LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 OIKX OF" 
 
 ;? -*- 
 ..& 
 
 Received 
 Accession No. 
 
 , 189$- 
 
 Claxs 
 
 IH 
 
One 
 
 Evening 
 
 Liong Ago 
 
 H. 
 
wL / 
 
 ~tt-* 
 
 
 7/4 
 
 u. a 
 
 And yet oblivion is kind : 
 
 The skein of life will not unwind, 
 
ne Qvenma 
 
 on 
 
 Twas long ago, my children dear, 
 Occurred the tale I tell you here : 
 And on the old New England coast 
 Hard by the ocean s roar and foam^ 
 A family group in an old-time home, 
 The children guests, the father host. 
 
 But who ? A.ud where ? It matters not, 
 For women and men are soon forgot. 
 Too soon the hand of Time effaces 
 All that was dear and leaves but traces 
 For those who yet a little stay 
 And wait the close of life s brief day. 
 
 And yet oblivion is kind : 
 
 The skein of life will not unwind, 
 
And strangers may not see the thread 
 That bound our lives with those now dead; 
 But in the Temple of the Heart 
 The fragrance sweet of Love remains 
 And lives of onrs that formed a part 
 Still share our joys and salve our x pains : 
 While to the world that heedless runs, 
 The Flood of Years still bears along 
 Upon its current grief and song 
 That swell the stream which makes at last 
 The boundless" ocean of our Past, 
 And leaves but shadows for the mind, . 
 Leaves but the whispering of the wind 
 That idly drifting may have known 
 Some part of life they deem their own ? 
 
 The, .clouds all day had westward raced, 
 And as the gathering darkness fell, 
 The rising wind In gust and moan 
 
 e promise of the storm to come; 
 o.rhead the shredded mist 
 
 v here and there by sunlight kissed, 
 Drove by like silent speeding ghosts 
 prom other lands and unknown coast*. 
 
But not for lei 1 suspense 
 
 While earth and air alike seethed tense, 
 
 with a shriek and dash of rain 
 That smote the earth as with a flail 
 And made the old house groan again, 
 Rose on the night the southeast gale. 
 
 But while without was night and storm, 
 The cheerful ..fireplace blazed within, 
 And to the wind that shook the pane 
 And- whirled around the outer door, . 
 The chimney shot its shower of sparks 
 And answered with deep-throated roar. 
 But little heeded rain or wind 
 The group around the generous fife, 
 Who chatted in a merry way, 
 While from the driftwood high and higher 
 The flames of* orange, green and blue 
 That many a flickering shadow threw, 
 Would leap and dance and then expire. 
 
 The picture comes like music s strain, 
 Till gathering mist is almost raint 
 And yet of people plain I tell, 
 Not those who 011 the.lieigfhts may dwell 
 
Not that rare group who at a time 
 
 By Longfellow told in charming rhyme. 
 
 Storm-bound met in a tavern old 
 
 Where each in turn their stones told 
 
 And made of their enforced stay 
 
 A long to-be-remembered day ! 
 
 No brushwood hung above the door 
 
 Told passefs-by/of wine within, 
 
 And yet no vine} r ard ever bore 
 
 Such wine as flowed in Sudbury Inn ! 
 
 And while the elders thought or spoke 
 
 Of memories the storm awoke, 
 
 Of ships at sea that helpless tossed, 
 
 Or those amid the breakers lost, 
 
 Some one who loved the legends old, 
 
 The rare old stories rarely told, 
 
 Besought the sister to begin 
 
 Tfye well-worn Tales of a Wayside Inn. 
 
 And nothing loth for such good cheer, 
 Each listened with attentive ear 
 Till through lier voice the poet s thought 
 On each its subtle charm had wrought, 
 
And clear before us seemed to stand 
 f he pictures from the Master s hand ! 
 Out from the glowing pages stepped 
 Viking and knight who long had slept; 
 Again the old Colonial times 
 Depicted in the ringing rhymes 
 Seemed to have passed but yesterday, 
 Aiid in our hearts we felt the thrill 
 Evoked by thoughts of Bunker Hill !- 
 Then in the lull of the driving storm 
 Aye, though the room was bright and warm, 
 Again we heard in startled fear 
 The midnight hoof-beats of Revere! 
 
 Then passing to an earlier time, 
 And people of a foreign clime, 
 Portrayed fqr us in flowing lines 
 The tales of which old legends tell 
 That like the vintner s cobwebbed wines 
 Grown on his favored choicest vines, 
 Still hold the sunshine of the skies 
 And a bouquet that never dies! 
 Tales that were told ere we" were born, 
 And will be told when we are gone. 
 
And first of that Italian town 
 
 - 
 
 The hamlet wears the poet s crown! 
 
 * 
 
 The Atrian bell whose ready tongue 
 Had long for right and justice swung, 
 But failing wrong and law s abr, 
 Had rusted from the long disuse 
 Until for lack of better food> 
 Qne suffering from ingratitude, 
 An humble beast turned out to die, 
 Espied the rope with creepers twined, 
 And having in a manner dined 
 For off the cord he took his fill, 
 Pulled at it with a right good will, 
 Until the ringing loud and long 
 Brought to .the spot a motley throng 
 Prompt to declare the steed was right, 
 And that his master though a knight 
 Be brought to book and made to know 
 The law reached high as well as low. 
 
 
 
 His wrongs were righted and the steed 
 Secured at once his- meal and meed 
 Of justice for his latter days 
 Without appeal or law s delays ; 
 And King and subject both approved 
 
The equity of ;> 
 
 That Justice still should blinded be, 
 And shield the humblest and the least 
 K CMI though the suppliant were a beast! 
 
 Of Scaiiderbeg who cleared the path 
 
 To power and fame of Amurath, 
 But in the shadow of the throne 
 Abandoned all to join his own; 
 To save from Turkish lust and greed 
 His native town of Ak-Hissar, 
 And in the dust and mire tread 
 The flag with Alban blood made red, 
 The flaunting Crescent and the Star. 
 
 -The cobbler of Hagenau, 
 Whose prudent simple-minded frau 
 Her passport for eternal rest 
 Had bargained at a monk s behest. 
 And with her treasures put away 
 The guerdon of a future day: 
 Regretful that her coarser half 
 Returned her faith with jeers and chaff, 
 And said her soul. would drift awav 
 
Despite salvation bought for pay ! 
 
 While sdles he pegged, when he was through 
 
 Would last " until the trumpet blew! " 
 
 Content, because though purchased cheap, 
 
 Her days were easier and her sleep 
 
 No more disturbed by thoughts of death; 
 
 IP of lock and key secured the prize, 
 
 The certainty of Paradise 
 
 When she in time should yield her breath. 
 
 Then from the treasure house was drawn 
 
 A picture of the frozeir North, 
 
 A tale from Scandinavian lore 
 
 Told in their sagas \ oft of yore, 
 
 And sung by scalds in Runic rhyme" 
 
 As in another place and time 
 
 The minstrel Scot from door to door 
 
 .Receiving alms and needed food 
 
 To fill each heavy interlude 
 
 Sxing Scottish glories o er and o er, 
 
 And for his eulogistic lays 
 
 Received unstinted, pence and praise. 
 
 But not for long the reader read 
 
And pausing, mid tlie silence said, 
 u This night of all nights most befits 
 The reading of these charming rhymes 
 Of hardy sea-kings and their times, 
 For in the gale that roars without 
 I seem to hear the cry and shout 
 Of daring Norsemen on the sea, 
 And down the wind is borne to me 
 The hoarse halloo, the warning cry, 
 The * -ready about and quick aye, aye/ 
 With surf or breakers under lee ! " 
 
 A slender thread may serve to string, 
 
 A row of pearls to grace a king ! 
 
 And thus the pearls of thought were strung 
 
 Along the. lines of life he sung. 
 
 Then followed in a chatty strain, 
 That broke tlie spell as falling rain 
 The death-like quiet and sultry air 
 That fall before the tempest s blare, 
 Our comments wise and otherwise, 
 Our praises of the skill divine 
 
By which the poet, line by line, 
 Had wrought with sucli consummate art, 
 And culling from each land a tone, 
 Created music all his own ! 
 
 Then one who said he never dreamed 
 To whom all things were what they seenied- 
 " The shadowy lands of old Romance 
 Are rich in deeds of love and daring, 
 And ready tongues bespeak the cause 
 Of those engaged in righteous wars ; 
 While tales of beauty sore, oppressed 
 Bring flushing cheek and heaving breast. 
 And when the poet tells the tale, 
 We find ourselves the dangers sharing, 
 And listening with bated breath 
 To see the hero win or fail 
 The lady rescued, or the knight 
 Victorious issue from the fight ! 
 
 These ancient stories newly told; 
 Of maidens fair or vikings bold, 
 Are tributes to the poet s art 
 But scarcely seem of life a part. 
 vSeen through a fog the keenest eyes 
 
Behold all tilings increased in size; 
 And years are but a vale of mist, 
 The edges by Truth s sunlight kissed; 
 And when a thousand years of haze 
 Its pranks with human vision playjs. 
 The listener finds ready tears, 
 And credence gives to all he hears. 
 
 Yet after all is said and done, 
 The vikings of the olden time 
 Were nothing more than Goth or Hun 
 The main distinction was in clime 
 
 A matter of mere latitude ! 
 
 i 
 
 For might was right, and will was law, 
 And every hand good blood imbrued. 
 One race were robbers on the land, 
 The other of the sea and strand. 
 If Frank and Gaul in terror fled 
 At savage forays on their borders, 
 No less the humble fishing village 
 Became the scene of wreck and pillage 
 By Scandinavian marauders ! 
 
 But still the glamour makes the play, 
 No matter if that distant day 
 Was filled by deeds of piracy, 
 
Or better still, knight errantry, 
 By doubt we lose, by faith we win, 
 And so I .pray, again begin. " 
 
 And then the reader read the lay 
 Beginning in old Stralsund bay - 
 Of skipper bold, who by the cup 
 Put down his wine his courage up, 
 And swore by Neptune and his spear 
 He never vet had felt a fear 
 .Of spirits or Klaboterman, 
 And could he meet the CarnrUian, 
 The ghostly terror of the sea 
 Would fun her down tjiis valiant man, 
 And soundings find o er " Chimneys Three." 
 
 No good -e er came of idle boast, 
 As found the skipper to his cost. 
 But bootless tis to here repeat 
 The stubborn Dane s foolhardy feat 
 The thoughtless act that led to death, 
 But in the yielding of his breath 
 Gave him in lieu of stormy time 
 A quiet grave in an unknown sea, 
 
Where spirits of wine nor men may be, 
 And the unfading crown of rhyme ! 
 
 For as the reader read, to me 
 This eerie story of the sea << 
 Became a\s if an o er true tale, 
 Not one derived from legends old 
 And to successive ages told, 
 But telling of the sob and wail 
 That drifted through our inky night 
 As if from witches in mad flight. 
 
 As in the crystal of the seer 
 We look, half curious with fear, 
 The glowing coals now held for me 
 "The stories garnered from the sea 
 By this old drift that as we spoke, 
 Its incense yielded in the smoke, 
 It even seemed as if the fire 
 Some spirit of the .past contained. 
 And now upon its funeral p} 7 re 
 With dying voice it low complained. 
 
 And oft, I think, the driftwood fire, 
 If only we could understand, 
 
Sings tons from the blazing pyre 
 
 Of moving scenes by flood- and strand. 
 
 Tile Spirit, of the Sea within 
 
 The timbers broken, old and gray 
 
 Poor relics of a bygone day, 
 
 Finds in the flames a kind release, 
 
 A haven at last of rest and peace. 
 
 ^ The fire bnrned low, the flickering flame 
 Cast dancing shadows o er the floor, 
 Around the walls and on the door 
 Through which secnrel} r fast in vain 
 The storm an entrance strove to gain. 
 And gazing on the embers dying, 
 There seemed to pass like shadows flying 
 Before my sight, the trials and fears 
 Of those upon the treacherous deep, 
 And those who watched in grief and tears 
 Till days and months grew into years, 
 And tear-dimmed eyes forgot to weep. 
 
 There drifted alone on a wide, wide sea 5 
 With none to bear her company 
 
A type of deserted humanity, 
 A broken hulk. 
 
 And deep ,lay mold and rust and grime, 
 And along her sides the slippery slime, 
 And the marks of the hungry tooth of Time 
 All through her bulk. 
 
 Like a tramp of the sea she wandered alone, 
 Her home a memory, her name unknown, 
 No port that she could call her own, 
 And no repose. 
 
 The rotting sails no sailors spread, 
 No sign nor sound of the lives long sped, 
 But fit to bear and be manned by the dead 
 She fell and rose 
 
 Upon the slowly heaving swell, 
 The voice of her idly swinging bell 
 Mournfully tolling her funeral knell 
 In blank despair. 
 
 The sport of every howling gale, 
 
Only the faint and dismal wail 
 Of tlie slackened shrouds replied to the hail 
 That spoke her fair. 
 
 O, the shapes that live in the depths of the sea, 
 Are reaching their thousand arms for thee, 
 And the sight is pitiful to nie. 
 
 For once thou skimmed the seas as a bird, 
 And thy name with joy the manners heard. 
 And at sight of thee their pulses stirred. 
 
 ^ 
 
 And dancing o er the rippling blue, 
 The chorus from thy jovial cre\v 
 Flung back the cry of the weird sea-mew. 
 
 For thou in truth wast a gallant craft, 
 
 And came the gale abeam or abaft 
 
 The captain who loved thee only laughed, 
 
 And he pitied the folk who lived on land, 
 While, lie on thy yielding deck could stand 
 And guide thee with a single hand. 
 
; list as tlirougli thy rigging sings 
 The wind like a harp of a thousand strings, 
 While thy proud head the billow flings 
 
 As if thou scorned to be delay ed,- 
 Anct deigned not to feel afraid 
 Of shock or wreck by ocean made. 
 
 Now sea-birds perch on shroud and guy, 
 Or overhead with endless cry, 
 In swoop and circle tireless fly. 
 
 It matters not or good or ill 
 
 The measure of thy days shall fill, 
 
 For wiuds and waves may work their will. 
 
 O, type complete of hopeless woe ! 
 That birds alone should see thee go 
 To thy home port in the depths below, 
 
 To settle in thy oozy bed, 
 
 Mjjl night unbroken and silence dread, 
 
 Until the sea gives up its dead! 
 
Now ships from many a port are sail hi 
 
 ; To many a port afar ; 
 And hopes ate high, 
 
 And faith is strong, 
 But the last farewell is a tearful sigh. 
 For the way of the trackless waste is long: 
 And man^ have sailed 
 
 With a rising star, 
 
 But like the longed-for Ships of Spain 
 Are watched and waited for in vain! 
 
 O, the sea is patient, deep and wide, 
 And its depths a world of beauty hide; 
 And the beauty, wealth and power of man 
 
 It stealeth ever as it can! 
 
 A line of bay-indented shore 
 The sound of voices through th,e roar 
 Of surf that breaks upon the beach 
 As if in vain it tried to reach 
 The boats and nets dragged safe and high 
 Below the homes that standing by 
 The waste of tossing, white-capped blue, 
 Are heaven for -in any a hardy crew. 
 
Along the stretch of sandy beach 
 
 I wander, careless, free, 
 And to the soul s imaginings, 
 The old-time sweet rememberings, 
 
 Replies the. murmuring sea. 
 
 Afar, beyond the watery rim 
 
 The white sails melt away, 
 E en as the twinkling lamps of night 
 That fade and die upon the sight, 
 Before the dawning day. 
 
 And nature s quiet no sound disturbs, 
 
 Or breaks the Sabbath air, 
 Save as the distant church bell tolled, 
 And called to worship as of old, 
 The muezzin called to prayer. 
 
 Cast at my feet a house of pearl, 
 
 Uu tenanted at last, 
 Still holds the voices of the sea 
 And brings their whisperings to me 
 
 The echoes of the Past. 
 
The mingled sounds of ages gone , 
 That haunt this fragile shell, 
 
 Are memories of those who sleep 
 
 In buried cities of the deep, 
 Of which old legends tell. 
 
 -Jvike faintest hum of a city far, 
 
 The murmurings fall and rise, 
 
 An endless story of the past, 
 
 The secrets of an Empire vast, 
 
 And tears, and prayers and cries ! 
 
 Again across the waters drift 
 
 Sweet airs that softly die, 
 Wafted from tropic islands fair 
 Where sea-maids sun their streaming hair 
 
 And sing their lullaby. 
 
 The song of the sirerTechoes yet 
 
 The charm it held of old 
 For old Ulysses homeward bound 
 Or Argonauts who dying found 
 
 The fruit and fleece of gold ! 
 
ills divine, 
 
 1 4 or iu the rise and fall, 
 Aud mellowed by the touch of time, 
 The bells of lost Atlantis chime 
 
 .tea th their emerald pall. 
 
 But still like thoughts between the lines 
 
 I hear a minor tone, 
 The far, faint echoes of the cry 
 That hope despairing raised on. high 
 
 When Ocean claimed its own. 
 
 To me it tells of fisher-boats 
 
 Whose haven once was here. 
 How in the break of day they sailed 
 Before the watching stars had paled, 
 And sailed without a fear. 
 
 Into the break of day they sailed 
 
 And met the rising sun. 
 But at its close, they came not back 
 The sea was strewn with floating wr^ck, 
 
 Ancl life and work were done. 
 
And- on tlie morrow laughed the sea, 
 
 While wonieri to and fro 
 In tears and cries upon the sands 
 To sea-ward stretched appealing hands, 
 Sunk in the depths of woe ! 
 
 Widowed and orphaned by the sea 
 That lay so caltn and fair ! 
 
 Tis fit the cruel deep should moan 
 
 . 
 
 And with its funeral airs atone 
 
 For souls 11 n shriven /by prayer. 
 
 And ever the bell on distant buoy 
 Tolls with the lifting surge, 
 Its monotone of drear}^ notes 
 That o er the glass}- surface floats 
 
 - 
 
 The burden of a dirge 
 
 That Ocean sounds for those within 
 
 Its caverns deep at rest. 
 No dangers fright, no cares may vex 
 The oft-told tale of storm and wrecks 
 
 Has ended every quest! 
 
But the hours had sped 
 
 The while I dreamed, 
 And the tall old-fashioned clock 
 
 That long for kith and kin 
 Of mine had marked the hours, 
 With hands upright before its face 
 
 Now told the morrow s birth : < 
 And then with sweet and mellow stroke 
 
 In tone of mild reproach, 
 Twelve times it slowly struck, 
 And each stroke plainly said 
 Tis time that dreamers were in bed ! 
 
 And so the evening ended, 
 
 And the time 
 You here have given to my rhyme 
 
 Must likewise end : 
 And I perhaps/ for undue length, 
 Should proffer my amende. 
 
CHIPS. 
 
"> 
 
 O, list, my soul to the grand old hymn 
 
 Intoned by the restless Sea 
 Since first to the hearts of men it brought 
 The grandeur thaf*God hath wrought, 
 And bringeth now to me. 
 
 The rolling boom of the distant surf 
 
 In diapason deep, 
 
 Blends with the ripples on the shore 
 That rhythmic flow forevermbre. 
 
 And lull to- rest and sleep. 
 
 Like a minster organ s solemn 
 
 The music fills the air 
 And rises to the vaulted blue 
 rendering the homage diu^ 
 Him who abidetli vn 
 
And be the anthem deep and str<- 
 
 soft like distant bell ; 
 Blow southern breezes sweet and mild, 
 Or eastern gales so fierce and wild, 
 Still shall the prean swell. 
 
 For since the waste of waters felt 
 
 The Spirit .o er them move 
 And heard the . Word u Let there be Light M - 
 The Word that banished- Endless Night, 
 
 The sea has voiced Pits love, 
 
 And sounded ever to the High 
 
 A glorious Hymn of Praise, 
 That rising since creation s morn 
 Will sound till Heaven on earth shall dawu, 
 
 To Him. Ancient of Davs! 
 
0nd 3 SUH Rot P. 
 
 oroeT, 
 
 A sweet refrain abides with me, 
 
 The echo of .a tender song 
 That filled my heart when life was free 
 
 And love was sweet, and hope was strong; 
 And through the years \tis sounding yet- 
 The promise I //are known .so long 
 hid / Sh!/ Not Forget." 
 
 ing in the glow of youth s bright morn 
 By the shore of the whispering sea, 
 And I IK-LIT it still though the glow has gone, 
 For the singer was all the world to me. 
 
 And if hides till the snn r7/// we \hall set 
 i 
 
 And the loved and fosl again I see 
 Ai/d I shiill not /(I/ 
 
For night came down with grief and the pall. 
 And I hear that song on earth no more. 
 
 But clear it rings in the starij hall 
 And adown an nnseen Golden Shore. 
 
 And the promise given when here we met 
 Shall be kepi ivith me forevermoic 
 And I shall not -forget. 
 
 O, promise sweet that came. with love, 
 And lives when all of eartlj has gone! 
 
 The strain that falls from the stats above 
 Will rise anew in the Risen Dawn. 
 
 And we shall meet as once ive met 
 
 When life and love were in their morn- 
 And I shall not forget. 
 
Quqene Pield. 
 
 The Children s Poet is sleeping 
 
 With the key to Childhood s Heart 
 
 And stilled the hand and mind that wrought 
 For them with loving art. 
 
 Yes, wrapped in sleep, but ever 
 
 His dreams and fancies stay, 
 And long for children s hearts shall make 
 
 A happy holiday. 
 
 Still as the Night-wind moans, 
 
 Comes with a fear and start 
 The consciousness of u Who s been bad? " 
 
 Within the childish };< 
 
And still the soldier waiteth 
 
 The Little Boy Bine s command 
 
 But father and child their dream-life .live- 
 Where naught is but Dream-land. 
 
 Still on the " Dream-Ship" saileth 
 Under the starry night 
 
 Still at its side the angels stand- 
 Three angels robed in white. 
 
 But now beside the Spirit 
 
 That standeth u crowned with rue," 
 Bright with a light divine appeareth 
 
 The kindly face-we knew. 
 
 Softly to earth there floateth x 
 
 From that familiar hand 
 Dreams that the old and young delighteth 
 
 In every time and land! 
 
Piscina P! 
 
 eet 
 
 u Off for the Banks," the fishermen cry, 
 
 And "off for the Banks " the fishwives sigh, 
 For the days are long 
 And- the nights are drear, 
 And while they hearten their men with song, 
 Their leaden hearts are filled with fear. 
 
 they remember the season past, 
 When a blinding gale and freezing blast 
 Raged on the Banks 
 All through the night. 
 And quietly out of the floating ranks 
 
 Dropped many a fisherman s riding light. 
 
 And the struggling gray of the morrow s morn, 
 Hound half of the gallant vessels gone. 
 
Nor the sea that laughed, 
 Brought to the ear a hail from the crew, 
 Nor token showed of the missing craft. 
 
 And the boats that fled from the place accursed, 
 Sailed with their drooping flags reversed. 
 And women in tears 
 Adown the shore, 
 
 Read from afar of the coming years- 
 The tale the fluttering pennants bore. 
 
 And to those who wait and watch in vain, 
 Lover and husband come never again. 
 And the storm they hate, 
 And the sea they dread, ; 
 For the one has wrought them cruel fate, 
 And the one withholds their dead. 
 
 And this is the reason the fisherman s cry 
 Drags from their woman-kind a sigh. 
 And the old fish-wife 
 Croons her sad song 
 "The sea is cruel and robs our life, 
 
 And nights are drear and days are long. - 
 
Bay B 
 
 ay u/ reams. 
 
 "We spoke of many a vanished scene, 
 
 Of what we once had thought and said, 
 
 Of what had been and might have been, 
 
 Of who was changed and who was dead." 
 
 Longfellow, The Driftwood Fire. 
 
 In dreams by day there comes to me 
 
 The face and scene of the long ago, 
 The home of my youth again I see 
 
 The town so quiet and quaint below 
 ,The hills that overlook the bay 
 
 The riar row streets through which I go 
 As when a boy, and that to-day 
 
 Run here and there from wood to sea, 
 And now as then to the childish mind 
 
 Are part of a strange weird mystery. 
 The mystery of by-gone years 
 The story of loves and hopes and fears, 
 Of those who were but now are not, 
 Of those remembered, those forgot. 
 
These very stones that bed the street 
 So unresponsive to the touch 
 Could they but speak, would say so much ! 
 
 For they had counted ni3 r riad feet 
 Before the field became a street! 
 
 The old home fronts, upon the sea 
 
 Scarce half a cable s length away ; 
 And oft as a child it seemed to me 
 
 They had their quiet, unnoted play ; 
 For. House and Sea are old, old friends 
 
 And fleeting }rears have a century spanned 
 Since first by the favor friendship lends, 
 
 The restless waves upon the strand 
 That slip ashore in rhythmic time 
 Light voyagers from some other clime, 
 Told it their weird or thrilling: tale 
 Of vexing calms, or wreck and gale ; 
 Of ships that gaily sailed from port 
 
 And then returned to port no more ! 
 But watched and waited for in vain 
 
 Have left their bones on ocean s floor 
 Or rocky reefs across the main; 
 
 Of shapes that fled before the storms 
 
With rope mi touched and canvas spread, 
 Maniied by the silent ghostty forms 
 Their brother sailors deem as dead! 
 
 Who, as the} drive before the gale, 
 Return to cries no answering hail 
 But fly on their unending quest, 
 To others neither host nor guest ! 
 
 And to the whispering summer sea, 
 
 Or shriek of piercing wintry gale, 
 The House has listened eagerly 
 
 And felt each cry, each sobbing- wail ; 
 And as it heard the saddened moan 
 
 With echoes of the d}ang fraught, 
 Has answered with a creak and groan 
 
 As if it shivered at the thoueht! 
 
 Where once the Indian s wigwam stood, 
 
 The church and school stand side by side, 
 
 In the shadowy depths of the spreading wood 
 The Narragansett wooed his bride. 
 
 From bay and shore he drew the store 
 Made ready for his idle hand, 
 
 And needing less and finding more 
 
He blessed the kind and fertile land,, 
 And as for quiet and rest he came, 
 He gave the place its .Indian name. 11 
 
 A thousand ships liave left these wharves 
 
 For -every port and clime: 
 Some have returned and others stayed, 
 Some in their ports will be delayed 
 
 Unto the end of time! 
 The gray sea-beards that rise and fall 
 
 Upon each stony face, 
 Declare the age of witnesses 
 That speak of long gone argosies 
 
 And Ocean s rough embrace. 
 
 Like shadows from low-flying clouds 
 
 The passing phantoms cpme and go, 
 
 Not singly, but in sweeping crowds 
 The shades of those I used to know. 
 
 Aye, used to know but know no more, 
 
 For mile-stone years have come between 
 
 And point the way from shore to shore, 
 From boyhood to the closing scene. 
 
 tattapoisett." Signifying "Place of Rest. 
 
The sighing pines their vigil keep. 
 
 And stone and tablet mark the place 
 
 Where in their long and dreamless sleep 
 They lie the fallen in the race. 
 
 And still they moan the last requiem 
 
 For those who sleep so sonnd below 
 
 I hear the "music in my dream 
 
 In mournful cadence weird and low. 
 
 They whisper to the restless sea, 
 
 And to the sailor on the main 
 
 Is borne the air from the "distant lea 
 In tender, low and sweet refrain. 
 
 The sea-gull s wing still flecks the blue 
 And the flashing gleams of white 
 
 Shoot through the Summer air as do 
 
 The star-beams through the mists of night. 
 
 The light-house, warder of the coast, 
 
 Still throws its guiding beams abroad 
 
 To many a sailor tenlpest tossed 
 
 It seems a saving sign from God! 
 
And woods and shore and wharf and weed 
 Are redolent of years long fled; 
 
 Of passing man they, take no heed, 
 But breathe the story of the dead. 
 
 The pictures hang on Memory s wall, 
 
 And none shall say me nay 
 That from the dim and distant past 
 Of which we form a" part at last, 
 I draw from stores of treasures vast, 
 And care not for To- Day. 
 
I \ibr)ara. Henry toad arcl. 
 
 IVith deference but aye ivith love } 
 J/V Jiea.rt its tribute sends, 
 
 And to the greeting I would add 
 
 Th* warmth that friendship lends. 
 
 So if among the laurel leaves 
 
 There grows no spray of pine ^ 
 I pray thee to accept as such 
 
 TJiis Jialtntg verse of mine. 
 
 And ii hen hesidt the western sea 
 Afy heart shall voice thy praise-, 
 
 Thins may it reach like vesper chimes 
 hi the K: cning of thy. Days! 
 
>toaaara---ol t 
 
 His is the seaniy side of life, 
 And well lie knows the care and strife 
 
 That vex the poor. 
 The human tide in restless sweep 
 Like waves and eddies of the deep. 
 Breaks at his door. 
 
 He d\Yelk amid the life and jar 
 Of busy men, but from afar 
 
 He draws his song 
 That swells beyond the city s bound. 
 Until the world has heard the sound 
 
 So true and strong. 
 
 The i Songs of Summer he may sing, 
 Of * Bells ? that only once may ring, 
 
 Or friends that pail. 
 The note the soaring lar-k might trill- 
 
Oi mountain purling rill 
 
 Fl<nv fn>m his heart. 
 
 To gardens in far-off Cathay 
 To deserts where the Nubians stay, 
 
 Il<- K-acls tlie mind. 
 The Orient and the West are ours 
 With him we linger mid the flowers, 
 
 Or ride the wind. 
 
 And rising frotn that little room 
 The song is scented with the bloom 
 
 ( )f country highways. . 
 Or with a deeper, tenderer strain 
 He speaks for one in shame and pain 
 
 In city by-ways. 
 
 The anthem of tlie mighty Deep, 
 The yodel of the Alpine steep 
 
 Are sung by him. 
 What matter if the hair is gray, 
 Or twilight hastens after day, 
 -ight is dim? 
 
 Almost he sees that far-off coast. 
 
And hears the, sweetly 7 .choiring host 
 
 That once he knewf 
 The poets who tarried on the earth 
 And gave to Song its newer birth, 
 
 Await him too, 
 
 For he has passed the scriptural bound, 
 And sits with bay and laurel crowned, 
 
 Close by the Gate. 
 A creditor of human kind, 
 Infirm but brave, and weak and blind. 
 
 And this is fate! 
 
 Stoddard, one place is not for thee ! 
 Thy home is every land and sea 
 
 And ever}^ heart. 
 
 Each day some door shall open wide, 
 And there ^shalt thou in peace abide, 
 
 Of L/ife a part. 
 
 Each day some heart shall offer rest 
 -And mate of thee an honored guest 
 
 For thy sweet song. 
 The monument built by thy hand, 
 That speaks for thee in even land. 
 
 Endures for long! 
 
uJov. 
 
 [From Schiller s William Tell, j 
 
 The laughing Sea to its bosom wooes 
 
 The boy asleep on the shore 
 And the dreaming child tired out by play 
 
 Shall wake on earth no more. 
 Sweet music o er his senses steals 
 
 Like airs from Paradise, 
 Or flute-tones sweet, or distant bell 
 
 In sleep he dreams and dies! 
 The waves now playing about his breast 
 
 Have claimed him for their own, 
 And from the erstwhile laughing Sea 
 
 There conies in deeper tone 
 %k Long have I loved thee, dearest boy, 
 
 And now shalt thou be mine. 
 Twas I that cradled thee in sleep, 
 
 Tis I who lovingly entwine ! " 
 
P runii 
 
 m P runnqseei 
 
 In the^beauteous month of May, 
 When buds and flowers start. 
 
 The Flower of Love renewed 
 Blooms in my loving heart. 
 
 In the beauteous month of May, 
 
 When ringing birds are thronging, 
 
 I could but whisper thee 
 
 My heart s sincerest longing. 
 
Por tbe ply Qeof, of trje I \ubatyat. 
 
 The Seeker for the Light herein 
 These burning lines shall scan in vain. 
 
 No Soul a recompense shall win 
 For Faith undimined or earthly Pain. 
 
 No narrow Road ends at a Gate 
 But Birth and Life and Life s long Sleeping 
 
 Are written by a Hand of Fate 
 That heeds nor hears your Prayers nor Weeping, 
 
 Life s perfect round begins hd ends 
 In Dust. Our Hopes succeed or fail 
 
 The Arc attained our Chord subtends 
 The Hand drops down its Veil ! 
 
!uf Wieaersepen 
 
 It is by God s decree appointed, 
 
 That man from all he loves 
 From all he loves or has, must part, 
 And nothing in the world abides : 
 
 The keenest grief of every heart 
 Is parting pain. 
 Yet should we rightly understand 
 
 The kiridness of the law, 
 .For when we walk with lingering feet 
 When paths diverging bring but grief ? 
 Heart cries to heart " Again we ll meet, 
 Yes, meet again!"