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+Project Gutenberg's Custer, and Other Poems., by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
+
+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: Custer, and Other Poems.
+
+Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox
+
+Release Date: January 23, 2007 [EBook #20427]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUSTER, AND OTHER POEMS. ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Thierry Alberto, David T. Jones and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                          CUSTER
+
+                            AND
+
+                        OTHER POEMS
+
+                            BY
+
+                   ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+                        Author of
+"Poems of Passion," "Maurine," "Poems of Pleasure,"
+"How Salvator Won," "The Beautiful Land of Nod,"
+"An Erring Woman's Love," "Men, Women and Emotions," Etc.
+
+
+
+
+                         CHICAGO:
+                  W. B. CONKEY COMPANY.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                     Published 1896,
+
+                           By
+
+                  ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
+
+
+
+
+
+                        Preface.
+
+
+
+      "Let such teach others, who themselves excel,
+      And censure freely who have written well."
+
+                                            --POPE.
+
+
+
+[Transcriber's Note: BOLD characters are denoted by enclosing them with =...=
+ and ITALIC characters are denoted by enclosing them with _..._ ]
+
+
+
+                        =CONTENTS=
+
+
+                                                 =PAGE=
+
+The World's Need                                    7
+
+High Noon                                           8
+
+Transformation                                     10
+
+Thought-Magnets                                    12
+
+Smiles                                             13
+
+The Undiscovered Country                           15
+
+The Universal Route                                16
+
+Earthly Pride                                      17
+
+Unanswered Prayers                                 18
+
+Thanksgiving                                       20
+
+A Maiden to Her Mirror                             22
+
+The Kettle                                         23
+
+Contrasts                                          25
+
+Thy Ship                                           26
+
+The Tryst                                          28
+
+Life                                               31
+
+A Marine Etching                                   32
+
+The Duel                                           33
+
+"Love Thyself Last"                                35
+
+Christmas Fancies                                  37
+
+The River                                          40
+
+Sorry                                              42
+
+The Old Wooden Cradle                              44
+
+Ambition's Trail                                   46
+
+The Traveled Man                                   47
+
+Uncontrolled                                       49
+
+The Tulip Bed at Greeley Square                    50
+
+Will                                               52
+
+To An Astrologer                                   53
+
+The Tendril's Faith                                55
+
+The Times                                          56
+
+The Question                                       57
+
+Sorrow's Uses                                      58
+
+If                                                 59
+
+Which Are You?                                     60
+
+The Creed To Be                                    62
+
+Music in the Flat                                  64
+
+Inspiration                                        67
+
+The Wish                                           68
+
+Three Friends                                      69
+
+You Never Can Tell                                 71
+
+Here and Now                                       72
+
+Unconquered                                        74
+
+All That Love Asks                                 75
+
+Does It Pay                                        77
+
+Sestina                                            78
+
+The Optimist                                       80
+
+The Pessimist                                      81
+
+The Hammock's Complaint                            82
+
+Life's Harmonies                                   83
+
+Preaching vs. Practice                             84
+
+An Old Man to His Sleeping Young Bride             85
+
+I Am                                               87
+
+Two Nights                                         89
+
+Preparation                                        91
+
+Custer                                             93
+
+
+
+
+=The World's Need=
+
+
+So many gods, so many creeds,
+  So many paths that wind and wind,
+  While just the art of being kind,
+Is all the sad world needs.
+
+
+
+
+=High Noon=
+
+
+Time's finger on the dial of my life
+Points to high noon! and yet the half-spent day
+Leaves less than half remaining, for the dark,
+Bleak shadows of the grave engulf the end.
+
+To those who burn the candle to the stick,
+The sputtering socket yields but little light.
+Long life is sadder than an early death.
+We cannot count on raveled threads of age
+Whereof to weave a fabric. We must use
+The warp and woof the ready present yields
+And toil while daylight lasts. When I bethink
+How brief the past, the future still more brief,
+Calls on to action, action! Not for me
+Is time for retrospection or for dreams,
+Not time for self-laudation or remorse.
+Have I done nobly? Then I must not let
+Dead yesterday unborn to-morrow shame.
+Have I done wrong? Well, let the bitter taste
+Of fruit that turned to ashes on my lip
+Be my reminder in temptation's hour,
+And keep me silent when I would condemn.
+Sometimes it takes the acid of a sin
+To cleanse the clouded windows of our souls
+So pity may shine through them.
+
+                               Looking back,
+My faults and errors seem like stepping-stones
+That led the way to knowledge of the truth
+And made me value virtue; sorrows shine
+In rainbow colors o'er the gulf of years,
+Where lie forgotten pleasures.
+
+                              Looking forth,
+Out to the western sky still bright with noon,
+I feel well spurred and booted for the strife
+That ends not till Nirvana is attained.
+
+Battling with fate, with men and with myself,
+Up the steep summit of my life's forenoon,
+Three things I learned, three things of precious worth
+To guide and help me down the western slope.
+I have learned how to pray, and toil, and save.
+To pray for courage to receive what comes,
+Knowing what comes to be divinely sent.
+To toil for universal good, since thus
+And only thus can good come unto me.
+To save, by giving whatsoe'er I have
+To those who have not, this alone is gain.
+
+
+
+
+=Transformation=
+
+
+She waited in a rose-hued room;
+  A wanton-hearted creature she,
+  But beautiful and bright to see
+As some great orchid just in bloom.
+
+Upon wide cushions stretched at ease
+  She lolled in garments filmy fine,
+  Which but enhanced each rounded line;
+A living picture, framed to please.
+
+A bold electric eye of light
+  Leered through its ruddy screen of lace
+  And feasted on her form and face
+As some wine-crimsoned roué might.
+
+From wall and niche, nude nymph beguiled
+  Fair goddesses of world-wide fame,
+  But Psyche's self was put to shame
+By one who from the cushions smiled.
+
+Exotic blossoms from a vase
+  Their sweet narcotic breath exhaled;
+  The lights, the objects round her paled--
+She lost the sense of time and place.
+
+She seemed to float upon the air,
+  Untrammeled, unrestricted, free;
+  And rising from a vapory sea
+She saw a form divinely fair.
+
+A beauteous being in whose face
+  Shone all things sweet and true and good.
+  The innocence of maidenhood,
+The motherhood of all the race.
+
+The warmth which comes from heavenly fire,
+  The strength which leads the weaker man
+  To climb to God's Eternal plan
+And conquer and control desire.
+
+She shook as with a mighty awe,
+  For, gazing on this shape which stood
+  Embodying all true womanhood,
+She knew it was _herself_ she saw.
+
+She woke as from a dream. But when
+  The laughing lover, light and bold
+  Came with his talk of wine and gold
+He gazed, grew silent, gazed again;
+
+Then turned abashed from those calm eyes
+  Where lurked no more the lure to sin.
+  Her higher self had entered in,
+Her path led now to Paradise.
+
+
+
+
+=Thought-Magnets=
+
+
+With each strong thought, with every earnest longing
+  For aught thou deemest needful to thy soul,
+Invisible vast forces are set thronging
+  Between thee and that goal.
+
+'Tis only when some hidden weakness alters
+  And changes thy desire, or makes it less,
+That this mysterious army ever falters
+  Or stops short of success.
+
+Thought is a magnet; and the longed-for pleasure
+  Or boon, or aim, or object, is the steel;
+And its attainment hangs but on the measure
+  Of what thy soul can feel.
+
+
+
+
+=Smiles=
+
+
+Smile a little, smile a little,
+  As you go along,
+Not alone when life is pleasant,
+  But when things go wrong.
+Care delights to see you frowning,
+  Loves to hear you sigh;
+Turn a smiling face upon her,
+  Quick the dame will fly.
+
+Smile a little, smile a little,
+  All along the road;
+Every life must have its burden,
+  Every heart its load.
+Why sit down in gloom and darkness,
+  With your grief to sup?
+As you drink Fate's bitter tonic,
+  Smile across the cup.
+
+Smile upon the troubled pilgrims
+  Whom you pass and meet;
+Frowns are thorns, and smiles are blossoms
+  Oft for weary feet.
+
+Do not make the way seem harder
+  By a sullen face,
+Smile a little, smile a little,
+  Brighten up the place.
+
+Smile upon your undone labor;
+  Not for one who grieves
+O'er his task, waits wealth or glory;
+  He who smiles achieves.
+Though you meet with loss and sorrow
+  In the passing years,
+Smile a little, smile a little,
+  Even through your tears.
+
+
+
+
+=The Undiscovered Country=
+
+
+Man has explored all countries and all lands,
+  And made his own the secrets of each clime.
+  Now, ere the world has fully reached its prime,
+The oval earth lies compassed with steel bands;
+The seas are slaves to ships that touch all strands,
+  And even the haughty elements sublime
+  And bold, yield him their secrets for all time,
+And speed like lackeys forth at his commands.
+
+Still, though he search from shore to distant shore,
+  And no strange realms, no unlocated plains
+Are left for his attainment and control,
+Yet is there one more kingdom to explore.
+  Go, know thyself, O man! there yet remains
+The undiscovered country of thy soul!
+
+
+
+
+=The Universal Route=
+
+
+As we journey along, with a laugh and a song,
+  We see, on youth's flower-decked slope,
+Like a beacon of light, shining fair on the sight,
+  The beautiful Station of Hope.
+
+But the wheels of old Time roll along as we climb,
+  And our youth speeds away on the years;
+And with hearts that are numb with life's sorrows we come
+  To the mist-covered Station of Tears.
+
+Still onward we pass, where the milestones, alas!
+  Are the tombs of our dead, to the West,
+Where glitters and gleams, in the dying sunbeams,
+  The sweet, silent Station of Rest.
+
+All rest is but change, and no grave can estrange
+  The soul from its Parent above;
+And, scorning the rod, it soars back to its God,
+  To the limitless City of Love.
+
+
+
+
+=Earthly Pride=
+
+
+How baseless is the mightiest earthly pride,
+The diamond is but charcoal purified,
+The lordliest pearl that decks a monarch's breast
+Is but an insect's sepulchre at best.
+
+
+
+
+=Unanswered Prayers=
+
+
+Like some school master, kind in being stern,
+Who hears the children crying o'er their slates
+And calling, "Help me master!" yet helps not,
+Since in his silence and refusal lies
+Their self-development, so God abides
+Unheeding many prayers. He is not deaf
+To any cry sent up from earnest hearts,
+He hears and strengthens when He must deny.
+He sees us weeping over life's hard sums
+But should He give the key and dry our tears
+What would it profit us when school were done
+And not one lesson mastered?
+
+                            What a world
+Were this if all our prayers were answered. Not
+In famed Pandora's box were such vast ills
+As lie in human hearts. Should our desires
+Voiced one by one in prayer ascend to God
+And come back as events shaped to our wish
+What chaos would result!
+
+                        In my fierce youth
+I sighed out breath enough to move a fleet
+Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied boons
+Which were denied; and that denial bends
+My knee to prayers of gratitude each day
+Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayers
+I rose alway regirded for the strife
+And conscious of new strength. Pray on, sad heart,
+That which thou pleadest for may not be given
+But in the lofty altitude where souls
+Who supplicate God's grace are lifted there
+Thou shalt find help to bear thy daily lot
+Which is not elsewhere found.
+
+
+
+
+=Thanksgiving=
+
+
+We walk on starry fields of white
+  And do not see the daisies;
+For blessings common in our sight
+  We rarely offer praises.
+We sigh for some supreme delight
+  To crown our lives with splendor,
+And quite ignore our daily store
+  Of pleasures sweet and tender.
+
+Our cares are bold and push their way
+  Upon our thought and feeling.
+They hang about us all the day,
+  Our time from pleasure stealing.
+So unobtrusive many a joy
+  We pass by and forget it,
+But worry strives to own our lives
+  And conquers if we let it.
+
+There's not a day in all the year
+  But holds some hidden pleasure,
+And looking back, joys oft appear
+  To brim the past's wide measure.
+But blessings are like friends, I hold,
+  Who love and labor near us.
+We ought to raise our notes of praise
+  While living hearts can hear us.
+
+Full many a blessing wears the guise
+  Of worry or of trouble.
+Farseeing is the soul and wise
+  Who knows the mask is double.
+But he who has the faith and strength
+  To thank his God for sorrow
+Has found a joy without alloy
+  To gladden every morrow.
+
+We ought to make the moments notes
+  Of happy, glad Thanksgiving;
+The hours and days a silent phrase
+  Of music we are living.
+And so the theme should swell and grow
+  As weeks and months pass o'er us,
+And rise sublime at this good time,
+  A grand Thanksgiving chorus.
+
+
+
+
+=A Maiden To Her Mirror=
+
+
+He said he loved me! Then he called my hair
+  Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid strings his bow,
+  My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new snow;
+And swore my round, full throat would bring despair
+To Venus or to Psyche.
+
+                      Time and care
+  Will fade these locks; the merry god, I trow,
+  Uses no grizzled cords upon his bow.
+How will it be when I, no longer fair,
+  Plead for his kiss with cheeks whence long ago
+The early snowflakes melted quite away,
+The rose leaf died--and in whose sallow clay
+  Lie the deep sunken tracks of life's gaunt crow?
+
+When this full throat shall wattle fold on fold,
+  Like some ripe peach left drying on a wall,
+  Or like a spent accordion, when all
+Its music has exhaled--will love grow cold?
+
+
+
+
+=The Kettle=
+
+
+There's many a house of grandeur,
+  With turret, tower and dome,
+That knows not peace or comfort,
+  And does not prove a home.
+_I_ do not ask for splendor
+  To crown my daily lot,
+But this I ask--a kitchen
+  Where the kettle's always hot.
+
+If things are not all ship-shape,
+  I do not fume or fret,
+A little clean disorder
+  Does not my nerves upset.
+But _one_ thing is essential,
+  Or seems so to my thought,
+And that's a tidy kitchen
+  Where the kettle's always hot.
+
+In my Aunt Hattie's household,
+  Though skies outside are drear,
+Though times are dark and troubled,
+  You'll always find good cheer.
+And in her quaint old kitchen--
+  The very homiest spot--
+The kettle's always singing,
+  The water's always hot.
+
+And if you have a headache,
+  Whate'er the hour may be,
+There is no tedious waiting
+  To get your cup of tea.
+I don't know how she does it--
+  Some magic she has caught--
+For the kitchen's cool in summer,
+  Yet the kettle's always hot.
+
+Oh, there's naught else so dreary
+  In household kingdom found
+As a cold and sullen kettle
+  That does not make a sound.
+And I think that love is lacking
+  In the hearts in such a spot,
+Or the kettle would be singing
+  And the water would be hot.
+
+
+
+
+=Contrasts=
+
+
+I see the tall church steeples,
+  They reach so far, so far,
+But the eyes of my heart see the world's great mart,
+  Where the starving people are.
+
+I hear the church bells ringing
+  Their chimes on the morning air;
+But my soul's sad ear is hurt to hear
+  The poor man's cry of despair.
+
+Thicker and thicker the churches,
+  Nearer and nearer the sky
+But alack for their creeds while the poor man's needs
+  Grow deeper as years roll by.
+
+
+
+
+=Thy Ship=
+
+
+Hadst thou a ship, in whose vast hold lay stored
+The priceless riches of all climes and lands,
+Say, wouldst thou let it float upon the seas
+Unpiloted, of fickle winds the sport,
+And of wild waves and hidden rocks the prey?
+
+Thine is that ship; and in its depths concealed
+Lies all the wealth of this vast universe--
+Yea, lies some part of God's omnipotence
+The legacy divine of every soul.
+Thy will, O man, thy will is that great ship,
+And yet behold it drifting here and there--
+One moment lying motionless in port,
+Then on high seas by sudden impulse flung,
+
+Then drying on the sands, and yet again
+Sent forth on idle quests to no-man's land
+To carry nothing and to nothing bring;
+Till worn and fretted by the aimless strife
+And buffeted by vacillating winds
+It founders on a rock, or springs aleak
+With all its unused treasures in the hold.
+
+Go save thy ship, thou sluggard; take the wheel
+And steer to knowledge, glory and success.
+Great mariners have made the pathway plain
+For thee to follow; hold thou to the course
+Of Concentration Channel, and all things
+Shall come in answer to thy swerveless wish
+As comes the needle to the magnet's call,
+Or sunlight to the prisoned blade of grass
+That yearns all winter for the kiss of spring.
+
+
+
+
+=The Tryst=
+
+
+Just when all hope had perished in my soul,
+And balked desire made havoc with my mind,
+My cruel Ladye suddenly grew kind,
+And sent these gracious words upon a scroll:
+"When knowing Night her dusky scarf has tied
+Across the bold, intrusive eyes of day,
+Come as a glad, triumphant lover may,
+No longer fearing that he be denied."
+
+I read her letter for the hundredth time,
+And for the hundredth time my gladdened sight
+Blurred with the rapture of my vast delight,
+And swooned upon the page. I caught the chime
+Of far off bells, and at each silver note
+My heart on tiptoe pressed its eager ear
+Against my breast; it was such joy to hear
+The tolling of the hour of which she wrote.
+
+The curious day still lingered in the skies
+And watched me as I hastened to the tryst.
+And back, beyond great clouds of amethyst,
+I saw the Night's soft, reassuring eyes.
+"Oh, Night," I cried, "dear Love's considerate friend,
+Haste from the far, dim valleys of the west,
+Rock the sad striving earth to quiet rest,
+And bid the day's insistent vigil end."
+
+Down brooding streets, and past the harbored ships
+The Night's young handmaid, Twilight, walked with me.
+A spent moon leaned inertly o'er the sea;
+A few, pale, phantom stars were in eclipse.
+There was the house, My Ladye's sea-girt bower
+All draped in gloom, save for one taper's glow,
+Which lit the path, where willing feet would go.
+There was the house, and this the promised hour.
+
+The tide was out; and from the sea's salt path
+Rose amorous odors, filtering through the night
+And stirring all the senses with delight;
+Sweet perfumes left since Aphrodite's bath.
+Back in the wooded copse, a whip-poor-will
+Gave love's impassioned and impatient call.
+On pebbled sands I heard the waves kiss fall,
+And fall again, so hushed the hour and still.
+
+Light was my knock upon the door, so light,
+And yet the sound seemed rude. My pulses beat
+So loud they drowned the coming of her feet
+The arrow of her taper pierced the gloom--
+The portal closed behind me. She was there--
+Love on her lips and yielding in her eyes
+And but the sea to hear our vows and sighs.
+She took my hand and led me up the stair.
+
+
+
+
+=Life=
+
+
+All in the dark we grope along,
+  And if we go amiss
+We learn at least which path is wrong,
+  And there is gain in this.
+
+We do not always win the race,
+  By only running right,
+We have to tread the mountain's base
+  Before we reach its height.
+
+The Christs alone no errors made;
+  So often had they trod
+The paths that lead through light and shade,
+  They had become as God.
+
+As Krishna, Buddha, Christ again,
+  They passed along the way,
+And left those mighty truths which men
+  But dimly grasp to-day.
+
+But he who loves himself the last
+  And knows the use of pain,
+Though strewn with errors all his past,
+  He surely shall attain.
+
+Some souls there are that needs must taste
+  Of wrong, ere choosing right;
+We should not call those years a waste
+  Which led us to the light.
+
+
+
+
+=A Marine Etching=
+
+
+A yacht from its harbor ropes pulled free,
+  And leaped like a steed o'er the race track blue,
+Then up behind her, the dust of the sea,
+  A gray fog drifted, and hid her from view.
+
+
+
+
+=The Duel=
+
+
+Oh many a duel the world has seen
+  That was bitter with hate, that was red with gore,
+But I sing of a duel by far more cruel
+  Than ever by poet was sung before.
+It was waged by night, yea by day and by night,
+  With never a pause or halt or rest,
+And the curious spot where this battle was fought
+  Was the throbbing heart in a woman's breast.
+
+There met two rivals in deadly strife,
+  And they fought for this woman so pale and proud.
+One was a man in the prime of life,
+  And one was a corpse in a moldy shroud;
+One wrapped in a sheet from his head to his feet,
+  The other one clothed in worldly fashion;
+But a rival to dread is a man who is dead,
+  If he has been loved in life with passion.
+
+The living lover he battled with sighs,
+  He strove for the woman with words that burned,
+While stiff and stark lay the corpse in the dark,
+  And silently yearned and yearned and yearned.
+One spoke of the rapture that life still held
+  For hearts that yielded to love's desire,
+And one through the cold grave's earthy mold
+  Sent thoughts of a past that were fraught with fire.
+
+The living lover seized hold of her hands--
+  "You are mine," he cried, "and we will not part!"
+But she felt the clutch of the dead man's touch
+  On the tense-drawn strings of her aching heart.
+Yet the touch was of ice, and she shrank with fear--
+  Oh! the hands of the dead are cold, so cold--
+And warm were the arms that waited near
+  To gather her close in their clinging fold.
+
+And warm was the light in the living eyes,
+  But the eyes of the dead, how they stare and stare!
+With sudden surrender she turned to the tender
+  And passionate lover who wooed her there.
+Farewell to sorrow, hail, sweet to-morrow!
+  The battle was over, the duel was done.
+They swooned in the blisses of love's fond kisses,
+  And the dead man stared on in the dark alone.
+
+
+
+
+="Love Thyself Last"=
+
+
+Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty
+  To those who walk beside thee down life's road;
+Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,
+  And help them bear the burden of earth's load.
+
+Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger,
+  Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;
+Go lend a hand, and lead him out of danger,
+  To hights where he may see the world is fair.
+
+Love thyself last. The vastnesses above thee
+  Are filled with Spirit Forces, strong and pure.
+And fervently, these faithful friends shall love thee:
+  Keep thou thy watch o'er others and endure.
+
+Love thyself last; and oh, such joy shall thrill thee,
+  As never yet to selfish souls was given.
+Whate'er thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee,
+  And earth shall seem the ante-room of Heaven.
+
+Love thyself last, and them shall grow in spirit
+  To see, to hear, to know, and understand.
+The message of the stars, lo, thou shall hear it,
+  And all God's joys shall be at thy command.
+
+
+
+
+=Christmas Fancies=
+
+
+When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow,
+We hear sweet voices ringing from lands of long ago.
+        And etched on vacant places,
+        Are half forgotten faces
+Of friends we used to cherish, and loves we used to know--
+When Christmas bells are swinging above the fields of snow.
+
+Uprising from the ocean of the present surging near,
+We see, with strange emotion that is not free from fear,
+        That continent Elysian
+        Long vanished from our vision,
+Youth's lovely lost Atlantis, so mourned for and so dear,
+Uprising from the ocean of the present surging near.
+
+When gloomy gray Decembers are roused to Christmas mirth,
+The dullest life remembers there once was joy on earth,
+        And draws from youth's recesses
+        Some memory it possesses,
+And, gazing through the lens of time, exaggerates its worth,
+When gloomy gray December is roused to Christmas mirth.
+
+When hanging up the holly or mistletoe, I wis
+Each heart recalls some folly that lit the world with bliss.
+        Not all the seers and sages
+        With wisdom of the ages
+Can give the mind such pleasure as memories of that kiss
+When hanging up the holly or mistletoe, I wis.
+
+For life was made for loving, and love alone repays,
+As passing years are proving for all of Time's sad ways.
+        There lies a sting in pleasure,
+        And fame gives shallow measure,
+And wealth is but a phantom that mocks the restless days,
+For life was made for loving, and only loving pays.
+
+When Christmas bells are pelting the air with silver chimes,
+And silences are melting to soft, melodious rhymes,
+        Let Love, the world's beginning,
+        End fear and hate and sinning;
+Let Love, the God Eternal, be worshiped in all climes
+When Christmas bells are pelting the air with silver chimes.
+
+
+
+
+=The River=
+
+
+I am a river flowing from God's sea
+Through devious ways. He mapped my course for me;
+I cannot change it; mine alone the toil
+To keep the waters free from grime and soil.
+The winding river ends where it began;
+And when my life has compassed its brief span
+I must return to that mysterious source.
+So let me gather daily on my course
+The perfume from the blossoms as I pass,
+Balm from the pines, and healing from the grass,
+And carry down my current as I go
+Not common stones but precious gems to show;
+And tears (the holy water from sad eyes)
+Back to God's sea, from which all rivers rise
+Let me convey, not blood from wounded hearts,
+Nor poison which the upas tree imparts.
+When over flowery vales I leap with joy,
+Let me not devastate them, nor destroy,
+But rather leave them fairer to the sight;
+Mine be the lot to comfort and delight.
+And if down awful chasms I needs must leap
+Let me not murmur at my lot, but sweep
+On bravely to the end without one fear,
+Knowing that He who planned my ways stands near.
+Love sent me forth, to Love I go again,
+For Love is all, and over all. Amen.
+
+
+
+
+=Sorry=
+
+
+There is much that makes me sorry as I journey down life's way.
+And I seem to see more pathos in poor human lives each day.
+I'm sorry for the strong brave men, who shield the weak from harm,
+But who, in their own troubled hours find no protecting arm.
+
+I am sorry for the victors who have reached success, to stand
+As targets for the arrows shot by envious failure's hand.
+I'm sorry for the generous hearts who freely shared their wine,
+But drink alone the gall of tears in fortune's drear decline.
+
+I'm sorry for the souls who build their own fame's funeral pyre,
+Derided by the scornful throng like ice deriding fire.
+I'm sorry for the conquering ones who know not sin's defeat,
+But daily tread down fierce desire 'neath scorched and bleeding feet.
+
+I'm sorry for the anguished hearts that break with passion's strain,
+But I'm sorrier for the poor starved souls that never knew love's pain.
+Who hunger on through barren years not tasting joys they crave,
+For sadder far is such a lot than weeping o'er a grave.
+
+I'm sorry for the souls that come unwelcomed into birth,
+I'm sorry for the unloved old who cumber up the earth.
+I'm sorry for the suffering poor in life's great maelstrom hurled,
+In truth I'm sorry for them all who make this aching world.
+
+But underneath whate'er seems sad and is not understood,
+I know there lies hid from our sight a mighty germ of good.
+And this belief stands firm by me, my sermon, motto, text--
+The sorriest things in this life will seem grandest in the next.
+
+
+
+
+=The Old Wooden Cradle=
+
+
+Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle
+  The rude hand of Progress has thrust it aside.
+No more to its motion o'er sleep's fairy ocean,
+  Our play-weary wayfarers peacefully glide.
+
+No more by the rhythm of slow-moving rocker,
+  Their sweet dreamy fancies are fostered and fed;
+No more to low singing the cradle goes swinging--
+  The child of this era is put into bed.
+
+Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle,
+  It lent to the twilight a strange, subtle charm;
+When bees left the clover, when play-time was over,
+  How safe seemed this shelter from danger or harm.
+
+How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling,
+  How weird were the voices that whispered around,
+What dreams would come flocking, as rocking and rocking,
+  We floated away into slumber profound.
+
+Good-bye to the cradle, the old wooden cradle,
+  The babe of to-day does not know it by sight.
+When day leaves the border, with system and order,
+  The child goes to bed and we put out the light.
+
+I bow to Progression and ask no concession,
+  Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the past;
+So off with old lumber, that sweet ark of slumber,
+  The old wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.
+
+
+
+
+=Ambition's Trail=
+
+
+If all the end of this continuous striving
+    Were simply _to attain_,
+How poor would seem the planning and contriving
+The endless urging and the hurried driving
+        Of body, heart and brain!
+
+But ever in the wake of true achieving,
+    There shines this glowing trail--
+Some other soul will be spurred on, conceiving,
+New strength and hope, in its own power believing,
+        Because _thou_ didst not fail.
+
+Not thine alone the glory, nor the sorrow,
+    If thou doth miss the goal,
+Undreamed of lives in many a far to-morrow
+From thee their weakness or their force shall borrow--
+        On, on, ambitious soul.
+
+
+
+
+=The Traveled Man=
+
+
+Sometimes I wish the railroads all were torn out,
+  The ships all sunk among the coral strands.
+I am so very weary, yea so worn out,
+  With tales of those who visit foreign lands.
+
+When asked to dine, to meet these traveled people,
+  My soup seems brewed from cemetery bones.
+The fish grows cold on some cathedral steeple,
+  I miss two courses while I stare at thrones.
+
+I'm forced to leave my salad quite untasted,
+  Some musty, moldy temple to explore.
+The ices, fruit and coffee all are wasted
+  While into realms of ancient art I soar.
+
+I'd rather take my chance of life and reason,
+  If in a den of roaring lions hurled
+Than for a single year, ay, for one season,
+  To dwell with folks who'd traveled round the world.
+
+So patronizing are they, so oppressive,
+  With pity for the ones who stay at home,
+So mighty is their knowledge so aggressive,
+  I ofttimes wish they had not _ceased_ to roam.
+
+They loathe the new, they quite detest the present;
+  They revel in a pre-Columbian morn;
+Just dare to say America is pleasant,
+  And die beneath the glances of their scorn.
+
+They are increasing at a rate alarming,
+  Go where I will, the traveled man is there.
+And now I think that rustic wholly charming
+  Who has not strayed beyond his meadows fair.
+
+
+
+
+=Uncontrolled=
+
+
+The mighty forces of mysterious space
+  Are one by one subdued by lordly man.
+  The awful lightning that for eons ran
+Their devastating and untrammeled race,
+Now bear his messages from place to place
+  Like carrier doves. The winds lead on his van;
+  The lawless elements no longer can
+Resist his strength, but yield with sullen grace.
+
+His bold feet scaling heights before untrod,
+  Light, darkness, air and water, heat and cold
+    He bids go forth and bring him power and pelf.
+And yet though ruler, king and demi-god
+  He walks with his fierce passions uncontrolled
+    The conquerer of all things--save himself.
+
+
+
+
+=The Tulip Bed At Greeley Square=
+
+
+You know that oasis, fresh and fair
+In the city desert, as Greeley square?
+
+That bright triangle of scented bloom
+That lies surrounded by grime and gloom?
+
+Right in the breast of the seething town
+Like a gleaming gem or a wanton's gown?
+
+Ah, wonderful things that tulip bed
+Unto my listening soul has said.
+
+Over the rattle and roar of the street
+I hear a chorus of voices sweet,
+
+Day and night, when I pass that way,
+And these are the things the voices say:
+
+"Here, in the heart of the foolish strife,
+We live a simple and natural life.
+
+"Here, in the midst of the clash and din,
+We know what it is to be calm within.
+
+"Here, environed by sin and shame,
+We do what we can with our pure white flame.
+
+"We do what we can with our bloom and grace,
+To make the city a fairer place.
+
+"It is well to be good though the world is vile,
+And so through the dust and the smoke we smile,
+
+"We are but atoms in chaos tossed,
+Yet never a purpose for truth was lost."
+
+Ah, many a sermon is uttered there
+By the bed of blossoms in Greeley square.
+
+And he who listens and hears aright,
+Is better equipped for the world's hard fight.
+
+
+
+
+=Will=
+
+
+  You will be what you will to be;
+Let failure find its false content
+In that poor word "environment,"
+  But spirit scorns it, and is free,
+
+  It masters time, it conquers space,
+It cows that boastful trickster Chance,
+And bids the tyrant Circumstance
+  Uncrown and fill a servant's place.
+
+  The human Will, that force unseen,
+The offspring of a deathless Soul,
+Can hew the way to any goal,
+  Though walls of granite intervene.
+
+  Be not impatient in delay,
+But wait as one who understands;
+When spirit rises and commands,
+  The gods are ready to obey.
+
+  The river seeking for the sea
+Confronts the dam and precipice,
+Yet knows it cannot fail or miss;
+  _You will be what you will to be_!
+
+
+
+
+=To An Astrologer=
+
+
+Nay, seer, I do not doubt thy mystic lore,
+Nor question that the tenor of my life,
+Past, present and the future, is revealed
+There in my horoscope. I do believe
+That yon dead moon compels the haughty seas
+To ebb and flow, and that my natal star
+Stands like a stern-browed sentinel in space
+And challenges events; nor lets one grief,
+Or joy, or failure, or success, pass on
+To mar or bless my earthly lot, until
+It proves its Karmic right to come to me.
+
+All this I grant, but more than this I _know_!
+Before the solar systems were conceived,
+When nothing was but the unnamable,
+My spirit lived, an atom of the Cause.
+Through countless ages and in many forms
+It has existed, ere it entered in
+This human frame to serve its little day
+Upon the earth. The deathless Me of me,
+The spark from that great all-creative fire
+Is part of that eternal source called God,
+And mightier than the universe.
+
+                               Why, he
+Who knows, and knowing, never once forgets
+The pedigree divine of his own soul,
+Can conquer, shape and govern destiny
+And use vast space as 'twere a board for chess
+With stars for pawns; can change his horoscope
+To suit his will; turn failure to success,
+And from preordained sorrows, harvest joy.
+
+There is no puny planet, sun or moon,
+Or zodiacal sign which can control
+The God in us! If we bring _that_ to bear
+Upon events, we mold them to our wish,
+'Tis when the infinite 'neath the finite gropes
+That men are governed by their horoscopes.
+
+
+
+
+=The Tendril's Faith=
+
+
+Under the snow in the dark and the cold,
+  A pale little sprout was humming;
+Sweetly it sang, 'neath the frozen mold,
+  Of the beautiful days that were coming.
+
+"How foolish your songs," said a lump of clay,
+  "What is there, I ask, to prove them?
+Just look at the walls between you and the day,
+  Now, have you the strength to move them?"
+
+But under the ice and under the snow
+  The pale little sprout kept singing,
+"I cannot tell how, but I know, I know,
+  I know what the days are bringing."
+
+"Birds, and blossoms, and buzzing bees,
+  Blue, blue skies above me,
+Bloom on the meadows and buds on the trees,
+  And the great glad sun to love me."
+
+A pebble spoke next: "You are quite absurd."
+  It said, "with your song's insistence;
+For _I_ never saw a tree or a bird,
+  So of course there are none in existence."
+
+"But I know, I know," the tendril cried,
+  In beautiful sweet unreason;
+Till lo! from its prison, glorified,
+  It burst in the glad spring season.
+
+
+
+
+=The Times=
+
+
+  The times are not degenerate. Man's faith
+Mounts higher than of old. No crumbling creed
+Can take from the immortal soul the need
+  Of that supreme Creator, God. The wraith
+Of dead beliefs we cherished in our youth
+Fades but to let us welcome new-born Truth.
+
+  Man may not worship at the ancient shrine
+Prone on his face, in self-accusing scorn.
+That night is past. He hails a fairer morn,
+  And knows himself a something all divine;
+No humble worm whose heritage is sin,
+But, born of God, he feels the Christ within.
+
+  Not loud his prayers, as in the olden time,
+But deep his reverence for that mighty force.
+That occult working of the great all Source,
+  Which makes the present era so sublime.
+Religion now means something high and broad,
+And man stood never half so near to God.
+
+
+
+
+=The Question=
+
+
+Beside us in our seeking after pleasures,
+  Through all our restless striving after fame,
+Through all our search for worldly gains and treasures,
+  There walketh one whom no man likes to name.
+Silent he follows, veiled of form and feature,
+  Indifferent if we sorrow or rejoice,
+Yet that day comes when every living creature
+  Must look upon his face and hear his voice.
+
+When that day comes to you, and Death, unmasking,
+  Shall bar your path, and say, "Behold the end,"
+What are the questions that he will be asking
+  About your past? Have you considered, friend?
+I think he will not chide you for your sinning,
+  Nor for your creeds or dogmas will he care;
+He will but ask, "_From your life's first beginning
+  How many burdens have you helped to bear_?"
+
+
+
+
+=Sorrow's Uses=
+
+
+The uses of sorrow I comprehend
+Better and better at each year's end.
+
+Deeper and deeper I seem to see
+Why and wherefore it has to be.
+
+Only after the dark, wet days
+Do we fully rejoice in the sun's bright rays.
+
+Sweeter the crust tastes after the fast
+Than the sated gourmand's finest repast.
+
+The faintest cheer sounds never amiss
+To the actor who once has heard a hiss.
+
+To one who the sadness of freedom knows,
+Light seem the fetters love may impose.
+
+And he who has dwelt with his heart alone,
+Hears all the music in friendship's tone.
+
+So better and better I comprehend,
+How sorrow ever would be our friend.
+
+
+
+
+=If=
+
+
+Twixt what thou art, and what thou wouldst be, let
+No "If" arise on which to lay the blame.
+Man makes a mountain of that puny word,
+But, like a blade of grass before the scythe,
+It falls and withers when a human will,
+Stirred by creative force, sweeps toward its aim.
+
+Thou wilt be what thou couldst be. Circumstance
+Is but the toy of genius. When a soul
+Burns with a god-like purpose to achieve,
+All obstacles between it and its goal
+Must vanish as the dew before the sun.
+
+"If" is the motto of the dilettante
+And idle dreamer; 'tis the poor excuse
+Of mediocrity. The truly great
+Know not the word, or know it but to scorn,
+Else had Joan of Arc a peasant died,
+Uncrowned by glory and by men unsung.
+
+
+
+
+=Which Are You?=
+
+
+There are two kinds of people on earth to-day;
+Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.
+
+Not the sinner and the saint, for it's well understood,
+The good are half bad and the bad are half good.
+
+Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's wealth,
+You must first know the state of his conscience and health.
+
+Not the humble and proud, for in life's little span,
+Who puts on vain airs, is not counted a man.
+
+Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years
+Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears.
+
+No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean,
+Are the people who lift, and the people who lean.
+
+Wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses,
+Are always divided in just these two classes.
+
+And oddly enough, you will find too, I ween,
+There's only one lifter to twenty who lean.
+
+In which class are you? Are you easing the load,
+Of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the road?
+
+Or are you a leaner, who lets others share
+Your portion of labor, and worry and care?
+
+
+
+
+=The Creed To Be=
+
+
+Our thoughts are molding unmade spheres,
+  And, like a blessing or a curse,
+They thunder down the formless years,
+  And ring throughout the universe.
+
+We build our futures, by the shape
+  Of our desires, and not by acts.
+There is no pathway of escape;
+  No priest-made creeds can alter facts.
+
+Salvation is not begged or bought;
+  Too long this selfish hope sufficed;
+Too long man reeked with lawless thought,
+  And leaned upon a tortured Christ.
+
+Like shriveled leaves, these worn out creeds
+  Are dropping from Religion's tree;
+The world begins to know its needs,
+  And souls are crying to be free.
+
+Free from the load of fear and grief,
+  Man fashioned in an ignorant age;
+Free from the ache of unbelief
+  He fled to in rebellious rage.
+
+No church can bind him to the things
+  That fed the first crude souls, evolved;
+For, mounting up on daring wings,
+  He questions mysteries all unsolved.
+
+Above the chant of priests, above
+  The blatant voice of braying doubt,
+He hears the still, small voice of Love,
+  Which sends its simple message out.
+
+And clearer, sweeter, day by day,
+  Its mandate echoes from the skies,
+"Go roll the stone of self away,
+  And let the Christ within thee rise."
+
+
+
+
+=Music In The Flat=
+
+
+When Tom and I were married, we took a little flat;
+I had a taste for singing and playing and all that.
+And Tom, who loved to hear me, said he hoped I would not stop
+All practice, like so many wives who let their music drop.
+So I resolved to set apart an hour or two each day
+To keeping vocal chords and hands in trim to sing and play.
+
+The second morning I had been for half an hour or more
+At work on Haydn's masses, when a tap came at my door.
+A nurse who wore a dainty cap and apron, and a smile,
+Ran down to ask if I would cease my music for awhile.
+The lady in the flat above was very ill, she said,
+And the sound of my piano was distracting to her head.
+
+A fortnight's exercises lost, ere I began them, when,
+The following morning at my door, there came that tap again;
+A woman with an anguished face implored me to forego
+My music for some days to come--a man was dead below.
+I shut down my piano till the corpse had left the house,
+And spoke to Tom in whispers and was quiet as a mouse.
+
+A week of labor limbered up my stiffened hand and voice,
+I stole an extra hour from sleep, to practice and rejoice;
+When, ting-a-ling, the door-bell rang a discord in my trill--
+The baby in the flat across was very, very ill.
+For ten long days that infant's life was hanging by a thread,
+And all that time my instrument was silent as the dead.
+
+So pain and death and sickness came in one perpetual row,
+When babies were not born above, then tenants died below.
+The funeral over underneath, some one fell ill on top,
+And begged me, for the love of God, to let my music drop.
+When trouble went not up or down, it stalked across the hall,
+And so in spite of my resolve, I do not play at all.
+
+
+
+
+=Inspiration=
+
+
+Not like a daring, bold, aggressive boy,
+  Is inspiration, eager to pursue,
+But rather like a maiden, fond, yet coy,
+  Who gives herself to him who best doth woo.
+
+Once she may smile, or thrice, thy soul to fire,
+  In passing by, but when she turns her face,
+Thou must persist and seek her with desire,
+  If thou wouldst win the favor of her grace.
+
+And if, like some winged bird she cleaves the air,
+  And leaves thee spent and stricken on the earth,
+Still must thou strive to follow even there,
+  That she may know thy valor and thy worth.
+
+Then shall she come unveiling all her charms,
+  Giving thee joy for pain, and smiles for tears;
+Then shalt thou clasp her with possessing arms,
+  The while she murmurs music in thine ears.
+
+But ere her kiss has faded from thy cheek,
+  She shall flee from thee over hill and glade,
+So must thou seek and ever seek and seek
+  For each new conquest of this phantom maid.
+
+
+
+
+=The Wish=
+
+
+Should some great angel say to me to-morrow,
+  "Thou must re-tread thy pathway from the start,
+But God will grant, in pity, for thy sorrow,
+  Some one dear wish, the nearest to thy heart."
+
+This were my wish! from my life's dim beginning
+  _Let be what has been!_ wisdom planned the whole;
+My want, my woe, my errors, and my sinning,
+  All, all were needed lessons for my soul.
+
+
+
+
+=Three Friends=
+
+
+Of all the blessings which my life has known,
+I value most, and most praise God for three:
+Want, Loneliness and Pain, those comrades true,
+
+Who, masqueraded in the garb of foes
+For many a year, and filled my heart with dread.
+Yet fickle joys, like false, pretentious friends,
+Have proved less worthy than this trio. First,
+
+Want taught me labor, led me up the steep
+And toilsome paths to hills of pure delight,
+Trod only by the feet that know fatigue,
+And yet press on until the heights appear.
+
+Then loneliness and hunger of the heart
+Sent me upreaching to the realms of space,
+Till all the silences grew eloquent,
+And all their loving forces hailed me friend.
+
+Last, pain taught prayer! placed in my hand the staff
+Of close communion with the over-soul,
+That I might lean upon it till the end,
+And find myself made strong for any strife.
+
+And then these three who had pursued my steps
+Like stern, relentless foes, year after year,
+Unmasked, and turned their faces full on me,
+And lo! they were divinely beautiful,
+For through them shone the lustrous eyes of Love.
+
+
+
+
+=You Never Can Tell=
+
+
+You never can tell when you send a word,
+  Like an arrow shot from a bow
+By an archer blind, be it cruel or kind,
+  Just where it may chance to go.
+It may pierce the breast of your dearest friend.
+  Tipped with its poison or balm,
+To a stranger's heart in life's great mart,
+  It may carry its pain or its calm.
+
+You never can tell when you do an act
+  Just what the result will be;
+But with every deed you are sowing a seed,
+  Though the harvest you may not see.
+Each kindly act is an acorn dropped
+  In God's productive soil
+You may not know, but the tree shall grow,
+  With shelter for those who toil.
+
+You never can tell what your thoughts will do,
+  In bringing you hate or love;
+For thoughts are things, and their airy wings
+  Are swifter than carrier doves.
+They follow the law of the universe--
+  Each thing must create its kind,
+And they speed o'er the track to bring you back
+  _Whatever went out from your mind_.
+
+
+
+
+=Here And Now=
+
+
+Here, in the heart of the world,
+  Here, in the noise and the din,
+Here, where our spirits were hurled
+  To battle with sorrow and sin,
+This is the place and the spot
+  For knowledge of infinite things;
+This is the kingdom where Thought
+  Can conquer the prowess of kings.
+
+Wait for no heavenly life,
+  Seek for no temple alone;
+Here, in the midst of the strife,
+  Know what the sages have known.
+See what the Perfect Ones saw--
+  God in the depth of each soul,
+God as the light and the law,
+  God as beginning and goal.
+
+Earth is one chamber of Heaven,
+  Death is no grander than birth.
+Joy in the life that was given,
+  Strive for perfection on earth.
+Here, in the turmoil and roar,
+  Show what it is to be calm;
+Show how the spirit can soar
+  And bring back its healing and balm.
+
+Stand not aloof nor apart,
+  Plunge in the thick of the fight.
+There in the street and the mart,
+  That is the place to do right.
+Not in some cloister or cave,
+  Not in some kingdom above,
+Here, on this side of the grave,
+  Here, should we labor and love.
+
+
+
+
+=Unconquered=
+
+
+However skilled and strong art thou, my foe,
+However fierce is thy relentless hate
+Though firm thy hand, and strong thy aim, and straight
+Thy poisoned arrow leaves the bended bow,
+To pierce the target of my heart, ah! know
+I am the master yet of my own fate.
+Thou canst not rob me of my best estate,
+Though fortune, fame and friends, yea love shall go.
+
+Not to the dust shall my true self be hurled;
+Nor shall I meet thy worst assaults dismayed.
+When all things in the balance are well weighed,
+There is but one great danger in the world--
+_Thou canst not force my soul to wish thee ill_,
+That is the only evil that can kill.
+
+
+
+
+=All That Love Asks=
+
+
+  "All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand
+And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes;
+For in their depths lies largest Paradise.
+  Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand
+Be granted me, then joy I thought complete
+          Were still more sweet."
+
+  "All that I ask," says Love, "all that I ask,
+Is just thy hand clasp. Could I brush thy cheek
+As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak
+  To tell the bliss in which my soul would bask.
+There is no language but would desecrate
+          A joy so great."
+
+  "All that I ask, is just one tender touch
+Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing palm in mine,
+Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine
+  And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch
+Turned where I may not seize the supreme bliss
+          Of one mad kiss.
+
+  "All that I ask," says Love, "of life, of death,
+Or of high heaven itself, is just to stand,
+Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand,
+  The while I drink the nectar of thy breath,
+In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store,
+          I ask no more."
+
+  "All that I ask"--nay, self-deceiving Love,
+Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall,
+In place of "all I ask," say, "I ask all,"
+  All that pertains to earth or soars above,
+All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul,
+          Love asks the whole.
+
+
+
+
+=Does It Pay=
+
+
+If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road,
+  Who meets us by the way,
+Goes on less conscious of his galling load,
+  Then life indeed, does pay.
+
+If we can show one troubled heart the gain,
+  That lies alway in loss,
+Why then, we too, are paid for all the pain
+  Of bearing life's hard cross.
+
+If some despondent soul to hope is stirred,
+  Some sad lip made to smile,
+By any act of ours, or any word,
+  Then, life has been worth while.
+
+
+
+
+=Sestina=
+
+
+I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth,
+And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height
+Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.
+Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad high-way
+I caught the glimmer of a golden goal,
+While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.
+
+Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love,
+With all the haughty insolence of youth,
+As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.
+"Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height,"
+I said, "for there above the common way
+Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies."
+
+But when I reached that summit near the skies,
+So far from man I seemed, so far from Love--
+"Not here," I cried, "doth Pleasure find her way,"
+Seen from the distant borderland of youth.
+Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height,
+But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.
+
+Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal,
+Dear to all sense--sunk souls beneath the skies.
+Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height,
+Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love,
+Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth,
+"And gold," I said, "will show me Pleasure's way."
+
+But ah! the soil and discord of that way,
+Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal,
+Dead to the best impulses of their youth,
+Blind to the azure beauty of the skies;
+Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love,
+They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.
+
+Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height,
+Saying: "Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way,
+She with the yearning eyes so full of Love,
+Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal."
+Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies
+Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth,
+Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's goal,
+Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies
+Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth.
+
+
+
+
+=The Optimist=
+
+
+The fields were bleak and sodden. Not a wing
+Or note enlivened the depressing wood,
+A soiled and sullen, stubborn snowdrift stood
+Beside the roadway. Winds came muttering
+Of storms to be, and brought the chilly sting
+Of icebergs in their breath. Stalled cattle mooed
+Forth plaintive pleadings for the earth's green food.
+No gleam, no hint of hope in anything.
+
+The sky was blank and ashen, like the face
+Of some poor wretch who drains life's cup too fast.
+Yet, swaying to and fro, as if to fling
+About chilled Nature its lithe arms of grace,
+Smiling with promise in the wintry blast,
+The optimistic Willow spoke of spring.
+
+
+
+
+=The Pessimist=
+
+
+The pessimistic locust, last to leaf,
+Though all the world is glad, still talks of grief.
+
+
+
+
+=The Hammock's Complaint=
+
+
+Who thinks how desolate and strange
+To me must seem the autumn's change,
+When housed in attic or in chest,
+A lonely and unwilling guest,
+I lie through nights of bleak December,
+And think in silence, and remember.
+
+I think of hempen fields, where I
+Once played with insects floating by,
+And joyed alike in sun and rain,
+Unconscious of approaching pain.
+I dwell upon my later lot,
+Where, swung in some secluded spot
+Between two tried and trusted trees,
+All summer long I wooed the breeze.
+With song of bee and call of bird
+And lover's secrets overheard,
+And sight and scent of blooming flowers,
+To fill the happy sunlight's hours.
+When verdant fields grow bare and brown,
+When forest leaves come raining down,
+When frost has mated with the weather
+And all the birds go south together,
+When drying boats turn up their keels,
+Who wonders how the hammock feels?
+
+
+
+
+=Life's Harmonies=
+
+
+Let no man pray that he know not sorrow,
+  Let no soul ask to be free from pain,
+For the gall of to-day is the sweet of to-morrow,
+  And the moment's loss is the lifetime's gain.
+
+Through want of a thing does its worth redouble,
+  Through hunger's pangs does the feast content,
+And only the heart that has harbored trouble,
+  Can fully rejoice when joy is sent.
+
+Let no man shrink from the bitter tonics
+  Of grief, and yearning, and need, and strife,
+For the rarest chords in the soul's harmonies,
+  Are found in the minor strains of life.
+
+
+
+
+=Preaching vs. Practice=
+
+
+It is easy to sit in the sunshine
+  And talk to the man in the shade;
+It is easy to float in a well-trimmed boat,
+  And point out the places to wade.
+
+But once we pass into the shadows,
+  We murmur and fret and frown,
+And, our length from the bank, we shout for a plank,
+  Or throw up our hands and go down.
+
+It is easy to sit in your carriage,
+  And counsel the man on foot,
+But get down and walk, and you'll change your talk,
+  As you feel the peg in your boot.
+
+It is easy to tell the toiler
+  How best he can carry his pack,
+But no one can rate a burden's weight
+  Until it has been on his back.
+
+The up-curled mouth of pleasure,
+  Can prate of sorrow's worth,
+But give it a sip, and a wryer lip,
+  Was never made on earth.
+
+
+
+
+=An Old Man To His Sleeping Young Bride=
+
+
+As when the old moon lighted by the tender
+  And radiant crescent of the new is seen,
+And for a moment's space suggests the splendor
+  Of what in its full prime it once has been,
+So on my waning years you cast the glory
+  Of youth and pleasure, for a little hour;
+And life again seems like an unread story,
+  And joy and hope both stir me with their power.
+
+Can blooming June be fond of bleak December?
+  I dare not wait to hear my heart reply.
+I will forget the question--and remember
+  Alone the priceless feast spread for mine eye,
+That radiant hair that flows across the pillows,
+  Like shimmering sunbeams over drifts of snow;
+Those heaving breasts, like undulating billows,
+  Whose dangers or delights but Love can know.
+
+That crimson mouth from which sly Cupid borrowed
+  The pattern for his bow, nor asked consent;
+That smooth, unruffled brow which has not sorrowed--
+  All these are mine; should I not be content?
+Yet are these treasures mine, or only lent me?
+  And who shall claim them when I pass away?
+Oh, jealous Fate, to torture and torment me
+  With thoughts like these in my too fleeting day!
+
+For while I gained the prize which all were seeking,
+  And won you with the ardor of my quest,
+The bitter truth I know without your speaking--
+  _You only let me love you at the best_.
+E'en while I lean and count my riches over,
+  And view with gloating eyes your priceless charms,
+I know somewhere there dwells the unnamed lover
+  Who yet shall clasp you, willing, in his arms.
+
+And while my hands stray through your clustering tresses,
+  And while my lips are pressed upon your own,
+This unseen lover waits for such caresses
+  As my poor hungering clay has never known,
+And when some day, between you and your duty
+  A green grave lies, his love shall make you glad,
+And you shall crown him with your splendid beauty--
+  Ah, God! ah, God! 'tis this way men go mad!
+
+
+
+
+=I Am=
+
+
+I know not whence I came,
+  I know not whither I go;
+But the fact stands clear that I am here
+  In this world of pleasure and woe.
+And out of the mist and murk,
+  Another truth shines plain.
+It is in my power each day and hour
+  To add to its joy or its pain.
+
+I know that the earth exists,
+  It is none of my business why.
+I cannot find out what it's all about,
+  I would but waste time to try.
+My life is a brief, brief thing,
+  I am here for a little space.
+And while I stay I would like, if I may,
+  To brighten and better the place.
+
+The trouble, I think, with us all
+  Is the lack of a high conceit.
+If each man thought he was sent to this spot
+  To make it a bit more sweet,
+How soon we could gladden the world.
+  How easily right all wrong.
+If nobody shirked, and each one worked
+  To help his fellows along.
+
+Cease wondering why you came--
+  Stop looking for faults and flaws.
+Rise up to-day in your pride and say,
+  "I am part of the First Great Cause!
+However full the world
+  There is room for an earnest man.
+It had need of _me_ or I would not be,
+  I am here to strengthen the plan."
+
+
+
+
+=Two Nights=
+
+(Suggested by the lives of Napoleon and Josephine.)
+
+
+I.
+
+One night was full of rapture and delight--
+  Of reunited arms and swooning kisses,
+  And all the unnamed and unnumbered blisses
+Which fond souls find in love of love at night.
+
+Heart beat with heart, and each clung into each
+  With twining arms that did but loose their hold
+  To cling still closer; and fond glances told
+These truths for which there is no uttered speech.
+
+There was sweet laughter and endearing words,
+  Made broken by the kiss that could not wait,
+  And cooing sounds as of dear little birds
+That in spring-time love and woo and mate.
+
+And languid sighs that breathed of love's content
+And all too soon this night of rapture went.
+
+
+II.
+
+One night was full of anguish and of pain,
+  Of nerveless arms and mockery of kisses;
+  And those caresses where one sick heart misses
+The quick response the other cannot feign.
+
+Hands idly clasped and unclasped, and lost hold,
+  And the averted eyes, that turned away,
+  And in whose depths no love nor longing lay,
+The saddest of all truths too plainly told.
+
+There was salt sorrow and the gall of tears,
+  Some useless words that ended in a moan,
+  And a dull dread of long unending years
+When one must walk forever more alone.
+Deep shuddering sighs told more than lips could say;
+And the long night of sorrow wore away.
+
+
+
+
+=Preparation=
+
+
+We must not force events, but rather make
+The heart soil ready for their coming, as
+The earth spreads carpets for the feet of Spring,
+Or, with the strengthening tonic of the frost,
+Prepares for Winter. Should a July noon
+Burst suddenly upon a frozen world
+Small joy would follow, even tho' that world
+Were longing for the Summer. Should the sting
+Of sharp December pierce the heart of June,
+What death and devastation would ensue!
+All things are planned. The most majestic sphere
+That whirls through space is governed and controlled
+By supreme law, as is the blade of grass
+Which through the bursting bosom of the earth
+Creeps up to kiss the light. Poor puny man
+Alone doth strive and battle with the Force
+Which rules all lives and worlds, and he alone
+Demands effect before producing cause.
+How vain the hope! We cannot harvest joy
+Until we sow the seed, and God alone
+Knows when that seed has ripened. Oft we stand
+And watch the ground with anxious brooding eyes
+Complaining of the slow unfruitful yield,
+Not knowing that the shadow of ourselves
+Keeps off the sunlight and delays result.
+Sometimes our fierce impatience of desire
+Doth like a sultry May force tender shoots
+Of half-formed pleasures and unshaped events
+To ripen prematurely, and we reap
+But disappointment; or we rot the germs
+With briny tears ere they have time to grow.
+While stars are born and mighty planets die
+And hissing comets scorch the brow of space
+The Universe keeps its eternal calm.
+Through patient preparation, year on year,
+The earth endures the travail of the Spring
+And Winter's desolation. So our souls
+In grand submission to a higher law
+Should move serene through all the ills of life,
+Believing them masked joys.
+
+
+
+
+=Custer=
+
+=BOOK FIRST=
+
+
+I.
+
+All valor died not on the plains of Troy.
+Awake, my Muse, awake! be thine the joy
+To sing of deeds as dauntless and as brave
+As e'er lent luster to a warrior's grave.
+Sing of that noble soldier, nobler man,
+Dear to the heart of each American.
+Sound forth his praise from sea to listening sea--
+Greece her Achilles claimed, immortal Custer, we.
+
+
+II.
+
+Intrepid are earth's heroes now as when
+The gods came down to measure strength with men.
+Let danger threaten or let duty call,
+And self surrenders to the needs of all;
+Incurs vast perils, or, to save those dear,
+Embraces death without one sigh or tear.
+Life's martyrs still the endless drama play
+Though no great Homer lives to chant their worth to-day.
+
+
+III.
+
+And if he chanted, who would list his songs,
+So hurried now the world's gold-seeking throngs?
+And yet shall silence mantle mighty deeds?
+Awake, dear Muse, and sing though no ear heeds!
+Extol the triumphs, and bemoan the end
+Of that true hero, lover, son and friend
+Whose faithful heart in his last choice was shown--
+Death with the comrades dear, refusing flight alone.
+
+
+IV.
+
+He who was born for battle and for strife
+Like some caged eagle frets in peaceful life;
+So Custer fretted when detained afar
+From scenes of stirring action and of war.
+And as the captive eagle in delight,
+When freedom offers, plumes himself for flight
+And soars away to thunder clouds on high,
+With palpitating wings and wild exultant cry.
+
+
+V.
+
+So lion-hearted Custer sprang to arms,
+And gloried in the conflict's loud alarms.
+But one dark shadow marred his bounding joy;
+And then the soldier vanished, and the boy,
+The tender son, clung close, with sobbing breath,
+To her from whom each parting was new death;
+That mother who like goddesses of old,
+Gave to the mighty Mars, three warriors brave and bold,
+
+
+VI.
+
+Yet who, unlike those martial dames of yore,
+Grew pale and shuddered at the sight of gore.
+A fragile being, born to grace the hearth,
+Untroubled by the conflicts of the earth.
+Some gentle dove who reared young eaglets, might,
+In watching those bold birdlings take their flight,
+Feel what that mother felt who saw her sons
+Rush from her loving arms, to face death-dealing guns.
+
+
+VII.
+
+But ere thy lyre is strung to martial strains
+Of wars which sent our hero o'er the plains,
+To add the cypress to his laureled brow,
+Be brave, my Muse, and darker truths avow.
+Let Justice ask a preface to thy songs,
+Before the Indian's crimes declare his wrongs;
+Before effects, wherein all horrors blend,
+Declare the shameful cause, precursor of the end.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+When first this soil the great Columbus trod,
+He was less like the image of his God
+Than those ingenuous souls, unspoiled by art,
+Who lived so near to Mother Nature's heart;
+Those simple children of the wood and wave,
+As frank as trusting, and as true as brave;
+Savage they were, when on some hostile raid
+(For where is he so high, whom war does not degrade?)
+
+
+IX.
+
+But dark deceit and falsehood's shameless shame
+They had not learned, until the white man came.
+He taught them, too, the lurking devil's joy
+In liquid lies, that lure but to destroy.
+With wily words, as false as they were sweet,
+He spread his snares for unsuspecting feet;
+Paid truth with guile, and trampled in the dust
+Their gentle childlike faith and unaffected trust.
+
+
+X.
+
+And for the sport of idle kings and knaves
+Of Nature's greater noblemen, made slaves.
+Alas, the hour, when the wronged Indian knows
+His seeming benefactors are but foes.
+His kinsmen kidnapped and his lands possessed,
+The demon woke in that untutored breast.
+Four hundred years have rolled upon their way--
+The ruthless demon rules the red man to this day.
+
+
+XI.
+
+If, in the morning of success, that grand
+Invincible discoverer of our land
+Had made no lodge or wigwam desolate
+To carry trophies to the proud and great;
+If on our history's page there were no blot
+Left by the cruel rapine of Cabot,
+Of Verrazin, and Hudson, dare we claim
+The Indian of the plains, to-day had been the same?
+
+
+XII.
+
+For in this brief existence, not alone
+Do our lives gather what our hands have sown,
+But we reap, too, what others long ago
+Sowed, careless of the harvests that might grow.
+Thus hour by hour the humblest human souls
+Inscribe in cipher on unending scrolls,
+The history of nations yet to be;
+Incite fierce bloody wars, to rage from sea to sea,
+
+
+XIII.
+
+Or pave the way to peace. There is no past,
+So deathless are events--results so vast.
+And he who strives to make one act or hour
+Stand separate and alone, needs first the power
+To look upon the breaking wave and say,
+"These drops were bosomed by a cloud to-day,
+And those from far mid-ocean's crest were sent."
+So future, present, past, in one wide sea are blent.
+
+
+=BOOK SECOND=
+
+
+I.
+
+Oh, for the power to call to aid, of mine
+Own humble Muse, the famed and sacred nine.
+Then might she fitly sing, and only then,
+Of those intrepid and unflinching men
+Who knew no homes save ever moving tents,
+And who 'twixt fierce unfriendly elements
+And wild barbarians warred. Yet unfraid,
+Since love impels thy strains, sing, sing, my modest maid.
+
+
+II.
+
+Relate how Custer in midwinter sought
+Far Washita's cold shores; tell why he fought
+With savage nomads fortressed in deep snows.
+Woman, thou source of half the sad world's woes
+And all its joys, what sanguinary strife
+Has vexed the earth and made contention rife
+Because of thee! For, hidden in man's heart,
+Ay, in his very soul, of his true self a part,
+
+
+III.
+
+The natural impulse and the wish belongs
+To win thy favor and redress thy wrongs.
+Alas! for woman, and for man, alas!
+If that dread hour should ever come to pass,
+When, through her new-born passion for control,
+She drives that beauteous impulse from his soul.
+What were her vaunted independence worth
+If to obtain she sells her sweetest rights of birth?
+
+
+IV.
+
+God formed fair woman for her true estate--
+Man's tender comrade, and his equal mate,
+Not his competitor in toil and trade.
+While coarser man, with greater strength was made
+To fight her battles and her rights protect.
+Ay! to protect the rights of earth's elect
+(The virgin maiden and the spotless wife)
+From immemorial time has man laid down his life.
+
+
+V.
+
+And now brave Custer's valiant army pressed
+Across the dangerous desert of the West,
+To rescue fair white captives from the hands
+Of brutal Cheyenne and Comanche bands,
+On Washita's bleak banks. Nine hundred strong
+It moved its slow determined way along,
+Past frontier homes left dark and desolate
+By the wild Indians' fierce and unrelenting hate;
+
+
+VI.
+
+Past forts where ranchmen, strong of heart and bold,
+Wept now like orphaned children as they told,
+With quivering muscles and with anguished breath,
+Of captured wives, whose fate was worse than death;
+Past naked bodies whose disfiguring wounds
+Spoke of the hellish hate of human hounds;
+Past bleaching skeleton and rifled grave,
+On pressed th' avenging host, to rescue and to save.
+
+
+VII.
+
+Uncertain Nature, like a fickle friend,
+(Worse than the foe on whom we may depend)
+Turned on these dauntless souls a brow of wrath
+And hurled her icy jav'lins in their path.
+With treacherous quicksands, and with storms that blight,
+Entrapped their footsteps and confused their sight.
+"Yet on," urged Custer, "on at any cost,
+No hour is there to waste, no moment to be lost."
+
+
+VIII.
+
+Determined, silent, on they rode, and on,
+Like fabled Centaurs, men and steeds seemed one.
+No bugle echoed and no voice spoke near,
+Lest on some lurking Indian's list'ning ear
+The sound might fall. Through swift descending snow
+The stealthy guides crept, tracing out the foe;
+No fire was lighted, and no halt was made
+From haggard gray-lipped dawn till night lent friendly shade.
+
+
+IX.
+
+Then, by the shelt'ring river's bank at last,
+The weary warriors paused for their repast.
+A couch of ice and falling snows for spread
+Made many a suffering soldier's chilling bed.
+They slept to dream of glory and delight,
+While the pale fingers of the pitying night
+Wove ghostly winding sheets for that doomed score
+Who, ere another eve, should sleep to wake no more.
+
+
+X.
+
+But those who slept not, saw with startled eyes
+Far off, athwart dim unprotecting skies,
+Ascending slowly with majestic grace,
+A lustrous rocket, rising out of space.
+"Behold the signal of the foe," cried one,
+The field is lost before the strife's begun.
+Yet no! for see! yon rays spread near and far;
+It is the day's first smile, the radiant morning star.
+
+
+XI.
+
+The long hours counting till the daylight broke,
+In whispered words the restless warriors spoke.
+They talked of battles, but they thought of home
+(For hearts are faithful though the feet may roam).
+Brave Hamilton, all eager for the strife,
+Mused o'er that two-fold mystery--death and life;
+"And when I die," quoth he, "mine be the part
+To fall upon the field, a bullet in my heart."
+
+
+XII.
+
+At break of dawn the scouts crept in to say
+The foe was camped a rifle shot away.
+The baying of a dog, an infant's cry
+Pierced through the air; sleep fled from every eye.
+To horse! to arms! the dead demand the dead!
+Let the grand charge upon the lodge be led!
+Let the Mosaic law, life for a life
+Pay the long standing debt of blood. War to the knife!
+
+
+XIII.
+
+So spake each heart in that unholy rage
+Which fires the brain, when war the thoughts engage.
+War, hideous war, appealing to the worst
+In complex man, and waking that wild thirst
+For human blood which blood alone can slake.
+Yet for their country's safety, and the sake
+Of tortured captives moaning in alarm
+The Indian must be made to fear the law's strong arm.
+
+
+XIV.
+
+A noble vengeance burned in Custer's breast,
+But, as he led his army to the crest,
+Above the wigwams, ready for the charge
+He felt the heart within him, swelling large
+With human pity, as an infant's wail
+Shrilled once again above the wintry gale.
+Then hosts of murdered children seemed to rise;
+And shame his halting thought with sad accusing eyes,
+
+
+XV.
+
+And urge him on to action. Stern of brow
+The just avenger, and the General now,
+He gives the silent signal to the band
+Which, all impatient, waits for his command.
+Cold lips to colder metal press; the air
+Echoes those merry strains which mean despair
+For sleeping chieftain and for toiling squaw,
+But joy to those stern hearts which glory in the law
+
+
+XVI.
+
+Of murder paying murder's awful debt.
+And now four squadrons in one charge are met.
+From east and west, from north and south they come,
+At call of bugle and at roll of drum.
+Their rifles rain hot hail upon the foe,
+Who flee from danger in death's jaws to go.
+The Indians fight like maddened bulls at bay,
+And dying shriek and groan, wound the young ear of day.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+A pallid captive and a white-browed boy
+Add to the tumult piercing cries of joy,
+As forth they fly, with high hope animate.
+A hideous squaw pursues them with her hate;
+Her knife descends with sickening force and sound;
+Their bloody entrails stain the snow-clad ground.
+She shouts with glee, then yells with rage and falls
+Dead by her victims' side, pierced by avenging balls.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+Now war runs riot, carnage reigns supreme.
+All thoughts of mercy fade from Custer's scheme.
+Inhuman methods for inhuman foes,
+Who feed on horrors and exult in woes.
+To conquer and subdue alone remains
+In dealing with the red man on the plains.
+The breast that knows no conscience yields to fear,
+Strike! let the Indian meet his master now and here.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+With thoughts like these was Custer's mind engaged.
+The gentlest are the sternest when enraged.
+All felt the swift contagion of his ire,
+For he was one who could arouse and fire
+The coldest heart, so ardent was his own.
+His fearless eye, his calm intrepid tone,
+Bespoke the leader, strong with conscious power,
+Whom following friends will bless, while foes will curse and cower.
+
+
+XX.
+
+Again they charge! and now among the killed
+Lies Hamilton, his wish so soon fulfilled,
+Brave Elliott pursues across the field
+The flying foe, his own young life to yield.
+But like the leaves in some autumnal gale
+The red men fall in Washita's wild vale.
+Each painted face and black befeathered head
+Still more repulsive seems with death's grim pallor wed.
+
+
+XXI.
+
+New forces gather on surrounding knolls,
+And fierce and fiercer war's red river rolls.
+With bright-hued pennants flying from each lance
+The gayly costumed Kiowas advance.
+And bold Comanches (Bedouins of the land)
+Infuse fresh spirit in the Cheyenne band.
+While from the ambush of some dark ravine
+Flash arrows aimed by hands, unerring and unseen.
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+The hours advance; the storm clouds roll away;
+Still furious and more furious grows the fray.
+The yellow sun makes ghastlier still the sight
+Of painted corpses, staring in its light.
+No longer slaves, but comrades of their griefs,
+The squaws augment the forces of their chiefs.
+They chant weird dirges in a minor key,
+While from the narrow door of wigwam and tepee
+
+[Transcriber's Note: originally the remaining stanzas of Book II were numbered
+incorrectly from here onwards. This has been changed to avoid confusion]
+
+XXIV.
+
+Cold glittering eyes above cold glittering steel
+Their deadly purpose and their hate reveal.
+The click of pistols and the crack of guns
+Proclaim war's daughters dangerous as her sons.
+She who would wield the soldier's sword and lance
+Must be prepared to take the soldier's chance.
+She who would shoot must serve as target, too;
+The battle-frenzied men, infuriate now pursue.
+
+
+XXV.
+
+And blood of warrior, woman and papoose,
+Flow free as waters when some dam breaks loose;
+Consuming fire, the wanton friend of war
+(Whom allies worship and whom foes abhor)
+Now trails her crimson garments through the street,
+And ruin marks the passing of her feet.
+Full three-score lodges smoke upon the plain,
+And all the vale is strewn with bodies of the slain.
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+And those who are not numbered with the dead
+Before all-conquering Custer now are led.
+To soothe their woes, and calm their fears he seeks;
+An Osage guide interprets while he speaks.
+The vanquished captives, humbled, cowed and spent
+Read in the victor's eye his kind intent.
+The modern victor is as kind as brave;
+His captive is his guest, not his insulted slave.
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+Mahwissa, sister of the slaughtered chief
+Of all the Cheyennes, listens; and her grief
+Yields now to hope; and o'er her withered face
+There flits the stealthy cunning of her race.
+Then forth she steps, and thus begins to speak:
+"To aid the fallen and support the weak
+Is man's true province; and to ease the pain
+Of those o'er whom it is his purpose now to reign.
+
+
+XXVIII.
+
+"Let the strong chief unite with theirs his life,
+And take this black-eyed maiden for a wife."
+Then, moving with an air of proud command,
+She leads a dusky damsel by the hand,
+And places her at wondering Custer's side,
+Invoking choicest blessings on the bride
+And all unwilling groom, who thus replies.
+"Fair is the Indian maid, with bright bewildering eyes,
+
+
+XXIX.
+
+"But fairer still is one who, year on year,
+Has borne man's burdens, conquered woman's fear;
+And at my side rode mile on weary mile,
+And faced all deaths, all dangers, with a smile,
+Wise as Minerva, as Diana brave,
+Is she whom generous gods in kindness gave
+To share the hardships of my wandering life,
+Companion, comrade, friend, my loved and loyal wife.
+
+
+XXX.
+
+"The white chief weds but one. Take back thy maid."
+He ceased, and o'er Mahwissa's face a shade
+Of mingled scorn and pity and surprise
+Sweeps as she slow retreats, and thus replies:
+"Rich is the pale-faced chief in battle fame,
+But poor is he who but one wife may claim.
+Wives are the red-skinned heroes' rightful spoil;
+In war they prove his strength, in times of peace they toil."
+
+
+XXXI.
+
+But hark! The bugle echoes o'er the plains
+And sounds again those merry Celtic strains
+Which oft have called light feet to lilting dance,
+But now they mean the order to advance.
+Along the river's bank, beyond the hill
+Two thousand foemen lodge, unconquered still.
+Ere falls night's curtain on this bloody play,
+The army must proceed, with feint of further fray.
+
+
+XXXII.
+
+The weary warriors mount their foam-flecked steeds,
+With flags unfurled the dauntless host proceeds.
+What though the foe outnumbers two to one?
+Boldness achieves what strength oft leaves undone;
+A daring mein will cause brute force to cower,
+And courage is the secret source of power.
+As Custer's column wheels upon their sight
+The frightened red men yield the untried field by flight.
+
+
+XXXIII.
+
+Yet when these conquering heroes sink to rest,
+Dissatisfaction gnaws the leader's breast,
+For far away across vast seas of snows
+Held prisoners still by hostile Arapahoes
+And Cheyennes unsubdued, two captives wait.
+On God and Custer hangs their future fate.
+May the Great Spirit nerve the mortal's arm
+To rescue suffering souls from worse than death's alarm.
+
+
+XXXIV.
+
+But ere they seek to rescue the oppressed,
+The valiant dead, in state, are laid to rest.
+Mourned Hamilton, the faithful and the brave,
+Nine hundred comrades follow to the grave;
+And close behind the banner-hidden corse
+All draped in black, walks mournfully his horse;
+While tears of sound drip through the sunlit day.
+A soldier may not weep, but drums and bugles may.
+
+
+XXXV.
+
+Now, Muse, recount, how after long delays
+And dangerous marches through untrodden ways,
+Where cold and hunger on each hour attend,
+At last the army gains the journey's end.
+An Indian village bursts upon the eye;
+Two hundred lodges, sleep-encompassed lie,
+There captives moan their anguished prayers through tears,
+While in the silent dawn the armied answer nears.
+
+
+XXXVI.
+
+To snatch two fragile victims from the foe
+Nine hundred men have traversed leagues of snow.
+Each woe they suffered in a hostile land
+The flame of vengeance in their bosoms fanned.
+They thirst for slaughter, and the signal wait
+To wrest the captives from their horrid fate.
+Each warrior's hand upon his rifle falls,
+Each savage soldier's heart for awful bloodshed calls.
+
+
+XXXVII.
+
+And one, in years a youth, in woe a man,
+Sad Brewster, scarred by sorrow's blighting ban,
+Looks, panting, where his captive sister sleeps,
+And o'er his face the shade of murder creeps.
+His nostrils quiver like a hungry beast
+Who scents anear the bloody carnal feast.
+He longs to leap down in that slumbering vale
+And leave no foe alive to tell the awful tale.
+
+
+XXXVIII.
+
+Not so, calm Custer. Sick of gory strife,
+He hopes for rescue with no loss of life;
+And plans that bloodless battle of the plains
+Where reasoning mind outwits mere savage brains.
+The sullen soldiers follow where he leads;
+No gun is emptied, and no foeman bleeds.
+Fierce for the fight and eager for the fray
+They look upon their Chief in undisguised dismay.
+
+
+XXXIX.
+
+He hears the murmur of their discontent,
+But sneers can never change a strong mind's bent.
+He knows his purpose and he does not swerve,
+And with a quiet mien and steady nerve
+He meets dark looks where'er his steps may go,
+And silence that is bruising as a blow,
+Where late were smiles and words of ardent praise.
+So pass the lagging weeks of wearying delays.
+
+
+XL.
+
+Inaction is not always what it seems,
+And Custer's mind with plan and project teems.
+Fixed in his peaceful purpose he abides
+With none takes counsel and in none confides;
+But slowly weaves about the foe a net
+Which leaves them wholly at his mercy, yet
+He strikes no fateful blow; he takes no life,
+And holds in check his men, who pant for bloody strife.
+
+
+XLI.
+
+Intrepid warrior and skilled diplomate,
+In his strong hands he holds the red man's fate.
+The craftiest plot he checks with counterplot,
+Till tribe by tribe the tricky foe is brought
+To fear his vengeance and to know his power
+As man's fixed gaze will make a wild beast cower,
+So these crude souls feel that unflinching will
+Which draws them by its force, yet does not deign to kill.
+
+
+XLII.
+
+And one by one the hostile Indians send
+Their chiefs to seek a peaceful treaty's end.
+Great councils follow; skill with cunning copes
+And conquers it; and Custer sees his hopes
+So long delayed, like stars storm hidden, rise
+To radiate with splendor all his skies.
+The stubborn Cheyennes, cowed at last by fear,
+Leading the captive pair, o'er spring-touched hills appear.
+
+
+XLIII.
+
+With breath suspended, now the whole command
+Waits the approach of that equestrian band.
+Nearer it comes, still nearer, then a cry,
+Half sob, half shriek, goes piercing God's blue sky,
+And Brewster, like a nimble-footed doe,
+Or like an arrow hurrying from a bow,
+Shoots swiftly through the intervening space
+And that lost sister clasps, in sorrowing love's embrace.
+
+
+XLIV.
+
+And men who leaned o'er Hamilton's rude bier
+And saw his dead dear face without a tear,
+Strong souls who early learned the manly art
+Of keeping from the eye what's in the heart,
+Soldiers who look unmoved on death's pale brow,
+Avert their eyes, to hide their moisture now.
+The briny flood forced back from shores of woe,
+Needs but to touch the strands of joy to overflow.
+
+
+XLV.
+
+About the captives welcoming warriors crowd,
+All eyes are wet, and Brewster sobs aloud.
+Alas, the ravage wrought by toil and woe
+On faces that were fair twelve moons ago.
+Bronzed by exposure to the heat and cold,
+Still young in years, yet prematurely old,
+By insults humbled and by labor worn,
+They stand in youth's bright hour, of all youth's graces shorn.
+
+
+XLVI.
+
+A scanty garment rudely made of sacks
+Hangs from their loins; bright blankets drape their backs;
+About their necks are twisted tangled strings
+Of gaudy beads, while tinkling wire and rings
+Of yellow brass on wrists and fingers glow.
+Thus, to assuage the anger of the foe
+The cunning Indians decked the captive pair
+Who in one year have known a lifetime of despair.
+
+
+XLVII.
+
+But love can resurrect from sorrow's tomb
+The vanished beauty and the faded bloom,
+As sunlight lifts the bruised flower from the sod,
+Can lift crushed hearts to hope, for love is God.
+Already now in freedom's glad release
+The hunted look of fear gives place to peace,
+And in their eyes at thought of home appears
+That rainbow light of joy which brightest shines through tears.
+
+
+XLVIII.
+
+About the leader thick the warriors crowd;
+Late loud in censure, now in praises loud,
+They laud the tactics, and the skill extol
+Which gained a bloodless yet a glorious goal.
+Alone and lonely in the path of right
+Full many a brave soul walks. When gods requite
+And crown his actions as their worth demands,
+Among admiring throngs the hero always stands.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+XLIX.
+
+Back to the East the valorous squadrons sweep;
+The earth, arousing from her long, cold sleep,
+Throws from her breast the coverlet of snow,
+Revealing Spring's soft charms which lie below.
+Suppressed emotions in each heart arise,
+The wooer wakens and the warrior dies.
+The bird of prey is vanquished by the dove,
+And thoughts of bloody strife give place to thoughts of love.
+
+
+L.
+
+The mighty plains, devoid of whispering trees,
+Guard well the secrets of departed seas.
+Where once great tides swept by with ebb and flow
+The scorching sun looks down in tearless woe.
+And fierce tornadoes in ungoverned pain
+Mourn still the loss of that mysterious main.
+Across this ocean bed the soldiers fly--
+Home is the gleaming goal that lures each eager eye.
+
+
+LI.
+
+Like some elixir which the gods prepare,
+They drink the viewless tonic of the air,
+Sweet with the breath of startled antelopes
+Which speed before them over swelling slopes.
+Now like a serpent writhing o'er the moor,
+The column curves and makes a slight detour,
+As Custer leads a thousand men away
+To save a ground bird's nest which in the footpath lay.
+
+
+LII.
+
+Mile following mile, against the leaning skies
+Far off they see a dull dark cloud arise.
+The hunter's instinct in each heart is stirred,
+Beholding there in one stupendous herd
+A hundred thousand buffaloes. Oh great
+Unwieldy proof of Nature's cruder state,
+Rough remnant of a prehistoric day,
+Thou, with the red man, too, must shortly pass away.
+
+
+LIII.
+
+Upon those spreading plains is there not room
+For man and bison, that he seals its doom?
+What pleasure lies and what seductive charm
+In slaying with no purpose but to harm?
+Alas, that man, unable to create,
+Should thirst forever to exterminate,
+And in destruction find his fiercest joy.
+The gods alone create, gods only should destroy.
+
+
+LIV.
+
+The flying hosts a straggling bull pursue;
+Unerring aim, the skillful Custer drew.
+The wounded beast turns madly in despair
+And man and horse are lifted high in air.
+The conscious steed needs not the guiding rein;
+Back with a bound and one quick cry of pain
+He springs, and halts, well knowing where must fall
+In that protected frame, the sure death dealing ball.
+
+
+LV.
+
+With minds intent upon the morrow's feast,
+The men surround the carcass of the beast.
+Rolled on his back, he lies with lolling tongue,
+Soon to the saddle savory steaks are hung.
+And from his mighty head, great tufts of hair
+Are cut as trophies for some lady fair.
+To vultures then they leave the torn remains
+Of what an hour ago was monarch of the plains.
+
+
+LVI.
+
+Far off, two bulls in jealous war engage,
+Their blood-shot eye balls roll in furious rage;
+With maddened hoofs they mutilate the ground
+And loud their angry bellowings resound;
+With shaggy heads bent low they plunge and roar,
+Till both broad bellies drip with purple gore.
+Meanwhile, the heifer, whom the twain desire,
+Stands browsing near the pair, indifferent to their ire.
+
+
+LVII.
+
+At last she lifts her lazy head and heeds
+The clattering hoofs of swift advancing steeds.
+Off to the herd with cumb'rous gait she runs
+And leaves the bulls to face the threatening guns.
+No more for them the free life of the plains,
+Its mating pleasures and its warring pains.
+Their quivering flesh shall feed unnumbered foes,
+Their tufted tails adorn the soldiers' saddle bows.
+
+
+LVIII.
+
+Now into camp the conquering hosts advance;
+On burnished arms the brilliant sunbeams glance.
+Brave Custer leads, blonde as the gods of old;
+Back from his brow blow clustering locks of gold,
+And, like a jewel in a brook, there lies,
+Far in the depths of his blue guarded eyes,
+The thought of one whose smiling lips up-curled,
+Mean more of joy to him than plaudits of the world.
+
+
+LIX.
+
+The troops in columns of platoons appear
+Close to the leader following. Ah, here
+The poetry of war is fully seen,
+Its prose forgotten; as against the green
+Of Mother Nature, uniformed in blue,
+The soldiers pass for Sheridan's review.
+The motion-music of the moving throng,
+Is like a silent tune, set to a wordless song.
+
+
+LX.
+
+The guides and trailers, weird in war's array,
+Precede the troops along the grassy way.
+They chant wild songs, and with loud noise and stress,
+In savage manner savage joy express.
+The Indian captives, blanketed in red,
+On ponies mounted, by the scouts are led.
+Like sumach bushes, etched on evening skies,
+Against the blue-clad troops, this patch of color lies.
+
+
+LXI.
+
+High o'er the scene vast music billows bound,
+And all the air is liquid with the sound
+Of those invisible compelling waves.
+Perchance they reach the low and lonely graves
+Where sleep brave Elliott and Hamilton,
+And whisper there the tale of victory won;
+Or do the souls of soldiers tried and true
+Come at the bugle call, and march in grand review?
+
+
+LXII.
+
+The pleased Commander watches in surprise
+This splendid pageant surge before his eyes.
+Not in those mighty battle days of old
+Did scenes like this upon his sight unfold.
+But now it passes. Drums and bugles cease
+To dash war billows on the shores of Peace.
+The victors smile on fair broad bosomed Sleep
+While in her soothing arms, the vanquished cease to weep.
+
+
+=BOOK THIRD=
+
+[There is an interval of eight years between Books Second and Third.]
+
+
+I.
+
+As in the long dead days marauding hosts
+Of Indians came from far Siberian coasts,
+And drove the peaceful Aztecs from their grounds,
+Despoiled their homes (but left their tell-tale mounds),
+So has the white man with the Indians done.
+Now with their backs against the setting sun
+The remnants of a dying nation stand
+And view the lost domain, once their beloved land.
+
+
+II.
+
+Upon the vast Atlantic's leagues of shore
+The happy red man's tent is seen no more;
+And from the deep blue lakes which mirror heaven
+His bounding bark canoe was long since driven.
+The mighty woods, those temples where his God
+Spoke to his soul, are leveled to the sod;
+And in their place tall church spires point above,
+While priests proclaim the law of Christ, the King of Love.
+
+
+III.
+
+The avaricious and encroaching rail
+Seized the wide fields which knew the Indian's trail.
+Back to the reservations in the West
+The native owners of the land were pressed,
+And selfish cities, harbingers of want,
+Shut from their vision each accustomed haunt.
+Yet hungry Progress, never satisfied,
+Gazed on the western plains, and gazing, longed and sighed.
+
+
+IV.
+
+As some strange bullock in a pasture field
+Compels the herds to fear him, and to yield
+The juicy grass plots and the cooling shade
+Until, despite their greater strength, afraid,
+They huddle in some corner spot and cower
+Before the monarch's all controlling power,
+So has the white man driven from its place
+By his aggressive greed, Columbia's native race.
+
+
+V.
+
+Yet when the bull pursues the herds at bay,
+Incensed they turn, and dare dispute his sway.
+And so the Indians turned, when men forgot
+Their sacred word, and trespassed on the spot.
+The lonely little spot of all their lands,
+The reservation of the peaceful bands.
+But lust for gold all conscience kills in man,
+"Gold in the Black Hills, gold!" the cry arose and ran
+
+
+VI.
+
+From lip to lip, as flames from tree to tree
+Leap till the forest is one fiery sea,
+And through the country surged that hot unrest
+Which thirst for riches wakens in the breast.
+In mighty throngs the fortune hunters came,
+Despoiled the red man's lands and slew his game,
+Broke solemn treaties and defied the law.
+And all these ruthless acts the Nation knew and saw.
+
+
+VII.
+
+Man is the only animal that kills
+Just for the wanton love of slaughter; spills
+The blood of lesser things to see it flow;
+Lures like a friend, to murder like a foe
+The trusting bird and beast; and, coward like,
+Deals covert blows he dare not boldly strike.
+The brutes have finer souls, and only slay
+When torn by hunger's pangs, or when to fear a prey.
+
+
+VIII.
+
+The pale-faced hunter, insolent and bold,
+Pursued the bison while he sought for gold.
+And on the hungry red man's own domains
+He left the rotting and unused remains
+To foul with sickening stench each passing wind
+And rouse the demon in the savage mind,
+Save in the heart where virtues dominate
+Injustice always breeds its natural offspring--hate.
+
+
+IX.
+
+The chieftain of the Sioux, great Sitting Bull,
+Mused o'er their wrongs, and felt his heart swell full
+Of bitter vengeance. Torn with hate's unrest
+He called a council and his braves addressed.
+"From fair Wisconsin's shimmering lakes of blue
+Long years ago the white man drove the Sioux.
+Made bold by conquest, and inflamed by greed,
+He still pursues our tribes, and still our ranks recede.
+
+
+X.
+
+"Fair are the White Chief's promises and words,
+But dark his deeds who robs us of our herds.
+He talks of treaties, asks the right to buy,
+Then takes by force, not waiting our reply.
+He grants us lands for pastures and abodes
+To devastate them by his iron roads.
+But now from happy Spirit Lands, a friend
+Draws near the hunted Sioux, to strengthen and defend.
+
+
+XI.
+
+"While walking in the fields I saw a star;
+Unconsciously I followed it afar--
+It led me on to valleys filled with light,
+Where danced our noble chieftains slain in fight.
+Black Kettle, first of all that host I knew,
+He whom the strong armed Custer foully slew.
+And then a spirit took me by the hand,
+The Great Messiah King who comes to free the land.
+
+
+XII.
+
+"Suns were his eyes, a speaking tear his voice,
+Whose rainbow sounds made listening hearts rejoice
+And thus he spake: 'The red man's hour draws near
+When all his lost domains shall reappear.
+The elk, the deer, the bounding antelope,
+Shall here return to grace each grassy slope.'
+He waved his hand above the fields, and lo!
+Down through the valleys came a herd of buffalo.
+
+
+XIII.
+
+"The wondrous vision vanished, but I knew
+That Sitting Bull must make the promise true.
+Great Spirits plan what mortal man achieves,
+The hand works magic when the heart believes.
+Arouse, ye braves! let not the foe advance.
+Arm for the battle and begin the dance--
+The sacred dance in honor of our slain,
+Who will return to earth, ere many moons shall wane."
+
+
+XIV.
+
+Thus Sitting Bull, the chief of wily knaves,
+Worked on the superstitions of his braves.
+Mixed truth with lies; and stirred to mad unrest
+The warlike instinct in each savage breast.
+A curious product of unhappy times,
+The natural offspring of unnumbered crimes,
+He used low cunning and dramatic arts
+To startle and surprise those crude untutored hearts.
+
+
+XV.
+
+Out from the lodges pour a motley throng,
+Slow measures chanting of a dirge-like song.
+In one great circle dizzily they swing,
+A squaw and chief alternate in the ring.
+Coarse raven locks stream over robes of white,
+Their deep set orbs emit a lurid light,
+And as through pine trees moan the winds refrains,
+So swells and dies away, the ghostly graveyard strains.
+
+
+XVI.
+
+Like worded wine is music to the ear,
+And long-indulged makes mad the hearts that hear.
+The dancers, drunken with the monotone
+Of oft repeated notes, now shriek and groan
+And pierce their ruddy flesh with sharpened spears;
+Still more excited when the blood appears,
+With warlike yells, high in the air they bound,
+Then in a deathlike trance fall prostrate on the ground.
+
+
+XVII.
+
+They wake to tell weird stories of the dead,
+While fresh performers to the ring are led.
+The sacred nature of the dance is lost,
+War is their cry, red war, at any cost.
+Insane for blood they wait for no command,
+But plunge marauding through the frightened land.
+Their demon hearts on devils' pleasures bent,
+For each new foe surprised, new torturing deaths invent.
+
+
+XVIII.
+
+Staked to the earth one helpless creature lies,
+Flames at his feet and splinters in his eyes.
+Another groans with coals upon his breast,
+While 'round the pyre the Indians dance and jest.
+A crying child is brained upon a tree,
+The swooning mother saved from death, to be
+The slave and plaything of a filthy knave,
+Whose sins would startle hell, whose clay defile a grave.
+
+
+XIX.
+
+Their cause was right, their methods all were wrong.
+Pity and censure both to them belong.
+Their woes were many, but their crimes were more.
+The soulless Satan holds not in his store
+Such awful tortures as the Indians' wrath
+Keeps for the hapless victim in his path.
+And if the last lone remnants of that race
+Were by the white man swept from off the earth's fair face,
+
+
+XX.
+
+Were every red man slaughtered in a day,
+Still would that sacrifice but poorly pay
+For one insulted woman captive's woes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Again great Custer in his strength arose,
+More daring, more intrepid than of old.
+The passing years had touched and turned to gold
+The ever widening aureole of fame
+That shone upon his brow, and glorified his name.
+
+
+XXI.
+
+Wise men make laws, then turn their eyes away,
+While fools and knaves ignore them day by day;
+And unmolested, fools and knaves at length
+Induce long wars which sap a country's strength.
+The sloth of leaders, ruling but in name,
+Has dragged full many a nation down to shame.
+A word unspoken by the rightful lips
+Has dyed the land with blood, and blocked the sea with ships.
+
+
+XXII.
+
+The word withheld, when Indians asked for aid,
+Came when the red man started on his raid.
+What Justice with a gesture might have done
+Was left for noisy war with bellowing gun.
+And who save Custer and his gallant men
+Could calm the tempest into peace again?
+What other hero in the land could hope
+With Sitting Bull, the fierce and lawless one to cope?
+
+
+XXIII.
+
+What other warrior skilled enough to dare
+Surprise that human tiger in his lair?
+Sure of his strength, unconscious of his fame
+Out from the quiet of the camp he came;
+And stately as Diana at his side
+Elizabeth, his wife and alway bride,
+And Margaret, his sister, rode apace;
+Love's clinging arms he left to meet death's cold embrace.
+
+
+XXIV.
+
+As the bright column wound along its course,
+The smiling leader turned upon his horse
+To gaze with pride on that superb command.
+Twelve hundred men, the picked of all the land,
+Innured to hardship and made strong by strife
+Their lithe limbed bodies breathed of out-door life;
+While on their faces, resolute and brave,
+Hope stamped its shining seal, although their thoughts were grave.
+
+
+XXV.
+
+The sad eyed women halted in the dawn,
+And waved farewell to dear ones riding on.
+The modest mist picked up her robes and ran
+Before the Sun god's swift pursuing van.
+And suddenly there burst on startled eyes,
+The sight of soldiers, marching in the skies;
+That phantom host, a phantom Custer led;
+Mirage of dire portent, forecasting days ahead.
+
+
+XXVI.
+
+The soldier's children, flaunting mimic flags,
+Played by the roadside, striding sticks for nags.
+Their mothers wept, indifferent to the crowd
+Who saw their tears and heard them sob aloud.
+Old Indian men and squaws crooned forth a rhyme
+Sung by their tribes from immemorial time;
+And over all the drums' incessant beat
+Mixed with the scout's weird rune, and tramp of myriad feet.
+
+
+XXVII.
+
+So flawless was the union of each part
+The mighty column (moved as by one heart)
+Pulsed through the air, like some sad song well sung,
+Which gives delight, although the soul is wrung.
+Farther and fainter to the sight and sound
+The beautiful embodied poem wound;
+Till like a ribbon, stretched across the land
+Seemed the long narrow line of that receding band.
+
+
+XXVIII.
+
+The lot of those who in the silence wait
+Is harder than the fighting soldiers' fate.
+Back to the lonely post two women passed,
+With unaccustomed sorrow overcast.
+Two sad for sighs, too desolate for tears,
+The dark forebodings of long widowed years
+In preparation for the awful blow
+Hung on the door of hope the sable badge of woe.
+
+
+XXIX.
+
+Unhappy Muse! for thee no song remains,
+Save the sad miséréré of the plains.
+Yet though defeat, not triumph, ends the tale,
+Great victors sometimes are the souls that fail.
+All glory lies not in the goals we reach,
+But in the lessons which our actions teach.
+And he who, conquered, to the end believes
+In God and in himself, though vanquished, still achieves.
+
+
+XXX.
+
+Ah, grand as rash was that last fatal raid
+The little group of daring heroes made.
+Two hundred and two score intrepid men
+Rode out to war; not one came back again.
+Like fiends incarnate from the depths of hell
+Five thousand foemen rose with deafening yell,
+And swept that vale as with a simoon's breath,
+But like the gods of old, each martyr met his death.
+
+
+XXXI.
+
+Like gods they battled and like gods they died.
+Hour following hour that little band defied
+The hordes of red men swarming o'er the plain,
+Till scarce a score stood upright 'mid the slain.
+Then in the lull of battle, creeping near,
+A scout breathed low in Custer's listening ear:
+"_Death lies before, dear life remains behind
+Mount thy sure-footed steed, and hasten with the wind_."
+
+
+XXXII.
+
+A second's silence. Custer dropped his head,
+His lips slow moving as when prayers are said--
+Two words he breathed--"God and Elizabeth,"
+Then shook his long locks in the face of death,
+And with a final gesture turned away
+To join that fated few who stood at bay.
+Ah! deeds like that the Christ in man reveal
+Let Fame descend her throne at Custer's shrine to kneel.
+
+
+XXXIII.
+
+Too late to rescue, but in time to weep,
+His tardy comrades came. As if asleep
+He lay, so fair, that even hellish hate
+Withheld its hand and dared not mutilate.
+By fiends who knew not honor, honored still,
+He smiled and slept on that far western hill.
+Cast down thy lyre, oh Muse! thy song is done!
+Let tears complete the tale of him who failed, yet won.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Custer, and Other Poems., by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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