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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19109-8.txt b/19109-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cd314c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/19109-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5547 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + Vol. IV + +Author: Hattie Howard + +Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19109] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: In Celestial realms where knowledge hath no end. + HARRY HOWARD, + STUDENT. + "Blessed are the pure in heart."] + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +HATTIE HOWARD. + +AUTHOR OF "POVERTY VS. PAUPERISM," "OUR GIRLS," "VIVE LA +REPUBLIQUE," "KEEPING A SECRET," "LITTLE JO," +AND OTHER STORIES. + +VOL. IV. + + + Happy whoever writes a book + On which the world shall kindly look, + And who, when many a year has flown-- + The volume worn, the author gone-- + Revere, admire, and still read on. + + +HARTFORD PRESS: +THE CASE, LOCKWOOD & BRAINARD COMPANY. +1904. + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF A FORMER VOLUME. + + "We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely + natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious + pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end; and + the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will be + welcome in this time of generally morbid expression." + + "This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, _human_ spirit, + sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward + directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by + all." + + "These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic faculty, and are + worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty + welcome." + + "Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches of + sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the good, + the true, and the beautiful." + + "This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she must have + been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook leaping and + hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of subject and + treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are poems which + should be cherished." + + "Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and + attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A wooing + sentiment and genial spirit seem to guide her in every train of + thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm commendations of + the press." + +Copyright, 1904, BY HATTIE HOWARD. + + + + +Contents. + +_FRONTISPIECE._ + PAGE. + + EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES, 2 + + "THE SALT OF THE EARTH," 7 + + NOT GONE, 9 + + LET US GIVE THANKS, 10 + + SONNET, 11 + + A RAINY DAY, 12 + + THE SUBWAY, 16 + + THE APPLE TREE, 18 + + TWO ROSES, 21 + + THE TAXIDERMIST, 23 + + EPITHALAMIUM, 25 + + A FOWL AFFAIR, 28 + + HOLIDAY HOME, 31 + + RUTHA, 34 + + THE STUDENT GONE, 36 + + THE TOURIST, 38 + + THE ANTIQUARIAN, 40 + + POOR HOUSEKEEPING, 45 + + GOING TO TOBOG, 47 + + "PASSER LE TEMPS," 49 + + THE TORPEDO, 50 + + MARGARET, 51 + + CHRISTMAS BELLS, 53 + + BY THE SEA, 54 + + A SONG, 55 + + IS IT APRIL? 56 + + CHRISTMAS-TIDE, 57 + + JANUARY, 1885, 59 + + SWEET PEAS, 61 + + THE SUMMER HOUSE, 62 + + TO DIE IN AUTUMN, 65 + + APPLE BLOSSOMS, 67 + + WITHOUT A MINISTER, 68 + + INDIAN SUMMER, 70 + + AUTUMN-TIME, 72 + + THE BEAUTY OF NATURE, 74 + + "ALL THE RAGE," 76 + + MY MOTHER'S HAND, 79 + + A LEAP YEAR EPISODE, 80 + + IF, 83 + + PERFECT CHARACTER, 84 + + THE MIRACLE OF SPRING, 85 + + BERMUDA, 86 + + THE CHARTER OAK, 88 + + BLOSSOM-TIME, 90 + + "ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE," 92 + + LIGHTNING-BUGS, 94 + + OF HER WHO DIED, 96 + + THANKSGIVING, 98 + + RECEIVING SIGHT, 100 + + REVENGE, 102 + + ON THE COMMON, 104 + + WOMAN'S HELP, 106 + + TOBOGGANING, 108 + + THE WOODS, 110 + + LIKE SUMMER, 112 + + SHERIDAN'S LAST RIDE, 114 + + A BIT OF GLADNESS, 116 + + THE CHARITY BALL, 118 + + THE BELL(E) OF BALTIMORE, 120 + + CHRISTMAS AT CHURCH, 122 + + MYSTERIOUS, 124 + + "BE NOT ANXIOUS," 126 + + MOUNT VERNON, 128 + + A PRISONER, 130 + + CUBA, 131 + + THE SANGAMON RIVER, 133 + + SYRINGAS, 135 + + STORM-BOUND, 137 + + THE MASTER OF THE GRANGE, 139 + + A FRIEND INDEED, 142 + + THE NEEDED ONE, 143 + + "THY WILL BE DONE," 145 + + SNOWFLAKES, 147 + + MONADNOCK, 149 + + NEVER HAD A CHANCE, 151 + + SORROW AND JOY, 153 + + WATCH HILL, 155 + + SUPPLICATING, 157 + + "HONEST JOHN," 159 + + BUSHNELL PARK, 161 + + AT GENERAL GRANT'S TOMB, 164 + + "BE COURTEOUS," 166 + + A NEW SUIT, 168 + + THE LITTLE CLOCK, 170 + + IMPROVEMENT, 173 + + ON BANCROFT HEIGHT, 175 + + A REFORMER, 178 + + + +Poems. + + + + +"The Salt of the Earth." + + + The salt of the earth--what a meaningful phrase + From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys + A sense of the need of a substance saline + This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine, + And a healthful and happy condition secure + By making it pure as the ocean is pure. + + In all the nomenclature known to the race, + In all appellations of people or place, + Was ever a name so befitting, so true + Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo, + With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air + Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear? + + Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold, + So secretly, strangely, those elements hold + That may be developed in goodness and grace + To shine in demeanor, in form and in face + Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth, + Shall merit their title--the salt of the earth? + + To the landsman at home or the sailor at sea, + With nausea, scurvy, or canker maybe, + 'Tis never in language to overexalt + The potent preservative virtue of salt-- + A crystal commodity wholesome and good, + A cure for disease, and a savor for food. + + Ah, the beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air + Know all of the need of this condiment rare, + Know well where the springs and the "salt-licks" abound, + Where streams salinaceous flow out of the ground; + And their cravings appease by sipping the brine + With more than the relish of topers at wine. + + Our wants may be legion, our needs are but few, + And every known ill hath its remedy true; + 'Tis ours to discover and give to mankind + Of hidden essentials the best that we find; + 'Tis ours to eradicate error and sin, + And help to make better the place we are in. + + If ever this world from corruption is free, + And righteousness reign in the kingdom to be, + Like salt in its simple and soluble way + Infusing malodor, preventing decay. + So human endeavor in action sublime + Must never relax till the finale of time. + + To thousands discouraged this comforting truth + Appeals like the promise of infinite youth: + To know, as they labor like bees in the hive, + Yet do little more than keep goodness alive-- + To know that the Master accredits their worth + As blessed disciples--"the salt of the earth." + + + + +Not Gone. + + + They are not gone whose lives in beauty so unfolding + Have left their own sweet impress everywhere; + Like flowers, while we linger in beholding, + Diffusing fragrance on the summer air. + + They are not gone, for grace and goodness can not perish, + But must develop in immortal bloom; + The viewless soul, the real self we love and cherish, + Shall live and flourish still beyond the tomb. + + They are not gone though lost to observation, + And dispossessed of those dear forms of clay, + Though dust and ashes speak of desolation; + The spirit-presence--this is ours alway. + + + + +Let Us Give Thanks. + + + If we have lived another year + And, counting friends by regiments + Who share our love and confidence, + Find no more broken ranks, + For this let us give thanks. + + If, since the last Thanksgiving-time, + Have we been blessed with strength and health, + And added to our honest wealth, + Nor lost by broken banks, + For this would we give thanks. + + If through adversity we trod, + Yet with serene and smiling face, + And trusted more to saving grace + Than charlatans and cranks, + For this let us give thanks. + + If we have somehow worried through + The ups and downs along life's track, + And still undaunted can look back + And smile at Fortune's pranks, + For this would we give thanks. + + If every page in our account + With God and man is fairly writ, + We care not who examines it, + With no suspicious blanks, + For this let us give thanks. + + + + +Sonnet. + + + Upon my smile let none pass compliment + If it but gleam like an enchanting ray + Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day, + In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent + And breath of honeysuckles redolent, + When, with the birds that sing their lives away + In harmony, the treetops bend and sway, + And all the world with joy is eloquent. + + But in that day of gloom when skies severe + Portend the tempest gathering overhead, + If by my face some token shall appear + Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread, + Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said, + "Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer." + + + + +A Rainy Day. + + + Oh, what a blessed interval + A rainy day may be! + No lightning flash nor tempest roar, + But one incessant, steady pour + Of dripping melody; + When from their sheltering retreat + Go not with voluntary feet + The storm-beleaguered family, + Nor bird nor animal. + + When business takes a little lull, + And gives the merchantman + A chance to seek domestic scenes, + To interview the magazines, + Convoke his growing clan, + The boys and girls almost unknown, + And get acquainted with his own; + As well the household budget scan, + Or write a canticle. + + When farmer John ransacks the barn, + Hunts up the harness old-- + Nigh twenty years since it was new-- + Puts in an extra thong or two, + And hopes the thing will hold + Without that missing martingale + That bothered Dobbin, head and tail, + He, gentle equine, safe controlled + But by a twist of yarn. + + When busy fingers may provide + A savory repast + To whet the languid appetite, + And give to eating a delight + Unknown since seasons past; + Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks + Develop dull dyspeptic cranks + Who, forced to diet or to fast, + Ergo, have dined and died. + + It is a day of rummaging, + The closets to explore; + To take down from the dusty shelves + The books--that never read themselves-- + And turning pages o'er + Discover therein safely laid + The bills forgot and never paid-- + Somehow that of the corner store + Such dunning memories bring. + + It gives a chance to liquidate + Epistolary debts; + To write in humble penitence + Acknowledging the negligence, + The sin that so besets, + And cheer the hearts that hold us dear, + Who've known and loved us many a year-- + Back to the days of pantalets + And swinging on the gate. + + It gives occasion to repair + Unlucky circumstance; + To intercept the ragged ends, + And for arrears to make amends + By mending hose and pants; + The romping young ones to re-dress + Without those signs of hole-y-ness + That so bespeak the mendicants + By every rip and tear. + + It is a time to gather round + The old piano grand, + Its dulcet harmonies unstirred + Since Lucy sang so like a bird, + And played with graceful hand; + Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet + Repeating softly "Shall we meet?" + Is only in the heavenly land + Such clear soprano sound. + + It is a time for happy chat + _En cercle tête-à-tête_; + Discuss the doings of the day, + The club, the sermon, or the play, + Affairs of church and state; + Fond reminiscence to explore + The pleasant episodes of yore, + And so till raindrops all abate + As erst on Ararat. + + Ah, yes, a rainy day may be + A blessed interval! + A little halt for introspect, + A little moment to reflect + On life's discrepancy-- + Our puny stint so poorly done, + The larger duties scarce begun-- + And so may conscience culpable + Suggest a remedy. + + + + +The Subway. + + + Oh, who in creation would fail to descend + That wonderful hole in the ground?-- + That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend + In sinuous fashion, seems never to end; + While thunder and lightning abound. + + Oh, who in creation would dare to go down + That great subterranean hole-- + The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town, + That gives to the city a mighty renown + And a shaking as never before? + + A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top + Where the flies are all buzzing about; + Down into its maw where the populace drop, + Who never know where they are going to stop, + Or whether they'll ever get out. + + Why is it, with millions of acres untrod + Where never the ploughshare hath been, + That man must needs burrow miles under the sod, + As if to get farther and farther from God, + And deeper and deeper in sin? + + O Dagos and diggers, who can't understand + That the planet you'll never get through-- + Why, there is three times as much water as land, + And but for the least little seam in the sand + Your life is worth less than a _sou_. + + Come up out of Erebus into the day, + There's plenty of room overhead; + No boring or blasting of rocks in the way, + No stratum of sticky, impervious clay-- + All vacuous vapor instead. + + Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el--", + Not leagues from the surface below; + As if we were never in Heaven to dwell, + As if we were all being fired to--well, + The place where we don't want to go! + + + + +The Apple Tree. + + + Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung + Around whose body have children clung, + Whose bounteous branches the birds among + Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung-- + Was ever a tree, or shall there be, + So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see, + So welcome a boon to the family, + Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree? + + How he loves to be digging about its root, + Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot, + The daintiest palate that he may suit + With the fairest and finest selected fruit. + How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size; + His delicate Greenings--made for pies; + His Golden Pippins that take the prize, + The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies. + + How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two + That the wise little rodents always knew, + And never forget or fail to do, + Of laying up store for the winter through; + So he hollows a space in the mellow ground + Where leaves for lining and straw abound, + And well remembers his apple mound + When a day of scarcity comes around. + + By many a token may we suppose + That the knowledge apple no longer grows, + That broke up Adam and Eve's repose + And set the fashion of fig-leaf clothes; + The story's simple and terse and crude, + But still with a morsel of truth imbued: + For of trees and trees by the multitude + Are some that are evil, and some that are good. + + The more I muse on those stories old + The more philosophy they unfold + Of husbands docile and women bold, + And Satan's purposes manifold; + Ah, many a couple halve their fare + With that mistaken and misfit air + That the world and all are ready to swear + To a mighty unapple-y mated pair. + + The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know, + All gnarled and bored by the curculio, + And loves to stand in a zigzag row; + And doesn't make half so much of a show + As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball, + And spreads out wide like a pink parasol + Set on its stem by the garden-wall; + But I love the apple tree, after all. + + "A little more cider"--sings the bard; + And who this juiciness would discard, + Though holding the apple in high regard, + Must be like the cider itself--very hard; + For the spirit within it, as all must know, + Is utterly harmless--unless we go + Like the fool in his folly, and overflow + By drinking a couple of barrels or so. + + What of that apple beyond the seas, + Fruit of the famed Hesperides? + But dust and ashes compared to these + That grow on Columbia's apple trees; + And I sigh for the apples of years agone: + For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn, + For Russets brown with their jackets on, + And aromatic as cinnamon. + + Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place, + And the pear is fine in its stately grace; + The plum belongs to a puckery race + And maketh awry the mouth and face; + But I long to roam in the orchard free, + The dear old orchard that used to be, + And gather the beauties that dropped for me + From the bending boughs of the apple tree. + + + + +Two Roses. + + + I've a friend beyond the ocean + So regardful, so sincere, + And he sends me in a letter + Such a pretty souvenir. + + It is crushed to death and withered, + Out of shape and very flat, + But its pure, delicious odor + Is the richer for all that. + + 'Tis a rose from Honolulu, + And it bears the tropic brand, + Sandwiched in this friendly missive + From that far-off flower-land. + + It shall mingle _pot-à-pourri_ + With the scents I love and keep; + Some of them so very precious + That remembrance makes me weep. + + While I dream I hear the music + That of happiness foretells, + Like the flourishing of trumpets + And the sound of marriage bells. + + There's a rose upon the prairie, + Chosen his by happy fate, + He shall gather when he cometh + Sailing through the Golden Gate. + + Mine, a public posy, growing + Somewhere by the garden wall, + Might have gone to any stranger, + May have been admired by all. + + But the rose in beauty blushing, + Tenderly and sweetly grown + In the home and its affections, + Blooms for him, and him alone. + + Speed the voyager returning; + His shall be a welcome warm, + With the Rose of Minnesota + Gently resting on his arm. + + Love embraces in his kingdom + Earth and sea and sky and air. + Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii! + It is Heaven everywhere. + + + + +The Taxidermist. + + + From other men he stands apart, + Wrapped in sublimity of thought + Where futile fancies enter not; + With starlike purpose pressing on + Where Agassiz and Audubon + Labored, and sped that noble art + Yet in its pristine dawn. + + Something to conquer, to achieve, + Makes life well worth the struggle hard; + Its petty ills to disregard, + In high endeavor day by day + With this incentive--that he may + Somehow mankind the richer leave + When he has passed away. + + Forest and field he treads alone, + Finding companionship in birds, + In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds + Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek; + For these to him a language speak + To common multitudes unknown + As tones of classic Greek. + + Unthinking creatures and untaught, + They to his nature answer back + Something his fellow mortals lack; + And oft educe from him the sigh + That they unnoticed soon must die, + Leaving of their existence naught + To be remembered by. + + Man may aspire though in the slough; + May dream of glory, strive for fame, + Thirst for the prestige of a name. + And shall these friends, that so invite + The study of the erudite, + Ever as he beholds them now + Perish like sparks of light? + + Nay, 'tis his purpose and design + To keep them: not like mummies old + Papyrus-mantled fold on fold, + But elephant, or dove, or swan, + Its native hue and raiment on, + In effigy of plumage fine, + Or skin its native tawn. + + What God hath wrought thus time shall tell, + And thus endowment rich and vast + Be rescued from the buried past; + And rare reliques that never fade + Be in the manikin portrayed + Till taxidermy witness well + The debt to science paid. + + Lo! one appeareth unforetold-- + This re-creator, yea, of men; + Making him feel as born again + Who looketh up with reverent eyes, + Through wonders that his soul surprise, + That great Creator to behold + All-powerful, all-wise. + + + + +Epithalamium. + + +I. + + "Whom God hath joined"--ah, this sententious phrase + A meaning deeper than the sea conveys, + And of a sweet and solemn service tells + With the rich resonance of wedding-bells; + It speaks of vows and obligations given + As if amid the harmony of heaven, + While seraph lips approving seem to say, + "Love, honor, and obey." + + +II. + + Is Hymen then ambassador divine, + His mission, matrimonial and benign, + The heart to counsel, ardor to incite, + Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite? + As if were this his mandate from the throne: + "It is not good for them to be alone; + Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers, + Not mine and thine, but ours." + + +III. + + Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell, + That they of conjugal intent "do well"? + But hinted at a better state,--'tis one + With which two loving souls have naught to do. + For, in well-doing being quite content, + Be there another state more excellent + To which the celibate doth fain repair, + They neither know nor care. + + +IV. + + And does the Lord of all become High Priest, + And with his presence grace the wedding-feast? + Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh, + For nuptials there are none beyond the sky; + So is the union sanctified and blest, + For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest; + So may the joyous bridal season be + Like that of Galilee. + + +V. + + Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear + To all the loving Saviour who revere, + Madonna-like be thou in every grace + That shall adorn thee in exalted place, + And thine the happy privilege to prove + The depth, the tenderness of woman's love; + So shall the heart that honors thee today + Bow down to thee alway. + + +VI. + + O radiant June, in wealth of light and air, + With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere, + Let all bright tokens affluent combine, + And round the bridal pair in splendor shine; + Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true + On this glad day their tender vows renew, + And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they + Whom God hath joined for aye. + + + + +A Fowl Affair. + + + I hope I'm not too orthodox + To give a joke away, + That took me like the chicken-pox + And left a debt to pay. + + Let argument ignore the cost, + If it be dear or cheap, + And only claim that naught be lost + When it's too good to keep. + + The proverb says "All flesh is grass," + But this I do deny, + Because of that which came to pass, + But not to pass me by. + + A body weighing by the pound + Inside of half a score, + In case and cordage safely bound, + Was landed at my door. + + What could it be? for friends are slack, + And give, I rather trow, + When they are sure of getting back + As much as they bestow. + + My hair, at thought of dark design, + Or dynamitish fate, + Stood up like quills of porcupine, + But more than twice as straight. + + Anon, I mused on something rare, + Like duck or terrapin, + But dreamed not, of the parcel, there + Might be a pullet-in. + + A mighty jerk,--the string that broke + The fowl affair revealed, + The victim of a cruel choke, + Its neck completely peeled. + + The biped in its paper cof- + Fin, cramped and plump and neat, + Had scratched its very toenails off + In making both ends meat. + + The only part I always ate, + That never made me ill, + Had gone away decapitate + And carried off the bill. + + I pondered o'er the sacrifice, + The merry-thought, the wings, + On giblet gravy, salad nice, + And chicken-pie-ous things. + + In heat of Fahrenheit degree + Two hundred twelve or more, + Where its grandsire, defying me, + Had crowed the year before, + + I thrust it with a hope forlorn,-- + I knew what toughness meant, + And sighed that ever I was born + To die of roasting scent. + + But presto! what _dénouement_ grand + Of cookery sublime! + 'Twas done as by the second hand, + The drumsticks beating thyme. + + And now the moral--he who buys + Will comprehend its worth,-- + Look not so much to weight and size + As to the date of birth. + + In fowls there is a difference; + "The good die young," they say, + And for the death of innocence + To make us meat, we pray. + + + + +Holiday Home. + + + Of all the sweet visions that come unto me + Of happy refreshment by land or by sea, + Like oases where in life's desert I roam, + Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home. + + I climb to the top of the highest of hills + And look to the west with affectionate thrills, + And fancy I stand by the emerald side + Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride. + + In distant perspective unruffled it lies, + Except for the packet that paddles and plies, + And puffing its way like a pioneer makes + Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes. + + Untroubled except for the urchins that come + From many a haunt that is never a home, + Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade, + Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made. + + All placid except for the dip of the oar + Of the skiff, or the barge striking out from the shore, + While merry excursionists shout till the gale + Reverberates laughter through rigging and sail. + + How it scallops its basin and shimmers and shines + Like a salver of silver encompassed with vines, + In crystal illusion reflecting the skies + And the mountain that seems from its bosom to rise. + + There stands a great house on a summit so high, + Like an eyrie of safety enroofed by the sky; + And I think of the rest and the comfort up there + To sleep, and to breathe that empyreal air. + + Oh, the charm of the glen and the stream and the wood + Can never be written, nor be understood, + Except by the weary and languid who come + To bask in the quiet of Holiday Home. + + From prisonlike cellars unwholesome and drear, + From attic and alley, from labor severe, + For the poor and the famished doth kindness prepare + A world of diversion and excellent fare. + + To swing in the hammock, disport in the breeze, + To lie in the shade of magnificent trees-- + Oh, this is like quaffing from luxury's bowl + The life-giving essence for body and soul! + + Nor distance nor time shall efface from the mind + The influence gentle, the ministry kind; + While gratitude fondly enhallows the thought + Of a home and a holiday never forgot. + + Ah, one is remembered of saintliest men + To lovely Geneva who comes not again; + Who left a sweet impress wherever he trod, + Humanity's helper, companion of God. + + In the hearts of the many there sheltered and fed, + As unto a hospice by Providence led, + Does often a thought like a sunbeam intrude + Of the bounty so free, and the donors so good? + + Who of their abundance have cheerfully given + Wherewith to develop an embryo heaven-- + To brighten conditions too hard and too sad + And make the unhappy contented and glad. + + Be blessedness theirs, who like knights of renown + Thus scatter such largesse o'er country and town, + Their monument building in many a dome + Like healthful and beautiful Holiday Home. + + + + +Rutha. + + + The days are long and lonely, + The weary eve comes on, + And the nights are filled with dreaming + Of one beloved and gone. + + I reach out in the darkness + And clasp but empty air, + For Rutha dear has vanished-- + I wonder, wonder where. + + Yet must it be: her nature + So lovely, pure, and true; + So nearly like the angels, + Is she an angel too. + + The cottage is dismantled + Of all that made it bright; + Beyond its silent portal + No love, nor life, nor light. + + Where are the hopes I cherished, + The joys that once I knew, + The dreams, the aspirations? + All, all are perished too. + + Yes, love's dear chain is broken; + From shore to shore I roam-- + No comfort, no companion, + No happiness, no home. + + Oh could I but enfold her + Unto my heart once more, + If aught could e'er restore me + My darling as before; + + If God would only tell me-- + Such myriads above-- + Why He must needs have taken + The one I loved to love; + + If God would only tell me + Why multitudes are left, + Unhappy and unlovely, + And I am thus bereft; + + If--O my soul, be silent + And some day thou shalt see + Through mystery and shadow, + And know why it must be. + + To every cry of anguish + From every heart distressed, + Can be no other answer + Than this--God knoweth best. + + + + +The Student Gone. + + + So soon he fell, the world will never know + What possibilities within him lay, + What hopes irradiated his young life, + With high ambition and with ardor rife; + But ah! the speedy summons came, and so + He passed away. + + So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans + By others misapplied, misunderstood; + And doors are barred that wait the master-key-- + That wait his magic Open Sesame!-- + To that assertive power that commands + The multitude. + + Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove + What manhood and integrity might be-- + How one from all base elements apart + Might walk serene, in purity of heart, + His face the bright transparency of love + And sympathy? + + The student ranks are closed, there is no gap; + Of other brave aspirants is no dearth; + Prowess, fidelity, and truth go on, + And few shall miss or mourn the student gone, + Reposing in the all-protecting lap + Of Mother Earth. + + Too soon--O God! was it thy will that one + Of such endeavor and of noble mien, + Enrapt with living, should thus early go + From all he loved and all who loved him so, + Mid life's activities no longer known, + No longer seen? + + Oh, not for aye should agonizing lips + Quiver with questionings they dare not frame; + Though in the dark penumbra of despair + Seemeth no light, nor comfort anywhere-- + All things enshadowed as in dense eclipse, + No more the same. + + Could we but know, in that Elysian lore + Of happy exercise still going on + Could we but know of glorious heights attained, + Of his reward, of mysteries explained,-- + Ah! but to know were to lament no more + The student gone. + + + + +The Tourist. + + + Lo! carpet-bag and bagger occupy the land, + And prove the touring season actively begun; + His personnel and purpose can none misunderstand, + For each upon his frontlet bears his honest brand-- + The fool-ish one! + + By caravan and car, from country and from town, + A great grasshopper army fell foraging the land; + Like bumblebees that know not where to settle down, + Impossible it is to curb or scare or drown + The tourist band. + + With guidebook, camera, with rod and gun, to shoot, + To lure the deer, the hare, the bird, the speckled trout, + The pauper or the prince unbidden they salute, + And everywhere their royal right dare none dispute-- + To roam about. + + From dark immuring walls and dingy ways of trade, + From high society's luxurious stately homes, + From lounging places by the park or promenade, + From rural dwellings canopied in sylvan shade, + The tourist comes. + + To every mountain peak within the antipodes, + To sweet, sequestered spots no other mortal knows; + To every island fair engirt by sunny seas, + To forest-centers unexplored by birds or bees, + The tourist goes. + + For Summer's fingers all the land have richly dressed, + Resplendent in regalia of scent and bloom, + And stirred in every heart the spirit of unrest, + Like that of untamed fledglings in the parent nest + For ampler room. + + What is it prompts the roving mania--is it love + Of wild adventure fanciful, unique, and odd? + Is it to be in fashion, and to others prove + One's social standing, that impels the madness of + The tramp abroad? + + The question hangs unanswered, like an unwise prayer, + Importunate, but powerless response to bring; + Go ask the voyagers, the rovers everywhere-- + They only say it is their rest-time, outing, their + Vacationing. + + So is the world's eccentric round of joy complete + When happy tourist-traveler, no more to roam, + His fascinating, thrilling story shall repeat + To impecunious, luckless multitudes who greet + The tourist home. + + + + +The Antiquarian. + + + Millions have been and passed from view + Benignity who never knew; + No aspiration theirs, nor aim; + Existence soulless as the clay + From whence they sprang, what right have they + To eulogy or fame? + + So multitudes have been forgot-- + But drones or dunces, good for naught; + Like clinging parasites or burrs + Taking from others all they dared, + Yet little they for others cared + Except as pilferers. + + Not so with that majestic man + The all-round antiquarian-- + No model his nor parallel; + From selfishness inviolate + Are his achievements good and great, + And thus shall ages tell. + + A love for the antiquities + His honest hold, his birthright is! + And things unheard of or unread, + Defaced by moth or rust or mold, + To him are treasures more than gold, + Ay, than his daily bread. + + At neither ghost nor ghoul aghast + He echoes voices of the past, + And tones like melancholy knells + Of years departed to his ear + Are sweeter than of kindred dear, + Sweeter than Florimel's. + + He delves through centuries of dust + To resurrect some unknown bust, + A torso, or a goddess whole; + Maybe like Venus, minus arms-- + Haply to find those missing charms; + But not the lost, lost soul. + + He dotes on aborigines + Who lived in caves and hollow trees, + And barters for their trinkets rare; + Exchanging with those dusky breeds + For arrow-heads and shells and beads + A scalplock of his hair. + + Had he been born--thus he laments-- + Along with other great events, + Coeval say with Noah's flood, + A proud relationship to trace + With Hittites--or with any race + Of blue archaic blood! + + Much he adores that Pilgrim flock, + The same that split old Plymouth rock, + Their "Bay Psalm" when they tried to sing. + Devoid of metre, sense, and tune, + Who but a Puritanic loon + Could have devised the thing? + + He revels in a pedigree, + The sprouting of a noble tree + 'Way back in prehistoric times; + And for the "Family Record" true + Of scions all that ever grew + Would give a billion dimes. + + There is a language fossils speak: + 'Tis not like Latin, much less Greek, + But quite as dead and antiquate + Its silent syllables, and cold; + But ah, what meanings they unfold, + What histories relate! + + The earthquake is his best ally-- + It shows up things he cannot buy, + And gives him raw material + For making mastodons and such, + Enough to beat that ancient "Dutch + Republic's Rise and Fall." + + A piece of bone can never lie: + A rib, a femur, or a thigh + Is but a dislocated sign + Of something hybrid, half and half + Betwixt a crocodile and calf-- + Maybe a porcupine. + + The stately "Antiquarium" + Is his emporium, his home. + He wonders if when he is gone + Will people look with mournful pride + On him done up and classified, + And the right label on. + + He dreams of an emblazoned page, + The calendar of every age + Down from Creation's primal dawn; + With archetypes of spears and bones, + And tons of undeciphered stones + Its illustrations drawn. + + Labor a blessing, not a curse, + His hunting ground the Universe, + So much the more his nature craves + To sound the fathoms of the sea: + What mighty wonders there must be + Down in those hidden caves! + + So toils this dauntless man, alert + Amid the ruins and the dirt, + That other men to endless day + Themselves uplifted from the clod + May see, and learn and know that God + Is greater far than they. + + And thus, of mighty ken and plan, + The all-round antiquarian + Pursues his happy ministry; + And on the world's progressive track + Advances, always going back-- + Back to antiquity. + + + + +Poor Housekeeping. + + + If there is one gift that I prize above others, + That tinges with brightness whatever I do, + And gives to the sombre a roseate hue, + 'Tis a legacy mine from the nicest of mothers, + Who haply the beauty of housewifery knew, + And taught me her neatness and diligence too. + + So is my discomfort a house in disorder: + The service uncleanly, the linen distained, + The children like infantry rude and untrained; + The portieres dusty and frayed at the border, + By lavish expenses the pocketbook drained, + And miseries numberless never explained. + + I dream not of pleasure in visions untidy, + A wrapper all hole-y, a buttonless shoe, + A slatternly matron with nothing to do; + And all the ill-luck charged to ominous Friday + Can never compare with the ills that ensue + On wretched housekeeping and cookery too. + + There's many a husband, a patient bread-winner, + Gets up from the table with look of despair, + And something akin to the growl of a bear; + Not the saint he might be, but a querulous sinner-- + One driven to fasting but not unto prayer-- + Till epitaphed thus--"Indigestible Fare." + + There's many a child, from the roof-tree diurnal, + A scene of distraction or dullness severe, + With the longing of youth for diversion and cheer, + That comes like the spring-time refreshing and vernal, + Goes out on a ruinous, reckless career, + Returning, if ever, not many a year. + + O negligent female, imperfect housekeeper, + Though faultless in figure and charming of face, + In ruffles of ribbon and trailings of lace + Usurping the part of a common street-sweeper, + You never can pose as a type of your race + In frowsy appearance mid things out of place. + + O fashion-bred damsel, with folly a-flutter, + Until you have learned how to manage a broom, + If never you know how to tidy a room, + Manipulate bread or decide about butter, + The duties of matron how dare you assume, + Or ever be bride to a sensible groom? + + I covet no part with that army of shirkers + All down at the heels in their slipper-y tread, + Who hunt for the rolling-pin under the bed, + Who look with disdain on intelligent workers + And take to the club or the circus instead + Of mending a stocking or laying the spread. + + Oh, I dream of a system of perfect housekeeping, + Where mistress and helper together compete + In excellent management, quiet and neat; + And though in the bosom of earth I am sleeping, + Shall somebody live to whom life will be sweet + And home an ideal, idyllic retreat. + + + + +Going to Tobog. + + + Into my disappointment-cup + The snowflakes fell and blocked the road, + And so I thought I'd finish up + The latest style of Christmas ode; + When she, the charming little lass + With eyes as bright as isinglass, + Before a line my pen had wrought + In strange attire came bounding in, + As if she had with Bruno fought, + And robbed him of his shaggy skin. + + She came to me robed _cap-à-pie_ + In her bewitching "blanket-suit," + In moccasin and toggery, + All ready for "that icy chute," + And asked me if I thought she'd do; + I shake with love of mischief true: + "For what?--a polar bear?--why, yes!" + "No, no!" she said, with half a pout. + "Why, one would think so, by your dress-- + Say, does your mother know you're out?" + + "No, I'm not out," she said, and sighed; + "Because the storm so wildly raged-- + But for the first delightful ride + For half a year I've been engaged." + "Engaged to what?--an Esquimau? + To ride a glacier, or a floe?" + "Why, don't you know"--her color glowed, + In expectation all agog-- + "The reason why I'm glad it snowed? + Because--I'm going to tobog." + + + + +"Passer Le Temps." + + + So _that's_ the way you pass your time! + Indeed your charming, frank confession + Betrays no sort of heinous crime, + But marks a wonderful digression + From puritanic views, less bold, + That we were early taught to hold. + + "_Passer le temps_," of course, implies + A little cycle of flirtations, + Wherein the actors never rise + To sober, serious relations, + But play just for amusement's sake + A harmless game of "give and take." + + While moments pass on pinions fleet, + And youth in beauty effloresces, + The joy that finds itself complete + In honeyed words and soft caresses, + Alas! an index seems to be + Of perilous inconstancy. + + It may be with disdainful smile + You greet this comment from a stranger, + Your pleasure-paths pursuing while + A siren voice discounts the danger, + Until, some day, in sadder rhyme + You rue your mode of "passing time." + + + + +The Torpedo. + + + Valiant sons of the sea, + All the vast deep, your home, + Holds no terror so dread + As this novel and unseen foe, + Lurking under the foam + Of some dangerous channel-- + As the torpedo, the scourge of ships. + + Through the rigging may roar + Æolus' thousand gales, + Yet the mariner's heart + Shrinketh not from the howling blast; + Though with battle-rent sails, + Flames and carnage around him, + Cowardice never shall pale his lips. + + But when powers concealed, + Threatening with death the crew, + Pave each eddy below, + E'en the bravest are chilled with fear, + Lest yon wizard in blue, + Who their progress is spying, + Touch but the key with his finger-tips. + + Lo! with thunderous boom + Towers a column bright, + And the vessel is gone! + In that ocean of blinding spray + Sink her turrets from sight, + By thy potency broken, + O irresistible scourge of ships! + + --_Harry Howard._ + + + +Margaret. + + + I saw her for a moment, + Her presence haunts me yet, + In oft-recurring visions + Of grace and gladness met + That marked the sweet demeanor + Of dainty Margaret. + + Like gossamer her robe was + Around her lightly drawn, + A filmy summer-garment + That fairy maidens don + To make them look like angels + Croqueting on the lawn. + + The mallet-sport became her + In hue of exercise + That tinged her cheek with roses; + And, dancing in her eyes, + Were pantomime suggestions + Of having won--a prize. + + No more to me a stranger + Is she who occupies + A place in all my musings; + And brings in tender guise + A thought of one so like her-- + Long years in Paradise. + + Dear Margaret! that "pearl-name" + Is thine--and may it be + The synonym of goodness, + Of truth and purity, + And all ennobling graces + Exemplified in thee. + + + + +Christmas Bells. + + + Ring out, O bells, in joyful chime! + Again we hail the Christmas time; + In melting, mellow atmosphere, + The crown and glory of the year. + + When bitterness, distrust, and awe + Dissolve, like ice in winter's thaw, + Beneath the genial touches of + Amenity, good will, and love. + + When flowers of affection grow, + Like edelweiss mid alpine snow, + In lives severe and beautiless, + Unused to warmth or tenderness. + + Let goodness, grace, and gratitude + Revive in music's interlude, + And pæan notes, till time shall cease, + Proclaim the blessed reign of peace. + + Ring, Christmas bells! for at the sound + Sweet memories of Him abound + Who laid aside a diadem + To be the babe of Bethlehem. + + + + +By the Sea. + + + I am longing to dwell by the sea, + And dip in the surf every day, + And--height of subaqueous glee-- + With the sharks and the porpoises play. + + To novelty ever inclined-- + Instead of a calm evening sail, + 'Twould suit my adventurous mind + To ride on the back of a whale. + + I want to disport on the rocks + Like a mythical mermaiden belle, + And comb out my watery locks, + Then dive to my cavernous cell. + + I want to discover what lends + Such terror to all timid folks-- + That serpent whose mystery tends + To make one believe it a hoax. + + They say he's been captured at last; + The news is too good to be true-- + He's slippery, cunning, and fast, + And likes notoriety too. + + Once had I such longings to be + A sailor--those wishes are o'er, + But ever in dreams of the sea + My horoscope rests on the shore. + + Oh, give me a home by the sea-- + A cottage, a cabin, a tent! + Existence should ecstasy be + Till summer were joyfully spent. + + + + +A Song. + + + Oh, sing me a merry song! + My heart is sad tonight; + The day has been so drear and long, + The world has gone awry and wrong, + Discouragements around me throng, + And gloom surpassing night. + + Oh, sing again the song for me + My mother used to sing + When I, a child beside her knee, + Looked up for her sweet sympathy, + Nor ever thought how I might be + Her little hindering thing. + + Oh, sing, as eventide draws near, + The old-time lullabys + Grandmother sang--forever dear, + Though in her grave this many a year + She lies who "read her title clear + To mansions in the skies." + + Oh, sing till all perplexing care + Has vanished with the day! + And angels ever bright and fair + Come down the melody to share, + And on their pinions lightly bear + My happy soul away. + + + + +"Is It April?" + + + No, this is January, dear, + The almanac's untrue; + For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear, + In sleet and snow and atmosphere, + Will be the monarch of the year, + And terror, too. + + "Is it a blessing in disguise?" + Of course, things always are; + But Arctic blasts with ardent skies + Somehow do not quite harmonize, + That try to cheat by weather-lies + The calendar. + + Old Janus must be double-faced; + He promised long ago + The maple syrup not to taste, + Nor steal the roses from the waist + Of one, a damsel fair and chaste + As April snow. + + O winter of our discontent! + Your reign was for a day; + Behold! a scene of wonderment, + A thousand tongues are eloquent, + For spring, in bud and bloom and scent, + Is on the way. + + + + +Christmas-Tide. + + + Let working-clothes be laid aside, + And Industry in festal garb arrayed; + Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade + Relax at Christmas-tide. + + As moments pass by dial, so + Let gifts go round the happy circle where + In giving and receiving each may share, + And mutual kindness show. + + The meaning deep, like mystery, + That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe, + May thousands never fathom--yet who know + And hail the Christmas-tree. + + So strong a hold on human thought + Has this glad day that seasons all the year + With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer, + It ne'er shall be forgot. + + It is the milestone on life's road + Where we may lay our burdens down, and take + A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake + So prettily bestowed. + + Upon its shining tablet we may write-- + If, like the good Samaritan, in deed-- + A record that the angel band shall read + With impulse of delight. + + And this is why on Christmas morn + The world should smile and wear its brightest glow: + Because some nineteen hundred years ago + A little child was born. + + + + +January, 1885. + + + These winter days are passing fair! + As if a breath of spring + Had permeated all the air, + And touched each living thing + With thankfulness for such a boon-- + Discounting with a scoff + The almanac's report that "June + Is yet a long way off!" + + We quarrel with the calendar-- + For May has been misplaced-- + And doubt the tale oracular + Of "Janus, double-faced;" + For this "ethereal mildness" looks + Toward shadowy delights + Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks, + Of coming thermal nights. + + Let robes diaphanous succeed + Dense garments made of fur, + And overcoats maintain the lead-- + Among the things that were! + The wisely-rented sealskin sacque, + By many a dame possessed, + Be quickly relegated back + To its moth-haunted chest! + + While every portly alderman, + In linen suit arrayed, + Manipulates the palm-leaf fan + And seeks the cooling shade; + And he perspires who not in vain + Suggests his funny squibs, + By poking his unwelcome cane + In other people's ribs. + + Who dares to fling opprobrium + On January now? + As to a potentate we come + With reverential bow, + Because it doth not yet appear + That Time hath ever seen + The ruler of th' inverted year + In more benignant mien. + + O Boreas! do not lie low-- + That is, if "lie" thou must-- + Upon our planet; do not blow + With fierce and sudden gust, + But come so gently, tenderly-- + As come thou surely wilt-- + That we may have sweet dreams of thee, + Beneath "our crazy quilt!" + + + + +Sweet Peas. + + + By helpful fingers taught to twine + Around its trellis, grew + A delicate and dainty vine; + The bursting bud, its blossom sign, + Inlaid with honeyed-dew. + + Developing by every art + To floriculture known, + From tares exempt, and kept apart, + Careful, as if in some fond heart + Its legume germs were sown. + + So thriving, not for me alone + Its beauty and perfume-- + Ah, no, to rich perfection grown + By flower mission loved and known + In many a darkened room. + + And once in strange and solemn place, + Mid weeping uncontrolled, + Upon the crushed and snowy lace + I saw them scattered 'round a face + All pallid, still, and cold. + + Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows, + Those saucy sprigs of pride + The peony, the red, red rose; + But give to me the flower that grows + Petite and pansy-eyed. + + Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas + Impels the ardent thought, + Would maidens all were more like these, + With modesty--that true heartsease-- + Tying the lover's knot. + + + + +The Summer House. + + + Midway upon the lawn it stands, + So picturesque and pretty; + Upreared by patient artist hands, + Admired of all the city; + The very arbor of my dream, + A covert cool and airy, + So leaf-embowered as to seem + The dwelling of a fairy. + + It is the place to lie supine + Within a hammock swinging, + To watch the sunset, red as wine, + To hear the crickets singing; + And while the insect world around + Is buzzing--by the million-- + No wingèd thing above the ground + Intrudes in this pavilion. + + It is the place, at day's decline, + To tell the old, old story + Behind the dark Madeira vine, + Behind the morning glory; + To confiscate the rustic seat + And barter stolen kisses, + For honey must be twice as sweet + In such a spot as this is. + + It is the haunt where one may get + Relief from petty trouble, + May read the latest day's gazette + About the "Klondike" bubble: + How shanties rise like golden courts. + Where sheep wear glittering fleeces, + How gold is picked up--by the quartz-- + And all get rich as Croesus. + + Here hid away from dust and heat, + Secure from rude intrusion, + While willing lips the thought repeat, + So grows the fond illusion: + That happiness the product is + Of lazy, languid dozing, + Of soft midsummer reveries, + Half-waking, half-reposing. + + And here in restful interlude, + Life's fallacies forgetting, + Its frailties--such a multitude-- + The fuming and the fretting, + Amid the fragrance, dusk, and dew, + The happy soul at even + May walk abroad, and interview + Bright messengers from Heaven. + + + + +To Die in Autumn. + + + The melody of autumn + Is the only tune I know, + And I sing it over and over + Because it thrills me so; + It stirs anew the happy wish, + So near to perfect bliss, + To live a little longer in + A world like this. + + The sound was never sweeter, + The voice so nearly mute, + As beauty, dying, loses + Her hold upon the lute; + And like the harmonies that touch + And blend with those above, + Forever must an echo wake + The heart of love. + + Her robe of brown and coral + And amber glistens through + Rare jewels of the morning, + The opals of the dew, + Like royal fabrics worn beneath + The tinselry of pearls, + Or diamond dust by fashion strewn + On sunny curls. + + If I could wrap such garments + In true artistic style + About myself departing, + And wear as sweet a smile + And be as guileless as the flowers + My friends would never sigh; + 'Twould reconcile them to my death + To see me die. + + And why should there be sorrow + When dying is no more + Than 'twixt two bright apartments + The opening of a door + Through which the freed, enraptured soul + From this, a paradise, + May pass to that supremely fair + Beyond the skies? + + Oh, 'twere not hard to finish + When earth with tender grace + Prepares for her dear children + So sweet a resting place; + And though in dissolution's throe + The melody be riven, + The song abruptly ended here + Goes on in Heaven. + + + + +Apple Blossoms. + + + Of all the lovely blossoms + That decorate the trees, + And shower down their petals + With every breath of breeze, + There is nothing so sweet or fair to me + As the delicate blooms of the apple tree. + + A thousand shrubs and flow'rets + Delicious pleasure bring, + But beautiful Pomona + Must be the queen of spring; + And out of her flagon the peach and pear + Their chalices fill with essence rare. + + Oh, is it any wonder, + Devoid of blight or flaw, + The peerless blooms of Eden + Our primal mother saw + In redolent beauty before her placed + So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste? + + But woman's love of apples, + Involving fearful price, + And Adam's love for woman + That cost him Paradise, + By the labor of hands and sweat of brow, + Have softened the curse to a blessing now. + + If so those pink-eyed glories, + In fields and orchards gay + Develop luscious fruitage + By Horticulture's way, + Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes, + Shall luxury follow the apple blooms. + + + + +Without a Minister. + + + The congregation was devout, + The minister inspired, + Their attitude to those without + By every one admired, + And all things so harmonious seemed, + Of no calamity we dreamed. + + But, just in this quiescent state + A little cloud arose + Portentous of our certain fate-- + As everybody knows; + Our pastor took it in his head + His "resignation" must be read. + + In every eye a tear-drop stood, + For we accepted it + Reluctantly, but nothing could + Make him recant one bit; + And soon he left for distant parts, + While we were left--with broken hearts. + + And next the "patriarch" who led + For nearly three-score years + Our "Sabbath school"--its worthy head-- + Rekindled all our fears + By saying, with a smile benign, + "Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!" + + And so he did; but promptly came + Forth one, of good report-- + "Our Superintendent" is his name-- + Who tries to "hold the fort" + With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense, + In this, his first experience. + + The world looks on and says, "How strange! + They hang together so, + These Baptists do, and never change, + But right straight onward go + While other flocks are scattering all, + And some have strayed beyond recall!" + + + + +Indian Summer. + + + Is it not our bounden duty + Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell, + Wild, ambitions schemes repel, + And to revel in the beauty + Of this Indian summer spell, + Bathing forest, field, and dell + As with radiance immortelle? + + None can paint like nature dying; + Whose dissolving struggle lent + Wealth of hues so richly blent + That, through weary years of trying, + Artist skill pre-eminent + May not copy or invent + Such divine embellishment. + + Knights of old from castles riding + Scattered largesse as they went + Which, like manna heaven-sent, + Cheered the poverty-abiding; + But, when 'neath "that low green tent" + Passed the hand benevolent, + Sad were they and indigent. + + Monarchs, too, have thus delighted + Giving unto courtiers free, + Costly robes and tinselry; + And, as royal guests, invited + Them to sumptuous halls of glee, + Banqueting and minstrelsy, + Bacchus holding sovereignty. + + Then, perchance, in mood capricious + Stripped and scorned and turned away + Those who tasted for a day + Pleasure sweet and food delicious; + Nor might any say them nay-- + Lest his head the forfeit pay + Who a king dared disobey. + + But our own benignant Giver, + Almoner impartial, true, + Constantly doth gifts renew; + Nor would fitfully deliver + Aught unto the chosen few, + But to all the wide world through, + Who admire his wonders, too. + + Never shall the heart be poorer, + Never languish in despair, + That such affluence may share; + For than this is nothing surer-- + He hath said, and will prepare + In those realms of upper air + Glories infinitely fair. + + + + +Autumn-Time. + + + Like music heard in mellow chime, + The charm of her transforming time + Upon my senses steals + As softly as from sunny walls, + In day's decline, their shadow falls + Across the sleeping fields. + + A fair, illumined book + Is nature's page whereon I look + While "autumn turns the leaves;" + And many a thought of her designs + Between those rare, resplendent lines + My fancy interweaves. + + I dream of aborigines, + Who must have copied from the trees + The fashions of the day: + Those gorgeous topknots for the head, + Of yellow tufts and feathers red, + With beads and sinews gay. + + I wonder if the saints behold + Such pageantry of colors bold + Beyond the radiant sky; + And if the tints of Paradise + Are heightened by the strange device + Of making all things die. + + Yea, even so; for Nature glows + Because of her expiring throes, + As if around her tomb + Unmeet it were,--the look severe + That designates a common bier + Enwreathed in deepest gloom. + + And so I meditate if aught + Can be so fair where death is not; + If Heaven's loveliness + Is born of struggle and decay; + And, but for funeral array, + Would it be beautiless? + + Oh solemn, sad, sweet mystery + That Earth's unrivaled brilliancy + Is but her splendid pall! + That Heaven were not what it is + But for that crown of tragedies, + The sacrifice for all. + + So not a charm would Zion lose + Were it bereft of sparkling hues + In gilded lanes and leas; + It would be bright though not a flower + Unclosed in its celestial bower, + And void of jeweled trees. + + Yet, lily-like, one bloom I see, + Its name is his who died for me; + Whose matchless beauty shows + Perfection on its bleeding stem, + The blossom-bud of Bethlehem, + The Resurrection Rose. + + + +The Beauty of Nature. + + + Oh bud and leaf and blossom, + How beautiful they are! + Than last year's vernal season + 'Tis lovelier by far; + This earth was never so enchanting + Nor half so bright before-- + But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime, + For forty years or more. + + What luxury of color + On shrub and plant and vine, + From pansies' richest purple + To pink of eglantine; + From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups," + With deep cerulean eyes, + Responding to their modest surname + In violet surprise. + + Sometimes I think the sunlight + That gilds the emerald hills, + And makes Aladdin dwellings + Of dingy domiciles, + Is surplus beauty overflowing + That Heaven cannot hold-- + The topaz glitter, or the jacinth, + The glare of streets of gold. + + In "Cedar Hill," the city + Of "low green tents" of sod, + I read the solemn record + Of those gone home to God; + While from their hallowed dust arising + The fragrant lilies grow + As if their life was all the sweeter + For those who sleep below. + + And so 'tis not in sadness + I dwell upon the thought, + When I am dead and buried + That I shall be forgot. + Because the germ of reproduction + Doth this poor body hold, + Perchance to add to nature's beauty + A rose above the mold. + + + + +"All the Rage." + + + A common wayside flower it grew, + Unhandsome and unnoticed too, + Except in deprecation + That such an herb unreared by toil, + Prolific cumberer of the soil, + Defied extermination. + + Its gorgeous blooms were never stirred + By honey-bee nor humming-bird + In their corollas dipping; + But they from clover white and red + Delicious nectar drew instead + In dainty rounds of sipping. + + No place its own euphonious name + Within the catalogue might claim + Of any flora-lover; + For, in the scores of passers-by, + As yet no true artistic eye + Its beauty could discover. + + The reaper with his sickle keen + Aimed at its crest of gold and green + With spiteful stroke relentless, + And would have rooted from the ground + The "Solidago"--blossom-crowned, + But gaudy, rank, and scentless. + + But everything must have its day-- + And since some fickle _devotée_ + Or myrmidon of Fashion + Declares that this obnoxious weed, + From wild, uncultivated seed, + Shall be the "ruling passion," + + Effusive schoolgirls dote on it; + Whose "frontispieces" infinite + That need no decoration + Are hid beneath its golden dust, + Till many a fine, symmetric bust + Is lost to admiration. + + Smart dudes and ladies' men--the few + Who wish they could be ladies too-- + Display a sprig of yellow + Conspicuous in their buttonhole, + To captivate a maiden soul + Or vex some other fellow. + + And spinsters of uncertain age + Are clamoring now for "all the rage" + To give a dash of color + To their complexions, which appear + To be the hue they hold so dear-- + Except a trifle duller. + + That _négligée_ "blue-stocking" friend, + Who never cared her time to spend + On mysteries of the toilet, + Now wears a sumptuous bouquet + And shakes your hand a mile away + For fear that you will spoil it. + + Delightful widows, dressed in black, + Complain with modest sighs they lack + That coveted expression, + That sort of Indian Summer air + Which "relicts" always ought to wear + By general concession; + + And so lugubrious folds of crape + Are crimped and twisted into shape + With graceful heads of yellow, + That give a winsome toning down + To sombre hat and sable gown-- + In autumn tintings mellow. + + Alas, we only hate the weed! + And think that it must be, indeed, + The ladies' last endeavor + To match the gentlemen, who flaunt + That odious dried tobacco plant + At which they puff forever. + + + + +My Mother's Hand. + + + My head is aching, and I wish + That I could feel tonight + One well-remembered, tender touch + That used to comfort me so much, + And put distress to flight. + + There's not a soothing anodyne + Or sedative I know, + Such potency can ever hold + As that which lovingly controlled + My spirit long ago. + + How oft my burning cheek as if + By Zephyrus was fanned, + And nothing interdicted pain + Or seemed to make me well again + So quick as mother's hand. + + 'Tis years and years since it was laid, + In her own gentle way, + On tangled curls of brown and jet + Above the downy coverlet + 'Neath which the children lay. + + As bright as blessed sunlight ray + The past comes back to me; + Her fingers turn the sacred page + For a little group of tender age + Who gather at her knee. + + And when those hands together clasped + Devout and still were we; + To whom it seemed God then and there + Must surely answer such a prayer, + For none could pray as she. + + O buried love with her that passed + Into the Silent Land! + O haunting vision of the night! + I see, encoffined, still, and white, + A mother's face and hand. + + + + +A Leap Year Episode. + + + Such oranges! so fresh and sweet, + So large and lovely--and so cheap! + They lay in one delicious heap, + And added to the sumptuous feast + For each and all in taste expert + The acme of all fine dessert; + So, singling out the very least + As in itself an ample treat, + While sparkling repartee and jest + Exhilarated host and guest, + Of rarity so delicate + In dreamy reverie I ate, + By magic pinions as it were + Transported from this realm of snows + To be a happy sojourner + Away down where the orange grows; + Amid the bloom, the verdure, and + The beauty of that tropic land, + While redolence seemed wafted in + From orchard-groves of Mandarin. + + In dinner costume _a la mode_, + Expressing from the spongy skin + The nectar that ran down her chin + In little rills of lusciousness, + Sat Maud, the beautiful coquette; + Her dainty mouth, like "two lips" wet + With morning dew, her crimson dress, + A sad discoloration showed + Where orange-juice--it was a sin!-- + A polka-dot had painted in; + Which moved the roguish girl to say + Half-ruefully (half-_décolleté_)-- + "I'm glad it's Leap Year now, for I--" + Her voice was like a moistened lute + "Shall wear the flowers, by and by-- + I do not like this leaky fruit!" + And looking straight and saucily + At cousin Ned, her _vis-a-vis_; + While Will, who never dared propose, + Was blushing like a red, red rose. + + The company was large, and she + Touched elbows with the exquisite, + Gay Archibald, who took her wit + And pertness all as meant for him; + Who, thereby lifted some degrees + Above less-favored devotees, + With rainbow sails began to trim + His craft of sweet felicity; + So mirth in reckless afterlude + Convulsed the merry multitude, + Who laughed at Archie's self-esteem, + And pitied Will's long-cherished dream; + While all declared, for her and Ned-- + His face was like a silver tray-- + The wedding-banquet should be spread + Before a twelvemonth passed away. + But, ah, the sequel--blind were we + To woman and her strategy! + For he so long afraid to speak + Bore off the bride within a week. + + + + +If. + + + If all the sermons good men preach + And all the precepts that they teach + Were gathered into one + Unbroken line of silver speech, + The shining filament might reach + From earth unto the sun. + + If all the stories ever told + By wild romancers, young or old, + Into a thread were drawn, + And from its cable coil unrolled, + 'Twould span those misty hills of gold + That heaven seems resting on. + + If every folly, every freak, + From day to day, from week to week, + Is written in "The Book," + With all the idle words we speak, + Would it not crimson many a cheek + Upon the page to look? + + If all the good deeds that we do + From honest motives pure and true + Shall there recorded be, + Known unto God and angels too, + Is it not sad they are so few + And wrought so charily? + + + + +Perfect Character. + + + He lives but half who never stood + By the grave of one held dear, + And out of the deep, dark loneliness + Of a heart bereaved and comfortless, + From sorrow's crystal plentitude, + Feeling his loss severe, + Dropped a regretful tear. + + Oh, life's divinest draught doth not + In the wells of joy abound! + For the purest streams are those that flow + Out of the depths of crushing woe, + As from the springs of love and thought + Hid in some narrow mound, + Making it holy ground. + + He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt + Owning that God is just, + And in the stillness of cypress shade + Rosemary's tender symbol laid + Upon a cherished shrine, and felt + Strengthened in faith and trust + Over the precious dust. + + So perfect character is wrought, + Rounded and beautified, + By the alchemy of that strange alloy, + The intermingling of grief and joy; + So nearer Heaven the spirit, brought + Bleeding, so sorely tried, + Finds its diviner side. + + + + +The Miracle of Spring. + + + What touch is like the Spring's? + By dainty fingerings + Such rare delight to give, + 'Tis luxury to live + Amid florescent things. + + Through weary months of snow + When Boreas swept low, + How many an anxious hour + We watched one little flower, + And tried to make it grow; + + And thrilled with ecstasy + When, half distrustfully, + A timid bud appeared, + A tender scion reared + In window greenery. + + But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom + And richness of perfume + Comes as by miracle; + Then why not possible + Within a curtained room? + + Ah, no! that everywhere + The earth is passing fair, + And strange new life hath caught, + Is but the marvel wrought + By sunlight, rain, and air. + + + + +Bermuda. + + + O charming blossom of the sea + Atlantic waters bosomed in! + Abiding-place of gayety, + Elysian bower of "Cora Linn," + The sprightly, lively _débiteuse_ + Recounting all she sees and does. + + Oh, how it makes the northern heart, + With sluggish current half-congealed, + In ecstasy and vigor start + To read about this tropic field; + The garden of luxuriousness, + In winter wearing summer's dress. + + With gelid sap and frozen gum + In maple trees and hackmatack, + While waiting for the spring to come + Of life's necessities we lack; + And sip the nectar that we find + In luscious fruit with golden rind. + + But down the street we dread to walk, + For all the teachings of our youth + Receive an agonizing shock; + _Do_ tempting labels lie, forsooth? + For "out of Florida," she says, + "Come our Bermuda oranges." + + To speed the penitential prayer + Our rosary we finger o'er, + A yellow necklace rich and rare-- + 'Twas purchased at the dollar store; + But oh, it makes us sigh to see + That land of amber _bijouterie_! + + Oh, ocean wave and flying sail + Shall never waft us to its shore! + But if some reckless cyclone gale + Should drop Bermuda at our door, + 'Twould warm our February sky + And bring the time of roses nigh! + + + + +The Charter Oak. + + + I seem to see the old tree stand, + Its sturdy, giant form + A spectacle remembered, and + A pilgrim-shrine for all the land + Before it met the storm. + + Unnumbered gales the tree defied; + It towered like a king + Above his courtiers, reaching wide, + And sheltering scions at its side + As with protecting wing. + + Revered as one among the trees + To mark the seasons born, + To watchful aborigines + It told by leafy indices + The time of planting corn. + + The landmark of the past is gone, + Its site is overgrown; + A mansion overlooks the lawn + Where history is traced upon + A parapet of stone. + + Shall e'er Connecticut forget + What unto it we owe-- + How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat, + And tyranny, in council met, + Outwitted years ago? + + Aye, but it rouses loyal spunk + To think of that old tree! + Its stately stem, its spacious trunk + By Nature robbed of pith and punk + To guard our liberty. + + But of the oak long-perished, why + Is earth forever full? + For, like the loaf and fish supply, + Its stock of fiber, tough and dry, + Seems inexhaustible. + + Rare souvenirs the stranger sees-- + Who never sees a joke-- + And innocently dreams that these, + From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees, + Were once the Charter Oak! + + + + +Blossom-time. + + + Yes, it is drawing nigh-- + The time of blossoming; + The waiting heart beats stronger + With every breath of Spring, + The days are growing longer; + While happy hours go by + As if on zephyr wing. + + A wealth of mellow light + Reflected from the skies + The hill and vale is flooding; + Still in their leafless guise + The Jacqueminots are budding, + Creating new delight + By promise of surprise. + + The air is redolent + As ocean breezes are + From spicy islands blowing, + Or groves of Malabar + Where sandal-wood is growing; + Or sweet, diffusive scent, + From fragrant attar-jar. + + Just so is loveliness + Renewed from year to year; + And thus emotions tender, + Born of the atmosphere, + Of bloom, and vernal splendor + That words cannot express, + Make Spring forever dear. + + Can mortal man behold + So beautiful a scene, + Without the innate feeling + That thus, like dying sheen + The sunset hues revealing, + Glints pure, celestial gold + On fields of living green? + + + + +"One of the Least of These." + + + 'Twas on a day of cold and sleet, + A little nomad of the street + With tattered garments, shoeless feet, + And face with hunger wan, + Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful, + Hedged in by features pinched and dull, + Betraying lines so pitiful + By sorrow sharply drawn; + + Ere yet the service half was o'er, + Approached the great cathedral door + As choir and organ joined to pour + Their sweetness on the air; + Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide + With fleetness to the altar's side, + Her trembling form she sought to hide + Amid the shadows there, + + Half fearful lest some worshiper, + Enveloped close in robes of fur, + Had cast a scornful glance at her + As she had stolen by, + But soon the swelling anthem, fraught + With reverence, her spirit caught + As rapt she listened, heeding not + The darkness drawing nigh. + + 'Mid novelty and sweet surprise + Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise + And tread the realms of Paradise; + Her shivering limbs grew warm, + And as the shadows longer crept + Across the chancel, angels kept + Their vigils o'er her as she slept + Secure from cold and storm. + + No sound her peaceful slumber broke, + But one, whose gentle face bespoke + True goodness, took her costly cloak + In tender, thoughtful way, + And as the sleeper sweetly smiled, + Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled, + O'erspread the passive, slumbering child, + And softly stepped away. + + So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart + Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart, + Thou hast a nearer, dearer part + In his great love for thee; + And when life's shadows all are gone, + May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn + To thee who, unaware, hast drawn + Our hearts in sympathy. + + + + +Lightning-bugs. + + + Around my vine-wreathed portico, + At evening, there's a perfect glow + Of little lights a-flashing-- + As if the stellar bodies had + From super-heat grown hyper-mad, + And spend their ire in clashing. + + As frisky each as shooting star, + These tiny electricians are + The Lampyrine Linnæan-- + Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam + Like scintillations in a dream + Of something empyrean. + + They brush my face, light up my hair, + My garments touch, dart everywhere; + And if I try to catch them + They're quicker than the wicked flea-- + And then I wonder how 'twould be + To have a _dress_ to match them. + + To be a "princess in disguise," + And wear a robe of fireflies + All strung and wove together, + And be the cynosure of all + At Madame Haut-ton's carnival, + In fashion's gayest feather. + + So, sudden, falls upon the grass + The overpow'ring light of gas, + And through the lattice streaming; + As wearily I close my eyes + Brief are the moments that suffice + To reach the land of dreaming. + + Now at the ball, superbly dressed + As I suppose, to eclipse the rest, + Within an alcove shady + A brilliant flame I hope to be, + While all admire and envy me, + The "bright electric lady." + + But, ah, they never shine at all! + My eyes _ignite_--I leave the hall, + For wrathful tears have filled them; + I could have crushed them on the spot-- + The bugs, I mean!--and quite forgot + That _stringing_ them had killed them. + + + + +Of Her who Died. + + + We look up to the stars tonight, + Idolatrous of them, + And dream that Heaven is in sight, + And each a ray of purest light + From some celestial gem + In her bright diadem. + + Before that lonely home we wait, + Ah! nevermore to see + Her lovely form within the gate + Where heart and hearthstone desolate + And vine and shrub and tree + Seem asking: "Where is she?" + + There is the cottage Love had planned-- + Where hope in ashes lies-- + A tower beautiful to stand, + Her monument whose gentle hand + And presence in the skies + Make home of Paradise. + + In wintry bleakness nature glows + Beneath the stellar ray; + We see the mold, but not the rose, + And meditate if knowledge goes + Into yon mound of clay, + With her who passed away. + + Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied + Do echoes reach up there? + Do seraphs know--God does--how wide + And deep is sorrow's bitter tide + Of dolor and despair, + And darkness everywhere? + + Dear angel, snatched from our caress, + So suddenly withdrawn, + Alone are we and comfortless; + As in a dome of emptiness + The old routine goes on, + Aimless, since thou art gone. + + Oh, dearer unto us than aught + In all the world beside + Of thee to cherish blessed thought; + So early thy sweet mission wrought, + As friend, as promised bride, + Who lived, and loved, and died. + + + + +Thanksgiving. + + + Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft + Of her supernal charm; + And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left, + Like crape upon her arm, + In boreal hints, and sudden gusts + That fan the glowing ember, + By multitude of ways fulfills + The promise of November. + + Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away, + Lies the rich afterglow + Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday + That antedates the snow: + The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer, + The festival commotion + That stirs fraternal feeling from + The mountains to the ocean. + + O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand + In generous dealing, where + Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band, + And let no vacant chair + Show where the strongest, brightest link + In love's dear chain is broken-- + A symbol more pathetic than + By language ever spoken. + + Into the place held sacred to the memory of some + Beloved absentee, + Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come + And in gratuity + Partake of festal favors that + Shall sweeten hours of labor, + And strengthen amity and love + Unto his friend and neighbor. + + Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend, + A blessing to secure, + And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend + To all deserving poor; + So may the day be hallowed by + Unstinted thanks and giving, + In sweet remembrance of the dead + And kindness to the living. + + + + +Receiving Sight. + + + In hours of meditation fraught + With mem'ries of departed days, + Comes oft a tender, loving thought + Of one who shared our youthful plays. + + In gayest sports and pleasures rife + Whose happy nature reveled so, + That on her ardent, joyous life + A shadow lay, we did not know; + + And bade her look one summer night + Up to the sky that seemed to hold, + In dying sunset splendor bright, + All hues of sapphire, red, and gold. + + How strange the spell that mystified + Us all, and hushed our wonted glee, + As sadly her sweet voice replied, + "Why, don't you know I cannot see?" + + Too true! those eyes bereft of sight + No blemish bare, no drop-serene, + But nothing in this world of light + And beauty they had ever seen. + + + A dozen years in gentle ruth + Their impress lent to brow and cheek, + When precious words of sacred truth + Led her the Saviour's face to seek. + + Responsive unto earnest prayers + Commingling love and penitence, + A blessing came--not unawares-- + In new and strange experience. + + And all was light, as Faith's clear eye + A brighter world than ours divined; + For never clouds obscured the sky + That she could see, while _we_ were blind. + + Oh, it must be an awful thing + To be shut out from light of day!-- + From summer's grace, and bloom of spring + In gladness words cannot portray. + + But haply into every heart + May enter that Celestial Light + That doth to life's dark ways impart + A radiance hid from mortal sight. + + + + +Revenge. + + + Beside my window day and night, + Its tendrils reaching left and right, + A morning glory grew; + With blossoms covered, pink and white + And deep, delicious blue. + + Its care became my daily thought, + Who to the sweet diversion brought + A bit of florist skill + To guide its progress, till it caught + The meaning of my will. + + When through the trellis in and out + It bent and turned and climbed about + And so ambitious grew, + O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout + Where raindrops trickled through, + + Then, in caressing, graceful way, + Around a door knob twined one day + With modest show of pride; + All unaware that danger lay + Just on the other side. + + An awkward, verdant "maid of work," + Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk, + While rummaging among + Unused apartments, with a jerk + The door wide open flung. + + And lo! there lay, uprooted quite, + The object of my heart's delight-- + I did not weep or rant, + And yet a grain or two of spite + My secret thoughts would haunt. + + So when at night her favorite beau + Beside his charmer sat below-- + That is, _dans le cuisine_-- + Occurred, as all the neighbors know, + A semi-tragic scene. + + The garden hose, obscured from view, + Turned on itself and drenched the two-- + A hapless circumstance + That lengthened out her "frizzes" new, + But shrunk his Sunday pants. + + Remember this was years agone-- + The madcap now hath sober grown + And hose is better wrought, + And neither now would run alone + The risk of being caught. + + + + +On the Common. + + + We met on "Boston Common"-- + Of course it was by chance-- + A sudden, unexpected, + But happy circumstance + That gave the dull October day + A beautiful, refulgent ray. + + Like wandering refugees from + A city of renown, + Impelled to reconnoiter + This Massachusetts town, + Each by a common object urged, + Upon the park our paths converged. + + Good nature, bubbling over + In healthy, hearty laughs, + And little lavish speeches + Like pleasant paragraphs, + The kind regard, unstudied joke, + His true felicity bespoke. + + A bit of doleful knowledge + Confided unto me, + About the way the doctors-- + Who never could agree-- + His knees had tortured, softly drew + My sympathy and humor, too. + + I hoped he wouldn't lose them, + And languish in the dumps + By having to quadrille on + A pair of polished stumps-- + But a corky limb, though one might dread, + Isn't half as bad as a wooden head. + + He censured those empirics + Who never heal an ill, + Though bound by their diplomas + To either cure or kill, + Who should, with ignominy crowned, + Their patients follow--under ground. + + I left him at the foot of + "The Soldiers' Monument," + With incoherent mutterings-- + As though 'twere his intent + To turn the sod, a rod or two, + And sleep beside the "boys in blue." + + In Hartford's charming circles + His bonhommie I miss, + And having never seen him + From that day unto this, + I think of him with much regret + As lying--with the soldiers--yet. + + + + +Woman's Help. + + + Sometimes I long to write an ode + And magnify his name, + The man of honor, on the road + To opulence and fame, + On whom was never aid bestowed + By any helpful dame. + + To all the world I fain would show + That talent widely known, + Rare eloquence, of burning glow + To melt a heart of stone, + That all his gifts, a dazzling row, + Are his, and his alone. + + But him, of character and mind + Superb, alert, and strong, + I never study but to find + The subject of my song, + Some paragon of womankind, + Has helped him all along. + + He may not know, he may not guess, + How much to her he owes, + How every scion of success + That in his nature grows, + Developed by her watchfulness, + Becomes a blooming rose. + + From buffetings in humble place, + And labors ill begun, + To proud achievement in the race + And laurels grandly won, + His trials all she dares to face + As friend and champion. + + The bars that hinder his advance + And half obscure the goal, + The stubborn bond of circumstance + That irritates his soul, + The countershafts of arrogance, + All yield to her control. + + He builds a tower--she below + Is handing up the bricks; + His light is brilliant just as though + Her hand had trimmed the wicks; + He prays for daily bread--the dough + A woman deigns to mix. + + + + +Tobogganing. + + + Oh, the rare exhilaration, + Oh, the novel delectation + Of a ride down the slide! + Packed like ice in zero weather, + Pleasure-seekers close together, + On a board as thin as wafer, + Barely wider, scarcely safer, + At the height of recreation + Find a glorious inspiration, + Ere the speedy termination + In the snowy meadow wide, + Sloping to the river's side. + + Oh, such quakers we begin it, + Timorous of the icy route! + But to learn in half a minute + What felicity is in it, + As we shoot down the chute, + Smothered in toboggan suit, + Redingote or roquelaure, + Buttoned up (and down) before, + Mittens, cap, and moccasin, + Just the garb to revel in; + So, the signal given, lo! + Over solid ice and snow, + Down the narrow gauge we go + Swifter than a bird o'erhead, + Swifter than an arrow sped + From the staunchest, strongest bow. + + Oh, it beats all "Copenhagen," + Silly lovers' paradise! + Like the frozen Androscoggin, + Slippery, and smooth, and nice, + Is the track of the toboggan; + And there's nothing cheap about it, + Everything is steep about it, + The insolvent weep about it, + For the biggest thing on ice + Is its tip-top price; + But were this three times the money, + Then the game were thrice as funny. + + Ye who dwell in latitudes + Where "the blizzard" ne'er intrudes, + And the water seldom freezes; + Ye of balmy Southern regions, + Alabama's languid legions, + From the "hot blast" of your breezes, + Where the verdure of the trees is + Limp, and loose, and pitiful, + Come up here where branches bare + Stand like spikes in frosty air; + Come up here where arctic rigor + Shall restore your bloom and vigor, + Making life enjoyable; + Come and take a jog on + The unparalleled toboggan! + Such the zest that he who misses + Never knows what perfect bliss is. + So the sport, the day's sensation, + Thrills and recreates creation. + + + +The Woods. + + + I love the woods when the magic hand + Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys + Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth; + When beauty and song in the gladness of birth + Awaken the heart of the desolate land, + And carol its rapture to every breeze. + + In summer's still solstice my steps are drawn + To the shade of the forest trees; + To revel with Pan in his secret haunts, + To pipe mazourkas while satyrs dance, + Or lull to soft slumber some favorite faun + And fascinate strange wild birds and bees. + + I love the woods when autumnal fires + Are kindled on every hill; + When dead leaves rustle in grove and field, + And trees are known by the fruits they yield, + And the wild grapes, sweetened by frost, inspire + A mildly-desperate, bibulous thrill. + + There's a joy for which I would fling to the air + My petty portion of wealth and fame, + In tracking the rabbit o'er fresh-fallen snow, + The ways of the 'coon and opossum to know, + To capture squirrels when branches are bare + As the cupboard shelf of that ancient dame. + + Oh, I long to explore the woods again + In my own aboriginal way, + As before I knew how culture could frown + On a hoydenish gait and a homespun gown + Or dreamed that the strata of proud "upper-ten" + Would smile at rusticity's _naïveté_. + + I sigh for the pleasures of long ago + In youth's sweet halcyon time; + When better beloved than the thoroughfare + By multitudes trod were the woodlands, where + Was never a path that I did not know, + Nor thrifty sapling I dared not climb. + + Alas for lost freedom! Alas for me! + For oh, Society's lip would curl, + Propriety's self with scornful eye + And gilt-edged Fashion would pass me by + To know that sometimes I'm dying to be + The romp, the rover, the same old girl. + + + + +Like Summer. + + + November? 'tis a summer's day! + For tropic airs are blowing + As soft as whispered roundelay + From unseen lips that seem to say + To feathered songsters going + To sunnier, southern climes afar, + "Stay where you are--stay where you are!" + + And other tokens glad as these + Declare that Summer lingers: + Round latent buds still hum the bees, + Slow fades the green from forest trees + Ere Autumn's artist fingers + Have touched the landscape, and instead + Brought out the amber, brown, and red. + + The invalid may yet enjoy + His favorite recreation, + Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy + In outdoor sports the time employ, + And happy consummation + Of prudent plans the farmer know + Ere wintry breezes round him blow. + + And they by poverty controlled-- + Good fortune shall betide them + As scenes of beauty they behold, + And seem to revel in the gold + Which Plutus has denied them; + For, ah! the poor from want's despair + Oft covet wealth they never share. + + + + +Sheridan's Last Ride. + + + While Phoebus lent his hottest rays + To signalize midsummer days, + I stood in that far-famed enclosure + By thousands visited, + Where, in the stillness of reposure, + Are grouped battalions dead. + + Where, round each simple burial stone, + The grass for decades twain has grown, + Protecting them in dreamless slumber + Who perished long ago, + The multitudes defying number, + A part of war's tableau. + + Along the winding avenue + A vast procession came in view; + The mourners' slow, advancing column + With reverent step drew near, + The "Dead March" playing, sad and solemn, + Above a soldier's bier. + + There were the colonels, brigadiers, + Comrades in arms of other years, + Civilians, true and loyal-hearted + To him their bravest man, + Who seemed to say to those departed, + "Make room for Sheridan!" + + Anon, beside the new-made mound, + The warworn veterans gathered round, + And spake of Lyon and of Lander, + And others ranked as high, + Recalling each his old commander, + One not afraid to die. + + Thus, silent tenants one by one + Are crowding in at Arlington; + Thus Sheridan, the horseman daring, + Has joined the honored corps + Of those, their true insignia wearing, + Who battle nevermore. + + Potomac's wave shall placid flow, + And sing his requiem soft and low, + His terrace grave be sweet with clover, + And daisies star his bed, + For Sheridan's last ride is over-- + The General is dead! + + + + +A Bit of Gladness. + + + As I near my lonely cottage, + At the close of weary day, + There's a little bit of gladness + Comes to meet me on the way: + Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated, + Innocent as angels are, + Like a smiling, straying sunbeam + Is my Stella--like a star. + + Soon a hand of tissue-softness + Slips confidingly in mine, + And with tender look appealing + Eyes of beauty sweetly shine; + Like a gentle shepherd guiding + Some lost lamb unto the fold, + So she leads me homeward, prattling + Till her stories are all told. + + "Papa, I'm so glad to see you-- + Cousin Mabel came today-- + And the gas-man brought a letter + That he said you'd better pay-- + Yes, and _awful_ things is happened: + My poor kitty's drowned to death-- + Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover'--" + Here she stops for want of breath. + + I am like the bold knight-errant, + From his castle who would roam, + Trusting her, my faithful steward, + For a strict account of home; + And each day I toil, and hazard + All that any man may dare, + For a resting-place at even, + And the love that waits me there. + + And sometimes I look with pity + On my neighbor's mansion tall: + There are chambers full of pictures, + There are marbles in the hall, + Yet with all the signs of splendor + That may gild a pile of stone, + Not a living thing about it + But the owner, grim and lone. + + I believe that all his millions + He would give without repine + For a little bit of gladness + In his life, like that in mine; + This it is that makes my pathway + Beautiful, wherever trod, + Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin, + Keeps me nearer to my God. + + + + +The Charity Ball. + + + There was many a token of festal display, + And reveling crowds who were never so gay, + And, as it were Æolus charming the hours, + An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers; + There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen, + And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen; + There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall, + For this was the annual Charity Ball. + + There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide, + Displaying their purses, the source of their pride; + And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks, + And owners of acres of elegant blocks, + And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent + When from the poor widow exacting her rent-- + Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall-- + And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball. + + There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique, + Cost underpaid industry many a week + Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache, + Its starving inadequate pittance to make; + There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold, + Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told + A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall-- + Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball. + + There were delicate viands the poor never taste, + And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste + To pamper the palate of epicures rich; + Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche + "Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes + To loosen their tongues--though it pilfered their brains-- + Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall + Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball! + + Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane, + And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain, + Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue, + With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue, + And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines + That pitiless hunger so often defines, + Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl, + "Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!" + + From liveried hirelings who bade her begone, + By uniformed minions compelled to move on, + Out into the street again driven to roam-- + For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home; + While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray + As homeward returning, fatigued and _blasé_, + A vision encountered their hearts to appall, + And banish all thought of the Charity Ball. + + As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone, + A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown. + Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare, + Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare; + A form so emaciate the spirit had fled-- + But the pulpit and press and the public all said, + As society's doings they sought to recall, + That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball. + + + + +The Bell(e) of Baltimore. + +[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in +the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is +called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds] + + + A million feet above the ground + (For so it seemed in winding round), + A million, and two more, + The latter stiff and sore, + While perspiration formed a part + Of every reeking pore, + I viewed the city like a chart + Spread out upon the floor. + + And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin, + To me is meagre pleasure in + The height of spires and domes, + Of walls like ancient Rome's; + Nor care I for the marts of trade, + Or shelves of musty tomes, + Nor yet for yonder colonnade + Before your palace homes; + + "But curiosity is keen + To know the city's reigning queen, + Who suiteth well the score + Of suitors at her door; + Oh, which of your divinities + Is she whom all adore? + Embodiment of truth, _who is_ + The belle of Baltimore?" + + Veracity's revolving eyes + Looked up as if to read the skies: + "Why, Lor'-a-miss, see dar-- + De bell is in de air! + Lan' sakes! of all de missteries + Yo' nebber learn before! + Why, don' yo' know 'Big Sam'? _He_ is + De bell of Baltimore!" + + + + +Christmas at Church. + + + 'Twas drawing near the holiday, + When piety and pity met + In whisp'ring council, and agreed + That Christmas time, in homes of need, + Should be remembered in a way + They never could forget. + + + Then noble generosity + Took youth and goodness by the hand, + And planned a thousand charming ways + To celebrate this best of days, + While hearts were held in sympathy + By love's encircling band. + + So multitudes together came, + Like wandering magi from the East + With precious gifts unto the King, + With every good and perfect thing + To satisfy a shivering frame + Or amplify a feast. + + The angels had looked long and far + The happy scene to parallel, + When through the sanctuary door + Were carried gifts from shop and store, + The treasures of the rich bazaar, + To give--but not to sell. + + As once the apostolic twelve + Of goods allotment made, + So equity dealt out with care + The widow's and the orphan's share, + And of the aged forced to delve + At drudging task or trade. + + Oh, could the joy which tears express + That out of gladness come + Be mirrored in its tender glow, + Before the beautiful tableau + Ingratitude and selfishness + Would shrink abashed and dumb! + + If every year and everywhere + Could kindness thus expand + In bounteous gratuity, + To all her children earth would be + A flowery vale like Eden fair, + A milk-and-honey land. + + + + +Mysterious. + + + The morning sun rose bright and fair + Upon a lovely village where + Prosperity abounded, + And ceaseless hum of industry + In lines of friendly rivalry + From day to day resounded. + + Its shaded avenues were wide, + And closely bordered either side + With cottages or mansions, + Or marked by blocks of masonry + That might defy a century + To loosen from their stanchions. + + Its peaceful dwellers daily vied + To make this spot, with anxious pride, + A Paradise of beauty, + Recounted its attractions o'er, + And its adornment held no more + A pleasure than a duty. + + But, ere the daylight passed away, + That hamlet fair in ruins lay, + Its hapless people scattered + Like playthings, at the cyclone's will, + And scarce remained one domicile + Its fury had not shattered. + + Few moments of the tempest's wrath + Sufficed to mark one dreadful path + With scenes of devastation; + While over piles of wild débris + Rose shrieks of dying agony + Above the desolation. + + Oh, mystery! who can understand + Why, sudden, from God's mighty hand + Destructive bolts of power + Without discrimination strike + The evil and the good alike-- + As in that dreadful hour! + + Alas for aching hearts that wait + Today in homes made desolate + By one sharp blow appalling-- + For all who kneel by altars lone, + And strive to say "Thy will be done," + That awful day recalling! + + We dare not question his decrees + Who seeth not as mortal sees, + Nor doubt his goodness even; + Nor let our hearts be dispossessed + Of faith that he disposeth best + All things in earth and Heaven. + + + + +"Be not Anxious." + +"Be careful for nothing," Phil. iv. 6. Revised version, "Be not anxious." + + + Of all the precepts in the Book + By word of inspiration given, + That bear the import, tone, and look + Of messages direct from heaven, + From Revelation back to Genesis + Is nothing needed half so much as this. + + Ah, well the great apostle spake + In admonition wise and kind, + Who bade humanity forsake + The petty weaknesses that bind + The spirit like a bird with pinioned wings, + That to a broken bough despairing clings. + + Were all undue anxiety + Eliminated from desire, + Could feverish fears and fancies be + Consumèd on some funeral pyre, + Like holy hecatomb or sacrifice, + 'Twould be accepted up in Paradise. + + Could this machinery go on + Without the friction caused by fret, + What greater loads were lightly drawn, + More easily were trials met; + Then might existence be with blessings rife, + And lengthened out like Hezekiah's life. + + Oh, be not anxious; trouble grows + When cherished like a secret grief; + It is the worm within the rose + That eats the heart out leaf by leaf; + And though the outer covering be fair, + The weevil of decay is busy there. + + In deep despondency to pine, + Or vain solicitude, + Is to deny this truth divine + That God is great and good; + That he is Ruler over earth and Heaven, + And so disposes and makes all things even. + + + + +Mount Vernon. + + + Subdued and sad, I trod the place + Where he, the hero, lived and died; + Where, long-entombed beneath the shade + By willow bough and cypress made, + The peaceful scene with verdure rife, + He and the partner of his life, + Beloved of every land and race, + Are sleeping side by side. + + The summer solstice at its height + Reflected from Potomac's tide + A glare of light, and through the trees + Intensified the Southern breeze, + That dallied, in the deep ravines, + With graceful ferns and evergreens, + While Northern cheeks so strangely white + Grew dark as Nubia's pride. + + What must this homestead once have been + In boundless hospitality, + When Greene or Putnam may have met + The host who welcomed Lafayette, + Or when Pulaski, honored guest, + Accepted shelter, food and rest, + While rank and talent gathered in + Its banquet hall of luxury! + + What comfort, cheer, and kind intent + The weary stranger oft hath known + When she, its mistress, fair and good, + Reigned here in peerless womanhood, + When soft, shy maiden fancy gave + Encouragement to soldiers brave, + And Washington his presence lent + To grace its bright hearthstone! + + O beautiful Mount Vernon home, + The Mecca of our long desire; + Of more than passing interest + To North and South, to East and West, + To all Columbia's children free + A precious, priceless legacy, + Thine altar-shrine, as pilgrims come, + Rekindles patriot fire! + + + + +A Prisoner. + + + Where I can see him all day long + And hear his wild, spontaneous song, + Before my window in his cage, + A blithe canary sits and swings, + And circles round on golden wings; + And startles all the vicinage + When from his china tankard + He takes a dainty drink + To clear his throat + For as sweet a note + As ever yet was caroled + By lark or bobolink. + + Sometimes he drops his pretty head + And seems to be dispirited, + And then his little mistress says: + "Poor Dickie misses his chickweed, + Or else I've fed him musty seed + As stale as last year's oranges!" + But all the time I wonder + If we half comprehend + In sweet song-words + The thought of birds, + Or why so oft their raptures + In sudden silence end. + + They do not pine for forest wilds + Within the "blue Canary isles," + As exiles from their native home, + For in a foreign domicile + They first essayed their gamut-trill + Beneath a cage's gilded dome; + But maybe some sad throbbing + Betimes their spirits stirs, + Who love as we + Dear liberty, + That they, admired and petted, + Are only--prisoners. + + + + +Cuba. + + + As one long struggling to be free, + O suffering isle! we look to thee + In sympathy and deep desire + That thy fair borders yet shall hold + A people happy, self-controlled, + Saved and exalted--as by fire. + + Burning like thine own tropic heat + Thousands of lips afar repeat + The story of thy wrongs and woes; + While argosies to thee shall bear, + Of men and money everywhere, + Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes. + + Hispaniola waves her plume + Defiant over many a tomb + Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave; + But, lo! an army coming on + The places fill of heroes gone, + For liberty their lives who gave. + + The nations wait to hear thy shout + Of "Independence!" ringing out, + Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou? + Buffets and gyves from your effete + Old monarchy dilapidate, + Or freedom's laurels for thy brow? + + In man's extremity it is + That Heaven's opportunities + Shine forth like jewels from the mine; + Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need, + With vision clear the tokens read + And trust for aid that power divine. + + + + +The Sangamon River. + + + O sunny Sangamon! thy name to me, + Soft-syllabled like some sweet melody, + Familiar is since adolescent years + As household phrases ringing in my ears; + Its measured cadence sounding to and fro + From the dim corridors of long ago. + + There was a time in happy days gone by, + That rosy interval of youth, when I + The scholar ardent early learned to trace + Great tributaries to their starting place; + And thine some prairie hollow obsolete + Whose name how few remember or repeat. + + Like thee, meandering, yet wafted back + From distant hearth and lonely bivouac, + From strange vicissitudes in other lands, + From half-wrought labors and unfinished plans + I come, in thy cool depths my brow to lave, + And rest a moment by thy silver wave. + + But, ah! what means thy muddy, muggy hue? + I thought thee limpid as yon ether blue; + I thought an angel's wing might dip below + Thy sparkling surface and be white as snow; + And of thy current I had dared to drink + If not as one imbibing draughts of ink. + + Has some rough element of horrid clay + That spoils the earth like lava beds, they say, + Come sliding down, as avalanches do, + And thy fair bosom percolated through? + Or some apothecary's compound vile + Polluted thee so many a murky mile? + + Why not, proud State, beneficence insure, + Selling thy soil or giving to the poor? + For sad it is that dust of Illinois, + With coal and compost its conjoint alloy, + A morceau washed from Mississippi's mouth, + Should build up acres for our neighbors south. + + River! I grieve, but not for loss of dirt-- + Once stainless, just because of what thou wert. + Thus on thy banks I linger and reflect + That, surely as all waterways connect, + Forever flowing onward to the sea, + Shall the great billow thy redemption be. + + And now, dear Sangamon, farewell! I wait + On that Elysian scene to meditate + When, separated from the dregs of earth, + Life's stream shall sweeter be, of better worth; + And, like the ocean with its restless tide, + By its own action cleansed and purified. + + + + +Syringas. + + + The smallest flower beside my path, + In loveliness of bloom, + Some element of comfort hath + To rid my heart of gloom; + But these, of spotless purity, + And fragrant as the rose, + As sad a sight recall to me + As time shall e'er disclose. + + Oh, there are pictures on the brain + Sometimes by shadows made, + Till dust is blent with dust again, + That never, never fade; + And things supremely bright and fair + As ever known in life + Suggest the darkness of despair, + And sanguinary strife. + + I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain-- + The battle-field appears, + And one among the thousands slain + In manhood's brilliant years; + An elbow pillowing his head, + And on the crimson sand + Syringa-blooms, distained and dead, + Within his rigid hand. + + Could she foresee, who from the stem + Had plucked that little spray + Of flowers, that he would cherish them + Unto his dying day? + "Give these to M----;--'tis almost night-- + And tell her--that--I love--" + Alas! the letter he would write + Was finished up above. + + And so, with each recurring spring, + On Decoration day, + When to our heroes' graves we bring + The blossom-wealth of May, + While martial strains are soft and low, + And music seems a prayer, + Unto a hallowed spot I go, + And leave syringas there. + + + + +Storm-bound. + + + My careful plans all storm-subdued, + In disappointing solitude + The weary hours began; + And scarce I deemed when time had sped, + Marked only by the passing tread + Of some pedestrian. + + But with the morrow's tranquil dawn, + A fairy scene I looked upon + That filled me with delight; + Far-reaching from my own abode, + The world in matchless splendor glowed, + Arrayed in spotless white. + + The surface of the hillside slope + Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope + Like opalescent stone; + Rich jewels hung on every tree, + Whose crystalline transparency + Golconda's gems outshone. + + Beyond the line where wayside posts + Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts + Of awful form and mien, + A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride, + A seeming castle fortified, + Uprose in wondrous sheen. + + The evergreens loomed up before + My staunch and storm-defying door, + Like snowy palaces + That one dare only penetrate + With reverence--as at Heaven's gate, + Awed by its mysteries. + + The apple trees' extended arms + Upheld a thousand varied charms; + The curious tracery + Of trellised grapevine seemed to me + A rare network of filigree + In silver drapery. + + And I no longer thought it hard + From favorite pursuits debarred, + Nor gazed with rueful face; + For every object seemed to be + Invested with the witchery + Of magic art and grace. + + And, though a multitude of cares, + Perplexing, profitless affairs, + Absorbed the hours, it seems + That on the golden steps of thought + I mounted heavenward, and wrought + Out many hopeful schemes. + + Thus every day, though it may span + The gulf wherein some cherished plan + Lies disarranged and crossed, + If, ere its close, we shall have trod + The path that leads us nearer God, + Cannot be counted lost. + + + + +The Master of the Grange. + + + The type of enterprise is he, + Of sense and thrift and toil; + Who reckons less on pedigree + Than rich, productive soil; + And no "blue blood"--if such there be-- + His veins can ever spoil. + + And yet on blood his heart is set; + He has his sacred cow, + Some Alderney or Jersey pet, + The mistress of the mow; + His favorite pig is (by brevet) + "Lord Suffolk"--of the slough. + + To points of stock is he alive + As keenest cattle king; + A thoroughbred he deigns to drive, + But not a mongrel thing; + The very bees within his hive + Are crossed--without a sting. + + If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and + Tomatoes grow on trees, + It is because his grafting hand + Has so diverted these + That alien shoots with native stand + Like twin-born Siamese. + + No neater farm a nabob owns, + Its care his chief employ, + To find fertility in bones + And briers to destroy, + Where once he lightly skipped the stones + A whistling, happy boy. + + The ancient plough and awkward flail + He banished long ago; + The zigzag fence with ponderous rail + He dares to overthrow; + And wields, with sinews strong and hale, + The latest style of hoe. + + The household, founded as it were + Upon the Decalogue, + He classes with the minister, + The rural pedagogue, + And as a sort of angel-cur + Regards his spotted dog. + + His wife reviews the magazines, + His children lead the school, + He tries a thousand new machines + (And keeps his temper cool), + But bristles at Kentucky jeans, + And her impressive mule. + + With Science letting down the bars, + Enlightening ignorance, + Enigmas deeper than the stars + He solves as by a glance, + And raises cinnamon cigars + From poor tobacco plants! + + By no decree of fashion dressed, + And busier than Fate, + The student-farmer keeps abreast + With mighty men of state, + And treasures, like his Sunday vest, + The motto "Educate!" + + Beyond encircling hills of blue, + Where I may never range, + This monarch in his realm I view, + Of title new and strange, + And make profound obeisance to + "The Master of the Grange." + + + +A Friend Indeed. + + + If every friend who meditates + In soft, unspoken thought + With winning courtesy and tact + The doing of a kindly act + To cheer some lonely lot, + Were like the friend of whom I dream, + Then hardship but a myth would seem. + + If sympathy were always thus + Oblivious of space, + And, like the tendrils of the vine, + Could just as lovingly incline + To one in distant place, + 'Twould draw the world together so + Might none the name of stranger know. + + If every throb responsive that + My ardent spirit thrills + Could, like the skylark's ecstasy, + Be vocal in sweet melody, + Beyond dividing hills + In octaves of the atmosphere + Were music wafted to his ear. + + If every friendship were like one, + So helpful and so true, + To other hearts as sad as mine + 'Twould bring the joy so near divine, + And hope revive anew; + So life's dull path would it illume, + And radiate beyond the tomb. + + + + +The Needed One. + + + 'Twas not rare versatility, + Nor gift of poesy or art, + Nor piquant, sparkling _jeux d'esprit_ + Which at the call of fancy come, + That touched the universal heart, + And won the world's encomium. + + It was not beauty's potent charm; + For admiration followed her + Unmindful of the rounded arm, + The fair complexion's brilliancy, + If form and features shapely were + Or lacked the grace of symmetry. + + So not by marked, especial power + She grew endeared to human thought, + But just because, in trial's hour, + Was loving service to be done + Or sympathy and counsel sought, + She made herself the needed one. + + Oh, great the blessedness must be + Of heart and hand and brain alert + In projects wise and manifold, + Impending sorrow to avert + That duller natures fail to see, + Or stand aloof severe and cold! + + And who shall doubt that this is why + In womanhood's florescent prime + She passed the portals of the sky? + As if a life thus truly given + To purpose pure and act sublime + Were needed also up in Heaven. + + + + +"Thy Will Be Done." + + + Sometimes the silver cord of life + Is loosed at one brief stroke; + As when the elements at strife, + With Nature's wild contentions rife, + Uproot the sturdy oak. + + Or fell disease, in patience borne, + Attenuates the frame + Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn, + Of energy and beauty shorn, + Death's sweet release would claim. + + By instant touch or long decay + Is dissolution wrought; + When, lost to earth, the grave and gay, + The young and old who pass away, + Abide in hallowed thought. + + In dear regard together drawn, + Affection's debt to pay, + Fond greetings we exchange at dawn + With one who, ere the day be gone, + Is bruised and lifeless clay. + + O thou in manhood's morning-time + With health and hope elate, + For whom in youth's enchanting prime + The bells of promise seemed to chime, + We mourn thy early fate! + + To us how sudden--yet to thee + Perchance God kindly gave + Some warning, ere the fatal key + Unlocked the door of mystery + That lies beyond the grave. + + Then let us hope that one who found + Such favor, trust, and love, + And cordial praise from all around, + For rare fidelity renowned, + Found favor, too, above. + + So "all is well," though swift or slow + God's will be done; and we + Draw near to him, for close and low + Beneath his chastening hand, the blow + Will fall less heavily. + + + + +Snowflakes. + + + Of specious weight like tissue freight + The snowflakes are--in sparkle pure + As the rich _parure_ + A lovely queen were proud to wear; + As volatile, as fine and rare + As thistle-down dispersed in air, + Or bits of filmy lace; + Like nature's tear-drops strewn around + That beautify and warm the ground, + But melt upon my face. + + A ton or more against my door + They lie, and look, in form and tint, + Like piles of lint, + When war's alarum roused the land, + Wrought out by woman's loyal hand + From linen rag, and robe, and band-- + From garments cast aside-- + In hospital, on battle-field + The shattered limb that bound and healed, + Or stanched life's ebbing tide. + + I see the gleam of lake and stream, + The silver glint in frost portrayed + Of the bright cascade; + They bear the moisture of marshes dank, + The dew of the lawn, or river bank, + The river itself by sunlight drank; + All these in frigid air, + That strange alembic, crystallize + In odd, fantastic shape and size + Like gems of dazzling glare. + + Oh, of the snow such fancies grow, + 'Till thought is lost in wandering, + And wondering + If portions of their drapery + The angel beings, sad to see + So much of earth's impurity, + Have dropped from clearer skies + As snowflakes, hiding stain and blot + To make this world a fairer spot, + And more like Paradise. + + + + +Monadnock. + + + One summer time, with love imbued, + To climb the mount, explore the wood, + Or rove from pole to pole, + Upon Monadnock's brow I stood-- + A lone, adventurous soul. + + Beyond the Bay State border-line + A sweeping vista, grand and fine, + Embraced the Berkshire hills; + Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine, + And country domiciles. + + Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique, + And Holyoke, twin companion peak, + Appeared gigantic cones; + The burning sunlight scorched my cheek, + And seemed to melt the stones. + + Beneath a gnarled and twisted root + I loosed a pebble with my foot + That leaped the precipice, + And like an arrow seemed to shoot + Adown the deep abyss. + + Beside the base that solstice day + A city chap who chanced to stray + Was shooting somewhat, too; + Who, when the nugget sped that way, + His firelock quickly drew. + + While right and left he sought the quail, + Or the timid hare that crossed his trail, + Rang out a wild "Ha! ha!" + That might have turned the visage pale + Of a red-skinned Chippewa. + + The game was his--for it made him quail; + He flung his gun and fled the vale, + The mountain-dwellers say, + As though pursued by a comet's tail-- + And disappeared for aye. + + + + +Never Had a Chance + + + Fresh from piano, school, and books, + A happy girl with rosy looks + Young Plowman wooed and won; despite + Her pretty, pouting prejudice, + Her deep distaste for rural bliss + Or countryfied delight. + + Romance through all her nature ran-- + Indeed, to wed a husband-man + Suffused her ardent maiden thought; + But lofty fancy dwelt upon + A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn, + A city's corner lot. + + Her lily fingers that so well + Could paint a scene--in aquarelle-- + Or broider plush with leaves and vines, + No more of real labor knew + Than waxen petals of the dew + On native eglantines. + + Anon, with lapse of tender ways + That emphasized the courting days, + The housewife in her apron blue, + As mistress of her new abode, + By frequent lachrymations showed + Her grief and blunders too. + + The butter-making, bread and cheese, + The old folks difficult to please, + The harvest hands--voracious bears!-- + The infantry, a parent's pride, + By duos proudly classified: + So multiplied her cares. + + The treadmill round of duties that + Makes any life inane and flat, + Without diversion sandwiched in, + The drudgery, the overplus + Of toil and trouble arduous, + Were rugged discipline. + + What time for books and music, when + The lambs were bleating in their pen, + The chickens peeping at the door; + The rodent gnawing at the churn, + The buckwheat wafers crisped to burn, + The kettle boiling o'er? + + To _hers_, so far between and few, + What resting-spells the farmer knew! + What intervals for culture! and + When intellect assumed the race, + He peerless held the foremost place-- + No nobler in the land. + + By virtue of exalted rank + "The brilliant senator from----" + Adorns society's expanse; + While by his side with folded hands, + Her beauty gone, the woman stands + Who "never had a chance." + + + + +Sorrow and Joy. + + + In sad procession borne away + To sound of funeral knell, + Affection's tribute thus we pay, + And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay + The friend to whom but yesterday + We gave the sad farewell. + + But scarce the melancholy sound + Has died upon the ear, + Before the mournful dirge is drowned + By wedding-anthems' glad rebound, + That stir the solemn air around + With merry peals and clear. + + Within our home doth gladness tread + So closely upon grief + That, in the tears of sorrow shed + O'er our beloved, lamented dead, + We see reflected joy instead + That gives a blest relief. + + A father and a daughter gone + Beyond our fireside-- + For one we loved and leaned upon + The skillful archer Death had drawn + His bow; and one in life's sweet dawn + Went out a happy bride. + + We gave to Heaven, in manhood's prime, + Him whose brave strength and worth + Life's rugged steeps had taught to climb; + And her, for whom a tuneful rhyme + The bells of promise sweetly chime, + We consecrate to earth. + + Thus each a mystic path, untried, + Has entered--God is just! + We leave with him our friend who died, + With him we leave our fair young bride + Who shall no more with us abide, + And in His goodness trust. + + Oh, life and death, uncertainty, + Bright hopes and anxious fears, + Commingle so bewilderingly, + That perfect joy we may not see + Till all shall reunited be + Beyond this vale of tears! + + + + +Watch Hill. + + + Fair summer home peninsula, + Enriched by every breeze + From fragrant islands, wafted far + Across the sunny seas! + + A profile rare! a height of land + Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue + With bolder touch than skillful hand + Of artist ever drew. + + In "mountain billows" that parade + The grandeur of the deep, + Is His supremacy displayed + Whose hands the waters keep. + + No sweep of waves, in broad expanse, + With wild, weird melody, + Shall thus an unseen world enhance-- + "There shall be no more sea!" + + A wealth of joy-perfected days, + Where glorious sunset dyes, + Resplendent in declining rays, + Surpass Italia's skies! + + Proud caravansaries that compete + In studied arts to please + The multitude, with restless feet, + From earth's antipodes! + + A motley company astray: + The sojourner for health, + The grave, serene, the _devotée_ + Of fashion and of wealth. + + Artistic cottages upreared + In beauty, strength, and skill-- + The happy, healthful homes endeared + To lovers of Watch Hill! + + A golden crown adorns the spot; + Forever blessed be + The hand beneficent that wrought + "A temple by the sea!" + + A star in some bright diadem + In glory it shall be, + For truly, "I will honor them," + Saith God, "who honor me." + + When Christians meet to praise and pray, + May feet that never trod + The sanctuary learn the way + Unto the house of God. + + Glad pæans down the centuries + With joy the world shall thrill: + "The Lord, revered and honored, is + The glory of Watch Hill!" + + + + +Supplicating. + + + One morn I looked across the way, + And saw you fling your window wide + To welcome in the breath of May + In breezes from the mountain-side, + And greet the sunlight's earliest ray + With happy look and satisfied. + + The pansies on your window-sill + In terra cotta flowerpot, + Like royal gold and purple frill + Upon the stony casement wrought, + Adorned your tasteful domicile + And claimed your time and care and thought. + + In cherry trees the robins sang + Their sweetest carol to your ear, + And shouts of merry children rang + Out on the dewy atmosphere, + But to my heart there came a pang + That my salute you did not hear. + + I envied then the favored breeze + That dallied with your flowing hair, + Begrudged the songsters in the trees + And longed to be a flow'ret fair-- + Some favorite blossom like heartease-- + Within your miniature parterre. + + O heart, that finds such ample room + Within thy confines broad and true, + For song and sunshine and perfume + And all benign impulses--go, + I pray thee, dissipate my gloom-- + And take in thy petitioner too! + + + + +"Honest John." + + + He was a man whose lot was cast, + As some might think, in lines severe; + In humble toil whose life was passed + From week to week, from year to year; + And yet, by wife and children blessed, + He labored on with cheerful zest. + + As one revered and set apart, + A quaint, unusual name he bore + That well became the frugal heart; + While plain habiliments he wore + Without a tremor or a chill + At thought of some uncanceled bill. + + A king might not disdain to wear + The title so appropriate + To one who never sought to share + Exalted station 'mong the great, + Nor cared if on the scroll of fame + Were never traced his worthy name. + + As bound by honor's righteous law + In strictest rectitude he wrought-- + The man who calmly, clearly saw + His duty, and who dallied not-- + To garner life's necessities + For those whose comfort heightened his. + + The parent bird its brood protects + As fledglings in their downy nest, + Until a Power their flight directs + From trial trips to distant quest, + Through trackless zones of ether blue, + For bird companions strange and new. + + But ere his babes from prattlers grew, + Upon his knee or by his side, + To womanhood and manhood true-- + Too soon we thought--the father died; + How could we know, when Death was nigh + Those little wings were taught to fly? + + Another name his boyhood knew, + So seldom heard that lapse of years + Had made it seem a thing untrue, + Unmusical to friendly ears; + And thus his appellation odd + His passport was where'er he trod. + + So long, on every lip and tongue + As if by universal whim, + To him had his cognomen clung, + And like a garment fitted him, + That angels even must have heard + Of one, like them, in love preferred. + + And when he came to Heaven's door, + To Peter's self or acolyte, + The holy warder looking o'er, + "'Tis 'Honest John!'" he said aright; + And his pilgrim spirit passed within + Because his walk with God had been. + + + + +Bushnell Park. + + + Sweet resting place! that long hath been + A boon Elysian 'mid the din + Of city life, 'mid city smoke; + Where weary ones who toil and spin + Have turned aside as to an inn + Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke; + Where misanthropes find medicine + In peals of laughter that begin + With ancient, resurrected joke, + Or ready wit of harlequin; + Where children, free from discipline, + Take on Diversion's easy yoke. + + Fair oasis! to view aright + Its charming paths, its sloping height, + Its beautiful and broad expanse, + Must one approach in witching night + When, like abodes of airy sprite + Revealed unto the wondering glance, + O'erflooded with electric light + Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright, + Illumined nooks the scene enhance; + While zephyrs mischievous unite + The timid stroller to affright + By swaying boughs in shadow dance. + + The Capitol that crowns the hill + Where Boreas sweeps with icy chill, + A masterpiece of studied art + Conceived by genius versatile + And fashioned with unerring skill, + O'erlooks the busy, crowded mart, + And, like a kingly domicile, + Its burnished dome and sculpture thrill + With admiration every heart; + And strangers pause beyond the rill + To view its grandeur, lingering still, + And with reluctant steps depart. + + O Bushnell Park, memorial soil! + That marks success (though near to foil) + Of one who with prophetic ken, + With honest zeal and ceaseless toil, + Opposed the vandal wish to spoil + This lovely bit of vale and glen; + Who, 'mid discussion and turmoil + Of adverse minds, did not recoil + From vigorous stroke of tongue and pen; + And then, till passion ceased to boil, + On troubled waters poured out oil + And to his plans won other men. + + So when, fatigued and overwrought, + In summer time when skies are hot + We seek its verdant, velvet sward, + Oh may we hold in reverent thought + The debt we owe, forgetting not + The spirit passed to its reward + Of one whose giant soul was fraught + With true benignity--who sought + To touch humanity's quick chord + With fire from Heaven's altar brought, + That love and zeal and being caught + As inspiration from the Lord. + + + + +At General Grant's Tomb. + + + Afar my loyal spirit stirred + At mention of his name; + Afar in ringing notes I heard + The clarion voice of fame; + So to his tomb, hope long deferred, + With reverent step I came. + + The pilgrim muse revivified + A half-forgotten day: + A slow procession, tearful-eyed, + In funeral array, + And from MacGregor's lonely side + A hero borne away. + + Here sleeps he now, where long ago + Hath nature raised his mound: + A mighty channel far below, + Divided hills around, + Where countless thousands come and go + As to a shrine renowned. + + With awe do strangers' eyes discern + A casket mid the green + Luxuriance of flower and fern; + Airy and cool and clean, + Unchanged from spring to spring's return, + This charnel chamber scene. + + His country's weal his care and thought, + Beloved in peace was he; + Magnanimous in war--shall not + The nation grateful be, + And render at his burial spot + A testimonial free? + + Oh, let us, ere the days come on + When energy is spent, + To him, the silent soldier gone, + Statesman and President, + On Riverside's majestic lawn + Uprear a monument. + + + + +"Be Courteous." + + + Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born + Than others--shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that-- + That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn, + Nor even show this slight regard--the lifting of the hat? + + Why prate of social status, class, or rank when earth + Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind? + Except in purity is there no royal birth, + No true nobility but nobleness of heart and mind. + + Life is so short--one journey long, a pilgrimage + That we cannot retrace, nor ever pass this way again; + Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page, + And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men? + + To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand + To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair, + May help him to look up and better understand + Why God has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there. + + Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap + As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring; + More precious too than all the treasures of the deep, + Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring. + + Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good! + Those grand ennobling and enduring virtues all may claim; + Of each may it be said, of the great multitude: + Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame! + + Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety, + Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife, + Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy, + Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life? + + Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting + Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully; + And ours shall be the disapproval of the King-- + "Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me." + + + + +A New Suit. + + + The artist and the loom unseen, + In textures soft as _crepe de chine_ + Spring weaves her royal robe of green, + With grasses fringed and daisies dotted, + With furzy tufts like mosses fine + And showy clumps of eglantine, + With dainty shrub and creeping vine + Upon the verdant fabric knotted. + + Oh, winter takes our love away + For ashen hues of sober gray! + So when the blooming, blushing May + Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle, + With arbutus her corsage laced, + And roses clinging to her waist, + We crown her charming queen of taste, + Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle. + + For eighteen centuries and more + Her fairy hands have modeled o'er + The same habiliments she wore + At her primeval coronation; + And still the pattern exquisite, + For every age a perfect fit, + In every land the favorite, + Elicits world-wide admiration. + + Gay butterflies of fashion, you + Who wear a suit a year or two, + Then agitate for something new, + Look at Regina, the patrician! + Her cleverness is more than gold + Who so transforms from fabrics old + The things a marvel to behold, + And glories in the exhibition. + + Why worry for an overdress, + The acme of luxuriousness, + Beyond all envy to possess, + Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces! + Why flutter round in pretty pique + To follow style's capricious freak, + To match _pongee_ or _moire antique_, + And break your peace in hopeless pieces? + + O mantua-maker, costumer, + And fair-robed wearer! study _her_ + And imitate the conjurer + So prettily economizing, + Without demur, regret, or pout, + Who always puts the bright side out + And never frets at all about + The world's _penchant_ for criticizing. + + + + +The Little Clock. + + + Kind friend, you do not know how much + I prize this time-ly treasure, + So dainty, diligent, and such + A constant source of pleasure. + + The man of brains who could invent + So true a chrono-meter + Has set a charming precedent, + And made a good repeater. + + It speaks with clear, commanding clicks, + Suggestive of the donor; + And 'tends to business--never sick + A bit more than the owner. + + It goes when I do; when I stop + (As by the dial showing) + It never lets a second drop, + But simply keeps on going. + + It tells me when I am to eat, + Which isn't necessary; + When food with me is obsolete, + I'll be a reliquary. + + It tells me early when to rise, + And bother with _dejeuner_; + To sally forth and exercise, + And fill up my _porte-monnaie_. + + I hear it talking in the night, + As if it were in clover: + You've never lost your appetite, + You've never been run over. + + It makes me wish that I might live + More faithful unto duty, + And unto others something give + Like this bijou of beauty. + + It holds its hands before its face, + So very modest is it; + So like the people in the place + Where I delight to visit. + + Sometimes I wonder if it cries + The course I am pursuing; + Because it has so many I-s + And must know what I'm doing. + + Sometimes I fear it makes me cry-- + No matter, and no pity-- + Afraid at last I'll have to die + In some far, foreign city. + + It travels with me everywhere + And chirrups like a cricket; + As if it said with anxious air, + "Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!" + + Companion of my loneliness + Along my journey westward, + It never leaves me comfortless, + But has the last and best word. + + I would not spoil its lovely face, + And so I go behind it, + And hold it like a china vase, + So careful when I wind it. + + A clock is always excellent + That has its label on, + And proves a fine advertisement + For Waterbury, Conn. + + Those Yankees--ah! they never shun + A chance to make a dime, + And counterfeit the very sun + In keeping "Standard Time." + + Ah, well! the little clock has proved + The best of all bonanzas; + And thus my happy heart is moved + To these effusive stanzas. + + + + +Improvement. + + + Along the avenue I pass + Huge piles of wood and stone, + And glance at each amorphous mass, + Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the grass, + With half resentful groan. + + Say I: "O labor, to despoil + Some lovely forest scene, + Or at the granite stratum toil, + And desecrate whole roods of soil, + Is vandal-like and mean! + + "Than ever to disfigure thus + Our prairie garden-land, + Let me consort with Cerberus, + Be chained to crags precipitous, + Or seek an alien strand." + + But while this pining, pouting Muse + The interval ignores, + Deft industry, no time to lose, + Contrives and carries, hoists and hews, + And symmetry restores. + + Behold! of rock and pile and board + A modern miracle, + My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored, + That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd, + And far more beautiful. + + The artisan's receding gait + Has brushed the chips away, + Where innocence shall recreate, + Or like the flowers grow, and wait + The balminess of May. + + An arid spot, where careless feet + Have long been wont to roam, + Where cattle grazed, as if to eat + Were life's delicious, richest treat, + Becomes a charming home. + + O man primeval! hadst thou known, + Ere rude hands scooped thy grave, + Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan, + Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own + A rugged cliff or cave. + + And now I see how skill and art + May cleave fair nature through, + Disintegrate her breathing heart, + And to the tissues torn impart + A use and beauty new. + + And this improvement is, to turn + The things which God has given + To their best purpose, as we learn + To make the place where we sojourn + Homelike and more like Heaven. + + + + +On Bancroft Height. + + + On Bancroft height Aurora's face + Shines brighter than a star, + As stepping forth in dewy grace, + The gates of day unbar; + And lo! the firmament, the hills, + And the vales that intervene-- + Creation's self with gladness thrills + To greet the matin queen. + + On Bancroft height the atmosphere + Is but an endless waft + Of life's elixir, pure and clear + As mortal ever quaffed; + And such the sweet salubrity + Of air and altitude, + Is banished many a malady + And suffering subdued. + + On Bancroft height the sunset glow + When day departing dies + Outrivals all that tourists know + Of famed Italian skies; + And happy dwellers round about + Who view the scene aright + In admiration grow devout + And laud the Lord of light. + + Round Bancroft height rich memories + Commingle earth's affairs, + Among the world's celebrities, + Of him whose name it bears; + The scholar-wise compatriot + Who left to later men + The grand achievements unforgot + Of that historic pen. + + Fair Bancroft height revisited + When all the land is white, + A halo crowns its noble head + Impelling fresh delight; + The daring wish in winter-time + The blizzard to defy + Those shining slippery slopes to climb + Up nearer to the sky. + + Though Boreas abrade the cheek + With buffetings of snow, + He gives a vigor that the weak + And languid never know; + And with rejuvenescent thrill, + Like children everywhere, + Bestirs the rhapsody, the will + To make a snow-man there. + + On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower + Such vistas charm the eye + 'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour + But to behold--and die; + Yet in the sparkle and the glow + Is earth so very fair + The spirit lingers, loath to go, + And dreams of heaven--up there. + + + + +A Reformer. + + + When I was young, my heart elate + With ardent notions warm, + I thirsted to inaugurate + A spirit of reform; + The universe was all awry, + Philosophy despite, + And mundane things disjointed I + Was bound to set aright. + + My mind conceived a million plans, + For Hope was brave and strong, + But dared not with unaided hands + Combat a giant wrong; + So with caress I sought to coax + Those who had humored me + In infancy--the dear old folks-- + And gain their sympathy. + + But quarreling with extant laws + They would have deemed a shame + Who clung to error, just because + Their fathers did the same. + I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls, + Where grace and beauty stirred + At revelry's impetuous calls, + To make my projects heard. + + Then turned to stately palaces + Of luxury and ease, + Where wealth's absorbing object was + The master's whim to please; + And spoke of evils unredressed, + Of danger yet to be-- + They only answered, like the rest: + "But what is that to me?" + + And even pious _devotées_ + Whom sacred walls immure + Condemned me (as by feeble praise)-- + What more could I endure? + Down by the stream, so pure and clear + That sunbeams paused to drink, + In loneliness and grief sincere + I pressed its grassy brink. + + Thick darkness seemed to veil the day; + Beyond a realm of tears + Utopia's land of promise lay; + And not till later years + I learned this lesson--that to win + Results from labor sure, + "Reformers" always must begin + Among the lowly poor. + + For they whose lot privation is + And whose delights are few, + Whose aggregate of miseries + Is want of something new, + The measure of whose happiness + Is but an empty cup, + For every novelty will press + Alert to fill it up. + + +Transcriber's Notes: +Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error) +Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others +Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error) + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 19109-8.txt or 19109-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/0/19109/ + +Produced by Joseph R. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + Vol. IV + +Author: Hattie Howard + +Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19109] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/poems.jpg" alt="[Illustration]" /><a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a> +</div> + +<div class="caption">In Celestial realms where knowledge hath no end.<br /> +HARRY HOWARD,<br /> +STUDENT.<br /> +"Blessed are the pure in heart." +</div> + +<hr /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h1>POEMS</h1> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h5>BY</h5> + +<h2>HATTIE HOWARD.</h2> + +<h6>AUTHOR OF "POVERTY VS. PAUPERISM," "OUR GIRLS," "VIVE LA<br /> +REPUBLIQUE," "KEEPING A SECRET," "LITTLE JO,"<br /> +AND OTHER STORIES.</h6> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h4 class="smcap">Vol. IV.</h4> + +<p><br /></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><br /></p> + +<div class="center"> +<table summary=""> + <tr> + <td>Happy whoever writes a book</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>On which the world shall kindly look,</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>And who, when many a year has flown—</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>The volume worn, the author gone—</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td>Revere, admire, and still read on.</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p><br /></p> + +<hr /> + +<p><br /></p> + +<h6>HARTFORD PRESS:<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Case, Lockwood & Brainard Company</span>.<br /> +1904.</h6> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><br /></p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> +<h4><a name="EXTRACTS_FROM_PRESS_NOTICES_OF_A_FORMER_VOLUME" id="EXTRACTS_FROM_PRESS_NOTICES_OF_A_FORMER_VOLUME"></a>EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF A FORMER<br />VOLUME.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely +natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious +pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end; and +the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will be +welcome in this time of generally morbid expression."</p> + +<p>"This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, <i>human</i> spirit, +sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward +directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by +all."</p> + +<p>"These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic faculty, and are +worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty +welcome."</p> + +<p>"Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches of +sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the good, +the true, and the beautiful."</p> + +<p>"This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she must have +been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook leaping and +hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of subject and +treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are poems which +should be cherished."</p> + +<p>"Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and +attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A wooing +sentiment and genial spirit seem to guide her in every train of +thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm commendations of +the press."</p></div> + +<hr /> + +<h5>Copyright, 1904, <span class="smcap">by Hattie Howard</span>.</h5> + +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents.</h2> + +<p class="center"><a href="#Frontispiece"><i>FRONTISPIECE.</i></a></p> + +<table class="toc" summary="Table of Contents"> + <tr> + <td></td> + <td class="tocpage"><span class="smcap">Page.</span></td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#EXTRACTS_FROM_PRESS_NOTICES_OF_A_FORMER_VOLUME">Extracts From Press Notices,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">2</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Salt_of_the_Earth">"The Salt of the Earth,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">7</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Not_Gone">Not Gone,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">9</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Let_Us_Give_Thanks">Let Us Give Thanks,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">10</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sonnet">Sonnet,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">11</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Rainy_Day">A Rainy Day,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">12</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Subway">The Subway,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">16</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Apple_Tree">The Apple Tree,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">18</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Two_Roses">Two Roses,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">21</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Taxidermist">The Taxidermist,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">23</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Epithalamium">Epithalamium,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">25</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Fowl_Affair">A Fowl Affair,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">28</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Holiday_Home">Holiday Home,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">31</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Rutha">Rutha,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">34</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Student_Gone">The Student Gone,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">36</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Tourist">The Tourist,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">38</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Antiquarian">The Antiquarian,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">40</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Poor_Housekeeping">Poor Housekeeping,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">45</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Going_to_Tobog">Going to Tobog,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">47</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Passer_Le_Temps">"Passer Le Temps,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">49</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Torpedo">The Torpedo,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">50</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Margaret">Margaret,</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpage">51</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Christmas_Bells">Christmas Bells,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">53</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#By_the_Sea">By the Sea,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">54</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Song">A Song,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">55</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Is_It_April">"Is It April?"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">56</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Christmas-Tide">Christmas-Tide,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">57</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#January_1885">January, 1885,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">59</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sweet_Peas">Sweet Peas,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">61</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Summer_House">The Summer House,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">62</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#To_Die_in_Autumn">To Die in Autumn,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">65</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Apple_Blossoms">Apple Blossoms,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">67</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Without_a_Minister">Without a Minister,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">68</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Indian_Summer">Indian Summer,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">70</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Autumn-Time">Autumn-Time,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">72</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Beauty_of_Nature">The Beauty of Nature</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">74</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#All_the_Rage">"All the Rage,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">76</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#My_Mothers_Hand">My Mother's Hand,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">79</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Leap_Year_Episode">A Leap Year Episode,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">80</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#If">If,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">83</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Perfect_Character">Perfect Character,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">84</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Miracle_of_Spring">The Miracle of Spring,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">85</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Bermuda">Bermuda,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">86</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Charter_Oak">The Charter Oak,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">88</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Blossom-time">Blossom-time,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">90</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#One_of_the_Least_of_These">"One of the Least of These,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">92</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Lightning-bugs">Lightning-bugs,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">94</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Of_Her_who_Died">Of Her who Died,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">96</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Thanksgiving">Thanksgiving,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">98</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Receiving_Sight">Receiving Sight,</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpage">100</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Revenge">Revenge,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">102</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#On_the_Common">On the Common,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">104</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Womans_Help">Woman's Help,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">106</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Tobogganing">Tobogganing,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">108</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Woods">The Woods,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">110</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Like_Summer">Like Summer,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">112</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sheridans_Last_Ride">Sheridan's Last Ride,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">114</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Bit_of_Gladness">A Bit of Gladness,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">116</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Charity_Ball">The Charity Ball,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">118</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Belle_of_Baltimore">The Bell(e) of Baltimore,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">120</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Christmas_at_Church">Christmas at Church,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">122</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Mysterious">Mysterious,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">124</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Be_not_Anxious">"Be not Anxious,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">126</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Mount_Vernon">Mount Vernon,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">128</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Prisoner">A Prisoner,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">130</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Cuba">Cuba,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">131</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Sangamon_River">The Sangamon River,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">133</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Syringas">Syringas,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">135</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Storm-bound">Storm-bound,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">137</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Master_of_the_Grange">The Master of the Grange,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">139</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Friend_Indeed">A Friend Indeed,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">142</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Needed_One">The Needed One,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">143</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Thy_Will_Be_Done">"Thy Will Be Done,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">145</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Snowflakes">Snowflakes,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">147</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Monadnock">Monadnock,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">149</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Never_Had_a_Chance">Never Had a Chance</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">151</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Sorrow_and_Joy">Sorrow and Joy,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">153</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Watch_Hill">Watch Hill,</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></td> + <td class="tocpage">155</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Supplicating">Supplicating,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">157</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Honest_John">"Honest John,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">159</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Bushnell_Park">Bushnell Park,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">161</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#At_General_Grants_Tomb">At General Grant's Tomb,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">164</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Be_Courteous">"Be Courteous,"</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">166</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_New_Suit">A New Suit</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">168</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#The_Little_Clock">The Little Clock,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">170</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#Improvement">Improvement,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">173</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#On_Bancroft_Height">On Bancroft Height,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">175</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tocname"><a href="#A_Reformer">A Reformer,</a></td> + <td class="tocpage">178</td> + </tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="Poems" id="Poems"></a>Poems.</h1> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Salt_of_the_Earth" id="The_Salt_of_the_Earth"></a>"The Salt of the Earth."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The salt of the earth—what a meaningful phrase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sense of the need of a substance saline<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a healthful and happy condition secure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By making it pure as the ocean is pure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In all the nomenclature known to the race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In all appellations of people or place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was ever a name so befitting, so true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So secretly, strangely, those elements hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That may be developed in goodness and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shine in demeanor, in form and in face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall merit their title—the salt of the earth?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To the landsman at home or the sailor at sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With nausea, scurvy, or canker maybe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis never in language to overexalt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The potent preservative virtue of salt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A crystal commodity wholesome and good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A cure for disease, and a savor for food.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, the beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know all of the need of this condiment rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know well where the springs and the "salt-licks" abound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where streams salinaceous flow out of the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their cravings appease by sipping the brine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With more than the relish of topers at wine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Our wants may be legion, our needs are but few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every known ill hath its remedy true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis ours to discover and give to mankind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of hidden essentials the best that we find;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis ours to eradicate error and sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And help to make better the place we are in.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If ever this world from corruption is free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And righteousness reign in the kingdom to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like salt in its simple and soluble way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Infusing malodor, preventing decay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So human endeavor in action sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must never relax till the finale of time.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To thousands discouraged this comforting truth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Appeals like the promise of infinite youth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know, as they labor like bees in the hive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet do little more than keep goodness alive—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know that the Master accredits their worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As blessed disciples—"the salt of the earth."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Not_Gone" id="Not_Gone"></a>Not Gone.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are not gone whose lives in beauty so unfolding<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have left their own sweet impress everywhere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like flowers, while we linger in beholding,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Diffusing fragrance on the summer air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are not gone, for grace and goodness can not perish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But must develop in immortal bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The viewless soul, the real self we love and cherish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall live and flourish still beyond the tomb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are not gone though lost to observation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dispossessed of those dear forms of clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though dust and ashes speak of desolation;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spirit-presence—this is ours alway.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Let_Us_Give_Thanks" id="Let_Us_Give_Thanks"></a>Let Us Give Thanks.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If we have lived another year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, counting friends by regiments<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who share our love and confidence,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Find no more broken ranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For this let us give thanks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If, since the last Thanksgiving-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have we been blessed with strength and health,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And added to our honest wealth,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor lost by broken banks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For this would we give thanks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If through adversity we trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with serene and smiling face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trusted more to saving grace<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Than charlatans and cranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For this let us give thanks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">If we have somehow worried through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ups and downs along life's track,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still undaunted can look back<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And smile at Fortune's pranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For this would we give thanks.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +<span class="i2">If every page in our account<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With God and man is fairly writ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We care not who examines it,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With no suspicious blanks,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For this let us give thanks.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sonnet" id="Sonnet"></a>Sonnet.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon my smile let none pass compliment<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If it but gleam like an enchanting ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breath of honeysuckles redolent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, with the birds that sing their lives away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In harmony, the treetops bend and sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the world with joy is eloquent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But in that day of gloom when skies severe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Portend the tempest gathering overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If by my face some token shall appear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_Rainy_Day" id="A_Rainy_Day"></a>A Rainy Day.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, what a blessed interval<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A rainy day may be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No lightning flash nor tempest roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one incessant, steady pour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of dripping melody;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from their sheltering retreat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go not with voluntary feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm-beleaguered family,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor bird nor animal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When business takes a little lull,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And gives the merchantman<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A chance to seek domestic scenes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To interview the magazines,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Convoke his growing clan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boys and girls almost unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And get acquainted with his own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As well the household budget scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or write a canticle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When farmer John ransacks the barn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hunts up the harness old—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nigh twenty years since it was new—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puts in an extra thong or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hopes the thing will hold<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Without that missing martingale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bothered Dobbin, head and tail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, gentle equine, safe controlled<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But by a twist of yarn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When busy fingers may provide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A savory repast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whet the languid appetite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And give to eating a delight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unknown since seasons past;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Develop dull dyspeptic cranks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, forced to diet or to fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ergo, have dined and died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is a day of rummaging,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The closets to explore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take down from the dusty shelves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The books—that never read themselves—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And turning pages o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discover therein safely laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bills forgot and never paid—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somehow that of the corner store<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such dunning memories bring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It gives a chance to liquidate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Epistolary debts;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To write in humble penitence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Acknowledging the negligence,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The sin that so besets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheer the hearts that hold us dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who've known and loved us many a year—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back to the days of pantalets<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And swinging on the gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It gives occasion to repair<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Unlucky circumstance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To intercept the ragged ends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for arrears to make amends<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By mending hose and pants;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The romping young ones to re-dress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without those signs of hole-y-ness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That so bespeak the mendicants<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By every rip and tear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is a time to gather round<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The old piano grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its dulcet harmonies unstirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since Lucy sang so like a bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And played with graceful hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Repeating softly "Shall we meet?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is only in the heavenly land<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Such clear soprano sound.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It is a time for happy chat<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>En cercle tête-à-tête</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discuss the doings of the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The club, the sermon, or the play,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Affairs of church and state;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond reminiscence to explore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pleasant episodes of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so till raindrops all abate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As erst on Ararat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, yes, a rainy day may be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A blessed interval!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little halt for introspect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little moment to reflect<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On life's discrepancy—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our puny stint so poorly done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The larger duties scarce begun—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so may conscience culpable<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Suggest a remedy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Subway" id="The_Subway"></a>The Subway.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, who in creation would fail to descend<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That wonderful hole in the ground?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sinuous fashion, seems never to end;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">While thunder and lightning abound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, who in creation would dare to go down<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That great subterranean hole—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gives to the city a mighty renown<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And a shaking as never before?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where the flies are all buzzing about;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down into its maw where the populace drop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never know where they are going to stop,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or whether they'll ever get out.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why is it, with millions of acres untrod<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Where never the ploughshare hath been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That man must needs burrow miles under the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if to get farther and farther from God,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And deeper and deeper in sin?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O Dagos and diggers, who can't understand<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That the planet you'll never get through—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, there is three times as much water as land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And but for the least little seam in the sand<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your life is worth less than a <i>sou</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come up out of Erebus into the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">There's plenty of room overhead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No boring or blasting of rocks in the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No stratum of sticky, impervious clay—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All vacuous vapor instead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el—",<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Not leagues from the surface below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if we were never in Heaven to dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if we were all being fired to—well,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The place where we don't want to go!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Apple_Tree" id="The_Apple_Tree"></a>The Apple Tree.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around whose body have children clung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose bounteous branches the birds among<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was ever a tree, or shall there be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So welcome a boon to the family,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How he loves to be digging about its root,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daintiest palate that he may suit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the fairest and finest selected fruit.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His delicate Greenings—made for pies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His Golden Pippins that take the prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the wise little rodents always knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never forget or fail to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of laying up store for the winter through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he hollows a space in the mellow ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where leaves for lining and straw abound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And well remembers his apple mound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a day of scarcity comes around.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> +<span class="i0">By many a token may we suppose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the knowledge apple no longer grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That broke up Adam and Eve's repose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set the fashion of fig-leaf clothes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The story's simple and terse and crude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still with a morsel of truth imbued:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For of trees and trees by the multitude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are some that are evil, and some that are good.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The more I muse on those stories old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The more philosophy they unfold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of husbands docile and women bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Satan's purposes manifold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, many a couple halve their fare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With that mistaken and misfit air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That the world and all are ready to swear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To a mighty unapple-y mated pair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All gnarled and bored by the curculio,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And loves to stand in a zigzag row;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doesn't make half so much of a show<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spreads out wide like a pink parasol<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set on its stem by the garden-wall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I love the apple tree, after all.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"A little more cider"—sings the bard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And who this juiciness would discard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though holding the apple in high regard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must be like the cider itself—very hard;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the spirit within it, as all must know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is utterly harmless—unless we go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the fool in his folly, and overflow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By drinking a couple of barrels or so.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What of that apple beyond the seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fruit of the famed Hesperides?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dust and ashes compared to these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grow on Columbia's apple trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I sigh for the apples of years agone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Russets brown with their jackets on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And aromatic as cinnamon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the pear is fine in its stately grace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The plum belongs to a puckery race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And maketh awry the mouth and face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I long to roam in the orchard free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dear old orchard that used to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gather the beauties that dropped for me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the bending boughs of the apple tree.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Two_Roses" id="Two_Roses"></a>Two Roses.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I've a friend beyond the ocean<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So regardful, so sincere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he sends me in a letter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such a pretty souvenir.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is crushed to death and withered,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of shape and very flat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But its pure, delicious odor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the richer for all that.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis a rose from Honolulu,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And it bears the tropic brand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sandwiched in this friendly missive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From that far-off flower-land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It shall mingle <i>pot-à-pourri</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the scents I love and keep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some of them so very precious<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That remembrance makes me weep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While I dream I hear the music<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That of happiness foretells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the flourishing of trumpets<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the sound of marriage bells.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +<span class="i0">There's a rose upon the prairie,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chosen his by happy fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shall gather when he cometh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sailing through the Golden Gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mine, a public posy, growing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Somewhere by the garden wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might have gone to any stranger,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May have been admired by all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But the rose in beauty blushing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tenderly and sweetly grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the home and its affections,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blooms for him, and him alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Speed the voyager returning;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His shall be a welcome warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the Rose of Minnesota<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gently resting on his arm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love embraces in his kingdom<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Earth and sea and sky and air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is Heaven everywhere.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Taxidermist" id="The_Taxidermist"></a>The Taxidermist.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From other men he stands apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wrapped in sublimity of thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where futile fancies enter not;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With starlike purpose pressing on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where Agassiz and Audubon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Labored, and sped that noble art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet in its pristine dawn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Something to conquer, to achieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Makes life well worth the struggle hard;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its petty ills to disregard,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In high endeavor day by day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With this incentive—that he may<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Somehow mankind the richer leave<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When he has passed away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forest and field he treads alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Finding companionship in birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For these to him a language speak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To common multitudes unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As tones of classic Greek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unthinking creatures and untaught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They to his nature answer back<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Something his fellow mortals lack;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And oft educe from him the sigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That they unnoticed soon must die,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving of their existence naught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be remembered by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Man may aspire though in the slough;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May dream of glory, strive for fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thirst for the prestige of a name.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And shall these friends, that so invite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The study of the erudite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ever as he beholds them now<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perish like sparks of light?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, 'tis his purpose and design<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To keep them: not like mummies old<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Papyrus-mantled fold on fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But elephant, or dove, or swan,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its native hue and raiment on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In effigy of plumage fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or skin its native tawn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What God hath wrought thus time shall tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thus endowment rich and vast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be rescued from the buried past;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And rare reliques that never fade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be in the manikin portrayed<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Till taxidermy witness well<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The debt to science paid.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lo! one appeareth unforetold—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This re-creator, yea, of men;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making him feel as born again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who looketh up with reverent eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through wonders that his soul surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That great Creator to behold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All-powerful, all-wise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Epithalamium" id="Epithalamium"></a>Epithalamium.</h2> + + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Whom God hath joined"—ah, this sententious phrase<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A meaning deeper than the sea conveys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of a sweet and solemn service tells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the rich resonance of wedding-bells;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It speaks of vows and obligations given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if amid the harmony of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While seraph lips approving seem to say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Love, honor, and obey."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> +<h3>II.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is Hymen then ambassador divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mission, matrimonial and benign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart to counsel, ardor to incite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if were this his mandate from the throne:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"It is not good for them to be alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not mine and thine, but ours."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That they of conjugal intent "do well"?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hinted at a better state,—'tis one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With which two loving souls have naught to do.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, in well-doing being quite content,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be there another state more excellent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To which the celibate doth fain repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They neither know nor care.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And does the Lord of all become High Priest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with his presence grace the wedding-feast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For nuptials there are none beyond the sky;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +<span class="i0">So is the union sanctified and blest,><br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may the joyous bridal season be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like that of Galilee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>V.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all the loving Saviour who revere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Madonna-like be thou in every grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shall adorn thee in exalted place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thine the happy privilege to prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The depth, the tenderness of woman's love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So shall the heart that honors thee today<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bow down to thee alway.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<h3>VI.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O radiant June, in wealth of light and air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let all bright tokens affluent combine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round the bridal pair in splendor shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On this glad day their tender vows renew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom God hath joined for aye.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_Fowl_Affair" id="A_Fowl_Affair"></a>A Fowl Affair.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hope I'm not too orthodox<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To give a joke away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That took me like the chicken-pox<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And left a debt to pay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let argument ignore the cost,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">If it be dear or cheap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only claim that naught be lost<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When it's too good to keep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The proverb says "All flesh is grass,"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But this I do deny,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because of that which came to pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But not to pass me by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A body weighing by the pound<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Inside of half a score,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In case and cordage safely bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was landed at my door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What could it be? for friends are slack,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And give, I rather trow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When they are sure of getting back<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As much as they bestow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +<span class="i0">My hair, at thought of dark design,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or dynamitish fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up like quills of porcupine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But more than twice as straight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Anon, I mused on something rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like duck or terrapin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dreamed not, of the parcel, there<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Might be a pullet-in.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A mighty jerk,—the string that broke<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fowl affair revealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The victim of a cruel choke,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Its neck completely peeled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The biped in its paper cof-<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Fin, cramped and plump and neat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had scratched its very toenails off<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In making both ends meat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The only part I always ate,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That never made me ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had gone away decapitate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And carried off the bill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I pondered o'er the sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The merry-thought, the wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On giblet gravy, salad nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And chicken-pie-ous things.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In heat of Fahrenheit degree<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Two hundred twelve or more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where its grandsire, defying me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Had crowed the year before,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I thrust it with a hope forlorn,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I knew what toughness meant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sighed that ever I was born<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To die of roasting scent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But presto! what <i>dénouement</i> grand<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of cookery sublime!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas done as by the second hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The drumsticks beating thyme.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now the moral—he who buys<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Will comprehend its worth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look not so much to weight and size<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As to the date of birth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In fowls there is a difference;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"The good die young," they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for the death of innocence<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To make us meat, we pray.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Holiday_Home" id="Holiday_Home"></a>Holiday Home.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of all the sweet visions that come unto me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of happy refreshment by land or by sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like oases where in life's desert I roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I climb to the top of the highest of hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And look to the west with affectionate thrills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fancy I stand by the emerald side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In distant perspective unruffled it lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except for the packet that paddles and plies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And puffing its way like a pioneer makes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Untroubled except for the urchins that come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From many a haunt that is never a home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All placid except for the dip of the oar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the skiff, or the barge striking out from the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While merry excursionists shout till the gale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reverberates laughter through rigging and sail.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> +<span class="i0">How it scallops its basin and shimmers and shines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a salver of silver encompassed with vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In crystal illusion reflecting the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the mountain that seems from its bosom to rise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There stands a great house on a summit so high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like an eyrie of safety enroofed by the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I think of the rest and the comfort up there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sleep, and to breathe that empyreal air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the charm of the glen and the stream and the wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can never be written, nor be understood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Except by the weary and languid who come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bask in the quiet of Holiday Home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From prisonlike cellars unwholesome and drear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From attic and alley, from labor severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the poor and the famished doth kindness prepare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A world of diversion and excellent fare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To swing in the hammock, disport in the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie in the shade of magnificent trees—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, this is like quaffing from luxury's bowl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The life-giving essence for body and soul!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Nor distance nor time shall efface from the mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The influence gentle, the ministry kind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While gratitude fondly enhallows the thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a home and a holiday never forgot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, one is remembered of saintliest men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lovely Geneva who comes not again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who left a sweet impress wherever he trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Humanity's helper, companion of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the hearts of the many there sheltered and fed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As unto a hospice by Providence led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does often a thought like a sunbeam intrude<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the bounty so free, and the donors so good?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who of their abundance have cheerfully given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherewith to develop an embryo heaven—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To brighten conditions too hard and too sad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make the unhappy contented and glad.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Be blessedness theirs, who like knights of renown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus scatter such largesse o'er country and town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their monument building in many a dome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like healthful and beautiful Holiday Home.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Rutha" id="Rutha"></a>Rutha.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The days are long and lonely,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The weary eve comes on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the nights are filled with dreaming<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of one beloved and gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I reach out in the darkness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clasp but empty air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Rutha dear has vanished—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wonder, wonder where.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet must it be: her nature<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So lovely, pure, and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So nearly like the angels,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is she an angel too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The cottage is dismantled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of all that made it bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond its silent portal<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No love, nor life, nor light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where are the hopes I cherished,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The joys that once I knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreams, the aspirations?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All, all are perished too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, love's dear chain is broken;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From shore to shore I roam—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No comfort, no companion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No happiness, no home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh could I but enfold her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto my heart once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If aught could e'er restore me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My darling as before;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If God would only tell me—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such myriads above—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why He must needs have taken<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The one I loved to love;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If God would only tell me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why multitudes are left,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unhappy and unlovely,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And I am thus bereft;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If—O my soul, be silent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And some day thou shalt see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through mystery and shadow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And know why it must be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To every cry of anguish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From every heart distressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can be no other answer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than this—God knoweth best.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Student_Gone" id="The_Student_Gone"></a>The Student Gone.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So soon he fell, the world will never know<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What possibilities within him lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What hopes irradiated his young life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With high ambition and with ardor rife;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ah! the speedy summons came, and so<br /></span> +<span class="i8">He passed away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By others misapplied, misunderstood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doors are barred that wait the master-key—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wait his magic Open Sesame!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To that assertive power that commands<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The multitude.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What manhood and integrity might be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How one from all base elements apart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might walk serene, in purity of heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His face the bright transparency of love<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And sympathy?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The student ranks are closed, there is no gap;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of other brave aspirants is no dearth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prowess, fidelity, and truth go on,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And few shall miss or mourn the student gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reposing in the all-protecting lap<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Of Mother Earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Too soon—O God! was it thy will that one<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of such endeavor and of noble mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enrapt with living, should thus early go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From all he loved and all who loved him so,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mid life's activities no longer known,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">No longer seen?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, not for aye should agonizing lips<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Quiver with questionings they dare not frame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though in the dark penumbra of despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemeth no light, nor comfort anywhere—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All things enshadowed as in dense eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">No more the same.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Could we but know, in that Elysian lore<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of happy exercise still going on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could we but know of glorious heights attained,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his reward, of mysteries explained,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! but to know were to lament no more<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The student gone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Tourist" id="The_Tourist"></a>The Tourist.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lo! carpet-bag and bagger occupy the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And prove the touring season actively begun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His personnel and purpose can none misunderstand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For each upon his frontlet bears his honest brand—<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The fool-ish one!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By caravan and car, from country and from town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A great grasshopper army fell foraging the land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like bumblebees that know not where to settle down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impossible it is to curb or scare or drown<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The tourist band.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With guidebook, camera, with rod and gun, to shoot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lure the deer, the hare, the bird, the speckled trout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pauper or the prince unbidden they salute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And everywhere their royal right dare none dispute—<br /></span> +<span class="i12">To roam about.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From dark immuring walls and dingy ways of trade,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From high society's luxurious stately homes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From lounging places by the park or promenade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rural dwellings canopied in sylvan shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The tourist comes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To every mountain peak within the antipodes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sweet, sequestered spots no other mortal knows;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To every island fair engirt by sunny seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To forest-centers unexplored by birds or bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The tourist goes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For Summer's fingers all the land have richly dressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Resplendent in regalia of scent and bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stirred in every heart the spirit of unrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like that of untamed fledglings in the parent nest<br /></span> +<span class="i12">For ampler room.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What is it prompts the roving mania—is it love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of wild adventure fanciful, unique, and odd?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it to be in fashion, and to others prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One's social standing, that impels the madness of<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The tramp abroad?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The question hangs unanswered, like an unwise prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Importunate, but powerless response to bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go ask the voyagers, the rovers everywhere—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They only say it is their rest-time, outing, their<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Vacationing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So is the world's eccentric round of joy complete<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When happy tourist-traveler, no more to roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fascinating, thrilling story shall repeat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To impecunious, luckless multitudes who greet<br /></span> +<span class="i12">The tourist home.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Antiquarian" id="The_Antiquarian"></a>The Antiquarian.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Millions have been and passed from view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Benignity who never knew;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No aspiration theirs, nor aim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Existence soulless as the clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From whence they sprang, what right have they<br /></span> +<span class="i8">To eulogy or fame?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So multitudes have been forgot—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But drones or dunces, good for naught;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like clinging parasites or burrs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Taking from others all they dared,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet little they for others cared<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Except as pilferers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not so with that majestic man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The all-round antiquarian—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No model his nor parallel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From selfishness inviolate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are his achievements good and great,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And thus shall ages tell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A love for the antiquities<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His honest hold, his birthright is!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And things unheard of or unread,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Defaced by moth or rust or mold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him are treasures more than gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Ay, than his daily bread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At neither ghost nor ghoul aghast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He echoes voices of the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tones like melancholy knells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of years departed to his ear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are sweeter than of kindred dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Sweeter than Florimel's.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He delves through centuries of dust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To resurrect some unknown bust,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A torso, or a goddess whole;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maybe like Venus, minus arms—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haply to find those missing charms;<br /></span> +<span class="i8">But not the lost, lost soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He dotes on aborigines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who lived in caves and hollow trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And barters for their trinkets rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exchanging with those dusky breeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For arrow-heads and shells and beads<br /></span> +<span class="i8">A scalplock of his hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had he been born—thus he laments—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along with other great events,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Coeval say with Noah's flood,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A proud relationship to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Hittites—or with any race<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Of blue archaic blood!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Much he adores that Pilgrim flock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same that split old Plymouth rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their "Bay Psalm" when they tried to sing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devoid of metre, sense, and tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who but a Puritanic loon<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Could have devised the thing?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He revels in a pedigree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sprouting of a noble tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Way back in prehistoric times;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for the "Family Record" true<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of scions all that ever grew<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Would give a billion dimes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a language fossils speak:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis not like Latin, much less Greek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But quite as dead and antiquate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its silent syllables, and cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ah, what meanings they unfold,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">What histories relate!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The earthquake is his best ally—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shows up things he cannot buy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gives him raw material<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For making mastodons and such,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enough to beat that ancient "Dutch<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Republic's Rise and Fall."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A piece of bone can never lie:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rib, a femur, or a thigh<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but a dislocated sign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of something hybrid, half and half<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betwixt a crocodile and calf—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Maybe a porcupine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The stately "Antiquarium"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is his emporium, his home.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He wonders if when he is gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will people look with mournful pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On him done up and classified,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And the right label on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He dreams of an emblazoned page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The calendar of every age<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down from Creation's primal dawn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With archetypes of spears and bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tons of undeciphered stones<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Its illustrations drawn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Labor a blessing, not a curse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hunting ground the Universe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So much the more his nature craves<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To sound the fathoms of the sea:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What mighty wonders there must be<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Down in those hidden caves!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So toils this dauntless man, alert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the ruins and the dirt,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That other men to endless day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Themselves uplifted from the clod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May see, and learn and know that God<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Is greater far than they.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thus, of mighty ken and plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The all-round antiquarian<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pursues his happy ministry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the world's progressive track<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Advances, always going back—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Back to antiquity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Poor_Housekeeping" id="Poor_Housekeeping"></a>Poor Housekeeping.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If there is one gift that I prize above others,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That tinges with brightness whatever I do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gives to the sombre a roseate hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis a legacy mine from the nicest of mothers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who haply the beauty of housewifery knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And taught me her neatness and diligence too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So is my discomfort a house in disorder:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The service uncleanly, the linen distained,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The children like infantry rude and untrained;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The portieres dusty and frayed at the border,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By lavish expenses the pocketbook drained,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And miseries numberless never explained.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I dream not of pleasure in visions untidy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A wrapper all hole-y, a buttonless shoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A slatternly matron with nothing to do;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the ill-luck charged to ominous Friday<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Can never compare with the ills that ensue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On wretched housekeeping and cookery too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's many a husband, a patient bread-winner,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gets up from the table with look of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And something akin to the growl of a bear;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Not the saint he might be, but a querulous sinner—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">One driven to fasting but not unto prayer—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till epitaphed thus—"Indigestible Fare."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's many a child, from the roof-tree diurnal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A scene of distraction or dullness severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the longing of youth for diversion and cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That comes like the spring-time refreshing and vernal,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Goes out on a ruinous, reckless career,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Returning, if ever, not many a year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O negligent female, imperfect housekeeper,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though faultless in figure and charming of face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In ruffles of ribbon and trailings of lace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Usurping the part of a common street-sweeper,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You never can pose as a type of your race<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In frowsy appearance mid things out of place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O fashion-bred damsel, with folly a-flutter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Until you have learned how to manage a broom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If never you know how to tidy a room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Manipulate bread or decide about butter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The duties of matron how dare you assume,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or ever be bride to a sensible groom?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I covet no part with that army of shirkers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All down at the heels in their slipper-y tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who hunt for the rolling-pin under the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who look with disdain on intelligent workers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And take to the club or the circus instead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of mending a stocking or laying the spread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, I dream of a system of perfect housekeeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where mistress and helper together compete<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In excellent management, quiet and neat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though in the bosom of earth I am sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall somebody live to whom life will be sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And home an ideal, idyllic retreat.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Going_to_Tobog" id="Going_to_Tobog"></a>Going to Tobog.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Into my disappointment-cup<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The snowflakes fell and blocked the road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so I thought I'd finish up<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The latest style of Christmas ode;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she, the charming little lass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With eyes as bright as isinglass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before a line my pen had wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In strange attire came bounding in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if she had with Bruno fought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And robbed him of his shaggy skin.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +<span class="i0">She came to me robed <i>cap-à-pie</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her bewitching "blanket-suit,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In moccasin and toggery,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All ready for "that icy chute,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And asked me if I thought she'd do;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shake with love of mischief true:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"For what?—a polar bear?—why, yes!"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"No, no!" she said, with half a pout.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Why, one would think so, by your dress—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Say, does your mother know you're out?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"No, I'm not out," she said, and sighed;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Because the storm so wildly raged—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for the first delightful ride<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For half a year I've been engaged."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Engaged to what?—an Esquimau?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To ride a glacier, or a floe?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Why, don't you know"—her color glowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In expectation all agog—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The reason why I'm glad it snowed?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because—I'm going to tobog."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Passer_Le_Temps" id="Passer_Le_Temps"></a>"Passer Le Temps."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So <i>that's</i> the way you pass your time!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Indeed your charming, frank confession<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betrays no sort of heinous crime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But marks a wonderful digression<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From puritanic views, less bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we were early taught to hold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Passer le temps</i>," of course, implies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little cycle of flirtations,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein the actors never rise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sober, serious relations,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But play just for amusement's sake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A harmless game of "give and take."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While moments pass on pinions fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And youth in beauty effloresces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The joy that finds itself complete<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In honeyed words and soft caresses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! an index seems to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of perilous inconstancy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It may be with disdainful smile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You greet this comment from a stranger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your pleasure-paths pursuing while<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A siren voice discounts the danger,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until, some day, in sadder rhyme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You rue your mode of "passing time."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Torpedo" id="The_Torpedo"></a>The Torpedo.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Valiant sons of the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">All the vast deep, your home,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Holds no terror so dread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As this novel and unseen foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Lurking under the foam<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of some dangerous channel—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the torpedo, the scourge of ships.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Through the rigging may roar<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Æolus' thousand gales,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yet the mariner's heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrinketh not from the howling blast;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Though with battle-rent sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Flames and carnage around him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cowardice never shall pale his lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">But when powers concealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Threatening with death the crew,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Pave each eddy below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E'en the bravest are chilled with fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Lest yon wizard in blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who their progress is spying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touch but the key with his finger-tips.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +<span class="i4">Lo! with thunderous boom<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Towers a column bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And the vessel is gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In that ocean of blinding spray<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Sink her turrets from sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By thy potency broken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O irresistible scourge of ships!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<i>Harry Howard.</i><br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Margaret" id="Margaret"></a>Margaret.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I saw her for a moment,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her presence haunts me yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In oft-recurring visions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of grace and gladness met<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That marked the sweet demeanor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of dainty Margaret.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like gossamer her robe was<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around her lightly drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A filmy summer-garment<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That fairy maidens don<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make them look like angels<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Croqueting on the lawn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The mallet-sport became her<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In hue of exercise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That tinged her cheek with roses;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, dancing in her eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were pantomime suggestions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of having won—a prize.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No more to me a stranger<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is she who occupies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A place in all my musings;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And brings in tender guise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thought of one so like her—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long years in Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear Margaret! that "pearl-name"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is thine—and may it be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The synonym of goodness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of truth and purity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all ennobling graces<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exemplified in thee.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Christmas_Bells" id="Christmas_Bells"></a>Christmas Bells.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ring out, O bells, in joyful chime!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again we hail the Christmas time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In melting, mellow atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The crown and glory of the year.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When bitterness, distrust, and awe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dissolve, like ice in winter's thaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the genial touches of<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Amenity, good will, and love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When flowers of affection grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like edelweiss mid alpine snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lives severe and beautiless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unused to warmth or tenderness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let goodness, grace, and gratitude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Revive in music's interlude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pæan notes, till time shall cease,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Proclaim the blessed reign of peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ring, Christmas bells! for at the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet memories of Him abound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who laid aside a diadem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be the babe of Bethlehem.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="By_the_Sea" id="By_the_Sea"></a>By the Sea.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I am longing to dwell by the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dip in the surf every day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And—height of subaqueous glee—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With the sharks and the porpoises play.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To novelty ever inclined—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Instead of a calm evening sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould suit my adventurous mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To ride on the back of a whale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I want to disport on the rocks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like a mythical mermaiden belle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And comb out my watery locks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then dive to my cavernous cell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I want to discover what lends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such terror to all timid folks—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That serpent whose mystery tends<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make one believe it a hoax.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They say he's been captured at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The news is too good to be true—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's slippery, cunning, and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And likes notoriety too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Once had I such longings to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A sailor—those wishes are o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ever in dreams of the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My horoscope rests on the shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, give me a home by the sea—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A cottage, a cabin, a tent!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Existence should ecstasy be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till summer were joyfully spent.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Song" id="A_Song"></a>A Song.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, sing me a merry song!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart is sad tonight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day has been so drear and long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world has gone awry and wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Discouragements around me throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gloom surpassing night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, sing again the song for me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My mother used to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I, a child beside her knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked up for her sweet sympathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor ever thought how I might be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her little hindering thing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, sing, as eventide draws near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old-time lullabys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grandmother sang—forever dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though in her grave this many a year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She lies who "read her title clear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To mansions in the skies."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, sing till all perplexing care<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has vanished with the day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And angels ever bright and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come down the melody to share,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on their pinions lightly bear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My happy soul away.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Is_It_April" id="Is_It_April"></a>"Is It April?"</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No, this is January, dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The almanac's untrue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sleet and snow and atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will be the monarch of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And terror, too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Is it a blessing in disguise?"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of course, things always are;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But Arctic blasts with ardent skies<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Somehow do not quite harmonize,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That try to cheat by weather-lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The calendar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old Janus must be double-faced;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He promised long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maple syrup not to taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor steal the roses from the waist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one, a damsel fair and chaste<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As April snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O winter of our discontent!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your reign was for a day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold! a scene of wonderment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand tongues are eloquent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For spring, in bud and bloom and scent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is on the way.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Christmas-Tide" id="Christmas-Tide"></a>Christmas-Tide.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Let working-clothes be laid aside,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Industry in festal garb arrayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Relax at Christmas-tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">As moments pass by dial, so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let gifts go round the happy circle where<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In giving and receiving each may share,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And mutual kindness show.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">The meaning deep, like mystery,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May thousands never fathom—yet who know<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And hail the Christmas-tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">So strong a hold on human thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has this glad day that seasons all the year<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">It ne'er shall be forgot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">It is the milestone on life's road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where we may lay our burdens down, and take<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake<br /></span> +<span class="i6">So prettily bestowed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Upon its shining tablet we may write—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, like the good Samaritan, in deed—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A record that the angel band shall read<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With impulse of delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And this is why on Christmas morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world should smile and wear its brightest glow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because some nineteen hundred years ago<br /></span> +<span class="i6">A little child was born.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="January_1885" id="January_1885"></a>January, 1885.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These winter days are passing fair!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if a breath of spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had permeated all the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And touched each living thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With thankfulness for such a boon—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Discounting with a scoff<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The almanac's report that "June<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is yet a long way off!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We quarrel with the calendar—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For May has been misplaced—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And doubt the tale oracular<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of "Janus, double-faced;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this "ethereal mildness" looks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toward shadowy delights<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of coming thermal nights.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let robes diaphanous succeed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dense garments made of fur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And overcoats maintain the lead—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among the things that were!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wisely-rented sealskin sacque,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By many a dame possessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be quickly relegated back<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To its moth-haunted chest!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +<span class="i0">While every portly alderman,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In linen suit arrayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Manipulates the palm-leaf fan<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And seeks the cooling shade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he perspires who not in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Suggests his funny squibs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By poking his unwelcome cane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In other people's ribs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who dares to fling opprobrium<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On January now?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As to a potentate we come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With reverential bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because it doth not yet appear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Time hath ever seen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ruler of th' inverted year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In more benignant mien.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Boreas! do not lie low—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is, if "lie" thou must—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon our planet; do not blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With fierce and sudden gust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But come so gently, tenderly—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As come thou surely wilt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we may have sweet dreams of thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath "our crazy quilt!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Sweet_Peas" id="Sweet_Peas"></a>Sweet Peas.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By helpful fingers taught to twine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around its trellis, grew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A delicate and dainty vine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bursting bud, its blossom sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Inlaid with honeyed-dew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Developing by every art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To floriculture known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From tares exempt, and kept apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Careful, as if in some fond heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its legume germs were sown.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So thriving, not for me alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its beauty and perfume—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, no, to rich perfection grown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By flower mission loved and known<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In many a darkened room.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And once in strange and solemn place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mid weeping uncontrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the crushed and snowy lace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw them scattered 'round a face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All pallid, still, and cold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those saucy sprigs of pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peony, the red, red rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But give to me the flower that grows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Petite and pansy-eyed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impels the ardent thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would maidens all were more like these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With modesty—that true heartsease—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tying the lover's knot.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Summer_House" id="The_Summer_House"></a>The Summer House.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Midway upon the lawn it stands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So picturesque and pretty;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upreared by patient artist hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Admired of all the city;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very arbor of my dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A covert cool and airy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So leaf-embowered as to seem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The dwelling of a fairy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the place to lie supine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within a hammock swinging,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To watch the sunset, red as wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To hear the crickets singing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while the insect world around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is buzzing—by the million—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No wingèd thing above the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Intrudes in this pavilion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the place, at day's decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tell the old, old story<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind the dark Madeira vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behind the morning glory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To confiscate the rustic seat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And barter stolen kisses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For honey must be twice as sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In such a spot as this is.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It is the haunt where one may get<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Relief from petty trouble,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May read the latest day's gazette<br /></span> +<span class="i2">About the "Klondike" bubble:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How shanties rise like golden courts.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where sheep wear glittering fleeces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How gold is picked up—by the quartz—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all get rich as Croesus.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Here hid away from dust and heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Secure from rude intrusion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While willing lips the thought repeat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So grows the fond illusion:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That happiness the product is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of lazy, languid dozing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of soft midsummer reveries,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half-waking, half-reposing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here in restful interlude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Life's fallacies forgetting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its frailties—such a multitude—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fuming and the fretting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the fragrance, dusk, and dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The happy soul at even<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May walk abroad, and interview<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright messengers from Heaven.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="To_Die_in_Autumn" id="To_Die_in_Autumn"></a>To Die in Autumn.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The melody of autumn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is the only tune I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I sing it over and over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because it thrills me so;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It stirs anew the happy wish,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So near to perfect bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To live a little longer in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A world like this.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sound was never sweeter,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The voice so nearly mute,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As beauty, dying, loses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hold upon the lute;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like the harmonies that touch<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And blend with those above,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever must an echo wake<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The heart of love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her robe of brown and coral<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And amber glistens through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rare jewels of the morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The opals of the dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like royal fabrics worn beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The tinselry of pearls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or diamond dust by fashion strewn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On sunny curls.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +<span class="i0">If I could wrap such garments<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In true artistic style<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About myself departing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wear as sweet a smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be as guileless as the flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My friends would never sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould reconcile them to my death<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To see me die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And why should there be sorrow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When dying is no more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than 'twixt two bright apartments<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The opening of a door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which the freed, enraptured soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From this, a paradise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May pass to that supremely fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the skies?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, 'twere not hard to finish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When earth with tender grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prepares for her dear children<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So sweet a resting place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though in dissolution's throe<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The melody be riven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The song abruptly ended here<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Goes on in Heaven.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Apple_Blossoms" id="Apple_Blossoms"></a>Apple Blossoms.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Of all the lovely blossoms<br /></span> +<span class="i8">That decorate the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And shower down their petals<br /></span> +<span class="i8">With every breath of breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is nothing so sweet or fair to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the delicate blooms of the apple tree.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">A thousand shrubs and flow'rets<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Delicious pleasure bring,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But beautiful Pomona<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Must be the queen of spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And out of her flagon the peach and pear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their chalices fill with essence rare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Oh, is it any wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Devoid of blight or flaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The peerless blooms of Eden<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Our primal mother saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In redolent beauty before her placed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">But woman's love of apples,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Involving fearful price,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And Adam's love for woman<br /></span> +<span class="i8">That cost him Paradise,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +<span class="i0">By the labor of hands and sweat of brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have softened the curse to a blessing now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">If so those pink-eyed glories,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">In fields and orchards gay<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Develop luscious fruitage<br /></span> +<span class="i8">By Horticulture's way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall luxury follow the apple blooms.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Without_a_Minister" id="Without_a_Minister"></a>Without a Minister.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The congregation was devout,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The minister inspired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their attitude to those without<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By every one admired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all things so harmonious seemed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of no calamity we dreamed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, just in this quiescent state<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A little cloud arose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Portentous of our certain fate—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As everybody knows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our pastor took it in his head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His "resignation" must be read.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +<span class="i0">In every eye a tear-drop stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For we accepted it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reluctantly, but nothing could<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make him recant one bit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soon he left for distant parts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While we were left—with broken hearts.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And next the "patriarch" who led<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For nearly three-score years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our "Sabbath school"—its worthy head—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rekindled all our fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By saying, with a smile benign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so he did; but promptly came<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forth one, of good report—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Our Superintendent" is his name—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who tries to "hold the fort"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this, his first experience.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The world looks on and says, "How strange!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They hang together so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These Baptists do, and never change,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But right straight onward go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While other flocks are scattering all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some have strayed beyond recall!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Indian_Summer" id="Indian_Summer"></a>Indian Summer.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Is it not our bounden duty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wild, ambitions schemes repel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to revel in the beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of this Indian summer spell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bathing forest, field, and dell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As with radiance immortelle?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">None can paint like nature dying;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose dissolving struggle lent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wealth of hues so richly blent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, through weary years of trying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Artist skill pre-eminent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May not copy or invent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such divine embellishment.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Knights of old from castles riding<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Scattered largesse as they went<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which, like manna heaven-sent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheered the poverty-abiding;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But, when 'neath "that low green tent"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Passed the hand benevolent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sad were they and indigent.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Monarchs, too, have thus delighted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Giving unto courtiers free,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Costly robes and tinselry;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And, as royal guests, invited<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Them to sumptuous halls of glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Banqueting and minstrelsy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bacchus holding sovereignty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, perchance, in mood capricious<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stripped and scorned and turned away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those who tasted for a day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleasure sweet and food delicious;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor might any say them nay—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lest his head the forfeit pay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who a king dared disobey.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But our own benignant Giver,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Almoner impartial, true,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Constantly doth gifts renew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor would fitfully deliver<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aught unto the chosen few,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But to all the wide world through,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who admire his wonders, too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never shall the heart be poorer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never languish in despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That such affluence may share;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For than this is nothing surer—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He hath said, and will prepare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In those realms of upper air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glories infinitely fair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Autumn-Time" id="Autumn-Time"></a>Autumn-Time.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like music heard in mellow chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The charm of her transforming time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon my senses steals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As softly as from sunny walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In day's decline, their shadow falls<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across the sleeping fields.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A fair, illumined book<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is nature's page whereon I look<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While "autumn turns the leaves;"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And many a thought of her designs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between those rare, resplendent lines<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My fancy interweaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I dream of aborigines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who must have copied from the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fashions of the day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those gorgeous topknots for the head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of yellow tufts and feathers red,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With beads and sinews gay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder if the saints behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such pageantry of colors bold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond the radiant sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if the tints of Paradise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are heightened by the strange device<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of making all things die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yea, even so; for Nature glows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because of her expiring throes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if around her tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmeet it were,—the look severe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That designates a common bier<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enwreathed in deepest gloom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so I meditate if aught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can be so fair where death is not;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If Heaven's loveliness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is born of struggle and decay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, but for funeral array,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would it be beautiless?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh solemn, sad, sweet mystery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Earth's unrivaled brilliancy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but her splendid pall!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Heaven were not what it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for that crown of tragedies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sacrifice for all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So not a charm would Zion lose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were it bereft of sparkling hues<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In gilded lanes and leas;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It would be bright though not a flower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unclosed in its celestial bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And void of jeweled trees.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, lily-like, one bloom I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its name is his who died for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose matchless beauty shows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perfection on its bleeding stem,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blossom-bud of Bethlehem,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Resurrection Rose.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Beauty_of_Nature" id="The_Beauty_of_Nature"></a>"The Beauty of Nature."</h2> + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh bud and leaf and blossom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How beautiful they are!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than last year's vernal season<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis lovelier by far;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This earth was never so enchanting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor half so bright before—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For forty years or more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What luxury of color<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On shrub and plant and vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From pansies' richest purple<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To pink of eglantine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With deep cerulean eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Responding to their modest surname<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In violet surprise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I think the sunlight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gilds the emerald hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And makes Aladdin dwellings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of dingy domiciles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is surplus beauty overflowing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Heaven cannot hold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The topaz glitter, or the jacinth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glare of streets of gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In "Cedar Hill," the city<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of "low green tents" of sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I read the solemn record<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of those gone home to God;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While from their hallowed dust arising<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fragrant lilies grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if their life was all the sweeter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For those who sleep below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so 'tis not in sadness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I dwell upon the thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I am dead and buried<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I shall be forgot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because the germ of reproduction<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doth this poor body hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance to add to nature's beauty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A rose above the mold.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="All_the_Rage" id="All_the_Rage"></a>"All the Rage."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A common wayside flower it grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unhandsome and unnoticed too,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Except in deprecation<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That such an herb unreared by toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prolific cumberer of the soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Defied extermination.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its gorgeous blooms were never stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By honey-bee nor humming-bird<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In their corollas dipping;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they from clover white and red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delicious nectar drew instead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In dainty rounds of sipping.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No place its own euphonious name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the catalogue might claim<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of any flora-lover;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, in the scores of passers-by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As yet no true artistic eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its beauty could discover.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The reaper with his sickle keen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aimed at its crest of gold and green<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With spiteful stroke relentless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And would have rooted from the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "Solidago"—blossom-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But gaudy, rank, and scentless.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But everything must have its day—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And since some fickle <i>devotée</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or myrmidon of Fashion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Declares that this obnoxious weed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From wild, uncultivated seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall be the "ruling passion,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Effusive schoolgirls dote on it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose "frontispieces" infinite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That need no decoration<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are hid beneath its golden dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till many a fine, symmetric bust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is lost to admiration.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Smart dudes and ladies' men—the few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wish they could be ladies too—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Display a sprig of yellow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conspicuous in their buttonhole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To captivate a maiden soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or vex some other fellow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And spinsters of uncertain age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are clamoring now for "all the rage"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To give a dash of color<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To their complexions, which appear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be the hue they hold so dear—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Except a trifle duller.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That <i>négligée</i> "blue-stocking" friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who never cared her time to spend<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On mysteries of the toilet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now wears a sumptuous bouquet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shakes your hand a mile away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For fear that you will spoil it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Delightful widows, dressed in black,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Complain with modest sighs they lack<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That coveted expression,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sort of Indian Summer air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which "relicts" always ought to wear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By general concession;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so lugubrious folds of crape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are crimped and twisted into shape<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With graceful heads of yellow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That give a winsome toning down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sombre hat and sable gown—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In autumn tintings mellow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas, we only hate the weed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And think that it must be, indeed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ladies' last endeavor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To match the gentlemen, who flaunt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That odious dried tobacco plant<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At which they puff forever.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="My_Mothers_Hand" id="My_Mothers_Hand"></a>My Mother's Hand.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My head is aching, and I wish<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That I could feel tonight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One well-remembered, tender touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That used to comfort me so much,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And put distress to flight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's not a soothing anodyne<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or sedative I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such potency can ever hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As that which lovingly controlled<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My spirit long ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How oft my burning cheek as if<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By Zephyrus was fanned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nothing interdicted pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or seemed to make me well again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So quick as mother's hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis years and years since it was laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her own gentle way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On tangled curls of brown and jet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the downy coverlet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Neath which the children lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As bright as blessed sunlight ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The past comes back to me;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Her fingers turn the sacred page<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a little group of tender age<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who gather at her knee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when those hands together clasped<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Devout and still were we;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom it seemed God then and there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must surely answer such a prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For none could pray as she.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O buried love with her that passed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into the Silent Land!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O haunting vision of the night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see, encoffined, still, and white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mother's face and hand.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Leap_Year_Episode" id="A_Leap_Year_Episode"></a>A Leap Year Episode.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Such oranges! so fresh and sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So large and lovely—and so cheap!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They lay in one delicious heap,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And added to the sumptuous feast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For each and all in taste expert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The acme of all fine dessert;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So, singling out the very least<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in itself an ample treat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While sparkling repartee and jest<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Exhilarated host and guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of rarity so delicate<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In dreamy reverie I ate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By magic pinions as it were<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Transported from this realm of snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be a happy sojourner<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Away down where the orange grows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid the bloom, the verdure, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauty of that tropic land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While redolence seemed wafted in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From orchard-groves of Mandarin.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In dinner costume <i>a la mode</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Expressing from the spongy skin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The nectar that ran down her chin<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In little rills of lusciousness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat Maud, the beautiful coquette;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her dainty mouth, like "two lips" wet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With morning dew, her crimson dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sad discoloration showed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where orange-juice—it was a sin!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A polka-dot had painted in;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which moved the roguish girl to say<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Half-ruefully (half-<i>décolleté</i>)—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'm glad it's Leap Year now, for I—"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her voice was like a moistened lute<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +<span class="i0">"Shall wear the flowers, by and by—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I do not like this leaky fruit!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looking straight and saucily<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At cousin Ned, her <i>vis-a-vis</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While Will, who never dared propose,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was blushing like a red, red rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The company was large, and she<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Touched elbows with the exquisite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Gay Archibald, who took her wit<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And pertness all as meant for him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, thereby lifted some degrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above less-favored devotees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With rainbow sails began to trim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His craft of sweet felicity;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So mirth in reckless afterlude<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Convulsed the merry multitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who laughed at Archie's self-esteem,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And pitied Will's long-cherished dream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While all declared, for her and Ned—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His face was like a silver tray—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wedding-banquet should be spread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before a twelvemonth passed away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, ah, the sequel—blind were we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To woman and her strategy!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For he so long afraid to speak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bore off the bride within a week.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="If" id="If"></a>If.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If all the sermons good men preach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the precepts that they teach<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were gathered into one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbroken line of silver speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shining filament might reach<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From earth unto the sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If all the stories ever told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By wild romancers, young or old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into a thread were drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from its cable coil unrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould span those misty hills of gold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That heaven seems resting on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If every folly, every freak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From day to day, from week to week,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is written in "The Book,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the idle words we speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would it not crimson many a cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the page to look?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If all the good deeds that we do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From honest motives pure and true<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall there recorded be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Known unto God and angels too,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it not sad they are so few<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And wrought so charily?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Perfect_Character" id="Perfect_Character"></a>Perfect Character.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He lives but half who never stood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By the grave of one held dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And out of the deep, dark loneliness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a heart bereaved and comfortless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From sorrow's crystal plentitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Feeling his loss severe,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Dropped a regretful tear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, life's divinest draught doth not<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In the wells of joy abound!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the purest streams are those that flow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the depths of crushing woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As from the springs of love and thought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Hid in some narrow mound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Making it holy ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Owning that God is just,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the stillness of cypress shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rosemary's tender symbol laid<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon a cherished shrine, and felt<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Strengthened in faith and trust<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Over the precious dust.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> +<span class="i2">So perfect character is wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Rounded and beautified,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the alchemy of that strange alloy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The intermingling of grief and joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So nearer Heaven the spirit, brought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Bleeding, so sorely tried,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Finds its diviner side.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Miracle_of_Spring" id="The_Miracle_of_Spring"></a>The Miracle of Spring.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What touch is like the Spring's?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By dainty fingerings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such rare delight to give,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis luxury to live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Amid florescent things.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through weary months of snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Boreas swept low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How many an anxious hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We watched one little flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tried to make it grow;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thrilled with ecstasy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, half distrustfully,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A timid bud appeared,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A tender scion reared<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In window greenery.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> +<span class="i0">But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And richness of perfume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes as by miracle;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then why not possible<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within a curtained room?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, no! that everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The earth is passing fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And strange new life hath caught,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but the marvel wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By sunlight, rain, and air.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Bermuda" id="Bermuda"></a>Bermuda.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O charming blossom of the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Atlantic waters bosomed in!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Abiding-place of gayety,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Elysian bower of "Cora Linn,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sprightly, lively <i>débiteuse</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recounting all she sees and does.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, how it makes the northern heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sluggish current half-congealed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In ecstasy and vigor start<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To read about this tropic field;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The garden of luxuriousness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In winter wearing summer's dress.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> +<span class="i0">With gelid sap and frozen gum<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In maple trees and hackmatack,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While waiting for the spring to come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of life's necessities we lack;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sip the nectar that we find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In luscious fruit with golden rind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But down the street we dread to walk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For all the teachings of our youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Receive an agonizing shock;<br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Do</i> tempting labels lie, forsooth?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For "out of Florida," she says,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come our Bermuda oranges."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To speed the penitential prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our rosary we finger o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A yellow necklace rich and rare—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Twas purchased at the dollar store;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh, it makes us sigh to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That land of amber <i>bijouterie</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, ocean wave and flying sail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall never waft us to its shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But if some reckless cyclone gale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should drop Bermuda at our door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould warm our February sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring the time of roses nigh!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Charter_Oak" id="The_Charter_Oak"></a>The Charter Oak.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I seem to see the old tree stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its sturdy, giant form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A spectacle remembered, and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pilgrim-shrine for all the land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before it met the storm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unnumbered gales the tree defied;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It towered like a king<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above his courtiers, reaching wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sheltering scions at its side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As with protecting wing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Revered as one among the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To mark the seasons born,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To watchful aborigines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It told by leafy indices<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The time of planting corn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The landmark of the past is gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its site is overgrown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mansion overlooks the lawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where history is traced upon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A parapet of stone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Shall e'er Connecticut forget<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What unto it we owe—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tyranny, in council met,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Outwitted years ago?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aye, but it rouses loyal spunk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To think of that old tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its stately stem, its spacious trunk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By Nature robbed of pith and punk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To guard our liberty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But of the oak long-perished, why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is earth forever full?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, like the loaf and fish supply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its stock of fiber, tough and dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seems inexhaustible.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rare souvenirs the stranger sees—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who never sees a joke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And innocently dreams that these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were once the Charter Oak!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Blossom-time" id="Blossom-time"></a>Blossom-time.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Yes, it is drawing nigh—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The time of blossoming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waiting heart beats stronger<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With every breath of Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The days are growing longer;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While happy hours go by<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As if on zephyr wing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A wealth of mellow light<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Reflected from the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hill and vale is flooding;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Still in their leafless guise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Jacqueminots are budding,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Creating new delight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By promise of surprise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The air is redolent<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As ocean breezes are<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From spicy islands blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or groves of Malabar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where sandal-wood is growing;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or sweet, diffusive scent,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From fragrant attar-jar.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Just so is loveliness<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Renewed from year to year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus emotions tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Born of the atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of bloom, and vernal splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That words cannot express,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Make Spring forever dear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Can mortal man behold<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So beautiful a scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without the innate feeling<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That thus, like dying sheen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunset hues revealing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Glints pure, celestial gold<br /></span> +<span class="i4">On fields of living green?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="One_of_the_Least_of_These" id="One_of_the_Least_of_These"></a>"One of the Least of These."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas on a day of cold and sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little nomad of the street<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With tattered garments, shoeless feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And face with hunger wan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hedged in by features pinched and dull,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Betraying lines so pitiful<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By sorrow sharply drawn;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ere yet the service half was o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Approached the great cathedral door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As choir and organ joined to pour<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their sweetness on the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fleetness to the altar's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her trembling form she sought to hide<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Amid the shadows there,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Half fearful lest some worshiper,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enveloped close in robes of fur,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had cast a scornful glance at her<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As she had stolen by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But soon the swelling anthem, fraught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reverence, her spirit caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As rapt she listened, heeding not<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The darkness drawing nigh.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid novelty and sweet surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tread the realms of Paradise;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her shivering limbs grew warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the shadows longer crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the chancel, angels kept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their vigils o'er her as she slept<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Secure from cold and storm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No sound her peaceful slumber broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But one, whose gentle face bespoke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">True goodness, took her costly cloak<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In tender, thoughtful way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the sleeper sweetly smiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erspread the passive, slumbering child,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And softly stepped away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou hast a nearer, dearer part<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In his great love for thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when life's shadows all are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thee who, unaware, hast drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Our hearts in sympathy.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Lightning-bugs" id="Lightning-bugs"></a>Lightning-bugs.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Around my vine-wreathed portico,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At evening, there's a perfect glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of little lights a-flashing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the stellar bodies had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From super-heat grown hyper-mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And spend their ire in clashing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As frisky each as shooting star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These tiny electricians are<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The Lampyrine Linnæan—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like scintillations in a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of something empyrean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They brush my face, light up my hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My garments touch, dart everywhere;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And if I try to catch them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They're quicker than the wicked flea—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then I wonder how 'twould be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To have a <i>dress</i> to match them.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To be a "princess in disguise,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wear a robe of fireflies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All strung and wove together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be the cynosure of all<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> +<span class="i0">At Madame Haut-ton's carnival,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In fashion's gayest feather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So, sudden, falls upon the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The overpow'ring light of gas,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And through the lattice streaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wearily I close my eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brief are the moments that suffice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To reach the land of dreaming.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now at the ball, superbly dressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As I suppose, to eclipse the rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within an alcove shady<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A brilliant flame I hope to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While all admire and envy me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The "bright electric lady."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, ah, they never shine at all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My eyes <i>ignite</i>—I leave the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For wrathful tears have filled them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could have crushed them on the spot—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bugs, I mean!—and quite forgot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That <i>stringing</i> them had killed them.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Of_Her_who_Died" id="Of_Her_who_Died"></a>Of Her who Died.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We look up to the stars tonight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Idolatrous of them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dream that Heaven is in sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each a ray of purest light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From some celestial gem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In her bright diadem.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before that lonely home we wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ah! nevermore to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her lovely form within the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where heart and hearthstone desolate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vine and shrub and tree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seem asking: "Where is she?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is the cottage Love had planned—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where hope in ashes lies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tower beautiful to stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her monument whose gentle hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And presence in the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Make home of Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In wintry bleakness nature glows<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the stellar ray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see the mold, but not the rose,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And meditate if knowledge goes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into yon mound of clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With her who passed away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do echoes reach up there?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do seraphs know—God does—how wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And deep is sorrow's bitter tide<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of dolor and despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And darkness everywhere?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear angel, snatched from our caress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So suddenly withdrawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone are we and comfortless;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As in a dome of emptiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The old routine goes on,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Aimless, since thou art gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, dearer unto us than aught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In all the world beside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of thee to cherish blessed thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So early thy sweet mission wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As friend, as promised bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who lived, and loved, and died.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Thanksgiving" id="Thanksgiving"></a>Thanksgiving.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Of her supernal charm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Like crape upon her arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In boreal hints, and sudden gusts<br /></span> +<span class="i10">That fan the glowing ember,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By multitude of ways fulfills<br /></span> +<span class="i10">The promise of November.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Lies the rich afterglow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday<br /></span> +<span class="i10">That antedates the snow:<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">The festival commotion<br /></span> +<span class="i6">That stirs fraternal feeling from<br /></span> +<span class="i10">The mountains to the ocean.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand<br /></span> +<span class="i10">In generous dealing, where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And let no vacant chair<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +<span class="i6">Show where the strongest, brightest link<br /></span> +<span class="i10">In love's dear chain is broken—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">A symbol more pathetic than<br /></span> +<span class="i10">By language ever spoken.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Into the place held sacred to the memory of some<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Beloved absentee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And in gratuity<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Partake of festal favors that<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Shall sweeten hours of labor,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And strengthen amity and love<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Unto his friend and neighbor.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">A blessing to secure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend<br /></span> +<span class="i10">To all deserving poor;<br /></span> +<span class="i6">So may the day be hallowed by<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Unstinted thanks and giving,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In sweet remembrance of the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And kindness to the living.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Receiving_Sight" id="Receiving_Sight"></a>Receiving Sight.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In hours of meditation fraught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With mem'ries of departed days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes oft a tender, loving thought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of one who shared our youthful plays.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In gayest sports and pleasures rife<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose happy nature reveled so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That on her ardent, joyous life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A shadow lay, we did not know;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And bade her look one summer night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up to the sky that seemed to hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In dying sunset splendor bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All hues of sapphire, red, and gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How strange the spell that mystified<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Us all, and hushed our wonted glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sadly her sweet voice replied,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Why, don't you know I cannot see?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Too true! those eyes bereft of sight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No blemish bare, no drop-serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nothing in this world of light<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And beauty they had ever seen.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A dozen years in gentle ruth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their impress lent to brow and cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When precious words of sacred truth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Led her the Saviour's face to seek.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Responsive unto earnest prayers<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Commingling love and penitence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blessing came—not unawares—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In new and strange experience.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all was light, as Faith's clear eye<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A brighter world than ours divined;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For never clouds obscured the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That she could see, while <i>we</i> were blind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, it must be an awful thing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To be shut out from light of day!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From summer's grace, and bloom of spring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In gladness words cannot portray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But haply into every heart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May enter that Celestial Light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That doth to life's dark ways impart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A radiance hid from mortal sight.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Revenge" id="Revenge"></a>Revenge.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beside my window day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its tendrils reaching left and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A morning glory grew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With blossoms covered, pink and white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And deep, delicious blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its care became my daily thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who to the sweet diversion brought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bit of florist skill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To guide its progress, till it caught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The meaning of my will.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When through the trellis in and out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It bent and turned and climbed about<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so ambitious grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where raindrops trickled through,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, in caressing, graceful way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around a door knob twined one day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With modest show of pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All unaware that danger lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just on the other side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An awkward, verdant "maid of work,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +<span class="i2">While rummaging among<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unused apartments, with a jerk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The door wide open flung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo! there lay, uprooted quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The object of my heart's delight—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I did not weep or rant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet a grain or two of spite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My secret thoughts would haunt.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when at night her favorite beau<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside his charmer sat below—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is, <i>dans le cuisine</i>—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Occurred, as all the neighbors know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A semi-tragic scene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The garden hose, obscured from view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turned on itself and drenched the two—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hapless circumstance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That lengthened out her "frizzes" new,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But shrunk his Sunday pants.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Remember this was years agone—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The madcap now hath sober grown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hose is better wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And neither now would run alone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The risk of being caught.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="On_the_Common" id="On_the_Common"></a>On the Common.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We met on "Boston Common"—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of course it was by chance—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sudden, unexpected,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But happy circumstance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gave the dull October day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beautiful, refulgent ray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like wandering refugees from<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A city of renown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Impelled to reconnoiter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This Massachusetts town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each by a common object urged,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the park our paths converged.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good nature, bubbling over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In healthy, hearty laughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And little lavish speeches<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like pleasant paragraphs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kind regard, unstudied joke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His true felicity bespoke.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A bit of doleful knowledge<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Confided unto me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the way the doctors—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who never could agree—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His knees had tortured, softly drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sympathy and humor, too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I hoped he wouldn't lose them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And languish in the dumps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By having to quadrille on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pair of polished stumps—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But a corky limb, though one might dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Isn't half as bad as a wooden head.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He censured those empirics<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who never heal an ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though bound by their diplomas<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To either cure or kill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who should, with ignominy crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their patients follow—under ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I left him at the foot of<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The Soldiers' Monument,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With incoherent mutterings—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As though 'twere his intent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To turn the sod, a rod or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sleep beside the "boys in blue."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In Hartford's charming circles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His bonhommie I miss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And having never seen him<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From that day unto this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think of him with much regret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As lying—with the soldiers—yet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Womans_Help" id="Womans_Help"></a>Woman's Help.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I long to write an ode<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And magnify his name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man of honor, on the road<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To opulence and fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On whom was never aid bestowed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By any helpful dame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To all the world I fain would show<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That talent widely known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rare eloquence, of burning glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To melt a heart of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all his gifts, a dazzling row,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are his, and his alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But him, of character and mind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Superb, alert, and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never study but to find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The subject of my song,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some paragon of womankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has helped him all along.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He may not know, he may not guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How much to her he owes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How every scion of success<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +<span class="i2">That in his nature grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Developed by her watchfulness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Becomes a blooming rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From buffetings in humble place,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And labors ill begun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To proud achievement in the race<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laurels grandly won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His trials all she dares to face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As friend and champion.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bars that hinder his advance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And half obscure the goal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stubborn bond of circumstance<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That irritates his soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The countershafts of arrogance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All yield to her control.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He builds a tower—she below<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is handing up the bricks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His light is brilliant just as though<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her hand had trimmed the wicks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He prays for daily bread—the dough<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A woman deigns to mix.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Tobogganing" id="Tobogganing"></a>Tobogganing.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, the rare exhilaration,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, the novel delectation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a ride down the slide!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Packed like ice in zero weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pleasure-seekers close together,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a board as thin as wafer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Barely wider, scarcely safer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the height of recreation<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Find a glorious inspiration,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the speedy termination<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the snowy meadow wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sloping to the river's side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, such quakers we begin it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Timorous of the icy route!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to learn in half a minute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What felicity is in it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As we shoot down the chute,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smothered in toboggan suit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Redingote or roquelaure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Buttoned up (and down) before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mittens, cap, and moccasin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just the garb to revel in;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So, the signal given, lo!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Over solid ice and snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down the narrow gauge we go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swifter than a bird o'erhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swifter than an arrow sped<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the staunchest, strongest bow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, it beats all "Copenhagen,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Silly lovers' paradise!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the frozen Androscoggin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slippery, and smooth, and nice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is the track of the toboggan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there's nothing cheap about it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Everything is steep about it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The insolvent weep about it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For the biggest thing on ice<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is its tip-top price;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But were this three times the money,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the game were thrice as funny.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ye who dwell in latitudes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where "the blizzard" ne'er intrudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the water seldom freezes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye of balmy Southern regions,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alabama's languid legions,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From the "hot blast" of your breezes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where the verdure of the trees is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Limp, and loose, and pitiful,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Come up here where branches bare<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stand like spikes in frosty air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come up here where arctic rigor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall restore your bloom and vigor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Making life enjoyable;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come and take a jog on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unparalleled toboggan!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such the zest that he who misses<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never knows what perfect bliss is.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So the sport, the day's sensation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrills and recreates creation.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Woods" id="The_Woods"></a>The Woods.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I love the woods when the magic hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When beauty and song in the gladness of birth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awaken the heart of the desolate land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And carol its rapture to every breeze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In summer's still solstice my steps are drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the shade of the forest trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To revel with Pan in his secret haunts,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pipe mazourkas while satyrs dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lull to soft slumber some favorite faun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fascinate strange wild birds and bees.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I love the woods when autumnal fires<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are kindled on every hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When dead leaves rustle in grove and field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And trees are known by the fruits they yield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wild grapes, sweetened by frost, inspire<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A mildly-desperate, bibulous thrill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There's a joy for which I would fling to the air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My petty portion of wealth and fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In tracking the rabbit o'er fresh-fallen snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ways of the 'coon and opossum to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To capture squirrels when branches are bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the cupboard shelf of that ancient dame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, I long to explore the woods again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In my own aboriginal way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As before I knew how culture could frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a hoydenish gait and a homespun gown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dreamed that the strata of proud "upper-ten"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would smile at rusticity's <i>naïveté</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sigh for the pleasures of long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In youth's sweet halcyon time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When better beloved than the thoroughfare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By multitudes trod were the woodlands, where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was never a path that I did not know,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor thrifty sapling I dared not climb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Alas for lost freedom! Alas for me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For oh, Society's lip would curl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Propriety's self with scornful eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gilt-edged Fashion would pass me by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know that sometimes I'm dying to be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The romp, the rover, the same old girl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Like_Summer" id="Like_Summer"></a>Like Summer.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">November? 'tis a summer's day!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For tropic airs are blowing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As soft as whispered roundelay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From unseen lips that seem to say<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To feathered songsters going<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sunnier, southern climes afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Stay where you are—stay where you are!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And other tokens glad as these<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Declare that Summer lingers:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round latent buds still hum the bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow fades the green from forest trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere Autumn's artist fingers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have touched the landscape, and instead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought out the amber, brown, and red.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The invalid may yet enjoy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His favorite recreation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In outdoor sports the time employ,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And happy consummation<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of prudent plans the farmer know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere wintry breezes round him blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And they by poverty controlled—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Good fortune shall betide them<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As scenes of beauty they behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seem to revel in the gold<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which Plutus has denied them;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, ah! the poor from want's despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oft covet wealth they never share.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Sheridans_Last_Ride" id="Sheridans_Last_Ride"></a>Sheridan's Last Ride.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">While Phœbus lent his hottest rays<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To signalize midsummer days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stood in that far-famed enclosure<br /></span> +<span class="i8">By thousands visited,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, in the stillness of reposure,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Are grouped battalions dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Where, round each simple burial stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The grass for decades twain has grown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Protecting them in dreamless slumber<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Who perished long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The multitudes defying number,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">A part of war's tableau.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Along the winding avenue<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A vast procession came in view;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mourners' slow, advancing column<br /></span> +<span class="i8">With reverent step drew near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The "Dead March" playing, sad and solemn,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Above a soldier's bier.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">There were the colonels, brigadiers,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Comrades in arms of other years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Civilians, true and loyal-hearted<br /></span> +<span class="i8">To him their bravest man,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Who seemed to say to those departed,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">"Make room for Sheridan!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Anon, beside the new-made mound,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The warworn veterans gathered round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spake of Lyon and of Lander,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And others ranked as high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recalling each his old commander,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">One not afraid to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Thus, silent tenants one by one<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Are crowding in at Arlington;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus Sheridan, the horseman daring,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Has joined the honored corps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those, their true insignia wearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Who battle nevermore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">Potomac's wave shall placid flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And sing his requiem soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His terrace grave be sweet with clover,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">And daisies star his bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For Sheridan's last ride is over—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The General is dead!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_Bit_of_Gladness" id="A_Bit_of_Gladness"></a>A Bit of Gladness.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As I near my lonely cottage,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At the close of weary day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's a little bit of gladness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes to meet me on the way:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Innocent as angels are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a smiling, straying sunbeam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is my Stella—like a star.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon a hand of tissue-softness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Slips confidingly in mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with tender look appealing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eyes of beauty sweetly shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a gentle shepherd guiding<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some lost lamb unto the fold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So she leads me homeward, prattling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till her stories are all told.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Papa, I'm so glad to see you—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cousin Mabel came today—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the gas-man brought a letter<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he said you'd better pay—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yes, and <i>awful</i> things is happened:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My poor kitty's drowned to death—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover'—"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here she stops for want of breath.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +<span class="i0">I am like the bold knight-errant,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From his castle who would roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trusting her, my faithful steward,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For a strict account of home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each day I toil, and hazard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that any man may dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a resting-place at even,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the love that waits me there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And sometimes I look with pity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On my neighbor's mansion tall:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are chambers full of pictures,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There are marbles in the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with all the signs of splendor<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That may gild a pile of stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not a living thing about it<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But the owner, grim and lone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I believe that all his millions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He would give without repine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a little bit of gladness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In his life, like that in mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This it is that makes my pathway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beautiful, wherever trod,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Keeps me nearer to my God.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Charity_Ball" id="The_Charity_Ball"></a>The Charity Ball.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was many a token of festal display,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And reveling crowds who were never so gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as it were Æolus charming the hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For this was the annual Charity Ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Displaying their purses, the source of their pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And owners of acres of elegant blocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from the poor widow exacting her rent—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cost underpaid industry many a week<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its starving inadequate pittance to make;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There were delicate viands the poor never taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pamper the palate of epicures rich;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To loosen their tongues—though it pilfered their brains—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That pitiless hunger so often defines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From liveried hirelings who bade her begone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By uniformed minions compelled to move on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out into the street again driven to roam—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +<span class="i0">While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As homeward returning, fatigued and <i>blasé</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vision encountered their hearts to appall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And banish all thought of the Charity Ball.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A form so emaciate the spirit had fled—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the pulpit and press and the public all said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As society's doings they sought to recall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Belle_of_Baltimore" id="The_Belle_of_Baltimore"></a>The Bell(e) of Baltimore.</h2> + +<p>[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in +the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is +called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds]</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A million feet above the ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(For so it seemed in winding round),<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A million, and two more,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The latter stiff and sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While perspiration formed a part<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of every reeking pore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I viewed the city like a chart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Spread out upon the floor.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To me is meagre pleasure in<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The height of spires and domes,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of walls like ancient Rome's;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor care I for the marts of trade,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or shelves of musty tomes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor yet for yonder colonnade<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Before your palace homes;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"But curiosity is keen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know the city's reigning queen,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Who suiteth well the score<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of suitors at her door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, which of your divinities<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is she whom all adore?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embodiment of truth, <i>who is</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4">The belle of Baltimore?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Veracity's revolving eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked up as if to read the skies:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Why, Lor'-a-miss, see dar—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">De bell is in de air!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lan' sakes! of all de missteries<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Yo' nebber learn before!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, don' yo' know 'Big Sam'? <i>He</i> is<br /></span> +<span class="i4">De bell of Baltimore!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Christmas_at_Church" id="Christmas_at_Church"></a>Christmas at Church.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">'Twas drawing near the holiday,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">When piety and pity met<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whisp'ring council, and agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Christmas time, in homes of need,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Should be remembered in a way<br /></span> +<span class="i6">They never could forget.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Then noble generosity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Took youth and goodness by the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And planned a thousand charming ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To celebrate this best of days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While hearts were held in sympathy<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By love's encircling band.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">So multitudes together came,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like wandering magi from the East<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With precious gifts unto the King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With every good and perfect thing<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To satisfy a shivering frame<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Or amplify a feast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">The angels had looked long and far<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The happy scene to parallel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When through the sanctuary door<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Were carried gifts from shop and store,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The treasures of the rich bazaar,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">To give—but not to sell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">As once the apostolic twelve<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Of goods allotment made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So equity dealt out with care<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The widow's and the orphan's share,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And of the aged forced to delve<br /></span> +<span class="i6">At drudging task or trade.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, could the joy which tears express<br /></span> +<span class="i6">That out of gladness come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be mirrored in its tender glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the beautiful tableau<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Ingratitude and selfishness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would shrink abashed and dumb!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">If every year and everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Could kindness thus expand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bounteous gratuity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all her children earth would be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A flowery vale like Eden fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">A milk-and-honey land.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Mysterious" id="Mysterious"></a>Mysterious.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The morning sun rose bright and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a lovely village where<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Prosperity abounded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ceaseless hum of industry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In lines of friendly rivalry<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From day to day resounded.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its shaded avenues were wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And closely bordered either side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With cottages or mansions,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or marked by blocks of masonry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That might defy a century<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To loosen from their stanchions.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its peaceful dwellers daily vied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make this spot, with anxious pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A Paradise of beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Recounted its attractions o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its adornment held no more<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A pleasure than a duty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, ere the daylight passed away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That hamlet fair in ruins lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its hapless people scattered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like playthings, at the cyclone's will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce remained one domicile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its fury had not shattered.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Few moments of the tempest's wrath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sufficed to mark one dreadful path<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With scenes of devastation;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While over piles of wild débris<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose shrieks of dying agony<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above the desolation.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, mystery! who can understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, sudden, from God's mighty hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Destructive bolts of power<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without discrimination strike<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The evil and the good alike—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As in that dreadful hour!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas for aching hearts that wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Today in homes made desolate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By one sharp blow appalling—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all who kneel by altars lone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strive to say "Thy will be done,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That awful day recalling!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We dare not question his decrees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who seeth not as mortal sees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor doubt his goodness even;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor let our hearts be dispossessed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of faith that he disposeth best<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All things in earth and Heaven.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Be_not_Anxious" id="Be_not_Anxious"></a>"Be not Anxious."</h2> + +<p>"Be careful for nothing," Phil. iv. 6. Revised version, "Be not anxious."</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Of all the precepts in the Book<br /></span> +<span class="i4">By word of inspiration given,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That bear the import, tone, and look<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of messages direct from heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Revelation back to Genesis<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is nothing needed half so much as this.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah, well the great apostle spake<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In admonition wise and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who bade humanity forsake<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The petty weaknesses that bind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirit like a bird with pinioned wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That to a broken bough despairing clings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Were all undue anxiety<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Eliminated from desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could feverish fears and fancies be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Consumèd on some funeral pyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like holy hecatomb or sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould be accepted up in Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Could this machinery go on<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Without the friction caused by fret,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +<span class="i2">What greater loads were lightly drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">More easily were trials met;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then might existence be with blessings rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lengthened out like Hezekiah's life.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, be not anxious; trouble grows<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When cherished like a secret grief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">It is the worm within the rose<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That eats the heart out leaf by leaf;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though the outer covering be fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weevil of decay is busy there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">In deep despondency to pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or vain solicitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is to deny this truth divine<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That God is great and good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That he is Ruler over earth and Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so disposes and makes all things even.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Mount_Vernon" id="Mount_Vernon"></a>Mount Vernon.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Subdued and sad, I trod the place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where he, the hero, lived and died;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, long-entombed beneath the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By willow bough and cypress made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The peaceful scene with verdure rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He and the partner of his life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beloved of every land and race,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are sleeping side by side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The summer solstice at its height<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Reflected from Potomac's tide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A glare of light, and through the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intensified the Southern breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dallied, in the deep ravines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With graceful ferns and evergreens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Northern cheeks so strangely white<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grew dark as Nubia's pride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What must this homestead once have been<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In boundless hospitality,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Greene or Putnam may have met<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The host who welcomed Lafayette,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when Pulaski, honored guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Accepted shelter, food and rest,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +<span class="i0">While rank and talent gathered in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its banquet hall of luxury!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What comfort, cheer, and kind intent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The weary stranger oft hath known<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she, its mistress, fair and good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reigned here in peerless womanhood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When soft, shy maiden fancy gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Encouragement to soldiers brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Washington his presence lent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To grace its bright hearthstone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O beautiful Mount Vernon home,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Mecca of our long desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of more than passing interest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To North and South, to East and West,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all Columbia's children free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A precious, priceless legacy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine altar-shrine, as pilgrims come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rekindles patriot fire!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_Prisoner" id="A_Prisoner"></a>A Prisoner.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where I can see him all day long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear his wild, spontaneous song,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Before my window in his cage,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">A blithe canary sits and swings,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And circles round on golden wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And startles all the vicinage<br /></span> +<span class="i4">When from his china tankard<br /></span> +<span class="i6">He takes a dainty drink<br /></span> +<span class="i8">To clear his throat<br /></span> +<span class="i8">For as sweet a note<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As ever yet was caroled<br /></span> +<span class="i6">By lark or bobolink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes he drops his pretty head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And seems to be dispirited,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And then his little mistress says:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Poor Dickie misses his chickweed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or else I've fed him musty seed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As stale as last year's oranges!"<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But all the time I wonder<br /></span> +<span class="i6">If we half comprehend<br /></span> +<span class="i8">In sweet song-words<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The thought of birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or why so oft their raptures<br /></span> +<span class="i6">In sudden silence end.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They do not pine for forest wilds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the "blue Canary isles,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As exiles from their native home,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For in a foreign domicile<br /></span> +<span class="i4">They first essayed their gamut-trill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath a cage's gilded dome;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But maybe some sad throbbing<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Betimes their spirits stirs,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Who love as we<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Dear liberty,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That they, admired and petted,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Are only—prisoners.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Cuba" id="Cuba"></a>Cuba.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As one long struggling to be free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O suffering isle! we look to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In sympathy and deep desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That thy fair borders yet shall hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A people happy, self-controlled,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Saved and exalted—as by fire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Burning like thine own tropic heat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thousands of lips afar repeat<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The story of thy wrongs and woes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While argosies to thee shall bear,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Of men and money everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hispaniola waves her plume<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Defiant over many a tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, lo! an army coming on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The places fill of heroes gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For liberty their lives who gave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The nations wait to hear thy shout<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of "Independence!" ringing out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buffets and gyves from your effete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old monarchy dilapidate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or freedom's laurels for thy brow?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In man's extremity it is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That Heaven's opportunities<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shine forth like jewels from the mine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With vision clear the tokens read<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And trust for aid that power divine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Sangamon_River" id="The_Sangamon_River"></a>The Sangamon River.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O sunny Sangamon! thy name to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft-syllabled like some sweet melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Familiar is since adolescent years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As household phrases ringing in my ears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its measured cadence sounding to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the dim corridors of long ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There was a time in happy days gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rosy interval of youth, when I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scholar ardent early learned to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great tributaries to their starting place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thine some prairie hollow obsolete<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose name how few remember or repeat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like thee, meandering, yet wafted back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From distant hearth and lonely bivouac,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From strange vicissitudes in other lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From half-wrought labors and unfinished plans<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I come, in thy cool depths my brow to lave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rest a moment by thy silver wave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, ah! what means thy muddy, muggy hue?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought thee limpid as yon ether blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought an angel's wing might dip below<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sparkling surface and be white as snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of thy current I had dared to drink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If not as one imbibing draughts of ink.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Has some rough element of horrid clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spoils the earth like lava beds, they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come sliding down, as avalanches do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thy fair bosom percolated through?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some apothecary's compound vile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Polluted thee so many a murky mile?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why not, proud State, beneficence insure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Selling thy soil or giving to the poor?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For sad it is that dust of Illinois,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With coal and compost its conjoint alloy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A morceau washed from Mississippi's mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should build up acres for our neighbors south.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">River! I grieve, but not for loss of dirt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once stainless, just because of what thou wert.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thus on thy banks I linger and reflect<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, surely as all waterways connect,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever flowing onward to the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall the great billow thy redemption be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now, dear Sangamon, farewell! I wait<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On that Elysian scene to meditate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, separated from the dregs of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's stream shall sweeter be, of better worth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like the ocean with its restless tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By its own action cleansed and purified.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Syringas" id="Syringas"></a>Syringas.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The smallest flower beside my path,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In loveliness of bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some element of comfort hath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To rid my heart of gloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these, of spotless purity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fragrant as the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As sad a sight recall to me<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As time shall e'er disclose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, there are pictures on the brain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sometimes by shadows made,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till dust is blent with dust again,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That never, never fade;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And things supremely bright and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As ever known in life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Suggest the darkness of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And sanguinary strife.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The battle-field appears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one among the thousands slain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In manhood's brilliant years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An elbow pillowing his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on the crimson sand<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Syringa-blooms, distained and dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within his rigid hand.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Could she foresee, who from the stem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had plucked that little spray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of flowers, that he would cherish them<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto his dying day?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Give these to M——;—'tis almost night—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tell her—that—I love—"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! the letter he would write<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was finished up above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so, with each recurring spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On Decoration day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When to our heroes' graves we bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blossom-wealth of May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While martial strains are soft and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And music seems a prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto a hallowed spot I go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And leave syringas there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Storm-bound" id="Storm-bound"></a>Storm-bound.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My careful plans all storm-subdued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In disappointing solitude<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The weary hours began;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scarce I deemed when time had sped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked only by the passing tread<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of some pedestrian.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But with the morrow's tranquil dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fairy scene I looked upon<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That filled me with delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far-reaching from my own abode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world in matchless splendor glowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Arrayed in spotless white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The surface of the hillside slope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like opalescent stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rich jewels hung on every tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose crystalline transparency<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Golconda's gems outshone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the line where wayside posts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of awful form and mien,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A seeming castle fortified,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Uprose in wondrous sheen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The evergreens loomed up before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My staunch and storm-defying door,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like snowy palaces<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That one dare only penetrate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With reverence—as at Heaven's gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Awed by its mysteries.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The apple trees' extended arms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upheld a thousand varied charms;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The curious tracery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of trellised grapevine seemed to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rare network of filigree<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In silver drapery.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I no longer thought it hard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From favorite pursuits debarred,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor gazed with rueful face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every object seemed to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invested with the witchery<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of magic art and grace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, though a multitude of cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perplexing, profitless affairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Absorbed the hours, it seems<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +<span class="i0">That on the golden steps of thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I mounted heavenward, and wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Out many hopeful schemes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus every day, though it may span<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gulf wherein some cherished plan<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lies disarranged and crossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If, ere its close, we shall have trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The path that leads us nearer God,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Cannot be counted lost.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Master_of_the_Grange" id="The_Master_of_the_Grange"></a>The Master of the Grange.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The type of enterprise is he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sense and thrift and toil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who reckons less on pedigree<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than rich, productive soil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And no "blue blood"—if such there be—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His veins can ever spoil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet on blood his heart is set;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He has his sacred cow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some Alderney or Jersey pet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mistress of the mow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His favorite pig is (by brevet)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Lord Suffolk"—of the slough.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To points of stock is he alive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As keenest cattle king;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thoroughbred he deigns to drive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But not a mongrel thing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very bees within his hive<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are crossed—without a sting.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tomatoes grow on trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is because his grafting hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has so diverted these<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That alien shoots with native stand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like twin-born Siamese.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No neater farm a nabob owns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its care his chief employ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find fertility in bones<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And briers to destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where once he lightly skipped the stones<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A whistling, happy boy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The ancient plough and awkward flail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He banished long ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The zigzag fence with ponderous rail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He dares to overthrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wields, with sinews strong and hale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The latest style of hoe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +<span class="i0">The household, founded as it were<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the Decalogue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He classes with the minister,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The rural pedagogue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as a sort of angel-cur<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Regards his spotted dog.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His wife reviews the magazines,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His children lead the school,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He tries a thousand new machines<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(And keeps his temper cool),<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But bristles at Kentucky jeans,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her impressive mule.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With Science letting down the bars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enlightening ignorance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enigmas deeper than the stars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He solves as by a glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And raises cinnamon cigars<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From poor tobacco plants!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By no decree of fashion dressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And busier than Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The student-farmer keeps abreast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With mighty men of state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And treasures, like his Sunday vest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The motto "Educate!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond encircling hills of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I may never range,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This monarch in his realm I view,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of title new and strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make profound obeisance to<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"The Master of the Grange."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_Friend_Indeed" id="A_Friend_Indeed"></a>A Friend Indeed.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If every friend who meditates<br /></span> +<span class="i4">In soft, unspoken thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With winning courtesy and tact<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The doing of a kindly act<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To cheer some lonely lot,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were like the friend of whom I dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then hardship but a myth would seem.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If sympathy were always thus<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Oblivious of space,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like the tendrils of the vine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could just as lovingly incline<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To one in distant place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould draw the world together so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might none the name of stranger know.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +<span class="i0">If every throb responsive that<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My ardent spirit thrills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could, like the skylark's ecstasy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be vocal in sweet melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beyond dividing hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In octaves of the atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were music wafted to his ear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If every friendship were like one,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So helpful and so true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To other hearts as sad as mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twould bring the joy so near divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And hope revive anew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So life's dull path would it illume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And radiate beyond the tomb.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Needed_One" id="The_Needed_One"></a>The Needed One.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Twas not rare versatility,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor gift of poesy or art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor piquant, sparkling <i>jeux d'esprit</i><br /></span> +<span class="i4">Which at the call of fancy come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That touched the universal heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And won the world's encomium.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It was not beauty's potent charm;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For admiration followed her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unmindful of the rounded arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The fair complexion's brilliancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">If form and features shapely were<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or lacked the grace of symmetry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So not by marked, especial power<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She grew endeared to human thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But just because, in trial's hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was loving service to be done<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or sympathy and counsel sought,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">She made herself the needed one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, great the blessedness must be<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of heart and hand and brain alert<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In projects wise and manifold,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Impending sorrow to avert<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That duller natures fail to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or stand aloof severe and cold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And who shall doubt that this is why<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In womanhood's florescent prime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She passed the portals of the sky?<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As if a life thus truly given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To purpose pure and act sublime<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Were needed also up in Heaven.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Thy_Will_Be_Done" id="Thy_Will_Be_Done"></a>"Thy Will Be Done."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes the silver cord of life<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is loosed at one brief stroke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when the elements at strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With Nature's wild contentions rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uproot the sturdy oak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or fell disease, in patience borne,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Attenuates the frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of energy and beauty shorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death's sweet release would claim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By instant touch or long decay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is dissolution wrought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, lost to earth, the grave and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young and old who pass away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Abide in hallowed thought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In dear regard together drawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Affection's debt to pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond greetings we exchange at dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With one who, ere the day be gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is bruised and lifeless clay.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O thou in manhood's morning-time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With health and hope elate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For whom in youth's enchanting prime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bells of promise seemed to chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We mourn thy early fate!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To us how sudden—yet to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Perchance God kindly gave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some warning, ere the fatal key<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unlocked the door of mystery<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That lies beyond the grave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then let us hope that one who found<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such favor, trust, and love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cordial praise from all around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For rare fidelity renowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Found favor, too, above.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So "all is well," though swift or slow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God's will be done; and we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Draw near to him, for close and low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath his chastening hand, the blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Will fall less heavily.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Snowflakes" id="Snowflakes"></a>Snowflakes.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Of specious weight like tissue freight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snowflakes are—in sparkle pure<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As the rich <i>parure</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lovely queen were proud to wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As volatile, as fine and rare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thistle-down dispersed in air,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or bits of filmy lace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like nature's tear-drops strewn around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That beautify and warm the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">But melt upon my face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A ton or more against my door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They lie, and look, in form and tint,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like piles of lint,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When war's alarum roused the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrought out by woman's loyal hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From linen rag, and robe, and band—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From garments cast aside—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In hospital, on battle-field<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shattered limb that bound and healed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Or stanched life's ebbing tide.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">I see the gleam of lake and stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silver glint in frost portrayed<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the bright cascade;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +<span class="i0">They bear the moisture of marshes dank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dew of the lawn, or river bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The river itself by sunlight drank;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">All these in frigid air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That strange alembic, crystallize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In odd, fantastic shape and size<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Like gems of dazzling glare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Oh, of the snow such fancies grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Till thought is lost in wandering,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And wondering<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If portions of their drapery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The angel beings, sad to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So much of earth's impurity,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Have dropped from clearer skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As snowflakes, hiding stain and blot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make this world a fairer spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And more like Paradise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Monadnock" id="Monadnock"></a>Monadnock.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One summer time, with love imbued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To climb the mount, explore the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or rove from pole to pole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon Monadnock's brow I stood—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A lone, adventurous soul.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the Bay State border-line<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sweeping vista, grand and fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Embraced the Berkshire hills;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And country domiciles.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Holyoke, twin companion peak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Appeared gigantic cones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The burning sunlight scorched my cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And seemed to melt the stones.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath a gnarled and twisted root<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I loosed a pebble with my foot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That leaped the precipice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like an arrow seemed to shoot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adown the deep abyss.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the base that solstice day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A city chap who chanced to stray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was shooting somewhat, too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, when the nugget sped that way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His firelock quickly drew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While right and left he sought the quail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the timid hare that crossed his trail,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rang out a wild "Ha! ha!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That might have turned the visage pale<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of a red-skinned Chippewa.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The game was his—for it made him quail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He flung his gun and fled the vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mountain-dwellers say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As though pursued by a comet's tail—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And disappeared for aye.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Never_Had_a_Chance" id="Never_Had_a_Chance"></a>Never Had a Chance</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fresh from piano, school, and books,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A happy girl with rosy looks<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Young Plowman wooed and won; despite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her pretty, pouting prejudice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her deep distaste for rural bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or countryfied delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Romance through all her nature ran—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Indeed, to wed a husband-man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Suffused her ardent maiden thought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But lofty fancy dwelt upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A city's corner lot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her lily fingers that so well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could paint a scene—in aquarelle—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or broider plush with leaves and vines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more of real labor knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than waxen petals of the dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On native eglantines.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Anon, with lapse of tender ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That emphasized the courting days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The housewife in her apron blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As mistress of her new abode,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +<span class="i0">By frequent lachrymations showed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her grief and blunders too.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The butter-making, bread and cheese,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old folks difficult to please,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The harvest hands—voracious bears!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The infantry, a parent's pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By duos proudly classified:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So multiplied her cares.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The treadmill round of duties that<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes any life inane and flat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Without diversion sandwiched in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drudgery, the overplus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of toil and trouble arduous,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were rugged discipline.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What time for books and music, when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lambs were bleating in their pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The chickens peeping at the door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rodent gnawing at the churn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The buckwheat wafers crisped to burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The kettle boiling o'er?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To <i>hers</i>, so far between and few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What resting-spells the farmer knew!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What intervals for culture! and<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +<span class="i0">When intellect assumed the race,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He peerless held the foremost place—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No nobler in the land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By virtue of exalted rank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The brilliant senator from——"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Adorns society's expanse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While by his side with folded hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her beauty gone, the woman stands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who "never had a chance."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sorrow_and_Joy" id="Sorrow_and_Joy"></a>Sorrow and Joy.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In sad procession borne away<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To sound of funeral knell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Affection's tribute thus we pay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The friend to whom but yesterday<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We gave the sad farewell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But scarce the melancholy sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has died upon the ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the mournful dirge is drowned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By wedding-anthems' glad rebound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That stir the solemn air around<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With merry peals and clear.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Within our home doth gladness tread<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So closely upon grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, in the tears of sorrow shed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er our beloved, lamented dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We see reflected joy instead<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gives a blest relief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A father and a daughter gone<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond our fireside—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one we loved and leaned upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The skillful archer Death had drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His bow; and one in life's sweet dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went out a happy bride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We gave to Heaven, in manhood's prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Him whose brave strength and worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's rugged steeps had taught to climb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her, for whom a tuneful rhyme<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bells of promise sweetly chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We consecrate to earth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thus each a mystic path, untried,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has entered—God is just!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We leave with him our friend who died,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With him we leave our fair young bride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who shall no more with us abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in His goodness trust.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, life and death, uncertainty,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bright hopes and anxious fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Commingle so bewilderingly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That perfect joy we may not see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till all shall reunited be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond this vale of tears!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Watch_Hill" id="Watch_Hill"></a>Watch Hill.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fair summer home peninsula,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enriched by every breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From fragrant islands, wafted far<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Across the sunny seas!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A profile rare! a height of land<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bolder touch than skillful hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of artist ever drew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In "mountain billows" that parade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grandeur of the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is His supremacy displayed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose hands the waters keep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No sweep of waves, in broad expanse,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With wild, weird melody,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Shall thus an unseen world enhance—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"There shall be no more sea!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A wealth of joy-perfected days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where glorious sunset dyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resplendent in declining rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Surpass Italia's skies!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Proud caravansaries that compete<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In studied arts to please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The multitude, with restless feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From earth's antipodes!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A motley company astray:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The sojourner for health,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grave, serene, the <i>devotée</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of fashion and of wealth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Artistic cottages upreared<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In beauty, strength, and skill—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy, healthful homes endeared<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To lovers of Watch Hill!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A golden crown adorns the spot;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Forever blessed be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hand beneficent that wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"A temple by the sea!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +<span class="i0">A star in some bright diadem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In glory it shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For truly, "I will honor them,"<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Saith God, "who honor me."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Christians meet to praise and pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May feet that never trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sanctuary learn the way<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unto the house of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Glad pæans down the centuries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With joy the world shall thrill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"The Lord, revered and honored, is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glory of Watch Hill!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Supplicating" id="Supplicating"></a>Supplicating.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One morn I looked across the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And saw you fling your window wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To welcome in the breath of May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In breezes from the mountain-side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And greet the sunlight's earliest ray<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With happy look and satisfied.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pansies on your window-sill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In terra cotta flowerpot,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Like royal gold and purple frill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the stony casement wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adorned your tasteful domicile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And claimed your time and care and thought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In cherry trees the robins sang<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their sweetest carol to your ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shouts of merry children rang<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out on the dewy atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But to my heart there came a pang<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That my salute you did not hear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I envied then the favored breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That dallied with your flowing hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Begrudged the songsters in the trees<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And longed to be a flow'ret fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some favorite blossom like heartease—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within your miniature parterre.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O heart, that finds such ample room<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Within thy confines broad and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For song and sunshine and perfume<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all benign impulses—go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pray thee, dissipate my gloom—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And take in thy petitioner too!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Honest_John" id="Honest_John"></a>"Honest John."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He was a man whose lot was cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As some might think, in lines severe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In humble toil whose life was passed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From week to week, from year to year;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet, by wife and children blessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He labored on with cheerful zest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As one revered and set apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A quaint, unusual name he bore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That well became the frugal heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While plain habiliments he wore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without a tremor or a chill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At thought of some uncanceled bill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A king might not disdain to wear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The title so appropriate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one who never sought to share<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exalted station 'mong the great,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor cared if on the scroll of fame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were never traced his worthy name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As bound by honor's righteous law<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In strictest rectitude he wrought—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The man who calmly, clearly saw<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His duty, and who dallied not—<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +<span class="i0">To garner life's necessities<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For those whose comfort heightened his.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The parent bird its brood protects<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As fledglings in their downy nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until a Power their flight directs<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From trial trips to distant quest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through trackless zones of ether blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For bird companions strange and new.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But ere his babes from prattlers grew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon his knee or by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To womanhood and manhood true—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too soon we thought—the father died;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How could we know, when Death was nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those little wings were taught to fly?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Another name his boyhood knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So seldom heard that lapse of years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had made it seem a thing untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unmusical to friendly ears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus his appellation odd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His passport was where'er he trod.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So long, on every lip and tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if by universal whim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him had his cognomen clung,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +<span class="i2">And like a garment fitted him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That angels even must have heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one, like them, in love preferred.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when he came to Heaven's door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To Peter's self or acolyte,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The holy warder looking o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"'Tis 'Honest John!'" he said aright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his pilgrim spirit passed within<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because his walk with God had been.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Bushnell_Park" id="Bushnell_Park"></a>Bushnell Park.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet resting place! that long hath been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A boon Elysian 'mid the din<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of city life, 'mid city smoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where weary ones who toil and spin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have turned aside as to an inn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where misanthropes find medicine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In peals of laughter that begin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With ancient, resurrected joke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or ready wit of harlequin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where children, free from discipline,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Take on Diversion's easy yoke.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Fair oasis! to view aright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its charming paths, its sloping height,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its beautiful and broad expanse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must one approach in witching night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, like abodes of airy sprite<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Revealed unto the wondering glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'erflooded with electric light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Illumined nooks the scene enhance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While zephyrs mischievous unite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The timid stroller to affright<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By swaying boughs in shadow dance.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Capitol that crowns the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Boreas sweeps with icy chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A masterpiece of studied art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Conceived by genius versatile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fashioned with unerring skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'erlooks the busy, crowded mart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like a kingly domicile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its burnished dome and sculpture thrill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With admiration every heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strangers pause beyond the rill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To view its grandeur, lingering still,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And with reluctant steps depart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +<span class="i0">O Bushnell Park, memorial soil!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That marks success (though near to foil)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of one who with prophetic ken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With honest zeal and ceaseless toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opposed the vandal wish to spoil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This lovely bit of vale and glen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, 'mid discussion and turmoil<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of adverse minds, did not recoil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From vigorous stroke of tongue and pen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then, till passion ceased to boil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On troubled waters poured out oil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And to his plans won other men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when, fatigued and overwrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In summer time when skies are hot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We seek its verdant, velvet sward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh may we hold in reverent thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The debt we owe, forgetting not<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The spirit passed to its reward<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one whose giant soul was fraught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With true benignity—who sought<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To touch humanity's quick chord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fire from Heaven's altar brought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That love and zeal and being caught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As inspiration from the Lord.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="At_General_Grants_Tomb" id="At_General_Grants_Tomb"></a>At General Grant's Tomb.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Afar my loyal spirit stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At mention of his name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afar in ringing notes I heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The clarion voice of fame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So to his tomb, hope long deferred,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With reverent step I came.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The pilgrim muse revivified<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A half-forgotten day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slow procession, tearful-eyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In funeral array,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from MacGregor's lonely side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A hero borne away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here sleeps he now, where long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hath nature raised his mound:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mighty channel far below,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Divided hills around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where countless thousands come and go<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As to a shrine renowned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With awe do strangers' eyes discern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A casket mid the green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Luxuriance of flower and fern;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Airy and cool and clean,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Unchanged from spring to spring's return,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This charnel chamber scene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">His country's weal his care and thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beloved in peace was he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Magnanimous in war—shall not<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The nation grateful be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And render at his burial spot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A testimonial free?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, let us, ere the days come on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When energy is spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To him, the silent soldier gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Statesman and President,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Riverside's majestic lawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Uprear a monument.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Be_Courteous" id="Be_Courteous"></a>"Be Courteous."</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than others—shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor even show this slight regard—the lifting of the hat?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Why prate of social status, class, or rank when earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Except in purity is there no royal birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No true nobility but nobleness of heart and mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Life is so short—one journey long, a pilgrimage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we cannot retrace, nor ever pass this way again;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May help him to look up and better understand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why God has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +<span class="i2">Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More precious too than all the treasures of the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those grand ennobling and enduring virtues all may claim;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of each may it be said, of the great multitude:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ours shall be the disapproval of the King—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_New_Suit" id="A_New_Suit"></a>A New Suit.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The artist and the loom unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In textures soft as <i>crepe de chine</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spring weaves her royal robe of green,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With grasses fringed and daisies dotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With furzy tufts like mosses fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And showy clumps of eglantine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dainty shrub and creeping vine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon the verdant fabric knotted.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, winter takes our love away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ashen hues of sober gray!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So when the blooming, blushing May<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With arbutus her corsage laced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And roses clinging to her waist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We crown her charming queen of taste,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For eighteen centuries and more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her fairy hands have modeled o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same habiliments she wore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At her primeval coronation;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still the pattern exquisite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every age a perfect fit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In every land the favorite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Elicits world-wide admiration.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Gay butterflies of fashion, you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who wear a suit a year or two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then agitate for something new,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look at Regina, the patrician!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her cleverness is more than gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who so transforms from fabrics old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The things a marvel to behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And glories in the exhibition.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why worry for an overdress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The acme of luxuriousness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond all envy to possess,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why flutter round in pretty pique<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To follow style's capricious freak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To match <i>pongee</i> or <i>moire antique</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And break your peace in hopeless pieces?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O mantua-maker, costumer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fair-robed wearer! study <i>her</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">And imitate the conjurer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So prettily economizing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without demur, regret, or pout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who always puts the bright side out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never frets at all about<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world's <i>penchant</i> for criticizing.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="The_Little_Clock" id="The_Little_Clock"></a>The Little Clock.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Kind friend, you do not know how much<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I prize this time-ly treasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So dainty, diligent, and such<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A constant source of pleasure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The man of brains who could invent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So true a chrono-meter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has set a charming precedent,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And made a good repeater.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It speaks with clear, commanding clicks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Suggestive of the donor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And 'tends to business—never sick<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A bit more than the owner.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It goes when I do; when I stop<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(As by the dial showing)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It never lets a second drop,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But simply keeps on going.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It tells me when I am to eat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Which isn't necessary;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When food with me is obsolete,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll be a reliquary.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It tells me early when to rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And bother with <i>dejeuner</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sally forth and exercise,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And fill up my <i>porte-monnaie</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear it talking in the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if it were in clover:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You've never lost your appetite,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You've never been run over.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It makes me wish that I might live<br /></span> +<span class="i2">More faithful unto duty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unto others something give<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like this bijou of beauty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It holds its hands before its face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So very modest is it;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So like the people in the place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where I delight to visit.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I wonder if it cries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The course I am pursuing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because it has so many I-s<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And must know what I'm doing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sometimes I fear it makes me cry—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No matter, and no pity—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afraid at last I'll have to die<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In some far, foreign city.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +<span class="i0">It travels with me everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And chirrups like a cricket;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if it said with anxious air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Companion of my loneliness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Along my journey westward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It never leaves me comfortless,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But has the last and best word.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I would not spoil its lovely face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And so I go behind it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hold it like a china vase,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So careful when I wind it.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A clock is always excellent<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That has its label on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And proves a fine advertisement<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Waterbury, Conn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Those Yankees—ah! they never shun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A chance to make a dime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And counterfeit the very sun<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In keeping "Standard Time."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, well! the little clock has proved<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The best of all bonanzas;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thus my happy heart is moved<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To these effusive stanzas.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="Improvement" id="Improvement"></a>Improvement.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Along the avenue I pass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Huge piles of wood and stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And glance at each amorphous mass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With half resentful groan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Say I: "O labor, to despoil<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some lovely forest scene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or at the granite stratum toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And desecrate whole roods of soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is vandal-like and mean!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Than ever to disfigure thus<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our prairie garden-land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me consort with Cerberus,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be chained to crags precipitous,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or seek an alien strand."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But while this pining, pouting Muse<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The interval ignores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deft industry, no time to lose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Contrives and carries, hoists and hews,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And symmetry restores.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behold! of rock and pile and board<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A modern miracle,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +<span class="i0">My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And far more beautiful.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The artisan's receding gait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has brushed the chips away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where innocence shall recreate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the flowers grow, and wait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The balminess of May.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An arid spot, where careless feet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Have long been wont to roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where cattle grazed, as if to eat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were life's delicious, richest treat,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Becomes a charming home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O man primeval! hadst thou known,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ere rude hands scooped thy grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A rugged cliff or cave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now I see how skill and art<br /></span> +<span class="i2">May cleave fair nature through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disintegrate her breathing heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And to the tissues torn impart<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A use and beauty new.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And this improvement is, to turn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The things which God has given<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To their best purpose, as we learn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make the place where we sojourn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Homelike and more like Heaven.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="On_Bancroft_Height" id="On_Bancroft_Height"></a>On Bancroft Height.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On Bancroft height Aurora's face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shines brighter than a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As stepping forth in dewy grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gates of day unbar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! the firmament, the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the vales that intervene—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Creation's self with gladness thrills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To greet the matin queen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On Bancroft height the atmosphere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but an endless waft<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life's elixir, pure and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As mortal ever quaffed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And such the sweet salubrity<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of air and altitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is banished many a malady<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And suffering subdued.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +<span class="i0">On Bancroft height the sunset glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When day departing dies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outrivals all that tourists know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of famed Italian skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And happy dwellers round about<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who view the scene aright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In admiration grow devout<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And laud the Lord of light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Round Bancroft height rich memories<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Commingle earth's affairs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the world's celebrities,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of him whose name it bears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scholar-wise compatriot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who left to later men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The grand achievements unforgot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of that historic pen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Fair Bancroft height revisited<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all the land is white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A halo crowns its noble head<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Impelling fresh delight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The daring wish in winter-time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The blizzard to defy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those shining slippery slopes to climb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up nearer to the sky.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Though Boreas abrade the cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With buffetings of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He gives a vigor that the weak<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And languid never know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with rejuvenescent thrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like children everywhere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bestirs the rhapsody, the will<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make a snow-man there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Such vistas charm the eye<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But to behold—and die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in the sparkle and the glow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is earth so very fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirit lingers, loath to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And dreams of heaven—up there.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="A_Reformer" id="A_Reformer"></a>A Reformer.</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I was young, my heart elate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With ardent notions warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thirsted to inaugurate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A spirit of reform;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The universe was all awry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Philosophy despite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mundane things disjointed I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was bound to set aright.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My mind conceived a million plans,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Hope was brave and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dared not with unaided hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Combat a giant wrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So with caress I sought to coax<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Those who had humored me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In infancy—the dear old folks—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And gain their sympathy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But quarreling with extant laws<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They would have deemed a shame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who clung to error, just because<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their fathers did the same.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where grace and beauty stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At revelry's impetuous calls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To make my projects heard.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned to stately palaces<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of luxury and ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where wealth's absorbing object was<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The master's whim to please;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spoke of evils unredressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of danger yet to be—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They only answered, like the rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"But what is that to me?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And even pious <i>devotées</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom sacred walls immure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Condemned me (as by feeble praise)—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What more could I endure?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down by the stream, so pure and clear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That sunbeams paused to drink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In loneliness and grief sincere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I pressed its grassy brink.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thick darkness seemed to veil the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond a realm of tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Utopia's land of promise lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And not till later years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I learned this lesson—that to win<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Results from labor sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Reformers" always must begin<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among the lowly poor.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +<span class="i0">For they whose lot privation is<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And whose delights are few,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose aggregate of miseries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is want of something new,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The measure of whose happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is but an empty cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For every novelty will press<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alert to fill it up.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p class="bbox"> +Transcriber's Notes:<br /> +Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error)<br /> +Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others<br /> +Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error)<br /> +</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 19109-h.htm or 19109-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/0/19109/ + +Produced by Joseph R. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Poems + Vol. IV + +Author: Hattie Howard + +Release Date: August 23, 2006 [EBook #19109] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Joseph R. Hauser and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + +[Illustration: In Celestial realms where knowledge hath no end. + HARRY HOWARD, + STUDENT. + "Blessed are the pure in heart."] + + + + +POEMS + +BY + +HATTIE HOWARD. + +AUTHOR OF "POVERTY VS. PAUPERISM," "OUR GIRLS," "VIVE LA +REPUBLIQUE," "KEEPING A SECRET," "LITTLE JO," +AND OTHER STORIES. + +VOL. IV. + + + Happy whoever writes a book + On which the world shall kindly look, + And who, when many a year has flown-- + The volume worn, the author gone-- + Revere, admire, and still read on. + + +HARTFORD PRESS: +THE CASE, LOCKWOOD & BRAINARD COMPANY. +1904. + + + + +EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES OF A FORMER VOLUME. + + "We find these poems of sentiment by Hattie Howard entirely + natural, spontaneous, direct, rhythmical, and free from ambitious + pretense. Many of the fanciful verses have a laugh at the end; and + the collection has altogether a sunny, hopeful spirit and will be + welcome in this time of generally morbid expression." + + "This author's verse shows a hearty, wholesome, _human_ spirit, + sometimes overflowing into downright fun, and a straightforward + directness always. It is a pleasant book, sure to be welcomed by + all." + + "These garnered gems reveal a genuine poetic faculty, and are + worthy their attractive setting. We give the book a hearty + welcome." + + "Many of the poems abound in playful humor or tender touches of + sympathy which appeal to a refined feeling, and love for the good, + the true, and the beautiful." + + "This poet's ear is so attuned to metric harmony that she must have + been born within sound of some osier-fringed brook leaping and + hurrying over its pebbly bed. There is a variety of subject and + treatment, sufficient for all tastes, and these are poems which + should be cherished." + + "Lovers of good poetry will herald with pleasure this new and + attractive volume by the well-known authoress of Hartford. A wooing + sentiment and genial spirit seem to guide her in every train of + thought. Her book has received, and deserves, warm commendations of + the press." + +Copyright, 1904, BY HATTIE HOWARD. + + + + +Contents. + +_FRONTISPIECE._ + PAGE. + + EXTRACTS FROM PRESS NOTICES, 2 + + "THE SALT OF THE EARTH," 7 + + NOT GONE, 9 + + LET US GIVE THANKS, 10 + + SONNET, 11 + + A RAINY DAY, 12 + + THE SUBWAY, 16 + + THE APPLE TREE, 18 + + TWO ROSES, 21 + + THE TAXIDERMIST, 23 + + EPITHALAMIUM, 25 + + A FOWL AFFAIR, 28 + + HOLIDAY HOME, 31 + + RUTHA, 34 + + THE STUDENT GONE, 36 + + THE TOURIST, 38 + + THE ANTIQUARIAN, 40 + + POOR HOUSEKEEPING, 45 + + GOING TO TOBOG, 47 + + "PASSER LE TEMPS," 49 + + THE TORPEDO, 50 + + MARGARET, 51 + + CHRISTMAS BELLS, 53 + + BY THE SEA, 54 + + A SONG, 55 + + IS IT APRIL? 56 + + CHRISTMAS-TIDE, 57 + + JANUARY, 1885, 59 + + SWEET PEAS, 61 + + THE SUMMER HOUSE, 62 + + TO DIE IN AUTUMN, 65 + + APPLE BLOSSOMS, 67 + + WITHOUT A MINISTER, 68 + + INDIAN SUMMER, 70 + + AUTUMN-TIME, 72 + + THE BEAUTY OF NATURE, 74 + + "ALL THE RAGE," 76 + + MY MOTHER'S HAND, 79 + + A LEAP YEAR EPISODE, 80 + + IF, 83 + + PERFECT CHARACTER, 84 + + THE MIRACLE OF SPRING, 85 + + BERMUDA, 86 + + THE CHARTER OAK, 88 + + BLOSSOM-TIME, 90 + + "ONE OF THE LEAST OF THESE," 92 + + LIGHTNING-BUGS, 94 + + OF HER WHO DIED, 96 + + THANKSGIVING, 98 + + RECEIVING SIGHT, 100 + + REVENGE, 102 + + ON THE COMMON, 104 + + WOMAN'S HELP, 106 + + TOBOGGANING, 108 + + THE WOODS, 110 + + LIKE SUMMER, 112 + + SHERIDAN'S LAST RIDE, 114 + + A BIT OF GLADNESS, 116 + + THE CHARITY BALL, 118 + + THE BELL(E) OF BALTIMORE, 120 + + CHRISTMAS AT CHURCH, 122 + + MYSTERIOUS, 124 + + "BE NOT ANXIOUS," 126 + + MOUNT VERNON, 128 + + A PRISONER, 130 + + CUBA, 131 + + THE SANGAMON RIVER, 133 + + SYRINGAS, 135 + + STORM-BOUND, 137 + + THE MASTER OF THE GRANGE, 139 + + A FRIEND INDEED, 142 + + THE NEEDED ONE, 143 + + "THY WILL BE DONE," 145 + + SNOWFLAKES, 147 + + MONADNOCK, 149 + + NEVER HAD A CHANCE, 151 + + SORROW AND JOY, 153 + + WATCH HILL, 155 + + SUPPLICATING, 157 + + "HONEST JOHN," 159 + + BUSHNELL PARK, 161 + + AT GENERAL GRANT'S TOMB, 164 + + "BE COURTEOUS," 166 + + A NEW SUIT, 168 + + THE LITTLE CLOCK, 170 + + IMPROVEMENT, 173 + + ON BANCROFT HEIGHT, 175 + + A REFORMER, 178 + + + +Poems. + + + + +"The Salt of the Earth." + + + The salt of the earth--what a meaningful phrase + From the lips of the Saviour, and one that conveys + A sense of the need of a substance saline + This pestilent sphere to refresh and refine, + And a healthful and happy condition secure + By making it pure as the ocean is pure. + + In all the nomenclature known to the race, + In all appellations of people or place, + Was ever a name so befitting, so true + Of those who are seeking the wrong to undo, + With naught of the Pharisee's arrogant air + Their badge of discipleship humbly who wear? + + Do beings, forsooth, fashioned out of the mold, + So secretly, strangely, those elements hold + That may be developed in goodness and grace + To shine in demeanor, in form and in face + Till they, by renewal of heavenly birth, + Shall merit their title--the salt of the earth? + + To the landsman at home or the sailor at sea, + With nausea, scurvy, or canker maybe, + 'Tis never in language to overexalt + The potent preservative virtue of salt-- + A crystal commodity wholesome and good, + A cure for disease, and a savor for food. + + Ah, the beasts of the wood and the fowls of the air + Know all of the need of this condiment rare, + Know well where the springs and the "salt-licks" abound, + Where streams salinaceous flow out of the ground; + And their cravings appease by sipping the brine + With more than the relish of topers at wine. + + Our wants may be legion, our needs are but few, + And every known ill hath its remedy true; + 'Tis ours to discover and give to mankind + Of hidden essentials the best that we find; + 'Tis ours to eradicate error and sin, + And help to make better the place we are in. + + If ever this world from corruption is free, + And righteousness reign in the kingdom to be, + Like salt in its simple and soluble way + Infusing malodor, preventing decay. + So human endeavor in action sublime + Must never relax till the finale of time. + + To thousands discouraged this comforting truth + Appeals like the promise of infinite youth: + To know, as they labor like bees in the hive, + Yet do little more than keep goodness alive-- + To know that the Master accredits their worth + As blessed disciples--"the salt of the earth." + + + + +Not Gone. + + + They are not gone whose lives in beauty so unfolding + Have left their own sweet impress everywhere; + Like flowers, while we linger in beholding, + Diffusing fragrance on the summer air. + + They are not gone, for grace and goodness can not perish, + But must develop in immortal bloom; + The viewless soul, the real self we love and cherish, + Shall live and flourish still beyond the tomb. + + They are not gone though lost to observation, + And dispossessed of those dear forms of clay, + Though dust and ashes speak of desolation; + The spirit-presence--this is ours alway. + + + + +Let Us Give Thanks. + + + If we have lived another year + And, counting friends by regiments + Who share our love and confidence, + Find no more broken ranks, + For this let us give thanks. + + If, since the last Thanksgiving-time, + Have we been blessed with strength and health, + And added to our honest wealth, + Nor lost by broken banks, + For this would we give thanks. + + If through adversity we trod, + Yet with serene and smiling face, + And trusted more to saving grace + Than charlatans and cranks, + For this let us give thanks. + + If we have somehow worried through + The ups and downs along life's track, + And still undaunted can look back + And smile at Fortune's pranks, + For this would we give thanks. + + If every page in our account + With God and man is fairly writ, + We care not who examines it, + With no suspicious blanks, + For this let us give thanks. + + + + +Sonnet. + + + Upon my smile let none pass compliment + If it but gleam like an enchanting ray + Of sunshine caught from some sweet summer day, + In atmosphere of rose and jasmine scent + And breath of honeysuckles redolent, + When, with the birds that sing their lives away + In harmony, the treetops bend and sway, + And all the world with joy is eloquent. + + But in that day of gloom when skies severe + Portend the tempest gathering overhead, + If by my face some token shall appear + Inspiring hope, dispelling darksome dread, + Oh, be the rapture mine that it be said, + "Her smile is like the rainbow, full of cheer." + + + + +A Rainy Day. + + + Oh, what a blessed interval + A rainy day may be! + No lightning flash nor tempest roar, + But one incessant, steady pour + Of dripping melody; + When from their sheltering retreat + Go not with voluntary feet + The storm-beleaguered family, + Nor bird nor animal. + + When business takes a little lull, + And gives the merchantman + A chance to seek domestic scenes, + To interview the magazines, + Convoke his growing clan, + The boys and girls almost unknown, + And get acquainted with his own; + As well the household budget scan, + Or write a canticle. + + When farmer John ransacks the barn, + Hunts up the harness old-- + Nigh twenty years since it was new-- + Puts in an extra thong or two, + And hopes the thing will hold + Without that missing martingale + That bothered Dobbin, head and tail, + He, gentle equine, safe controlled + But by a twist of yarn. + + When busy fingers may provide + A savory repast + To whet the languid appetite, + And give to eating a delight + Unknown since seasons past; + Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks + Develop dull dyspeptic cranks + Who, forced to diet or to fast, + Ergo, have dined and died. + + It is a day of rummaging, + The closets to explore; + To take down from the dusty shelves + The books--that never read themselves-- + And turning pages o'er + Discover therein safely laid + The bills forgot and never paid-- + Somehow that of the corner store + Such dunning memories bring. + + It gives a chance to liquidate + Epistolary debts; + To write in humble penitence + Acknowledging the negligence, + The sin that so besets, + And cheer the hearts that hold us dear, + Who've known and loved us many a year-- + Back to the days of pantalets + And swinging on the gate. + + It gives occasion to repair + Unlucky circumstance; + To intercept the ragged ends, + And for arrears to make amends + By mending hose and pants; + The romping young ones to re-dress + Without those signs of hole-y-ness + That so bespeak the mendicants + By every rip and tear. + + It is a time to gather round + The old piano grand, + Its dulcet harmonies unstirred + Since Lucy sang so like a bird, + And played with graceful hand; + Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet + Repeating softly "Shall we meet?" + Is only in the heavenly land + Such clear soprano sound. + + It is a time for happy chat + _En cercle tete-a-tete_; + Discuss the doings of the day, + The club, the sermon, or the play, + Affairs of church and state; + Fond reminiscence to explore + The pleasant episodes of yore, + And so till raindrops all abate + As erst on Ararat. + + Ah, yes, a rainy day may be + A blessed interval! + A little halt for introspect, + A little moment to reflect + On life's discrepancy-- + Our puny stint so poorly done, + The larger duties scarce begun-- + And so may conscience culpable + Suggest a remedy. + + + + +The Subway. + + + Oh, who in creation would fail to descend + That wonderful hole in the ground?-- + That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend + In sinuous fashion, seems never to end; + While thunder and lightning abound. + + Oh, who in creation would dare to go down + That great subterranean hole-- + The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town, + That gives to the city a mighty renown + And a shaking as never before? + + A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top + Where the flies are all buzzing about; + Down into its maw where the populace drop, + Who never know where they are going to stop, + Or whether they'll ever get out. + + Why is it, with millions of acres untrod + Where never the ploughshare hath been, + That man must needs burrow miles under the sod, + As if to get farther and farther from God, + And deeper and deeper in sin? + + O Dagos and diggers, who can't understand + That the planet you'll never get through-- + Why, there is three times as much water as land, + And but for the least little seam in the sand + Your life is worth less than a _sou_. + + Come up out of Erebus into the day, + There's plenty of room overhead; + No boring or blasting of rocks in the way, + No stratum of sticky, impervious clay-- + All vacuous vapor instead. + + Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el--", + Not leagues from the surface below; + As if we were never in Heaven to dwell, + As if we were all being fired to--well, + The place where we don't want to go! + + + + +The Apple Tree. + + + Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung + Around whose body have children clung, + Whose bounteous branches the birds among + Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung-- + Was ever a tree, or shall there be, + So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see, + So welcome a boon to the family, + Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree? + + How he loves to be digging about its root, + Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot, + The daintiest palate that he may suit + With the fairest and finest selected fruit. + How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size; + His delicate Greenings--made for pies; + His Golden Pippins that take the prize, + The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies. + + How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two + That the wise little rodents always knew, + And never forget or fail to do, + Of laying up store for the winter through; + So he hollows a space in the mellow ground + Where leaves for lining and straw abound, + And well remembers his apple mound + When a day of scarcity comes around. + + By many a token may we suppose + That the knowledge apple no longer grows, + That broke up Adam and Eve's repose + And set the fashion of fig-leaf clothes; + The story's simple and terse and crude, + But still with a morsel of truth imbued: + For of trees and trees by the multitude + Are some that are evil, and some that are good. + + The more I muse on those stories old + The more philosophy they unfold + Of husbands docile and women bold, + And Satan's purposes manifold; + Ah, many a couple halve their fare + With that mistaken and misfit air + That the world and all are ready to swear + To a mighty unapple-y mated pair. + + The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know, + All gnarled and bored by the curculio, + And loves to stand in a zigzag row; + And doesn't make half so much of a show + As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball, + And spreads out wide like a pink parasol + Set on its stem by the garden-wall; + But I love the apple tree, after all. + + "A little more cider"--sings the bard; + And who this juiciness would discard, + Though holding the apple in high regard, + Must be like the cider itself--very hard; + For the spirit within it, as all must know, + Is utterly harmless--unless we go + Like the fool in his folly, and overflow + By drinking a couple of barrels or so. + + What of that apple beyond the seas, + Fruit of the famed Hesperides? + But dust and ashes compared to these + That grow on Columbia's apple trees; + And I sigh for the apples of years agone: + For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn, + For Russets brown with their jackets on, + And aromatic as cinnamon. + + Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place, + And the pear is fine in its stately grace; + The plum belongs to a puckery race + And maketh awry the mouth and face; + But I long to roam in the orchard free, + The dear old orchard that used to be, + And gather the beauties that dropped for me + From the bending boughs of the apple tree. + + + + +Two Roses. + + + I've a friend beyond the ocean + So regardful, so sincere, + And he sends me in a letter + Such a pretty souvenir. + + It is crushed to death and withered, + Out of shape and very flat, + But its pure, delicious odor + Is the richer for all that. + + 'Tis a rose from Honolulu, + And it bears the tropic brand, + Sandwiched in this friendly missive + From that far-off flower-land. + + It shall mingle _pot-a-pourri_ + With the scents I love and keep; + Some of them so very precious + That remembrance makes me weep. + + While I dream I hear the music + That of happiness foretells, + Like the flourishing of trumpets + And the sound of marriage bells. + + There's a rose upon the prairie, + Chosen his by happy fate, + He shall gather when he cometh + Sailing through the Golden Gate. + + Mine, a public posy, growing + Somewhere by the garden wall, + Might have gone to any stranger, + May have been admired by all. + + But the rose in beauty blushing, + Tenderly and sweetly grown + In the home and its affections, + Blooms for him, and him alone. + + Speed the voyager returning; + His shall be a welcome warm, + With the Rose of Minnesota + Gently resting on his arm. + + Love embraces in his kingdom + Earth and sea and sky and air. + Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii! + It is Heaven everywhere. + + + + +The Taxidermist. + + + From other men he stands apart, + Wrapped in sublimity of thought + Where futile fancies enter not; + With starlike purpose pressing on + Where Agassiz and Audubon + Labored, and sped that noble art + Yet in its pristine dawn. + + Something to conquer, to achieve, + Makes life well worth the struggle hard; + Its petty ills to disregard, + In high endeavor day by day + With this incentive--that he may + Somehow mankind the richer leave + When he has passed away. + + Forest and field he treads alone, + Finding companionship in birds, + In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds + Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek; + For these to him a language speak + To common multitudes unknown + As tones of classic Greek. + + Unthinking creatures and untaught, + They to his nature answer back + Something his fellow mortals lack; + And oft educe from him the sigh + That they unnoticed soon must die, + Leaving of their existence naught + To be remembered by. + + Man may aspire though in the slough; + May dream of glory, strive for fame, + Thirst for the prestige of a name. + And shall these friends, that so invite + The study of the erudite, + Ever as he beholds them now + Perish like sparks of light? + + Nay, 'tis his purpose and design + To keep them: not like mummies old + Papyrus-mantled fold on fold, + But elephant, or dove, or swan, + Its native hue and raiment on, + In effigy of plumage fine, + Or skin its native tawn. + + What God hath wrought thus time shall tell, + And thus endowment rich and vast + Be rescued from the buried past; + And rare reliques that never fade + Be in the manikin portrayed + Till taxidermy witness well + The debt to science paid. + + Lo! one appeareth unforetold-- + This re-creator, yea, of men; + Making him feel as born again + Who looketh up with reverent eyes, + Through wonders that his soul surprise, + That great Creator to behold + All-powerful, all-wise. + + + + +Epithalamium. + + +I. + + "Whom God hath joined"--ah, this sententious phrase + A meaning deeper than the sea conveys, + And of a sweet and solemn service tells + With the rich resonance of wedding-bells; + It speaks of vows and obligations given + As if amid the harmony of heaven, + While seraph lips approving seem to say, + "Love, honor, and obey." + + +II. + + Is Hymen then ambassador divine, + His mission, matrimonial and benign, + The heart to counsel, ardor to incite, + Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite? + As if were this his mandate from the throne: + "It is not good for them to be alone; + Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers, + Not mine and thine, but ours." + + +III. + + Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell, + That they of conjugal intent "do well"? + But hinted at a better state,--'tis one + With which two loving souls have naught to do. + For, in well-doing being quite content, + Be there another state more excellent + To which the celibate doth fain repair, + They neither know nor care. + + +IV. + + And does the Lord of all become High Priest, + And with his presence grace the wedding-feast? + Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh, + For nuptials there are none beyond the sky; + So is the union sanctified and blest, + For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest; + So may the joyous bridal season be + Like that of Galilee. + + +V. + + Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear + To all the loving Saviour who revere, + Madonna-like be thou in every grace + That shall adorn thee in exalted place, + And thine the happy privilege to prove + The depth, the tenderness of woman's love; + So shall the heart that honors thee today + Bow down to thee alway. + + +VI. + + O radiant June, in wealth of light and air, + With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere, + Let all bright tokens affluent combine, + And round the bridal pair in splendor shine; + Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true + On this glad day their tender vows renew, + And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they + Whom God hath joined for aye. + + + + +A Fowl Affair. + + + I hope I'm not too orthodox + To give a joke away, + That took me like the chicken-pox + And left a debt to pay. + + Let argument ignore the cost, + If it be dear or cheap, + And only claim that naught be lost + When it's too good to keep. + + The proverb says "All flesh is grass," + But this I do deny, + Because of that which came to pass, + But not to pass me by. + + A body weighing by the pound + Inside of half a score, + In case and cordage safely bound, + Was landed at my door. + + What could it be? for friends are slack, + And give, I rather trow, + When they are sure of getting back + As much as they bestow. + + My hair, at thought of dark design, + Or dynamitish fate, + Stood up like quills of porcupine, + But more than twice as straight. + + Anon, I mused on something rare, + Like duck or terrapin, + But dreamed not, of the parcel, there + Might be a pullet-in. + + A mighty jerk,--the string that broke + The fowl affair revealed, + The victim of a cruel choke, + Its neck completely peeled. + + The biped in its paper cof- + Fin, cramped and plump and neat, + Had scratched its very toenails off + In making both ends meat. + + The only part I always ate, + That never made me ill, + Had gone away decapitate + And carried off the bill. + + I pondered o'er the sacrifice, + The merry-thought, the wings, + On giblet gravy, salad nice, + And chicken-pie-ous things. + + In heat of Fahrenheit degree + Two hundred twelve or more, + Where its grandsire, defying me, + Had crowed the year before, + + I thrust it with a hope forlorn,-- + I knew what toughness meant, + And sighed that ever I was born + To die of roasting scent. + + But presto! what _denouement_ grand + Of cookery sublime! + 'Twas done as by the second hand, + The drumsticks beating thyme. + + And now the moral--he who buys + Will comprehend its worth,-- + Look not so much to weight and size + As to the date of birth. + + In fowls there is a difference; + "The good die young," they say, + And for the death of innocence + To make us meat, we pray. + + + + +Holiday Home. + + + Of all the sweet visions that come unto me + Of happy refreshment by land or by sea, + Like oases where in life's desert I roam, + Is nothing so pleasant as Holiday Home. + + I climb to the top of the highest of hills + And look to the west with affectionate thrills, + And fancy I stand by the emerald side + Of charming Geneva, like Switzerland's pride. + + In distant perspective unruffled it lies, + Except for the packet that paddles and plies, + And puffing its way like a pioneer makes + Its daily go-round o'er this pearl of the lakes. + + Untroubled except for the urchins that come + From many a haunt that is never a home, + Instinctive as ducklings to swim and to wade, + Scarce knowing aforetime why water was made. + + All placid except for the dip of the oar + Of the skiff, or the barge striking out from the shore, + While merry excursionists shout till the gale + Reverberates laughter through rigging and sail. + + How it scallops its basin and shimmers and shines + Like a salver of silver encompassed with vines, + In crystal illusion reflecting the skies + And the mountain that seems from its bosom to rise. + + There stands a great house on a summit so high, + Like an eyrie of safety enroofed by the sky; + And I think of the rest and the comfort up there + To sleep, and to breathe that empyreal air. + + Oh, the charm of the glen and the stream and the wood + Can never be written, nor be understood, + Except by the weary and languid who come + To bask in the quiet of Holiday Home. + + From prisonlike cellars unwholesome and drear, + From attic and alley, from labor severe, + For the poor and the famished doth kindness prepare + A world of diversion and excellent fare. + + To swing in the hammock, disport in the breeze, + To lie in the shade of magnificent trees-- + Oh, this is like quaffing from luxury's bowl + The life-giving essence for body and soul! + + Nor distance nor time shall efface from the mind + The influence gentle, the ministry kind; + While gratitude fondly enhallows the thought + Of a home and a holiday never forgot. + + Ah, one is remembered of saintliest men + To lovely Geneva who comes not again; + Who left a sweet impress wherever he trod, + Humanity's helper, companion of God. + + In the hearts of the many there sheltered and fed, + As unto a hospice by Providence led, + Does often a thought like a sunbeam intrude + Of the bounty so free, and the donors so good? + + Who of their abundance have cheerfully given + Wherewith to develop an embryo heaven-- + To brighten conditions too hard and too sad + And make the unhappy contented and glad. + + Be blessedness theirs, who like knights of renown + Thus scatter such largesse o'er country and town, + Their monument building in many a dome + Like healthful and beautiful Holiday Home. + + + + +Rutha. + + + The days are long and lonely, + The weary eve comes on, + And the nights are filled with dreaming + Of one beloved and gone. + + I reach out in the darkness + And clasp but empty air, + For Rutha dear has vanished-- + I wonder, wonder where. + + Yet must it be: her nature + So lovely, pure, and true; + So nearly like the angels, + Is she an angel too. + + The cottage is dismantled + Of all that made it bright; + Beyond its silent portal + No love, nor life, nor light. + + Where are the hopes I cherished, + The joys that once I knew, + The dreams, the aspirations? + All, all are perished too. + + Yes, love's dear chain is broken; + From shore to shore I roam-- + No comfort, no companion, + No happiness, no home. + + Oh could I but enfold her + Unto my heart once more, + If aught could e'er restore me + My darling as before; + + If God would only tell me-- + Such myriads above-- + Why He must needs have taken + The one I loved to love; + + If God would only tell me + Why multitudes are left, + Unhappy and unlovely, + And I am thus bereft; + + If--O my soul, be silent + And some day thou shalt see + Through mystery and shadow, + And know why it must be. + + To every cry of anguish + From every heart distressed, + Can be no other answer + Than this--God knoweth best. + + + + +The Student Gone. + + + So soon he fell, the world will never know + What possibilities within him lay, + What hopes irradiated his young life, + With high ambition and with ardor rife; + But ah! the speedy summons came, and so + He passed away. + + So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans + By others misapplied, misunderstood; + And doors are barred that wait the master-key-- + That wait his magic Open Sesame!-- + To that assertive power that commands + The multitude. + + Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove + What manhood and integrity might be-- + How one from all base elements apart + Might walk serene, in purity of heart, + His face the bright transparency of love + And sympathy? + + The student ranks are closed, there is no gap; + Of other brave aspirants is no dearth; + Prowess, fidelity, and truth go on, + And few shall miss or mourn the student gone, + Reposing in the all-protecting lap + Of Mother Earth. + + Too soon--O God! was it thy will that one + Of such endeavor and of noble mien, + Enrapt with living, should thus early go + From all he loved and all who loved him so, + Mid life's activities no longer known, + No longer seen? + + Oh, not for aye should agonizing lips + Quiver with questionings they dare not frame; + Though in the dark penumbra of despair + Seemeth no light, nor comfort anywhere-- + All things enshadowed as in dense eclipse, + No more the same. + + Could we but know, in that Elysian lore + Of happy exercise still going on + Could we but know of glorious heights attained, + Of his reward, of mysteries explained,-- + Ah! but to know were to lament no more + The student gone. + + + + +The Tourist. + + + Lo! carpet-bag and bagger occupy the land, + And prove the touring season actively begun; + His personnel and purpose can none misunderstand, + For each upon his frontlet bears his honest brand-- + The fool-ish one! + + By caravan and car, from country and from town, + A great grasshopper army fell foraging the land; + Like bumblebees that know not where to settle down, + Impossible it is to curb or scare or drown + The tourist band. + + With guidebook, camera, with rod and gun, to shoot, + To lure the deer, the hare, the bird, the speckled trout, + The pauper or the prince unbidden they salute, + And everywhere their royal right dare none dispute-- + To roam about. + + From dark immuring walls and dingy ways of trade, + From high society's luxurious stately homes, + From lounging places by the park or promenade, + From rural dwellings canopied in sylvan shade, + The tourist comes. + + To every mountain peak within the antipodes, + To sweet, sequestered spots no other mortal knows; + To every island fair engirt by sunny seas, + To forest-centers unexplored by birds or bees, + The tourist goes. + + For Summer's fingers all the land have richly dressed, + Resplendent in regalia of scent and bloom, + And stirred in every heart the spirit of unrest, + Like that of untamed fledglings in the parent nest + For ampler room. + + What is it prompts the roving mania--is it love + Of wild adventure fanciful, unique, and odd? + Is it to be in fashion, and to others prove + One's social standing, that impels the madness of + The tramp abroad? + + The question hangs unanswered, like an unwise prayer, + Importunate, but powerless response to bring; + Go ask the voyagers, the rovers everywhere-- + They only say it is their rest-time, outing, their + Vacationing. + + So is the world's eccentric round of joy complete + When happy tourist-traveler, no more to roam, + His fascinating, thrilling story shall repeat + To impecunious, luckless multitudes who greet + The tourist home. + + + + +The Antiquarian. + + + Millions have been and passed from view + Benignity who never knew; + No aspiration theirs, nor aim; + Existence soulless as the clay + From whence they sprang, what right have they + To eulogy or fame? + + So multitudes have been forgot-- + But drones or dunces, good for naught; + Like clinging parasites or burrs + Taking from others all they dared, + Yet little they for others cared + Except as pilferers. + + Not so with that majestic man + The all-round antiquarian-- + No model his nor parallel; + From selfishness inviolate + Are his achievements good and great, + And thus shall ages tell. + + A love for the antiquities + His honest hold, his birthright is! + And things unheard of or unread, + Defaced by moth or rust or mold, + To him are treasures more than gold, + Ay, than his daily bread. + + At neither ghost nor ghoul aghast + He echoes voices of the past, + And tones like melancholy knells + Of years departed to his ear + Are sweeter than of kindred dear, + Sweeter than Florimel's. + + He delves through centuries of dust + To resurrect some unknown bust, + A torso, or a goddess whole; + Maybe like Venus, minus arms-- + Haply to find those missing charms; + But not the lost, lost soul. + + He dotes on aborigines + Who lived in caves and hollow trees, + And barters for their trinkets rare; + Exchanging with those dusky breeds + For arrow-heads and shells and beads + A scalplock of his hair. + + Had he been born--thus he laments-- + Along with other great events, + Coeval say with Noah's flood, + A proud relationship to trace + With Hittites--or with any race + Of blue archaic blood! + + Much he adores that Pilgrim flock, + The same that split old Plymouth rock, + Their "Bay Psalm" when they tried to sing. + Devoid of metre, sense, and tune, + Who but a Puritanic loon + Could have devised the thing? + + He revels in a pedigree, + The sprouting of a noble tree + 'Way back in prehistoric times; + And for the "Family Record" true + Of scions all that ever grew + Would give a billion dimes. + + There is a language fossils speak: + 'Tis not like Latin, much less Greek, + But quite as dead and antiquate + Its silent syllables, and cold; + But ah, what meanings they unfold, + What histories relate! + + The earthquake is his best ally-- + It shows up things he cannot buy, + And gives him raw material + For making mastodons and such, + Enough to beat that ancient "Dutch + Republic's Rise and Fall." + + A piece of bone can never lie: + A rib, a femur, or a thigh + Is but a dislocated sign + Of something hybrid, half and half + Betwixt a crocodile and calf-- + Maybe a porcupine. + + The stately "Antiquarium" + Is his emporium, his home. + He wonders if when he is gone + Will people look with mournful pride + On him done up and classified, + And the right label on. + + He dreams of an emblazoned page, + The calendar of every age + Down from Creation's primal dawn; + With archetypes of spears and bones, + And tons of undeciphered stones + Its illustrations drawn. + + Labor a blessing, not a curse, + His hunting ground the Universe, + So much the more his nature craves + To sound the fathoms of the sea: + What mighty wonders there must be + Down in those hidden caves! + + So toils this dauntless man, alert + Amid the ruins and the dirt, + That other men to endless day + Themselves uplifted from the clod + May see, and learn and know that God + Is greater far than they. + + And thus, of mighty ken and plan, + The all-round antiquarian + Pursues his happy ministry; + And on the world's progressive track + Advances, always going back-- + Back to antiquity. + + + + +Poor Housekeeping. + + + If there is one gift that I prize above others, + That tinges with brightness whatever I do, + And gives to the sombre a roseate hue, + 'Tis a legacy mine from the nicest of mothers, + Who haply the beauty of housewifery knew, + And taught me her neatness and diligence too. + + So is my discomfort a house in disorder: + The service uncleanly, the linen distained, + The children like infantry rude and untrained; + The portieres dusty and frayed at the border, + By lavish expenses the pocketbook drained, + And miseries numberless never explained. + + I dream not of pleasure in visions untidy, + A wrapper all hole-y, a buttonless shoe, + A slatternly matron with nothing to do; + And all the ill-luck charged to ominous Friday + Can never compare with the ills that ensue + On wretched housekeeping and cookery too. + + There's many a husband, a patient bread-winner, + Gets up from the table with look of despair, + And something akin to the growl of a bear; + Not the saint he might be, but a querulous sinner-- + One driven to fasting but not unto prayer-- + Till epitaphed thus--"Indigestible Fare." + + There's many a child, from the roof-tree diurnal, + A scene of distraction or dullness severe, + With the longing of youth for diversion and cheer, + That comes like the spring-time refreshing and vernal, + Goes out on a ruinous, reckless career, + Returning, if ever, not many a year. + + O negligent female, imperfect housekeeper, + Though faultless in figure and charming of face, + In ruffles of ribbon and trailings of lace + Usurping the part of a common street-sweeper, + You never can pose as a type of your race + In frowsy appearance mid things out of place. + + O fashion-bred damsel, with folly a-flutter, + Until you have learned how to manage a broom, + If never you know how to tidy a room, + Manipulate bread or decide about butter, + The duties of matron how dare you assume, + Or ever be bride to a sensible groom? + + I covet no part with that army of shirkers + All down at the heels in their slipper-y tread, + Who hunt for the rolling-pin under the bed, + Who look with disdain on intelligent workers + And take to the club or the circus instead + Of mending a stocking or laying the spread. + + Oh, I dream of a system of perfect housekeeping, + Where mistress and helper together compete + In excellent management, quiet and neat; + And though in the bosom of earth I am sleeping, + Shall somebody live to whom life will be sweet + And home an ideal, idyllic retreat. + + + + +Going to Tobog. + + + Into my disappointment-cup + The snowflakes fell and blocked the road, + And so I thought I'd finish up + The latest style of Christmas ode; + When she, the charming little lass + With eyes as bright as isinglass, + Before a line my pen had wrought + In strange attire came bounding in, + As if she had with Bruno fought, + And robbed him of his shaggy skin. + + She came to me robed _cap-a-pie_ + In her bewitching "blanket-suit," + In moccasin and toggery, + All ready for "that icy chute," + And asked me if I thought she'd do; + I shake with love of mischief true: + "For what?--a polar bear?--why, yes!" + "No, no!" she said, with half a pout. + "Why, one would think so, by your dress-- + Say, does your mother know you're out?" + + "No, I'm not out," she said, and sighed; + "Because the storm so wildly raged-- + But for the first delightful ride + For half a year I've been engaged." + "Engaged to what?--an Esquimau? + To ride a glacier, or a floe?" + "Why, don't you know"--her color glowed, + In expectation all agog-- + "The reason why I'm glad it snowed? + Because--I'm going to tobog." + + + + +"Passer Le Temps." + + + So _that's_ the way you pass your time! + Indeed your charming, frank confession + Betrays no sort of heinous crime, + But marks a wonderful digression + From puritanic views, less bold, + That we were early taught to hold. + + "_Passer le temps_," of course, implies + A little cycle of flirtations, + Wherein the actors never rise + To sober, serious relations, + But play just for amusement's sake + A harmless game of "give and take." + + While moments pass on pinions fleet, + And youth in beauty effloresces, + The joy that finds itself complete + In honeyed words and soft caresses, + Alas! an index seems to be + Of perilous inconstancy. + + It may be with disdainful smile + You greet this comment from a stranger, + Your pleasure-paths pursuing while + A siren voice discounts the danger, + Until, some day, in sadder rhyme + You rue your mode of "passing time." + + + + +The Torpedo. + + + Valiant sons of the sea, + All the vast deep, your home, + Holds no terror so dread + As this novel and unseen foe, + Lurking under the foam + Of some dangerous channel-- + As the torpedo, the scourge of ships. + + Through the rigging may roar + AEolus' thousand gales, + Yet the mariner's heart + Shrinketh not from the howling blast; + Though with battle-rent sails, + Flames and carnage around him, + Cowardice never shall pale his lips. + + But when powers concealed, + Threatening with death the crew, + Pave each eddy below, + E'en the bravest are chilled with fear, + Lest yon wizard in blue, + Who their progress is spying, + Touch but the key with his finger-tips. + + Lo! with thunderous boom + Towers a column bright, + And the vessel is gone! + In that ocean of blinding spray + Sink her turrets from sight, + By thy potency broken, + O irresistible scourge of ships! + + --_Harry Howard._ + + + +Margaret. + + + I saw her for a moment, + Her presence haunts me yet, + In oft-recurring visions + Of grace and gladness met + That marked the sweet demeanor + Of dainty Margaret. + + Like gossamer her robe was + Around her lightly drawn, + A filmy summer-garment + That fairy maidens don + To make them look like angels + Croqueting on the lawn. + + The mallet-sport became her + In hue of exercise + That tinged her cheek with roses; + And, dancing in her eyes, + Were pantomime suggestions + Of having won--a prize. + + No more to me a stranger + Is she who occupies + A place in all my musings; + And brings in tender guise + A thought of one so like her-- + Long years in Paradise. + + Dear Margaret! that "pearl-name" + Is thine--and may it be + The synonym of goodness, + Of truth and purity, + And all ennobling graces + Exemplified in thee. + + + + +Christmas Bells. + + + Ring out, O bells, in joyful chime! + Again we hail the Christmas time; + In melting, mellow atmosphere, + The crown and glory of the year. + + When bitterness, distrust, and awe + Dissolve, like ice in winter's thaw, + Beneath the genial touches of + Amenity, good will, and love. + + When flowers of affection grow, + Like edelweiss mid alpine snow, + In lives severe and beautiless, + Unused to warmth or tenderness. + + Let goodness, grace, and gratitude + Revive in music's interlude, + And paean notes, till time shall cease, + Proclaim the blessed reign of peace. + + Ring, Christmas bells! for at the sound + Sweet memories of Him abound + Who laid aside a diadem + To be the babe of Bethlehem. + + + + +By the Sea. + + + I am longing to dwell by the sea, + And dip in the surf every day, + And--height of subaqueous glee-- + With the sharks and the porpoises play. + + To novelty ever inclined-- + Instead of a calm evening sail, + 'Twould suit my adventurous mind + To ride on the back of a whale. + + I want to disport on the rocks + Like a mythical mermaiden belle, + And comb out my watery locks, + Then dive to my cavernous cell. + + I want to discover what lends + Such terror to all timid folks-- + That serpent whose mystery tends + To make one believe it a hoax. + + They say he's been captured at last; + The news is too good to be true-- + He's slippery, cunning, and fast, + And likes notoriety too. + + Once had I such longings to be + A sailor--those wishes are o'er, + But ever in dreams of the sea + My horoscope rests on the shore. + + Oh, give me a home by the sea-- + A cottage, a cabin, a tent! + Existence should ecstasy be + Till summer were joyfully spent. + + + + +A Song. + + + Oh, sing me a merry song! + My heart is sad tonight; + The day has been so drear and long, + The world has gone awry and wrong, + Discouragements around me throng, + And gloom surpassing night. + + Oh, sing again the song for me + My mother used to sing + When I, a child beside her knee, + Looked up for her sweet sympathy, + Nor ever thought how I might be + Her little hindering thing. + + Oh, sing, as eventide draws near, + The old-time lullabys + Grandmother sang--forever dear, + Though in her grave this many a year + She lies who "read her title clear + To mansions in the skies." + + Oh, sing till all perplexing care + Has vanished with the day! + And angels ever bright and fair + Come down the melody to share, + And on their pinions lightly bear + My happy soul away. + + + + +"Is It April?" + + + No, this is January, dear, + The almanac's untrue; + For roaring Boreas, 'tis clear, + In sleet and snow and atmosphere, + Will be the monarch of the year, + And terror, too. + + "Is it a blessing in disguise?" + Of course, things always are; + But Arctic blasts with ardent skies + Somehow do not quite harmonize, + That try to cheat by weather-lies + The calendar. + + Old Janus must be double-faced; + He promised long ago + The maple syrup not to taste, + Nor steal the roses from the waist + Of one, a damsel fair and chaste + As April snow. + + O winter of our discontent! + Your reign was for a day; + Behold! a scene of wonderment, + A thousand tongues are eloquent, + For spring, in bud and bloom and scent, + Is on the way. + + + + +Christmas-Tide. + + + Let working-clothes be laid aside, + And Industry in festal garb arrayed; + Let busy brain and hand from toil and trade + Relax at Christmas-tide. + + As moments pass by dial, so + Let gifts go round the happy circle where + In giving and receiving each may share, + And mutual kindness show. + + The meaning deep, like mystery, + That lies in holly-bough or mistletoe, + May thousands never fathom--yet who know + And hail the Christmas-tree. + + So strong a hold on human thought + Has this glad day that seasons all the year + With the rich flavoring of hearty cheer, + It ne'er shall be forgot. + + It is the milestone on life's road + Where we may lay our burdens down, and take + A look at souvenirs, for love's dear sake + So prettily bestowed. + + Upon its shining tablet we may write-- + If, like the good Samaritan, in deed-- + A record that the angel band shall read + With impulse of delight. + + And this is why on Christmas morn + The world should smile and wear its brightest glow: + Because some nineteen hundred years ago + A little child was born. + + + + +January, 1885. + + + These winter days are passing fair! + As if a breath of spring + Had permeated all the air, + And touched each living thing + With thankfulness for such a boon-- + Discounting with a scoff + The almanac's report that "June + Is yet a long way off!" + + We quarrel with the calendar-- + For May has been misplaced-- + And doubt the tale oracular + Of "Janus, double-faced;" + For this "ethereal mildness" looks + Toward shadowy delights + Of roseate bowers, of cosy nooks, + Of coming thermal nights. + + Let robes diaphanous succeed + Dense garments made of fur, + And overcoats maintain the lead-- + Among the things that were! + The wisely-rented sealskin sacque, + By many a dame possessed, + Be quickly relegated back + To its moth-haunted chest! + + While every portly alderman, + In linen suit arrayed, + Manipulates the palm-leaf fan + And seeks the cooling shade; + And he perspires who not in vain + Suggests his funny squibs, + By poking his unwelcome cane + In other people's ribs. + + Who dares to fling opprobrium + On January now? + As to a potentate we come + With reverential bow, + Because it doth not yet appear + That Time hath ever seen + The ruler of th' inverted year + In more benignant mien. + + O Boreas! do not lie low-- + That is, if "lie" thou must-- + Upon our planet; do not blow + With fierce and sudden gust, + But come so gently, tenderly-- + As come thou surely wilt-- + That we may have sweet dreams of thee, + Beneath "our crazy quilt!" + + + + +Sweet Peas. + + + By helpful fingers taught to twine + Around its trellis, grew + A delicate and dainty vine; + The bursting bud, its blossom sign, + Inlaid with honeyed-dew. + + Developing by every art + To floriculture known, + From tares exempt, and kept apart, + Careful, as if in some fond heart + Its legume germs were sown. + + So thriving, not for me alone + Its beauty and perfume-- + Ah, no, to rich perfection grown + By flower mission loved and known + In many a darkened room. + + And once in strange and solemn place, + Mid weeping uncontrolled, + Upon the crushed and snowy lace + I saw them scattered 'round a face + All pallid, still, and cold. + + Oh, some may choose, as gaudy shows, + Those saucy sprigs of pride + The peony, the red, red rose; + But give to me the flower that grows + Petite and pansy-eyed. + + Thus, meditation on Sweet Peas + Impels the ardent thought, + Would maidens all were more like these, + With modesty--that true heartsease-- + Tying the lover's knot. + + + + +The Summer House. + + + Midway upon the lawn it stands, + So picturesque and pretty; + Upreared by patient artist hands, + Admired of all the city; + The very arbor of my dream, + A covert cool and airy, + So leaf-embowered as to seem + The dwelling of a fairy. + + It is the place to lie supine + Within a hammock swinging, + To watch the sunset, red as wine, + To hear the crickets singing; + And while the insect world around + Is buzzing--by the million-- + No winged thing above the ground + Intrudes in this pavilion. + + It is the place, at day's decline, + To tell the old, old story + Behind the dark Madeira vine, + Behind the morning glory; + To confiscate the rustic seat + And barter stolen kisses, + For honey must be twice as sweet + In such a spot as this is. + + It is the haunt where one may get + Relief from petty trouble, + May read the latest day's gazette + About the "Klondike" bubble: + How shanties rise like golden courts. + Where sheep wear glittering fleeces, + How gold is picked up--by the quartz-- + And all get rich as Croesus. + + Here hid away from dust and heat, + Secure from rude intrusion, + While willing lips the thought repeat, + So grows the fond illusion: + That happiness the product is + Of lazy, languid dozing, + Of soft midsummer reveries, + Half-waking, half-reposing. + + And here in restful interlude, + Life's fallacies forgetting, + Its frailties--such a multitude-- + The fuming and the fretting, + Amid the fragrance, dusk, and dew, + The happy soul at even + May walk abroad, and interview + Bright messengers from Heaven. + + + + +To Die in Autumn. + + + The melody of autumn + Is the only tune I know, + And I sing it over and over + Because it thrills me so; + It stirs anew the happy wish, + So near to perfect bliss, + To live a little longer in + A world like this. + + The sound was never sweeter, + The voice so nearly mute, + As beauty, dying, loses + Her hold upon the lute; + And like the harmonies that touch + And blend with those above, + Forever must an echo wake + The heart of love. + + Her robe of brown and coral + And amber glistens through + Rare jewels of the morning, + The opals of the dew, + Like royal fabrics worn beneath + The tinselry of pearls, + Or diamond dust by fashion strewn + On sunny curls. + + If I could wrap such garments + In true artistic style + About myself departing, + And wear as sweet a smile + And be as guileless as the flowers + My friends would never sigh; + 'Twould reconcile them to my death + To see me die. + + And why should there be sorrow + When dying is no more + Than 'twixt two bright apartments + The opening of a door + Through which the freed, enraptured soul + From this, a paradise, + May pass to that supremely fair + Beyond the skies? + + Oh, 'twere not hard to finish + When earth with tender grace + Prepares for her dear children + So sweet a resting place; + And though in dissolution's throe + The melody be riven, + The song abruptly ended here + Goes on in Heaven. + + + + +Apple Blossoms. + + + Of all the lovely blossoms + That decorate the trees, + And shower down their petals + With every breath of breeze, + There is nothing so sweet or fair to me + As the delicate blooms of the apple tree. + + A thousand shrubs and flow'rets + Delicious pleasure bring, + But beautiful Pomona + Must be the queen of spring; + And out of her flagon the peach and pear + Their chalices fill with essence rare. + + Oh, is it any wonder, + Devoid of blight or flaw, + The peerless blooms of Eden + Our primal mother saw + In redolent beauty before her placed + So tempted fair Eve the fruit to taste? + + But woman's love of apples, + Involving fearful price, + And Adam's love for woman + That cost him Paradise, + By the labor of hands and sweat of brow, + Have softened the curse to a blessing now. + + If so those pink-eyed glories, + In fields and orchards gay + Develop luscious fruitage + By Horticulture's way, + Then, sweet as the heart of rich legumes, + Shall luxury follow the apple blooms. + + + + +Without a Minister. + + + The congregation was devout, + The minister inspired, + Their attitude to those without + By every one admired, + And all things so harmonious seemed, + Of no calamity we dreamed. + + But, just in this quiescent state + A little cloud arose + Portentous of our certain fate-- + As everybody knows; + Our pastor took it in his head + His "resignation" must be read. + + In every eye a tear-drop stood, + For we accepted it + Reluctantly, but nothing could + Make him recant one bit; + And soon he left for distant parts, + While we were left--with broken hearts. + + And next the "patriarch" who led + For nearly three-score years + Our "Sabbath school"--its worthy head-- + Rekindled all our fears + By saying, with a smile benign, + "Since it's the fashion, I'll resign!" + + And so he did; but promptly came + Forth one, of good report-- + "Our Superintendent" is his name-- + Who tries to "hold the fort" + With wisdom, tact, and rare good sense, + In this, his first experience. + + The world looks on and says, "How strange! + They hang together so, + These Baptists do, and never change, + But right straight onward go + While other flocks are scattering all, + And some have strayed beyond recall!" + + + + +Indian Summer. + + + Is it not our bounden duty + Harsh and bitter thoughts to quell, + Wild, ambitions schemes repel, + And to revel in the beauty + Of this Indian summer spell, + Bathing forest, field, and dell + As with radiance immortelle? + + None can paint like nature dying; + Whose dissolving struggle lent + Wealth of hues so richly blent + That, through weary years of trying, + Artist skill pre-eminent + May not copy or invent + Such divine embellishment. + + Knights of old from castles riding + Scattered largesse as they went + Which, like manna heaven-sent, + Cheered the poverty-abiding; + But, when 'neath "that low green tent" + Passed the hand benevolent, + Sad were they and indigent. + + Monarchs, too, have thus delighted + Giving unto courtiers free, + Costly robes and tinselry; + And, as royal guests, invited + Them to sumptuous halls of glee, + Banqueting and minstrelsy, + Bacchus holding sovereignty. + + Then, perchance, in mood capricious + Stripped and scorned and turned away + Those who tasted for a day + Pleasure sweet and food delicious; + Nor might any say them nay-- + Lest his head the forfeit pay + Who a king dared disobey. + + But our own benignant Giver, + Almoner impartial, true, + Constantly doth gifts renew; + Nor would fitfully deliver + Aught unto the chosen few, + But to all the wide world through, + Who admire his wonders, too. + + Never shall the heart be poorer, + Never languish in despair, + That such affluence may share; + For than this is nothing surer-- + He hath said, and will prepare + In those realms of upper air + Glories infinitely fair. + + + + +Autumn-Time. + + + Like music heard in mellow chime, + The charm of her transforming time + Upon my senses steals + As softly as from sunny walls, + In day's decline, their shadow falls + Across the sleeping fields. + + A fair, illumined book + Is nature's page whereon I look + While "autumn turns the leaves;" + And many a thought of her designs + Between those rare, resplendent lines + My fancy interweaves. + + I dream of aborigines, + Who must have copied from the trees + The fashions of the day: + Those gorgeous topknots for the head, + Of yellow tufts and feathers red, + With beads and sinews gay. + + I wonder if the saints behold + Such pageantry of colors bold + Beyond the radiant sky; + And if the tints of Paradise + Are heightened by the strange device + Of making all things die. + + Yea, even so; for Nature glows + Because of her expiring throes, + As if around her tomb + Unmeet it were,--the look severe + That designates a common bier + Enwreathed in deepest gloom. + + And so I meditate if aught + Can be so fair where death is not; + If Heaven's loveliness + Is born of struggle and decay; + And, but for funeral array, + Would it be beautiless? + + Oh solemn, sad, sweet mystery + That Earth's unrivaled brilliancy + Is but her splendid pall! + That Heaven were not what it is + But for that crown of tragedies, + The sacrifice for all. + + So not a charm would Zion lose + Were it bereft of sparkling hues + In gilded lanes and leas; + It would be bright though not a flower + Unclosed in its celestial bower, + And void of jeweled trees. + + Yet, lily-like, one bloom I see, + Its name is his who died for me; + Whose matchless beauty shows + Perfection on its bleeding stem, + The blossom-bud of Bethlehem, + The Resurrection Rose. + + + +The Beauty of Nature. + + + Oh bud and leaf and blossom, + How beautiful they are! + Than last year's vernal season + 'Tis lovelier by far; + This earth was never so enchanting + Nor half so bright before-- + But so I've rhapsodized, in springtime, + For forty years or more. + + What luxury of color + On shrub and plant and vine, + From pansies' richest purple + To pink of eglantine; + From buttercups to "johnny-jump-ups," + With deep cerulean eyes, + Responding to their modest surname + In violet surprise. + + Sometimes I think the sunlight + That gilds the emerald hills, + And makes Aladdin dwellings + Of dingy domiciles, + Is surplus beauty overflowing + That Heaven cannot hold-- + The topaz glitter, or the jacinth, + The glare of streets of gold. + + In "Cedar Hill," the city + Of "low green tents" of sod, + I read the solemn record + Of those gone home to God; + While from their hallowed dust arising + The fragrant lilies grow + As if their life was all the sweeter + For those who sleep below. + + And so 'tis not in sadness + I dwell upon the thought, + When I am dead and buried + That I shall be forgot. + Because the germ of reproduction + Doth this poor body hold, + Perchance to add to nature's beauty + A rose above the mold. + + + + +"All the Rage." + + + A common wayside flower it grew, + Unhandsome and unnoticed too, + Except in deprecation + That such an herb unreared by toil, + Prolific cumberer of the soil, + Defied extermination. + + Its gorgeous blooms were never stirred + By honey-bee nor humming-bird + In their corollas dipping; + But they from clover white and red + Delicious nectar drew instead + In dainty rounds of sipping. + + No place its own euphonious name + Within the catalogue might claim + Of any flora-lover; + For, in the scores of passers-by, + As yet no true artistic eye + Its beauty could discover. + + The reaper with his sickle keen + Aimed at its crest of gold and green + With spiteful stroke relentless, + And would have rooted from the ground + The "Solidago"--blossom-crowned, + But gaudy, rank, and scentless. + + But everything must have its day-- + And since some fickle _devotee_ + Or myrmidon of Fashion + Declares that this obnoxious weed, + From wild, uncultivated seed, + Shall be the "ruling passion," + + Effusive schoolgirls dote on it; + Whose "frontispieces" infinite + That need no decoration + Are hid beneath its golden dust, + Till many a fine, symmetric bust + Is lost to admiration. + + Smart dudes and ladies' men--the few + Who wish they could be ladies too-- + Display a sprig of yellow + Conspicuous in their buttonhole, + To captivate a maiden soul + Or vex some other fellow. + + And spinsters of uncertain age + Are clamoring now for "all the rage" + To give a dash of color + To their complexions, which appear + To be the hue they hold so dear-- + Except a trifle duller. + + That _negligee_ "blue-stocking" friend, + Who never cared her time to spend + On mysteries of the toilet, + Now wears a sumptuous bouquet + And shakes your hand a mile away + For fear that you will spoil it. + + Delightful widows, dressed in black, + Complain with modest sighs they lack + That coveted expression, + That sort of Indian Summer air + Which "relicts" always ought to wear + By general concession; + + And so lugubrious folds of crape + Are crimped and twisted into shape + With graceful heads of yellow, + That give a winsome toning down + To sombre hat and sable gown-- + In autumn tintings mellow. + + Alas, we only hate the weed! + And think that it must be, indeed, + The ladies' last endeavor + To match the gentlemen, who flaunt + That odious dried tobacco plant + At which they puff forever. + + + + +My Mother's Hand. + + + My head is aching, and I wish + That I could feel tonight + One well-remembered, tender touch + That used to comfort me so much, + And put distress to flight. + + There's not a soothing anodyne + Or sedative I know, + Such potency can ever hold + As that which lovingly controlled + My spirit long ago. + + How oft my burning cheek as if + By Zephyrus was fanned, + And nothing interdicted pain + Or seemed to make me well again + So quick as mother's hand. + + 'Tis years and years since it was laid, + In her own gentle way, + On tangled curls of brown and jet + Above the downy coverlet + 'Neath which the children lay. + + As bright as blessed sunlight ray + The past comes back to me; + Her fingers turn the sacred page + For a little group of tender age + Who gather at her knee. + + And when those hands together clasped + Devout and still were we; + To whom it seemed God then and there + Must surely answer such a prayer, + For none could pray as she. + + O buried love with her that passed + Into the Silent Land! + O haunting vision of the night! + I see, encoffined, still, and white, + A mother's face and hand. + + + + +A Leap Year Episode. + + + Such oranges! so fresh and sweet, + So large and lovely--and so cheap! + They lay in one delicious heap, + And added to the sumptuous feast + For each and all in taste expert + The acme of all fine dessert; + So, singling out the very least + As in itself an ample treat, + While sparkling repartee and jest + Exhilarated host and guest, + Of rarity so delicate + In dreamy reverie I ate, + By magic pinions as it were + Transported from this realm of snows + To be a happy sojourner + Away down where the orange grows; + Amid the bloom, the verdure, and + The beauty of that tropic land, + While redolence seemed wafted in + From orchard-groves of Mandarin. + + In dinner costume _a la mode_, + Expressing from the spongy skin + The nectar that ran down her chin + In little rills of lusciousness, + Sat Maud, the beautiful coquette; + Her dainty mouth, like "two lips" wet + With morning dew, her crimson dress, + A sad discoloration showed + Where orange-juice--it was a sin!-- + A polka-dot had painted in; + Which moved the roguish girl to say + Half-ruefully (half-_decollete_)-- + "I'm glad it's Leap Year now, for I--" + Her voice was like a moistened lute + "Shall wear the flowers, by and by-- + I do not like this leaky fruit!" + And looking straight and saucily + At cousin Ned, her _vis-a-vis_; + While Will, who never dared propose, + Was blushing like a red, red rose. + + The company was large, and she + Touched elbows with the exquisite, + Gay Archibald, who took her wit + And pertness all as meant for him; + Who, thereby lifted some degrees + Above less-favored devotees, + With rainbow sails began to trim + His craft of sweet felicity; + So mirth in reckless afterlude + Convulsed the merry multitude, + Who laughed at Archie's self-esteem, + And pitied Will's long-cherished dream; + While all declared, for her and Ned-- + His face was like a silver tray-- + The wedding-banquet should be spread + Before a twelvemonth passed away. + But, ah, the sequel--blind were we + To woman and her strategy! + For he so long afraid to speak + Bore off the bride within a week. + + + + +If. + + + If all the sermons good men preach + And all the precepts that they teach + Were gathered into one + Unbroken line of silver speech, + The shining filament might reach + From earth unto the sun. + + If all the stories ever told + By wild romancers, young or old, + Into a thread were drawn, + And from its cable coil unrolled, + 'Twould span those misty hills of gold + That heaven seems resting on. + + If every folly, every freak, + From day to day, from week to week, + Is written in "The Book," + With all the idle words we speak, + Would it not crimson many a cheek + Upon the page to look? + + If all the good deeds that we do + From honest motives pure and true + Shall there recorded be, + Known unto God and angels too, + Is it not sad they are so few + And wrought so charily? + + + + +Perfect Character. + + + He lives but half who never stood + By the grave of one held dear, + And out of the deep, dark loneliness + Of a heart bereaved and comfortless, + From sorrow's crystal plentitude, + Feeling his loss severe, + Dropped a regretful tear. + + Oh, life's divinest draught doth not + In the wells of joy abound! + For the purest streams are those that flow + Out of the depths of crushing woe, + As from the springs of love and thought + Hid in some narrow mound, + Making it holy ground. + + He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt + Owning that God is just, + And in the stillness of cypress shade + Rosemary's tender symbol laid + Upon a cherished shrine, and felt + Strengthened in faith and trust + Over the precious dust. + + So perfect character is wrought, + Rounded and beautified, + By the alchemy of that strange alloy, + The intermingling of grief and joy; + So nearer Heaven the spirit, brought + Bleeding, so sorely tried, + Finds its diviner side. + + + + +The Miracle of Spring. + + + What touch is like the Spring's? + By dainty fingerings + Such rare delight to give, + 'Tis luxury to live + Amid florescent things. + + Through weary months of snow + When Boreas swept low, + How many an anxious hour + We watched one little flower, + And tried to make it grow; + + And thrilled with ecstasy + When, half distrustfully, + A timid bud appeared, + A tender scion reared + In window greenery. + + But lo! Spring's wealth of bloom + And richness of perfume + Comes as by miracle; + Then why not possible + Within a curtained room? + + Ah, no! that everywhere + The earth is passing fair, + And strange new life hath caught, + Is but the marvel wrought + By sunlight, rain, and air. + + + + +Bermuda. + + + O charming blossom of the sea + Atlantic waters bosomed in! + Abiding-place of gayety, + Elysian bower of "Cora Linn," + The sprightly, lively _debiteuse_ + Recounting all she sees and does. + + Oh, how it makes the northern heart, + With sluggish current half-congealed, + In ecstasy and vigor start + To read about this tropic field; + The garden of luxuriousness, + In winter wearing summer's dress. + + With gelid sap and frozen gum + In maple trees and hackmatack, + While waiting for the spring to come + Of life's necessities we lack; + And sip the nectar that we find + In luscious fruit with golden rind. + + But down the street we dread to walk, + For all the teachings of our youth + Receive an agonizing shock; + _Do_ tempting labels lie, forsooth? + For "out of Florida," she says, + "Come our Bermuda oranges." + + To speed the penitential prayer + Our rosary we finger o'er, + A yellow necklace rich and rare-- + 'Twas purchased at the dollar store; + But oh, it makes us sigh to see + That land of amber _bijouterie_! + + Oh, ocean wave and flying sail + Shall never waft us to its shore! + But if some reckless cyclone gale + Should drop Bermuda at our door, + 'Twould warm our February sky + And bring the time of roses nigh! + + + + +The Charter Oak. + + + I seem to see the old tree stand, + Its sturdy, giant form + A spectacle remembered, and + A pilgrim-shrine for all the land + Before it met the storm. + + Unnumbered gales the tree defied; + It towered like a king + Above his courtiers, reaching wide, + And sheltering scions at its side + As with protecting wing. + + Revered as one among the trees + To mark the seasons born, + To watchful aborigines + It told by leafy indices + The time of planting corn. + + The landmark of the past is gone, + Its site is overgrown; + A mansion overlooks the lawn + Where history is traced upon + A parapet of stone. + + Shall e'er Connecticut forget + What unto it we owe-- + How Wadsworth coped with Andros' threat, + And tyranny, in council met, + Outwitted years ago? + + Aye, but it rouses loyal spunk + To think of that old tree! + Its stately stem, its spacious trunk + By Nature robbed of pith and punk + To guard our liberty. + + But of the oak long-perished, why + Is earth forever full? + For, like the loaf and fish supply, + Its stock of fiber, tough and dry, + Seems inexhaustible. + + Rare souvenirs the stranger sees-- + Who never sees a joke-- + And innocently dreams that these, + From knotty, gnarly, scraggy trees, + Were once the Charter Oak! + + + + +Blossom-time. + + + Yes, it is drawing nigh-- + The time of blossoming; + The waiting heart beats stronger + With every breath of Spring, + The days are growing longer; + While happy hours go by + As if on zephyr wing. + + A wealth of mellow light + Reflected from the skies + The hill and vale is flooding; + Still in their leafless guise + The Jacqueminots are budding, + Creating new delight + By promise of surprise. + + The air is redolent + As ocean breezes are + From spicy islands blowing, + Or groves of Malabar + Where sandal-wood is growing; + Or sweet, diffusive scent, + From fragrant attar-jar. + + Just so is loveliness + Renewed from year to year; + And thus emotions tender, + Born of the atmosphere, + Of bloom, and vernal splendor + That words cannot express, + Make Spring forever dear. + + Can mortal man behold + So beautiful a scene, + Without the innate feeling + That thus, like dying sheen + The sunset hues revealing, + Glints pure, celestial gold + On fields of living green? + + + + +"One of the Least of These." + + + 'Twas on a day of cold and sleet, + A little nomad of the street + With tattered garments, shoeless feet, + And face with hunger wan, + Great wonder-eyes, though beautiful, + Hedged in by features pinched and dull, + Betraying lines so pitiful + By sorrow sharply drawn; + + Ere yet the service half was o'er, + Approached the great cathedral door + As choir and organ joined to pour + Their sweetness on the air; + Then, sudden, bold, impelled to glide + With fleetness to the altar's side, + Her trembling form she sought to hide + Amid the shadows there, + + Half fearful lest some worshiper, + Enveloped close in robes of fur, + Had cast a scornful glance at her + As she had stolen by, + But soon the swelling anthem, fraught + With reverence, her spirit caught + As rapt she listened, heeding not + The darkness drawing nigh. + + 'Mid novelty and sweet surprise + Her soul, enraptured, seemed to rise + And tread the realms of Paradise; + Her shivering limbs grew warm, + And as the shadows longer crept + Across the chancel, angels kept + Their vigils o'er her as she slept + Secure from cold and storm. + + No sound her peaceful slumber broke, + But one, whose gentle face bespoke + True goodness, took her costly cloak + In tender, thoughtful way, + And as the sleeper sweetly smiled, + Perchance by dreams of Heaven beguiled, + O'erspread the passive, slumbering child, + And softly stepped away. + + So rest thee, child! since Sorrow's dart + Has touched like thine the Saviour's heart, + Thou hast a nearer, dearer part + In his great love for thee; + And when life's shadows all are gone, + May Heaven reveal a brighter dawn + To thee who, unaware, hast drawn + Our hearts in sympathy. + + + + +Lightning-bugs. + + + Around my vine-wreathed portico, + At evening, there's a perfect glow + Of little lights a-flashing-- + As if the stellar bodies had + From super-heat grown hyper-mad, + And spend their ire in clashing. + + As frisky each as shooting star, + These tiny electricians are + The Lampyrine Linnaean-- + Or lightning-bugs, that sparkling gleam + Like scintillations in a dream + Of something empyrean. + + They brush my face, light up my hair, + My garments touch, dart everywhere; + And if I try to catch them + They're quicker than the wicked flea-- + And then I wonder how 'twould be + To have a _dress_ to match them. + + To be a "princess in disguise," + And wear a robe of fireflies + All strung and wove together, + And be the cynosure of all + At Madame Haut-ton's carnival, + In fashion's gayest feather. + + So, sudden, falls upon the grass + The overpow'ring light of gas, + And through the lattice streaming; + As wearily I close my eyes + Brief are the moments that suffice + To reach the land of dreaming. + + Now at the ball, superbly dressed + As I suppose, to eclipse the rest, + Within an alcove shady + A brilliant flame I hope to be, + While all admire and envy me, + The "bright electric lady." + + But, ah, they never shine at all! + My eyes _ignite_--I leave the hall, + For wrathful tears have filled them; + I could have crushed them on the spot-- + The bugs, I mean!--and quite forgot + That _stringing_ them had killed them. + + + + +Of Her who Died. + + + We look up to the stars tonight, + Idolatrous of them, + And dream that Heaven is in sight, + And each a ray of purest light + From some celestial gem + In her bright diadem. + + Before that lonely home we wait, + Ah! nevermore to see + Her lovely form within the gate + Where heart and hearthstone desolate + And vine and shrub and tree + Seem asking: "Where is she?" + + There is the cottage Love had planned-- + Where hope in ashes lies-- + A tower beautiful to stand, + Her monument whose gentle hand + And presence in the skies + Make home of Paradise. + + In wintry bleakness nature glows + Beneath the stellar ray; + We see the mold, but not the rose, + And meditate if knowledge goes + Into yon mound of clay, + With her who passed away. + + Of sighs, and tears, and joys denied + Do echoes reach up there? + Do seraphs know--God does--how wide + And deep is sorrow's bitter tide + Of dolor and despair, + And darkness everywhere? + + Dear angel, snatched from our caress, + So suddenly withdrawn, + Alone are we and comfortless; + As in a dome of emptiness + The old routine goes on, + Aimless, since thou art gone. + + Oh, dearer unto us than aught + In all the world beside + Of thee to cherish blessed thought; + So early thy sweet mission wrought, + As friend, as promised bride, + Who lived, and loved, and died. + + + + +Thanksgiving. + + + Nature, erewhile so marvelously lovely, is bereft + Of her supernal charm; + And with the few dead garlands of departed splendor left, + Like crape upon her arm, + In boreal hints, and sudden gusts + That fan the glowing ember, + By multitude of ways fulfills + The promise of November. + + Upon the path where Beauty, sylvan priestess, sped away, + Lies the rich afterglow + Of Indian Summer, bringing round the happy holiday + That antedates the snow: + The glad Thanksgiving time, the cheer, + The festival commotion + That stirs fraternal feeling from + The mountains to the ocean. + + O Hospitality! unclose thy bounty-laden hand + In generous dealing, where + Is gathered in reunion each long-severed household band, + And let no vacant chair + Show where the strongest, brightest link + In love's dear chain is broken-- + A symbol more pathetic than + By language ever spoken. + + Into the place held sacred to the memory of some + Beloved absentee, + Perchance passed to the other shore, oh, let the stranger come + And in gratuity + Partake of festal favors that + Shall sweeten hours of labor, + And strengthen amity and love + Unto his friend and neighbor. + + Let gratitude's pure incense in warm orisons ascend, + A blessing to secure, + And gracious impulse bearing largesse of good gifts extend + To all deserving poor; + So may the day be hallowed by + Unstinted thanks and giving, + In sweet remembrance of the dead + And kindness to the living. + + + + +Receiving Sight. + + + In hours of meditation fraught + With mem'ries of departed days, + Comes oft a tender, loving thought + Of one who shared our youthful plays. + + In gayest sports and pleasures rife + Whose happy nature reveled so, + That on her ardent, joyous life + A shadow lay, we did not know; + + And bade her look one summer night + Up to the sky that seemed to hold, + In dying sunset splendor bright, + All hues of sapphire, red, and gold. + + How strange the spell that mystified + Us all, and hushed our wonted glee, + As sadly her sweet voice replied, + "Why, don't you know I cannot see?" + + Too true! those eyes bereft of sight + No blemish bare, no drop-serene, + But nothing in this world of light + And beauty they had ever seen. + + + A dozen years in gentle ruth + Their impress lent to brow and cheek, + When precious words of sacred truth + Led her the Saviour's face to seek. + + Responsive unto earnest prayers + Commingling love and penitence, + A blessing came--not unawares-- + In new and strange experience. + + And all was light, as Faith's clear eye + A brighter world than ours divined; + For never clouds obscured the sky + That she could see, while _we_ were blind. + + Oh, it must be an awful thing + To be shut out from light of day!-- + From summer's grace, and bloom of spring + In gladness words cannot portray. + + But haply into every heart + May enter that Celestial Light + That doth to life's dark ways impart + A radiance hid from mortal sight. + + + + +Revenge. + + + Beside my window day and night, + Its tendrils reaching left and right, + A morning glory grew; + With blossoms covered, pink and white + And deep, delicious blue. + + Its care became my daily thought, + Who to the sweet diversion brought + A bit of florist skill + To guide its progress, till it caught + The meaning of my will. + + When through the trellis in and out + It bent and turned and climbed about + And so ambitious grew, + O'erleaped a chasm beyond the spout + Where raindrops trickled through, + + Then, in caressing, graceful way, + Around a door knob twined one day + With modest show of pride; + All unaware that danger lay + Just on the other side. + + An awkward, verdant "maid of work," + Who dearly loved her tasks to shirk, + While rummaging among + Unused apartments, with a jerk + The door wide open flung. + + And lo! there lay, uprooted quite, + The object of my heart's delight-- + I did not weep or rant, + And yet a grain or two of spite + My secret thoughts would haunt. + + So when at night her favorite beau + Beside his charmer sat below-- + That is, _dans le cuisine_-- + Occurred, as all the neighbors know, + A semi-tragic scene. + + The garden hose, obscured from view, + Turned on itself and drenched the two-- + A hapless circumstance + That lengthened out her "frizzes" new, + But shrunk his Sunday pants. + + Remember this was years agone-- + The madcap now hath sober grown + And hose is better wrought, + And neither now would run alone + The risk of being caught. + + + + +On the Common. + + + We met on "Boston Common"-- + Of course it was by chance-- + A sudden, unexpected, + But happy circumstance + That gave the dull October day + A beautiful, refulgent ray. + + Like wandering refugees from + A city of renown, + Impelled to reconnoiter + This Massachusetts town, + Each by a common object urged, + Upon the park our paths converged. + + Good nature, bubbling over + In healthy, hearty laughs, + And little lavish speeches + Like pleasant paragraphs, + The kind regard, unstudied joke, + His true felicity bespoke. + + A bit of doleful knowledge + Confided unto me, + About the way the doctors-- + Who never could agree-- + His knees had tortured, softly drew + My sympathy and humor, too. + + I hoped he wouldn't lose them, + And languish in the dumps + By having to quadrille on + A pair of polished stumps-- + But a corky limb, though one might dread, + Isn't half as bad as a wooden head. + + He censured those empirics + Who never heal an ill, + Though bound by their diplomas + To either cure or kill, + Who should, with ignominy crowned, + Their patients follow--under ground. + + I left him at the foot of + "The Soldiers' Monument," + With incoherent mutterings-- + As though 'twere his intent + To turn the sod, a rod or two, + And sleep beside the "boys in blue." + + In Hartford's charming circles + His bonhommie I miss, + And having never seen him + From that day unto this, + I think of him with much regret + As lying--with the soldiers--yet. + + + + +Woman's Help. + + + Sometimes I long to write an ode + And magnify his name, + The man of honor, on the road + To opulence and fame, + On whom was never aid bestowed + By any helpful dame. + + To all the world I fain would show + That talent widely known, + Rare eloquence, of burning glow + To melt a heart of stone, + That all his gifts, a dazzling row, + Are his, and his alone. + + But him, of character and mind + Superb, alert, and strong, + I never study but to find + The subject of my song, + Some paragon of womankind, + Has helped him all along. + + He may not know, he may not guess, + How much to her he owes, + How every scion of success + That in his nature grows, + Developed by her watchfulness, + Becomes a blooming rose. + + From buffetings in humble place, + And labors ill begun, + To proud achievement in the race + And laurels grandly won, + His trials all she dares to face + As friend and champion. + + The bars that hinder his advance + And half obscure the goal, + The stubborn bond of circumstance + That irritates his soul, + The countershafts of arrogance, + All yield to her control. + + He builds a tower--she below + Is handing up the bricks; + His light is brilliant just as though + Her hand had trimmed the wicks; + He prays for daily bread--the dough + A woman deigns to mix. + + + + +Tobogganing. + + + Oh, the rare exhilaration, + Oh, the novel delectation + Of a ride down the slide! + Packed like ice in zero weather, + Pleasure-seekers close together, + On a board as thin as wafer, + Barely wider, scarcely safer, + At the height of recreation + Find a glorious inspiration, + Ere the speedy termination + In the snowy meadow wide, + Sloping to the river's side. + + Oh, such quakers we begin it, + Timorous of the icy route! + But to learn in half a minute + What felicity is in it, + As we shoot down the chute, + Smothered in toboggan suit, + Redingote or roquelaure, + Buttoned up (and down) before, + Mittens, cap, and moccasin, + Just the garb to revel in; + So, the signal given, lo! + Over solid ice and snow, + Down the narrow gauge we go + Swifter than a bird o'erhead, + Swifter than an arrow sped + From the staunchest, strongest bow. + + Oh, it beats all "Copenhagen," + Silly lovers' paradise! + Like the frozen Androscoggin, + Slippery, and smooth, and nice, + Is the track of the toboggan; + And there's nothing cheap about it, + Everything is steep about it, + The insolvent weep about it, + For the biggest thing on ice + Is its tip-top price; + But were this three times the money, + Then the game were thrice as funny. + + Ye who dwell in latitudes + Where "the blizzard" ne'er intrudes, + And the water seldom freezes; + Ye of balmy Southern regions, + Alabama's languid legions, + From the "hot blast" of your breezes, + Where the verdure of the trees is + Limp, and loose, and pitiful, + Come up here where branches bare + Stand like spikes in frosty air; + Come up here where arctic rigor + Shall restore your bloom and vigor, + Making life enjoyable; + Come and take a jog on + The unparalleled toboggan! + Such the zest that he who misses + Never knows what perfect bliss is. + So the sport, the day's sensation, + Thrills and recreates creation. + + + +The Woods. + + + I love the woods when the magic hand + Of Spring, as if sweeping the keys + Of a wornout instrument, touches the earth; + When beauty and song in the gladness of birth + Awaken the heart of the desolate land, + And carol its rapture to every breeze. + + In summer's still solstice my steps are drawn + To the shade of the forest trees; + To revel with Pan in his secret haunts, + To pipe mazourkas while satyrs dance, + Or lull to soft slumber some favorite faun + And fascinate strange wild birds and bees. + + I love the woods when autumnal fires + Are kindled on every hill; + When dead leaves rustle in grove and field, + And trees are known by the fruits they yield, + And the wild grapes, sweetened by frost, inspire + A mildly-desperate, bibulous thrill. + + There's a joy for which I would fling to the air + My petty portion of wealth and fame, + In tracking the rabbit o'er fresh-fallen snow, + The ways of the 'coon and opossum to know, + To capture squirrels when branches are bare + As the cupboard shelf of that ancient dame. + + Oh, I long to explore the woods again + In my own aboriginal way, + As before I knew how culture could frown + On a hoydenish gait and a homespun gown + Or dreamed that the strata of proud "upper-ten" + Would smile at rusticity's _naivete_. + + I sigh for the pleasures of long ago + In youth's sweet halcyon time; + When better beloved than the thoroughfare + By multitudes trod were the woodlands, where + Was never a path that I did not know, + Nor thrifty sapling I dared not climb. + + Alas for lost freedom! Alas for me! + For oh, Society's lip would curl, + Propriety's self with scornful eye + And gilt-edged Fashion would pass me by + To know that sometimes I'm dying to be + The romp, the rover, the same old girl. + + + + +Like Summer. + + + November? 'tis a summer's day! + For tropic airs are blowing + As soft as whispered roundelay + From unseen lips that seem to say + To feathered songsters going + To sunnier, southern climes afar, + "Stay where you are--stay where you are!" + + And other tokens glad as these + Declare that Summer lingers: + Round latent buds still hum the bees, + Slow fades the green from forest trees + Ere Autumn's artist fingers + Have touched the landscape, and instead + Brought out the amber, brown, and red. + + The invalid may yet enjoy + His favorite recreation, + Gay, romping girl, unfettered boy + In outdoor sports the time employ, + And happy consummation + Of prudent plans the farmer know + Ere wintry breezes round him blow. + + And they by poverty controlled-- + Good fortune shall betide them + As scenes of beauty they behold, + And seem to revel in the gold + Which Plutus has denied them; + For, ah! the poor from want's despair + Oft covet wealth they never share. + + + + +Sheridan's Last Ride. + + + While Phoebus lent his hottest rays + To signalize midsummer days, + I stood in that far-famed enclosure + By thousands visited, + Where, in the stillness of reposure, + Are grouped battalions dead. + + Where, round each simple burial stone, + The grass for decades twain has grown, + Protecting them in dreamless slumber + Who perished long ago, + The multitudes defying number, + A part of war's tableau. + + Along the winding avenue + A vast procession came in view; + The mourners' slow, advancing column + With reverent step drew near, + The "Dead March" playing, sad and solemn, + Above a soldier's bier. + + There were the colonels, brigadiers, + Comrades in arms of other years, + Civilians, true and loyal-hearted + To him their bravest man, + Who seemed to say to those departed, + "Make room for Sheridan!" + + Anon, beside the new-made mound, + The warworn veterans gathered round, + And spake of Lyon and of Lander, + And others ranked as high, + Recalling each his old commander, + One not afraid to die. + + Thus, silent tenants one by one + Are crowding in at Arlington; + Thus Sheridan, the horseman daring, + Has joined the honored corps + Of those, their true insignia wearing, + Who battle nevermore. + + Potomac's wave shall placid flow, + And sing his requiem soft and low, + His terrace grave be sweet with clover, + And daisies star his bed, + For Sheridan's last ride is over-- + The General is dead! + + + + +A Bit of Gladness. + + + As I near my lonely cottage, + At the close of weary day, + There's a little bit of gladness + Comes to meet me on the way: + Dimpled, tanned, and petticoated, + Innocent as angels are, + Like a smiling, straying sunbeam + Is my Stella--like a star. + + Soon a hand of tissue-softness + Slips confidingly in mine, + And with tender look appealing + Eyes of beauty sweetly shine; + Like a gentle shepherd guiding + Some lost lamb unto the fold, + So she leads me homeward, prattling + Till her stories are all told. + + "Papa, I'm so glad to see you-- + Cousin Mabel came today-- + And the gas-man brought a letter + That he said you'd better pay-- + Yes, and _awful_ things is happened: + My poor kitty's drowned to death-- + Mamma's got the 'Pigs in Clover'--" + Here she stops for want of breath. + + I am like the bold knight-errant, + From his castle who would roam, + Trusting her, my faithful steward, + For a strict account of home; + And each day I toil, and hazard + All that any man may dare, + For a resting-place at even, + And the love that waits me there. + + And sometimes I look with pity + On my neighbor's mansion tall: + There are chambers full of pictures, + There are marbles in the hall, + Yet with all the signs of splendor + That may gild a pile of stone, + Not a living thing about it + But the owner, grim and lone. + + I believe that all his millions + He would give without repine + For a little bit of gladness + In his life, like that in mine; + This it is that makes my pathway + Beautiful, wherever trod, + Keeps my soul from wreck and ruin, + Keeps me nearer to my God. + + + + +The Charity Ball. + + + There was many a token of festal display, + And reveling crowds who were never so gay, + And, as it were AEolus charming the hours, + An orchestra hidden by foliage and flowers; + There were tapestries fit for the home of a queen, + And mirrors that glistened in wonderful sheen; + There was feasting and mirth in the banqueting-hall, + For this was the annual Charity Ball. + + There were pompous civilians, in wealth who abide, + Displaying their purses, the source of their pride; + And plethoric dealers in margins and stocks, + And owners of acres of elegant blocks, + And tenement-landlords who cling to a cent + When from the poor widow exacting her rent-- + Immovable, stern, as an adamant wall-- + And yet, who "came down" to this Charity Ball. + + There was Beauty whose toilet, superb and unique, + Cost underpaid industry many a week + Of arduous labor of eye, and heartache, + Its starving inadequate pittance to make; + There were mischievous maidens and cavaliers bold, + Whose blushes and glances and coquetry told + A tale of the monarch who held them in thrall-- + Who met, as by chance, at the Charity Ball. + + There were delicate viands the poor never taste, + And dollars were lavished in prodigal waste + To pamper the palate of epicures rich; + Who drew from the wine cellar's cavernous niche + "Excelsior" brands of the rarest champagnes + To loosen their tongues--though it pilfered their brains-- + Oh, sad if a step in some woeful downfall + Should ever be traced to a Charity Ball! + + Outside of the window, pressed close to the pane, + And furrowed by tears that had fallen like rain, + Was the face of a woman, so spectral in hue, + With great liquid eyes, like twin oceans of blue, + And cheeks in whose hollows were written the lines + That pitiless hunger so often defines, + Who muttered, as closer she gathered the shawl, + "Oh, never for me is this Charity Ball!" + + From liveried hirelings who bade her begone, + By uniformed minions compelled to move on, + Out into the street again driven to roam-- + For friends she had none, neither fortune nor home; + While carnival-goers in morning's dull gray + As homeward returning, fatigued and _blase_, + A vision encountered their hearts to appall, + And banish all thought of the Charity Ball. + + As if seeking warmth from the icy curb-stone, + A form half-reclining, half-clad, and unknown. + Dead eyes looking up with a meaningless stare, + Lay close to the crowded and broad thoroughfare; + A form so emaciate the spirit had fled-- + But the pulpit and press and the public all said, + As society's doings they sought to recall, + That a "brilliant success" was the Charity Ball. + + + + +The Bell(e) of Baltimore. + +[One of the notable features of Baltimore is the big bell that hangs in +the city hall tower, to strike the hour and sound the fire alarm. It is +called "Big Sam," and weighs 5,000 pounds] + + + A million feet above the ground + (For so it seemed in winding round), + A million, and two more, + The latter stiff and sore, + While perspiration formed a part + Of every reeking pore, + I viewed the city like a chart + Spread out upon the floor. + + And said: "Great guide Jehoiakin, + To me is meagre pleasure in + The height of spires and domes, + Of walls like ancient Rome's; + Nor care I for the marts of trade, + Or shelves of musty tomes, + Nor yet for yonder colonnade + Before your palace homes; + + "But curiosity is keen + To know the city's reigning queen, + Who suiteth well the score + Of suitors at her door; + Oh, which of your divinities + Is she whom all adore? + Embodiment of truth, _who is_ + The belle of Baltimore?" + + Veracity's revolving eyes + Looked up as if to read the skies: + "Why, Lor'-a-miss, see dar-- + De bell is in de air! + Lan' sakes! of all de missteries + Yo' nebber learn before! + Why, don' yo' know 'Big Sam'? _He_ is + De bell of Baltimore!" + + + + +Christmas at Church. + + + 'Twas drawing near the holiday, + When piety and pity met + In whisp'ring council, and agreed + That Christmas time, in homes of need, + Should be remembered in a way + They never could forget. + + + Then noble generosity + Took youth and goodness by the hand, + And planned a thousand charming ways + To celebrate this best of days, + While hearts were held in sympathy + By love's encircling band. + + So multitudes together came, + Like wandering magi from the East + With precious gifts unto the King, + With every good and perfect thing + To satisfy a shivering frame + Or amplify a feast. + + The angels had looked long and far + The happy scene to parallel, + When through the sanctuary door + Were carried gifts from shop and store, + The treasures of the rich bazaar, + To give--but not to sell. + + As once the apostolic twelve + Of goods allotment made, + So equity dealt out with care + The widow's and the orphan's share, + And of the aged forced to delve + At drudging task or trade. + + Oh, could the joy which tears express + That out of gladness come + Be mirrored in its tender glow, + Before the beautiful tableau + Ingratitude and selfishness + Would shrink abashed and dumb! + + If every year and everywhere + Could kindness thus expand + In bounteous gratuity, + To all her children earth would be + A flowery vale like Eden fair, + A milk-and-honey land. + + + + +Mysterious. + + + The morning sun rose bright and fair + Upon a lovely village where + Prosperity abounded, + And ceaseless hum of industry + In lines of friendly rivalry + From day to day resounded. + + Its shaded avenues were wide, + And closely bordered either side + With cottages or mansions, + Or marked by blocks of masonry + That might defy a century + To loosen from their stanchions. + + Its peaceful dwellers daily vied + To make this spot, with anxious pride, + A Paradise of beauty, + Recounted its attractions o'er, + And its adornment held no more + A pleasure than a duty. + + But, ere the daylight passed away, + That hamlet fair in ruins lay, + Its hapless people scattered + Like playthings, at the cyclone's will, + And scarce remained one domicile + Its fury had not shattered. + + Few moments of the tempest's wrath + Sufficed to mark one dreadful path + With scenes of devastation; + While over piles of wild debris + Rose shrieks of dying agony + Above the desolation. + + Oh, mystery! who can understand + Why, sudden, from God's mighty hand + Destructive bolts of power + Without discrimination strike + The evil and the good alike-- + As in that dreadful hour! + + Alas for aching hearts that wait + Today in homes made desolate + By one sharp blow appalling-- + For all who kneel by altars lone, + And strive to say "Thy will be done," + That awful day recalling! + + We dare not question his decrees + Who seeth not as mortal sees, + Nor doubt his goodness even; + Nor let our hearts be dispossessed + Of faith that he disposeth best + All things in earth and Heaven. + + + + +"Be not Anxious." + +"Be careful for nothing," Phil. iv. 6. Revised version, "Be not anxious." + + + Of all the precepts in the Book + By word of inspiration given, + That bear the import, tone, and look + Of messages direct from heaven, + From Revelation back to Genesis + Is nothing needed half so much as this. + + Ah, well the great apostle spake + In admonition wise and kind, + Who bade humanity forsake + The petty weaknesses that bind + The spirit like a bird with pinioned wings, + That to a broken bough despairing clings. + + Were all undue anxiety + Eliminated from desire, + Could feverish fears and fancies be + Consumed on some funeral pyre, + Like holy hecatomb or sacrifice, + 'Twould be accepted up in Paradise. + + Could this machinery go on + Without the friction caused by fret, + What greater loads were lightly drawn, + More easily were trials met; + Then might existence be with blessings rife, + And lengthened out like Hezekiah's life. + + Oh, be not anxious; trouble grows + When cherished like a secret grief; + It is the worm within the rose + That eats the heart out leaf by leaf; + And though the outer covering be fair, + The weevil of decay is busy there. + + In deep despondency to pine, + Or vain solicitude, + Is to deny this truth divine + That God is great and good; + That he is Ruler over earth and Heaven, + And so disposes and makes all things even. + + + + +Mount Vernon. + + + Subdued and sad, I trod the place + Where he, the hero, lived and died; + Where, long-entombed beneath the shade + By willow bough and cypress made, + The peaceful scene with verdure rife, + He and the partner of his life, + Beloved of every land and race, + Are sleeping side by side. + + The summer solstice at its height + Reflected from Potomac's tide + A glare of light, and through the trees + Intensified the Southern breeze, + That dallied, in the deep ravines, + With graceful ferns and evergreens, + While Northern cheeks so strangely white + Grew dark as Nubia's pride. + + What must this homestead once have been + In boundless hospitality, + When Greene or Putnam may have met + The host who welcomed Lafayette, + Or when Pulaski, honored guest, + Accepted shelter, food and rest, + While rank and talent gathered in + Its banquet hall of luxury! + + What comfort, cheer, and kind intent + The weary stranger oft hath known + When she, its mistress, fair and good, + Reigned here in peerless womanhood, + When soft, shy maiden fancy gave + Encouragement to soldiers brave, + And Washington his presence lent + To grace its bright hearthstone! + + O beautiful Mount Vernon home, + The Mecca of our long desire; + Of more than passing interest + To North and South, to East and West, + To all Columbia's children free + A precious, priceless legacy, + Thine altar-shrine, as pilgrims come, + Rekindles patriot fire! + + + + +A Prisoner. + + + Where I can see him all day long + And hear his wild, spontaneous song, + Before my window in his cage, + A blithe canary sits and swings, + And circles round on golden wings; + And startles all the vicinage + When from his china tankard + He takes a dainty drink + To clear his throat + For as sweet a note + As ever yet was caroled + By lark or bobolink. + + Sometimes he drops his pretty head + And seems to be dispirited, + And then his little mistress says: + "Poor Dickie misses his chickweed, + Or else I've fed him musty seed + As stale as last year's oranges!" + But all the time I wonder + If we half comprehend + In sweet song-words + The thought of birds, + Or why so oft their raptures + In sudden silence end. + + They do not pine for forest wilds + Within the "blue Canary isles," + As exiles from their native home, + For in a foreign domicile + They first essayed their gamut-trill + Beneath a cage's gilded dome; + But maybe some sad throbbing + Betimes their spirits stirs, + Who love as we + Dear liberty, + That they, admired and petted, + Are only--prisoners. + + + + +Cuba. + + + As one long struggling to be free, + O suffering isle! we look to thee + In sympathy and deep desire + That thy fair borders yet shall hold + A people happy, self-controlled, + Saved and exalted--as by fire. + + Burning like thine own tropic heat + Thousands of lips afar repeat + The story of thy wrongs and woes; + While argosies to thee shall bear, + Of men and money everywhere, + Strength to withstand thy stubborn foes. + + Hispaniola waves her plume + Defiant over many a tomb + Where sleep thy sons, the true and brave; + But, lo! an army coming on + The places fill of heroes gone, + For liberty their lives who gave. + + The nations wait to hear thy shout + Of "Independence!" ringing out, + Chief of the Antilles, what wilt thou? + Buffets and gyves from your effete + Old monarchy dilapidate, + Or freedom's laurels for thy brow? + + In man's extremity it is + That Heaven's opportunities + Shine forth like jewels from the mine; + Then, Cuba, in thy hour of need, + With vision clear the tokens read + And trust for aid that power divine. + + + + +The Sangamon River. + + + O sunny Sangamon! thy name to me, + Soft-syllabled like some sweet melody, + Familiar is since adolescent years + As household phrases ringing in my ears; + Its measured cadence sounding to and fro + From the dim corridors of long ago. + + There was a time in happy days gone by, + That rosy interval of youth, when I + The scholar ardent early learned to trace + Great tributaries to their starting place; + And thine some prairie hollow obsolete + Whose name how few remember or repeat. + + Like thee, meandering, yet wafted back + From distant hearth and lonely bivouac, + From strange vicissitudes in other lands, + From half-wrought labors and unfinished plans + I come, in thy cool depths my brow to lave, + And rest a moment by thy silver wave. + + But, ah! what means thy muddy, muggy hue? + I thought thee limpid as yon ether blue; + I thought an angel's wing might dip below + Thy sparkling surface and be white as snow; + And of thy current I had dared to drink + If not as one imbibing draughts of ink. + + Has some rough element of horrid clay + That spoils the earth like lava beds, they say, + Come sliding down, as avalanches do, + And thy fair bosom percolated through? + Or some apothecary's compound vile + Polluted thee so many a murky mile? + + Why not, proud State, beneficence insure, + Selling thy soil or giving to the poor? + For sad it is that dust of Illinois, + With coal and compost its conjoint alloy, + A morceau washed from Mississippi's mouth, + Should build up acres for our neighbors south. + + River! I grieve, but not for loss of dirt-- + Once stainless, just because of what thou wert. + Thus on thy banks I linger and reflect + That, surely as all waterways connect, + Forever flowing onward to the sea, + Shall the great billow thy redemption be. + + And now, dear Sangamon, farewell! I wait + On that Elysian scene to meditate + When, separated from the dregs of earth, + Life's stream shall sweeter be, of better worth; + And, like the ocean with its restless tide, + By its own action cleansed and purified. + + + + +Syringas. + + + The smallest flower beside my path, + In loveliness of bloom, + Some element of comfort hath + To rid my heart of gloom; + But these, of spotless purity, + And fragrant as the rose, + As sad a sight recall to me + As time shall e'er disclose. + + Oh, there are pictures on the brain + Sometimes by shadows made, + Till dust is blent with dust again, + That never, never fade; + And things supremely bright and fair + As ever known in life + Suggest the darkness of despair, + And sanguinary strife. + + I shut my eyes; 'tis all in vain-- + The battle-field appears, + And one among the thousands slain + In manhood's brilliant years; + An elbow pillowing his head, + And on the crimson sand + Syringa-blooms, distained and dead, + Within his rigid hand. + + Could she foresee, who from the stem + Had plucked that little spray + Of flowers, that he would cherish them + Unto his dying day? + "Give these to M----;--'tis almost night-- + And tell her--that--I love--" + Alas! the letter he would write + Was finished up above. + + And so, with each recurring spring, + On Decoration day, + When to our heroes' graves we bring + The blossom-wealth of May, + While martial strains are soft and low, + And music seems a prayer, + Unto a hallowed spot I go, + And leave syringas there. + + + + +Storm-bound. + + + My careful plans all storm-subdued, + In disappointing solitude + The weary hours began; + And scarce I deemed when time had sped, + Marked only by the passing tread + Of some pedestrian. + + But with the morrow's tranquil dawn, + A fairy scene I looked upon + That filled me with delight; + Far-reaching from my own abode, + The world in matchless splendor glowed, + Arrayed in spotless white. + + The surface of the hillside slope + Gleamed in my farthest vision's scope + Like opalescent stone; + Rich jewels hung on every tree, + Whose crystalline transparency + Golconda's gems outshone. + + Beyond the line where wayside posts + Stood up, like fear-inspiring ghosts + Of awful form and mien, + A mansion tall, my neighbor's pride, + A seeming castle fortified, + Uprose in wondrous sheen. + + The evergreens loomed up before + My staunch and storm-defying door, + Like snowy palaces + That one dare only penetrate + With reverence--as at Heaven's gate, + Awed by its mysteries. + + The apple trees' extended arms + Upheld a thousand varied charms; + The curious tracery + Of trellised grapevine seemed to me + A rare network of filigree + In silver drapery. + + And I no longer thought it hard + From favorite pursuits debarred, + Nor gazed with rueful face; + For every object seemed to be + Invested with the witchery + Of magic art and grace. + + And, though a multitude of cares, + Perplexing, profitless affairs, + Absorbed the hours, it seems + That on the golden steps of thought + I mounted heavenward, and wrought + Out many hopeful schemes. + + Thus every day, though it may span + The gulf wherein some cherished plan + Lies disarranged and crossed, + If, ere its close, we shall have trod + The path that leads us nearer God, + Cannot be counted lost. + + + + +The Master of the Grange. + + + The type of enterprise is he, + Of sense and thrift and toil; + Who reckons less on pedigree + Than rich, productive soil; + And no "blue blood"--if such there be-- + His veins can ever spoil. + + And yet on blood his heart is set; + He has his sacred cow, + Some Alderney or Jersey pet, + The mistress of the mow; + His favorite pig is (by brevet) + "Lord Suffolk"--of the slough. + + To points of stock is he alive + As keenest cattle king; + A thoroughbred he deigns to drive, + But not a mongrel thing; + The very bees within his hive + Are crossed--without a sting. + + If apple-boughs drop pumpkins and + Tomatoes grow on trees, + It is because his grafting hand + Has so diverted these + That alien shoots with native stand + Like twin-born Siamese. + + No neater farm a nabob owns, + Its care his chief employ, + To find fertility in bones + And briers to destroy, + Where once he lightly skipped the stones + A whistling, happy boy. + + The ancient plough and awkward flail + He banished long ago; + The zigzag fence with ponderous rail + He dares to overthrow; + And wields, with sinews strong and hale, + The latest style of hoe. + + The household, founded as it were + Upon the Decalogue, + He classes with the minister, + The rural pedagogue, + And as a sort of angel-cur + Regards his spotted dog. + + His wife reviews the magazines, + His children lead the school, + He tries a thousand new machines + (And keeps his temper cool), + But bristles at Kentucky jeans, + And her impressive mule. + + With Science letting down the bars, + Enlightening ignorance, + Enigmas deeper than the stars + He solves as by a glance, + And raises cinnamon cigars + From poor tobacco plants! + + By no decree of fashion dressed, + And busier than Fate, + The student-farmer keeps abreast + With mighty men of state, + And treasures, like his Sunday vest, + The motto "Educate!" + + Beyond encircling hills of blue, + Where I may never range, + This monarch in his realm I view, + Of title new and strange, + And make profound obeisance to + "The Master of the Grange." + + + +A Friend Indeed. + + + If every friend who meditates + In soft, unspoken thought + With winning courtesy and tact + The doing of a kindly act + To cheer some lonely lot, + Were like the friend of whom I dream, + Then hardship but a myth would seem. + + If sympathy were always thus + Oblivious of space, + And, like the tendrils of the vine, + Could just as lovingly incline + To one in distant place, + 'Twould draw the world together so + Might none the name of stranger know. + + If every throb responsive that + My ardent spirit thrills + Could, like the skylark's ecstasy, + Be vocal in sweet melody, + Beyond dividing hills + In octaves of the atmosphere + Were music wafted to his ear. + + If every friendship were like one, + So helpful and so true, + To other hearts as sad as mine + 'Twould bring the joy so near divine, + And hope revive anew; + So life's dull path would it illume, + And radiate beyond the tomb. + + + + +The Needed One. + + + 'Twas not rare versatility, + Nor gift of poesy or art, + Nor piquant, sparkling _jeux d'esprit_ + Which at the call of fancy come, + That touched the universal heart, + And won the world's encomium. + + It was not beauty's potent charm; + For admiration followed her + Unmindful of the rounded arm, + The fair complexion's brilliancy, + If form and features shapely were + Or lacked the grace of symmetry. + + So not by marked, especial power + She grew endeared to human thought, + But just because, in trial's hour, + Was loving service to be done + Or sympathy and counsel sought, + She made herself the needed one. + + Oh, great the blessedness must be + Of heart and hand and brain alert + In projects wise and manifold, + Impending sorrow to avert + That duller natures fail to see, + Or stand aloof severe and cold! + + And who shall doubt that this is why + In womanhood's florescent prime + She passed the portals of the sky? + As if a life thus truly given + To purpose pure and act sublime + Were needed also up in Heaven. + + + + +"Thy Will Be Done." + + + Sometimes the silver cord of life + Is loosed at one brief stroke; + As when the elements at strife, + With Nature's wild contentions rife, + Uproot the sturdy oak. + + Or fell disease, in patience borne, + Attenuates the frame + Till the meek sufferer, wan and worn, + Of energy and beauty shorn, + Death's sweet release would claim. + + By instant touch or long decay + Is dissolution wrought; + When, lost to earth, the grave and gay, + The young and old who pass away, + Abide in hallowed thought. + + In dear regard together drawn, + Affection's debt to pay, + Fond greetings we exchange at dawn + With one who, ere the day be gone, + Is bruised and lifeless clay. + + O thou in manhood's morning-time + With health and hope elate, + For whom in youth's enchanting prime + The bells of promise seemed to chime, + We mourn thy early fate! + + To us how sudden--yet to thee + Perchance God kindly gave + Some warning, ere the fatal key + Unlocked the door of mystery + That lies beyond the grave. + + Then let us hope that one who found + Such favor, trust, and love, + And cordial praise from all around, + For rare fidelity renowned, + Found favor, too, above. + + So "all is well," though swift or slow + God's will be done; and we + Draw near to him, for close and low + Beneath his chastening hand, the blow + Will fall less heavily. + + + + +Snowflakes. + + + Of specious weight like tissue freight + The snowflakes are--in sparkle pure + As the rich _parure_ + A lovely queen were proud to wear; + As volatile, as fine and rare + As thistle-down dispersed in air, + Or bits of filmy lace; + Like nature's tear-drops strewn around + That beautify and warm the ground, + But melt upon my face. + + A ton or more against my door + They lie, and look, in form and tint, + Like piles of lint, + When war's alarum roused the land, + Wrought out by woman's loyal hand + From linen rag, and robe, and band-- + From garments cast aside-- + In hospital, on battle-field + The shattered limb that bound and healed, + Or stanched life's ebbing tide. + + I see the gleam of lake and stream, + The silver glint in frost portrayed + Of the bright cascade; + They bear the moisture of marshes dank, + The dew of the lawn, or river bank, + The river itself by sunlight drank; + All these in frigid air, + That strange alembic, crystallize + In odd, fantastic shape and size + Like gems of dazzling glare. + + Oh, of the snow such fancies grow, + 'Till thought is lost in wandering, + And wondering + If portions of their drapery + The angel beings, sad to see + So much of earth's impurity, + Have dropped from clearer skies + As snowflakes, hiding stain and blot + To make this world a fairer spot, + And more like Paradise. + + + + +Monadnock. + + + One summer time, with love imbued, + To climb the mount, explore the wood, + Or rove from pole to pole, + Upon Monadnock's brow I stood-- + A lone, adventurous soul. + + Beyond the Bay State border-line + A sweeping vista, grand and fine, + Embraced the Berkshire hills; + Embosomed hamlets, clumps of pine, + And country domiciles. + + Afar, Mount Tom, in verdantique, + And Holyoke, twin companion peak, + Appeared gigantic cones; + The burning sunlight scorched my cheek, + And seemed to melt the stones. + + Beneath a gnarled and twisted root + I loosed a pebble with my foot + That leaped the precipice, + And like an arrow seemed to shoot + Adown the deep abyss. + + Beside the base that solstice day + A city chap who chanced to stray + Was shooting somewhat, too; + Who, when the nugget sped that way, + His firelock quickly drew. + + While right and left he sought the quail, + Or the timid hare that crossed his trail, + Rang out a wild "Ha! ha!" + That might have turned the visage pale + Of a red-skinned Chippewa. + + The game was his--for it made him quail; + He flung his gun and fled the vale, + The mountain-dwellers say, + As though pursued by a comet's tail-- + And disappeared for aye. + + + + +Never Had a Chance + + + Fresh from piano, school, and books, + A happy girl with rosy looks + Young Plowman wooed and won; despite + Her pretty, pouting prejudice, + Her deep distaste for rural bliss + Or countryfied delight. + + Romance through all her nature ran-- + Indeed, to wed a husband-man + Suffused her ardent maiden thought; + But lofty fancy dwelt upon + A new "Queen Anne," a terraced lawn, + A city's corner lot. + + Her lily fingers that so well + Could paint a scene--in aquarelle-- + Or broider plush with leaves and vines, + No more of real labor knew + Than waxen petals of the dew + On native eglantines. + + Anon, with lapse of tender ways + That emphasized the courting days, + The housewife in her apron blue, + As mistress of her new abode, + By frequent lachrymations showed + Her grief and blunders too. + + The butter-making, bread and cheese, + The old folks difficult to please, + The harvest hands--voracious bears!-- + The infantry, a parent's pride, + By duos proudly classified: + So multiplied her cares. + + The treadmill round of duties that + Makes any life inane and flat, + Without diversion sandwiched in, + The drudgery, the overplus + Of toil and trouble arduous, + Were rugged discipline. + + What time for books and music, when + The lambs were bleating in their pen, + The chickens peeping at the door; + The rodent gnawing at the churn, + The buckwheat wafers crisped to burn, + The kettle boiling o'er? + + To _hers_, so far between and few, + What resting-spells the farmer knew! + What intervals for culture! and + When intellect assumed the race, + He peerless held the foremost place-- + No nobler in the land. + + By virtue of exalted rank + "The brilliant senator from----" + Adorns society's expanse; + While by his side with folded hands, + Her beauty gone, the woman stands + Who "never had a chance." + + + + +Sorrow and Joy. + + + In sad procession borne away + To sound of funeral knell, + Affection's tribute thus we pay, + And in earth's shelt'ring bosom lay + The friend to whom but yesterday + We gave the sad farewell. + + But scarce the melancholy sound + Has died upon the ear, + Before the mournful dirge is drowned + By wedding-anthems' glad rebound, + That stir the solemn air around + With merry peals and clear. + + Within our home doth gladness tread + So closely upon grief + That, in the tears of sorrow shed + O'er our beloved, lamented dead, + We see reflected joy instead + That gives a blest relief. + + A father and a daughter gone + Beyond our fireside-- + For one we loved and leaned upon + The skillful archer Death had drawn + His bow; and one in life's sweet dawn + Went out a happy bride. + + We gave to Heaven, in manhood's prime, + Him whose brave strength and worth + Life's rugged steeps had taught to climb; + And her, for whom a tuneful rhyme + The bells of promise sweetly chime, + We consecrate to earth. + + Thus each a mystic path, untried, + Has entered--God is just! + We leave with him our friend who died, + With him we leave our fair young bride + Who shall no more with us abide, + And in His goodness trust. + + Oh, life and death, uncertainty, + Bright hopes and anxious fears, + Commingle so bewilderingly, + That perfect joy we may not see + Till all shall reunited be + Beyond this vale of tears! + + + + +Watch Hill. + + + Fair summer home peninsula, + Enriched by every breeze + From fragrant islands, wafted far + Across the sunny seas! + + A profile rare! a height of land + Outlined 'gainst heaven's blue + With bolder touch than skillful hand + Of artist ever drew. + + In "mountain billows" that parade + The grandeur of the deep, + Is His supremacy displayed + Whose hands the waters keep. + + No sweep of waves, in broad expanse, + With wild, weird melody, + Shall thus an unseen world enhance-- + "There shall be no more sea!" + + A wealth of joy-perfected days, + Where glorious sunset dyes, + Resplendent in declining rays, + Surpass Italia's skies! + + Proud caravansaries that compete + In studied arts to please + The multitude, with restless feet, + From earth's antipodes! + + A motley company astray: + The sojourner for health, + The grave, serene, the _devotee_ + Of fashion and of wealth. + + Artistic cottages upreared + In beauty, strength, and skill-- + The happy, healthful homes endeared + To lovers of Watch Hill! + + A golden crown adorns the spot; + Forever blessed be + The hand beneficent that wrought + "A temple by the sea!" + + A star in some bright diadem + In glory it shall be, + For truly, "I will honor them," + Saith God, "who honor me." + + When Christians meet to praise and pray, + May feet that never trod + The sanctuary learn the way + Unto the house of God. + + Glad paeans down the centuries + With joy the world shall thrill: + "The Lord, revered and honored, is + The glory of Watch Hill!" + + + + +Supplicating. + + + One morn I looked across the way, + And saw you fling your window wide + To welcome in the breath of May + In breezes from the mountain-side, + And greet the sunlight's earliest ray + With happy look and satisfied. + + The pansies on your window-sill + In terra cotta flowerpot, + Like royal gold and purple frill + Upon the stony casement wrought, + Adorned your tasteful domicile + And claimed your time and care and thought. + + In cherry trees the robins sang + Their sweetest carol to your ear, + And shouts of merry children rang + Out on the dewy atmosphere, + But to my heart there came a pang + That my salute you did not hear. + + I envied then the favored breeze + That dallied with your flowing hair, + Begrudged the songsters in the trees + And longed to be a flow'ret fair-- + Some favorite blossom like heartease-- + Within your miniature parterre. + + O heart, that finds such ample room + Within thy confines broad and true, + For song and sunshine and perfume + And all benign impulses--go, + I pray thee, dissipate my gloom-- + And take in thy petitioner too! + + + + +"Honest John." + + + He was a man whose lot was cast, + As some might think, in lines severe; + In humble toil whose life was passed + From week to week, from year to year; + And yet, by wife and children blessed, + He labored on with cheerful zest. + + As one revered and set apart, + A quaint, unusual name he bore + That well became the frugal heart; + While plain habiliments he wore + Without a tremor or a chill + At thought of some uncanceled bill. + + A king might not disdain to wear + The title so appropriate + To one who never sought to share + Exalted station 'mong the great, + Nor cared if on the scroll of fame + Were never traced his worthy name. + + As bound by honor's righteous law + In strictest rectitude he wrought-- + The man who calmly, clearly saw + His duty, and who dallied not-- + To garner life's necessities + For those whose comfort heightened his. + + The parent bird its brood protects + As fledglings in their downy nest, + Until a Power their flight directs + From trial trips to distant quest, + Through trackless zones of ether blue, + For bird companions strange and new. + + But ere his babes from prattlers grew, + Upon his knee or by his side, + To womanhood and manhood true-- + Too soon we thought--the father died; + How could we know, when Death was nigh + Those little wings were taught to fly? + + Another name his boyhood knew, + So seldom heard that lapse of years + Had made it seem a thing untrue, + Unmusical to friendly ears; + And thus his appellation odd + His passport was where'er he trod. + + So long, on every lip and tongue + As if by universal whim, + To him had his cognomen clung, + And like a garment fitted him, + That angels even must have heard + Of one, like them, in love preferred. + + And when he came to Heaven's door, + To Peter's self or acolyte, + The holy warder looking o'er, + "'Tis 'Honest John!'" he said aright; + And his pilgrim spirit passed within + Because his walk with God had been. + + + + +Bushnell Park. + + + Sweet resting place! that long hath been + A boon Elysian 'mid the din + Of city life, 'mid city smoke; + Where weary ones who toil and spin + Have turned aside as to an inn + Whose swinging sign a welcome spoke; + Where misanthropes find medicine + In peals of laughter that begin + With ancient, resurrected joke, + Or ready wit of harlequin; + Where children, free from discipline, + Take on Diversion's easy yoke. + + Fair oasis! to view aright + Its charming paths, its sloping height, + Its beautiful and broad expanse, + Must one approach in witching night + When, like abodes of airy sprite + Revealed unto the wondering glance, + O'erflooded with electric light + Than Luna's beams more dazzling bright, + Illumined nooks the scene enhance; + While zephyrs mischievous unite + The timid stroller to affright + By swaying boughs in shadow dance. + + The Capitol that crowns the hill + Where Boreas sweeps with icy chill, + A masterpiece of studied art + Conceived by genius versatile + And fashioned with unerring skill, + O'erlooks the busy, crowded mart, + And, like a kingly domicile, + Its burnished dome and sculpture thrill + With admiration every heart; + And strangers pause beyond the rill + To view its grandeur, lingering still, + And with reluctant steps depart. + + O Bushnell Park, memorial soil! + That marks success (though near to foil) + Of one who with prophetic ken, + With honest zeal and ceaseless toil, + Opposed the vandal wish to spoil + This lovely bit of vale and glen; + Who, 'mid discussion and turmoil + Of adverse minds, did not recoil + From vigorous stroke of tongue and pen; + And then, till passion ceased to boil, + On troubled waters poured out oil + And to his plans won other men. + + So when, fatigued and overwrought, + In summer time when skies are hot + We seek its verdant, velvet sward, + Oh may we hold in reverent thought + The debt we owe, forgetting not + The spirit passed to its reward + Of one whose giant soul was fraught + With true benignity--who sought + To touch humanity's quick chord + With fire from Heaven's altar brought, + That love and zeal and being caught + As inspiration from the Lord. + + + + +At General Grant's Tomb. + + + Afar my loyal spirit stirred + At mention of his name; + Afar in ringing notes I heard + The clarion voice of fame; + So to his tomb, hope long deferred, + With reverent step I came. + + The pilgrim muse revivified + A half-forgotten day: + A slow procession, tearful-eyed, + In funeral array, + And from MacGregor's lonely side + A hero borne away. + + Here sleeps he now, where long ago + Hath nature raised his mound: + A mighty channel far below, + Divided hills around, + Where countless thousands come and go + As to a shrine renowned. + + With awe do strangers' eyes discern + A casket mid the green + Luxuriance of flower and fern; + Airy and cool and clean, + Unchanged from spring to spring's return, + This charnel chamber scene. + + His country's weal his care and thought, + Beloved in peace was he; + Magnanimous in war--shall not + The nation grateful be, + And render at his burial spot + A testimonial free? + + Oh, let us, ere the days come on + When energy is spent, + To him, the silent soldier gone, + Statesman and President, + On Riverside's majestic lawn + Uprear a monument. + + + + +"Be Courteous." + + + Ah, yes; why not? Is one more adventitious born + Than others--shekels richer, honors fuller, and all that-- + That he can pass his fellows by with lofty scorn, + Nor even show this slight regard--the lifting of the hat? + + Why prate of social status, class, or rank when earth + Is common tenting-ground, the heritage of all mankind? + Except in purity is there no royal birth, + No true nobility but nobleness of heart and mind. + + Life is so short--one journey long, a pilgrimage + That we cannot retrace, nor ever pass this way again; + Then why not turn for some poor soul a brighter page, + And line the way with courtesies unto our fellow-men? + + To give a graceful word or smile, or lend a hand + To one downcast and trembling on the borders of despair, + May help him to look up and better understand + Why God has made the sky so bright and put the rainbow there. + + Be courteous! is nothing helpful half so cheap + As kind urbanity that doth so much of gladness bring; + More precious too than all the treasures of the deep, + Making the winter of discomfort seem like joyous spring. + + Be courteous and gentle! be serene and good! + Those grand ennobling and enduring virtues all may claim; + Of each may it be said, of the great multitude: + Oh that my life were more like such an one of blessed fame! + + Is it that over-crowding, care, anxiety, + Vortex of pleasure, the incessant round of toil and strife, + Beget indifference, repressing love and sympathy, + Till we forget the beautiful amenities of life? + + Then cometh a sad day, when with a poignant sting + Lost opportunities shall speak to us reproachfully; + And ours shall be the disapproval of the King-- + "Discourteous to these, my creatures, ye have wounded Me." + + + + +A New Suit. + + + The artist and the loom unseen, + In textures soft as _crepe de chine_ + Spring weaves her royal robe of green, + With grasses fringed and daisies dotted, + With furzy tufts like mosses fine + And showy clumps of eglantine, + With dainty shrub and creeping vine + Upon the verdant fabric knotted. + + Oh, winter takes our love away + For ashen hues of sober gray! + So when the blooming, blushing May + Comes out in bodice, cap, and kirtle, + With arbutus her corsage laced, + And roses clinging to her waist, + We crown her charming queen of taste, + Her chaplet-wreath of modest myrtle. + + For eighteen centuries and more + Her fairy hands have modeled o'er + The same habiliments she wore + At her primeval coronation; + And still the pattern exquisite, + For every age a perfect fit, + In every land the favorite, + Elicits world-wide admiration. + + Gay butterflies of fashion, you + Who wear a suit a year or two, + Then agitate for something new, + Look at Regina, the patrician! + Her cleverness is more than gold + Who so transforms from fabrics old + The things a marvel to behold, + And glories in the exhibition. + + Why worry for an overdress, + The acme of luxuriousness, + Beyond all envy to possess, + Renewed as oft as lambkin fleeces! + Why flutter round in pretty pique + To follow style's capricious freak, + To match _pongee_ or _moire antique_, + And break your peace in hopeless pieces? + + O mantua-maker, costumer, + And fair-robed wearer! study _her_ + And imitate the conjurer + So prettily economizing, + Without demur, regret, or pout, + Who always puts the bright side out + And never frets at all about + The world's _penchant_ for criticizing. + + + + +The Little Clock. + + + Kind friend, you do not know how much + I prize this time-ly treasure, + So dainty, diligent, and such + A constant source of pleasure. + + The man of brains who could invent + So true a chrono-meter + Has set a charming precedent, + And made a good repeater. + + It speaks with clear, commanding clicks, + Suggestive of the donor; + And 'tends to business--never sick + A bit more than the owner. + + It goes when I do; when I stop + (As by the dial showing) + It never lets a second drop, + But simply keeps on going. + + It tells me when I am to eat, + Which isn't necessary; + When food with me is obsolete, + I'll be a reliquary. + + It tells me early when to rise, + And bother with _dejeuner_; + To sally forth and exercise, + And fill up my _porte-monnaie_. + + I hear it talking in the night, + As if it were in clover: + You've never lost your appetite, + You've never been run over. + + It makes me wish that I might live + More faithful unto duty, + And unto others something give + Like this bijou of beauty. + + It holds its hands before its face, + So very modest is it; + So like the people in the place + Where I delight to visit. + + Sometimes I wonder if it cries + The course I am pursuing; + Because it has so many I-s + And must know what I'm doing. + + Sometimes I fear it makes me cry-- + No matter, and no pity-- + Afraid at last I'll have to die + In some far, foreign city. + + It travels with me everywhere + And chirrups like a cricket; + As if it said with anxious air, + "Don't lose your tick-tick-ticket!" + + Companion of my loneliness + Along my journey westward, + It never leaves me comfortless, + But has the last and best word. + + I would not spoil its lovely face, + And so I go behind it, + And hold it like a china vase, + So careful when I wind it. + + A clock is always excellent + That has its label on, + And proves a fine advertisement + For Waterbury, Conn. + + Those Yankees--ah! they never shun + A chance to make a dime, + And counterfeit the very sun + In keeping "Standard Time." + + Ah, well! the little clock has proved + The best of all bonanzas; + And thus my happy heart is moved + To these effusive stanzas. + + + + +Improvement. + + + Along the avenue I pass + Huge piles of wood and stone, + And glance at each amorphous mass, + Whose cumbrous weight has crushed the grass, + With half resentful groan. + + Say I: "O labor, to despoil + Some lovely forest scene, + Or at the granite stratum toil, + And desecrate whole roods of soil, + Is vandal-like and mean! + + "Than ever to disfigure thus + Our prairie garden-land, + Let me consort with Cerberus, + Be chained to crags precipitous, + Or seek an alien strand." + + But while this pining, pouting Muse + The interval ignores, + Deft industry, no time to lose, + Contrives and carries, hoists and hews, + And symmetry restores. + + Behold! of rock and pile and board + A modern miracle, + My neighbor's dwelling, roofed and floored, + That rapid grew as Jonah's gourd, + And far more beautiful. + + The artisan's receding gait + Has brushed the chips away, + Where innocence shall recreate, + Or like the flowers grow, and wait + The balminess of May. + + An arid spot, where careless feet + Have long been wont to roam, + Where cattle grazed, as if to eat + Were life's delicious, richest treat, + Becomes a charming home. + + O man primeval! hadst thou known, + Ere rude hands scooped thy grave, + Of Homestead Act, or Building Loan, + Thou wouldst have quite disdained to own + A rugged cliff or cave. + + And now I see how skill and art + May cleave fair nature through, + Disintegrate her breathing heart, + And to the tissues torn impart + A use and beauty new. + + And this improvement is, to turn + The things which God has given + To their best purpose, as we learn + To make the place where we sojourn + Homelike and more like Heaven. + + + + +On Bancroft Height. + + + On Bancroft height Aurora's face + Shines brighter than a star, + As stepping forth in dewy grace, + The gates of day unbar; + And lo! the firmament, the hills, + And the vales that intervene-- + Creation's self with gladness thrills + To greet the matin queen. + + On Bancroft height the atmosphere + Is but an endless waft + Of life's elixir, pure and clear + As mortal ever quaffed; + And such the sweet salubrity + Of air and altitude, + Is banished many a malady + And suffering subdued. + + On Bancroft height the sunset glow + When day departing dies + Outrivals all that tourists know + Of famed Italian skies; + And happy dwellers round about + Who view the scene aright + In admiration grow devout + And laud the Lord of light. + + Round Bancroft height rich memories + Commingle earth's affairs, + Among the world's celebrities, + Of him whose name it bears; + The scholar-wise compatriot + Who left to later men + The grand achievements unforgot + Of that historic pen. + + Fair Bancroft height revisited + When all the land is white, + A halo crowns its noble head + Impelling fresh delight; + The daring wish in winter-time + The blizzard to defy + Those shining slippery slopes to climb + Up nearer to the sky. + + Though Boreas abrade the cheek + With buffetings of snow, + He gives a vigor that the weak + And languid never know; + And with rejuvenescent thrill, + Like children everywhere, + Bestirs the rhapsody, the will + To make a snow-man there. + + On Bancroft height and Bancroft tower + Such vistas charm the eye + 'Twere life's consummate, glorious hour + But to behold--and die; + Yet in the sparkle and the glow + Is earth so very fair + The spirit lingers, loath to go, + And dreams of heaven--up there. + + + + +A Reformer. + + + When I was young, my heart elate + With ardent notions warm, + I thirsted to inaugurate + A spirit of reform; + The universe was all awry, + Philosophy despite, + And mundane things disjointed I + Was bound to set aright. + + My mind conceived a million plans, + For Hope was brave and strong, + But dared not with unaided hands + Combat a giant wrong; + So with caress I sought to coax + Those who had humored me + In infancy--the dear old folks-- + And gain their sympathy. + + But quarreling with extant laws + They would have deemed a shame + Who clung to error, just because + Their fathers did the same. + I sought in Pleasure's gilded halls, + Where grace and beauty stirred + At revelry's impetuous calls, + To make my projects heard. + + Then turned to stately palaces + Of luxury and ease, + Where wealth's absorbing object was + The master's whim to please; + And spoke of evils unredressed, + Of danger yet to be-- + They only answered, like the rest: + "But what is that to me?" + + And even pious _devotees_ + Whom sacred walls immure + Condemned me (as by feeble praise)-- + What more could I endure? + Down by the stream, so pure and clear + That sunbeams paused to drink, + In loneliness and grief sincere + I pressed its grassy brink. + + Thick darkness seemed to veil the day; + Beyond a realm of tears + Utopia's land of promise lay; + And not till later years + I learned this lesson--that to win + Results from labor sure, + "Reformers" always must begin + Among the lowly poor. + + For they whose lot privation is + And whose delights are few, + Whose aggregate of miseries + Is want of something new, + The measure of whose happiness + Is but an empty cup, + For every novelty will press + Alert to fill it up. + + +Transcriber's Notes: +Page 27: Changed Galiee to Galilee (Printer's Error) +Page 47: Indented 1st stanza to match others +Page 173: Changed prarie to prairie (Printer's Error) + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Hattie Howard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 19109.txt or 19109.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/0/19109/ + +Produced by Joseph R. 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