Love's vengeance and other poems 
 John Denton Steell 
 
 of California 
 Regional 
 Facility
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 /\
 
 ]obn Demon Steeii 
 
 Illustrated by H. G. Villa. 
 Los Angeles School of Art and Design. 
 
 [SECOND EDITION.] 
 
 C. S, Sprecher Press, Los Angeles, California.
 
 Copyright, 1901 
 By John Denton Steell
 
 preface 
 
 / offer this little booklet as my humble contribution to the 
 literature of Southern California, It is my firm conviction 
 that this " Our Italy" as Charles Dudley Warner appro- 
 propriately named it, is destined, in the course of time, to 
 emulate its European prototype as a center of literature and 
 art. This, it seems to me, the incomparable climate of this 
 region, which enables the writer, as well as the artist, to 
 pursue his labors with almost equal comfort and facility 
 at all seasons, its many natural charms, and the generally 
 high order of cultivation prevailing among its people, bid 
 fair to insure. If I can contribute in ever so small a way, 
 to bring about this consummation, I shall be well content to 
 forego such advantages, pecuniary and otherwise, as a wider 
 
 field might offer. 
 
 J. D. S7EELL
 
 Contents. 
 
 Love's Vengeance: 
 
 I. tAt the Opera 
 
 II. After the Opera. 
 
 III. At Daybreak. 
 A Parting. 
 
 Query. 
 
 Passion. 
 
 What is Love ? 
 
 A Serenade. 
 
 My Love. 
 
 Los Angeles. 
 
 On San Diego Bay. 
 
 Our Dead President. 
 
 Sonnets.
 
 Cove's Ucngeancc 
 
 at tbt Opera* 
 
 see her sit in her stage-box there, 
 
 With diamonds gleaming on wrists and throat. 
 Reclining with listlessly indolent air, 
 
 As the tenor strains at his topmost note. 
 
 I watch her, hid in my corner here, 
 
 In the shadowy gallery, the furtherest row. 
 
 And wonder to think that a single year. 
 One little year, could have changed her so. 
 
 For, though scarce twelve months have flown since I 
 Was her favored suitor, I know tonight 
 
 All between us has passed as completely by 
 As if ages since then had winged their flight.
 
 The opera is over, the curtain falls, 
 
 The great throng goes surging towards the door; 
 And the dream that tonight my heart recalls, 
 
 Shall trouble me henceforth, I swear, no more. 
 
 For it is but fleeting, this jealous pain, 
 Half born of the music, the heat, the glare. 
 
 I am young and hereafter may love again, 
 A being more worthy. Fir not despair. 
 
 I will take my pleasure and live my life, 
 And yield me no more to a vein regret. 
 
 Who would foolishly keep in his breast a knife? 
 Since she has forgotten, Fll, too, forget.
 
 IT. 
 
 tbt Opera* 
 
 am siting alone by my hearth tonight, 
 In my costly robes, and jewels rare; 
 While o'er them the red flames are flickering bright, 
 And my wan face set in its dull despair. 
 
 I can see it all in yon mirror's sheen, 
 
 The glistening satin, the flashing stones, 
 
 My drawn, white face, and dejected mien, 
 And pale lips parted to utter moans. 
 
 At the opera I sat, but an hour ago, 
 
 And the music thrilled in its passionate strain; 
 
 And I smiled, though my heart in its terrible woe 
 Beat fast, and throbbed with a deadly pain.
 
 Scarce I noted the garrish, painteid scene, 
 Nor false, reckless Carmen's wanton, guile ; 
 
 For remorseful thoughts of what might have been 
 Through my mind kept thronging all the while; 
 
 And I heard in the music's pulsing swell, 
 As the plaintve viols wailed and wept, 
 
 A voice in incessant cadence well, 
 
 With a dreary burden of vain regret. 
 
 The memory of young love's raptures sweet, 
 That I ne'er might hope to know again, 
 
 Seemed to throb in my sad heart's every beat, 
 And like madness wrought in my fevered brain. 
 
 My husband sat near with me with maudlin grin, 
 I felt his hot breath on my shoulders bare. 
 
 Could a wish have slain God forgive my sin! 
 The man of millions had perished there. 
 
 In fancy another sat by my side, 
 
 With his tender smile, and glance so true; 
 
 But he vanished quickly, he would not bide, 
 And my torturing anguish awoke anew.
 
 I laughed, and talked with a careless air, 
 Of the heat, the crush and the donna's song; 
 
 While my soul kept wailng in wild despair : 
 
 "How long must I bear this? O God! 'how long?" 
 
 I saw, as I swept to my carriage, a face, 
 So woefully pale, 'mid the jostling crowd, 
 
 And a stalwart form, with its boyish grace, 
 And dark eyes glanced on me cold and proud. 
 
 I fain to my dear love's breast would fly, 
 But my husband's arm to mine did cling. 
 
 Ah, could he have known the thoughts that I, 
 His bride of eight months, was pondering! 
 
 Yonder he lies on his couch asleep, 
 
 With the flush of wine on his bloated face; 
 
 While I, his plaything, sit here and weep, 
 
 Bowed down with the sense of my vile disgrace. 
 
 I have sold myself for these paltry gauds, 
 And the weary round of fashion's whirl. 
 
 Ah, these are the gifts that a vain world lauds, 
 And that I prized so as a thoughtless girl !
 
 But now, a woman, too well I know 
 
 How worthless is all that I once thought bliss. 
 
 I would give all that wealth could e'er bestow 
 For the rapturous joy of my dear one's kiss! 
 
 Love, outraged, has wrought a vengeance sure. 
 
 He his venomed shafts at my heart let fly, 
 Where they rankling lodged, and naught can cure 
 
 The wounds they have made there till I die. 
 
 I must tread my path to its dreary end, 
 
 While the Fates my tangled life-skein weave; 
 
 And look to Death as my only friend, 
 
 For 'twere vain to strive to the past retrieve. 
 
 O God! how long must my journey be, 
 
 Through the desolate waste of barren years, 
 
 Where naught thrives but remorse's gnarled upas tree, 
 Whose roots are drenched with my scalding tears?
 
 1TL 
 
 he lies asleep, with red lips apart, 
 
 And rose-flushed cheeks, and her gentle breath 
 Just stirring the laces above her heart; 
 
 And I feel as I view her the chill of death. 
 
 Ah, fool ! I thought that gold could buy 
 That woman; now, I know, at fearful cost, 
 
 That only the casket, the shell, have I. 
 The jewel I sought for, her soul, is lost. 
 
 i 
 What profits it all, the ceaseless strife, 
 
 The breathless race for a golden prize? 
 We but lose in its winning the good of life, 
 That at last flits vainly before our eyes, 
 
 As the mirage's waters crystal clear, 
 And waving palms, in a desert land, 
 
 To the eyes of travelers lost appear 
 Dying of thirst on the burning sand.
 
 So the devil's juggling lies delude 
 
 Us purblind dupes who in them believe. 
 
 His glittering shams that at first illude, 
 Too soon we know meant but to deceive. 
 
 At his booth we barter youth and health, 
 The higher graces, true love's delight, 
 
 For his talisman, which men call wealth, 
 That at last works surely woe and blight. 
 
 I have given her riches, station, power, 
 
 And have decked her with jewels rich and rare. 
 
 But in vain these gifts I upon her shower. 
 They naught avail me; she does not care. 
 
 I dwell with her in this mansion grand, 
 Stored with all art's treasures ; yet gladly I 
 
 Would exchange with the meanest of the land, 
 For the love requited, gold cannot buy. 
 
 Last night at the opera she sat by my side. 
 
 In her languorous, calm, imperious grace; 
 In her violet eyes a look of pride, 
 
 And a faint, sweet smile on her perfect face.
 
 And the thought her love I ne'er could gain, 
 For one hour of which I with life would part, 
 
 With a pang of sudden, poignant pain, 
 Like a deadly knife-thrust pierced my heart; 
 
 While borne on the music's surging flood, 
 Came a passionate cry of vain desire, 
 
 That with love's fever thrilled my blood, 
 
 Till it coursed through my veins like moulten fire. 
 
 I watched on the stage the mimic show 
 Of a man through passion's frenzy whirled 
 
 In a seething vortex of sin and woe; 
 And at last to hopeless ruin hurled. 
 
 For me were but too dreadfully real, 
 The passion, the sin, the jealous rage; 
 
 Since all these I even then could feel 
 Within my bosom their tumult wage. 
 
 What torment is there in deepest hell 
 
 To compare with passionate love denied? 
 
 Through its madness history's pages tell 
 Men oft in blood their hands have dyed.
 
 And this primal instinct moves today 
 Our souls, as it did in times gone by; 
 
 And none can resist its potent sway, 
 
 Though through it life's hopes all shattered lie. 
 
 Who-so loves truly loves till death; 
 
 And I know I must love her still the same, 
 Till with my last faint, fluttering breath, 
 
 In fond devotion I gasp her name.
 
 a farting* 
 
 is well you meet me with a set, cold 'smile, 
 A word of commonplace, a frigid bow. 
 
 All is so changed in but a little while. 
 
 You loved me once, but do not love me now. 
 
 You fed the hungry monster in my soul, 
 Passion's fierce tiger till it tore my heart. 
 
 You of love's largess claimed the utmost dole, 
 Then cooly said the time had come to part. 
 
 Well, be it so, then. I will go my way, 
 And live my life, and if I may forget; 
 
 But can you look into my eyes, and say 
 That you can close the past without regret? 
 
 Have you no memory of hot kisses rained 
 
 Upon your lips, heart beating close to heart? 
 
 Can you have over love such mastery gained 
 That it may nevermore to being start?
 
 I said I might forget, but 'tis not so. 
 
 I love you now, and shall until I die. 
 The fire you've kindled in my breast must glow, 
 
 Only to breathe out with my latest sigh. 
 
 So fare you well, for though we part for aye, 
 You shall not have one evil wish from me. 
 
 But if you bade me now, I would not stay; 
 
 Since you have wished it, you are henceforth free. 
 
 Query. 
 
 hy seek abroad the flower of tropic bloom, 
 When here the lovely rose yields sweet perfume? 
 
 Why long in far-off realms to pitch thy tent, 
 When here a landscape fair yields sweet content? 
 
 Why yearn for other love, when one dwells near 
 Ready with all her heart to hold thee dear?
 
 y lady smiles up me, 
 
 With a smile so sweet and rare; 
 Her eyes are blue as heaven, 
 
 Like the sunshine's gold her hair. 
 
 My lady can coo and murmur, 
 
 In a tender undertone; 
 But my lady's heart within her 
 
 Is cold and hard as stone. 
 
 I smile with my lady's pleasure, 
 
 I sigh when my lady sighs, 
 And all my daylight brightness 
 
 I find in her lustrous eyes. 
 
 But I serve for Her Serene Highness 
 As the toy of a passing hour, 
 
 The slave of her wants and caprices, 
 The proof of her beauty's power.
 
 I know the fair enchantress. 
 
 I have fathomed all her wiles. 
 I know how false are her kisses, 
 
 How doubly false her smiles. 
 
 And yet, at my lady's bidding, 
 
 I dance in my silken chains; 
 Nor sigh for my once prized freedom, 
 
 While the wealth of her smile remains. 
 
 Alas, for a man's free nature, 
 Bound fast in so weak a thrall! 
 
 To give for so poor a guerdon 
 His life, his hope, and his all.
 
 Elbat is love? 
 
 h, what is love, my dear one? Love is fire, 
 Consuming all the soul with fierce desire. 
 All our life's treasure burn we on its pyre. 
 Oh, what is love, my dear one? Love is fire. 
 
 Oh, what is love, my dear one? Love i.s pain. 
 Compound of doubts, and fears, and longings vain. 
 Who once hath felt it, peace ne'er knows again. 
 Oh, what is love, my dear one? Love is pain. 
 
 Oh, what is 16ve, my dear one? Love is light. 
 Its roseate radiance makes the whole world bright, 
 Nor is it quenched howso'er dark the night. 
 Oh, what is love, my dear one? Love is light. 
 
 Oh, what is love, my dear one? Love is bliss. 
 No greater joy can e'er life know than this, 
 Two souls cominglng in one sweet kiss. 
 Oh, what is love, my dear one? Love is bliss.
 
 a Serenade. 
 
 low softly, summer-breezes, blow, 
 Breathe through her casement sweet and low ; 
 And through her chamber waft the scent 
 Of blossoming rose and mignonette, 
 Until in dreams perchance she'll sail 
 Among the spicy Indian isles, 
 Where bright eternal summer smiles. 
 
 Then, she mayhap might fancy me 
 
 Companion on a peaceful sea, 
 
 Wafted with her by favoring gales, 
 
 In fairy bark with silken sails, 
 
 To regions fair of tropic calm. 
 
 Where stately grows the feathery palm. 
 
 And brightly glow strange fruits and flowers 
 
 Among the ever vernal bowers, 
 
 While on the pearly, shell-strewn strand 
 
 The silvery wavelets kiss the land.
 
 Aty love* 
 
 cross the hills she trips along, 
 The sunshine on her golden hair. 
 
 With ringing laugh and merry song, 
 As blithe as morning, and as fair. 
 
 Beneath her jaunty hat her face, 
 Mingling the lily and the rose, 
 
 Replete with every living grace, 
 
 In blooming health and beauty glows. 
 
 The very flowerets seem more fair, 
 That blossom 'neath her fairy feet ; 
 
 A brighter glory all things wear, 
 
 The dewy morning seems more sweet. 
 
 I wonder if she dreams that I 
 Am waiting for her at the gate 
 
 To greet her as she passes by, 
 
 And tell my love, and learn my fate.
 
 Oh, if my hope be not in vain, 
 
 If I alone possess her heart, 
 What better joy can I attain? 
 
 What richer gift can life impart? 
 
 If I may take her little hand, 
 
 AT, emblem of love's perfect bliss, 
 
 Slip lightly on this golden band, 
 And seal our promise with a kiss, 
 
 Whatever grief or loss I know, 
 
 I cannot be of hope bereft, 
 Nor wholly yield my heart to woe 
 
 Since love, earth's sweetest joy, is left.
 
 los 
 
 ueen of the far-west land, rose-garlanded, azure-zoned, radi- 
 antly lovely; 
 
 On a throne of amethyst, gold-chased, emerald embossed, 
 Under a dome of stainless sapphire, sun-illumined, and curtained 
 with silver, 
 
 Thou sittest in stately majesty, with aspect benign and serene. 
 k 
 
 Thus thou holdest thy regal state, while day's light-robed spirits 
 
 attend thee, 
 
 Who for thee bright hued chaplets weave of fresh-blown flowers; 
 And the mild, sweet-breathed Zephyrs, fair daughters of old 
 
 Oceanus, 
 Fan thee with their downy pinions' gentle winnowings.
 
 Then, watched by somber vested Night, on an ebon couch thou 
 
 reposeth, 
 
 'Neath a purple velvet canopy, decked with glittering stars, 
 And lit by the moon's pellucid lamp; or when rosy-fingered 
 
 Aurora, 
 
 With her burnished, golden key unlocks Morn's jeweled gates, 
 By thy joyous choir's sweet, silvery warblings awakened, 
 
 Cometh forth, like a fair vestal, veiled in filmy gauze; 
 Or, bathed in blushes, smileth, while Eve in thy bright, flowing 
 
 tresses 
 Doth gleaming strands of rubies, topazes, and jacinths entwine. 
 
 Fair art thou, in all thy varied mood's, O favorite child of the 
 Sun-god, 
 
 Whose mother, Nature, hath with rarest charms endowed. 
 Her hand-maids, the seasons, diligent each in thy service, 
 
 To thee bear rich treasures from her plenteous stores. 
 Sweet, radiant Spring cometh laden with iris-hued blossoms, 
 
 To lightly strew, with lavish hand, about thy feet.
 
 Fierce Summer, her fevered brow cooled by thy fresh, balmy 
 
 breezes, 
 
 Embroiders for thee royal robes of cloth of gold. 
 Placid, star-eyed Autumn, from the fields of her bounteous 
 
 harvests, 
 
 Beareth in tribute luscious fruits and sparkling wines. 
 And austere Winter, thy charms to mildness sooths, rich, green, 
 
 silken vestures 
 For thee deftly weaveth on silver shuttles of rain.
 
 On San $fego Bay. 
 
 are today 
 
 slips away, 
 While I sail this rippling bay. 
 
 Calmly I 
 
 Dreaming 1 lie 
 'Twixt the green wave and the sky. 
 
 Debonaire, 
 
 Light as air, 
 Swiftly skims my shallop fair, 
 
 'Till the light. 
 
 Golden bright. 
 Glimmering, flickereth on my sight.
 
 In the sky, 
 
 Far and high, 
 Fairy clouds like snow-wreaths fly; 
 
 And I see 
 
 Endlessly 
 Changing views of land and sea. 
 
 Mountains brown 
 
 On the town 
 Silently are looking down. 
 
 Hazy dim 
 
 Blue hills swim 
 Yonder by the water's rim. 
 
 Loma's height 
 
 Towers upright 
 Like a sentinel of might, 
 
 Where his song 
 
 Loud and long, 
 Chants old Ocean grand and strong.
 
 Hark I hear, 
 Sweet and clear, 
 
 Gentle music strike mine ear, 
 
 As in rhyme 
 
 All the time 
 Round my bark the wavelets chime. 
 
 Oh, how blest 
 
 Thus to rest 
 Ever on the wave's soft breast; 
 
 Ne'er to know 
 
 Aught of woe, 
 Nor the false world's hollow show. 
 
 Or on fleet 
 Wings to beat 
 
 To some far and safe retreat, 
 Where arise 
 'Neath bright skies 
 
 The fair isles of paradise.
 
 The last ray 
 
 Of the day 
 Fades upon my sight away; 
 
 And too soon 
 
 The pale moon 
 In the darkening heaven doth swoon. 
 
 All in vain 
 
 I would fain 
 This bright, fleeting hour retain. 
 
 Yet once more 
 
 Yon dark shore 
 Must I seek. My dream is o'er.
 
 Our Bead president. 
 
 (WILLIAM McKiNLEY DIED SEPTEMBER HTH, 1901.) 
 
 no more of jester's jibe, or cynic's sneer, 
 Hushed are the jarring sounds of party strife. 
 Columbia's millions mourn beside his bier, 
 Who in our country's service gave his life. 
 
 In our great sorrow for our fallen chief 
 No room is there for rancour partisan. 
 
 This mighty people, bowed in pitying grief, 
 Own him at last the nation's favorite son. 
 
 'Tis not that at his hest o'er land and main, 
 On wings victorious did War's eagles soar; 
 
 And from the tremulous hands of ancient Spain 
 Her treasured jewels of the ocean tore. 
 
 Nor that through him our great republic won 
 In the world's councils still a higher place; 
 
 And laid on captive isles 'neath Orient sun 
 The strong dominion of our conquering race.
 
 But that, after long years of storm and stress, 
 He saw at length a peaceful haven nigh, 
 
 Where, with his dear companion's love to bless, 
 His final years might pass untroubled by. 
 
 And as, twice chosen by the people's voice 
 The guiding head of our great ship of state, 
 
 We recognized in him the nation's choice; 
 And so claim common interest in his fate. 
 
 When stricken by a miscreant's hand he fell, 
 A shuddering horror chilled each patriot's blood, 
 
 Over the whole vast land a shadow fell, 
 And rose the people's anger like a flood. 
 
 'Twas in our cause v he suffered, therefore we, 
 As with some dear one, shared his every pang; 
 
 And throughout his long week of agony, 
 Did on the tidings from his bedside hang. 
 
 And now that he, pain's weary vigil o'er, 
 
 Hath found relief in death's long, dreamless sleep, 
 
 In weeds of mourning we his loss deplore, 
 And o'er his hapless fate in pity weep.
 
 In this sad hour we know no thought save grief, 
 And execration of the fiendish creed 
 
 Of those, who to all human promptings deaf, 
 Inspired in maniac's brain this hellish deed. 
 
 In him, our martyred leader, now we see 
 
 But one who served his country well and long 
 
 A man of wisdom and integrity. 
 
 Who held his course with purpose true and strong. 
 
 The doom that laid him low in manhood's pride 
 Razed from our minds what in him seemed amiss; 
 
 In one great sigh the voice of censure died. 
 Drowned in the assassin's bullet's deadly hiss. 
 
 So on the marble tablets of his fame 
 No vestige now of blot or stain appears. 
 
 Vanished is all men might have counted blame, 
 Cleansed by a sorrowing nation's pitying tears.
 
 Sonnets* 
 
 eloved one, my spirit thrills to the, 
 
 As does the wind-harp to the breeze that plays, 
 Now sweet, now wild, discordant melodies. 
 What strain thou wouldst, that canst thou wake in me. 
 I am but that which thou would have me be. 
 Exert thy power, then, love, my soul to raise, 
 And purify, exalt, and not debase. 
 My guardian angel let me find in thee. 
 Then if my feeble songs can make thy name 
 Remembered, in the future men will say: 
 "Behold, this poet's lady did not scorn 
 His passionate love, nor brand his life with shame; 
 But from her faithfulness and purity 
 A nobler nature was within him born."
 
 he gentle moon controls the boisterous sea, 
 And leads his billows whereso'er she list, 
 With all his strength he cannot her resist; 
 And so, beloved, neither can I thee, 
 But still in all things must thy follower be. 
 
 And since by thy sweet lips my own are kissed, 
 Though far above me among clouds and mist 
 Thou shinest, still, O love, thou leadest me 
 
 Upward towards thee and Heaven. But I, alas; 
 Chained to the earth, can never mount to thee. 
 Though 'gainst the rocks my spirit's billows dash, 
 Beyond their boundaries I may not pass; 
 Yet since such aim I have, though vain and rash, 
 Not wholly lost thy truth and purity.
 
 How beautiful the full-orbed, autumn moon 
 Rising above the mountains ! First, her light 
 With a faint, rosy radiance tinges bright 
 
 The sky beyond yon tapering pines. Then, mounting 
 soon 
 
 In glorious majesty, while earth doth swoon 
 In purple shades of even', to the sight 
 Like a god's golden shield, she comes bedight 
 
 In all her pristine splendor. O, fair Moon! 
 How soon is lost thy brighter, richer glow ! 
 
 Yet shining with a purer, rarer beam, 
 
 Still soaring upward, thou dost seem to me 
 
 Like some sweet maiden's soul, while round whom 
 
 stream 
 
 The rays of dawning womanhood, from below 
 Borne to the heights of immortality.
 
 Thank God for every kindly human heart, 
 For every hand in pity stretched to aid 
 A suffering brother! Though a gloomy shade 
 
 O'ershadows our dark earth, while far apart 
 
 Among strange nations, do Love's couriers start, 
 And winging land and ocean undismayed, 
 Bear balm to those affliction low hath laid, 
 
 I can but think, O Father! that thou art 
 Shaping to some good end men's destinies. 
 
 Not vain through all the ages past have run, 
 Entoned by bard and sage, glad prophesies 
 
 Of the blest Golden Age. We see begun 
 
 Its glorious reign, though but by slow degrees 
 
 The dark world swingeth nearer to. the sun.
 
 PAMPHLET BINDER 
 
 Manufactured by 
 
 IGAYLORD BROS. inc. 
 
 Syracuse, N. Y. 
 
 Stockton, Calif. 
 
 PS