, 
 
MAIN 9oe< 
 
 U: 
 
 
SNATCHES OF SONG 
 
 WITH VERSES OF LIGHTER AND 
 MORE SOBER MOODS 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM ANDREW SPALDING 
 
 Author of 
 
 My Vagabonds; 
 The Orange : Its Culture in California 
 
 SOUVENIR EDITION 
 
Copyrighted. 1921, 
 
 by 
 
 William Andrew Spalding 
 All rights reserved 
 
(Eo tfje Witt 
 
 imti) Uii)oin nn> pearfi are 
 ftoe-anb-fortp 
 
 49 i 5) 
 
INDEX 
 
 i 
 
 SONGS Page 
 
 Aeroplane, Song of the 48 
 
 As Night Awaits Upon Morning 27 
 
 Canyon Wren, The 16 
 
 Creel Club Song 26 
 
 English Sparrow, To an 18 
 
 Flier Flies, The 25 
 
 Florence, With the Laughing Eyes 28 
 
 Girl With a Pillow, The 29 
 
 Hoover, Heaver, Hoover 31 
 
 I Said to My Verse 11 
 
 It s Going to Rain 44 
 
 Larry O Lane 38 
 
 Little Swallow, Flitting 21 
 
 McShaughnessy, Mrs 34 
 
 Mocking Bird, The 15 
 
 Mourning Dove, The 20 
 
 My Sunset Land ; .^i .* . 33 
 
 Oh, Cheer Up 19 
 
 Ostrich, To the 17 
 
 Our Lady 46 
 
 Peacock, To the 43 
 
 Sinn Fein 36 
 
 Snake, He Make 43 
 
 Spattered Pane of Glass, A 40 
 
 To a Very Large Man 35 
 
 Uncle Peter . 41 
 
 Yacht Royal, Song of the . 42 
 
INDEX Continued 
 II 
 
 FOR CHILDREN AND GROWN-UPS 
 
 Page 
 
 Dorothy Dix 55 
 
 Her Alphabet 53 
 
 Hip-e-ty-Hop 73 
 
 Johnny Sees the Circus 77-86 
 
 Lure of the Hydrant 67 
 
 Operetta, An 57 
 
 Shooing Out the Hens 60 
 
 Time o Day, The 66 
 
 To Barbara 54 
 
 Wonderful Little Italian Man, A 62 
 
 III 
 IN LIGHTER VEIN 
 
 Ah Get and You Bet 91 
 
 Ahkoond of Swat, The 95 
 
 Allegorical Ditty, An 96 
 
 Barmecidal Feast, A 98 
 
 Chinese Wedlock 105 
 
 Christmas Jinks, At a 1 00 
 
 Enigma 102 
 
 Fair Idyl, A 103 
 
 Flowing Bowl, My 100 
 
 La Grippe 1 07 
 
 Lines to Major E. W 106 
 
 Plain Language from Truthful Walter 110 
 
 Premeditated Poverty 108 
 
INDEX Continued 
 
 Page 
 
 Quips and Epigrams Ill 
 
 Reform, A Ballad , 118 
 
 Smith s Profiteering 
 
 Sophist s Maxim, The 116 
 
 ToF.A.G.. , 101 
 
 ToF. W. W ... 101 
 
 Wonderful Diplomat, The 117 
 
 IV 
 
 IN SOBER VERSE 
 
 After-Glow, The 1 73 
 
 Azracl.0 160 
 
 Bard s Appeal, The 126 
 
 Black Star, The .... 180 
 
 Drouth, The .,. 132 
 
 Dying Orange Tree, The 1 30 
 
 Five-and-Forty, The Years Are 1 52 
 
 For a Summer s Cruise 167 
 
 German "U", The 146 
 
 Hesperides, The 1 23 
 
 Hundred Years Ago, A 1 76 
 
 If Love Were But a Holiday 1 58 
 
 I Mind a Little House f 154 
 
 InEvilBrass 134 
 
 In Memoriam 137 
 
 In Memory of a Friend 1 64 
 
 Ingersoll 1 36 
 
 Legend of the East, A . . 157 
 
 LittleBird.A 156 
 
 Little Messenger of Love and Death 1 38 
 
 Load of Wood, A.. 139 
 
INDEX Continued 
 
 Page 
 
 Maida,To 162 
 
 Mary to Dode 131 
 
 Moving Pictures on the Great White Way 189 
 
 Newsboy, The 1 24 
 
 Our Baby Still.. 155 
 
 Our Riddle 168 
 
 Pasadena 1 45 
 
 Philippine War, On the 142 
 
 Pillow-Fight, A 127 
 
 Pomona 141 
 
 Senate, To the 129 
 
 Sierra Pine, To a 149 
 
 Some Day 215 
 
 Two Soldiers 174 
 
 Upon the Eldest of Our Little Band 159 
 
 Whence Cometh Thought? 151 
 
 When the Grim Reaper Comes 1 73 
 
 Whither Away ? 169 
 
 Why Sing of Love to Thee? 153 
 
I SAID TO MY VERSE 
 
 Oh, little Verse, 
 I did complain, 
 
 How sets thy course, 
 Child of my brain? 
 
 I fear the jaunt 
 
 That s just begun, 
 Ends just beyond; 
 
 In oblivion. 
 
 Then saith my Verse, 
 
 In fancy free, 
 Think of thyself, 
 
 And not of me. 
 
 For ihou art mortal; 
 
 I am thought; 
 I am remembered; 
 
 Thou rt forgot. 
 
SONGS 
 
THE MOCKING-BIRD 
 
 To the topmost branch of my cedar tree 
 Comes a Mocking-bird and sings to me, 
 And he sways and swings and pipes with glee, 
 On the topmost twig of my cedar tree. 
 
 He comes at night, does my piper gay, 
 When sounds are muffled and far away, 
 When the air is still and the earth is grey, 
 He comes at night, does my piper gay. 
 
 So full of music, so full of mirth, 
 
 He mocks the meaner things of earth, 
 
 And sound itself has another birth, 
 
 And is filled with music and filled with mirth. 
 
 To the raucous cry of the barnyard fowl 
 To the wail of the cat, to the hoot of the owl,- 
 To all that hide and skulk and prowl 
 A musical quip for their screech and howl! 
 
 On the topmost branch of my cedar tree 
 He swings in the night and sings to me; 
 He mocks the meaner things of earth, 
 And my soul itself has another birth. 
 
 15 
 
THE CANYON WREN 
 
 Trim little, pert little warbler, 
 
 Far on the mountain height, 
 Taking his daily lesson, 
 
 Singing with all his might, 
 Do, 
 Si, 
 La, 
 
 Sol, 
 Think y u I do it right? 
 
 Yes, little flitting singer, 
 
 Up in the big pine tree, 
 Partly your notes are warbled 
 True as true can be; 
 Do, 
 Si, 
 La, 
 
 Sol,- 
 Then you astonish me. 
 
 Bright little, brisk little pupil 
 
 Singing above the trail, 
 Why should you try so aptly, 
 Why should you try and fail? 
 Do, 
 Si, 
 La, 
 
 Sol, 
 Do not complete the scale. 
 
 16 
 
Then sang a wren from the canyon, 
 
 (Sweetest that ever I heard) 
 And the notes were rippling laughter 
 At critic so absurd; 
 Do, 
 Si, 
 La, 
 
 Sol. 
 Four are enough for a bird. 
 
 TO THE OSTRICH 
 
 Thou freak uncouth, with supercilious air, 
 A beast with plumage and a bird with hair, 
 To class thee with thy kind I do despair, 
 
 For all analogies so strangely fail; 
 Folly of all the beasts and birds assumed 
 In one huge carcass, billed and toed and plumed, 
 The fads of Fashion thou hast well disclosed, 
 To skimp thy legs, (indecently exposed), 
 
 And over-decorate thy useless wings and tail, 
 
 17 
 
TO AN ENGLISH SPARROW 
 
 My sturdy little Britisher, 
 
 Late comer to our city, 
 That you re an uncongenial guest 
 
 Is something of a pity. 
 
 I like you for your pep and go, 
 
 I like you for your daring; 
 But I am told with other birds 
 
 You re somewhat overbearing. 
 
 Industrious and quarrelsome, 
 
 111 natured at your leisure, 
 You whip another bird, tis said, 
 
 That s more than twice your measure. 
 
 So, while your multiplying tribe 
 
 Seems destined to endure, 
 The others of our whilom guests 
 
 Are growing few and fewer. 
 
 I much regret, my British friend, 
 While you are bolder, wiser, 
 
 Your real merits fail to shine 
 As such a colonizer. 
 
 So I commit thee, here and now, 
 In durance vile thou sittest 
 
 For trial under martial law; 
 Survival of the Fittest. 
 
 18 
 
OH, CHEER UP! 
 
 A poor little bird sat on a limb, 
 
 Singing: Chirrup, cheer up, chirrup, 
 
 And nobody took any thought of him, 
 Singing: Chirrup, 
 
 But whether his singing was right or wrong, 
 
 He sang from an innate love of song, 
 
 And he perked and twittered the whole day long, 
 Singing: Chirrup. 
 
 Twas a poor little bird with a plain little way, 
 
 Singing: Chirrup, cheer up, chirrup, 
 And simple indeed was his roundelay, 
 
 Singing: Chirrup, 
 
 But he bent his will to the singing o t, 
 As he swelled and quavered his little throat, 
 And poured out his soul with every note, 
 Singing: Chirrup. 
 
 A sad little maiden happened near 
 
 Chirrup, cheer up, chirrup, 
 Wiping away a briny tear, 
 
 Chirrup. 
 
 And she heard the song of the little bird, 
 And it warmed her heart with its cheery word: 
 Tis the sweetest song that ever I ve heard, 
 
 This Cheer up." 
 
 19 
 
A passing lad was grumpy and blue, 
 
 Chirrup, cheer up, chirrup, 
 And he didn t know just what to do; 
 
 Cheer up. 
 
 But his gloomy mood did the song beguile, 
 And he staid his step to listen a while; 
 He saw the maid and caught her smile, 
 
 Oh, cheer up. 
 
 And now I can t begin to say 
 
 Chirrup, cheer up, chirrup, 
 How happy they were as they walked away, 
 
 Oh, cheer up, 
 
 But the little bird sat on the self-same tree, 
 The happiest one of all the three, 
 As a dear little peace-maker ought to be, 
 
 Singing: Chirrup, cheer up, chirrup. 
 
 THE MOURNING DOVE 
 
 When the benign Creator sent his birds 
 
 To cheer Man s rugged pathway and sojourn with him, 
 Giving them songs with meanings more than words, 
 To match his joy, his hope, his toil, his love, 
 Then also came the dove, 
 
 To mourn with him. 
 
 20 
 
LITTLE SWALLOW, FLITTING 
 
 Little Swallow, flitting 
 
 To and fro, 
 Innocent, unwitting 
 
 Aught of woe, 
 
 Could I be as light of heart and free, 
 Would I were a swallow too, with thee, 
 Flitting, 
 
 Flitting, 
 
 Flitting to and fro, 
 Innocent, unwitting aught of woe. 
 
 Mud-daubed nest dependent 
 
 From the wall, 
 Where the sun resplendent 
 
 Makes his call; 
 
 Man might imitate thy simple art, 
 Letting sunshine into home and heart; 
 Humble, 
 
 Happy, 
 
 Pattern for us all 
 Mud-daubed nest dependent from the wall. 
 
 Sober coat and homely, 
 
 Brown and white, 
 Other birds more comely 
 
 To the sight; 
 
 For thy garb I prize thee not the less; . 
 Birds nor men are better for their dress. 
 Plain, 
 
 Or gay, 
 
 Unchanged is thy delight, 
 Sober coat and homely brown and white. 
 
 21 
 
Lowly is thy station, 
 
 Daubing clay, 
 Artisan and mason 
 
 In a way, 
 
 Pattern still of industry and thrift; 
 Fortune favors those who earn her gift. 
 Toiling, 
 
 Delving, 
 
 Through the livelong day;- 
 Lowly is thy station, daubing clay. 
 
 Sweeter song and fitter 
 
 Other s note; 
 Thine a simple twitter 
 From the throat. 
 
 Envy thou the fulsome, merry song, 
 While thy plaintive note thou dost prolong? 
 Peace, 
 
 Content, 
 
 Ambitionless thy lot, 
 Thine a simple twitter; envy not! 
 
 Every want provided, 
 
 Frugal care! 
 Duties all divided 
 By the pair; 
 
 Sharing each in turn the toil and rest, 
 Side by side at night upon the nest; 
 Love 
 
 And labor, 
 
 Equal joy and care 
 Duties all divided by the pair! 
 
 22 
 
Slight thy wealth and pleasure 
 
 Seems at best; 
 Five small eggs thy treasure 
 
 In the nest. 
 
 Skimming swiftly through the upper air, 
 Such thy recreation, past compare. 
 Wealth 
 
 And joy! 
 
 Oh, swallow, truly blest! 
 Five small eggs thy treasure in the nest. 
 
 Careless of the morrow 
 
 Evermore, 
 Know st thou what a sorrow 
 
 Is in store? 
 
 Ruthless hands this evil day will come 
 Making desolate thy happy home; 
 Ruined, 
 
 Desolate, 
 
 A home no more; 
 Know st thou what a sorrow is in store? 
 
 Nest all torn and tattered, 
 
 Ruin done; 
 Five small eggs all shattered, 
 
 Every one! 
 
 Will the heart within thee fail at last, 
 Looking at the ruin of the past? 
 Cheerless, 
 
 Homeless, 
 
 Hopelessly undone; 
 Five small eggs all shattered, every one! 
 
 23 
 
Scarcely worth regretting 
 
 Mischief done; 
 Ere the sun s next setting 
 
 Work begun: 
 
 Soon another nest with precious store, 
 Other five within it as before. 
 Brave, 
 
 Undaunted, 
 
 Noble little one! 
 Ere the sun s next setting work begun. 
 
 Now in joy unceasing 
 
 And in peace, 
 May thy tribe increasing 
 
 Still increase! 
 
 And thy humble home aye happy be, 
 From the spoiler s hand forever free. 
 Careless, 
 
 Busy, 
 
 Living aye in peace, 
 May thy tribe increasing, still increase! 
 
 Little Swallow, flitting 
 
 To and fro, 
 Innocent, unwitting 
 
 Aught of woe, 
 
 Could I be as light of heart and free, 
 Would I were a swallow, too, with thee, 
 Flitting, 
 
 Flitting, 
 
 Flitting to and fro, 
 Innocent, unwitting aught of woe! 
 
 24 
 
THE FLYER FLIES 
 
 The Flyer flies 
 
 Like bird a-wing, 
 And, like the lark, 
 
 Flies caroling. 
 
 The flyer flies 
 
 From farthest west, 
 And, like the thrush, 
 
 Flies from his nest. 
 
 Like bird of passage, 
 Wild and f reei- 
 Like water-fowl, 
 
 From sea to sea; 
 
 And when he finds 
 Atlantic s tide, 
 
 He ll wheel and turn, 
 And sail and glide; 
 
 He ll wheel and turn, 
 Like carrier-dove, 
 
 And seek the cote 
 
 That holds his love. 
 
 He ll skim the earth, 
 He ll cleave the sky, 
 
 And, like the swan, 
 He ll sing and die. 
 
CREEL CLUB SONG 
 Here s a song to our mountain sport, boys; 
 
 Here s a toast to the rod and reel; 
 We have stolen away for a week and a day, 
 
 And we re whooping it up at the Creel. 
 Good-bye to all worry and strife, boys, 
 
 Good-bye to the office and den; 
 Pass the flagon along and join in a song 
 
 To the little log house in the glen. 
 
 Creel, creel, crickety-creel, 
 Nothing to worry about. 
 
 Up and away at peep o day, 
 
 And back with a creel full of trout. 
 
 The river runs brawling below, boys, 
 
 And the fish are a hungry set; 
 We ll go down by and by and drop them a fly, 
 
 And take them in out of the wet. 
 It s a pleasure to wade in the stream, boys, 
 
 And tramping s the angler s delight; 
 Our trousers all damp, we will come back to camp 
 
 With a cannibal s appetite. 
 
 And then, when the table is spread, boys, 
 
 We rally about with a will, 
 And every man Jack has a load to pack, 
 
 When he waddles away from the grill. 
 And then come the pipes and tobac , boys, 
 
 And maybe a bottle or two, 
 And the stories we tell they just beat well, 
 
 Singing tooral-ti-looral to Lou. 
 26 
 
AS NIGHT AWAITS UPON MORNING 
 
 As Night awaits upon Morning, 
 
 And welcomes the dawn of Day; 
 
 As the somnolent earth reviving 
 
 Responds to the showers of May; 
 
 As Winter rolls his blankets, 
 
 And ties them up with a string, 
 
 When he catches a whiff of the blossoms 
 That herald the coming Spring; 
 
 As sorrow reacts in gladness, 
 And surcease follows pain; 
 
 As an old man turns to a young man 
 For the frolic of living again; 
 
 So, boy, I send a greeting 
 
 To your birthday from mine : 
 
 May the light and hope of the Morning, 
 And the joy of Spring be thine. 
 
 27 
 
FLORENCE, WITH THE LAUGHING EYES 
 
 Florence, with the laughing eyes, 
 I am in a dark brown study; 
 
 Mystery of mysteries! 
 
 (It would puzzle anybody 
 
 Even Prophet or Mahatma) 
 
 Whether you are laughing with, 
 
 Or laughing at me. 
 
 Florence, with the dancing eyes, 
 Tis the very joy of being; 
 
 (Eyes were made for courtesies, 
 
 Not the less than made for seeing,) 
 
 But, dear Florence, won t you tell, oh, 
 Whether they re to dance with me, 
 
 Or t other fellow? 
 
 Florence, with the liquid eyes, 
 
 Sweeter far than mountain daisies, 
 
 Surely where such frolic lies 
 
 There are also tender phases. 
 
 So, dear Florence, will you duly 
 Keep some tenderness in store 
 
 For yours truly? 
 
 Florence, with the glorious eyes, 
 
 Laughing, dancing, sighing, weeping, 
 
 Here s my heart in either- wise, 
 Always surely in your keeping; 
 
 For my fond devotion s due you, 
 And, dear Florence, let me be 
 
 A brother to you. 
 
 28 
 
THE GIRL WITH A PILLOW 
 
 Two maidens were sitting one summer day 
 
 In the shade of a spreading willow, 
 And one was making a shift for herself, 
 
 The other a shift for a pillow. 
 
 The bright needles flew over and through, 
 
 The thread went gliding after. 
 And the maidens beguile their time the while 
 
 With merriment and laughter. 
 
 But alack for the hands, and alas for the heads 
 
 That ply their art so bewitching. 
 They are running amain on another train 
 
 And playing the deuce with their stitching. 
 
 "There, I vum," says the girl with the nameless attire, 
 "I have broken my needle, the torment! 
 
 Some fortunate end will surely attend; 
 
 There s good luck in store for this garment ; 
 
 "It s a sign all agree, true as ever can be, 
 
 That you re sure of catching your fellow; 
 
 I m to wed in a year." "We shall see, my dear." 
 Replies the girl with the pillow. 
 
 So the bright needles flew over and through, 
 
 And the thread went after skipping; 
 But that on the pillow-shift making its seam 
 
 Kept snarling and catching and tripping. 
 
 29 
 
"Oh, Sue, I m afraid you must die an old maid, 
 
 For it seems by the fates so allotted; 
 Just look at your thread, dear, just look at your thread, 
 
 And see how it s tangled and knotted." 
 
 But the girl with the thread all tangled and snarled 
 Says: "There may be a hope for me still, oh, 
 
 In time, never fear, we shall see, my dear." 
 And worked away at her pillow. 
 
 Now a year has gone by, and the world tonight 
 
 Still tosses on Time s fitful billow, 
 And I ll wager my bed that a husband s head 
 
 Is at rest on one-half of that pillow; 
 
 While the maiden that stitched on the nameless attire, 
 To whom the promising charm went, 
 
 Is in maidenly sleep on her maidenly couch, 
 Wrapped in her maidenly garment. 
 
 So the one who divines by symbols and signs 
 Never knows what fortune may will, oh, 
 
 For better or worse, most omens reverse, 
 As they did with the girl and her pillow. 
 
 30 
 
HOOVER, HEAVER, HOOVER 
 
 All Gaul it was divided 
 
 When Caesar saw and came; 
 And it gave the many-sided 
 
 Roman general his fame; 
 The Belgae on the northward. 
 
 The Franks upon the west, 
 The Germans in the middle, 
 And wanting all the rest. 
 
 All Gaul took what he gave her, 
 With his Romanesque behaviour; 
 Saltpeter couldn t save her 
 
 When Caesar saw and came. 
 
 All Gaul was whipped and humbled 
 
 When Caesar saw and came; 
 And of late the Hun he tumbled 
 
 To Caesar s little game; 
 So he moved upon the Belgae, 
 
 But the Franks upon the west 
 Were the ones marked out for conquest, 
 The objects of his quest. 
 
 But the Belgae didn t waver, 
 They fought for France, to save her, 
 And died without a quaver, 
 
 When the ruthless Germans came. 
 
 Oh, Britain was an island 
 
 When Caesar saw and came; 
 A rugged bit of highland, 
 
 A race without a name; 
 
 31 
 
But a mighty change was strident 
 
 With the march of centuries; 
 Now Britain holds the trident, 
 And is mistress of the seas. 
 
 And Britain, a good neighbor, 
 Beholding France at labor, 
 Got out her gun and saber, 
 And mingled in the game. 
 
 America was nowhere 
 
 When Caesar saw and came; 
 And Caesar couldn t find her 
 For conquest or for fame; 
 But Uncle Sam s now husky 
 
 For such a youthful chap, 
 And has gained some scraps of knowledge, 
 And a place upon the map. 
 And Uncle Sam went over, 
 With Pershing and with Hoover, 
 As correcter and improver, 
 
 To make the Germans tame. 
 
 And with Pershing 
 Rehearsing 
 
 And snicker-snees a-carving, 
 And Hoover s 
 Manoeuvers 
 
 For all the wrecked and starving, 
 We put a little bee 
 In the Hun s sagacity, 
 Till Fritz just had to see, 
 
 And he got the lesson that he was deserving. 
 
 32 
 
Oh, Heaver, oh, Hoover, 
 The saver and improver, 
 Who helped to put it over, 
 This Hoover, Heaver, Hoover, 
 No longer is a rover; 
 Let s put him now in clover, 
 This Hoover, Heaver, Hoover. 
 
 MY SUNSET LAND 
 
 Beyond the desert s fiery breath, 
 
 Beyond its dreary waste of sand, 
 
 Beyond its toil and pain and death, 
 There is my glorious Sunset Land. 
 
 There do the living waters flow, 
 
 There sing the birds in sweet attune; 
 
 There do the flowers in winter blow, 
 There it seems always afternoon. 
 
 Abide with me in that sunset land; 
 
 Come, dearest one, and abide with me, 
 And Heaven shall then be close at hand, 
 
 And time shall but merge in eternity. 
 
 33 
 
MRS. Me SHAUGHNESSY 
 
 If ye sthep tro th door ye re as wilcome as iver, 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy; 
 And to make ye fail aisy shall be my endiver, 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 And Oi ll chant ye a tale with a different chune, 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 About this same fellow ye call the gossoon, 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 It s not with a tayd ous narration Oi ll throuble you; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy, 
 Whin we knew him the b y was just plain Robert W. 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 And this gallus young chap was as foine as a fiddle 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy, 
 Till he started to parting his name in the middle: 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 And parting his name was th layst iv his follies, 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy, 
 Whin he wrote himself down in the fashion R. Wallace; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 And wearying thin of his plain occupation 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy, 
 He married a gurrul of fortune and station; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 34 
 
And thin into politics he gallivanted; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy, 
 And wint aff campaigning and argued and ranted; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 But politics wasn t at last to his liking; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy, 
 And he lift in a way that was novel and sthriking; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 And thin for a say son he niver was seen; 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy; 
 And how many wives did ye say? The spahlpeen. 
 
 Och, hone, Mrs. Me Shaughnessy. 
 
 To a Very Large Man 
 
 You ask me whether I could learn to love, 
 And feel the flame so tender and so true. 
 
 Well, yes; I think I d love to see myself 
 Caught loving such a mastodon as you. 
 
SINN FEIN 
 
 0, 
 
 Donnybrook Fair is a dandy, 
 
 And symbol of Oireland s might; 
 The shillalah that iver comes handy 
 
 Is what we adore in a fight; 
 And an Oirishman houlds himself ridy 
 To take a spahlpeen b th t roat, 
 And give him what Bruin gave Teddy, 
 If you tread on th tail av his coat. 
 That s plain 
 Hit m again, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 Theer 
 
 Sodgers we always are sthrifin , 
 
 And law is a deadly disgrace; 
 So the Oirish are slily conthrivin* 
 
 To have none at all in its place. 
 We don t mooch incloine to recruitin* 
 Or drillin contimptible wark, 
 But we re overmuch fonder of shootin 
 A Bobby or two in the park. 
 Again, 
 Sinn Fein, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 36 
 
Coom 
 
 Fighting th Hun in his helling, 
 No rigiment Dublin sinds; 
 For I make it no secret in telling, 
 
 His Allness is one av our fr ends; 
 And wheer is th use av a shindy 
 So far from th Imerald Isle, 
 Whin Ulster is aisy and handy, 
 
 And out f r a schrap all th whoile? 
 Come again, 
 Sinn Fein, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 M 
 
 Voting and riprisentation 
 
 No Oirishman cares a baubee ; 
 We prafir to consthruct our own nation, 
 
 And sind it far over th sea. 
 It s freer and freer from bother 
 
 Th furder and furder we go, 
 And our cousins beyant th big wather 
 Are willin to pay for th show. 
 Ach, hane, 
 That s plain, 
 Hit m again, 
 Sinn Fein, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 37 
 
LARRY O LANE 
 
 And are ye belaiv n, me hearty, 
 
 And wud ye be-loikely applaud, 
 Whin Oi tell ye our Prisident s party 
 Is mostly conjaynial abroad? 
 Ach, hane, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 This Misther (whut is t?) de la Mallery 
 (It s a foine combination of name, 
 And wort th full price av his salary 
 To say nothing else of the game.) 
 Ach, hane, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 And whin he sthands up in a meetin 
 Wuth Mayors and Gov rners all, 
 Wuth bowin and schrapin and greetin* 
 For sure he s the belle av th ball. 
 That s plain, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 And ivery political party 
 
 That plays for the Oirish vote 
 Is well riprisented and hearty 
 And pipes a rispictible note. 
 Sinn Fein, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 38 
 
And whin it comes round to th spaykin , 
 
 There s not an unoccupied bench, 
 And th jaw av th spayker is breakin 
 Wuth utterin Oirish and Frinch. 
 Hit im again, 
 Larry O Lane. 
 
 And if iver it comes to a mocker, 
 
 That raises his v ice over loud; 
 There s a bundle av sthicks in th locker, 
 And just laive th rist to th crowd. 
 Ach, hane, 
 Larry O Lane, 
 Sinn Fein. 
 
 And if iver a Hall is denied us, 
 
 (Bad "cess, it s a barn av a place) 
 There s a barrel av sulphur beside us; 
 And th shanty goes up in disgrace. 
 Ach, hane, 
 Sinn Fein, 
 Larry O Lane, 
 That s plain, 
 Come again. 
 
 39 
 
A SPATTERED PANE OF GLASS 
 
 Drops and drops of water 
 
 From the slanting rain; 
 Two little drops of water 
 
 Trickling down the pane; 
 Now are their ways divided, 
 
 Now they closer run, 
 Now they stop now they start 
 
 Now the two are one. 
 Drops and drops a-many 
 
 From the driving rain, 
 And the largest drop of any 
 
 Goes skurrying off the pane. 
 
 Life, my dear, is only 
 
 A spattered pane of glass; 
 Our lives come down from heaven, 
 
 And over the pane they pass; 
 They are ever hurrying onward 
 
 Hastening past recall 
 And some go singly downward, 
 
 While some commingling fall; 
 And those that are fondly mated, 
 
 In the space of a fleeting breath, 
 Must pass, like the drops that are fated, 
 
 To fall o er the sill of death. 
 
 40 
 
UNCLE PETER 
 
 A song and a shout to my old Uncle Peter; 
 
 The jolliest cooper the jolliest task, 
 Who hammers away with a rollicking meter, 
 
 And sings to the tune on his barrel or cask. 
 
 Oh, Roundabout, Roundabout, why do you tarry? 
 There s beef and molasses and rum for to carry; 
 From early in May to the last of October 
 You re bound to be tight, and I m bound to eep sober. 
 
 A rusty old shop on the bank of the river; 
 
 I see it today with the eyes of a boy; 
 Fond memory lingers upon it and ever 
 
 Brings visions of merry employment and joy. 
 
 There are barrels in stacks; there are barrels a-making, 
 Of cleanest and soundest and rosiest oak; 
 
 There are headings and staves close at hand for the taking, 
 And plenty of hickory hoop-poles a-soak. 
 
 The floor is all covered with shavings and litter; 
 
 There s spice of fresh wood, and there s spice of fresh 
 
 mirth. 
 And my old Uncle Peter, he works in short meter, 
 
 The busiest, merriest cooper on earth. 
 
 41 
 
SONG OF THE YACHT ROYAL 
 
 We re away from the shore with its burden of care, 
 We re out for a nip of the jolly salt air, 
 We re tacking to lee and we re tacking to port, 
 And every man Jack is a nautical sport. 
 
 Royal, ahoy, ahoy; Royal ahoy! 
 
 Aye, aye, Sir! 
 Yachting s a joy, a joy, a joy, 
 
 We shall try, Sir. 
 
 Skipper Dan in command, Cox n Bill at the wheel, 
 We are gliding along on a slippery keel; 
 Our course is Sou west for the island we re bound, 
 (Look out for your head when the boom comes round). 
 
 The wind it blows fresh from the Nor -nor -east, 
 The salt water foams at her prow like yeast, 
 And the spray dashes in, just to show, by the bye, 
 That nautical sports have no call to be dry. 
 
 The Doctor is stowed just abaft of the waist, 
 
 For a sea-faring life is not up to his taste, 
 
 And the crew heave-a-ho with a bang and a slam; 
 
 But the Doctor heaves nothing he don t care a damn. 
 
 Seaman Frank, on the word, takes his trick at the mast, 
 In loosing and hauling, and then making fast; 
 Like a seasoned old tar he is chipper and glib, 
 And, by way of diversion, he straddles the jib. 
 
 42 
 
Sailor Tom, in a steady and sailor-like way, 
 Stands by at the stays to let go and belay, 
 And Swashbuckler Doodle, with nothing to do, 
 Is the soberest landsman of all the crew. 
 Royal, ahoy. 
 
 TO THE PEACOCK 
 
 Bird of flamboyant dress and airs sublime 
 Becoming neither prince nor varlet 
 
 If vanity were counted as a crime, 
 Thy sins were scarlet. 
 
 Snake He Mafe a Hoe-Cafe 
 
 Snake he make a hoe-cake, 
 Set a frog to tend it; 
 
 Frog he eat de hoe-cake, 
 Think it splendid; 
 
 Snake eat frog and hoe-cake, 
 As he fust intended. 
 
 43 
 
IT S GOING TO RAIN 
 
 The black bear is out in the mountains, 
 The hedgehog is out on the plain; 
 
 They both are knowing creatures, 
 And it s going to rain. 
 
 The birds and the chipmunks and gophers 
 Are storing their winter grain; 
 
 They know pretty well what s coming, 
 For it s going to rain. 
 
 The geese are flying southward, 
 
 In many a trooping train; 
 They hasten to tropical countries 
 
 For it s going to rain. 
 
 The anglers are rejoicing, 
 
 And one and all maintain 
 That the fish bite well this weather 
 
 For it s going to rain. 
 
 We brush with desperation 
 
 At the fly that won t refrain, 
 
 From pestering night and morning, 
 For it s going to rain. 
 
 There s something in the heavens 
 That wasn t put there in vain; 
 
 The clouds all look portentous, 
 And it s going to rain. 
 
 44 
 
The atmospheric pressure 
 
 Is something we can t explain; 
 
 The barometer touches bottom, 
 And it s going to rain. 
 
 And Jupiter P., the mighty, 
 
 Will smile on his people again, 
 
 And the land will bloom in beauty, 
 For it s going to rain. 
 
 And the grass upon the hillside, 
 And the corn upon the plain 
 
 Will leap to the warmth of the sunshine, 
 For it s going to rain. 
 
 45 
 
OUR LADY 
 
 Our Lady, fair Queen of the Angels, 
 That ruleth the valley of bliss, 
 
 The saints and the holy evangels 
 Salute thee to-day with a kiss! 
 
 And legions unnumbered and nameless 
 
 Troop forth from the land of the blest, 
 
 And even the anchorite, blameless, 
 Bestoweth his kiss with the rest. 
 
 Most favored of all the immortals, 
 Lo, what doth Thy Majesty lack? 
 
 Saint Peter stands guard at thy portals, 
 Saint Gabriel waits at thy back. 
 
 Saint Monica, child of the ocean, 
 
 Most youthful of all and most fair, 
 
 Makes the end of her every devotion 
 To charm away thy care. 
 
 And Barbara, blessed hand-maiden, 
 Stays but for thy royal command, 
 
 And the cloud that she sends is rain-laden 
 To beautify all the land. 
 
 Francisco, the friar of Grey Orders, 
 His benison sends from afar, 
 
 And the saints that dwell over the borders 
 Most faithful of servitors are. 
 
 46 
 
Diego contributes his portion 
 
 To make thy enjoyment complete; 
 
 And Buenaventura, good fortune, 
 Doth ever repose at thy feet. 
 
 Bernardino, the monk of the mountains, 
 Makes humble obeisance as well, 
 
 And the patron of rivers and fountains 
 Hath come to thy valley to dwell. 
 
 And I doubt not, fair Queen, if another, 
 Saint Benedict dwelt in this land, 
 
 Unable his passion to smother, 
 
 He d proffer his heart and his hand. 
 
 Oh, Queen! I bow down before thee, 
 
 Allegiance unfailing to prove; 
 Midst the saints and the men who adore thee, 
 
 I offer my tribute of love. 
 
 For aye be our Lady, Queen regnant 
 In this land of the orange and vine, 
 
 Where the sun shineth ever benignant, 
 And where nature is all but divine; 
 
 Where the bee stores her crystalline treasure, 
 The mocking-bird pipes the night long, 
 
 And where life is as smooth as the measure 
 That runs through the poet s song. 
 
 And our Lady, fair Queen of the Angels, 
 
 That rulest the valley of bliss, 
 The saints and the holy evangels 
 
 Salute thee to-day with a kiss. 
 
 47 
 
SONG OF THE AEROPLANE 
 
 I fly, I fly! 
 
 With wings outstretched that never tire,- 
 Of woven web and thews of wire 
 And with a throbbing heart of fire, 
 
 I fly, I fly! 
 
 I sail, I soar! 
 
 Over the land and over the sea, 
 And like a Brobdingnagian bee, 
 My paddles whir a threnody; 
 
 I sail and roar. 
 
 I circle wide, 
 
 Out from the busy marts of men, 
 O er field and forest, hill and glen, 
 O er all the country side, and then 
 
 I dip and glide. 
 
 I journey far, 
 
 1 journey rar, 
 Like bird of passage, sent by Time 
 To carry in its flight sublime 
 A message of Spring to every clime; 
 
 I journey far. 
 
 I veer and climb, 
 Like eagle wheeling in his flight 
 To pierce the empyrean s height, 
 The air outmastered by my might; 
 
 I veer and climb. 
 
 48 
 
Afar, afar, 
 
 Where the void enwraps and the earth grows dim, 
 Beyond the cloud with a purple rim, 
 I wheel and dive and loop and skim; 
 
 Afar, afar. 
 
 Like bird of prey, 
 I fight with my kind aloft, as I fly, 
 And the death that I deal is a bolt from the sky, 
 That only the bravest dares to die; 
 
 Like bird of prey. 
 
 Like bird a-wing, 
 I seek the pathless fields of space, 
 And tread the air, and leave no trace, 
 But not a bird shall keep my pace, 
 
 No bird a-wing. 
 
 In eager quest, 
 
 O er fields of green and hills of brown, 
 With rivers winding and weaving down, 
 And landscapes spotted with city and town, 
 
 I make my quest. 
 
 I soar and sing, 
 
 Over the desert s shifting bed, 
 Over a land that is sere and dead, 
 Over the Colorado red, 
 
 I cleave the void. 
 
 49 
 
My way is free; 
 
 Beyond the mountains wreathed with snow, 
 Where broad Pacific waters flow, 
 In the flowery fields of the after-glow, 
 
 I claim mine own. 
 
 From shore to shore 
 I span a continent, and ride 
 The winds of heaven far and wide 
 Across old ocean s stormy tide, 
 
 To claim mine own. 
 
 The air is mine. 
 And thus, behold I issue forth 
 Another Puck, of modern birth, 
 To put a girdle round the earth. 
 The air is mine! 
 
 Echo 
 I fly, I fly, 
 
 I sail, I soar; 
 I circle wide, 
 
 And journey far; 
 
 I veer and climb, 
 
 Like bird a- wing, 
 In eager quest, 
 
 I soar and sing. 
 
 The air is mine; 
 
 My way is free 
 From shore to shore, 
 
 From sea to sea! 
 
 50 
 
FOR CHILDREN 
 AND GROWN-UPS 
 
HER ALPHABET 
 
 I A little Miss of five small years 
 before her teacher stands, n 
 
 Confused and bashful she appears, 
 
 Demure, with many ifs n ands, un- 
 
 Easy with her hands. 
 
 For such a very little lass 
 
 Grows nervous sometimes, just a bit 
 
 //ere before the class. 
 "/ think you know your letters, dear, 
 Vust see if you can say them clear. 
 "/Ceep looking all the while right here, 
 "Let teacher hear, and never fear." 
 
 A/iss Hesitation then begins, 
 
 yVot looking to the left or right, 
 
 Or ev n behind her. 
 "Precise and proper every way; 
 "Quite to the purpose, let me say, 
 "Requiring never a reminder; 
 (So well in fact, that all the school 
 
 Takes notice, slighting book and rule, 
 
 t/nheeding all their lessons, quite.) 
 "K" (marching out to beat the band,) 
 "W" (proudly struttin ) 
 "X" 
 
 it yr 
 
 "Z, Leg o Mutton, 
 (&) AND." 
 
 53 
 
TO BARBARA 
 
 A Saint, a City and a Girl! All three 
 Begin the spelling of their names with B. 
 
 The City, mistress of a noble bay, 
 
 Seconds the motion with the letter A 
 
 The Girl I m now saluting from afar 
 
 Joins the procession with the letter R. 
 
 The Saint beginning with the letter B 
 
 A virgin-martyr shines in history; 
 
 The City, second with the letter A, 
 
 Is always bright, and beautiful and gay; 
 
 The Girl, who follows with her ready R, 
 Is sweeter than the Saint and City are; 
 
 And when she closes with the letter A, 
 
 I give her my devotion right away. 
 
 54 
 
DOROTHY DIX 
 
 Dorothy Dix, 
 
 With her manners and tricks, 
 Was surely an elegant creature; 
 
 But she went at a gait 
 
 That I hate to relate, 
 When she wouldn t marry the preacher. 
 
 "Oh, Dorothy Dix! 
 
 "Oh, Dorothy Dix!" 
 But no persuasion could reach her; 
 
 He might chortle and pray 
 
 The live-long day, 
 But she just wouldn t marry the preacher. 
 
 Now, the man of her choice 
 
 Has a very fine voice 
 (But Dorothy Dix is a screecher) 
 
 She would sing in the choir 
 
 If it was our desire, 
 But she never would marry the preacher. 
 
 Now Dorothy Dix 
 
 Kept her manners and tricks, 
 (She was surely an elegant creature) 
 
 And powdered her face 
 
 Till it was a disgrace 
 And shocked the disconsolate preacher. 
 
 55 
 
Now, the man of her choice, 
 
 With the very fine voice 
 Didn t fancy this elegant creature 
 
 She might mantle her hair 
 
 To the dandiest flare, 
 But he wouldn t come up like the preacher. 
 
 And Dorothy Dix, 
 
 In a deuce of a fix 
 Concluded to go for a teacher, 
 
 But she paddled the boys 
 
 Till they made a big noise, 
 And that was the ultimate feature. 
 
 Now Dorothy Dix 
 
 Went for any old sticks, 
 (She was still quite an elegant creature) 
 
 But the men of the town 
 
 Would never come down; 
 No stick ever stuck like the preacher. 
 
 And Dorothy Dix, 
 
 With her frazzled old tricks 
 Is now a disconsolate creature, 
 
 For the man she forbid 
 
 Has a wife and a kid, 
 And she cannot marry the preacher. 
 
 56 
 
AN OPERETTA, 
 
 Illuminating Sentiment, Romance, Music, The Arts, Crime, 
 Intemperance, Grief, Joy, The Law, Justice and 
 
 Retribution 
 
 A Sentimental Barber 
 
 I love to steal awhile away; (Opening 
 
 To steal, to steal a-whay: Solo 
 
 I lo-hove to ste-heal a-whay. Tenor.) 
 
 He Plays His Guitar 
 Oh, what in the world care I (turn-turn,) (Solo 
 
 For the triumphs of love or war? Instrumental 
 
 (tum-a-tum) Obligato.) 
 
 I ll pass the baubles by, (tum-tum) 
 
 And strike my light guitar, (tum-a-tum, 
 Tum-tum, tum-tum-a-um-tum; oh, tummy-tum-tum.) 
 
 But Duty Calls 
 
 The pleasures of life are vain; (Solo 
 Our moments quickly flee; Mezzo- 
 I must go to the shop again, Soprano.) 
 And wield my snick-er-snee. 
 
 (In the Barber s absence, a thirsty Troubadour appro 
 priates the instrument; and with the proceeds thereof, 
 indulges his propensities.) 
 
 The Troubadour Sings 
 Give me (a-hic) sweet solace, dearest; 
 
 Whizzer shweet words (hie) into m* ear; (Solo 
 Call me your blezzerest angel, dearest, Tenor.) 
 
 Si (hie) sittin on a keg of beer. 
 
 (The Barber discovers his loss, and bewails it.) 
 
 67 
 
His Wail 
 The lute that once through my barber-shop 
 
 The soul of music shed, (Solo 
 
 Is stol n and gone, and I sadly feel Baritone.) 
 
 As if my soul were dead. 
 
 (The Barber appeals to the Law for redress.) 
 
 His Appeal 
 Oh, Stars, shine on thy pathway. 
 
 Catch me this thief, I prithee, (Solo 
 
 And may the blessings of my grateful spirit Basso 
 Dwell ever after with thee. Profundo.) 
 
 Chorus of Stars 
 We shine alike for all; (Chorus 
 
 We search the depths of night; Male 
 Yon Troubadour shall fall Voices.) 
 
 Within our grip so tight. (Repeat Chorus 
 
 Five Times.) 
 
 (Stirring chase through the forest and elsewhere for the 
 Troubadour.) 
 
 Chorus Again 
 Sleep hath enchained him, (Encore for 
 
 With her subtle bands; Preceding 
 Now we have obtained him; Chorus.) 
 Hold his legs and hands. 
 
 Another Chorus 
 Slowly and sadly they laid him down, 
 
 So fresh from his field of glory: (Female 
 Perhaps in the morning he ll sober be, Voices.) 
 And tell a lugubrious story. 
 
 58 
 
The Search 
 We search the misty ways (Duet 
 
 Of the shadows that move by night; Male.) 
 The game that Isaac plays (Atmosphere 
 
 Will yield the loot all right. of Searching.) 
 
 Recovery 
 The favor of heaven our noble cause hath gained, 
 
 And it is now our solace and our joy; (Response in 
 We gathered it, and Isaac hath explained; Staccato.) 
 So here s your lost pianner, barber-boy. 
 
 The Barber s Joy 
 Ka-lump, ko-lump, ki-ling, 
 
 Pi-r-r-r-r-uten-te-toot-te-too, 
 Tum-tummy, turn-turn, te-tum, (Instrumental) 
 Oh, whack, fa-loo-ral-loo! 
 
 The Culprit s Tale 
 I m a Pilgrim and I m a Stranger, 
 I have tarried, I have tarried, but a night; (Solo, 
 Do not detain me, oh, please, your Honor, De- 
 And I ll vanish very quickly from your sight, pressed) 
 
 Retribution 
 A pick, a rake, a hoe, (Grand finale. All 
 
 And a ball and chain to boot; on Stage. Solo by 
 Oh, this is dreadful woe, 
 
 Oh, this is a dire pursuit! 
 I would that I were dead 
 
 Ere this wretched thing befell; 
 I would the guitar were sunk 
 
 In the uttermost depths of hell. 
 
 Heavy Villain. 
 Ball and Chain 
 Accompaniment.) 
 
 59 
 
SHOOING OUT THE HENS 
 
 Friday 
 
 Oh, Pap is in the stable, 
 
 Hitching up the filly ; 
 Mam is in the kitchen, 
 
 Making apple jelly; 
 
 Johnny s in the orchard, 
 
 Talking to his fr ens 
 
 And Sis is in the garden, 
 
 Shooing out the hens. 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 
 And 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 Shooing out the hens. 
 
 Saturday 
 
 Oh, Pap has gone to market, 
 
 With a tub of butter; 
 Mam is in the dining-room, 
 
 In a reg lar splutter; 
 Sis is in the parlor 
 
 Talking to her beau, 
 And Johnny s in the garden, 
 Trying for to shoo. 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 (Spoken) Get out o here, gol-dern ye! (Throws) 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 (Spoken) Everlastingly consarn ye! (Throws) 
 
 60 
 
Sunday 
 
 Oh, Pap has gone to meetin 
 
 For his Bible study; 
 Sis has gone a-walkin 
 
 With her little buddy, 
 Johnny hasn t come yet 
 
 From his Sunday School, 
 And Mam is in the garden, 
 Acting like a fool. 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 
 And (Acting it.) 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo!! 
 
 Monday 
 
 Oh, Mam has gone a-callin 
 
 On our nearest neighbor; 
 Sis is in the pantry 
 
 Doing useful labor; 
 Johnny-boy is restin 
 For a little spell, 
 And Dad is in the garden, 
 Raising merry hell. 
 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo! 
 
 (Spoken) You damn infernal measly set!! (Raising 
 Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo!!! it.) 
 
 Raising merry hell. 
 
 61 
 
A WONDERFUL LITTLE ITALIAN MAN 
 
 Tis a curious tale, if the tale be true; 
 As twas told to me I tell it to you. 
 
 The Grinder 
 The story ran 
 
 Of a wonderful little Italian man, 
 A genius who played 
 An organ by trade, 
 And sang, (or at least essayed, 
 For his voice was appalling,) 
 And gathered in dimes from the public, and made 
 A very good thing from his calling. 
 
 His Organ 
 It would play 
 
 In its very proper mechanical way, 
 Always true, needing no apology 
 Sixteen tunes and the doxology. 
 And when all of its airs and the sacred refrain 
 Had been ground by the grinder again and again, 
 They were still as sweet, as tender and true 
 And as good as new. 
 
 His Monkey 
 
 There followed close at the grinder s heels, 
 With a tireless succession of jigs and reels, 
 
 A monkey, trim, 
 
 Supple of limb, 
 
 In color dun, 
 
 And full of fun, 
 
 62 
 
And the boys were exceedingly fond of him. 
 Wherever the grinder went to grind, 
 The monkey always appeared behind, 
 And whenever he opened his mouth to sing, 
 The monkey danced at the end of his string. 
 
 His Music 
 In a stoical way 
 
 Early and late the grinder would play, 
 Never skipping a tune, never losing a day; 
 
 And twas said thus he had played 
 
 For at least a decade; 
 
 Yet there wasn t a sign 
 
 Of any decline, 
 
 And after all this, folks fell into a doubt 
 Whether organ or grinder would ever wear out. 
 
 His Ways 
 
 Whenever you opened your window or blind, 
 He d come and he d grind and he d grind and he d grind; 
 His rummy old songs he would warble amain, 
 Keeping time to the organ s mellifluous strain, 
 And the monkey enthused, began cutting his antic, 
 
 And then you were frantic. 
 With nerves at a tension beyond your command, 
 You seized upon anything ready at hand, 
 
 And through window or door, 
 
 At the wretched bore 
 
 You flung it and swore. 
 
 63 
 
His Perquisites 
 Then the grinder stood in the meekest attitude, 
 
 Dodging both 
 
 Missile and oath, 
 And, expressing by sign his deepest gratitude, 
 
 Gracefully bent, 
 Laid hold of the article and went. 
 
 His Thrift 
 
 Thus he passed through the town, 
 
 Gathering goods and renown, 
 And from all of the missiles dispatched at his head, 
 Reaped a handsome reward, and still wasn t dead. 
 
 His Mischance 
 
 But it happened one time I am pained to relate 
 He tried once too often, and met his fate. 
 
 One ill-omened day, 
 
 The legends say, 
 
 He came to a stop 
 
 In front of the shop 
 
 Of a savage old Dutchman of sinister trade, 
 And then the Italian he played. 
 
 Now these Dutchmen, 
 
 Butchers and such men 
 
 Do not care a straw 
 
 For life, limb or law; 
 And the one that I mention, 
 With savage intention, 
 
 Laid hold of a saw. 
 
 64 
 
His Fate 
 
 With no more ado 
 
 Than such craftsmen make 
 
 In cutting a steak, 
 
 Or cleaving through 
 
 A rib or stew, 
 
 He sawed the poor grinder in two. 
 Then a policeman came down on a canter 
 And arrested the villainous butcher instanter. 
 The Law 
 
 In durance vile 
 
 He languished a while, 
 And at length in quite the regular way, 
 The culprit appeared in court one day, 
 And a sad looking spectacle truly was he, 
 Arraigned for murder, the first degree. 
 
 The Defense 
 
 When the time for defense came on in the trial, 
 The butcher s attorney arose with a smile, 
 And he said, "Please your Honor, my client s insane 
 
 That s plain 
 
 Such a horrid grind 
 
 Would unsettle the mind 
 Of the devil, your Honor, (not being profane)." 
 
 The Argument 
 
 I need not detail how he twisted the laws, 
 Picking code and indictment full of flaws, 
 Or how he worked himself into a fury, 
 
 And made it appear 
 
 That the butcher was queer 
 
 Up here, 
 And by dint of his eloquence, carried the jury. 
 
 65 
 
Retribution 
 
 The butcher walked forth a free man, 
 
 Yet a terrible ban 
 
 Was set by the fates upon him; 
 And wherever he comes and wherever he goes 
 He is troubled in conscience, and robbed of repose,- 
 His former friends all shun him, 
 
 And from far and near 
 
 There sounds in his ear 
 The dolorous tone of an organ ground, 
 And haunts him forever the ghost of a sound. 
 
 THE TIME DAY 
 
 What is the hour, little Mary? 
 
 Tell me the time, my pet, 
 The wise little minx, she looks, and she thinks; 
 
 "ICs twenty minutes past yet." 
 
 But that s not the hour, little Mary, 
 Neither morning nor night nor noon. 
 
 And looking again, says the oracle, "Then 
 "ICs a quarter to pretty soon." 
 
 66 
 
LURE OF THE HYDRANT 
 The 
 
 tcr 
 from 
 
 the 
 
 hy- 
 
 drant 
 drips, 
 
 Dripping away and dripping, 
 In many merry hops and skips, 
 
 Skipping away and skipping. 
 
 I 
 hear 
 
 the 
 fun 
 ny 
 drops 
 
 at 
 play, 
 
 Playing away and playing, 
 As once upon a childhood day. 
 
 Running away and staying. 
 
 67 
 
Now 
 like 
 
 a 
 
 rat 
 tling 
 drum 
 
 it 
 goes, 
 
 Going away and going; 
 The merry music onward flows, 
 
 Flowing away and flowing. 
 
 Now 
 like 
 
 a 
 ban- 
 
 jo s 
 tink- 
 
 a- 
 tink 
 
 Tinking away and tinking, 
 And ev ry tinkle brings a think, 
 
 Thinking away and thinking. 
 
But 
 still 
 
 the 
 ban. 
 
 jo 
 
 tink 
 les 
 there 
 
 Hopping away and tearing, 
 And tinks and tinks and doesn t care, 
 
 Caring away and caring. 
 
 And 
 
 there 
 comes 
 
 a 
 round- 
 
 lay. 
 
 Rounding away and rounding, 
 The music seems to be so gay, 
 
 Bounding away and bounding. 
 
 69 
 
Now 
 like 
 
 a 
 lit- 
 
 tie 
 boy 
 
 at 
 play, 
 
 Playing away and playing, 
 Who knows he hadn t ought to stay, 
 
 Staying away and staying. 
 
 Now 
 as 
 
 an 
 or 
 
 gan 
 whee 
 
 zy 
 
 blows, 
 
 Wheezy it is and wheezy, 
 The little boy uneasy grows, 
 
 Uneasy and uneasy. 
 
 70 
 
But 
 still 
 
 he 
 hears 
 
 the 
 mer 
 ry 
 din, 
 
 A-rattling and a-striking; 
 I think I d better now begin 
 
 To do a little hiking. 
 
 If 
 this 
 
 con 
 found- 
 
 ed 
 or 
 ches 
 tra 
 
 Would quit its fiddle-faddling. 
 (You know that only yesterday 
 
 You got an awful paddling!) 
 
 71 
 
I 
 
 think 
 
 I 
 
 bet 
 ter 
 go 
 
 a- 
 way, 
 
 A-going and a-going, 
 And come again another day, 
 
 And hear the water flowing. 
 
 There! 
 now 
 
 I 
 hear 
 
 a 
 
 lit 
 tle 
 bell 
 
 A-ringing and a-ringing, 
 A song o sixpence, I can tell 
 
 I ll pretty soon be singing. 
 
 72 
 
HIP-E-TY-HOP 
 Oh, 
 
 lilp- 
 
 C- 
 
 ty- 
 hop, 
 
 to 
 the 
 barb 
 er 
 
 shop, 
 To shear the ringlets of sonny, 
 
 And 
 hip- 
 
 e- 
 
 ty 
 
 back 
 
 in 
 the 
 same 
 
 old 
 
 track 
 We haven t a cent of money. 
 
 73 
 
Oh, 
 
 hip- 
 
 e- 
 
 ty- 
 hop 
 
 to 
 cand- 
 
 y 
 
 shop 
 To the tune of Old Dan Tucker, 
 
 And, 
 hip- 
 e- 
 
 ty 
 
 back, 
 
 With a load to pack, 
 And bringing an all-day sucker. 
 
 74 
 
Oh 
 hip- 
 e- 
 
 ty 
 
 whack, 
 we re 
 o- 
 ver 
 and 
 back 
 And what have we got for dinner? 
 
 You 
 must 
 nev 
 er 
 be 
 late 
 
 You 
 
 must 
 
 sit 
 
 up 
 
 straight 
 
 and 
 
 not play 
 
 with your 
 
 plate, 
 And never be first beginner. 
 
 75 
 
Oh, hipety hop, 
 With Aunty and Pop 
 To see the big show in the Rink, come 
 hur 
 
 ry 
 
 a- 
 
 long, and 
 he ll 
 
 sing 
 you 
 
 song, 
 that 
 
 won 
 der 
 ful 
 Rhi- 
 nos- 
 er- 
 ink- 
 tum. 
 
 76 
 
JOHNNY SEES THE CIRCUS 
 
 Oh, say! Johnny Jones, 
 Come, rattle your bones 
 And hurry! Just j 
 
 U V 
 
 
 m e 
 
 
 P r 
 
 i 
 
 
 e 
 
 t 
 
 n 
 
 h 
 
 c 
 
 e 
 
 e and come 
 
 
 
 
 
 v e r 
 
 
 h 
 
 
 e 
 
 
 r 
 
 
 e 
 
 r 
 u 
 n 
 n 
 i 
 
 n 
 g 
 
 For the Circus has come, 
 And I hear the big Drum; 
 
 77 
 
I 
 
 got F 
 
 h 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
 p 
 
 F 
 
 e 
 
 
 
 T 
 
 
 Y 
 
 Y C 
 
 E 
 
 Uhave NTS! 
 
 * ****** 
 
 No matter for that, 
 We can both stand pat, 
 For I haven t got much to brag on, 
 And the best we can do 
 To see this thing through, 
 
 78 
 

 I 
 
 
 
 s 
 
 
 
 t 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 f 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 [j 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 W 
 
 
 T 
 
 H 
 
 E 
 
 C 
 
 I 
 
 R 
 
 C 
 
 u 
 
 S 
 
 W 
 
 
 A 
 
 G 
 
 
 
 
 N 
 Oh, isn t it Grand! 
 
 For 
 
 HERE 
 COMES 
 
 THE 
 B A N D ! I 
 
 79 
 
And next come 
 
 The 
 
 C L 
 
 I A 
 
 R D 
 
 C I 
 
 U E 
 
 S S 
 
 And 
 
 THE 
 BEST 
 
 F 
 THE 
 
 SHOW 
 
 1 S 
 SEEING THEM GO! 
 
 80 
 
And 
 TO 
 BE 
 
 W 
 H 
 E 
 R 
 E 
 
 W 
 H 
 E 
 R 
 E 
 
 The 
 
 A 
 R 
 
 A 
 D 
 E 
 
 81 
 
And 
 H 
 
 E 
 R 
 E 
 
 Comes 
 THE 
 CLOWN : 
 
 GEE WHIZ! 
 F a 1 1- 
 
 n 
 g 
 
 D 
 
 W 
 
 N 
 
 And ain t HE the FUNNIEST EVER? 
 HE JOSHES 
 
 EM ALL. 
 
 HE S THE BELLE of 
 the 
 
 BALL! 
 And GEE! ain t He WITTY and CLEVER! 
 
 82 
 
And 
 H 
 E 
 R 
 E 
 
 Come 
 T 
 h 
 e 
 
 JAZZ 
 E R S 
 
 and 
 ain t 
 
 they 
 THE 
 F 
 
 
 L 
 S 
 
 And HERE THEY RE 
 
 C M I N G! 
 
 The 
 
 A U 
 
 N L 
 
 I E 
 
 M S 
 
And 
 
 Here s the HyE- 
 NA in his Van; 
 I bet that HE 
 
 HAS ET A MAN! 
 
 And 
 
 Here s 
 
 The 
 
 L-I-O-N! 
 
 HEAR 
 
 H 
 I 
 
 M 
 R-O-A-RI! 
 
 I 
 
 Bet 
 That 
 HE 
 
 Has ET Some More! 
 
 And 
 
 Here s The 
 H-I-P-P-0. 
 
 Hear 
 
 HIM 
 
 G - R - U - N - T ! 
 
 84 
 
And HERE COMES A GREAT, BIG 
 
 1 
 E 
 
 q P 
 
 H H 
 U U 
 
 N N 
 T 
 
 1 
 
 E 
 
 S P 
 H H 
 
 U U 
 
 N N 
 
 T 
 
 e 
 
 1 
 
 E 
 
 q P 
 H H 
 
 U U 
 
 N N 
 
 T 
 
 85 
 
And, Johnny, say! 
 Don t cher know they eat hay 
 And stuff and everything by the bale? 
 And they re marching along, 
 
 PONG, 
 
 PONG; 
 PONG, 
 
 PONG; 
 
 And holding theirselves by the tail! 
 
 JOHNNY SEES THE CIRCUS 
 
 [The same as foregoing in plain verse] 
 
 Oh, say! Johnny Jones! 
 
 Come rattle your bones! 
 And hurry! Jump over the fence! 
 And come over here a-running; 
 
 For the Circus has come, 
 
 And I hear the big Drum; 
 I hope you have got fifty cents! 
 
 No matter for that! 
 
 We can both stand pat; 
 For I haven t got any to brag on; 
 
 And the best we can do 
 
 To see this thing through, 
 Is to follow the Circus Wagon. 
 
 86 
 
Oh, isn t it grand! 
 
 For here comes The Band!! 
 And next come the Circus Ladies! 
 
 And the best of the Show 
 
 Is seeing them go, 
 And to be where the Circus Parade is. 
 
 And here comes the Clown! 
 
 Gee, whiz! Falling down! 
 And ain t he the funniest ever? 
 
 He joshes em all; 
 
 He s the Belle of the Ball 
 And, gee! ain t he witty and clever? 
 
 And here come the Jazzers; and ain t they the fools? 
 And here they are coming! the Animules!! 
 
 Here s the HyE- 
 
 Na in his van; 
 I bet that HE 
 
 Has et a man. 
 
 And here s the LI 
 ON. Hear him Roar! 
 . I bet that HE 
 
 Has et some more! 
 
 And here s the Hippo! 
 
 Hear him Grunt! 
 And here comes the Great 
 
 Big Elephunt!! 
 
 87 
 
And, Johnny, say! 
 
 Don t cher know, they eat hay, 
 And stuff, and ever thing by the bale! 
 
 And they re marching along, 
 
 PONG! PONG! PONG! PONG! 
 And holding theirselves by the tail! 
 
 88 
 
IN LIGHTER VEIN 
 
AH GET AND YOU BET 
 
 The thrifty N Goon loved the nifty You Bet, 
 And he followed the fashion his countrymen set, 
 Not of simpering, smiling and making goo-goo, 
 As lovers Caucasian think they must do, 
 But the way that appealed to N Goon, the thrifty 
 Was cash on the counter, two hundred and fifty. 
 
 And the happy N Goon, with Mongolian art, 
 Took the nifty You Bet to his home and his heart. 
 
 Now party the third in this business transaction 
 Had a mind of her own, or rather, a fraction; 
 (As much, Oriental scholars agree, 
 As is good for a maid of the heathen Chinee.) 
 And You Bet had a glimmering shade of a thought 
 That she (in plain English) didn t like to be bought. 
 
 The shifty Ah Get was a grocer s clerk; 
 Or call him fac-totum a man of all work; 
 And he served out dried fish and lizards tails, 
 And punk-sticks, ginger and bottled snails, 
 And Chinese herbs, and bumble-bees wings, 
 And many other delectable things 
 That the Chinese hold in such high esteem, 
 And enter into the grocer s scheme. 
 
 91 
 
And the shifty Ah Get had an intellect 
 
 That commanded the Boss s highest respect, 
 
 For he worked all the time, and was keen in trade, 
 
 Kept track of the dollars the business made, 
 
 And wrote the books, (or say the scroll) 
 
 And knew the stock in part and whole. 
 
 And the shifty Ah Get did not tarry there, 
 
 For he went, every Sunday, to praise and prayer 
 
 In the Chinese Mission, down the street; 
 
 (And a lot of verses he could repeat) 
 
 And he studied of nights, and odd times days, 
 
 To learn Amelican words and ways. 
 
 When the thrifty N Goon took home his bride, 
 To love and honor, to cook and abide, 
 He knew that a treasure so dearly bought 
 Should be kept and guarded with every thought. 
 So he locked the door and kept the key, 
 And his was the only face she could see. 
 
 But the nifty You Bet, in durance held, 
 
 Against such surveillance rebelled, 
 
 And she thought and thought of the shifty Ah Get, 
 
 (On whom her little heart was set) 
 
 And she started her glimmering shade of a mind, 
 
 As she was inclined, a way to find. 
 
And how she did it I cannot disclose, 
 
 But she slipped from N Goon right under his nose 
 
 And straight to the Mission You Bet flew, 
 
 Before all Chinatown s startled view. 
 
 And the Mission Matron, (bless her heart!) 
 Knew how to take a China girl s part. 
 When the thrifty N* Goon, in a deuce of a fret, 
 Came down to claim his little pet, 
 She wasn t obtainable, not just yet 
 And the Matron told N Goon to get. 
 
 Now the thrifty N Goon knew a thing or two 
 About the way that Melicans do, 
 And he went to a lawyer of Chinese fame, 
 And put him wise to the little game. 
 And the lawyer drew a formal charge 
 Against a China girl at large, 
 For the crime of petty larceny; 
 (And gracefully pocketed his fee). 
 The stolen chattels were not set down 
 In the lawyer s complaint that was done so brown, 
 But he knew, as plain as white and black, 
 That they meant the clothes on the China girl s back. 
 ***** **** 
 
 Now the shifty Ah Get knew a thing as well, 
 
 (But what he knew he wouldn t tell) 
 
 And he slipped up town when the fuss began, 
 
 And bought a paper from a man, 
 
 And the paper mentioned the name of Ah Get, 
 
 And another just after it, You Bet. 
 
 93 
 
This straight to the Mission House he bore, 
 And went around to the kitchen door, 
 And skipped up stairs, two steps at a jump, 
 And into her room with a bang and thump. 
 
 And next we find the pair up town, 
 
 In the office of City Justice Brown, 
 
 And the Wedding March has been duly played, 
 
 (When they marched up here without fuss or parade) 
 
 And, looking as stern as he possibly can, 
 
 The Justice is there to pronounce the bann, 
 
 And the Bailiff acts as groom s best man. 
 
 Now, when that complaint had been duly filed, 
 
 And the Law s formalities reconciled, 
 
 An Officer, armed with warrant and gun, 
 
 Bore down the Mission House upon, 
 
 And with haughty words and peremptory air, 
 
 Demanded the criminal harbored there. 
 
 But no hidden criminal does he find; 
 
 (He is just a little bit behind) 
 
 For the girl he seeks is now Mrs. Ah Get, 
 
 Not a slave or criminal, You Bet. 
 
 94 
 
THE AHKOOND OF SWAT 
 
 What! 
 
 The Ahkoond of Swat! 
 
 That august and virile des-pot! 
 
 You do not 
 
 Know the Ahkoond of Swat? 
 
 My dear fellah, despite 
 
 An unvarying rule (which no doubt 
 
 You ve observed in my conduct throughout) 
 
 I m obliged to indite 
 
 Maugre the wish to be always polite 
 
 That your statement s diaphonous quite! 
 
 Why, the Ahkoond s illustrious name 
 
 Is proclaimed on the outposts of fame! 
 
 Wherever human conceit 
 
 Feels a bigness it cannot repeat; 
 
 Wherever the diaphragm swells 
 
 With the sense that true greatness impels 
 
 No name titillating the world s epiglottis 
 
 Is mentioned so oft as the Ahkoond of Swat is. 
 
 On this coign of vantage he stands 
 
 And commands, 
 
 With a flamboyant wave of the hands, 
 
 And this proposition is plain, 
 
 That whatever may chance his domain, 
 
 Monsieur Tonson is come again. 
 
 95 
 
So I hope you ll no longer gainsay 
 
 The sway 
 
 Of this versatile Prince of Cathay, 
 
 Whose aplomb is unique in a way! 
 
 Let his enemies all go to pot 
 
 With their polysyllabic rot! 
 
 All hail to the Ahkoond of Swat! 
 
 AN ALLEGORICAL DITTY 
 Respectfully dedicated to a great railroad corporation 
 
 I knew an old fellow a long time ago, 
 A finer old fellow one never may know 
 Who owned in this valley a good piece of soil, 
 And made it productive by generous toil. 
 
 He spared not the labor of head or of hand 
 And developed his water and harrowed his land, 
 And he prodded about with his spade and his hoe, 
 And induced every planting to get up and grow. 
 
 Then the autumn came round, and his labor was o er, 
 His corn and his pumpkins all gathered in store; 
 With his rasher of bacon, his barrel of beer, 
 This jolly old fellow had plenty of cheer. 
 
 Now this well-to-do farmer, he says with a wink, 
 "I ve more than enough for my own meat and drink, 
 So I ll harness my mule to the cart and drive down, 
 And dispose of this truck to the folks of the town." 
 
 96 
 
Then he goes to the village and stops at the store; 
 He barters his load for provisions galore 
 Flour, sugar and tea and a dollar or two, 
 And a nip of Old Rye when his trading is through. 
 
 So he lived and he flourished year in and year out, 
 Grew heavy in pocket, in body grew stout; 
 What he had in excess, what he happened to lack, 
 The mule always carried to market or back. 
 
 There came a fine stranger, accomplished of tongue, 
 
 And the song of a siren the stranger he sung; 
 
 He told the old fellow his mule was too slow, 
 
 And such "countrified" ways wouldn t do not for Joe. 
 
 Said the stranger at last, after arguin and arguin , 
 "Let me have your mule, and I ll give you a barg-u-ain: 
 You shall ride to the town when you will in my shay, 
 And there won t be much trouble, I guess, bout the pay. 
 
 "But before we accomplish this elegant trade, 
 (And a better I bet that you never have made), 
 To prevent any mishap from breaking the charm, 
 You just give me your note, with a lien on your farm." 
 
 Then the silly old fellow relinquished his mule, 
 And mortgaged his farm, very like a big fool, 
 And he got not a thing in the world he could brag on 
 But a ride now and then in the stranger s fine wagon. 
 
 97 
 
And thus matters went; but before very long 
 The stranger was singing a different song; 
 He grumbled and growled and demanded big pay 
 Every time the old fellow would ride in his shay. 
 
 The corn and the pumpkins all went to the share 
 Of the man who demanded their value in fare, 
 And the farmer lamented in anguish and pain, 
 And wished in his heart for his mule back again. 
 
 A BARMECIDAL FEAST 
 
 Ah there, my demagogic friend, I note 
 
 With unassumed distress, sir, 
 Your newest scheme to catch the wary vote 
 
 And its possessor. 
 
 Although I own the method is beset 
 
 With some slight incongruity, 
 It takes the cake o er every method yet 
 
 For ingenuity. 
 
 Behold a Barmecidal feast is spread, 
 
 And beamed on by the Mayor, 
 While you bring intellectual meat and bread, 
 
 As chief purveyor. 
 
 And, not content to serve a simple bill 
 
 Of bread and meat nutritious, 
 The board with sweets of platitude you fill, 
 
 All quite delicious. 
 
 98 
 
While on the festal gathering you bestow 
 
 Obsequious devotion, 
 A grim confederate is loitering below 
 
 With deadly potion. 
 
 You spread the jam just thick and smooth enough- 
 
 A worthy occupation, 
 While he deals out the poison, quantum suf, 
 
 And spikes the ration. 
 
 You work together with sublime accord, 
 
 And as the feast advances, 
 You take for virtue the assured reward, 
 
 He takes his chances. 
 
 And what between the goodies you bestow 
 
 And his conserves unerring, 
 You catch the voters as they come and go, 
 
 As dead as herring. 
 
 You talk of loyalty and human rights, 
 
 Society upholding, 
 While he in anarchistic plot delights, 
 
 His scheme unfolding: 
 
 Down with the rights of property and men! 
 
 Down with the nation! 
 Well revolutionize society, and then 
 
 Unmade creation! 
 
 Our nihilistic banner we unfurl 
 
 The while we are recruiting, 
 Then blood and fire shall start the merry whirl. 
 
 And bring the looting! 
 
 99 
 
Alas, my demagogic friend, I fear 
 
 Your pard is too outspoken; 
 The double game you play is made so clear 
 
 The charm is broken. 
 
 We care not for your Barmecidal show, 
 
 No matter how you spread it; 
 The anarchist and demagogue must go; 
 
 The fates have said it. 
 
 AT A CHRISTMAS JINKS 
 To Judge Enoch Knight, with a Garter 
 
 This item of female attire, 
 
 And insignia of station, 
 That every good man doth inspire 
 
 With true veneration, 
 We pass to the head of the board, 
 
 By way of a starter, 
 And dub our good chairman a Lord, 
 
 And a Knight of the Garter. 
 
 MY FLOWING BOWL 
 
 A Bowl of any color or kind, 
 
 Provided it s open and flaring; 
 A Spoon, conveniently shaped and designed, 
 
 And one that keeps bright in the wearing; 
 A crust of bread or a cracker or two, 
 
 And a pint of milk from the cellar; 
 Here is a dinner that s good for you, 
 
 And for me, and for Mr. Rock feller. 
 
 100 
 
To F. A. G., with a Pencil 
 When times get most distressing, 
 When financial needs are pressing, 
 And we tell our doleful story 
 At the bank, 
 Bank, 
 
 Bank, 
 
 With suaviter unbroken, 
 You will take this little token, 
 
 And you ll make a memorandum, 
 Won t you, Frank, 
 Frank, 
 
 Frank? 
 
 To F. W. W. t Street Railway Manager, with a Brother-in-law* 
 
 Hear the mellow, tinkling bells 
 
 Nickel bells. 
 What a world of secret joy 
 
 The brother-in-law foretells. 
 Through the car by day and night, 
 Keeping coyly out of sight, 
 Knocking down the nickels bright; 
 While the tinkle-tankles float 
 From beneath the buttoned coat, 
 And the spotter s taking note 
 
 Of the bells, bells, bells - 
 
 Of the rhyming, chiming bells. 
 Oh, pshaw. 
 
 What is life without the jingle 
 Of a brother-in-law? 
 
 *NOTE: A false device, with a bell concealed beneath the conductor s coat, to rob 
 the company of fares, and delude the public into the belief that the fares were regularly 
 rung up. 
 
 101 
 
ENIGMA* 
 
 In sea and sky and under ground 
 I m everywhere, yet nowhere found. 
 
 I m older than the Sanscrit text, 
 Yet born this second, gone the next; 
 
 A prisoner oft held, but still 
 Through bolts and bars I pass at will. 
 
 Unlighted rambling round the earth, 
 My path obstructed, light has birth. 
 
 A faithful friend I am to man, 
 But turn and rend him when I can. 
 
 I soothe his aches and ease his pain, 
 Then twist him into knots again. 
 
 I come to bless his house and town, 
 And tear his stoutest buildings down. 
 
 Sans hands I hold, sans feet I go, 
 With messages for friend and foe. 
 
 I bear man s burdens, share his woes, 
 And vanish, whither no man knows. 
 
 NOTE: Electricity. 
 
 102 
 
A FAIR IDYL* 
 
 The Fair is ended and gone; 
 And he of the wide open mouth 
 And inquisitive turn of the eye 
 No longer perambulates 
 Through its halls. 
 
 The beau, 
 
 That erst did arrogate 
 
 Himself, with damsel clinging, 
 
 Like faithful mustard-plaster 
 
 Unto his side the twain 
 
 Exciting the look of derision 
 
 As they munched the succulent ball 
 
 Of pop-corn the beau and his glory 
 
 Are past. 
 
 The man of transcendent beauty 
 Hath taken his leather medal, 
 And doth hide his diminished head 
 Neath his drooping wing. 
 
 *NOTE: These lines were written and published in 1877; 
 many years before free verse was dreamed of as a poetic 
 fad or that designation had entered the thought of easy 
 going writers. In the absence of some prior claim these 
 lines must stand, therefore, as the premier effort in a very 
 indifferent sort of versification. 
 
 103 
 
He of the swelling larynx, 
 
 With inborn desire to proclaim 
 
 His gift of oratory, 
 
 Hath spoken. And lo! the trees 
 
 Standing in boxes and tubs; 
 
 The mellow fruit on the tables, 
 
 The stoves with their pots and kettles, 
 
 The displays of agriculture, 
 
 And the milliners hats and bonnets 
 
 Were overawed as they listened. 
 
 The constituted committee 
 
 Hath come, puffed up with importance, 
 
 To domineer as they listed 
 
 O er the coops all saw-dust littered. 
 
 The turkey-cocks and the roosters 
 
 They did outdo in strutting, 
 
 And, moved by a sense of justice, 
 
 Awarded the wide blue ribbon 
 
 Unto themselves. 
 
 Even so, 
 
 The judges of wines and brandies 
 
 With fortitude amazing, 
 
 Tasted the unctuous samples, 
 
 And passed to their friends for judgment, 
 
 And drained the dark colored bottles, 
 
 And forgot to award the prizes. 
 
 104 
 
And the fat and fretful babies, 
 Squeezed to infantile pomatum 
 In the crowd of fierce spectators, 
 Who trampled on each other 
 In a vain attempt to see them; 
 Oh, the babies, the dear babies, 
 Gone to swell the angel chorus, 
 Crushed and jammed to baby-butter! 
 Only one from all that concourse 
 He the plump Jose Maria, 
 Left to tell the mournful story, 
 And to occupy the buggy. 
 
 Join me, then, oh, suffering brother, 
 In my chuckled satisfaction, 
 In my song of loud rejoicing, 
 In my shout of exultation, 
 That at last the Fair is over. 
 
 CHINESE WEDLOCK 
 
 Ah Sang, thou art wed to the beauty, Loo Yow; 
 
 To love and to cherish you solemnly vow; 
 
 To love and to cherish forever and aye, 
 
 Nor let aught but a Court put the woman away. 
 
 You ll be true to this vow, Sang, I m confident of it; 
 
 And not sell till you re sure of a reasonable profit. 
 
 105 
 
LINES 
 To Major E. W. t as a tribute to his free verse proclivities 
 
 Oh, Poetaster by the swashing sea, 
 
 I can t help thinking about your poetry, 
 
 And how you sit in the Flying Fish 
 
 Cottage by the swashing-swish, 
 
 And devote your leisure moments to 
 
 Writing fanciful too-ral-loo; 
 
 While the people who read it are far away, 
 
 Twenty miles, or perhaps a fraction over, from 
 
 Long Beach Bay. 
 
 Oh, swashing Poetaster by the swish, 
 I laugh me in my sleeve, and often wish 
 That you could see the writhing multitude 
 That flout your fullograms in angry mood; 
 And they are twenty miles away. It tickles 
 My fancy to think of it. Pickles! 
 
 Oh, virile rhymster of the vasty slush, 
 
 It calms my troubled soul to hear the gush 
 
 Of the Pacific Ocean at Long Beach 
 
 Go sousing through your metricated speech, 
 
 And salting it most effectually; 
 
 Like pork in the barrel. Actually, 
 
 It does. While the flying fish on top 
 
 Of your cottage is utterly oblivious. (Full stop.) 
 
 106 
 
Oh, earnest trifler of the tum-te-tum, 
 
 A weary pilgrim to thy shrine I come, 
 
 And pull me off the shoes from off my feet, 
 
 And go barefooted up and down the street, 
 
 And walk upon the sands in my bathing suit 
 
 And feel very melancholy to boot! 
 
 I can t very well describe my unfortunate condition, 
 
 So I think I ll go to live at San Gabriel Mission! 
 
 LA GRIPPE 
 
 I ve got a most distressing cold, 
 
 Or something in my head, Sir; 
 My misery simply can t be told, 
 
 I ought to be in bed, Sir; 
 And if it lasts another day, 
 
 Without some sort of check, Sir, 
 I ll sneeze my blasted brains away, 
 
 Or dislocate my neck, Sir. 
 
 This Russian influenza 
 Will drive us all to frenzy; 
 Ah-chee, ah-choo! Ah-ch, ach-chee! 
 This Russian influenza! 
 
 It s something like neuralgia, 
 
 And something like bronchitis; 
 Like asthma, whooping-cough, catarrh, 
 
 A touch of laryngitis. 
 It s everything that s bad, by turns, 
 
 And nothing very nice, Sir; 
 All down my spinal cord it burns, 
 
 And then it s cold as ice, Sir. 
 107 
 
I swallowed forty quinine pills, 
 
 But got no better fast, Sir; 
 Tried physic, ipecac and squills, 
 
 And then a mustard plaster. 
 I ve soaked my feet in scalding lye, 
 
 And taken a hot toddy, 
 And yet the pains shoot constantly 
 
 All through my head and body. 
 
 My wife is troubled just the same, 
 
 And likewise my wife s mother; 
 And all the people in the house 
 
 Are sneezing at each other. 
 It s spreading mongst the neighbors, too, 
 
 And sadly twill afflict em, 
 Don t laugh at me, (Ah-chee, ah-choo,) 
 
 For you re a coming victim! 
 
 This Russian influenza. 
 
 PREMEDITATED POVERTY 
 
 Hiram s trousers had a recent rent 
 
 Yawning wide athwart the starboard knee. 
 
 Sarah offered aid with good intent, 
 
 But the yawn continued still to be; 
 "For," said Hiram, "Don t you see 
 "If I wear a patch across my knee, 
 "Neighbors all will think that it s a pre- 
 "Meditated sign of poverty? 
 "While, with just a rip across my knee, 
 "They will only notice it to see 
 "That the thing has recently been rent; 
 "Think it but the moment s accident." 
 108 
 
So the aid that Sarah would have lent 
 To the jagged gape on Hiram s knee, 
 
 Went for naught; her kindness was misspent; 
 And the neighbors now all clearly see 
 
 Ample cause for Hiram s discontent; 
 For the gossips, one and all, agree 
 That the frazzled tear across his knee 
 Is mark of Sarah s laziness, and he 
 Were even glad, just suited to a T 
 If Sarah would throw up the job and flee 
 To mend some other fellow s ragged knee. 
 
 Next time he had a rent across the knee, 
 He wore a patch with due humility; 
 Then all his kindly neighbors did agree 
 That he was going straight to bankruptcy; 
 And that the burden of his blasted life 
 Was having such a worthless, lazy wife. 
 
 Moral 
 
 He who seeks to steer his barque 
 
 In any wise 
 
 By others eyes, 
 Is very apt to miss his mark. 
 
 Who goes in shabby coat or hat 
 
 On false pretense, 
 Is apt to do his antic at 
 
 His wife s expense. 
 
 109 
 
PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTHFUL WALTER 
 
 Which I wish to re-say, 
 
 As I said it before, 
 That, for giving away 
 
 His cash to the poor, 
 Friend Walter is summat peculiar; 
 
 Peculiar he is, and no more. 
 
 This ere man, Robert Stokes, 
 
 Familiar called Bob, 
 Is the fellow that folks 
 
 Says was into the job. 
 (And I rise to explain that this Robert 
 
 Is only a darkey called Bob.) 
 
 It was fruit for the kid, 
 
 In a basket he took; 
 When the favor he did, 
 
 There was guile in his look; 
 And he lowed that the circus was coming, 
 
 In a way that could not be mistook. 
 
 This ere Robert, you know, 
 
 Is from Old Alabam, 
 And Friend Walter also; 
 
 They both hail from the same 
 And the ties existing between them 
 
 I m bashful to name. 
 
 110 
 
And when Robert implied 
 
 His fond wish for the show, 
 
 (Which it can t be denied 
 Meant a purpose to go,) 
 
 Friend Walter just pulled out two dollars 
 Without any further to-do. 
 
 And he said: "Robert, yes; 
 
 It s a-coming, that s true; 
 And I m bound to confess 
 I ve a liking for you; 
 But mind, Bob, there is an election, 
 And that s coming, too." 
 
 Which I wish to re-say, 
 
 As I said it before, 
 That, for giving away 
 
 His cash to the poor, 
 Friend Walter is summat peculiar; 
 
 Peculiar he is, and no more. 
 
 QUIPS AND EPIGRAMS 
 To Gyp, a Singing Dog 
 
 All hail, sweet singer, dog of happy mood, 
 That hath the soul of oriole or lark, 
 
 Yet warblest not within the leafy wood, 
 But in the bark. 
 
 Ill 
 
To a Unitarian Pastor 
 
 You say, my reverend sir, there is no hell; 
 That, live we here however good or ill, 
 A gracious God at last will count it well, 
 And take us into Paradise pell-mell, 
 
 Forgiven. 
 
 Now if this be the case, you ll please to say 
 Who then will save us from your Unita- 
 
 Rian Heaven. 
 
 To an Old Style Preacher 
 
 Lo, as we hear your words of holy wrath, 
 We scent the fire and brimstone on your breath; 
 We see the burning sinner in the glare; 
 Behold your devils dancing on the air; 
 Thus pandemonium which men fear so much, 
 Looms forth, responsive to your magic touch. 
 Now, when we die, and all to hell repair, 
 I think, my reverend sir, we ll need you there; 
 For, on that day of threatened woe and worrit, 
 What use for brimstone, with no one to stir it? 
 
 To a Justice of the Peace 
 111 fares the man who breaks the law, 
 
 And comes within your clutches; 
 Hard lines of punishment you draw 
 
 On all the luckless wretches; 
 The misery which your words entail 
 
 Is far beyond conjecture; 
 For he who isn t sent to jail 
 
 Must fall before your lecture. 
 
 112 
 
SMITH S PROFITEERING 
 
 He looked about one summer day, 
 Did Mr. Smith of San Jose, 
 And he noted the weather warm and dry, 
 (The barometer standing tolerably high,) 
 And never a sign of rain in the sky. 
 
 He found the people in very ill grace, 
 
 Short in pocket and long of face 
 
 Horribly grumpy wretchedly blue, 
 
 Bewailing the drouth they had just come through, 
 
 And looking askance at more drouth in view. 
 
 The alfillerilla, rank and tall 
 
 In times gone past without recall, 
 
 Had made a most unfortunate fall 
 
 First to very short grass, then to no grass at all, 
 
 And the fact no longer could be ignored 
 
 That the ground was about as bare as a board. 
 
 "Hence," said Mr. Smith of San Jose, 
 
 "I think there s a good speculation in hay." 
 
 The weather continued warm and dry, 
 And the second drouth was drawing nigh, 
 And things that were bad enough before 
 Grew worse and worse, and ever more 
 Increased the want and diminished the store. 
 
 113 
 
Smith saw that cattle were greatly in need 
 Of the new season s grass or the old season s feed, 
 And the sheep, all starved and ragged and poor, 
 Were dropping dead by the dozen and score; 
 And he pondered these matters o er and o er. 
 
 And it all appeared to him most plain 
 
 That with the certain failure of rain, 
 
 The farmers stacks couldn t stand the strain; 
 
 He was sure it would come about by and by, 
 
 The supply would run low and the price would run high. 
 
 "Hence," said Mr. Smith of San Jose, 
 "I m sure there s a fine speculation in hay." 
 
 And when Mr. Smith thus made it appear 
 That the people were in for another dry year, 
 And had settled it all to his own satisfaction, 
 The hay speculation had such an attraction 
 That he backed his opinions with vigorous action. 
 
 He went into market without more delay 
 
 And devoted himself to the purchase of hay; 
 
 Invited all holders to give him a call, 
 
 And with money in hand bought from each and from all. 
 
 The farmer who d sell, Smith did never turn back, 
 
 But asked him his price, and called it a whack, 
 
 And gathered in hay by the bale and the stack. 
 
 114 
 
There was no hesitation when once he d begun, 
 And his volume of fodder increased like fun, 
 To eighteen hundred and some odd ton, 
 Between what he d bought and what he d engaged, 
 And Smith s fond ambition at last was assuaged. 
 
 "And now," said Smith of San Jose, 
 "I ve got a lead-pipe cinch on hay." 
 
 Then he turned to and hoped with might and main 
 That the Lord in his mercy would not send rain; 
 That the drouth might prevail, and the year again 
 Bring naught but want and woe in its train, 
 And shattered fortunes and hopes all in vain, 
 That the general loss might be his gain. 
 
 "Because," said Smith of San Jose, 
 
 "I ve simply got them all euchered on hay." 
 
 But alas! for the man who sometimes depends 
 On fickle Nature to work his ends. 
 Alas! for the man who seeks to prey 
 On his fellows misfortune, even in hay. 
 The purpose he sought was not attained, 
 The profits he coveted never were gained, 
 For lo! on a fateful day, it rained. 
 
 And that rain was followed by many rains, 
 And feed all over the hills and plains 
 Sprang up and flourished, rank and tall, 
 And the cattle were fed and grew fat withal, 
 And the people laughed and were hearty at that, 
 And Smith s great hay speculation fell flat. 
 115 
 
THE SOPHIST S MAXIM* 
 
 Who seeks to win poetic fame, 
 Who would immortalize his name, 
 Who d gain with ease life s doubtful game, 
 Should think of this; nor scornful pass it 
 Pecunia equam ire facit. 
 
 Who would forsake his humble nook, 
 Upon the busy world to look, 
 To see her sights and read her book, 
 Should study this, nor idly pass it: 
 Pecunia equam ire facit. 
 
 Who seeks for friends to bend the knee, 
 Be constant in prosperity, 
 And when misfortune comes, to flee 
 Should ponder this nor ever pass it: 
 Pecunia equam ire facit. 
 
 And he who d go where Christians meet, 
 Their prayers and sermons to repeat, 
 If he would occupy a seat 
 
 Mongst wealth and those who do amass it, 
 Should heed this truth, nor rashly pass it, 
 Pecunia equam ire facit 
 
 *NOTE: This was the first writing of the author s to see the light of print. It was 
 written and published when he was about fourteen or fifteen years of age, having been 
 given to the editor of a local newspaper by a yound friend, without the writer s knowl 
 edge. The refrain should read, "Money makes the mare go," but the Latin is not 
 vouched for. 
 
 116 
 
THE WONDERFUL DIPLOMAT 
 
 Have you heard of the wonderful Diplomat 
 (Let his praises be everywhere sounded) 
 
 Who puzzled one-half of the civilized world, 
 And the other half dumbfounded? 
 
 His methods confusing human kind, 
 
 His purposes past invention; 
 The wisest could never fathom his mind, 
 
 Or guess at his intention. 
 
 No other so subtle in matters of state, 
 No other so crafty and wary, 
 
 He juggled with prince and potentate, 
 And plenipotentiary. 
 
 And when this Diplomat came to die, 
 By loving friends surrounded, 
 
 He solved at last the mystery 
 
 That had all the world confounded; 
 
 And the secret of his art, forsooth, 
 
 Left them all the more astounded; 
 
 He had always told the simple truth, 
 And thus had the world confounded. 
 
 117 
 
REFORM-A BALLAD 
 
 There was old Grove Jackson, we knew him first-rate 
 When the Southern Pacific was taking the freight, 
 And paying its cohorts to manage the State. 
 
 A faithful old servitor truly was Grove, 
 Obeying the orders that came from above, 
 And working for lucre as well as for love; 
 
 A faithful old henchman as ever was seen, 
 In season and out, and sometimes between, 
 A-serving the Southern Pacific machine. 
 
 But the time came at last when the great Collis P. 
 Found that business and politics didn t agree; 
 "And I think we had better get out," said he; 
 
 "Out of business or politics, one or the other 
 While the hauling pays well, the machine it is rather 
 Expensive, and always a drag and a bother." 
 
 But how to get out; it wasn t so plain, 
 With an army of henchmen still to maintain, 
 And a balance of loss, maybe, over the gain. 
 
 For twas clear to the mind of the very astute 
 
 That politics being their favorite suite, 
 
 They might play t other way, if sorely put to t. 
 
 Thus, turning the problem abaft and abeam, 
 And finding no other way sure, it would seem, 
 Collis hit on this very ingenious scheme: 
 
 118 
 
Maybe Herrin proposed it; I sure cannot say, 
 But they turned it about to approach t other way, 
 And left the trump card for the people to play. 
 
 "There is Hiram, Grove s son; he is simply a charmer, 
 Tricked out with his sword and his buckler and armor; 
 Knight Errant is he, and a noble reformer. 
 
 "What s the matter with Hiram? We ll let him march out 
 With banner and bugle and fanfare and shout, 
 And put our discomfited army to rout; 
 
 Tis the only safe way: when the fracas is o er 
 We ll be better protected than ever before, 
 And our troublesome army will trouble no more." 
 
 So Hiram marched forth to a victory sure, 
 
 And marshalled his forces, the good and the pure, 
 
 And led them right into Boss Herrin s fine lure. 
 
 And the army that Collis was troubled about, 
 Horse, foot and dragoons, suffered panic and rout; 
 For Hiram, the Noble, he sure kicked them out. 
 
 And Hiram, installed in the Governor s chair. 
 Fixed things so the railroad was sure of its share, 
 And built a machine of his own past compare. 
 
 And the burden was shifted, tis fair to relate; 
 
 The machine moves along at its merry old gait, 
 
 With the odds in its favor: The State pays the freight. 
 
 119 
 
IN SOBER VERSE 
 
THE HESPERIDES 
 
 Where the sun goeth down in the West, 
 Where the spirits of earth find rest, 
 In the Occident-land of the blest, 
 
 There dwell the Hesperides. 
 They are daughters of Erebus, Night, 
 In vestments of shadow bedight, 
 And they know not the Day with his light 
 
 The Sisters Hesperides. 
 They are guarding the apples of gold 
 Earth s gift to fond Hera of old, 
 And their vigils forever they hold 
 
 O er the fruit-laden trees. 
 And the spirits of Earth and Air 
 Know not that the Sisters are there 
 Or the trees with their fruitage so rare 
 
 In that Occident-land of Peace. 
 
 For darkness is over them thrown; 
 Night claimeth the fruit for his own; 
 Well he guardeth the Great Unknown, 
 With his shades, the Hesperides. 
 
 Oh, glorious land of the west! 
 Oh, land I hold dearest and best! 
 Elysium is not then possesst 
 
 Of fruits so enchanting as these. 
 
 123 
 
Thy groves that are ever in sight 
 Bear apples of gold not less bright, 
 And their guardians are angels of light, 
 Obeying the day s decrees. 
 
 Blest mortals who there do abide! 
 Of the fruit that no shadows hide 
 They may eat and be satisfied, 
 Nor fear the Hesperides. 
 
 THE NEWSBOY 
 
 Compliments of The "Times " Carriers to its Patrons, New Years 
 Day, 1885. 
 
 I like the little Waif that runs the streets, 
 Bearing, neath bended arm his stock in trade. 
 I like to hear his shout, and see anon 
 The eager face upturned. Ragged and rough 
 May be this urchin of the gutter bred; 
 Ragged and rough, in manners as in dress; 
 But, for the better self, the heart within, 
 That one doth seldom read, I like him still. 
 
 Morning pipers. Times and Herald; 
 Two for a dime. 
 
 124 
 
Who knows the dire necessity that waits 
 Upon the proceeds of the newsboy s trade? 
 The mother, mayhap, with her babe at breast; 
 The ragged little brothers, sisters, all 
 Deserted by the sot that dragged them down. 
 But for the burden lightly taken up 
 By this young Arab, hunger might be theirs. 
 
 Morning pipers. Daily Times, Sir? 
 Only five cents. 
 
 Astir betimes, ere half the town s awake, 
 
 Rising from scanty bed to scanty fare; 
 
 Prompt at his post of duty, come what may, 
 
 And serving through all weathers, satisfied 
 
 If only by his toil he gather in 
 
 A meager pittance, Who shall dare to say 
 
 There is not true nobility of soul 
 
 In such endeavor? Honor then the lad. 
 
 Quick in his rivalry, an eye for gain 
 Shrewd as the shrewdest ever glib of speech 
 These his accomplishments so early gained, 
 So oft reviewed in his one school, the street. 
 What wonder then, that pupil apt as he, 
 Cast on the world before his time, should learn 
 Too much of ill! Behold the reflex here 
 Of public morals. Satire on us all! 
 
 Times or Herald. Morning pipers. 
 Only five cents. 
 
 125 
 
And still I praise him, for the good is more. 
 His faults the faults of others; but his own 
 The manly virtues of his struggling life. 
 Thus, ever strong of will and light of heart, 
 He plies his humble calling; honors it, 
 And giveth promise for the future man. 
 Ho! Newsboy, kneel, and thou shalt knighted be, 
 My Lord Lieutenant of the Daily Press. 
 
 Daily pipers. 
 
 THE BARD S APPEAL* 
 
 When scribbling fools assume poetic sway, 
 When Mammon rules o er Poesy the day, 
 When stupid blockheads soar to skies unknown, 
 And scribble lovers ditties all their own, 
 What marvel that we turn with sore disgust 
 From where the Muse lies prostrate in the dust! 
 
 A Scott once sang the patriot s worth; but now 
 His words are used in burlesque at the show. 
 Moore breathed of love; and now his deathless line, 
 Corrupted, glares upon a merchant s sign. 
 The star of Young that pinned the mantle round 
 The earth in slumber wrapt, is gaily found 
 In plodding service of a notion store 
 Where pins, indeed, are sold and many more 
 Delightful things that Adam never wore. 
 
 *NOTE: Verses of boyhood. 
 
 126 
 
Oh, spare the Muse, ye senseless mongers all 
 Who seek your petty profits in her fall. 
 And spare her modesty, ye groveling men 
 Who for a baser motive wield the pen. 
 Let ribald jest and vulgar tale be told 
 In other than the impassioned strains of old 
 That mounted with a bright unsullied fire 
 From Homer s first inspired, first honored lyre. 
 
 The snow so pure that falls from fleecy cloud, 
 When tis downtrodden by the thronging crowd, 
 Becomes, beneath their all-corrupting feet, 
 The foulest rubbish on the dirty street. 
 
 A PILLOW FIGHT 
 
 It was a merry rout. The little ones, 
 Robed in their nighties, scurried into bed, 
 And cuddled down, as if to sleep addressed; 
 But scarce they had the covers snugly drawn, 
 When up an imp of mischief popped his head, 
 And, to his challenge (all in pantomime) 
 Another and another. With half an eye 
 For bed-time pranks of children, one could see 
 Trouble was brewing; mayhap not for these, 
 But for the tired mother, who must come, 
 And with asperity, command the peace. 
 
 127 
 
It was a pillow-fight, and back and forth 
 The harmless missiles flew. Waxing warm, 
 In thickest of the fray, a warrior bold 
 Crept to a close engagement, and with might 
 Belabored his antagonist. Alack! 
 That pillows were not made for such a strife! 
 The parting stitches cried peccaci first; 
 Then marshalled forth a million flags of truce. 
 Patron of all the geese untimely plucked 
 To furnish men a guerdon of repose, 
 How is thy spirit troubled! Lo, the air 
 Is thick with feathers, fluttering in dismay! 
 
 A reckless fight and frolic, fashioned forth 
 Thue to the life and action. How is this? 
 All an illusion? Saw we not the act? 
 Only a picture? The kinetocope? 
 Oh, Wizard, Edison! And is it thus 
 Thou playest on our senses to impose 
 The conjured antics of a modern Puck? 
 
 Behold, we look again, and to our eyes 
 The scene of turmoil comes, the feathers fly; 
 But, by reversal of the strange device, 
 The downy cloud resolves; the air is cleared, 
 And in its proper place each feather drops; 
 The rended stitches mend; the pillow s whole; 
 And tracing back the conflict to the first, 
 The impish heads fall back, and are at rest. 
 
 128 
 
Oh, Edison, thou Wizard, truly called, 
 Twice o er thou dost confound and mystify; 
 For Puck, in all his wanderings on the earth, 
 Could ne er undo the mischief he had wrought! 
 Now, we implore thee (if within thee lies,) 
 Make this illusion real for us all; 
 Give us reversal of the trend of time; 
 Return our precious hopes that flew away, 
 Rebind the sundered stitches of our lives, 
 And bring our heads anon to childhood s rest. 
 
 August 18, 1899. 
 
 TO THE SENATE 
 
 How long, oh, Conscript Fathers, will you stand, 
 In partisan contention, blinded, strife, 
 
 The world awaiting anxiously at hand 
 
 And Human Freedom gasping for its life? 
 
 Was t all in vain we poured our billions in 
 To meet the waste of tyranny and greed? 
 
 Was t just a joke we sent two million men 
 To stay a bloody tyrant from his deed? 
 
 Was it for this our brothers and our sons, 
 
 That heard the call and took the patriot s chance, 
 
 Fought the stern issue through and left their bones 
 
 Beneath the hell-blown wastes of northern France? 
 
 129 
 
What serves it then that they have nobly wrought 
 If craven cowards, sitting in command, 
 
 May desecrate the flag for which they fought, 
 
 And snatch the trophy from the victor s hand? 
 
 Oh, Conscript Fathers, hesitate no more; 
 
 Confirm the pledge we gave the world when we 
 Sent out our armies to the farther shore, 
 
 And sent our ships to clear the troubled sea. 
 
 Make good the pledge we gave in tears and blood, 
 And save the nation from this dire disgrace. 
 
 Make good the pledge we gave our friends who stood 
 Beside us in that awful slaughter place. 
 
 Give to the peoples perishing afar 
 
 The guerdon we have cherished from our birth; 
 Give them surcease from tyranny and war, 
 
 That freedom may not perish from the earth. 
 
 December 30, 1919 
 
 THE DYING ORANGE TREE 
 
 Sore wounded at its root, and sensing near 
 That dissolution, or that change of form 
 That men call death, the orange tree puts forth 
 A wealth of bloom. Self -shrouded all in white, 
 It looks in beauty on the passing world, 
 Flinging its censored perfume to the air; 
 And, with this benediction, yields its life. 
 It must be sweet to die so graciously. 
 
 130 
 
MARY TO DODE 
 
 Through the rift of five-and-forty years, 
 Look thine eyes benignantly on me, 
 
 And the lengthened absence but endears 
 All my tender memories of thee. 
 
 Little of the girlish mood I trace, 
 
 Little of the drollery and fun, 
 But a sober, love-enhallowed face 
 
 Speaks the task of duty nobly done. 
 
 Ah, the magic of that long ago! 
 
 Ah, the fancies of a youth sublime! 
 Can it be the years have passed us so, 
 
 And our fortunes have been told by Time? 
 
 Burdens brought he, fraught with joy and pain, 
 Cares and sorrows brought he, but to bless; 
 
 I a mother with her happy train, 
 You a mother to the motherless. 
 
 Even so our portions are assigned; 
 
 Each her destiny to meet apart; 
 And the ties of youth must also bind 
 
 Riper treasures of the mother s heart. 
 
 So, while near a lifetime s sped away, 
 Since we parted lightly on the road, 
 
 So, when both our heads are grown full grey, 
 Mary I am still, and you are Dode. 
 
 131 
 
When we stood upon the farther side, 
 And our paths divided up the slope, 
 
 Little thought we then to sunder wide, 
 Meeting only in the vale of Hope. 
 
 Be that happy valley far or near, 
 
 Neath the hill, or past the sunset West, 
 
 Both must journey thither year by year; 
 
 Shall we meet again? God knoweth best. 
 
 THE DROUTH 
 
 There came a long rainless season, 
 
 When it seemed that the land was accurst, 
 And the streets of the town were sere and brown, 
 
 And the earth was agape with thirst. 
 
 The acres of wheat and of barley 
 
 That had promised a bounteous yield, 
 
 Were shriveled and dry when only half high, 
 And all a-drouth was the field. 
 
 The grass erst so lush and verdant, 
 
 Skirting the valley round, 
 Was crisp and dead beneath the tread, 
 
 And matted upon the ground. 
 
 The cattle that fed on the hillside, 
 The flocks that roamed the plain, 
 
 Fell lank and lean with starvation, 
 And perished for want of rain. 
 
 132 
 
The springs that had gushed from the mountain 
 
 Were failing one by one, 
 And the river that ran down the valley 
 
 Could scarcely longer run. 
 
 A fervid sun from the heavens 
 
 Looked down with pitiless glare, 
 
 Drinking the remnant of moisture, 
 Heating the pulseless air. 
 
 The earth upon the roadway, 
 
 Beneath the furrowing tire 
 Was ground and winnowed to powder, 
 
 Like ashes from a fire. 
 
 There was dust in the passing zephyr, 
 
 And dust in every breath, 
 Dust covered the whole land over, 
 
 Like an ashen pall of death. 
 
 And there came a wind from the desert, 
 
 Hot as a furnace blast, 
 That told of desolation, 
 
 As it hurried, scorching past. 
 
 Men stared in each others faces, 
 
 And troubled looks they wore, 
 For the people all were stricken, 
 
 There was want and woe before. 
 
 ********* 
 
 One morning the sunshine came not 
 
 Athwart the eastern sky, 
 And all the heavens were darkened, 
 
 And succor came from on high; 
 133 
 
And the blessed rain descended, 
 Pattering on roof and steeple, 
 
 And a shout of exultation 
 
 Went up from all the people; 
 
 And they said, as the living waters, 
 Came to the parched plain, 
 
 "All hail the cloud that brings it, 
 God s mercy in the rain." 
 
 IN EVIL BRASS 
 
 London, Jan. 10, 1920. An Exchange Telegraph dispatch from Genoa today said the 
 liner Princess Mafalda from America, had struck a mine and sunk. An unconfirmed report 
 said 700 were lost. 
 
 "Men s evil manners live in brass." Tis sad 
 The words of poet-prophet are fulfilled, 
 And poison for the chalice is distilled. 
 
 For evil genius of a race gone mad, 
 
 And blind to right or wrong or good or bad, 
 
 Hath brewed this deadly potion, and hath willed 
 That enemy and friend alike be killed, 
 
 Now and in time to come; and then it seeks to add 
 
 The malediction of blind chance, that they 
 
 Marked for destruction shall themselves invite 
 
 Their untoward fate, and even then obey 
 
 The mandate of their murderers. Such ghoulish spite 
 
 Hath nowhere parallel. In evil day 
 
 And evil dark they wait with fiend s delight. 
 
 134 
 
"Men s evil manners live in brass." Behold 
 
 This blind destroyer, filled and primed and charged 
 With fierce explosive and projectiles gorged, 
 
 Freighted with terror and with woe untold 
 
 For innocent and helpless, young and old. 
 (In furnaces of hell the shell was forged, 
 And by the devil s hand twill be discharged.) 
 
 This hath the maniac set, in easy hold 
 
 Of anchored cable, and with cunning skill 
 
 Brought just below the surface, out of sight, 
 
 And left; a blind reminder of the German will. 
 This hath he planted in the roadstead, quite 
 
 In line with passing ships, and it is still 
 
 In evil-mannered brass, and deadly bright. 
 
 "Men s evil manners live in brass." And lo! 
 
 A good ship sailing from another shore, 
 
 With thousand precious lives and precious store 
 Of succor for the starving people who 
 Hold out their hands, imploring. Ah, twould do 
 
 A world of good, this cargo carried o er 
 
 To such; and with the will to carry more, 
 This ship returning all the season through. 
 Twould do a world of good, to whom? Ah, well, 
 
 To any needing succor; for the war, 
 With all its million hates, is past. And let us tell 
 
 The Germans that we hold no grudge, no bar 
 To future friendship. May The hounds of hell 
 
 Have struck! we sink! And is this peace or war? 
 
 135 
 
INGERSOLL 
 
 By the old women of the twirling flax 
 Another task is done; the thread is dipt, 
 The distaff spent; and Ingersoll is dead. 
 Say that the ancient servitors of Fate 
 Have wrought exquisitely; and that mankind, 
 With hands uplifted, hold the noble skein. 
 
 Twice happy, in his life and in his death. 
 Unflecked by age, unflawed by waning powers, 
 His work is ended as it was begun, 
 And stands to human freedom consecrate; 
 Freedom from hoary tyrants of the past; 
 Freedom from superstition and blind creed; 
 Freedom from bigotry and "Christian" hate; 
 Freedom from rack and fagot of the mind. 
 And for this freedom millions call him blest? 
 Millions will bless in ages yet to come. 
 
 Ingersoll is dead. But what is death to him? 
 
 Only the closing of a well-read book, 
 
 Filled with good thoughts and pleasant memories. 
 
 Mayhap he takes another from the shelf, 
 
 And in a fresher and a happier mood, 
 
 Pursues the theme beyond. Mayhap he 
 
 Has read enough already; (who can tell?) 
 
 And, in his cushioned ease, sublime repose, 
 
 He sleeps and sleeps forever. Either wise 
 
 Tis well; for at the last he hath the better part. 
 
 Los Angeles, August 3, 1899. 
 
 136 
 
IN MEMORIAM 
 Thomas L. O Brien 
 
 What freak of Fate to send our soldier back, 
 
 Safe from war s hazards and its fierce alarms! 
 
 What freak to follow in our soldier s track, 
 And snatch him after from our very armsl 
 
 Ah, but this game is hard to understand 
 
 This hide-and-seek with Death, the elfish shade- 
 
 For when we seek we find him not at hand, 
 
 And when he seeks we may not then evade. 
 
 At duty s earliest call he answered "Aye," 
 
 And when the need was greatest he was there; 
 
 Fighting that human freedom should not die, 
 Daring the storm as only freemen dare. 
 
 Steady he held his course through shot and shell, 
 Over the top and through the tangled wire, 
 
 Meeting the gas of hate, the flames of hell, 
 
 That hissed and roared the deadly German ire. 
 
 In every need he grandly bore his part, 
 To duty where he found it reconciled ; 
 
 In camp and hospital a woman s heart, 
 And ways as gentle as a little child. 
 
 Oh, the sublimity of such a lifel 
 
 Not less the hero for his virtues all. 
 
 Stern and undaunted on the field of strife, 
 Yet ready aye to answer Mercy s call. 
 137 
 
And through ten thousand dangers unafraid 
 Comes back our soldier to his happy home, 
 
 Seeking the peace his noble deeds have made, 
 
 Seeking the rest and comfort that should come 
 
 Ah, but this scheme is hard to understand! 
 
 The hand that throws the shuttle over, under, 
 Weaving our lives together strand on strand, 
 
 Then rudely tears the woven web asunder. 
 
 But what the Weaver s purpose who shall tell? 
 
 Perchance a better pattern He would gain. 
 Register joy, for He hath woven well;* 
 
 Register joy, our hero s free from pain. 
 
 LITTLE MESSENGER OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 Oh, little messenger of Love and Death, 
 
 Oh, Babe, thy mother s bitter, bitter-sweet, 
 
 Whose soul went out upon her parting breath, 
 Thy soul to meet; 
 
 Born of an agony without assuage, 
 
 Born to the anguish of our bitter tears ; 
 
 Oh, little one, is this thy heritage, 
 The burden of thy years? 
 
 *NOTE: A message to his wife and by her transmitted to the Proximo Club his last 
 word to fellow-members: "Register joy, for I am free from pain." 
 July 22. 1899. 
 
 138 
 
Where is the heart that yearned for mother-right? 
 
 The breast that throbbed to greet thy natal day? 
 The hands outstretched, appealing in the night? 
 
 Oh, Baby, where are they? 
 
 What knoweth thou of grief or pain or care? 
 
 What knowest thou of either help or harm? 
 Ah, helpless little stranger, nestling there 
 
 Upon thy nurse s arm! 
 
 Still art thou held in ever fond embrace; 
 
 Still art thou compassed by her mother-thought; 
 
 The fleecy draperies of thy nesting place 
 Her loving fingers wrought. 
 
 Sleep, Baby, sleep within thy cozy nest; 
 
 Thine the long, dreamless sleep of babyhood; 
 
 And never know the heart-aches and the rest, 
 But only know the good. 
 
 A LOAD OF WOOD 
 
 Accept my offering a farmer s load 
 The gnarled roots of mesquite and of sage, 
 And boles of mountain oak, torn from the soil 
 With many a blow of mattock and of axe. 
 
 Such uncouth cordwood is in vogue with us 
 Who dwell upon the mountain side, where erst 
 The scrubby chaparral was all the growth 
 That Nature in a niggard humor gave. 
 
 139 
 
And so, in clearing off my foothills farm, 
 To plant thereon the orange and the vine, 
 That better grace this sunny clime of ours, 
 My stock of fuel grew. And I have come, 
 With wagon clattering down the rugged way, 
 And I have brought my offering as the rest, 
 To grace your wedding day. 
 
 Doubt not, my friend, 
 
 That you shall find the fuel sound and good; 
 Quick to the spark and ready in the blaze, 
 To boil the pot and make the kettle sing. 
 Tis likewise fairly suited for the grate 
 (Now the long evenings are a little cool), 
 Yielding its store of sunshine to the room. 
 
 For every use 
 
 That men require, in reason, of a fire 
 I do commend this wood. But know you that, 
 Beyond the values here enumerate, 
 There s magic in it? Wonders like to which 
 The sorcerers of the East did never work, 
 Shall it perform for you. 
 
 The time is come 
 
 When to yourself you take the heart s best choice, 
 An honored wife. And you have chosen well; 
 For she, not lacking in the gentle grace 
 That kindly Nature gives to womankind, 
 Has yet the subtler charm that is vouchsafed 
 To those alone of true and generous heart. 
 
 140 
 
Bedight with gown and slippers, sit you down 
 (Your love beside you), and this magic blaze 
 Shall send a thrill of rapture through your soul 
 That kings and emperors have vainly sought. 
 
 Anon the simple meal 
 
 Her hand prepares above this witching flame 
 Upon your palate shall approve itself 
 Than nectar and ambrosia sweeter far. 
 Into the embers of this mystic fire 
 Gaze you, the while the night is growing old, 
 And (still your wife beside you) there shall be 
 Most wondrous visions to you both revealed. 
 
 So, pondering on these things, it seemed most fit 
 That I, your boyhood s chosen friend, and still 
 The boon companion of maturer years, 
 Should your Prometheus be; bringing the fire 
 To consecrate your home. God bless you, Fred! 
 God bless your hearthstone! May its flame of joy 
 Burn on unceasing, like the Aztec fires! 
 
 POMONA 
 
 And now Pomona stretches forth her hand 
 To bless the blossoms of our sunny land, 
 And they are fruitful, lo! an hundred fold; 
 The orange, yellow as the minted gold, 
 The lemon, hinting of a wealth untold; 
 The prune, the fig; the olive and the vine, 
 Yielding their treasury of oil and wine; 
 And every fruit of every fertile zone 
 The fair Pomona gives us for our own. 
 141 
 
ON THE PHILIPPINE WAR 
 
 My country, (must I say the bitter word?) 
 Invader, robber, spoiler of the weak! 
 Would that mine eyes had closed on earthly sights, 
 Would that mine ears were dead to earthly sounds, 
 Would that my light had flickered and gone out, 
 Ere I, thy lover, uttered this reproach! 
 
 My country, under what malignant star 
 That overrules the good intents of men, 
 That stifles Charity with hands of greed, 
 Turns former brother-love to hate, and o er 
 The altar-stone incites the crime of Cain, 
 Under what poison Upas hath thou slept, 
 That all thy better purpose is o erthrown, 
 And all thy fond traditions sunk in sin? 
 
 My country, when thy sword was girded on 
 To fight for the oppressed of other lands, 
 When thou went forth to champion the right, 
 And bade the tyrant stay his hand and end 
 The cursed reign of slaughter and despair; 
 When thou essayed to snatch the weak and old 
 From blood and flame and torture, thou wert strong;- 
 Strong in thy purpose, strong in thought and deed; 
 And all the nations wondered at thy feats. 
 
 142 
 
My country, in the tyrant s name and stead, 
 With mocking pretext of his purchased right, 
 Against the weak thou art thyself arrayed! 
 The half -clad native fights with bow and spear; 
 Or mayhap with the gun thou gavest him 
 When yesterday thy purposes he served! 
 The woman fighting, sinks beside her mate! 
 A rabble of affrighted island-folk, 
 They fall like swaths of barley in the field, 
 Mown by machines of war! In hopeless strife 
 They shrink before thy tempest-blast of hell, 
 And set the torch to that they call their home, 
 And fly to swamp and jungle fastnesses. 
 
 My country, oh, the cruel, cruel wrong 
 
 That slays for conquest and a larger mart! 
 
 What base perversion of thy giant strength! 
 
 What prostitution of thy Christian creed! 
 
 Is this thy boasted doctrine that upholds 
 
 The right of man, self -governed, to be free? 
 
 Is this the heritage thou did st receive 
 
 From those that toiled and bled for Freedom s sake? 
 
 Is this the legacy from sire to son, 
 
 This beggar s remnant of a brave estate? 
 
 143 
 
Powerless to crush a foe that will not mass, 
 Powerless to follow where a rabble flies, 
 Powerless to wreak a ruin ready wrought, 
 Powerless to burn the ashes of dead fires; 
 At bay before a wretched, scattered horde, 
 Beset by tropic heat, besieged by Death, 
 That draws his cordon with a fever-touch, 
 And posts a guard of Pestilence by night; 
 How is our giant shrunk since yesterday! 
 How is our mighty champion defied, 
 And set at naught before a gaping world! 
 
 Whose hand, bethink you, champions their cause? 
 
 Who interposes now to stay the wrong? 
 
 Is it a Power that exalts the weak, 
 
 And sets them up the mighty to confound? 
 
 Oh, Nation, halting on the fateful verge 
 
 Of time and circumstance, beware! Beware! 
 
 They who would forge the links of servitude, 
 
 E en for the poorest of God s wandering tribes, 
 
 Make fetters for themselves and for their kind. 
 
 July 22, 1899. 
 
 144 
 
PASADENA* 
 
 Fair Pasadena, Crown of the Valley, 
 Diadem set on the brow of the hills, 
 
 Bright was the promise thy christening gave thee, 
 And Fate, thy handmaiden, fulfills. 
 
 Fond Pasadena, never another 
 
 Hath such a circlet as thine; 
 The green of thy groves and the gold of thy poppies, 
 
 Wrought by a Maker divine. 
 
 Loved Pasadena, rich are thy treasures; 
 Amethyst, garnet and ruby so red; 
 
 Thus doth thy handmaid, the Noonday, bedeck thee, 
 Showering the gems on thy head. 
 
 Sweet Pasadena, evening approaches; 
 Topaz and agate thy crown shall beset. 
 
 Night cometh after, with jewels of sorrow, 
 Jewels of onyx and jet. 
 
 Sad Pasadena, this admonition 
 
 Teacheth the lesson of mortals to thee; 
 Lo! there is never a crown so beseeming 
 
 As crown of humility. 
 
 Bright Pasadena, yet cometh after 
 
 Morning in diamonds bedight; 
 Cometh the Noonday with ruby and garnet, 
 
 Cometh the onyx Night. 
 
 NOTE: Pasadena, an Indian word signifying Crown of the Valley. 
 
 145 
 
Blest Pasadena, still shall a glory 
 
 Crown thee and bless thee alway, 
 
 Jewels unnumbered are ever thy portion 
 Brought by thy servant, Day. 
 
 THE GERMAN "ti 
 lt sinks; and sinking leaves no trace 
 Upon the ocean s placid face. 
 Down in the middle reaches far 
 Swims the leviathan of War, 
 Seeking its prey; and if it rise 
 To use its periscopic eyes, 
 Like some black monster of the deep, 
 
 It tarries but a breathing rest, 
 Then back within the ocean-keep 
 
 It dives to follow up the quest. 
 
 This grotesque Brobdignagian fish hath scales 
 
 Of bolted steel; and fins indeed 
 Beyond the wont of fishes fins and tails, 
 
 With million times their speed; 
 And power titanic hath it, demon-made 
 
 By engines, fiery-pulsed, at play; 
 And all the whirling dervishes arrayed 
 
 Could not so whirl as they. 
 
 146 
 
And in the fish s belly there is pent 
 
 A score of Jonahs; not impelled 
 To mission of the Lord when recreant, 
 
 But rather by the Devil held 
 In leash to execute his cunning plan, 
 
 And, bondsmen in a service strict, 
 Inflict a fate o er dire for fiend or man, 
 
 And tempt the fate that they inflict. 
 
 For there, within the close-drawn hold, like case 
 
 That s water-buried (it would seem 
 No part of earth or sea or air or space 
 
 The nightmare of a waking dream) 
 These wretched serfs, in reeking sweat and grime, 
 
 Toil without surcease, knowing well 
 That one mischance in action or in time 
 
 Brings death with agonies of hell. 
 
 Yet toil they on, as driven toilers can, 
 
 With grim determination bent 
 To wreak such death upon their fellow-man 
 
 Ere they to Pluto s realm are sent. 
 0, God, is this thy handiwork? Is t then 
 
 A balance twixt our gain and loss 
 Since thy Peace Messenger was sent to men, 
 
 And nailed by them upon the cross? 
 
 147 
 
It sinks, The fiend incarnate hath espied, 
 
 By his devices clever, Argus-eyed, 
 A noble ship that rides in sea and air, 
 
 Unconscious of the peril skulking there; 
 A noble ship, replete with joy and life, 
 
 Betimes by Charity and Mercy sent 
 To soothe the carking miseries of strife, 
 
 And save a wretched people, famine-spent. 
 
 It sinks; and from its evil maw spits out 
 
 A missile deadly, sent with speed and force 
 
 Of chained lightning. Panic, fear and rout 
 
 Possess the good ship yonder, and her course 
 
 Is not to harbor, with her precious freight, 
 
 For rescue of the suffering that wait; 
 
 But, with a gaping cavern in her side, 
 
 All open to a fierce insetting tide, 
 
 She plunges downward with her precious hoard; 
 
 She plunges down to death with all on board. 
 
 Oh, evil genious, cast in human form, 
 
 That sees the wreck thy dastard will hath made; 
 That sees the panic and the wild alarm, 
 
 And hears the cry of children, and thine aid 
 Is not stretched forth to succor; evil one, 
 
 Thou who hath murdered Mercy, thinkest thou 
 One drop shall ever cool thy parched tongue, 
 
 One touch of kindness ease thy fevered brow? 
 
 It sinks; and may the God of Pity send 
 The craft and crew to their appointed end. 
 
 148 
 
TO A SIERRA PINE 
 
 I love thy restful shade, Sierra Pine, 
 
 Thy drooping boughs and feathery knots of green 
 
 That net a fretted canopy above, 
 
 And let the welcome sunshine glimmer through. 
 
 Nor glare nor gloom beseem thy cunning skill, 
 That, over rocky ledge and steep and crag, 
 Weaveth a tracery of brown and gold 
 To deck with arabesques the mountain side. 
 
 Low, nestling at thy foot as if to crave 
 An equal share of tenderness, behold 
 The fronded bracken and the plumes of fern 
 That hold their meager lodgment in the cleft; 
 And lichens gray, o erspanning all the rocks, 
 And flowers of modest hue and mosses old, 
 Creeping and creeping till thy massive trunk 
 Is half encircled. See the furzy coat! 
 How it o erlaps the tree against the north, 
 Protecting and protected! Nor the less 
 Of fond devotion seemeth in the vine, 
 Weaving its tendrils round thy lofty trunk, 
 Climbing to kiss the sunshine at the top. 
 
 Beyond the angle of yon beetling cliff 
 
 A mountain stream pours down with tireless plash, 
 
 Now stealing round a boulder in its path, 
 
 Now dallying and now speeding on its way, 
 
 And leaping madly from the battled rock 
 
 To plunge in frothing eddy at its base. 
 
 149 
 
Perchance, between the foliage of the pine, 
 There drop the sun s bright lances all unseen, 
 And, striking full athwart the waterfall, 
 They shiver in a thousand sparks of light. 
 
 A droning murmur rises from the stream 
 (As twere the distant clang and clash of arms,) 
 And there, amidst the mimic scene of strife, 
 A rainbow-banner hangs upon the spray. 
 
 Anon the scene is changed, and in the west 
 
 The sun goes down behind a neighbor peak, 
 
 Lost to my vision ere his time; and yet 
 
 A halo of his glory still surmounts 
 
 The craggy height, and crowns the mountain king. 
 
 And now the peaceful twilight creepeth on 
 And Nature for an instant seems to near 
 The confines of that Aiden-land beyond, 
 Where neither echo wakes nor shadow falls. 
 
 And then the night, the ever glorious night, 
 With white stars floating in the ether-space! 
 Tis then, Sierra Pine, I love thee best; 
 For, though I find a deeper solitude 
 Beneath thy somber branches, still I know 
 However dark my life may seem to me, 
 It hath been flecked with sunshine all along 
 Like to the noon-tide shadow on the rock. 
 
 150 
 
Oh, welcome rest, oh, blest surcease of care, 
 That falls upon the heart a-weary grown! 
 Sierra Pine, I come to thee and claim 
 A breath of balm to fan my fevered brow, 
 And dreamy odors, lulling to repose; 
 And lo! a miracle! Straightway I rise, 
 And, like the widow s son of Nain, I find 
 My pulses leaping into life once more. 
 
 WHENCE COMETH THOUGHT? 
 
 Whence cometh thought? Oh, learned Doctor, whence 
 This something-nothing, this strange paradox, 
 More transient than the firefly s stroke of wing, 
 And more enduring than an age of brass? 
 
 Is it within the brain, of friction born, 
 
 As steel and flint opposed bring forth a spark? 
 
 And doth our good grey matter strike a light, 
 
 To urge an impulse and invoke a will? 
 
 Or comes it like the lightning flash aloft, 
 
 Dropped from a lowering cloud of mystery, 
 
 And sending through the nerves its ready thrill, 
 
 The shock of being and of consciousness? 
 
 Whence cometh thought, oh, learned Doctor, whence? 
 What is the subtle bond twixt mind and man? 
 Where doth the impulse start, and when and how? 
 Tell me, oh, wise man, how a thought is born. 
 
 151 
 
THE YEARS ARE FIVE AND FORTY 
 
 So, Dear, the years are five and forty. Now 
 
 The shadows lengthen on the far-spent path, 
 
 And ere the night falls, let us rest and talk. 
 
 Perchance we may trudge on another day 
 
 And still another down a gentle slope; 
 
 And mayhap, if the fates are kind, anon 
 
 Together reach the golden jubilee. 
 
 Who knows the goal? But they who ply the skein 
 
 Are niggard of its length beyond a knot 
 
 That marks three score and ten. Full soon the dame 
 
 That holds the shears with stern solicitude 
 
 Will clip a thread; and whether yours or mine 
 
 We know not, and tis better so. But one 
 
 Will sit with folded hands, and think and think, 
 
 (Ah, then there ll be no further tasks to do,) 
 
 And it will seem so little time we had, 
 
 And life so full of duties and of cares, 
 
 That there was left for us no breathing space 
 
 To know each others thoughts. Ah, then, be sure 
 
 There will be time enough to think and think, 
 
 With folded hands! 
 
 How falls it dear, that I, 
 Urged by some vagrant fancy or conceit 
 That ebbs and flows defiant of the will, 
 Have celebrated in my random way 
 Full many a hap and circumstance of life, 
 But never sang of love? Is it because 
 I loved but once, and that love blessed in youth 
 And blessed through all the happy years of life 
 Was self-sufficing? Even so; and hence 
 My wanton self commanded, "Peace; be still." 
 152 
 
But now that we together have o erpassed 
 The long ascending way, and from the top 
 Behold, set out against the farther sky, 
 The glimmer of an eventide of peace, 
 My gypsy mood comes back unsatisfied, 
 And whispers, "Sing." "Sing of a happy life, 
 Filled to the brim with love and sweet content; 
 Sing of the darling wife whose ripened years 
 Yield thee the harvest of domestic joy; 
 Sing of the sturdy boys and winsome girls 
 That cluster round thy hearthstone. Sing of these 
 And, in the fulness of thy long-pent song 
 Proclaim how good a thing it is to love." 
 
 Why sing of love to thee, 
 
 Light of my life? 
 Love passeth minstrelsy, 
 
 Darling, my wife, 
 Why not the spoken word, 
 
 Old and yet new, 
 Treasured as oft as heard, 
 
 Leal and true? 
 
 Ah, but the word and will 
 
 Pass with a breath; 
 Soon must the voice be still, 
 
 Silenced in death. 
 Song s an immortal thing, 
 
 Treasured above; 
 Angels will ever sing 
 
 Anthems of love. 
 163 
 
So will I sing to thee, 
 
 Dearest of earth, 
 Poor though the minstrelsy 
 
 And little worth; 
 Then, when the shadows fall 
 
 Ending my day, 
 This shall my love recall, 
 
 Singing alway. 
 
 I mind a little house set on a hill 
 
 O erlooking all the village and beyond; 
 
 And it was such a cozy little house, 
 
 And it was such a spacious little house, 
 
 And it was such a grand affair, all told, 
 
 Because it was our own; our very own. 
 
 And there was room to spare, (for surely two 
 
 Did not require so large a place) and so 
 
 We took a lodger Happiness to stay; 
 
 And he brought friends enough betimes 
 
 To fill the little home chock-full. E en then, 
 
 As time winged on, there still seemed ample room 
 
 To bring another guest; and then the baby came. 
 
 Ah, well, my dear, it seems but yesterday, 
 And what a sweet, brief day it was! Again 
 I seem to stand within that sacred room 
 And move with muffled step and bated breath; 
 I see the fond girl-mother lying there, 
 Her white, wan face illumined with a smile 
 That God vouchsafes alone to motherhood 
 And angels. In the nurse s arms behold 
 Wonder of all the ages! a new life. 
 154 
 
But came another guest one day, unhid, 
 A somber guest and set his mark upon 
 The lintel of our door, and entered in; 
 And we were poor indeed and desolate, 
 And all our merry company was gone. 
 
 OUR BABY STILL 
 
 Our first-born is our baby still; 
 
 For he shall never older grow, 
 Nor any suffering nor any ill 
 
 Shall baby know. 
 
 And he shall always with us bide, 
 In calm and restful sleep 
 
 And we shall always by his side 
 Our vigils keep. 
 
 The others born to us are dear, 
 
 (But one is gone afar) 
 And those about the hearth-stone here 
 
 Our joy and solace are; 
 
 And now our task is nearly done 
 (The sun sets o er the hill) 
 
 We turn again to the little one 
 Who is our baby still. 
 
 155 
 
A LITTLE BIRD 
 
 Dead at the coming of Spring, 
 Dead at the dawning of day, 
 
 With head tucked under its wing, 
 And folded away. 
 
 Dead on the lawn at my feet, 
 
 Midst dew-gemmed grass and flowers, 
 While the air is vibrant and sweet 
 
 In the waking hours. 
 
 Dead while the world is rife 
 With hope and joy sublime, 
 
 Dead in the heyday of life, 
 At nesting time. 
 
 Dead while the songster aloft 
 
 Is tuning his roundelay, 
 And a bird from hither bush 
 
 Flies mourning away. 
 
 Oh, little one there on the lawn, 
 So fragile, so fond, so young! 
 
 Thou goest as others have gone, 
 With song unsung; 
 
 And the Master who noteth thy fall, 
 
 The Master alone can tell 
 Why the summons must come to us all, 
 
 And why it is well. 
 
 156 
 
A LEGEND OF THE EAST 
 
 A worthy Fellahan of Chilminar, 
 
 (So runs an ancient legend of the East) 
 
 Bereft of one he held most dear of earth, 
 
 And sorrowing greatly, sought the Prophet out, 
 
 And begged a potion for his malady. 
 
 "Go," said the Sage. "Search out a house 
 
 Whose door has ne er been darkened by such loss, 
 
 And of the master ask a drachma-cup 
 
 Of salt; and may thy journey find thee whole." 
 
 The Fellahan pursued his quest betimes, 
 
 And fared through all the valley of Cathay, 
 
 And sought in every village, house to house, 
 
 But found no home without a sorrow marked. 
 
 Perhaps, my dear, there is a subtle thread 
 
 Athwart the convolutions of our tale. 
 
 Perhaps its inner meaning may avail 
 The one who sorrows greatly for his dead, 
 And long refuses to be comforted. 
 
 Twas not the salt the mourner sought for dole, 
 
 It was the journey made the mourner whole. 
 And ever thus the lesson s to be read: 
 In sodden sorrow there is selfishness; 
 
 And he who wards away the Comforter 
 Hugs to his bosom only dire Distress. 
 
 A stricken heart yields soonest to the stir 
 Of fellow-feeling; sympathy, no less 
 
 For others than for self; and in the whir 
 Of life, an Angel comes to heal and bless. 
 
 157 
 
So, in the fulness of allotted time, 
 
 We filled our stations and found work at hand, 
 
 That claimed an earnest effort and gave joy 
 
 In doing with our might. Small faith have I 
 
 In that old legend of the primal curse 
 
 Sent as a punishment to sinful man. 
 
 I hail it, rather, God s good gift, conferred 
 
 Upon his own that they may nobly claim 
 
 His attributes, and be themselves, in turn, 
 
 Creators. Work is divine, and wisely done 
 
 It leads to loftiest heights and opens wide 
 
 The largess of the world God s treasure house 
 
 That proves at last our true inheritance. 
 
 And as we loved and toiled our duties grew, 
 And they were ever welcome. Round our hearth 
 Came prattling children ruddy girls and boys 
 And, standing all a-row in dress parade, 
 One might have noted how the steps went up, 
 Each taller by a head than his next mate. 
 
 IF LOVE WERE BUT A HOLIDAY 
 
 If love were but a holiday, 
 
 All brightness and all pleasure; 
 If love were but the flowers of May 
 
 And gladness without measure, 
 Why then twere but a slender reed 
 
 And useless altogether; 
 For love is what we mostly need 
 
 In dark and stormy weather. 
 
 158 
 
If love were just a butterfly 
 
 Disporting in the garden, 
 It wouldn t be worth while to try 
 
 To carry any burden. 
 Since life is mostly made, my dear, 
 
 Of care and burden-bearing, 
 Love s highest service doth appear 
 
 In care and burden-sharing. 
 
 If love were just a beaming smile 
 
 And merry word and greeting, 
 It wouldn t serve us all the while, 
 
 Or bear so much repeating. 
 For life is made of many moods 
 
 And many haps and chances; 
 And love must have similitudes 
 
 For varying circumstances. 
 
 Upon the eldest of our little band 
 
 Mayhap we set our hearts too much; for he 
 
 As consolation for the baby gone, had held 
 
 Two measures of our fond solicitude; 
 
 And then you know how partial parents are 
 
 To turn unto the eldest for their stay, 
 
 And center hopes in him betimes beyond 
 
 Their proper metes. Ah, well, we could not know 
 
 He was a consolation only loaned, 
 
 Not given, and that a strict account was kept 
 
 Up there, and payment would be asked in full 
 
 When due, by a stern creditor. But say it not 
 
 So harshly. 
 
 159 
 
Rather say the Master gave 
 Within the closure of our paradise, 
 A plant for our especial care and joy, 
 And that we tended it so faithfully, 
 And digged and watered like true husbandmen, 
 And cherished every little twig that grew 
 And joyed to see it bourgeon, stem and leaf. 
 Say that the Master, with approving thought, 
 Reached forth and plucked the earliest bud of all 
 And afterward a flower full-blown. And say 
 The Master claimed but tribute of his own; 
 Tis not for us to question or repine. 
 
 O AZRAEL 
 
 Azrael, saw thou not a youth 
 Passing this way and faring o er the hills 
 Toward the land of shadows and the Night? 
 Alone he hastened forth, as one that bears 
 From Love a precious message and a gift. 
 And he is tall and strong, and in his face 
 Beams the clear light of hope and loyalty. 
 Saw thou not the youth, Azrael? 
 He is our son, and he hath gone afar. 
 
 Then said the Angel, Death: / saw the youth, 
 And marked him tall and strong, bearing himself 
 As one upon a joyous mission bent. 
 Unquestioning, unafraid, he journeyed forth 
 To seel^ the oast Unknown. I spal^e him fair, 
 And with him walked beyond the shadowy hills, 
 And gave commission to the Aiden land. 
 160 
 
0, Azrael, our son is young and fair; 
 
 In memory he comes a babe in arms; 
 
 A little toddler prattling by our side; 
 
 A sturdy lad at school, and then a youth 
 
 Whose manly promise was our sweetest thought. 
 
 What need for such a messenger hads t thou 
 
 And such a gift? My heart misgiveth me 
 
 That they who take thy benison away 
 
 Return no more forever. Now, alas, 
 
 Our arms stretched forth for greeting, do enfold 
 
 Naught but a memory and a carking grief, 
 
 And we are desolate. Azrael, 
 
 Thou hast so many, yet hath taken ours. 
 
 Then said the Angel, Death: Be comforted; 
 
 The young, the beautiful, the pure have gone 
 
 Upon this journey and must ever go. 
 
 If, since the dawn of time, tis ordered thus, 
 
 Dost thou not see t is ordered well? Think n l 
 
 A kindly Nature that bestoweth life 
 
 And all that ma^es life gracious hath ordained 
 
 Its end but for creations good. Think not 
 
 That aught in all this universe of change 
 
 Shall live in vain or perish utterly. 
 
 Azrael, he was but Nature s child; 
 
 Life came, he knew not whence, he asked not why, 
 
 But, with the steadfast faith of innocence, 
 
 He lived it well and aye was just and true. 
 
 Unawed, unhampered by the primal curse, 
 
 Or by vicarious sin or sacrifice, 
 
 He sought nor creed nor craft to know the will 
 
 Of his Creator. 
 
 161 
 
When the summons came 
 He yielded up the sacred trust imposed 
 And, smiling, went his way. Is there for him 
 A place within the Aiden land? For him 
 Doth kindly Nature have a care? Say st thou 
 That such a life is not bestowed in vain, 
 And such a death is not the wage of sin? 
 
 Then said the Angel, Death: Dismiss thy fears; 
 He that doth note the sparrow s fall and holds, 
 Within the hollow of His hand the fate 
 Of all created things, is just and good. 
 Tis not for man to fathom all His ways, 
 But be thou satisfied; the end is Peace. 
 
 TO MAIDA 
 
 Come, dear one, walk with me a little way 
 Along the quiet river, for it flows 
 
 So strong, so sure, so tranquil to the bay, 
 It bids my troubled spirit seek repose. 
 
 Perchance, in parting from its canyon home, 
 Within the fastness of yon mountains hoar, 
 
 Its waters lashed themselves in angry foam 
 And chafed and fretted on the rocky shore. 
 
 But, after all the turmoil and the strife, 
 And after all their struggle for release, 
 
 With chastened spirit, and instinct with life, 
 The waters come to us and whisper Peace. 
 162 
 
So walk with me, dear girl, along the shore, 
 And we will learn the lesson of the stream; 
 
 And talk as we have never talked before 
 Upon an old, a sadly-sacred theme. 
 
 And take my hand in thine, my dear, and be 
 My child, my loving daughter, just to-day, 
 
 For I would know thy filial sympathy 
 
 While sorrow s shadow overspreads the way. 
 
 A hallowed message comes to you and me 
 
 From out the trcdden vale of yesteryears: 
 
 We read the words but dimly, mistily, 
 
 As they who look through lashes wet with tears. 
 
 Dear Maida, I am stricken; none can tell 
 
 How sorely; but I m not afraid to die. 
 Whatever be the outcome, it is well. 
 
 I write this little note to say good-bye. 
 
 And this was all his message, dear, to you 
 
 When, hand in hand we lingered o er his bier; 
 
 And this you gave me when our grief was new, 
 And it is blurred with many a bitter tear. 
 
 Ah, had his life been spared, my noble boy! 
 
 And budding love had flowered and fruited, then 
 My daughter I had hailed you in my joy. 
 
 Ah, dear, it might have been, it might have been. 
 
 So Maida, we will walk a little way 
 
 Along the quiet river; for it flows 
 So strong, so sure, so placid, to the bay, 
 
 It bids my troubled spirit find repose. 
 
 163 
 
IN MEMORY OF A FRIEND 
 
 Lo, the tense bowstring, long o erdrawn and frayed, 
 Hath snapped asunder! Here the arrow falls, 
 Spoiled of its wonted flight, and the spent bow 
 Lies nerveless and discarded on the ground. 
 
 Now let the tired hunter stay his hand. 
 Now let the weary feet and brain and heart 
 Find surcease from the travail of the day. 
 Now let him throw his heavy burden down, 
 And rest, and rest, and rest forevermore. 
 
 Friend of my boyhood, friend of halcyon days, 
 Friend of the ripening years, and aye my friend 
 Through every changing circumstance of life, 
 I speak thee endless peace. Hail and farewell! 
 May friendship such as thine, on brighter shores, 
 In happier climes abide, and may it bring 
 The guerdon of a perfect love to thee. 
 
 Ah, friend, when I recall the long ago, 
 
 We shared our schoolboy joys and troubles all, 
 
 And searched the woods and roamed the hills and vales 
 
 That stretched about our rugged western home; 
 
 When I review with scarce regretful thought 
 
 The follies and the foibles of our youth; 
 
 When I recall the many happy days 
 
 We read the Scottish bards, and dreamed our dreams, 
 
 And wove into the pattern of our lives 
 
 The threads of Highland romance and of song; 
 
 164 
 
When I am minded of the plans we laid 
 
 And how, through darkened glass, we sought to peer 
 
 Into the mysteries of the coining time; 
 
 Tis hard to feel that more than thirty years 
 
 Have sped away, and that at last for thee 
 
 The story s told, the closing canto sung. 
 
 And how has life fulfilled our boyish dreams? 
 In sooth, I know not, for the busy day 
 Dispels the slumberous fancies of the morn. 
 But this I know: Wherever Duty called 
 No lagging step betrayed an irksome charge; 
 Thine was an instant service and a free. 
 Oh, earnest one! What found thy hand to do 
 That didst thou with thy might, and ever sought 
 Some further, harder task to make complete 
 The measure of thy usefulness. To thee 
 Came summons for a busy life, full charged 
 With heavy undertakings, ceaseless care, 
 Amidst the whirring wheels of industry, 
 Amidst the madding turmoil of affairs 
 Fraught with grave import to thy fellow-man. 
 And as thy duties multiplied apace 
 Came strength and courage for the greater need, 
 While every task completed but inspired. 
 Had nature given thee a giant s strength 
 That strength had been employed to uttermost 
 To fill the promptings of thy giant will. 
 
 165 
 
Quick to discern the justice of a cause, 
 Ready to draw the proper metes and bounds 
 Twixt might and right; considerate and kind 
 To all with whom thy daily life was cast, 
 What wonder that the ready plaudit comes: 
 Here was a man the world is better for. 
 
 Upon thy inner life, the sacred shrine 
 Of home and of domestic tenderness, 
 Look not unhallowed eyes! It is enough 
 If all that human hearts may know and feel 
 Responsive to the magic chord of love 
 In Husband, Father, Son, is felt by those 
 Whose lives were blest and glorified by thine. 
 
 Again farewell. If I could give to these 
 And to the world the lesson of thy life, 
 Twould be a charge to duty. I would say 
 He serves his maker best who serves his kind. 
 Tis not in blind subservience to forms, 
 "Tis not in protestations and long prayers, 
 Tis not in cloistered vigils of the night. 
 Or brooding o er a host of hapless ills, 
 But in the world s activities are formed 
 The hopes, the happiness, the lives of men, 
 That bring a better era to the race. 
 
 And as I say farewell there comes to me 
 The whisper of a thought but half expressed, 
 The echo of a song that ne er was sung; 
 But, from the inner chambers of my heart, 
 I hear it still. Mayhap the song was thine. 
 
 166 
 
For a summer s cruise I will sail away; 
 
 I will sail at the ides of Spring, 
 And my day of parting shall be the day 
 
 Of my welcoming. 
 
 I will sail away to placid seas; 
 
 I will sail to the South, I will sail to the West, 
 And, far from the world s perplexities, 
 
 I shall find rest. 
 
 I will sail in a craft that is all mine own, 
 With none to challenge whither or why, 
 
 And the waves shall cradle, the breezes drone 
 My lullaby. 
 
 I will sail past the sunset s amber glow 
 
 To the isles of palms, the isles of peace, 
 
 And naught shall hinder and none forego 
 My soul s release. 
 
 I will sail to the land of my longing heart 
 The land of balsam and fragrant airs 
 
 Where nature doeth her perfect part 
 And man forbears. 
 
 Then say not farewell. In God s own time 
 Thou too shalt be free for a season s rest; 
 
 We shall meet, we shall meet on those shores sublime, 
 In the isles of the blest. 
 
 167 
 
OUR RIDDLE 
 
 Friend of my early day, 
 
 Boy of all boys mine own; 
 
 Man among men, and gone 
 Thy farther way, 
 
 Sing as I must betimes, 
 
 Craving thy distant thought, 
 I bring, as in youth I brought 
 
 My halting rhymes. 
 
 Friend in the heyday time, 
 
 Friend when the shadows fell, 
 Tell me, at last is it well? 
 
 Is the future sublime? 
 
 Tell me, is memory held 
 
 Of all this earthly life, 
 
 Of its joys and sorrows and strife, 
 
 And nothing dispelled? 
 
 Do the friends of earthly days 
 
 Renew their friendships there? 
 And dost thou still have a care 
 
 For my thoughts and ways? 
 
 Are those that continue here 
 
 In the moil and struggle and din, 
 Are they, thy lost friends, still within 
 
 Thy larger sphere? 
 
 168 
 
Dost thou watch with kindly thought 
 The petty lives we lead? 
 And canst thou then take heed 
 
 Of what is wrought? 
 
 Oh, Friend, doth consciousness, 
 The knowledge that I am I 
 Persist in that by-and-by 
 
 To keep and bless? 
 
 Or is it a dreamless sleep, 
 The sleep of eternity, 
 And the sleepers forever free 
 
 In Oblivion s deep? 
 
 Oh, Friend, let thy soul and mine 
 For a little hour commune; 
 The riddle is solved full soon; 
 
 The riddle of mine and thine. 
 
 WHITHER AWAY? 
 
 Where are our friends of yesteryear? our best 
 Who passed beyond our ken, encompassed all 
 
 In one vast mystery? Where do they rest 
 Beyond the shadowy pall? 
 
 We grope to find, through darkening faith and creed, 
 Some other door than death to lead us thence, 
 
 And not a door is opened to our need 
 But charlatan pretense. 
 
 169 
 
For they who claim communion with that bourne 
 Of parted spirits who themselves invoke 
 
 By dancing table and suspiring horn, 
 Bring fol-de-rol. It is a joke. 
 
 Where are our own, our dearest loved and lost, 
 All passed to that sequestered hiding-place? 
 
 Where the vast multitude, the countless host 
 From ages of the race? 
 
 Where are the hosts from other worlds than this,- 
 Uncounted millions in unbounded space? 
 
 Is there for all of these a state of bliss, 
 An universe of grace? 
 
 Or, shall we grope with Oriental seers, 
 
 And solve this Sphinx s riddle of the soul, 
 
 That all the million lives of million years 
 Are merged in one great whole? 
 
 Shall every drop in this soul-ocean poured 
 
 Know tis a drop a fix d reality 
 In consciousness, and feel the hope secured 
 
 In immortality? 
 
 Or, if we say the Master pours again 
 
 This life into another for a span, 
 The thrifty scheme brings other life, tis plain, 
 
 In animal or man. 
 
 Tis but a fancy, bald and commonplace, 
 
 That brings no solace to the hungering soul; 
 
 Tis but the maundering of a morbid race; 
 A part is not the whole. 
 
 170 
 
Then let us sit with Socrates; the while 
 
 He holds the cup, and with his parting breath, 
 
 Speaks words of wondrous import that beguile 
 His waiting friends, and death. 
 
 Some say the after life to which we tend 
 
 Is but a long and dreamless sleep; if so, 
 
 It must be pleasant. To that happy end, 
 If thus ordained, I go. 
 
 And yet tis hard to give the matter up 
 With mere equivocation for a hope; 
 
 If this be so, why then: and drink the cup 
 Thus also do we grope. 
 
 Perchance in modern science we may find 
 
 Some filmy thread to hang our hopes upon; 
 
 For any hope appealing to the mind 
 Is better far than none. 
 
 Tis held alas, who holds it? only men 
 And postulate and reason both it brings; 
 
 Tis not a matter of the soul again, 
 But of material things; 
 
 That every atom circling in its orb, 
 
 Within the confines of its molecule, 
 
 And all the force these particles absorb 
 Are under law and rule; 
 
 171 
 
That matter changes ever in its form, 
 
 Nor questions what the individual cost, 
 
 But Force and Matter never suffer harm; 
 No particle is lost. 
 
 Ah, then, it were a sorry hope, my friend, 
 For this poor atom in a breath of law, 
 
 Tossed, and converted to some other end, 
 As wind-tossed straw. 
 
 But such an airy nothingness we hail, 
 As worthy better argument, or none; 
 
 For if the great Constructor doth prevail, 
 To hold unspent, his own, 
 
 Why not, in this all-comprehending scheme, 
 A plan provided which we cannot scan, 
 
 To save what s more than Atom s hope or dream- 
 The soul of man? 
 
 Ah, then, it is a filmy thread indeed, 
 A slender cable for our tossing ship, 
 
 But hope is hope, and we re in sorest need 
 Of something on this trip. 
 
 Then let us hope, and ever hoping, live 
 
 To fill our destiny, whate er it be, 
 And not o erquestion what the Giver give 
 
 In time or in eternity. 
 
 172 
 
THE AFTER-GLOW 
 
 As the sun drops o er yon western hill; 
 As the Day, departing, lingers still, 
 
 And nods and smiles as if loath to go; 
 Comes a light on tree and grass and flower 
 That glorifies the passing hour; 
 
 And we call that light the after-glow. 
 
 Then the sky puts on a deeper blue, 
 Then the rose is dyed a brighter hue, 
 
 Then a sense of beauty and sweet repose 
 Fills me and thrills me through and through, 
 And then, my dearest, I think of you; 
 
 For you are all of my after-glows. 
 
 WHEN THE GRIM REAPER COMES 
 
 When the grim reaper comes, as come he must, 
 To gather in Dame Nature s harvest-store, 
 Swinging his scythe right lustily before, 
 
 May he not find me prone upon the dust, 
 
 A blighted thing of parasite or rust, 
 
 But waving full and free, and looking o er 
 A field that yields an hundred fold and more, 
 
 Just recompense to husbandman full just. 
 
 And when he swings across the little space 
 Whereon, to make a sheaf, I am but one, 
 
 May I be found upstanding in my place 
 
 And sturdy for the blade to sweep upon; 
 
 A ripened stem to fall with ready grace 
 In last obeisance to the setting sun. 
 
 173 
 
TWO SOLDIERS 
 
 I knew a man of brave and generous deeds, 
 Who, nerved with courage and a righteous cause, 
 Went forth to battle. Fought he well and long 
 Fought for his country and for those he loved, 
 Nor turned aside the measure of a span 
 When in his path he met the giant Death 
 Disputing passage. Where he fought he fell, 
 And there, unsuccored by a friendly hand, 
 Breathed out his life. It was a glorious deed, 
 And well the world may call him hero; well 
 May sound his praises far and near, and wreathe 
 His tomb with laurels. Yet, methinks, there is 
 Another heroism, grander still, 
 Which, all too oft, the world forgets to praise. 
 
 The soldier felt the martial thrill of strife; 
 Midst beat of drum and tramp of thousand feet 
 He marched to battle, taking equal chance 
 Of life and death with foe who met him there. 
 And thus to strive and thus to dare and die 
 Were worth the tribute of a patriot s life. 
 
 Another one I knew 
 A frail, weak woman, but with iron heart, 
 Who, in the quiet of a loving home, 
 Waged battle that might make the hardy quail. 
 
 174 
 
Alone, with unnerved arm, with sinking hope, 
 
 She fought with Fate, and ever knew defeat, 
 
 Yet fought and fought again, with stubborn will. 
 
 Denying to her foe the victory. 
 
 Nor blanched her cheek with fear, nor from her lips 
 
 Escaped a single outcry of despair. 
 
 Her life, the field of conflict, yielded she, 
 
 But inch by inch, as driven back amain, 
 
 Until the utmost boundary was reached. 
 
 Twas no surrender, but a long retreat 
 
 To death and Fate was master of the day. 
 
 Which was the better soldier, he or she? 
 Which of the twain possessed the stouter heart? 
 The world may give unequal meed of praise 
 And glorify the one who fell in strife. 
 God saw the noble conflicts; He will judge, 
 And not the less award to that brave soul 
 Who battled with a more than mortal foe, 
 And at the last snatched victory from defeat. 
 
 175 
 
A HUNDRED YEARS AGO 
 
 Turn me the glass in thy hand, Fancy, thou fond necro 
 mancer; 
 
 Turn, and the sands shall run backward, recalling a time long 
 departed! 
 
 Turn me the glass, and disclose this land by the placid Pacific 
 
 Ere a century mighty in deeds had considered and worked 
 transformation. 
 
 Backward a hundred years, and, lo! there stretches before me 
 Landscape as wild as e er came from the hand of the Master 
 Mountains whose cavernous sides are the haunt of the bear 
 
 and coyote, 
 Echoing canyons and glens where the deer seeks its chaparral 
 
 cover, 
 Purposeless rivers that flow but to sink in the sands of the 
 
 valley, 
 Deserts of verdureless sand, white with an alkaline hoar-frost. 
 
 Hither Junipero came, Father of Pioneer Fathers, 
 Marching with crozier and sword, in the name of the Church 
 
 and King Carlos, 
 Gaining a province the while he was saving the souls of the 
 
 heathen. 
 
 Then, with frugality born of a mission of peace and salvation, 
 Listing the new-made recruits to conquer the fastness of 
 
 Nature. 
 
 176 
 
Here on the shores of the bays and in valleys that skirted 
 
 the rivers, 
 Builded the Fathers their missions, and called the rude people 
 
 to worship, 
 Taught them that idleness ever breeds poverty, mischief 
 
 and sorrow 
 Planted the olive and vine, and admonished their converts 
 
 to tend them. 
 
 Gathered at last to the arms of the saints, the Pioneer Fathers, 
 
 Left others as fervent and faithful to teach and command in 
 their places. 
 
 Peace came and dwelt in the province; peace and content 
 ment together, 
 
 And the valleys were rich with their harvests, the plains with 
 their cattle. 
 
 Then it was that a galleon sailing for cargo of tallow and 
 peltry, 
 
 Brought news of a warfare that raged on the shores of the 
 distant Atlantic 
 
 A warfare twas said that was greater than that of the Mexi 
 can conquest. 
 
 The colonies, banded together, had issued pronunciamiento 
 
 Dissolving their bond of allegiance, proclaiming their free 
 dom forever. 
 
 Great Britain, enraged at the petty defiance, had sent forth 
 her armies 
 
 To punish the arrogant rebels and bring them again to sub 
 jection. 
 
 177 
 
The conflict had waged long and fierce, and yet gave no sign 
 
 of abatement, 
 While the fortunes of war hung between them in uncertain 
 
 balance. 
 
 Thus they spake, and the galleon sailed with her cargo of 
 
 tallow and peltry, 
 But the men of the province remembered the tale and long 
 
 pondered upon it, 
 And whenever a vessel dropped anchor to trade for the goods 
 
 of the country 
 They asked of the warfare that waged on the shores of the 
 
 distant Atlantic. 
 
 Years glided by, and once more into port came the galleon 
 
 sailing, 
 With tidings at last that the warfare of which they had 
 
 spoken was ended; 
 That the colonists who had rebelled and issued pronuncia- 
 
 miento 
 Had victory won in the fight, and their land was now free 
 
 from oppression. 
 
 Strange seemed the story so strange that the sober old dons 
 of the province 
 
 Pondered and pondered upon it, yet guessed not its wonder 
 ful import. 
 
 Little they recked that the freedom proclaimed on the dis 
 tant Atlantic 
 
 Westward should sweep like a flood, nor stop till it gained 
 the Pacific; 
 
 178 
 
Little they recked there was coming a day in the far-distant 
 
 future. 
 When the men of a new generation and race, who should 
 
 stand in their places, 
 Would rejoice o er that victory won and bless that pronun- 
 
 ciamiento! 
 
 land that hath slumbered and slept through the matin of 
 
 liberty s dawning, 
 Waken and shake from thine eyelids the sloth that hath 
 
 fallen upon them, 
 Waken and stretch forth thy hands for the toil of a noble 
 
 endeavor! 
 
 Waken and rouse thee to action; a glorious destiny calleth. 
 So shalt thou eat of the fruit that for thee hath another 
 
 planted; 
 So shalt thou ever be free, my honored, my blest California. 
 
 Centennial Celebration, 1876 
 
 179 
 
THE BLACK STAR 
 
 In retrospect I see a race bound down. 
 
 Made in God s image, ask you? Why then yes, 
 
 If God be black. And can he see distress 
 So abject on the earth, and not a frown 
 Darken his visage? Cares He for his own 
 
 But lightly, as we oft so ill profess, 
 
 This race of men to curso, and that to bless? 
 And on the one made black, the thorny crown 
 Of martyrdom to place, and rest his hand? 
 
 Oh, ye of little faith and lesser claim 
 To justice, that ye hold divine command 
 
 Is thus fulfilled, and sanctioned in his name! 
 Oh, ye of senile creed and craft, who stand 
 
 For prayer in market-place, forshame, forshame! 
 
 I see a race neath tropic skies, that dwells 
 
 In jungle fastness and on desert sands, 
 
 By Art and Craft untaught in head and hands; 
 Children of Nature, made as she compels, 
 All in the rough, like gems or shells 
 
 Whose polished glint the craftsman s skill demands. 
 
 Unground, uncouth; but ground, in beauty stands 
 Her handicraft revealed. Thus she compels 
 Man s service to complete the whole design, 
 
 And show what God hath wrought. How then shall we 
 Withhold from man the helping hand benign 
 
 We give to shells and rocks, and fail to see 
 That all the roughness covers up the fine? 
 
 The Grinder shirks; who is at fault but he? 
 
 180 
 
I see a race deep sunk in barbarous ways, 
 
 Coping with club and spear as best they can 
 In wilds with savage beast and savage man, 
 
 Tribe against tribe, and all within a haze 
 
 Of fear. As ever, since the primal days, 
 As ever since the ceaseless strife began, 
 With things that stung, or struck, or crawled, or ran, 
 
 The savage stands transfixed with frightened gaze. 
 And this poor, trembling wretch is set upon 
 
 By savage e en beyond his wont or ken; 
 Another reign of terror is begun; 
 
 By whom? Ah, friend, let s hide our shame again. 
 The deed by men full civilized was done. 
 
 Is then our boasted culture all in vain? 
 
 A race of naked savages I see; 
 
 Naked and afraid, and to and fro they run, 
 
 As from some enemy, a fearsome One 
 That threatens all. And snugly hidden away, 
 Within the shelter of yon placid bay, 
 
 A monster of the deep, all set upon 
 
 With leafless trees and vines; a monster none 
 Have seen the like before. In strange array, 
 Men with white faces, all behaired, come forth 
 
 And slay, and slay again, and still pursue, 
 And those they capture and deem better worth 
 
 Into the monster s belly go. The few 
 They leave are scattered far, in caves of earth 
 
 Or jungle hiding; a piteous thing to view. 
 
 181 
 
I see a mass of wretched human-kind, 
 
 Like beasts ensnared and sobered of their rage, 
 
 Cowed, dumb and hopeless in a cage. 
 Cowed, deaf and dumb, these creatures all, 
 Of every sense appealing to the mind 
 
 From outer world bereft; naught to assuage 
 
 Their terror, or their vague, wild thoughts engage 
 Save horrid mystery. And they who bind 
 This suffering, sodden mass, and take them hence, 
 
 Are civilized, we said a while agone; 
 Are civilized mayhap, and make pretense 
 
 Of some religion; be it one or none, 
 They call each other Christians, reasoning hence, 
 
 In some way followers of the Lowly One. 
 
 I see the remnant of that sodden mass, 
 
 Starved, gaunt and bleary-eyed, that issues forth 
 
 From stinking hold; most abject of the earth; 
 Chained each to his fellow, as they slowly pass 
 Along the plank to land all strange. Alas! 
 
 The lot of those that died were better worth; 
 
 (Why were they punished by the fate of birth?) 
 Or, eaten with disease and poison-gas, 
 
 Pitched overboard in passage. Here they are, 
 Good men and brothers all, my Christian friends, 
 
 A lucky cargo; the fat chance of war. 
 A kindly Providence conserves our ends; 
 
 For we have brought from heathen lands afar 
 Choice goods to buy for him that hath, and spends. 
 
 182 
 
I see a race bowed down in servitude, 
 
 Bearing full patiently the yoke that galls; 
 
 Bearing with fortitude the lash that falls; 
 In service hopeless, under drivers rude 
 And pitiless; and no vicissitude 
 
 Can change this hateful lot, that calls 
 
 For all their dauntless courage, and appalls 
 The hearts of them and all their hopeless brood. 
 
 I see the fields of cotton and of rice 
 Yielding the wealth their masters take and hold; 
 
 I see of sweat and blood the minted price, 
 In plundered silver and unhallowed gold, 
 
 Given to luxury and unhindered vice; 
 The whole scheme followed till it s worn and old. 
 
 I see a slave in punishment condign, 
 
 A being born to this from shameful bed, 
 Master and slave, unmatched, unloved, unwed, 
 
 A being snatched by ravishing rapine, 
 
 A being, Master, not her son, but thine, 
 
 Snatched from the mother s womb, and on his head 
 The curses of his mother s lot are shed, 
 
 The profit going to the father s line. 
 
 I see this being sold for further pelf, 
 
 And from the mother snatched a second time. 
 
 I see the Master selling, what? himself, 
 
 To swell his hoard. The grizzly scheme is prime 
 
 And pregnant of ill-gotten sin, and Sin himself 
 Holding the scale of justice. How sublime! 
 
 183 
 
I see this being of unhallowed birth, 
 
 The son of infamy and crime and shame, 
 Robbed of himself, his birthright and his name; 
 
 I see this hapless creature issue forth 
 
 And prostrate fall upon the lap of earth. 
 Ah! But he rises, for his heart s aflame 
 With courage and undaunted will. His no tame 
 
 Submission to the wrongs imposed. His worth 
 
 Transcends the color of his skin accursed, 
 
 And stands he forth full measure of God s span. 
 
 And he shall face his fate, and dare the worst, 
 As heroes dare it since the world began; 
 
 And his own bonds of slavery shall burst; 
 
 His name is Douglass; Now behold the man. 
 
 I see another of that prostrate race, 
 
 In which the mother breeds, the father owns: 
 Enough of this sad theme. Let s talk of stones. 
 
 I see a mighty rubbish-pile in place 
 
 Dumped willy-nilly high, and without grace 
 Of this poor aftermath of trash and bones 
 And human things discarded. No one owns 
 
 The wretched mess; let s talk of this a space. 
 
 And from this pile a little stone rolls out 
 
 (Set going, mayhap, as some heedless one, 
 Indifferent to pebbles, moves about) 
 
 And this small stone, its travels once begun, 
 Gains as it goes, and far the pile without, 
 
 Is now a polished gem, a Washington. 
 
 184 
 
I see a people ever making plea 
 
 For succor from the bonds that hold them sore; 
 
 I hear their plaint for freedom o er and o er. 
 I see a Nation, claiming to be free, 
 (And offering to the world this pleasantry) 
 
 Holding the gyves upon its suffering poor, 
 
 And shutting tight the very prison door 
 It claims to open for all men. I see 
 
 This perverse Nation given a warning due 
 By God s own messenger, who to and fro, 
 
 Moves o er the land, and searching through and through, 
 Proclaims the threat that he was sent to show; 
 
 Leaves marks upon the lintels, fell and true. 
 I see the warning filled; God s heavy blow! 
 
 I see a Nation plunged in deadly strife, 
 
 Friend against friend, and brother holding forth 
 Hand against brother; and o er all the earth 
 
 There s carnage and destruction. Pillage rife 
 
 Takes vengeance, loss for loss, and life for life; 
 
 Lays waste the fields and homes, and South and North, 
 Drinks up the treasure it were better worth 
 
 To sink in sea without the bloody knife. 
 
 I see this Nation whelmed beneath a flood 
 Of fell destruction, with its double flow 
 
 From right and left, on evil and on good, 
 A red engulfment do the surges show, 
 
 And all the meaning now is understood; 
 Perverse and stubborn, let my people go. 
 
 185 
 
I see a race in tears and blood set free; 
 
 Empty of hands and cowering in affright 
 
 Left to their own between a day and night; 
 And on them cast a hard perplexity 
 To live or die, whichever it might be, 
 
 With slight consideration for their plight 
 
 From those who d lost their whilom master s right; 
 (Or wrong, twere better said). And now I see 
 
 This race courageous bending to the load 
 Of their deliverance, and meeting fate 
 
 As struggling freemen do and ever should; 
 And with the Law to give an open gate, 
 
 They pass, to claim at last their share of good, 
 And Freedom comes to them full consecrate. 
 
 I see a people made of good and bad, 
 
 As other peoples are; if they were worse, 
 What wonder, coming from the age-long curse 
 
 Of slavery? Ah, reasoning friend, tis sad, 
 
 From vicious systems vicious men are had. 
 
 "We burned the nigger-fiend; why, yes, of course, 
 But then he well deserved it." Tis a verse 
 
 Oft quoted; you have heard it. But, my lad, 
 The Law is made to meet such cases. Hold 
 
 Thy hand till it is proven; even then 
 
 Withhold and let the Law prevail. Untold 
 
 The rank injustice, cruel suffering, when 
 
 Thy hasty hand goes wrong, avenger bold. 
 
 "Vengeance is mine," saith One who speaks again. 
 
 186 
 
"Vengeance is mine," saith God; and if thy hand 
 
 Would wrest from His this dire prerogative, 
 
 Stop for a moment, angry friend, and give 
 This matter some reflection. The command 
 Goes e en beyond this word if closely scanned, 
 
 And it is ominous and positive. 
 
 "For I will repay." And all His sons that live 
 Should harken to this warning, stern and grand. 
 
 Think of thy mother, sister, wife, with child, 
 To whom the impress of this day descends; 
 
 Think of proclivities so fierce and wild 
 For which no afterthought can make amends; 
 
 Think of the vengeance, all unreconciled, 
 That God on thine for generations sends. 
 
 I see a people struggling ever on 
 
 Midst all the trials of a strict regime; 
 
 Struggling with hope and confidence sublime. 
 Their long-time shackles, it is true, are gone, 
 But in their hands, and in their hands alone, 
 
 (Soiled, mayhap, with the muck and grime 
 
 Of toil) their fate for this and future time 
 Is solely placed. And in this mighty struggle I m 
 
 Disposed to grant them just as much acclaim 
 As granted others, likely better fit 
 
 And entering fuller-handed in the game. 
 Room for the colored brother! Lots of it! 
 
 And wholesome air to breathe; the very same 
 That we have. Give him hope and wealth and fame. 
 
 187 
 
I see a new-built ship slide from her berth, 
 
 And dip into the waters of the bay. 
 I see, upon her masts a proud array 
 Of bunting ; and there, grandly waving forth 
 The Stars and Stripes. Another, emblem of its birth, 
 
 Is just a little somber, yet tis gay 
 
 A lissome flag with which the breezes play 
 With Star that s Black; proclaiming to the earth 
 That Hope has risen for this long-held race. 
 
 And on her deck the officers and crew 
 Are ranged, in seamen s garb and proper place, 
 
 As orderly as one would ask to view, 
 And all these sailor-men are black of face; 
 
 And here I find my prophecy come true. 
 
 Oh, Ship that bears the freedmen s flag a-mast, 
 
 Sail on across the sea and carry far 
 
 The word that s emblemed in thy glistening star! 
 That opportunity has come at last, 
 In place of gyves and shackles of the past: 
 
 That to a race of workers further bar 
 
 Shall not be suffered; and proclaim afar 
 That in all lands, and o er the oceans vast 
 
 Freedom shall reign for all the sons of men; 
 And be they white or yellow, black or brown, 
 
 The God of Justice gave a message when 
 
 He called them all his children. Carry down 
 To future ages God s decree again. 
 
 188 
 
MOVING PICTURES 
 ON THE GREAT WHITE WAY 
 
 T Oh, Little Girl, in woman s plumes full-fledged, 
 H Child of mine own and child of Passion fell, 
 
 E Endowed with all the graces that compel 
 
 Willing devotion, plighted oft and pledged 
 V By arrant son of man, whose unassuaged, 
 A Inherent instincts, lettered all, doth spell 
 
 M His ardent love, and slavery as well; 
 
 P Oh, Little Girl, his birthright is engaged 
 I That he may leave all else and follow thee, 
 R O er hill and dale, to meet thine every whim! 
 
 E Hold forth the suppliant hand and bend the knee; 
 Hang on thy changing mood, or gay or grim, 
 
 Thy servitor most humble e er to be; 
 
 How hath thou charmed this man, and mastered 
 him? 
 
 I Ah, well, it is an age-long story; and to tell 
 
 N Its deeper import man should need to know 
 
 The scheme of human being, through and through, 
 A The plan of his Creator; and tis well 
 
 We know not everything; for what befel 
 G Those in the Garden, when the race was new, 
 
 A Who ate of fruit forbidden, in their view? 
 
 R Was t not the curse of toil and death and hell? 
 D And yet the fruit was most alluring, and the Snake 
 E Knew well of human instincts when he held 
 
 N In tempting reach, and urged them then to take 
 
 The fruit of knowledge. And twas self-impelled 
 That sin of Eve and Adam. For their sake 
 
 All of their sons and daughters have rebelled. 
 189 
 
A So Little Girl, if from the Tempter now 
 
 N You take this luscious apple, and hold forth 
 
 D To Adam, with all the sweetness of the earth 
 
 And hopes of heaven combined, pray tell me how 
 
 H He can refuse thee, and himself avow 
 
 I A Super-man, above the claims of birth 
 
 S And all tradition since the new-made race 
 
 In Eden set example! Adam ate; 
 
 F His son eats also, following the plan 
 
 A That Nature gives, (or cursed or consecrate) 
 
 L For her chief handiwork, her creature, man; 
 
 L Saying that in this act, to procreate 
 
 Is her supreme decree; and not her ban. 
 
 A Ah, Little Girl, but hear me not amiss; 
 
 N I said tis Nature s plan; but pray observe 
 
 Plan for a purpose; plan that doth subserve 
 
 T The Law of Being, in that age and this; 
 
 H And, willy-nilly, what the pretext is, 
 
 E Not to be trifled with; and when you swerve 
 
 R From Nature s fruitful law, and only serve 
 
 Your pleasure for the passing hour amiss, 
 
 C You help to bring another curse, more dire 
 
 U Than that upon our parents, fall n from grace, 
 
 R Than that which brought the stern Creator s ire, 
 
 S With maledictions on the coming race. 
 
 E This means Extinction; not a threat of fire. 
 
 190 
 
A For, Little Girl, you have a part to play 
 
 Along with men and women, creatures all 
 
 P Of Nature. If they rise or fall, 
 
 A Survive or perish, it is theirs to say. 
 
 R And shall this gift be lightly thrown away? 
 
 T Life, with its hopes and purposes, and all, 
 
 The bauble of a moment s hasty call, 
 
 T Discarded plaything of a child so gay? 
 
 Ah, Little Girl, a moment stop and think! 
 
 You are but one; if all of woman-kind 
 P Were like to you, and all the men would drink 
 L The cup of wanton pleasure that you give, 
 
 A The race would soon be hovering on the brink 
 Y Of sheer destruction. Shall it die, or live? 
 
 A But some icere born for mothers, some were not; 
 
 I think I hear the petulant retort; 
 R And some for serious things, and some for sport 
 
 1 Mayhap; and for the concubine, I wot, 
 S Some valued service consecrates the lot, 
 K By reasoning of this easy-going sort, 
 
 Y And makes it all conveniently comport 
 
 With Nature s plan. And yet I like it not. 
 G For Nature makes her creatures fruitful; then 
 A Determines the survival for her use 
 
 M And leaves no trifling option open when 
 
 E Her precious gifts are squandered by abuse. 
 
 Twere better far to say her gifts to men 
 Are not for them to frivol or refuse. 
 
 191 
 
A And if she place on some the hapless seal 
 
 Of barrenness, perchance it is her sign 
 J That, at a station just adown the line 
 
 U Her gift was scorned; and thus doth she reveal 
 D Her mandate, signed and shut; and no appeal 
 G Shall mitigation give from her design; 
 
 M The punishment s conclusive and condign: 
 
 E Weighed in the balance, and found wanting; thine 
 N The end appointed for this rank offense. 
 
 T And no contrition serves, no faith can give 
 
 For thee a smug, vicarious pretence. 
 Thine executioner is sure and positive; 
 
 He is thyself; and for thy untoward vice 
 The line that waited on thee shall not live. 
 
 A So, Little Girl, if barrenness thy claim, 
 
 Tis not a license given thee by Fate 
 S For pleasant dalliance. Through the gate 
 
 A Thou may st be passing, for another s blame, 
 D To such foredoomed extinction. If it came 
 
 Through thy misdeeds, twere sad enough; but 
 P wait, 
 
 A Not jeering at thy sister s doleful strait; 
 R Nor ey n pretending tis a merry game; 
 A Nor seek to gather others in thy train, 
 
 D And swell the ribald throng. But bow thy head, 
 E My girl, in contrite spirit, for the vain 
 
 Hilarity s unseeming; and instead 
 
 The March in Saul were better played again, 
 
 For those who might have been, and now are dead. 
 
 192 
 
A Oh, Little Spider, with thy filmy net 
 
 Athwart the tree s outreaching branches here, 
 S With parts concealed, and others that appear; 
 
 P All cunningly devised, and neatly set 
 I To catch the ever- vagrant roamer; yet 
 D Not too obtrusive; lest, or far or near, 
 
 E The danger of the trap should be too clear, 
 
 R And warn the stranger it is made to get; 
 Oh, little huntress, crouching in thy den, 
 
 To satisfy thy appetite and greed, 
 And sally forth upon the victim when 
 
 His wings are snarled; and then in eager speed 
 Enwind him more and more, and wind again, 
 And at thy pleasant leisure do the deed; 
 
 A Oh, Crafty Trapper, ever is thy skill 
 
 N Too subtle for the roaming gnat or fly, 
 
 D And for the beetle, swiftly shooting by, 
 
 Or even for the sluggish worm that still 
 A Wiggles in hopeless bondage at thy lure. 
 
 For all are subject to thy scheming will, 
 F And all thy studied torture must endure. 
 L And e en the mate that seeks thee thou shalt kill, 
 
 Y After the nuptials only, to make sure. 
 
 193 
 
A Oh, Plotting Female, of the demon-kind, 
 
 How fares it that thy gossamer device, 
 F So infamous, so deadly and so nice, 
 
 E Withstands the winds that blow where e er inclined,- 
 
 M The winds of heaven, just but ever blind 
 A To thy misdeeds? And can it be that vice 
 
 L Must always stay, to take its wonted price? 
 
 E And hold we still that Providence is kind? 
 
 Oh, small exemplar of the Devil s hold 
 D Upon the hapless human-kind afield, 
 
 E His luring traps unrecognized, untold; 
 V The pleasure only, not the pain, revealed; 
 
 I Why is it that his schemes, so sly, so bold, 
 L Are not by Heaven sundered, shut and sealed? 
 
 A Oh, Motherhood! And is it just a bane, 
 
 Part of the primal curse, with toil and death, 
 M Sent as a penalty? And doth the breath 
 
 Of new-born babe wail out the woe and pain 
 T Of punishment, inflicted once again, 
 H To satisfy an angry God? So saith 
 
 E The preacher, mayhap; sadly blinded with 
 
 R Too close a scrutiny of myth inane, 
 
 And book and text construed with thought severe, 
 
 To find some pretext for his endless hell. 
 And heaven is far away, and hell right here 
 If all be true we hear the preacher tell. 
 But Nature makes both pain and joy appear; 
 And Nature knoweth her own purpose well. 
 
 194 
 
A And she that holds the right of motherhood, 
 
 And prizes not the blessing, though disguised 
 L With suffering and constraint, and penalized, 
 
 A Mayhap, with endless care and toil, hath understood 
 D But ill her mission; knowing not the good 
 Y Outweighs the travail and the pain. Unprized 
 
 God s gift most precious; and unrecognized 
 Her debt to Nature. Think you, then, she could 
 Allay the lingering qualm by act so base 
 
 As taking to her arms a fawning beast, 
 A little dog, let s say, and in the place 
 
 Of Baby, hold it to her breast, 
 And call this Mother-love, by act of grace, 
 And satisfy her being s first request? 
 
 H A lady with her little dog in arms! 
 
 E (And Solomon, in most exalted hour, 
 
 R Was not arrayed like one of these!) Our 
 
 Deference to her! We proclaim her charms, 
 D And tip the hat, and bow; for sure it harms 
 None to defer somewhat to wealth and power! 
 
 G But do you know? There now; no gossip! Bower 
 
 So ornate and so sacred, nothing harms! 
 A husband? Well, I think so; yes somewhere, 
 
 In fond retirement of his own device! 
 (Such gorgeous creatures cannot live on air.) 
 
 And, do you know, a husband s really nice, 
 (If he be nice,) to make a handsome pair, 
 
 And pay the bills; and sometimes give advice? 
 
 196 
 
S A Gorgeous Creature, in her limousine! 
 
 With all that luxury and wealth can give, 
 C And living as the rich alone can live, 
 
 1 And free to go, (whatever that may mean; 
 E The easy import you can catch between 
 
 T My random words,) as she elects; and give 
 
 Y Her time to pomp and show. I m positive 
 
 In high society she is the Queen. 
 
 Q And of what service to herself and kind? 
 U You ask. It is a useless question, quite. 
 
 E Of all the foibles that possess her mind, 
 E That is the very slightest to invite 
 
 N Her fond attention, or her life to bind 
 
 In narrow groove. She s just a pretty sprite! 
 
 A And hath the Maker use for such fine birds, 
 
 To flit about the world, and sing and dance, 
 F And preen their plumage? Yes, by happy chance, 
 
 I He hath, for birds. But can his solemn words 
 N To Man be thus construed? And how accords 
 E Such life with earnest aim He doth advance 
 
 For human being? How shall it enhance 
 B The sum of all? Alas! it but affords 
 I Another instance of a life gone wrong, 
 R And flung in face of Giver. Tis defeat 
 
 D Of purposes benign; a dance and song, 
 
 When labor is commanded to complete 
 The beauteous plan He gave to help along 
 
 The mighty Structure for the Mercy Seat. 
 
 196 
 
A And will the Giver treasure such as this, 
 
 Tendered as service mete for beings here; 
 G Brought to his altar with a trifling leer? 
 
 A And, think you, there s reserved a state of bliss 
 R For those in pandered idling, not of his 
 M Commanding? Would it not, instead, appear, 
 
 E For earnest mission a return so queer 
 
 N Demands both like and equal offices? 
 T Ah, here s a garment made of wondrous cloth, 
 
 With laces, flowers and jewels set thereon, 
 
 A thing so beautiful and useless both, 
 
 Yet out of fashion, and completely gone 
 
 For service in the after-life, forsooth; 
 
 Twere better laid away, as food for moth 
 
 Of all eternity to feed upon. 
 
 C How of the Man, Ihou caviler? I hear 
 
 In querulous complaint against this strain 
 M Of evil conduct, charged and charged again, 
 P Against the Female of the species. Dear 
 
 A And mischievous they are, it would appear, 
 
 N Therefore more deadly. And, my friend, tis plain 
 
 1 That courtesy s fair sequence in this train 
 
 Should grant the woman first. The man is near 
 N You may be sure; and in our modern way, 
 S He comes full soon; but generally behind. 
 
 And so, in war, in peace, in work, in play, 
 
 In conquests of the heart and soul and mind, 
 They are together, following the way 
 
 That Nature points for all of human kind. 
 
 197 
 
A And if a frailty lies in one of these, 
 
 Shall we not look to find it in the mate? 
 L Where s the philosopher to estimate 
 
 I The difference in their fault ; or set at ease 
 T The quibble of so many, (hard to please,) 
 T Of who s the greater sinner? Let them prate 
 
 L And put the matter, proof and predicate, 
 
 E But it shall ne er be settled. Cavilers like these 
 
 Are hard to reconcile. I mind the flow 
 F Of old Castilian humor: "Man is Fire: 
 
 I "And Woman (fine and fluffy creature), Tow: 
 R "The Devil, (coming at their fond desire, 
 
 E In stertorous breath) goes whiff, and gives a blow!" 
 (The Devil is a friend I oft admire.) 
 
 A And, of the man who owns the limousine, 
 
 N And finds the Gorgeous Creature and her pet, 
 
 D And the free manners of her social set 
 
 Much to his liking, (haply in between 
 T Matters of greater interest): What is seen 
 H In him to give us better thought? Or yet 
 
 E A higher estimate, in gross or net, 
 
 Upon his value to the race, I ween? 
 M For his chief purpose is to scatter gold, 
 A That others digged and earned, and to maintain 
 
 N For gaping throng of strangers to behold, 
 A pomp and circumstance as idly vain 
 
 As hers. The dog, her pet, is all he hath to hold; 
 His name, his line aborted; and what gain? 
 
 198 
 
A I see a youth, just stepping on the sill 
 
 Of Manhood. O er the way is grandly placed 
 Y A word, let s hope, shall never be erased, 
 
 The legend Opportunity. With will 
 U And courage all his part to fill, 
 T The future of this Lad s already traced; 
 
 H And, let us hope, twill never be disgraced 
 
 By act unworthy of this day. And still 
 S I see beside the road, on either hand, 
 
 T In beauteous foliage, and full well disguised, 
 E A million cobwebs, and each filmy band 
 
 P A trap for him, full cunningly devised, 
 S For his destruction. Can he move and stand 
 
 Mongst fruit and flowers the cobwebs recognized? 
 F Find pleasant rest, when worn by travel long, 
 
 And in his hours of pleasure and of ease, 
 R Enjoy the beauty only, and the song 
 T Of innocence, and be content with these? 
 H 
 
 H I see this youth, is he your son, or mine? 
 
 1 His face a-smile, in confidence sublime, 
 
 S Take to the road, and dare the test of time; 
 
 Dare as the hero dares who answers call divine 
 C To action ; with no time to falter or repine, 
 H And up the hill of conquest he would climb. 
 
 A Now can st thou say, in reason or in rhyme, 
 
 N Why he should not attain his goal, and shine 
 C As conqueror, upon its lofty crown? 
 
 E And yet, this son of yours or mine, my friend, 
 Hath many chances now to him unknown. 
 For, at beginning, who foresees the end? 
 
 Life tells her tale in chapters; and not shown 
 Too soon the fate the Author minds to send. 
 199 
 
N This youth of ours is born to good estate, 
 
 A With circumstance bespoken in his cause, 
 
 T And every needful aid around him draws 
 
 U For his achievement. Faithful friends await 
 
 R To help him on, and keep him in the straight 
 
 E And hobbled path of virtue. Here let s pause 
 
 To say that he is Nature s child, by laws 
 
 S Immutable and urgent; just as great 
 
 As ties of kin, religion, duty; all 
 C The moral virtues; bring them all, enlist 
 
 H In common cause to master or forestall 
 I The pull of Nature. If the boy resist 
 
 L That pull by all these aids, then we may call 
 D Him hero, and his name shall head the list. 
 
 N For Nature hath her way throughout the earth, 
 A With beast and bird and reptile; fish and all 
 
 T Her creatures animate. To Nature s call 
 
 U The trees and shrubs and flowers respond, in birth 
 R From seed all fertilized; and prove their worth 
 E By yielding seed again. Or great or small 
 
 In Nature s plenteous lap they fall, 
 S And pay her tribute. Thus she holdeth forth 
 
 From age to age, and life perpetuate 
 C Is granted in return for service done: 
 
 A And every kind and species animate 
 L Is charged with its own duty, one by one, 
 
 L To save its own; to serve the ranks that wait 
 
 A-down the centuries, from sire to son. 
 
 200 
 
S And Nature calls for tribute when tis due; 
 E Not at convenience of the life in bond; 
 
 R Not leaving option open, to respond 
 
 V Or send regrets; but, preparation through, 
 I And full equipped; why, that s the thing to do: 
 C Pay tribute: And the urge is all around 
 
 E In Nature s realm; in sea and air and ground! 
 
 Pay tribute: high and low and through and through! 
 Think you, my friend, our boy doth hear this call? 
 Oh, yes; of course; but then the boy must wait; 
 There s yet four years of college; after all 
 
 The discipline is good; he ll get his gait 
 When fitted well for life; there s Virtue s wall 
 But, friend, will Nature halt or hesitate? 
 
 My Christian friend, you know just what we do; 
 U I shut my eyes and fondly trust to fate; 
 
 R You shut your eyes and fondly pray and prate; 
 
 And both are hypocrites! In heart we two 
 
 B Are hoping that the boy will struggle through, 
 L And with his instincts just procrastinate; 
 
 E Keep out of trouble, and at any rate 
 
 S Avoid a scandal; be discreet; from view 
 
 S Of family and friends keep closely hid 
 
 1 His little peccadilloes, if they come; 
 
 N And not get tangled with some Bowery kid, 
 
 G And after marriage bring the hussy home. 
 
 (That heinous sin we strictly now forbid.) 
 And thus we turn our hero out to roam. 
 
 201 
 
W If he gets through his college course quite free, 
 E We are devoutly thankful, and we say 
 
 L He s had his trial, and has learned the way 
 
 L To dodge such mischief; and we straight agree 
 
 He knows a thing or two; and can be trusted free 
 S To play the game as other dodgers play, 
 
 T And hold Dan Cupid further still at bay, 
 
 A Until his Mother and his Dad agree 
 R It s time to marry. This depends, of course, 
 T On business or profession. Further years 
 
 E For this, and further still to gain a source 
 D Of income; for this youngster, it appears, 
 
 Must furnish home of elegance, no worse 
 
 Than that She lives in. Thus the sequel nears. 
 
 A Oh, Superficial Planners of the day! 
 
 Oh, Purblind Parents, thinking you can bend 
 C The laws of Nature to conserve your end, 
 
 A And sweep her sovereign edicts all away, 
 
 R To satisfy your fond ambition! Stay 
 E To see the evil that your plans portend; 
 
 F The punishment that Nature s wont to send 
 
 U In retribution; for there blocks the way 
 L Ten thousand chances of a sore defeat 
 
 At some unguarded angle. Soon or late 
 P The boy may break from such an indiscreet 
 
 L And irksome tutelage; and then your great 
 A Air-castle tumbles. Should you ev n complete 
 
 N Unhappiness, divorce and wreck await. 
 
 202 
 
A I saw your daughter, Madam, on the street. 
 
 A winsome girl indeed, and I would say 
 F Favors her father in a certain way, 
 
 I With all her mother s graces; and complete 
 N In every detail was her costume; mete 
 E For ball-room, or for other gorgeous-gay 
 
 Society affair; that is, I mean to say, 
 C She looked most grandly elegant and sweet! 
 R (I am so awkward in descriptive phrase 
 E Of woman s dress and finery and style!) 
 
 A A simple walking costume? yes; the praise 
 T Is due her mother I am sure! Her smile 
 
 U Was so bewitching! Her unconscious ways 
 R Disclosed her innocence! No thought of guile 
 
 E Belongs to her in these most guileful days; 
 
 With others on the street I gazed a while. 
 
 A Her bodice, I am certain, was cut square, 
 
 And low; just reasonably, you know, and fine 
 C To show a bust with grace in every line, 
 
 So far as it was shown, for with a wondrous care 
 Y The line was drawn; yes, certainly, just there! 
 
 A graceful compromise, as I opine 
 G Between your stricter notions, ma am, and mine; 
 
 1 Not quite so low, perhaps, as she would dare. 
 R There must be something undisclosed, I know 
 L To whet the fancy, else no witching charm 
 
 Invests the draperies that coyly flow 
 
 Against the tempting bust or leg or arm. 
 
 Her hose, I m sure, could little farther go; 
 Pink and diaphanous, transparent, warm. 
 
 203 
 
A I saw your daughter, Madam, at the show. 
 It was a vaudeville; the common mix 
 F Of movies, dancing, music, circus tricks 
 
 E And so forth. I was seated in the row 
 
 T Assigned to men of sober years who grow 
 C But little hair a-top; and five or six 
 
 H Rows back, as I remember if I fix 
 
 I The place aright, the two were there, you know; 
 
 N She and my son. Oh, well, twas good enough; 
 G The same old story; something pretty raw 
 
 Worked in between the music, and the stuff 
 S That lovers want; and ever there we saw 
 
 H The villain still pursuing, coarse and rough 
 
 Pursuing what? The Maiden? Yes; oh, pshaw! 
 
 w 
 
 T I saw the pair anon down in the grill, 
 
 H In flush of light and glare of grand array; 
 
 R And they were there the gayest of the gay. 
 
 1 To see the throng disport in merry mill 
 
 L Would charm the gloom of anchorite, and fill 
 
 L His head with antics. Feasting and the play 
 
 I Of all the senses in one grand array; 
 
 N Women, wine and song, as suits the will 
 
 G Of those already surfeited, who seek 
 
 To add to surfeit yet another thrill! 
 
 S And girls with painted lips and painted cheek 
 C Were mingling in the throng at will, 
 
 E With men of painted eyes and painted beak, 
 N The garish painted programme to fulfill. 
 
 E 
 
 204 
 
A I saw your daughter, Madam, much enthused; 
 N My son, I thought, was just a bit blase; 
 
 D For, though at times affecting to be gay, 
 
 His gayety seemed forced; as if twere used 
 A To stronger spice than this, and felt abused 
 
 At so much fol-de-rol for merest play. 
 G And then I thought perhaps in other way 
 
 H His fervor had been sated. If refused 
 
 By her beside him in this merry mock 
 
 S Why there are others, surely, that invite 
 
 T To amplest satisfaction; and that stock 
 
 Is never far to seek for one who s quite 
 In tune for revel. Now let s stop the clock 
 
 For our fell ghost has risen, wan and white. 
 
 A You know we chuckled when we found our boy 
 
 Had dodged the mischief of the plotting crew; 
 T And then concluded that the lad would do 
 
 H To face the world, and ever be our joy 
 
 1 In strict propriety. But morals cloy 
 
 N With over-worked command. Remember, too, 
 
 G And never let this fact escape your view, 
 
 That Nature pulls the other way: Ahoy! 
 And heave, ho! And the pull she doth engage 
 R Warps our good ship leeward, far away, 
 
 From course we re steering, and from anchorage 
 T That we selected. Say to Nature, Nay, 
 
 W Thy course is wrong; then vainly curb thy rage! 
 This "thing or two" the boy hath learned at play. 
 
 205 
 
A And if I thought the youngster somewhat cold, 
 
 When merrily was running all the play, 
 M And she beside him was so very gay, 
 
 I Perchance the reason now is plainly told, 
 G And any further moral to unfold 
 H Were quite superfluous; but still we may 
 
 T Hold just a little moment more to say 
 
 Y The trick of female charms so very bold 
 
 We also noted, is the female urge 
 P Prompted by Nature, to allure the coy, 
 U Elusive lover running still at large; 
 
 L And all the scenes of revelry and joy; 
 L And song and dance and story, charge on charge, 
 
 Are Nature pulling at the girl and boy. 
 
 W But, this, our boy who "knows a thing or two," 
 H Finds just a mere diversion, mainly meant 
 
 Y To keep his fancy flowing; his intent 
 
 Is marriage sometime, yes, of course; but who 
 H Wants marriage, with the splurge it means in view, 
 E Unless he has the cash? If this be sent 
 
 Together with the girl, it s easy spent 
 H And he is ready both to dare and do. 
 A But, for your daughter, Madam, who, he knows, 
 L Hath not the wherewithal, it s not so clear. 
 
 T He couldn t earn enough to buy her clothes, 
 S Say nothing of the other things, so dear, 
 
 So necessary for herself and those 
 
 She loves; and breach-of -promise suits are queer! 
 
A I see a youth arraigned for grave offense 
 
 Against the laws, made and provided all 
 C To safeguard what we most delight to call 
 
 R The crown of womanhood. We make pretense 
 I Offending majesty of virtue hence 
 M Of guarding that which needs but to install 
 
 I Its own defender. Better than stone wall 
 
 N And military post is Common Sense. 
 A Here for seduction stands the boy arraigned, 
 
 L And he is dumb before a grave-faced throng. 
 
 Guilty? Oh, what odds if only end attained 
 Is virtue s vindication? And how long 
 
 Must virtue wait? The thing is all explained 
 If we but sing to-day the same old song. 
 
 The boys at fault, of course; and much is gained ;- 
 Let all seducers go where they belong. 
 
 K But not so fast, oh, Outraged Justice, hold 
 
 N Thy withering hand a moment; let us see 
 
 Wherein the measure of his guilt may be 
 
 T Greater than hers. This boy s not worldly-wise, I m 
 
 T told; 
 
 Y While she is older, and a trifle bold. 
 
 Who did the tempting here? Was t he or she? 
 P Let s view the matter calmly and agree 
 
 R The fault was hers, the greater, many fold. 
 
 And such the product of our hectic life, 
 B With everything to stimulate the young 
 
 L And surging passions! And the cause of strife 
 E May seem at last to equally belong 
 
 M To false conditions and to Nature, rife 
 
 For what she claims; albeit right or wrong. 
 
 207 
 
A But let the case proceed. I m fain to say 
 
 Justice is justice, and the courts must give 
 S Protection. Let the wayward learn to live 
 
 Within the law, for law must have its way 
 R Or all our safeguards tumble in a day; 
 
 E Thus pleads the prosecutor, who must strive 
 
 And in the law s complexities contrive 
 
 D To bring conviction; gaining thus his pay. 
 
 1 But still, my legal friend, a human life 
 L Hangs in the balance, and this boy consigned 
 E To prison means his end; and rope or knife 
 M Might bring a better. Ere the shackles bind 
 
 M Let s bring to view the stricken man and wife, 
 
 A His parents; Keep their punishment in mind. 
 
 T But let the case proceed, may t please the Court, 
 
 H For we have much to do to vindicate 
 
 E This much abused young woman. Let me state 
 
 It is my solemn duty; and retort 
 
 C That others grief, or any other sort 
 
 Of plea for sympathy cannot abate 
 
 N The Court s prerogative. And now the great 
 
 F Contention s on; it is a public sport; 
 
 L The room is filled with eager auditors; 
 
 1 Women and men, and girls, if they re allowed; 
 C And prurient details that the soul abhors 
 
 T Are brought before the evil-minded crowd; 
 
 And life of culprit and progenitors 
 
 Laid bare. This makes the prying lawyers proud. 
 
 N 
 
 208 
 
A And prurient Press takes up the eager chase, 
 
 And spreads before its readers, old and young, 
 B Delicious morsels, (rolled beneath the tongue) 
 
 A Of all salacious details, every base 
 N And scand lous thing developed in the case, 
 Q And such insinuations slily flung; 
 
 U As any snake that ever hissed and stung 
 
 E Might claim for fellow. Readers in their place 
 T Of fond security, and smug and sure 
 
 Within their sanctity, may at their will 
 
 Revel in banquet spread of this impure 
 Turkey, with trimmings, and their stomachs fill, 
 
 As they may cram or relish or endure. 
 And this, for most, completely fills the bill. 
 
 E And if the pabulum the press purveys 
 
 N Be somewhat heavy, or too quickly gorged, 
 
 T The theme s inviting, and may be enlarged 
 
 I To quantum suf. in movies, books and plays 
 
 C And recreation for both nights and days 
 
 I Supplied ad lib. The prices charged 
 
 N Within the reach of all; and thus is urged 
 
 G The poison-potion in a million ways; 
 
 Quick and most pungent, if one chooses so, 
 
 T Or long drawn out in ravished anguish, still; 
 H Three Weeks or more, if one should choose to go 
 
 E So far to reach erotic end, and fill 
 M With many thrills the writer cares to throw 
 
 E Into the rotten story. Thus they flow. 
 
 209 
 
F Oh, age lascivious, oh, groveling throng, 
 
 E That find men s evil conduct thy delight, 
 
 A And feast upon it morning, noon and night, 
 
 S And prop it up, thy other food among, 
 
 T And taste another flavor that is sprung 
 
 From crime and scandal, If I read aright 
 The sign of this thy morbid appetite, 
 W The fruits are yours, the faults to you belong. 
 A Thus have they gone, the peoples in decay 
 
 R Who passed and are not, save in monument 
 N They left, forbidding, vast and grey, 
 
 I To show the world perchance which road they went; 
 N For it was down this broadening Great White 
 
 G Way;- 
 
 Their one-time greatness now forever spent. 
 
 A I see a mad, amusement-seeking race, 
 
 In hectic fever pressing to its goal, 
 K And grasping pleasures, all of sense, not soul. 
 
 I I see a Clown installed in market place 
 
 N Outmidasing old Midas by the grace 
 G Of all who hang upon his antics, pay his toll, 
 
 And then in mighty spasms sway and roll. 
 
 C This lofty mummer makes the fool s grimace; 
 R And holds his servitors with easy rein. 
 
 And if the one they serve by right appears 
 W Their beau-ideal of life, why then it s plain 
 
 N They are a race of mummers, and the shears 
 E Are mine: and I, the Timid Barber, whisper plain: 
 
 D This vaunted King of yours hath Ass s ears. 
 
 210 
 
R Thou flaunting beauty of the vaudeville, 
 
 E Displayer of thy charms in dress undress, 
 
 T Purveying to the throng thy loveliness; 
 
 A A word with thee would do but little ill, 
 
 I Or little good, because thy wont is will 
 
 L To lead this hectic life. But couldst thou guess 
 
 The end impending, it would suit thee less. 
 T Down in the slums are led the lives that kill! 
 R A girl like thee I saw the other day, 
 
 A Fashioned as fine, and once as debonair; 
 
 D Who danced and sang adown this broad highway; 
 
 E But she is in a little crib down there, 
 
 And selling to all comers, if they pay ; 
 But retail, mind you, each his single share. 
 
 A Thou, flaunting beauty of the higher grade, 
 
 N Doth hold the wholesale market for a while, 
 
 D Selling thy body, with thy song and smile, 
 
 To please the leering crowd; and in the trade 
 W A weekly stipend, looming large, is made 
 H For shameless show and antics that beguile, 
 
 And cause the prurient thought and smirk and 
 
 L smile. 
 
 E There s all the difference, my buxom maid. 
 S Plain language this; and such I apprehend 
 A You seldom hear from those who keep the pace, 
 
 L And travel with thy dalliance. Not a friend 
 E Would dare or care to utter in thy face 
 
 A hint of such a shame or such an end 
 Or say thy glory, girl, is thy disgrace! 
 
 211 
 
A Whence comes this modern craze for nakedness? 
 
 Is here produced in life the artist s dream, 
 B Art for Art s sake portrayed, not as they seem, 
 
 A But as they are, and seeking to express 
 R The chosen forms of human loveliness, 
 E All in the nude? Then has the artist s scheme 
 
 Been carried to its logical extreme, 
 I And nothing s left his craving soul to guess, 
 D If theme unhackneyed he would fain disclose, 
 E But to revise his theories entire, 
 
 A And paint his human beings wearing clothes. 
 L Ah, then the thought artistic may aspire 
 
 To show the things of life he really knows, 
 
 And paint the smoke that partly hides the fire! 
 
 A And still the question stands: Whence comes the craze? 
 
 For surely tis not based on bare ideals; 
 D No sublimated standard e er appeals 
 
 I To the chic maiden of these stylish days 
 C Or her fond mother. Regulate their ways 
 T By anything but Fashion? Why one feels 
 
 A Preposterous upon the very heels 
 
 T Of such a limping thought. The ayes and nays 
 Are called instanter. Then it s Fashion s word 
 R Decides the issue what and when and how, 
 
 And whether garb is charming or absurd. 
 
 And who is Fashion, dearest? Answer now, 
 Who s the dictator? Has it e er occurred; 
 
 Paris? Her demi-mondaine? Well, I cowl 
 
 212 
 
A But Autocrat of Paris rules by grace 
 
 Of greater powers than his, and if we will 
 D The end that he s appointed to fulfill 
 
 U Looms large upon us; for his reign hath place 
 M In comprehending, overmastering grace 
 M That orders human action, good or ill, 
 
 Y To work at last its written, sovereign will. 
 
 Change is predestined for the human race, 
 K As tis for all creation; and this change 
 
 I Means making over; and in tearing down 
 N No less than building up it finds its range 
 
 G For Evolution s plan, the Maker s own 
 
 For conservation of his forces strange 
 
 That men engage, as yet but illy known. 
 
 T Afar, afar, against the northern mist 
 
 W I see two mighty caravans that march 
 
 Contra- wise; one headed for the arch 
 
 Of rising sun, the other to the west; 
 C And both these columns seem in eager quest 
 A Of goal beyond horizon of their search. 
 
 R And one doth bound and roll and heave and lurch 
 
 A In great commotion, antic-joy possesst. 
 V The other moves more surely, soberly, 
 
 A As if for earnest search their course they wend 
 N And when I look more closely still I see 
 
 S Much joy of quiet sort doth these attend, 
 And Evolution s written large and free. 
 
 The other, Devolution, and The End. 
 
 213 
 
T And not alone in the affairs of men 
 
 H Such mighty columns show, but all through space 
 
 E The centra-movements may be seen apace, 
 
 Building Destroying. In telescopic ken 
 L Are misty spheres new-born; and turn again, 
 A Are old ones going out, their day of grace 
 
 W Concluded in a blaze; thus giving place 
 
 To newer orders. Evolution s gain 
 
 Is Devolution s loss; and thus is set 
 The vast creative plan that carries on 
 
 The universe of universes. Yet 
 We fail so oft to see the words upon 
 
 God s handiwork before us, signed and set 
 Too large to read, until our chance is gone. 
 
 Oh, age uncanny, times all out of joint! 
 
 Tempora, Mores. Custom s Law! 
 T The Senate knew this and the Consul saw! 
 
 E Yet, in an age degenerate, who could point, 
 M What Prophet doth the Centuries anoint 
 P And charge with warning that can overawe 
 
 A people plunging to their fate below; 
 
 R For pointing vainly is to disappoint. 
 A Oh Times, oh, Customs! I have shown ye all 
 
 The issues that arise twixt Nature s Law 
 And man-made practice; and in great and small 
 
 The conflict rages, and the Furies draw 
 M Their meshes for thy capture and thy fall; 
 
 The Senate knew this, and the Consul saw! 
 R 
 E 
 S 
 
 214 
 
SOME DAY 
 
 Some day your reminiscent look 
 May fall upon this little book, 
 
 And you ll recall an absent one. 
 Then, mayhap, you ll be nigh with me;- 
 To smile with me and sigh with me; 
 To laugh with me and cry with me 
 
 When I am gone. 
 
 FINIS 
 
 215 
 
VB I 1 808 
 
 4915-U 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY