THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ' i^^-^^&^fe&vfea ' toi* * V 1 NSft NT-^f .** * v<*@A *!v >tj^c. *n^ Tvw 1 '" ^^*- * *al ^^f^l^^ ^wlv%W? '^'^>-^^'fe*^M^^'fe*^^ '^4x^&'^4^^C&'^tfX < ; f^M<^ &*&3*^QC**f3&!** ^RUg^S&K J$fC* r dCVIIft.V SCk.'VJO^' r ^V^ ^ ^MSS^ ^ ^ ^^^ ^^ t&v f^S!.^*^^ Aa ^35[^% ^^^f^!^ X... *"\ %i /s %L/%A?.. ^^^ VU ^ ^^Xk?.. ^^^ "^> A Thanksgiving Tale And Other Poems By SIMON SULTAN Published by Subscription SOCIALIST LITERATURE CO.. NEW YORK Copyright, 1913 The Co-Operative Press, 15 Spruce Street, New York PS 3S37 Table oi Contents PAGE Preface 5 Dedication 8 A Birthday Ode 10 I Thought of Thee 12 Good Night 13 A Flower Like so Lovely 14 Spring Song 14 Wanderer's Night Song 15 The Lorelei 16 Zuleika 17 The King in Thule 20 Bertran de Born 21 The Hero of My Song 24 Convival Rhymes 27 Illusions 30 Reflections 32 Two Brothers 33 Jim's Verdict 34 lllstar's Fortune 36 At the Brook 38 O Love as Long as Thou Canst Love 39 Greatness , 41 Crime and Hypocrisy 45 The Erlking 48 God Be With Thee 50 The Gauntlet 52 A Thanksgiving Tale 55 3 602197 LIBRARY PAGE Music 61 The Muse of the Dance 63 A Biographv 66 Retributive 71 To night 78 In Cupid's Court. 81 All Her Own 83 A Fish Story 85 Threnody 104 Hope 108 The Age of Commerce 109 Lean Thou Upon Me Ill They Gave Me Advice Ill When In Thine Eyes I Chance to See 112 Thou Hast Both Pearls and Diamonds 112 Erst In Life's Too Dark'ning Shadow 113 Unbidden Guests 114 Lay of the Ferry 118 The Ward of the Swans 120 The Minstrel's Curse 124 Womanly , 129 The Last Good-Bye 130 Judicial Anarchy 130 Prandial Honors 131 A Tale of Love 131 The Pride of Judgment 131 In Stilted Phrase 131 There is a Death 132 The Dreamking and His Love 134 Thou Comst Into My Solitude 136 The Voter 138 The Spirit of Unrest 140 PREFACE. Some of you, my readers, no doubt, will ask) why I should introduce my book in this fashion. I have several reasons which I am quite sure will appeal to you as of sufficient weight. The foremost of them involves a some- what amusing- story. You will notice that the book contains a poem on Music, which purports to be a translation from the German. It is in fact such a translation, and I made it some years ago from a Ger- man manuscript handed to me by a lady friend, accompanied with the request to translate it into English for her benefit and pleasure. Some time afterwards I took up a volume of Thomas Moore, and turning the pages at random, lo and behold! I find the supposed German poem I translated for my friend was one that originated with Moore, and by a double transition it had again acquired at my hands its original speech, though far from its original form. Lest some literary hypercritic might take me to task, if he discovered my ever so innocent treatment of Moore, I thought it best to tell the full extent of my delinquency. It will be of some interest, perhaps, to compare the original of Moore with my translation. Except for the sequence of thought, not even a family resemblance remains between the two. This may illustrate what happened to many another original work coming to us through the medium of a similar transition. My other reason for this preface is the desire to answer in advance questions you, my friends, may wish to ask, and which might not otherwise reach me. In the first place I wish to have it under- stood that the HE and the SHE adverted to in my poems are in most instances mere imaginary persons, though the incentive, now and then, may have been furnished by some individual more or less known to me. The Thanksgiving Tale was inspired by a report which appeared in all the newspapers about the time it was written of a man having died of starvation in the streets of the City on Thanksgiving Day. 6 The poem "The Ward of the Swans" is also founded on a report which appeared in the newspapers of a dead child being found in a box on the lake of Central Park by the keeper of the swans. He was attracted by the fact of their persistently congregating in the middle of the lake, and upon looking for the cause, he discovered the dead child in their midst. As to my translations from the German, I am well aware of the fact that some of the poems translated by me have been quite as well done into English before, but it seems to me that an addition to these, not un- worthy, as I may say without self-praise, to rank with these predecessors, should not be unwelcome. Besides, some of the poems I have translated have never to my knowl- edge been translated before. In conclusion let me say, that if yours, my friends, be the same pleasure in the read- ing that I have had in the writing of my poems, I shall consider that I have served you well. / ^ ~-/~~ 4. y> DEDICATION. O nest of this, my rhythmic brood, Dear fledglings of my solitude. From safe obscurity that hie Aneath the carping critic's eye, As meets some stray from cage and care Pugnacious free wings of the air! Perchance, Job like, my foe prays too His will to work on me through you, Or literary caste, in pride, Pass you undignified aside, Or even that count as common herd, Be in your praise but little stirred; Yet fate whate'er betideth ye, You still are precious unto me Far from vain pride of that I wrought, But for the lesson that you taught For as a touchstone you have told Of rated friends the dross from gold, The mere alloy of friendship's pose, Glossed o'er to serve with feline gloze, Base coin that ne'er yields mite of meed To pass as current in time of need, And by the weather-vaned shifter scorned That to its falseness stands suborned! How elsewise proved your test the true, When for your sponsors. I did sue, Who, though unknowing your worth and make, Ventured on trust their friendly stake, And from their far set course stood by A future in rhyme and verse to buy ! Truly, a pay streak, scarce would start Tumultuous bidding on 'change or mart! For this materialist age esteems These lyric soothsays just mere dreams, And to their Muse will little incline, And were they hall-marked even "divine." Such is the Fairy of your tale That bids you from your hearth-bound pale, To greet, in garments fit to see, The Court of Prince Publicity; And though no nuptials mark the end, Yet may his handclasp hail you friend! And, friends, whate'er my verses rate, They're to your graces dedicate; Yet might you deem your guerdon small, Came it with pledge to read them all; Enough, if random reading test Bear inward, reading all were best! A BIRTHDAY ODE. To There are some days in this, our earthly sphere, Which memory marks above all others dear, And dearer those which many hearts con- join In festive cheer and gladness to revere. No higher monument to human worth Than that, though ended be our toil on earth, Our memory still unites a loving world To cherish our existence from its birth. The mighty kings high pyramids that built, To tell of misery wrought, of blood they spilt, What of their name, and all their fame? What song Of joy recalls the place on earth they filled ? 'Tis but a fleeting glory ever crowned The conqu'ror's brow; far more enduring bound To fame are they, whose noble works of peace In blessings to humanity abound. 10 Yet few are wedded to eternal fame; Our memory but reflects our mundane aim : We live as long as living mind recalls, In loving thought, our birth, our worth, our name. And they, whose soulful grace in thought and deed To emulating zeal doth spur and speed, Live well their lives, their days on earth are dear, And homage, life beyond, their fitting meed. Rejoice! 't would seem some fairy at thy birth Bestowed on thee that boon of priceless worth, Since many long to win thy friendly thought, And many share thy grief, thy joy, thy mirth. And this, thy day of days in all the year, Beams not on thee in solitary cheer, But bears significance to many hearts, That hold its glad recurrance high and dear. 11 I THOUGHT OF THEE. I scaled the mountain to its towering height, I stood upon its summit forest crowned, And shaded from the sun's meridian light, While hushed seemed nature's every voice and sound; I was where solitude held potent sway, Yet were my thoughts far, far away ; For what could be this solitude to me Whose thoughts held such fair company? I thought of thee. I found myself within the bustling throng Whose love of gain renews its daily strife, With whom deceit and falsehood pass among The usages conventional to life; And oft this wide hypocrisy had wrought Its painful sting to all my thought, When over me came calm serenity That soothed each pulsing thought in me ; I thought of thee. There is no joy that I would think complete In which thy gentle essence had no part, No sorrow that I would not braver meet If shared in by thy sympathetic heart; 12 There is so sweet no music to my ear As the fond accents of thy loving cheer; What were to me all earth's felicity, All bliss, though of eternity, If not with thee! GOOD NIGHT. From the German. Now is earth in heavenly rest; Moon and stars in watchful light O'er a slumb'ring little garden, On the earth that blossoms bright. Blessed night! Good night! Good night! By a cottage in the garden Lindens lift their shelt'ring height; In the oriel window, watchful, Chimes a songbird its delight. Blessed night! Good night! Good night) In the oriel sleeps a maiden, Blossoms are her dreamland sight, In her heart is blissful heaven, Watched o'er by the angels bright. Blessed night! Good night! Good night! 13 A FLOWER LIKE SO LOVELY. From the German of Heine. A flower like so lovely, So pure and fair thou art; I gaze on thee, and sadness Steals deep into my heart. I feel as on thy dear head I should lay my hands in pray'r, That God may ever keep thee. So sweet, so pure, so fair. Spring Song. From the German of Heine. Gently stirring through me, ring Sounds of lovely chimes; Tune forth, little lay of spring, Wing thy lilting rhymes ! Hie thee to the house, where grow Violets, and meeting On the way, perchance, a rose, Say, thou bearst my greeting. 14 THE LORELEI. From the German of Heine. T know not the reason, why I am so sad and gloomy; A tale of ages gone by It will not cease to pursue me. Cool comes on the dusky night, And the Rhine flows calmly on, The mountain top flames alight In the glow of the eventide's sun. A maiden above you behold, Of a beauty most marvellous rare, Her jewels rich glitter of gold, She combs her golden hair. With a golden comb while singing Her fairy locks combs she, And her song has a wonderful ringing All powerful melody. The lad in his boat feels woe Wild in his bosom stir; He heeds not the cliffs below, His gaze is but fastened on her. 16 I ween both boat and man The waters swallow ere long; And that the Lorelei has done With her bewitching song. WANDERER'S NIGHT SONG. From the German of Goethe. Over every hill Rests peace, Scarce a faint thrill Breathe to you Shrouds of all trees. The birds in the woods end their song. Wait! and ere long Rest you, too. 16 ZULEIKA. Three of the Songs of "Mirza Shaffy." From the German of Bodenstaedt. I. Not to angels in the blue heavens above Do I liken Zuleika, my love; Nor to roses the fragrant field upon, Nor the light of the eternal sun. For the angels' bosom of love is bare, And roses tell of thorns to beware, And the sun hides his light, when night does fall: None of these are like Zuleika at all. Nought is there, in all the world around, To equal Zuleika to be found : In eternal lovelight, thornless and fair, She can with herself alone compare. II. Thou dost adorn my heart, as does the sun the heavens adorn; Thou art its light; and without thee it lies in darkness all forlorn; 17 As does the world its splendor hide, when hides the sun his radiant face, And only in his beaming smiles its innate beauty all displays. III. The song I sing delights the girls, Whose young hearts leap with pleasure, For that my words resemble pearls Strung on a thread together; And they exhale a fragrancy, That houris' breath has scented, The flowers like which unto me Zuleika once presented. Don't wonder that in words so fine My thoughts I can express, And wisdom here doth intertwine With youthful carelessness. Know you where all my wisdom lies, The good source whence it stirred? I read it all out of her eyes, And then I gave it word. No wonder that to you my song So lovely seems and pretty : Is not the tune upon my tongue Mere mirror of her beauty? 18 Like Dshemshid's cup of ancient lore, She's a source of revelation By which to magic realms I soar Of wisdom and information. And say, does not abound my song In music wond'rous sweet? Does not its cadence move along Light as her stepping feet? 19 THE KING IN THULE, From the German of Goethe. Was once in Thule a king, True even until his grave, To whom his love, when dying, A golden goblet gave. Nought did he hold so dear; He drained it every bout, In his eyes a gath'ring tear, Whene'er he drank thereout. And when death came to call His towns he counted up, Nor grudged his heir them all, Yet gave not too his cup. In royal state with all His knights sat feasting he, Where his ancestral hall Stood towering by the sea. There the old wassailer stood, Of life-glow drank his last, And down into the flood His sacred goblet cast. He saw it fall and fill, And sink deep in the sea; Then sank his eyes, grown still, Ne'er another drop drank he. 20 BERTRAN DE BORN. From the German of Uhland. On yon cliff, a smould'ring ruin, Autafort lies desolate, And before the king's pavilion Halts its lord in captive state. "Is it thou whose song and sword "Spread afar rebellious fire? "Thou, who led the children even "To revolt against their sire? "Stands before me now the braggart, "His presumptuous boast to feed, "That his master spirit never "More than half its spirit need? "Now the half will not avail thee, "Summon all thy strength of mind, "To rebuild thy ruined castle, "Or these fetters to unbind !" "True thou say'st my royal master; "Here thou seest Bertran .de Born, "Who with one mere song enkindled "Perigor and Ventadorn, 21 "Who stood e'er in thy displeasure, "As a thorn within thine eye, "But for love of whom thy children "Thy displeasure could defy! "In her hall thy royal daughter "Sat; a ducal bride, in splendor, "When to her my trusty envoy "Did entune the song I sent her, "Sang, what once she'd deemed her glory, "All her poet's love and sighing, "Till her tears came fast and faster, "And her gems dimmed with her crying. "From his olive shades of pleasure "Thy best loved son arose, "When with stirring strains of battle "I broke in on his repose ; "Quick his warrior steed was bridled, "And our banners did advance "On to Monfort's fatal towers, "Where he met the deadly lance; "Bleeding in these arms I held him "Not the pain the iron wrought, "That thy parent curse lay on him "Was his painful dying thought; 22 "Over land and sea his right hand "Fond he wished to lay in thine; "But when thine he vainly reached for, "In last pressure he held mine. "Then, like Autafort above me, "Was my spirit broken, slain ! "Not its whole, its half, nor part, "Neither sword nor song remain; "'Twas not hard these arms to shackle, "While my mind was thralled and dark, "But, for one last dying dirge, yet "May it gather a remnant spark!" And the kingly brow is lowered : "Thou didst lead astray my son, "Didst bewitch my daughter's heart, "And mine also now hast won, "Take this hand, which to thy dead friend "Was in pard'ning mercy due, "Thou art free ; of thy great spirit "I have felt an atom, too!" 23 THE HERO OF MY SONG. Not in the pomp and panoply of war, the strife, With man's destructive craft and cruel in- stincts rife; Not where mere force is arbiter unto the strong, Midst common plaudits lives the hero of my song. Not in the blazoned vanity of wealth or birth, Nor sunny path of envied favorites of earth, But in the roadway, where the toiling masses throng, In harness of his toil, lives the hero of my song. Not by his lineaments, nor haply by his name, Can from the multitude I single him for fame: In staid obscurity his days are passed along, Known only by his deeds, well worth the poets' song. 24 No selfish fears intrude to stay his ready arm, When human cry rings out for help from menaced harm ; He'll brave more dangers than to battle- fields belong To aid distress, nor think of gain or fame or song. Nor think to stay his hastening steps to crying need, And weigh its kindred unto him in race or creed ; But there is only one humanity, right or wrong, When comes its voice unto the hero of my song. His scars, than those of war more honor- able, bespeak What manner shield it was he held above the weak, When heav'n and earth with wrath of angry elements rung; He tow'ring over all, the hero of my song. There comes a day, when some appalling fate or chance For many lives an immolated life demands; 25 Then see him starting from the trembling herd among, To yield his sacrifice, and die unknown, unsung. And many live, cast in this same heroic mould, Not in destructive, but humane impulsions bold. Ask you, what angels are in sacred writ or tongue? Behold an angel man, the hero of my song ! 26 CONVIVIAL RHYMES. Come, fill your cups with golden wine, Choice of Sauterne, Moselle or Rhine; And for a space the cares of earth Dispel in right convivial mirth ! We hold no fellowship or kin With those who think our pleasures sin; Nor with their narrow cloistered soul That fear all joy leads to Sheol. Let those who will such fancies feed, \Ve count ourselves of different creed, And will enjoy this passing sphere, And all its sunshine, without fear. Then, let such smiling jests go round, Such chorused melodies resound, As moderate cup will ever rouse, When wit and grace join in carouse. And let our first cup homage bear, In trebled cheers, unto the fair; What manly worth would in us dwell Without the feminine touch and spell? 27 Come, to your goblets once again, A goodly toast well to sustain! Next to the fair what fairer sight Than this our country in its might? Whose starry ensign you may see In every clime, on every sea, In blandishments by all revered, Though often envied, sometimes feared. Yes ! for the land we all hold dear, This brimming cup, with lusty cheer! No rare libations ever flowed As these of ours so well bestowed. To friendship next a hearty round! I like the word's true ringing sound, Though it's a name full many employ For its base coinage of alloy. Yet, for the sterling and sincere! For loyalty, that will adhere, And stand, what weather may betide, Firm as a steadfast beacon guide! To honesty of purpose, too! No matter if to friend or foe ; To honesty in war or peace! And whether it's burdensome or please. 28 To honest truth on sober tongue! To bibulous, too, from mean lips wrung! To truth, in beauty that defies Convention's rule of polished lies! To these no stint of measured glass! Nor shall the old you slighting pass, Whose sturdy youth in locks of gray Will chase no mirth or joy away. Hark to the church bell tolling out The hour that ends our merry bout! To steady feet and steady brain ! And such goodby as meets again! ILLUSIONS. I. When youth still sits on virginal brow, And life and pleasure twin-born seem, When a strange longing fills the soul, Like the enchantment of a dream For some ideal scarcely known, Yet fond in youthful fancy traced; Then holds that spell each sense and thought, Beneath its influence captive placed. As shines in quaint fantastic light The sun into some church or fane, And its irradiance reflects The fancies of some storied pane. Then love is kindled into flame, In those dark longings fanned and grown; And as the hand of art gives shape And form of beauty to some stone, So youth the object of its love, Far from all real affinity, Moulds in the beauty of its dreams, In semblance of divinity. 30 But oh, when once the dreamer wakes, And these fond visions pass away, The pain that idol to behold In its true form of sordid clay! II. Think not with verdant youth the term Of your illusions quite expires ! How oft you fashioned the unknown In image of your known desires! How oft your reverence and dislikes You start to find, perhaps with pain, To bear all merit and desert From some mere shadow of your brain ! How oft, with seamed and furrowed brow, The passing world you have lonely faced, Blind to all beauty you behold With eyes alone for man debased! How you exalt your trivial self, With vanity your flatt'ring lens; And for your meanest deeds assume Some meaner special providence! How all your nursery tales and fears Still serve to blanche your age worn face, From fated numerals, dreams and spells To luckless time or haunted space! 31 Then let your pride of judgment pause. What, if your locks are scant and gray, Your highest wisdom still partakes Of the frail nature of your clay! REFLECTIONS. She sits within her rosy bower; And as she looks into the glass, Her love of self reflects a flower That none in beauty can surpass. And all who see her in that hour Are quite agreed in that reflection; For rare in beauty is the flour That daily makes her fine complexion. 32 TWO BROTHERS. Says brother Sharp, in overflowing elo- quence, And courtly phrases of malignant elegance, Whose all too clear intent no one could miss or pass: "My learned brother Cute, I think I've proved an ass !" And chen he wondered everybody's grin and smile, Till brother Cute arose and opened in this style : ''You've stated well your side, and better p'rhaps the other, "When, with such racial pride, you prove an ass your brother/' 33 JIM'S VERDICT. Jim Shady stole a shote one day, And with it safely got away, With none his honesty to impeach, Or even suspect his wilful breach Of sacred writ and written laws ; And his good wife did never pause, Though of the porcine rape she knew, To cook and help to eat it, too. Some vagrant, poor, not overfed, By some unlucky chance was led Near to the cote Jim had so used, And of the robbery stood accused; And what! but the coincidence, When the accused, in his defence, A Court and Jury had to face, Jim on the Jury in that case ! The evidence left the belief None but the vagrant was the thief; Shrewd questions had been hurled at him, (Not least of these by our friend Jim) Ere that result at last was won ; And spite his face, starved out and wan, That showed no recent feasting time, They found, it was the vagrant's crime. 34 Jim's wife, though to her moral sense To steal a pig seemed no offence, Was yet a good soul, it appears, And the event moved her to tears. "O Jim," she wailed, in sad appeal, "You knew the poor man did not steal, "If others saw the thief in him, "O, how could you, how could you, Jim!" Quoth Jim, untroubled, "I but obeyed ''The Judge's charge, in which he said: 'You're not to know, think or suppose, 'But what the evidence doubtless shows.' "How could I, then, but spurn and scorn "What wasn't in evidence duly sworn? "My verdict was, to my best sense, "According to the evidence!" 35 ILLSTAR'S FORTUNE. From the German of Uhland. Illstar, that good-mannered boy, Met with fortune passing strange, Many achievements' well earned joy Might have been within his range; Ev'ry lucky constellation Might have lit his path on earth, Had one hour's procastination Not deferred his time of birth. Martial glory he had won, Honors, such as heroes share, For 'mong many warriors none Ready as he to do and dare; But when, in impetuous passage, He was leading the attack, Came of peace the sudden message, And the signal to fall back. Lo ! his tale of love is told, But, the wedding day in sight, The parental love of gold Finds the lass some richer wight. Still he might, glad and forgiving, Even his widowed love have wed, Had not suddenly turned up living He she just had mourned as dead. 36 Untold wealth had been his own, Gain of toil in some new world, Had near port not weather blown Which his craft to wreckage hurled. By good luck the waves he breasted, Clinging to some tossing plank, And had safety reached, he trusted, When swept back to sea he sank. He had gone, beyond all cavil, Straight to heaven, in bliss to stay, Had not then some stupid devil Run across him on the way; For some damned soul mistaken, With the imp he had to go, Seized by force, and rudely shaken, Toward the pit of wail and woe. Then an angel, clothed with grace, Come, this soul to save and keep, Hurls the ugly fiend through space Into Hades' yawning deep; Leads to happy destination Illstar 'mong the heavenly blessed, Where no fatal constellation Ever will disturb his rest. 37 AT THE BROOK. Let thy soul be like yon limpid mountain rill, Dallying with fragrant marge upon its way Never in its tossing undulations still, Like so many nayads in some frolic play; Let thy thoughts run onward so In unbridled constant flow Of delightful sentiment in beauty seen, Ever lively, too, appear, With such gay and playful cheer As these waters, and as pure and crystalline. Let thy soul be like yon tuneful mountain rill, That in cadence never varied never wrong Sends its rhythmic music slope adown and hill, Like a harp attuned to lark or linnet's song ; Let in tones as sweet and choice Sound the music of thy voice, In accord with language mellow to the ear, And in changeful symphony That one message bring to me Of thy love, eternal as yon stellar sphere. 38 O LOVE AS LONG AS THOU CANST LOVE. From the German of Freiligrath. O love as long as thou canst love! O love, while love thy heart yet craves ! There comes an hour, there comes an hour, That finds thee mourning over graves. And foster in thy heart the glow Of love and loving sympathy, So long as beats another heart In warmth of tender love for thee. And whoso opened his soul to thee O let thy kindest be his gain ! And make each hour of his more glad, Nor any mar with grievous pain. And guard thy tongue from hasty speech; And angry word in passion's sway O, God! it was not meant in harm, But grieved the other turns away. O love as long as thou canst love ! O love, while love thy heart yet craves ! There comes an hour, there comes an hour, That finds thee mourning over graves. 39 Then in the churchyard bend thy knees, While from thine eyes the hot tears start Thou'lt never see the other more That rests beneath this humid sward. Then sayest thou : "O look on me" "Who at .thy grave weeps in lament !" "Forgive I ever gave thee pain !" "O God! No harm I ever meant." But he nor sees, nor hears thy plaint, Comes not to meet thy fond embrace; The lips that kissed thee ne'er again Will sound the strain of pard'ning grace. Yet he forgave long long ago; Though many a burning tear had run, For thee and thy unkindness shed. But, hush! He rests. His course is done. O love as long as thou canst love ! O love, while love thy heart yet craves! There comes an hour, there comes an hour, That finds thee mourning over graves. 40 GREATNESS. Seek not true greatness in the deceptive glare That follows those their satellites hail great, Nor in the gilded halls they habitate Whose merit all is, being someone's heir; Nor where pretentious dignity, in state, Exacts its rule of glitter and 'display, And feudal honors that have known their day, And martial pomp, the pride of birth elate; Nor where relentless craft and cunning fight Keen traffic's battles for life and affluence, Whose slain o'erreach grim war's of vio- lence, Those myriad slain of no heroic rite! Where is no fitness and no excellence, Unless the stake of chance it may allure, Nor sentiment that counts as high or pure Not pleached with pelf in all its aim and sense ; Nor where from Themis' seat King Mam- mon reigns, And law and order and their ruling force, In conscious might, as though his servitors, Defies whenever challenged, and disdains, 41 And from the very fount of life, the source Of sustenance, by foul pact seized upon, As lawless rovers might of ages gone, The ransom of distress and misery scores; Nor where ambition, and its schemes of greed, Proclaim their cant and sounding platitude Before the variant sovereign multitude, For dignities within its gift to plead ; Where flaunts its shame official turpitude. And, while with high resolve the patriot stirs, Aims but to swell with venal gold its purse, And proudly holds as honest wealth its loot; Nor where in death and desolation writes Mankind its roll of heroes, idol fane Rears to its Cesar or its Tamerlane, And greatest homicides for greatness cites; Nor where, such patterned glory to attain, Shrewd-planning valor smites a valiant foe, And earns, with victory's emblazoned show, The sting of envy and detractions bane; Nor where the tenets of a peaceful creed The fire and sword of conquest ill disguise, And unrude savages to civilize, Brute culture revels in more than savage deed : 42 Where armaments, fierce, threatening, em- phasize The false profession of a faith of love, The vanity, that holds its creed above All other creeds, haply as good and wise; Nor where ideals the common sense en- shrined, To morbid dictates of delusion grown, The reason of the multitude dethrone, And blind fanaticism leads the blind ; Where tyrants, massed, atrocious crimes condone, And in the name of honor, creed or race, The birthright of humanity disgrace, And conflagrations light, where hearth- flame shone. But where the uncrowned masters of their time To crowned and mitered tyrants on their throne, To tyrant masses, dared, in thunder tone, Denounce their inhumanity and crime, And made the rights of man and freedom known ; Where yet this impulse, in stout hearts aflame, Leads from mere sordid ways to higher aim, There for true greatness place thy pantheon. 43 There place the martyrs in humanity's cause Beside the conquerors in the realm of thought, Who unto darkness light and reason brought, And misty visions resolved in nature's laws; The savants, too, whose midnight-labors sought The mysteries of human ills and pains, And febrile terrors banished or laid in chains, And miracles of skill and science wrought. There place the charity whose ample sphere Owns the wide universe its fatherland, And even in battle-fires, by hatred fanned, Brings love, in helpful ministrations, near; And where ambition and patriotism blend In deeds not flatt'ry merely voices great, Where seemly justice rules, immaculate, There place a crown beyond all vision grand ! 44 CRIME AND HYPOCRISY. No higher stands in diabolic grace, Of all that panders to its fiendish glee, Than evil, coming with benignant face And honied venom of hypocrisy. There is no crime that loud its presence cries, Or turns a willing face unto the light, Or fails to yield, in ill assumed disguise, Unconscious tribute to the cause of right; But of all wrongs, that whose unblushing shame, With hymns of joy and sanctimonious pray'r, Though dyed in human blood dares still proclaim Its foulness virtue, stands without compare. So came whileere, with blessings that blas- pheme, The Christian conqueror with fire and sword To peaceful shores and quiet vale and stream, To kill and ravish, in honor of the Lord. 46 So with intolerant zeal, in Allah's name, A ghastly trail of gore to mark his way, To fateful battles the cruel moslem came, As prompt to pray, as ruthlessly to slay. So Christian rose a Christian foe to smite, And of his creed held deadly argument, That deemed the heretic at the stake a sight To Heaven gracious as a sacrament. So the anarchic rabble, whose reason lies In fevered passion, hastens to defame The even rule of Justice it defies, By crowning murder with that sacred name ; And ever will the common herd condone Iniquity whose grasping reach is strong Mean wealth to filch, or power usurp or throne, And even will glorify triumphant wrong. But what's that God but cruelty deified Who human sacrifice would not abhor? What god is there but brutal force, to guide That licensed homicide that man named war? And is that crime not more atroce by far That flaunts itself before the silenced law, Than that which hides from gyve and prison bar, And holds the halter in salutary awe? 46 But Justice comes, its presence though de- layed, Hailed with the homage of the universe ; And boundless wrong must bow its brazen head Before that mightiest of all conquerors, For legions will be at her bidding call, And might shall not be right, nor grace confer On those she cites into her judgment hall, To high and low the even arbiter. , 47 THE ERLKING. From the German of Goethe. Through night and through wind so late who fares? It's the father with the child of his cares. He has the boy well clasped in his arm, He holds him securely, he keeps him warm. Why hidest so anxious thy face, my son? Dost, father, not see the Erlking yon? The Erlking, with crown and with trailing shroud ? My son, it's a streak of misty cloud ! O come, sweet child, away with me! Such pretty plays I'll play with thee! Gay flowers amany are on the shore, My mother of vestments hath golden store. My father, my father! and dost thou not hear The bidding of Erlking breathed in my ear? Be easy, my child ! still rest thee at ease ! In seared leaves whispers the soughing breeze. 48 Art willed, fine boy, to go with me? My daughters shall wait on thee daintily; My daughters at night their gay revels keep, And rock thee, and dance thee, and sing thee to sleep. My father, my father! and dost thou not mark The daughters of Erlking there where it looms dark? My son ! I see it as clear as the day ! They're just some old willows that look so gray. I love thee! I covet this beauty of thine I And art thou unwilling? then force makes thee mine! My father! now fastens on me his arm, Erlking has hurt me, has brought me harm ! The father's aghast ; he hastens on wild ; He holds in his arms the sore-sobbing child ; At last to his home he had labored and sped ; But in his arms the child . . 'twas dead. 49 GOD BE WITH THEE! FATE DID NOT WILL IT SO. From the German of Scheffel. That is the harsh condition life imposes, That where the roses bloom thorns are near- by. And what our poor heart wishes or proposes, It's bound to end with partings and good-by ; I once saw in thine eyes the radiant sheen, That took from love and happiness its glow, God be with thee ! Too nice it all had been, God be with thee, fate did not will it so! With grief and hate and envy I have striven, A storm-tossed weary wand'rer spent and worn, I dreamt of peace in restful moments given, When found my striving path in thee its bourne ; Thy love my healing balm I fond did ween, Glad unto thee life's gratitude to owe, God be with thee ! Too nice it all had been, God be with thee, fate did not will it so! 50 Clouds roll above, through trees the wind blows sweeping, Chill spreads a mist o'er field and wood its dew, With such farewells a weather just in keeping, Drear as the mist the world looks to my view; But come what may! or good or ill evene, To thee, fair maid, my thoughts shall ever go! God be with thee ! Too nice it all had been, God be with thee, fate did not will it so ! 61 THE GAUNTLET. From the German of Schiller. Before the lion court, Expectant of the sport, King Francis sat one day; His lords sat around him nigh, And about, on a balcony high, The ladies in fair array. And the fray as he beckons to start, The wide den opens apart, And out, in a hesitant walk, A lion doth stalk, And without a sound Looks around, Yawning amain, And shaking his mane, Stretching limb and bone, And anon lies prone. And the king signs again; And open starts A second keep, Out which a tiger darts, Coming along wild in a leap ; 52 As he the lion does sight Roars he with might, And with lashing tail marks Around him dread arcs, And lolls forth his tongue; And wary around The lion he doth bound, Irate and snarling ; And thereupon, gnarling, Near by lies down. And the king signs again; Then emits the doubly opened up hold, At one single throw two leopards bold. These throw themselves eager as for a feast On the tiger beast ; That answers grim with its deadly paws; And the lion roaring upbounds, Then cease all sounds; And round about lined, To murder inclined, The dreadful cats rest and pause. Just then, from the gallery above, Of dainty hand a glove May falling be seen The lion and tiger between; And to knight Delorges, with mocking tongue, Turns Kunigunda fair: 53 Sir knight! if your love be so strong, As e'er to me you will swear, Then bring my glove to me! And the knight, with alacrity, To the fearful pit doth descend, With firm step and mien, And from the monsters between Takes he the glove with daring hand. And astounded, and with awe, The feat the knights and the ladies saw. And calmly he carries back the glove, And plausive cheers upon him pour, And Kunigunda receives him above, Her eyes lit up with the light of love, And yielding pledge to its charming power. But he throws the gauntlet into her face: Lady, for this no thanks nor grace ! And he leaves her that self same hour. 64 A THANKSGIVING TALE. It is a day of pleasure, gay pursued By healthful life that brims with joy and mirth ; It's, too, a day of prayerful gratitude For heaven's gifts to pious souls on earth; The heaven itself has donned a festive air, And bracing breezes fan the world below, As though to chase away all human care Of pending sorrow, or of bygone woe. The halls of wealth and plenty glad prolong Their festive cheer this day of many a course, Whose foreign art disdains our native tongue, With spice of words to rouse spice loving maws; And every viand has its liquid peer In costly vintage of a regal hoard, Whose mellowed age exceeds by many a year The prime of later manhood at this board. 66 In homes of toil rules too the festive day, Though luxury here more modestly defined, Nor can scant wealth drive homely cheer away, Where flavors all a well contented mind; Here sits frugality in healthful grace, While lay-skilled art its tuneful spirit lends To cheer these sturdy children of their race, Whose hearts are soft in love, though hard their hands. The penal slaves, what heinous sin be theirs, Are taught, by milder rule, to know this day, Which of its blessings unto them not spares, Coming with gifts like a benignant fay; And charity has opened wide its stores, And gives to all who meekly come and ask ; And neither bars unto real need its doors, Nor unto beggar's craft in misery's mask. The day is nearly spent, and sable night Begins to gather earth within its fold. I see a wand'rer looming into sight Who moves with feeble footsteps as one old ; Yet are his years not those of man's decline, His should be manhood of its palmiest day, But struggling life, that for its needs must pine, 56 Runs quick its course, too soon to fade away. His face is famine's, in its ghastly hue, Yet may you see there too unbending pride That shuns its misery to bring to view, And tries its threadbare poverty to hide; But poverty and pride ill only mate To overcome the snags and drifts of life, And pride, though it adorn the strong arid great, Is but to misery with mis'ry rife. Those who, with craven soul and abject sense, Are prone to fawn on affluent vanity, Obsequious vassals of fair circumstance, Go plumed through life in their hypocrisy; Those who, obtuse to every sense but gain, Join in the chaffering mellee and strife, And in the war of wiles their wit sustain, Are well equipped to reap the spoils of life ; They who with steady mind their task pursue, And honest effort bring to honest hire, In fortune's every turn staunch, tried and true, Gain measurably the reach of their desire ; Some, too, though scant with native wit supplied, 67 Find wealth and honor unto them advance, And, hailed, within their glitt'ring chariots ride, The pampered minions of fortune's chance. But there are those with souls too finely strung, Fit, like a lute, to charm in gentle hands, But jarring, in the contact of the throng, When ruder touch their harmony offends; They're not adept to gloze in phrasing play, Or court deceit to follow fortune's train, But let the edge of truth fall as it may, When smould'ring thoughts their blazing outburst gain. They, in unworldly pride of conscious worth, Scorn to the narrow spirit to descend That hedges in their dole of place on earth, Unfit to make necessity their friend, Even as a captive eagle, aery-born, With might of pinions to cleave the sky, The limitless empyrean doth mourn, To pine and grieve, and with repining die. Is this the lesson that thy footsteps trace Upon the lonely pavement's fading light? Is this the story of thy famished face, O weary wand'rer of my dreamy sight? 58 And can it be that wholesouled verity, Hymned in all fanes as pledge of lasting bliss, Is in the world mere insagacity, Joined with such meed of misery as this? And is there surfeit to satiety, And is the ample board to many spread, Does law and order of society Give even to infamy its daily bread, And is there for the wily mendicant, For those who meek their rags of woe re- veal, But not one shred or show of sentiment For suff'ring pride that cannot beg or steal ? Lo, answer comes! A woman holds my sight, Most charming sample of a handsome race ; Her bright mind shines, in liquid eyes alight, And mercy's self could have no kinder face ; She leads a girl, her infant counterpart, Whose sweet eyes roam about in childish quest, That forms in riddles to tax her lore and art, When on the famished waif at last they rest. A touch, a word, a look that understands And human pity hastes to human need, Intent to give with helpful lavish hands ; 59 Yet is her deed's intent but ill to speed, For wasted nature snaps its vital strings, And ere she reaches him death has its own. Too soon the law the final curtain rings On one in death named friendless and un- known. O, was not this grim irony of fate, That in the rule of feasting all around, In sight of charity that came so late, Death should in fere of hunger thus be found ! Think not this tale is all of fancy's play, Know it of life in stern reality: 'Twas told in all the chronicles of the day, For pity less than singularity. They found upon him, wrapt in many a fold, What seemed his wealth, kept with a miser's fears : A tiny script, in fading ink and old, It spoke of love and bore the stain of tears. Someone may mourn ; and if that heart be dead, Though thine be only a forgotten grave, Thy worthier self, perchance, may here be read Then be thine epitaph this plaintive stave! 60 MUSIC. From the German. Whoever lonely views life's scenic round, And knows, by aching void, what made it dear, How thrills his heart with some harmonious sound Of youthful days that strikes the hark'ning ear! Thy life inspiring breath, O gentle strain, Wakes worlds of thought that long had dor- mant been ! And tear-dimmed eyes begin to smile again, While parting clouds reveal a brow serene. ( Mild zephyrs, that with fragrant flowers played In Orient gardens of eternal Spring, Still spread, though even every flower fade, Their memory afar with scented wing. So does the breath of music quick'ning raise To memory vanished dreams of happiness; So does the simple lay of better days The joy that gave it voice bring back to us. 61 O might of music ! words are only weak, Though clarion-toned, where swells thy symphony, Though from the soul the silv'ry tongue may speak, The soul itself outpours itself in thee! Oft meant deceit what words had owned a friend, And love's professions meant its fatal blight; But there's no heart that music will offend, And many a heart that music will delight. 62 THE MUSE OF THE DANCE. I do not come in the garments of sorrow, Others may mingle the sad with the gay ; Mine are the moments that think of no morrow, Joy is with me as the Sun with the day. Wisdom and folly alike, in devotion, Baseness, benignity, smiling advance, Under my magic in rhythmic emotion, Votaries all to the Muse of the Dance. Mine is the youth of perennial pleasure, All, though untaught, share the gift of my art; Age becomes youth at the sound of my measure. As of the fountain of life it had part. Beauty and grace, in their rarest, assemble, Lithesomeness with them, their charms to enhance, Even the rustic aims grace to resemble Come they to honor the Muse of the Dance. 63 Wide as the earth is, it yields me allegiance, Where in the icy north labor's rest came ; Where follows heart's ease in sun-fervid regions, Every tongue accents with gladness my name. Light of foot come they, true freedom in motion, Happiness suiting their steps to their glance ; Come as in radiance the waves of the ocean, Under the spell of the Muse of the Dance. Love is my dwelling, and light is my essence, Ever since time dawned with man I did fare; I led of old the devout to the presence, Measuring their footfall to chant and to prayer. What, though a narrower creed fail to cherish Fleet-footed mirth, where its nimble tread chance ! Not 'till the last of the race of man perish Knows man the last of the Muse of the Dance. Not of proud eagles,, their sky soaring pin- ions, Not gaudy plumage of strutting pavones, 64 Equal the wings that I bring to my minions, Fashioned by music of flight fledging tones. What is rude strength to the soul's inspira- tion? What can of beauty the spirit entrance Higher, than music in rich intonation, Paragon unto the Muse of the Dance? 65 A BIOGRAPHY. His paternal descent, far from sure, might be said to be rather obscure ; His maternal, 'twas certain much more, could not trace matrimonial tenure. He was born, it sufficeth to say; though some wicked tongues told, that about His mysterious parent his known one was herself even strangely in doubt; But her motherly love for her boy could have hardly been called into question, Though of soap and of water quite often he showed only the faintest suggestion. He was never admired for his beauty, or weighed at his birth like a hog; For his face? It had freckles all over, and his nose you'd decide was a pug. He was never a paragon infant, as the phrase is of many a brood ; But one trait he developed quite early : that, to seize upon all that he could. There was scarce an itinerant vender of the succulent ware of the street 66 That accursed not his filching young fingers, in their league with the nimblest of feet; And it may p'rhaps be mentioned in passing that this youthful rapacity grew, With the growth of his years, to acquire- ment of the spoils of a much larger view; His elusive talent he likewise to such a per- fection once brought, Thas his honesty held the presumption that depends upon not being caught. He had also the merriest of humor : he would ring (and then run out of harm) For some servant to answer the door bell, and to swear at the false alarm; He would make a gay raid on the ash cans that were waiting the city carts' round, When the ashes in fine independence of the rule of their cans would be found. But in snow storms in real sport he revelled, and with pleasure was fairly agog, His artillery to ply on all passers, most of all on what he called a plug. To his young ears the breaking of windows of all music perfection's self was, And this may p'rhaps account for his liking, when a man, for the clink of the glass. 67 Education formed but a brief chapter in his life, and he finished it quite, When, at public expense and compulsion, it had taught him to read and to write ; But the language that knows of no gram- mar, with its coinage of humorous tang, That is not of the peerage of wordings, but the favorite mongrel called slang, He had mastered with such a deep knowl- edge, that it's certain, if ever there were A collegiate course for its study, he would grace the professorship's chair. Yet he was a dispenser of knowledge, and he served its cause well, we are told, When the news he himself never read unto others he hawked out and sold. In the nerve racking voice of explosives he remembered the birth of the nation, Pandemonium let loose, though he deemed it a patriot's fine demonstration. The momentous day too he enjoyed, when the ballots the sovereign will note; He brought fuel to fired civic zeal long be- fore he had even a vote. 'Twas a zeal that he held as his priesthood, with that one solemn duty enjoined To enkindle the watchfire of freedom, though each faggot were even pur- loined. 68 Who had won at the polls he cared little, a philosophy not so abstruse, When dishonesty needs of no lantern, what political side you may choose. But these fires of his youth left no embers, though his zeal was as ardent and hearty, When as leader, by means often dark, he enlisted the votes for his party. 'Twere tedious recounting the struggles that led to his eminent station, Where political creed he allied with profits in rich combination. It deserves to be mentioned, however, that the road to his greatness took start, When congenial spirits he mingled for im- bibers with masterly art: Though a wage slave, he acted the master, in a covert way easy to guess, By the which he could stealthily gather, and, though more than suspected, possess. Soon a palace of bibulous treasures to more wealth its attendant fame brings, Whence to rise to an Alderman's chair seemed the natural order of things. There it's told his vote he held dear, and he weighed at its worth ev'ry action, 69 With a grasp that was rich of results, in a tangible sense and reflection. By what magic the wage of the people from mere units he knew how to swell To a multiple stride into thousands, many wondered, and some dared not tell. By such means he ascended to greatness, till at last, like some ruler of men, His praenomen sufficed to proclaim him: it meant Caesar to mention great Ben. But he reached the real crown of achieve- ment, when servility, docile-discerning, Legislated, his crude limitations were pn> found magisterial learning; So he donned the grave trappings of justice, and expounded as law his decision, And conventional phrase did him honor, though behind lurked the scholars' derision. You could fill a large library hall with the lore he ne'er knew of or heard, Yet, too oft in his uncommon law the sub- servience of learning concurred. He astonished who knew him in childhood, when skilled heraldry, answering his purse, Found him rights to armorial bearings, and a long line of ancestors. 70 RETRIBUTIVE. I've seen ingratitude, its irksome conscious- ness Of guerdon overdue, masked in forgetful- ness, Inflict with pois'nous dart its least expected sting; And to the quick wound, with the venom of its fling, What had been love, nor e'er in love been onerous. I've seen faithridden superstition, many de- ride, By folly to my unassuming life applied ; And I've been taught, in bitterness, the thoughts to gage They may have thought, who, in a so-called darker age, In reason's cause, the victims to unreasor; died. I've seen the robes of justice worn by tyranny, That named its arbitrary will the law's decree; 71 I've ached, with deferent phrase upon my slavish tongue, While in me strained invectives to denounce the wrong Of lawlessness, wielding the law's authority. I've seen deceit, companioned by unbounded greed, Not vainly strive o'er toiling honesty to speed ; I've found the world, in hero-worship, lout- ing stoops To those, whose millions stand for millions of their dupes: The parasites of unearned wealth on many feed. I've not been spared cupidity's ensnaring train That made my toil-won hoard the loot of grasping gain; I learnt, by wooed prosperity's too ready friends, How quick sincere adversity such friend- ship ends : The coz'ning flatterer walks not the road of pain. I've met hostility, of envious hate the brood, 72 Not as the valiant foe of upright fortitude, But with ophidian stealth that takes its covert aim, Where of duplicity the semblant shafts de- fame, Though the detractor dignifies true recti- tude. I know disfavor, armed with overbearing power, And the timeserving cognates of its ruling hour, The spoils on henchmen lavished riding with the tide, The common boon to those not of the fold denied ; Grace measured by the quality to crouch and cower. I know the mental wastes, that ne'er a seed- grain bore Of quick'ning thought, and even were ready to ignore The star of day, if that it had a lesser name, To see a world in bubbles of oft cheap got- ten fame, And o'er a lust'rous name the vapid else adore. 73 I, too, have known that purse-proud super- fluity, Whose highest sentiment is hired utility, And grinding task of wage-tools, set to make success, (Or yield their place, when sinews fail their purposes) For upstart wealth that boasts of self- paternity. And yet, how undeserved oppression may have harmed, I'm not to bear unjust aggression all un- armed ; For I've received, as though by fairy hands bestowed, When at its infant source my erst sprung life yet flowed, An armor that against all human shifts is charmed. And when, through gossamer gauze of the conventional, I glean the brutal circumstance that holds me thrall, When chafes the galling yoke of need-born drudgery, And points to thoughts of that too present tragedy, In which the player's exit is beyond recall ; 74 Then turn my thoughts to that my native gift of prize, Then at my bidding genii of fancy rise, And gird me with the sword of truth, more mordant keen Than trenchant steel, with all its tempered damascine, To pierce the mail that flams and shams in arms allies. And forthright all the anguish of my soul , abates, And in a trice I stand before the palace gates, Within whose walls dwells Time, the ruling arbiter, To whom the mightiest of the mighty must defer, 'Fore whom benighted pride in error abdi- cates. And soon, with quickened throb in ev'ry pulsing vein, And dazzled eyes, the august presence hall I gain; And the Immortals I admired, in galaxy, Time's ministers of grace and glory I can see Did ever monarch boast of such a royal train ? 76 There on a dais, 'neath star-lit arch of cramesy, Justice is throned, not that of earthly fal- lacy, Whose emmet-life amenities deflect its beam From that which measures true ; that of the poet's dream, That weighs with perfect wisdom of eternity. And what had made my soul cry out in wormwood pain, The smarting wound, felt like a serfdom's sting and stain, The leash that brought to manhood an in- dignant tear, And all my burning thoughts, seem known, ere uttered, here, Ere yet my tongue finds fitting accents to complain. Anon I see between my grievancers and me Of chast'ning Time's unerring Justice the decree ; And among the Ignominious of undying shame Some I can well perceive, whose deeds will bear their name, With that same stain, immortal, to Pos- terity. 76 But more will be of mere forgotten dust a grain, When I may still have life in memory's domain ; Nor only in my fancy's dream may this be- fall, But living day may swell accordant with my call, And what in truth I say may not be said in vain. 77 TO NIGHT. I hail thy soothing spirit, restful night, As does the desert wand'rer hail the sight Of waiving palms, by zephyr lips caressed, That mark the vernal haven of his rest. Thine advent heralds day's expiring charm, Thy passing lingers in Aurora's arm ; So beauty, dight with roseate light, Stands guard upon thy threshold, night' I hail thee, starry commonwealth of night, In thy fraternity of lambent light, In which each beam that flashes from afar Proclaims the fervid freedom of its star; In which, unlike the intolerant rule of day, Each may undimmed pursue its radiant way, By stellar right in lucid height, And gem thy shrouding veil, O night! What brings the rule of day but bustling strife, Where life is waged to overshadow life, Where nerves are tense with restless haste and speed, And care drives to their task the slaves of need; 78 Where thirst for riches goads the intemper- ate throng The frenzied hours of unrest to prolong, And madly slight thy gracious might, Thy sweet alembic, sleep, O night! I hail thee, peaceful solitude of night, That dost in dulcet harmonies unite What crickets trill to shrouds that chime their lay, As were they harpsichords that spirits play With cadenced ripples of the purling wave, And distance-mellowed chant of choral stave, Which mortals, light of heart, delight To mingle with thy medleys, night! Thine fancy's charmed Arcadia, O night, That brings the fairy and the elfin spright, From amaranthine bowers, the moonlit lawn To liven till their curfew hour of dawn; Thine, too, the visionary's haunted sphere, Where his frail reason halts with tremulous fear, Where phantom wight, and goblin, plight Their weft of mystery, O night! Thine is the trysting hour of lovers, night, That does heroic deeds of love incite, 79 Such as the tongue of fame so fondly tells, As when Leander braved the Dardanelles; And there are tales within thy shadowy fold Surpass all fables fancy ever told ; Tales joys indite and sorrows write Upon thy fleeting memories, night! Thy flight joins down-winged sleep, thy handmaid, night, With lethean touch to heal earth's weary blight, And from the trammels of its terrene loam Guide on the soul to that celestial home, Where dreams the skeletons of reality Charm into visions of beauteous phantasy. O come! alight! with dreams so bright, With all thy wonders, welcome night! 80 IN CUPID'S COURT. Youth and Beauty, surnamed Mabel, Met one day young Titan Abel ; Not within their hearts alone, But around them, springtime shone. Field and forest haunts assume Verdure fresh from nature's loom, Violets and snowdrops spring, And the feathered lyrists sing. Amorous promptings everywhere, Could you blame, then, if unaware From her lips he snatched a kiss, Rosy lips so near to his? Yet the maid seems out of sort, Goes straightway to Cupid's Court, Court of ancient jurisdiction In such case in truth and fiction. Would you venture on a guess, Why for just a slight caress She should be at so much pain? P'rhaps the sequel may explain. 81 To resume then our narration, Larceny in osculation Since the culprit not denied, Cupid thereon does decide: That the kiss he must restore, And be fined one hundred more ; And the unrelenting maid Sees each part the fine is paid; And should he again offend, Under wedlock he's to spend Bondage-life in Hymen-chains, So the judgment too ordains. L'envoi. Need you more? Remember that, Youth, in vernal days, they met; Age and winter may consort, Youth meets spring in Cupid's Court. 82 ALL HER OWN. When she sweeps o'er the sensitive keys With the force of her masterly ease, And the spirit of music she sways To her theme and harmonious phrase, Though her rhapsodies please and inspire, There is even far more to admire, How her soul seems to thrill with each tone, And to heighten a charm all her own. When the pungent shafts of her wit Pierce the jocular vein at each hit, And the jocund arteries run With the life-blood of frolic and fun, Is there aught with her looks to compare, And her saucy and challenging air, And her smile that's not smiling alone, But real witchery all of her own? When with sorrow her sympathy speaks, In deep fervor that crimsons her cheeks, Nor her tears, but her deft busy hand, Helps the wounds of misfortune to mend, 83 And her words of no eloquent art Bring the solace that goes to the heart, Who has feminine strength ever known Of that tenderness quite all her own? When she draws to her orbid of light, Among many a satellite, That fine manhood, you need not be told Is the lode-star she longs to behold, How I wish that my youth came again, And I might be that fortunate swain, That on me so her countenance shone, With that lovelight so quite all her own! 84 A FISH STORY. Come from thy workaday's stale empery, And trace with me a fresh imagery That had its rise in Oriental climes Of young, though commonly misnamed olden, times. There found this tale my reminiscent Muse, Fit to instruct, and likely to amuse; It has a moral, is piscatorial, too, And, as fish stories mostly, quite as true. In Bagdad Saad and Sadi lived, two friends, Who passed their days in easy affluence, And thus of wealth could well philosophise, For "Rich" by flattery's synonym means "Wise." So once of fortune waxed their discourse hot: Saad held that wealth of wealth alone was got, Naught came of naught, the little might en- hance; While Sadi held all fortune's source mere chance. 85 Anon the disputants had carried their talk Abroad with them, and at a roper's walk They stopped, and watched him dealing out his hemp; His was of poverty the typic stamp, As honest Hassan known to honest men, None more deserved that friendly cog- nomen ; Five children proved his wedded fatherhood, But sterile wealth proportioned not this brood. Day in, day out, his labor knew no rest, His daily bread oft merely hardened crust; He gave his loved ones all his fostering care, With little thought, aught for himself to spare. Such was the man had stayed their argu^ ment, But now more heated caused it to ferment. Quoth Saad: "This drudge of toiling in- digence "Shall own through me a kinder providence; "Launched in the good bark Opportunity, "With sails swelled by the breeze of Industry, "He shall make port in rich prolific isles, "Where fortune on all earnest effort smiles." 86 "Have done with theories! Now let practice start!" " 'Tis known that wealth and folly easily part," Quoth Sadi, "luck not riding on the gale, "Ne'er will your wealthy haven reach his sail." Soon Hassan rests a while his busy hands, Responsive to the bidding of the friends, And tells his plight in simple words and brief. Quoth Saad: "Thy tale shall have another leaf, ,,A sequel, turned to happier destiny, "At fortune's gate unlocked with golden key." "Take thou this purse, with all it holds of gold, "And may it prosper thee a thousand fold!" And Hassan, speechless, tearful, overcome, Bowed low to Saad, and kissed his garment's hem; And while he struggled to frame his thanks in speech, The friends had silent passed from audient reach. But his emotion yields to calmness soon, 87 That turns to summing up his precious boon : Two hundred crowns toll death to pauper care, But to proclaim the care of wealth its heir. For now each rustling of the wind-swept leaves Becomes to fear the stealthy tread of thieves ; Now vexes he his brain his treasure to hide, And puzzles where, unable to decide. At last, a happy thought! he sews his gold, Ten crowns aside, deep in his turban's fold ; Then Cityward his quickened way he made, Unto the noisy arteries of trade. There ready gold, in barter, amplifies The needful of his craft in merchandise; Then he bethinks himself, what he might spare For luxuries with his loved ones which to share, That they might all enjoy, at fortune's door, The taste of riches never known before. This thought embodies at last the juicy meat That burdens him as homeward turn his feet. 88 Soon on his steps the rural quiet grows, As lonely stretch the City's purlieus ; Still on the day's events persists his thought, And all the lucky harvest it had brought; Now, self-derision mocks the strain endured Ere in his turban lay his wealth immured. Meanwhile his course aligns, in altitude, A vulture, ready to truss its prey for food. And suddenly, with shrieks the air that rent, As leven out of cloudless firmament, The ravenous fowl swept from its dizzy height, And burst upon his sense with telling fright. No pad, imagined by his wits whileere, Could have imbodied so his sense of fear As this, that cared not for a mine of gold, But coveted the meat, from hunger bold. And now, strange was the battle that began Between the feathered rover and the man; With beak and claws the bird upon him bore, To seize the prize the other clasped the more; But burdened as he was, his single arm, And dext'rous turn, were all his ward from harm, So it befell, at some more violent thrust, His weighted turban rolled into the dust. Who has not heard, how trivial incidents Oft bear the pregnant seeds of great events? So to this scene the falling turban brought More tragic ending than might well be thought ; For strangely now the bird its onslaught ceased, And quick as thought upon the turban seized ; And, heedless of the missiles Hassan threw, Loud in despair passed quickly out of view. Ne'er misery, pictured by consummate art, Could, as his looks, such depth of woe im- part, When o'er his treasure, strangely lost as won, His lamentations in this strain went on : "Alack the day the veil of life unrolled, "With little of joy, and lasting cares un- told, "To one who loved his toil and idless feared, "Yet e'er was bandied by malignant weird ! 90 "My wishes shallow runnels! overflowed, "And deepened, with the generous gift be- stowed, "Now is all promise lost its access bore, "And wretchedness is wretchedness the more, "What world is this that will not let us win "A life that lives; yet calls self-slaying sin ! "But oh! my little ones, how would you fare, "If I were gone? alas! I'll live, I'll bear!" So day by day he labored as of old, New turbaned with the relic of his gold, Six times thus rolled its course the lunar wain Ere purposeful the friends sought him again. Still each contended for his championed view, And inly hoped to hear what proved it true. Soon as they'd heard that melancholy miss, Quoth Saad, incredulous: "Why, what is this? "Wouldst thou, I should as aught but fable treat, 01 "Thy vulture seized thy gold, and left thy meat? "Come, come! At least be true, nor play the knave, " 'Twas thine to waste that which as thine I gave!" Then, by his holiest, in solemn stress, Hassan made oath upon his truthfulness; But Saad feared for his theories by that oath, And, by belief to own them false, was loath. Here Sadi interposed, elate with pride, How well the tale his theory verified; "The tale sounds true ! I know by avian lore, "This vulture did as others did before!" So truth had credence by consistency. But in opinionate persistency, Saad left with Hassan, wealth with wealth to gain, While wishing speed, two hundred crowns again. Now sits the bloom of joy upon his cheecks, As, quickly stinting work, his home he seeks ; But finding wife and children gone abroad, And by the fear possession breeds adawed, He counsels with himself; and lastly chose, To stem the full tide of his happy news, 92 Lest want should rise beyond accustomed need, And waste the golden harvest in the seed. Yet wronged these thoughts the housewife's thrift full sore, That knew to make the little serve the more. Howbeit, his eyes, the humble room that scan, Light presently upon a jar of bran, Within whose dust, he thinks, of long neglect No one his golden treasure will suspect. So close it lay, encoffined in that grave, While unto chaffering needs his time he gave. Meanwhile the good wife visit gossip ends, And turns to home economies her hands, When, hearing near a vender's bargain cry, She runs to see, though penniless to buy, Then it occurs to her, the ugly clay, That jar of bran, might for a soapstone pay. So, when the jar was viewed, and haggling spent, The huckster took it for his ware, and went. Hours fly, ere Hassan enters at his door, Though moments tell him he again is poor. My Muse forbears the quarrel to approach That now engaged the pair in hot reproach. Those who are mated need no lyric bars To tell the course of matrimonial jars; 93 And those, who joy their single blessedness, Shall only feed trite humor with a guess. Suffice it, then, of dreams of riches shorn, Hassan renewed his grind upon the morn, And many a day looked for the friends in vain, Half fearful even to meet the twain again, Lest of his doleful hap they'd speech compel, And deem him but a churly ne'erdowell. At last, when least expected, they appeared, And knew full soon, what he to tell had feared. Said Saad: "Strange is thy tale, strange, as the ends, "Beyond our ken and power, of providence ! "We'll bow to fate, unkindly manifest." Then, Sadi, half in earnest, half in jest : "Though fortune brought to gold a barren bed, "It may prove fruitful by this piece of lead, "Which, as by lucky chance it came to me "From travelled dust, may speed thy luck for thee." And Hassan's thanks the base gift dignified, Which he with care took home at eventide, Though not for any worth or any need, But for the giver's sake, to keep in heed. 94 Just then a fisherman, not far away, Made ready his net to fish at break of day, But for the want of lead was full of teen, To cast in weighting pellets for his sein. Then said he : "Good my wife, bestir thee fine, "And hunt about among the neighbors mine, "If any will help me to the lead I lack !" She went; but empty handed soon came back. "She'd knocked at every one but Hassan's door, "Who, she surmised, was even for lead too poor. "Yet try that honest man!" then wroth he said, "Go, woman! go! And, Lo! she brought the lead. Then glad to Hassan, in the prophet's name, Pledged he the first catch in his net that came ; And ere next morn toward noontide quite had crept, A large fish proved the pledge had well been kept, On which Dame Hassan now was doing her part, Wrapt in the pride of culinary art. But suddenly, as she guts the finny meat, A glittering thing falls from it to her feet. 96 "This," thinks she, "is a pretty piece of glass, "This does in radiance all I've seen surpass." And, verily! lapideous fire it seemed, From which a world of prismy lustre gleamed. And as it made her children shout with joy, She yielded them that strangely gotten toy; And so, with naught their noisy glee to mar, They played at marbles with, what shone a star. The door stood wide, while thus went on their game, When to the scene a dame, much dizzened, came, Whose spouse, a jeweler, wealth had multi- plied By bartering gems to vanity and pride. Well nature's precious handiwork she knew, Its petrified, its sundipt, crystal dew, Which, for her eyes to see and hands to touch, Was of its worth and quality to judge. Well, too, she knew each shrewd phrase and device, By which the seller lauds, the buyer decries ; For all her conscience taught, she might have bought Golconda's mines with any mere specious naught. Now, drawn on by a game of noisy sort, 96 She stops, amazed the plaything of their sport To find a diamond, aye! a priceless gem, Fit to adorn a regal diadem. Then, thinks she, "here is ignorance at play, "May sell a beggar's toy for beggar's pay!" - Soon hailed, dame Hassan gossipy makes known What mine it was had held that pretty stone. Quoth then the other: "This glass is passing fine, "I'll give these twenty crowns to make it mine !" But as at this her children start to cry, Dame Hassan turns to them without reply. "La!" thinks the other, and for her bargain fears, "This mother weighs not light her children's tears, Here needs more tempting bait must be ap- plied." So more and more her bid she multiplied, Until well into hundreds it had grown; But, deaf, dame Hassan stared, as were she stone ; For now it flashed through her not witless mind The much so offered left much more behind; 97 And so it proved; for ne'er the other ceased Hotly to charge, with proffered crowns in- creased, Where coy assent held to its citadel, Though into thousands now the figures swell ; And while the one went hot, to fever mark, The other stood at zero, firm and stark. At last dame Hassan thus broke into speech, When fifty thousand crowns she heard in reach : "If, now, one hundred thousand you would say, "I'd ask good Hassan, if it's aye or nay." "Agreed !" the other cried, not thinking twice, "One hundred thousand crowns ! I'll pay the price !" With that they parted, each her spouse to seek.-r- But Hassan, hearing of this lucky streak, Bethought himself, in his good honest heart, The fisherman in this should know his part; And knowing what his fish contained, should tell, If giving it, meant giving wealth as well. "But," cried the fisher, as he heard his tale, "The fish was thine, with all in its entrail, "I pledged it by the prophet thine, when caught, 98 "And, by his beard! I'm glad so much it brought" ; And would not hear the least his right denied, No matter what the generous Hassan tried. So ripened chance for Hassan strange events, And changed his poverty to opulence, Which, shrewdly to familiar work applied, With thrifty skill he daily amplified. His fabrics, with great fame, gained great demand, And many artisans owned his command, Housed in vast structures, every sign that bore Of busy hands at work, and ample store. His mansion, least for ostentatious pride, Was most that makes a happy fireside ; Such hearty cheer ruled friendly its domain, Its guests that came e'er wished to come again. Washed by the Tigris lay his country seat, Affording shade and rest from summer's heat, Broad acres proved the plowman's hus- bandry, While copse and wood proclaimed good for- estry. The manor house seemed like a fairy bower, Where floral art raised even the rarest flower ; 99 In clovered pasture browsing cattle strayed, While tended in their stalls sleek horses neighed ; And midst its feathered harem, shrill and clear, Its presence proudly voiced the chanticleer. Such was the man, with onward strivings rife, Since fortune seasoned for him busy life. Late carried to the friends the tongue of fame, Now linked to riches, honest Hassan's name. They found him, by prosperity unspoiled, Where, much and many mastering, he toiled; Yet was his bearing humble as of old, As showing them his teeming stores, he told, How into golden wealth had turned that lead. But Saad at this, incredulous shook his head : "Twice I believed thy tale of much pretence, "Yet stomachs not this mess of fish my sense !" "Say, my four hundred crowns have prospered thee ! "Why tell such tales, and not confess it free ?" Here Sadi spoke, to Hassan's great relief, To reason Saad out of his disbelief, "Such thoughts his better sense should spurn and scout!" But Saad kept both his counsel and his doubt. 100 Anon to Hassan's home they all repaired, Where sumptuously on meat and drink they fared ; And on the morn a craft, well manned and neat, Soon carried them to Hassan's country seat. Here much they saw, and what they saw ad- mired, But halting at a glade, it just transpired A woodman passed, who bore what seemed a nest, And told, obedient to his master's quest, That in a tree which fell, when late it stormed, This nest was found, strange of a turban formed. And, Hassan, seeing, knows his own again, Whose loss, in want that cost him tears of pain Now brought him tears of joy, as God he praised, Who in the cause of truth this sign had raised ; And quickly ripping apart the turban's fold Disclosed unto the friends its hoard of gold. At this Saad humbly unto Hassan louts, Seeming to ask forgiveness for his doubts, Though having a recess yet in his heart Which held that jar of bran in doubtful part. This issue past, they see, of noble race, 101 Deer- footed barbs, combining strength and grace, These, as he hears his friends admire, with pride, Now Hassan orders for the homeward ride. So when quite eventide had shrouded day, They started on the sinuous highway, Which much the stretch to Bagdad did pro- long; And having fared full many a league along, They stopped, on seeing a rustic dwelling near, To satisfy their cravings for its cheer. Soon had the goodman served their fullest need, When they remembered horses too must feed. But fodder was there none a horse would chew, Unless, the rustic said, the bran would do, That filled a useless jar his wife had bought, This, for the want of better meal, he brought. No sooner Hassan did the jar behold, But knew it for the same that hid his gold, And emptying the bran upon the ground, Lo! all his crowns, untouched, he quickly found. 102 At this, no less than Hassan, Saad was pleased ; Who, rid of doubts, esteem for him increased, And as his story spread, on wings of fame, Hassan the true, became his common name. And though some called him rich, some hon- est, too, His proudest predicate he deemed "The True," For what is honesty, as viewed by pelf, To truth, that is real honesty itself? 103 THRENODY. In Memory of a Friend. Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede Pauperum tabernas, regumque turres. Impartial death! What is to thee divine decree, By which some claim the purple and the crown, And make, or unmake, with a smile or frown, Oblivious of their clay in showy dignity! What the heraldic blaze of Norman ancestry, Won, haply, by some sanguinary deed, That in a rude age found its honored meed, But which our better day might ban to infamy ! What the abundance garnered by possessive lust, Which for it common ties would abnegate, With surfeit of its pride inebriate, When thou comst garnering unto thy com- mon dust! What the preferment falling to ambition's cast, With all a people's favor that exalts, 1O4 With all rhe bark of envious assaults, When to thine end the splendid tale is told at last ! Life's inequalities are at thy threshold spent ; What signifies the remnant pomp, that brings Within thy portals mortals that were kings, More than the passing pauper's wretched cerement ? Even as thy coming awes to whispers busy speech, So strident passion and discordant ill Are in the shadow of thy presence still, And charity covers frailty aye! its rankest breach. Who comes not ushered to thy shades with loving tears? Or funeral rhetoric, whose hireling phrase Coins not in words the truth that will not praise, But virtuous unrealities for friendly ears? Well for the toiler, when his time of rest is reached, And generous voices on his labors dwell, That, far above what empty words can tell, His life of deeds stands in a shrine of honor niched ! 1O6 When to the full thy hour the seasoned fruit to reap, We but deplore the sum of earthly days, But when thy hand the rip'ning blossom slays, The wound gapes wide, thy sting is lasting, and is deep. Thus, in the heyday of his flowering summer bloom, With all the fruitful harvest-pledge it gave, I saw one borne to his untimely grave, Snatched from the cheerful toil he graced to silent gloom. One who ennobled by his friendship's acco- lade, To which he brought a meaning all his own, In ever ready acts of kindness shown, Glad by a friendly word and hand to be re- paid. He walked in honesty, his vital element, And what occasion in his sphere might ask, He brought the highest merit to the task, All, on the joy of duty well performed, intent. His manly nature shone in quiet dignity That could not measure to the henchman's part, Nor learn the language of the flatterer's art, Nor stoop to curry favor by servility. loe What honor heritage had thrust on him, soared higher, With added lustre, in his sum of days, No need had he of dry ancestral bays, That ranked, in fresh won laurels, even his worthiest sire. Though history pass his memory by, who can forget That knew, the charming presence of his life, So well attuned, with gifts to please so rife, Great, with the greatness of the rose and mignonette ? No solaced heirs did sorrow's office at his bier, But they he'd loved, in tearful quietude, As only great, and deep felt sorrow, could, Grieved, and yet mourn, the friend, well worth their manly tear. 107 HOPE. O happy isle in midst life's warring Sweet land of hope, beheld in youthful prime Like some enchanted realm of Orient clime, Though battling waves storm heavenward in commotion ! Alas, that age in life's receding motion, While all else ripens in its mellowing time, The more the seared leaf yields to wintry rime, But sees the vanishing goal of young devotion ! And when life's battered bark its anchors cast, When curfew tolled the day of labor past, How narrow seems of hope the final rest! Happy whose simple faith in hope abounds To find, beyond decay and funeral mounds, The glorious haven of a loyal quest! 108 THE AGE OF COMMERCE. L Why deprecate the spirit of the age, And turn with loving eyes upon the past, When men of strife in iron mould were cast, And deeds of blood were honor's proudest gage? The lust of gain is graved on every page Of memory's time, and will be to the last; The warriors glory fed on spoils amassed, As now the chaff'rer battens on gainful wage. What though the mailed hand rose to lift a cross, And beauty's grace became a battle-cry! They were but seeds of war and war's in- crease. I prize the age that honors peaceful laws, Whose palladins for commerce-honors vie, And slay the monster war with arms of peace. II. What are the wizard arms of legend tale The will that served to kill and to destroy, But as the nursery warrior's martial toy To those fair arms which will that peace pre- vail? 109 Beside the whisp'rings hemispheres that hale, vSoft, sensuous words, the distant ear that coy, Effacing space by rule of art's employ, Orlando's league borne blast, how it does pale ! The age whose wonders miracles dethrone, That in a flash of thought links zone to zone, Whose bartering spirit levels race and creed, I prize with all its frenzied greed and speed, Its sordid hazards, that raise their avatar Above the time-worn idol-gods of war. III. Hail to thee, commerce, mighty archimage! Thou spread st a gospel of fraternity, Beyond the narrow bounds of bigotry, That makes the whole wide earth one vicinage ! Thy touch, where elemental passions rage, Turns chaos into worlds of industry, No lesson preached, as that he learns of thee, Moves savage man brute impulse to assuage! Beneath thy soil, in all sterility But fruits of wealth and wealth's utility, Though barren to those of which idealists dream, There's yet of charity a worldwide stream, That wells responsive balm in generous flow, And came from antipodes the cry of woe. no From the German of Heine. I. Lean thou upon me, cheek to cheek, And mingled our tears will flow, And fold me close, heart unto heart, And the gathered flames will burst aglow ; And when the soaring flame receives The flood of tears we cry, And when my arm around thee cleaves, With yearning love I die! II. They gave me advice and precepts fair, They overwhelmed me with honors rare, I should but wait, I heard them tell, And they would patronize me well. But with all their patronage, I vow, I might of hunger have croaked ere now, Came not a man most true and good, Who set in to help me all he could. Brave, good man! I'll never forget, Through him my daily bread I get; What pity that kiss him I never can, For I am myself that brave, good man! 111 III. When in thine eyes I chance to see, My woe and sorrow cease to be; But when I kiss thee, what so I ail, I am quite well again arici hale; And when I lean upon thy breast, I feel of heavenly bliss possessed; But, say I love thee unto me, And I must weep most bitterly. IV. Thou hast both pearls and diamonds, Hast all man wished of yore, Hast eyes that are the fairest, My love, what wouldst thou more? To thy fair eyes I have written A legion's fullest score Of eternal songs and ditties, My love, what wouldst thou more? With thy fair eyes thou hast smitten And racked me to the core, And thou hast wrought me ruin, My love, what wouldst thou more? 112 ERST, IN LIFE'S TOO DARK'NING SHADOW. From the German of Heine. Erst, in life's too dark'ning shadow, Shone an image radiant fair; Now the fair one went and vanished, I am night-bound more than e'er. In the darkness, when the children Sit in fear, their spirits at bay, They will anxious thoughts to banish- Lusty sing a roundelay. I, a madcap child, in darkness, Now sing, too, a song for cheer, Though it may not tune up charming, Yet it quits me of my fear. 113 UNBIDDEN GUESTS. From the German of Anastasius Gruen. The festive hall receives its ruling lord, A God in miniature, who spoke the word That gave the soul's fond dream embodiment, The fairest word divine : "Let there be light !" Then was this sphere a radiant firmament, Where candles flamed, as many stars unite ; As moon and sun for dazzling mastery vie Globed lustres, candelabra, girandoles, Nor lack the dwellers of light the wings to fly, By music fashioned for their limbs and soles. Now enter'st, maiden, thou, with timid feet, Upon the world, that ocean of deceit! Though tremulous, thou well mightst bravely bear, Proud and erect, the keenest searching glare, For faultless as thy body it would know, So, too, immaculate, thy soul would show ; And yet, uncanny comest thou esquired By followers drear and weird to my beholding, Uncouth of limb, unfestively attired, With clenching fists, and brows bent near to scolding, 114 Unknowing of society's foundation, The rule, that tends the anarchy to stem Of dress, deemed of convention's regulation; The liveried crew might bar the place to them, Could with my eyes it see that visitation. There is a man, sea water in his hair, A land-born triton, who for thee did dare Encoffined in the diver's bell the sea, Deep down unto the bottom of the brine, To bring these pearls around thy neck that shine, Did he not earn a place anear to thee? There is the miner, in his gray-haired prime, His apron, lamp and hammer, carries he; Doomed to a self-dug grave in life's own time, Barred from the verdant vale, the sun-aired space, He labored in the bowels of earth, to bring The glittering gold for bracelet and for ring, That enviably thine arms and hands embrace. The lamp's red flamelet strangely overtinc- tures, With lurid glare, this blaze of dazzling cinc- tures, A bloodstain on a white veil it does seem, Above melodious strains a woeful scream. 115 There's one, Silesia's son, a mountaineer, With faith in Christ, he coughs and fasts and prays, And from his shuttle his restless hands not stays ; He starved with wife and brood full many a year, The choicest linen around thy charms to place, Pure as the blessing of a father's grace. i There is a maid of virgin age like yours, But wan and careworn; not a springtide- breeze Her crispy locks will ever playful teaze ; She closed to every vernal joy her doors, To be thy spring while winter yet endures, Binding as flowers full many a tinted shred That as a garland flutters on thy head, Though earth lies frore, and death's cold stings the sense, Yet lacks that wreath the soul of redolence; It minds of her who bound that chaplet crown. A woman's there with her sick progeny, A woolen figleaf all her festive gown; 'Twere shameless, were it not so sad to see. They burrowed in the earth in the Brazils, To fetch thee diamonds, and themselves their ills, 116 There is a boy that left his years behind, Sent to the schools of vice that kill the soul, The workshops, where the silken threads they spool, Thy pied and gaudy ribbon band to wind ; Himself, a puny silkworm, he must die Ere as a butterfly he spreads his wings. Didst hear the flutt'ring of thy ribbon strings? And couldst thou heedless pass his greeting by? There is a sailor, sea-bathed, browned with tan, With his red sash and glazed hat's leathery sheen ; Through tropic heat and ocean's storms he's been, To bring that shawl from far off Hindostan, That will enfold thee soft and warmly kind, Lest at thy coming home night's frosty wind Thy dance-hot spirits all too rudely fan. For just one hour of dance thou hast enjoyed, maid, of form so fair, and soul pure white, So many lives defiled, nipped and destroyed! Around thy vision of light that gathered blight, Unseen by thee, and only in my sight, 1 turn as otfier dun shades yet appear, With fainter followers coming in their rear. 117 LAY OF THE FERRY. Coming and going, coming and going! Ceaseless and easeless, the human tide flow- ing! Whence they came, and whither their aim, None of the hurriers would stop to proclaim. Coming and going, coming and going! Hurrying, worrying, each to his doing ! Sorrow is there, pale, seamed with deep fur- row, Telling a tale that no language need borrow. Coming and going, coming and going! Striving and driving by measured time's show- ing! Droning, its bell times a merry farewell, Timing, yet chiming, a funeral knell. Coming and going, coming and going! Hustling and bustling, to reap by their sowing ! Knavery that paces in law-gilded traces, Sly furtive stealth, daring bridewell and braces. 118 Coming and going, coming and going! Tense with the sense to their gains and their growing All in a race for place and for station, Greedy of moments, in mad emulation. Coming and going, coming and going ! Clowns that forget, life's solemn debt owing, Roisterers crowding, foul, rousey and pursy, Charity hast'ning on errands of mercy ! Coming and going, coming and going! Life and its strife, with its pulsing and glow- ing! Haste without need, and waste without heed, Spurred, as by death-winged hell-fiends of speed ! Coming and going, coming and going! Born to sojourn 'twixt unknown and unknow- ing! When all is done, the swift race is run, Who but the worm that creeps has won? 119 THE WARD OF THE SWANS. Here skirts the lake the sylvan shores, And the pellucid waters scene Tall frondent elms and sycamores, As in a mirror hyaline; Upon whose opalescent breast, Like jewels beauty that bedight, The starry canopy seems to rest, A heaven on earth, to grace the sight : Here perfect calm of peace prevails, And in the charming solitude The swans glide in their liquid trails, And songbirds air their lyric mood; Here every echo is a note Of music on the ambient air, And worldly discord seems remote, As from a solemn chant of prayer; Here where feat nature did design A spot on earth to be sublime, As though it were her very shrine, What mars the scene? What deed? What crime ? 120 Lo, on the placid lake afloat, A tiny craft, by no hand steered, A ghostly thing, nor bark, nor boat, A mere cohesion rude and weird! Within that flimsy shell a sight To moisten eyes else strange to tears Lies, bedded on rags that once were white, A babe, whose days scarce number years. The loving care seems fled that should, By all a nurslings due, be near, The spell, by which, in motherhood, The brute becomes of man the peer. Yet here a mother's watchful eyes To hang upon her child's each breath Were vain, and vain her lullabies Alas, this cradle harbors death! And every detail of this bier Is eloquent of tragedy, And every squalid drapery here Accentuates death of mystery. What might the chapters of its tale So brief and few! of horrors name? Hides here mortality's cryptic veil The misery of unwedded shame, That grew, an avalanche in its fall, To crime the savage beast might daunt, Crime, the unpard'nable of all, In desp'rate fear of prudery's taunt? 121 Or did a ravishing fiend go forth, To rob a home's parental bliss, Its light, and all of life's own worth, And came a vampire scheme to this? And were the law's insistent hunt, The hue and cry throughout the land, An infant's wail, all vainly spent, And nerved perchance the slayer's hand? Or served this death ambition's greed, Some meaner Richard striking down, By a remorseless untracked deed, The barrier to a coveted crown? Or did insanity guide the hand, That lent unto the errant sense Love's semblance in the grievous harm That plucked a flower of innocence? Vain, vain all the conjecturing mind Before its judgment bar arraigns! The dark affliction stays behind, And what offends the eye remains. So, like a festering wound, the taint On civic rule, we boast of, shown, When crime goes forth without restraint, And the offender walks unknown! O impious hands, which, ere it grew, A sacred childlife rudely sped, And even grudged the life they slew The common tribute to the dead! 122 These fragile boards what funeral hearse! That squalid drapery what a pall ! And all for dirge and psalter verse The splashing water's rise and fall! Dishonored dead ! will no one save, From winged and prowling ghouls, thy clay, And bear thee to a hallowed grave With those who honored passed their way? Unanswered cry that finds no ear! Yet stay ! What brings the swans to brood, In solemn concourse, o'er that bier, As though they knew and understood? Lo, they have formed around the corpse, As mourners might, and o'er the lake They move, past groves and sleepy thorpes, To where the City's pulsebeats wake; Where unruled crime to rule will yield, And law and order tardy stir, This shard of life they could not shield, To give a wretched sepulcher. 123 THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. From the German of Uhland. There rose a lordly castle, in times remotely old, It shone, a far seen landmark, to where the blue sea rolled, And fragrant gardens around it gave wreaths of many flowers, And there, in rainbow splendor, fresh springs arose in showers. There sat a king, imperious, a landwide con- queror, He sat upon his throne there, so pale and sin- ister ; For what he plans is terror, and fury what he sights, He only speaks to chastise, and blood is what he writes. One day unto this castle two minstrels took their way, One young, with locks fair golden, the other old and gray; 124 And with his harp the old man upon a brave steed rode, The while his young companion beside him briskly strode. Then the old man said, "Be ready, my son, to sing with zest, "Of all soul stirring ditties thy tenderest and best; "With all thy power sing gladness, and give to sadness tone, "It is to touch and soften that proud king's heart of stone." Anon the minstrels enter the lofty pillared hall, Where on the throne are seated the king and queen withal; The king, in fearful splendor, like bloodred Northern light, The queen, sweet in her mildness, as shone the moon full bright. Now strikes the aged minstrel his harp so wondrous clear, That rich, and ever richer, the full chords feed the ear; Then, pure, the youth, and heavenly, leads the melodious theme, The old man's chant, low mingling, makes spirit voice it seem. 125 They sing of love and springtide, of happy golden time, Of manly worth and freedom, of faith and trust sublime, They sing of sweet emotions that e'er stirred human breast, They sing of high ideals that human heart e'er blest. The crowd of courtiers present lost all their mirthful mood, And as in reverent prayer the king's grim warriors stood ; The queen, to joy and sadness stirred by the mighty strain, Took from her breast the roses to throw unto the twain. "You have led astray my people, would you too delude my wife?" The king thus shouted madly, with frenzied fury rife; His sword, with lightning fierceness, the young lad's bosom stung, Out which now bloodstreams flooded, in- stead of golden song. And as by stormwind scattered is all the listen- ing swarm, The lad has breathed his last gasp within his master's arm; 126 He throws his cloak around him, and on his horse does stall The dead bound fast and upright, and leaves the castle hall. But at the lofty portal the old bard yet delays, His harp he has uplifted, that harp beyond ap- praise, He shatters upon a column that harp of golden strings, And then his voice thus weirdly far over the vast space rings: "Woe unto you, ye proud halls, may never a sweet strain "Within your walls re-echo, ne'er harp nor song again, "No, only groaning and sighing of slaves that cower and creep, "Till the spirit of vengeance crush you to dust and mouldering heap!" "Woe to you, fragrant gardens, in moonlit radiance, "To you I show this dead b9y's distorted coun- tenance, "That by this sight you wither, and all your springs go dry, "And in the coming future a barren waste you lie!" 127 "Woe to thee, murderous dastard, thou curse of minstrelsy, "May vain thy gory struggles for crowns of glory be, "Thy name, be it forgotten, and night its last- ing share, "Be, like a final death gasp breathed to the empty air!" The old man thus hath spoken, and heaven has heard his call, The walls are down and broken, the halls are ruins alT; One stately column only speaks of the splen- did past, But this too burst, may tumble down over night at last. No fragrant gardens around here, but only desert land, No tree that spreads a shadow, no spring that moists the sand, The king's name never honors heroic page or verse, Sunk into night forgotten that is the min- strel's curse. 128 WOMANLY. She likes to know all safe and sure, Within a vault of triple steel, Her diamond necklace or parure, Her stocks of fancied worth or real. Her things of lesser value, too, She likes to hold in some recess, To which alone she holds the clue For any emergent readiness. But sometimes memory serves her ill, She looks, with strong anxiety crossed, For something, that, search as she will,. Seems, in excess of safety, lost. And then she frets, in megrid pain, Until it strangely does befall, Her search renewed, shows, to her gain, The thing deemed lost not lost at all. But she, perchance, herself derides What be no raillery to me, For there's one thing she never hides, Nor ever locks as with a key. She never hesitates or halts To find love's due in generous part, She never hides in safety vaults The treasures of a womanly heart. 129 THE LAST GOOD-BY. His words, in sharpness, pierced her heart, It bled from out her weeping eye, And then he went, her grievous smart Spurning the balm of his "good-by." His mortal last word, as he went, She hears it still, it haunts her yet, Leaving the heart in life he rent, In death a legacy of regret. JUDICIAL ANARCHY. Judicial Anarchy find seated here, Forsworn, with all its show of dignity; And yet you may perhaps, to view it near, Find but a pigmy in authority. Though perched in high authority, Here's but a puppet wears a crown, And know, the voice of deference Is only for six yards of gown. 130 PRANDIAL HONORS. Here is of excellence the grand summation, Of meat and drink the veriest peroration, Such masticating bibulous animation, Such eloquence of mutual admiration! A TALE OF LOVE. They met, I need not mention where, She not so homely nor quite fair, But with a fortune in her right; He not so rich, nor yet quite poor. He saw, he wooed, and to be sure 'Twas love (of money) at first sight. The pride of judgment wears its honors ill That has no reason but unreas'ning will. In stilted phrase Dolt circumscribes his commonest speech, And deems his turgid diction elegance; Though all his verbal oddities but teach How misfit words conform to misfit sense. 131 There is a death to try our hearts, As much, as when a loved life pays The debt to nature in its days, When the aureole of love departs; And all a soul life's glorious mould, That seemed a spiritual Galatee, Stands forth in sordid nudity, The lowliest clay beneath its fold. There's one that I held dear so dead, A woman I dreamt divinity's worth, Though but of treacherous graceless earth To wakened eyes now dreams are fled. I saw her woeful wedded state, The consort that with grudging hand Gave but what duty could command, A friend to many but his mate. I saw her in her widowhood, When friends were scarcer than her need, For sympathy I heard her plead, And gave her all that friendship could. I pitied her her past lived wrongs, And in that pity scarcely gave The friend, whose wrongs had sealed the grave, The reverence that to death belongs. 132 I bore the buffets of her strife, The odium, for her wordly gain, Mine were her battles and their stain, So she but lived a tranquil life. I raised her on a pedestal, My fancy's womanly paragon, Her woman sister to measure upon, How small she measured among all! She pledged to me in words that weigh, Her friendship, be it for woe or weal, How treacherous lips could well conceal The selfish readiness to betray! And then 'twas done, there came the end, When to her gods of craft and greed, In subtly brutal word and deed, She sacrificed faith, truth, and friend. I see now how she made appear The passions of volcanic fire The uttermost calm of still desire, In that, as all else, insincere. I see how in her wedded state Love could but die; I understand How but stern duty could command Where many were friends but wife and mate. 133 THE DREAMKING AND HIS LOVE. From the German of Emanuel Geibel. Sweet slumbers within the cozy room, On clean white pillows, the maiden ; The summer night inwafts its perfume, With freshening breezes laden. Nearby the window are roses withal, Sweet smell the lindens in flower, Scarce may the radiant moonlight fall Through their deeply frondent bower. But suddenly greater fragrance abounds, And glowworms flame up and flutter, The foliage rustles, the air resounds With voices melodious that utter: "Sweetheart, Sweetheart, and rock thee fine "On waves soft slumbers that carry, "The Dreamking comes to be lover of thine, "He comes with thee to tarry!" Anon the elf by her doth stand, And shakes his locks, crisp darkling, That sets his crown's rich jewel band, And all the gems in it, sparkling. 134 Then bends he to the fair one fond, With kisses her lips he graces, And with his golden magic wand Many airy a circle traces. And as he draws them afar and more close, A palace becomes the aery, Wherein in princely splendor repose The Dreamking and his deary. Of swelling bolsters made up quite The purple bed's resplendent, At distance a lamp sheds lambent light, Two pages kneel attendant. O'erhead on a ring of silver swings, Pied plumaged, a bird; and flitty, Soft swaying, as if in sleep, it sings Liquid a bridal ditty. So the Dreamking, in endearings, inclines To his love that his arm incloses, Till on the couch the morning shines, Alight, with a wreath of roses. Then the elf, light winged, his airy way takes, And the charm is dissolved, and its meshes, And the maiden in all her beauty awakes, The lovelier for her blushes. 135 And as she unfolds the lids of her eyes, 'Neath fringe of long lashes beaming, She presses her hand to her heart and sighs : "Oh, was I but blissfully dreaming!" Thou comst into my solitude, The sadder for its lonely mood, As comes, to shed its cheerful light, The evening star to somber night. Thou comst into my life of care, Where self's the rule and love is rare, As comes the thrush and robin's song, Where erst wild forest voices rung. Thou comst into mine hour of gloom, When courage lags and all is doom, As comes the sun, and day's new birth, And all the joy of living, to earth. Thou comst unto the grind and strain For daily bread and worldly gain, As comes, and quick'ning life balm yields, The summer shower to parching fields. 136 Thou art the ever present theme, In variant phase, of thought and dream, As gelid north shores ever prize The gulf stream's gift of tempered skies. Thou art in my life's commonplace The gifted page inspired with grace, That speaks, as from a treasured scroll, The language of a kindred soul. I prize thy friendship far above The selfish bondage oft named love, As I prize the mountain's free ozone 'bove breezes prisoned midst urban stone. There is a spell when thou art near, As though I touched a loftier sphere, Borne to a peerless dignity Of tender thoughts thou givest to me. 137 THE VOTER. They meet us almost with affection One month or more before election, They write full many a deferent note Soliciting our support and vote. Nor chary they of fine words spoken, And promises meant to be broken, And platforms only meant to last Till all the sovereign votes are cast. They seek us out for their promotion, As breakers in the elective ocean, To land them, cleansed of olden scores, On new spoils at the official shores; They're loud (with mental reservation)- To cry reform in all relation, Meaning they should the spoils divide Too long had shared the other side. They paint their politics as heaven, With them as the angelic leaven, While their opponents they assay For all that tends the opposite way, Explaining these corrupt and venal, Of ways yet barely short of penal, So, to their qualities we should rise, And in them honesty canonise. 138 But these fine sentiments so propounded Mean this, when pondered well and sounded : To hold as honest graft the same We all know by an uglier name, Knowing that wealth by sudden stages, Gleaned only from the people's wages, Is, honestly, mere bar-sinister taint, As far from angel as from saint. Nor see we ought in both their ethics Than the old saw in mathematics, And a dozen's half just tallies six Most of all in both their politics. And that we are merely votes and factors, (Though by their blandishments real ac- tors) Mere figures, by which they calculate To land their pledge-ridden candidate. And when is past the shouting battle, Mayhap they dub us voting cattle, And like the ancient augurs laugh, How they have bobbed us with their chaff. Feeling secure the privileged center, Where none but their elect may enter, Nor having ear for what we say Until the next election day. 189 THE SPIRIT OF UNREST. There is a spirit that spreads its wings O'er sea and land, On every hand Of humankind's seedings and harvestings. The spirit of unrest thus holds sojourn, As wisdom full strong From the godhead sprung, Unwisdom of the manhead born ; Conceived in the reek and rouse of success, The tenseness and strain Of the gamble for gain, And the never satiate covetousness ; In the struggle of the many bred, The grudging meed To laboring need, And its skimping dole of daily bread ; Of the gilded decadent's heritage, The attavic bane In nerve cell and brain, Diffuse in debauch of vagabondage. 140 It's the monster of myth, become real in our day, With sacrifice fed Of human blood, Voracious no less its victims to slay. It deplaces for unfeeling gear and force, To all else blind But to outrace the wind, The feeling and sense of the tried and true horse ; And drunk with motion it cuts a wild swath, With death at the brake, And life as the stake, And wail and woe in the wake of its path ; And man reverts to the brute in its haunts, As the savage within Sheds his thin moral skin, And gloats o'er the prostrate with hellish taunts. It invades the realm of the eagle's fee, On wings man wrought In eons of thought To sail the sea of infinity; And the heaven the savant, the poet, and saint, Each wrapt in his lore, 141 E'er gazed to adore, It defiles with the wiles of earthly taint; And, as a fledgling untimely bold, It scenes in air The tumbler's dare, And juggles with life for a pleasure crowd's gold. It vaunts the sullen treacherous main Enchained by man's Leviathans, Nor recks the turn that rends the chain; It sets its pace to the cheering marts, And embarks to efface The vanishing space, And wakens the perils that know no charts, Till pride and the frolic of speed at last reap, Among glacial hosts On their silent posts, The horrors of death on the wreckage strewn deep. It rules the close cells of industrial hives, Where the count only stands For wage slaving hands, Nor weighs aught else of pulsate lives ; 142 Where the toilers are held, as furtive knaves, Too ready by stealth To filch of near wealth, In all but the bondage of penal slaves; Where the wastes are sought by the fiery thrall, And ensnared in the maze Of the holocaust blaze, The doomed die entombed in the grim shut wall. It thrives, where hunger is taxed that would eat, By the greed that feeds On the multitude's needs, To the utmost of wage for the skantling meat. It grows, where the pelf-inspired law makes sure, By all it says And fails to phrase, That abundance be richer, need poorer than poor. It spreads, where the breach, only venial When affluence Joins with offence, Is visited else as criminal; 143 Where ancient wrongs that the lowly grind, What the people may will, Are dominant still, By moss covered rule where justice is blind. O, when will justice and reason prevail, And lives be of worth Above the spoils of the earth, And all that o'erwrought strivings avail! Well, if conscience wakens, and self appeal, To a better start, And the wide common heart Find the balm the fever of unrest to heal! Alas, if the evil be fostered and fed, And oppressive laws Shall only pause, When effaced by a pen that is dipped in blood! 144 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 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