 'd sounded it for " All hands to die." 
 
 I guess 't would have sounded for him before, 
 
 But the grit inside of him kept him strong, 
 Till we met relief on the river shore ; 
 
 And we all broke down when it came along. 
 
 All but McGinnis. Gaunt and tall, 
 Touching his hat, and standing square : 
 
 II Captain, the Flag." . . . And that was all ; 
 
 He just keeled over and foundered there. 
 " The Flag ? " We thought he had lost his head — 
 
 It might n't be much to lose at best — 
 Till we came, by and by, to dig his bed, 
 
 And we found it folded around his breast. 
 He laid so calm and smiling there, 
 
 With the flag wrapped tight about his heart ; 
 Maybe he saw his course all fair, 
 
 Only — we could n't read the chart. 
 
SIR HUGO'S CHOICE 
 
 It is better to die, since death comes surely, 
 In the full noontide of an honored name, 
 
 Than to lie at the end of years obscurely, 
 A handful of dust in a shroud of shame. 
 
 Sir Hugo lived in the ages golden, 
 
 Warder of Aisne and Picardy ; 
 He lived and died, and his deeds are told in 
 
 The Book immortal of Chivalrie : 
 
 How he won the love of a prince's daughter — 
 A poor knight he with a stainless sword — 
 
 Whereat Count Rolf, who had vainly sought her. 
 Swore death should sit at the bridal board. 
 
 " A braggart's threat, for a brave man's scorn- 
 ing ! "' 
 And Hugo laughed at his rival's ire, 
 But couriers twain, on the bridal morning, 
 
 To his castle gate came with tidings dire. 
 
SIR HUGO'S CHOICE 37 
 
 The first a-faint and with armor riven : 
 u In peril sore have I left thy bride, — 
 
 False Rolf waylaid us. For love and Heaven ! 
 Sir Hugo, quick to the rescue ride ! " 
 
 Stout Hugo muttered a word unholy ; 
 
 He sprang to horse and he flashed his brand, 
 But a hand was laid on his bridle slowly, 
 
 And a herald spoke : " By the king's command 
 
 "This to Picardy's trusty warder : — 
 France calls first for his loyal sword, 
 
 The Flemish spears are across the border, 
 And all is lost if they win the ford." 
 
 Sir Hugo paused, and his face was ashen, 
 His white lips trembled in silent prayer — 
 
 God's pity soften the spirit's passion 
 When the crucifixion of Love is there ! 
 
 What need to tell of the message spoken ? 
 
 Of the hand that shook as he poised his lance ? 
 And the look that told of his brave heart broken, 
 
 As he bade them follow, " For God and France ! " 
 
 On Cambray's field next morn they found him, 
 'Mid a mighty swath of foemen dead ; 
 
38 SIR IIC GO'S CHOICE 
 
 Her snow-white scarf he had bound around him 
 With his loyal blood was baptized red. 
 
 It is all writ clown in the book of glory, 
 On crimson pages of blood and strife, 
 
 With scanty thought for the simple story 
 Of duty clearer than love or life. 
 
 Only a note obscure, appended 
 
 By warrior scribe or monk perchance, 
 
 Saith : " The good knight's ladye was sore offended 
 That he would not die for her but France." 
 
 Did the ladye live to lament her lover ? 
 
 Or did roystering Rolf prove a better mate ? 
 I have searched the records over and over, 
 
 But naught discover to tell her fate. 
 
 And I read the moral — A brave endeavor 
 
 To do thy duty, whate'er its worth, 
 Is better than life with love forever — 
 
 And love is the sweetest thing on earth. 
 
GETTYSBURG 
 
 There was no union in the land, 
 Though wise men labored long 
 
 With links of clay and ropes of sand 
 To bind the right and wrong. 
 
 There was no temper in the blade 
 That once could cleave a chain ; 
 
 Its edge was dull with touch of trade 
 And clogged with rust of gain. 
 
 The sand and clay must shrink away 
 
 Before the lava tide : 
 By blows and blood and fire assay 
 
 The metal must be tried. 
 
 Here sledge and anvil met, and when 
 The furnace fiercest roared, 
 
 God's undiscerning workingmen 
 Reforged His people's sword. 
 39 
 
40 GETTYSBURG 
 
 Enough for them to ask and know 
 The moment's duty clear — 
 
 The bayonets flashed it there below, 
 The guns proclaimed it here : 
 
 To do and dare, and die at need, 
 But while life lasts, to fight — 
 For right or wrong a simple creed, 
 But simplest for the right. 
 
 They faltered not who stood that day 
 And held this post of dread ; 
 
 Nor cowards they who wore the gray 
 Until the gray was red. 
 
 For every wreath the victor wears 
 The vanquished half may claim ; 
 
 And every monument declares 
 A common pride and fame. 
 
 We raise no altar stones to Hate, 
 Who never bowed to Fear : 
 
 No province crouches at our gate, 
 To shame our triumph here. 
 
 Here Standing by a dead wrong's grave 
 The blindest now may see, 
 
GETTYSBURG 4 1 
 
 The blow that liberates the slave 
 But sets the master free ! 
 
 When ills beset the nation's life 
 
 Too dangerous to bear, 
 The sword must be the surgeon's knife, 
 
 Too merciful to spare. 
 
 O Soldier of our common land, 
 
 'T is thine to bear that blade 
 Loose in the sheath, or firm in hand, 
 
 But ever unafraid. 
 
 When foreign foes assail our right, 
 
 One nation trusts to thee — 
 To wield it well in worthy fight — 
 
 The sword of Meade and Lee ! 
 
THE MEN OF THE ALAMO 
 
 To Houston at Gonzales town, ride, Ranger, for 
 
 your life, 
 Nor stop to say good-by to-day to home, or child, 
 
 or wife ; 
 But pass the word from ranch to ranch, to every 
 
 Texan sword, 
 That fifty hundred Mexicans have crossed the 
 
 Nueces ford, 
 With Castrillon and perjured Cos, Sesma and 
 
 Almonte, 
 And Santa Anna ravenous for vengeance and for 
 
 prey ! 
 They smite the land with fire and sword ; the 
 
 grass shall never grow 
 Where northward sweeps that locust horde on San 
 
 Antonio ! 
 
 Now who will bar the foeman's path, to gain a 
 
 breathing space, 
 Till Houston and his scattered men shall meet him 
 
 Lwc to face ? 
 
THE MEN OF THE ALAMO 43 
 
 Who holds his life as less than naught when home 
 
 and honor call, 
 And counts the guerdon full and fair for liberty to 
 
 fall? 
 Oh, who but Barrett Travis, the bravest of them 
 
 alii 
 With seven score of riflemen to play the rancher's 
 
 game, 
 And feed a counter-fire to halt the sweeping prairie 
 
 flame ; 
 For Bowie of the broken blade is there to cheer 
 
 them on, 
 With Evans of Concepcion, who conquered Castril- 
 
 lon, 
 And o'er their heads the Lone Star flag defiant 
 
 floats on high, 
 And no man thinks of yielding, and no man fears 
 
 to die. 
 
 But ere the siege is held a week a cry is heard 
 
 without, 
 A clash of arms, a rifle peal, the Ranger's ringing 
 
 shout, 
 And two-and-thirty beardless boys have bravely 
 
 hewed their way 
 To die with Travis if they must, to conquer if they 
 
 may. 
 
44 THE MEN OE THE ALAMO 
 
 Was ever bravery so cheap in Glory's mart before 
 In all the days of chivalry, in all the deeds of war ? 
 
 But once again the foemen gaze in wonderment and 
 
 fear 
 To see a stranger break their lines and hear the 
 
 Texans cheer. 
 God ! how they cheered to welcome him, those 
 
 spent and starving men ! 
 For Davy Crockett by their side was worth an 
 
 army then. 
 The wounded ones forgot their wounds ; the dying 
 
 drew a breath 
 To hail the king of border men, then turned to 
 
 laugh at death. 
 For all knew Davy Crockett, blithe and generous 
 
 as bold, 
 And strong and rugged as the quartz that hides its 
 
 heart of gold. 
 His simple creed for word or deed true as the bul- 
 let sped, 
 And rung the target straight : " Be sure you 're 
 
 right, then go ahead ! " 
 
 And were they right who fought the fight for Texas 
 by his side ? 
 
 They questioned not ; they faltered not ; they only 
 fought and died. 
 
THE MEN OF THE ALAMO 45 
 
 Who hath an enemy like these, God's mercy slay 
 him straight ! — 
 
 A thousand Mexicans lay dead outside the convent 
 gate, 
 
 And half a thousand more must die before the for- 
 tress falls, 
 
 And still the tide of war beats high around the 
 leaguered walls. 
 
 At last the bloody breach is won ; the weakened 
 
 lines give way ; 
 The wolves are swarming in the court ; the lions 
 
 stand at bay. 
 The leader meets them at the breach, and wins the 
 
 soldier's prize ; 
 A foeman's bosom sheathes his sword when gallant 
 
 Travis dies. 
 Now let the victor feast at will until his crest be 
 
 red — 
 We may not know what raptures fill the vulture 
 
 with the dead. 
 Let Santa Anna's valiant sword right bravely hew 
 
 and hack 
 The senseless corse ; its hands are cold ; they will 
 
 not strike him back. 
 Let Bowie die, but 'ware the hand that wields his 
 
 deadly knife ; 
 
46 THE MEN OF THE ALAMO 
 
 Four went to slay, and one comes back, so dear he 
 
 sells his life. 
 And last of all let Crockett fall, too proud to sue * 
 
 for grace, 
 So grand in death the butcher dared not look upon 
 
 his face. 
 
 But far on San Jacinto's field the Texan toils are 
 
 set, 
 And Alamo's dread memory the Texan steel shall 
 
 whet. 
 And Fame shall tell their deeds who fell till all the 
 
 years be run. 
 "Thermopylae left one alive — the Alamo left 
 
 none." 
 
JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY 
 
 August 10, i8qo 
 
 Have thy people climbed to Nebo ? 
 
 Is the Promised Land in sight, 
 And the pleasant fields of Canaan 
 
 Radiant in the morning light ? 
 
 Strike the harp, and sound the timbrel, 
 For the weary night is past, 
 
 For their wanderings are over, 
 And the day hath come at last. 
 
 Lift on high the little children ; 
 
 Lead the elders forth to see ; 
 Let the maidens sing in gladness 
 
 Of the joy that is to be. 
 
 Now for them the bulwarks totter, 
 Now for them the Jordan dries, — 
 
 But our Chief is dead on Phasga ; 
 In the stranger land he lies. 
 
 47 
 
48 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY 
 
 Wonder not if we be silent ; 
 
 Chide not if our eyes be dim ; 
 We are mourning for our Prophet — 
 
 Israel hath no more like him ! 
 
THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS 
 
 Conal, last of the Druids, stood by the ruined 
 
 shrine, 
 And the ashes were cold on the altar and bitter and 
 
 gray as brine ; 
 The sacred grove was deserted, and impious hands 
 
 had raised 
 The mystic sign of the stranger where the holy fires 
 
 had blazed. 
 He went to the home of his father, and a stranger 
 
 bade him in 
 Who knew not the face of Conal nor came of his 
 
 father's kin. 
 
 For the years were many and changeful since the 
 
 Druid went afar 
 From the peaceful land of Ierne to the stormy fields 
 
 of war. 
 He had battled with Pict and Briton, Norseman 
 
 and Hun and Gaul, 
 When Dathi's glorious banner waved on the Alpine 
 
 wall. 
 
 49 
 
5<D THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS 
 
 And now he was old, and weary of the splendid 
 
 joy of strife, 
 And he longed for the Druid cloister and the even- 
 
 ing calm of life 
 
 " The gods of the brave will bless me for the foes 
 
 I have slain,'' he said, 
 And he turned to the land of Ierne — and they 
 
 told him the gods were dead ! 
 
 Then he cursed the gods of his fathers, the many 
 
 who fled from one, 
 And he cursed the priest of the stranger for the 
 
 thing that he had done. 
 " I will find this priest, I will slay him, — let him 
 
 bide on land or sea, 
 Though a thousand swords defend him — and the 
 
 gods shall be shamed by me ! " 
 
 He went to the Court of Tara where the king had 
 
 housed the priest ; 
 He found him not at the palace, he found him not 
 
 at the feast; 
 But down in a lowly hovel, where a man with the 
 
 Black Death lav, 
 They told him, "The good priest. Patrick, watches 
 
 by Dight and day ; 
 For the man he serves was his foenian in the days 
 
 of his power and pride, 
 
THE LAST OF THE DRUIDS 5 I 
 
 But the pride and the power have left him, and the 
 
 love of his friends has died ; 
 Kith or kin has he none — only one son, gone 
 
 wild — 
 And the Black Death's hand, Christ save us ! would 
 
 part the mother and child. 
 The boldest soldier in Erin, I warrant ye, would 
 
 not dare 
 To watch with old Conn the Druid, in the deadly 
 
 pest-house there." 
 
 Never a word said Conal, but his face was set and 
 
 gray, 
 As he strode to the lonely cabin where the dying 
 
 Druid lay, 
 He knelt by the humble pallet, and the air was 
 
 thick with death, 
 But the lips of the stricken father smiled with his 
 
 dying breath, 
 And his feeble hand was lifted to bless with the 
 
 Christian's sign 
 The wayward son of his bosom — the last of the 
 
 Druid line. 
 
 Then the sinful wrath of Conal passed like a mist 
 
 away, 
 And he kissed the hem of the garment of the man 
 
 he had sworn to slay. 
 
WASHINGTON 
 
 God wills no man a slave. The man most meek, 
 Who saw Him face to face on Horeb's peak, 
 Had slain a tyrant for a bondman's wrong, 
 And met his Lord with sinless soul and strong. 
 Uut when, years after, overfraught with care, 
 His feet once trod doubt's pathway to despair, 
 For that one treason lapse, the guiding hand 
 That led so far now barred the promised land. 
 God makes no man a slave, no doubter free ; 
 Abiding faith alone wins liberty. 
 
 No angel led our Chieftain's steps aright ; 
 No pilot cloud by day, no flame by night ; 
 No plague nor portent spake to foe or friend ; 
 No doubt assailed him, faithful to the end. 
 
 Weaklings there were, as in the tribes of old, 
 Who craved for fleshpots, worshiped calves of 
 
 gold. 
 Murmured that right should harder be than wrong, 
 And freedom's narrow road so steep and long ; 
 5^ 
 
WASHINGTON 53 
 
 But he who ne'er on Sinai's summit trod, 
 
 Still walked the highest heights and spake with 
 
 God; 
 Saw with anointed eyes no promised land 
 By petty bounds or pettier cycles spanned, 
 Its people curbed and broken to the ring, 
 Packed with a caste and saddled with a king — 
 But freedom's heritage and training school, 
 Where man unruled should learn to wisely rule, 
 Till sun and moon should see at Ajalon 
 Kings' heads in dust and freemen's feet thereon. 
 
 His work well done, the leader stepped aside, 
 Spurning a crown with more than kingly pride, 
 Content to wear the higher crown of worth, 
 While time endures, First Citizen of earth. 
 
THE LAY BROTHER'S STORY 
 
 (MONASTERY OF LA TRAPPE — 1S56) 
 
 That is his grave, and this is mine — 
 
 The Father was good to me so old, 
 
 Though I spake no word and I made no sign, 
 
 Nor ever nourished a hope so bold 
 
 As to dream that my dust by his might lie. 
 
 Who was saint on earth and is saint on high. 
 
 Forty years together we wrought, 
 
 And not one look from him to tell 
 
 That his mind went back for a fleeting thought 
 
 To the life we both had known so well. 
 
 For he had been here two years before 
 
 I left the world and curbed my tongue, 
 
 And I knew him well in the clays of yore 
 
 When 1 was not old and he was young. 
 
 Never a sign through all the years 
 Till yesterday when his summons came, 
 And I saw him smile through a veil of tears, 
 And he took my hand and he called my name: 
 54 
 
THE LAY BROTHER'S STORY 55 
 
 (For one hour of life, ere it fades away, 
 
 To the dying Trappist is kindly given, 
 
 That his soul may see, when its sins are shriven, 
 
 How as death to life, and as night to day, 
 
 Are the joys of earth to the Joy of Heaven !) 
 
 Then the Angel of Memory rolled the stone 
 
 Back from the sepulchre of years, 
 
 Till the forty winters of monotone 
 
 And the forty summers our cells had known 
 
 Were gone, and we two were grenadiers — 
 
 Grenadiers of the Grande Armee, 
 
 Side by side on that woful day 
 
 At Kowno Bridge with the godlike Ney, 
 
 Facing ten thousand Cossack spears. 
 
 I saw him fall as they pressed us back, 
 
 Inch by inch, to the further shore ; 
 
 Then a mist of blood hid the battle wrack, 
 
 And I prayed to awaken nevermore. 
 
 But God's great mercy denied the boon 
 
 And gave me life and some deeds to do, 
 
 Till the end that came so sore and soon 
 
 In shame and sorrow and Waterloo. 
 
 Small loss was it then to leave the earth 
 
 That held no longer or hope or dread ; 
 
 But great the reward beyond my worth, 
 
 For I found him here I had mourned for dead. 
 
56 THE LAY BROTHER'S STORY 
 
 I marveled oft if he never thought 
 Of France and glory and dreams so dear 
 To our dear dead youth — ah ! I forgot 
 The saint had been man — and a grenadier ! 
 
 He held my hand, and the long desire 
 
 Spake through his eyes and the glaze of death ; 
 
 Something was, too, of the old-time fire 
 
 Men feel when they taste the battle-breath. 
 
 And something more of the love so strong 
 
 No years could weaken, no reason chill, 
 
 For the Chief we followed through right or wrong, 
 
 As the planets swing to the great Sun's will. 
 
 God will not love him less, I know. 
 
 For the love that gnawed at his silent breast 
 
 Through years of speechless doubt and woe, 
 
 For Himself hath said that love is best, 
 
 And all that he asked I freely told, 
 
 And would tell again though I died therefor — 
 
 "Tell me," he said, "my comrade old, 
 
 Tell me about my Emperor ! " 
 
WHITTIER 
 
 A law well kept in Otaheite saith : 
 " Speak not the Monarch's name on pain of death ! " 
 
 High on his throne majestic Wrong 
 Triumphant sate, and all in awe 
 
 Paid homage due — amid the throng 
 Was none so supple-kneed as Law. 
 
 The patriot at the shrine of Self 
 With hardly more devotion bowed, 
 
 The trader eager-eyed for pelf, 
 The pulpit politician loud, 
 
 And all the mob of caste and class, 
 Before the throne with tribute drew 
 
 And groveled low, as loth to pass ; 
 But no man spake the name taboo, 
 
 Till Freedom's poet came and sung, 
 And slaves of Slavery in shame 
 
 No longer held the servile tongue — 
 For all men spake the tyrant's name. 
 57 
 
WOBURN 
 
 Need we tell the stirring story of the builders of 
 
 the Town 
 Where the record of their glory every stone hath 
 
 written down ? 
 
 Do we look beyond the ripeness, to the sapling or 
 
 the root ? 
 Nay, we know the tree is healthy — we have tasted 
 
 of the fruit. 
 
 Fair and stately is the city, from the lowly hamlet 
 grown ; 
 
 But its strength is ruled and measured by the hid- 
 den corner-stone. 
 
 Not in darkness, but in wisdom, wrought the pre- 
 scient pioneers, 
 
 Hewing pathways, building bridges, for the march- 
 ing of the years. 
 
WO BURN 59 
 
 For the glorious procession that their eyes might 
 
 never see 
 Of the serried ages moving to the light of Liberty ; 
 
 Moving slowly, footsore, weary, for the road is dark 
 
 and long, 
 Every passage barred by Power, every hilltop held 
 
 by Wrong ; 
 
 Till the dawn of Freedom breaketh, with the prom- 
 ised land in view, 
 
 Where the simple many toil not for the strong and 
 cunning few, 
 
 Where the worker knows no master, and the thinker 
 
 takes no heed 
 Of the morrow lest he perish in the selfish game of 
 
 greed. 
 
 Naught the Fathers recked of hardships, naught 
 
 of triumphs sorely won ; 
 They but saw the day's endeavor and the duty to 
 
 be done. 
 
 For they said : " The sum we know not, but God 
 
 keeps the score in sight \ 
 Every cipher makes it tenfold, if you place it to the 
 
 right." 
 
60 WO BURN 
 
 Who hath faith may move a mountain. Aye, for 
 
 faith shall move the man, 
 And the strong arm of the righteous carry out the 
 
 heavenly plan. 
 
 So in sacrifice and travail, as a coral island grows, 
 With the builders for its ramparts, line by line the 
 structure rose. 
 
 Not on perishable columns be their faithful names 
 
 enrolled ; 
 Not in fleeting song or story be their valiant actions 
 
 told. 
 
 But by sons who stand for honor, in the council, on 
 
 the field ; 
 By unspotted civic virtue, Freedom's sword and 
 
 spear and shield j 
 
 By the simple faith and courage left in heritage and 
 
 trust, — 
 Shall the City hold its charter, when the parchment 
 
 turns to dust ! 
 
 
NATURE THE FALSE GODDESS 
 
 The vilest work of vilest man, 
 
 The cup that drugs, the sword that slays, 
 The purchased kiss of courtesan, 
 
 The lying tongue of blame or praise, 
 
 The cobra's fang, the tiger's spring, 
 The python's murderous embrace — 
 
 The wrath of any living thing — 
 A man may fear but bravely face. 
 
 But thou, cold Mother, knowest naught 
 Of love, or hate, or joy, or woe ; 
 
 Thy bounties come to man unsought, 
 Thy curses fall on friend and foe. 
 
 Thou bearest balm upon thy breath, 
 
 Or sowest poison in the air ; 
 And if man reapeth life or death, 
 
 Thou dost not know, thou dost not care. 
 61 
 
62 NATURE THE FALSE GODDESS 
 
 Thou art God's instrument of fate, 
 Obedient, mighty, soulless, blind, 
 
 No demon to propitiate, 
 No deity in love enshrined. 
 
 Let him who turns from God away 
 To Bel or Moloch bend the knee, 
 
 Defile his soul to wood or clay, 
 Or thrill with Voudoo's ecstasy, 
 
 Seek any fetich undivine, 
 
 Be any superstition's thrall — 
 
 From Heaven or Hell will come a sign, 
 But thou alone art deaf to all. 
 
RECANTATION 
 
 It is not wisdom to be over-wise : 
 
 At twenty, one knows all ; at thirty, less ; 
 
 Happy if even then his blindness he may guess, 
 
 Ere forty open his conceited eyes 
 
 To their own blankness, with severe surprise, — 
 
 Thrice happy if his folly he confess, 
 
 Who thought to find his perfect happiness 
 
 In tepid Friendship's unpoetic guise. 
 
 A timid sailor of the temperate zone, 
 I said : " Joy dwells not North, nor East, nor West, 
 Nor anywhere save in the sea-ways known 
 Where consort souls find harmony and rest " — 
 Till sudden Southward was my shallop blown, 
 And then, at last, I knew that Love was best. 
 63 
 
A SAILOR'S YARN 
 
 This is the tale that was told to me 
 
 By a battered and shattered son of the sea, 
 
 To me and my messmate, Silas Green, 
 When I was a guileless young marine. 
 
 T was the good ship Gyascutus, 
 
 All in the China seas, 
 With the wind a- lee and the capstan free 
 
 To catch the summer breeze. 
 
 'T was Captain Porgie on the deck, 
 To his mate in the mizzen hatch, 
 
 While the boatswain bold, in the forward hold. 
 Was winding his larboard watch. 
 
 "Oh, how does our good ship head to-night ? 
 
 Mow heads our gallant craft ? " 
 " Oh, she heads to the E. S. W. by \., 
 
 And the binnacle lies abaft I " 
 
 "4 
 
A SAILOR'S YARN 65 
 
 " Oh, what does the quadrant indicate, 
 And how does the sextant stand ? " 
 
 " Oh, the sextant 's down to the freezing point, 
 And the quadrant 's lost a hand ! " 
 
 " Oh, and if the quadrant has lost a hand 
 And the sextant falls so low, 
 It 's our bodies and bones to Davy Jones 
 This night are bound to go ! 
 
 " Oh, fly aloft to the garboard strake ! 
 And reef the spanker boom ; 
 Bend a studding-sail on the martingale, 
 To give her weather room. 
 
 " O boatswain, down in the for'ard hold, 
 
 What water do you find ? " 
 " Four foot and a half by the royal gaff 
 
 And rather more behind ! " 
 
 " O sailors, collar your marline spikes 
 And each belaying-pin ; 
 Come, stir your stumps and spike the pumps, 
 Or more will be coming in ! " 
 
 They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps, 
 They spliced the mizzen brace ; 
 
66 A SA/LOA"S YARN 
 
 Aloft and alow they worked, but oh ! 
 The water gained apace. 
 
 They bored a hole above the keel 
 
 To let the water out ; 
 But, strange to say, to their dismay, 
 
 The water in did spout. 
 
 Then up spoke the Cook of our gallant ship. 
 And he was a lubber brave : 
 w I have several wives in various ports, 
 And my life 1 "d orter save." 
 
 Then up spoke the Captain of Marines, 
 Who dearly loved his prog : 
 " It 's awful to die, and it 's worse to be dry, 
 And I move we pipes to grog." 
 
 Oh, then \ was the noble second mate 
 What filled them all with awe : 
 
 The second mate, as bad men hate, 
 And cruel skippers jaw. 
 
 He took the anchor on his back 
 
 And leaped into the main ; 
 Through foam and spray he clove his way, 
 
 And sunk anil rose again I 
 
A SAILOR'S YARN * 6? 
 
 Through foam and spray, a league away 
 
 The anchor stout he bore ; 
 Till, safe at last, he made it fast 
 
 And warped the ship ashore ! 
 
 'T ain't much of a job to talk about, 
 
 But a ticklish thing to see, 
 And suth'in to do, if I say it, too, 
 
 For that second mate was me ! 
 
 Such was the tale that was told to me 
 By that modest and truthful son of the sea ; 
 And I envy the life of a second mate, 
 Though captains curse him and sailors hate,, 
 For he ain't like some of the swabs I Ve seen, 
 As would go and lie to a poor marine. 
 
HOPE 
 
 The star you seem to see, love, 
 With eyes more bright and clear, 
 
 All dark and dead may be, love, 
 This many a hundred year. 
 
 But though its fires may never 
 
 Send forth another ray, 
 That beam through space forever 
 
 Shall wing its shining way. 
 
 So, spite of saints and sages 
 
 And maxims manifold, 
 
 Love lives through all the ages, 
 
 Though hope be dead and cold. 
 68 
 
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