r^S5^^^2^5^ Wk SONGS, LEGENDS AND BALLADS. BY JOHN BOYLE 0'REILLY„ Seventh Edition. BOSTOIT: THE PILOT PUBLISHING COMPAN'Y, 1890. CopvRiGnT, 1880, By Joius BovLE O'Reilly. c < « «, TO My Dear Wife, WHOSE RARE AND LOVING JUDGMENT HAS BEEN A STANDARD I HAVE TRIED TO REACH, I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 292134 Songs, Legends, and Ballads. CONTENTS. Pagk. The Rainbow's Treasure i At Best 3 Macarius the Monk 4 The Trial of the Gods 7 The Shadow 11 The Value of Gold 12 Peace and Pain 14 A Seed 15 Chunder Ali's Wife 16 A Kiss 19 Bone and Sinew and Brain 20 To-Day 23 My Native Land 25 There is Blood on the Earth 27 The Ride of Collins Graves 29 Star-Gazing 33 Dolores 37 Love, and Be Wise 39 Resurgite! — June, 1877 41 Rules of the Road .44 Forever 46 The Loving Cup of the Papyrus 48 The Treasure of Abram 51 The Last of the Narwhale . . . . . . • 58 Dying in Harness C7 Golu 70 Under the River 72 Hidden Sins 73 Vlll CONTENTS. PvGF.. Unspoken Words 75 The Poison Flower 77 My Mother's Memory 79 The Old School Clock ........ So Mary S3 Legend of the Llessed Virgin S5 The Loss of the Emigrants £S Withered Snowdrops 91 Wail of Two Cities 94 The Fishermen of Wexford 97 The Feast of the Gael 104 At Fredericksburg. — Dec. 13, 1S62 109 The Priests of Ireland 116 Released — January, 1878 123 The Patriot's Grave 127 John Mitchel 135 A Nation's Test 138 The Flying Dutchman 149 Uncle Ned's Tales — An Old Dragoon's Story 161 How the Flag was Saved iSo Haunted ey Tigers 19S Western Australia 215 The Dukite Snake 21S The Monster Diamond 22S The Dog Guard 237 The Amber Whale 247 The King of the Vasse 271 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE RAINBOW'S TREASURE. XT 7'HERE the foot of the rainbow meets the ^ field, And the grass resplendent glows, The earth will a precious treasure yield, So the olden story goes. In a crystal cup are the diamonds piled For him who can swiftly chase Over torrent and desert and precipice wild, To the rainbow's wandering base. There were two in the field at work, one day, Two brothers, who blithely sung, When across their valley's deep-winding way The glorious arch was flung 1 2 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And one saw naught but a sign of rain, And feared for his sheaves unbound ; And one is away, over mountain and plain, Till the mystical treasure is found I Through forest and stream, in a blissful dream. The rainbow lured him on ; With a siren's guile it loitered awhile, Then leagues away was gone. Over brake and brier he followed fleet ; The people scoffed as he passed ; But in thirst and heat, and with wounded feet. He nears the prize at last. It is closer and closer — he wins the race — One strain for the goal in sight : Its radiance falls on his yearning face — The blended colors unite ! He laves his brow in the iris beam — He reaches Ah woe I the sound From the misty gulf where he ends his dream. And the crystal cup is found ! AT BEST. 'Tis the old, old story : one man will read His lesson of toil in the sky ; While another is blind to the present need, But sees with the spirit's eye. You may grind their souls in the self-same mill, You may bind them, heart and brow ; But the poet will follow the rainbow still, And his brother will follow the plough. AT BEST. T HE faithful helm commands the keel. From port to port fair breezes blow ; But the ship must sail the convex sea. Nor may she straighter go. So, man to man ; in fair accord. On thought and will, the winds may wait ; But the world will bend the passing word. Though its shortest course be straight. SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. From soul to soul the shortest line At best will bended be : The ship that holds the straightest course Still sails the convex sea. MACARIUS THE MONK. TN the old days, while yet the Church was young, And men believed that praise of God was sung In curbing self as well as singing psalms, There lived a monk, Macarius by name, A holy man, to whom the faithful came With hungry hearts to hear the wondrous TTord. In sight of gushing springs and sheltering palms, He dwelt within the desert : from the marsh lie drank the brackish water, and his food Was dates and roots, — and all his rule was harsh, For pampered flesh in those days warred with go(jd. MACARIUS THE MONK. 5 From those who came in scores a few there were Who feared the devil more than fast and prayer, And these remained and took the hermit's vow. A dozen saints there grew to be ; and now Macarius, happy, lived in larger care. He taught his brethren all the lore he knew, And as they learned, his pious rigors grew. His whole intent was on the spirit's goal : He taught them silence — words disturb the soul : He warned of joys, and bade them pray for sorrow. And be prepared to-day for death to-morrow To know that human life alone was given To prove the souls of those who merit heaven ; He bade the twelve in all things be as brothers, And die to self, to live and work for others. "For so," he said, "we save our love and labors. And each one gives his own and takes his neighbor's." Thus long he taught, and while they silent heard, Ele prayed for fruitful &oil to hold the Word. 6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. One day, beside the marsh they labored long, — For worldly work makes sweeter sacred song, — And when the cruel sun made hot the sand, And Afric's gnats the sweltering face and hand Tormenting stung, a passing traveller stood And watched the workers by the reeking flood. Macarius, nigh, with heat and toil was faint ; The traveller saw, and to the suffering saint A bunch of luscious grapes in pity threw. Most sweet and fresh and fair they were to view, A generous cluster, bursting-rich with wine. Macarius longed to taste. "The fruit is mine," He said, and sighed ; "but I, who daily teach, Feel now the bond to practise as I preach." He gave the cluster to the nearest one. And with his heavy toil went patient on. As one athirst will greet a flowing brim. The tempting fruit made moist the mouth of him Who took the gift ; but in the yearning eye Eose brighter light : to one whose lip was dry He gave the grapes, and bent him to his spade. THE TRIAL OF THE GODS. 7 And he who took, unknown to any other, The sweet refreshment handed to a brother. And so, from each to each, till round was made The ch'cuit wholly — when the grapes at last, Untouched and tempting, to Macarius passed. ''Now God be thanked !" he cried, and ceased his toil ; "The seed was good, but better was the soil. My brothers, join with me to bless the day." But, ere they knelt, he threw the grapes away. THE TRIAL OF THE GODS. " Ox a regular division of the [Roman] Senate, Jupiter was condemned and degraded by the sense of a very large major- ity." — Gibbon'' s Decline and Fall. "^TEVER nobler was the Senate, Never grander the debate : Rome's old gods are on their trial By the judges of the state ! 8 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND, BALLADS. Torn by warring creeds, the Fathers Urge to-day the question home — " Whether Jupiter or Jesus Shall be God henceforth in Rome?" Lo, the scene ! In Jove's own temple, As of old, the Fathers meet; Through the porch, to hear the speechesj Press the people from the street. Pontiffs, rich with purple vesture, Pass from senate chair to chair ; Learned augurs, still as statues — Voiceless statues, too — are there; Vestal virgins, white with terror, Mutely asking — what has come ? What new light shall turn to darkness Vesta's holy fire in Rome ? Answer, Quindecemvirs ! Surely, Of this wondrous Nazarene Ye must know, who keep the secrets Of the prophet Sibylliue? THE TRIAL OF THE GODS. Nay, no word ! Here stand the Flamens : Have ye read the omens, priests? Slain the victims, white and sable. Scanned the entrails of the beasts? Priest of Pallas, see ! the peoiJio Ask for oracles to-day : Silent ! Priests of Mars and Venus? Lo, they turn, dumb-lipped, away I Priest of Jove ? Flamen dialis ! Here in Jove's own temple meet In debate the Roman Senate, And Jove's priest with timid feet Stands bevond the altar railin"^ ! Gods, I feel ye frown above ! In the shadow of Jove's altar Men defy the might of Jove I Treason riots in the temple At the sacrilege profound : Virgins mocked, and augurs banished, And divinities discrowned I lO SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Hush ! Old Rome herself appeareth, Pleadins: for the ancient faith : Urging all her by-gone glory — That to change the old were death. Rudely answer the patricians, Scoffing at the time-worn snare : Twice a thousand years of sacrifice Have melted into air ; Twice a thousand years of worship Have bitterly sufficed To prove there is no Jupiter ! The Senate votes for Christ I Not aimless is the story, The moral not remote : For still the gods are questioned, And still the Senates vote. Men sacrifice to Venus ; To Mars are victims led ; And Mercury is honored still ; And Bacchus is not dead ; — THE SHADOW. II But these are minor deities That cling to human sight : Our twilight they — but Eight and Wrong Are clear as day and night. We know the Truth : but falsehood With our lives is so inwove — Our Senates vote down Jesus As old Rome degraded Jove I THE SHADOW. '' I ^HERE is a shadow on the sunny wall, Dark and forbidding, like a bode of ill ; Go, drive it thence. Alas, such shadows fall From real things, nor may be moved at will. There is a shadow on my heart to-daj^ A cloudy grief condensing to a tear : Alas, I cannot drive its gloom away — Some sin or sorrow casts the shapeless fear. 12 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE VALUE OF GOLD. npiIEEE may be standard weight for precious metal, But deeper meaning it must ever hold ; Thank God, there are some things no law can settle, And one of these — the real worth of srold. The stamp of king or crown has common power To hold the traffic-value in control ; Our coarser senses note this worth — the lower; The hiirher comes from senses of the soul. This truth we find not in mere warehouse learning — The value varies with the hands that hold ; The worth depends upon the mode of earning; And this man*s copper equals that man's gold. With empty heart, and forehead lined with scheming. Men's sin and sorrow have been that man*s gain ; THE VALUE OF GOLD. 1 3 But this man's heart, with rich emotions teeming, ]Makes fine the gold for which he coins his brain. But richer still than gold from upright labor — The only gold that should have standard price — Is the poor earning of our humble neighbor, Whose every coin is red with sacrifice. Mere store of money is not wealth, but rathei The proof of poverty and need of bread. Like men themselves is the bright gold they gather ' It may be living, or it may be dead. It may be filled with love and life and vigor, To guide the wearer, and to cheer the way ; It may be corpse-like in its weight and rigor, Bending the bearer to his native clay. There is no comfort but in outward showing In all the servile homage paid to dross ; Better to heart and soul the silent knowing Our little store has not been gained by loss. 14 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. PEACE AND PAIN. T^RE day and night are symbols of creation, And each has part in all that God has made ; There is no ill without its compensation, And life and death are only light and shade. There never beat a heart so base and sordid But felt at times a sympathetic glow ; There never lived a virtue unrewarded, Nor died a vice without its meed of woe. In this brief life despair should never reach us ; The sea looks wide because the shores are dim ; The star that led the Magi still can teach us The way to go if we but look to Him. And as we wade, the darkness closing o'er us, The hungry waters surging to the chin, Our deeds will rise like stepping-stones before us — The good and bad — for we may use the sin. A SEED. 15 A sin of youth, atoned for and forgiven, Takes on a virtue, if we choose to find : When clouds across our onward path are driven, We still may steer by its pale light behind. A sin forgotten is in part to pay for, A sin remembered is a constant gain : Sorrow, next joy, is what we ought to pray forj As next to peace we profit most from pain. A SEED. A KINDLY act is a kernel sown, That will grow to a goodly tree, Shedding its fruit when time has flown Down the gulf of eternity. 1 6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. OHUNDER ALI'S WIFE. FROM THE HIXDOSTANEE. " T AM poor," said Chunder Ali, while the Man- darin above him Frowned in supercilious anger at the dog who dared to speak ; *' I am friendless and a Hmdoo : such a one meets few to love him Here in China, where the Hindoo finds the truth alone is weak. I have naught to buy your justice ; were I wise, I had not striven. Speak your judgment ; " and he crossed his arms and bent his quivering face. CHUNDER ALI'S WIFE. 1/ Heard he then the unjust sentence : all his goods and gold were given To another, and he stood alone, a beggar in the place. And the man who bought the judgment looked in triumph and derision At the cheated Hindoo merchant, as he rubbed liis hands and smiled At the whispered gratulation of his friends, and at the vision Of the more than queenly dower for Ahmeer, his only child. Fair Ahmeer, who of God's creatures was the only one who loved him. She, the diamond of his treasures, the one lamb within his fold, She, whose voice, like her dead mother's, was the only power that moved him, — She would praise the skill that gained her all this Hindoo's silk and gold. And the old man thanked Confucius, and the judge, and him who pleaded. l8 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. But why falls this sudden silence ? why does each one hold his hreath ? Every eye turns on the Hindoo, who before was all unheeded, And in wond'ring expectation all the court grows still as death. Not alone stood Chunder Ali : by his side Ahmeer was standing, And his brown hand rested lightly on her shoulder as he smiled At the sweet young face turned toward him. Then the father's voice commanding Fiercely bade his daughter to him fi'om the dog whose touch defiled. But she moved not, and she looked not at her father or the others As she answered, with her eyas upon the Hindoo's noble face : " Nay, my father, he defiles not : this kind arm above all others Is my choosing, and forever by his side shall be my place. A KISS. 19 When you knew not, his clear hand had given many a sweet love-token, He had gathered all my heartstrings and had bound them round his life ; Yet you tell me he defiles me ; nay, my father, you have spoken In your anger, and not knowing I was Chunder All's wife." A KISS. T OYE is a plant with double root, And of strange, elastic power : Men's minds are divided in naming the fruit, But a kiss is only the flower. 20 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. BONE AND SINEW AND BRAIN- '\7'E wbite-maned waves of the Western Sea. That ride and roll to the strand, Ye strong-winged birds, never forced a-lee By the gales that sweep toward land, Ye are symbols of death, and of hope that saves, As ye swoop in your strength and grace. As ye roll to the land like the billowed graves Of a past and puerile race. Cry, "Presto, change ! " and the lout is lord, With his vulgar blood turned blue ; Go dub your knight with a slap of a sword, As the kings in Europe do ; Go grade the lines of your social mode As 3^ou grade the palace wall, — The people forever to bear the load, And the gilded vanes o'er all. BONE AND SINEW AND BRAIN. 21 But the human blocks will not lie as still As the dull foundation-stones, But will rise, like a sea, with an awful will, And ingulf the golden thrones ; For the days are gone when a special race Took the place of the gilded vane ; And the merit that mounts to the highest place Must have bone and sinew and bram. Let the cant of " the march of mind " be heard, Of the time to corae, when man Shall lose the mark of his brawn and l)eard In the future's levelling plan : 'Tis the dream of a mind eifeminate, The whine for an easy crown ; There is no meed for the good and great In the weakling's levelling down. A nation's boast is a nation's bone, As well as its might of mind ; And the culture of either of these alone Is the doom of a nation signed. 22 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. I>nt the cant of the ultra-suasion school Uu si news the hand and thigh, And preaches the creed of the weak to rule, And the strong to strusfofle and die. Our schools are spurred to the fatal race, As if health were the nation's sin. Till the head grows large, and the vampire face Is gorged on the limbs so thin. Our women have entered the abstract fields. And avaunt with the child and home : While the rind of science a pleasure yields Shall they care for the lives to come ? And they ape the manners of manly times In their sterile and worthless life. Till the man of the future ausrments his crimes T^ith a raid for a Sabine wife. IIo, white-maned waves of the Western Sea, That ride and roll to the strand ! Hr, strong-winged birds, never blown a-lee By the gales that sweep toward land I TO-DAY. 23 Ye are symbols both of a hope that saves, As ye swoop iu your strength and grace. As ye roll to the land like the billowed graves Of a suicidal race. Ye have hoarded your strength in equal parts ; For the men of the future reign Must have faithful souls and kindly hearts, And bone and sinew and brain. TO-DAY. /^NLY from day to day The life of a wise man runs ; What matter if seasons far away Have gloom or have double suns? To climb the unreal path, We stray from the roadway here ; We swim the rivers of wrath, And tunnel the hills of fear. J4 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Our feet on the torrent's brink. Our eyes on the cloud afar, We fear the things we think, Instead of the thinsrs that are. Like a tide our work should rise - Each later wave the best ; To-day is a king in disguise,* To-day is the special test. Like a sawyer's work is life : The present makes the flaw. And the only field for strife Is the inch before the saw. * " The days are ever divine They come and go like muffled and veiled figures, sent from a distant friendly party; but they say nothing; and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away." — Emerson, MY NATIVE LAND. 2$ MY NATIVE LAND. TT chanced to me upon a time to sail Across the Southern Ocean to and fro ; And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go. And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep, Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone, Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep, And left us yearning still for lands unknown. And when we found one, — for 'tis soon to find In thous«,nd-isled Cathay another isle, — For one short noon its treasures filled the mind. And then again we yearned, and ceased to smile. And so it was, from isle to isle we passed. Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips ; 2^ SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And when that all was tasted, then at last We thirsted still for di-aughts instead of sips. I learned from this there is no Southern land Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men. Sick minds need change ; l)utj when in health they stand 'Neath foreign skies, their love flies home agen. And thus with me it was : the yearning turned From laden airs of cinnamon away, And stretched far westward, while the full heart burned With love for Ireland, looldng on Cathay I My first dear love, all dearer for thy grief I My land, that has no peer in all the sea 'For verdure, vale, or river, flower or leaf, — If first to no man else, thou 'rt first to me. New loves may come with duties, but the first Is deepest yet, — the mother's breath and smiles : Like that kind face and breast where I was nursed Is m}^ poor land, the Niobe of isles. THERE IS BLOOD ON THE EARTH. ^^ THERE IS BLOOD ON THE EARTH. '"T^HERE is blood on the face of the earth - It reeks through the years, and is red : Where Truth was slaughtered at birth, And the veins of Liberty bled. Lo ! vain is the hand that tries To cover the crimson stain : It spreads like a plague, and cries- Like a soul in writhing pain. It wasteth the planet's flesh ; It calleth on breasts of stone : God holdeth His wrath in a leash Till the hearts of men atone. Blind, like the creatures of time ; Cursed, like all the race, 28 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. They answer : "The blood and crime Belong to a sect and place ! " What are these things to Heaven — Races or places of men ? The world through one Chr'st was forgiven Kor question of races then. The WTong of to-day shall be rued In a thousand coming years ; The debt must be paid in blood, The interest, in tears. Shall none stand up for right Whom the evil passes by? But God has the globe in sight, And hearkens the weak ones' cry. AYlierever a principle dies — Nay, principles never die 1 But wherever a ruler lies. And a people share the lie ; THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES. 29 Where right is crushed by force, And manhood is stricken dead — There dwelleth the ancient curse, And the blood on the earth is red I THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES. AN INCIDENT OF THE FLOOD IN MASSACHUSETTS, ON MAI 16, 1874. O son^ of a soldier ridinsr down To the raging fight from Winchester town ; No song of a time that shook the earth With the nations' throe at a nation's birth ; But the song of a brave man, free from fear As Sheridan's self or Paul Revere ; Who risked what they risked, free from strife, And its promise of glorious pay — his life ! The peaceful valley has waked and stirred. And the answering echoes of life are heard : 30 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The dew still clings to the trees and grass, And the early toilers smiling pass, As they glance aside at the white-walled homes, Or up the valley, where merrily comes The brook that sparkles in diamond rills As the sun comes over the Hampshire hills. What was it, that passed like an ominous breath - Like a shiver of fear, or a touch of death ? What was it? The valley is peaceful still, And the leaves are afire on top of the hill. It was not a sound — nor a thinsr of sense — But a pain, like the pang of the short suspense That thrills the being of those who see At their feet the gulf of Eternity ! The air of the valley has felt the chill : The workers pause at the door of the mill ; The housewife, keen to the shivering air, Arrests her foot on the cottage stair, Instinctive taught by the mother-love. And thinks of the sleeping ones above. THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES. 3 1 Why start the listeners ? Why does the course Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a horse — Hark to the sound of his hoofs, they say — That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way ! God ! what was that, like a human shriek From the winding valley ? Will nobody speak ? Will nobody answer those women who cry As the awful warnings thunder by ? Whence come they ? Listen I And now they hear The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near ; They watch the trend of the vale, and see The rider who thunders so menacingly, With waving arms and warning scream To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. He draws no rein, but he shakes the street With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet ; And this the cry he flings to the wind : "To the hills for your lives! The flood is behind I " 32 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. He cries and is gone ; but they know the worst-* The breast of the A\^illiamsburg dam has burst ! The basin that nourished their happy homes Is changed to a demon — It comes I it comes ! A monster in aspect, with shaggy front Of shattered dwellings, to take the brunt Of the homes they shatter — white-maned and hoarse. The merciless Terror fills the course Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves, With Death on the first of its hissins: waves. Till cottasre and street and crowded mill Are crumbled and crushed. But onward still. In front of the roaring flood is heard The galloping horse and the warning word. Thank God ! the brave man's life is spared ! From Williamsburg town he nobly dared To race with the flood and take the road In front of the terrible swath it mowed. STAR-GAZING. 33 For miles it thundered and crashed behind. But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind ; " They must be warned ! " was all he said, As away on his terrible ride he sped. When heroes are called for, bring the crown To this Yankee rider : send him down On the stream of time with the Curtius old ; His deed as the Roman's was brave and bold, And the tale can as noble a thrill awake. For he offered his life for the people's sake. STAR-GAZING. T ET be what is : why should we strive and Avrestle With awkward skill against a subtle dou])t? Or pin a mystery 'u^ath our puny pestle, And vainly try to bray its secret out? 34 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. What boots it me to gaze at other planets, And speculate on sensate beings there ? It comforts not that, since the moon began its Well-ordered course, it knew no breath of air. There may be men and women up in Venus, Where science finds both summer-green and snow ; But are we happier asking, " Have they seen us ? And, like us earth-men, do they yearn to know ? " On greater globes than ours men may be greater. For all things here in fair proportion run ; But will it make our poor cup any sweeter To think a nobler Shakespeare thrills the sun ? Or, that our sun is but itself a minor, Like this dark earth — a tenth-rate satellite. That swings submissive round an orb diviner, Whose day is lightning, with our day for night ? STAR-GAZING. 35 Or, past all suns, to find the awful centre Round which they meanly wind a servile road ; Ah, will it raise us or degrade, to enter Where that world's Shakespeare towers almost to God? No, no ; far better, "lords of all creation" To strut our ant-hill, and to take our ease ; To look aloft and say, " That constellation . Was lighted there our regal sight to please ! " We owe no thanks to so-called men of science j Who demonstrate that earth, not sun, goes round ; 'Tw^ere better think the sun a mere appliance To light man's villages and heat his ground. There seems no good in asking or in humbling ; The mind incurious has the most of rest ; If we can live and laugh and pray, not grum- bling, 'Tis all we can do here — and 'tis the best. 30 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The throbbing brain will burst its tender raiment With futile force, to see by finite light How man's brief earning and eternal payment Are weighed as equal in th' Infinite sight. 'Tis all in vain to struggle with abstraction — The milky-way that tempts our mental glass ; The study for mankind is earth-born action ; The highest wisdom, let the wondering pass. The Lord knows best : He gave us thirst for learning ; And deepest knowledge of His work betrays No thirst left waterless. Shall our soul-yearning, Apart from all things, be a quenchless blaze? DOLORES. 37 DOLORES. TS he well blest who has no eyes to scan The woful things that shadow all our life : The latent brute behind the eyes of man, The place and power gained and stained by strife, The weakly victims driven to the wall, The subtile cruelties that meet us all Like eyes from darksome places ? Blest is he Who such sad things is never doomed to see ! The crust of common life is worn by time, And shines deception, as a thin veneer The raw plank hides, or as the frozen mere Holds drowned men embedded in its slime ; The ninety eat their bread of death and crime, And sin and sorrow that the ten may thrive. O, moaning sea of life I the few who dive Beneath thy waters, faint and short of breath, 38 SONGS, LEGENDS, 4ND BALLADS. Not Dante-like, who cannot swim in death And view its secrets, but must swiftly rise, — They meet the light w^ith introverted eyes. And hands that clutch a few dim mysteries ! Our life a harp is, with unnumbered strings, And tones and symphonies ; but our poor skill Some shallow notes from its great music brings. We know it there ; but vainly wdsh and will. O, things symbolic ! Things that mock our sense — Our five-fold, pitiable sense — and say A thousand senses could not show one day As sight infinite sees it ; fruitful clay, And budding bough, and nature great with child And chill with doom and death — is all so dense That our dull thought can never read thy words, Or sweep with knowing hand thy hidden chords ? Have men not fallen from fair heights, once trod By nobler minds, who saw the works of God, LOVE, AND BE WISE. 39 The flowers and living things, still undefiled, And spoke one language with them? And can we. In countless generations, each more pure Than that preceding, come at last to see Thy symbols full of meaning, and be sure That what we read is^all they have to tell? LOVE, AND BE WISE. "l^rOT on the word alone Let love depend ; Neither by actions done Choose ye the friend. Let the slow years fly^- These are the test ; Never to peering eye Opened the breast. 40 SONGS, LEGENDS. AND BALLADS. Psyche won hopeless woe, ReachiDg to take ; Wait till your lilies grow Up from the lake. Gather words patiently ; Harvest the deed ; Let the winged years fly. Sifting the seed. Judging by harmony, Learning by strife ; Seeking in unity Precept and life. Seize the supernal — Prometheus dies ; Take the external On trust — and be wiseo RESURGITE. 4 1 EESURGITE! — JUNE, 1877. " VTOW, for the faith that is in ye, Polander, Sclav, and Kelt ! Prove to the world what the lips have hurled The hearts have grandly felt. Rouse, ye races in shackles ! See in the East, the glare Is red in the sky, and the warning cry Is sounding — " Awake ! Prepare ! '* A voice from the spheres— a hand downreached To hands that would be free. To rend the gyves from the fettered lives That strain toward Liberty ! Circassia I the cup is flowing That holdeth perennial youth : 42 SONGS, LEGENDS. AND BALLADS. "Who strikes succeeds, for when manhood bleeds Each drop is a Cadmus' tooth. Sclavonia ! first from the sheathing Thy knife to the cord that binds ; Thy one-tongued host shall renew the boast : "The Scythians are the Winds I " Greece ! to the grasp of heroes, Flashed with thine ancient pride, Thy swords advance : in the passing chance The great of heart are tried. Poland ! thy lance-heads brighten : The Tartar has swept thy name From the schoolman's chart, but the patriot's heart Preserves its lines in flame. Ireland ! mother of dolors, The trial on thee descends : Who quailcth in fear when the test is near, His bondage never ends. RESURGITE. 43 Oppression, that kills the craven, Defied, is the freeman's good : No cause can be lost forever whose cost Is coined from Freedom's blood ! Liberty's Avine and altar Are blood and human right ; Her weak shall be strong while the struggle with wrong Is a sacrificial fight. Earth for the people — their laws their own — An equal race for all : Though shattered and few who to this are true Shall flourish the more they fall. 44 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. RULES OF THE ROAD. "YTTIIAT man would be wise^ let him drink of the river Tiiat bears on its bosom the record of time : A message to him every wave can deliver To teach him to creep till he knows how to climb. Who heeds not experience, trust him not; tell him The scope of one mind can but trifles achieve : The weakest who draws from the mine will excel him — The wealth of mankind is the wisdom they leave. For peace do not hope — to be just you must break it ; Still work for the minute and not for the year ; When honor comes to you, be ready to take it ; But reach not to seize it before it is near. RULES OF THE ROAD. 45 Be silent and safe — silence never betrays you ; Be true to your word and your wotk and your friend ; Put least trust in him who is foremost to praise you, Nor judge of a road till it draw to the end. Stand erect in the vale, nor exult on the moun- tain ; Take gifts with a sigh — most men give to be paid ; "1 had" is a heartache, "I have" is a fountain, — You're worth what you saved, not the million you made. Trust toil not intent, or your plans will miscarry ; Your wife keep a sweetheart, instead of a tease ; Rule children by reason, not rod; and, mind, marry Your girl when you can — and your boy when you please. 4.6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Steer straight as the wind will allow ; but be ready To veer just a point to let travellers pass : Each sees his own star — a stiff course is too steady When this one to Meeting goes, that one to Mass. Our stream's not so wide but two arches may span it — Good neighbor and citizen ; these for a code, And this truth in sight, — every man on the planet Has just as much right as j^ourself to the road. FOREVER. 'T^HOSE we love truly never die, Though year by year the sad memorial wreath, A ring and flowers, types of life and death, Are laid upon their graves. FOREVER. 47 For death the pure life saves, And life all pure is love ; and love can reach From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach Than those by mortals read. Well blest is he who has a dear one dead : A friend he has whose face will never change — A dear communion that will not grow strange ; The anchor of a love is death. The blessed sweetness of a loving breath Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years. For her who died long since, ah I waste not tears. She's thine unto the end. Thank God for one dead friend, With face still radiant with the light of truth, Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth, Through twenty years of death. 48 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE LOVING CUP OF THE PAPYRUS. • "TT riSE men use days as husbaudmeu use bees, And steal rich drops from every pregnant hour ; Others, like wasps on blossomed apple-trees, Find gall, not honey, in the sweetest flower. Congratulations for a scene like this ! The olden times are here — these shall be olden When, years to come, remembering present bliss, AYe sigh for past Papyrian dinners golden. We thank the gods ! we call them back to light — Call back to hoary Egypt for Osiris, Who first made wine, to join our board to-night, And drain this loving cup with the Papyrus. *0n February 3d, 1877, at the dinner of ''The Papyrus," a club composed of literary men and artists of Boston, a beau- tiful crystal '' Loving Cup" was presented t(» the club by Mr. Wm. A. Hovey. THE LOVING CUP OF THE PAPYRUS. 49 He comes ! the Pharaoh's god ! fling wide the door — Welcome, Osiris I See — thine old prescription Is honored here ; and thou shalt drink once more With men whose treasured ensign is Egyptian. A toast ! a toast ! our guest shall give a toast ! By Nilus' flood, we pray thee, god, inspire us ! He smiles — he wills — let not a word be lost — His hand upon the cup, he speaks : — " Papyrus I " I greet ye ! and mine ancient nation shares In greeting fair from Ammon, Ptah, and Isis, Whose leaf ye love — dead Egypt's leaf, that bears Our tale of pride from Cheops to Cambyses. " We gods of Egypt, who are wise with age — Five thousand years have washed us clean of passion — A golden era for this board presage. While ye do keep this cup in priestly fashion. 50 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. '* We love to see the bonds of fellowship Made still more sacred by a fine traditioii ; We bless this bowl that moves from lip to lip In love's festoons, renewed by every mission. "Intern the vessel from profaning eyes ; The lip that kisses should have special merit ; Thus every sanguine draught shall S3'mbolize And consecrate the true Papyrian spirit. "For brotherhood, not wine, this cup should pass ; Its depths should ne'er reflect the eye of malice ; Drink toasts to strangers with the social glass, But drink to brothers with this lovins: chalice. •n "And now. Papyrus, each one pledge to each : And let this formal tie be warmly cherished. No words are needed for a kindly speech — The loving thought will live when words have perished." THE TREASURE OF ABRAM. 5 1 THE TREASUEE OF ABR^M. I. N the old Eabbinical stories, So old they might well be true,— The sacred tales of the Talmud, That David and Solomon knew, — There is one of the Father Abram, The greatest of Heber's race, The mustard-seed of Judea That filled the holy place. 'Tis said that the fiery heaven His eye was first to read, Till planets were gods no longer, But helps for the human need ; He taught his simple people The scope of eternal law That swayed at once the fleecy cloud And the circling suns they saw. 52 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. But the rude Chaldean peasants Uprose against the seer, And drave him forth — else never came This Talmud legend here. With Sarah his wife, and his servants, Whom he ruled with potent hand. The Patriarch planted his vineyards In the Canaanitish land ; With his wife — the sterile, but lovely, The fame of whose beauty grew Till there was no land in Asia But tales of the treasure knew. In his lore the sao:e lived — learnins: High thought from the starlit skies ; But heedful, too, of the light at home, And the danger of wistful eyes ; Till the famine fell on his corn-fields, And sent him forth again, To seek for a home in Egypt, — The land of the amorous men. TH£ TREASURE OF ABRAM. 53 n. Long and rich is the caravan that halts at Egj^pt'a gate, While duty full the stranger pays on lowing herd and freight. Full keen the scrutiny of those who note the heavy dues ; From weanling foal to cumbrous wain, no chance of gain they lose. But fair the search — no wealth concealed ; while rich the gifts they take From Abram's hand, till care has ceased, and for- mal quest they make. They pass the droves and laden teams, the weighted slaves are past. And Abram doubles still the gifts ; one wain — his own — is last — It goes unsearched ! Wise Abram smiles, though dearly stemmed the quest ; 54 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BAUADS. But baps will come from causes slight, And hidden things upspring to light : A breeze flings "svide the canvas fold, and deep within the wain, behold A brass-bound, massive chest! "Press on !" shouts Abram. "Hold ! " they cry ; " what treasure hide ye here ? " The word is stern — the answer brief: " Treasure ! 'tis household gear ; Plain linen cloth and flaxen thread." The scribes deceived are WToth ; "Then weigh the chest — its price shall be the dues on linen cloth ! " The face of Abram seemed to grieve, though joy was in his breast. As carefully his servants took and weighed the mighty chest. But one hath watched the secret smile; he cries — " This stranger old Hath used deceit : no cloth is here — this chest is filled with gold I " THE TREASURE OF ABRAM. 55 "Nay, nay," wise Abram says, and smiles, though now he hides dismay ; " But time is gold : let pass the chest — on gold the dues I pa}^ 1 " But he who read the subtle smile detects the se- cret fear : "Detain the chest! nor cloth nor gold, but precious silk is here ! " Grave Father Abram stands like one who knoweth well the sword When tyros baffle thrust and guard ; slow comes the heedful word : "I seek no lawless gain — behold I my trains are on their way, Else w^ould these bands my servants break, and show the simple goods I take, That silk ye call ; but, for time's sake, on silk the dues I pay I " "He pays too much!" the watcher cries; "this man is full of guile ; 56 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. From cloth to gold aud gold to silk, to save a paltry mile I This graybeard pay full silken dues on cloth for slave-bred girls ! Some prize is here — he shall not pass until he pay for pearls ! " Stern Abram turned a lurid eye, as he the man would slay ; An instant, rose the self-command ; but thin the lip and quick the hand, As one who makes a last demand : " On pearls the dues I pay I " "He cannot pass!" the watcher screamed, as to the chest he clung ; "He shall not pass! Some priceless thing he hideth here. Quick — workmen bring ! I seize this treasure for the King I " Old Abram stood aghast ; it seemed the knell of doom had rung. THE TREASURE OF ABRAM. 57 III. Reel-eyed with greed and wonder, The crowd excited stand ; The blows are rained like thunder On brazen bolt and band ; They burst the massive hinges, They raise the ponderous lid, And lo ! the peerless treasure That Father Abram hid : In pearls and silk and jewels rare. Fit for a Pharaoh's strife ; In flashing eyes and golden hair — Sat Abram's lovely w'ife I 58 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE LAST OF THE NARWHALE. THE STORY OF AN ARCTIC NIP. A Y, ay, I'll tell you, shipmates, If you care to hear the tale, How myself and the royal yard alone Were left of the old Narwhale. "A stouter ship was never launched Of all the Clyde-built whalers ; And forty years of a life at sea Haven't matched her crowd of sailors. Picked men they were, all young and strong, And used to the wildest seas. From Donegal and the Scottish coast, And the ru^o^ed Hebrides. Co Such men as women cling to, mates, Like ivy round their lives : And the day we sailed, the quays were lined AVith weeping mothers and wives. THE LAST OF THE NARWHALE. 59 They cried and prayed, and we gave 'em a cheer, In the thoughtless way of men ; God help them, shipmates — thh'ty years They've waited and prayed since then. "We sailed to the North, and I mind it well. The pity we felt, and pride When we sighted the cliffs of Labrador From the sea where Hudson died. We talked of ships that never came back, And when the great floes passed, Like ghosts in the night, each moonlit peak Like a great war frigate's mast, 'Twas said that a ship was frozen up Li the iceberg's awful breast. The clear ice holding the sailor's face As he lay in his mortal rest. And I've thought since then, when the ships came home That sailed for the Franklin band, A mistake was made in the reckoning That looked for the crews on land. 60 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. 'They're floating still,' I've said to myself, * And Sir John has found the goal ; The Erebus and the Terror, mates, Are icebei'gs up at the Pole ! ' "We sailed due North, to Baffin's Bay, And cruised through weeks of light ; 'Twas always day, and we slept by the bell. And longed for the dear old night, And the blessed darkness left behind, Like a curtain round the bed ; But a month drafrJied on like an afternoon With the wheeling sun o'erhead. We found the whales were farther still, The farther north we sailed ; Along the Greenland glacier coast, The boldest might have quailed, Such shapes did keep us company ; No sail in all that sea, But thick as ships in Mersey's tide The bergs moved awfully - 9.* THE LAST OF THE NARWHALE. 6 1 Witliiu the current's northward stream ; But, ere the long day's close, We found the whales and filled the ship Amid the friendly floes. " Then came a rest : the day was blown Like a cloud before the night ; In the South the sun went redly down — In the North rose another light, Neither sun nor moon, but a shooting dawn, That silvered our lonely way ; It seemed we sailed in a belt of gloom, Upon either side, a day. The north wind smote the sea to death ; The pack-ice closed us round — The Narwhale stood in the level fields As fast as a ship aground. A weary time it was to wait. And to wish for spring to come, With the pleasant breeze and the blessed sun, To open the way toward home. 62 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. " SpriDg came at last, the ice-fields groaned Like living things in pain ; They moaned and swayed, then rent amain, And the Narwhale sailed again. With joy the dripping sails were loosed And round the vessel swung ; To cheer the crew, full south she drew, The shattered floes among. We had no books in those old days To carry the friendly faces ; But I think the wives and lasses then Were held in better places. The face of sweetheart and wife to-day Is locked in the sailor's chest : But aloft on the yard, with the thought of home, The face in the heart was best. Well, well — God knows, mates, when and where To take the things he gave ; We steered for home — but the chart was his, And the port ahead — the grave I THE LAST OF THE NARWHALE. 63 " We cleared the floes : through an open sea The Narwhale south'ard sailed, Till a day came round when the white fog rose. And the wind astern had failed. In front of the Greenland glacier line, And close to its base were we ; Through the misty pall we could see the wall That beetled above the sea. A fear like the fog crept over our hearts As we heard the hollow roar Of the deep sea thrashing the cliffs of ice For leao^ues alonoj the shore. "The years have com© and the years have gone, But it never wears away — The sense I have of the sights and sounds That marked that woful day. Flung here and there at the ocean's will, As it flung the broken floe — What strength had we 'gainst the tiger sea That sports with a sailor's woe ? 64 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The lifeless berg and the lifeful ship Were the same to the sullen wave, As it swept them far from ridge to ridge. Till at last the Xarwhale drave With a crashing rail on the glacier wall — As sheer as the vessel's mast — A crashing rail and a shivered yard ; But the worst, we thought, was past. The brave lads sprang to the fending work, And the skipper's voice rang hard : * Aloft there, one with a readj^ knife — Cut loose that royal yard ! ' I SDran^ to the rio:o:ino:, voun": I was. And proud to be first to dare : The yard swung free, and I turned to gaze Toward the open sea, o'er the field of haze, And my heart grew cold, as if frozen through, At the moving shape that met my view — O Christ ! what a siirht was there ! o '* Above the fog, as I hugged the yard, I saw that an iceberg lay — THE LAST OF THE NAR WHALE. 6? A berg like a mountain, closing fast — Not a cable's length away ! I could not see through the sheet of mist That covered all below, But I heard the cheery voices still, And I screamed to let them know. The cry went down, and the skipper hailed, But before the word could come It died in his throat — and I knew they saw The shape of the closing doom ! "No sound but that — but the hail that died Came up through the mist to me ; Thank God, it covered the ship like a veil, And I was not forced to see — But I heard it, mates : O, I heard the rush, And the timbers rend and rive. As the yard I clung to swayed and fell : 1 lay on the ice, alive ! Alive ! O God of mercy I ship and crew and sea were gone ! The hummocked ice and the broken yard. And a kneelin<]r man — alone I 66 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. " A. kneeling man on a frozen bill, The sounds of life in the air — All death and ice — and a minute before The sea and the ship were there I I could not think they were dead and gone. And I listened for sound or word : But the deep sea roar on the desolate shore Was the only sound I beard. mates, I had no heart to thank The Lord for the life He gave ; 1 spread my arms on the ice and cried Aloud on my shipmates' grave. The brave strong lads, with their strength all vain, I called them name by name ; And it seemed to me from the dying hearts A message upward came — Ay, mates, a message, up through the ice From every sailor's breast : * Go tell our mothers and wives at home To ;pray for us here at rest.* DYIJ^G IN HARNESS. 6/ "Yes, that's what it means ; 'tis a little word; But, mates, the strongest ship That ever was built is a baby's toy When it copes with an Arctic Nip." DYING IN HARNESS. /^NLY a fallen horse, stretched out there on the road. Stretched in the broken shafts, and crushed by the heavy load ; Only a fallen horse, and a circle of wondering eyes Watching the 'frighted teamster goading the beast to rise. Hold ! for his toil is over — no more labor for him; See the poor neck outstretched, and the patient eyes grow dim ; 6S SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. See on the friendly stones how peacefully rests the head — Thinking, if dumb beasts think, how good it is to be dead ; After the weary journey, how restful it is to lie "With the broken shafts and the cruel load — waiting only to die. Watchers, he died in harness — died in the shafts and straps — Fell, and the burden killed him : one of the day's mishaps — , One of the passing wonders marking the city road — A toiler dying in harness, heedless of call or goad. Passers, crowding the pathway, staying your steps awhile, What is the symbol? Only death — why should we cease to smile DYING IN HARNESS. 69 At death for a beast of burden? Ou, through the busy street That is ever and ever echoing the tread of the hurrying feet. What was the sign ? A symbol to touch the tire- less will ? Does He who taught in parables speak in par- ables still? The seed on the rock is wasted — on heedless hearts of men, That gather and sow and grasp and lose — laboi and sleep — and then — Then for the prize! A crowd in the street of ever-echoins: tread — The toiler, crushed by the heavy load, is there in his harness — dead I 70 SONGS, LEGENDS. AND BALLADS. GOLU. ONCE I had a little sweetheart In the land of the Malay, — » Such a little yellow sweetheart 1 Warm and peerless as the day Of her own dear sunny island, Keimah, in the far, far East, Where the mango and banana Made us many a merry feast. Such a little copper sweetheart Was my Golu, plump and round, With her hair all blue-black streaming O'er her to the very ground. Soft and clear as dew-drop clinging To a grass blade was her eye ; For the heart below was purer Tlian the hiU-stream whispering by. . GOLU. 71 Costly robes were not for Golu : No more raiment did she need Than the milky budding breadfruit^ Or the lily of the mead ; And she was my little sweetlieart Many a sunny summer day, When we ate the fragrant guavas, In the land of the Malay. Life was laughing then. Ah ! Goln^ Do you think of tliat old time, And of all the tales I told you Of my colder Western clime ? Do you think how happy were we When we sailed to strip the palm. And we made a latteen arbor Of the boat-sail in the calm ? They may call you semi-savage, Golu ! I cannot forget How I poised my Kttle sweetheart Like a copper statuette. 72 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Now my path lies through the cities ; But they cannot drive away My sweet dreams of little Golu And the land of the Malay. UNDER THE RR^R /^"^LEAR and bright, from the snowy height, The joyous stream to the plain descended : Rich sands of gold were washed and rolled To the turbid marsh where its pure life ended. From stainless snow to the moor below The heart like the brook- has a wanins^ mis- sion : The buried dream in life's sluggish stream Is the golden sand of our young ambition. HIDDEN SIMS, 73 HIDDEX SINS. TIj^OIl every sin that comes before tlie liglit, And leaves an outward blemish on the soul, How many, darker, cower out of sight, - And burrow, blind and silent, like the mole. And like the mole, too, with its busy feet That dig and dig a never-ending cave, Our hidden sins gnaw through the soul, and meet And feast upon each other in its grave. A buried sin is like a covered sore That spreads and festers 'neath a painted face ; And no man's art can heal it evermore, But only His — the Surgeon's — promised grace. Who hides a sin is like the hunter who Once warmed a frozen adder with his breath, And when he placed it near his heart it flew With poisoned fangs and stung that heart to death. 74 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. A sculptor once a granite statue made, One-sided only, just to fit its place : The unseen side was monstrous ; so men shade Their evil acts behind a smihng face. O blind ! foolish ! thus our sins to hide, And force our pleading hearts the gall to sip ; O cowards ! who must eat the m}Trh, that Pride May smile like Virtue with a lying lip. A sin admitted is nigh half atoned ; And wliile the fault is red and freslily done, If we but drop our eyes and thmk, — 'tis owned,- 'Tis half forgiven, half the crown is won. But if we heedless let it reek and rot. Then pile a mountain on its grave, and turn. With smiles to all the world, — that tainted spot Beneath the mound will never cease to bum. UNSPOKEN WORDS. 75 UNSPOKEN WORDS. npiIE kindly words that rise within the heart, And thrill it with their sjTiipathetic tone, But die ere spoken, fail to play their part. And claim a merit that is not their own. The kindly word unspoken is a sin, — A sin that wraps itself in purest guise. And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within, That not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies. But 'tis not so : another heart may thirst For that kind word, as Hagar in the wild ■ — Poor banished Hagar ! — prayed a well might burst From out the sand to save her parching child. And loving eyes that cannot see the mind Will watch the expected movement of the lip : All ! can ye let its cutting silence wind Around that heart, and scathe it like a whip ? ir. 70 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Unspoken words, like treasures in the mine, Are valueless until we give them birth : Like unfound gold their hidden beauties shine, Which God has made to bless and gUd the earth. How sad 'twould be to see a master's hand Strike glorious notes upon a voiceless lute ! But oh ! what pain when, at God's own command, A heart-string thrills with kindness, but is mute ! Then hide it not, the music of the soul, Dear sympathy, expressed with kindly voice, But let it like a shining river roll To deserts dry, — to hearts that would rejoice. Oh I let the symphony of kuidly words Sound for the poor, the fiiendless, and the weak ; And He will bless you, — He who struck these chords Will strike another when in turn you seek. THE POISON-FLOWER. ^^ THE POISON-FLOWER. I N tlie evergreen sliade of an Austral wood, Where the long branches laced above, Through wliich all day it seemed The sweet sunbeams down-gleamed Like the rays of a young mother's love, Wlien she hides her glad face with her hands and peeps At the younghng that crows on her knee : 'Neath such ray-shivered shade, In a banksia glade, Was this flower first shown to me. A rich pansy it was, with a small white lip And a wonderful purple hood ; And your eye caught the sheen Of its leaves, parrot-green, Down the dim gothic aisles of the wood. And its foliage rich on the moistureless sand yS SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Made vou lono: for its odorous breath ; But ah ! 'twas to take To your bosom a snake, For its pestilent fragrance was death. And I saw it again, in a far northern land, — Not a pansy, not purple and white ; Yet in beauteous guise Did this poison-plant rise. Fair and fatal again to my sight. And men longed for her kiss and her odorous breath When no friend was beside them to tell That to kiss was to die, That her truth was a lie. And her beauty a soul-killing speU. MY MOTHER S MEMORY. 79 MY MOTHER'S MEMORY. 'in HE RE is one bright star in heaven Ever shining in my night ; God to me one guide has given, Like the sailor's beacon-light, Set on every shoal and danger, Sending out its warning ray To the home-bound weary stranger Looking for the land-locked bay. In my farthest, wildest wanderings I have turned me to that love, As a diver, 'neath the water. Turns to watch the light above. 80 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. \ THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK I^^LD memories rush o'er my mind just now Of faces and friends of the past ; Of that happy time when life's dream was all bright- Ere the clear sky of youth was o'ercast. Very dear are those mem'ries, — they ' ve clung round my heart, And bravely withstood Time's rude shock ; But not one is more hallowed or dear to me now Than the face of the old school clock. 'Twas a quaint old clock with a quaint old face, And great iron weights and chain ; It stopped when it hked, and before it struck It creaked as if 'twere in pain. THE OLD SCHOOL CLOCK. 8 I It had seen many years, and it seemed to say, " I 'm one of the real old stock," To tlie youtliful fry, who with reverence looked On the face of the old school clock. How many a time have I labored to sketch That yellow and time-honored face. With its basket of flowers, its figures and hands, And the weights and the chains in their place 1 How oft have I gazed with admiring eye. As I sat on the wooden block, And pondered and guessed at the wonderful things That were inside that old school clock ! What a terrible frown did the old clock wear To the truant, who timidly cast An anxious eye on those merciless hands. That for him had been moving too fast ! But its frown soon changed ; for it loved to smile On the thoughtless, noisy flock. And it creaked and whirred and struck with glee, — Did that genial, good-humored old clock. 82 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Well, years had passed, and my mind was filled With the world, its cares and ways, When again I stood in that little school Where I passed my boyhood's days. My old friend was gone! and there hung a thing That my sorrow seemed to mock, As I gazed with a tear and a softened heart At a new-fashioned Yankee clock. 'Twas a gaudy thmg with bright painted sides, And it looked with insolent stare On the desks and the seats and on every thing old And I thought of the friendly air Of the face that I missed, with its weights and chains, — All gone to the auctioneer's block : 'Tis a thing of the past, — never more shall I see But in memory that old school clock. 'Tis the way of the world : old friends pass away, And fresh faces arise in their stead ; But still 'mid the din and the bustle of life We cherish fond thoughts of the dead. MARY. 83 Yes, dearly those memories cling round my heart, And bravely withstand Time's rude shock ; But not one is more dear or more hallowed to me Than the face of that old school clock. D MARY. EAR honored name, beloved for human ties. But loved and honored first that One was given In living proof to erring mortal eyes That our poor earth is near akin to heaven. Sweet word of dual meaning : one of grace. And born of our kind advocate above ; • And one by memory linked to that dear face That blessed my childhood with its mother- love, 84 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And taught me first the simple prayer, "To thee, Poor banished sons of Eve, we send our cries." Through mist of years, those words recall to me A childish face upturned to loving eyes. And yet to some the name of Mary ])ears No special meaning and no gracious power ; In that dear word they seek for hidden snares, As wasps find poison in the sweetest flower. But faithful hearts can see, o'er doubts and fears, The Virgin link that binds the Lord to earth ; Which to the upturned trusting face appears A more than angel, though of human birth. The sweet-faced moon reflects on cheerless ni<^ht The rays of hidden sun to rise to-morrow ; So unseen God still lets His promised light, Through holy Mary, shine upon our sorrow. A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 85 A LEGE^fD OF THE BLESSED VIIIGIN. nnUE day of Joseph's marriage unto Mary, In thoughtful mood he said unto his wife, " Behold, I go into a far-off country To labor for thee, and to make thy life And home all sweet and peaceful." And the Virgin Unquestioning beheld her spouse depart : Then lived she many days of musing gladness. Not knowing that God's hand was round her heart. And dreaming thus one day within her chamber, She wept with speechless bliss, when lo ! the face Of white-winged angel Gabriel rose before her, And bowing spoke, " Hail I Mary, full of grace, S6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The Lord is with thee, and among the nations Forever blessed is thy chosen name.'* The angel vanished, and the Lord's high Presence With untold glory to the Virgin came. A season passed of joy unknown to mortals, When Joseph came with what his foil had won, And broke the brooding ecstasy of Mary, Whose soul was ever with her promised Son. But nature's jealous fears encircled Joseph, , And round his heart in darkening doubts held sway. He looked upon his spouse cold-eyed, and pondered How he could put her from his sight away. And once, when moody thus within his garden. The gentle girl besought for some ripe fruit That hung beyond her reach, the old man an- swered. With face averted, harshly to her suit : " I will not serve thee, woman I Thou hast wronged me: A LEGEND OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN. 8/ I heed no more thy words and actions mild ; If fruit tliou wantest, thou canst henceforth ask it From him, the father of thy unborn child ! " But ere the words had root within her hearing, The Virgin's face was glorified anew ; And Joseph, turning, sank within her presence, And knew indeed his wondrous dreams were true. For there before the sandalled feet of Mary The kingly tree had bowed its top, and she Had pulled and eaten from its prostrate branches, As if uiiconscious of the mystery. 88 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE LOSS OF THE EMIGRANTS. * T7OR months and years, with penury and want ■^ And heart-sore envy did they dare to cope ; And mite by mite was saved from earnings scant, To buy, some future day, the God-sent hope. They trod the crowded streets of hoary towns, Or tilled from year to year the wearied fields, And in the shadow of the golden crowns They gasped for sunshine and the health it yields. They turned from homes all cheerless, child and man, With kindly feelings only for the soil. And for the kindred faces, pinched and wan. That prayed, and stayed, unwilling, at their toiL They lifted up their faces to the Lord, And read His answer in the westering sun That called them ever as a shining word, And beckoned seaward as the rivers run. • The steamer Atlantic was wrecked near Halifjix, N.S., April 1st, 1873, c^d 560 lives lost. THE LOSS OF THE EMIGRANTS. 89 They looked their last, wet-eyed, on Swedish hills, On German villages and English dales ; Like brooks that grow from many mountain rills The peasant-stream flowed out from Irish valea. Their grief at parting was not all a grief, But blended sweetly with the joy to come. When from full store they spared the rich relief To gladden all the dear ones left at home. "We thank thee, God I " they cried ; " the cruel gate That barred our lives has swung beneath Thy hand ; Behind our ship now frowns the cruel fate, Before her smiles the teeming Promised Land ! " Alas ! when shown in mercy or in wrath, How weak we are to read God's awful lore I His breath protected on the stormy path. And dashed them lifeless on the promised shore I 90 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. II is hand sustained them in the parting woe, And jrave brig:ht vision to the heart of each His waters bore them where they wished to go, Then swept them seaward fiom the very beach ! Theu' home is reached, their fetters now are riven, Theii- humble toil is o'er, — their rest lias come ; A land was promised and a land is given, — But, oh I God help the waiting ones at home I WITHERED SNOWDROPS. f^t WITHERED SNOWDROPS. ^HEY came in the early spring-days, With the first refreshing showers And I watched the growing beauty Of the little drooping flowers. They had no bright hues to charm me. No gay painting to allure ; But they made me think of angels, They were all so white and pure. In the early morns I saw them, Dew-drops clinging to each bell, And the first glad sunbeam hasting Just to kiss them ere they fell. Daily grew their spotless beauty ; But I feared when chill winds blew 92 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. They were all too frail and tender, — And alas ! my fears were true. One glad morn I went to see them While the bright drops gemmed their snovv And one angel flower was withered, Its fair petals drooping low. Its white sister's tears fell on it, And the sunbeam sadly shone ; For its innocence was withered, And its purity was gone. Still I left it there : I could not Tear it rudely from its place ; It might rise again, and summer Might restore its vanished grace. But my hopes grew weaker, weaker. And my heart with grief was pained When I knew it must be severed From the innocence it stained. WITHERED SNOWDROPS. 93 I must take it from the p\ire ones : Henceforth they must live apart. But I could not cut my flow'ret — My lost angel — from my heart. Oft I think of that dead snowdrop, Think with sorrow, when I meet, "Day by day, the poor lost flowers, — Sullied snowdrops of the street. Jt\ey were pure once, loved and loving, And there still lives good within. Ah I speak gently to them : harsh words Will not lead them from their sin. The are not like withered flowers That can pever bloom again : They can rise, bright angel snowdrops, Purified from every stain. 94 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES. CHICAGO, OCTOBER 9, 1871. /^^ AUNT in the midst of the prairie? She who was once so fair ; Charred and rent are her garments, Heavy and dark like cerements ; Silent, but round her the air Plaintively wails, " Miserere I '* Proud like a beautiful maiden, Art-Hke from forehead to feet. Was she till pressed like a leman Close to the breast of the demon, Lusting for one so sweet, So were her shoulders laden. THE WAIL OF TWO CITIES. 95 Friends she had, rich in her treasures : Shall the old taunt be true, — Fallen, they turn their cold faces. Seeking new wealth-gilded places, Saying we never knew Aught of her smiles or her pleasures ? Silent she stands on the prairie, Wrapped in her fire-scathed sheet : Around her, thank God ! is the Nation, Weeping for her desolation, Pourmg its gold at her feet, Answering her ''Miserere ! " :>J«ic BOSTON, NOVEMBER 9, 1872. O broad-breasted Queen among Nations I O Mother, so strong in thy youth I Has the Lord looked upon thee in ire, And willed thou be chastened by fire. Without any ruth ? g6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Has the Merciful tired of His mercy, And turned from thy sinning in wrath, That the world with raised hands sees and pitie3 Thy desolate daughters, thy cities, DespoHed on their path ? One year since thy youngest was stricken : Thy eldest lies stricken to-day. Ah ! God, was thy wrath without pity, To tear the strong heart from our city, And cast it away ? O Father ! forgive us our doubting ; The stain from our weak souls efface ; Thou rebukest, we know, but to chasten ; Thy hand has but fallen to hasten Return to thy grace. Let us rise purified from our ashes As sinners have risen who grieved ; Let us show that twice-sent desolation On every true heart in the nation Has conquest achieved. THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFDRD. Q/ THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 'T^HERE is an old tradition sacred held in Wex- ford town, That says : " Upon St. Martin's eve no net shall be let down ; No fishermen of Wexford shall, upon that holy day, Set sail or cast a line within the scope of Wexford Bay." The tongue that framed the order, or the time, no one could tell ; And no one ever questioned, but the people kept it well. And never in man's memory was fisher known to leave The little town of Wexford on the good St. Martin's Eve. 98 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Alas ! alas for "Wexford I once upon that liolj day Came a wondrous shoal of herring to the waters of the Bay. The fishers and their families stood out upon the beach, And all day watched with wistful eyes the wealth they might not reach. Such shoal was never seen before, and keen regrets went round — Alas I alas for Wexford ! Hark I what is that grating sound ? The boats' keels on the shingle ! Mothers ! ^Wves ! ye well may grieve, — The fishermen of Wexford mean to sail on Martin's Eve I ** Oh, stay ye ! " cried the women wild. " Stay I " cried the men white-haired ; " And dare ye not to do this thing your fathers never dared. THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. 99 No man can thrive who tempts the Lord ! " " Away I " they cried : " the Lord Ne'er sent a shoal of fish but as a fisherman's re- ward." And scofi&ngly they said, " To-night our nets shall sweep the Bay, And take the Saint who guards it, should he come across our way ! " The keels have touched the water, and the crews are in each boat ; And on St. Martin's Eve the Wexford fishers are afloat I The moon is shining coldly on the sea and on the land. On dark faces in the fishing-fleet and pale ones on the strand, As seaward go the daring boats, and heavenward the cries Of kneeling wives and mothers with uplifted hands and eyes. • lOO SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. " O Holy Virgin ! be tlieir guard ! " the weeping women cried ; The old men, sad and silent, watched the hoats cleave through the tide, As past the farthest headland, past the Hghthouse, in a line The fishing-fleet went seaward through the phos- phor-lighted brine. Oh, pray, ye wives and mothers ! All your prayers they sorely need To save them from the wrath they 've roused by their rebellious greed. Oh ! white-haired men and little babes, and weep- ing sweethearts, pray To God to spare the fishermen to-night in Wexford Bay! The boats have reached good offing, and, as out the nets are thrown, The hearts ashore are chilled to hear the soughing sea wmd's moan: THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. IQI Like to a human heart that loved, and hoped for some return, To find at last but hatred, so the sea-wind seemed to mourn. But ah I the Wexford fishermen I their nets did scarcely smk One inch below the foam, when, lo I the daring boatme'n shrink With sudden awe and whitened lips and glaring eyes agape. For breast-high, threatening, from the sea uprose a Human Shape I Beyond them, — in the moonlight, — hand upraised and awful mien, Waving back and pointing landwards, breast-high in the sea 'twas seen. Thrice it waved and thrice it pointed, — then, with clenched hand upraised, The awful shape went down before the fishers as they gazed ! 102 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Gleaming whitely through the water, fathoms deep they saw its frown, — Tliey saw its white hand clenched above it, — sink- ing slowly down ! And then there was a rushing 'neath the boats, and every soul Was thrilled with greed: they knew it was the seaward-going shoal ! Defying the di-ead warning, every face was sternly set, And wildly did they ply the oar, and wildly haul the net. But two boats' crews obeyed the sign, — God-fearing men weie they, — They cut their lines and left their nets, and home- ward sped away; But darkly rising sternwards did God's wrath in tempest sweep. And they, of all the fishermen, that night escaped the deep. THE FISHERMEN OF WEXFORD. IO3 Oh, wives and mothers, sweethearts, EtresI well might ye mourn next day: For seventy fishers' corpses strewed the shores of Wexford Bay 1 IC4 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE FEAST OF THE GAEL. ST. PATRICK'S DAY. I. ^T /"HAT a union of hearts is the love of a mother When races of men in her name unite I For love of Old Erin, and love of each other, The boards of the Gael are full to-night ! Their millions of men have one toast and one topic — Their feuds laid aside and their envies re- moved ; From the pines of the Pole to the palms of the Tropic, They drink : " The dear Land we have prayed for and loved ! " They are One by the bond of a time-honored fashion ; Though strangers may see but the lights of their feast. THE FEAST OF THE GAEL. I05 Beneath lies the symbol of ftiith and of passion Alike of the Pagan and Christian priest I II. When native laws by native kings At Tara were decreed, The grand o"ld Gheber worship Was the form of Erin's creed. The Sun, Life-Giver, was God on high ; Men worshipped the Power they saw ; And they kept the faith as the ages rolled By the solemn Beltane law. Each year, on the Holy Day, was quenched The household fires of the land ; And the Druid priest, at the midnight hour, Brought forth the flaming brand, — The living spark for the Nation's hearths, — From the Monarch's hand it came. Whose fire at Tara spread the sign — And the peopje were One by the flame I I06 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Aud Baal Tvas God ! till Patrick came, By the Holy Xame inspired ; On the Beltane night, in great Tara's sight, His pile at Slaue was fired. Aud the deed that was death was the Nation's life. And the doom of the Pasran bane ; For Erin still keeps Beltane night. But lights her lamp at Slane ! Though fourteen centuries pile their dust On the mound of the Druid's grave, To-xiGHT IS THE Beltaxe ! Brisfht the fire That Holy Patrick gave ! To-xiGHT* IS THE Beltane ! Let him heed Who studieth creed and race : Old times and gods are dead, and we Are far from the ancient place ; The waves of centuries, war, and waste. Of famine, gallows, and gaol, Have swept our land ; but the world to-night Sees the Beltane Fire of the Gael I THE FEAST OF THE GAEL. 10/ III. O land of sad fate ! like a desolate queen, Who remembers in sorrow the crown of her glory, The love of thy children not strangely is seen — For humanity weeps at thy heart-touching story. Strong heart in affliction ! that draweth thy foes 'Till they love thee more dear than thine own generation : Thy strength is increased as thy life-current flows, — What were death to another is Ireland's salva- tion I God scatters her sons like the seed on the lea, And they root where they fall, be it mountain or furrow ; They come to remain and remember ; and she In their growth will rejoice in a blissful to- morrow ! I08 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. They sing iu strange lands the sweet songs of their home, Their emerald Ziou enthroned in the billows ; To work, not to weep by the rivers they come : Their harps are not hanged in despair on the willows. The hope of the mother beats youthful and strong, Responsive and true to her children's pulsa- tions, No petrified heart has she saved from the wrong — Our Niobe lives for her place 'mong the nations ! Then drink, all her sons — be they Keltic or Danish, Or Xorman or Saxon — one mantle was o'er us ; Let race lines, and creed lines, and every line, vanish — We drink as the Gael: " To the Mother that bore us ! " AT FREDERICKSBURG. 1 00 AT FREDERICKSBURG.— DEC. 13, 1862. f^OB send us peace, and keep red strife away; But should it come, God send us men and steel ! The land is dead that dare not face the day When foreign danger threats the common weal. Defenders strong are they that homes defend ; From ready arms the spoiler keeps afar. Well blest the country that has sons to lend From trades of peace to learn the trade of war. Thrice blest the nation that has every son A soldier, ready for the warning sound ; Who marches homew^ard when the tight is done, To SY/ing the hammer and to till the ground. Call back that morning, with its lurid light. When throu<2:h our land the awful war-bell tolled ; no SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. When lips were mute, and women's faces white As the pale cloud that out from Sumter rolled. Call back that morn : an instant all were dumb, As if the shot had struck the Nation's life ; Then cleared the smoke, and rolled the calling drum. And men streamed in to meet the coming strife. They closed the ledger and they stilled the loom, The plough left rusting in the prairie farm ; They saw but " Union " in the gathering gloom ; The tearless women helped the men to arm ; Briixades from towns — each villai^e sent its band : German and Irish — every race and faith ; There was no question then of native land, But — love the Flas: and follow it to death. o No need to tell their tale : through every age The splendid story shall be sung and said ; AT FREDERICKSBURG. m But let me draw one picture from the page — For words of song embalm the hero dead. The smooth hill is bare, and the cannons are planted, Like Gorgon fiites shading its terrible brow ; The word has been passed that the stormers are wanted, And Burnsidc's battalions are mustering now. The armies stand by to behold the dread meet- ing ; The work must be done by a desperate few ; The black-mouthed guns on the height give them greeting — From gun-mouth to plain every grass blade in view. Strong earthworks are there, and the rifles be- hind them Are Georgia militia — an Irish brigade — Their caps have green badges, as if to remind them Of all the brave record their country has made. 112 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The stormcrs go forward — the Federals cheer them ; They breast the smooth hillside — the black mouths are dumb ; The riflemen lie in the works till they near them, And cover the stormers as upward they come. Was ever a death-march so grand and so solemn? At last, the dark summit with flame is enlined ; The great guns belch doom on the sacrificed column, That reels from the heisfht, leavin": hundreds behind. The armies are hushed — there is no cause for cheering : The fall of brave men to brave men is a pain. Again come the stormers ! and as they are nearing The flame-sheeted rifle-lines, reel back aii:ain. And so till full noon come the Federal masses — Flung back from the height, as the clifi* flings a wave ; Brigade on brigade to the death-struggle passes, No wavering rank till it steps on the grave. AT FREDERICKSBURG. 1 13 Then comes a brief lull, and the siLoke-pall is lifted, The green of the hillside no longer is seen ; The dead soldiers lie as the sea-weed is drifted, The earthworks still held by the badges of green. Have they quailed ? is the word. No : again they are forming — Again comes a column to death and defeat ! What is it in these who shall now do the stormin^r That makes every Georgian spring to his feet? " O God ! what a pity ! " they cry in their cover, As rifles are readied and bayonets made tight ; "'Tis Meagher and his fellows! their caps have green clover ; 'Tis Greek to Greek now for the rest of the fight ! " Twelve hundred the column, their rent flag before them. With Meagher at their head, they have dashed at the hill I 114 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Their foemen are proud of the country that bore them ; But, Irish in love, they are enemies still. Out rings the fierce word, "Let them have it!" the rifles Are emptied point-blank in the hearts of the foe : It is green against green, but a principle stilles The Irishman's love in the Georgian's blow. The column has reeled, but it is not defeated ; In front of the guns they re-form and attack ; Six times they have done it, and six times re- treated ; Twelve hundred they came, and two hundred go back. Two hundred go back with the chivalrous storv ; The wild day is closed in the night's solemn shroud ; A thousand lie dead, but their death was a glory That calls not for tears — the Green Badges are proud I AT FREDERICKSBURG. I 15 Bright honor be theirs who for honor were fear- less, Who charged for their flag to the grim cannon's mouth ; And honor to them who were true, though not tearless, — Who bravely that day kept the cause of the South. The quarrel is done — God avert such another ; The lesson it brought we should evermore heed : Who loveth the Flag is a man and a brother, No matter what birth or what race or what creed. Il6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE PRIESTS OF IRELAND. ["The time has arrived when the interests of our country require frora us, as priests and as Irishmen, a public pro- nouncement on tlie vital question of Home Rule. . . . We suggest the holding of an aggcegate meeting in Dublin, of the representatives of all interested in this great question — and they are the entire people, without distinction of creed or class — for the purpose of placing, by constitutional means, on a broad and definite basis, the nation's demand for the restora- tion of its plundered rights." — Extract from the Declaration of the Bishop and Priests of the Diocese of Cloyne, made on Sept. 15, 1873.] 'VT'OU have waited, Priests of Ireland, until tho hour was late : You have stood with folded arms until 'twas asked — Why do they wait ? By the fever and the famine you have seen your flocks grow thin, Till the whisper hissed through Ireland that youi silence was a sin. You have looked with tearless eyes on fleets of exile-laden shi2:>s, And the hands that stretched toward Ireland brought no tremor to your lips ; THE PRIESTS OF IRELAND, II 7 111 the sacred cause of freedom you have seen 3^0 ur people band, And they looked to you for sympathy : you never stirred a hand ; But you stood upon the altar, with their blood within your veins. And you bade the pale-faced people to be patient in their chains ! Ah, you told them — it was cruel — but you said they were not true To the holy faith of Patrick, if they wore not ruled by you ; Yes, you told them from the altar— they, the vanguard of the Faith — With your eyes like flint against them — that their banding was a death — Was a death to something holy : till the heart- wrung people cried That their priests had turned against them — that they had no more a guide — That the English gold had bought you — yes, they said it — but they lied I Il8 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Yea, they lied, they sinned, not knowing you — they had not gauged 3'our love : Heaven bless 3^011, Priests of Ireland, for the wis- dom from above, For the strength that made you, loving them, crush back the tears that rose When 3^0 ur countr^^'s heart was quiv'ring 'neath the statesman's muffled blows : You saw clearer far than they did, and you grieved for Ireland's pain ; But 3"ou did not rouse the people — and your silence was their gain ; For too often has the peasant dared to dash his naked arm 'Gainst the sabre of the soldier : but you shielded him from harm. And your face was set against him — though your heart was with his hand When it flung aside the plough to snatch a pike for fatherland I THE PRIESTS OF IRELAND. II 9 O, God bless you, Priests of Ireland I You were waiting with a will, You were waiting with a purpose when you bade your flocks be still ; And you preached from off your altars not alone the Word Sublime, But your silence preached to Irishmen — "Be patient : bide your time ! " And they heard you, and obeyed, as well as out- raged men could do : — Only some, who loved poor Ireland, but who erred in doubting you. Doubting you, who could not tell them why you spake the strange behest — You, who saw the day was coming when the moral strength was best — You, whose hearts were sore with looking on your country's quick decay — You, whose chapel seats were empty and your people fled away — You, who marked amid the fields where once the peasant's cabin stood — 120 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. You, who saw your kith and kindieLl swell the emigration flood — You, the sog garth in the famine, and the helper in the frost — You, whose shadow was a sunshine when all other hope was lost — Yes, they doubted — and you knew it — but you never said a word ; Onl}^ preached, "Be still: be patient I " and, thank God, 3"our voice was heard. Now, the day foreseen is breaking — it has dawned upon the land, And the priests still preach in Ireland : do they bid their flocks disband ? Do they tell them still to sufl'er and be silent? No ! their words Flash from Dublin Bay to Connaught, brighter than the gleam of swords ! Flash from Donegal to Kerry, and from Water- ford to Clare, And the nationhood awaking thrills the sorrow- laden air. THE PRIESTS OF IRELAND. 121 Well tliey judged their time — they waited till the bar was 2:lowino: white, Then they swung it on the anvil, striking down with earnest might. And the burning sparks that scatter lose no lustre on their waj^ Till five million hearts in Ireland and ten millions far away Feel the first good blow, and answer ; and they will not rest with one : Now the first is struck, the anvil shows the labor well begun ; Swing them in w^ith lusty sinew and the work will soon be done ! Let them sound from hoary Cashel ; Kerry, Meath, and Ross stand forth ; Let them ring from Cloyue and Tuam and the Primate of the North ; Ask not class or creed : let "Ireland I " be the talismanic w^ord ; Let the blessed sound of unity from North to South be heard ; 122 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Carve the words : " Xo creed distinctions ! " on O'CoDnell's granite tomb, And his dust will feel their meaning and rekindle in the gloom. Priest to priest, to sound the summons — and the answer, man to man ; With the people round the standard, and the prelates in the van. Let the heart of Ireland's hoping keep this golden rule of Cloyne Till the Orange fades from Derry and the shadow from the Boyne. Let the words be carried outward till the farthest lands they reach : "After Christ, their countrv's freedom do the Irisli prelates preach ! " RELEASED. 1 23 RELEASED— JANUARY, 1878.* 'THHEY are free at last I They can face the sun ; Their hearts now throb with the world's pulsation ; Their prisons are open — their night is done ; 'Tis England's mercy and reparation ! The years of their doom have slowly sped — Their limbs are withered — their ties are riven ; Their children are scattered, their friends are dead — But the prisons are open — the "crime" for- given. * On the 5tli of January, 1878, three of the Irish political prisoners, who had been confined since 1866, were set at lib- erty. The released men were received by their fellow-country- men in London. *' They are well," said the report, " but they look prematurely old." 124 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. God I what a threshold they stand upon : The world has passed ou '^hile they were buried ; In the glare of the sun they walk alone Oil the grass-grown track where the crowd has hurried. Haggard and broken and seared with pain, They seek the remembered friends and places ; Men shuddering turn, and gaze again At the deep-drawn lines on their altered faces. What do they read on the pallid page ? "What is the tale of these woful letters ? A lesson as old as their country's age, Of a love that is stronger than stripes and fetters. In the blood of the slain some dip their blade, And swear by the stain the foe to follow : But a deadlier oath might here be made, On the wasted bodies and f ices hollow. RELEASED. 125 Irishmen ! You who have kept the peace — • Look on these forms diseased and broken : Believe, if you can, that their late release, When their lives are sapped, is a good-will token. Their hearts are the bait on England's hook ; For this are they dragged from her hopeless prison ; She reads her doom in the Nations' book — She fears the day that has darkly risen ; She reaches her hand for Ireland's aid — Ireland, scourged, contemned, derided; She begs from the beggar her hate has made ; She seeks for the strength her guile divided. She offers a bribe — ah, God above ! Behold the price of the desecration : The hearts she has tortured for Irish love She brings as a bribe to the Irish nation I 126 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. O, blind and cruel I She fills her cup With conquest and pride, till its red wine splashes : But shrieks at the draught as she drinks it up — Her wine has been turned to blood and ashes. We know her — our Sister I Come on the storm ! God send it soon and sudden upon her : The race she has shattered and sought to deform Shall laugh as she drinks the black dishonor. THE PATRIOTS GRAVE. 12 J THE PATRIOT'S GRAVE. READ AT THE EMMET CENTENNIAIi IN BOSTON, MARCH 4, 1878. [" I am going to my cold and silent grave — my lamp of life is nearly extinguished. I have parted with everything that was dear to me in this life for my country's cause — with the idol of my soul, the object of my affections : my race is run, the grave opens to receive me, and I sink into its bosom! I have but one request to make at ray departure from this world — it is the charity of its silence I Let no man write my epi- taph ; for, as no man who knows my motives dare now vindi- cate them, let not ignorance nor prejudice asperse them. Let them rest in obscurity and peace! Let my memory be left in oblivion, and my tomb uninscribed, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written." — Speech of Robert Emmet in the Dock.] T I. EAR down the crape from the column I Let the shaft stand white and fair I Be silent the wailing music — there is no death in the air I We come not in plaint or sorrow — no tears may dim our sight : We dare not weep o'er the epitaph we have not dared to write. 128 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Come hither with glowing faces, the sire, the youth, and the child ; This grave is a shrine for reverent hearts and hands that are uudefiled : Its ashes are inspiration ; it giveth us strength to bear, And sweepeth away dissension, and uerveth the will to dare. In the midst of the tombs, a Gravestone — and written thereon no word ! And behold, at the head of the grave, a gibbet, a torch, and a sword ! And the people kneel by the gibbet, and pray by the nameless stone For the torch to be lit, and the name to be writ, and the sword's red work to be done I II. AVith pride and not with grief "We lay this century leaf Upon the tomb with hearts that do not falter: THE PATRIOT S GRAVE. 1 29 A few brief, toiling years Since fell the nation's tears, And lo, the patriot's gibbet is an altar I The people that are blest Have him they love the best To mount the martyr's scaffold when they need him ; And vain the cords that bind While the nation's steadfast mind, Like the needle to the pole, is true to freedom I ni. Three j^owers there are that dominate the world — Fraud, Force, and Right — and two oppress the one : The bolts of Fraud and Force like twins are hurled — Against them ever standeth Right alone. 130 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Cyclopian strokes the brutal allies give : Their fetters massive and their dungeon walls ; Beneath their yoke, weak nations cease to live, And valiant Right itself defenceless fiills ! Defaced is law, and justice slain at birth ; Good men are broken — malefactors thrive ; But, when the tj^rants tower o'er the earth. Behind their wheels strong right is still alive ! Alive, like seed that God's own hand has sown — Like seed that lieth in the lowly furrow. But springs to life when wintry winds are blown : To-day the earth is gray — 'tis green to- morrow* The roots strike deep despite the rulers' power. The plant grows strong with summer sun and rain. Till Autumn bursts the deep red-hearted flower, And freedom marches to the front a^^ain I THE PATRIOT S GRAVE. I 3 I While slept the right, and reigned the dual wrong, Unchanged, unchecked, for half a thousand years, In tears of blood we cried, *'0 Lord, how long?" And even God seemed deaf to Erin's tears. But when she lay all weak and bruised and broken, Her white limbs seared with cruel chain and thorn — As bursts the cloud, the lightning word was spoken, God's seed took root — His crop of men was born ! With one deep breath began the land's progres- sion : On every field the seeds of freedom fell : Burke, Grattan, Flood, and Curran in the ses- sion — Fitzgerald, Sheares, and Emmet in the cell I 132 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Such teachers soon aroused the dormant nation — Such sacrifice insured the endless fight : The voice of Grattan smote wrong's domina- tion — The death of Emmet sealed the cause of right I IV. Eichest of gifts to a nation I Death with the living crown I Type of ideal manhood to the people's heart brou2:ht down I Fount of the hopes we cherish — Test of the things we do ; Goro^on's face for the traitor — Talisman for the true I Sweet is the love of a woman, and sweet is the kiss of a child ; Sweet is the tender strength, and the bravery of the mild ; THE PATRIOT'S GRAVE. I33 But sweeter than all, for embracing all, is the young life's peerless price — The 3-oung heart laid on the altav, as a nation's sacrifice. How can the debt be cancelled? Prayers and tears w^e may give — But how recall the anguish of hc4it^ that have ceased to live ? Flushed with the pride of genius — G[}\^ '^'Ah. the strencrth of life - ~ Thrilled with delicioua \)5^ssion for her wul- x^ould be his w^ife — This was the heart h^ PiTored — the upright life he gave - — This is the silent sermon c»i' the patriot's nameless grave. Shrine of a nation's honor - «toiie left blank foi a name — 134 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Light on the dark horizon to guide us clear from shame — Chord struck deep with the keynote, telling us what can save — "A nation among the nations," or forever a nameless grave. Such is the will of the martyr — the burden we still must bear ; But even from death he reaches the legacy to share : He teaches the secret of manhood — the watch- word of those who aspire — That men must follow freedom though it lead through blood and fire ; That sacrifice is the bitter draught which freemen still must quaflf — That every patriotic life is the patriot's epitaph. JOHN MITCHEL. 1 2$ JOHN MITCHEL. DIED MARCH 20, 1875. I. T^EAD, with his harness on him: Rigid and cold and white, Marking the place of the vanguard Still in the ancient fight. The climber dead on the hill-side, Before the height is won : The workman dead on the building. Before the work is done I O, for a tongue to utter The words that should be said — Of his worth that was silver, living, That is gold and jasper, dead I 136 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Dead — but the death was fitting: His life, to the latest breath, Was poured like wax on the chart of right, And is sealed by the stamp of Death ! Dead — but the end was fittinsj : First in the ranks he led ; And he marks the height of his nation's gain, As he lies in his harness — dead ! n. Weep for him, Ireland — mother lonely; Weep for the son who died for thee. Wayward he was, but he loved thee only, Loyal and fearless as son could be. Weep for him, Ireland — sorrowing nation Faithful to all who are true to thee : Never a son in thy desolation Had holier love for thy cause than he. JOHN MITCIIEL. 1 37 Sons of the Old Land, mark the story — Mother and son in the final test : Weeping she sits in her darkened glory, Holding her dead to her stricken breast. Only the dead on her knees are lying — Ah, poor mother beneath the Cross ! Strength is won by the constant trying, Crowns are gemmed by the tears of loss I Sons of the Old Laud, mark the story — Mother and son to each other true : She called, and he answered, old and hoary, And gave her his life as a man should do. She may weep — but for us no weeping: Tears are vain till the work is done ; Tears for her — but for us the keeping Our hearts as true as her faithful son. 138 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. A NATION'S TEST. READ AT THE O'COXNELL CEXTEXNLLL IX BOSTON, ON AUGUST 6, 1875. I. A NATION'S greatness lies in men, not acres ; One master-mind is worth a million hands. No royal robes have marked the planet-shakers, But Samson-strength to burst the ages' bands. The might of empire gives no crown supernal — Athens is here — but where is Macedon? A dozen lives make Greece and Rome eternal, And England's fame misrht safely rest on one. Here test and text are drawn from Nature's preaching : Afric and Asia — half the rounded earth — In teeming lives the solemn truth are teaching, That insect -millions may have human birth. A NATION'S TEST. 1 39 Sun-kissed and fruitful, every clod is breeding A petty life, too small to reach the eye : So must it be, with no Man thinking, leading, The generations creep their course and die. Hapless the lands, and doomed amid the races. That give no answer to this royal test ; Their toiling tribes will droop ignoble faces, Till earth in pity takes them back to rest. A vast monotony may not be evil. But God's light tells us it cannot be good ; Valley and hill have beauty — but the level Must bear a shadeless and a stagnant brood. II. I bring the touchstone, Motherland, to thee. And test thee tr 3mbling, fearing thou shouldsi fail ; If fruitless, sonkss, thou wert proved to be. Ah, what would love and memory avail? 140 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND B VLLADS. Brave land ! God has blest thee I Thy strong heart I feel, As I touch thee and test thee — Dear laud ! As the steel To the magnet flies upward, so rises thy breast, With a motherly pride to the touch of the test. ni. See! she smiles beueath the touchstone, looking on her distant youth, Looking down her line of leaders and of workers for the truth. Ere the Teuton, Norseman, Briton, left thp primal woodland spring, "When their rule was might and rapine, and their law a painted king ; When the sun of art and learning still was in the Orient ; When the pride of Babylonia under Cyrus' hand was shcnt ; A NATION S TEST. I4I When the sphinx's introverted eye turned fresh from Egypt's guilt ; When the Persian bowed to Athens ; when the Parthenon was built ; When the Macedonian climax closed the Com- monwealths of Greece ; When the wrath of Roman manhood burst on Tarquin for Lucrece — Then was Erin rich in knowledge — thence from out her Ollamh's store — Kenned to-day by students only — grew her ancient jSenchus More; * Then were reared her mighty builders, who made temples to the sun — There they stand — the old Round Towers — showing how their work was done : * " Sencbus More," or Great Laio, the title of the Brehon Laws, translated by O'Donovan and O' Curry. OUamh Fola, who reigned 900 years B.C., organized a triennial parliament at-Tara, of the chiefs, priests, and bards, who digested the laws into a record called the Psalter of Tara. Ollamh Fola founded schools of history, medicine, philosophy, poetry, and astronomy, which were protected by his successors. Kimbath (450 B.C.) and Ilugony (300 B.C.) also promoted the civil iuterests of the kingdom in a remarkable manner. 142 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Thrice a thousand years upon them — shaming all our later art — Warninof finf^ers raised to tell us we must build with rev'rent heart. Ah, we call thee Mother Erin ! Mother thou in right of years ; Mother in the large fruition — mother in the joys and tears. All thy life has been a symbol — we can only read a part : God will flood thee yet with sunshine for the woes that drench thy heart. All thy life has been symbolic of a human mother's life : Youth's sweet hopes and dreams have vanished, and the travail and the strife Are upon thee in the present ; but thy work until to-day- Still has been for truth and manhood — and it shall not pass away : A nation's test. * 143 Justice lives, though judgment lingers — angels' feet are heavy shod — But a planet's years are moments in th'^ eternal day of God 1 IV. Out from the valley of death and tears, From the v^ar and want of a thousand years, From the mark of sword and the rust of chain, From the smoke and blood of the penal laws, The Irish men and the Irish cause Come out in the front of the field again I What sa3^s the stranger to such a vitality ? What says the statesman to this nationality ? Flung on the shore of a sea of defeat. Hardly the swimmers have sprung to their feet. When the nations are thrilled by a clarion-word. And Burke, the philosopher-statesman, is heard. 144 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. AVhen shall his equal be? Down from the stellar height Sees he the planet and all on its girth — India, Columbia, and Europe — his eagle-sight Sweeps at a glance all the wrong upon earth. Races or sects were to him a profanit}^ : Hindoo and Negro and Kelt were as one ; Large as mankind was his splendid humanity, Large in its record the work he has done. V. "What need to mention men of minor note, When there be minds that all the heights attain ? "What school-boy knoweth not the hand that wrote " Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain" ? What man that speaketh English e'er can lift .His voice 'mid scholars, who hath missed the lore Of Berkele}^ Curran, Sheridan, and Swift, The art of Foley and the songs of Moore ? A NATION S TEST. 1 45 Grattan and Flood and Emmet — where is he That hath not learned respect for such as these ? Who loveth humor, and hath yet to see Lover and Prout and Lever and Maclise ? VI. Great men grow greater by the lapse of time : We know those least whom we have seen the latest ; And they, 'mongst those w^hose names have grown sublime, Who worked for Human Liberty, are greatest. And now for one who allied will to work, And thought to act, and burning speech to thought ; Who gained the prizes that were seen by Burke — Burke felt the wronir — O'Connell felt, and fought. 146 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Ever the same — from boyhood up to death : His race was crushed — his people were defamed ; Fie found the spark, and fanned it with his breath, And fed the fire, till all the nation flamed ! He roused the farms — he made the serf a yeoman ; He drilled his millions and he faced the foe ; But not with lead or steel he struck the foeman : Reason the sword — and human rio^ht the blow. 'O' He fouijht for home — but no land-limit boimded O'Connell's faith, nor curbed his sympathies; All wrong to liberty must be confounded. Till men were chainless as the winds and seas. He fought for faith — but with no narrow spirit ; With ceaseless hand the bigot laws he smote ; One chart, he said, all mankind should inherit, — The right to worship and the right to vote. A NATION S TEST. 1 47 Always the same — but yet a glinting prism : In wit, law, statecraft, still a master-band ; An "uncrowned king," wbose people's love was chrism ; His title — Liberator of his Land ! "Ilis heart's in Rome, his spirit is in heaven" — So runs the old song that his people sing ; A tall Round Tower they builded in Glasnevin — Fit Irish headstone for an Irish king I VII. O Motherland ! there is no cause to doubt thee : Thy mark is left on every shore to-day. Though grief and wrong may cling like robes about thee. Thy motherhood will keep thee queen alway. In faith and patience working, and believing Not power alone can make a noble state : 148 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Whate'er the laud, though all thiugs else con- ceivhig, Uuless it breed great men, it is uot great. Go on, dear laud, and midst the generations Send out strong men to cry the word aloud ; Thy niche is empty still amidst the nations — Go on in faith, and God must raise the cloud. THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 1 49 THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. r ONG time ago, from Amsterdam a vessel sailed -■— ' away, — As fair a ship as ever flung aside the laughing spray. Upon the shore were tearful eyes, and scarfs were in the air, As to her, o'er the Zuyder Zee, went fond adieu and prayer; And brave hearts, yearning shoreward fi'om the outward- going ship. Felt lingering kisses clinging still to tear-wet cheek and lip. She steered for some far eastern clime, and, as she skimmed the seas. Each taper mast was bending like a rod before tha breeze. 150 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Her captain was a stalwart man, — an iron heart had he. — From childhood's days he sailed upon the rolling; Zuyder Zee : JTe nothing feared upon the earth, and scarcely heaven feared, He would have dared and done whatever mortal man had dared ! He looked aloft, where high in air the pennant cut the blue. And every rope and spar and sail was firm and sti'ong and true. He turned him from the swelling sail to gaze upon the shore, — Ah ! little thought the skipper then 'twould meet his eye no more : He dreamt not that an awful doom was hanging o'er his ship, Tliat Vanderdecken's name would yet make pale the speaker's hp. The vessel bounded on her way, and spire and dome went down, — THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. I5I Ere darkness fell, beneath the wave had sunk the distant town. No more, no more, ye hapless crew, shall Holland meet your eye. In lingering hope and keen suspense, maid, wife, and child shall die ! Away, away the vessel speeds, till sea and sky alone Are round her, as her course she steers across the torrid zone. Away, until the North Star fades, the Southern Cross is high, And myriad gems of brightest beam are sparkling in the sky. The tropic winds are left behind ; she nears the Cape of Storms, Vv^here awful Tempest ever sits enthroned in wild alarms ; Where Ocean in his anger shakes aloft his foamy crest, Disdainful of the weakly toys that ride upon his breast. 152 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Fierce swell the winds and waters round the Dutch- man's gallant ship, But, to their rage, defiance rings from Yander- decken's lip : Impotent they to make him swerve, their might he dares desjjise. As straight he holds his onward course, and wind and wave defies. For days and nights he struggles in the wierd, unearthly fight. His brow is bent, his eye is fierce, but looks of deep affright Amongst the mariners go round, as hopelessly they steer : They do not dare to murmur, but they whisper what they fear. Their black-browed captain awes them : 'neath his darkened eye they quail, " And in a grim and sullen mood their bitter fate bewail. As some fierce rider ruthless spurs a timid, wav- ering liorse, THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. I 53 He drives his shapely vessel, and they watch the reckless course, Till once again their skipper's laugh is flung upon the blast : The placid ocean smiles be3^ond, the dreaded Cape is passed I Away across the Indian main the vessel northward glides ; A thousand murmuring ripples break along her graceful sides: The perfumed breezes fill her sails, — her destined port she nears, — The captain's brow has lost its frown, the mariners their fears. " Land ho ! " at length the welcome sound the watchful sailor sings. And soon within an Indian bay the ship at anchor swings. Not idle then the busy crew : ere long the spacious hold Is emptied of its western freight, and stored with silk and gold. 134 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Again the ponderous anchor 's weighed ; the shore is left behind, The snowy sails are bosomed out before the favor- ing wind. Across the warm blue Indian sea the vessel south- ward flies, And once again the North Star fades and Austral beacons rise. For home she steers ! she seems to know and answer to the word, Ani swifter skims the bui-nished deep, like some fair ocean- bird. *' For home ! for home ! " the merry crew with gladsome voices cr}^, And dark-browed Vanderdecken has a mild light in his eye. But once again the Cape draws near, and furious billows rise ; And still the daring Dutchman's laugh the hurri- cane defies. But wildly slirieked the tempest ere the scornful sound had died, THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. 155 A warning to the daring man to curb Ms impious pride. A crested mountain struck tlie ship, and like a frighted bird Sl]e trembled 'neath the awful shock. Then Van- derdecken heard A pleading voice within the gale, — his better an- gel spoke, But fled before his scowling look, as mast-high mountains broke Around the trembling vessel, till the crew with terror paled ; But Vanderdecken never flinched, nor 'neath the thunders quailed. With folded arms and stern-pressed lips, dark anger in his eye. He answered back the threatening frown that lowered o'er the sky. With fierce defiance in his heart, and scornful look of flame, He spoke, and thus with impious voice blaspliemed God's holy name : — 156 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. " Howl on, ye winds ! ye tempests, liowl ! your rage is spent in vain : Despite your strength, your frowns, your hate, I *11 ride upon the main. Defiance to your idle shrieks ! I '11 sail upon my path : I cringe not for thy Maker's smile, — I care not for His wrath ! " He ceased. An aw^ful silence fell: the tempest and the sea Were hushed in sudden stillness by the Ruler's dread decree. The ship w^as riding motionless within the gather- ing gloom ; The Dutchman stood upon the poop and heard his dreadful doom. The hapless crew Avere on the deck in swooning terror prone, — They, too, were bound in fearful fate. In angered thunder-tone THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. I57 Tb'"; judgment words swept o'er the sea : " Go, wretch, accurst, condemned ! Go rtVil for ever on the deep, by shrieking tempests hemmed. No home, no port, no calm, no rest, no gentle fav'ring breeze, Shall ever greet thee. Go, accurst! and battle with the seas ! Go, braggart ! struggle with the storm, nor ever cease to live, i But bear a million times the pangs that death and fear can give. Away ! and hide thy guilty head, a curse to all thy kind W]io ever see thee struggling, wretch, with ocean and with wmd. Away, presumptuous worm of earth ! Go teach thy fellow-worms The awful fate that waits on him who braves the King of Storms ! " 158 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. 'Twas o'er. A lurid lightning flash lit up the sea and sky Around and o'er the fated ship ; then rose a wail- ing cry From every heart within her, of keen anguish and despair; But mercy was for them no more, — it died away in air. Once more the lurid light gleamed out, — the ship was still at rest, The crew were standing at their posts ; with arms across his breast Still stood the captain on the poop, but bent and crouching now He bowed beneath that fiat dread, and o'er his swarthy brow Swept lines of anguish, as if he a thousand years ot pain Had lived and suffered. Then across the heaving, angry main THE FLYING DUTCHMAN. I 59 The tempest shrieked triumphant, and the angry waters hissed Their vengeful hate against the toy they oftentimes had kissed. And ever through the midnight storm that hapless crew must speed ; They try to round the stormy Cape, but never can succeed. And oft when gales are wildest, and the lightning's vivid sheen Flashes back the ocean's anger, still the Phantom Ship is seen Ever sailing to the southward in the fierce tor- nado's swoop, With her ghostly crew and canvas, and her captain on the poop, Unrelenting, unforgiven ; and 'tis said that every word Of his blasphemous defiance still upon the gale is heard I But Heaven help the ship near which the dismal sailor steers, — l6o SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The doom of those is sealed to whom that Phan- tom Ship appears : They '11 never reach their destined port, — they 'U see their homes no more, — They who see the Flpng Dutchman — never, never reach the shore ! UNCLE NED's tale. i6i UNCLE NED'S TALE. AN OLD dragoon's STORY. OFTEN, musing, wander back to days long since gone by, And far-off scenes and long-lost forms arise to fancy's eye. A group familiar now I see, who all but one are fled,— My mother, sister Jane, myself, and dear old Uncle Ned. I '11 tell you how I see them now. First, mother in her chair Sits knitting by the parlor fire, with anxious matron air ; My sister Jane, just nine years old, is seated at her feet. With look demure, as if she, too, were thinking how to meet 1 62 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The butcher's or the baker's bill, — though not a thought has she Of aught beside her girlish toys ; and next to her I see Myself, a sturdy lad of twelve, — neglectfid of the book That open lies upon my knee, — my fixed admir- ing look At Uncle Ned, upon the left, whose upright, mar- tial mien. Whose empty sleeve and gray moustache, proclaim what he has been. My mother I had always loved; my father then was dead ; But 'twas more than love — 'twas worship — I felt for Uncle Ned. Such tales he had of battle-fields, — the victory and the rout, The ringing cheer, the dpng shriek, the loiid exulting shout I And how, forgetting age and wounds, his eye would kindle bright, UNCLE NED's tale. 1 6^ \Mien telling of some desperate ride or close and deadly fight ! But oft I noticed, in tlie midst of some wild martial tale, To which I lent attentive ear, my mother's cheek grow pale : She sighed to see my kindled look, and feared I might be led To follow in the wayward steps of poor old Uncle Ned. But with all the wondrous tales he told, 'twas strange I never heard Of his last fight, for of that day he never spoke a word. And yet 'twas there he lost his arm, and once he e'en confessed 'Twas there he won the glittering cross he wore upon his breast. rt hung the centre of a group of Glory's emblems fair, And royal hands, he told me once, had placed the bauble there. 164 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Eiicli day that passed I hungered more to hear about that fight, And oftentimes I prayed in vain. At length, one winter's night, — The very night I speak of now, — with more than usual care I filled his i)ipe, then took my stand beside my uncle's chair: I fixed my eyes upon the Cross, — he saw my youth- ful plan ; And, smiling, laid the pipe aside and thus the tale began : — (( Well, boy, it was in summer time, and just at morning's light We heard the ' Boot and Saddle I ' sound : the foe was then in sight. Just winding round a distant hill and opening on the plain. Each trooper looked with careful eye to girth and curb and rein. UNCLE NED S TALE. 1 65 We snatched a hasty breakfast, — we were old campaigners then ; That morn, of all onr splendid corps, we 'd scarce one hundred men ; But they were soldiers, tried and true, who 'd rather die than yield: The rest were scattered far and wide o'er many a hard-fought field. Our trumpet now rang sharply out, and at a swinging pace We left the bivouac behind ; and soon the eye could trace The columns moving o'er the plain. Oh ! 'twas a stirring sight To see two mighty armies there preparing for the fight : To watch the heavy masses, as, with practised, steady wheel, They opened out in slender lines of brightly flash- ing steel. Our place was on the farther flank, behind some rising ground, 1 66 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. That hid the stirring scene from view ; but soou a booming sound Proclaimed the opening of the fight. Then war's loud thunder rolled, And hurtling shells and whistling balls their deadly messag^e told. We hoped to have a gallant day ; our hearts were all aglow ; We longed for one wild, sweeping charge, to chase the flpng foe. Our troopers marked the hours glide by, but still no orders came : They clutched their swords, and muttered words 'twere better not to name. For hours the loud artillery roared, — the sun was at its height, — Still there we lay behind that hill, shut out from all the fight I We heard the maddened charging yells, the ringin<^ British cheers, And all the din of glorious war kept sounding in our ears. UNCLE NED's tale. 1 67 Our hearts with fierce impatience throbbed, we cursed the very hill That hid the sight ; the evening fell, and we were idle still. The horses, too, were almost wild, and told with angry snort And blazing eye their fierce desire to join the savage sport. When lower still the sun had sunk, and with it all our hope, A horseman, soiled with smoke and sweat, came dashing down the slope. He bore the wished-for orders. ' At last ! ' our Colonel cried ; And as he read the brief despatch his glance was filled with pride. Then he who bore the orders, in a low, emphatic tone, The stern, expressive sentence spoke, — ' Se said it must he done ! ' - ' It shall be done ! ' our Colonel cried. * Men, look to strap and girth, l6S SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. We \e work to do this day will prove what every man is worth ; Ay, work, my lads, will make amends for all our long delay, — The General says on us depends the fortune of the day!' " No order needed we to mount, — each man was in his place. And stern and dangerous was the look on every veteran face. We trotted sharply up the hill, and halted on the brow. And then that glorious field appeared. Oh I lad, I see it now ! But little time had we to spare foi idle gazing then : Beneath us, in the valley, stood a dark-clad mass of men : It cut the Britibh line in two. Our Colonel shouted, ' There ! Behold your work I Our orders are to charge and Irreak that square I * UNCLE NED's tale. 1 69 Each trooper dre\v a heavy breath, then gathered up his reins, And pressed tlie liehnet o'er his brow ; the horses tossed their manes In protest fierce against the curb, and spurned the springy healh, Impatient for the trumpet's sound to bid them rush to death. " Well, boy, that moment seemed an hour : at last we heard the words, — ' Dragoons ! I know you '11 follow me. Ride steady, men ! Draw swords ! ' The trumpet sounded : off we dashed, at first with steady pace. But growing swifter as we went. Oh! 'twas a gallant race ! I'loee-fourths the ground was left behind: the loud and thrilhng ' Charge I ' Rang out ; but, fairly frantic now, we needed not to urge I/O SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. . With voice or rein our gallant steeds, or touch Iheii* foaming flanks. They seemed to fly. Now straight in- front appeared the kneelmg ranks. Above them waved a standard broad : we saw theii rifles raised, — A moment more, with awful crash, the deadly volley blazed. The bullets wliistled through our ranks, and many a trooper fell ; But we were left. What cared we then ? but on- ward rushing still ! Again the crash roared fiercely out ; but on I still madly on ! We heard the shrieks of djTJig men, but recked not who was gone. We gored the horses' foaming flanks, and on through smoke and glare We wildly dashed, with clenched teeth. We had no thought, no care I Then came a sudden, sweeping rush. Again with savage heel UNCLE NED'S tale. I /I I struck HI}' horse : with a^yful hound he rose right o'er theu^ steel I " Well, hoy, I cannot tell you how that dreadful leap was made, But theie I rode, inside the square, and grasped a reeking hlade. I cared not that I was alone, my eyes seem filled with hlood : I never thought a man could feel in such a mur- derous mood. I parried not, nor guarded thrusts ; I felt not pain or wound, But madly spurred the frantic horse, and swept my sword around. I tried to reach the standard sheet; but there at last was foiled. The gallant horse was jaded now, and from the steel recoiled. They saw his fright, and pressed him then : hia terror made him rear, And falling hack he crushed their ranks, and broke theu' guarded square ! 1/2 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. My coini'ades saw the gap he made, and soon came dashing in ; They raised me up, — I felt no hurt, but laingled in the din. I 'd seen some fearful work before, but never was engaged lu such a wild and savage fight as now around me racked. The foe had ceased their firing, and now plied the deadly steel : Though all our men were wounded then, no pain they seemed to feel. No groans escaped from those who fell, but horrid oaths instead, And scowling looks of hate were on the features of the dead. The fight was round the standard : though outnum- bered ten to one, We held our ground, — ay, more than that, — we still kept pushing on. Our men now made a desperate rush to take the flag by storm. UNCLE NEDS TALE. 1/3 I seized the pole, a blow came down and crushed my outstretched arm. I felt a sudden thrill of pain, but that soon passed away; And, with a devilish thirst for blood, again I joined the fray. At last we rallied all our strength, and charged o'er heaps of slain : Some fought to death ; some wavered, — then fled across the plain. " Well, boy, the rest is all confused : mere was a fearful rout ; I saw our troopers chase the foe, and heard their maddened shout. Then came a blank : my senses reeled, I know not how I fell ; I seemed to grapple with a foe, but that I cannot tell. My mind was gone : when it came back I saw the moon on high ; Around me all was stUl as death. T gazed up at the sky, 1/4 SONGb, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And watched the gluxunering stars above, — -kj quiet did they seem, — And all that dreadful field appeared like some wild, fearful dream. But memory soon came back again, and cleared my wandering brain, And then from every joint and limb shot fiery darts of pain. My throat was parched, the burning thirst increased with every breath ; I made no effort to arise, but wished and prayed for death. My bridle arm was broken, and lay throbbing on the sward, But something still my right hand grasped : 1 thought it was my sword. I raised my hand to cast it off, — no reeking blade was there ; Then life and strength returned, — I held the Standard of the Square ! With bounding heart I gained my feet. Oh I thee I wished to live, UNXLE NEDS TALE. 175 'Twas strange the strength and love of life that standard seemed to give! I gazed around : far down the vale I saw a camp- fire's glow. With wandering step I ran that way, — I recked not friend or foe. Though stumbling now o'er heaps of dead, now o'er a stiffened horse, I heeded not, but watched the light, and held my onward course. But soon that flash of strength had failed, and checked my feverish speed ; Again my throat was all ablaze, my wounds began to bleed. I knew that if I fell again, my chance of life was gone, So, leaning on the standard-pole, I still kept strug- gling on. At length I neared the camp-fire : there were scar- let jackets round, An<.l swords and brazen helmets lay strewn upon the ground. 176 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Some distance off, in order ranged, stood men, — about a score : God ! 'twas all that now remained of my old gallant corps I The muster-roll was being called: to every well- known name 1 heard the solemn answer, — ' Dead ! ' At length my own turn came. 1 paused to hear, — a comrade answered, ' Dead I I saw him fall ! ' I could not move another step, I tried in vain to call. My life was flowing fast, and all around was gather- ing haze, And o'er the heather tops I watched my comrades* cheerful blaze. I thought such anguish as I felt was more than man could bear. God ! it was an &,wful thing to die with help so near! And death was stealing o'er me : with the strength of wild despair 1 raised the standard o'er my head, and waved it through the air. UNCLE NEDS TALE. 1 77 Then all grew cliin : the fire, the men, all vanished from mj sight, My senses reeled ; I know no more of that eventful night. *Twas weeks before my mind came back : I knew not where I lay, But kindly hands were round me, and old comrades came each day. They told me how the waving flag that night had caught their eye, And how they found me bleeding there, and thought that I must die ; They brought me all the cheering news, — the war was at an end. No wonder 'twas, with all their care, I soon began to mend. The General came to see me, too, with all his bril- liant train. But what he said, or how I felt, to tell you now 'twere vain. Enough, I soon grew strong again : the wished-foi route had come, 1/8 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And all the gallant veteran troops set out witli cheers for home. We soon arrived ; and then, my lad, 'twould thnll your heart to hear How England welcomed home her sons with many a ringing cheer. But tush ! what boots it now to speak of what was said or done ? The victory was dearly bought, our bravest hearts were gone. Ere long the King reviewed us. Ah ! that memory is sweet ! They made me bear the foreign flag, and lay it nt his feet. I parted from my brave old corps : 'twere matter, lad, for tears. To leave the kind old comrades I had ridden with for years. I was no longer fit for \rar, my wanderings had to cease. There, boy, I 've told you all my tales. Now let me smoke in peace." UNCLE NEDS TALE. 1/9 How \dvid grows the picture now ! liow bright each scene appears ! I trace each loved and long-lost face with eyes be- dimmed in tears. How plain I hear thee, Uncle Ned, and see thy musing look, Comparing all thy glory to the curling wreaths of smoke ! A truer, braver soldier ne'er for king and country bled. His wanderinjTs are for ever o'er. God rest thee, Uncle Ned! l80 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. UNCLE NED'S TALES. HOW THE FLAG WAS SAVED.* *^T^WAS a dismal winter's evening, fast witiiont -^ came down the snow, But within, the cheerful fire cast a ruddy, genial glow O'er our pleasant little parlor, that was then my mother's pride. There she sat beside the glowing grate, my sister by her side ; And beyond, within the shadow, in a cosy little nook Uncle Ned and I were sitting, and in whispering tones we spoke. I was asking for a story he had promised me to tell,— • An incident from the record of the Enniskillen Dragoons in Spain, under General Picton. UNCLE NED's tales. i8i Of liis. comiiide, old Dick Hilton, liow he fouglit and liow he fell ; And with eager voice I presbed him, till a mighty final cloud Blew he slowly, then upon his breast his grisly head he bowed, And, musing, stroked his gray mustache ere he began to speak, Then brushed a tear that stole along his bronzed and furrowed cheek. " Ah, no ! I will not speak to-night of that sad tale," he cried : " Some other time I '11 tell you, boy, about that splendid ride. Your words have set me thinking of the many care- less years That comrade rode beside me, and have caused these bitter tears ; For I loved him, boy, — for twenty years we gal- loped rein to rein, — In peace and war, through all that time, stanch comrades had we been. 1 82 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. As bojs we rode together when our soldiering first began, And in all those je^vs I knew him for a true and trusty man. One who never swerved from danger, — for he knew not how to fear, — If grim Death arrayed his legions, Dick would charge him with a cheer. He was happiest in a struggle or a wild and dan- gerous ride : Every inch a trooper was he, and he cared for uaua:ht beside. He was known for many a gallant deed : to-night I '11 tell 3'ou one, And no braver feat of arms was by a soldier ever done. 'Twas when we were young and fearless, for 'twas in our first campaign, AYhen Ave galloped through the orange groves and fields of sunny Spain. Our wary old commander was retiring from the foe. UNCLE NED's tales. 1 83 Who came pressing close upon us, witli a proud, exulting show. We could hear their taunting laughter, and within our very sight Did they ride defiant round us, — ay, and dared us . to the fight. But brave old Picton heeded not, but held his backward track, And smiling said the day would come to pay the Frenchmen back. And come it did : one morning, long before the break of day, We were standing to our arms, all ready for the coming fray. Soon the sun poured down his glory on the hostile lines arrayed. And his beams went flashing brightly back from many a burnished blade, Soon to change its spotless lustre for a reeking crimson stain. In some heart, then throbbing proudly, that will never throb again 184 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. When that sun has reached his zenith, lift and pride will then have fled, And his beams will mock in splendor o'er the ghastly heaps of dead. Oh, 'tis sad to tliink how many but I wander, lad, I fear ; And, though the moral's good, I guess the tale you 'd rather hear. Well, I said that we were ready, and the foe was ready, too ; Soon the fight was raging fiercely, — thick and fast the bullets flew, With a bitter hiss of malice, as if hungry for the life To be torn from manly bosoms in the maddening heat of strife. Distant batteries were thundering, pouring grape and shell like rain, And the ciTiel missiles hurtled with their load of death and pain, Which they carried, like fell demons, to the heart of some brigade, UNCLE NED's tales. 1 85 Where the siiddon, awful stillness told the havoo they had made. Thus the struggle raged till noon, and neither side could vantage show ; Tlien the tide of battle turned, and swept in favor of the foe ! Fiercer still the cannon thundered, — wilder screamed the grape and shell, — Onward pressed the French battalions, — back the British masses fell ! Then, as on its prey devoted, fierce the hungered vulture swoops, Swung the foeman's charging squadrons down upon our broken troops. Victory hovered o'er their standard, — on they swept with maddened shout. Spreading death and havoc round them, till retreat was changed to rout ! 'Twas a saddening sight to witness ; and, when Picton saw them fly, Grief and shame were mixed and burning in the old commander's eye. 1 86 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. We were riding in his escort, close behind him, on a height Which the fiital field commanded ; thence we viewed the growing flight. " But, my lad, I now must tell you something more about that hill, And I '11 try to make you see the spot as I can see it still. Right before us, o'er the battle-field, the fall was sheer and steep ; On our left the ground fell sloping, in a j^lC'^isant, grassy sAveep, Where the aides went dashing swiftl}-, bearing orders to and fro, For by that sloping side alone they reached the plain below. On our right — now pay attention, boy — a yawn- ing fissure lay, As if an earthquake's shock had sj^lit the moun- tain's side away. And in the dismal gulf, far down, we heard the angry roar UNCLE NED's tales. 1 87 Of a foaming mountain torrent, that, mayliap, the cleft had wore, As it rushed for countless ages through its hlack and secret lair ; But no matter how 'twas formed, my lad, the yawning gulf was there. And from the farther side a stone projected o'er the gorge, — 'Twas strange to see the massive rock just balanced on the verge ; It seemed as if an eagle's weight the ponderous mass of stone Would topple from its giddy height, and send it crashing^ down. It stretched far o'er the dark abyss ; but, though 'twere footing good, *Twas twenty feet or more from off the side on which we stood. Beyond the cleft a gentle slope went down and joined the plain, — Now, lad, back to where we halted, and again resume the rein. 1 88 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. I said our troops were routed. Far and near they broke and fled, The grape-shot tearing through them, leaving lanes of manoied dead. AH order lost, they left the fight, — they threv/ their arms away, And joined in one wild panic rout, — ah ! 'twas a bittex day ! " But did I say that all was lost? Nay, one brave corps stood fast, Determined they would never fly, but fight it to the last. They barred the Frenchman from his prey, and his whole fury braved, — One brief hour could they hold their ground, the army might be saved. Fresh troops were hurrying to cur aid, — we saw their glittering head, — Ah, God ! how those brave hearts were raked by the death-shower of lead ! But stand they did : they never flinched nor took one backward stride, UNCLE NED's tales. 1 89 Tliey sent their bayonets home, and then with stubl)orn courage died. But few were left of that brave band when the dread hour had passed, Still, faint and few, they held their flag above them to the last. But now a cloud of horsemen, like a shadowy avalanche, Sweeps down : as Picton sees them, e'en his cheek is seen to blanch. They were not awed, that little band, but rallied once again, And sent us back a farewell cheer. Then burst from reckless men The anguished cry, ' God help them ! ' as we saw the feeble flash Of their last defiant volley, when upon them with a crash Burst the gleaming lines of riders, — one by one they disappear. And the chargers' hoofs are trampling on the last of that brave square ! 1 90 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Ca swept the squadrons ! Then we looked whera last the band was seen : A scarlet heap was all that marked the place where they had been ! Still forward spurred the horsemen, eager to com plete the rout ; But our lines had been re-formed now, and five thousand guns belched out A reception to the squadrons, — rank on rank was piled that day, Every bullet hissed out ' Vengeance ! ' as it whis- tled on its way. " And now it was, with maddened hearts, we saw a galling sight : A French hussar was riding close beneath us on . the right, — He held a British standard I With insulting shout he stood, And waved the flag, — its heavy folds drooped down with shame and blood, — The blood of hearts unconquered : 'twas the flag of the stanch corps UNCLE NED's tales. IQI That had fought to death beneath it, — it was heavy with their gore. Tlie foreign dog I I see him as he holds the standard down, And makes his charger trample on its colors and its crown ! But his life soon paid the forfeit: with a cry of rage and pain, Hilton dashes from the escort, like a tiger from nis chain. Nought he sees but that insulter; and he strikes his frightened horse With his clenched hand, and spurs him, with a bitter-spoken curse. Straight as bullet from a rifle — but, great Lord ! he has not seen. In his angry thirst for vengeance, the black gulf that lies between ! All our warning shouts unheeded, starkly on he headlong rides, . And lifts his horse, with bloody spurs deep buried in his sides. 192 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. God's mercj ! does he see the giilf? Ha ! now his purpose dawns Upon our minds, as nearer still the rocky fissure yawns : Where from the farther side the stone leans o'er the stream beneath, He means to take the awful leap! Cold horror checks our breath, And still and mute we watch him now : he nears the fearful place ; We hear him shout to cheer the horse, and keep the headlong pace. Then comes a rush, — short strides, — a blow ! — the horse bounds wildly on, Springs high in air o'er the abyss, and lands upon the stone ! It trembles, topples 'neath their weight ! it sinks I ha ! bravely done ! Another spring, — they gain the side, — the pon- derous rock is gone With crashing roar, a thousand feet, down to the flood below, UNCLE NED S TALES. I93 And Hilton, heedless of its noise, is riding at the foe! '' The Frenchman stared, in wonder : he was brave, and would not run, 'T would merit but a coward's brand to turn and fly from one. But still he shuddered at the glance from 'neath that knitted brow : He knew 'twould be a death fight, but there was no shrinking now. He pressed his horse to meet the shock : straight at him Hilton made, And as they closed the Frenchman's cut fell harm- less on his blade ; But scarce a moment's time had passed ere, spur- ring from the field, A troop of cuirassiers- closed round and called on him to yield One glance of scorn he threw them, — all his answer in a frown, — And riding at their leader with one sweep he cut him down ; 194 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Then aimed at him who held the flag a cut of crushing might, And split him to the very chin I — a horrid, ghastly sight ! He seized the standard from his hand ; but now the Frenchmen close, And that stout soldier, all alone, fights with a hundred foes I They cut and cursed, — a dozen swords were whis- tUng round his head ; He could not guard on every side, — from fifty wounds he bled. His sabre crashed through helm and blade, aa though it were a mace ; He cut their steel cuirasses and he slashed them o'er the face. One tall dragoon closed on him, but he wheeled his horse around, And cloven through the helmet went the trooper to the ground. But his sabre blade was broken by the fury of tba blow, UNCLE NED S TALES. 1 95 A.] id ho hurled the useless, bloody hilt against the nearest foe ; Then fuiled the colors round the pole, and, like a levelled lance, He charged with that red standard through the bravest troops of France! His horse, as lion-hearted, scarcely needed to be urged. And steed and rider bit the dust before him as he charged. Straight on he rode, and down they went, till he had cleared the ranks, Then once again he loosed the rein and struck his horse's flanks. A cheer broke from the French dragoons, — a loud, admiring shout ! — As off he rode, and o'er him shook the tattered colors out. Still might they ride him down : they scorned to fire or to pursue, — Brave hearts! they cheered him to our lines,— their army cheering, too I 196 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And we — what did we do ? you ask. Well, boy, we did not cheer, Nor not one sound of welcome reached our hero comrade's ear ; But, as he rode along the ranks, each soldier's head was bare, — Our hearts were far too full for cheers, — we wel- comed him with prayer. Ah ! boy, we loved that dear old flag, — ay, loved it so, we cried Like children, as we saw it Avave in all its tattered pride ! No, boy, no cheers to greet him, though he played a noble j)art, — We only prayed ' God bless him ! ' but that prayer came from the heart. He knew we loved him for it, — he could see it in our tears, — And such silent earnest love as that is better, boy, than cheers. Next day we fought the Frenchman, and we drove him back, of course, UNCLE ned's tales. 1 97 Though we lost some goodly soldiers, and old Pic- ton lost a horse. But there I 've said enough : your mother's warn- ing finger shook, — ^lind, never be a soldier, boy I — now let me have a smoke." iq8 songs, legends, and ballads. HAUNTED BY TIGERS. IVTATIIAN BEANS and WilHam Lambert were two wild New England bojs, Known from infancy to revel only in forbidden joys. Many a mother of Nantucket bristled when she heard them come, With a horrid skulking whistle, tempting her good lad from home. But for all maternal bristling little did they seem to care. And they loved each other dearly, did this good-for- nothing pair. So they Hved till eighteen summers found them in the same repute, — They had well-developed muscles, and loose char* acters to boot. HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 1 99 Then they did what wild Nantucket boys have never failed to do, — Went and filled two oily bunks among a whaler's oily crew. And the mothers, — ah ! they raised their hands and blessed the lucky day, While Nantucket waved its handkerchief to see them sail away. On a four years' cruise they started in the brave cid '* Patience Parr," And were soon initiated in the mysteries oi" tar. There they found the truth that whalers' tales are unsubstantial wiles,— They were sick and sore and sorry ere they passed the Western Isles ; And their captaiu, old-man Sculpiu, gave theic fancies little scope, For he argued with a marluispike and reasoned with a rope. But they stuck together bravely, they were Ish- maels with the crew: 200 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. K'athan's voice was never raised but BilFs support was uttered too ; And whenever Beans was floored by Sculpin's cruel marlinspike, Down beside him went poor Lambert, for his hand was clenched to strike. So they passed two years in cruising, tiH one breath- less burning day The old " Patience Parr " in Sunda Straits * with flapping canvas lay. On her starboard side Sumatra's woods were dark beneath the glare, And on her port stretched Java, slumbering in the yellow air, — Slumbering as the jaguar slumbers, as the tropic ocean sleeps. Smooth and smiling on its surface with a devil in its deeps. So swooned Java's moveless forest, but the jungle round its root * The straits of Sunda, seven miles vide at tlie southern extremity, U« between Sumatra and Java. HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 201 Knew the rustling anaconda and the tiger s padded foot. There in Nature's rankest garden, Nature's worst alone is rife, And a glorious land is wild-beast ruled for want of human life. Scarce a harmless thing moved on it, not a living soul was near From the frowning rocks of Java Head right north- ward to Anjier. Crestless swells, like wind-raised canvas, made the whaler rise and dip, Else she ^ay upon the water like a paralytic ship; And beneath a topsail awning lay the lazy, languid crew, Drinking in the precious coolness of the shadow, — all save two : Two poor Ishmaels, — they were absent. Heaven help them ! — roughly tied 'Neath the blistering cruel sun-glare in the fore- chains, side by side. 202 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Side by side as it was always, each one with a word of cheer For the other, and for his sake bravely choking back the tear. Side by side, their pain or pastime never yet seemed good for one ; But whenever pain came, each in secret wished the other gone. You who stop at home and saunter o'er your flower- scattered path, With life's corners velvet-cushioned, have you seen a tyrant's wrath ? — Wrath, the rude and reckless demon, not the drawing-room display Of an anger led by social lightning-rods upon its way. Ah ! my friends, wrath's raw materials on the land may sometimes be, But the manufactured article is only found at sea. And the wrath of old-man Sculpin was of texture Number One : HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 203 Never absent, — when the man smiled it was hid- den, bat not gone. Old church-members of Nantucket knew him for a sliining lamp, But his chronic Christian spirit was of pharisaio stamp. When ashore, he prayed aloud of how he 'd sinned and been forgiven, — How his evil ways had brought him 'thin an ace of losing heaven ; Thank the Lord ! his eyes were opened, and so on ; but when the sliip Was just ready for a voyage, you could see old Sculpin's lip Have a sort of nervous tremble, like a carter's long- leashed whip Ere it cracks ; and so the skipper's lip was trem- bhng for an oath At the watch on deck for idleness, the watch below for sloth. For the leash of his anathemas was long enough for both. 204 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Well, 't^yas biu-ning noon off Java: Beans and Lambert in the chains Sank their heads, and all was silent but the voices of their pains. Night came ere their bonds were loosened ; then the boys sank down and slept, And the dew in place of loved ones on theii wounded bodies wept. All was still within the whaler, — on the sea no famiing breeze. And the moon alone was moving over Java's gloomy trees. Midnight came, — one sleeper's waking glance went out the moon to meet : Nathan rose, and turned from Lambert, who still slumbered at his feet. Out toward Java went his \ision, as if something in the air Came with promises of kindness and of peace to be found there. HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 20$ Then towards the davits moved he, where the lightest whale-boat hung ; And he worked with silent caution till upon the sea she swung, When he paused, and looked at Lambert, and the spirit in him cried Not to leave hhn, but to venture, as since child- hood, side by side ; And the spirit's cry was answered, for he touched the sleeper's lip, Who awoke and heard of Nathan's plan to leave th' accursed ship. When 'twas told, they rose in silence, and looked outward to the land. But they only saw Nantucket, with its homely, boat-lined strand ; But they saw it — oh! so plainly — through the glass of coming doom. Then they crept into the whale-boat, and pulled toward the forest's gloom, — All theu' suffering clear that moment, like the moonliglit on theu' wake, 206 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Now contracting, now expanding, like a phospho- rescent snake. Hours speed on : the dark horizon yet shows scarce a streak of gray When old Sculpin comes on deck to walk his rest- lessness away. All the scene is still and solemn, and mayhap the man's cold heart Feels its teaching, for the wild-beast cries from shoreward make him start As if they had warning in them, and he o'er its meaning pored. Till at length one shriek from Java splits the dark- ness like a sword ; And he almost screams in answer, such the nearness of the cry, As he clutches at the rigging with a horror in his eye. And with faltering accents mutters, as against the mast he leans, " Darn the tigers ! that one shouted with the voice of Nathan Beans!** HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 207 When the boys were missed soon after, Sculpia never breathed a word Of his terror in the morning at the fearful sound he 'd heard ; But he entered in the log-book, and 'twas witnessed by the mates, Just their names, and following after, " Ran away in Sunda Straits." Two years after. Captain Sculpin saw again the Yankee shore, With the comfortable feeling that he 'd go to sea no more. And 'twas strange the way he altered when he saw Nantucket light : Holy lines spread o'er his face, and chased the old ones out of sight. And for many a year thereafter did his zeal spread far and wide, And with all his pious doings was the township edified ; 208 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. For he led the sacred singing in an unctuous, nasal tone, And he looked as if the sermon and the Scriptures were his own. But one day the white-haired preacher spoke of how God's justice fell Soon or late with awful sureness on the man whose heart could tell Of a wrong done to the widow or the orphan, and he said That such wrongs were ever living, though the injured ones were dead. And old Sculpin's heart was writhing, though his heavy eyes were closed, — For, despite his solemn sanctity, at sermon times he dozed ; But his half-awakened senses heard the preacher speak of death And of wTongs done unto orphans, and he di-eamed with wheezuig breath HAUNTED BY TIGERS. 209 That 03ld hands were tearing from his heart its pharisaic screens, That the preacher was a tiger with the voice of Nathan Beans ! And he shrieked and jumped up wildly, and upon the seat stood he, As if standing on the whaler looking outward on the sea; And he clutched as at the rigging with a horror in his eye. For he saw the woods of Java and he heard that human cry, As he crouched and cowered earthward. And the simjile folk around Stood with looks of kindly sympathy : they raised him from the ground, And they brought him half unconscious to the hiun- ble chapel door, Whence he fled as from a scourging, and he entered it no more ; For the sight of that old preacher brought the horror to his face, 210 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And he dare not meet his neighbors' honest e^'es within the place, For his conscience like a mirror rose and showed the dismal scenes, Where the tiger yelled for ever with the voice of Nathan Beans. WESTERN AUSTRALIA. Nation of sun and sin^ Thy fiowers and crimes are red^ And thy heart is sore within While the glory crowns thy head. Land of the songless birds, What was thine ancient crime, Burning through lapse of time Like aprophefs cursing words % Aloes and myrrh, and tears Mix in thy hitter wine : Drink, while the cup is thine. Drink, for the draught is sign Of thy reign ii\ the coming yeam* PROLOGUE. ^or gold nor silver are the words set here, Nor rich-wrought chasing on design of art; But rugged relics of an unknown sphere Where fortune chanced I played one time a part. TJnthought of here the critic blame or praise, Tliese recollections all their faults atone; To hold the scenes, I've writ of men and ways Uncouth and rough as Austral ironstone. It may he, I have left the higher gleams Of skies and flowers unheeded or forgot ; It may he so, — hut, looking hack, it seems When Iicas with them I heheld them not, I was no ramhling poet, hut a man Hard-pressed to dig and delve, with naught of eaeh The hot day through, save when the evening's fan Of sea-winds rustled through the kindly trees. It may he so ; hid when I think I smile At my poor hand and hrain to paint the charms Of God^sfirst-hlazoned canvas! here the aisle Moonlit and deep of reaching gothic arms From towering gum^ mahogany^ andpalm^ And odorous jam and sandal ; there the growth Of arm-long velvet leaves grown hoar in calm^ — In calm unbroken sijice their luscious- youth. Mow can I show you all the silent birds With strange metallic glintings on the wing f Or how tell half their sadness in cold words^ — The poor dumb lutes, the birds that never singf Of wondrous parrot-greens and iris hue Of sensuous flower and of gleaming snake, — Ah ! what 1 see I long that so might you, But of these things xohat picture can 1 make f Sometime, maybe, a man will wander there, — A mind God-gifted, and not dull and weak / And he will come and paint that land so fair. And show the beauties of which I but speak. Mut in the hard, sad days that there J spent. My mind absorbed rude pictures : these I show As best J may, and just with this iyitent, — To tell some things that all folk may not know. r WESTERN AUSTRALIA. r\ BEAUTEOUS Southland! land of yellow ail', That hangeth o'er thee slumbering, and doth hold The moveless foliage of thy valleys fair And wooded hills, like aureole of gold. O thou, discovered ere the fitting time, Ere Nature in completion turned thee forth I Ere aught was finished but thy peerless clime, Thy virgin breath allured the amorous North. land, God made thee wondrous to the eye ! But His sweet singers thou hast never heard ; rie left thee, meaning to come by-and-bj^e. And give rich voice to every bright-winged bird. 215 2l6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. He painted with fresh hues thy myriad flowers. But left them scentless : ah ! their woful dole, Like sad reproach of their Creator's powers, — To make so sweet fair bodies, void of soul. He gave thee ti-ees of odorous precious wood ; But, midst them all, bloomed not one tree of fruit. He looked, but said not that His work was good, When leaving thee all perfumeless and mute. He blessed thy flowers with honey : every bell Looks earthward, sunward, with a yearning wist ; But no bee-lover ever notes the swell Of hearts, like lips, a-huugering to be kist. strange land, thou art virgiQ ! thou art more Than fig-tree barren ! Would that I could paint For others' eyes the glory of the shore Where last I saw thee ; but the senses faint WESTERN AUSTRALIA. 21/ In soft delicious dreaming when they drain Thy wine of color. Virgin fair thou art, AM sweetly fruitful, waiting with soft pain The spouse who comes to wake thy sleeping heart. 2l8 SONGS, LEGENDS. AND BALLADS. THE DUKITE SNAKE: A WEST AUSTEALIAJ?" BUSHMAN's STOSY. "\T 7ELL, mate, you've asked rue about a fello'W You met to-day, in a black-and-yellow Chain-gang suit, with a pedler's pack. Or with some such burden, strapped to his back. Did you meet him square ? No, passed you by ? Well, if you had, and had looked m his eye, You 'd have felt for your irons then and there j For the light in his eye is a madman's glare. Ay, mad, poor fellow ! I know him well. And if you 're not sleepy just yet, 1 11 tell His story, — a strange one as ever you heard Or read ; but I 'U vouch for it, every word. You just wait a minute, mate : I must see How that damper 's doing, and make some tea. THE DUKITE SNAKE. 219 You smoke ? That 's good ; for there 's plenty of weed 111 that wallaby skin. Does your horse feed 111 the hobbles ? Well, he 's got good feed here, And my own old bushmare won't interfere. Done with that meat? Tlii'ow it there to tba dogs, , And fling on a couple of banksia logs. And now for the story. That man who goes Through the bush with the pack and the convict's clothes Has been mad for years ; but he does no harm, And our lonely settlers feel no alarm When they see or meet him. Poor Dave Sloane Was a settler once, and a friend of my own. Some eight years back, in the spring of the year, Dave came from Scotland, and settled here. A splendid young fellow he was just then, And one of the bravest and truest men That I ever met : he was kind as a woman To all who needed a friend, and no man — • 220 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Not even a convict — met ^itli his scorn, For Da^dd Sloane was a gentleman born. Ay, friend, a gentleman, though it sounds queer ; There 's plenty of blue blood flowing out here. And some younger sons of youi- " upper ten '* Can be met with here, first-rate bushmeu. AVhy, friend, I — Bah ! curse that dog ! you se6 Tliis talking so much has affected me. Well, Sloane came here with an axe and a gun ; He bought four miles of a sandal- wood run. Tliis bush at that time was a lonesome place, So lonesome the sight of a white man's face Was a blessing, unless it came at night. And peered in your hut, with the cunning fright Of a runaway convict ; and even they Were welcome, for talk's sake, while they coidd stay. Dave lived with me here for a while, and learned The tricks of the bush, — how the snare was laid In the wallaby track, how traps were made, THE DUKITE SNAKE. 221 Uow 'possums and kangaroo rats were killed , And when that was learned, I helped him to build From mahogany slabs a good bush hut, And showed him how sandal- wood logs were cut. I lived up there with him days and days, For I loved the lad for his honest ways. I had only one fault to find : at first Dave worked too hard ; for a lad who was nursed, As he was, in idleness, it was strange How he cleared that sandal-wood off his range. From the morning light till the light expired He was always working, he never tired ; Till at length I began to think his will Was too much settled on wealth, and still When I looked at the lad's brown face, and eye Clear open, my heart gave such thought the lie. But one day — for he read my mind — he laid His hand on my shoulder : " Don't be afraid," Said he, " that I 'm seeking alone for pelf. I work hard, friend ; but 'tis not for myself." And he told me then, in his quiet tone, Of a girl in Scotland, who was his own, — 222 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS, His wife, — 'twas for her : 'twas all he could say, And his clear eye brimmed as he turned away. A.fter that he told me the simple tale : They had married for love, and she was to sail For Anstraha when he wrote home and told The oft-watched-for story of finding gold. In a year he wrote, and his news was good : He had bought some cattle and sold liis wood. He said, '' Darling, I 'ye only a hut, — but come." Friend, a husband's heart is a true wife's home ; And he knew she 'd come. Then he turned his hand To make neat the house, and prepare the land For his crops and vines ; and he made that place Put on such a smiling and homelike face. That when she came, and he showed her round His sandal-wood and his crops in the ground, And spoke of the future, they cried for joy. The husband's arm claspmg his wife and boy. Well, friend, if a little of heaven's best bUss Ever comes from the upper world to this. THE DUKITE SNAKE. 223 It came into that manly bushman's life, And circled him round with the arms of his wife. God bless that bright memory ! Even to me, A rough, lonely man, did she seem to be, While living, an angel of God's pure love, And now I could pray to her face above. And David he loved her as only a man With a heart as large as was his heart can. I wondered how they could have lived apart, For he was her idol, and she his heart. Friend, there isn't much more of the tale to tell : I v/as talking of angels awhile since. Well, Now I '11 change to a devil, — ay, to a de\il ! You need n't start : if a spirit of evil Ever came to tliis world its hate to slake On mankind, it came as a Dukite Snake. Like ? Like the pictures you Ve seen of Sin, A long red snake, — - as if what was within Was fire that gleamed through his glistening skin. 224 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And his eyes I — if you could go down to hell And come back to your fellows here and tell What the fire was hke, 3'ou could find no thmg, Here below on the earth, or up in the sky, To compare it to but a Dukite's eye ! Now, mark you, these Dukites don't go alone: There 's another near when you see but one ; And beware jou. of killing that one you see Without finding the other ; for you may be ]\Iore than twenty miles from the spot that night, When camped, but 3'Ou 're tracked by the lono Dukite, That will follow your trail like Death or Fate, And kill you as sure as you killed its mate ! Well, poor Dave Sloane had his young wife hero Three months, — 'twas just this time of the year. He had teamed some sandal-wood to the Vasse, And was homeward bound, when he saw in the grass A long red snake : he had never been told THE DUKITE SNAKE. 22$ Of the Dukite's ways, — he jumped to the road, And smashed its flat head with the bullock-goad I He was proud of the red skin, so he tied Its tail to the cart, and the snake's blood dyed The bush on the path he followed that night. He was early home, and the dead Duldte Was flung at the door to be skinned next day. At sunrise next morning he started away To hunt up his cattle. A three hours' ride Brought him back : he gazed on his home with pride And ]oj in his heart ; he jumped from his horse And entered — to look on his young wife's corse, And his dead child clutching its mother's clothes As in fright ; and there, as he gazed, arose From her breast, where 'twas resting, the gleaming head Of the terrible Dukite, as if it said, ^- I've had vengeance, mi/ foe: you took all Iliad,^ And so had the snake — David Sloane was mad I 226 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. I rode to his hut just by chance that night, And there on the threshold the clear moonlight Showed the two snakes dead. I pushed in the door With an awful feehng of coming woe : The dead were stretched on the moonlit floor, The man held the hand of his wife, — his pride. His poor life's treasure, — and crouched by hei side. God ! I sank with the weight of the blow. 1 touched and called him : he heeded me not, So I dug her grave in a quiet spot, And lifted them both, — her boy on her breast,— And laid them down in the shade to rest. Then I tried to take my poor friend away, But he cried so wofidly, '' Let me stay Till she comes again ! " that I had no heart To try to persuade him then to part From all that was left to him here, — her grave ; So I stayel by his side that night, and, save One heart-cutting cry, he uttered no sound, — O God ! that wail — like the wail of a hound I THE DUKITE SNAKE. 227 'Tis SIX long years since I heard that cry, But 'twill ring in my ears till the day I die. Since that fearful night no one has heard Poor David Sloane utter sound or word. You have seen to-day how he always goes : He 's been given that suit of convict's clothes By some prison officer. On his back You noticed a load like a pedler's pack? Well, that's what he lives for : when reason wentj Still memory lived, for his days are spent In searching for Dukites ; and year by year That bundle of skins is growing. 'Tis clear That the Lord out of evil some good still takes ; For he 's clearing this bush of the Dukite snakes. 228 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. THE MONSTER DIAMOND: A TiLS OF THE PENAL COLONY OF WEST AUSTRALIA* ''• T 'LL have it, I tell you ! Ciirse you ! — tLere ! '' The long knife glittered, was sheathed, and was bare. The sawyer staggered and tiipped and fell, And falling he uttered a frightened yell : His face to the sky, he shuddered and gasped. And tried to put from him the man he had grasped A moment before in the terrible strife. " I '11 have it, I tell you, or have your life ! Where is it ? " The sawj-er grew weak, but still His brown face gleamed mth a desperate will. " Where is it ? " he heard, and the red knife's diip In his slayer's hand fell down on his lip. " Will you give it ? " " Never ' '* A curse, the knife Was raised and buried. THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 229 Thus closed the life Of Samuel Jones, known as " Number Ten" On his Ticket-of-Leave ; and of all the men In the Western Colony, bond or free, None had manlier heart or hand than he. In digging a sawpit, while all alone, — For his mate was sleeping, — Sam struck a stone With the edge of the spade, and it gleamed like fire. And looked at Sam from its bed in the mire. Till he di'opped the spade and stooped and raised The wonderful stone that glittered and blazed As if it were mad at the spade's rude blow ; But its blaze set the sawyer's heart aglow As he looked and trembled, then turned him round, And crept fi^om the pit, and lay on the ground, Looking over the mould-heap at the camp Where his mate still slept. Then down to the swamp He ran with the stone, and washed it bright. And felt like a drunken man at the sight 230 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Or" a tiiamond pure as spring- water and sua, And larger than ever man's eyes looked on I Then down sat Sam with the stone on his kneeSj And fancies came to Mm, like swarms of bees To a sugar-creamed liive ; and he di'eamed awaka Of the carriage and four m wliich he 'd take His pals from the Dials to Drury Lane, The silks and the satins for Susan Jane, The countless bottles of brandy and beer He 'd call for and pay for, and every year The dinner he 'd give to the Brummagem lads, ~ He 'd be king among cracksmen and chief among pads. And he 'd sport a — , Over him stooped his mate, A pick in his hand, and his face all hate. Sam saw the shadow, and guessed the pick, And closed his dream with a sprhig so quick The purpose was bafiSed of Aaron Mace, Ajid the sawj^er mates stood face to face. THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 23 1 Sam folded his arms across his chest, Having thrust the stone in his loose shht-breast, Wliile he tried to tliink where he dropped the spade. But Aaron Mace wore a long, keen blade In his belt, — he drew it, — sprang on his man : What happened, you read when the tale began. Then he looked — the murderer, Aaron Mace — At the gray-blue lines in the dead man's face ; ' And he turned away, for he feared its frown ]\Iore in death than life. Then he knelt him down,— Not to pray, — but he slirank fi*om the staring eyes, And felt in the breast for the fatal prize. And this was the man, and this was the way That he took the stone on its natal day ; And for this he was cursed for evermore By tlie West Australian Koh-i-nor. In the half-dug pit the corpse was thrown, And the murderer stood in the camp alone. Alone ? No, no I never more was he To part from the terrible company 232 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Of that gray-Llue face and the bleeding breast A nd the staring eyes in their awful rest. T'he evening closed on the homicide, And the blood of the buried sawyer cried Through the night to God, and the shadows dark That crossed the camp had the stiff and stark And honible look of a murdered man ! Then he piled the fire, and crept within The img of its light, that closed hun in Like tender mercy, and drove away For a time the spectres that stood at bay, And waited to clutch him as demons wait. Shut out from the sinner by Faith's bright gate. But the fire burnt low, and the slayer slept, And the key of his sleep was always kept By the leaden hand of him he had slain, That oped the door but to drench the brain With agony cruel. The night wind crept Like a snake on. the shuddering form that slept And dreamt, and woke and shrieked ; for there, With its gray-blue lines and its ghastly stare. THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 233 Cutting into the Titals of Aaron Mace, In tlie flickering light was the sawyer's face ! Evermore 'twas with him, that dismal sight, — The white face set in the frame of night. He wandered awny from the spot, but found No inch of the West Austrahan ground Where he could Idde from the bleeding breast, Or sink his head in a dreamless rest. And always with him he bore the prize In a pouch of leather : the staring eyes Might burn liis soul, but the diamond's gleam Was solace and joy for the haunted dream. So the years rolled on, while the murderer's mind Was bent on a fulile quest, — to find A way of escape from the blood-stained soil And the terrible wear of the penal toil. But tliis was a part of the diamond's curse, — The toil that was heavy before grew worse, 234 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Till the panting wretch in his fierce unrest Would clutch the pouch as it lay on liis breast^ A nd waking cower, with sob and moan, Or slu-iek wild curses against the stone That was only a stone ; for he could not sell, And he dare not break, and he feared to tell Of his wealth: so he bore it through hopes and fears — His God and his devil — for years and years. And thus did he draw near the end of his race, With a form bent double and horror-lined face, And a piteous look, as if asking for grace Or for kindness from some one ; but no kind word Was flung to his misery : shunned, abhorred, E'en by wretches themselves, till his life was a curse, And he thought that e'en death could bring nothing worse Than the phantoms that stirred at the diamond's w sight, — His o\Mi life's ghost and the ghost of his mate. THE MONSTER DIAMOND. 235 So he turned one day from the haunts of men, And then- Mendless faces : an old man then, In a convict's garb, with white flowing haii', And a brow deep seared with tlie word, " Despair." lie gazed not back as his way he took To the untrod forest ; and oh ! the look, Tlie piteous look in his sunken eyes, Told that life was the bitterest sacrifice. But little was heard of his later days : 'Twas deemed in the West that in change of ways He tried w^ith his tears to wash out the sin. 'Twas told by some natives who once came in From the Kojunup Hills, that lonely there They had seen a figure with long white hair ; They encamped close by where his hut was made, And were scared at night when they saw he prayed To the white man's God ; and on one wild night Tliey had heard Ins voice till the morning light. Years passed, and a sandal wood-cutter stood At a ruined hut in a Kojunup wood: 236 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The rank weeds covered the desolate floor, And an ant-hill stood on the fallen door ; The cupboard within to the snakes was loot, And the hearth was the home of tlie bandicoot. But neither at hut nor snake nor rat "Was the woodcutter staring intent, but at A human skeleton clad in gray, The hands clasped over the breast, as they Had fallen in peace when he ceased to pray. As the bushman looked on the form, he saw In the breast a paper : he stooped to di*aw What might tell him the story, but at his touch From under the hands rolled a leathern pouch, And he raised it too, — on the paper's face He read " Ticket-of-Leave of Aaron Mace.'* Then he opened the pouch, and in dazed surprise At its contents strange he unblessed his eyes : ^Twas a lump of quartz^ — a pound weight in full. And it fell from his hand on the skeleton's skull ! THE DOG GUARD. * 237 THE DOG GUARD: AN AUSTRALIAN STORY. '"T^HERE are lonesome places upon the earth That have never re-echoed a sound of mirth, Where the sphits abide that feast and quaff On the shuddering soul of a murdered laugh, And take grim delight in the fearful start, As their unseen fingers clutch the heart. And the blood flies out from the griping pain, To carry the chill through every vein ; And the staring eyes and the whitened faces Are a joy to these ghosts of the lonesome places. But of all the spots on this earthly sphere Where these dismal spirits are strong and near, There is one more dreary than all the rest, — 'Tis the barren island of Rottenest. On Australia's western coast, you may — On a seaman's cliart of Fremantle Bay — 238 ' iONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Find a tiny speck, some ten miles from shore : If the chart be good, there is something more, — For a shoal runs in on the landward side, With five fathoms marked for the highest tide. You have nought but my word for all the rest, But that speck is the island of Rottenest. 'Tis a white sand-heap, about two miles long, And say half as wide ; but the deeds of wrong Between man and his brother that there took pinoe Are sufficient to sully a continent's face. Ah, cruel tales I were they told as a whole, They would scare your pohshed humanity's soul ; They would blanch the cheeks in your carpeted room, With a terrible thouo-ht of the merited doom For the crimes committed, still unredrest, On that white sand-heap called Rottenest, Of late years the island is not so bare As it was when I saw it first ; for there On the outer headland some buildings stand, THE DOG GUARD. 239 And a flag, red-crossed, says the patch of sand Is a recognized part of the wide domain That is blessed with the peace of Victoria's reign. But behind the lighthouse the land 's the same, And it bears grim proof of the white man's shame ; For the miniature vales that the island owns Have a horrible harvest of human bones ! And how did they come there ? that 's the word ; And I '11 answer it now with the tale I heard From the lips of a man who was there, and saw The bad end of man's greed and of colony law. Many years ago, when the white man first Set his foot on the coast, and was hated and cursed By the native, wdio had not yet learned to fear The dark wrath of the stranger, but drove his spear With a freeman's force and a bushman's yell At the white invader, it then befell That so many were. killed and cooked and eaten, Tliere was risk of the whites in the end being beaten ; 240 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. So a plan was proposed, — 'twas deemed safest and best To imprison the natives in Rottenest. And SO every time there was wliite blood spilled, There were black men captured ; and those not killed In the rage of vengeance were sent away To this bleak sand isle in Fre mantle Bay ; And it soon came round that a thousand men Were together there, like wild beasts in a pen. There was not a shrub or grass-blade in the sand, Nor a piece of timber as large as your hand ; But a government boat went out each day To fling meat ashore — and then sailed away. For a year or so was this course pursued, Till 'twas noticed that fewer came down for food When the boat appeared ; then a guard lay round The island one night, and the white men foimd That the savages swam at the lowest tide To the shoal that lay on the landward side, — THE DOG GUARD. 24I 'Twas a mile from the beach, — and then waded ashore ; So the settlers met in grave council once more. That a guard was needed was plain to all ; But nobody answered the Governor's call For a volunteer watch. They were only a few, And their wild young farms gave plenty to do ; And the council of settlers was breaking up, With a dread of the sorrow they 'd have to sup When the savage, unawed, and for vengeance wild Lay await in the wood for the mother and child. And with doleful countenance each to his neighbor Told a dreary tale of the world of labor He had, and said, " Let him watch who can, [ can't ; " when there stepped to the front a man With a hard brown face and a burglar's brow, Who had learned the secret he uttered now When he served in the chain-gang in New South Wales. And he said to them : " Friends, as all else fails, 242 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. These 'ere natives are safe as if locked and barred, If you '11 line that shoal with a mastiff guard I " And the settlers looked at each other awhile, Till the wonder toned to a well-pleased smile When the brown ex-biu*glar said he knew, And would show the whole of 'em what to do. Some thi-ee weeks after, the guard was set ; And a native who sw^am to the shoal was met By tAVO half-starved dogs, when a mile from shore, — And, somehow, that native was never seen more. AU the settlers were pleased with the capital plan, And they voted theii* thanks to the hard-faced man. For a year, each day did the government l>oat Take the meat to the isle and its guard ailoat. In a line, on the face of the shoal, the dogs Had a dry house each, on some anchored logs ; And the neck-chain from each stretched just hall way THE DOG GUARD. 243 To the next clog's house ; right across the Bay Rail a line that was hideous with horrid sounds From tlie hungry throats of two hundred hoands. So one more year passed, and the brutes on the logs Had grown more like devils than common dogs. There was such a hell-chorus by day and night That the settlers ashore were chilled with fright When they thought — if that legion should break away, And come in with the tide some fatal day I But they 'scaped that chance ; for a man came id From the Bush, one day, with a 'possum's skin To the throat filled up with large pearls he 'd found To the north, on the shore of the Shark's Bay Sound. And the settlement blazed with a wild commotion At sight of the gems from the wealthy ocean. Then the settlers all began to pack Their tools and tents, and to ask the track 244 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Tliat the bushman followed to strike the spot, — While the dogs and natives were all forgot. Ill two days, from that camp on the River Swan, To the Shark's Bay Sound had the settlers gone ; And no merciful feeling did one retard For the helpless men and their terrible guard. It were vain to try, in my quiet room, To write down the truth of the awful doom That befell those savages prisoned there. When the pangs of hunger and wild despair Had nigh made them mad as the fiends outside : 'Tis enough that one night, through the low ebb tide, Swam nine hundred savages, armed with stones And with weapons made from then- dead friends' bones. Without ripple or soimd, when the moon was gone, Through the inky water they glided on ; S\7imming deep, and scarce daring to draw a breath, While the guards, if they saAV, were as dumb as death. THE DOG GUARD. 245 'Twas a terrible picture I O God ! that the night Were so black as to cover the horrid sight From the eyes of the Angel that notes man s ways In the book that will ope on the Day of Days ! There were screams when they met, — shrill screams of pain ! For each animal swam at the length of his chain, And with parching throat and in furious mood Lay awaiting, not men, but his coming food. Tliere were short, sharp cries, and a line of fleck As the long fangs sank in the swimmer's neck ; There were gurgling growls mixed with human groans, For the savages drave the sharpened bones Through their enemies' ribs, and the bodies sank. Each dog holding fast with a bone through his flank. Then those of the natives who 'scaped swam back ; But too late I for scores of the savage pack. Driven mad by the yells and the sounds of fight, Had broke loose and followed. On that dread night 246 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Let the curtain fall : when the red sun ro&e From the placid ocean, the joys and woes Of a thousand men he had last eve seen Were as tilings or thoughts that had never been. When the settlers returned, — in a month or two, — They bethought of the dogs and the prisoned crew. And a boat went out on a tardy quest Of whatever was living on Rottenest. They searched all the isle, and sailed back agen With some specimen bones of the dogs and men. THE AJVIBER WHALE. Though it lash the shallows that line the beach, Afar from the great sea deeps, There is never a storm whose might can reach Where the vast leviathan sleeps. Like a mijhty thought in a quiet mind, In the clear, cold deptlis he swims ; Whilst above him the pettiest form of his kind With a dash o'er the surface skims. There is peace in jyower : the men who speak With the loudest tongues do least ; And the surest sign of a mind that is weak Is its leant of the power to rest. It is only the lighter watpr that flies From the sea on a windy day ; And the deep blue ocean never replies To the sibilant voice of the spray. THE AMBER WHALE. 247 TIIE AMBER WHALE: A HARPOONEER'S STORY. [Whalemen have a strange belief as to the formation of amber. They Bay that it is a petrifacti n of some internal part of a whale; and they tell •weird stories of enormous whales seen in the warm latitudes, that wer« almost entirely transfer aied into the precious substance.] "^T 7E were down in the Indian Ocean, after sperm, and three years out; The last six months in the tropics, and looking in vain for a spout, — Five men up on the royal yards, weary of strain- ing their sight ; And every day like its brother, — just morning and noon and night — Nothing to break the sameness: water and wind and sun Motionless, gentle, and blazing, — never a change in one. 248 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Every day like its brother : when the noondaj eight-bells came, 'Twas like yesterday ; and we seemed to know that to-morrow would be the same. The foremast hands had a lazy time : there was never a thing to do ; The ship was painted, tarred down, and scraped ; and the mates had notliing new. We 'd worked at sinnet and ratline till there wasn't a yarn to use, And all we could do was watch and pray for a sperm whale's spout — or news. It was whaler's luck of the vilest sort ; and, though many a volunteer Spent his watch below on the look-out, never a whale came near, — At least of the kind we wanted : there were lots of whales of a sort, — Killers and finbacks, and such like, as if they enjoyed the sport Of seeing a whale-ship idle ; but we never lowered a boat THE AMBER WHALE. 249 For less than a blackfish, — there's no oil in a killer's or finback's coat. There was rich reward for the look-out men, — tobacco for even a sail, And a barrel of oil for the lucky dog who 'd bo first to " raise " a whale. The crew was a mixture from every land, and many a tongue they spoke ; And when they sat in the fo'castle, enjoying an evening smoke, There were tales told, youngster, would make you stare, — stories of countless shoals Of devil-fish in the Pacific and right-whales away at the Poles. There was one of these fo'castle yarns that we always loved to hear, — Kanaka and Maori and Yankee ; all lent an eager ear Tc that strano^e old tale that was alwavs new, ^ the wonderful treasure-tale Of an old Down -Eastern harpooneer who had struck an Amber Whale I ; 250 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. A J, tliat was a tale worth hearing, lad: if 'twas true we couldn't say, Or if 'twas a jsun old Mat had spun to ^hile the time away. *' It 's just fifteen years ago," said Mat, " since I shipped as harpooneer On board a bark in New Bedford, and came cruis- ing somewhere near To this whaling-ground we 're cruising now ; but whales were plenty then, And not like now, when we scarce get oil to pay for the ship and men. There were none of these oil wells running then, — at least, what shore folk term An oil well in Pennsylvania, — but sulphur-bottom and sperm Were plenty as frogs in a mud-hole, and all of 'em big whales, too ; One hundred barrels for sperm-whales; and for sulphur-bottom, two. You couldn't pick out a small one : the littlest calf or cow THE AMBER WHALE. 25 I Had a sight more oil than the big bull whales we think so much of now. We were more to the east, off Java Straits, a little below the mouth, — A hundred and five to the east'ard and nine de- grees to the south ; And that was as good a whaling-ground for mid- dling-sized, handy whales As any in all the ocean ; and 'twas always white with sails From Scotland and Hull and New England, — for the whales were thick as frogs, And 'twas little trouble to kill 'em then, for they lay as quiet as logs. And every night we 'd go visiting the other whale- ships 'roimd, Or p'r'aps we 'd strike on a Dutchman, calmed off the Straits, and bound To Singapore or Batavia, with plenty of schnapps to sell For a few whale's teeth or a gallon of oil, and the latest news to tell. 252 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And iu every ship of that whaling fleet was one wonderful story told, — How an Amber Whale had been seen that jeai that was worth a mint of gold. And one man — mate of a Scotchman — said he d seen, away to the west, A big school of sperm, and one whale's spout was twice as high as the rest ; And we knew that that was the Amber "Whale, for we 'd often heard before That his spout was twice as thick as the rest, and a hundred feet hig^h or more. And often, when the look-out cried, ' He blows I ' the very hail Thrilled every heart with the greed of gold, — for we thought of the Amber Whale. " But never a sight of his spout we saw till the sea- son there went roimd, And the ships ran down to the south'ard to an- other whaling-ground. THE AMBER WHALE. 253 We stayed to the last off Java, and then we ran to the west, To get our recruits at Mauritius, and give the crew a rest. Five days we ran in the trade winds, and the boys were beginning to talk Of their time ashore, and whether they 'd have a donkey-ride or a walk, And whether they'd spend their money in wine, bananas, or pearls. Or drive to the sugar plantations to dance with the Creole girls. But they soon got sometliing to talk about. Five days we ran west-sou'-west, But the sixth day's log-book entry was a change from all the rest ; For that was the day the mast-head men made every face turn pale. With the cry that we all had dreamt about, — ' IIb Blows ! the Ambee Whale ! ' 254 SONGS. LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. " And eTery man was motionless, and every speak- er's lip Just stopped as it was, with the word half-said : there wasn't a sound in the ship Till the Captain hailed the masthead, ' Whereaway is the whale you see ? ' And the cry came down again, ' He blows ! about four points on our lee, And three miles off, sir, — there he blows ! he 's jToinoc to leeward fast ! ' . And then we sprang to the rigging, and saw the great whale at last ! " Ah ! shipmates, that was a sight to see : the water was smooth as a lake, And there was the monster rolling, with a school of whales in his wake. They looked like pilot-fish round a shark, as if they were keeping guard ; And, shipmates, the spout of that Amber Whale was high as a sky-sail yard. There was never a sliip's crew worked so quick as our whalemen worked that day, — THE AMBER WHALE. 255 When the captain shouted, ' Swing the boats, and be ready to lower away ! ' Then, ' A pull on the weather-braces, men ! let her head fall off three points I ' And off she swung, with a quarter-breeze straining the old ship's joints. The men came down from the mastheads ; and the boats' crews stood on the rail, Stowing the lines and irons, and fixing paddles and sail. And when all was ready we leant on the boats and looked at the Amber's spout, That went up lilvc a monster fountain, with a sort of a rumbling shout, liike a thousand railroad engines puffing awa}' their smoke. He was just like a frigate's hull capsized, and the swapng water broke Against the sides of the great stiff whale : he was steering south-by-west, ■ — For the Cape, no doubt, for a whale can shape a course as well as the best. 256 SONGS, LEGENDS, ANE BALLADS. We soon got close as was right to go ; for the scJiool might hear a hail, Or see the bark, and that was the last of our Bank- of-England Whale. ' Let her luff,' said the Old Man, gently. ' Now, lower away, my boys, And pull for a mile, then paddle, — and mind that you make no noise.' " A minute more, and the boats were down ; and out from the hull of the bark They shot with a nervous sweep of the oars, hke dolpliins away from a shark. Each officer stood in the stern, and watched, as he held the steering oar. And the crews bent down to their pulling as they never pulled before. " Our ]\Iate was as thorough a whaleman as T ever met afloat ; And I was his harpooneer that day, and sat in th^ bow of the boat. THE AMBER WHALE. 257 His eyes were set on the wliales aliead, and he spoke in a low, deep tone, And told the men to be steady and cool, and the whale was all our own. And steady and cool they proved to be : you could read it in every face, And in every strammg muscle, that they meant to win that race. ' Bend to it, boys, for a few strokes more, — -bend to it steady and long ! Now, in with your oars, and paddles out, — all together, and strong I ' Then we turned and sat on the gunwale, with our faces to the bow ; And the whales were right ahead, — no more than four sliips' lengths off now. There were five of 'em, hundred-barrellers, like guards round the Amber Whale. And to strike him we 'd have to risk being stove by crossing a sweeping tail ; But the prize and the risk were equal. ' Mat,' now whispers the Mate, 258 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. ' Are your irons ready ? ' ' Ay, ay, sir.' ' Stand up, then, steady, and wait Till I give the word, then let 'em fly, and hit him below the fin As he rolls to wind'ard. Start her, boys ! now 's the time to slide her in! Hurrah ! that fluke just missed us. JMind, as soon as the iron 's fast. Be ready to back your paddles, — now in for it, boys, at last. Heave I Again I ' " And two irons flew : the first one sank in the joint, 'Tween the head and hump, — in the muscle; but the second had its point Turned off by striking the amber case, coming out again like a bow. And the monster carcass quivered, and roUed with pain from the first deep blow. Then he lashed the sea with his terrible flukes, and showed us manv a si^rn THE AMBER WHALE. 259 Tliat Ills rage was roused. ' Lay off,' roared the Mate, 'and all keep clear of the Ime I ' And that was a timely warning, for the whale made an awfid breach Right out of the sea ; and 'twas well for us that the boat was beyond the reach Of his sweeping flukes, as he milled around, and made for the Captain's boat, That was right astern. And, shipmates, then my heart swelled up in my throat At the sight I saw: the Amber Whale was lash- ing the sea with rage, And two of his hundi-ed-barrel guards were ready now to engage In a bloody fight, and with open jaws they came to their master's aid. ■ Then we knew the Captain's boat was doomed ; but the crew were no whit afraid, — They were brave New England whalemen, — and we saw the harpooneer Stand up to send in liis irons, as soon as the whal(-^ came near. 26o SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Tlien we heard the Captam's order, ' Heave ! ' and saw the harpoon fly, As the whales closed in with their open jaws : a shock, and a stifled cry Was all that we heard ; then we looked to see if the crew were still afloat, — But nothing was there save a dull red patch, and the boards of the shattered boat I "But that was no time for mourning words : the other two boats came in. And one got fast on the quarter, and one aft the starboard fin Of the Amber Whale. For a minute he paused, as if he were in doubt As to whether 'twas best to run or fight. ' Lay on ! ' the Mate roared out, * A] id I '11 give him a lance ! ' The boat shot in ; and the Mate, when he saw his chance Of sending it home to the vitals, four times he buried his lance. A jiinute more, and a cheer went up, when we saw that his aim was good ; THE AMBER WHALE. 26 1 For the lance had struck in a life-spot, and the whale was spouting blood I But now came the time of danger, for the school of whales around Had aired their flukes, and the cry was raised, * Look out ! they 're going to sound I ' And down they went with a sudden plunge, the Amber Whale the last, While the lines ran smoking out of the tubs, ha went to the deep so fast. Before you could count your fingers, a hundred fathoms were out; And then he stopped, for a wounded whale must come to the top and spout. We hauled slack line as we felt him rise ; and when he came up alone. And spouted thick blood, we cheered again, for we knew he was all our own. Ke was frightened now, and his fight was gone, — right round and round he spun, As if he was tr}dng to sight the boats, or find tha best side to run. 262 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. But tliat was tlie minute for us to work: the Loats hauled in their slack, And bent on the di-ag-tubs over the stern to tire and hold him back. The bark was five miles to wind'ard, and the mate gave a troubled glance At the sinking s'clq, and muttered, • Boys, ^ve must give him another lance. Or he '11 run till night ; and, if he should head to wmd'ard in the dark. We '11 be forced to cut loose and leave him, or else lose run of the bark.' So we hauled in close, two boats at once, but only frightened the whale ; And, like a hound that was badly whipped, he turned and showed his tail. With his head right dead to wind'ard ; then as straight and as swift he sped As a hungry shark for a swimmmg prey ; and, bending over his head, Like a mighty plume, went his bloody spout. Ah I shipmates, that was a sight THE AMBER WHALE. 263 vVortli a life at sea to witness. In his wake the sea was white As YOU 've seen it after a steamer's screw, chuniincr up like foaming yeast ; And the boats w>:3nt hissiag along at the rate of twenty knote; at least. With the water flush with the gunwale, and the oars were all apeak, While the crews sat silent and quiet, watching the long, white streak That was traced by the line of our passage. We hailed the bark as we passed, And told them to keep a sharp look-out fi-om the head of every mast ; * And if we 're not back by sundown,' cried the Mate, 'you keep a light At the royal cross-trees. If he dies, we may stick to the whale all night.' ''And past we swept with our oars apeak, and waved our hands to the hail Of the wondering men on the taffraQ, who were watching our Amber Whale 264 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. As lie sui'ged ahead, just as if he thought he could tii'e liLs enemies out ; I was almost sorrowful, shipmates, to see after each red spout That the great whale's strength was failing: the sweep of his flukes grew slow, Till at sundown he made about four knots, and his spout was weak and low. Then said the Mate to his boat's crew : ' Boys, the vessel is out of sight To the leeward : now, shall we cut the line, or stick to the whale all night ? ' ' We '11 stick to the whale ! ' cried every man. ' Let , the other boats go back To the vessel and beat to wind'ard, as well as they can, in our track.' It was done as they said : the lines were cut, and the crews cried out, ' Good speed ! ' As we swept along in the darkness, in the wake of our monster steed, That went plunging on, with the dogged hope that he 'd tire his enemies still, — THE AMBER WHALE. 265 But even the strength of an Amber Wliale must break before human will. By little and little his power had failed as he spouted liis blood away, Tin at midnight the rising moon shone down on tlie great fish as he lay Just moving his flukes ; but at length he stopped, and raising his square, black head As high as the topmast cross-trees, swung round and fell over — dead I " And then rose a shout of triiunph, — a shout that was more like a curse Than an honest cheer ; but, shipmates, the thought in our hearts was worse. And 'twas punished with bitter suffering. We claimed the whale as our own. And said that the crew should have no share of the w^ealth that was ours alone. We said to each other : We want their help till we get the whale aboard, So we '11 let 'em think that they '11 have a share tiU we get the Amber stored, 266 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And tlieu we '11 pay them their wages, and send them ashore — or afloat^ If they sliow their temper. Ah ! shipmates, no wonder 'twas that boat And its selfish crew were cursed that night. Next day we saw no sail, But the wind and sea were rising. Still, we held to the di'ifting whale, — And a dead whale drifts to windward, — going farther away from the ship. Without water, or bread, or coinage to pray with heart or lip That had planned and spoken the treachery. The wind blew into a gale, And it screamed like mocking laughter round our boat and the Amber Whale. " That night fell dark on the starving crew, and a hurricane blew next day; Then we cut the line, and we curbed the priie as it drifted fast away, As if some power under the waves were towing it out of sight ; THE AMBER WHALE. 26/ And there we were, without help or hope, dreadlirg the commg night. Three days that hurricane lasted. When it passed, two men were dead ; And the strongest one of the li\4ng had not strength to raise his head, When his dreaming swoon was broken by the sound of a cheery hail. And he saw a shadow fall on the boat, — it fell from the old bark's sail ! And when he heard then* kindly words, you 'd think he should have smiled With joy at his deliverance ; but he cried like a little child, And hid his face in his poor weak hands, — for he thought of the selfish plan, — And he prayed to God to forgive them all. And, shipmates, I am the man ! — The only one of the sinful crew that ever beheld his home ; For before the cruise was over, all the re^t were under the foam. 268 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. It's just fifteen years gone, shipmates," said old Mat, ending his tale ; *' And I often pray that I '11 never see another Amber WhaJe." THE KING OF THE VASSE, A LEGEND OV THE BUSH. From that fair land and drear land in the Souths Of which through years I do not cease to think, I brought a tale, learned not by word of mouthy But formed by finding here one golden link And there another ; and with hands unskilled For such fine work, but patient of all pain for love of it, I sought therefrom to build What might have been at first the goodly chain. . t is not golden now : my craft knows more Of working baser metal than of fine; hut to those fate-wrought rings of precious ore I add these rugged iron links of mine. THE KING OF THE VASSE. A LEGEND OF THE BUSH. Y tale which I have brought is of a tiaie Ere that fair Southern hind was stained with crime, Brouo-ht thitherward in reeking ships and cast Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast From angry levin on a fair young tree. That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see. So lives this land to-day beneath the sun,— A weltering plague-spot, where the hot tears run, And hearts to ashes turn, and souls are dried Like empty kilns where hopes have parched and died. Woe's cloak is round her,— she the fairest shore In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er. Poor Cinderella ! she must bide her woe, Because an elder sister wills it so. 271 2/2 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. All ! could that sister see the future day When her own wealth and strength are shorn away, And she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand To rest on kindred blood in that far land ; Could she but see that kin deny her claim Because of nothing owing her but shame, — Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall, If carted rubble be the basement-wall, But this my tale, if tale it be, begins Before the young land saw the old land's sins Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud Far-blown, and widening as it neared, — a shroud Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure, And mark the leper-land while stains endure. In the far days, the few who sought the West Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain, And help them live their lives with less of pain Than crowded Europe lets her children know. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 2/3 From tlieir old homesteads did they seaward go, As if in Nature's order men must flee As flow the streams, — from inlands to the sea. In that far time, from out a Northern land, With home-ties severed, went a numerous band Of men and wives and children, white-haired folk: Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke, As year was piled on year, and still their toil Had wrung poor fee from Sweden's rugged soil. One day there gathered from the neighboring steads, In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads, — Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons, Though he was hale, as one whose current runs In stony channels, that the streamlet rend, But keep it clear and full unto the end. Eidit sons had Jacob Eibsen, — three still boys. And these five men, who owned of griefs and joys The common lot ; and three tall girls beside, Of whom the eldest was a blushing bride 2/4 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. One year before. Okl-fasbioned times' and ineu, And wives and maidens, were in Sweden then. These five came there for counsel : '.hey were tired Of hoping on for all the heart desired ; xVnd Jacob, old but mighty-thewed as yorth, In all their words did sadly own the truth, And said unto them, " Wealth cannot be fonnd In Sweden now by men who till the ground. I 've thought at times of leaving this bavf.: pl'5.ce, And holding seaward with a seeking face For those new lands they speak of, when mcD thrive. Alone I 've thought of this ; but now 30 a f.ve — Five brother men of Eibsen blood — shall say If our old stock from here must wend th \1 way, And seek a home where anxious sires can give To every child enough whereon to live." Then each took thought in silence. Jacob gazed Across them at the pastures worn and grazed THE KING OF THE VASSE. 2/5 By ill-fed herds ; his glance to corn-fields passed, Where stunted oats, worse each year than the last, And bhghted barley, grew amongst the stones, That showed ungainly, like earth's fleshless bones. He sighed, and turned away. " Sons, let me know What think you." Each one answered firm, " We go.' And then they said, " We want no northern wind To chill us more, or driving hail to blind. But let us sail where south winds fan the sea. And happier we and all our race shall be." And so in time there started for the coast. With farm and household gear, this Eibsen host ; And there, with others, to a good ship passed. Which soon of Sweden's hills beheld the last. I know not of their voyage, nor how they Did wonder-stricken sit, as day by day, 'Neath tropic rays, they saw the smooth sea swell And heave; while night by night the north-stai fell, 276 SONGS, LEGENDS, * AND BALLADS. Till last they watched him burning on the sea ; Nor how they saw, and wondered it could be, Strange beacons rise before them as they gazed ; Nor how their hearts grew light when southward blazed Five stars m blessed shape, — the Cross! whose flapae Seemed shining welcome as the wanderers came. My story presses from this star-born hope To where on young New Holland's western slope These Northern farming folk found homes at last, And all their thankless toil seemed now long past. Nine fruitful years chased over, and nigh all Of life was sweet. But one dark drop of gaU Had come when first they landed, like a sign Of some black woe ; and deep in Eibsen's wine Of life it hid, till in the sweetest cup The old man saw its shape come shuddering up. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 2// I And first it came in this wise : when their ship Had made the promised land, and every lip Was pouring praise for what the eye did meet, — For all the air was yellow as with heat Above the peaceful sea and dazzling sand That wooed each other round the beauteous land, Where inward stretched the slumbering forest's green, — When first these si^-hts from off the deck wera seen, There rose a wailing sternwards, and the men Who dreamt of heaven turned to earth agen, And heard the dheful cause with bated breath, — The land's first gleam had brought the bhght of death ! The wife of Eibsen held her six-years son, Her youngest, and in secret best-loved one. Close to her lifeless : his had been the cry That fii'Lit horizonwards bent every eye ; And from that opening sight of sand and tree Like one deep spell-bound did he seem to be. 278 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And moved by some strange phantasy ; his eyes Were wide distended as in glad surprise At something there he saw ; his arms reached o*er The vessel's side as if to greet the shore, And sounds came from his lips like sobs of joy. A brief time so ; and then the blue-eyed boy Sank down convulsed, as if to him appeared Strange sights that they saw not ; and all afeard Grew the late joyous people with vague dread ; And loud the mother wailed above her dead. The ship steered in and found a bay, and then The anchor plunged aweary-like : the men Breathed breaths of rest at treading: land aoea. Upon the beach by Christian men 'dntrod The wanderers kneeling offered up to God The land's first-fruits ; and nigh the kneeling bai*^ The burdened mother sat upon the sand, And still she wailed, not praying. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 2/9 'Neath the wood T]iat lined the beach a crowd of watchers stood: Tiill men spear-aimed, with skuis hke dusky night, And aspect blended of deep awe and fright. The ship that morn they saw, like some vast bird, Come sailing toward their country ; and they heard The voices now of those strange men whose eyes Were tiu-ned aloft, who spake unto the skies ! They heard and feared, not knowing, that first prayer. But feared not when the wail arose, for there Was some familiar thing did not appall, — Grief, common heritage and lot of all. They moved and l,Teathed more freely at the cry, And slowly from the wood, and tunorously, They one by one emerged upon the beacli. The white men saw, and like to friends did reach Their hands unarnied ; and soon the dusky crowd Drew nigh and fc.tood where wailed the mother loud. They claimed her kindred, they could understand 280 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. That woe was hers and theirs ; whereas the band Of white-skmned men did not as brethren seem. But now, behold! a man, whom one would deem From eje and mien, wherever met, a King, Did stand beside the woman. No youth's spring Was in the foot that naked pressed the sand ; No warrior's might was in the long dark hand That waved his people backward ; no bright gold Of lace or armor glittered ; gaunt and old, — A belt, half apron, made of emu-down, Upon his loins ; upon his head no crown Save only that which eighty years did trace In wliitened hair above his furrowed face. Nigh nude he was : a short fur boka hung In toga-folds upon his back, but flung From Ids right arm and shoulder, — ever there The spear-arm of the warrior is bare. So stood he nigh the woman, gaunt and wild But king-like, spearless, looking on the cliild That lay with livid face upon her knees. THE KING OF THE VaSSE. 28 1 Thus long and fixed lie gazed, as one who sees A symbol hidden in a simple thing, And trembles at its meaning : so the King Fell trembling there, and from his breast there broke A cry, part joy, part fear ; then to his folk W^ith upraised hands he spoke one guttural word, And said it over thrice ; and when they heard. They, too, were stricken with strange fear and joy. The white-haired King then to the breathless boy Drew closer still, while all the dusky crowd In weird abasement to the earth were bowed. Across his breast the aged ruler wore A leathern thong or belt ; whate'er it bore Was hidden 'neath the boka. As he drew Anigh the mother, from his side he threw Far back the skm that made his rich-furred robe. And showed upon the belt a small red globe = Of carven wood, bright-polished, as with years : When this they saw, deep grew his people's fears, And to the white sand were their foreheads pressed. 2S2 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The Kiiig then raised his arms, as if he blest The youth who lay there seeming dead and cold ; Then took the globe and oped it, and behold ! Within it, bedded in the carven case, There lay a precious* thing for that rude race To hold, though it as God they seemed to prize, — A Pearl of purest hue and wondious size I And as the sunbeams kissed it, from the dead The dusk King looked, and o'er his snowy head With both long hands he raised the enthroned gem. And turned him toward the strangers: e'en on them Before the lovely Thing, an awe did faii To see that worship deep and mj'stical, That King with upraised god, like rev'rent priest With elevated Host at Christian feast. Then to the nxither turning slow, the King Took oit the Pearl, and laid the beauteous Thing Upon the dead boy's mouth and brow and breast, THE KING OF THE VASSE. 283 And as it touched liim, lo ! the awful rest Of death was broken, and the youth uprose I Nine years passed over since on that fair shore The wanderers knelt, — but wanderers they no more. With hopeful hearts they bore the promise-pain Of early labor, and soon bending grain And herds and homesteads and a teeming soil A thousand-fold repaid their patient toil. Nine times the sun's high glory glared above, As if his might set naught on human love, But yearned to scorn and scorch the things that grew On man's poor home, till all the forest's hue Of blessed green was burned to dusty brown ; And still the ruthless rays rained fiercely down, Till insects, reptiles, shrivelled as they lay, And piteous cracks, like lips, in parching clay Sent silent pleadings skyward, — as if she, 284 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The fruitful, generous mother, plaintively Did wail for water. Lo ! her cry is heard, And swift, obedient to the Ruler's word, From Southern Iceland sweeps the cool sea breeze. To fan the earth and bless the suffering trees, And bear dense clouds with bursting weight of rain To soothe with moisture all the parching pain. Oh, Mercy's sweetest symbol ! only they Who see the earth agape in burning day, WTio watch its living things thirst-stricken lie, And turn from brazen hea-ven as they die, — Their hearts alone, the shadowy cloud can prize That veils the sun, — as to poor earth-dimmed eyes The sorrow comes to veil our joy's dear face, All rich in mercy and in God's sweet grace I Thrice welcome, clouds from seaward, settling down O'er thirsting nature ! Now the trees' dull brown Is washed away, and leaflet buds appear, And youngling undergrowth, and far and near THE KING OF THE VASSE. 285 The busli is whispering in her pent-np glee, As myriad roots bestir them to be free, And drink the soaking moisture ; while brignt heaven Shows clear, as inland are the spent clouds driven , And oh ! that arch, that sky's intensate hue ! That deep, God-painted, unimagined blue Through which the golden sun now smiling sails, And sends his love to fructify the vales That late he seemed to curse ! Earth throbs and heaves With pregnant prescience of life and leaves ; The shadows darken 'neath the tall trees' screen. While round their stems the rank and velvet green Of undergrowth is deeper still ; and there, Within the double shade and steaming air. The scarlet palm has fixed its noxious root. And hangs the glorious poison of its fruit ; And there, 'mid shaded green and shaded light. The steel-blue silent birds take rapid flight From earth to tree and tree to earth ; and there The crimson-plumaged parrot cleaves the air 286 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Like flj^ng fire, and huge brown owls awake To watch, far down, the stealing carpet snake, Fresh-skinned and glowing in his changing dyes, With evil wisdom in the cruel eyes That glint like gems as o'er his head flits by The blue-black armor of the emperor-fly ; And all the humid earth displays its powers Of prayer, with incense from the hearts of flowers That load the air with beauty and with wine Of mmgled color, as with one design Of making there a carpet to be trod, In woven splendor, by the feet of God I And high overhead is color : round and round The towering gums and tuads, closely wound Like cables, creep the climbers to the sun, And over all the reaching branches run And hang, and still send shoots that climb and wind Till every arm and spray and leaf is twined, And miles of trees, like brethren joined in love, Are drawn and laced; while round them and above, THE KING OF THE VASSE. 28/ When all is knit, the creeper rests for days As gathering might, and then one blinding blazo * Of very glory sends, in wealth and strength, Of scarlet flowers o'er the forest's length ! SueL scenes as these have subtile power to trace Their clear-lined impress on the mind and face ; And these strange simple folk, not knowing why, Grew more and more to silence ; and the eye, The quiet eye of Swedish gra}-, grew deep With listening to the solemn rustling sweep From wings of Silence, and the earth's great psalm Intoned forever by the forest's calm. But most of all was younger Jacob changed : From morn till night, alone, the woods he ranged, To kindred, pastime, sympathy estranged. Since that first da}^ of landing from the ship When with the Pearl on brow and breast and lip The aged King had touched him and he rose. His former life had left him, and he chose The woods as home, the wild, uncultui-ed men As frieuds and comrades. It were better then, 288 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. His brethren said, tlie boy had truly died *Thaii they should live to be by him denied, As now they were. He lived in sombre mood, He spoke no word to them, he broke no food That they did eat : his former life was dead, — The soul brought back was not the soul that fled! 'Twas Jacob's form and feature, but the hght Within his eyes was strange unto their sight. His mother's grief was piteous to see : Unloving was he to the rest, but she Held undespahmg hope that deep within Her son's changed heart was love that she migl:! win By patient tenderness ; and so she strove For nine long years, but won no look of Iotb I At last his brethren gazed on him with awe, And knew untold that from the form they saw Their brother's gentle mind was sure dispelled. And now a gloomy savage soul it held. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 289 From that first day, close intercourse he had With those who raised him up, — fierce men, unclad. Spear-armed and wild, in all their ways uncouth, And strange to every habit of his youth. His food they brought, his will they seemed to crave. The wildest bushman tended like a slave ; He worked their charms, their hideous chants he sung ; Though dumb to all his own, their guttural tongue He often spoke in tones of cui't command. And kinged it proudly o'er the dusky band. And once each year there gathered from afar A swarming host, as if a sudden war Had called them forth, and with them did thej bring In solemn, savage pomp the white-haired King, Who year by year more withered was and weak ; And he would lead the youth apart and speak 290 SOXGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Some occult words, and from the carven case Would take the Pearl and touch the young man's face, And hold it o'er him blessing ; while the crowd, As on the shore, in dumb abasement bowed. And when the King had closed the formal rite, The rest held savage revelry by night, Round blazing fires, with dance and orgies base, That roused the sleeping echoes of the place. Which down the forest vistas moaned the din, Like spirits pure beholding impious sin. Nine times the}" gathered thus ; but on the last The old king's waning life seemed well-nigh past. His feeble strength had failed : he walked no more, But on a woven spear- wood couch they bore With careful tread the form that barely gasped, As if the door of death now hung unliasped, Awaiting but a breath to swing, and show The dim eternal plain that stretched below. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 29 1 The tenth year waned: the cloistered bush was stilled, The earth lay sleeping, while the clouds distilled In ghostly veil their blessing. Thm and white, Through opening trees the moonbeams cleft the night. And showed the sombre arches, taller far Than grandest aisles of built cathedrals are. And up those dim-lit aisles in silence streamed Tall men with trailing spears, until it seemed, So many lines converged of endless length, A nation there was gathered in its strength. Around one spot was kept a spacious ring, Where lay the body of the white-haired King, Which all the spearmen gathered to behold Upon its spear-wood litter, stiff and cold. All naked, there the dusky corse was laid Beneath a royal tuad's mourning shade ; Upon the breast was placed the carven case That held the symbol of their ancient race, 292 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And eyes awe-stricken saw the mystic Thing That soon would clothe another as their King ! The midnight moon was high and white o'erhead, And threw a ghastly pallor round the dead That heightened still the savage pomp and state In which they stood expectant, as for Fate To move and mark with undisputed hand The one amongst them to the high command. And long they stood unanswered ; each on each Had looked in vain for motion or for speech : Unmoved as ebon statues, grand and tall, They ringed the shadowy circle, silent all. Then came a creeping tremor, as a breeze "With cooling rustle moves the summer trees Before the thunder crashes on the ear ; The dense ranks turn expectant, as they hear A sound, at first afar, but nearing fast ; The outer crowd divides, as waves are cast On either side a tall ship's cleaving bow, Or mould is parted by the fearless plough That leaves behind a passage clear and broad : THE KING OF THE VASSE. 293 So tliroagli tlie murmuring multitude a road Was cleft with power, up which in haughty swing A figure stalking broke the sacred ring, And stood beside the body of the King I 'Twas Jacob Eibsen, sad and gloomy-browed, Who bared his neck and breast, one moment bowed Above the corse, and then stood proud and tall, And held the carven case before them all ! A breath went upward like a smothered fright From every heart, to see that face, so white, So foreign to their own, but marked with might From source unquestioned, and to them divine ; Whilst he, the master of the mystic sign. Then oped the case and took the Pearl and raised, As erst the King had done, and upward gazed, As swearing fealty to God on high ! But ere the oath took form, there thrilled a cry Of shivering horror through the hush of night ; And there before him, blinded by the sight 294 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Of all his impious purpose, brave with love, His mother stood, and stretched her arms above To tear the idol from her darling's hand ; But one fierce look, and rang a harsh command In Jacob's voice, that smote her like a sword. A thousand men sprang forward at the word, To tear the mother from the form of stone. And cast her forth ; but, as he stood alone, The keen, heart-broken wail that cut the air Went two-edged through him, half reproach, half prayer. But all unheeding, he nor marked her cry By sign or look within the gloomy eye ; But round his body bound the carven case, And swore the fealty with marble face. As fades a dream before slow-waking sense. The shadowy host, that late stood fixed and dense. Began to melt ; and as they came erewhile, The streams flowed backward through each mocfi- lit aisle ; THE KING OF THE VASSE. 295 And soon he stood alone witliin Jtlie place, Their new-made king, — their king with pallid face, Their king with strange foreboding and unrest, And half-formed thoughts, like dreams, within liis breast. Like jNIoses' rod, that mother's cry of woe Had struck for water ; but the fitful flow That weakly welled and streamed did seem tc mock Before it died forever on the rock. The sun rose o'er the forest, and his light Made still more dreamlike all the evil night. Day streamed his glory down the aisles' dim arch, All hushed and f-badowy like a pillared church ; And through the lonely bush no living thing Was seen, save now and then a garish wing Of bird low-flying on its silent way. But woful searcJiers spent the weary day In anxious dreiid, and found not what th^j sought, — 296 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Their mother and their brother : evening brought A son and father to the lonesome place That saw the last night's scene ; and there, her face Laid earthward, speaking dumbly to her heart, They found her, as the hands that tore apart The son and mother flung her from their chief, And with one cry her heart had spent its grief. They bore the cold earth that so late did move In household happiness and works of love, Unto their rude home, lonely now ; and he Who laid her there, from present misery Did turn away, half-blinded by his tears, To see with inward eye the far-off years When Swedish toil was light and hedgerows sweet ; Where, when the toil was o'er, he used to meet A simple gray-eyed girl, with sun-browned face, Whose love had won his heart, and whose sweet grace Had blessed for threescore years his humble life. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 297 So Jacob Eibsen mourned his faithful wife, And found the world no home when she was gone. The days that seemed of old to hurry on Now dragged their course, and marred the wish that grew, When first he saw her grave, to sleep there too. But though to him, whose yeasning hope outran The steady motion of the seasons' plan, Tlie years were slow in coming, still their pace With awful sureness left a solemn trace, Lik3 dust that settles on an open page. On Jacob Eibsen's head, bent down with age ; And ere twice more the soothing rains had come, The old man had his wish, and to his home. Beneath the strange trees' shadow where she lay, They bore the rude-made bier ; and from that day, AVhen round the parent graves the brethren stood, Their new-made homesteads were no longer good, Bat marked they seemed by some o'erhanging dread Tliat linked the living with the di-eamlcss dead. 298 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Grown silent with the woods the men w^ere all, But words were needed not to note the pall That each one knew hung o'er them. Duties now, With straying herds or swinging scythe, or plough, Were cheerless tasks : like men they were who wrought A weary toil that no repayment brought. And when the seasons came and went, and still The pall was hanging o'er them, with one will They yoked their oxen teams and piled the loads Of gear selected for the aimless roads That nature opens through the bush ; and when The train was ready, worn en -folk and men Went over to the graves and wept and prayed, Then rose and turned away, but still delayed Ere leaving there forever those poor mounds. The next bright sunrise heard the teamslei's' sounds Of voice and whip a long day's march away ; And wider still the space grew day by day THE KING OF THE VASSE. 299 From their old resting-place : the trackless wood Still led them on with promises of good, As when the mirage leads a thirsty band With palm-tree visions o'er the arid sand. I know not where they settled down at last : Their lives and homes from out my tale have passed, And left me naught, or seeming naught, to trace But cheerless record of the empty place. Where long unseen the palm-thatched cabins stood, And made more lonely still the lonesome wood. Long lives of men passed over ; but the years, That line men's faces with hard cares and tears, Pass lightly o'er a forest, leaving there No wreck of young disease or old despair ; For trees are mightier than men, and Time, When left by cunning Sin and dark -browed Crime To work alone, hath ever gentle mood. Unshanged the pillars and the arches stood, 300 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. But shadowed taller vistas ; and the earth, That takes and gives the ceaseless death and bir' 'j, Was blooming still, as once it bloomed before When sea-tired ejes beheld the beauteous shore. But man's best work is weak, nor stands n)i grows Like Nature's simplest. Every breeze that blows, Health-bearing to the forest, plays its part In hasting graveward all his humble art. • Beneath the trees the cabins still remained. By all the changing seasons seared and stained ; Grown old and weirdlike, as the folk might grow In such a place, who left them long ago. Men came, and wondering found the work of men Where they had deemed them first. The savage then Heard through the wood the axe's deathwatch stroke For him and all his peoj^le : odorous smoke THE KING OF THE VASSE. 3O! Of burning sandal rose where white men dwelt, Around the huts ; but they had shuddering felt The weird, forbidden aspect of the spot, And left the place untouched to mould and rot. The woods grew blithe with labor : all around. From point to point, was heard the hollow sound, The solemn, far-off clicking on the ear That marks the presence of the pioneer. And children came like flowers to bless tue toil That reaped rich fruitage from the virgin soil ; And through the woods chey wandered fresh and fair. To feast on all the beauties blooming there. But always did they shun the spot where grew. From earth once tilled, the flowers of rarest hue. There wheat grown wild in rank luxuriance spread, And fruits grown native ; but a sudden tread Or bramble's fall would foul goanos wake. Or start the chilling rustle of the snake ; And diamond eyes of these and thousand more, Gleamed out from ruined roof and v/aU and floor. 302 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The new-come people, tliej wliose axes rung Tin^oughout the forest, spoke the English tongue, And never knew that men of other race From Europe's fields had settled in the place ; But deemed these huts were built some long-past day By lonely seamen who were cast away And thrown upon the coast, who there had built Their homes, and lived until some woe or guilt Was bred among them, and they fled the sight Of scenes that held a horror to the light. But while they thought such things, the spell that hung. And cast its shadow o'er the place, was strung To utmost tension that a breath would break. And show between the rifts the deep blue lake Of blessed peace, — as next to sorrow lies A stretch of rest, rewarding hopeful eyes. And while such tilings bethought this new-come folk, That breath was breathed, the olden spell was broke : THE KING OF THE VASSE. 303 From far away witliin the unknown land, O'er belts of forest and o'er wastes of sand, A cry came thrilling, like a cry of pain From suffering heart and half-awakened brain ; As one thought dead who wakes within the tomb, And, reaching, cries for sunshine in the gloom. In that strange country's heart, whence comes the breath Of hot disease and pestilential death. Lie leagues of wooded swamp, that from the hills Seem stretching meadows ; but the flood that filk Those valley-basins has the hue of ink, And dismal doorwaj^s open on the brink. Beneath the gnarled arms of trees that grow All leafless to the top, from roots below The Lethe flood ; and he who enters there Beneath their screen sees rising, ghastly-bare, Like mammoth bones within a charnel dark, llie white and ragged stems of paper-bark, That drip down moisture with a ceaseless drip, From lines that run like cordage of a ship ; 304 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. For myriad creepers struggle to the light, And twine and mat o'erliead in murdoroua fight For life and sunshine, like another race That wars on brethren for the highest place. Between the water and the matted screen. The baldhead vultures, two and two, are seen In dismal grandeur, with revolting face Of foul grotesque, like spirits of the place ; And now and then a spear-shaped wave goes by, Its apex glittering with an evil eye That sets above its enemy and prey. As from the wave in treacherous, slimy way The black snake winds, and strikes the bestial bird, Whose shriek-like w^ailing^ on the hills is heard. Beyond this circling swamp, a circling waste Of baked and barren desert land is placed, — A land of awful grayness, wild and stark, Where man will never leave a deeper mark. On leagues of fissured clay and scorching stones, Thau may be printed there bj' bleaching bones. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 305 Witliin this belt, that keeps d savage guard, As round a treasure sleeps a dragon ward, A forest stretches far of precious trees ; Whence came, one day, an odor-laden breeze Of jam-wood bruised, and sandal sweet in smoke. For there lono: dwelt a numerous native folk In that heart-garden of the continent, — There human lives with aims and fears were spent, And marked by love and hate and peace and pain. And hearts well-filled and hearts athirst for gain, And lips that clung, and faces bowed in shame ; For, wild or polished, man is still the same. And loves and hates and envies in the wood, With spear and boka and with manners rude, As loves and hates his brother shorn and sleek, Who learns by lifelong practice how to speak With oily tongue, while in his heart below Lies rankling poison that he dare not show. Afar from all new ways this people dwelt, And knew no books, and to no God had knelt, 306 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. And had no codes to rule them writ in blood ; But savage, selfish, nomad-lived and rude, With human passions fierce from unrestraint, And free as tlieir loose limbs ; with every taint That earth can give to that wliicb God has given ; Their nearest glimpse of Him, o'er-arching heaven, Where dwelt the giver and preserver, — Light, Who daily slew and still was slain by Night. A savage people they, and prone to strife ; Yet men grown Aveak with years had spent a life Of peace unbroken, and their sires, long dead, Had equal lives of peace unbroken led. It was no statute's bond or coward fear Of retribution kept the shivering spear In all those years from fratricidal sheath ; But one it was who ruled them, — one whom Death Had passed as if he saw not, — one whose word Through all that lovely central land was hear! And bowed to, as of yore the people bent, In desert wanderings, to a leader sent THE KING OF THE VASSE. 307 To guide and guard them to a promised land. O'er all the Austral tribes he held command, — A man unlike them and not of their race, A man of flowing hair and pallid face, A man who strove by no deft juggler's art To keep his kingdom in the people's heart, Nor held his place by feats of brutal might Or showy skill, to please the savage sight ; But one who ruled them as a King of kings, A man above, not of them, — one who brings, To prove his kingship to the low and high, The inborn power of the regal eye I Like him of Sinai with the stones of law, Whose people almost worshipped when they saw The veiled face whereon God's glory burned ; But yet who, mutable as water, turned From that veiled ruler who had talked with God, To make themselves an idol from a clod : So turned one day this savage Austral race Against their monarch with the pallid face. The young men knew him not, the old had heard In far-off days, from men grown old, a word 308 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. That dimly lighted up the mystic choice Of this their alien King, — how once a voice Was heard by their own monarch calling clear, And leading onward, where as on a bier A dead child lay upon a woman's knees ; M^hom when tbe old King saw, like one who sees Far through the mist of common life, he spoke And touched him with the Pearl, and he awoke, And from that day the people owned his right To wear the Pearl and rule them, when the light Had left their old King's eyes. But now, they said, The men who owned that right were too long dead ; And they were young and strong and held their spears In idle resting through this white King's fears. Who stiU would live to rule them till they changed Their men to puling women, and estranged To Austral hands the spear and coila grew. And so they rose against him, and they slew The white-hau'ed men who raised their hands to warn. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 3O9 And true to ancient trust in warning fell, While o'er them rang the fierce revolters' jell. Then midst the dead uprose the King in scorn, Like some strong, hunted thing that stands at bay To win a brief but desperate delay. A moment thus, and those within the ring 'Gan backward press from their unarmed King, Who swept his hand as though he bade them fly, And brave no more the anger of his eye. The heaving crowd grew still before that face, And watched him take the ancient carven case, And ope it there, and take the Pearl and stand As once before he stood, with upraised hand And upturned eyes of inward worshipping. Awe-struck and dumb, once more they owned him King, And humbly crouched before him ; when a sound, A whirring sound that thrilled them, passed o'er- head. And with a spring they rose : a spear had sped 3IO SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. With aim unen'ing and with deathful might, And split the awful centre of their sight, — The upraised Pearl ! A moment there it shone Before the spear-point, — then forever gone ! The spell that long the ruined huts did shroud Was rent and scattered, as a hanging cloud In moveless air is torn and blown away By sudden gust uprising ; and one day When evening's lengtliened shadows came to hush The children's voices, and the awful bush Was lapt in sombre stillness, and on high Above the arches stretched the frescoed sky, — When all the scene such chilling aspect wore As marked one other night long years before, When through the reaching trees the mc)oiilight shone Upon a prostrate form, and o'er it one With kingly gesture. Now the light is shed No more on youthful brow and daring head. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 3II But on a man grown weirdly old, whose face Keeps turning ever to some new-found place That rises up before him like a dream ; And not unlike a dreamer does he seem, Who might have slept, unheeding time's sure flow, And woke to find a world he does not know. His long white hair flows o'er a form low bowed By wondrous weight of years : he speaks aloud In garbled Swedish words, with piteous wist. As long-lost objects rise through memory's mist. Again and once again his pace he stays, As crowding images of other days Loom up before liim dimly, and he sees A vague, forgotten friendship in the trees That reach their arms in welcome ; but agen These olden glimpses vanish, and dark men Are round liim, dumb and crouching, and Le stands Witli guttural sentences and upraised hands, Tha-t hold a carven case, — but empty now, Whicli makes more pitiful the aged brow 312 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. Fiill-tiirned to those tall tuads that did hear A son's fierce mandate and a mother's prayer. Ah, God ! what memories can live of these, Save only with the half-immortal trees That saw the death of one, the other lost? The weird-like figure now the bush has crost And stands within the ring, and turns and moans With arms out-reaching and heart-piercing tones. And groping hands, as one a long time blind Who sees a glimmering light on eye and mind. From tree to sky he turns, from sk}" to earth, And gasps as one to whom a second birth Of wondi'ous meaning: is an instant shown. Who is this wreck of years, who all alone, In savage raiment and with words unknown. Bows down like some poor penitent who fears The wrath of God provoked ? — this man who hears Around him now, wide circling tln-ough the wood, The breathing stillness of a multitude ? THE KING OF THE VASSE. 313 Who catches dimly through his straining sight The misty vision of an impious rite ? Who hears from one a cry that rends his heart, And feels that loving arms are torn apart, And by his mandate fiercely thrust aside ? Who is this one who crouches where she died, With face laid eartliAvard as her face was laid, And prays for her as she for him once prayed ? 'Tis Jacob Eibsen, Jacob Eibsen's son. Whose occult life and mystic rule are done. And passed away the memory from his brain. 'Tis Jacob Eibsen, who has come again To roam the woods, and see the mournful gleams That flash and linger of his old-time dreams. The morning found him where he sank to rest Within the mystic circle : on his breast With withered hands, as to the dearest place, He held and pressed the empty carven case. That day he sought the dwellings of his folk ; And when he found them, once again there hr^^f^i^ 314 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. The far-off light upon him, and he cried From that wrecked cabin threshold for a guide To lead him, old and weary, to his own. And surely some kind spirit heard his moan. And led him to the graves where they were laid. The evening found him in the tuads' shade, And like a child at work upon the spot Where they were sleeping, though he knew it not Next day the children found him, and they gazed In fear at first, for they were sore amazed To see a man so old they never knew, Whose garb was savage, and whose wliite hair grew And flowed upon his shoulders ; but their awe Was changed to love and pity when they saw The simple work he wrought at ; and they came And gathered flowers for him, and asked his name, A lid laughed at his strange language ; and he smiled To hear them laugh, as though himself a child. THE KING OF THE VASSE. 315 Ere that brief day was o'er, from far and near The children gathered, wondering ; and though fear Of scenes a long time shunned at first restrained. The spell was broken, and soon naught remained But gladsome features, where of old was dearth Of happy things and cheery sounds of mirth. The lizards fled, the snakes and bright-eyed things Found other homes, where childhood never sings ; And all because poor Jacob, old and wild, White-haired and fur-clad, was himself a child. Each day he lived amid these scenes, his ear Heard far-off voices growing still more clear ; And that dim light that first he saw in gleams Now left him only in his troubled di-eams. From far away the children loved to come And play and work with Jacob at his home. He learned their simple words with childish lip, And told them often of a white-sailed ship That sailed across a mighty sea, and found A beauteous harbor, all encircled lound 3l6 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. With flowers and tall green trees ; but when th.e^? asked What did the shipmen then, his mind was tasked Beyond its strength, and Jacob shook his head, And with them laughed, for all he knew was said The brawny sawyers often ceased their toil, As Jacob with the children passed, to smile With rugged pity on their simple play ; Then, gazing after the glad gToup, would say How strange it was to see that snowy hair And time-worn figui'e with the children fair. So Jacob Eibsen Hved through years of joy, — A patriarch in age, in heart a boy. Unto the last he told them of the sea And wliite-sailed ship ; and ever lovingly, Unto the end, the garden he had made He tended dail}^, 'neath the tuads' shade. But one bright morning, when the children came And roused the echoes calling Jacob's name, THE KING OF THE VASSE. 317 The echoes only answered back the sound. They sought witliin the huts, but nothing found Save lonelmess and shadow, falling chill On everj^ sunny searcher : boding ill. They tried each well-known haunt, and every throat Sent far abroad the bushman's cooing note. But all in vain their searching : twilight fell. And sent them home their sorrowing tale to teU. That nie^ht their elders formed a torch-lit chain To sweep the gloomy bush ; and not in vain, — For when the moon at midnight hung o'erhead, The weary searchers found poor Jacob — dead I He lay within the tuad ring, his face Laid earthward on his hands ; and all the place Was dim with shadow where the people stood. And as they gathered there, the circling wood Seemed filled with awful whisperings, and stirred By things unseen ; and every bushman heard, From where the corse lay plain within their sight, A woman's heart-wail rising on the night. 3l8 SONGS, LEGENDS, AND BALLADS. For over all the darkness and the fear That marked his life from childhood, shining clear, An arch, Hke God's bright rainbow, stretched aljove, And joined the first and last, — his mother's love Thej dug a grave beneath the tuads' shade, Where all unknown to them the bones were laid Of Jacob's kindred ; and a prayer was said In earnest sorrow for the unknown dead, Round which the children grouped. Upon the breaat The hands were folded in eternal rest ; But still they held, as dearest to that place Where life last throbbed, the empty carven case. OPINIONS OF THE PEESS. *' SONGS FROM THE SOUTHERN SEAS.* BY JOHN BOYLE o'BEILLY. New York Arcadian. *' Like the smell of new-mown hay, or the first breath of spring, or an nnexpected kisa from well-loved lips, or any other sweet, fresh, whole- some, natural delight, is to the professional reviewer the first perusal ol genuine poetry by a new writer. Not for a long time have we experienced 80 fresh and joyous a surprise, so perfect a literary treat, as has been given us by these fresh and glowing songs by this young and hitherto utterly unknown poet. There is something so thoroughly new and natural and lifelike, something so buoyant and wholesome and true, so much original power and boldness of touch in these songs, that we feel at once that we are in the presence of a new power in poetry. This work alone places its author head and shoulder above the rank and file of contemporary versi- fiers. . . . The closing passages of ' Uncle Ned's ' second tale, are in the highest degree dramatic, — thrilling the reader like the bugle-note that sounds the cry to arms. Finally, several of the poems are animated by a spirit so affectionate and pure, that we feel constrained to love their writer, offering, as they do in this respect, so marked and pleasant a contrast with too much of the so-called poetry of these modern times." Baltimore Bulletin. " Mr. O'Reilly is a true poet — no one can read his stirring measures and Lis picturesque descriptive passages without at once recognizing the true singer, and experiencing the contagion of his spirit. He soars loftily and grandly, and his song peals forth with a rare roundnesss and mellowness of tone that cheers and inspirits the hearer. His subjects belong to the open air, to new fields or untrod wilds, and they are fi\ll of healthy freshness, and the vigor of sturdy, redundant life. We hail Mr. O'Reilly with pleaarre, and we demand for him the cordial recognition he aa- •errea," OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. CJiicago Inter-Ocean. *' We may safely say that we lay these poems down witl a feeling of de- light that there has come among us a true poet, who ca.i enchant by the vivid fire of his pictures without having recourse to a trick of words, or the re-dressing and re-torturing of old forgotten ideas. These poems, for the most part, are fresh and lifelike as the lyrics which led our forefathers to deeds of glory. "With scarce a line of mawkish sentiment, there is the deep heart-feeling of a true .poet. His descriptions bear the impress of truth and the realism of personal acquaintance with the incidents de- scribed. There is tiie flow of Scott in his narrative power, and the fire of Macanlay in his trumpet-toned tales of war. We are much mistaken if this man does not in the course of a few years walk the course, cted, and iinagiued during a forced sojourn in Australia. The remaiuiug portion consists of occasional poems, very tender, fanciful, earnest, individual, and manly, claiming nothing which they do not win by their own inherent force, grace, melody, and ' sweet reasonableness,' or it mrvbe at times their passionate unreasonableness. Nobudy can read the volume without being drawn to its author. He is so thoroughly honest and si'.viere that he insists that his imaginations are but memories." New York Evening Mail. " Most of the songs are stories of the bush or of the sea, and, strangely, the subjects are almost withe- at exception, illustrations of the awful surety of the punishment that lays In wait for the sin of hilh whom men harm not — the key of Coleridge's ■ Ancient Mariner.' It is almost the old Greek Fate that stalks through lese tales of outlawry and wrong, anl if they be indeed the legends of a c ivict laud, they are themselves a strange showing of how crime haunts and iiunts the soul. . . . Mr. O'Reilly iias the natural gift of telling a story caj .r.ally, and all these tales in verse are interesting as well as powerful. H' has other qualifications also as a poet; his Aus- tralian landscapes are d "awn with fine artistic skill, and testify to their own truth, and about some of his pictures their is a weirdness tuat touches on the supernatural." Boston Post. " Of the author's genius in poetry the public are so well aware, through his fugitive pieces, that no commendation is necessary. His style is vigor- ous and manly, and combines a delicacy of sentiment with clearness of thought and vivacity of 'magery. Most of these poems have a peculiar interest, from the fact that they are of a narrative form, 'relics of an un- known sphere,' of the writer's personal experience and adventure in Australia. They are uneven in merit, but by far the greater number have already taken a permanez^t place among the living poems of the day." Danhury Neios. " His poems, aside froi-' their intrinsic merit and romantic interest, are wortU close study, as exai. pies of the elTe(;ts produced npon tlie loind of n prisoner by the wild luxuriance and fantastic forms which nature assumes In Australia." 12 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. New York Tablet. "The * Amber Whale,' 'Dog Guard,' and 'Monster Diamond,' art among the best known of his longer puems, and they have already taken their place amongst the best narrative poems of the age. . . . We hail with very great pleasure this first collection of Mr. O'Reilly's poems, which we hope will meet with the kindly welcome it deserves from all lovers of ballad poetry." Cincinnati Times, " Amid the frantic strivings of modern poet^ to obtain a reputation for originality by wild mouthings, odd, sti'ange, and revolting conceits, by soar- ing toward the empyrian, and diving into the infinite, by a false mysticism and luxuriance of verbiage, covering a poverty of ideas, it is refreshing to find one poet who is content to be original within the domain of common pense; who courts the muses, not with the freedom of a literary libertine, but modestly, yet with true poetic ardor. ... In view of all this we take it as a most encouraging thing that such a book of poetry as ' Songs from the Southern Seas ' is published, and still more encouraging its evident ap- proval by critics and acceptableness to the public. In some of the poema, notably in ' The King of the Vasse,' there are traces of the influence of Wm. Morris, and Mr. O'Reilly could not be influenced from a sweeter, purer source; in narrative passages there is evidence of a study of Scott, and tlie poet could not study in this department a better model; in the war lyrics thei-e is an evident following of the style of Macaulay, and a einger of more stirring battle-songs never lived; but throughout the book there is hardly a trace of Swinburne or the Swinburniau school. The poems are strong, earnest, and the offspring of genuine emotion. . . . Jlr. O'Reilly's war lyrics, under the title of ' Uncle Ned's Tales,' are the most spirited that have been produced for a long time. They have all the ring and fire of Macaulay; they stir one's blood like the neigh of a war-horse or the blast of a bugle." Hartford Post. " Some of the short poems are full of thoughtful earnestness and the true poet's yearning tenderness, while seldom have more stirring lines told tales of war than those of ' Uncle Ned's Stories.' " San Francisco Monitor. " The volume now before us contains ' The King of the Vasse,' • The Dog Guard,' 'The ^^uber AVhale,' and a number of minor pieces, all of which are marked by much dram.itic power and beauty of imagery, Bhow* Ing him to be a poet in the truest sense of the word." OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 1 3 Irish American. " Originality, whether of Ideas, construction, or of subjects, Is the priii< cipal something invariable sought for, and but seldom found, in the gen- eration of ' poets ' witli which this era of ours is so lavishly supplied. In the volume before us, however, this essential poetic quality is so strikingly manifest, that, in recognition of it, we must assign Mr. O'Reilly a very xiigh place among the few who, in our day, write readable and meritorious verse. But this is not the only feature in Mr. O'Reilly's muse worthy of remark; the vigor of his lines, the aptness of his similes, the effectiveness of his climaxes, — all testify to the existence in the author of that true poetic disposition, which is ever inborn, and never acquired. To those who may be sceptical of our judgment, we say, read the ' Songs from the Southern Seas,* and realize the pleasure they are calculated to afford even the most critical." Detroit Post. "They are evidently not fictions, but faithful transcripts of his owu feelings; the imagery is not stolen or borrowed, but original." Hartford Courant. "The Tolume not only contains a great deal of vigorous and interesting poetry, but It gives excellent promise for the future." Albany Journal. " For wild adventure and thrilling experience they will compare with the most weird and exciting legends." Dublin Nation. " The narratives themselves are interesting; they have usually a tragic turn, and are worked out with no small degree of skill. . . . Some of the word-pictures of Australian scenery are exceedingly realistic and vivid. . . . Some of the minor poems in this book afford much better indications of the poetic capacities of the author; and the effect of the entire volume is to leatl us to believe that he has within him powers which will enable him to rise far above the mark to which he has here attained." Lawrence American. " There U a vein of fire and earnestness, a glow of enthusiasm, that can- not but attract to the writer, and win no slight admiration for his geniusj H.nd his countrymen will especially be pleased with the graceful volume." 14 OPINIONS CF THE PRESS. Catholic Record of Philadelphia. " It haa seldom been our good fortune to discover a rolume of verges in which the realistic and poetic elements were so powerfully and iibly com- bined. Mr. O'Reilly selects his themes from among scenes and characters which would naturally be supposed to be the least congenial to the muse of song, for Erato is not usually considered at home among Nantucket tars on New Bedford whaling-ships, in Australian penal colonies, or tlie after- dark pranks of shameless youngsters. The luxurious arcades and flower- ing groves of the tropics may, indeed, be for a time her abode, and she may not disdain to occasionally bathe in the sparkling waters of sunny Southern seas, but we will stake our character for penetration on the as- sertion that Mr. O'Reilly is a handsome Irishman from the vicinity of Blar- ney Castle, for he has so completely fascinated her that she follows him with her most favoring smiles wherever or whenever he bids her presence. She is beside him in the murderer's secluded shelter; she rides with him on the storm-winds that whistle around the Horn; she sits beside him in the agoniz- ing cruise when the wounded amber whale drags his boat through tb e mighty Southern spray; she perches on an oil barpel on New Bedford's wharves, or peeps with him through the windows of a New-England meeting-hoi/se. Wherever he lists, she leta him sii^g, — slug the tenderest of soagB, ^ <*.« mauliest of tones." MOONDYNE: A. 3rro:Eijir iFi^onyc the unsriDEis.-'woie/Xii^. BY JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. Pilot Publishing Co., Boston. Post-free for 81.50. OPINIONS OF THE PKESS. From the New York Sun. "Regarded merely with a view to its artistic merits, this is a narrative which no lover of novels should neglect to read. Whether we look to the strange and impressive nature of the scenery portrayed, and the abnormal conditions of life studied — to the noveity of incident and the skilful con- struction of plot, or to the vigorous strokes by which the persons of the tale are made to stand forth from the canvas — we cannot fail to recognize in this work a strong and captivating performance. . . . We do not know whether the author, as a matter of fact, has visited the penal colony in West Australia, or has made a study of British prisons, but certainly his account of convict life under these diverse conditions bears the marks of authen- ticity. What is more to our immediate purpose, his analysis of the princi- ples which lie at the roots of the systems of confinement and transportation, is profound and fruitful, and his practical suggestions, enforced, as they are, by the experience of penal settlements, where, after a ceitain period of probation, the outlaws and the victims of a highly-organized society are suffered to begin life anew, deserve to be closely scanned and maturely pondered. . . . Such are some of the problems forced upon the reader's attention by this remarkable book, but which are rather hinted than ex- pounded — not so much dissected by argument as commended to our sympa- thie3 by the poignant spectacle of suffering and the winning accent of conviction. The author seldom overlooks the limitations of his artistic purpose, and the thread of his story may be followed with eagerness by Iho&e who would hear with indifference the teaching of the student and the phiianthropiet." iCv OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. From the Chicago Times. " 3foondyne is remarkable in more respects than one. It has plot enon?h for flaif-a-dozen strong romances; it is written with ciispness and sim.- plicity, and in pure and nervous English ; its morality is orthodox ; its scene and characters are wholly novel and unique, and the interest is keenly — even painfuliy — sustained, . . . and no one can read Jloondyne without ioving virtue more, pitying distress, abhorring injustice, and detesting vice. It is one of the few American novels which, while intensely romantic, is lolty in its aim, eloquent a"d noble in its argument, and healthy and refining in its effect. It is characterized throughout by the highest dramatic intuition, and ought to find its way speedily to the boards." From the Nevj Orleans Morning Star and Catholic Visitor. " This fine novel is really a treat, refined in diction, high-toned in senti- ment, and instructive in details. There is no religious controversy in its pages, no tedious theological arguments in the fabric of its story, but the whole book affords its readers onlj' pleasure and profit. The spirit which animates the work is that of philanthropy, and the dedication, 'To all who are in prison, for whatever cause,' gives the clew to the object of the writer. The characters are well drawn, although we think the hero is over- diawn — that is, he is too perfect — but as a model to youth, the exemplar must be, as far as possible, faultless. The interest of the story is splendidly sustained, and the life of ' Moondjne ' is thrilling, grand, and beautiful. The lessons conveyed are very noble, and we think this expression in the mouth of Mr. Wyville, under the attendant circumstances, is the one grand lesson of the book, ' Authority must neve?' forget humanity.' "We would like to quote several passages from the book, which for strength and pathos approach very near to the sublime — but we can only name the many striking points, and leave to the reader the pleasure of reading them in full." From the Boston Daily Advertiser. "Mr. O'Reilly has made a wonderful story of the convict-labor in Aus- tralia. The whole tale is on as magnificent a scale as Dumas' Monte Crista, and more lofty in aim and sentiment. The vast natural wealth and bewil- dering beauty of the countrj-, are made the more setting for a group Of men, v^ho answer every demand of heroism, and for two sweet women. The ^M'am is as bad as the heroes are good; through the whole book the interest r.ever flags, the enthusiasm never cools, the intense dramatic and emotional OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 1 7 power never breaks. "With the same glowing ardor the eloquent author tells of superhuman courage, hair-breadth escapes, experiences in the bush, and in the convict-gangs, discusses the jjenal code of Australia, the respon- sibility of Eng and, the abstract principles of liberty and the rights of man, tlie origin of crime and the deepest and most tender love of man and woman. The rapid and high-wrought fiction of the story is enhanced by the rush and color of the style and the air of reality that is given to the most romantic incidents and to the wildest horrors. Moondyne^ the title of the book, means something more than manly or kingly, and although it is applied especially to the chief god-Uke hero, it belongs properly to the whole group of men who are represented as lifting Australia from sin and darkness into virtue and glory by the greatness of their own souls, the strength of their own wills, and their own passion of unselfishness. And all through this gorgeous fabric runs the thread of faith in man, faith in the root of good to be found even in the worst of convicts, and in the law of kindness and encouragement, to replace in all penal colonies the law of force. Mr. O'Reilly dedicates his book 'to all who are in prison for what- ever cause.' And prisoners never had a more gallant and chivalrous champion." From the Wommi's Journal. "This book is no ordinary romance. It is the work of a man of genius, who writes a descriptive story, largely based upon his own observation and experience, colored by his own feelings, and reflecting his own opinions, aspirations, and prejudices. It could only have been written by John Boyle O'Reilly, a genuine poet and philanthropist, but also an American Catholic Irishman, an escaped Australian convict, exiled by the Biutish Government for his participation in the Fenian insurrection. From such a man, with such an experience, it would be unfair to expect an exact picture of English or Australian life; but it is natural to expect a graphic transcript of an exceptional experience, all the more valuable because exceptional, all the more vivid because a record of scenes of which he has been an eye-witness. Australian scenery is reproduced with a vvealth of word-painting which few living writers could equal. The horrible life of a penal colony is por- trayed with admirable distinctness. The national and re'.igious feelings of the writer are carefully kept in the background, and there is an evident intention of fairness all through the book." From the Boston Traveller. "Mr. O'Reilly has produced a strong and vigorous romance, in Ptrikmg contrast with the namby-pamby literature of late offered to the public :■« 1 8 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. exemplars of 'the great American novel.' The character of 'Moondyne' is among the noblest ever conceived by any novelist, and he -who cannot read this story -without attaining to a loftier inspiration toward a nobler life, •who cannot sympathize with the sorrows of the sinning and down-trodden, •who cannot lay it aside with a resolution to make his own life more useful and better, — such an one must be blind indeed. The author's style is not among the least attractive features of the book. Strong, yet graceful, with a certain verve which is delightfully invigorating, whether in giving those inimitable character sketches which mark the volume in question, or ia d<'picting to the mind of the reader the wildness and beauty of Australian scenery, Mr. O'Reilly is equally at home. We trust that Moondyne will not be the last novel from his pen." From the London Bookseller. " A powerful and fascinating tale, illustrating different systems of treat- ment adopted towards criminal convicts. The story belongs to the time when "VTestern Australia was a penal settlement, governed by laws of Dia- conic severity. The regulations of our prisons at home were far from satisfactory, as was proved by their frequent changes, none of which long recommended themselves to practical men. Like Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo's story, the hero of the tale under notice was a convict, who, by a turn of the wheel, rose to a position of trust, and distinguished himself as a philanthropist, and a reformer of the present system. No one who begins the story will be able to stop till it is finished." From the Worcester Spy. "This is a novel of harrowing and exciting description, brilliantly written, but almost too painful to allow enjoyment in the reading." From the Boston Journal. "There is power in the book, and pathos, and passion of a noble sort; and there is an abundance of excitir.g incidents and some bits of stirring and graphic description. The most jaded novel reader will find that there is something more than commonly fresh and inspiring about the storj*. If there are some faults of construction, and a little lack of symmetry, these are more than atoned for by the virile strength and intensity which hold the reader to the end." OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. U, From the New York Graphic. ••This brilliant and picturesque fiction obtained, as it deeerTed, an imroe- diate recognition of its power and originalitj', and added greatly to the already enviable reputation of its versatile and gifted author. In the form in which it now appears, with its large, clear type and its attractive pages, it will increase its circle of readers, and consequently its popularity. The book is one that arajjly rewards the reading, not only for the fire and vigor of its style, but for the dramatic interest and the unconventionality of its plot." From the Boston Uerald. "Asa novel, we cannot but regret that the ending is so tragic, but we do not regard this volume as simply a novel. From beginning to end it is a satire upon British institutions, and we have seen nothing to surpass it Bince Bulwer's novel of Paul Clifford, where, under the guise of a love story, the author demonstrated that the prison system of England was an encouragement to crime, and that '* the worst use you could put a man to was to hang him." Mr. O'Reilly's book has been favorably noticed in most of the leading journals of the country, but the Catholic newspapers criticise it very sharply, although they profess great respect for the author, and to love him sincerely. Mr. O'Reilly is not only a man of talent, but one of real genius. He is in the prime of life, and is abundantly able to take care of himself. He has written some of the best lyric poetry in the language, and although his first novel is not faultless, he has no occasion to be dis- turbed by any of the flies, gnats, or other dipterous insects which buzz about him." From the Boston Post. "Its originality is a special charm. It is full of manliness and viiile power, and yet abounding in gentleness and pathos." From the London Saturday Review. " Moondyne is a really clever and graphic story of Australian life." From the Golden Rule. " The story is powerfully written. There is little scenic description, but; Mr. O'Reilly shows a keen analysis of motives and character, and there le an imaginative glow and color suffused through the book which oniy tee 20 OPINION? z>F THE PRESS. poet could impart. The book is entirely without a harlequin. There is less wit than the American reader might expect ; but the interest of the story never flags, and we feel that It was omitted, not because the writer could not command it, but because he had a greater joy and confidence in the higher and more serious ijurposes of his book." Ft-'y^^i the Irish World. *' As an insight into the political and natural history of Australia alone, it is one of the most valuable books written for years past; there is so little known of that strange land of «ongles8 birds, scentless flowers, and fruit- less trees so wonderfully described in Mr. O'Reilly's Australian poems. ' Moondyne,' the hero of the tale, reminds one of Victor Hugo's Jean Val- jean. Body and soul ground to the dust in penal servitude for little or no crime, his grand, rough nature comes out of it unscathed by its degrading influences, and even elevated to more than human strength and beauty as he lays aside all thoughts of his own welfare, and devotes himself to the reform of the penal colony, and the amelioration of the awful slavery of his fellow-men." From the Cambridge Tribune. •• We think the book superior to Charles Reade's book with the same object, that of calling attention to the wrongs inflicted upon convicts, and as a work of fiction it impresses one more agreeably than that." ^^ ^^'^ THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OP 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. W^ hr 1^ JMR ^flR 1040 >f^ m ^9*^ .^AJ • re "'^y I'^mc '.EC. cm. APR 1. 7 1':~9 B '\t:j. FEB 3 1984 i "^"7 r U- C. BERKELEY ^ i»^- >^ ^«E ^^ LD 21-100m-7,'39(402s)