THE PEACOCK 
 
 A SONG OF THE SOUTH 
 
^f 
 
 ^-/^ 
 
 V n '2 T 
 
THE PEACOCK 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS; OR 
 
 SONGS OF THE SOUTH 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES HAMPTON LEE 
 
 AUTHOR OF " LETTERS OF TWO," ETC. 
 
 THE 
 
 Hbbey prces 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 114 
 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
 Xon&on NEW YORK Montreal 
 
Copyright, 1901, 
 
 by 
 THE 
 
 the United States 
 
 and 
 Great Britain. 
 
DEDICATED TO 
 
 Florence jflDap Dan H)U3er 
 
 JUST A FRIEND 
 
 IN WHOSE COMPANY I FIRST FELT 
 
 THE INSPIRATION ESSENTIAL TO WRITING 
 
 AND IN WHOSE MIEN 
 I FIRST BEHELD POETRY PERSONIFIED 
 
To Hon. E. B. Springs, who loves 
 a hound and a horse, and who loves to 
 lift up humanity; to him, my father's 
 friend, this poem is dedicated by 
 
 The Author. 
 
 I have known a peacock to live to the age of 
 seventy-two. I never knew one to die a natural 
 death. BILL ARP (in Atlanta Constitution.) 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 
 
 James Hampton Lee, the author of this 
 book, was born October the eleventh, 1876, 
 near the village of Fort Alill, South Carolina. 
 His father, David A. Lee, who is at least 
 remotely (inore like nearly, if t/te facts were 
 known) related to the famous family of Vir- 
 ginia Lees, was then a humble but highly re- 
 spectable farmer, seeking in this secluded spot 
 to rehabilitate the fortune zvhich war had 
 devastated a decade before. It may be well to 
 add that lie is now independent, owning a 
 handsome home near Fort Mill, and that he 
 has been referred to as " one of Fort Mill's 
 most substantial citizens." When James, his 
 first-born, reached the age of six he zvas kept 
 half the year or more at the typical country 
 school, and what time he was not there, he zvas 
 taught by his mother a gentle, noble woman, 
 who always won the prizes offered for spelling, 
 etc., at the schools of ante-bellum days. 
 
 James fortunately inherited, not only his 
 mother's faculty for quickly acquiring knowl- 
 edge, but also his father's for retaining and 
 applying it. While a student at the High 
 School of Fort Mill for three years he cap- 
 
 3 
 
4 Biographical Note. 
 
 turcd many prises. Pie was especially apt in 
 grammar, taking great pleasure in composi- 
 tion. His parents were both members of the 
 Baptist Church and he professed faith at an 
 early age. II' hen only seventeen years old he 
 was elected Superintendent of the Sunday 
 School, which office lie creditably filled for tzuo 
 years. 
 
 In February, 1896, lie suddenly saw, or 
 thought lie saw, " apple of gold in pictures of 
 silver," in or around Richmond, J'irginia. 
 So, somewhat against the wishes of relatives 
 and friends, he took a train for that city. For 
 l/ie remainder of the \car he was employed by 
 the publishing firm of B. F. Johnson & Co., 
 there. During 1897 he accepted a position as 
 clerk in Ford's hotel, and subsequently at the 
 Lexington, where he utilized his opportunities 
 for studying human nature. He spent his 
 spare time " scribbling " for the newspapers 
 and periodicals of the city, attracting some 
 attention. 1898-99 he spent rather aimlessly 
 (still "scribbling" with success, however), in 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 The year 1900, he spent in New York City, 
 wJiere he still resides, when he is not visiting 
 the old homestead, " Catawa Castle Circle, 1 ' 
 Fort Mill, South Carolina. 
 
 THE PUBLISHERS. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE " simple grief-born gift of song" is 
 one which, wherever it goes in this era of 
 ethical education, finds a warmer welcome than 
 of yore. Songs sprung from sadness, strange 
 as it may seem, bring gladness (and gladness 
 is strength, on life's journey) to those who 
 sing, as well as to those who hear. The de- 
 mand, therefore, for practical poetry poetry 
 which, while pointing a moral, simultaneously 
 points out some of the most beautiful things in 
 the world things which would have been 
 overlooked, otherwise the demand, the real 
 need y for this kind of poetry is on the increase. 
 
 The poems in this volume, which, from a 
 sense of duty and with a feeling of pleasure, I 
 now place before the public, have helped me to 
 deal philosophically with the various problems 
 of life with which I have been confronted. I 
 only hope that all who read may receive some 
 such reward. 
 
 5 
 
6 Introduction. 
 
 Poetry is not a drug on the market ; at least 
 it should not be, for poetry is the highest form 
 of philosophy ; and philosophy teaches the art 
 of living. Poetry of the right kind enables 
 women (I cannot say this is true of many men) 
 to get out of life all there is in it. Therefore, 
 poetry is not all dreams, nor is every poet 
 necessarily a dreamer. I trust and believe the 
 circulation of " The Peacock and other 
 Poems " will in some degree contribute to the 
 refutation of this pernicious fallacy. 
 
 Several persons who have perused what is 
 here written have requested me to throw a 
 little more light on the rather mysterious role 
 the peacock is made to assume in the poem. 
 I have neither space nor time here, if I had the 
 inclination, to comply. I can only state that it 
 is the opinion of at least one competent critic 
 that " The Peacock " is the Poe-est poem I 
 ever wrote; and further, that the author con- 
 tends it is just as natural for a peacock to 
 shriek " No, not now," as it is for a raven to 
 croak " Nevermore." 
 
 Read no more of ravens gloomy; 
 Read of, now, the peacock plumy; 
 
Introduction. 7 
 
 Why should not the latter be immortal, too? 
 From my peacock just a feather, 
 Cheers you up in cloudy weather; 
 
 Which is why I introduce him now to you. 
 
 JAMES HAMPTON LEE. 
 
 Catawba Castle Circle, 
 Fort Mill, 
 
 South Carolina. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE PEACOCK 9 
 
 A THOUSAND MILES AWAY 22 
 
 LOUNGIN' ON DE LAWN 25 
 
 WHAT SHE OUGHT NOT HAVE TOLD ME 27 
 
 MAN 29 
 
 WOMAN 31 
 
 OF A FORT AND A MILL, IF YOU WILL 33 
 
 To THE UNECLIPSABLE SUN 41 
 
 THE MAN WITH ENOUGH OF MONEY ,' 42 
 
 WHEN I SAW HER LYING THERE 46 
 
 THE HERO OF Two FLAGS 48 
 
 THE CRITIC 51 
 
 THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS BORN 53 
 
 TETE-A-TETE 54 
 
 GRANT'S TOMB 55 
 
 GRAB DAT COTTON WID DEM DAR PAWS 57 
 
 A SONG OF THE SEA 59 
 
 LINES TO A WOMAN 60 
 
 LINES TO A COOK 62 
 
 TO THE SOUL OF A SONG 63 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE CENTURIES 65 
 
 THE HEART SONG 66 
 
 7 
 
8 Contents. 
 
 PARR 
 
 THE BLACKBIRDS 69 
 
 BROOKLYN BRIDGE 76 
 
 THE AVENUE OF FAME 78 
 
 VERSES TO Miss BLANK 81 
 
 THE MODERN MAUD MULLER 84 
 
 I HATE TO CALL You 87 
 
 BOBBIE'S TOAST TO A GHOST 89 
 
 THE Two LOVERS 93 
 
 LINES TO A BRIDEGROOM 98 
 
 BABY MARIE 99 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL, CLEAR, BLUE SKY 102 
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER 104 
 
 ALONG WITH ALICE WHITE 107 
 
 LINES ON MY TWENTY-SECOND BIRTHDAY ANNIVERSARY 109 
 
 MY DEAR LITTLE ANNIE in 
 
 MY MANILA ; OR THE SONG OF A SOLDIER 113 
 
 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER 115 
 
 GIT ERLONG, KEEP MOVIN' 117 
 
 COME BACK, DEAR JACK, FROM THE KLONDIKE.. ...... 119 
 
 THE MAGNOLIA 121 
 
 LINES BY A BLACK SHEEP 1 23 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND 126 
 
 INNUBIBUS ; OR IN THE CLOUDS 127 
 
 Au REVOIR 137 
 
THE PEACOCK. 
 
 PERCHED a proudly plumed peacock, 
 Where a weeping willow wailed, 
 One mild, misty, mournful morning 
 When both earth and sky were veiled 
 
 In a denseness and a dimness 
 
 That seemed all the incarnation 
 
 Of some strange some spiteful Spirit 
 
 Which hung round the old plantation ; 
 
 Which had hovered o'er its hilltops, 
 Which kept visiting its vales, 
 Till six hundred slaves were buried 
 In its deep, dark sylvan dales; 
 
 Buried where they used to plow, 
 To the tune of No, not now. 
 
 These six hundred slaves were sleeping 
 'Neath a tall, tremendous tree; 
 
 9 
 
io The Peacock. 
 
 No, not slaves since Death's rude reaping, 
 No, for death had set them free; 
 
 Kindly death their souls gave welcome 
 Souls of bodies born all black; 
 Souls which longed to soar to freedom, 
 Though their bodies had no lack. 
 
 Men who'd handled hoe and plowshare 
 Till their latest loveless breath ; 
 Women who had plucked the peacock's 
 Plumes each year, until their death; 
 
 Side by side lay in this graveyard 
 In a sunlit Southern state; 
 Of their Spirits (and the peacock's) 
 I a story will relate. 
 
 Hear of how an ill kept vow, 
 Changed to " Never" " No, not now.' 
 
 In the Carolina country, 
 In a thickly wooded tract, 
 In a marvelous old mansion 
 Twas the slaves their lord attacked. 
 
The Peacock. ji 
 
 Loved they not the lord who'd lashed them, 
 Nor his nine as stern, strong sons; 
 Some had long 'ere this have dashed them 
 Down to death, but slavery stuns. 
 
 And although they thanked their Mistress 
 For so much to eat and wear; 
 And although they loved the daughter 
 Of the house, so kind and fair 
 
 Still as slaves they had to bow ; 
 They'd be free, but " no, not now." 
 
 She the beautiful Miss Bleeker; 
 Promenades grand porticoes, 
 Knowing not her slaves will seek her 
 Father's life before the close 
 
 Of this Sabbath day unclouded 
 Yet by care or dream of crime; 
 Knowing not all funeral shrouded, 
 Ere the evening clock should chime, 
 
12 The Peacock. 
 
 In the white, wide-windowed mansion, 
 Father, daughter, sons would lie 
 And six hundred slaves lie slaughtered 
 On the grass their blood would dye. 
 
 Piped the peacock, " why and how? " 
 Piped the peacock, " No, not now." 
 
 Yes, this bird of brilliant plumage 
 Strutted straight across the lawn, 
 As for forty years, to rumage, 
 Forcing other fowls to fawn ; 
 
 As for forty years to seek its 
 Mate it lost when it was young; 
 And the woods, when it would shriek its 
 Strange, sad notes, with music rung. 
 
 But the bird, it brooded brooded, 
 As have humans something o'er, 
 Till its owners, half deluded, 
 Said it shrieked of things before 
 
 Well, before they came, somehow ; 
 BUT to-day ah " No, not now.' 
 
The Peacock. 13 
 
 Now, at noon, the slaves (what wonder), 
 By a brigand's brave command, 
 Heard his voice as harsh as thunder 
 Promulgate their one demand 
 
 To their grand old gray-haired master, 
 Whom they saw receive it ill ; 
 Fuming, frowning, faster faster 
 He approached the brigand " Bill ; " 
 
 " You demand my slaves be turned, Sir, 
 Out upon the world? Say why. 
 I'd prefer to see them burned, Sir, 
 Here and NOW, you dog, you die." 
 
 Then ensued the ruffian's row ; 
 Piped the peacock, " No not now." 
 
 Faint with fear, the slaves fell backward 
 When their master's sons all nine 
 Came upon the scene, delirious, 
 Full of fight and full of wine; 
 
 But the brigand brandished swords and 
 Made them follow where he led. 
 Till the master and his daughter 
 Both were numbered with the dead ; 
 
14 The Peacock. 
 
 He, because he had not granted 
 Freedom that for which they asked; 
 She, because a bullet slanted 
 One unaimed and through her passed. 
 
 BLACK HANDS BIND HER BLEED- 
 
 ING BROW; 
 CAN THEY SAVE HER? NO, NOT 
 
 NOW. 
 
 Words may, written once or spoken, 
 Circulate through Christendom. 
 Though a guilty heart be broken, 
 Still the consequences come. 
 
 Thus, although no harm was meant to 
 Her here slain, by one poor slave ; 
 Stretched there forth a strong man's arm to 
 Take their lives for that she gave; 
 
 For the life that so was taken 
 Had been bound up with his oivn, 
 So his very soul was shaken 
 And his heart ivas turned to stone. 
 
The Peacock. 15 
 
 " GOD OR DEVIL ME ENDOW, 
 
 VENGEANCE;' cried he, "VENGE- 
 ANCENOW." 
 
 Thus with feelings all ill founded, 
 Rode he forth with bated breath; 
 How his horse's hoofs resounded, 
 As he sped to deal out death. 
 
 Neighbors at the mansion numbered 
 Near a hundred all was peace, 
 When our hero up he lumbered : 
 " Men be manly ; slay nor cease 
 
 " Till the last black heart is branded, 
 That has dreamed of being free ; 
 Till the last black soul has landed 
 Into God's eternity ! " 
 
 "Right we'll fight," they all allow; 
 Piped the peacock, " No, not now." 
 
 See yon yellow sun "now sinking : 
 Sinking, shining through the rain? 
 See that trembling horse there drinking? 
 HUMAN BLOOD IS ON HIS MANE. 
 
1 6 The Peacock. 
 
 'Tis a horse brought back from battle 
 And from carnage overdone; 
 Of " that black, dumb drove of cattle." 
 Not a slave survived not one, 
 
 E'en the women and the children 
 Left were dead to all the world, 
 Every frame with fear was rilled and 
 Each sad heart's high hopes were hurled 
 
 DOWN INTO THIS SIN-CURSED 
 
 SLOUGH , 
 RESCUE, PEACOCK? "NO, NOT 
 
 NOW." 
 
 But the time now came to bury 
 All these innocents abroad, 
 And a man who very, very 
 Much his bloody hands abhorred; 
 
 With those same hands helped to fashion, 
 For the fragments scattered by 
 Of his mad, misguided passion, 
 Good, green graves in which to lie. 
 
The Peacock. 17 
 
 In six hundred sheets snow-white, he 
 Wrapped their bodies bruised and black; 
 Though he tried his wrong to right, he 
 Could not call their Spirits back. 
 
 SEE HIM BY EACH BODY BOW. 
 PARDON, PEACOCK? "NO, NOT 
 NOW." 
 
 " If not pardoned, why not punished? " 
 Then asks Justice from above : 
 Why? Because the thing that's done was 
 Done for love for love for LOVE : - 
 
 For the love of her now lying 
 'Neath the weeping willow, green; 
 For the love of her who, dying, 
 Smiled and said : " Just let me lean, 
 
 "Just let me lean (I'm cold, and shaking) 
 For a moment on his breast; 
 Just let me lean (my head is aching) 
 Let me lean on HIM and rest. 
 
 " Tell him truly why and how.*' 
 Piped the peacock, " No, not now/ 
 
i8 The Peacock. 
 
 And the peacock pleased the people, 
 Who with vain, vindictive vim 
 Slew both innocent and guilty, 
 With an understanding dim. 
 
 Yes, he thought the vengeance wreaker 
 That he slew the slayers of 
 Of the beautiful Miss Blcckcr 
 Of his lost his only love. 
 
 Peacock prophet WHOSE hand killed 
 
 her? 
 
 Speak ! them on the future fed ; 
 Did that brigand, base, bewilder 
 Those poor slaves? the one that's dead? 
 
 FROM A COTTONWOOD'S BIG 
 
 BOUGH, 
 , PIPED, THE PEACOCK, " YES, BUT 
 
 NOW " 
 
 Well, his body, mutilated 
 By the heavy hoofs of horse, 
 Dogs devoured and desecrated; 
 Such the fate of such a corse. 
 
The Peacock. 19 
 
 But the slaves, sad martyrs to him 
 Who'd maliciously them free; 
 By Miss Bleeker and her kindred, 
 With a sad solemnity, 
 
 Had a resting-place assigned them 
 By our hero; and he knew 
 That the days he'd stay behind them, 
 Were to be extremely few. 
 
 Therefore thought he to endow 
 Piped the Peacock, " No, not now." 
 
 Yet the monument that's o'er him 
 And o'er her and over all, 
 Tells of how his neighbors bore him 
 (And a PEACOCK, too) that fall, 
 
 To a willow ever weeping, 
 And interred them by the side 
 Of the dust of her now sleeping, 
 Made in symbol here his bride. 
 
 And the only ceremony 
 
 Was to read his generous WILL; 
 
 To for all mistakes atone he 
 
 Left his fortune all to fill 
 
2o The Peacock. 
 
 All the mouths of every widow, 
 Every orphan of the slaves; 
 Thus he now became a bidder 
 For God's mercy that which saves. 
 
 Here lies father, lover, daughter, 
 Sons and slaves beneath one mound ; 
 (And the PEACOCK) water, water 
 For this bloody, thirsty ground. 
 
 While the water's dropping, dropping, 
 Look at this inscription which 
 Sculptors, skillful, chopping, chopping, 
 Wrote upon the marble rich : 
 
 ' This is beautiful Miss Bleeker, 
 Where you stand, 
 And the unsuccessful seeker 
 Of her hand. 
 
 All the others lying round them 
 
 Kindred slaves ; 
 'Tis through LOVE not hate you've found 
 
 them 
 In their graves. 
 
The Peacock. 21 
 
 All misunderstood each other 
 Here below ; 
 
 But the mists have lifted further 
 NOW they KNOW." 
 
 More than this I cannot tell nor prophesy ; 
 But the Peacock he may tell us by-and-by. 
 
22 The Peacock. 
 
 A THOUSAND MILES AWAY. 
 
 Boys, I'll tell you since I saw you, 
 
 Things seem rather slightly changed; 
 I've right here the facts and figures 
 
 Let me get them all arranged. 
 Boys, I guess you'll recollect it, 
 
 How I smiled when I came East. 
 Told you fellows how I'd make it, 
 
 And you doubted not the least. 
 
 You'll remember I had money 
 
 When I left the Woolly West, 
 But the East was simply " milk and honey," 
 
 And say, I done my level best. 
 You see I'm back, boys, somewhat rusted 
 
 I said I'd strike it rich, or bust, 
 I'm not ashamed to say I'm busted ; 
 
 But I'll explain it, boys I must. 
 
 The first thing when a fellow gets there, 
 He must pay his money down; 
 
A Thousand Miles Away. 23 
 
 For before those folks will trust you, 
 They'll calmly kick you out of town. 
 
 Next you've got to take the sights in, 
 Then you'll hit the " green goods " ball ; 
 
 Money's half gone when that's over 
 You're glad if any's left at all. 
 
 Well, boys, the story's not much longer, 
 
 For money is the means to ends; 
 But I'll make the moral stronger, 
 
 Without money there's no friends. 
 Now, you'll find your board bill's due you 
 
 And you've not a cent to pay, 
 Then's the time it comes home to you 
 
 You're a thousand miles away. 
 
 Boys, I only wish to warn you 
 
 That unless you've got a " pull," 
 Don't go East, nor no direction, 
 
 Except you've got your pockets full, 
 For when troubled you'll be thinking 
 
 Of the home folks every day, 
 And you're apt to do some sighing 
 
 If you're a thousand miles away. 
 
24 The Peacock. 
 
 No, boys, I'll tell you without funning, 
 
 When you've got a good, nice home, 
 There's not a grain of sense in running 
 
 'Round a land where millions roam. 
 And the man who does he'll sure discover 
 
 It's just as trying as I say, 
 The world just goes from " had to worser ' 
 
 When one's a thousand miles awa] 
 
 Yes, hoys, I'm glad I'm back to TexaC 
 
 And I'll never leave again; 
 I won't even go to Klondike 
 
 To leave at all would be a pain. 
 Guess I'll settle down and farm it 
 
 From December clear to May, 
 And I'll never more be busted 
 
 When a thousand miles away. 
 
Loungin' On De Lawn. 
 
 LOUNGIN' ON DE LAWN. 
 
 Dis po' free nigger once wuz er slavin' 
 
 Ol' Mossur fed me fine an' fat; 
 
 But now it's de white man er cussin' an er 
 
 ravin', 
 'Cause I won't do dis, an' I won't do dat. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 I'ze sca'ce er hog an' hominy, 
 
 But Fze er livin' easy, cause I'ze free; 
 
 No more er pickin' cotton, an' er haulin' er 
 
 corn, 
 While de white man's er loungin' on de lawn. 
 
 I now can go and git free schoolin' ; 
 Ol' Missus says she schooled me mo' : 
 But de black man teaches de art er mulin' ; 
 'Gin de white man's tricks I kicks for sho'. 
 
 Fze got my 'ligin, goes tur preechin' 
 Oh, ev'y day seems like Sunday now; 
 
26 The Peacock. 
 
 Arter me no white man's er howlin' an' er 
 
 screechin', 
 Like dogs arter pap's ol' big blue sow. 
 
 I luv'd dem greasy slave time eatin's ; 
 My clo'es is ragged, an' my shoes; 
 But den dis back don't git no beatin's; 
 An' de white man's er dyin' wid de blues. 
 
What She ought not have Told Me. 27 
 
 WHAT SHE OUGHT NOT HAVE TOLD 
 ME. 
 
 ON an old flint hill's a graveyard 
 
 And a schoolhouse and a church ; 
 
 There a school-girl I loved so hard, 
 
 Now has left me in the lurch; 
 
 Though she loved me too, or thought it; 
 
 Oh ! this change so quick, what wrought it ? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yes, Miss Janie, I have missed, 
 
 The parting gave my heart a twist; 
 
 But I'll evermore insist 
 
 That she ought not have told me she loved me. 
 
 Ah ! she always met me, smiling, 
 At the schoolhouse mornings bright; 
 And was not ashamed of whiling, 
 In the other scholars' sight, 
 All the noontime with her lover, 
 In the groves of Mr. Glover. 
 
28 The Peacock. 
 
 " I accept it yes, I love you," 
 Are the very words she said; 
 If she met me on the highway 
 Now, she'd never turn her head : 
 Used to write me letters weekly; 
 Not so since, though asked most meekly. 
 
 But she then was very young 
 
 Much too young to keep exact 
 
 The bit and bridle on her tongue, 
 
 So I'll tell you what's a fact; 
 
 I don't care now for her letter; 
 
 Those I get are so much better. 
 
Man. 29 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Man is an animal, 
 
 And such an one as he has grown to be 
 Bewilders sight whene'er we try to see 
 
 Within a subtle veil a darkest pall. 
 
 Man is a combination 
 Of avaricious instincts. And 'tis true 
 That, if he could, when one of his wife's bill 
 fell due, 
 
 He'd flee the nation. 
 
 Man's on a rampage; 
 He loves so well to hear his own base self 
 
 orate, 
 That if he thinks of nothing sensible, he'll 
 
 prate 
 Fool's language. 
 
 Man is a moral miracle, 
 In that, with all his meanness, woman still 
 
3o The Peacock. 
 
 Allows herself to be enticed by his strong 
 
 will- 
 Pays heed to sentiment's oracle. 
 
 Man's a machine 
 
 Whose revolutions quicken which is whirled 
 By that omnipresent power which rules the 
 world 
 
 Woman so serene. 
 
 Man still is sane, 
 
 Though he has lost, since he was old, 
 In love with woman and greed for gold, 
 
 Much of his brain. 
 
 But man is an animal, 
 Whose family will not become extinct ; 
 So long as love lives on and life with love is 
 linked, 
 
 He'll fall nor fail. 
 
Woman, 31 
 
 WOMAN. 
 
 NATURE'S beauties near and far, 
 Who can tell me what they are ? 
 
 My mind 
 
 Is lost in wonder. And a thought 
 Of all these blessings on earth wrought 
 Makes me say, as well I ought, 
 
 How kind. 
 
 But the birds and trees and flowers 
 In their heavenly constructed bowers 
 
 Are not all ; 
 
 There is woman in her sphere, 
 To whom nothing can compare, 
 Fairest of all else that's fair 
 
 On this ball. 
 
 No verduous valley or hilarious hill 
 
 Can enchant my vision or so sweetly thrill 
 
 My soul. 
 
 She with her virtues and her sins 
 Breaks not her heart for the " might have 
 beens;" 
 
32 The Peacock. 
 
 She sets the pace which always wins 
 The goal. 
 
 It has been said once yes, a million times, 
 Why say again? Well, why church chimes? 
 
 I now repeat: 
 
 Woman is far ahead of man, 
 She'll glean most gold from every pan, 
 And man was not made and never can 
 Be as sweet. 
 
 She's an emblem true of highest heaven 
 And if from our lives she is ever riven, 
 
 We're sad; 
 
 Without woman all men were bad, 
 Deny us her and our souls are sad, 
 But with her every heart is glad- 
 So glad. 
 
Of a Fort and a Mill, if you Will. 33 
 
 OF A FORT AND A MILL, IF YOU WILL. 
 
 BY A SON OF THE SOUTH. 
 
 WHO composed these strange new stanzas ? 
 Read the last one; well it answers. 
 Read the whole historic poem, 
 Read the author, read, to know him. 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 with inexpressible gratitude to my most con- 
 scientious teacher and unfailing friend, Prof. 
 John A. Boyd, to whom will always belong a 
 share of any credit or honor which anything I 
 do may ever command. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 CREEPS Catawba River calmly 
 Crossing Carolina's land ; 
 I invite you now most warmly 
 On Catawba's banks to stand; 
 
34 The Peacock. 
 
 To with me view where Indian nations 
 Worked and wandered at their will; 
 Where now " grow the gay plantations " 
 Which make famous far Fort Mill. 
 
 Come! in Fort Mill, Carolina, 
 'Tis not long between the drinks; 
 For she drinks now don't malign her 
 What will help, not hurt, she thinks. 
 
 A ''dispensary's " established 
 In the center of the town ; 
 Its front door is on the surface, 
 And to go in means go down. 
 
 In the summer comes forth coolness, 
 In the winter issues heat ; 
 Find there fun, but never fool'ness, 
 'Cause there comes from forty feet 
 
 'Neath the neat and clean-swept pavement 
 Water only! Mother earth 
 Free dispenses, no depravement 
 Can invade her home and hearth. 
 
 If sin should make monstrous visit, 
 T would be buried at its birth ! 
 
Of a Fort and a Mill, if you Will. 35 
 
 Speaking of this water, is it 
 
 Not worth more than whiskey's worth? 
 ****** 
 
 Carolina called her children 
 
 Up one day in* '76; 
 
 Told them that their home and birthright, 
 
 Monsters menaced : bade them fix 
 
 'Round her castles, firm and frowning, 
 Forts from which to fiercely fight. 
 " There will be a glorious crowning, 
 If the day is won, at night," 
 
 Said young Marion's Morion mother, 
 And he said, with hundreds more : 
 "If you crown us, Carolina, 
 We will crown you too, before! " 
 
 So the swamp-fox, swift as sunshine, 
 Swept by British dogs of war; 
 Laughed while listening to their barking, 
 Slyly scratched them with his paw, 
 
 Bringing blood which brought on battle 
 Oft with Carolina then; 
 Listen ! how the brushwood rattle ! 
 Marion! and his marching men! 
 
36 The Peacock. 
 
 Down toward Cowpens, from her hill-tops, 
 Carolina sees the stir ; 
 Marion's marches, Britons short-stops, 
 Knows her children care for her 
 
 And her dozen sisters, giving 
 All their sons for liberty; 
 " Life is not to us worth living, 
 Unless we can live it free," 
 
 Said she, and through revolution 
 Rose up forts upon her hills; 
 Forth they fired for constitution, 
 While to feed them moved the mills. 
 
 " White's old mill " much meal was grinding 
 For our fort's defenders' bread ; 
 Bushels boosted bullets ; blinding 
 Blazes burst 'gainst coats of red! 
 
 Scarlet oft blood-red was turning! 
 (Though some guns were logs of pine, 
 Painted, their designer's earning 
 Fame yat 1899.) 
 
 Mill and fort co-operation 
 Farmers forcing sacks of corn 
 
Of a Fort and a Mill, if you Will. 37 
 
 To the mill for granulation,, 
 Whence the fort was fed each morn, 
 
 Gained such victory and glory 
 That the folks for miles made will 
 They'd one city make; did so they, 
 And they christened it " Fort Mill" 
 
 By that fort that flamed with fury, 
 By that old revolving mill; 
 Didn't they name*, it right ? Grand jury 
 Never found a truer bill ! 
 
 We've the name and we're the people, 
 By our fathers who are dead ! 
 And though some have chased the steeple, 
 As you may perhaps have read, 
 
 There are few of such who've wanted 
 In some rare redeeming trait : 
 Men like Marion e'er undaunted, 
 Swift yet cry, " God save the State ! '" 
 
 Deeds are done to-day diviner, 
 By the faithful of Fort Mill, 
 
38 The Peacock. 
 
 Than were done by Carolina 
 Years ago, when she said NIL 
 
 To the Northmen, and Secession 
 And the Act to Nullify, 
 Law made, heading the procession, 
 That resolved to do or die. 
 
 They're the cream of Carolina 
 The good people of Fort Mill 
 And though some of them are finer 
 Than the others, most have still 
 
 Blood just like the " Grand old Rebel " 
 Had who fought a million foes : 
 And they'll pay back double treble 
 To the tramplers on their tq.es. 
 
 Yet their bravery when defending 
 All that's great, that is, that's good, 
 In the way of love unending 
 Has not in one instance stood. 
 
 Long and lovingly we linger 
 'Round this region, so renowned; 
 For mementoes many a finger 
 Picks up pebbles from the ground. 
 
Of a Fort and a Mill, if you Will. 39 
 
 See those bullets bruised and beaten, 
 
 Huddled in that tiny hand ? 
 
 Through men's hearts they plowed; they 
 
 sweeten 
 Every furrow of the land. 
 
 Glorious land our soldiers camped on, 
 Who were kind enough to kill, 
 Under men like Marion, Hampton, 
 Fiercest foes of fair Fort Mill. 
 
 \ 
 Ah, the cream of Carolina 
 
 Are the folks of fair Fort Mill- 
 Naught can break the kindred tie nor 
 Waste my wishes that no ill 
 
 Evermore shall touch the cradle 
 Of my childhood's holy hopes; 
 Touch the love-land where I stayed till 
 Swept from off its sunlit slopes 
 
 By my destiny's Designer! 
 Uncontaminated still 
 Keep the cream of Carolina 
 Fortitudinous Fort Mill. 
 
4-O The Peacock. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Though I'm nevermore among you, 
 I have well, sincerely sung you. 
 Now I reach the northern pole of 
 Of my poem and the whole of 
 FORT MILL HOLDS THE HEART AND SOUL OF 
 JAMES HAMPTON LEE. 
 
To the Uneclipsable Sun. 41 
 
 TO THE UNECLIPSABLE SUN. 
 
 i. 
 
 Now the moon casts a shadow and makes red 
 
 the sun, 
 
 Producing a darksome eclipse; 
 Now a man throws a kiss at his chief chosen 
 
 one, 
 And it lands on her lovely lips. 
 
 ii 
 
 To a round, red sea those rare ruby lips, 
 Through love's glass, through love's kiss, 
 are changed ; 
 
 And upon that sea, sail pure white ships 
 
 (That's her teeth), like a crescent arranged. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now that blood-red sea and those snow-white 
 
 ships, 
 
 They're aglow with a sun's bright beams ; 
 'Tis the sun of man's love it can know no 
 
 eclipse, 
 For it shines in a poor man's dreams. 
 
43 The Peacock. 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE MAN WITH 
 ENOUGH OF MONEY. 
 
 POLICEMAN BAGLEY saw a man leaning against a building 
 on James Street at noon yesterday. He approached and 
 gave the apparent sleeping man a push, when he fell to the 
 pavement dead. A hurry call for the ambulance was sent in. 
 The surgeon, upon his arrival, pronounced the man deadfroro, 
 natural causes. In his pocket was found an identification 
 card, conveying the information that his name was James H. 
 Lee, and that he had no home. H,e also had a newspaper 
 clipping, showing he had recently advertised for work as a 
 clerk. The only cash in evidence was one five-cent piece. 
 New York Herald, June 26th, igoo. 
 
 *> If he had not enough of money to defray expenses of 
 shipping body here, bury there." Extract from letter received 
 from wealthy brother of deceased, living in Florida. This is 
 what inspired (rather provoked) the following poem. 
 
 JUST a few words, justice giving 
 To a strange young soul just fled; 
 
 'Tis what James H. Lee, the living, 
 Says for James H. Lee, the dead. 
 
 " If he had not enough of money," you wrote, 
 " Be sure to bury him there." 
 
The Man with Enough of Money. 43 
 
 But hold for a moment, I just want to note, 
 That I wouldn't consider it fair 
 
 To bury a man among strangers so quick, 
 
 Ten hundred of miles away. 
 This is my private platform, and to it I'll stick, 
 
 Till the poet's election day. 
 
 Yes, he died as the papers said, Sir, 
 And he left well, he left his will; 
 
 And when it was opened and read, Sir, ' 
 It mentioned a spot sweet and still 
 
 On the banks of a Southern river, 
 As the place he would love to rest; 
 
 On the banks of a Southern river, 
 For he loved the South the best. 
 
 Oh, he loved it, we fear, Sir, better 
 Than ever the South loved him. 
 
 As we read through your strange, sad letter, 
 Our eyes grew wet and dim. 
 
 We have thought it, Sir, terrible pity 
 That his dust should be doomed to lie 
 
 In the Potter's field foul of a city; 
 It was hard enough, Sir, to die 
 
44 The Peacock. 
 
 Far away without father or mother 
 
 Or sister, to comfort or cheer; 
 Without the handclasp of a brother; 
 
 Oh, we cannot, Sir, bury him here. 
 
 We cannot because we are, human; 
 
 We will honor his last request. 
 We cannot because, Sir, a zvoman 
 
 Once held him against her breast. 
 
 Sir, we went to the old morgue-keeper, 
 And we begged for his ice-cold dust; 
 
 When over the soulless sleeper 
 We performed our tender trust. 
 
 Full of sweet Southern flowers we shall fill his 
 Grave when time and when tide will allow; 
 
 Until then wreaths of laurel and lilies 
 Crown his casket above his brow. 
 
 While over his young heart, broken 
 
 By strife and by storm so dire, 
 Red garlands of roses betoken 
 
 That his path lay through the fire. 
 
 All in silk, Sir, we've shrouded the martyr 
 
 indeed, 
 To a city's black crime UNCONCERN ! 
 
The Man with Enough of Money. 45 
 
 Too proud he to beg from or barter with greed, 
 He asked but the chance, Sir, to earn 
 
 Just the chance so unjustly denied him alway 
 (Takes an anchor to hold the ship fast). 
 
 Sir, he died like a hero; deride him you may, 
 But he's found him a home at last. 
 
 He has found him a home where all of his bills 
 Will be paid by the Bank of Love; 
 
 But his dust, it shall sleep by the beautiful hills 
 Of the South till its borne above. 
 
 We shall carry him back, with or without 
 
 thanks, 
 
 And according, dear Sir, to his will, 
 We shall lay him to rest by the river's green 
 
 banks, 
 Where the song birds may sing to him till 
 
 Well, until all the money of men's but a puff 
 
 Of smoke in the blue-burnt air, 
 And then, Sir, we guess HE'LL HAVE 
 MONEY ENOUGH 
 
 For he goes to his God from there! 
 
46 The Peacock. 
 
 WHEN I SAW HER LYING THERE. 
 
 WHEN I saw her lying there, 
 
 Hidden in her silken hair, 
 
 Shrouded sweet in snowy white, 
 
 By this Sabbath's morning- light, 
 
 Saw her by an accident, 
 
 Through a door by which I went 
 
 On her soft, sequestered couch; 
 
 I must confess ( Tis truth, I vouch) 
 
 I paused, I looked, I smiled, I thought: 
 
 ( 'Tis doubtful, whether, though, I ought) 
 
 Here lies a jewel rare and fair, 
 Which some man soon will wish to wear; 
 Which some man soon will work to own; 
 A human gem not one of stone. 
 
 Yes, there she lay and slept and dreamed; 
 An angel in my sight she seemed. 
 But still the fair-haired darling slept; 
 As yet she'd been from trouble kept. 
 But as earth's purest gems must be 
 
When I Saw Her Lying There. 47 
 
 All cut and crystalized, so she 
 Must some time pass from peace to pain, 
 Must leave life's sunshine for life's rain; 
 Must pass from playfulness to strife 
 And toil and care yes such is life. 
 
 Yet, Fairy, from life's misty mine 
 You'll be brought forth to brightly shine; 
 When you've emerged, you will adorn 
 Some higher sphere than on this morn. 
 If you'll engage to meet me then, 
 I vow by my lead-pencil pen, 
 That I will the appointment keep ; 
 Please be awake, though not asleep. 
 
48 The Peacock. 
 
 THE HERO OF TWO FLAGS. 
 
 LINES ON THE LEE MONUMENT, LEE PARK, 
 RICHMOND, VIRGINIA. 
 
 THE name of Lee would none but he, 
 
 And his pure lineage unmixed, 
 Had borne it ; for it then would be 
 
 Far 'bove all soil forever fixed. 
 
 Still, come what will, from now until 
 Time's old and hath itself forgot, 
 
 Can man's whole soul fail to fill and thrill 
 With love to hear his name ? May not 
 
 Then one like me, honored so much 
 To bear that name, while not of kin, 
 
 Express the great Virginian such 
 As all the world knows he has been ? 
 
 Virginia in virginity 
 
 To name of Lee plighted her troth; 
 Virginia's fair first family 
 
 Our Robert Edward Lee brought forth. 
 
The Hero of Two Flags. 49 
 
 A warrior for his country's good 
 He thought to be, and well did train, 
 
 And Lee failed not in all he could 
 
 To save the stars and stripes from stain. 
 
 His genius mounts of Mexico, 
 
 And Montezuma's Halls well knew; 
 
 Where'er his country called to go, 
 Lee went ; and to his trust was true. 
 
 But when 'twas torn asunder wide, 
 The soldier, who on arms had slept, 
 
 Awoke to cast the flag aside 
 
 For which he'd fought awoke and wept. 
 
 'Gainst his own blood and home his hand, 
 He could not lift God's voice in Mars, 
 
 He heard and crossed, at his command, 
 From " stripes and stars " to " stripes and 
 bars." 
 
 Beneath the one he bravely fought 
 
 That wealth and peace with us might dwell; 
 To better blessings still he sought 
 
 To aid the South, which, falling, fell. 
 4 
 
50 The Peacock. 
 
 Around our firesides, noble Lee, 
 Our children hear how fated laws 
 
 Decreed that slaves should he set free, 
 
 Who're worse than slaves since " Our Lost 
 Cause " ! 
 
 The field was lost all was not lost ! 
 
 Was might 'gainst right ? But here have we 
 Reared up a monument of cost, 
 
 To testify our love to thee. 
 
 Sit, face to south, on "Traveler" now, 
 
 Majestic form in uniform; 
 \Yell may the south winds smooth thy brow 
 
 It once pressed north through leaden storm. 
 
 Grant's northern troops around him cried : 
 " Lee is immortal! can't you see?" 
 
 While southern soldiers round thee died ; 
 And, dying, lisped, " Immortal Lee. ! " 
 
 No statue then, of stone and steel, 
 
 Need we for Lee ; for memory 
 Of deeds of zeal for country's weal 
 
 Survives through all eternity. 
 
The Critic. 51 
 
 THE CRITIC. 
 
 OH, Critic, why not expand your mind, 
 So that between man and events you'll find 
 More just comparison tell more that's true 
 Give honor to him to whom honor is due ? 
 Why permit the environments of fickle youth 
 To outrage all equity, pervert the truth? 
 It's not always the head that's laurel-crowned 
 That is greatest or wisest in the world to be 
 found. 
 
 Don't say Webster, Lincoln or Cicero 
 Had never an equal, unless you know ; 
 For if the truth were but known and to the 
 
 world given, 
 
 As it surely will be at the entrance to heaven, 
 We'd find there \vere those who in the race 
 
 could have run, 
 And have out-Gesared Csesar been great as 
 
 Gladstone. 
 Nor is it always the heart with a halo around 
 
52 The Peacock. 
 
 That's most worthy of homage and praise most 
 profound. 
 
 Don't argue that Grant was greater than Lee, 
 Better tell us the earth surpasses the sea ; 
 For never a conqueror left battlefield 
 But had coped with one who could mightily 
 
 wield. 
 
 Let us never forget when we vict'ry commend 
 That the private was there from beginning to 
 
 end ; 
 
 And it's not alone the General in uniform 
 \Yho wins the battle and braves the storm. 
 
 You dare not assert that when Napoleon fell 
 Wellington whipped him " he was trapped " 
 
 then well ; 
 
 There never was won a conflict for right, 
 But the noblest of all expired in the fight. 
 Oh, Critic, come forth. Rise up in your power 
 Above prejudice, wrong. Criticise each hour; 
 But of victor or vanquished speaking well or 
 
 ill- 
 Let truth be untrammeled oh ! truth give us 
 
 still. 
 
The Man who Never was Born. 53 
 
 THE MAN WHO NEVER WAS BORN. 
 
 WELL, Sir, here's to the man who never was 
 
 born ; 
 Ah, you say that sounds strange, Sir, and 
 
 funny ; 
 
 Til explain ; he's unhappy, yet never forlorn, 
 He's the man w r ith enough of money. 
 
 Though 'tis true that the man who never was 
 
 born, 
 
 Once addressed a poor poet as " pappy," 
 He's unborn just the same, Sir; acknowledge 
 
 the corn : 
 He's the man who is perfectly happy. 
 
 When you see, Sir, this man who never was 
 
 born, 
 
 He's not monstrous; he's every whit human: 
 He's the man who e'er night time retires or at 
 
 morn 
 E'er awakes without thinking of woman. 
 
54 The Peacock. 
 
 TETE-A-TETE. 
 
 THERE'S just one whom I know in the city, 
 Only one, whom I'll surely allow 
 
 Is bright in her home-life, and duty 
 Casts no shadow across her brow. 
 
 Every dawn brings a merry " good morning," 
 Each dusk hears sincerely " good night ;" 
 
 And in the garden this flower is adorning 
 There's hardly an action but's right. 
 
 Each task, with its trials and troubles, 
 
 Is a pleasure instead of a pain; 
 For so often her voice, as music, 
 
 Is heard through both sunshine and rain 
 
 And this is written so you can tell her, 
 
 Ere it's late or else is forgot, 
 That she's heir to a whole half acre 
 
 Of my estate in memory's plot. 
 
Grant's Tornb. 55 
 
 GRANT'S TOMB. 
 
 WHAT man is there in all the world 
 
 Who can approach to Grant's great tomb, 
 
 And, beholding our Hag of might unfurled, 
 Not love e'en die for his land his home? 
 
 Is there one so base who could not say, 
 As he stood by Grant's remains, 
 
 That his soul was moved from that very day 
 Toward nobler and grander planes? 
 
 None can there be who within this shrine 
 Could think of the Union so strong and true 
 
 And not sing in his heart, as I write from mine 
 Of the " Star- Spangled Banner," bright red 
 white and blue. 
 
 Oh, that marvelous pile speaks with wondrous 
 tone 
 
 Of the love in our every breast 
 For the man who led his millions on, 
 
 And won for us peace and rest. 
 
56 The Peacock. 
 
 He conquered once and his deeds still give, 
 To preserve the great Union by, 
 
 The truth, " 'Tis not all of life to live, 
 Nor all of death to die." 
 
 Speak on, them everlasting stones, 
 And Grant's fame always increase; 
 
 Signal his words to all earth's zones 
 " Let us have peace " eternal peace. 
 
Grab dat Cotton wid dem dar Paws. 57 
 
 GRAB DAT COTTON WID DEM DAR 
 PAWS. 
 
 GRAB dat cotton wid dem dar paws, 
 Daddy gwine er git er little Santy Clauz. 
 I know Jack Frost dem fingers bite, 
 But Santy is er comin er round ternight. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Possum and taters, butter an' brandy, 
 Egg-nog cake an' Murlassiz candy; 
 Drinkin's and dancin's, banjur pickin's, 
 An' er eatin' er Mistur Jones' chickins, 
 O Lor' fur dis cause, 
 Grab dat cottpn wid dem dar paws. 
 
 Dat dar crack cotton you fetched frum fur; 
 Out er rows dats long an' short cornder ; 
 You's walk forty mile lost lots er time 
 Fur dar crack cotton, an' it's wuf one dime. 
 
 Wid dat one dime go play crack loo 
 Win muney fur me, win muney fur you ; 
 
5& The Peacock. 
 
 We'll sin again shins heads crack fur a fac' 
 Till we's spilt out ol' Santy's track. 
 
 Grab clat cotton wid dem dar paws, 
 Daddy gwin er git er little Santy Clauz ; 
 Chris'mas don't come but once er year, 
 So may you, po' niggur, hav' you' share. 
 
A Song of the Sea. 59 
 
 A SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 DIURNALLY coming and going, 
 Eternally ebbing and flowing. 
 Endlessly leaping and falling, 
 Recklessly rocking appalling ; 
 Restlessly swaying and swelling: 
 Its unpronounceable spelling, 
 Its infinite rolling and reeling 
 Gives an inexpressdble feeling. 
 
 Swaying sublimely and curling, 
 Swinging serenely and swirling, 
 Sweeping and swishing and slashing, 
 Roaring and pouring 'and dashing, 
 Solemnly sighing and surging 
 Ever beseeching or urging, 
 Such seems the deep, dark ocean, 
 The wonderful, weird, white ocean; 
 Such seems the bright, blue ocean 
 So sounds the still, stern ocean, 
 Such seems the strange, strong ocean,- 
 Such IS the wide, wild ocean, 
 According to my notion. 
 
60 The Peacock. 
 
 LINES TO A WOMAN. 
 
 THERE are women who will, there are women 
 
 who won't 
 Quite imagine they think they could love 
 
 you; 
 There are women who do, there are women who 
 
 don't 
 Believe they were born far above you. 
 
 There are women whose No might be trans- 
 lated yes ; 
 
 There's a WOMAN oh listen about her 
 Who is everything good, and yet naughty, I 
 
 guess, 
 Because, though divine, she's a doubter. 
 
 This doubter this writer once claimed for his 
 
 friend ; 
 
 He no longer as such she regards; 
 Our friendship, though faithful, has come to 
 
 an end, 
 Without enmity, yet we're at odds. 
 
Lines to a Woman. 
 
 61 
 
 Yes, this friendship, full dear, it just had to 
 
 end, 
 
 Though as pure as the blue above her ; 
 For what mortal man could long be HER 
 
 FRIEND 
 Without being also her LOVER ? 
 
62 The Peacock. 
 
 LINES TO A COOK. 
 
 I hope the hands that cooked this cake 
 May handle roses year by year; 
 I trust no thorn shall on them make 
 A scar, and that time bring no tear 
 
 To dim the eyes which saw its sweet, 
 Soft surface eyes too far away 
 Too far away my own to meet 
 Until some more auspicious day. 
 
 I hope no harm will cause her heart 
 
 My mother's heart to ever ache; 
 
 I hope that "Home, Sweet Home"- its art, 
 
 Its love, its loved ones for her sake 
 
 Will grow more beautiful and grand. 
 Meantime my thoughts shall daily take 
 Me back; in mind I'll clasp the hand 
 That made me what I cat this cake. 
 
To the Soul of a Song. 63 
 
 TO THE SOUL OF A SONG. 
 
 Oh ! that I might join the Choir Invisible 
 Of those immortal dead who live again 
 In minds made better by their presence. 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT= 
 
 ARTIFICIAL instrument 
 Genius never yet hath lent 
 Such sweet sounds as thrill and throng 
 Through our hearts at human song. 
 Organs of them all the choice, 
 Vie in vain with human voice; 
 Vainly vie with, woman's sure, 
 Rich and resonant and pure. 
 
 One there is in our church choir 
 Who can cause a flame of fire 
 To enkindle every heart. 
 ("In sweet music is such art.") 
 Hear her Sabbath morn and eve ! 
 You'll be better, and believe. 
 Listening to a lingering note 
 
64 The Peacock. 
 
 From her white and dainty throat, 
 
 Like a benediction seems 
 
 From the Land of Love and Dreams. 
 
 Happier and better by her, 
 
 We can say her hymns inspire. 
 
 Solos sedative and sweet 
 
 Make our hearts with Heaven beat. 
 
 Some sweet day around the Throne 
 
 May our voices with her own, 
 
 In the praise of God unite 
 
 Sing- of love and life and light! 
 
The Death of the Centuries. 65 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE CENTURIES. 
 
 EACH passing century 
 
 Men grow more wise and free. 
 
 The centuries which have flown, 
 
 Each mounted higher throne; 
 
 And, dying, each gave birth 
 
 To blessings more of worth. 
 
 Progressing thus shall come 
 
 The world's millennium : , 
 
 In nations all God's will well done, 
 
 And every man a Washington. 
 
00 The Peacock. 
 
 THE HEART SONG. 
 
 DID you hear that cymbal sounding 
 
 Beneath your window to-day 
 If so, with its living music. 
 
 What seemed it to you to say? 
 
 Was there not a thrill delightful 
 
 When that song the sweet maiden's art- 
 Up through your window was wafted 
 
 Right into your very heart? 
 
 Did you ever ask the question 
 To yourself as you passed along; 
 
 " For what is this maiden singing, 
 
 Whence comes this marvelous song?" 
 
 How oft, if she's singing for money, 
 She sings her song in vain? 
 
 But you left her empty-handed- 
 She only smile; 1 then sang again. 
 
 This is not the " Maid of Athens/' 
 
 But she's of just as fair a hue; 
 Her crimson cheeks this morning 
 
 Speak of skies of Italian blue. 
 
The Heart Song. 67 
 
 Yes, she came from that land of sunshine, 
 
 Crossed over the ocean blue ; 
 And the songs which she learned in Childhood, 
 
 She sings them to me and to you. 
 
 Just sings them because she is happy, 
 Her pure heart never grows sad ; 
 
 Sings from morn until evening 
 From a soul that is always glad. 
 
 And the man with the old hand-organ, 
 
 Who travels along by her side, 
 Plays ever without a murmur, 
 
 She's his little ancfel bride. 
 
 ,-v 
 
 Think kindly of them won't you? 
 
 They have started, as you and I, 
 On the journey of life to battle, 
 
 And it's battle thus or die ! 
 
 She's as pure as the dew of heaven, 
 
 You can know it by her song ; 
 And heart-songs are worth more than a 
 penny 
 
 When you see her help her along. 
 
68 The Peacock. 
 
 They proceed from corner to corner, 
 Or from house to house they go, 
 
 With organ and song and cymbal, 
 But returns are exceeding slow. 
 
 And at evening they go to their cottage 
 Way down on the river's brink; 
 
 But the pennies which they have gathered 
 Are few, and no doubt they think 
 
 That the world is very cruel 
 
 And it is useless to sing or to plead, 
 
 Or else it's so busy and selfish, 
 It cares not to heed their need. 
 
 No, it's he not she that thinks so, 
 
 For on each successive morn 
 She rises and sings and cheers us, 
 
 And helps the world adorn. 
 
The Black-birds. 69 
 
 THE BLACK-BIRDS. 
 
 IN the land where summers simmer 
 Land than any dream much dimmer 
 Once a mystical Miss Mimmer, 
 
 Met a man, 
 
 Plodding o'er a plowed-up prairie, 
 In the quest of black-birds, wary; 
 But (mysterious missionary) 
 
 Off she ran. 
 
 Crash: the gun slipped from his shoulder; 
 Fast he flew till by a boulder, 
 Soon he overtook and told her 
 
 Who he was : 
 
 When, with modest mien, Miss Mimmer, 
 Manifesting still more timor, 
 Sudden turned and showed to him a 
 
 Pair of stars. 
 
 Ah, those stars (her EYES) were glistening; 
 For his voice she stood there listening 
 Like a mother at the christening 
 
70 The Peacock. 
 
 Of her child. 
 
 Now, this hunter wolves had trailed him, 
 THINGS of all kinds had assailed him; 
 But his heart had never failed him 
 
 In the wild : 
 
 Yet he halted hesitated 
 Here ; this unsophisticated 
 Girl, to no man near related, 
 
 (\Yhence this smoke?) 
 Cast at him her withering glances. 
 First he thought, " I'll take no chances"; 
 Then, " the hunter never can't says"; 
 
 So he spoke. 
 
 " Miss I beg your pardon " (smiling) ; 
 " Maybe I'm in error, styling 
 You as ' Miss ' ; but I was whiling 
 
 Time away 
 
 At a task a neighbor set me 
 Killing black-bifds, when you met me. 
 I'll assist you, if you'll let me 
 
 If I may." 
 
 " Are you not that Daniel Boone, Sir, ' 
 Who can stay the silver moon, Sir? 
 Who has captured every coon, Sir, 
 
The Black-birds. 71 
 
 That exists? 
 
 If you are then you're no other 
 Than the man who slew my brother. 
 Oh, I'm going to my mother, 
 Sir, it mists." 
 
 '' Yes, it mists and it amazes 
 This poor dying bunch of daisies, 
 For this drouth behold what blazes 
 
 Look, what smoke ! 
 We're a mile from yonder stubble; 
 We will burn as bursts a bubble : 
 Maiden, move or there'll be trouble, 
 
 That's no joke." 
 
 Thus it came to pass Miss Mimmer 
 Either hence must fly with him or 
 Face that furious, fiery film o'er 
 
 All the ground. 
 
 Ere he knows it, fast she's going. 
 Back her beauteous black hair blowing, 
 Where the black-birds search the sowing, 
 
 Safe and sound. 
 
 But the flames, like youths in laughter, 
 Hotly hurl themselves close after; 
 Look one leaps between they'll have to 
 
72 The Peacock. 
 
 Separate. 
 
 On the fresh fed fire still rages, 
 O'er the cactus and the sages ; 
 So have burned through all the ages 
 
 Fires of FATE. 
 
 Through the fog and smoke he staggers, 
 Searching in his hands his daggers; 
 \Yhile her corpse no beast would drag her's 
 
 To his den. 
 
 Saving life, the far-off swimmer 
 Thinks of not what's thought of him or 
 Well, one like him sought Miss Mimmer, 
 
 Until ten 
 
 Until midnight sought Miss Glimmer, 
 In the moonlight's glow and glimmer; 
 Heaven, he hoped, had saved for him her 
 
 Hand and Heart. 
 Ah! at last he's bending o'er her; 
 Hear him helplessly implore her: 
 " Maiden, speak " ; but nevermore her 
 Lips will part. 
 
 Could he could he live without her? 
 Shreds of cloth he wrapped about her, 
 Then with feelings far devouter 
 
The Black-birds. 73 
 
 Than he'd known. 
 Took he up the Indian Maiden, 
 To a tomb by Nature made in 
 Certain caverns he had stayed in 
 
 Once alone. 
 
 With him went his faithful pointer, 
 Watching as he would anoint her; 
 Heir with Christ was she and joint-heir; 
 
 Comfort, that. 
 
 Twice he thought he heard her calling, 
 While his tears were gently falling 
 While his pointer in appalling 
 
 Silence sat. 
 
 Gently late next night he laid her 
 
 In the grave that God had made her ; 
 
 Do loved faces ever fade or 
 
 Can love end? 
 
 Could the hunter e'er forget her? 
 No ! for he had found a letter, 
 Wnich I, though to him I'm debtor, 
 
 Here append: 
 
 " Sir, of daisies you have spoken 
 In a way which would betoken 
 You are not that wild, unbroken 
 
74 The Peacock. 
 
 Boone I hate: 
 
 One who feels for e'en a flower, 
 Could not slay so much per hour 
 Sir I'm dying and the shower 
 
 Came too late!" 
 
 And the Hunter? still he's waiting 
 For his summons, oft debating 
 If 'tis best when tales relating, 
 
 Truth to tell. 
 
 Still his gun, that day forgotten, 
 Lies beneath some weeds, half rotten, 
 And the black-birds, never shot on 
 
 They are well. 
 
 Every night a thousand, flocking, 
 Move about the cavern, mocking; 
 For they know no gun is cocking 
 
 Within range. 
 
 And Miss Mimmer still is sleeping, 
 With the black-birds vigil keeping, 
 In the field where now's no reaping 
 
 Such the change! 
 
 But each morn the black-birds taking 
 Wing are symbols of her waking, 
 When she'll bless the hunter's aching 
 
The Black-birds. 
 
 Heart with bliss : 
 In th' Elysian fields he'll meet her; 
 Kindly with her kindred greet her, 
 While ten thousand birds sing sweeter 
 
 Songs than this. 
 
 75 
 
76 The Peacock. 
 
 BROOKLYN BRIDGE. 
 
 COMBINING usefulness with beauty, 
 The old bridge does her duty well, 
 
 Safely serving millions over, 
 She could many stories tell 
 
 Across her spans built so fantastic, 
 
 Within the wake of spire and dome, 
 The youthful trip with step elastic 
 The aged feel their way toward home. 
 
 Builded by skillful engineering, 
 
 She has foundations firm and sound ; 
 
 Nor time nor tide can with all wearing 
 Affect its fame the world around. 
 
 Uniting what were sister cities 
 Into a grander, " Greater " one, 
 
 Brooklyn Bridge, which no one pities, 
 Has a task that's never done. 
 
 Roar of wheels and tread of footstep 
 Never ceases night or day; 
 
Brooklyn Bridge. 77 
 
 " Onward, onward ever onward/' 
 Is what each one seems to say. 
 
 Millions from every clime and nation 
 Known to this terrestrial sphere, 
 
 Pass in sadness or in gladness 
 
 O'er Brooklyn's Bridge from year to year. 
 
 They may come and go forever 
 
 Till generations have passed by, 
 But Brooklyn Bridge, across East river, 
 
 Will conduct them o'er without a sigh. 
 
 Now let us all learn well a lesson 
 
 Which Brooklyn Bridge cannot but teach 
 
 A bridge's spans thus joined together 
 
 Go farther than our span of life can reach. 
 
 Just like the bridge, let's never waver 
 
 Nor rest till every duty's done, 
 Make our lives the means of helping over 
 
 The river of trouble each helpless one, 
 
 So stand upon this rock, rememb'ring 
 There's a promise we'll not fall ; 
 
 Toiling, hoping, loving, living 
 One for the other each for all. 
 
78 The Peacock. 
 
 To the Grand Army of the Republic, in Commemorative 
 Camp, at Philadelphia, Pa., September 4th to 9th. 1899, the 
 following lines, written on 
 
 THE AVENUE OF FAME, 
 
 Are sincerely Dedicated by the Author. 
 
 ARMY GRAND of the Republic 
 Welcome ! You we gladly greet ; 
 Philadelphia for the faithful 
 Feels her heart profoundly beat; 
 
 For your sons who've shown their valor, 
 Pitted late 'gainst Sons of Spain, 
 Taught they to your footsteps follow, 
 All our enemies are slain. 
 
 And thus you as the descendants 
 
 Of the Revolution sires, 
 
 Learned from they, as they from others, 
 
 How to feed fair freedom's fires. 
 
 Men must die, but through the ages 
 Their divinest deeds will live; 
 
The Avenue of Fame. 79 
 
 Such as yours to history's pages 
 Greater, grander glory give. 
 
 But ere death in peace communion; 
 Here in eighteen ninety-nine, 
 Veterans in a rare reunion 
 Drink, not blood, but ruby wine. 
 
 Here we've made you Courts of Honor 
 Built you Avenues of Fame ; 
 Hailed we so the Grand New Army 
 Ere the Old Grand Army came. 
 
 Reverence and love undying 
 Laurel wreaths and immortelles, 
 Symbolize to you who' re ringing 
 Round your camps now peaceful bells. 
 
 For a separate Southern nation 
 Fought the South ; you, Soldiers, sought 
 That your sister fair no other 
 Name should take, and victory wrought. 
 
 Peoples listen, now we christen 
 Us the " Re-United States " ; 
 Blue and Gray together go now 
 Up to Glory's golden gates ! 
 
8o The Peacock. 
 
 Few the years till fifty thousand 
 On such " Avenue of Fame " 
 Cannot gather ; no encampment 
 Evermore will he the same. 
 
 Comrade, arm in arm with comrade, 
 Pointing to the powerful past, 
 Well, ah well, here may you linger, 
 For this time may he the last. 
 
 Oft, too oft, on field of battle, 
 Have you broken camp before, 
 And returning from the burning, 
 Knew a comrade was no more ! 
 
 Freely Philadelphia gives you 
 All she can now of good cheer : 
 Army Grand of the Republic, 
 May you not decrease next year. 
 
 Take our hearts' best wishes with you 
 From this land of William Perm ; 
 God be with you, Grand good Army, 
 Till somewhere we meet again. 
 
Verses to Miss Blank. 81 
 
 VERSES TO MISS BLANK. 
 
 To Miss Blank, 
 Whom I would thank, 
 If she would rank 
 Me with her friends. 
 * * * * * 
 
 HAD a little of typewriting, 
 That upon a recent day 
 I wished done, and, so, inditing 
 It, I went to the " O. K." 
 
 Yes, quite hurriedly I wended 
 Through the crowd my thoughtless way; 
 But before my journey ended 
 Well, Fm thinking some to-day! 
 
 Thinking of the unexpected 
 That which comes to pass. Just so! 
 And I'm slightly now dejected, 
 'Cause there's something I don't know. 
 
 I don't know the name of some one 
 Of a gravely going girl ! 
 9 
 
82 The Peacock. 
 
 Has a sort of air to stun one 
 Set one's soul all in a whirl. 
 
 Saw her on the elevator 
 Strange ! she got off on my floor ! 
 I should like right well to state her 
 But I'll meet her nevermore ( ?) 
 
 If she knew, though, in this city, 
 I've no friend or relative, 
 Don't you think she'd just through pity 
 Some sweet entertainment give 
 
 To a man who'se just as lonely 
 As a lonely man can be? 
 He would not ask much, but only, 
 Wish that Sometimes slyly he 
 
 Might but be the slender sharer 
 Of the valued company 
 Of a girl who seems some fairer 
 Than some others seem to be. 
 
 'Course, she's no companion needing, 
 Not, at least, among my sex; 
 For a book I saw her reading, 
 And to interrupt might vex. 
 
Verses to Miss Blank. 83 
 
 Still if she could spare a little 
 (And she could if she but would) 
 Of her friendship just a little 
 I would try to be as good. 
 
 POSTSCRIPT. 
 
 Ah ! they say she doesn't do it 
 
 (Typewriting) ; 
 
 Yet, perhaps, if I should plead, 
 Since she this can't write (to rue it), 
 She will condescend to read. 
 
 Laugh, while o'er these pages leaning, 
 Laugh, and read between the lines. 
 There you might see more of meaning 
 Than the verse itself confines. 
 
 Know Miss Blank? 
 Bet my bank 
 Account she's frank 
 Toward her friends. 
 
84 The Peacock. 
 
 THE MODERN MAUD MULLER. 
 
 MAUD MULLER same sweet smiling lass 
 Just read just hear what's come to pass. 
 
 I've read on Maud ten volumes pat, 
 But what all fail to note is that 
 
 She hied her forth one winter's day, 
 To give her good pet horse some hay, 
 
 Same pure sweet hay herself had cut, 
 Same hay the Judge once smelled when but 
 
 I'd better tell you how Maud came 
 
 To own that horse " Black Judge," by name. 
 
 I learn from an authentic source, 
 
 The Judge retraced his lonely course 
 
 That day just as the sun went down, 
 With horse, heart, honor, hope, renown. 
 
 He saw her hay, sweet-smelling still; 
 He saw her house upon the hill ; 
 
The Modern Maud Muller. 85 
 
 He saw that is to say we think, 
 He saw his horse must have a drink. 
 
 Therefore he rode up to the well- 
 Miss Maud was there ; why ? Who can tell ? 
 
 Of course, the farmer's darling- daughter 
 Half drowned both horse and man with water. 
 
 The Judge, he drank so much so quick 
 He suddenly grew deathly sick. 
 
 He in Maud's father's house grew worse, 
 And Maud well Maud the Judge did nurse. 
 
 He saw her fair form flitting by; 
 He saw it with a Judge's eye. 
 
 He felt each day her tender touch, 
 He loved her ministrations much. 
 
 He loved her, too, you may believe; 
 At least he did not haste to leave. 
 
 And when he did he left a- foot ; 
 He'd in Maud's father's stable put 
 
 His best black horse ; it made a stir, 
 For it belonged, he swore, to her. 
 
86 
 
 The Peacock. 
 
 The neighbors did each other nudge; 
 They could not comprehend the Judge. 
 
 They talked and laughed they laughed and 
 
 talked 
 Of how the Judge had homeward walked. 
 
 The Judge had walked though oft before, 
 Though he had horses by the score. 
 
 None knew but Maud, though, in that part, 
 He'd swapped a horse for a human heart. 
 
I Hates to Call You. 87 
 
 I HATES TO CALL YOU, BUT I HAS 
 IT TO DO. 
 
 WAKE up dar, nigger ; day's er breakin' ; 
 De night's been short, but atwixt us two, 
 De grass is er growin' while de crops is er 
 
 makin' ; 
 Hates to call you, but I has it to do. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 I hates to call you, but I has it to do. 
 I hates to call you, but I has it to do. 
 I knows you's tired an' sleepy, too 
 I hates to call you but I has it to do. 
 
 Git up, Melindy, an' fry dat bacon 
 Afore I gits me er 'vorce from you; 
 For your old man you sho' mus' reckon 
 Hates to call you, but he has it to do. 
 
 Ole mars'er, he'll be er rarin' an er pitchin' ; 
 He wants dat acre weeded through. 
 
88 The Peacock. 
 
 Dar ain't one spark er fire in de kitchen 
 Hates to call you, hut 1 has it to do. 
 
 Wake up dar, nigger Joshua's a comin' ! 
 Straight up dat sky so bright an' blue. 
 Dem honey bees he's done set er hummin' - 
 I hates to call you, but 1 has it to do. 
 
Bobbie's Toast unto a Ghost. 89 
 
 BOBBIE'S TOAST UNTO A GHOST. 
 
 DID you ever see a ghost 
 
 That would make your hair almost 
 
 Stand up endwise in the dark? 
 
 (Did you ever miss your mark?) 
 
 Did you ever see one rise 
 
 Right before your very eyes? 
 
 If you saw an ugly one 
 
 Did you play the coward and run? 
 
 If you didn't, then you'd be 
 
 Braver than is Bobbie Lee! 
 
 But I'm here to make a boast ; 
 
 Boys, I've met up with a ghost 
 
 Twenty- fourth of each December 
 
 As far back as I remember, 
 
 That is different from the rest; 
 
 He of all ghosts is the best. 
 
 I have often near him stood, 
 
 And he's wonderfully good : 
 
 Tell you what he's done for me, 
 
 So that you yourselves may see. 
 
 Hear, my friends, in rhyme my story 
 
9 The Peacock. 
 
 Of a ghost whose hair is hoary ; 
 Of a ghost who's always going 
 Round the world his gifts bestowing. 
 Flies he far and flies he near, 
 Driving, as some say, his deer; 
 And the only trace that's seen 
 Of the place this ghost has been, 
 Is sometimes, they say, a track 
 Down a sooty chimney back, 
 Or a dent upon house-roofs, 
 From his deer's most dainty hoofs. 
 Children love him and him fear, 
 For he comes 'round once a year 
 Comes and frightens them to bed, 
 And then gives them gifts, 'tis said: 
 Pretty things that money cost, 
 He's an awful funny ghost! 
 Now, I've given you the wink, 
 Let me say just what I think. 
 I've been huddled up in bed, 
 With the blankets 'bove my head, 
 Every year on Christmas Eve; 
 And I've tried to make believe 
 I was sleeping sure and sound 
 When that ghost was coming round 
 All precautions I would take, 
 
Bobbie's Toast unto a Ghost. 91 
 
 But all night I stayed awake; 
 I was not the best of boys, 
 But the ghost left lots of toys, 
 And all sorts of extra joys, 
 That would crash and make a noise. 
 Not one thing to name that's sweet, 
 But he left for me to eat. 
 That's the kind of ghost I've met, 
 And you've heard of him, I bet. 
 If you've got a sweetheart, tell her 
 (Sadie, Sue, or Cinderella), 
 That the ghost's a fine old fellow 
 Treating everybody mellow 
 Black or white or red or yellow. 
 Well, I've done as I intended, 
 And my speech is almost ended. 
 Now, my mates, I'll ask you kindly, 
 Look upon my failings blindly. 
 And give Bob a little glory 
 For his very first ghost story. 
 Boys, I tell you, as I pause, 
 This strange ghost is Santa Claus! 
 Do you know now who it is? 
 If you don't, you won't Gee whiz ! 
 Now, before I stop, I think, 
 I'll suggest we often drink, 
 
92 The Peacock. 
 
 In the future near, this toast. 
 To this wise and famous ghost : 
 "MAY NO BOY OR GIRL 
 CAUSE 
 
 HERE 
 
 GRIEF TO COME 
 CLAUS." 
 
 TO SANTA 
 
The Two Lovers. 93 
 
 THE TWO LOVERS ; OR, FOUND AND 
 LOST. 
 
 Lines on the statue of William Penn, City Hall Square, 
 Philadelphia. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA found a lover, 
 
 Just two hundred years ago ; 
 Crossed he the deep and dark blue ocean, 
 
 Whence he sought her soul to know. 
 To his great warm heart he pressed her 
 
 And again then once again ; 
 'Twas her long expected brother, 
 
 Worthy Quaker, William Penn. 
 Open-armed she then embraced him, 
 
 Threw ajar her urban gate; 
 And, her brother's love around her, 
 
 Henceforth lived in stately state. 
 
 All her foes he killed with kindness, 
 
 Nor did ever Indian wrong ; 
 Dealt White Brother with Red Brother, 
 
 As with weak should deal the strong. 
 Thus Miss Philadelphia's garments 
 
94 The Peacock. 
 
 As a nimbus did increase; 
 Under trees of truthful treaty 
 
 Smoked the calumet of peace; 
 Till, his life task well accomplished, 
 
 Perm passed out of earthly ken, 
 And bequeathed his loves and labors 
 
 To the hands of other men. 
 
 Then Miss Philadelphia, mourning, 
 
 Cried to those beyond the sea, 
 How this noble son of England 
 
 Planted here his colony. 
 So they came and cultivated 
 
 The good seed that Penn had sown; 
 Till the thousands of the sowing 
 
 Into millions more had grown. 
 Then they thought of Penn's pure presence- 
 
 Never more on earth but then- 
 His great Spirit still was with them, 
 
 Famous father William Penn. 
 
 " It can never die that spirit- 
 But let us his image give 
 
 To the coming generations 
 Let him in a statue live " 
 
 Thus Miss Philadelphia's council 
 
The Two Lovers. 95 
 
 Counseled her said she, "You shall''; 
 So with reverence we raised him 
 
 To his lofty pedestal. 
 
 Stands he there through wind, through 
 weather, 
 
 Nor doth aught divert his gaze, 
 Looking down, as if from Heaven, 
 
 On our good or evil ways. 
 
 Sunbeams brush the dew each morning 
 
 From beneath his broad hat brim ; 
 And their last act every evening 
 
 Is to sweetly smile on him. 
 Reaching round him in a circle, 
 
 Lanterns of electric light, 
 Shine like sunshine through the blackness 
 
 Of the city's fog at night. 
 " May these bright lamps be my children," 
 
 Says the visage so benign, 
 " Emblems how all Pennsylvania 
 
 Lets the card nal virtues shine." 
 
 Hourly cast we up our glances 
 
 To that figure from below ; 
 Hourly doth he seem recording 
 
 Whence we come and where we go. 
 
96 The Peacock. 
 
 Geometrically spoken, 
 
 Thou art high above us, Perm 
 But more high didst tower in morals, 
 
 While with us a citizen. 
 As we look up to thy statue, 
 
 Even so to thee thyself 
 We aspire, and oft remember 
 
 Thou didst crave no earthly pelf. 
 
 Dear Philadelphia soon was married; 
 
 We, her sons and daughters round 
 Perm's grand statue daily gather; 
 
 It is consecrated ground. 
 There we've built us halls of justice, 
 
 Where repented sins are owned ; 
 There doth Wisdom and Dame Mercy 
 
 With Perm's spirit sit enthroned. 
 There they'll reign with Peace, and prosper, 
 
 If we like this man of men 
 Mould our principles and conduct 
 
 Blessed, beloved William Perm. 
 
 Philadelphia lost a lover, 
 
 Near two centuries ago; 
 Parting from him arms about him 
 
 The farewell brought tears to flow. 
 
The Two Lovers. 
 
 Yes, for father, mother, brother, 
 
 All in one to her was he, 
 And she'll seldom find another 
 
 In relationship of three. 
 Stay his statue then, and never 
 
 May a storm his features mar ; 
 Dwell his spirit in us ever, 
 
 It has made us what we are. 
 
 97 
 
98 The Peacock. 
 
 LINES TO A BRIDEGROOM. 
 
 FROM our Colonel Cupid's city; 
 From off the brave, bold breeze, 
 From off the blue sapphire seas, 
 From out of my own heart's ease, 
 Receive, with your bride, friend, please, 
 My glad congratulations, 
 On love's sweet consummation. 
 Receive this greeting 
 In lieu of meeting. 
 
Baby Marie. 99 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 BABY MARIE, 
 
 INFANT DAUGHTER OF 
 
 FRANCES LEE AND JAS. T. YOUNG. 
 
 She was born November 1 4th, 1895, and was taken August loth, 
 2896. Age, S moiths, 27 days. 
 
 " Is it well with thee ? Is it well with thy husband ? Is it 
 well with the child ? And she answered, it is well." 
 
 II Kings iv. 28. 
 
 WE were a band of brothers, 
 Who with each other vied, 
 
 To dearest love a sister 
 Whose presence gratified. 
 
 That she'd be near us always, 
 
 Was what we wished ; we knew 
 
 She'd many make life's May-days, 
 And wintry ones make few. 
 
 But came to see her one day 
 A single man in heart; 
 
ioo The Peacock. 
 
 And soon we saw all saw they 
 Could ne'er live life apart. 
 
 "Two little hands lay sweetly locked; 
 
 Two faces o'er a cradle hent : 
 These pressed together while they rocked ; 
 
 Those watched a life that love had sent." 
 
 " Beauty has no mortal father ; 
 
 Holy light her form engendered, 
 Out of tremor, yearning, gladness, 
 
 Presage sweet, and joy remembered." 
 
 Beauty's gone Marie has left us 
 
 But for fairer, kinder climes; 
 Beauty, of whom God bereft us, 
 
 Hears now Heaven's soft sons and chimes, 
 
 O Spirit Holy, lift uplift, 
 
 From our hearts the veil Despair ; 
 
 Since thou who gav'st that beauteous gift, 
 Hast taken her back up there. 
 
 As we've thought of the sweet angelic form 
 That has vanished from our sight, 
 
Baby Marie. 101 
 
 Doubts' winds would moan mid the heart's 
 
 grief storm 
 " Can this now so soon be right? " 
 
 But now sweet birds sing o'er her grave, 
 Then wing their way across the wave ; 
 
 God sends them there ; Marie was given 
 To help bring other souls to Heaven. 
 
 Her little cross she briefly bore 
 
 Her little life laid down- 
 Though here on earth Marie's no more, 
 
 Above she wears a crown. 
 
1O2 The Peacock. 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL CLEAR BLUE SKY. 
 
 O, BEAUTIFUL, beautiful, clear blue sky; 
 Without a beginning, without any end ; 
 Portal to Heaven, my thoughts to thee tend 
 To thy glories I would draw nigh. 
 
 O, beautiful, silently smiling sky 
 
 The veil which restraineth from Heaven our 
 
 sight; 
 But containeth the sun, moon and stars for our 
 
 light; 
 Thou teachest of God Most High. 
 
 To thy convex of crystal, O, high-arched sky 
 
 Immutable pure expanse of Heaven 
 
 \Ye instinctively turn, when tired of earth's 
 
 leaven, 
 And often refreshingly sigh. 
 
 Delectable, beautiful, bountiful sky 
 
 Thou droppest as rain God's heavenly dew, 
 
The Beautiful Clear, Blue Sky. 103 
 
 As earth's awning of azure after storms doth 
 
 renew ; 
 After life-storms so may I. 
 
 O beautiful, blushing and bland blue sky- 
 Bespeaking each morning youth and hope for 
 
 life's way- 
 Each evening portraying the close of life's day : 
 Thy blessings never pass me by. 
 
 O, wonderful, calm, cool, dim, deep sky- 
 Melting the cold and temp'ring the heat ; 
 Be thou the abode of my weary feet, 
 When to earth and its toils I've said " good- 
 
 by-" 
 
 O garnished and glittering, glimmering sky, 
 When 'mongst thy fires celestial I stand, 
 I'll rejoice in the work of Divinity's hand, 
 Priceless and boundless as eternity. 
 
 Farewell, my beautiful, bright blue sky, 
 But sometime on wings I hope I may fly 
 Till thy glories divine come close to my eye : 
 I'll gladly then leave earth, and, oh ! so gladly 
 die. 
 
IO4 The Peacock. 
 
 THE LAST DAY OF SUMMER. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ONCE there was a little maiden, 
 With high mountain airs much laden, 
 Hied her down to Seashore City; 
 
 Just for pure fun she came. 
 As she sought it, so she found it, 
 For she didn't shy around it : 
 And a certain little fellow 
 
 He joined her in the same. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, when will this t\yain meet again? 
 Speak, my dear little dove, 
 Sweetest messenger of love; 
 'Tis the last day of summer 
 Will they ever meet again? 
 
 Well, the day that they were parted. 
 He was almost broken-hearted ; 
 For a fear his plans were thwarted. 
 
The Last Day of Summer. 105 
 
 Weighed down his love-lorn heart. 
 Much he mourned for her yes, very 
 Till, at last, of longing weary, 
 Almost sad enough to bury, 
 
 He searched his lost sweetheart. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 But be it avenue or street, 
 
 He found it and the memry's sweet, 
 
 Of how she met him nice and neat 
 
 At her big bright front door ; 
 And also how they gaily went 
 To Lover's Leap next day and spent 
 A little while they don't repent; 
 
 Nor will forevermore. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, when will this twain part again? 
 Says my dear little dove, 
 Sweetest messenger of love: 
 " Tis the first day of summer 
 And they'll never part again." 
 
 Is there need of explanation? 
 Not in an enlightened nation; 
 Nor is such my contemplation 
 
io6 
 
 The Peacock. 
 
 Not to you not to you ; 
 For there is a wisdom from above 
 Which teaches nothing's like true love 
 No, there's nothing like true love, 
 
 If it is truly true. 
 
Along With Alice White. 107 
 
 ALONG WITH ALICE WHITE. 
 
 'LONG a little winding pathway, from my 
 
 country home to school, 
 Alice White and I each school-day gathered 
 
 flowers as a rule; 
 I'll explain! to give her warning, I a whistle 
 
 had you know ; 
 When I passed her house each morning, I that 
 
 whistle was to blow ; 
 I can see her now emerging, with her satchel 
 
 full of books ; 
 And remember something urging, " Oh, how 
 
 beautiful she looks ! " 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Then, along with Alice White, 
 My way would seem serene delight ; 
 But it's now uncommon dark 
 The fire of love emits no spark 
 And, I guess, I've missed my mark. 
 
io8 The Peacock. 
 
 She asked me the spelling lesson and I asked 
 
 it her as well; 
 And to make a free confession, I'm not yet 
 
 free from that spell. 
 How I blew that Kuklux whistle blew with 
 
 all my little might! 
 And would let no thorn or thistle mar the path 
 
 she trod so light. 
 School is over prizes given she took first, 
 
 I, second prize; 
 And though I'm from Alice riven, I'll extol 
 
 her to the skies. 
 
 Yes, that prize she helped me win it she 
 
 stood with me through the strife; 
 But she's lost as I begin it this race for the 
 
 prize of life. 
 Lost my whistle is forever, lost it purposely 
 
 one night ; 
 For I've lost all hope of ever finding long lost 
 
 Alice White : 
 Yes, alone I go life's journey; but if not for 
 
 fate and sin, 
 There is something whispers to me that it 
 
 diff'rent might have been. 
 
Lines on my Birthday. io() 
 
 LINES ON MY TWENTY-SECOND 
 BIRTHDAY ANNIVERSARY. 
 
 THIS eleventh clay of long October, 
 I'm twenty-two and duly sober. 
 Just out of life's primary school, 
 And know myself how great a fool! 
 I've said farewell to the old plantation 
 Seek fortune, fame, in emulation. 
 
 But filial fire and faith and fervor, 
 I shall carry with me ever; 
 From twenty-two till three-score-ten, 
 I'll use them up for the good of men. 
 And hope I'll to the world a story 
 Leave of a life whose end was glory. 
 
 And life of love not lost in grieving; 
 And be not faithless, but believing; 
 A life unblamable and just 
 That will not perish with the dust. 
 If for this life I'm always trying, 
 I'll fear not death, but only dying. 
 
no The Peacock. 
 
 In nature's every new idea, 
 
 Let me see God with eye of seer; 
 
 For " October's child is horn for woe," 
 
 Say some who may or may not know. 
 
 But in trials let my faith be doubled; 
 
 And my heart cannot be troubled. 
 
 I'll do tbe duties that lie nearest 
 To fiercest foe to friends who're dearest- 
 And in Gospel light and liberty, 
 As my days my strength shall be : 
 Not one moment without duty- 
 That's a life of joy and beauty. 
 
 On car t!i I hope for friends true-hearted, 
 
 Who'll never from my side be parted; 
 
 And when, as mortal, I am free 
 
 To put on immortality, 
 
 If for a space I'm from them riven, 
 
 I'll for them wait and watch in Heaven. 
 
My Dear Little Annie. in 
 
 MY DEAR LITTLE ANNIE. 
 
 OF OUR schooldays and ways there were few 
 
 who knew; 
 
 Fewer still who will care to remember ; 
 And now, Annie, my dear, I fear even you 
 Will have changed from June to December ; 
 For since then, little friend, we have parted 
 
 been, 
 And I've mixed with the world and its awful 
 
 sin. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet, my dear little Annie, your embraces so 
 
 many, 
 
 And your loving 1 childish kiss, 
 And your angel smiles the sweetest of any, 
 I shall often and always miss. 
 
 You were just eight years old, as I've since 
 
 been told, 
 
 When we journeyed to school together; 
 But your kiss, it was bliss, so innocent bold, 
 
H2 The Peacock. 
 
 Wonder why you're now shy and whether 
 You'd fear much me to touch, now so travel- 
 stained ; 
 
 Ah, you'd be not so free, for your child-love 
 has waned. 
 
 O, 'twas grand for your hand your little 
 
 white hand 
 
 To lay hold on my own so gently; 
 If no more here we meet, there's a better land, 
 Into which we may have joint entry. 
 Oh! my bright blue-eyed Annie, with teeth 
 
 white as pearls, 
 I'll caress nevermore your darling golden 
 
 curls. 
 
 O, my fair little flower, if 'twas in my power, 
 I would round your blossoms bending, 
 Drop heavenly dew, send softest shower 
 Let you breathe a spring unending ; 
 For I'm sure you are pure as the driven snow, 
 Although I w r ell know 7 I'm forgot long ago. 
 
The Song of a Soldier. 113 
 
 THE SONG OF A SOLDIER, 
 
 THERE lives a little Filipina, 
 (As a soldier oft I've seen her) 
 On that Eastern island greener 
 
 Well, greener than 'tis free. 
 Each clay she made a sweet segar, 
 And gave to me ha, ha, ha, ha 
 And gave to me ah, there you are ! 
 
 And gave direct to me. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Therefore I call her my Manila, 
 Ever since, and ever will I ; 
 And you can bet your little life, 
 One day she'll be my only wife; 
 Mine alone my own Manila. 
 
 A smoke I made as from the funnel 
 Of a train within a tunnel; 
 Her Manila's worth a bundle 
 
 Of the old Havana-filler. 
 How the memory of it lingers ! 
 
 8 
 
H4 The Peacock. 
 
 Soon a dandy diamond ring goes 
 Upon one of the dainty fingers 
 Of my fair Manila. 
 
 One day from out my saddlebag 
 I took a soiled and tattered rag 
 And gave to her and there the flag 
 
 Of love we both unfurled. 
 So \vhcn our ship did homeward start, 
 She gave to me her sunny heart, 
 And it and I can never part- 
 No, not in this wide world. 
 
The Village Schoolmaster 115 
 
 THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 ON a village history's pages, 
 
 There's a story that will be told 
 
 Of a turner of text-book pages 
 A professor, profound, brave, bold. 
 
 The professor taught writing and reading, 
 But not alone that did he teach; 
 
 Oft his pupils heard praying and pleading 
 For a better life for each. 
 
 Still the old Academy's holding 
 Its own, and I guess that it still 
 
 Holds the echo of many a scolding 
 Once heard on HUMANITY HILL. 
 
 Though the scoldings were meant most kindly, 
 They were perversely misunderstood ; 
 
 Then we childishly saw, and blindly, 
 But now well we know he was good. 
 
 Oh long may he live here beside us, 
 Oh long, old Academy, stand ; 
 
Ji6 The Peacock. 
 
 Though as teacher he often did chide us, 
 As a friend a FRIEND he is grand. 
 
 In that schoolhouse he many a matter 
 Of technics and morals fixed right; 
 
 God grant that no storm ever shatter 
 That mansion of mental light. 
 
 Youth's footsteps forever should rumble 
 
 Within its personified halls, 
 And never a brick should crumble 
 
 From off of its hallowed walls. 
 
 Let the wasps from the belfry be driven, 
 Let the grand old bell ring free; 
 
 Let us honor a life all given 
 That men wiser, and better be. 
 
 Though some of his pupils may wander, 
 
 And not his injunctions obey; 
 RETURNING, they'll meet him up yonder,- 
 
 Here is one who will strive and pray. 
 
Git cr long, Keep Movin'. 117 
 
 GIT ER LONG, KEEP MOVIN'. 
 
 DE grindstone turns fur cle ax's sharpening 
 An' around on its axis turns de earth ; 
 Everything God made, he keeps it er movin', 
 An' he means us to move frum de day of our 
 birth. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Git er long, keep movin' ; 
 Whatever you duz or duzn't do, 
 What comes to you or you comes to 
 Git er long, keep movin'. 
 
 Politics, religion, or a farmin' or a statin', 
 Or free or in jail an' you can't git out, 
 If you don't want ter die wit. de gout when 
 
 you're agin', 
 You' had better keep er turnin' aroun' an 
 
 about. 
 
 An' boys, when de girls you goes er courtin', 
 If de sweetest er hearts you wants to win, 
 
n8 
 
 The Peacock. 
 
 You mus' never cease er writin' an' er rhymin' 
 
 an er rotin' 
 An' er hug-gin' an' er kissin' frum de time you 
 
 begin. 
 
Come Back, Dear Jack. 119 
 
 COME BACK, DEAR JACK, FROM THE 
 KLONDIKE. 
 
 TELL me. Jack, why you left for Alaska; 
 
 Will you never again return? 
 Jack, your girl, she said " No," when you asked 
 her, 
 
 But already her heart doth burn. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Come back, clear Jack, from the Klondike, 
 We will meet with a tender hand-strike, 
 And we'll cling to each other just like 
 Well, as only love can cling. 
 
 Flee away from that freezing region; 
 
 You may come with or without gold; 
 There are fortunes, Jack, here by the legion, 
 
 And there's love, Jack, that can't be told. 
 
 Cross again all those bleak, cold mountains ; 
 
 May the angels your feet true guide; 
 Soon we'll sit by sweet summer fountains, 
 Yes, we'll linger once more side by side. 
 
120 The Peacock. 
 
 Jack, I know I refused you blindly; 
 Oh! the thought, it will break my heart; 
 
 But return from the Klondike, kindly, 
 And we never again shall part. 
 
 Quick return from the Klondike kingdom ; 
 
 O, dear Jack, do not longer rove; 
 When you come I will treat you handsome, 
 
 Yes, in garden and glen and grove. 
 
 Bring me back. Jack, the heart I've broken, 
 Bring me back, too, the dear little glove; 
 
 For the sake of the girl who loves you, 
 For the sake of the girl you love. 
 
The Magnolia. 121 
 
 THE MAGNOLIA. 
 
 MOST magnificent Magnolia! 
 How its fragrance doth enroll you, 
 In a cloud of dreamy incense as you stand be- 
 neath its boughs ; 
 
 Boughs with glorious greenness glistening; 
 Boughs on which the birds sit listening 
 To the echoes of the songs for which their 
 Maker each endows. 
 
 Strong and stately sweet Magnolia ! 
 
 Every fibre of my soul you 
 
 Stir whene'er I see or smell your blossoms 
 
 white ; 
 
 For I ever, while admiring 
 All your beauties, pray, aspiring 
 That .my life be near to nature and its light. 
 
 Mild and mystical Magnolia, 
 
 When I've reached life's grand good goal, you 
 
 Still will stand up in my mem'ry still be 
 
J ?2 The Peacock. 
 
 If the woodman's axe, Magnolia, 
 Lay you low, let this console you : 
 " In your shade one soul was sheltered till 
 serene." 
 
Lines by a Black Sheep. 123 
 
 LINES BY A " BLACK SHEEP." , 
 
 IN MEMORY OF HIS MOTHER. 
 
 ABOVE, about her bier was flowing overflow- 
 flowing, 
 
 Fair fresh flowers of friend's bestowing 
 love's bestowing; 
 
 Tears upon her cold face falling hotly falling 
 
 Came from many hearts her noble deeds re- 
 calling; 
 
 All around her words were spoken softly 
 spoken ; 
 
 Words of how her heart was broken slowly 
 broken ; 
 
 Broke, though by what? her friends knew 
 not, though they had given 
 
 All they could to cure, and striven vainly 
 striven. 
 
 Yet there was one who stood there smiling 
 sadly smiling; 
 
 (One lost, estranged, till conduct changed 
 brought reconciling;)- 
 
124 The Peacock. 
 
 A son who made her most of trouble, most of 
 sorrow ; 
 
 Yet one who did his best before and after 
 for her. 
 
 He felt he'd gladly leave lone earth to find 
 the mother, 
 
 Who with all his faults could love him as no 
 other. 
 
 For, friend, the only one who KNEW him has 
 been taken, 
 
 Therefore his soul not only feels, but is for- 
 saken ; 
 
 Yes, only one (she lies there dead) could 
 
 understand him; 
 
 And while the world in guilty red might wil- 
 ling brand him, 
 She came, caressed, convinced, and said she 
 
 free forgave him ; 
 And free, too, friend, God pardons him and 
 
 God will save him. 
 He smiles because he knows he soon again 
 
 can give her 
 A son's glad hand in that blest bourne beyond 
 
 the river. 
 There'll greet her on that happy shore besides 
 
 him many; 
 
Lines by a Black Sheep. 125 
 
 But him she'll welcome no not more but 
 
 mud i as any. 
 She'd not be happy one to miss ah, well I 
 
 know it ; 
 But she'll, if there's an extra kiss, on him 
 
 bestow it. 
 
 The others will not envy him, nor one another ; 
 Their glory would his glory dim, but for his 
 
 mother. 
 
 Cease then crying cease your sighing she 
 
 might hear it ; 
 
 Holy living, happy dying never fear it, 
 Different was with the Departed; we shall 
 
 find her, 
 Up in Heaven, lightsome-hearted, and remind 
 
 her, 
 Absence made our hearts grow fonder ever 
 
 fonder, 
 Now let us follow strict her steps till over 
 
 yonder ; 
 They'll lead us to the angels' feet they'll lead 
 
 its higher 
 
 UP TO THE VERY THRONE OF GOD, 
 THOUGH THROUGH THE FIRE! 
 
126 The Peacock. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 UP in cle air an' underground, 
 
 All sorts o' trains can go ; 
 
 But when er fellow's homeward bound, 
 
 Tears like all trains are slow. 
 
Innubibus ; or, in the Clouds. 127 
 
 INNUBIBUS ; OR, IN THE CLOUDS. 
 
 Dedicated to REV. J. E. MCMANAWAY, by whom I was 
 baptized ; and to his admirable wife, by whom I have 
 been advised. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 DEAR FRIEND: An airy flight I took alone; 
 On winged steed traversed each earthly zone. 
 " Dost thou love picking meat ? Or wouldst 
 
 thou see 
 A man i' the clouds and hear him speak to 
 
 thee? 
 Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest 
 
 not what, 
 
 And yet know whether thou art blest or not 
 By reading the same lines? Oh, then come 
 
 hither, 
 
 And lay my book, thy head and heart together." 
 * * >K * %. ^ 
 
 The clouds of God are on their road, to do His 
 
 holy will ; 
 Sent here sent there sent everywhere 
 
 earth's thirsty cup to fill. 
 
128 The Peacock. 
 
 From north to south, from east to west, they 
 
 scatter blessings rich; 
 To good, to had, to high, to low, there's 
 
 never question which. 
 Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscient, is the 
 
 hand 
 That drives them swift but safely swift 
 
 o'er universal land. 
 
 By night, by day, they've gone their way, in- 
 finity of time; 
 
 Fair forest, field, and tender flower, they've 
 saved from early rime. 
 
 With shifting shade, o'er glen and glade, from 
 sun of scorching heat 
 
 They shield, and pour cool waters down to 
 ripple round our feet. 
 
 With thunder and with lightning they sow 
 sanitary showers ; 
 
 And laden sweet with snow and sleet in winter 
 are they ours. 
 
 First, thunder-head of pure white lead, doth 
 
 decorate the sky; 
 Then rack of black makes darksome track and 
 
 \vhirls the cyclone by; 
 
Immbibus ; or, in the Clouds. 129 
 
 With awful awe, breaks nature's law, and says 
 
 terrific hour! 
 " For judgment sent, till men repent of wicked 
 
 boast of power." 
 Yet in good time the sign Divine sets in the 
 
 cloud God's bow 
 
 Speaks trumpet tone from out God's throne 
 Earth flood no more shall know ! 
 
 With loud acclaim the great I AM, times, 
 
 seasons, days and years, 
 Stamps with his seal, that we may feel our 
 
 hopes belie our fears; 
 The sky of blue stars set thick through 
 
 admiringly we eye; 
 But, overcast with cloudy blast, our fears, our 
 
 hopes belie. 
 Thus Justice rules mild Mercy schools us 
 
 all both great and small- 
 Till graduate God's own create His loves 
 
 as strengths appal. 
 
 Glorious Geometrician Great, what wonders 
 
 hast thou wrought ! 
 Impossible to be expressed, or seen, or known, 
 
 or thought! 
 
1 30 The Peacock. 
 
 Incomprehensibility is held thy attribute, 
 And well, while tabernacling" here, might 
 
 tongue of man be mute. 
 Ne'er should we guilty creatures say thy 
 
 miracles for naught 
 Are shown us here, for every one with lessons 
 
 good is fraught. 
 
 o o 
 
 Yonder, on winds of fate, arise hand-clouds 
 from ocean's brink; 
 
 Look! they begin to sweep the skies! oh, 
 look, and think! and think! 
 
 Ah! there is one that wastes away! dis- 
 solves in gracious drops! 
 
 Wears out rains out on dales and plains, 
 and hills and mountain-tops! 
 
 \Yhut's there to learn? What did it say? the 
 cloud that's now no more?- 
 
 " What might or light is thine, use right 
 'twas meant and lent therefore." 
 
 From pole to pole, wherever soul has drawn 
 
 immortal breath ; 
 Or sun of old life's golden bowl kissed back 
 
 earth's lips from death ; 
 God's clouds in forms more various than finite 
 
 fancy e'er drew 
 
Innubibus ; or, in the Clouds. 131 
 
 Like birds and bees and butterflies, of every 
 
 kind of hue 
 Descend the doors of Heaven and down rain 
 
 their sweet manna good, 
 A prophecy, the time will be, man will eat 
 
 angels' food. 
 
 The silver clouds white glistening shrouds 
 
 do pillar up the East; 
 From Adam, Noah, Israel, Christ till now, 
 
 they've made nor ceased. 
 They clouds of darkness come to those unrev- 
 
 erential found ; 
 In gales of gladness are they blown to every 
 
 holy ground. 
 The glory of our God appears in each bright 
 
 eastern cloud ; 
 Let every man in his tent door, rise up and 
 
 worship loud. 
 
 Low ' in the west aerial pressed. like wine 
 
 presses trod red- 
 Clouds, sucked of purple dregs by earth, make 
 
 many a golden bed ; 
 In fold of fleece, they lie in peace, at setting 
 
 of the sun; 
 
132 The Peacock. 
 
 Stopped now their storms, free float their 
 forms, so man's race rightly run. 
 
 The symbol of God's presence do the gold 
 clouds western coiru ; 
 
 To heavenly place, his gift of grace, such 
 clouds will waft us home. 
 
 Lp, too, how icy- freighted they, to northward 
 
 to and fro, 
 Sail silently in ships of gray and white the 
 
 world with snow. 
 In cloudy chariot descends him who the snow 
 
 clouds made; 
 " Be on the earth snow," doth he say, and ever 
 
 is obeyed. 
 Ancient of Days, whose garments sit upon 
 
 Thee white like wool, 
 Snow-water cleanse our scarlet sins, and purify 
 
 in full. 
 
 But once more now turn toward the south 
 
 behold a fiery stream ; 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand stand upon 
 
 its banks and dream. 
 In passion's heat, here lovers meet, and gentle; 
 
 breezes bear 
 
Innubibus ; or, in the Clouds. 133 
 
 Their fragrance from the balmy palm, that 
 speaks the south so fair. 
 
 Paradisiacal these plains their habitants re- 
 mind, 
 
 We in all climes, and at all times, God's clouds 
 of bounty find. 
 
 When blossoms burst from springtime buds 
 
 God's Garden breaks abloom 
 Soft April shower sweetens the .sour, from 
 
 clouds of pure perfume. 
 When landscape dying summer clothes with 
 
 iridescent veil, 
 Electric clouds their heat dispose till ends the 
 
 songbird's tale. 
 Though Boreas reap, frost-bit leaves keep their 
 
 aromatic smells 
 Till autumn clouds rock deep to sleep in 
 
 winter's downy dells. 
 
 The waters saw Jehovah once saw him and 
 
 were afraid ; 
 Clouds from his hand swept Egypt land, nor 
 
 stayed till Moses prayed. 
 To rend her rocks and mar her flocks, hot 
 
 thunderbolts were hurled; 
 
134 The Peacock. 
 
 Waters gushed out, streams overflowed, light- 
 nings lightened the world 
 
 Came crimson flood from clouds of blood 
 all earth trembled and shook : 
 
 But since from Olive gentler clouds' ascent 
 records the book. 
 
 Praise him ye fruitful trees and all cedars on 
 mounts and hills; 
 
 His word, fire, hail, snow and vapor, and 
 stormy wind fulfils. 
 
 Ye dragons ard all deeps praise him ye cattle 
 and all beasts 
 
 Ye creeping things and flying fowls He fixeth 
 all your feasts. 
 
 Both maidens and young men, old men, and 
 children, all as one, 
 
 Praise Him and magnify His name as excel- 
 lent alone. 
 
 Kings of the earth and all people princes, 
 
 judges of earth 
 Be near unto Him, do His will, and spread 
 
 abroad His worth. 
 With organ, cymbal, psaltery, and ten-stringed 
 
 instrument, 
 
Innubibus ; or, in the Clouds. 135 
 
 For cirrus and comet praise Him, and fair 
 
 firmament ; 
 To Heaven's Cloud King a new song 1 sing', 
 
 with trumpet, harp, timbrel; 
 Oh, praise His excellent greatness He doeth 
 
 all things well ! 
 
 O, world, repent of discontent with God's good 
 
 will and ways, 
 And view His wondrous Providence with 
 
 adorations gaze. 
 Or cold or hot, it matters not, or clear or 
 
 cloudy sky ; 
 The moon the sun the stars that run 
 
 dreamer dare not deny- 
 All hold their course, and have their source, in 
 
 the One Grand Day- Spring, 
 And soon from thee will all mists flee at Rev- 
 elation's ring. 
 
 Who are these that fly as a cloud as doves to 
 
 their windows ? 
 Who is this that apparelled red from Bozrah 
 
 meeteth those? 
 Ah, the Good Shepherd know? His sheep 
 
 guides them through gates of gold ! 
 
136 The Peacock. 
 
 Voices like mighty thunderings now shout 
 " Half was not told." 
 
 Clothed with white clouds, to Tree of life they 
 have eternal right ! 
 
 In cloud of glory, King of Kings their ever- 
 lasting light! 
 
 Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy 
 name ; 
 
 Thy Kingdom come : Thy will be done in 
 Heaven and earth the same. 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread. Our tres- 
 passes forgive, 
 
 As we forgive those who trespass against us 
 Christ-like live. 
 
 Into temptation lead us not; evil deliver from, 
 
 Till CLOUDS OF \Y1TNKSSES we see Thy 
 Glory, Power, Kingdom. 
 
 Amen. 
 
Au Revoir. 137 
 
 AU REVOIR. 
 
 AH, yes, distance lends enchantment to all 
 scenes ; 
 
 But we humans never know how much that 
 means, 
 
 Until, a thousand miles away, we backward 
 look ; 
 
 Then all darkness turns to day, as in my book. 
 
 But this book helps you forward look and up- 
 ward or 
 
 It fails in what its author wished. Now. 
 Au Revoir. 
 
THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY