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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 CAP AND BELLS 
 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL MINTURN PECK 
 
 "/ only wear the cap and tells." 
 
 FREDERICK LOCKER 
 
 SIXTH EDITION 
 
 flew L'orfc anfe lonfcon 
 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyrighted in 1875, by F. B. Patterson 
 
 Copyright, 1886, 
 By White, Stokes, Allen.
 
 PS 
 
 TO MY FA THER AND MOTHER.
 
 Beneath the Cap and Bells to-day 
 
 With lightsome heart I lead the way 
 To quips and games and jollity : 
 Come, Gallants, let your laughter bt 
 
 The guerdon of the frolic fray. 
 
 In camp and court, in woods of May, 
 Still Folly holds her merry sway, 
 
 The world's a jest. Come laugh -with me 
 Beneath the Cap and Bells. 
 
 What songs we'll sing! What pranks we' II play ! 
 
 But hold, good Sirs your pardon, pray, 
 If sadder notes than those of glee 
 Should mingle with our minstrelsie . 
 
 The jester is not always gay 
 
 Beneath the Cap and Bells,
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I Wonder what Maud will Say ! .... 3 
 
 Dollie .7 
 
 A Knot of Blue (For the Boys of Yale) . . 9 
 
 A Fair Attorney u 
 
 The Dimple on her Cheek 14 
 
 The Sailor's Sweetheart 16 
 
 At the Making of the Hay 18 
 
 Under the Rose 19 
 
 The Lass with Laughing Eyes . . . .21 
 
 My Mandolin 23 
 
 A Kiss in the Rain 25 
 
 Eulalie 27 
 
 The Skater Belle 29 
 
 Lillian's Fan 30 
 
 My Sweetheart 34 
 
 Mabel 36
 
 iv CONTENTS. 
 
 To Lillian's First Gray Hair 39 
 
 Cupid at Court 40 
 
 Bessie Brown, M. D 42 
 
 Adieu, ye Flowers 45 
 
 An Afterthought 47 
 
 The Bride . . . 49 
 
 Zephyrus and the Lily 50 
 
 My Little Girl 54 
 
 On the Stair 56 
 
 Good-night, Sweetheart 58 
 
 She is not Born of High Degree . . . -59 
 My Wee Love went a-Maying . . . .61 
 Go Hold White Roses to thy Cheek ... 63 
 
 Mabel's Window 65 
 
 At Sea 67 
 
 O, Sweetheart, Where are You? . . . .68 
 
 Her Casement . . 70 
 
 A Song to the Roses 71 
 
 Serenade 73 
 
 Citron Blossoms 75 
 
 Ye Timid Winds 77 
 
 If I could Weave into My Verse . . . .78 
 The Song of Mariana .80
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Orange Tree 82 
 
 Somewhere .84 
 
 The Meadow Path 86 
 
 The Captain's Feather 88 
 
 Boat Song go 
 
 Alabama 93 
 
 The Pines 95 
 
 I Love the Shadows Best 96 
 
 Noontide 97 
 
 The Exiles -99 
 
 The Blossoms of the Sea 102 
 
 The Pictures in the Sky. . . . . .104 
 
 The Singer's Reward 106 
 
 The Flight of Summer 108 
 
 The Little Blue-eyed Thief . ... . .no 
 
 My Comrade 113 
 
 A Dream .115 
 
 Mock Orange 117 
 
 The Happy Day 119 
 
 Hafiz 122 
 
 A Dirge 124 
 
 In Haven 125 
 
 Paul Hamilton Hayne 127
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 At the Ball 129 
 
 Chinese Gordon. . . . . . . . 133 
 
 The Phantoms of the Night 135 
 
 A Legend 137 
 
 Come, O Pan 140 
 
 Bonnie Belle 141 
 
 She tossed to me a Kiss 143 
 
 The Pixies 144 
 
 For Love 146 
 
 The Praise of Rhyme 147 
 
 O Wayward Muse 148 
 
 Night-fall 149 
 
 Among my Books 150 
 
 A Gentle Little Lady 151 
 
 Forget-me-not 153 
 
 Before the Dawn 154 
 
 Under the Flash of Tapers Bright . . .155 
 Come, Archer, Come . . . . . .157 
 
 If some True Maiden's Love were Mine . .158 
 
 Sleep 1 60 
 
 When the Cricket Sings 161 
 
 In the Southern Pines 162 
 
 Beyond the Night 164
 
 I WONDER WHAT MAUD WILL SAY! 
 
 DEAR Harry, I will not dissemble, 
 A candid confession is best ; 
 My fate but alas, how I tremble ! 
 
 My fate I must put to the test : 
 This morning I gathered in sadness 
 
 A strand from my locks slightly gray ; 
 To delay any longer were madness 
 I wonder what Maud will say ! 
 
 The deed it were well to do quickly, 
 Macbeth makes a kindred remark : 
 
 I wonder if Mac felt as sickly 
 When he carved the old king in the dark !
 
 The fellows who marry all do it, 
 
 But what is the usual way ? 
 Keigho ! don't I wish I were through it ! 
 
 1 wonder what Maud will say ! 
 
 Pray advise. Would you fix up a letter 
 
 With rhymes about roses and trees ? 
 To tell it perchance would be better : 
 
 Alas, must I get on my knees ? 
 No ; kneeling is now out of fashion 
 
 Except in a novel or play. 
 Ah, love is a Protean passion ! 
 
 I wonder what Maud will say ! 
 
 Would you give her a pug or a pony, 
 
 A picture or only a book ; 
 A novel say Bulwer's " Zanoni," 
 
 Or a poem" Lucile," " Lalla Rookh ' ; 
 Bonbons from Maillard's, or a necklace 
 
 Of pearls, or a mammoth bouquet ? 
 By Jove ! I am perfectly reckless 
 
 I wonder what Maud will sav !
 
 WHAT WILL MAUD SAY? 
 
 Shall I speak of the palace at Como 
 
 Which captured the heart of Pauline ? 
 There's a likeness of Claude in a. chromo ; 
 
 Would you buy it and practice the scene ? 
 But no ! I'm no Booth, nor an Irving ; 
 
 My fancy has led me astray. 
 To a lover so true and deserving 
 
 I wonder what Maud will say ! 
 
 Could I warble like Signor Galassi, 
 
 In passionate song I would soar, 
 I recall she applauded him as he 
 
 Serenaded the fair Leonore ; 
 My strain should resound love-compelling. 
 
 Far sweeter than Orpheus' lay ; 
 Already my bosom is swelling 
 
 I wonder what Maud will say ! 
 
 Shall I tell her my love very gravely, 
 
 Or propose in a moment of mirth, 
 Or lead to the subject suavely,
 
 WHA T WILL MA UD SA Yt 
 
 And ention how much I am worth ? 
 Old fellow, I know I shall blunder ; 
 
 When she blossoms as bright as the day, 
 My wits will be dazzled. Oh, thunder ! 
 
 I wonder what Maud will say /
 
 DOLLIE. 
 
 SH E sports a witching gown 
 With a ruffle up and down 
 
 On the skirt. 
 
 She is gentle, she is shy ; 
 But there's mischief in her eye, 
 She's a flirt ! 
 
 She displays a tiny glove, 
 And a dainty little love 
 
 Of a shoe ; 
 
 And she wears her hat a-tilt 
 Over bangs that never wilt 
 
 In the dew. 
 
 'Tis rumored chocolate creams 
 Are the fabric of her dreams 
 But enough !
 
 DOLLIE. 
 
 I know beyond a doubt 
 That she carries them about 
 In her muff. 
 
 With her dimples and her curls 
 She exasperates the girls 
 
 Past belief : 
 
 They hint that she's a cat, 
 And delightful things like that 
 
 In their grief. 
 
 It is shocking, 1 declare ! 
 But what does Dollie care 
 When the beaux 
 Come flocking to her feet 
 Like the bees around a sweet 
 Little rose ?
 
 A KNOT OF BLUE. 
 (For the Boys of Yale.) 
 
 SHE hath no gems of lustre bright 
 To sparkle in her hair ; 
 No need hath she of borrowed light 
 
 To make her beauty fair. 
 Upon her shining locks afloat 
 
 Are daisies wet with dew, 
 And peeping from her lissome throat 
 A little knot of blue. 
 
 A dainty knot of blue, 
 A ribbon blithe of hue, 
 It fills my dreams with sunny gleams, 
 That little knot of blue. 
 
 I met her down the shadowed lane, 
 
 Beneath the apple tree, 
 The balmy blossoms fell like rain
 
 A KNOT OF BLUE. 
 
 Upon my Love and me ; 
 And what I said, or what I did 
 
 That morn, I never knew, 
 But to my breast there came and hid 
 A little knot of blue. 
 
 A little knot of blue, 
 A love-knot strong and true, 
 Twill hold my heart till life shall part,' 
 That little knot of blue.
 
 A FAIR ATTORNEY. 
 
 ALAS ! the world has gone awry 
 Since Cousin Lillian entered college, 
 For she has grown so learned I 
 
 Oft tremble at her wondrous knowledge. 
 Whene'er I dare to woo her now 
 
 She frowns that I should so annoy her, 
 And then proclaims, with lofty brow, 
 Her mission is to be a lawyer. 
 
 Life glides no more on golden wings, 
 
 A sunny waif from Eldorado ; 
 I've learned how true the poet sings, 
 
 That coming sorrow casts its shadow. 
 When tutti-frutti lost its spell, 
 
 I felt some hidden grief impended ; 
 When she declined a caramel, 
 
 I knew my rosy dream had ended.
 
 A FAIR ATTORNEY. 
 
 She paints no more on china plaques, 
 
 With tints that would have crazed Murillo, 
 Strange birds that never plumed their backs 
 
 When Father Noah braved the billow. 
 Her fancy limns, with brighter brush, 
 
 The splendid triumphs that await her, 
 When, in the court, a breathless hush 
 
 Gives homage to the keen debater. 
 
 'Tis sad to meet such crushing noes 
 
 From eyes as blue as Scottish heather ; 
 'Tis sad a maid with cheeks of rose 
 
 Should have her heart bound up in leather. 
 'Tis sad to keep one's passion pent, 
 
 Though Pallas' arms the Fair environ 
 But worse to have her quoting Kent 
 
 When one is fondly breathing Byron. 
 
 When Lillian's licensed at the law 
 
 Her fame, be sure, will live forever ; 
 No barrister will pick a flaw
 
 A FAIR ATTORNEY. 13. 
 
 In logic so extremely clever. 
 The sheriff will forget his nap 
 
 To feast upon the lovely vision, 
 And e'en the Judge will set his cap 
 
 At her, and dream of love Elysian.
 
 THE DIMPLE ON HER CHEEK. 
 
 WITHIN a nest of roses, 
 Half hidden from the sight, 
 Until a smile discloses 
 Its loveliness aright, 
 Behold the work of Cupid, 
 
 Who wrought it in a freak, 
 The witching little dimple 
 
 The dimple on her cheek ! 
 
 The Sirens' lays and glances 
 
 To lure the sailor nigh ; 
 The perilous romances 
 
 Of fabled Lorelei, 
 And all the spells of Circe 
 
 Are reft of charm and weak, 
 Beside the dainty dimple 
 
 The dimple on her cheek !
 
 THE DIMPLE ON HER CHEEK. 
 
 Were these the golden ages 
 Of knights and troubadours, 
 
 Who brighten olden pages 
 With tourneys and amours, 
 
 What lances would be broken 
 What silver lutes would speak, 
 
 In honor of the dimple 
 
 The dimple on her cheek I
 
 THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEART. 
 
 MY love he is a sailor lad, 
 He says he loves me true, 
 For all my wealth of golden hair, 
 
 Because my eyes are blue ; 
 And while he is upon the sea, 
 
 Where raging billows roar, 
 The village lads come wooing me 
 
 At least a half a score. 
 I list to what the laddies say, 
 
 Of smiles they have no lack, 
 And though I say nor yea nor nay, 
 
 I think I'll wait for Jack. 
 
 There's Donald, and there's Robin Gray, 
 Oh, you should hear them sigh, 
 
 I smile at them and only say 
 I'll answer by and by.
 
 THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEART. 
 
 They bring me trinkets from the fair, 
 
 And ribbons bright like this ; 
 And oftentimes they humbly kneel 
 
 And plead me for a kiss, 
 But then I turn and look away, 
 
 Across the billows black, 
 And softly to myself I say, 
 
 I think I'll wait for Jack. 
 
 Ye bonnie stars shine out, shine out, 
 Ye billows cease your war ; 
 
 south wind rise and blow my love 
 Within the harbor bar ! 
 
 No other lad can woo as he ; 
 
 My smiles are shallow smiles, 
 For oh, my heart is on the sea 
 
 Amid the western isles, 
 And though I let the laddies woo 
 
 I give no wooing back ; 
 
 1 only do as lassies do, 
 Just while I wait for Jack.
 
 AT THE MAKING OF THE HAY. 
 
 WHEN the whip-poor-wills are calling, 
 And the apple-blooms are falling, 
 With a tender tint forestalling 
 
 Summer's blush upon the grass ; 
 Where the little stars are keeping 
 Watch above the meadow sleeping, 
 And the jack-o'-lantern's peeping 
 I will meet my bonnie lass. 
 
 I will seek her ; I will find her ; 
 I will slyly steal behind her ; 
 And with kisses 1 will blind her 
 
 Till she names the happy day 
 And when the barley's heading, 
 And the summer rose is shedding, 
 Oh, there'll be a merry wedding 
 
 At the making of the hay !
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 
 
 HE. (aside.) 
 
 IF I should steal a little kiss, 
 Oh, would she weep, I wonder ? 
 I tremble at the thought of bliss 
 If I should steal a little kiss ! 
 Such pouting lips would never miss 
 
 The dainty bit of plunder ; 
 If I should steal a little kiss, 
 Oh, would she weep, I wonder ? 
 
 SHE. (aside.) 
 He longs to steal a kiss of mine 
 
 He may if he'll return it : 
 If I can read the tender sign, 
 He longs to steal a kiss of mine ; 
 " In love and war "you know the line.
 
 UNDER THE ROSE. 
 
 Why cannot he discern it ? 
 He longs to steal a kiss of mine- 
 He may if he'll return it. 
 
 BOTH, (five minutes later.) 
 A little kiss when no one sees 
 
 Where is the impropriety ? 
 How sweet amid the birds and bees 
 A little kiss when no one sees ; 
 Nor is it wrong, the world agrees, 
 
 If taken with sobriety. 
 A little kiss when no one sees, 
 
 Where is the impropriety ?
 
 THE LASS WITH LAUGHING EYES. 
 
 I KNOW a lass with laughing eyes 
 Whose mouth is like a berry. 
 She cannot frown she never tries 
 
 Her heart is always merry. 
 On all the lads she smiles in glee, 
 
 Her teeth are of the whitest ; 
 But Oh ! the smile she gives to me, 
 It is the best and brightest. 
 Across the mead, 
 O'er rock and reed, 
 My Love hath gone a-Maying ; 
 And one who knows 
 The path she goes 
 No longer can be staying.
 
 THE LASS WITH LAUGHING EYES. 
 
 The bluebird pipes his blithest lay, 
 
 The wild bees hum in metre. 
 My Love is in the wood to-day, 
 
 And I have come to greet her. 
 It cannot be that life allows 
 A purer joy than this is 
 To meet a lassie 'neath the boughs 
 And tell your love with kisses. 
 Good bye, good bye, 
 My hope is high, 
 I can no longer tarry ; 
 
 For men must woo 
 When eyes are blue, 
 And bonnie maids must marry.
 
 MY MANDOLIN. 
 
 A RELIC from Provencal days 
 Of gay amours and tourneys bright, 
 Across its strings my fancy strays 
 I am a troubadour to-night. 
 
 Where fountains leap and roses climb, 
 And mountain zephyrs seaward wing, 
 
 I stand and troll an ardent rhyme 
 To one who blushes while I sing. 
 
 With gleeful grace my numbers swell, 
 My fingers glide from fret to fret ; 
 
 With quickening pace my love I tell 
 In virelay and chansonnette. 
 
 The vision fades in roseate mist ; 
 
 Another glads my dreamful eye : 
 With snowy plume in bannered list, 
 
 I wait the herald's clarion cry.
 
 MANDOLIN. 
 
 A charge ! a shock ! I see him reel 
 My rival 'neath my gleaming lance ; 
 
 While trumpets sound I proudly wheel 
 To greet the fairest face in France. 
 
 I wend me where, enthroned above, 
 She sits amid the courtly throng ; 
 
 With beating heart I crown my love 
 The queen of beauty and of song ! 
 
 Alas, alas ! 'tis but a dream, 
 
 The sun of chivalry has set ; 
 Tis vain to mourn its faded beam, 
 'Twill rise no more. And yet and yet- 
 
 I know a maiden passing fair 
 A modern troubadour would win ; 
 
 So, Mabel, drop that mocking air, 
 And I will tune my mandolin.
 
 A KISS IN THE RAIN. 
 
 ONE stormy morn I chanced to meet 
 A lassie in the town ; 
 Her locks were like the ripened wheat, 
 
 Her laughing eyes were brown. 
 I watched her as she tripped along 
 
 Till madness filled my brain, 
 And then and then I know 'twas wrong- 
 I kissed her in the rain ! 
 
 With rain-drops shining on her cheek, 
 
 Like dew-drops on a rose, 
 The little lassie strove to speak 
 
 My boldness to oppose ; 
 She strove in vain, and quivering 
 
 Her finger stole in mine ; 
 And then the birds began to sing, 
 
 The sun began to shine.
 
 26 A KISS Iff THE RAIN. 
 
 Oh, let the clouds grow dark above. 
 
 My heart is light below ; 
 'Tis alway summer when we love, 
 
 However winds may blow ; 
 And I'm as proud as any prince, 
 
 All honors I disdain : 
 She says I am her rain beau since 
 
 I kissed her in the rain.
 
 H 
 
 EULALIE. 
 
 ER voice is like the mocking-bird's upon the 
 
 myrtle tree, 
 Her eyes are like the summer stars that frolic on the 
 
 sea ; 
 Oh, 'tis rapture to look at her ; and it sets my heart 
 
 abeat, 
 Just to catch the pretty patter of her merry little feet. 
 
 The Fairies spun her tresses on a spindle made of 
 
 pearl, 
 Then dipped them in the summer shine and put them 
 
 up in curl ; 
 
 And when I see them flutter, as she dances in the wind, 
 I wish I were a butterfly, or something of the kind. 
 
 I know that Cupid did it, and I think it was a sin 
 To carve a cunning dimple in the middle of her chin ;
 
 38 EULALIE. 
 
 For it is a crime to covet so says the Law Divine 
 Yet I look at it, and love it, and I want it all for mine. 
 
 She whispers that she loves me ! Now be it under 
 stood, 
 
 The tidings are delightful I'd believe them if I could ' 
 But in her vocabulary with its tantalizing flow 
 The truth will often tarry far behind a" yes," or " no.*' 
 
 She smiles at me ! She frowns at me ! She knows I 
 
 cannot fly ; 
 
 O Cupid come and aid me with an arrow on the si/, 
 That when the orange bowers are blowing, Eulalie 
 May wear the snowy flowers in a bridal wreath for 
 
 me !
 
 THE SKATER BELLE. 
 
 ALONG the ice I see her fly 
 With moonlit tresses blown awry, 
 And floating from her twinkling feet 
 Are wafted sounds as silvery sweet 
 As April winds when May is nigh. 
 
 Is it a Naiad coy and shy ? 
 Or can it be the Lorelei 
 
 Who lures me with her rare deceit ? 
 
 It is the hour for magic meet ; 
 Resist the spell, 'twere vain to try. 
 
 Her beauty thrills the earth and sky 
 From glowing cheek and flashing eye ; 
 And as she wanders fair and fleet 
 The spangled branches bend to greet 
 And wave a kiss as she goes by.
 
 L 
 
 LILLIAN'S FAN. 
 
 ITTLE fan, of fluff and pearl. 
 Tell me, pray, is life a whirl 
 
 Of delight ? 
 In Folly's fickle crew 
 There is naught as blithe as you, 
 Or as bright. 
 
 You know no other skies 
 Save my lady's azure eyes 
 
 All a-gleam ; 
 
 And beneath them, night and day. 
 Lo, the moments glide away 
 
 Like a dream. 
 
 Each silver strain a-float 
 From my lady's slender throat 
 You have heard ;
 
 LILLIANS FAN. 
 
 And oftentimes you nest 
 In the roses at her breast 
 Like a bird. 
 
 Oh, the blushes you have hid, 
 And the notes behind you slid, 
 
 Naughty fan ! 
 The witcheries you weave 
 Have the cunning to deceive 
 
 Any man. 
 
 Humanity rebels 
 
 If I mention half the spells 
 
 You employ ; 
 
 You laugh at breaking hearts, 
 And a lover's aching smarts 
 
 You enjoy. 
 
 Yet, in spite of everything, 
 Still 1 bless your snowy wing, 
 When you dare
 
 LILLIAN'S FAN. 
 
 To screen her head and mine 
 So " mamma" may not divine 
 Who is there. 
 
 I envy you her touch 
 
 Oh, 1 cannot tell how much ; 
 
 It is sad ! 
 
 Just to see her gayly tip 
 You against her cherry lip 
 
 Drives me mad ! 
 
 Alas, I would I knew 
 
 Half the secrets known to you, 
 
 Dainty fan ! 
 
 As it is, my fate I guess, 
 In Damoclean distress, 
 
 As I can. 
 
 Beauty's pet, a word aside 
 While you flutter in your pride 
 Have a care ;
 
 LILLIAN'S FAN. 33 
 
 Or ere the season's through 
 She may weary too of you, 
 So beware j
 
 MY SWEETHEART. 
 
 SH E never graces crowded balls 
 Where fevered waltzes thrill, 
 She never dreams of marble halls 
 
 And vassals at her will ; 
 She dances where the waterfalls 
 
 Are leaping wild and free, 
 Then sinks to sleep in cottage walls, 
 And only dreams of me. 
 
 She never glances down the street 
 
 From fseton or coup6, 
 She does not know the mode to greet 
 
 A lover at the play ; 
 But from the loaded hay my sweet 
 
 Oft sees the swallows soar, 
 And well she knows and flies to meet 
 
 My footstep at the door.
 
 MY SWEETHEART. 35 
 
 So let the statesman pass me by 
 
 And win the noisy game, 
 And let the soldier's banner fly 
 
 Along the road to fame ; 
 Wealth too may go ; for what care I 
 
 Beneath this dome of blue, 
 If I can gaze in Maggie's eye 
 
 And know she loves me true !
 
 MABEL. 
 
 FAIR Mabel bids me sing to-night ! 
 Should Mabel plead in vain ? 
 Dear Muse, when lovely lips invite, 
 Ah ! sweet should be the strain ; 
 So lend my lyre a blither lay, 
 
 Whose winsome glee shall flow 
 As lightly as the winds at play, 
 Where summer roses blow. 
 
 Fair Mabel bids me sing to-night ! 
 
 In days of old romance, 
 The minstrel sang for Beauty bright, 
 
 The gallant broke a lance ; 
 And both in homage proudly knelt 
 
 To loveliness and grace 
 Ah, luckless age ! it never felt 
 
 The charm of Mabel's face !
 
 MA BEL. 37 
 
 Fair Mabel bids me sing to-night ! 
 
 Her voice is low and pure ; 
 Oh, who can hear that voice aright, 
 
 And yield not to its lure ? 
 Or who can meet those peerless eyes 
 
 That dim the vestal's flame, 
 And never feel a yearning rise 
 
 To win a poet's name ? 
 
 Fair Mabel bids me sing to-night ! 
 
 Ah, could my numbers chime 
 With Herrick's grace, or vie in flight 
 
 With Waller's courtly rhyme ; 
 Oh, I would voice a strain to match 
 
 Her every lissome wile ; 
 And centuries to come should catch 
 
 The splendors of her smile. 
 
 Fair Mabel bids me sing to-night ; 
 
 Alas ! she pleads in vain ! 
 The Muse hath winged a silent flight
 
 MABEL. 
 
 Beyond the silver main. 
 A song for Mabel were too sweet 
 
 For mortal ears to know ; 
 I only catch its rhythmic beat 
 
 When Dreamland zephyrs blow.
 
 TO LILLIAN'S FIRST GRAY HAIR. 
 
 WEIRD visitor, what dost thou there, 
 Amid gay Lillian's golden tresses ? 
 A traitor to the reigning fair, 
 Thy pallid hue thy guilt confesses. 
 
 Still at her shrine love-poets sing, 
 Enamored artists ply their brushes ; 
 
 Still Cupid comes with wanton wing 
 To forge his arrows in her blushes. 
 
 Avaunt, I say, unwelcome wight, 
 Unless thou comest to adore her ; 
 
 For even Time forgets his flight 
 And stands with ravished eyes before her.
 
 CUPID AT COURT. 
 
 "\ 7"OUNG Cupid strung his bow one day ; 
 
 X And sallied out for sport ; 
 As country hearts were easy prey 
 
 Odds Darts ! he went to court. 
 
 Of all that wore the puff and patch, 
 
 Belinda led the fair : 
 With falbala, and fan to match, 
 
 I trow she made him stare ! 
 
 " Oho ! " he cried, and quickly drew 
 
 His bow upon the sly ; 
 But though he pierced her bosom through, 
 
 She never breathed a sigh ! 
 
 This was a turn, beyond a doubt, 
 That filled him with amaze,
 
 CUPID AT COURT. 
 
 And so he sought his mother out, 
 With tear-bewildered gaze. 
 
 " You silly boy," Dame Venus said, 
 " Why did you waste your art ? 
 
 Go clip your curls and hide your head- 
 Belinda has no heart! "
 
 BESSIE BROWN, M. D. 
 
 *'~T"*WAS April when she came to town ; 
 
 _L The birds had come, the bees were swarming 
 Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown : 
 
 I saw at once that she was charming. 
 She took a cottage tinted green, 
 
 Where dewy roses loved to mingle ; 
 And on the door, next day, was seen 
 A dainty little shingle. 
 
 Her hair was like an amber wreath ; 
 
 Her hat was darker, to enhance it. 
 The violet eyes that glowed beneath 
 
 Were brighter than her keenest lancet. 
 The beauties of her glove and gown 
 
 The sweetest rhyme would fail to utter. 
 Ere she had been a day in town 
 
 The town was in a flutter.
 
 BESSIE BROWN, M. D. 43 
 
 The gallants viewed her feet and hands, 
 And swore they never saw such wee things ; 
 
 The gossips met in purring bands 
 And tore her piecemeal o'er the tea-things. 
 
 The former drank the Doctor's health 
 With clinking cups, the gay carousers ; 
 
 The latter watched her door by stealth, 
 Just like so many mousers. 
 
 But Doctor Bessie went her way 
 
 Unmindful of the spiteful cronies, 
 And drove her buggy every day 
 
 Behind a dashing pair of ponies. 
 Her flower-like face so bright she bore, 
 
 I hoped that time might never wilt her. 
 The way she tripped across the floor 
 Was better than a philter. 
 
 Her patients thronged the village street ; 
 
 Her snowy slate was always quite full. 
 Some said her bitters tasted sweet ; 
 
 And some pronounced her pills delightful.
 
 44 BESSIE BROWN, M. D. 
 
 'Twas strange I knew not what it meant 
 
 She seemed a nymph from Eldorado ; 
 Where'er she came, where'er she went, 
 Grief lost its gloomy shadow. 
 
 Like all the rest, I too grew ill ; 
 
 My aching heart there was no quelling. 
 I tremble at my doctor's bill, 
 
 And lo ! the items still are swelling. 
 The drugs I've drunk you'd weep to hear ! 
 
 They've quite enriched the fair concocter, 
 And I'm a ruined man, I fear, 
 
 Unless I wed the Doctor !
 
 ADIEU, YE FLOWERS. 
 
 ADIEU, ye flowers red and white, 
 That when the skies were blue and bright 
 We twined in wreaths and posies ! 
 Yes, fate proclaims the hour is nigh 
 When we, Sweetheart, must bid good-bye 
 To summertime and roses. 
 
 Can you forget the ceaseless flow 
 Of lightsome jest and laughter low 
 
 That crowned the night with blisses ? 
 Within our joys a thief was hid ; 
 Time envied us, he knows he did, 
 
 Our merry hearts and kisses ! 
 
 How oft with song we woke the moon, 
 How oft the zephyrs caught the tune 
 And onward wandered humming ;
 
 46 ADIEU, YE FLOWERS. 
 
 Not one dear night with gleam and glow 
 Would I exchange with Romeo, 
 Though Juliet were coming. 
 
 Adieu, ye skies ! No brighter stars 
 E'er lit the lofty helm of Mars, 
 
 Or wreathed the brow of Venus. 
 Sweetheart, though brief the joy we quaffed, 
 How gayly Cupid would have laughed 
 
 If he had only seen us ! 
 
 Alas, the rose-tree now is bare ! 
 Its wondrous perfume, spent in air, 
 
 Each day of autumn misses. 
 But do not grieve, rich are we still 
 As long as lips can coin at will 
 
 A rosy chain of kisses.
 
 AN AFTERTHOUGHT. 
 
 1r I -WAS in the garden chatting. 
 
 JL Amid the mignonette, 
 S he with her snowy tatting, 
 
 I with my cigarette. 
 I still can see her fingers 
 
 Flit softly in and out ; 
 With rapture memory lingers 
 
 To view her lips a-pout. 
 
 A happy sunbeam glancing 
 
 Upon a wayward curl 
 Set every pulse to dancing, 
 
 And turned my brain a-whirl ; 
 And when she looked up shyly, 
 
 1 could not help, you see, 
 But stoop and kiss her slyly, 
 
 Behind the apple-tree.
 
 48 AN AFTERTHOUGHT. 
 
 Strange that some mote forever 
 
 Should mar the rays of bliss ! 
 Though conscious I had never 
 
 Yet won so sweet a kiss, 
 Alas ! the act of plunder 
 
 So gracefully she bore, 
 I could not choose but wonder, 
 
 Had she been kissed before ?
 
 THE BRIDE. 
 
 / * RCESUS will give her a necklace 
 V_^/ Enwoven of Orient pearls, 
 Or a cluster of jewels all fleckless 
 To laugh from her shimmering curls. 
 
 Laon will twine the sweet myrtle 
 With posies that maidens love best 
 
 Shy lilies to peep from her kirtle, 
 Wild roses to blush on her breast. 
 
 Fiowers or gems give I neither : 
 Apart from the jubilant throng, 
 
 At the feet of the Muses I breathe her 
 A blessing enshrined in a song.
 
 ZEPHYRUS AND THE LILY. 
 
 CONTENDING in the midnight air 
 With silver voices full of balm, 
 Of late the flowers strove to bear 
 
 Away from each the envied palm ; 
 And each implored the zephyr's powers 
 To make her queen of all the flowers. 
 
 Bursting the bodice that she chose 
 To hold her charms but not to hide, 
 
 Spoke first a haughty crimson Rose, 
 Voluptuous and swelled with pride : 
 
 " I have been called a queen by mortals 
 
 E'er since the stars lit Heaven's portals ; 
 
 " What envious flower shall take from me 
 
 Supremacy in floral throngs ? 
 O Zephyrus, canst thou not see
 
 ZEPHYRUS AND THE LILY. 
 
 To whom the crown by right belongs ? " 
 And while the storm of passion swept her, 
 She seemed to wave an unseen sceptre. 
 
 A silence on the garden fell, 
 
 A hush of anger and surprise ; 
 But soon I heard a murmur swell, 
 
 And caught the flash of angry eyes. 
 And then with vanity demented 
 The Poppy next her cause presented : 
 
 " O Zephyrus, prithee give heed, 
 Nor slight my tender loveliness. 
 
 My race is very high indeed ; 
 Though somewhat careless in our dress,"- 
 
 This plea she thought she could not fail in, 
 
 " Of old our charms were known to Galen." 
 
 Too late she paused ! The peals of mirth 
 
 Rang merrily across the lawn, 
 Like silver sounds that have their birth
 
 ZEPHYRUS AND THE LILY. 
 
 In rivulets at early dawn ; 
 And lo ! the Poppy's face grew redder 
 With shame to think how folly led her. 
 
 The Tulip next her claims advanced ; 
 
 And as she flashed upon the night, 
 Each gazer's eye beheld entranced, 
 
 Her rivals trembled at the sight. 
 And as they watched the pretty speaker 
 They felt their hopes fast growing weaker. 
 
 " O Zephyrus," they heard her say, 
 " My gold and purple hues are seen ; 
 
 While cradled in the moss I lay 
 I knew that Nature meant a queen. 
 
 On me bestow thy gracious powers, 
 
 And make me queen of all the flowers." 
 
 With each on royalty intent 
 
 Amid that fair contending throng, 
 Such witching charms had beauty lent,
 
 ZEPHYRUS AND THE LILY. 
 
 Aurora's son was puzzled long ; 
 Nor did he reach a true decision 
 Until he saw a lovely vision : 
 
 A Lily at the fountain's brim, 
 Racked by alternate hope and fear, 
 
 Raised her beseeching eyes to him 
 Eloquent with a trembling tear. 
 
 She did not speak ; no words were needed, 
 
 Her peerless beauty only pleaded ; 
 
 And Zephyrus beholding cried, 
 
 " Ye Flowers, kneel before your queen ; 
 In all my weary wanderings wide 
 
 She is the fairest I have seen ; 
 From every jealous thought dissever ; 
 I crown the Lily queen forever."
 
 MY LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 MY little girl is nested 
 Within her tiny bed, 
 With amber ringlets crested 
 Around her dainty head ; 
 She lies so calm and stilly, 
 
 She breathes so soft and low, 
 She calls to mind a lily 
 Half hidden in the snow. 
 
 A weary little mortal 
 
 Has gone to slumberland ; 
 The Pixies at the portal 
 
 Have caught her by the hand. 
 She dreams her broken dolly 
 
 Will soon be mended there, 
 That looks so melancholy 
 
 Upon the rocking-chair.
 
 LITTLE GIRL. 55 
 
 I kiss your wayward tresses, 
 
 My drowsy little queen, 
 I know you have caresses 
 
 From floating forms unseen. 
 O, Angels let me keep her 
 
 To kiss away my cares, 
 This darling little sleeper, 
 
 Who has my love and prayers !
 
 ON THE STAIR. 
 
 WHEN rosy morn has driven 
 The starlight from the deep, 
 And sleepy charms are riven, 
 And slumber fairies weep ; 
 With eyelids half uplifted, 
 
 And senses half aware, 
 I listen to the little feet 
 That twinkle on the stair. 
 
 At first I hear a tapping 
 
 No louder than the rain ; 
 But soon adieu to napping 
 
 And slumber's drowsy train ! 
 And then I lie in wonder 
 
 While thunder thrills the air. 
 From just a brace of little feet 
 
 That twinkle on the stair.
 
 ON THE STAIR. 
 
 Anon the storm is waning, 
 
 It ebbs without the door, 
 And in the calm remaining 
 
 I catch the fading roar ; 
 And then I fall a-dreaming 
 
 The dangers I would dare 
 To keep from harm the little feet 
 
 That twinkle on the stair.
 
 GOOD-NIGHT, SWEETHEART. 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT, sweethe art the moon has set 
 With parting glances full of woe ; 
 And see the lily's cheeks are wet ; 
 
 Good-night, sweetheart, good-night ! 
 
 When Pleasure dons her coronet 
 
 The moments fly like sparks a-glow ; 
 Alas, it seems but now we met 
 
 Good-night, sweetheart, good-night ! 
 
 Ah, do not weep, 1 will not let 
 
 My darling's eyes be sullied no ! 
 A kiss shall soothe thy fond regret ; 
 
 Sweetheart, good-night good-night !
 
 SHE IS NOT BORN OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 SHE is not born of high degree, 
 The maiden of my song ; 
 Upon her brow no gem I see 
 It's fevered light prolong; 
 And she will never, never be 
 The idol of a throng. 
 
 Far in a mossy woodland way 
 
 Wild roses kiss her hair, 
 Around her feet the shadows play, 
 
 Her glee the swallows share; 
 And he will bless the peerless day 
 
 Who wins her promise there. 
 
 I would I were that happy knight ! 
 No storm could stay my quest ;
 
 60 SHE IS NOT BORN OF HIGH DEGREE. 
 
 Until 1 won my lady bright 
 My lance should never rest, 
 
 For knight was ne'er in feast or fight 
 By fairer guerdon blest.
 
 MY WEE LOVE WENT A-MAYING. 
 
 MY wee Love went a-Maying 
 Where the mellow lights were playing 
 And the swaying shadows round her 
 Sought to peep beneath her hood. 
 I know the birds sang sweeter, 
 While the brown bees hummed in metre, 
 And the floating petals crowned her 
 As she wandered through the wood. 
 
 O the dew-drops and the flowers 
 'Mid the fragrance-breathing bowers, 
 How they wondered at the glory 
 
 That enshrined her as she stood ! 
 Yet they laughed when I waylaid her, 
 For her drooping lids betrayed her 
 As she listened to the story 
 
 That I told her in the wood.
 
 62 My W ' LOVE WENT A-MAYING. 
 
 Now the dreary winds are calling, 
 And the flakes are swiftly falling, 
 But sweet fancies intermingle 
 
 By the hearthstone warm and good ; 
 For my little wife is sitting, 
 With her busy fingers flitting, 
 Far more dear beside the ingle 
 
 Than I deemed her in the wood.
 
 GO HOLD WHITE ROSES TO THY CHEEK. 
 
 GO hold white roses to thy cheek, 
 And twine them in thy hair ; 
 Go gaze into their hearts, and seek 
 The message hidden there ; 
 And when they softly, sweetly tell 
 Their secret, pray thee listen well, 
 And dream 'tis I who speak. 
 
 Go wander where, low murmuring, 
 
 The brooklet glides a-near, 
 And trembling willows droop and cling 
 With bended heads to hear ; 
 And when the streamlet, rippling by, 
 Repeats its wooing melody, 
 Oh, dream 'tis I who sing ! 
 
 Sweetheart, as fadeless perfumes throng 
 From roses long since crushed
 
 64 GO HOLD WHITE ROSES TO THY CHEEK. 
 
 And as the brooklet's tender song 
 
 Is never, never hushed, 
 
 So will my heart keep, day and night, 
 
 Its peerless love forever bright, 
 Through sorrow and through wrong.
 
 MABEL'S WINDOW. 
 
 AROUND her window roses blow 
 With graces wild and rare, 
 And as they ripple to and fro 
 
 No others shine so fair ; 
 For sleeping in the silver glow, 
 
 Or smiling in the rain, 
 The happy roses seem to know 
 It is her window-pane. 
 
 Whene'er I greet the winds that fare 
 Across the Mexique sea, 
 
 I know it is for her they bear 
 Such freight of spicery ; 
 
 For when they near the lattice there 
 They sing a softer strain, 
 
 And whisper through the fragrant air- 
 It is her window-pane.
 
 66 MABEL'S WINDOW. 
 
 I often wander there at night 
 
 Beneath the summer skies, 
 To see the little stars grow bright 
 
 And gaze with loving eyes 
 And as their glances soft and whitf 
 
 A purer lustre gain, 
 I reel and murmur with delight 
 
 It is her window-pane.
 
 AT SEA. 
 
 OH, brightly shines in realms afar 
 With golden light a lustrous star ; 
 No lessening ray its splendor knows 
 That through the night serenely glows. 
 
 But oh ! for thee a purer light 
 Burns in my heart both day and night, 
 For gleams no star in realm above 
 Can pale <he constant star of love. 
 
 Oh lightly flies at dawn of day 
 The sea-gull through the silver spray, 
 And scorns with snowy wing the deep 
 Whose threatening voices never sleep. 
 
 But swifter than the fair sea-bird 
 Speeds o'er the tide by tempest stirred, 
 My thoughts fly o'er life' s stormy sea, 
 And rest at home with love and thee.
 
 O, SWEETHEART, WHERE ARE YOU? 
 
 THE summer came, the summer sped 
 With garlands bright and fair, 
 A thousand perfumes lightly shed 
 
 Were lavished on the air ; 
 But now the summer rose is dead, 
 
 The birds are o'er the blue, 
 Where is the peerless love you plead, 
 O, Sweetheart, where are you ? 
 
 The autumn winds were shod with gold 
 
 Beneath the sobbing trees, 
 The autumn tide in splendor rolled 
 
 A-down the Western seas : 
 I wandered through the mossy wold 
 
 As we were wont to do ; 
 You came not as in days of old 
 
 O, Sweetheart, where are you ?
 
 O, SWEETHEART, WHERE ARE YOU? 69 
 
 'Tis winter now : the billows grieve 
 
 Around the dreary shore. 
 If love is dead, Oh, make believe 
 
 You love me as of yore ! 
 But no ! my fancy shall not weave 
 
 False dreams of one so true, 
 You are too loyal to deceive ; 
 
 O, Sweetheart, where are you ?
 
 HER CASEMENT. 
 
 LO, beneath my lady's casement 
 I am watching here alone : 
 Through the roses' interlacement 
 Be my lissome carol blown. 
 
 On, ye Zephyrs, airy lispers, 
 Timid heralds of the light, 
 
 Breathe my love in wooing whispers 
 Where my lady sleeps to-night. 
 
 Onward, upward, stealing quaintly, 
 Stir the ringlets round her ears ; 
 
 Kiss each fairy tress, and faintly 
 Murmur all my hopes and fears 
 
 Dian pale, with spells enchanting, 
 Softly sways the land and sea ; 
 
 Would a-down her sceptre slanting 
 There might glide a dream of me.
 
 A SONG TO THE ROSES. 
 
 O HAPPY Roses, bloom your best. 
 For I have come to cull you 
 To blush upon my Mabel's breast ; 
 So let no shadows dull you. 
 With gems divine 
 From morning's eyne 
 O'er Mabel's bosom hover, 
 And whisper oft 
 With perfume soft, 
 I love her, Oh, I love her ! 
 
 Go, happy Blossoms, act your part, 
 
 And seek that balmy haven : 
 Go tell sweet Mabel on my heart 
 Her darling name is graven. 
 And, Roses, list, 
 When ye have kist
 
 A SONG TO THE ROSES. 
 
 My Sweet, then sigh above her, 
 
 That though ye die 
 
 And shattered li<% 
 I love her, still I love her 5
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 TH E Southern sky is pearly bright 
 With limpid moonlight faintly glowing ; 
 The mockbird sues the willing night 
 
 Where pinky myrtle trees are blowing ; 
 No day-born care the soul encumbers, 
 
 No sullen sounds the calm undo, 
 While bird and wind, in blending numbers, 
 Proclaim the hour to woo. 
 
 O lady fair, throw wide thy casement, 
 
 Nor let thy minstrel be denied ! 
 The jasmine, with soft interlacement, 
 
 Seeks not from the moon to hide. 
 Upon thy lattice starlight lingers 
 
 Longing for thy golden hair, 
 And wilt thou shun its silver fingers 
 Shyly waiting there ?
 
 SERENA DE. 
 
 Ah ! joy is mine ! through jasmine sprays 
 My lady's eyes, like stars, are peeping 
 See, mockbird, see, their lovely rays 
 
 Have set the dewdrops all to leaping. 
 How softly bend the skies above her. 
 How gently coos the summer wind, 
 And all the stars, they lean to love her. 
 My lady fair, and kind !
 
 CITRON BLOSSOMS. 
 
 THE orange trees were drifting down 
 Their snow upon the land, 
 And each wave cast a silver crown 
 
 Of surf upon the strand, 
 When smiling down, with half a frown, 
 My lady rode into the town ; 
 And left alone I kissed the tracks upon the shining sand. 
 
 At midnight by the glimmering lake 
 
 How soft the night-wind blew ! 
 We saw the almond blossoms shake 
 
 And shimmer with tne dew ; 
 We heard the distant billows break ; 
 We made the vows that lovers make, 
 Until the night with silver wings beyond the ocean flew.
 
 7 6 CITRON BLOSSOMS. 
 
 The new year came : the air was gay 
 
 And wild with rare perfume, 
 For little maidens strewed the way 
 
 With sprays of citron bloom. 
 I cursed the blossoms as they lav. 
 With bitter words that fateful day, 
 For 'twas my lady's wedding morn, and I was not the 
 groom !
 
 YE TIMID WINDS. 
 
 YE timid winds, with rustling shoon, 
 Why falter in your flight ? 
 Lay by your fears and grant the boon 
 
 I fondly plead to-night. 
 Speed on, speed on where roses wreathe 
 
 My lady's lattice high, 
 And with your mellow cooing breathe 
 The love I fain would sigh. 
 
 O gentle Sprites, where shall I find 
 
 A herald like to ye, 
 To softly steal and stir her blind 
 
 And bid her dream of me ? 
 Behold, the moon hath come to lend 
 
 Her light by sea and shore ; 
 Speed on, speed on ; howe'er ye wend 
 
 My love will fly before !
 
 IF I COULD WEAVE INTO MY VERSE. 
 
 IF I could weave into my verse 
 The melodies the bees rehearse, 
 Or by a secret art ensnare 
 The notes that thrill the morning air, 
 Perchance thine eyes that shame the sloe 
 
 Would melt before my lay, 
 Nor let my loving homage flow 
 Unnoted day by day. 
 
 If I could catch the rose's breath 
 That with the zephyr wantoneth, 
 Or twine about my song the grace 
 That dreams upon the lily's face, 
 And sing thy peerless beauty's charm 
 
 As sang the bards of old, 
 Perchance a tender smile would warm 
 
 Thy lips so rich and cold.
 
 IF I COULD WEA VE INTO MY VERSE. 79 
 
 Alas ! too well thy minstrel knows 
 What time his purest measure flows, 
 Though strength and skill his fingers bless 
 No strain can voice thy loveliness ; 
 Yet do not scorn the minstrel's art 
 
 Though poor his lay may be : 
 Remember that his song and heart 
 
 Are offered both to thee.
 
 THE SONG OF MARIANA. 
 
 I LINGER at the gateway where once we stood 
 together, 
 
 The withered lilies glimmer and beckon eerily. 
 O Truant Heart ! come straightway ; through fair and 
 
 stormy weather 
 
 My love has ne'er grown dimmer, Dear Heart, 
 come back to me ! 
 
 The amber west is fading. The gloom begins to 
 
 thicken 
 
 Above the streamlet lowly a-sobbing to the sea ; 
 With tender light upbraiding, seest thou the starlets 
 
 quicken ? 
 
 Thou heedest them too slowly, Dear Heart, come 
 back to me !
 
 THE SONG OF MARIANA. 
 
 Ah, were I like the swallow, with joyful pinions lifted, 
 The cruel distance cleaving, I'd swiftly fly to thee ; 
 
 But oh ! I may not follow : amid the darkness drifted 
 I cry out in my grieving, Dear Heart, come back to
 
 THE ORANGE TREK 
 
 ^ HE stood beneath the orange tree 
 w_7 With its breathing blooms of white. 
 And waved a parting kiss to me 
 
 Through the waning amber light ; 
 And the evening wind rose mournfully 
 
 To meet the coming night. 
 
 The stars came out, and I sailed away, 
 Away through the Mexique sea 
 
 Away, away, for I could not stay ; 
 And oft on bended knee, 
 
 I prayed for her I left that day 
 Beneath the orange tree. 
 
 'Tis eventide, and again to me 
 The summer breezes sigh ;
 
 THE ORANGE TREE. 
 
 The orange flowers are fair to see 
 
 So tenderly they lie ; 
 But oh ! there's aerave 'neath the orange tree, 
 
 And I would that I could die !
 
 SOMEWHERE. 
 
 IS she biding, where eternal summer smiles upon 
 the seas, 
 And the snowy orange blossoms ever flake the shelly 
 
 strand ? 
 Is she biding, is she biding where the tender tropic 
 
 breeze 
 Tells the story of his wooings to the billows on the 
 
 sand ? 
 Somewhere, somewhere, I know not where, 
 
 Upon the land or sea 
 Somewhere, somewhere, ail pure and fair 
 My love abides for me. 
 
 Is she biding 'mid the clover blooms upon the purple 
 
 hills, 
 Where the mellow bees are humming and the apple 
 
 blossoms float ?
 
 SOMEWHERE. 85 
 
 Is she biding, is she biding where the brooklet leaps 
 
 and trills, 
 And does sne bind the daisies in a posy for her 
 
 throat ? 
 Somewhere, somewhere, I know not where, 
 
 My Love and I shall meet. 
 For there's a Fate through foul and fair 
 That guides my wayward feet. 
 
 Is she biding where the starlight gleams upon the 
 
 frozen gloom, 
 And faintly ring the carols that awake the drowsy 
 
 morn? 
 Is she biding, is she biding where the roses never 
 
 bloom, 
 And the poppies never wave their crimson banners 
 
 through the corn ? 
 She bides somewhere, I know not where, 
 
 But surely this I know : 
 'Twill alway seem like summer there, 
 
 Howe'er the wind may blow !
 
 THE MEADOW PATH. 
 
 WHEN lass and laddie, you and I, 
 With little lives unknown to care, 
 I chased for you the butterfly, 
 
 And twined the daisies in your hair. 
 Once more we tread the very spot ; 
 
 The daisies still are blowing see ! 
 I thought you loved me then ; if not, 
 Give now your heart to me ! 
 
 Fate turned from yours my path aside, 
 
 That once across the flowers had lain, 
 And in the foam of Folly's tide 
 
 I sought to soothe my grief in vain ; 
 Some face, I said, will seem as fair, 
 
 Some other eye as soft to see. 
 I gazed, but saw no beauty there ; 
 
 So give your heart to me I
 
 THE MEADOW PATH. 87 
 
 Alas ! and have I come too late 
 
 To win what I have lost so long , 
 And must I stand without the gate 
 
 By sin and sorrow tossed so long ? 
 Ah ! no ; the night must end in light, 
 
 Within your eyes the dawn I see ; 
 So, while the shadows wing their flight, 
 
 Give now your heart to me !
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S FEATHER. 
 
 TH E dew is on the heather, 
 The moon is in the sky, 
 And the captain's waving feather 
 
 Proclaims the hour is nigh, 
 
 When some upon their horses 
 
 Shall through the battle ride, 
 
 And some with bleeding corses 
 
 Must on the heather bide. 
 
 The dust is on the heather 
 
 The moon is in the sky, 
 And about the captain's feather 
 
 The bolts of battle fly ; 
 But hark, what sudden wonder 
 
 Breaks forth upon the gloom ? 
 It is the cannon's thunder 
 
 It is the voice of doom !
 
 CAPTAIN'S FEATHER. 89 
 
 The blood is on the heather, 
 
 The night is in the sky, 
 And the gallant captain's feather 
 
 Shall wave no more on high ; 
 The grave and holy brother 
 
 To God is saying Mass, 
 But who shall tell his mother, 
 
 And who shall tell his lass ?
 
 BOAT SONG. 
 
 [Respectfully dedicated to Mrs. Mary Coffee O'Neal, f 
 Florence, Ala.] 
 
 TH ERE'S music on the river ! 'Tis the purling of 
 the tide, 
 
 And merrily it tinkles from the bubbles as we glide, 
 Now it fades away to silence ; now it wakes so sweet a 
 
 note, 
 Fancy whispers 'tis an echo from a laughing Naiad's 
 
 throat ; 
 
 Or else it is fair Undine who is singing 'neath the wave ; 
 Or yet perchance the Lorelei within her crystal cave. 
 
 There's music on the river ! More joyously 'tis heard 
 Gaily trilling from the bosom of a bonnie mocking 
 bird 
 Amid the swaying willow trees, melodiously clear,
 
 BOAT SONG. 91 
 
 He carols to his brooding mate the lay she loves to 
 
 hear. 
 
 How tenderly she listens with her little heart a-beat! 
 Though he sings it o'er a thousand times she thinks it 
 
 just as sweet. 
 
 There's music on the river ! 'Tis the fluting of the 
 
 wind 
 Blithely boasting of the flowers he has wooed and left 
 
 behind. 
 Do you scent the fragrant kisses that he brings upon 
 
 his mouth ? 
 They were stolen from the lilies of the lakelet in the 
 
 south ; 
 
 And alas, the lissome roses, dewy darlings of the night, 
 He has left them broken-hearted in the sultry noon to 
 
 blight. 
 
 There's music on the river ! It will never know eclipse, 
 For 'tis the peerless melody that floats from Beauty's 
 lips;
 
 92 BOA T SONG. 
 
 Ah ! gently it is wafted from its home of rosy bloom. 
 
 And it steals upon the senses like a fairy-brought per 
 fume ; 
 
 O sweetly carol wind and bird and tinkling water fall, 
 
 But the gentle voice of woman is the sweetest sound of 
 all !
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 WHY shines the moon so wan and white ? 
 Why drift the shades so thick to-night 
 Beneath the winds that wail in flight 
 
 Across the sobbing foam ? 
 I watched the happy swallows flee 
 Beyond the lurid autumn sea ; 
 They fled and left the gloom to me, 
 Far far from home. 
 
 Know'st thou that balmy Southern land, 
 By myrtle crowned, by zephyrs fanned, 
 Where verdant hills and forests grand 
 
 Smile 'neath an azure dome ? 
 "Tis there the stars shed softer beams 
 As if to bless the woods and streams ; 
 'Tis there I wander in my dreams, 
 
 Far far from home.
 
 ALABAMA. 
 
 I long to hear the murmuring pine, 
 To see the golden jasmine twine , 
 For there my fancy builds her shrine 
 
 Where e'er my footsteps roam. 
 O, sunny land, for thy sweet sake 
 A thousand tender memories wake ; 
 For thee my heart is like to break, 
 
 Far far from home.
 
 THE PINES. 
 
 THROUGH circling seasons night and day, 
 Forlornly gaunt and wistful 
 They voice the same pathetic lay 
 With echoes weird and tristful. 
 Have they incurred some secret stain, 
 
 Some sin beyond redeeming ? 
 Alas ! their sorrow spells my brain 
 And mingles with my dreaming. 
 
 They never feel the fragrant charms 
 
 From violets upbreathing ; 
 They never heed the blushing arms 
 
 Of roses round them wreathing. 
 Their mystic woe knows no relief : 
 
 They stand through endless ages 
 Symbolic of a hopeless grief 
 
 Nor love nor time assuages.
 
 I LOVE THE SHADOWS BEST. 
 
 A THOUSAND voices hath the morn 
 That wake the dreaming light ; 
 A thousand shadows hath the eve, 
 
 The children of the night. 
 But though the melodies of morn 
 Of rapture and of bliss are born, 
 
 I love the shadows best ; 
 For softly floating, meek and brown, 
 They kiss my weary eyelids down 
 
 And soothe my heart to rest.
 
 NOONTIDE. 
 
 LO ! here amid the summer flowers, 
 Half-dozing through the noonday hours 
 In shadows cool and dim, 
 I rest at ease from care and cark, 
 With pinks and violets to mark 
 My small horizon's rim. 
 
 A truant cricket gone astray 
 Indulges in a roundelay 
 
 A lissome footed guest ; 
 And then ere long I entertain 
 Gay butterflies, a dazzling train 
 
 In gold and purple drest. 
 
 At will upon the fountain spray 
 I watch the frolic colors play 
 In soft, translucent bars ;
 
 98 NOONTIDE. 
 
 Or gazing in the leafy skies 
 I dream I see a dryad's eyes 
 Laugh mid the jasmine stars. 
 
 While from the gardens wealth of blooms 
 A myriad spicy-winged perfumes 
 
 In sweet procession pass ; 
 And far and faint the wild bees hum, 
 Echoing like an elfin drum, 
 
 Beats time amid the grass.
 
 THE EXILES. 
 
 (A Cuban patriot on the streets of Montreal forcibly 
 liberated a caged bird which he recognized as a native of 
 his beloved isle.) 
 
 SWEET Bird, I see thy gilded cage, 
 Thy fevered eyes and wild unrest, 
 And, oh ! my heart would fain assuage 
 The woes that wring thy gentle breast. 
 
 Too vast for tears, thy perfect pc.in 
 
 Expression seeks in peerless song, 
 Whose haunting notes and low refrain 
 
 Are fraught with memories of wrong. 
 
 An alien 'neath a lowering sky, 
 
 I too am not unknown to Care ; 
 I watch the dreary clouds go by 
 
 The dusky pennants of Despair.
 
 THE EXILES. 
 
 Knowest thou the land where merrily 
 The sunbeams chase and shadows flee, 
 
 Where happy stars laugh in the sky, 
 And laughing stars dance on the sea ? 
 
 Knowest thou the land where Myrtle droops 
 And blushes in the ardent breeze, 
 
 Where Yellow Jasmine lightly loops 
 Its golden arms round wooing trees ? 
 
 Ah ! knowest thou where Magnolias blow, 
 With white brows leaning to the light, 
 
 Or idly swaying to and fro, 
 Caressed by the enamored Night ? 
 
 Where Summer's banner never furls, 
 
 And Fancy rings a fairy chime, 
 While all the hours glide like pearls 
 
 A-down the rosary of Time ? 
 
 Sweet Bird, I note thy bosom swell, 
 Thy wildly throbbing heart expand ;
 
 THE EXILES. 
 
 I see, I see thou knowest it well 
 For 'tis, oh ! 'tis our native landj! 
 
 I have no wing to skim the blue, 
 No plume to scorn the wind and sea, 
 
 But thou shalt cleave the tempest through, 
 And in my thought I'll fly with thee. 
 
 Away ! thy bars are burst in twain, 
 I spurn thy prison in the sod 
 
 Who breaks the bond on Freedom lain 
 Fulfils the sweetest law of God !
 
 THE BLOSSOMS OF THE SEA. 
 
 WHERE ocean crags are lifting 
 Their rugged heads on high, 
 Where silver sands are shifting 
 
 Beneath the summer sky, 
 
 Upon the emerald billows, like daisies on the lea, 
 Behold the laughing bubbles the blossoms of the sea 
 
 O richer than the roses 
 
 By lissome fingers tied, 
 O purer than the posies 
 
 That crown the happy bride, 
 
 No mortal hand may cull them ; they were not born to be 
 The toys of idle beauty the blossoms of the sea. 
 
 No Arctic cold can chill them 
 
 However keen it blow, 
 No tropic heat can kill them
 
 THE BLOSSOMS OF THE SEA. 
 
 However fierce it glow ; 
 
 Their lustre never withers : with garlands glad and free, 
 They gird the world with beauty the blossoms of the 
 
 When hostile flags are flinging 
 
 Their scorn from sail to sail, 
 And shot and shell are winging 
 
 With death upon the gale, 
 When gallant eyes grow brighter, and cowards fain 
 
 would flee 
 They flash in fearless millions the blossoms of the sea. 
 
 And when the battle's ended 
 
 That stormed along the waves, 
 And solemn skies are splendid 
 
 Above the ocean graves, 
 How eerie is their shining that laughed but now in 
 
 glee. 
 How sorrowful their sobbing the blossoms of the sea.
 
 THE PICTURES IN THE SKY. 
 
 THE heavens had ceased their thunder 
 And the West was all ablaze ; 
 Upon the radiant wonder 
 Three faces turned to gaze. 
 
 Now one was childish and eager, 
 
 And one was manly and bold, 
 But the last was worn and meager 
 
 As it viewed the purple and gold. 
 
 And amid the changeful glory 
 Each saw more splendidly fair, 
 
 Than aught in song or story 
 A beautiful vision there.
 
 THE PICTURES IN THE SKY. 
 
 Said the child : " Beside a river 
 That glimmers along the sky 
 
 I see with wings a-quiver, 
 A golden butterfly ! " 
 
 Mine eyes behold a maiden,'' 
 Cried out the joyful youth, 
 
 Her tresses with gold are laden, 
 Her eyes are brimming with truth ! 
 
 Then said the old man slowly : 
 " Far over the Western wave, 
 
 By the dying day made holy, 
 I see a peaceful grave ! " 
 
 And thus ere night had driven 
 
 Her dusky steeds a-near, 
 Kind God to each had given 
 
 The sight he held most dear.
 
 o 
 
 THE SINGER'S REWARD. 
 
 A Legend. 
 
 ONCE there dwelt a singer in a valley faraway, 
 Who in the fields with loving art awoke his lute 
 and lay. 
 
 Now though his song, nor loud nor long, was strangely 
 
 sweet to hear, 
 One day he said, while on his cheek there gleamed a 
 
 silent tear : 
 
 " My note is low, my strain is weak, my singing all in 
 
 vain ; 
 The little guerdon I desire I cannot hope to gain. 
 
 " I do not care for lofty fame, for wealth I do not long 
 I only wish my fellow-men to love me for my song ! "
 
 THE SINGER'S REWARD. 
 
 The kindly zephyrs caught his lays and bore them far 
 
 and wide, 
 " Such songs were never sung before ! " the people rose 
 
 and cried. 
 
 The great king even listened in his palace by the sea, 
 And said, " Some day we'll send for him and honored 
 he shall be." 
 
 Alas, no herald ever came, the ancient legend saith ; 
 But when he put his lute away and laid him down in 
 death, 
 
 The people made a great a-do, and reared a column 
 
 high, 
 In honor of the singer they had left in want to die.
 
 THE FLIGHT OF SUMMER. 
 
 SO gently did sweet Summer pass me by ; 
 So lovely was the smile she cast, 
 Lulled by her beauty I 
 Scarce knew she passed. 
 
 I only caught a gleaming in the west 
 That must have been her trailing gown, 
 
 When Night, unwelcome guest, 
 Came swooping down. 
 
 O little Star, thy pale and quivering face 
 Proclaims that thou didst never see 
 
 Another with her grace 
 And melody !
 
 THE FLIGHT OF SUMMER. 109 
 
 Beneath some other sky her loveliness 
 
 Shall float upon the waving wheat, 
 And other ears shall bless 
 
 Her carols sweet ! 
 
 So haste, ye Winds that blow where'er ye list, 
 Unseen through all the changeful years, 
 
 And tell her that ye kissed 
 These falling tears. 
 
 Fair Star, the hour is late ; our dreary lot 
 
 Come let us strive to drown in sleep, 
 I, in my lonely cot, 
 
 Thou in the deep.
 
 THE LITTLE BLUE-EYED THIEF. 
 
 ONE eve while splendor filled the West, 
 And told the day's approaching doom, 
 Alone I sat, by care oppressed, 
 
 Within my sad and silent room ; 
 A sunbeam danced upon the floor, 
 And as it fled, the gladsome ray, 
 A little thief crept in the door 
 And stole my heart away ! 
 
 She to the raylet seemed akin, 
 
 So bright she was, so sweet and fair ; 
 I wondered much that she came in, 
 
 I wondered more she lingered there. 
 When, lo ! as lightly as a leaf, 
 
 She kissed my forehead, gaunt and gray ; 
 The darling little blue-eyed thief 
 
 Who stole my heart away !
 
 THE LITTLE BLUE-EYED THIEF. 
 
 She went as softly as she came, 
 
 A tinkling laugh was all I heard ; 
 I knew it was the little dame, 
 
 So much it sounded like a bird. 
 Then with my vanished gloom and grief, 
 
 Another thing I lost that day, 
 And soon I knew the little thief 
 
 Had borne my heart away. 
 
 Oft since, she glides within my room, 
 
 And ever makes my sorrows flee, 
 But though she takes away the gloom, 
 
 She never brings my heart to me. 
 And when I say " Exchange is fair," 
 
 She only smiles and whispers " Nay,'' 
 The little thief with golden hair 
 
 Who stole my heart away. 
 
 So swiftly all my days go by, 
 
 I'm hardly ever lonely now, 
 For if my darling hears me sigh 
 
 She smoothes the wrinkles from my brow.
 
 THE LITTLE BLUE-EYED THIEF. 
 
 My love for her is past belief, 
 And always when she comes I say : 
 
 " God bless the little blue-eyed thief 
 Who stole my heart away ! "
 
 MY COMRADE. 
 
 IS there within the palace of thy heart 
 A chamber yet unentered and alone, 
 Whose distant walls all unadorned by art 
 Have never yet the faintest echo known ; 
 
 Whose threshold ne' er has felt the pulsing feet 
 Of friend or foe, whose door-way still is barred, 
 
 Whose smooth and pearly vault, all pure and sweet, 
 Has never been by worldly visions marred ? 
 
 I do entreat thee now, if such there be 
 Perchance as yet e'en to thyself unknown 
 
 However small, oh harken to my plea, 
 And let me call that lonely place my own ! 
 
 Undo and let me in that silent door ; 
 A hermit I will be, and ne'er intrude
 
 MY COMRADE. 
 
 Upon thy joys, but will for evermore 
 A vigil keep o'er thee in quietude. 
 
 Oh I will ask of thee no fond caress, 
 Nor ever make demand upon thy care ; 
 
 And I will be so still thou wilt but guess, 
 While fortune smiles on thee, that I am there. 
 
 But should it chance upon some distant year 
 Thy joys like roses perish one by one, 
 
 And all the blessings that thou boldest dear 
 Wither like sunset hues when day is done ; 
 
 That fondly cherished friends frown with disdain 
 Or turn away in ill-concealed delight, 
 
 My love unsought and long in silence lain 
 Shall burn for thee a beacon in the night.
 
 A DREAM. 
 
 I DREAMED I was a caged bird far brought 
 From a sunset land, 
 
 Who once had trilled his melodies untaught 
 On a tropic strand. 
 
 I sang my artless lays both morn and eve 
 
 For my lady's ear, 
 To soothe her gentle heart, and win reprieve 
 
 From grief and fear. 
 
 I soon forgot my home by the sundown shore, 
 
 So kind was she ; 
 Nor cared I aught if I should dwell no more 
 
 By the sunset sea. 
 
 For the lovely hues that dyed the Western skies 
 
 Were not more fair 
 Than the light that gleamed within my lady's eyes 
 
 Or lit her hair.
 
 ti6 A DREAM. 
 
 One dewy morn, when I had warbled o'er 
 
 My sweetest lay, 
 She wept ; and opening wide my prison door, 
 
 Bade me away ! 
 
 Then thinking that she wished me from her side, 
 
 N o more to see 
 Her face, 1 drooped my quivering wings and died 
 
 Of liberty !
 
 MOCK ORANGE. 
 
 WHERE the Northern and the Southern airs 
 Unite in skies of deeper blue, 
 There blows a tree whose form and hue 
 Is like to that the orange wears. 
 
 Men say it mocks the orange tree 
 
 'Tis no reproach and brings no shame, 
 For those who see must soon exclaim, 
 
 How strangely sweet the mockery ! 
 
 It rivals in a winsome way 
 
 The orange flower's pure delight, 
 And wafts upon the wings of night 
 
 The spicy smell of far Cathay.
 
 n8 MOCK ORANGE. 
 
 With grateful heart a veil of white 
 It gently throws on mother earth ; 
 When the stars smile down in silent mirth 
 
 Its glossy leaves laugh back the light. 
 
 Though loving best the Southern breeze, 
 That sighs in numbers as it goes, 
 It cheers the dreary wind that blows 
 
 With purple lips from Northern seas. 
 
 In the noon of night a song it sings, 
 So sweet and low, so soft and clear, 
 In slumber oft, I dream I hear 
 
 The flutter of a fairy's wings.
 
 THE HAPPY DAY. 
 
 AS often as the April morn 
 Climbs softly up the Eastern sky, 
 And glimmers through the milk-white thorn, 
 
 Or dances where the violets lie, 
 Though wondrous fair the hills may be, 
 
 And many a grace the fields adorn, 
 My wayward thoughts arise and flee 
 To greet a future, fairer morn. 
 
 Full oft at noon, when lavish May 
 
 With myriad blossoms scents the air, 
 And wild birds sing and brooklets play, 
 
 As if to flout and banish care, 
 I feel the fragrance of the breeze, 
 
 I heed the bird's and brooklet's tune ; 
 And yet, though wooed by charms like these, 
 
 My fancy seeks a rarer noon.
 
 THE HAPPY DAY. 
 
 Oft when the evening skies are thrilled 
 
 With every tint that June may lend, 
 And every woodland path is filled 
 
 With scents in which all perfumes blend, 
 Until it seems the hour has won 
 
 A charm 'neath which 'twere sin to grieve, 
 My soul will shun the setting sun, 
 
 To revel in a viewless eve. 
 
 Where are you now, O Happy Day ? 
 
 I long to hail your waiting beam ; 
 1 marvel much at your delay, 
 
 So like the glamour of a dream. 
 Delay no more, but spread your wing 
 
 And hasten o'er the stormy sea, 
 My perished hopes come quickly bring 
 
 In perfect radiance to me. 
 
 But yet, perchance, delay is best, 
 Though many a vanished hope you bring, 
 
 For I can bide your coming crest, 
 But not endure your parting wing ;
 
 THE HAPPY DAY. 
 
 So keep for me your pinions bright ; 
 
 And fold your plumes across the wave, 
 And when all earthly visions blight, 
 
 Arise for me beyona me grave.
 
 HAFIZ. 
 
 MORE pleasing than the mellow flute 
 Or harp e'er swept by minstrel hand, 
 The centuries mourn thy silent lute, 
 Sweet poet of the Persian land. 
 
 While roses wreathed the bubbling wine 
 And tender glances crowned the lay, 
 
 O happy bard, what joy was thine 
 When twilight hushed the noisy day ? 
 
 What dark-eyed beauties bent above 
 With bated breath to catch each note ? 
 
 For hearts could never choose but love 
 When love was taught by such a throat.
 
 HAFIZ. 123 
 
 Thy limpid voice and glorious strains 
 
 Not always rose to mirthful ears, 
 The fading of thy soft refrains 
 
 Was often fraught with sighs and tears. 
 
 Though louder notes perchance may swell 
 And force the languid pulse to start, 
 
 'Tis not the epic strain that dwell 
 The longest in the human heart. 
 
 Alas, thy voice has ceased to soar 
 
 And chase sweet echo as it flies : 
 Thy wooing tones will draw no more 
 
 The jetty lids from dreaming eyes. 
 
 The Persian breezes wail in flight, 
 
 In Ispahan the roses weep 
 While nightingales bemoan the night, 
 
 And round thy grave sad vigils keep.
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 WITH pallid cheeks and wringing hands 
 And dusky garments sad and sere, 
 The dreary winds from Northern lands 
 Have come to sob at Autumn's bier ; 
 Upon her robe of brilliant dyes, 
 Behold, in chilly splendor lies 
 The tribute of a frozen tear. 
 
 Come, Winter, come and drop the pall 
 
 That only thou know'st how to spread ; 
 In tender silence let it fall 
 In flawless folds from foot to head ; 
 
 Within our hearts' most sacred shrine, 
 And guarded by a love divine 
 Shall live the memory of the dead !
 
 IN HAVEN. 
 
 I HEAR the distant breakers roar ; 
 Their sleepless wrath can harm no more 
 My life-bark soon will touch the shore 
 
 Whose beauty fadeth never. 
 How sweetly sings the bird of peace ! 
 Oh, let his tender note increase, 
 For sorrow soon shall know surcease 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 Oh, Love, bid me forget my fears, 
 
 The cares that fret, the wrongs of years ; 
 
 My sea-worn heart sweet harbor nears 
 
 Beyond the storm's endeavor. 
 And let your tresses brush my cheek, 
 When hearts and fondest words are weak ; 
 With soft caress your passion speak 
 
 Forever and forever.
 
 126 IN HA VEN. 
 
 Awake the smile I dreamed of old, 
 As warm as noontide's balmy gold, 
 Yet soft as moonlight faintly rolled 
 
 When summer cloudlets sever. 
 Your eyes are like the beacon light 
 That beckons through the darksome night 
 At last 1 read my fate angnt 
 Forever and forever,
 
 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. 
 
 ALL strains are his. But most his lines 
 Are fraught with peace and woodland pleasures, 
 With bough-swing of the Georgian pines 
 Enwoven through the golden measures. 
 
 Beneath the purple muscadine 
 Sweet Fancy brings him many a vision, 
 
 Where frolic Dryads, laughing, twine 
 In airy cirques and songs Elysian. 
 
 Who notes the frosts that fringe his brows ! 
 
 His tide of song is swelling sweeter, 
 With breathings of the myrtle boughs 
 
 And sunny roses in the meter.
 
 PAUL HAMILTON HAYNE. 
 
 Who cavils at the wings of Time ! 
 
 They only waft him tones more tender 
 That he may chant in mellow rhyme 
 
 Of wildwood charms and cloudland splendor. 
 
 The winsome Nine, a lissome throng, 
 With dimpled smiles still linger near him ; 
 
 And still supreme in Southern song, 
 He pipes and millions joy to hear him.
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 HEY bow at the end of the " Lancers," 
 JL And turn to the fairest of all ; 
 Shall we sue in vain for a ballad ? " 
 They say to the Belle of the Ball. 
 
 Then a hush falls over the dancers, 
 
 A hush they know not why ; 
 And she seems as one who is dreaming 
 
 As she sweeps them slowly by. 
 
 The smile so lately wreathing 
 
 Her lips of deepest red 
 Is gone, and the feverish glitter 
 
 That flashed from her eyes has fled. 
 
 Around her witching dimples, 
 
 Where the ruby current flows, 
 They note with silent wonder 
 
 The lily banish the rose.
 
 130 AT THE BALL. 
 
 Then over the harp-strings bending, 
 She sings an old love song, 
 
 And the dancers gather around her, 
 A gay and thoughtless throng. 
 
 " What a wonderful depth of feeling !" 
 They whisper, and stare with surprise 
 
 She sings, unheeding the murmur, 
 With a far-away look in her eyes. 
 
 She sees not the dazzling lustres, 
 She sees not the crowd looking on ; 
 
 And the song flows on as plaintive 
 As the song of the dying swan. 
 
 She thinks of a gallant trooper 
 Who sailed to a foreign strand ; 
 
 Her eyes are dim for a lover 
 Who fell in a distant land. 
 
 She recalls the hour of parting 
 , Where the ships at anchor ride,
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 And again the martial music 
 Rings over the foaming tide. 
 
 Across the taffrail leaning, 
 
 He tosses a kiss through the spray ; 
 And the ship fades out in the hazes 
 
 That muffle the mouth of the bay. 
 
 She thinks of the day of shadows 
 When her heart grew numb with pain, 
 
 And the sky grew black before her 
 As she read the list of the slain. 
 
 Then her thoughts fly over the billows ; 
 
 She kneels by a lonely grave 
 Where the tall reeds shiver and quiver, 
 
 And the slender palm trees wave. 
 
 She sees the black bats flitting 
 Beneath the wan moonlight ; 
 
 She hears the wind low sobbing 
 And dying away in the night.
 
 AT THE BALL. 
 
 Lo ! these are the voices and visions 
 That haunt the Belle of the Ball, 
 
 Filling the room with echoes 
 And floating across the wall. 
 
 And when her song has ended 
 With a strain that rose in the air, 
 
 And fell on the wing of Silence 
 Like the close of an angel's prayer 
 
 The lips of the dancers gayly 
 
 Bubble with praises ; but oh ! 
 'Twas the wail of a heart that was breaking 
 
 They had heard, and did not know!
 
 CHINESE GORDON. 
 
 ONWARD roll, thou mighty river, 
 Tell his story to the seas, 
 On thy breast the moon shall quiver, 
 
 On thy bosom sob the breeze. 
 Lo ! another Star is gleaming, 
 With undying lustre streaming, 
 Newly risen o'er the desert 
 
 From the City of Khartoum. 
 
 Chinese Gordon ! who shall sing him 
 Fitting songs to wreathe his name ? 
 Chinese Gordon ! who shall bring him 
 Laurel leaves to crown his fame ? 
 When the sun of England's glory 
 Lights the way for song and story, 
 How 'twill blaze o'er gallant Gordon, 
 In the City of Khartoum !
 
 CHINESE GORDON: 
 
 O ye statesmen, ye who barter 
 Manly blood and woman's wail, 
 
 How before the soldier-martyr 
 Doth your pomp and pageant pale ! 
 
 Whom it was your right to cherish 
 
 Ye have left alone to perish ; 
 
 Doth no vision come to haunt ye 
 
 From the City of Khartoum ? 
 
 Onward roll, O mighty river, 
 
 Tell his story to the seas ; 
 On thy breast the moonbeams quiver, 
 
 On thy bosom sobs the breeze. 
 Honor to the Star new-gleaming, 
 Honor to the lustre streaming, 
 Ever waxing, never waning 
 
 O'er the City of Khartoum !
 
 THE PHANTOMS OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 ( Written on Christmas Eve,) 
 
 I BEND above the hearth in vain, 
 The flames no longer glow, 
 But ever through the frozen pane 
 The chilling moonbeams flow ; 
 And floating on the silver tide 
 
 In cerements weird and white, 
 They come and will not be denied, 
 The phantoms of the night. 
 
 They wear the very guise of truth 
 
 And steal across the floor, 
 Ambitions of my vanished youth 
 
 And faces loved of yore ; 
 So wistfully they gaze on me
 
 136 THE PHANTOMS OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 They pain me with their plight ! 
 My eyes grow dim, I scarce can see 
 The phantoms of the night. 
 
 " Avaunt ! " I cry, " no longer press 
 
 Your weary haunting cease ; 
 I do not hope for happiness. 
 
 I only pray for peace." 
 But through the night they come and come 
 
 With terrors to affright ; 
 Their cheeks are pale, their lips are dumb, 
 
 The phantoms of the night.
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 A BARD who oft had made the Sun-Lands ring 
 With lute and lay, no more of love would sing. 
 He said : " Of love 1 tire. 
 I long for something higher ; 
 A theme that will far grander glory bring ! " 
 
 Then he arose, with discontented moan, 
 
 To seek some place where love was never known, 
 
 Or whence it long had vanished, 
 
 And was forever banished, 
 To wander in some distant land alone. 
 
 The bleak and rugged mountain crags he sought, 
 Whose desolation ages past had wrought ; 
 
 But the haughty peaks ascending, 
 Until with cloud-land blending, 
 Far echoed, each to each, a loving thought.
 
 138 A LEGEND. 
 
 His toiling steps to somber woods he bent, 
 
 Whose mystic veil no hand had ever rent ; 
 
 But there the trees embracing, 
 
 With fond boughs interlacing, 
 
 In sighs of love the circling seasons spent. 
 
 Far bound for trackless seas he spread his sail, 
 With thought that love would flee the tempest's wail 
 But, though the raging surges 
 Kept thundering their dirges, 
 Wave leaped to wave, amid the roaring gale. 
 
 And when on noiseless wing came down the night, 
 With eyes uplift to heaven's far vaulted height, 
 He saw in loving clusters 
 The stars laugh down their lusters, 
 And cheer the world with one harmonious light. 
 
 The bard, at last, grown old and worn apace, 
 His task gave o'er, and cried, with pallid face : 
 " The way is long and dreary ;
 
 A LEGEND. 139 
 
 I now am worn and weary. 
 Is love eternal and in every place ?" 
 
 And then from out the radiant realm above 
 Came softly down and cooed a gentle dove : 
 
 " Oh ! love is everywhere, 
 
 On land and sea and air ; 
 O'er all love reigns supreme, for God is lovt,
 
 COME, O PAN. 
 
 COME, O Pan, why hast thou waited, 
 Why so long art thou belated ? 
 Lo, beside the Western sea 
 Gayly flits the mellow bee ; 
 Long ago the birds were mated. 
 Come, the grapes hang purple-pated, 
 Flowers blow for garlands fated, 
 As of old in Arcady 
 
 Come, O Pan ! 
 
 Quips and laughter unabated 
 
 Crown the cup with pleasure freighted. 
 
 I have kept a pipe for thee ; 
 
 Come and swell the autumn glee, 
 Leading Dryads graceful-gaited, 
 Come, O Pan !
 
 BONNIE BELLE. 
 
 JUST to please my Bonnie Belle 
 With her winsome eyes of blue 
 Lo, I sing a villanelle. 
 
 List the merry music swell ! 
 
 Haste, ye rhymes, in measure true 
 Just to please my Bonnie Belle 
 
 Have a care to foot it well, 
 
 Tripping like a fairy crew ; 
 Lo, I sing a villanelle. 
 
 Come from where the Pixies dwell, 
 Dance with sandals dipped in dew 
 Just to please my Bonnie Belle.
 
 BONNIE BELLE. 
 
 In her ear, the tiny shell, 
 
 Let my peerless passion sue 
 Lo, I sing a villanelle. 
 
 Will she listen ? Who can tell ? 
 
 Does she love me ? v\ ouid i Knew ! 
 Just to please my Bonnie Belle 
 Lo, I sing a villanelle.
 
 SHE TOSSED TO ME A KISS. 
 
 SHE tossed to me a kiss ! 'Twas night, 
 Yet every brooding care took flight, 
 The fountain leapt and laughed with glee 
 And all the stars leant out to see, 
 And wondered at my wild delight. 
 Though fate my sweetest hope may blight 
 To crown with bliss a rival knight, 
 One joy I have can never flee, 
 
 She tossed to me a kiss ! 
 
 Should fortune guide my lance aright 
 That I may win her in the fight, 
 
 Oh, I will guard her tenderly 
 
 And she will never be to me 
 Less fair than when in beauty bright 
 She tossed to me a kiss !
 
 THE PIXIES. 
 
 TH E frost hath spread a shining net 
 Where late the autumn roses blew, 
 On lake and stream a seal is set 
 Where floating lilies charmed the view ; 
 So silently the wonder grew 
 Beneath pale Dian's mystic light, 
 I know my fancy whispers true, 
 The Pixies are abroad to-night. 
 
 When at the midnight chime are met 
 Together elves of every hue, 
 
 I trow the gazer will regret 
 That peers upon their retinue ; 
 For limb awry and eye askew 
 
 Have oft proclaimed a fairy's spite- 
 Peep slyly, gallants, lest ye rue 
 
 The Pixies are abroad to-night.
 
 THE PIXIES. 
 
 'Tis said their forms are tiny, yet 
 All human ills they can subdue, 
 
 Or with a wand or amulet 
 Can win a maiden's heart for you : 
 And many a blessing know to strew 
 
 To make the way to wedlock bright ; 
 Give honor to the dainty crew, 
 
 The Pixies are abroad to-night. 
 
 ENVOY. 
 Prince, e'en a prince may vainly sue 
 
 Unaided by a fairy's might ; 
 Remember Cinderella's shoe, 
 
 The Pixies are abroad to-night
 
 FOR LOVE. 
 
 FOR love, the valiant knight of old, 
 In armor bright and spirit bold, 
 At joust and tourney fierce would ride, 
 With plume and lance when heralds cried ; 
 Though sometimes in the dust he rolled. 
 And furthermore 'tis even told, 
 The fair one still remaining cold, 
 Perchance the hapless wooer died 
 For love ! 
 
 Alas ! now other customs hold ! 
 
 When hearts and hands are won by gold, 
 And true and brave must stand aside, 
 While Cupid lad goes hungry-eyed, 
 
 What Knight would sleep beneath the mould 
 For love ?
 
 THE PRAISE OF RHYME. 
 
 HOW I love the words that rhyme 
 Jingling gayly as they go ; 
 Making music like a chime 
 
 Rung in summer's amber glow ! 
 When Aonian breezes blow 
 
 See them lightly dance in time ; 
 How I love the words that rhyme 
 Jingling gayly as they go ! 
 
 Prithee, do'st thou call it crime 
 
 That I pipe their praises so, 
 Singing in a Southern clime ? 
 
 Surely all ye bards will know 
 How I love the words that rhyme, 
 
 Jingling gayly as they go !
 
 O WAYWARD MUSE. 
 
 O WAYWARD Muse ! when 1 was gay, 
 You brought me lyrics night and day 
 Of birds and bees and frolic sheep, 
 And sunny roses on the steep 
 Where gleeful zephyrs lightly play. 
 But now, alas ! when Sorrow's sway 
 Hath wreathed my path with shadows gray, 
 No more your merry dimples peep, 
 O wayward Muse ! 
 
 Where are you now, sweet child of May ? 
 
 Leave dewy wood and ocean spray, 
 The moonlit revels fairies keep, 
 Alone I watch the hours a-creep ; 
 
 Come guide again my lissome lay, 
 
 O wayward Muse !
 
 NIGHT-FALL. 
 
 DEAR little star, no longer fear to peep ; 
 Lo ! now the day, thine enemy, has fled, 
 And all his brazen revelry is dead. 
 Take heart, and see how o'er yon Western steep 
 The conquered sun's fast fading banners sweep. 
 Why dost delay ? Go seek my lady's bed, 
 And with thy silver fingers wreathe her head 
 With tender dreams born in the upper deep. 
 O happy, happy star ! 'tis thine to gaze 
 Upon that form where all perfections dwell, 
 While I an outcast mourn my dreary lot ; 
 For pity now entreat the midnight fays 
 To weave about her heart a secret spell, 
 That near or far she may forget me not.
 
 AMONG MY BOOKS. 
 
 AMONG my books what rest is there 
 From wasting woes ! what balm for care 
 If ills appall or clouds hang low 
 And drooping dim the fleeting show, 
 I revel still in visions rare. 
 At will I breathe the classic air 
 The wanderings of Ulysses share ; 
 Or see the plume of Bayard flow 
 Among my books. 
 
 Whatever face the world may wear 
 If Lillian has no smile to spare, 
 
 For others let her beauty blow, 
 
 Such favors I can well forego ; 
 Perchance forget the frowning fair 
 Among my books.
 
 A GENTLE LITTLE LADY. 
 
 A GENTLE little lady, with melting eyes of blue, 
 Kissed me in a dream at the middle of the night. 
 How happy I would be if my dream came true ! 
 
 The moon through the window a silver lustre threw 
 
 When the lovely vision rose like a seraf on my sight, 
 A gentle little lady, with melting eyes of blue. 
 
 1 dreamed that she loved me, and all my sorrow flew 
 
 Far away, like a bat, at the dawning of the light. 
 How happy I would be if my dream came true ! 
 
 And as she bent above me it seemed to me I knew 
 
 Another who possessed each charm and beauty bright, 
 A gentle little lady, with melting eyes of blue.
 
 A GENTLE LITTLE LADY. 
 
 But my sorrow soon returned, for the moments were 
 
 but few, 
 
 She lingered there before me in a radiance of white ; 
 How happy I would be if my dream came true ! 
 
 Oh, Sweetheart, I will whisper the secret now to you ; 
 Yours was the presence that put my care to flight, 
 A gentle little lady, with melting eyes of blue ; 
 How happy I would be if my dream came true !
 
 FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOT, what shall 1 say, 
 Flower of love and of light ! 
 When the sunbeams have stolen away, 
 And the stars are peeping at play, 
 
 How shall I woo her to-night ? 
 O flower too true to betray, 
 
 Wilt thou carry my message aright, 
 If I gather thee here to-day, 
 
 Forget-me-not ? 
 
 Sweet herald, I trust thee ! Pray 
 
 Shine out bonnie and bright, 
 Tell her my heart I lay 
 
 Before her to bloom or to blight. 
 Perchance for thy beauty she may 
 Forget-me-not !
 
 BEFORE THE DAWN. 
 
 EFORE the dawn begins to glow, 
 
 A ghostly company I keep ; 
 Across the silent room they creep, 
 The buried forms of friend and foe. 
 Amid the throng that come and go 
 
 There are two eyes that make me weep ; 
 Before the dawn begins to glow, 
 A ghostly company I keep. 
 
 Two dear dead eyes ; I love them so ! 
 
 They shine like starlight on the deep 
 
 And often when I am asleep 
 They stoop and kiss me, bending low, 
 
 Before the dawn begins to glow.
 
 UNDER THE FLASH OF TAPERS BRIGHT. 
 
 I LOST my heart at the ball to-night, 
 Gazing too long in Mabel's eyes 
 Under the flash of the tapers bright. 
 
 Because earth holds no fairer sight 
 
 Than Mabel breathing her low replies, 
 I lost my heart at the ball to-night. 
 
 Tenderly tall and gracefully slight, 
 
 A goddess, she charms both gay and wise 
 Under the flash of the tapers bright. 
 
 Arise, faint hope, put fear to flight, 
 
 For Mabel must know ere the starlight dies 
 I lost my heart at the ball to-night.
 
 156 UNDER THE FLASH OF TAPERS BRIGHT. 
 
 Ye stars that shine so pure and white, 
 Grant me the boon that fate denies 
 Under the flash of the tapers bright. 
 
 Soften her soul with tender light, 
 
 Nor let her regret when daylight hies 
 I lost my heart at the ball to-night 
 Under the flash of the tapers bright.
 
 COME, ARCHER, COME. 
 
 COME, Archer, come and bend the bow ! 
 The stars are faint, the winds are low ; 
 And, where the frolic feet of spring 
 Have left the woodland blossoming, 
 With lilies flecked the brooklets flow. 
 Come ere the cock hath ceased to crow 
 His greeting to the orient glow ; 
 The lark hath spread her dewy wing. 
 
 Come, Archer, come ! 
 
 So wandered Robin to and fro, 
 
 In Sherwood forest long ago ; 
 And still the woods are offering 
 A rapture that the proudest king, 
 
 In all his pomp, can never know. 
 
 Come, Archer, come*
 
 IF SOME TRUE MAIDEN'S LOVE WERE MINE. 
 
 A LL worldly dreams I would resign, 
 J. \. Nor ever long for hidden lore, 
 If some true maiden's love were mine. 
 
 If but two eyes of blue divine 
 
 Could meet my glance forevermore, 
 All worldly dreams 1 would resign. 
 
 The clouds would show a silver line 
 
 And rainbow tints would hue them o'er, 
 If some true maiden's love were mine. 
 
 A jasmine tree should droop and twine 
 
 And peep within our cottage door, 
 All worldly dreams I would resign.
 
 WERE SOME TRUE MAIDEN'S LOVE MINE. 
 
 Our gems should be the dewdrop's shine, 
 
 Our music float from larks that soar, 
 If some true maiden's love were mine. 
 
 Where is she now ? She gives no sign, 
 
 That loyal heart, leal to the core ! 
 All worldly dreams I would resign 
 If some true maiden's love were mine.
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 O SLEEP, good mother of enchanting dreams, 
 Within thy soothing arms oh let me lie, 
 What time the night-wind sings a lullaby, 
 
 And the moon kisses down with cooling gleams, 
 
 Mine eyelids weary of day's sultry beams ; 
 Then let thy rarest visions come anigh, 
 Dead hopes fulfilled in perfect radiancy, 
 
 Whose fairness all my waking pain redeems ; 
 With Loline let me stray through jasmine bowers, 
 A balmy world of love whose stars are flowers, 
 
 Where zephyrs sigh in such a tender way 
 
 They seem to breathe the words we long to say ; 
 
 And when these dreams have come, good Sleep, ah then 
 
 I pray thee do not let me wake again.
 
 WHEN THE CRICKET SINGS. 
 
 WHEN the cricket sings with elfin lyre 
 In autumn fields of rich attire, 
 How sweet to gaze, with heart at rest, 
 Where summer's flying feet have pressed 
 The glowing turf ! What joy is higher ? 
 The sunbeams stretch like golden wire 
 Whereon the winds at their desire 
 Chant choruses with happy zest 
 When the cricket sings. 
 
 Yet when the autumn hues expire, 
 And winter gales shriek out in ire, 
 There comes an hour more truly blest, 
 For Love and I, within our nest, 
 We heed no storm beside the fire 
 
 When the cricket sings !
 
 IN THE SOUTHERN PINES. 
 
 OH, art thou weary of the glare 
 Of cities and the fevered show, 
 And dost thou loathe the fret and care 
 That through their ways forever flow ? 
 Prithee to me give ear, for lo ! 
 Beside a pine-clad Southern hill 
 
 There is a place to soothe thy woe, 
 Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will. 
 
 Thou wilt not hear the trumpets' blare, ' 
 
 No diva's shrill arpeggio ; 
 No danseuse demi-nude will dare 
 
 Lorgnettes uplevelled row on row ; 
 
 But purer pleasures thou shalt know, 
 The trembling fern, the purling rill ; 
 
 For thee shall bound the startled doe 
 Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will.
 
 SOUTHERN PINES. 6j 
 
 And thou shalt greet beyond compare 
 
 The fairest vision life can owe, 
 When through the calm and fragrant air 
 
 The night shall come with stars a-glow, 
 
 And tall magnolias all a-blow 
 Shall win the zephyrs to be still ; 
 
 All this is thine if thou wilt go 
 Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will. 
 
 ENVOY. 
 
 Oh, Prince, I pray this boon bestow 
 On one unlearned in courtier-skill, 
 
 Come with me now and fear no foe 
 Where sings the lonely whip-poor-will.
 
 BEYOND THE NIGHT. 
 
 BEYOND the night no withered rose 
 Shall mock the later bud that blows, 
 Nor lily blossom e'er shall blight, 
 But all shall gleam more pure and white 
 Than starlight on the Arctic snows. 
 
 Sigh not when daylight dimmer grows 
 And life a turbid river flows, 
 For all is sweetness all is light 
 Beyond the night. 
 
 Oh, haste, sweet hour that no man knows ; 
 
 Uplift us from our cumbering woes 
 Where joy and peace shall crown the right, 
 And perished hopes shall blossom bright 
 
 To aching hearts bring sweet repose 
 Beyond the night.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 date stamped below. 
 
 REMINGTON RAND I N C . 20 
 
 10M-11-50I2555U70 
 
 JJJ.1J. T JJJLVkJi JL 1. V.7JL' 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000121 150 7
 
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