LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA GIFT OF MRS. MARY WOLFSOHN IN MEMORY OF HENRY WOLFSOHN . IN THE (A STORY OF THE NORTH) AND OTHER POEMS BY San Francisco; WALTER N. BRUNT COMPANY 1906 Copyright, 1906 By MABEL PORTER PITTS. All Right. Received iwr in 1m ktumui luuu many ani t*ars ar? l|iJ bf n^atlj 11^ mnrk. 158793 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG A STORY OF THE NORTH AND OTHER POEMS CONTENTS. AWAKENING (THE) 206 "A DIGS" 133 AN EPISODE 137 AN OLD LETTER CASE 207 APOTHEGMS FOR THE IDLE 239 AT SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO 94 BARRIERS 248 BESIDE THE BIER 149 BURDEN (THE) . 174 BENEDICTION (THE) . . . . . . . 128 BLINDNESS 204 BRIDGE (THE) . . 123 BE KIND . . 110 CHILD OF NATURE (A) . . . . . . . 251 COMPANIONS . . ... . . . 209 CAROL (A) . . . . . . . . .. 187 DON T WORRY ... . . . ~ . . .191 DAY DREAM (A) . 273 DREAMS . . . .V . . . ... . 160 DREAMER (THE) . . . ... . . 98 DESECRATION . . . . . . . . . 227 ELUSIVE (THE) 265 EARTH S LESSON 87 EARTH-CALL (THE) 90 EARTH-LOY E . 272 CONTENTS. FOR LOVE OF THE BURDEN 132 FINIS . 243 FALLACIES 258 GRANDEST THING (THE) . . . . 198 GOLDEN GATE (THE) 232 GALLEY SLAVE (THE) . . . . 247 GREATER VICTORY (THE) 92 GROPING . 246 "GIVE! GIVE!" 168 His ANSWER .231 HERE, AND THERE 260 HOPE . 138 IN MEDITATION 105 IN RETROSPECTION . 190 IF You HAD KNOWN 173 I THANK THEE . 211 IN LOTUS LAND . . . . 152 INEVITABLE (THE) . 224 IN MISSION DOLORES CHURCHYARD . 234 IN THE SHADY PLACES . 253 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG . 1 JOHN BRADFORD S PRAYER . 176 LOVE S ENEMY 167 LOVE S VICTORY . . 186 LOVE S LAMENT . 120 LIFE . . .. 242 LOVE S RECOMPENSE . 183 LOVE S SPAN . . 148 LIFE S MIRAGE . . 252 LOVERS TRYST (THE) . . . 112 LOVE S ABERRATION . 245 CONTENTS. LOVE S REIGN 216 LOVE-PLAINT (THE) 93 LIFE OF YESTERDAY (THE) 213 LEST WE GROW Too CONTENT 256 LOVE S FALLACIES 178 MAN S LOVE 122 MEDICI S NEW YEAR (THE) 119 MISER S SONG (THE) 241 MY PLEA 179 MAN AND WOMAN OF IT (THE) 236 MAN S HERITAGE 124 NEW YEAR BELL (THE) 215 ON THE LITTLE SANDY 171 ON LAUREL HILL 121 OF THE NANCY PRYNE 202 ON THE TAMALPAIS SLOPE 229 PAST (THE) 156 PHANTOM (THE) . . . . . " . . .136 PICTURE (A) ,/ .. . 180 PRAYER (THE) . . . . . . . - " .200 PUNISHMENT (THE) . . . . . \ . 199 PESSIMIST (THE) . , "-- . . ... .193 PASSING OF THE TIVOLI (THE) . . . . . 129 PENALTY (THE) . . .... . .118 POLE- SEEKERS (THE) 218 PARADOX (A) 165 " POETIC CHOIR" (THE) 255 POPPY (THE) 145 QUATRAINS 275 RETROSPECTUS . 161 CONTENTS. ROSE (THE) 143 RECOMPENSE 164 ROAD OF A GREAT DESIRE (THE) 182 ROSE OF MONTEREY (THE) 150 REGENERATION ........ 259 SATIETY . . . , 106 SATAN S TOAST 127 STAR (THE) 222 SIREN (THE) 140 SPANISH SERENADE (A) 166 SUICIDE (THE) . 134 SPECTATOR (A) - 263 To MANUELA 212 To MY PIPE 142 TO-DAY S ROYALIST 194 To JESSICA 153 To TOMBSTONE II 159 THEN AS Now 88 To THE OLD YEAR 249 To ETHEL 225 To MY BOOKS 184 UNCERTAINTY 257 VOICE OF SILENCE (THE) 125 VOYAGERS (THE) 189 VOICE OF NATURE (THE) 157 WANTON (THE) 99 WHICH DOES NOT MATTER TO You .... 154 WITH LOVE AT YOUR SIDE 267 WOMAN S CONSTANCY (A) 101 WHEN LOVE BETRAYS 96 WOMAN S DESTINY . . 268 CONTENTS. WHEN CHRIST Is RISEN 221 WHERE ALL Is VANITY 261 WILL You RECALL ME? 237 WHO PAYS? 162 WITH You TO SHOW THE WAY 278 WHAT KING? 144 WATER SPRITE (THE) 103 WHEN PASSES THE FLAME 170 WITH NATURE 217 WOMAN 196 YESTERDAY (A) 109 You WHO LOVE ME . . . 270 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. L In a village in the Northland where the end less wreaths of snow Smooth the ice-blocks rugged edges choking fast the Yukon s flow, Where the frost in form fantastic traces vines and flow rs and leaves On the dwellings low-browed windows half concealed beneath the eaves, Traces roses pale as ashes, roses cold and dead and gray As the blossoms of a passion that the heart knew yesterday, IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Lived a woman blest with beauty fair as blush of summer s dawn, Eyes akin to English bluebells that the dew- drops tremble on. Hair as tawny as the rush-grass limp be neath the sun s embrace. And each changing, new emotion adding glory to her face. Here she lived, her hopes, ambitions all but turned to sounding brass By the mock ry of chimeras darkly shading fortune s glass In the days of earnest seeking, when the thing desired but seemed, And with stubborn will to follow where the light of metal gleamed. Hope will live within the bosom while the light of life endures, Men will follow blind, and eager, where the ignis fatuus lures, IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. And the sufferings of such marches, and the woes of such stampedes. And the pictures full with pathos where the soul of pity feeds, And heroic acts of mercy, not forgot though left untold, Prove man s reason, only, bartered, that his heart is still unsold. There is that within our being, give it name the one who can, Shining God-like in man s pity and humanity to man. And the primal good, forgotten through the drift of human will. Stirs the soul, however crippled, to some memory of it still. Rumor comes on north wind blowing, vague. and wild, as rumor can. Of a storied El Dorado rich beyond the ken of man. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Like a fever comes the rumor, sweeping bare the little town, Leaving naught but empty cabins, cold, be neath the winter s frown; Cabins looming dark and cheerless, with their windows blank and dead As the sightless eyes of mortals when the spark of life is fled ; Doors, left half ajar, are rilling with the drift of falling snow, Bleak as though by man deserted half a cen tury ago. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. II. Ah, the white-storm, velvet- footed, ah, the treacherous, the cold, Creeping, creeping to the bosom, there with taloned clutch to hold, Tricking with its soft embraces, kissing with its fateful breath, Loosing not its fascination till the heart lie hushed in death ; Ah. the white-storm, ah, the cruel, settling close on brook and mound, Smoothing out the hollow places on the high, uneven ground, Masking hill and lake and river in its clinging cloak of white, And in sullen anger sweeping through the weirdness of the night ! IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. On an upward pathway wending, toiling pain fully, and slow, Moving in uncertain fashion through the trackless waste of snow, Are a helpless man and woman, righting hard for life and breath, All dismayed, for in the ice-wreaths they have seen the Silent Death ; They have seen his haggard features, they have watched his measured stride, And they know that he is with them, walking silent at their side ; Tf they falter, lo, they perish; if they pause, he claims his own, And they pray for help to heaven, for the world is turned to stone. Where is now the wish for riches, where the hope in earthly things, Where the music in the siren song the golden guinea sings? IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Lo. ambition s fleeting vision mocks the slowly glazing eye And the world is sodden ashes when a man is marked to die. O er the leaden sky comes flashing slender spires of ghostly light Showing where the white-storm s forces seek a bivouac for the night. Showing outposts wheel and vanish with their conquering banners furled As if touched with sudden pity for a tortured, helpless world. Through the void come sounds of weeping, incoherent words, and wild, And the father presses roughly to his heart his weeping child : "O, my daughter, well-beloved! O, my daughter, mine bereft! "Angels guard thee, for in chaos them hast no protector left. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. "Rest thy head upon my bosom, let me feel thy hand in mine "Daughter, seest thou the splendor of a dis tant city shine? "Heard st thou not that sweet voice utter words which thrill my weary breast, " Come to me, thy work is ended, come to me, for I am rest? "Fare thee well, my dear beloved, o er rough seas we long have sailed, "I have tried to make safe harbor, I have tried, and I have failed. "Though the night of death divide us, lost the way that we have trod, "Still I know that dawn will find us some where neath the smile of God/ " O, the Northland, callous hearted, vast and cold and bleak and bare, How may prayers reach out to heaven from such desert of despair? IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Comes the voice that slowly failing begs in accents faint and low, "Sing the song we love, my daughter, sing it once before I go ; "Sing, twill help my trembling spirit find the Light that marks the goal " Then from out the dark comes floating, "Jesus, lover of my soul," And the night-bird stops to listen "Let me to Thy bosom fly," Breath of north wind, strangely tempered, sighs o er him about to die, And the song to frenzied cry turns when his struggling soul has passed, "Father, to Thy haven guide him, O, receive him Thine, at last." And the night is spent and weary, and the dawn is near at hand, And a soul has left the lesson it could never understand, IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. But perhaps the tangled problem will one day be clearer shown When the man shall stand unhampered in the glory of the throne. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. III. Through the hoar frost crimson pennons of the dawn begin to show And the crystal ice-spars glisten with an iridescent glow. In far distant lands, and kinder, when the day begins to dawn. Comes a chirrup from the tree tops and an answer from the lawn. From some neighboring branch s shelter goes a flutter and a cry And the matin song of Nature sweeps the gold-empurpled sky. All is motion, all is gladness, happy in re turning light, Xot the dead, oppressive stillness of this gleaming waste of white, 11 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Not this silence, hushed and lifeless as the shadowed face of Fate, Brooding ever on the secret locked within its ice-bound gate; Here, no hills that call to meadows where cool, babbling rivers run, Here, no joyous cry of greeting from the children of the sun. Yet the horizon, dull tinted, shows faint mo tion in the east, Signs of life that make the wildness seem in loneliness increased, Clear, and clearer, shows the outline gainst the stretch of yellow sky And the startled air rolls pulsing underneath the hunter s cry. Tokohoma, lithe and supple, Tokohoma, strong and brave, Lord of all these sullen acres, lord of land, of air, of wave. 12 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Lord, by right of full possession, where no stranger forms intrude, He, a chieftain, undisputed, reigns o er realms of solitude. And he comes on fleet foot speeding over white, uncharted tracts, Storming, fearlessly, the ice-blocks in the frozen cataracts, Spurning drift on drift that, gleaming like great milestones bleak and cold, Mark the path of this new Hermes swift of foot as he of old. Xow he pauses, stoops, and, seeming, ques tions something that is dumb, Then darts back like winged arrow, back on way so lately come, And the startled white grouse question the astonished face of dawn, "Where his course? and, "What his mission?" Ere the answer, he is gone. 13 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Gone, with doubt each hope defying, gone, with pain of anxious breath, Gone, on wings of fear fast flying, racing with the phantom death ; Muscles tense, and nostrils swelling, back, still back, each white drift rolls, Tokohoma pressing closer to his heart the thing he holds. North, still north, till on his vision, lo, there falls a welcome sight, Rounded mound of snow-house glist ning in its new found dome of white, Then, quick passes through its portal to the haven of his quest. Worn and wan, this Hermes, clasping still his burden to his breast ; Burden strangely limp and lifeless, burden fair as shines the sun, Burden for which Tokohoma neck to neck with death has run. EH or IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. But the stretch is still uncovered, still un certain lies the goal Down upon his knees he drops, then, in his agony of soul. With his mind in dread commotion and his heart in frenzied storm While he tears the fur-lined wrappings from the unresisting form ; First, his own skin coat of sable he had wrapped about her there When he found her by her father, lost, within the storm-god s lair. Then complexities of garments that he does not understand. Frail and feminine, that perish underneath his unskilled hand, And the white arm lies before him in its still ness of repose. And the tender throat as pulseless as is beauty in the snows. 15 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. How he chafes her arms, her body, with no moment s pause for rest, How he turns his timid glances from the glory of her breast, How all hope goes out and darkness of de spair creeps in its place As he, breathless, seeks some evidence of life within her face, How he labors long and tireless till the thing he prays is done, Let the melting snow-drift tell you as it fades beneath the sun. Swift a tide of feeling sweeps him when slight sign of life returns, Giving place to new emotions where deep earnestness still burns, And his trembling hand slow falters where so firm has been his touch Now that death is partly vanquished and the foe has eased its clutch. 16 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. With the tenderness of woman he quick clothes the waking form, Lays it gently on heaped wolfskin, fox, and brown seal, soft and warm, Then withdraws a little distance resting pen sive in his place, Looking with a deep emotion on the beauty of her face; Through his brain whirl dreams, traditions, glints of fragmentary lore. Foolish fancies of his people scarcely credited before, But of Fate none dares to question, and the thing will be she wills, And a feeling strange and sacred Tokohoma s being thrills. "Have you come?" he softly murmurs, "Has the promise, then, been kept? O, my queen, you near did perish, death so close to you had crept, 17 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. "I near lost you ere I found you, such the limit of man s pow r, "Destiny he knows awaits him yet he cannot name the hour. "Have you come? Some import tells me the prophetic word was true, "And my soul to doubting question ever an swers, "It is you. "It is you, of whose vague coming council graybeards ofttimes spoke, "It is you, whose sacred mission was to lift my people s yoke, "It is you, your way swung hither, as on orbit swings the star, "Queen for me, and for my people, scattered, lost and strayed afar ; "All are gone, the winds of heaven from the four points breathe their name, "None is warrior, now, nor hunter, unmo lested feed the game ; 18 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. "They have sunk to trade, to barter, nor resent the white man s jibe, "And their chief, ashamed, self-exiled, stands a chief without a tribe. "You are come, your course appointed you are helpless in your fate, "You should be a queen of nations, not a tribeless chieftain s mate, "You should look on deeds of valor and praise victories well won, "And review your fearless warriors number less beneath the sun "Yet you may not. It is written you are mine to have, to hold, "You will love me so the graybeards spake in prophecy of old." Life returns, and comes prophetic, as it should, through troubled moan, And the face of Tokohoma like another face has grown ; 19 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. All emotions quickly conquered now in depth of shadow rest, In his look no trace of tumult that so lately swept his breast For the bird must not be frighted though to flame his heart be fanned, Not until she comes to love him can he make her understand. Doubt that she will love him henceforth will be foreign to his mind. He has questioned, and decided, question now is left behind And his heart, untamed and simple, wakens to one sole desire And in crucible of beauty, lo, is left there molten fire. Calm he stands, the strength of manhood marked in wild, unstudied grace And his dark eyes showing blacker gainst the fairness of his face. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. IV. There are times when breath is bitter : there are times when life is dust ; There are times the tortured soul cries out against the body s rust: There are times when adverse waters sweep life s ship with fateful roar, \Yhen oblivion were better than to strand upon the shore. She who lies there scarce accredits that the fires of life still burn, Thoughts, in slow and halting fashion, back o er snow-framed pictures turn, And vague mem ry dawning clearer to a better sense of grief Wakes to find but keener anguish in its efforts for relief. 21 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Tokohoma waits the turning of the quick ening pulses flow, Sees the lips and cheeks gray pallor to faint shade of crimson grow, Watches dark- fringed eyelids quiver as they feel the life-tide rise And, at last, his soul meets, melting, that strange glory of her eyes. Kindness, nature s common language, speaks when helpless lips are dumb, Through it babe and painted savage to sweet understanding come, Through it all the blighting stigma of a life may be enfurled, Through it once a man was given to arouse a sleeping world. She divines this simple kindness that within his glances rest And a storm of bitter weeping sweeps the tumult of her breast. 22 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAt,. Naught she asks of how she came here, naught of question dimly lights Mind distraught that, heavy burdened, takes as yet but halting flights. Tis enough a fellow creature sympathizes with despair. Anguish questions not of glances that the look of pity wear ; Out to him her arms she holds then in impas sioned way and wild And he soothes her bitter moaning as a father soothes his child. Long she sobs till founts of anguish hold no more of tears to weep. Till exhaustion, mast ring sorrow, yields it up to troubled sleep. And she wakes to days of fever, wakes to nights of bitter pain. Only Tokohoma conscious of how long she thus has lain. 23 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Only Tokohoma knowing how was watched each fitful breath, How was fought a second battle with the dreaded wraith of death. How a second time he, victor, hid the joy of what he felt, And the great white silence, only, heard, "I thank Thee," as he knelt. IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. V. As beneath its woe of winter cold and sombre lies the earth, As the naked shrubs, like mortals, moan their doubt of life s rebirth, As the rivers shroud their faces in their mourn ing cloaks of snow So do human hearts, dull-burdened, neath grief s winter, sunless grow. Tokohoma tries to lighten in these convales cent days That faint smile, more sad than weeping, that upon her pale lip plays; Xot unmoved by kind endeavor, though from grief no nearer wooed. She, to please him, smiles a little, such the sense of gratitude. 25 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. After tempest comes the sunshine, after winter comes the spring, Not forever shall the mourning cry through sorrow s cavern ring; Tokohoma sees the roses on pale cheeks begin to glow, Sees faint hope, again transcendent, o er the darkness radiance throw. In these days he searches mem ry for stray threads of useful art, In these days the thing projected holds some impress of his heart, In these days the deerskin wrapping, thong of hide, and belt of fur Take strange tints of unguessed beauty, since he fashions them for her. By her couch he sits whole evenings, resting pensive hand on cheek, Joyous if she give commission, happy if she will but speak; 26 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Unreservedly she tells him of the vagrant hopes that start. Of desires long since relinquished that were wont to fret her heart. Thus he has small need to question of the things that he would learn. Thus her heart an open book is, and its leaves in sequence turn While he reads the broken story of a life still young in years But deep bowed with age when looked at through its mist of blurring tears. These, the lines that touch her deepest, are the ones most often read Though the plans that lie transcribed there are reviewed as projects dead : As the moth with hurt wing flutters round the candle s dying beams. So does man forever hover near the wreckage of his dreams. 37 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. In the trend of daily converse froth thoughts float like ocean foam, And from beat of inward tumult rises oft the word of "Home." Home, that place of peace, of comfort, where the weary heart can rest, Home, that word which strikes vibrating on the gnarld strings of the breast ! Tokohoma vaguely gathers from her, now, repose of mind, That this cherished dream, like others, has been sadly left behind, And a surging thought sweeps o er him, as o er pine-tops sweeps the blast, Leaving him unsteady, swaying, when the fevered thrill has past, Leaving him in deep emotion that is near akin to prayer And his brow full-flushed in beauty by the thought it shelters there. 28 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. When her strength is well recovered then he leaves her for a space, To return each night with myst ry overspread ing all his face. To her questions of his absence he gives pre text ever new And close guards each word lest inkling of his secret filter through. Dawning suns see busy fingers shaping crude things into form, Flurried snow-flakes pause to question ere they merge within the storm, Help of hope in light transcendent seems to shine from gift above, All of toil is zephyr lightness when the task is that of love; And the day stands golden lettered in the shifting sands that run When, triumphant, Tokohoma views his heart s great labor done. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CKAG. O, the joy that sweeps the Northland, close to anguish deep allied, On that day when Tokohoma finds the frail one at his side Out among his bleak possessions, ringed afar by gleaming heights, Out beneath the changing weirdness of the restless northern lights ; Through the dusk of noonday glitter discs of silver, touched with gold, Where the sun-dogs pierce the hoar frost hanging sinister and cold ; Naught so poignant or impressive here, where sovereign forces meet, As the sense of desolation that is crushing and complete. Soon, when nearer things are noticed, she a tiny cabin sees, Outlined yonder near the snow-house gainst a ground of distant trees ; 30 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. There her instinct quickly answers questions she has long repressed And a strange emotion flutters, like a weak ness, in her breast. Tokohoma, watching mutely, tries her pur pose to divine. Ere she turns and utters simply, "Let us enter. It is mine." Quietly she takes possession, quietly essays to speak. Burning rose and pallid lily alternating in her cheek. And as scattered sea-drift whispers of that wealth the wave conceals. So her kindly smile is index to the gratitude she feels. In no time of their abiding, strange, and in timate, and fleet. Has the pulse of Tokohoma in such wanton fashion beat : 31 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. She, unconscious of his weakness, seeks new wonders to extol, While he trembles lest his secret burst the bond of stern control. When the dearth of simple objects leaves no more to be admired, Down she sinks on rug of wolfskin like a child with laughter tired, Noting, still, her strange possessions, prais ing, still, with ling ring glance, Searching close lest any treasure has been overlooked by chance, And when all but well decided as her eyes sweep walls and floor, Yonder sees some shining object she had let escape before. Quickly come to where it glistens, wide of eye and hushed of breath, O er her rounded cheek swift sweeping spreads a pallor gray as death. IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. From its place she lifts a necklace, crude of workmanship and plan, Xuggets, linked in simple fashion, large and small, a circlet span, And her hesitating fingers o er each rough ened surface play While she questions Tokohoma in repressed and rapid way : How he came by their possession? What their story? Where their source? Looking back her way seems swung here by some strange and occult force. She, like every artless dreamer, hopeful for the thing long planned, Sees a fate in each occurrence that she fails to understand; And she waits for confirmation of the thing already guessed, But his answer breathes evasion, clearly leav ing much suppressed ; 33 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. And he begs that she will tell him what the power is, ere he speaks, That so swift has changed the color of the damask of her cheeks ; What the force is that for ages has not loosed its mystic hold On the heart that in the white man, lusts to clasp the yellow gold. And she answers, speaking softly in her earnestness of tone, Every word imbued with color from the sor rows she has known: "Gold is talisman for evil, gold is happiness, is rest, "Gold is balm for every sorrow that assails the human breast, "Gold is guide for them that struggle in the sea of daily strife, "Gold is counselor, magician, gold is beauty, gold is life; 34 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. "Gold is synonym for honor, it is glory, it is fame, "Gold s a crutch for social cripples with ob scurity of name. "Gold a trickster is. its palmings e en the skeptical convince, "For its lack proclaims the peon, its abundance names the prince. "By it race, and caste, and teachings all are leveled in a breath ; "It makes equal slave and master as effectually as death. "And so full it taints and tinges all that fancy may behold "That its power scales even heaven to bespeak the streets of gold ; "In the sky the moon hangs golden, golden shines the sun above, "Gold is head, and heart, and feeling, gold is friendship, gold is love." IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Seeing then that Tokohoma deeply on each word attends, She, in tone half grave, half jesting, that a lighter humor lends, Adds, "These Midas gifts, as fleeting as the breath that scents the rose, Are for thee, too, could men name thec Prince of Gold, thou Prince of Snows." IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. VI. Like a great white sphinx the Northland lies implacable and dread ; Dull and gray the arch of heaven frowns, low-bending, overhead ; Sullen snow-fields, void of luster, rest be neath a pulseless sky, Stretch on stretch of space spreads empty, undisturbed by call or cry; Silence wraps the lake and river, silence shrouds the copse and hill, Sound is frighted by the silence and remains forever still; What of life is here speeds noiseless, appre hensive, and afraid, Ever fearful of some horror unaccountably delayed. 37 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Here is heard no soothing rustle from the leaves of swaying trees, Here is seen no dancing ripples spraying shores of inland seas, Here the mocking northlight flashes in a jagged arc of red. Here the earth lies wan and ghastly, to its soul benumbed and dead ; Here the phantom dusk slow merges into weird, fantastic night, And a mighty hush low crouches on eternal beds of white. In the west rise towering mountains, by a river interlaced, Whose approach is dragon-guarded, tier on tier, by glistening waste; Rugged boulders, javelin-pointed, rise dis- puters of the way. Black abysses spread their pitfalls to entrap unwary prey; 38 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Precipices roughly threaten where had seemed an open path. Yawning chasms breathe the story of some deep, insatiate wrath. Noxious gases, slowly lifting, merge within the ruling frost, Deeply sprung from such weird darkness that their origin is lost. On one towering peak, that rises more for bidding than the rest. Is a giant crag hung midway, sheer and dread, twixt base and crest ; Far above it walls of granite shimmer to a giddy height, Far beneath a cliff drops darkly into mystery and night. Here no mark of wandering hoof-beat strays to scar the crusted snows. Here formidable defenses guard the great crag s bleak repose. 39 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Here the wild, aggressive aspect softening drifts cannot efface, And a heart inured to danger well may pause in such a place. To the rock there seems appended some dis cernible approach, Though great boulders mar its outline and though frozen streams encroach ; Years, long years, with brow dark beetling, it has scowled on hill and plain, Years, long years, its glooming shadow on the mountain s breast has lain. When the Spring unclasps the river from its long-locked icy sheath, Then a second crag floats trembling in the waters far beneath, And the white-fmned salmon darting where the depths of crystal gleam Shun the shade that wavers darkly as it falls athwart the stream. 40 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Vague tradition wraps in shadow deeper still the jagged crest, And far out upon the seacoast where the red sun gilds the West Lives a tale of how a warrior bore the death he rightly won Who designed to lead a paleface to the Great Crag of the Sun. One dull dawn, before the ghost-light fades beneath advancing day, Over drifts that lie unbroken Tokohoma takes his way; North he speeds o er rising uplands that de flect toward the west, Where the Great Crag, looming darkly, stirs strange tumult in his breast; Many times its rugged outline he has traced against the sky, Many times its sober grandeur has com pelled his heart and eye, 41 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Though familiar with its phases as it rises bleak and sheer, Yet he ne er has braved its shadow but with superstitious fear. Soon the plain is left behind him stretching far toward the east, And he turns to face new hazards that each moment are increased, Cautiously he goes, and slowly, in the hush of bated breath, For who braves the Crag s dominions braves them hand in hand with death. Giant rocks must be surmounted, shad wy chasms must be crossed, Shallow footholds forced in ice-blocks where the mountain streams have tossed. Spines of jagged rock are pathways swung between the earth and sky, Where his heart must beat courageous if he have no wish to die. IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Here he skirts a ledge, long riven by the force of some past shock. \Vhere lie fossil ferns embedded in the strata of the rock : Here is shunned a pit smooth-crusted by its overhanging drifts Fairy edged in feathery hoar frost trembling lightly in the rifts. Where this fissure yawns abysmal to a depth of fearful gloom Is the spot the redskin traitor met the horror of his doom. Tokohoma nears its darkness. He must leap it. It is done. And he sinks fatigued and breathless at the Great Crag of the Sun. Here he rests till day comes bursting o er the plain in angry red. Till the lurid light beats fiercely on the rock swung overhead, 43 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Then he rises, stands a moment, like a sinner unconfessed, Who, enamored of his weakness, cannot pluck it from his breast, And with glances strangely solemn watches shadows change and lift To disclose beneath the Great Crag, in the ledge, a narrow rift With a vaulted arch beyond it stretching back ward into gloom, Wrapped in dread and heavy silence like the hush within a tomb. Here he enters, recent struggle marked in lines upon his face Set in stolid resolution no conviction may dis place, In a calm of deadened feeling, like a swimmer, cramped and numb, Who sinks passive neath the waters he has failed to overcome. 44 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Scarce his eyes become accustomed to the cavern s lesser light Than his sluggish fancy quickens to one sweeping, backward flight; Sacred pledges, oaths, traditions, crowd the cave s forbidden door, But the pictures are unwelcome, he resolves to look no more. And he turns where broken stratum, virgin vein, and glist ning bed f how the velvet yellow changing to a fierce and sullen red Neath a shaft of sunlight piercing like a knife-blade keen and thin Through the dark to probe the secret of the mystery within. Gold is here, pure, unpolluted by the hand of want or greed. Though the heart of many a chieftain has been tempted in his need, IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. But a breast may beat with honor though de nied emblazed device. And a man s a man, though redskin, and may stand beyond a price. Through injustice, through privation, through the white man s threat and bribe, Has the secret been close guarded by the trust ed of the tribe. It had been a hope, a safeguard, should their landholds be assailed, It was held a final resource when all other means had failed. For themselves, such garish bauble it were in them to despise But each knew the fascination that it shed for other eyes, And the vague, uncertain future was a theme for lesser fear With such ward against the season when the paleface should appear. 46 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. And he came. The moaning pine boughs sway beneath the polar star To repeat the old, old story of the lands that lie afar. Teepees gone, and lodges empty, confiscate by law of might And the redman, naked, vanished into nothing ness and night. Then it was that graybeard councils gazing o er their broken host Swore to circumvent the w r hite man in the thing he wished the most, And each calmed his outraged bosom when despoiled and overrun By an oath to keep the secret of the Great Crag of the Sun. Hasten, hasten, Tokohoma ! Work while thou hast yet the day. Let no sacred pledge deter thee, let no retro spect delay. 47 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Fuller pile thy mooseskin pouches till their space can hold no more. Work, proud prince, forget that labor ne er has soiled thy hands before. Work, and quell that cry within thee that goes harking through the years Back to sufTrings of thy people, men s priva tions, women s tears, And forget that near the Yukon where the white man spreads his tent Glide, at intervals, strange figures with their gray locks lowly bent That abide awhile unquestioned, like to souls that stand exempt, To observe the strife for riches with grim, satisfied contempt That come somewhere from the silence to be seen awhile of men Then, with cloaks close wrapped about them, back to silence sink again. 48 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Hasten, hasten, Tokohoma, let no scruple stay thy hand, AYho has erred he will forgive thee, who has loved will understand. Hesitate no more upon it, clear thy heart of fretting doubt, Act, and if thou may st, with honor, if thou may st not, then without. Ofttimes what has loomed enormous dwindles when the thing be done, Thus thy project, with the gauntlet of thy superstitions run. Thou, a Croesus, heard st that spoken which through all thy being thrilled Yet doth stand, like others, grieving for a wish still unfulfilled? Hast thou dreamed, perhaps, that somewhere something might be held unsold? Hast thou fear of limitation for this sullen, glist ning rold? 49 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Ease thy mind. O Tokohoma, work while thou hast day above, "Gold is head, and heart, and feeling, it is friendship, it is love." IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. VII. Life within the snow-house settles to a sem blance of repose : Every day. like that before it. void of interest comes and goes. Every day a deeper damask shades the con valescent s cheek And a lighter tone breaks gently where but grief was wont to speak. Hope will live while life can struggle, biding fortune s adverse moods And from sorrow comes a patience that re bukes vicissitudes. She who had despaired now rallies as the lag gard days go by And inclines to ard hope, through instinct, for to lose it were to die. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Surely naught of hope lies yonder where bleak glaciers mark the south, Surely naught of promise glistens in the river s ice-choked mouth, Yet she clings in stubborn courage that the North alone can give To some undefined impression that is hope in things that live. Tokohoma tends his game snares going out each day at dawn To retrace each feath ry footmark ere the mists of morn are gone ; When the drifts are deeply crusted and when clement winds abide He is seen on plain and upland, a companion by his side. Oft their forms are silhouetted on the dull sky s yellow rim As they swing o er rise and lowland, strong of breath and free of limb. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRA<3. Hindered by no clinging garments, wearied by no useless dress She who stands in fur and buckskin stands a woman none the less \Yith the touch sublime and subtle, deeply ly ing, that defies Any form of garb to change it, any custom to disguise. Mile on mile is quickly covered over stretches bleak and bare Thus she finds the panacea that can cope against despair, Thus contrives to tire her body that all thought may be at rest And remains abroad the longer when her heart is most distressed. Tokohoma ne er surmises what is passing in her mind, In his self-hallucination he remains content and blind. 53 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. And construes to suit his pleasure sighs that inadvertent start While she feeds, all unsuspecting, the strange passion of his heart. Time comes round when such long rambles fail to bring the peace desired When against her hopeful courage all the Northland seems conspired; Its great, glistening plains appal her, its relent- lessness affrights, Menace taints the gloomy story its forbidding finger writes And she ofttimes seeks the shelter of the cabin tired, unnerved, There to shut away the picture, there to sor row unobserved, There to feel the hope for succor sink beneath assailing doubt And a poignant dread steal o er her of those silent ways without. 54 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CKAG. One day prostrate thus, but hiding each dis tress of heart and mind Lest the tears should seem ungrateful, and the discontent unkind. One day, just as twilight darkens to the shade that evening wears And she bends in deep attention o er her meager household cares, Far from out the void comes trembling that which makes her pulses start, That which holds the blood suspended in the ways that touch her heart ; Something vague, and yet apparent, tangible, and still unreal, Seems to spread in widening circles and through all the Northland steal ; Something undefined, elusive, that a moment fills the pause Lying twixt her heart s sensations and the question of the cause, 55 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Loud, then soft, then sunk to nothing, as each air-gust fades and swells, Intermittent sound and silence like the rhyth mic swing of bells. On the wind seems borne the fragment of a trailing, broken word, Quick she turns, but Tokohoma gives no sign if he has heard, And she scarce has lent attention to her small pursuits again, Checking what she would have spoken, pond - ring what it may have been, When a gust of stronger pressure sweeping past the cabin door Brings the sound in vibrant measure, this time louder than before. This time there is no mistaking, this time Tokohoma hears, Quick he gains the cabin doorway, through the purpling twilight peers 56 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. To behold a muffled figure swinging o er the dark ning snow, And to meet a salutation sounded in a deep "Hallo!" Scarcely is the greeting answered, scarce the first surprise is o er, Ere the dogs and sled sweep circling to a halt before the door; Here they loom unreal and spectral in the slow declining light While the stranger s hearty accents beg a shelter for the night. It is said, by them that suffer, that despair alone can kill, These have never known the anguish of a great joy s sudden thrill. She, within, stands tense and rigid, like to one of power bereft, And, from out fast merging senses, finds but expectation left 57 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. When at last they stand together in the half lit, low walled place, Deep and differing emotions showing plainly in each face. O, what energy is wasted in pursuit of false desires ! O, what sacrifices redden, feeding useless altar fires! Through the world we seek life s touchstone, ardently, from sun to sun, And the hour tis least expected, lo, the won drous thing is done. And tis not the wealth of wisdom, and tis not the glint of gold, It is not the thing long dreamed of, that ob tained, we priceless hold But a rainbow tinted bubble showing, to aston ished eyes, Giant plan and cherished purpose dwarft to things of pigmy size ; 58 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. And the shimmering opalescence that fills earth and sky above Is the old, familiar story, which is all, for it is love. In the time it takes the glances to observe the lightning s sheen It was done, yet not so quickly but one watch ing there has seen ; In the redman dormant passions to their channels wildly set As the look of maid and stranger tell that kindred souls have met. 59 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. VIII. When we love, the thing that frets us is un willingly believed, We are wroth with doubts of warning, happier, far, to be deceived; Some strange madness holds us sanguine e en beneath suspicion s frown And we scarce admit disaster when our house of cards goes down. So it is with Tokohoma when the first wild flush is o er, When the inward tumult settles to the calm it knew before, With the difference that his passions now awakened to distrust Lie, a lake of seething lava, straining at the broken crust. 00 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. But he makes each doubt subservient to the hope that love inspires And continues blind and stubborn in the way of his desires. Many morns have now been numbered by the sun s uncertain light Since the stranger begged the favor of a shel ter for the night. When came troops of urgent promptings that he should resume his way Compromise would wait on duty to result in fresh delay. She of gentle heart, full naively, all her sweet persuasion lends And through days of happy converse the pro tracted stay extends ; Time is tuned to love and raptures that no further wish comprise Than the priv lege of confession, told already through the eyes. 61 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Life takes on a brighter color in the days that follow this, All the Northland seems transfigured as be neath an angel s kiss ; Maid and lover find new beauty in the vari- tinted sky, Watch together bright plumed eagles that, o er hilltops, circling fly, Hunt the home of snowflowers nestling in the bosom of the drifts And explore, like happy children, caves of overhanging rifts. Sometimes, in excess of spirits, when she lifts her voice in song It is heard by Tokohoma. faintly, as he speeds along With his steps still to ard the darkness of the Great Crag in the west And the hope of love still vibrant to each pulse- beat of his breast. IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Since that night of jealous anger when the stranger first appeared He has held in leash his passions and dismissed the things he feared. Tis his way with mooted questions to re volve them o er and o er, But when once they are decided to revert to them no more. Thus his usual projects find him with a clear. untroubled mind. With no anxious doubt attaching to the pair he leaves behind, Who, their happy love indulging, greet each other at the dawn With no thought of Tokohoma save that he abroad is gone. Glad that day is here before them where the darkness late has been Glad to roam their snow-ringed Eden giv n to love each other in. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Still they watch the sun-shafts brighten through the overhanging haze All unskilled to read the secret of those tower ing peaks they praise, All unconscious that the Great Crag shows beneath the rising sun. That the work will, neath its shadow, in a lit tle time be done. Love, confessed, at last lies tranquil neath contentment that it brings And the talk of maid and stranger turns again to other things; Plan and project half forgotten in the joys that nearer pressed Now return Avith deeper interest, fevered with the old unrest. When the lover shares the secret of his mission there, it seems Warp and woof of that frail fabric which the substance is of dreams ; 64 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Deep the story is with interest, he who tells it halts for breath Like to him from whom he had it ere his lips were sealed in death. Meager word he has for guidance, menrry only serves for plan. But tis here, this wealth of Croesus, in the circle of a span. Once again the Xorth is calling with the siren voice of old, Once again ambition trembles with the lust for yellow gold. Once again the tinkling sledge-bells fret the silence of the dawn And return to find the snow-house when the shades of night are drawn. Days are spent in fruitless effort, empty search, and useless toil, Hope sustained on that which fails it must upon itself recoil. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. But the sting of disappointment when the primal pain is o er, Leaves the stranger still as eager, and as san guine as before. Thus he spends the time indulging old am bitions, hope compels; Thus each night the maid who loves him listens, listens, for the bells, And their distant, muffled echo lightly tossed from mound to mound Rolls but faint, still all her being leaps respon sive to the sound. Yet, at times, come vague present ments, that, in terror, hold her dumb ; What if never from the silence should the sledge-bells tinkling come? What if yonder sun declining mark the epoch with its beams When her soul shall wake to torment from the joy of empty dreams? 66 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Thus, full oft, she frets her spirit with the pain of love s alarms, Thus, full oft, misgivings vanish, fading neath protecting arms. Once, when such grave dread assails her that her eyes o erflow with tears, And her lover soothes with kisses all her doubts and foolish fears, One approaching to ard the cabin where a ling ring sunbeam plays, Stops without to view the picture, as it were, through crimson haze ; From his back, as is his custom, flings his game upon the floor, But omits the usual greeting as he steps within the door. 67 N THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. IX. Morn across the endless snow-fields creeps re luctantly and gray, Loath to mock the dead, bleak silence with the light of coming day, Heavy o er each hill and river slow it steals with laggard feet Where the hoar frost clings in garlands like a mold ring winding-sheet; It would seem that some stray life-throb should, at dawn, in gladness start But the whole white stretch lies pulseless, cold and sullen to its heart. Yet about the cabin yonder signs of waking motion shows, But tis alien to the landscape and the great North s grim repose. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. First the sledge-dogs start the echoes to an nounce that night is fled Springing up to greet the sunlight from each warm, snow-burrowed bed. From the snow-house conies the stranger. drowsy still beneath some dream Half regretting that twas broken by the clamor of the team. All night long had sleep been troubled, all night long had shadows pressed Round his couch to lend discomfort and with discord fill his breast: Faces had, in wanton fashion flashing by. re signed their place To a mask, that came and vanished, like to Tokohoma s face. But when day in listless motion o er the hills began to creep Then his troubled mind had drifted to a calmer, sweeter sleep. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Filled with vagrant fancies merging to a better, happier trend That the outcry from the sledge-dogs inter rupted ere the end. Soon the eager team, full harnessed, stands impatient for the start, Once again the lover, turning, holds the maiden to his heart, Who, with that vague fear upon her which from too great love will grow 7 , Closely clings to him in silence, strangely loath to let him go. When his form is but a shadow in the dis tance these alarms Haunt her still and through perverseness seem to mock her empty arms ; But to quell each fond misgiving soon more cheerful thoughts arise, Sanguine dreams of fairer countries bring back hope to wistful eyes, 70 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. She, pretending, reads the future from the book s unopened leaves \Yith attention keenly busy on the woof that fancy weaves. All day long she feels the promise of a happier fortune spring, All day long bright hopes around her like a benediction cling And when night across the Xorthland in a heavy pall is drawn She, in doubt, can scarce accredit that the happy day is gone. Household duties now commanding, quick she trims a feeble light, Stops between her cares to listen to the noises of the night; Something yonder, tense and sullen, sweeps the earth with broken moan, She who hears stands dumb and rigid like an image carved in stone. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Far, far out, each surging air-gust fateful forces swift invites This the sound is that, full-swelling, spoke of death that night of nights ! Round the hut stray, hurried snowflakes com ing forces half reveal, Bitter cold through chink and cranny pierces like the thrust of steel. In the lulls that come abruptly, quick succeed ing fitful swells, She, within, in deep attention, once more listens for the bells, Once more hears their muffled music roll along the changing mounds Once more marks each tinkling cadence trail away in broken sounds, Once more waits within the cabin where such happiness has been Till the low-browed door shall open and her lover enter in. 72 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Footsteps o er the snow come creaking to an nounce him near, at last. Soon the cabin door swings shiv ring from before a biting blast That sweeps walls, and floor, and ceiling, shrieking loud in mad delight. Then whirls back, past Tokohoma, to be lost within the night. For the time that spans a moment still he stands without remark, Strangely tall his stalwart figure looms against the outer dark. In his black hair frost wreaths glisten, snow- flakes fleck his wolfskin coat. Torn, perhaps by jagged boulders, and loose hanging at the throat. Sullenly at last he enters, to all outward pres ence blind. Deeply sunk twould seem in problems that revolve within his mind. 7, IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Lightly moves the maid preparing that which forms the evening meal, But full oft to ard Tokohoma do her furtive glances steal ; To her mind come wild suggestions that her inmost soul rejects, She refuses as preposterous this strange thing she half suspects; Then the truth comes full upon her sharp, con vincing, clear defined, And explains much bitter rancor in the heart once known as kind. As the falcon stares bewildered when first loosed from jess and hood So she, dazed, now looks on actions until now misunderstood ; In the light of this revealing she becomes con fused and dumb They must go, herself and lover, lest some fearful evil come. 74 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Tokohoma, sitting silent, makes as if he would arise, There seems menace in his action, there seems madness in his eyes ; O er the maid sweep vague presentments, what they are she scarce can say, But her heart reads evil omen in her lover s long delay. In this drift of speculation time has passed not marked before, Up she starts, alarmed and anxious, swift pro ceeds toward the door And when faint and all but sinking neath the problem of her doubt Tokohoma flashes past her and in frenzy rushes out. Out, far out, his form soon merges in the shadows of the west ; Out, far out, with dread emotions storming fiercely in his breast. 75 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Glad he is to whip through wind-gusts sweep ing by with broken wail, Glad he is to buffet forces marshalled for the gathering gale ; Swift he spurns each ice-clad boulder, heedless passes trap and lure, Scorns to cling where shallow footholds mark the way as insecure. Wildly leaps each drift and chasm, desp rate till the goal be won And at last stands torn and bleeding neath the Great Crag of the Sun. Scudding clouds that fly wind driven, show a path of ghostly light Where the pale moon, hanging distant, seems to mock the frozen night. In a patch of open sky-line where the forces thinly set Tokohoma s storm-swept figure shows in inky silhouette ; 76 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. He. like one in sudden madness, bares his temples to the blast. Caring not for dangers present, dwelling not on dangers past; He disdains each giant wind-gust tha,t assails his eerie place And that lifts his hair and flings it like a whip across his face But he feels no outward lashing of his passion driven form And his wild, disheveled figure seems the spirit of the storm. Once, his arms he stretches upward like to one who bears the pain Of a grief, that grown to crush him, he no longer may sustain, Then, as if to thwart emotions out of which such weakness grew. Quickly turns toward the cavern and the work left still to do. 77 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. When desires that love has cherished, when the life that love has planned Fade away in swift destruction ere we come to understand, Then tis not the final wrecking of our hopes that rends the heart But the looking on the dumb things that have been of love a part. Tokohoma takes the pouches, one by one, from out their place And a wave of tender feeling hotly burns within his face ; Dreams are here, and fancied projects, in these mooseskin pouches rolled, Hopes and sweet anticipations, garnered with the gathered gold; Here are gentle thoughts compelling to ard the love he hoped to win And beneath each thong some life-drop of his heart is fastened in. 78 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Rouse thyself, O Tokohoma, let thy inner soul be dumb; Is it royal prince, or woman, that can thus be Thou hast seen a star swing hither and its orbit touched thy course It has passed thy way is yonder, true to thy compelling force. Rouse thyself and let the temper of thy fathers in thee speak, Let thy manhood shame the weakness showing pallid on thy cheek, And the work that brought thee hither, let it be completely done, It is well that hope should end here where tin- folly was begun. Then, beneath the crag is motion that would kin to frenzy seem. In the fitful light quick flashes that which shows with velvet gleam ; 79 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Down, deep down, through space descending-, hard and yellow, shining, cold. Leaps, with sudden flings and dashes, hoard on hoard of glist ning gold ; Down it springs like bright blades flashing, each removed from shrouding sheath, Till it hides within the shadows of the river far beneath. When at last the task is ended Tokohoma turns his face And looks long toward the cabin, standing rigid in his place ; In his pose is that intenseness of a question deep involved, In his look that indecision of a purpose half resolved ; But he turns aside suggestions, holding one alone exempt And at last this, too, dismisses with a gesture of contempt. 80 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Wild and strange his form in shadow marks itself against the light As he turns and sets sharp northward to be lost within the night. 81 IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. X. When the storm is spent and morning in the curtained east is shown Then the Northland, cold and empty, comes again into its own. Naught disturbs the lonely distance save a cry that spreads afar As a wolf, on crouching haunches, points his nose toward a star. Landmarks that were things familiar lie in consequent and strange ; Where was life now seems existent some mute evidence of change, Restless snow-drifts hedge the cabin and the snow-house close about And the paths before their doorways are for ever blotted out. 82 IX THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. Like a wraith, the chill of morning through the hut, unhindered, steals And it writes in silver tracings of the things the light reveals, Yet it can record no motion that the distant dawn awoke Save that from the lamp, still burning, trails a line of quiv ring smoke ; Too, a sheet of snow, thin drifted, creeps across the cabin floor Like a restless ghost, and yonder, just outside the open door, Tiny whirls of powd ry lightness hiss against a growing mound That has ris n to hide beneath it what has stained the frozen ground. Fitful gusts of wind, sharp circling, quickly fill each sunken rift Cov ring close the sledge s burden lying deep within the drift. IN THE SHADOW OF THE CRAG. When the laggard sun, slow mounting, gives the day a deeper glow Then is shown two quiet figures outlined neath the drifted snow, One a man s is, all unconscious that his blood less lips are pressed By a woman, who, still kneeling, clasps her lover to her breast. In the North the air hangs heavy neath the silence of the years And the wind moans low and broken cs it sweeps between the spheres. EARTH *S LESSON. EARTH S LESSON. Why should we not bring smiles instead of tears To lay upon the altar-stone of God? Why hold beliefs of superstitious years That dwarf the spirit with discordant fears And outrage flesh with harsh, insulting rod? Why should we not come singing to the throne With hearts that in ebulliency of joy Seem bursting from their cells, too narrow grown? O, why should man reap nothing of the sown But tares, and all the beautiful destroy? The feast is spread and we are asked to dine ; What sullenness of temper does it show To rudely turn from kindly proffered wine And pass with shielded eyes where splendors shine. The Father never meant it should be so. 87 THEN AS NOW. Sing, sing fair earth, till every silent throat Responds unto the life-song of your sod And thunder-sounding rolls each swelling note ; And teach us by your own sweet, simple rote To smile beneath the kindlv smile of God. THEN AS NOW. Long, long ago when butterflies Could converse hold, and let men know Their wants, they caught the traits of men As I will undertake to show. Two butterflies were winging past King Solomon s temple, grand and vast ; From touch of wing and foolish flutter Twas plain unto the most benighted, Their troth had just that day been plighted. Sfi THEN AS NOW. Like maid perplexed when blushes come, My Lady Butterfly was dumb. Rut, bursting with his own importance. My great Lord Butterfly, loquacious, Spoke of himself in way audacious. You see yon temple, dear," he said ; She answered, "Yes," by nod of head ; "\Yell, with my wing, all down encovered, I easily those pillars, polished. Could tumble at your feet, demolished." This bold remark was overheard By Solomon : "L^pon my word Who ever knew such braggart boasting?" Then calling him aside, demanded \Yhv he should lie thus open-handed. Returning to his mate at last, She, woman-like, asked what had passed ; And he, man-like, to stop at nothing So. with eclat, he might come through it. Replied. "He asked me not to do it." 89 THE EARTH-CALL. THE EARTH-CALL. To you, in cowl and gown, Who stand aloof with hands crossed on your breast And patient head bowed down, Do wild thoughts ever come? Do ghosts of former hours now long since spent In phantom shape renew the joys they lent And hold you in their vagaries of air ; Do you at times awake to find your prayer Forgotten, and lips dumb? Beneath that sober garb Do vagrant longings ever stir to vex Your heart with cruel barb? Do dreams you thought long crushed Rush full upon you o er your weakening will And make your pulses leap with quickening thrill? What guilty blush is this that stains your cheek? 90 THE EARTH-CALL. The scourge, the scourge for one avowed so weak Till lawlessness is hushed. Do voices from the throng, Strange, weird world-voices, ever reach your heart And still your matin song? Do you, too, ever seem To see the better happiness afar And, when tis day, long for the night s pale star, Then, scarce the night comes, wish the day again? Your lot is but the common lot of men ; Back to your beads to dream. 91 THE GREATER VICTORY. THE GREATER VICTORY. There was a way, a joy, a mystic, unnamed thing A dreamer sought As vague as air that s troubled by a swallow s wing Ideal, intangible, and shadow- fraught. Impossible it seemed, so much it held desired, So much implied, So near, yet so re mote ; uncertainty conspired To make it seem by distance deified. One day the prize was gained; he struggled through despair, Through ways defiled, To grasp a poisoned cup; the watching world stood there And so he pressed it to his lips and smiled. THE LOVE-PLAINT. THE LOVE-PLAINT. For my love and me How the robins sang in the greenwood tree, How the great bell s voice In the church afar made the hills rejoice For my love and me. On the sun-kissed lea, Where the wanton flower lures the roving bee. There we rested long. And the whole world throbbed to the passion-song Of my love and me. Ah, my love and me, How we creep afar lest the world shall see What my arms enfold: O, the way is long and the world is cold F~or mv love and me. AT SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO- AT SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO*. The story runs thus: Twas a sabbath morn So still that no leaf of the tasseled corn Which weighted the stalks in the neighb ring field By rustle or tremor a breeze revealed ; A pastoral scene that was fair to view, With cattle in clover-flecked fields of dew, And the sun just touching with burnished gold San Juan Capristrano, the mission old. With them that kneel down neath its arches, dim, In the love of their hearts to remember Him Is she, who, low-bowed in her place of prayer, Seems shunned by the faithful who gather there; Bright feminine eyes on her fair face rest, On her rounded arm and her swelling breast, And each seems inclined to deny assent To beauty that sins and is penitent. Out yonder a silence shrouds copse and hill And fastens the valley within its thrill; A ponderous terror that creeps along And hushes the notes of the thrush s song, 94 AT SAX JUAX CAPISTRANO. A sullen, intangible, grewsome thing, The shadow, unseen, of a monster-wing, That gathers the steeps in its mystic clutch And palsies the air with mesmeric touch. The animate harken ; the silence speaks ; Back flashes the answer in fear-blanched cheeks, And horrors, half dreamed of, suspended lie In the beat of the breath and the wid ning eye ; A rumble, a rending, a power compressed That tortures the hills with its deep unrest, A shiver, a pause, then the temblor s hurled In the white of its wrath on a helpless world. The mystery gathers within the dell And hushes the sound of the mission bell, It razes the stones with its lev ling rod And crushes the cries that are raised to God. No soul, in the chapel, that felt its breath But rushed to the doors to a frenzied death Save her who was shunned ; lest her faint heart fail She had knelt, in her faith, at the altar rail. *When the proud old mission at Capistrano was tumbled by an earthquake the arch over the altar was the only one that stood. WHEN LOVE BETRAYS. WHEN LOVE BETRAYS. The banshee frets the night with dismal cry ; Some twenty times across the wind-swept dune I ve heard it come, now shrill, now scarce a sigh That iloats beneath the weird and pallid moon Like some dread echo moaning in reply. Your lover soon will come; rest yet awhile Till yonder length ning shadow darkly dips And lays its ringer on the sleeping dial, Then wake the heavy silence of your lips And rouse their languor to a welcome smile. Who knocks without? You are impatient, friend, But eager lover knows not how to wait. Perhaps your mistress in good time will send And raise the hopes that droop disconsolate. Have patience, doors must open, nights must end. 96 WHEN LOVE BETRAYS. What! Yet again? Could you, beyond the door. Behold the stillness of this covered thing, This huddled horror prone upon the floor And watch the growth of yonder eddying ring I wonder would you seek admittance more? How near that cry! Could I have heard aright? It seemed to live within the very room. \Yhat fiend conspires to fill me with affright? Vague portents breathe within the murky gloom And fraught with menace is the sullen night. \Yhat work, what work, to show to-morrow s sun. O, why, poor weakling, why did you not live And keep unstained these sands so nearly run? # * 5JC * * * * * * * * * Xow, you without ! let Fate her verdict give What life shal 1 answer for the thing I ve done. THE DREAMER. THE DREAMER My way is this: To rest in the shade Deep in the dusk of some whispering glade Drowsily happy and satisfied; Great are the wonders that grow apace Out of the heart of such hallowed place; Weird with a theme I may not repeat Pipes of Pan lull me with music sweet; Few know the path from the highway wide To way that is mine, in the shade, aside. My way is this: Apart from the strife, Far from the tumult of clamorous life, Courting the comfort the throng denied, Having no care when the day is done If I shall look on to-morrow s sun ; Glad in the light of the thing that seems, Happy to live in my idle dreams. This is no highway the world may ride, This way that is mine, in the shade, aside. 98 THE WANTON. THE WANTON. I planted a rose in the sandy soil of an unkept garden bare. It fastened its roots down deep in the earth and lifted its head in the air, It flung its arms to the summer s sky and opened its heart to the sun, And seductively pressed its lips to the breeze in joy of the deed I had done. Its crimson heart was as red and sweet as the lips of a woman I knew, And I came to liken the wanton thing to her beauty as it grew, It would blush and pant in the sun s hot ray and tremble with sweet delight As the southern wind pressed warm and close to its heart in the sultry night. 99 THE WANTON. It would quiver and bend as the passionate wind pressed close with hot caress. And nod and sigh as the bees flew by and flirt its scarlet dress, 1 grew to hate its wanton way, despise its heart of flame, Abhor its maddening sweetness, withheld from none who came. So 1 crushed its life in my hand one day, in passion its roots uptore, And panting with shame and anger gazed on my unkept ground once more, I loudly laughed in savage joy to show the world my scorn, But pressed my heart with my bleeding hand tc hide the gash of a thorn. 100 A \VO.MAN S CONSTANCY. A WOMAN S CONSTANCY. A barren road lies parching 1 in the sun : Its drear monotony and tiresome length Drag on, and threaten never to have done. I toil along the rough, uneven way With heart depressed, with face tear-stained and worn, And dread the light of each succeeding day. One morn, when all but sunk beneath my load, My untaught lips essayed a prayer, and lo. The light of Calvary shone o er the road. Xo hope but one, the cross. A dream I nursed- But that is dead. O God, desert me now, Then chaos is, and I m indeed accursed. 101 A WOMAN S CONSTANCY. My dream, a weakling s dream, no more shall fret My yearning heart. Within the mighty calm Of yonder sacred cross, I will forget. Come, subtle essence of a power divine, Cloak all my senses in thy mystery, And shield me from all mastery but thine. Mankind is weak, O God, the steady light Of Thy great presence awes; so keep me firm Lest I drift back to sin, and to the night. My erring heart still pleads and mourns its loss In silent anguish. Is there no relief For those who kneel and cry beneath the cross ? Just God, forgive ! In vain I ve tried to slay This love within my breast. Take Thou all else But give me back my dream of yesterday. Two faces silhouetted in the dawn ; The woman sits and dreams in sweet content ; Her prayer is answered, but the cross is gone. 102 THE WATER SPRITE. THE WATER-SPRITE. All day she lies in a lily s cup, But late at night when the moon comes up, Away, away o er the dimpling lake To a place she knows in the flow ring brake Where perfumes lift from a tangled wild To thrill the soul of the air-born child, To overcome with a rare delight The ravished sense of the water-sprite. The spot is ringed with a shaded red Of flow r-cups, blossoming overhead; Here waves beat soft on a sanded beach With lisping murmur, like childhood s speech; On grasses burnt to a sable brown She rests as light as a thistle-down, And moonbeams lost in the pulseless night Are gathered close by the water-sprite. 103 THE WATER SPRITE. The warm air steals from the spice-groved South To press its kiss on her willing mouth, And where but promises late arose She now the joy of fulfillment knows ; With arms flung wide to the perfume warm, With wings sunk limp to her melting form She yields herself to the sweets of night, Those languorous joys of the water-sprite. 104 IX MEDITATION. IN MEDITATION. Though all else fade yet may I always keep The memorv of yesterday ; that time When words were said that made the pulses leap, When good was killed and evil set a-chime. And every impulse that was virtue-fed Lay prone. Twas then I hid the wound from which hope bled, And made no outward sign when it was dead. But I ve remembered. Twixt my God and me There lives a prayer, a fervid, earnest prayer. That reaches down through all infinity And rests where lesser pleas would fear to dare. When He shall give His ultimate decree, What will we do. my soul, when He shall say to me. "This dav I give to thee thine enemy." 105 SATIETY. SATIETY. A man and a woman in sad discontent, Their hearts dull and heavy, to Cupid s shrine went, And knelt at the altar old, faded and worn, To pour out the griefs and the wrongs they had borne. Each went there alone, in contrition and dread, Afraid lest the other should see love was dead, And shrunk from the scene the denouement would make, And tried to evade it for each other s sake; They only acknowledged in secret, and shame, The truth of the tale of the moth and the flame. "I m tired," said the man, " tis the old, selfsame play, The same entre act every night, every day, 106 SATIETY. The same ceaseless babble, cheap tinsel and gauze, The same angry words from the same jealous cause, The same curtain-raiser, the same curtain call I d give twenty years to be out of it all." "I m tired," said the woman, "I kneel to confess I ve wavered and struggled in sore heart distress, Brought duty to bear on my faltering mind, But only ephemeral good could I find, And love lies as cold and as dead as a stone I cover the corpse with the hopes I have known." "I m tired of it all," said the man with a frown. The bar to the holy of holies threw down, And stood there aghast in the dim, sacred place As he saw in the dusk, silhouetted, a face. "You here! For what purpose?" he faltering cried, "I m sacking the Temple of Love," she replied, "I ve torn down the idol, depleted the shrine, Despoiled, desecrated this temple of mine ; The image I thought was pure gold in the past, I find is but poor imitation at last." 107 SATIETY. They parted, and traversed their different ways And thought all forgotten in happier days, But sometimes unbidden, heart-sick, on the rack. The thoughts of the man and the woman go back. And tears and regrets and fond memories crowd Round a small, broken image with hope for its shroud. 1Q8 A YESTERDAY. A YESTERDAY. There s a land I know. Its beauties lie Xeath a tropic sky. There the cacti gro\v : There the red-lipped, sun-kissed cacti grow And glow, and glow. There s a face I know : Two red lips set Round a cigarette : There s a promise low. There are raven lashes drooping low O er eyes that glow. There s a spot I know ; A face lies white In the moon s cold light. And the cacti grow And the red-lipped cacti blood-red grow. And glint and glow. 109 BE KIND. BE KIND. If you are kind Then there will be no need of separate ways, No painful gathering where tares upraise Through tears that blind. Thoughts unconfessed Although from venom sprung, may harmless fall, But all their potent power is past recall When once expressed. And love lies dead Sometimes before the heart is yet aware That mortal wound has been inflicted there By hard things said. The pulses start, And dread alarm through soft emotion creeps, As hopeless sorrow o er contentment sweeps To rouse the heart ; 110 BE KIND. And when it wakes, It turns, like one that dreams, from what annoys And beats awhile to past, remembered joys Then slowly breaks. Be kind, be sweet, And let our love from such deep source be drawn That each shall know the other in that dawn Where next we meet. lit THE LOVERS TRYST. THE LOVERS TRYST. A swift ebb tide, on the eastern side, Sweeps in at the Point Del .,iar. For cycles old have the breakers hissed And swept their spray in a circling mist O er a crag that s christened The Lovers Tryst. A wild, bold run that the sea-folk shun, Crowned high by decaying walls. That, years ago, were a castle old, Where dwelt a maid with a heart of gold. Who lived, and died, for a brigand bold. The good ship Sue, with her viking crew, Set sail at the break of day ; All night she d drowsed to a sweet refrain Of music, sung by the mighty main, Whose pulses throbbed at her anchor-chain. 112 THE LOVERS TRYST. Her listless crew slept the whole night through. And never a man that stirred. That is, save one, and he swam to land To kiss a beautiful maiden s hand, And nurse a love that was contraband. And now he stood in his plaid and hood. And thought of the night gone by : He thought of love, and a maiden s bed. And a tender look o er his features spread That made a saint s of a pirate s head. And when his ship, with a flirt and dip. Swept close to the castle wall. He bared his head as he hove in sight. And dipped his flag, in the morning light. In sweet salute to a form in white. "Sing ho, sing ho, my aggressive crew, "We ll toast the lass, and the good ship Sue. "Both good and steady, and firm and true." Right well it be if they prove so. too. THE LOVERS TRYST. A sentinel s face, from its hiding place, Saw Sue dip the brigand flag, Then disappeared; in a moment more A bugle sounded from off the shore That made the echoes with challenge roar. A call to arms, while the sharp alarms Ring quick long the castle walls, A shot flies swift, o er the waters blue, That s answered, quick, by the Viking crew With an old Long Tom and a thirty-two. Ha, see! A bark leaves the fortress, dark, And speeds for the open sea ; She cuts the foam as she plows along In hot pursuit of the pirate throng, Who flout her sail with a ribald song. "Sing ho, sing ho, all my viking crew, "And sing again when your song is through, "And make the jest that best pleases you." Twill be the same in an hour or two. 114 THE LOVERS TRYST. The pirate crew would have sworn that Sue Could distance the Falcon bark, But big and red in the morning light The Falcon s beacon forged in sight. And the viking crew prepared for fight. Sing ho, sing ho, let your song ring true, And pipe a note for the Falcon, too, The lassie s father commands the crew That rides the waves in pursuit of you. The light of day saw a bloody fray, The deck of the Sue shone red, Her monkey-gaff was a gallows-tree That swayed and bent neath the corpses, three, Of pirates, dead as they ll ever be. The captain stood, in his plaid and hood, And wielded his trusty blade ; The ring of dead he had piled knee-high At length attracted the searching eye Of a man in lace who was tacking by. M-3 THE LOVERS TRYST. "You imp of fire/ quoth the irate sire. "Come measure your sword with me : "Forsooth, I vow by the Sphinx s head, "That ere the sun grows a deeper red. "You ll mark your length on a coral bed." Then quoth the chief: "By Gilmonv s Reef, "It pains me to cut your throat ; "But I ve a tryst with your daughter, fair, "Which you would spoil, if you lived, I swear. "So pray to heaven ere you journey there." On guard ! On guard ! Now, their breath comes hard, Now, chances would seem a draw : The pirate falls, he is up once more, He stumbles slips on the bloody floor The other s blade spits his heart s red core. Then o er the rail, with a lusty hail. They toppled the brigand bold ; A valiant man, and a brave, I vow. The father cried : "Will you tell me how "You ll keep your tryst with my daughter now ?" 110 THE LOVERS TRYST. The answering word by the wind was heard. But not by the Falcon crew ; They sung their songs of the bloody fray, They sailed back home to the fortress gray. And reached it just at the close of day. Xo single star o er the Point Del Mar Hung high in the heavens dark ; The beach lay black, but a grewsome sight Was shown next day by the morn s rich light- A maiden robed in a dress of white. Sing ho, sing ho, for the good ship Sue. Sing ho, sing ho, for her captain, too ; He s sung his song, and his song is through. A long farewell to the viking crew. A heart of gold, and a brigand bold : Her arms press his bloody form. Her cold, dead eyes meet his glassy stare. Her white lips rest on his sea-swept hair. Thus ends the tale of this luckless pair. 117 THE PENALTY. THE PENALTY. The song was finished when the maestro said, "Dream not of fame nor yet of great success ;" Then kindly added, when she drooped her head, As though reluctant to implant unrest Within the calm Arcadia of her breast, "Great gifts like yours from heaven alone are sent." He saw her hopeful look and sadly smiled ; "Some day you ll know that fame is only meant "To touch the lives that harbor discontent; "Success is found through grief and weariness. "Be loath to leave the path where pleasure lies ; "Joy lives an hour, but sorrow never dies; "It is the soul of man s dead happiness. "Ambition is not born of ecstasy ; "When you have suffered, then, come back to me." 118 THE MEDICI S NEW YEAR. THE MEDICI S NEW YEAR. Ring on, great jangling bells, your discord s sweet ; With brazen clanging make the air replete; I love the music of your metal throats, I feel the triumph throbbing in your notes ; My heart, a pendulum, keeps rhythmic beat To every insolence your tongues repeat. You speak to men but of the New Year s birth ; Of God s good will ; of peace upon the earth ; You speak to me a short, exultant word My sated hatred drowses as tis heard You speak of plundered enemies to me, Of downfall, and of my supremacy. As silence that too long has passive hung Turns venom in the power upon your tongue, So has the heart that echoes to your call, From too long waiting, turned its blood to gall. 119 LOVE S LAMENT. Your threatening sound, portentous, blatant, clear, Proclaims a frenzied anger to my ear ; I laugh a silent laugh. Your voice to me Speaks soothingly of strength, and victory. I dream, in sweet content, above the woe Of one long hated -a dismantled foe; And I repeat when your last note is done, I have prevailed gainst barriers and won ! LOVE S LAMENT. Cupid drooped his pinions fair ; "Why thus change my name ?" he queried. Answered maiden, debonair. In accents wearied : "Love, put jealousy away, "Though I change your name, don t sorrow "Love is love though Jack to-day "And Toe to-morrow." 120 ON LAUREL HILL. ON LAUREL HILL. How heedless they on Laurel Hill ! The lark that has lain dumb With weight of night within his throat, With darkness silencing each note, Near bursts his heart with melody Xow day is come ; But matin song finds no responsive thrill In these, the heedless ones, on Laurel Hill. On Laurel Hill they love the night With pale stars overhead. For when the earth lies dark and cold White tendrils seem to ease their hold And give each sleeper freer space Within his bed. What care these silent ones for dawning light That ever fails to reach them in their night ? 121 MAN S LOVE. Here s name and fame with moss o ergrown And white stone sinking lower; Each day the city grows apace, Each day some trav ler seeks the place And to himself a homestead takes To roam no more. On Laurel Hill each, housed beneath his stone Like surly hermit, guards his hearth, alone. MAN S LOVE. You say you love me and affirm no hour Of dark adversity could blight the flower Of this, your fervent passion; that no deed Committed or in embryo would need Your absolution; twould forgiven be Before twas spoken ; that your constancy Could never equal find. If you but knew The errors of a past I hide from you Tis as I thought! You, shrinking, turn from me; Tis not myself you love, but purity. THE BRIDGE. THE BRIDGE. Here passes the world when the day is done; The toiler, released by the coming night, The child of misfortune, the rich man s son, And shapes that are born with the waning light. I loiter again where the discords meet And list to the hurry of eager feet Which startles, as louder the noises grow, The echoes that hide in the dusk below. No prejudice here; it receives the great And misses them not when at last they pass, Departing like those of a lesser state, As transient as breath on a looking-glass ; It welcomes the king with his pageant, proud, Or sanctions revolt of the maddened crowd While onward the river in restless throb Laps in through its arches with feeble sob. 123 MAN S HERITAGE. Strange shadows flit here when the throng has passed, Queer wraiths of the quay from the darkness sprung. Things lost on the course where their life is cast That vanish when dawn is with crimson hung ; These linger, with me, while desire outstrips The word that hangs pending on phantom lips, And turn, as with hope, as the silence brings The theme of the song that the river sings. MAN S HERITAGE. This thing called Life ! What care we take to shield Its little hour. We fume and strut about Forever watchful lest the light go out And save us from some torture that it yield. Proud heritage ! As through an open door Man enters, strides in great inconsequence And then, protesting, forcibly goes hence, An atom, lost, upon an unnamed shore. 124 THE VOICE OF SILENCE. THE VOICE OF SILENCE. Not thing s we say but those we leave unsaid Discover beauty. And not by voiced reproof are slack hearts led But by some vague, unspoken word, each hears. That pleads for duty. "MS not the sounds but silences of life To which we harken ; The wave-beats in the sea of daily strife Raise clouds of sound, with silences between That light or darken. Not in effulgence can those joys be found That flood the senses. They come but when the day kills clangorous sound And night, all silent, calms the fevered blood And rest dispenses. 125 THE VOICE OF SILENCE. We lose the theme where eloquence has burned Nor long regret it It was a sound ; but who of man has turned To feel the thrill of silent, breathing art And can forget it? When wind-swept storms leave on the shivering palm Great tears that glisten, And rage-rent forces speak within the calm, What wondrous words are whispered in the ears Of those who listen. As after passion comes serene repose, Calm after flurry, So, after life comes silence. Ah, who knows How we shall read the music of the void To ard which we hurry? 136 SATAN S TOAST. SATAN S TOAST. Here s to sins that ye do and ye wish to do ; Here s to promises never kept; Here s to lips that deny with the morning light Tender words that they whispered at dead of night ; Here s to hearts that have died unwept. Here s to pages ye seal when the deeds be done ; Here s to hopes that ye crush and kill ; Here s to treacheries hidden in love s caress ; Here s to times that ye re silent lest ye confess ; Here s to mem ries that shame, and thrill. Here s to lips that breathe love when the heart is dead; Here s to all that I claim as mine ; Here s to ye who repent as the daylight starts And succumb to your passions when light departs ; Here s to woman, and love, and wine. 137 THE BENEDICTION. THE BENEDICTION. Into the night of the world came the word "Let there be light;" Trembled each dormant thing when it had heard. Burst then from countless throats Long-hushed, imprisoned notes. Loosed from the night ; Gems that had lusterless lain in the gloom Radiant shone as shines faith through the tomb Blessing the sight ; Glory had come Breathing its soul into things that were dumb. When will the word enter the dark of -my empty lift Easing my heart of its useless strife, Sweeping my soul of its bitter night, When will be heard, "Let there be light?" 128 THE PASSING OF THE TIVOLI. r*x UNIVERSITY ) / 3- ircKX\>^ THE PASSING OF THE TIVOLI. When man, grown rebellious, relinquished the right To all things reflecting God s spiritual light. An angel, in pity, considered the cost. And music was left him when Eden was lost. And so, little Tivoli, this is goodbye : I make it, old friend, twixt a laugh and a cry. I know by the sigh that will not be repressed Another will never hold sway in my breast As you have ; no structure of new-fangled grace Can blot from my heart this Bohemian place. I love your old back-breaking, hard seated chairs. Your quaint, little, dark, nestling boxes up-stairs \Yhere many a man, under stress of the play, Has said foolish things he regretted next day. I love your old stage with its fanciful hue Of settings, no stage but this queer one ere knew, And though your drop-curtain is marvelous, quite, 120 THE PASSING OF THE TIVOLI. I haven t the heart of a critic to-night, For all the defects you so frankly reveal Are lost in the honest regret that I feel. The Catskills? Why, yes, I have seen them before, And old Rip Van Winkle tired, weary, and sore ; Hush ! Hartman is speaking beneath the disguise In a way that brings unbidden tears to our eyes. A weird and incongruous, hurrying throng, Some singing, some tragic, sweeps blindly along; Old forms and old faces I view from my stall Long since praised or blamed by the Critic of All. I hear distant music that stirs in my breast A whirlwind of passions, then soothes them to rest ; For music can cleanse, like a chastening rod, And send the starved soul, pleading, back to its God. The melody wakes a long slumbering sense That dies, ere tis born, from its own impotence. What s this ? Shadow-faces grow dim, and the show Is not what it was half a minute ago. The curtain goes down, and the Tivoli s page Twixt the farce of the world and the farce of the stage 130 THE PASSING OF THE TIVOLI. Is finished ; comes silence where laughter has dwelt. Impatience I may have at other times felt Is absent to-night. Old Bohemian place, I make my adieux with a sorrowful face. Let s walk down your aisle for the last time, and try To whisper goodnight, and forget tis goodbye. 131 FOR LOVE OF THE BURDEN. FOR LOVE OF THE BURDEN. Should some bright ray of kindly fortune shine To guide me from this long-familiar way And fill my cup of gall with sweetest wine Should I be shown the victor s shining crown, Yet sadly would I turn me from today And with reluctance lay the burden down. Tis not possession but pursuit that gives The charm to conquest, and in distance lies The beck ning hope of every soul that lives. Who turns his face to ard light that gleams afar Feels naught of storms that fret the nearer skies And knows no darkness seeing but the star. Heights gained but furnish leisure to look back On mist-enshrouded wrecks that strew the night. O, let me strive along the tortuous track, The task before me ever to be done; O, let me ever know some luring light And have some goal forever to be won. 132 A DIGS. "A DIOS." "A Dios." Twas lightly spoken. Each heart left the other broken. Without guessing that twas so; Checking tender words that started. They, like strangers, coldly parted. "A Dios." Each turned to go. "A Dios." When love came trembling Over thirsting lips dissembling, Then the words they would have said. Quick were killed in jest and laughter; But the pain in each heart after, Proved Love wounded, but not dead. "A Dios." Is this the ending, This the sun of love descending Or the dawn that faintly glows? Maybe some bright morning, after Love has conquered jest and laughter. They will meet again. Who knows? 133 THE SUICIDE. THE SUICIDE. What harm should we snuff out this feeble light And leave the broken thing in which it burns Rayless and shadowless within the night? What harm if finally is quenched the spark And that which men call spirit never turns In resurrection from eternal dark? The primitive close-threatens with its rote. Wherefore we sit enwrapped within our creed Lest instinct wake to reason s falt ring note. Could man go back through artificial years To ponder symbols held within the seed Where then the hope now rainbowed through his tears ? What better light can show on troubled way Of tired, far- journeying pilgrim, than the thought That this were all ; that there will dawn no day 134 THE SUICIDE. When he shall rise to lessons strange and new, When tangled problems shall again be wrought And other tear-blotched pages copied through. Dumb things that come upon the way of death Are helped by such crude art as man may boast And hastened from the pain of fretful breath; But man condemns if man thus leaps the goal. Through fear he tortures, where he loves the most, Because some night-tale whispers of a soul. 135 THE PHANTOM. THE PHANTOM. In heaven s name, what shape art thou, With threat ning glance and beetling brow. That comes with bloodshot eye to dart A chill of terror through my heart ? Thy tears turn, dripping, into blood That stains thy front with crimson flood. Away ! I bear thy sight with pain, Nor dare to break my peace again. "Not so," it cries, "I ll ever stay "Beside thee close, each hour, each day, "And when the grave shall yawn at last "I ll still be near. I am thv Past." 136 AN EPISODE. AN EPISODE. Her eyes met mine ; I saw a light, half smold ring, shine Within their dusk. I hoped. Cold grew her glances then And seemed to speak denial when Her eyes met mine. Had it but seemed Or had I in some fever dreamed Her eyes spoke love? Why tremulous her voice and low, Why seek to hide her cheeks red glow. Had it but seemed? She turned aside. Tis well we re given wit to hide The truth within, Or else she had to me confessed The love she stifled in her breast And turned aside. 137 HOPE. HOPE. Out somewhere from the darkness of the East Three travelers come; Content in what they fail to understand Each moves across the heat-veiled desert sand As though he held a chart within his hand ; Their fervor, by each hardship but increased, Makes question dumb. These, strong in forceful trust of some strange power To guide aright, Oft see a vision fill the star-lit wild Where shine the features of the Virgin, mild; They kneel in worship to the King, her child, And trembling cry, ere comes the natal hour, "Behold the light!" 138 HOPE. Thus, on each barren life there shines some star To cheer its night, Some force deep sprung from sources that will win Hearts back to hope, although there lies within But rotting wrecks of glories that have been. Thus each soul through the darkness finds afar The guiding light. 139 THE SIREN. THE SIREN. Near a spot where the voice of the whispering pines Calls low to the drone of the sea, Near the buoy that sways to the turbulent roll Of the surf as it sweeps o er the crag-breasted shoal, There s a cabin, a tiny, wee bit of a place That drowsily rests in the cliff s warm embrace. And the world may not trespass within the con fines Of its poppy-flecked fields and its clustering vines. There is life in the breath of the salt-laden spray That drenches the rocks at its feet, There is peace in the song of the sea, gay or grave, And a history lies in the froth of each wave. And we, of the world, stand aloof, loath to go, Forgetting awhile the unrest that we know, 140 THE SIREN. Forgetting the power that we bend to obey. Till we turn, with regret, to the old beaten way. Here s the infinite peace we have looked for so long, Here is life freed from trammeling care ; But a voice from afar calls with mystical force And the yearning we nourish is sapped at its source ; We harken no more to the soul s plaintive cry But sink back neath the spell of the world s Lorelei. There s no rest for the heart that has thrilled to the song Of the siren that sings in the hum of the throng. 141 TO MY PIPE. TO MY PIPE. Come down, old fellow ! with shame-bowed head I take you up from your dusty bed ; I feel regret and a just remorse, And blame myself and my vapid course, That I, the dolt, could have put you by For a maiden s wish and a maiden s sigh. Come down, old fellow ! we meet again ; To-day is not what the day was, when I thrust you back in the shadows, dim, In deference to a woman s whim. No wondrous maid that the world e er knew Could chain a man to her heart like you. Come down, old fellow ! What, friend ! think you That any one, now, could part us two? What fervid kisses from scarlet lips Could thrill me thus to my finger tips? Dear, brown, old fellow, I bless the sprite That gave me freedom, and you, to-night. 142 THE ROSE. THE ROSE. Light from rubies, caught and held In each petal. From its bosom Sweet, seductive perfume welled. Careless, winged a butterfly, Passes near the siren s beauty, Loiters, trembles flutters by. Wheeling on uncertain wing Back he flies, now unresisting Back to woo ; to love ; to cling. He, replete with love, ne er guessed, Yesterday the bee was fondled Close within that scarlet breast, That to-morrow would be heard, Not unwillingly, the pleading Of impassioned humming-bird. 143 WHAT KING. WHAT KING? What king have we to-day ; the one whose blood Dark-stained the aspen cross of Calvary That man might be regenerate through its flood? Or build we temples underneath His stars For worship of the hour s divinity And bend the knee to Plutus, Bel, and Mars? Each glade an altar hides, each rock a shrine, Rare incense swings to Venus, as of old, Through cannon s mouth is Odin spake divine. Great Bacchus still beneath his vine sits crowned Dispensing comfort to these followers On whom all other oracles have frowned. Unstable as the gods to whom they pray Men kneel, low-bowed; each dawn comes question ing, "What king does man go forth to crown to-day?" 144 THE POPPY THE POPPY. Once a poppy grew (If the tale be true) On a hillside bare; And two wooers bold For her heart of gold Fought a battle there. Now. the Sun and Dew Were the good knights true Of this fickle one; And with lance of light Put the Dew to flight, Did Sir Knight, the Sun. Then the victor passed With the day ? at last, To his home and rest. 145 THE POPPY. And the vanquished lay In the twilight gray On the loved one s breast. When a new day dawned, Though her lovers fawned, She was coy and shy And she looked far down On the distant town With a longing eye. " Could I feel and know All its life and show T would be sweet, in truth." Like an answered prayer She was carried there By a careless youth. Then the sun went down On the hill and town, And the poppy sweet, Lay all soiled and torn, All forgot, forlorn, On the crowded street. 146 THE ?C?PY. Then the dew came down On the hill and town, But the poppy, tossed In the swirl and strife Of a larger life Had been crushed and lost. 147 LOVES SPAN. LOVE S SPAN. The fleecy clouds in the heavens high Beneath the light of an opal sky Showed tints of morn; The blush that over the landscape lay Spoke tender hopes for a glorious day, When love was born. The sun s caress woke the slumb ring glade And turned the light to a deeper shade On brook and mound, No sign betrayed in the glowing west The storm-cloud trembling with dark unrest, When love was crowned. The world was hushed when the sun went down ; It left the sky neath its threat ning frown An angry red, And hope went out with the dying light As day gave place to a starless night When love was dead. 148 BESIDE THE BIER. BESIDE THE BIER. Poor, cold, dead face; poor lips that weakly part, Irresolute, unchanged. The tear-drops start And shame the angry sorrow at my heart. Before they came, before the word was said, Before the watchers hovering round your bed Were yet aware, I knew that you were dead. How ? How do captives know their chains are gone ? How know the wounded that the barb s withdrawn ? How does the darkness know of coming dawn? You were the millstone of uncertain fate ; Down, inch by inch, I sunk beneath the weight Till I was crushed, despairing, desolate. I do not blame. If, from eternity. You may look back, I hope that it will be To learn how much you might have been to me. 149 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY. THE ROSE OF MONTEREY. This the story: In a valley Steeped within perpetual sunshine, In a tropic, sun-kissed valley Dwells a dark-eyed senorita : Traces still of regal beauty Lie upon her aged features. Long ago the wand ring sunlight In its course o er dell and river, Ling ring near the land of roses, Saw a sad and bitter parting, Saw a tender heart grow heavy With uncertain premonition, Saw bright eyes unused to weeping Dimmed with tears they could not master. "I will soon return," he whispered, " Wait me here, I ll not forget you ; "Take this pure-white rose and plant it " Neath the shadow of your window, 150 THE ROSE OF MONTEREY. "Let it be the sacred emblem "Of the love we hold and cherish ; "When you see its first fair blossom, "When you smell its sweet, faint perfume "I shall be here close beside you, "Hold you in my arms and kiss you, "Evermore we ll be together/ With these words he turned and left her, Left her to her hopes and longings, To her dreams and sweet illusions. Many years the glowing sunshine Has been seen upon the sun dial ; Many years the rose has blossomed ; Many years its subtle fragrance Has been known to summer zephyrs, And the dark-eyed senorita Tends it hoping, trusting, waiting. But, tis said, the waxen petals Pure and faultless in their beauty, White at first, as any moonbeam, Now lie red beneath the sunshine, Faultless still, but red as rubies, Red as blood that marks the pulse-beat In the heart of one forsaken. 151 IN LOTUS LAND. IN LOTUS LAND. Let me live within my dreams ; The joys I know From shadows grow ; Transient lights from nothing burning Back to nothing swift returning; Life can hold no happiness like that which seems. Let me love and then forget; Each vintage sip With careless lip; Drain the cup and then destroy it, Hold no memories to cloy it; I would have no dark remorse to chill and fret. Let me keep my altar fires Bright with incense from elusive, vague desires Flames well fed; Flouting fate, cajoling sorrow. Heedless if a sad to-morrow Find me dead. 152 TO JESSICA. TO JESSICA. True to my soul as the steel to the pole You have been to me ever. Evil has thrilled me And sorrow has chilled me Grief and regret for a wasted life filled me You have been near me To comfort, to cheer me, Bound firm and fast by a tie none can sever. Close to my soul. \Yhen we are dead and the last word is said We will still be together. Fear that I d lose you Has made me abuse you, Sully your life that your God might accuse you Sin has engrossed you And Heaven has lost you That I might have you and hold you forever, Living or dead. 153 WHICH DOES NOT MATTER TO YOU. WHICH DOES NOT MATTER TO YOU. A youth swore love for a maiden fair, (Which does not matter to you), He placed a rose in her auburn hair And laid his head on her shoulder fair And promised freedom from every care, (Which does not matter to you.) And like the tale of a minstrel s rhyme, (Which does not matter to you), He left his home for a certain time And sought for wealth in a foreign clime And found it owned by a maid sublime, (Which does not matter to you). And time went on just as time will do, (Which does not matter to you), The maiden wept for a day or two Because her lover had proved untrue 154 WHICH DOES NOT MATTER TO YOU. Then patched her heart with connubial glue, (Which does not matter to you). And after that the report was spread, (Which does not matter to you), That youth and maid put in earthy bed The cold remains of their spouses dead And hid a smile with the tears they shed, (Which does not matter to you). Above the graves they had met again, (Which does not matter to you), They whispered things about "might have been" Which I consider a cardinal sin Remembering the place they were talking in, (Which does not matter to you). And then, one day, it was told to me, (Which does not matter to you), These twain were one; now they both agree That "Was" was nearer felicity Than "Is," and sigh for the "Used To Be," (Which does not matter to you). 155 THE PAST. And thus it is with the things we crave, (Which maybe matters to you), We fret and worry and toil and slave We reach and struggle, and terrors brave, Then scorn the object our efforts gave. Which is verv much like you. THE PAST. The past? Ah, question not, dear love, Nor jealous be; The past was but a time when I Awaited thee. Ask not to have the present chilled By retrospect ; The past was but a rock submerged Where hopes were wrecked. The past was but a fretful time In which I grew, By sorrow s scourge, a helpful mate And fit for vou. 156 THE VOICE OF NATURE. THE VOICE OF NATURE. From the flush of strange beginning beauty on the earth has lain. Glorified in flaming sunset, fairy-gemmed in crystal rain. Lessons, rare, of radiant splendor are in wild profusion shown While we gaze in big-eyed wonder like to babes in dumbness grown. Dormant standing, deep-enamored of the spell, with senses swooned, Keenly strung to vibrant music only heard of hearts attuned, Helpless in our deep emotion, speechless where we would reveal, Vain the fettered tongue endeavors to por tray the thing we feel. 157 THE VOICE OF NATURE. Frail we are in understanding when our sleeping souls awake, Conscious of but futile effort through the halting flights we take. Masterful the changing story told in yellow leaf and sear, Wondrous is the swelling anthem known to him who will but hear. Call him sculptor who in marble clothes the song his heart has heard, Call him poet who from Nature has pre served one throbbing word, Each attempts to paint the glory of the thing as it is shown But he ever mars the picture by crude touches of his own. 158 TO TOMBSTONE II. TO TOMBSTONE II. (THE PRESS CLUB S CAT.) Thy gaze, transfixed, disdains my presence, small, And lingers on creations of thine own ; The twitching of thy lip betrays the strange And startling wonders of thy retrospect. Perchance these walls give place to jungle briars, And curious gapers turn to hunted prey ? Perchance within thy reminiscent brain Lurk dreams of summer nights when stealthy forms Cast undulating shadows neath the moon? I think tis so; despite thy stolid mien, A sudden light burns green within thine eyes, Ferocious hate leaps high as thought recalls How mortal cunning wrought thine impotence. By means unworthy living thing, save man, They have thee caged, and harmless, by a trick. They took thy body captive, but thy pride Remains thine own, and clothes thy haughty form In solemn garb of peerless majesty. I gaze at thee and feel my littleness, And slink away, ashamed that man presumes From his conceit, to call himself thy lord. 159 DREAMS. DREAMS. Lips there are that crave the touch of lips they may not press. That laugh above the heart s dead weight of hopeless weariness. That sometimes paler grow beneath the starved soul s futile cry And tremble with the fervor of desires that will not die. Hands, there are, press other hands but love s wild thrill is dead, Lips speak to lips but hearts no more are reached by what is said, There come fleet dreams, like transient mist, of joys that fate withholds. And longings of such bitter pain that hope lessness consoles. 160 RETROSPECTUS. No rose so red but fragrance from one redder blows afar. No night so fair but that another shows a brighter star. Old wines we crave but old love sometimes f aite the one athirst, No virtue breathes in constancy when vagrant dreams are nursed. RETROSPECTUS. Live not in musty retrospect, but try To find the rift within the clouded sky. And let the cold, dead past in shadow lie Lot s wife looked back. Come, pour libations, bid the minstrel play. To-day shall question not of yesterday, To-morrow shall know nothing of to-day. WHO PAYS? WHO PAYS? Who is it that pays For the words that are uttered in careless jest, For the vows that are soon forgotten, For happiness stirring the vagrant breast, For the slight of the lips that were once caressed, For the unfulfilled hopes and the sad delays? Some one pays ! Who is it that pays For the faith that is held at the joyous start Of a love that is quickly ended? Who dreams that the debt of a truant heart Will not have to be met, in its smallest part, Will but find that whenever the piper plays Some one pays. Who is it that pays For the glitter and sparkle of Vanity Fair, WHO PAYS? For the pomp and the vulgar showing? One half of the world must their muscles bare That a few of the favored may feel no care For their languorous nights and their useless days, Some one pays. Who is it that pays When the frighted hills echo a battle cry And strange dew on the grass is shining? A trumpet of death is a monarch s sigh, But new subjects are born while the old ones die. Be it he who is slain or the one who slays Some one pays. 163 RECOMPENSE. RECOMPENSE. Before me dead you lie; your still, white face, Impassive neath my glance, Lies strangely patient in its resting place, Nor marks the night s advance. Alone, we two ; no ling ring pulse-throbs start Or quiver at my touch. I could not hold such hate within my heart Had I not loved so much. I d gladly die could 1 but break your rest And bring you back to men. That I might plunge this dagger in your breast And \vatch you die again. 164 A PARADOX. A PARADOX. Had you listened when I pleaded. Had you paused or hesitated Or one wish of mine conceded, Had a wave of weakness crossed you- Had you yielded I had lost you. Yours was not an easy trial : Evermore I ll hold you dearer For your words of proud denial ; Had your duty less engrossed you, You were mine and I had lost you. In the dead and sodden embers Where lie passions long forgotten. Such a love a man remembers. Mid the ruins lying scattered Stands one idol still unshattered. A SPANISH SERENADE. A SPANISH SERENADE. Come to thy casement, love, let me behold thee ; Night will be sweeter, far, if thou but linger near. Soft sings the nightingale, sings near thy window, Telling his mate of love, passionate, sincere. Queen of my life, let me repeat his story, Close not thy heart, O, do not turn away, Bid me but hope, twill fill the night with glory; Be thou my queen, let me, thy slave, obey. Love is an ember that we should keep glowing ; Do not destroy the spark from which the flame is fed, For naught shall give it life once it has perished, E en lips like thine cannot revive it when tis dead. Then fill the time with joys for which I m sighing; Close in thine arms my exile I d forget, Give me thy lips, no sweets they hold denying, Lest in some sad to-morrow we regret. 166 LOVES ENEMY. There s not a flower but knows the love I cherish, There s not a breeze but whispers, dear, of thee, Come, pluck the rose of life, now, ere it perish ; Share thou its rich perfume, this night, with me. LOVE S ENEMY. "Invulner ble my armor is," Dan Cupid proudly said; Doubt heard, quick loosed a poisoned dart And little Love fell dead. 187 GIVE! GIVE! "GIVE! GIVE!" The cry of need, and the cry of greed, Is the cry that is heard afar, Is the cry that has run since the world was begun From the ether-rimmed earth to the governing sun And has trembled from star to star ; The unequal strife in the struggle for life Has embittered the upright soul, And the god of the purse is the god that we curse, While we bow to him, hip and jowl. This cry is hurled round a purse-proud world, Nor is hushed by the helping hand. Who relieves those in need for the love of the deed Coaxes censure like that for a singular creed We come never to understand. The cry that will live is the fierce cry of "Give !" Hear the multiple echoes roll! 168 GIVE! GIVE! Though the god of the purse is the god that we curse, Yet we bow to him, hip and jowl. This cry upraised to the god that s praised Is unchecked by the touch of death, And the soft word that slips through the child s coaxing lips Is the word that is voiced by the wanton who strips With the blight of her vampire breath. The loves that we know and the follies we show Are forgiven, if full the bowl; Though the god of the purse is the god that we curse, Yet we bow to him, hip and jowl. 169 WHEN PASSES THE FLAME. WHEN PASSES THE FLAME. Today you are most kind, But kindness, now, seems only anger s cloak ; Your looks are gentle yet I fail to find That joy they once awoke. Today you clasp my hand And speak soft nothings in my passive ear; I listen but I do not understand ; My heart has failed to hear. True love will not abide Where inclination has to custom grown, And now when thus you linger at my side I am as one alone. The ember, lying gray, May be revived although its flame be sped, But who of mortal man can find the way To fire the spark that s dead? 170 ON THE LITTLE SANDY. ON THE LITTLE SANDY. Just within the mystic border of Ken tucky s blue grass region There s a silver strip of river lying idly in the sun, On its banks are beds of fragrance where the butterflies are legion And the moonbeams frame its glory when the summer day is done. There s a little, rose-wreathed cottage nest ling close upon its border Where a tangled mass of blossoms half con ceals an open door, There s a sweet, narcotic perfume from a garden s wild disorder, And the jealous poppies cluster where its kisses thrill the shore. From across its dimpled bosom comes the half-hushed, careful calling 171 ON THE LITTLE SANDY. Of a whippoorwill whose lonely heart is longing for his mate, And the sun aslant the sleepy eyes of fox gloves gently falling Tells the fisherman out yonder that the hour is growing late. From the branches of the poplars a spas modic, sleepy twitter Comes, twould seem, in careless answer to the pleading of a song, And perhaps the tiny bosom holds despair that s very bitter For his notes are soon unheeded bv the little feathered throng. Then the twilight settling denser shows a rushlight dimly burning Ah, how well I know the landing drowsing neath its feeble beams, And my homesick heart to mem ries of the yesterday is turning While I linger here, forgotten, with no solace but my dreams. 172 IF YOU HAD KNOWN. IF YOU HAD KNOWN. If you had known That neath my glance indifferent, the seeds Of love were sown, Would you so brief have held My proffered hand Within your own? If you had guessed The thrill of passion that your touch awoke. Would you have pressed My hand in careless mood, Or clasped me close Unto vour breast? 173 THE BURDEN. THE BURDEN. Within the temple purple windows threw Their solemn light athwart the silent aisles, And lengthening shadows into twilight grew; Still Zarick knelt, unwilling to depart, So heavy was the sorrow at his heart. "Great Oracle," he cried, "behold my grief, "I sink beneath the burden of my life ; "O, guide me to some haven of relief. "No man of woman born can know the stress "That I endure from utter wretchedness." "Go search the world," a solemn voice replied, "And give thy life in full exchange for one "That thou may st choose ; thou shalt not be denied." In fervent thanks he lifted up his voice, And joyfully went forth to make his choice. 174 THE BURDEN. The Eastern sun full many seasons rolled Across the spice-breathed air of Orient shores ; Full many months the temple bells were tolled, Yet Zarick came not ; then, one solemn night An old man knelt beneath the altar light. Great One," he said, "I ve searched through hut and hall, And found no man untouched by sorrow s breath ; "My burden was the lightest of them all ; "No space overlooked, no road but I have trod "And all have suffered, all have kissed the rod." 175 )OHN BRADFORD S PRAYER. JOHN BRADFORD S PRAYER. John Bradford stood at the entrance gate of a jail in Ludlow Square; He saw a man led forth to die, and he offered up a prayer. He offered up, for himself, a prayer, as but pious people can Who follow rules of the cloth and creed, did this conscientious man. He offered up for himself a prayer neath the archway drear and dim, And thanked the Lord that another man was to die instead of him. He used the harassing circumstance of the checkered life near run To call to notice his godliness, and to draw comparison. 176 JOHN BRADFORD S PRAYER. He iaid the list of his Christian deeds in the Master-Hand on high. But not a word was there said for him who was going forth to die. He prayed so much of his own affairs, and they took so long to tell, The hangman s key to the great unknown set ajar the gates of hell. And thus a soul sped its way unchecked by an interceding prayer, While Bradford muttered his mummery, to his God, in Ludlow Square. 177 LOVE S FALLACIES. LOVE S FALLACIES. It is not in the blare of the noonday glare That the red of the wine invites ; We must borrow the grace of the time and place To give color to soft delights. It is not in the heat of the crowded street That we seek for the shaded pool, We would travel in vain o er the burning plain For the gush of the fountain cool. Eyes that seem to us bright by the candle s light May but commonplace be and dim, And the lips we think red have their beauty sped When removed from the glass s rim. Though we know that the smile which we hold awhile Is but dross of a base alloy, 178 MY PLEA. Yet we marry false sighs to unblushing lies And then christen the offspring "Joy." But, O, never believe that we once deceive Or once satisfy, e en in part By the shadows that pass with the empty glass, The deep call of the yearning heart. MY PLEA. \Yhen God s good angel sadly questions me As to my fitness for eternity, I ll say you loved me, and when that is done My sins will be forgiven, and heaven won. 170 A PICTURE. A PICTURE. Gray the sky ; the earth was gray ; Smoke from sacrificial altar, Darkly heavy, trailed away. Near the shrine a woman stood. And, as incense to Ambition, Burned the wealth of womanhood. Desolate to heart and eye ; Not a trace of color trembled Neath the grayness of the sky. Near the work the artist stood. "What is this ?" at last I ask her, portray such solemn mood?" Stilling then an inward strife, With dispassion born of patience, "This," she answers, "is my life." 180 A PICTURE. In my glance deep passion glows. And upon the sacred altar Quick I paint a scarlet rose. Long the rose of scarlet lay On the altar of Ambition, Flushing red the sky of gray. Tired, one day, and callous grown, She, with brush annihilating, Gave Ambition back its own. But the cruel hand, tis said Hesitating in its firmness, Left behind a blush of red. THE ROAD OF A GREAT DESIRE. THE ROAD OF A GREAT DESIRE. There are bridges, once crossed, that twere wise to burn On the road of A Great Desire, There are havens of rest that twere well to spurn, There s the touch of a hand we may not return; Place all longings, save one, on Ambition s pyre Ye who travel the road of A Great Desire. There are faces so young and with hearts so old On the road of A Great Desire, In their eyes lie the shadows of hopes untold ; Though the pulses beat swift yet the blood is cold, For they know but the lust of Ambition s fire They that travel the way of A Great Desire. There s a shrine bathed in warmth of the world s caress On the road of A Great Desire, 182 LOVE S RECOMPENSE. It is reached through the valley of Weariness And the god of the temple is called Success; Lay the dreams you have known on its altar fire Ye who ve traveled the way of A Great Desire. LOVE S RECOMPENSE. The angry billows lash the seam-marked face Of yonder whitening, bleak, sea-girdled rock; A thousand storms have swept its rugged form; It stands impervious to stress and shock. Xo jagged hurt that ever scarred its sides But seemed a privilege, made doubly blest, Were it endured to shield the cherished life Of that frail lichen clinging to its breast. 183 TO MY BOOKS. TO MY BOOKS. Old friends, your pardon. I am come again Back from the social littleness of men Contrite and deeply shamed that I was lured, And roundly punished by the pain endured. From out some vanity of mine it grew, Dread wastes of empty words I ve floundered through, Deceived in false supports at which I caught, To sink at last neath seas of vacuous thought. If mental suffering can shrive the sin Of seeking social paths to wander in Then I was blameless scarce the way was won And stood forgiv n, with every penance done. How peaceful here : You stand in silent row Reflecting back the firelight s genial glow 184 TO MY BOOKS. In wealth of welcome you so well express Which not to feel would be to love you less. No more, old friends. I know man tends to good Xeath mem ry of fresh sufferings withstood, And scarce I blame you that you wink and leer At one who sought the world when you were near. 185 LOVE S VICTORY. LOVE S VICTORY. "I want you to hold me and prize me again, "Why spurn me now?" Love cried. "I go to lay siege to the Castle of Fame, "Where you may not abide." With sweet, curly head bowed in petulant grief, With bright eyes rilling fast, He saucily said, "Though you send me away, I ll victor be, at last." One day, from the heights of the Castle I gazed O er hopes that used to be, O er years that were dead; then my heavy heart said, "Give Love the victory." 186 A CAROL. A CAROL. Sing, thou, with all thy harmony of voice, Let not one throat be dumb, Lift up thy drooping spirit and rejoice For lo, the King is come ! Lay all thy motives bare; beneath the sun His scepter is thy deeds, And every kind and generous action done His throne from which He pleads. There s joy in every theme, though sadly shown ; Man s pity did but gloss That greatest ecstasy the world has known, The sorrow of the cross. From world to world stirred pulses that were still, Where suns had ceased to shine; 187 A CAROL. All chaos was, neath that melodious thrill, Made cosmic and divine. No distant space that failed to understand This passion of the Lord, Futurity was circled by His hand In one great master-chord. Sing! Sing! Through all the morning of thy life, And sing to greet its night ; He finds the harmony within the strife Who reads life s score aright. Learn from the cognate universe thy song; Thrice blessed he who hears And understands the cadence that has long Swung rhythmic round the spheres. 188 THE VOYAGERS. THE VOYAGERS. With oars at rest, content to drift, and dream. Responsive swinging where each current sets, One idles down the bosom of the stream With will of waves no issue to dispute. With helm long dropped from hands irresolute. Another craft upon the river rides, Fast sweeping on beneath each steady stroke. With helm hard set against the changing tides ; It braves the tortured night, the wind-swept day Forever keeping on its charted way. To float among the lilies near the shore. And build brave plans to reach the harbor lights Should danger threaten in the tempest s roar. No broken oars, no muscles strained and tired. Ah, surely this were way to be desired. 189 IN RETROSPECTION. A cloud o ershades the red, low-drooping sun. Of him who bared his strong arms to the work The storm-gods tell that port was bravely won. Of him who dreamed and drifted? Ask the night Where now the mast that held his puny light. IN RETROSPECTION. Could I turn back all the leaves of life, Correct the blunders and soothe the strife ; Could I blot out every dark deed done, Make good each triumph unjustly won ; Could I live free from the faults of men, I would not. Living my life again, I d do each deed as I did it then. This life were surely a tiresome page If man, arriving at sour old age, Have nothing braver to grace his bier Than a prudent life and a just career. 190 DON T WORRY. Though not one of your fanciful schemes comes to light, Don t you worry ; You have had the fond pleasure of thinking they might, So don t worry. Though the page is all blotted and thumb-marked and torn. There s a God up above who has seen what you ve borne, And who tempers the wind to the lamb that is shorn, So don t worry. Though the bauble you longed for looks cheap in your hand, Don t you worry ; 191 DON T WORRY. Though you sink where you thought it was al r solid land. Don t you worry. Like the baby, you see the sun s glint on the wall, And you struggle to clasp it you stumble, and fall ; Then you find you have gathered a shadow that s ail- But don t worry. Though the play is played out and the curtain s rung down, Don t you worry ; Though the features of life wear a turbulent frown. Don t you worry. Though the other man wins, and you lose, in the race, Don t you let the world know ; put a smile on your face; There are always your pistols up there in their case. So don t worry. 102 THE PESSIMIST. THE PESSIMIST. There is no rose on the broad, bleak earth Worth the labor put forth to raise it; No scarlet mouth, framed in dimpling mirth. Worth the breath that it takes to praise it. There is no song like the one that s heard In the time of a life s beginning: No woman s love worth the empty word That we waste in its useless winning. There is no day with its sordid strife \Vorth the serious thought we give it, No passing hour in a careless life Worth the trouble it takes to live it. Yet pluck the rose while you chance to live. Hold your pleasures as you may find them, Forget, in joys that those red lips give, The grin of the skull behind them. 193 TO-DAY S ROYALIST I d like to have lived in the time of Queen Bess, When duels and battles were rife, When swords were the popular form of redress, And insults were paid for with life; I d like to have lived when the commoner dwelt Apart, in a world of his own; Have died ere the time that he voiced what he felt And placed his own spawn on the throne. I d like to have felt the self-satisfied thrill Unlimited power can afford; I d like to have lived when a gentleman s will Was urged at the point of his sword, Instead of to-day when "Equality s" rule Puts "Rights" in the mouths of the clan, When works of the sage can be jeered by the fool, When master s no better than man. 194 TO-DAY S ROYALIST. I d like to have lived when the ermine embraced None other than royalty s form ; I d like to have lived before caste was effaced Beneath the mob s leveling storm ; I d like to have lived when the form of restraint Held commonwealth under the man, And felt what it was to be free from the taint Of "Liberty s" plebiscite ban. 195 WOMAN. WOMAN. Believe that yonder stony-hearted shore Will spare the ship blown thither by the gale ; Believe there s mildness in the ocean s roar And gentleness within the tempest s wail ; Believe that tigers, thirsting after blood, Belie their stripes and let their victims go, But ne er believe when comes misfortune s flood That woman will to woman mercy show. Wolves fraternize when bent upon attack. Their hunting cry holds no discordant note, They face a common danger, back to back Then, true to nature, tear each other s throat; And not alone on heath and wooded strip Does this, the law of fang, aggressive loom ; Wolves, wrapped in velvet, rend with thirsting lip And wage their wars in every drawing-room. 196 \VO.\i AX. To breed dissension is in woman born : But some this primal instinct turn aside. Affecting charms more suited to adorn And neath conceits true inclinations hide. To seem the thing she s not is woman s care, Xo soul of them from this may stand exempt. And none to be her own true self may dare Lest she be named an object of contempt. Debarred by nature from those rough pursuits That outlets are to savagery, each turns To rend the other, recking not the fruits Of slander and the consequence it earns. O, sooner will be found the drop of rain When once tis lost within the river s flow, O, sooner shall the hilltop kiss the plain Than woman shall to woman mercv show. 197 THE GRANDEST THING. THE GRANDEST THING. When hope was young and my blood ran rife, When homage sweetened the cup of life And pride was a flame well fed, They asked me what was the grandest thing That life could hold or a fortune bring; As quick as flashes a swallow s wing "To conquer men," I said. But now the pale of the after-glow Reflects the chastening years of woe, Endurance bows my head; "Come, tell us now, for we ask again, The grandest, holiest task of men," Submission prompting where pride had betn- "To conquer self," I said. 198 THE PUNISHMENT. THE PUNISHMENT. Ben Omi stood, with drooping head, To hear the final judgment read By him who kept the record; The accusations neath his name Recounted deeds for serious blame A thumb-marked page and checkered. "Your sins are great/ the angel cried, "I know of none who ever died "So quite unfit for glory; "No punishment that e er was writ "Could shrive your soul and make it fit "For even purgatory. "And yet methinks I ll improvise "And name a penalty, unwise, "But most intensely human; Tis this : Go back to earth and men, "Resume the flesh, be born again, "And be. this time, a woman !" 199 THE PRAYER. THE PRAYER. Lord, God, hear Thou a suppliant. Abject, All crimson-stained, I cringe, lest Thou, in wrath At my presumption, raise Thy mighty hand And crush the worm that dares to lift its head In quiv ring fear to Thine omnipotence. The years Thou gav st I ve drunk like honeyed wine, In eager grasp to burning lips and heart I ve pressed the sweets of life, and drained the dregs Of every worldly pleasure. Lord, I dare Yea, I ! a lep rous thing the crawling things Of earth of which art shamed I, dare to come Before Thy face. Lord, God, hear Thou a suppliant. Outcast, World-weary, broken hearted, losing all I turn to Thee. What s this I ve dared to say? 200 THE PRAYER. Great One, be blind and deaf, that I may snatch This blasphemy from out the Great Beyond And plunge it back within my withered heart To mock its human selfishness. I turn, A thing all foul within, unfit for hell. A pigmy that infects Thy universe, I turn to Thee when all is lost Just God! I wonder Thou hast spared so vile a thing To soil Thy name. Emblazon all my sins; none can there be To equal this most human infamy. When once again a suppliant I come, Twill be to ask if any good deed done Can blot from out the angel s record-page This prayer. Amen. 201 OF THE NANCY PRYNE. OF THE NANCY PRYNE. Under the deck of the Nancy Pryne The captain sits with his flask of wine, A pirate bold and a pirate true With a dirk and a sword that would do for you A great deal more than you d want it to. He drinks a toast to the surging brine, This captain bold of the Nancy Pryne, Nor hears the shock of the wind and rain. "I buried him deep," comes the loud refrain Of the song he sings in a minor strain. The captain drowses above his wine Nor feels the lash of the stinging brine ; The wind moans low in the tortured dark And the struggle ends for the straining bark In a bit of wreck and some corpses stark. 202 OF THE XAXCV PKYNE. This story s trite but the fault s not mine, Tis all that s known of the Nancy Pryne; Next morn the song of the sun-kissed main Called forth the gulls that had sheltered lain "I buried him deep," was its low refrain. 203 BLINDNESS, BLINDNESS. From sire to sire for such long cheerless time Have we accepted tears as heritage, And dol rous droned through lengths of ancient rhyme With ceaseless sorrow for unchanging theme, That life has come to be a weary page And joy the phantasm of a fevered dream. So long have wrappings of unyielding gloom Close-swathed the heart, that we resent the word Which pleads for happiness this side the tomb. For us no note of earth must vibrant rise; For us the nearer music to be heard Is lost in seeking that of distant skies. We call him pagan who in gladness strips From glowing truth the dull, dogmatic sheath, And kisses pleasure full upon the lips ; 204 BLINDNESS. We call him Christian who embraces care, Who hunts the thorns to weave in crowning wreath For heaven more fit if girded by despair. We leave the brilliant substance for the wraith. And deem him sainted by conjoint acclaim Who wears a smileless face in show of faith. Like mewling children, of the dark afraid. We cling to crude supports, abstruse and lame, And keep to doleful covenants, self-made. When will the sons of men. as one agreed. Consent to read the word that shines above Unbound by dwarfing hindrances of creed? When will the fallacies to which we cling Be merged in one great universal love? When will we say "The Father/ not "The King?" 205 THE AWAKENING. THE AWAKENING. I loved a man; the image fair Of all the good the world contained I pictured him. From out my heart The essence of a love divine I poured upon my rose-decked god, And sin by sin I sacrificed Myself upon his altar. One day impoverished, abashed Before my idol s face I stood, And whispered low that all I had To give was given: My woman s heart Beat gently sweet, I raised my eyes, And lo! upon that perfect brow Satiety sat wearily. 206 AX OLD LETTER CASE. AN OLD LETTER CASE. On your surface, old and tattered, Rest small cupids, ink-bespattered, Clasp is gone and lock is shattered. Faintly, as I lift the cover, Perfume seems to rise and hover Close, like words of some old lover. Tired, or fearful of derision, Here a hand has, with precision, Struck a name from curious vision. Had you voice would words be teeming Of a love that proved but seeming, Idle hope and foolish dreaming? Old the story, old the sorrow, Nothing new of love we borrow, True to-day and false to-morrow. 207 AN OLD LETTER CASE. Quaint old box, how reads your story ? Fancies crowd, and tinge with glory Life that was ere you grew hoary. Leather worn and satin tattered, Cupids, roses, ink-bespattered Like your owner s dreams all shattered. 208 COMPANIONS. COMPANIONS. We two; with no rival to come between To the death of your ruddy fire ; I have you and my book and an easy chair, And the pictures you paint for me over there : And no maid that ever the world has seen Can mar the peace that we share. I ween ; Myself, and my old black brier. What secrets we have and what nopes divide And what sprites of the past invoke ! There are shades of forgotten and dead desire, There are lips that e en rival your scarlet fire. And the coal that presses your blackened side Seems not more real than the forms that glide Through haze of your curling smoke. We two ; with a book and an easy chair And the cheer of a glowing fire! 209 COMPANIONS. With the peace of your comradeship all about. With the noise and the stress of the world shut out, We can scoff at sorrow and smile at care And dream of deeds that the bravest dare ; Myself, and my old black brier. 210 I THANK THEE. I THANK THEE. For fortitude to turn harsh words aside; For force of will to humble stubborn pride ; For strength of heart to bear the biting scorn And arrogance of one beneath me born ; For power to hide the hate within my breast ; For outward calm to mask a mind distressed ; For dogged patience to abide the time When I could claim revenge as wholly mine. Yes, gratefully, I render thanks to Thee For power, at last, to crush my enemy. 211 TO MANUELA. TO MANUELA. Mariana? No. The light that s speaking In your eyes Is the answer I am seeking. Mariana? Talisman for sorrow, Not for love; Love may die before to-morrow. And when tis dead we may deride it Who shall know? Laugh when we should weep beside it. Manana ? No. Ahora ; cherished, Lotus-breathed, Lived, before tis past and perished. 212 THE LIFE OF YESTERDAY. THE LIFE OF YESTERDAY. What is the use of the toil and striving And what will matter the tear and smile, The well laid plan and the deep contriving. When lost in the dusk of the after-while? Why fret the flesh with an unhealed sorrow? The world wants laughter, it shares no grief, Why slight to-day for a vague to-morrow That shadows all hope for the soul s relief? Sweet were the faith to believe and cherish This life a spark strayed from parent flame, To hold no fear that its light will perish Instead of the darkness, the unknown name. Saddest of all is to know, at parting, The grief is mine, that the world holds none. To know the blush of the dawn s faint starting Will shed its red glory on all save one. 213 THE LIFE OF YESTERDAY. If there be friend who shall mourn my going, Though grieved my loss in a single breath, Twill send a thrill through my poor clay glowing And out of the grave snatch the chill of death. 214 THE NEW YEAR BELL. THE NEW YEAR BELL. Within the music of the Xew Year Bell, I hear a note of triumph rise and swell ; I hear its rhythmic harmony repeat The laughter of a maiden true and sweet ; Attending close upon the vibrant air Comes quivering discord of a past despair ; Then, lightly leaping from its metal throat, The arbitrary schoolboy s careless note; With trembling pathos, an adagio slow, Deep- voiced and solemn, tells a mother s woe. The chimes ring soft, in ecstasy divine, I feel a baby s fingers close in mine; Then, sweet and clear a cadence speeds along That brings to mind a singer and a song. I hide my foolish tears as memories swell In true accord with music of the bell. 215 LOVES REIGN. LOVE S REIGN. Poor, halting thing that creeps a little way Low-bowed beneath its burden of neglect; It clasps the broken hopes of yesterday And trails dead flowers with which its form was decked. Tear-marked the face that lifts with pleading eyes. The lips beg tol rance of their latest breath ; Impatiently we bear reproachful sighs And chafe beneath its sickening and its death. Dry-eyed we look, at last, on pallid lip, Relieved, yet half ashamed that pulses sing, And while the new-crushed vintages we sip Cry out, "The King is dead ; long live the King/ 216 WITH NATURE. WITH NATURE. O, give me the breath of the ocean foam Ere the force of the storm be spent ; O, give me the width of the world to roam, The halt for the night as my only home. With my way forever the path apart From the haunts mapped out on the toiler s chart. To me from the silence is ever lent Companionship, when I spread my tent In the calm of the desert s heart. O. give me the shades of the morning sky That reburnish the slopes and rills, O, give me the tints where the shadows lie Soft-rocked in the sway of the zephyr s sigh And I ll crave no boon from the artist s hand Though his kindling fame by the world be fanned. The glow of the dawn that the heaven fills. The quiv ring light on the sleeping hills Are the things that I understand. 217 THE POLE-SEEKERS. THE POLE-SEEKERS. From east to north, as the petrels fly, A snow-squall whips through a frozen sky, Beneath the swirl of its widening track The sea curls up like a dolphin s back, Twixt lift and fall of the seething gale White shines the sheet of a ghostly sail. O er sodden decks in a chilling flood Sharp bites the tooth of the flying scud, The crew stands firm though the plowing keel Brooks no restraint from the steering-wheel ; Each man so still that the driving sleet Enwraps his form like a winding-sheet. The vessel swerves with a dip and start And sets its course by the captain s chart, If mate and crew mark the swift advance They give no sign by word or glance. 218 THE POLE-SEEKERS. From rolling seas to a widening slough The ship drives on with her silent crew. The storm is ceased and the sun-dogs show In purpling lights o er the crusted snow ; The wind that whipped through this land of death Twould seem had blown with a Lethean breath, For if hours have passed, or if days have sped, No soul on board could have truly said. Ethereal blue at the bow and stern That spreads o erhead an inverted urn. And in the rim of its arching bowl The mystic swing of the heavens roll. The needle swerves in a circling ring And the world is hushed while the planets sing. The captain bends o er his chart and book Nor heeds the scene by a transient look. Arouse thee, man, for thy work is done, The bar is past and the goal is w r on! But he makes no sign if his dull eyes see, He is done with earth and its mockerv. 219 THE POLE-SEEKERS. The ship sweeps on through the wind-tossed sea, Through the ice-packed, shoal-ringed, threatening sea, Till the gray waves break on a storm-worn beach And the silence hears but the sea-mew s screech, But the sea-mew s screech and the fur-seal s bark, And it founders there in the angry dark. The pole-star shines with a murky light, Like an astral sun, with a frozen light ; O er the glacier beds and the ice-flow s spire The auroras flash in a fan of fire, And they mock the forms of the corpses stark On the ship that died in the outer dark. The frost hangs thick on the stove-in hull, On the snow-sheathed, wave-pressed, battered hull, And the tide bears hard on the weakened beams Till it saps the strength of the hemp-calked seams, Till it sweeps away every telltale mark, Lest a prey be lost to the unknown dark. 220 WHEN CHRIST IS RISEN. WHEN CHRIST IS RISEN. A mystic joy sweeps o er the drooping world Where yesterday a pall of sorrow swirled Its solemn length from vale to brow of hill : Each tiny atom sings with quickening thrill And Nature cries with one according breath, "All hail, tis Jesus, King, of Xazereth!" But man still questions. Fearful lest his eyes. Schooled in deceit, deceive himself, he cries, "The proof?" In answer, lo, the bleeding hands. "What creeping life so pitiful as man s? The word was given him for a higher goal Else this last shame had forfeited his soul. 221 THE STAR. THE STAR. The night shut in with black and threatening frown When o er my troubled world the sun went down, Forebodings marked the time with vague distress That bound me prisoner to hopelessness, And darkness seemed more fearful to my sight From having known the glory of the light. The hours dragged on ; I raised my drooping head But not in hope, I knew the sun was dead, And planned no life beyond the black expanse When, lo, I saw a wondrous light advance That glowed and grew until it filled the skies. I stood and gazed with yearning, doubting eyes. No more does hope s hurt wing trail idly down, No more does night shut in with threatening frown, 222. THE STAR. I grieve no more because the sun is gone, Hold no regret for yesterday s lost dawn, But bless the salient gloom that reached afar, For else how had I ever found the star ? THE INEVITABLE. THE INEVITABLE. Christ is born to-day. Sad heart Look up, and hope. Those who kneel and still their cries Do not know that in His eyes Shadow of a cross there lies. Love is born to-day. My heart Look up, and hope. Sweet content is all about; But the life blood will drip out, Some day, on a cross of doubt. 224 TO ETHEL. TO ETHEL. The heart s emotion finds no way to speak So poor is man in gifts, in words so weak, And gratitude within the throbbing breast Must ever rest there only half expressed. Unskilled I stand to cope with what I feel So strange this element new joys reveal, My heart though not unknown to lighter mood Is all unused to this of gratitude. In other moments I have found the word Through which to make some deep emotion heard, Now falt ring tongue lacks power to overcome Its own incompetence, and so lies dumb. Not from ungratefulness, although I claim No more of sentiment than others name. From lack of rivulets to feed the spring Its waters long have ceased to purl and sing, 325 TO ETHEL. But now it gushes out in force anew ; That this is so, I render thanks to you. One sweet, good woman down my path has trod To make this barren earth seem nearer God. 220 DESECRATION. DESECRATION. Ferret them out ferret them out, Label the plunder and hawk it about. Dip grasping ringers deep into the dark, Draw from its cover each skeleton stark. Secrets, and papers, and letters, long penned, The dead would have given his blood to defend ; Xo incident leave to the mercy of doubt, Ferret them out ferret them out. This is the work for the daughter, the wife, Friend that the dead man has trusted in life. Each holds some mem ry of weakness confessed, Confidence given when heart was distressed : These trundle out for the crowd s curious eyes. If sacred the trust, then the greater the prize, Rest not in your effort till you have unfurled All that the dead has kept close from the world. 227 DESECRATION. Here is a page where his soul was laid bare, Every word wild with a heart s great despair, Penned here are thoughts that were never revealed While he had life and his lips were unsealed ; Locked in the grave, lacking power to protest, Quick-seized is the prize and for barter is dressed. Ye merciless Vandals with talons of greed Drag out his heart that the vultures may feed. 328 OX THE TAMALPAIS SLOPE. ON THE TAMALPAIS SLOPE. There s an amber light a-quiver on the eucalyptus trees. There s a splash of fiery crimson tints the wood. And the tiny brook speaks softly to the perfume- laden breeze That replies as though it plainly understood. From beneath the leaf strewn brush-pile there is seen a wary nose Peeping out in nervous caution and affright Ere its owner ventures yonder to a spot where breakfast grows With the dew left fresh upon it by the night. As a touch of quiet sadness marks the song the martin sings Near the old nest, long deserted in the glen. So do hearts imbued with sorrow ever turn where mem ry clings And in fancy live their happiness again. 229 ON THE TAMALPAIS SLOPE. There s a power that turns us ever to ard the helpful light of hope Though the chief est of our projects totter down, And my guiding star is yonder on the Tamalpais slope When I sink beneath the tumult of the town. 230 HIS ANSWER. HIS ANSWER. Do I love you ? I do, if distrust can be love ; If the fear that I feel when I press your warm hand That you d grant the same favor to some other man Were the time but auspicious, and I out of sight; If the certainty, here, in my heart, that your glance Will caress me then turn to some other, perchance Who has merited less what I deem as my right ; If the madness that throbs when I feel your embrace. And despair that o erpowers when I look in your face, Irresponsible, weak, vacillating, untrue If a certain contempt that steals into my breast When the overwrought senses are stilled and at rest Can be love, then, I answer you, yes, that I do. 231 THE GOLDEN GATE. THE GOLDEN GATE. The sun sinks low and the hour grows late, The clouds drift in through the Golden Gate ; The sea-gulls dip with a whirl and cry, They scan the earth and they scan the sky, They dart and whirl with a restless wing, Nor trust the song that the breakers sing; They know the purr of the mighty sea Presages acts of its treachery; Beneath the droning so soft and low They feel the breath of the tempest blow. A mother prayed till the hour grew late, " Bring my boy safe home through the Golden Gate." A troubled ship on the wave is seen, Her sails are bright with a silver} sheen, She plows her way through the salty deep, While mighty waves o er her bulwarks leap; 232 THE GOLDEN GATE. The tempest s finger points out her course, She swerves and follows with fateful force; She trembles, hesitates, rushes, dips, Her white-faced crew with their salt-washed lips Nor fear nor care for the wind-swept sea, They sleep the sleep of eternity. A mother prayed till the hour grew late And her boy went Home, through the Golden Gate. 233 IN MISSION DOLORES CHURCHYARD. IN MISSION DOLORES CHURCHYARD. What do they dream of down in their beds Lowly and still, With the echoless sound of the languorous rill Tinkling in cadences liquid and soft Through the night at their feet and the night at their heads ? Deep in the dusk of this silent spot What is remembered and what forgot? What do they hold of hope and regret, Laughter and pain Is there naught to disturb but the drip of the rain Stealing to cheeks that lie pallid and chill? What of memory clings where the soul would for get? Silent the lips where a song was heard, Silence where once spoke a deathless word. 234 IN MISSION DOLORES CHURCHYARD. This one who lies here, think you he knows Day is above? From the cypress near by come the notes of a dove Telling his passion full-plaintive and sweet ; Kind were the song if the poor clay glows Thrilling again to a love once known Ere the dark moss o er the heart had grown. Linger awhile and fellowship keep Him who is lone ; Here no trace of a flow r er or the mark of a stone Ventures dispute with the tangle of briars That speak hoarse in the wind of the one that lies deep, Wrapt in the dusk of this tranquil spot Haply forgetting, and long forgot. 235 THE MAN AND WOMAN OF IT. THE MAN AND WOMAN OF IT. "My vase is broken," she trembling said; The tears fell fast and she drooped her head "With tender touch I will mend it true, And make believe it s as good as new." "My vase is broken," he calmly said ; "But I ll buy another one instead; One just as pretty and just as good, And put it there where the old one stood." 236 WILL YOU RECALL MET WILL YOU RECALL ME. How will it be After the infinite pain of the parting, The tears and the sorrow ? After we ve crushed each regret at its starting, After the night of the old day s departing When dawns the tomorrow, How will the world look to you and to me ? How will it be? Will we forget Things we have loved and from which we must sever, Small objects of treasure. Dingy, dear books we have conned well together; Trifles of love we have kept through all weather That happiness measure ; Things over which love and labor have met, Will we forget? 237 WILL YOU RECALL ME? When all is done, When our hearts, quickened by stress of their aching, Prompt lips to dissemble, Teaching them smiles, while beneath hearts are breaking, Making them prate of the new dawn s awaking Then, dear, should I tremble, Will you recall me, when hope I have none, When all is done? 238 APOTHEGMS FOR THE IDLE. APOTHEGMS FOR THE IDLE. What were the summer, stripped of all its bloom What were the world, denying idlers room ? The serious faces of the spinners left Affrighting one another in the gloom. Who finds his work in life where pleasure lies, Who feasts, though he at last of famine dies, Can say that he has lived though he may hold No fleeting bauble that the frugal prize. Utility and beauty seldom mate, And he who turns the idle from his gate Perchance but cuts the lily from its stem To leave his garden bare and desolate. When indolence would plead its own defense Turn not away in pride of eminence; 239 APOTHEGMS FOR THE IDLE. The drone and worker find the common goal And lie in lengths of equal consequence. Withhold the condemnation that would fling The cloak of silence o er the hearts that sing, The word of cheer, though voiced by careless lips, Is ever to be held a priceless thing. 240 THE MISER S SONG. THE MISER S SONG. My heart is old, is old, is old. Its warmth went out with a dream untold. The blood drips slow through each mangled fold- I heal the hurt with the balm of gold. Of gold, of gold. My heart is old, is old, is old. Is hard and withered, and dead and cold ; Where once the blood of my pulses rolled Xow surges greed for the yellow gold. For gold, for gold. My heart is old, is old, is old, And dark and heavy as churchyard mold : For I, like Judas, have smiled, and sold My friend, and God, for a piece of gold. Of gold, of gold. 241 LIFE. LIFE. I saw a rose in a garden fair, A scarlet rose, that I longed to wear ; I begged that Fate would generous be And give the beautiful rose to me. She shook her head in assumed regret And answered, softly, "Not yet, not yet." The rose s petals beneath the sun Unfolded, tenderly, one by one, Its rarest leaves were at last unfurled And shed their glory upon the world; I asked again, but again I met The same denial, "Not yet, not yet." One day, the color began to fade, The scarlet turned to a deeper shade, The petals fluttered upon the air Its life was over, the stem lay bare. All through my life I have known the pain, The harsh derision of this refrain, This mournful dirge of a life s regret, This mocking echo, "Not yet, not yet." 343 FINIS. FINIS. Around was the evening s twilight glow, He softly whispered, "I love you so," Lip pressed to lip in warm caress, Qj Two hearts aglow with happiness. Over the hill in a churchyard gray The grass grows rank in a wanton way, The water oozes, trickles and glides, Round the husband s bed the earth-worm hides, The dank mold quivers on lip and chin, The worms creep out and the worms creep in. The bells ring out on the sunlit air, The bride is young and the bride is fair, The world is throbbing with love and life The bridegroom hastens to kiss his wife An ashen pallor o erspreads her face, The dead man stands in her lover s place. 343 FINIS. The vision is gone she breathes again, The minister says, "Till death, Amen." The dead goes back to the dead once more As far, as close, as he was before, And holds his vigil all grim and drear Till her conscience cries, "Appear, appear." In a cozy room all warm and bright, A cheerful sight on a winter s night, A whispering low, "Alone, at last," Is caught and whirled on the icy blast "Alone, alone," it whistles and moans And scurries away to the graveyard stones; It snaps the twigs with its chilling breath And dances the frantic dance of death : "Alone, alone," it hisses and shrieks The green slime freezes on lips and cheeks, Through the clustering curls, the mouth s wide grin, The worms creep out and the worms creep in. 244 LOVE S ABERRATION. LOVE S ABERRATION. She stands beside you but in spirit kneels And worships at your feet such love she feels; Her melting heart grows faint beneath its bliss And glorifies its weakness through a kiss. She smiles, and you from your exalted place, Bend down to share the heaven in her face. What subtle change is this you now behold ? What listless form your coaxing arms enfold? You chide that she is heedless of your sigh And meets your glance with cold and vacant eye. What have you done ? O, nothing much amiss, You ve called her Kate, that s all, while she s Liliss. 245 GROPING. GROPING. The page of yesterday how strange the way In which its lines were filled, How changed the import of the deeds we willed Seen through the consequences of to-day. The stone that rests upon the mountain-slope Is harmless in its bed ; A word is but a word until tis said, Then tis the avalanche that buries hope. We turn the thumb-marked leaf; our cares and strife That have so sore distressed We try to bury in a contrite breast And seek to write a cleaner page for life. But, somehow, when tis done and conscience wakes To run the items o er, We find the same temptations as before, The same backslidings and the old mistakes. 246 THE GALLEY SLAVE. THE GALLEY-SLAVE. To work ; to weep ; to struggle ; to endure ; To look through tears upon a life s mistake ; To feel forbidden pleasures tempt and lure; To loathe the ties twere indiscreet to break ; To gaze upon the coffined corpse of love With dry, hard eyes ; to drain the cup of gall ; No help below, no hope from heaven above, Just vacancy and numbness over all ; To have, to hold, to tire, and then, to hate ; To burn the heart out longing to be free ; This makes up life for that sad child of Fate Who mourns beside a cold, dead ecstasv. 247 BARRIERS. BARRIERS. Shadow thou art ; a dream of my heart Forever beyond me. I may not press you Close to my breast; may not love and caress you. The passionate glow Lighting your eyes gainst your reason and will Sent through my being an answering thrill, Transient and swift As light through a rift; Not until then could we measure the cost Eden forbidden, elvsium lost. 248 TO THE OLD YEAR. TO THE OLD YEAR. How privileged are you, Old Year, Behold, when life is through, You change the reading of your name And issue forth anew. The follies left within the past, Mistakes that you deplore, Are dead within their hidden graves. And visited no more. You snatch the rose from pleasure s bush Forgetting where it grew ; You keep no cup when it is drained Ah, how I envy you. New life comes swift on pealing chimes With smiles of kindly fate, Lo, through the holly s mystic fire You are regenerate. 249 TO THE OLD YEAR. I would that I might leave, like you, This body, weak with age, And as a child begin again Upon an unsoiled page. 250 A CHILD OF NATURE. A CHILD OF NATURE. On the mountain s crest, Where the eagles nest, I recline at ease, And my lips are kissed By the passing mist And the wanton breeze. Unrestrained I laugh As a draught I quaff From a rippling stream, And I feel the thrill Of unbridled will Like a sweet, wild dream- In the town off there In the sultry air Are the fools at work, And I drink their health In the torrent s wealth With a quip and quirk. 251 LIFE S MIRAGE. LIFE S MIRAGE. Within my bruised heart the night of life Let down the sombre curtain of the past Dull-leaded with despair ; Within the gray and ambient gloom Sat sullen sorrow : The blackest hour had come when, lo, a light Illumined all the barren, arid waste And Hope stood trembling there. I dared not trust ; I dared not lift my head ; In awe, I whispered, "What art thou?" She said, "I am the everlasting dawn Of life s to-morrow." 253 IN THE SHADY PLACES. IN THE SHADY PLACES. In the shady places. That the hand of man has not yet polluted Where the right of way still lies undisputed With the speaking wild, I have listened long to the distant reapers As their cries come faint through the flow ring creepers ; In the shady places. In the shady places I at times have knelt in my soul s disquiet With my blood aflame in tumultuous riot O er a stinging wrong : And the silence, keen to the grief I smother. Calms my deep distress like a tender mother : In the shady places. In the shady places \Vhere the fragrance, faint, from the moist earth rises 253 IN THE SHADY PLACES. And the winding path hides its glad surprises Like a sportive child, There I turn my steps when the world oppresses And I find the balm for my heart-distresses ; In the shady places. 354 THE POETIC CHOIR. "THE POETIC CHOIR." They, jointly in the critic s comment share, Co-working lest oblivion swallow all, And stand together neath the wondering sun Like severed fractions that are brought to bear In entities uniting to make one. "Thus," each has dreamed ; and, "thus," the dream was done, And, "thus," each praise to Eros has outpoured ; The theme is clear, although the text be dense, And needs no foot-notes where the burdens run, Unless annexed to palliate offense. Poor Muse ! When will a song transcendent rise To drown the carping travesties long borne, That shall with beauty hold the listener dumb And waft the winged word that never dies? When will a Closes to thy bondage come? 255 LEST WE GROW TOO CONTENT.. LEST WE GROW TOO CONTENT. Lest we grow too content, Lest the joys of the world make the pain of re gretting To leave it too keen, we have sorrows that, fretting Our souls with their cankerous gnawing, are given Lest we grow too content. As the pendulum swings So our lives, ever pendent twixt laughter and sorrow, Today swing in light and in darkness tomorrow ; The tears or the joys may be cut with the stroke As the pendulum swings. 256 UNCERTAINTY. UNCERTAINTY. Where will you be ; in the midst of the throng Close to the path that I travel along, Or aside in the quiet Shunning the echo of laughter and song? How shall I know you ; by softly breathed word, Thrilling the depths of the heart that has heard, Or by some subtle power Potent as hope held in longings deferred? When we have met shall we bury these years, Dead neath the flood of our penitent tears, And by tacit consenting Stifle the pain of our doubts and our fears? \Vhere I now wander perhaps you abide ; Or, you perhaps may have passed at my side And have called in your passing; You may have called, and I mav have denied. 357 FALLACIES. FALLACIES. We do the thing most foreign to our will, We rise in grief, and lay us down in pain, We crave the joy from which we must abstain And crush desires that would our being thrill; With fate we combat in unequal strife And call it life. We build a heaven where peace invites the soul ; And earthly dreams long merged in shad wy wraith, Gain substance in proportion to our faith As, sanguine, we approach the final goal To greet each ardent hope with bated breath, And call it death. 258 REGENERATION. REGENERATION. I know not when it died, this love of mine. Its life slipped out so quietly at last When all its fevered suffering was past And fate, full gently, cut the fretted thread. My grief was hushed as though by touch divine, And I could scarce believe that love was dead. Such pain it has endured and yet lived on ! It seemed that censure from unbridled will, Full with contempt, had lost the power to kill So long the pulse-throb beat with steady stroke. New crosses crushed the heart that tried anon To lift the weight and, in the effort, broke. Now love is dead what shall we do, my heart; Kneel down within the shadow of our grief And beg of heaven encompassing relief? Thus be it then our joy was dearly bought. From this dead life we ll let a new life start, Grown wiser by the lesson we are taught. HERE AND THERE. HERE, AND THERE. To be over yonder where fresh from the grasses The fragrance blows softly o er dew-laden hills, To catch the quick word of the wind as it passes And hear the low answer from murmuring rills, To feel the salt kiss of the neighboring ocean, To thrill to each pleasure that Nature can give, Ah, this is the acme of human emotion, Ah, this is to live. To know that the herald of day is o erflushing The meadows that wake to the glow in the east, That every soft cloud in the heaven is blushing Like cheeks of a maid from a lover releast, To cage up the heart in a smoke-begirt city And strive, ever vainly, to stifle its cry, Ah, this is misfortune deserving of pity, Ah, this is to die. WHERE ALL IS VANITY. WHERE ALL IS VANITY. How smiles the world where yesterday it frowned And spurned with disapproval ways and means By which we sought to have our efforts crowned. How smiles the world when we have found success, How servilely it seeks the master-hand When it has lost the grime of weariness. When heights are gained, when over tortuous ways Yet trails the smoke of hourly sacrifice, How trite seem plaudits and how empty praise. What voice that now approves but had assailed And cried its condemnation to the skies If chance had so decreed and we had failed? Where lies the joy to know, should fortune frown, That these who are the loudest in our praise Will be the first to rend and pull us down? 261 WHERE ALL IS VANITY. Thrice blessed he, who, in some lonely spot Apart from ways and mockeries of men, Forgets the world and is, by it, forgot. 263 A SPECTATOR. A SPECTATOR. Recalling all the sad, unfruitful years, The hopes long faded and the joys long dead, And pausing where the ghost of mem ry leers I drink again the gall of useless tears. An empty life, as rayless as that doom Which dogs the unbeliever to the grave, Or like those flowers that droop within the gloom To powdered dust on some neglected tomb ! One said to me: "My life has been as thine, "All aims were thwarted, motives misconstrued, "The cup held poison where I thought was wine; "I gathered stones where gems had seemed to shine "And had despaired, but voices seemed to say 1 The way of thy salvation lies in this, Take up thy cross, and so, from day to day, " Become more worthy of the higher way. " 363 A SPECTATOR. Thus each man has his concepts to defend, Each, groping, wraps about him some belief; On life we each a serious int rest bend All fearful yet all hopeful for the end. 264 THE ELUSIVE. THE ELUSIVE. I am that hope held sacred at the start Of love s desire ; I am that dream that fades, when dies Its smoldering fire. I am that sweet, evasive music heard Above the theme : I am the soul, intangible. Of things that seem. I am that subtle longing most of all Misunderstood ; That JOY men seek to hold within A jess and hood. Some bubble ever floats beyond the hand ; For which man sighs ; Some ignis fatuus ever lures, For which he dies. 265 THE ELUSIVE. Illusion all. No heart, that knows the full Of love most prized, But* still, close-hidden, holds some dream Unrealized. WITH LOVE AT YOUR SIDE. WITH LOVE AT YOUR SIDE. \Yith love at your side, You steer your small craft gainst a pitiless tide, You brave every channel destructive and deep, And laugh as the breakers in impotence leap And baffled, fall back. You can safely deride All impudent evil with love at your side. With love at your side, The darkest and narrowest pathway seems wide : The sober old earth and the gray sky above Is warmed, and kept bright, by the sunshine of love. No effort seems fruitless, no joy seems denied Who travels the world and has love at his side. 267 WOMAN S DESTINY. WOMAN S DESTINY. Man s heart s a vase and woman is the flower That sheds a fragrance through the passing hour ; She sees love turn to duty, illy done, Herself no longer wooed now she is won And destiny, in sullen mood, at last Conspire to write her name within the past. When youth and maid set out upon their way, Their faces turned toward the dawning day Of new born love, she striving to forget That o er another s heart their lips have met Some woman who, perchance, has heard his vow With soul as full of trust as hers is now She stills the errant thought within her breast And seeks to stifle doubts but half confessed. When dawn no longer holds the tint of rose And morning into noon of passion grows, 268 WOMAN S DESTINY. She muses on the times when he has kept Love s light alive in hearts now dead, unwept, And fearful lest she reach this common goal Close scans his face in bitterness of soul, Till in his glance morose, disconsolate, She reads the first prognostic of her fate. Poor, helpless woman, born to be undone, Butt of all evil, recognizing none; Men censure her for weakness out of hand Condemning in her that they most demand, Perforce she must pretend the thing she s not Until her soul rebels against her lot ; She calls, but lo, the gulf of sex is wide. And she, a helpless bark upon its tide. Like restless beetles, on a summer s night, Turned from their pastimes by a fatal light, Are women, battering their better sense Against established laws of precedents ; Though they succeed and gain the thing they will What profit it ? they re slaves to Nature still ; Their lot will be as it has ever been, To trust, to be deceived, to trust again. 269 YOU WHO LOVE ME. YOU WHO LOVE ME. You who love me, let me know it, Let your smiles and hand-clasps show it, Be not meager in your giving, Kindness makes our lives worth living, Youth is sweet and old age mellow Cheered by words of some good fellow. Wait not till the grave has bound me Ere you place your gifts around me, Little will I reck of weeping When chill death is vigil keeping; So, while skies are bright above me, Here s to those who show thev love me. 270 EARTH-LOVE. EARTH-LOVE. Tis not the saddest thing That we must one day lay the volume down, Its page unfinished and its aim unguessed ; The saddest thing is not Fate s sudden frown, And not the loss of something that has blessed ; Tis not the leaving of some love long known, Nor yet the dreams that have familiar grown And not within the grave is held the sting, But in the thought that this fair earth will lie Tomorrow and tomorrow neath the sky, As fair as now, indifferent to our loss. Sore need have we of faith to bear such cross. That ways well loved shall smile for us no more And yet remain in beauty as before This were the saddest thing. 271 A DAY DREAM. A DAY DREAM. Over yonder near the shore-line there s a sea-gull slowly flying, Drifting gently on the bosom of the land breeze from the hills, And he steeps within its fragrance all his senses, none denying, Till his brain is strangely heavy and his bosom, sweetly thrills. Over yonder near the shore-line I, in fancy, see the luster Of the ardent sunshine streaming on the hills serene, and brown, And my vagrant heart is resting where the redwoods thickly cluster, While my body lingers, helpless, in the smoke-encircled town. 878 A DAY DREAM. I ve a fervid, wanton longing for a spot I know out yonder, Tis a little sun-kissed picture that I paint when world-oppressed, And I dream that I through fragrance of a phantom garden wander Where, in fancy, I ve a cabin and, in fancy, am at rest. 173 QUATRAINS. QUATRAINS. Live not within the past; compute the cost Then burn, without regret, the bridges crossed. Sweet yesterday! A diamond past all price That slipped from out its setting and is lost. What one had plucked the rose if he had seen The thorns concealed beneath its tender green? What tears were saved if forecast could be made- Tears would be saved, but lost the joys between. Hold no regret ; what has been done, is done, Nor all the waters that to oceans run Shall blot the folly from a single act O erfraught with consequences we would shun. Quench not the flame because you feel the fire; Fear not to voice in prayer to-day s desire Because the answered prayer of yesterday Exposed the dross to which you would aspire. 274 QUATRAINS. Be not too proud in virtue yet untried, Chance may discover flaws that good deeds hide, And many a prude a wanton s heart has housed Yet lived in virtue and in virtue died. Before great Midas men as slaves kneel down To cry him perfect ; but, let fortune frown Lo, all turn scoffers where they lately praised And see but ass s ears upon a clown. How prized is gift of wit with which to lead And foresight to discern the prurient need ; But prestige oft sits throned on emptiness. The way of conquest is where vultures feed. Lift one above the welter of the sty, Drag one to dross of earth from out the sky, Each still himself remains through change of time Proclaimed by earmarks ye shall know him by. Who thinks that wealth lies in the vein of gold, And power within the royal ermine s fold, A child is who has heard the mother s voice But missed the meaning of the story told. 275 QUATRAINS. Think not to shirk the problems writ of fate, Apportioned labors lengthen by debate, Heaven tolerates no sluggard who has held The lesson of his life too intricate. WITH YOU TO SHOW THE WAY. WITH YOU TO SHOW THE WAY. With you to show the way, To break the path and make it clear of thorns, To help bewildered reason to the light, To set, and guide, poor blundering feet aright, With you as pilot, over any sea Not known before, the course would easy be; The world seems rilled with naught but what adorns, With you to show the way. With you to show the way How helpless and dependent have I grown; I fear to venture lest I stray afar And, wandering back to paths where sorrows are, Again be lost within their Stygian gloom. What weave the Fates upon their shadowy loom ? Must I, in some dread hour, walk on alone, \Vith none to show the way? 277 WITH YOU TO SHOW THE WAY. How, then, will seem the way? The flowers will all be dead, the birds all dumb ; The well-loved paths, close-hidden from the throng, Will all repeat my dead heart s funeral song. I could not bear to look on things once shared One may not go and leave the other spared, So, tarry but a little till I come And show me, still, the way. 278 ^L i YB I 1 877