THE 
 
 SIEGE OF CALAIS 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 . 
 
 BY 
 
 REV. A. L. FRISBIE. 
 
 DES MOINES: 
 MILLS & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 1880.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congrats In the /ear 1879, by 
 
 MILLS * COMPANY, 
 In the office of the Librarian of Congress, nt Washington. 
 
 MILL* A COMPANY, 
 TllIOrrPER* iKO PRIHTERH.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 MM 
 
 THE SIEGE or CALAIS, 5 
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS 49 
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN, .... 80 
 
 ECHOES or WAR 92 
 
 MY FRIENDS, 105 
 
 VlGINTENNlAL POEM, 123 
 
 SIGHT THROUGH TEARS, 142 
 
 THE MOTHER'S SONG, 145 
 
 TEMPTATION, 149 
 
 THE EIVER TO THE NIGHT 153 
 
 OUTLOOK 160
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 A WHOLE year long besiegers pressed 
 J-~A_ The town of Calais and distressed 
 The city folk with war's alarms. 
 Through days and nights the men-at-arms 
 Watched from the walls the English host 
 The rough invaders of their coast 
 Who followed Edward's plume and lance 
 To spoil and sack and slay in France. 
 
 Now came the sally from the gates 
 The desperate struggle with the Fates 
 Which madly strove to thrust away 
 The ruin which before them lay. 
 
 Then in return came swift attack, 
 Hurling the beaten squadrons back 
 Upon the town. Quick to the wall
 
 6 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Clomb archers, slingers, lancers; all 
 In whose thin arms the pith remained 
 To wield a weapon battle stained 
 For wife and child and native town, 
 To strike the hated English down. 
 
 So back and forth the strife had rolled 
 Through summer's green and autumn's gold. 
 And winter's chill and spring's soft breath 
 A year of weariness and death. 
 No ships, full freighted over seas, 
 Brought sustenance to bustling quays. 
 No produce-laden wagon trains 
 Rolled in to swell the farmer's gains 
 And satisfy hard hunger's pains. 
 
 The harried fields, the driven kine, 
 The fat of France, the cheering wine, 
 All that the land in peace had stored, 
 Gave comfort- then to England's lord; 
 And at his feet the white- winged ships, 
 Obedient to his haughty lips,
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Ill sight of famished townsmen's eyes 
 Laid down the coveted supplies. 
 
 The weary watchmen on the towers 
 Wore out the tedious, torturing hours, 
 Peering through storm and shadows dim 
 To see, across the southern rim 
 Of the horizon, Philip come; 
 Sifted the gales for sound of drum 
 Telling of succor just at hand; 
 Or turned from the unfriendly land 
 To scan the sea, if haply thence 
 The cloud of God's deliverance 
 Might rise and blacken with His wrath, 
 To sweep, resistless in its path, 
 Through Edward's camp. 
 
 Nor eye nor ear 
 
 Caught sight or sound of Philip near; 
 And from the sea no rising cloud 
 Gave token that Jehovah bowed 
 The heavens to come to their defense,
 
 8 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 With fully roused Omnipotence. 
 
 And famine came grim, greedy, gaunt, 
 To reign in Calais. Spectral waut 
 Spread his black wings above the town, 
 And ever glared more fiercely down 
 On all alike on soldier, priest, 
 On prince and beggar. At the breast, 
 The babe whose birth the mother blest, 
 Puny and starving asked again 
 For one poor drop, and asked in vain! 
 The mother's heart within her died; 
 The fountain of her tears was dried 
 And she beheld, with stony gaze, 
 The childish flock of happier days, 
 With sharpened face arid wolfish greed 
 Go mad with hunger's horrid need. 
 On soldier forms, enfeebled, frail, 
 Sat loosely now the coats of mail. 
 The swords, oft drawn in battles gained, 
 Their edge and temper yet retained;
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 The battle-ax and massive mace 
 Lay ready in accustomed place, 
 But where, alas! were brawny thews 
 The sword and battle-ax to use? 
 The archer's hand, a shrunken thing, 
 Scarce able more to strain the string 
 And bend the bow, hung useless down 
 So sore was famine in the town. 
 
 The end was near. Not English skill 
 Nor valor had o'ercome the will 
 To fight, but famine, dread ally 
 Of Edward, won the victory. 
 
 But first, ere yet upon the wall 
 The white flag floated, one and all, 
 Led by the voice of faithful priest, 
 A last appeal to Heaven addressed. 
 To Him who breaks no bruised reed, 
 Nor coldly looks on hearts that bleed, 
 Arose the agonizing prayer 
 Of faith, just sinking in despair.
 
 10 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 At sound of tolling matin bells 
 All, save the faithful sentinels, 
 Put useless swords and spears away 
 Uniting heart and voice to lay 
 Their trouble at the feet of Him 
 At whose command the cherubim 
 Go forth, in glorious might, to save 
 The suffering, tried and fainting brave. 
 
 In the cathedral's stately pile 
 Close kneeling, filling nave and aisle, 
 "Where light from siow consuming wicks 
 Fell on the lifted crucifix, 
 They meekly bowed before the shrine 
 Of Him, the human and divine, 
 "Whom they adored. To guardian saints 
 Rose sad appealings and complaints; 
 And chief, to her whose mother breast 
 The infant Jesus once had pressed, 
 The much-enduring women cried 
 With faith still pleading though denied.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 11 
 
 And thus, to Christ, the Son of man, 
 The fervent supplication ran: 
 
 [A general petition of the people massed in the cathedral.] 
 
 "O Jesu, whose love we most faithfully cherish, 
 Behold us in pity, we perish, we perish! 
 Thou hast walked with us men and taken our 
 
 nature 
 
 Thou feelest the sorrow of each smitten creature. 
 Were not kingdom and power and glory all 
 
 given 
 
 To Thee, sublime ruler of earth and of heaven? 
 Thou, holding the stars, loosing bands of Orion, 
 Thy beloved canst save from the power of the 
 
 lion! 
 The thorn-crown Thou worest, so grievous and 
 
 gory 
 To the cross Thou didst give Thy greatness and 
 
 glory 
 To ransom the lost and recover the sinning
 
 12 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 To vanquish the curse of our evil beginning. 
 O Love of the Lord, art Thou loving no longer? 
 O Power of the Lord, are our enemies stronger? 
 O Sword of the Lord, gleaming, girded with 
 
 thunder, 
 Smite our foes hip and thigh and cleave them 
 
 asunder! 
 O Hand of the Lord, that once scatteredst 
 
 manna, 
 Be opened once more wake the grateful Ho- 
 
 sanna! 
 
 O Jesu, O Saviour, come now to deliver. 
 For succor to-day let us praise Thee foreverl" 
 
 Then, for a little, all were still, 
 Waiting for sign of good or ill; 
 Waiting for proof that Jesus heard 
 And hastened to fulfill his word 
 Of promise in the ancient day, 
 To those who rich in faith should pray.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 13 
 
 Then heavy hearted, silent men 
 Took arms and places once again, 
 Leaving the women grouped around 
 The Virgin's shrine. With hair unbound, 
 With haggard faces, famine scarred, 
 Aud woman's beauty soiled and marred 
 By care and fear and want and grief, 
 Those wives and mothers sought relief 
 Of her whose sinless motherhood 
 Gave us the holy child of God. 
 
 [The women appeal to the Virgin Mary.] 
 
 " O Mary, hail, thou Queen of Heaven 
 Mother of God, to whom ' tis given 
 With the Celestial powers to plead 
 For all the faithful in their need. 
 Let the dear bulwark of thy prayers 
 Thy mighty, interceding tears, 
 Defend us from our raging foes 
 Roll back our overwhelming woes!
 
 14 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Our sons and husbands vainly die! 
 Lo! every burdened breeze goes by 
 With blessings borne upon its wings 
 For all the world of living things 
 For thousand happy hearts and homes; 
 Alas! to Calais nothing comes! 
 No help, no cheer, no hope, no bread, 
 No voice to say, * Be comforted ! ' 
 No sign of peace no mercy more 
 For hearts fresh broken every hour. 
 
 Threatened by new and constant harms, 
 Our children seek in mother arms 
 Protection which we cannot give. 
 
 But, Lady, thou dost ever live 
 Close to the heart of God; and thou 
 Canst always give. O Mary, now 
 Implore thy Son all angels move 
 By the dear urgency of love! 
 
 Thou who didst feel the infant hand 
 Of Jesus on thy cheek, command
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 15 
 
 Some power to help us from on high! 
 Thou in whose bosom Christ did lie, 
 Thou whose glad home in Nazareth 
 Was filled with sweetness of His breath, 
 "We mothers, now before thee plead 
 For homes and babes, O intercede! 
 O stir up Heaven, our hearts to spare, 
 gain us mercy through thy prayer! 
 Sweet Mary, mistress of our hopes, 
 Come with the shining, heavenly troops 
 Before we die! O Mother, hear! 
 Let signs from thee at last appear; 
 For war and want and pestilence 
 Here long have pitched their gloomy tents, 
 And but for thee comes quick the end! 
 Mother of God! thy help extend!" 
 
 Then voices ceased and silence fell 
 And eyes gazed upward. Who could tell 
 But Mary would fling oat the sign, 
 " I come to you with help divine,"
 
 16 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Along the sky? Through her at last 
 The bitterness of death be passed? 
 
 On earth or sky no sign appeared; 
 No angel hosts their banners reared 
 Near by, or filled the heavenly arch 
 With sounding cadence of their march. 
 
 Did Mary sleep, or Christ, above? 
 Was there an end of God's dear love? 
 
 And while these cries were heavenward sent, 
 A pitiful accompaniment 
 Of childish plaint swept past the stars, 
 For audience in Immortal ears. 
 
 Like ghosts of voices, flickering, thin, 
 Pathetic, as if framed to win 
 Compassion from a heart of stone, 
 The children's cries addressed the throne 
 Invoked the saints by loving names 
 Arrayed their childish woe and claims 
 Implored that blighting war might cease 
 That soon again in blithesome peace
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 17 
 
 The little feet might lightly dance 
 Upon the blooming soil of France 
 Beyond the walls, while wine and corn 
 Were poured from Plenty's flowing horn. 
 
 And yet no sign! Was Mercy dead? 
 Was English hardness overhead? 
 Was there no dear and warlike saint 
 To note that sorrowful complaint? 
 To haste in light supernal, pure, 
 For Edward's swift discomfiture? 
 
 It well might be that soldiers' prayer 
 Should beat about the wastes of air 
 And find no answer from a God 
 Rejecting service stained with blood. 
 
 It might be that because of sin 
 The mother's prayers should fail to win 
 The Virgin's melting heart to bless. 
 But what confusion and distress 
 When, to the cry of innocence 
 Responds no angel of defense 
 2
 
 18 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 When hope and courage built on God 
 Fall fainting, as upon the sod 
 The flowers bow down their cups in vain, 
 And dying plead for summer rain. 
 
 No help, O God, from earth or sky 
 From Saint or Virgin, or most High! 
 No tokens from the sea or land 
 Of swift deliverance at hand. 
 
 So black and terrible despair 
 Closed Calais round as closed the air. 
 
 KINO EDWARD. 
 
 "Now by the rood, these beggars last too long! 
 Here like a dog by hole of burrowed fox 
 I've sat and watched a year; and still the game 
 Lies covered close while I get stiff of joint. 
 They've fought me well I'll even grant 
 
 them that, 
 
 And now they sullen skulk behind their gates 
 And watch me, while I silent bide my time.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 19 
 
 But I can wait. ' Tis not our English way 
 To play at fast and loose! Despite the walls 
 That fence so well and lonor these stubborn 
 
 o 
 
 French, 
 
 I'll have their town. I have a staunch ally, 
 True to my cause, whose march they cannot 
 
 stay; 
 
 They've baffled me they cannot baffle him ! 
 For Famine laughs at battlemented wall, 
 Nor ever yet in deepest moat was drowned. 
 E'en though their streets and building stones 
 
 were bread, 
 
 Yet, soon or late, consuming mouths would make 
 An end of all and clamor loud for more. 
 
 I'll have the town and then I'll have revenge! 
 The months here wasted, the defeated plans, 
 The valiant soldiers maimed and sacrificed 
 Call for revenge. The day makes haste; my 
 
 hand 
 Shall sternly smite and soon what famine leaves,
 
 20 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 And these persistent knaves shall see and feel 
 The retributions which an English king 
 Will mete to insolence and stubbornness. 
 
 I hate these French! They trample on my 
 
 rights. 
 
 This soil is mine by due inheritance, 
 But they hold fast to Philip, shred away 
 My provinces and flout me in the face. 
 I'll have this France, but first I'll have this 
 
 town, 
 
 And show their hare-brained impudence what 'tis 
 To play the fool and pluck the lion's beard ! " 
 
 f Enter, hastily, a soldier of the guard.] 
 
 "My Liege, upon the loftiest tower 
 The white flag flies the looked-for hour 
 Has come proud Calais yields at last; 
 And see, beyond the gates has passed 
 A cortege like a funeral band, 
 To seek for mercy at thy hand."
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 21 
 
 EDWARD. 
 
 "Well, let them come. I'll see them at my feet 
 Crawl piteous in the dust aud hear them beg, 
 But mercy they'll not find in me. Too long 
 They've held the town and looked for Philip's 
 
 aid 
 
 To send us scurrying to our English ports; 
 Too many of my soldiers have they slain. 
 Once, had they asked for terms, it had availed; 
 But now 'tis much too late I'll grind them 
 
 fine!" 
 
 [Enter Deputation from Calais.] 
 
 "King Edward, Calais yields to thee; 
 She sends us to present her plea 
 For boon of kingly clemency. 
 
 We, loyal to our king of France, 
 Zealous his honor to enhance, 
 Have waited long for his advance.
 
 22 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 We've stoutly fought on field and wall 
 For king and home and life and all 
 Men love by dearest names to call. 
 
 Without avail. We fight no more; 
 Food fails where plenty was before, 
 And famine enters every door 
 
 To hunt us like a savage thing. 
 We humbly our submission bring 
 We seek the grace befits a king 
 
 Like Edward, whose illustrious name 
 
 IB heralded by eager Fame. 
 
 As brave men beaten, without shame 
 
 And without fear we take the place 
 
 Of suppliants now before thy face, 
 
 And seek a brave king's sovereign grace.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 23 
 
 EDWABD (impatiently). 
 
 "Well, are ye done? 'Tis not a whit too soon! 
 
 I want no more of honied compliment, 
 
 k Great King,' and ' brave? and ' eager Fame,' 
 
 and all 
 
 The string of Frenchmen's empty flattery! 
 I am no babe to change my mood forthwith 
 At pretty sound of tinkling silver bell. 
 What care I for your loyalty to France? 
 'Twas naught but rank disloyalty to me. 
 What for your boasts that you have bravely 
 
 fought, 
 
 When all your fighting was to baffle me, 
 By better right than Philip master here? 
 You're but a pack of stiff, rebellious knaves! 
 You've kept me knocking at your noisome town 
 A whole year long, and when the balance turns 
 And you are wanting found, you come to me. 
 And prate of valor and of loyalty, 
 And beg for favor of my kingly soul!
 
 24 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Too late, iny smooth-tongued gentlemen too 
 late; 
 
 Your score is much too long. Our English 
 phlegm, 
 
 Excited once, is not so soon allayed 
 By soothing poultices of oily words. 
 
 You want my terms? They shall be short 
 and sharp. 
 
 I'll let my soldiers loose upon your town; 
 I'll crush your walls like egg-shells under foot, 
 And pull your houses round about your ears; 
 I'll fill you with the vengeance you deserve 
 And sweep you swift into the hungry sea! 
 Nor man nor child nor woman shall be left, 
 Nor temple's buttressed wall nor corner-stont, 
 To tell the coming time where Calais was! 
 These are my terms go tell them in the town." 
 
 Thus in a passion Edward raged 
 Like a wild tiger, newly caged; 
 While, smit with shame, the English lords, 
 Astonished, heard his furious words.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 25 
 
 And when he ceased, close pressing round, 
 Each knightly knee bent to the ground, 
 They claimed the soldiers' right to plead 
 For Calais in her hour of need. 
 
 " 'Tis thine, O King, to give command ; 
 'Tis ours to go where points thy hand; 
 Thine to receive from Heaven the crown. 
 Ours to maintain it e'er thine own; 
 About thy right and thee to plant 
 A wall of living adamant! 
 Thou knowest well it is our wont 
 To brave the battle's bloody brunt, 
 And He to whose unhindered ken 
 Lie open all the thoughts of men, 
 Reads, writ on each heart's inmost core, 
 'Edward and England,' evermore. 
 
 As we would save thee, sovereign lord, 
 From thrust of lance or stroke of sword 
 By taking to ourselves the blow, 
 So would we save thee, Edward, now;
 
 26 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Save not thy person but thy name 
 Save from foul blot thy royal fame. 
 Save from thine anger's raging heat 
 Thyself and all that makes thee great; 
 Would put ourselves across the course 
 Thy passion takes and meet its force, 
 .Rather than see our English king 
 Reproach and shame enduring bring 
 On England, on himself and us. 
 
 It is our right to meet thee thus; 
 To hold thy hand, thy heat repress, 
 Till all thy nature's nobleness 
 Forth shining from its brief eclipse, 
 Shall light thy gracious brow and lips. 
 
 Our fathers strove with thine to turn 
 The evil tide of Bannockburn, 
 And we, their sons, on land and sea 
 Have toiled and suffered, true to thee. 
 The scars of Cressy's dear-fought field 
 Thou knowest well are scarcely healed,
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 27 
 
 And we who helped thee win that day, 
 
 For England's sake and thine do pray 
 
 That thou will turn thy wrath away 
 
 From Calais. Let these Frenchmen learn 
 
 That English hatred does not burn 
 
 Forever! On such men as these, 
 
 We draw no sword e'en thee to please; 
 
 Nor canst thou ask thy knights to be 
 
 The ministers of butchery! 
 
 Our foes are men with bucklers braced; 
 
 Our hands too near our hearts are placed 
 
 To strike where there are none to harm 
 
 The child that clings to mother's arm, 
 
 The mother, the gray-bearded sire 
 
 And famished men. Dismiss thine ire, 
 
 O, Knightly King, and ever be 
 
 The flower of generous chivalry!" 
 
 EDWAED (with mock deference). 
 "Good masters, I have heard. Methinks 'tis time
 
 28 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 My crown were cut in bits and passed around 
 To each of you, that every one might be 
 Some vulgar fraction of a king. 'Tis time 
 For me to take the place of squire or groom- 
 To feed the swine of some great gentleman 
 To act the clown for some mirth- loving lord, 
 To please his comrades and the dainty dames 
 With sparkling wit, like old ale kept on draught, 
 And take therefor my meager crust and bone, 
 When subjects say: 'Sir, King, we'll have it 
 
 thus, 
 
 And so, we will not have it!' King, forsooth! 
 There have been kings who'd waste no time in 
 
 talk 
 
 When subjects sought to rule. And yet, I know 
 You brave, and loyal I would fain believe. 
 I do recall your sacriiice in arms, 
 And for this once your arrogance I'll pass 
 And partly grant your wish. But you shall not 
 Defraud me wholly of my settled will.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 29 
 
 Shall I o'er-look the wrong and insolence 
 These wretches have displayed, and once they 
 
 bend 
 
 The beggar knee, make haste to cry, ' Enough ! 
 1 do forgive yon all ? ' It cannot be. 
 It shall not be. I swear it by the rood! 
 Go now, yon French these are my only 
 
 terms; 
 
 Six men of Calais I will have for mine. 
 On them I'll do my will if all the rest go 
 
 free ! 
 
 But mind you now. I'll have no riff-raff sort, 
 But six who tower above the humbler crowd; 
 Who are to Calais what the giant oaks 
 In forests are to stunted underbrush. 
 
 Go send them forth and then we'll talk of 
 
 peace!" 
 
 [These terms told in Calais.] 
 Loud pealed from stately tower the bell 
 In Calais like funereal knell.
 
 30 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 And townsmen in the briefest space, 
 
 Expectant filled the market place 
 
 To learn their fate at Edward's hands; 
 
 They heard, awe-struck, his hard demands; 
 
 And each man looked in other's face, 
 
 And each man prayed the deadly place 
 
 Of honor might not be his own; 
 
 And frequent thoughts of Christ, alone. 
 
 Dying to pay the matchless price 
 
 The world's delivering sacrifice 
 
 Came to that strangely questioning crowd, 
 
 Baptized into the fire and cloud. 
 
 All hearts were numb, all voices hushed, 
 
 While tides of new emotion rushed 
 
 Tumultuous o'er each manly soul. 
 
 Who should fill out the victim roll? 
 Who name the martyr list and say, 
 'Go you and die, our ransom pay! 
 While we shall live to bless your deed 
 By which our Calais shall be freed;
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 31 
 
 While we shall build in reverent mood 
 Four monument of gratitude, 
 And teach our sons to distant days, 
 Your names to love, your deed to praise." 
 
 (Self-devotion.) 
 Then spoke the great souled Eustace de St. 
 
 Pierre : 
 
 "Good friends, the noblest office waits to- 
 day 
 
 For men to fill it. There's not been the like 
 In all the histories of towns and wars. 
 To high ambition now the highest place 
 Is offered freely to the man who will. 
 
 Now since it must not be that all the folk 
 Whom war and want and pestilence have spared 
 Should meet the storm-burst of King Edward's 
 
 wrath 
 
 And die at once, and since we may not 
 choose
 
 32 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 The men to lay their heads upon the block 
 
 for sake 
 
 Of Calais, I'll be first. Stripped to the shirt, 
 Barefoot and with a rope about my neck, 
 I'll go to Edward. In the battle's front 
 I would have died, an offering for you all, 
 And called it glorious death, and welcome too! 
 What more is this? I will be one of six. 
 Perhaps the Lord whose love I oft have 
 
 grieved 
 
 The Lord who died for sinners doomed to die- 
 Will count it something that I give my life 
 For your dear sakes and readier forgive." 
 
 A moment's pause and five devoted men 
 Stepped to his side the list was made com- 
 plete 
 
 Of Calais' noblest sons, self-offered there, 
 To wear the crown of holy martyrdom.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 33 
 
 [They come out to Edward.] 
 It was a doleful thing to see 
 
 That strange procession come, 
 And England's rugged chivalry- 
 Stood wondering and dumb 
 As those six knights with haltered neck, 
 
 All clad in scantest dress, 
 With shrunken limb and sunken cheek 
 
 And patient lowliness, 
 Passed on where haughty Edward stood, 
 
 Obscuring kingly grace 
 With angry look, disdainful, proud; 
 
 And knelt before his face. 
 " Here at thy feet we lay the keys 
 
 Of Calais' castle-gate; 
 We wait, O King, what thou shalt please; 
 
 Thine is the hand of fate. 
 On us let retribution come! 
 
 We yield us here to die; 
 
 3
 
 34 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 We seek not to avert the doom 
 
 That threatens in thine eye. 
 If we may serve sweet innocence, 
 
 The mother and the child, 
 And Calais save, be her defense 
 
 From carnage maddening, wild; 
 Then shall the swift and fatal blow 
 
 Our glad devotion prove 
 Ours be the glory hence to go 
 
 The sacrifice of love!" 
 
 So, ready for their martyr fate, 
 At Edward's feet they meekly wait; 
 A\ T hile stalwart men, inured to wars, 
 And seamed with frequent battle-scars, 
 Who through the strife relentless sped, 
 And looked unmoved upon the dead 
 Piled on the field stern, stately men, 
 Grew pitiful as women then; 
 And eyes unwet since childhood's years, 
 Glistened with unfamiliar tears,
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 35 
 
 Melting the soldier's iron mood 
 Quench ing the thirst for foemen's blood. 
 
 When warriors, streaming from the town, 
 Had flung the gage of battle down, 
 It had been joy to poise the lance 
 And headlong ride England on France! 
 It had been joy, in towering wrath, 
 With sword and mace to clear the path 
 To thrust and strike, to wound and slay. 
 
 But all the battle-wrath that day, 
 In noble ruth had died away; 
 And scarce an English knight or lord 
 Who saw r the deed and heard the word 
 Of that heroic soul, St. Pierre 
 And his companions, kneeling there, 
 Who would not quick have raised them up, 
 Freed them and bade them go with hope 
 And cheer to wives and homes, to bear 
 The glad news pealing on the air, 
 
 " Rejoice! King Edward's royal grace
 
 36 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Discharges all and gives us peace; 
 The famished feeds, like God above, 
 Won by the sacrifice of love! " 
 
 But gentle pity made no trace 
 On Edward's hard, determined face; 
 His eye was lit by baleful fire 
 Of vengeance, his supreme desire, 
 And in his soul no resting place 
 Was found for blessed doves of peace. 
 
 Must he the huge affront forgive 
 Of Calais' insolence, reprieve 
 These starveling six and quite forego 
 His savage joy vindictive? No! 
 With but a drop left in the cup, 
 Might he, athirst, not drink it up? 
 
 Why suffer Mercy to beguile 
 Men of their tears and manhood, while 
 She stole the harvest due the sword? 
 Turned men to women by a word
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 37 
 
 From beggars on their cringing knees? 
 And now, would rescue even these 
 Through tender qualms ignoble theft 
 And thus, through Pity, would be left 
 In English hands no living thing, 
 To sate tfie vengeance of a king! 
 
 So by malignant powers of hell 
 Inspired, in bondage to their spell, 
 Darkly and madly reasoned he; 
 Then stooping, wrathful, suddenly, 
 He clutched the halters in his hand, 
 And gave with thundering voice command 
 To lead the men to instant death! 
 
 As, after winter, soft south breath 
 Calls springing leaf and flower to view, 
 And ministry of rain and dew 
 Mysterious charms of life unfolds; 
 So in that hour o'er English souls, 
 Like love of Christ sweet Pity swept
 
 38 THE SIEGE OF CALMS. 
 
 And god-like things that long had slept, 
 
 By war's stern, wintry chill repressed 
 
 And hidden deep in soldier breast. 
 
 Awoke from sleep rose up from death 
 
 At the caressing of her breath; 
 
 And desert souls burst into bloom 
 
 As though the spring of God had come, 
 
 And in the brightness of her face 
 
 Love's passion-flowers and growths of grace 
 
 Came forth to temper every trace 
 
 Of jealous hate or soldier scorn 
 
 With sympathy, divinely born. 
 
 As, in the northern atmosphere, 
 Wrapped in encircling sunshine clear, 
 The iceberg gleams, but nowhere yields 
 To beams that warm and bless the fields, 
 So Edward like an iceberg stood 
 
 Another Shylock, claiming blood- 
 While mail-clad knight and veteran squire 
 Melted in Pity's holy fire.
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 39 
 
 [Sir Walter Manny expostulates with Edward.] 
 "O King of England, art thou king to-day, 
 Or does thy madness rule the day and thee? 
 O, wilt thou not restrain thy hasty hand, 
 Thy purpose alter and thy words recall? 
 
 Thou hast renown with just and knightly 
 
 men, 
 
 And good report, world-wide, for chivalry, 
 For valor and for kingly nobleness. 
 
 But if thy passion, like a flowing tide, 
 Shall sweep thee on to this extremest deed, 
 And these rope-girdled necks shall press the 
 
 block 
 
 And feel the headsman's ax to satisfy 
 Thy will unyielding and thy fatal grudge, 
 Then everywhere will fingers point the spot 
 On Edward's ermine, which no infant soul 
 Should e'er outshine in whiteness beautiful; 
 And in the speech of men thy name will 
 
 stand
 
 40 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 For all that's hard and bitter in revenge! 
 
 Yes, little kings, who could not stand erect 
 It' once thy crown were set upon their heads, 
 
 Will treat their gossips to the ghastly tale 
 Of Edward's cruelty to Calais' men, 
 
 And hold thee up to horror and reproach! 
 
 And old wives, as they croon the drowsy 
 
 child, 
 Will mix thy name with gross and fabled 
 
 names 
 
 Of monsters, man devouring, steeped in gore; 
 And thou, our King,, wilt frighten infancy, 
 The dreadful specter of the 'Bloody man!' 
 
 And on all England there will fall a shame; 
 And all thy knights will stammer when they 
 
 try 
 To justify this purposed deed of thine. 
 
 O good my Liege, be king of Edward now; 
 O loose thy hand and cast away the ropes, 
 And let the men go free in sight of France
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 41 
 
 In sight of God approving, over all. 
 So shall defamers hush their noisy tongues; 
 So shall be seen thy true and knightly soul, 
 And this day see thee newly crowned, A KING! " 
 
 EDWAED (passionately}. 
 
 "'Sdeath, Master Walter, wilt thou hold thy 
 tongue? 
 
 Yon river butts itself against the tide, 
 
 And yet the tide rolls in. The ocean's might 
 
 Lifts at its back and crowds it steadfast on. 
 
 My purpose swerves no more than swerves 
 the tide! 
 
 Thou'st seen the wave assail our English cliffs, 
 Moaning around them as in mortal pain 
 And sprinkling them with briny tears; and yet 
 Immovable the deep-set cliffs abide. 
 
 So stand I moveless 'gainst the beating wave 
 Of sentiment which spatters me with tears, 
 And moans about me with a doleful voice, 
 Because I am not weak and womanish!
 
 42 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Shall I, forsooth, let Calais go scot tree, 
 Unwhipt for mighty damage she has done 
 To English honor and my kingly rights, 
 While, from her rabble, miscreant throng 
 
 I take but six instead of smiting all? 
 And shall I now surrender these, because 
 White-livered knights too dainty are become 
 To care for honor or to punish wrong? 
 
 I tell thee, man, thy begging is in vain! 
 And all the soughing sighs and dripping tears 
 That turn their pitiful artillery 
 Against the fortress of my settled will, 
 
 Are all for naught! I will not spare these 
 six 
 
 And Calais too. There must be recompense 
 Made to the sword and these shall render it. 
 
 "Headsman, attend! These Frenchmen lead 
 
 away 
 
 Quick to the block! I spurn them from my 
 sight! "
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 43 
 
 [Queen Philippa's Intercession.] 
 Then Edward's Queen, who near him stood, 
 In grace of coming motherhood 
 Robed as a priestess set apart, 
 Enshrined in England's deepest heart, 
 Her woman nature wrung and thrilled 
 With sorrow that her lord self-willed, 
 Unyielding, pitiless remained, 
 And obstinate his wrath retained; 
 Knelt down before him on the sands, 
 With throbbing soul and clasping hands, 
 Like Him who wept on Olivet. 
 The roses of her cheeks were wet 
 With holier drops than ever jet 
 From the sweet heavens benignly fell, 
 Or brimmed a cup at Jacob's well. 
 
 "Ah, Sire," she cried, "since o'er the sea 
 I came for lasting love of thee, 
 Came to the sights and sounds of war, 
 To scenes which gentle souls abhor,
 
 44 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 Thou knowest well I have not asked 
 A boon of thee I have not tasked 
 Thee with my poor desires. But now 
 I can withhold no more; and thou 
 Must hear me while I intercede 
 For these, who in the stress of need 
 Came freely here, to pay the price 
 Thou saidst for Calais might suffice! 
 Whom now, divinest passions move 
 To die in sacrifice of love, 
 That others may by them go free. 
 
 O Edward, as thou lovest me, 
 And by the priceless hope I bear 
 For England, pause, relent and spare! 
 Yield up thy purpose fixed and stern! 
 Speak the glad word for their return 
 To hearts all desolate and broke! 
 
 Nay, by the love of Him who took 
 The crown of thorns, the bitter cup, 
 The felon's cross, my King, give up
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 45 
 
 Thy stubborn will, thy lasting hate! 
 
 Lest, when thou comest to the gate 
 
 That opens to the undefiled, 
 
 The penitent and reconciled, 
 
 Stained deeply with this needless sin, 
 
 No voice shall bid thee, 'Enter in!' 
 
 Lest Christ, our Lady's glorious Son 
 
 Shall fail to greet thee there, 'Well done!'" 
 
 Her tears were falling on the sand; 
 Her lips with kisses touched his hand; 
 And all his kingly pride seemed less 
 Than her o'ercoming loveliness. 
 
 For not the proudest human state, 
 Unbending will nor royal hate, 
 But God's own gentleness makes great! 
 
 While low she spoke, the very air 
 Was tremulous with waves of prayer, 
 And angels with suspended wing 
 Breathed softening influence o'er the king; 
 Dear Mercy's hand, unfelt before,
 
 46 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 At Edward's heart unbarred the door 
 And let the shining ones go in, 
 That day's blest victory to win. 
 He yielded in the holy glow 
 Of sweet compassion late let go 
 The hard vindictiveness of wrath; 
 And bending to her in the path, 
 He gave the ropes into her hands 
 And said, 
 
 "These men wait thy commands! 
 I give them thee and Calais spare; 
 No sword of mine shall harm a hair 
 That shelter finds beneath the shield 
 Of thy dear, wifely love. I yield 
 Thee all thy will who could resist?" 
 
 He raised her up, her lips he kisr-od, 
 While men, unused to Mercy's charms, 
 Like lovers fell in others' arms 
 And cheered and laughed; and cheered again 
 As she called up the kneeling men,
 
 THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 47 
 
 Clad them and fed with queenly o-race, 
 
 And then, with shining, saintly face, 
 
 Bade them go home and bear from her, 
 
 Of Edward's bounty almoner, 
 
 Good store of corn and soulful wine! 
 
 Go home to tell that love divine, 
 
 Though dwelling in a human breast 
 
 By human language half expressed 
 
 Had made the sternest will relax; 
 
 Cheated the headsman's hungry ax; 
 
 To Calais saved this sacrifice, 
 
 Noble, self-paid and passing price; 
 
 Go home and bid the bells be rung, 
 
 And eloquent Te Dennis sung, 
 
 And clouds of fear and gloom give place 
 
 Before the light of Mercy's face; 
 
 And children sing again in glee; 
 
 And Calais, saved and fed and tree, 
 
 Unite in sounding jubilee,
 
 4S THE SIEGE OF CALAIS. 
 
 To mark the glad, illustrious day 
 When wrath to gentleness gave way; 
 When England's king, so slow to move, 
 Bowed plastic to a woman's love!
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 ^TT'OU ought to have known worthy Jonathan 
 
 Kent; 
 
 A Deacon was he, and nobly content 
 He lived on his farm with his horses and 
 
 cows 
 And gathered his wealth in the track of his 
 
 plows. 
 
 He was simple, sincere and paraded no airs; 
 And if he sometimes was too long in his 
 
 prayers, 
 He was never too short in measures and 
 
 weight 
 
 Whoever was crooked the Deacon was straight. 
 In citizen's duties he never was lax, 
 Nor told a wrong story to lighten his tax; 
 4
 
 50 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 And though it might be he divided a cent, 
 Poor souls there were plenty to tell you where 
 
 went 
 
 The unseen benefactions of Jonathan Kent. 
 He accepted the Gospel and law of the Lord- 
 Had an old-fashioned way of keeping his 
 
 word 
 Was homely, hard - handed and awkward and 
 
 prim 
 
 Made discord unearthly when singing a hymn- 
 But the angels all knew the worship he meant, 
 And valued the singing of Jonathan Kent 
 For love and devotion that ever were in it. 
 Above feats of song at ten dollars a minute ! 
 Some men have their doubts, but he never had 
 
 'em, 
 
 Of the guilt of mankind for sinning in Adam; 
 But while he contended most bravely to win 
 The victory over original sin,
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 51 
 
 The doubters tried hard, it would seem, to 
 
 atone 
 For exemption in Adam by sins of their own. 
 
 He honored his wile with a truth above flaw, 
 And never made sport of his mother-in-law. 
 
 Right loyal to party he worked with a will 
 For straight nominees the positions to fill, 
 But wasn't sore headed and ready to whine 
 And cry, " By good right the Post-office is 
 
 mine, 
 
 The Senatorship, the Representative's place," 
 When somebody else was ahead in the race. 
 He abhorred the dark tricks of aces and kings, 
 The trippings fantastic of waltzes and flings. 
 The swindles of jobbers and lobbies and rings. 
 No eye on the farm, with suspicion and shock. 
 Uneasy looked sharp while he " watered his 
 stock"; 
 
 And if ever he gave you his promise to pay, 
 'Twas a mortgage on all of Jonathan K.
 
 52 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 Now it chanced that the men who handle 
 
 the wires 
 
 Of political work, and blow up the fires 
 Of eager, excited, exultant campaigns, 
 Disturbed by the fear of a loss of their gains, 
 Were looking about in the corners and lanes 
 To find them a man whom the people would trust; 
 Having whom they might sing, "Then conquer 
 
 we must, 
 
 Our leader is honest, our cause it is just!" 
 "With whom they might echo the cry of 
 
 "Reform!" 
 
 And rally the voters, a gathering swarm, 
 To lift into office a hero unknown, 
 Who indeed should come in by no means alone, 
 But would bring in his train the faithful and 
 
 few 
 Who found him obscure, brought him forth into 
 
 view, 
 And stirred up the people to carry him through.
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 53 
 
 So the Deacon beheld, with a strange, modest 
 
 pride. 
 His own humble name to the breeze floated 
 
 wide 
 On banners that waved from the loftiest 
 
 towers ; 
 
 Saw it printed in colors and woven in flowers, 
 And borne by processions that eagerly lent 
 Their voices to glorify Jonathan Kent. 
 
 And the Deacon believed, the good, simple 
 
 soul, 
 That the people, grown sick of the rascals who 
 
 stole 
 
 And made themselves fat in all places of trust, 
 Had arisen in might to hurl to the dust 
 The false and the thieving, a pestilent swarm, 
 And gladden the age .with the light of reform. 
 And he thankfully thought of the hand of the 
 
 Lord, 
 Bringing honor to them who honored his word;
 
 54 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 And wrought out a speech which was jerky and 
 
 rough, 
 
 Brim-full of hard logic, and figures enough, 
 In which he endeavored with care to rehearse 
 How things had been going from evil to worse, 
 While men plain and honest had long stood 
 
 apart 
 
 For those who were skilled in political art. 
 But now a new day was beginning to ihuvn, 
 And public resources, so long overdrawn 
 By leeches desirous of nothing but pelf, 
 And caring for naught but the gorging of self, 
 Henceforth would be handled by hands that 
 
 were clean, 
 
 And fingers no greenbacks could slip in be- 
 tween. 
 And the good man, of pride and vain glory 
 
 afraid, 
 
 Tried hard to walk softly and keep down his 
 head,
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 55 
 
 While with cheer, and with speech and music 
 
 was blent 
 
 The name of the citizen, Jonathan Kent. 
 It seemed to the Deacon an era of grace 
 The Millennium he thought was coming apace; 
 For as oft as he plead the cause of Reform, 
 He was sure to awaken a thundering storm 
 Of applause from the chaps who were down at 
 
 the heel, 
 
 Who eagerly watched for some turn of the wheel 
 
 To give them the places they wanted to reach; 
 
 And the Deacon supposed his straightforward 
 
 speech 
 
 Had made them all hungry for thorough reform. 
 Instead of the offices, cosy and warm ! 
 
 His wife, the dear body, as shy as a bird 
 That flitted away when the foliage stirred, 
 Who believed in the Deacon next to the Lord, 
 And counted his praises her highest reward.
 
 56 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 Began to consider her feminine gear, 
 And add a few pieces, surprisingly dear; 
 To turn and make over the best of her gowns, 
 And consult with fine ladies out of the towns 
 On ruffles and silks, and flounces, cut bias 
 Distracting the Deacon, 'humble and pious, 
 With a jargon of phrases new to his ears 
 With rattle of stitching and snipping of shears, 
 With tucking and pleating and flourish of laces, 
 With Pompadour waists and rich polonaises, 
 With princess robes, trailing their trains far 
 
 behind, 
 And dear loves of hats, flying plumes in the 
 
 wind; 
 
 With shirring and piping and fluting enough 
 To stagger the man when he paid for the stuff; 
 For, cost what it might, the good woman meant 
 To look fit for the wife of Governor Kent! 
 
 To the fond, trusting soul it never occurred 
 To doubt that the Deacon, in honor preferred,
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 57 
 
 Would glide into place on the gathering flood 
 Of favor from all of the patriot good, 
 Delighting to vote, with assurance and pride, 
 For a modest, true man, and a Deacon beside. 
 She was sure that her husband by Heaven was 
 
 sent 
 
 To pilot affairs to auspicious event, 
 And she smiled a sweet smile at the merciful 
 
 plan 
 
 That made her the wife of this wonderful man, 
 Coming up from the plow to govern the State, 
 And rank evermore with the noble and srreat 
 
 O 
 
 But wary and shrewd were the good Deacon's 
 
 foes, 
 
 And fierce was the war that around him arose. 
 He might not come up like a gourd in the 
 
 night 
 
 He might not appear as a meteor light 
 To flash in the thick of political fight 
 To dazzle the people, a hero unknown,
 
 58 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 And bear off the coveted honors full - blown, 
 With never a voice to cry out in dissent 
 To show him nobody but "Old Deacon Kent," 
 Of whom, with significant shake of the head, 
 There were sundry grave things that had to be 
 
 said. 
 And soon the "Gazette," the "Herald," the 
 
 " News," 
 
 The papers that stood for the opposite views, 
 Crying oat for "Reform? with tears in the ink, 
 And grief in large letters, too dreadful to think, 
 Began to invent biographical facts 
 To present the wrong side of praiseworthy acts 
 Which the Deacon regarded the pride of his life; 
 To gather chance doings and words of his wife, 
 And hold all aloft for the people to view 
 In a light that was most infernally blue! 
 They grubbed round the roots of his family tree, 
 And hunted old records and rumors to see
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 59 
 
 Just who the Kents were, or just what they 
 
 had done, 
 
 With sharpest of eyes for this prominent one, 
 Who, e'er he knew it, was put on his trial 
 In newspaper courts. 
 
 With sturdy denial 
 
 Or dignified silence he went on his way, 
 Trusting much to his record, clear as the day, 
 And wondering greatly that calumny's tongue, 
 So busy and evil and easily swung, 
 Should spatter him over with slime of the pit, 
 That blotched him with blackness wherever it 
 
 hit. 
 The knights of the pencil, the Nasts of the 
 
 day, 
 
 Their delicate fancy soon brought into play; 
 He was pictured in gross, side - splitting cartoons, 
 With pockets wide yawning in his pantaloons, 
 And fingers all deftly approaching the locks 
 That guarded the people's strong treasury box.
 
 60 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 He was drawn on a nest, inside of a ring, 
 Corruptions uncounted under his wing, 
 All ready to fly, like the harpies of old, 
 And greedily batten on government gold, 
 If votes that elected the Deacon were polled! 
 He appeared as a thief with piety's coat, 
 With the look of a sheep and the heart of a 
 
 goat. 
 
 An angel was drawn with the Deacon's own face, 
 With tail, and a hoof not suggestive of grace, 
 To show that his home was the bottomless place! 
 He was pictured in church as passing the plate 
 For the far away heathen little and great, 
 Aud giving no heed to the cry of the poor 
 Who turned away hungry and cold from his 
 
 door. 
 
 And so, while the people guffawed at each joke, 
 The wrath of the Deacon within him awoke. 
 And he swore a great oath, as near as he dare 
 (For Deacons are men without license to swear),
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. Q\ 
 
 That, sure as the law was supreme in the land, 
 Ple'd make these tormenters of his understand 
 That he was no man to endure the harpoon 
 Of slander, discharged by a pencil cartoon; 
 That he was a man with a- place and a name 
 Too sacred for caricature to defame. 
 And he started a suit with damages laid 
 At a plump hundred thousand, down to be paid, 
 As the price of the artists' scurrillous fun 
 Slight return for the wrong their sketchings had 
 
 done; 
 But the Deacon was beaten his lampooners 
 
 won, 
 
 And all through, the State the rollicking roar 
 Which the pencils evoked was worse than be- 
 fore. 
 
 And then stories were told, misleading, untrue, 
 But, often told over and over, they grew 
 Like the night-growing mushroom, watered with 
 dew;
 
 62 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 How the Deacon contrived with hypocrite's art, 
 To cover the sepulcher foul of his heart. 
 There wasn?t a sin that the Decalogue knows 
 That he didn't indulge, contended his foes; 
 What he did after .dark or did on the sly, 
 With his pious, long face and innocent eye, 
 Was sufficient to make humanity weep, 
 When retailed by the statesmen, searching and 
 
 deep, 
 
 Who managed the war on the opposite side, 
 And over his errors made speeches and cried ! 
 
 And they told with delight that the sire of 
 
 the Kents 
 
 Was a bloated aristocrat, riding the fence, 
 In days when the colonists fought with the 
 
 King. 
 
 They couldn't have proved the ridiculous tiling 
 Which they echoed so loud ; no matter for 
 
 that; 
 It helped prove the Deacon an aristocrat,
 
 DEACON KENT JN POLITICS 63 
 
 Who, despite his hard hands and hickory 
 
 clothes, 
 
 "Was not to be trusted the length of his nose ! 
 Then somebody asked, with a sneer and a 
 
 taunt, 
 " How was it about his great - grandmother's 
 
 aunt ? 
 Don't reports go to show her off from the 
 
 hooks ? - 
 
 Hadn't Satan her name writ down in his books ? 
 Didn't somebody say and somebody hear 
 That she was a creature uncanny and queer ? " 
 And hence it was argued by inference clear, 
 That the Deacon must have a taint in his 
 
 blood 
 
 Inclination to evil rather than good. 
 And one of the tricks of the eloquent men 
 Who declaimed on the stump all thro' the 
 
 campaign,
 
 64 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 Was to rattle the bones of that grandmother's 
 
 aunt, 
 
 And cry to the voters, " Now why do you want 
 To vote for that man ? You can see what his 
 
 bent is ! 
 
 It's clear as the sun he's non compos mentis/" 
 All this was proclaimed with lugubrious air, 
 By careful reformers, who counted as fair 
 jfll lies that were told in the cause of Re- 
 form ! 
 
 And welcomed, from regions excessively warm, 
 Any artful design or treacherous trick, 
 To rescue the State from the hands of old Nick 
 And bluest of ruin, by bringing them in 
 To places of honor reform, to begin ! 
 
 And then, affidavits were sworn by the score, 
 By men of high standing, ne'er heard of before, 
 All bringing to notice the infamous art 
 Which the Deacon employed as parcel and part
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 65 
 
 Of guilty transactions so many and black, 
 That e'en hosts of his friends were taken aback, 
 And cried, 
 
 "Is it possible? O, can it be 
 That Kent is a swindle gigantic, and we 
 Have trusted him blindly and honored him more 
 Than scarcely a Deacon was honored before ? 
 
 Can it be that his visage, homely and long, 
 Is only a blind for a heart that is wrong ? " 
 And many believed of the Deacon, that he, 
 As the child-like Ah Sin, the heathen Chinee, 
 In the deepest of games could well take a 
 
 hand, 
 
 And few were the tricks he did not under- 
 stand ! 
 Soon into the church base suspicions were 
 
 sent 
 
 By questions and hints of mysterious intent, 
 Until, on a day, Deacon Issacher Cook 
 Hose up in his place with a sorrowful look,
 
 66 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 And said, with a voice that trembled and shook, 
 
 " I feel it, my brethren, a delicate task, 
 And yet I'm impressed 'tis my duty to ask, 
 As one of our number" (all knew whom he 
 
 meant, 
 
 And turned with quick glances to poor Dea- 
 con Kent) 
 
 " Is charged by the papers with serious things, 
 Unworthy a child of the greatest of Kings, 
 A committee be named to sit on the same, 
 And clear from the church all the scandal and 
 blame I " 
 
 The tremolo stop so affected his voice, 
 The pressure of duty so left him no choice 
 But to speak the whole matter out of his soul, 
 Impelled by a feeling he couldn't control; 
 His air was so solemn, so troubled his look, 
 'Twas scarcely remembered that Issacher Cook, 
 In matters of politics always had leant 
 To the opposite side from Jonathan Kent;
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. Qf 
 
 And sometimes had uttered, just under his 
 
 breath, 
 The fear there were some not quite sound in 
 
 the faith; 
 And that Brother Kent might be somewhat 
 
 askew 
 When tested by principles ancient and true. 
 
 The committee fell through; the Deacon had 
 
 still 
 
 That simple way, better than orator's skill, 
 Which helped him the rising suspicion to brook, 
 And mollify all but his good Brother Cook, 
 Who closed with a prayer which was careful to 
 
 state 
 
 The pith of the charges made up to that date; 
 And thus to bring round, by the way of the 
 
 Throne, 
 
 The impression that Kent was perfectly known 
 To the all-seein Lord and to Issacher too, 
 
 
 And they'd both keep an eye on what he might do !
 
 68 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 With woman's devotion the Deacon's true 
 
 wife 
 
 Held faithfully fast to the life of her life. 
 She wondered that fire didn't fall from on high 
 On men who could shamelessly, recklessly lie 
 And slander her husband, the pattern of truth, 
 A man without stain from the days of his 
 
 youth. 
 'Twould not have been safe for those reprobate 
 
 men 
 
 If her hand had held a few thunderbolts then; 
 She'd have opened for them a valley of Hin- 
 
 nom 
 
 For behaving as if the devil were in 'em ! 
 She'd have given a pang to the father of lies, 
 If he have any heart of respectable size, 
 By cutting down some, the delight of his eyes, 
 Who proved themselves born of detestable stock, 
 And chips of the old, unregenerate block 1
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 69 
 
 Had she owned a private collection of bears, 
 Straight letting them loose, like " The woman who 
 
 dares," 
 
 She'd have gathered a harvest of terrible tears. 
 But she had not the bolts nor yet had she 
 
 bears 
 
 To comfort her under her troubles and cares; 
 But she found it great help to unbridle her 
 
 tongue 
 
 For she was a woman whose spirit was stung 
 And say that such slanderers ought to be hung! 
 That a black, burning shame it was, to be sure, 
 And more than a martyr of old could endure, 
 That men without heart, for political gain, 
 Disregarding the truth as well as the pain 
 Of the slandered and wronged, should preach up 
 
 "Reform? 
 
 With voices so eager and ardor so warm, 
 While full of all malice and reeking with sin, 
 And exhaling the fumes of whisky and gin!
 
 70 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 It was not the work of reformers, she knew, 
 To black-ball the Deacon and smite his soul 
 
 through 
 
 With the venom of lies, a thousand and one; 
 To prevent the good work it was plain might 
 
 be done, 
 
 If such a good man were set over the State 
 To manage affairs and keep everything straight. 
 
 To ideas such as these she ever inclined; 
 For hers was the woman's "illogical mind" 
 Which, contrive as it might, could never be 
 
 sure 
 How the throwing of dirt was the way to make 
 
 pure 
 
 The sadly soiled fellows who threw it the most, 
 Or save a great cause which without it were 
 
 lost! 
 As she thought of her spouse so troubled and 
 
 crossed, 
 
 A mild lightning shot from her gentle eye 
 Her needle, in fingers excited and spry,
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 71 
 
 Seemed making a bayonet charge on the crew 
 Of dissolute liars and piercing them through; 
 Or her spoon, dipping fiercely into her tea, 
 Showed the way she'd have plunged them un- 
 der the sea, 
 
 Where Egypt's bad king and his chariots be! 
 With shafts of vile rancor by one side trans- 
 fixed, 
 
 By the other bepraised, the Deacon was mixed 
 In his thoughts of himself, and troubled and 
 
 sore 
 
 Over personal views unfamiliar before. 
 It troubled and pained him when partisans 
 
 claimed 
 
 Sagacity, wisdom and virtues unnamed 
 For him which he knew he never had shown, 
 
 And wondered what signs their presence made 
 
 known. 
 
 Opponents their secrets of evil laid bare, 
 And the Deacon perused with agonized stare
 
 72 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 The stories of sins which he shuddered to see, 
 Of which, very clearly, he guilty must be. 
 
 As the poor man beheld that picture and 
 
 this, 
 
 An angel of light, or fiend from th' abyss; 
 Like himself in the face, in all else a lie, 
 He sat meekly down, 'twixt a tear and a sigh, 
 And said, 
 
 "What a mass of confusion am I ! 
 Am I this? Am I that? O what can I be? 
 Will not somebody tell the truth about me? 
 I sure am not demon nor glorified saint! 
 Why may I not pass for plain Jonathan Kent, 
 And the people unite for me just as I am, 
 All working with me the swift torrent to dam 
 Of reckless, disgraceful and wasteful abuse? 
 Why may there not be a perpetual truce 
 To the tricks and deceits of political strife? 
 Why can't I be judged by the facts of my 
 life?"
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 73 
 
 Election day came and the sovereigns and 
 
 lords 
 
 Streamed from city saloons and populous wards, 
 From the hamlets and farms so quiet and still, 
 To express at the polls the masculine will 
 Of the male population, eager to show 
 Their judgment of men and of policies too. 
 
 The Deacon's opponent, a skilled party hack, 
 Who was known far and wide and was used 
 
 to the track, 
 
 Had worked up the case with a masterly art, 
 As was seen on all sides from the earliest 
 
 start. 
 
 To plain farmer men he a statesman appeared, 
 Long tried by the public, with vision so cleared 
 He could quickly discern the right string to 
 
 draw. 
 And the farmers came up with a " Hip and 
 
 Hurrah,
 
 74 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 For the friend of the people, Simon M. Blobb!" 
 A villain veneered, and a swindle and snob, 
 Who, down in the deeps of his shell of a soul, 
 Despised every farmer that came to the poll. 
 
 " Who is Kent ? " cried these voters. u He 
 
 doesn't know 
 
 The way this machine of the State ought to go! 
 He's a farmer like us and don't know the 
 
 wires ; 
 
 Couldn't handle finance and Molly Maguires; 
 He's a good enough man to pass round a 
 
 plate, 
 But Blobb is the man to govern the State!" 
 
 Even temperance men, the radical sort, 
 Who meant at all hazards to hold the good 
 
 fort, 
 
 Deserted the Deacon in many a score; 
 For Blobb, at a notary's, solemnly swore 
 That though he had tippled he'd do it no 
 
 more!
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 75 
 
 That special reform was quite to his mind 
 To innocence, virtue and goodness inclined. 
 
 And the honest, good souls declared him the 
 
 man 
 
 To execute laws on the temperance plan, 
 He had such a zeal in a work that was new, 
 And such marvelous skill to carry it through. 
 
 The men too who burrowed in dens of 
 
 saloons, 
 
 And their customers all, unbroken platoons, 
 With nudges and jokes and significant winks, 
 And bets that committed to numberless drinks, 
 Went solid for Blobb and Reform in the State, 
 And ratified often in poor whisky, straight. 
 
 Now Blobb was an artist in managing 
 
 things ; 
 
 He'd been behind scenes in different rings; 
 And he planned that squads of the seediest chaps, 
 After voting for him, with " Kent" on their 
 caps,
 
 76 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 In the heavier towns should stay near the polls, 
 And shout for the Deacon as if for their souls! 
 And they were on hand with conspicuous rags, 
 With badges for "Kent" and "Kent" on their 
 
 With noses high colored and eyes all aflame, 
 Exalting the Deacon, in Blobb's little game! 
 
 As the dignified citizen soberly went 
 To promote law and order by voting for Kent, 
 The worst looking crew that ever he saw, 
 These fellows, would meet him with maudlin 
 
 11 Hurrah"! 
 
 And din in his ears that "Old Kent" was the man! 
 And reform was the sweet, beneficent plan 
 That called for the help of each citizen's vote. 
 They discordantly sang, with "Kent" in each note; 
 "Kent" gurgled and hiccoughed from every 
 
 rough throat, 
 
 Till the citizen, dazed and frantic and sick, 
 Disgusted and mad and not knowing the trick,
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 77 
 
 Broke away with a bound from the ill-omened 
 
 mob, 
 
 Crowded up to the box and voted for BLOBB! 
 'Twas more than the Deacon could quite 
 
 understand, 
 This changing of place which his enemy 
 
 planned ; 
 
 As the knight of Reform he began the cam- 
 paign, 
 And argued it through on the high moral 
 
 plane, 
 
 With never a word he had need to recall 
 With manhood and conscience unsullied through 
 
 all. 
 He hoped it might be his high mission to 
 
 serve 
 
 The State that he loved and her honor preserve, 
 But never a thought of mean, selfish intent, 
 Found a home in the soul of Jonathan Kent.
 
 78 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 
 
 But now every man who voted for Blobb, 
 And all of the motley and dissolute mob, 
 Were shouting "Reform" at the top of their 
 
 voice, 
 
 And claiming for Blobb that he was the choice 
 Of the people who cared for the general weal; 
 That he was the patriot truer than steel, 
 Whose hand should be laid on the helm of the 
 
 ship, 
 To pilot her safely with statesman-like grip. 
 
 The friends of the Deacon all worked with 
 
 a will 
 And hoped against hope through the contest, 
 
 until 
 The sun had gone down on the scene of the 
 
 fight; 
 They watched with sore hearts the returns of 
 
 the night. 
 
 The Deacon was beaten the vox populi 
 Forbade him the honor that dazzled his eye.
 
 DEACON KENT IN POLITICS. 79 
 
 He turned back to his farm unable to see 
 Why the people so duped and blinded could be 
 As to honor a man who was false to the core; 
 But his spirit was sweet as ever before, 
 And as faithful to seek the good of the State 
 As willing to labor, as patient to wait; 
 He showed, by his bearing of manly content, 
 That no man was nobler than Jonathan Kent! 
 
 But his wife, the good woman, never forgot 
 The slander so shameless that shadowed her lot. 
 She looked at her gowns and beautiful laces, 
 Her Pompadour waists and rich polonaises, 
 And she heaved a deep sigh of tender com- 
 plaint 
 That she wasn't the wife of Governor Kent!
 
 <?> THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. <> 
 
 tt tt 
 
 READ AT THE NEW ENGLAND FESTIVAL, IK DEB MOINBS, 
 DEC. 22, 1871. 
 
 A LITTLE, hard-strained ship beat by the 
 --V sea 
 
 For weary months a sea-worn company 
 Of anxious men and wives, drew near a shore 
 Swept by the wind and bare. They saw no 
 
 more 
 
 A trace of cultured life. No moving town 
 They saw no fields with autumn stubble brown 
 No home of living man no feeding kine 
 Of all that life the heart holds dear, no sign. 
 
 Not as nomadic wanderers they came, 
 To whom each desert wildness is the same;
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 81 
 
 But from fair homes and dear old father-land 
 From sacred graves by which they might not 
 
 stand 
 
 Again from share in England's growing fame 
 The brightening glory of historic name; 
 From all that common men most love and bless, 
 They came to plant a vacant wilderness; 
 On that near shore, so desolate and wild, 
 For the great future in God's name .to build. 
 
 They stood with bowing heads in fervent 
 
 prayer 
 
 To cast themselves upon Almighty care, 
 And then, with faith nor fate nor storm could 
 
 shock, 
 Stepped from the surging sea on Plymouth 
 
 Rock; 
 
 From humble men they were content to be, 
 Stepped into fame yes, Immortality! 
 
 They brought with them to that forbidding 
 
 shore 
 6
 
 82 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 A benediction such as land before 
 Had ne'er received from richest argosy, 
 Far sailing on the much-bestowing sea. 
 They brought no wealth of jewels or of gold 
 No war-like banner to the air unrolled 
 Bespoke the presence there of kingly power 
 No furnishing for knightly hall and tower 
 No titled lords, proud of exalted birth, 
 Striding the shore as though they spurned the 
 earth. 
 
 Not these the benediction royal, grand, 
 Passing that day from ship and sea to land; 
 But men high-souled and sweet-souled women 
 
 too, 
 
 Yoked well together and sublimely true 
 To all of freedom, right and God they knew. 
 They dared the power of tyrant king defy, 
 The rage of meddling priest. They dared deny 
 The right of priest or church or king to stand 
 In place of God, the conscience to command.
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 83 
 
 And when the home land of their love was 
 
 filled 
 "With kindling fires for those who would not 
 
 yield, 
 They grandly vowed to God they would not 
 
 buy 
 
 Comfort and home and safety with a lie. 
 That they might keep their truth unstained they 
 
 fled 
 
 Far over unknown seas with solemn dread 
 Of grieving God upon their souls, made haste 
 To build their sanctuary in the waste, 
 And boldly claim their right, in simple ways, 
 To worship Him who is above all praise. 
 
 For this they came and such a coming 
 
 made 
 The new land rich, to which their feet had 
 
 strayed ; 
 
 With hopeful promise rich with prophecy 
 And pledge of goodly empire yet to be.
 
 84 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 They, even they, those self-surrendering men 
 And women brave, who looked not back again 
 To what was left whom one poor, trembling 
 
 bark, 
 
 Unfit for sea a shaken, wave-worn ark. 
 Could float with all their goods, yes, even they 
 Brought benediction to the wilds that lay 
 Vacant and vast before their pilgrim way. 
 
 They brought their English manhood courage 
 
 high, 
 
 Yirtue and much-enduring loyalty 
 To what they felt to be the will Supreme. 
 They brought no hot ambition no vain dream 
 Of fame and greatness for themselves and 
 
 theirs. 
 Staunch Englishmen, whose earnest hopes and 
 
 prayers 
 Were that to England's king they might be 
 
 true 
 And give the Heavenly King His rightful due,
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 85 
 
 They meant to make old England live again 
 In all her freest thought and noblest men. 
 In self-reliant, God-reliant strength, 
 The sea safe crossed, they saw their rest at 
 
 length ; 
 
 Oast out and wandering, saw God-given room 
 For sacred altars, industries and home. 
 
 Such characters and aims and faith could 
 
 bless 
 The virgin land they came out to possess. 
 
 And England blindly wrought them for their 
 
 sphere; 
 
 By her constraints and discipline severe 
 She trained the strong, unyielding man 
 To bear the name historic Puritan! 
 She, little dreaming the illustrious end, 
 The spirit shaped she could not break nor bend. 
 
 As Spartan mother for her babe in arms 
 Craved might and skill for war's wild, fierce 
 alarms ;
 
 86 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 Asked for him patience, hardness to endure, 
 The foot made fleet and the sword-hand made 
 
 sure, 
 
 And holding back her mother tenderness, 
 Her fond endearing and her soft caress, 
 Brought up the boy with sternest discipline, 
 That he the mastery of himself might win 
 And thus might master more so England's 
 
 hand 
 
 Was heavy on the Puritan. She banned 
 His simple worship tried him in the fire, 
 Which, as with gold, but made his value 
 
 higher. 
 She beat him, bound him, burned him, all in 
 
 vain; 
 
 From prison, furnace, forth he came again! 
 Came with uncringing front and lofty aim, 
 For God had kept him in consuming flame. 
 
 Scant mother-love had he; but so he grew 
 Into the man with moral nerve and thew
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 87 
 
 To face, unblanched, the terror of the time 
 To dare the Mayflower pilgrimage sublime 
 To build in the new land he stoutly trod, 
 Altars to Learning, Liberty and God! 
 
 So came the fathers in those early years; 
 So was New England planted. Toils and tears 
 The planting tended, watered. Painful care, 
 Privation pitiful and pleading prayer 
 These were the price those willing heroes paid 
 For homes and rights which power might not 
 
 invade. 
 
 So was the garden in the desert made; 
 So bloomed the rose where wildness teemed 
 
 before; 
 So crept the vine above the Pilgrim's door. 
 
 In sterile soil and round the rugged rock, 
 The seed of that well tried and sifted stock 
 Grew well the hill-tops crowned the valleys 
 
 rilled 
 With homes, where, wrestling hard with nature 
 
 wild,
 
 88 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 With frequent blighting from the frowning sky, 
 With scant return from toilsome husbandry, 
 New England's children that stern culture 
 
 knew 
 By which there grows a manhood grand and 
 
 true 
 
 A manhood quick its rights divine to know 
 And brave to hold, 'gainst each aggressive foe 
 And gentle womanhood, refined and pure, 
 Yet strong to love, to labor and endure, 
 Which oft, in times God send us not again, 
 Bore up the spirit of New England men; 
 Exalted womanhood, self-poised, contained, 
 Modest, courageous, trusting, still, deep-veined 
 And rich of life's best wealth exhaustless mine; 
 Like the King's daughter, glorious within! 
 
 New England's children now in every zone. 
 Proud and erect their noble lineage own; 
 Knowing the Pilgrim was far more than peer 
 Of high-born knight or lordly cavalier;
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 89 
 
 And knowing too that those grave men who 
 
 trod 
 
 The Mayflower deck and the cold Plymouth sod, 
 Shall live in fame, heroes and knights of God! 
 
 As fly, wind-borne, the elm trees winged 
 
 seeds, 
 
 On fat fields falling and on soil that feeds 
 The mountain sheep with pinched and doubtful 
 
 fare; 
 
 As, scattered strangely through the yielding air, 
 They strike root far from the ancestral tree, 
 Hold fast the ground and wave perennially; 
 So we, out-borne by winds of Providence, 
 Born of New England but far traveled thence, 
 Here taking root, far from the parent stock, 
 From scenes historic and from Plymouth Rock, 
 Meet to do honor to New England's name 
 To add our tribute to the Pilgrims' fame. 
 From these fair lands, the garden of the 
 
 West,
 
 90 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 
 
 To which our pilgrim feet have come, so 
 
 blessed 
 
 With beauty and with fatness, do we send 
 To the old home our greeting glad. We bencl 
 Our thought Eastward away. We hail the shore 
 That feels the Atlantic dash and pour 
 The fulness of its waves the old home land 
 Whose valleys verdant and whose mountains 
 
 grand 
 We love as children love their birth-place. 
 
 Hard 
 Though men may call thee, and thy visage 
 
 marred, 
 
 We see thy beauty, O thou mother, ours! 
 We own the promptings of thy unspent powers! 
 We bless thee; pay thee tribute grateful, deep, 
 Land where the Pilgrims and the Fathers 
 
 sleep ! 
 
 Wherever, East or West, our lot may be, 
 If worthy of thy history and thee,
 
 THE PILGRIM FATHERS AND CHILDREN. 91 
 
 If worthy children of thy ancient sires, 
 
 We shall keep bright, feed well the altar fires 
 
 Of Liberty and Right! 
 
 So help us Thou 
 Before whose unveiled face the Pilgrims bow!
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 MB lOLDIKas' UUNION, DM MOIMM, 
 
 UPTOUEX, 1878. 
 
 IT) RIGHT over dark-browed Sumter 
 -*-^ The flag of freedom flies, 
 The pride of loyal freemen, 
 
 A glory in their eyes; 
 Far over Charleston harbor 
 
 The blessed shadow lies, 
 Of that victorious banner, 
 
 Baptized in bloody fight, 
 Where Freedom's sons, true-hearted, 
 
 From mailed, oppressive might, 
 Wrung for themselves and children 
 
 A nation's name and right. 
 
 Against the walls of granite, 
 With murmuring musical,
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 93 
 
 The waves, as if in homage, 
 
 Unceasing rise and fall 
 About that standard streaming 
 
 In beauty o'er the wall. 
 
 How safe, serene and peaceful, 
 
 O, Banner of the Free, 
 How proudly dwells the Nation 
 
 O'er-shadowed e'er by Thee! 
 
 But see! along the margin 
 
 Of Charleston's spreading bay, 
 Where, cityward and seaward, 
 
 The waters sweep away. 
 With looks of angry menace 
 
 Men hasten to and fro, 
 And at the flag and Suinter 
 
 Hiss curses as they go! 
 
 See, too, the threatening earthworks: 
 And there, above them, flies,
 
 94 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 O'er Moultrie too, a banner 
 All strange to patriot eyes! 
 
 A banner ill-assorted, 
 
 With curious, blundering bars, 
 
 And infinite confusion 
 
 At work among the stars. 
 
 O Shame! 'tis Treason's emblem 
 The grand old flag defies, 
 
 And flaunts before high Heaven 
 Foul Treason's infamies! 
 
 And now the black-lipped cannon 
 Hurl crashing shot and shell 
 
 Against the wall of Sumter 
 All aimed, alas, too well ! 
 
 While to each echo answers 
 The demon "rebel yell!" 
 
 And see ! the hurtling missiles 
 
 Too straight, too fast have flown ; 
 The walls before them crumble,
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 The flag, the -flag is down ! 
 "While treason gloats and glories, 
 
 That easy victory won, 
 And shouts the vaunting challenge, 
 
 " Let Northern hordes come on! 
 Be all their powers united 
 
 To bind the gallant South ; 
 They'll welcome find from rifle 
 
 And smoking cannon's mouth." 
 
 Ah, grievous day and woful, 
 
 That Treason showed its head, 
 For haughty Southern matron 
 
 And high-souled Southern maid ; 
 For all the land together, 
 
 From lakes to everglade, 
 Soon sitting 'neath the horror 
 
 Of war's black, wasting shade I 
 
 O day of grand decisions, 
 To loyal hearts and true ;
 
 96 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 O day when traitors builded 
 Far better than they knew, 
 
 And clasped the bands more closely, 
 They struggled to undo ! 
 
 O what surprise and wonder, 
 
 When Treason showed its head, 
 As northward swept the echoes 
 
 Of mad'ning cannonade! 
 They rolled along the seaboard 
 
 And roused the patient East, 
 And like a mighty earthquake, 
 
 Disturbed the waiting West. 
 That was the hour of heroes, 
 
 Exalted, God-inspired ; 
 'Twas Freedom's later birthday 
 
 The Northern heart was fired. 
 
 The rising shout of freemen, 
 Mid Maine's majestic trees, 
 From rugged old White Mountains
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 97 
 
 Rolled westward on the breeze. 
 And eager met and blended 
 
 With answering shouts that rose 
 From every "Western valley, 
 
 Where each great river flows 
 From all bread-bearing prairies 
 
 From the Pacific slope; 
 A gathered shout of freemen 
 
 That bade the Nation hope. 
 
 O little guessed the Southron 
 
 How dear that flag could be, 
 Nor dreamed he of the spirit, 
 
 Resistless as the sea, 
 Which moved the Northern bosom, 
 
 And roused the Northern might, 
 And changed the peaceful toiler 
 
 Into the armed knight! 
 That called from farm and city 
 
 To meet him in the fight, 
 
 From every trade men follow, 
 7
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 From blood of every strain, 
 In one grand thought uniting, 
 An avalanche of men. 
 
 Fathers kissed wives and children, 
 Lovers said their "good-byes," 
 
 And dashed away, impatient, 
 Tears from complaining eyes, 
 
 Then marched with dauntless courage 
 To costly victories. 
 
 O never such an army 
 
 Had sun e'er seen before 1 
 O never such a purpose 
 
 Had armies moved of yore! 
 O never cause so noble 
 
 In battles of renown 
 Had made plain souls heroic, 
 
 To lay as offering down 
 Their lives on country's altar! 
 
 They sought no glittering crown ;
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 99 
 
 They went not out for glory, 
 
 Nor wild with maddened hate; 
 They went to save the nation 
 
 In peril's deadly strait; 
 The striped and starry banner, 
 
 Torn down, to lift anew, 
 Nor let a star be stricken 
 
 From its fair field of blue. 
 O how they fell when battle 
 
 Belched forth its fiery storm, 
 And "sacred soil" so vaunted, 
 
 Wet with their life-blood warm, 
 Was sacred made torever 
 
 By chrism so applied! 
 
 O how in horrid prisons 
 
 They waited, pined and died, 
 
 While the slow balance trembled 
 And promised either side! 
 
 But how at last they conquered 
 Smote stubborn Treason down
 
 100 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 Shook out the flag o'er Sumter 
 And every trait'rous town, 
 
 Step keeping, firm and steady, 
 With th' soul of Old John Brown! 
 
 never such a triumph 
 
 Had earth e'er seen till then; 
 A Nation saved from ruin 
 
 While from four million men 
 The shackles burst asunder, 
 
 And every slave was free, 
 God's dial finger pointing 
 
 The year of jubilee 1 
 
 O never such an army! 
 
 When war's stern work was done, 
 All dropped the dented saber, 
 
 All stacked the battered gun; 
 And as the mists of morning 
 
 Dissolved before the sun, 
 In the wide heaven scattered,
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 101 
 
 Are visible to none, 
 So back into the people 
 
 That army faded then: 
 Soon went to peaceful labors, 
 
 Each soldier citizen 1 
 
 But each man still remembers 
 
 How near the cause was lost; 
 Before him comes the vision 
 
 Of war's red holocaust! 
 And if, for home and country, 
 
 Dread danger should draw nigh, 
 Then sound the ringing bugle 
 
 And list the swelling cry 
 Of veterans quick uprising 
 
 To answer, "Here am II" 
 
 But O, that silent army 
 
 Returning never more 
 The vast, immortal legion 
 
 That sleep by ocean shore,
 
 102 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 On river-bank and mountain, 
 
 Where gloriously they fell 
 Dead on the field of battle! 
 
 Let coming ages tell 
 Their deeds and death heroic 
 
 Let earth their dust keep well ; 
 Let flowers spring yearly o'er them 
 
 To crown them after fight, 
 And God regard their offering 
 
 To Nation, Freedom, Right. 
 
 Now hail ye, soldier comrades! 
 
 Ye men of fields and camps, 
 Who hunted down rebellion 
 
 Ye much enduring tramps, 
 Who faced the foe and fought him 
 
 In bayous or in swamps. 
 Here fight your battles over, 
 
 Here join long sundered hands, 
 Close up the ranks touch elbows, 
 
 And mark old-time commands.
 
 ECHOES OF WAR. 103 
 
 If Irishman or German, 
 
 You wore the army blue, 
 Followed the flag and Sherman, 
 
 And saw the " scrimmage " thro', 
 
 O * 
 
 If Scotchman, French, or English, 
 
 Or whatsoe'er you be, 
 If you but fought the battle 
 
 For Right and Liberty; 
 Withstood the shock with Howard, 
 
 McPherson, Hooker, Meade, 
 With Sheridan or Hancock, 
 
 All men of hero-breed; 
 All closing up together 
 
 With valor naught could daunt, 
 To " fight it out all summer " 
 
 With grim Ulysses Grant; 
 
 I care not what your Nation, 
 What burr is on your tongue, 
 
 What songs about your cradles 
 By mother-souls were sung ;
 
 104 ECHOES OF WAR. 
 
 I care not what your creed is ; 
 Here side by side we're one ! 
 
 Before that flying banner 
 By deeds of danger done 
 
 By crowding common inem'ries 
 By grand results ye won, 
 
 Ye are not strange nor alien, 
 But each a loyai son 
 
 Of this fair land and Freedom 1 
 
 Hail, Comrades, Brothers, all ! 
 The priceless benediction 
 
 Of ages on you fall ; 
 Nor by the long procession, 
 
 Of freemen coming on, 
 May ever be forgotten 
 
 The honors you have won ; 
 Nor e'er grow stale the story 
 
 Of your brave deeds and you, 
 As generations grateful, 
 
 Accord the glory due !
 
 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 T SIT in silence in my 
 
 Through open windows floating come 
 The mingling sounds of voices near, 
 But none is spoken for my ear. 
 I sit alone no welcome face 
 Lights up the still and cloistered place ; 
 No sprightly word of treasured friends 
 Its charm to my seclusion lends. 
 
 Yet not alone nor lonely, I. 
 I crave no generous sympathy. 
 I call not those who wish me well 
 To save from ennui's dreary spell ; 
 For friends are round me noble men 
 And sweet- voiced women throng me then. 
 They speak and sing to soul and eye 
 They hasten not, but lingering by,
 
 106 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 They fill the air with undertone 
 Of music for my ear alone. 
 
 My friends they are companions all, 
 Whose names I, loving, glad recall ; 
 Out of the shadows dim and gray, 
 From lands and ages far away, 
 The great departed round me rise 
 The heirs of the eternities ! 
 
 They dwelt where wild Aegean waves, 
 On Grecian shores, in island caves 
 Were dashed and hid with angry swell, 
 As Neptune's trident lashing fell ; 
 Or, swaying to his milder thought, 
 Swung soft the sailing Argonaut. 
 They dared the risk of Trojan wars 
 They died as valiant sons of Mars 
 On battle-fields sublimely won 
 Thermopylas and Marathon. 
 They roused the quick Athenian mind, 
 So subtle, questioning, refined,
 
 MY FRIENDS. 107 
 
 With new-born thoughts and promptings wise, 
 
 Drawn from divine philosophies. 
 
 They stirred the senate of old Rome; 
 
 They led her eagles proudly home. 
 
 They toiled as slaves as princes shone 
 
 They wore the laurels genius won. 
 
 They scanned the deep Chaldean skies 
 
 Brooding uncounted mysteries. 
 
 They looked on the majestic Nile 
 
 The}' saw the Temple's stately pile 
 
 Rise on Moriah they beheld 
 
 The glorious One, with face nnveiled. 
 
 They firm, unfaltering, led the van 
 
 In toil and sacrifice for man. 
 
 Least understood they grandly died, 
 
 Were hunted, stoned and crucified. 
 
 They poets were, with souls of fire, 
 From whose unworn, loug-echoing lyre 
 The music of the ages rings. 
 They walk apart as crowned kings
 
 108 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 By right divine, through all the flow 
 Of centuries that come and go. 
 
 They traced the slow historic page 
 Disclosed the bustling, crimson stage 
 Where eager actors, frantic, blind, 
 Wrought mighty issues for mankind. 
 
 These sages, heroes, friends of mine, 
 Who in a light immortal shine, 
 I hail and welcome. Theirs the past, 
 And mine, through them, its treasures vast. 
 They give themselves to man, to me, 
 Example, counsel, company. 
 
 Thronging through all the later years 
 My retinue, well-known, appears. 
 
 Here are the Fathers grave divines 
 Who delved untiring in the mines 
 
 O 
 
 Of sacred lore ; with voice and pen 
 Proclaiming thoughts of God to men ; 
 Declaring sure, eternal laws ;
 
 MY FRIENDS. 109 
 
 Unfolding love that sweetly draws 
 To good and peace the erring soul 
 Submissive to divine control. 
 
 Fathers and Brethren ! How the crowd 
 Gathers about me 'tis a cloud 
 Of witnesses touched by the sun 
 Enlightened from the face of One 
 In whom no darkness e'er can dwell 
 The mighty King invisible. 
 
 What care I though the shallow some 
 Pile " Odium Theologicum " 
 Upon their names? What, that they tried 
 ' ; A hair t'wixt south and southeast side 
 With keenest logic to divide"? 
 I know them faithful, earnest, strong, 
 Stalwart for right, abhorring wrong! 
 I chide them not as though t'were sin, 
 That near horizons hemmed them in. 
 I praise them for the light they gave 
 For testimony clear and brave
 
 110 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 To all of truth that in them shone. 
 I thank them that, their labor done, 
 They walk with me the border land 
 Of hope arid question, hand in hand. 
 They give me sympathy and cheer 
 In deathless aims, exalted, dear. 
 Into their work I enter now, 
 And they to mine consenting bow. 
 I sit me at their feet and ask 
 To wear their mantles in my task; 
 That I may ne'er, unworthy, slip 
 From their uplifting fellowship. 
 
 Now forth from clouds of drifting mist 
 I see approach the scientist 
 The learned paleontologist. 
 L welcome him and meekly list 
 While he, with far-off air, but wise, 
 Displays before my wondering eyes 
 The spoil of the immensities.
 
 MY FRIENDS HI 
 
 He's gray with geologic grit; 
 He reads the lore on granite writ; 
 He brandishes the fossil bones 
 Of sanrians and mastodons, 
 The claws of giant birds and legs 
 (So runs the lay), and monster eggs, 
 Which, addled in the ancient nest 
 A grief to the maternal breast 
 Now find a lot which had not fell 
 Had eager embryo chipped the shell. 
 He brings the prints of sweeping quills, 
 And, strange to say, collected bills 
 Long rnnning bills and outlawed too, 
 Collected with the interest due! 
 
 He comes with bioplasmic cell, 
 From which, matured and shaken well, 
 All life arose and Adam fell; 
 Or, fresh from far communings high 
 With magnates of the spangled sky, 
 Where Neptune rides the ether seas,
 
 112 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Uranus sails and Pleiades; 
 Where Jupiter in blameless course 
 Enjoys from Juno long divorce; 
 Where Venus smiles on lurid Mars, 
 He comes with spectra of the stars. 
 From whatsoever bound of space 
 He turns toward me his raptured face, 
 I greet him, thank him and admire; 
 And if his quest shall take him higher 
 Than ever yet his feet have gone, 
 Or toward the nadir deeper down, 
 Though I may not keep pace with him, 
 Nor boldly vault from rim to rim 
 Of new horizons, still I send 
 Tribute to science by my friend. 
 
 By forms and faces fancy-bred 
 
 My quiet room is visited; 
 
 By gentle souls sublime and strong, 
 
 Who live in fame and love and song.
 
 MY FRIENDS. 11 
 
 Fat Falstaff swells and Duncan bleeds; 
 Shylock recoils as Portia pleads; 
 Othello wins the luckless fair; 
 There murmurs through the midnight air 
 The love-sick Romeo's passion-prayer. 
 
 Blind Milton, on whose inner sight 
 Day dawned, a great, supernal light, 
 Calling the long, sonorous roll, 
 Peoples all space, from pole to pole, 
 With angel powers. Across the arch 
 Sublimely high they wheel and march. 
 'Tis mine to pass then in review 
 My room they silent circle through. 
 
 Christian and Great Heart fight their way 
 Along the narrow path that lay 
 In Bunyan's vision to the skies. 
 
 In samite white, I see arise 
 The wonderful and mystic hand 
 That girds King Arthur with the brand 
 
 Excalibur. All pure and pale, 
 
 8
 
 ]14 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Worthy to find the Holy Grail, 
 To touch it, worshipful and glad, 
 I greet the stainless Galahad. 
 
 The lists are set, the challenge sent 
 'Tis a chivalric tournament. 
 Gallants, steel-clad, reel to and fro, 
 Struck by the lance of Ivanhoe, 
 While cloth-yard shafts of Robin Hood, 
 Fly fatal, in the leafy wood. 
 Poor Sancho Panza, wild with fright, 
 A.mbles away in dismal flight 
 From scenes of just and valorous fight, 
 Delivered by the doughty knight. 
 
 There floats above a silver cloud; 
 With Dante's eyes to gaze allowed, 
 I see a figure olive-crowned, 
 Ethereal and wrapped around 
 With scarlet robe and mantle green. 
 Bright with a beauty never seen 
 In mortal form. Pure, veiled in white,
 
 MY FRIENDS. 115 
 
 I see her float through deeps of light. 
 And all things false, unworthy, hide 
 From her whom love hath glorified. 
 'Tis Beatrice, polar star 
 To Dante, gazing from afar. 
 
 Along the bold, forbidding shore 
 By Plymouth Hock, blent with the roar 
 Of waves against their rugged bound, 
 I hear a voice of pleading sound. 
 John Alden speaks for absent Miles; 
 Priscilla turns to me and smiles 
 As though her quickened sense had heard, 
 Deep smothered, an unspoken word; 
 Then answering softly, sweetly, low, 
 Takes him, and lets the Captain go! 
 
 And who are these? Yet more, and more, 
 They crowd on those who went before 
 Gay comrades for an idle hour. 
 I sit entranced, bewildered, mute, 
 And listen as the phantom flute
 
 116 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Of Swiveller soothes the anxious stress 
 That racks the patient Marchioness. 
 
 By dim and flickering watcher's lamp, 
 The queen of nurses, Sairey Gamp, 
 All undisturbed serenely sleeps, 
 While, o'er her patient, pallor creeps. 
 She's " indispoged " as all can see 
 By 'alf and 'alf she's worse than he. 
 
 There dashes by a turn-out grand; 
 'Tis Weller and his four-in-hand. 
 There Dolly Yarden, vainly warned, 
 Makes most of beauty most adorned, 
 And with her rosiness and wit 
 Drives mad the soul of Tappertit. 
 There Dora, Em'ly, Tup man ride, 
 With Mantilini perched outside, 
 And Tapley, giving all his mind 
 And strength to Newman Noggs behind. 
 
 Here arm in arm, fraternal, gay, 
 Two ruddy youngsters touched with gray,
 
 MY FRIENDS. 117 
 
 Come laughing on. I know them well, 
 The glorious Brothers Cheery ble, 
 Who, from that fountain fabled, sung, 
 Come e'er fresh-hearted, joyous, young. 
 
 But hark! Did not an infant cry? 
 Heard I maternal lullaby? 
 Let creak no chairs let fall no pins! 
 Mrs. Micawber stills the twins! 
 
 I see a hundred startled eyes 
 Rolled up in horror and surprise 
 As Oliver appeals for more/ 
 Glistening at yon suspicious door 
 An eye all sinister appears 
 The evil eye of Wackford Squeers, 
 Who flies in terror from his post 
 As if he saw a sheeted ghost, 
 When Turveydrop, with bearing grand, 
 Airs his deportment near at hand. 
 
 With tone expressive, deep and grum, 
 Pickwick explodes his loud " Ha-Hum ! "
 
 118 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 Enduring agonies untold 
 Behind the curtain's falling fold; 
 While, like a timid, startled fawn, 
 A thing of silk and lace and lawn, 
 The very pink of ancient girls, 
 Adorned with yellow paper curls, 
 Stares wildly as that frightful sound 
 Shows trespass on forbidden ground. 
 
 Sam, spelling " Weller " with a " we," 
 Faithful attends, amuses me; 
 But now the rogue eludes my eye; 
 He's gone to " get a alibi "/ 
 I blame him not nor wonder more, 
 There's Mary just outside the door! 
 
 1 feel the touch of little Nell, 
 A thing of gentle spirit spell, 
 Upon my heart. Now I espy 
 The " willin Barkis " driving by. 
 For me the " Chimes " unceasing ring 
 For me the Oratchits carols sing
 
 MY FRIENDS. 119 
 
 While, fitting prayer for Christmas hyiim, 
 "God bless us all," pleads Tiny Tim. 
 
 All in a moment there's a change 
 I see a lonely mountain range; 
 Along the Catskills morning breaks 
 The grizzled Kip Yan Winkle wakes; 
 Again he moves, my room the scene, 
 With shadowed glen and covert green. 
 He goes, with anxious, knotted brow, 
 To dreaded reckoning with his vrow, 
 Anticipating welcome warm 
 From tongue and broom and practiced arm. 
 
 I cannot name them; far extends 
 The lengthning line the cloud of friends, 
 Who speak to me from all the lands 
 And wave to me saluting hands. 
 The sages of all times, the gray 
 Philosophers, the wise, the gay, 
 These throng the air about my head; 
 By these my room is visited.
 
 120 MY FRIENDS. 
 
 They spoke and wrote in varying tongue; 
 Strange peoples on their accents hung, 
 With whom I trace no touch of kin 
 Whose speech to me were senseless din. 
 But these, my friends, in every tone 
 Make thought and wish and rapture known; 
 The language of the soul is one. 
 
 So though I sit in cloistered cell 
 Silent, alone, I love it well. 
 I ask no charms of living grace 
 To fill and decorate the place 
 'Tis filled adorned. As though I heard 
 The spaces round me softly stirred 
 By trailing robes and waving wings, 
 I know unseen, unspoken things. 
 1 find elect companionships; 
 They teach my heart and touch my lips. 
 My steadfast friends abide with me, 
 Bright, soul-inspiring company!
 
 QUOUSQUE TANDEM, CATILINA! 
 
 YE feline brutes erotic, 
 
 Is there not some strong narcotic, 
 Some refined and rare hypnotic, 
 
 Some potent spell, 
 Soothing catnip, helleborus, 
 Anything to still the chorus 
 Of your piercing, wild, sonorous 
 Nocturnal yell, 
 
 Stirring wrath in souls pacific, 
 Thwarting agents soporific, 
 Blighting visions beatific 
 
 With horrid din; 
 Moving even spirits saintly 
 To utter, almost, low and faintly,
 
 122 QUOUSQUE TANDEM, O CATILINA? 
 
 Words divided very scantly 
 From words of sin? 
 
 O ye brutes, my windows under, 
 Me and sleep ye widely sunder. 
 O for power, for once, to thunder 
 
 Annihilation! 
 
 O for boot-jacks half a hundred 
 O for hand that never blundered. 
 Hurling, while the neighbors wondered, 
 
 Pacification! 
 
 O for catapults to smite yel 
 O let catalepsy blight ye! 
 All catastrophes invite ye, 
 
 Cataclysmal ! 
 
 Cataracts be on ye falling! 
 Curse, concatenate, appalling, 
 Stop your ghoulish caterwauling, 
 
 Paroxysmal !
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 j 
 
 o TBX CLASS or 1857, AUUIKST cou.iac. JUKI 24, 1877. 
 
 r I\EE clan Amherst gathers at feet of the 
 
 Mother 
 With greeting to Her and "Hail", to each 
 
 other. 
 From the " Hub " of the world, which in cul- 
 
 ture surpasses, 
 
 "Ilapa Siva TtoX.vqt'X.oiGfiolo SaXa'fffft/S." 
 From the Queen of the West, the far-famed 
 
 Chicago 
 
 A city which once we wonderingly saw go 
 To judgment, in wild conflagration and horror, 
 Like that victim of old, ungodly Gomorrah ; 
 But which rose from the dust right grandly, 
 
 as 't were a
 
 124: VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Junior Antaeus, touching bosom of Terra ; 
 
 From homes by the sea, from the green of the 
 prairie ; 
 
 From the fret and the wear of the burdens 
 they carry ; 
 
 Here the clan Amherst comes and utters its 
 slogan, 
 
 Its trenchers clears well and clatters its bro- 
 gan ; 
 
 Sings the songs of old time, the fountains un- 
 sealing 
 
 Of loyal, whole-hearted, Old Amherst good feeling. 
 
 There seem to stand by us the shades of the 
 fathers, 
 
 The Bradfords and "Winthrops, the Cottons and 
 Mathers, 
 
 The men of the Mayflower and Plymouth plan- 
 tation, 
 
 Who discovered the Rock, renowned through 
 the nation
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 125 
 
 Plymouth Rock of the same geologic forma- 
 tion 
 
 As that in the desert once smitten by Moses ; 
 
 For I dare to maintain, whoever opposes, 
 
 That the stream leaping swift from the ancient 
 rock riven, 
 
 To the dying with thirst a refreshing, God- 
 given, 
 
 Was only a shadow prophetic, foretelling 
 
 The streams of rich life which, perennial welling 
 
 From Plymouth Rock, bear inspiration and 
 blessing 
 
 Wide out o'er the land. I maintain it con- 
 fessing 
 
 The Pilgrims were men not recklessly jolly, 
 
 Who'd have stopped their ears close against all 
 the folly 
 
 Of these feeble rhymes would have voted them 
 evil, 
 
 And rated their author a child of the devil.
 
 126 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Men have always their faults the Puritans 
 had 'em; 
 
 Sinned some for themselves, plus their sinning 
 in Adam. 
 
 I grant them severe upon Baptists and Qua- 
 kers 
 
 Too quick to believe that their will was their 
 Maker's. 
 
 I grant them unskilled in the chivalrous graces, 
 
 "With needless solemnity clouding their faces. 
 
 I grant it appeared that there could be no 
 reaching 
 
 The end of their prayers nor yet of their 
 preaching. 
 
 They were slow in the use of the knees' preg- 
 nant hinges, 
 
 With slender equipment of temper that cringes ; 
 
 I accord them unknown on heraldry's pages ; 
 
 I sing not their praises as wonderful sages ; 
 
 But the soul of their life, like a planet in heaven.
 
 V1GINTENNIAL POEM. 127 
 
 Shining lustrous, tmdimmed, still works like a 
 
 leaven. 
 
 No gentle blood vaunted, no nobles " ray Lorded ", 
 On fame's scroll written high, with splendors 
 
 rewarded, 
 Ever reached to their measure of daring and 
 
 doing, 
 Or wrought such a glory all time is renewing ! 
 
 They found Plymouth rock they divined 
 
 what was in it ; 
 
 They dared do their work, or at least to begin it, 
 With God for their witness, the Rock for their 
 
 altar, 
 And a purpose too grand to stumble or falter. 
 
 So when we search after the germ proto- 
 plastic 
 
 The ultimate cause of our culture scholastic 
 We go to the Rock and the Pilgrims around 
 it,
 
 128 VIQINTENN1AL POEM. 
 
 And shout our "Eureka! We've found it, we've 
 found it!" 
 
 They built up their walls in the faith that 
 
 had brought 'em ; 
 They prayed every stone in clear down to the 
 
 bottom ; 
 For Christ and the church and the glory of 
 
 Heaven 
 All labor was rendered and sacrifice given. 
 
 We are heirs to their faith, their hopes and 
 
 endeavors; 
 To their place in the line, their hold on the 
 
 levers 
 By which to bring down the tall bastions of 
 
 evil, 
 And raze them, dishonored, to earth's dusty 
 
 level. 
 
 Our Amherst's a child of the Puritan spirit, 
 And proud of the right in the Rock to inherit;
 
 VIG1NTENNIAL POEM. 120 
 
 Of the share that she holds in work of the 
 fathers 
 
 The Huntingtons, Kobinsons, Sewalls and Math- 
 ers. 
 
 Her honors come thickly she wears them se- 
 renely; 
 
 A weakling no longer, her port is all queenly! 
 
 Her sons call her blessed weave wreaths for her 
 forehead 
 
 Speak her praise in all zones, from frigid to 
 torrid. 
 
 No longer her field is one narrowed and shut 
 in 
 
 Not a door stands ajar but she's presently got 
 in: 
 
 The land, east and west, becomes her possession 
 
 By right apostolic of Pilgrim succession. 
 
 She has come to her crown, proportioned to 
 wear it 
 
 By the recognized right of learning and merit. 
 9
 
 130 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Here, sons of old Amherst, \re loyally muster; 
 With pride and affection together we cluster 
 Round one* whom to see is an auspicious 
 
 omen 
 A host though a guest venerabile nomen! 
 
 Time was when with fear we beheld him 
 
 and trembling; 
 When a glance of his eye shot through all 
 
 dissembling; 
 When he called, and we rose, with blushing 
 
 and stammer, 
 
 To offer new views of translation and grammar ! 
 When, after linguistical vaulting and tumble, 
 We took our seats, punctured and angry, but 
 
 humble. 
 
 Our cheek, if we had it, availed not a tittle, 
 For we knew that he knew that we knew but 
 
 little. 
 
 * Professor W. 8. Tyler, the veteran head of the Greek department of 
 the college.
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 131 
 
 In vain did we trust interlining and "pony" 
 He always detected the part that was Bohny, * 
 And made us feel this was no matter to sin 
 
 in 
 Yery much, I suppose, like a fly with a pin 
 
 in! 
 
 We wandered with him o'er the Caucasus 
 
 mountains, 
 
 Abundant in horrors and ice-water fountains, 
 "Where lay poor Prometheus, whose surname was 
 
 "Vinctus"! 
 
 Vainly wishing to be Prometheus extinctus! 
 'Twas a play, I believe, for a low Greek "thay- 
 
 'Twas little like play to the Freshman transla- 
 
 tor. 
 
 What scandalous scanning old Aeschylus put in! 
 'Twas a muddle all through when we got oui 
 
 foot in. 
 
 * Students will remember the part that Bohn'8 Clawrical Library played 
 In the recitation room.
 
 132 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Where Athens spreads over the Mount Lyca- 
 
 bettus, 
 Where, in the near view, stands the honied Hy- 
 
 mettus, 
 
 Where Socrates, walking unshod in his glory, 
 Flung interrogation points out, con amore, 
 We all fell into line and joined the procession, 
 And gave the Socratic idea an expression, 
 So subtle, so dextrous, so Grecian in spirit, 
 The master himself would have gloried to hear it! 
 
 And one thing I know that if, in the far 
 
 ages, 
 
 Our professor shall meet that foremost of sages. 
 Who married Xanthippe for the good it would 
 
 do him 
 To let her invective and tirade pursue him, 
 
 He'll seek out the sage with the query, " Now 
 what is 
 
 *Your name up above, Socrates or Socra/ites"? 
 
 *Thc Professor was Implored, when in Athens, not to say Socrates, 
 bnt to adopt the later pronunciation, Socra/ttes.
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 133 
 
 With the science of one who'd often been 
 
 through it, 
 
 The professor discoursed on " Ilium fuit " / 
 And looked down from his chair, like Jove 
 
 from Mount Ida, 
 
 To watch lest a skulker, all deftly, should hide a 
 Small beast of burden under lee of the benches, 
 As Greeks of old time built their horse in the 
 
 trenches. 
 
 With him so renowned, the blind poet ot 
 
 Scio, 
 
 (Unless inspirations more recent from Clio 
 Should declare him a native of ancient Ohio) 
 We laid siege to Troy, though our feet halted 
 
 sadly, 
 
 And rugged hexameters hectored us madly ; 
 Saw the Trojans fall fast, like beasts in the 
 
 shambles, 
 
 For Helen, the fairest and frailest of damsels, 
 Who had'nt a redingote, no, nor a bustle;
 
 134 VIGINTENN1AL POEM. 
 
 No point applique, nor a silk dress to rustle, 
 Nor a pair of Burt's shoes, nor a Harper's Ba- 
 zar 
 Not much of a woman to stir up a great war ! 
 
 The twang of a bow-string that told of Apollo 
 Rang oft in our ears, and as often would follow 
 The giant exploits of those heroes in battle 
 The ring of the sword and the javelin's rattle 
 On helmet and shield. And if e'er a brave 
 
 goddess, 
 With a heart beating fast beneath her mailed 
 
 bodice, 
 
 Had heard us describing her cunning and valor, 
 Had seen our nne frenzy, and marked our 
 
 deep pallor, 
 She'd have dropped a salt tear, quick wiping 
 
 her Hue eye, 
 As she sighed, " I was there, yes! Magna 
 
 pars fui"
 
 VIGINTEXXIAL POEM. 135 
 
 We saw the great chieftains, the mighty Ajaxes, 
 Hurl their death-dealing spears and brandish 
 
 their axes, 
 And the speeches of Jove and Juno and Ve- 
 
 nus, 
 
 We and the professor translated between us I 
 When Thetis' grim son, without reason or 
 
 Gave Hector the spear-thrust that vanquished 
 
 the city; 
 When Hecuba's plaint and Andromache's weep- 
 
 ing 
 
 Smote the air with a grief too bitter for keeping, 
 We could not but see our professor was hu- 
 
 man 
 With a brave, manly heart, but tender as wo- 
 
 man. 
 
 As the glass searches out the fashion of Saturn, 
 So the contact of years disclosed his true pat- 
 
 tern ;
 
 136 VIG1NTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 So we got through his masks, one after another, 
 Until we beheld him a man and a brother 
 To trust* and believe in with young men's de- 
 votion 
 To welcome to-night with all grateful emotion. 
 
 And now I will say, even though our sage 
 
 Nestor 
 
 Is growing uneasy, no doubt distressed for 
 A chance to apply the old-time college cut-off 
 With a solemn " Pause there ! " this exercise 
 
 shut off 
 
 I will say of him who now sits there before us, 
 What my heart bids me say what you'll say 
 
 in chorus : 
 
 Long, long may he live, to old Amherst a 
 
 blessing, 
 
 Until our sons, reverent, shall round him be 
 pressing,
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 137 
 
 Learning truth from his lips as age o'er him 
 gathers, 
 
 With a zest and delight surpassing their fa- 
 thers. 
 
 And when late he goes, may his mantle and 
 spirit 
 
 Him clothe and imbue who his place shall in- 
 herit; 
 
 And Socrates tell him, just at the bright por- 
 tal, 
 
 " I've waited and hungered to see thee immor- 
 tal!" 
 
 We surround him again, with greeting and 
 
 gladness, 
 But an undertone blends and trembles with 
 
 sadness ; 
 There is light on the scene, but shadows float 
 
 over; 
 Men were who are not, and our memories 
 
 hover
 
 138 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 Round the scenes of old time with figures and 
 faces 
 
 Which have vanished away from desolate places; 
 
 The altars still stand with their incense still 
 burning, 
 
 But strange look the priests to the wand'rers 
 
 returning. 
 
 "We gratefully think of men earnest, forgiv- 
 ing* 
 
 Who have slept and awaked in the land of the 
 living, 
 
 Who bore with our faults, effervescence and 
 rudeness, 
 
 Who drew us away from our juvenile crudeness, 
 
 And helped us to rise toward the truer and bet- 
 ter; 
 
 To each and to all we are each of us 'debtor. 
 
 We honored them living shall lion or them 
 ever, 
 
 And thankfully claim, after crossing the river,
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 139 
 
 Our Hitchcock and Snell, our Stearns and our 
 
 Haven 
 Men faithful on earth and welcomed to Heaven. 
 
 My classmates, Brothers of the long agol 
 The flood of years with its resistless flow 
 Has borne us on. Not now with youthful grace 
 And untried sinew, stand we where the race 
 Begins. Two decades bring us far along ' 
 To summit levels and the crowding throng 
 Of busy men not now to stand and see 
 What the requirement or reward may be, 
 Not now to gird us freshly for the strife 
 The long endurance and the cost of life 
 As when we started in the years behind, 
 Our varied fitness and our spheres to find. 
 Not now the problem what we are to be 
 Or what to do. Not now to bend the knee 
 And ask, " O Lord, what work hast Thou for 
 me?"
 
 140 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 But asking, rather, to be strong and wise 
 To do the work that round about us lies; 
 Beneath the glowing of the midday sun 
 To urge the battle that is well begun 
 To know their joy who sure, obtaining, run. 
 
 The laureate poet, fifty years gone by, 
 "Waved graceful back, from those about to die, 
 A salutation. Though we stand not now 
 So near the hoary mountain's sunlit brow, 
 We catch the " Hail " of voices on before. 
 And eager hosts, oncoming evermore, 
 Call from behind. These voices now converge 
 Our steps to quicken and our zeal to urge, 
 For sake of those who follow in our lead- 
 in sight of those between us and the dead 
 That we, with manhood's strength and tire of 
 
 youth, 
 
 May do good battle in behalf of truth. 
 And win, before the gathered witness-cloud, 
 The proudest glory unto man allowed
 
 VIGINTENNIAL POEM. 
 
 141 
 
 The glory whose supreme and glad award 
 Is the "Well done" and "Welcome" of the 
 Lord!
 
 I 
 
 SIGHT THROUGH TEARS. 
 
 TT1ARLY, alone, from shortened rest, 
 -* ^ The woman of the Lord so blest, 
 Upheld, enlightened, comforted, 
 Went out to see where He was laid. 
 
 She came, and lo! a new surprise, 
 In the dim morning, met her eyes; 
 The stone, so set and sealed, behold! 
 Back from its place was strangely rolled, 
 And He was gone; O mocking fate! 
 O woman, crushed and desolate, 
 To whom the solace is denied 
 To weep her sacred dead beside ! 
 
 Stunned, smitten, fearful, over-cast, 
 
 She wondering, trembling, fled in haste,
 
 SIGHT THROUGH TEARS, 
 
 Bereaved and agonized to say, 
 
 " The Lord they've taken Him away ! " 
 
 They heard, His startled, chosen few, 
 Amazed and she that bore Him too; 
 Heard with alarm that throbbing word, 
 " I know not where they've laid the Lord 1 " 
 
 Quick at the tidings Peter ran, 
 
 Eager, impetuous, like the man, 
 
 Pushed, in the gloaming, through the door, 
 
 Saw laid-off clothes and nothing more, 
 
 And turned away. But Mary stood, 
 
 As in the stress of orphanhood, 
 
 And wept for Him she saw not; then 
 
 She peered into the crypt again ; 
 
 And, as if tears her eyes had cleared, 
 Dissolving all that interfered 
 With sight of forms unseen, divine, 
 She saw two angels sit and shine; 
 Then, questioning much and sore afraid, 
 Stepped backward, with averted head,
 
 144 SIGHT THROUGH TEARS. 
 
 And saw the Lord who there had slept, 
 Shown first to her who stood and wept 
 Near by the tomb ; waited alone, 
 When Peter and the rest were gone, 
 And sorrowed for the Crucified, 
 That rifled resting-place beside. 
 
 O Chrism blest of loving tears, 
 How often still, through thee appears 
 The grace of spirit forms divine, 
 Who by our dead still sit and shine ! 
 
 Our eyes like Peter's feel thy touch 
 Eyes curious, questioning over-much 
 And we see angels, where before, 
 Was emptiness and nothing more. 
 
 Nay ! Better, sweeter, gladder still, 
 
 Our darkened souls with light to till, 
 
 We see the Lord, not lost nor dead. 
 
 But living, risen as He said ; 
 
 In valleys over-shadowed found, 
 
 Kevealed through tears and rainbow-crowned !
 
 THE MOTHER'S SONG. 
 
 l^TESTLING so gracefully, 
 -* ^ Sleeping so peacefully, 
 
 My darling, my dove; 
 Saviour approvingly, 
 Tenderly, lovingly 
 
 Look from above. 
 
 Eyes that so merrily, 
 Pleasantly, cheerily 
 
 Sparkled and shone; 
 Eyes that all tearfully, 
 Wonderingly, fearfully 
 
 Viewed the unknown; 
 
 10
 
 THE MOTHER'S SONG. 
 
 Tongue that so wittily, 
 Saucily, prettily 
 
 Prattled at will ; 
 Prattled untiringly, 
 Mother admiringly 
 
 Listening still; 
 
 Month that appealingly, 
 Touchingly, feelingly 
 
 Trouble did tell; 
 Mouth that so speedily 
 Laughing right readily 
 
 Rang like a bell; 
 
 Lips where in cosiness, 
 Beauty and rosiness 
 
 Sweet kisses hide; 
 Lips where disdainfully, 
 Pettishly, painfully, 
 
 Passion did bide;
 
 THE MOTHER'S SONG. 147 
 
 Hands that all beautiful, 
 Teachable, dutiful. 
 
 Fondled and played; 
 Hands that so skillfully, 
 Secretly, willfully, 
 
 Law disobeyed ; 
 
 Feet that so lightsomely, 
 Trippingly, blithesomely, 
 
 Sported and danced ; 
 Feet whose swift cheeriness 
 Wore into weariness 
 
 As day advanced; 
 
 Nestling so peacefully, 
 Carelessly, gracefully, 
 
 Are ye to-night; 
 Quietly, trustfully, 
 Silently, restfully 
 
 "Waiting for light.
 
 148 THE MOTHER'S SONG. 
 
 Mother bends over thee, 
 Kisses fond cover thee, 
 
 Fairest that lives, 
 Lovable, beautiful ! 
 All that's undutiful 
 
 Mother forgives. 
 
 Rest in security, 
 Image of purity, 
 
 My darling, my dove; 
 God's mercy flow to thee; 
 Angels speak low to thee; 
 
 Keep thee in love.
 
 A PLANT all beautiful and sweet and rare, 
 * * Sheltered from storm and blighting 
 
 eastern air, 
 Under my hand and eye grew tall and fair. 
 
 The lifted flower-cup was an airy throne, 
 
 Of beauty ravishing and rarely known; 
 
 In pride of life and strength my fav'rite shone. 
 
 I once forgot it for one treacherous hour 
 There came a blast of winter and no power 
 Could give me back my blasted, fallen flower! 
 
 And I was as that flower; a loving hand 
 Flung shelter round me as affection planned; 
 Shielded, upborne, I did not truly stand,
 
 150 TEMPTATION. 
 
 But, vain and foolish, I believed me strong; 
 I scorned the souls that fell, deep-stained with 
 
 wrong, 
 And sang, serene, my idle, boastful song. 
 
 *' Why cnrse ye fate or God," I proudly said 
 To some who even lacked for daily bread. 
 "Why do your hearts rebel above your dead?" 
 
 I asked of some who, through their blinding 
 
 tears 
 
 Their shuddering grief and all distorting fears 
 Saw not the light that on the cloud appears. 
 
 " Why give ye rein to appetite and lust?" 
 " Why are ye false to honor's sacred trust?" 
 I asked, as though not made of common dust! 
 
 Then came a change the want I had not known 
 Came crashing on me turned my heart to 
 
 stone; 
 I cursed the fates when hunger was my own.
 
 TEMPTATION. 151 
 
 I stood rebellious by my buried love 
 
 I madly challenged earth and heaven to prove 
 
 That God, a loving Father, reigns above. 
 
 I yielded soon when once temptation came; 
 I sank with those I late contemned with 
 
 blame ; 
 I wore with them my covering of shame. 
 
 My thought of strength was all a dream a 
 
 lie ; 
 
 My blaming words were hollow mockery 
 Strong only in untested strength was I. 
 
 But, seeing now iny weakness and my need, 
 Low bowing down, I daily, hourly plead, 
 " My feet, good Lord, far from temptation 
 lead!" 
 
 And so I stand in vain conceit no more; 
 I keep my guard about my bosom's door, 
 Nor judge nor boast, as in my pride before.
 
 152 TEMPTATION. 
 
 They stand secure, who shrink from sin in 
 
 fear; 
 
 Trust not themselves, but keeping ever near 
 To Jesus' side, dwell in His love so dear. 
 
 O blessed Christ, O Lamb without a spot! 
 Purging with blood each marring, sin-made blot, 
 Into temptation, Saviour, lead us not I
 
 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 O WELCOME, yes, welcome, thou blessed 
 night 1 
 
 Thrice welcome art thou to me; 
 In thee I may go, with a peaceable flow, 
 Far on to the measureless sea 
 The sea that is waiting for me. 
 
 Oh, cruel and galling the yoke I wear; 
 Dark night, I murmur to thee; 
 
 In bondage I go, with laborious flow, 
 To rest in the welcoming sea 
 The sea that is calling to me. 
 
 O Freedom, glorious, no longer mine, 
 My thoughts are ever of thee; 
 
 * Written while the author was llviue iu the valley of one of those hard- 
 worked New England rivers, of which so much is exacted on the 
 the ocean.
 
 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 Ne'er again shall I know the rapturous flo\fr 
 That once marked my way to the sea 
 The sea that was asking for me. 
 
 music, sweet music, thou merciful night, 
 
 Is thy deep silence to me; 
 A passage of woe is my turbulent flow 
 Down, down to the sheltering sea 
 The sea that is refuge for me. 
 
 The story is long of my thralldom to wrong; 
 
 1 cannot portray the half in my song. 
 
 From the heart of the North into light I 
 
 leaped forth, 
 
 As free as the bird to sing through the earth; 
 To the hills with my voice I shouted, 
 
 " Rejoice ! " 
 
 And echo caught up the jubilant noise, 
 And the "hail" of the rill to each answering 
 
 hill, 
 Repeated in tones that never were still.
 
 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 155 
 
 The trees, as in love, waved their banners 
 
 above, 
 
 And laughed as I kissed the feet of the grove; 
 Over me, in my bed, their branches they 
 
 spread, 
 
 A shield from the sun that blazed overhead. 
 I gathered the brooks from inviolate nooks 
 Of mountain recess and sentinel rocks, 
 To journey with me, as, unbridled and free, 
 A child of delight, I rolled to the sea. 
 The grasses that grew on either bank drew 
 This life from my depths, their delicate hue. 
 The birds dipped the bill, quickly drinking their 
 
 fill, 
 And rendered their thanks with warble and 
 
 trill. 
 
 I bore the lillies, sweet-scented flotillas, 
 Wafting afar to hamlets and villas 
 Breath richly laden for lover and maiden 
 Incense like that of morning in Eden.
 
 156 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 I mirrored the grace and the sportive embrace 
 
 Of children down-looking into my face. 
 
 I toyed with the wheel of the merry boy's 
 
 mill, 
 
 Or swept it along if thwarting my will, 
 Ne'er dreaming that he e'er a tyrant could be, 
 To lay heavy hands and ruthless on me. 
 No law I obeyed, as I loitered in shade, 
 Still lying and dark in thicket and glade; 
 With a frolicsome run till the journey was 
 
 done, 
 
 I played at bo-peep with the stars and the sun; 
 I crept among sedges, darted down ledges, 
 Headlong I leaped on boulders and wedges 
 Of rough, riven rock, as, with laughter and 
 
 mock, 
 
 I burst away aught my progress would block. 
 No hard master ruled me glad, triumphing, 
 
 free, 
 I joyfully journeyed on to the sea!
 
 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 157 
 
 But alas! for the days and alas! for the ways 
 I sadly recall, regretfully praise. 
 The light-hearted boy, with impertinent toy, 
 A monster has grown, my peace to destroy. 
 My freedom has gone, now a master I own, 
 And wearing his yoke I murmur and moan. 
 I grind in the mill; I am broke on the wheel; 
 I beat out my life on copper and steel; 
 The oak, mountain giant, gnarled, defiant, 
 Dismembered, I shape, to strange uses pliant. 
 The spindles I drive and the looms in the 
 
 hive 
 
 Where man and machine seem both all alive. 
 From dawn's early gray till the light fades 
 
 away, 
 
 A captive enthralled, I wearily play. 
 Afar I am led from my own chosen bed; 
 I'm beaten to foam, to tatters am shred. 
 Once, all the day long, the bright birds blent 
 
 their song
 
 158 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 In chorus above as I stole along; 
 Now I scarcely can hear their melodies clear, 
 So loud whir the wheels and rattle their gear. 
 When pitiful skies, giving heed to ray sighs., 
 Pour down at my cry unwonted supplies, 
 My strength comes again. A brief carnival then 
 Is mine, in loss and disasters of men! 
 I burst off their bands with Briarean hands; 
 1 choke up their wheels with gathering sands; 
 To their sorrow and cost, in wealth deluge- 
 tost, 
 
 I madly avenge the freedom I lost! 
 Enslaved and oppressed, thus my wrongs are 
 
 redressed; 
 
 My fury abates contented, I rest. 
 Then, worse than before, cruel tyrants restore 
 The yoke and the chain a captive once more, 
 I must painfully go, bruised, broken and slow, 
 To soothe me and rest in the ocean below.
 
 THE RIVER TO THE NIGHT. 159 
 
 Then welcome, yes, welcome, thou blessed night ! 
 Reprieve thou bringest to me; 
 
 In darkness I know brief repose as I go 
 On, on to my home in the sea 
 The sea that is thirsting for me. 
 
 A vision, stern vision, thou tyrant man, 
 Of fate that hangs over thee! 
 
 Time's river doth go with hurrying flow 
 Swift, swift to the infinite sea 
 The sea that is waiting for thee.
 
 OUTLOOK. 
 18JST 
 
 TY'E ships that are sailing nnder the world, 
 -*- With weather-worn sails,, with banners un- 
 furled; 
 
 They gather such wealth ! O, nobody knows 
 The treasure they hold a treasure that grows 
 As each new horizon kisses their keels 
 As each ElDorado splendor reveals. 
 
 My fancy oft turns and eager, to feast 
 On spoils late reft from the opulent East, 
 That settle my ships low down in the sea, 
 As homeward they sail, deep-laden, to me. 
 
 It's far they have gone so far from the West 
 The richest lies hid, the dearest and best, 
 And only the choice, the wonderful, rare,
 
 OUTLOOK. 
 
 My ships are enjoined to gather and bear 
 To me as longing I wait by the sea, 
 And live in the joy their coming will be. 
 
 O, fair are my ships, the fairest that sail, 
 Built staunchly to breast the billow or gale; 
 I will not believe by whirlpools they're tost 
 On any Oharybdis broken and lost, 
 So precious are they. And yet, like a boy 
 Elate with the thought of swift coming joy, 
 I'd welcome the sight of sails torn and gray- 
 It's long since my ships were wafted away. 
 
 I think but distance confuses the eye 
 The tips of tall masts prick into the sky, 
 Just over the convex breast of the sea 
 That hides the hull of each vessel from me. 
 
 But they sink they're lost now under the line 
 Of vision they marked no vessels of mine. 
 From dream so joyous I wake with a start; 
 A hope, long deferred, breeds sickness of heart. 
 11
 
 162 OUTLOOK. 
 
 But, courage I'll hold ; I'll chide not their stay ; 
 They still ride the wave sail further away, 
 To gladden me more when out of the sea 
 They rise 'gainst the sky and hasten to me. 
 They steer, I'll be sure, through intricate straits, 
 Toward cities unnamed, with glittering gates 
 Uplifted that forth my treasure may flow; 
 Toward harvests unreaped they hurrying go; 
 Toward shores where the trees, fruit-laden and 
 
 fair, 
 
 Bend low to the hand where even the air 
 Shall carrier be of all that is best 
 For me as I wait and watch in the West. 
 
 'Twould cheer me to see, e'er gathers the dark, 
 One ship of the fleet one home-coming bark; 
 It cannot be true, O, perish my fears ! 
 That they have gone down that ne'er thro' the 
 
 years 
 
 They, out of the morning, sailing will come, 
 And anchor again in the harbor of home !
 
 OUTLOOK. 163 
 
 Once airy creations, beautiful, bright, 
 Were floating near by in glad, golden light; 
 They seemed, just before, enticing to stand, 
 But ever escaped the grasp of my hand. 
 They mocked me. Alas ! I hoped evermore ; 
 Fruitions of hope they tauntingly bore 
 Just out of my reach, above and before. 
 Was there no good in the promises fair 
 That kindled my soul in struggle and prayer ? 
 Those airy creations, O, were they naught, 
 And held they no more than shadows of thought ? 
 
 Somewhere, I will trust, their pinions are 
 
 furled 
 
 The good that they bore is yet in the world; 
 Somewhere, far away, they yet may be found; 
 With blessings they held, the finder be crowned. 
 To whatever clime they, vanishing, fled, 
 By wave borne and breeze my vessels have 
 
 sped. 
 They'll come by and by they'll certainly come
 
 164 OUTLOOK. 
 
 I wait but a little to welcome them home. 
 All that escaped me secured they will bring, 
 My gallant, good ships, as if to a king. 
 
 O, ye swift winds, that encircle the sphere, 
 Where left ye my ships, so gallant and dear ( 
 Their sails did ye kindly lift from the mast, 
 And till them and strain as ye hurried past ? 
 
 O eagle, afloat against the clear sky, 
 Unblinded by light or storm, does thine eye, 
 So sweeping and keen, through distance and 
 
 mist 
 
 See a vessel of mine rise out of the East, 
 Her prow proudly plowing planes of the sea, 
 As she comes to enrich and satisfy me ? 
 
 The ocean is blank no favoring sign 
 Encourages me. O, venture of mine, 
 Can hope so deceive ? Is everything lost ? 
 Is there no return, the ocean once crossed 't 
 Some ship of the fleet, the least of them all,
 
 OUTLOOK:. 165 
 
 Might make her port though disaster befall 
 The many that sailed so gaily away ! 
 Though waters engulf that goodly array. 
 
 Weary, I climb to the outlook again, 
 But vacancy vast broods over the main ! 
 They're coming no more all promises fail ; 
 The breeze blowing in brings never a sail ! 
 
 It may be I've longed so eagerly, sore, 
 For good that never can visit this shore ; 
 That blessing I craved, the beautiful, rare, 
 Could never endure the touch of our air ; 
 That treasures divinest could not be brought, 
 But where they abide must ever be sought. 
 Yes, bidden I am to go to the best 
 Not staying but going, I may be blest. 
 
 So, I soon shall embark and sail o'er the sea, 
 To find out my ships, wherever they be. 
 They're safe in sweet havens, sheltered and fair;
 
 166 OUTLOOK. 
 
 I'll find them, well stored, awaiting me there. 
 Perchance as I catch the opposite tide 
 And reach the far shore that never-seen side 
 I'll gain more than all I sent them to bri !!;, 
 E'en treasure and crown befitting a king !