Biii 1111111 wBIIIm H #?t :¥;?;« 'f«a S If you will but stay and listen You may hear again the tune, And Old Age's bleak December May become as glad as June. For the world is ever flowering And some have learned to know That the fairest, richest blossoms Are watered by the snow. A LIBRARY A Library! no words can fully show The debt a chosen library we owe. There in a more than magic glass we trace The long, inspiring progress of the race ; There saints and heroes in succession rise, Again the patriot lives, the martyr dies; There all the good their virtues still display, And point us onward in the nobler way ; There all the wise to counsel us attend, And all the kind are ready to befriend ; There e'en the bad, stripped of their power to harm, Show vice revolting and lend virtue charm. A library is the great meeting place Of all the teachers of the human race ; There they in sovereign dignity debate The mighty problems of man's present state, And slowly blending all their jarring words, They form mind's deep and permanent accords. Ships bring the wealth of distant climes to ours, But books are gifted with far greater powers ; Oblivion's sea these fairy galleons sail, And o'er dissevering centuries prevail; Time's deluge drowns all else that man has wrought, But these small arks bear on his living thought, Bear it at last to earth's remotest shore, For truth, once launched, sails on forevermore. m THE GOLDEN TONGUE We are heirs to the noblest speech of man, The perfect blending of North and South, To the strength in the Saxon blood that ran, To the grace that flowed from the Roman mouth. As when iron and silver are fused in a bell More strongly and sweetly its echoes swell, So the Master Musician has blent in one All notes of all nations beneath the sun And made a language whose harmonies Have never been equaled beneath the skies ; But the law it is, and the law is just, That a bell unused is a prey to rust ; Then let our bell give the world our story, And ring as of old to the Maker's glory. To the tribes that, monkey-like, chatter and screech, Let us give the great gift of our human speech; To the jargoning races we owe the boon Of a language that flows in perfect tune. Let us bring them words that are sweet with song, And words that are made by virtue strong, Words that are each like a casket of gold Some jewel of thought or faith to hold; Let us give them more than mechanic arts, Give of our treasure, our heart of hearts, Give of the tongue that is now the shrine Of all things on earth the most divine; I would that were hushed the Babel of sound, And that English were spoken the whole world round One weight, one measure, one law, one coin, One language should man to his brother join, One fellowship should all men embrace, One hope and endeavor guide all the race. 126 THE GOLDEN TONGUE 127 Science and faith have made us wise, Let us teach the world which in darkness lies ; Where oil is bestowed let the lamp be bright, For God soon quenches a hidden light. God's goodness has planted upon this soil The ripened fruit of the whole world's toil, He has said that the seed must be sown by our hands In the desolate places and barren lands ; For the law it is, be it not forgot, That the unsown seed in the bin shall rot. We are heirs to the virtues of all the earth, Of the artist Greek and the prophet Jew, Of the old Norse valor and conquering worth, Of the Saxon patience to think and do ; With the strength of the world God has made us strong, But a strength not used against the wrong Will wither and dwindle and die erelong, — Such is the high, eternal decree, So runs the dread law of destiny. LONGFELLOW A BIRTHDAY POEM, FEBRUARY 27, 1898 There are poets who sing of fables, Of strange, enchanted isles Where flowers are ever blooming And summer always smiles, And we love their pleasing fancies, And their tales of constant youth, And we think their wild day dreamings Are but shadows of the truth. There are poets who sing of Nature, Poets gentle and wise, Who ever " consider the lily," That gladdens heart and eyes. There are poets who sing of heaven, And for heaven we long and pray, And we love to hear of its glories Though it seems so far away. There are many noble poets, There is many a treasured tome, But we prize the poet the highest Who sings the best of home. The Old World has its epics Of passion and of pride With their clang of arms and armor, As the mailed champions ride. The Old World has its dramas Of grim relentless Fate, Of high Ambition's tragic fall, And rivals' greed and hate. 138 LONGFELLOW 129 But the world took a step forward On that December day When a few home-loving pilgrims Sailed into Plymouth bay. They brought, though they did not know it, For none reads the mind of Time, Their birthright in a poet, The sweetest son of rhyme. Two hundred mellowing years Passed slowly o'er the earth Ere Nature saw that the race was ripe To give that poet birth. New England's pious rigor Was softened into grace, And its narrow conscience widened To give gentler virtues place. Time's busy, tireless hand Each harsher line subdued, And steadily the eye of Time A richer beauty viewed. Till at last Time made a man Compact of graces rare, In whom heart and brain and conscience Had each its rightful share. The seer's keen-eyed vision For truth both new and old, The prophet's living conscience That makes the prophet bold, III— 9 130 LONGFELLOW The artist's dreams of beauty, And the singer's ear for sound, And the scholar's lofty phrase In him alike were found. And above all other graces, His heart was pure and mild, And his rich manhood never lost The sweetness of a child. And so as years roll onward, With ever fuller tide Affection's tributes gather To the bard of the ingleside. That day in February Through all the Union great With songs and with rejoicings The children celebrate. On the calendar it shineth, That twenty-seventh day, For then the school-room lessons Are as good as hours of play. The winter's reign seems ended, And like the life of spring Are the poet's flowers of fancy And his music's carolling. And when Time's winter endeth, And the world again grows young, It will be because in her sadness The hopeful poets have sung. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW So kind and simple are his words, he seems Like one who takes a loved child by the hand, And, sympathizing with his eager dreams, Leads him along through a delightful land. His heart was pure and lifted him above All wayward impulse and all lower aim, He sung of gracious courtship and true love, And cherished only the domestic flame. He stood beside the workman at his task, As at the forge or potter's wheel he wrought, And, answering questions that the heart will ask, The meaning of life's various toils he taught. And yet he looked beyond life's daily round, And ne'er forgot man's higher destinies ; Like that sweet bird whose nest is on the ground, He singing soared, and drew us to the skies. That early faith that saw that with the grain Death also reaps the fair unfolding flower Only that it in heaven may bloom again, Abode and strengthened to his latest hour. And in those closing years when one by one Departed from him every cherished friend, He calmly said that they before had gone, And did not dream that friendship had an end. In age he saw no shadows of the night, But to his passing hour he held the pen, And " Daybreak and the world rolls into light " Was the last message that he gave to men. 131 132 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW The mother land received him as her son, And 'mid her bards and heroes gave him place, And showed the world how much our poet has done To strengthen ties that bind the Saxon race. His name is blazoned on the historic wall, His tablet rests 'mid warriors and kings, Around him all the antique splendors fall, And every day the pilgrim's homage brings.* O, kindly poet ! England has honored thee, But yet thou hast at home a nobler shrine ; Now and through all the ages yet to be The heart of all America is thine. * Longfellow and Lowell are the only foreign poets whose cenotaphs have been admitted to Westminster Abbey, the resting place of England's most honored dead. LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA He that reads these Indian legends, Reads them with a right attention, Reads them with true understanding, Learns the mystery of suffering, Learns the ministry of sorrow, Learns the secret of existence, Learns the greatest, highest lesson, Learns the lesson of God's goodness, Of God's deep, unchanging goodness. This the function of the drama, This the purpose of the epic ; Hiawatha is an epic, One of the world's greatest epics One that opens understandings, One that purifies affections, One that nerves to nobler actions. Some have sneered at Hiawatha, Sneered at Hiawatha's maker, Said he borrowed all his fancies, Borrowed all his words of wisdom, Borrowed all his tropes and figures, Borrowed all his songs and measures, Said his strains were artificial, Said his pipings were but echoes, Borrowed notes and imitative, Like the singing of the starling, Like the voice of saucy magpie, Like the words of foolish parrot. Silly people or malicious They who speak in such a manner, 133 134 LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA Knowing not the artist's nature, Knowing not the ways of craftsmen, Knowing not how all men's buildings Must be laid upon foundations. Every man learns from forerunners, Learns from wisdom of the ages. Even he the prince of poets Learned from every predecessor ; None of Shakespeare's plots are Shakespeare's, Borrowed all from earlier poets, Gathered from the old romances, Gathered from the dull historians, Gathered from the monkish legends, Gathered from rude ballad makers. All as old as human nature Are the plots of William Shakespeare, All are as new as new-born children Are the workings of his fancy. Time had tarnished what he gathered, Or unknown to English people Still it slept in alien language, Or the thought was half developed, Crudely uttered all the passion. And he showed the latent meanings, Drew the coarse lines into fineness, Gave the characters new motives, Turned the harsh words into music ; So he changed the old traditions, So transformed them into beauty, Changed from creeping things to soaring All the old imperfect stories, Still preserving some old outlines Yet transmuting flints to jewels. LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA 135 Wonderful the power of genius ; All it touches turns to treasure ; Mightier is the poet than Midas, For the base things he makes golden Are more useful when transmuted. Better bread to feed the hungry, Better clothing for the naked, Better medicine for the sick ones, Better couches for the weary, Come by adding grace and beauty ; Nothing ever is so useful That it is not helped by beauty. We arise from the perusal Of the song of Hiawatha Loving more the poet, the maker, Loving more the merry gleeman, Loving more the gentle minstrel, Loving more the simple singer, Loving more the shepherd's piping, Loving more the lover's luting, Loving more guitar and tabor, Loving less the war drum's rattle, Loving less the blaring trumpet, Loving less the clanging cymbal, Loving more the great world organs, Loving more the bards prophetic, Loving most man's truest helpers. Poets make all coarse things finer, Bring all jarring notes to concord, Find the clue to all the mazes, Loosen every knot and tangle, Search out Nature's closest secrets, 136 LESSONS LEARNED PROM HIAWATHA Lift men up from their despairings; Teach religion to the nations, Teach the nations laws of duty, Teach the nations laws of kindness, Fill mankind with higher purpose, Lead mankind forever forward, Pointing to the higher future And the distant goal of progress. Well the poet is called the maker, For he makes men's natures better, Makes them lay aside the brutish, Makes them seek to be more godlike. Great things does he by his singing, By the glories of his visions, By the wonders of his wisdom; Hiawatha's maker gathered From the lore of all the ages, Gathered from ten thousand sources, Drew into his net of learning Pearls from every shore of ocean, Gathered his bouquet of flowers From the blooms of every garden, Drank from every fount of wisdom, Caught the notes of each musician, Learned the secrets of each thinker. Wisely Hiawatha's maker Used his vast accumulations, Like the architect who quarries Everywhere the choicest marbles, Cuts his cedars from the forests, Brings his metals from the mountain, LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA 13? Shapes each to its highest beauty, Orders all with some new purpose, Unifies all he has gathered, Sends his own soul thrilling through them. Poor and crude all that he borrowed, Rich and finished all he gave us ; All his sources were forgotten, All his books were laid on one side, When he set his pen to paper : He forgot all other singers, He sung only from his feelings, Sung from his own surging fancies, Sung from his own deep emotions, Sung from his own close observings Of the wondrous course of Nature, Of the ways of men and women. We praise Hiawatha's maker, Praise his sweetness as a singer, Praise his skill as a great teacher, Praise him as a peace apostle, As a man whot loved his brothers, Sought to benefit and bless them. I am here as his disciple, In my slower brain revolving Patiently his gracious lessons, Catching words of inspiration, Learning from his deathless teaching What I may of life and duty, Echoing as I may his music, Following as I may his footsteps, Like some servant of a harper, 138 LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA Bearing after his famed master Precious instrument of music, Tuning it as bids the master, Touching reverently and softly Strings that he was wont to waken, Playing softly on the harp strings By instinctive imitation, Bringing from them fainter echoes When the master's self is silent. " Every human heart is human " Sang America's best poet; He the many-languaged scholar, Knowing songs of all the nations, He disdained not his poor brothers, He found virtue in the red men, He enjoyed their strange traditions, He enjoyed their simple fancies, He has pictured all their struggles, All their strivings to rise higher, All their longings for more knowledge, All their holier aspirations. He has glorified the wigwam With a tale of true affection ; Minnehaha moves in beauty, Shines as bright as star in heaven, Lives in every heart's affection, Joins the troop of radiant maidens Gathered out of all the countries. All the beauty-loving poets, All the virtue-praising singers, Seeking everywhere fair women, LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA 139 Seeking everywhere true lovers, Have not found a fairer maiden Than the maiden Minnehaha, Have not found a nobler hero Than the hero Hiawatha, Have not found a man and woman, Have not found a wife and husband, More endearing, more pathetic, Than the Indian Minnehaha, Than the red-man Hiawatha. " Every human heart is human : " We are thankful for the lesson, We arise from its perusal Better men and better women, With more charity for others, With hearts softened with new pity, With eyes opened to new beauty, With new hopes for all the races, With new faith in the long future. We have learned from Hiawatha Loving more the songs of children, Children with their wiles and dimples, Children with their curious questions, Children with their teeming fancies, Children with their eager pleasures, Children with their boundless visions, Children with their trustful spirits, Children with their tender longings. We heave learned from Hiawatha More to love the strength of manhood, Manhood with its heavy burdens, 140 LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA Manhood with its growing knowledge, Manhood with its tireless labors, Its self-sacrifices endless: Fatherhood that makes man likest To the one Almighty Father, Teaches man to give protection, To the tender and the helpless, Brings the highest joy man knoweth, Joy of ministry to loved ones. We arise from the perusal Of these ancient Indian legends, Loving more the breath of morning, Loving more the stars of midnight, Loving more the sunrise glories, Loving more the sunset shadows, Loving more the whole of Nature In her every tone and aspect, With new love for the fresh woodland, More affection for the flowers, Loving more the brooks and rivers, Loving more the rippling waters, Loving more the plains and meadows, Loving more the clouds and mountains ; Kinder toward the forest dwellers, Loving more the deer and bison, Loving more the careful beaver With his almost human foresight, — He the chief of toolless builders, He the skillful engineer, He who builds his great breakwaters, Fells the giants of the forest With the axes Nature gave him, Lays the huge logs in position, LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA 141 Makes his water-tight compartments, Builds his various locks and sluices, Brings the water to the level That he figured out as fitting, He the forest calculator, Quadruped geometrician, He man's one aquatic rival, He who builds himself a mansion, Builds himself a dwelling spacious, Fits it with a front and back door, Plasters it like skillful mason, Rounds the walls to curves of beauty, Smooths the floors to perfect levels, Sits in coolness all the summer Master of his shaded dwelling, Sits in warmth in coldest winter Like a farmer by his fireside ; Let us praise and love the beaver, Wisest of four-footed creatures. Reading these old Indian legends Is like visiting the forest. We arise from the perusal Loving more the flying squirrel, He who, spreading wing-like membranes, Leaps like some trapeze performer Recklessly o'er longest spaces ; Always judging well his distance, Laughs he at the thought of danger, Safely lights he where he chooses, He the chief of all the leapers; Then he runs about the branches, Fearing not the slender offshoots, Fearing not their ceaseless swaying, 142 LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA He the wondrous equilibrist Seeking no applause or money; Only going about his business, Only leaping for his pleasure, He performs his matchless marvels. Reading these old Indian legends We come closer to our brothers, Our four-footed humbler brothers; Love we more the pretty chipmunk, He who seeks man for his neighbor, Digs his hole by woodman's cabin, Comes to eat the scattered fragments Thrown by carelessness or bounty. Pleasant are his graceful gambols, All his little spurts and dashes, All his posturings and waitings. Oft he sits erect and watches, Sits as motionless as stoneheap, Looking round him with sharp glances Till he sees his way to safety, Then his little feet go twinkling Swiftly to their destination, And he laughs at his own shrewdness, Thinks himself a cunning fellow, Plumes himself on his devices, Smiles with pity on his neighbors Who are not so richly gifted. Hiawatha loved the chipmunk, And he called him little brother. Reading these old Indian legends, All the simple-hearted learning Of the ancient forest-lwellers, LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA 143 They whose books were in the streamlets, They whose sermons were in mountains, They to whom the trees oft whispered, Whispered very pleasant secrets, They to whom the winds had voices, Gentle voices in the summer, Telling man of kindly spirits, Cruel voices in the winter, Making him afraid of devils, They to whom the dreadful thunders And red lightnings were as warnings, Warnings of a day of vengeance For the man who wronged his neighbor, Who forgot the law of justice, Who neglected deeds of kindness — Reading these old Indian legends Is like reading picture writing, Spelling out man's earliest lessons, Gathering wisdom from old sources, Wisdom old but unexhausted. Many bards are in these legends, Birds of every voice and plumage, Birds that live among the branches, Birds that float upon the waters, Birds that soar above the mountains Joying in their isolation, Joying in the storms and tempests, Sailing on their tireless pinions. Reading these old Indian legends, Learn we all the forms and habits Of the many feathered races, Learn of swans that sail so stately, Learn of loons so shy and wary, 144, LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA Learn of busy skimming swallows Flying low o'er pond and river, Wheeling quickly back and forward, Wheeling round in endless circles Till their fluttering wings are weary, Resting them with many a twitter, On the doorstep of their houses, Basking in the yellow sunlight, Gossiping with all their neighbors. Chief of all the feathered gossips Red men thought the twittering swallows ; Many are the pretty stories Which they tell to one another ; At their jokes they laugh and chuckle, Chatter tales of misadventure, Tell how this one soiled his feathers, How he dived in muddy water, How his wings were all bedraggled, How his feet were clogged and miry. Hiawatha knew their voices, He delighted long to listen To the tales they told each other, Tales of their successful hunting, Tales of triumph over foemen, Tales of their escape from dangers, Tales of all their joys and sorrows. Let us learn from Hiawatha, Let us love the birds our brothers, Love our humbler fellow creatures. Reading these old Indian legends We grow wise in forest wisdom, More observant of the plumage LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA 145 Of the gaily-dressed bird-lovers, More observant of the beauty. Of the bright coat of the pigeon, Of the oriole's wings of yellow, Of the lapwing's crest that glitters, Of the humming bird that sparkles, Sparkles in the dazzling sunlight, Flashes like the brightest sapphire, As he flashes yon and hither, As he hovers like a rainbow, Like a tiny, living rainbow, Poising by his wings' vibration Over some sweet-scented flower, Some delicious clover blossom, Some rich odor of the lily, Some unguarded hive of fragrance, Hovering till he drinks its honey, Till he sips out all its nectar, — He the feathered Epicurus, He the winged candy-eater, Fond of sweet things as a school-girl. Reading these old Indian legends We come closer to our brothers, Our two-winged humbler brothers, Hear we better all the music, Of the joyous greenwood-singers, As they carol 'mid the branches Songs of longing and affection. From the birds that fly above us We have learned yet other lessons ; Birds are types of true affection, Birds are types of aspiration, III— 10 146 LESSONS LEARNED FROM HIAWATHA Birds have given us thoughts of angels, Birds say to us, " Fly from evil," Birds say by their far migrations, Journeys to the sunny islands, " We are seeking fairer countries, Countries where men dwell in kindness, Dwell in happiness eternal, Lands where sorrow never enters, Lands where death is known no longer." Such comparisons these legends, Everywhere contain in plenty, These the humors of old poets, Of the earlier ballad makers, Kindly jests at every foible Of their humbler forest brothers, Kindly censures for their failings, Kindly praises for their virtues, Never ignorant aloofness From the smallest of God's creatures. Very wonderful all creatures, Very strange the world we live in, Our red brothers could not fathom All its mysteries and marvels ; Not much wiser we than they were, We too only look and wonder, Wonder at the depths of wisdom, Wonder at the varied beauty, Wonder at the power transcendent, Wonder at the bounteous goodness Of the infinite Creator. Such the lessons Hiawatha Teaches those that read him rightly. " CUPID IN COLLEGE " I sing a school which modest honor bears ; No gray and storied stately seat of learning, Where medieval dons with solemn airs, All modern innovations proudly, spurning, Solely devote their pedagogic cares To keeping ancient classic fires well burning; But a bright, sturdy, pushing Western school, Where new, progressive principles bear rule. Yet forms like those of elder days are here; In noble outline 'gainst the azure sky The lofty spire and pinnacle appear On mighty base to heaven uplifted high ; So stately do the massive walls uprear, It is an education to pass by And daily drink in through the raptured sense The monumental pile's mute eloquence. A few miles from Chicago may be view'd — Strangely contrasting with the city's roar — A scene of peace, halls hidden in a wood, That crowns a ridge close bordering the shore. Learning ne'er had sweeter solitude Than this when Earth her summer garments wore And e'en when Winter strips her almost bare Some constant charms still fondly linger there. The unsparing sky wears not a sullen frown, As though in wrath her winter rigors fell, But ever with a cheerful eye looks down As one that spareth not yet loveth well; 147 148 CUPID IN COLLEGE The oak's green dress will fade to serest brown, Still, she is clad as though to all to tell Some little of the glories which the spring With its unchanging fashions soon will bring. Lake Michigan, with all his myriad faces, Has not one aspect which has not its charm, Smiling sometimes with tiny dimpling graces, Sometimes stretched league on league in glassy calm, Bearing on his broad brow no lingering traces Of troubles past, but, like a pictured psalm. Breathing still thankfulness and rest alone, Like that untroubled sea before God's throne. As for the other features of the site ; To guard the moral interests of the school, To keep young men within the bounds of right, And all hot brains as far as might be cool, It was ordained by law that no one might Sell potent liquors, or evade this rule By any subterfuge, dodge, quirk, or shift, Or thin preposterous pretense of gift. Fed on this moral milk, the baby grows Exceedingly, outstripping every brother, And scarce twelve years out of his swaddling clothes, A lusty boy, his passion cannot smother For a fair maiden, who, he thinks he knows, Is not averse to be a wife and mother ; In bashful courtship was his suit disclosed, And, being encouraged, he at length proposed. To cast aside the figurative veil; I mean to say, the university CUPID IN COLLEGE 149 Early admitted to its learned pale A Woman's College with a gallantry Descending into every small detail, And saying, in effect, we now agree That equally the stern sex and the fair Henceforth shall have our pedagogic care. So woman comes in all her various forms ; Slim slips of girls enter the lowest door, Bright, pert, young misses come in fluttering swarms, Sedate, ambitious maidens by the score; To guard all these from all contingent harms And set a perfect pattern them before, Grave and judicious dames in each degree Of rank appear, Professor, Dean, Trustee. The sexes jostle now in learning's race ; Freshman no longer means a gawky boy, But half the time a form of female grace, Whose charms will cause her brother Freshman joy, Or grief, or palpitation, and displace The thoughts some learned page should then em- p ] °y ; But use will check his blood's impetuous rush, And ere the year's out he will cease to blush. For soon the fair young goddesses come down From their tall pedestals amid the skies ; Their pearly skins grow rough and flecked and brown, Smaller and much less lustrous their bright eyes ; Whether it is they've really homelier grown, And paid their beauty's riches to be wise, Or that no charms will bear too close inspection, I leave to you to make your own election. 150 CUPID IN COLLEGE Still woman's graces reassert their sway ; If not an angel, she is very pretty, And, though awhile the boisterous Freshman may Look on the sex with a half scornful pity, And rather spend his leisure hours in play Than writing to their charms a limping ditty, A year or two will bring them back again, And teach him patiently to bear his chain. Matches are made in heaven and in mixed schools ; Though study doubtless makes young people sage, And Thought's cold atmosphere Love's ardor cools, Yet neither quite can conquer blood and age ; However much the love of learning rules The love of woman will some thought engage ; Sly Cupid sage Minerva will outwit, And, though she shields, some shafts their mark will hit. The little archer has such great variety Of light and heavy arrows at command That few or none can live in mixed society And quite escape a wound from his deft hand; He barbs his shafts with beauty, wit, or piety, With grace in dress, or dash, or manners bland, But in some way he gives his weapons point, And aims unerring at the armor's joint. True love does not disdain a child's young heart, But constant, deep affection will begin Almost with life itself, and seem a part Of dawning consciousness ; 'twill sweetly win Two little prattlers all devoid of art To nestle by each other cheek and chin, CUPID IN COLLEGE 151 'Twill arch their pretty brows and light their eyes, And make them seem two cherubs from the skies. Love conquers those of every age and station, But I maintain its very finest glow Is not the heritage of every nation, And was not known till a short time ago; It is a product of coeducation, For only can a man and woman grow To love each other in a perfect way When mind o'er mind and heart o'er heart hold sway How beauty fascinates the manly heart! How patient goodness awes and wins the soul ! And yet, with all their power, there is a part Of life which these alone cannot control ; These are a soil in which true love may start But if it is to ripen rich and whole There must be common knowledge, hope, and aim, Such sympathy as makes the life the same. College coeducation is still new And yet this is not merely theory ; I have observed facts which support the view, And could give instances not two or three, But, for the present, one, I hope, will do Out of the many that occur to me. The case is that of Ronald and of May, The time perhaps a score of years away. She was as fair and radiant as the morn, Her hair was like the rising sun's bright gold, Her eyes had the soft blue of skies new born, Her cheeks the flush the early, cloudlets hold; 152 CUPID IN COLLEGE The graces which trees, birds, and flowers adorn And every beauty earth and heaven unfold, Heightened and blended in her form were seen, And so she walked, creation's joy and queen. The fairest maid where every maid was fair, She caused a flutter in each manly heart; But, though each man admired, no man did dare To act a forward or presumptuous part, For she a modest dignity did wear, And shunned instinctively the coquette's art; So naught alloyed the wonder that she raised, But her meek splendors even rivals praised When May presented her certificate, Each study marked with a becoming figure, Which let her in as a matriculate Without examination's dreaded rigor, There also entered at the freshman gate A youth whose record showed an equal vigor, And so they launched upon the self -same stream But of a nearer contact did not dream. The two met often in the lecture-rooms, And took each other's intellectual measure, But social intercourse no one presumes To think of there or mere colloquial pleasure The reader with no hint from me assumes For these a fitting place and hour of leisure ; In recitation, science rules the breast, And every foreign thought is dispossessed. There sex is lost, and man is but a mind, And woman but a disembodied brain, CUPID IN COLLEGE 153 But when they leave the lecture-room behind All elements of life awake again; The sight returns to those who have been blind ; They meet upon the common human plane ; Once more 'tis man and woman and not student, And conduct then is less severely prudent. People who see each other every day, Bow on the street and nod upon the stairs ; Although they do so in a formal way, Grow to regard each other unawares ; Quick sympathies begin their interplay As daily routine each with other shares ; Class pride awakens, too, and shapes their ends, And soon they are a company of friends. Each youth was courteous to every maid, Each maid decorously polite in turn, But all were shy and awkward and afraid To manifest particular concern ; Some blundering plots and stratagems were laid, And fires of jealousy began to burn, Chiefly round May, which were not quite concealed From her, though she no preference revealed. She courteously declined all invitations From gentlemen to witness games of ball, To visit concerts and such convocations As students frequent, and if there at all Was there attended by female relations Who stood about her as a sort of wall ; So, seeing that so little they availed, In course of time such invitations failed. \u cupid in college The fact is, that the maiden knew her mind ; She came for study, not for mild flirtation ; To be the foremost scholar she designed, Arid not to waste her time in dissipation ; Not that she rode a hobby or inclined To seek a strange or unbecoming station ; With homely sense, although endowed with beauty, She merely did what she conceived her duty. And Ronald's conduct was a counterpart; His healthy youth all bent on work or play, The fellow hardly knew he had a heart, And had not filed his tongue soft words to say ; Unfearing and unknowing Cupid's dart, He went upon his busy, manly way, Enjoying to his full his present life, Not prematurely thinking of a wife. He studied hard and won a Kappa key As one of the best scholars in his class ; Yet not a pale, dyspeptic bookworm he, But for an all-round athlete he might pass ; In fact, there were not more than two or three Who showed to like advantage on the grass Of the athletic field, and none did more To roll up at baseball a winning score. Some still remember the great play he made And saved a game that hopeless seemed to all ; The score was two to one, eight innings played; Two men were out, and it was his third ball ; He struck it over the left fielder's head, And through a window in Memorial hall — Made a home run and brought two others in, And thus the game and championship did win. CUPID IN COLLEGE 155 Nor was he less successful at the game For which an ancient Spartan would not blush, But in football his opposite o'ercame By skillful tackle or by sturdy push. At once so vigorous and lithe his frame, He was a fitting man to lead a rush, Or, when by strength an opening had been won, To make a touchdown by a rapid run. They sang together in the chapel choir; His mighty basso made the guilty quake; Her sweet soprano rose an octave higher And made our holier impulses to wake. Our souls would to devotion's heights aspire, And on Faith's wings the earth almost forsake. Thus Ronald's piety quite swiftly grew, But earthly love, I think, was growing, too. The graduating day at last drew near; She foremost woman and he foremost man, But as remote, for all that might appear, As when four years before their course began, When in a way that may seem rather queer O'erruling Fate devised the perfect plan By accident their lives to interlock, As crystals are perfected by a shock. There is a sudden curve in the low shore And dangerous headland sinking to a shoal AVhich every day some fifty ships or more Pass closely, with Chicago as their goal — A dreaded point when furious north winds roar And Michigan's soon-roused, fierce billows roll, But Uncle Sam, with wise and prudent care, Has placed a far-seen light as signal there, 156 CUPID IN COLLEGE But there are times when friendly lights are vain, When vain are knowledge, seamanship, and skill, When the wild tempests rule the watery main, And the strong elements work out their will ; When sails are rent and masts break with the strain When seams yawn wide, and all the hatches fill ; When helpless hulks are dashed upon the coast, And shuddering crews yield up themselves as lost. How oft in such extreme the lifeboat nears, Manned by a college crew, pride of the lakes ! Right through the boiling surf her course she steers, And all the clinging crew to safety takes ; The quickly gathered crowd send hearty cheers, And all the country answering echo makes ; And government strikes medals of pure gold To honor deed so skillful and so bold. Ronald, as member of this stalwart crew Had learned to battle with the wind and wave ; He swam when soft skies bent o'er waters blue, And when beneath black clouds the billows rave; Strong limbed, broad chested, there indeed were few Who were at once so skillful and so brave; He'd do Leander's feat, as stories show it, Or rival Byron, the aquatic poet. Upon a calm and cloudless night in June, The class of which I write, bent on diversion, And knowing that they must be parted soon, Set out upon a nautical excursion. Farewells upon the water 'neath the moon (Experience bids me make the last assertion) Than others are more sweet and last much longer, And vows thus made than others are much stronger. CUPID IN COLLEGE 157 And so to bind their friendship as a class They chartered a new vessel run by steam, And that their hours more pleasantly might pass They loaded her with sweetmeats and ice cream; A band with instruments, both stringed and brass, Discoursed soft music like a fairy's dream, And so they left the dusky shore and heat Upon the cool expanse to seek retreat. They laughed and joked and dwelt in fond review Upon the four swift years that now were passed ; Remembrance brightened all with magic hue, And hope its golden beam upon them cast. Laden with joy the priceless minutes flew; Earth were a heaven could such feelings last, And while the instruments " responsive rung," With blended voices thus they sweetly sung: " Dear college days, how fast they go ! Time's brightest, swiftest river, Yet wear a channel as they flow That memory holds forever. Oh, Alma Mater! Mother dear! Thy children still will love thee, And pray that every future year Bright skies may be above thee." The last notes floated softly on the air, And silence which none wished to break ensued ; There was a hush in Nature everywhere Which their young spirits to itself subdued ; So strangely tranquil winds and waters were Man felt himself in such a scene intrude; His throbbing engines plowing through the deep Jarred on the sacredness of Nature's sleep. 158 CUPID IN COLLEGE And Nature woke in anger, for a cloud Rushed with fierce suddenness across the sky ; The lightnings flashed, the winds grew hoarse and loud, The writhing billows tossed their white crests high, The vessel to the furious tempest bowed, And, turning homeward, sought the worst to fly, But quicker than her flight, with blinding flash, A thunderbolt fell on her with a crash. It struck so near the youthful company That some fell prostrate at the sudden blow ; Some were so dazzled that they could not see, But in alarm groped wildly to and fro. But none were killed outright, though two or three Received a shock they never will outgrow, But always feel amid the lightning's play A chill born of the terror of that day. Those who were first to gather consciousness Bestirred themselves for those still stunned and dazed ; They chafe their rigid limbs, their hands they press, And wistfully with pallid faces gazed; They had been thus engaged an hour or less, And hopes that all would soon be well were raised, When some one with a start was heard to say, " What has become of Ronald and of May ? " In vain they searched the ship from stem to stern, Ronald and May were nowhere to be seen ; The hardy captain, when implored to turn And seek again the place where they had been, Did not with harshness their petition spurn, But said, as he looked sadly on the scene, CUPID IN COLLEGE 159 " I will not risk more lives in such a gale, And in such darkness search would not avail." But where were May and Ronald while their fate Was rousing sorrow which no hope could check? Bleeding and stunned and in a senseless state She had been swept by fierce winds from the deck, But Ronald saw her fall and did not wait A moment, but plunged down to seize the speck Of white which floated on the cold, dark tide, But which unfathomed depths so soon might hide. His shouts as he swam toward her were lost Amid the louder howlings of the gale, But still he seized his prize, and as he tossed Upon the surge his stout heart did not fail; Five miles away the light upon the coast Sent o'er the waters a reflection pale, But by the helpless burden which he bore His progress was impeded to the shore. At length, in the chill waters, May revived And wondered where she was, and when at last She saw by what a slender hope she lived, And what the perils were which must be passed, She said that Ronald must not be deprived Of life for her, but that she must be cast Adrift, or both would find a watery grave, But Ronald, if alone, himself could save. But such a plea nerved Ronald's powers anew, To such a woman how could he be traitor? He felt the thrill known only to the true, The joy of duty, than all pleasure greater, 160 CUPID IN COLLEGE And made the firm resolve that either two Should reach the shore alive and baffle fate, or, Unshamed by cowardice, he would go down, And at the worst in peace of conscience drown. Hour after hour through that long, troubled night The heaving waters tossed them to and fro, But luckily for those in such a plight The billows rolled the way they wished to go; 'Twas lucky, too, that with the morning light The storm subsided and wind ceased to blow, But yet he had made hardly half his way When rose the sun and brought the welcome day. May, worn and buffeted, lay like one dead, And even on the surface thus might drown, But Ronald from her dress tore off a shred, Though while he did it both almost sank down, And with it bound the maiden's drooping head, Her gold hair streaming o'er his shoulders brown For ere he leaped some clothes he thought to doff; And in the water more had shaken off. On, on he toiled, and still the tall, white spires Of College halls seems distant as before; The day grew hot, and soon the sun's fierce fires With great red blisters made his body sore; Hungry and faint, his courage half expires, But still he doggedly his burden bore, And after twelve hours' swimming reached the land, And sank exhausted on the burning sand. There senseless, but still breathing, they were found, His dark locks mingling with her golden hair; CUPID IN COLLEGE 161 They raised them tenderly from off the ground, Much marveling at their fortune to be there ; In three weeks skillful nursing brought May 'round, But Ronald baffled long the doctor's care, And for as many weary months was ill, Now burnt with fear and now faint with chill. While pale and wasted on his couch he lay His black eyes shining with unearthly light, He often raved deliriously of May, And all her perils on that awful night; He feared that she was drowning when away And wished to have her always in his sight ; He raised his head and threw each shrunken limb In feeble strokes like one who meant to swim. But youth and native vigor won at last ; The frenzy ceased, and health and strength returned i The weeks of convalescence quickly passed, For Ronald now with a new purpose yearned. May had consented and the die was cast; Perhaps she thought that she was fairly earned, And that he ought not long to live in doubt, And somehow helped his blundering weakness out. The birds sang gayly in the morning air, And Nature wore her most benignant smile, When May and Ronald as a bridal pair Marched to soft music up the church's aisle ; Tall, handsome youths and bridesmaids passing fair, With warm congratulations past them file, And parents tremulous with happiness Renew their youth as they look on and bless. May thinks coeducation a success, And Ronald in his heart with her agrees, III— 11 162 CUPID IN COLLEGE But is not always willing to confess, And from excess of fondness likes to tease. Yet is there not an hour he does not bless His Alma Mater and her memories, Though it may be remarked among his whims These later years he very rarely swims. I do not know if this or other cases Led to the passing of a rigid rule; They tied all students in the straitest laces As long as they were members of the school, Forbidding them to go to dangerous places Or in or on the water play the fool, All I know is that now such an excursion Is looked on by our rulers with aversion, And now, to point the moral of this tale, And for a moment think about its meaning ; It is, Coeducation will prevail, The most conservative that way are learning; Berlin and Paris, Oxford, Cambridge, Yale, Themselves in vain in prejudice are screening; The lonely monkish pedantries are dead, The world asks human culture in their stead. Not with the blare of trumpet, sound of drum, Not with diplomacy and proclamation, But silently the greatest forces come, And quite unmark'd by casual observation; So, though when it was made all men were dumb, No change was more momentous to this nation Than that by which the avenues of knowledge Were opened wide to women by the College. This seeming little change was very great And greatest consequences from it flow; CUPID IN COLLEGE 163 It means the end of wars and deadly hate, It means the reign of mercy here below, It means a better government in state, It means religion will have purer glow, It means that life will move on higher planes, And doubled energies bring doubled gains, I see the nobler race that will arise When men's monastic follies all are gone, And they shall learn that they can ne'er be wise Or good or happy if they live alone ; That each sex still a needed part supplies, He gives a stronger, she a finer tone, And that 'tis only when their voices blend That earth's best music may to heav'n ascend. LAKE MICHIGAN The skies o'er Michigan are kind, Not always gray, not always blue, But suiting every mood of mind, And showing every beauteous hue. Sometimes the heavens are softened with a veil, Sometimes o'er the blue deeps light shadows sail, At dawn, at eve, the skies blush like the rose, And at midnight all the starry pageant shows ; At every hour through all the varied year New wonders and new glories still appear. Fair as above thee bends the changeful sky, So fair beneath thy crystal waters lie ; Thou art the favored daughter of the sea, Thy father's ample limbs are seen in thee, But with a sweeter grace and purity ! Thy robe of green a brighter color shows, At touch of air thy wave more lightly flows ; Thy father's salt floods are a deadly waste, But thine refresh the frame, delight the taste. Around thee flows the ever-changing sand, The child alike of water and of land, The soft, warm, yellow sand that flows in rills Down the smooth sides of all the wind-made hills, The yielding sand that, when the strong breeze blows In half-reluctant, mimic billows flows, The joyous sand that in the burning heat Sings its low song beneath the traveler's feet. No frowning rocks awake the sailor's fear, But lake and shore are kindly neighbors here. No treacherous currents by their secret force 164 LAKE MICHIGAN 165 Thwart all his skill and drive him from his course ; The fruits, the grains, the woods that round thee grow Thy friendly waters carry to and fro ; Hail, Michigan, life-giving inland sea, Health, beauty, wealth, alike we owe to thee. THE WANTON WIND Whence com'st thou, O Wind, on thy rushing wing And where art thou going in thy wandering ? Where art thou seeking thy resting place? What is the goal of thy mighty race? " I seem to follow an idle will, And my resting place I am seeking still : I have been to the place of sunny skies, I have been where the purple iceberg lies, I have climbed the mountain's highest steep, And circled about the mighty deep; I have played with the tops of the forest tree, And chased the wild-bird over land and sea ; I have cut like a sword through the heart of space, And have loitered the idle gnat to chase ; I have whirled the column of arid sand, And dashed the surge on the moaning land ; I have squeezed through crannies and forced my way Into dark, foul caverns unreached by day, I have lightly toyed with a lady's veil, And strained with full lungs the bursting sail ; I have dipped my feet in the morning dew, And chased the cloud-lambs on their meadow blue ; I have gathered the water from sea and lake To give to the land its thirst to slake, I have tossed gay childhood's silken hair, And dried the damps on the brow of care ; I have torn hot Fever from his thin prey, And hurried the wasting Plague away ; I have ruffled the yellow sea of grain, And cheered the reapers beside the wain ; I have winnowed the wheat and whirled around The great bur-stones that it might be ground; 166 THE WANTON WIND 167 I have carried the bread to the hungry shore, Made the hearth to blaze and the oven roar; But I tarry too long, I must haste away And this parting word will I only say, — Where'er I have been, I have been for good, To the city full or the solitude, And whether I seem to work or play I follow the voice of law alway." A WORLD REVERIE Each tree yields much seed-bearing fruit, But only few seeds e'er take root, And of these few not one in ten E'er grows and ripens seed again. Behold the oak in pride of power Lets fall its acorns in a shower; But as they lie upon the grass A greedy swine may chance to pass, And in ten minutes at his ease Devour the would-be forest trees ; And if a few escape and grow, 'Tis but to meet another foe. Soon as their tender stalks they raise, Some sheep may nibble, cow may graze, Or, all these dangers safely passed, The owner may condemn at last, And say, " Cut down these little trees ; I have no use for such as these ; They occupy a needed space; Let grass or, grain grow in their place." Thus musing, as I watched the sky And all the sparkling worlds on high, I thought, Perchance stars are like seeds. And only one in scores succeeds; Our earth may be the luckiest one Of all that dance around the sun; We may have passed the danger stage And be progressing age by age; In all the universe no nook May have a brighter forward look ; Shakespeare may be the foremost brain 168 A WORLD REVERIE 169 Not of one world, but all the train ; The men in Jupiter or Mars, Or Venus — brightest of our stars — May be but pigmies in their size, And but as pigmies good or wise; Or it may be their hideous shapes Are only those of chattering apes ; Or it may be the only ball On which there's any life at all Is the dear earth on which we live, And on which all the virtues thrive. Perchance of all the globes in space Ours lags the hindmost in the race ; Perchance on every star above Sinless immortals sing and love; Perchance on every ball of fire Seraphic intellects aspire; Perchance all worlds beyond our air Are blest, and heaven is everywhere. A LEGEND OF HESSE From the German of Franz Dingelstedt. In Scharfenstein at noon of night awakes a dreadful din, With stroke of hoof and clang of sword the mountain roars within; It storms and shakes and rattles at the mountain's rock- bound side, Until in yawning gap and gulf it heaves and opens wide. Then from the chasms issue forth full many warriors tall, And by the moonbeam's ghostly light in ranks of war they fall, The trumpet sounds, the helmet gleams, the standards kiss the wind ; Proud rides the chief the host before, proud march the ranks behind. They hurry through the frightened vale on wings of fear and wrath, And like a whirling wind of fire is their fierce onward path: " On, on to Rome ! " they loudly cry ; " It is the fateful hour, " And if we cannot now escape we never shall have power ! " 'Tis the old tale of Scharfenstein told as our fathers taught : At the stern mountain's rocky foot the battle great was fought, 170 A LEGEND OF HESSE 171 Then drank the earth the warm life-blood till purple was its crust, And Rome's proud eagles victory-wont sank in the German dust. Barbarians here, barbarians there as if sprung from the ground, While Scharfenstein's unpitying rocks rise everywhere around ; Then sink 'neath German dart and spear Rome's ranks of warriors tall, Like grain beneath the sickle-stroke in harvest time they fall. There in this hour of utmost need with hands uplifted high And knees low bent upon the earth the General made his cry; " Save us, great God, from the disgrace of dying as a slave, " And let the mountain ope her heart and be our living grave." Then on the right it thunders loud: Jove shakes his awful head, And in a moment gaping wide the mountain opens dread; Quick vanished then in living tomb the mass of friends and foes, And stark and still above them all grim Scharfenstein doth close. But still below at noon of night awakes a dreadful din, Then must the prisoned ranks of Rome their freedom strive to win; 172 A LEGEND OF HESSE A ghastly army of the dead on to the South they roll, They march and march yet never reach fair Italy, their goal. For at the first voice of the morn the ranks where'er they be Back to the brow of Scharfenstein all hurriedly must flee; Then as of old the mountain yawns and breathes with sulphurous breath, And as the last man enters in, it closes still as death. A BACHELOR'S WAKING DREAM Ae nicht, wi' wark sair weary, I sat before the fire, An' watched the shadows eerie On the wa' flit an' retire ; They seemed like ghaists or witches As they followed ane anither, An' the shadowy neuks an' niches Changed them quick f rae ane to ither : Ae moment, a grim goblin The flaughtering flamie threw, Then to an auld man hobblin' Wi' a staff the spectre grew ; A blinkie, an' the wraith Changed to an elfin sprite, Then died awa' they baith In the weird uncertain light. Still as I glowered musing, Au' wi' a half -shut e'e, On the shadows often losing A' significance to me, On a sudden, for an instant, On the white wa', I could trace (Why was it not mair constant?) A lassie's bonnie face. The sheen upo' the stream Stays as lang when wavelets swell, Yet it made me waking dream, An' I thus spak to mysel' : Oh! wad I had a wifie, A wifie o' my ain, I'd guard her winsome line Frae every ill an' pain; 173 174 A BACHELOR'S WAKING DREAM I wad be true unto her, I wadna seek to roam; An' aye I'd fondly lo'e her, And find my joy at home. I seek nae high born dame, Sae rich, sae fine, sae great; She wadna be at hame Wi' sic a humble mate; But I seek a bonnie lassie, Ane o' my ain degree, Ane whose sweet winsome facie Is a' her dowerie. By the wimplin' burn we'd rove When simmer days were lang, Whyles pensive through our love, Whyles bubblin' o'er in sang; The voice o' nature ringing Its joyfu' jubilee, Should fill our hearts wi' singing Wi' tenderness our e'e ; The tunefu' nightingale, The cushat's gentle coo, As they echoed through the vale, Should teach our hearts to woo; Wi' all a lo'er's rapture, If wi' less o' bashfu'ness, A little kiss I'd capture, An' steal a soft caress. By the ingle neuk we'd sit When the dreary winter came, While Happiness should flit Like an angel through our hame; The pelting o' the hail, The wind sae snell an' keen, A BACHELOR'S WAKING DREAM 175 Should a' hae nae avail Gainst the coziness within; While still it wilder shriekit, While still wi' deeper roar, Rude Boreas vainly keepit At our cozy cottage door, The breeze f rae aff the hearthstane Should shed a cheerier glow On my wifie's bonnie face ye kew While her gentle voice an' low Sings some ballad o' the olden time, O' the days o' belted Knight, — Braw Robert Bruce at Bannockburn, Or sturdy Wallace wight: Thus in simmer or in winter Alike we'd happy be, Nae man an' wife contenter, O' high or low degree. THE MAY TIDE O ! I am glad the year has one sweet Spring When the young tender herb shoots forth again, And Nature doth a fair green mantle fling O'er every waving tree and smiling plain, When all the little birds do blithely sing And flutter through their emerald domain, When the warm suns pour a benignant beam And gentle breezes scarcely stir the stream. The little noisy tenants of the grove, The feathered folk who roam the realms of air, How they do chirp and chatter of their love, And joy to see the world again so fair! From twig to twig, from tree to tree they rove, No thought the merry idlers have nor care, Love's gentle tasks alone their hearts employ, They spend the sunny hours in twittering joy. The lithe, striped squirrel too appears again From subterranean slumber, fresh and bright, And frisks and gambols o'er the grassy plain, Or darts to covert in a quick affright ; Not long below his fears the rogue detain ; He peeps, then twinkles quickly out of sight, Then peeps with longer pause, then postures high, Strictly attent, then runs forth merrily. 176 THE DELLS OF THE WISCONSIN A week have I communed with Nature here, And found repose and pleasure in each scene. Dark waters rush with eddying current down Between high rocks with faces gray with moss, Or set with pines where'er a crevice yields Support and sustenance. Some cliffs abrupt Resist the lodgment of all larger growth, And are by Nature's prudent, active hand Covered with lichens soft and forms minute. The summits of the rocky banks are crowned With pines and hemlocks, or with oak and birch. But here the oak is dwarfed, the pine is King. It high o'ertops each other tree, and stands Rounded and upright like a column carved, While its broad roots explore the rocks around, And by strange instinct grasp each vantage point And make the tall shaft safe amid the storms. Stretches of sandbank and low reefs of rock By contrast give new beauty to the stream And all is blent in one wild harmony. At times a perfect silence rests on all; The broadening stream with noiseless current flows Or seems to fall asleep and cease to move, And every denizen of earth and air Is silent as the fish beneath the flood. And then again the varied voices wake, Winds rustle in the leaves, and waters sing In their low monotones so soft and sweet ; The insects hum and chirp, and happy birds Twitter and sing in every bush and tree ; And as the traveler carols in his joy The sportive echo half his song repeats; III— 12 Yll 178 THE DELLS OF THE WISCONSIN Nay, even the very rock beneath his feet With low, faint notes like an iEolian lyre Breathes forth a fairy melody when touched. I walk through gorges which the rushing flood Has cut through the soft sandstone and I seem As one admitted in her yielding mood By Nature to her secret haunts. The stream Has quaintly carved each cavern, arch and beam, Hollowed the rocks and rounded the loose stone, And scarce I need the aid of fancy's dream To think that all by Fairy hands was done And that at my approach the elves have fled. HUMANITY 179 WASHINGTON We hail thee, Washington ! Thy day we greet ; Thy single glory were a nation's boast, Thy vision, prescient as the eye of Fate, Saw light beyond when all in gloom seem'd lost ; Thy single arm was mightier than a host; Than thine no purer sword was ever drawn ; By thee no foreign bound was ever cross'd ; No righteous bonds by thee were rudely torn, But those it had been shame had they been longer worn 181 THE MAYFLOWER When a tyrannic king and bigot priest Drove over sea the humble Puritan, Few saw how England's life-blood was decreased Or that she languished like a wounded man. Yet did those Pilgrims carry Fate's dread scroll Wherein was written England's dark defeat ; A prescient ear might then have heard the roll Of Yorktown's drums the exiles' triumph beat. When will men learn that all their acts are seeds Sown in the soil of Time and sure to grow, When nations learn that all their evil deeds Will yield retributory shame and woe? The Mayflower's cargo was no common freight, She bore aboard the pillars of a state. 182 THE BUILDERS A strange, symbolic sympathy rules all The atoms that make up earth's lifeless frame, And in the living world there is the same Strict ordering of actions great and small. No man so foolish as to build a wall With negligence of plummet line's strict claim, Lest to his outward and immediate shame His faulty structure topple to its fall. Builders in stone have learned their lesson well, And seek to make their work without a flaw, Nor dare oppose the earth's resistless force ; But nations hear how earlier nations fell Because they dared to trifle with God's law, And yet are bold in the same fatal course. 183 FRANCES E. WILLARB Oft have we seen her on her throne of power While eager multitudes enchanted hung, Oblivious of the swiftly passing hour, Chained by the Orphean magic of her tongue. That tongue was silent when we saw her last, For in her shroud her worn-out body lay, While hour by hour the long procession passed, The last sad tribute of respect to pay. The aged bent beneath the weight of years, The young in all their beauty and their pride, The rich and poor in common shed their tears, For she, a sister to mankind, had died. Yet Grief was not the only spirit there; Faith, Hope and Love, the great immortal three, Gave strength to hearts that bowed beneath their care And heaven seemed nearer than before to be. Her name henceforth is sacred, and will shine Bright in the list of those by love made great, Type and example of that more divine Humanity for which we long and wait. 184 HUMANITY The wave a moment rears its crest, Then sinks again into the sea, Type of the wisest, bravest, best, Beside the great Democracy ; You praise the wave, I praise the sea ; My hero is humanity. Heroes have bled and sages taught Whom half the world calls great or wise, But all their merit is as naught To that which unrecorded lies ; Fame hath a narrow, partial tongue, The greatest deeds are still unsung. The rose is but a breath of spring ; The pearl, a wave-wash of the sea, The lesser from the greater thing, One throb of its vast energy ; Heroes are like the flower or spray, Humanity is more than they. O poets ! O seraphic choir, Whence is the flame that fills your breast? 'Tis but a spark of the great fire That glows alike in all the rest; The heart of our humanity Is the great fount of minstrelsy. The holy and unselfish men Whose lives to God's work have been given, The prophet's tongue, the psalmist's pen, All seers that have uncovered heaven, 185 186 HUMANITY Like stars they sparkle in the sky, Atoms amid infinity. Higher and higher swells the tide, The waves of true Democracy ; King, priest, and noble sink beside The greater human dignity ; Man greater is than his degree, Not men but man — Humanity. THE ASCENT OF MAN We see the early morning ray, But whether it come late or soon, We wait in hope a richer noon, The coming of a perfect day. A day of universal love, When sin and fear shall wholly cease, And everywhere abide Grod's peace In earth below as heaven above. A day of universal sight, When eye to eye the race will see, And mind with other mind agree, And every man dwell in the light. As little children in a school Repeat the multiplying table, And know the various numbers stable, And each accordant with the rule, So, ranging through life's higher facts, All men at length shall see the law, And all submit with perfect awe, And by it guide their words and acts, — ■ A day of universal power, When each life will be true to type, And every faculty grow ripe, Nor die an undeveloped flower! God is the source of all our good, From Him our richest blessings are, Yet foolishly we stand afar, And in a sullen attitude. ,187 188 THE ASCENT OF MAN The universe is not a shop In which dead wheels forever grind, A place of forces that are blind, And care not if they move or stop; The universe is God's great school Where times of work and times of play Should make us better day by day And teach us God in love doth rule. Each fact looked fairly in the face Will make us praise Him more and more, Will give new reasons to adore, And but reveal some hidden grace. I shrink not at each dread disease, Though inch by inch the body rot, Though mind its function answer not, And slow decay each organ seize. I shrink not at cold, pallid Death, The narrow coffin and the worm, The swift destruction of the form That follows when we part with breath. I do but see a garnered sheaf, And some poor stubble left afield, The grain will richer harvest yield From age to age till it be chief. Nature no smallest atom wastes, But ever changes low to higher, And in a still ascending spire All life moves on, nor rests nor hastes, THE ASCENT OF MAN 189 Each cycle rises o'er the last, Man's spirit grows from more to more ; It gives us strength to look before Who judge the future from the past. Primeval man had hideous shape; But narrow skull where lusts did reign Widens with conscience and a brain, And man emerges from the ape. Another step as long as this And man will reach angelic height, His form with every beauty bright, His heart instinct with every bliss. THE FUTURE OF THE NEGRO God made the earth for mankind, and all men alike are his children. In all he has planted alike the germs of an infinite future. What the greatest has done in his strength will soon be the task of the feeble; Where the vanguard is now in the race soon will follow the steps of the laggard; What the Greek and the Roman have done, what has burned in the heart of the Hebrew, What the heir of the ages, the Saxon, the ruler of nations and nature, Has wrought with his energy tireless, has become by his strong aspiration — All this in due time shall come forth from the latent strength of the Negro. The dusky race whose short annals are a record of weakness and sorrow, A tale of the wrong that the helpless sustain at the hands of the mighty — This race that has been blind and dumb and bound in the chain of oppression, This race that has walked in the darkness with not a star o'er its midnight, Shall yet see the splendor of noonday, the height of heroic achievement. Her Miltons shall sing, and her Shakespeares shall strike every chord of emotion; Her Newtons and Humboldts shall trace the stars in their infinite courses. Within the African skull shall revolve the vast thoughts of the greatest; 190 THE FUTURE OF THE NEGRO 191 Beethoven's deep note shall be matched, and Raphael's pencil of beauty; The wisdom of Burke and of Webster shall shine in the halls of her Senate; The fire of Chatham and Henry shall glow on the lips of her tribunes ; The wealth of a Howard's devotion, already long since a possession, Shall work for the good of mankind till our lessening sorrows shall vanish. When the slow rolling ages have brought this germi- nant race to fruition, When to-day, that to us looms so large, shall seem but a speck in the distance, When time has illumined the past and placed all events in perspective, In that distant day when the mists have rolled from the mount of his vision, Not only the message of freedom, and those who fought to enforce it, Not only the friends of the slave who led him out of his Egypt, Will the Negro remember with joy as those who lifted him upward; But even the house of his bondage, stern school of many high lessons, Each pang that quickened his thought, each wrong that nerved his endurance, Each task that drew out his skill, each change that enlarged his horizon, All these at last will be seen as forces impelling him Godward. THE HOSPITABLE NEGRO Near the Atlanta railway years ago In hut of logs, beneath roof thatch'd and low, There dwelt an aged Negro whose black face Forever shone with quaint and homely grace. Labor and daily temperance gave him health, And birds, blue skies, and sunshine were his wealth. Beside his cot a clear spring from the ground Gushed forth, and onward flowed with pleasant sound ; And the old, happy Negro day by day Rejoiced to watch the living streamlet play. There seemed a magic in the water pure, All thirst to quench and all disease to cure ; He thought no other could with it compare, And longed the cool, delightful draughts to share. Old people who recall the early trains Remember well the weary traveler's pains, The hard and narrow seats, the windows small, The stifling heat, the dust that cover'd all, And what perhaps of all the ills was worst, The lack of water and the raging thirst. A train of this sort passing day by day Beside the Negro's cabin made a stay, And every day with an equipment neat Of pail and glasses he passed down the street, Boarded the train, and brought the sparkling draught Which thirsty travelers delighted quaffed. When offered money his reply would be, " No, thank you, boss, this glass of water's free,'* in THE HOSPITABLE NEGRO 193 He gave again what had been freely given, And in his measure imitated Heaven, And those who drank from his refreshing bowl Were strengthened both in body and in soul. Ill— 13 LET US HAVE PEACE Let us have peace. The world sighs o'er the slain, Lands wasted, orphan'd children, widow'd wives, And shudders at the long and ghastly train Of wounded men, with war-wreck'd, crippled lives. Poor fellows, all their strength and beauty gone; Men maim'd, deform'd, with sallow skin, shrunk frame, Mere shadows of their former selves, live on, And turn war's lurid glory into shame. Why all this age-long, world-wide anguish, why? The fiends that work man woe. are Greed and Pride: For these the armies of the nations die, For these how oft have Truth and Conscience died! Let 'us have peace. Brutes tear with tooth and claw ; But man has reason and a moral sense; He owns an inward and an outward law, And war to both of them gives deep offense. Man cannot rise to manhood's true estate Till war, the soul-destroying scourge, shall cease ; Till all the energies now swayed by hate Are ruled by love and serve the Prince of Peace. il94 WAR I saw in vision once to Reason's bar That men brought one of high and swelling port ; He came in plumed pomp and with the star Of glory on his breast ; a glittering court Of beauty and of circumstance he brought; These scattered flowers in his forward way; There was no mark of homage but they sought Of hand or head or lip or knee to pay, Was never train so proud or conqueror so gay. His streaming banners filled the darkened air, The incense of his flattery rose high, Loud pealed the trump, far flashed the dazzling glare, Boomed deep the cannon through the echoing sky; So loud the revelry none heard a sigh, So gay the decking of the nearer train That, till this retinue was all passed by, No man could see the crippled form of Pain Or view gaunt Famine's sores or Captive's galling chain. The charge was treason to the common good ; And Youth with ready zeal was first to speak ; (Lusty and large he looked and full of blood, His eye beamed bright and ruddy was his cheek) " The charge, I hold to be a foolish freak ; War is our truest patriot," he said ; " Though at his grizzled front the timid shriek, Their terror is of their own fancy bred, For honest is his heart e'en though his hand be red." 195 196 WAR The words of Manhood were in graver strain: " War is a dire necessity," said he ; " By it alone we can our rights maintain, By it alone can freemen still be free ; But this, the largest limit of my plea, He is a guardian of insatiate greed, He drains our blood from every artery, On all our fairest fortunes doth he feed, He bends our backs with toil, and makes our hearts to bleed." Here Woman broke in with a piteous wail, " My sons, my sons ;" and more she could not say, But at her very thoughts in terror pale, She lifted up her hands to heaven to pray : " Father of mercies, speed, O speed, the day When all this horrid clang of War shall cease, When men the dreadful sword aside shall lay, When the poor prisoner shall have sweet release And over all the earth shall fall the dew of Peace." The tiny Orphan wept he knew not why, And hot Youth in confusion dropped a tear, And Manhood held his breath and heaved a sigh: " Ay, would to God deliverance were near ! How many a youth is hurried year by year Out of this fair good life ere yet he knows The father's joy a family to rear; Before life's bud of promise fully grows, While high it swells with hope, its bursting flower must close." Old Age with voice all tremulous now spake ; " War is an evil branch of evil root ; war m 'Tis ail in vain the lofty bough to shake And crush the clusters of its deadly fruit, For each Spring time will cause them new to shoot ; The spreading root of Sin we must assail, Nor e'er relax the vigorous pursuit Till all its evil source of strength shall fail, Injustice live no more and Right at length prevail." 1 THE BLURR'D BOOK December 81, 1900 The nineteenth century ends to-day. What see we as we turn to look Upon the pages of the book That Time has filled and bears away? The pages are confused and blurr'd; The balance sheet shows gain and loss, Yet howsoe'er the lines may cross, Science stands forth the clearest word. The century has quicken'd speed; The message flies on wings of light, The ship outstrips the sea-bird's flight, The engine leaves behind the steed. Machinery with iron hands Toils to supply all human wants; It mines, it weaves, it reaps, it plants, And scatters plenty through all lands. Plenty, alas, arouses Greed: While Dives scarce can count his gold, Still Lazarus famished sits and cold Near bursting granaries, in need. Greek seizes lands across the sea; When plundered China turns to bay, The misnamed Christians rob and slay, And rival heathen infamy. The century's sun sinks red with blood, Yet we had dream'd that war would cease 198 THE BLURR'D BOOK 199 All nations serve the Prince of Peace, All evil be o'ercome by good. When the next hundred years roll round, May Time inscribe a greater word, With Wealth and Science, Love be third, And Christ, rejected now, be crowned. THE MONEY KING* OE THE KNIGHT WITH THE SWORD OF GOLD The pompous funeral was o'er, The eulogies were said, And word was sent o'er all the earth, The Money King is dead. He was head of twenty syndicates, He had rail and steamship lines, He had timber lands and cotton fields, He had gold and silver mines. A modern Midas, at his touch All things had turned to gold, But he was not " well off " after all, For his heart was bare and cold. A museum of curios (He gave it hasty looks) A slighted gallery of art, A lot of unread books, A city house with brown stone front, A palace by the sea, A racing stud of thoroughbreds, A pack of hounds had he; * In the above poem two rich men are delineated; the selfish man as the Money King, and in contrast the benev- olent man as The Knight with the Sword of Gold. There are, I think, in this country and in Europe many examples of each kind, but the portraits in the poem are mere types and have no personal reference. 200 THE MONEY KING 201 He lacked no outward sign of wealth, But lived luxuriously. Poor wretch, he had no higher wealth, He had not greatly cared, As he went trampling on through life, How other men had fared. They were his jackals; one and all Must work and watch and bear, But still of everything they got He took the lion's share. That he did not fair wages pay Was the backbone of his sin ; He did not heed the cries of need While the gold came tinkling in. He cared not for those in the underworld Who are underpaid and fed, Whose life is one ceaseless round of toil For the barest daily bread. He only cared for the upperworld Whose life is a bustling game, Whose counters are money and bonds and stocks, And the prize a shining name. 'A little sooner than he thought Had come Death's hated call, And the multi-millionaire was forced To die and leave them all. O men of mighty energy, O men of godlike brain, 202 THE MONEY KING Why will you waste your splendid powers Such paltry prize to gain? Would you be really great, there is An open, easy plan: Use your superior strength to raise Your weaker brother man. There should not be in this broad land, Nor yet in all the earth, A human being in bitter need, For God has made no dearth. There should not be a homeless man, A woman poorly clad, An unschooled or a toiling child, E'en in life's morning sad. Greed, greed, greed, greed, Is killing the Christ to-day, And to brutish Mammon men give their souls While to God with lips they pray. The Christ has said " It is more blest To give than to receive:" Why do you not that faithful word Implicitly believe? Employ your wisdom for the good Of those who are not wise, Open the path and point the way By which they are to rise. Conquer the enemies of man, Strike down each human ill, THE MONEY KING 203 Bring in a truly golden age, An era of good-will. God girds for noble enterprise Alike all noble men; To some he gives the warrior's sword, To some the poet's pen. And in these days he calls aloud For heroes of new mold, To be the champions of men With weapons made of gold. Hail to the quickly coming day When wealth shall bless not curse, And chivalry's new order be The Knighthood of the purse ! Ye men of strength, put on once more The snow-white coat of mail, And ere ye go to battle forth Drink from the holy grail. And queenly women richly robed And decked with gold and gem. Covet the robe of righteousness, Wear mercy's diadem. Grow in the untilled wastes around The flowers of sympathy, That Christ, the lily-loving Lord, Those fairer blooms may see. CROMWELL AT NASEBY A PURITAN BALLAD King Charles is a false tyrant ; He dares to trample on The ancient Charter of our rights Our stout forefathers won ; Time-honored laws he holds in scorn, And his own honor cheap ; We sought redress — his kingly word He gave, but will not keep. Those who have spoken for us Are made to feel his power ; Eliot, our freedom's martyr, Is dead within the Tower; He takes away our Sabbath, And in the church of God He sets the Romish idol, The thing of lust and blood; He is gathering his army To make each man a slave ; Now who will fight for truth and right And trust that God will save? The King beside fair Nottingham His standard has unfurled, Brave Hotham from the gates of Hull Has back defiance hurled, The thunder-cloud of civil war Has on the nation burst. Who, while the tempest gathers strength, Will dare its rage the first? 204 CROMWELL AT NASEBY 205 There was a sturdy yeoman Who heard the people's cry, He left his plough and cattle And girt his sworn on thigh; He left his wife and children, — He loved them tenderly, — But the voice of God within him Bade him help the land to free. He gathered men about him, Men of his own stout kind, God-fearing men who loved the right, And bore a willing mind. Beneath the false King's standard The proud patricians rode, And through the land their course is marked With ruin and with blood; They ride like a fierce whirlwind, Naught can their force withstand; The North is conquered for the King — Will he subdue the land? On Cromwell and his godly ranks The nation's hope is set ; If these can stand Prince Rupert's charge, Freedom may triumph yet. The armies draw together, The men that will not yield. And all King Charles's chivalry, To meet on Naseby's field. The tyrant's haughty legions, Like ocean's swollen tides, The fiery Rupert at their head, Dashed on "the Ironsides" ; 206 CROMWELL AT NASEBY The tyrant's haughty legions Charged like the billow's shock, But, like the billow, shattered fell, That dashes on the rock. But, as the greedy sea withdraws The billow when 'tis spent Only to send a fiercer surge, So these now backward went ; They gather all their strength again — These ranks not wont to know Defeat or check — and once again They dash upon the foe. Not idly stood " the Ironsides," They knew it was their hour, They felt the warrior's stern joy, And scorned the hostile power, Each sword was drawn, each spur struck deep, Each gave his horse the rein; Swiftly the russet-coated ranks Ride o'er the trembling plain. By heaven, it was a sight superb To see that mighty mass Move in resistless majesty Over the lessening space. Of what avail the f oemen's strength Before this mighty shock? They fall as falls the bearded grain Beneath the reaper's stroke ; Rank after rank " the Ironsides " Mow down resistlessly, Till all the rest in panic fear Their faces turn and flee ; CROMWELL AT NASEBY 207 The victors drive them o'er the plain, As idle chaff is driven Forth from the open threshing floor Before the wind of heaven.. It was no feeble arm of flesh That urged the conquering sword ; The God of Battles led his own, — Who can resist the Lord? God grant that every land oppressed Beneath a tyrant's rod, May find a Cromwell at its need, A warrior of God. CROMWELL, THE QUAKER, AND THE JEW Rabbi Ben Levi, now an aged man, Had wandered over many a land in youth, Teaching the scattered Israelites the law ; No zeal of theirs for gold outran his zeal To minister unto their souls the Word Of life eternal. Thrice one hundred years Had passed away since envious Christian rage Had driven the Israelites from English soil, And still no Jew had ventured to return To brave the perils of the law and mob. But now that Cromwell's just and vigorous hand Swayed England's sceptre, merchants ten or twelve Of Jewish faith had thither gone to trade. They sought a pastor for their little flock, But found one not until Ben Levi showed Age had not cooled the zealous fires of youth. He said no word of harsh rebuke of those Who shunned the field of danger, but he went Himself from sunny Spain, his native land, To exile under the stern Northern sky. He took with him the ever-present joy Of a good conscience toward God and man, And day by day he did what deed he could To bless Gentile or Jew ; for he had learned The broader lessons from the book of God, And loved the stranger as he loved his own. One Jewish Sabbath day, when he had read The Law unto his little flock of twelve, And added words of wise encouragement To faith in God such as the fathers had, Abraham and Moses and the prophets old, 208 CROMWELL, QUAKER, AND JEW 209 And said again his oft-repeated words, " Blest is the man that thinketh on the poor, The Lord will be his helper in the day Of his adversity," and had pronounced The ancient, triple benediction sweet — He took his homeward way amid the throng That filled on Saturday the London streets. Full of his holy thoughts, he did not mark The angry glances of the passers-by, Nor heed the gathering crowd that followed him, Until a ruffian seized him by the hair, And shouted, " Men, this fellow is a Jew, And robs us of our money by his greed; Let's kill the Judas for the love of God." And then he struck him with his brutal fist, Until the blood streamed down his aged cheek; And all the savage mob howled with delight, And took up stones to stone him till he died. And none dared to interpose with voice or hand, To shield him from the peril to his life, Except one feeble man who said, " Nay, friends, He is a stranger, let us do no wrong ! " And then he took the old man by the arm, And said, " Come, friend, thee needs a hand to help Thee to thy home ; where dwellest thou, I pray ? I will go with thee and will bind thy wound." But his last words were drowned by angry cries, " What will the meddling Quaker do, he is As bad as is a Jew ; we'll kill them both ; They both alike refuse to go to Church, And be baptized as Christians ought to be." And a stone felled him senseless to the ground. Ill— 14 210 CROMWELL, QUAKER, AND JEW And there they both had died, but by some chance, Or rather by the care of Providence, Cromwell came by, attended by his guards, " What means the tumult? " said he to his men, " Disperse the mob ; see that no man is hurt ; And let those that have broken law be held." And so the ruffians fled away in haste, Except those that the guard compelled to stay, And left the prostrate Quaker and the Jew. Again the Lord Protector's voice was heard: " See that these men have every needful care, And let me know to-morrow how they do. Bear them unto their houses in my coach ; Come hither, Thomas ; I will ride thy horse." Then lightly leaping, like a younger man, Into the saddle, Cromwell held his way, To attend the urgent business of the State. The tender hands of wife and daughter soon Restored Ben Levi ; and not less their care For him who had borne peril for the sake Of him they loved. A soothing draught and sleep Gave both again, when morning dawned, to health. And with the morning Cromwell said, " Go see How those men are, and if it be that they Can come, let them attend me here at noon. Bring also those who have assaulted them." The men were brought, and Cromwell bade the Jew Tell who he was, and why he came where law Permitted not his countrymen to dwell, And the whole story of the injury. Simply the Jew recounted all his tale, CROMWELL, QUAKER, AND JEW 211 Without one word of harshness 'gainst the men Who had ill-treated him, but with a glow Of gratitude to him who interposed And suffered for his sake. " Thy deed was brave," The soldier chief said to the man of peace, " Such men as thou, whose creed is to do good, Although in trifles you offend the law, Its substance keep, and shall have its defense." Then turning to the aged Jew, he said : " Point out the man that struck thee ; he shall have For his offense scourge and imprisonment That thus could wound a harmless, aged man." " Nay, good my lord," replied the Jew, " let me Entreat for him ; perchance he hath been taught That so to treat a Jew is to please God ; Finding me merciful, perhaps he will Learn larger charity to me and mine. If that my lord be pleased to favor me, And if the broken law demands a due, Exact a fine, which I will pay for him." Cromwell a moment mused in thought, then said: " Thy plea is not in vain, he shall go free ; Although a Jew thou hast a Christian heart ; To me thou seemest grievously to err In that thou not acknowledgest God's son, But God can vindicate His honor best, And He hath borne thy doctrine many years ; He only knows who pleases Him the most. Thy goods and lif e are forfeit by a law To which three hundred years have given strength ; But, while o'er a few men a Uttle space 212 CROMWELL, QUAKER, AND JEW I have a ruler's power to dispense A pardon to the breaker of the law, No man shall suffer for his conscience's sake, Or the opinion he may hold of God. Then worship as thou wilt, and when thou pray'st Pray for me too : the prayers are heard in heaven Of those that have their fellow-men forgiven." " Daily," the Jew replied, " my prayer shall rise To heaven for thee, nor my weak prayer alone ; The blessing of a persecuted race Attend thy steps on earth, and plead for thee, When thou hast need, before the throne of God. Nor there alone, where all men meet their due, Shalt thou have praise; here 'mid thy fellowmen, The deathless annals of the Jew shall guard The fame of him who first of rulers knew The proper limits of an earthly sway, Nor dared to invade the larger realm of Heaven." MILTON The face of Milton is a face of pain, As though the mind the tortured body thralls ; Scarce can the shell its awful weight sustain, So beats the potent spirit 'gainst its walls ; Such thoughts revolve in that tumultuous brain, Such visions pass before those " sightless balls," Such Sibyl and prophetic voices blend, So Lord of Good and Prince of 111 contend. He is an organ 'mid the tuneful choir, So deep his note, so solemn his high swell ; No puny pipe or light-stringed quivering lyre Could body forth his tale of heaven and hell : The Spirit whom he invoked to inspire, Breathed such a strain as through no muse's shell Was ever poured into our human ears ; Alone he caught the singing of the spheres. 213 THE MARTYRDOM OF HUSS * The long, dark night of ignorance had worn away at last; The thousand years in which men slept at length were overpast; The " morning star " had risen and shed its bright and beauteous ray, And bade the slumbering nations hail the dawning of the day. The words of truth that Wycliffe spoke had not been said in vain ; The " morning star " indeed was set — in Huss it rose again. Like John the Baptist in the wilds he called men to repent ; Like John, against a priesthood false hot words of scorn he sent; " Christ said to men, ' My Kingdom's gate stands open to the poor.' The Church cries loudly, ' Bring your gold, if you would heaven secure ;' Christ, the good Shepherd, gave his life to save his helpless sheep; * John Huss was summoned in 1414 to the general coun- cil of the Roman Catholic Church at Constance to answer charges of heresy. He went thither, having previously taken the precaution to obtain a letter from the emperor Sigismund guaranteeing him a safe return. In spite of this he was apprehended, and after a trial of manifest un- fairness was found guilty and required to recant. Refus- ing to do so unless proved to be in error, he was condemned to the flames, the emperor reluctantly giving his consent. The sentence was carried out the same day. 214 ■ THE MARTYRDOM OF HUSS 215 Our greedy pastors shear the flock — the fold they, do not keep ; But day by day the hungry wolves leap in, rend, and devour; The hirelings flee nor raise a hand to save us from their power. " Christ taught the eager multitudes in plain and simple speech, And sent his twelve apostles forth the tribes of men to teach; With blessed words of saving truth the hearts of men were fed; The Church now gives us chaff and husks and not the living bread. The Lamb of God was offered once to bear all sin away, There needs no other sacrifice when men to God would pray; Before the throne our great High Priest still lives to intercede, — Of intercession by the saints the sinner hath' no need. " Christ to the trembling sinner spoke in voice of tender love, The Church doth in an angry mood with thunder tones reprove; With sign of ' candle, bell, and book,' she maledic- tions saith; The light is quenched, the Bible shut, and tolled the knell of death. The Church that was the church of Christ is now the church of men; 216 THE MARTYRDOM OF HUSS Take from us all these Romish rites, and give us Christ again. " Christ's Kingdom was not of the world, he had no lands or gold; His vicar is a lordly prince whose riches are untold. Christ had not where to lay his head, a meek and lowly, man; His vicar in a palace lives amid a courtly train. From place to place on weary feet the Lord was wont to fare ; His vicar on the necks of men is carried in a chair. And as in luxury and pride the Pope doth live in Rome, In wealth and pomp and haughtiness, our bishops live at home ; Corruption from the head to foot doth the whole body taint, As saith the prophet, ' Head is sick, and the whole heart is faint.' " The angry prelates in alarm appeal made to the Pope; " With this wide-spreading heresy our forces cannot cope; Through all the wide Bohemian land Huss rules the multitudes ; The Church's power will soon be gone, unless he be subdued." Then called the Pope a council great to stay the fatal plague; " At Constance we will heal the breach that hath been made at Prague." To Constance by his summons came the emperor Sigismund, THE MARTYRDOM OF HUSS 217 And princes, dukes, and noblemen from all the na- tions round. The Pope and thirty cardinals in pomp there too ap- pear; Seven hundred prelates swell the throng, four thou- sand priests are there. Then sent the Pope to call John Huss his doctrine to defend, And Sigismund by royal writ called on him to at- tend: " I give you my imperial word that you shall safely come, And that when you have made defense you safely shall go home; From enemies who seek your lif e in their fanatic zeal I shield you by my manual sign by my royal seal." Huss left his faithful flock in tears the summons to obey, And everywhere the lips of men did bless him on the way; And all that saw his saintly face that shone with holy light, Did pray that God would give again so sweet and pure a sight. And now before that great array the fearless preacher stands; " Recant, recant your heresy," the council him com- mands; " I owe allegiance unto God," the preacher answers meek, " And in His holy Word of truth my doctrine I must seek; gl8 THE MARTYHDOM OF HUSS If aught that I have said or writ cannot be found therein, I do renounce it* and confess my error and my sin." " Wilt thou submit thee to the Church 'gainst which thou dost rebel, Submit thy erring will to her who is infallible? " So spake the judge. The preacher said, " I cannot change or yield ; I only, bow my mind to truth God has himself re- vealed. If you will not discuss with me, I crave the emperor's grace That he will let me now return unto my native place." " We keep no faith with heretics," the council made reply ; " Abjure thy fatal heresy, or thou shalt surely die." And then withouta little space in which to bid fare- well To friends and home, with cruel haste they rang his funeral knell. 'Mid concourse vast, the self-same day they bound him to the stake; Once more with threats and promises they sought his faith to shake ; But God stood with his martyr there, and with a smile of peace, He thrust aside the gilded lures, and bade the tempt- ers cease. And so the leaping flames made red the summer's evening sky; And so the blessed soul of Huss went up to God on high. But when Bohemia heard the tale, the tale of sin and shame. THE MARTYRDOM OF HUSS 219 She blessed the martyr's memory and cursed tha emperor's name: " False Sigismund shall rule no more the land that Huss has trod; We draw the sword for liberty, and make appeal to God." Soldiers of God and conscience, — who can their arms withstand? As God was once with Joshua and Gideon's fearless band, So now he raised a warrior up to guide his chosen few, And showed what human feebleness made strong by God can do; To blind old Ziska's sightless eyes He gave so clear a light That never general disposed more wisely men for fight. Against his little company proud armies dashed in vain; He drove them from the mountain height, he chased them o'er the plain. Twelve armies sent false Sigismund; twelve armies by the Lord Whose angel slew Sennacherib's host were given to the sword. Then bowed proud Sigismund his head and yielded up his crown; " God for my sin from my estate doth justly put me down. I have not known a day of peace since my pledged word was changed To please the cruel priests of Rome; John Huss, thou art avenged." THE QUEEN IS DEAD Her work accomplish'd, dead the good Queen lies, Flower of a time that f oster'd but the few ; Now, Britain, care for all, teach all to rise, Show what great deeds a Commonwealth may do. Recall the greatest glories of thy past, Rouse Cromwell and wake Milton from their sleep; Avoid their errors, hold their virtues fast, And of their sowing now the harvest reap. 220 MY MOTHER'S NAME I do not like the high-flown names With which romancers deck their dames, A simple name to me is dear And I will try to praise it here. I love the plain, old-fashioned " Ann." 'Twas hers from whom my life began, It has no cadence but 'tis sweet To me its one note to repeat. Ann, Ann, Ann, Ann ! How well this aged, world-worn man Recalls the day when as a child My mother, Ann, upon me smiled. I was her youngest and scarce born When husband from her side was torn ; She had but reached lif e's middle day But grief had turned her hair to gray, And, O, her soft and saintly grace I've seen upon no other face. I sat in rapture at her feet As she would teach me to repeat Some Bible verse or childish prayer And smile and fondly stroke my hair. O mother, look upon me now, In love and gratitude I bow. 221 IN MEMORIAM Ann Pearson. Born, Nov. 16, 1815 ; Died, April 14, 1883. Traveler, there rests beneath this modest stone A tender, patient, true, and loving heart ; She passed through life unnoticed and unknown, And yet she well performed a humble part. To bless the hallowed circle of her home Her toil and care unceasingly were given, And if beyond her thoughts would ever roam 'Twas but to pray that earth might be as heaven. 'Twas but to do the neighbor's kindly deed, To greet the stranger, cheer the couch of pain, To clothe the naked and the hungry feed, And then return unto her own again. Her maiden years clung to the parent stem, Her womanhood a husband's strength did join; Few years two lives formed but a single frame Then fell the oak that had upheld the vine. A widow in life's noontide, she became Father and mother to her little flock; Ruler, provider, priest, each sacred name That manhood bears upon herself she took. Morning and evening from the Holy Book She read the ancient words of faith and hope, Then, like their authors, turned to heaven her look And sent to heaven prayer's sacred incense up. %%% IN MEMORIAM 223 Hour after hour her busy needle flew While from her lips flowed sweet some household tale, The children's listening circle nearer drew And silent hush would more and more prevail. Still are the busy hands that gladly toiled, Silent the gentle lips that wisdom spake, Cold in the ground the tender face that smiled, Lost the fond love no waywardness could shake. In deep seclusion all her graces grew Marked only by His eye who sees all fruit; What good has in her children come to view In her example had its living root. When weight of years lay heavy on her frame, When heart was weary, of the earthly strife, Death with his gentlest touch and whisper came To call her to a larger, better life. As when a mellow autumn day is done And calmness spreads o'er all the earth at even, As peacefully as sinks the setting sun She left the earth to rise again in heaven. AN UNPROFITABLE SERVANT I cannot say that I have fought A good and faithful fight ; I cannot say that I have wrought For truth with main and might ; My shrinking soul has often sought Safety in timid flight. I dare not show my dintless mail Or my ignoble scars Beside the print of spear and nail Thy broken body bears ; They tell too plain and sad a tale Of thankless doubts and fears. Soon shall thy loyal ranks march home With glorious song and shout ; The heavens shall cry, " The Lord is come," His foes are put to rout, Come in with Him, ye warriors, come, Ye shall no more go out." A worthless soldier I have been, And cannot claim, a place; Yet let, Lord, thy servant in Of thy exceeding grace ; Thou knowest I have hated sin, And I have loved thy face. 224 THE SURRENDER Lord, I groaned, Is not this sin so small That I may still Continue it, yet faithfully in all Things else perform thy will? If I renounce it there will come to me Unending strife, The future days will sad and bitter be, And lonely all my life. Those I have longest known and who are nearest Will be estranged, Ties which have bound in friendship, sweetest, dearest, Will by one act be changed. Acquaintances and lookers-on will speak In scorn and say, We always thought his character was weak ; He showed it so to-day. Why should I thus expose myself and be Misunderstood? If I hide my dim light what injury, If I it show what good? 1 should but suffer unavailingly And as before The world would wag, except that unto me Some joys would be no more. With my weak strength why, should I vainly push Against the crowd? 225 226 THE SURRENDER It will but trample me in its mad rush, Nor hear me call aloud. So spoke I to my soul, and thus for years I lived a lie, While ebbing from me through these craven fears I felt my spirit die. The voice of God spake to me, " I am more Than all beside, Behold, I stand and knock at thy heart's door, But am repelled by pride." " If thou indeed dost truly wish that I Should enter in Thou know'st that it is all in vain to try To keep e'en one small sin. " I will not dwell in a divided heart But must have all; Denied and closed to me is every part By sin however small. And call it not small sin to hide a ray Of light divine, 'Tis needed to make up the perfect day, Then see thou let it shine." And so I here send forth my little beam Caught from the sun, Believing that the duty is supreme To do as I have done — To tell the whole truth as it seems to me, And disregard THE SURRENDER 2i Kin, numbers, powers, or whatso'er it be That makes the duty hard. Without, perchance, it may bring loss and strife Not soon to cease; But O, within it giveth larger life And bringeth perfect Peace. THE HERETIC Apologia pro vita mea A heretic — poor man — is one Who would but cannot prophet be; He upward soars to reach the sun, But, weak-winged, falls into the sea; But yet 'tis much to seek the sky And show where stronger wings may fly. I spoke against an outworn creed And dared denounce the slothful priest ; Men marveled at my daring deed And blazoned it from west to east; Some welcomed it with loud acclaim And gave to me a hero's name. And some called me blaspheming knave, And thrust me from their company ; Some said the fellow does but rave In madness or senility ; Some in perplexity were dumb, And wondered what was next to come. Some said the message was too stern, And that it was unkindly given ; The sun of truth should warm, not burn, And light, not lightning, fall from heaven : I meant all well, and, if I erred, I pardon ask for each wrong word. God sends his terrifying storms, He stirs the sea, he makes earth quake, 228 THE HERETIC 229 He has a myriad awful forms Man from his sluggishness to wake ; If perfect peace would make men wise, We should have had it in the skies. If God makes mighty winds to blow, Must man always in whispers speak? When men neglect the truth they know, When they refuse new truth to seek, When patience has in vain implored, For such a time has wrath been stored. Patience, too long provoked, will speak In indignation's sterner tone ; Moses, the man surnamed the meek, At false gods made his anger known; Jesus, to all men else though kind, Called vipers those whom greed made blind. Strife and estrangement give great pain, They, tear the fibers of the heart ; Yet not for these dare I refrain From doing what seems duty's part. Nothing shall move me, said Saint Paul ; His rule should be the rule of all. The sordid wretch who by himself Still measures every other man, Declares I did it all for pelf, And followed but a cunning plan : I only ask for daily bread, And humbly trust I shall be fed. Thrice in my life have I resigned My livelihood for conscience sake, THE HERETIC And hitherto God has been kind And given me richer blessings back : And now in age, as twice in youth, I trust Him as a God of truth. Amid the storm it gave me joy That all of those who know me best, Who've watched my life since when a boy I gave up sin and sought God's rest, — Turned to all slanders a deaf ear And thought me, at the least, sincere. And most of all I joyed that those Whom I had led to learning's founts, And showed how English genius rose And soared above Aonian mounts, — That all of these, unshaken still, Looked on me with the old good-will. And street acquaintance kindlier smiled, Or stopped to speak a word of cheer, And often was my pain beguiled By letters from both far and near, In which men spoke of service done, And bade me in God's name go on. Christ dared to part the family When conscience claimed such sacrifice, But sweet it is when all agree And all together higher rise ; My children have approved my deed, And trusting follow where I lead. [And some dear souls who disapprove Have yet forborne on me to rail, THE HERETIC 231 They, utter only words of love And pray with faith that does not fail : Lord, bless these followers of thine, And let thy light upon them shine. For love is ever more than light, However good the light may be; Yet perfect souls will both unite And love the more, the more they see: Christ was the lif e, the truth, the way, Make all like him, O Lord, we pray. I have a blessed peace with him Because I have conscience clear; I have no secret sense of sin And, therefore, have no idle fear ; I spoke the truth, I spoke in love, Obeyed not men but God above. So, scoffers, I am armed in mail Your sharpened arrows cannot pierce; Naught can against the right prevail, Vain all assaults however fierce; I hide my weakness in God's might, His shield is o'er me in the fight. When I was but a boy of ten John Wycliffe o'er my soul gained power, I thought him a true king of men, I think so at the present hour ; He saw the truth, and, though alone, He dared to speak it in clear tone. And thus he roused the deadly hate Of all time-serving, selfish men; THE HERETIC They dragged him from his high estate, They slandered him with tongue and pen, They burned his books, they burned his bones, And cursed his name in thunder tones. When church and state thus cast him out With maledictions on his name, The faithless thought without a doubt That his was everlasting shame ; But now that centuries have passed, He, last, is first ; they, first, are last. From his, I filled my torch with light, And held it with my strength on high, It brightly flamed upon the sight; I trust its beam will never die Until the breaking of the day When all night's shadows flee away. FAREWELL Farewell, Lake Michigan ! a long farewell ! I part from thee with sadness; thou hast been Full often to my soul a kindly spell, And brought me back from gloom to thought serene ; I love to hear thy many billows swell, And watch thy changing shadows and thy sheen ; Wide, glorious water, to thy oft-trod shore My thought will fly, regretful, evermore. Farewell, ye oaks ! your many clustered arms Have been to me a shadow from the heat, And I have walked amid your mighty forms As 'mid the pillars of a monk's retreat ; No more I see you, rent by winter storms, Or clad in summer loveliness complete : Ye forms of strength and beauty, fare ye well — Kind skies each Spring your buds of promise swell ! Farewell, companions dearer far than these ! None severs long connection without pain, And I depart from pleasant memories, And rudely break association's train; Parted by barriers broader than the seas, How oft my heart shall turn to you again; Each bitterness shall mellow to regret, And each accord shall glow more kindly yet. Farewell, ye halls, which I have watched, as one By one they placed you here amid the trees ; You scarcely seem to me mere brick and stone, So filled you are with tender memories; 233 234 FAREWELL Around your walls and spires my life has grown Habit endears whate'er one often sees, But most where beauty adds its magic spell; And beauty's charm is yours, so fare you well ! Farewell, my lecture room where day by day I talked with eager youth upon great themes, And tried to lead them up the shining way Of love and truth of which the poet dreams ; Ah me! what sacred, strenuous hours were they Which now are closed forever, as it seems ; And yet their 'power continues o'er the mind, Seed sown in that a harvest sure will find. CHESS I like for half an hour at eve The weight of business to relieve By cheerful song or conversation Or fitting harmless recreation: At such a time how oft I bless The ancient noble game of chess! Unlike the " devil's picture books " On which the preacher frowning looks, Unlike the tricky, rolling dice So frequently allied with vice, Chess has a quite untainted name, As much a science as a game. The game of soldiers and of kings, As illustrating warlike things, 'Tis played in citadels and forts, In tented fields and royal courts. When knights were gone to war or chase And days moved on with leaden pace, Fair ladies oft in pleasant bower Beguiled with chess a weary hour ; They thrilled in fancying war's alarms, They marshaled tiny men-at-arms, Arranged their castles and their knights And fought their mimic, bloodless fights, And still with pride of sex, I ween, Victor o'er all they saw the queen. When after mediaeval night Learning arose with holy light, 335 236 CHESS When first the printer's art began To give its priceless gifts to man, The first fruit of brave Caxton's press Was called " The Game and Play of Chess " ; O'er saintly song and knightly story Chess had priority and glory. No vulgar game of sot or clown, No fad of fashion or " the town," In every land, in every age, Chess is the game of saint and sage, And poets have its praises sung In loving verse in every tongue. THE BOOK-WORM To heroes who on battle fields win fame We do not grudge the lordly lion's name ; Those who, insensible to others' cares Are always rough and surly, we call bears ; And those who learn no lesson from what passes, The ever dull and stupid, we call asses. All claim to be a lion I resign, And shun all bearish traits and asinine ; Nature has cast me for another part, And I embrace my lot with all my heart; To satisfy an ever-craving need All day upon the leaves of books I feed, And then by night I find a resting place In what by day appeared of books a case ; Thus day and night I think my title firm To be that busy idler, a book-worm. BABY'S LETTER TO GRANDMA I'm a little baby, and cannot run and play, I lie in bed and toss about or sleep the livelong day, I cannot go to see my friends, though some of them are near, Or say a word in answer to the questions that I hear. Though almost every day I hear opinions on me many, I do not yet commit myself to judgments upon any: They talk about me to my face, but yet I do not care, And do the very strangest things at which I only stare. Not even when the doctor with a lancet cut my tongue, Did I tell him if I liked it, or if I thought it wrong. I find that people differ in every kind of way, Some act as though they did not see a baby every day, Some handle me so awkwardly I fear they'll let me fall, And some are not polite enough to notice me at all ; Some wonder I have so much hair, some say my eyes are bright, And that I'm like my papa, and mama says they're right; And whatsoever mama says I'm very sure is true, For she's the very wisest one this baby ever knew. I never cry for nothing and mama always knows That when I cry there's something wrong with me or with my clothes, Though it's never that a cruel pin is sticking in my skin, For mama wraps my flannels round and then she sews me in. Mama spends all her time with me and all the hous* o'erlooks, But papa when he is not out is poring over books ; I don't believe that papas are really good for much, BABY'S LETTER TO GRANDMA 239 I would not give my mama for half a dozen such. I have not learned to read or write or tell the time of day, I only know it seems quite long when mama goes away. I send my love to grandma and aunts and cousins all, I'll come to see you some fine day when I grow big and tall. I'm only six weeks old to-day and one foot nine in height ; I've put my mark below this because I can not write; Some day I'll write again to you after I bigger grow, At present I must really close — I've told you all I know. " MY BABY " Who comes on little, pattering feet, Each night a weary man to meet, And hath a voice as music sweet? My baby. Who clambers on my knee or chair, And pats my face, or pulls my hair, And is without respect or fear? My baby. Whose cheek of mingled pink and white Is like the morning's rosy light? Whose bright eyes shine like stars at night? My baby's. Whose tiny teeth are little pearls ? Whose pretty little flaxen curls, Dear mama round her finger twirls, My baby's. Who lies all night in slumber deep, Or sweetly smiles amid her sleep, As though of heaven she had a peep? My baby. Who wakes as cheerful as the morn, And hails with joy the day's return, Each day some pretty way does learn? My baby. Who sheds a sunlight o'er our home, And helps each virtue there to bloom, 240 " MY BABY " 241 Gives brighter hope for days to come? My baby. For whom ascends my daily prayer, That God who has us all in care, A little one may bless and spare? My baby. MY BEAUTIFUL My beautiful, my beautiful, My tried and true, my own, My tender heart and dutiful, I am, I am thine own. I spurn all lures of pomp and pride, Thou art all good to me, Thy love is like the ocean wide, Thy love is a deep sea. Thy love is a great mountain's height, Thy love a ceaseless river, My sun by day, my stars at night, My all of good forever. 242 THE ABSENT LOVE I pine for thy kiss, dearest love, as a pearl Doth pine for the lips of the sea; When the scorching sand-eddies hot over it whirl, It thirsteth as I thirst for thee. I pine for thine eyes, my love, as a flower Doth pine for the light of the sun, When blow the chill winds and the dark shadows lower, And cheerless is even the noon. I pine for thy voice, my love, as the morn Doth pine for the voice of the lark ; I pine as the lark for the sunlight's return When the morning is murky and dark. I pine for thy hand on my head as the grass Doth pine for the fall of the dew ; I pine, but my darling, my longings surpass All measure — I pine, love, for you. 243 TO MY WIFE ON HER BIRTHDAY 1854s January 22 1889 Another milestone on life's way, Dear wife, thou passest on this day ! Each year of mingled sun and shade Has still thy nature richer made, Strengthened the heart and stored the brain And left a blessing in its train. To Memory fair the past appears, But Hope still pictures brighter years ; Half of the three score years and ten Allotted to the sons of men Gray Father Time may say are gone ; But Time can measure years alone, Nor knows how far life's harvest time Outweighs the budding years of prime. How rich soe'r you count your gains, Think that the better half remains ; Nay all remains, for naught can be Substracted from eternity. 244i FRIENDSHIP Whatever our toil may obtain Whate'er by the bounty of Heaven Of things that we never could gain Above our desert may be given, If riches and honor and fame Our pathway of life should attend, Success would be still but a name, — We were poor, if we had not a friend. If the good things of life all are fled, And misfortune and failure our lot, If the hopes that we cherished are dead, And our better deeds all seem forgot, If darkness seems gathering more And evils still greater portend, In all other things howe'er poor, We are rich, if we have but a friend. O friendship, delicious retreat From the cold and indifferent throng, Heart kindles to heart as we meet To hail thee with laughter and song ! The burdens of life we can bear, Its perils all manfully face, If our souls at thy shrine we prepare, And strengthened go forth from the place. 245 SLEEP AND I On the first day of the week Sleep and I played hide and seek. I thought to find him in my bed And on the pillow laid my head, But vain were earnest search and prayer, The little rascal was not there, But in his stead he sent a mouse With frisks and nibbles me to rouse. Sleep tricked and left me in the lurch, But caught me the next morn at church, And, for a cause I can't determine, He held me fast all through the sermon. 246 A TOO TRUE TALE The maiden of six years was dressed Like a young princess in her best ; Her muslin dress was white as milk, Her stockings were the finest silk, Her shoes were of a russet brown The best that could be bought in town, Her sash was made of ribbon blue Three inches wide and nearly new, Her necklace was a string of pearls Half -hidden by her golden curls. The little maid in all her state Walked through the farmer's garden gate. She heeded not that it was barr'd, But entered the adjoining yard, And there she saw the sheep and kine, The geese, the turkeys and the swine. She stood astonished at the view, The turkeys were astonished too; The father-gobbler brave and good Thought that she meant to steal his brood ; So in his heavy coat of mail With flapping wings and outspread tail, And crest erected on his head He walked up with a stately tread, And sent forth from his flaming throat An angry and defiant note. The little maiden in affright At this so dreadful sound and sight Fled hastily in such dismay She did not mark the proper way, 247 248 A TOO TRUE TALE But ran headlong into a ditch Of mud almost as black as pitch. Her mother heard her f righten'd cries, And what a sight then met her eyes ! In one short minute what a change ! It was, indeed, exceeding strange. Plastered from head to foot with mud The rueful little maiden stood ; The dress of purest white — just think — Was now as black as tar or ink, And from the pretty, russet shoes There poured a dirty, slimy ooze, And pearls and curls and hat and feather Were by the thick mud stuck together. " O dear! O dear! What shall we do? " Said Bessie's mother at the view ; But the good farmer's wife and daughter Knew there was virtue in hot water, And so they put her in a tub And long and hard did rinse and rub, Till pearls and curls were clean and bright, Though hat and sash were ruined quite. THE MAIDEN AND THE EDITOR It was a damsel young and fair Who wrote once on a time Some verses for the weekly press In neat and flowing rhyme. The editor did put them in Upon his foremost page, All in a large and handsome type Attention to engage. The maiden said unto herself, " The man is so polite A sponge cake I will send to him Fine to both taste and sight. " It shall be made by mine own hands, That he may see that I Am not alone a judge of verse, But skilled in cookery." For maidens, though they be reserved In use of tongue or pen, Still like to make their merits known To handsome single men. And so her easel idle stood, And all a long forenoon From the piano by the wall There issued forth no tune. And from the ample library She no gay volume took, But only the substantial one That telleth how to cook. 249 250 THE MAIDEN AND THE EDITOR She conned the trusty volume o'er, Until she fully knew Each thing that should be put in cake, And its proportion true. And then she left her gay boudoir With smile high and serene And sought the lower kitchen realm She ne'er before had seen. In confident, imperious tone Her mandate then she gave For this and that ingredient Unto the kitchen slave. And out of them she did prepare With taper fingers white A cake that should the editor Astonish and delight. And after it was duly baked That all might be complete She wrapped the dainty morsel up In satin white and neat. Along with it a perfumed note Of explanation went, And in due time the mail received The scribe's acknowledgment. " Allow me, Miss, to thank you for," His letter brief did state, " Your courteous and valued note, And handsome paper-weight." THE MAIDEN AND THE EDITOR 251 It was not said in irony, It was a pure mistake, For heavy as a lump of lead Was that unlucky cake.