GIFT OF Glass of t / X^ /" w6/ FOREST LEAVES AND OTHER POEMS BY CHARLES WESLEY KYLE HANDSOMELY ILLUSTRATED For every aspiration of the Soul Which thou wouldst better know and satisfy, Go to the fount of knowledge Nature s fount Receive from out her hand the truth unsoiled, And thou shaft find a rest naught else can give. SAN FRANCISCO D. S. STANLEY & COMPANY, PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS 1894 COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY C. \V. KYL/E ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CONTENTS FOREST LEAVES. PAGE Proem xiii The Anthem of the Hills i A California Autumn 3 The Golden Gate 4 Ambition 4 The Sunlight on the Hills 5 The Wood-Nymph 6 Contentment 7 On the Bay 8 The Mountain Shore 9 The Peace of Nature 10 The Rose s Tomb 10 Inverness n Gold Lake n Song to the Sierras 12 Divinity of Nature 14 When the Day-God Dies 14 An Autumn Impression 15 To a Robin 16 A May Morning in the Wood 17 Lilies 18 An Admonition 19 The Winding Eel 21 A Night in Camp 22 The Truthful Angler 23 The Supreme Moment 25 The First Day of the Season 26 Queen of the Hills 28 The Music of the Reel 29 Beauties of Nature 30 The Burning of Mt. Tamalpais 31 Hail and Farewell 33 California s Old Year S3 The Autograph of God 34 Evening in the Hills 35 The Honest Worshiper 35 My Harp 36 Music 37 Winter in New England 37 Elusive Song 39 New-Year s Morning 39 A Mountain Picture 40 The Snow Plant of the Sierras 41 W 7 hat is Poetry? 42 PAGE Evening 43 The Rain 44 To the Sportsmen of the Hills 45 Retrospection 47 New-Year Reflections 49 The Death of Summer 50 The Proposal 52 November 53 To the Mourning Dove 54 The Burial of Summer 55 Amid God s Greater Thoughts 56 Tomb of Helen Hunt Jackson 57 The Fontaine-qui-bouiile 59 Cheyenne Canon 61 The Mountain Brook 62 The Maid to the Ocean 62 The Old Sea Cave 63 The Birth of Day 64 Ocean Coursers 65 Beautiful Meadows 65 When Rover Died 66 The Mountain Stream 67 Pleasures A-Field 68 My Cigar 69 When the Jack-Snipe Comes 70 To the Ocean 71 The Dryad s Chamber 72 Cathedral Spires Yosemite 73 Spring 74 California Quail . 74 Reflections 75 The Seasons 76 A Summer Noon 78 With My Old Shot-Gun 78 A Primitive Angler 79 The Yosemite Valley 81 Evening on Mt. \Vhitney 83 My Hunting Dog 85 The Sun-kissed Sea 86 Brambles and Corn 87 On Seeing a Rosebud in the Street 91 The Destruction of Pompeii 91 Things to Love 94 Vll 749C03 CONTENTS. THE ANGELS OF SHILOH PAGE 99 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH " 120 DIALECT POEMS. PAGE Music in the Barkin uv a Dog 151 Little Cricket 155 Ez Faithful ez a Dog 159 The Sperit Messenger 163 PAGE Beauty on a Point 165 Our Toniest Sassiety 166 Livin Furever in a Day 169 MABEL GRAY PAGE 173 BLOSSOMS AND BRIARS. Those Eyes of Brown Waiting The Rule by which to Live My World Edens I m Seeking to Find My Mother For Those We Love My Heart is Strangely Sad To-night Life Bird Song PAGE .- 193 ... 194 ... 196 ... 197 ,.. 198 ... 199 ... 199 3OO apo 201 Faithful to the End 201 Come with Thy Harp 202 My Friend 203 My Mother s Death 204 The Statue to Pygmaleon The Evening of Life Cupid s Blossoms When I am Old Little Cupid Oh, Let Me Dream Duality Love s Longing Pluck the Roses Ere They Die Who Came to Me in My Dream? Love s Golden Hours My Love First Hours of Love Why Chide Me? I Love Thee Still As First I Saw Thee 205 205 206 207 208 209 209 210 211 211 212 212 213 213 214 214 PAGE Oh Slumber, My Darling 215 Immortal Love 215 Ruth The Lover s Lament In Memory of Hon. John B. Finch... What the Bird Said Unforgiven A Rare Flower Death Shadows Memory is Mine To a Lovely Maid Lovely Fairy Isabel The Lover s Despair Gems My Bride Caroline Mary Dean s First Kiss Heleiie Jane Ideality Alone Turning of the Tide A Mystery Loving and Fishing Why? Come, Love, and Speak To a Child To Violet To an Absent Love 233 234 234 235 .. 236 CONTENTS. PAGE Friendship 236 Calming the Storm 237 A Toast at a Banquet 237 On the Death of a Lady 238 My Creed 238 Bury Our Love? 239 Darling Wilma 239 A Vision 241 Written in a Young Lady s Album 241 Address to Death 242 Tulips 242 Golden Hair 242 What is Death? 243 To a Beautiful Maiden 244 The Sea of Galilee 245 Source of Consolation 246 246 247 247 248 248 249 250 Her Grave Despondency The Outcast Experience My Other Self..... An Ocean Grave. The Past... To a Faded Flower Eternity A Question My Queen The Prophecy PAGE .... 250 .... 251 .... 251 251 .... 252 The Old Homestead 252 Lady Brown 253 Whatever You Will 254 The Tireless Ship 255 Venice 256 A Twilight Memory 256 The Haunted Lake 257 Dreaming 258 An Angel s Visit 259 Life s Lesson 259 A Magical City 260 On Kissing 261 Without and Within 261 Queen of the Muses 261 Sunset 262 The Lovers 263 Self-Admonition 264 A Message 264 PATRIOTIC AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PAGE Independence Day 267 The Sword of Grant 269 A Leader s Death 270 The Old Man s Request 272 Injustice of Idleness 272 The Sword of Wallace 273 The Warrior s Death 273 The Long Roll is Beating 274 The Call to Arms 275 A Royal Legacy 276 The Disaster of Johnstown 278 World s Columbian Exhibition 281 The Charge 282 October Hills 283 Forgiveness 283 The Christmas Tree 284 Elijah and the Ravens .......... Love s Tribute W ayside Pleasures What Dame Rumor Said Independence The Struggle for Bread Diana s Defeat A Glimpse of Spring Wrong is of Night PAGE 285 286 287 287 288 289 290 291 291 Hail, Brother, Hail .................................. 292 My Old Duck-Call ................................... 293 Under the Greenwood Tree ..................... 295 A Little Princess ....................................... 297 Two Central Points ................................... 297 Mountain Pleasures .................................. 298 Alpha and Omega ................................... 299 IX ILLUSTRATIONS. Portrait of the Author The Anthem of the Hills Contentment The Robin A Night in Camp The Music of the Reel My Harp A Mountain Picture To the Sportsmen of the Hills The Mourning Dove Tomb of Helen Hunt Jackson The Old Sea Cave Ocean Coursers The Mountain Stream The Dryad s Chamber General View of Yosemite Valley Yosemite Falls The Sun-Kissed Sea At Quiet Hour of Even-Tide Aurora Arzelia Music in the Barkin uv a Dog Ez Faithful ez a Dog Beauty on a Point Pioneer s Home Fannie ! Fannie ! Come Here, Darling The Eagle s Nest Those Eyes of Brown Little Cupid Mary Dean s First Kiss Silver Bells Beneath the Sea The Sea of Galilee.... PAGE .Painted bv H. Raschen Frontispiece " " " i Drawn by C. E. Tebbs 7 16 Drawn by W. H. Byrnes 22 Drawn by C. E. Tebbs 29 , " " " 36 .Drawn bv H r . H. Byrnfs . Drawm bv C. E. Tebbs Drawn bv IV. H. Byrnes .Drawn by C. E. Tebbs .Painted by J. K. O Neal 100 " " 102 120 .Painted by H, Raschen 151 .. Drawn bv C. E. Tebbs 159 174 Drawn by Epting 179 Drawn by C. E. Tebbs 190 193 . Drawn by C. E. Tebbs 208 224 Painted by H. Raschen 230 . Drawn by C. E. Tebbs 245, TO ALMA KYLE -HUFFMAN. ISTER, whose love of Nature taught Mine own to love the mountains grand ; For whom in youth I plucked and brought The first bright flowers of all the land ; My first bouquet of " Forest Leaves," Culled from fair Mother Nature s breast, I bring to thee, while my heart grieves To think they are not fairest best. c. w. K. PROEM. Come, let us sail, with what success we may, To-morrow may be still a cloudy day ; Perchance the waves of yon great untried sea May be more smooth than they appear to be ; And yon great breakers little dangers hold, If we be firmly brave, and calmly bold. I ve heard it oft, that literary sharks Love most to pounce upon dull, timid marks ; For, like the vultures, they exulting soar O er lifeless wrecks cast high upon the shore. Their guns shoot just as far, roar just the same, Be katydids or elephants their game ! Old sages wrote, and I believe it still, That half the battle lieth in the will. No doubt that thousands would, but somehow don t, And other thousands could, but then they won t. So if this voyage ever is to be, Why, we must sail it, risk the untried sea ; And if our boat a dull illusion prove, The troubled dream will soon be safely o er ; Far better this, than never dare to move, And rotting lie upon the lifeless shore. So lend a hand, all willing friends here goes, With kind regards to you deuce take our foes. Xlll FOREST LEAVES THE ANTHEM OF THE HILLS. THE ANTHEM OF THE HILLS. I climbed amid the granite spires and domes Of Nature s temples. The scene was morning Early morn for yet the shroud of night Was folded over all the nearer hills, And that strange and most impressive silence Of expectancy, which rules the moments That precede momentous revelations, Pressed heavily upon fair Nature s lips. Night s mantle ruled the sight, save one pale view, Which to the eye appeared as if the moon, New-born, had fallen from the skies and caught, With points downturned, upon a mountain s brow To eastward. The twinkling stars shone brightly, But, as I gazed, their gold to silver turned, And Night, with noiseless winging, moved away. Beyond the mountain peaks Morn s heralds gleamed, Their brilliant lances piercing all the sky. The world awoke: hard by, from out the pines, A blue jay called; robins a-wing gave key To all the leafy woodland s matin choir. The mellow murmur of the ocean s waves Came floating faintly from afar, and there The wakened sea-fowl, screaming, rose and fanned, With measured stroke, the slowly whitening air. A light and balmy breeze strayed softly o er The organ of the pines, to try the keys; The mountain streams murmured a louder strain, And all the instruments were found attuned. THE ANTHEM OF THE HILLS. A ray of gold shot , e er the mountain s brow; magic signal wand, And then, cle arly but softly, there arose, In unison, two voicings from the glen A duet, sung by mountain-brook and bird! So sweet, the winds ceased winging and gave ear, Rendering all the listening throng complete. Again the leader s bright wand waved apace, And other voices from the feathered throng Joined in the song. A gleam! and all was still. The low winds softly played an interlude, And then the black- winged oriole, master Of all the mountain choir, a solo gave, So pure and sweet in melody, each note Proclaimed the very soul of perfect song, Which, floating on the air, there wove complete A psalm of joy all inexpressible! Then came the choral of the full-voiced throng, And there was heard such bursts of harmony As stirred the fibers of the human heart, And drew from out emotion s deepest well The pearly gems of purest joy! the while, Trembling with ecstasy, my very soul Leaned out to catch the meaning of the song. Adorned with robes of light, the mountains round, .And all the rocky glens, re-echoed, o er and o er again, The song. The tall pines trembled; every key Responding to the touches of the wind, While ever and anon the charming scenes Of variegated cloud and changing light Were shifted to and fro by hands unseen. These draperies, clinging to peak and sky, Were blendings of pearl-gray, of blue and gold, More beautiful in color and design Than the imagination can conceive, Or skill of greatest master can portray. The perfect music swelling from that throng Sounded a paean of triumphal joy; When, lo! the god of day, mounting the sky With dazzling splendors, ushered in his rule. A CALIFORNIA AUTUMN. The hills are bronzed with Summer s dying breath The sunlight sifting through the haze, Of half-formed cloud, which, like a dream But half-remembered, folds the days In robes of softened orange gleam, Befitting Summer s universal death. Down from the hills the rivers murmur low, As on their journeys to the sea They would their notes of song defer, And in low-spoken tones agree With spirit of this sepulcher, Where gentle winds are winging soft and slow. Down by the sea the billows of the tide Beat softly gainst the rock-ribbed shore, Appealing with their lips of white, In voicings of a muffled roar, Alike through hours of day and night, For peace and rest which ever is denied. Beyond the stubble-fields, the water-oaks And manzanita tangles lie In the arroyos of the hills; And holding Summer s hands, defy The encroachment of Autumn s ills, Emeralding the bronze which Nature cloaks. The mountain tops are robed in sombre blue; The forest trees let fall their gold, Which carpets deeply all the ground, Or by the winds is gently rolled In many a pyramidal mound, Which Time cements with falling rain and dew. Ivike a bronzed pilgrim, weary with the strife Of battling with the elements, Sweet Summer falls with moaning sigh, And with her call to rest contents Her, neath the Autumn s robes to lie, And slowly yield the brightness of her life. AMBITION. THE GOLDEN GATE. : Make way! make way!" from the ocean wide. Was heard the voice of its restless tide, As the dashing waves, with ceaseless roar, Knocked at the gates of the rocky shore. Give back, we pray, and let us in, Where we may rest from the ocean s din; The toil of ages has been our fate One hour of slumber to compensate!" Thus pleaded the waves with sob and moan, Til they touched the heart of the cold, gray stone, And the shore was moved by the ocean s fate, And unlocked the bars of the Golden- Gate. Then the waves rushed in, and, since that day, Have found a haven within the bay, Where the voice of children and breath of flowers Have rendered sweet their restful hours. Make way! make way!" comes another cry, Filling the earth and the azure sky, From that ocean strange, whose billows be The troubled souls of humanity! With their wistful pleadings o er and o er, They knock at the gates of a voiceless shore; The boundless shores of their narrow sea, Unknown, unmeasured Eternity! Though the shores be voiceless and tempests rage, Hope sends a gleam for an anchorage; And the tired souls gather of strength to wait Til the bars shall drop from the Pearly Gate. AMBITION. Could I catch the soul of the flowers and birds, Of the woodlands wild, where the Dryads sing; Could I place the song of the winds in words, As hither and thither they softly wing; Could I lose my soul in the bright blue sky, Then I think I would be content to die. THE SUNLIGHT ON THE HILLS. The mountains are aflame with light (The sunlight rests upon the hills), Their snowy crowns a brilliant sight, From which come flashing crystal rills. The day wears on toward its close, Night s early gloom the valley fills; While silence tends to sweet repose, The sunlight fades from off the hills. Up, up the rough and rocky steep (Above the gloom-enshrouded hills) The evening shadows softly creep, Stealing the lances from the rills, Hushing the voices of the earth The grinding of the water-mills, The song of birds, the shouts of mirth, With which the world the daylight fills. The mountain heights now glow with flame, ( The sun is faded from the hills), Their beauty rare eludes a name, And every heart with worship fills. Befitting thrones for gods they seem Omnipotence their grandeur wills; Their regal robes with splendors gleam Above the drap ries of the hills. Now, up the mountain, twilight steals (Night settles on the lower hills), And to the shepherd boy reveals The hour to pipe his evening trills. Adown the winding mountain way The music every crevice fills, Proclaiming that the god of day Has died amid the western hills. THE WOOD-NYMPH. Silence!, tread softly, this spot is enchanted: For, just over there in the pines, A Wood-nymph is drinking the wines That are brewed in the cups Of the Johnny-jump-ups And the fresh golden dandelions. Look! now she is drinking from the white lily, Which gracefully bends to her lips, As of its pure brewing she sips; Her wealth of dark tresses, The coy breeze caresses A beauty naught else can eclipse. See! now she is looking through the green leafage, To that mossy bank over there, Half yielding, I see, is her air. Behold, now she passes, Athwart the green grasses A queen, every whit, I declare. Now she reclines on the sweet velvet mosses A lacing umbrageous above To sleep and to dream of her love; While the wild bird and bee Woos the dream-god to see That refreshing her rest shall prove. Come away, come away, no mortal should dare,. His presence to ever make known Let her rest in peace all alone For all Wood-nymphs are pure And they cannot endure A mortal s approach to their throne. CONTENTMENT. In the mountains grand, where the white river rushes, Foaming and singing with a light, joyous bound; Where the wild roses creep with their crimson blushes, And pour from their flagons sweet perfume around; There the honey-bees, o er the fresh, blooming clover, With the dragon-flies hum a low, drowsy tune Under the white peaks that lean in and watch over, Are green vales that cradle the sweet joys of June. To rare cloud-forms kissed, the white sea-mist there dapples The fathomless arch of the sweet Summer sky; In the deep, cooling shades grow the mango apples, And slow, winging winds breath a gentle sigh. And there, at the foot of the great snow-topped mountains, Filling the deep bowl of each pine-circled urn From the liquid wealth of their vast, snowy fountains, The calm, smiling lakes to the blue heavens turn. ON THE BAY. In the broad, rich valleys the green fields a-tossing, All heavily topped with rich kernels of gold; Billowed and necked by the cloud-shadows crossing, As Summer, wind-steeded, is ov.er them rolled. The kine in the meadows at midday are resting, " Contentment " they picture; field, meadow and stream, With turtle-dove silent, in water-oak nesting, Draped with gray purple enchanting day-dream! The gold-fingered willows bend low as to listen To tale which the mountain brooks cheerfully tell; The blooms of the dog-wood, star-shaped, purely glisten, While rings for the fairies the lovely blue-bell. Azaleas and buckeyes enrich the wood s dressing, The blackberries crimson besplashes the glen; The robin, the charms of the wildwoods confessing, Pours forth sweetest praise, while all echo "Amen! " ON THE BAY. Soft, cloudless skies o er-arched the hills and sea; The Autumn day, one dream of solitude; The air a shimmering veil of gold and blue, Fallen from Summer s slow-departing form For that short interval of quietude Which waits on Winter s coming. Dreamy scene. Breathed every sound a note of melody. The snow-white swan afloat the swelling wave, And ships, with great wings spread, move out to sea. With oarlocks drawn we drift but with the tide. The sun sinks toward the sea; long shadows throw Athwart the bay their unsubstantial forms. The sea-gulls and the swans, with measured stroke, Now fan their way, each to his chosen rest. Out from the East, Night spreads her sable wings, And in the West is lost the gold of day. No discord marks the change. Peace ruleth still; From out the sombre arch of Autumn s night, A thousand scintillating stars shine on God s sentinels, which watch while dreams the world. 8 THE MOUNTAIN SHORE. There s a beautiful land toward the evening of day, Where the mountains majestically rise; Where the murmuring fountains are ever at play Neath the softest and bluest of skies; Where sweet Summer, serene, in the valleys below, Lingers on one bright scene of delight; Where the mountains, rich clothed with an emerald glow, Are a matchlessly beautiful sight. Where the voice of the streamlets breaks ever in song Of rich melody pure and complete, As they rush from the mountains through valleys along, Which lead down to the sea at their feet; Where the stars of the night with such brilliancy gleam, Through the soft, misty mantle of shade; Like the eyes of the angels of heaven they seem In their robes of deep purple arrayed. W T here the faintest of winds ever sigh o er the land, Chanting low through the evergreen pine The sweetest of music an aeolian band, Every breath a sweet chord all divine. And the sun, as its beams slowly die in the West, Charms the eye with a beautiful sight Blushing crimson and gold on the mountain s green crest, As it kisses them fondly good-night. Oh, come to these mountains, ye children of men, And all these grand temples behold; Once seen, you can ever recall them again, As the leaves of your meni ry unfold; These rough, rocky peaks, towering up to the sky, These valleys, soft velvet with sod, Are sceneries grand which all time will defy, For their painter and sculptor is God. THE ROSE S TOMB. THE PEACE OF NATURE. Gushing from the green-capped mountains, Where the larks and daisies meet, Over shells and mossy pebbles, Making music low and sweet, Strays a laughing, silv ry brooklet, Neath the pine and laurel s shade, Bounding over terraced places, Like some wand ring Indian maid. Changing ever, yet forever Changeless in its form and tone, Voicing Nature s love completest, When unstartled and alone. Thus preserve it for the future; Marring not its virgin sod, Where in beauty there is written Message from the hand of God. Let the wild birds mate and carol, Safe from the destroyer s hand, Where the raging seas are conquered By the giants of the land. Let one spot be left unbroken, W T here the toils of conflict cease, And where Nature s soothing voices Whisper to the weary: "Peace." THE ROSE S TOMB. I saw a rose-vine slowly creep Upward, along a mountain wall, And, pausing not to rest or sleep, It clambered onward up the steep, Braving the dangers, one and all. At last it reached the mountain s crest, Where am rous sunbeams kissed to bloom The buds with which its life was blest; Then plucked by Love was laid on breast Of lady fair. How sweet a tomb! GOLD LAKE. INVERNESS. The blooming hills of Inverness, How bright they gleam, How fresh they seem, In robings rich of Summer dress ! With beauty s wealth of grace they bless- The mind with joy the heart caress ; In every flower A wondrous power, Waking the love I now confess For thee, my own fair Inverness. From sea a veiling light of mist Is drifting o er Thy hilly shore, Kissed by the sun to amethyst. I could not if I would resist Thy subtle power. How deeply missed Thy shore and sea ? In memory Thou wilt be veiled in sorrow s mist, Tinted by love to amethyst. GOLD LAKE. Cradled amid the rocky spires, Which form the crown Of earth ; where mountains pierce the skies,. And look far down From regions where the drifted snow Beats back the warmth of Summer s glow, And answer gives but in the flow Of crystal rills, To all earth s pleadings from below, Where Summer wills. Gold Lake ! the gem of waters pure, By sunbeams kissed (Amid the rocks which time endure) To amethyst, Ivies, like a precious pearl of worth, A jewel sacred to the earth, ii SONG TO THE SIERRAS. Which hath been guarded since the birth Of mountains grand ; When ocean s universal girth, Gave up the land. Serene and calm thy waters lie Constant through years ; Receiving from the changeful sky Her smiles and tears ; Vain were the hope that there should be In human hearts, save dreamily, Reflection of thy constancy, Until a calm Like thine shall come the heart to free By death s sure balm. First to receive the morning s light, Whose tim rous ray Invades the shadows of the night To herald day. Last to receive the ray of sun, Whose fading glimmers, one by one, Proclaim his work and journey done, As, in the West, He slowly dies. Thus be begun Our final rest. SONG TO THE SIERRAS. Ye monuments of earth s unmeasured splendor, Piercing the heaven s uu fathomed vault of blue, From Winter falling to the flower-laud tender, Which smiles to you ! Ye lofty spires and granite domes uplifted, Beyond the feeble power of man to climb ; The snows of ages on your proud forms drifted, Vision sublime ! Voicings of God ! His power and force unmeasured ! Beyond all mortal scope to comprehend The beauties, by thy mighty giants treasured From end to end. 12 SONG TO THE SIERRAS. Thy revelations brook not words confining ; The measure of our power to think and feel, Prevents our grasping all of His consigning Thou wouldst reveal. Cathedrals grand ! sculptured by force of ages ; Unheeding thou the constant flight of time ; The grandest thought appearing on earth s pages, L/ore all sublime ! The anthem which your mighty waters thunder, Through glaciered peaks, where never man hath trod, Cause angel hosts to meditate and wonder, At throne of God ! Your placid lakes ! mirrors of heaven unnumbered ! Framed with the snows and unconsuming fires ; How long, fair gems, have ye thus sweetly slumbered Amid these spires ? Your matchless forms sermons divine are preaching, From glaciered peak to foot-beverdured sod ; The fragrant flowers, within thy vales, are teaching The way to God. Your lovely brooks, which tinkle to the measure Of granite keys, o er which they leap and play, Voice, constantly, a melody of pleasure, Both night and day. The pine-clad, vales, begemmed with bloom and beauty,. To every sense of head and heart appeal ; With stately grace perform their highest duty God to reveal. Immortal beauty ! grandeur all supernal ! From awe-inspiring summit to the rose, Thy voicings all thy teachings are eternal, Though Time should close. Imperial sculpturings of God s true glory, So long as thou shalt point unto the sky, Telling to man the grand immortal story, Hope cannot die. WHEN THE DAY-GOD DIES. DIVINITY OF NATURE. Who that has felt the solemn power Of mountain groves of pine, For even one short, fleeting hour, Can doubt a power divine ? Is it but winds and mountains high, But trees and grass and flowers ; But suow r y peaks and azure sky, That so enchant these bowers ? Why should the soul that comes in touch With Nature s work alone Be drawn to better thoughts so much, If soul-power be unknown ? Tis not the trees and mountains grand, The sea, the flowers, the sky ; They are but the Great Master s wand, Drawing our thoughts on high. The finer arts our spirits raise, From grosser ties of earth ; In them is sung the sw r eetest praise To Him who gave us birth. WHEN THE DAY-GOD DIES. The splashing of the fountains And the murmur of the rills In the royal, snow-capped mountains, And the lower wooded hills, Hush their tones almost to silence, And a veil creeps o er the skies, As Time pauses for a moment When the golden day-god dies. AN AUTUMN IMPRESSION. I stood in the hills when Autumn Had painted them crisp and brown, And saw the robes of the forest Falling regretfully down At least the wavering motion Of each gold and scarlet leaf Seemed to me as if voicing The soul of unmeasured grief. The bare, blue arms of the buckeyes, The gaunt, dead limbs of the pines, Were full of sorrowful meaning As a heart when it hope resigns. The wind, with a low intoning, A requiem softly sung, And mist, like of tears, was falling As from heart of Nature wrung. The grasses were dried and withered, The song-birds had mostly fled ; The flowers had long since been gathered, And Summer lay cold and dead. A funeral train was passing The mourners I seemed to hear Muffled and low r was the sobbing, Tear-stained the face of the year. The notes of the wind grew louder, And trembled each tiny spray ; The skies overhead grew brighter, And the mists were swept away. The gold of the sunbeams falling Changed the erstwhile mournful scene, Until it appeared befitting The throne of a royal queen. The light in the West was gorgeous Most brilliant of all the day; Kissing the forest-clad mountains, And gilding each leaf and spray. It seemed to me as a message : That darkness and death and pain Were steps in Life s great procession That all things should live again. 15 TO A ROBIN. Thou merry herald of the Spring, Thy liquid notes, so pure and sweet, Throughout the fields and orchards ring, Telling of Winter s sure retreat. Fortelling birth of grass and flowers, Of springing corn and waving wheat All children of the sun and showers, That cometh forth the Spring to greet. It must be that thy little breast Is warmed and cheered by love s sweet glow; That thoughts of tiny eggs and nest Call forth thy sweet song s rippling flow. Ah ! robin, robin, would that I Might fly with free and careless wing, To cold and storms I d bid good-bye, And journey ever with the Spring. if) A MAY MORNING IN THE WOOD. All nature smiling fresh and glad, Bedecked as for a holiday, In royal robes is richly clad, To welcome thee, sweet month of May. The orchestra within the grove, Glad overtures is heard to play, As all the grand processions move, Just at the peep of coming day. The lark mounts up with cheering song, The linnets trill a roundelay ; Then all join in a chorus strong To celebrate the birth of day. The squirrel, creeping from his nest, Now gaily scampers o er the ground, Or, measures space from tree to tree The acrobat with fearless bound. The mocking bird now takes his seat On topmost bough of tallest tree, And every listening ear doth greet With sweetest notes of minstrelsy. Then from low branch of tree hard by Comes floating a sweet voice of love ; None more heart-touching neath the sky Thau this soft note of turtle-dove. The turkeys, from their lofty perch, Call " quit, quit, quit," then reach the ground, And straightway they begin their search Till some secluded spot is found. Perchance you see some tardy owl Drowsily winging home to bed ; He seems half devil and half fowl, With wond ring stare of horned head. 17 On spreading boughs of yonder oak Are pigeons feeding on its burrs ; The morn no sound from them awoke They re Nature s silent worshipers. A sudden flash from out the sky A crash ! and then a rumbling sound ; A hawk tells you the reason why The birds high circle, round and round. From every leaf and blade of grass Depends a wealth of jewelry, Which flashes brightly as we pass Night s gift to Morning s revelry. If you would chase away dull care, And Nature see in charming mood, Rise with the lark and with me share Some pleasant morning in the wood. LILIES. Kissed by the sunshine, Fed by the dew, None are so sweetly fair, Lilies, as you. Pure as the morning air, When Summer s kiss Wakens from slumbers pure Your loveliness. Bmblems of innocence, Queens of the field, Fragrance no other flowers Like yours can yield. All that is pure and fair, In all the earth, The gods have given you, Sweet flowers, at birth. 18 AN ADMONITION. When next I meet you at the club, On trout to dine, Pray do not give my faith the rub, For as fish swim and are good grub, When flanked with wine, It cannot stand to hear about Thy wondrous skill in luring trout With rod and line. Now mark it, friend, I do not say Because, forsooth, My faith some wavering may betray, That you have not in fact, alway, From early youth, Been kind to her aye, kept your word Bright as a warrior s gleaming sword, Defending Truth ! But, pardon me, if it seems bold In me to ask : Do others faith lay firmly hold Upon this tale when it you ve told? And do they bask Beneath that self-complacent smile ? And does it every doubt beguile A perfect mask ? You " cast," you say, full forty feet, And lured a " rise " Just where the alder bushes meet The waters ; in that cool retreat Where shadows lie Upon the stream and still its roar, Beneath a giant sycamore, Which towers the sky ? 19 AN ADMONITION. Your "catch," you say, was seven pound, And two foot three ? Well, well, it must be holy ground Where such enormous trout are found. The Banyan tree No greater gift could e er confer Upon the heathen w r orshiper, Than this to me. Direct me to this sycamore, I pray thee, friend, That my poor faith you may restore, I truthful deem you as of yore, And no more lend An ear to doubt, whene er you speak ; Be henceforth strong, as now I m weak, Unto the end. The oily lines you love to use No doubt are fine, But even oil you may abuse ; Oiled lines of speech can but amuse, For false design Reveals itself through every word, And every oily tone that s heard Is falsehood s sign. So when you meet me next, my friend, I truly wish You graciously would strive to lend, Your powers all thought to kindly tend Away from fish ; I seriously bewail your fate, You lie so easily of late When trout s our dish ! 20 THE WINDING EEL. Ho, for the mountains green, that render The crystal streams with their snowy foam, Which dash ueath the sunlight s golden splendor, Where the "cut-throat " sports in its liquid home. Where Peace like a spirit of comfort dwelling, O er the troubled souls of the weary steal, The charms of life to the heart revealing Ho, for the banks of the winding Eel ! Where the blue skies arch the redwood s columns, That shelter the doe and her spotted fawn ; Where the crickets chirp, when the gloaming solemns The restful hours from the eve til dawn. Where life s elixirs and rich ozone, Distilled by the pines, through the senses steal On every wind of the mountains blown Ho, for the banks of the winding Eel ! Ho, for a day of rest in the mountains, Away from the noise of the busy crowd ; Where voice of birds, of streams, and fountains Alone break the hush of Nature s shroud. There by the banks of the river, flowing, To live again with the rod and reel ; The heart and cheek with pleasure glowing Ho, for the banks of the winding Eel ! A camp in the glen, where the tall pines whisper, When touched by the wings of the morning winds, And murmur sweetly a magical vesper, When day in the westward slowly declines. There days are pleasure and nights are peace, Where joys of freedom the soul may feel, And every trouble and care shall cease Ho, for the banks of the winding Eel ! 21 A NIGHT IN CAMP. On the mountain s side where the redwoods, growing Like columns, appear to support the sky ; Where crystal streams are forever flowing, And Grandeur sits sponsor to Beauty nigh ; Where Nature tells her grandest story, And lights the past with her magic lamp, Flooding the scene in a blaze of glory, We made our camp. In a lovely dell, where the pines lean over To catch the note of the streamlet s song That minstrel bard and mountain rover, Which tireless sings for the mountain throng. There, where the daylight first is sleeping, And rest speaks peace to the heart s desire, When the Gheber s god to the West was creeping, We lit our fire. No lamp had we, save the camp-fire glowing, No need for Nature supplied us all ; The lamps of Heaven, their light bestowing, Shone through the curtain which Night let fall. Night so beautiful, weird and solemn, Silent yet list to the undertone ! Unbroken, save the glowing column By camp-fire thrown. How wierdly sweet are the mystic voices Which throng and whisper amid the pines, As sweet Nature silently rejoices That Night on her bosom now reclines. We lay us down to a peaceful slumber, But Beauty uncurtains full oft the eye, As Naiads dance to the measured number Of crickets cry. A NIGHT IN CAMP THE TRUTHFUL ANGLER. The coyotes howl from the shrouded hollow, The night-owls hoot from the trees near by, While breezes quickly each other follow, From woodland waking a mournful sigh. The sight grows dim, on the ear the drumming Of woodland calls now faintly creep, A low refrain as of fairies humming We dream and sleep. The morning wakes an ashen finger Plucks from the eastward a glowing star ; The shadows yet in the gulches linger, But Night has fled from the hills afar. The blue jays call, the robins twitter, The gray squirrel barks from across the way ; The pearls of mist on the tree tops glitter Behold, tis day. THE TRUTHFUL ANGLER. A "rainbow" treasure in the stream, Rose cautiously; my fondest dream Ne er pictured trout with brighter gleam Of beauty rare; He for my presence did not seem A fig to care. Slowly he swam up to my fly, And looked it o er with careful eye. I trembled, I will not deny, With angler s chill, To see him drawing still more nigh With studied will. He paused and slowly waved a fin, The liquid mirror just within. Tempting as my besetting sin He now appeared; Would he defeat my hope to win? I greatly feared. THE TRUTHFUL ANGLER. A moth then fell upon the wave; One flirt the finny gamester gave, The morsel caught, then sank to lave Deep in the pool. The words I said no soul would save, Nor keep it cool. Ho, ho! Sir Trout, I thought, I ll see If that s the game you play with me, I ll wily, as you re wary, be, And so I straight- Way found a moth conveniently To use for bait. With cautious skill I cast my lure, Feeling I d tempt the "beauty" sure. I had no waiting to endure, For, quick as thought, The trout, the insect to secure, Had struck and caught. He was so large, this famous trout, That as I speak I fear a doubt In strangers minds may rise, about His weight and size; Fully two feet, from tail to snout, Was this grand prize. I speak the truth ( God save my soul! ) He bent full double my light pole And lashed the waters of that hole To foam and spray; Just as I thought I d got control He broke away! Now to complete this truthful tale, To speak aught else my heart would fail, I did not swear and rave or wail. Devoutly then I simply whispered to the gale: Amen! amen! 24 THE SUPREME MOMENT. There are moments, to the sportsman, When the glow of pleasure thrills Every nerve within his being, And forgotten are all ills. It is when the sound that s loudest Is the beating of his heart, And he fears his faintest breathing Will his noble quarry start. Creeping through the rubus tangles, Lying low mid grass or fern, Silently with caution moving, Whilst his nerves with longing burn When he feels defeat or vict ry On his highest skill depends, In the touching of the trigger, Which anticipation ends. Whether on the plains or marshes, In the fields or mountains wild, He becomes a changed new being, Nature s worshiper and child. There his every sense is pitted Gainst a foe of worthy steel, Whether wielding gun or rifle, Or the tempered rod and reel. There is something in one s nature, Since the day of Adam s fall, Which finds pleasure in the moment Of the win-or-lose-it-all. Who of all the sportsmen, truly, W T ould not half their crowning give For the pleasures which bejewel Every moment we thus live? THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEASON. I. LETTER FROM MR. TWELVEBORE TO MR. SIXTEENGAUGE. " SAN FRANCISCO, Saturday. "Your kind invitation, with some other half score, Lies open before me. It troubles me sore At not being able to accept of them all. If convenient the dates, I could shoot all the fall! It s too bad, confound it! but then I suppose Some thorns there must be on the bush of each rose. I hope you ll feel flattered, for yours I accept, With a joy that leaves all of the others unwept; Though, of course, I must write in response to each one ( God forgive me for lying when that task is done! ) And say to them all, I am sorry, yes, quite Sorry ( though filled with unmeasured delight! ) That a prior engagement (that lie s done before! I ll use it, by Jove! for this scant dozen more) Prevents an acceptance. Then wind up my wail By wishing them luck on their first hunt for quail. I ll be up on Friday, the earliest train Will carry me, sure, through the sunshine or rain; Our footsteps must press on the season s threshold, Be skies clear or cloudy, the winds warm or cold. My setter, high class he is called, I believe, Is too blue-blooded. He will not retrieve. So I ll have to fall back again on old Joe, The Gordon, whom some have affirmed was too slow, But I ve found him ready and staunch to the last; If you keep up all day you ll agree he is fast. If the birds are one-half as thick as they say, We ll have glorious shooting one week from to-day. Everybody is going, there ll be quite a throng, Until then, believe me, your friend. Now so long; I must go and get ready. Please make To your wife my respects. Sincerely, TWELVEBORE.. I ll break This off here." 26 THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEASON. II. After posting this letter, old MR. TwEiA EBORE Lit his "briar-root," a thing he had oft done before. As the blue wreaths curled upwards he pleasantly smiled. Which certified clearly that all cares were beguiled, Or, at least, were displaced for the moment. Alas! That cares are immortal but we ll let that pass. "Egad! this is lucky, just think of it now, I m in for some shooting. I must not allow My friend, SixTEENGAUGE, any leaway, to brag About bringing of feathers the most to the bag. I must see to my weapon, and load up my shells With shot that on quail most effectively tells. My skill in wing-shooting I haven t forgot, As for cobwebs of age, of course, that is rot; I ll prove it so, drat me, and I ll let him see That strabismus has not laid its hold upon me, Or aught that can hinder my shooting. Let s see The cover, he writes, is as good as can be Along the arroyos leading back from the sea. That the quail are quite thick, indeed tis believed That on this point no sportsman need e er be deceived. And the fields so inviting, they could not be more To the heart of a sportsman. I ve heard that before, And the fact I ll not question. All men, I believe, Exchange Faith for Hope themselves to deceive In all things, perchance, where Truth, if made known, Their fond cherished idols would dash from their throne." 1 III. How sweet are the musings we ever may find In anticipation, provided, the kind Are akin to the sportsman s. What sweet pleasures he May call up by reflection. The land and the sea Pour out for him freely their jewels of wealth, Crowning all with the priceless boon of good health. The sights that he sees to the vision are fair; The air that he breathes is a poison to care; 27 QUEEN OF THE HILLS. The tramps that he takes make his blood fresh and pure, And give to his system the strength to endure. It oft has been proven that this line of sport Refines soul and body in Nature s retort. Then mark the time, sportsmen, one week from to-day, From the office and counter you all may away To the broad, open valley or deep, narrow vale, Jn pursuit of the gamy and swift-flying quail. QUEEN OF THE HILLS. Hail, spirit of true poesy, divine! The whirling reel, the floating gossamer line! Upon the mountain lake or foaming stream, Where golden kisses of the sunlight gleam, With graceful stroke the tempting lure to fling, Flecking the waters with their coloring, Are subjects fit for breathings of thy grace, For Beauty there reveals her charming face. The violets of the hillside are her eyes, Which to the azured heavens send replies, While o er her cheeks the warm rose-blushes steal, And trailing vine and nodding fern reveal The sweet enchantment of her presence rare; For naught of earth can with this Queen compare, For every charm and grace to her are lent By reason of her sweet environment. A cord of silver is the foaming stream, Which winds from mountain top with flashing gleam, Lacing the vestment of her bosom pure, Holding the grass and moss and fern secure, Singing, the while, a cadence soft and low, Down to the sea from regal crest of snow, Kissing the royal redwoods as they rest A boutonniere upon her lovely breast. 28 THE OF THE REEL. There is music in the woodland When the matin breezes blow Through the forest trees that shadow The fresh river s rippling flow; Where the golden sunbeams softly Through the leafy branches steal, And the angler s ear is gladened By the whirring of the reel. Do you love the mountain valleys? Do you love afar to roam, Where on rocks the mountain river Beats its wavelets into foam? Come with me then in the morning, With your rod and boots and creel, And we ll angle for the artists That make music on the reel. 29 BEAUTIES OF NATURE. Up amid the peaks that glisten With eternal robes of snow, Which, kissed by warm sun, furnish Life to shrub and flower below; W 7 here its waters laugh and gambol, Shouting loud peel after peel, We will wait, and watch, and listen For the music of the reel. There are players, skilled and finished, In the art of music s school, But none can play the instrument Of the tribe within the pool. Cast you flies upon the waters, If the pleasure you would feel Which is wakened by the music Flowing from the spinning reel. Now the winds, low through the branches, With slow wingings softly steal, And the striking of the artist Now within the pool you feel. Gently waken now, as echoes, The soft touches of the breeze, And the artist in the river Strikes upon the piercing keys. How the music hums and quavers! Oh! the joyous thrill you feel, As, awakened from its slumbers, Sings with glee the whirling reel! Joys there may be that will equal Those, which thus, we all may feel, But to me there s none that s better Than the music of the reel. BEAUTIES OF NATURE. There is no beauty like the rose; The lily, oh, how passing fair! The violet all sweetness knows; The mountain brook has not a care. THE BURNING OF MT. TAMALPAIS. All over the mountain, the seasons, With Time s fleeting shuttle of hours, Had woven a robing of beauty, By aid of the sunshine and showers. The grasses which covered the valleys, The bright flowers which bloomed in the glen, A paradise formed in the woodlands, Secure from the presence of men. Here grasses and flowers and fern leaves, Rich mosses and wild vines that run Out from the cool shaded places, To drink in the light of the sun, Displayed the fine skill of the artist, Whose rich, indestructible mine Yields patterns and colors unnumbered; Perfection in work and design! Rich forests of pine and of cedar, Clothed all of the gorges with green, While here and there oak leaves of scarlet, With gold of the aspen were seen. The smilings of Summer had ripened The grasses which grew in the vales; Dry twigs and dead branches had fallen Where hurled by the strength of the gales. All over the old rugged mountain, A dream of security lay; The waves sang a song of rejoicing, The sky was unclouded that day. When down on the mountain a serpent Crept silently out from the dell; Its writhing form hissing and growing; Imbued with the spirit of hell. THE BURNING OF MT. TAMAI.PAIS. This serpent of flame, in its anger, Fanned fierce by the breath of the wind,. Swept up through the valleys and gorges; About every object entwined, Clasped rude the fair rose in its splendor, Which gladdened the eye with its bloom;; One touch, and its beauty was ashes, One breath, and the air was its tomb! The demons of fire full of madness Swept on with white heat in their flame;. Unknown was the spirit of Pity, And Mercy? They knew not the name! The song birds grew suddenly silent, As up from the valleys below Was wafted the roar of the conflict, Beneath the black flag of the foe. The wild stag afar the flame scented; Sprang up from the carpet of green, And whistled a challenge, defiant, To the foe which as yet was unseen. The startled doe tremblingly followed, The spotted fawn close by her side; Ye gods! what a beautiful picture, As over the mountain they glide! The mountain, denuded of beauty, Now stands as a great blackened tower;. A symbol alone in its sadness, Of sturdy, invincible power. The future is brightened with promise, The sunshine, the mists, and the rain, Will woo into life brighter beauties, Than those by fire demons slain. All men are but twigs and crude branches, The source of the plant is unseen; Aye, so is the fruit e en the blossom Is yet but suggested, I ween. What lies in the new life, I wonder, The life which the future will bring? What thoughts will then thrill to emotion,. What songs will the future lips sing? 32 CALIFORNIA S OLD YEAR. HAIL AND FAREWELL. Do you hear those feeble footsteps, As the Old Man totters by? Do you hear his labored breathing And his melancholy sigh? Tis the Old Year slowly dying, His remaining hours are few; For him now the winds are sighing: Good-bye, 1892. Listen! the blue-bells are ringing, And the lilies blow their horn; Listen! the wild birds are singing, For another year is born! The fresh grasses grow more greenly, Nature sounds a jubilee, And the blue skies smile serenely: Welcome, 1893 ! CALIFORNIA S OLD YEAR. The Old Year dies to-night! Elsewhere, the robe of snowy white; FJsewhere, the parian wreath and crown The heavens let fall so lightly down; But here, beside his bed of death, Is perfumed breath. The hills are bright, and sweet the air, The flowers are springing everywhere; The dear Old Year will find a tomb Beneath fresh grass and banks of bloom His form the earth will sweetly fold In green and gold. 33 THE AUTOGRAPH OF GOD. The day was Summer s. All about me rose The terraced peaks and domes of mountains grand. The rushing river loudly roared and beat Its crystal waters into milk-white foam, Flinging them aloft in sparkling fountains That, in sun or shade, revealed a beauty All their own. I clambered along its banks, Now the great mountains closed on either hand, With but the river s foaming line between, While from the mountains steep and rugged walls, Set in the lofty niches, here and there, A stately pine or twisted cedar grew, Unvisited, save by the fearless birds, Where, unmolested, they could find a home, Which Nature had reserved for them alone. Beyond, the mountains wavered back apace, And there was set a little verdured glen, Grass-covered, and grown o er with lordly pines, While, on the other hand, the river s course, Half-circling, beat against a mighty wall Which rose until it towered the very skies, A veritable king and sentinel ! The river laughed and leaped in torrents wild, Winding its foaming form adown the gorge. From sky-land, where the snows and clouds conjoined, Gave to it life and whitened lips of song. Lo! as I gazed, there came above its fount A mountain of the sky, which rose in haste And spread above the stream its darkened form. The low winds, whispering softly through the pines Now grew to louder tones, swaying the boughs Until they lashed and intertwined their forms, Brushing their spiral cones and needles green From off their stems, and hurling them in showers Upon the foaming river and the green, With which the glen was carpeted. The organ of the sky with grandeur rolled 34 EVENING IN THE HILIvS. In thrilling tones its music down the gorge, And then across the bosom of the cloud The brilliant lightning traced its crooked way. When, like a dazzling sheet of pearls, the rain Unrolled from cloud to peak, a brilliant scroll, On which, in colors indescribable, Appeared, written with golden pencil of the sun, The fresh and dazzling autograph of God! EVENING IN THE HILLS. . Softly Night s mantle drapes the distant hills And lies in darker folds within the vales ; Like silver cords the foaming mountain rills In muffled voicings tell the woodland tales. The crimson pencil of the dying sun Paints weirdly all the mountain tops and sky ; Then bids good-bye to peaks, one after one, Which slowly fade from sight of mortal eye. The tall pines on the lofty mountain side Blend slowly in one solid phalanx dark ; The shadows from about still nearer glide And halt but at the camp-fire s blazing mark. Strange voices fill the earth and all the air ; Night s children all about us dance and sing ; Their Queen is Conqueror ! they all declare, More potent than the day s most gorgeous King. THE HONEST WORSHIPER. Man dwelling with his fellowmen Would honor on himself confer; Alone with Nature only then Is he an honest worshiper. 35 MY HARP. While wand ring about in the meadow one morning, A harp, long neglected, by chance there I found; Attuned were its strings, which awoke without warning, And lo, from them came a sweet musical sound! Enchanted I listened, the music increasing, And oh, what a joy to my heart it still brings, As ever rich melody flows without ceasing, As wander soft winds o er its magical strings. A lark, mounting high in the blue sky, was singing In rythmical measures, clear, fervent and strong. The notes from its beak, while it upward was winging, Flowed back in a beautiful ripple of song. The cords of the harp were in tune with the wild bird, And throbbed neath the weight of a melody pure; No song to my heart like the music I then heard In mem ry twill live while my life shall endure. That beautiful morn, oh, I ne er shall forget it, The meadow with cowslips and violets sweet; The clear, silver brook winding peacefully through it, The song-bird which rose from the grass neath my feet. The bird in the picture is evermore singing; I feel the sweet breath of that June morning blown, And hear the rich notes of that melody ringing, And know that the harp which I found was my own. 36 WINTER IN NEW ENGLAND. MUSIC. At early morn a happy, laughing child, With notes of mirth, filled all the air with song, Which rang out with a freedom, careless wild, As Summer hours passed merrily along. All, all was mirth; no notes of sympathy As from a heart deep-stirred for others woe W T as heard. Without this strain of melody The music was morn s blush to day-god s glow As slowly opening bud to flower full-blown, As tiny shrub to acorn-tree full grown. The hours flew on; a cloud shut out the sun A cloud of sorrow, charged with bitter pain; A minor strain awoke, thenceforth to run, As sighing winds and softly murmuring rain, Or, song-notes dipped in waves of human tears, Flowing from heart all bruised and bleeding torn By thorns which line the path of later years, And weight of sorrows grievous to be borne. And there was music then; each note of song Trembled with weight of melody so sweet That all who listened would the strain prolong, And wished the singer the sweet song repeat. WINTER IN NEW ENGLAND. Cold blows the wind a chilling blast; Dull, ashen clouds the sky o ercast; From North to South, from East to West, From Morn til Night, The storm-king weaves o er Nature s breast A robe of white. From out the dark and stormy cloud, Old Boreas blows the whitening shroud; In trumpet blasts, sharp, fierce, and loud, He rules the hour; Cold, cruel, heartless, seeming proud To show his pow r. 37 WINTER IN NEW ENGLAND. The "Bees of Winter," day and night, Swarm through the air in wild delight; A pleasing, aye! enchanting sight, In coming down, The vales to robe in spotless white The hills to crown. The laughter of the flowing rills No more the air with music fills; The grinding of the water-mills No more is heard, And hushed are all the merry trills Of woodland bird. The streams and lakes, from shore to shore, Are spanned by seamless bridges o er, Polished and smooth as marble floor, O er which we glide On bars of steel, above the roar Of muffled tide. Soft parian wreaths festoon the trees With decorations all to please, Til, shaken by the passing breeze, Or kissed by sun, They join the streamlets, by degrees Their course to run. A silence in the forest lies And filleth all the sombre skies; A universal death denies All, save a tomb, To every fond, sweet, glad surprise Of woodland bloom. But deep beneath the cloak of snow, Down in their silent beds below, The flowers are sleeping, and we know That from this tomb They soon will spring with freshened glow Of life and bloom. NEW-YEAR S MORNING. ELUSIVE SONG. At morn, at noon, at twilight tide, All times and everywhere, Echoes of song about me glide On the delusive air. And now and then a note or two Falls clearly on my ear, Then dies away in ether blue, And is no longer here. I try to catch the merry notes, But trembling, as with fear, A silence falls on fairy throats Whenever I draw near. While lying neath the apple tree, In half awakened dream, I hear the sweetest melody Floating on sunlight s beam. NEW-YEAR S MORNING. The purpling footsteps of the morn Now in the East appear, And herald that again is born Another glad New Year! That, in the land beyond the sea, The gods in power awoke, And from the vast eternity Another year bespoke! And will Time never, never cease? \Vill evening follow morn? As fast as one shall find release, Another one be born? Will we poor midges of an hour Mere moths about the flame Clothed with a little transient power, Exist but in a name? A MOUNTAIN PICTURE. I ve a picture and a poem Ever present in my mind, It has beauty and enchantment Only known unto its kind; Tis a picture in the mountains, When the balmy breath of June, Mid the lofty pines and cedars, Plays for all a magic tune. A blue lake, calm and placid, Typifying perfect rest, As it cradles in its bosom The tall mountain s snowy crest From its mirror is reflected, Unto each observant eye, Every cloud and bird that passes O er the bosom of the sky. 40 THE SNOW-PLANT OF THE SIERRAS. When the early twilight shadows Fall upon this mountain lake, And the sportive trout, in leaping, Ripples on its bosom make, Then I see an angler gently Push out slowly from the shore, And go whipping of the waters Where the shadows fold them o er. Now a trout has struck the bright lure, And the lithe rod swerves and bends, And the reel is singing sweetly As the line its freedom lends And the angler, all expectant, Plays the " beauty " with a skill Which foreshadows that the ending Will mark well a splendid "kill." Thus the picture ever haunts me, With a beauty which, for aye, Holds enchained my brightest fancy By the hours of night and day, And I wish that life forever Could be blessed with such a boon, Where the trout are ever " striking " And the time is always June. THE SNOW-PLANT OF THE SIERRAS. Thou ruddy stranger, who may know Why thou shouldst bloom midst ice and snow? Ice proves to bloom a deadly foe, Is often said, But here thou bloomest with a glow Of flaming red! Lone, frigid flower of frost and storm, Round which the " bees of winter" swarm, Thou seemest ever bright and warm Unto the e}-e; Yet cold as ice is thy red form, Thou blooming lie! WHAT IS POETRY? You ask me what is poetry? Tis evening wind s soft tone Returning from the deep blue sea, Where all day it hath blown. The crimson blush of fleecy cloud At kiss of morning light; Soft evening shades when first the shroud Falls from the hand of Night. The gushing of the mountain rill, The soft wind s whisperings To forests wild, when all is still Save their faint echoings. The murmur of the deep sea waves Complaining to the shore; The wave of grasses o er the graves Of those who are no more. Tis the bright crimson of the skies Melting to purple hue, When daylight softly fades and dies As darkness shades the blue. It is the rose without the thorn, The joy without the pain; The pleasant, peaceful Summer morn After the chilling rain. The song-bird calling to its mate In forest, deep and wild; All beauties which the soul elate The laugh of merry child. The loving smile and tender tone, The glance of woman s eye, Are truest poems ever known Beneath the starry sky. EVENING. Silence reigns supreme about us, And the evening shadows creep Up from hill-environed valley, Where they rally, To enshroud the rugged steep, And to hush the woodland music, Ivulling all the birds to sleep. Off to westward, mark the glamour! Pink and saffron all the sky; Hear, the gorgeous day in dying, Softly sighing, As the low winds flutter by, Coming slowly in from seaward, In the valleys here to lie. Watch the shadows as they deepen Round about the nearer hills; Mark the brooklet s low-voiced singing, And the winging Of the graceful whippoorwills, As they flit like restless spirits O er the meadows and the rills. See! the shining lamps of heaven Pierce the gloom with golden ray, And the silv ry moonbeams streaming O er us gleaming, Chases all the gloom away, Rendering the night more pleasant Than the dazzling hours of day. Hear the chirping of the crickets; See the fire-fly s fitful glow; Now the gentle dew is falling, And the calling Of the katydids below Comes from out the golden willows, Swaying gently to and fro. 43 THE RAIN. Stretched upon the ferns and mosses, Sweet it is at ease to rest; Night resistless is in wooing And the cooing Of her Naiads sweet request Is o erpowering, and we slumber, By their witching presence blest. THE RAIN. A sudden silence fills the air, And then a low-voiced breeze, Soft-winged, steals across the moor And murmurs through the trees. To sheltering groves the song birds flee At boom of heaven s artillery. The dark clouds from the Western sky In unison advance. The storm-king draws his glittering sword- A brilliant, flashing lance; His breath sweeps o er the wood and plain- A veritable hurricane. The sturdy oak sways neath the blast, The lake is lashed to foam, And, in a wild, fierce jubilee, Now rules the raging storm, While o er the woods and verdant plain There falls o er all the welcome rain. 44 TO THE SPORTSMEN OF THE HILLS. I. Ye lovers of the pine-clad hills and lakes, Which mirror every line of heaven s face; Who through the tangled copse of mountains trace The royal game, whose magic presence makes Your being tremble with a sweet desire To win the prize grand trophy of the chase The antlered stag, with eyes a-lit with fire; Noblest of game beneath the rolling sun! Perfection s grace, beyond comparison; Proud as old Lucifer, a lord of kings, His movements seeming less of feet than wings. What grander theme for my poor pen than he? Of sportsmen s paradise the deity. 45 TO THE SPORTSMEN OF THE Yet not of him alone I fain would speak; Naught that exists but in itself is weak; Of things we love, one-half or more is lent From all things forming their environment. The violet w y e love not half so well Elsewhere than in its mossy, fern-clad dell, Where dews bejewel every leaf and thorn, When golden sunbeams paint the scene at morn. The lily blowing from her scented horn The incense of the gods to beauty born, Acknowledged queen of all the floral field, Her throne must sit, or else the scepter yield. Each one must on all other things depend, Or, all would be but one beginning, end. Nature this law of recompense confers; No king could be, without his worshipers. Some are content to learn from others books, But with such wisdom comes the master s ills; The sportsman gleans his lessons from the brooks, And from the everlasting green-clad hills. Nature of all things is the primal source; Go to her fountain-head and wisdom learn. A torpid liver, if not something worse, Affects most minds that from her pages turn. He is a free man who himself sets free; The basest slaves of all boast liberty, Yet never have on earth their souls been stirred By e en the faintest meaning of that word. For liberty and light and truth are one The grandest trinity beneath the sun; And he more near is free from base alloy Who can the most of these the most enjoy. Pure liberty of action and of thought Are priceless gems, and ne er too dearly bought; The hills, the plains, the lakes, the mountains high, Are Nature s stores in which these treasures lie. Would you possess these matchless jewels rare? Then mount your steed and to the hills repair. Hark, to the horn! for now its cheering note Upon the morning air in quavers float. 46 RETROSPECTION. II. Ho! for the chase, for the royal chase, With the music of horns and hounds; On a noble steed to take the lead Of them all on the hunting grounds; To feel the blood, a rushing flood, Go bounding, leaping through the veins, And know the field we need not yield While we keep our grip on the reins. Urging our steed to his utmost speed, We sail like a bird on the wing, While the very wind is left behind, Heavy-winged with sounds that ring Up from the dells, like legions of bells, Swelling over the valleys and hills; The echoes rebound with a double sound, Then fade into musical trills. Hard on the pack we follow the track Of the wild game speeding away; Our noble steed increasing his speed At each touch of the spur or flay, Till we see the prize before our eyes, For, behold, it is brought to bay, And now before us panting lies We ve won, huray! huray!! huray!!! RETROSPECTION. When weary and worn with the rowing Against the swift current of Time, Whose billows in anger are showing Their tiger-like spirit of crime In deep, sullen growls all about me Are leaping with snarls upon deck, And glaring in fierceness they mock me, And claim my frail craft for a wreck. Yet, spite of it all, I am fearless, Though catching no gleam from the shore; About me all threatening and cheerless I love to cease pulling the oar. 47 RETROSPECTION. To drift idly backward and leeward; To lie again calmly at rest, Where youth s favored winds blowing seaward Awoke fondest hopes in my breast; Again through the woodlands and lea-lands To wander in peace all alone, Or, down on the bright golden sea-sands, To list to the wild billows moan; To lie in the meadows and smother Regrets, with the clover blooms sweet, Where often in youth, with another, Love rendered our wand rings complete. There again to watch the kine nipping The grasses bejeweled with dew, The barn-swallows gracefully dipping In the waves where the pond-lilies grew; To steal o er the lawn neath the arches, Where clambered the sweet blooming vine, With footsteps to zephyr-played marches, While drinking of memory s wine. If years, with their burden of sorrows, Do naught but endear the fond past, How sweet will be all of the morrows With old scenes preserved till the last? How painfully sweet to my vision Are all the loved scenes of my youth; I knew them when every decision \Vas founded alone upon truth; Before the foul dust of long travel Had grimed its way into my soul ; Before the rough stones and hard gravel I d trod, on the way to the goal. I love my youth s innocent viewing, Forgetting the pain and the tears, Which followed my young life s undoing The rape of my innocent years. 48 NEW-YEAR REFLECTIONS. One year older, one year more Added to those past and gone; Climbing toward the second score, What a weight bears every one! Time engulfs the joy and tear, Plucks the thistle and the rose; Knows no pity knows no fear As it ever onward flows. Every morn, however bright, Is but fleeting as the wave Flashes of a passing light, Guiding travelers to the grave. Every step wherever trod, Every pulse and every breath, Nears our home beneath the sod Urn of universal death. Mern ry holds but pleasures few, Sorrows with us long remain; Joys fade like the morning dew, Griefs engender lingering pain. Thus, through shifting of the years, Heap the burdens of distress; Fall more freely, Sorrow s tears, Heavier grows our loneliness. " I am dying," spake the year, Dim, uncertain was his sight; Trembled oft the saddened tear, As approached his final night. " I have sorrowed, I have joyed, I have felt my bosom glow With a warmth no fear alloyed; But now drifts alone the snow." 49 THE DEATH OF SUMMER. Curtained grows his failing eye, Faint and fainter comes his breath; Moans his last despairing sigh, Now the Old Year meets his death. Breaks the morning bright and clear, Fresh and joyous, clear and bright Time appears all hearts to cheer, With the blessings of delight. May it be that for us all, When our year of life shall close We shall step out from the pall Bright as New Year s morning rose; This life prove a training school, Where the heart and head are taught Noble actions, and the rule L/earn d that leads to higher thought. THE DEATH OF SUMMER. Heard ye that sigh Go by? It seemed to travel toward the sky. Methought it said: "Lo, she is dead; The power of Summer s life has fled Dimmed is the lustre of her eye." Her lovely days And ways Die mid yonder sunset haze; Unto the sight Her tender light Fading in folds of Autumn night, A peaceful beauty rare displays. The East was bright With light And in the West retreating night; To me they said: " Weep for the dead, The Autumn with the earth is wed, Look and behold, we speak aright." THE DEATH OF SUMMER. And it was true, There blew More chilling winds than Summer knew; To her their breath Was instant death; To me their mournful voices saith: "Her spirit fades with yonder blue." The roses sigh And die; Their leaves all torn and withered lie Upon the ground; A solemn sound Fills all the airy space around A sobbing, wierd, heart-touching cry. The lilies pray To-day: "Oh, let us here no longer stay; With Summer s sun Our work is done, Our race of life is fully run, Oh, bear us to our tomb away." The woodland choir Retire, To sing no more is their desire; No cherry note From feathered throat Upon the balmy air will float Till Summer s smile shall it inspire. Some morn divine, With mine, I trust her spirit may entwine And live for aye, Where lustrous day Shall chase all thoughts of gloom away; Where comes of death no warning sigh. THE PROPOSAL. October, dear hazy old fellow, I love your sun s golden beams, As over the forest and meadow His mellow light lazily streams, Throwing over the mountains a mantle So mystic, so subtle and fine That it adds a new charm to all Nature, And robes it in beauty divine. You bring to my mind many treasures From memory s hallowed store; They are dear, yet a tinge of your sadness Makes them dearer a thousand times more: For your soft breezes seem almost human, As they echo the sigh of my heart, That the dearest, best love of the human Is formed here on earth but to part. I thank thee, dear old October, For reviving those scenes of the past; They are part of my soul s dearest treasures, And forever and ever shall last. The waters of Leathe shall not o er them The waves of oblivion cast; They shall dwell fresh and green in my mem ry, Forever present, yet past. October, can you keep a secret? Will you keep it and not tell the breeze? For he s such a fun-loving fellow He d surely be telling the trees, And the leaves would be sure to o erhear it And down to the meadows they d go, And soon the meadows would be telling Their beautiful mantle of snow. NOVEMBER. And the snowflake as it mounts on the sunbeam To its home far away in the cloud Would soon be telling the thunder, And the thunder would echo it loud; And the lightning would surely be listening, And thus my secret would steal, And one flash of his dazzling brightness Would all of my secret reveal. So, you ll keep it, won t you, October? I know you ll be true to the trust, And tell only her, October, Tell her only you must, For I know she loves you, October, For your loveliness, not for your name, And for this you may tell her, October, I wish you and I were the same. There now, go tell her my secret, Tell her tis not fancy but real, And what I have spoken is only A very small part that I feel. Do you pray, dear October? then let us kneel, And of our heavenly Father request, That, whatever her answer may be, That she may richly be blest. NOVEMBER. Robed in sackcloth and in ashes, Is the form of Nature now; Her eye no more with gladness flashes Sorrow sits upon her brow. Mournful, weary, heavy-hearted; She fills the air with tender sighs Fills all the air with tears and sighs Summer s glory is departed, With yonder azure sunset dies. Deep gloom and sadness covers all, The fields and flowers are crisp and sear; The forest leaves now fade and fall, While feeble grows the dying year. TO THE MOURNING DOVE. What renders thee so desolate? Why these sad notes, so soft and low? Has cruel, unrelenting fate Decreed it shall be ever so; Through light and shade Thy song be made Of notes that only speak of woe? Why this refrain, this sad lament? Art thou too weighted down with sin, And hast become a penitent, Hoping some heaven to enter in? By price of tears Called out by fears Hope thou God s favor, too, to win? By what arch sin from their first state Was thy race from their Eden hurled, And doomed to roam disconsolate O er this death-stricken, dreary world? Doth thy sweet breast Hope for a rest Where Summer skies are e er unfurled? THE BURIAL OF SUMMER. A world wherein no notes of woe Are ever heard, but music sweet As chime of bells or brooklet s flow Doth ears enchanted ever greet ? Loved bird below, Beyond the flow Of death s dark stream, I trust, we ll meet. THE BURIAL OF SUMMER. Autumn has come with its funeral train, Bearing the corpse of sweet Summer along, While the mourning clouds great tear-drops rain, And the winds are piping a mournful song. The King from the Northland sent out his hosts, Lovely Summer to conquer and slay; Silent they came as an army of ghosts, Traveling only by night all the way. As Summer lay sleeping, they poisoned her breath With the crystaline poisons they bear; Then clammy and cold lay sweet Summer in death, Terror-chilled was the grief-stricken air. The roses for love of her smiles quickly died, The fair lilies in grief bowed their heads; The velvety grasses are withered and dried Where the life-chilling breath o er them spreads. Alas! alas! that sweet Summer should die. That her warm, rosy lips should grow cold, That curtained should be her bright, beaming eye, Her rich garments be flecked with the mold. That all her bright smiles should fade in a day, Her sweet story of love be untold, Her laughter should die in sobbings away With the damp chilling winds of the wold. 55 AMID GOD S GREATER THOUGHTS. I stood upon the mountain s crest, And looked across the vales, And saw the rivers rushing down Their steep and winding trails. Foaming and leaping from the peaks, All covered o er with snow; Kissed by the warmth of Summer s breath Into a crystal flow. Some placid lakes like silver shone, Beneath the evening sun, And some were like to flaming fire; A beauty, every one! The verdured valleys far below, Were wrapped in gloaming deeps, Though sunshine gilded all the spires, And bathed in light the steeps. And thus, thought I, it is in life, For all who truth would know; All, all must climb from out the depths The shadows lie below! Climb up the steep and rocky way, Climb on and up, and learn, From these grand, towering thoughts of God, All littleness to spurn. TOMB OF HELEN HUNT JACKSON. Our daughter who stood on the brow of Parnassus, And flung to the world her bright jewels of song, Hath lain down her harp, and no more will enchant us, With the notes of her music so fervent and strong; No more will the scent of her heart s ardent roses, Be thrown on the mountain air, careless and wild, For here on its bosom now sweetly reposes All that was earthly of fair Nature s sweet child. Each peak in the range of these lofty mountains. Each wild rocky glen, and each cataract s tone; Each silvery spray of these wild dashing fountains, She loved, and their spirit made part of her own. She wooed as a lover the voices of Nature, And drew from her bosom the thoughts of her soul, Caressing in fondness each wild mountain feature, Caught all the bright gleamings which over them roll. Rest well, gentle spirit, the tones of thy mother Soft lullabies singing are heard for thee now; The brooklet thy sister, the mountain thy brother, Are weaving bright chaplets to cover thy brow. Rest well, while the winds softly breathe o er thy pillow ^olian strains mid the boughs of the pines, While down by the streamlet the bright golden willow, In sorrow, its gentle form sweetly inclines. 57 TOMB OF HELEN HUNT JACKSON. II. Tis fitting that she calmly lie On this enchanted spot, Where stranger s footsteps passing by, Its peace disturbeth not; Where morning sun shall sweetly shine Through clustering boughs of waving pine, By none on earth forgot, For she, a mountain flower, whose bloom Still sweetly lingers round her tomb. Tis sweet indeed to visit her, As here in peace she lies, Alone in her wild sepulcher Beneath the mountain skies; To place a fragment of God s thought Upon her tomb; twas these that taught Her noble mind to rise Above the clouds and storms of earth, To regions of a purer birth. Breathe softly winds, breathe faint and low, Over the mountain s brow; By moon s pale rays, by day-god s glow Attune thy accents now; And morning winds, bring ye sweet chimes And breath of prayer from other climes; For earth will not allow A flower so pure to here decay, And waste its sweetness all away. This gate called death she did not fear, But deemed it just the way That leads to loved ones grown more dear In fields of endless day; But the to-morrow veiled from sight By sombre shadows called to-night, Which fade at death away; Beyond the tomb, could we but see, God s love lights all eternity. 58 THE FONTAINK-QUI-BOUII.LK. There in the fair light of His love Forever more to sing, Where is no night, in realms above, Her soul is blossoming ; Where every joy of mortal worth Is blessed with an eternal birth, On wave of spirit wing, Forever more to upward rise And heaven find one glad surprise. THE FONTAINE-QUI-BOUILLE. Down from the mountains to the West Springing from out their snow-capped crest A merry dashing streamlet flows, W T hich in the sunlight sparkling glows From morn till eve, from eve till dawn, As gleefully it murmurs on, In tones of joy which never cease, As o er each rocky precipice It leaps and laughs the hours away, From Spring til Winter s chilling day. Along this streamlet s winding bed, Grandeur and Beauty firmly wed, Present to the observing eye, Unequaled charms beneath the sky. On either side the mountains rise Until they seem to reach the skies; No grander path on earth than this Which leads to their metropolis A mountain on whose hoary head Stern Winter ever makes his bed, And breathes upon the world below His cooling breath from drifts of snow. 59 THE FONTAINE-QUI-BOUII^E. No pen can write, no tongue can tell, The beauties of a mountain dell; The magic glories which there lie, All power of speech or brush defy, For Nature s voices in each tone Reveal a beauty all her own; And man can only faintly feel Her best thoughts through his bosom steal, When her sweet, subtile power to bless, Is felt alone in quietness, Which at a word do take alarm, And lose their best and truest charm. If you would know her sweetest mood, Woo her alone in solitude, Where by the ear no sound is heard Save rustling leaf by soft wind stirred, Or thrilling notes of some wild bird, Whose merry song, in harmony With liquid voice of mountain stream, Echoes along from rock to tree, So softly that they ever seem, A memory of some faint dream. Such spots are found each Summer day. Along the Fontaine-qui-bouille, Which throws aloft its silver spray As, o er the granite boulders dashing, It gambols on so light and free, In merry mood its waters splashing, In tones of purest melody; While the great mountains ever throw Their shadows o er the path below, Which winds along the pleasant stream, To spots more fair than poet s dream: Their perfect beauty never marred, Where Heloise and Abelard, Or kindred spirits, such as they, Might pass the sultry days away. 60 CHEYENNE CANON. There velvet grasses, pure and sweet, Fit carpets weave for angels feet; Where blooms the wild, red passion rose, Which o er the granite boulders creeping, Gives unto every wind that blows Rich odors, which their onward sweeping Carries to each, to one and all, Whose pathways through these mountains fall. Amid these scenes the air is rife With ruddy health the rose of life; That gift supreme, and all divine, W T hich thrills the heart like sparkling wine; By which to mortals here is given The power to taste the joys of heaven. CHEYENNE CANON. Along thy dim-lit aisles I tread, And listen to the songs e er sung. By crystal waters, which here thread Their way, thy cast-off crowns among; Strange thoughts unspoken o er me steal, And to myself, myself reveal. Who am I? W T hat is this I see? An inner world I ne er have known? The soul of some sweet mystery, Conies o er me here with thee alone; A voiceless spirit wings the glen vSoul of the mountain of Cheyenne! Here Nature s silent voices speak; Would all their melody might feel! Like notes from spirit songster s beak, Music of feeling they reveal. All words are harsh and meaningless Compared with Nature s power to bless. Here, in thy shadows, soft winds creep, And tall pines pierce the mellow sky; The golden-fingered willows weep, And silver streamlets murmur by! A hush falls on the lips of men Within thy aisles, oh! grand Cheyenne! 61 THE MAID TO THE OCEAN. THE MOUNTAIN BROOK. From the fountain, In the mountain, Rushing ever to the sea, Always, ever, And forever, Voicing purest melody. Glancing, dancing, foaming, prancing, To a music all its own; With a motion as entrancing As its magic mellow tone. Night enshrouded, Day beclouded, Silvered with the moonlight s gleani; In the twilight, Neath the starlight, Or the sunlight s golden beam; Nothing evermore can calm its Ceaseless efforts to unfold, The pure spirit speaking from its White-lipped waters, sweet and cold. THE MAID TO THE OCEAN. Roll gently, ye billows, Ye deep rolling billows Roll gently, roll gently, I pray, As light swaying willows, As sad, weeping willows; In soft breeze of bright Summer day For over the ocean, The deep, restless ocean, There saileth a ship for this shore; Be gentle thy motion, Create no commotion Til its voyage safely be o er. I now ask it, oh, sea, Oh, thou deep, heaving sea, For that ship bears my lover true; Bring him safely to me And forever will we Be grateful and thankful to you. 62 THE OLD SEA CAVE. I wandered to-day to the old sea cave, Where often my love and I Have gazed with delight on the breaking wave, As it dashed its foam on high; As it shouted aloud an anthem grand, In tones that were deep and strong; It said to each heart in the wide, wide world: "Let your love be like my song." Then our hearts were light and our faith was strong, In our love so sweet and true; We said it should be like the ocean s song, Forever the same, yet new; We said it should be like the ocean wide, And the rocks upon the shore, I the world to her, she to me a bride, Forever and evermore. But the storms came on and the billows rolled Through the cave down by the sea; As the waves beat fierce and the winds blew cold, They swept my love from me. Oh, my sweet love, and my dear, dear love, So lost in the raging storm, Come back to niy heart from the sky above, W T ith thy love so true and warm. 63 THE BIRTH OF DAY. Come back, come back, to the old sea cave, And list to the billows roar; Come back to my heart as the ocean wave Comes back to the waiting shore. Then a soul-voice said to my anguished soul, Twas my love of long ago: My heart shall be thine while the sea waves roll, Aye! after they cease to flow." THE BIRTH OF DAY. The lake! the lake, the mountain lake, invitingly now lies, A liquid gem of beauty rare, beneath the Summer skies. The wind s low winging fans my cheek and whispers "Come away To scenes amid the mountains, where first falls the light of day." There, where the skies the mountains kiss, are pleasures without pain; And tangled through the leaves and grass, the Sun-sprite s golden skein; And when the gloaming shadows fall, at holy hour of eve, The merry Wood-nymphs, through them all, the silvery moonbeams weave. When morning breaks did st ever see the morning s face at birth, Where cloudless skies are linked about the giants of the earth? The blush aye, fairer than the rose the infant there appears, While his fair brow fond mother Night baptizes with her tears. The sun comes on the infant Morn arises on its wings, And to each gulch and valley deep a robe of beauty flings; The tears night gave at parting there are turned to jewels now, And flash resplendent royal gems studding a royal brow. The crystal streams now laugh and leap, babbling with merry glee; All life bounds up with joyous step, from slumber s fetters free; Morn, now full-fledged in blue and gold, mounts up the shining way, As Night, the chrysalis, unfolds the butterfly of Day. " r OCEAN 1 COURSERS BEAUTIFUL MEADOWS. OCEAN COURSERS. Down by the sea where the strong coursers thunder, As galloping on they come in with the tide; Snorting and shaking their white manes in wonder, That freedom to them by the shore is denied; Charging and champing they hurl themselves boldly Gainst the gray rocks, or leap over the sand, Until weakened, exhausted, and shuddering coldly, They bow with regret to the power of the land. Back to the great deep they creep with emotion, Nursing their anger aroused by defeat; May God help the ship which, out in mid-ocean, These wild, angry coursers should happen to meet; For there they may rise where their power is unbroken, And rule with destruction again and again; How many grand vessels have gone down unspoken By aught that returned to the knowledge of men! Far from all aid, at these wild coursers mercy, Tossed like a shell by the force of their will; Trembling a moment, and then in the blue sea, The vessel goes down, and forever is still. On sweep the coursers still leaping and calling For vengeance gainst all who would rule o er the wave; Their voice, when in anger, the bravest appalling At thought that defeat means a watery grave. BEAUTIFUL MEADOWS. Beautiful meadows, down by the river, Dotted with daisies and buttercups sweet; Jeweled with dewdrops which sparkle and quiver When night, before morning, beats hasty retreat. Beautiful meadows, beautiful night; Beautiful, beautiful morning light. WHEN ROVER DIED. When Rover died, our childish hearts were filled With a wilder grief than we yet had known. Our tears fell fast; we had not yet been skilled To sorrow hide; the fallow ground unsown Of that distrust which harvests but deceit; No tares yet grew amid the tender wheat. For honest grief we sobbed and cried, When Rover died. W T hen Rover died, the pleasant Spring-time sun Shed o er the hills its wealth of virgin gold; But sorrow palled our hearts, and every one Was truly sad; a friend had left the fold A friend for love of whom our every heart W T as wrung with pain, at thought that we should part. Our bosoms heaved with sorrow s tide, When Rover died. Calmly he lay upon the grassy lawn, Silent, as if but sleeping out his night; We wondered that he woke not with the dawn, We could not reconcile death with the sight Of our loved playmate lying there so still; We hoped he would awake, we said, " He will." And thus for comfort vainly tried, When Rover died. We buried him down by the garden wall, At sunset s hour; out from the cooling shade The whip-poor-will sent forth its mournful call As if the cadence of its notes were made To harmonize with hearts that mourned, while night, With kindly hand, veiled from our sight The scene, the sense of peace denied, When Rover died. 66 THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. The gods to thee, oh, mountain stream, No thought of beauty have denied; Fairer thou art than angels dream, As ever on thy waters glide. Thy every motion is of grace; Thy voicing music s perfect tone; Fair is the beauty of thy face, As fair as Beauty s very own. PLEASURES A-FIEID. I bound to greet thee, oh, my love! Oh, love of mine, so sweet and fair, Within thy home, in glen and grove, Where incense ladens all the air! Maid of the hills and mountains grand, Pearl of the land from sea to sea; Thy charms the love of all command Thy pure, unsoiled virginity! When worn and weary with the strife, That fills the city s busy mart That withers all the flowers of life, And renders sore and tired the heart, I turn to thee for rest and peace, Oh, fount of joy and perfect bliss; In thee I find from care release vSweet comfort in thy cooling kiss. Emblem of purity and truth, Healer of sorrow and of pain, With thee I find the joys of youth Revived and living now again! Thy joys far sweeter now appear Than vista of expectancy Though radiant, it is less dear Than that of thy sweet memory. PLEASURES A-FIELD. W T hen the whistle of the quail Trembles on the quiet air, Buckle on your shooting mail, To the open fields repair! It is pleasure Without measure Thus in leisure Without care On the hillside, in the stubble, To shake off all earthly trouble, And all foes of peace to dare. There is nothing for the liver Half so good it cannot fail To arouse it bless the giver Of the sport of shooting quail. 68 MY CIGAR. The fragrant smoke from my cigar Curls up in wreaths of blue; Idly my thoughts drift now afar From old scenes to the new. My youthful hours I live again, Old visions come to me; Freedom from care without a pain Is drawn from memory. CHORUS :-There is no hour so sweet to me As when I live afar In those loved days of memory, While smoking my cigar. It serves to sooth the cares of life, And banish every pain; It lulls to ease all thoughts of strife And warms life s chilling rain. No aid so potent now to me, No friend so good and true; Would that all hearts could float as free As its light waves of blue. CHORUS :-There is no hour so sweet to me As when I live afar In those loved days of memory, While smoking my cigar. I envy not the lord his wealth, Though poverty my lot; No blessing adds to ruddy health When troubles are forgot. True magic balm for every heart Wooer of visions fair Before thy charms cares all depart, And dwell not anywhere. CHORUS :-There is no hour so sweet to me As when I live afar In those loved days of memory, While smoking my cigar. 69 WHEN THE JACK-SNIPE COMES. When the Jack-snipe comes, We will be Off to meet him in the marshes By the sea; There amid the reeds and rushes, Which our every footstep crushes, While the murky water gushes To our knee, We will be, When the Jack- snipe comes. When the warm rains come In the Spring, And the migratory birds are On the wing; Then of pleasures there are none, Like to those with dog and gun, Where the sluggish waters run, To the sea, Dreamily, When the Jack- snipe comes. What sport we will have By and by, W T hen the sombre shades are drifting O er the sky; In the falling of the year, When the leaves are brown and sear, Then the sport we love so dear We will try, By and by, When the Jack- snipe 70 TO THE OCEAN. When the leaves turn brown, Mark the day; To the marshes and the meadows We ll away; When the mallards southward fly, And the lilies droop and die, With the Summer s farewell sigh We will say, Bless the day, When the Jack- snipe comes. "Scaipe, scaipe!" hear the note Of the game^ Ever thus from marsh and meadows Just the same. See him twisting in his flight, To the sportsman what a sight! Filling with a strange delight All his frame, Else he s tame, When the Jack- snipe comes. TO THE OCEAN. Oh! ocean deep, Why dost thou weep? And mourn and sob and never sleep? Is there no rest For thy poor breast, Unanswered still thy heart s request? Must Sorrow s shades e er o er thee creep? THE DRYAD S CHAMBER. I know a magic chamber where The Queen of all the fairies dwells, Within the mountains where the air Is perfumed by the asphodels. Where blue-bells ring their sweetest chimes, At morn, at noon, at twilight dim ; Where the arbutus clings and climbs, And waters voice a constant hymn. The wild rose clambers o er its walls, The ivy wraps its columns round, Adorning all its stately halls With grace that nowhere else is found. The rocks moss-painted at the fount, Are sprayed by filmy veils of mist, Cooling this chamber as they mount To cloud-land, by the sunbeams kissed. Springing from out the rocky urns, Set in the niches here and there, Nodding and swaying are the ferns, With every passing breath of air. Depending from the ceiling green, Are the deep-red laburnum bells, And, shining brightly in between, The dog-star pure its beauty tells. All o er its tessellated floor Kind Nature weaves for it each Spring, From entrance unto exit door, A flower-bespangled carpeting. There golden mango-apples grow, And songbirds warble by the stream ; The whole designed, I feel and know, From Cupid s most enchanting dream ! 72 CATHEDRA!, SPIRES. And there the oriole is heard Full oft to carol forth his lay ; What minstrel sweeter than this bird, Which Zephyr rocks the livelong day ? A ball of gold across the shade He seems, as here and there beheld, Flitting athwart the dreamy glade, And through the leafy emerald. Oft there I love to ponder well, The lessons from the hand divine ; To catch the force of Beauty s spell, And sip of Nature s richest wine. Oh, Cupid ! Cupid ! would that I Might ever dream such dreams of bliss, For heaven must be very nigh To such enchanting spots as this. CATHEDRAL SPIRES- YOSEMITE. No foot has pressed those stairways dizzy, No hand has touched those silent bells; No mortal sacristan there busy Silence alone the story tells. Those aisles untrod, save by the spirits, Whose mortal forms rest neath the sod They only have the power to hear its Chimes of God. 73 THE CALIFORNIA QUAIL. SPRING. She comes, she comes, the sweet, young bride, In royal robes most rich and fair; Her heralds, with a conscious pride, With sweetest music fill the air. The softest robes enfold her form, The brightest jewels deck her brow; Her smile destroys the Winter s storm, And wreaths the land in beauty now. Upon her cheeks the roses bloom, And violets fill her tender eyes, And on her evenings early gloom, The odor of sweet incense lies; She smiles, and sighs, and laughs, and weeps All in a day, her changing mood With fleeting wing her bosom sweeps, And thoughts of peace and rest exclude. THE CALIFORNIA QUAIL. The sportsmen of the Golden State Pursue thee to a cruel fate, From morning bright till evening late, With trained canine, They tramp thy haunts with thoughts elate On thee to dine. They hear thy whistling call, " Whee-we," Echoing oft, in accents free, From mountain ranges to the sea, As from thy throat Issues thy hailing melody In quavering note. In vain thou seekest cover deep, Thy hiding place thou canst not keep; The very air thy odors steep, And thus betray Thy presence when thou wake or sleep, By night or day. 74 REFLECTIONS. The sportsman s dog with nostrils fine, Scents out thy home and gives the sign, And they together thus combine To do thee ill; But thou full oft escape design Of scent and skill. REFLECTIONS. If men cared more for rod and gun, For running streams and sparkling fountains, For balmy breezes golden sun, Amid the valleys and the mountains, They would be better and more free From sordid care And thoughts that wear The lustre from nobility. If men knew what true pleasures lie Awaiting always for their coming, Where mountains pierce the azure sky And wild birds fill the air with humming, They oft would drop the dross of trade, And for a day Throw care away, And seek the wild woods cooling shade. If men cared less for power and gold, Joy would remain, the heart grow lighter; And pleasure walk with them when old; The path of age be smooth and brighter. Ashes of hope and wrecks of strife Would less endure, And leave secure, The rule of Peace at close of life. The fountain Ponce de Leon sought, Is everywhere, and always flowing \Vith pleasures which cannot be bought, But free to all the wise, who knowing That life is naught, unless each hour Some pleasures know, And that the foe To peace is greed of gold and power. 75 THE SEASONS. Spring, the laughing and debonair Danseuse, with her many suits, Plays a changing and sprightly air Satin slippers and rubber boots ! Storm and sunshine follows her train; Laughter and tears she revels in Sobs as a maid for lover slain; Smiles as the maid who would one win. Wreathed in a maze of golden curls, Bright she beams from the sunny South, Lightly floating in merry whirls Curves bewitching about her mouth! Now she hides neath a "water-proof," Storms and scolds like a termagant; Plays sorry pranks with Trust and Truth Leading coquet of all extant! Trust and Truth with Summer confer, Coming down through a golden sky; Bridle and reins of gossamer, Riding a gorgeous butterfly! Filling the air with odors sweet, From flowery censers swinging free; Lady-slippers encase her feet Her song the soul of harmony. Brushing the gold from off her wings Upon the hills and waving grain; Blessing all with the gifts she flings Freely from off her magic train. With languorous ease she flits along, Or rests in the shade of spreading tree, Content to list to the drowsy song Of the buzzing fly or humble bee. 76 THE SEASONS. Autumn comes with her brush and paints, Flecking the clouds with crimson hue; Painting pictures fit for the saints, On the broad stretch of heaven s blue; Changes the woods from green to brown, Colors the fruits a deeper red ; Gives the maples a golden crown Form to color by her is wed. She throws o er all a mystic veil, Making the earth to truly seem A record of some fairy tale, Or, some sweet thought of poet s dream. She fills the air with tender sighs, And drapes the sun with filmy screen; All flushed and tanned, at rest she lies, The sweetest sight the year hath seen. Winter comes with his reindeers fleet, Over a robe of crystal snow; Encased in furs from head to feet, While arctic winds most fiercely blow. He kills the flowers, he binds the stream, He drives the birds in haste away; He plucks the heat from sunlight s beam A stern old king is Winter gray. The great trees bend before the blast, And fling their bare arms to the sky; A gloom o er all the hills is cast, As he goes driving swiftly by. But all within is bright and warm, While fireside stories speed the hours, Where all secure from Winter s harm May bloom affection s sweetest flowers.. 77 WITH MY OI,D SHOT-GUN. A SUMMER NOON. Soft, mellow skies their arches fling Above us like a sea, Where feathery cloudlets, slow of wing, Are floating dreamily. A mystic veil of royal hue, The distant mountains hood, And, like a robe of silvery blue, Lies on the lake and wood. Deep silence broods o er land and sea; Save meadow brook s soft tone, And drowsy hum of honey-bee, No other sounds are known. WITH MY OLD SHOT-GUN. There may be pleasures greater, but I haven t found them out, In this country where the game birds are a-flying all about, Than to listen in the morning to the whistle of the quail, As it echoes o er the valley and from out the mountain vale; Or to see the ducks a-winging o er the fields and marshes wide, Then alighting in the waters, o er the waves to smoothly glide. Then with buoyant expectations, with the rising of the sun, I love to reap enjoyment with my old shot gun. There s another always with me, trotting ever by my side; To share my every pleasure is his constant care and pride; With expressions of alertness, keen of scent and bright of eye, It is seldom that a game bird undetected is passed by. Now he s trailing up a "runner " that is dodging here and there, See how cautiously he "works" him with a more than human care, How it thrills my soul with pleasure, Lord! this is right royal fun, To bag the gamy, toothsome quail with my old shot gun. 78 A PRIMITIVE ANGLER. On the marshes in the morning, when at first the grayish light Marks the hour -when birds aquatic will begin their early flight; With a silence all about me lying on the lea and lake, As of breathless expectation waiting for the morn to wake; I love to lie and listen for the whistle of the wings, Which the "flappers" when low flying ever with their motion sings. Then the pleasure is unmeasured when the sport is well begun, And I drop the ducks about me with my old shot gun. There s a wing-tipped, wily mallard seeking in the grass to hide, Not another thus his equal will by no one be denied; He would "fool the very devil," is of him a true report, But this will not avail him now, he cannot fool Old Sport! There he plunges in the water, diving low beneath the bank, Pokes his head up where the lilies grow upon the water, rank, But Old Sport goes plunging after and the bird his race has run; Glorious sport this, in the Autumn, with my old shot gun. A PRIMITIVE ANGLER. Her face was a study for chisel or brush, With skin indescribably white; Underneath it the blood, Like a pure crimson flood, Spoke of health and enamored the sight. Her fishing-cap sat on a cluster of curls, Behind and before, just the same; A "killing" cap twas, And my heart took a pause, For her beauty its strength overcame. 79 A PRIMITIVE ANGLER. Her sweet, rosy lips and sea-shell-like ears, Fine-fluted, transparent and thin, Lent a charm to the sight, And enhanced my delight For the prize which I angled to win. I sought by a glance, all too short to be rude, To attract her attention to me; But I found that this bait Was not worth its own weight, And no "catch" would it make, I could see. I next tried a pose, but to this there arose Not a smile or a flush to her face. I arose, and then took From my satchel a book; I have known them all fears to displace. The beauty sat silent for a half-hour or more, While I was distracting my brain; For could I find out How to catch such a "trout!" I never would angle again. I next opened up my new book of bright flies, And held them where she, too, could see; In a moment I saw That this card was a draw, For she leaned sweetly over to me. And as her soft breath fell warm on my cheek, I felt I a good "strike" had made; But I was not quite sure That my line would endure The "fight" with this beautiful maid. I cleared up my throat with the thought to begin And looked mildly up to her eyes; But she never once took Her glance from my book; "More than trout are caught," thought I, "with flies." We soon fell to talking of angling for trout; The maid on one point was quite firm: "Follow nature," she said, "Success only is wed To the hook which is hid in a worm." 80 .,. ". V- & THE YOSEMITE VALLEY. Silence!" Emotions new and strange here rise And sweep with cyclonic force the breast! A new, strange world, all-powerful and sublime, Enchains, enslaves, and fetters all. The greatest, most of all, are fettered most. Only the pygmies chatter, and fools alone Find laughter here where Nature speaks In tones of grandeur and sublimity! Strong lips are dumb, and eyes unused to tears Are forced to yield the highest tribute of the soul To these grand thoughts of the Eternal Mind! In the golden West, where the towering mountains Pillow their heads on the breast of the sky, Where the storm-king stores in his frozen fountains L/ife for the valleys, when parched and dry; In a wonder-land, where God, in splendor, His thought has spoken in words of stone; Grandeur sublime and Beauty tender Guard His throne. Mid massive domes of the Sierras columns, W T here power supreme to the eye is shown, Where an awe-inspiring vastness soleinns The mind with force of the great Unknown, There lies a gem a thought of beauty Which the mountains guard, as the depths the sea, Where peace is law and joy is duty Yosemite! Its granite walls but the eagles follow To dizzying heights in the distant sky; No eye can see from their crests the hollow W T here in peace the beautiful valleys lie; No foot has trod its sky-linked turrets; The heaven s purple enmantles them, The crystal snows alone are for its Diadem. 8l THE YOSEMITE VALLEY. Long ages since a glacier rested Within these walls, and then begun Erosion s work, til, of form divested Slowly yielding to rain and sun The ice-king grand, with beauty glowing, That here on high had reared its head, Hearing the song of the south wind blowing, Left its bed. These massive walls remain unheeding The frosts of Winter, the Summer s sun; Alone unmoved by every pleading By Nature voiced, since time begun. The winds, the storm, the rage volcanic, In vain to move their structure yearns; Jove s lance w T ith seething hate satanic Futile burns. The golden rays of the sunlight, turning The icy bolts of the vaults of snow, Shone in, and, neath their kisses burning, The gems were wooed to a crystal flow. "River of Mercy" for all things near it, Dispensing life with its song of glee, White as a virgin s unsoiled spirit, Light and free. Swifter than winds or the flight of swallow, The milk-white waves of this river foam On toward the granite-guarded hollow, W T here bloom and joy find a welcome home; With plunge and shout, like distant thunder, It leaps from the brow of that mountain wall; It spins and weaves and bursts asunder In its fall. White rockets flash from the columns cover, Their courses marked by a silvery mist; Caught by the winds the spray-wreaths hover, In folds of light by the sunbeams kissed; Veiling the river s lips which thunder, With sprays bejeweled and clouds high rolled: Beauty most rare! Magical w r onder, Shot with gold ! 82 YOSEMITE FALLS EVENING ON MT. WHITNEY. Vision divine, unmoved and nameless, Thy wonders remain while ages fret; Thy power unfettered and ever tameless, Thy Bows of Promise forever set; Now by the gold of the sunlight painted, Now by the rays of Night s pale bride; Matchless work of all things created Deified ! Thy castled w T alls, sphinx-like, forever Their silent story ceaseless tell, Unto the crystal, foaming river, Whose tones of thunder, chimes of bell, Voice the only thought here spoken Of ages past w y hich one may know, Heard in the words unchanged, unbroken, "Long ago." Throne of the continent! Queen of all splendor! Creation supernal! Work wholly divine! When touched by thy presence the cold heart grows tender, And reels with a joy as though drunken with wine. Transcendent valley, with sky-woven ceiling, Rivers that murmur, white-lipped falls that roar, Records divine, His wonders revealing More and more. EVENING ON MT. WHITNEY. Upon this mountain king the evening sun Had placed a coronet of gold. The day Had ceased from toil; adown the western way His gorgeous cohorts paused as if to view The matchless scene, and throw a fond farewell To snow-crowned peak and verdure-painted vale. Swiftly the passing moments flew between The golden warp, unrolling from the sun, Weaving into the woof of day bright threads, To form the mantle which the Present gives, EVENING ON MT. WHITNEY. Has ever given, nor will cease to give Unto the Past til Time shall still his loom And sink into oblivion. Silence, Deep, soulful and profound with clearer sense, Gives loftier meaning now than words convey, For here the soul is charmed by thoughts half-formed, To which a spoken word would be a sword, Or, as the steel-clad hoof of trooper s horse To newly-fallen snows or blooming flowers. Invading cloud-land here I stood and gazed Upon the Alpine billows far and wide Snow-capped, sky-mantled and cloud-swept they seemed, Flashing resplendent neath the setting light, Revealing by their silent forms of power Such vastness as to cause my trembling soul To sink into itself, nor dare to stand Upon this awful brink, lest it should fall And lose its every sense of being thus In contemplation of its nothingness. Thousands of peaks and domes below appeared, And folded in between the lovely vales, A thousand flashing streams, like silver trails, Wound gracefully from parian-folded brow To verdure-sandled foot of grandeur s forms. A multitude of lakes beset the scene, Befitting jewels for these mighty kings; Pearls, emeralds and rubies each in turn More beautiful appeared, as light and shade Gave to them each a glory all its own. The sun sunk slowly to his wonted rest, But ere he set, his flashing swords of flame Leaped forth and stabbed the bosom of the day Til sky and cloud and lofty peaks of snow Were bathed in crimson, from the fatal wound. The soft wind slowly winged the vales below, Chanting, in solemn tones, a requiem. Night softly drew her mantle o er the scene And golden stars kept watch until the dawn. MY HUNTING DOG. "Hie on, my boy!" At my command, He speeds away with merry bound; This way and that, by wave of hand, He covers every foot of ground. His feathered coat and silken ears, (In color white and black and tan) Fanned by the winds, a joy appears Unto the eye of every man. Bounding along the grassy slope, Snuffing the air so gently blown; He sudden halts him in his lope, And stands as if carved out of stone. With head half turned toward the wind, He "points" the bird from sight secure; Though covered in its grassy blind, He knows its presence, prompt and sure. One paw half raised, just where the scent Froze every muscle of his frame; Unending source of wonderment, By which he says, "I ve found the game. "Steady, my boy!" And I advance, Thrilled with the scene so dear to me; See how his brown eyes sparkle, dance; His attitude, expectancy. One step again, whir-r-bir-r bang! bang! He drops at flutter of the bird; And while the echoing shots still rang: "Go fetch!" He bounds away at word. Proudly he bears the trophy in, And yields it to my waiting hand; Careful the word of praise to win, There s scarce his equal in the land. And do you wonder that I pause, And on him words of love expend? I always do, and that because Man has no better, truer friend. 85 THE SUN-KISSED SEA. A beauty rare, beyond compare, Is sun-kissed sea. No scene so calm no scene so fair As this to me. When floods of light dispel the night, The morning s kiss, On waves which sparkle with delight, Is loveliness. When ends my day, I trust and pray, My voyage be O er waters where some golden ray May kiss the sea. 86 BRAMBLES AND CORN. I would away from the city, where trouble and discord aboundeth; Where Pride, and Envy, and Malice with daggers drawn lieth in wait; Away from the slimy, coiled serpents whose anger no warning soundeth, Away from the pitiless tigers crouching each side of the gate. I would away from the falseness, the shallow and constant dissembling The ill masquerading of self, the better to seize on one s prey The caricatures of manhood whose natures have not the resembling Of aught that toucheth with honor, who love darkness rather than day. I would away from the fever, the restless and anguishing burning That throbs through my veins with unrest, compelling the fibers to part; I would seek me a balm and a solace for this unceasing yearning Which draws, like a fierce young lion, the warm crimson blood from my heart. But wherefore this yearning? \Vhy make of humanity s evils a thorn? They are, and while mankind is human and finite, will be; So long as love s fondest fruition is felt in the kiss of first-born; So long as heaven s blue arching looks smilingly down on the sea. 87 BRAMBLES AND CORN. I plead no contentment with evil; unrest is the plowshare of good, Preparing the soul for its labor in seeking only the light; The hope of endless progression; the effort to be understood; Longing for that which is better; the cry of the lost in the night. Can Joy be when Harmony fleeth ? Composure, where soundeth a din ? Can one handle thistles unpricken ? Touch fire, and not feel the burn ? Drink deep at the fountains of poison, and escape the fever within ? Does acquaintance with sin e er quicken desire all sinning to spurn ? Such knowledge, to most minds, is evil, and casteth an upas-tree shade; The pure must live in the sunlight the sunlight of love and of truth; The shadow of evil will tarnish, and dwelt in, will surely degrade, Sapping the fountains of pleasure and searing the beauty of youth. Weeds ripen without cultivation; the province of labor is plain ; Stony ground may be made fallow; the poison nut changed to a fruit; But patience and toil the requiring, for progress is made but with pain; Fruitage the end of the season, the Spring-time presents but the root. The brambles grow rank in the thicket, there nourish the poisonous vines; The fruits of the field and vineyard by long cultivation are born; There would be no reaping or harvest, no drinking of life-giving wines, If freedom from tares were unnurtured to yield us the grapes and corn. 88 BRAMBLES AND CORN. What though you escape the foul poisons ? be blinded to all, and yet dumb ? Evil exists as a dagger, which knowledge will drive to your heart, And Pity will brood you a sorrow, so sure as to-morrow will come, Its shadow lie heavy upon you, and never more will it depart. How can you escape it ? How dare you ? Your duty supreme is to keep A loving and tender surveillance over your brother and friend, Trusting to Him who is sleepless, when it needs be your weary eyes sleep, Undoubting that in the great future Peace will crown toil in the end. The deeds for rejoicing are fewer than those over which we may weep, And laughter often is echo of unseen yet heart rending tears; We masquerade sorrow with smilings, the bitter is poignant and deep; Merriment lives but a season, while grief taketh root for the years. I am so weary, weary of evil, so weary of pain and strife; Weary of whetting F and dulling the sword to be used in the fray; The ceaseless doing and undoing of threads in the warp of this life. To what end ? The peace that cometh, if peace come at close of the day. W T hat is life for ? But to gather the dross of earth in full measure ? To dig and to delve in the mart til Avarice turns Youth to Age? To warp the heart and the mind till they make of dissembling a pleasure ? To record the wreckage called gain, in blood in each line on the page ? BRAMBLES AND CORN. Wherefore this unceasing, conscienceless grasping for that which is fleeting? This chasing of dazzling bows that dissolve like mists in the air ? This pandering to plunder and passion, and driving the heart to beating, Till panting and o erworn we languish and Hope gives way to Despair ? For what shall it profit the miser though he the whole world should acquire ? Will it brighten the bloom of roses, or deaden the prick of thorn ? Will it deepen one single pleasure, or strengthen one righteous desire ? Will it soften the glow of sunset, or brighten the flush of morn ? The needs of the body are transient, the soul in itself is divine; Of earth we needs must be earthy, if wedded to self and to gain; The body is but an expression, symbolic and plastic the sign; The potence and power of the spirit beams out on the world through the brain. And shall we content to degrade it, to make of it servant alone ? The King become but a vassal, a menial for time-serving deeds ? Tossed hither and thither at random, by fierce passion-winds rudely blown ? A camp-follower in the procession, subsisting on husks and weeds ? The fountains of Peace and of Pleasure lie in the line of transition, Revealed by thoughts that tend upward and waken desire to press on, Inquiring of Faith the direction, making of self an omission , And ever praying and seeking the roseate flush of the dawn. 90 THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. ON SEEING A ROSEBUD IN THE STREET. I saw a rosebud in the street, Where it had carelessly been tossed; Just where a thousand passing feet Were treading, when the way they crossed. It pained me much this flower to see, Trodden and crushed into the slime; It seemed to cry appealingly Against the cold, unfeeling crime. For it is crime and nothing less, Aught of the beautiful to crush; The lack of heart the soullessness Shown by the crowd should cause a blush. And then I thought, oh, deeper shame! That Truth should prompt me to relate Of crimes too dark to have a name, W T ereby pure souls meet such a fate. THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. When first the infant Morn stirred on his couch And lit the Orient with grayish light, Bidding his radiant heralds to announce, In brighter gleams, the coming of that day, He knew the glorious sun would look upon No fairer scene, in all the circling orbit of his course, Than Pompeii, nestled on the bay, at foot Of grandest mountain in all Italy. The day-god mounted up his shining way And, looking on that city fair, beheld A brilliant scene of pomp and pageantry. The blare of trumpets and the sound of horns Was heard through all its busy streets, and beat Against the dome of heaven with their blasts. The populace in holiday attire, Hither and thither ran, intent on deeds Of needed preparation for the day; A day, they thought, of revels and of sports 91 THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. Such sports as savage breasts delight, and move To quicker beatings hearts, most hard and stern; For on this day, as was the custom then, The prisoners and such as pleased the king To sacrifice for trespass of his will, Were to be led into the arena, For the ferocious beasts to feed upon, While all the fierce Campanians looked on. The wild beasts roared within their prison cells, Where, for long days, without the taste of food, They had been kept, that hunger sharpen keen Their thirst for human blood, and render all Their deep ferocity more horrible! The multitude assembles: scarce less fierce Are they than the wild beasts, whose angry roars They greet with loud and eager shouts of joy! Each face a canvas on which Passion throws His strongest limnings of ferocity! Tutored in war and used to scenes of blood, Hardened in cruelty, and conscienceless Of all emotions which are akin to grace! Lost, and thrice damned with every curse that hell Metes out to those who trample Heaven s law. All here assembled are athirst for blood! Warm, human blood, spilled by the lion s power! Victims, defenseless and alone, they joy To see, by wild beasts rent torn limb from limb! The while that life doth linger, hear their cries Cries that should freeze the life-blood in its course, And render dumb all sound from human lips, Save Horror s shrieks and Pity s wailing groans, But o er such scenes, these bestial fiends but laugh, And, filling chalices of fresh, warm blood, They drink to soul of Nero, Nero! King! And rend the heavens with their loud acclaim, In honor of his many butcheries. Full times and oft had they assembled thus To witness such wild carnivals of blood. The amphitheatre for this was made, A temple for these cruel scenes of death! 92 THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. Scenes, black as malice and malignant hate Combined, could e er devise to feed upon! The king and all his royal court looked on, And cursed or cheered as it befit their moods, Commenting on the wild and angry beasts As they leaped forth and crouched about the walls. Selecting those of fiercest gaze, whose eyes Most fiercely shone with light of hungry fir,e, They said : "This beast will make a glorious war! And that will lose no time to glut his maw With human blood." And wagers laid they all Upon the contest; but as to beasts alone, For the poor men were victims all foredoomed. See! now the beasts have scented out their prey! They crouch and crawl toward the terrored men; Soft-footed they, and noiseless of approach; But oh, their eyes! how luminous and fierce! Darting a constant gleam of burning fire. Now crouching low, they all prepare to spring; Their great forms quiver, and they lash their tails, One instant more, now! now! The throng awaits, With bated breath, the final spring, when, lo! The earth was shaken as a reed in storm! Each heart was filled with terror, and each face Grew ghastly white at thought of coming doom. The wild beasts, filled with dread, approached the men And licked their hands! Crouched at their feet in fear, And seemed as if to crave of them a shield ! The sea becalmed as though its powers were dead; The air ceased breathing, and a murky hue Spread o er the heavens as a veil to hide From others eyes that city s awful doom. The earth rose and fell like ocean billows; The city s masonries were overthrown And tossed about as though but eider-down! The heavens burst into a sea of flame As Mount Vesuvius, erstwhile so calm, Belched forth the mighty billows of his ire, Which rolled, a burning sea, adown his form 93 THINGS TO I.OVE. And, like mammoth rockets, shot across the sky, Pouring great flaming cataracts of fire Upon that city s all defenceless head ! In wildest terror those who could, now fled; Each praying unto all, for help and aid. The terror swept away all barriers, And kings from vassals humbly craved a boon ! Affrighted through the streets they shrieking ran, Seeking for safety, and yet finding none. The amphitheatre the city s pride, Opened its mighty walls and trembling fell, Crushing beneath its ponderous form the throng. The rolling, dashing, hissing sea of fire, I/ike the great billows of the deep, in storm, Rolled through its streets and from the heavens fell, Until beneath the molten waves it lay A corpse, whose cause of death became its tomb. THINGS TO LOVE. I love all beauty, let it be In sky, or flower, or leafy tree, In babbling brook or humming bee; I love it well, When sunset on the calm, blue sea Casts Beauty s spell. All Nature speaks of beauties rare; In every cloud that floats in air, And all around us, everywhere, Will we but see The master hand of beauty there Divinity! 94 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH (A FRAGA\ENT) AN IDYL OF THE GREAT REBELLION THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. , fair is the land where the sun brightly shines, Where the palmettoes grow and the tall, stately pines Rear aloft their proud heads to the soft, mellow skies, Wafting back to the sea its low, murmuring sighs. Where the richest fruits ripen, and fairest of flowers Eternally bloom, amid sy Ivan-like bowers; Where the nightingale s music at twilight is heard, And the heart by the beauties of nature is stirred; Where birds of gay plumage fill forest and grove, And balmy winds whisper of music and love; Where the magnolia blooms, fairest flower neath the sky; The wealth of its beauty with Eden s might vie ; Where the orange, the lemon, the fig and the palm, Hath laden the air with the wealth of their bairn. Here, here short of heaven, I would choose me to dwell, And drink deep of the joys which no language can tell, For the gods of the land, and the gods of the sea, Have lavished, sweet Southland, their affections on thee. If a spot on the earth may be found whereon bliss Is borne full on each breeze, it is this, it is this. The light of her mornings, when o er the sea streaming In ripples of radiance brilliant and fair, Steals soft on the eyelids of sleepers there dreaming, And wakes them with breath of perfume on the air. The sweet, wooing kiss of her breezes at night; The light of her moon s witching beams as they fall In a shimmering veil of soft silvery light, When cast in their magical splendor o er all, Form a scene, once beheld, time can never efface, For no other can vie with its beauty and grace. 99 THE ANGELS OF SHII,OH. Sweet land of enchantment, how balmy and tender Are all of the breezes which over thee blow; The scent of thy roses, how sweetly they render The breath of thy gardens to mortals below ! At quiet hours of even-tide, Here lovers o er her silver lakes In light canoes so softly glide, The waves scarce tremble in their wakes; And golden stars seem angel-eyes, As through the purpling shroud of night These liquid mirrors of the skies Reflect their glories to the sight. With sky, and moon, and stars above, And stars, and moon, and sky below, They fondly breathe their vows of love, In ecstasies no heart may know - That hath not breathed, that hath not seen These Eden spots elysian. And when the orb of day sheds bright His lustrous rays of golden light, The purpling arches of the sky Unfathomed in their beauty lie; Where feathery cloudlets, slow of wing, Float dreamily those sky-seas o er, Seeking no port, no anchoring, Their seas alone hath not a shore. Here, when all else is calm and still, Nightly complains the whip-poor-will; While on each breeze, at eve and morn, The lily blows its scented horn. Soft-footed Spring through Shiloh s wood Came in her fair young motherhood To bless the earth with offspring fair, And peace to all the world declare. All, all with animation rife Bespoke the full high tide of life. Fresh flowers and grasses quickly spring From out the brown earth s covering; The skies became a deeper blue, 100 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. The clouds took on a richer hue, The air was soft as mother s kiss, ^ t ,\ , Enamored of her loveliness, While peace on every breeze was borne ; The waving grass, the budding thorn, The opening leaf, the clinging vine Which round the great trees closely twine; The blushing rose, the violet blue, Now springing up, still sweeter grew With smile of sun and tear of dew. Refreshing life, at every breath Was on each breeze; no sign of death O er Nature s lovely form and face Could eye most searching find a trace, As over all those wooded hills The morning sunlight softly streamed, Lighting her veils and purling rills, And on the river brightly gleamed; While in her tented city sleeping, Thousands of noble soldiers lay, Who ere the sun should set that day Would pass all sorrow and all weeping, Ere faded its bright light away. Little they thought in hours of waking That lovely morn would be their last; That while its peaceful light was breaking, Death s sombre wing was o er them cast. Twas eve of battle, yet no fears Came to the loyal volunteers; No thought had they of dangers -nigh, No clouds bedimmed their sunny sky ; Beguiled with pleasure and with song, The gloaming hours there passed along; A peaceful camp, where joy and mirth, Each moment found a welcome birth; Amid the wooded hills they lay, As though twere but a holiday. About the camp-fires, brightly gleaming, They stories told of peace and love, And kindness from each eye was beaming The eagle ruled less than the dove. 101 THE ANGELS OF SHII.OH. Serenely calm the silver moon Betook, h,er way across the sky, As sleep, the blessed, restful boon, Kissed gently down the weary eye; And golden stars resplendent shone With gleaming rays upon the earth, And soft winds gently, sweetly blown Told of the Spring-time floweret s birth. All nature sought with peace to bless Where er on earth was wretchedness, And not a care to them was known God s footstool seemed, that night, His throne! Twas Sabbath morn, and from the East The heralds of her coming break Upon the rest of night, and wake Her sleepers there; bid them away Before the hosts of coming day. For lo! Aurora rises now, With folds of purple on her brow, Her form enwrapped in folds of light, Unto the gods a pleasing sight, As, with red sandals shod, lo! she Comes dripping from the morning sea, To rule the day in majesty. Pure as the soul of infant s prayer Is wave of that sweet morning air The breath of Spring is everywhere. All nature moved by her sweet kiss, Arrayed in gorgeous loveliness, Mirrored in flower, and tree, and sod, The loving smile of Nature s god. Sweet Sabbath day, of all most blessed, For peace and prayer and quiet rest; When thoughts of love to fellow man Affection s fires most strive to fan; When hearts to God do most aspire To banish thoughts of gross desire, And nature purify by prayer. THE ANGERS OF SHII.OH, The tuneful birds poured forth their lay To welcome dawn of coming day; With cheery song, each feathered throat Poured on the balmy air, to float, Rich notes which sweetly sped along A harmony of pulsing song, In which was heard no note of pain, No sad lament, no weird refrain, But melody of joy alone Was breathed in every tuneful tone, Bidding all hearts rejoice again, As doth the verdant hill and plain In golden sunshine after rain. While ashen fingers of the morn Were seeking in the East to free The hills from mantles they had worn Of sombre night s weird drapery, By plucking here and there a star, From out the dome of Heaven s arch, That fair Aurora meet no bar While sweeping upward in her march Before her dazzling smile be given, To wake the earth and light the heav n, The rebel foes their banners flung Upon the morning s gloaming air In silence marched the hills among, In solid columns waited there, But for the morning s light to show The path which lay toward their foe, That with its first effulgent gleams They might dash through the wooded hills, And wake to death, from peaceful dreams, The camps that lay by stream and rills. The eagles rest when cloudless skies O erarch their lofty, craggy nests, And balmy winds, like peaceful sighs, Lull to repose their powerful breasts; But when the tempests madly rise, And every power of earth defies, Hurling with vengeance through the air 103 THE ANGELS OF The voice of wild destruction there; Then rouse they from their quiet dream, And mingle their loud, piercing scream With voice of heaven s bursting cloud, However fierce, and deep, and loud; And to the lightning s gleaming ire, They answer with an eye of fire, And soar aloft, on powerful wing, To meet the storm-king s challenging, Priding themselves in strength to prove, Their power to mount the storms above! So with the loyal, peaceful men; When first the cloud of war arose, It woke the fire within them then, To meet the nation s deadly foes; And to the world they quickly prove, No force so great as that of love. Each peaceful home proved a defence Of greater strength and consequence Unto the nation, in the hour When discord s voice broke into war, Than standing armies e er could be, Because of love s true loyalty. They woke, when first the day was born, As faintly flushed the East with morn; While opening rose and budding thorn, Sweet censers there, Swung to and fro with breath of Spring, As to her revelry they bring Rich odors which they freely fling Upon the air. The purpling hue of coming day Was softly turning into gray, Before the sun s first glowing ray; When from the South, In thunder tones there swift arose A voice that frightened all repose, The voice of death, that fiercely glows From cannon s mouth. 104 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. And none may know who did not see That awful sight of misery, The trials of those who fought to free, With might and main, The flag to us our fathers gave, The flag that floats above the brave, The flag that thousands died to save From treason s stain. Amid the surging billows there, Death rode on Terror through the air, And to the heart brought wild despair With every breath; W T here fell their loyal comrades round, Their hearts blood dyeing all the ground, The sky surcharged with awful sound Of woe and death; Yet, braving all the dangers there, They kept the Old Flag in the air. In the fore of the fight where the death billows rolled, And the crimson flood flowed from the breast of the bold, Mid the hissing of bullets and scream of the shell, In the heat of the charge where our loyal men fell, Where the peal of the batteries thundered and roared, Where the bayonets clashed, and the keen, flashing sword Struck deep to the hearts of the noble men there, Our loyal boys kept the Old Flag in the air. When the thunders were fierce, and the rage of the storm Would cause them to waver, they quickly would form On a line where their colors were kissing the air, For they knew every able, true soldier was there With a heart for endeavor, that knew not a fear, For to every brave soldier the Old Flag was dear Aye, sacred to him as the breath of a prayer, And he d gladly die keeping that flag in the air. Though the war-bees flew thick with their sharp, piercing sting, Round the spot where it stood, yet their murderous ring Deterred not brave men its bright folds to still fly, A menace to traitors, high up in the <eky. 105 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. Though they threw on its bearer the heat of their fire, And strove it to humble with fierce, venomed ire; Though the hazard was great the loved colors to bear, Yet they kept, through it all, the Old Flag in the air. When a color-man fell, quick another would seize The standard, and fling the old flag to the breeze; No pausing for danger, no counting the cost, A life was as nothing to the flag being lost! For as comrades were fighting its loved folds to free, All over the land and all over the sea, The last words they whispered, as they fell dying there, Was: "Boys, keep the Old Flag still high in the air." No scene that mortal man may know Can equal that of charging foe; And here it came with all of dread To which war s hurricane is wed. The bravest hearts were most appalled, While comrades to each other called: " Wake, brothers, wake! O, wake and see The awful grandeur of the storm ; The woods, like billows of the sea, Sway back and forth resistlessly ; Like blades or grass, lo! every tree Bows low its proud and stately form, The leaves before the fiery blast In whirling eddies swift are cast, And twigs and limbs are hurling fast, Borne on the wild storm s scorching breath, In every movement speaking death." While swarming thick the war bee s wing To every spot their deadly sting ; The sky is darkened by the breath Of these wild messengers of death, While ears are dumb to every sound, Save that of war, which all around Leaps through the terror-stricken air, As all its voices, fierce, declare The reign of Terror everywhere. 1 06 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. See, from the edge of yonder wood Ten thousand gleaming blades of steel ! With charging yell, that chills the blood, The enemy s great columns wheel, And dashing down the steep incline, With all of mortal power combine. To drive from out their chosen stand Our comrades brave and loyal band. W T hat! have they fled ? is no defence Now to be made against the foe ? Gods ! what a sound the heavens rend! From center to circumference, The trembling earth rocks to and fro, As wild Destruction s forces blend In one appalling burst of woe ! See ! See ! they fall and helpless writhe, As grass before the reaper s scythe. W T ith all of human strength and power, They are but dry reeds in this hour, Before the raging battle s tide, Which seems to grow more deep and wide, W 7 ith flash of sword, and roar of gun, As though the Fates would soon decide : The victory be lost or won. Mars, in his chariot of fire, Now madly dashes wildly on, As with a scowl of vengeful ire, He plies his scourge with fierce desire, The raging tempest to outrun! While Flight and Terror madly fly Across the smoke-beclouded sky, Leaping affrighted through the air, While, flowing out behind, his hair Is fanned to streaming shreds of flame, As on, still on, they swiftly dash Amid the deafening roar and crash, \Vhere Pity lives, but in a name. All helpless neath their powerful feet, They trample, crush, in sore defeat, And render Pluto s reign complete, 107 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. As to destruction quick are hurl d All things that would oppose, And, terror-stricken, from the world Escape, alone in death, his foes. His form was like storm-clouds at night, And ruin was his soul s delight; His breath \vas death to all the land, Deep woe his footsteps e er attend; While nations trembled, empires fell, For all his ways turn peace to hell ! Hark to the screaming of the shell, As through the wood it onward flies; Mark the wild havoc w ? here it fell All life around it withered lies. Another, and another, see, Striking of sound the highest key, In war s wild song of jubilee. The solid shot goes crashing on With wild, terrific, awful force, Blasting within its murderous course All here beneath the smiling sun. Hark to the groaning of the trees! As neath the wound of cannon ball, Like withered grass before the breeze, They snap and in confusion fall. Here, midst the storm of battle, stood Love s sweet expression womanhood. Strong in affection s powerful might, Unshrinking at the awful sight, Through lonely hours of dreary night, As with the soul of love imbued, She shrank not at the sight of blood. With Beauty s form and Love s sweet face, Combining with the purest grace, All human strength and loveliness. Aye! more than human love we see, The soul of woman s sympathy Is Heaven s true Divinity; And to the wounded soldier there, Who on that battle field was lying, 108 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. She came, an angel pure and fair, To sooth his troubled heart when dying. If each could speak again to-day, They would rejoice with me to say : The hand of woman, oh, how sweet, Upon the battle-field to meet; Her voice is music to the soul, Her touch is balm for every pain, The surges cease within to roll, At her command peace smiles again. A prayer ascended on each breath, That sweet relief might come in death ; For death to them a boon would be, Compared to this deep misery; P or spirit of the Raven Wing Alone hath now the power to bring Relief from such dire suffering. Oh! must life s fluid, drop by drop, Ooze from their wounds until it stop, For that the fount of life be dry, And pale the lip and glazed the eye ? Must every sense of heart and brain Be tortured to its highest strain, And all the agony and woe, That human heart may ever know, Be wrung from out the tortured frames, Which burn with all the hellish flames That human agony can give, And yet the wretched victims live ? Unconsciousness at times was given, Arid with it came a glimpse of Heaven. Visions of cool and shady dells, Where bloomed the scented pampernells, O erhung with cypress and with vine, Whose leaves and tendrils intertwine And form, beneath the brazen sky, A sweet and pleasant canopy, Where, stealing from the moss-grown nook, Laughing in merry, gleeful mood, Comes gushing the refreshing brook, 109 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. Which glides away amid the wood. Could heaven give to earth its bliss, For these poor souls, it would be this. When senses fade, the pain grows less, By reason of unconsciousness, Which, stealing o er the weary brain, Relieves them of their racking pain. Poor, suffering souls, never again Shall love s sweet gleaming smile repay Thy hearts for this deep, bitter pain, That racks thy helpless forms to-day ; No more shall love s bright, golden head, Be pillowed on each manly breast, To-morrow s sun shall find thee dead, Thy troubled forms shall be at rest, Beneath the damp and quiet sod, While wings thy spirits on to God; Yes on, still on, forever on ! For, unto the immortal soul, Heaven, for aye, shall be a dawn, While vast Eternity shall roll. When mortal sense had closed, their eyes Beheld the glow of Paradise; A glory, which no human soul Can know or see, Till kindly, Death shall backward roll Mortality. And then their souls, w T ith sense unrolled. Developed twice ten-thousandfold, Their upward flight, from star to star, Mid luminous depths of radiance far, Shall find their ever widening sense A center still, while all around, To growing sight and waking sound, Is measureless circumference. As on, still on, they upward glide, The gates of Heaven still open wide, And as they freely backward swing, They hear the gladsome voices ring THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. A welcome, in sweet unison, From angels brighter than the sun, Whose gleaming forms of radiant light, Would blind and dazzle mortal sight. There all that human love had known, Had to celestial beauty grown; Each thing of beauty on the earth, Is given there immortal birth. The birds, the flowers, the lakes, and rills, All things, the heart with gladness fills. The thought of age, the form of youth, The love of beauty, and of truth, There grows and widens with each breath, And nothing knows or thinks of death; For over his dread skeleton They each and all have victory won. Hope holds not out a promise vain, No thought can come of grief or pain, Their sun of joy shall never set, Ne er fall the shadow of regret; But light, and bliss, and peace is there, With all that renders life most fair, Added to Imortality, Their every gift the gods have given, With ample power and liberty, To taste the sweetest joys of Heaven. On, on with easy motion grace, They wing their way through azure space, While soft winds, laden with perfume, Caught from celestial flowers that bloom In spirit gardens of the free, To gladden Immortality, Reveal new beauties as they rise, And Heaven prove one glad surprise. In that bright land of radiant bliss, Where all is joy and loveliness, W T here peace and purity are born, And glows for aye the flush of morn, With beaming rays of light forever, That form a glist ning, pulsing sea, in THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. Upon whose bosom, shining ever, Flow waves of sweetest melody. Bathed in celestial beauty there The mountains rise the sky to kiss, While that soft, balmy, ambient air Is angels breath, compared to this ; While on the Tree of Life there grows, Rich fruits, which every bough is bending; Which burden every wind that blows W 7 ith sweetest odors of their lending ; A perfect sweetness to the store Of all the lovely offerings given, By all the gods who freely pour, Their richest bounties into Heaven. And music, sweet of glory, fills All airy space and gently trills, Through the illimitable dome, Wherever space or substance roam, To every part, where er it lie, Of measureless Eternity. As sunlight fills our sky at day, And beams with soft and pulsing ray, Beyond, above all human sight, Or sense of sound, its melody, Flows in rich waves there constantly. While onward still their starry flight, Beyond the shadows of the night, They swift pursue their upward way, To Heaven s light of endless day. Through constellation of the sun Their speedy flight is quickly run, Through gleams of light thrown from afar, Then through the shadow of a star, The one called day, the other night, To mortals dim, contracted sight ; Their visions widen and they see And understand all mystery. Millions of worlds above, below, Within their circling orbits go, Through purpling mists of airy sea, 112 THE ANGELS OF SHII.OH. Moving in perfect harmony; And thus have moved through countless years, To pulsing music of the spheres. Through vast expanse of endless space, Unknown, unbound, and measureless; Through fields of bright, eternal day, They still pursue their onward way. Oh, pure and sweet is everything, The flowers that bloom, the birds that sing, The soul that wakes to life the leaf, Which ne er shall know a fading grief. The winds that softly, sweetly blow, The low voiced rivers peaceful flow; The friendly grasp of love s warm hand, That long has passed from mortal land; Ten thousand joys that only rise, Within the gates of Paradise, Come to their ever waking sense With touch so thrilling and intense, That every breath was sweetest bliss, Unto the hungry, waking soul, As lovers sweet, fond virgin kiss, In waves of pleasure o er them roll. Beautiful world where is no gloom, No death, no sorrow, and no tomb, No pain, no sickness, and no tears, No woe, no bitterness, no fears, No wars, no envyings, no strife, But sweet and peaceful is the life Of all who pass its gates within, Absolved from every touch of sin; Where love, and joy, and peace divine, To crow T n life s pleasures all combine; The gentle music of the spheres, Keep time with golden flood of years, And newer, deeper pleasures rise, As God reveals some new surprise. Still on they upward rise, and see The beauties of life s mystery; THE ANGELS OF SHII.OH. The human heart, its doubts and fears, Its joys, its sorrows, and its tears, Its virtues, and its troubling sins, And all without us and within, Why we are weak, and blind, and chained, Is fully to all there explained. Then for the dead, why mourn and weep? Their life is sweeter far than sleep, For to their souls alone is given The power to taste the joys of Heaven. We should but weep for those who still Bear yet life s burdens up the hill ; The lone, and blind, and halt, and poor, Who wait the swinging of death s door, That shall admit them into rest, From this life s mournful wretchedness. Down in a glen, where a willow tree bending Over the banks of a brooklet below, Lay a young soldier who fell in defending The stars and the stripes from the hand of the foe; Fell with a murderous wound in his breast, From out which his life-blood gushed into the stream, Moaned, as the sun slowly sunk to the West, And knew it was saying "farewell" with its gleam. He thought : "I shall die by this brook all alone, And no one shall know of my fate evermore. Could I hear one kind voice -one loved human tone I ask of the gods but this one favor more, To send to my mother one fond, loving kiss, And a lock, if I might, of this tangled hair, To tell her how much her sweet smile I miss, And how I now long for her true, loving care; I would willingly die, content to have given My life for my country, my God, and my heaven." Just then, as in answer unto his low sighing, There came a soft footstep, and down by his side There knelt a fair woman, who saw he was dying, To comfort his soul in its sorrow she tried. 114 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. vShe saw by his fast-dimming eye That death s approach was very nigh; His mortal sun was sinking low, His spirit struggled now to free Itself from prison bars below, And fly to Immortality. He roused him then, as from a dream, As fell the day s departing gleam, And said to her: "I feel, and know, My spirit hence must shortly go; But ere it passes quite away From mortal life, I fain would say One parting word for those I love, My heart s devotion still to prove Constant as yon bright gleaming star, Whose ray, undimmed, shines on forever, Though mortal senses changing are As wavelets on yon rolling river. "Tell my father and my mother, That their pride shall ever be That I died, like many another Loyal son, for liberty. Tell my brother and my sister, Should you e er on earth them meet, That I died with Heaven s vista, Glowing brightly at my feet ; And that death no terrors brought me, As I yielded up my breath, That its throbbing, soulful, bright sea, Brought me not a chilling death. "But to her, my love, I fear it Will for her be lone and drear, It will kill her now to hear it ; She whose cheek has known no tear, Save the tear she shed at parting, And whose heart has known no pain, Save the pain, that through it darting With thought, I might not come again. THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. " Sweet lady, could I speak again To her the thoughts which rend my heart, Twould be that she might know no pain Not e en the shade of sorrow s dart. "I would that life for her might be As peaceful as a Summer sea, W T here soft winds breathing with the tide Should woo her ship to smoothly glide, With easy motioned swan-like grace, Where clouds of storm should ne er displace The mirrored smile of Heaven s face. Oh, may she feel my presence there, Though viewless in the quiet air, For by the hope of Heaven above I will return and dwell with her, Proving that power of human love Defies the gloomy sepulcher. "Tell her in hope to calmly gaze Upon yon bright and gleaming star, Through purpling mists its golden rays Speak of the glories from afar. Tell her that soon the storm of grief Shall pass away, and sweet relief Shall fill her soul as sorrow dies, At thought of love s sweet memories. Tell her, I sorrow for my fate, Alone for that it doth relate Unto her own, and thus should be To her one thought of misery. " I fain would live to feel and know The perfect joy of loving so, When I might shield from every storm Her gentle heart and angel form. And say that her sweet words of love Have helped me bear this bitter pain, That her inspiring spirit strove And nerved my arm to strike again! If I have won a crown of fame, It should bear her inspiring name; To her alone let praise be sung, 116 THE AXGELS OF SHIIyOH. On her the purple robe be flung; For, by the gods! I swear twas she Who led the charge to victory! " No power to mortal man is known, From God s green footstool to His throne, That can compare in force, or prove An equal power to woman s love. It was, it is, shall be my sun, Til sands of life are fully run; If it continue not to be I wish not immortality." His voice grew weak, he faintly smiled, As though some thought his pain beguiled, As, stealing gently through his brain, Twould woo him back to life again. But no; the curtains of his eyes Are slowly, gently drooping down; His head upon her bosom lies, Her ringlets form a golden crown Around that radiant face and brow, Which glow with soul-kissed beauty now. Behold! he starts! his eager sight Expressing wonder and delight, As if beholding some glad scene. He cries: " She comes, my own, loved queen! " In joyful tones, he echoes o er, " She comes, my own, forever more! " His soul then found a sweet release, And o er his form stole perfect peace. And it was true; the very hour His soul withdrew from mortal power, The maiden of his bosom s choice, As if her soul had heard his voice Calling it then from earth away, Unlocked its prison house of clay; And, sweetly thus, they hand in hand Strayed into Heaven s holy land. Then glancing o er the battle ground, With manly forms all thickly strewn, 117 THE ANGELS OF SHILOH. She wept to think that death had found A cause to blight them at their noon. And weeping o er the loyal dead, These words of sad lament she said : " Farewell, brave souls, forever rest In fields of light, supremely blessed, Beyond the power of pain or grief, Where finds the soul a sweet relief, Amid the joys around God s throne, Where only peace and love are known; Where sorrow s shadows ne er can come To mar that bright celestial home; Where false, delusive hope no more Shall rise to beck thee from the shore, And lure thee on the ocean s wave, With promise false as Siren s song, And bring thee to an early grave Kre thy pure hearts hath known a wrong. " Farewell to thee, a fond farewell, For joys await thy spirits there; I would not hold thee here to dwell Amid this pestilential air. For when I look upon the earth, And see the wretchedness and woe, I would withdraw the power of birth, And deem man blessed in doing so. Eternal sleep a boon would be A pure and calm, unbroken sea, Wherein no life should wake again, If with it came remorse and pain. Oh! better this, far better, far, Than life with dreadful scenes of war! " Here stagnant pools of water creep, And wretched hearts in sorrow weep, As all the ills the heart may know Are blended in one hell of woe, Where black despair e er hovers o er The sea of night without a shore; Wher.e deadly serpents crawl and hiss In all their loathsome hideousness. 118 THE ANGELS OF SHILOII. Here misery the heart appalls, And gleam of sunlight never falls; Or, if it falls, its cheerfulness, Contrasted with this deep distress, Makes misery nigh measureless. Oh, dreadful scene! how sadness flings Her dewy mantle from her wings, Like mist her veils of sorrow fall, And mournfully each waking strain Sobs in its weirdness over all, As though no thought could cheer again. The very rays of tim rous light, Seem loth to pierce the shroud of night, And with their power to sight reveal, To hearts that yet can mourn, and feel The horrors of this scene around, Where death has walked the battle ground; A blasted garden, fearful doom ! For all its wondrous flowers had shed Their every blossom, and the tomb Of winter over them had spread Its howling tempest, and its kiss Had wrought with fierce destructiveness. Oh, Hellish war! thy footsteps know No tread save on the human heart, From which the crimson wine must flow To feed thy black and cruel art; Thou livest but on death and pain, And fiercely drink warm human blood, And toast thy health full oft again From out the heart s warm crimson flood, And laugh when thy poor victims lie Writhing in mortal agony ; Thou seasonest thy wine with tears, From widows torn and bleeding hearts, And scoff at helpless orphans fears, While sharper grow thy cruel darts; Till every crime beneath the sun That Hell may furnish, man may know, In thy dread name alone may run In one great, surging sea of woe. 119 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. HEN Peace, sweet angel, ruled the land, And showered her gifts on every hand, Of jeweled moments for each hour And every hour of all the day, Pregnant with richness and with power, Rolled on beneath her magic sway, She scattered there for each and all Love s magic wreath and coronal. And falling o er the peaceful scene, A wreath of flowers and myrtle green Adorned a bosom, sweet as May, And neath her ardent glances lay. There, blushing deep, the passion rose, Upon this maiden s bosom lying, Sought all its fragrance to disclose Unto her heart, while it was dying. Kissing the rose, her lovely lips Blushed red, while thrilled her finger tips, As through her gentle bosom warm Arose sweet passion s heaving storm, As all around her, everywhere, Sweet incense rose upon the air; The magic odor Cupid flings Upon us, from his downy wings, When first we hear, so faint and low, The twanging of his magic bow, Or, mark the flutter of the heart When first tis pierced by his dart. So sweet Arzelia heard and felt, When like a spotless, snow T -white dove 120 THE COVERS OF SHILOH. Waking within her bosom dwelt The image of her loyal love. To souls like hers there come at times, Visions of brighter, purer climes; Voices that speaking from the air A higher life than this declare; Discoursing in a sweeter tone Than to the common mortal known, Music so soft, so sweet, and low, The cadence of its rippling flow Wakes not, though falling on our ear, The power within our souls to hear. To eyes like her s there often rise, The beauties bright of Paradise. To her this power was freely given For she was less of earth than Heaven. And full oft "her high-born kinsmen" clustered round her in the air, Peopling all her lovely visions with sweet radiant forms most fair, And the waving of their pinions seemed to rustle round and o er, As the future life seemed swinging wide to her its mystic door. When Autumn winds in sighing strewed the ground with withered leaves, And all nature sobbing faintly o er the death of Summer grieves, And the Gheber s god in splendor slowly to the Westward rolls, She walked alone with spirits and held converse sweet with souls. And the gladness on the features of the loved ones that return, Seemed to lift the clouds of sadness, seemed to cool the flames that burn, And to fill her soul with rapture, while the radiance round her glows, As she listened to the music, which from souls redeemed flows. Behold how lovely, graceful, free, This pledge of immortality; Pure woman straight from Paradise, Whose glance from soulful, waking eyes, Tells of the love that in them lies; Immortal, far the greater part, The mortal heaven s wondrous art, Imperishable glory there, Caught from the upper fields of air; The soul, the light, the life, the love, 121 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. All aspirations from above, Which tend to lead us up and on To immortality s bright dawn; Pledge of affection, pure and free, Immortal in mortality. And on a king of human kind Love s brilliant, flashing coronal Was placed to brighten all his mind, As o er his life its bright rays fall. Then they two met, and knew the earth Held not a joy of passing worth, Unless its pleasures hence should be Enjoyed by them in unity. All earth was bright, the sweet birds sung To them a purer melody, As waves of liquid music flung From bosom of some mystic sea That kiss and murmur to the shore, And, in sweet accents, o er and o er Their tale of love do constant pour . Through golden years eternally. And each to each was breath of flowers, And when apart Old Time became Decrepit, blind, and halt, and lame, And, heavy shod with lead, his feet Seemed motionless, and some few hours For him to measure out complete Were to their hearts full rounded years, With Spring of laughter, hope and tears, And Summer s sunny settled weather, And Autumn s premonition, whether The golden circlet of their love Would shelter gainst stern Winter prove. As sparkling streams from distant hills Meet in the valleys at their feet, And all the air with- music fills With cheerful murmurs as they meet, And there unite, fore er to run, Two brilliant streams join into one. So with their love; it flowed so sweet That every day of all the year 122 THE LOVERS OK SHILOH. Fresh flowers and grasses neatk their feet Sprang ever brightly, and no tear Of sorrow came to dim their way, And life to them was always May, And every sound a low love-tune, With blooming flowers and breath of June. And how or why a chilling cloud Should drift across their perfect sky I doubt if they leastwise not I Could ever tell; but so it came, And angry flashes of hot flame Burst o er them, and the air grew chill, And bitter words were quickly said; For indignation s angry thrill Filled both their hearts ere it had fled; And then they parted hastily, Each being from the other free. Then, in the heat of passion s flame, He wrote upon the list his name As one of those who gave their all In answer to their country s call And in a day his regiment Into the battle line was sent. Heavy his heart, and troubled clouds arose, Bereaving him of rest and all repose The bitter thorn of life eclipsed the rose. And not a breath of sweetness for him there Floated upon the balmy Spring-time air; The song of birds was harshness to his ear, And every gem of joy was sorrow s tear; The hum of bees was sadness, and the leaf Rustled but to the melody of grief. All things the heart could feel, the eye could see, Mirrored for him his soul s deep agony; More deep than human hearts can ever know, That hath not known a lover s grief and woe, Or, felt the torture of the flames that burn While longing to, and yet, will not return, Because of pride, the haughty sentinel, Whose mischief once turned heaven into hell, If strictly true this be, not holy writ, It dragged the angels down to people it. 123 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Pride is a prickly bush on which there grows A thousand thorns to one pale stunted rose; If this you d pluck, the chances are you d fall, When it you ve grasped, lo, find no rose at all, But faded leaves at last, as you draw near All odorless, at best a painted sneer. So Edgar found, when angered with his love, There rose within his bosom thorns which prove Sharper than all the thorns that ever grew Upon the rose or thistle, and he knew Cupid a valiant knight who would not run, But with fierce vengeance fight when trod upon. Rendering life a desert, waste and bare, With sky o ercast with clouds of black despair, From out whose bosom sounds of discord rose And chilling breath of terror fiercely blows, Driving all thoughts of peace from out the breast, Denying to the soul its cry for rest. Bright visions of the past he oft would see, That live, alas, alone in memory; Will ever live, so fresh, and bright, and green, A sad reminder of what might have been. Thus tortured, poor Edgar pressed restlessly on From morning till evening, from evening till dawn, Til nearing a river whose bright waters free Flowed eagerly onward, to join the great sea; When rosy-lipped morning, with soft footsteps stealing, Came on from the eastward in glory again, The wonderful beauty and freshness revealing Of earth to the sight of the children of men. Thus Edgar beheld Shiloh s valleys and hills, The fairest the gods to the earth ever gave; Like pure molten silver her murmuring rills Flashed back to the sun a bright smile from each wave. Like a bridal veil shining, the shimmering mist Floated back from her features when morning first kissed, With ruby lips tender, her beautiful face, Revealing the splendor, the ease, and the grace Of her beautiful form, in queenly robes dressed, 124 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Be jeweled with diamonds all over her breast, Which glittered and sparkled as though every one Were a miniature day- god thrown off by the sun. Bedecked with bright flowers, deep crimson, and white, While some had unfolded their bloom in the Night, And catching the folds of her drapery there Had wound it about them forever to wear. Here Nature her features had wreathed in bright smiles, And o er her fair form a rich mantle had flung; All covered with mosses, her rocky defiles With manifold voices of sweet music rung. The sound of her laughter in sweet cadence rose From silver-toned brooklets, that spurning repose On clover-decked high-lands, with silvery gleam Flashed back the warm kiss of the sun s golden beam, As down the bright hill-sides they leapt in their glee To join the great waves of the swift Tennessee. Within the deep woods, which o ershadow her hills, And curtain the sky from the valleys below, A city of war all her grassy sward fills Whose white-tented dwellings resplendently glow Neath rays of bright sunshine which, dancing around, Weave dark leafy patterns all over the ground. While orioles flitting, where deep shadows are rolled, In cool, shady nooks, where affrighted the Night Lay trembling with terror before the Sun s light, W T ere murmurs of music and flashes of gold. Oh fair was this city when neath the moon sleeping, \Vhose soft silvery beams fell in quietness o er The hills and the valleys, and river, there creeping, As softly it sang to the camp on the shore; While out from the sky in their wantonness roaming The shadowy breezes with bated breath steal The soul of the flowers, in the hours of the gloaming, And, unto the sense, all their odors reveal. Then laving their wings on the breast of the river, They gather the pearls which float glittering there, Then mounting o er meadows and woodlands they quiver, And scatter the gems o er the sleeping world there ! 125 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. The velvety mantle of grasses which cover The slumbering hills, all bediamonded lay As a sweet blushing maid, attired for her lover To smile on her charms, so they wait for the da}-. From loyal homes parting, here quickly assembled The flower of the nation, the bravest and best, Before whose achievements the modern world trembled, The strength of the nation, the pride of the West. Impatiently waiting commands for a season To march to the battle, the soldier s delight, To throttle the victims of error and treason, And triumph the flag, and the cause of the right. With the loyal and brave, the strength of the nation, Young Edgar commingled regretting delays, That fretted ambition, while war s preparation Consumed the bright hours of the long Spring-time days. Meanwhile Arzelia, lovely flower, Bereft of reason and of power, By cruel words which, like a dart, Pierced through her bosom to her heart, When told that Edgar s oath had bound His soul to brave wild war s dread sound. And in the heat of battle be A mark for vengeance of the foe, As through the conflict s bloody sea He leads where duty calls to go. Benumbed she lay till sorrow s tears Came to her stricken soul s relief, And all her trembling hopes and fears Gave way before a flood of grief. " Oh, love," she cried, "come back again, Come back and still this bitter pain, Those harsh and cruel words I said Were false as human tongue could tell; Oh come and lift this weight of dread, And whisper one fond, loved farewell." " Oh, love, am I by thee forsaken ? Oh, love, return and tell me true, If love, sweet love, will not awaken 126 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. And bind again our hearts anew? Oh, can it be the golden bowl, By my rash action has been broken? The precious life-wine of the soul Been chilled by words that I have spoken? Will nevermore thy joyous tone Call me again thy heart, thine own? And am I doomed fore er to miss The thrilling gladness of thy kiss? And never feel thy hand again Brush back the ringlets from my brow? Shall Sorrow sit fore er with pain Upon my heart as she doth now? Has peace forever flown away Will ne er return love s gladsome morn? Must I fore er in sadness stray, Cursing the day when I was born ? Oh, love, return and roll the stone, Away from this dread sepulcher; Tis thy loved hand, and thine alone, This precious boon can now confer." Thus o er and o er she sobbed in vain, Shrouded within her bitter woe, Feeling remorse and constant pain, Which hearts like hers alone can know. The hours seemed days, and days seemed years, While poured her heart its flood of tears, As through her bosom swept wild fears Ivest he, her love, her soul, her life, Should fall a victim mid the strife, And she not know, this side of Heaven, She was by him, at least, forgiven. At thought her future life might be Clouded by this great misery, She vowed that she would never rest Till by his smile she had been blessed; Till every care had been beguiled, And they be fully reconciled. Upon this mission quick away She hastened ere the close of day; 127 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. And on, still on, her course pursued, By holy power of love imbued; And as the Sabbath sweetly rose She knew its radiant light would close, And evening s gloaming shadows fall Upon a tented city, where Edgar would answer to her call, And lift this weight of deep despair; Dark waves should calm to quiet bliss, At touch of his warm, fervent kiss. But hark, why trembles thus the air? Why quivers thus the solid ground? No clouds of storm are gathered there From which to voice this rumbling sound. Still yet again it clearer grows, Breaking the Sabbath s still repose. Beneath the pleasant Spring-time sun. It is the battle s thunder gun! Whose tones now echo through the sky Their challenge to all who defy, The measure of their iron will; With awe-inspiring tremors fill The breasts of those who hear the sound, While breath of vengeance all around Beclouds the balmy Spring-time air, With deep forebodings of despair. Oh, God," she murmured, " save from harm, Amid the hurtling battle s storm; Outstretch for him Thy mighty arm To guard and guide his noble form." And every breath was one of prayer To Heaven, to save her hero there. Surely, if prayer availing prove, Heaven will lend an ear to her, Inspired by holy thoughts of love From such a fair petitioner. The lull of battle came when Night Drew o er the field her somber shade, Hiding from mortal eyes the sight And havoc, which wild war had made 128 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. And when the twilight s softened ray Weaves, with its strands of gloom and gray, The bridge o er which our senses pass, Unless our willfulness, alas ! The ropes destroy, with ruthless hand, Which lead to sleep s weird mystic land, Arzelia on her mission came, Asking, alone in love s sweet name, That she might search that dark field o er, From where the river laves its shore, Back to the farthest picket line, Where rebel forces still combine, To find her lover, though the field Should naught but his dead body yield. When the gloom of night had fallen over all the battle-field, Where the weary armies rested from the fight, they would not yield, But, drawn up in line of battle, waiting for the coming day, Through that stormy night of terror, resting on their arms, they lay; And the moaning of the wounded, as they writhed in bitter pain, Mingled with the dreary sobbing of the fitful gusts of rain; And each moment souls were winning over death sweet victory, On the bloody field of Shiloh, where flows. swift the Tennessee. Wildly now the rain is falling from the sympathetic clouds, Washing softly the dead faces lying in their loyal shrouds, And the night winds, weirdly moaning, kiss the temples of the dead, Chanting then a requiem sadly in the hemlocks overhead. And the river s waves are muffled, as they softly onward sweep, While the trees of all the forest sadly wring their hands and weep For the fate of all those lying neath their branches silently, On the bloody field of Shiloh, where flows swift the Tennessee. For the woods were full of sadness, dead and dying, everywhere, And the woundeds piteous pleading floated out upon the air, With deep, piercing tones of anguish, causing hearts to melt and quail, That had never known a tremor, as they faced the deadly hail In the carnival of battle, where death raged amid the storm, And upon its dashing billows rode in many a dreadful form; Oh, it was a scene most fearful for the human eye to see, On the bloody field of Shiloh, where flows swift the Tennessee ! 129 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Some were praying, in their anguish, for the hand of death to free Them from state where now they languish, in their awful misery; vSome were calling "father," "mother," in delirium of pain, To relieve them from the torture which now fires their fevered brain While others sang of conquest, strong in faith for victory, Over all the foes that cherish aught against full liberty, As they fought the battle over, struggling still in death to free Our loved country from foul treason, where flows swift the Tennessee. Here amid this scene of terror, with soft footsteps, gently came Woman, \vith her tender kindness, in love s sweet and holy name, Bearing Heaven s great commission to those faint and dying men; And through all her acts and blessings, Christ, the Holy, lived again. And the dying soldiers blest them, called them angels all divine; And if Heaven s be their equals, how its fields must glow and shine, For their presence was all beauty, all delight and sympathy, As they blest the scene of battle, where flows swift the Tennessee. Mid the strife and rage of battle, lo ! fair liberty was born, Through deep woe, and grief, and anguish, till the evening from the morn, Mid the groaning, and the moaning, and the sobbing, and the pain, While the blood from human fountains flowed, like storms of splashing rain ; And each loyal drop there falling was of more than finite worth, For twas shed for Freedom s triumph, and for Liberty s great birth; That man s brotherhood forever should be known from sea to sea Thus spoke forth the voice of battle, where flows swift the Tennessee. 4 All of honor, all of merit, that poor human power can give, Is due all those that perished, is due all those that live, Who here strove, and fought like heroes, mid the awful din and strife, In the Nation s hour of peril, when throbbed low its pulse of life, When the fearful scourge of treason damned and poisoned every pore, And the light of its fair vision seemed fast dimming, more and more: Honor, glory, fame undying, aye, forever let it be For all those who fought for freedom, where flows swift the Tennessee. Gather lilies from the valley, from the hillside pluck the rose, Weave them into lovely garlands, for all those who here repose; Bring them yearly in their freshness, for the heroes, one and all, \Vhom the hand of Death here shadowed, with its dark and mystic pall. Jewel them with pearly tear-drops, richest gifts the heart may know, Weave them gently o er the green mounds, for the sleepers just below, And may angels o er them hover, till they wake again and see The full glory of their labors, where flows swift the Tennessee. 130 THE; COVERS OF SHII.OH. Arzelia, in this dreadful hour Threaded her way across the field, All woman s grace and human power, Her purpose firm, she would not yield, But back and forth amid the rain, Hearing the agony of pain, As, all around her, everywhere, It rose upon the humid air In awful sounds of dire distress, From writhing forms whose wretchedness The king of terrors could not swell; Though all the flames of fiery hell Were added to their torture there, It could not fill the blackened air With one more sound of wild despair. Yet through it all, amid the storm, Was seen to pass her angel form, Unmindful of the bursting shell Which tore the raven sky and fell, Proving full oft the final doom Which lit brave hearts into their tomb, As from the gun-boats on the river, Sweeping across the darkened wood, They burst, and giant oaks would shiver, Spilling anew life s crimson blood; And, answering oft, the thunder-gun, From tempest s battlements on high; The forked lightning swift would run Across the storm-beclouded sky; The terror-stricken air around And earth would tremble, at the sound. Yet tireless, ever on and on, As when at first her task begun, She plied her way with searching eye, And would earth s terrors all defy, And risk of losing Heaven run; For all the ioys of Paradise Were then as nothing, to her eyes, Compared to him, her chosen one. Now o er a form she stumbling fell, And heard him lisp a last "farewell;" THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Another, but the angel Death Had called before, and from him breath Had long departed, and the eyes, Gazing into the stormy skies, No answering gleam of sight there gave, Save the determined look which brave Men carry to their final rest, Within kind Nature s silent breast. She softly pressed his eyelids down, And crossed his cold and clammy hands, Murmuring low: "The golden crown And wreath are his in brighter lands." Brushing the locks from off his brow She planted there a tender kiss, And said: u Rest well, brave stranger, now Thy home is brighter far than this." While sorrow s tear-drops coursing run From out her soulful, tender eyes At thought that every single one Was some heart s idol, who here lies And suffers all the heart may know Of pain and anguish here below, \Vith none to sooth their agonies. On, on she goes, still searching on, Asking of each and every one, Who o er that field now swiftly move, If they have seen her chosen love A noble soldier, one whose eye Would all the hosts of earth defy; A leader of the brave, of those Who bid defiance to their foes, And would that every foot of ground W r ere heaped into a gentle mound, Beneath which loyal sons should lie, Rather than treason should defy, And trail the white and crimson bars, And dim the glory of the stars Which form the banner of the free, The Nation s badge of liberty. 132 THE LOVERS OF SHII.OH. But of her love no one could tell, Save that he fought so brave and well That his inspiring, flashing eye Nerved all his men for victory; That in the thickest of the fight To lead them on was his delight, Telling to each and every one, No crown was like to duty done Where honor calls, though dangers lie As thick as sun-beams in the sky, Or, forest s leaves, when summer s fled, And earth by them is carpeted. The fairest flowers are first to die The dearest treasures soonest lost; The stunted oaks all storms defy, The stately trees are wrecked and tossed; The birds that sweetest, softest sing, Are first to plume the farewell wing; The voice that wakes love s sweetest tone, Death seems to claim first for its own. Arzelia felt these sayings true; For all through life the hand of fate Seemed prone to wreck and desolate All hopes and plans she ever knew. And now she looked alone to see Her lover s form before her lying, And felt her lot was sure to be To find him wounded, weak and dying. And when the sword of heaven, flashing, Drove back the darkness where she stood Amid the pelting rain, which dashing Fell in great torrents through the wood, As fierce the storm-king s voice awoke The stillness of the night around, She shelter took beneath an oak, There saw her lover on the ground Just where amid the charge he fell When near him burst a deadly shell, Bereaving him of all but life, While onward rolled the dreadful strife. 133 THE LOVERS OF SHII.OH. She bowed in grief her queenly head, While coursing from her lovely eyes The scalding tears of grief were shed. Mid choking sobs, "Alas!" she cries, As clasping there his dear, loved form She finds his manly bosom warm: Oh love, forgive, forgive, dear heart, The words which long have kept apart Our hungry souls; forgive, forgive, Forgive me, love;" the bitter cry Rang on the air, "or let me die!" And o er and o er she kissed him there On brow, and cheeks, and lips, and hair, As with affection s fond caress She d woo him back to consciousness. And so it was: now, trembling, rise The fallen curtains of his eyes, And from them fondly, sweetly beams Affection s pure, devoted gleams. Oh, power of love ! Oh/ matchless power ! To fill with light this gloomy hour; To win back from the jaws of death The soul that seemed devoid of breath. She caught that sweet, reviving glow; Her tears of praise in torrents flow; In wild delirium of joy She cries: "Thank God! my darling boy, Thou hast returned again to me From verge of death s deep mystery. Oh, love, while yet thou truly live, Speak, speak one word, that word forgive! She bowed to listen, placed her ear Close to his lips, that she might hear The faintest accent that might wake To voice the stillness so profound, The longings of her soul to break, And fill her heart with love s sweet sound. His features beamed with radiant glow, With beauty rare, which none may know On earth below or heaven above, Except it beam from souls that love. 134 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Pressing her hand within his own, He murmured in a pleading tone: ;< Arzelia, through the awful storm Of battle, where I fiercely rode, I saw before me thy loved form, There, where the fires most hotly glowed, And war s fierce notes in discord rose, And man to man with deadly blows Sought to dispel, destroy, deface The pride and blossom of the race; With all the damned device of war Each sought to prove proud conqueror. But in that vision s lovely face There seemed to hover still a frown; What cared I then for victor s crown, When I no sign of hope could trace Of sweet forgiveness there to bless ? Then turned my soul to bitterness. I curses hurled upon my fate, That she should let all honors fall, Save one, and that were more than all, Without which life is desolate; Then prayed I with each fleeting breath, That I sweet peace might find in death; The volley s flame was beauty then, The cannon s roar was music sweet; And on I urged my valiant men, Craving not victory or defeat, But that I might amid the fray Wrestle with death s grim skeleton, And close my book of life this day, And with distress for e er have done. What should I care for victory, The plaudits of the world to me Would sound like hollow mockery, For earth below and heaven above, Hold not one charm without thy love. "But, oh, Arzelia, love, with thee Earth s bitterness to me is sweet, And cloudless skies smile on a sea Where fresh winds whisper lovingly, 135 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. From shores where bloom love s flowers complete; And I would give my chance of Heaven To live and be by thee forgiven, And know that I was dear to thee, As thou, sweet love, art unto me." " Press close to me, darling, I feel the fresh breezes From over death s ocean are kissing my brow, Exultingly trembles my soul as it seizes The strength, which they bring me, in ecstasy now. I hear the sweet music of bugles so faintly Borne over the white-crested foam of each wave, And see in great columns my comrades all saintly In triumph march on, over death and the grave. "The great army of souls that now are ascending P rom out this dark wood, are the souls of the brave, The notes of the fife, with the drum s music blending, Cheer all who have struggled their country to save. Their robes are as pure as the light of the morning, As over the earth its white pinions are spread, If the world only knew, the sound of its mourning Would change into joy for the life of the dead. "The blood of the patriot shed in defending The cause of sweet Liberty s triumph and right, A plea for full pardon each soul is attending That rises to God from this dark field to-night. For he who hath wrought for the honor and glory Of Him who rules over the cause of the just, By writing in blood from his heart the sweet story Of freedom for man, need no judgment distrust. "My bow is unbended, and empty my quiver, My armor falls powerless with this mortal life, For beyond the bright waves of death s gleaming river We wear not the armor of envy and strife. For peace, like an angel with fair bosom heaving, Smiles sweetly o er all on the shores of the blest; There sorrow is past, and all sadness and grieving, Are lulled to a quiet and unending rest. 136 THE LOVERS OF SHII^OH. Arzelia, oh, my thoughts grow tender, And anguish fills my bleeding heart That I, thy chosen love, defender, Must leave thee all as lone thou art; Heaven is sweet, I ve caught its glimmer, But, oh ! to be fore er with thee, This world, or even one far dimmer, Were good enough, sweet love, for me. But now He calls, the great commander, From the head-quarters of the soul, And I must go, dear love, to render Account to Him who has control Of all the bond, and of the free, Of this, and every other land, Shaping their life and destiny, By guidance of His mighty hand; And as He wills, tis well it be, He knows alone eternity. But, love, no mortal words can tell How much I love thee, and how well; How every thought, and every breath, Has been shall be all thine till death. And were one thought within this heart Unkind to thee, it should depart, For love of thee is life alone, Thy beaming glance, thy tender tone, Are sweetest treasures unto me, And shall, through all eternity, My solace and sweet comfort be. "Come closer, darling, I grow chill, Strange tremors all my being fill And fainter grows my every breath ! Is this, oh love, can this be death ? Kiss me, and but a little weep That I have fallen in the sleep That ne er shall know a mortal morn; That to my ears no more be borne The notes of war, while years increase, But all be one unbroken peace, One endless night of sweet repose, 137 THE COVERS OF SHILOH. On which no sun hath ever rose. For me, I trust, it shall be so, Unless thy love, I there shall know ! Oh, dreadful thought ! to think that we Shall live no more eternity Be one vast, voiceless sepulcher, To which all love and light defer ! No, no ! hope shines beyond, above Love proves itself immortal love. Something within all bosoms lie Which speaks of immortality. I feel, dear love, it must be true, While on my brow death s clammy dew Dims every sense of sight and sound, And glimmers fill all space around. Save thy angelic smile to bless My soul with its sweet loveliness ; While brightly from the farther shore God s light, in radiant love-beams, pour Across death s waters, through the night In one effulgent path of light. I hear the splashing of the oar I ll soon be with thee, love, no more. They ll call you soon, dear one, and I Will come to waft you to the sky. I would that I could longer dwell " He ceased to speak and smiled farewell ! And with that smile his soul took wing For brighter fields of endless light, There in sweet peace to endless sing Beyond the shadows of the night. So softly was its going there, From mortal home so true and fair, That not a trace of pain was left Upon his form, of life bereft, That she was loath o er him to weep, Death was so like its brother sleep. So calm and peaceful there he lay, While slowly wore the night away, That she was hopeful that when morn 138 THE COVERS OF SHII,OH. Should in the East again declare That to the earth a day was born, And waken all the sleepers there, He, too, would waken from his dream, And, with the old light in his eyes, More beautiful than Spring-time skies Unto her soul, would softly beam, With all the sweetness of the love Which caused so oft her heart to move In unison, with every glance, And all her being thrill, entrance; And know the sweet , ecstatic bliss Again of his warm, fervent kiss. And in her sorrow and her tears, There came the thought of other years, When first upon the Nation s sky Appeared the dark cloud of its sin, Until it grew, till every eye Discerned that judgment would begin Full soon, for lo! the cloud had spread Till all was darkness overhead, And sullen sound of discord rose, And forked tongues of fiery flame, The venom of the clouds disclose, And treason dare pronounce its name In places high of public trust, And flash its gleaming sword of hate, Rendering all most desolate, By those whose nurture had been drawn Like babes from out the mother s breast, Who, watching o er them when the dawn Of life had come at their bequest. And when the rumbling of the storm Had shook the Nation s peaceful form, And she had called upon her sons In her defence to grasp their guns, He shook with indignation s thrill, And answered with a loyal will. And she remembered sadly now The cloud which hovered o er his brow, 139 THE LOVERS OF SHII.OH. As if a warning voice he heard, Silent, yet clear, as though the word Had been by mortal lips expressed, And he the warning thought confessed As, turning to her, he had said : " When I am dead, Come to me then as now, And gently soothe my brow, And rest your hand, Dear, loving hand, Upon my head, And say: He sleeps, He is not dead; And lay your head Upon my breast. Think me not dead, Only at rest. Look on my form and face As my last resting place, From whence I m fled To house not made with hands, In brighter, better lands, Where soul-faith saith There is no death." " Oh precious thought," she softly said, " He does but sleep, he is not dead. This precious form of lifeless clay, Which soon the grave shall hide away, Is but the mansion wherein he Was prisoned of his liberty." Death truly is the golden key That sets the soul at liberty, And solves the mystery profound To all by mortal senses bound. This hope assuaged her grief at length, And, like rich wine, gave to her strength, Until her soul, on faith s strong wing, Arose till she could firmly fling Away all doubt, and truly say: 140 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. " He wakens to a brighter day, To which this world s most radiant light Is but a sad and gloomy night. "But oh, dear form, sweet face, bright hair, I love each line of beauty there; Those precious lips, that oft have told The tale of love beside which gold Nor all the world, nor heav n can hold One single thing of any worth; From earliest hour of life s sweet birth Until its close could all things be, Of beauty, light and melody, Rolled into one, it could not prove An equal to one word of love. " Sweet lips, now cold and motionless, That answer not my fervent kiss, And ears that harken riot the sound, Though oft I break the stillness round, With pleadings to thy noble soul; Oh, would that death would swiftly roll From mine this mantle dark of clay, And show my soul to thine the way. Dear eyes, now closed and lusterless, Your waking light how I shall miss ! Oh, that the lamp of life might be But for a moment lighted there, That I again through them might see The soul-light beaming warm and fair, As in the old, sweet time, when shone Their loving light into my own. "Oh, locks of jet and silken hair, Clustering round that marble brow, Thy wealth of darkened ringlets now Circles a manly beauty rare." To every one who passed that way, She bade them softly, lightly move, Lest .their rude treading should betray Their presence to her sleeping love, And wake him from his peaceful rest, As he so calmly, sweetly lay 141 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. With his fair head upon her breast, While broke the darkness into day. It would have touched a heart of stone, To see her guard with loving care Her precious love there all alone; And softly kiss his brow and hair, And murmur to him sweet and low, As from her lips these accents flow : " Sweetly sleep, my darling lover, Calmly take thy needed rest; Angels o er thy bosom hover, Thou art pillowed on my breast. "Sweetly sleep, no need of waking, Now all care has from thee flown; No rude call thy rest is breaking, I am with thee, all alone. <( I. will guard thee, love, forever, It is now my chosen part; Naught on earth can more us sever, Hand in hand, and heart to heart. " I am with thee, ever with thee, Sorrow s waves have ceased to roll; And no trouble can distress me, I am with thee, oh! my soul. " Heaven s richest, sweetest blessings Crown our lives with purest joy; With its warm and loved caressings, I am with thee, darling boy. " I am with thee, oh, my lover, Earth can add no sweeter bliss; With my mantle thee I cover In thy slumbers thee I kiss. "To my bosom now I fold thee, And thy lips in fondness kiss; In affection s arms I hold thee Heaven s joys exceed not this." 142 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Thus the waking morning found her, talking softly to her dead, While the matin winds were sighing in the branches overhead; And rich, brilliant pearls and rubies, stud the leaves and all the ground, As though angels in their winging, scattered here their jewels round; And she softly said unto him, " Sleep, my lover, sleep away, Take thy rest, oh, take thy slumber, heed thou not the coming day. "Heed thou not the cannon s thunder, heed thou not the voice of war, Though the vase of clay be broken, yet the soul is conqueror." Still I seem to hear her singing, to her lover, soft and low : "Sleep, my darling, take thy slumber, thou no care shalt ever know; For I m with thee, ever with thee, sorrow s waves hath ceased to roll, And no troubles can distress thee, I am with thee, oh, my soul. " Where thou leadest, I will follow, Where thou goest, I will go; Thou, my god, my fair Appollo; Other s love I shall not know. " Queen to thee, my lord and master, Glowing with pure love divine, Through the scenes of wild disaster, Strong my heart, with love s sweet wine. " I shall follow, dear Appollo, Though thy path should lead through flame: Other joys are bitter hollow, To the sweetness of thy name. "Thou wilt waken, and say to me With thy lips, and soulful eyes : Love, my bosom calls unto thee, As the sea calls to the skies. " And o er and o er his lips she kissed, Mid that weird scene where on the mist Of early morning softly lay, Wooed unto pulsing waves of gray, By rosy w T ings of waking day. 143 THE LOVERS OF SHII.OH. Still he dreamed on when morn returned, And gave no sign of waking there, Though long the maiden watched and yearned, And softly stroked his raven hair. The horologe of time marked not For him the hour, and morn forgot To wake him from his peaceful dreams, Though full she threw her golden beams Upon his peaceful face and brow, Wreathed in a smile of beauty now. Sleep gently pressed his eyelids down, Burnished with light his raven crown; Mother of dreams, oh! gift divine! Wine of the gods ! refreshing wine ! Renewing life and giving power, And peace to all; welcome the hour When thou dost bid us cease to weep, Angel of mercy peaceful sleep. " Brother of Death !" if so thou be, Death holdeth naught of misery, As softly o er our senses creep, Thy calm, unconscious reign. We welcome thee, oh, gentle sleep, And woo thee oft to come again; A balm for every sorrow thou, A priceless crown for every brow; Proving His matchless love so deep, "He giveth His beloved sleep." As closed her low, sweet lullaby, Her sorrow woke with heaving sigh; As back with mortal sense again, She felt the burden of her pain Fall on her heart with sore distress, Making her grief nigh measureless; Her troubled soul all bliss denied, In agony of woe she cried : " Oh, how I loved him, none can tell, I cannot, will not, say farewell! I cannot live without him, no 144 THE COVERS OF SHII^OH. Where er thou goest, I will go, Are words which ne er can be unsaid, They bind the living and the dead; For none are dead, they live to-day, Though in a higher, purer way; Those solemn words I shall obey, And from this spot I shall not move Till Heaven take me to my love." Then, lo, from out the mystic gloaming, From the land of spirits roaming, Came a presence hovering o er her, In the form of her dead lover, Speaking with voice that was his own In every accent, every tone; In every feature of its face A like to his she there could trace; The eyes those wondrous pleading eyes, Glancing from out the darkened skies, With all the wealth of tenderness Embodied in the soul of love, Voicing the power supreme to bless, Known to the earth or heaven above, And, whispering to her soul, it said: " Arzelia, love, I am not dead, But from the prison-house of clay I, that you loved, have passed away; Oh, precious one, be of good cheer, The hour of joy for you is near, E en now death s waters lave your feet, A little time and we shall meet Oh, blessed thought, to part no more! Upon this radiant, love-kissed shore. Thou wert by nature made so near This better world, your change will be Without a tremor or a fear, From earth to immortality, And peacefully as doth the rose Its blossom from the bud disclose. Here, where no joy is e er denied, And every wish is satisfied; 145 THE LOVERS OF SHILOH. Where wakes no thought within the breast That findeth not a peaceful rest. Wherever sent, the searching dove Returns with joyful news of love. W T here every questioning echo dies, Amid the sound of glad replies, Within these fields of Paradise. " Take all the glory of the stars From shimmering mist to sun-like Mars, Add silvery glimmer of the moon, And golden beams of sun at noon; The soulful murmur of the seas, The lute-like notes of woodland breeze, The freshness of all winds that blow, The sweetness of all flowers that bloom, And every joy that s found below, Between the cradle and the tomb, And roll them into one grand ball Of love and beauty, light and song, And into heaven let it fall Amid the soul-redeemed throng, And it would all far lesser be Than morning dew-drop to the sea." Then, beckoning her with smile and hand, The vision slowly passed away, While from the eastward o er the land, Faint glimmers hinted of the day. Oh, cruel grief, how worse than leaden ball, Thy course to loving heart, withering all The budding beauty of the maiden life, When trembles all the soul at thought of wife; Of wife to him of her pure bosom s choice, When love awakens with his lute-like voice, And all the seasons bear the breath of June, And every waking sound melts to a tune; And life appears all rose without the thorn, And night gives way to one effulgent morn Of light and joy, whose bright and golden ray, 146 THE: COVERS OF SHILOH. Bespeaks till death one endless Summer day. Oh, cruel grief, why should the fates let fall Thy bitterness, to damn and wither all; Why should the Winter winds untimely blow, And fill the warm-lipped month of June with snow, With thy dread kiss of death to blast the rose, Destroy the sweetness of its fragrant bloom, Strip life of every joy, and but disclose The weird and ghastly terror of the tomb ? Oh, blasting grief, before thee light is fled, And hope s sweet face is mantled with a pall : For he, the fountain of her joy, is dead, Has passed the Rubicon of life beyond recall; And she is widowed and bereft alone, W T ith her great weight of sorrow only known Unto her soul, and Him that feeds the lambs, And to the hungry heart do.th give rich alms; But in this wretched world of black despair, How madly hurls the Winter through the air, And freezing the young life in every pore, And deafening all with its wild, frantic roar, As high the billows rage of sorrow s storm, Till cowering neath its blast her gentle form Trembles beneath her heavy weight of grief, As shakes, before the howling winds, the leaf; Benumbed with grief, the night hours pass away, And in the East appears the blush of day, And as the infant morn trembled with life, She woke to sorrow s pain, which like a knife, Struck to her soul, when morning light had said, With truthful ray, "poor heart, thy love is dead." She answered with one wild and piercing scream, Which echoed through the wood and down the stream, So full of human agony and pain, Its like shall never sound on earth again. And fell there in the morning s twilight hour, A crushed and broken lily love s sweet flower, Divorced on earth, but wedded now in Heaven, Unto the soul her love on earth was given. 147 THE COVERS OF SHII<OH. And there, upon a mossy bed, They found them lying cold and dead; He died his country s life to save, And blessed by all shall be his grave. While the soft wind said to the leaf, ; Poor troubled heart, she died of grief ! And sweeping low to kiss them there, Lying within death s mystic fold, It toyed and tossed their brilliant hair In waves of mingled jet and gold. 148 DIALECT POEMS MUSIC IN THE BARKIN uv A DOC, MUSIC IN THE BARKIN UV A DOG, What s the sweetest music? stranger, That s a question, I ll agree; Fur to differ frum most others, Though there s one that sides with me. Music s what brings joy nd comfort, Moves to pain, mayhaps to tears; Paints a picter, clear, unfadin , On the heart, fur years nd years. Some likes organ, some planner, Flute er fiddle, some a band; But fur me a good dog s barkin s, The sweetest music in the land. You r astonished at my choosin , Sich a note fur best uv all Uv the sounds which earth or heaven, Ever on my ear let fall? Listen, stranger, nd I ll tell you, How I come to take the ground, That a dog s voice, when he s barkin , Makes on earth the sweetest sound : It was evenin in the Summer, We d been married most four year; Strange it seems in lookin back ard, How that evenin seems so clear. MUSIC IN THE BARKIN uv A DOG. I hed finished up my chorin , To the milkin uv the cows; They wuz still down in the pastur , Whar they lov d so much to browse. Nell, our baby, lyin yonder, In the corner uv the yard, With the golden-fingered willows Ever o er her keepin guard. Wuz ez peart a three-year baby, Ez ever come on earth to dwell; But she died uv scarlet fever Two years after what I tell. I hed whistled fur old Rover, Nd let down the pastur bars, Bout the time the daylight faded, Nd the angels lit the stars. I could hear the bell a-clinkin , Like ez if old Pied wuz still, Nippin uv the grass a-growin Neath the elms by the mill. Rover after ern went skippin , At a gestur uv my hand, Nd wuz soon a-drivin homeward Every critter in the band. Tinkle, tinkle, ling-lang, ling-lang, Coming home et milkin time; W 7 uz the chune the bell wuz playin A reg lar milk nd butter chime. On they come, the dog a-drivin Uv em thro the pastur lot, Pied the forid rank a-leadin , Follered clost by Red nd Spot. Then the heifers playful critters, Come a-tossin uv their heads, But soon settled, like most youngsters After supper, to their beds. 152 MUSIC IN THE BARKIN UV A DOG. I wuz finishin the milkin Uv the little brindle cow, Which wuz jest the boss of "creamers; Spot guv more milk, I ll allow, But tw^ant half so good fur butter, Nd our little baby Nell Wouldn t drink uv nary other; Couldn t fool er she could tell Brindle s rnilk frum all the others, Nd her "tup" would alluz bring; Nd I d milk et full uv "strippins," Coz et pleased the little thing. Bz I finished up that evenin , Nd turn d round to take her cup, Found she wuzn t no whar near me, Nd I went to hunt her up; Went out whar I see her standin , When I got the pail nd stool, Bz I started in to milkin , Whar she waited ez a rule. But she want no whar in hearin , Fur I called her loud nd long; But no answer come back to me, Save the wind now blowin strong. Then I listened; called nd listened, But the moanin uv the trees Wuz the only sound I gathered Frum the wingin uv the breeze. "Come in, John, nd bring the baby!" Called out Mary from the door; " Don t you see a storm is brewin ? Can t you hear the thunder roar? " "Yes," I answered, " I am comin ," Nd I rushed about half wild; Huntin every nook nd corner, Fur our darlin little child. 153 MUSIC IN THE BARKIN uv A DOG. On the storm-cloud come a-rushin , Makin things ez black ez night; Nd I knew she wuzn t near me, Fur the child war dressed in white. Then I heard old Rover barkin , Way off in the pastur wood; Nd I know d he d find the baby, Quicker n any human could. So I called, nd called, nd whistled, But old Rover wouldn t come; Nd I felt I d like to kill im, Strange ez how I wuz so dumb. Then I rushed down in the pastur , Heerd im barkin more nd more; Followed down whar the black waters, O er the mill dam foamin pour. I hed come quite close up to im, Fore I see thar on the ground, Little Nell, who wuz a-cryin , But, thank God, all safe nd sound. I hev heard all kinds uv music, Mentioned in the catalogue; But since then, there s none that s sweeter Than the barkin uv a dog. 154 LITTLE CRICKET. We called im Little Cricket, He wuz ez sweet a child Ez ever gladdened human heart, Er with affection smiled; And handsome ! Why, the little lad Hed laughin eyes nd curls, Nd ways ez sweet nd winsomelike Ez enny little girls. He wuz a little shaver then, A-borderin on four; The time when heaven to children gives All things we must adore. The way he crept into our hearts And grappled every string, And ruled us all et his sweet will, Wuz like a little king ! There want a man in the hull camp But loved im ez his own, With love ez tender an ez pure Ez enny ever known. His father wuz my partner, Nd ez good nd brave a man Ez ever struck the hills fer gold W 7 ith miner s pick nd pan. His mother wuz a faithful wife One uv those jewels pure, Who fer the loved ones uv their heart Would ennything endure. She died afore the little babe Her mother-love hed known, And Tom wuz left with Cricket here To struggle on alone. There want a woman in the camp, For then the hills wuz wild; About the last place on the earth Twuz fer a little child; But Tom wuz mother to the babe, And et wuz sweet to see The lovin , patient care he gave To et so tenderly. 155 LITTLE CRICKET. The baby somehow grew nd thrived, Escapin all the ills Which like a host uv doubts nd fears, The parent bosom fills; He wuz so peart nd cheerin like He jest reached out nd drew The feelin s uv all hearts to him, Nd worked em through nd through. When et wuz Christmas nd the lad Wuz jest a-turnin three, His Pa allowed thet we must have Fer him a Christmas tree. The notion took like wild-fire, And all around about, Yer could a-heard the miners all Second d et with a shout! Each one uv us fell to nd worked Upon this novel drift, All bent upon discoverin The finest Christmas gift. There want no gewgaws in them parts, And every one wuz thrown Upon his own resources, which We found not overgrown! We owe to Nature every thing We get, while here we live, But in most cases all her gifts Are somewhat primitive; And most uv em would hardly do, I think we ll all agree, Fer decoratin fer a child A pleasin Christmas tree! There ain t a soul in all the earth But et would please to see The gifts which we all worked nd brung To thet ar child uv three; And when we hed arranged em all Bt wuz a purty sight; Ef I should live a hundred year, I d ne er forget that night. 156 UTTI.E CRICKET. The tree wuz right smart uv a spruce Set in a cedar block, Right in the center uv the room On which to hang our stock; And when we d hung our presents all, That tree hed cur us fruit; Twuz wagons, barrows, picks nd spades And other things to boot! One feller d gone nd caught a coon, Another d shot a fox And made fer im the cutest caps Nd warmest kind uv frocks; Whistles, nd junipin jacks, nd drums, And every kind uv toy Ez enny uv us could opine Would ever please the boy. And Ivittle Cricket laughed with glee, With joy a-most went mad, Nd every man in the hull camp Wuz mighty nigh ezglad. vSome months passed by, nd when the Spring The hills hed carpeted W 7 ith softest grasses green nd fresh, And poppies gold nd red; Our Cricket wuz a-runnin And a-playin by the brook, And in each corner all about Wuz taken uv a look; Et jest seemed that all nature wuz So sweet, nd pure, nd mild, And thet her every tone nd smile Wuz mirrored in the child. When the wild flowers bloomed the fairest, And Spring-time skies wuz blue, Kz enny thet the golden stars Hed ever twinkled through, Our little treasure pined away, And God to us denied, The sweetest jewel uv our lives, When Little Cricket died. 157 CRICKET. Et would a-broke yer heart to see The grief uv Cricket s Pa, Fer while love ez sweet nd tender, Et s nature s strongest law. I tell yer et wuz terrible To see his silent grief, Ez he bowed o er that little form, A-trimblin like a leaf; His looks wuz so appealin like, And heavy came his breath, When he fust realized the truth Uv little Cricket s death. He took the cold form in his arms, Although he knew twuz clay, And pressed et to his heart nd walked The cabin floor all day. When evenin came we laid the child Beside his Ma to rest, A-prayin thet his spirit form Wuz on her spirit breast. The clouds wuz weepin softly like The brook nd every leaf Sounded ez ef they, too, wuz touched, By Tom s unspoken grief. The Summer passed, and then the Fall Gave way to Winter s place; Fer every day a year wuz writ Upon my partner s face. When Christmas came he got a tree, And brought the toys nd things, And fixed em ez they wuz last year, To which his mem ry clings. When evenin came he set him down Beneath the tree alone; When rnornin broke, he knew it not, His spirit sad hed flown! There ain t no doubt enters my mind But thet his soul wuz given, To wife nd child he loved so well, For Christmas up in heaven. 158 EZ FAITHFUL EZ A DOG. The yaller threads uv sunlight fell Acrost the rollin plain, Jest ez ef the cloudless skies Wuz weepin golden rain; The breezes crept among the grass, And shook each slender blade, Ez ef to " tag " each one uv em The game we children played / Way back, when we wuz little folks, And fooled the hours away; Jest so the breezes seemed ter do, Upon this Autumn da}-. M}^ pony jogged a lazy pace Acrost the prairie sea, Which lowed my thoughts ter amble like Through halls o memory: "Til I wuz fur and fur remov d Frurn every sight nd sound Which lay stretched out before me, Nd filled the air around. 159 KZ FAITHFUL, EZ A DOG. I wandered o er the days gone by, (Uv course all in my mind) And stopped a moment at the spots I d loved nd left behind. The old log house where I wuz born, Half hid with tangled vines, Which clum about the winders like Nd took the place of blinds, Keepin the sun frum comin in, With full force on the floor, Nd crept about the porch nd wove An arch-way o er the door. I seem d ter smell the flowers that bloom d Along the graveled walk, Nd hear the voices, now long dead, Jest as they used ter talk; Myself a little shaver there, A-playiri by the stream, A-chasin butterflies nd bugs, Twas like a sollum dream. My pony sudden called me back By givin sech a snort, Ez ef he feared his roamin days Wuz bout ter be cut short. I brought my trusty rifle up, Nd jerked my pistols round, Nd swept the landscape et a glance, Fur et was level ground. There want no movin thing in sight, Save buzzards in the sky, Whose silent shadders circled round About us very nigh. Nd then I know d them birds hed come Et call of something s death; Thet they hed scented frum afur The victim s tainted breath. My broncho wuz a-lookin like All life was in his eyes, Nd I wuz still half guardin gainst Some dangerous surprise. 160 EZ FAITHFUL EZ A DOG, I seed a wavin uv the grass, Which wuz not uv the wind; Looked clost, an seed that et wuz made By some four-footed kind. A moment more nd then a dog Come slowly creepin on; He wuz the wust sight thet my eyes Hed ever fell upon. So weak and starved, he couldn t walk, But slowly crawled to me, With his great brown eyes fixed on mine, Pleadin fur sympathy. My heart ain t soft ez t useter wuz, I couldn t see quite clear, Nd when I rubbed my eye, my hand Wuz moistened with a tear. I jumped frum thet er broncho quick, Nd kneelin on the ground, I took thet dog s head in my lap, Ez though a child I d found. My canteen yielded up the hull Uv life et hed ter give; I d rather die with sech a dog Ez with some humans live. To see the thanks those great eyes looked, Nd hur his greatful whine, Wuz honest pay fur timely help, Frum Nature s richest mine. He struggled to his feet, nd then Gazed back the way he d come, Looked wistful like, nd whined, nd pulled, Nd said in language dumb: I ve sumethin hur thet needs your aid, Come with me, Sur, and see." I followed on, the sight I saw Will die with memory: There on the ground some white bones lay, Bleached by the rain and sun; Perfect -in every part wur they, A human skeleton! 161 EZ FAITHFUL EZ A DOG. There this grand, noble dog hed stood, Through snow, nd rain, nd flood; A faithful guard uv him he loved Ez pure ez human could. The grass wuz trampled all about, Where he hed walked his beat ; All birds nd beasts of prey hed met, Fur ghoulish hopes, defeat. The dog, himself a skeleton, Most pitiful to see, Lay down nd whinin died, nd turn d His vigil o er to me. I hollowed out a grave fur em, Nd side by side I lay The bones uv master nd uv dog, Nd went my lonely way, A-thinkin what a welcome home, All souls would sure receive, Ef they wuz faithful ez a dog, Though they no creed believe. 162 THE SPERIT MESSENGER. Slowly the feathery snowflakes fell Down through the humid air; A-windin round ez ef they loved To kinder loiter there. The sky wuz covered with a shroud Uv thick and sombre gray; Fur ez the eye could see, the flakes, Wuz skippin in their play. The ground wuz brown nd bare at morn, But long fore noon twuz white; The trees festooned with parian wreaths They wuz a purty sight. Et kept a-fallin all day long, Nd weavin o er the breast Uv Nature a grand mantle, til She all in white wur dressed. Talk bout adornin ez a bride! No bride on earth below Could ever look ez pure nd fair As that true virgin, snow. Nd then I don t know s twould be best; People so awful good, I ve found, have less of sympathy Than helpful bein s should. I wuz a-settin by the fire, After the gloamin fell; The storm wuz whistlin round the eaves, With many a screech nd yell, Ez though the very imps of hate, Wuz seekin with each breath, To freeze the marrow o the bones Uv all who waited death. I wuz rejoicin that for me, The storm no terrors brought, Nd chucklin o er my comforts like, Perhaps, more an I ought. 163 THE SPERIT MESSENGER. Old Prince was lyin on the floor, Within the firelight s gleam, A-restin like fruni vexins free, Ez in a quiet dream. Perhaps et wuz a dream I ve hearn Folks speak uv stranger things, Ez how distress er sudden joy, Flies bout on spirit wings. But sure ez dogs ez faithful, friend, I seed another come, Nd stand in front of Prince, right there, Nd say in language dumb: "I want your help, old fellow, nd Ef you will come with me, I ll show you how to do some good, Nd show yer sympathy." Prince bounded up, an out the door He flew a-barkin loud; Fore I wuz fair awake, he wuz Wrapped in the fallin shroud. I hustled on my boots nd furs, An followed, ez I could, Down through the clearin , nd beyond Through the deep, heavy wood. Nd there I found him moanin loud, Nd callin through the storm, Fur me to take a traveler in, Nd keep im safe and warm. There o er the master s lay the form Uv his true, noble friend, Alike in life nd death the same: Faithful unto the end. Nd when his final breath expired, His soul, on spirit wing, Went out to Prince as messenger, His master help ter bring. 164 BEAUTY ON A POINT. Thar ez somethin mighty catchin in the smart nd silent way Uv the bird dog in approachin the cover uv his prey; The way uv his discernin whar the quail er snipe ez hid, Nd never bein fooled about some other bird inste d; Jest watch im when a-stiffenin ez every limber joint Becomes ez rigid ez a stone, when comin to a point. The beautiful Llewellyn, er the pointer slick nd trim, Makes a pictur so attractin thet et makes all others dim; L/eastwise, et seems so unto me nd other sportsmen, too, And ef your eyes can see jest right, twill seem so unto you; Fer Nature s done her level best, the bird dog to anoint, With her best style uv beauty, when a-comin to a point. 165 OUR TONIEST SASSIETY. Our folks s SOME folks now, you bet! Alluz in fer songs an rimes; There ain t nary other set Hez sech gosh, all-\vhoopen times. Candy pullin s, huskin bees, Singin skewls an spellin s tew; Look the airth o er whar yer please, Beatin us ez hard ter do. Ours s the oldest family here, Settled back in forty-nine; Pop wuz out a-shootin deer, When he struck the Croesus mine. Laws a-me! the gold he got Out uv the fust " lead " he struck, More n filled the stewin pot. Twuz a most amazin luck! Then a feller cum along, Nicest man yer ever see; An the heft uv all his song Wuz about the mine an me! Sed that pop should drop the pick, Mam an me should wear fine gowns, An be just ez nice an slick Ez the ladies uv the towns. Pop, he listened ter his talk, An they made sum papers out; Fore long Pop he had ter " walk," Can t see how et cum about. But he s rustled long quite well, An ain t nearly busted yet; An we re livin still ter tell How ter govern uv our set. 166 OUR TONIEST SASSIETY. We ve the biggest house about, Got a dandy dancin room; An there ain t no sort uv doubt, That we ll ketch on with the "boom." There ain t no sech folks for style, We re the top, my ma an me. Lord! et does some people rile Cause we lead sassiety! W T e re particklar bout our set, Only let in jest the best; Browns s left out in the wet, They r not our selectedest. Twouldn t do fur them ar gals Ter cum in a set with me; Scan lous how thar daughter Sal s Gittin forred-like an free. She do think she be so smart, But the things what she don t know Ud break down a loggin cart, For she s more n twicest ez slow. Last week, down ter Sunday skewl, She was flirtin with her eyes, An allowin Lemuel s mule, Wuz better n eny uv its size. She must think he s little sense, jt Fer ter think the likes o her, Be s uv any consequence, Fer her people never wur. He s a right smart of a man, An his mother ain t so slow; Lowed I looked right spick an span, In my new red calico. 167 OUR TONIEST SASSIETY. Lemuel s smit with me, I know, Though he talks with other girls; Mirandy Jinks an Lucy Snow Seed im pull Mirandy s curls! But whenever he s with me, He grows silent and so shy, That he s lovin , I kin see; He don t do much else an sigh! Cupid s sech a cur ous elf; When he s shootin uv his bow, The hit heart hoi s still, itself, So s ter get another blow! Willin game ez soonest caught, But again it might be rude, An I don t know ez I ought, Turn pursuer when pursued! My red dress ez sech a fit, Other girls haint got no show ; Taint no wonder Lemuel s smit On sech charms ez mine, yer know! Wisht he d hurry up a bit; Christmas time ll soon be here, An I wisht that we cud get Married fore the comin year. When I get im now you bet, He won t talk ter other girls; Bout one lesson an he ll let S m other feller pull their curls! Next chance that he gets ter speak, I ll jest help im all I can An I ll say when he s most weak, "Speak up, Lemuel, be a man!" 1 68 LIVIN FUREVER IN A DAY. I ve hearn em tell uv pleasures rare, But talluz seeni d ter me Az most uv folks wuz deaf an dumb, An through smoked glasses see. They ll wander round and spend ther time Alone with folks and books, Az ef thar want no sech good things Az mountains, groves an brooks. What I can t see s why people should Take all things second hand ; Why not go out an gather em Fresh frum the sea an land ? This readin what some feller writ, Or listenin to his yarn Bout what he sees of this ere world, To me ain t wuth a darn, I d ruther go an get et fresh From Mother Nature s lips ; The truth from her in one short hour Will all his tales eclipse. This lookin through some other s eyes, I d most ez lief be blind ; An they be blind ez so s content Least wise thet ez my mind. 169 UVIN FUREVER IN A DAY. An to all those ez think they know Life s object s gettin wealth, I want ter tell thet gold ez trash Compar d to bloomin health. The mountain brook sings sweet fur all, An nary bogus note Wuz ever issued by the choir With feathers on their throat. Ef these ere things yer want ter prove, Jest go alone ter see ; Fur whar ther s ary other one, Thar ain t no room fur me. An so I m goin out next week, Up in the mountains, whar The foam in waters never cease Thar feelin s to declar ; Whar soft winds whisper mong the trees, An wild birds carol free, An chipmunks gambol all day long Til sunset paints the sea. I ll "cast" my flies in that ar stream, An hook the gamy trout, An live furever in a day Afore you v found et out. MABEL GRAY MABEL GRAY. the mountains to the westward, In the country s early day, Dwelt a woodman, with his family, From the city far away. Their lone cot was always cheerful With reward of honest toil, Forgetting all the outer world With its bustle and turmoil. Lived in peace, enjoying plenty, For their wants were very few, In this wildness knew more pleasure Than the city ever knew. From the mountains, to the westward Came a low-voiced river s flow, Which had birth amid the mountains, Hooded with eternal snow. To the southward, a short distance, Cradled in the wooded hills, Lay a lake, and in its bosom Heaven s bright reflection dwells. On the loftiest hill surrounding Grew a pine-tree on its crest, W T here a pair of war-like eagles For long years had built their nest. Now the Summer was departing, And the Autum s sombre breath Kissed the grass, and flowers, and foliage Left them beautiful in death. 173 Maple leaves with gold were burnished ; Oak leaves dipped in Summer s blood ; And the poplar leaves were ashen, Brilliant all the Autumn wood. And the changing of the season Could be seen all o er the land, While the willow and the pine tree Held the dying Summer s hand. In this beauteous spot, enchanted, N Dwelt in love and quietness Husband, wife, and two sweet children. Rivaling Eden s loveliness ; Two sweet, gentle, lovely sisters, One with mother s hair and eyes, Shaming with their wondrous beauty Summer s gold and mellow skies; While the other mirrored father s Eyes of brown, and her rich hair 174 MABEL GRAY. Caught some of the twilight shadows And, entangling, held them there. Fannie was the younger sister, Scarcely turned the age of four; Mabel s years did her s outnumber By perchance a half a score, So that she was to her sister Guardian, playmate, guide and friend And her constancy undying Was devoted to the end. In this Autumn s early season, As the angels of the morn In the East began proclaiming That another day was born, Roused the husband and the father, Roused the mother and the wife, He, to start upon a journey, She, to warn him of the strife And the dangers all about him, As his solitary way, To the distant village, eastward, Through wild woods and marshes lay. Reassuring, then, he kissed her; Held her fondly to his breast; Kissed his loving children sleeping, Smiling sweetly in their rest. Silently he prayed God s blessing Might be with them, night and morn, And His guardian spirit guide them Safely, until his return. Then he hastily departed Up the winding eastern way, As the sky was growing brighter With the heralds of the day. When he reached the mountain summit, He turned round, to view the scene Of the valley far below him, Slumb ring calmly and serene. The river s peaceful, winding course, Down the mountains, through the mist, 175 MABEL GRAY. Which, by rosy lips of morning, Into beauty had been kissed; The lake glowing like the armor Of some knightly warrior bold, While over all the scene was thrown Autumn s robe of brown and gold; And nestling mid the maple trees His rude home, where loved ones dwell; On them all he asks God s blessing, And then breathes a fond farewell. Softly creep the rays of sunshine, O er the eastern mountain s brow; All the river and the woodland Glow with sunlit beauty now. Then the mother wakes the children, And their frugal meal prepares, And to gather fruits for Winter, To the orchard wild repairs, Charging, first, the elder sister With the darling baby s care, That no sorrow come unto her, Clouding childish face so fair. Then strong-hearted, busy-fingered For love made her labor light Til the Gheber s god, declining, Hinted of the coming night ; When, returning to her dear home, Rich with heavy-laden store, Of the gifts which Nature, freely, Giveth ever to the poor; Found the house all strangely silent: Through the careless, open door, Streamed the evening s golden sunlight, O er the rough-hewn, puncheon floor. But no children came to greet her, And no welcome caught her ear. Then her bosom quick was heaving With a weight of awful fear; Searched she quickly all the house through, And the clearing round about ; 176 MABEI, GRAY. Came no answer to her calling, Save the echo of her shout. Mad with fear, with terror stricken, Here and there she rushed in haste, Calling loudly to her darlings But deserted was the place. "Speak, ye stones, ye trees, and tell me! Speak, oh speak, ye silent air ! Tell me, oh ye winds, in sighing, Where my precious children are!" Night came on, and yet no tidings - From her loved ones could she hear; Silent all the scene about her, As of one vast sepulcher. All night long, from out the darkness, Hideous forms and shapes arose, As of damned spirits mocking At her misery and woes: Saw them seize her darling children, As in wild and fiendish glee; Dance and chatter, wildly laughing, At her awful misery. Then she rose and dashed upon them For all hell, with fury wild, Cannot conquer the deep passion, Of a mother for her child. This the picture this the torture, O er and o er, and o er again, Like a sea of seething madness, Rolling on her heart and brain; Calling God to save her darlings From the phantom demon s rage ; Through that night s long hours of darkness- Every moment w*as an age! For deep sorrow checks time s motion, While one s life flows swiftly on, So that ages pass ere morrow, Breaks the darkness with its dawn. So it was wdth this poor mother : Every feeling of her heart 177 MABEL GRAY. Had been strained until each life-cord Was full ready now to part. Morning came, and then the neighbors, Hearing of the children lost, Started out, in haste, to find them, Caring not for any cost. Searched they through the fields and forests, Dragged the lake and river-bed, But they yielded up no token: Surely, then, they were not dead! For the river s lips, though ever Murmuring their low, sweet sound, Are most treacherous and cruel, As the world has ever found. Many innocent and lovely Ones, have found beneath its waves, From a life of joyous sunshine, Sudden, dark, untimely graves. And the lake with placid bosom, Seeks our fears to e er beguile, Yet its grasp is dreadful murder, And, while murdering, would smile. 178 Fannie! Fannie! Come here, darling!" II. LONE hunter in the forest, In the wild and trackless waste, Where the foot of pale-faced human Never had before been placed, I^aid him down to rest a moment, In that wilderness alone, When his practiced ear was startled By a far-ofT human tone. He inclined his head to listen Softly, faintly on the breeze, Came a gently murmuring cadence, Floating weirdly through the trees. Twas a tone of gentle pleading, Full of love and tenderness, 179 MABEL GRAY. As of one whose soul \vas troubled, With a load of deep distress: "Fannie! Fannie! come here, darling! " Were the words it seemed to say; " We must hasten home to mother, From this dismal place away; Come here, Fannie, coine here, darling, Fly from sister not away, For with searching I m so weary, And we must no longer stay. Come to sister, little darling, Come, I ve found your little hood ; We must hasten home to mother, From this dark and dismal wood." "I was dreaming surely dreaming," Said he, as he heard no more; "It w 7 as but the soft wind s sighing, Through the trees and o er the moor. Then he heard the bushes rustle; Heard a soft and stealthy tread. Seized he quick his trusty rifle, With a feeling of deep dread; For his nerves were badly shaken With the weirdness of the sound; Could it be that this wild forest Was enchanted, haunted ground? Like a statue stood he, fearing To breathe freely, lest his breath Should give warning of his presence, And discovery be death. Thus he stood there, greatly fearing To advance or to retreat; Wishing well the struggle over, Be it vict ry or defeat. Then once more the soft voice uttered The same language once again, As some lovely child addressing, In this coaxing, low refrain: Fannie! Fannie! come here, darling; Come to sister, precious one ! 1 80 MABEL GRAY. We must hasten home to mother, For she s lonely while we re gone." With amazement dumb, confounded, Heard the hunter this refrain; Then at intervals repeated, Came the same weird tone again, O er and o er the words repeating, With a tenderness so deep, Was each word with pleading weighted, They would cause a stone to weep. And the hunter dropped his weapon. Strong emotion shook his frame, And his eyes were dim with weeping, As the tears with freedom came, Coursing down his bearded visage, With that strong, resistless flow, Only known when hearts are melted By another s grief and woe. Roused he, then, and onward started To the troubled one s relief, Trusting he might comfort bring her, And assuage her heavy grief. Softly, then, his steps advancing, For the woods were filled with foes, Came he near the spot, where, seeming, To his ear, the voice arose. Then with care the bushes parted, And beheld a maiden fair, Clothed with torn and tattered garments, \Vith unbound and streaming hair; And with wondrous eyes, w r hose gleaming Glance was fastened on a bird Flitting round amid the branches, From her parted lips he heard: Fannie! Fannie! come here, darling; Come to sister, precious one; We must hasten home to mother, For she s lonely when we re gone." But the wild bird, all unheeding, In its joyous life so free, 181 MA EEL GRAY. The words of the little maiden, Flitted on from tree to tree, And she followed, softly calling, O er and o er, her sad refrain, And her sweet voice grew more cheerful, As she neared the bird again; Till, at length, it plumed its bright wings, For a loftier flight away, In the blue sky s mellow arches, Where alone is perfect day. Then the ravings of the maiden, In her helpless, wild despair, Filled with woeful lamentations All the sombre Autumn air: Fannie! Fannie! why, my darling Have you now so wilfull grown? Why, oh darling, will you leave me In this dreadful place alone? Come back, Fannie; come back, sister; I have found your little hood; We must hasten home to mother, From this dark and dismal wood." But no answer to her calling Save its echoing refrain, Came from out the silent wild\vood To relieve her tortured brain. Came no soothing for her anguish, Came no balm for her deep grief, Save the requiem in the branches, O er the death of falling leaf. As in sympathy the heavens O er the scene drew sombre veil, And the tender winds more sadly Echoed her despairing wail, While the gloaming shadows faintly From the westward slowly crept, And the ashen clouds in sorrow Sympathetically wept. 182 GRAY. Then the hunter came unto her, As she lay upon the ground, And she knew it not; her sobbing Shut from her all other sound. Stood in sympathetic silence, For no words can e er express, The feeling for another s woe, For the human heart s distress. Long he stood, til she grew calmer, Until hushed became her moan, Knowing that deep grief s a burden All must bear and bear alone. Then he spoke unto the maiden: " Why girl, you re troubled," he said. She turned her glance upon him, then, Shrieking wildly, quickly fled Up the steep and rugged mountain Til a chasm crossed her way; Out she leaped, and at its bottom Torn and bruised and bleeding lay. There the hunter quickly found her, With her heart-beats faint and low, W T hile from out her wounds was streaming Fast her life in crimson flow T . From the brook he bathed her temples, Wet her swollen, parched lips, Chafed her hands, and saw the life blood Glowing at her finger tips. Then, to consciousness returning, Slowly opened she her eyes, And the glance she turned upon him Was of wonder and surprise; Not the weird and wildly gleaming, When at first her voice he heard, As she stood there in the forest, Pleading strangely with the bird, But a glance which spoke of reason, Then her pain called forth a moan, And she feebly asked the hunter : " Why am I here and alone ?" 183 MABEI, GRAY. And he said : " Rest, child, a moment, And then tell me how you come To be straying in this wildwood ; Where is your home ? What is your name ? Then she told him that her dear home By a lake and river lay ; How she lost her little sister ; That her name \vas Mabel Gray. Now the hunter well remembered Lake and river, and the home, And he wondered at the distance The poor girl had safely come Through the dreary, trackless forest, Filled with savage beasts of prey. Perchance her strongest guardian \vas Her weird, wild insanity. Then he wound his coat about her, Lifted her with tenderness, Started forth upon his mission, Her lone parents hearts to bless: Knowing that the soul that giveth Is the soul that liveth most ; He who others burdens beareth Is unto himself a host. And the way, despite his burden, Shortened quickly, day by day, And grew brighter and still brighter As he onward pushed his way, Til at length he climbed the mountain, Saw the valley far below ; Saw the lake in brightness gleaming ; Heard the low-voiced river s flow. Then he shouted with his coming, Bounding swiftly o er the ground : "Rise and sing loud hallelujahs, For behold, the lost is found ! " 184 MABEL GRAY. Found ! but oh, how weak ! Poor Mabel, Helpless as a babe, new-born, Now subsided fear and fever, Tender limbs all bruised and torn ! There she lay upon her pillow, Scarcely conscious of the bliss, Which thrilled all her soul and being, At her parents loving kiss. Mabel, darling," said her mother, " Where is Fannie ? " Mabel sighed, And unto her mother s question For her answer thus replied : III. Mother, bear with me a little Just a very little while ; I did cling so close to Fannie As we clambered o er the stile ; Then across the dusty highway, To the grove of pifion trees, Where the ripest nuts were falling, Shaken by the passing breeze. There we played, and laughed, and shouted, In our merriment and glee Fannie never seemed so happy As in playing there with me ; Til, at length, we both grew weary, And we laid us down to rest, Fannie s golden head, so curly, Pillowed safely on my breast. And I thought me not to slumber, But strict watch o er sister keep, MABEL GRAY. "While she drew new strength, refreshing, From the wonder-land of sleep. As through interlacing branches, Looked I on the deep blue sky, Came a fleecy cloudlet drifting O er the opening slowly by. Then the South wind breathed more warmly, Whispered louder to the trees, And to me twas sweetest music Half forgotten melodies ! For a moment then I listened ; Then I slowly closed mine eyes, And the music grew far sweeter Like your old, sweet lullabies. My head rested on your bosom, Free from every care and pain, And I felt your arms entwining Round about my form again ; Felt your gentle fingers toying With the ringlets on my brow ; Felt your gentle kiss, so loving, As I do, dear mother, now. "While, half conscious, I lay dreaming, Felt I wave of pinions there ; Saw or seemed to see sweet Fannie \Vafted upward through the air. Then I woke, and all was darkness ! All was silent ! save the moan Of the swaying trees above me But, oh God, I was alone ! Fannie ! Fannie ! called I, groping All about the darkened wood, But I found her not, nor nothing, Save alone her little hood. Called I louder ; but the echo Of my voice alone replied, 186 MABKI, GRAY. "As it bounded from the hillside, And then fainter grew, and died. And the moon her face had shrouded, And the stars refused to shine, On such wild and awful terror, As now froze this heart of mine. And the night winds chill and clammy, From the .marshes and the fen, Sobbing weirdly, kissed my forehead, Then swept onward down the glen. And the ivy vine, in swaying, Swept across my neck and face, As a serpent to enfold me In its poisonous embrace. Then the darkness grew and thickened, So that nothing could I see The heavens black and chill above, As the cold earth under me. Then I held my breath to listen: All was silent as the dead, Save the winds among the branches, Gently sighing, overhead. Stood I long in silence, listening, Hoping I might hear her voice, Calling to me from the forest, Bidding my sad heart rejoice. She is, thought I, in the wildwood, Close behind some stump or tree; Surely she will hear me calling, And come bounding forth to me. "Fannie! Fannie! still I shouted, Come to sister, blessed one; We must hasten home to mother, For she s lonely while we re gone. Come to sister, little darling; Come, I ve found your little hood; 187 MABEL GRAY. " We must hasten home to mother, From this dark and dismal wood. "Then a strange and awful trembling Shook me as strong winds the leaf; I forgot all other feeling, All of sorrow and of grief. I could see her just before me, Plainly as I see you now, With her silken, sun-kissed ringlets, Lying on her love-lit brow. Hither, thither, through the forest, Playing hide-and-seek with me, Always laughing, always cheerful, Full of merriment and glee. I saw nothing but dear Fannie, Until by the hunter found, As I lay all bruised and bleeding, On the cold and stony ground." Then, her gentle face up-turning, Through the window to the sky, Whispered: "Mother, do you think it Such an awful thing to die? Mother, I shall not be with you But a very little time, I am going to another, Better, sweeter, brighter clime. Listen! don t you hear the voices Speaking to us everywhere ? Hear the leaves and flowers, in dying, Filling all the sky with prayer? Angel hosts are sweetly singing Melodies so soft and low ; They are calling to me, mother, Calling to me now, to go. In their midst is little Fannie, Clad in robes of spotless white ; 188 MABEI, GRAY. She is smiling now a welcome A pleased welcome of delight ! She is calling, Mabel, Mabel, Come to little sister now ; Come and wear a robe of beauty And a wreath upon your brow ! Fannie, darling, I am coming, Coming to you, blessed one ! And we ll watch and wait for mother, Til the angels bid her come. Sweeter, sweeter grows the music, Brighter, brighter grows the sky ; Hear the waving of their pinions- Good-bye, mother; all, good-bye ! And they laid her in the valley, Underneath the woodland trees, Where at morning and at evening, Sinks to rest the woodland breeze. Clouds of Winter o er the brown earth A soft mantle wove of snow, Still of little Fannie s dark fate They no certainty could know, Until low-voiced Spring came bringing Her sweet birds and blooming flowers, And earth s garments green were woven By the sunshine and the showers. Save the pine tree by the blue lake, Where the eagles built their nest, All the countless trees around it, Were in garments richly dressed. 189 MABEL GRAY. But, like a blackened skeleton, From which all power of life had fled, It stood among its fellow trees Alone, loveless, leafless, dead. And, at length, beneath the woodman s Keen-edged axe, it quickly fell, And the secret, so well hidden, Did thus by its falling tell : In the eagle s nest was woven, With the moss and grasses there Startling him who did behold them Silken strands of golden hair. 190 BLOSSOMS AND BRIERS THOSE EYES OF BROWN M THOSE EYES OF BROWN. In all the world there is but one Pair of eyes of brown, That are more beauteous than the sun When it goes down. They shine at morn, at noon, at night, Always for me, With love s enchanting, trustful light Of harmony. Beside those eyes the star-beams shine But languid, dull; To me their light is all divine Most wonderful! And when their curtains softly fall, So coyly down, I love them more than life, than all Those eyes of brown. When crimson blushes upward sweep O er lips and face, And slowly from her fair cheeks creep With matchless grace, Were I possessed of all the earth A royal crown ! I d give it all to match their worth Those eyes of brown. In them sweet Summer ever shines, And fair flowers bloom; There Pleasure stores her richest rnines- In them is room For every thought of peace and love My life to crown, With joys surpassing heaven s above Those eyes of brown. 193 WAITING. I sit alone within my room, While evening shadows softly fall, Filling each nook about with gloom, And slowly creep athwart the wall; The clock in doleful silence ticks The hour of six. The ruddy fire all brightly burns; The stand near by with open books; An empty easy-chair which yearns For some one s coming so it looks; I count each moment as tis given, Til hour of seven. I pace the floor with measured tread, And ear attentive to each sound; A doubt creeps in a thought of dread Her footsteps are not homeward bound; How can it be she stays so late? The clock strikes eight! Footsteps! Ah, surely she is come! I haste to greet her at the door, But all without again is dumb, Though I call to her o er and o er, I cannot glean of her a sign; The clock strikes nine! Oh, anxious heart, be still, be calm; Though cloud-tears mark the window pane, Thy waiting sweetens but the balm That she will bring thee through the rain. That she will bring me? Ah, but when? The clock strikes ten! 194 WAITING. Now drag the night-hours slowly by; The fire within the grate low burns; My fevered lips are parched and dry, My wretched heart, oh, how it yearns! A hell, where might have been a heaven! The clock strikes leven! My eyes close slowly, and my head Will droop upon my weary breast; Some Siren with the rain is wed She sings so sweetly now of rest. Into life s mystery I delve The clock strikes twelve. How peaceful and how light my heart! How beautiful all things now seem ! Swiftly the evening hours depart, And firesides warmly, brightly gleam; All cares are banished with the sun. The clock strikes one. I hear a footstep at the door! Into my arms in haste she springs, And love expresses o er and o er, As to my breast she sweetly clings. Sweetheart! How loving and how true! The clock strikes two. We chat beside the glowing fire, And read some stanzas from the book; Love leaves unanswered no desire, But speaks in every tone and look; Life seems one dazzling, love-lit sea The clock strikes three. She sings so sweetly the old songs; I kiss her shining hair and eyes; She coyly says: " To thee belongs These lips." I answer with replies, Perhaps a dozen, if not more. The clock strikes four. 195 THE RULE TO LIVE. We kneel again at evening prayer, Silent, beside our snowy bed: Oh, God, our every secret share, And our fond hearts more firmly wed; Bring us to thee; for this we strive The clock strikes five. The gray dawn streams across the sky; How cold! how cold! Mamie, my dear, Art waking, love? but no reply: My God! a dream! she is not here. Laugh, fiends! and hemlock-juices mix The clock strikes six. THE RULE TO LIVE. "As Thou wilt, Lord," young Robin said, And each day said anew, And walked in paths of pleasantness, To manhood firm and true. Each morn to him was God s rich gift An opportunity, To aid his fellow mortals on, O er life s tempestuous sea. He loved not riches to exclude, From out his honest mind, The fairest flowers and richest fruits, Bestowed upon mankind. But in their season of them all, To uses good applied, And all who knew him, loved him well, And mourned him \vhen he died. Be kind, be generous, be true, And unto others give, A life which daily proves itself A blessing while you live. 196 MY WORLD. I have a world tis all my own, More beautiful and fair to see, Than aught this world has ever known Where all is love and purity. Its rivers broad, its purling rills, With music sweet the soul delight; Its lovely, mist-enshrouded hills, Are ever charming to niy sight. Its mountains rear majestically, Far, far aloft, their regal heads, Where sport soft Summer winds at play, And soul with angel-spirit weds. Its broad, high plains of active thought, Where every breath expands the soul; Where every pleasure conies unsought, And youth remains while ages roll. Where ever glows the sun of peace, Where blooms affection s fairest flowers; Where love and hope and trust increase, With endless flight of Summer hours. A cottage on the hillside stands, O erlooking meadows decked with flowers, And spirit forms with magic wands, Enchant and bless the golden hours. About the door the ivy clings, And with its slender tendrils weave A magic pattern, which it flings At either side, along the eaves. About its windows blooms the rose, Which fills the air with sweet perfume, And woos the sense to sweet repose, When falls the evening s quiet gloom. 197 EADENS I M SEEKING TO FIND. A mother sits within the door, With mother love her face most fair; While sunlight glinting o er the floor, Falls on a cherub sleeping there. A brown-eyed boy with golden hair, With chubby hands and dimpled chin, And soul as pure as Heaven s air, Where falleth no dark shade of sin. How my poor heart doth for them yearn, To fold them to my bosom now; And kiss them each again, in turn, On ruby lips and love-lit brow! I love the night, for then it seems They come with love s sweet smile to me, And in those dear, enchanted dreams, I live in true reality. EDENS I M SEEKING TO FIND. Come, sit here, my friend, while I draw back the curtain, Which hangs o er my heart and its secrets enfold Of mysteries deep, and strange feelings uncertain, Which slowly, but surely, are making me old. I would I were able in language to utter, And speak forth my thought, that you might understand, But the best I can do is only to mutter For language is dull, save the glance and the hand. From youth all my soul has been rocked with emotions, Which roll like a troubled sea over my mind ; And strange winds have whispered, from over deep oceans, Which tell me of Edens I m longing to find. On the wings of these winds, a sweet, tender spirit Has spoken, at times, a sweet peace to my soul ; I longingly listen, all prayerful, to hear it Tis drowned in the busy world s bustle and roll ! 198 FOR THOSE WE MY MOTHER. I speak of one who, neath the surr r Embodies every grace, And every virtue plainly is Depicted in her face; To whom the gods have given form, Above all human kind ; A jewel rare, beyond compare The setting of her mind. Her loving smile all cares beguile, And fills me with delight ; With her my days are pleasure s own, And peaceful every night; To whom the gods a charm hath given, Bequeathed unto no other ; There is not ne er can be again, An equal to my mother. FOR THOSE WE LOVE. How sweet to feel we re going home: To calmly look to the beyond, From whence our sweetest visions come, And lasting treasures may be found. Where holy triumphs rest secure, And joys and pleasures never die; Where dwelleth naught that is impure, In love s sweet home, beyond the sky. Tis not for self oh no, not so, But for the souls of those we love; For them, dear Lord, oh, let us grow Immortal in the fields above. Bestow on us immortal life, And wipe away all bitter tears; Shut out all fear and thought of strife, Let shine the flood of golden years. 199 LIFE. MY HEART is STRANGELY SAD TO-NIGHT. My heart is strangely sad to-night, I would not hear thee sing ; The songs which once were my delight, With discords harshly ring. I love the songs of other days, Heard at my mother s knee ; Would walk again youth s pleasant ways Alone, in memory. Oh, mother ! come again to me, And soothe my wear}- heart ; I still am but a child to thee, Whate er to others art. My soul cries out in weariness, To pillow on thy breast To calm this pain and deep distress, And with thee sweetly rest. Weep on, tired heart, thy sad refrain, So tremulous and low, vSwept by the cruel hand of pain, No mortal ear may know. Thy grief, thy woe, thy bitter tears, No mortal eye may see, But He will bless in coming years, Who rules eternity. LIFE. Life is a wave on which men rise, To seize ambition s tinsel crown ; All other pleasures loathe, despise, To win one smile from fleeting fame, Then sink beneath death s waters down And cease to live, save in a name. 200 FAITH Kill, TO THE END. BIRD SONG. Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet, sweet, sweet, Caroled forth a wild bird, gaily, As it flitted here and there, Through the blithesome Spring-time daily, Where the trees their blossoms w r ear; Morning, evening, all the day, It seemed ever thus to say: Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet, sweet, sweet. Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet, sweet, sweet, Filling all the air about me. With its joyous notes of song, Til each motion of the air-sea Seemed to roll with joy along. Light my heart and bright the day, When I heard the sweet bird say: Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet, sw T eet, sweet. Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet, sweet, sweet, The words kept ringing in my ears, And they filled niy heart with joy, Til moistened were my eyes with tears, But no grief did them alloy, For I wended swift my way, To my love, that I might say: Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart, sweet, sweet, sweet. FAITHFUL TO THE END. You ve come again, old friend, to me, To keep the vows of other years; I ve kept thy love safe in my heart, Embalmed in sorrows and in tears. True love can never, never change, Though sorrows, troubles be its fate, Now, after all these weary years, To think your coming is too late. 201 COME WITH THY HARP. Come, dear, and fold me to your breast, And take this feeble hand in thine, And let me hear the s\veet old voice, Say that you truly now art mine. Our paths through life have lain apart, And now life s sun is sinking low; Come, press me, darling, to your heart, And kiss me once before I go. There, darling, do not weep for me; The weary hours have almost flown; And this sweet meeting now with thee, Heals all the sorrows I have known. Still tread the path of life alone, We ve just a few more years to wait; I ll watch, and long, and pray for thee, And keep ajar the golden gate. I ve watched and waited, wept and prayed, That you would quickly, quickly come, Through all these lonely, weary years; But now I pray: "God s will be done." I dreamed that we would happy be, And was content to watch and wait; But dreams alone, alas! they ll be, For now your coming is too late. Farewell, for I must leave you now; I hear the angels welcome call; Come closer, for my sight grows dim, The dews of death upon me fall. Good-bye, old love, a last good-bye, I m going from this world of pain; I ll watch, and wait, and pray for thee, Till we in heaven meet again. COME WITH THY HARP. Come with thy harp at evening s hour, When hungry grows the heart for love, And let me feel its melting pow r, My soul to soothe. 202 MY FRIEND. When care and strife die on the air, And passing moments breathe of peace, Oh, let me feel thy presence there, That doubts may cease. Let thy hand softly touch the strings, That waken fondest dreams of mine, And by low pleading always brings My soul to thine. The evening zephyr s softest tone, Faintly perfumed by breath of flowers, Is fitting messenger, my own, For love like ours. MY FRIEND. Words compass not a richer thought Than this: He is my friend; One who stands firm and true, unbought, Steadfast unto the end; Who speaks a word of kindness, when The world in anger frowns; For him my heart in fealty then, With all its being crowns. No gift to mortal man is given, So sweet, so rich as this; It rivals e en the hope of Heaven, W T ith all its wondrous bliss, To fully trust, to feel and know, Unto the bitter end, Whate er may happen here below, He is my steadfast friend. To feel and know his strong right arm Is bared in my defense, To shield and guard from every harm, Whate er the consequence, Fills full my cup, unto the brim, With joys that sweetly blend, And makes myself, second to him, Who truly is my friend. 203 MY MOTHER S DEATH. " So tired, let me rest," mother sighed, as she wearily Moaned in her weakness and closed her dear eyes, That had for a moment looked outward so drearily, Over the meadows, and up to the skies: The soft, azure skies, where fleecy clouds drifted, As idly, dreamily onward they rolled, While bright, mellow sunbeams lazily sifted Through them, to the earth, a shimmer of gold. Then Silence laid heavily on us his finger, And grief filled our bosoms at thought of the pall, And the death angel s visit, who let her still linger, A short measure with us, ere making his call. He delayed but a moment: so soft was his coming, We thought that dear mother but quietly slept, While nothing we heard, save the honey-bees humming, As through the open window their low voices crept. Then o er her wan features death s presence came creeping; We pressed down her eyelids, and folded her hands; Then low words were spoken to comfort the weeping, And tell of her welcome in heavenly lands. We robed her loved form with the sepulcher s dressing, And lowered her so lovingly down by the side, Of him whom her heart, while he lived, was confessing The love of her life, which bloomed on till she died. They rest on a wave, which arose from the ocean, And beat back the waters to river and sea: An emerald wave of the prairie, whose motion, Has slumbered since, fanned by the glad winds so free. The last golden rays of the day-beams, when dying, Kissed gently their graves w 7 ith soft light as they fell, And again to the world we turned with deep sighing, As sadly we bade them a loving farewell. There in peace let them rest, heart to heart, dust to dust, Until the Lord s coming in glory again: For He was their shepherd, their hope, and their trust The Saviour, to them, of the children of men. 204 THE EVENING OF LIFE. THE STATUE TO PYGMALEON. Gaze on, oh soul of love, gaze on, Speak with thy fervent glance, and give This marble form, this heart of stone, The strength and power to move and live. Beneath that gaze I live, I see, Thou my creator and my friend; IvOve boundless as eternity, Thy every glance and movement blend. By love s divine, empowering glow, This marble form with life is thrilled; I feel the rich blood s quickening flow, With throbbing life my bosom filled. Love is of life the only worth, It is my heart, my soul, my breath, The quickening power which gave me birth; Be it withdrawn, I sleep in death. THE EVENING OF LIFE. The snows of the Winter of life, old man, Have fallen upon your hair, And the breath of Summer s soft, wooing winds, Comes not to disturb them there. Your step has grown feeble, and bowed your form Now trembles your palsied hand; But a few short years since you stood erect, The stalwart of all the land! But the hours of the gloaming of life, old man, For you have come gently on; Is the evening of life to you, old man, As sweet as its early dawn? Is the golden light of life s setting sun As bright as its morning ray? Are the hours of closing as dear, old man, As those in the heat of day? 205 CUPIDS BLOSSOMS. Has the western slope of the hill, old man, For you a September sky? Has life s setting sun a soft, mellow light, As the night of death draws nigh? Does your path grow smooth, as it nears the shore, The shore of the mystic sea? Do its billowy waves an anthem sing The waves of eternity? For your soul, thank God, your great soul, old man, Beams forth from your clear, blue eye, With a power which tells of the light in man That never was born to die, And your face is lit with a beaming smile, Well knowing your work is done; That the pains, and sorrows, and trials of life Shall cease with its setting sun? Does your star of hope now more brightly shine, Dispelling the gloom of the grave? Are the waters of death now clear to you, Silver crested every wave? Rejoice! your journey is over, old man, Pass to the shores of the blest; Thou hast fought the battle of life, old man, Enter thou into thy rest. CUPID S BLOSSOMS. I ve seen thee oft when roses wreathed About thy features, garlands bright ; When thy fair bosom fondly breathed In ecstasy of pure delight. When thy brown eyes with pleasure shone Your lips were red with passion s glow, And knew thy heart was all my own, When love was one unbroken flow. 206 WHEN I AM OLD. When shadows came not to annoy Our perfect harmony of bliss ; When every pulse was one of joy, Making our life all loveliness. Since then I ve seen the roses fade, And in their place pale lilies lay ; Oh, shame ! to think fair, lovely maid, That I had chased their bloom away. Oh, dearest maid, I do confess, I have those roses falsely slain ; But, darling, come and let me kiss Those blooms of Cupid back again ! WHEN I AM OLD. Oh, love and song, I pray thee stay And bless my later years; Pass not, I pray, with youth away, And leave but sorrow s tears; Let not my heart grow chill and cold, When I am old. When I am old I ll need thee more, For when the shadows call, And I have numbered my three score, And leaves of Autumn fall Do thou my heart and life enfold. When I am old. When I am old, how soon twill be! The years fly swiftly past, And drop into eternity This one may be my last ! May pleasures e er their sweets unfold To all the old. 207 LITTLE CUPID. Toy with his golden hair; Kiss him again, On his pure brow so fair, On his sweet eyelids there, Shower them like rain. Let his sweet laughter ring, Let his bright eyes Their piercing arrows fling, And to our hearts still bring Soft Summer skies. 208 DUALITY. OH LET ME DREAM. Welcome, welcome, beautiful night! With mantle of gloom and golden stars, And gentle moon, whose mellow light, Glistens and gleams in silver bars. Now let me sleep; oh, let me dream, Under the stars Bright, lovely stars, Venus and Mars, Sweet, beaming stars, As they now shine, and sparkling gleam, Oh, let me dream Of love sweet love, Love from above, Oh, let me dream Of love. Oh, Morpheus! thine arms entwine, And fold me lightly to thy breast, And let me dream of love divine, Through all my hours of quiet rest. Oh, let me sleep; oh, let me dream, Under the stars Bright, lovely stars, Venus and Mars, Sweet, beaming stars, As they now shine, and sparkling gleam, Oh, let me dream Of love sweet love, Love from above, Oh, let me dream Of love. DUALITY. The bush which boasts the fairest rose, Likewise doth yield the sharpest thorn; The lips which honeyed sweetness knows, Are often curled in bitter scorn. 209 LOVE S LONGING. Oh, loved one, do you know how I long To meet you, and clasp you, my own, And feel the sweet thrill of joy, To none but the true lover known? To fold you again to my breast, To kiss those dear lips as of yore, And hear them lisp the sweet words: "I am thine, only thine, evermore!" Oh, darling, tis so hard to wait To wait without knowing how long Twill be, ere the morning light breaks, And life be one sweet, endless song; A round of the dearest of joys, Bach moment be laden with bliss, Each hour be to trouble unknown, Each day open and close with a kiss. When clouds, which hang over our sky, Shall roll far away to the West, And we, in the full joy of love, Shall richly and sweetly be blessed; When this dull, endless aching shall cease, And our hearts throb with great beats of joy, And our lives shall in every part, Know naught of regret or alloy. Oh, love, twould be heaven below, To ever have you at my side; To call you and kiss you, my own, My angel, my darling, my bride. Oh, haste thee, oh, haste, Father Time, Thy chariot wheels move so slow; Oh, haste thee, and bring us the hour, When this joy we fully may know. 210 WHO CAME TO ME IN MY DREAM. PLUCK THE ROSES ERE THEY DIE. Pluck the roses, lovely roses, While they re blooming fresh and fair; While their sweet life still discloses A wealth of fragrance on the air. Take the gifts which God has given, Each one in season as they come; They will make this earth a heaven, A peaceful, sweet and happy home. All the world is filled with beauty, By God prepared to charm the eye; Tis of life a pleasant duty Pass not a thing of beauty by. Drink at every crystal fountain The wine of life flows freely now; I/et each breeze from sea and mountain With kisses cool thy fevered brow. WHO CAME TO ME IN MY DREAM. Who came to me in my dream? It was she; it was she, Who alone holds the key. Of my heart s door for me She came to me in my dream. Who came to me in my dream? Twas a heavenly visitant, By the angels sweet consent, One of their own element She came to me in my dream. Who came to me in my dream? She, the one of all the earth She, the one of beauty s birth, She, the one of matchless worth She came to me in my dream. 211 MY WV T E. LOVE S GOLDEN HOURS. Come, let us watch the golden day, You, dearest love, and I; Behold the last smile fade away Upon the azure sky. And listen to the evening wind, Sighing so soft and low, For the sweet moments left behind That they so swiftly go. Come, let us cull from those that pass, The sweets they have in store, For when they re gone, no power, alas! Their blessings can restore. These are the golden hours of love, When heart speaks unto heart; When lustrous stars from heaven above, Their trembling glance impart, To light the world with ray serene, W T hen all is kind and still, And o er the sweet and peaceful scene, Throw powers that chain the will. MY LOVE. Beloved ! when sorrows shroud my troubled soul, And life seems one great gulf of deep despair ; When clouds of storm upon me fiercely roll, And livid lightenings rend the humid air, And I can hear the nearer breakers roar, As eager to devour their helpless prey, I, fainting, drop the helm and oar, As glimmering fades hope s sympathizing ray. A radiant vision then dispels the gloom, And through the clouds angelic loveliness Thy form more fair than Hope s most radiant bloom, Appears, my drooping soul to cheer and bless. WHY CHIDK ME ? FIRST HOURS OF LOVE. Oh, let me live them o er again! The hours when first I loved; When first enchanting through my brain, Enraptured passion s lovely train, Bewilderingly moved! Oh, rapturous joy! oh, love divine! In virgin purity, Again through all my being shine, My soul in her s again entwine, In sweet security! Oh, could I feel as then I felt, My life, my soul I d give, To have all troubling dross to melt, Before sweet love as then it dwelt, Ah, then twas sweet to live! Alas! to me they ll never come; They are forever fled ; Search where I will, where er I roam, Their flitting shadows in the gloam, Remind me they are dead! Ghosts of a joy, of moments dead, Which never from me rove; Though they be now forever fled, By mem ry still my soul is wed To thoughts of early love. WHY CHIDE ME? Ye chide me that I love no more And answer not your sigh with sighs, And feel no more your loving power ? Remember, love, the sweetest flower Once blooms, then dies. 213 AS FIRST I SAW THEE. I LOVE THEE STILL. Oh, darling ! could I voice my sorrow, Or speak the thoughts my bosom fill ; Thou sure would st know, ere gleams the morrow, That with my soul I love thee still. Since first thy kindly glance beholding, Love s stream has flown, a sparkling rill ; My every thought thy life enfolding, Oh, locks of jet ! I love thee still. Why should love s sea, with gentle heaving, Now with rough waves thy bosom fill ? Oh, love ! I faint, I die with grieving ; God knows my heart I love thee still. Oh, look not, love, with cold disdaining Upon me; for I have no will, Save that of my lost heaven regaining, When thou shalt say : "I love thee still !" AS FIRST I SAW THEE. As first I saw thee, darling one, I see thee still to-night! Of all that group tis thee alone, That dwells still in my sight. All else has faded from my skies, By memory forgot: Passed from the vision of my eyes, And is as though twere not. It may be that thy loving smile, And glance of thy bright eye, Hast so engrossed my thoughts, erstwhile, All else did st fade and die. Howe er it be, this much, I know, Undoubtedly is true: Where er I be, where er I go, I see I love but you. 214 IM MORTAL, I.OVE, OH SLUMBER, MY DARLING. Oh slumber, my darling ! oh, slumber away The sweet hours of rest, until soft morning gray Shall with sun-kisses wake thee, From sweet dreams of thy love To the blessed reality, Which shall far sweeter prove. Oh, talk not of dreams to those who have loved, A far sweeter passion hath their hearts moved ! Sweeter joys, brighter gleams O er their pathway doth fall, Than lies in the power of dreams, E en of love, to recall. IMMORTAL LOVE. There is an end to flowers and birds, To grazing flocks and lowing herds; An end to all things neath the skies, To rosy lips and sparkling eyes; And end to laughter and to mirth, To all, save one sweet thing on earth, There is an end. There is an end to night and day, All things of earth shall pass away, But there is one thing neath the sky, That, surely, was not born to die. No change can harm its fervent breath; It liveth on till after death It can not die. It lives beyond the silent grave, Where orange fair and palm trees wave Tis sung by heaven s angelic choir The echoing notes of sacred lyre Come floating down in dreams to me, And whisper: "Through eternity, It shall ever be." 215 RUTH. Dear form sweet face bright hair, My love for thee is one Sweet, fervent breath of prayer, Ne er ending since begun. Begun as soon as sight, From those dear eyes to mine, Shot glances of delight, Wedding my soul to thine. By laws as fixed at birth, As pleasure or of pain, Or any of the earth Thy soul doth mine contain. As flowers to the sun, As rivers to the sea, As Time flows ever on, My soul doth turn to thee. My sorrows, tears and grief Vanish before thy face, And perfect, sweet relief Sits smiling in their place. When thou art gone, the sun Shines dimly on my path, And all the fleecy clouds Seem turned to frowns of wrath. The birds sing not so sweet, And weary is their song; Their notes do harshly greet Mine ears, and seem too long. Tis strange, but yesterday, W 7 hen thou wert here, their notes Seemed streams of melody, Pouring from silver throats. The sunlight s golden gleam, The fleecy cloudlets sail, Were shimmering, pulsing stream, And lovely bridal veil. 216 THE LOVER S LAMENT. Morn, noon and night I raise My soul to God in prayer, And thankfulness and praise, And plead his tender care, To guard thy precious head From every source of harm, And o er thy slumbering bed To stretch His mighty arm. Ivove lives beyond the tomb; In heaven, pure and free, Its sweet flowers ever bloom, In immortality. THE LOVER S LAMENT. How sad my heart, for thou art gone, While evening shadows round me fall, And find me silent and alone, As I the loving past recall. How yearns my heart to call thee back, To nestle in these arms again! Oh, haste, retrace the foamy track Recross the dark and raging main! The sky is set with glinting stars, But not one ray is shed for me; My sorrow all their light debars, My star of hope sank in the sea. The raging billows clasped her where No mortal hand could close her eyes; Her helpless cry of wild despair Was echoed by the sea-birds cries. The wild waves clasped her to their breast, And wound about her form so fair, And gently down her eyelids pressed; Toyed as a lover with her hair. And kissed her lips, as lovers kiss - Ah, madly! till her fragrant breath Was given up in answering bliss, And her sweet form lay cold in death. 217 WHAT THE BIRD SAID. IN MEMORY OF HON. JOHN B. FINCH. Lo! he is dead; This brilliant leader of our cause; This brave defender of the right; This advocate of purer laws, Who charmed and filled us with delight: Can he be dead ? Ah, who could know That he we loved and cherished so Would, in the brightest hour of life, With intellect and soul aglow, Amid the conflict and the strife Be stricken low ? We stand aghast, To think his life is o er and past, While yet his sun was at its noon; It s brightest rays should be its last, And midnight s chill and silent gloom O er him be cast. Illustrious dead, Sleep well; of thee twill e er be said, "He did what mortal man could do Mankind with truth to firmly wed, Their souls with honor to imbue, In error s stead." WHAT THE BIRD SAID. A wild bird said unto its mate : Sweetheart so pretty, sweet, sweet, sweet. I ll sin<g for thee early and late, Repeating ever sweet, sweet, sweet. 218 A RARE FLOWER. UNFORGIVEN. At morning, at evening, at midnight, Each hour of the days passing by, I longingly wait for your coming, But nothing I hear save the sigh Which comes from the depths of my bosom Of hope and of joy, a deep moan, Which tells of their absence forever Thy spirit hath flown! I call to you, love, in my sorrow, And plead with the strength of my soul, That you will forgive me, my darling, And stay these great billows, that roll; That blind me, and crush me, my darling, And leave me all wretched and prone; Like fire flames of Hell about me, They mock at my moan. Your likeness I see e er before me: Those full cherry lips and brown eyes, They ever have smiled me a welcome; This Heaven, dark fate, now denies. I see in their look <l Unforgiven," Which wrings from my soul a deep groan; Thus shut from the light of my Heaven, I m dying alone. Oh, darling! come quick, or I perish! Come, quick, and relieve this poor heart; But speak to me, darling, and save me; Oh, bid this great sorrow depart! God knows I had loved you unceasing, Since first thy loved face I have known; Have worshiped and prayed, oh, believe me, For thee, love, alone. A RARE FLOWER. Love is a blossom seldom seen, No orchid half so pure and rare; While Passion s flowers bestrew the green And cast their odors everywhere. 219 MEMORY IS MINE. DEATH SHADOWS. Come closer, darling; hold fast my hand, For night comes on, though the morning sun His triumphal march has just begun, And with dazzling light fills all the land. Death kisses my brow; Let your sweet presence comfort me now. Lay close to mine your beautiful cheek; Kiss me tenderly; let your dear eyes Tell of the love that within them lies; Let soul to soul in confidence speak; For I hear the roar Of Death s dark waters laving the shore. Smooth down my pillow with gentle touch; Pray I may be as a little child, As trusting and pure and undefiled; For the Father hath spoken of such His chosen shall be With Him to dwell through eternity. MEMORY IS MINE. Love, sweet Love, oh let me woo thee, Though it may be all in vain; Still, oh still let me pursue thee, Though we may not speak again. Give me one last smile to brighten My lone path through future years; Give it, Love, my load to lighten, And to dry my bitter tears. Go, and may God bless thee ever With His richest gifts divine; Though we bid farewell forever, Still sweet Memory is mine! By it, on my heart, your loving Face is painted clear and bright; Every line, so true, thus proving How precious thou art in my sight. LOVELY FAIRY ISABEL. TO A LOVELY MAID. Warm rosy lips, with love-kisses laden, Sweeter than nectar distilled from the rose, Dearer to me than all of life s splendors, The world to my heart, beside, can disclose. Blue eyes so bright, with love glances tender, Piercing my bosom and thrilling my soul; Causing pure waves of heavenly pleasure, Over my being in sweetness to roll. Give me thy love, oh, sweet maid of beauty: I care not, on earth, what then may betide; Tis now my highest and only ambition, To kiss you and call you my own darling bride. LOVELY FAIRY ISABEL. Lovely fairy Isabel, What thou art I cannot tell. Seemingly thou art divine, For all graces in thee shine; For a moment with thy smile, All my cares thou dost beguile. Can I trust thee, Isabel? Can I trust thee; who can tell? Meanest what that dreamy look? All my soul its glances shook; Meanest what that smile of thine? Pray oblige me and define, For in thy bewitching eyes, Riddles lie I cannot read; Love is dull, and blind, unwise, Will not give to wisdom heed; Yet I ll trust thee, Isabel, I will trust thee; doubt, farewell! 221 GEMS. THE LOVER S DESPAIR. Oh, locks of jet! oh, soulful eyes! Oh, lips of love! oh, form divine! My hope, my all, my paradise! Thy presence thrills me like rich wine. Why has the Winter of Despair Fallen upon our Summer scene? Why livid lightnings rend the air And wither all that s fresh and green ? Each flower lies broken in its bloom; Each joy seems blasted at its morn; Each path around leads to the tomb; Each sound a curse that I was born. And pallid grief forever weeps Her scalding tears, with sob and sigh, And Terror, like a dragon, creeps With hideous form before my eye! Ah, there the horrid vision comes ! Gods! take the damned curse away! It chills my soul! my heart benumbs, And turns to hell Life s golden day! Oh! I was once so free from care, My life a pure, unsullied page, And sweetest joys bloomed everywhere, Ere Sorrow s pangs had brought me age. GEMS. Language is but the clasp that holds The gems of thought alone; The plainest setting e er unfolds The best light of the stone. 222 CAROLINE. MY BRIDE. Eyes in whose light love s gentle glow Shines with a fondness, soft and pure, Expressing all the heart may know, When knowing all it may endure. Such eyes are her s: clear windows they, Through which her soul speaks all divine; No lurking shadows they betray, But speak out frankly unto mine. Lips rich as rosebuds in first bloom, Half parted in expectancy; For loving kisses waiting room For words of greeting, unto me. Such lips are hers: the ruby wine, Which blushing in the grape we see, Till plucked from the ambrosial vine, So waits her sweetness all for me. A form beyond the skill to mould, Of all the sculptors in the land; Her hair a softened sheen of gold, A study for the gods her hand. Her joyous laughter music makes, Like mountain brooks, when in their glee, Their foaming waters, sweetly wakes To cadence of pure minstrelsy. CAROLINE. My love is all for thee, Caroline; Thou art all things to me A calm and placid sea, Where soft winds lovingly Breathe sweetest melody, All divine. A rich gift from heavenly powers, Caroline; A fresh breath of blooming flowers, And s\veet, pleasant Summer hours, Which my thirsty soul devours Like rich wine. 223 MARY DEAN S FIRST KISS. We sat upon the sofa, Mary Dean And I, who was her lover, she my queen; I looked upon her fondly, and her eyes Sent back to mine a wealth of love replies; No words were spoken as I stroked her fair, Soft, wavy hair. The touch did thrill unto my very soul, As waves of sweet affection o er me stole; Her brow, her eyes, her soft, rose-tinted lips, All other forms of beauty did eclipse, Crowning her wealth of beauty rare Her auburn hair. Eternity may hold sweet things in store, But to my life there cometh never more A joy so perfect in its bliss as this Which thrilled my soul at Mary Dean s first kiss; As in the gloaming hours in silence there, I stroked her hair. 224 HELENE. I will cull for thee a bouquet, Helene, To lay on thy wanton breast; It fitted shall be, with its crimson stain, To deck such a viper s nest. I will pluck it with utmost care, Helene, Each part shall be all complete, And it shall a likeness to thee contain Full rounded as thy deceit. Some sprigs of thistle and thorn, Helene, A twig of the poison oak, Entwined with the ivy a brilliant vein, All fit for thy hands to stroke. All fitted for thee to caress, Helene, To receive thy slimy kiss, Though a viler poison to heart and brain, Will breed from thy loathsomeness. Polluting and foul to the touch, Helene, More bitter than words can tell; Its odors all reeking with pungent pain And vile as the fumes of hell. The asp and the adder shall find, Helene, A cover in every leaf; The breath of the upas tree s deadly bane Shall quicken each fang for grief. Regret and Remorse, like bloodhounds, Helene, Shall follow thy guilty soul; The scent shall grow warmer, though tears like rain Should over thy footprints roll. When thy soul in terror shall flee, Helene, From the body it doth degrade, Though pregnant with curses of deepest pain, Twill fall to a blacker shade. 225 JANE. The breath of Regret and Remorse, Helene, Will Memory fan to flame, Till thy shameless soul be driven insane At sound of thy guilty name! To-morrow s page is unwritten, Helene, Unmarked by the steps of Time; It may a record of honor retain Unsoiled by an act of crime. Thy delicate hands to-morrow, Helene, May feel not the prick of thorn; Thy life may begin its hope to regain With flush of the early morn. Thou yet, perchance, may be peaceful, Helene, And better than thou hast been; A name may be thine thou wilt not disdain The name of a Magdalen. JANE. Jennie, Jennie, handsome Jennie, Eyes of brown, and auburn hair; Blithe and merry, winsome Jennie, With no cloud of doubt or care, Always happy, Oh, so happy! Knowing naught of grief or pain; Thou art pretty, Gay and witty, Youthful, singing, laughing Jane. Jennie, Jennie, dancing Jennie, Bright as flowers in Summer time Nimble as a spendthrift s penny, Fair as blooms of any clime. Trusting ever, Doubting never, Pure in heart and clear in brain, None above thee, How I love thee! My own precious, darling Jane. 226 IDEALITY. Jennie, Jennie, darling Jennie, With thy wealth of shining curls; Queen thou art, oh, fairest Jennie, Of the world s bright throng of girls. First in beauty, First in duty, Nature left thee naught to gain. Undeceiving, All believing, Trusting, truthful, honest Jane. Jennie, Jennie, blithesome Jennie, Light of heart and bright of eye; None that see thee, of the many, Can thy wealth of charms deny. Light and airy As a fairy, Flitting down the rural lane; Sunshine bringing, Always singing! Loving, cheerful, joyous Jane. IDEALITY. The beauty of the faith in goodness, The beauty of the power that moulds, And shapes, and fits our forms and beings To fitting palaces for souls; The beauty of a lofty purpose, That which inspires to better things, Pointing aloft, and to the morning Which, full of promise, upward springs. The power that rules the lives of mortals, Stamps there an image all its own; The ruling power, whate er its purpose, Erects, and sits upon its throne. To wisely choose for self a ruler Who shall from error set us free, Is man s most earnest, solemn duty Far reaching as eternity. 227 TURNING OF THE TIDE. ALONE. Alone! no home or loved ones near; All day the storm-clouds fill the air, And Summer s brightest skies are drear; All thoughts are thoughts of dark despair, E en laughter dieth in the moan Alone, alone. Alone! and yet the careless throng Surges about me, and the hum Of constant voices heard in song, Drum on my ear which seemeth dumb, Or hears in every sound the groan Alone, alone. Alone! how heavy on the heart The sense of desolation falls! Before it all life s joys depart, As memory the past recalls: Grim skeletons of joys long flown Alone, alone. TURNING OF THE TIDE. Now calm I lie dreaming, Stretched out on my bed, Alive, yet half seeming, As though I were dead. The fever receding, Yet haunting my brain, As though but conceding One-half of its reign. Or, like some exulting, And murderous foe, As though but consulting The finishing blow. To see loved forms gliding, Like spirits about My bed, or abiding Near to me in doubt. 228 A MYSTERY. Looking so feelingly Down into my face, And so appealingly, As if hope to trace. Then all so tearfully They turn from my bed, Sobbing so fearfully, Oft thinking me dead. And yet to be living, And know all around, Yet powerless of giving A sign or a sound. I fear no disaster, Though scarce have I breath: I know I shall master This skeleton death. At length I grow weary, I sink quite away; I hear not the query: "How is he, to-day?" At last I awaken, Refreshed, without pain; My strength I ve mistaken. I slumber again. And now I lie resting, So sweet in my bed, And know I am besting The foe we all dread. A MYSTERY. I wonder: Was Time ever young ? Had he a birth a golden morn? Who round his infant cradle sung? From whence his life, if he were born ? If he were born, then he must die His death would mark eternity; Who o er his grave would grieve or sigh ? Ah, well; how deep the mystery! 229 LOVING AND FISHING. On a lovely Autumn morning, I and lovely Bessie Lee Listened to the boatman s warning And went fishing on the sea; Went a-rocking on the billows, Which were rolling to and fro, Like the golden weeping willows \Vhen the winds their branches blow; Where the great waves were a-snapping As they came a-near the land Bessie said "their hands were clapping Cause they d reached the golden sand. It then seemed they were rejoicing Over something of the kind, For their mellow, muffled voicing Spoke of pleasure to my mind. All the air seemed filled with singing, And it seemed that I could see Water-nymphs and mermaids ringing vSilver bells beneath the sea; And the music there, in dying, Fell so sweetly on our ears That our souls were moved to sighing, And our eyes were moist with tears. Then I tried to speak; said something About the weather and the wave, But Bessie, silent, answered nothing, Save for nodding, low and grave, To my mention of the beauty Which was in the tossing sea, And of that sweet, solemn duty Worshiping of melody. Presently she asked a story, And I cleared my throat to tell That old tale, so full of glory Sweeter than the sound of bell. 230 a j > w fc i a: w a H > <! J -* f i, LOVING AND FISHING. But my heart was quite unsteady r Like our boat upon the wave, And I found I was not ready All to lose, or all to save. I have heard of some great master, Who d his life work almost done, One more stroke: would dire disaster Follow this most fateful one ? It had been so with our loving, Courting most by look and hand; Would my speaking be the proving For our hearts no golden sand ? And that question kept on rising, As a cloud obscured my mind, Until it was not surprising That I faltered, halt and blind; For it seemed like hope was sinking Deep and deeper in the sea, Doubt and fear, together linking, Joined to chain and fetter me; Till that girl oh, Heaven bless her! Came and sat close by my side, And with fond looks bade me kiss her Loving seal of promised bride. Teardrops glistened on her lashes, As her head so sweetly lay On my bosom, and their flashes Of love s jewels made display. Peaceful, quiet, solemn, tender, W T as the light from those dear eyes, All so sweet that I would render Every tribute neath the skies. Every thought filled with devotion, Set to wondrous melody, As, with tenderest emotion, We found Love s treasure-trove at sea. 231 THE COQUETTE. All unnoticed were surroundings, All to each, whate er betide; In the sea of Love, the soundings Are unmeasured, as \ve glide Ever onward, on forever, Safe while Cupid mans the oar, For his piloting has never Wrecked a bark upon the shore; Straight he guides our little vessel To an inlet where the land Forms a harbor where we nestle Safely on the golden sand. There, hand-clasped, we sat and listened To the music of the sea, As the sunlight danced and glistened To its ceaseless melody. "We came fishing," said she blushing, "Will our baskets never fill ? " "Never while our hearts are rushing To obey King Cupid s will." So we sat there until even Cast its shadows o er the land, Catching glimpses straight from Heaven Gleaming on the golden sand. THE COQUETTE. Jaunty, willful, debonair, Bright and handsome, passing fair, Tripping a-down the street ; Catching hearts within her hair To tread beneath her feet. 232 WHY? Why battle with Fate and in feebleness cry ? Eat, drink and be merry, to-morrow ye die." Ye cannot check Time, he will ever roll on, And death will pursue thee, as evening the dawn. Aye, Death will o ertake thee, whatever thy course, The present is thine for the better or worse. The present: how little, and yet it is all, From cradle of flowers, to the hearse and the pall. We live but by moments: life is but the now ; The future for thee may no grace yet allow. Be like the poor moth-wing: be fooled with the flame; It is true to its nature: Who is to blame ? The bee seeks for honey, the wolf for its prey; The owl loves the night-time far better than day. All life lives on other life, til in its turn, It falls in the swirl of Time s all-grinding urn. Up with the daylight and gather the flowers; The jewels of life are its bright, sunny hours. If you love the blossoms, then cull them to keep, For Winter will soon o er the flower kingdom sweep. Be dull as the sloth, or as serpents be wise; He gives to the one and the other denies. Whatever ye are in a measure is true To the lottery card which at birth-time ye drew. Why battle with Fate and in feebleness cry ? Eat, drink and be merry, to-morrow ye die." 233 TO A CHILD. COME, LOVE, AND SPEAK. Come, Love, and speak ! What shall you say ? Speak from your soul to me Of all those sweeter thoughts that fill thy heart, And make forme the heaven that thou art; For as the thirsty sky draws from the sea The cooling mists for it to feed upon, So is thy tender touch, thy voice and smile, To the parched desert of my life, where gone Is every flower, save one, me to beguile Without thy presence I am lone and weak, Come, Love, and speak. Come, Love, and speak ! I cannot bear this silence longer, dear; I have no heart for aught on earth, but thee. Whence come these troubling shades of doubt and fear, And muffled sobbings, like the restless sea ? Calling unto the life of all the earth To now return and sleep within her breast, From whence they sprang, at kiss of sun, to birth; So doth my soul call unto thine for rest, And will thus evermore thy true love seek : Come, Love, and speak ! TO A CHILD. Sweet child of joy, if it could be, That to thee, in the future years, No storms would come and angrily Becloud thy life with sorrow s tears, I would not counsel thee to-day, That life cannot be always May. The rose thou thinkest now so sweet, \Vill soon reveal its piercing thorn; All joys have wings, of motion fleet, As rosy tintings of the morn, For in the heated hours of day, Life s burdens rest full heavily. 234 TO VIOLET. After the Spring of joy and bloom, There cometh frosts of pain and care; Jo}-s, with the flowers, fall to the tomb, And death-damps fill the Autumn air, While Winter s breath across the wold, Flecks all earth s garments with the mold. I would but speak to warn thee now, That in the future there will be A crown of thorns for every brow, That guards not well its purity; Preserve this jewel through the strife, And thou shalt win the crown of life. TO VIOLET. I dream of thee, I dream of thee, My sweet and lovely Violet; Waking, sleeping, thy face I see, Nor one sweet charm do I forget. Thy gentle sigh, thy melting tear, Thy trusting hope and trembling fear, Thy loving tone when I am near, Are ever with me, Violet. No sweeter charm can ever come To mortal man, my Violet, Though through elysian fields he roam, Than comes to me, my gentle pet, As I recount each moment o er, And every new one add st the store, A sweeter than I knew before I met thee, charming Violet. Joy of my heart! Soul of my life! My priceless treasure, Violet; Wilt thou not be my own dear wife? And if thou wilt, thou lt ne er regret The day that makest thee my own; For" Tis not good man be alone, Nor lonely be," in sweetest tone, Whispered my own, sweet Violet. 235 FRIENDSHIP. TO AN ABSENT LOVE. Oh, could you know the weary hours I ve spent since last I heard from thee, How pains my heart, how throbs my head, How all my life is misery, You d hasten then to speak your love, To soothe my brow and ease my pain; Be true, oh! darling, to yourself, And speak those words of love again. Speak frankly, let no shade of doubt Lurk in the words that tell my fate; Speak truly, though the truth should leave My heart all crushed and desolate. For Love doth live on trust and truth And cycles of eternal years Doth frost not its immortal youth, Though bathed in sorrows and in tears. FRIENDSHIP. To one and all within this hall, I fill this sparkling cup; Drink to the toast, I love the most, And drain it every drop! It is the toast of friendship true, Of life the brightest gem, I here and now would offer you Earth s purest diadem. The chain which binds all noble minds, In love and unity; Matchless its strength endless its length, Reaching o er land and sea. Then let us drink to friendship true, The priceless, peerless gem, Exemplified by Him who rose, As star of Bethlehem. 236 A TOAST AT A BANQUET. CALMING THE STORM. Rejoice, all ye people! in harmony raise Your voice to the Lord in one mighty acclaim; Let heaven s blue arches resound with the praise, You joyfully render unto His great name. The Lord has been with us in wonderful power, And wrong from his temples again has been hurl d, And right wields the wand of command in this hour, While liberty blossoms all over the world. Rejoice, for the powerful Goliah is slain; Rejoice, for his slaves are unhanded and free! Oh, sweet was the music, as falling, their chains Struck the chords which awoke the world s jubilee! Purified by the fire of war s with ring flame, Which rolled like a raging sea over our form, When Peace from the clouds of the hurricane came The voice of Divinity calming the storm. A TOAST AT A BANQUET. I. Fill up the goblets; a toast to Queen Pleasure! Life without wine, for this hour, is too slow; All fill them, with me, then tread we a measure, Improving the moments, as swiftly they go. Light is the heart, while with joyousness dizzy; Bright is the eye, while the lips form a smile; With merriment now we all should be busy, Fill up the goblets! we ll mourn afterwhile. II. Fill up the goblets and clink them together! Fill to the brim with the bright ruby wine; Heed not the season; who cares for foul weather ? Joy is of life the sweet crown all divine. On with the music, so richly entrancing; The jewels of life to us all now belong; On with the story, the quaffing and dancing; Joy s trinity s here : wine, women and song ! 237 MY CREED. ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. Rest \vell sweet flower; The lives of all about thee here Were by thy spirit rendered bright; To such as thou the way is clear, No shadows make for thee a night; Rest well, sweet flower, Death brings to thee but greater power. Sweet spirit, rest, Thy life was one fair, fragrant bloom, Each year a rose of spotless white; The petals fall into the tomb, The fragrance lives, and yields delight, The world to bless With its sweet power of gentleness. Thou art not here, And yet methinks I hear thee speak In each soft breeze, in each bright flower, To all the faint, and bid them seek Strength from the fount of matchless power; And thus art here, The weak to guide, the faint to cheer. A true, white rose, So purely sweet, so sweetly pure, All hearts to thee in love incline; Thy power for aye shall yet endure, Death cannot break a thought divine. Rest well, sweet rose, Eternal bliss be thy repose. MY CREED. We are, and may before have been, May in the future be; Tis all the finite mind can know, All else is mystery. 238 DARLING WII,MA. BURY OUR LOVE? Bury our love ! Was that what you said ? Blot the bright star of hope out of our sky ; Wreck each of our lives on the threshold of joy ; Starve each of our souls till they wither and die ! Hang our harps on the willows, ne er more to tune them ! Still the sweet song of love, ere its best notes be sung ! Draw the black pall of night o er life s day of rejoicing, When its golden-hued morning has only begun ? Blight the opening bud, ere it blooms forth in beauty ? Turn to ashes the rose, and destroy its perfume ? Strip the sweet tree of life of all of its pleasures, And leave not a bud on its branches to bloom ? Pluck not the rich fruit, when tis matured and full ripened ? When first tis expressed, decline the rich wine? When the feast is prepared and the guests all assembled, Refuse on its richness and sweetness to dine ? W T hen the heart and the soul combine in their pleading, To be fed on the richness and sweetness of love, Oh, list to their voices, and heed their entreating ; Then the earth will be like unto heaven above ! The harvest is ripe and the roses are blooming, Thy sweet smiles were their sun, and thy tears were their dew They ve grown and are ripened for thee, my sweet darling, And can only be gathered and garnered by you. DARLING WILMA. Angels called our little treasure To a home beyond the sky, Robbed us of our dearest pleasure, And we vainly ask them why? Has she gone, alas! forever? Sorrow s tears they fall like rain; Darling Wilma, will she never Never to us speak again ? 239 DARLING WILMA. See the work of Death s cold finger Round her beauteous lips and eyes, Half concealing smiles that linger A sweetness that e en Death defies. Are they closed, alas! forever? Oh, the load of bitter pain! Will her brown eyes on us never Never on us look again ? Baby s clasp, how sweet and tender, As her arms around us twine, And to heaven the praise we render For this precious gift divine. Are they cold, alas! forever? Will we feel no more their strain ? Will her dear arms clasp us never Never clasp our necks again ? Baby s ruby lips, how loving! Like the rosebuds of the Spring, Ever music sweet unfolding, Like the songs the angels sing. Are they silent, cold forever ? At the thought how burns the brain! Will her sweet lips kiss us never Never kiss our lips again ? Hope beyond Death s shining river Beams upon us from afar, With the promise of the Giver Of the light to every star. Glorious star that shines forever! Shines for all in doubt and pain; There, beyond Death s welcome river, We shall meet our child again. 240 WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY S AI,BUM. A VISION. I. Ill youth I saw a vision, wondrous fair; The clouds within the sky did shape themselves Like unto one vast, gorgeous gallery; And, from all points around, there winging came Ten thousand harpers, with their harps of gold. And, presently, the brilliant air was filled With notes of sweetest melody and song, Which floated out upon the balmy air And fell upon my ear with soothing sound. II. And I beheld a parting in the clouds, Through which, familiar to my eyes, a form Appeared, with snowy robe and harp of gold. Then did the sweet winds, breathing faint, yet clear, Come to my ear again, wafting a song Such as no mortal ear e er heard before; It was a song of joy and praise divine, Bringing a balm for sorrow ill each sound. Lo ! through the parting in the clouds, there came A flood of dazzling light, which reached to Heaven, Up which the white-robed harpers disappeared, Chanting an anthem grand, the notes of which Still echo in my soul, making this life More bright for this sweet vision s having been. WRITTEN IN A YOUNG LADY S ALBUM. Sweet maiden, rich in Nature s grace, With eyes of brown and raven hair, May Sorrow s shade ne er cloud thy face, Nor pale thy rosy lips with care. Time those jet locks will turn to gray, But Love s sweet, gentle, soothing art Hath power to drive all gloom away, And youth preserve within thy heart. 241 TULIPS GOLDEN HAIR. ADDRESS TO DEATH. Tis I you want this time, Old Boy ? Well, I am ready now to go; Bring you me peace, or pain, or joy ? Go I above or down below ? Corne now, Old Fellow, tell me, pray, What doth the Future hold for me ? Which is the straight and narrow way ? I ve asked of everyone but thee. Some men have said: This is the road, And others said twas surely that; Go which I would, Life s galling load Upon my shoulders heavy sat. And thou wilt lift it let me rest ? Ah, Death, thou surely art my friend; And I will deem thee kindest, best, If thou of Life prove but the end. TULIPS. I do declare a form more fair It never was my chance to meet, Than maid with wealth of golden hair, Who tends the flowers across the street. The violets are in her eyes, And on her cheek the roses bloom, And in her smile a charm there lies Which drives away all thought of gloom. And never did such tulips grow, So rich and loving and so sweet; I would their sweetness I might know, And my two lips her two lips greet ! GOLDEN HAIR. I saw in dreams a maiden fair, Whose smile was all that love could kno\y; A golden banner was her hair, Which rose and fell in radiant flow ; Emblem of her true character. 242 WHAT IS DEATH ? I know I ve had my hours of fun, From many flowers have sipped the dew, None have allowed at waste to run The joys of life I ve missed are few. But then, what s of it, when tis done ? At best a merry holiday; Not much the "pot" when it you ve won - P A or life I care not here to stay. vSo, if you re ready, pack your grip, And let s be going: I ll not sigh; I m ready now to take the trip. Old world of trouble, bye-you-bye. WHAT IS DEATH? You think him dead ? let me whisper, dear, This one sweet thought to your listening ear: God never made a being so grand, Just to blot it out, you understand. He could not cause these tears to flow, And cloud your life with deepest woe, And sear your heart with bitter pain, And torture thus your weary brain. The star of hope he would not place, Within the heart of all the race, If he held not in goodly store, The lives of those who ve gone before. This quenchless hope He would not give, If human souls e er cease to live: A burning thirst, an arid sky, And waters none to them supply, Would wisdom be, and mercy, too, Compared to this, if I and you For our hungry souls shall have no bread ? Then better far that we were dead; 243 TO A BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN. Or, better still, that we ne er had been, Of this world a part, with its pain and sin. But tis not so: no want is known, From God s green foot-stool to His throne. But He has placed, with tender care, The means of satisfaction there. He feeds the ravens when they cry, A sparrow s fall is not passed by. Then think you, dear, the highest goal, To which turns every human soul, Is but a myth within the air? Believe it not: thy love is there. TO A BEAUTIFUL MAIDEN. They told me you were beautiful; That deep within your lustrous eyes The Summer s sunlight never dies; That clearly on your dear, sweet face Were constantly portrayed each grace, And that your soft and silken hair Was like to that the angels wear; That your soft, dimpled cheeks, so fair, Had caught Morn s blush and held it there. But, oh! the rapturous delight W T hich thrilled my soul at the first sight Of your angelic loveliness, Was purest type of mortal bliss! Eye hath not seen, brush cannot paint, So fair, so pure, so sweet a saint; Embodiment, unto my mind, Of all that s best of human kind. 244 THE SEA OF GALILEE. Cradled among thy low-browed hills, Which stand around like sentinels; Enraptured thought my bosom fills, While on thy shores my fancy dwells. For here the man-God dwelt and taught, Upon thy shores, oh, sacred sea; That wondrous, solemn, peaceful thought, Sweet thought of immortality! The gentle winds from off thy breast Seem pure and sacred to me now; They by His presence have been blest, Have cooled the Holy Savior s brow. When worn and weary, weak and faint, Have lulled to rest and sweet repose, The God in man, the kingly saint, Who lived and died for others woes. Therefore, oh sea, I love thy shores, Thy arid, scorched and burning sands My thankful heart this spot adores Above all other earthly lands. 245 HER GRAVE. SOURCE OF CONSOLATION. Oh, where for comfort should \ve go, Dear Lord, except to thee, When waves of sorrow swiftly flow Upon us like a sea ? When all the sunshine of our life Is drowned in chilling rain, And bitter is the weary strife And hoping seems in vain ? When earthly friends grow formal, cold, And pass us proudly by ; When we are helpless, sick and old, And Pleasure s fount is dry ? Oh! could we bear, dear Lord, to live, Or who would dare to die, Did not Thy loving spirit give Us comfort from on high? Did not thy loving spirit say: "Come, weary, wandering child, And dwell in realms of endless day, Pure, stainless, undefiled?" Thy hand can chase all grief away, Thy spirit ease each pain; To each believing heart dost say: "Though dead, ye live again." HER GRAVE. O er her grave the nightingale sings, And the soft breeze sigheth low, As day departs on golden wings, And night her sable mantle flings, Over all the world below. Then the stars with golden light, Pierce the curtains of the night, And watch beside her lonely grave, O er which the willow branches wave. 246 THE OUTCAST. DESPONDENCY. There are times in life when living seems one ceaseless, bitter pain; When from the cold, gray clouds above us falls, incessantly, the rain, And the morning and the evening brings to us no light again. When our Junes are all Decembers, cold their light and chill their breeze, And no prospect, in our vision, brings a thought our hearts to please, And the troubles of the moment banish every sense of ease. When \ve feel a tender sorrow, walking ever by our side, Dim and gaunt the shadows swiftly ever by us onward glide, And we feel our courage ebbing ebbing slowly with the tide. THE OUTCAST. Though golden streams of sunlight pour, About my daily path, I hear alone the tempest roar, The hurricane s fierce wrath! Storm tossed upon a raging sea, A starless sky o erhead; There is no ray of hope for me, All peace and light have fled. For me of life there is no June; December s chilling breath, With hungry stars and waning moon, Are mine, always, til death. But death! how sweeps the wild despair At thought of shroud and pall; Deep darkness fills the very air Death ends not, is not all! There is one hope: one hope for me! Tis He who stilled the wave, When raging ran the stormy sea: Who said: "Come, I will save!" 247 MY OTHER SELF. EXPERIENCE. Mother, I find that the pleasures of this life depart with its morn, Like the fresh and pearly dewdrops that bejewel the blades of corn ; Like mists that hang o er the river, and hood the great mountains and hills, Then away to the great, blue air-sea, then back to the lakes and rills. Only, our pleasures return not, when once from our lives they have flown; Once gone, they are gone forever, and never more will they return. I find this loving and hating, and hating and loving again, Brings less of joy than of sadness, and far less of pleasure than pain. MY OTHER SELF. This other self of myself, do you know, Is a demon black of the fiends of hell; Hist ! whisper it low, curst thought more low, Why ring it out with a clarion bell ? This evil wretch I have known all my days, He has dogged my steps since my life begun, Throwing his shadows over all my ways, Malignant and black as a skeleton. I smile and laugh, but beneath it there lies This fiendish form of malignant hate; All thoughts of virtue and truth he derides, And steadily drags me down to my fate. He has made me crush full many a flower, And sneer at virtue I could not attain; He holds my life in the grasp of his power, And swears me no respite while life shall remain. Tis well he keeps well away when I feel The bitter dregs he has caused me to drink, Or I d grind his head neath an iron heel, Or to the depths of hell I d with him sink. Some time, some place, we two surely will clash, And the end will come, if it end in death ; I ve promised myself to do nothing rash, But I ll fight this fiend while I ve strength and breath. 248 AN OCEAN GRAVE. I ll see him suffer, though my soul be damned To the lowest depths of a burning hell; I d torture him slow, while my fierceness calmed, To a level lower than Satan fell. Oh, God! how I wish he were flesh and blood, That I could but place him upon the rack, And poison his veins till the crimson flood Would be lit with a flame which would not slack! I think that nothing would please me more Than to grasp his throat with a clasp of hate, And grip till the blood from his every pore Should, drop by drop, slowly measure his fate. To turn the wheel slowly, his limbs to stretch, Till Pain should limnings of agony trace More horribly still, on the soulless wretch, While I should mockingly laugh in his face. AN OCEAN GRAVE. Oh, ocean deep, thy vigils keep Above her lonely grave; Forever mourn, forever weep, And kiss her with each wave. Lull her to rest within thy breast, Sing to her soft and low; When daylight fades dim in the West Let fresh winds sweetly blow. And they shall bring, on tireless wing, A sigh, a prayer, a tear, From one whose constant suffering Ends not while waiting here. For one whose breath, til kindly death Shall call his spirit hence, Will waft a prayer on every breath, To do her reverence. 249 TO A FADED FLOWER. THE PAST. Though still and dead, My soul is wed To thoughts and scenes of other years; My early youth I love, forsooth, For its sweet innocence and truth, Far better than my later years. Its shadowy hills, Its pleasant rills, Its meadows fresh, and gardens fair, Undimmed I see, As then, so free* I wandered o er the grassy lea And breathed their fresh and fragrant air. I love to walk Again, and talk, By memory s aid, beneath the trees; To list again Down in the glen, Where in my youth I ve often been, To mystic tale of evening breeze. TO A FADED FLOWER. Dear, faded flower, there lingers yet, About thy leaves a rare perfume, More sweet than rose or violet, Doth e er exhale in fairest bloom. For, ere she gave me thee, sweet flower, She plucked thee from her bosom fair; Where thou lay blushing for an hour, And breathing sweetness on the air. She pressed thee to her lips, my flower, And hallowed thee with fondest kiss; Earth holdeth not within her power, A purer, richer gift than this. My precious flower, dear, faded flower, Thou hast been honored, richly blessed: Hast lain upon her breast an hour, By her sweet lips hast been caressed ! 250 A QUESTION MY QUEEN. ETERNITY. Eternity! Eternity! From the beginning to the end; How rolls the echo back to me, Like sobbings of some unknown sea, O er which our weary pathways tend! Eternity! it cannot be, That aught but truth shall e er endure; That sin shall roll unfettered, free, An angry, stern, relentless sea, To toss and wreck the good and pure. Eternity! oh, God, how long! Boundless, unmeasured, and unknown! Above, beyond the human throng; To thee alone doth power belong, To compass all unto thy throne. When all the worlds were formless, void, Eternity rolled back through space, And far beyond the spoken word, When none thy voice s echo heard, Stood emblem of thy matchless grace. A QUESTION. The forever of the future, The forever of the past, The forever changing present, Will they all forever last? We, the foam upon the ocean, The mere product of the motion Of the forces which create, Could we measure all the forces, In their devious, winding courses, W T e might solve our future state. MY QUEEN. Soft violets blossom in her eyes, And on her cheek the tint of roses, While in her heart there hidden lies A Cupid sweet, her smile discloses. 251 THE OLD HOMESTEAD. THE PROPHESY. Awake, oh, ye sleepers! the flood gates are swinging, And high roll the billows and swift runs the tide; The oncoming years a Marseillaise are singing, A great revolution is fast spreading wide! Awake! oh, ye sleepers! and climb to the summit Of prophesy s mountain, and take a survey; The future demands that the square and the plummet Shall measurements take, which the world must obey. Awake! oh, ye sleepers! for just indignation, Shall sweep like a flood of destruction along, Destroying the evil and cleansing the Nation, From crimes which arise from consenting to wrong! Then woe to the wicked and wretched despoiler, Whose vile work is the ruin of his fellow men; Who steals from the trembling hand of the toiler Twould be better for him that he never had been! Then woe to the party that panders to passion; That treads out the voice of the conscience and heart; That revels alone in the power of possession; That bids not its errors in haste to depart! The sun of its triumph is fast near its setting; The light of its glory is fading away; The heart of the people rebel at abetting, The crimes that are cursing the Nation today. THE OLD HOMESTEAD. Nothing here lingers; Time s restless fingers The scene have changed and altered all, Memory endears, Of other years, And covered them as with a pall. All here is strange, Oh, such a change, Old time has wrought by flight of years! Many are dead, And all are wed, To later life of joy or tears. 252 LADY BROWN. Those who were strong, Have passed along, Life s river till their strength is passed; A few more days, Of Summer haze, And there life s sun will shed its last. Soon they will be At liberty, For soon the welcome gate of death, Will open wide, And neath tha tide Of Time they ll yield their mortal breath. Alas! tis dead The life I knew, With youth s bright, joyous hours has fled; The false, the true, Like morning dew, Has flown and left a chill of dread! LADY BROWN. Clear, honest eyes has Lady Brown; Such soulful eyes ! You feel them speak Whene er her looks your glances seek; Those eyes have won a great renown For Lady Brown. She wears a coat, does Lady Brown, As soft as silk, with airs as grand As any lady in the land; Polished and fine, from tip to crown, Is Lady Brown. If she should speak, should Lady Brown, She could not tell of Noah s ark; She could at best but whine or bark. But then, she knows a smile or frown, Does Lady Brown. 253 WHATEVER YOU WII.I,. When I lay sick, this Lady Brown Would come and sit beside my bed, With looks as plain as though words said: " Shall I not run the stairway down For Colonel Brown?" A wave of hand, and Lady Brown Would, instantly, walk swift away, And by her looks and actions say: " Colonel, for you I just came down " Would Lady Brown. Thoughtful and kind was Lady Brown; Whenever I was sound asleep She d softly through my chamber creep. Or, til I wakened, lay her down, Would Lady Brown. WHATEVER YOU WILL. This world is whatsoe er they wish To every being in it; The good or bad Can e er be had, On call, at any minute. And every- one may take his will, And have it to the letter; But raise his voice, Pronounce his choice, For ill, or good, or better. Like unto like will surely cleave, Be whatsoe er the station; Moths to the night, Birds to the light, All over God s creation. The humming bird will love the rose; The vulture has its feature; The sly fox knows His safe repose, Likewise each other creature. 254 THE TIRELESS SHIP. The low, the vicious, and the vile, Will seek their chosen level; Will be as one While rolls the sun, And all go to the devil. But, thank the Lord, those who may choose The pathway of transition, May reach the goal Of the pure soul That loves Heaven s condition. THE TIRELESS SHIP. This old world ships a motley crew, For its swift voyage round the sun; About its shoreless sea of blue, How the old ship doth haste to run! Bounding away day after day, Without a shroud, or sail, or spar; It speeds along its beaten way, Nor ever stops, its force to mar. It is as grain of sand to shore A fragment of some greater thing, Tossed out in space to roll before The wave of that one s greater wing. And pigmies scamper o er its deck, Or walk sedately here and there; As though their will could save from wreck, Or swerve its course a single hair. A pigmy, thinking him a king, And guiding the old world to port, Proves him a pigmy without wing, And fit with every fool to sport. Each insect of the earth, though small, Feels its importance, just the same; And each to each, alike to all, Confers the honor(?) of a name ! 255 MEMORIES. VENICE. I stand within thy sea-girt bounds, And listen to thy mystic sounds As from the deeper, farther sea, They come with fairy songs to thee, Bearing upon each crested wave The secrets of some hidden cave. Resting in peace upon the sea, Beautiful queen of Italy, Thou art a vision, oh, so fair ! With sparkling waters for each street. Which lave and kiss thy mossy feet And cool thy soft and fragrant air. A TWILIGHT MEMORY. When dying day, with softened grace, The shadows of the twilight trace Across the bosom of the earth, Then in the gloaming come to me, From out the halls of memory, Visions of her who gave love birth. I see love dancing in her eyes, And on her lips in sweetness lies The darling impulse of her heart; And trembling o er her fair, young form, Love s crimson blushes, pure and warm, Spring from the wounds of Cupid s dart. Then every glance, so sweet and shy, Is clear to my adoring eye, As when those brown eyes sparkling sent Her youthful soul, so pure and sweet, Upon its mission mine to greet With love s expressive sentiment. 256 THE HAUNTED LAKE. There s a deep, blue lake that s haunted, And the bravest and undaunted Never yet a sail have flaunted To the wind which o er it rolls; For though it may have the seeming Of a placid, peaceful dreaming, Yet its waves are ever teeming With a legion of lost souls. Many years they are unnumbered Since it has thus peaceful slumbered, Since it has been unincumbered By the flutter of a sail; When a band of merry-makers Ploughed its bosom echo-wakers, Shouting loud, til neath its breakers They sank down with sob and wail. And, they say, so runs the story Of this dark memento mori, Falling from the aged and hoary, That a maiden, young and fair Saw a Siren in the water, \Vho imploringly besought her To become her loving daughter, From the regions of the air. And this Siren sang so sweetly That she charmed the maid completely; And the maiden dived so neatly Neath the gently swelling wave, That her comrades were confounded, And so greatly were astounded, That their lips no murmur sounded, As they looked upon her grave. 257 THE HAUNTED LAKE. There they waited, speechless, seeming As if paralyzed or dreaming, Where the water-lilies, teeming, Spread their palms upon the lake; Waiting for the maid s returning, With their anxious hearts all yearning, And their throbbing temples burning With a flame that would not slake. Then a low wind softly winging O er the waters came, there bringing Sound of myriad voices singing; And the waters rose and fell As if demons, fierce in motion, Had the lake changed to an ocean, Whose wild, frantic, fierce commotion Grew more powerful with each swell. Then the billows rose, and dashing That frail barque sent trembling, crashing Hither, thither, yonder, lashing, Til all sank with shriek and groan; Then the waters in their madness Seemed to shout in tones of gladness, Which they sudden changed to sadness Which has since then been their tone. Since that day all barques have warning, From the gloaming til the morning, None will think the tale of scorning; Hence upon this haunted lake Never oar nor sail appeareth, For all sailors greatly feareth That if they a barque there steereth, That the demons will awake. DREAMING. I would I might forever dream, For waking hours are full of woe, As drops of water in the stream That never cease to onward flow. 258 LIFE S LESSON. AN ANGEL S VISIT. Heaven sent to our home a dear little stranger, A sweet, blue-eyed darling, with soft, sunny hair, As pure as the God-child that lay in the manger, Was this, our own darling, our beautiful heir. Then our sweet cup of joy was filled to o erflowing, Each morning of life seemed more fresh and more fair, And Heaven itself seemed enriched by bestowing Upon us this flower from its garden so fair. LIFE S LESSON. My star of hope sinks in a cloud of gloom, I vainly struggle gainst the tide of fate ; Nothing is certain but the gaping tomb, To which I drift all lone and desolate. Life s burden groweth heavy with the years ; The present doth the past alone repeat ; Its bitter sorrows, poignant grief and tears Doth beat upon and tread me neath their feet. The cruel darts of sorrow pierce my soul, And grief with heavy curtains drapes my heart; Remorse in heavy waves doth o er me roll, And long I this life s troubles to depart. Pleasure is but a blank, unmarked by pain, An idle eddy in the stream of life, Where we may list unto some sweet refrain Between the battles of this weary strife. The oil of rich desire now burneth low, The fruits that once were sweet now bitter seem ; E en Hope has lost the power she used to know, And flickers faintly her once radiant gleam. This is the lesson all must come to learn ; The crucial test of character and will Is that which makes the soul and heart to burn, Til all dross be consumed, that peace may fill. 259 A MAGICAL CITY. Far up in a maze of glory By omnipotence uphurled, Tower the domes, and spires, and steeples Of a grand and silent world. Far above the noise and bustle Of the rushing feet below, Are the towering, cloud-capped mountains, With their coronets of snow. When the light of day has left us, And the mantle of the night Is enfolding us in silence, All those peaks are bathed in light. There the sunbeams love to linger, Kissing beauty into birth, And to crown with flames of glory All those snow-wreathed kings of earth. Like some splendid, radiant city To my rapturous gaze they seem, All illuminated grandly By the day-god s golden gleam. And niethinks I oft hear music Falling to the world below, From the lutes of mountain spirits In those palaces of snow. And I sometimes weep in sadness, For this music sweet I know Will fade like a dream of beauty ; Will melt like the flakes of snow. And my soul cries out in anguish That this scene should fade and die, And the low winds in the gloaming Echo back my lonely cry. 260 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. QUEEN OF THE MUSES. ON KISSING. My Rose, few know the wondrous bliss, The sweet, ecstatic thrill, When all the soul within a kiss Is given with a will; And yet with that soft, gentle touch, Which speaks of passion not too much. Come, love, while shadows fold the hour, And sit beside me here, While Nature, with her silent power, Our hearts to each endear; And let us with affection kiss, Our hearts to love s unmeasured bliss. WITHOUT AND WITHIN. To and fro, To and fro, The willows sway amid the storm; The raindrops clash, And wildly dash Against the window pane and sash, While all within is light and warm. QUEEN OF THE MUSES. My own loved queen, forever reign With undisputed sway, And to my heart love s glad refrain Repeat from day to day; And when the shadows of the night Remove the day s bright beam, Fill thou my soul with sweet delight, By love s enchanting dream. 261 SUNSET. The sun has passed from the mountain, And thrown his last kiss to the sea ; The spray from the splashing fountain No longer bediamonds the lea. The king of day has departed With his gorgeously brilliant train ; The world is wrapped in night s curtain, Til day s glorious coming again. The toil, the sorrow, the weeping, The blasting and withering pain, Gives way to the peaceful creeping Of comforting sleep o er the brain. A sweet and comforting message Conies from immortality s plain, Its sweet-scented, life-giving breezes My sad soul exultingly seizes, And I fear no more the dark river, The blood-chilling, life-killing river, For I shall reach Heaven s bright plain, Kind Heaven s soul s home-prepared plain. I feel my journey is ended, My beacon-light dies in the West ; My day with night s gloaming is blended, I calmly lie down to my rest, As a child on its mothers breast sleeping, The innocent sleep of the blest. As the winds from the lethean river A song sweetly sing to my soul A lullaby sing to my soul, And my spirit goes up to life s Giver, In thanks for the lethean river, And its endless and mystical roll. 262 THE LOVERS. Thank God, I have reached the dark river, The boundary of all mortal life, Unbended my bow, and my quiver Has spent all its arrows of strife, All its arrows of envy and strife, And I lay down my bow and my quiver For beyond the lethean river They wear not the armor of strife. Like the over-ripe stock of the harvest, Awaiting the husbandman s knife, So I await for the boatman, And the sound of his light canoe : Not as I wait for a foeman, But the clasp of a hand that is true, To pilot me safely over Through the mists and clouds that hover, Twixt this and the heavenly shore, The ever bright, love-lighted shore. THE LOVERS. Their parting words in anger burned, Their lips were curled with scorn, With bitterness and scorn; And yet their hearts within them yearned, With loving longing throbbed and burned, On that September morn. Haughty and proud, neither would yield, Though anyone could see, With half an eye could see, Their hearts to each were never sealed, Their very scorn this truth revealed So plainly unto me. And yet they parted on that morn, In manner quite austere, Quite frigid and severe; Another hour had not been born Before each shed, with sigh forlorn, The penitential tear. 263 A MESSAGE. SELF-ADMONITION. Oh, troubled heart be still, be cairn, be brave, Rise in thy might and prove thine own self strong; Force back the rising tears and freeze the fount Of weakness whence they spring, and let no act, Of either friend or foe, swerve thee one jot From path which marks the royal way of truth Unto thyself. Cast from life s troubled barque, If needs be, everything, save self-respect; But to this do thou cling as unto hope, And storms, however fierce, at length will calm, And skies, however dark, will beam with light, And sorrow s tears give way to smiles of joy, And bitter thoughts be turned to thoughts of love. Pain enters deeper into souls of truth Than into those that lesser heed her ways. Virtue full oft receives the crown of thorns, While, for a season, roses bloom about The paths of sin, but at the core the worm Which dieth not, saps every fount of peace And withers every budding thought of joy, Eclipsing hope and nourishing despair. A MESSAGE. Blow softly, sweet winds, on her brow; Kiss gently her fair, rosy cheek, And unto her pearly ear now vSome sweet thought of love gently speak. 264 PATRIOTIC AND MISCELLANEOUS POEMS INDEPENDENCE DAY. EROIC deeds make holy days ; The brightest page of all the years Is that which to the race displays The grandest truth undimmed by fears. A faith that firmly, boldly stands On the eternal rock of Right; That ceases not in its demands For justice, liberty and light! Faith in the future of mankind, Faith in the glory yet to be, That strengthens, lifts and lights the mind- Presaging final victory. A freedom that shall know no king Save justice, when with mercy shown; That every fetter yet shall fling To ocean winds when fiercely blown. Oh, day! most sacred to the race, Oh, day! that gave to Freedom birth; That thrones of tyrants did displace, And all the world with hope did girth; We greet thee with joy s loud acclaim, In anthem grand, and martial song, We worship Freedom in thy name Immortal enemy of wrong. 267 INDEPENDENCE DAY. Thy emblem, light; its starry folds, Borne on the waves of heaven s air; In it, mankind at last beholds The proudest ensign floating there. Banner of Truth! forever shine, Thy staff unmoved shall e er endure; Thy radiant glory all divine, Shall to the race their rights secure. Before thy gleams the shades of night, Rolled back in terror when the day Of thy effulgent birth of light Made clear to all proud Freedom s way. The hand of error fell from power; Wrong from her citadels was hurled; Baptized in thy first natal hour, Proud day and banner of the world ! Under the guidance of thy stars, Man shall attain his highest goal; No blot his sovereign armor mars, Unfettered, free, his mind and soul. Free to unfold into the light, Free to reach upward, on and on; Free to dispel the shroud of night, And chant a welcome to the dawn. Fill full the bowl and let us drink To every hero of the past; For none beneath the waves should sink, Their work complete stands forth at last Fill full the bowl, for all divine Above us floats against the sky, " Old Glory," Freedom s spotless sign, With spirit that can never die! Then hail, all hail this sacred hour ! Wrong meets again its Waterloo; For here \ve grasp the prize, the flower Man s brotherhood forever true. The deeds of martyrs all sublime, Of all the ages past are blent, Whate er their country or their time, In Freedom s perfect monument. 268 THE SWORD OF GRANT. Oh, sons of Poland, rise and sing ! Oh, spirits of Thermopylae ! For you the glorious plaudits ring, Though sleeping far beyond the sea; Awake ! arise from your repose, And join the world s glad jubilee; Now sweetly blooms your cherished rose Man walks the earth unfettered, free ! A wreath ! A wreath ! Crown every tomb. Of those who fought in honor s name; They died that Freedom s flowers might bloom Give to them each a deathless fame ! Above the graves where heroes sleep, Let bloom the sweet forget-me-not, While nations bow their heads and weep With holy tears embalm each spot. THE SWORD OF GRANT. Preserve that sword for it shall be, Through ages yet to come, A token bright of loyalty To every peaceful home; And all shall love it o er the earth, As emblem of the matchless worth Where e er sweet peace shall roam. Of him who crowned fair liberty, With power and strength, in victory. Preserve it well, it is to-day The Nation s glorious pride, Its honor ne er can fade away, Through fire it has been tried. Ivet roses deck it, and the vine Around its gleaming blade entwine, For none on earth beside, Was drawn with firmer hope to see Peace rule the world in harmony. 269 A LEADER S DEATH. Sacred for aye this gleaming blade, As Freedom s sacred sod, By tyrant hands though long delayed, It voiced the will of God; As with its glinting flash of steel, It did sweet liberty reveal, To those beneath the rod, Establishing kind heaven s plan; The noble brotherhood of man. Preserve it for the noble deeds Of valor it has done, Its simple faith unbound by creeds, Wrought for man s good alone; Twas drawn in war that we might see Peace rule our land in unity, For this its battles won, And that sweet peace the land should bless, With all her joy and gentleness. A LEADER S DEATH. Strike the timbrel, sound the lyre, Let sad requiems be sung, The muffled bells be softly tolled, Let all souls to Heaven aspire In low and solemn words of prayer, For the soul of the departed For the great life which is no more. Bury our hero with tenderest care, Fashion the tomb where his frame shall repose, Under the willows, and let it be where The nightingale sings, and bloometh the rose. Let deep-toned cannon s thunder, Rend the azure robe asunder, With their voice of warlike thunder, As they speak the awful tidings Of the Nation s stupendous loss; Fitting it is that "war dogs " notes Should echo from their iron throats A lament o er his noble tomb; 270 A LEADER S DEATH. For when the air was filled with gloom With treason s dark and awful gloom By his command their wild, fierce boom Bespoke for treason a short life. And bore the Nation through the strife Of civil war, and it arose Proud conqueror o er all its foes. The debt to him the Nation owes Is all that human power can pa}* On beds of laurel to repose To place his name beyond decay. To write on each and every heart, In words of bright and glowing flame, The greatness of his matchless name; Embalm in story and in song, How for the right and gainst the wrong He wrought with superhuman skill, Surpassing with his iron will And wondrous judgment, all the deeds Achieved by man, whate er the creeds Which urged them on ; his holy plan Was to exemplify in man The right which since the world began Had been denied the right to be A man, untramnieled, upright, free. Mourn, for the warrior is no more; Mourn, for the statesman is no more; Mourn, for the soldier lieth prone; Mourn, for the citizen is gone. His like we shall not look upon, Though millions rise and pass away; Though there should come a brighter day, No man can on the scroll of fame Emblazon a more glorious name; Of deeds heroic, none can be Of higher, loftier degree Than those he did amid the storm, When flowed the life blood fresh and warm From out the Nation s bleeding form. 271 INJUSTICE OF IDLENESS. THE OLD MAN S REQUEST. Let me rest where you will, the only condition I attach to the choice .of a place for my tomb, Be it where my loved wife God bless her devotion May rest when her life shall eternally bloom; Fan her gently I pray, ye soft winds of heaven, Oh, peaceful and calm may her life s river e er glide, For each sorrow a balm, oh, let it be given, When life s journey be o er let her rest by my side. Through sunshine and storm of life s checkered voyage, The soul of my being my life s guiding star, Devoted companion to soothe and encourage, My solace in peace and my goddess in war; When alone there remains the beautiful casket, \Vhen the spirit of life shall have flown from my bride, Remember my prayer in love s name I ask it, Let her rest, sweetly rest in peace by my side. Let her rest by my side when the light of her glory In the sunset of life shall grow dim till it fade, When life s chapter be closed, and ended the story, Let her dust with my dust in silence be laid; She hath shared with me long life s pain and its pleasure, The light of my soul, since I kissed her my bride; Hath filled all my life with sweet joy in full measure, When her night cometh on let her rest by my side. INJUSTICE OF IDLENESS. All days of idleness are brought to one By throwing on some other double weight; For never since our parents woes begun Has oped, on earth, a Paradisal gate. All here are called to labor, and the road Is measured from the cradle to the grave; If so, through life some bear a lighter load, Their honor, then, is less in being brave. 272 THE WARRIOR S DEATH, THE SWORD OF WALLACE, Sword of Wallace, how we love it, None more brightly shone above it, None was truer to its trust; None was braver in endeavor, Treason s grasp to quickly sever, I^et it proudly shine for ever, Free from time s destroying rust; Tis of him a true reminder, There was never yet a kinder Heart consigned to mother dust. Sheathe it proudly, as he wore it, Sheathe it bravely, as he bore it, Emblem true of loyalty; First in battle line defending, First amid the traitors wending, Where the Blue with Grey were blending; In the struggle there to see, That the cause of right was winning, Over hosts of rebels sinning, Gainst the banner of the free. Sheathe that glinting sword of battle, For no more the din and rattle Of the conflict now is heard; For its flag, behold, is streaming, Over heroes who lie dreaming, Where its powerful stroke was gleaming, For the right his chosen word, As it struck the foe with terror, Free from cowardice and error, It is Freedom s glorious sword. THE WARRIOR S DEATH. L/ife s battle wanes apace at last; LO! in the W T est its setting sun Gives way, and shadows dim are cast, Which tell the warrior s work is done; Upon his brow A smile plays uow, Telling the final vict ry s won. 273 THE LONG ROLL IS BEATING. The long roll is beating, haste, haste to the battle, The boom of the batteries thunders enlarge, The sharp ringing sound of the musketry s rattle Nerved every brave heart to the call of the charge. Into the crash With sudden dash They met the rebel s haughty line, Causing to reel Their blades of steel, And lower foul treason s flaunting sign. Charge ! heroes, charge ! for the life of the Nation Now hangs in the balance, tis yours to declare, Whether the hope of your father s creation Shall flourish in peace or now die in despair; Up every arm, Preserve it from harm And hurl back the foe to its doom; Paint all the ground With blood as you wound, And dig for vile treason a tonib. Ivet the air tremble with sounds of your waking, And see that the foe shall inhale with each breath The poisons of woe that treason is making; Let them drink to its dregs the wine of its death. Brew well the cup, And fill it up With treason s hemlock juice of hell, And let them drink, Then quickly sink Into the grave they digged so well. Gallantly forward, swift up from the river, Moved the great columns of blue-coats into line; Resolving that death, and death only, should sever Their will from their purpose a purpose divine. That nothing should mar The gleam of a star, Nor one from their banner be torn; Though wars should increase And murder sweet peace, The stars all as one must be borne. 274 THE CAI,I TO ARMS. " E pluribus unum" the key of their song, "The union forever" the echoes replied; As through the deep forest it thundered along, Forever in one as the waves of the tide. In union is strength, In breadth and in length Our country unsevered shall be; Its stars shall e er shine With pure ray divine From sky of its banner so free. THE CALL TO ARMS. Hark to the voice of your country now calling For aid in subduing her traitorous foes, Who have fired on her flag, oh treason appalling ! Rush quick to her rescue, resent their foul blows. Fly to her standard, no time for delaying, The sound of disloyalty s murderous band Is heard through the hills, her honor betraying, While treason is spreading all over the land. Fly to her standard, the long roll is beating, Haste, haste, keep the old flag still high in the air, Hurl from her temples, in terror retreating, All those who would stain her fair loyalty there. See them come flocking from peaceful homes breaking And casting their all at their loved country s feet; Her cry of distress their manliness waking, To win back her honor or die in defeat. Hark to the music, "Columbia" is ringing A call to her sons, to the loyal and brave; See them march on, each true heart bravely singing The Union forever or rest in the grave. 275 A ROYAL LEGACY. My father was a kindly man, Of massive, stalwart frame, And when to speak I first began, It was to lisp his name; And in my mind I yet can see His face, as my first memory. His look was such a searching one, Shot from his piercing eye, As he would say to me: " My son, Your country ne er deny." I often wondered why he said : "That is a message from the dead." Above the mantel hung his sword, Sheathed in a well-worn case; I can remember every word That found on it a place: " For God, for Honor, and for Power," Entwined with vine, and leaf, and flower. And just above, with pinions spread, And poised as if for flight, An eagle s form, though still and dead, A grand, imposing sight; His talons grasping firm and bold A shield and arrows tipped with gold. About the bird, in folds of light, The banner of the free Completed that most stirring sight A glorious trinity ! In which was power to stir the blood Of loyalty s great brotherhood! "Come hither, son," my father said, When we two were alone ; His countenance to thought was wed, And solemn was his tone, As taking down that flashing sword, He bade me heed his every word. 276 A ROYAL LEGACY. "My son," he said, "this sword is mine, It was thy grandsire s, boy, And it in turn will soon be thine; See that no rust alloy Or tarnish its bright, glinting steel, While thou hast power to think and feel. "This sword has hewn the way to peace, Through many bloody frays, And may its power for right increase, With increase of thy days; Thy sire s, thy grandsire s honor, too, I give, to guard with this, to you. " Swear, boy, that while thou hast a breath That flag thou wilt sustain, And bravely choose a soldier s death, Rather than treason s stain Should dim the glitter of its stars, Or trail in dust its shining bars." Now sire with grandsire is at rest, And yet they live to-day, Their loyal spirits in this breast Rule with a fervent sway; To touch that sword is e er to hear Clearly resounding in my ear : " For God, for Honor, and for Power, This motto ever keep, And if, perchance, should come the hour, Bid every feeling sleep, Save that the hope of all the world Is that our flag be kept unfurled." 277 THE DISASTER OF JOHNSTOWN. All day o er the city of Johnstown, The sun, like an emblem of love, Had brilliantly lighted that valley And Peace, like a white-winged dove, Dispelled every thought of disaster ; No cloud came to mar the sweet dream Of this valley which lay in the mountains Asleep by the murmuring stream^ The sound of the forge and the bellows Was heard floating out on the air ; The laughter of children that sported Unfettered by sorrow or care ; The mill with the sound of its grinding, All over the valley was heard, And out from the orchards came floating The sweet notes of the warbling bird. All nature seemed full of rejoicing, The stream through the valley along, A lullaby sang to that city A sweet and ineffable song ; The mountains looked down so benignly, For now their great shadows were cast, As if they would shroud the sweet valley In dark, mystical realms at last. Hark ! lo, a wild horseman is coming, As though to a hurricane wed ; His face it is ashen and pallid As though twere the face of the dead ; His hair is disheveled and flying, By winds madly fanned in his speed ; With lash and with spur he is urging Still swifter his noble bay steed. His voice echoes over the valley, " Flee, flee to the hills for your lives ! The lake has burst out of its bondage, Flee, flee, ere the torrent arrives ! " 278 THE DISASTER OE JOHNSTOWN. Swift on down the valley lie passes, To warn all the people of harm, His voice bearing earnest conviction And filling each breast with alarm. The people rush out of their dwellings To see the wild horseman go by, But few of them heeded his warning " What means he," they ask, " by this cry? One moment they waited, inquiring, Then came down the valley a sound Like a mighty battle of thunders, While trembled affrighted the ground. Then came a great wall of black waters, So fierce in its wild, maddened course That it crushed all things in the valley With its mighty and terrible force. Trees swayed like the grass in the tempest, And houses were hurled in the air, While Death rode the waves of the deluge And spoke to each heart of despair. The billows reached out in their anger And shouted to valley and hill : " We demand every one for our vengeance, No power can withstand our strong will. Bring every fond father and mother, And every pure babe and sweet child ; Not one of them all shall escape us, With vengeance alone we are wild. " For I, the great spirit of waters, Have spoken my edict in power, That death shall rule over this valley, His reign be complete in an hour. All those who pay tribute to Mammon, All those who are servants of God, Not one of them all shall escape me, Whose feet in this vallev have trod." 279 THE DISASTER OK JOHNSTOWN. The call of these murderous waters, None heard but were bound to obey ; All hell in its fury came rushing Along with the waters that day. Sweet, innocent babes, from the bosoms Of mothers were ruthlessly torn, And away by the black, rushing demons To death and destruction were borne. Strong men were dry reeds in its fury, Tossed hither and thither at will ; Its craving for life was appalling, Its desire alone was to kill. It seized the fair maids in their beauty, With strength of unmeasured desire, And proved its deep passions far greater Than all of the demons of fire. It kissed madly their cheeks, and the roses Were instantly faded and gone ; The pallor of death, like dull ashes, Lay over them all as though one. It toyed with their beautiful tresses, Alike with the dark and the fair ; Laughed loudly in mocking derision At cry of their wailing despair. All death seemed that day in the waters And chose in this valley where bloom Was fairest and purest, most lovely, To make for its victims a tomb. Oh, God ! when the waters receded, What a sight was there to behold ! The fair and the weak and the mighty Of earth, on its bosom lay cold ! 280 WORLD S COLUMBIAN EXHIBITION The flame of truth burns bright and strong, The world is dazzled by its rays; A paean grand bursts from the throng, An anthem of devoutest praise. And here aloft, kissing the sky, The starry banner is unfurled, Revealing unto every eye The hope and light of all the world. Behind us lie the shades of night, Before, the bright, eternal morn; Bach moment yields a new delight, Bach day a higher trust is born. The faith of yesterday, to-day Is turned to knowledge, and we rise, Testing the truth of prophecy In light of new discoveries. The faith that ruled the Spaniard bold, And drew him westward o er the seas, Is current coin to-day. Behold, The need of greater argosies! However bright the light may shine, However radiant bursts the dawn: Darkness the shores beyond entwine, And Hope still whispers " on and on!" The winds blow fierce, the waves dash high; Life is an ocean deep and wide; Death strews the way, its victims lie Helpless upon the heaving tide. Watchman, ahoy! What of the night? Gleams there no sign of coming dawn?" Yes, Captain, yes; there is one light The star of Hope shines brightly on." 281 THE CHARGE. The waves grow rougher day by day; All that we are, or strive to be, Is now required to sail the way To mankind s final destiny. ; Man overboard!" Quick! lend a hand, He must not sink beneath the wave; Accursed would be the harbor land If reached by a neglect to save! Sail on! sail on, brave hearts, sail on! Though tempests rage and billows roar; For idle hands there comes no dawn, Work balms the aching to the core. Sail on! sail on! tread firm the deck, Shout loud the song, nor pause to weep; To the brave heart can come no wreck He will provide His servants sleep. THE CHARGE. Hark to the bugle s stirring blast, The rolling of the drum, The shouting of the loud command; The charging foe, they come ! And like a wild, fierce hurricane, With clouds surcharged with deadly rain, They strike the listener dumb, As with their deadly missiles there They fill and blacken all the air. Now rolls the seething tempest high, Its thunders rend the sky ! At every burning, scorching flash, Stern echo ings reply, Then dashes doubly fierce again The life-destroying hail and rain, Which human power defy, For every flash and thunder tone, Claims countless victims for its own. 282 FORGIVENESS. OCTOBER HILLS. A silver vail hangs o er the wooded hills And curtains out the kisses of the sun; Neath the green forest bowers, the tiny rills, With measured flow, to low-voiced music run; The wild bird s notes, of sweet melodious song, Flow like a stream of melody along. The scarlet leaves with listless motion fall, Wavering through the air with scarce a sound; Silence, like magic, broodeth over all, The air is motionless as is the ground. The long and polished needles of the pines, No longer tremulous, are still as death; No fern or blade of grass sways or inclines As is their wont, to Zephyr s faintest breath. The sky a perfect canopy o erhead, And drooping all about, its folds of blue vSeem nearer drawn, than where the lowlands spread From morning s waking sun, til evening s dew; While here and there a fragile gleam of mist, Seems like a bit of Summer s bridal veil, Torn from her train, and by the sunbeams kissed To sky-seas for some Sunsprite s barque a sail. FORGIVENESS. And it is best while yet we live, To heal all heartaches and forgive. For life at best is but a span Wherein the grandest, noblest man Is he who gives to one and all Forgiveness unconditional. Forgiveness, oh! the holy balm, No word so sweet from human tongue; Life s bitter storm becomes a calm As flows its healing sound among The waves of woe, which constant rise To blot the sun from out our skies. 283 THE CHRISTMAS TREE. Oh ! fair are the boughs of the Christmas tree, And rich are the fruits that they bear ; No good of the land or the rolling sea, No matter where or however it be, But are found to be growing there. Then welcome all, At Christmas call, Let the glad chimes ring with glee, And drive away, All care to-day, While we dance round the Christmas tree. Let the proud ships sail from over the main, And may all of the winds be fair ; And bring of their stores to the tree again, From Alaska s shores and the isles of Spain, Of the wealth which they have to spare. The Christmas tree To-day shall be, The richest that ever grew ; No wind shall blow, No river flow, But shall add to its wealth anew. Let the divers plunge to the ocean caves, Where the royal Sea-king s jewels are, Unlocking the grasp of the white-capped waves, Which have held the gems from the eyes of knaves, With a greater than miser s care. From every store We most adore, Of its wealth be gathered free, For I declare, No jewel rare, Is too good for the Christmas tree. From the palmy isles of the Southern seas, From the vaults of eternal snow ; From the matin winds to the vesper breeze, From the heights of lands to the depths of seas 284 ELIJAH AND THE RAVENS. Let messengers speedily go, And quickly bring Their offering, And the crown for each one shall be, The matchless prize Of loving eyes, That are charmed by the Christmas tree. In a precious soil grows the Christmas tree, In the hearts of the good and true ; Tis the hands of love and of sympathy, That deck all its branches so lavishly, With the gifts which they freely strew. The joy it gives Forever lives, And the world will the better be, For the love and light, So pure and bright, That beams from the Christmas tree. ELIJAH AND THE RAVENS. By the lonely brook of Chereth, Sat God s servant in a cave, Naught of comfort or of blessing Save alone its sparkling wave; For the earth was all a desert, Famine, famine everywhere; Gone was fruit, and flower, and blossom,. Hungry was the desert air. But in God the prophet trusted, Trusted all things to His hand, Feared not famine, feared no evil, In this waste and desert land; Laid firm hold upon His promise, Trusted fully in His word, And though human power forsook him, Yet his faith was firm, unstirred. 285 I,OVBS TRIBUTE. Hunger preyed upon his system, Famine stared him in the face. Yet he murmurs, "all sufficient Is God s bounteous power and grace Patiently he waits God s coming, Asks not when, or how, or why, Only trusting, fully trusting, Fearing not to live or die. See, there conies a flock of ravens, Circling o er him in the sky, Flutt ring nearer, nearer, nearer, With their weird peculiar cry; Can this be of good an omen? Can they aught portend of good? Behold, his simple faith is honored, Lo, the ravens bring him food. LOVE S TRIBUTE. The heart that beat with joy and pride Is now forever still, The winsome, gay and lovely bride A narrow grave has filled. The gladsome smile, the loving voice, Are seen and heard no more ; Her presence that did all rejoice Is gone for evermore. Let sorrow weave her deepest shade, And softly shed her tears; Let flowers be gathered, wreaths to braid By hands her love endears. Let every tribute earth can pay Do honor to her now, From every floweret cull a spray To deck her lovely brow. 286 WHAT DAME RUMOR SAID. WAYSIDE PLEASURES. When worn and weary with life s heavy load, Our fainting hearts have been revived and cheered By cooling draughts of sweetest sympathy. Full oft, when troubled waves rolled high and fierce Have kindly hands poured out the oil of peace, And calm, blue skies have arched and smiled serene, Where angry clouds of storm have fiercely blown, And pleasant plains of peace have oft appeared Where rugged mountains rose to bar our way. In arid deserts fragrant flowers have bloomed, And sweet, fresh grasses grown to cheer our way; Oft from our hearts the piercing thorns of pain By tender hands have been withdrawn with care, And hours of gloom been lit with joy and love. WHAT DAME RUMOR SAID. The morn was bright, the month was June, When with my line and rod, Humming a gay and cheerful tune, The mountain path I trod. The dashing stream was cool and clear, As swiftly on it sped, Filled with fine trout that knew no fear, So false Dame Rumor said. From out my book the tempting flies, With care I quickly chose; And angled for a finny prize, But never one arose. Dame Rumor d led me to believe, That here no fly could fall, But trout so easy to deceive, Would swallow line and all ! 287 INDEPENDENCE. I fished all day until the night, And caught one tiny trout; Its size so small, its weight so light, Scarce moved my line about. With lagging steps and rueful sighs, I left the fishing grounds; Dame Rumor said I d caught a prize, Which weighed nigh seven pounds! My friends next day all sought the stream^ And angled with a will, Eager at morning s early gleam, Their baskets all to fill. At night when they returned to town, All looked at me askance; On every brow a darkling frown, Lightning in every glance. And now each one I chance to meet, With injured air goes by; Which in the club or on the street, Says plainly, "Sir, you lie." Or, with derision s baneful look, The hint goes all the rounds; "He caught the trout with line and hook, That weighed nigh seven pounds!" INDEPENDENCE. So live that thine own soul within May catch and hold the sweets of life; Those may deceive thee who have been Friends in the hours of darkest strife. Let not thine anger on them dwell, Deem them as dead, though living yet; Think on loved scenes, and Beauty s spell Will banish from thy mind regret. 288 THE STRUGGLE FOR BREAD. But one cruse of oil, and one measure of meal, And the wife lying sick in the bed; No wonder the chills o er the husband s heart steal, As the future looms up black with dread. The bright star of hope, o er a sea of despair, Glows faint in the gathering gloom; The clouds by the tempest are hurled through the air, And roll their black forms through the room. Their pledge of affection fond, cherished first-born Is heard in the darkness to cry; It pierces his heart, as the thought comes that morn Will even a dry crust deny. The wind at the casement now pipes forth a wail, A howl in the distance is heard, And borne to his ears on the wings of the gale, The cry of an ominous bird. The vicious wolves gather while rageth the storm, Fierce gleam their white fangs through the night; They leap in their madness all over his form, And tear at his throat gleaming white. With strength of a Sampson, spurred on by true love, He dashes their forms from the door; Great God, in Thy mercy, look down from above, And aid in their struggles the poor. The land has of fatness enough and to spare, But the misers have garnered it all, And deaf are their hearts, as the storm-beaten air, To those who in wretchedness call. The light that emblazons our banner so fair, And justice proclaims to the world, Shines on stricken hearts that are doomed to despair, Though their honor has never been furled. 289 DIANA S DEFEAT. Hark! through the woods the winding horn, And baying of the hounds is heard; Affrighted from their feast at morn, Flee every timid beast and bird. "Who dares disturb our wild retreat ? " The Elfins and the Dryads cry ; "Who comes with footfalls strong, and fleet As wind-waves from a stormy sky ? " Tis she, the goddess of the chase, Diana, with her trailing hounds; No other dare invade this place No other knows these pathless grounds." The Water-nymphs within the stream Gather at call of their fair queen; They feel their duty is supreme To stand, the hounds and game between. On comes the fleet, affrighted deer, Pursued by huntress and by hounds; Trembling from flight and awful fear, Into the stream the stag now bounds. Boldly the Water-nymphs appear, Their bravery none can deny, For neath Diana s poised spear, They shout defiantly this cry: 41 Hold ! but the shore the gods thee gave, We will protect the hunted deer; Its refuge is the gleaming wave; Stand back ! for we are masters here." 290 WRONG IS OF NIGHT. A GLIMPSE OF SPRING. There are blooms upon the cherry, There s an odor in the air, And the robin s song so merry Tells of gladness everywhere; There s a golden sheen of glory Clothing all the joyous scene, And the grasses tell the story Of their birth, so fresh and green. How the swallows sail and twitter At their work about the eaves, When the morning sunbeams glitter On the jewels of the leaves; See how busy at their labors, Bringing mud and bits of straw, Chatting gaily with their neighbors, Bach unto itself a law. WRONG IS OF NIGHT. Mortality doth shroud the soul As darkness veils the world at night, And we, at best, can only see A glimmer of the distant stars, And this enough to prove that we Shall know the light when glorious morn Shall with its sweet effulgence break Upon our sight, and all around vShall know the light, and feel the truth, To be a part of each one s soul, Wherein is found no taint of wrong, For wrong is of the night alone, And all of evil is confined Beneath its darkened canopy. 291 HAIL, BROTHER, HAIL. Hail, brother, hail ! how farest thou? Long years have passed since last we met; The frosts of Time are on thy brow, Life s sun for us inclines to set. How hast thou found the road of life? Have peace and love enshrined thy path, Or have the angry clouds of strife Burst o er thee with their flames of wrath? Has life proved what in youth it seemed, When gilded with Hope s radiant morn? Have flow rs proved sweet as thou hadst dreamed, Or hath each rose disclosed a thorn? Dost thou remember how as boys We dreamed and planned, as all boys will, Of all the bright and blissful joys We thought our future life would fill ? Come sit thee by this running stream, W T hile life doth flow like it away, And tell me if to thee it seem Another stream with which to play? What thinkest thou of time and change, Are seen things real, or no, I pray? Is it not dreamland, the whole range Encompassed by the light of day? Is form and matter, force and weight, But the resultant of a will ? Can we know aught beyond this state, Where we are grain for Time s old mill ? Doth all life flow into a sea A waveless, stagnant sea of death? Is there no immortality, No life beyond this fleeting breath? 292 MY OLD DUCK-CAI,!,. Yes, brother, yes, I feel and know That life is other than a dream; It will forever onward flow, And flowing on, still brighter gleam. The constant efforts of the soul, To free itself from bars of time, Proves its desire to reach its goal A brighter, better, fairer clime." MY OLD DUCK-CALL. I was feeling through the pockets Of my cast-off corduroys, Such as we, you will remember, Used to wear when we were boys. As I searched my hunting jacket, Something from its pocket fell, Which, if blessed with revelation, Could some wondrous stories tell. It was made of hardened cherry, And o er my primitive decoys It had brought the wary "flappers" From a distance with its noise; So that as they sailed above us, We would rise and blaze away, ^Til the evening shadows gathered At the closing of the day. Gods ! the hunts upon the marshes, How the pleasures I recall, You, and I, and little Fannie Used to revel in each Fall, Where the wild-rice grew in freedom On the river s bayous thick, Where to bag the ducks by dozens Was a very easy trick. 293 MY OLD DUCK-CALL. Then I sat me down reflecting, On those times of long ago, And my thoughts were very pleasant, Such as only sportsmen know; For they spoke of joys unmeasured, Such as only youths can feel, When down on the river bottoms, Waiting for the ducks, they kneel. I recalled the vivid picture, When one Autumn afternoon You had wounded with the rifle, At long range, a diving loon; And how Fannie sought to fetch him From the bosom of the lake, And of how he fought like Satan, With his kingdom for a stake. How you thought you d end the battle, Creeping out upon a log Where a moccasin lay sunning, And you jumped into the bog ! How you swore and raved and sputtered, And fierce threatened me with lead, W r hen I laughed and shouted loudly When we found the snake was dead. Now I feel the young blood coursing Swiftly through my sluggish veins, And I feel my old heart beating As my soul its youth regains; For the calendar is pointing To the sombre months of Fall, I must try my skill at shooting Use once more the old duck-call. 294 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. (Dedicated to the COUNTRY CLUB of San Francisco.) Under the green and leafy boughs Of the old greenwood tree, Are joys no other spot allows, So fresh, so pure and free. CHORUS: Under the greenwood tree, my boys, Under the greenwood tree; Elsewhere there may be sweeter joys, But they are not for me. When Spring her robe of beauty spreads, O er mountain, vale, and lea; There is no spot where beauty weds Ivike to the greenwood tree. CHORUS : Under the greenwood tree, my boys, Under the greenwood tree; Elsewhere there may be sweeter joys, But they are not for me. There wild birds build, and mate, and sing, And all life gambols free; No nimble foot or sailing wing But loves the greenwood tree. CHORUS : Under the greenwood tree, my boys, Under the greenwood tree; Elsewhere there may be sweeter joys, But they are not for me. Ho, ho ! ho, ho ! w ? e shout and sing, And laugh right merrily, And on the air our glad notes fling, From underneath the tree. 295 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. CHORUS : Under the greenwood tree, rny boys, Under the greenwood tree; Elsewhere there may be sweeter joys, But they are not for me. The freedom which its shelter gives Is that of high degree, For there one truly, freely lives, Under the greenwood tree. CHORUS : Under the greenwood tree, my boys, Under the greenwood tree; Elsewhere there may be sweeter joys, But they are not for me. Then welcome all from toil and care, Who would be gay and free, Come breathe the pure and fragrant air Which fans beneath the tree. CHORUS : Under the greenwood tree my boys, Under the greenwood tree; Elsewhere there may be sweeter joys, But they are not for me. 296 TWO CENTRAL POINTS. A LITTLE PRINCESS. 1 know a winsome bit of light, Who sunshine carries everywhere ; Who is her mama s chief delight, Bringing her joy without a care. If you could see her great, brown eyes, And catch the glinting of her hair, You would exclaim in great surprise : "She is all sweetness, I declare !" She never yet was known to cry, Nor naughty be one single hour; And none who know her will deny The magic sweetness of her pow r. She is a little lady quite, So neat and pretty, sweet and good ; Her garments all of purest white From dainty slipper to her hood. And everybody loves her well, Some for herself, but I mistake If many more the truth would tell : They love her for her mama s sake. But she is sweet and cute, I vow, I would just dearly love to shake her She is a doll, I must allow, This Princess Helen Wilber- Baker. TWO CENTRAL POINTS. Stranger, from whence and whither bound ? He said, " I have but left my home ; .All roads lead there, I ve ever found, And from thence lead, for me, to Rome." 297 MOUNTAIN PLEASURES. Who says that a trip to the mountains, Away from the marts and their din, Is not as the stream of salvation Compared to the highways of sin ? Just let him stand forth and affirm it If such an one there should here be ; I ll vouch for the fact that his nature To cleanse would exhaust the deep sea. One who, in invisible water, Forever is washing his hands, And plying his cunning devices All over the seas and the lands. Who, with gay colored net of seduction, Casts ever to catch whom he can ; An enemy, selfish and tireless, A foe unto God and to man. For who can love God or His creatures, Unless he loves God s work alone, Where His revelations, unchanging, Are written in rivers and stone ? A trip to the Upper Sierras Gives one a broad view above creeds, Of that which the Master has written Concerning man s innermost needs. A sermon in each laughing brooklet ; An anthem in each foaming stream ; Each mountain a symbol of glory, From which benign blessings e er gleam. Alone with God s work ! How it solemns And leads the faint heart to the brink Of life s flowing river of sweetness, While whisper God s angels : "Drink, drink." 298 ALPHA AND OMEGA. The years sweep on; Time knows not rest nor sleep; Unwearied and perpetual his speed; In calm or storm his mighty steeds move on, Grinding beneath his chariot wheels all things That are, into a dust impalpable. He seems a god of many whims and moods, Requiring all of change that is to please His fancy and to satisfy his soul. With lute of lively breathing calls he forth, From out the southland where the palm trees wave, When wooed to motion by spice-laden airs, The merry blossom-circled maiden fair, Who to the measure of his music trips, With many changing steps, to please his whims. Her magic wand she waves, and lo ! the birds Of song and beauty circle round her nigh, Singing in harmony with his gay lute, While blossoms burst from vine and spreading tree, And all the air is laden with their sweets. This pleasantry a season satisfies, And then his music grows more sweet and low, When Summer, with an air of dignity And graces matronly, appears, serene And calm, as certain of her course and work. Anon, to slow and measured music, comes The bronzed and rosy Autumn, bending low Beneath her fruits rich promises fulfilled. When, weary of feasting and of fatness, Time changes yet again his notes and plays Of fierceness, flood and storm, of cold and death, \Vhen Winter, breathing sickles sharp and keen, 299 ALPHA AND OMEGA. ~Sweeps o er the scene, destroying every sign Imprinted by this trio of fair queens; And this is all : hope, labor, reaping, death ! Time watches o er the cradle of each birth, And dallies with our infancy, and weaves A magic wreath which, wooed to fragrant bloom, Clothes all our future with a livery, Gorgeous and beautiful unto the eye. Adown this vista of the future years Appears the smooth and pleasant path of peace, Winding beneath umbrageous forests cool, Where sparkling fountains play and sweet birds sing, Forming a perfect paradise, wherein No serpents, seeming, ever can intrude. Time early weds our infancy to Hope, And never has he known a sweeter bride Fair sister she of Immortality. On placing our young hand within her palm He whispers : " She will ever be thy friend, Cleave unto her as unto life. Give heed Each moment of thy way unto her voice, And thou shalt reap thy soul s most fond desire." Dear Hope ! How fair her form ! How sweet her smile ! How luminous and bright her wondrous eyes ! How auspicious the journey when begun ! A little way and Grief beside a grave Throws over our young heart a grewsome awe, That ever hangs about us on the way, And Sorrow follows closely, draped in tears. What weight has grief, or pain, or ills, or woe? What matters if the sun, with scorching ray, Beats down upon our unprotected head, 300 AI^PHA AND OMKGA. And withers every leaf and verdured blade, Making of blooming gardens deserts wild ? Doth not Hope beckon on with winning smile? Doth she not point to honor and to fame ? Holds she not in her hands a jewelled crown, A wand, and health, and length of days, and love ? Doth she not say: "These are for you, press on ? " The way grows rough and slippery to the feet, Yawning chasms, seemingly bottomless, Fall away to darkness on either hand Of our perilous way, which now becomes A source of abject terror and affright; The wind blows fierce; the rain in torrents falls; The lightning blinds the sight, and thunders roll With terror-waking detonations near, And reverberating through the gorges wild Which are, we dimly see by lightning s gleam, Strewn thickly with the bruised and mangled forms Of countless wretches who have fallen here; Swerve but a hair s breadth from the narrow way, And all will end in darkness and despair. Just here, with piercing shriek, a brother slips; He clings with strength of wild despair, clutching The narrow shelving of our path, and swings Over the wall of the great precipice ! Horror depicted on his face, he calls, In tones of deepest anguish, for our aid ; Our terror-frozen limbs refuse to stir; Our lips are speechless, and our eyes grow dim; A faintness creeps into our heart and stills Its beating, as we sway toward the chasm ! Instinctively our hands clasp those that cling,. When lo ! we find our brother and his load, 301 ALPHA AND OMEGA. Added unto our own, doth lighten all ! We lift the fallen to the path again, And through a rift within the rolling clouds Streams an effulgent burst of light, which falls Upon our path to guide and cheer our way. Fame comes not here, but joy doth fill our soul ; And Mercy whispers: " Peace, brave heart, well done/ This is the acme of all striving here, The royal robe, the magic wand, the crown; All else is fleeting as the years, as vain And unsubstantial as the rainbow s gleam. Our limbs grow weary and our hearts more weak, As with a pale and mellow light the day Fades slowfy from the mist-draped evening sky. Ashes of hopes within the bosom lie, Where Sorrow sits beside a sepulcher, Scanning the record of the past, through tears. The vista groweth dark and darker still, As fade the mortal senses sight and sound; But there, piercing the gloom, shines one bright star, Sweet Hope, forever dear, forever bright, Forever leading up and on, and on. The struggle ceases, all is calm and still; The star s light flickers faint and dim. How cold ! A shudder gently moves our weary frame; The shadows deepen and still closer creep; Our pale lips move a little, murmuring: "Come Euthanasia ! Father, thy spirit Light for our pathway; more light, still more light !" 302 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS OVERDUE. LD 21-100m-7, 40 (6936s) YC 14531 740003 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY