A 
 PASTIME 
 
 G. M C A. B.
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 A PASTIME

 
 A PASTIME 
 
 A LITTLE BOOK 
 OF VERSE 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED 
 
 0ngttoofe 
 MDCCCXCV
 
 -ps 
 
 Thy poems, thy own bandmark, I lovt wtll, 
 Delicate fair flowers blooming in the waste, 
 Not dashes of a gay abandonment, 
 But glimpses of a spirit that knows not pain. 
 
 Towards that spirit thy patient heart was stt. 
 
 " Whither art tbou gone ? " thou askedst the brief 
 
 bloom 
 
 Of the cereus fading glory, and the asking 
 Tells me that tbou knowest things unseen. 
 
 C. H. H. 
 
 7G28S4
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 " Dear, lovely, bravest comrade, you did not wait for 
 peril to say ' I love you.' There is nothing in earth but 
 love, and we have been blessed beyond the common." 
 
 These words, written by a dear friend of 
 Grafton Belknap, may well be echoed by all 
 who knew him. In his frail but noble pres 
 ence the other things on earth health and 
 wealth and fame, which are wont to look large 
 took their own subordinate place. Mother love 
 is as common as responsive filial appreciation is 
 rare. Herein he excelled. Love, regnant in 
 him, radiating from him, poured back to him 
 in full measure from her who knew him best, 
 
 vii
 
 made the valley sometimes called dark a border 
 land of exceeding peace. 
 
 Those who have read the little volume 
 called "Grafton's Pastime" have asked to know 
 something of the writer they never saw. To 
 them this brief sketch is offered, gathered from 
 the views of different friends. 
 
 B. M. C. 
 
 viii
 
 SKETCH OF A QUIET LAD. 
 
 THERE are many ways of approaching Heaven 
 while on earth, but the path by which Grafton 
 went was one so difficult that it seems as if 
 angels came down to help him on the way, and 
 some of the heavenly helpfulness was given to 
 all who approached him. And if through the 
 bitterness of pain and deprivation there were also 
 compensations, of the chief of these compensa 
 tions he himself was unconscious that he was 
 showing the world about him the way into light 
 and the sustaining power of the love of God. 
 
 Life opened for Grafton full of promise. He 
 was strong and well, with a sunny tempera 
 ment, a courageous spirit, and a thoroughly 
 sweet and healthy nature. He took, at a very 
 
 ix
 
 early age, an active interest in the affairs going 
 on about him. When his father came in one 
 day to luncheon with signs of recent irritation, 
 " Cap'n Belknap, whath's up, ther, whath's 
 up, I thay? " he cried, striking the table with 
 his little, not three-years'-old fist, as if he 
 would himself reduce navy and navy-yard to 
 order. 
 
 He was only three when one brilliant New 
 Year's Day, in Florida, he fell from his goat- 
 cart, although under the care of his nurse and 
 surrounded by his companions. It was not till 
 many weeks afterward, on Ash Wednesday, 
 that the serious result of the fall became evi 
 dent, and one day the child was found unable 
 to walk. Tender, untiring nursing, the watch 
 ful care and wisdom of the best surgeons, after 
 two years put him on his feet again, weak and 
 supported artificially, but otherwise in good 
 health and full of hope and happiness. Then 
 followed the years he always referred to as 
 " When I knew what it was to be a boy." At
 
 his games then he was most eager, as in all 
 innocent mischief and fun. His brother an 
 ideal brother he used to call him declared 
 that he had the real spirit of sport in him ; 
 but he won commendation at school for clear 
 ness of mind, steadiness and attention, and he 
 was most regular and devout at church. He 
 studied his music at that time very faithfully, 
 longing to be able to express the harmonies 
 he inwardly heard and felt. No lesson, how 
 ever distasteful, would he slight, even after he 
 grew too ill to exact much of himself. 
 
 Only once, in all his playgrounds, did he 
 suffer from that indelicacy which is another 
 form of brutality. He told his mother of it 
 when talking over the day, as he always did. 
 But it was observed afterwards that he never 
 failed to treat this schoolfellow courteously. 
 One evening his account of his day and of his 
 playmates seemed less kind than usual; so his 
 mother, being much engaged and hurried away, 
 said, as she bade him good-night all too unob-
 
 servantly, " That is not fair and large. I cannot 
 have you have a small mind, you know." On 
 her return, very late, she found a sheet of paper 
 pinned prominently to her cushion, on which, 
 unevenly written, were the words: "Dear 
 Mother, I cannot go to sleep till I tell you I 
 have not a small mind. I will not do so any 
 more, Grafton." And he lay sleeping sweetly, 
 assured he had made all right. 
 
 He had, for a number of his long, few years 
 of life, the sunniest and sweetest little friend, 
 who would, even when both were very small, 
 leave all else while he rested, as he was daily 
 obliged to do, and stay by him quietly playing 
 or talking. And when the hour of rest was 
 over, she would spring to fetch and carry for 
 him, the very embodiment of the soul of sweet 
 est womanhood. Their friendship continued for 
 twelve years, if indeed his passing out of sight 
 has broken it. 
 
 On his mother's reception days, during this 
 happy period, he never failed to appear, fresh 
 
 xii
 
 from a more or less ornate toilet, usually less ; 
 entering at the back of the long room, after 
 a brief retired interview with his devoted satel 
 lite, Gray, the colored butler, he would come 
 forward, very bulging as to his pockets, make 
 his bow, utter a few remarks, eat a maccaroon, 
 and depart to his group of "Merrie Men," wait 
 ing at "Ye Inne " on the lawn : a pleasure house 
 modelled after Mr. Pyle's "Inne" in ^pbin 
 Hood. The climax of his joy in these days was 
 reached when he found his strength and knowl 
 edge so far relied on that he was trusted to 
 steer the big steam-launch to the wharf, to meet 
 his mother. The sturdy little figure of an 
 earnest, active boy looks out from that vantage 
 ground very proudly in her memory now. 
 
 His happy nature made happiness about him. 
 His sister, who was married when he was five 
 years old, wrote years afterward that his 
 little wish so graciously expressed that she 
 might be a very happy bride, followed her 
 like a benediction. He loved everyone and 
 
 xiii
 
 all things, brimmed with the joy of being. 
 His pets were numberless, and he cared for 
 all of them; there were dogs, of course, chief 
 of them a fine setter named Alaska, all the 
 cats and kittens within hail, rabbits, white 
 mice, squirrels, gold-fish, parrots, a monkey; 
 there were Mr. and Mrs. Rice, a pair of birds; 
 the turtle, Zero ; and Cookie, a hen, that 
 would follow him about and eat from his hand. 
 Cookie was the gift of a playmate whom he 
 had in Washington, a lady of rare mental 
 endowments and an even more rare spirit, but 
 sad with the mystery of suffering. He had 
 been playing in her yard, and when she offered 
 him, Spanish fashion, her house and all it 
 contained, he instantly demanded the hen, and 
 on account of its color named it for the dainty 
 his playmate provided for him. It was a thing 
 to see the child flying down the path bare 
 headed and with arms outstretched, to welcome 
 this stately playmate; and he made some 
 of her happiest moments. They wandered
 
 together through the Smithsonian, talking of 
 the megatherium, or of the "dried people," 
 the mummies there. When his parents spent 
 evenings away from home, she would come 
 and read to him, and they would have a little 
 supper for two in dainty style. She wrote 
 just before her own last days here: "Dear, 
 lovely, bravest comrade, you did not wait for 
 peril to say ' I love you.' You and I do not 
 mind ailments here below. If we could have 
 one more evening of communion (and refresh 
 ment) together, we might be happy yet, pro 
 tern." A few failing days later this message 
 came from her to Grafton's mother: "You 
 will like to think, if such be the result, that I 
 am waiting for him in the Better Land even 
 if I am not as sure as you. There is nothing 
 on earth but love, and we have been blessed 
 beyond the common." Her last exertion of 
 strength was, with face and gesture of unutter 
 able tenderness, in behalf of a Spanish mother 
 of fourteen years, whose husband had been
 
 arrested for stealing food. Grafton's last min 
 istration was in succoring a starved and abused 
 creature brought in from the highway, feeding 
 it drop by drop, and warming it with his own 
 body. 
 
 It was while living in Washington, that 
 Grafton made a more intimate acquaintance 
 with the stars, in which the son of a sailor 
 always feels his father's companions; and you 
 might see him looking at Mars and at the 
 rings of Saturn, as he sat on the knee of the 
 gentle and wise astronomer, who said of him, 
 " He tells what he sees ; he does not see 
 always whatever he is told." He studied with 
 a dear great-aunt, both enjoying the hour 
 greatly; animated discussion sometimes ending 
 in a cheerful unconvinced, "Well," from the 
 little pupil, as he went to work again with 
 sweet submission. 
 
 But now, for a second time, he became 
 unable to walk, nor did the power ever return 
 to him in any marked degree. Someone said
 
 to him then, " You are glad to suffer. Your 
 Saviour did." "No," said Grafton, with the 
 simple truthfulness that never faltered, "I am 
 not glad. I want to live, to work, to do 
 something!" At another time he said, "I do 
 not think it is so much the good in the Acts 
 of the Apostles and the Pilgrim's Progress that 
 I like, as the adventure." He had some ad 
 venture soon in the voyage in Asiatic waters. 
 
 As he lay, day after day, in the windowful 
 of sky and water, he sketched and colored 
 with unfaltering touch the vessels of his much- 
 loved fleet at anchor in Yokohama Bay. Firm 
 ness of touch marked all he did, as directness 
 of purpose marked all he said, with a fasci 
 nating mixture of boyishness and manliness. 
 
 The Japanese painting teacher pointed after 
 the second lesson to his work, saying, "Look 
 at that!" and brushing aside, in scorn that was 
 laughably genuine, the attempt of another pupil. 
 He learned to use the chop-sticks very deftly 
 presently, as one may see by the print of the 
 
 xvii
 
 Japanese tea-party, attended by the Chinese 
 servant and the native dog. He had enough 
 Chinese to know when the apparently bland 
 and deferential servants were joking among 
 themselves, or profane, and related curious in 
 stances quite unsuspected of John Chinaman. 
 He was a trustworthy source of information 
 about any of the chief vessels of the principal 
 navies of the world. Always loving his own 
 land ardently, in his diary one may find such 
 passages as this : " I have done the little 1 could 
 for my country. I pray daily as well as I know 
 how for it." And one can imagine how the 
 beautiful flag floating over those distant waters 
 sometimes filled the boy with rapture. At the 
 age of eleven, "Does not your heart swell 
 within you when you see them ? " he asked, 
 turning a glowing face to his mother, as they 
 passed some historic naval vessels, monitors and 
 old line-of-battleships. She felt rebuked that 
 she had not shared his emotion; but although 
 pained he instantly forgave, and they went on
 
 educating each other. But his love of his own 
 flag did not hinder his admiration of strength and 
 daring under other colors. He never forgot the 
 gracious kindliness of the British Commander-in- 
 Chief, a V.C., who made him, as it were, a 
 special guest on board the flag-ship Imperieuse ; 
 that visit, and the night he dined and slept 
 on board the Dolphin, as its captain's guest, 
 being treasured memories. Rocking there in the 
 dark waters, under foreign stars, stirred his im 
 agination and made him feel, like Ulysses, that 
 he was a part of all that he had seen. He was 
 present with his camera, too, at the superb 
 launching of the Japanese sloop-of-war HasUdate, 
 where, instead of breaking a bottle of wine, at 
 the touch of the Mikado that started the craft, a 
 large globe of flowers suspended at the prow 
 burst open, freeing a flock of white doves which 
 followed in the wake of the gliding hull amidst a 
 shower of blossoms and petals. 
 
 Gifted men, heroes of our own country and 
 of England especially, poets, students, in fact 
 
 xix
 
 the noblest and finest of all who visited his home, 
 were drawn to his side, as by a magnet, feeling 
 the power of that composed and restful, one 
 might say untroubled, personality, while he lis 
 tened to their tale of brave deeds done, or to 
 other trend and current of their thought and 
 deep, keen converse. An invisible line was 
 drawn and distinctly felt by the merely fash 
 ionable and frivolous. 
 
 He was writing verses now ; at first to wear 
 away the time when alone or with servants, as 
 was sometimes unavoidable. He had always 
 had a notable memory, and loving poetry, had 
 committed many a page while awaiting bath or 
 breakfast. It is not difficult to fancy his relish 
 of Homer's account of Achilles playing the harp 
 which he had taken prize, and "loving sacred 
 music well made it his exercise." The first of 
 his own verses is hung on a little thread of 
 affectionate raillery. The lines to his mother 
 were written "to order/' he said. "For 1 did 
 not want to undertake what I had no words to
 
 express." Nihho, too, was commanded. "The 
 silence smothers me, especially here in Nikko," 
 he said; "the incessant hush of light-falling 
 waters." The Metrical Translation was pre 
 sented, with a charming French speech, on one 
 of the anniversaries of his father and mother. 
 Little Jar-vis was written with a fervor and real 
 ization that brought the dew to his brow. The 
 Robbers' Chorus is from a play written for a 
 little theatre. But every word of every page 
 is wholly his. No suggestion or amendment 
 would he accept, however he admitted the 
 improvement. 
 
 When affairs made a return to the United 
 States imperative, Grafton was too seriously ill 
 to be moved. Distressed at being an obstacle, 
 " I know something must be done and quickly. 
 It seems much easier to die than to get well," he 
 sighed. He and his mother remained behind in 
 the foreign land overflowing with friends. Our 
 calm and indefatigable Bishop Hare was then in 
 Japan, and he found time, even in the midst of 
 
 xxi
 
 his incessant calls and from his trips to Nara 
 yonder, and far Cathay, to visit and confirm his 
 suffering young compatriot. Months afterward, 
 when he had rallied, he said, " I was too weak 
 to answer the Bishop ; but I understood him ; 
 he is the only minister who talks to me as if 
 I were alive." 
 
 The impression which Grafton made upon 
 people at this time was most significant. One 
 person said that he was like a prince lying there 
 and surrounded by the ceremonial of a court ; 
 and some verses addressed to him declared that 
 he seemed like a great soul that had put aside 
 the pomp of homage, the delight and daring of 
 hero or saint, and lay upon a narrow couch a 
 boy wearing away weary hours, and testing the 
 whole of pain, through it all the ruling soul 
 apparent. It could only have been a remark 
 able boy that aroused such thought and feeling. 
 This person sent him poems ; that one came 
 and told him Oriental stories, full of vivid sym 
 bolism, which he penetrated and enjoyed ; and
 
 one said, in tender and beautiful phrase, that 
 he seemed to have heard the voice of Fate say 
 ing, "Somewhere in the world a child must 
 have suffering," and he had answered, "I will 
 be he;" and God had said, "Let love walk 
 with him." Love surely did. 
 
 In time he and his mother slowly sought their 
 way home from this land of flowers and sweet 
 enchantments, and all the way the hard path 
 blossomed with kindnesses in unexpected places. 
 From railroad kings to railroad porters, from 
 masters of great ocean steamers to the heathen 
 servants, all were untiring in their efforts to 
 smooth the way. " I am sorry, Ah Soong, to 
 wake you so often," Grafton said, one sleepless 
 night. "But you cannot help it," said the 
 Chinese attendant, in an expression of feeling 
 surprising to one who knew the silent and 
 saturnine manner of the race. 
 
 At night his mother often heard him whisper 
 ing his prayers, and sometimes he fell asleep 
 with them on his lips. He passed many wake-
 
 ful hours which he never mentioned. Some 
 times the beloved hand on his forehead would 
 bring relief, and then he would gently remove 
 the hand to an easier position. There was 
 always an atmosphere of poetry in his relation 
 to his mother and in his admiring and satisfied 
 love of her. During an indisposition of her 
 own, she wrote to him on the only scrap of 
 paper at hand a line of approbation and hope 
 ful promise ; after her recovery she observed 
 that he changed something with his handker 
 chief to the pocket at every fresh toilet. It 
 was this scrap of paper, and it never left 
 him. 
 
 Ill and powerless, he had always a knightly 
 spirit. Once, when witnessing some rudeness 
 to a woman, "Oh! what it is to feel like a 
 man and be unable to act like one," he ex 
 claimed, with blazing eyes and clenched, frail 
 hands. But storms rarely overcame the stead 
 fast self-control and the sense of support that 
 abided in him. He never wished that others
 
 should feel the dragging weight of his heavy 
 cross. Twice only she who loved him best 
 saw the awful anguish and was enabled, by 
 the silent, all-encompassing heavenly love, to 
 heal and to sustain. His mother has said that 
 she will never forget his start of dismay and 
 distress when at sight of his suffering her trust 
 once wavered before him, nor cease to be 
 thankful that it restored her instantly to her 
 right mind and so restored him to his. "What 
 would you think of me if 1 broke the legs of 
 a little bird and wounded it ? " one said. " But 
 if it made the little bird an eagle," was the 
 quick response. 
 
 Once when his mother was speaking with 
 some bitterness of a certain action, he said, his 
 clear eyes on hers, " You wouldn't feel that way, 
 would you, mother, if you loved that person 
 right ?" He cut directly to the root of the mat 
 ter, and such was his own comprehensive love 
 that he had no hesitation in speaking. His 
 utterances were always spontaneous, the voice
 
 of sweet impulse and fine insight. His happy 
 spirit and his mirthful sayings hindered gloom 
 where he was. " Procrastination is the spice 
 of life," he said ; and of a very lugubrious 
 visitor he boldly asked, "Did you never have 
 a good time in all your life ?" He himself knew 
 the art of getting a good time, if only at second 
 hand, as the philosopher could extract sunshine 
 from unpromising material. " He possessed," 
 wrote concerning him the mother of other 
 children, "the qualities of radiant cheerfulness 
 and generous pleasure in the enjoyment of 
 others, although he could not participate. I 
 remember I saw him one day on the lawn with 
 other boys who were performing gymnastic 
 feats. He was as thoroughly in the spirit of 
 the fun as they. I felt it was a privilege for 
 my children and myself to have had even this 
 slight acquaintance with him." 
 
 Leaden-footed hours of misery approached at 
 last, as he was borne, step by step, down the 
 valley of the shadow. Full of the heroic dreams
 
 of youth, still eager for happier things than this 
 constant companionship of pain, he rarely ex 
 pressed impatience. "If I could walk, and 
 knew anyone like me," he sighed once, " I 
 would go to see him every day or I would send 
 him something, if only a postal," and his heart 
 overflowed with grateful acknowledgment of 
 every kindness. " Tell him, that though I 
 cannot see him, I love him just the same," he 
 sent word to a gentleman who had made occa 
 sions of pleasure for him and afterwards of 
 relief when pleasure was not to be thought of; 
 not permitting the message to be taken by the 
 nurse, but by a member of the family: "You 
 go," he said ; " but don't stay." 
 
 It was in the last year that he said one day 
 to his mother, "I think I must be growing 
 worse, 1 like flowers so much better la France 
 for you to wear, and pansies are companion 
 able for me." All his childhood, even before 
 he knew its name, the passion-flower had been 
 the one that appealed to him with its mystery
 
 and beauty. He had never any word of blame 
 concerning the cause of his misfortune ; but 
 questioned at this time of great trial about the 
 negligence of the nurse who let him fall, "She 
 had a lover, you know," he said, as if he 
 would excuse her. 
 
 Thus it was the high spirit supported the 
 weak and fainting body. Although constantly 
 caring for it night and day for years, the one 
 who was nearest to him scarcely felt as if, 
 after all, he had a body, so supreme over it 
 were mind and will. "In the midst of all he 
 struggled through," wrote an active man of 
 stirring life, "there was a little heaven in 
 his smile. He should have all the honors of 
 the heroes he loved. The rare child fought 
 the battle of life as well as any soldier of 
 them all." 
 
 There came now days and weeks of inexpress 
 ible suffering ; but through everything there was 
 dignity and consideration for others, the court 
 liest courtesy towards all who approached him.
 
 After he became too "tired" to write in a diary 
 he had a calendar which he marked / x m re ^ 
 or blue, as the days were easier and to be en 
 dured, or heavy and intolerable. The record 
 bears aloft the red banner, the trumpet-tones 
 of victory, to the last page ; five blue crosses 
 the first of the six months ; only ten the last. 
 
 Expressing gratitude and a sense of rest, he 
 died as he had lived, troubling no one. The 
 lights were out, and the household slept. And 
 that day dawned which taught that never upon 
 this side of immortality would sound the music 
 of his morning summons, his spirit wholly rapt 
 away in divine Easter hallelujahs. 
 
 As I remember him, always lying on the 
 couch, among his books and flowers, the spirit 
 shining through his face like white flame, the 
 sunny smile of welcome just dashed with sad 
 ness, his was a beauty not of earth, and it 
 seems to me that he shut up in his short life a 
 service, a martyrdom, and a glory. 
 
 His COUSIN HAL.
 
 CRITICISMS. 
 
 These verses were written by a lad whose misfortune 
 shut him out from many of the ordinary pleasures of life. 
 They were written mostly between the ages of fifteen and 
 seventeen. That they are as good as they are ought cer 
 tainly to be matter of pride to those who loved him, but 
 we must expect no more than adventitious value from 
 other readers. They interest because a child wrote them 
 and because he died in what was merely his intellectual 
 apprenticeship. The pleasure he found in writing was a 
 sort of compensation for all that was denied him : the 
 diversion gave him the joy of art, the satisfaction which 
 lies in all work when we try to do it well. Its worth 
 was subjective of aesthetic and intellectual value to 
 him. It filled days and nights with a " light that never 
 was on sea or land." Present pain and the dark future 
 were both obscured under this spell of using the resources 
 within his own mind : there he was well and whole.
 
 Really there was beauty and a good lesson in this boy's 
 life. Though he had not come to his work he had shown 
 his tendency and quality, and in the promise his verses 
 gave, we gladly see a potential success. We give him 
 credit "for what he aspired to be." Fate did not give 
 him time to accomplish. 
 
 We get from this a good practical thought. There is a 
 no more absorbing and delightful exercise of the mind than 
 the making of verse. Every rhyme is a point gained 
 and very often an amusing surprise, also, for we never 
 know beforehand what is coming and it is as new to the 
 author as to another. It is hard for anything unpleasant 
 to intrude. The growing lines fill the moment. For 
 persons who cannot work and who yet are not content to 
 be idle, we have no better medicine than this, write verses, 
 though the worth is only in the doing. Tennyson's lines 
 will suggest themselves : 
 
 " But for the unquiet heart and brain 
 A use in measured language lies, 
 The sad mechanic exercise 
 Like dull narcotic's numbing pain." 
 
 C. M.
 
 This boy, untrammelled by conventional thought, has 
 caught a little of the childlike simplicity and forcible 
 directness of the old ballad singers, that modern poets 
 have found so difficult to imitate. Take, for instance, the 
 first lines of "Ode," "O Katie San," "The Robber 
 Chorus." "Righteous Indignation" is a bold, strong 
 setting forth of a truth which every observer must ac 
 knowledge. Chivalry is one of the beautiful things of the 
 past, gone beyond recall. Like an old picture, we long 
 for it, yet know it will never be reproduced. 
 
 K. McF. 
 
 xxxiii
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Ode, 
 
 Ode to V M 
 
 Farewell to K. L A., 
 
 Valentine, 
 
 Lullaby, 
 
 Birthday Greeting, 
 
 Fairy Land Found, 
 
 Night-blooming Cereus, 
 
 Nikko, 
 
 Translation, 
 
 A Valentine, 
 
 Little Jarvis, 
 
 The Moon Maiden, 
 
 Our Flag, 
 
 Robbers' Chorus, 
 
 Righteous Indignation, 
 
 Dismantled Omaha, 
 
 Yokohama, October, 1890, 1 
 
 Yokohama, November, 1890, 5 
 
 Kobe, December, 1890, 9 
 
 Kobe, February, 1891, 13 
 
 Kobe, March, 1891, 15 
 
 Yokohama, May, 1891, 19 
 
 Yokohama, May, 1891, 21 
 
 Yokohama, July, 1891, 27 
 
 Yokohama, September, 1891, 31 
 
 Yokohama, November, 1891, 33 
 
 California, May, 1892, 37 
 
 New Hampshire, August, 1892, 39 
 
 Longwood, October, 1892, 55 
 
 Longwood, January, 1893, 63 
 
 Longwood, March, 1893, 67 
 
 Longwood, May, 1893, 71 
 
 Longwood, August, 1893, 75
 
 ODE 
 
 There is a form, a fairy form, 
 That even on the darkest day 
 Shines brilliant as a solar ray, 
 And whose soft step, so light the sound, 
 She hardly seems to touch the ground. 
 Her temper is so sweet and airy 
 You think you interview a fairy ; 
 She never loses it, you see, 
 And that is why we two agree. 
 And buried in her beauteous eye 
 Full many a romance seems to lie; 
 Protected are those orbs of gray 
 By two clear crystals' bright array. 
 I sometimes make a slight request 
 Which to this angel is addressed 
 I murmur, " Canst thou read to me ? " 
 She answers, " Dear, I cannot see." 
 O artful one, thou hast acquired 
 The art to make thy gems admired;
 
 Oh, thou canst fish for compliments 
 And hook them up from all the gents! 
 Her rosebud mouth can utter naught 
 But honeyed phrase from Cupid caught; 
 Her tiny hands are white as snow 
 And swift upon their knitting go. 
 But now, perchance, thou hast not guessed 
 The subject which this pen has blessed, 
 But if you'll lend your ear to me, 
 I'll softly whisper Madame C.
 
 ODE TO V. 
 
 Oft in the night, when silence deep 
 
 O'ertakes the world and all things sleep, 
 
 When all around me darkness reigns, 
 
 I lie and think with troubled brains 
 
 Of one sweet being far away 
 
 Who haunts my mind both night and day. 
 
 Eight thousand miles of land and sea 
 Lie stretched between my love and me 
 Eight thousand miles, a great dull waste 
 Yet Cupid's arrow makes great haste 
 And in my heart full many a wound 
 From those sharp arrows I have found. 
 
 The threads of gold that at me flare 
 From off the foreign brocades rare 
 Remind me of my darling's hair ; 
 The brilliant blue of eastern skies 
 Brings back to mind her peerless eyes, 
 5
 
 The blood that from a love -wound drips 
 Is like unto her ruby lips. 
 
 There never could a maiden be 
 With softer, fairer skin than she ; 
 Thou canst not find a fairer maid 
 In all the world in light or shade 
 Who says he can I will upbraid. 
 Her name is secret, don't you see ? 
 I'll only give the letter V 
 And if you cannot guess her name, 
 Well, then, I'm sure, I'm not to blame.
 
 FAREWELL TO K. L. A. 
 
 O Katie San ! O Katie San ! 
 
 How void of light will seem each day 
 And empty seem this whole Japan 
 
 When thou hast gone far, far away. 
 
 How strange 'twill be in Tokio, 
 When we go there our calls to pay, 
 
 To see your house in Azabu 
 Without your presence bright and gay. 
 
 in 
 
 With many sighs 1 part from thee, 
 And make lament that thou must go, 
 
 But sincere wish thou hast from me 
 That gentle winds for thee may blow. 
 
 9
 
 IV 
 
 We used to fight, and when I beat 
 
 It never did your ardour mar; 
 Saint George's cross with cheers you'd greet, 
 
 I louder cheered for stripe and star! 
 
 Forget me not and write to me 
 In secret cipher known to none ; 
 
 I'll do the same and write to thee, 
 But English letters we will shun ! 
 
 VI 
 
 I'll say farewell now, lady mine ; 
 
 Tis hard, but " best of friends must part." 
 No clearer star will ever shine 
 
 Than thy bright memory in my heart.
 
 VALENTINE 
 
 Oh, this is to my Valentine 
 
 So sweet and plump, with face divine. 
 
 Accept this token of my love 
 
 Because it is for such a dove! 
 
 Oh, take my heart and give me thine- 
 
 Fm sure one kiss you'll not decline. 
 
 I'll ne'er forget thee, storm or rain, 
 
 And soon I hope we'll meet again.
 
 LULLABY 
 
 Sleep, baby, mother's dear, 
 Sleep now and have no fear ; 
 Rest thou, for mother's near 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 
 Now comes the gentle dew 
 Down from the sky so blue, 
 Bringing a dream for you 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 
 Birdies have ceased their song, 
 But night will not be long, 
 Soon will the sunbeams throng- 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 
 Light comes the wind so free, 
 Soft rustling every tree, 
 Sweet words 'tis whispering thee, 
 Bidding thee sleep. 
 15
 
 Stars twinkling down so bright 
 And the moon with silvery light 
 Watch thee all thro' the night 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! 
 
 Lay down thy tired head; 
 May Heaven blessings shed 
 And angels guard thy bed 
 Whilst thou dost sleep. 
 
 Close now thine eyes so bright, 
 And dark tho' be the night, 
 Sleep, darling, all is right 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! * 
 
 *This Lullaby has been set to music. 
 17
 
 BIRTHDAY GREETING 
 
 O Mother! who for me hast gently cared 
 
 In sickness and in health with kindly hand, 
 Who all my childish joys and griefs hast shared, 
 Whose equal is not found in all the land 
 Oh, on this day, the best in all the year, 
 May Heaven truest happiness on thee pour, 
 And may it give you peace, and make you 
 
 blest, 
 And make me truly grateful evermore.
 
 FAIRY-LAND FOUND 
 
 O rare Japan, O beauteous land, 
 Thy fairy likeness haunts me e'er ; 
 
 How quaint and childlike art thou planned, 
 So small and yet so wondrous fair. 
 
 To us of our far Western shores, 
 That lie across the stormy seas, 
 
 Tho' strange do seem thy ways and laws, 
 Because so childlike, they must please. 
 
 Thy people are the most polite 
 That in my life I yet have seen ; 
 
 You get salaams from morn till night 
 From folks you ne'er before have seen. 
 
 And in this graceful Eastern land 
 The people never seem in haste ; 
 
 There's always time for everything : 
 The very poorest dress with taste.
 
 The musume, with her obi gay, 
 So kitten-like, a great coquette, 
 
 She is enchanting, 1 must say, 
 With raven locks and eyes of jet. 
 
 With snowy tabbies, fair to see, 
 With velvet band between the toes, 
 
 Kimono soft, and kangashi, 
 She, waddling, to the party goes. 
 
 And when you wish a call to pay, 
 
 You in a jinrikisha ride; 
 To ring or knock you do not stay, 
 
 But shining shogi back you slide. 
 
 You leave your shoes outside the door ; 
 
 " Konichi-wa," you, bowing, say 
 Your hostess kneels upon the floor 
 
 And offers tea on lacquer tray. 
 
 And if you like the samisen, 
 Then ask your hostess for a song, 
 
 Light-tripping, smiling, there and then 
 She'll give you one, tho' not too long. 
 23
 
 The chop-sticks you can hardly use, 
 But when the musumes with them toy, 
 
 Their slender fingers are quite deft 
 In picking up raw fish and soy. 
 
 In silvery whiteness, 'gainst the sky, 
 With graceful outline, nature's plan, 
 
 Raising her snowy peak on high 
 In gracious glory, Fuji-san ! 
 
 O queen of mountains, peerless crest, 
 What wonder Nippon worships thee! 
 
 What marvellous theme for artist breast 
 Thy fame must last eternally! 
 
 Japs take the world in childlike way, 
 Content with little, pleased with naught ; 
 
 So " Syonara " we will say 
 "This is the Fairy-land long sought." 
 
 GLOSSARY. Musume, maiden ; obi, sash ; tabbies, 
 socks; kimono, gown; kangashi, hair ornament; shogi, 
 door ; Konichi-wa, good-day ; samisen, guitar ; syonara, 
 farewell ; soy, sauce ; jinrikisha, man-carriage. 
 
 25
 
 NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS 
 
 All day we watched the still unopened flower, 
 Hidden within its folds of silky brown, 
 As some fair maid, who, on her bridal day, 
 
 Lingers with diffidence within her curtained 
 bower. 
 
 We watch, we gaze, we hope, and yet we fear, 
 As now the sun is sinking down so low, 
 And shadows lengthening ever more and 
 more, 
 
 That the shy flower will not appear. 
 
 Yet, what is this our raptured eyes behold ? 
 Slowly, but surely back the curtain rolls 
 With stateliness and gracious modesty 
 
 We see the beauteous Cereus unfold. 
 
 27
 
 Open at last, it spreads its glorious wings, 
 Throws out a halo round its queenly head, 
 And breathing forth a fragrance rare and 
 pure, 
 
 Joy into every heart its beauty brings. 
 
 It stands alone, when dusk upon us creeps, 
 Bringing forth light from darkness like the 
 
 moon, 
 The sweetest perfume spreading all around 
 
 This flower wakes while every other sleeps. 
 
 It lives but hours few, then fades away 
 
 Forever into deep obscurity, 
 
 Naught but its lasting memory leaves behind ; 
 Oh, whither has it gone oh, who can say ?
 
 NIKKO 
 
 Where is it that the hills look down 
 Upon a quiet little town, 
 Where roaring torrents foam and rush 
 And streamlets from the hillside gush? 
 Where is it that the mist and cloud 
 High peaks of mountains ever shroud, 
 Where slanting rays the sun doth shine 
 Through avenues of stateliest pine ; 
 Where temples, finest in the land, 
 All lacquered, carved, and gilded, stand ? 
 Where is it that the road is flanked 
 By bland stone Buddhas, double ranked ; 
 Red, sacred bridge the stream doth span, 
 Trod never but by Emperor's clan. 
 Where in tea-house cool you meet, 
 While drinking tea, musumes petite ? 
 Where is it you in kaga ride 
 And thus o'ercome steep mountain -side ? 
 Oh, where can one alone say " kekko " ? * 
 It surely, surely is in Nikko! 
 
 * Perfect.
 
 THE CROW AND THE FOX 
 
 Old Mr. Crow was perched on a tree, 
 
 In his beak he was holding some cheese, 
 Which sly Mr. Fox with envy did see, 
 
 And spoke some words like unto these: 
 " Ah ! good day, my dear Mr. Crow, 
 How handsome you are! what a beau! 
 
 In truth, if your singing be good 
 As your plumage is brilliant and gay, 
 Without the least doubt I may say 
 
 The Phoenix you are of this wood." 
 At these words Mr. Crow did with vanity swell, 
 
 And his beautiful voice to show, 
 He opened his beak to the ground the cheese 
 fell. 
 
 Mr. Fox quickly seized it, then said to the 
 
 crow, 
 "My very good sir, of flatterers take heed 
 
 Their living depends upon whom they can 
 dupe. 
 
 33
 
 This lesson to you is worth much cheese 
 
 indeed." 
 Mr. Crow, quite ashamed, and on this point 
 
 quite sore, 
 
 Vowed, I must say, rather late in the day, 
 That he'd be deluded no more.
 
 A VALENTINE 
 
 Oh, stay, stay with me, my bosom's delight, 
 Oh, stay by my side while I wake and when 
 
 dreaming, 
 While thy fond azure eyes soft lustre are 
 
 beaming 
 
 With radiance clear like stars in the night. 
 With thy gentleness rare, so angelic, so fair, 
 For what more on earth would mortal man 
 
 care ? 
 
 Oh, stay, stay with me now and ever, I crave, 
 And the storms of this life together we'll 
 brave. 
 
 97
 
 LITTLE JARVIS 
 
 Have you heard of little Jarvis, 
 Of the gallant little Jarvis, 
 Who, on board the Constellation 
 Frigate, pride of all her nation, 
 Celebrate in song and story 
 For her prowess and her glory, 
 Met his death without a tremor, 
 Mid the battle roar and clamor ? 
 I will try to tell the story 
 Of the battle fierce and gory, 
 Of the cannons' roar and lightning, 
 Making noise terrific, frightening, 
 Of the sabre's clash and shimmer, 
 Whilst the midnight stars did glimmer, 
 And at last the glorious sun - 
 Rising found the vict'ry won. 
 
 Twas the frigate Constellation 
 Sailed the sea one summer's morning, 
 
 39
 
 In the balmy, sunny tropics. 
 Trim was she, and fair to look on, 
 Graceful were her masts and slender 
 Slenderer her yards and cross-trees 
 And the rigging taut like bowstrings, 
 Like an Indian warrior's bowstrings, 
 And her sails like wings outspreading, 
 Like the white wings of the sea-gull. 
 
 Little Jarvis was a middy, 
 Youngest middy on the frigate, 
 Though there was not one more active, 
 None more fearless or more active. 
 Ofttimes had the sailors told him 
 Of the fight with the Insurgente 
 How the Constellation sunk her, 
 Sunk her, sent her to the bottom, 
 While the heart of Jarvis fluttered, 
 Fluttered with an ardent longing 
 To be present at a sea-fight, 
 In a tussle with a Frenchman! 
 
 On this evening in the tropics, 
 In the balmy, sunny tropics, 
 Our young hero at the mast-head 
 41
 
 Eagerly did scan the ocean, 
 Scan the blue and placid ocean, 
 When his keen eye caught an object 
 Resting near the gray horizon. 
 Twas a frigate under full sail, 
 Bearing down upon them swiftly, 
 Bearing down with port-holes open. 
 Quick as thought did little Jarvis 
 Scramble down the main -mast ratlines, 
 And reported to the captain, 
 E'en before the lookout's warning 
 Set the whole ship's crew a-stirring. 
 Nearer came the stranger, nearer, 
 Till could be discovered with glasses 
 The French tri-color at the mast-head. 
 Quick the decks were cleared for action, 
 Quick the magazines were opened, 
 Quick the guns were primed and shotted, 
 And the crew stood at their lock-strings 
 Waiting for the order " Fire ! " 
 
 In high glee was little Jarvis, 
 And he walked the deck right proudly 
 With his hand upon his dirk's hilt. 
 But alas for him! the captain 
 
 43
 
 Ordered Jarvis to the main-top, 
 Said that that should be his station, 
 And an old and trusty bos'en 
 He sent with him as protector; 
 For the captain, always careful, 
 Always careful of his middies, 
 Did not like to risk young Jarvis 
 In the fray upon the gun-deck. 
 Sadly Jarvis heard his orders, 
 Sadly did he mount the ratlines, 
 Sadly did he take his station. 
 Vainly did the kind old bos'en 
 Try to brighten and to cheer him. 
 All seemed dark to little Jarvis, 
 That before had seemed so pleasant; 
 How could he his name distinguish 
 Out of reach of all this fighting, 
 Out of reach of shell and gunshot? 
 
 Now the Frenchman drew up closer 
 The fifty-four gun war-ship Vengeance. 
 Larger was she by a quarter 
 Than the gallant Constellation. 
 Soon the fight began in earnest, 
 In a stern and deadly earnest, 
 
 45
 
 Broadside after broadside thundered, 
 Thundered making deadly havoc, 
 Splintering bulwarks, killing, wounding, 
 Flash on flash lit up the ocean, 
 Lit the quiet passive ocean, 
 Cries and shouts and cheers resounded, 
 Mingling with the roar of battle. 
 Little Jarvis, all excitement, 
 His down-heartedness forgetting, 
 Cheered and waved his sea-cap wildly, 
 Shouting "Go it ! " " Let 'em have it ! " 
 " Give it to the bloody Frenchman ! " 
 Soon 'twas seen on board the Vengeance 
 She was getting badly worsted, 
 Men were falling by the dozens, 
 And the decks with blood grew slipp'ry ; 
 One by one the guns dismounted 
 By the aiming of the Yankees, 
 Aiming that was sure and deadly. 
 But the Frenchman still persisted, 
 Bravely, desperately persisted. 
 One by one the masts came crashing; 
 In a sad plight was the Vengeance, 
 Helpless, at her foeman's mercy, 
 Helpless, without power of motion. 
 
 47
 
 Goaded on by desperation, 
 
 Two officers made one more effort ; 
 
 A gun they shotted to the muzzle, 
 
 Aimed it at the Constellation, 
 
 At the tall and stately main-mast. 
 
 Little Jarvis in the main-top, 
 
 At his station in the main -top, 
 
 Felt the great mast bend beneath him ; 
 
 Then he heard an ominous cracking, 
 
 Heard a loud and ominous cracking. 
 
 Now, the bos'en, when he felt it, 
 
 Started downward quick, exclaiming, 
 
 " Come, sir, come, the mast's agoing ! " 
 
 Little Jarvis looked down calmly, 
 
 Calmly to the deck below him 
 
 All the while the mast kept swaying, 
 
 Swaying, bending lower down 
 
 But young Jarvis answered firmly, 
 
 Answered steadily and firmly, 
 
 " I must not desert my station. 
 
 Officers obey their orders. 
 
 I shall stay it is my duty." 
 
 And to all renewed entreaty 
 
 He remained still firm, unflinching, 
 
 Till at last the lofty main-mast 
 
 49
 
 Prostrate fell with noise appalling. 
 Falling like a mighty pine-tree, 
 Like a monarch of the forest 
 Blasted by some raging tempest : 
 And the bos'en halfway down it 
 Barely reached the deck in safety. 
 But oh ! where was valiant Jarvis, 
 Valiant, noble little Jarvis ? 
 There upon the deck they found him 
 Dead, but on his face still wearing, 
 Still, that look of calm composure. 
 
 Morning dawfied. The frigate Vengeance 
 Lay a shattered hulk to leeward, 
 And the conqueror, Constellation, 
 Stanch and sound save for her main-mast. 
 But although they were triumphant, 
 Sorrow hung all o'er the vessel. 
 As that night they buried Jarvis, 
 With the Stars and Stripes enshrouded, 
 In the sea he loved so dearly. 
 Then full many a hoary sailor 
 Dropped a tear upon his body, 
 For on board the Constellation 
 None had done his duty better, 
 51
 
 None had died with greater courage! 
 May our seamen e'er be like him, 
 Ever follow his example. 
 Honor be to little Jarvis! 
 Honor then now hereafter! 
 
 53
 
 THE MOON MAIDEN 
 
 (FROM THE JAPANESE) 
 
 Down from the heavenly regions bright 
 Came the Moon Maiden, lustrous white. 
 From up in the clouds where she did soar, 
 She could see the Suruga's golden shore 
 Washed by the ocean's murmuring tide, 
 Where junks and fishermen's boats did ride. 
 Silently, cloudlike she floated down, 
 White as the snow on Fuji's crown. 
 Soft was the air on that sweet spring morn, 
 And fragrance of plum blossoms zephyr -born 
 Was wafted up through the balmy air 
 To this wondrous sky-born virgin fair. 
 She lighted on the pebbly strand, 
 And then stood spell -bound on the sand, 
 Gazing at the scene around, 
 The fairest she had ever found. 
 The crest of Fuji towering high, 
 Plum-trees blossoming far and nigh ; 
 
 55
 
 Fisher-folks' huts under pine-trees high, 
 Each with its tiny garden near by; 
 Bamboo groves with their waving grace, 
 And rising sun gilding Suruga's face. 
 Charmed was the Moon Maiden at the sight, 
 As she wandered along with footsteps light, 
 While sweet strains from her flute were heard 
 
 around 
 
 Like the sound of rain-drops on thirsty ground. 
 She picked up shells on the briny beach, 
 Amazed at the varied hue of each. 
 So soft on the sand seemed each breaking 
 
 wave 
 
 That to dip her feet did the Maiden crave. 
 So she hung on the bough of a neighboring 
 
 pine 
 
 Her winged coat made of feathers fine, 
 And laying her flute on a rocky ledge, 
 She wended her way to the water's edge, 
 And strolled along by its rippling side, 
 Dipping her shining feet in the tide. 
 A lone fisherman chancing to pass that way 
 Saw the feathery coat on the pine-tree spray; 
 Hastening forward he took it down, 
 For he knew it must be an angel's gown. 
 
 57
 
 Of the heavenly flute he had heard the sound, 
 And he muttered low, " Tis a prize I have 
 
 found. 
 
 This robe to the shrine as a relic must go 
 Of a heavenly visitor here below." 
 But the Moon Maiden hastened up from the 
 
 tide. 
 
 " O mortal, give me my coat," she cried. 
 The fisherman gazed with curious awe 
 At a form so radiant earth ne'er held before. 
 But he said, tho' touched by the Maiden's woe, 
 " As a gift to the temple should the garment 
 
 go." 
 
 " O birds of the air that swiftly fly, 
 Give me your wings ! " did the Maiden cry. 
 " O Goddess far from the silver moon," 
 Said the fisherman, " grant me this small boon : 
 If to play for me on your flute you'll deign, 
 Your winged coat you shall have again." 
 " Right gladly will I play for thee, 
 But first restore my robe to me. 
 Verily, one like me from high 
 You cannot think would act a lie." 
 Then the fisherman yielded up the wings, 
 And sweeter than nightingale e'er sings, 
 
 59
 
 The dulcet notes of her flute were heard 
 Enrapturing man, and beast, and bird. 
 Fainter and fainter the sweet strains grew, 
 As swiftly the Moon Maiden heavenward flew. 
 The mortal stood gazing on the shore 
 Till her lustrous form could be seen no more; 
 Then turning homeward he made his way, 
 But never could he forget that day^. 
 But watched for her daily, sunshine of rain 
 But the Moon Maiden never came again. 
 For many years did the pine-tree stand, 
 Till stricken at last by the tempest's hand. 
 And now on the sacred spot there stands 
 A shrine erected by reverent hands, 
 That all who pass may see it, and know 
 Of the Moon Maiden's visit here below. 
 Children have lived, grown old and gray, 
 Generations have gone and passed away, 
 But the bamboo groves still wave with grace 
 Their leaves 'gainst the sky, like a veil of lace ; 
 Still all unchanged is Suruga's tide, 
 And Fuji rearing her crest in pride. 
 
 61
 
 OUR FLAG 
 
 Unfurl ye to the breeze, ye standard brave ! 
 
 Fling forth thy folds o'er our beloved land! 
 
 Wave proudly from the golden western strand 
 To old Atlantic's bleak, tempestuous wave ! 
 
 Shine on thro' war and tumult still the same, 
 O silver stars, that long have brightly shone ! 
 Gleam on, O constellation grand our fathers 
 won, 
 
 And gained our native land immortal fame ! 
 
 And let thy crimson stripes remind each loyal 
 
 son 
 
 Of blood shed by brave patriots 
 Who saw the cruel despots turn and flee, 
 And let the white remind him that peace they 
 nobly won. 
 
 63
 
 Fear not, ye strong flag, but wave serenely on, 
 Tho' storms do blow, and tempests rock the 
 
 mast, 
 For Liberty, our Queen, thy staff holds fast 
 
 No storm can shake the rock she stands upon!
 
 THE ROBBERS' CHORUS 
 
 We are wicked, bold brigands, 
 We're the merriest of bands 
 You can find in all the lands 
 Near and far! 
 
 Every man's a master-thief. 
 Brave Bill Black's our chief. 
 Our dark deeds are past belief. 
 Hip, hurrah ! 
 
 The misers in the night 
 In their beds do quake with fright, 
 For they fear their guineas bright 
 We will take. 
 
 And we steal the farmer's sheep, 
 And ladies' diamonds while they sleep ; 
 And then they're sure to weep, 
 When they wake. 
 67
 
 Oh, a merry life we lead, 
 And ne'er money do we need, 
 And like princes do we feed. 
 Tra la la! 
 
 Then, hurrah for our bold chief ! 
 And hurrah for each brave thief! 
 Now, let your cheers be brief ! 
 Hip, hurrah !
 
 RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION 
 
 Has chivalry vanished forever, 
 
 Has gallantry gone to the dogs, 
 Have gentlemen all turned to bumpkins 
 
 With no more manners than dogs ? 
 
 Can men let their wives be insulted 
 
 By caddish ill-mannerly cubs ? 
 And sons, whose best friends are their mothers, 
 
 Have they nothing for them but snubs? 
 
 Are ladies no more to be honored, 
 And with courtesy treated no more? 
 
 If this is what they call progress, 
 Then, better the days of yore, 
 
 When gallant might fight for his lady, 
 If he heard her name taken in vain, 
 
 Nor ceased with his sword to avenge her, 
 Till either he won or was slain. 
 
 71
 
 If a lady says to one " Good-morning," 
 
 Be she high or of low degree, 
 " Good-morning, my lady," or " madame," 
 
 !n past times the response would be. 
 
 The phrase now is " Good-morning, woman." 
 Do your wish to know how I know ? 
 
 From a " gentleman " who's been to England ; 
 At least, he calls himself so. 
 
 O chivalry, can it have fled 
 
 Where the gauntlet and helmet have gone- 
 Can it be 'tis a thing of the past ? 
 
 I, for one, do its loss deeply mourn. 
 
 O ye arrogant lords of creation! 
 
 Let not all your honor decay, 
 Let deference be e'er shown to women, 
 
 And true gallantry ne'er pass away. 
 
 73
 
 TO THE DISMANTLED MAN-OF-WAR, 
 THE OMAHA 
 
 Alas ! is this the dear old ship 
 
 On which I once did dwell ? 
 Is this the bark, on which I sailed, 
 
 That rode the waves so well? 
 
 Can this be she, all stripped and bare 
 
 And falling to decay, 
 That once at anchor proudly rode 
 
 In far-off foreign bay ? 
 
 Her stately masts are now laid low, 
 Her shrouds and spars are gone, 
 
 Her crew have vanished, and upon 
 Her decks I stand alone. 
 
 The wheel is gone that shaped her course, 
 
 Her port -holes too are bare, 
 The guns that once did through them frown 
 
 Are now no longer there. 
 
 75
 
 Through many a storm I've heard the wind 
 Shriek through her rigging taut, 
 
 While with the ponderous seething wave 
 The good ship bravely fought. 
 
 But though the tempest raged full long, 
 And loud has roared the blast, 
 
 The gallant ship has always come 
 Safe through it all at last. 
 
 Her cabin that was once my home 
 
 Is cheerless now and cold ; 
 Where everything so homelike was 
 
 Is naught but rust and mould. 
 
 Aye, all is changed, naught but bespeaks 
 
 Of age and of decay ; 
 I cast one long and lingering look 
 
 And sadly turn away. 
 
 Still when I see the battered hulk, 
 
 Dismantled though it be, 
 Bright memories of its better days 
 
 Come crowding back to me. 
 
 77
 
 " Life is not all a. pleasure." Thou saidst, dear bey, 
 Thy dear brave words upon a sunny morn, 
 When other children played along tie beach 
 Jlnd tbou turnedst back, resigning, ah ! bow much. 
 
 For " somewhere in the world a child must bf 
 Suffering." Didst thou bear the voice of fate, 
 And say, brave soldier, " I mil be be," 
 While God said, " Let Love walk with him " ? 
 
 C. H. H. 
 July, 1894.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
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