* ... UC-NRLF I ife Warburton Lewis 1 POEMS OF PANAMA AND OTHER VERSE Founded up on Adventures in the Wanderings of One of Nature s Nomads BY GEORGE WARBURTON LEWIS BOSTON SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 1916 COPYRIGHT, 1916 SHERMAN, FRENCH <5r COMPANY INTRODUCTION This little book is apt to remind some of us that time flies. Can it be near twenty years back to the peaceful, prosy, self-containing United States of the nineties? All the young fellows were read ing Kipling then, and getting the romance of far tropical places in their blood, and the wander lust in their feet. If a young fellow had the itch for writing, he got the brass band of Kipling in his style or what he hoped was his style. Along came the little war with Spain. What a brisk, dramatic little war it was ! Not much now adays, true, when war is made by machinery, with a card system. But it took the young fellows of the nineties away to lands full of color and strange ness, and opened up a new era for them and for us. It is good to look back, if you are old enough, and remember the spirit of that time. George W. Lewis was one of the young fellows out in Kansas. He must have read Kipling, for the brass band can be heard in his verses. And he must have dreamed about the far, strange places, for when the chance came he enlisted and went away to the tropics, and has been in the tropics pretty much ever since. First, to the Philippines, in Uncle Sam s khaki, where Life and Romance lost no time in introduc ing themselves. Lewis and a fellow rookie walked out to see strange Luzon, on a bright Sun day, and heard a smart pop-pop-popping some where over yonder, and the air roundabout became full of bees, and presently they woke to the fact that this was romance and life the little brown brother out for target practice, and popping at them! From there to China, and the Boxer re bellion, fighting shoulder to shoulder with Tommy Atkins, the Hindoo, the Jap, the German, the Frenchman. Then to the Canal Zone, of Panama, where he was a lieutenant of police, and followed the little brown wrong-doer into the jungle, there to be lost, and famished, and shot; and thereafter variously employed around the Golden Caribbean, until he became " Jefe " (Chief) Lewis, of the Insular Police of Porto Rico, a force remarkable for what it accomplishes with small numbers. This book of verse is a sort of by-product of a life full of pictures, people and places. Mr. Lewis has had the interest of a boy in everything going on around him all the time, and his eye and mind are as fresh as when he left the bottoms of the Kaw for Manila. Now and again, in Luzon trenches, or under Chinese pagodas, or out in the Panama jungle, or lying in ambush for a Porto Rican firebug, or watching the subtle under currents of Latin-American politics or intrigue, there have been people and pictures and places that became dominant and demanded expression, and he has put them into verse for his own en tertainment, with no thought of publication. Then came the idea that perhaps others might find something vital in some of these things, at least; for thousands of Americans have lived and la bored in the places where they sprang. So here is the book. It is a very special book, for special people, put out for those who know the author, and also for many others who know the ambiente. JAMES H. COLLINS. FOREWORD I have tried to write to the people With my heart in my driven hand; I have tried to sing my songs to them In a tongue they could understand. I have harked to the musical babel Of voices that sing in my soul; I have listened^ oh, how intently! To the lilt of paeans that roll, That my mind and heart might distinguish Through some wonderful inner ear The soul s broken measures and discords And set the true music out clear. If my straining ear has betrayed me, And my garnered gold be but clod I shall know, despite that, while gleaning I journeyed in Songland with God ! CONTENTS PAGE To PANAMA ..... 1 TROPIC VIRUS 2 REVERIE FROM AN ISTHMIAN CAR WINDOW . . 7 EVENING SOLILOQUY AT PANAMA .... 9 THE MAN-HUNT 11 MAIDEN OF THE CHAGRES 13 THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT 15 THE FIRE UNDYING . . 18 WORLD-WRECK 19 IN LOST MAN S LAND 21 LINES OF LEAST RESISTANCE 23 THE PARTING 24 A SHOOTING STAR 25 A MEMORY OF SUMMER 26 LEAVEN OF LIFE 27 THE PILGRIMS 28 FOR ONE EXILED 29 BORINQUEN DAWN 30 CAPRICE OF THE SEA 31 DOUGHBOY DAN 32 To COSTA RICA 34- SHIPMATES 35 THE HEIGHTS OF HERN 37 THE PHANTOM TROOP 38 To A WITHERED FLOWER 40 BEFORE A HAUNTED RUIN 41 To AN OLD SWEETHEART 42 IN VAIN 44 How WE LET THE XICKLIN IN 45 THE SCOURGE 47 CHARGING THE HILL 49 THE WONDER-WOMAN 50 THE DREAM-WOMAN 52 THE SEARCH BY THE SEA 53 MY PORTION 55 THE VAGRANT S EPITAPH . 56 TO PANAMA FAIR Panama, still do I love you As ere the Trojan blond man carved your fame With steel-tusked mastodons that hulking came To crunch and rend your world-old granite hills, (To cure you of some minor infant ills), And flaunt your freeland flag above you. Bright maiden, could I but adore you? For always through the merging mists of time I see you still as when Dame Fate sublime Unrolled her scroll and gave you unto man, A crimson, tiny inkling of her plan To glorify the land that bore you ! Proud goddess, the great may implore you, Kings lay their crowns in offering at your feet, (For each would make his kingdom more com plete!) But, child of fate, cleave to the Trojan e er, Though all the crowns in Christendom despair Of conquest, callous-kneed, before you. TROPIC VIRUS A BALLAD OF PANAMA OH, the virus of the tropics how it kills ! Oh, the madness in the brain its curse instills! Northman, know the potent draught that never cloys Know, yet sip ye not the poison that destroys. Man may laugh and mock at fate and have his fling, Though he knows that life is but a little thing Knows that one wry step will send him groping, blind, On a search for Something which no man may find. It was down in Colon town, then running wild, Where the painted Cash street sirens fawned and smiled, That I first met Wild Bill Ervin saw him tried In some hells where surest shots had drawn and died: Big Bill Ervin, whom the gods had nerved with steel, Made a tenement of tumult under seal, Fired with all the fires volcanic of a soul That could slumber, flame to hell-heat, brook control ; Ervin, whom the wiles of woman made a slave, [2] Glad to serve for love, or fight and dare the grave Gallant Ervin, who in love knew no retreat Save the kind that leaves a red trail down the street. So came young Bill Ervin here to Panama Hadn t meant to stay, but then a face he saw Whelmed his plans and drove him joyously in sane When his great heart pumped the hot blood to his brain; And Wild Bill dreamed love s dream, nor did he falter When a sweet girl led him, dreaming, to the altar. She had wind-jammed down from Bocas, on a dare, And she effervesced with fun, this madcap fair; But a Bocas chap pursued her to Colon. Just one man, a gambler, knew him called him " John." There was something strangely forceful in this man, That compelled you as but hypnotism can. He announced that he d come down to " get his share," And no gambler was his match in " Gamblers Lair." And he had his way with women, save a few, [3] And he won the hate of men, as such chaps do. Well, the devil had a nightmare, and was mad, So he sought those imps of chance that counsel bad And conspired to have the gambler meet the bride And to woo her and to win her to his side. Ervin walked the streets and waited, with a gun; " Spiggoty " policemen vanished at a run. There was wild anticipation of the fray; There are those who still remember that great day. Just at dusk the gambler sauntered down the street, Careless of the direst fate that man may meet. Wild Bill whipped a Colt s revolver from his belt, But the other knew the man with whom he dealt, For he shot his hands up quickly, with a smile, Whereat we who stood in wonder there the while Heard him laugh and drawl : " Just wait a minute, pard ; All I want s a chance to play the j oker card : You re about to singe yourself with your own fire She s common run up to Bocas and inquire. Just lower away this battery at my snoot [4] And ask your friends at Bocas before you shoot!" We who, spellbound, heard that challenge so uncouth Knew we needn t go to Bocas for the truth; So we sprang and caught our hero, as he fell Dropped sheer from his private heaven into hell! After that he sought the places least policed, Where the halfbreed crooks and cut-throats joined in feast; And the deadly tropic virus touched his brain And a raging tropic madness won domain When the passion love had laughed at wandered free And he did the thing that shames humanity, For he roamed the red-lit way where women wait And took him a turbaned " Patois " for a mate. Then he drank a world of whisky, and he died With but two or three old comrades by his side, While the goddess who to him had been so dear Pranced in lewd Cash street cotillons sans a tear. Over there behind the palms at " Monkey Hill " Lies Bill Ervin, Wild Bill Ervin, cold and still. Cash street music, ribald shouts and nightly din [5] Float up to him faintly as the trades sweep in, And the wind-worn, guardian palm trees sway and sigh Like gaunt sages, grown too wise, that long to die. [6] REVERIE FROM AN ISTHMIAN CAR WINDOW ALONG THE PANAMA CANAL IN 1912 PAST glassy pools that mirror back the clouds, Where wilding lilies flash and disappear, Past mammoth cranes of France in rusty shrouds Grim ghosts of hope that perished yester year ; Past jungle silences that wake again When wild things flee our engine s looming form Past places where the broken hearts of men Lie buried with the hopes that kept them warm ! Past side-tracked trains, rust-red, that toil no more, Inclined like men by misery made drunk ; And yonder by the sea s incurving shore The rotting funnels of some ships long sunk. In these same eerie depths of shadowed wood French legions essayed for a dreamed-of goal. They tossed the coin of chance in daring mood And Fate s fiends chuckled wildly o er their toll. Oh, weary eyes that closed on work of woe, Would it were mine to part the veil in twain, That thou mightst open on this wondrous show [7] And know thy sacrifice was not in vain ! Alas! brave men of France who toiled and bled, Thou couldst not turn when thou hadst faltered long, Nor ghosts confront in shrouds of rust and dread Where fears fantastic led thy feet awrong. We found French guide-posts where cadavers lay Gaunt skeletons of melancholy steel, Like stark and fleshless hands that point a way And beckon doubting hearts to woe or weal. . . . Ah, France, your fallen sons no more bewail ; Posterity shall view our work in awe. The hearts of hope for whom you blazed the trail Have reared a monument without a flaw ! [8] EVENING SOLILOQUY AT PANAMA THE sun-strewn gold-dust on a west-blown cloud Is swept from sight as by a magic broom ; Day folds tired wings within his twilight shroud, And yester moment s light is merged in gloom. Out from the vacant, velvet dome of night, As through an azure portal there ajar, With twinkling radiance the gods to light, Swings forth His Majesty the Evening Star. Low down as to illume my native spires, The North Star hangs his faintly-glowing light. How wan thy blessing from these frontier fires ; How heavenly thy homeland dower to-night! Square-trimmed against the turquoise firma ment, The Southern Cross rides like a phantom kite. Oh, for a stairway to thy low-hung shrine, My prim, bejeweled Empress of the Night! Close o er the mount where bold Balboa went, The Giant Dipper lifts his vacant bowl That yawns as on a ghastly mission sent To swallow up the combination whole. [9] Some favored seraph s diamond-clustered toy, The Little Dipper stares, unwinking, down, And bluely clamped above mad Morgan s Buoy, Job s Coffin dour bepalls the stellar crown. The cricket and the night-bird cease from song, A slow wind, moaning, drones up from the coast, And silence all unseemly and awrong Descends upon Night s multi-mannered host. A sullen cloud-rack northward flies apace, (A message from some groaning ship at sea ? ) , And as a veil drawn hides a siren s face, The Wonder-world of Night is lost to me f [10] THE MAN-HUNT FOLLOWING THE CANAL ZONE BLOODHOUNDS I SAT all night by a lonesome trail, While shimmered a crescent moon, With the jungle roof a silver sea In a land of cricket rune. I watched through the night with leaping pulse, For we guessed he d pass that way A man, twas said, with his hands still red, We d trailed with dogs that day. I watched the vanguard of creeping dawn Rout many a goblin crew, And my low-ebbed courage rose and laughed As the imaged things withdrew. They slunk like the souls of sinful men When God looks out of the East, They skulked away in the growing day Like felons new-released. I sat all night by a lapping stream, A molten and moonlit sea, Whose swirl had swallowed the scent that led, And the brutes howled mournfully. But dawn rang wild with a fresh-trod trail That threaded a mountain s face, And sullen men surged onward again And brute-wile set the pace. On, on toward the heights the whirlwind race Rived open the vine-locked way, Crashed panting through wildering mazes That roofed out the blank white day. Grew wan-eyed and tattered the hunters, Yet flagged not the pressing chase ; And clouds drooped low like a veil of woe To hide man s black disgrace. A granite crag on the mountain s crest Stood out over dizzy space, Hung sheer o er a canyon black as soot Fearsome and horrible place; And straight to this aerie of wind-whims, Of winds that now loitered to laugh, The blood-wild pack kept the trodden track - The hangman in behalf. A spent, wild thing that had been a man Crept out on the granite shelf ; Vaguely it pondered what lay beyond And oh, how it loathed itself! Canyon and chaos spread out below With for get fulness, sweet and kind. . . . Trembly of limb, from the granite rim The dogs peered down and whined ! [12] MAIDEN OF THE CHAGRES A SONG OF WOUNDED LOVE IN PANAMA JUNGLES SOFTLY still the palms are sighing In the lazy south sea trades, Faintly still a heart is crying From the sleepy Chagres glades ; Dimly as far echoes winging, Dying as but echoes can, Still the same wild song comes ringing Of a maiden and a man. By the dreary Chagres lapping, O er and o er she croons her lay, And her bare foot s rhythmic tapping Charms the lizards in their play. Untamed creature, wild and winning, Jungle flower so wondrous fair, Don t you know our world of sinning Down beside the Chagres there? Oh, of truth what joyous spurning By a trusting, simple heart ! Hope a-race beyond the turning That was vain before the start. But the brown foot, weirdly wooing, Where the waning flood-tides ran, Taps in rhythm with her cooing Of a maiden and a man. [13] Maiden of the Waste, despairing, Save your wild young heart its pain ; Maybe, down from far worlds faring, Maybe he will come again ! Idol of the wasteland winning, Nor were goddess of compare, Don t you know our world of sinning Down beside the Chagres there? Softly still the palms are sighmg In the lazy south sea trades. Faintly still a heart is crying From the sleepy Chagres Blades; Dimly as far echoes winging, Dying as but echoes can, Still the same wild song comes ringing Of a maiden and a man. THE KEEPER OF THE LIGHT HAVE you ever listened and held your breath When the night was still as the halls of death, And a throbbing sea that broke at your door Was bringing you memories o er and o er Have you listened as I, with each dull throb, To catch from the waters a broken sob? A token you knew you never would hear, Yet for which you d listened from year to year ! The wreckage of the ship that lost my Love I heaped and burned sweet solace ! here above ; And then my life was plunged in utter gloom. I went like one condemned who nears his doom. I learned a tongue that silence teaches all The squeally, squally things that fly or crawl. I loved to hear the night-birds mournful psalms, And watch the pallid moonlight on the palms. Ah! sometimes when the Southern Cross rode high A tropic moon would light this drooping sky, And always then I found myself how vain! Here seated, half expectant, ears a-strain; But dream-gods beckoned never from the sea, And so I put my hopes away from me. [15] And here alone lived I, but God knows how No pitying angel knew me then as now. One night those waters there below broke o er; Hell rose on earth in seas that smashed this door! But hope for me was dead out on the deep, So finally, things secure, I fell asleep. I dreamed here in this chair, despite the roar, That off the light a ship was on the shore ; And when I waked so help me God, tis true ! There stood an angel, pointing toward the blue. I plunged alone into an open boat, That only One had power to keep afloat. From Neptune s hoary clutch one soul we won She was a girl, a goddess of the sun, So bright was she, and fair, and warm her smile ; And, weary, ill, she rested here a while. Sped many days ere I divined the plan : Glad angels, loving as but angels can, Had thus implored the Master of the Sea : " To him, we pray, give one as bright as we." So on an eve of moonlight here above I told her of God s planning and my love, And when she raised her eyes and looked at me [16] I read in them a message from the sea. Her soul, alight with love, shone out, star- clear, And something touched in me a note of fear, For, true as I d suffered the pain, the cost, Twas slie my own -from the Land of the Lost! THE FIRE UNDYING SOMETIMES when memory s dying rose Puts out fresh petals in a magic way, Then does earth s gray perspective close For me; then speaks a voice that seems to say All o er again words fragrant still as flowers ; And once again the same dear eyes, The laughing lips that mocked my soberer hours, Conspiring in love s sweet surprise, Are near my cheek alas, now pale ! Save when that scented memory returns The tragic mind-man to regale With e er-abiding love that glows and burns As burns God s own eternal sun on high As love that, only with the soul, can die ! [18] WORLD-WRECK 1915-1916 THE bloated, one-eyed god of war Had flung his crimson banners far ; O er moor and mart and fertile field, That moiling nations might not yield, He d touched the tinder with his brand And, e er responsive to his hand, Had sprung ten million, fit and well, A-thirst the war-god s bloat to swell. Despairing Hope, a-top the world, Gazed down on mites that swarmed and swirled, For riot, ruin, wreck alert Whose standard was " the bloody shirt." The earth within, the earth without, Quaked with a turmoil wild of doubt, A tempest no man sought to check Of world-annihilation, wreck. And as the Angel of Despair Her pinions drooped in pity there, Repellent, dire, appeared the god, And Hope saw marked upon the sod Where grim the hoofed vandal stood Two cloven tracks dark stained with blood! Then fixing Hope with devilish stare, The god his hell-born scheme laid bare. [19] He pointed to the seething mass, Whose sires, long dead, had wooed this pass, And hissed with breath of forked flame: " Those millions now shall face their shame ; They with their lives and by their seed Shall pay the price of envy, greed. Each suckling babe of yonder ilk Shall drink of blood for want of milk ! " And as the one-eyed god spoke thus Of you and me and all of us, Hope saw the millions down below Spring eager for the studied blow Saw men all maimed by men s machines, Saw legions lost in sickening scenes Man s devastation, Man s desire Spectacle of a world on fire ! That man his own, at least, might spare, The angel would have asked in prayer, But lo ! Hope stood aloft alone, Above earth s vast, embattled zone; While down below ten million men Surged and recoiled and surged again; And nations reeled and nations fell, But all still nursed their home-made hell ! [20] IN LOST MAN S LAND STARK stared the waste in the furnace-flare Of the sun, as in blank surprise, And we prayed for water and gasped for breath As the fitful phantom of grinning death Danced monstrous before our eyes. Our brave bell camel, sent back at last, Too famished its rider to bear, Bore with it the maps of a region vast And some scrawled farewells that would be the last ! From three wretches thirsting there. And what of the countless fights we d won, Daring the death that stalked us grim? Not fights of folly for glory or ease, But fights that had blazed a way, if you please Though labored and long and dim. But all that our bleeding hands had built, And the much that our minds had planned, Was crumbling to dust as our bones would be As the hopes of those waiting o er the sea A message from Lost Man s Land. [21] And some day cities would rear their spires From this sand that burned to the bone ; And there would be water, and who would care That the bones of an engineer lay there As the city s corner-stone? Far o er the unwatered waste one day As the vampire sun settled red, A lone bell camel with death in its eyes, Groaning and falling and struggling to rise, Brought back the gift of the dead. There were not enough gold in earth, nay, Though of gold were the sea-sands bright, To dry up the tears of the desert s cost Or atone for the still forms lying lost, Alone in the desert night. But cities rose from the hard-won waste That fate dedicated to three, And children now romp in the sacred sand That is for the founders of Lost Man s Land Forever their tomb to be! [22] LINES OF LEAST RESISTANCE TO THE TROPICAL TRAMP HE followed the lines that resisted least, For some virus of hell had touched his brain ; He calmed his fears when the struggle had ceased, Mutely accepting his portion of pain. What spell of what siren his soul so cursed? What devil s enchantress thus lured him on? Nor passion nor penance nor wander-thirst Can ever reveal where his soul has gone. Damned to the region of torture and tears By the grisly phantoms he recked not of, And under the night-lights of wasted years Has perished forever his power to love. O friend of the days that are dear and dead, Comrade e er faithful when strong hearts were tried, Come back from that Realm of Unreason Dread And prove that the Goddess of Dreams has lied. [23] THE PARTING I WATCHED my mates right proudly march To swell the battle-line. Then I was " short," " light," and the like, But now the chance is mine ! Ah, yes, I know what going means The trench, the freezing cold ; Blood on bright blade and bayonet-sheen, And rotting back to mold. But I ll laugh at poison gas-waves That steal up with the dawn, If you ll keep on a-loving me, Sweetheart, when I am gone. I never knew the power of love Till you and England free, One loving, one in desperate need, Stretched forth your arms to me. We re off! On with the devil s dance! Don t, sweetheart ; please don t cry ; Your love and England s will be there Somewhere in France good-bye ! [24] A SHOOTING STAR LAST night I watched a little star, Which } T OU and I mayhap had oft surveyed, Hurled from its radiant throne Through unimagined space And plunged into abysmal depths undreamed, While in its wake an instant showed A pallid, pointing finger Across the stellar void. What, oh, might mean that wonder-work ef faced ! Out into vasty space Did I gaze long with troubled eyes To where that finger pale Had limned the chaos whither now returned What had but chaos been! [25] A MEMORY OF SUMMER You came to me when summer skies were fair ; Yet softly bluer were your eyes than they. The miracle of dawn was in your hair, And sunset s crimson on your arched lips lay, As though the Master Hand that them did tint Had solved the riddle that is in men s hearts, And pledged His realm to spare no pains nor stint Of glory that His wizardry imparts. But one brief summer was it mine to know And ponder all your marvels ere you went; Then, as each little joy preludes some woe, You vanished as a rose that leaves its scent. O evanescent flower of misty dreams, For me no memory blooms that sweeter seems ! [26] LEAVEN OF LIFE I KNEW her here, ah, such a little while! Yet always I have felt I knew her smile, Her ringing laugh, her eyes that worked such spells I ve always felt I knew them somewhere else. Of such a face I would I truth could speak : So much it charmed it startled, sooth to tell ; So much it had of girl s unguessed technique It held me wondering captive in its spell. . . . Ah, griffin days ! world-old, they seem to me, Yet she is here beside me now as then ! I stare into the vacant past and she Smiles back in token of what might have been. She lives, for aye, a memory apart One sweet regret that leavens still my heart. [27] THE PILGRIMS OH, for a glimpse of the trails we trod When our lives were young and our hopes were high! We roamed with Nature and prayed to God, And took our rest on the virgin sod, As summer hurried by. Ah, the trail was never too long, lad, For our hearts were full and our blood would sing. We dreamed the dreams of the youthful mad And thanked our Lord for the health we had For twas a joyous thing. We left those trails at the summer s wane For a home on the heights where Youth comes not. We passed for aye through the autumn lane We would have turned, but alas ! twas vain ! And sombre was our lot. Now the trails so long disused are lost, And the feet they knew have wandered afar ; The weeds and waste where the pilgrims crossed Tell now no tale of the journey s cost Or where those pilgrims are ! [28] FOR ONE EXILED SOFT, scentless flowers of tropic vale, Blown in the jungle wild, Ask of thy mistress in Distant Dale A pardon for one exiled. Guard thy sweet beauty for her as fair, Ravish her eyes as bright ; Plead for a throne in her gold-brown hair, Touch thou her lips but light. Teach thou her wonderful laughing eyes Each rare exotic hue, Pledge thou the realm of thy alien skies On the trust that guides thee true. Spare no caress of thy psychic art, Win for the doomed reprieve ; Turn back thy petals and bare thy heart, Wither and take thy leave. Gone is my herald from tropic vale, Riding a hope flung wild. . . . Come has a message from Distant Dale A pardon for one exiled! [29] BORINQUEN DAWN PORTO RICO A FLAME leaps out of the purple east When the sleepy- voiced night is declining; Then clad in vestments of fete and feast, The rejuvenate sun-god is shining. Dun clouds lift slow from each verdured hill ; Peon armies to market are streaming; Neath coffee-trees lurks night s fragrant chill, For the warm crystal daylight is gleaming. [30] CAPRICE OF THE SEA THE sea lay trembling like a soul afraid ; A great, gaunt bird careened and wheeled in air ; Into the sun I watched a far ship fade, Then I too, like the sea, was trembling there ! A fortnight winged away, and then at last, Adrift in lonely ways that seamen shun The splintered, slime-wrapt remnant of a mast! They sought, alas! but found no trace of One. Another day beside the sea I strayed; I walked forlorn and kissed a lock of hair. Then on the sand the sun a shadow made The same gaunt specter-bird was hovering there. So grim and gray this phantom looked to me My hands, a-tremble, dropped the wisp of hair, And as a wind-gust gave it to the sea The bird soared near and croaked at my despair. I went and sat where I had dreamed with One. Pink sea-shells drifted shoreward with the swell ; One, bleached, I chose, as I had often done, And lo ! her name was carved upon the shell ! [31] DOUGHBOY DAN Written after a night attack by the insurgents at San Fernando, Philippine Islands, when the author was a member of Funston s "Fighting Twentieth" Kansas Regiment. DON T ye hear the trumpets blarin , Doughboy Dan? Out o bed an into boots, me fightin man. In that flood o moonlight shinin There s a million Mausers whinin Somethin doin , Doughboy Dan. Can t ye see em in the moonshine, Doughboy Dan Each a patch o shadow like a picture man? Makes ye think they re only playin , Stead o killin an a-slayin Watch em careful, Doughboy Dan. Now ye re at em, chargin , swearin , Doughboy Dan; Keep your head an snap em runnin , if ye can. Gee ! how they do keep a-poppin Never slackin nor a-stoppin Hell ! they ve hit ye, Doughboy Dan ! Hike ye back to some " first aid " chap, Dough boy Dan None could wind his muslin on a gamer man [32] But wait there ain t no use to run ; Jes bring the chaplain, he s the one Ye re a goner, Doughboy Dan! Don t ye hear the taps a-playin , Doughboy Dan? It s the red tape end o ev ry fightin man How sort o still ye somehow keep ; Seems like ye re layin there asleep. . . . Good-night; sleep light, Doughboy Dan. [33] TO COSTA RICA O GALLEON captains, for centuries dead, Who guessed the golden way thy conquests led? Blest be the dreams this Eldorado won, Twice blest the fragrance of this summer sun. The blue soft beauty of these kindly skies Vies with the glory in the maiden s eyes, Who, coffee-gleaning, basket poised on arm, Hints at the marvel of her homeland s charm. O Costa Rica ! land of dower divine ; Graced of the gods thy every plant and vine; Touched by the magic of abundant yields ; Sprung from the chaos of embattled fields, Whereon now dream-eyed oxen fatly browse, Or love s young twain exchange their sacred vows. Oh, would twere fate that I should here remain, Nor be more favored than yon artless swain, Who, goad-stick wielding, guides his oxen on Sam dreams of greed or empires lost or won ! Alas for hopes that fire our hearts with zeal And drive us hence to grope twixt woe and weal! Yet backward on this Eden oft I ll smile, Where Fortune pampered me a little while. [34] SHIPMATES JACKY, the Sea Gull, an Cap n Moran Two little cogs in the great world s plan ! The Cap n ranked gold-dust while Jack rated sand The sparklin est gold-dust that ever was panned ; An Jacky lived simply, as deep-seamen can, Knowin one worldly idol ol Cap n Moran. Thus Damon an Pythias, after a plan, Was Jacky, fore-master, an Cap n Moran. In a fortnight s fog that had grounded her twice, The Gull rammed her nose in a wedgin o ice, Where she lay poundin helpless, her shrieks ringin out Like yells from the furnace they preach us about. Well, nobody knowed how the thing did bef all The seas was a-drenchin an freezin us all : " He s over the skipper ! " they yelled but stand by ! Jack leaped from the rail as they uttered the cry. Jacky, the Sea Gull, an Cap n Moran Two little cogs in the great world s plan ! [35] We laid Jacky peaceful in a cove by the Horn His life had been tuned to breakers fo lorn; An the skipper we draped in a casket o gold, To match with his nature so kindly, so bold ; An the battered ship Sea Gull, like some tipsy man, Staggered north leavin Jacky an Cap n Moran. [36] THE HEIGHTS OF HERN A PINK wild flower on the heights of Hern On the dizzy heights of Hern : Slave of a whim, of a dryad s whim For love had mastered and maddened him He balanced himself on the crater s rim, On the cloud-swept heights of Hern. An eagle wondered and watched above, While her laugh rang tauntingly, For he knew that men-things, mad with love, Reck not of poise nor perils thereof, Throw caution and care to the winds above, On the dizzy heights of Hern. A pink wild flower on the heights of Hern That lured in a wondrous way, And she, to try him and test his worth, Flouted his courage with mock and mirth Till tragedy grinned a-top the earth, On the bald, bare heights of Hern. And that was a hundred years ago, Yet the eagle still is there, And oft in his dreams he wakes and screams, Though no man walks where the rimrock gleams, For ghosts now lurk in the sunless seams That cleave the heights of Hern. [37] THE PHANTOM TROOP WHY scuttles the lizard in sudden affright From warring hoof-beats that wake not the night ? Why cringes the coyote from hostile array, To skulk with his kindred, heart- fearful, away? Why dies the cry of the whippoorwill In a startled, strange, discordant trill ? The ghost troop of horsemen is charging the hill! There, out of the night where the sage-clusters rise, As though strangely dropped from the vault of the skies, With never a slogan nor word of command, A white troop of cavalry shadows the sand. Grave-faced and grim, of aspect to thrill, Gleaming blades drawn, God s awe to instil, The phantom troop soundlessly glides up the hill. Now climbing the slope where its bleached bones were found, Stark, monumental, jutting out of the ground, The troop becomes riderless, crumbles away From scathing of foemen unseen in the fray. A victory twas for mind and will, For gods that tradition honors still, Whose graves are strewn on a lone, high hill. [38] When night s luminaries besilver the plain The phantom troop faithfully comes e er again, And ever as long as death s siren shall lure The spectacle direful shall also endure. Few but the coyote and whippoorwill Still witness the miracle, know the thrill Of that tragedy wild on a lone, high hill. [39] TO A WITHERED FLOWER IN a lonely, neglected bower Where Romance and Love abide, A poor little world-weary flower Has committed suicide! A creeper, neath velvet bloom drooping, Half-sadly essaying at mirth, Its lily heart broke with the stooping, And, with ring, it vanished from earth. Ah, long it had groped, tendril-laded To climb there was nought in that wold, So slowly it sickened and faded The world was so callous and cold; And finally, weary of living, And knowing that perish it must, It wound down its own slender body And strangled itself in the dust. Flower, would I had known thee at morning, Than when the gray shadows of Night Had cast their black pall without warning And hidden thy beauty from sight. [40] BEFORE A HAUNTED RUIN GRIM high walls, forlorn and old, I love you for the ghosts you hold ; Each tendril of your lichened shroud Hides some lost soul that cries aloud. Upon your time-worn face so gray, So mottled by earth s passion play, I read your tale of wraiths and bats And phantoms gamboling with your rats. Grim high walls, forlorn and old, I love you for the tales you told When, decades flown, your tenants gay Now mouldering where the ghoul-mice play - Gave ear to your horrific tones As in the night-wind wild your moans Rose like the wails of Death s banshee To chill the hearts of mine and me. Grim high walls, forlorn and drear, I love you for the sounds I hear When in the silent hours of night Men stand aghast in wildest fright, As ghosts from out their ancient palls Parade your long-deserted halls, And grin their ghastly grins to see Their haunts have made a friend of me. [41] TO AN OLD SWEETHEART night I rode through the chilling mists By the side of a sad-voiced sea ; And oh, how lonely my heart had been Had my love not come with me ! A lass of my nomad wanderings, Who had led me to lands afar, Rose up and raced o er Borinquen hills Abreast of my flying car. I stretched forth a hand as we sped on, But alas ! she was far away, Though she threw back a kiss in token Of the things she wanted to say. And once in the brooding hours ere dawn When my heart would have crossed the sea, I caught her peering between the palms As jealous as she could be. But oh, what a comrade she has been Whom I met under tropic skies, Who lured me out of the bleak white North By the spell of her wondrous eyes ! And oh, what solace and cheer was she At night on the battle plain, When after a day of blood and death We guarded the winrowed slain! [42] So dear, let us ever be comrades, Though the stakes bring us gain or loss ; Be thou of my fortunes the mistress, My sweetheart the Southern Cross ! [43] IN VAIN DAWN in the heart of the Haytian hills, Streamers of gold on the Haytian plain: Pageant of splendor that thralls and thrills Would all thy beauty were not in vain ! Flower-decked carpet on purple hills, Aster-plumes nodding on verdant plain, Drifts of lily-scent where the wind wills, Fragrant wild roses that bloom in vain. Indian summer on Haytian hills, Low-floating smoke-rack on Haytian plain God save the weak, for the fiend that kills Is sating his lust for blood again. Rivers of red in the Haytian hills, Wild roses crushed by the dead on the plain. . . . Glad land that the poet s dreams fulfills Would all thy beauty were not in vain ! [44] HOW WE LET THE NICKLIN IN THE key to Gandara was held by the foe, Her banks with brown warriors invested, And cut off from aid we d too long de layed Nicklin s march north was contested. . . . The comp ny was cheering; Samar heard the din The Seventh was marching to let Nicklin in. Gandara s flood raged like a demon possessed ; Our bancos forged on through the torrent, And now we were creeping twixt ambushed banks Where festered the vermin abhorrent. Crash ! burst from lantakas, strange can non of tin At last we were battling to let Nicklin in. It seemed that the thunder rolled low on the flood And the lightning ran rife o er the lea, That heaven and earth were in league to destroy And Mars was a-roaring in glee. . . . Bolos, scrap-iron and wreckage of tin It seemed that our Nicklin should never get in. [45] But the night and the fight kept a secret well, If they lost us some gallant men, For the roar in the dark and the belching spark A beacon to Nicklin had been. . . . Dismantled lantakas, scrap-iron and tin Lukban was beaten and Nicklin was in ! [46] THE SCOURGE Written during the Philippine cholera pestilence, To us it all seemed passin strange To see comrades goin down, An faces turnin purple That had been a healthy brown. Each looked at each, dumb, helpless like, Knowin what the Fates had done When they laid our cap n doctor Stark and still at Blockhouse One. True, another doc. was comin , But he d cert n y lost his way An a hundred men a-dyin At Daraga by the bay ! One there was who cursed the death-sneak, Brandin it with words that scorch Called it all twixt earth an heaven That can sear as hell s own torch. This was aged Sergeant Brennan He had lived but to despise Any form of grim disaster That comes sneakin in disguise. But at ev nin in the half-light, In the bamboo quarters there, I heard a murm rin sound an looked Ol Brennan, deep in prayer! [47] Thus we knew the grizzled sergeant, Ripe with doughboys doubtful lore, Had a heart behind his buttons Though we d questioned it before. An that night I dreamed of angels, Made of godless men at bay, An saw at morn a surgeon s ship Just anchoring o er the way ! [48] CHARGING THE HILL TWAS at our friend Meldonico s, Where the Shining Lights get lit, That the Kernel was a-tellin Of the fights that he hed fit. He charged a fortressed hill five times, And ever it seemed queerer Each time the plucky Kernel charged, He got a little nearer! The waiter wisely brought more grape, And when it ceased its fizzin The Kernel, loaded, waved his chair, At last the hill was his n ! [49] THE WONDER-WOMAN To my lonely Caribe island Came a woman, wonder-woman; Came a woman out of Smile-land That, I thought, was more than human. Mind no man could meet or measure, Lips that lured while they forbade; Eyes that reigning queens would treasure Witch s eyes, that drove you mad. Athlete, madcap, princess, preacher, Whom no mental probe could gauge; Queerly paradoxic creature Whose anomalies were " the rage." Yearned I for her brilliant flashes, Gasped I at her play with men ; She could walk through death and ashes Where their blithest hopes had been. But the law of love s equation On this shining, shallow ball, Flouted my insane persuasion And adjusted things for all. Once in France I caught her sighing: " Oh, if only he were here ! " " Here am I," quoth I, replying, " I will guard you have no fear ! " [50] I said, " Why not hunt a preacher, dearest ? " Smiling fondly through glad tears, " Can t ; " the charmer laughed her queerest ; " I ve been married -fifteen years! " [51] THE DREAM-WOMAN AFTER all my years of despairing, When the colors of life had run gray, A woman from distant shores faring Invaded my world one day. I had hoped but hardly expected That Dan Cupid might thus stack the cards - Provide for me whom he d neglected, That she and I might be pards. And this was my dream-girl I knew it ; She was all that a woman could be. I dreamed of her when I could do it And she, I knew, dreamed of me. One night while the gray world was dozing Matters reached an embarrassing pause. Bent-kneed, I was fiercely proposing " You re dreaming! " she cried. And I was! [52] THE SEARCH BY THE SEA An application of Poe s unique style, as interpreted by the author. DOWN here by the scintillant, sorrowful sea I come to commune with a soul that is free Child-soul that is free. I watch here, O triumphant, traitorous sea, And marvel that ever such monster could be, Though friends once were we. Give me back, ocean, one lock of brown hair, Glad token of soul-love to soothe this despair From her prisoned there. Mid shell-ruck and pebbles, O surf of the sea, Your fingers are seeking some message for me That much I can see. How changeful, how mood-mad this wreck- littered shore! I never saw seaweed drift in here before No, never before. Ah, sea, you ve remembered; we used to be friends ; You broke faith, you traitor, but this makes amends, Yes, this makes amends. [53] And kneeling, I rob from the lolling sea s lair A great, burnished skein of salt-crusted brown hair O beautiful hair ! O clinging, bright-shining entwinement of brown Sweet message of love that the sea could not drown ! Message from Heaven, Sorrow to leaven, Sent down! [54] MY PORTION I SEEK naught save to win the love of all man kind To know at last that I leave else than gold behind, To feel, as lulled to sleep by earth s last soft refrain, That by some act my life was not quite all in vain, To know that on Hope s tablet here I left some message graved, To know that I, in all the years, a single soul have saved ! [55] THE VAGRANT S EPITAPH * " Change was his mistress, chance his counselor, Love could not keep him, duty forged no chain ; The wide seas and the mountains called to him, And gray dawns saw his camp fires in the rain. " Dear hands might beckon, aye, but he must go ; Revel might hold him for a little space, But, turning past the laughter and the lamps, His eyes must ever catch the luring face. " Dear eyes might question, yea, and melt again, Sweet lips aquiver, silently implore; But ever he must turn his fateful head, And hear the other summons at the door. " Change was his mistress, chance his counselor, The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail ; Why tarries he to-day? And yesternight Adventure lit her stars without avail." Author unknown. [56] AN INITIAL " ,*A?2S WILL. BE ASSESSED F ^ _. _ DrrKIAI . TY BOOK ON PENALTY LD 2l-50m-8, 32 YB 76382 346456 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY