LIBRARY UNIV.KSITYOF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO Songs of the Hill Winds Songs of the Hill Winds a book of Lyrics and other Verse which 'have appeared in the Undergraduate Publications of Dartmouth College Compiled and Edited by Kendall Banning and Moses Bradstreet Perkins New York : Arranged and Printed for the Editors at The Cheltenham Press MCMI nO I Of this edition but five hundred copies were printed, and types then distributed. Each copy is numbered, and this book is Number . Contents Page Men of Dartmouth. By Richard Hovey I The Pastures of Parnassus. By Edwin Osgood Graver 3 The Wine of Thought. By Kent Knowlton 4 English Violets. By Richard Hovey 5 A Mid- Winter Song. By Ozora Stearns Davis 7 Indian Pipe. By Fred Lewis Pattee 8 After Death. By Charles Francis Richardson 9 An October Song. By Daniel Luther Lawrence I o A Sonnet. By William Drummond Baker 1 1 Flood Tide. By Edwin Osgood Graver 12 Chopin. By Le Baron Monroe Huntington 15 Wedded. By Richard Hovey 16 The Wind and the Rose. Anonymous 17 Fame. By Le Baron Monroe Huntington 19 Season Song. By Gordon Hall Gerould 2O Squab Flights. By Richard Hovey 21 An August Noon. By Fred Lewis Pattee 22 Enchantment. By Robert Argyle Campbell 23 Pythias. By Ozora Stearns Davis 24 A Matin Song. By John Hiram Gerould 25 Herodotus. By Walter Sydney Adams 26 Valentine Song. By Robert Argyle Campbell 27 Page Love's Dawn. By William Byron Forbush 28 The White Hills. By Charles Frederick Robinson 29 The Youth of Love. By Ozora Stearns Davis 30 A Spanish Air. By Fred Lewis Pattee 3 1 World and Poet. By Richard Hovey 33 Cor Cordium. Anonymous 34 Dawn. By Le Baron Monroe Huntington 35 / Dead. By Richard Hovey 36 * The Promise of Youth. By Gordon Hall Gerould 39 A Banquet Song. By Charles Frederick Robinson 40 Autumn, By John Henry Bartlett 41 A Nocturne. By Le Baron Monroe Huntington 42 Bohemia. By Richard Hovey 43 Still Waiting. By Marshall Putnam Thompson 46 Bacchic. Anonymous 47 Longing. By Charles Frederick Robinson 48 Winter. By Richard Hovey 49 Autumn. By Fletcher Harper Swift 51 To the Oriole. By Herbert Salisbury Hopkins 52 The Old Pine. By Richard Hovey 53 Winter Beauty. By Richard Hovey 54 Time. By Frederick James Allen 55 Dizrins. By Daniel Luther Lawrence 56 vi Pagt The Pope's Wine. By Marshal Putnam Thompson 5 8 June. Anonymous 59 The Lotus-Eaters. By William Drummond Baker 6 1 Her Promise. By Walter Seager Sullivan 62 Villanelle. By Daniel Luther Lawrence 63 The South. By Richard Hovey 65 A Rondeau. By Daniel Luther Lawrence 66 " Vox Clamantis in Deserto." Anonymous 67 Coming to Anchor. By William Drummond Baker 68 Song. By Richard Hovey 69 The Return. By Archibald Blakeson 70 The Daughter of Dawn. By Le Baron Monroe Huntington 7 1 Compensation. By Wilder Dwight ^uint 72 Altruria. By Newton Marshall Hall 73 Blind Love. By Homer Eaton Keyes 74 A Triolet. By Kent Knowlton 74 A Ballade of Mysteries. By Richard Hovey 75 The Wind's Message. By Ozora Stearns Davis 77 A Student's Reverie. By Henry Hildreth Piper 78 At Eventide. By Bertrand Adoniram Smalley 79 A Dream. By William Albert Foster 80 vii Page An October Day. By Ozora Stearns Davis 8 1 Quatrains. By Sherman Roberts Moulton 82 A Winter Sunset. By Charles Pratt Graham 83 To Violets in October. By Homer Eaton Keyes 84 Drink in Reverence. By Robert Meacham Davis 85 Eventide. By Homer Eaton Keyes 86 Parting. By Robert Meacham Davis 87 Rondel. By Daniel Luther Lawrence 88 June. By Homer Eaton Keyes 89 Autumn Leaves. By Frederick Oliver Bradley 89 The Last Spring. By Robert Meacham Davis 90 Chickadees. By Frederick Oliver Bradley 91 The Frost. By Frederick Oliver Bradley 91 In Later Days. By William Byron Forbtish 92 Autumn. By Homer Eaton Keyes 92 Banquet Song. By Edwin Osgood Graver 93 Vlll Acknowledgments THE thanks of the editors are ex- tended to Professor Emery for his valuable assistance in the selection of the verse in this volume ; to Mr. Keyes for his helpful suggestions, and to the library officials who have so kindly placed the files of the Dartmouth periodicals at their dis- posal. Acknowledgments are gratefully ex- tended to Messrs. Small, Maynard & Com- pany for permission to use the following poems : " World and Poet," " The South," "The Old Pine," "Squab Flights," "Dead," " Ballade of Mysteries," and " Men of Dart- mouth." Songs of the Hill Winds Men of Dartmouth. IN of Dartmouth, give a rouse For the college on the hill ! For the Lone Pine above her And the loyal men that love her, Give a rouse, give a rouse, with a will For the sons of old Dartmouth, The sturdy sons of Dartmouth, Though 'round the girdled earth they roam, Her spell on them remains ; They have the still North in their hearts, The hill-winds in their veins, And the granite of New Hampshire In their muscles and their brains. They were mighty men of old That she matured side by side ; Till like Vikings they forth From the lone and silent North, - And they strove, and they wrought, and they died ; But the sons of old Dartmouth, The laurelled sons of Dartmouth The Mother keeps them in her heart, And guards their altar-flame ; The still North remembers them, The hill-winds know their name, And the granite of New Hampshire Keeps the record of their fame. Men of Dartmouth, set a watch Lest the old traditions fail ! Stand as brother stands by brother ! Dare a deed for the old Mother ! Greet the world, from the hills, with a hail For the sons of old Dartmouth, The loyal sons of Dartmouth Around the world they keep for her Their old chivalric faith ; They have the still North in their soul, The hill-winds in their breath ; And the granite of New Hampshire Is made part of them till death. N the parching heat of the dusty street That skirts Parnassus hill, I trudged along with a silent song, Yet a joy serene and still. When, lo, by the roadside a poet sat, Haggard and weary and grim ; Between his knees a broken harp That would not sing for him. Through the cooling shade of the pastures there, By the rills that laughing play, The bard had roamed with his ill-strung harp Till his ragged hair was gray. Morning and night with eternal hope He would tie the broken string, And pleading pray the gods to grant The song it could not sing. The vanquished hopes and songless harps That on Parnassus lie ! And the hearts that break for the rapturous song That alone can satisfy ! And so in the heat of the dusty street That skirts Parnassus hill, I trudge along with a silent song, Yet a joy supreme and still. 3 The Wine of Thought. [EEP it guarded ever In the storehouse of thy brain. Poured out, it shall never Its aroma find again. Let the heat of summer thrill it ; Let the cold of winter chill it, Till it gain its perfect temper, till it reach its perfect strain. Drink not, though thou longest For the cooling, strengthening draught. Thine own soul thou wrongest ; Such a wine must not be quaffed Till old age hath purified it, Till full many years have dyed it With the colors of the flowers through long summers that have laughed. When the perfect measure Of its days hath come at last, Bring forth then thy treasure, While thy thirsty heart beats fast. Pour thy wine of richest flavor, Sparkling, filled with all the savor Of the years that thou hast vanquished, of the seasons that are past. English Violets. NGLISH violets: Violets her hand has touched ! Ah, that April morning ! Ah, the sunlight ! Ah, the garden odors ! There were other forms than earthly by me. Did I not hear ah ! listen In the air, the wing-beats of God's angels ? Then I turned, and saw her oh, the wonder ! Standing like a seraph in the sunlight, In her hand this tiny violet-cluster She a violet, sweeter far than these were, Deeper, purer, holier, more mystic, Oh, the flood of sunlight that I swam in ! Oh, the worship ! oh, the adoration ! When she smiled and cast them meward, smiling, In the April days when Love was young. This is all I have now All the music left me All the love that might have kinged my nature, Dungeoned in the casket where these flowers are ! All the tender glory, all the passion ! 5 Shall I not, in other worlds, hereafter Meet her face to face, and know her truly Mine, with lovelight streaming from her eyes? Is it but for earth-life ? I can bear it, Bear it, though earth's air grow hot hell-sul- phur ! But if death unite us not God in heaven ! what heaven for me with- out her ! Christ, have mercy ! A Mid- Winter Song. LD Winter is king, and the sleigh-bells are ringing ; The red, leaping flames up the chimney are singing. Heap wood on the fires, load tables with cheer : We'll conquer the cold at the birth of the year. The mountains and hills in white mantles are sleeping, The hues of the summer the hemlocks are keeping, And over the windows, in tracings of white, New forests are drawn in the chill of the night. A laugh and a song are the weapons we wield : To music and mirth even Winter shall yield, Though now o'er the meadows the wild wind may blow, And heap at the roadside white billows of snow. Indian Pipe. I ALE ghost of flowers, That in the midnight hours, From darkest mould, Doth in the inmost coverts of the wood Rise gaunt and cold, Thou art akin to those dim lights that glower From pestilential swamp at midnight's hour, Or phantom fogs that glide Along the river's brim at even-tide. Art thou some fay, That at the break of day Forgot to flee ? Or yet some relic of that elfin crew, That 'neath some tree, At midnight's hour, do hold high carnival By moonlight scant, or light of glow-worm dull, Surprised by owl or wind, Did they in sudden fright leave thee behind ? Speak, phantom flower ! Art thou from Pluto's bower, A noisome spray Beloved by Hecate and by Proserpine ? Speak, flower, and say If from thy petals pale and clammy vine A mortal hand might press a leaden wine, A cup to banish pain And woo to Lethe's opiate domain ! 8 jHEN I forthfare beyond this narrow earth, With all its metes and bounds of now and here, And brooding clouds of ig- norance and fear That overhung me on my day of birth, Where through the jocund sun's perennial mirth Has shone more inly bright each coming year, With some new glory of that outer sphere Where length and breadth and height are little worth, Then shall I find that even here below We guessed the secret of eternity, And learned in years the yearless mystery ; For in our earliest world we came to know The Master's lesson and the riddle's key : Unending love unending growth shall be. An October Song. OLDEN apples on the bough, Heaping leaves beneath ; Mellow light on care-lined brow, Crowned with silvery wreath. Songs of sunny vintagers, Gathering grapes for wine ; Ah ! was One who trod alone, Treading out the vine. Sunlit haze, October days, Sweeter joy than June ; Sacred rest for the weary breast, Deeper than mid-noon. Golden, golden, golden days, Gold that is not mined : Seraph wings, a splendrous maze, Wafting down the wind. 10 A Sonnet. that sweet morn when we stood face to face, And I looked deep into those lustrous eyes, My heart bowed low. For all the light that lies In thine own queenly purity and grace Shone forth. And then I cried in doubt, " The trace Of low thoughts in my life thou wilt despise. I am unworthy." But with slow surprise, As one would wake from dreams to find the place Around him glorified, I heard the voice, That very voice which thrilled me through and through But yesterday, saying again, " My choice, For life or death, forever is in you." And I am counted worthy to rejoice In such a love ! O heart, can it be true ? ii Flood Tide. A Prairie Hymn. N the lisp of the grass it was audible, in the whisper of winds it was heard, My soul was a-thrill with the news of it long e'er a glimmer had stirred. Each star in the sky was aware of it, the moon was awake and a-hark, Yet never a sound in the silence and never a rift in the dark. But, lo ! in the Easta ripple of tenuous light Is unrolled from the uttermost depths of the darkness of Night, A flicker of dawn as if angels for keeping of mass Had lit every tip of the terminal,orient grass, And passed in to worship. But oh, how far, how far ! 'Tis the wake of a star ! Nay, 'tis the turning of tide; a palpitant wave and thin ; 'Tis the Day coming in ! With timorous tread encircling the skirts of Night, This hint of glory out-widens, a pool of virginal light ; 12 As a star down-dropped from an angel's hand Would widen in circles to compass the land. Forever out-reaching, out-reaching, so, This glimmer of dawn burns brighter till, lo ! 'Tis a flame dim revealing the edge of the world And hangs like a banner unfurled ; A fluttering streamer of light, From the crest of the Night. O wide-eyed, wondering stars ! Dreamers of dreams ! Ye must drown in the incoming gleams Of the Day. But say, oh ! say, Does the death of the Day ever fear you ? Is the night e'er by you to cheer you ? O little, bright stars all-confiding, With Faith e'er abiding, abiding, How trusting ye are ! Good-by, little star ! And hark, O my soul ! Can ye hear not the billows that roll ? Can ye see not the tremulous flow That purples the East ? Lo ! With its glory submerging, submerging, The surf of the sunlight is surging 13 Hard, hard on the emerald shore. A gasp ! And the Night is no more ! And soft in the weft of the grasses over the prairie-sea, The tide of Day flows westward over the world and me. Chopin. IHOU weird and wizard spirit of the night, Who shall breathe sounds of such sweet witchery As angels never whispered save to thee ? Thy soaring soul sought realms of starry light; Inspired, alone thou trodst the dizzy height, And from the cool, damp wells of night thy free, Untrammelled spirit drank in ecstasy. Celestial angels, robed in spotless white, Struck all their quivering harps of gold for thee, And surfeited with such sweet harmony, Thy soul sought once again the earth and caught The moaning of the pines, the sobbing sea, And blended all in songs ineffably With ecstasy and pathos interwrought. Wedded. IIRDS are singing in the closes, Singing for joy of June. Scent of English violets Mingles with the mignonette's; And the garden's red with roses, When the glad brown thrushes croon Thrushes crooning in the closes All this rose-sweet June. Rarer joy than yours has found me, Birds of the rose-sweet June. Maidenhood with Maytime ended ; Love, the strong one, o'er me bended, And with orange blossoms crowned me In the hot, sweet summer noon. Rarer joy than yours has found me, Love's year has its June. 16 The Wind and the Rose. N a shady nook a rosebush grew, Its blossoms were white as a lily fair, Its petals were kissed by the passing breeze, Which whispered of love among its leaves, And its fragrance filled the air. Through the happy months of the summer- time The wind kissed the rose in passing by, Till a feeling of love between them grew, And the wind his softest breezes blew From out the Western sky. For the gentle rose and its sweet perfume Had robbed the wind of his wild rough play, And her kisses, warm with the breath of love, And leaves as pure as the clouds above, Strengthened his fetters, day by day. And the wind passed on to other lands, But his voice was softened, his might sub- dued, The grasses freshened beneath his feet, And the timid birds in the woods sang sweet And rejoiced in his milder mood. 17 And now when the winter's snows are deep, And the rose is stripped of her leaves and bare, A warm breath comes from the sunny South, And the rose again renews her youth And appears in her bridal robes as fair. 18 Fame. [IS reached by few with years of toil and pain, And ruined fellow-men oft pay the price With broken hearts as fickle fortune's dice Award to others what they would attain. Yet souls are staked and lost in grim disdain Of love and justice, and on hearts of ice Unheeded falls the voice of sin and vice And misery, for fame recks naught but gain And seeks in selfishness the gleaming gold Or approbation of the vulgar crowd Of envious men. Methinks 'tis nobler far To win in life's great commonplace a hold Upon the hearts of men, with wealth endowed Of one pure woman's love which naught can mar. Season Song. NCING down the path she came, Merrily, merrily oh ! Ruddy cheeks and eyes aflame, Singing, oh merrily oh ! Roses for the garden. Summer's dear delights, Holly for the high-roofed hall, When the north wind bites. Underfoot she trod the snow, Child of a frost-bound clime, Cared not that the sun wheeled low, Singing of holiday time. May-day with its flowers, Crowns the spring s delights. Christmas gladdens more than all. Though the keen cold bites. Seasons all have gladness, Changes life like year. Roses fade and snow-flakes fall y Tet we know not fear. 20 Squab Flights. JOVE is eternal," sang I long ago Of some light love that lasted for a day ; But when the fleeting fancy passed away, And other loves, that following made as though They were the very deathless, lost the glow Youth mimics the divine with, and grew I said, " It is a dream : no love will stay." Angels have taught me wisdom. Now I know, Though lesser loves and greater loves may cease, Love still endures, knocking at myriad gates That lead to God stars, winds and waters, birds, Beasts, flowers and men speaking in sweetest words At woman's portal, till it finds its peace In the abyss where Godhead loves and waits. 21 An August Noon. [HE swooning meadows lie like summer seas ; The landscape reels : a quiv- ering, ghastly gleam Bedims the fields ; as in a spell they seem, Save where the redtop rolls with scarce a breeze. The mowers in the clover to their knees Seem treading out the mazes of a dream. No sound, save far away the locust's scream, Or dreamily a bird-voice in the trees. The cricket's monotone amid the grass Is scarcely heard, a soothing lullaby, And steady drones the summer-sounding bee. The mingled notes to sleepy murmurs pass, Without a sound floats o'er a butterfly, And drowsiness and dreams steal over me. 22 Enchantment. (Down in the dingle the arbutus blossoms.} AIREST of flowers, the mod- est way In which thou hidest thy dainty face, Thy sweetness and thy charming grace, Marks thee the best of the gifts of May. (Deep in the closes the hermit thrush singe th.) Rarest of songsters, the melody And love and joy of thy pure voice Makes longing soul and heart rejoice Wonderful spirit of harmony. (Far on the uplands the light zephyr bloweth.} Warmed by the sunshine, thy mellowness Gives strength to flowers and bird and me, Acknowledging thy sovereignty, Blessed by thy powerful pleasantness. (Down in yon hamlet dwelleth my sweetheart.} Wither, Arbutus ! Be silent, Bird ! And thou, O Zephyr, cease to blow Your charms are overmatched so ! What are they, pray ? I have never heard. Pythias. LONG to find one soul akin to mine, One heart so like mine own that it would see With pitying eyes my soul's infirmity, And show for it some sympathetic sign ; One heart where I, as to a votive shrine, Might bring my toils and victories trust- ing^ And know that there was ever place for me For triumph, joy ; for wounds, love's oil and wine. I yearn to know the rapture that would grow, As years made holier our sweet, common way; To brave together life's wide, beating sea, Undaunted by whatever wind might blow, And then, as darkness closes on the day, To pass, through death, to love's eternity. 24 A Matin Song. [EN May, her odorous locks unbound, Comes floating on the balmy air, She scatters snowy blossoms round, And joy and mirth are everywhere. In every bush a songster trills Unto his mate a lay of love ; And every blade of grass distils A nectar from the mists above. 'T is sweet to brush the sparkling dew, When morning's air is full of song. Then lovers' hearts thrill through and through, And life is gay, and hope is strong. Herodotus. LONG, dim, storied vista of the years, Where stalk the shadowy forms of kings of old. The bearded monarchs who have long been mold Here show us human hopes and human fears, A pageant of sad figures, veiled in tears, Behind which human lives are bought and sold : What matters it whether for blood or gold, Since Death, the landlord, has paid all arrears ? As in a dream we seem to hear afar The marshalling of Xerxes's hosts to war ; The rush of white-winged triremes o'er the blue; The insurgent Greeks to Sardis marching on ; And then with Cyrus's lords we enter through The river gates of princely Babylon. 26 Valentine Song. EAREST, let these roses In their purity Be a present symbol Of my love for thee. Underneath the blossom Thorns are sure to grow ; Take heed lest you touch them, They would pain you so ! Ah ! my faults like thorns are, But cannot they be Hidden 'neath the flower Of my love for thee ? 27 Love's Dawn. [OVE has been singing, oh, so long in me, First softly, half unheard, a dreamy lay, Like twitterings of birds be- fore the day, From their brown nests in every maple-tree ; Then a clear note rang out so wild and free, Just as the eastern clouds turned red from Loud heralding the sun, upon his way Up the broad heavens, in regal majesty ; Then long, bright rays shot up athwart the sky, And with accompaniment of flute-like notes, Rose a sweet overture, serene and strong. And now a flood of light spreads far and high, There comes a burst from myriad silver throats, And the whole world is bathed in light and song. 28 The White Hills. HEN Horace sang, Soracte stood, Clothed white with snow, While lofty spires of dark fire- wood Waved far below. The poet saw, and struck the lyre To praise the bowl, The maiden's charms, a blazing fire, And ancient scroll. O could he see you, granite hills, Sublimely grand Where every height with wonder thrills Aloft ye stand He'd spurn the yielding velvet couch, And bound away Where ye, great lions, proudly crouch, At dawn of day ; And, gazing from your loftiest peak, Would drink the wine Of bracing air and sights that speak Of hand divine. Ye bring the message full and clear From God to man ; Ye feed the soul with wine more dear Than Caecuban. 29 The Youth of Love. HEN Love was young, the whole round world was When Love was young, came in the age of gold, And lover's music Love's sweet story told To hearts that beat responsive roundelay. But now that Love is old, no longer play The reedy pipes ; the lover's tale is told In terms of modern profit, stern and cold ; The time of mirth and dreams has passed away. So say the skeptics. False ! The pipes of Pan Still play at Love's omnipotent behest, As first they played when Love's glad song began; The holy prize is still full worth the quest ; The age of gold returns to every man Who makes the Archer-god his welcome guest. A Spanish Air. |OME " cried the mandolin ; In low, sweet passion pleaded the guitar, " The sunlands call to thee, The wonder lands below the southern star. Oh, come ! afar ! afar ! A richer life and beauty wait thee there, A sweeter muse, voluptuous and fair, Awaits thy song, and there an infant Pan Is born where western beauty first began In lands afar." Still thrilled the mandolin, Its strangely sweet and penetrating note ; And still the low guitar, Filled in the pleading strain with mellow throat. " Oh, come ! afar ! afar ! The lotus land below the burning zone Is calling thee, is calling thee alone, Come, sweet one, bring thy love and song to me, In lands afar." mystic mountain land, Sweet land that fronts the future and the past, 1 fly, I fly to thee, For thou the promise of the future hast. I come ! afar ! afar ! Not long with pleading face thou liest prone, But thou shalt rise, and 'neath the burning zone Shall build Parnassus, higher than the old, And bring again the poet's age of gold In lands afar. World and Poet. [ING for us, poet, for our hearts are broken ! Sing us a song of happy, happy love ! Sing of the joy that words leave all unspoken ! The lilt and laughter of life Oh, sing thereof! Oh, sing of life, for we are sick and dying ! Oh, sing of love, for all our love is dead ! Oh, sing of laughter, for we know but sigh- ing ! Oh, sing of kissing, for we kill instead ! " How should he sing of happy love, I pray, Who drank Love's cup of anguish long ago? How should he sing of life and joy and day, Who whispers death to end his night of woe ? And yet the poet took his lyre and sang Till all the dales with happy echoes rang. 33 Cor Cordium. [E sunset glow has faded from the sky ; The mottled thrush has moaned her requiem lay And ushered to the past the dying day. The leaden clouds in gloomy legions lie, The silk winged owlet wails his eerie cry ; But through the dusky pines a heavenly ray Across the silent blackness steals its way, And peaceful starlight thrills the weary eye. O, heart of hearts, be strong and full of cheer, Not ever shalt thou dwell in shrouded night, Not ever thus with hopeless thought be rent. Thy star shall rise and flash her radiance clear, Of blessed love athwart thy raptured sight, And shine for aye, and thou shalt be content. 34 Dawn. [RISING from her perfumed, cloud-hung bed, Fair Dawn unclasped the robes of sleepy Night And tenderly her eyes so starry bright Soft closed with sweetest sleep, and laid her head To rest, soft-pillowed in the west ; thence fled, O'er hills and sleeping streams in eager flight, To greet her lover sun with fairest sight. She bound bright golden bands about her head Of dusky hair ; her rosy fingers clasped About her maiden form soft robes, pearl- gray' Bedecked with diamonds of the crystal dew; And from the grassy, morning meadows grasped A filmy veil lest crimson blush betray Her virgin heart to Phoebus's eager view. 35 Dead. H, God ! how strange the rat- tling in the street Comes to me where I lie and the hours pass. I watch a beetle crawling up the sheet That covers me, and curiously note The green and yellow back like mouldy brass ; And cannot even shudder at the thought How soon the loathsome thing will reach my face. And by such things alone I measure out The slow drip of the minutes from Time's eaves. For if I think of when I lived, I doubt It was but yesterday I brushed the flow- ers ; But when I think of what I am, thought leaves The weak mind dizzy in a waste of hours. O God, how happy is the man that grieves ! Life ? It was life to look upon her face, And it was life to weep when she was gone; But this new horror ! In the market-place 36 A form, in all things like me as I moved Of old, is marked or hailed of many an one That takes it for his friend that lived and loved, And I laugh voicelessly, a laugh of stone. For here I lie and neither move nor feel, And watch that Other pacing up and down The room, or pausing at his potter's wheel To turn out cunning vessels from the clay, Vessels that he will hawk about the town And then return to work another day Frowning, but I, I neither smile nor frown. I see him take his coat down from the peg And put it on, and open the white door, And brush some bit of cobweb from his leg, And look about the room before he goes ; And then the clock goes ticking as be- fore, And I am with him and know all he does, And I am here and tell each clock-tick o'er. The men are praising him for subtle skill ; And women love him God alone knows why ! He can have all the world holds at his will 37 But this, to be a living soul, and this No man but I can give him ; and I lie And make no sign, and care not what he is, And hardly know if this indeed be I. Ah, if she came and bent above me here, Who lie with straight bands bound about my chin ! Ah, if she came and stood beside this bier With aureoles as of old upon her hair To light the darkness of this burial bin ! Should I not rise again and breathe the air And feel the veins warm that the blood beats in ? Or should I lie with sinews fixed, and shriek As dead men shriek and make no sound ? Should I See her gray eyes look love and hear her speak, And be all impotent to burst my shroud ? Will the dead never rise from where they lie? Or will they never cease to think so loud ? Or is to know and not to be, to die ? The Promise of Youth. NTO the van they come With the thunderous tread of feet, A myriad throng where hearts beat strong, Till the foes of fate they meet. Who are the youth that come With the high souls visioned clear ? A host of might for truth to fight And their strong hearts know not fear. Into the van they come Where the storm and battle swirl. Nor who will doubt and wheel about, And the brave flag who unfurl ? Hark to the songs that come, The untroubled victor's lay, The chants of peace and glad increase When the strife has passed away. Into the van they come, All the youth of teeming hope. Now hear them sing what time will bring As the vanguard climb the slope. 39 A Banquet Song. bonum, quamque jucundum y fratres habi- tare in unum. |OW sweet when brothers dwell in harmony." So sighed the weary monk, when, worn with pain, His frame with torture racked, he died to gain A martyrdom by truth and sanctity ; O'er all his soul poured soft the melody Of music sweet when sang the white- cowled train, And nave to chancel echoed back again The brotherhood's low, soothing minstrelsy. So we, whose years are bright and few, Whose hearts with youth's strong pulse throb cheerily, Who seek the truth of being earnestly, Chant the old song to-night with fervor new, While arch and rafter sound back joyously, " How sweet when brothers dwell in har- mony." 40 Autumn. [OU aged goddess of the year, With hasty stride, And garments dyed In shades of grayish brown, and sear, We hear thy fast-advancing tread As thou dost go To realms of snow, Where sparkling wreaths shall crown thy head. Thou'st brought us many treasures rare. The rip'ning clime Of harvest time Is the sacred object of thy care. The blushing fruit and waving grain We quickly store, And thee adore, While trusting thou wilt come again. Fair goddess, haste thee not away, But tarry here Our hearts to cheer Prolong to us thy parting day ; For many here, ere again we see Thy gentle hand, At Death's command Will join the vast eternity. A Nocturne. HE soft and sylph-like shadows throw A robe about the dying day ; And dark-eyed Night, with laughter low, Trails in the sky her glittering train. The soft, sweet-scented western wind Seems but the breath of lovely Night, As through the latticed open blind It moves me with its whisperings. The soothing voice of rippling streams, The music of the meadow marsh, But lulls me with delicious dreams And I am lost in slumberland. 42 Bohemia. S shall none blind ; Comrades, we're free ; Free as the wind, Free as the sea Free ! Oh, why should we Be the slaves of words ? Here we are free, Free as the birds Free ! Free from the lies We loathe and despise, Free to laugh, Free to quaff Rhine wine or lager beer- Even whiskey In our frisky Moments here. Here we are free ; Free to say What we will ; Free to be sad, Free to be gay ; Free to reveal All we may be, Good or bad. 43 Here is the real, Here the ideal. Here the poor hardship A week recalls not, Here glory of hardship That passes all thought. True, sometimes troubles May to us belong They are the bubbles The stream does not heed em, But flows along In thunders of freedom And tempest of song. Laugh, you shallow Worldling ! Laugh, You, too, callow Beardless calf! Laugh ! I tell you that we, While you are smirking And lying and shirking Life's duty of duties, Honest sincerity, We are in verity Free Free to rejoice In blisses and beauties, Free as the voice 44 Of the wind as it passes, Free as the bird In the weft of the grasses 5 Free as the word Of the sun the sea Free ! 45 Still Waiting. [OWN upon the long coast stretches, Where the sand-dunes met the sea, Half buried, lie the gray old timbers Of the fair ship, Fleur de Lis. Still Dame Margaret of Cherbourg, Scans the billows, day by day. Twenty years have rolled their cycles, Since her good man sailed away. Every evening finds her saying, " Sure, he'll come before the light." Every morning finds her praying, " Send him, Lord, before the night." Still upon the long coast stretches, Where the sand-dunes meet the sea, Half buried, lie the gray old timbers Of the fair ship, Fleur de Lis. Bacchic. lOUR out the sparkling wine, For in this heart of mine Wild longings burn and glow ; I would quench them with the flow Of the mirth-god's gift divine. Soft eyes may tender beam, Love in their depths may gleam, Naught bringing save unrest. Wreathe the cup with flowery crest, Hail to Lethe's blissful stream ! Ay, hail the current wide ! For on the farther side Lies fair Elysium's strand, Where the shades forgetful stand, Quaff the blood-red Lethe's tide ! 47 Longing. [HEN thy fair face is far, so far away, When all around I struggle through life's throng, And all around me rises cheering song From gentle, happy souls, content and gay, Who, toiling in the sunlight of the day, Find other souls whose faithful love and strong Sustains and helps them all the way along When marriage bells sound near me on the way My heart, too, e'er is light, for well I know Thy love eternal is for me, for me ; Yet, like the undertone of unseen woe, Which ever threads the brighter melody, Like echo of a sob, distraught and low, My soul calls out, " O Love, I long for thee." Winter. CE and snow ice and snow Everywhere the eye can go. Winter like a stern old king, Lonely, silent, sorrowing, Waits but to end his cheerless reign And die and meet his love again. For she who should have been his bride Ere their lips knew kisses, died. That's the reason, all men know, That Winter's hair is white as snow And he seems a stern old king, Lonely, silent, sorrowing. When Summer comes and claims his crown He will sigh and lay it down. He will die he will die- When the snow flies he will fly Once^ again his love to see In the land of Faerie. Far away far away Where the roses bloom for aye, Dwells a maiden fairer far Than the fairest roses are, And she loves me, Winter, true As your lost one loveth you. 49 I shall meet her once again, When Summer comes and ends your reign. We will both be happy then. Ice and snow ice and snow And my heart is aching so. Winter, Winter, haste and go. Autumn. [S Autumn ; all the world a pageant keeps, The lordly hills their crimson tints have raised, And flung out golden banners for display, Where ages long their royal crests have blazed. Yet I, as one who sits him at the feast With weary eye and heavily laden breast, Am sad amid this splendor of earth's pomp, And all my heart with sorrow is oppressed. For in the triumph song that beats the sky And shakes the banners of the hills, I hear The sighs of dying leaves and pale-faced flowers, Unseen, unheeded, sinking on their bier. O Autumn, glorious sunset of the year, When all the world burns mad with wine and light, Thy hands are bounteous, but thy feet are cruel, And barren, dark and barren is thy night. To the Oriole. IGHTLY swinging, sweetly singing, In the budding trees, Rapturous song is borne along On the scented breeze. Golden throated, joyous noted, In the bright spring days ; Happy creature ! what a teacher Of the art of praise ! With thy trilling thou art rilling All the balmy air ; Thine is pleasure without measure, Song is everywhere. Cease your singing, cease your swinging, Fly unto your nest. The shades are falling, night is calling Nature to its rest. The Old Pine. stood upon the hill like some old chief, And held communion with the cryptic wind, Keeping like some dim un- forgotten grief The memory of tribesmen autumn- skinned, Silent and slow as clouds, whose footing passed Down the remote trails of oblivion Long since into the caverns of the past. Alone, aloof, strong fellow of the sun, We chose it for our standard in its prime, Nor though no longer grimly from its hill It fronts the world, like Webster wind not time Has felled its austere ghost, we see it still, In alien lands, resurgent and undying Flag of our hearts, from sudden ramparts flying. 53 Winter Beauty. ID-WEEK of midwinter ! Day- break ! It is snowing, And I look out on my garden from my room, Where a six-month since my roses were a-blowing Red and white and tea roses all in bloom. Now the snow is falling, falling, still, re- lentless ; Everywhere the eye turns, only flakes of snow Ghosts of summer's rose leaves, colorless and scentless, Come to haunt the gardens where they used to grow. Ah ! the ice-death that has slain the laugh- ing river ! Ah ! the memories of meadowland and mere ! Of the June-snow of pond-lilies lost forever, And the roses that were blooming yester- year ! There is beauty in this cruel winter, even, In this white world where the snowlight shimmereth ; But the beauty of the summer was of heaven, And this beauty of the winter is of death. 54 Time. AYS have left us, And bereft us Of dear friends and bitter foes. Days are with us, Moments give us Pleasures sweet, as on life goes. Days are coming, Moments, summing Soon our share of joys and woes. Youth, life's morning Self-adorning, Time's deep impress does not show. Life is fleeting, Strong hearts beating Soon will pass through weal and woe. Age is showing Fruit that's growing From the seed sown long ago. 55 Dizrins. The Charites. [REE long-stoled maids, deep- girt and wimpled three Fair shame - faced virgins serve Uranian Love. The first is Trust, then Truth, then Chastity. And Trust is tender as the turtle-dove, And clad in opal-lustred wings thereof. And Truth, for raiment, has the sevensome bow, For she is manifold, yet one. The glow Of inmost clearest flame, of blushes sweet, Of maiden love, of the rose just 'gun to blow, Clothes Chastity. These three sit round Love's feet. The Parcae. IN midmost cave of Orcus, in the womb Whereof the world was --Jove's most secret cell- Sit the weird weavers by the mystic loom. Configured planets, fiery comets fell, Flare redly 'round these Queens of Hell ; And flights of ominous birds above them soar. 56 The air is filled with moan of doves and roar Of threatening thunders. All about are scattered Sybillic leaves and rolls of magic lore ; Yet who has raised the veil that veils their head? 57 The Pope's Wine. LOOM of roses and breath of June, Made the monk sing as he pruned his vine, Purple asters and harvest moon Ruled the month when he pressed the wine. On the bottle a waxen seal Kept the vintage from taste and sight, Graved with letters cut by steel : " Drink on the day of thy best delight." Other grapes ripened and asters died, The monk was abbot, old and gray. He hoped for the crimson hat, and cried, " Not yet, I wait for my happiest day." Years flew past him, score on score, The abbot was cardinal, pope ; full soon His soul was ashes, his heart was sore, Delight in his days an unsung tune. Bloom of roses and breath of June, Kissed the pope on his dying bed. " Do I live ? " " No, death cometh soon." " 'Tis the happiest day, bring the wine," he said. June. AIL to thee, Queen of the blos- soming Summer, Under the light of the moon, Of all the sweet maidens the sweetest in-comer, Laughing-eyed, rosy-lipped June ; Dance now, ye fairies in circles about her Under the starlight so fair ; What were our frolics at midnight without her? Oh, she will surely be there ! Now let us dance, among the sweet clover, Trippingly leaping along, Scour the rich meadows and uplands all over, Merry with laughter and song. Now let us give to her well-bestowed honor, With golden - toothed flowers for her throne, The purple of pansies, her robe, put upon her, And lilies in everglades grown. Down, all ye fairies, in dumb adoration, Down in the grass at her feet ; A star-crown of daisies for her coronation, Our empress so modest and sweet. Now let us strive to see who shall be dearer To her who has love for us all, 59 The fairest and purest alone shall be near her, Our empress so stately and tall. This is the time for music and laughter, For love and for smiles and for play, Musing and sorrow perchance may come after All must be happy to-day. Then, hail to thee, Queen of the blossoming Summer, Under the light of the moon. Of all the sweet maidens the sweetest in- comer, Rosy-lipped, laughing-eyed June. 60 The Lotus-Eaters. [HIS is a land of dreams. The hills are gray With haze, and silent streams glide on with slow And placid current. Ocean's ebb and flow Sounds dead and passionless from far away. The star-lit nights are voiceless, till the day Shoots quickly from the sea. Dreamy and low Is Nature's speech. Such is our world, and so We live in peace, nor work, nor love, nor pray. When first we came, we loved this dreamy land, And love it now ; yet sometimes, as to-day, A breeze brings us across the rippling deep A chill of keen remembrance. Up we stand, While glazed eyes grow fearful, and we say, " O God ! torture us not, but let us sleep." 61 Her Promise. QUIT the dusty way, Where the elms uniting sway Just above ; In deeper shadow there Stands the form, so dainty fair, Of my love. To me, the laughing face, With the most bewitching grace, Lightly trips. I look, pause, reassure, Ere I lift a face so pure To my lips. She says, with smile divine, On her birthday she'll be mine Evermore. She presses close to tell Me her age ; it is ah, well ! Only four. 62 Villanelle. vawi 8' ovre 7reos lXcyi K. T. X. . //. OT overland the path, so Fate decrees, That leads to earth's Hyper- borean rest, Nor over seas. Thus sang the bard whose honeyed lips the bees Had destined eloquent and lordliest ; Not overland the path, so Fate decrees. The mystic fruit of the Hesperides Men shall not find far down the golden west, Nor over seas. They dream a dream, a broad highway to ease, A path to peace, to soothe their anguished breast ; Not overland the path, so Fate decrees. 63 But elsewhere seek the wisdom and the peace Of pious souls. Not here's the heavenly quest, Nor over seas. And to the isles where-round the ocean breeze Blows breath of golden blooms, isles of the blest, Not overland the path, so Fate decrees, Nor over seas. 64 The South. where the hot wind, with sweet odors laden, Against the roses faintly beats his wings, Uttering mild melodious murmurings To the faint flowers and the fluttering gladen, Whispering of some far, sunset-bowered Aidenn, And in an orange-tree an oriole sings, Whereunder lies, dreaming of unknown things, With orange-blossoms wreathed, a radiant maiden There is the poet's land ; there would I lie Beneath the shadows of magnolia-trees And let my eyes grow languid and my mouth Glow with the kisses of the amorous breeze And breathe with every breath the luxury Of the hot-cheeked, sweet, heavy-lidded South. A Rondeau. ENDER and true." So read that Douglas shield Who bore the heart of Bruce from the alien field Back to his realm, the land of cold and dearth, Fairest to him within the wide world's girth, Whose woes it was his glory to have healed. Prouder this act of Douglas than to wield A realm, nobler upon his arms annealed This fair device than all the boasts of earth. " Tender and true." God grant that on my heart it may be sealed, And in His grace grant my life, too, may yield This surest stamp and print of gentle birth, This crown and flower of all knightly worth, This sum of Christian virtue here revealed " Tender and true." 66 "Vox Clamantis in Deserto." VOICE ! thou from that molt- en, rusted throat, Forever racked upon thy turning wheel Like a Prometheus chained by god-forged steel, On wings invisible doth upward float Oft mingling with thy strong and clarion tone, Which thy proud spirit utters full and free, Thou sendest forth a faint, uncertain moan. Dost thou too sigh for what thou canst not be? Be bold, be strong, and answer scorn for scorn Back to thy captors, thy reproaches fling, And Memnon-like salute the blushing morn, Until that day when thou shalt gladly ring, With the new cycle of the ages borne, The longed-for coming of thy lord and King. 67 Coming to Anchor. [HE ship stands out in evening's glow Upon a glassy sea ; And as the shadows longer grow You hear no sound, save, far below, The lap of waves, unceasingly. The sunset fades ; the stars peep out ; The moon's approach is slow ; Hark ! in the distance, just without The harbor's mouth, the sailors' shout So clear and sweet, " Heave O, yo ho ! " The ship's lights twinkle on the deep, Her bells ring out, and cease. The night begins her watch to keep, The sea resigns herself to sleep With one long, silent breath of peace. 68 Song, [HERE'S a song in my soul that is growing A seed, O my star in the night ! That was dropped in my heart in the sowing, And is struggling for life in the light ; A breeze that is gentle and stilly, And has passed through a garden in bloom, And is sweet with the scent of the lily, And rich with the rose's perfume. 'T is a rosebud, whose petals are blushing With its half-hidden longing to blow, A fountain, whose waters are gushing From deeps where the spirit-tides flow. And as out of a bower of bushes A bird unexpectedly starts, So the song unexpectedly rushes From the depth of my heart of hearts. As the bird takes flight through the air And alights on a stately pine, So flies from me theeward, my fair, The song that was mine and is thine. For I am the bush-made bower, And thou art the stately tree, And my song is the bird, O my flower, And the bird has a message for thee. 69 The Return. E dun-gray clouds of twilight, That veil the sinking sun, Lead on the shades of mid- night When filmy dreams are spun. Come, veil my lady's terrace, That 'neath her chamber lies, While I, o'er roads and ferries, Will speed me till mine eyes Behold her signal gleaming Out through the midnight mist, Where she, my sweet, is dreaming Of waves that writhe and twist About the " Wrathful Rover," That's due to bring to-night A long-expected lover Back to her beckoning light. What ! is my love false-hearted, That no light yonder gleams ? She promised when we parted That I should see its beams. My fears are fast retreating, For Julian prinks his ears, There at the stile is greeting, A kiss, and smiles, and tears ! 70 The Daughter of Dawn. I RIPPING through daisy-strewn meadows of morn, Yellow with buttercups, dia- mond with dew, Came one, the fairest of maid- ens e'er born ; For she was the daughter of Dawn, Of Dawn, fresh, silver-veiled Dawn. And hundreds of feathery, fluttering throats Chorused their carols of joy in her train, With love in their hearts, 'neath the motley brown coats, For their queen, the daughter of Dawn, Of Dawn, the sweet-smiling Dawn. Across the spider-spun tangles of grass, Gathering her filmy robes from the dew Down by the brink of the brook in its glass, Stood mirrored the daughter of Dawn, Of Dawn, mild, violet-eyed Dawn. Then strode forth the sun in his armor of gold, With a cloud for a crest, and came to the brook, And the maid, in the stream saw his form, brave and bold, And love looked the daughter of Dawn, Of Dawn, happy, far-away Dawn. Compensation. |HE years but bring into the heart of man What joy or sorrow he him- self hath wrought ; To one, a golden glory, truth's dear meed ; To one, the withered ashes self hath bought ; Bought in the busy mart of bartered love, Bought for a bauble, 'gainst a jewel rare, Bought for a toy, to be a life's delight, Dimm'd now, alas ! and now no longer fair. Time counts the cost with all-relentless hand; Into man's soul his recompense he showers. Gold gives he back for gold once given him, Ashes for ashes : naught are tears of ours. 72 Altruria. iGAIN a prophet has afar de- scried That happy land, those isl- ands of the blest, Low-lying in the splendor of the West, At sunset, far beyond the ebbing tide. Again we look away, and see the wide Expanse of sky ; but gaze with troubled breast, Unsatisfied, and filled with strange un- rest A longing for some precious gift denied. Why watch we seaward still with straining eyes ? Altruria, Atlantis, they are there, And not the vision of a mystic's trance. We walk their shining ways, their sunny skies Bend over us, but yet we grope in fear, And blindly miss our great inheritance. 73 Blind Love. OVE was not always blind, you know; His eyes shone bright long, long ago ; But what he saw so horrified x>ve, he very nearly died. Then in the shock of sad surprise He thrust an arrow through his eyes. " Perhaps," said he, with lowered head, " 'T is better to be blind than dead." A Triolet. HE little bow of ribbon white That in my desk lies snugly hid, Recalls old scenes of gay de- light, The little bow of ribbon white. For from fair Annie, laughing sprite, I stole it while she gently chid, The little bow of ribbon white That in my desk lies snugly hid. 74 A Ballade of Mysteries. [OCTOR, I pray you, do no more wrong To the drugged dog there in the horrid room. Come, unmuzzle ; disclose how the stars prolong, Their lines of light through the infinite gloom, And how life grew in the young earth's womb. Then /'// tell you how the bell's ding- dong Holds sweet talk with the birds i' the broom, And the Poet's heart is astir with song. Sage, who knowest to trace the throng Of world-thoughts farther than bards presume, Say how grows the weak babe wise and strong, And how is Thought born, and by whom Can the Fates be lured from the pitiless Loom, And what is Right, and what is Wrong. Then /'// tell you why the breakers boom, And the Poet's heart is astir with song. 75 Priest, tell me now, ere the even song, How God lay hid in the Virgin's womb, Who filleth the depth and height of the long Sky-reaches, and how bread should become His Flesh that rose from the Sacred Tomb. Then /'// tell you how the clouds give tongue To God's message, the dream of the grand sweet doom, And the Poet's heart is astir with song. ENVOI. Princess, say how the heart makes room For love in the halls where the statesmen throng. Then /'// tell you why the roses bloom, And the Poet's heart is astir with song. 76 The Wind's Message. ~|HE wind beat down in its pass- ing glee And lashed to fury a daisy sea. It told of blight in the autumn's frost. Of grace departed, and beauty lost : But whispered ere it had passed away, " Love cannot decay." The golden hair of a child at play The wind was tumbling one sunny day. It laughed, as lightly the curls it tossed, That youth should fade, and the gold be lost ; But this one story the soft wind told, " Love cannot grow old." The elms, where orioles' nests were hung, The wind in frolic had madly swung. Beneath the nests a dead bird lay, The awful cost of that short, wild play : But breeze and branch gave one sad sigh, " Love never can die." 77 A Student's Reverie. S'T any great relief to know That water is but H 2 O ? Or, to the timid, gain still more When marsh gas is but CH 4 ? Ah, crowds stand round and never think That C 2 H 6 O means " drink " ! And C 6 H I2 O, draws From children's throats no loud applause. But HC1, though looking small, Has power to make the strongest fall ; And HgCl a the same A taste would send you whence you came. And how pathetic when 'twas found The formulae would not go round, So the essential oils all ride On C IO H J6 astride. But see ! the wondrous series run In larger numbers, on and on. I'll end as I began ; so, so ; Give me a drink of H,O. At Eventide. iT eventide when 'thwart the western sky The mellow glories of the sunset lie Like some huge conflagration's ruddy flush, Or maiden's cheek, deep dyed with crimsor blush Of new-born love Ah, fair to poet's eye Is earth, close wrapped in twilight's holy hush At eventide. At eventide, though nature gently stills Her myriad voices, all my being thrills With sad, sweet memories of a buried past That lives but in my bosom, guarded fast As watchful pine-trees guard yon granite hills ; Memories, each sweeter, sadder than the last, At eventide. At eventide, though gusty passion wrings Wild strains from out my poor heart's tor- tured strings, Yet when the sunset's crown of golden sheen Fades faint and fainter, and no more is seen, The thought that thus grief fades, sweet comfort brings, While shadows lengthen o'er the village green At eventide. 79 A Dream. |UT from the vague and shadowy realms of sleep, Often there comes to me at eventide A merry, laughing face, and eyes of brown, Whence roguish glances, swift and tender, leap. Once more we wander, side by side, along Some rippling stream, or through the forest glade ; Or, roaming under August's sunny skies, We hear the mighty ocean's ceaseless song. Ah ! precious thoughts of mingled joy and pain, That come to us, surrounded by life's cares ; Come forth, ye misty dreams at eventide, And bring forgotten memories back again. 80 An October Day. HE last fern is dying, The wild birds are flying Far up in the blue. The soft winds are sighing,- The heart sigheth, too. With yellow and red, By the leaves that are dead, The damp ground is strown, While softly o'erhead The bare branches moan. But down from the sky Where the passing fowls cry Falls a promise of spring. Though winter is nigh, We'll be merry and sing. 81 Quatrains. I. Doubt. | HE way is dim, and dark the night, I know not where to turn, or when The dawn will come and bring me light, I cannot see the path till then. II. Disappointment. A pine-tree there, upon a lofty height Smitten by wind and flood has fallen low; In vain was all its majesty and might ; My hopes have fallen, and are lying so. 82 A Winter Sunset. |HE angry sun with flushed and crimson face, Upon a bleak and barren waste of cold Reflects his last low rays of cheerless light, Then sinks beneath a sea of boiling gold. The molten glory dies away at last ; One rosy pale flush only lingers yet ; The mountains dark against a frozen sky Stand out in cold, impassive silhouette. The stars from out the boundless depth of space Emerge, as slow the tints of twilight die ; Far in the north dim, ghostly streamers rise, And waver, flit, and flare across the sky. Forsaken, drear, forlornly desolate, Upon the shrouded, cold, dead waste of white There falls in an unbroken solitude The perfect silence of a winter's night. To Violets in October. iTE lingering violets, your rare perfume Is just as sweet amid the gloom Of these grim hours As when the throbbing of the spring Woke into life each growing thing And spread the earth with flowers. Sweet, steadfast violets, may love like you, Tho' by cold storms oppressed, prove true In life's declining, As when it sang its roundelay, While yet the glowing, rapturous day Of youth was warmly shining. Drink in Reverence. [RIM up ! Brim up ! Your flowing cup, Fill up to the lusty tars ; Sing ho ! to the lads on sea and land With the heart of steel and callous hand, That bleed for the stripes and stars. Bend low your head To the martyred dead, And sink on a rev' rent knee, To the young lives lost As a vict'ry's cost, And left on an unknown sea. Trust God and pray, Ye wives that stay ; Ye mothers, dry your eyes ; For the binding chains Of a hundred reigns With the souls of your flesh arise. Eventide. |ILLWARD,withbright plumes trailing, creeps the day ; Beside the brimming brook, the apple-trees White-robed like brides, with heads low bended, stand Waiting the kiss of wand'ring airs that come Mist cloaked, soft stepping o'er the filmy grass, Fearing to break the spell of eventide, Fraught with expectant silence, save when now Beyond the hedge some shy-voiced robin's mate, Quick to the pulse of passion-breathing spring, _ Pours out its throbbing heart in vibrant song. 86 Parting. HIP against the harbor-mouth, Breakers on the bar, Mist across the salt marsh, Dusk and evening star. Flutt'ring white from cross-tree, Flutt'ring white from piers, Lad and maid's first parting, As daylight disappears. Gale among the pitch pine, Floe-ice on the rock, Sodden drift of gray to where Sky and ocean lock. Empty sea-room, wide and far, Lass with straining eyes, Watching from the headland, As daylight dies. Rondel. |OW white Soracte yonder gleams 'Mid snows 'neath which the trees are bending ! The frost - king halts the rushing streams ; Heap high the hearth, these chill bonds rending. Bring forth the wine : for gods, the tending Of winds that war the deep, one deems. How white Soracte yonder gleams 'Mid snows 'neath which the trees are bending ! Let not the morrow haunt your dreams, Nor spurn sweet loves : thee, boy, the spending Of eve in whispered tryst beseems, The girl's glad laugh the love-pledge lending. How white Soracte yonder gleams 'Mid snows 'neath which the trees are bending ! 88 J une. HE melody of unwrit songs By woodland choirs sung ; The odor of a rare perfume From hillside censers flung ; The flash of myriad dewdrop gems In cobweb caskets set ; And such a joy within the heart As it can ne'er forget. Autumn Leaves. jHE hills on every hand display In every hue of gold and red Oak leaves and maple bright and gay. To-morrow we shall find them dead, For this the price they have to pay To buy the glory of a day. The Last Spring. YING out on the campus Under the stars of May, Singing the old songs over, Smoking the night away ; Bright is the sky above us, Soft is the breath of Spring ; Give me my pipe and a song and night And I am creation's king. Lying out on the campus, Hand a-grip with hand, Trusting the loves we've followed, Groping to understand The throb and pain of parting With these fair nights that glide Out of the world and into our hearts Into our hearts and there abide. 90 Chickadees. [HE sturdy chickadees, too proud to fly, When winter's stern advance would drive them forth Southward to where the balmy tropics lie, Unyielding linger in the frozen North. And bitter mornings leaving their retreat To glean what scanty food may yet remain, Half frozen, still their cheery song repeat To keep their courage firm, but ne'er com- plain. The Frost. PON the window forms the si- lent frost, When winter's breathing gathers there and turns To icy sheathing, and all is em- bossed In varied forms of flowers and leaves and ferns, As if the moisture that is there enchained Had been the bosom of a woodland stream ; As if in freezing it had still retained The shapes it mirrored in the summer's dream. In Later Days. [N later days it may be they will write Upon her grave these words : " Here lieth she Whom a sweet poet sung." 'Twould better be And truer, to carve upon my headstone white, " He ne'er had sung who rests beneath this knoll Had she not put the music in his soul." Autumn. !HE bees that buzzed in blossom time Have gone, I know not where ; The birds that sang the day's farewell, And woke the morning from the dell, Have sought a balmier air. Each voice is stilled, save for the wind, That whimpers in the grove And scatters dust and ashen leaves Across a grave I love. 92 Banquet Song, i. [OMRADES, fill the banquet cup Brimming up ! Fill it full of love and laughter, Claret lips and kisses after, Crown it with a maiden's smiles, And the foam of magic wiles. Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, For the love of loving lasses Ere it passes ! II. Fill again the banquet cup Brimming up ! Overflow it with the roses, Which her timid blush discloses. With her sparkling eyelight sift it, Till it flavored is. Then lift it. Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, For the love of loving lasses Ere it passes ! III. Comrades, fill a parting cup Brimming up ! Flood it in your praise's zest, For the uninvited guest. 93 With her charms and graces fill it, Touch the lips and heart-ward spill it. Drink it, drain it, clink your glasses, For the love of loving lasses Ere it passes ! 94 A 000 674 472 6